Star Trek: Dagger

by MorbiusXX

This is a story of the Romulan war based on the Star Fleet museum website. You can view the types of spaceships on that site. I've used characters from Enterprise but the story departs that storyline.

10. Chapter 10

UES Beagle just outside of the Deneva system, July, 2157

"Here they come again sir," Ensign Nandalal Bose said as he peered into the hood of his sensors.

Stiles looked intently at the viewscreen. They had gone a roundabout route that had allowed them to shadow several Romulan vessels. The commodore would have bet her next pay that those Birdies were reinforcements from Romulus or Cheron. Fifteen ships that Bose had identified as eleven Veronus class cruisers and four Sabinus class ships had made their way from the region of SN1572 to Deneva. Jocelyn sat back in the command chair wondering what to do about the situation. Her small number of ships, a mini taskforce could have waylaid the Romulan ships at any time. It was just that Stiles felt that this convoy presented an opportunity. What kind of an opportunity was unsure of yet. The numbers crawled across the viewscreen then abruptly their speed changed.

"They have dropped out of warp sir," Bose said. "The point is where subspace radar from the sixth planet would pick them up. They are proceeding along at impulse."

"Any communications?" Stiles asked.

"Not reading anything," Bose replied. The uncertainty in his voice was apparent. "They could be using laser communications. It would reach that space station in orbit of Galileo in less than five minutes." Bose was referring to the sixth planet by the name that early explorers had assigned to it.

"Five minutes," Stiles said softly to herself. Not soft enough though to receive a questioning glance from Captain Ed Minford. Stiles explained: "Five minutes at warp would let us go a lot of places Ed."

"We would be in their subspace radar range," Minford countered.

"Status of the Birdie taskforce coming from the other direction?" Stiles asked pointedly.

The image on the viewscreen shifted perspective to yet another group of Romulan ships inbound from the direction of Tellar. These ships had only just entered subspace sensor range.

"They should be here in twenty-seven minutes," Bose said. Stiles was about to speak to Minford and Anjin when Bose stiffened for a second. "The group entering the Deneva system just emitted some kind of subspace radar pulse." There was silence on the bridge of the Beagle until seconds later she added: "It has been answered by another pulse from that station."

"Pipe that down to signal intelligence," Stiles ordered brusquely. "Get me an analysis double quick!" Stiles punched buttons on the arm of her command chair. "Engineering this is the bridge," Stiles could still not steel herself to say commodore. "Get with signal intelligence and see if you can duplicate the signal that they are working on."

"Aye-aye sir," Lt. Cmdr. Kerry Hale's Bronx, New York accented voice came out of the bridge speaker grill.

"Even if we can do that sir," her Andorian operations officer interjected. "More than likely it is a signal coded to each ship or group of ships."

"I know it Anjin," Stiles replied. "But these Birdies; they are arrogant bastards. I don't say that just as a casual insult. It is like one of their characteristics. I feel that." Stiles rose out of her chair and began checking over each of the bridge stations. "Imagine a really arrogant pissed-off Birdie. Maybe he wants to get back to base to do whatever they do for fun; torture small animals or such. They can make mistakes; we are pretty sure of that. So this Birdie's comm officer or whatever they call it sends the wrong code. Does he stop to say; gee I'm sorry we have been on a killing spree and just confused. Or does he keep sending the same code thinking that the fool receiving it is at fault?"

"Another gamble sir," Ed Minford said with a grin. "But after Hell's Gate I think I'm riding along with you on your bets. You ever get to Vegas?"

"After the war Ed," Stiles said with a laugh. "But the last time I went there I lost big." She laughed. "We don't even know what comm and engineering can come up with. But," Stiles paused and let out a breath noisily before continuing. "The planetary alignment is over. There is an open gap between the Galileo and Deneva. We push our way in sending a repeating nonsense signal; whatever the intell folks come up with. Maybe they think it is their patrol that is on its way now," Stiles said meaning the inbound Romulan craft that had entered their sensor range. She continued with her plan: "Meanwhile the Choctaw ingresses from the other side of the system."

"That will maybe draw off some of them from around Deneva," Minford said in a dour voice.

Bose had counted over one-hundred ships in orbit of Deneva. Intelligence had confirmed that Cabbages could land on the surface of a world meaning that more ships could be on the surface. They had no idea rather that was true of the Chowder. There were fifty seven ships in orbit of Galileo in addition to the station which, Jocelyn had no doubt was armed.

"Exactly Ed," Stiles turned and surveyed her bridge crew. "This ain't gonna be no grand victory here. It is hit and run only but I want to hit the bastards hard." She turned back to Minford. "Ed call the Truman--,"

"Bridge engineering," Lieutenant Commander Kerry Hale's voice came over the bridge speaker. Stiles acknowledged the engineer. "Intelligence has broken the pulse down into a mathematical progression. I can duplicate the one they sent out by modulating our own subspace radar signal. I can send an original one but they tell me it would read as gibberish to the Birdies."

Stiles folded her arms over her chest. She looked at the bridge crew again then said: "Battle stations; have the Truman to launch Minnies." She flipped a switch on her chair's comm panel "Kerry get ready to send a duplicate signal. I'm gonna bet that stumps them long enough for us to get close." She turned to Minford. "Order the Choctaw to make an approach. But tell them to get the hell away when the pursuit gets close!"

Stiles assumed her seat again. "Chief Vong," She said to Mary Vong who was manning the navigation station. "Set a course for that station—warp 2.1." That was the speed that they had observed the other Birdies come in at. "Drop out of half an AU further than the last group did." Stiles called engineering again. "Keep an open line up here Kerry and start squawking on my mark. Engage Mary," she said the Chief Vong.

Stiles watched the viewscreen as the distance to the curve representing the edge of Romulan sensor range and her ships decreased. Stiles' raiders crossed the line. Ensign Bose caused a second curve to be illuminated where Stiles had said she wanted to drop out of warp. They were approaching that point.

"Indications of power buildup in the reactors of some of those ships sir," Ensign Bose said. "The station's power output curve has also increased."

They were across the second arc when Stiles said: "Drop out of warp and emit the pulse."

Chief Vong and Lt. Cmdr. Hale both acknowledged Stiles. Jocelyn wanted to get up out of the command chair and pace the bridge but she knew that they were going into battle. Stiles strapped herself into the seat and nodded to Minford who had seated himself at an auxiliary station. The older officer was putting an earpiece on in anticipation of passing along orders to the rest of the raiders.

"They are emitting a pulse at us," Bose said, "different than the one we sent them." The ensign bent over the hood of his scanner. "No ship movements," he paused, "yet. Reactor status remains unchanged."

"One more pulse Mister Hale," Stiles said over the ship's intercom.

Time seemed to drag on for minutes although the bridge chronometer showed less than a minute. Jocelyn looked at the indicators marking the position of her ships. They were well past the second arc now.

"Thrust output!" Ensign Bose exclaimed.

"Tsk tsk," Stiles said. "I guess that we are not welcome in the nest."

The Star Fleet ships Beagle, Hazmq and five Minotaurs stretched forth into normal space. Ahead of them around a nondescript dull gray gas giant a Romulan space station orbited. Neither of the opponents could see another without the use of strong telescopic equipment. The little group of Star Fleet ships proceeded toward their intended prey at full impulse. The gas giant did not appear to grow very much as the small group of raiders got closer. The human and Tellarite ships flashed into warp.

Around the gas giant Romulan Sabinus class ships orbited along with some Veronus class vessels. They followed what was probably a normal orbital pattern for them. Suddenly several of the green ships started accelerating. The Romulans were close to the gas giant; close enough to make their maneuvers slower than normal. Spherical Romulan fighters emerged from the bays of three Cabbages as well as the primary bay of the three-hundred meter long cylindrical station. Defense laser turrets pivoted about.

Seconds later the Star Fleet ships were less than three thousand meters from the station. Space filled with Narwhal anti-ship missiles. The Star Fleet ships followed that up with Spider area defense missiles. The plasma cannon fire of three Sabinus class ships was intercepted by the Spiders. The Romulans, caught at unawares were not able to lay out an effective spread of antimissile neutronium pellets. Repeated salvos of Narwhal missiles destroyed Romulan ship after ship. Four Romulan Sabinus class ships and six Veronus class cruisers were destroyed in the opening allied salvo. The small Minotaurs made a devastating strafing run against the orbiting ships. Three Chowders and two Cabbages were reduced to burning wrecks that slowly fell back into Galileo's gravity well. The Hazmq made an aggressive pass over three Romulan Cabbages. The cruiser's hail of Merculite rockets chewed the Romulan cruisers into glowing hot pieces of slag.

Four Narwhals made their way toward the Romulan station. Two of those were hit by laser fire turning them into useless fragments of high speed metal debris. Another Narwhal ran into a barrage of neutronium pellets. That missiles was also reduced to scrap. But the last of the four flew straight and true until it impacted the station toward its middle near a launch bay that was expelling spherical Romulan fighters. An expanding bubble of energy grew out of the center of the doomed refueling station. The explosion consumed the station along with Romulan spheroid fighters and several ships that had been moored to it for refueling.

Romulan cruisers rose out their orbits to answer the attackers challenge. Some of the Romulan ships were already aligning themselves to fire plasma cannons when the Minotaurs made another devastating attack run. Five Chowders and two Cabbages were turned into wrecks by the passing Star Fleet fighters. The Tellarite light cruiser followed the fighters path leaving a Sabinus class cruiser destroyed and a Veronus damaged beyond repair. Romulan plasma cannons lanced out once more. One of the deadly weapons caught the Hazmq a glancing blow. Electrostatic discharges erupted where the cannon fire had hit as the wounded Tellarite was knocked sideways. The allied light cruiser drifted like that for several seconds before it righted itself.

"Report!" Stiles exclaimed as the sensor display showed the Romulan ships clawing their way up to more maneuverable positions.

"The Tellarites are reporting that their impulse drive is down," Captain Ed Minford said as he listened to the information coming in over his earpiece. "Warp drive is functional—their rockets are expended."

"Tell them to go to warp captain," Stiles ordered; "rendezvous at the assigned coordinates." The commodore turned to Ensign Bose. "Report on the Birdies around Deneva."

"It looks like twenty-four ships started on their way for the Choctaw," Bose said. The man's eyes did not leave the hood of his scanner readout. "They have reversed course; new course to our position here—ETA fourteen minutes. It looks the rest of them are on the move out this way. I'm counting thirty-three ships in the leading edge of their force—ETA on those is ten minutes."

"Ed," Stiles turned to Minford. "Order the Marathon and Choctaw to pour it on! Have the Minnies make one more run then get their tails out of here. Have Captain Harrison move up as the Minotaurs leave." Satisfied that things were going about as well as could be expected Stiles turned to Mary Vong at the helm. "Chief calculate where they would come out of warp normally." Jocelyn knew the typical Romulan attack pattern: Emerge into normal space out of range of allied missiles. Stiles planned to change that dynamic today. "Also I want an intercept course on the inbounds from Deneva. Once you have that lay that in and prepare to go to warp. I want to drop out at a point where it will force them to either warp past us or drop out right in range of our Narwhals. Get with Ensign Bose for any help you need."

Vong was already furiously punching commands into the navigation computer before she acknowledged the command. Stiles saw Ed Minford's nervous look. Yes she thought; this was another gamble. Stiles was hoping that the Birdies would assume that her Star Fleet ships were going to shoot at them while in warp. Jocelyn knew that there would be no time to calculate a firing solution for that. She hoped the Birdies didn't know that and would choose to drop out of warp instead. Now for the last part of the plan she thought.

"Lieutenant Rice," Stiles said to her gunnery officer. "Get ready to launch two spreads of Narwhals based on the positioning the chief comes up with. I want the Birdies to have a little surprise waiting on them as soon as they come out of warp."

"That is cutting it close sir," Rice responded. The officer was clearly concerned and a little confused.

Jocelyn unstrapped from the command chair. She got up and walked over to Rice at the gunnery position. What he had meant was that there were a lot of ifs. And the lieutenant was correct.

"If we time this right," Stiles said so that her voice carried to all, "the Birdies will be dropping out of warp when they detect our launch. If their engines are anything like ours they won't be able to suddenly go back into warp." Stiles looked around the bridge. There seemed to some concern on the faces of many but they were all about their tasks.

"Damnit!" Minford exclaimed as he listened to reports from the Marathon and Choctaw and looked at the Beagle's own sensor display. At Jocelyn's inquisitive glance he explained: "This gamble paid off sir. Final run is complete—all Romulan craft in orbit over Galileo including their refueling station reported destroyed." He paused and cocked his head as something came over his earpiece. "I can't believe this—the Marathon reports a crippled Cabbage. It is launching shuttles! They are close enough for video."

"Network their video over to the viewer," Stiles ordered sharply.

The viewscreen changed from the sensor images of the battle to a slightly out of focus view of a Romulan Sabinus class cruiser. Both nacelles were now burnt stubs and at least a third of what was thought of as the command hull was missing. Shuttles were clearly evident leaving a bay at a section of the ship that was undamaged.

"Do we have time to close haul and grapple?" Stiles asked. But she was already doing the mental arithmetic. Her meager forces had time to play out Stiles' last gambit but that was it. The inbound Birdies were less than ten minutes away. She looked up to see Minford's confirming shake of his head.

"Damnit!" the captain cursed. "We've never seen them do this. It has to be because they are so close to a main operating base. We are bypassing their position now."

Stiles looked over Damon Rice's shoulder. The gunnery officer had worked a firing solution for the crippled Romulan ship.

"Prepare to fire!" Stiles snapped.

"Sir!" Both Minford and Rice exclaimed at the same time. Minford continued: "Sir they could be launching escape shuttles. That would be a war crime."

"They could also be fighters Ed!" Stiles shot back fiercely. She reached over Rice's shoulder and hit the fire control switch for the Narwhals. "Firing and away," she said quietly. The Jocelyn added in a harsh voice: "So is bombing civilians."

Small triangular shuttles made their way out of the bay of the doomed Cabbage. The damaged craft turned slowly throwing off pieces of wreckage as it had been reduced from being a spacecraft into a floating hulk. The Stellar Navy missile hit the spinning wreck. An expanding ball of fiery destruction obliterated the Sabinus. The fireball expanded to claim most of the escaping Romulan shuttles.

The Marathon formed up on the Beagle and both ships leapt away into subspace. Two minutes later the emerged. The shining disk of Deneva was still far away but could have been made out as a planetary body by the naked eye now. The Star Fleet ships discharged a flight of Narwhals each. Thirty seconds later their tubes freshly reloaded they fired again. The two allied ships turned about slowly. The first green streaks of Romulan ships emerged into normal space. Three of those were immediately incinerated. The Beagle and Marathon warped away. Two more Romulan craft were destroyed as the Star Fleet ships vanished from sight.

The Forge, Vulcan, July 2157

Lieutenant Tarang Gupta and his Vulcan companion T'Pol had spend almost a week at the underground spring near the Valley of K'Henga. Gupta had enormous respect for his superior Captain Erica Soames but he was also cursing her. Gupta was no kind of spy he thought bitterly. They had almost been caught snooping about that first night because of Tarang's ill thought out plans. Gupta was sure that Mr. Ian Fleming's spy would know what to do but that was not Tarang. So it was that they had spent time observing the daily movements of the High Command's security force. In addition T'Pol spent time examining the archeologist Celada's journal. Gupta's spoken Vulcan was coming along. At least T'Pol had gone from saying that it was adequate to now saying it was passable. But Tarang was still having problems with the intricate Vulcan written language.

Their rations were starting to run low as well. The two would have to leave tonight in order to make it back with full rations. Gupta thought that would work. The two amateur clandestine operators had discovered that the High Command rotated their detachment out to replace it with a fresh one every two days. If things went as he hoped Tarang thought that would be tonight. Gupta had observed the detachment drop the web like network of laser motion detectors for a little over an hour at each rotation. Tarang supposed it was a maintenance check. They also transferred a great deal of equipment out of the relief shuttle. He also suspected from his observations that the security forces were becoming lax; even for Vulcans. But Gupta thought: Who in their right minds would come this far on foot never mind the illogic of it.

Gupta made his way back to the relative coolness of the cavern. T'Pol was seated crossed-legged her back upright and straight as she compared something out of the dead archeologist's journal to something on the chart. Gupta also wondered about what else had happened six days ago. T'Pol had told the Indian that she did not realize how close he was when he had turned his head. Somehow though he was young Tarang knew the difference between an accidental brush of the lips and a kiss. But he had not brooked the subject since then.

"There are hidden tunnels off of the main site," T'Pol said. She was facing away from him and yet had obviously heard him enter the cave.

"Why didn't the rest of the team discover this other chamber?" Gupta asked.

"Celada had long suspected its existence according to her journal entries," T'Pol explained. "She discovered a crawlspace that was probably looked like an offshoot of ancient plumbing."

"Yet she publicly said that looking in that direction was a waste," Gupta said as he stroked his growth of beard. It had been sometime since Gupta had known the convenience of hot water.

"Yes," T'Pol replied simply, "it is an inconsistency. I have not indicated otherwise." She put the journal down and looked at Gupta. "Do you mean to try to gain entry tonight?"

He nodded. "It is now or never," Tarang replied. "It is sundown. We should make ready to leave."

T'Pol nodded and rose. The two each looked at their chronometers. They each knelt and filled their canteens by the cave's meager pool. They had planned to make this journey with little equipment. They would enter the ruins, penetrate the chamber that Celada had discovered see what was there and be gone. It disturbed the intelligence officer to no end that he was not an archeologist. It was likely; Gupta thought that presented the choices between answers to the mysteries of the universe presented from a Vulcan viewpoint or directions to the men's room Gupta would probably choose the directions in his ignorance. Oh well, Tarang thought, he always had the import export business to fall back on.

Gupta fell in behind T'Pol as they exited the hidden entrance to the surface. They trudged stealthily through the sand finally clambering down the way they had come before. At least climbing about was easier as they were somewhat experienced with the terrain now Gupta thought. They made the descent in relative silence. This time the two arrived on the valley floor in a little under two hours. They dodged and weaved between volcanic boulders as they drew as close to the encampment as they dared. Finally they stopped and waited.

Gupta looked at his chronometer the numbers of which threw off a dim light showing the passing time. The relief shuttle should be here by now he thought anxiously. Had he been wrong Gupta wondered? Tarang was going to suggest that very thing to his companion when he noticed her cocking her head up as if she heard something. Seconds later Gupta too heard the roar of braking thrusters firing. The shuttle roared overhead and started down to the valley floor. Gupta snuck a glance out from their place of concealment. The lieutenant could feel T'Pol press against him as she too looked out over his shoulder. A whirling, blinding sandstorm briefly enveloped the dig site as the shuttle's landing thrusters kicked up the sand.

"The laser net is down," T'Pol whispered into Gupta's ear. She was looking intently at the handheld detector that she carried.

The two scurried in a crouching run toward the archeological dig. Tarang had studied the layout of the land long enough to know that they were past the first tendrils of the detection grid. There were no external alarms but no motion was evident from the security force's living quarters. They were exposed briefly as they crossed a short distance to the entrance of the ancient temple. They went from what Gupta had considered darkness to the complete inky blackness of no light whatsoever. Tarang felt T'Pol's hand on his arm slowing him down. She was right he thought: These were ancient ruins. There was a turn ahead and if he missed it the next thing was a nasty fall into an ancient vault.

They lit their torches as Gupta felt the turn along the wall. Despite a little light the two still proceed carefully. Tarang looked at his watch: Ten minutes had passed. T'Pol moved ahead of him. The Vulcan had been studying the layout far more so than had the naval officer. She led him at a slow but steady pace through the labyrinth of dusty underground tunnels. They soon came to one in particular in which T'Pol stopped. The overpowering smell of the hot sand permeated the air. The Vulcan felt along one of the walls.

Gupta shined his torch around the tunnel. Ancient writings covered much of the walls. Some of it was remarkably clear; other writing had faded over the years. Tarang supposed that an archeologist or geologist could explain it but he did not know why. It was so quiet that Gupta could hear his own breathing. So it was when he heard the deep grinding sound of ancient rock moving he visibly started. He spun around to see an opening form; like a shutter on the lens of a camera. A circular opening with more than enough room to crawl through formed.

Gupta had long debated with T'Pol about one of them going in while the other stayed. But they had finally figured that according to Celada's note the opening could be made from the other side. So it was that Gupta in what he knew T'Pol would recognize as a foolish display of human male bravado took the lead, Colt 2011 in hand. Tarang deeply regretted that he did not take a drink before crawling through the dry musty crawlspace. He coughed dryly as he pulled himself along. He wanted a bath badly. After what seemed an eternity but Gupta noted on his chronometer was no more than three minutes he emerged into another chamber. They had another forty minutes according to his chronometer. So far so good Gupta thought as he helped T'Pol out of the crawlway.

This area was truly old. Gupta absently rubbed at the wall finally noticing the faded tracing of Vulcan inscriptions there. Even Gupta's untrained eye could tell that this place had battled time and was losing. T'Pol looked around briefly then motioned for him to follow her. Whereas the area they had left had been laid out at right angles similar to much human design this area was a confusing miasma of curved passages. But T'Pol led on confidently. It was a hackle on Gupta when he thought that even if she was lost; being a Vulcan she would likely not admit to it. Finally she stopped. T'Pol stepped into a large dome-like chamber at least twenty meters in diameter. They shined their torched around.

"Celada mentioned the center of diversity," T'Pol said. She shined her torch over to an area on the floor. "There," she said, indicating a section of tiles arranged in a particular pattern. "It is the symbol of the Vulcan IDIC."

"Are you sure?" Gupta asked. "I mean isn't this all sort of obvious?"

"Look at the floor around you Tarang," T'Pol answered. He shined his torch around the floor and returned a puzzled glance to the Vulcan. "The sand has been swept away from that area. The rest of the chamber has a uniform layer of it."

"Ah, very well," the naval officer replied with a rueful grin. He made his way to the center of the chamber. "Now what?" he asked simply.

"She wrote," T'Pol recited: "From the center of diversity will the reflections of the Vulcan heart be recognized."

Tarang shot a skeptical look to his partner in crime. The two had discussed this passage many nights now. Gupta wondered why such a logical people would lay things out in such a puzzling manner. T'Pol had responded by saying that in their ancient days not all Vulcans had accepted logic. Those that did she had gone on to explain were only then at the beginning of logic. The lieutenant shined his torch around. Gupta was hot, tired, needed a shave and knew that he stank. He wondered what great Vishnu could have in store for him to have led the officer here. His torch caught a reflection that cast an odd light.

"T'Pol," the lieutenant said quietly as he shined his light at that point again. "Did you see that?" he asked. At her answering nod he continued shining the torch and looking at where the reflections of light went. They had stirred up dust that had lain dormant for thousands of years. Both of them soon noticed how the reflections from Tarang's torch bounced off of various points along the chamber wall forming an interlacing network of light. The intelligence officer turned up the intensity of his beam. A pattern formed but part of it looked to be missing. Gupta was about to ask T'Pol if she could calculate where the missing point of reflection was when he noticed her standing stiff in concentration. She scanned the chamber turning with machine-like precision.

"There," T'Pol said. A human never having been among Vulcans would have heard a casual statement. Gupta heard it as an exclamation. She walked carefully over to a point. She fished in her travel cloak until she came up with a small signaling mirror. She carefully moved it around until the light that Gupta held hit it in a certain way.

Tarang was beginning to think of how foolish this was when he felt the floor rumble beneath him. His first thought was that it was a quake and the two of them would be sealed in here if not crushed immediately. There was another deep, grinding sound of rock moving over rock. This sound was deeper such that it held a menacing quality to it. He watched as a triangular piece of the chamber floor rose up. He moved the light breaking the web of reflected light but the stone still continued rising. Encased in the stone vault that had risen out of the floor was a small pyramidal shaped object. They both moved to it.

"What is it?" Gupta asked the Vulcan woman. It was a full minute before she replied

"I do not know."

"Could this be the Ka'Al' Zin?" Gupta asked referencing the name of the ancient Vulcan text of Surak's early life. Gupta wondered at that; was this small twenty-five centimeter tall triangular slab of metal the diary of a man's life? Tarang noted the fine ornate Vulcan writing on the metal. At least Gupta assumed it was ancient Vulcan. He had studied as much ancient Vulcan history as he could digest in an attempt to, as T'Pol had asked, learn archeology. But in the end Tarang had to admit to himself that as far as he knew the writing on the metal could be ancient Vulcan; or it could just as well be Denobulan pornography. Tarang knelt down and shined his light along the surface upon which the possible ancient relic set.

"What are you doing?" T'Pol asked.

"Look," Gupta said pointing out a fine tracing in the extremely light coating of dust that had built up on the surface of the object's container. "

"It has been moved recently," T'Pol said.

Gupta nodded. The intelligence officer reached out hesitantly to grasp the object. Then he withdrew his hand. Gupta wondered what the oils in his skin would do to the metal. He cut a piece away from his traveling cloak and covered his bare hand with the scrap of cloth. He hesitated again for a few seconds. Tarang was aware of T'Pol's puzzlement.

"Well?" she asked. Anyone else would hear an unemotional question. Gupta however heard the undercurrent of impatience.

Gupta was thinking of an old twentieth century movie that had been recreated as a holovid, or maybe it had been made in the twenty-first, Tarang thought. The ancient film about an archeologist was a favorite of his uncle; not surprisingly the same uncle who was a fan of Ian Fleming. Tarang recalled watching the presentation as a child. The hero had removed an object from a pedestal only to have unintended consequences. Gupta swept the chamber once more with his torch.

"What are you looking for?" T'Pol asked sharply.

Gupta hadn't noted the presence of any large round man crushing boulders. Rather than reply to the Vulcan he seized the metal tablet. T'Pol pressed up close to Gupta as she examined the writing on the object. Gupta waited for several seconds until satisfied that the chamber was not going to cave or that deadly vipers would not come pouring out of the wall, he gathered the object up wrapping it in the cloth.

"Let's go," T'Pol said quietly.

"Wait," Gupta said. The officer produced a small video recorder. He warned the Vulcan to close her eyes. Gupta did as well. The lighting device on the small recorder emitted as series of blinding flashes as Gupta turned about in an attempt to capture footage of the entire chamber. Satisfied that he had done as well as he could he replaced the device into his pack. The man and Vulcan left the ancient chamber. Tarang once again trusted T'Pol to lead them through the twisting tunnels. She led him without hesitation back to the opening through which they had crawled through. T'Pol squirmed into the aperture. Gupta followed more slowly as he was trying to be careful with the object that they had recovered.

"There are twenty-eight minutes left," T'Pol said as Gupta emerged from the crawlspace and stood up. She continued: "More than enough time for us to safely exit this place."

Once again they traveled on in silence. Gupta trusted the Vulcan's innate sense of direction to get them back to where they had entered. He walked into her when she came to a halt. They were at the entrance to the ruins finally. Tarang only noted it as an area less dark than the one that they had come from. But after a minute he noted the bright pinpoints of the stars lighting the otherwise black Vulcan night sky. Tarang inhaled deeply of the dry night air. The Indian had not liked the ancient, dry tunnels. The passages had briefly invoked images from his childhood of the hiding places of wicked looking spiders and scorpions.

The two went forward with more confidence. Perhaps too much so as crossing the exposed area they both paused to look in the direction of the High Command's security force's living area. There was much activity of people moving themselves and their equipment but no indication that the two amateur spies were being observed. The moved on slowly. T'Pol recovered her scanning instrument from her pack as they past a rough pillar of rock that jutted out of the land like an ancient gnarled finger.

"The grid is active," she said putting a restraining hand on Gupta's chest.

An odd repeating sound like the blast of a low trumpet note sounded from the camp. They had been caught Gupta thought! But how was that possible Tarang wondered wildly? They were no where near the first beams of the grid. Gupta looked in confusion at T'Pol. Voices rang out from the encampment. Neither Gupta nor T'Pol could see what Tarang was sure was a hubbub of activity behind the pillar in the direction of the camp. They looked at each other again an unspoken thought formed between the two. Gupta was prepared to make a dash toward the relative cover of the hillside when a commanding voice called to them.

"You two!" the voice said in the characteristically unemotional, but commanding tone of a Vulcan.

Tarang froze and started to turn around. A light was cast upon the two trespassers. He felt rather than saw a massive form run past him. Tarang heard the heavy breathing and the terrifying wailing call of the animal. Gupta turned in time to see the soldier's hand torch go flying. The human's eyes were adjusted enough to see the Sehlat take the unfortunate Vulcan in its jaws. The soldier's emotional detachment must have broken with the sudden surprise and shock of the attack because the Vulcan screamed. Gupta felt T'Pol's hand on his shoulder pulling him along. The Indian broke into a run as he heard a horrible wet crunching sound like water soaked branches being broken.

They ran headlong without regard to who might be following. Gupta had a dreadful thought that the Sehlat would be busy until some of the soldier's companions came to their comrade's aid. T'Pol soon started out distancing Gupta as the thin air, despite his time on the alien world began to catch up with the human. Tarang threw himself down behind the first outcropping of rock. His chest was heaving. He barely noticed T'Pol speaking to him.

"It does not appear that we were pursued," T'Pol stated calmly. Despite the run she was barely winded. "I believe that it was the animal that broke the security barrier. In that regard the attack was very fortuitous for us."

"Not so," Gupta panted finally catching his breath. "Not so lucky for that guard."

"No," T'Pol replied. Once again Tarang could pick up the underlying sadness where another human inexperienced around Vulcans could not. "Sehlats usually stay in the deep desert. It was most unusual that one would come this far; especially to an area that was populated. Like animals from your world they are only aggressive when cornered or hungry. Perhaps it has been a lean hunting season for them."

"We shall have to be on our guard more," Gupta said after swallowing a drink from his canteen. He was trying with all of his will not to drink the entire contents: That was it for water until they made their way back up to the cave. Tarang was finally breathing at a normal rate again.

"I believe that we should gather the rest of our gear and depart tonight," T'Pol said. "The guard did see us. I hope that he lives, but in any case he will tell what he seen when he recovers."

"How is the satellite coverage?" Tarang asked.

"We should be able make the next cavern system before we would be observed," T'Pol said. "It will be several hours walk."

The two were scrambling up the hillside which had now become familiar to them even in the dark. Gupta lamented the impending daylight journey. It would be back to large amounts of sunscreen for him he thought. They climbed slowly and steadily in silence. The two carefully looked behind them and ahead of them. Gupta thought that at least Sehlats would not be scrambling among the rock of the hillside given their physiology. They topped the rise a little over two hours later and scurried to the cave.

"Why do you think Celada discovered the object then returned it?" Gupta asked T'Pol. The Indian had been thinking that given the woman's journal entries and the fact that he and T'Pol, both non-archeologists, had made their find so easy then it must follow that Celada had already discovered the object herself.

"I do not know," T'Pol answered. She too must have arrived at the same line of reasoning Gupta thought.

They entered the concealment quickly. Gupta was curious about their find. The intelligence officer was anxious to examine it closer. But then he wondered; what would he see? He had as much knowledge of origami as he did ancient Vulcan which was to say none. Tarang supposed that he expected that the object would somehow yield answers about its contents of its own accord. Gupta realized that notion was fantastical at best. What he had discovered in his brief foray into archeology and ancient languages was that scholars spent months and sometimes years studying ancient artifacts.

"I would love to get a better look at this before we leave," Gupta said meaning the artifact that he carried. His curiosity still had the better of him.

"Perhaps you should not be looking at that which you do not understand off-worlder," a strange male voice proclaimed.

Gupta and T'Pol both started at the sound. Gupta fumbled in his cloak for his sidearm at the sight of the tall Vulcan man who had a full mane of straight shoulder length sand riddled black hair. Tarang would have guessed that the Vulcan was one hundred eighty-five centimeters at least.

"You won't need that," the Vulcan said indicating the human's pistol.

"Who are you?" T'Pol asked pointedly.

"Is it not customary to identify oneself before demanding the identity of another?" the man asked then continued: "I am called Arev."

"That is the desert wind," both Gupta and T'Pol exclaimed as one.

"Let me do you both the courtesy of saying that I know who you both are," Arev said. The Vulcan looked at Gupta. "You, Mister Gupta have peculiar hobbies for one who is in the business of importing fruits and vegetables." He then turned to T'Pol. "And Minister Soval has you doing strange assignments."

"You seem to have much knowledge of us," Gupta said then added; "which may be incorrect. But we know nothing of you."

"Perhaps in time I will tell you more about me," Arev said. "But in the mean time I believe that your plan to leave now is very prudent. Gather your things that we may go."

"You imply that you are traveling with us," T'Pol said. "We need no such companions."

"You will need someone to interpret the markings on the object that you retrieved," Arev answered. The Vulcan looked sharply at Gupta. "And do not try to deny it. I have been watching you two since your arrival here." He looked at T'Pol. "An accidental kiss?" he asked. "That is not our way to lie T'Pol." Arev lowered his gaze. "We have strayed from the ways that Surak sat out for us. So is it no wonder that the young stray," Arev said more to himself than to T'Pol or Gupta.

Gupta looked at T'Pol. The intelligence officer was at a loss. Tarang did not claim to have the super rational thinking abilities credited to Vulcans but he quickly surmised that Arev was not from the High Command. Were that true the two of them would already likely be in custody and not having this discussion. Gupta desperately wanted to be alone with T'Pol to find out what other faction this Arev could—

"You are a Syrranite," Gupta said to Arev without ceremony.

"Very perceptive of you," Arev replied. Although the Vulcan male showed no outward sign of change Gupta became aware that Arev had come to a resolve. "The object you have is important to our movement. With it we hope to find the Kir'Shara."

"The Kir'Shara is a myth," T'Pol said.

"No it exists," Arev replied. "It contains the ancient writings of Surak. It is needed now more than ever. Our people are departing the path of logic. The confirmed existence of the Kir'Shara will provide the impetus to restore our peoples' way."

"So if we allow you to accompany us you will interpret the scroll for us?" Gupta asked.

"I will do that," Arev answered. "I would ask your help then in my recovery of the Kir'Shara."

"Why should we do that?" T'Pol asked in reply.

"I believe that your mission T'Pol and the mission of Mister Gupta who is obviously an intelligence operative sent by his people is intertwined with the finding of the Kir'Shara." Arev answered. The Vulcan man looked at Gupta and T'Pol. "Come now, you are wasting time. Decide now."

Gupta nodded slowly. He did not like adding this stranger to the team but the alternatives did not look good. Tarang was not 'licensed to kill' and would not shoot the Vulcan in cold blood in this cave. Were they to forbid Arev to accompany them then it was obvious that he would follow them. Given the skills at stealth that he must have that might be worse as Gupta reasoned that he could just take what he wanted. Finally Gupta remembered the old adage: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. The lieutenant did not know if Arev was an enemy but he decided that it was best if the Vulcan stayed close to them. Gupta looked at T'Pol she nodded back at him.

"Let us go then," Arev said.

Taskforce 9, near the Cheron system, July 2157

Captain Karl Dobrynin thought that things were looking up. His Torsk class Borei and her sister Torsk Rickover had made it to their first checkpoint without Birdie interference. The Powhaton Vandalia was with the two Torsks as well. The sandy-haired forty-five year old Russian had graduated from the Frunze military academy with Arkady Luchenko. The two men had formed one of those lasting friendships that transcended the demands of the Stellar Navy. Both men had vacationed together with their wives and children. So it had come as a blow to Karl to have learned of his friend's death in the destruction of Salem One. A teaching assignment had prevented Dobrynin from getting into the fight at war's start. But today he would correct that he thought.

Dobrynin was as relaxed as he could be. His first officer Commander Yuri Gagarin was as wound up as always. Karl knew a lot of that had to do with the repeated teasing that his first officer had received over the years over his name. Gagarin was absolutely no relationship to his famous namesake. Dobrynin had always supposed that the Gagarin's must have had a cruel sense of humor in the naming of their child. But then again Dobrynin had met a few John Kelly's and one Neil Armstrong during his time with the Stellar Navy. So Karl supposed that Yuri's parents were not alone in their name game.

"We are coming into Romulan radar range now," Gagarin reported as he finished conferring with their Andorian sensor chief.

Dobrynin had been use to the idea of the 'Andies' as westerners referred to them being able to read and speak English but the captain had become rather surprised when Gav had responded to a joke that Karl and Yuri had shared in the motherland's tongue.

"Go to red alert Yuri," the captain said. "Chief Gav please project your sensor readings over the tactical display." Dobrynin told the Andorian in the alien's own language. Not one to be bested at anything, Dobrynin had devoted much of his free time to the study of Andorian. When Karl saw the sensor returns projected on to the screen he let fly with one of the curses that the Andorian had taught him. Gagarin joined Karl beside his command chair.

Dobrynin had seen the intelligence of course. But seeing the missile platforms and radar pickets, all no doubt interconnected by some kind of command and control network, caused an unpleasant light feeling in Karl's belly; but only for a few seconds. The captain of the Borei was already assessing potential targets and thinking of ways to break that network. They would see what havoc their small force could cause. This was a hit and run operation too, Dobrynin reminded himself. Undefined sensor blips appeared at the upper edge of the viewscreen.

"What do you think chief?" Gagarin asked the Andorian.

"Power readings suggest Romulan Cabbages," the Andorian replied using the human slang denoting that particular class of Romulan cruiser.

"That will be their carriers bringing up the fighters," Dobrynin said. Gagarin answered with a nod. "Time to the missile defense line?" the captain asked Lieutenant Bonnie Neilson.

"Three minutes thirteen seconds," Neilson replied as she ran her hand through a curly mop of black hair.

"The mam reactors are paying off Yuri," Dobrynin said to his number one. The new reactors had allowed the Star Fleet vessels to hold faster warp speeds without an accompanying fuel penalty. Some of the older fusion powered ships could do warp 3.6 but to come this distance, start a fight, then return to allied space would have required half as many tankers as ships of the taskforce.

Gagarin nodded again. "And in surprise too," Dobrynin's first officer replied. "They look to have arrayed their defenses based on ships approaching at lower warp speeds." The Russian grinned.

"They have known about our new ships for some time though," Dobrynin said in a thoughtful tone. The captain felt for a minute like he was back in Star Fleet Academy teaching tactics to expectant looking cadets. "I believe it is as intelligence has surmised: There Birds are arrogant. They do not think that we would come this far to strike at them."

"First targeting solutions complete sir," Ensign David Amoruso said from his position at the gunnery station.

"Spasebo ensign," Dobrynin answered. He looked at Gagarin. "Time to strap yourself in my friend; the ride will only get rougher now."

Dobrynin watched as the distance to the line decreased on the screen. The Borei would leave warp just on the inside of what was thought of as a missile platform. If all went according to plan the Borei would make short order of that platform and then move on the first radar picket. It was hoped that a hole could be made in their network from which the Star Fleet ships could ravage at will from. That was until the inevitable Chowders and Cabbages started showing up to ruin the fun.

The outer fringes of the Cheron system, July 2157

The single Torsk class starship flashed into normal space; instantly two Narwhal anti-ship missiles left the belly of the one hundred and forty-eight meter long light cruiser. The nearest Romulan platform, a boxy affair with four large black circular holes on two ends started firing large anti-ship missiles. Automated laser defense turrets started moving in anticipation of firing their deadly beams at incoming weapons. Small high speed metallic globules were ejected from the station. These globules exploded kilometers from the station. A shimmering field of particles was left behind.

The first Narwhal was split down its middle length wise as it made its way to the Romulan station. The second, fused for proximity detonated some distance away; not enough to damage the automated battle station but enough to clear the way. Another Narwhals from the Borei flew toward the station. This one was also set to explode short of its target; but at a closer range. The station was consumed by the nuclear fireball of the exploding Narwhal.

The Borei turned slowly through space as the light cruiser left a stream of radar fouling particles in its wake. Two Spider area defense missiles were fired by the craft. Two of the Romulan missiles meant for the Borei flew unguided as their targeting systems were ruined. Another Romulan missile had its existence ended at by a Spider. The remaining anti-ship missile was cut into sections by invisible but powerful defense lasers. The Borei fired two more Narwhals as the Rickover and Vandalia warped into the fight as well. Seconds later two Romulan radar pickets were destroyed by the Narwhals

The new arrivals were tens of thousands of kilometers from their sister ship but their presence became evident seconds later when the explosions showing where two Romulan defense stations had been showed that the new Star Fleet arrivals were there. The Borei moved on to the next missile platform while the Rickover and Vandalia went about seeking platforms and automated radar guardians.

The Powhaton Vandalia with its larger bulbous rear drive section looked like some representation of an early seagoing carnivore. The newer Star Fleet ship was demonstrating its extreme agility as it rotated about its vertical axis as it zigzagged between two distant Romulan defense platforms and a radar picket. Inbound Romulan missiles defeated by the Powhaton's countermeasures flew on to no target. The Star Fleet ship's lasers and spiders took care of three more of the Romulan weapons.

The Rickover was fairing as well as its companions. The Torsk had narrowly avoided a Romulan missile that had flown past the light cruiser at less than thirty meters. The Rickover was currently rampaging against a defense station. The missiles seemed to be fewer and less precise than when the three allied attackers had arrived. The Rickover used metallic particles and area defense missiles but that was not enough to stop a Romulan missile that exploded fifteen kilometers from the Torsk. Caught in the blast wave the ship's hull plating crackled with electrostatic discharges. Still the embattled Rickover fought on turning the defense platform that had fired the offending missile into slag.

Taskforce 9, the other side of the Cheron system, July 2157

Buchanan was seeing the beginnings of a disaster. But the admiral knew that the day was not lost. The new Star Fleet had defended Tellar against great odds and he had no doubt that they could prevail despite a setback to his plans: The area that the allies had counted on to not be monitored was indeed under surveillance. What intelligence had nicknamed zombies; Romulan radar pickets disguised as space debris that operated on a random basis had been detected. It was time for a fallback and the admiral had not completed his plans without one of those.

"Raise the Rickover and its mates," Buchanan ordered the Tellarite communications officer. Buchanan turned to Captain Srinivasa Ramanujan. The short native of Kashmir was listening with a look of concern to the information that was coming to him via his earpiece.

"Vasa," Buchanan said using the bastardized version of the captain's first name. "Get the Hornet and Yamato underway. We'll follow in ten minutes—belay that goddamnit!" the admiral exclaimed as he wiped at the perspiration that was building up on his forehead. "Dispatch the Hornet, Yamato and the Ticonderoga to the secondary coordinates." Buchanan turned to Ensign Sonya Phillips at the helm. "Phillips take us in toward that picket—warp 1.2."

The beginnings of an idea occurred to Buchanan. His taskforce could still do a lot of destruction in trapping the oncoming Birdie ships. But Frank wanted that deuterium refueling facility as well. Buchanan looked up at the viewscreen. The admiral liked the bridge of these new carriers. He actually could not see the helm readouts from his chair so far away had the designers moved the helm position. Buchanan also liked the touch of attaching the operations position next to the helm. Were the helmsmen to be killed or wounded the ops officer or NCO could take over instantly. The viewscreen was actually large and dominated the forward section of the bridge.

"Shorn," Buchanan called the Andorian intelligence officer who was serving double duty today in the operations position. "Do you have any idea when that thing will make another pulse?"

"We've observed it for several hours since our arrival sir," the Andorian replied thoughtfully. "There is no way to say. If it is a repeating pattern we have not been here near enough time to examine its cycle."

"I'm going to launch twelve out here," Buchanan said. "I want to get just out of Birdie radar range and launch our boys. They warp in at high speed and take that thing out before it can emit another scan. They'll have to wait five minutes for a build up before they can go to warp again and there are all the ifs again: What if the pulse is overdue? What if we can't hold off the Birds that will be coming out to meet us?" The admiral knew that no amount of planning could guarantee no loss of life. Especially when the Birdies were doing their damndest to kill them Frank thought bitterly.

"The carriers are five minutes from their launch point sir," Captain Ramanujan reported crisply. "The Rickover is calling with a report of fifty-two bogeys heading to their position."

"Goddamned Birds smell a trap," Buchanan said. He took out a slim brown cigar and lit it up. "Good, goddamn that is what we want," the admiral said as he exhaled a steam of bluish smoke. "Okay Vasa send the Montaukx, Catskill, Virginia and Vaz along on their ways." Buchanan said as he took another puff of the venomous smelling stogie.

"Sir may I remind the admiral--," Ramanujan started.

"Remind me what Vasa?" Buchanan said with raised eyebrows. "Remind me that the Montaukx is our escort?" the admiral said completing the Valley Forge's captain's intended statement. "I know that," Buchanan said. "Those people out there are going to need all the help that they can get. Call the Rickover and have them start a slow withdrawal when the Birdies get within half an AU."

"Sir we are approaching Romulan radar range," Ensign Phillips said. "Estimate one minute until contact."

"All stop," Buchanan said. The admiral turned to Captain Ramanujan. "I trust your people have been listening in Vasa?"

"I have passed the details of the change in plan to Lt. Walters sir," the Indian replied.

"Splendid!" Buchanan exclaimed then said abruptly; "launch fighters."

Star Fleet fighter Squadron 12, just outside of the Cheron system, Jul 2157

"You watch your rate of fire Lars," Lieutenant William Walters said to his new copilot. "When the shooting starts you will want to fire your lasers and shoot Amazons off like its Fourth of July." At the young ensign's puzzled glance Walters remembered that the young man; he wasn't much older than Walters but that didn't stop Bill from thinking of him as young; that the ensign had grown up on Wolf 359. "Fourth of July it is a big holiday for the old United States." At Ensign Ben Porter's answering nod Walters continued. "Remember the lasers need recycle time and we don't got--have an infinite supply of Amazons."

Walters was trying as hard as possible to sound like an officer. He didn't want these kids thinking that some hayseed was going to lead them in. Walters had learned enough now to know that these people counted on him. The lieutenant hated that but he was not going to go sour because of it. Walters was also aware that attitude would show as well. Bill watched as his squadron emerged out of the launch bay, one after the other. So far none of his Minotaurs were reporting any problems.

"Go ahead and form us up Lars," Walters told the nervous ensign. Bill intended to take the stick for the fight but he wanted to give his copilot as much experience as he could. At the same time he wanted to examine the change of plans the Bastard had issued. Walters kept one eye on Porter's flying as he reviewed the plan. When he was satisfied that Porter had established them safely in formation Walters said: "You have the lead Lars; take us to warp three."

Walters knew it all hinged on them taking out the zombie. Then they would wait until their buildup coils were energized. Walters intended to go all out at warp four. If he brought his Minotaurs in under a column formation he hoped that would minimize their subspace radar signature to the Birdies. They would hit the refueling station two minutes after they entered Romulan radar range. That was an eternity in combat Walters knew. If, if he thought bitterly they managed all of that the next problem was to slug it out with the Birds while avoiding defense platforms. Walters had to manage that trick for five minutes then break and run. Walters only hoped that the massive forces on the other side of the Birdie system would draw off most of their fighter and cruiser forces. The lieutenant knew that was Buchanan's wish as well.

Walters returned to his examination of the sensor readings. So far the Romulan radar buoy had not sent out an inquisitive search pulse. His squadron would be in range in five more minutes. Bill briefly considered ordering some of unit to move on ahead but they had trained together. If the Minotaur squadron arrived on station a ship short they would already be out of sync during the battle. Walters stuck with the plan as is. He glanced over at Ben Porter.

The medium built colonial had his head of blonde hair cut short in the style that a lot of the Star Fleet Academy graduates were sporting these days. Bill found it amusing to think that in all likelihood Porter would be his superior officer after the war ended. Walters felt sure that he was destined to return to the enlisted ranks when things were over.

The attack squadron drew closer as the minutes wore away. This was the time that Walters hated the most: The idle time before the action began. Bill had been studying the matter for some time now. He knew that at this moment he and his people were keyed up on adrenaline in anticipation of the coming fight while at the same time there was nothing to do except to perform redundant checks. Planning and automation were running the show now.

"No search from the Zombie sir," Porter said excitedly.

"Bring the targeting computer up Lars," Walters said. He checked the range to target. It was time to drop out of warp. "Go to sublight and target the picket," Bill said smartly.

Walters watched the display on his small viewer as the streaks representing the stars changed from rainbow colored lines to distant, steady, pinpoints of light. His heads-up-display showed the outline of the Birdie radar picket. The image was broken into two pieces as Walters noted the results of Molten and Smalls' laser fire. Porter had already thumbed the release button sending an Amazon in on the automated station. Seconds later the sensor returns from the buoy increased briefly then decreased to near zero as the Amazon from Walters' ship destroyed the radar picket. Now was the next wait.

"Take a subspace sensor shot Lars," Bill ordered tersely. He continued in the same tone, "do a quick radar search too. These bastards have been getting way too smart lately."

"Nothing sir," Porter concluded as he finished carrying out Walters' instructions. "Some of the ships orbiting the refueling station have withdrawn to engage the rest of our taskforce." Porter said. The ensign tallied up the numbers: "Looks like eleven Cabbages five of which are moored to the station."

"And some of those Sabinus' are probably doubling as carriers," Walters said bitterly.

"Uh you know sir," Porter started slowly. At Walters' beckoning nod the ensign continued: "You know I've been looking at tweaking the sensors. I've noticed that some of the Cabbages are massing a lot more than normal as well as readings that might show a lot of heavy metals in small casements."

"You mean extra D," Walters replied using the navy shorthand for deuterium. "And those heavy metal readings sound an awful lot like missiles." Walters thought for a moment. If they knew which of those ships were carriers Walters could array his squadron in such a way as to attack them first. He knew that they would be launching once the Birdies picked up Walters' Minotaurs but they would only have time to scramble their alert fighters.

Intelligence had been watching combat footage of launching Romulan Aeon fighters. Walters had studied and agreed with their conclusions: The Romulans would initially launch seven to ten fighters. The remainder would follow two to three minutes later suggesting that the Birdies had some ships ready to go just as Star Fleet carriers did. Bill's Minotaurs were more than a match for the first wave of Eightballs. If there were no second wave it would almost ensure this mission's success. Walters looked over Porters sensor analysis while the small fighters' buildup coils reenergized.

"Good work Lars," Walters said. "Tight beam the two Cabbages you've ID'd to the rest of the flight. We'll go after those first."

Porter sent the data to the other Minotaurs as well as Walters' enhanced instructions. Bill also took the time to zip the ensign's work back to the Valley Forge. That way when—or if Billy corrected himself harshly Porter was killed in combat his work would not be lost. Walters would have to ensure that the ensign got a commendation for his work as well. It was time to go.

"Ping the squadron Lars," Walters said quietly; "maximum warp to our target."

Lieutenant Walters watched as Lars formed up the squadron once again. Walters Minotaur jumped to warp. Bill watched as the other ships in his flight did likewise. In less than fifteen seconds the all of the Star Fleet fighters were on their way. They had three minutes until they would come under Romulan observation. Two minutes after that they would exit subspace into the combat zone.

Taskforce 9, the other side of the Cheron system, Jul 2157

Karl Dobrynin was relieved to see the three fighter squadrons come out of subspace. The small taskforce was engaged in earnest against a superior foe. Over fifty Romulan ships had dropped out of subspace to form half of an enveloping sphere. Dobrynin realized that the Birdies were learning. The Star Fleet ships had managed to destroy five of the Romulan vessels in the beginning by pinpointing Narwhals against estimated subspace exit coordinates. But the Birdies had been smart and had dropped back to normal space at irregular intervals.

"The Vaz is in a defensive mode only now sir," Commander Yuri Gagarin reported crisply. Dobrynin's first officer listened over his earpiece as well as reviewing data on his terminal before completing the rest of his report. "We have depleted over two thirds of our offensive armam—," the first officer stopped as he listened to data. "The Montaukx has been destroyed." Gagarin reported in a voice laced with frustration.

"They are trying to get us to exhaust our Spiders against their plasma beams," Dobrynin declared thoughtfully. The Russian thought for a few seconds before issuing his next orders. "Yuri, notify the flagship; suggest that the Minotaurs concentrate on their capital ships. Our tracking systems have proved more than a match against their Aeons. In the meantime we should fallback more."

"Aye-aye," the commander replied crisply as he sent the coded message to Buchanan aboard the Valley Forge.

Minutes later as Dobrynin counted up three destroyed Minotaurs and the news that the Rickover had taken a devastating hit that would force that ship to withdraw Buchanan's reply came consenting to Dobrynin's suggestion.

Sparks erupted out of several panels as a small proximity-fused tactical nuclear device fired by a passing Aeon erupted near the Borei. Karl gripped the arms of his command chair as the Torsk class light cruiser's artificial gravity briefly wavered then came back on. Gagarin ran through a litany of damages. It was not bad: The Borei would be able to stay in the fight. It looked as if Dobrynin had given good advice.

Reports relayed to the captain by Gagarin told of eleven Romulan Sabinus class ships and four of the Veronus class vessels destroyed by the marauding Minotaurs. Meanwhile the flight of Eightballs was now turning away from the allied capital ships as their larger cousins came under attack by the Star Fleet Minotaur squadrons. Gagarin relayed an order from Buchanan that would move them back in range of the Romulan ships.

Dobrynin had been expecting such an order. With the Aeons between them and their carriers and the Minotaurs mixing it up in the Romulan line the Birdies would be too distracted to bring all their plasma cannons to bear. It gave the Star Fleet ships a fighting chance once again.

Two Minotaurs launched a flight of Amazon missiles at a Veronus and a Sabinus that were in close proximity to one another. Two of the agile missiles were destroyed by neutronium pellets while the third and forth slammed home sending both Romulan ships reeling. The Veronus' warp nacelle sheared off from the stresses imposed by the missile's sudden impact leaving a trail of glittering metallic debris. One of the attacking Minotaurs turned on its vertical axis as it raked invisible but deadly laser fire over the wounded Chowder. The Romulan craft spun slowly as mounting internal explosions finally destroyed the ship. The Minotaur's wingman turned about one-hundred and eighty degrees and dispatched a single Amazon against the surviving Sabinus. That Romulan ship suffered the same fate as that of the Chowder's.

Star Fleet capital ships stretched into normal space and filled the volume between the Romulan ships and themselves with Narwhal anti-ship missiles. Less than a minute later several Romulan cruisers turned about and fired their plasma cannons at the attacking allied ships. Most of the beams were intercepted by Spider area defense missiles. One beam hit the Montaukx a glancing blow in its bulbous rear engineering hull. The ship spun out of control through two revolutions before stabilizing. Electrostatic discharges flashed around the area that had been hit. A blackened spot appeared there briefly before pieces of hull were blown outward by the Montaukx's internal atmospheric pressure. The crippled Powhaton fired two more Narwhals before another Romulan plasm cannon hit the ship squarely between its command hull and drive section. The one hundred and forty-seven meter long ship exploded in a blinding conflagration.

Three Veronus class ships and two Sabinus cruisers suffered similar fates as Narwhals made it past Romulan neutronium pellets and anti-missile lasers to hit home. The space black edge of the Cheron system had several new brief suns as the battle raged. The Minotaurs engaged in another attack run as returning Aeons started to engage the Star Fleet fighters.

Amazons filled the void of space joining incoming Narwhals. The Minotaurs turned about on their axis raking the incoming Eightballs with laser fire at the risk of being destroyed by Romulan laser fire. One of the Minotaurs did suffer that fate when its trailing end was neatly severed by Romulan lasers. A Romulan point-defense missile finished the work of the lasers obliterating the hapless fighter. Six incoming Aeons fell prey to carefully aimed laser fire from the Star Fleet fighter crews.

Star Fleet Attack Squadron 12, on the outer edge of the Cheron system

"Watch that fire rate Lars!" Walters exclaimed as he maneuvered his ship wildly. Porter had destroyed two Eightballs but had jumped the gun and tried to go for a third. "Let the lasers recycle or you'll cook them dumbass!" Walters snapped out. Walters would apologize later he thought; right now he wanted to stay alive. He had warned Lars about his rate of fire before.

Porter dispatched a flight of two Amazons against one of the Sabinus class ships the ensign had identified. The first one was cut into sections by Romulan lasers while the second spiraled in hitting near a launch bay. A launching Aeon jarred by the explosion collided with the top of the bay and exploded. The entire bay belched out a tongue of superheated gases before the entire cruiser exploded into molten hot shrapnel.

Walters neared the refueling station. The large structure looked like two huge spheres pressed against one another. Bill read the numbers off of his HUD that told him the entire structure was a little over four hundred meters long with each sphere being two hundred meters in diameter. Several Cabbages were docked against a rail system that encircled each globe. Two of those were in the process of undocking as Porter pickled off tow more Amazons. Molten's Minotaur joined the effort sending two more missiles toward the huge enemy refueling station.

Lieutenant Walters swung the nose of his fighter around as two Aeons entered his ship's range. Walters glanced to the right as he felt the stomach wrenching forces briefly overcome the Minotaur's artificial gravity. Bill felt a wave of nausea that he suppressed. He noted that Porter was not as lucky as a sickening mixture splashed from his mouth against his face plate. To his credit Walters noted the ensign swallowing and shaking his head to allow some of the vile liquid to seep down below his neck seal. Porter fired destroying both Eightballs one after the other. This time Walters noted that his fore control was far more disciplined.

All four Amazons bypassed Romulan defenses hitting the huge space station. Three of them hit in the main body of the interconnected spheres while the fourth hit one of the docking rails. Explosions near where the Minotaur's missiles had hit were growing in frequency. The destroyed docking rail splintered sending a huge piece of metal into an escaping Veronus. The impaled Chowder turned over causing the cruiser's warp nacelles to rake against the skin of the doomed station. Two of the nacelles were torn off and exploded less than a second afterwards. That explosion consumed the Chowder and grew in intensity until the rest of the station became a huge fireball casting a majestic but brief blue white light on the grayish gas giant.

The Minotaurs were already on an escape vector. They fired another round of Amazons as their pilots turned the ships about to fire at oncoming Romulan Eightballs. The missiles lanced out at two surviving Romulan cruisers while laser fire destroyed three of the agile but poorly armored Aeons. A Romulan Chowder fell prey to three of the Amazons while the last missile spiraled off into space.

One of the Minotaurs was not as lucky as a piece of the nose of the craft was cut away by a Romulan laser. Two of the lasers that had been in the snout of the little Star fleet fighters were blown away out into space. A Romulan Aeon spun madly through space in pursuit of the damaged Minotaur. The Eightball fired a missile catching the fighter amidships. The pieces of Minotaur expanded outward in the ruinous blast.

"Damnit that was Molten!" Walters exclaimed angrily.

"One minute till buildup is complete," Ensign Ben Porter announced. "Twenty-seven cruisers inbound," Porter read off his data and punched numbers into his small keyboard. "They'll be here with thirty seconds to spare."

"Okay Vince," Walters said to Porter. The officer turned a confused glance toward his superior. "Calculate an arc to take us around and fire a round of Amazons. Then we go into warp." Walters looked hard at Porter. "You sure you got that Vince?" He asked Porter wildly. Then Bill added hastily after a confused Porter replied in the affirmative: "Make sure you tell Gunny Gibbs to get his people out of there—they are all going to die if they stay there!"

"Uh yes sir," Porter replied slowly as he noted Walters making the proper course changes. Walter led his Minotaurs at sublight speeds describing a great arc as he steered for the point closest to the path of the arriving Romulan ships. Bill watched the images of the Romulan ships draw closer on his heads-up-display.

Bill was doing this by the seat of his pants again. Walters knew that precise calculations were needed to fuse a missile to explode at the proper point to be effective against a ship in subspace. Walters knew that he didn't have time for that. He was hot. Bill could feel the perspiration running down his face. Walters noted that his suit temperature was as low as it could go. It must be fouled up he thought. He would have to have one of the techs look at it when him and Vince got back. But it wasn't Vince, Bill thought. He was becoming confused.

"Let 'em have it Aimless!" Walters ordered as the surviving Minotaurs reached the bottom of the arc.

Porter depressed his firing control pickling off two Amazons. The images of the Romulans appeared to be stationary as the Minotaurs strained to escape as the Romulans closed the distance. "Firing and away sir," the ensign said then added: "Twenty seconds until buildup is complete!"

Walters watched his heads-up-display as the pips indicating Birdie ships showed the characteristic change of a ship moving from subspace to normal space. The information under three of the blips showed a sudden dramatic increase in energy which dropped off just as quickly. I got three of you bastards Bill thought with a satisfied feeling in the pit of his stomach. Walters wondered why Vince wasn't his usual celebrating self. But it wasn't Vince. Bill shook his head in his helmet. Have to clear my head he thought. Bill did the final calculations for warp entry then quickly ran a search of communications frequencies.

Why Walters did that he did not at first know. Then he realized that he was coming apart inside. He needed to do something. He looked over at Vince but a young blonde man in a stained space helmet was there instead. Walters looked at the video display briefly then turned away as his squadron formed up on him and went to warp. Walters looked down briefly to see a sudden, fuzzy image on his viewscreen of a Pointie in a funny uniform. Bill shook his head again. The image was gone. Walters was last out as he initiated the final sequence sending his ship to warp.

"They aren't pursuing yet," Porter said as he studied his scanner readouts.

Bill looked at the environmental systems. The little fighter hadn't been hulled he noted happily. He swung his visor up and mopped at his forehead. Walters lowered his face into his gloved hands for a few seconds until he realized that Porter was talking to him—yelling in fact.

"Sir, sir," the ensign bellowed out. He too had swung open his face plate. "Are you alright sir?" Porter asked.

"Did you see that on your viewer?" Walters asked his copilot. It was Ensign Ben Porter, Walters knew. Whatever had happened to Bill was passing.

"See what sir?" Porter asked.

Walters shook his head again. He lowered his mouth to his drinking nipple and took a few mouthfuls of water before replying. "Nothing Ben; I thought I saw one of them go to warp." Bill added hastily.

"No sir," Porter answered. "It looks like they are entering warp now but we should hit the rendezvous point with time to spare before they overtake us." The ensign looked with concern at his superior.

Walters saw the look; "Sorry about back there Ben. Things got kind of confused. Sorry too about calling you a dumbass." Walters had wigged out and he knew it. Bill had to smooth this over he realized. "You did a great job back there. And the scanner info saved our asses for sure." Bill took a deep breath. He was finally cooling down and was starting to shiver in his suit a bit. "I'll see that you receive a commendation for that. You ought to get what you deserve."

Bill noted Porter's look change from one of confusion and consternation to one of a beaming young cadet. Walters turned his suit temperature up. This was going to be okay he thought. Hopefully the ensign wouldn't report this little episode to Buchanan.

Taskforce 9 outbound from the Cheron system, Jul 2157

Karl Dobrynin knew that the raid had been an effective one. The news that the refueling station had been destroyed came over the battle net. The final tally was looking like forty-two Romulan capital ships, one space station and an as yet unnumbered amount of Aeon fighters destroyed. But the price had been high: The equivalent of one full Minotaur squadron was no more. The Montaukx and Virginia had been destroyed. Gagarin had just finished delivering another piece of bad news: The Rickover had ceased communications. Sensor scans of their last known position showed trace energy endemic of an uncontrolled antimatter release.

"Success sir," Gagarin proclaimed in a sad voice. The commander realized that this victory had been purchased at a high price.

"It is Yuri," Dobrynin raised his voice so that the rest of the Borei's bridge crew heard him as well. "It is obvious that the Romulans did not expect this. If all goes well they will recall some of their deployed ships to defend their home worlds. That will allow us to continue with the buildup."

"Traffic from the Valley Forge sir:" The first officer said as he listened to the message coming in. "Admiral Buchanan sends his congratulations to all involved. The carriers have recovered their fighters and our outbound for the tertiary rendezvous coordinates." Gagarin cocked his head as he listened to the information coming into his ear. The Russian smiled before adding: "The admiral says that we should get our asses ready for the next battle."

Dobrynin laughed. The captain of the Borei wondered if Buchanan had some Russian ancestors somewhere in his tree. Buchanan was right of course, Karl knew. Star Fleet had shown the Birdies that they could be hurt close to home but sensor returns had shown over two hundred enemy vessels around Cheron. It opened up disturbing questions for Dobrynin: Why hadn't the Birdies come at them with more from the very beginning? Karl was starting to believe that someone in their empire had miscalculated.

That was not far fetched Karl knew: His own people had once underestimated the Japanese. Those same Japanese had misjudged the Americans. Those Americans hadn't taken the Islamic empires seriously. Those Middle Easterners had in turn underestimated the genetically enhanced augments. The irony of the whole thing Dobrynin realized was that all of those groups had been human. What kind of a people were these Romulans Dobrynin wondered, as to assume that they could guess the minds of humans when those same humans had such an abysmal record of predicting their own actions? Dobrynin hoped that at the very least they would have those answers from the Romulans when all of this was over.

Star Fleet Carrier Valley Forge, outbound from Cheron, Jul 2157

Walters had tossed and turned in his bunk. The lieutenant had been a heavy sleeper at one time; that was before the war. Bill knew on an intellectual level that he should have been exhausted. Instead he chased sleep like a hunter whose prey always remained one step ahead of the seeker. Finally he had sat up. Walters had then gotten out of his bunk, showered and through on his gold jersey and black slacks. The leader of Attack Squadron 12 was curious about something.

He took a lift to the massive launch bay of the Forge. Walters knew that it was more of a machine in itself than a bay. This part of the Valley Forge rotated much like the revolving section of an old chemical style pistol. Only this particular revolver spit out things far more deadly than pieces of lead and steel. Bill stepped off the lift to see his Minotaur swarmed by a busy hive of technicians in coveralls.

It didn't take Walters long to identify the chief of the deck gang. A grizzled red haired man was busily berating the rest of the technicians. Bill walked up to the man. Walters envied the techs: This chief; O'Brien, Walters suddenly remembered the man's name, was wearing the sky blue coveralls of the Earth Space Probe Agency. Bill wished that he could go back to his old Marine flight suit. He had never been a fan of the new jersey style uniform.

"Jaesus Christ Corbin!" the chief exclaimed in what Walters thought was a Scottish or Irish accent. The chief continued his rant: "Goddamnit Corbin you want to check the antimatter flow is off line before you go sticking your ham-fisted hands in there again!"

The hapless enlisted woman looked back at O'Brien sheepishly. The chief stooped over and gave the young woman what Bill guessed was a detailed technical explanation of how to do her job. Walters recalled Gunny Gibbs doing the same: Calling Walters every name in the book then stopping to carefully demonstrate the right way to do the task at hand. When O'Brien was done his discussion with his technician he rose and greeted Walters. The two exchanged pleasantries. It was plain to Bill that the chief wanted to get back to work so Walters got to the point immediately.

"I was wondering if I could get inside chief?" the fighter pilot asked.

"It's kind of cramped in there sir," O'Brien replied. The chief looked pained then explained further: "One of the intell officers went in back," Walters knew the shorthand for the electronics bay of the little fighter as well as O'Brien did. "This lieutenant," it was apparent that O'Brien would have used more colorful language had he not felt restrained by the stripes on Bill's sleeve. He continued: "This officer went to pull the protected memory before clearing it with my people."

Walters had a sudden sinking feeling. He was beginning to realize that this trip to the hangar might have been wasted. Bill was still curious. He had seen something. Then again he had been sure that Vince Mason was sitting next to him too. He nodded at the chief to continue.

"The ship had a piece of shrapnel in it," O'Brien explained. "Probably from an exploding ship or the navigation deflectors woulda taken care of it. But when that officer tried to pull the core he raked one of the power cables over that chunk of metal." O'Brien shook his head in frustration. "Damn good thing he didn't electrocute himself. Then again mebbe that would have been a blessing."

Walters guffawed with laughter. Bill knew what the chief was driving at: Sometimes one friendly casualty could do more to help the war effort than one hundred dead Birdies. Walters asked pointedly: "So I suppose he fried the protected memory?" Bill moaned internally as O'Brien nodded in reply.

"I'm sorry sir," O'Brien said. "I suppose that you wanted something out of the memory?" the chief asked.

"It's probably nothing," Walters replied. "Thanks anyway chief." Bill was wide awake. He looked around the bay until he spotted a loan technician surrounded by space suits. "I hear that we are behind in suit maintenance?" Walters asked the chief

"Its nothing my people can't make up sir," O'Brien answered. The enlisted man gave Walters an appraising look then asked: "I suppose you aren't offering to get your own hands dirty sir?" O'Brien added a particular emphasis on the honorific.

"I used to do suit maintenance in the corps chief," Walters replied the added with a grin: "And no I don't mind getting my hands dirty chief."

"Then grab a set a set of overalls out of the locker room sir!" O'Brien exclaimed. Walters nodded, thanked O'Brien and headed to the locker room as the chief launched into another tirade:

"Damnit Ito, that is not your own private hammock up there! Fix the stabilizer than get your ass back down here!"

UES Daedelus, in uncharted space, Jul 2157

Captain Michael Cromwell looked around the table. The commanding officer of the Daedelus had a satisfied feeling such as one he had not known before. Schultheiss had suggested; more like mandated, that Cromwell hold these dinners to help alleviate the morale situation. They had been underway for four months now. Cromwell had reviewed his orders carefully: He was authorized to continue past the three month point if he felt that further investigation was warranted. But besides the stopover at 61 Virginis system the crew of Cromwell's Daedelus had not had an opportunity to have a shore leave.

The doctor had suggested among other things a captain's dinner table to discuss events of the day for the command staff and some of the scientists. Trudy had also suggested that a vacuum still be built. Cromwell had cast a dubious eye at his chief medical officer but he did note that in the past month since the mess hall had started serving alcohol safety incidents and personnel squabbles were markedly down. Michael could live with his off duty crew being a little drunk if it meant no fights or industrial accidents. He had resisted the dinners but he had begun to enjoy them.

Normally shy and reserved as Michael had come into his own in this command he had felt a sense of fellowship develop between himself and this crew. He was even enjoying being the center of attention at these meals. Cromwell had been in the shadow of Frank Buchanan aboard the now destroyed Sovereign. Michael supposed that he was casting his own shadow now. Tonight's dinner was a little different though: Mariel Picard was there.

Michael sat at the head of the table of the combination conference room, wardroom. To his left was Commander Lisa Somers. Lisa looked uncomfortable and it was not until recently that Cromwell was coming to see his own self mirrored when he had been with Commodore Buchanan during social functions. Well, Olly thought, her time would come. Somers was a fine officer Cromwell thought. Trudy Schultheiss sat to Cromwell's right. The physician had a sometimes strange sense of humor as well as a knack for asking rather direct questions. Beside Somers sat Mariel Picard. The mathematician was uncharacteristically by herself tonight. Usually she was in the company of Lt. Crosby but not this night. The pretty young lady also seemed happier than Michael had observed of her of late. Omar Bashir sat across from the professor. His smoking and sometimes obnoxious manner were becoming accepted. Lt. Taln, Cromwell's chief engineer sat opposite Bashir and next to Miss Picard. The Andorian at first had seemed withdrawn and sort of droll. Michael imagined that many of his crew had thought that of him at first as well. But Taln had turned out to have as quirky a personality as Bashir's. The Andorian had even taken to smoking; borrowing some of Bashir's cigars. Lt Marcel Dieulafoy sat opposite the Andorian.

"So you smoke those things to make yourself more Freud-like Herr Doctor?" Schultheiss asked Bashir.

Bashir blew out a puff of blue smoke before replying. "I smoke these things, as you call them madam because I happen to enjoy them." The psychologist sat back before continuing. "No; I think it is my way of being different. Our society is becoming so sanitized that it is becoming frightening. It reminds one of a holovid-fiction about the bad old days of Europe or America: A bunch of self-appointed commissars telling others how to live their lives. Always for the good of those being coerced—I mean governed; never because of any motive of the governing."

"You do not see us like that?" Mariel Picard interjected. Crowell noted that the young woman seemed more vocal when she was by herself. "We have freedom like never before and the Constitution ensures that it will stay like that."

"I believe that it is the natural tendency of individuals to be free," Bashir replied after some thought then continued: "But it is the natural tendency of mobs to resort to the rule of the fist. At some point all governments become mob organizers." The man suddenly sat up and after another puff of his cigar said: "But we have space travel now. Individuals can get away from the mobs."

"That is horrible outlook!" Schultheiss exclaimed. "Perhaps exploration of space has replaced those tendencies."

"Not every man or woman is an Okuda or Deladier," Bashir replied meaning two of earth's recent explorer heroes.

"You know that I actually met Admiral Deladier," Michael spoke up from his position at the head of the table. The humans and especially Mariel Picard turned expectantly toward the captain.

"You mean that he actually spoke to you?" Picard asked excitedly. "What did he say?"

"Yes he did," Cromwell replied. The first man to set foot on a planet in the Topaz system had been old when Cromwell, then a young ensign had met him. Michael lowered his head somewhat and looked at those assembled around the table. "Ensign," Cromwell said in his best old man voice that came out sounding much like an uncle of his. "Ensign; all you have to do is carry my bags to a stateroom without dropping them. I'm sure even you can that."

Schultheiss laughed first. The other humans joined her soon afterwards; only after some thought did the Andorian laugh as well. Cromwell knew that they had been expecting words of great wisdom. But the admiral had been touring the old Discovery. Cromwell had been detailed to carry the admiral's luggage from his shuttle to his cabin. On reflection Michael was surprised that the old man had said that much to him. The captain noted the look of disappointment on Picard's face. She had not joined in the laughter.

"To tell the truth I wanted to ask him more," Cromwell said. "But what do you say to a living legend?" Michael thought for a few seconds before continuing. "We are out here now; even if it is to gather intelligence for a war. We have gone farther, faster than any man--," Cromwell looked at Taln and added: "Or any of our friends have ever been before." He looked at all of them but most especially at Picard. "We each make our own destinies. François Deladier was a great man. But we each have a chance to do the things such as he did now." Cromwell looked to Bashir; "despite Doctor Bashir's pessimistic outlook for mankind."

"I'm not a pessimist sir," Bashir said with a broad grin; "rather I am a man who always has a packed suitcase and ticket for a star liner near at hand!" Bashir seemed to be in full lecture mode. "Look at our mentors the great Vulcans. It seems that even they have internal squabbles despite their claim to superiority through logic. How then can we expect man not to fall again at some point in the future?"

"I'm not surprised that a Pointie would blow up his own ship," Taln said after taking a proffered cigar from Bashir. Everyone knew that their chief engineer was referring to Picard's conclusion that yes indeed, the Vulcan captain had ordered a self-destruct. "Probably thought that it was the logical thing to do all the way until the scuttling charge went off," Taln added with a slight humorless chuckle.

"I know that it is something to do with these Debrune," Lt. Dieulafoy added to the conversation. The group turned to the archeologist. "I mean that their troubles seemed to start after landing there. We have even traced it back to when they started to decipher the language. And Dr. Schultheiss has said that the attacks were carried out with a Vulcan weapons."

"Yah," Trudy said after taking a sip of her drink. "Their particle weapons are far in advance of anything that we have. But they leave unmistakable traces."

"Why do you think that the Vulcans were interested in some nomads?" Cromwell asked the archeologist. Dieulafoy had worked with Picard on the Vulcan's recordings of the Debrune ruins Cromwell knew. Between that and Dieulafoy's scholarly guesses they had concluded that the Debrune had only stayed on the planet for two to three hundred years before leaving. They had come from somewhere else prior to that.

"We had that shred of data from one of their researchers," Picard said. "She felt that the Debrune civilization was an offshoot of another civilization." Picard looked around shyly before continuing: "I know that is common knowledge now. But I have been thinking: The parent civilization must have been one known to the Vulcans. Perhaps they were looking for evidence of these Progenitors."

"A parent civilization for all of us," Cromwell asked rhetorically. Michael knew the stories of course. The number of bipedal humanoids they had encountered seemed to suggest more than chance evolution. That and similarities between language forms. Many Andorian pictographs were similar to Vulcan language forms. Some of those were in turn similar to Kanji from earth's Japanese culture. Many Tellarite spoken words seemed to share root sounds with Terran Romance languages. But the universe was a big place Michael knew. Random chance had a way of going by the wayside when the choices were practically limitless.

"That could be," Dieulafoy replied. The archeologist got a faraway look in his eyes. "Imagine finding something like that."

"I hope that we find something out about the Romulans doctor," Cromwell said to the archeologist. That was why Cromwell had decided to take up the Vulcan's mission: The commander of the Daedelus reasoned that it was just as likely that the Vulcan's had been exploring the roots of Romulan civilization. And the truth was that so far the Star Fleet crew had dreadfully little else to go on.

"So you think that this Nelvana will yield something?" Bashir asked Cromwell.

"It is on the upper edge of what we guess is the Birdies' territory," Cromwell replied. The captain chased the rubber like Swiss steak that he had ordered around on his plate. "The Vulcans were headed there next. So I intend to take up their mission."

"An archeological dig?" the psychologist was clearly dubious.

"Perhaps," Cromwell answered slowly. "But there is also a chance that we may catch one of their ships alone." Michael had been somewhat obtuse about disclosing the totality of his orders. The Daedelus was carrying three Narwhals modified with a variety of the old electro magnetic pulse weapons of the late twentieth and early twenty first centuries. The difference was that these warheads would generate a charge that it was hoped would overcome the protective shielding around even a modern ship's electronics. Even the state of the art Daedelus had to stand off a considerable difference from the blast of the modified warheads.

"I sure as hell hope that we find something out soon," Commander Lisa Somers said. "I'd rather it be through capturing one of their ships than hunting around on the surface of some planet though."

"Yes seize one of their ships in combat," Taln declared emphatically. "These Romulans are after all nothing more than pirates."

"I would have taken you for a starry-eyed explorer my dear," Bashir said to Somers.

"I am doctor," Somers replied then added: "Minus the starry-eyed bit. But it is not that I don't want to explore I'm just getting tired of these new dehydarates." Somers impaled what was supposed to be a ham slice on her fork and held it up as evidence before continuing. "Look at this; it is supposed to be ham. I don't think it ever was part of a pig. And whoever came up with the idea for these vegetables…"

Cromwell was in full agreement there. He eyed with disdain the bite size green and orange cubes that were supposed to be peas and carrots. The captain took another sip of his beer. At least with Trudy's help as a part time brewer the beer was turning out to be the exceptional item on the menu. Michael was about to the doctor that when the PA chimed.

"Captain Cromwell," Lieutenant Commander Houk called from the bridge. The Tellarite had assumed the bridge watch that night. Houk continued after Cromwell acknowledged the call. "Sir we have a ship just at the edge of scanner range."

"Is it a Birdie?" Cromwell asked. The new subspace sensors were starting to pay off finally Michael thought: The Daedelus' sensors could read and interpret power signatures; something that was impossible just a year ago.

"Negative sir," the Tellarite's disembodied voice replied. "The ship's emanations are of a variety unknown to us. It is moving at warp 1.5 and," the Tellarite hesitated and when he resumed there was a little worry in his tone. "We think that they are using subspace sensors as well."

Cromwell looked at Somers. That was not good news. This unknown was not Romulan as far as they knew. But was it an ally of the Birdies Michael wondered? Then again it could be a ship from a civilization that was completely uninvolved in the war. Cromwell wanted to know.

"Alter course," Cromwell said at last. "Change heading to put us on a diverging intercept with the bogey; warp two."

"Done sir," Houk replied after a few minutes. The Tellarite added: "Estimated time to intercept is two plus eleven at present speed."

"You want to see what they will do as we get closer?" Somers asked.

Cromwell nodded. The captain finished as much of his steak as he could tolerate. Michael put his beer aside with a slight sinking feeling: It would be awhile now before he could have anymore of that. The others finished their meals, made small pleasantries and left. The exception was Doctor Schultheiss.

"These gatherings were an excellent idea Trudy," Cromwell said. The chief medical officer nodded in turn. Michael had an uncomfortable feeling that was not what she had stayed behind to discuss with him. Cromwell was not to be disappointed in his guess.

"I have been speaking to Herr Crosby and Miss Picard," Schultheiss started. She continued. "Neither of them will acknowledge any problem. I sense that Picard is lying about that--."

"But you do not have any hard evidence?" Cromwell asked pointedly. Michael much preferred the hard and fast decisions that were the technical portion of a starship captain's duty compared to these 'soft items' as he christened them. He looked at Schultheiss and said: "I would much prefer some hard evidence but I'll defer to your opinions in this matter doctor."

"We are being very formal sir," Schultheiss replied with a grin. Her face became serious as she spoke again. "Crosby has an undercurrent of anger to him. That much is documented on his West Point psych evaluation. He barely made it in because of that."

Cromwell sighed. "I suppose that a report showed up from a friendly source saying that Crosby's problems were temporary?"

Trudy nodded. "Perhaps you should be the counselor Olly."

Cromwell laughed then said: "You know what I know. It is all of these people from different military academies from around the world; fine institutions mind you but the opportunity to speak the right words into some local politician's ear, is there."

"I know what are saying," Schultheiss said as she lowered her head in thought. "How many times have we seen people in the Stellar Navy who never should have worn a uniform? Perhaps that is one redeeming thing about this Star Fleet Academy: It will take away the influence of local politicians."

Cromwell nodded in agreement then said in a voice stepped full of frustration: "Damnit Trudy I need Crosby; even if he is a borderline psycho he is the expert on these Romulans." Cromwell put a strong vocal emphasis on the word expert. "Did you know that the majority of the tactical guesses about the Birdies were originated by Crosby?" the captain asked Schultheiss. The doctor nodded in agreement.

"I cannot put my finger on it Olly but I do not trust Herr Crosby," Schultheiss said as she made a steeple with her hands under her chin. "I have read his jacket and I know what you say is true. I feel that the worst is yet to come from him." Schultheiss shook her head and reached out touching Cromwell's right hand.

"And how have you been?" she asked the captain.

Cromwell started to pull the artificial limb away then thought better of it. He finally replied after taking a deep breath. "I am better," Michael lied. He used to think that not a minute passed that someone saw his mechanical arm. Now that only happened during quieter moments when his mind would wander.

"And your infatuation with Miss Picard?" the doctor asked sharply.

Cromwell could feel his face redden. There had been that; but at the end of everything he knew that someone such as he wouldn't have a chance with Picard. Thankfully his command duties had put those thoughts out of Cromwell's head. Now that he was revisiting them he chuckled out loud. He saw Trudy's look of curiosity.

"That was silly and stupid of me," Cromwell explained. "I just realized that. Perhaps there was something to what you told me a few weeks ago; about spending time in the service and no attachments." Cromwell laughed again. "Even without this," he moved the fingers of the prosthesis, "even without this, what would an old fool like myself accomplish except to be humiliated?"

"I would hardly call you old Olly," Schultheiss answered. "Do not give up on yourself captain."

Cromwell could feel her squeeze the artificial limb gently then release it. Michael looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. Could it be that he was that blind? For once Cromwell would have liked to continue the conversation. But he had a ship to command and he wanted to update the status on their latest find.

"Thank you doctor," Cromwell replied at last. He gently shook off her hand and rose. "I should be on my way." He hesitated shyly before adding: "We'll see how things go tonight with the bogey but if nothing changes how about breakfast tomorrow?"

"I suppose that we could invite the evening bridge watch crew," Schultheiss said thoughtfully.

Cromwell could feel the heat in his face again. "I was thinking about just you and me—ship's business and all eh?"

The doctor rose as well. Funny how he had not noticed how lovely she was when she smiled Cromwell thought.

"Yah we should discuss those things sir," Trudy replied with a slight smile on her face.

"I'll see you at 0800 then doctor," Cromwell said. They bid one another a good evening and headed to their respective duties.

San Francisco, California, Earth, Jul 2157

Christophur Thorpe stared out at San Francisco bay. This view had turned out to be one of the perks of being president as far as Thorpe was concerned. This office was also an excellent venue for meetings Thorpe had discovered. Their alien allies all seemed to find the Southern California climate agreeable. Even Shran's mate Ketra who had assumed Shran's post as ambassador. Thorpe marveled at the differences in their cultures: On earth such an appointment would have smacked of nepotism. The Andorians from what Thorpe knew of them had no such word equivalent for that in their language. As far as an Andorian was concerned why not place ones relative in a position? They had known qualities compared to those of a strangers. Thorpe turned from the window to the Andorian ambassador.

"One more person yet," Thorpe said with a smile on his face. The Andorian was seated at the round conference table that dominated the corner of the president's office. Beside Ketra sat the Tellarite ambassador Halaav. A tall human male in a gray business suit sat next to the Tellarite. The man was easily in his sixties but his broad, strong physique was such that he easily dominated the group. The man fidgeted around in his chair. The door to Thorpe's office opened admitting the last attendee.

"Commander Archer," Thorpe said in warm tones of greeting. "I'm happy to have you here." Thorpe gestured for the uniformed commander to be seated at the table.

"My shuttle was running behind sir," Archer said. He was about to add more when Thorpe gestured at the commander indicating that the matter was dismissed.

"Everything is behind lately Jon," Thorpe said. "I know the war is taking up more of our efforts." Thorpe stood behind one of the chairs but did not set down. He continued addressing the whole group now:

"It is not of this war that I wish to speak about today. It is rather about the aftermath."

"Is that not somewhat premature sir?" the Andorian ambassador asked. Her antennae were pointed straight up in the Andorian gesture that indicated extreme surprise and curiosity.

"It is," Thorpe conceded. "But I am hopeful," he added then continued: "And I am afraid that if we do not plan now for the end of this thing then we run a terrible risk." Thorpe surveyed his guests; he had their attention. Thorpe turned to the large elderly human at the table. "This is Gerhardt Josef." Thorpe looked around. Archer started at the mention of Josef's name whereas his other world guests did not. But apparently one of those aliens was not unacquainted with Josef.

"Head of your Earth Space Probe Agency," Halaav said adding a snort. "If you have brought me here for a Terra civics lesson then you are wasting your time."

"Look for a Tellarite to come right to the point," Ambassador Ketra declared.

"Of course," Halaav replied. "If it were not for us Tellarites discussions would be without end. So why have you brought us all here Thorpe?"

"When this conflict ends," Thorpe started. The United Earth president was still standing as he continued: "There will be a great movement to maintain a strong navy—a militaristic rather than exploration centered service."

"I believe that is as it should be," Ketra interjected. The Tellarite also asserted his agreement. The Andorian added: "That is unless you want to face another war with another enemy later on; these Klingons for instance."

"I believe that we can do both," Thorpe said. The president explained further. "I believe that we can build a fleet that does both." Thorpe nodded to Josef who passed folders to each of the meeting attendees.

"Together we can build a fleet of advanced starships that have unparalleled lab facilities as well as state of the art weapons." Josef said. The administrator continued. "Of course the crews will have to be a new breed of spacefarer; trained in sciences, diplomacy, and of course military matters."

"What does all of this have to do with me?" Jonathan Archer said speaking up for the first time since the meeting had started.

"The United Earth Space Probe Agency is a civilian agency commander," Thorpe explained. "The military was supposed to work for them but over the years that relationship has become diluted. I believe that we need to integrate the agency with the military so that exploration becomes one of the primary goals of the navy."

"A navy officer to be in charge in fact," Josef added.

"I suppose that would be me?" the commander asked.

"It would indeed Jonathan," Thorpe replied.

"You know that more than likely sir whoever runs this agency could be a puppet of the military arm of Star Fleet?" Archer asked.

"That is why a civilian will share the top billet," Thorpe answered. "Right now I have Admiral Forrest's consent for this. He too has thought about the future. What would really crystallize this thing though is--,"

"Alien support," Halaav said interrupting Thorpe. The Tellarite put an emphasis on the word alien. The Tellarite continued: "This is just not about building ships is it Thorpe?" At Thorpe's nod Halaav rolled on. "This new breed of explorers would go through training and be under the command of one organization—not their respective planetary nations. You mean to continue this Star Fleet after the war."

"Very astute of you ambassador," Thorpe answered. "That is exactly what I mean." Thorpe smiled and added: "Even a dimwit like you can see that is what is necessary."

Halaav roared with laughter then replied: "We are with your people Thorpe. Your navy helped defend our world. Surprising, that incompetent humans could defend anything. I'm sure the Romulans were concerned more about ship losses occurring from accidentally being rammed by your blind navigators." Halaav paused and looked around the room. "We Tellarites do not forget our friends. At least most of us do not. I believe that some of us have been influenced by your politicians. They would sell their pouchlings to the first vendor were they permitted to do so."

Ketra snapped her folder shut and laughed in a light lilting tone. "You should review our ally's proposal you headstrong As'Shom!" the ambassador said to the Tellarite. Ketra looked at Thorpe. She cocked her head to one side in very human gesture of someone involving themselves in a conspiracy. She laughed again before saying:

"Shran will likely be the next Shahar. My mate is very much like you Thorpe. What do you pink-skins say; your head in the fog?"

"I think it is clouds," Archers said laughing. "Unless someone is lost then they might be in a fog."

"Thank you commander," Ketra said nodding at Archer. She turned back to the president. "You are an idealist Thorpe but I do believe we are similar in that your mate is very good with numbers?" the Andorian asked.

"Maggie was the CEO of a Ford-Maersk," Thorpe replied then continued, "So yes she has had to manage a lot of credits if that is what you are--,"

"I should have deferred to the Tellarite," Ketra said. "Let me get to the point. The number of ships you propose here will probably win the war and give you an exploratory fleet. But such a massive building program would bankrupt each of our worlds--individually."

"Unless we agreed to a common budget," Thorpe said smiling.

"Which would imply entering into the alliance you proposed before the war," Halaav added. The Tellarite laughed again and ran a hand over his ample stomach. "The congress on my world would set themselves on fire to enter into such an agreement—especially when the alternative is crippling taxes to pay for a war debt."

"Look I'm no politician or accountant," Archer spoke up suddenly. "But how can it bankrupt you by yourselves but not together?"

"All of the training and ship building would be transferred to one system," Thorpe replied.

"A central command and construction authority," Ketra said. "I suppose that your United Earth Space Probe Agency would be in charge of all of this?" Her antennae visibly twitched. "That is the flaw to your plan Thorpe. Unless--," She looked at Thorpe through narrowed eyes; "unless you plan to also allow us major control of that agency."

"That is exactly what I propose," Thorpe said with a smile. "Captain Archer here will head up the exploration aspect of the operation." Christophur noted Archer's surprised glance at the mention of his new rank. "I would like Andorian and Tellarite officers on the board of that agency as well."

"The same goes for a civilian contingent," Josef added. "All exploration minded of course." The civilian said with a twisted smile.

"You humans are not as stupid as you look," Halaav declared. "So the military is satisfied by Archer here and his military cohorts who turn out to be explorers. The politicians will like the civilian control never realizing this whole ruse is guiding things to a different outcome."

"I want this federation of planets to be a reality," Thorpe said. "It is a shame but in a dreadfully perverted way the Romulans have done more to show us what we can do together than anything else has. But I am optimistic that we will defeat the Romulans. But if history is any teacher unless the end is carefully managed we will slink back to our old ways." Thorpe started pacing the room as he spoke.

"It is just not about becoming isolated and being destroyed piecemeal by some enemy. Oh I'll concede there is that. I'd be a fool to believe otherwise. But think about this: Ninety of my years ago none of us would be sitting around casually discussing the future with beings from other worlds. Just look at what we have already accomplished together: The Daedelus is the most advanced starship we have; built by the combined efforts of our three cultures. Some of our scientists predict that we could surpass the Vulcans in twenty-five years.

But it is just not surpassing others or becoming the biggest on the block. Think of the adventure we are entering into. Think of the frontiers our children will see. They'll never know boundaries again. This federation isn't for we here in this room. It must be for those that come after us. As much as we are different one thing we share in common is the desire to want a better life for our children. Well here is the chance for that."

Ketra lowered her head and shook it in a most human fashion. Thorpe had a sinking feeling until the Andorian ambassador looked up at him. She was laughing again.

"You and my mate," she said. "I said that you were similar: No matter how foolish something is Shran can make one believe in it." Ketra stood up. She was somewhat short for an Andorian but still had an imposing yet svelte figure. "If this fails we will all be sacrificed before our respective peoples. Yet I will take that risk."

"As will I!" the Tellarite exclaimed as he stood up suddenly.

"Your biggest opposition will be your own people Christophur," Ketra said. "I believe that your Sons' of Terra are working with some of my people." The Andorian laughed again before continuing. "It is too bad that they did not bother to learn anything about us though. This latest effort may have hurt them more than helped them."

Thorpe didn't like the unpleasant reminder. The news of Jocelyn Stiles' raid on Deneva had been touted as a phenomenal victory against the Romulans. That was until last week when a video surfaced showing the Beagle firing missiles on a distressed Romulan ship. The image had gone over well with many but others were starting to add their voices to some of the ridicules notions being put forward by the Sons: That humans by their demonstrated barbarous behavior had deserved what had happened to them. That all that was needed was to offer the Romulans the hand of friendship and apologize for human expansion. Thorpe knew that it was absurd on the face of it but many had taken up the chant.

Stiles had been saved mainly by the council who had repealed the old Geneva and St. Louis conventions at the outset of the war. Thorpe had agonized over what to do. He had come to love the young woman like the daughter he never had. Christophur knew that she was hurt over the death of her fiancée and then her father. Still he had come close to having her removed. Fortunately for Stiles Admiral French had beat the media circuit proclaiming how Thorpe had made a poor decision in elevating someone like Stiles to a command position. That had reaffirmed Thorpe's belief in Stiles. Christophur had nonetheless sent Jo-jo a letter of warning. He wished that he could speak to her in person.

"The law of equal application," Thorpe said than added in Andorian, "M'Asoka Ne Talutlè." Andorians had embodied the principle of an eye for an eye in their canon of laws.

"We share the same belief their Andorian," Halaav added. "Many of my people can not get over the anger from the humans. The Romulans offer your people no quarter why then should humans offer them the same?" Halaav snorted in anger. "These Sons' of Terra have had their heads in the muck for too long."

"I'll handle the Sons," Thorpe said in a slightly bitter tone. Christophur had never seen a group of people so hell bent on snatching defeat out of the jaws of victory before. Despite his long years in politics it still astounded Thorpe how reasonably intelligent people would accept such obvious tripe. He smiled as he spoke again. "While it is true that these people have a foothold it won't last. These Sons' of Terra will be unmasked before this is all over. Groups like that can't stand long against the truth."

Even as he added this last, Thorpe mentally crossed his fingers. The truth was that groups of fanatics had managed to persuade perfectly sensible, good people to do dreadful things. Thorpe hoped it didn't come to that with these Sons' of Terra.

The group got down to the business of turning generalities into specifics. They worked far into the San Francisco night making proposals to take back to their respective world governments. Archer had not liked his new appointment; Thorpe had to smooth that over with the captain who had been the last to leave. The designer had mentioned being put in the role of George Bailey. Thorpe had heard that name; he just could not remember where. In the end Archer had grudgingly accepted his fate. Thorpe was tired by the time that the last of them had left. He returned to the open window again and looked to the distant stars; so much hope there, and so many dangers. Thorpe remembered the little Ferengi: Was the future a foregone conclusion Christophur wondered? Right now it seemed like nothing was for certain.

Long Beach Island, New Jersey, Earth, Jul 2157

The admiral seemed to enjoy the Italian food. The restaurant sat just off of the ancient boardwalk. The sun was setting and the lights from the garish casinos of Atlantic City were plainly visible to the south. Chief Frank McCoy had chosen the outdoor café. He and Eileen Thomas had discovered it on one of there many recent outings. The manicotti was a particular favorite of McCoy's. McCoy knew that Thomas was off to Oklahoma City on party business.

The chief had yet to be fully invited into the Sons' of Terra's inner circle. But he had met a few of those that were. Most of them struck McCoy as atypical of the type of people that would support such an organization: The idle rich and others who perceived that their lives offered them no challenges. Rather than go off and take up a profession to help their fellow man or pursue the adventure of colonization the members of the political organization chose rather to become impediments to progress to the rest of their fellow man. McCoy had a hard time believing that Eileen was a part of anything like the Sons.

McCoy was having serious doubts about this whole spy adventure now. Those doubts could all be laid at the feet of one Eileen Thomas. There were times when McCoy felt a certain something for the woman that he had never felt before; even with his first wife, Helen. Eileen could be sweet and precocious all at the same time McCoy. But then something would spark a political comment: All of Thomas' innocence was ripped away briefly when she would utter one of those. Some of the philosophy of the Sons' of Terra was not only xenophobic it was down right racist to other human beings McCoy knew.

"You don't seem to hungry sir—Erica," McCoy said. Soames had told him to start to use her first name during these meetings lest someone overhear. Frank thought that his superior looked tired as well.

"I've had a hell of a week Frank," Soames answered. The admiral caught McCoy with an appraising stare. "How is your love life Frank?" she asked directly.

McCoy was glad that the sun was down. He knew that Soames could see his face turn red but it was not as bad as what she would've seen had it been daylight. Finally the intelligence chief answered: "I suppose okay sir—I mean Erica. I mean I know that I'm using—I mean seeing Eileen to get close to the Sons' of--."

"Forget I asked Frank," Soames said with a slight smile on her lips. The smile did not last long however. The admiral continued after looking around her carefully. "I thought that you might be having second thoughts about all of this since the last time we talked. Until last week I was all set to tell you to forget about all of this Frank." She lowered her voice and added; "we are both in so deep now that were we to be discovered it would be a stay at a penal colony for sure. But until last week I was ready to put an end to this."

Frank asked the admiral what had happened in the past week. Rather than tell him she bid him finish his meal so that they could take a walk along the beach. McCoy was puzzled about that to the point that he called for the check. He wanted to know what was gnawing at Admiral Soames. McCoy paid for both of their meals and after some fussing from the waiter who also turned out to be a partner in the business, over an implied slight on the quality of his food the two navy personnel left. McCoy had ensured the waiter that yes, the food was delicious but that he and his friend were in a hurry to leave. The man had assumed that McCoy and his pretty female friend were anxious to be alone.

McCoy and Soames walked along the boardwalk for about ten minutes until they saw steps leading down to the shoreline. The two of them made their way down those steps. The admiral and McCoy both removed their shoes and carried them along as they talked. McCoy caught up on what was happening in Langley. The chief had been able to do some work at the office but this assignment was taking up a significant amount of his time. Frank wished that he could be there more. The intelligence unit seemed to be working round the clock now that the war was being fought around several fronts. It was at that point that the admiral fell silent until they spotted a stony breakwater. Soames led the chief to a large rock and invited him to sit beside her.

"We are pushing out more Frank," Erica said. "But I believe that we may be fighting this war on a new front; one that most do not know about." Before Frank could reply the admiral continued. "I told you that until last week I was going to say let's end this. You would be free to settle with your lady friend in whatever manner you chose."

"I don't know what that would be Erica," McCoy replied. "I'll be honest; I've been thinking the same thing. But what would I do; either end this thing with Eileen or live a lie with her?" the chief said quietly.

"Do you love her Frank?" Soames asked pointedly. At McCoy's choked admission in the affirmative Soames said sharply: "You may not after what I am about to share with you." Erica sighed again then said: "What I need to know is can you maintain your objectivity no matter what?"

"Yes—yes I can," McCoy said at last. He hoped that was true. After Helen, McCoy had pretty much resigned himself to being alone for the remainder of his life. Despite her politics he had to admit to himself that he was in love with Eileen Thomas.

The admiral reached into the slim brief case that she was carrying. She produced a small hand held computer. Soames entered a series of commands via the device's small keypad then promptly handed it to McCoy. Frank was familiar with the image on the computer's small screen; he had seen it being replayed on vidcasters all of this last week.

The hapless Romulan Sabinus went up in a ball of nuclear fire. McCoy was aware that according to man's own rules which the council had conveniently dismissed last year, that the act was a war crime. Nonetheless witnessing Stiles' wanton destruction created a satisfied feeling in Frank: It was nothing the Birdies had not done to distressed Stellar Navy crews and their allies. The Birdies were just getting pay back as far as McCoy was concerned.

"I know you've seen it Frank," Soames said. The lights from the busy commerce of the boardwalk silhouetted Soames as she continued, "of course as soon as I saw it I started working on it. We all assumed that a disgruntled navy person put it out. But something happened on the way to the Bistro so to speak." Frank looked at her expectantly. He could tell that she was gathering her thoughts. Finally she continued:

"I ran it through a processor. Take a look at item two of the menu Frank," Soames instructed. McCoy selected the item.

Frank wondered what he was looking at for a few seconds before he realized that it was an animated simulation of the Beagle and Marathon in battle. Lines shot out from the representations of the ships. Another image labeled 'Cabbage' appeared. None of the lines projected from the Star Fleet ships came close to what Frank guessed was the wrecked Sabinus that had been destroyed. Soames explained:

"I have downloaded all of the logs—human and alien. The Marathon and Beagle were the only ships that could have taken that video. The trouble is—unless one of their engineers reconfigured their video pickups neither of those vessels were capable of shooting that footage."

"Maybe that was it," Frank said. McCoy had a terrible feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

"Go to item three," Soames said. She explained as McCoy looked at the exploding Sabinus. But part of it was replaced by computer generated grid lines. "I logged some discreet time on the neural nets under Peking and London. Even were every square centimeter of those ships covered with video equipment their distance and angle would not have allowed them to capture the image that was put out over the vidcaster services. They would see what you are seeing now."

Frank looked. From that angle the computer projections seemed to suggest that much more of the top of the Sabinus' command section would show. McCoy was no video expert but he had looked at enough footage in his role as an analyst to see what Soames was driving at. McCoy dreaded the admiral's next words:

"Item four Frank," Erica said.

It was computer generated graphic of the familiar sequence. It repeated itself three times; the same image that had been on all the vidcaster services now. It started again only this time Frank had the illusion of flying through space toward an escaping Birdie shuttle. McCoy was glad that he was not looking at this on a large holographic vidcaster: The sudden motion would probably have played havoc with his inner ear. McCoy intuitively realized that the image's perspective had shifted. It was as if the chief were riding atop the escaping enemy shuttle while looking back at the Sabinus. The image slowed dramatically as another image seemed to overlay it. The word 'match' glowed in flashing red letters.

"Jesus Christ," McCoy said quietly. The admiral asked if he wanted to run through the sequence again. McCoy shook his head absently in reply.

"Not quite my comment upon discovery but close enough," Soames declared.

"What—what about the president?" the chief asked. This could only mean one thing and McCoy knew it.

"I informed him of course," Soames replied. "The council has been trying to pass laws investigating everyone but the people who seem to be the obvious suspects. It is obvious that the Sons' of Terra want to expand police powers but the thrust of their representatives' proposals are to investigate ordinary citizens."

"They want to make an enemies' list," McCoy said flatly while thinking: Bastards.

Soames nodded. "That was the president's assessment as well. The trouble now is that leaves us nowhere. Everyone wants to keep this under wraps. Thorpe of course is steadfastly opposed to any hindrance on the freedoms of ordinary citizens. He said the enemy is out there Erica; not here on earth." The admiral hesitated before saying more. "He has notified the UI but I already know what you think of them."

"I suppose that leaves us?" the chief said. His voce held a hint of melancholy sadness. Soames nodded. Now he knew where she had been going in asking questions of his relationship with Eileen.

"I don't think Eileen knows," McCoy said. "She despises what she says are alien influences."

"I would surmise that most of the Sons are pawns of these Romulan agents," Soames said. "So that does not surprise me. Select the next menu Frank," the admiral said.

McCoy did so to be treated by a series of still images. The images went by slowly and steadily and all of them showed people going back and forth. It took awhile for McCoy to recognize where in the photographs he was seeing was. It was the American White House. Frank looked at the images wondering what the admiral had seen in them. Soames saw McCoy's look of consternation. She explained:

"I used my override authority to tap into the White House security system. These are people who visited the White House in the last week—recognize any of them?"

McCoy shook his head. He wondered that the White House still had a security system at all. No one had tried to assassinate a government official in over forty years now. Frank was about to proclaim this search as being fruitless when he saw something. He tapped a key freezing the image.

"This fellow was at Catoctin," McCoy told Soames. McCoy continued in the piecemeal explanation of someone recalling an event. "Yeah, he was one of the back room guests. Eileen introduced me; let me see, mister, mister—Loch. That was it." Frank thought back to that night to his meeting with the men that he had nicknamed the angry twins. Both of them looked like men with a permanent state of anger plastered on their faces. Frank snapped his fingers. "Eileen was going out there to meet with Loch's associates!" meaning Oklahoma City.

"Keep looking Frank but that is a start," Soames looked around the deserted beach. Two lovers strolled by giggling at a private joke. "I will tell you that Carson Maclaren is on there. And that one hour almost to the minute after he departed that image started running on the vidcasters."

Frank spent the next half an hour looking intently at images projected by Erica's microcomputer. He knew that he could have missed a hundred possibilities. Eileen had not introduced him to everyone at the party. And McCoy knew that some in the back room may not have been present in the main room on that night. He told the admiral as much.

"Okay we'll start with this Loch chap," Soames said. "Who is he?"

McCoy thought back to the night of Thorpe's victory speech. An image of Eileen Thomas' naked breasts flashed unbidden into his head. He supposed that he would not share that with the admiral. Eileen had said that Loch's company was a contributor—that was it!

"Hansu corporation!" the chief exclaimed; "something about importing products and advancing molecular resequencing." McCoy looked downcast: "Sorry Erica that is all that I remember. Well there wasn't much more." Frank narrowed his eyes in thought, "except that Loch didn't have an accent. I put it down to learning English from a teaching machine." McCoy had heard many humans and aliens who had learned to speak a language via the computerized teaching machines. They were extremely effective with one drawback: The machines taught language without any accents or regional inflectives.

Soames recovered her computer from McCoy. "Hansu, Hansu," she mumbled over and over as the light from the streaming data on the screen showed on her face. She stopped and read: "Hansu Corporation was one of the largest contributors to the Sons' cause. I remembered the name because their contribution seemed to me to be very large given their published financial statement."

"Don't ask me about that stuff ad—Erica," McCoy laughed. "My knowledge of finances is pretty lame. I plan on retiring with my navy pension to a little cottage somewhere; maybe Georgia or Tennessee." McCoy smiled sheepishly. Soames looked up at him. McCoy doubted that she had even heard his last comments.

"I believe that a trip to Oklahoma City is in order for you Frank," the admiral said at last. She seemed lost in thought then continued. "There is reconditioning facility opening there at the site of the ancient US airbase—Tinker. The navy wants a security advisor to make an assessment there; purely routine for someone like you but I have to admit that I need official reasons to send you places Frank."

McCoy nodded and was about to ask her what exactly he was to do when he got there when Soames spoke abruptly:

"I have procured weapons for you," the admiral said in a voice devoid of any humor. She looked around then continued in that same tone. "I hereby order you to do whatever it takes to protect the security of this planet Chief McCoy." Soames smiled. "There Frank; I'll put it in writing and put it in my safe. It is some cover for you if we should get caught."

"What about you sir?" the intelligence operative asked. "You know the courts threw that 'just following orders' crap out in the twentieth century. The only thing that will do for me is maybe guarantee me life in prison." McCoy looked sharply at his superior officer before declaring: "They will hang you sir."

"I'm not concerned about that anymore Frank," Soames said. McCoy marveled to see the admiral's eyes moisten with tears. "I think about my parents in Ipswich. Who is going to speak for them if we are all dead? I just wish to god that I could get more directly involved."

The two of them rose. It was McCoy who looked around carefully this time. The shoreline was deserted as far as he could see. McCoy knew that no one could see down here from the boardwalk. McCoy came to attention bare feet and all. He rendered a formal salute.

"I shall follow your orders sir," McCoy proclaimed.

Soames snapped to attention and returned the gesture. "Good luck chief," she replied simply.

Taskforce 33 in orbit of the third planet of the Tarod system, Jul 2157

Lieutenant Commander Juan Morrison would have preferred his old title of major. But they were all one big happy fleet now. The trouble was Morrison thought that this whole mission was proof positive of just how bad Star Fleet needed ground forces. At least they weren't sending his Charlie Company into combat in those horrible red Star Fleet jerseys. The one hundred and eighty-eighty centimeter tall Brazilian native would've liked to have an intense one-on-one with whoever had approved the new uniforms. Morrison ran his hand through his short cut blonde hair. The lieutenant commander was descended from one of the American refugees of the Progressive's persecution.

Morrison looked at each of his platoon leaders in turn. His company consisted of three human platoons and a Tellarite platoon; almost two hundred ground pounders. The Brazilian wished that the navy could do it all: Their ships were superior to anything the Birdies had fielded so far Morrison thought. They had all anxiously watched the Minotaurs and Andorian fighters tear through the Romulans orbital defenses. The Trafalgar, Gettysburg, Shizma and Actav had rampaged through the force of Birdie cruisers then. Morrison had sat silently while his people had cheered the carnage. The navy could tear the Birdies a new one that much Morrison knew: But they could not capture any live Romulans. For that the Marines were needed to go down to the godforsaken planet below and dig the Birdies out.

Juan hated the idea of wearing the full battle gear. But as he watched the bright flashes of Star Fleet's Grand Slam orbit to ground missile barrage he crossed himself and was glad for the protection the gear would offer from what was being poured into the atmosphere now. Morrison checked his chronometer. It was time to go. The lieutenant commander took one last look at the monitor: A flight of converted Sinjan class shuttles were forming up. Their advanced rail guns and lasers would hopefully clear out any air to ground weapons that the Birdies might have left after the work of the Grand Slams was over.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Morrison said with mock politeness. He watched as Lieutenants Marsha Davies, Stefan Zglenicki, Vijay Patodi and the Tellarite Hax rose and took up their helmets. "We will drop according to plan near the southern end of the small peninsula. If all goes well we shall link up with Echo Company and proceed in."

His platoon commanders merely nodded. They had reviewed the plan for weeks. Now it was just a matter of bringing it all to fruition Morrison thought. The First Star Fleet division was a novel experiment. Juan knew that the allied navies had enjoyed great success in working together. He hoped the ground forces would fare as well. Morrison took the lead as they headed to the shuttle bay. The armored infantry landing shuttles were based on the Yeager class shuttles only the Yeager's small impulse engine had been removed in favor of a hull polarization generator. Two rotary laser batteries had been added as well. Their gas plasma charges would spit out three hundred bolts a minute for two minutes. The new lasers had looked good on paper and in field tests. This was going to be the ultimate test though Juan thought. Morrison both felt and heard a hollow metallic sound reverberate through the hangar bay as they arrived there. That would be the shells being launched the lieutenant commander thought.

"I hope that the Romulans take the bait," Zglenicki said. The Warsaw native was referring to the large metallic cylinders that the Reid and Robinson was busy dispersing now. The cylinders would look much like a shuttle when viewed on radar.

Morrison agreed as he entered his shuttle. The rest would take different shuttles. The Tellarite was next in line for command should Morrison not make it to the surface; after that Zglenicki, Davies and finally Patodi. Juan laughed; if it came down to Patodi then things were bad indeed implying that the company commander had been killed along with three of his platoon commanders. Morrison strapped his armored bulk into one of the crew seats of the shuttle. He noted Chief Andy Jeffries making a final review of Morrison's squad mates. Jeffries issued some well aimed curses at Marines who did not have there gear up tight. Finally satisfied, the noncom took a seat next to his commanding officer.

"My mama always told me I'd come to a bad end," the dark-skinned Barbados native proclaimed with a wide grin. Jeffries accent always struck Morrison as that which would belong to someone from Great Britain versus a Caribbean Island.

"Come now chief," Morrison answered. "We have only to land there and the Birdies will swoon before us like a virgin bride."

"You have never met my wife then sir," Jeffries replied showing a large set of pearly white teeth as he grinned. "It is I who swooned on our wedding night. She is a powerful woman indeed!" The NCO looked around then whispered conspiratorially to Morrison: "Do not tell the men sir."

Morrison agreed to keep safe the platoon sergeant's secret. He was thinking of his own wife and new baby at home in Curitiba. Morrison was happy that he had gotten to see Esmeralda's birth. It was indeed a miracle. He recalled how small his daughter's hands and feet were in Morrison's huge hands. It made the officer wonder what sort of beings the Romulans were. Morrison wondered how any being could witness the birth of a child and then go off to war. Was it possible Morrison wondered that the Birdies were some sort of martial society that lived for combat? This invasion would determine that. Juan was ready for a first contact with their enemy; only on human terms and not those of the Romulans.

Morrison was still considering the Romulan psyche when he felt the first nudges of his shuttle exiting the Reid's bay. Juan gulped. He was guessing that the pilot had turned down the artificial gravity somewhat to make the craft a little more sporty. The company commander supposed arriving on the surface of Tarod V a little motion sick was far more preferable than arriving in small pieces. Morrison lowered his eyepiece data unit receiver to his face. He examined the terrain and surface conditions of Tarod V once more.

Human explorers had landed briefly on Tarod V some four years ago. But besides that and the luckless Beagle's solar research no human had been there since the original exploration team. The world was ringed with an equatorial belt of jungle. The remainder of the planet was a cool arid wasteland dominated by small polar icecaps. The Birdie base Morrison had seen from the flyby data was located just outside of a jungle on the plains of the northern desert. Climatologists compared Tarod V to ancient Mars: A world slowly drying up. Juan's company would land on the peninsula beside a small sea near the jungle and proceed upwards to the fortification. It would be a slow crawl Morrison thought bitterly. Command did not know if the Birdies would self-destruct on land as they did in space.

Morrison's stomach was suddenly in his throat as the Yeager's pilot started an abrupt high speed descent. Juan looked through the shuttle's transparent aluminum windows as a hail of reddish laser fire poured out of shuttle. The lieutenant commander didn't see what the pilot was shooting at but he supposed that something had been heading for them. Juan's head swam as the shuttle heeled up and slowed down as suddenly as it had dived. Juan briefly saw the green jungle and somber sea beneath him. He guessed that they were somewhere around six-thousand meters above the surface. An explosion lit the interior of the Yeager as a far distant object exploded in midair. Juan hoped that whatever it was belonged to the Birdies and not their people. The shuttle started another rapid descent.

"Lower your visors guys," Morrison called over the battle network. This was it the Brazilian thought; just a few more minutes. He listened as the members of the platoon checked back in.

Morrison felt himself shoved back into his cushioned seat. The pilot was making the final run to the landing zone. The cruisers had mounted conventional explosive warheads on some of the Grand Slams for use in clearing the landing zones of jungle growth. The navy had actually saturated several areas. Morrison was glad that General Vaz had flattened a lot of different places: The Birdies would not know where to shoot—if they were going to shoot. This would be Star Fleet's first real encounter with the Birdies on the ground since the loss of the colonies. Juan felt the comforting return of gravity as the Yeager settled on the surface of Tarod V.

"Move them out chief," Morrison said to Jeffries. He could already hear the NCO berating the platoon to move quicker more or less suggesting that they should have been outside and dispersed yesterday.

"All clear to the north," a Star Fleet Marine reported crisply. Morrison heard all clears as the advanced scouts reported in after debarking. He sprang onto the flattened jungle surface and did a quick surveillance of the quadrant immediately in front of him.

"Form a skirmish line by the numbers," Morrison instructed.

The marines fanned out line abreast with a separation of fifty meters between each marine. Morrison started out cautiously. This was going to be a long march he knew. The lieutenant commander looked around as he felt more than heard a low rumble: A tank based loosely on the old European Panthera design rolled along with the marines. It had been that long since man had fought a ground war that they had to go back over ninety years in building armored vehicles.

This upgraded Panthera could easily have bested an entire platoon of its old brethren though. The old one hundred and thirty millimeter gun was replaced now with a high speed rail gun capable of spitting out solid slugs at a rate of over one hundred shots per minute. Coupled with a combination laser and radar targeting system the Panthera II seldom missed after acquiring a target. For close in anti-personnel work the Panthera mounted two Browning rotary cannons. Each one of those weapons could fire over one thousand rounds a minute of small needle-like flechettes or alternately the cannon could be fed small explosive rounds. The new tank also had the advantage of a Tellarite poly-ceramic covering making the Panthera impervious to low-power laser fire and artillery rounds. Morrison was no more than twenty meters from the ponderous vehicle as it rolled along at the speed of a walking person.

The lieutenant commander swept his modified Beretta XI around at regular intervals. The newly modified rifle transferred images from its targeting system directly to the sighting recticle over Morrison's right eye. It was heavier than its unmodified cousin: That was the addition of a laser rifle slung below the barrel of the main weapon. The laser was capable of firing twenty shots on the charge that it held. The way ahead looked clear. Morrison supposed that the Birdies were waiting within their fortified defense for the Star Fleet ground troops. He wasn't given much time to think about that however.

Morrison dropped instantly to the ground and swept the horizon once again. "Sarge what happened to Marquez?" he asked. A warning tone had sounded in the lieutenant commander's headsets followed by a life signs display of the marines in the unit. Spacer Marquez's signal had suddenly winked out.

What the hell, Juan was beginning to think to himself. There was no shooting or movement ahead. The marine's life signs had stopped as the platoon had entered the thick jungle foliage. Morrison was about to call Sergeant Jeffries for an update when his platoon sergeant beat him to it.

"Sir you need to see this," Jeffries said in a voice as devoid of emotion as a Vulcan. "And sir—step careful through the undergrowth. It looks like they have set up booby traps for us."

Juan tracked his way over to what his tracking system showed was the position of Sergeant Jeffries after ordering the rest of the company to freeze and remain so. Morrison kept his eyes open for anything out of the ordinary on the ground. Minutes later he arrived to see the armored marine sergeant bent over a pit. Another marine's helmet was visible sticking out of the hole in the ground. Morrison recognized the camouflaged snake symbol of the platoon's medic. Morrison looked over the edge of the hole and almost got sick on his stomach.

Karina Marquez lay impaled on a series of sharp stakes. The stakes looked like polished ivory where they were not stained with human blood. Morrison noted a slight rise on the ground. Jeffries noted the direction of his commanding officer's glance.

"Looks like ground was rigged so that someone would be thrown forward," Jeffries said over the discreet net that the two of them shared. Morrison listened with his other ear as invading Star Fleet troops were reporting similar traps.

"What are those things?" the company commander asked. Juan knew that their armor should protect them against anything but metal objects; and the scanners should have been able to spot any metal.

"Organic sir," the medic stated. Juan could see the marine medic trying to dig at one of the stakes for a sample with limited success. The medic continued: "Very dense; almost like it was packed together rather than occurring naturally. Also there is some kind of substance on the tips of these spikes." The medic looked at the readout from his portable scanning device. Morrison could see his helmet move slightly as the man shook his head. "It makes the poison alarms go off but what it is I have no idea sir."

"Crap sir we are gonna have to move carefully," Jeffries told Morrison over the private circuit.

Juan had been thinking about that very thing: Most of their scanning gear was designed to detect technological weapons. This kind of a thing was a throwback to the dark days of human warfare. Morrison listened to more reports over the company net. The marines were coming upon another booby trap: This one, a seemingly harmless pile of fallen trees when triggered the trees would roll toward the hapless victim crushing him or her under their bulk. Already four marines had been killed through that method. Another two Star Fleet troops were critically hurt. Juan came to a decision.

"Close in on the Panthera," the company commander said. There were no clear areas through which they could march to their objective. "Form a wedge behind it. These kinds of things can kill personnel but they shouldn't affect a tank."

Jeffries acknowledged the command and gave orders reforming the platoon. Morrison passed along his orders to the other platoon commanders. He didn't like it. Juan had a terrible suspicion that this was what the Romulans meant for invaders to do: Form up into a certain formation in anticipation of the next trap. But his marines were not trained in this type of warfare. Morrison would have to think about the next attack.

"We're ten clicks from the edge of the jungle," Morrison told Jeffries and his platoon commanders. "We'll halt at the edge and spread out again. My bet is they are waiting for us after we come out."

Morrison looked at the back of the Panthera for the next hour. The tank had uncovered two more of the lethal booby traps while an alert marine had spotted a third. The lieutenant commander ordered a brief halt to allow his people to rest. The marines had been fed liquid nutrients before leaving. The marines were restricted to liquid refreshments only. The radiation count in this area would not allow them to remove their armor. Morrison only hoped that the new armor would protect them against neutron blasts. It had done so in tests. But those had been tests done on computer simulations. He ordered them on after fifteen minutes had passed.

Once out of jungle they would rendezvous with Echo Company for the remaining ten kilometer hike to the Romulan fortification. That would be the nut to crack Morrison groused. All that allied scanners had shown was a network of dense material. Echo soundings had revealed nothing of the nature of the Birdie base as well. The Birdies could afford to sit back and wait Morrison thought bitterly. Attacking a fortified position was historically a bad idea. Juan knew that a few Grand Slams could take care of the base. Those weapons would also take care of any chance of capturing a live Romulan. Not even that new gizmo that Morrison had read about that they were using to dematerialize minerals out of the Martian soil to reconstruct it somewhere else would work on the aftermath of a Grand Slam strike. There wouldn't be enough Romulan atoms left to construct anything Juan thought.

Morrison looked ahead using the telescopic feature of his armor's scanning equipment. He was starting to see patches of drab reddish pink looking sand through the odd looking extraterrestrial trees. Juan ordered his unit to spread out in a line again as he left the jungle behind. The marines walked on for another kilometer when the ground erupted.

Morrison brought his Beretta up and fired at a laser source as he dived for the sandy ground. A series of explosive ordnance went off. The company commander could hear cries of dismay and a scream over the battle net as the marines came to grips with the new threat.

"They are coming out of the bloody ground!" his platoon sergeant exclaimed.

Morrison sighted a figure through his targeting recticle. Juan did a double take at what he saw. The figure was cloaked all in black cloth but was as far as Morrison could tell unarmored. Juan selected solid rounds then squeezed the trigger of his Beretta. The figure was knocked back as if from a hard blow as indeed the rounds from the Beretta were. Then to Morrison's amazement the figure dissolved from within in glowing red plasma like fire. The sand smoked before the lieutenant commander. Juan realized that a laser had been fired in his direction. He rolled for lower ground searching around with the business end of his rifle. The recticle flashed indicating to Morrison that it was locked onto the source of the laser fire. Juan switched to explosive rounds and fired. Juan saw a red glow beneath the exploding shot of his weapon.

"Chief," Morrison called on his private circuit; "are they dissolving when you hit them?"

Jeffries answered reporting seeing the same thing. It didn't take Morrison long to realize that he was right. The unknowns had buried themselves in the ground and emerged to attack. But thankfully with his formation spread back out again the marines along with the Panthera made short work of the Birdie ambushers.

"Continue closing flanks on them!" the company commander ordered over the battle network. The ambushers themselves were now caught between the pincer-like movements of the Star Fleet troops. Less than five minutes after it had started the firefight was over.

Five minutes after that Morrison summed up the reports. No Birdies had been captured. Whoever had ambushed them had not shown up on their thermal sensors. Morrison ordered a halt as he called to the Robinson for an air assault. Morrison assumed a relaxed but attitude as he lay on his belly searching for dangers near at hand. He waited for about five minutes. The filter on Juan's faceplate darkened protectively as laser fire from the Yeagers raked along the sandy ground.

The Star Fleet shuttles roared overhead. Ahead of them the plain became choked by the dust storm created from the impact of the rail guns' slugs. The vision of hell was complete as reddish laser fire lit the sand storm from within. Information relayed over Morrison's eyepiece told the story of destruction. Several hotspots were revealed to thermal imagers suggesting the dissolution of buried enemy troops. Morrison thought back to the Marine private's report from Deneva; the sole survivor of that massacre. That individual had not reported the enemy dissolving into some sort of fire ball.

The marine hadn't hit anything or else, Morrison gulped; or else these aliens were implanted with something that burned up their bodies rather than risk being found dead or alive. Who on earth—Juan stopped thinking right there. Humans had done crazy things like that as well; from homicide bombers to the drugged troops of Colonel Green. So it was not far fetched that these Birdies could be doing insane things as well. Morrison rose slowly and peered into the maelstrom. It would be even slower going for awhile now: They would be reliant entirely on their electronic eyes to see until the dust cleared. The lieutenant commander ordered the platoon to move on. Juan's friend Lieutenant Commander Witold Staszic greeted Morrison over the command net. The Echo Company commander had made the rendezvous. Like Morrison's Fox Company Echo Company's advance had not come without cost. Four of Staszic's marines were dead while another had been retrieved for emergency medical care.

The two companies proceeded onward. They were less than two hours from the Romulan fortification. The Panthera took the lead once more. Morrison observed several more of the armored vehicles plowing along their path. The Echo Company commander noted the addition of the Franks light armored personnel carrier; another hold over from the days before earth's third world war. The Franks had been upgraded with new human as well as alien technologies. Morrison spotted a few of the Tellarite mobile land cruisers or Shaktaks chugging along with the advancing Star Fleet troops too.

The massive vehicles were more like land going destroyers rather than tanks. Morrison wished that Star Fleet could have put more of those vehicles ashore. But they massed close to three hundred metric tons a piece. Besides storage space on the cruisers and freighters there was the matter of depositing them on a planet. The addition of a small impulse engine and several thrusters had made that possible.

The cruiser's single rail gun could not put out a great rate of fire. But it's almost two metric ton heavy metal slug had the equivalent impact force that could only be rivaled by a small tactical nuclear device. The cruiser was also studded with heavy duty lasers powered by the craft's small fusion reactor. Morrison felt that if anything could open up the Romulan base for him and his marines the Tellarite craft was it. They crested a hill.

Morrison directed his eyepiece to a telescopic mode. Seven kilometers away under what looked like a large hill lay the Birdie base. Morrison caused a computer graphic to overlay what he was seeing. What were apparently random contours in the land was revealed as out flung arms running from a central area. Star Fleet intelligence had reasoned that those arms were defensive points. It was hoped that the Pantheras and Tellarite Shaktaks could take care of them. Juan hoped so too. But the lieutenant commander knew the real work would be in penetrating the buried fortress. And if the marines did that it was still possible that the Birdies might destroy the base as a last option, taking one Lieutenant Commander Juan Morrison and a lot of luckless human and alien troops with them.

UES Daedelus, enroute to the Nelvana system, Jul 2157

Michael sat back in his command chair and puckered his lips as he drank coffee that had not quite made it out of the food processor in good order. Cromwell nonetheless took another drink of the black liquid. He reckoned that he could obtain an antacid from Trudy after all of this was over. The Daedelus was almost five thousand kilometers away from the unknown craft.

So far all attempts at communication had failed. Cromwell wished that there was something better then linguacode. But he had heard the repeated lectures: The combination of mathematical symbols contained in the code should be decipherable by any sufficiently advanced culture. The captain wondered how much anthropomorphizing was loaded in that statement. What if that advanced culture was composed of ocean going creatures Michael wondered; or even inorganic for that matter? Cromwell hoped but doubted that the Picard woman could make sense of the symbols on the side of the saucer ship.

Cromwell did not doubt the woman but he surmised since their rendezvous and a quick flyby using one of the Daedelus' precious warp probes that anybody could make sense of letters on a ship. Were they the ship's name he wondered? They could just as well be numbers Cromwell reasoned. He had to admit to a certain fascination with the design. A saucer craft almost two hundred meters in diameter. Cromwell wondered how the unknowns had integrated their warp drive into such a structure. Michael's thoughts were interrupted by Commander Lisa Somers. His first officer wore a look of incredulousness on her face as she handed Cromwell a piece of paper.

Michael laughed after he finished reading the contents of the paper. "You know that I like a good joke as much as the next fellow number one but now is not the time," Cromwell said.

"Miss Picard is on her way up," Somers said. "I thought the same thing. But we will see I guess."

Cromwell looked again at the paper as the bridge hatch opened admitting Mariel Picard. Michael noted Lt. Alvin Crosby's sharp look at the French mathematician. Cromwell remembered Trudy's words of a few hours ago.

Cromwell spun his seat around. "What is the meaning of this miss?" he asked.

"I started an analysis as soon as the stills were downloaded from the probe," Picard answered. "I fed the symbols into the computer of course. One never knows if a match might be in the database however farfetched that could be." Picard looked around. She was clearly perturbed. "Imagine my surprise when the computer came upon that." She indicated the paper Cromwell was holding.

Michael looked at the paper again. He got out of his seat and walked to the viewscreen. If what he was looking at was true then his world had been turned upside down. Then again if true perhaps there was a way to communicate here.

The ship had no Romulan markings on it. That was no guarantee as far as Cromwell was concerned. On the other hand Star Fleet had never seen a Birdie vessel that was not unadorned with a garish bird of prey. This saucer had no such bird upon it; only markings that were similar to markings made by a woman under hypnosis almost two hundred years ago. Cromwell came to a decision.

"Chief Custis, rig for voice and video transmission," Cromwell said. Michael did not need to look around the bridge to know that he was being stared at. The concept that aliens encountered in deep space at random could understand English was at best an outlandish one. The chief turned to Cromwell with the information that the settings were complete. Cromwell could see the skepticism evident on the man's face.

"Open a channel chief," Cromwell commanded heartily. When Custis indicated that action was complete Cromwell faced toward the viewscreen. The bridge video pickup was in the forward section of the command area. "This is Captain Michael Cromwell of the United Earth Ship Daedelus requesting communications with the unknown vessel off of our bow." Cromwell took a deep breath before continuing. "We come in peace and wish to learn of other civilizations."

Michael paced about. The bridge was silent. Cromwell was thinking that he had just made a complete ass of himself. But that was okay Michael thought. This was his ship and if he wanted to be a fool that was his right. Still Cromwell worried about his image with the bridge crew. He paced back to the command chair. He sat down and was about to order Custis to resume liguacode when the bridge speakers crackled. A melodious voice speaking in clear unaccented English followed the sound:

"Captain Cromwell we greet you in peace. I am a scientist on this vessel the," a mumbled sound was heard. The voice resumed in English again. "We know of your world. My people have visited earth before." The voice paused. What did that bode Cromwell wondered? Then the voice spoke again. "We know that you are at war with the," once again an unintelligible sound came over the bridge speakers. "Our world was invaded by these creatures as well. We are refugees."

"Ship to ship!" the commander of the Daedelus snapped at Custis. The chief reestablished voice and video communications. Cromwell continued while he stared ahead to the viewer. "Perhaps we could help one another?" he implored.

"A data stream coming in now sir," Custis said as he punched commands into the communication's panel. "No viruses detected," the chief said; "it looks like a graphic." At Cromwell's order Custis transferred the alien image to the main viewer. The bridge crew looked at an image of the saucer ship that they had been pursuing. A portion of the craft flashed showing a smaller vessel docking there. The message was explicit: The docking port was located at that point.

"I believe that they would like to have us over for tea," Cromwell said. Custis returned the view to one of the distant alien ship in warp.

"We will disengage our star drive in," the alien voice spoke again its last word or words were unknown but Michael guessed that they were time units of some sort. "Helm, prepare to drop out of warp,' the captain instructed Ensign Sam Ward.

"Going to sublight," Ward replied as the viewer returned a view of the still pinpoints of distant stars. "We overshot but I have the unknown at eight thousand four hundred kilometers," Ward said.

"Maneuver to five thousand kilometers," Cromwell instructed his helmsman. Cromwell turned to the NCO at the gunnery position. "Lieutenant Nakamura, obtain a discreet firing solution and load Narwhals." At the questioning glances Cromwell was receiving from his bridge crew he explained: "I hope that we are meeting friends here. But it doesn't hurt to be prepared."

"You may dock with our ship when you are ready Captain Cromwell," the alien voice said. Michael acknowledged the communication. He got up abruptly.

"Lieutenant Crosby; I will need your expertise here," Cromwell said to the intelligence officer. "Miss Picard given that you are a civilian I must ask you--,"

"Of course I wish to go sir!" Mariel snapped back excitedly. Cromwell nodded in appreciation then turned to Lisa Somers. "Number one, please notify Doctor Schultheiss and I would like an engineer along as well."

"I'll get ready sir," Somers replied.

"No, commander not this time," the captain said slowly. At Somers reproachful look Cromwell explained: "This is a first contact situation. I have been empowered to make treaties with potential allies as well as find out information about the Romulans. I can't bloody well negotiate a treaty sitting on the bridge of Daedelus."

"It could be a trap sir," Somers said. "They seem to know about the Birdies; maybe they are allied with them. Maybe they just want to lure you over there and kill you, set us up for a kill shot."

"I do not believe so," Cromwell replied then added: "I have a hunch about them. It seems that they have been to earth before and if that is true they were relatively harmless then." Michael gave a Somers a hard look before saying: "And it is my decision to go number one."

The commander nodded. She realized that Cromwell was resolved to go.

"Should you prove right commander you are cleared to engage the enemy," Cromwell said. "After that you must continue the mission. You will find my personal orders in my cabin safe." Michael smiled. "You will appreciate the extra stripe on your sleeve Lisa."

The commander looked at Cromwell with a slightly pouting expression, and then broke into a wide grin. "I believe that you just like flying the goddamned shuttle sir!" she exclaimed.

Crosby would have preferred that Mariel stay behind on Daedelus. The intelligence officer agreed that meeting with these aliens might prove beneficial to their mission. But the captain seemed to want to turn the whole thing into some kind of grand alien encounter scenario. Crosby thought that there was a time and place for that but not now. At least Cromwell's eyes did not chase Mariel anymore. It was all that Crosby could do to contain himself when he saw that. The lieutenant would be glad when this mission was over.

Crosby was growing tired of life on the small starship. His sessions with the doctor were annoying at best. He did not have a problem. Sitting in the cramped German surgeon's office was an unpleasant reminder of his mother's examination of Crosby's grades when Alvin was a boy. It had angered Crosby at first: The way he felt naked before Schultheiss' questions. But Crosby had read some psychology texts off of the Daedelus' library computer. That had helped the intelligence officer say what someone with the condition Schultheiss subscribed to him would be expected to say.

His stomach took an unpleasant turn as Cromwell switched off the artificial gravity. Mariel giggled beside him at the sensation until she saw his reproachful look: Good she still knew who was in charge. Crosby stared through the shuttle's transparent aluminum cockpit glass to see the large saucer ship growing. It was obvious to Crosby that the captain was trying to show off his skill. Alvin's stomach knotted painfully forcing him to gulp as Cromwell wheeled the shuttle around on docking thrusters. Seconds later there was the sensation of a gentle bump. The gravity came back up gradually.

"I should obtain an air sample even if we are boarding in suits," Schultheiss said.

The captain looked thoughtful. Crosby hated space suits but the gruff doctor was right he thought: It would be better to board the ship suited rather than risk picking up some unknown alien virus. Alvin moved to the shuttle's storage rack when he heard the voice:

"You will not need your protective gear Captain Cromwell. We have been to your world before. There is no risk to you or your crew of contamination."

Crosby snapped his head around. He was startled and he could tell that everyone else was. Mariel was looking around as was Crosby and Schultheiss. Lieutenant Wallace Brenkert from engineering had obviously heard the strange voice as well. Schultheiss was the first to speak.

"I suppose that the radio was not on?" the chief medical officer asked flatly.

"The Vulcans are telepathic," Cromwell said then continued; "so I suppose telepathic abilities could be had by other races." Cromwell grew thoughtful as he added: "The report from the library computer suggested that these aliens could do that. The Hill's seemed to believe that their abductors were speaking to them in English."

The fear crashed down on Crosby like an avalanche of cold snow. He turned quickly to examine a spacesuit. He saw Mariel out of the corner of his eye, looking at him. Crosby gave her a warning glance in return forcing her to turn away quickly. Alvin took a deep breath. He didn't want any aliens—he didn't want anyone in his head. Crosby reached for a spacesickness bag just in time. He became aware of them looking at him afterwards.

"Sorry," Crosby said while wiping at his mouth, "guess it has been awhile since I've been in low gee." It was a lie Alvin knew but he could never have gotten around what he was feeling to explain it anyway. Crosby took a drink from his water bottle.

"Sir this is a bad idea," Crosby said. "I mean if these guys can do this—read our thoughts aren't we putting ourselves at risk?"

"There is nothing to fear Lieutenant Crosby. Only things buried within yourself can harm you. We will not do so."

They all looked startled again at the non-sound of the disembodied voice. Crosby looked up as if he was trying to find the source of the voice. Alvin stopped that when he realized how silly he must look. He mopped at his forehead. Crosby's sleeve came away wet. He thought for a minute that he would need the bag again. Crosby realized that someone was speaking.

"We are out here to find out intelligence on our enemies," Cromwell was saying. "But it won't always be so. The navy was founded on the principles of exploration—from the stars knowledge. This is a new life here, a new civilization. I want to learn more about them."

"And if you are wrong sir?" this time Crosby noted that it was the nosy doctor who for once had asked an intelligent question.

"Then I'm wrong," Cromwell retorted emphatically. He seemed to gather his thoughts before continuing. "Look I'm not waxing all rosy here. The Romulans proved to be a danger. But it will be the worst act that I can think of if we start turning in to ourselves." Cromwell looked at all of them in turn. "I see. I shall not order any of you forward. I plan to enter their vessel. If you want you may stay in the shuttle until my return."

"I want to go," Mariel strode forward.

Crosby stepped forward and was about to protest when Picard turned on him. The look in her eyes caused Alvin to stop short. For a brief second he was afraid again. They all looked at him. Crosby realized he had to get out of this situation.

"I'll go as well sir," Crosby said.

"I wouldn't mind looking at some alien technology captain," Lt. Brenkert said.

"It is up to you doctor," Cromwell said.

The doctor huffed then said: "I cannot let you men go boldly exploring without a doctor. Very well I shall go."

Schultheiss advised them to cycle through the small airlock regardless of the telepathic aliens' assurances. Crosby felt that was a wise decision. He knew that he would get sprayed with the antiseptic decontamination compound when they returned but that was not a horrible experience he knew. They each gathered their packs and cycled through. Crosby wanted to go through with Mariel but the captain invited him to go along. The two men went through the lock. The pressures equalized causing an unpleasant pressure on Alvin's eardrums that soon abated.

"Slightly lower pressure atmosphere out here," the captain said in a conversational tone as the outer door of the shuttle's air lock slid open.

Crosby nervously followed the captain over the ribbed flexible joint of the shuttle's soft seal. The alien ship had no corresponding hatch. Crosby looked at Cromwell. What the hell was going on Crosby wondered? Then the skin of the saucer formed an iris like opening where nothing had been visible before. The opening increased in size until it could accommodate a man. Cromwell stepped through to the alien ship beckoning Crosby to do the same.

It was a small curving room. Alien symbols were on the walls at various points. The metal or whatever it was, Crosby thought looked more like the shiny polished part of a seashell rather than any metal. Crosby watched as Cromwell cautiously touched the interior wall. The wall seemed to give like a liquid filled cushion. Cromwell took his hand back. Crosby noted the look of amazement on the man's face. Alvin wondered if these aliens would share any of their technology with the earthers. Crosby turned as Schultheiss and Picard entered. Mariel passed by him as if he didn't exist as she moved closer to examine the symbols. Lieutenant Brenkert cycled through last. The man let out a low whistle.

Crosby had no interest in what was probably an equipment storage room. He wondered where their hosts were. Crosby stamped about impatiently. He spun around as he heard Mariel's startled cry of exclamation. An opening formed opposite from where they had entered. It was the intelligence officer's turn to give a cry of alarm when he saw their exit to the shuttle close as mysteriously as it had opened.

"There is no need for alarm Lieutenant Crosby," a short being covered with a black cloak up to his or her neck declared. Crosby started at the sight of the being's solid coal black eyes. "This chamber is as you surmise a type of ready room. It is a normal procedure to close the outer seal."

"I'm not afraid!" the intelligence officer exclaimed. Crosby was embarrassed to hear his voice squeak. The being looked at him and despite the creature's absence of any pupils Crosby could sense a feeling of disdain turned to pity directed at him.

"As you say," the being said. More of the short gray skinned beings entered the chamber. Crosby noted subtle difference between each alien but that was a stretch at best: They all looked the same to him. The first being, who wore some sort of small but elaborate jewel on its' collar motioned for the humans to follow.

Crosby was growing more agitated as the situation seemed to be spiraling out of control. He noted that fool of a captain following the aliens. Mariel went as well, a foolish look upon her face Crosby thought. That was proof if anything was that the woman needed his protection and his control in here life: To save her from her own misguided activities. Alvin joined the group.

The interior passageways seemed to be composed of the same delicate translucent material as that of the walls of the outer chamber. The group curved around several corridors. Crosby listened with an intelligence officer's ears as the captain talked to what Crosby assumed must be the commander of this vessel; the jeweled alien.

"You communicated with us over wireless," Cromwell said. "But you can use telepathy. Why didn't you choose to employ that?"

"Not all races perceive telepaths in a friendly manner," the alien commander responded. Crosby realized that there was no speech being projected by the alien rather it was a telepathic conversation. "We were apprehensive about you. We thought that you might be," there was a pause. Alvin felt a slight intense stab in his head as he seen an image of a bird of prey adorned Romulan vessel. The alien continued. "But we recognized your species when you contacted via electronic means. I am glad that your people survived to attain the stars."

"That was touch and go there for awhile," Cromwell replied verbally. "But we are here." Cromwell seemed troubled as he asked: "Why didn't you help us advance?"

"That is not our way captain," the alien thought. "You will soon find out. But think of your own experiences on your planet. What happens when a technologically advanced civilization contacts one less advanced?"

"That has proven to be a disaster," Cromwell answered. "I suppose that we should think about such a custom ourselves at some point."

Crosby thought that it was stupid. Sure there had been problems when eleventh century barbarians had been introduced to the weapons of the twentieth century. But those problems had solved themselves. Man had survived. Crosby saw nothing wrong with either giving or receiving advanced technology. Alvin noticed a glance from one of his escorts. All of the humans were escorted by two of the gray skinned aliens now. Crosby thought that was wrong. Things just didn't seem right. Cromwell and his escorts seemed to be farther away now.

And where was Mariel, Crosby wondered. He stopped abruptly. Crosby looked around wildly. It was just him and his two escorts. What was going on here? He reached into his jacket and proceeded to unstrap his laser sidearm. The feel of the Ruger ten shot laser pistol's grip felt comforting to Crosby.

"Where in the hell are the--," Crosby shouted but he was alone. His escorts were gone so was Cromwell and the rest of the shore party.

He ran headlong down the curving corridor. He merged through another of the peculiar openings into—into his parents' home. Kevin Crosby stood looking out of the huge bay window that overlooked the Pacific Ocean; his hands were folded behind his back. What the hell Crosby thought? How could this be happening? He was on the UES Daedelus on a covert surveillance mission of the Romulan Empire. He looked up at his father. But he was taller than his father—now; but not then.

"Another failure eh Al?" his father asked. The man turned around. "Stupid! You are never going to amount to anything. What a disappointment you are Al; just like your mother. You know what happens to her when you anger me don't you?"

"No!" the confused lieutenant roared back. This couldn't be his father and yet, "she should have left you; you bastard! I had to go through hell because of her! I did everything so you wouldn't beat on her! It was never enough for you!"

"Don't anger your father Alvin," now it was his mother speaking to him. "He is a good man. He has a lot of stress to deal with. You'll understand when you get older."

"He is not even my father!" Crosby responded fiercely. Alvin had never known his real father. Patricia Millikan had married Kevin Crosby sometime shortly after Alvin's birth.

"Now, now Al," his father said as he moved to his desk and got a thick leather strap out of a drawer. "Maybe it is time for your mother to receive a lesson."

Crosby rushed forward to tackle his stepfather—and found himself in the Paris apartment of Mariel Picard. Crosby reached up and gripped his head in his hands. This can't be happening he thought over and over. He was on a starship. Crosby couldn't remember its name. No he wasn't on a starship. He was in Paris. Mariel was opposed to them going to Oregon to live near Alvin's parents. It was an old argument. She was by the window smiling at him. Mariel was shaking her head. Crosby's bewilderment turned to something else. It turned into rage.

"I'll decide where we stay Mariel!" he fumed angrily. Crosby sensed that was not enough to convince his love. He drew back and slapped her hard in the face. Mariel's head jerked and she fell to one knee.

"I've had enough of this Alvin!" she screamed at him. "You need help. I love you but I cannot go through this anymore!" Blood trickled from the corner of her delicate mouth.

He pulled her up roughly by one arm. She had never resisted like this before. Crosby had not had to teach lessons as severe as the ones his father had administered. He cursed at her and slammed her hard against the wall near the window. She struggled against him as he held her arms.

"Let me go!" she pleaded then added angrily: "Let me go you bastard!"

He snapped. Crosby threw her against the far wall. He bounded after her and as she turned he punched her in the side of her face. Mariel dropped to floor near a coffee table. There were two thumps in quick succession. Crosby leaped on her and turned her over. He started shaking her.

"Goddamned bitch listen to what I tell you!" he roared. Crosby was sick of her unresponsiveness. Then he realized why she wasn't saying anything.

Mariel Picard would never say another word. She would never oppose him again. Crosby looked in horror, rage and sorrow at the pool of blood growing beneath her head. He looked into her lifeless eyes. Crosby closed his eyes and started sobbing.

"Lieutenant, lieutenant are you alright?" the first officer of the Daedelus was shaking him lightly.

"Is he okay?" Cromwell asked. Michael guessed that Crosby must have experienced whatever it was that the captain had himself experienced. Cromwell fumbled with his PA control to call sickbay. "Trudy, Doctor Schultheiss this is the captain."

After a pause in which Michael seriously considered calling the marines she answered. "Yah," the doctor replied as if she had just woken up. She continued then in a firmer more alert voice. "Sir I must report a strange experience. I may have to be relieved--,"

"Did you just take a shuttle over to the alien ship Trudy?" Cromwell asked. He could hear her sharp intake of breath over the bridge speaker.

"I did," Schultheiss responded as if unsure of herself. She continued: "It was me and you and Herr Crosby and Fraulein Picard. The assistant chief engineer—Brenkert, he was there as well."

Crosby asked her to standby. Mariel Picard was sitting listlessly in a chair at an auxiliary science station. She looked around. It was plain that she was baffled. "I was there too sir. Marcel—I mean Lieutenant Dieulafoy was there as well—I think." The Frenchwoman turned red.

What happened number one?" the captain asked Somers.

The first officer of the Daedelus told of how after they had communicated with the aliens and Cromwell had made his determination to lead the shore party the captain rather than going to the shuttle bay had returned to his chair. Somers had at first thought that Cromwell was going to make a log entry. When the captain had languished in his chair for a minute or two Somers had realized that something was wrong.

Cromwell looked at the viewscreen to see the saucer ship holding a stationary position relative to Daedelus. Michael wondered how necessary it was to open a channel to them when the voice intruded in his consciousness:

"We have no wish to harm your people. When we first came upon your world your people were in the process of arming themselves to kill one another. We are glad that has changed. Although I warn you captain: You bring your own danger with you."

Cromwell thought back:

"If you have these powers how did the Romulans invade your world?"

"We will not use our mental abilities to harm others. We hid long from our opponents but they have slaves who have enhanced mental abilities. Not as powerful as ours but they were enough. They savaged our world from a distance."

"Can you help us?"

"My ship was exploring when our world was overrun. Most of my people are scattered now. Some of us are making our way to a new world. We will settle there and stay hidden. We know little of the Romulans; yet I will give you something that may aid you."

Michael let out a moan as he felt the intrusive presence in his mind. He was vaguely aware of Somers racing to his help. The bridge vanished. He was near a stellar phenomenon of some sort: It was either a nebula or some sort of gas cloud. Static charges raced through the glowing miasma setting off a spectacular display of color. Cromwell gasped as his mind's eye sped to the cloud. A solid shape became visible as he got closer.

The bird of prey adorning the hull was charred in places. The green metal was burned and pitted. Cromwell noted that one of the warp nacelles had been torn away. He saw the cylindrical pod further in the distance. The captain of the Daedelus did not note any plasma discharge. Whatever had happened to the Sabinus had happened some time ago. The image in his mind changed again. He was racing away from the static discharging cloud. Cromwell saw the star field and intuitively realized that the image was burned into his mind. He could easily recreate the image so that it could be charted. The voice filled his mind again.

"Your people show much promise Cromwell. We will meet again when it is time. Goodbye."

The image of the saucer jumped to warp as Cromwell's mind returned to the bridge. The captain saw his bridge crew looking at him. He turned slowly in his chair. Everyone was puzzled except for Picard and Crosby. Mariel had a look on her face that could best be described as the look of one caught between wonder and joy. Crosby's expression was one of a man who had seen something horrible. Cromwell wondered what the intelligence officer had been treated to.

"Shall we pursue?" the first officer asked.

"They are making warp five sir," Chief Custis declared in amazement.

"I suppose that answers that commander," Cromwell answered. He sat back for a few seconds then continued. "Very well," Cromwell turned to Custis; "make a detailed scan of the area. We'll hold here number one, providing that we are clear to do so" he said to Somers. "In the meantime I want to see the CMO and you two," Cromwell motioned to Crosby and Picard then added: "Along with Houk, Mister Brenkert and Lieutenant Dieulafoy in conference."

"Aye aye sir," Somers replied.

"Oh yes, and get me our resident astronomer Lisa," Cromwell added. "We'll meet in conference room one in half an hour. You have the bridge number one."

Michael got up and left the bridge. The mental intrusion was unlike anything Cromwell had ever experienced. He paused in the cramped corridor looking in front and then behind him. Michael leaned against a bulkhead and shuddered. He had seen he image of the Sovereign's last minutes. Michael had relived falling to the deck screaming as he realized that his arm was gone. Then he experienced more unpleasant things: Cromwell's feeling of becoming some kind of mechanical monstrosity. But in his dream or illusion, somehow Schultheiss had helped him to overcome his feelings of self loathing.

The shuddering passed. Cromwell looked at his right arm as he stood straight. It really looked no different than his right arm. The captain wondered why it had ever been an issue with him. Cromwell bounded off to the conference room. He was anxious to draw the image of the star field so that the location that the aliens had clearly wanted him to know could be found. Maybe he would complete the refusion treatment on his nerve endings Cromwell thought. He promised himself to ask Trudy about the procedure when there was a little free time.