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.

25. Chapter 25

Washington DC, the old United States, Nov 2157

"You've sacrificed a lot President Harris," United Earth President Christophur Thorpe declared. He shook the hand of the older man. Donald Harris was a thinly built dark skinned American with a thick, wooly pate of white hair.

"I could probably be reelected," Harris answered. "The Federal government will go the way of the Canadian and British Parliaments I reckon: Ceremonial for the most part. But our adolescence is over." Thorpe was about to agree when Harris continued. "I don't mean American adolescence; I mean for the human race. We had missiles buried out in the Dakotas; the Eacos had them buried in the mountains of Iran. Funny thing: If the Romulans had just waited another five years or so we'd probably have taken care of our own selves for them."

"You don't think that Glenn would have actually done that?" Thorpe asked the new American president. There had been many revelations these past few days Christophur knew. Glenn's private journal relating his desire to return America to the days of the Progressives had come to light.

"Todd needed an issue," Harris answered. Thorpe watched as the man bit at his lower lip. "And he had a romantic notion of government. I guess it never occurs to some people that folks can do just fine without a commissar in everyone's home." Harris laughed: "Too lazy to be a farmer, too stupid to be an engineer."

"What do you mean?" Christophur asked. The words registered on Thorpe's memory but he could not recall their origin.

"Just some words from a classic author," Harris answered. "My memory is getting fuzzy lately. I wish the Pointies were still around. Their docs had a treatment for that. But I was just thinking about the political class as a whole." Harris looked at Thorpe with a piercing gaze. "We politicians—and I'm including myself; we get into this because we can talk a good talk; not much good for anything else. Sometimes character creeps in and there is a leader who lives up to the image. But mostly we bumble through and hope to hell that we can live up to the great ones when the boys have to be put into harm's way." Harris eyed him so harshly that it was all Christophur could do to not turn away. "Finish this thing Mister President; not to go down in the history books or win another election, but to have some kind of final resolution for those who have died. And don't put those people in harm's way without any intention of following through."

"I might end up being one of those bumblers," Thorpe answered. Harris' shrewd assessment of the situation had weighed heavily upon Thorpe ever since the war had begun. "I just wanted to do good things and do my part to foul up government so that the people had the most freedom possible." Thorpe stood up and walked over to the Oval Office window. The serene garden below was in the final throws of seasonal decline. "Now I find myself at the head of what may well be the first stirrings of empire."

"You can't see the future sir," Harris answered. "But this federation of yours won't be worth a hill of beans if it's founded on secrets. Is there a secret agency operating in the background Thorpe?" Harris asked abruptly. "I'll tell you what though: If I find out that there is I'll withdraw the US from the world government. Yes sir I will; in a heartbeat."

"I've had my people investigating that very thing President Harris," Thorpe responded. He turned and faced the man. He had heard the rumors himself since the assassination of Glenn. The suicide of Sheibani would raise even more questions. The crash of the Tehran Express had diverted the people's eyes for the moment. "I was about to issue you a lengthy legal reply. But I'm going to speak simply instead: I don't know. I would never sanction such a thing. I've had people investigating to no end."

"We've gotten the preliminary findings back from the freighter crash," Harris said as he joined Christophur by the window. "You know that someone on the crew was…

"Augmented?" the word hung in the air like an obscenity spoken among refined people. Thorpe continued. "I waited for your people to do the work. The implications are disturbing to say the least."

"I know that some survived the purges after the Eugenics War," Harris said, "but those individuals supposedly integrated into society. My experts tell me that their particular genes would have been diluted into the larger pool of normal humans. Are you going to order blood screenings sir?"

"No," Thorpe answered. His imagination had run wild when the word of genetically enhanced human beings had surfaced. He had no idea what would happen when a war weary population received that horrifying bit of information. But Christophur knew that whatever happened, it would not be good. "It is entirely possible that the whole thing is a coincidence. Could you imagine being an augment in our society?"

Harris laughed. "I reckon it would be about the same as it was for people with my skin color three hundred years ago; or Jews throughout history. Okay I suppose that some descendent of an augment might have been earning a living with this Hansu Corporation. They seemed shady enough." Thorpe knew that Harris was referring to the mysterious company that had backed the Sons' of Terra.

"I don't have much on them," Thorpe said. "Their company officers seemed to have vanished. But the company's founder was a bit of an eccentric."

"Arik Soong?" the US president asked in reply. "I had heard that he was killed on Deneva."

"No one knows," Thorpe answered. His investigators had been very interested in the billionaire. The Unified Intelligence Service had checked out a rumor that the scientist turned investor had surfaced for awhile on Mars. But that lead had turned cold.

"I'll turn over all of our law enforcement data to your people Thorpe," Harris said. "I suppose there won't be much of a need for national law enforcement services much longer anyway."

"You're right about our adolescence President Harris," Thorpe said after a long pause. "The Romulans forced us to see something greater than ourselves."

"Kinda sad really," Harris said. "I remember when my daughter left home for college. It occurred to me that a child was walking out the door but an adult was leaving the house. Our kids won't have this good old earth to protect us anymore."

"It'll still be here," Thorpe said; "for our children to come back and visit sometime."

Langley, Virginia, the old United States, earth Nov 2157

The surprised officers and NCO's snapped to attention at Thorpe's entrance. He had not scheduled the visit to Langley. But he had business with Admiral Soames. His conversation with President Harris came back to haunt his thoughts. Thorpe had other business in the Stellar Navy's office of Naval Intelligence. But his suspicion that only a select number of individuals could run a shadow intelligence agency weighed heavily on him. Admiral Erica Soames was one of the people on that list. She too sprang to attention when he entered her office. Thorpe was alone having abandoned his dour security detachment. Sometimes he almost wished that someone would try to assassinate him so that the man and woman would have the opportunity to exercise their skills.

"Mister President," Soames began.

"I know that this is unannounced admiral. I'm sorry." Thorpe motioned for the woman to take her seat. He sat opposite her after observing the sunny view outside of her window.

"I thought that this building—

"It is a hologram sir," the admiral answered. "A childish self-indulgence really; this place was a dungeon when I set up shop in here."

"I see what you mean." Thorpe had the same feeling beneath the government seat in San Francisco. Thorpe watched as the admiral stared back at him calmly. Are you breaking the law; he wanted to ask her. Her body language betrayed nothing however and he had the report from the NIS. According to Admiral Vasilof his best investigator had checked Soames out. Thorpe recalled the man's name as being Steed or Reed or some such. Soames had not been observed doing anything untoward.

"I need someone to go to Vulcan," he said at last. "The same prohibitions apply here as before Erica. Soval wants someone who is not in the spy game as it were."

"Tara, I mean Lieutenant Commander Gupta has been silent for some time now." Soames sat down at her desk. "Thank you for signing off on his promotion sir. It is a bloody pity that he won't know about it for awhile. But I relayed your desire for him to go to ground until help arrives there."

"Soval believes that if V'Las' control of their communication network is broken then his government will collapse." Thorpe knew that there were a lot of ifs in his last statement. "I believe that Soval may not help the Federation; but nor will he ally with the Romulans; that in itself will be a help."

"We'll be in a bloody mess if they do hold hands with the Birdies," Soames answered. "They could well split the alliance planets and pick us off one at a time."

"Exactly what Admiral Forrest fears," Thorpe answered. It was also his fear as well. He wondered how the feelings of benevolence generated by the Vulcans had turned to this distrust.

"But if they discover us sneaking our blokes in sir…

There is still the admiral's final option for the Vulcans. Thorpe reeled inside as he realized that he had almost said final solution. "I don't want to be responsible for destroying a civilization that has existed for thousands of years." He looked around to make sure that they were alone. "Things are not going well out there Erica. You know that there have been increased incidents between Vulcan and Andorian cruisers. I can only expect the Shahar to concede for so long."

"This Soval seems to be on the level." Thorpe noted how Soames British accent made part of Soval's name rhyme with vow. "But I have to wonder here Mister President; what if he can't hold a coalition government together? From what I've studied and Tara has sent me it seems that any new government there would be beholden to these Syrranites. Perhaps this Syrran himself will choose to take up the reins."

"At least the Syrranites are pacifists and won't support the Romulans anymore than they would support us." Thorpe hoped that proposition was true. Soames echoed his desire in that regard.

"So we are at the meat of it at last admiral." Christophur was not going to play politic here. "Do you have a suitable candidate to sneak onto Vulcan?"

"I have an ensign in my command that could go," Soames answered.

"Frank McCoy?" he asked. He saw how her face registered surprise at his knowledge. Thorpe also noted how quickly her expression returned to normal. "A lot of things have been happening lately Erica: President Glenn's assassination raises more questions than the Putin assassination ever did. Now we've discovered that at least one of the Tehran Express' crewmen was something more than human. You were flying that night weren't you admiral?"

"Since you were or are investigating me then you know I was up there sir." She rocked back in her seat. "I am still a rated pilot and still enjoy flying." Thorpe could hear the terseness in her voice. "I am limited to non-aerobatics. You also know that I put in for a space assignment at the very beginning of this thing. I was turned down for the same reason that my flight status was curtailed: A lame inner ear. If you think I'm subverting the government sir I am sure that you could waiver my physical shortcomings and put me aboard a cruiser as intel officer. I'll take a demotion and pay cut sir. I just wanted to fly to clear my mind sir. This Topaz conundrum has us all on edge."

Thorpe wanted to believe her. Soames had indeed retained her limited flight status. But save for a few light civilian aircraft flights had not flown a military craft for some months. He realized that in lieu of any evidence that he had to take the woman at face value. "I can't spare you here Erica. No one has a handle on this Romulan situation like you do. No demotion; okay, you were out for a recreational flight. But I do know that McCoy is on leave for a personal loss. I need someone to ship out for Vulcan next week at the latest."

"McCoy has a diverse background," Soames answered. "Also looking at it realistically Frank is no more or less prepared for this than Tara was. His girlfriend chose to associate with the wrong people sir," Soames continued. "I cautioned Frank concerning his involvement with someone from the Sons' of Terra. I was mainly concerned about his complicity in their activities while he wore the uniform—he distanced himself from that. I never saw what did happen however."

"No one did," Thorpe answered. The Sons' of Terra had brought home the lessons of history to Thorpe. Playing politics at a time of war seemed to belong to the madness of earth's past. That the Sons had convinced many that humans had invited the attack only added to the sense of bedlam that the situation created for Christophur. "At least the movement seems to be dying; what with poor Todd Glenn's murder, the killing of this woman and President Sheibani's repudiation of the movement in his suicide note."

"We are winning too sir," Soames answered. "If we resolve the Pointie issue it seems as if we can finally come to grips with the Birds. At any rate we will have the ships necessary to retake Topaz."

"That needs to happen soon." Thorpe recalled Max Forrest's warning about Topaz. Some of those Sabinus and Veronus class cruisers could carry the equipment necessary to build shipyards. "That is why this mission to Vulcan is so important. Right now retaking Topaz would be suicide; in more ways than one."

"We would lose the majority of Star Fleet in attempting to get past those new plasma cannons," Soames agreed grimly. "That is before we even arrived over Topaz Prime. The science lads are hard at it coming up for a counter. It doesn't make it any easier with all of these Birdie small ship tactics. The people out there," Thorpe knew that she meant those in space putting their lives on the line for all of them. "They are calling them wolf packs like an ancient German navy once used."

Thorpe got up. "Just put Star Fleet on Topaz before the middle of next year admiral. You know that Forrest estimates that if we take any longer they could become so well entrenched that the entire planet would have to be bombed to retake it."

"I'm aware of the time constraint sir," Soames answered. "I'll inform Frank of the trip. It has been hard for him but I think that he is the best one suited to do this. Just what you think an extra man could do there is beyond me sir. But then again Tara has averted a few disasters for us by being there."

"Very good admiral," he said as he took her hand and shook it. She saluted smartly. "I'll see you for the sitrep next week in San Francisco?"

"Lieutenant Tom Vanwinkle is coming along," Soames answered. "I'm going to have him present the weekly. But, not to worry sir," she said and smiled ruefully. "I'll be there to bail him out if he gets in any trouble."

Thorpe bid the admiral a good day and departed. Was Soames telling him the truth he wondered? Thorpe wanted to take her at her word. But he had read enough history to understand that the temptation to influence policy and make things right frequently ended in disaster. He retrieved his body guards on the way out of the building.

"It'll be good to get back to Frisco sir," Joachim Hernandez said in an uncharacteristic display of openness.

"Don't like this snow eh?" Thorpe asked the man. He knew that his male body guard had grown up in California whereas his female counterpart was a native of Germany.

"It's okay I suppose sir," Hernandez answered. "I prefer to ski on liquid water though."

"What about you Mariska?" he asked the German. Thorpe guessed that she had not spoken more than fifty words to him since she had been assigned to his detail. The woman seemed to like working out mostly Thorpe recalled.

Mariska Helm opened the door to Thorpe's aircar as she said: "Yah; it will be good to get back. I was hoping to pump some iron and pull the wings off of some defenseless insects, sir."

Construction Site of Deep Space One, Nov 2157

Crusher wiped at the thin trickle of drool that was on his mouth. He realized that he must have fallen asleep. He would normally be embarrassed as he lay slumped over a console in a small chamber with twenty or thirty other people. But not this night, or day or whatever it was. It was nightmare time. The shaking of Deep Space One from repeated near misses had stirred Jason out of his fitful nap.

The room was dark as several of the light fixtures had exploded. The acrid smell of burning insulation and electrical component s assaulted Crusher's nostrils. Jason's head pounded; Doctor Howard had started administering Hyronaline to all of the humans and Andorians. Crusher remembered that Tellarites had a higher resistance to radiation. Clemmons returned to the chamber. Jason watched as he swung his visor and took a sip of water from a small bottle.

"Right now it's a question of rather the vacuum would kill you before the rads did outside the station." Jason grew ill as the chief waved a packet of combat rations under his nose. "I'm bettin' your head feels like it's going to explode boss. You better try to eat something."

"I think I'll pass Jack," Jason answered.

"Hyronaline is wicked stuff," Clemmons stated. "I know." When Crusher asked him how he had obtained his knowledge he replied:

"Back in the forties you probably remember readin' about it at your academy. The government detailed the navy to clean up and dismantle the old fission reactors that were still around. Me and my crew were detailed to take apart the one in the Yunnan Valley. Some of the old concrete gave out: The thing had survived an airburst in its day ya know. Anyway we discovered that some of the core material was still intact. It dropped and heated up before we could do much. I was lucky got some bad exposure but nothin' the Hyronaline couldn't cure. A few of my buddies were close to it though. They burned up from the inside out; some of them died in minutes. Me; I just got a couple doses of medicine lost a little hair and my old guitar."

Crusher fought his nausea down and started to eat. "You play guitar Jack?" he asked as his feelings of sickness abated with each bite of the combat ration bar.

"I used to," he answered. "It pleased my granddaddy. We Clemmons are supposed to have had some sort of big musician in our family tree; played rock and roll and country music."

"Rock music; that was like the same time as baroque?" Crusher asked. His knowledge of ancient music forms was sketchy at best. Jason guessed that country music had something to do with nationalism.

"Might as well have been," Clemmons answered. "I used to play music by a fella name of Hank Williams. He was my granddad's favorite. Lord knows why: That stuff would cause the dog to howl somethin' fierce." Crusher laughed as he tried to imagine what could sound like that to offend an animal's ears. Or was Jack yanking his chain again he wondered.

Jason was feeling much better except for the fatigue. He gripped the console as the station rocked yet again. Clemmons somehow held his place despite standing without aid. He looked at the blinking emergency lights which cycled, momentarily plunging the auxiliary environmental control station into darkness save for the dim glow of the instrument panel lights.

"Alert, alert, engineering teams to docking arm three," the voice of the station's first officer boomed out of the overhead speaker as the lights came back up.

"Damn!" the chief exclaimed. "Let's get going Mister Crusher. Ain't no ships going to dock there anytime soon but there are four laser turrets along that section that we need."

Crusher pulled himself to his feet uneasily. His head swam for a few seconds; one of the side effects of Hyronaline. Jason realized that the unfinished docking section in question was little more than a skeletal outline right now. One small temporary, flexible corridor acted as a gangway for access to the four Ultra-Zeus laser turrets that dotted the arm. If the Birdies had waited another month Jason reflected bitterly they would have completed the wafer shaped docking bay at the end of the arm. That bay would've held yet more laser turrets as well as a standby fusion reactor.

Crusher swung the visor of his helmet closed and followed after the chief. Jason smelled a reek. He realized that sour smell was his own body. He had taken a shower a day and a half ago he thought; or had it been longer? The two men stalked out into the central junction. Pieces of trash and uniforms littered the corridor; the flotsam of yet another pressure blow out that had been repaired. Crusher's stomach lurched as he stepped off of the gravity web. Clemmons had recommended that the central section lift tubes' artificial gravity be deactivated. Crusher knew that travel in zero g was the quickest way around the station: Especially as only one lift had been installed before the attack anyway.

Crusher pushed himself along the lift's track towards the junction of the central core and docking arm three. The warning blinker inside his helmet flashed persistently: Radiation. The lighting died again. Jason switched on his suit lights. The red glow of emergency lighting showed him where the junction to the beleaguered area lay.

"Looks like the mouth of hell doesn't it Mister Crusher?" Clemmons asked.

"I could think of a lot better places to be," he answered. He wondered what his older brother had seen before the end. Did David Wesley Crusher die quickly or were his last few seconds full of the terror generated by the foreknowledge of his death? Jason was rescued from his morbid thoughts by Clemmon's voice.

"Not me," the chief said. The two cycled through to the airless service corridor for docking arm three. "Oh I'd be nuts to want to be here getting my ass shot off. But that is what we signed up for. We get to see the wonders of the universe and in return when the folks at home need protectin', well here we are. You know something Mister Crusher? Those wonders are worth getting your ass shot off for. And it is worth being here so the people at home can have their lives."

"I never saw it that way," Crusher answered. The lectures of countless officer and NCO instructors came back to him. Those lectures about duty and fidelity had seemed pointless at the time. Crusher jumped as a gauntlet struck his helmet.

Jason shuddered. It was only an abandoned piece of a space suit. He hoped that a hand was not inside of it. He floated past a hatch leading to a laser turret. The gauge in his helmet showed radiation well into the lethal range. Crusher guessed that without his suit he would die in less than a minute. Crusher's handheld read past the intense contamination to reveal nothing out of the way ahead of them. The flexible corridor swung dangerously.

"Looks like they are hammering us here hoss," Clemmons declared.

Crusher was about to agree when another voice intruded over his helmet speaker. "Turrets two and eight in docking arm three aren't responding. We aren't getting any fire support out of them either." Jason recognized the voice as Captain Archer's.

"Crusher here captain," he answered. "We'll split up and investigate." He rolled over slowly and faced Clemmons. "Two is right up here Jack. You check that out; I'll move to check eight."

Crusher glided slowly forward. It should be about thirty meters to the turret hatch he thought. His radiation indicator flashed. The self-contained warning system squawked an audible tone into his helmet as he passed a small rent in the gangway wall. The automatic flash suppressor saved his vision as a Birdie nuke exploded out in space. Jason moved faster. The hatch to laser turret eighth was dead ahead. It seemed to be undamaged.

Crusher slowed himself using some handholds. He stopped before the turret turning slowly before the hatch's bullseye. The light of a distant explosion faded away to the velvet blackness of space. The blister that should have held the Ultra Zeus laser turret and its two gunners was gone. Crusher stared mutely at the stars.

"It's a mess in here hoss," Clemmons voice burst over his helmet speaker. "The crew has had it; looks like the aux fire control computer is tits up too."

"We've got to reestablish the trunking to the main fire control computer," a voice came out of Jason's mouth. The delicate electro-optical cables had been severed by a freakish shrapnel impact. A piece of metal had neatly sliced into the cable bundle at one of the view points that were not armored.

"We can try splicin' through the comm cable," Clemmons voice returned as Crusher shoved himself down the corridor. "It won't carry all of the data but it should be enough to let them slave this baby to the main fire control computer."

Crusher agreed. He held out his hands and glided to a stop. Clemmons had closed the hatch behind him after entering the turret. Crusher used the manual entry handle. The padded door slid open. A helmet floated out past him. This piece of flotsam was occupied. Crusher squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered as he saw the pulverized remains of the gunner's head in the space helmet. He remembered her as being a pretty enlisted girl, fresh out of space training. Part of her face had been recognizable through the gore.

"Watch out Mister Crusher," Clemmons voice warned him as the enlisted man ejected the remains of the other gunner and the rest of Helen Vucavich's body. "You okay?" the chief asked as the two faced each other; helmets nearly touching. Jason nodded.

The chief flipped over and pushed himself back into the turret. Crusher swam into the laser blister behind Clemmons. He turned and closed the hatch. He turned again to survey the damage. Miraculously, most of the instruments and consoles were intact. It appeared that the metal fragments had sought out the crew for the most part. That was true except for the auxiliary fire control computer. Crusher thought that it would make an interesting project to see what could be made out of the bits and pieces. He turned again to see Clemmons pulling at some cables. Crusher moved to help him.

"This is the captain," Archer's voice intruded on the engineers' work. "Another wave is inbound. Crusher, you need to expedite your work there or get out—better be prepared to lose the docking arm. I'm going to evacuate the last two turrets. There isn't enough coverage."

"Another wave," Clemmons said on the private channel shared between the two. "That's a surprise." Crusher heard his tone change to a serious one. "I can't jerry rig much hoss; time to cut our losses and go."

"Standby," Crusher said as he rolled over and pulled himself into the primary gunner's chair. He cycled the controls to manual and brought up the video targeting display. His mind rebelled. He needed to listen to the chief and Archer. "I'm going to lay down fire manually. Try to link up to the main computer Jack!"

"I hate to tell ya Mister Crusher but there is a reason why these lasers are guided by computers," Clemmons started; "no flesh and blood can make the calculations to hit anything unless it is coming at them along a straight line vector."

"Captain Archer; give us a little time," he implored over the command network. Crusher had once defeated a simulation on the academy fire control computer. He thought that it was probably arrogance to assume that he could do so again. He wondered if his arrogance would kill him. An Aeon took shape on the video display but Crusher was looking at the numbers showing its relative course and speed. The equations formed in his head. Jason fired and selected the next Eightball as the first one turned into a piece of spherical slag. Another Aeon was gone as Crusher picked his next target.

"Kee-rist boy!" the chief exclaimed. "Just keep that up while I get this connection goin'!"

Crusher only heard the words as distant echoes as he banged away with the laser barely waiting for the recycle time. The flight of Aeons thinned out. Crusher realized that he was getting help from the other turrets along the arm. He was relieved that Archer had not evacuated the corridor. Nine Eightballs were no more as Jason guided the laser emitter from one target to the next.

A surge of weight hit Jason. He realized that the docking arm must have taken a hit. He saw, on his video display a piece of the flexible gangway spinning away into the blackness. Crusher had only a few seconds to realize that the laser turret crew was trapped in that wreckage. Just a few seconds before a Birdie missile finished the section. Jason continued firing. Had minutes passed or was it hours?

The image of a Minotaur entered the monitor. Crusher's finger jerked over the firing stud. He watched as the fighter engaged an incoming flight of Aeons. The fighter nimbly vectored away as the Eightballs bore down on its location. Another Minotaur appeared at a different location. More Aeons were destroyed. The equations of distance and speed crystallized in Crusher's mind. He fired away out of the Zeus' normal range.

"I've got that connection made," Clemmons said; "running final tests now. Get ready to get out of here Mister Crusher. We are soaking up too many rads out here." Crusher continued firing. "Standby to release controls to auto;" Crusher relaxed somewhat. He shivered. He realized that he was soaked with sweat beneath his spacesuit. Fewer Romulans appeared for him to shoot at as Clemmons transferred control of the laser tracking system. "That does it. Let's get the hell out of here son."

"Docking arm three has been evacuated," Commander Bill Walters announced. "Laser fire control of the last turret is slaved to the main computer core sir."

Archer swiped his hand over his face. He felt greasy. But that made sense as he had not bathed for over a day now. "We'll probably lose that on their next run," he said in a tired voice. "What is the count on fighters?"

"We still have most of our people," Walters answered. "Maintenance is reporting trouble turning around four of my birds. That's going to hurt when the next attack begins."

"That won't be much longer," Archer said. The only reason they were still alive he realized is that the Romulans could only funnel so many fighters through their minefields before allied missiles started taking their toll. But their opponents were getting better he thought bitterly.

"Trafalgar is reporting that their number two turret is repaired." Archer looked as Walters stretched out in his chair. "Engineering has finished installing the new turret new the power core, captain."

That was one bit of good news. But Archer knew that it was amid more tragedy. The engineering crew had sent two of their people—his people he reminded himself, outside to complete the final installation of the laser turret. He knew the science of it: High exposure to a lethal dose of radiation. Doctor Carmella Howard stepped off of the ladder of the ops center access tube. Sick Bay had been established below the command center. Both rested atop the matter/antimatter reactor; the most fortified parts of the station.

Archer was about to admonish Howard for not wearing a space suit when he saw the blood stains on her blue medical jersey. He also saw a smudge of blood on her cheek as she approached him. He was struck by how fatigued she looked. But he also noted strength in her eyes. She stood before him with her arms folded over her chest.

"Shouldn't you be in Sick Bay doctor?" he asked her.

"Everyone is as comfortable as they can be. Krenzler and Montgomery are in isolation," she replied.

Archer winced at the mention of the two engineers that had volunteered to do the spacewalk. "Is there any chance?" he asked flatly.

"The only hope is that they die quickly captain." Howard slouched against a console. Her face softened. Despite the situation Jonathan felt a longing for something that he had denied himself. He dismissed the feeling quickly. "Sorry sir. There is nothing that I can do for them. I've sedated them both and administered the maximum dose of painkillers. The tissue damage is proceeding along rapidly. It shouldn't be long. Casualty list is growing: Mostly radiation sickness, burns and decompression related injuries." Archer watched as she uncrossed her arms. She absently swiped at the blood on her face. "What's our chances here sir?"

"It's a miracle that we've held on this long," Archer answered. "I think that the Romulans were counting on taking out our subspace sensors and taking us while we were blinded." Thank god for Crusher's discovery. "Right now it is a matter of how much more they wear us down."

"I've dispensed amphetamines to your crews Bill--Commander Walters," The red headed woman announced. Archer wondered if she and Walters weren't an item. He looked from one to the other. Hell of a time to be thinking about romance he groused.

"They can only go on stims for so long Mel," Walters answered. "They need real sleep."

"Tell that to the—

Contact!" the sensor operator announced cutting off Carmella Howard's last statement. "Another wave of fighters," Lieutenant Commander Sutton paused before adding: "In the company of two Chowders and a Cabbage; looks like they are going to try to break us with their big guns."

"Keep the pressure up on those cruisers commander!" Archer snapped. He turned to the Andorian Talas. "Lieutenant; concentrate our lasers on the fighters. Let's allow Trafalgar to maneuver against those cruisers."

"Captain Valdez calling sir," Chandra announced. "He is moving to intercept the Veronus'."

"Just like he read my mind," Archer said quietly. "Put me on station-wide ensign." Chandra nodded at him after pushing a few buttons. "Attention all station personnel; move into the protected areas and stand ready for decompression."

"Twenty seconds until weapons range," Sutton reported. "They appear to be slowing to plasma cannon range."

"Missiles on the fly!" the Andorian exclaimed.

"Blue Squadron moving along random vectors," Walters interjected.

Archer watched as the main viewscreen filled with illuminated pips. Three large data notations showed the maneuvering enemy cruisers. Jonathan could only imagine the electronic warfare taking place as Mambas and Moolahs fell to the concentrated laser fire from Deep Space One. Jonathan would have cheered after one of the data streams vanished if he were not so tired: A Romulan Veronus was destroyed. Archer watched as the power readings representing the Sabinus flared briefly and disappeared. The ops center pitched up as the artificial gravity fought to keep up with few missiles that were getting through.

"Stand by to engage fighters with Merculite rockets," Archer ordered. He would have preferred to keep the Tellarite weapon in reserve. But he needed everything he had if the station was to survive.

Without the protection of Walters' fighters many more of the Eightballs made it into missile range of the station. Archer would have to wait a few more seconds. "Launch Spiders Talas," he said as the glowing dots representing the Birdie fighters got closer. "Fire the rockets!"

"Firing and away," Talas responded.

The radar showed a massive solid return as the swarm of small needle like projectiles left their racks. The radar image briefly showed separate, succinct points of lights. The lights contacted the indications showing the approaching Aeons. Archer looked at a video image displayed on his small command screen. Distant flares of light bloomed in space. Jonathan saw only two small dots before they fell to the concentrated rocket fire. He listened as Sutton reported that just two Eightballs had made it through.

"Laser turrets can sweep the stragglers up," he said. "Talas; coordinate the bulk of our laser fire to cover Trafalgar and track along the potential plasma cannon arcs."

"Shall I energize subspace sensors?" Sutton asked. Archer knew that without the new scanners the advantage was back to the Romulans if they chose to employ their plasma cannons.

"Negative," Archer answered. The sensors were linked together to improve efficiency. Unfortunately that made them vulnerable in this situation. Neither Trip Tucker nor Jason Crusher had been able to advance a theory on whatever the Romulans had used against Borei's taskforce. But it was not as if the Birdies had given the engineers the time for esoteric study.

"Tri-dimensional chess," Talas piped up in a tone that would have been considered thoughtful were she human.

At Archer's prompting she explained. "We learned the game from the Pointies. Of course Andorians mastered it and consistently defeated their so-called champions." Archer allowed the alien her pride. He grinned in spite of himself. "That is what the pirates are doing now: They are forcing us to sacrifice a piece."

"Either the hull plating over the central core or Trafalgar," Commander Walters interjected.

"Move and counter-move eh?" Archer said quietly. He unstrapped and stood up despite the possible impact of a plasma cannon volley. He walked over to stand before the ops center's viewscreen. "I've played a game or two of two-dimensional chess; always considered myself pretty good." He stroked his jaw as he studied the viewscreen. "There," he said pointing to a group of distant flashing lights. "Most of the Eightballs have returned to this point."

"Those that we didn't get," Walters answered with a smirk.

Archer smiled in turn despite his fatigue. "So these indications out there could be tankers?"

Walters crossed his arms over his chest. "We don't have much solid data on Birdie ships." He sighed. "But we have sensor and video recordings of them returning to their motherships; we've always assumed that it was to make a pit stop."

"If; as you say," Archer said to Walters, qualifying his theory; "this is going to be determined by fighters then the Romulans would be pretty reluctant to lose their refuelers."

"I could move gold squadron up for rotation," Walters answered taking up his commander's thought.

"This minefield of theirs works two ways," Archer said. "Commander, have your fighters use your random vector attack. They'll be in plasma cannon range but they should be able to maneuver away before the Birdies acquire them and figure a solution. Fire some Amazons first to clear some mines; second for some of your fighters to move up and make an attack against their tankers."

"I'm moving gold up now," Walters said as he split his attention between Archer and the task of ordering his fighters out. "We'll be able to jump those heavies before they can run. If we're lucky we might even inflict some damage if their impulse drives are cold. They've been in the same spot a long time captain."

Archer turned to Talas. "If I was a smart Romulan chess player I'd move a piece to protect my king." Archer took another look at the viewer then returned to his seat. "That would be the Veronus out there with the plasma cannon pointed at us." The station's artificial gravity dropped off for a few seconds causing Archer's inner ear to protest.

"Engineering reports a glancing blow to charlie section hull plating!" Walters seemed to be driving his earpiece into his ear canal as he listened and relayed the reports to Archer. "Repair time is at least twenty minutes. We're vulnerable there sir!"

"Deploy Spiders along a programmed routing," Archer said. He hated to waste the efficient anti-missile missiles but he could think of nothing else to protect his broken station. For a few seconds he recalled spending time on Long Island with his father. The two would often fly Archer's model ship. Henry Archer would also take his son there to build sand castles. Jonathan remembered the tide hammering away at his little castles. He felt like he was in one of those sandy fortifications now. "Launch them out but don't touch them off. I want them sent out in minefield of our own."

"Ablative armor," Jeff Sutton declared. Archer nodded at him.

"If they get another cannon volley in the Spiders should absorb it," he answered.

"And if they don't?" Doctor Howard asked.

"You won't have to worry about treating the wounded anymore doctor." Archer's face grew hard. He watched as Walters and Sutton discussed vectors and formations. Minutes later Talas announced that the Spiders were away.

"Gold Squadron just ripped a hole through their minefield," Walters announced. "One of them—

Archer heard Walters issuing quick concise orders. He realized that one of the Minotaur crews was doing other than what Walters had ordered them too. Archer was relieved to hear Sutton announce that the Veronus was turning away to engage the fighters.

"Ben!" his first officer was shouting into his commlink. "Get your ass the hell back here!"

Archer was amazed to see a blip representing what he and Walters had guessed was a Romulan tanker, disappear. Another pip of light was moving away. Data beneath it identified it as a Minotaur.

"I've got a shot at this guy," a garbled voice replied out of the ops center overhead speakers.

Archer watched as a blip representing what he and Walters had guessed was a Romulan tanker, disappear: He knew that a Minotaur would have to have gone beyond the safe recovery point to accomplish that. Another pip of light was moving away. Data beneath it identified it as the Minotaur that had just extinguished the tanker. Several jittery images pursued the retreating Star Fleet fighter. The fighter's graphic vanished suddenly. Archer sympathized with Walters as his first officer slammed a fist down on his console.

"That was my copilot," Walters said quietly.

There was little time to honor the dead as Jeffrey Sutton announced: "The Veronus is pulling away." Archer breathed a sigh of relief; just in time as it had fired its plasma cannon at the station again before departing. The Spiders had worked as Archer had planned. He noticed that Sutton was bent over still staring intently into the hood of his sensor display. "Trafalgar isn't returning to cover—she is going after the Veronus."

"Ensign Chandra," Archer snapped.

"I still have Captain Valdez in the link sir." Chandra's fingers flew over her panel as the overhead speaker crackled with static.

"I know what you are going to say Jon," Valdez's voice declared out of the speaker. "But I'm not allowing this chucho the chance to escape. They'll just try again and you know what that means?"

Eventually a Romulan would get a lucky shot at the mam reactor then it would be checkmate. Archer studied the viewscreen intently before replying. "Stay fifteen thousand kilometers from the minefield Xavier." He turned to Walters. "Give them some fire support." Archer knew that he was sticking it out here. The station needed those fighters. But at the same time the water was coming farther up the beach. He needed something to deflect the tide; if only for a little while.

Trafalgar launched volley after volley of Narwhals at the elusive Veronus. Most of the missiles fell prey to Romulan neutronium pellets. A few got through to the point that they were dissected by Romulan lasers. Another flight of Aeons flew close to their minefield as they emerged in the fire zone that was Deep Space One. The spherical fighters angled for the Tannhauser class cruiser.

The fighters were met by a flight of Amazons while Trafalgar's lasers hammered away at the Aeons. Trafalgar lumbered slowly; picking up speed as it pursued the Veronus. A Narwhal exploded close to the Jellyfish neatly shearing its warp nacelles away. The main body of the greenish craft sailed on for a few seconds. The aft section split open revealing a glowing hell for a split second. The Veronus exploded as Trafalgar turned away towards Deep Space One.

The Aeons followed the cruiser. Trafalgar's hull plating ignited in a display of static blue discharges. The wreckage of the Star Fleet cruiser's torn starboard nacelle was sheared off by a strafing run. The victorious Aeon rolled away only to fall to laser fire from a Minotaur. The cruiser's nacelle coasted along in space as Trafalgar outraced that piece of jettisoned material. More Aeons converged at a single point in pursuit of the cruiser.

The Aeons rolled into a formation as they followed the Trafalgar. They quickly accelerated. It would only be a matter of time before they were in striking distance of the escaping Stellar Navy cruiser. The Romulan fighter group cruised past Trafalgar's useless warp nacelle: Just as an Amazon hit the torn wreckage. The remaining plasma in the warp nacelle exploded. The flight of Aeons was consumed by the resulting explosion of the nacelle. Two spherical fighters roared out of the nuclear fire that had consumed their mates. They were picked off by the concentrated laser fire from Walters' Minotaurs. Trafalgar slowed as it came under the protective guns of Deep Space One. The last of the Minotaurs slammed into the shuttle bay; some of them throwing up sparks as they slammed into the station's deck.

The fighters' relief launched as their mates landed. The new Minotaurs were scarred from battle but they headed out nonetheless. Their launch proved timely as the Romulans, recovering from their failed attack, launched more Aeons into the fray. The Minotaurs deployed quickly launching missiles and engaging the oncoming Romulans with their lasers. Deep Space One became enshrouded in nuclear detonations but remained in one piece. Another day rolled by for the humans and aliens on the space station.

UES Daedelus, The second planet of Ross 128, Nov 2157

Captain Michael "Oliver" Cromwell felt better in his heavy navy issue cold weather jacket. The cool air of Ross 128's only habital planet wafted past his face. Meteorology had said that this part of the world was currently enjoying a heat wave. He almost wished for the warmth of a space suit again. But Doctor Trudy Schultheiss had cleared the shore party to go sans spacesuits. Still it was no colder than a fall in his native United Kingdom he mused.

"How long do we have Olly?" the doctor asked him. Cromwell had chosen Schultheiss, Lieutenant Marcel Dieulafoy, Chief Peter Custis and at her own strident insistence Mariel Picard.

"The next flare should be in two hours according to astrometrics," he answered. "We'll have to suspend shuttle flights until the activity subsides. I plan to be back to Daedelus before that."

"You don't sound very optimistic about this meeting sir," Dieulafoy said.

"Let me see," Cromwell began. "We are meeting a tripedal alien whose ocular system will see us as glowing bipeds. We will tell this scientist that his world is doomed; splendid!" Cromwell hated being sarcastic but he would have preferred to limit contact to electronic means and artifacts.

"H'Liq suspects that is so," Picard interjected. "But we should have included M'Altz've in this meeting. He has some interesting ideas about saving his people."

Cromwell shot a sidewise glance toward Schultheiss. He wondered if it was him or had the mathematician changed since her near electrocution? "One scientist at a time miss," he answered and sighed. Earth had already put men in space when they had encountered the Vulcans. This would be the Ro'ha's first contact as far as Cromwell knew after reading Picard and Dieulafoy's reports. He didn't know what would happen but if this H'Liq took off running in a panic Cromwell would not be surprised.

The humans pushed their way through the odd looking forest in the dim light of the red dwarf. Cromwell had read the reports: It was a miracle that life had formed here at all. Volcanic action and a thick protective atmosphere that allowed the planet to take advantage of the frequent solar flares without irradiating its inhabitants had worked together to make enough warmth to foster life. But that life was but a brief tick of the clock as far as Ross 128 was concerned. It would soon be extinguished.

"We are almost at the rendezvous captain," Custis said. The enlisted man was staring at the small handheld computer that he held. "Topography says that there will be a slight rise ahead then we should enter the clearing."

Cromwell appreciated Custis' help. The captain wished that the man would have accepted a commission. But he understood that, like many in the navy his personal loss had deeply influenced his life. Right now he needed Pete's ability to navigate a world where compasses were rendered useless by intense magnetic fields. Cromwell's party followed Custis beneath the canopy of the oddly shaped trees of this region. Cromwell huffed a little as the party encountered the rising terrain that Custis had advised them of.

"Marcel call back to the shuttle and check on the storm status please," Cromwell ordered. He had caused surveillance satellites to be placed in orbit. The stealthy devices had been designed to spy upon a potential Romulan homeworld; but now they were being put to the more mundane use of storm tracking.

"I missed the last daily," Schultheiss announced. "Do we know the origins of those storms?"

"Our weather wizard says that the storm formation is normal," Cromwell answered. Lieutenant Ito Nakamura had started his academic life as a meteorologist. The Stellar Navy Bureau of Personnel had decided that his talents might better be spent as a sensor maintenance officer. It pleased Cromwell that the officer had found a calling here on Ross 128. He had heard persistent rumors that the meteorologist was spending his off duty time closeted away in his quarters writing papers on the weather of Ross 128's second planet.

"Most storms that I know of don't attack starships," Schultheiss replied.

"Ito mentioned that the formation was normal," Cromwell said. "It is buildup to that formation that is in question. Somehow a core of magnetic waves form then attracts more energy. As we witnessed, the storm left the atmosphere; or at least the electrical part did. That is the mystery."

"We should be there," Custis announced.

Cromwell looked out onto a clearing that was the intersection of two roads. One of the bulky, bizarre looking Ro'ha ground cars was pulled over on the corner opposite Michael and his people. He hoped that they were far enough in the brush that they would not be seen. He motioned to Custis who shined an infrared light towards the ground car. One of the tripedal aliens exited the groundcar. Michael could only imagine what compelled the alien to a rendezvous with what his, or it he reminded himself, vision would see as a glowing group of beings.

"That is close enough Miss Picard," he warned. Dieulafoy could use Picard's machine but Cromwell had to admit that having someone who could speak the Ro'ha's language with them was useful. He started to doubt his misgivings about taking Picard along. He listened as the woman made a loud series of gibberish like sounds. The Ro'ha stopped not more than ten meters from them. The alien issued forth a series of sounds of its own.

Dieulafoy was bent over the shell of the handheld computer that housed Picard's translation device. He was about to inform them all what the Ro'ha had said when Mariel Picard spoke up:

"The Ro'ha says that he received our message. H'Liq is very interested in the information that we sent to him. H'Liq asked who we are. The individual is very curious but also frightened now."

"Take me to your leader," Cromwell heard Trudy mumble under her breath.

"Tell the doctor." Cromwell had come to understand that H'Liq held a title that equated to doctor in human terms; "that we mean no harm. Tell them who we are; that we are not of his world. Tell him that we are peaceful explorers." Cromwell listened as Picard made more strange sounds. This time he could hear a pattern to it. He thought about his statement concerning peaceful explorers. Would it be better he wondered, to declare that they were harvesting local plant matter for food?

There were more sounds from H'Liq. Picard turned to them after a long exchange with the alien. "H'Liq asked to see us. The individual sees a glow and knows that there is more than me—the doctor can hear you Captain Cromwell.

Cromwell cleared his throat. "Very well," he said as he proceeded to step out of the undergrowth. I suppose it is time to put that new worlds and new civilizations thing to practice he thought as he recalled Zephram Cochrane's words.

The Ro'ha scientist obviously seen him, Cromwell knew. The triped stood still for what must have been a full minute then scurried back toward his groundcar. Despite Trudy's report that the Ro'ha were androgynous Cromwell still mentally assigned sexes to the aliens. Cromwell yelled at the Ro'ha in English. He thought of how that must look as the alien probably interpreted his greeting as some sort of hostile roar. Cromwell heard Picard spit out a rapid series of sounds. Her noises had begun to sound less like guttural exclamations and more like some sort of organized language to Cromwell.

It appeared to be a lost cause until the alien stopped and turned back toward Cromwell. He realized that Picard had stepped out of the odd looking forest to stand beside him. She continued to speak to the triped.

"What does he say?" Cromwell asked her pointedly.

She turned irritably toward him. "The doctor has read speculative fiction. H'Liq accepts that we are from another world. Our data intrigued the doctor."

"It is probably too soon but have you mentioned that we have been studying his world?" the captain asked. "For scientific reasons only," he hastened to add.

Cromwell listened as Picard spat out more of the Ro'ha language. He had read her report on her progress in deciphering the aliens' language. It occurred to him that she was conversing quite naturally with the alien for as little progress as she had alluded to. Michael saw the alien jump, although ripple might have been a better term for what the Ro'ha scientist's reaction. The reaction was explained by the presence of Marcel Dieulafoy, he thought. Cromwell guessed that the Ro'ha was trying to come to terms with him and Picard: Dieulafoy's appearance probably shook the alien even further.

"Sir the translator indicates somewhat different from what Mariel is saying," the archeologist proclaimed. He held the device out to Michel who took it and started to examine the screen.

"I am sure that it is a software glitch captain," Picard said. Michael detected a stridency in her tone. Cromwell proceeded to read the text of Picard and H'Liq's conversation. "Sir if you would just allow me to explain."

Cromwell started keying in on certain words in the translated text; insane ideas, viable solutions and mass extinction among others. He eyed Picard warily. "Please do explain miss." Cromwell's handheld beeped. He removed it from his jacket pocket and flipped the unit open. He handed Picard's translation device back to Dieulafoy and wagged a finger at her. "This is Cromwell; go ahead," he answered.

"Sir the surveillance satellite is showing a storm buildup near your area," Ito Nakamura's nervous voice proclaimed in a crackle of static.

He was aware that Picard was speaking increasingly faster in the local language. "What is the storm's progress Ito?"

"You should be feeling the first effects now," the voice from Cromwell's handheld was barely discernible through the static. Michael felt the first stirrings of a strong breeze against his skin. "This is far stronger than any that has been observed so far captain!"

"Mariel what are you saying?" he heard Dieulafoy exclaim. The sky lit up in a blood red flash. Thunder exploded less than a second afterwards. Several things happened at once after that.

Cromwell hit the ground, his eyes blinded from another flash of lightning. His vision cleared presenting him with a view of a running Mariel Picard. He struggled to his feet only to feel an intense wave of heat as another bolt of lightning nearly electrocuted him. The air was knocked out of him as he was tackled from behind.

"Best stay down sir," he heard Chief Peter Custis yell into his ear.

Despite the enlisted man's sage advice Cromwell crawled forward. "Miss Picard you are ordered to halt!" he roared in his best command tone. He was amazed to see the woman enter the alien groundcar and start its internal combustion engine. He then noticed the alien scientist frozen in place. Cromwell felt a tingle against his skin. He stood up and sprinted forward until he collided with the sturdily built Ro'ha doctor. The two went sprawling as another bolt of lightning hit a nearby tree cleaving it into two flaming pieces. Michael felt a strong wind again. It blew the hood of his navy parka over his head.

"It's going away," he heard Trudy say. He rolled over near H'Liq. The alien was unconscious and not worse Cromwell hoped. He looked around to see the black clouds, framed against the deep red sky, roil away. The groundcar was gone as well.

A tinny voice sounded out of Cromwell's dropped handheld. He crawled over to the device to hear the voice of Chief Marilyn Crossmeyer: "Shuttle to captain, shuttle to captain."

"I'm here chief," Cromwell picked up the radio and answered.

Cromwell sighed as the chief ran through a litany of disastrous news: Lieutenant Nakamura was stunned but recovering. The port engine had taken a direct lightning strike. The shuttle would be grounded until a repair crew arrived. He wondered how a surface storm could do such a thing to an electrically insulated navy shuttle. On top of all of that Somers had called from Daedelus with news that the expected solar eruption was occurring sooner than had been forecast.

"You and Nakamura work on concealing the shuttle chief," he ordered. "Get me an uplink to Daedelus." Cromwell watched as Schultheiss raced over to kneel over the wounded alien. "What do you think Trudy?"

"His surface vitals read okay," she answered. Cromwell was glad that he was not the only one to gloss over the gender differences of the Ro'ha. "He is unconscious of course." He watched as she placed a surface scanner on the alien's chest area. "I believe that I can treat for shock; which I believe our comrade here is in. I wish that we could get him to Daedelus for an X-ray—

"Somers to captain," Commander Lisa Somers' voice broke into he and Schultheiss' conversation. He quickly explained the situation to her. "We can send another shuttle down with a team of marines and engineers sir."

"Negative commander," he replied. "I don't want a shuttle crew exposed to that risk." Daedelus could hang in orbit through a solar flare he knew. But it was sure death for a thin skinned shuttle. It was not that good on a Daedelus class cruiser Cromwell also knew. His ship could stay there in orbit, but it may well sustain damage in doing so. "Get my ship to safety Lisa. We'll manage here on the surface until your return."

"Aye captain," the reply came at last. "I was hoping to get command," she added mischievously. "We'll do an impulse cruise out beyond the safe range and return when the flare has abated."

"We'll be here," Cromwell answered. He closed the lid of his radio and sighed. He noticed that H'Liq was stirring. He looked at his surgeon who nodded reassuringly at him. Cromwell turned to Dieulafoy. "Please tell me that device works both ways lieutenant." Cromwell looked at the missing Picard's handheld translator.

"It can emit a crude mechanical voice translation captain," the archeologist informed him. Cromwell hoped so as he saw that the Ro'ha was regaining consciousness. "But you ought to see the text of," he saw the Frenchman's hesitation. "The full text of Mariel's conversation with H'Liq," he said as he handed the translator to Cromwell, a look of trepidation on his face.

"What is it Olly?" the doctor asked as she saw the look on his face.

He handed the device back to Dieulafoy. "I suppose that you did not notice any change in her?"

Cromwell saw his hesitation. He shoved his anger down; now was not the time for admonishments he thought. "Mariel has been acting differently. She," he stopped briefly. Marcel's voice was lower as he continued. "She seemed to know many things about the Ro'ha; or at least she was speaking as if she did. When I confronted her about it she tried to," Dieulafoy paused again. "She became quite—passionate."

"Passionate angry or passionate sexually?" the chief asked. The shore party peered at him. "I just wanted to know. It's been the topic of discussion in the galley." Cromwell smiled in spite of the situation. Custis' question was ill-timed but Michael was glad to see the man emerging from his shell finally.

"Passionate sex—she acted in an uncharacteristic manner," Dieulafoy replied.

"What is on there Olly?" he heard Schultheiss ask. Rather than explain he handed the translation device to the doctor.

"It seems that Miss Picard knows a lot more about this planet, its nations and its problems than she admitted," Cromwell declared while Trudy read the text. He looked at the alien sprawled out on the ground. He hoped that the doctor was alright because it looked like his shore party would need a local guide if they were to recover Picard.

Construction site of Deep Space One, Nov 2157

He smelled. Lieutenant Commander Jeff Sutton was actually glad for the acrid smell of burnt insulation: It masked the smell of his unwashed body. The last warm shower was three days ago. It was an exciting memory as he had shared the water with Talas. He looked over at her as she dozed across from him. The Romulan attacks had slowed enough to allow the couple to be off simultaneously. Sutton suspected that the break would not last much longer.

The lights for what was to be the station commander's office flickered then died completely. Emergency lights came up bathing the couple in a garish blue glow. The attacks had decreased in volume; that was true. But they had never stopped. It occurred to Jeff that this was the first time that he and Talas had been alone since the Birdie attack had begun. Despite warm feelings he actually dreaded this time as she had confronted him with an unpleasant subject.

"I can feel the Amazons launching out of their tubes," Talas said. "We are nearly out of those."

"Captain Archer is making them all count." Sutton knew that she could feel the station's vibration through her Andorian senses. "The laser crews have been hell on the Birdies and their missiles. We still have the mam." Sutton was impressed by how Archer had arrayed his defenses to protect their primary asset.

"I was concerned that this Archer—an engineer, would fail as a warrior." Talas looked intently at Sutton. He looked away nervously. "He has made the pirates pay much to kill us. I suppose that is good for us that things end this way."

"Talas; this may not be the end," he countered. "We'll be fine. I know this whole thing was going to strike some people as odd." He knew that she knew that he was referring to their relationship and not the ensuing battle. In some small way Sutton was glad about the attack: It had forestalled this unpleasantly. Talas was worried the differences between the couple. It amused Jeff in a sour sort of way that like a human woman the Andorian had the propensity to bring up hard questions in any circumstance. Difficult questions for a man anyway he groused.

"I saw how your parents looked at me," Talas retorted. "Your mother wanted me to wear some sort of marriage vestment. She seemed concerned that the headpiece would not adequately conceal my antennae."

"I never thought that this would be easy," Sutton replied softly. The warning klaxon had been deactivated two days ago. The only sound in the small sparse office was the whir of the air circulation fans.

"It's as much my fault," Talas said. "I pursued you. I have to admit a curiosity about what it would be like to be with one of you pink-skins; that it led to something more intense was a surprise to me."

"I love my family and you love yours," Jeff answered. "You have to admit that your family didn't exactly greet me like they would if I were Andorian." He held up a hand hastily as she opened her mouth the reply. "I don't want to criticize your family—or mine."

Sutton knew the truth of what she was telling him. His parents had spoken privately with him expressing their disappointment at what they called his early marriage. They had stopped short of actually saying that it had anything to do with his choice of a mate. But Jeff had seen it; or rather he had felt it. He was a human of the twenty-second century so prejudice was something almost foreign to him. At least the emotion was foreign among most humans now. Sutton recalled reading of how his own race had once divided themselves among racial groups when, with few exceptions there were no major discernible differences among humans. He remembered a favorite teacher belittling the strange beliefs of the old Progressives, suggesting that by their own criteria of skin color then left handed people would be of a different race than were right handed ones.

"If this were two years ago I'd agree with you," Sutton continued. "But the Romulans changed everything. I know what I feel for you and my parents will just have to come along later—so will yours." He took her hand. He knew that it would be oddly cool to anyone who had never touched an Andorian before.

She smiled in a most human way. "You presume much when it comes to a family unit among my people."

Sutton was about to reply when the door slid open revealing the space-suited form of Captain Archer. The helmet that the captain wore caused half of his face to be cast in shadow; that half was troubled. Jeff supposed that he and Talas were lucky: A few hours' sleep out of three days was a gift. They both stood up slowly. The fatigue was still there.

"It's beginning," Archer announced. Both Sutton and Talas had been privy to Captains Archer and Valdez's discussion that the Romulans would try a big push; committing the majority of their forces in an attempt to destroy the station. There was little doubt that Archer was now referring to anything else. "Radar shows that they are massing the largest group of fighters yet. They've also pulled back their refuelers."

"They would've been fools to do otherwise," Talas spat out. Jeff could see the warrior in her emerging. "We can expect them to try another cruiser strike with their plasma cannons."

Archer nodded. "We don't have enough Spiders to pull the armor trick again. I've ordered engineering to work on keeping the hull plating up around the central core."

"The laser crews have had some rest," Sutton interjected. "They've pulled our nuts out of the fire before…

"We'll hope for the best," Archer said agreeably. "Right now I need my best people out there."

Talas stalked out before him. A sudden idea popped into Jeff's head. "Captain Archer I believe that this station follows the same regulations as a ship?" he asked although he fully knew the answer: Coming from a family of attorneys had its advantages.

"Deep Space One is technically a ship under power; yes," the captain answered slowly. "Although I don't see what that has to—

"I request that you perform a marriage ceremony between me and Lieutenant Talas after this is over sir."

"Jeff!" the Andorian exclaimed. Archer seemed to Jeff to be both impatient and amused all at the same time.

"You don't think that we'll survive," he said cutting off her further comments. "If we live then marry me." This last, he presented as a dare. When she seemed about to protest he added: "Coward."

"We'll see who the coward is when you are formally made mine," the Andorian retorted. "I'll do as you ask."

"Now that that is decided let's defend this station," Archer interjected dryly. Sutton pushed past Talas who seemed temporarily rooted in place. He smiled as he realized that he had penetrated her rock solid demeanor.

Ensign Jason Crusher found that his rest time only gave rise to thoughts best left beneath the surface. He was going to die; just like David Wesley Crusher had. The radar returns showed the massing Romulans. This would be it. Crusher wondered how the last seconds would feel. He started shaking all over as if he were cold. He was about to cry. Crusher looked around in the darkness of the small access tube where he had been sleeping; his coffin. A light shined in his eyes causing him to cry out.

"Hey there Mister Crusher," Chief Jack Clemmons said in a strong voice that sounded as if he were calling out a cadre of cadets on a warm summer morning. Crusher looked at him and blinked owlishly. He was too frightened to reply. He realized that Clemmons was repeating something. "Did I ever tell ya why I signed on for space duty again?"

Crusher shook his head. Clemmons had his attention. "There I was all set to retire and settle down in Alabama. That's in the US of A in case ya didn't know. I even asked a girl to marry me. No problem there—she was butt ugly and would've needed to tie a pork chop around her neck to find a man there. But there I came along." Crusher found himself laughing. The fear was melting away like the last bits of wax from a dying candle.

"Anyway I went back to Mobile." Crusher heard that peculiar inflection that turned mobile into mo and bill. "There was so many people there! Kee-rist a man couldn't help swimming in someone else's soup! But the worst part was that there was so many of them that didn't have much to do except poke their noses into my business. Hell one old boy used to call the sheriff every damn time the suds and sounds got out of hand at the Clemmons house."

"Don't tell me that you left all of that behind?" Jason asked. A grin was on his lips.

"Not that I meant too," Clemmons went on to explain. "I told Annie that I was leavin' for a pack of smokes—cigarettes. That was three years ago I reckon; still haven't gotten that goddamned pack of cigarettes yet!"

"She must miss you Jack," Crusher replied.

"Plenty of pork chops in the freezer son," Clemmons said as he laid a hand in Crusher's shoulder. "It's show time ensign."

"I figured," Crusher moaned as his stiff joints complained as he pulled himself out of the crawlway and into the power room corridor. The spacesuit was weighing heavily on him. He stood up.

"Want to try that deflector screen idea of yours Mister Crusher?" the chief asked him.

Jason wished that his pet theory was more than that. The enhanced version of a navigational deflector should, according to his theory create a bubble of protective energy around a space vessel. It would in fact be a whole new invention over standard navigational deflectors. Jason preferred the term force field but the navy had called the magnetic sweep field generators, deflectors for too many decades now. Crusher shook his head. His shield was an interesting project but the spatial generators needed to make such a sustained field did not exist yet.

"I wish chief," Crusher answered. "Even with those two spare nav arrays out of stores the best I've been able to do is generate a field for three seconds. The alloys don't exist to make anything that will be usable."

"Three seconds can be a—

The men grabbed at one another as the artificial gravity let go then engaged again. They regained their footing and looked down the corridor. Crusher grabbed at his visor as he heard the dreaded explosive pop of a blowout. No strong blast of air moved him. Jason realized that another part of DS One had been holed. The automatic system had reacted to close the affected areas off he guessed.

"We've lost hull plating on section three of the central core," Commander Walters' voice sounded odd coming from both Crusher's helmet speaker and the main public address system. Jason felt another chill: That loss meant that the matter anti matter reactor was exposed. Jason and Clemmons acknowledged the advisory.

The maintenance network exploded with activity as technicians turned to the problem of reinstating their thin protective barrier there. Crusher talked over several solutions as he and Jack raced toward the core area hull plating power conduits. They went through the main engineering area. Crusher watched as his technicians poured over the reactor. The cylindrical device stretched away into the cavernous upper ceiling of engineering. This was Deep Space One's largest compartment.

"All that won't matter a hill of beans when the Birdies move in against our unprotected section," Clemmons exclaimed as he gestured toward the reactor. Jason imagined that he could feel the core pulsate as matter and anti matter collided in a controlled cataclysmic power generating explosion. He soon forgot about that as they passed through engineering into section three. The bulky hull plating relays and two of the conduits leading to them were destroyed. Pieces of metal shrapnel were imbedded in the passage's walls.

"Do we have more conduit coming from stores?" the chief bellowed out. A Tellarite, his face streaked with grime informed Clemmons that access to the station's stores was impeded by a large blowout. Material would have to be physically moved between access ways.

"We're looking at an hour for something like that." Clemmons was plainly distressed.

Crusher informed Captain Archer of the situation via his command network access. Archer's reply was not promising. "We're barely containing this wave and they are reassembling for another attack. They are maneuvering a Sabinus in for a plasma cannon shot and so far they been covering their cruiser. If they hit us in section three again…

"We'll do what we can sir," Crusher answering before ending communications with Archer.

"We've got those two navigation deflectors down here hoss," Clemmons said. "You've been monkeying with them; right now three seconds or so might make all the difference."

Crusher thought about it before answering. "It's mostly theory Jack!"

Clemmons put a gauntleted hand on his shoulder and took him aside. The chief's eyes shot towards a group of engineers and gunners milling about aimlessly. "This ain't good son. Take a look at those people: They are as scared as a dog who just stuck his head in a groundhog hole. We got to give them something to do. We got a good crew working on restoring the plating; anymore fingers in the pie and it would just turn into a mess."

"Okay," Jason looked at the nervous group. "You there!" he nervously bellowed towards a knot of engineers. "I need your help. I am going to rig the deflector generators in the engineering store rooms to the spare sensor emitter arrays." The group eyed Crusher with much skepticism. It had not escaped Jason that many times his technicians looked past him to Clemmons for a confirmation of his orders. This was another of those times when Crusher saw the chief nodding. He took out his handheld and proceeded to show his design to the engineers.

"I'll hook up the aux power lines from the standby fusion sir," one engineer proclaimed. Her comrade volunteered to help her. Still other engineers stepped forward to take up various tasks to help Crusher.

A surly Tellarite gunner and his human companion took up the challenge. "We'll drag your deflector out where it needs to go human!"

Crusher and Clemmons supervised. Jason was surprised at the amount of theoretical know how Clemmons possessed. He had tended to think little of the enlisted engineers but was finding out different. The team worked through problem after problem until the two generators were connected and ready for action. Crusher had been listening to the command net enough to know that the Minotaurs had held off the worst of the Eightball attacks. Still several detonations had been close enough to set off the radiologic alarms.

"What's the status of that plating?" Archer's voice stabbed into Crusher's helmet.

"The damage control teams are moving the material past G deck captain," Crusher responded. "We've got the relays up but no power to the plating. We are looking at another twenty minutes at least." Archer replied with a list of bad news. The Sabinus had been repulsed but was repositioning. "Sir I've got a possible temporary fix." He rushed to explain his idea to the captain.

"I thought that your force field was only theoretical Jase?" Archer replied.

"I created an actual working field in the academy physics lab once sir," Jason answered. He hoped that Archer would not ask more: He had indeed made such a field. It had lasted less than a second and had destroyed a sweep generator that had been taken from one of the old Schneider class freighters.

"If this field takes one or two hits that might make a difference," Archer replied at last. "Okay Jason; get rolling on that. Keep the pressure up on your teams to get the hull plating back online."

"Aye sir," Crusher answered.

"I think all captains say that," Clemmons interjected. He had access to the same network as did Crusher. "Like us engineers are sitting around eating hotdogs and drinking beer." Jason watched as the chief made a final connection. "Looks like that wraps it up: I don't like the configuration of the logic circuit but it'll have to do."

Crusher looked and Clemmons. "What if this fizzles out Jack?" he asked in hushed tones. He looked toward the engineers and spare gunnery crewmen who were milling about.

"You won't have long to worry about bein' a failure son," Clemmons answered candidly. "The Birdies will see to that. But hell son; it's a good idea. The way composites and molecule construction is comin' along in another ten or twenty years your shield would probably be on every starship. Right now with the materials we have it's just an interestin' experiment. But the important thing Mister Crusher is that you gave these people somethin' to do. This might be everyone's last few minutes and I guess you got a sense for how that feels bein' alone without anything to do and no way to prevent what is happenin'."

Jason had indeed had those feelings as he had crouched in the maintenance tube. He looked at the engineers; full of purpose and resolve. He was still frightened but he was resolved too. If he was to die so be it. They had put up a fight here. Crusher knew that the Romulans were bipeds: It was one of the few things that the allies knew about their enemy. He guessed that their dead from this attack must number in the tens of thousands; that was if they lived anything like humans or their alien allies he corrected himself.

"Incoming wave," Captain Archer's voice boomed over both the PA and Jason's helmet communication system. Jason thought that he knew Archer well enough to hear a note of defeat in the captain's voice. Their ammo was almost exhausted and a hit on or even near the mam would end things for the fledgling space station.

"Here we go," Crusher said. He and Clemmons went into the main section of engineering. The only indication of the matter anti matter reactor's pulsing was a repetitive master indicator light that dominated the center of the primary control console. Jason passed the technician who was monitoring the powerful generator and instead accessed the ops center interface console.

He heard Clemmons let out a long whistle as the screen projected the ghostly images of the allied forces and those of their opponents. "Not a lot of dots for the good guys," he proclaimed.

"I heard Commander Walters say that we've lost over half of the Minotaur force," Crusher said quietly. He maintained a low voice so that he and Jack's conversation would not carry.

Despite the losses the Minotaurs swept out and quickly reduced the number of incoming Aeons. Crusher watched as the badly wounded Trafalgar maneuvered against the Sabinus. The Romulan craft showed as being well within plasma cannon range. Crusher looked at Clemmons.

"Mind if I do the honors on this force field sir?" the enlisted man asked. He was almost oblivious to what the man was saying as his unique mathematical gift allowed him to project the Sabinus' movement. He estimated that the Birdies should fire right about now.

He nodded to the chief. "Raise shield," Crusher said without emotion.

"Shield up," Clemmons responded firmly.

Crusher closed his eyes as too late he was blinded by the flash of an explosion. He was thrown to the deck. When his vision returned he turned to see Clemmons pushing buttons at the matter anti matter master control panel as the technician who had been there looked on. Jason got up and strode over to the chief.

"We took a hit but your shield musta done something hoss!" Clemmons said. "We are still here; ain't in good shape but we are here."

Crusher studied the board. The chief's assessment was an understatement. Still Crusher saw that there was hope. "The anti matter injectors need to be realigned." It looked to Jason like a piece of shrapnel had penetrated to the reactor body. A single injector was still functioning or else he would not be here. Physically repairing the secondary injector was an attainable goal. "I'll open the main access chief," Crusher started.

He felt Clemmons seize his arm through his suit. "The tertiary layer of shielding is gone boy! Whoever opens that access is gonna get a delta radiation bath."

Crusher froze. He gulped despite the dryness in his throat. He absently swiped at his nose: Another nose bleed from the Hyronaline. He looked at the blood on his gauntlet without really seeing it. Delta radiation: Every spacer's fear. The insidious rays burned organic matter from the inside out. Tales of exposed men and women's agonizing last few moments were told at Star Fleet Academy like campfire horror stories. But the repair had to be done: The mam could only function on one injector for ten minutes.

"I'm going chief," he said quietly.

"Okay hoss," Clemmons said. "I can see you have your mind made up. I'm gonna need some help to the door though. I think I broke my tailbone or something after that last hit."

Crusher was angry. He needed to get to work on the reactor. He reached out and allowed Clemmons to put his weight on him. He walked the limping chief to the main engineering access. Crusher knew that he was going to die when he opened up the mam's last layer of protective shielding. He pushed the thought out of his head. Jason was stopped short as Clemmons put a hand out onto the hatchway.

"You'll do fine ensign," Clemmons said. Crusher was like a man watching something in slow motion. Somehow Jack had put his leg between Crusher's while pushing Jason away. Jason was tripped. He hit the deck outside of engineering as the heavy shielded hatch trundled close.

"Let me in Jack!" he cried. He realized that he shouting at empty air. He switched over to the maintenance net and repeated his demand.

"No go son," the chief answered. Crusher could almost believe that he was playing an impish joke given his tone of voice.

"Open the hatch chief!" Crusher repeated. "That is an order!"

"Ops engineering," Archer's voice intruded. "We took a full hit from that Sabinus! Good job on the hull plating Jase!"

Crusher noticed that the repair team was finally in place with the components that they needed. "Taleel," he called to the lead engineer.

The Andorian turned to Crusher. "We should have the plating couplers restored in five minutes sir."

"Aye sir," Jason mumbled over the command net. He walked over to the auxiliary engineering monitoring station. The video was hard to resolve into a clear picture: Jason realized that the flood of radiation into the compartment was responsible for the video's lack of clarity. The figure of Jack Clemmons emerged from the bulk of the mam reactor. The chief carefully replaced his hand tools into a pouch near the access panel. Crusher watched as Clemmons keyed in commands into a small control panel. The heavy twenty-five centimeter thick main access hatch rolled shut.

Jason keyed the main engineering audio system. "What the hell chief? You disobeyed my orders." It was a poor way to speak to a man who was rapidly dying. The auxiliary monitoring panel indicators showed that main engineering was lethal.

"Sorry old boy," Clemons answered. "It ain't a thing; guess it was my time is all." Clemmons stared directly into the video feed; directly into Crusher's eyes. "It's startin' son. You know what you have to do here. I feel it burnin' in me. I don't want to go out that way."

Jason's hand hovered over the engineering purge controls. He keyed in the sequence which would open the compartment to space. Crusher had to repeat the procedure as tears clouded his vision. "Goddamn you Jack!" he cursed in vain and sobbed.

"I don't want to start screamin' boss," Clemmons answered. "If it makes it any easier I'm tellin' you that you better name a kid after me or something!" The chief wore a broad smile but Jason could see the pain behind his eyes.

"Thank you Jack," Crusher said. He wanted to hit himself. He wanted to say so much more. "I'll do that chief." Jason's hand slapped at the release. The twenty-two metric ton space door propelled by exploding gas charges sprang open as if it were a light, flimsy piece of standard aluminum. Crusher wanted to look away but he dare not as Jack Clemmons was yanked off of his feet and shot out into space amid every loose article in the engineering compartment. The radiation level dropped. Jason inputted the commands to close the hatch.

He realized that Taleel was speaking to him; was in fact yelling at him. "Sir! The plating system is repaired; what now?"

Crusher stood mute for a few seconds. Clemmons had believed in him. "Get the plating back on line! When engineering repressurizes get a crew in there. We need to keep the power going. Break up into sections and cover our laser turrets. They are the priority!"

"Aye-aye sir!" the Andorian snapped in reply. Crusher joined a team; one of his teams he realized. He needed to work.

"The stragglers are retreating," Commander William Walters told Captain Jonathan Archer. Despite winning yet another move in this chess game as Lieutenant Talas had called it he was tired. Archer's head popped up at Walters' words.

"What are they up to out there Sutton?" he asked Lieutenant Commander Jeff Sutton. There was silence. "Well?" he snapped harshly.

"Sorry sir," Archer could hear Sutton's puzzlement in his voice. "They are," he paused. "They are sitting out there—nothing; not forming another attack wing; nothing."

"Weapons?" he asked the Andorian.

"Narwhals are exhausted, we have ten Spiders available, Merculite rockets are spent," Talas started the list. "Less than a third of the lasers are still operating sir."

"Trafalgar reporting in captain," Walters cocked his head tiredly as he listened. "Their weapon stores are exhausted as well. Their last laser took a hit. Lieutenant Commander Tucker says it'll take a few hours to repair."

"Hull plating is back up around the mam sir," Sutton chimed in. Archer suspected that he was trying to find some piece of good news amidst the unfolding disaster.

Archer shook his head. The Sabinus had hit that area squarely with its plasma cannon. Deep Space One should not even be there he thought. But they would not be for much longer. He grew angry. Archer sprang up and stalked over to the communications' console.

"Ensign Chandra, prepare to send a voice message; all available channels," he instructed the Indian. When that task was complete Archer started speaking. "Ready for more?" he started. "I know that you can monitor our communications. If you're not then you are bigger fools than we originally thought you were. We are waiting. You've had three of our days to kill us and you've failed. We're still here; a lot of your people aren't. Try it again. We are tired of waiting for your pathetic attacks." He stopped as he saw Sutton motion at him.

"They are forming up captain!" his operations' officer informed him. "The mines—they are vanishing! I think…I think they are detonating them. Moving toward us!" he added breathlessly.

"Weapons!" the captain bellowed. "Target them with whatever…

"In range!" the Andorian exclaimed.

"Cabbages in plasma cannon," Sutton's voice stopped. "What the hell?" Archer heard him say in a near whisper.

"What is it?" he asked while moving to Sutton's station.

"They are going to warp captain," Sutton answered. Archer grew impatient as he waited for further information. "They are departing."

"What kind of trick is this?" Talas asked.

"Continue tracking them with radar," Archer ordered. "In the meantime try restoring as many armaments as our people can." Jonathan came back to the stiff backed command chair. He remained standing though. The Birdies had suddenly stopped. He knew that their cruisers had been whittled down to less than a third of what they had started with. But that, he reasoned should have been enough to continue the fight.

"Sir," Ensign Chandra's quiet voice spoke up. Archer turned to her. "Taskforce 25 is reporting inbound. They estimate eighteen hours sir."

"The Birdies couldn't have known captain," Walters said in a speculative tone.

"It wouldn't have made a difference anyway," Archer said.

"They are still moving away," Sutton said. Archer could see that the man was bent over the hood of his sensor screen.

"Continue tracking them," Archer said. "If they move beyond radar range I want a five second ping by sensors. If they are still retreating then I'll order delta shift to stand down for a rest." He heard Sutton, a delta shift officer, breathe a sigh of relief. "I hate to rain on your parade Jeff but you will not be standing down. In case this is really over you will be showering and obtaining your dress uniform. I don't plan on officiating over your wedding while you are wearing a dirty uniform." The look on Sutton's face made whatever else was going to happen worth it Archer thought. He smiled; for perhaps the first time in two days.

Baltimore, Maryland, the old United States, Dec 2157

"What makes you think that your old boss is still around?" Lieutenant Frank McCoy asked the genetically augmented Kanya Nayyar. He was busy packing clothes. He wanted to leave the unpleasant reminders of Eileen Thomas and her apartment behind him. Admiral Soames had guaranteed that with her request that he go to Vulcan.

"Perex believes in the empire," Nayyar explained; "more than that he is from an imperial house. He believes that his lineage dictates his rank. The admiral ordered a recall of covert personnel to Vulcan. Perex believes that the key to breaking Thorpe's alliance is earth. He believes that Thorpe is the alliance."

"This admiral," McCoy paused while he recalled the name Nayyar had told to him: "Valdore; won't he take offense at Perex disobeying his orders?"

She seemed to Frank to be struggling to explain. Finally she spoke: "It would take too long to explain McCoy. The empire's leadership structure is far more complicated than it is presented. If Perex is successful here and can live to return to the empire he will be vindicated."

Frank nodded absently as he finished removing the things that he would need for his trip. He recalled her quick explanation of the Tal Shiar and their possible involvement in starting the war. "Does the Tal Shiar really have that much pull?"

"It was not always so," Nayyar answered. "There are whispered rumors. The average Romulan citizen is afraid to speak up. But the cause of Reunification has always been a popular one. We aug—humans were kept sequestered much of the time. Still we heard rumors and such from the outside; more on the long cruise to earth. Some in the military, Valdore was rumored to be among them, called for exercising restraint; perhaps as much as another human decade."

"That would've been about right," the historian in McCoy answered. "There was talk of reducing the Stellar Navy to a purely search and rescue roll since that is pretty much what it was anyway. If the Birdies would've hit us after we mothballed the lion's share of the fleet it would have been all over."

"Another decade would have made conditions on Vulcan more amenable for the empire's arrival also." Nayyar spoke as she took up a picture that that McCoy had dropped. The holophoto had landed face down: That had suited Frank just fine. He could not face the image of he and Eileen in a passionate grope; the photo taken by one of those annoying resort hospitability workers. He tried to take the remembrance from Nayyar but he should have known better as she deftly avoided his grasp.

"They looked at looked scenes liked this when they concluded that humans were vulnerable," she intoned calmly as she looked at the photo.

"What?" he asked. McCoy stopped his packing and confronted the woman. "The fact that we liked having good times?" he shot back angrily.

"The sense of decadence and malaise," Nayyar answered. "They studied your history. The Tal Shiar planetary study triad concluded that your people grew soft when you accumulated wealth. Your last war was almost a human century ago. It was thought that humans would surrender after the colony worlds were seized; that the timid and weak among you would dominate and discourage any reprisals against the empire."

McCoy wanted to lecture her. But the Birdies had hit the nail on the head. That was a sad fact in human history: The propensity to avoid conflict until it was inevitable. He merely nodded. "It was a good move. They might have won at that."

They still could McCoy thought. Nayyar had painted this Valdore as an excellent tactician. He had gleaned from her words that he must have been restrained by his civilian; or in this case imperial authority. Nayyar had related that Valdore had planned the Battle of Hell's Gate to make only a feint toward Wolf and attack with the main bulk of the Birdie fleet at Utopia Planitia. The small force that had made it through to the space yard had wreaked havoc enough. Frank was glad that Valdore had been usurped in his original decision.

He gathered up the rest of the clothes that he would need. "Give me that; please," Frank said; reaching out for the framed picture. She handed it to him. He glanced at the image and felt a stab in his heart. Frank wished that he had never signed onto Soames' plan now. It had all seemed so simple back then. They would do the right thing and walk away. No one was to be hurt; except for the Romulans. McCoy heard the voices of his elders telling him that right and wrong were simple choices. One either fell on one side or the other of those opposites. Eileen he thought bitterly had fallen dead somewhere in the middle.

"Well too late for regrets now," McCoy voiced his thought aloud. He looked at her bitterly. Nayyar was not the direct cause of his predicament but his mind wanted desperately to latch onto a scapegoat. Still he could not deny what the augment had done.

"What if Perex decides to come after you?" he asked bluntly. He cinched up his duffel, threw it over his shoulder and headed to what had been the couple's living room.

"I'm quite capable," she answered flatly. One of those lucky fly's that somehow had survived the change of season to make it indoors had its flight ended when the augment reached out and snatched it out of the air. She looked at it and flicked it back into the air. The insect recovered its poise. Did insects have poise McCoy wondered? Nayyar grabbed at and seized it again. "I have not lost my enhancements merely because I carry your child."

McCoy winced. "I wish that you wouldn't put it that way." Frank wanted to change the subject. He recalled his dad's frequent saying: What about those Braves? "The admiral is not sure about your offer to help us."

"I understand her reluctance," Nayyar answered at last. McCoy was glad that she had not pursued the baby issue any further. "But I believe save for you and Mister Brack that is your entire organization?"

McCoy nodded. She had helped them. He could not have stopped her that night on the Golden Gate Bridge. She need not have told him of the Birdies' plot to crash the freighter into the main government compound in San Francisco. He wondered briefly if this could be part of a larger Romulan plot. He shook his head: Most oftentimes the simplest explanation held the answer.

"I believe you could help us," he said at last. McCoy could see that she had mistaken his negative gesture as a dismissal. "Sorry; I was weighing things in my head," he said trying to explain his gesture. "I told the admiral that. I don't think she really takes a cotton to Micah." Neither did McCoy at times. He recalled Eileen's neighbor's account of the cold blooded execution of one of the bombers by what police had labeled vigilantes. McCoy had no doubts as to who performed that execution. He was still unsure about Brack's claim that he was somehow merged with a dead Vulcan. McCoy decided to keep that fact concealed from both Nayyar and the admiral.

"She is right not to trust me," Nayyar said; guessing at Frank's thought. "I would not were I in her position. But I offer my help nonetheless. I know much of Perex's mind." McCoy watched her: He thought that he detected a shudder. She reached into a jacket pocket. "These data wafers contain all of the empire's operating locations here—that I know of. I doubt that much can be found now. The admiral is increasing his effort to sway Vulcan."

McCoy wondered what he could there. Apparently Gupta, to McCoy's utter surprise had done much. He was not surprised that the Indian could have performed well in so dangerous a situation but rather surprised that Soames had withheld Gupta's location even from him. He wondered if she was keeping any other secrets. He dismissed the thought. His trip to Vulcan would serve another purpose: Too many eyes were being cast their way.

The Sons' of Terra were in complete disarray. But Erica had related to Frank the president's skepticism concerning the events leading up to that. The president was using all his resources hunting for a renegade organization in his own government. Soames had confided her belief to Frank that Thorpe knew: He just could not prove anything. This trip to Vulcan besides the primary reason would take Frank out of the picture; away from prying eyes here on earth.

"I'll tell her again how you've helped us Nayyar—

"You may call me Kanya," she interjected. "But do not get any other ideas about us McCoy. I chose to carry this child as an act of contrition; nothing else."

Frank really hadn't thought about that. He spoke in surprise: "I never expected anything else—Jesus lady! Besides; right now," his speech stumbled. "Look; thank you for everything. I'm not sure that I understand fully why you helped us, but that is not important anymore; thank you." He looked toward her midriff. "And for that," he added. "I suppose in some way," he stopped. Images of Eileen came unbidden to his mind's eye. He had betrayed and killed her. No matter what her political beliefs were she did not deserve that.

"I do not fully understand grief—except as a weakness," Nayyar said. "Perhaps we were wrong about that too."

"Aren't you people supposed to believe in your superiority?" McCoy asked sarcastically; glad for the diversion from unpleasant thoughts.

"Of course we do," she answered. The augment smiled. McCoy had thought she was incapable of the gesture. "I discovered an error and corrected it: A trait of a superior being."

It took Frank a few moments to realize that she was chiding him along. He smiled in turn. She looked less like a genetically engineered killing machine and more like a carefree young lady when she smiled. McCoy extended his hand.

"Take care of him—or her," Frank said. "Something good has to come from all of this bad."

"Return to see your child McCoy—

"Frank," he countered. She took his hand firmly. He remembered how she had crushed his wrist. Her skin was warm and dry.

"Good luck Frank," she replied.

The Plains of Danoroc, Vulcan, Dec 2157

He shielded his eyes. Lieutenant Tarang Gupta had learned in his role of saboteur never to look directly at the explosion. His chest ached as the concussive blast of his handiwork resonated through his body. The High Command still maintained stores of hybrid chemical thruster fuels at some of their military spaceports. Gupta suspected that they would reverse that policy after two of their fuel storage areas and the surrounding freighter launch facilities were destroyed. He was surprised that they had not made the changes after the first time.

"Let's go," T'Pol proclaimed as she rose out of her hiding place. The two were similarly adorned in light ruddy brown cloaks.

The two Syrranites were already slipping away into the blinding daylight. Their leader turned from the two and approached Gupta and T'Pol. Of all the things that had happened lately the conversion of Syrran to a more active role in the Vulcan civil war was the most amazing thing to the intelligence officer. Of course, in truly Vulcan fashion both T'Pol and Syrran referred to Vulcan's current internal conflict as a dispute. It reminded Gupta, for all the world of a property dispute his family had once had. His father and the neighbor had cursed one another and his mother had actually stooped over, grabbed a handful of mud and flung it at their neighbors. Gupta recalled that the entire incident had centered on a fence and a hound that liked to dig holes. Still Syrran or his followers had nothing more than help. None of them had taken up arms.

"Remember to offer no resistance." Gupta voiced his concern. Syrran's people were to head away from the automated spaceport to be apprehended by the proctors or security forces. Tarang hated doing this. But Syrran had actually made the suggestion. So far no civilians had been killed save for the unfortunate Sremen; all of that despite the work slowdowns and stoppages.

That was the nature of the dispute as Syrran and T'Pol called it. The Vulcan populace was waking up to the fact that Minister V'Las' government was acting inappropriately. Commerce had slowed to a standstill. It was actually quite logical when Syrran explained it to Gupta: V'Las' actions in the declaration of martial law and the bombing of the T'Karath Sanctuary were deemed illogical. The populace was reacting in a way that would forbid the High Command from making reprisals without reason. The whole affair effectively froze Vulcan civilization and gave one human intelligence officer a headache. Gupta wondered when Valdore would take a more active hand in pushing things along.

"I have told you human," Syrran spoke for his followers. "We are pacifists. To offer resistance would—

"Would not be logical," Gupta interrupted. "I know that. But your sources in the ministry sir admit that V'Las is not acting logically. How long before," his voice trailed off as he gestured at the departing Vulcans. How long before well meaning pacifists were summarily executed, he had wanted to ask. The couple was to act as a decoy for him and T'Pol. Apparently he and T'Pol were highly sought after by the internal security forces.

"It is because we have strayed so far," Syrran said. Gupta could see that faraway look in the leader's eyes. Tarang often wondered what sort of internal dialogue must go on in there. "The Romulans knew it was time. Too many," Gupta looked on as Syrran looked at T'Pol; "even your employer Soval started to believe in Vulcan's manifest destiny. They mistook a cognitive intellectual ability for the right and authority to lead the other races. They should have seen their illogic when the Andorians resisted our dominion."

"That tells me that there are enough Vulcans who believe that," Gupta said. He followed closely behind T'Pol as she led the trio to a new observation point. Gupta wanted to see who would come to investigate the disturbance that he had created here.

"I cannot even begin to calculate the outcome were the Romulans to land," Syrran said. "I believe in a greater than seventy percent chance that Vulcan civilization would fragment to the point of destruction; perhaps even before your people arrived to destroy us Gupta."

This was an old argument between the Gupta and Syrran. One that he knew that the Vulcan was right about: Somewhere Gupta felt sure that plans were made in case Vulcan turned against the alliance. Tarang shuddered when he thought of what those alternatives for dealing with Vulcan might be. He could only make guesses though, as he had not heard from Soames for some time.

Her last orders had told him to sabotage Vulcan's orbital communications' array but then later new orders had told him to sit tight until help came. What sort of help he wondered? How would Syrran, who he knew did not trust his motives, react to increased human interference? T'Pol held up a hand motioning them to stop.

These rocks contain the least refractory metals," she explained. "The security forces will probably make for the outcropping across the plain from us; thinking we are hiding from subspace among that formation of stones." The three saboteurs were instead wearing a small frequency generator that would mask their life signs into something else.

"Unless they capture Kana and Zon," Gupta said quietly. He rather hoped that barring a total escape by the couple that at least they would be captured without violence being done to them. But at least it might dissuade probing eyes from conducting a thorough search here. They each crawled in among spaces in the tortured rock formations. Gupta slid in past T'Pol. He felt her take his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. There had been little time for discussion of what they had declared between themselves.

Gupta detected that Syrran seemed to intervene much whenever there was a chance for the two of them to be alone. He wondered if the Vulcan pacifist had some interest in keeping the two apart. He wondered if he should confront Syrran about it. T'Pol lay under the lee of an overhanging rock wall while Syrran was hunkered down in a space formed between two massive boulders. They were several meters apart. Gupta scrambled over to where Syrran lay; disregarding the usual Vulcan zone of social comfort.

Rather than show any disdain and Gupta could see that shielded emotion even in one as disciplined as Syrran. Syrran squirmed around to look Gupta in the eye. "You are curious as to why I have been acting as a chaperone between you two."

Gupta ceased being stunned by Syrran who always seemed to be one step ahead of anything that the human did. "Yes I was. I know that our situation," meaning he and T'Pol's; "is unique but this was going to happen between the races sooner or later as we humans say."

"You have the soul of one of our people human," Syrran declared. That statement caused Gupta to do a double take. Had Syrran been replaced with a Romulan agent he wondered briefly? He was so taken aback that he almost missed what Syrran said next.

"We have those qualities human. It is our souls that drove us to great violence in the distant past and that same soul that accepted the harsh discipline of logic. If you are to mate with one of us than it fitting that you understand us. You look like us now; you even speak like one of us. But you are still human. You have a dilettante's understanding of what it is to be Vulcan. I know that one day our races will combine: That is the nature of things: Infinite diversity in infinite combinations. You are but one small part of a greater whole; ever changing and growing."

"Excuse me; but it sounds like so much mysticism," Gupta said. He knew that he sounded exasperated: He was.

"I was perhaps speaking more to myself," Syrran said. "A great human once proclaimed that they seek the counsel of the wisest, in reference to speaking out loud to himself." Gupta almost imagined that the Vulcan sighed. "You and T'Pol will play a small part in all that is to come: That much seems evident. But I wish for you to learn what it is to be Vulcan before you commit to this thing."

"We are already playing a small part in—

"I do not speak of the Romulan War or even of Reunification. It is the future of our two peoples to which I refer." He saw Gupta's nervous look. "She cannot hear us human; although she should. There will indeed be progeny between our people. But that child must have the best qualities of the races. You no more understand how to be Vulcan than T'Pol understands what it is to be one of you. You will share a closeness that no offworlder can understand. Your own people take nearly a lifetime before couples are truly bonded. That happens far sooner with Vulcans."

"I will do what is necessary to be with T'Pol," Gupta declared. He had never felt as sure of anything save for his love of family and oath to the military. "I do love her; with all that I am. I would give my life for her." This last he said more to himself than to Syrran. He had not been in a position to articulate his feelings to T'Pol since the battle in Sokur Province.

"I believe you human," Syrran answered at last. "That should lend you some comfort as I have been told humans derive that when their beliefs are validated."

"Thank you—

"Your thanks were neither asked for nor required," Syrran answered. The Vulcan seemed to Gupta to be lost in thought. Finally he said: "I shall take it upon myself to instruct you further in our ways. It is unjust of me to criticize your lack of knowledge while offering you no way to learn."

Gupta was speechless. He still didn't know where he stood with Syrran. The Vulcan leader was as aloof as ever. But his statements seemed to be positive for the Indian's cause. He was silent for some time until he thought that Syrran had fallen asleep and was snoring. But he soon realized that the low growl was intensifying. A Vulcan military carrier roared overhead minutes later.

Gupta's mind raced through the statistics on the vehicle: Its primary drive was impulse while it employed chemical motors for maneuvering. Stellar Navy intelligence reckoned it to be one of the oldest vehicles in the Vulcan registry of ships. Gupta recalled that the ship which had been carried slung beneath the primary hull of Vulcan cruisers was no longer in wide usage. In fact he remembered reading that most were training ships at best, target drones at the least. He wondered why the High Command would dispatch such a large air vessel to investigate the explosion.

Gupta focused his binoculars on the craft's landing gear. Leg's extended out and down. Heavy padded plates on the end of each gear settled onto the hot permacrete. The chemical thruster wound down as the ship's cargo bay doors rolled opened. Perhaps Gupta had learned more of what it was to be Vulcan than Syrran had given him credit for: He realized that the emerging soldiers were not Vulcan. He felt Syrran's grip around his arm.

"Your contact in the ministry was correct about V'Las clearing access to these automated bases," Gupta whispered quietly.

"And you were right to suspect that the Romulans were involved," Syrran answered. The two swapped the binoculars back and forth as they observed the hustling, jostling soldiers. That had been what had tipped Gupta off to begin with.

"That carrier is capable of reaching orbit," Gupta said thoughtfully. But he was no pilot. He had pursued intelligence after a senior classmen had gotten him interested in the discipline.

"The people still communicate via the old line-of-sight towers," Syrran said. "The only effect of V'Las control over the array is the blocking of off world transmissions."

"My president might be trying to call and resolve this situation," Gupta said. "I cannot believe that the average Vulcan sees man as a threat."

"Those who encouraged the spying against the Andorian holdings saw enemies everywhere," Syrran answered. "We had been alone since the Great Schism. It was easy to make other races competitors rather than allies. Those Vulcans were here long before our brothers asserted themselves. I suspect that V'Las was one of these: Prideful of our power."

Gupta guessed that it was so. But he gave it little more thought as he turned rather to the subject at hand. He wanted to take advantage of the carrier being there. He guessed that after losing their foothold in Sokur that the Romulans were planning on making use of some of the abandoned High Command bases on the alien world. News of Sokur had leaked out and despite the ministry's hold on information it was doubtful that the High Command could empty out an entire province for their use. Lacking a large base from which to strike out Gupta wondered if the Romulans would not seek other locations. These few bases might give them another opportunity. One thing they did give them was for sure was fuel for landing craft. Gupta was effectively denying them that.

Something Syrran had said caught his attention. "Brothers you say?" he asked. He suspected that Syrran had what could best be characterized as a fear of the Romulans; as far as a Vulcan could feel fear he guessed. So it was that he was surprised that the Vulcan referred to the Romulans as siblings.

"There will be a time when our two peoples will be ready for Reunification," Syrran said. "But for now we Vulcans have to find our way else we will slip away into violence with the Romulans."

"Finding your way," Gupta repeated that phrase over and over again quietly as he watched the Romulan troops spread out and start a search. He looked at the troops again.

"Valdore wants to land troops here," Gupta said at last. He started as T'Pol quietly slid up behind the two men.

"Some searchers are approaching for the other direction," she said.

"Our friends must have evaded capture," Tarang declared as happily as he could in the alien tongue. "Are they moving to the rocks with the kemacite in them?" When she nodded he continued. "They think that we are hiding there. Hopefully they will pick up that Kana and Zon left toward the refuge." Gupta hoped that the Romulans would try tracking the couple into the dense jungle refuge. The atmospheric ionization outside of the refuge's protected zone distorted subspace sensors and the jungle canopy made direct observation almost impossible.

"That carrier has a flight recorder," Gupta said thoughtfully.

"Of course it should," T'Pol said; "unless the Romulans have removed the device. Although I find that unlikely," she added explaining how Vulcan electronic equipment was integrated into the systems they were to monitor and control. "Why do you ask Tarang?" she asked in conclusion.

"The Romulans spoke of funneling troops into Sokur when we were there," Gupta said recalling their run in with a force of invading Romulans. "Their soldiers must be stationed off world somewhere; perhaps in transports. They have dealings with the Orions."

"Soval was once commissioned to study infiltrations into our system by Orions," T'Pol said. "Minister V'Las halted Soval's study group soon after ascending to the position of First Minister."

"That might explain why then," Gupta said. "The Romulans couldn't land their entire force at once. Perhaps they are hiding somewhere out there. It would have to be close as that class of carrier isn't warp capable."

"Many of the planets in our system are as yours Gupta," Syrran added. "There are three ice giants in the outer reaches of the system as well as a dead world between the inner planets and the outer gas giants. We stopped exploring them after the advent of warp drive."

"Which means that the Romulans could be out there," Gupta said. "It is only a matter of time before V'Las somehow clears another landing zone or figures a way past the unreliable High Command forces." That was what, as his old friend Crosby would have said, was saving their bacon now: Rumor from Syrran's contacts was that some High Command units including cruisers were not one hundred percent in the V'Las camp.

"You would see those Romulans slaughtered," Syrran declared flatly. Gupta could read the Vulcan well enough now to understand that he was upset. But was a disdain for violence or a sense of mercy for the Vulcan offshoots; Tarang did not know.

"A single strike against them would solve the Reunification problem rather succinctly," Gupta said. He did not mean to sound cruel before Syrran. He was thinking as a Stellar Navy intelligence officer.

"Your admiral indicated that help was coming," T'Pol said. "But I do not believe that your president would send a warship. In any event we have yet to obtain the information. We made our way among the Romulans once before and escaped. I do not believe that we can do so again."

"The navigational computer uplink," Gupta was surprised to hear Syrran speak up. He saw T'Pol eyeing the Vulcan as well. "I too served some time with the High Command. These types of crafts are augmented by ground based computers to allow the crews' time to turn to more important tasks. The system was seldom used however as handheld computers could do the same work."

"Can you access the system?" Gupta asked.

"We would have to get into the automated command area of the base," Syrran answered.

"That is possible," T'Pol said.

"We won't make it over open ground in the daylight," Gupta said. "Hopefully they will stay here awhile longer." Gupta checked his chronometer and then surveyed the base. It would be a difficult trek. He saw a drainage pipe pouring its life giving water into the Vulcan sand. It was a possibility he thought.

s

Incirlik, Turkey, the edge of the old Eastern Coalition, earth, Dec 2157

The smells of spicy foods fairly leapt up Frank McCoy's nostrils. He pushed his way into the small bar. A small coal stove was the establishment's only source of heat. Not that it needed heat as a press of human and alien bodies did an adequate job of making the temperature comfortable. Frank had been told that he would catch the shuttle to his ship from here. He wanted to meet some of the crew instead of showing up in the morning along with the rest of the duty passengers, if any.

He passed an Andorian whose chin was wet from hastily drunken ale. "Excuse me; I'm looking for the crew of the Jade Queen," Frank shouted over the noise.

Frank realized that the blue skinned alien was intoxicated. He reeled to a stop and turned to McCoy. The Andorian issued forth with a large belch. Frank smelt something like burnt tar from the alien's exhaled stomach gases. "You want to what?" the alien asked in confusion. McCoy repeated his request. "Those fellows," the Andorian said. McCoy followed the alien's crooked finger to see a tall slender woman, dressed casually dancing on a table. She also appeared to be drunk.

The small base was a staging area for navy personnel. Everywhere McCoy passed he heard stories of war. He also heard a few stories; variations of which he guessed had been along since Rome. Frank wished he felt better. The pain from his loss weighed heavily on him. He passed a poor young woman trying desperately to spit out one such story.

"Three men go into a bar and one of them has a fish," she started; tried again and failed.

"Come on Gloria you said you laughed your head off," a member of her small group of friends spoke up. "Don't tell me that you don't remember."

Frank leaned near the woman's ear. "Remember where the fish ends up at the end."

"That's it!" she exclaimed with a smile. McCoy saw the beginning of a small tattoo at the base of her neck: It looked like the crest of a ship. He had heard that the ancient custom was becoming popular again. Frank moved on.

Frank muscled his way through a throng of people. He came face to face with an alien. It took McCoy a few seconds to place the alien's species: Denobulan. The Denobulan glanced at McCoy and shot him a broad grin. He returned to the scene at hand: A man across the bar's floors was hanging suspended in a similar harness. Frank discerned that the two, if swung at one another would collide somewhere over the floor.

"Nothing like two champions confronting each other eh?" the Denobulan asked him.

"What are they doing?" he bellowed over the din.

"Warping into orbit," the alien answered. McCoy watched as both hanging participants were blindfolded. "Whichever one is still in his or her ship wins." Frank followed the Denobulan's gaze. "That woman over there is taking bets."

He looked to where the Denobulan had indicated. An older CPO wearing the black undershirt and slacks, her navy tunic missing, was holding credit chips in a crumpled towel. She stood between two men: One a dour looking heavyset middle aged man, the other a tall black man of approximately the same age. Frank recognized Captain Donald Townsend from an intelligence video he had reviewed a few weeks ago. The mock combatants were given large poles, the ends of which were covered with some padded cloth. Their mates started swinging the two.

"Engage!" the crowd roared. The two were swung at one another. Frank heard the thick clotted sound of bone hitting bone. Rough hands seized the gladiators at the top of their arc and tossed them both back into the fray. McCoy worked his way over to Townsend.

"Sir I'm Lieutenant Frank—

"Can't you see I'm conducting a battle, man!" Townsend yelled at him. The captain turned to the suspended woman. "He's approaching on the port quarter Marge!" The two combatants slammed together. The crowd rushed forward to untangle them and fling them back into the battle. "Starboard, starboard!" the captain exclaimed.

The two made a close pass in midair. Frank winced as he heard a whoosh that could only be made by someone who had gotten hit squarely in the breadbox as his father used to say. The man went tumbling out of his sling and slammed onto the wooden floor. A mustachioed man put a glass of clear liquid into McCoy hand. Frank drank quickly. The sweet licorice-like liquid felt like fire in McCoy's belly. The alcohol seemed to race into his bloodstream like it was going to warp. There was a loud cheer from the crowd. Some of them stumbled forward to help the woman down.

"Your guys are weak Jelly!" Townsend told the older man. "Life on a raider toughens you up; not like the easy life of a cruiser jack."

"How could that goddamn stick of a woman—

"Now, Jelly," Townsend started; "don't be a sore loser: I don't want to have to beat your ass like I did at the academy."

"I'm a stick that you'll never have Jellicoe!" the woman in question slurred out. She took her blouse sleeve and mopped at a trickle of blood near the corner of her mouth. Townsend handed her a shot glass of the clear liquid which she drank in one great draught.

"Now who are you again?" Townsend asked as he turned to McCoy. Frank watched as the Jade Queen's commander took to towel full of credits.

"This isn't the pain in the ass VIP skipper?" the woman asked pointedly.

"Are you a pain in the ass lieutenant?" Townsend asked Frank. "Because I won't have that on my ship," he continued as he swayed somewhat.

"No sir," Frank snapped. He was regretting the decision to come here. The waiter or bartender had put another drink in his hands. McCoy's head was beginning to spin and he had trouble focusing.

"He's a liar!" a voice exclaimed. "I know this man captain. He is the biggest pain in the ass in the universe. He is the stellar phenomena of ass pain."

McCoy turned to see who was besmirching his name. "Paul Aarons?" he asked incredulously. "You are actually on a ship; as what? Ballast?" he asked. McCoy embraced his old friend and clapped him on the back.

"We'll see who is ballast Sparky," Aarons answered using a nickname McCoy had once earned after misaligning a missile guidance circuit. "This guy is okay sir." Aarons had turned to Townsend. McCoy was about to say more when his old friend broke down in a drunken sob. Townsend escorted the chief to a chair.

What the hell?" Frank asked breathlessly.

"Chief Aarons received what you humans have been calling; the letter," the Denobulan said as he stood beside McCoy.

Divorce: The war was taking its toll at home. It did so doubly so for Frank who had been a groomsman in Aaron's wedding party. At least his ex-wife to be was still alive he thought bitterly and immediately regretted it. He needn't feel sorry for himself in light of the problems of others. He became aware that the Denobulan was speaking.

"My name is Phlox," he said; holding out his hand in the human manner.

"Lieutenant Frank McCoy," he replied extending his hand. "I didn't know your people were serving with ours."

"My world is not formally a member of the alliance but we have been sending medical aid to the allies. I am the Jade Queen's surgeon."

"Glad to meet you," Frank said. He looked past the doctor to his old friend. He stumbled a little; no doubt from whatever he had been drinking. The mustachioed man handed him yet another drink. Frank stopped short though when he saw someone across the bar. He tossed back the sweet cold drink and waited.

"Hullo Frank," Micah Brack said. Frank gaped at him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked sharply. He looked around for probing eyes; decided he was too drunk to care.

"Doing the same thing as you," Brack informed him. He was listless as Brack placed a hand on his shoulder. "I couldn't do anything Frank. I would've traded places with her if possible. I am sorry Frank."

"Forget it Micah!" he said as he shrugged the hand off. "There ain't nothing that is going to bring her back now. Goddamnit! I thought that I could forget everything that happened."

"Don't throw everything away Frank," Micah said. "I heard that your child survived. You must stay alive for that."

"How did you get here Micah?" McCoy asked. He wanted to deflect the conversation. Brack had come uncomfortably close to the truth. Deep down, he knew that he did not plan on coming back from Vulcan.

"I have presidential connections Frank," Micah answered. "Our association is from a chance meeting after an intelligence briefing you delivered on industrial security—remember?"

McCoy did indeed remember one of the cover stories the two had concocted. But McCoy imagined that Brack asking Thorpe for passage to Vulcan had raised flags with the earth president. This thing is just sinking deeper and deeper McCoy lamented. He wondered if they happened to win the war would he spend the rest of his life in prison for treason.

"Uh, sure I remember Micah." Frank sighed. "Don't take it wrong but I'm not crazy about being paired up with you again; not right now anyway."

Brack laughed in that peculiar high keening type of laugh. McCoy realized that the not-Brack personality was speaking. "We should be together McCoy: Like Butch and Sundance, Huntley and Brinkley, Bush and Clinton."

Frank snatched another drink from the passing waiter. He downed it quickly. He would pay for all of this in the morning he thought wryly.