Event Horizon (24030 words) by kerithwyn

Chapters: 5/5
Fandom: Fringe, Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Olivia Dunham/Lincoln Lee, Peter Bishop/Lincoln Lee
Characters: Olivia Dunham, Lincoln Lee, Peter Bishop, Sam Weiss, Charlie Francis, Brandon Fayette, Frank Stanton, Astrid Farnsworth, John Scott, Emily Mallum, Simon Phillips, Sonia Francis, Nick Lane, Sally Clark, Amy Jessup, Agent Kashner, Ann Mathis, James Heath, Thomas Newton (Fringe), Major Warner
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fusion
Series: Part 5 of FringeTrek
Summary: Wherein the plot thickens.

Post-Elfin's "Stars Align" (available on AO3). Thanks to Elfin and Wikiaddicted for plot assistance!

Prologue
(from "Scenes Aboard a Starship," chapter 15, Captain Olivia Dunham and Captain John Scott confer)

The Dauntless had been quietly investigating a series of disturbing incidents on Federation starbases and ships, a seemingly random group of occurrences that were starting to form a distinctly alarming pattern.

"Sabotage?" she asked quietly, and John made a face.

"That's for the brains at Starfleet Intelligence to determine. I'm still gathering information." He glanced across the table at her. "But you're going to ask what I think, and yeah, gut instinct says it's all related." He paused for a long moment and added, "I think what happened on the

Hartford was part of it, but don't pass that onto Commander Lee yet."

Sometimes being the captain meant holding terrible secrets. After a moment Olivia nodded reluctantly. "You'll tell me as soon as you have proof. Lincoln deserves to know."

"You'll be my second call."

The William Bell dropped Dr. West back at Starbase 7 once the final surveys of 627-F's new orbit had been concluded. The tiny scientist was quiet during the trip back, and Olivia couldn't decipher whether she'd been pleased or disappointed by Olivia's decision. Probably some of both.

The report on Olivia's actions in System 627 sparked considerable debate about the ethics of the Prime Directive itself. A number of pithy opinion statements were being hotly deliberated on Starfleet channels, threatening to overwhelm the usual frequencies. The particular arrangement of facts in the case seemed to provoke an inordinate number of high-ranking Starfleet officers to comment; Commander Spock of the Enterprise wrote a brief but scathing indictment of the idea that a civilization with no knowledge of its fate might be saved from a disaster not of its own making, and likewise one that had advanced enough to cry for help, but a world in-between those two states would be left to die. How very fortunate, he concluded with what could only be construed as a scornful tone, that no such event had threatened Earth during its formative centuries.

Olivia prohibited her own crew from submitting their own public statements. Anything they needed to say had already been recorded as part of the official inquiry. Edward Markham looked guilty whenever Olivia passed him in the halls, but Kate Green met her eyes calmly, entirely at ease with what Olivia suspected had been an exercise in creative mathematics.

In the meantime the William Bell and crew headed off on a new mission: charting a mostly untraveled region of space. Out-of-the-way busy work, in other words, while Starfleet debated over the System 627 case and whether to reprimand Olivia for her decision.

The truth they didn't tell you at the Academy is that sometimes, deep space missions could be downright boring. Olivia didn't have anything against the task itself—busy work or not, it needed to be done. But knowing the assignment was meant as a rebuke rankled. She tried to keep her dissatisfaction from spreading to the rest of the crew.

During slow times, Rec Chief Sam Weiss was a big fan of keeping the crew occupied with planned activities. This week it was a bowling tournament at the "Starlite Lanes," complete with the logistics of organizing across three shifts. The tournament started at the beginning of beta shift so most of alpha could play, and would continue on at intervals so the other duty shifts had the opportunity to participate. Olivia wished she could bow out, but Sam convinced her it'd be better for morale if she put in at least a token effort.

The tournament had sparked a large underground betting pool that Olivia carefully pretended not to know about. Peter was leading the betting by a fair margin, although when teased he snorted and shook his head. "There's a ringer in the mix. You'll see."

The first participants were already on the lanes, warming up. The noise was already reaching extraordinary levels and Olivia motioned Sam over while she fiddled with her laces, speaking just a touch too loudly to emphasize her point. "Is the whole ship hearing this?"

Sam grinned, undeterred, and pointed to the large gray panels that covered the walls. "Soundproofing tiles. Got 'em out of storage. There's all kinds of—"

Olivia's communicator whistled. She glanced at it and frowned; being paged on her personal comm rather than over the ship's systems meant an incoming confidential message, and rarely heralded anything good.

Beta shift communications officer Lieutenant jg Chen spoke clearly but quietly when Olivia answered. "Priority one message from the Dauntless, Captain. Your eyes only." Chen's voice was steady, professional. "I'll rout it to your ready room."

"Thank you. I'll be there shortly." Olivia stood, slipping off the ridiculous shoes and reaching for her boots. "Rain check, Sam."

"Yeah, sure," he said, waving her off, but his eyes were concerned.

Olivia hurried to the ready room off the Bridge, half holding her breath. She'd been waiting for this message and it was unlikely to be good news.

As expected, John's face on the recording was grim. He spoke quickly, clearly mindful of time constraints on the recording. "I said you'd be my second call. I've just reported confirmation to Starfeet that the incidents we discussed are undeniably related. There's an encrypted data packet attached with the relevant details." He paused briefly. "Please give Commander Lee my condolences. Be careful, Liv."

The image winked out and a file appeared, keyed to her voiceprint. Olivia skimmed the summary quickly, gleaning the salient points. John had found evidence of sabotage, as he'd suspected—not just on the Hartford, but on a number of other ships and outposts as well.

Olivia let out a long breath and called for her first officer.

The briefing room was quiet, the mood subdued. As the ship's officers filtered in, they caught the somber looks on the captain's and first officer's faces and moderated their own expressions.

"Begin official recording. Captain Olivia Dunham of the USS William Bell presiding. The subject of this meeting is classified," Olivia started without preamble. "The information I'm about to relate is not to be disseminated to the rest of the crew, including your subdepartment heads."

She didn't wait for acknowledging nods before she went on. "The following senior officers are in attendance: First Officer Lincoln Lee; Chief Engineer Peter Bishop; Tactical and Security Chief Charlie Francis; Chief Science Officer Brandon Fayette; and Chief Medical Officer Frank Stanton. Communications department head Astrid Farnsworth is also present to ensure a clean record and her security clearance has been suitably upgraded."

Despite the tension in the room, Olivia shot a wry look toward Astrid. The official notice was a formality; Astrid had been handling classified material theoretically over her rank from the moment she stepped on board the Bell.

But the unusually stringent formal procedure had her officers on edge. Best just to dive in. "I received a communication packet from Captain John Scott of the Dauntless. Captain Scott has been involved in a high-level security operation to investigate an emergent threat against the Federation. His communiqué included documentation of that confirmed threat." Her lips tightened. "In the usual order of things we would have been informed at some appropriate later date at the discretion of Starfleet Intelligence. But this ship's involvement began before she was even commissioned."

"Captain..." Lincoln protested softly, but Olivia shook her head.

"Captain Scott's records are comprehensive and there's a lot to get through. To cut to the chase: a number of damaging events involving Starfleet ships and outposts have now been proven to be deliberate sabotage by parties unknown. It was my grave duty to inform Commander Lee that the destruction of the Hartford has been confirmed to be among those events."

A ripple of quiet shock went around the room. Lincoln's face was pale, but composed. "Like I told the captain, as much as I never wanted that theory confirmed, it's also somewhat of a relief to finally have a definitive answer." His expression hardened. "At least as to the cause of the destruction, if not who caused it and why."

"Unfortunately, Captain Scott's report doesn't provide much illumination on those points, aside from speculation." Olivia braced her hands against the table and looked at her senior officers. "This is our concern, now. I know it's not precisely within our mandate, but I'm expecting orders from Starfleet Command to that effect soon enough.

"Questions?"

They all looked at each other. Olivia wasn't surprised when it was Charlie who spoke first. "'bout a thousand, Captain," he drawled. "But I figure they can wait until after we see those files."

The others seemed inclined to follow his lead. Olivia nodded briskly. "We'll take a brief recess and then begin going over the reports. Pause briefing." She nodded to Astrid, who pushed a sequence of buttons to halt the recording. "I'm sorry to disrupt your evening. I suggest you all grab a quick dinner and we'll reconvene at nineteen hundred hours."

Astrid volunteered, "I'll grab you something to eat, Captain." She slipped out before Olivia could object—a fine exercise of diplomacy, giving the senior officers the room. And, Olivia thought ruefully, a clear sign that Astrid knew her captain well enough to realize that Olivia would entirely fail to eat if left to her own devices.

The rest of them hadn't moved and Olivia sat down, waiting for the inevitable commentary. After a second, Peter cleared his throat and said, "To hell with our official mandate. I think I speak for all of us that we're on board with whatever we need to do to figure this out."

There were nods and sounds of agreement from around the table, although Brandon Fayette looked predictably anxious. Olivia sympathized, to a point; he'd signed on for what was ostensibly a science and research tour of duty, although he'd performed admirably throughout the varying circumstances the Bell encountered.

"Thank you, gentlemen," she said with sincerity, though she'd expected nothing less. "But seriously, go on, it's going to be a long night."

"Better warn Sonia, then," Charlie said, and headed out to do just that. Brandon and Frank followed, leaving Olivia with her first and third officers.

Lincoln scrubbed his hands over his face. "The only good thing about all of this being classified is that I won't be tempted to tell Jules anything until we know for sure."

Olivia glanced over at Peter with concern. Both of them knew how hard Lincoln had taken his former captain's death, and that he'd promised Robert Danzig's widow that he'd keep looking into it until an answer was found. That was, in no small part, why Olivia pledged her ship to the investigation. But for Lincoln, it had to feel like those emotional wounds were being torn open again.

Peter reached across the table and his hand closed briefly over Lincoln's wrist, a gesture of support. Olivia looked away, feeling for the first time like she was intruding.

"I'll be okay." Lincoln stood, not meeting either of their eyes. "I'll inform Lieutenants Anthonsen and Sala that we're not to be disturbed during their command shifts."

He was gone before Olivia could say anything. Peter, meanwhile, was looking thoughtful. "Sabotage, huh. Usually requires some fairly technical know-how. Once we pick those reports apart, I can put out feelers with some of my contacts."

She had to stifle a smile. Peter's "contacts" often walked the less-than-legal side of Federation business, but they'd certainly proven useful in the past. "Softly, once we have something to go on."

Olivia would have expected a pithy retort, something about using a bullhorn and a billboard, but instead Peter just nodded absently and looked toward the door where Lincoln had gone. "Keep an eye on him," Olivia said with careful discretion, as close as she could come to acknowledging the undercurrents between the three of them.

Peter, of course, had very little use for discretion. "You could do the same," he said, turning back to her. "If you wanted." But maybe he was moderating himself, or he suddenly decided that he wanted dinner after all, because he simply nodded to her and headed out as well.

Alone in the briefing room, Olivia stared down at the table surface for a moment before turning back to John's files.

Just over two years ago, the USS Hartford had been subject to a series of sudden, devastating explosions that killed her captain and required the swift evacuation of all survivors on board. What remained of the ship—a blackened, twisted remnant—defied the forensic teams' efforts to definitively establish a cause for the destruction.

Lincoln's voice was steady as he related the events as he'd experienced them. "There were no outstanding mechanical or structural issues that might have caused the explosions. None of the ship's components were found to have innate flaws in retrospect, at least as far as the investigatory teams could determine. They also found no trace of any known explosive or reactive material."

He took a quick drink of water and continued. "Obviously, Starfleet conducted a thorough review of the mission logs under the assumption that if the destruction had been sabotage, it might have been related to the Hartford's assignment. We— excuse me. Captain Danzig and the crew had been tracking the sale of illegal weapons. Specifically, compressed tetryon beam weapons."

Peter nodded grimly. "That kind of particle doesn't trigger security sensors, so tetryon hand weapons are valuable to criminals and assassins."

Lincoln raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes, exactly. I might ask how you knew that, but I suspect I don't want to know the answer."

Peter grinned as a faint ripple of amusement went around the table. Olivia appreciated the moment of levity Lincoln had engineered, despite the considerable stress he was under.

"In any case," Lincoln continued, "that investigation became a significant priority to Starfleet after the destruction of the Hartford. I joined the team assigned to the inquiry. We—" he swallowed hard and looked down.

Charlie, bless him, picked up the thread smoothly. "I was assigned to the team as well. The Hartford had narrowed in on a group of weapon traders, but they'd packed up and vanished by the time we found their base." He paused a moment. "We found evidence of detonations, again with no apparent cause, but other than that it was clean. Eerily clean, no sign that anyone'd ever been there. Not a strand of hair or DNA trace to be found."

Lincoln nodded. "After that, there wasn't much to follow up on. That particular weapon supply dried up, or at least went so far underground we couldn't find it."

On the other side of the table, Brandon Fayette cleared his throat. "By chance, were tetryon particles found in the examination of the Hartford's remains?"

Olivia winced at his phrasing, but Peter's eyes went narrow in concentration. "What are you— oh, clever. A sabotage device could've been hidden by those particles, too."

"And that," Olivia said before the speculation could run rampant, "brings us neatly to Captain Scott's report. You're right, both of you."

John's investigation followed a thin trail of those elusive particles. His science team essentially invented new scanning technology specifically to detect tetryon radiation and carefully, painstakingly, reexamined the stored wreckage of the Hartford. The initial forensic teams had noted the particles' presence, but without any further evidence they'd been unable to follow up on that lead.

The new equipment on the Dauntless allowed a more comprehensive search. The ship went on from there to the sites of other anomalies, trailing a seemingly unconnected series of theft sand destructive events on ships and Federation outposts. Not all the locations panned out, but enough of them—including the abandoned weapon traders' base—registered signs of tetryon radiation to suggest a pattern.

What that pattern formed, no one could say.

But through a combination of momentum, intuition, and sheer luck (Captain Scott acknowledged as much), the Dauntless had been in the right place at the right time to make a breakthrough.

Scott received an emergency call from one of the Starfleet Intelligence operatives he'd been working with, a man named Daniel Hicks. The message had been garbled, deliberately intercepted, but Scott's comm officer managed to pull coordinates off the transmission and the ship happened to be close enough to Starbase 26 to reach it within hours. They'd arrived too late for Hicks; security teams found his body but were unable to stop his murderers from escaping.

Hicks had been tracking anomalies in various stations' resources, seemingly random supplies being diverted to obscure locations and small amounts of restricted materials going missing across Federation space. The known list was included with Scott's report, although if Hicks had made further discoveries before his demise those reports had vanished into the ether.

Most of the equipment consisted of scientific tools and engineering materials. "Perhaps Commander Bishop and I can determine what these are intended for," Dr. Fayette offered, seeming eager to contribute.

Peter frowned, looking over the inventory. "A random shopping list, at first glance. But yeah, we'll take a crack at it."

One especially anomalous detail resulted from the examination of Hicks' body by Dr. Reyes, Captain Scott's CMO. Daniel Hicks had been killed by the simple expedient of a snapped neck; Reyes' report commented that the attacker would have been superhumanly strong, or extremely precise, or both. The three wounds found in the roof of his mouth were more puzzling. They seemed to have no immediate cause, nor had any toxin or other substance been injected at the wound sites.

Frank was frowning, an unusual expression for him. Olivia caught his eye and then glanced at the chronometer, wincing. "It's late. Let's table this for the evening, we'll reconvene again tomorrow. Doctor Stanton, if you'd stay behind a moment?" She waited until the others filed out before raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"

He said after a moment's hesitation, "Something about that wound pattern sounds familiar, Captain. I need to take a look at something in my quarters. Won't take long."

"I'll wait," Olivia said, curious, and Frank nodded and went out. She turned back to John's reports, trying to read between the lines, looking for revelations hidden in the thin data.

Slightly less than half an hour later Frank returned to the briefing room, concern written plainly across his face. Olivia found that more alarming than anything else. "Frank, what's wrong?"

Frank took a long breath. "The description of the three wounds in the mouth. This might be a coincidence, but I don't think so." He reached into a satchel and pulled out a personal log recorder. "This contains recordings of Emily's precognitive visions. Listen to this—"

Emily Mallum's voice emerged from the recorder in a dreamy tone, but clear. The man with the machine. The three— the three nails. The three nails go in the mouth. There. He is a soldier. From somewhere else. He's... he's from a place that looks like this, but it's not here. Oh, I can see him. He pushes up the machine in the mouth. And then he changes. That's how they change. They're like shapeshifters. That's how they hide. They can look like us. They can look like any of us. Her voice drifted off, the final repeated words nearly indistinct. They can look like any of us.

Olivia stared at the recorder, then at Frank. "Can this be accurate?"

Frank shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Or Emily's, I suppose. But what she's describing..."

"Shapeshifters," Olivia said flatly. "Shapeshifting soldiers from somewhere else, masquerading as Federation officers to commit sabotage for unknown reasons."

"That's what it sounds like. Yes." Frank nodded toward the log. "I asked Emily for a copy of her recordings, so I could review them and see if I could determine her accuracy rate and if there were any common themes to her visions. I remembered this one because it didn't seem to have any relation to the others, and no corresponding event."

"Until now. Maybe." Olivia frowned. "When was the original recording made? Under what circumstances?"

"I'd need to check with her for the precise details. I know that she carries a personal log with her at all times, set to record whenever she begins speaking in that particular cadence. It's distinctive, unlike her usual speech patterns." Frank hesitated. "She gave me these in the strictest confidence, Captain."

"I'll do everything I can to keep her out of it, but she might have just provided us with a vital clue. " Olivia sighed, not appreciating the irony of the situation. "It's not likely Starfleet would take the word of an untrained precognitive, anyway. But this might be a place for us to start. Let's meet with Emily in the morning and see if we can discern any further details." She shook her head. "I'll talk to her again about working with Simon. If anyone can help her focus her ability, he can."

Frank nodded and put the recorder away. "I realize this suggestion is futile, but you should try to get some rest, Captain."

"After that? Doubtful. But I'll try."

Before she went to bed Olivia sent a message to the yeoman's PADD, summoning her to Sickbay at nine hundred hours. As Frank had predicted she barely slept, rising early to relieve gamma shift commanding officer Lieutenant Sala and clearing her schedule of small administrative matters before the rest of alpha shift came on duty.

When Lincoln stepped through the turbolift doors, he frowned at seeing her already on the Bridge. They usually traded off on that score; half the time he beat her there. Olivia wondered idly if their mutual chronic insomnia had somehow arrived at an arrangement to alternate the bad nights. It sounded like something Walter would have a theory about.

But then, she doubted that Lincoln had gotten any sleep last night either. The most appropriate course, clearly, would be to disregard the issue entirely and go on as normal. Or as normal as possible, given the circumstances.

Ordinary ship's business occupied most of the first hour before Olivia ceded the captain's chair to Lincoln and headed over to Sickbay. Yeoman Mallum arrived early, clearly anxious. "Captain?"

Olivia waved her into one of the shielded exam cubicles, where Frank was waiting. "We wanted to talk about one of your visions. Can you tell us anything more about this one?"

Emily listened to the recording of her own voice, nodding. "That one was weird. It felt... I don't know. Distant. Most of the things I see, they happen right away." She frowned. "Is it... did something happen?"

Something crawled at the back of Olivia's neck. She'd learned to obey that kind of intuition. "Emily," Olivia said, very calmly, "when did you have this vision?"

"Uh...let me check my personal log." The young woman scrolled through her PADD and then looked up. "A little over two years ago, Captain."

Frank had been checking his copy of the recording as well. He nodded to Olivia, his face pale. "The dates coincide. I should have noticed that."

Emily was starting to look frightened. Olivia drew on all the disciplines she knew to keep from expressing her own anxiety. "Emily, we believe your vision ties into a classified investigation. I realize you're not inclined to discuss it with anyone else, but I need to emphasize that this is a restricted Starfleet matter."

"Yes, Captain." She hesitated, clearly gathering her thoughts. "What I saw, those shapeshifters, they're real?"

"If your vision was correct, yes. Which is something we didn't know before Dr. Stanton remembered this particular recording, so you've given us a crucial piece of information." Olivia steeled herself for what she needed to do next. "I won't make this an order, but it would be extremely helpful if you would agree to work with Simon Phillips. Dr. Stanton and I haven't been able to help you control your ability, and there's no one on this ship with more experience in psychic techniques than Simon."

Emily was silent for a long moment. "Can I talk to you privately, Captain? Off the record."

"Of course."

Frank nodded and got up, heading out of the cubicle. "Take your time."

Olivia waited, but Emily seemed at a loss for words. She tried to set the yeoman's mind at ease, saying, "I've known Ensign Phillips for a long time, since the Cortexiphan trials. He's beyond discreet, if that's what you're worried about." Olivia smiled slightly. "Actually, getting him to talk is the hard part."

"No, it's...um." Emily's hands twisted together and she was blushing. "I understand that he's a telepath and that's okay, it's just..."

The signs were all there, Olivia had just been slow to recognize them. "You like him. And you're afraid if he reads your mind, he'll know."

"Yeah." Emily looked away, still blushing. "That's dumb, right?"

"Not at all," Olivia assured her softly. "But Simon is very, very good at setting emotions aside when he's focused on a task. That was part of his training on Vulcan."

Emily's next words came out so low Olivia had to lean forward to hear them."He'll think I'm silly."

"Emily, I promise you, he 'overheard' a lot worse with his powers before he learned to control them." Olivia laughed suddenly, remembering. "Including some things your captain got up to that were far more embarrassing than a crush."

Emily smiled back hesitantly. "I did say I wanted to be useful. Put up or shut up, I guess."

"I'll talk to Simon first, let him know about your ability. But not anything else," Olivia assured hastily. "If you want, I can sit in on your first session."

"I think that would help. Thank you." Emily took a long breath, seeming to compose herself. "Okay. Whenever he's ready to start."

"Good. I'll speak with him today. Dismissed, Yeoman."

Olivia sat for moment after Emily had gone. In many ways Emily represented what Walter and William had been reaching for through artificial means: the natural psychic evolution of the species. There'd been no drug trials in her history, no unusual chemical or radiological exposure for her or her parents. Emily's ability came to her organically, not through the efforts of scientists or unusual circumstances. Walter always claimed that psychic ability had always been part of the human genome, though rarely acknowledged as such. Olivia was grateful that Emily's position aboard the William Bell allowed her to work in the company of others with similar gifts who could help her learn to deal with them.

Bell himself would have been delighted by the circumstance, wherever he was.

Frank stuck his head back around the cubicle's partition. "Everything all right?"

"Yep." Olivia got up. "I meant to say, it's a damn good thing you had those logs. I don't know if we'd ever have put those pieces together otherwise."

Frank shook his head, hair falling in his eyes. "Sheer happenstance."

"I prefer to say serendipity, Doctor." Olivia sighed. "The immediate question is how to relay this information without betraying the source."

"Maybe we can find a corroborating detail first?" Frank suggested. "Like you said, we need more than a precognitive vision as proof, anyway."

"It'd be pointless to warn John about shapeshifters when we have no evidence," she agreed. "In the meantime, if you could collect data on the types of shapeshifters the Federation's encountered so far, we might find something useful in there."

"I will. Doctor Ioanis might have something to add. His people have gone a lot farther out."

"Thank you," Olivia said, distracted by the internal debate over whether to tell Lincoln about this latest development. On the one hand, there wasn't anything concrete to share. On the other—

On the other she would want to know, no matter how thin the evidence. There really wasn't any further argument to be made than that.

Olivia pulled Simon away from the nav station for a quick word when she returned to the Bridge. He agreed to work with Emily without pressing Olivia about why, and Olivia wasn't surprised when he confessed that he already had an inkling of Emily's ability. "When she first came on board, she was extremely anxious about it. I thought about saying something then, but thought it would do more harm than good."

"Discretion always was your watchword," she told him with a fond smile. It was hard, sometimes, keeping professional distance from some of the other Cortexiphan subjects. Not all of them—she and Sally would never be the best of friends—but those she'd shared particularly formative experiences with. Nick of course, and Simon, and Miranda back on Earth. Even James Heath, when he let himself be sociable.

Simon let a sly smirk creep across his face. "I seem to recall a number of incidents I needed to be discreet about."

"And you can continue to keep them to yourself," Olivia told him, but all her amusement had gone out of the banter. The conversation with Lincoln had gone about as well as expected—which was, not at all. She'd been reduced to obfuscations about "an unverifiable source," leading Lincoln to believe she'd gotten the information from one of the Cortexiphan subjects, perhaps via an undocumented ability. Olivia saw his lips press together in a thin line against a demand for clarification and could only say, again, that she'd tell him as soon as she knew anything more.

"Olivia...?" Simon asked quietly, but she just shook her head.

"It's nothing. Set up a time with Emily for later today. I promised her I'd sit in on the first meeting."

"I will."

As planned Olivia had another quick conference with Astrid and the senior officers at the end of alpha shift, but there was little to add to the previous night's discussion. Olivia had asked Frank and Lincoln to keep the speculation about shapeshifters quiet until they had actual evidence to present.

Simon chose the small quiet room that sometimes doubled as a chapel for the first meeting with Emily. Olivia approved; the space was neutral and solemn enough that Emily would feel that she was being taken seriously, and without personal associations that might get in the way.

"Captain, before we start?" Emily looked grim. "What Dr. Stanton said about the date. I looked it up. I had my vision when the Hartford exploded."

Olivia had been foolish to think she could have protected Emily from this. "That's part of the investigation. But if it's not coincidence—and I don't think it is—you told us what we might never have known. So what I'd like for you is to determine if there's any more detail to that vision, or if you can evoke another along the same lines." Emily looked dubious and Olivia added, "I'm just asking you to try."

Simon proved as patient and tactful as Olivia could have asked, guiding Emily through a basic focusing exercise with calm authority. Channeling his Vulcan teachers, Olivia realized.

"Traditional meditation advises that you to find a quiet place and make yourself peaceful before you begin," Simon explained. "But our abilities don't wait for us to be quiet and peaceful. You need to learn to access them in any circumstance, even the most chaotic. Especially the most chaotic."

"Like a starship during Red Alert," Emily suggested, and Simon nodded.

"Exactly. So it's best to practice in the noisiest places you can—the mess during dinner, maybe."

"Or Chief Weiss' bowling tournament." Emily rolled her eyes and Simon laughed, which Olivia took as both a good sign and a cue that her presence was no longer necessary. Simon had cautioned her not to expect immediate results, and hovering would only make Emily nervous. She nodded to them both and left quietly, resolving not to press Emily on her progress. If something came of the lessons, Olivia would be the first to know.

The bowling tournament concluded with a surprise winner—a surprise to everyone but Peter, anyway. Lieutenant Markham surprised everyone with his finesse and precision on the lanes...which made sense in retrospect, given his expertise with spatial relationships.

Official word from Starfleet in response to John's report came slower than Olivia had expected. Part of her wondered, cynically, if the delay was due to certain elements not wanting to entrust this sensitive mission to her particular ship. Admiral Harris in particular had thrown up roadblocks to every stage of the Bell's commissioning. But John had forced the issue, more or less, and Olivia tried to believe that the response would have been the same regardless due to Commander Lee's involvement.

The gist of it came down to "hurry up and wait" until there was something substantial to act on. The Dauntless had gone on with its mission, continuing to investigate previous occurrences and look for new leads. Meanwhile the Bell was stuck out in the middle of nowhere, tracking space dust.

Two weeks into their survey mission and Olivia was eager for something, someone, to come along and offer diversion. An Andorian frigate. A vagabond Romulan trader. Harry Mudd.

Well, no. She definitely wasn't desperate enough for that last.

In addition to making the most of Sam's structured diversions, the crew knew how to keep themselves occupied and amused. Use of the subspace frequencies increased with requests for further education from Starfleet Academy, ranging from Astrotheory 101 to Xenolinguistics. Many of the requests indicated personnel reaching outside their usual specialties, always a satisfactory trend. A well-rounded crew tended to look beyond their customary fields for answers to difficult problems.

They weren't neglecting the unexpected leisure time, either. Reservations for the rec areas filled up so fast that Sam had to institute limits so that everyone had a turn, whether the applicants wanted the space for racquetball or hoverball or basketball. The gym likewise thrived with dance lessons, fencing exhibitions, and martial arts classes, including one taught by Lieutenant Tavar. Olivia pulled rank slightly to obtain a spot for those lessons; the opportunity to learn the Vulcan practice of Suus mahna didn't come along every day.

The synthesizers produced a large number of games and related accoutrements, from card and board games to esoteric chess sets to roleplaying game dice. Dart boards appeared on appropriate vertical surfaces and some that weren't, like the side of the molecular phase inverter. Brandon Fayette had a spectacular fit over that one.

Someone cobbled together a number of old-style laser-tag targeting devices and sensors, and the resulting "war" threatened to take over the ship until Charlie restricted the conflict to off-shift service corridors and rec areas. No one stepped forward to claim credit, but Peter was seen wearing an amused smirk when the daily scores were posted on the ship's open messaging boards.

Ben Kanuho talked his sister Jen into giving a violin recital. An enterprising group of amateur thespians staged a production of "A Midsummer Night's Dream," to great hilarity and a demand for encore performances. Others kept themselves entertained with more private activities.

Most of the crew was satisfied, or at least occupied, but Olivia was bored out of her skull.

Bored, and worried. No news wasn't necessarily good news where Starfleet Command was concerned, and John would have reported in if he'd uncovered anything new. Emily's lessons with Simon continued likewise, with both of them reporting a frustrating lack of progress. Not unexpected, Simon told Olivia in a private aside, considering that precognition was one of the more arbitrary psychic abilities. The visions would come when and if they chose.

Olivia tried to follow the crew's good example and attend to her own recreation and social obligations. The martial arts classes provided an appropriate outlet for her frustration. Old movie night was always a welcome distraction, and so was Peter's revolving poker game.

She visited with Rachel, who confessed that she was thinking about leaving the ship. Traveling on the Bell been a nice break for her and Ella, a drastic and needed change after Rachel's divorce, but she was feeling the need for solid ground beneath her feet. The red alert during the ship-eater incident hadn't helped her nerves, either.

Rachel's admission was an immediate relief, which left Olivia feeling slightly ashamed, but the sentiment had more to do with the belief that they were headed into dangerous territory than anything. Between the political sword hanging over her head and the nebulous threat the shapeshifters posed, she'd just feel better about having her sister and niece out of proximity to her very prominent target. Ella would be heartbroken to leave the ship, but Olivia promised Rachel that she'd find a safe and thriving colony that would welcome new arrivals. "But no backwater worlds," Rachel said, already seeming ready to pack up and leave. "I want Ella to grow up on a civilized planet."

The lack of otherwise compelling duties gave Olivia the chance to observe the crew during their off-hours. She watched Varel and Tavar share a meal together and had to admit that Peter was right: They were adorable. Anyone who thought the Vulcans cold or emotionless wasn't looking hard enough. Reserved, yes, but that meant that every tiny touch or fond glance spoke volumes.

She had a casual chat with Lieutenant Sala, who'd been tinkering on a test server with sensor configurations that could improve detection sensitivity. "And I could use some additional computer space," Renie added. "I'm running out of virtual room for the simulations." Olivia nodded and made a mental note to see if Brandon could facilitate the request.

During one of her rambles around the ship she spotted Aashira Iyer flirting with Frank in the gym after a tai chi class. Olivia felt herself frown, then quickly wiped the expression off her face. Astrid and Frank's relationship was casual at best, and they could very well be on yet another break. Either way, it really wasn't any of her business.

Olivia reminded herself sternly of that fact when she came across Astrid working in the computer lab on her Command School courses. Astrid saw her and waved her over, seeming grateful for the interruption. "Maybe you can explain to me why I'm expected to know how to calculate navigation routes without the use of a nav computer."

Astrid was at least half joking, but Olivia sympathized. "Officially? In the case of computer malfunctions. Unofficially, because the Academy faculty are sadists who believe everyone should be subjected to the pain they suffered during their courses." Astrid laughed and Olivia smiled at her. "It's a self-perpetuating cycle."

"Yeah, well, it can perpetuate itself right out of my life." Astrid blew out a frustrated breath. "I'd never get through it if Brandon hadn't clued me in on some nifty mnemonics."

Olivia couldn't restrain her raised eyebrow, and Astrid laughed again. "Stop it. He's a nice guy, once you take the time to get to know him."

"Nicer than Frank?" Olivia asked, then bit her lip. "Sorry, that was—"

Astrid rolled her eyes. "You're the third person who's come by, hinting if I knew Aashira was all over Frank like an Aldebaran mud leech. Really, Olivia, you're behind the times."

Busted, Olivia could only brazen through. "So...?"

"Of course I knew, 'shira asked me first, like a civilized person." Astrid raised her own eyebrow. "You know the deal, Frank and I aren't exclusive. More power to her if she can pin him down."

Olivia could only shake her head. "I still don't get it, but as long as that works for you. I didn't mean to interrupt. I'll leave you to your astrogation." She had turned to go when a thought struck her and she glanced back. "You said I was the third person. Who were the first two?"

Astrid tilted her head. "Well, the first is always gonna be Sonia Francis. She knows everything that's happening aboard ship, and she's a die-hard romantic. She was about to get all up in 'shira's face about it."

"And the second?"

Astrid grinned. "I'll let you puzzle that out for yourself."

Olivia considered the question until she reached the turbolift and found herself sharing a ride and a quick conversation with Henry Higgins. "Jasmine's worried 'bout Laura growing up on a ship," he confided. "She's been talking about sending Laura away to school, maybe."

Olivia had never been entirely settled with the idea of children on a starship, but Henry seemed genuinely torn about the decision. "I...don't have any advice for you," she told him, a little ruefully. "But Rachel's going to settle somewhere with Ella, so if you want to talk to her..."

Henry nodded. "Might do that. But Jas and I aren't going anywhere, Captain. Count on it." He exited the 'lift with a wave and Olivia continued on toward her original destinations: a brief stop at her room and then the officers' quarters deck.

Along the way Olivia nodded to a pale, bald crewman as he passed her in the corridor—and then stopped, puzzled. Her excellent memory usually provided the name of every person on board, but she couldn't recall—

"Captain," Ensign di Tommaso said by way of greeting, and by the time Olivia turned to nod an acknowledgement to the geologist, she'd forgotten why she'd stopped.

But there was no reason to let her momentary lapse to keep Charlie and Sonia waiting. They'd finally set a time for their overdue dinner date and Olivia didn't want to arrive empty-handed. Ordinarily she'd bring a bottle of wine, but the icoberry juice seemed like a safer bet. It was too sweet for Olivia's taste and Sonia would appreciate it more—and she could enjoy it with dinner, unlike the wine.

Olivia took another moment to change into an off-duty tunic and pants, just to reinforce the illusion that she was an ordinary civilian, going to dinner at her friends' house. Not that she'd ever wanted to be anything but a Starfleet captain, but it was nice to occasionally step outside the role for a little while.

Sonia seemed delighted by the carafe of juice, proclaiming the beverage one of her favorites. "Dinner is ready, Charlie just went to change."

Olivia seized the chance for a private word. "Sonia, I just wanted you to know...if you and Charlie feel it'd be best to go back to Earth with the baby coming, I'd understand."

Sonia smiled at her. "Oh, Olivia. Charlie's happy here. I'm happy here. Why would we want to leave?"

"There's a threat..." Olivia started hesitantly, but Sonia shook her head.

"Pfft, there's always a threat. People die on Earth in their own safe homes. We'd both rather be out here exploring the galaxy with you."

"If I haven't said before," Olivia told her, more than a little awed, "I'm so glad Charlie married you."

"Like I gave him a choice." Sonia grinned. "But enough of that tonight."

The mashed potatoes were lumpy and the chicken was dry, but it was still the best meal Olivia had eaten in a long time.

Over the course of their extended mission the senior staff was free to participate in social diversions or not as they liked, but Lincoln absented himself almost entirely from the general camaraderie and Olivia was becoming increasingly concerned with her first officer's state of mind. He obviously wasn't sleeping well, if at all. She knew he was talking to Nick on occasion, but until they had something more to act on Lincoln was clearly marking time. He'd been obsessing over the little bit of data they had and haunting the ship's library files, researching anything and everything that might provide another clue. He'd nearly drawn a reprimand from Starfleet Intelligence for his personal investigation into the Dauntless' activities, which were officially off the record.

Olivia could hardly blame him. She wouldn't have done any less, and the only reason she hadn't been tracking the Dauntless herself was her trust that John would tell her anything relevant as soon as he had it.

She asked Lincoln to meet in her ready room at eighteen hundred hours, just to see how he was coping. Anywhere more public and he wouldn't talk, anywhere more private might be...too private.

The flashes of reaction on Lincoln's face when he arrived were the same as the last few days: searching her face for any hint that she might have new information to share, immediately hiding his disappointment when it was clear that she didn't, and then burying his frustration under a mask of efficiency. "Captain?"

"Lincoln, please," Olivia said quietly. She came around the desk and leaned back against it, signaling the casual nature of this conversation. "I just wanted to check in with you, see how you're handling everything. I know the last few weeks have been difficult—"

That earned her a bitter laugh, quickly swallowed. "Sorry. I've been projecting all over the place."

"You don't have any reason to be sorry," Olivia said, keeping her tone mild. "And I won't suggest that you try not to obsess, because I couldn't stop either. But if you need to talk..."

"The problem is," Lincoln said around gritted teeth, "there's nothing to talk about. Nothing that I haven't gone over with Nick, or in my head a thousand times." He shook his head and turned away, his body language radiating nearly palpable distress. "This is worse than before. Knowing that something out there killed Robert and there's not a damn thing I can do to find it—"

She reached out to touch his shoulder and that was precisely the wrong move, or exactly the right one.

Lincoln turned, his eyes wild, and kissed her.

Olivia had probably spent too much time fantasizing about a moment like this, but she'd never imagined it this way. Lincoln's mouth was hot on hers, frantic, his hands coming up to tug her ponytail out of its restraining band. His fingers buried themselves in her hair and Olivia made an involuntary encouraging sound, gasping as his tongue slid over hers.

If Lincoln expected her to push him away, he was out of luck. Olivia slipped her arms around his back to pull him in closer. She'd take him right here on the ready room floor, if that's what he needed.

Lincoln pulled away just as abruptly as he'd grabbed her. "Olivia— Captain—"

"Don't. It's okay." She smiled as sincerely as she could, focusing on regaining her breath and not reaching for him.

His mouth opened and then closed again, a blush starting to creep over his face. Olivia really needed to take control of the moment before it ran away with them both. "Briefing at sixteen hundred hours," she said crisply, "and not a moment before. Take the morning off, get some rest. If I see you before then, you're fired."

"Yes, Captain." The rote response seemed to shake Lincoln back into himself. He nodded and left without another word, obviously grateful for the excuse.

Olivia took a deep breath and retreated behind her desk to lean her forehead against the cool viewport.

Lincoln arrived for the meeting the next afternoon and Olivia nodded to him, her eyes holding his steadily.

After a second Lincoln relaxed infinitesimally, nodding back. Neither of them could or would pretend the kiss hadn't happened, but Olivia was determined to maintain their professional relationship. It'd just take a little more effort from here on out.

In light of all the relative downtime, her senior officers didn't have much to report. Brandon gave an abbreviated statement about their current survey mission and its results, but even he sounded a little bored by the mundane findings. The engines were at peak performance, the crew members were executing their duties efficiently if without excitement, and everyone was ready to move on.

"More than ready," Frank said. "Nick says there's no call for concern yet, but it's something to keep an eye on if we're here much longer. This crew likes to be actively engaged and staring at sensors day after day isn't really doing it for them. No offense," he added toward Brandon.

"None taken," Brandon said, sounding a little glum. "If there was something more interesting to look at, it'd be different."

Frank nodded. "There's also some understandable anxiety about the results of the System 627 inquiry. The delay seems...excessive."

"Should've heard two weeks ago," Charlie grumbled. "All that foot-dragging just gives people more opportunity to argue about it."

Olivia was torn between agreement and snapping that she wasn't in that much of a rush for the probable sanction, but Lincoln stepped in before she could comment either way. "Some of my contacts at Command think there's a deliberate hold-up on both sides of the debate. It sounds like the case uncovered some...previously unrevealed philosophical disagreements."

"With this ship hanging in the balance," Peter put in, looking disgusted. "Fantastic."

Privately Olivia agreed, but conjecture to that end wouldn't help anyone. "Let's try to keep speculation to a minimum. I'll talk to Nick, see if there's anything I can do."

She ended the meeting and headed over to the counselor's office near Sickbay. Nick's door was open and Olivia peered around the doorframe to see him kicked back, feet on the desk, with apparently nothing to do with his day but wait for her.

Which very well might have been the truth. Nick was officially on duty during alpha shift, but he generally made himself available during the day if someone needed to see him. And he always knew when Olivia needed to see him.

Nick drew himself up into a semblance of authority as the door slid shut behind her. "What can I do for you, Captain?"

Olivia rolled her eyes and threw herself into one of the chairs. Nick had the best comfy chairs on the ship. "Pretend you're making an official report about the crew's stress levels."

"It's really not that bad," Nick said. "Like I told Frank, it's mostly mild boredom and nervousness about the inquiry. They're all rooting for you," he added. "Nobody thinks you did anything wrong."

"Is there anything I can do to alleviate that apprehension?"

Nick shook his head. "Nope. If you start talking about it, that'll just make people more anxious. Go on like everything's normal and they'll take their cues from you." He pointed a finger at her. "But you're not fooling me. I know you're extremely concerned about something, and that it's keeping you up at night."

"Cheater." But he couldn't help what he'd felt from her, and she couldn't deny it. "Yeah. It's got to do with the Harford investigation, but I can't discuss the details."

"I figured." Nick was quiet for a moment. "I won't push, but sooner or later, that stress is going to start affecting the rest of the crew."

"I know." His concern reminded her that she'd had a similar concern. Their connection wasn't perfectly reciprocal, but Olivia still knew when something had gotten under Nick's skin. "Nick, is everything okay with you? You seem a little unsettled, too."

"Sally's...anxious about something. She won't talk to me about whatever it is." Nick flashed a wry smile, not entirely convincing to Olivia's eye. Or more significantly, to the sense of him in her mind. "It's okay. I know our relationship isn't your favorite topic."

"Maybe not," she said, because obfuscation was impossible. "But you're always here for me, Nick. If you need to talk, or there's something I can do..."

"You'll be the first to know," he said, which was so entirely true they both laughed. Nick tilted his head and regarded her thoughtfully. "Speaking of, though..."

Olivia narrowed her eyes at him. "Speaking of what?"

"You know I try to stay out of your romantic life...at least as much as I can." He shrugged, the motion acknowledging the impossibility of complete detachment. They felt too much of each other through the link, and had long ago learned to ignore what couldn't be blocked out. And if that failed, to at least refrain from teasing each other about it.

"But you're commenting now because..."

"Because you're walking a tightrope between Lincoln and Peter, and I don't want you to get hurt if you fall off." Nick paused and amended, "When you fall off."

He was, literally, the only person on board who would or could say that to her. "Nick, I—"

"No, listen. They're both great guys. They're both respectful of your boundaries but at the same time, they know how to push your buttons." Nick's eyes were shrewd, understanding. Olivia knew he'd felt her moment with Lincoln, and the fact that she'd been entirely ready to break all her resolutions. "I'm just saying, you might want to give some thought for what happens when the inevitable, well, happens." He smirked, amusement lighting his eyes. "With one or both of them."

"Nick!"

He held up his hands, grinning. "Sorry, it's just, romantic gossip is everyone's favorite kind and the odds are trending toward an eventual threesome."

Olivia went very still. "Is speculation on my personal life affecting my authority as captain?"

Nick's smile fell away and Olivia could both see and sense his professional counselor's manner settle into place. "I don't believe that it does. Humans—and members of just about every other species—love to gossip. It's practically a requirement in a closed environment like a starship. If I'd sensed any real issues, I'd have brought them to your attention." His expression softened a little and he added, "If anything, people are impressed by your restraint."

She nodded, still unsettled by the idea that her crew was contemplating her romantic life—or lack thereof. But then again, the rumors about Jim Kirk had spread Federation-wide and hadn't damaged his reputation one bit. Still, knowing the crew was aware of those undercurrents made Olivia more determined than ever to resist them. "Maybe that's not enough. It sounds like I need to exert a little more self-discipline."

Nick made a frustrated noise in his throat. "That wasn't actually where I was going when I brought it up. I just want you to be happy, Olive."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Because when I'm happy, you're happy."

"In the most literal sense," he agreed. "Look, both Peter and Lincoln accept the constraints you've imposed. Neither of them will push you on that, at least not on purpose. And neither of them are going to leave the ship over it, so you can stop worrying about that too."

"I think," Olivia announced into the air, "I've had enough of your mind-reading witchcraft for one day."

Nick grinned because that was an old joke between them, too. "What's the point of being mind-linked if I can't use it to upend your psyche once in awhile? It's good for you, like a—"

"If you say 'psychic enema' I'm going to project nothing but the taste of black licorice at you for a month," Olivia said, getting up.

Nick shuddered. "You're mean. Why couldn't I have been paired with someone nice, like Julie Heath."

"Your life would have been a lot less exciting." Olivia blew a kiss at him, backing the motion with a mental hug. She paused at the door, turning back. "Nick, I honestly don't have any intention of...falling off the tightrope...with either of them. Not while they're under my command."

He nodded, looking entirely too sympathetic for Olivia's comfort. "Yeah, I know. But you know what they say about good intentions."

The next few days stretched out interminably, without word from any quarter. Mindful of Nick's comments, Olivia began to see the crew exhibiting small indicators of stress. Nothing major, nothing overtly worrisome, but definitely something to keep an eye on. Most of the time, the crew aboard a starship was subject to a constant barrage of activity instigated by external events, so much so that shore leave was required to provide some relaxation. Here, the opposite was true: rote duties simply didn't provide enough stimulation. Everyone kept busy somehow, but none of them had signed on for an extended recreational cruise. And that, Olivia thought, was the downside of a ship full of motivated people.

One ship's evening she ended up in Sam's bar—predictably named the "Starlite Lounge" to complement the bowling alley—drinking with Peter. He'd been keeping busy trying to decipher the list of stolen equipment from John's files. It seemed to be missing an energy source, along with any coherent structure or design. "If our mystery saboteurs are building something," Peter said, "I have no idea what. Yet. But I'll keep at it."

Between the late hour and the alcohol Olivia found herself wondering uneasily if she should confess to her...moment...with Lincoln. But that was between Lincoln and Peter, and besides, she had no intention of repeating the lapse. No matter how "inevitable" Nick thought it was.

Peter gently rapped on the bar to reclaim her attention. "Talk to me, 'livia."

She really hadn't intended to let anyone else in on the thread she was clinging to, but Peter always had been easy to talk to. She ended up telling him about the shapeshifter theory—minus Emily's involvement, of course, which made for some tricky evasions. The look in Peter's eye said he hadn't missed the prevarication, but he just nodded thoughtfully. "Doesn't shed any light on the miscellaneous parts on that list, but I'll keep it in mind." He reached over the bar to grab the whisky bottle, topping off both their glasses. "And this is too good to waste on serious discussion."

Olivia laughed and let herself be lulled by the sound of his voice, the comfort of his solid presence. An hour or so later Peter was describing a quasi-legal transaction he'd once finagled with some Bolian traders, but Olivia was barely listening. She realized that she was watching his hands, remembering how they felt on her body, and bid him a hasty good night.

Unsettled, she drifted into Sickbay. "Something I can do for you, Captain?" Dr. Ioanis asked, the melodious tone of his voice instinctively setting her at ease.

"Got a hypo to stave off a headache?" Olivia asked, and Ioanis nodded and went to retrieve one. She sat down on one of the biobeds, grateful that the medical staff's efficiency kept Sickbay nearly deserted.

"You know, Captain," the Deltan said as he pressed the hypospray to her shoulder, "the frequency of headaches such as you experience usually suggests high levels of stress, in the absence of any other cause. If I may suggest, perhaps some other form of relief might be required."

Considering his cultural background, he wasn't proposing exercise or a warm bath. Olivia eyed the doctor with a mix of irritation and amusement. "Does everyone on this ship think I need to get laid?"

Ioanis merely smiled. "Your phrasing, but not inaccurate." He paused delicately. "I do have a number of aids, if you like, that I would be happy to recommend."

Olivia broke up laughing, holding on to the edge of the biobed for support. "You don't actually have to write me a prescription for sex toys. I'm adequately supplied, thank you."

He grinned, genuine amusement seeming to radiate from his skin. "Sometimes humans require a little bit of coaxing to attend to their basic needs. It's a lamentable flaw in an otherwise delightful species."

"Well," Olivia said, getting up, "this member of my species feels considerably better than I did when I arrived, for which I thank both the hypo and the laugh."

Dr. Ioanis offered her a shallow bow. "A pleasure to be of service, Captain. Any time."

She left, still chuckling. Trust a Deltan to always point toward one particular cause for all possible troubles...although she honestly couldn't claim his suggestion didn't have merit. On consideration the warm bath would be a good way to start, at least. And she did have a neglected plaything or two with which she could be become reacquainted.

Thanks to Ioanis' excellent recommendation she'd actually slept. In retrospect Olivia was grateful for the indulgence, because the next day was filled with petty annoyances that would have had her snapping without the respite.

She dropped by Engineering and quickly regretted it; Lieutenant Falcon was still carping about Peter's rearrangement of the engineering offices, and he seized the opportunity to complain to her about it. At length.

"Lieutenant," she finally said sharply, "are you informing me that the difference of a few millimeters of office space is impeding your ability to do your job?"

Falcon blinked at her, shocked. "No, of course not. But—"

"Then I don't believe there's anything more to talk about." She turned on her heel and left, dismissing him by default. Unkind, perhaps, but indulging such petty grievances would only open the door to a flood of further grumbling. If Falcon decided he was so offended that he needed to leave the ship, well, Peter wouldn't be heartbroken. They could always find another qualified warp engineer somewhere.

She spotted Sally Clark at one of the phaser arrays and had to literally bite down on her tongue to keep from asking about the issues between her and Nick. The interference would have been staggeringly inappropriate even if Olivia hadn't been her captain. Besides, Nick had kept his mouth shut while she was dating John, even if his feelings about John were undeniably clear through their link. The dislike had been immediate, and intense. But Nick really did try to stay out of her affairs and she owed it to him to do the same.

And it really wasn't Lieutenant Jessup's fault that she'd chosen to lead a security simulation through the same maintenance corridors that Olivia used for her exercise runs. Olivia didn't have exclusive privileges to the area, and in fact she knew Lincoln came down here too sometimes, when he wanted to walk and think. But having her private time unexpectedly disrupted set Olivia's nerves on unwarranted edge.

If the rest of the crew was feeling this nervy, she thought with disgust, something really needed to break sooner rather than later. At this point, any word from Starfleet would be better than no word at all.

The following evening promised guaranteed distraction in the form of Peter's biweekly poker game. The standing invitation list included higher-ranked officers and NCOs, plus the occasional lieutenant to round out the table. (Peter tried to be even-handed with the invitations, but it was simple fact that some crewmembers were more congenial company than others.) The usual roster consisted of Olivia, Peter, Lincoln, Charlie, Frank, Raymond Green, Sam Weiss, and the latest addition, Ann Mathis. Brandon Fayette took a permanent abstention, insisting that he wasn't a gambling man. And Milo Stanfield's uncanny ability to calculate odds couldn't be repressed, so he bowed out to keep things relatively fair.

Lincoln opted out of the evening's round, pleading a need to rest. He'd finally allowed Nick to prescribe a mild sedative and Olivia hoped he'd gotten some sleep. One of them needed to.

Today's guest lieutenants were transporter chief Kashner, and weapons and deflectors subdepartment head Alf Tanzer. Thomas Kashner seemed overwhelmed to be invited by virtue of his recent promotion. He was quiet, blinking at the table banter as if he couldn't quite believe his superior officers talked like human beings during their off hours. He didn't seem to have the nerve to bet against them and folded early and often. Olivia hoped he'd loosen up in time.

Anyone who didn't know him might expect a weapons expert to be aggressive, but Alf Tanzer was as laid-back as a human could be. When Olivia first met him, Alf explained softly that while he believed violence to be a last resort, when it did occur, it was to his preference that the situation be resolved as quickly and permanently as possible. Now he sat smiling serenely over his cards, startlingly young under the shock of white hair that signaled his ancestors' heritage as early space explorers. The less-than-perfect shielding had led to some interesting genetic variances.

Olivia was still getting to know Ann Mathis, a forthright woman who, as far as Olivia could tell, only became sentimental when talking about her fiancé Bill. "A galaxy full of men, and I fell for one who grew up in the same small town." She was looking forward to getting back to Earth and her long-delayed wedding, after which she and Mr. Ferguson would be returning to the Bell. "He's excited about traveling off-planet for a spell, too. Thank you for making room for him, Captain."

Olivia smiled. "We're always happy to welcome experienced specialists aboard. We'll have new quarters arranged for the two of you, as well."

Ann grinned and shuffled the deck. "Much appreciated."

The game went back and forth as the players' fortunes rose and fell. Peter was the best bluffer, but Frank generally had the best luck. Both Ann and Charlie were canny players, while Sam and Raymond were mostly in it for the socializing. Olivia missed Dr. West—the scientist had been a cunning opponent.

It was approaching 2300 hours when the game broke up. Olivia stayed behind after the others left to help Peter straighten up, an obvious pretext to sidestep her sleeplessness. But Peter wouldn't mind.

They rearranged furniture in companionable silence until Peter said, "I'm glad you came tonight. It's good to see you relax a little."

Olivia glanced over but Peter's expression was perfectly serious. She smiled weakly. "It's all this waiting. To see if John comes up another lead, to see if Starfleet decides to take my ship away from me." She grimaced and shook her head, like trying to fling the bad taste of the thought out of her brain.

"That's not gonna happen," Peter said in a decisive tone.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What makes you so sure?"

"Your track record," he said. "Your allies on Earth. Look, I'm not Walter's biggest fan, but he's yours. Admiral Broyles is on your side. That Prime Directive violation? Kirk does worse every week and twice on Sundays."

Olivia laughed, mostly because the characterization was so very exaggerated. It was true that compared to the Enterprise, the Bell's exploits barely rated notice. But starship captains weren't judged on a sliding scale.

Still, Peter's certainty made it a lot easier for Olivia to hope for the best. She smiled at him, grateful for the reassurance. "I wouldn't necessarily have pegged you for an optimist."

Peter shrugged. "I'm not. But I'd bet on you every time."

It seemed an opportune moment to ask. "Peter, is Lincoln doing all right?"

"Stressed. Worried. But he'll be fine." Peter cocked his head a little, looking at her. "You know, we're not—"

But whatever they weren't she'd have to discover some later time. Her comm whistled and when Olivia answered, Yeoman Mallum's distressed voice came through. "C- Captain, I'm sorry to disturb you, but..."

"Hold a moment," Olivia said, and waved good night to Peter. He watched her go, expression curious, probably wondering why she was taking late calls from her yeoman. She stepped out into the quiet corridor. "Emily, are you all right?"

"I had a vision."

"I saw something." Emily was breathing hard, gulping for air from more than just her dash to meet Olivia in the captain's quarters. "I was practicing, focusing like Simon taught me before I went to sleep, and I had a vision. It felt the same as my first vision of the shapeshifters, and it's going to happen soon. Here, I recorded it all." She stabbed at a button on her personal log and chewed on her lip as her voice played back.

Olivia listened with growing consternation. "He's a soldier...from somewhere else. He's from a place that looks like this, but it's not here. He's— He's from another universe. But he and the others are lost, they're missing their leader. They finally know how to reach him. And the last piece of what he needs is there, it's right there on Starbase 32, and the face he's wearing will give him access."

Olivia wished there was some way, any way, to corroborate the prophecy. "Emily, you're sure of this?"

The young woman looked as frustrated as Olivia felt. "I wish I could be. But it felt—"

"Real, I know." As real as Olivia's ability to cross dimensions, or Nick's to project emotions. There was nothing to do but take the leap of faith. "Do you have any sense of when this shapeshifter will be at the starbase?"

Emily shook her head and said again, "Soon."

Olivia thought about Emily's first vision and its timing with the Hartford's destruction, and realized there really wasn't any choice. "All right, Emily. Try to get some sleep."

She moved to go, but Emily reached out and grabbed her sleeve. "Wait, you're— you're going to take us to Starbase 32? Because of me?"

"We have an opportunity to get ahead of them. I believe your visions are accurate," Olivia said, trying for reassurance, but the yeoman looked on the verge of panic and Olivia decided that "soon" could wait at least another moment. Ordinarily she'd send Emily to Nick, but convincing her to let another person in on her secret would take longer than they had.

Olivia took a gamble and pulled out her communicator. "Captain to Ensign Phillips."

"Phillips here," Simon replied nearly immediately, confirming Olivia's intuition that he'd still be awake. His chronic insomnia was worse than hers.

"Simon, Emily Mallum had a bad dream and she really needs a friendly ear right now."

"Of course. I'll meet her in the arboretum, if that's suitable? It should be quiet there."

And the peaceful atmosphere would help Emily's state of mind. "She'll be there in ten," Olivia said as Emily nodded.

"I know you need to go," Emily said before Olivia could offer an apology for deserting her. "I'll talk to Simon. Thanks, Captain."

Olivia hit the Bridge and barely managed not to shout in Lian Chen's direction—no, not Chen, Iyer was at the comm on the rotating duty that Lincoln had instituted. "Stations," she ordered, and the three junior lieutenants dashed for their usual seats. Lian Chen inserted the communications earpiece and turned to her, waiting.

"Mr. Chen—" Olivia started, intending to have the comm officer call for the Dauntless, then stopped. She had no proof, and she'd be hanging John's career on a vision if it was wrong. She had more than enough rope to hang her own. Everyone was staring at her, but she didn't wait for questions. "Mr. Thecla, plot a course to Starbase 32. Mr. Iyer, prepare to get us there quick as you can. Mr. Chen, as soon as we're in range I want transmissions out of that base monitored and any anomalies reported immediately."

Lincoln came hurrying onto the Bridge. He'd bowed out of the poker game ostensibly to get some rest, but Olivia noted with exasperation that he was still in uniform. "Captain?"

Olivia belatedly glanced toward Lieutenant Anthonsen, who'd vacated the captain's chair on her arrival and was standing over near Kate Green at the science station. She'd heard him quietly call for the first officer and nodded her appreciation. "Thank you, Mr. Anthonsen."

"You have the conn," he said in his grave formal way.

She took the chair, noting Thecla's and Iyer's quick implementation of her orders. "I need a pretext. Some reason we're headed to Starbase 32 immediately."

Lincoln frowned and said quietly, "This has to do with—"

Olivia nodded shortly. "Yes. It's an unconfirmed lead and I can't reveal the source. Dammit, there's got to be something broken or malfunctioning on this ship we need to replace."

The blood drained out of Lincoln's face, but he answered steadily enough. "I'll tell Peter you're having issues with his efficiency," he said dryly, scrolling through his PADD. "Starbase 32 maintains a full-service support dock with an emphasis on medical and scientific equipment." He looked up. "Brandon Fayette's had in a request for a new graviton telescope for awhile now. Scanning for dark matter accumulation could theoretically contribute to our investigation here."

"Good enough," Olivia decided. She stabbed at the shipwide comm button on her chair. "All hands, this is the Captain. We're diverting immediately to Starbase 32. Prepare to go to warp." She nodded to Lieutenant jg Iyer and the ship leapt smoothly forward, view screen blurring as they passed out of normal space.

She stood and glanced back over to Birger. "Mr. Anthonsen, the rest of the shift is yours. Commander, with me."

Lincoln followed her into the ready room and Olivia didn't keep him waiting. "My source had a vision of a shapeshifter heading to Starbase 32."

"Did this...vision...tell who we're looking for? What the shapeshifter is after?" Lincoln's hands had balled into fists and Olivia wished she could reach out to comfort him, but she'd already stepped over that line once.

"Not in so many words." Olivia relayed the gist of Emily's vision, internally wincing at how insubstantial the lead really was. "I wish we had more to go on. But I believe it's accurate."

Lincoln dropped into a chair. "If you're wrong—"

"If I'm wrong my career's probably over. I know." She hesitated a long moment. "If this goes sideways, join forces with Captain Scott. He won't rest until he finds answers."

"Olivia. You're risking your career on an unverifiable precognitive vision in an attempt to provide me some closure on the Hartford. If this goes sideways, I'll be right there with you." He smiled briefly. "Maybe they'll ship us off to the same penal colony."

"And Peter?"

"Nah. Peter will turn pirate and bust us out. He's always looking for an excuse, anyway." Lincoln glanced at his PADD. "We'll reach Starbase 32 in about ten hours. Is there anything we should do to prepare?"

"Sleep," she told him pointedly.

Lincoln flushed but stood his ground. "If I'd taken the sedative, I wouldn't have been in any shape to hear this...revelation. And it's too late now."

"Try this, then." Olivia rummaged in her desk and brought out a squat bottle of extremely dark blue liquid. She poured a small glass, no more than a shot's worth, and handed it over.

Lincoln raised an eyebrow. "Romulan ale?"

"Wine. Brandy, really. Much stronger." Olivia grinned to his surprised look. "Trust me. Drink that and find a horizontal surface, posthaste. Oblivion guaranteed and no hangover in the morning."

"I'll take it with me, then." Lincoln stood, his hand curling around the glass to hide its contents. He walked to the door, then turned to look back at her. "This isn't a ploy to knock me out for the duration, is it?"

"I know how much finding these people means to you," she said quietly. "You'll have about six hours of uninterrupted sleep, that's all."

Lincoln nodded and went out. Olivia looked at the bottle with some regret, and then put it away. Her supply was limited enough that it really was for medicinal purposes only, and Lincoln's insomnia qualified. Hers didn't rate, at least not yet.

By now the gamma shift crew was starting to filter in and relieve their beta counterparts. Olivia had a quick word with Lieutenant Sala confirming the change in orders, and went to bed. She stared at the ceiling for a long time and then, without warning, fell into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

Olivia met with her senior officers first thing in the morning, explaining the situation as best she could. Both Brandon and Charlie asked for further details on the supposed shapeshifters, and Olivia was forced, again, to withhold the real source behind the information. "I believe some kind of incident is imminent. The problem is, we don't know what we're looking for. 'The face he's wearing' indicates he's most likely masquerading as a Starfleet officer.

"Stealing a piece of technology," Peter offered, "to add to the shopping list."

Charlie snorted. "So we're looking for a Starfleet officer doing something with equipment on a Starfleet base."

"I know, Charlie. And I know how vague this sounds." Olivia looked around the table. "Thank you for accepting this admittedly nebulous information as given. I realize that given our already-precarious position with Starfleet Command, abandoning our given mission to chase an unsubstantiated prophecy is...unwise at best."

Between the five of them, Olivia hadn't expected Brandon to be the one to say, "This ship regularly defies established logic, usually to informative ends. I don't see any reason why we should stop now."

Olivia laughed, they all did, and went to prepare their departments for the unscheduled stop. But Peter lingered after the others had left the briefing room. "I can't pretend I don't know our sudden trip has something to do with your yeoman."

She winced, thinking that first, he was far too perceptive; and second, Emily's ability was unlikely to remain secret for much longer. "Peter—"

He shook his head. "It's fine, I don't need to know. But if I've clued in to something, chances are others have too. Or will soon." He paused a second. "If she doesn't realize that everyone on this ship would protect her, well, maybe that's something we can work on."

"Thank you," Olivia said quietly, and Peter nodded and left.

By the time Olivia returned to the Bridge, Lincoln had initiated preliminary docking procedures with the starbase. "The dockmaster seemed very put out by our unscheduled arrival," he reported. Under his breath, he added, "Based on the single sample, we should redouble our efforts to establish a positive relationship with the Romulan Empire."

Olivia smiled and said gently, "Lincoln, I don't know what we'll find here. If anything."

"I know. I've been trying not to speculate." Lincoln stared out the view screen at the station, looming larger by the second. "Part of me hopes this is a wild goose chase, considering what these...people...have done elsewhere. The other part..."

Wanted to get his fingers around their throats and squeeze, Olivia thought. At least, that's how she'd be feeling. "Charlie and I can tackle the security office, if you want to look around and get a sense of the station."

Lincoln nodded absently. "Better than sitting around. I can inquire about that telescope, if nothing else." He smiled wryly. "Might as well follow through on our pretext."

"Take Jessup with you. And Sally Clark," Olivia added on impulse. "Just in case."

He shot her a curious look, but nodded without comment. The next hour was full of docking protocols and some fast-talking to ensure the harried-sounding dockmaster that the station wasn't about to be overrun by yet another ship's crew. "Just a handful of officers," Olivia assured her, thinking that a dozen was a handful by some species' standards.

Finally the docking port locked into place and Olivia nodded to Charlie and Peter at the back of the Bridge, at their rarely occupied stations. "Charlie—"

"With you, Captain," Charlie said, his tone not allowing dissent.

"Of course. Assemble the other security teams. Medical on standby. Peter, you're in command."

"Goodie," he said dryly, swinging into the center chair.

"Astrid, monitor everything that comes off that station, I want to hear if we've got anomalous chatter." Olivia took a long breath and said, "Let's go."

The teams met at the port and Olivia mentally identified the security officers: Jessup and Clark, plus Rodriguez, Desai, Keller, Vega, Chiang, Edlund, and Kent. Ensign Kent came around to stand behind her, ducking Charlie's raised eyebrow. Olivia hid a smile; Noah had assigned himself as her personal watchdog ever since she saved him from a rapid skin growth toxin during an away mission.

Commodore Isaac Winters met them at the docking bay, frowning. "Captain Dunham. Your ship isn't scheduled for a stopover."

"We have reason to believe there might be a saboteur on base," Olivia told him, and watched the commodore's eyebrows climb toward his receding hairline.

"What proof?" Winters looked ready to deny her access to the starbase entirely. Olivia recalled, too late, that he was one of Admiral Harris' allies.

"I'm working directly with Captain Scott of the Dauntless." Winters didn't budge and Olivia played the ace she'd been holding against an occasion like this, hoping it'd be enough. She leaned in, ignoring the way Winters shied away from her as if fearing infection, and spoke the magic words. "If you have questions, Commodore, take them up with Section 31."

Winters flinched and stepped back. "This is highly irregular," he proclaimed in a disapproving voice for anyone who would hear, but he stood aside and let Olivia and her officers pass. Lincoln immediately headed off toward the equipment labs with Jessup and Clark in tow.

"You'll pay for that, Livvy. I hope whatever's here is worth it," Charlie murmured, and then his voice took on a firm tone as he spoke to his security personnel. "Fan out, pairs of two, don't split up. Look for anyone or anything out of place and don't be shy about asking questions."

Olivia admired the way Charlie snapped out the orders, even when giving such slight directives. "Let's check with the security office and review station surveillance," Olivia said, noting that Winters had already vanished. Probably to place a call to Harris and check up on her claims.

The starbase's security office was the domain by a tall, imposing lieutenant commander named Angela Warner who seemed to share none of her commanding officer's narrow-mindedness. "What can I do for you, Captain Dunham?"

"We're looking for..." Olivia started, and then sighed. "Frankly, I don't know what we're looking for. I've got a vague lead on a group of saboteurs and technology thieves. They've been taking items from Federation stations and outposts, presumably disguised as Starfleet officers. We have reason to believe this station's their current target."

Warner nodded thoughtfully, seeming unfazed by the nebulous description of the threat. "I've been hearing rumors of that kind of thing around the security networks. This station has some esoteric experiments going on, real mad scientist stuff." She leaned over to her control board and tapped in a few commands. "I'm upping the security details around the restricted labs."

Olivia glanced over at Charlie, surprised and pleased by the efficient response. Charlie mouthed, "I like her," and Olivia smothered a grin.

Warner swung back around to face them. "What next? You said 'disguised as Starfleet officers,' so they'd have proper uniforms and so on. But there are hundreds of station personnel on board, and we have two starships currently docked aside from yours, plus a handful of smaller vessels. It's a full house."

"Check for thefts, break-ins, atypical access," Charlie said when Olivia didn't have an immediate answer. "This is a big station so you've probably got the usual run of that kind of thing, but maybe something will stand out."

"Commander Francis and I will scan through recent security footage," Olivia said, for lack of another course. "Not sure what we're looking for, but I'll know it when I see it." Under her breath she added, "I hope."

Warner nodded dubiously and minutes turned into hours skimming through recordings. The security chief complied patiently enough with the requests, checking through logs for any anomalous activity. "No thefts, no break-ins, nothing aside from a bar brawl or two," she reported.

Check-ins from the other security teams yielded the same lack of result. Olivia was just about to call a halt when an impossible image caught her eye. "Pause! Play back." She stared at the officer caught mid-step on the screen. "Charlie, that's—"

"Scott's intelligence operative," Charlie confirmed. "Walking around like he's still alive. There's your proof."

Olivia turned to Warner. "Can we track this man? He's an imposter. The real Daniel Hicks is dead."

Warner's eyes widened and her fingers flew over the security console. "Setting facial recognition to scan for him." Images flickered over the screen and then stopped. "Two hours ago he was in science lab 117. That's for authorized personnel only, but his ID granted access even with the enhanced security." She glanced over at Olivia. "That lab contains experimental equipment. Interphase generators, that kind of thing."

"That's gotta be it." Charlie stood, unholstering his phaser. "Steal a face to gain access to restricted equipment, makes as much sense as anything. Where's he now?"

"He passed by a sensor on level six a few minutes ago." Lieutenant Commander Warner strode over to a locker and punched in a security code, pulling out a phaser rifle. "If there's an intruder on my station, I'm coming too."

They hurried through the corridors, both security officers positioned in front of Olivia at all times. Protocol, but a surefire way to aggravate her already-irritated nerves. Kent dogged her steps as well, exacerbating her frustration.

"He might be stronger than he looks," Olivia warned, recalling Hicks' autopsy.

Charlie and Warner glanced at each other. "Full stun setting," Charlie said. "Don't take any chances."

They'd just reached level six when Olivia's comm whistled. She answered and Lieutenant Jessup said all on a breath, "Jessup to Captain Dunham. Sir, Commander Lee just took off, says he saw someone he knew on the Hartford."

"Stay with him, Lieutenant," Olivia ordered, and stopped short as Charlie signaled a halt in front of her.

"Crew quarters. We'll need to check each room."

Olivia waited impatiently while Warner used her security code to override the privacy locks. The first three rooms were empty, but when they opened the fourth—

They found him crouching over a crewman, some kind of wire hanging out of his mouth and leading to the man lying on the floor. Charlie and Warner both shouted and "Hicks" leapt up in surprise. He glanced down at his victim and then past them, as if calculating the odds, but four phasers were leveled at him and Olivia, at least, wasn't inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Who are you," Warner demanded. "What's your—"

The whole station shook, as if experiencing an earthquake.

"You're too late," the thing masquerading as Hicks snarled. "He's here." He lifted a hand to his mouth and swallowed. Before anyone could move he'd fallen convulsing to the floor; another second and his body was consumed in a white-hot flare. When Olivia's eyes recovered from the flash, nothing remained but a scorch mark that had burned through the carpet to the metal flooring.

"Lockdown!" Warner shouted into her comm, and then the noise and vibration of an explosion somewhere on the station threw them all to the floor. The commander continued shouting orders, undeterred. "Complete lockdown! Command center, coordinate emergency medical and damage control teams."

"We're on it, Commander," a harried voice answered her.

Olivia crawled forward to check on the crewman, but his neck had been snapped. She gently removed the wire from the man's mouth, noting the three-pronged attachment at the end that had penetrated his upper palate. The wire led to a small metal box, from which extended a second wire with another three prongs. The words from Emily's vision became undeniably clear: He pushes up the machine in the mouth. And then he changes. The shapeshifter's identity had been compromised, so he'd been attempting to steal another face.

Tangible proof, if nothing else, of what they'd rushed here for. The box held dials and controls of some kind, but she'd leave them for Peter to try to decipher.

Olivia dimly heard other detonations occurring throughout the station and right on cue, she realized her comm had been screeching at her. "Willam Bell to Captain Dunham. Olivia, respond!"

She fumbled the comm to her mouth. "I'm here, Peter."

"We're reading explosions across the station. Considerable structural damage, multiple casualties. What the hell's going on?"

Olivia swore. "It's just like the other sites. We need to make sure whoever's done this doesn't escape."

Warner said hoarsely, "No one's going anywhere. Docking ports are sealed."

"We could transport over—"

"Peter, Captain Scott's reports said they detected tetryon radiation at the targeted locations. Would that interfere with the transporters?"

He was silent for a long moment and Olivia could feel his frustration boiling off her communicator. "Don't know. Since we can't detect the particles with normal sensors, there's no way to determine an uncontaminated area. Dammit!"

Her comm whistled with another incoming message. "Hold position, Commander."

"Jessup to Captain Dunham!"

Olivia's heart seized. "Report, Lieutenant!"

"Commander Lee and Ensign Clark are unconscious. There was an explosion and she, she pushed the fire away from us. I didn't know she could do that!" Jessup sounded almost awed, a far departure from her usual composed demeanor. "Lee got burned, but he's okay. I— I don't know why Clark is down."

Olivia could guess, but the most important thing right now was to make sure they were safe. "Stay with them until medical teams arrive, Lieutenant. You're all right?"

"Singed but stable, Captain. I sprayed the worst of Commander Lee's burns with corophizine and anesthetic. Don't think there's anything I can do for Clark." Jessup added, "No sign of any hostiles. The man we were following disappeared. Probably used the cover of the explosion to escape."

"We'll worry about that later. Dunham out." She closed the comm and glanced over at Warner, who'd been busy relaying instructions to her own people, including a potential radiation warning. Olivia crammed the shapeshifter's device into the bottom of her phaser holster for safekeeping. "Point us where you need us."

The next several hours dissolved into a mad haze of fire suppression and damage control, with Warner ably coordinating with the starbase command center to direct personnel to the most affected areas. The Bell's other security teams checked in with only minor injuries scattered among them, then pitched in alongside Commander Francis to regain control of the station. Jessup reported back that Lincoln and Sally were both being cared for in the infirmary, and Olivia headed over as soon as the immediate hazards had been contained.

Lincoln was already awake and alert by the time she arrived. "Captain, I need to tell you—"

She was more relieved to see him than she could say. "First things first. How are you feeling?"

Lincoln shifted irritably. "Dermal regeneration itches. Listen, that's not important. I saw someone I knew on the Hartford, Tom Walker. He was an engineering ensign and he was on the list of those whose...whose bodies were never found."

Olivia whistled softly. "You're sure?"

"Yeah. But there's more. Jessup was behind me, she didn't see. We followed Tom—the person I thought was Tom—into a service corridor near a control junction. When we caught up with him his hands were glowing, and then he just vanished and the air exploded. Sally deflected most of the fire. If she hadn't, Amy and I would be dead." Lincoln looked at her through the dermaline gel burn mask. "Was that a shapeshifter? Is that what happened to my ship?"

The pieces fit together too neatly. "We'll need to do a thorough investigation, but it sounds likely."

Lincoln shook his head. "Long-term infiltrators and walking bombs. What are these things?"

"This patient needs rest!" an imperious voice said behind her, and Olivia turned to see one of the physicians glaring at her. "Kindly defer your conversation until a more appropriate time."

Olivia would have argued, but she knew that Lincoln really did need to rest. "Yes, sir," she said with some irony. "Commander, I'll see you back aboard as soon as they let you go."

She crossed the infirmary to find Ensign Clark. She spotted the woman apparently sleeping on one of the beds, with another doctor scanning her with a medical tricorder. "Doctor? Ensign Clark is one of my crew."

The Andorian doctor's antenna waved with what Olivia took to be irritation. "No burns, no concussion. No reason why she should still be unconscious."

"Psychic strain. Try 2 ccs of synaptizine," Olivia suggested.

The doctor looked wont to argue, as doctors usually did when faced with the unusual complications that could affect the Cortexiphan subjects. Olivia sighed and decided to pass the argument on to more qualified hands. "Contact Dr. Stanton on the William Bell. He'll confirm treatment."

The doctor grumbled agreement and Olivia stared down at Sally as he went to place the call. Sally had never been able to control fire that she didn't generate, but it wasn't unheard of for Cortexiphan abilities to suddenly manifest under stress. "Thank you," Olivia whispered, and reminded herself to repeat her gratitude when Sally could hear her.

She left the infirmary and found a quiet place. "Dunham to Commander Bishop."

"'Bout time you got back to me," Peter drawled, a sure sign of his aggravation. "Anything we can do over here besides twiddle our thumbs?"

"Stand pat. It's a mess over here, but I think it's all over except the cleanup." Olivia chose her next words carefully, putting the important part first. "Lincoln's okay. He was caught in one of the blasts but he's already awake and lucid."

Peter's silence spoke louder than any exclamation. "He's fine," Olivia said again, more softly. "Tell Lieutenant Lane that Ensign Clark's in the infirmary as well, but she didn't suffer any physical trauma and she'll be waking up soon."

"There's a story there, I can tell," Peter finally said, his voice almost sounding normal. "Next time you get to sit on the Bridge while I have the adventure."

"Deal. I'm going to touch base again with the security chief—you'd like her—and I'll come aboard as soon as the lockdown's lifted."

Olivia made her way back to Warner's office to find the woman pouring intently over security footage from right before the explosions. "Captain Dunham, look at this. They're good, whoever they are." She pointed out a number of seemingly innocuous individuals. "We're still trying to gather IDs, but it looks like they came in on separate ships. They—"

The security office door slid open to admit the station commander. Commodore Winters spotted Olivia and snarled, "What did you do to my station!"

Lieutenant Commander Warner stood to place herself between Olivia and her commanding officer. "Captain Dunham identified the threat! Sir."

Winters blinked at her, obviously surprised, and Warner pressed the advantage. "We're examining the evidence to put together a report for Starfleet Intelligence. I believe time is of the essence, Commodore."

"I expect a full report as well," Winters said with a huff, and stalked out again without a glance toward Olivia.

Warner rolled her eyes. "As I was saying. We should be able to make identifications within a couple of hours, but I thought you'd find this particularly interesting." She pulled up a schematic of the starbase, overlaid with the locations of the explosions. "Most of the detonations were positioned to cause maximum disruption rather than maximum casualties, for which I suppose we should be grateful. But this one seemed out of the way." She zeroed in on one of the landing bays. "This bay held a small, warp-capable shuttlecraft registered to a legitimate independent trading cooperative, Inter-Galactic Systems. I say 'held' because—well, look."

The commander pulled up an image of the interior of the docking bay and the shuttlecraft...which was now a smoking, blackened ruin. "My question is, why was this craft one of the targets? It's nowhere near any critical systems." She paused and added, "Our people have been busy with more significant areas, but I was going to lead a team over there once everything else is secured."

Olivia felt that creeping sensation at the back of her neck again. "Commander, would you hold off until my investigators can accompany you? I think that shuttle might hold answers we're looking for."

Warner looked at her measuringly for a second, then nodded. "Provided you tell me what's really going on here, as much as you can. I'll set a force field and post guards to prevent entry until then."

"Deal." The day's events were starting to catch up with her and Olivia realized she was going to crash, soon, if she didn't take a break. Besides, she could feel Nick's alarm in the back of her mind. She projected reassurance through their link, but she'd need to see him. "Am I clear to return to my ship? I'm afraid my chief engineer might drill through the bulkheads if I don't report back in person."

"Go ahead. I'm not releasing the docking clamps, though, until all vessels and personnel have been cleared. Gonna have a lot of unhappy guests for the next few days."

Olivia nodded her appreciation for the caution. "Thank you, Commander. For everything."

Ensign Kent was waiting for her just outside, having followed her from the infirmary and stood faithfully by all this while. "Back to the ship, Ensign, and then you're free of sentinel duty."

He smiled shyly at her. "No hardship at all, Captain."

Peter was, not unexpectedly, waiting for her inside the Bell's docking port. Olivia thought he might have grabbed her if not for Kent's presence, but he settled for a restrained, "Captain. Welcome back."

The look in his eye said she wasn't off the hook, but she really needed to see Nick. "I'll give a full briefing once Lincoln and Charlie are back aboard. We're going to need a thorough examination of a suspect shuttlecraft once things settle down. I'd like you to handle that, with Jessup and whoever else you need."

"Sure." Peter paced her as she headed toward deck 7 and Sickbay. "Lincoln's okay?"

"He really is." She glanced at him sideways. "Who's got the conn?"

"Ann Mathis. She was disappointed that she didn't get to shoot anything today."

"Next time. C'mon, you'll want to hear this." The Sickbay door slid open and Olivia spotted Nick talking with Frank, as expected. He turned and she nodded, saying, "She's all right, Nick."

Frank's expression was neutral, though his voice held a touch of irritation. "I authorized the synaptizine for Ensign Clark, although next time, perhaps you'll allow me to make the diagnosis?"

"...you're right. I apologize, Doctor." Olivia sighed and rubbed at her forehead. "As I understand the situation, Lincoln, Sally, and Amy Jessup were in close proximity to one of the explosions. Lincoln and Amy reported that Sally deflected the fire. She saved them both, but—"

"But the expression of a new ability threw her for a loop," Nick finished softly. "I felt something was wrong, but didn't know for sure until Commander Bishop notified me."

Frank nodded. "That sounds accurate from the records of the Cortexiphan project I've been able to access. I'll want to run some scans when she's back aboard."

"I'll make sure she sits still for them." Nick sounded calm, but Olivia could feel the belated creeping horror of Sally's close call behind his expression. She was feeling much the same about Lincoln, but needed to lock it down before she and Nick got caught in a feedback loop.

Peter caught her arm and Olivia realized she was swaying on her feet. Frank was right there too, with a medical tricorder practically in her face. "Low blood sugar exacerbated by adrenal fatigue. Nick—"

"Yeah, got it." Nick hurried over to the synthesizer and came back carrying a tray with a glass of orange juice and some plain crackers. "Just like when we were kids. Eat, Olive."

She did, sitting on one of the biobeds, feeling ridiculous. Frank shook his head. "That's it. I'm putting you on temporary medical leave—"

"Don't," she protested, but Frank didn't relent.

"—until twelve hundred hours tomorrow. Eat a real meal, get some sleep—I'll give you a sedative, which you will take—and you'll check in with me before you go on duty. One more of these incidents, Captain, and I'm going to fit you with a permanent monitor you won't be able to ignore." Frank glanced over at Peter. "With Commanders Lee and Francis still off ship, you'll remain in command until one of them returns. Clear?"

Peter was smirking. "Perfectly."

Olivia glared at him. "There's far too much to do. The investigation—"

"Will wait until they've finished assessing the damage. If the security chief's as good as you say, she's not going to want anyone stomping around on the evidence until everything's secured." Peter folded his arms, looking indecently satisfied. "Suck it up, 'livia, you've been relieved."

"I stand relieved," she muttered, feeling anything but. "Peter, have Astrid contact the Dauntless and let Captain Scott know what's happened here."

"She already did, on my order. Scott's on his way." Peter's smirk widened. "See, this command thing isn't so tough."

It was an egregious breach of protocol and at the moment, Olivia couldn't have been more grateful. She nodded, realizing that Peter was right; the station would be dealing with clean up and Lincoln would be in the infirmary at least until morning. There wasn't anything more she could accomplish at the moment anyway.

Frank had been listening to something on his communicator. He came back over with a hypo. "Recommendation from the station. Proactive hyronalin anti-rad treatments for everyone who was in proximity to the explosion areas." He pressed the hypo against her neck and put a sedative packet in her hand. "Now food, then sleep."

Nick hooked his arm under hers. "C'mon."

"You're all enjoying this a little too much," Olivia accused the three of them, but let Nick guide her out of Sickbay and all the way to her quarters.

Once inside, Nick sat her down and glanced through the preprogrammed list of favorites on her personal synthesizer. "Toast and cereal, seriously? That's the other problem, you never eat anything with protein in it."

Olivia was resigned to eating whatever he chose, but was pleasantly surprised when he returned with a bowl of oatmeal, smelling of cinnamon and studded with almonds. Nick watched her eat, then pointed to the packet she'd left on the side table. "Take that."

She rolled her eyes, but did as directed. "Okay?"

"Okay." He hesitated a moment and Olivia realized a little too late what he was waiting for. She got up, already feeling the sedative beginning to work, and pulled him into a hug.

Nick put his face into her shoulder and she stroked at his hair. "It's okay, Nicky. Sally's okay."

He let out a long shuddering breath. "Yeah. I talked to the doctor at the station, he said she's sleeping normally now."

"Good. That's good." Olivia's arms tightened around him. "Sally saved Lincoln's life, and Jessup's. I sent her on a whim—"

"Maybe, maybe not." Nick pulled back to look at her. "It's not completely impossible that your 'whim' was something more—but we can talk about that later. Go, sleep." He kissed her forehead and Olivia went as directed, falling asleep even before Nick left her quarters.

Olivia ate a real meal when she woke, not wanting to give Frank an excuse to prolong her leave. It probably, she acknowledged reluctantly, would be a good idea to ensure she did so on a more regular basis. She generally didn't assign her yeoman personal tasks, like straightening her cabin—Olivia preferred to look after her own space—but Emily would take a certain delight in being allowed to nag her captain to eat more regularly.

She dutifully swung by Sickbay and got her clearance. Frank thankfully omitted the lecture this time and reported that both Lincoln and Sally would be returning to the ship soon.

Olivia arrived on the Bridge to find Charlie sitting in the captain's chair. He started to get up but she waved him back down, grinning. His presence on most away missions meant he rarely had occasion to occupy the chair. "Looking good, Commander."

"This thing's a guaranteed ticket to back pain. You can keep it," Charlie groused. "All's quiet on the station, Lieutenant Commander Warner sends her compliments and says she's got her hands full today but can meet with you tomorrow morning, and Lieutenant Jessup's in your ready room, probably wearing a hole in the carpet waiting to make her report."

Olivia blinked at him. "I'd better see to her, then."

Amy Jessup drew herself up to full attention when Olivia entered the room. "Captain."

"Lieutenant." Olivia glanced at her and was surprised to see Jessup still wearing a scorched uniform. A long burn mark across her arm looked like it had received a cursory field dressing and little other attention. She'd been about to offer coffee, but the last thing the lieutenant needed was another reason to stay awake. "Please sit down before you fall down."

"Yes sir." Jessup perched on the edge of a chair, back still straight. "I've dictated a report, but I wanted to convey my impressions of the incident in person."

Dedication was a trait to be admired, but Olivia preferred her officers to display some care for their own physical needs. Never mind that she often failed put the theory into practice herself. "I'll hear it, as long as you report to Sickbay immediately afterward to have your injuries attended to. And then get some sleep. Next time, see to your wellbeing first."

Jessup flushed but seemed undeterred. "I will. I got caught up in the recovery operations and lost track of time."

That also sounded familiar. Olivia nodded her understanding and sat down behind the desk. "Go ahead."

The lieutenant's account wasn't substantially different than what Olivia had heard over the comm. She'd been following "Tom Walker" along with Lincoln and Sally, staying far enough behind so he wouldn't spot the three of them. From her perspective, they were just turning a corner into a service corridor when the explosion occurred. She hadn't seen the glowing hands, or the man vanish into thin air; she'd assumed Walker set some kind of incendiary device and ran.

"I should've been in front of Commander Lee," Jessup confessed, as if she expected to be court martialed for the lapse.

"From what it sounds like, it's just as well that you weren't," Olivia said mildly. She could imagine that Lincoln would have had even less patience for security protocol in that situation than she did.

"Yeah. About that." Jessup ran a hand through her hair and grimaced, probably at the ashy residue. "I...have some serious ethical qualms about the Cortexiphan project."

"You don't say," Olivia said, her tone dry, because Jessup's objections to the project were well documented. To her credit, she'd never displayed any hesitation about working with any of the subjects themselves; her outrage was reserved for Walter Bishop and William Bell.

Again, Jessup ignored her own discomfiture. "It seems ironic that I owe my life to an experiment I find morally reprehensible."

Olivia sympathized, but this really wasn't her department. "Maybe you should discuss this with Counselor Lane. Or Dr. Miller, if you'd be more comfortable talking with her."

"I will. I just wanted to say if I've let those feelings color my interactions with you or the others...I apologize." Lieutenant Jessup stood, wincing. "Permission to attend to this scratch, sir."

"Granted. Lieutenant, you don't have anything to apologize for." Jessup was nearly out the door when Olivia remembered to add, "Commander Bishop is going to be leading an investigation on the station once things settle down. He'll be calling on you for that."

"Then I really do need to get some sleep. Captain." Jessup flashed a genuine smile and left.

Olivia leaned back against her chair for a moment, then got up to retrieve her postponed coffee. She was finally taking that first blessed sip when Yeoman Mallum entered the room. "I have your schedule for the day, Captain," she started as usual, and then glanced out toward the starbase. "I...I don't know what to think. About the visions, I mean. The attack happened anyway, so what good are they?" She blushed and said, "I'm sorry, that was—"

"Perfectly appropriate, given the circumstances. Emily, sit down." Olivia glanced at the light schedule Emily had sent to her PADD. Considering they were docked at a starbase in crisis, most ordinary ship's business was on hold for the day. "We weren't able to prevent the attack, but we've already learned more about these shapeshifters than we knew before. That's going to help us find and stop them sooner rather than later."

Emily blew out a frustrated breath. "Simon warned me that the value of precognition was usually only apparent in retrospect. It's really annoying!"

"I can imagine." Olivia thought back to the early days of the project, when her Cortexiphan abilities were just beginning to manifest in unpredictable and unexpected ways. "But we wouldn't have been here to witness this incident, if not for your vision. So—"

Her desk comm chimed and Astrid's voice rang out. "Captain, Commander Lee and Ensign Clark are aboard and being examined in Sickbay. Dr. Stanton says, and I quote, 'You can have them when I'm done with them.'"

Olivia laughed despite herself. "Acknowledged, Lieutenant."

Emily had already gotten to her feet again. "You, uh, should go and see them. Oh! I have this for you to sign." She pulled another PADD out of her satchel. "The official requisition form for a new graviton telescope."

Olivia signed the form with a certain wry flourish. The equipment request might've just been a pretext, but Brandon would be pleased.

She stopped briefly by her quarters on the way to Sickbay. When she entered the medical center, she spotted Nick and Sally in one of the half-curtained cubicles, talking to Frank. She looked around and saw Lincoln sitting on one of the recovery beds, tapping at his PADD.

She'd just have to endure the doctor's wrath. Olivia went over, noting that Lincoln already looked much better than when she'd seen him the previous evening. His burns were still visible but clearly healing.

Somehow, Lincoln managed to get the first word in. "Frank told me you nearly fainted. You're feeling better?"

She made a face at him. "Frank is a worrywart and so are you. Yes, I'm fine. Still itchy?"

"Very. Thank you for reminding me." He looked down for a moment. "I realize how lucky I am to be alive. Did you know...?"

His question was incomplete, but obvious. "I was just thinking that if you ran into shapeshifters on the station, it might be useful to have someone with special abilities with you. That's all."

"But you specifically named Sally," Lincoln pressed. "She's not the only Cortexiphan subject in security, and the fact that you chose one with an affinity for fire..."

Olivia was inclined to call it random fortune and nothing more, but Nick's comment of the night before made her swallow an immediate denial. "If it was anything more than good luck, I wouldn't depend on a repeat." She shook her head. "I'm just glad you're all right. And I wanted you to be the first to see this."

She held out the device she'd retrieved from her quarters. "I think this is what the shapeshifters use to change their forms."

Lincoln looked at it, but he didn't reach out to touch. "Looks like some sort of biomechanical interface. Peter and Brandon should look at it. And our cybernetics expert, Dr., uh—" Lincoln got that look that meant he was momentarily drawing a blank.

"Tessa Ennis," Olivia supplied. That wasn't just her eidetic memory; Tessa had been one of the Cortexiphan subjects in Jacksonville. And another of them—

Olivia stared at the device, then looked up. "Before they take a crack at it, I know someone who can give us a head start."

When Timothy Ober's (Timothy Michael, he would always insist when they were kids) Cortexiphan ability first manifested, his psychometry talent emerged with such intensity that touching anything with his bare hands overwhelmed him with a flood of sensory information. He could feel the trauma of a tree being cut down when he handled a wooden toy block; touching the chicken nuggets the children were served for lunch sparked a hysterical fit as he experienced the chicken's short sad life. When the ability began to encroach on the rest of his skin, making it nearly impossible for him to eat or even wear clothing, desperate measures needed to be taken.

Walter Bishop used post-hypnotic suggestions to completely block Timothy Michael's ability, ending the immediate difficulties. Over time those blocks were slowly and carefully eroded, allowing the boy access to the ability in limited circumstances.

Because Timothy Michael was a friendly, gregarious child, it proved easiest to employ his connections to the other children to provide a counterbalance for his ability. When he felt himself being overwhelmed by images and sensations from an object he was touching, he could draw on the presence and support of his peers to center himself.

The treatment worked, with one unavoidable side effect: Timothy was no longer able to access his ability without the assistance of the other Cortexiphan subjects. That factor had a lot to do with his decision to join Starfleet. The ability might be both blessing and curse, but it was a part of him, and living without it entirely would be like voluntarily cutting off his arm.

Besides, the talent occasionally came in handy for his career as a historian.

Olivia knew this the same way she knew the intimate stories of all the Cortexiphan subjects. During the trials they'd bonded with each other to greater or lesser degrees and thereby been set apart from all others. She and Timothy didn't have a particularly close relationship, but they still understood enough about each other to make others think they—and all the Cortexiphan subjects—had some kind of special psychic connection.

Which, she supposed, was true enough. (Especially concerning her and Nick, due to his empathy.) But there was nothing magical about it, and Olivia had tried throughout her career to demystify their abilities whenever possible. The existence of "special powers" in the other races the Federation encountered made explanations easier; humans understood telepathy from their contact with Vulcans, and Starfleet ships had stumbled across many other races with psychic abilities.

Still, the fact remained that sometimes those who had shared such formative experiences needed to gather without the company of...outsiders. Olivia winced at the thought, but it was true. No one else could truly understand what they'd been through. More to the immediate point, Timothy needed help to access his ability, and it was her responsibility to make that happen.

Olivia reserved one of the rec rooms for beta shift and asked Sam to clear out the usual chairs and tables. The other Cortexiphan subjects who'd volunteered to help drifted in at the appointed hour, most coming off alpha shift but others having traded shifts from their usual duty stations or even interrupting their sleep cycles.

Ensign Ober arrived, looking nervous but determined. "I'm happy to help however I can, Captain."

"Olivia," she said softly, because what they were doing here had very little to do with her rank at all.

Timothy nodded and smiled, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. "It's just been awhile."

"We'll help you through it," Nick said from behind Timothy, and the others standing near him nodded their agreement.

Olivia glanced around at the assembled group of her peers: Nick, of course, and Sally with him. She could feel that Nick was irritated, though he was doing his best to tamp it down, worried that Sally was pushing herself too hard after the new manifestation of her ability on the station. James Heath, looked sour as usual, but he'd been insistent on being included because—as he said in his customary acid tone—someone had to keep an eye on the proceedings from a medical standpoint to make sure no one blew a gasket. Simon Phillips' telepathy would play a critical role here today. Ben Kanuho had tied back his waist-length black hair and was mediating in a yoga pose as a preliminary to clearing his mind. And Tessa Ennis was lurking along the back wall as if she didn't want to be included in the proceedings at all. Olivia wondered briefly why the woman had come, considering her general lack of sociability. The answer lay in Olivia's hand: clearly, Tessa didn't want to let the shapeshifter device out of her sight once she learned of its existence.

Without any further word the seven of them began to form a circle around Timothy, making him the focal point. Olivia handed Timothy the pronged device and took her place in the circle with Nick to her left, Sally on his other side and so on around the circle until it came around to Simon on her right.

Again without words they spread their arms wide, reaching out toward each other without quite touching. Timothy closed his eyes, the device clutched tight in his hand, and opened his mind to them.

Olivia felt it happen, the indefinable mental "click" that signaled a psychic connection being forged. She sensed Nick most clearly, the constant link between them now pushed to the forefront of her mind. The emotions flowing from the others—nervousness, excitement, uncertainty—swirled together and Olivia instinctively took the lead, channeling their energy and filtering it through her determination.

The combined energy of the circle reached out to Timothy, and—

"Aaaa!" Timothy's eyes flew open and he dropped the device to the floor.

Olivia said to the circle, very calmly, "Don't move." She held her position, her arms still outstretched. "Timothy, are you all right?"

"Yes, fine, sorry!" He stooped and picked up the device, examining it. "No damage. It's just, that first bunch of images was really...weird."

She glanced over at Simon, but he shook his head. "Too fast to get anything specific." Simon's telepathy made him crucial for this exercise, but it took considerable effort on his part to overcome the natural resistance the other Cortexiphan subjects had to his ability.

Timothy took a deep breath. "Okay, let's try again."

"Waste of time," Tessa muttered, but the immediate glares from the others kept Olivia from having to step in.

"Adjust your attitude," Sally said coldly, "or get out."

Olivia blinked a little at the tone, but Sally had been a group leader at her trial site; old habits lingered. Tessa dropped her eyes and seemed to gather her focus, while Olivia exchanged a surprising nod of accord with Sally across Nick's back.

Timothy took a deep breath and Olivia felt his mind reach out to join the circle's connection again. This time the link held fast, and Olivia had the sense of a door opening as Timothy's ability began to speak through him.

"He's been so many people," Timothy said in a detached, almost disinterested tone. "He and the other soldiers, they've been here too long. They were separated when they came through, falling into different..." he paused for a long time. "...planes. Universes. It took them a long time before they figured out how to contact their leader. Newton has the key, Newton knows what they need to do, but Newton fell on the other side." Timothy frowned, as if trying to translate from an alien language. "They talk to him through the...mirror...and he told them how to build the machine to bring him here."

All those random parts, Olivia thought, while Timothy continued. "He and the others—there are so many!—did their best, but now that Newton's here they can— they can—"

Timothy shuddered and said, very low in his natural voice, "I'm losing it."

"Show us who they are," Olivia said urgently, thinking that if nothing else, knowing who the shapeshifters were—or had been—might give some clue to their ultimate goals.

Timothy nodded jerkily and his brow furrowed. "It's like flipping through a catalog of faces, every time he stole a life there was another face in his mirror, and then all the faces all the others have worn, some for years—"

He shuddered again and cried out, falling to his knees, the device still cradled in his hands. His body curled forward and Olivia felt him fighting to keep the link open for as long as he could. The seven of them channeled their support through the connection for long minutes until Timothy moaned, a muted broken sound, and let the device slip out of his hand.

"I have them," Simon said, his voice pitched with strain. He broke from the circle and grabbed up a pad of paper and a pen that he'd set to the side, and sat down on the floor to begin drawing the images he'd pulled from Timothy's visions.

Olivia dropped down next to Timothy, James Heath mirroring her on Timothy's opposite side. James already had his tricorder out, running a medical scan, although he knew as well as anyone that Timothy's collapse was due to psychic exhaustion rather than physical damage. He nodded to her unspoken question. "He'll be fine. When we're done here, I'll take him back to Sickbay for monitoring."

Tessa was there too, but she'd barely looked at Timothy, instead retrieving the shapeshifter device from the floor. "Looks okay. I can start running diagnostics immediately."

"Why don't you do that," Olivia told her in a flat tone. Tessa looked at her, blanched, and left with haste.

Olivia glanced over to where Simon was drawing furiously on the pad and said quietly to James, "He'll have a hell of a migraine when this is over."

"Right." Without preamble, James left Timothy to her and walked over to jam a hypo in Simon's shoulder. Simon grunted acknowledgement but didn't look up.

"Sorry," Timothy whispered.

"You did great." Olivia patted his back, feeling awkward, and was grateful when Nick came over.

"Now that," Nick said, crouching down, "was a spectacular exercise of ability."

Timothy glanced at him, saw Nick's admiring expression, and started to smile. "I guess, uh, I haven't lost the knack."

"You gave us a lot," Olivia assured him. She'd need to examine the log to pick out the individual details—the mention of 'Newton,' the talk of other universes. It sounded like the shapeshifters were part of a much bigger scheme than anyone had imagined. She glanced across the room to where Simon was still busily drawing and caught Sally's eye. "Rest. I'll be right back."

She stood up and crossed the room to Sally. "What you did yesterday..."

Sally shrugged, a touch too casually. "As big a surprise to me as anyone."

"Thank you. I can't imagine—" Olivia shook her head, banishing the what-ifs. "I don't have to imagine, thanks to you."

"...sure." A small smile crept across her mouth and Sally leaned toward Olivia, her voice dropping to a confidential murmur. "Nick thinks I should've sat this out but honestly? I feel great. It's like..."

"A total rush," Olivia agreed, remembering what it'd felt like the first time she deliberately moved something with her mind.

Sally laughed a little. "Yeah! Exactly."

They looked at each other, the personal issues between them banished for the moment. Not precisely the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Olivia thought wryly, but maybe a significant thaw.

She chose not to spoil it by commenting further. The pile of illustrations next to Simon had been growing at a steady pace. Quick sketches, she saw when she went over to look, impressions that he could use to fill in the details later.

Olivia shuffled through them and froze: a rough image in the corner of one of the pages looked impossibly familiar. It couldn't be, but—

She grabbed for her PADD and had it access the library computer for Starfleet personnel records. Within moments, she found what she was looking for and held the picture up to the room. "Timothy, this is one of the people you saw?"

He nodded, frowning. "Yes."

Olivia sprinted for the door and heard Nick behind her start to reassure the others. Olivia trusted him to make sure Timothy related his impressions of everything he'd seen; she had a more immediate priority.

She reached the Bridge and was surprised to see Astrid at the communications station; she must have traded duty shifts. Just as well. "Astrid, open hailing frequencies. Emergency transmission to Captain Scott of the Dauntless, priority one. Ears only."

Birger Anthonsen had started to get up from the captain's chair, but Olivia waved him back down. Astrid signaled that the transmission packet was ready and Olivia continued, "They're shapeshifters, John. We have proof, but right now you need to know there's a high likelihood Mitchell Loeb is one of them. Detain him on my authorization and I'll take the heat." She nodded to Astrid to send the message.

The Bridge was operating on a reduced crew since they were sitting immobile at the starbase, so only Astrid and Birger had heard the broadcast. Birger's face was a study in shock and Olivia thought it was fortunate that he was sitting—he'd served with her on the Dauntless. He stared at her and asked, "Commander Loeb is...?"

"Looks like." She could still hope Timothy's ability had read the device inaccurately, because otherwise John's first officer had been spying on his operations for—months? years?—and all the Dauntless' investigations had been compromised. But she didn't think they'd be that lucky. "I'll catch you up on the situation when I can."

Birger nodded, clearly trying to regain his equilibrium. Olivia couldn't officially justify informing the rest of the crew about the situation until she received clearance from Starfleet Intelligence...although considering the exercise she'd just undertaken in the rec room, the information was already out.

"Astrid, please have the senior officers meet in briefing room one at eighteen hundred hours. Arrange for your relief and join us there. We need to record a full official debrief." Olivia sighed, thinking the meeting was likely to run late. "And let Sam know we'll need something to eat sent up."

By morning Olivia had started to become genuinely concerned that John hadn't responded to her message. The Dauntless was scheduled to arrive at the starbase sometime late this afternoon, but it wasn't like John not to reply. If something had gone wrong, if Loeb had intercepted the message— if he'd decided to abandon his cover and leave the ship, like they theorized Walker had done on the Hartford—

No point worrying about it until she had actual reason. In the meantime Olivia had plenty to occupy her, beginning with meeting with Angela Warner on the station. Warner eyed Peter with amusement when Olivia introduced him. "So you're the one who was threatening to put holes in my station if you didn't get your captain back."

"She gets in trouble when she wanders off," Peter drawled without missing a beat, and rolled his eyes at Olivia when Warner glanced back at her screens.

"Well, whatever brought you wandering this way, I'm grateful for the assistance." Warner sighed. "Commodore Winters is demanding answers and frankly, I don't have much to give him. Hoping you can help with that. Let me show you what we've got so far."

In cooperation with the other ships, Warner had identified at least fifteen individuals who'd been involved in the incident. They'd all been on the station at the time of the explosions...and none had left by ordinary means. The tetryon radiation left by the detonations interfered with sensors, but eyewitness accounts—like Lincoln's—confirmed that those individuals had been at the center of each event.

They'd all been members of their crews for years and had never raised any suspicious flags by their actions or behavior. Just like Tom Walker of the Hartford.

Olivia nodded grimly at the confirmation. "We'll need to go over this again for Captain Scott of the Dauntless. His ship's been heading up the investigation. We just got lucky and made it here first."

Angela looked up. "John Scott? The one who took out Moreau's operation?"

"The same," Olivia confirmed. She'd worked that case too, back while she was the lead investigator on the Dauntless.. Moreau had been designing chemical weapons slated for sale to the highest bidder—and both the Romulans and the Orion Syndicate had been looking to buy. "How'd you know about that?"

"I keep an eye on high-profile security cases," Warner said, but there was a faint blush on her cheeks.

Hero worship, Olivia thought with amusement. Fair enough; John's record deserved the appreciation. "He should be arriving later today. Meanwhile, there's still that shuttlecraft to look over."

Warner got to her feet and looked eager to go. "Commander Bishop, I assume you'll be accompanying me?"

"And my team." At Warner's nod, Peter signaled the Bell. "Astrid, let Jessup and Kashner know we're ready for them."

As much as she wanted to accompany them, Olivia knew it'd be better to leave the specialists to their job. Besides, the less time she spent on the station, the less chance she'd have of running into Commodore Winters and aggravating both of them.

She went back to the ship and dropped in to see how Brandon and Tessa's examination of the shapeshifter device was progressing. They were still in the early stages, deep in technical discussion. She'd have better understanding if she waited for Peter to translate the results.

Olivia spent the rest of the afternoon working on the official report with Lincoln, adding in his direct experience of the events on the station. They'd finally quit for a dinner break when her comm whistled.

"Captain, the Dauntless has just entered the system. Captain Scott is requesting immediate conference," her communicator said, in the slightly clipped voice of Ensign Jonathan Grey-Thompson. He usually worked the communications station during gamma shift, but must have traded off due to the unusual circumstances.

Olivia rarely had the opportunity to see Jonathan, though she'd celebrated at his wedding; he'd married one of the Jacksonville Cortexiphan subjects, Kenneth Thompson (Thompson-Grey, now), they day after they'd both graduated Starfleet Academy. She would have taken a moment for pleasantries if her relief at hearing from John wasn't so overwhelming. "Thank you, Ensign. Put him through."

John didn't bother with pleasantries, either. "Mitchell Loeb's vanished. He knocked out two of my crew and escaped with a shuttle as soon as we came out of warp. Dammit, Olivia, what's going on?"

He sounded completely bewildered. Better bewildered than the alternative, Olivia thought. "...Did you receive my message about Loeb? It was sent seventeen hundred hours yesterday."

"No. No, I did not." John was sounding more grim by the second. "We've been having issues with communications going missing or being garbled lately. I'm assuming it's related?"

"Very. Come aboard the station as soon as you arrive. I'll meet you in the security office."

"Aye, Captain," John said, and signed off.

Finally, Olivia thought, they could start putting all the pieces together.

The next several days consisted of a flurry of investigations, inquiries, and reports. Once, Olivia would have been at John's side while he carried out the interviews; now she had to stand by (on her ship, away from Winters' ire) and wait.

John finally found time to catch up with her once the initial furor had subsided. He'd confirmed the existence of Hicks' double with Starfleet and emphasized that without the Bell's presence at the station, they might not have uncovered the true nature of the threat. The disappearance of his first officer lent weight to his report, and he'd sent word through his secret channels to back up her Section 31 claim. "But that's a marker they're going to call in, Liv."

"Deal with that when it happens. Thanks, John."

"De nada." John smiled, revealing those appealing dimples Olivia had always found hard to resist. "Listen, I know the timing isn't ideal, but if you want to get together later..."

Olivia shook her head before she even knew what her answer was going to be, and then there was no other possible option. Despite the dimples. "I think it'd be best if we kept things professional from here on out." She smiled faintly, trying to take the sting out of it. "We're both under enough scrutiny as it is."

A weak excuse, and that had never really stopped them before; they'd eventually broken the resolution on their previous split as a result of stress and absence. But this time really felt like an ending.

John nodded, his face stoic, the hurt showing only in his eyes. "I...understand."

He took his leave shortly after that, stopping for a last quick caution. "Harris is gunning for you, Liv. Things are in motion."

The investigation dragged on, with still no word from Starfleet Command aside from a terse order to remain at the starbase until further notice. Olivia had begun to wonder if someone was trying to provoke her into extreme action when the transmission came through.

Astrid decrypted the message and looked over from her station, clearly unhappy to be the bearer of uncertain tidings.

"We've been recalled to Earth."

Epilogue

Newton lay on the floor of the refuge and groaned. Everything hurt, especially the harmonic rods implanted in his hands and his spine that had allowed him to teleport away from the starbase to this prepared location. But the shock of translocation, directly after being torn from the other universe, left him feeling weak and disoriented.

The enervation would pass, but for the moment he was content to simply lie on the cold floor and breathe in the air of this new universe. The universe he was supposed to have arrived in years ago, when he and the others were first sent across dimensional barriers on their mission.

If nothing else, he could take bitter satisfaction in the fact that the station he and the others had left so abruptly would be dealing with the aftereffects of their departure. The explosions and the radiation left behind by the jaunt would delay efforts to track them and make identification difficult. Newton regretted—as much as it was in his nature to regret—having to leave the machine that brought him to this universe behind, but teleporting from where he'd stood next to it in the shuttle would have damaged the apparatus beyond repair. Still, humans in any universe were clever mammals and it was also possible that they would be able to reassemble the mechanism and recognize its purpose. No matter; the confirmation that it had been used to access an alternate universe would only sow confusion. If the humans took it as a sign that the other universe was warring against them in some fashion, even better.

Because there was a war between universes, and Newton was its first soldier. But the universe he'd been pulled from was an innocent bystander, as it were, complete irrelevant to the plans of Newton's masters. Wherever they were, in the place Newton and the other shapeshifters originated from. A universe far, far away even by dimensional standards.

Newton got shakily to his feet, noting the large harmonic rods standing in the corners of the room that had acted as anchors to draw him here. The other shapeshifters were still lying on the ground in what passed for their unconscious state—although "inactive" was probably a better term for it. He was content to leave them where they lay for the moment while he accessed the latest reports of their movements in this universe. Communication over the last several years had been difficult, sporadic, and Newton often found himself cursing impotently at their ill-advised actions. They'd done as well as could be expected without him, but too often resorted to noisy, crude methods to achieve their ends. They were supposed to be infiltrators, not infantry.

That was probably unfair. They'd done well to insert a spy on the ship tracking their activities, and there were several other moles in critical Starfleet positions just waiting to be activated. But it took too long to assemble the device that brought him here. The clumsy implementations, the explosions, the chain of destruction, had alerted too many people to their existence. Plans needed to be accelerated.

Coda

He hadn't felt this awkward since he was dating (and breaking up with) Alicia Dvoskin.

Lincoln had no idea about the protocol for this kind of thing. He and Peter were—

He wasn't actually sure what he and Peter were. On the surface their relationship was completely casual and both of them were fine with that. But in Lincoln's experience casual flings didn't offer the kind of support Peter had, and Lincoln wouldn't have been comfortable dropping in on a...friend with benefits...in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep.

Peter seemed to play by his own rules, which was fine, and Lincoln was happy to go with the flow. But he did feel he owed Peter disclosure, if not an explanation. The explanation would be both irrelevant and obvious anyway.

He gritted his teeth and dove in. "I kissed Olivia."

"You did?" Peter was looking at him, half amazed, half...was that delight on his face? Not the reaction Lincoln had been expecting. "Did she kiss back?"

"Uh, yes—" Lincoln said, startled into answering. He was about to say that he wasn't going to reveal any more when Peter nodded and walked over to the desk to pick up his communicator.

"Bishop to Captain Dunham."

"Dunham here."

"Permission to tell Lincoln about Outpost 16." Peter was watching him, expression completely unrevealing.

There was a longish pause, a hesitation before Olivia said, "Granted."

Peter flipped his communicator closed and grinned. "I knew she would. Liv plays fair." He broke off, staring down at the comm device. "You know, there's got to be a better way to manage these things."

"Peter, focus." Lincoln knew he'd lose Peter to an engineering puzzle if he let the moment slide. "What about Outpost 16?"

"Right. Yeah, Olivia and I met before I signed onto the Bell. And by 'met' I mean we were both traveling around and unattached and you shoulda seen her in that dress." Peter's eyes went unfocused and he was smiling with the memory. "We had a good time together before she was called to the ship. I might've..." he stopped, shaking his head. "But I didn't join this crew expecting anything more to happen between us. At least not while she's the captain."

Lincoln listened with less surprise than might have been expected. The story fit the way he'd seen Peter and Olivia interact—she'd always been noticeably relaxed with him, and there'd always been a careful chivalry in Peter's reactions to her. Whatever truce they'd negotiated delineated a line that neither of them would cross.

A line he'd crossed, but then, he and Olivia didn't have that kind of previous understanding. "That...explains a lot, actually." Peter was watching him closely. Lincoln shrugged. "I'm not sure where that leaves us."

Peter laughed softly. "Same as before, unless you've changed your mind."

This was the weirdest conversation he'd had in awhile. Lincoln frowned, trying to work it out. "You don't mind? That I kissed her?"

"Hell no." Peter grinned, looking completely at ease. "Olivia's wound so tight, it's good to hear she's willing to bend a little. But, uh. I hope you're not expecting her to—"

"No," Lincoln said. Peter's comments were making more sense by the moment. "I won't try again. Unless invited, and like you said, while she's captain..."

Peter seemed a little uncertain suddenly. "Yeah. Look, it's not like I was using you as a substitute for her, or anything like that."

Lincoln stifled a laugh. "I wasn't mistaking you for her, either." He crossed the room to Peter, sure of nothing but this. "I'm not mistaking anyone else for you."

Peter looked like he might have something else to say about that, but Lincoln really wasn't interested in doing any further talking.

Outtake
(Explicit content, available on AO3.)

NOTES
The USS William Bell org chart and crew roster (available on AO3) have been updated.

Alf Tanzer is a cousin of Harb Tanzer of the Enterprise, from Diane Duane's novels:

Lieutenant Tanzer was a stocky, square-built man, muscular, but with the muscles padded and gentled by a smoothing of fat. He had the prominent nose and craggy features common to many Earth-humans of the Third Diaspora, as well as the thick silver hair characteristic of those gallant-mad early spacers, who had so often dared deep space without appropriate shielding and had introduced some interesting mutations into their bloodlines as a result. ... He was Chief of Recreation, a small department but an important one on a starship.
—from The Wounded Sky, by Diane Duane (recommended reading for everyone)