272

Uprising

The Judge Advocate's investigation lasted a week. When it concluded, Macen was turned over to Admirals Nechayev and Drake for administrative punishment. Macen briefly wondered what strings Nechayev had pulled to keep him from a general court martial but decided he'd rather not know. As it was, he had enough worries wondering what would happen to the rest of his team after it was disbanded.

"Have a seat, Commander." Nechayev ordered with a grating edge as Macen entered the office set aside for her at the Starbase.

His demotion had been the first, immediate consequence of his actions. It didn't bother him all that much. He'd stayed at his current rank for over two decades and his promotion had been too recent for it him to have adjusted to it yet. As an opening gambit to display displeasure and set him at unease, it was a wasted effort.

Macen was uneasy enough. He'd still not been given any information regarding the fare of his team and he was beginning to smoulder. Drake appeared almost as irritated as Macen, a quiet rage underlying her every gesture. Nechayev appeared as cool and in control as ever, the master manipulator rotating pieces on play.

"As you know, the SID is founded on the idea of allowing their commanders unilateral action in the field." Her voice was stern as she launched into her topic without preamble, "But that doesn't mean they should violate the normal SOP in front of dozens of witnesses."

"So it's not Spencer's death that bothers you, it's that we got seen accomplishing it." Macen observed dryly, "We both know public trial would have done nothing but embarrass the service and do nothing to redress what he'd done."

"The man was a stain upon Starfleet's honour." Nechayev replied, "And a trial would have been avoided to prevent unneeded sensationalism among the press."

Her eyes flashed, "But it would have been interesting to know how he eluded the normal checks and balances for so long and if he had any accomplices within the ranks."

"Ask your friends in Section 31." Macen retorted, "I'm sure they know."

Nechayev sighed even as every muscle in Drake's body clenched, "Brin, Section 31 is far more concerned with external threats than internal ones. But since we're on the topic, you are aware of the fact this Division is in fact Starfleet's response to the secrecy of Section 31?"

Macen spoke slowly as Drake shifted uneasily in her seat, "We were told we're meant to replace Section 31."

Macen watched lines form around Drake's face from her muscles straining as Nechayev answered, "Supplement, yes. Replace, no."

"What the hell?" the exasperated question escaped Macen's lips before he had time to think about it.

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of Nechayev's lips, "Section 31 was created by the Starfleet Charter. It won't simply fade because of recent notoriety. Revelations during the war indicated to Command that certain elements of Section 31 were operating outside their intended parameters. This is why the Special Investigations Division was created. Section 31 is being restricted to their original mission and you and your fellow agents will be Starfleet's special response to unusual situations."

"We're Section 31 with a pretty face for the press releases." Macen observed tartly.

Nechayev shrugged, "That's not how I would have phrased it, but the gist is the same."

It was Macen's turn to sigh in resignation, "So what happens now?"

"Now," Nechayev replied sharply, "I'll be accepting your request for retirement."

Macen looked stunned, "What?"

"You don't honestly expect to escape this one unscathed, do you Brin?"

"No." he admitted.

Nechayev allowed herself a thin smile; "It's not as bad as you seem to think. I still want you as an agent for SI and the SID in particular."

"Then why...?"

"The resignation?" she completed for him, "It's simple really, to grant you the freedom of action you'll take upon yourself anyway. You've remained a constant as Starfleet has changed around you. By removing Starfleet's regulations from your considerations, you remove your responsibility to adhere to them, which you won't anyway. It's not as though this can come as a surprise after the remarks you made to Admiral Drake here."

"In the end, this becomes the most equitable solution for all involved." She said with obvious satisfaction.

"And how, exactly, will this work?" he inquired somewhat sceptically.

Drake took over the explanations; "You'll retire at your current rank with full benefits and pensions. Starfleet Intelligence will establish a small freetrader company in your name. We'll provide you a ship and Letters of Marque granting you license as a privateer, private security agent, and investigator. Any members of your team that wish to accompany you are free to do so. For active Starfleet officers, that will involve a transfer to the inactive reserves but their commissions will be kept active in the promotion rosters. For your non-Starfleet associates, they will be corporate employees."

"Will I be free to refuse assignments?"

"Of course." Nechayev interjected, "But since we'll be providing a stipend and your ship, you probably won't want to do that very often."

"I see." He replied softly, analysing the implicit threat; "A counterproposal then, the ship is mine."

"Of course." Nechayev replied blithely.

"No, Admiral." Macen corrected, "The ship is mine in fact as well as name. I won't have the freedom of mobility and the options of choice you're promising unless I have the ship."

He paused an offered a wry smile, "Consider it an investment in case I opt to retire into mere surveying and scouting again."

Nechayev glanced towards Drake who gave her the barest nod in return, "Very well. Admiral Drake will see to the paperwork."

"So, when do I see this ship?"

Nechayev's brow rose at his cynical tone, "The ship is awaiting you in the Intelligence berth of the Utopia Planetia Yards."

"Had this planned for a while, did you?"

"The ship is a scoutship outwardly identical to that captained by your friend stranded in the Delta Quadrant with the starship Voyager."

"Chakotay." Macen murmured in remembrance of the Maquis captain and his crew.

"We acquired and adapted the vessel in preparation for an operation against the Maquis." Nechayev explained without inflection, mindful of Macen's sympathies, "The Dominion struck before the operation went into effect."

"Since that time," Drake resumed the explanative duties again; "the ship has awaited a mission and a crew."

"Sounds like you've found both." Macen conceded after a moment's deliberation, "Do you have her specs?"

Drake leaned forward to hand him a padd, "I don't think you'll have any complaints."

Macen's eyes widened as he began perusing the data, "I don't think I will."

After Macen departed, Drake gave Nechayev a weary look, "Did you really think Macen wouldn't figure it out Alynna?"

Nechayev sighed, "No, I knew he would. Just as he knew I'd figure out the meaning behind his cryptic comments to you. Dammit! He needs to learn when not to stick his nose into something."

"I think all the help Section 31 provided on this one was a major clue." Drake replied sarcastically.

"That wasn't my call." Nechayev grumped, "I asked them to keep an eye out in case the team needed help. I never knew they'd take action on their own."

"When haven't they? They're out of control."

"They're the most trusted operatives in Starfleet." Nechayev protested, "They're the guardians we've selected to act when we can't?"

"Have you ever heard the expression, 'who watches the watchmen'?" Drake asked softly, "I think it's a point you might want to ponder right about now."

With that said, Drake slid out of her chair and left the room. Nechayev didn't move for another fifteen minutes. When she did finally move, it was to swear violently. She then rose and departed with an expression carved in stone.

During this time, T'Kir also found a moment to place a discreet call to Lisea Danan. The Trill's features lit up in a self-satisfied smile when she recognised T'Kir.

"So, you finally figured it out?" Lisea's tone was pleasant and teasing.

T'Kir's apprehension drowned in confusion at the other woman's reply, "Figured what out?"

"You're feelings for Brin and his subsequent feelings for you." Lisea replied matter-of-factly.

T'Kir blinked in shock despite herself, "You've known?"

Lisea laughed lightly, "For years. I was probably the first one to figure it all out."

"How?" T'Kir blurted. "When? I mean... I'm so confused." She admitted ruefully.

"It wasn't hard." Lisea informed her, "Why d'you think he put up with your antics so long? Part of it was the challenge, sure, but there was also the fact he enjoyed the mental contest between you two."

"But what about you?" T'Kir asked, head whirling.

"We found each other at a time when both of us needed someone. We helped each other through some difficult days." T'Kir knew that description was an understatement, "Part of it was general loneliness and another part was dealing with shadows of the past. For me, that meant dealing with a new symbiot whose previous host had fantasised for years about a fling with Brin Macen."

T'Kir almost giggled, "Really?"

Lisea grinned wryly, "Between my own fascination with the man and those impulses, I didn't stand a chance."

"So, why'd you..?" T'Kir's question died unasked.

"Why'd I leave?" Lisea finished, "There were a lot of reasons. We'd drifted apart over the time spent apart during the war. Although I'd disagreed with Starfleet over the DMZ policies and their treatment of the Maquis, it was mostly the passions of youth."

"You're not that old." T'Kir observed dryly.

"No." Lisea admitted with a laugh, "But I'm a scientist. I never wanted to be a soldier. Neither did Brin, but he's willing to fight battles I'd rather avoid."

"The short and skinny of it is that we were no longer good for each other." Lisea admitted with a sigh, "Every discussion became a battle. Rather than meeting each day together, we faced it separately and then argued over whose way of dealing with it was correct."

"But, where...?" T'Kir faltered.

"Where does that leave you?" Lisea seemed to be reading her mind, "It leaves you in love with Brin, and he with you."

"But how do you know that?" T'Kir asked plaintively.

Lisea laughed again, "He'd sooner die then admit, even to himself. He's stubborn that way."

"Then how d'you know its true?"

"Because I know him." Lisea's answer rang with utter conviction, "You keep him from forming rigid patterns. He's used to being the unpredictable one, but you keep him sharp. You think in ways he couldn't conceive of. Most of all, you have the ability to cross some bridge that he won't talk about, but I know I couldn't."

The currents! T'Kir realised with a start, That and the mental bonds like he had with Arinae. Lisea couldn't provide those, but I can.

Lisea's eyes narrowed as she studied T'Kir's reaction, "I see you know what I'm talking about."

T'Kir opened her mouth, whether to explain or protest she never knew for Lisea cut her off, "Whatever it is, I'm glad to see that someone can finally meet those needs."

She sighed before continuing, "Now, you're going to have to be patient, which isn't your strong suite. He'll admit this all to himself eventually, but it could take awhile. All you can do is encourage him to realise it a little sooner. That and accept the fact that subtlety won't work here."

"When d'you think I should confront him?"

"Give it awhile yet." Lisea urged, "Whatever it is you've discovered, he's probably just discovered it too. Let him dwell on it for awhile. It'll start to haunt him soon enough and then he'll be ripe for the picking."

A coy smile tugged at T'Kir's lips, "You're a sly one."

"And don't ever forget it." Lisea warned, "Good luck to you, both of you."

T'Kir reached a hand towards the screen, "That means a lot."

Epilogue

Unsurprisingly, or perhaps more surprisingly, the entire team opted to stay together. They were all crammed together in a runabout on its way to Utopia Planetia. The shuttle was returning to the massive shipyard complex orbiting Mars for an upgrade package. The SID team had been allowed to pilot it in lieu of waiting for the daily shuttle.

Grace handled the helm while T'Kir sat beside her at Ops. Macen manned the Science console and Dracas occasionally tapped a control on the Engineering console he sat in front of. Daggit, Kort and Radil lounged in the tiny crew compartment at the rear of the craft. An occasional crash and din reminded the cabin crew of their compatriots in the back.

"Does anyone want to check on them?" Grace asked after the fourth raucous outburst.

Macen swivelled away from the screen he was reading and gave her a dry look, "Do you really want to know what they're up to?"

"Well, ah, I…" Grace hemmed.

"I really don't want to know." T'Kir said, shooting her friend a warning glare; "I don't think my universal paradigm can afford to be warp shifted without a deflector array right now."

Grace returned her attention to her helm controls but occasionally muttered under her breath. T'Kir and Macen exchanged knowing smirks before she flicked her eyes towards Dracas. The engineer had not spoken once since boarding the craft. Macen shrugged and received a strident clearing of her throat in reply.

Macen swivelled his seat to face Dracas but the engineer broke his long silence without ever turning from his instruments, "I appreciate the concern but I really don't want to talk about it. If and or when I do, I'll let you know."

Macen faced T'Kir and shrugged, Grace intervened by announcing; "We're here."

Utopia Planetia's traffic control system hailed to challenge them as to their purpose and destination. Once the controller accepted their identity, docking proceeded swiftly. Less than thirty minutes later, they disembarked from the runabout and were being led to a shuttlepod that would transfer them to the Special Projects yards. No one commented on their civilian attire, yielding a great deal of information of how often they saw covert operatives pass through.

A fresh-faced ensign met them at the pod's docking collar, "Are you the Outbound Venture's crew?"

Macen managed not to smirk at the ensign's relief as Macen nodded assent, "Thank goodness. I've been running behind schedule and was afraid I'd missed you. The Commodore would bust me back to ferrying parts to Io and back if you'd filed a complaint."

"Made that many enemies already?" Macen inquired with amusement.

The ensign grinned, "Only one but when he's also your CO, it doesn't help matters any."

"What did you do?" Grace asked with undisguised glee, "Pull a barrel roll inside drydock or what?"

The ensign's cheeks coloured slightly as he cleared his throat, "Nothing like that, miss. I just happened to… well, they found me… and…"

"I take it you were found in a… potentially compromising position." Macen offered.

"Yessir." The ensign affirmed gratefully.

"And you weren't alone?"

"Nossir." The ensign breathed guiltily.

"And this someone is rather close to the Commodore?" Macen asked as lights dawned in Grace's eyes.

"Daughter, sir." The ensign said with as much dignity as he could muster.

"Well, carry on and be more discreet in the future." Macen offered, "We won't file a complaint if you get us there in one piece. I can't make that promise if we arrive piecemeal, so I'd be sure to get us there intact."

The ensign blinked and then a dopey grin spread across his face as he comprehended the remark, "If you'd like to get underway?"

The ensign's piloting skills were obviously far superior to his proficiency at clandestine romantic liaisons. The Special Projects Yard was located within the Service Vessel Decommissioning Centre. Starfleet maintained three centres tasked with stripping classified materials and weaponry from retiring starships, surveyors, runabouts, and shuttles. The ships would then be transferred to private interests, such as colonies and research organisations, or transferred to one of two "graveyard" sectors for storage until being purchased or scrapped.

The Decommissioning Centre also accepted the occasional contract to upgrade civilian vessels or refit them for Federation contracts. Working under the pretence of upgrading vessels, the appropriately named SPYards projects effectively hid in plain sight. The pod transited the bulk of the Centre at a leisurely pace. Shortly after entering the SPYards, the ensign pointed out their intended vessel.

Demonstrating a fine sense of the dramatic, he brought the pod towards the Yards docking collar in an arc that rounded about their new ship. Outwardly, she was a Ju'day-class scout dating from the earlier part of the century. The Maquis had relied heavily upon these ships and their smaller courier class cousins. Starfleet still used its cousin, the Peregrine-classfighter. The couriers still frequented colonial regions, seeing as they remained the most inexpensive means to swiftly deliver goods and data.

Although the scoutship models had been popular amongst private surveying firms and prospectors, Starfleet never adopted them. This accounted for their shorter production life since supply soon outstripped demand. Private firms also found them difficult to maintain over long periods owing to advances in other designs that allowed them to reduce on-board personnel requirements. In the end, the Maquis and other colonist groups acquired most of the remaining hulls and converted them to privateers.

The raptor-like design retained both the sleek and menacing features of its biological inspirers. Forward swept wings encapsulated the warp nacelles recessed within the hull. Each wing mounted a phaser cannon in addition to the strip arrays housed within the hull. Torpedo launchers protruded just forward of the leading edge of the warp nacelles and aft microtorpedo launchers were housed to either side of the impulse exhaust.

The arrowhead shaped forward section, housing the bridge, was held in the docking clamps securing it to the port facility. A gantry extended forth to establish an access umbilical between the station and the ship. Everyone crowded together towards the front of the pod, eliciting a laugh from the pilot. Chagrined, the team gave him room so he could align the pod for docking.

The ensign gave them a cheery farewell as they disembarked and headed for their ship's docking port. Another officer awaited them. She wore Lieutenant's insignia and Engineering departmental colours. As a Benzite, she also wore a methane emitter to enable her to comfortably withstand an oxygenated atmosphere. Unfortunately, as T'Kir whispered in Grace's ear, her gold uniform blouse did nothing for her azure complexion.

"Captain Mackin?" she asked.

T'Kir stifled a giggle as Macen's eyebrow rose in annoyance, "That's Macen, like stonemason."

The Benzite nodded in acknowledgement but still seemed utterly stumped as to what he was referring to, "Sorry, sir. I have here the papers transferring ownership of this vessel to you. As requested, she has been licensed and registered in the Federation rolls to Outbound Ventures, Inc. She is the NDR 35117 SS Eclipse. All that is required at this point is for you to acknowledge and verify receipt of the vessel."

She thrust a padd towards Macen and he accepted it with a wary eye, "You don't mind if I review this do you?"

"I would expect you to."

Macen began his review of the data with a shake of his head. He could've sworn he heard T'Kir stifling a snicker. He quickly ran a search for loopholes or stipulations inserted by either Drake or Nechayev that would allow them to seize the vessel later. Finding none, he applied his thumb to the sensor and authorised the necessary paperwork submissions.

He handed the padd back to the lieutenant, "Here you go."

The engineer then inspected the padd, as though trying to see of Macen had altered the text any. Macen rolled his eyes as her head bobbed up and down as she scrolled through the text. T'Kir looked as though she were undergoing a seizure in her rather unsuccessful attempt to contain her mirth. The rest of the team, with the exception of Radil, was just getting anxious to inspect their new ship.

"Everything appears to be in order." The Benzite agreed.

"Finally." Dracas muttered.

"If you would gather your belongings and follow me." The lieutenant commanded politely.

Since no one had anything larger than a duffel, it was an easy chore. Macen wondered if the officer had been part of a marching band or drill team during her stint at the Academy. She seemed rather enthusiastic about maintaining a precise stride. He heard Daggit murmur something about "frog marching" under his breath.

No sooner had they entered the ship than the lieutenant whirled unexpectedly and began loudly describing their surroundings as she pointed in the indicated direction, "Now that we're aboard, it's best to begin by explaining that this ship contains three decks. The ship itself has a length of 80 metres, thus making it 10 metres shorter than the typical Raven-class vessel that has largely supplanted this ship class. We are now standing on Deck One, just aft of the Bridge module. Deck One also contains the Captain's Office, a Science Lab, the Sickbay, a Conference Room and the personnel transporter. There is a lift access at each end of the ship, the aft lift accessing the Engineering Room."

"Deck One also possesses two lavatories which include sonic showers. Each deck possesses identical facilities in addition to those found in Sickbay." She announced.

"What about the quarters?" Grace asked in a slightly alarmed voice.

"I shall explain that subsequently as I describe Deck Two." The Benzite replied coldly, "Deck Two contains the maintenance and control access points for the forward and aft torpedo magazines and launchers. The navigational deflector array is also most easily serviced on this deck. Crews' quarters are found on this deck as well as the galley, recreation lounge and upper level of Engineering. Engineering takes up one third of the area of both Decks Two and Three. Both Decks provide access directly to the Engine Room as well as the lifts to other decks."

"There are sixteen crew berthing compartments. The Captain and First Officer's quarters are twice size of the rest of the quarters. They are also the only ones equipped with private lavatory facilities." She ignored the stunned stares of the team as she continued her description, "Six of the remaining berths are configured single occupancy. The remaining eight berths are fitted with bunk beds in order to accommodate two occupants."

"Deck Three contains the Brig, Armoury, Cargo Bays and Stores in addition to the rest of the Engine Room compartment." The lieutenant hurled headlong to the conclusion of her presentation, "All quarters are equipped with beverage replicators. Meals must be obtained from the galley replicators. The Bridge, Sickbay, Lab, Engineering, Office and Brig are also fitted with refreshment replicators in addition to any other replicating units they may possess."

"Any questions?" the cheeriness of her query belied the dull monotone with which she had delivered her verbal tour.

"Did the provisions and equipment I requested arrive?" Macen asked, breaking the stunned silence.

"Yes." Came the clipped answer, "All requested materials have already been transferred aboard and placed in their appropriate storage areas."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Macen replied, refusing to acknowledge the huffy tone in the Starfleet officer's voice, "I'm sure you have other duties to attend to."

"I certainly do." She replied with an attitude that her time had been wasted on insufferable fools. She pushed past the SID team milling about in the corridor and headed through the docking umbilical.

"That was certainly an experience." Daggit mused after a moment's silent pause.

The nervous tension broke and Dracas demanded, "Can we see the ship now?"

After sharing a laugh at the childlike urgency in their engineer's the team moved in unison to the bridge. The door slid open to reveal something never seen aboard this class of ship before. It was as though Starfleet had taken the bridge of a Defiant-class starship and dropped it into the scout. Grace rushed forward and plopped herself behind the flight controls.

"Amazing" Dracas muttered as he headed for the Engineering station mounted in the bulkhead to the left of the centrally located Conn. He activated the display and began scrolling through the data he'd requested. At the station beside his, Daggit and Radil were inspecting the Tactical station. Kort excused himself to familiarise himself with the Sickbay.

T'Kir moved to the station to the right of the Conn. Typically, a Defiant style bridge boasted a Science station here. On this craft, the station was an Operations Management console. The normal auxiliary Tactical station to her right was instead a Mission Specialist and Library computer post. Macen ran his fingers across its surface.

"Hey," T'Kir's voice jutted him from his reverie, "that's not yours. That is."

She nodded towards the chair located in the centre of the area. The Command chair retained the two control panels to either side of it that had become so popular with the Defiant-class designers. Macen studied it for a moment and then shook his head. He smiled as he saw her puzzled reaction.

"This is my area of expertise." He confided in a low voice, "I'm more comfortable here."

She pondered his words for a moment then shrugged, "Maybe, but for now, we need you in the other chair."

Macen sighed, "I know."

"Ah ha!" Dracas' outburst caught everyone by surprise, "Because of the comparable dimensions, several aspects of the Defiant-class escort type have been incorporated into the ship. These aspects include, but are not limited to: The Bridge, the Engine room, the pulse phaser cannons, the Sickbay, personnel quarters, the mess, the Security office/Armoury and the Brig."

Dracas looked up from his reading, "My God! I have to get to the engine room!"

The sheer manic delight on his face as he rushed out was enough to alleviate Macen's concerns for his engineer for now. Dracas missed Daggit's, "Pulse phasers? All right!"

"I wonder of this thing still manoeuvres like a bat out of hell?" Grace could be heard wondering aloud.

Macen glanced towards T'Kir, "Want to go stake a claim on some quarters before the rush is on?"

She nodded vigorously, "Out! Before they figure out we're missing."

T'Kir took the quarters alongside Macen's. She was slightly miffed his were twice the size of hers and had its own restroom. She shrugged it off, knowing that brooding about it wouldn't change anything. Then again, it might get the bulkhead between our quarters removed, she mused. She warned herself not to dwell on that topic for any length of time.

Not having much to unpack, she'd finished already. Bored, she headed for Macen's quarters. She toggled the door chime and waited a moment before being granted access.

"Hey." Macen grunted in greeting. T'Kir stared in undisguised disbelief. Somehow he'd managed to get a cube reader in his room. She wondered how he'd fit it in his luggage.

"Where'd you get the reader?" she demanded.

"Ship's stores." He replied, then seeing her uncomprehending expression elaborated with, "Remember that equipment I asked our not so friendly tour guide about?"

"It's entertainment cubes?"

He shrugged, "Some of it. There are enough readers for every cabin, the Sickbay, the CO's office and the Science lab. Most of its surplus uniforms and Bajoran small arms."

"Uniforms?" she asked sceptically.

He nodded, "Starfleet's been stockpiling the things like mad for over a century as they've kept fiddling with the uniform. I put in word with Drake that if certain items were available that they would probably be useful to us."

"And Bajoran small arms?" her voice retained its dubious tone.

"Hand phasers and rifles." He answered cheerfully, "All our tricorders and communicators should be of Bajoran design as well."

"Why?"

"We're familiar with them after our time with the Maquis, they're more recent models than the Starfleet surplus out there and I'd rather deal with Bajorans than the Ferengi any day."

"True." She conceded at last with a smile, "So what about this ship's name? Was that your idea?"

Macen nodded, "I thought it would be appropriate."

"And the fact the Nova-class ship who's command you turned down to join the Maquis bore the same name has no bearing in this decision?" she teased.

"Of course not." He grinned.

"You need to learn how to lie better." She laughed.

"Maybe you can teach me." He suggested.

"Hey!"

He rose and approached her, "Don't go off your meds again."

"I won't." she sighed.

He tapped the end of her nose with his finger, "You'd better not be lying to me."

"Thus beginneth the first lesson?" she inquired hopefully.

"No." he replied sternly, "I need you here. I don't think I can do this without you."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

She suddenly hugged him fiercely. He returned the hug affectionately. After a moment, they parted and T'Kir wore a pensive expression. When it remained after several heartbeats, Macen inquired as to her thoughts.

"So what is our mission again?"

"Merely to save the universe from itself." He answered with a laugh.

"Oh. You're right. You need me."

He embraced her again and she smiled in contentment. A year ago, her life had been bereft of purpose and she'd been isolated from those she cared for. Now she amongst those that meant the most to her and she was making a difference again. No matter what life threw at her, she was ready to face it.