"I... I am not!" Rom stammered, his green Ferangi head-sheet quivering.

                The door chime to my ready room tinkled softly.  I looked up from the engine update I had been reading.

            "Come," I called, and the door slid open to reveal Jamie.  I smiled. "Doc, what can I do for you?"

            But Jamie looked troubled.  She handed me a PADD, "Here are the results from that autopsy I ran on one of the Enterprise's crewmen."

            I slowly took the card from her and studied it carefully, "Yes," I allowed, though not understanding a word of it. "What is your point?"

            "The point is," she announced, taking the PADD from my outstretched hand, "that according to this autopsy, and the body's rate of decay, this man has been dead for--not five hours, not five days--but for five years."

            "Five years?" I repeated skeptically. "How is that possible?"

            Jamie shook her head, "It shouldn't be... unless it's some kind of after effect obtained from direct contact with a Tregonian beam weapon or something.  I'm going to run some additional tests to see if I can come up with something concrete."

            "Make it so, Doctor.  I want to see some tangible results.  In fact," I started, "I want--"

            I was cut off by Paul's voice coming over the line, "Captain to the bridge," he called.

            I turned to Jamie, "I'm sorry, but we'll have to continue trhis converstation another time.  Please keep me posted on your progress."

            "Sir," Paul said as I slid down in my seat in-between himself and Julie. "We just got a communication from Mr. Doyle down in engineering.  The warp engines are tested and ready."

            "Thank you, Commander," I paused and took in the entire bridge. "Status?"

            "Shields are at eighty percent and holding, sir," Carl reported. "Weapons are limited, but operative."

            "Sensors are now operating at optimum efficiency," Raseen stated.
            "Impulse power at... ninety percent, and warp power is completely restored," Feral spoke at last.

            "Commander?" I turned to my number one.

            "Aye, sir," Paul responded, trying to mask his pleasure in giving the next order. "Computer, search and reserve file Jat'Naii."

            "Working," the female voice reported. "Found: file 1019 Jat'Naii."

            "Initiate, authorization: Plack, beta five Cantar."

            "Authorization recognized," the computer conceded. "Activating sequence now."

            The lights dimmed.  Plin turned around, "What was that?"

            "Cloaking device activated," the Computer answered Raseen's question for me.

            Raseen cracked a smile, "Leave it to old Watson to think of something like this.  I always knew he was a bit paranoid."

            In response, I smiled a tight smile of my own, "Take us out, Ms. Plin, heading: 061 mark 2.  And by the end of this war, you may learn to see Admiral Watson in a different light."

            Plin, still grinning, answered with an affirmative, "Aye, sir.  But do you think it's wise to leap right back into the fray so soon?"

            "Ms. Plin," Paul put in plainly, "judging from the handiness with which these Tregonians dispatched with the Enterprise, if we don't rejoin the fight soon, there might not be anything to go back to..."

            Blue energy swirled around the Odyssey in shifting, haphazard patterns.  Invisible drops of "water" impacted the colored sides of the long blue tunnel we were presently engulfed in, creating ripples that extended off into infinity.  The Bajorans called this region of space the Celestial Temple, or the Temple of the Prophets.  But to Humans it had no real religious value.  Rather, we saw it plainly as a means of transportation from the still mysterious Gamma Quadrant to the colonized, Federation Alpha Quadrant.

            Suddenly, we were in normal space again, and the Temple gates had closed behind us.

            I shook my head to clear the mild feeling of distortion always associated with traveling through trans-space, "Plin... get DS9 on screen, and open a channel directly to Captain Sisko.  I need to know the status of the Ninth Fleet and how the first wave-front faired."

            "Captain," Raseen began, "I think you should take a look at this," and with a few pressed keys, Plin transferred the image displayed on her console to the main viewer.

            In response there were several gasps, and a few uttered curses.  I, myself, sat in silence, my voice stolen from me by the very intensity of the scene.

            Deep Space Nine was in ruins.

            The command area had collapsed in on itself, and upper pylon two was gone.  All three of the lower pylons were also damaged.  The station was obviously beyond repair and uninhabitable.

            "The battle is not going well," Julie said plaintively.

            "But if this happened to DS9," Benson began, "then what happened to Ninth Fleet?"

            "The real question is," Paul stated, "if this happened to DS9, and Ninth fleet is either defeated or subdued, then..."

            "Ms. Plin," I broke in, my finger tips digging tensely into the rests of my chair, "set course for earth... maximum warp!"

            "Coming up on earth," Plin whispered, her voice cracking.

            "Drop to impulse on my mark," I replied in the same somber tone.  I mentally counted the light years. "Mark."

            And the Odyssey was back in Eienstinian space.

            "Captain!" The voice of my tactical officer cut through my thoughts. "We're on a collision course with some space debris," Benson squinted at his read outs. "But I can't quite make out what it is."

            "Ms. Plin, plot a course around the object.  And Mr. Hail," I turned in my seat," get it on screen."

            The viewer blinked on.  Literally millions of rock fragments were floating around aimlessly--colliding with each other, roaming free.  And they were all converging in one place, "Hail," I said slowly, "get me the coordinates of the debris point of convergence."

            "Yes, sir... heading 001 mark 1, sir."

            Paul tore his eyes from the display in horror, "Those are the exact coordinates for earth..."

            I turned to stare again at the swirling debris and the still pulsating core of our once-great planet, thought of all the billions of lives lost... and wept openly.

            "... and we've discovered wreckage from the Drake, the Penelope, the Constellation, the LaSalle, and the Zhukov still in a loose orbit of what's left of earth," Paul reported wearily.  They were all in pretty bad shape, save for the Penelope, which was still whole enough to be boarded," he caught my look. "The entire crew was dead, sir, but Jamie's brought another body back so she can compare autopsy results from the Enterprise crewman's with this one."

            I sighed, "Is that all you have to report, Commander?"  I sat back in my chair behind my desk.

            "One more thing, sir," Paul held up his hand, then abruptly lowered it to straighten his uniform. "I sent out an encoded distress call on all Federation frequencies... but so far, there has been no answer.  May I suggest a course of action?"

            "Of course, Mr. Plack," I allowed freely. "I'm always grateful for imput."

            He nodded, "Yes, sir.  Six years ago, myself and Lieutenant Commander Data had started working on a way to preserve a human brain in a mechanical body.  He saw it as a doorway to immortality for us organics.  After the passing of his 'father,' Doctor Soong in 2366, it became a goal for him to reach before all of his friends died."

            "Yes," I said.  I was aware of that much. "But what does Mr. Data have to do with us?"

            Paul shook his head, "Not Mr. Data, sir.  The lab where we worked.  It's stationed in a very insignificant corner of space: the Rivilian system.  It's a rather heavily shielded enclosure on the small moon of Vigeria," he paused for breath. "No one would ever think of searching the Rivilian system, Captain.  I think it would be a perfect fall-back location."

            I slowly drummed my fingers on my desk, deep in thought, "Yes.  Yes, your suggestion is sound, Commander.  Very well," I stood. "We will hold our present position for another hour or so, and then set course for the Rivilian system.  Inform the senior staff that there will be a briefing in the observation lounge at 2000 hours."

            "Aye, sir."

            "The Rivilian system," Paul said matter-of-factly, indicating the wall display in the observation lounge. "Three planets orbiting a G-class star," the image of the system faded away, and was replaced by a likeness of a much smaller planet. "The second planet's moon, Vigeria.  The lab I mentioned earlier is located on the dark side of the moon, and is shielded from most types of sensor sweeps by the moon's metallic atmosphere.  This will be our base of operations.  From there we will launch only smaller vehicles to search out other humanoid life such as us, and begin plans for some kind of counter strike against the Tregonians."

            "And from some of the Tregonian transmissions we picked up just a few moments ago, the situation looks pretty grim," Plin frowned, and pushed some panels on the glossy conference table. "Listen to this."

            There was a short burst of static, and then an unfamiliar voice came on-line, "Darvonchi, this is Fleet Maska Gorand.  Report destruction of humanoids that refer to themselves as Klingons.  Their planet, Quo'nos, is ruins in.  They conceitedly called themselves Empire.  Now we are only the Empire!  Pathetic fools!  Long live Emperor Faversa!  Gorand out."

            "The lists of conquests are endless," Plin choked out.

            "This is a dark time for the Alpha Quadrant," Dan agreed quietly.

            I grimaced, "Anything else to report?"

            Jamie nodded, "Yes, sir.  I have the results of those autopsies, and I've come to a very interesting conclusion," she stood and walked up to the main display.  She quickly up-linked her PADD to it, and keyed on the screen.  Two whirling strands of DNA appeared in macro-vision. "The first strand is a sample I've taken from one of our own dead, one of the people we lost in battle.  The second strand is a sample I've taken from one of the Enterprise's crew members.  Now take note, if you would, of the difference in cellular decay."

            Julie stared at the screen, "The first strand in considerably more complete."

            Jamie nodded, "Exactly.  The second strand is four or five years into it's decay cycle.  But these two crewmen were supposedly to have been killed at approximately the same time.  A sample from the Penelope's dead helmsmen is also five years into its cycle," she paused to look at me. "We're the anomaly here, Captain."

            "Hmmm, very interesting, Doctor," I pondered. "I would immediately blame the effect on the Badlands, except for the fact that the Enterprise was present in the Gamma  Quadrant as well.  Still... Sorry, Commander," I looked up abruptly, "but it looks like we'll have to postpone our trip to Vigeria.  There are some things I'd like to investigate in the Badlands first."

            "Yes, sir," Paul responded easily.

            "Very good, then," I stood. "Plin, prepare the Odyssey for warp, and plot a course for the Gamma Quadrant."             

            "Aye, sir."

            "Dismissed."    
       

              Captain's Log     Stardate: 567199.5:  We have been dogmatically searching the Badlands for any answers whatsoever for the past five hours.  So far our search has uncovered nothing of consequence.  The Tregonian's W-Transmission is still present, and as threatening as ever.  We can only hope and pray that no ships decide to come through it, due to the fact that the electromagnetic interference generated by the fiery plasma of the Badlands renders our cloaking device inoperative.

            I never thought I'd see the day the Federation crumbled, never thought my grandchildren would see it.  And now, gazing upon all the ruins and wreckage of a once-great civilization--one that I had spent my entire life building and shaping--I feel a sadness like no other... And I know for certain that I will do all that is in my power to bring it back.

           

            "Captain!" Plin piped up abruptly.  "We're getting some strange readings from the W-T!" She turned around, and fear gripped me. "It's becoming stable, sir... a ship is coming through."

            I dug my fingers deeply into the armrests of my chair as I felt all eyes on the bridge focus on me. "Acknowledged, Ms. Plin," I grimaced.  We were in no condition for a fight.        Then inspiration hit me, "Computer," I called out, "shut down all ships functions except for life support and minimal sensors, authorization: Schwartz, omega three Gibson."

            "Working," the computer droned softly. "All systems shut down."

            There was a thrumming as all the computers shut down, and the lights dimmed.  I raised my eyes from my little panel on the side of my chair and sensed everyone was still staring at me.

            "With all due respect, sir," Benson started tensely from tactical, "I am not sure that was the wisest course of action.  We are now completely vulnerable to the Tregonian's attack.  We don't even have partial shields."

            "Shhh," I waved a hand in the lieutenant's direction. "They might hear you."

            "What?" Benson inquired in an irked tone. "Captain, this is absurd."

            This time it was Paul who addressed Carl, "Shhh," he mimicked my posture. "When you play dead, it's a good idea to keep quiet as well."

            "What's the status of the Tregonian vessel, Ms Plin?" I asked in a low voice.

            "It's seen us, sir," Plin replied nervously. "It's heading in our direction... now it's scanning us."

            "The moment of truth," Julie muttered under her breath.

            "It's locked onto our life support generator, Captain, and they're tracing it to the sensor array." Plin frantically pushed keys on her console. "They're shutting down their array and powering up weapons!"

            "They know we're still operational!" Benson cried.

            "Computer, reactivate the main computer!  Get everything back on-line!  Shields up!  Go to red alert!" Red light filled the bridge. "Weapon's status Mr. Benson?"

            "Phasers, quantum torpedoes are on line, sir, but the crest is still down.  Shields at 60%!"

            "Computer," Paul said, "reroute all weapons functions from the battle bridge to the main bridge!"

            "Mr. Doyle," I turned around to face Dan at science 1, "I want you down in engineering."

            "Aye, sir," Dan said and promptly left the bridge.

            "Hail," I swiveled towards the lieutenant at the Conn, "get down to the hanger deck and scramble all remaining fighters--grab doctors to fly them if need be."

            "Yes, sir."

            "Mr. Benson," I narrowed my eyes, "fire."

            "With pleasure, sir."

            The ship rocked slightly as twin beams of energy lanced out and struck the Scavenger ship dead center.  It's shields fizzled into existence at least a second after our phasers had struck home.  Obviously they had not been expecting much resistance.

            Suddenly they let loose with three beams of greenish liquid fire.  Two of the three collided with our shields, while the third caught the edge and ricocheted off into space.

            "Damage report?" I inquired.

            "Minimal damage to the hull," Benson replied, "but shields are at fifty percent."

            Paul stood from his chair, "Prepare to fire quantum torpedoes," he ordered.

            "Aye, sir," Benson keyed in the proper sequence.

            "Fire," I brought my hand down to emphasize the instruction. 
            Five crackling orbs of energy shot from our forward torpedo launcher and slammed into the enemy vessel.

            "It didn't even penetrate their shields," Plin reported.

            As Raseen spoke I saw our few remaining fighters converge on the Scavenger.  "Schwartz to fighter wing," I transmitted. "Hail, come in."

            "Wing leader here, sir," came the staticy reply. "Awaiting orders."

            I stood and walked towards the view screen, "Focus your attack on their stern, Lieutenant--I want you to try and knock out their shield generator."

            "Aye, sir," there was a pause. "Die all, die merrily, Captain."
            The channel was cut as Hail signed off.

            Our ship shook as it was again impacted by deadly bolts of energy.  I took a step backward to brace myself for the next barrage.

            "Shields are down to fifteen percent, Captain, and there are reports of a hull breach on deck twelve!"

            "Fire our remaining torpedoes, Mr. Benson!" I commanded over the screaming alarms. "Pattern: Epsilon!"

            On my mark, the six remaining torpedoes exited their tubes and took on the specified attack pattern.  One by one, they ravaged our opponent's shields, each time aiming for a different vital system.

            "Status of the enemy vessel?" Paul's voice cut through the smoke and red light.

            Plin turned around slowly, as if in a daze, "Captain," she whispered. "The Tregonian ship is down--it's dead in space, sir."

            "What?" I narrowed my eyes unbelieveingly.

            "Stand down from red alert," Paul instructed uncertainly.  The alarms shut off.

            "Are you sure of that, Ms. Plin?"

            "Positive, sir," she replied haltingly. "Our sensors show intensive damage to the stern, no life signs... and sensors are operating well within established perimeters." 

             "Counselor?" I turned to my left.

            Julie shook her head, "No, Captain--I do not sense any presence at all on the vessel.  Though it still could be a trap," she added.

            I frowned, "Yes, we must entertain all possibilities... but I think that this is too good an opportunity to pass up.  A Tregonian ship has never been studied from the inside out.  I think we might be able to learn something about our adversary from all of this.  Mr. Plack," I addressed Paul, "I'd like you to assemble an away team and beam over to the Tregonian ship.  See if you can ascertain any weaknesses in their ship's construction."

            "Yes, sir," Paul replied readily. "Benson, Plin, you're with me.  Mr. Doyle?" Paul called.

            "Yes, sir, I've been monitoring the conversation from down here," Dan responded immediately. "I'll meet you in transporter room three."

            Paul felt the familiar tingle of excitement as he stepped onto the transporter pad.  Dan, Raseen, and Carl stepped up beside him.

            "I'll be keeping a continuous lock on you during your entire visit 'next door,'" the blond haired transporter chief said, keying in the correct sequence. "The Captain wants to be able to bring you back at a moments notice."

            "Very good, Chief," Paul allowed, and adjusted his phaser belt. "Energize."

            Suddenly the room was filled with the melodies of what seemed like thousands of bell chimes.  Paul closed his eyes against the assault of pulsating colors swimming around the interior of the matter stream.  And then, the whistling harmonics ceased, and the colors vanished.

            The away team now found themselves bathed in flickering green light.  Smoke was pouring out of various vents making it difficult to see.

            "Spread out," Paul started. "See if you can find an operational console--or any kind of schematic that might help us find our way around," he paused to switch on his wrist light. "I had the chief beam us to the most prominent site of transwarp activity, so we should be near the Scavenger's main engineering.  Let's move."

            The party split up, each member going in a different direction.

            Dan passed a long line of engineering panels, going over each of them for signs of life.

            Finally he discovered one that still glowed faintly.

            "Commander," he called, "come take a look at this."

            "What is it, Mr. Doyle?" Paul strode through the haze to where Dan was standing.

            "I think I've found a station that's still operational," the screen he gestured to was covered with literally hundreds of tiny scribblings. "Though I can't even begin to guess what all of these symbols could mean."

            "Sir," the voice of Plin cut across the room. "I've found a body--presumably Tregonian."

            "Get to work on deciphering their code, Mr. Doyle," Paul instructed, and when Dan nodded, went over to join Plin.

            "Vital signs are nil, Commander," Raseen stated when Paul knelt beside her. "It's dead."

            Paul stared into the cream-colored face of one of the Federation's conquers, and a strange primal fear came over him.  It was a barbaric face, with many more ridges then even a Klingon's.  It had a total of three fingers on each hand, and wore a molded body suit.  It had no hair of any kind; its violet eyes were glazed over in death.

            Hmmm, Dan frowned and bent closer to the display.  The screen had changed color.

            Paul looked from the alien to Plin, and back again, "Was it a male or a female?"

            "Male, I think," Plin responded, consulting her tricorder. "The tricorder's having a hard time distinguishing organs of any sort.  I'm not reading any heart, lungs, or liver.  I can't even assess how he died."

            The minute characters on the dim display screen were moving.  Dan blinked to clear his vision.  He began randomly pushing keys, trying to get a reaction, "Commander!  Something's coming on-line."
            "What is it, Lieutenant?" Paul stood.

            "I don't know, sir, but I think we should--" Dan was cut off as the lights came on with a thrumming sound.  Every display along the four walls followed suit.

           

            "Captain!" The ensign manning Raseen's station announced. "The Tregonian vessel is coming back on-line!"

            "What?" I rose from my seat, and felt Julie move to my side.

            "The ship is powering up it's main computer core!" The young ensign's eyes widened. "The Tregonian ship is raising it's shields!"

           

            The Tregonian warrior between Paul and Raseen suddenly sat up, discarding death as if it were no more then a garment.  Plin let out a piercing scream.

           

            "Bridge to transporter room three!" I cried. "Get them out of there!"

            "Yes, sir," the chief replied. "Energizing."

            I waited for a moment, and only the soft harmonics of transportation came over the channel.

            "Report, chief," I demanded sharply.

            It was Daniel who answered, "We're back, sir.  Everyone made it..." he faltered.  Julie moved closer to me, putting a hand on my shoulder, suspense obviously coursing through her veins. "Everyone but the Commander, sir."

            I grimaced; ran a hand through my hair, "Very well, Mr. Doyle.  Please return to the bridge," I turned to face the view screen, gently removing Julie's hand. "Ensign Carlosin," I spoke quietly, an undertone of menace creeping into my voice. "Hail the enemy vessel."

            "Aye, sir," the ensign replied; he too had taken notice of the somber attitude that had descended on the bridge, for he spoke in little more then a whisper. "Channel open."

            "Scavenger vessel," I began, putting all of my remaining pride and dignity into my voice. "This is Captain Peter Schwartz of the Federation starship Odyssey.  One of our people was trapped on your ship when you unexpectedly reinstated your shields," I decided to put all my cards on the table. "We ask that you return our crew member, and let us go in peace.  We are but one defenseless ship, and could not possibly prove a threat to you or your armada."

            The main view screen sprung to life just as the away team returned to the bridge.  Seated facing the screen was a short, stubby alien.  Flanking his command chair were two hulking figures, each with body armor, and ridged faces.  All three pairs of violet alien eyes were locked on me.

            "Starship Odyssey: I am Captain D'virian of the Bird that Hunts in the Night," the middle humanoid responded in perfect English. "It is a fact that we do indeed have your crew member.  But we are unwilling to conform to your terms--he was, after all, a trespasser on our ship.  However," he held up his three-fingered hand to stop any protests. "Your man is still alive, and we may be willing to return him to you."

            "But..." I prompted.

            "But, in return, I want your complete and utter submission.  You will become our servants, and your ship will be assimilated into our own fleet," the alien face stayed placid, but the strange shiny implant on it's head sparkled with satisfaction.

            Dan stepped forward, "How do we know he's really still alive?"

            "A fair question," the Tregonian turned to one of the big humanoids on the left side of him. "Bring in the Starfleet," the bigger Tregonian grinned savagely and strode off-screen

            A few moments later he returned with Paul, struggling against his restraining cuffs.

            "Captain," he said as soon as he saw me. "Don't listen to them.  Take the Odyssey and try and revive the Federation," I frowned a bit at the histrionic drama he was throwing in to the speech, but continued to listen. "You must stand like Dangara at Tangren.  You need to remember Ravank at Bavenaria.  Or Triskal at--" he was cut off by the large Tregonian.

            "No more talk, Starfleet," he rumbled. "Back to holding cell."

            "Remember, Captain!"

            I frowned again, contemplating my first officer's monologue.

            Meanwhile, the smooth-skinned Tregonian had turned back to me, "You have one Terran hour to make your decision.  Our word is our bond, Captain--you keep your end of the bargain, and we will most certainly keep ours," he concluded.  The channel was severed.

            "Thank you, and come again," I heard Benson mumble under his breath.

            I let out a large breath  of air and sat down, "Your impression, Counselor?"

            "I find the Tregonian species very intriguing, Captain," she replied slowly. "From the larger Tregonians, I felt only hate; barbarism.  But from the smaller one, only intelligence and regalness," she closed her eyes, then opened them, rubbing her temples. "I also noticed unveiled surprise emanating from each of them when you announced that we were of the Federation."

            "Yes," I sat back. "Yes, I took note of their astonishment as well.  And what would you expect?  Hmph.  All this was just as anticipated.  But what of our own Mr. Plack's behavior?"

            "I found it decidedly... odd," Julie admitted. "Though I believe that his intentions were not to encourage us, but to transmit a message of some sort."

            Dan stepped down from to the command deck, "Any idea what kind of message?" He inquired.

            The Counselor shook her head firmly, "No, his main intendment was hidden, even from me."

            Plin turned to me from beside Paul's chair, "Mr. Plack made distinct references to several famous Klingon conquests."

            "Do you remember anything specific or unusual about them?"

            Plin frowned, deep in thought, "No, sir, I'm sorry, the academy is a good many years behind me.  But I'm sure they would be in the ship's library."

            "Very good, Lieutenant," I said easily. "You and Mr. Doyle will access the correct files and report to me with your conclusion as soon as possible," I paused on my way to the door. "I'll be in my ready room."