Vulcan, the region known as the Forge, Jun 2157

Lieutenant Tarang Gupta was dark skinned normally but he knew now that the exposed portions of his skin were almost black. The Stellar Navy intelligence officer had been walking through the desert in the company of T'Pol for almost two weeks now. They had at first tried journeying at night: Partly for the practicality of walking in the relative cool and also to avoid the prying eyes of the occasional flyer. The drawbacks had been that anyone conducting satellite surveillance would have seen their heat signatures. Minister Soval had given T'Pol a schedule of the satellites' orbits and coverage region. That had slowed Gupta and T'Pol down considerably. They had proceeded that way for five nights. The sixth night they had set out at a steady pace until a ravaging Sehlat had driven them up the slopes of a small ravine.

The large creature looked to Gupta to have been over three meters long. Tarang had shined a torch on the creature long enough to see fangs almost two tenths of a meter long. That had been quite enough for Gupta who had started to unholster his Colt 2011 when T'Pol had intervened. The creature's mass was such any climbing soon overheated the animal. T'Pol using some of their freeze-dried rations had enticed the creature to try to climb at the two beings literally tiring the beast out. The pair had walked carefully along the steep hillside leaving the heavily breathing animal behind.

That had been seven nights ago and it had been the last time that they had journeyed in the dark until this night. The Vulcan days had been brutal on Gupta. He wondered that he, a native of India, could barely tolerate the heat. That led Gupta to wonder how a Nordic human would have fared. Today was different though. They had found a charted subterranean pool from which to refill their canteens. The two had rested in the cool grotto until dusk. Tonight they would start down into the Valley of K'Henga.

Gupta crouched on the leeward side of a hill over whose top laid a panoramic view of their destination. T'Pol had crawled up to the top and was looking through a pair of binoculars into the valley and ruins below. Gupta took a drink of water. The naval officer realized on a logical level that the water was quite tepid. But in the heat of the Vulcan desert it was refreshingly cool. Tarang crawled up beside the Vulcan woman.

"What do you see?" he asked quietly.

T'Pol handed Gupta the binoculars: "See for yourself." The lieutenant scanned the area below as T'Pol continued. "It is lightly guarded. The High Command may have electronic devices in place. We will have to scan for those."

"The area where Celada maintained her quarters seems to be lightly guarded," Gupta said quietly. "In fact it seems that most of the quarters used by the archeological team are deserted."

"We are to investigate the ruins," T'Pol said sharply. Gupta could hear the sharpness in her tone whereas a human unfamiliar with Vulcans would hear what they perceived as an unemotional monotone.

"I've been giving that some thought," Gupta replied. "I tried to learn archeology as you suggested. I need a few more years I am afraid. Now I haven't been a secret agent long but I believe that an agent would start by investigating strange happenings."

"If you are referring to the scientists' ritual suicide I believe that pursuit would be pointless." T'Pol replied.

Gupta put the binoculars down and looked at the Vulcan woman. "T'Pol I know that is a sensitive matter for your people--,"

"Suicide is a sensitive matter for your people as well," The Vulcan interjected.

"It is that," Gupta replied. "But please bear with me." T'Pol stared intently at the intelligence officer. They were so close that Gupta could feel her breath on his face. "The woman, Celada had no physical illness that was documented. There was no observed mental illness either. So we are left with a conundrum. Was she concealing something that caused her to kill herself? Did someone else kill her; if that is so then why?"

"It seems to be tenuous reasoning at best," T'Pol said. Gupta could barely discern a softening in her face. "But that compound leads to a less secured area of the ruins. It might be possible to gain entrance undetected from there."

The pair backed down the side of the hill. Gupta got out a pair of glasses that the navy must surely have borrowed from a security agency. When he put them on his face the map that he had became illuminated. Gupta knew that they could not proceed down the other side of the hill. That route was exposed. Gupta had discussed possible ways down into the valley with T'Pol earlier. Now that they had both seen it for themselves Tarang decided to stick with an earlier plan that they had come up with. He conferred with the Vulcan and she agreed.

The two would circle around to a lower portion of land to the north. The hill side there was jagged and took on a rolled up appearance in places. They had both felt that approach would be the one to offer the most concealment. The duo silently shouldered their packs and after taking a drink each from their canteens they proceeded along their way. It was slow going as the desert floor was illuminated only by the light from the stars. They chatted quietly as they walked.

"I hope that there are no Sehlats along our path," Gupta said quietly. The naval officer looked around with a feeling of trepidation. There was no place to run if one of those beasts jumped them in this area. "Did you really have one of those things for a pet?" Tarang thought of who he was speaking to. "Yes of course you did. Why would you say otherwise."

"They do not come close to inhabited areas," T'Pol replied softly. "Like your canines they can be domesticated quite easily."

"At least it looks like the High Command hasn't left many people to guard this area," Gupta said. They had observed a contingent of Vulcan soldiers camped by the primary ruins. Why they were there and not in the relative comfort of the prefabricated buildings the archeological team had lived in puzzled Gupta. But he supposed that the Vulcans that seemed to number around fifty had been told specifically to guard the ruins. It was a certainty that any attempt to get close to the ruins was going to prove difficult.

"The laser network they have in place is quite impressive," T'Pol said referring to the interlacing invisible spider web of laser detectors. Once one of those beams was broken it would no doubt alert the security forces there. "It is possible that they have stunning devices in place to."

"We'll start with an examination of the scientists' quarters," Gupta said. "I suppose we can spend the day hidden behind some of the rock formation down there. Hopefully we can spot a weak point while we lay in wait." T'Pol did not answer for a long time leading the intelligence officer to assume that she agreed with him. Finally she replied but it was not what Tarang had expected.

"I have wondered why you didn't mention Koss' visit to your shop?" the Vulcan woman asked.

"I a, well I," Gupta started haltingly in English then returned to Vulcan. Gupta did not know why she brought that particular visit up after all of this time. "It seemed that our business was closed. I believe that he is concerned about your welfare and--,"

"He is jealous," T'Pol interrupted flatly.

Tarang thought for several seconds before replying: "I cannot speak to that. And that would be most illogical for a Vulcan would it not?"

They were walking past a formation of volcanic rock when they heard a low rumble. The two fell silent for a few seconds while they listened intently. They looked at each other briefly and broke into a run for the jagged rock formation. They barely made it in time to throw themselves behind some boulders when the Vulcan patrol shuttle roared slowly overhead. The craft did not linger and it did not return immediately.

"That was close," Gupta mumbled between gasps of air. They sat together with their backs to a boulder. "Let's wait here a few minutes and see if they return." Tarang thought that they had not observed any flights the night before. They had been close enough to see the departure of any aircraft in the clear desert night.

"What did Koss say to you?" T'Pol asked sharply. She seemed no more winded than one would who had just walked at a short leisurely pace.

Gupta was at a loss for words. Finally he told T'Pol the details of her husband's visit to the offices of Pan-Pacific. Tarang took care to minimize Koss' statement concerning T'Pol's supposed interest in Gupta. As much as part of the lieutenant wished for that he also realized that it could be the hastily arrived at conclusion of a jealous husband. Nonetheless the woman seemed to pick up on what Tarang left out as much as what he said.

"We have been having," T'Pol paused before continuing. "We—me and Koss have been having difficulties. It seems that he has changed much since my return to Vulcan." There was more silence then she added quietly: "Or perhaps it is I who has changed."

"But that was no reason for Koss to come to you," T'Pol said. "I have mentioned you many times but it is because you are involved with my assignment from Minister Soval." She suddenly asked him candidly: "You do not believe I have any other interest in you?"

Gupta was somewhat depressed to hear that. But really it was not reasonable for him to expect more. The officer's mind told him that but his heart told him something else. Still Tarang had to keep in mind that T'Pol was not human. He reflected on the advice that Captain Soames had given him now many months ago. Gupta thought that he was reaching for something that could not be although as much as he tried to deny it he was attracted to the Vulcan beside him. Tarang became aware that he should answer her.

"Of course not T'Pol," Gupta rose abruptly. "We should continue now. I think that they are gone."

T'Pol stood up as well and followed the Indian away from their hiding place. Both of them surveyed the land ahead of them for hiding places were the shuttle to return. "It is good that you do not think I have any other kind of interest in you." She said at last.

They walked on for several more minutes before she continued: "Because I have no other interest in you. But I have come to think of you as a friend;" this last she added hastily.

"I've always felt that way about you T'Pol," Gupta replied. "There is nothing wrong with that."

They walked on in silence with only casual observations about the terrain for a little over an hour. Finally they drew close to their destination. It would be a slow climb down to the valley floor now. They scrambled down slowly going from one hiding place to another. Both were sure that the forces guarding the dig site would probably have imaging equipment that could pick them out of the night. After another two hours of slow clumsy descent into the valley the two threw themselves down behind the ruins of an ancient stone wall. The compound that the archeological team had stayed in was no more than two kilometers away.

"There is low terrain around the base of the valley," Gupta said. "Hopefully we can get behind the archeologists' encampment from behind. I suppose a stream may have run back there."

"All this area was once dense forest," T'Pol said. "Then the bombing changed the ecology." They crouched along hugging the wall until the terrain fell off somewhat dropping into a region of loose sand. They stood up and stopped. T'Pol dropped her pack and retrieved a small handheld device out of it. The Vulcan swept the device ahead of her toward their direction of intended travel. "I am detecting no traces of laser or other electromagnetic scanning devices." She bent and picked her pack up and shouldered it again. "Let us go."

"We should be more careful here," T'Pol whispered. "This sort of place is where sand worms would hide."

Great, Gupta thought. The creatures that T'Pol referred to as worms looked more like some nightmarish arrow-headed snake to the Indian. The creatures locked their jaws onto their prey and secreted a strong enzyme that started digesting whatever they had a hold of.

"My marriage to Koss was arranged when I was young," T'Pol said suddenly. "His family has some political power. While I was on earth I started to," She paused. "I started to have doubts. Our melding as children was ritualistic. After the embassy closed and I returned home I found that I did not know the man I was promised too."

"I don't pretend to understand all the nuances of your culture T'Pol," Gupta said. "But it seems that the issue is between you and Koss."

"That is so," T'Pol answered slowly. Then she asked: "You are sure that you see me as nothing more than a friend?"

Gupta inhaled the warm, thin Vulcan air sharply. He was beginning to think that females rather they were human or alien all seemed to share the same man-confusing characteristics. The intelligence officer decided to try honesty. "I will admit to having some feelings toward you that extend--extended beyond friendship." Tarang added hastily. "But I understand that we come from two different worlds and more importantly that you would want to honor the wishes of your culture."

"Perhaps I have wishes as well," T'Pol said. "But thank you for your honesty. Sremen has already told me as much." At Gupta's look of surprise she explained. "Do not think that he betrayed you. I asked him and he told me. What value would it have been to withhold that information? That would have been illogical."

Gupta nodded. The naval officer was unsure of where all of this was leading. He did have those feelings and they were still there Tarang knew. But he had his duty as well. He had been assigned a mission. This was not supposed to be some opportunity for extraterrestrial romance for him. Besides after ten days in the desert and only three opportunities to cleanse himself Gupta thought that he didn't particularly smell romantic just then. Gupta was relieved to see their destination in sight even in the darkness of the valley. They crouched down once again to observe a patrol walking through the deserted encampment. They were less than fifty meters from their destination and the roving security personnel. Gupta was glad in way for the Vulcan soldier's presence. The conversation had grown quite uncomfortable for him.

The lull also allowed Tarang time to study the layout of the camp and compare it to the report that he had seen. The intelligence officer spotted what he hoped had been Celada's small quarters. There were eleven of the small prefabricated domes reserved for the team members. Celada's should be the third one down what could be only described as a dusty street. The security team seemingly satisfied that no one was in the abandoned encampment made their way back to the site of the old monastery. Gupta motioned with his hand that they should go.

The hand torch blazed forth in the total darkness of the dome. Gupta was blinded for several seconds as his pupils had been fully dilated from their walk in the dark. When the Stellar Navy intelligence officer could finally see again he saw the simple quarters one would expect of a stoic Vulcan. Gupta was not surprised to see empty quarters. He didn't know what he would find here. He had decided to start here on instinct. But no Tarang thought there was more to it than that. He had made a career out of putting pieces of the puzzle together. That was after all the work of an intelligence officer: To look at separate distinct happenings and put those things together to try to come up with a possible outcome. The apparent suicide had mystified Gupta. It seemed to be an anomaly and any intelligence person knew that anomalous happenings sometimes led to bigger things.

The other side of the coin was that if this lead turned up nothing then they would have to try to penetrate a laser detection grid to snoop around heavily guarded ruins. Gupta didn't even want to think about that yet. He instead turned his attention to the living quarters.

"There is nothing here," T'Pol said with some finality.

"I do not understand why Celada suddenly changed her mind about where to look for Surak's ancient writings." Gupta explained as he shined his torch around the chamber. Sand had drifted in covering much of the floor. That was no surprise to Tarang as the living unit had apparently been cleared of the deceased scientist's belongings. He turned slowly surveying the room one last time.

"I suppose it was too good to be--," Gupta halted abruptly. The lieutenant shined his torch at a spot on the floor. Sand lay there but the sand outlined a square pattern. It was probably nothing Tarang thought as he walked over to the area knelt and brushed away the sandy covering. T'Pol stood behind him. The floor of the dwelling looked normal but there was a fine square cutout area. Gupta started tapping on the floor lightly.

"What are these structures made of?" the intelligence officer asked.

"A poly-ceramic crystalline structure setting upon a platform of pressed organic fibers," the Vulcan answered.

"With hollow areas?" Gupta asked. Tarang dug into his travel cloak until he found the small knife he had brought with him. Gupta dug the blade in until the floor panel popped up. A small box lay in a hollowed out space beneath the panel.

"If anyone looked in here after Celada's death the floor would in all likelihood had been clear," T'Pol said.

"In the meantime sand filled this place up and it was fine enough to sink into the crevices of this area," Gupta finished the explanation. He looked up at the Vulcan. "Are hidden areas like this the norm?" He lifted the small box out. It was a simple hinged metal storage container.

"No they are not," T'Pol replied as she knelt beside Gupta. He opened the lid and she shined her torch into the box. "It looks like a hand drawn chart and," She reached in and lifted out the small book that was inside. "It is a hand written journal." The Vulcan suddenly looked up. "Turn your light off!" She did that to her own torch as she said that. Gupta complied.

Now he could hear them: Voices. The patrol was obviously making another round. Gupta cursed himself: He should have waited longer and gotten their routine down. It was pitch black in the living dome. If the soldiers decided to inspect in here the couple would be caught for sure. Gupta tensed as a light shined through the outer door. He started to reach for the colt when it occurred to him: What was he going to do; shoot a Vulcan? Quite likely besides bringing Tarang's little adventure to a close that would also create a diplomatic incident. The lieutenant released the gun's grip. The light vanished as the sound from the voices slipped away into silence. Gupta started as he felt T'Pol's hot breath near his ear.

"We should wait for awhile longer," the Vulcan whispered quietly. "Then we should replace the cover and make sure we clear away our tracks here."

Tarang turned to reply instead he felt her lips on his. It had never occurred to Gupta that Vulcan's kissed.

San Francisco, Earth, Jun 2157

The Andorian Ale flowed freely. The president's main office which had not heard the sound of laughter since that fateful day in April of a year ago once again echoed with that happy sound. Karl Ebenstark was there along with Maggie Thorpe and General Shran. Shran's mate Ketra an imposing woman who was quite tall even by Andorian standards was there as well.

"A toast to President Thorpe!" a slightly drunken Karl Ebenstark exclaimed.

They all lifted their glasses to the newly reelected president. "Here is to five more years." Shran said happily.

"I want to thank you for all that you have done for us general," Maggie Thorpe said. "I don't know that any of us have really said that to one of our allies."

Shran's antennae dipped. "It was our agreement. But more than that I believe that our two peoples' destinies; along with those of the Tellarites are intertwined." Shran looked at the president. "I think some of Christophur has as you humans say; rubbed off on me."

"There is still much to do," Ketra said forcefully. "It seems that it is not only earth that has its own internal radicals."

"Bastards!" Ebenstark roared. The presidential aide subsided somewhat then continued. "It almost makes me wonder if these Romulans have agents on earth. It is almost as if these Sons' of Terra are puppets for them."

"It is no surprise to me that Chrut and Lahana journeyed to earth," Ketra said. "And no surprise that shortly after their return to our world our informational agencies issued that statement."

Thorpe knew more than anyone else in the room, with the exception of his wife he thought to what Shran's mate was referring to: A viscous statement had made its way to the Andorian Caldonè decrying the deaths of Imperial Guardsmen in the defense of pink-skins. It had seemingly originated from no where. Of course the terran news agencies especially that one ran by Carson Maclaren had picked up on the statement. Thorpe's numbers had dropped after the disastrous loss of Kamaga. But Stiles' victory at Hell's Gate had boosted Thorpe's polling numbers at the last minute delivering him the presidency once again.

"There is nothing for it now," Thorpe said in a mellow tone. "We still have a majority on the council." Not much of one Thorpe thought with some bitterness. The Romulan defeat at Hell's Gate had given Thorpe his office back. But the statement from Andor had hurt: Some regions had voted in candidates endorsed by the Sons.

"I wonder though if Karl does not have something?" Shran said.

"What do you mean?" the president asked. But Thorpe already knew the answer. He dreaded it in fact.

"We still do not know what these pirates look like," Shran said. "I hate to say this Christophur but given the number of humanoids we know of it is possible that the Romulans are some sort of humanoid form that can pass among us. Your own people observed that they are bipedal."

"I've thought the same thing Shran," Thorpe replied quietly. "But I don't like the possible solutions."

"Internal security is very important," Ketra interjected. "Sometimes things must be done for the greater good."

Thorpe looked around the room. Ebenstark was nodding at the Andorian woman's statement as was his own wife. Shran looked pensive. Finally Thorpe started quietly:

"I was going to say something like let's not repeat the mistakes of ancient Russia or twenty-first century America, but I would rather think of something that Shahar Rastan said. I read some of his writings after what he did."

The group looked expectantly toward the president. Thorpe seemed to be lost in thought when he finally looked up.

"I was just thinking of the speech I have to make in a little while," Thorpe said. The new president, by tradition made a formal acceptance speech the day after the election. Thorpe continued, "I don't think setting up some sort of earth security agency is the answer. I imagine that is something these Romulans do if they conquer a people. The Romulans are the enemy—not some misguided people in Europe or America." The president seemed to have come to some kind of decision. "But you are right. I have needed to say some things for a long time. Perhaps it is time to change that." The president looked at his chronometer. "Another six hours until my speech. I think another round of ales is in order!"

"I think that you have something in mind Christophur?" Shran asked conspiratorially.

Thorpe smiled and nodded. They were right: He had been silent for too long. The Sons' of Terra latest thing had been the appointment of a Tellarite captain to the command of a Stellar Navy vessel. Thorpe had stood behind Oulette's decision. Humans were either allied with the Tellarites and Andorians or they were not. But the Sons had made it sound as if Thorpe had handed the entire navy over to alien command. Thorpe had to change that. He had to point the truth out. But the president was aware that he could not sound like he was pandering.

"Hopefully in tonight's speech," Thorpe answered at last.

"It is that Tellarite officer's appointment," Maggie Thorpe said bitterly. "I never thought that I would ever hear comments like that from another human being! It doesn't make it any better that some on the council are echoing those words."

"What about the Kumari?" Ketra interjected. Everyone in the room looked at the Andorian woman. "My mate directs our war effort from the Thofsin now. The Guardsman commanding the Kumari is not an experienced warrior." They all looked with dawning realization at the Andorian woman. Shran seemed to be on the verge of protesting then his face assumed a look of resignation.

Catoctin Mountain Park, Maryland, United States, Earth Jun 2157

Frank McCoy liked the mountain retreat. It also felt good to have the lovely Eileen Thomas on his arm. He would have felt even better if it were not for the woman's politics and superior attitude. McCoy had thought that man had come a lot further along than that. McCoy was also taken a little aback at who was at the celebration. The naval enlisted man would never have suspected a lot of the people there to have had an allegiance to the Sons' of Terra. He recognized a few holo-vid actors and a few of the idle rich who would make the vidcasts for their outlandish activities. McCoy wished that he had that much time on his hands. McCoy accepted a Champaign from a passing waiter. He sipped at it and made a brief bitter face: It was of the non-alcoholic type. He felt Eileen tugging at his arm. McCoy looked down to be treated to the lovely woman's bare shoulders exposed as they were by her low cut evening gown.

"Someone wants to meet you Frank," Thomas said. She had a warm gentle smile on her face. "Although we didn't win every seat and that Thorpe got back in we still accomplished a lot."

McCoy let the woman guide him over to a small group. The enlisted man did not know what kind of perfume Eileen was wearing but he knew that it was effective. A man in a severe formal black suit was laughing with a small group of men and women. McCoy recognized the short pugnacious man: He was the president of the United States. It took McCoy a few seconds to recall: Todd Allen Glenn's ancestor had been the first to break the sound barrier or command the first shuttle. It annoyed a history scholar like Frank that he could not recall which one it was.

"Ah Eileen," President Glenn said politely. McCoy had thought that Thomas might well be a femme fatale set up to feel him out. But in the past few days he was discovering that she was somewhat high up in the hierarchy of the Sons' of Terra. McCoy became aware that the president was still speaking.

"This must be Sergeant McCoy." Glenn said using Frank's US Army rank. McCoy had come to think of himself more as a Star Fleet chief these days rather than his old rank. The president stuck out his hand. "Good to meet you Frank. That bit of news about the Tellarite captain did us a lot of good."

McCoy shook the president's hand thinking of how much he and Admiral Soames had agonized over releasing that information to the Son's of Terra. Soames had reasoned that since it would become public knowledge in a few days anyway releasing it just after the election would not hurt Thorpe much more. McCoy was only now realizing that he would have to be seen as actively aiding these people in order to find something or as the admiral had said; create something to bring them down. It left as bad a taste in McCoy's mouth as the faux Champaign did.

"Anything I could do to help the cause," McCoy said happily. Here it comes, Frank thought; just think with the reasoning skills of a twelve year old and ignore the facts. "We can't have these aliens over our people sir. That is just wrong! Why, there are probably Americans aboard the Charleston. Imagine those poor men and women having to obey a," McCoy paused. Force yourself here Frank old boy he thought, "A pig-snout!"

"I know how you feel sergeant," Glenn said putting a friendly hand to McCoy's shoulder. "We aim to change all of that. And with people like you I believe that is possible." The US president looked at Thomas. "And with people like Miss Thomas here as well," Thorpe added.

"We have made a rare discovery here sir," Eileen said as she looked to McCoy. "Not too many in the military have our support. But as things swing more our way people like Frank will be able to speak openly."

"I can't imagine what it is like in our services," a thin middle-aged man of some sort of Spanish descent declared. "Having to work side-by-side with, with," McCoy wondered if the man was working himself to a stroke; "Having to work with these alien monsters! They don't even have human values!"

"That is right sir," McCoy answered while thinking: No they have their own values which right now are far and away better than anyone else's principles in this room. "I can't begin to imagine how it is affecting our people out there."

"It is what Thorpe has led us too," a short broad woman who had seen the good side of her forties come and go interjected.

"Dragged is more like it Kathy," Todd Allen Glenn added. The president glanced at his chronometer then back to McCoy. "It was good meeting you sergeant. I know that we will be seeing each other again." Glenn made polite departing remarks to the rest of the group as well then headed away to what McCoy realized was a private meeting room. McCoy had seen Mark Hawkins among others enter that room as well. He supposed that it was a private room for the real heads of the organization.

"He really likes you Frank," Eileen said with a broad smile on her face. She moved in quickly and smacked her lips to his. "And so do I," she added as she backed away. "He wants to see you again. I am sure that you might be invited into the planning cell--," Eileen stopped abruptly and looked around. "There is time for that later." They both looked to the back of the large hall at someone's shout. A large vidcaster dominated the back wall. The man who had alerted them was informing them that it was time for Thorpe's acceptance speech.

"I was dreading this," Eileen said with a pouting look on her face. McCoy felt her tighten her grip on his arm.

"We have to see what our enemy has to say," McCoy said unemotionally. Actually he was dreading the speech as well. McCoy would have to feign annoyance and disapproval when he wanted to shout with glee.

"Always the intelligence operative eh?" Eileen asked with a smile. She moved in and kissed him again. This time it was longer. When McCoy caught his breath he was aware of the voice of Christophur Thorpe in the background. McCoy turned away reluctantly from the woman's warm mouth to the vidcaster presentation. Christophur Thorpe's face filled the holographic tank.

"--not to be thought of as a victory like one has won a prize. I accept the responsibility thrust upon me. I will do everything I can to end this war of that you can be sure. It is my duty to repay the trust that you, the people of earth have given to me."

Thorpe's face became harder. Frank knew that the winners were usually smiling and congratulating their staff in these speeches, but not this day. Thorpe continued. "A leader greater than I once said the following words:

"We have come from the ice," Thorpe recited from memory. "We have proven our strength as one people. But a strong nation is as much a danger to its people as a weak one is. We are strong because of each individual Andorian, not because of a mindless group that we assign the name of nation to. When we sacrifice the individual for the good of the group then that group will not long survive."

"The Shahar of Andoria wrote those wise words," Thorpe supplied. "He gave his life; his crewmen gave their lives for all of us. But not just for us, but for his own people as well. He made the decision as an individual.

I want to ask each and every one of you listening to my words to ask yourself: Are you really afraid of our alien brothers and sisters? Despite our differences are we really so different from them? Don't allow others to persuade you. Some of you have met Andorians and Tellarites. Was that meeting something to fear?

Some of you insist that we are all so different that we can never work together. We could never form a lasting alliance. But yet we hear words from Andoria condemning their government's support of the alliance. Can we humans and aliens really be so different when even the most narrow-minded among aliens and humans agree in principle?"

There were angry murmurs throughout the room. That last statement was a solid jab at the Sons' of Terra and even people slower in the uptake were figuring that out. Thorpe was continuing:

"There are other words that I recall: We must ensure that the best among us lead. We must preserve our humanity at all costs. The human race is meant for great conquests in a bright future. But to make those strides we must remain pure. Only then can we ascend to our rightful place in the universe." It looked like Thorpe was looking at each one of them. But McCoy knew it was the holographic effect. "Those words were said by Colonel Green on the eve of the cleansing of Chicago and London." Frank had thought that the chilling words had sounded familiar.

"So it is," Thorpe continued, "that we find ourselves as individuals on the cusp of great times. We have two paths before us. One path, that the loudest among us are beckoning us to, leads to the past. The other, the more difficult uncertain way is the path to the future." Thorpe smiled for the first time since his speech had begun. "Now none of us can know the future just as a group cannot dictate the mind of the individual. But I ask you; would you dare leave your home if you thought the future was a dark and dim one? But yet each and every one of us gets up and does that very thing every day. We go forth sometimes with doubt and a little fear but yet we go out. And so have the Tellarites and the Andorians and yes even our Vulcan friends." The holographic image of Thorpe held out his hand. It seemed to be extending out of the tank. Thorpe seemed to be finishing his speech:

"Come with me my friends to the future. This war will be over one day. When that day comes let us not abandon our progress. To the men and women of earth and to our alien allies I say join me in this great federation of planets. Take the path where the light is shining. Let us together start a journey into the future. Thank you all."

There was applause throughout the council chamber that emanated out of the vidcaster's speakers. The moderator left the device on for several minutes longer. There was nothing but stunned silence throughout the group in the mountain retreat. Frank looked down to see a look of disgust on Eileen Thomas' pretty face. McCoy wanted to shout 'hell yeah' to the rafters but he restrained himself.

"Well, er," McCoy started haltingly. "I mean it was sort of expected that he wouldn't lay down for us Eileen. This will just take longer than we thought." The navy man put his arm around her bare shoulders. She moved in closer to him.

Finally she looked into his eyes. "You're right of course Frank." She smiled. "I suppose Thorpe has been so quiet that he would never think to say such things."

"The next move is up to us Eileen," Frank replied. "We'll show him." McCoy added half-heartedly.

"I know that we will Frank. You make me believe that." Eileen smiled again. She looked at her chronometer. "We should be getting home. Do you have to go to work tomorrow?"

"Things have been quiet, so no," McCoy replied. That was a lie. It pained McCoy to think of the workload that the admiral and Vanwinkle were dealing with. Soames section was due for more people. But so was every ship in the navy. But the admiral had made this project as Soames had christened it, McCoy's number one priority.

"I know the shuttle flight back to Norfolk isn't long but why don't you spend the night in Baltimore?" Eileen asked.

"I suppose that would work," McCoy said with a yawn. It was late. "I am tired and even a couch sounds good right now."

"I'm disappointed that you are tired Frank," she smiled up at him. "Maybe I can do something about that and I wasn't thinking of the couch for you."

Utopia Planitia, Mars, Jun 2157

Gordon Albright looked guiltily at the captain's stripes that adorned his navy jersey. The Canadian officer was scheduled to assume command of the new Tannhauser class Waterloo when it was finished. So it was that he spent much of his time studying the specification of the new warship. He also spent a lot of time ruminating on the past. It was exactly as Captain Ronald King had said. It was time for Albright to move on to command his own ship. Albright would have preferred to get command through normal channels though. He felt guilty because truthfully he would give up everything to be back on the Xiaguan. But that ship was no more.

Albright remembered it all like it had happened yesterday. The captain had ordered them to penetrate the zone of sensor interference. There they had found the Romulan fleet inbound for earth. The Birdies had in turn detected the snooping Xiaguan. The Romulans had been quick to dispatch Sabinus class cruisers against them. King had managed to evade them for a short time; but not for long. The captain had even managed to finish off two of their pursuers in the ensuing battle. Then a Romulan nuke had finished the Xiaguan.

Both King and his first officer knew their ship was done for. The officers had helped supervise the evacuation. King had mentioned that very few shuttles seemed to escape Romulan attention. That is when the captain had proposed blowing up the Xiaguan in an attempt to cover the escaping shuttles. Both men knew that with the reactor offline the only way to perform a self-destruct was to set off a warhead from the ship's magazine. Albright had argued, fruitlessly now he realized that he was the man to do that. King had pushed the Canadian into a shuttle. The captain had reached across and shook Albright's hand and told him that he would see them all again. Albright remembered how surprisingly firm the captain's grip had been. The shuttle hatch had trundled down. That was the last time Gordon Albright had seen of Captain Ronald King.

The truth was that Gordon Albright wondered if he would ever be half of the commanding officer that King had been. The Canadian sure did not feel that way. He looked past a presentation of ships' systems at the wall beyond. The captain had been doing that on and off for the past few hours. Albright had decided just then to go for a workout when the chime to his quarters sounded. Albright admitted the caller. He sprang to his feet as an older man wearing an extra stripe denoting a commodore entered his quarters.

"Sit down we are all big boys here," the commodore, a tall fiftyish man with thinning silver hair said. "James L. Leonard, displaced taskforce commander at your service." Leonard extended his hand. Albright shook the commodore's hand and introduced himself.

"Damn good thing that you are Albright," Leonard said; "especially since you are in his quarters. But I'm here for more than a social call." At Albright's wondering look Leonard continued. "I'm afraid we are both in the same boat you and I. Come with me please," the commodore said as he exited the captain's living spaces. Albright followed silently. Commodore Leonard talked as the duo crossed the myriad transfer tubes and interconnected walkways comprising the orbital shipyard.

"I lost my taskforce to Admiral Forrest," Leonard explained. "Hard to say no to the navy chief of staff," this last Leonard added with a chuckle. "And I am afraid you may be in for similar treatment." Leonard noted Albright's look of surprise. The commodore continued, "but first a few questions." Gordon nodded.

"You speak Andorian?" Leonard asked in a conversational tone.

Albright thought for a minute. It had been a few years but he had served an exchange tour on the battleship Shonn. Albright had always had an ear for languages. He paused a few more seconds drawing Leonard's puzzled glance in the meantime. Finally Albright replied in Andorian that yes indeed he spoke Andorian.

"I suppose that means yes," Leonard replied with another chuckle. "Hell I have enough problems with English."

"You served on one of their ships didn't you?" Leonard asked pointedly.

"Yes sir," Albright answered. "I had to bring a heated sleeping bag; they keep their crew quarters pretty chilly for human standards."

"I reckon so," the commodore answered. "Makes ya' wonder about some of the earth people that have a," Leonard paused: "Married into the family so to speak."

"Something about their physiology," Albright answered. "They heat up or something for mating—don't ask me sir I'm no doctor."

"Okay I'll take your word for that," Leonard said. The older officer suddenly grew serious. "How would you like to repeat the experience?"

They were headed for an observation node of the station. Albright wondered why on earth anyone wanted an officer exchange at this point when the Stellar Navy was so understaffed. He said as much to the commodore.

"Here is the deal," Leonard replied. "Our numbers are not good but they are stable. You were set to command the Waterloo which launches out with Taskforce 14 in another week. I no longer have a ship."

"I suppose that means that you are assuming command of the 'loo?" Albright asked. In a way that thought sent a wave of relief through the new captain. Leonard nodded. They had reached an open observation port.

"But now you are thinkin' what am I going to do now?" Leonard asked. Albright nodded. "What do you see out there?"

Albright looked out. An old Bison looked like it was going through an upgrade. That ship would be months from launch from the look of her. The skeletal beginnings of a Tannhauser hung from a construction area. That ship too was months from go status. The torn remains of several Archers looked more like they would be headed for recycling versus being ever made spaceworthy again. A Tellarite light cruiser was undergoing repairs but that was it except for an Andorian light cruiser. The more square looking warp nacelles were slung overtop of the Andorian vessel's engineering section. The twin snouts of two high velocity rail guns extended out from beneath the integral command section. Two circular ports denoted the cruiser's lower missile launchers. Albright recognized it as one of the Andorian's older ships.

"I'm going in be in charge of scrapping the Archers?" Albright asked sourly.

"Very funny captain," Leonard said. The commodore pointed out to the yard. "There is your ship." The commodore laughed at Albright's look of complete bafflement; "the Imperial Guard cruiser Kumari."

Taskforce 9, three light years from Cheron, Jun 2157

Frank Buchanan realized that the chewed remains of his cigar had long since gone out. The admiral was sifting through signal intelligence reports. They had been lucky. Buchanan's force of four carriers, four Powhaton escorts a Tellarite destroyer and two Torsk class light cruisers had avoided all sorts of enemy obstacles to get this close to the Birds' empire.

Buchanan relit his cigar as he thought of just how fortunate the taskforce had been. The latest Romulan trick of subspace radar pickets that activated at random had nearly caught them almost ten days ago. They were still on their way thanks to the extracurricular activities of a sensor chief on the carrier Yamato. The man had been tweaking his sensors when he had spotted a piece of refined metal. Buchanan had ordered the taskforce to steer clear of it. No sooner had they passed beyond subspace radar range than the picket had lit up doing a search. They had found a spider web layout of those devices along their way.

The Romulans also must have been getting on to ways to hide from subspace sensors. Two of their warp drones had almost detected the taskforce. The technicians and engineers after much discussion had determined that the Birdies had changed the shape of the drone's warp field to reduce its apparent size. That made Buchanan wonder how close the Romulans were to developing their own version of subspace sensors. His cigar started tasting bad when it occurred to him that perhaps the Birdies had already made some breakthroughs in that area. That would change the direction of this war the admiral knew.

Buchanan threw the intelligence reports aside. He picked up the force readiness reports. Now there was better news Buchanan thought. Frank discarded his cigar for a fresh one. He enjoyed the sweet scent of the Cuban tobacco. It didn't come close to the Denevan leaf but it would be a long time before cigars would ever come from Deneva again Buchanan thought bitterly. His taskforce was as ready as it could be.

The Valley Forge was at its peak. That was where Buchanan had transferred his flag after leaving the Cowpens. Captain Ramanujan hadn't been happy about that but Buchanan had reminded the man that these carrier forces were going to be headed up by a flag officer anyway. The carriers Yamato, Hornet and Ticonderoga were also running ops normal except that one if the Ticonderoga's Minotaurs had failed a maintenance check. Buchanan knew that particular problem was in the process of being addressed. They had anticipated a ten percent failure rate for the attack but Buchanan wanted every gun in the attack that he could get.

The escorting Powhaton's Montaukx, Vandalia, Catskill and Virginia were also at one-hundred percent. That was mechanically Buchanan knew. Tensions were starting to run high on the one-hundred and forty seven meter long crafts. They had been underway for a little under a month now. There were reports of some drunkenness and a few fights. Frank could abide all of that as long as his planes were ready for the big show and the escorts were ready to fight. The admiral wished that there was a way to transfer people between ships in warp. The amenities aboard the carriers were a little better. That could help morale a little he knew. The two Torsks Rickover and Borei had similar reports. The Borei was a bright spot as Captain Dobrynin ran his ship loosely when the times called for that. The Borei reported the fewest numbers of personnel incidents. The Tellarite destroyer Vaz was normal as far as Buchanan could tell. Arguments and down right fist-fights seemed to be the order of the day for those aliens.

Buchanan's desk top computer terminal buzzed offensively. The admiral cursed the device then remembered that it was his own reminder for the afternoon briefing. The admiral lit his cigar rose and left his inner office for the large adjoining conference room. Frank had to admit that the engineers were getting a lot better when it came to creature space. The Valley Forge's conference room was a real conference area and not one in name only as had been common in the older Stellar Navy ships. But Buchanan knew that the name "conference closet" probably wouldn't have done for the older ships. But it wasn't far from the truth.

The people around the table did not rise. Buchanan was happy about that. The admiral felt that the protocol gymnastics were better saved for more sedate times. As long as they knew who was in charge and had the guts to tell that person to go to hell Buchanan was fine with his subordinates.

Buchanan noted the presence of Captain Srinivasa Ramanujan, Lieutenant William Walters, and Andorian Commander Shorn. The Andorian had filled in the intelligence officer role quite nicely Buchanan thought. It was strange Frank thought that despite participating in joint training exercises and exchange programs Buchanan had always looked at their alien partners a little differently. Now the admiral hardly noticed the distinction anymore. The conference was being tight-beamed to other ships in the fleet. The tri-screen viewer in the center of the conference table depicted a computer generated image of the taskforce's present position and their intended target. Buchanan strode up to the main viewer in the room after the rest of the participants were finished checking in.

"You've all had time to review the defenses," Buchanan started. "You all know that this will not be a cakewalk." Buchanan changed the image to one of a depiction of what the closest and only sensor drone had scanned when it had done a suicidal flyby of the Cheron system. "We know that the whole system is guarded by a network of radar pickets. We have picked up other metal objects that must be a form of defense platform."

"Lieutenant Chandra from the Hornet admiral," a disembodied voice announced from the wall speaker grill. "How are we ever supposed to get past that?"

"We are not here to do that," the admiral announced. "Cheron seems to be one of the Birdies main operating bases. Even with twice the number of ships we have here today we couldn't hope to blast our way into there."

"This seems like a long way to go to harass the enemy," Captain Ramanujan said.

"You are trying to draw them out," Lieutenant Walters said quietly.

"Exactly Sluggo," the admiral snapped back. The taskforce commander switched to another computer generated graphic. This image was animated the lines and curves representing ships moved as Buchanan talked. "The Rickover, Borei and Vandalia will come out of warp here," Buchanan pointed to an area just outside of the Cheron system. Those ships will start hammering away at the Birdie pickets and missile platforms there. In the meantime the rest of us will go z-minus to a point here," again Buchanan pointed to a dark area outside of the system. "Intell thinks that this area is clear of surveillance."

"That was three months ago admiral," Shorn said. "But that defensive layout suggests that they planned it all on ships with subspace radar. Besides; space is big. It is just as possible that they ran out of money or the drive to continue."

"I suppose the Minnies launch from there?" a disembodied female voice inquired out of the speaker grill. "Sorry sir Guido here." Lt. Sharon Patelli added.

"You got it Guido," Buchanan answered. "But we only launch the squadrons from the Yamato and the Hornet."

"The Birdies will start to smell a big attack in the works," Walters said.

"Yes and about that same time the Rickover and her company will warp away on a heading for the rest of the taskforce." Buchanan explained. "In the meantime the Minnies from Squadrons 11 and 41 will be heading toward Cheron. They should be able to do a lot of damage to their outer defenses. We hope that the Birdies will think that is where the Rickover and her friends are coming in at as well." Buchanan turned to those assembled. "A lot of ifs here folks. If I told you any difference you would smell it for the load of horse manure that it is."

"You want them to come out after our Minotaurs?" Shorn asked pointedly.

Buchanan nodded. "Your folks in intell think that offering the Birdies two carriers is too much of an enticement for them. Once the Minnies call in being pursued we will pull back the Forge and the Ticonderoga somewhat. We'll launch our Minotaurs then. The hope is that the pursuing force gets trapped between four fighter squadrons and our destroyers and cruisers."

"Then we leave?" a somewhat incredulous Lt. Walters asked.

"No," Buchanan said. "The carriers will warp away to the final rendezvous point. The fighters and the cruisers should be able to take care of the Birdies. The combined force of four squadrons then heads back to the gap in the defenses' of Cheron opened by the first Minnies."

"The refuel and repair station," Shorn said abruptly. At the admiral's nod he continued. "Our imaging suggested that the Romulans have a station near the edge of the system near an outer gas giant."

"We want that," Buchanan answered simply. "Star Fleet Command thinks that either we can bag a lot of Birdie ships in this battle or one of their deployed repair bases. They are hoping for both as well as the psychological impact of us reaching out and touching the bastards so close to home."

There were looks of both expectation and worry around the table. Frank knew that was probably being mirrored in every other ship in the taskforce. The crews discussed possible failures and alternate scenarios for the next two hours. Buchanan's fallback was to return to the region of their initial incursion if the zone of darkness as someone had christened the sensor free zone turned out to be covered by the Birdies. They also talked about being confronted by an overwhelming number of ships. It choked the admiral to say it but he knew he would order a retreat if that happened. Buchanan did not want to have to come all this way just to run though. Finally things came to a resolution.

"If this works more than likely it will also start the process of isolating their holdings in our sectors," Captain Pulaski's voice declared from the speaker grill. There were nods of agreement all around at the commander of the Ticonderoga's assessment.

"Command is hoping for that as well Josef," the admiral replied. "But we just don't know what their strength is. And god only knows what they have waiting at Romulus."

"One day soon we will find out," Captain Trang's distinctive Tellarite accent came across the conference room speaker.

A few more words were exchanged before the briefing ended. Finally when things were degenerating into wardroom small talk Buchanan called it quits. The admiral knew that they were still ten days out. There was time for suggestions and amendments to any plans they made. Buchanan cut the speakers off as his live company got up to leave.

"Sluggo I'd like you to stay behind," the admiral said quietly. When the rest of the officers had filtered out of the room Buchanan started: "Bill what in the hell is wrong with you?"

"Sir?" was all that Walters replied.

"You were offered shore leave after Tellar," Buchanan sat down and started puffing vigorously on his cigar. The admiral beckoned Walters to sit opposite him at the conference table. "Damnit Bill in fact you haven't had leave of any kind except medical leave after your retrieval."

"You need everyone you can get--," Walters started to say.

"Goddamnit lieutenant don't tell me what I need!" Frank exclaimed. "I'll tell you what I need: I need sharp pilots who will go out there and kill Birdies and come back. I don't need someone with a death wish leading my squadron." Buchanan noted Walters' look of surprise at the admiral's last statement. "The war effort is not going to collapse because Bill Walters goes home to Kansas for two weeks."

"I want my people to be at their best sir," Walters replied sharply.

"And I need you at your best Bill," Buchanan softened his tone somewhat. "Look Bill your whole platoon was killed in a few minutes. Then your copilot dies in your last fight. I ain't no goddamned psych officer but that can't be good for somebody." Buchanan changed the subject abruptly. "Your parents have been writing Star Fleet. You apparently haven't returned any of their messages."

"I don't know what going home would do sir," Walters replied. Buchanan thought then that Walters looked like a man who was empty inside.

"I'm not going to lie here Bill," Frank said sternly. "You are my best pilot and squadron honcho. The only reason you ain't an LC," Buchanan started meaning a lieutenant commander. "Is because fleet has put a limit on how far we can push ex-enlisted people. But at the rate we are dying out here I expect that limit won't be in place much longer. Don't you die out here Bill. There ain't no glory in it. Most of the people who write about glorious battles were those on the losing side."

"What are you going to do sir?" Walters asked detecting that the admiral had come to a final decision.

"I need you for this mission Bill," Frank said. "I have my doubts about you now but I don't have a replacement Bill Walters in ship's store. So fly this mission—come back! That is a goddamned order. Then when we get back to Wolf I'm putting you off. You go back to earth. Go back to Kansas Bill. That is an order but Guido is also up for leave. I'm gonna detail her to make sure you get on the transport." Buchanan rose slowly as he puffed a stream of aromatic smoke out of his mouth. "Now get the hell out of here Bill."

Walters jumped up. "Aye-aye sir," he said as he headed out into the cramped corridors of the carrier.

Lieutenant William Steven Walters headed down the length of the two-hundred and thirty-five meter long carrier. He knew that he could take a turbotube but he wanted to vent. Walters was angry. The admiral was trying to act like some doctor and Walters did not like it. Of course he hadn't been home the lieutenant thought. There was a war on. But that wasn't it Walters knew.

Walters barely noticed people he passed in the narrow corridors' of the carrier. He didn't want to go home because somehow that was no longer his home. When Walters thought of Wichita it was as if he was viewing an old faded photograph such as those that families kept. Some were handed down all the way from the twentieth century and were so faded as to be almost unrecognizable. That is how Walters viewed his home and family now. Some part of him felt guilt at not acknowledging his parents' letters. Another part was relieved. That part was the one that didn't want to go on leave. That part didn't want anyone to hear Walters waking up screaming from another dream where he was on Deneva.

Finally the lieutenant entered Squadron 12's wardroom. Most of his squadron mates were sitting around watching a holovid recreation of some twentieth century movie. This one was about a creature that infested people finally bursting out of them in a bloody display. The resulting monster grew as it killed off crewmembers on the space freighter. The men and women of Squadron 12 would sit around and laugh at the movie's representation of space travel. Ensign Ernie 'Molten' Smith suddenly started a series of mock convulsions as he reached under his t-shirt creating the image of something coming out from under his shirt. The rest of the assembled group roared with laughter.

"Why don't you make a beer pop out of you Molten?" Warrant Officer Sheila Montoya asked with a laugh.

"Speaking of that whose turn is it for a beer run?" Lt. Vic Mancini asked. He looked toward two of the squadron's newest people. "It is either you Lars or Smalls' turn," the lieutenant said. The somewhat drunken pilot turned when he saw Walters. "Hey boss you gonna have one?" Mancini asked.

"Nah I have paperwork to do," Walters said. Actually he didn't but he did not feel like sitting around and drinking just then. Still it was somewhat amusing to watch the frustration of Lars or his real name, Ensign Ben Porter and his Andorian friend Smalls or Thahn. The two new pilots didn't know it but many of the squadrons' personnel had taken to assigning new people temporary monikers based on their helmet size. Lars had taken a large flight helmet whereas Smalls had of course a smaller head.

"Why don't you forget that stuff Bill," Montoya said with a suggestive tilt of her head. She had untied her long straight black hair.

"I can't," Walters said walking over to Smith. Bill poked the somewhat portly Ensign Smith in his belly. "I really am starting to believe that you have an alien living in you Molten; one that eats everything in sight."

"Hey I resent that!" Smith declared. Walters thought that he did a good job of feigning hurt. The ensign suddenly turned serious. "Did the bastard fill you in on what is coming up?" Lars handed the ensign a beer. Walters changed his mind and accepted one as well.

"That he did," Walters told his people. He knew that not everyone was here. He supposed there was something to wanting to do paperwork. He would have to draw up a briefing for his squadron. Walters went on to explain the plan and the objective.

Sheila let out a low whistle. "Cheron huh?" the warrant officer asked. "That is like Birdie central or pretty close to it."

That was true Walters thought as he took a pull of the cold frothy beer. It was Tellarite beer, potent and sort of heavy. Walters had been aware all through Buchanan's briefing of how dangerous it was becoming to pilot a Minotaur. The ship was still superior to an Eightball but the Romulans had been learning. They had been learning how to kill Minotaurs and they were getting better.

"I'll give you all the full brief tomorrow," Walters said in a loud voice. "We'll start simulations tomorrow night."

There were many moans and groans over that statement. It was too bad Bill thought that they couldn't fly real training missions. But Walters would give his people a good workout. He wanted them all to come home as Buchanan had ordered Walters to do. Maybe that was it Bill thought. Maybe he didn't want to go back to Kansas because this ship was his home now. He looked again at the faces around the room. Walters wondered how many of them would be alive in ten days. He took his beer and headed for his office.

Discoveries

Taskforce 33, UES Trafalgar, out of Tellar, Jul 2157

The matter/anti-matter mix was just right. Lieutenant Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker had been working for weeks at fine tuning the Tannhauser class ship's reactor. The engineer was betting that he could squeeze the reactor for enough power for a sustained warp 3.2. Tucker wished that he was back at Hangar 51. He had also been working on applying force fields to help shore up a ship's structure. Tucker knew that such a thing was probably a solid decade away but he knew that once they were in place starships would be easily able to exceed warp five maybe even warp six. Power was not the issue as much now with matter/anti-matter as building and reinforcing the shell that would preserve the ship being propelled.

Tucker stepped into his office and sat down. He was also happy that they were scheduled for rotation. Taskforce 33 would pass through Wolf 359 on its way back to earth. He wondered how Jo-jo was. The two had been writing back and forth since their departures after Mars. Trip had felt a growing coldness from her as time went by. Tucker was not sure if it was grief over what had happened or hardness developed from command.

Everyone had heard of the battle of Hell's Gate now. Not one Romulan ship had made it back. Tucker remembered Stiles' chilling statement about how she would 'see to the Birdies now'. The engineer believed that. He hoped that she did not die in the process of doing that. Tucker had finally had time to think. Trip realized that sometime during the couple's brief time on Mars he had fallen in love with Jocelyn Stiles. Now he was beginning to wonder if there was any room in her heart for that. Or was it just filled with a desire to kill Romulans he wondered?

Trip pushed those thoughts out of his head. The Trafalgar had a mission. They were going to put an expeditionary force on Tarod. The Romulans were there. Flybys had shown what intelligence was identifying as the typical Romulan base configuration. Tucker wondered at that since they had only seen the Romulan installations on Deneva and Topaz. But they had their orders. Star Fleet Command wanted to put troops ashore in an attempt to capture live Romulans versus an orbital bombardment.

The engineer thought that they had enough troops and firepower to do it. The Trafalgar was accompanied its sister Tannhauser, Gettysburg. The Torsk class ships Holland and Dolphin were backed up by the Tellarite light cruisers Shizma and Actav. The carrier Bismarck along with its Andorian counterpart the Al' Kumariz would provide fighter coverage. It still amazed Tucker, even though he had helped develop earth's first operational matter/anti-matter reactors just how far they extended the range of the Stellar Navy vessels. The old reminder of that fact accompanied the taskforce in the form of the converted tankers Reid and Robinson.

Trip was glad that he was not on either freighter. A full mixed division of Star Fleet Marines and their allied counterparts were crammed in the makeshift spaces of the Reid and Robinson. Eleven thousand troops were bunked in pretty tight quarters from what Tucker had heard. That made the engineer glad that he had pursued the navy path and not a Marine officer commission.

Trip returned to his examination of engine performance figures. Along with pursuing a long-distance relationship with Jo-jo he was also corresponding with Mavik Dis concerning future starship designs. Dis had told Tucker that his friend Archer was stubbornly working on his next project. The Andorian engineer had communicated enough with Trip so that Tucker knew that he meant the next Daedelus class ship. Trip missed his friend. He hoped that Archer would one day get his Enterprise. The man had earned that Trip thought.

"Are you writing your mate to be again?" the Trafalgar's first officer said as he unceremoniously entered Trip's office. The Tellarite wiggled his snout. "Just tell her that you lust after her big hips! It works every time for my people. Females like to hear that sort of thing. Don't you humans know anything?"

Tucker laughed, "I hadn't thought to try that approach," he said then continued: "No; I was looking at our engine output. I can give the Cap'n 0.2 warp over the specs; seems like Brack and his team left a little room for navy engineers to squeeze these engines for a little more."

"That is good then we will be at our destination soon," Commander Valz said. "The captain is going to have a final briefing tomorrow night. It seems that we will soon be reversing these pirates." The Tellarite sat down opposite Tucker. The first officer looked at Trip for a few seconds prompting Tucker to ask if anything was wrong.

"Many on our world have been talking about what your president said," Valz said carefully. "I thought when we stuffed these pirates into the M'urta that would be all. Everything would be as it was before; us Tellarites superior to you puny humans of course."

"Of course!" Trip replied with a grin. It was apparent to Tucker that the alien wanted to get something off of his chest. He waited until a contemplative Valz continued.

"But now I wonder," the Tellarite started. "I have been among your people for several months now. It was an insulting experience but it was worth it."

Insulting, Trip knew was a good thing for a Tellarite. Tucker waited for his first officer to come to the point again. There didn't seem to be anything that Trip could say until he knew which direction the Tellarite was going in. He didn't have long for his answer.

"The news from our world is that many of us feel that we would be stronger with you humans than without," Valz explained. "I have come to believe that as well since my association with your people. I always thought that if that happened we would stop being Tellarites."

"I 'spose there is something to that," Tucker replied thoughtfully. "Hell there are people on earth makin' a ruckus over the war, aliens and anything else they can attach themselves too. I've been around aliens—you guys most of my adult life. Still human as far as I can tell!"

Valz made an exaggerated sniffing noise. "Yes you certainly smell that way to me!" The commander laughed heartily. "I think there are always people who sit at the bottom of a hill before an avalanche. Small pebbles rain down on them and they think nothing of it. Then they are caught in the worst of it. Or the best of it as it may turn out."

"You mean where all of this is leadin'?" Tucker asked pointedly. At the Tellarite's all too human nod Trip sighed. "You are askin' the wrong person here. Ask me about the magnetic flow between the induction field and I can tell you a thing or two." Tucker was thoughtful for a few seconds then added: "But ya' know I'm an American. I suppose that doesn't mean anything to you."

"It is a race that your people used to divide yourself up into." Valz declared.

"To read some of my family's history you'd think that," Tucker said. "A couple of centuries ago me and Jo-jo's relationship woulda been forbidden. But somewhere along the line we gave up being white, black, Jews, Muslims, Americans, Chinese and every other goddamned thing. We decided we were all human. I think it was for the best. I mean I'm an American but now I'm a human first."

"I fear us losing who we are but I think we are more alike than not," Valz said adding a wiggle of his snout. At Tucker's wondering glance the Tellarite explained. "I know that you lost your sibling. That would be a tragic thing for one of us as well. Family is very important to us Tellarites; as it seems to be to you humans." The alien lowered his voice. "When I was a suckling my parents would tell me and my brothers and sisters that you humans didn't have mothers or fathers. That you bred by yourselves."

"That couldn't have been long after we ran into your people," Tucker said with a laugh.

"Before anything was formalized," Valz replied. "But now they write me and tell me how we must help you poor pathetic humans along! It is a change."

Trip was about to ask if it was a good change when Captain Xavier Valdez joined the two in the small engineering office. Valz and Tucker both started to spring to their feet when the commander of the Trafalgar told them to remain seated.

"Anything I could do for ya' Cap'n?" Tucker asked politely. The short, wiry, dark haired captain took a seat beside his first officer.

"Just walking about my ship gentlemen," Valdez replied. "I happened to look in here. It looked like you too were off solving the problems of the world."

"Something like that sir," Tucker laughed. "I think me and Commander Valz were talking about how we have more similarities than differences."

"I suppose that is true," Valdez replied. "We will see in a few days. We have coordinated our ships together but this will be the first attempt at coordinating ground troops."

"General Sav will lead you other poor aliens despite your shortcomings," Valz proclaimed loudly.

Trip knew that Forrest had picked a Tellarite general to lead the fight on the ground. There was something to what Commander Valz had said. Tellarites had fought a great many ground wars in the final formation of their one nation state world.

"We'll know soon enough," Valdez interjected. "But I have to think of all contingencies. If things go sour down there can the new air scrubbers handle more people?" This last the captain asked Tucker.

"Yes sir," Tucker replied. "They included all the bells and whistles with these new ships. We could take on two-thousand extra no problem. Rations might get a little short but at least people will be able to breath."

The three officers spent the next hour discussing the upcoming attack. They all knew that even given new ships and allies that they were about to assail a planet near to the stronghold of their enemy. Even if they were succeeded in the invasion Star Fleet would have to hold onto their prize. How much of a fight Tucker wondered, would the Birdies give in trying to get Tarod back? They would soon all know the answer to that.

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Earth, Jul 2157

Micah Brack hadn't played this particular role in many centuries. But Ricardo had always been one of his top idea people, albeit an eccentric one. So it was that as strange as the request had been Brack could not refuse the scientist. Ricardo had contributed heavily to the development of navigational deflectors, artificial gravity and lately the new subspace sensors. Besides Micah thought, a visit to the old man was nothing. The scientist seemed to want for little. Brack remembered hiring some people who felt they deserved bonuses just for getting up in the morning and showing up. Micah laughed as he thought that those particular prima donnas hadn't lasted long in his employ.

The old house lay in a relatively clear area on what had been the old Grandview Avenue on Mount Washington. That area had been spared most of the ravages of the last war. The old Duquesne Incline still hauled travelers up the side of the mountain where they were treated to a grand view of the confluence of three rivers. The old city was a historical gem that had survived war and the later sackings made by Colonel Green and his Progressives.

Brack marveled at the old cable car. He had helped finance the thing from its beginning. That caused him to laugh. A young mother attending to two vigorous little boys no more than five or six years of age cast a wary eye toward Brack when she heard him laugh at apparently nothing. Micah merely smiled back at her.

"Your day with the children I see," Brack said to the pretty young woman.

The young lady seemed to have made up her mind that Brack was not some kind of threat. "That is everyday these days," she replied with some sadness. At Brack's questioning look she explained: "My husband is a gunnery officer on the Agincourt." She looked with distress at the little boys. "He has been gone for the past four months. He was supposed to be scheduled in for rotation next month but," she looked around as if the ancient cable car had ears when besides herself and Brack they were alone. "He wrote and said that they would be out an extra two months."

"I know that it won't be any consolation miss," Brack said. "But that is the nature of war. You have fine looking boys. I hope that your family helps?"

She nodded, "they do." She looked sad again. "I just wish they would stop with the Sons' of Terra stuff." She shot a quick look to her children. "My mother especially is always beating the drum about alien influences. I don't like Brett and Sam to have to hear that sort of stuff." The woman choked for a second then continued. "Just in case, you know he doesn't—,"

"I understand," Brack interjected. Just in case her husband didn't come back Micah finished her thought. Brack thought for a moment before continuing. "Some places offer day care these days. Sort of like the old twenty-first century."

"I have a degree in computer engineering," the woman said. "Rich had been out of the navy for a year when we got married. I never saw the reason to go to work after the boys. Then the war came along. And you know after the bombing of Florida Rich was one of those that volunteered to go back in." The woman continued. "My mom was only too happy to get us to move back in after he shipped out. Now I wish…"

Brack nodded. He prided himself on carrying ancient style business cards. "Boeing-Teledyne has a design bureau in the city. I've instituted day care there because there are a lot of single parents these days." Brack handed her his card. "If you need a job to get out of your present circumstances just hand the receptionist that card."

She accepted it then after looking at it she looked at Brack. "I, I've read about you," she started. "You really are him?" she asked. At his nod she added: "I thought that you were older."

The ancient car stopped its climb after arriving at its destination. "Vitamins don't you know," Brack said with a smile. "Miss?" he asked.

"Ellen Daystrom sir," the young lady replied. "Thank you, uh Mr. Brack."

They exited the car. Brack bid the family a good day and headed along his way. The woman and her children made for one of the newer homes along the hillside. Brack walked along to the ancient house. He knew that it had been built in the late nineteenth century. He had attended a party at a mansion nearby around that time. Brack smiled at the memory of that. They had been celebrating America's entry into to the Spanish-American War; another pointless endeavor Micah thought bitterly.

No breeze blew today on Mount Washington. It was a typical warm, humid July day. It always frustrated Brack that despite his unique physical condition he was still subject to the rigors and impositions of the weather. The industrialist soon worked up a sweat. He wished that he had picked lighter clothing but he had not anticipated this trip.

The industrialist climbed the steps of the ancient mansion. The door was unlocked. Despite the peace and prosperity that had ascended on earth after First Contact it still pained Brack that his associate did not take simple precautions. He stepped in the home. It also distressed Brack that Ricardo had never been much for air conditioning.

"Fred!" Brack called out. "I have come as you have asked." There was silence for several uncomfortable minutes. Brack called out again. The industrialist hadn't lived this long by being stupid—or unarmed. Brack reached into his suit and drew out the small pistol he had concealed there.

"Put that thing away!" a voice called out. An elderly man stood at the top of the stairs. The man laughed. That laugh always made Brack wonder: It was as if it was issued by one who had never known laughter before and now treasured it, Brack thought. "I actually waited you out old friend," the elderly scientist said as he hobbled slowly down the steps. "You looked like Elliot Ness when you pulled your gun there."

"I always wonder why you waste your time on old television programs," Brack retorted replacing the sidearm. He grimaced as one does when they see an elderly person struggling. Micah moved to help the old man.

"Puhlease," Ricardo said in an exaggerated voice adding a chuckle. He shrugged Brack's attempts at help off. "I'll still make it down these steps a few more times old friend." He motioned Brack to follow him. "Let's talk in my study Micah. I need your help and it may be that you need my help as well."

"Very well Fred," Brack answered. The industrialist had gone as far as having Frederick Ricardo checked out by his security people. The name alone was questionable as far as Brack was concerned. But he had come up against a wall. Brack supposed that he was not the only other person with a secret. "I haven't heard from you lately friend."

"Do not feign concern for me Micah," Ricardo said without emotion. "I know that you are a busy man. You probably haven't thought of me in years Johan.

Brack started at that name. He decided to let it pass but that was not to be. ." Brack took a seat opposite his associate.

"Oh I know who you are," Ricardo said. "And more importantly I know who you have been." The old scientist poured drinks into two glasses. "Schnapps, I hate it myself. I'd rather have a cold Sam Adams but since you are here my friend; we shall drink something more suitable to your palate."

"Fred your humor never ceases to amaze me," Brack started when Ricardo slowly walked over and handed Micah his drink. "I'm sure it amuses you to--,"

Ricardo reached out with a speed that belied not only his age but his humanity as well. The elderly man seized the front of Brack's shirt. The business executive reached up to fend the old man off while trying to spring up at the same time. Something was wrong Micah knew. Once upon a time he had led a platoon across the mud of the Somme. The German machine guns had relentlessly cut his boys to ribbons. Micah seeing that General Haig's offensive was a lost cause had finally thrown himself into a shell hole. He had lain in the stinking mud besides the rotting corpse of another luckless British soldier. Brack was glad that it was still winter. Micah had smelled death in the air during the hot summer months too many times during his long life. Night had fallen. At the first flash of German flares Brack had sprang up assuming a crouching run back towards the British trenches. Wait for the flash he thought; that is when the machine gunners would be blinded momentarily. The hateful staccato rhythm of the machine guns opened up as Micah dived for an abandoned trench. Mortars had followed. Brack made for a bunker only to have the mud and sandbags collapse onto him. He was pinned. That was what he felt now; an unrelenting mechanical pressure.

Fred Ricardo's firm hold was unlike no person's Brack thought. It was rather as unmovable as those sandbags had been. Brack stopped resisting. Fred's arm was like a stout piece of lumber and Brack knew he was not going to move it. Micah was having trouble breathing when Ricardo released his hold just as quickly as he had initiated it. The elderly man seemed hardly fazed.

"I'm sorry to have had to do that to you old friend," Ricardo said as he turned his back to Brack and slowly made his way to his large overstuffed wing backed easy chair. "It was necessary to let you know that," the scientist paused and grinned. A mischievous gleam was in his eyes: "That I am not from the neighborhood so to speak." Ricardo added hastily: "And I am not referring to Pittsburgh."

"Oh come now you always knew that there was something more to me Micah," Ricardo said. "But as long as I helped you and your design teams solve seemingly insurmountable problems you just didn't bother asking." Ricardo said sharply.

"Who are you?" Brack asked.

"Fred Ricardo," the elderly man replied wit a grin. "Let us leave it at that my friend."

"Why are you telling me this now?" Brack retorted.

"I'm old Micah," Ricardo sad sadly. "Not as old as you my friend but let me say that I met you once before." At Brack's wondering look Ricardo continued. "You wouldn't remember me of course. Remember how you were trying to solve the problem of finding a material that could stand the heat of reentry? I'm talking about America's shuttle program; the first time around."

"Okay I'll go along," Brack replied.

"Some equations showed up written on papers folded into an autographed copy of Methuselah's Children," the old man laughed when Brack's mouth dropped open in surprise. "And voila; you have tiles for a heat shield."

"Who, what species are you?" Brack asked finally.

"Let's table that for the moment," Ricardo replied. "Let me just say that I've been alone here for a long time. It is almost my time. I want to go home and I need help there." Brack asked what sort of help he could render. "I need passage off world to a neutral planet—Denobula would work. That is all I ask of you—unless I die before then. Then I want you to cremate my body so that no one," Ricardo paused before continuing: "So that no one pries."

"Let's say for the moment that I believe you," Brack answered. Micah was upset to see the distress his friend exhibited when he had mentioned dying before he got a chance to get home. Brack supposed that would be natural; if Ricardo was indeed some sort of alien. Brack continued: "You said you wanted my help. Okay I get you on a neutral freighter, what then? You said that I might need your help."

Ricardo breathed deeply and closed his eyes. Minutes ticked away until Micah wondered if the old man had not dozed off finally he spoke again though. Ricardo's tone held a note of sadness:

"There are others here. Some of us have long suspected something about our past. I do not know that it is true but many believe it. If it is true then your people are in extraordinary danger.

It would be sad if all of you funny, stupid humans were to be made extinct. Who would remember Lucille Ball and Joltin' Joe and Britney Spears, Billy Idol and Sonny Clemens?"

"I can't imagine that happening," Brack replied. Micah was worried about Ricardo's perceived threat but he still believed in man. "We will turn the tide soon."

"What do you think of these Sons' of Terra?" Ricardo asked suddenly. The old man did not wait for an explanation. "Surely an old campaigner like you has to wonder how they got enough funds to get all of those council seats?"

"I know some of their funding came from old money," Brack answered. "The same old trouble makers. You know that some of them date their family history back to the late nineteenth century. You hand somebody a lot of money that they never had to work to earn and all of a sudden you have a Bin Laden or Green."

"That doesn't account for all of it," Ricardo answered. He added in an accusing tone, "and you know it."

"Okay so you are saying these Romulans are acting here on earth?" Brack said. At Ricardo's nod he continued: "So what; these Sons' of Terra was their invention?"

"No," the old man answered. "Man was stupid enough there to start that. But it identified the idiots for the Romulans—the useful idiots."

Brack was uncomfortably familiar with that term. Micah had indeed wondered how the Sons had swept so many local elections. Advertising money cost big credits and the Sons seemed to have had a lot of it. Brack had started a subtle line of inquiry over that very matter but ship design had taken up most of his time instead.

"Why not just turn your data into the authorities?" Micah asked Ricardo. "Or if you were afraid of exposing yourself you could have passed it along to me or another third party that you trusted."

"No!" the old man roared. Brack became concerned at his pallor after his outburst. It took almost a minute before Ricardo collected himself enough to reply in a calmer tone: "No Micah; if the human authorities—if your people find out the nature of these Romulans." Ricardo stopped and then continued abruptly on another topic. "Do you believe in Thorpe's alliance; this union of planets?" At Brack's nod he continued. "It may never happen if the regular authorities discover who these Romulans are—look I am not even sure that I'm right. But if there is just a small chance that I am…" Ricardo fell into silence.

"If these Romulans are indeed here," Brack started, "then why not just finish us?" Micah knew that man had come close to doing that himself many times. There were any number of viral plagues and chemical agents capable of doing the deed.

"That is why it is important that you get involved now," Ricardo replied. "If the Romulans are who I think they may be then that will be a possible next step for them." At Brack's inquisitive look Ricardo explained: "If they are who I think they are then they have not come here for humanity. Oh your turn would come up soon enough. But no, they came to this sector to position themselves to conquer another of the races."

"Which one?" Micah asked pointedly.

Ricardo held up a hand. "I will not say," the scientist answered then added: "They wanted you to quit after they took your colonies. They misjudged you. That is the wonderful thing about your people Johan—Micah; everyone misjudges your strengths." Ricardo's face assumed a hardness that sent a chill down Brack's spine as he continued: "I think a very small team was sent here; probably for observation and to make a little mischief. But I believe were you to turn the tide as you said that they would resort to more extreme measures. For right now they would rather have man quit of his own volition. That would dissolve any hope of an alliance and you would isolate yourself to be prey for later."

"Then what do you think that I can accomplish alone?" Brack asked.

"I don't know this my friend," Ricardo said. The old man's grin returned. "I believe that this Thorpe is a later day Chamberlain—not the first one, the second one. I doubt he would have or desire an all inclusive internal security agency. But I wouldn't be surprised if someone, somewhere in the government or the military is acting against these Sons' of Terra on their own. That must be one of your starting points. I believe you will find others to help you. I'll furnish you with locations where I've pinpointed some transmissions as well."

"One last thing Micah," Ricardo said. "Be very careful. I know that you have been a soldier. I know about your unique physical abilities. But should you encounter one of these Romulans," he stopped took a breath then continued: "They are savage beyond anything you have ever known before. Take care my friend."

Brack was curious about Ricardo's assertion but the old man indicated that he had said enough. The two finished their drinks and discussed the details of Ricardo's departure. Finally the old scientist produced a data wafer that he gave to Brack. Micah realized that it was time for him to go. The philanthropist rose after agreeing to meet with Ricardo in a month to help conduct him to a spaceport. Ricardo walked Brack to the door.

"Remember as always," Ricardo said grinning; "this tape will self-destruct in five seconds. Good day Micah."