Campbell sat in his office chair, visibly shaken, holding a glass of water in his hands. "I told her to wait just a little bit," he said softly to Steele, who was seated across from him. "I was coming as fast as I could."

"Don't beat yourself up too much, Doctor," Steele said. "You had no idea this would happen. She didn't either. Really, none of us would have expected this."

"She was so young," Campbell lamented. "She had a long career and a long life ahead of her." He hung his head and looked away from Steele.

Steele stood up and left the room, giving Campbell time to collect himself. In the main area, Jordan and some security members were analyzing the murder scene. "Marcus," said Steele, "I want as many available officers as you can gather covering every inch of this ship. We can't have this alien loose on the ship posing a threat to the crew."

"Security teams are already being organized," Jordan said. "I've also sent out a ship-wide message to all civilians and non-essential personnel to stay in their quarters until the situation's been resolved."

"Good," said Steele. "The less traffic we have in the corridors, the easier it'll be to spot him. Move fast, Marcus. He's already gotten a head start on us. If he disappears, there's no telling where he'll go or what he'll do."

"Agreed," said Jordan. "We'll find him, don't worry."

"If you or any of your teams encounter him," Steele continued, "don't kill him. We have to assume that what he's doing is out of fear or surprise, not malice. Stun him and put him in the brig, but do not use lethal force unless it's absolutely necessary."

"Yes, sir," said Jordan. "Will that be all?" Steele nodded and Jordan left sickbay to lead his security team.

The comm unit chirped. "Ensign Newell to Commander Steele."

"Go ahead, Ensign," said Steele.

"Sir, the ion storm has reached our position," Newell said. "We tried to strengthen the comm link, but it doesn't seem to be working very well."

Steele screwed his eyes shut and his head drooped. "Very well," he said, "notify the facility. Hopefully they can do something on their end to rectify the problem."

"Unfortunately, we can't do that," Newell said. "The storm is interfering with our communications outside of the ship."

Steele groaned. "Then they're on their own," he said. "Keep an eye on the progress of the storm. The second it passes, I need you to re-establish that link."

"Understood, sir," said Newell.

"Have you found out anything about the ship or the alien? It would really help to have some information right about now," Steele said.

"I've got a little bit," said Newell. "I can show you in the conference room."

"I'm on my way," said Steele. He thought about the remaining senior staff members who would be available. They would also want to be informed. "Find Lieutenant Phillips and have her attend too. I'll inform Commander Jordan." He looked back into Campbell's office. The doctor was still sitting down, his head hanging low, sipping his glass of water.

Steele motioned to an ensign to come over. "Look after Doctor Campbell," he said. "He's taking it pretty hard." The ensign nodded in acknowledgement. Steele turned and left sickbay.

"Captain," said Skye over the comm system, "the facility technicians have activated the emergency generators. They've informed me that there's enough power to keep the force fields in place on the holding cells."

"Finally a bit of good news," replied Winchester. "At least now we don't have to worry about a jailbreak."

"As if they had anywhere to go," Simon said with a chuckle. "Considering the conditions outside, I'd feel more comfortable in here."

"It should only be a couple more hours before the upgrade is complete," Skye continued. "The generators can easily hold out that long."

"Acknowledged," Winchester said. "Let me know when you've finished." He was back in Simon's office, sitting and staring out the window with yet another Andorian ale in his hand. Since there was literally nothing else to do, sitting and drinking was the only means of passing the time. "Why don't you guys have a holosuite here?" he asked Simon.

"Starfleet didn't think the expense was necessary," Simon said. "I keep making requests to get one, though. Maybe someday they'll agree to it." He paused, looking out the window over Winchester's shoulder. "You know, Beau," he began, "about what I said earlier…I hope you don't take it personally. I know you're a fine captain and everything. I just don't want to see you end up like me, old and grumpy and stuck on a hell-hole of a planet."

Winchester nodded. "I understand. Believe me, after what happened at Motavia, I braced for the possibility of never being the captain of a ship again. I'm fortunate to still be flying, even if I'm not doing anything exciting at the moment."

"What do you think of your crew?" Simon asked. "You like them so far?"

"I think they're a fine bunch," Winchester answered, taking a sip of ale. "Madison is a very competent engineer, Miss Phillips came highly regarded as a navigator, and Mister Jordan keeps his security detail running smoothly."

"I heard you were able to land your friend a job as first officer," Simon said.

Winchester smiled. "Admiral Tomlinson was reluctant, to be sure, but she did allow me to have Kirby on board. I think she sees him as a trickster – mostly because he is – but beyond that, he has always been the kind of person I can trust in any situation. If I had my choice of any first officer in Starfleet, I'd always pick him."

Simon returned the smile. "You're not just saying that because he's your friend?"

"Stephen," said Winchester, "I'm telling you, no matter what crisis may arise on my ship, I'm sure Kirby can handle it."

"I swear, I can't handle this," Steele said to Jordan as the turbolift sped up to the bridge.

"With respect, Commander," said Jordan as he scratched his beard, "you probably shouldn't say that in public. It would demoralize the junior officers."

"Right now, I'm the one demoralized," Steele quickly replied. "There's been a murder on the ship, and the killer is loose in the corridors. I'm lucky that ion storm is messing up communications, or else I'd have to tell the captain about it."

"I think you're going to have to tell him anyway," Jordan said matter-of-factly.

"Yes, but I'd rather tell him after we catch that alien," Steele said. "At least then I'll have something to show for all of this."

The turbolift doors opened on the bridge. Steele and Jordan walked to the opposite side and entered the conference room. Lieutenant Phillips was seated at a long, sleek black table. There were eight seats total – three on each long side, plus one at each end. Jordan took a seat on the long side opposite of Phillips. Ensign Newell stood at a computer screen at the far end of the room, ready to present his findings about the ship and the alien.

"No need for formalities here," said Steele as he took a seat at the end of the table. "Let's get to it, Ensign."

Newell tapped some buttons and the starburst-shaped symbol from the ship appeared on the computer screen. "It took some doing," he said, "but I managed to track down the source of this symbol. It belongs to a group known as the Yundy. That's not the name of their race, though; their race is called the Udelans. Obviously, they're from the planet Udela."

"Never heard of it," Steele admitted. "Is it anywhere near Litix Alpha?"

"No, sir," Newell said. Tapping more buttons, he changed the screen to a map of the Alpha Quadrant. "Litix Alpha is here," he said, pointing to the right side of the screen, "and Udela is over here," he finished, pointing on the left side.

"How could that be?" asked Phillips. "That's clear across the Alpha Quadrant. "Without warp speed, it would take them at least twenty years to make it over here."

"That's a good point," said Newell, "but the story gets even weirder. According to Starfleet records, which are admittedly sparse on this particular race, the Udelans wiped themselves out in a civil war nearly three hundred years ago."

Steele raised his eyebrows. "This is sounding more and more far-fetched by the minute," he said. "Please tell me you've found something to explain all of this."

"I think I have, sir," said Newell. "I looked at the Udelan ship's flight path when we encountered it and tried working backwards." He tapped the screen and zoomed in on a particular grid of space. "This is Sector 726-014," he explained. "It's about three days away at Warp 8. In this particular region, there are numerous reports about a wormhole that appears intermittently."

Steele ran his hand through his curly brown hair, trying to process what Newell was saying. "Go on," he prompted.

"As we all know," Newell continued, "there's only ever been one reported case of a stable wormhole. That one is sitting in Bajoran space, just outside of the space station Deep Space Nine. Unstable wormholes, by definition, are unfit for ships to travel through, because their unpredictability poses too great a risk. With all that in mind, even I must admit that the conclusion I made requires a leap of faith to believe."

"And that conclusion is?" said Steele.

"I think this ship was launched from Udela at least three hundred years ago," said Newell. "While in flight, it ran into the other end of this unstable wormhole. Instead of being destroyed inside the wormhole, the ship remained trapped there for all these years, and only recently did the wormhole re-open and allow the ship to exit."

Steele let out a low whistle. "That's one hell of a theory, Ensign," he said. "And as crazy as it sounds, it's the best we've got to work with."

"There's more," said Newell.

Steele sighed and buried his face in his hands. "Of course there is," he said. "What else have you got?"

"Back when the Udelan society was intact," Newell said, "this group – the Yundy – engaged in a rather intricate form of space piracy. They would often launch stripped-down ships just like the one we found and place one or two people inside in a crude cryogenic chamber. Because the design of the ship was so basic, any other passing ships would mistake it as an oversized escape pod and bring it aboard to examine. Naturally, they would discover the cryogenic capsules and open them, thus releasing the Udelans. When they awoke, they would covertly sabotage key systems on the ship and steal whatever they thought was valuable. If the ship's crew was small enough, they would take the ship for themselves. Otherwise, they just found escape pods and left."

"So what you're telling me," Steele said, trying to summarize, "is that we have inadvertently stumbled upon a three-hundred-year-old trap, and that the Udelan running loose on the Silver Hawk is a pirate who plans to steal whatever he can or sabotage whatever he can and then take off. Is that what I'm hearing?"

Newell paused, contemplated Steele's summary, then nodded. "That's correct, sir."

Steele and Jordan exchanged glances, then Steele turned to Phillips and exchanged glances with her. "This is going to be one hell of a report I'll have to file with Captain Winchester," he said finally.

"Since we have an idea of what the Udelan's plan is," Jordan said, "we might be able to narrow our search and find him quicker."

"Well," said Phillips, "I'm sure starships have changed a lot in three hundred years, but if I were a pirate looking to do some damage, the first place I'd go is engineering."

"Good thought, Lieutenant," said Steele. "Mister Jordan, tell your teams to converge on engineering. Have them come in from as many different directions as possible. I don't want him to have any exits available."

"Understood, sir," said Jordan.

"That's all for now," Steele said. "Everyone's dismissed."