Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or its related properties. All such rights are the property of CBS/Paramount. I do, however, own the intellectual rights to certain original characters featured in this story. Please treat them with the same respect that you would canon characters.
The characters Brin Macen, Lisea Danan, and T'Kir are heavily featured in the story collection Vignettes featuring Ro Laren that can also be found on FanFiction. If you enjoy their exploits perhaps you'll check out the other repositories of their tales.
Disclaimer: I originally wrote this story in 1999. Not only was it a different century but my writing style was just forming up. You'll see drastic improvements if you continue to follow the Special Investigation Division series as I introduce it to FanFiction.
Other than that, thanks for checking out my work and I hope you enjoy!
Brin Macen leaned back into the comforts of his command chair. Macen was flying a Starfleet scoutship. The single occupant design of Starfleet's latest creation suited Macen's tastes. There was only so much a person could be expected to say during a three-day warp voyage.
He chuckled at his last thought. He supposed it came from a cultural bias. El-Aurians were known as listeners, not orators. Even so, Macen was forced to admit that he took the stereotype to a bit of an extreme.
He unzipped the collar of his uniform blouse. He was wearing the blue Sciences departmental colours again. Before that, he'd spent several years out of any form of Starfleet uniform. He was surprised at how little that had bothered him.
He'd spent the last eighty years of his life serving Starfleet. He'd even received command of his own survey vessel. He'd surrendered all of that when Admiral Nechayev and Starfleet Intelligence offered him the chance to infiltrate the Maquis. Macen had been sympathetic towards the Maquis' cause since their inception due to his people's history with Borg. Any forced assimilation of another society disturbed Macen.
One of his primary motives in joining Starfleet had been to help dissuade any such efforts that may arise within the Federation. He had co-operated with Nechayev for the first year of his mission. After fighting alongside the self-labelled "freedom fighters", Macen found that they fought for the same principles he believed in.
Macen's "defection" was labelled as treason, a charge that neither Starfleet nor the Federation took lightly. Both Starfleet and the Cardassians hunted the Maquis and, consequently, Macen. He finally surrendered to Starfleet when the Dominion aided the Cardassians in finally crushing the resistance movement. He was able to deliver his ship, crew, and a handful of other survivors to Starfleet's unsympathetic hands.
Macen expected to stand trial. That trial never came. He was offered a choice, he could assist Intelligence with a new operation or he could face imprisonment. The offer was loaded by the reduction of sentence by those that had served under him as well as the conditional pardon of Macen's first mate and fellow Starfleet renegade, Lisea Danan.
Filled with both concern and regret over convincing Danan to join him on his mission to the Maquis, Macen accepted Starfleet's deal. Macen and Danan were reinstated, reduced by one rank. That fact had been irrelevant to them. The other stipulation of the deal was the hardest: they were to serve the war effort at separate assignments without the privilege of communications with one another.
Macen soon discovered why he'd been selected for the deal. Starfleet had enlisted the aid of Angosia's biologically enhanced commandos. They were to be utilised on hit and run missions behind enemy lines. Those enemy lines were now the same territories that Macen had fought in for the last several years.
The mission rankled Macen. It gave the Federation access to the very bio-enhancement techniques that had cost Angosia their admittance into the Federation. The former commandos were thrown away rather than cured. Macen knew that it had cost the lives of many soldiers that had wanted nothing more than to lay down their arms forever. The war was now concluded. Macen's mission was concluded as well
As he hurtled through the starless void of warp space, he wondered if he'd ever forgive himself for either betrayal. As he'd once told Ro Laren, the dead have no qualms. It is the living that have to deal with the loss and guilt. The soldiers of Angosia and the Maquis rested at last. Macen envied them.
Macen awoke as the scout's sensors chimed an alarm. He tilted his seat back into a fully upright position. He was detecting two vessels occupying the same system he was travelling through. One of the power signatures was Romulan. Macen was thousands of kilometres inside of Federation space.
Ally, or no ally, neither side had ever renegotiated the treaty establishing the Neutral Zone. The Romulan Warbird's presence was technically an act of war. Macen dropped his ship out of warp in order to investigate. The second ship was a Miranda class starship. The Romulans were obviously working with Starfleet. Macen could continue on his way.
The ship shuddered from a phaser blast. Macen was grateful he'd raised shields reflexively upon leaving warp. He checked his sensors. The Warbird was cloaking. While cloaked, she couldn't fire her weapons, effectively removing her from the fight.
The damned Starfleet vessel continued to blast away at him. His scout's manoeuvrability was all that was keeping him alive. He went to warp six. With luck, the starship wouldn't follow.
So much for luck, he thought as he watched his sensors. He tried raising them on the comm, "This is the U.S.S. Herodotus to unidentified Starfleet vessel. Hold your fire. I repeat, hold your fire. I'm a friendly." Another blast rocked the scout.
"I'll take that as a 'sorry, but I'm not friendly'." He muttered under his breath.
The starship still wasn't sending off an identifying code. All Starfleet ships had transponders built into them that transmitted a ship's ID when queried. Someone had disabled this ship's. Either it was stolen, or her captain was up to something that he didn't anyone to know about.
Macen plotted his course for the system's primary. His only hope was to lure the larger ship into following him. He hoped that the starship's greater power and speed had lulled her captain into overconfidence. That error would be his only chance at survival.
Warnings sounded as he neared the sun. He threw all of his auxiliary power into the shields. Any system that wasn't needed for this manoeuvre was deactivated to add power to the shields and environmental systems. Even with all of that, the temperature was rising swiftly.
He edged his ship down further and further into the heliosphere. Without his shields, his ship would have melted already. Macen was coated in sweat. The cockpit was a sweltering sauna.
He'd already shucked his uniform jacket and his blouse. He retained the undershirt only because he needed all his attention to prepare for the next manoeuvre. He double-checked the distance between his scout and the Miranda.
He was low enough, and they were close enough. He fired two photon torpedoes towards the primary's core. He threw all of his ship's thrust upward. He needed to escape before the torpedoes detonated, igniting a solar flare.
He shunted all the extra power he'd allocated to the environmental controls to the warp drive. He needed all the thrust he could manage. The Miranda, unable to manoeuvre as quickly as the smaller craft was only now trying to change direction. Too late, Macen thought as the torpedoes detonated.
The detonations caused a chain reaction. The star belched out a tremendous amount of heat, gas, and particles. The rising inferno squarely caught the Miranda class starship. She was engulfed in forces no starship had been designed to withstand.
Macen's scout cleared the star's gravity well and sped away. His course was vectored away from the flare. It lashed out into space, but claimed no further victims. Macen collapsed back into his chair and tried releasing the breath he hadn't realised he was holding.
He began to re-route power back to its standard operational norms. His next activity was to re-set his course for sector zero-zero-one. He had an appointment with Starfleet Command. With all of that done, he decided he needed a drink. He would prepare his report in the incident after that… and a shower.
"Spacedock Traffic Control, this is the Herodotus. Requesting docking billet." Macen spoke into the comm.
"Roger that, Herodotus. Please stand-by to surrender your helm to Traffic Control." A female voice instructed him.
"Copy, Traffic Control. Ready on your command."
"Transfer on my mark. Three…two…one…mark."
Macen felt the slightest shudder as Traffic's computers took control of his vessel. Although they knew the exact location of every ship in and around the massive station, they had no feel for flying. Turns were made according to programmed standards and lacked any grace or style. He supposed he shouldn't be so picky, but Macen had always enjoyed spaceflight. The nuances of it fascinated him.
Spacedock's computers brought him into the massive dockyard within the station's confines. Dozens of Starfleet ships lay moored to the station. He glanced to his right as he passed a class of starship he didn't recognise.
"Computer," he spoke to get the ship's attention, "identify Starfleet vessel off our starboard side."
"According to Starfleet records, that vessel is the NX- 59599 U.S.S. Odyssey." The computer's female voice informed him. The name struck a resonant chord within him. The ship he'd commanded during his tenure with the Maquis had been named Odyssey. She'd been a Blackbird-class scout built for Starfleet in 2319. She'd been retired from service in the mid-2260's. Retired until Macen took her for himself. Starfleet had confiscated the ship upon his capture.
"What class is she?" Macen asked in fascination.
"She is a Hydra-class starship."
Macen gazed at the ship in wonder. It was essentially a dagger with two warp nacelles serving as the hilt. The new Akira-class borrowed a lot from it. The craft was sleek and dangerous in appearance. She bristled with phaser emitters and torpedo launchers. She had the power to go where she pleased, and the speed to get there as soon as she wanted.
"Who's her commander?" he asked wistfully.
"Starfleet records do not contain that information."
Maven sighed. He'd thrown away any chance of reclaiming command. He only regretted it now gazing upon this ship. His record would forfeit any chances of obtaining another command.
The scout continued on through the dockyard. It began to slow as it neared a docking pylon. The scout landed atop of it. The pylon's clamp arose and fastened itself to the underbelly of the scout.
"You are cleared to disembark." A male voice came over the comm. Macen scowled for a brief second. He'd preferred the female's voice.
He transmitted the ship's logs to Spacedock's computer network. From there, it would be transferred to Command. He put the ship's systems on stand-by. He rose out of the cockpit and descended the ladder that led to the main portion of the ship.
He retrieved his duffel and his padds from the storage locker he had placed them in. He slung the duffel over his shoulder and proceeded to yet another ladder. He checked to see of anyone was below the open hatch. Seeing that there wasn't, he threw his bag down the open hole. Macen climbed down the ladder to find a very attractive human female waiting at the base of the ladder.
She thrust out her hand, "Hello, you must be Commander Macen."
"So they tell me." He replied as he took her hand and shook it. She had a firm grip. He broke into a lop-sided grin, "Can I ask your name, or has that been classified 'top secret' by SI?"
She gave him a strange look that he didn't understand before answering, "I'm Ensign D'art."
"And you came down here just to tell me that?" he asked teasingly.
She broke into a warm smile, "I'm supposed o escort you to Admiral Nechayev's office."
Macen rolled his eyes, "What? She doesn't trust me to show up for my 'appointment'?"
D'art shook her head, "I don't know anything about that. I'm just supposed to make sure you are on your way to the Admiral's office, and then I'm supposed to transport your belongings to your next assignment."
Macen looked at her quizzically, "You wouldn't happen to know what that assignment would be?"
"I was told you would learn that at your meeting." D'art informed him.
"Thank you anyway." He replied dejectedly. As he walked away, D'art overheard him mutter, "It's going to be a garbage scow." D'art lifted his duffel with an amused smile on her face.
Macen headed for the closest transporter station. He didn't have far to walk. He strode up to the Master Chief manning the unit's controls. The Chief eyed him with a disdain allowed only to Admiral's and Master Chief's.
"Can I help you?" the Chief asked.
Macen handed him a padd, "Orders to report directly to Admiral Nechayev's office."
"All right. Step onto the pad. I'll transport you to Starfleet HQ." The Chief replied sourly.
"Sorry, Chief." Macen replied, "That won't be good enough."
"Excuse me?" the Chief asked incredulously.
"My orders specifically state that I am to appear directly at the Admiral's office after disembarking form my ship. I'm off my ship, and now I need to be there." Macen informed crisply.
The Chief glanced over the orders, "Yes they do. Point for you." He lifted his head and met Macen's eyes, "You also know that it's a breach of regulations to beam you there."
"Regulation 134, paragraph C allows the use of transporters directly into HQ, if specifically ordered to do so."
The Chief shook his head, "Do you know what they'll do to me?"
"Give you a commendation for following orders properly and expediently." Macen smiled, "Then next time they'll know better than to write their orders this way."
The Chief broke into a mischievous grin, "That they will." He activated the transporter. He set the destination co-ordinates. He glanced up, "I wish I could see this."
Macen smiled wickedly, "You'll undoubtedly hear about it later." With that he dissolved into a glimmer of energy. Macen re-appeared standing atop Nechayev's desk.
"Sweet Jesus!" Nechayev shouted as she came out her chair.
Macen smiled and leapt off of the desk. Several Security officers burst into the room with their phasers drawn and ready. Macen put his hands up as they shouted for him to do. Nechayev waved them away from the wall she leaned against, clutching her heart.
The disgruntled Security officers holstered their sidearms and withdrew from the room. Nechayev returned to her chair, still slightly shaken. She is recovering swiftly, Macen thought. He accepted the chair she waved him towards.
"Thank you." He said with a victorious grin.
"Stop being so smug." Nechayev snapped, "That's an order."
Macen shrugged, "That's another one I'll have to refuse to obey."
Nechayev rubbed the bridge of her nose, "Your stubbornness is going to be the death of me." She stabbed a finger at him, "And of your career."
"I didn't know you cared." Macen snorted.
"Brin," she sighed, "You're one of the best operatives I ever had, and the best damn analyst I've ever seen. I can't always protect you. Don't throw what's left of your career away needlessly."
"Every insubordinate act I've ever committed has been deliberated and calculated before hand." He explained.
"You're an excellent tactician, but you're a lousy strategist." Nechayev commented. "Your methods generally alienate every potential ally you have regarding your position." Macen shrugged. Nechayev shook her head sadly.
"You would've been a flag officer by now if you'd just co-operated." She explained.
His eyes grew hard, "You know that I don't want to be a flag officer. I have no political ambitions."
"Yes, you do." Nechayev sneered, "You want to found the Federated State of Brin Macen. You want the freedom to do whatever you want, and the rest of us be damned."
He stared at her coldly and she smiled, "You see, I do know you."
"What do you want?" he asked gruffly.
"I want to offer you your own command." She informed him.
Macen's eyes bulged in disbelief, "My own what?"
"I need you to take command of a ship and investigate something for me."
"I knew there'd be a price." Macen muttered.
"Of course." She admitted candidly, "There's always a price."
"What's the investigation?" he asked sullenly.
"You already know something of it." Nechayev said cryptically, Macen's right eyebrow rose. "It involves that rendezvous you happened upon."
"I take it this isn't the first time a Starfleet ship has been caught meeting with a Romulan ship within Federation borders?" he asked archly.
"No." she admitted in exasperation, "We've received reports of such things throughout the war. Your encounter was the first where one of our ships turned up missing."
"Which ship was it?"
"The Slipstream." Nechayev noted Macen's lack of recognition of her name. "She was a reserve vessel called into wartime service."
"Who was her captain?"
"A Lt. Commander Herris was supposed to be patrolling the border near Tholian space."
"How'd they end up that close to the Romulan border, then?" Macen asked, rolling the possibilities around in his mind.
"Exactly." Nechayev concurred, "They should have been dozens of light-years away instead of only a half-dozen."
"What other information is there?"
Nechayev's sharp features grew dark, "There have been reports from sources inside the Romulan Empire that claim there are Federation prisoners held be the Romulans."
"Where?" Macen asked sharply.
"In the Beta Quadrant."
Macen sighed. That meant it was on the opposite side of the Empire from the Neutral Zone. The area further from the galactic core was the Klingon Empire. Corewards, it was space that had been charted, but not yet affiliated with the Federation. That way was faster, but far riskier.
"I see you realise the implications." Nechayev nodded in approval, "Then you also realise that we also need to operate with the utmost discretion."
"Have you any leads as to who the Starfleet insider is?"
"Or are." Nechayev corrected miserably, "We finally rid Starfleet of all the Changelings and then this has to happen."
Macen understood. The Changeling infiltration of Starfleet had been one of the darkest moments in Federation history. Everyone was a suspect. Spouses and families turned to one another with suspicion in their eyes.
"We think a group known only as Section Thirty-One may be involved." Nechayev told him, "A young doctor out at Deep Space Nine has been badgering my office with stories of an ultra-secret conspiracy group operating within the Federation."
"Have you listened?" Macen growled. He'd had previous experience with Section 31. He'd stolen his scoutship, and several others, from them.
Nechayev's eyes met Macen's. She saw the bitter fury blazing in them. She hesitated. She reconsidered what she originally planned to tell him.
"Yes." She admitted.
For a moment, she feared that Macen may come over the desk to physically harm her, "Have you done anything about it?" he snarled.
"I can't!" she snarled back, "Not officially."
She sat back in her chair, visibly shedding her anger, "That's why I need you to accept this mission. I need someone I can trust."
"Why me?" he asked with a tinge of bitterness.
"I needed someone that I knew couldn't have been reached by Section Thirty-One. Both Command and Section 31 blacklisted you. They'd sooner kill you then recruit you. You have the skills and the motivation. The combination makes you the perfect choice."
Macen nodded, "Thank you." His eyes grew flinty, "Now, for the real reason?"
Nechayev sighed, "You were my second choice. The first wasn't available."
"Captain Calhoun up to his eyebrows in Thallonian troubles?" Macen retorted
"Precisely." Nechayev admitted, then shrugged, "Besides, I needed to someone who didn't have an already established command."
"It's a new command?" Macen asked, "Are you to send out an untested crew into a situation like this?"
"They are professionals." Nechayev replied with conviction, "It is no more or less than assigning a new captain to a ship."
"What ship is it?" he asked in resignation.
"The U.S.S. Odyssey."
Nechayev laughed at the gleam that appeared in his eyes upon hearing that name and then she continued her answer, "She was an early prototype for the Defiant-class."
Macen was familiar with the infamous class. The first true warship designed by Starfleet. His eyebrow arched, "A prototype for a prototype?"
She shrugged, "They needed to test the weapons arrays and direct power relays on a familiar hull configuration before trying something new."
"Good point." He conceded.
"You will proceed immediately to the Odyssey. The rest of your crew will be boarding within forty-eight hours. After you have everyone aboard, you depart for the Beta Quadrant."
Macen stood to leave, Nechayev motioned for him to wait, "First, you'll be going under the guise of charting unknown sectors in the Beta Quadrant. Second, be sure to change your uniform before you assume command."
Macen shook his head. Nechayev flushed in consternation. She held out her hands to signal that he should express his objections now.
"I'll do it, but on one condition."
Her eyes narrowed and her voice was brittle, "Offers of command are accepted or rejected. They are not negotiated."
"You'll like this one." Macen replied reassuringly, "I won't wear Command departmental colours."
"What?" she snapped, "It's a bloody shirt! Just wear it."
"I'm a Science officer." He replied, "An intelligence analyst to be precise. I have never been Command track. I don't want to be Command track."
"But you want command?" she asked enjoying the irony.
Macen nodded. Nechayev pondered it. It actually didn't matter what department the ranking officer belonged to. All that mattered was that there was a competent commander.
She nodded in acceptance, "Very well." She said in resignation, "Wear whatever uniform you want, as long as its regulation."
Macen's face lit up, flushed with victory. He turned and started for the door. He had reached it when the Admiral called out to him. He turned with a puzzled expression.
"If you won't wear the right colours, at least have the decency to wear the correct rank insignia, Captain."
She enjoyed the stunned look on his face as he comprehended what she'd just told him. The look of radiant joy that followed it was priceless. He left after that. Nechayev sat back with a sigh. There weren't very many opportunities for reward in her field. She thoroughly enjoyed the rare moments when she could surprise someone with one of those rare treasures.