31

"I need a left-handed plasma coupler!" B'Elanna Torres shouted, her head sticking halfway out of a Jeffries tube aboard USS Prometheus. "You gave me a right-handed one, you dolt!"

"Sorry, Ma'am," the unfortunate ensign who was the current target of her ire responded, passing over the correct part. "Won't happen again."

"Better not. Now get back to the console and watch the readouts for me."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She ducked back into the access tube and after a few moments of fighting with the broken part, emerged victorious; installing the new coupler was the work of another minute as she made sure the new part was aligned and tightened properly. "Computer, re-activate EPS junction 11-28A."

"Readings look nominal, Ma'am," the ensign reported from his position a few meters away.

"Good," she said, climbing out of the Jeffries tube and closing the access door. She handed him the incorrect part. "Make sure this gets put back into the correct spares bin."

He nodded, taking the proffered part. "Yes, Ma'am."

As he walked off to put the part away, she made her way back to what passed as Prometheus's Engineering room. Compared to her old Maquis runabout, it was quite expansive, but even Voyager's engineering space had it beat hands-down. She made her way past the glowing slipstream drive mockup, which she was mostly convinced was only left aboard the ship to confound any moles from Romulan or Dominion intelligence, and stopped at the main engineering console. A minute of rapid tapping later, she reached up to her commbadge. "Engineering to the Bridge."

"Janeway speaking."

She cleared her throat. "Captain, I believe I've cleared out the last of the plasma oscillations. We should be ready for warp."

"Good work, Lt. Commander. I think, after what happened the last time, we should probably stick to static warp-field tests. Do you agree?"

"Yes, Captain. I was just going to suggest the same."

"Good. Helm, prepare to activate warp drive, but keep the safeties on."

B'Elanna turned her attention back to the console, checking the various readouts as the helmsman manipulated the controls. "Ready for warp," she reported.

"Helm, activate warp 0."

The background hum of the compact core behind her increased in pitch slightly as plasma was diverted to the warp coils. This time, however, none of the alarms went off. She double-checked the readouts to confirm she wasn't missing anything. "Captain, plasma injector losses are within acceptable limits."

Whatever Janeway might have been about to say in reply was cut off by the ping of an incoming connection. "Captain, dispatch from Starfleet Command," she heard the comm officer report. "There's been a Mars perimeter breach. Borg protocols active. All available ships are to proceed to Earth."

"Acknowledge the orders. B'Elanna, what's the fastest you think we can make right now?"

She glanced down at the readings. "I would suggest no more than Warp 5 for now, Captain."

"Helm, you heard the Lt. Commander. Bring us to Earth, Warp 5."

"Yes, Captain."

A moment later the channel closed, followed by the chime of a ship-wide broadcast. "All hands, this is the Captain. Starfleet has declared an emergency and we are being recalled to Earth. Borg protocols are in effect. Prepare to repel boarders."

While the rest of the engineering crew went to the lockers to retrieve their phaser rifles, B'Elanna reached down to the holster at her hip and drew the blaster pistol she'd received as a gift from Outbound Flight, turning it over to check the power cell and safety before re-holstering it. The heavy weight of the pistol was different compared to the phasers she was more used to carrying, as ineffective as those tended to be against the Borg. It was somewhat reassuring, in a way, even if carrying such an obvious weapon around went against normal Starfleet protocols.

Then again, the Maquis had never really cared for such trivial protocols. Other priorities took precedence when you were fighting a revolutionary war against a power like the Cardassian Empire, such as ensuring that each cell was committed to the cause. She snorted, thinking about Tuvok. If Starfleet Intelligence had been able to infiltrate their cell right from the start, just how compromised were the Maquis security protocols anyway? Given that the entire organization had dissolved while they were lost in the Delta Quadrant, B'Elanna reflected, that was probably a foregone conclusion.

Out of curiosity, B'Elanna pulled up the external sensor feeds on one of the engineering terminals. Hmm. So they'd identified 8 ships not just inside the Mars perimeter, but inside the Earth-Moon system. Three of them were pyramidal wedges with massive impulse engines, with some variation between them in layout, mass and length. Another four looked like long hexagonal tubes made of clusters of smaller hexagonal pods, also with large impulse engines at the stern. Then, sitting at a distance behind one of the pyramidal wedge-ships was ... she blinked, then zoomed in. Unless her eyes were playing tricks on her, that looked like a shredded chunk of a Borg cube?

Well, she thought, at least that would explain why Starfleet Command was having a conniption fit. Idly, she accessed the sensor readings – nevermind that this was the engineering console, she had admin privileges to the main computer for testing purposes, so she could reconfigure her console to show whatever she damn well pleased. Hmm. Only a handful of life signs, and they were reading as whatever passed for hibernation among the Borg anyway. Power generation was practically nonexistent, structural integrity was ... well, she was honestly surprised that the rat's nest of tubes that made up the remnant was even still in one piece. Oh, wait, no it wasn't, it was actually three loosely connected pieces. Eh, close enough. Either way, she was pretty sure the Borg wouldn't be putting up a fight anytime soon, at least until somebody was dumb enough to go poke them directly with a stick.

. . .

Not having ever been to Earth before, Anakin Solo wasn't quite sure what to expect. As the capital of the Federation, he had been expecting something along the lines of Coruscant or perhaps Corellia: a heavily industrialized world choked with people, ships, and of course pollution. A blue, white, green and brown marble of a garden world was perhaps about the last thing he'd been expecting. Honestly, he couldn't wait to take a shuttle down and see how people lived in a different galaxy.

Except, going by the situation around him on the bridge of the Vigorous, any sight-seeing would probably have to wait.

"Captain, I'm picking up multiple warp signatures inbound on our position. There is also no sign of the other Outbound Flight ships in the system."

Captain Sicuro frowned as he made his way over to the sensor pit. "Any attempts to hail us yet?"

"None that I can see, Sir."

"Hmm. Not quite the welcome I was told to expect. Try to see if you can raise anyone on the frequencies we were given. This may just be a misunderstanding." He turned around to the tactical pit. "Have the gunnery crews stand by to track any possible threats and await further instructions."

"Acknowledged, Sir."

"Good." Sicuro turned to another one of the techs, who seemed to have their hands free at the moment. "How are the captives doing?"

"Life signs remain concentrated in the same locations as before. There is evidence that they have attempted to carry out repairs in the time it took us to cross through hyperspace, but no new energy sources have been detected."

"Sir," the first comm-scan tech interrupted, "we've received a response to our hails."

"Put it through."

"Unidentified vessels," the rather rough-sounding voice began, "this is Captain Kathryn Janeway of the USS Prometheus. You are in restricted territory with multiple active Borg signatures. Explain yourselves or you will be fired upon."

"What's going on?" his aunt Mara demanded as she marched onto the bridge, trying but struggling to stifle a yawn. Evidently the alert klaxons had awoken her from one of the naps that had become more frequent occurrences in the past couple weeks.

"Hey, didn't Master Dellen say something about a Captain Janeway?" Anakin pointed out. "Nearly spoiled the negotiations or something like that?"

"Wait, who?" Mara said, while Captain Sicuro grimaced before picking up a mic.

"This is Captain Justis Sicuro of the Corellian Engineering Corporation warship Vigorous, escorting a diplomatic and trade convoy to the Federation. We fought off a Borg attack upon our arrival and have their remains under tow as salvage."

Another voice cut into the channel. "Apologies, Vigorous. This is Earth Spacedock Actual, Admiral Bullock speaking. As Captain Janeway noted, you have active Borg signatures detected in your, ah, salvage. Any active Borg technology is a grave threat and we must insist that it be neutralized immediately."

Mara motioned to the captain, who passed her the mic. "Admiral Bullock, this is Mara Jade, acting as a representative of a group of Republic interests. We had hoped to offer the Borg salvage to the Federation as a peace offering of sorts, seeing as they appear to be a mutual enemy of ours."

There was an extended period of silence on the line, to the point that Captain Sicuro took the mic back and clicked it. "Spacedock Actual, do you copy?"

"We copy, Vigorous Actual. Please hold."

After several awkward minutes of silence, Anakin cleared his throat. "Well, that didn't quite go how I imagined it."

Mara looked at him skeptically out of the corner of her eye. "And just what were you imagining?"

The teen shrugged exaggeratedly. "Oh, I dunno. Medals or parades or something? I mean Master Dellen did mention how much trouble they'd had with these Borg before."

"How many holonovels did you read on the way here?" Mara asked slowly.

"I dunno, most of them? What's that got to do with anything?"

She let out a huff. "Thought so."

The comm came to life a moment later. "Vigorous Actual, this is Spacedock Actual. Please be advised that we will be towing the Borg salvage into a quarantine orbit. If any of your ships came into direct contact with the Borg, we would also request those ships be placed in quarantine until we can be certain they have not been sabotaged."

"Understood, Spacedock Actual," Sicuro replied. "Now, who should I speak to about setting up a meeting for our diplomats?"

"Bullock speaking," the Admiral's voice came across. "My staff will be making the arrangements. It may be a few days, given the extremely short notice. Will you be needing any provisions in the meantime?"

"None at the moment, Admiral," Sicuro replied. "But thank you for the offer."

. . .

Several days later, true to his word, Bullock had arranged a meeting to be held inside one of Spacedock's conference facilities. Anakin was mildly surprised at the scale of the station, which managed to dwarf even Vigorous, but still couldn't hold a candle to some of the installations he'd seen like Centerpoint Station let alone the planet-spanning orbital shipyards of Kuat. No, he wasn't going to brag about the Death Star to them, even before Aunt Mara made him promise no less than three times. It wasn't like he'd even seen one, the last real one had been blown up before his parents were even married and the skeletal prototype model had been destroyed when he was only a toddler. But there were a slightly worrying number of youth who wanted to return to those times, if the Imperial remnants' recruitment numbers were anything to go by. Why, he had no idea.

Aunt Mara's hand brushed his shoulder. "Anakin? Do you want to head back to get some rest? You were staring off into space."

He looked up and then realized he'd been zoning out. "What? No. Sorry, the sandwiches are excellent."

Now everybody was looking at him. Oops. He gave a sheepish grin and picked up one of the (untouched, double oops) triangular sandwiches on his plate and gave it an experimental bite, then a thumbs-up gesture as he chewed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his aunt roll her eyes before turning her attention back to the datapad on the table in front of her.

He looked around the table to see who was speaking. One of the Federation diplomats with the pointy ears. Vulcans, he recalled. "-so you wish to offer us a 3 month trial of these ships—these Star Destroyers, I believe you called them? That seems rather generous. What is the catch?"

"No catch," the Kuat representative, who oozed of slime in the purely metaphorical sense, replied. "We're interested in seeing how our products perform here, and of course we always value customer feedback."

"And if they are damaged during that period? Are we going to bear responsibility if we decide to back out of the contract within that timeframe?"

The representative shook his head. "Not at all. KDY fully insures its products until ownership is transferred, at which point they become your responsibility. There is a small deductible in the event of damage, of course, but we don't believe that should pose too much trouble."

The other two manufacturers' reps nodded along. "I believe you will find the contracts to be identical in their terms. We previously agreed that our products should compete on their own merits rather than legal trickery."

"Magnanimous," the Vulcan deadpanned. Wait, weren't they supposed to have almost no sense of humor? Of course stereotypes would be inaccurate. "What would this deductible be?"

"A fixed fee, set at five percent of the contract value. It will only be collected if the contract is cancelled and major damage to the ship is identified at the return inspection."

The Vulcan nodded. "If we sign the contract, how long can we expect to wait for replacement parts when they are needed?"

"The ships' stores are fully stocked with replacement parts for damage control purposes, so you should not need to worry about restocking them immediately. Those parts include everything that can be replaced outside of a drydock, and any more serious repairs would require sending the ship back to one of our shipyards. Having said that, we are interested in setting up a mobile drydock joint-venture at Sigma Alpha III, and should the contract pan out, we would explore our options for more permanent facilities."

.

The meeting continued like that for some time. They talked about placing the Republic Navy volunteers for the crew exchange program, and something about establishing teams to negotiate a proper treaty between states, to go beyond the basic recognition granted by the Senate. Anakin ignored the minutiae, absorbed in thought as he considered some of the things he'd learned about the old Jedi so far.

"Aunt Mara?" he asked softly during a break.

"Yes, Anakin?" she replied.

"Do you think I could study under one of the Jedi Masters?"

She seemed to consider it for a while. "I don't see why not, as long as they also agree."

He totally did not jump or pump his fist in the air. "You're the best aunt ever."

Mara snorted at his exuberant attitude. "I'm your only aunt, so I'd better be the best one or else."

"When can we go see the colony?" he asked. No, his voice was not whiny when he said it, and anybody who said so was a dirty liar.

"I don't know. Once they come to an agreement, whenever that is. I can tell you're getting bored, do you want to go sightseeing or something?"

"What, like to those Utopia Planitia shipyards I keep hearing about?"

The older Jedi attempted to stifle a laugh but failed, a chuckle escaping anyway. "I had been thinking something planetside, or maybe one of their lunar cities, but if they're willing to let us tour the shipyard then that's fine."

"Awesome!" No, he didn't jump for joy either. That would be silly. Rocked on his feet, perhaps. Like a man would do. Definitely.

.

Four days later, he was going out of his mind. Again. The back-and-forth over the fine print of the contract terms was taking forever, and if it wouldn't have made a scene, he would have just let his head fall against the table. Surely that couldn't possibly hurt more than listening to the droning of the legalese. Or at least it would provide a brief distraction from it.

The shipyard tour the day before had at least been a welcome distraction, and it was interesting to see how they built their sleek ships in comparison to the very utilitarian construction he was used to seeing, but he was shocked at the thickness of the hull plating they used. The thinnest plating he'd ever seen on a Star Destroyer was about a meter thick, and that was in the less critical understructure. The main armor belts were tens of meters thick – he wasn't sure of the exact figure and it varied from one class to the next anyway. The Federation's plating, in comparison, was measured in centimeters. Centimeters! Sure, they claimed it was a highly advanced duranium alloy composite, which did sound like it was tougher than basic durasteel, but surely not to that degree.

He'd tried to tell them that they'd probably be doing better against the Dominion if they didn't build their starships like luxury liners, but naturally nobody listened to "the kid." He wasn't a kid, damn it! He was 17! Hell, he'd probably been in more combat situations than they'd ever be in! Granted, one of those times had been when he was a toddler, but he'd flown the Falcon by himself when he was only 7 and that had to count for something! Even if his dad had been rather upset with him afterward.

So engrossed in raging at the unfairness of society was he, he nearly missed them talking about scheduling fleet training exercises with the ships on loan. Some place called Andor? Why would they go there? Last he heard, the forest moon was still uninhabitable, and there were occasional protests of the Ewok genocide in front of the embassies of the Imperial remnants. Oh wait, that was Endor. Still, joint training? That sounded incredibly awesome and not something he wanted to miss, especially if it meant he'd get another chance to fly one of the MSF-350s. Seriously. Put him in any fighter-sized craft with high power engines and he'd be happy. Much happier than sitting in a stuffy conference room eating whatever replicated food they put on the menu and listening to the diplomats drone on...

"Anakin Solo?" a new voice said from behind him, breaking him out of his daydreams.

"Yes?" He turned to face the newcomer, who was wearing Jedi robes. After a moment, it clicked. "Master Ma'Ning?"

"Indeed," the Jedi Master replied with a look of amusement.

Anakin jumped to his feet, tipping his chair in the process and then briefly struggling (and failing) to prevent it from clattering to the floor. Over a dozen pairs of eyes turned to him; even though they seemed to be on a refreshment break, he'd made quite the scene.

"Are you quite alright, or will you be in need of assistance?" the Jedi Master inquired dryly.

Having finished putting the chair back, he stood straight. "I'm fine," he said quickly. "Just... it's been tough staying cooped up in here. My aunt thought it would be a learning experience for me, but so far I think all I've learned is that contracts give me headaches. It's, uh, a pleasure to meet you, Master Ma'Ning."

"Well then, shall we speak elsewhere?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Anakin said, already on his way to the door. Once they'd reached the corridor, he slowed down. "I can't imagine you came just to relieve me from my boredom though."

"Indeed not," the balding Jedi replied with a nod. "I spoke to Jedi Jade-Skywalker earlier about some of the traditions and ways that have been forgotten. She asked me if I would consider taking you as my apprentice, and while I am not necessarily against it, I felt it best to meet you before making any decision."

"Oh," Anakin said, suddenly feeling as if he'd flunked an exam. After all, there was no such thing as a clumsy Jedi Knight.

Seemingly ignoring him for the moment, Ma'Ning continued. "We on Outbound Flight are not exactly set in the old ways. Master C'baoth did not often get along with the Council, but then again, it seems that their stubbornness also did them no favors if the history Jedi Jade-Skywalker told me is accurate." The older Jedi paused briefly. "May I see your lightsaber?"

Anakin hesitantly unclipped it from his belt. "It's... not actually mine," he admitted. "It used to belong to Master Kenobi."

Master Ma'Ning shook his head briefly. "What a coincidence. I met Master Kenobi and his apprentice Anakin shortly before we left." He examined the ribbed cylinder briefly before igniting the pale blue blade. A couple of experimental waves later, he extinguished it and handed it back. "It is indeed Master Kenobi's."

"You met my grandfather?" Anakin exclaimed.

"Would I be wrong to assume that is where your name comes from?" Ma'Ning replied with a gentle smile. "Yes, although it was brief. He and Master Kenobi had been sent by the Chancellor to conduct a final inspection of Outbound Flight, and we dropped them off in the outer rim on our way here."

"Wow." Anakin came up blank on anything else to say.

"I did not interact with him all that much, however, as they were only aboard for a week or so. He was... enthusiastic. Much like you in that respect. Around the same age, I think, if not older."

"Still, that's incredible," Anakin said.

"I heard you like to fly as well?"

The teen nodded. "Yes, they let me fly one of the strike fighters on board Vigorous when we arrived."

Ma'Ning made a follow-me gesture, and the two Jedi walked to a nearby turbolift. "Shuttlebay 17," he said, and a minute later the doors opened onto a rather low hangar deck littered with unfamiliar, somewhat boxy craft and cargo crates.

Anakin frowned as they stepped out. He wasn't going to ask him to fly one of those, was he? Then they rounded yet another stack of packing crates (which nearly touched the low deck ceiling – how did they manage not to hit it regularly?) and he saw a sleek arrowhead form that had speed written all over it. The cockpit was placed toward the rear, integrated into a single vertical fin that extended aft of the engines.

Evidently Ma'Ning also noticed his reaction. "Delta-12 Skysprite," he explained without prompting. "A longer-ranged, two seat recon version of the Delta-7 used by the Jedi Order."

"I don't think I've seen anything like it," Anakin admitted. "The A-wing looks a little bit like it, but this is a lot thinner. How'd they fit the hyperdrive in that thing?"

"They didn't," Ma'Ning replied. "It has a separate hyperdrive ring which I left in a parking orbit."

"Huh," Anakin muttered, crouching down to take a look underneath. "Makes sense, but it seems kind of like a huge risk if someone finds it."

"It's yours if you want it," the Jedi Master said off-handedly after watching Anakin crawl around the fighter for a few minutes.

"Wait, what?" Anakin said, jerking up and banging his head on a protruding fin. "Ow." Slightly more carefully, he cleared the stern of the fighter and stood up, rubbing his head. "Really?"

"Incom sent over a dozen new model X-wings," Ma'Ning said with a shrug. "A sponsored advertising deal, I am led to believe. This was only on board for Master Kenobi and his apprentice. We never had much use for it."

"I..." Anakin trailed off. "I would like to accept, but you still haven't said anything about whether I can become an apprentice."

"What do you know about padawans?" Ma'Ning asked in reply.

"Master Dellen explained the steps to me on Coruscant. Would I have to pass some trials first?"

Ma'Ning shook his head. "I feel the trials would be a waste of our time. I merely wanted to gain a measure of you, and I believe I have seen enough to satisfy my curiosity."