=/\= Part I =/\=
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USS Hyperion-C, En Route to System Vulcan
Sickbay
1300 Hours
Admiral Kieran Forester was your typical admiral in so many ways.
He had command of a powerful ship crewed by some of the brightest men, women, and asexuals and staffed by the most capable officers that he could get his hands upon. None of the bridge crew had had less than twenty years of experience, and all of them were, to him, not only officers but friends. He had fought in countless engagements, made a name for himself throughout Starfleet as a man with soft words and a very large stick, and even could get away with disobeying orders once in a while without a peep from the higher echelons of the service.
And, like all admirals in Starfleet, he was absolutely positively terrified of his monthly physical.
"Come on, Caitlin," Kieran pleaded. "I'm doing all of the exercises you told me to do and more and you still want to scan me with those unholy instruments you have?"
The steely-eyed CMO didn't answer, dragging him towards the lift and the horrors of the hypospray.
Kieran tried again. "But Caitlin--"
"Look," she said, rounding on him. "You may be the CO and all but it's my duty to see whether you're fit for duty. So if you don't want to go to Sickbay, then fine. I'll have no choice but to contact Starfleet Command and tell them that a particular admiral is no longer competent and ought to be sent to a desk--"
"But Caitlin--"
"It's for your own good. Now get your geriatric ass down here or I'll stun you and carry you myself."
"Why do I tolerate this?" Kieran asked plaintively, following her meekly like a whipped dog. "I could relieve you of duty, you know, and assign you to a medical frigate."
"Because I'm the best damn doctor in all of the Fifth Fleet and you know it. And, may I remind you, I would have been much happier at the Xenobiology Institute if not for you."
"Sometimes my stupidity amazes even myself."
"Stop getting all self-piteous on me and get onto the bed. And stay there while I find my tricorder."
Kieran sighed and lay down obediently, wincing a bit as his knee almost gave out from under him. "Dammit, I hate getting old."
"What was that?" asked the doctor.
"Dammit, I hate getting a cold."
"Don't we all," said Caitlin, passing a block of beeping metal over his body.
"What's that?"
"Concussion grenade." She laughed as Kieran tried to bolt out of the cot. "It's a tricorder, what do you think it is?"
An orderly cleaning the floor a few beds away started laughing too until the admiral gave him a baleful look. "You're rubbing off on them, Caitlin, you know that? Any more of this and I'll be commanding a ship of madmen--ow!"
While he was talking the doctor had jammed a needle into his arm and was now studying his blood.
"Whatever happened to non-invasive procedures?"
The CMO set down her hypospray and helped the admiral get up. "Looks like you're perfectly normal," she said finally. "You can go get drunk now."
The orderly almost started sniggering again but stopped at the expression on Kieran's face.
"Like I needed you to tell me that," muttered the admiral as he stalked out of Sickbay.
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USS Ffestinog, Holding Escort Position
Bridge
1425 Hours
Every so often, when the latest batch of graduates got their stripes, Starfleet would pull a few starships out of duty at the front and use them for training purposes, replacing some of their crew with new officers. Supposedly, experience in the field helped them refine their skills and give them insights into whatever they chose to do, something which couldn't be gained at the helm of a simulator. Starfleet reasons notwithstanding, however, Captain Jason Beddoes thought the whole idea was nothing more than a nuisance.
The lift doors slid open as he stepped onto the bridge of his ship. "No need to salute," he said as half of his officers leapt up from their chairs looking for all the world like cadets fresh out of the Academy, which, he had to remind himself, they actually were. "I don't mind."
All the same, none of them seemed in any hurry to relax.
The captain shrugged and turned to his interim science officer. "Mr. Horthy, anything new showing up on scanners?"
"Nothing, sir!" Dammit, Beddoes swore to himself, he sounds like he's talking to a drill sergeant. "We're picking up the usual background radiation, sir, and of course the Hyperion, sir, but other than that, sir, there is nothing worth reporting. Sir."
Captain Beddoes heaved a sigh. "Boring as usual. Call me if anything comes up," he said. "I'm going to go change."
"For what?" asked his helm officer, who was quite experienced. Apparently Starfleet didn't trust fresh officers to fly real starships safely.
"Birthday meal." Beddoes gestured towards the Hyperion.
"With the admiral?" chorused the cadets almost as one.
"Yes," he said. "With the admiral." A starry-eyed officer looked at him expectantly. "And--" Beddoes cringed. "I'll get you his autograph too."
The rookie positively beamed.
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USS Hyperion-C, En Route to System Vulcan
Transporter Room 10
1620 Hours
Three hours later, Admiral Forester thanked his lucky stars that he had remembered to go to his physical. It would have been quite embarrassing if the CMO had had to drag him away from dinner. And dinner tonight was a special affair.
"Welcome aboard and happy birthday," he said warmly as Captain Beddoes stepped down from the transporter platform. "It's been quite a while. I see you're still whole after spending a few months with those trainees?"
"You don't look too bad yourself," replied the captain, grinning. "I've heard that Denning of yours has an iron fist."
"That's probably why she's single." Kieran rubbed his arm where his CMO had stabbed it. "Too bad."
"Speaking of which, how's Alexandria doing?"
The admiral smiled fondly. "She's still commanding the Valiant, ferrying some diplomats to Andoria, and bitching all the way. She either wants to live in our little house on Dantar or be stationed at DS9 for a bit and blow the living daylights out of the Dominion."
"Full of contradictions, hmm?"
Kieran was about to defend his wife of god-knows-how-many-years when he was interrupted by the beeping of his communicator. "I'll save the lecture for later, Jason--Kieran here."
"Where are you!" the voice on the other end said in annoyance. "I got Boris and Dane all dressed up as butlers and cooked all the food and you have to be late--"
"I'll be right there, Caitlin. Kieran out."
"Boris and Dane dressed up as butlers, huh?" Beddoes was impressed. It wasn't often that an irate Russian engineer and a bulky Norwegian first officer were forced into tails.
"They should have just called her Margaret Thatcher and made it all obvious," said Kieran. "Come on, I don't want her to chew me up any more." The two men laughed and walked out of the room.
Officer's Mess
1800 Hours
Dinner was usually fantastic whenever Caitlin Denning was cooking and tonight was no exception. After the senior staff had gotten a few chuckles at the two red-faced waiters, the CMO had brought in the first course, a recipe which she had picked up during her travels in Mexico.
"It's called a flameado," she said, pouring copious amounts of alcohol on top of a sizzling mixture of cheese, shrimp, peppers, and other items. "You stew it, then light it." Without another word of warning she flicked on a lighter and the entire dish burst into a brilliant blue flame.
Boris Kurchatov, the chief engineer, was especially enthusiastic, helping himself to more than a few tortillas. "Like borscht but better," he said through a large mouthful, dripping cheese onto his tie.
After that came a few off-world delicacies, a large oven-baked turkey complete with stuffing and cranberry sauce, and then the cherries jubilee, a dessert which also involved lighting the dish on fire. At the end of the meal nobody could complain of not being full.
"So anyways," said Dane Kjolgaard, taking another mouthful of a poisonous mixture of Saurian brandy and sounding rather inebriated, "there I was, in the Klingon prison camp, and what do you know, they recognize who I am. So they lock me in a cell and some lackey runs in with a bowl of wiggling worms and something that looks like a knife. And they want me to eat it."
Everybody began to chuckle again as they watched the first officer try to show them the stomach-wrenching dish in clumsy pantomime.
Kjolgaard emptied his cup and poured himself some more. "So I sit there and the Klingon looks at me like he's really insulted and starts jabbering something about how it's an honor to be fed the worms since it's given to prisoners who are about to die honorably." He pointed to his shoulder. "That's when I got the scar. Apparently the Klingon didn't really like it when I took the bowl of worms and dumped it into his uniform." At that, the entire assembly burst into raucous laughter. Kjolgaard looked pleased with himself as he took another drag from the cup.
"That's Dane for you," shouted the admiral to Captain Beddoes over the applause. "Never misses a chance to tell us about that scar of his. Last time I heard him it was with Andorians instead of Klingons, though."
As the first officer embarked upon another epic, however, this time about the more traditional subject of Erik the Red and his Viking horde, the wall communicator began to howl loudly. "Damn," swore Kieran, "can't they make it sound better at least?" He pressed a button on the side of the speakers. "Kieran here."
"This is Sarevok," said a clipped voice through the intercom. "I would recommend that you take a look at this."
"Well..." Kieran heaved a sigh as he glanced back longingly at his half-emptied bowl. "Looks like we'll have to cut dinner short. I'll sing you the song later." Without another backwards glance, he raced towards the bridge.
Bridge
1805 Hours
"A faint reading," said Sarevok, pointing to his science console. It was your typical mess of lines and polygons which held absolutely no meaning for the admiral. Just looking at everything move made him dizzy, which was, he reflected, probably why he wasn't wearing blue. "It is no more than a speck when compared to the emissions we're getting from the Ffestinog and the surrounding area. If you look closely, however, you'll see that there's an inordinate amount of radiation coming from it."
All of that held no significance whatsoever for Admiral Forester. "So can you say what you just said in simple terms so I can understand it?"
"It's a temporal anomaly." The science officer would have been tremendously excited--if he had been human. "I believe it's an occurrence of the Kabrigati phenomenon. It was first picked up by Captain James T. Kirk when he traveled back in time to find two humpback whales. Ianlus Kabrigati was head of the Science Operations department back then and he received a copy of the data taken from the captured Bird of Prey. Since then, there have been precisely two more registered occurrences on the record and this, in my opinion, would be--"
Kieran held up his hand. "So it's a science thing and it's an important science thing?"
"That is a correct statement."
The admiral furrowed his brows thoughtfully. "It's tempting, but you know as well as I do that we can't divert the Hyperion right now."
Sarevok looked as scandalized as a Vulcan possibly could. "Admiral," he finally said, "this is one of our only chances to study the phenomenon. It would be much more of a benefit to SciFleet, I can assure of that, much more so than laying to rest the soul of a half-breed--"
The admiral barely restrained himself from physically assaulting his science officer. S'Tasik was right, he realized. That was why he didn't leave his katra with somebody. Vulcans still can't accept the notion that people like him exist. "Which is why I'm doing it," he said to himself.
Captain Beddoes was completely oblivious to what was going on. "You know what?" he said suddenly. "This would be a great time for my rookies to learn what it takes to be in Starfleet. Maybe you could send the Ffestinog and we'll take a looksee."
"The science capabilities on board your ship are barely sufficient to study the biology of amoebas," sniffed Sarevok ("Burning bridges anywhere and everywhere," muttered Kjolgaard).
"Why don't we borrow you, then?" asked the captain. "I'm sure you could operate our system up to SciFleet specifications. With the admiral's permission, of course," he hastily added.
Kieran admired the beauty of the solution. Beddoes knew full well that Vulcans still had emotions no matter what they wanted to say. If Sarevok refused his offer, then he'd be giving up a chance to work on what sounded like one of the greatest scientific achievements of the century. Plus there was the little matter of an ego to consider.
Sarevok nodded. "In that case we must leave at once. The phenomenon lasts for six days at the most. We will need every warp factor your engines can give us."
The insults to his ship were just too much for Beddoes. "Why don't you get your ass onto the ship and then we'll show you just what it can do?" he snapped back. "Sir."
The Vulcan shrugged and went to get his things.
"Send me a postcard," Kieran called to them as the human and the Vulcan left for the transporter room.
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USS Peacekeeper-A, Patrolling Ninema Asteroid Field
Bridge
2000 Hours
"Status report!" ordered Lieutenant S'Taelh as the unknown ship dropped out of warp a few thousand klicks away from his ship. "I want a detailed scan of everything on board. What weapons. What cargo. Everything."
"Aye-aye, sir!" The ensign at the science officer's station leapt to action. "Okay, we're dealing with the True Lies, Orion registry," he reported a few seconds later. "It's a heavily modified Federation merchant ship, crew of thirty-four, officer complement of ten. Cargo...nothing illegal and nothing of interest. Weapons..." The ensign whistled. "Heavily modified. I'd say at least eight phaser arrays, Type VII probably, two proton torpedo launchers, and four disruptor cannons--stolen."
"So you are telling me that whatever that ship is carrying conforms entirely to Federation regulation?" S'Taelh, who had heard quite a few tales about space pirates from Ryan Laskir (a good friend of his father and son of one of the more infamous cartel owners during the war against the ISC), knew that the only reason pirates had big ships was to get big money and the only way to get big money was to use those big ships to transport lots of cargo. Lots of illegal cargo.
"Well, it's suspicious, sir, but--"
"Communications, open a hailing frequency."
The comm officer twiddled a few dials. "Frequencies open, Lieutenant."
"This is the Federation warship USS Peacekeeper, Orion merchant vessel. You are ordered to stand down and lower your shields immediately."
The man on the screen was green--very green--and fit every one of Starfleet's sneaky-trader stereotypes. "What do you want with Captain Dulk, Vulcan?" he immediately growled in heavily-accented Standard. "I'll have you know that we're entirely within Federation law--"
"We shall find out the truth of that statement," said S'Taelh smoothly. "I order you to stand down, lower your shields, and prepare for a security team to beam over and inspect your cargo."
"Hell no!" Dulk looked outraged. "That's a violation of standard trade procedures. I'll have you reported, Pointy, I'll have you dragged up before the Board!"
"Those weapons of yours are also a violation of standard trade procedures, Orion captain. I have, to put it frankly, never seen any merchant vessel as well armed as yours."
"Well, you take what you get."
"In that case," S'Taelh said, "I will have to impound your ship. Preliminary scans show that you've acquired a number of Klingon disruptor cannons of military origin that could only have been stolen. Stand down and lower your shields." He let his voice take on a more menacing tone. "Now."
The captain's entire appearance changed dramatically. He clearly knew that there was no way his merchant ship--modified as it was--could defeat a Starfleet cruiser. "I just forgot," he said silkily, "I have a lot of things in my hold which I think you'd all want. Trellian kvoras, you know, and a homemade stash of Orion demma--"
S'Taelh gave the order for the audio portion of the communication to be cut. While the Orion gesticulated wildly on the screen, he outlined his plan.
"Very good," he said at last, interrupting the pirate in the middle of giving his inventory. "Your offer has intrigued me."
The Orion's yellow eyes lit up in hope.
"But not enough," S'Taelh finished. "Captain to Engineering."
"Madison here."
"I want you to prepare the warp engines for immediate departure."
"Aye-aye, sir!" said the chief engineer with a little too much enthusiasm. Clearly he thought that by overacting the part, it would be more convincing. "I shall most certainly go prepare the warp engines for immediate departure. We will be leaving this area very shortly. Yes, sir, we will be out of here at Warp 9 by the time I'm done with this baby. Preparing the warp engines for departure now."
This was absolute bullshit. Starfleet regulations required all combat vessels to have their warp core online at all times in case of trouble. It took quite a bit of energy to restart a dead engine, and, because a single well-placed volley could cripple a ship, Starfleet didn't want to take the chance of not being able to run.
But Captain Dulk didn't know that.
"You see," he said as he turned back towards Captain Dulk, whose green face was paling, "it turns out that our crew is not interested in anything you have to offer. I would be perfectly willing to make you a deal, providing that you have something of interest. However, you do not."
"Wait! Wait--" The Orion snapped his fingers and a few of his lackeys shuffled around behind him. "Would you be interested, then, in something more military in style?"
S'Taelh allowed himself a small smile. "What do you have in mind?"
"Because Captain Dulk likes you," said the Orion ingratiatingly, "he shall give you information. Free information. On board this ship we have the parts for a freshly--acquired--plasma torpedo tracking device. It would be highly valuable, would it not...?"
"Of course." S'Taelh leaned forward in his chair. "Transmit the schematics."
"You will have to pay for that information, Pointy." Captain Dulk seemed to revel in holding the stronger bargaining position.
"Very well," said the Vulcan after making a show of considering the offer. "We shall close to five klicks and begin transfer of credits. When that is done you will send us the parts."
"Why of course." Captain Dulk smiled. "It was a pleasure doing business with you." The image on the screen clicked off and the Orion ship began to move towards the waiting Peacekeeper.
The lieutenant hit his communicator. "S'Taelh to Transporter Room."
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"Prepare to transport timed smoke grenades onto the enemy bridge when I give the mark. When the Orions are paralyzed I want a security team there to capture the ship. Immediately."
"Aye, sir. As you ordered." The intercom clicked twice.
"We have done all you requested," Captain Dulk said again. "We are lowering shields for transport."
"Mark!" shouted S'Taelh. The Peacekeeper's front screen dropped for a split second, sending the deadly grenades onto the Orion bridge. As Captain Dulk sank to the ground, unable to move, the shields dropped for a second time and a sixteen-member security team arrived.
A few more phaser shots and all was over. "The ship is seized," said the commander of the security team over the intercom. "Captain Dulk and his cronies are in the brig. We're setting a course for the nearest base."
"And I'm sure the Romulans would like their plasma torpedo back as well," said S'Taelh. "Well done."
The science officer looked at his commander with newfound respect. "You bluff extremely well, sir, for--well, for a Vulcan."
"I'm not Vulcan," said S'Taelh as he walked out of the bridge.
Deck 5, Captain's Quarters
2200 Hours
The lieutenant sat down heavily as the doors to his quarters closed behind him. That encounter with the Orion was enough adventure for one day. Sighing to himself, he took out his log and began to compose his report.
"Message for Lieutenant S'Taelh," his computer said just as he was getting to the good part.
"From?"
"Admiral Kieran Forester, stationed aboard the USS Hyperion-C."
S'Taelh's eyes widened. Kieran Forester was one of his father's best friends. They had served together during the war against the ISC, the return of the ISC, and now against the Imperials. "I'll take it," he said immediately, putting away the log. "How are you, Admiral?"
"I'm doing just fine." He took a sip out of a cup of coffee. "Just fine, thanks. Anyways, when does your tour with the Peacekeeper end?"
"In two weeks, sir."
"Hm. Just enough time, then."
"For what, sir?"
"I'm on my way to Vulcan for a...diplomatic visit...and something's come up. I sent Captain Beddoes to check it out and now I need an escort. Perhaps you would like to take up the post?"
"That--that would be an honor, Admiral."
"You flatter me," said Kieran, smiling. "When can I expect you?"
"At maximum warp, approximately two days."
" 'Approximately?' "
"Two point one days, sir."
S'Taelh didn't understand when the admiral started chuckling. "Never mind, it's an inside joke. On another note, I put your name up for promotion per Smithy's request and Starfleet accepted it. So it's now Lieutenant Commander."
"I've been promoted--"
"Don't thank me, thank Smithy. I'll see you in...two point one days. Kieran out." The admiral's face disappeared from the screen.
The Vulcan stopped to consider the surprising turn of events for a moment, and then decided that he wouldn't be so lucky again. Why not use it while I have it?
Changing into a fresh uniform (with the appropriate insignias), he picked up a deck of cards and went to go see if the chief engineer was free for a game of poker.
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USS Hyperion-C, En Route to System Vulcan
Sickbay
1300 Hours
Admiral Kieran Forester was your typical admiral in so many ways.
He had command of a powerful ship crewed by some of the brightest men, women, and asexuals and staffed by the most capable officers that he could get his hands upon. None of the bridge crew had had less than twenty years of experience, and all of them were, to him, not only officers but friends. He had fought in countless engagements, made a name for himself throughout Starfleet as a man with soft words and a very large stick, and even could get away with disobeying orders once in a while without a peep from the higher echelons of the service.
And, like all admirals in Starfleet, he was absolutely positively terrified of his monthly physical.
"Come on, Caitlin," Kieran pleaded. "I'm doing all of the exercises you told me to do and more and you still want to scan me with those unholy instruments you have?"
The steely-eyed CMO didn't answer, dragging him towards the lift and the horrors of the hypospray.
Kieran tried again. "But Caitlin--"
"Look," she said, rounding on him. "You may be the CO and all but it's my duty to see whether you're fit for duty. So if you don't want to go to Sickbay, then fine. I'll have no choice but to contact Starfleet Command and tell them that a particular admiral is no longer competent and ought to be sent to a desk--"
"But Caitlin--"
"It's for your own good. Now get your geriatric ass down here or I'll stun you and carry you myself."
"Why do I tolerate this?" Kieran asked plaintively, following her meekly like a whipped dog. "I could relieve you of duty, you know, and assign you to a medical frigate."
"Because I'm the best damn doctor in all of the Fifth Fleet and you know it. And, may I remind you, I would have been much happier at the Xenobiology Institute if not for you."
"Sometimes my stupidity amazes even myself."
"Stop getting all self-piteous on me and get onto the bed. And stay there while I find my tricorder."
Kieran sighed and lay down obediently, wincing a bit as his knee almost gave out from under him. "Dammit, I hate getting old."
"What was that?" asked the doctor.
"Dammit, I hate getting a cold."
"Don't we all," said Caitlin, passing a block of beeping metal over his body.
"What's that?"
"Concussion grenade." She laughed as Kieran tried to bolt out of the cot. "It's a tricorder, what do you think it is?"
An orderly cleaning the floor a few beds away started laughing too until the admiral gave him a baleful look. "You're rubbing off on them, Caitlin, you know that? Any more of this and I'll be commanding a ship of madmen--ow!"
While he was talking the doctor had jammed a needle into his arm and was now studying his blood.
"Whatever happened to non-invasive procedures?"
The CMO set down her hypospray and helped the admiral get up. "Looks like you're perfectly normal," she said finally. "You can go get drunk now."
The orderly almost started sniggering again but stopped at the expression on Kieran's face.
"Like I needed you to tell me that," muttered the admiral as he stalked out of Sickbay.
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USS Ffestinog, Holding Escort Position
Bridge
1425 Hours
Every so often, when the latest batch of graduates got their stripes, Starfleet would pull a few starships out of duty at the front and use them for training purposes, replacing some of their crew with new officers. Supposedly, experience in the field helped them refine their skills and give them insights into whatever they chose to do, something which couldn't be gained at the helm of a simulator. Starfleet reasons notwithstanding, however, Captain Jason Beddoes thought the whole idea was nothing more than a nuisance.
The lift doors slid open as he stepped onto the bridge of his ship. "No need to salute," he said as half of his officers leapt up from their chairs looking for all the world like cadets fresh out of the Academy, which, he had to remind himself, they actually were. "I don't mind."
All the same, none of them seemed in any hurry to relax.
The captain shrugged and turned to his interim science officer. "Mr. Horthy, anything new showing up on scanners?"
"Nothing, sir!" Dammit, Beddoes swore to himself, he sounds like he's talking to a drill sergeant. "We're picking up the usual background radiation, sir, and of course the Hyperion, sir, but other than that, sir, there is nothing worth reporting. Sir."
Captain Beddoes heaved a sigh. "Boring as usual. Call me if anything comes up," he said. "I'm going to go change."
"For what?" asked his helm officer, who was quite experienced. Apparently Starfleet didn't trust fresh officers to fly real starships safely.
"Birthday meal." Beddoes gestured towards the Hyperion.
"With the admiral?" chorused the cadets almost as one.
"Yes," he said. "With the admiral." A starry-eyed officer looked at him expectantly. "And--" Beddoes cringed. "I'll get you his autograph too."
The rookie positively beamed.
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USS Hyperion-C, En Route to System Vulcan
Transporter Room 10
1620 Hours
Three hours later, Admiral Forester thanked his lucky stars that he had remembered to go to his physical. It would have been quite embarrassing if the CMO had had to drag him away from dinner. And dinner tonight was a special affair.
"Welcome aboard and happy birthday," he said warmly as Captain Beddoes stepped down from the transporter platform. "It's been quite a while. I see you're still whole after spending a few months with those trainees?"
"You don't look too bad yourself," replied the captain, grinning. "I've heard that Denning of yours has an iron fist."
"That's probably why she's single." Kieran rubbed his arm where his CMO had stabbed it. "Too bad."
"Speaking of which, how's Alexandria doing?"
The admiral smiled fondly. "She's still commanding the Valiant, ferrying some diplomats to Andoria, and bitching all the way. She either wants to live in our little house on Dantar or be stationed at DS9 for a bit and blow the living daylights out of the Dominion."
"Full of contradictions, hmm?"
Kieran was about to defend his wife of god-knows-how-many-years when he was interrupted by the beeping of his communicator. "I'll save the lecture for later, Jason--Kieran here."
"Where are you!" the voice on the other end said in annoyance. "I got Boris and Dane all dressed up as butlers and cooked all the food and you have to be late--"
"I'll be right there, Caitlin. Kieran out."
"Boris and Dane dressed up as butlers, huh?" Beddoes was impressed. It wasn't often that an irate Russian engineer and a bulky Norwegian first officer were forced into tails.
"They should have just called her Margaret Thatcher and made it all obvious," said Kieran. "Come on, I don't want her to chew me up any more." The two men laughed and walked out of the room.
Officer's Mess
1800 Hours
Dinner was usually fantastic whenever Caitlin Denning was cooking and tonight was no exception. After the senior staff had gotten a few chuckles at the two red-faced waiters, the CMO had brought in the first course, a recipe which she had picked up during her travels in Mexico.
"It's called a flameado," she said, pouring copious amounts of alcohol on top of a sizzling mixture of cheese, shrimp, peppers, and other items. "You stew it, then light it." Without another word of warning she flicked on a lighter and the entire dish burst into a brilliant blue flame.
Boris Kurchatov, the chief engineer, was especially enthusiastic, helping himself to more than a few tortillas. "Like borscht but better," he said through a large mouthful, dripping cheese onto his tie.
After that came a few off-world delicacies, a large oven-baked turkey complete with stuffing and cranberry sauce, and then the cherries jubilee, a dessert which also involved lighting the dish on fire. At the end of the meal nobody could complain of not being full.
"So anyways," said Dane Kjolgaard, taking another mouthful of a poisonous mixture of Saurian brandy and sounding rather inebriated, "there I was, in the Klingon prison camp, and what do you know, they recognize who I am. So they lock me in a cell and some lackey runs in with a bowl of wiggling worms and something that looks like a knife. And they want me to eat it."
Everybody began to chuckle again as they watched the first officer try to show them the stomach-wrenching dish in clumsy pantomime.
Kjolgaard emptied his cup and poured himself some more. "So I sit there and the Klingon looks at me like he's really insulted and starts jabbering something about how it's an honor to be fed the worms since it's given to prisoners who are about to die honorably." He pointed to his shoulder. "That's when I got the scar. Apparently the Klingon didn't really like it when I took the bowl of worms and dumped it into his uniform." At that, the entire assembly burst into raucous laughter. Kjolgaard looked pleased with himself as he took another drag from the cup.
"That's Dane for you," shouted the admiral to Captain Beddoes over the applause. "Never misses a chance to tell us about that scar of his. Last time I heard him it was with Andorians instead of Klingons, though."
As the first officer embarked upon another epic, however, this time about the more traditional subject of Erik the Red and his Viking horde, the wall communicator began to howl loudly. "Damn," swore Kieran, "can't they make it sound better at least?" He pressed a button on the side of the speakers. "Kieran here."
"This is Sarevok," said a clipped voice through the intercom. "I would recommend that you take a look at this."
"Well..." Kieran heaved a sigh as he glanced back longingly at his half-emptied bowl. "Looks like we'll have to cut dinner short. I'll sing you the song later." Without another backwards glance, he raced towards the bridge.
Bridge
1805 Hours
"A faint reading," said Sarevok, pointing to his science console. It was your typical mess of lines and polygons which held absolutely no meaning for the admiral. Just looking at everything move made him dizzy, which was, he reflected, probably why he wasn't wearing blue. "It is no more than a speck when compared to the emissions we're getting from the Ffestinog and the surrounding area. If you look closely, however, you'll see that there's an inordinate amount of radiation coming from it."
All of that held no significance whatsoever for Admiral Forester. "So can you say what you just said in simple terms so I can understand it?"
"It's a temporal anomaly." The science officer would have been tremendously excited--if he had been human. "I believe it's an occurrence of the Kabrigati phenomenon. It was first picked up by Captain James T. Kirk when he traveled back in time to find two humpback whales. Ianlus Kabrigati was head of the Science Operations department back then and he received a copy of the data taken from the captured Bird of Prey. Since then, there have been precisely two more registered occurrences on the record and this, in my opinion, would be--"
Kieran held up his hand. "So it's a science thing and it's an important science thing?"
"That is a correct statement."
The admiral furrowed his brows thoughtfully. "It's tempting, but you know as well as I do that we can't divert the Hyperion right now."
Sarevok looked as scandalized as a Vulcan possibly could. "Admiral," he finally said, "this is one of our only chances to study the phenomenon. It would be much more of a benefit to SciFleet, I can assure of that, much more so than laying to rest the soul of a half-breed--"
The admiral barely restrained himself from physically assaulting his science officer. S'Tasik was right, he realized. That was why he didn't leave his katra with somebody. Vulcans still can't accept the notion that people like him exist. "Which is why I'm doing it," he said to himself.
Captain Beddoes was completely oblivious to what was going on. "You know what?" he said suddenly. "This would be a great time for my rookies to learn what it takes to be in Starfleet. Maybe you could send the Ffestinog and we'll take a looksee."
"The science capabilities on board your ship are barely sufficient to study the biology of amoebas," sniffed Sarevok ("Burning bridges anywhere and everywhere," muttered Kjolgaard).
"Why don't we borrow you, then?" asked the captain. "I'm sure you could operate our system up to SciFleet specifications. With the admiral's permission, of course," he hastily added.
Kieran admired the beauty of the solution. Beddoes knew full well that Vulcans still had emotions no matter what they wanted to say. If Sarevok refused his offer, then he'd be giving up a chance to work on what sounded like one of the greatest scientific achievements of the century. Plus there was the little matter of an ego to consider.
Sarevok nodded. "In that case we must leave at once. The phenomenon lasts for six days at the most. We will need every warp factor your engines can give us."
The insults to his ship were just too much for Beddoes. "Why don't you get your ass onto the ship and then we'll show you just what it can do?" he snapped back. "Sir."
The Vulcan shrugged and went to get his things.
"Send me a postcard," Kieran called to them as the human and the Vulcan left for the transporter room.
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USS Peacekeeper-A, Patrolling Ninema Asteroid Field
Bridge
2000 Hours
"Status report!" ordered Lieutenant S'Taelh as the unknown ship dropped out of warp a few thousand klicks away from his ship. "I want a detailed scan of everything on board. What weapons. What cargo. Everything."
"Aye-aye, sir!" The ensign at the science officer's station leapt to action. "Okay, we're dealing with the True Lies, Orion registry," he reported a few seconds later. "It's a heavily modified Federation merchant ship, crew of thirty-four, officer complement of ten. Cargo...nothing illegal and nothing of interest. Weapons..." The ensign whistled. "Heavily modified. I'd say at least eight phaser arrays, Type VII probably, two proton torpedo launchers, and four disruptor cannons--stolen."
"So you are telling me that whatever that ship is carrying conforms entirely to Federation regulation?" S'Taelh, who had heard quite a few tales about space pirates from Ryan Laskir (a good friend of his father and son of one of the more infamous cartel owners during the war against the ISC), knew that the only reason pirates had big ships was to get big money and the only way to get big money was to use those big ships to transport lots of cargo. Lots of illegal cargo.
"Well, it's suspicious, sir, but--"
"Communications, open a hailing frequency."
The comm officer twiddled a few dials. "Frequencies open, Lieutenant."
"This is the Federation warship USS Peacekeeper, Orion merchant vessel. You are ordered to stand down and lower your shields immediately."
The man on the screen was green--very green--and fit every one of Starfleet's sneaky-trader stereotypes. "What do you want with Captain Dulk, Vulcan?" he immediately growled in heavily-accented Standard. "I'll have you know that we're entirely within Federation law--"
"We shall find out the truth of that statement," said S'Taelh smoothly. "I order you to stand down, lower your shields, and prepare for a security team to beam over and inspect your cargo."
"Hell no!" Dulk looked outraged. "That's a violation of standard trade procedures. I'll have you reported, Pointy, I'll have you dragged up before the Board!"
"Those weapons of yours are also a violation of standard trade procedures, Orion captain. I have, to put it frankly, never seen any merchant vessel as well armed as yours."
"Well, you take what you get."
"In that case," S'Taelh said, "I will have to impound your ship. Preliminary scans show that you've acquired a number of Klingon disruptor cannons of military origin that could only have been stolen. Stand down and lower your shields." He let his voice take on a more menacing tone. "Now."
The captain's entire appearance changed dramatically. He clearly knew that there was no way his merchant ship--modified as it was--could defeat a Starfleet cruiser. "I just forgot," he said silkily, "I have a lot of things in my hold which I think you'd all want. Trellian kvoras, you know, and a homemade stash of Orion demma--"
S'Taelh gave the order for the audio portion of the communication to be cut. While the Orion gesticulated wildly on the screen, he outlined his plan.
"Very good," he said at last, interrupting the pirate in the middle of giving his inventory. "Your offer has intrigued me."
The Orion's yellow eyes lit up in hope.
"But not enough," S'Taelh finished. "Captain to Engineering."
"Madison here."
"I want you to prepare the warp engines for immediate departure."
"Aye-aye, sir!" said the chief engineer with a little too much enthusiasm. Clearly he thought that by overacting the part, it would be more convincing. "I shall most certainly go prepare the warp engines for immediate departure. We will be leaving this area very shortly. Yes, sir, we will be out of here at Warp 9 by the time I'm done with this baby. Preparing the warp engines for departure now."
This was absolute bullshit. Starfleet regulations required all combat vessels to have their warp core online at all times in case of trouble. It took quite a bit of energy to restart a dead engine, and, because a single well-placed volley could cripple a ship, Starfleet didn't want to take the chance of not being able to run.
But Captain Dulk didn't know that.
"You see," he said as he turned back towards Captain Dulk, whose green face was paling, "it turns out that our crew is not interested in anything you have to offer. I would be perfectly willing to make you a deal, providing that you have something of interest. However, you do not."
"Wait! Wait--" The Orion snapped his fingers and a few of his lackeys shuffled around behind him. "Would you be interested, then, in something more military in style?"
S'Taelh allowed himself a small smile. "What do you have in mind?"
"Because Captain Dulk likes you," said the Orion ingratiatingly, "he shall give you information. Free information. On board this ship we have the parts for a freshly--acquired--plasma torpedo tracking device. It would be highly valuable, would it not...?"
"Of course." S'Taelh leaned forward in his chair. "Transmit the schematics."
"You will have to pay for that information, Pointy." Captain Dulk seemed to revel in holding the stronger bargaining position.
"Very well," said the Vulcan after making a show of considering the offer. "We shall close to five klicks and begin transfer of credits. When that is done you will send us the parts."
"Why of course." Captain Dulk smiled. "It was a pleasure doing business with you." The image on the screen clicked off and the Orion ship began to move towards the waiting Peacekeeper.
The lieutenant hit his communicator. "S'Taelh to Transporter Room."
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"Prepare to transport timed smoke grenades onto the enemy bridge when I give the mark. When the Orions are paralyzed I want a security team there to capture the ship. Immediately."
"Aye, sir. As you ordered." The intercom clicked twice.
"We have done all you requested," Captain Dulk said again. "We are lowering shields for transport."
"Mark!" shouted S'Taelh. The Peacekeeper's front screen dropped for a split second, sending the deadly grenades onto the Orion bridge. As Captain Dulk sank to the ground, unable to move, the shields dropped for a second time and a sixteen-member security team arrived.
A few more phaser shots and all was over. "The ship is seized," said the commander of the security team over the intercom. "Captain Dulk and his cronies are in the brig. We're setting a course for the nearest base."
"And I'm sure the Romulans would like their plasma torpedo back as well," said S'Taelh. "Well done."
The science officer looked at his commander with newfound respect. "You bluff extremely well, sir, for--well, for a Vulcan."
"I'm not Vulcan," said S'Taelh as he walked out of the bridge.
Deck 5, Captain's Quarters
2200 Hours
The lieutenant sat down heavily as the doors to his quarters closed behind him. That encounter with the Orion was enough adventure for one day. Sighing to himself, he took out his log and began to compose his report.
"Message for Lieutenant S'Taelh," his computer said just as he was getting to the good part.
"From?"
"Admiral Kieran Forester, stationed aboard the USS Hyperion-C."
S'Taelh's eyes widened. Kieran Forester was one of his father's best friends. They had served together during the war against the ISC, the return of the ISC, and now against the Imperials. "I'll take it," he said immediately, putting away the log. "How are you, Admiral?"
"I'm doing just fine." He took a sip out of a cup of coffee. "Just fine, thanks. Anyways, when does your tour with the Peacekeeper end?"
"In two weeks, sir."
"Hm. Just enough time, then."
"For what, sir?"
"I'm on my way to Vulcan for a...diplomatic visit...and something's come up. I sent Captain Beddoes to check it out and now I need an escort. Perhaps you would like to take up the post?"
"That--that would be an honor, Admiral."
"You flatter me," said Kieran, smiling. "When can I expect you?"
"At maximum warp, approximately two days."
" 'Approximately?' "
"Two point one days, sir."
S'Taelh didn't understand when the admiral started chuckling. "Never mind, it's an inside joke. On another note, I put your name up for promotion per Smithy's request and Starfleet accepted it. So it's now Lieutenant Commander."
"I've been promoted--"
"Don't thank me, thank Smithy. I'll see you in...two point one days. Kieran out." The admiral's face disappeared from the screen.
The Vulcan stopped to consider the surprising turn of events for a moment, and then decided that he wouldn't be so lucky again. Why not use it while I have it?
Changing into a fresh uniform (with the appropriate insignias), he picked up a deck of cards and went to go see if the chief engineer was free for a game of poker.