44

Aric Tulley entered the private office of Pytor Boromov and then stood with his hands behind his back. It took Boromov several more minutes to cease working at his desktop computer and to acknowledge Tulley's presence.

"Aric, sooo good to see you."

Tulley's teeth gnashed at Boromov's affected pleasantry. He decided it was a good thing that the resort owner's guards had disarmed him or he might try to shoot the bastard. Tulley had travelled for three days and the last thing he needed to hear right now was this pompous ass' preening. It wouldn't have been half as bad if it was genuine but it was all an act.

Boromov was among the galaxy's most calculating and cold-blooded individuals. He armed half the quadrant's dissident groups and the Federation labelled half of those as terrorists. Of course, the mighty Federation didn't advertise the fact that half of its "protectorates" had armed groups actively opposing UFP membership. It also ignored the fact that selected border regions had terrorist cells striking out to halt the Federation's encroachment on their borders.

Boromov supplied them all. His stated goal was to reshape the Federation. Boromov envisioned a more insular Federation that enlarged its boundaries slowly rather than with the inexorable drive that fuelled its seemingly ceaseless expansion. Boromov simply felt the Federation was growing too fast to adequately protect its Member worlds. He thought that by throwing endless hazards in its way, the Federation Council would turn towards the path of security rather than expansion.

Tulley had known of Boromov's ideological baggage when he'd accepted help from him. Then the Omicrons had come and made a better offer. When their support dried up, Tulley returned hat in hand to Boromov. Boromov had been understanding about the situation. The Omicron had persuaded half of his clients to sign with them. He was ready to pick up where the Omicron had left off.

"Thanks for the refuge, Pytor." Tulley said with genuine sentiment.

"Nonsense. You're my guest." Boromov waved his hand, "Everyone needs to take some time off and rethink strategic planning."

"Pytor, the Maquis rebirth has been crushed." Tulley grew angry, "And all because of Brin Macen and Outbound Ventures, Inc."

"But I know of this man." Boromov said, "My security director is in awe of him. He has a reputation for success that is second to none. Outbound Ventures' other captains are almost as legendary. These people defy death on a daily basis. It is said that Starfleet is among their clientele."

"The Cardassian Union certainly is." Tulley spat, "Macen fought beside me against the Cardassians in the first Maquis rebellion yet he sided with the spoonheads against me in the second."

"Your former captain chose Starfleet over the rebellion as well yet you find no fault with her." Boromov observed.

"You leave Ro Laren out of this!" Tulley shouted.

"Ah, still in love with the Bajoran maiden. Tell me, does she know?" Boromov asked with intrigue.

"No," Tulley grated, angered at having his long kept secret guessed at, "and she's not going to."

Boromov held his hands up in surrender, "Far be it from me to reveal your pining. From what I've heard of the lady, she's liable to shoot me for being the messenger of such unexpected news."

"What are you trying to say?" Tulley demanded through clenched teeth.

"Aric, the entire Federation is looking for you. I had to expend a great deal of influence in order to keep your arrival quiet." Boromov explained, "If I were to show up at a Federation Starbase and announce admissions of unrequited love from a notorious terrorist to a Starfleet officer, don't you think I'd at least be detained?"

Tulley relented, "I suppose so."

"You suppose right, comrade." Boromov clapped him on the back, "You and your people will enjoy my hospitality. You can't utilise the resort of course, but I will fix you up with entertainment."

"Thank you."

"Now, my people will escort you back to the landing field on the other side of the island." Boromov had storehouses and landing strips hidden away throughout the island, "Do you have your anti-sensor nets set up?"

"The entire installation is blanketed." Tulley assured him, "It'll take a visual identification to confirm our presence."

"That's unlikely." Boromov satisfied himself, "Tourists stick with the southern, equatorial section of the island and coastline. 'Do not trespass' signs are posted everywhere, including the offshore buoys."

"Good." Tulley said grimly, "I'd hate to have to kill a tourist."

"I'd hate to see that happen." Boromov said, "I'll instruct my men to double the shore and maritime patrols."

"You might want to begin aerial surveillance as well."

"Of course." Boromov conceded, "Now, if my men can escort you back to your people, I can start making arrangements. Those arrangements would include rejuvenating your movement with arms and personnel."

"I'd like to see you pull that off." Tulley remarked sarcastically.

"Tut tut." Boromov waved a finger, "No one will follow a disillusioned leader."

"I'll work on my attitude." Tulley replied gruffly, his attitude still one of disbelief.

"Mark my words, my friend, your movement will be reborn from its present ashes." Boromov promised.

"Yeah, right." Tulley retorted and left the office, surrounded by two guards that seemed to materialise from nowhere.


Admiral Johnson strode through the Intrepid's docking hatch via the umbilical connecting her to the spacedock's support systems. "Yard dog" engineers were completing her construction while being supervised by Johnson's flag staff. They had already modified the ship's systems with several personal touches. Once aboard, he tapped his issue comm badge. It didn't respond with the usual chirp.

Johnson cast a questioning eye towards the closest engineer. The engineer wore a bemused smile.

"The comm array is down, Admiral" she explained, "All you have is the badge's inherent range, which isn't much."

"Then how are you communicating?" Johnson enquired.

"With these." the engineer removed a small rectangular device from underneath her uniform jacket and flipped it open, "Johnson to Commander Striker."

"Striker here, Ensign, how can I help you?"

"Admiral Johnson has just arrived, sir."

"Tell the Commander that I want to brief all the present senior staff." Johnson instructed.

"Did you overhear that, Commander?"

"Loud and clear." Striker chuckled, "Admiral, I'll assemble the staff in the flag briefing room."

"I'll see you there." Johnson replied.

The female Johnson closed her communicator and faced the Admiral, "Do you need a guide?"

"No need Ensign, I've been boarding her since her keel was laid." Johnson paused, "Johnson's a good name."

The engineer beamed, "Carried by the best, sir."

"Do you have a first name?"

"Emily, sir." she blushed.

"Mine's Robert." Johnson stroked his beard, "Are you a yard dog or ship's crew, Emily?"

"I'm crew, sir." Emily revealed, "I've been with the crew since before the last Intrepid died."

Seeing as how the Intrepid's systems had been invaded by an alien energy being, "died" was an apropos description of her end. That death haunted Johnson. If he'd been able to reach a rational arrangement with the being, it and the ship wouldn't have had to die.

"Carry on, Emily." Johnson ordered, "I'll be watching you."

Emily gulped, not sure if Johnson's watchful eye was a good thing or a bad one. Johnson continued down the corridor, turned left and continued onward until he reached a turbolift. He stepped into the turbolift and requested deck three. When the doors opened he exited and proceeded directly to the briefing room.

The senior staff waited inside. Commander Jonathan Striker, the Executive Officer, sat next to the head of the table. Commander Robert Caplan, the Chief Engineer, sat at the end of the table. Commander Andreja Sikorsky, the Chief Medical Officer, sat beside Striker. Lt. Commander Ian Delaney, the Tactical and Chief Security Officer, sat across from Sikorsky.

"I have disturbing news people." Johnson began as he took his seat at the head of the table, "There is a situation which I believe one of us may be able to assist in."

Seeing expectant stares in reply, Johnson outlined the least classified portions of the SID's investigation into the whereabouts of Aric Tulley and his cohorts. He neglected to mention Drake's suspicions regarding Pytor Boromov's role in the affair nor The SID's previous investigation into Boromov. These facts were classified at the highest level. However, Macen's investigation into Tulley was only classified as a Level 5 security clearance. All of Johnson's people were cleared at that level.

"So which department is handling this investigation?" Striker asked.

"The Special Investigations Division." Johnson answered.

The SID was Starfleet's open secret. Few civilians knew of it but it had gained quite a reputation amongst Starfleet personnel. Delaney asked the next most obvious question.

"Who's heading the investigation?"

"One Commander Brin Macen."

Delaney whistled, "Macen is a legend in the intelligence field. I thought he retired into the active reserves though."

"His commission was reactivated, as was those of his entire crew." Johnson explained, "They still act the part of privateers as part of their cover but they're really Starfleet."

"I wonder why someone hasn't thought of this ploy before?" Delaney asked.

"Previously it was a matter of honour that Starfleet kept all of their operations above board." Johnson replied, "Ever since the Dominion War though, tactics have changed somewhat."

"Wasn't Macen a member of the Maquis?" Sikorsky asked.

"For a number of years." Johnson revealed.

"Didn't he serve on the front lines for the extent of the Border Wars?" Delaney enquired.

"Again, correct." Johnson nodded.

"I heard he was court-martialled and busted in rank." Striker said.

"All of you have made accurate assessments."

"How does a man like this still wear the uniform?" Sikorsky demanded, "His negatives seem to outweigh his positives."

Johnson's eyes twinkled with amusement, "He continues to serve because he's an idealist. An idealist that pulls off miracles on a regular basis."

"And loses a lot of hardware in the process." Caplan observed.

"That's classified Commander, so I won't ask where you heard it from." Johnson's tone turned a little more rigid.

"All of this seems moot." Striker observed, "We're in no shape to support Macen's mission, no matter what we think of his credentials."

"Not all of us." Johnson's twinkle returned, "But one of us can. Ian, I have a mission for you."

"Me?" Delaney blinked in surprise, "I'll do whatever I'm ordered to, Admiral, but honestly what can I do that the SID team isn't already?"

"I want you to go on vacation on Risa. Stay at the Royale resort." Johnson ordered, "Do what you can to quietly support Macen's search for Tulley. If they run into trouble, alert Starfleet as fast as you can?"

"Is this one on the books, Admiral?" Delaney asked.

"This is as black as the void, Ian, so be careful." Johnson replied.

Delaney just grinned.


"Traffic Control, this is the NDR 745117 SS Solstice." Grace spoke into the comm pickup on her board, "We are requesting permission to land at the Royale resort."

"Your approach is cleared, Solstice." The Traffic controller replied, "We shall upload your glide path to you and transfer you to the Royale's local controller for verification of landing permits. Have a nice stay!"

"Thank you Control." Grace replied and then waited for the next set of instructions.

"Be advised, Solstice, this is local control for Royal Island. We have confirmation of your landing permit and your reservations. Customs and Security officials will be awaiting you on the pad." the controller relayed, "Welcome to Risa!"

"Thank you and have a nice day." Grace responded.

"Already done." Control said and signed off.

"Too bad we're on a mission." Grace sighed, "Here I am, not yet thirty and I've never been to Risa before."

"So young and so lovely, yet without a man in her life." T'Kir quipped.

Grace shot her best friend an annoyed glare.

"Trust me Hannah, if it can happen t'me, it can happen for anyone." T'Kir assured her.

Grace bobbed her head side to side and wore a pensive expression, "I suppose you're right."

"Hey!" T'Kir protested, "You're not supposed to agree!"

Grace stuck her tongue out at T'Kir. The Vulcan returned the compliment. Macen shook his head.

"Ladies, can we land sometime today?"

"Bossy." Grace remarked.

"Nag." T'Kir shot back and then winked.

Macen grinned. He honestly enjoyed his wife's irreverent sense of humour. It was probably because it reminded him of his own.

Macen, like T'Kir, had learned not to take protocol too seriously during his time with the Maquis. Macen had spent a decade on the border with Cardassia and had worked closely with the Federation colonists living there. His sympathies naturally ran towards those colonists living within the Demilitarised Zone between Cardassian and Federation space. When Starfleet Intelligence assigned him to infiltrate Ro Laren's Maquis cell on Ronara Prime, It was a perfect opportunity for him to support both causes he held dear.

As part of his role as a double agent, Macen founded an intelligence gathering unit that was the envy of every other cell. He compiled data for the Maquis and Starfleet. Ro Laren carefully vetted the information going out to Starfleet so that it rarely interfered with a cell's ongoing operations. Given a ship, the Blackbird-class Odyssey, Macen was able to gather information from across the DMZ and its borders.

Ten years on the line during the Border Wars and three more years with the Maquis combined with the residual terror of watching his homeworld get assimilated by the Borg left Macen's psyche scarred. After the Maquis' destruction, Macen returned to Starfleet's regular forces. Nechayev sent Macen off for a psychological evaluation. He was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and declared unfit for duty. With the outbreak of the Dominion War, Macen was once again sent to the front lines of a war.

This time he was attached to a commando unit comprised of augmented Angosians. This is where he met Rab Daggit. Macen was the unit's intelligence officer. He earned their respect by joining them on most of their missions.

After the war, Macen was recruited for a mission that birthed the SID. He recruited T'Kir and Rab Daggit for his investigative team. Daggit had been a harder sell but T'Kir had readily agreed to sign up. Anything was better than being locked up in a psychiatric facility.

Born and raised on a Vulcan colony in what became the DMZ, the world was populated by emotional expressionist Vulcan dissidents and Romulan defectors. While she was away at school, the Cardassians butchered her family and everyone she knew. Returning to the scene of the slaughter, her mind became unhinged by sorrow and the thirst for revenge. She offered her skills as a cybernetics specialist to the Maquis and found a home with the Ronaran cell.

Unbeknownst to the Maquis, T'Kir's grief and rage unlocked her ultimate telepathic potential. She was able to monitor the thoughts of everyone within an entire sector. The constant bombardment of unwanted thoughts further destabilised her and she went insane.

It was during this time that she was assigned to Macen's intelligence unit. In Macen she found a refuge. She couldn't read his thoughts and he became the anchor that loosely tied her to what she called "reality". Eventually that cord snapped as well and Macen had to commit her to the Andes Psychiatric Institute. This was the same facility that he broke her out of in order to recruit her.

Reunited, T'Kir was prescribed an ancient Vulcan remedy that curbed her telepathy down to controllable levels. Macen and T'Kir soon admitted the latent attraction that had existed between them for some time to each other and themselves. They were lovers for six years before marrying. Since that time, they had helped balance out each other's psychoses. Some found it an unholy union but its twisted nature worked to their advantage.

"Take us in Hannah." Macen ordered and Grace went to work. Atmospheric manoeuvres were tricky for the Solstice. Her hull wasn't designed for such actions. Her ability to operate within an atmosphere resulted from some engineering miracles provided by the SPYards.

The hull began to glow red from the heat of re-entry. An unpowered re-entry would result in the ship burning up. He hull had been reinforced to combat this tendency. A corona of flame enveloped the ship yet she sailed on. Plunging deeper into the atmosphere, Grace trimmed out her descent and slowed the ship down. Having already traversed Risa three times, it was time to level out and seek Royal Island.

Following the coordinates laid into her board as designated by the positioning satellites, Grace quickly found the island and began a landing approach, "Local Traffic this is Solstice requesting a glide path to the designated landing pad."

"Roger Solstice, prepare to receive updated clearances. Be advised though, we have no control over our guests and one of them may cross your path."

"Will you grant permission to open fire?" Grace joked.

The joke was lost on the controller, "You may not! Any act of violence will be dealt with by the resident Starfleet detachment."

"I was kidding but we've been duly warned. Thank you." came Grace's strained reply.

"Easy Hannah." Macen urged, "They're not used to dealing with an armed privateer. Who knows what nasty, vicious rumours they've heard about us."

"Then why let us land?" Grace asked in bewilderment.

"Because we're not known fugitives and it's the basic Risan mentality in play."

"What's that?" Grace enquired.

"Everybody needs a vacation." Macen said with a smile.

"I take it you've been here before?"

"Yup. It was memorable." Macen's smile turned into a lopsided grin.

Grace glanced over at T'Kir, "What happened?"

T'Kir shrugged, "All he'll say is 'what happens on Risa stays on Risa'."

"I'll bet it involves sex." Grace opined.

"Me too." T'Kir agreed, "All I can say is good for him."

"You're too understanding."

"He was around for a long time before he met me." T'Kir smiled, "And I was around before I met him."

"And after you met him." Grace reminded her.

"The curse of a long life, Hannah." T'Kir laughed, "It broadens your options. I for one never thought I'd be married this young."

Grace made final preparations for landing, "You're over seventy years old."

"Which is still young for a Vulcan." T'Kir pointed out, "I've got another two hundred or so years left."

"What about the Captain?"

"Well, the longevity drug he took a long time ago wore off so he's looking at another three hundred years or so instead of another eight hundred."

"That's crazy." Grace shook her head.

"I know this might seem rude," Macen interjected, "but can you stop talking about me and simply land the ship?"

T'Kir blew him a raspberry and Grace coloured. She initiated the final thruster sequence, deployed the landing gear and lowered the ship to the ground. There was a gentle bounce as the ship settled on her "legs".

"Radil, stand by at the main hatch." Macen said into the intercom.

"You've got it." Radil replied.

"All right people," Macen stood, "all ashore that's going ashore."

The crew gathered at the main hatch. Macen stopped them.

"Okay, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that we're going to have to look like we're vacationing so that means we have to have some fun while we're here." Macen informed his gathered subordinates, "The bad news is that Kort and Hal are staying aboard. Sorry Kort, sorry Chief."

"May I ask why?" Kort wondered.

"Klingons don't come to Risa. Ever." Macen answered, "You're presence would draw undue attention. I also want you aboard so we can transport back here in case of a medical emergency."

Macen turned to Dracas, "That explains your presence. I need the transporter manned and ready at a moment's notice. If we have to move, we're going to move quickly."

"It's okay." Dracas said, "I've had my share of fun on Risa. I'm in a happy relationship now, I don't need to wander about."

"I'm glad you feel that way about Kiv." Macen squeezed Dracas' shoulder, "I've had some doubts about him but I'm pleased to hear you're happy."

"All right Jenrya, pop the hatch." Macen instructed.

"Sir?" Dracas spoke up, "Are you really going armed?"

"Yes, I am." Macen replied.

"The Risians won't like that." Dracas warned.

"I really don't care." Macen said forcefully, "We're going into a danger zone. I'm not going to let my people go in unarmed."

"Yes sir!" Dracas snapped off and Macen grinned. Macen proceeded to the head of the gathering line and stepped out into the Risan afternoon.