ACT II

STARBASE 248

Kim's console blared off for attention, as McGawan came onto Ops from the lower level. "We're picking up a faint distress call on ESC," Kim reported.

"The runabout?"

Kim shrugged, running a scan that turned up nothing. "It's too weak to get an origin or recorded content. It's just the triggering protocol. Nothing tracable and no content in the call."

"Should I send a ship to check on the runabout?"

Kim shook his head. "We can't. The Gulfstream is undergoing a refit at Utopia Planitia and won't be back for another week. The Gertland is in Sector 210, checking on the status of the Hikarus Colony. And the Detroit hasn't come back from its run to Deep Space Nine yet. They're nowhere near the sector."

"Damn," McGawan said, pounding a fist onto the railing. "Could we have the Northstar ready for launch?"

Kim, again, shook his head. "We're in the middle of a refit. It's not even space-ready yet."

"Then what options do we have?"

"Nothing right now," Kim said. "I can tell the crews on the Northstar to get the ship ready for emergency launch."

"How long will that take?"

"Five days, minimum."

"Nix that idea," McGawan said. He sighed and surrendered. "We'll just have to wait it out, won't we? You have Ops, Commander. I'll be in my office."

"Yes, Captain."

Two of the ten Negarani manned the operations and helm consoles. One of them, the pilot with a blue strip down the middle of his black mask, found a bad difficulty. "Leader!"

The leader (classic red mask, gold trim) came up next to the pilot. "What is it?"

"Whoever was flying was pretty crafty. The ion density count is too high," said the pilot. "The impulse reactor does not work at all."

"Thrusters?"

The pilot tried. Nothing. "Same thing. We're too close to the ion storm to get a good start of the engines right now."

"Clever." The leader, then, took his phaser rifle, and stood before the three sitting Starfleet officers. "Which one of you was flying?"

No one answered.

"I won't ask again," the leader said. "Which one of you was flying this vessel?"

Finally, gulping, Nakajima rose to her feet. "I was flying."

The leader nodded. Holding the barrel of the phaser rifle, he swung it, making a direct connection to Nakajima's jawline. She sprawled, violently, to the deck, where green blood began to seap out of her mouth slowly.

When Wing got up to check on her, another Negarani guard stood between them. "Do not aid her."

"She's injured! She could die-"

"Then let her die," the militant said. The militant grabbed Wing's head by its turf, and he took out a d'artag knife, holding it to his neck. "Or you will die."

Nakajima managed to nod at Wing, who surrendered to the guard. With that, the militant let Wing go sit back down.

"What goal do you hope to accomplish?" Tuvok wondered aloud. "You have captured a non-classified Starfleet vessel, which has no revolutionary technology. Nor does it have access to a Starfleet database plug."

"It's not the content of the vessel," the leader said. "It's who is on the vessel that counts."

"I do not understand," Tuvok admitted.

"Of course it does," Wing said. "This whole thing was to get us to get Commander Tuvok, wasn't it? Taking out the Mukaihara was just icing on the cake."

"With the capture and beheading of Commander Tuvok," the leader said, "Starfleet will have no choice but to bow down to our might. No longer is anyone safe in this sector unless you, Starfleet, leave here. And with the death of you and Commander Nakajima," the militant continued, "Starbase 248 will be a closed matter."

"You are familiar with our personell?" Wing wondered.

"Of course, Lieutenant Wing," said the militant. "I am all too familiar with your personell. We have been briefed. We were hoping to get to your captain again. But since he was too much of a coward to come by himself, well... his security advisor and first officer will do just fine."

"So," Nakajima said, coughing, and sitting up straight, wiping the blood off of her face. "Your motives are totally political?"

"All wars for freedom are political," the militant said. A moment later, the lead militant stepped around the Starfleet officers, and joined the pilot at the helm. "Have our support craft come around for a tractor tow. Get us out of this ion field."

The pilot nodded and signaled a freighter. The freighter came around, and took up a tractor position. It fired their beam, but nothing. It sputtered out of existence. The pilot shook his head. "Ion concentration is too high."

"We have another problem," said the militant at operations. "The ion storm has changed its heading. It's coming in our direction."

The lead militant signaled his communicator. "Alpha to Ship Delta. Come around for transport."

The communicator crackled. "We cannot get a lock," said the militant on the other end. "You are too close to the ion storm's perimeter."

"Then dock with us," the leader said. A long pause. Then, static filled the communicator. "Ship Delta, do you read me? This is Alpha." Then, nothing. "Ship Omega, do you copy?" Nothing.

"Leader," said the pilot. "Our ships are leaving."

"Those ungreatful cowards," the lead militant said. "Can we survive the ion storm?"

The militant at operations raised the shields. "I've rerouted our engine power from impulse and thrusters to the deflector screens and sheilds. They should hold just fine during the storm."

"How large is the storm?" the leader wanted to know.

The response he got was a shrug. "Sensors are inoperative this close to the ion storm."

"Then, we go for a ride," the leader said. "On the other side, I want this ship moving and I want these Starfleet officers beheaded when we get out of the storm. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Leader," the operations officer said. "Long live the Negarani!"

The militant held up his rifle. "Long live the Negarani!"

"It has been six hours," Nakajima whispered, as Wing helped to nurse the wound. "And we haven't even been in this storm a quarter of the way yet."

"Hold still," Wing said, applying a dermal regenerator that the leader let him have. "You have a nasty cut here."

"It hurts like hell," Nakajima said, almost crying. "Why us? What's so important about us? I don't understand..."

"Shh," Wing said, trying to ease Nakajima. "Close your eyes—"

"I CAN'T meditate!" Nakajima said. "I'm too scared. They could kill us at any moment."

"Panicing will not help the situation, Kaori," Wing said. "We have to remain calm and focus."

"Focus on what? There are ten of them and three of us. We're outnumbered by seven. And they have the guns."

Tuvok began to search around, checking out every console. They all appeared to be manned. "It is clear that their adjenda also includes securing this vessel. Is there any particular reason why?"

Wing shrugged. "I can't imagine it."

"This ship was going to be outfitted for the Northstar," Nakajima said. Then, she suddenly realized something. "Oh shit..."

"What?" Wing's attention spiked.

"The Northstar's database," Nakajima said. "They knew somehow, that this was the runabout. So they took it!" She said this in a loud whisper.

The leader strutted back onto the cockpit from the aft section, scratching his eyes through the mask. "Anything?" he asked the operations officer.

The militant shook his head. "No, Leader. I cannot unlock their database."

Tuvok leaned over to Nakajima and Wing. "Commander, how much information is in that database?"

"Everything is classified," Nakajima whispered. "If they get their hands on the plans for the Northstar, it's all over."

"Then I will endeavor to make sure that they do not take this ship, or the information contained within it," Tuvok said.

"What do you suggest?" Wing wondered.

"On my mark," Tuvok said to Wing, "right behind you is the auxiliary power junction for external systems."

"No," Wing said. "I don't wanna die today. You want me to cut the shields' power supply?"

"Yes," Tuvok said.

"That will kill us all—"

Nakajima interupted this time. "It's the only logical thing to do. Commander, let me lower the shields."

Tuvok shook his head. "No. You are in no condition to do anything. You will remain here. Lieutenant Wing, should I fail, you must cut the power. Is that clear?"

Wing swallowed that hard, and nodded. "Understood."

"If things don't work out, I'll distract them," Nakajima said. "Be careful, Commander."

Quickly, Tuvok rose from his spot, and approached the front, where the lead militant readied his phaser rifle. "Sit back down, Vulcan."

"It seems you are having a bit of difficulty," Tuvok said.

"It's not your concern, Vulcan," said the Negarani leader. "Sit back down, or I will tear your stomach open with my rusty blade."

Tuvok eyed his target on the operations console. Then, he turned back to the leader. "I have the codes with which you can access this ship's database. If you will allow me to implement them, the database can become available to you."

The leader readied his phaser rifle. "Any dirty tricks, Vulcan, and you will never see the light of day again. Do what you must, but no more."

The operations militant yielded the console, as Tuvok took a seat. He implimented another layer of encryption, while he lowered the shields.

"Warning," the computer said with an eerie buzz, "ion particle intensity reaching hazardous levels."

"What the—"The lead militant grabbed Tuvok, and, with another militant, threw him across the cockpit. Quickly, they scurried to bring the shields back up.

That was Wing's cue. He reached inside, and gripped the conduits that powered the shields. He pulled, only to have a knife slice his wrist, deadly like. Losing control of his hand, Wing was unable to react. The militants dragged him back, and kicked him in the face a few times, until he fell to the ground in an unconscious, bloody heap.

"There," the operations officer said with a sigh. "Shields are up."

"He didn't unlock the database, did he?"

"No," the militant replied to the leader. "He added another layer of encryption."

The militant snarled, and nodded to Nakajima. "Kill the woman. Let the others watch."

END OF ACT II