The Sands of Time:

The Tales of a Timewalker

FOREWORD

Call me a daydreamer, or a crossover artist. But not a crossdresser! I leave that to my more capable friends. This is a journey into science fiction – mainly Star Trek. But being loosely based on A. Bertram Chandlers "Rim Runners" where the fabric of the universe is thin and other realities intrude, so many other themes end up meeting. Strange things happen out on the rim. Not necessarily in any order they are: Alien, Space 1999, Fred Saberhagen's Berserkers, Warhammer 40K, GURPS, Battlestar Galactica, the MTG multiverse, Babylon 5, but no Star Wars. I hear Lucas is sue-happy. (Actually I couldn't reconcile the timelines!) This story is based on the Alternative Timeline as found in The Starship Combat Alternative, and starts in the 27th century. Some names have been changed to protect the guilty (that would be me), but you should recognize them anyways. This is actually for storyline as I reconcile the different physics that occurs in each.

IANAL & YMMV

Star Trek is a property of Paramount

Alien is a property of 20th Century Fox

Space 1999 is a property of Gerry Anderson

Warhammer is a property of Games Workshop

GURPS is a property of Steve Jackson Games

Battlestar Galactica is a property of Universal (et al.)

Magic the Gathering is a property of Wizards of the Coast

Babylon 5 is a property of Warner / Turner

Each chapter is named after a song:

the song list (artist in italics)

Song Artist

The Awakening Imperium

Send Me an Angel Real Life

Dark Tower Midnight Syndicate

The Mines of Moria ARZ

Silent Running Mike &the Mechanics

New Orleans is Sinking Tragically Hip

Orion Rising Plunge

Beauty Hides in the Deep Doppler Effect

Dancing on Thin Ice Plunge

Take the Long Way Home Supertramp

The Spiders kiss Neglected Fields

Return of the … Satelliters

Tyrannis Imperthean

War Edwin Starr

LV-426 Woodpeckers

Child in Time Deep Purple

Sara Starship

Broken Wings Mr. Mister

Ride Captain Ride Blues Image

Stepping Out Joe Jackson

As the rush Comes Motorcycle

What Next Tahiti 80

This is the End The Doors

And you will have to wait for the second novel to find the BSG story.

1: AWAKENING

I've lived a good life, all 71 years of it. I've watched the U.S. "Empire" fall, and over 2 billion deaths. Peak oil was a part of my vocabulary since before the 21st century. But most people didn't get it until it was too late. After the Iraq war initiated the Great Resource Wars, civilization started to crumble at the first quarter of the century, It wasn't long before us "fogeys" were destined to die younger than our parent's generation. I was actually expecting it sooner. Since the end of most advanced medical care occurred in my mid fifties, the fact that I made it to my seventies was somewhat of a miracle, especially considering my medical condition. But by that time I was a respected elder of my community. Being a retired science teacher in a small town I was well positioned to help my community through these times. In fact until the cancer crippled me, I was the town's Energy Master, building and installing solar and wind systems, and at least keeping the lights on. Deterioration of my condition came quickly, and at least I didn't suffer as my vast hoard of silver allowed me to spend the last of my days drugged up against the pain.

I woke up in a dimly lit room. The illumination seemed to emanate from the entire ceiling. The walls were gray, and a single set of pocket doors adorned the far wall.

"Oh great, I'm dead. Hey I was just kidding about that elevator thingie." The only thing I could think of at the time was the joke that when you die there is an elevator with only one button marked "H". It wasn't until after you pressed it that you found out if you were going to heaven or hell. But something wasn't right. Since when did purgatory have the hum of machinery? I just wasn't buying it that I was hearing elevator motors...

The pocket doors open, and in walks ... a man. Wearing a red tunic, he stood about 6 feet tall, and looked about 30 years old. "Geddus tuzi urr waak."

"What did you say?" I dumbly replied. He cocked his head a little, and I could see realization dawning on his face. He reached into his tunic and pulled out a small pouch. It contained a T-shaped device and a collection of small vials. He picked out one such vial, inserted it into the device and gestured to me to sit up. Ok, sitting up seemed to relatively easy. No nausea or dizziness...

BANG! He pressed the device to my temple and pressed a button. I could see only red through the pain.

"OUCH! Hey! That HURT!"

"Oh don't worry. The pain is only temporary. Your vision will return to normal in about a minute. As I said before: Glad to see you are awake." He said, in perfect accent-less English.

"OK, wait a minute. Just what did you do to me? Just now you were speaking gibberish, and now you can speak perfect English," I replied.

"Actually I was and am still speaking Federation Standard. I just implanted you with the latest version of our universal translator. You now will be able to speak with most sentient species in the galaxy. By the way I'm doctor Raytheon. I was in charge of your return to health."

"Uh, thanks, I think ... Hey wait a minute! Just what do you mean by 'most sentient species in the galaxy'?" Something just clicked in my mind, and I didn't like it a bit.

"Well obviously no one has told you yet, but welcome to the 27th century. By your calendar it's April 28th 2683." He stated.

"And by your calendar?" I retorted. I really started feeling that something was very wrong.

"That's easy. Stardate 11393.6. Base Time." He replied matter-of-factly. I looked him over intently this time. The red tunic he was wearing was part of a military uniform, resembling the RCMP "mountie" uniforms of the late 20th century. The material did not appear to have any fabric weave to it. He had two insignia on his chest. One was obviously medical – the caduceus apparently had survived the test of time and the other was different; a pair of cranked arrows encompassing a star. He also had a rank pip on his collar, a pretty fancy one.

It took a while to sink in. Everything that I knew was hundreds of years in the past. And a lot had gone on in the intervening time. Still I couldn't complain. I was alive. I had almost (?) all of my memories. And when I looked in the mirror a fit late thirty-something version of myself stared back at me, instead of either the chubby geezer or the gaunt bald cancer patient. I did still have glasses, as apparently the revival treatment is incompatible with Retnax-Five, the cure all drug for eyesight. But hey, the auto-shades were cool.

"Good to see you up and about so soon!" The rather smarmy Admiral greeted me. It's been 3 days since my "resurrection", and nobody has bothered to tell me anything further. I've been fed and watered and treated well, but beyond walking around this "sickbay" the only people I have met are the doctor and his nurses. "You have responded well to your condition."

"You mean the formerly dead?" I responded.

"Has nobody told you anything yet?" he replied.

"Nothing. Other than it's May 1, 2683."

"Ah, yes. Well first of all, you're going to have to get used to the Stardate system. Although only officially adopted about 30 years ago, it has been in use since the founding of the Federation. Nobody uses the Gregorian calendar in the 27th century."

"Well actually I use the Julian calendar!" I was feeling pretty sarcastic this morning. First of all I have this really bad feeling about this guy. I have learned Starfleet's rank structure and insignia, so I know this guy is an admiral. So just how did such a smarmy politician type make flag rank? It seems that not much has changed after all these years.

"OK. Lets start at the beginning. What do you know about project Icarus?"

"Absolutely squat." I replied. How was I supposed to know about modern projects? I've been dead for over 600 years!

"Just what DO you remember from the 21st century?" He has a quizzical look on his face when the doctor walked in. "Doctor, are there usually memory problems with your treatment methods?"

"Dying of cancer." I replied while the doctor simultaneously said "No."

"So you don't remember signing up for project Icarus? So how did you end up on that ship?" the admiral asked. A dim memory clicked in my mind. I don't remember anything about a ship but with my vast hoard of useless silver (after the Western Fall physical money had little meaning except for buying some luxuries - such as painkillers) I did remember spending some on a burial in space, on a Chinese rocket. I said as much. "Well, there's your problem!" He went on. "I guess you didn't know just what you bought, did you? Let me explain. Rich people from your time signed up for a shot at immortality. When they died they would be frozen in liquid nitrogen and 'put in storage' until a future time could cure them of what killed them, as well as fix the damage of the freezing process. Most of them never made it. Equipment broke down, funding dried up or entombment sites were ransacked. You were frozen upon death ... But wait there's more," he smirked. "Let me tell you what Icarus was physically, and see if you can figure it out. Imagine a capsule 7 meters long and 2.5 wide. Down the center is a cryo-coolant tank, and surrounding it 3 groups of 6 each caskets, each filled with a body, frozen in nitrogen. Each capsule was blasted into Earth orbit to join with a main craft, itself consisting of 3 sections, a rocket motor, fuel tanks, and a guidance system. Each capsule was attached to this main frame, 18 capsules in all. Once the ship was completely assembled, the rocket lifted it out of Earth orbit on a planetary route Venus, Earth, Neptune. What do you think happened next?"

It didn't take long for me to parse it out. "Ok, I was frozen and not just buried in space. The craft's trajectory would swing it out past Neptune and cast it into the Kuiper Belt. Out in the Kuiper belt you wouldn't need supplies of liquid nitrogen to keep the cargo frozen. Did it go into a long period orbit?"

"Got it in one. Good. And yes it was in a long period orbit. Its first return to perihelion was when it was picked up on scanners, twelve years ago. Putting you folks back together is not a short easy problem to solve." The doctor at this point rolled his eyes and left, after running a scanner over me. "Of the 324 bodies on board only 47 could be revived. In your case the cancer was a breeze compared to ruptured cell walls. You know they practically poured you out of that casket. It wasn't until the end of the 22nd century that the damage of freezing a body was eliminated through the use of Insulactin. That's when routine freezing for long duration voyages became commonplace. Now it's only used in emergencies, or in the case of Klingons, to carry extra troops aboard their starships."

"Starships, huh." OK, not too unexpected by the 27th century. The first question that came to mind was what kind of starships would they be. And how hard it was to get a hold of one. Were they the used cars of this century, or were they unobtanium?

"Yes. You have a LOT of catch up learning to do. Luckily for you we can make it really easy. We have auto-teachers!" Proudly.

"OK, I'll bite. What's an auto-teacher?" He led me out of the room and down the hall. At the end of the hall there were 3 sets of doors. We went through the right one. We entered a chamber that was full of sickbay beds. Not just your ordinary sick bay beds. And not all of them were unoccupied. Each occupant was "wearing" a device that resembled a large spiky helmet. Each of the spikes has a cable attaching it to a computer. The unoccupied beds had the helmet hanging up on the wall.

"This technology is brand spanking new. It's based on 'the Great Teacher', a device owned by the Eymorgs of Sigma Draconis VI. It took us 25 years of modifications to make the knowledge transfer to the recipient permanent. This is one of the only three facilities in existence. We can take 100 days of rigorous training and compress it into one!" He beamed. "The first thing you should do is taking a week of catching up on events over the past six centuries or so. Then you can choose a training program that fits your needs. Soon you will be joining your fellow survivors in a rigorous training program. Welcome to Section 31."

The Rim: a place where no major power has a great influence. And few federation starships actually go. So what was a Sunshine class Liner doing out here anyway? Officially a nebula cruise, deep in the Orion sector. All those wonderful nebulae and star forming regions would look so much better when viewed close up. And besides the Sunshines were the latest in Federation ship technology. Shields, phasers (a first for a starliner), and fifth generation warp drive assured the passengers' and crews' safety.

The real reason this cruise liner was here was a little different. The voyage is a special charter, by someone rich enough to rent a major starship all to themselves for almost three months. It was a meeting away from prying eyes.

"So, let me get this straight Cartwright. You want me running around like some modern James Bond killing people, but in the deal I get my own starship and can do whatever I want between missions?"

"Well, I don't know who this Bond person is, but that's essentially correct." Admiral Cartwright (I didn't learn his name until my third month) decided not to point out that I missed his rank. "You've been here nine months, and right now you are the only zero left." A zero, I learned earlier, was a person who had no personnel record in any database anywhere, and could be whomever they wanted.

"I was told that the full training I selected would take 14 months. I'm only half way through."

"Well, that's because YOU decided to take on the full engineering package, the full starship handling and weapons package, and all those other skills that you don't really need as a Section 31 operative!"

"Listen, If you want me to be traveling alone in a tin can, I want to be able to feel, know, fix, and heal every square inch of that ship. And any other that I may need to get my hands on." I was hoping that he didn't quite get that last point.

"How ironic. The last time you were in space you really were in a tin can."

"Yeah, but I was dead then. Now that I'm alive again and have a good century ahead of me I tend to be a little more cautious, if you don't mind." I retorted. I still didn't like him, even after all this time. "So what's the rush now?"

"We have an emergency. We need somebody eliminated immediately. We have a narrow window of opportunity - 6 weeks to be exact. If we don't strike now, we may never get another chance. This person is currently on a Federation built starship, the only place he could be to get a shot at him. Once he leaves his own security forces would make this mission impossible." The admiral was all serious now.

"Why don't you just blow up the ship? You've done it before. I've been through the records during my training you know." I had the feeling I wasn't being told everything. Maybe it's my 21st century paranoia coming back.

"Because that would take too many witnesses, or take too long to rig up as an accident and you know it!" Cartwright was starting to get angry. He regained his composure. "Listen. I'll make a deal with you. You take out the 7th Sister now and we install an auto-teacher right in the sickbay, right beside the auto-doc. That way you can finish all your training on the road, as it were, and at your own leisure. We'll include any other training courses you want. Installation can be completed tonight and you can leave tomorrow." There was a sense of finality in Cartwright's voice.

"Yes sir. Departure tomorrow. Got it." I almost gave him a sarcastic salute but thought better of it.

"That's the spirit, so you accept. Good luck with your mission Commander. Your briefing is already downloaded into your ship's computer." With that, admiral Cartwright left me alone in my quarters. Like I ever was in a position to say no. A few hours later I was outfitted with a Starfleet uniform, Commander's rank, various sets of civilian clothes, several fake identities, and several numbered Orion accounts. Everything one needed to pass as a small merchant captain. I spend the last night on the ground in relative quiet, but sleep didn't come easily.

I was up before local dawn, checking over my ship. The 7th Sister, as I named her, is a modified Mission class courier. Outwardly, she looked like the other entire Mission class couriers and civilian freighters. Even the paint job gave it a "lived in" look. Opening up the airlock the well-lit interior was familiar to me. I had checked out on the type 3 months ago and took the `Sister out on her shakedown cruise 5 weeks ago. Even then it took until 3 days ago to work all the bugs out. At first glance the interior was that of your typical tramp freighter. The only thing that betrayed her special nature was the newness and spotlessness of it. Give me a week and I'll fix that, I thought as I went through the checkout process. The interior was well designed. The airlock entered deck one in the forward section just after the bridge. The central corridor led aft to the turbo lift. Heading down this corridor led to the first set of doors. I went through the left set, entering the VIP quarters (which I had taken over), and unpacking my belongings. Back out and crossing the corridor, I entered the ships small sickbay, a small room with 3 standard beds and a larger one containing the auto-doc. As promised, an auto-teacher was wired into one of the extra beds. I checked out the training software, confirming that my complete selection was uploaded. Looking at the aft bulkhead brought a smirk to my face. Behind the wall was what was left of the auxiliary cargo bay. Not that you could get to it, or even know it was there. It was so well shielded; even the entire base's scanner suite couldn't detect it, at point blank range no less. But that was just the first of this ship's secrets. I continued aft as I completed my Deck One check. Walking by the secret room's secret entrance, I checked the control panel. Touch one precise combination of controls and "open sesame." Of course you also needed my precise DNA to make it work, and being a zero meant that nobody had that sequence in their database. Check on the personnel transporter – all systems in the green. A quick dogleg across the corridor to the cargo transporter and all is well here. A quick look around brought another smile to my face. The arrangement of this room with an included auxiliary cargo bay meant that nobody would even realize there is space missing, even if they were right next to it. It does make for a little cramped cargo handling, if I was planning some. To get to the aft half of the first deck from here I have three choices. Take the ramp down into the secondary cargo bay, or back out to the main corridor and use either the stairs or turbo lift. The aft cargo spaces are 5 meters tall compared to the three of a standard deck. All that's left is the main cargo bay, the largest single room in the ship. The first thing to check here are the 2 shuttlecraft parked behind the rear cargo lock. To complete the illusion of a tramp freighter both are stock and well used shuttles. In fact they are a random pair of older in-use shuttles from the base. A standard S-3 shuttle and the small 2 seat shutlepod.

Ok, time to check upstairs. Three important things are on my list. The fuel tanks, the life support systems and the tissue culture vats. As a small ship this one carries two. One for vegetable matter, known as the "algae vat" and a small poultry based meat protein vat, actually a luxury on a ship this size. It's not as bad as it sounds – three centuries of food synthesis has got the flavors and needed nutrients down pat. The computer can even adjust the energy content as needed. The crews' quarters remain dark and quiet. As the "lone crusader", I wouldn't need them anyway. I headed up to deck three. Here no attempt has been made to hide the modifications. The gen-6 warp drive and the augmented impulse drive make for a cramped engine room. Even the super-secret shield generators are on open display – there is simply no room to hide them. The rest of the modifications aren't really hidden either. They are just located in the machinery sections of the ship, which I needed to check next. So into the Jeffries tubes I go. I worked my way down head first beside the huge plasma conduits leading to the warp engine nacelles, checking the structural integrity as I went. Then it was forward to the phaser banks (how they fit two mid sized units into a space meant for a single defensive phaser still amazes me. They didn't even take too many shortcuts! Back up and check the port side. By the time I was done I was sweating profusely. It's hot and cramped in there! One last check before we lift off, my other secret weapon. Hidden under deck one is a photon torpedo launcher, based on the photon missile tubes of the Thunderbolt fighter. But in this case they are a pair of full size FP-5's, each fed by a 6-round revolver type magazine. The plasma conduits could only power one at a time, and you were limited to 12 rounds period, but no other ship in its size class had anywhere near that kind of firepower. You know, with a small band of loyal ruffians the 7th Sister would make a really good privateer...

I took the ship straight up through the clear atmosphere and directly into deep space, not bothering to stop in an orbit. Soon as I cleared the atmosphere I cranked up the impulse drive and headed straight for the warp wall. I didn't bother contacting space control, leaving them to route traffic around my flight path. Amazing what a Section 31 transponder can do. I wasn't waiting around. I cranked her up to impulse 8.5, red-lining the engines. It's time to check the engineering board and just see what those puppies can do. The engines weren't even breaking a sweat. 33% reserve power available at maximum speed. I'd reach the warp wall in less than 15 minutes. Better heat up the warp drive.

Starships come with three propulsion systems. Sublight thrusters are for maneuvering in or near planetary orbit. The first faster-than-light (FTL) drive that a starship is equipped with is the impulse drive. Powered by a fusion reactor burning either hydrogen or boron, this drive is capable of speeds of about 2c to 50c, known as Impulse 1 to Impulse 8.5, from slowest to fastest. Going faster than that eluded the scientists of many races. It turns out that in order to go faster you don't just have to bend space, you have to completely fold it back on itself, creating a little "pocket universe" that you actually travel in. This requires at least an anti-matter reactor providing plasma of an energy density high enough to power linked series gravity coils, usually carried outside the main hull of the ship. A warp drive then takes up a considerable amount of the volume of a starship. At least the fuel is compact and powerful.

A beep from the navigation console told me that we crossed the warp wall. In the solar system this wall occurs 18 astronomical units from the Sun, near the planet Saturn. With this base around such a large star, you have to go a bit further. I checked the download, the ship I'm looking for, the Marsshine, was about 4 weeks away at warp 8. Intercept course plotted, and with warp engines engaged, the external view turned to star streaks. Now just what to do in the next 29.4 days?

The first thing was to go to my "VIP" quarters and get out my toys. Section 31 tricorders have quite a few bonus features that the regular series ones miss. It's time to sweep the ship for bugs, bombs, and booby traps. One can never be too paranoid as a super spy! I swept the ship from the cargo hold forward, and sure enough, I started finding things that weren't supposed to be there. Passing through deck two I picked up a pair of hand phasers from the armory. Both were Marfak "Sting" models, my favorite silver sleek model. Isn't it nice when you can outfit your own ship with an unlimited budget? By the time I swept through engineering, I had amassed quite a pile of foreign objects, and if I thought that the Jeffries tubes were hot before, now with the engines running the accessible places were saunas. The now inaccessible places would just vaporize you. After a cool-off I returned to look at the tall pile of miscellaneous devices. Most of them were probably innocuous, like lost tools in the construction and fitting out stage, but as I opened the outer airlock and watched the pile disappear, I promised myself I won't trust anything with an energy signature and that's not on my approved blueprints. There's a reason I took all those engineering and computer courses. I even took an engineering course on the auto-teacher itself! Job two: back to that machine. A few hours of cross wiring and a bit of new programming, and my auto-teacher was wired into both the ships main and engineering computers. I now had an alternate way of communicating with my ship, and I would either be able to check the computer code at an inhuman pace, or I just set myself up for a brain-fry. I think I'll wait until tomorrow to try that out. First thing is to absorb my entire mission briefing the easy way.

"Commander's personal log: Stardate 11701.2. It's been 26 days since departure, and I'm still steaming. I've decided to divert to neutral port of Gamma Eldebron. If I don't get some answers there I just might not be completing this mission after all. Guess I'm not cut out to be a hired killer after all."

I was pissed. Really pissed. I felt betrayed and right now I trust no one. It took me 16 days to sort out my computer problems. Parsing code with the auto-teacher was easy. Re-writing it still had to be done the old fashioned way. And with millions of code lines both in the mainframe and the engineering computer, running a starship – even a small one – by yourself can get really tedious. 18-hour days half spent reading code and the other half reprogramming. I almost screwed up the warp drive permanently. Of the 304 logic bombs, only 8 were really lethal, and I'm now pretty sure every Mission class has a good 170 or so code errors in it from the factory! It's those 8 that ticked me off including a method to remote control detonate the ships' engines from a subspace signal. The rest of the time was a bit more leisurely researching everything I can about my target. At this point in time I have found absolutely no reason why anyone wants him dead.

Gamma Eldebron is what is known as a Freeport. Out on the rim and unbeholden to any Power, this was the place that drew many elements of society's underside. From pirates and privateers, to legitimate scouts and prospectors, Gamma Eldebron provided for neutral and safe ground for RRRR (that's rest, recreation, re-supply and repair) and most importantly – information. The only full-scale independent subspace relay in the sector is located there. If I couldn't find what I was looking for there, it probably doesn't exist.

A few hours later and SS Pleiades made landing under the direction of local space control. Her owner-master, Andrew Sandor, hired scout of the Deneva Mining Corporation, exited the ship, dressed in his best "Indiana Jones" outfit.

The first thing was checking my associated DMC account. No problem there. Deneva Mining seems to have a lot of money it doesn't know about courtesy of Section 31. Arranging for re-supply and an overnight stay in a local hotel was the easy part. Arranging for this afternoon's visit was a little harder. Just what did an independent scout need with that much subspace bandwidth anyway? At least this was the right place to do it. People don't ask too many questions on Gamma Eldebron.

I didn't get much sleep that night. The first half was cruising the bars and playing the part of a lonely scout looking for a good time, and the second half was having a really good time. Then it was get up, check the ship's new supplies, pay the port master, set up a departure time, and leave. As the Gamma Eldebron system left the rear scanners and the ship slipped into warp, I had come no closer to the information I needed. As far as I'm concerned my target was as enigmatic as his dossier, which read:

Name: Amek (no last name)

Race: Psychon

Home Planet: New Psychonia

Physical description: This section gives everything but his DNA pattern.

Brief History: Section is blank!

Threat Type: Arms dealer and terrorist

An arms dealer and terrorist? There was absolutely NO evidence of this! All of my external data point to this guy being a rich merchant solely because of his home planet's insular nature. Hell he only deals with the Orions when he absolutely has to. Has he dealt arms? Sure, but less than most other legitimate arms dealers. His biggest customer is Starfleet itself. The only thing left that came to mind is to find out right from the source. That means completing the mission after all.

The next order of business: how to get on board a privately chartered starship? That's where those new supplies from the Gamma Eldebron system came in...

"Captain, that's definitely a distress call! It's right on our doorstep too. Bearing 312 mark 44, less than 1 parsec away." The Marsshine's navigator reported to her captain.

"And I suppose we are the only other transponder in the region?" Captain Mavis asked.

"Correct sir."

"Ok, Sheila, take us in. Let's see who's in trouble way out here on the rim." Mavis then turned around to face his comm. officer. "Ben, tell our guests we have to divert for a rescue, and if they ask why that we are obligated under regulations." Swinging back around, "and Sheila, be careful."

The Marsshine swung into an intercept trajectory and it wasn't long before another ship appeared on her scanners.

"Scanners indicate one small starship, approx 30 kilotons." The science officer informed the captain. "Configuration makes it a Mission class."

"Any life signs?" the captain asked.

"One, moderately strong. Maybe unconscious." The science officer replied. "Visual in one minute."

"On screen when available." It didn't take long for the image of another ship to appear on the view screen. Indeed, it was a Mission class ship. The upper hull showed a scar of an impact, while a cable extending out of the cargo bay revealed that the ship was towing something ...

A quick scan later: "Definitely one life sign – unconscious. It appears that the life support system is off for some reason. The collision also tore off whatever was being towed by that ship. The shields are down, and the main power signature is coming from her impulse engine. Transponder strip says it's the SS Pleiades out of Deneva. The library computer confirms that."

"All right, this is what we'll do. Lets beam the occupant directly to sickbay, and lets bring that ship into our hangar. Maybe will still be able to get a salvage claim after all." The captain ordered. After a flurry of activity, the shop was brought aboard and the "victim" was treated for carbon dioxide poisoning in the liner's sickbay. The ship was left alone in the vast shuttle bay as the reactor, while hot, posed no threat to the larger ship.

I awoke in a sickbay much larger than my own. A civilian doctor was leaning over me. "You're lucky to be alive, you know. You could have died of CO2 poisoning," he told me.

"What about my sensor array?" I asked.

"It's lost. I don't think you will be able to recover it. Is that what you were towing behind your ship?" he asked.

"Yes. After the minor asteroid impact, I started a grid search for my array. They're not cheap you know, but during the search I find myself awakening here." I told him.

"Well, it looks like you were concentrating on your precious array and not on your ship, because the impact also knocked out your life support. If we hadn't come along, you probably would have died of asphyxiation." I tried to put on my 'embarrassed look'. "Our captain will be here shortly. He will have a few questions for you."

The conservation with the ships captain was quite pleasurable. I explained who I was and what I was doing (prospecting for Deneva Mining) and that I have an expense account with the company, so I could pay for any inconvenience I caused, as well as for any help in repairing my ship. When the doctor said it was OK, Andrew Sandor left the sickbay to return to his ship to see what repairs would be needed. The conversation did cover the wrist monitor, which triggered the automated distress call in the first place. I received kudos for at least being that prepared.

I was given a stateroom well away from the other guests. As expected, the captain is willing to let me stay to repair my ship, but not interfere with his passengers. I had other plans. Upon returning to my ship, I picked up a few toys. Some of them resembled mechanical spiders. After leaving my ship and heading towards their engineering deck, I accidentally dropped those mechanical spiders on the deck. They promptly scattered in all directions. I reached the ships chief engineer; a stout man named Alice, and asked him if they could fabricate a special plasma conduit, claiming the original was split by the impact. After talking a little shop with him it turned out that the fabrication job would be easy. The "replacement" life support power supply would be ready tomorrow, and I would be on my way. After paying for the rescue and help of course. It's all according to regulations you know.

Six hours later, in my guest quarters, I was downloading the spider data into my special tricorder. It turns out that Amek has minimal security on this ship. A single bodyguard, and the standard ships defenses, only proof against intrusions of privacy, are his only "shields". I set my other toys up for a meeting. Defeating the ships security was a joke for a Section 31 operative. This truly was a civilian ship! I even managed to create a back door into the security files so the internal scanners did not record my whereabouts.

"Andrew Sandor to see you sir," Ameks' bodyguard announced.

"Who?"

"Andrew Sandor sir. He is on the list, sir."

"Very well. Send him in." Amek replied.

I walked in, right past all the security protocols this ship had to offer. Confronting me was this person – humanoid, 1.9 meters tall, not exactly human. His facial features told me that he indeed was a Psychon, approximately 45 years old. I had met my target. Now why did I feel that I was the bad guy here? He looked up from his desk, and asked, "How can I help you?"

I answered him plainly: "I'm here to kill you." With that, I pointed a phaser at him and pressed the firing stud.

I was in free space falling between the dimensions at warp 7. My ship was easily repaired, since there was nothing wrong with it in the first place. The life support was working just fine, and when the starliner approached, I simply injected myself with extra carbon dioxide to simulate CO2 poisoning. There was no towed array to be found, for I bought a few kilometers of tow and communication cable to make it look as if I lost a sensor array. The only addition to my ship now is an extra person sleeping off a phaser's heavy stun hit in the secret compartment. At least that part of this operation went without a hitch. Civilian space liners don't have any real computer security. It didn't take much for me to upload a virus that triggered the moment the internal sensors detected the phaser energy. Then the virus shut down all power throughout the ship and ordered a reboot of the engineering computer. In the few moments of pitch-blackness and weightlessness, I floated over to my victim and pressed a button on my wrist sensor. At that moment my ship sprang to life, beaming the two of us aboard. I tucked Amek into a cot in the secret compartment and returned to my quarters on the Marsshine. When the alarm rose the next morning about the missing VIP, I readily allowed the search of the "SS Pleiades" since I of all people had nothing to hide. After they scoured the ship they secured the hangar, in preparation for a forward search. I even got an apology for crashing to the floor in my quarters "when our proud ship suffered a small glitch". Two guards were left by the shutlebay, to make sure the only person who left that way was yours truly, after I received my replacement part, and some credits changed hands. I was gone within the hour.

Amek finally came to. "Why am I still alive?"

"Because I need some answers." I told him. "Your continued well-being depends on the answers that I get."

Fear crept into his voice. "But I haven't done anything wrong! I don't even know you!"

"Then why does Section 31 want you dead?"

"Who's this 'Section 31'? Is it Federation? You sound like the Federation. The only dealing I had with the federation was over 10 years ago when I testified at this Starfleet officer's trial." He managed to get out.

"A trial? What trial?"

"You should know. It made all the news holos. Especially the super deal Commodore Cartwright made to wiggle out of most of it." He stated.

Finally some pieces were falling into place. This mission might not even be sanctioned. I might be running a personal vendetta!

"OK, tell you what. Assume that I've been living under a rock for the past century, and I missed all the fun of this trial. Start from the beginning and tell me all about it." There was no point in telling him that I was dead at the time. It took some time but the jist if it was that then Commodore Cartwright and a cabal of flag officers were skimming armaments off of production runs and equipping rebel armies – overthrowing local planetary governments. Apparently someone at that time tried to take out the witnesses, but Amek survived. It was his testimony and proof that brought in the convictions. However, good 'ol Cartwright managed to make a deal. He spent 2 years in a penal colony, after which his rank was reinstated and he went to work for a new division of Starfleet. At that point Amek stayed the hell out of Federation space until now. "So why did you come back?" I finally asked.

"Well, actually I hired the ship to make sure the route was outside of Federation territory," he corrected. "I was meeting with some merchants in order to get in supplies and engineers to New Psychonia. Our sister planet has an orbital shipyard which have been dormant for decades." I was recalling the planetary system in my head and that did jive with my memory. Amek went on, "With a working shipyard we will be able to negotiate favorable terms on entering the Rim Worlds Confederacy." Now there's a problem. The "Rim Runners" already having 2 or 3 shipyards, could always use a 4th. But that doesn't make the criteria for a Section 31 sanction. That only leaves Cartwright's vendetta. "Listen, I am fairly wealthy. I could pay a ransom –"

"Save your money, I'm not interested. I cut him off.

"But ... what will you do with me?" He asked.

"Take you home. To New Psychonia" I replied.

"If you are going to do that, could at least you take me back to the Marsshine?"

"Not if you intend to live." I told him. "I'll bet dollars to donuts that there is another assassin waiting in the wings, and if you go back you'll get yourself killed, and maybe everyone else aboard that ship."

"I don't know what those things are but if you're that sure, they might be waiting for me on the way home too."

"Yeah, but that's my problem. Look, I got you into this mess for all the wrong reasons. Sorry about that. But let me set you up in some nice quarters, and let me take you home." Half an hour later Amek was settling in the former captain's quarters on deck 2, while I plotted a course to New Psychonia. I kicked in warp 10 and off we went, in almost a straight line to his home planet. Maybe we could beat any competition there, as long as the engines held out.

Amek awoke to the sounds of silence. The ship it seemed was not running on warp drive. Did something happen? Then he realized that the impulse engines were off as well. He dressed quickly and left his cabin. Walking past the mess hall he noticed coffee and bagels were set up, the typical breakfast aboard this ship. Stephen's up, he thought. Grabbing a bagel and coffee he thought about the contrast that make up humans – the harshness of coffee, and the softness of bread. Better check on the bridge. That's where he'll be.

The bridge door chimed. I pressed a stud on the control panel opening it. I said "enter." Amek walked in. With only the two of us we got to know each other well. He found out just why I was "hiding under a rock" these past years, and I learned a lot about the Psychon culture. The species hailed from their home world Psychon. A resource rich planet, Psychon had a peaceful and happy culture. But most Psychons left the planet when out-of-control volcanic activities made its surface begin to erupt and boil. Ships were built, and the Psychons left their home planet forever. Many traveled to the galactic rim and settled on the planet they dubbed New Psychonia. Also a resource rich planet, the Psychons idyllic culture continued to flourish. I was even offered a home there if I decided to settle down.

"I noticed the engines are down" he stated.

"Yep. I'm running silent at sub-light speed. I've rigged the sensors into a time lapse interferometer."

"And that is?" He queried.

"A method of making my scanners much more powerful than they already are. Imagine having a scanner a few astronomical units wide." I explained.

"Impossible! Nobody can build an array that big!"

"Exactly. So we have to cheat. My people have known this method for over 6 centuries. We take a sensor reading. Then drift half an "AU", then take another, drift, scan, drift you get the picture. After that the computer time corrects all the readings, Fourier transforms them together, and we have a super high-resolution sensor image. The computer will be done in 27 minutes." I replied.

"So where are we?" He asked.

"About half a parsec away from New Psyconia, on a straight line approach between RC-11331 and Sketola."

"But ... that's on an oblique line to my home. We'll miss by miles!" He said proudly, handing me back one of my own idioms.

"That's not the point. I filed a flight plan from RC-11331 to Sketola as a monarch class traveling at warp 4. That way I could mask my warp 10 signature as a monarch and nobody would be the wiser. I just had a 'break down' as I was passing New Psychonia. Not unusual for a tramp freighter. Note the miss distance is just far enough to make positive identification of this ship impossible." I explained. "Now we wait for the computer."

Right on time the computer beeped, and I put up a detailed image of the New Psyconia system on the main viewer. Everything we expected to be there was.

"Well, It looks like you beat them. Can I go home now?" Amek asked.

"No, you can't. See that?" I pointed to a really small sensor blip at the edge of the system.

"Now I do. What is that?" He asked.

"A cloaked ship." I answered.

"But ... But ... Starfleet has no cloaked ships." He stammered. "Surely that's a scanner error."

"Afraid not. Just because Starfleet hasn't got any cloaked ships, it doesn't mean the Federation hasn't got any. Way back about Stardate 5030, the Federation got a hold of a second generation Romulan cloaking device. And just because the treaty of Algeron prevents Starfleet from equipping their ships, it doesn't mean that the Federation has no cloaked ships." I explained.

"So what do you think that is?" He asked.

"I'll tell you exactly what that is. It's a cloaked Specter class destroyer. Lying doggo just inside the hyper limit." I told him.

"So we can avoid it, right?"

"Don't think so. He's right in line to intercept almost all approaches to New Psychonia form the federation side. The small hyper limit means he can easily move to intercept a ship coming in from the other side of the system. If I wasn't looking for him we could have rolled right over them and not noticed until it was too late. We're going to have to find another way in." I reported.

"Just how powerful is that ship?" Amek asked.

"Very. She sports standard destroyer armament, about 8 or so phasers in at least 4 banks and she has both fore and aft torpedoes. About 4 times my armament."

Amek's jaw dropped. "You have that much firepower in this little ship?"

"Oops. That's supposed to be a secret. Yeah, but that's not all. My shields are almost as good as theirs. This little ship is quite the powerhouse for its size, but we still need an edge."

"And where are you going to find this 'edge'?" Amek asked, somewhat dejectedly.

"In dreamy-time. I'll explain later. First we need to make like a Monarch who just fixed her warp drive glitch and is proceeding on to Sketola." I stated.

A few minutes later, we were underway at warp 4, while expending enough energy for warp 11. The inefficiency could easily be a Monarch's jury-rigged repair. As soon as we were out of sensor range we put about the helm on a different trajectory while I searched through the training programs for the auto-teacher.

"Found it." I told Amek. "Give me a few hours to absorb the data. You're going to be on your own for dinner I'm afraid."

"That's OK." He replied. "Should I wait up?"

"No. Get a good night's sleep, and I should have the solution by tomorrow morning." It was going to be a long and dreamy night for me as I absorbed the auto-teacher's information.

We were screaming into New Psychonia at warp 9, from the Federation side. At this speed as soon as we crashed over the hyper limit, the Spectre should be all over us. I had other plans however. As soon as we were about to hit the warp wall, as it is colloquially known, I slammed the ship into impulse speeds, avoiding the sensor delay of crossing the hyper limit. Next, I ran a full spread of phaser fire and a series of torpedo launches, set on proximity blast. Since I already had pegged the Specter's cloaking signature, I actually knew exactly where she was. I also knew that while cloaked she was essentially running with shields down, as the shield generators are required to run the cloak. As I blasted by the crippled Specter at maximum impulse, I put one parting shot into her engineering section as I headed in-system. By the time she recovered, I would be landing on New Psychonia. Not bad for taking on a ship 5 times my size. Captain Kirk would be proud!

I approached Space control, and they basically wanted nothing to do with me until told them who my passenger was. After that they were all smiles and gratitude. Apparently the news of the disappearance on the Marsshine had already reached the system. And inquiring minds wanted to know...

We both received a hero's welcome, after Amek told his story, including the 'epic space battle' between the 7th Sister and the Spectre destroyer at the edge of the system, and I became the "hero of the hour" as far as the Psychons were concerned. There would be repercussions. It didn't take much to realize that I would be a big target, and offers of asylum started to pour in. At this point I decided to take them up on their offer. Especially when Amek formally offered his resources at my disposal.

It was this time in which I decided I no longer work for Section 31. And I am going to keep the ship, and the numbered accounts, which I quickly shifted to other Orion numbered accounts.

For the first time in a long time I was free. I was my own man. I even had a home, here in a small town on New Psychonia. With a little land to myself, a ship I could call my own, and a rich friend I could call upon for help, I was finally ready to greet this universe.