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

"Roc'de'jino, chocolate," I spoke into the replicator.

            With a sigh I sat down behind my desk to await any answers that might come my way.

            Everything had been moving so fast lately.  And it definitely seemed that the "bad" was considerably more fleet of foot then the "good."  I rubbed my eyes.  Such was the life of a Starfleet captain during war times.

            I caught sight of a vid-cube half buried under an unsteady stack of PADDs.  I reached for it, steadying the PADDs with my other hand. 

            It was a "still" of Jamie and Tianna that I had taken on our recent vacation to the mountains of Talarius III.  I smiled, remembering--living in the memories.

            Then, as it always did when I managed to find a moment of peace, reality crept up behind me and sunk its ugly talons deep into my heart.

            I cringed, the memories evaporating.  There was no more earth, no more baby girl to welcome Daddy and Mommy home.  As a father, I promised her the stars--the universe...

            I replaced the cube.  And Jamie.  I haven't talked to her in two days, I thought harshly; haven't slept in three.

            Somberly I sipped my beverage and stared off into infinity.

            Die all, die merrily?

           

            Paul gently massaged his bruised shoulder.  The Tregonian guard had returned him to his cell none too gently.  Paul was a big guy, and fairly strong, but those Tregonians made him feel like chaff on the wind.

            Carefully he stood, testing his other limbs as he did so.  Slowly he walked over to the force field--the only thing separating him from relative freedom.

            He desperately hoped that the Captain had understood his instructions to wait.  Apparently, the fighters had done more damage to the Tregonian's engine core then to their shield generator.  According to his findings before he was discovered, their transwarp containment was at dangerous levels.  The Scavenger was on the verge of a breech, and any fire fight at all might upset its fragile balance, resulting in both ships being engulfed in the shock wave.

            Paul quickly scanned the outer room for any Tregonian presence.  Finding none, he gave his shoulder one last pat, and bent to roll up the pant-leg of his uniform, exposing the tiny ankle holster he had become accustomed to wearing since the heat of the Great Borg War.  Silently he removed the tiny disrupter and began to quietly work on melting the wall plate that hid the force field controls.

            "... so in all instances the battle involved a stalemate," Dan concluded. "Which, I might add, is the very reason those specific battles were taught in the academy.  They were the only three Klingon conflicts in all of Klinzhai history that ended in... a tie."

            I tapped my chin, "A stalemate?  Yes, that about describes our present situation."

            "Ah, but I think Paul means us to go a step further," Dan commented, pushing on, obviously having a theory in mind. "What makes up a stalemate--what's the principle behind it?"

            Plin ventured a guess, "The action involved?"

            "Rather the lack of action," Dan corrected. "In fact, the said situation infers complete inaction."

            "So Paul's telling us to wait?" I asked.

            Dan shrugged, "That would be my guess."

            I smiled tightly, "Then we wait."

            "Ahh," Paul gently disconnected what was left of the wall plate from its housing, and set it on the floor of his cell.

            Cautiously he began probing around the inside of the wall.  He fingered several wires before he finally located the correct one.  Mentally crossing his fingers, he yanked the wire from its socket.

            There was a minuscule, soundless explosion of sparks, and the force field shut down.

            With disrupter in hand, Paul crept from his cell and into the outer detention area.  Quickly and fluidly he moved through the open door and into the office.

            "Hey," a Tregonian rose from his chair in the lounge, "who let Starfleet out?" He made a move to reach for his disrupter, but Paul was faster.  Two compressed bursts of energy hit the Tregonian square in the chest.  He was dead before he hit the ground.

            "Anyone else want to try it?" He challenged, training his own weapon on the two remaining Tregonians.

            Both raised their hands in averse surrender.

            "Good choice," Paul nodded. "This disrupter has only three settings: medium, rare, and extra crispy--no stun in the bunch.  So I suggest you cooperate and lock yourselves in that holding cell over there," reluctantly the two security guards rose to their feet, and plodded towards the cell Paul had indicated.

            Suddenly, one of them made a move to grab Paul's disrupter, but was hacked to the ground before his hands left his sides.

            The conscious Tregonian decided to quicken his pace, and reached the cell even before Paul did.  He shoved him inside, then bent to drag the still form of the other hapless guard into a similar cell.

            "On second thought, I don't think I want you two bunking together if Ugly over there ever wakes up," Paul explained, then reached to remove his combadge.  Carefully he opened the small device, removed the proximity detector, and placed it in an adjacent cell. Then he saluted, "Another time, boys."

*          *          *

            "It's already been forty-five minutes, Captain.  I don't think we can wait any longer," Plin stated grimly.

            "Suggestion noted, Ms. Plin," I cut her off. "But Mr. Plack still has my vote of confidence.  He's been in tougher situations," I looked uneasily at Julie, and she shrugged.             Raseen shifted gingerly in her chair.

              Paul quickly ducked through the open door and re-entered the Scavenger's main engineering.  Skulking in the shadows, he approached the main computer console.  He checked his chronometer.  According to his calculations, the next shift of Tregonian engineers was due in about five minutes.  He inserted the command access rod he had "borrowed" from a fallen Tregonian lieutenant, and keyed up an informational schematic.

            "Shield modulation, 065 degrees, shield deactivation code...," Paul paused as he checked his figures.

            "Hey!" A voice from the cat-walk above sounded. "What are you doing down there?  You're shift doesn't start for another...," the tech's voice faltered as Paul looked up from his work. "Starfleet!" He activated his wrist communicator. "Security!  The Starfleet has escaped!  Security to--"

            He was cut off as he was struck in the head by a disrupter burst.

            "Uhh!" Paul smacked the table with his palm, his weapon cooling on the conduit beside him.  Now it was only a matter of how fast security traced his trail to main engineering.  He shook his head. "Com'on," he muttered, hitting the glossy console again, "work faster."

            "Working," the computer responded.

            "Captain D'virian," The ship's security chief called over the com-net. "The prisoner has escaped.  We have tracked him to engineering, where he seems to have rooted himself.  I have sealed all exits, and made sure the room was clear of all of our personnel.  Should we move in?"

            "He's no good to us dead, Chief," D'virian reminded his third officer.

            "No more visual communications are necessary, my liege--the hour is almost spent," the Chief countered. "Besides--our word is our bond."

            The implant on D'virian's head glistened like golden latinum, "Agreed, Chief.  You have my permission to do whatever is obligatory."

            "Imputting shut-down authorization," Paul spoke into the panel the computer had indicated.  He pressed the correct keys.  Now all he had to do was initiate the sequence.

            Suddenly, a burst of hot energy sang over his head.  Startled, he looked up.  The security team had found him.

            Quickly he dropped to the ground and rolled under the main console. 

            Compressed energy beams continued to sear the floor just to the left of him.

            After a few seconds the hail slowly came to a stop, "Come out, Starfleet.  The Captain has ordered us to bring you to him alive."

            Paul thought for a moment, an idea forming in his adrenaline pumping brain, "Alright," he called finally. "Alright, I'm coming out."

            Slowly he edged his way out of his little electronic alcove.

            Then in one lightening move, he pulled his weapon and punched through the first two guards.  Their lifeless bodies fell heavily to the upper cat-walk.

Seeing this, the Tregonian in charge fired a warning shot at Paul's feet.  Paul backed up a few steps in response.

            "Put the gun down," the Chief instructed briskly. "Put the gun down and put your hands on your head."

            Slowly Paul complied, lowering his gun to place it on the main console.  He put it carefully on the activator key for the shield deactivation sequence, administering the slightest amount of pressure to it when it made contact with the table.

            "Shield deactivation in one minute, twenty seconds," the computer's voice rang out loudly.  Paul cringed.

            "What?" The Chief motioned to his men. "He's trying to bring down our shields!  Shoot!  Kill him!"

            But Paul was already gone.

            Paul slid down behind the warp core in a tiny alcove reserved for repairs.

            He heard the sound of footsteps running along the outer hallway.

            He smiled.  No one would find him here--and once the shields were down, they couldn't be raised again for an entire thirty seconds.

            He checked his chronometer a second time: there were thirty-five seconds left.  thirty-four, thirty-three...

            "Thought you could escape, eh, Starfleet?"

            Paul froze.  The Tregonian security chief was standing directly behind him.

            Once again feigning surprise, he turned around and quickly slapped the blaster from his enemy's hand.  Swiftly he leapt from the fissure, and made a break for it.  There was a sighing sound.  The shields were down.

            "Sir!" Benson cried. "The Tregonian's shields are lowering!"

            I stood up, "Transporter room!  The enemy vessel's shields are down--can you get a lock on Mr. Plack?"

            "I don't know, Captain," a female voice replied. "I'll have to sensor-sweep the ship.  His combadge doesn't seem to be functioning."

            "Make it so," I commanded. "I want him found before the Tregonians have time to raise their shields again."

            "Aye, sir."

            Paul hit his combadge as he ran, "Plack to Odyssey!"  There was no answer, only a fuzzy beep.  He slapped it again, and got the same response.  His only speculation was that he had somehow damaged it when he had removed the proximity matrix.

            He ducked behind the plasma tubing surrounding the core and tried to catch his breath.

            The chief Tregonian stepped from the shadows, nursing his wounded hand, "It ends, Starfleet," he raised his gun.

            "Wait!" Paul shouted, remembering what he had discovered earlier. "You can't fire that in here!"

            "Of course I can.  You will not fool me again, Starfleet," the other retorted scornfully.

            Paul shook his head.  He had to make it sound technical, or there was no way his pursuer would believe him, "But, uh, the plasma balance in your transwarp core is very unstable.  If you fire that weapon, you will initiate a core breach and kill everyone on this ship!"

            "What do you mean?  Our engineers have found no such anomalies."

            "That's because the damage is on a subspace level.  If you would do an engine diagnostic on subspace band forty-five, then I think you'd find--"

            "I've played enough games," the Tregonian snarled.  Once again, he raised his disrupter.

            "I've got a lock, sir!" The Odyssey's transporter chief reported. "Just give me a moment to feed in the numbers..."

            The compressed energy left the Tregonian's barrel in a brilliant flash of light, instantly igniting the surrounding air.  He screamed as he was consumed with the back-wash of his own blast.

            Paul ducked and the crackling orb passed over him, demolishing the main plasma canister in an awesome explosion.  Plasma flowed freely, pouring over Paul. He two howled as the searing plasma began to eat away the flesh from his legs.

            The transporter beam was glorious relief.

            "He's coming in now, Captain," the chief concluded.

            "Thank you, Chief, send him directly to the brid--"

            "I'm afraid there's no time for that, Captain.  We have a medical emergency down here!"

            "Captain!" Another voice chimed in from the head of the bridge. "Transwarp levels in the Tregonian ship are rising!" Plin reported. "Reaching critical levels--Captain, what we're looking at is a full-scale warp breach!"

            "Chief, beam Mr. Plack to sick bay.  Ms. Plin, bring us about, full impulse!"

            The ship shook as the immense shockwave from the exploding vessel came into contact with our aft shields, but only minor damage was inflicted.

            I stood up, some of the tension leaving my muscles, "Lieutenant," I started, "take us out of the Badlands and set a course for the Rivilian system: warp eight."

            "Aye, sir."

            "Counselor," I inclined my head, "Mr. Doyle?"

            They both turned to me, "Sick bay," Dan confirmed.

            Finally, after at least four hours of waiting, Jamie came out of Surgery and into the outer ring of sick bay.

            Carefully she removed the red hood that held her hair in place; pulled off her crimson gloves.  She had a tired look on her face, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

            "How did it go, Doc?" I asked softly.

            "Well," Jamie sighed heavily. "When we got him, at least half of his torso had been eaten away by some form of liquid plasma.  We managed to stop the decay, but his body from the neck down was so full of radiation poisoning, there was no way we could save it."

            Dan looked to the ground, then back up at Jamie," So he's...?"

            Jamie looked uncomfortable, "I'm not quite sure how to describe it.  Maybe you should all see for yourselves," Jamie keyed on the com. "Corinne?  Is the patient stabilized?"

            "Yes, doctor," an airy voice replied. "The medical fields are in place."

            "Thank you, Ms. DeDaria," Jamie motioned for all of us to follow her into the inner ring of sick bay.

            We passed through the double doors and into Surgery.  The lights were almost painfully bright, and everything except the milling nurses was a sterile white or cream color.

            Jamie strode up to Corinne, and seemed to be asking her a question, but I couldn't hear what exactly was being said.  In response, though, Corinne gestured to one of the autopsy tubes off to the side.

            "This way," Jamie stated.  She walked over to the tube, myself, Dan, and Julie in tow. "Computer," she spoke into the com panel, "open autopsy tube zero one, voice authorization: Schwartz, Jamie Doctor."

            There was a humming noise, and then the tube slid out from the seamless wall.  It was about six feet long, and three feet wide.  Large enough to house Commander Plack's dead body, I thought sadly.

            "Medical field deactivated," the computer said.

            Slowly, the top of the capsule retracted.

            But no body was revealed... until it had completed its retraction.

            I gaped in silence. 

            Connected to numerous tubes, hoses, and regulators, was Paul Plack's lifeless head.  It was burned and scorched to the bone in many places, but it was obviously no longer alive.  Strips of striated flesh hung about his cranium, and his remaining eye was a strange milky white.  His hair was gone, and replaced by some kind of neural stimulator.  His spinal cord was apparently still attached to the base of his skull, for it hung slack, supported by a mass of tubes and hoses.  The head floated limply, held in place by a type three medical force field.

            I looked from the tube, to Jamie, and back again.  My mouth moved, but no sound came. 

            "I'm sorry," Jamie shook her head slowly. "I should have warned you.  As I said, there was no way possible to preserve his body.  This is all we were able to save--and even his cranium is in pretty bad shape.  So the only thing we could truly preserve was his mind..."

            Captain's Log     Stardate: 567315.3:   The discovery of Paul's retrogression still weighing heavily on all of our hearts, we are currently en route to the Rivilian system.  Ms. Plin has estimated that we will reach Vigeria in two hours.  On the subject of Mr. Plack, however, there are no ideas, no speculations.  We can only cling to the fragile hope that whatever technology Paul had mentioned earlier still exists, and that perhaps it could be eventually perfected to accommodate the Commander's condition.  But for the time being, Mr. Plack is a silent vessel of knowledge, no more able to disclose what he may have learned on the Tregonian ship then I am able to change the horrible events that have led to the fall of the Federation.

            "Science lab IV," Dan pointed to the image already forming on the observation lounge's main screen. "It's the only man-made structure detectable on the moon Vigeria.  I'm quite sure it is the laboratory that the Commander was speaking of."

            "Do we know anything about it?" Plin questioned, resting her head on her hand.

            Dan nodded, "It's an old Federation observation post.  It was abandoned about five years ago when many of it's inhabitants were killed by a group of Klingon radicalists.  I've obtained an approximate floor-plan from the ship's research library,"  The picture on the screen changed. "Here," he pointed to a large room in the center of the compound, "is the main research room.  This was the center of all activity while the station was still in use," Dan turned to me. "I suggest that when we arrive at our destination we have a scout team beam directly to this cubicle.  We're going to want to make sure that Science lab IV is indeed a safe base of operations.  And if all goes well...?" He paused, waiting for me to fill in the blank.

            "If all goes well, I'd like to her down, Mr. Doyle, initiate an up-link with the lab's computer, and begin making long-range plans."

            "'Take her down,' sir?" Julie questioned. "The Odyssey?"

            I shrugged, "She was built with landing capabilities," I replied. "Plus, she'd be too easily detected in orbit.  At least the planet's magnetic atmosphere will provide some cover."

            "The magnetic atmosphere of Vigeria will also make the Odyssey a great deal more difficult to land," Plin commented.

            "You don't think you're up to it, Lieutenant?" I inquired seriously.

            "To be perfectly honest, sir, I've never even thought of the prospect of landing a starship."

            "Then this'll be good practice," Dan offered, a bit of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

            Raseen smiled, "Aye, sir.  I'm prepared to try my best."

            Jamie sat up, "Who's going to lead the away team?" She asked. "The Commander is in no shape to even attempt such a feat."

            "I will lead the away team," I answered him instantly. 

            I was rewarded with a table-full of wide-eyed officers.

            "Sir, may I remind you that a ship's executive officer's job is to protect his captain," Carl Benson interceded. "And in the event that the said officer becomes unable to carry out his duties, the responsibility is passed down to the second officer, and so on.  Starfleet protocol distinctly says--"
            "Your concern is noted, Mr. Benson," I cut him off. "But I'm sure it will be perfectly safe on the surface.  Besides--Mr. Doyle, the Doctor, and Ms. Plin will be accompanying me."

            "Captain?" A voice came over the com. "We have arrived, and are in orbit around Vigeria."

            "Thank you, Ensign," I responded. "Away team: with me to transporter room two.  Mr. Benson, you have the bridge."

*          *          *