Starbase 24

Wednesday 24th July 2391

"Ranger Ship 381, you are cleared for docking. Please make your way to Bay 4E."

"Understood, starbase control," Roland responded crisply. Hailing from a long line of Rangers, he spoke Federation Standard English correctly but with a beautiful accent that betrayed his French origins. "Engaging manoeuvring thrusters."

Impatient to disembark, Antonio took little notice. He had spent much of the three-day journey to the starbase poring through the files sent to them by FedKIN, hunting for clues. He had a real gift for finding patterns… although, he thought ruefully, it really helped if there was a pattern there to find. So far, despite all his efforts and the nagging feeling that there was something missing and with just a little more information he could solve the riddle, he'd found nothing.

When he hadn't been working, he'd spent his time attempting to meditate – albeit with no great success – or pacing restlessly up and down. He'd not been good company during the trip, and maybe he should apologise to Roland for that. The older Ranger had always been someone he'd admired and respected. He had done his best to support him during this difficult time and he had not deserved three days of Antonio's moody silence.

As soon as the ship was safely docked, he pulled on the hooded cloak that went over his robe, although he did not bother to raise the hood, and joined Roland at the hatch that would take them both down into the docking bay.

"Es-tu prêt?"

"Oui." Antonio took a deep breath, not sure why he suddenly felt nervous. Yes, he was ready.

Roland touched the wall-mounted control panel and as soon as the hatch had fully opened and the ramp extended, the two men stepped out into the docking bay.

A young Klingon stood waiting, smartly dressed in the black uniform of Imperial Intelligence – although he was wearing the insignia of a colonel on his collar, so he could not be as young as he looked. Next to the I.I. logo on the other side of the collar was a pin that indicated he was on secondment to FedKIN.

Behind him was a feminine figure that Antonio knew all too well. She looked small and delicate next to the Klingon, but that was misleading. An ex-mercenary… and he was not so sure about the 'ex', she'd taught him most of what he knew about dirty fighting. Honour, she'd told him repeatedly, was all very well, but the enemy did not always follow the rules.

She'd dyed her hair again, he noted irrelevantly. It had been dark brown the last time he'd seen her, almost down to her waist; it was now a vibrant auburn colour, cut in a fashionable shoulder-length bob, although she still sported her signature non-regulation braids, decorated with beads and even a feather that he remembered her telling him came from a Terran eagle. Where she'd got that from, he really didn't want to know. Eagles were still protected and sale of such accoutrements had long been illegal, although Leandra being who and what she was, he had no doubts as to its authenticity.

He stepped towards her, reaching out to draw her into a hug, before remembering, almost too late, that she did not like such contact, and instead taking hold of her hands. "Leandra! It's good to see you."

"You too." Her face lit up in a smile. "Look at you! All decked out in those fancy robes. I guess the Ranger thing worked out for you!"

"It did." Catching the very brief smug glance she had given his companion as she'd spoken, and Roland's faint nod in response, one small detail that until now, he had not quite understood suddenly made sense. He'd always wondered why the Rangers had approached him. How had they known that he was so desperately seeking… something… when he hadn't known it himself? "I suspect I might have you to thank for that?"

She grinned. "I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation. She gestured towards the Klingon. "This is Kahsil, by the way." There was no further introduction, nor was it necessary; he'd already worked out that the Klingon was a FedKIN agent – probably, judging from his rank, his… his stepfather's assistant.

Kahsil had held out a hand and Antonio stepped closer, clasping his forearm in the traditional manner. "qaleghneS. I am honoured to meet you." It had been a while since he'd spoken any tlhingan Hol, but it was a simple enough greeting, if a little politer than was probably necessary.

The Klingon returned the greeting before changing back to Federation Standard, which he spoke fluently and with only the faintest trace of a Klingon accent.

Deciding that he'd question Leandra about her involvement at a later date, he brought the conversation to more important matters. "Is there any news?"

Leandra's smile vanished, its disappearance instantly banishing any hope he'd had that it was a mistake, that his fa… stepfather… had been found. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Tonio."

Kahsil stepped in. "We do have some leads which are being investigated. However, I would prefer that they were discussed in a more private place. Perhaps when you have seen your family, you could call into the FedKIN offices.

"Of course," Antonio responded at once, understanding the need for caution and also grateful for Kahsil's acceptance that seeing his family had to come first. "Speaking of which, do you know where I can find my mother? She's here on the station, I assume?"

The Klingon scowled. "No. She preferred to remain planetside and we were unable to persuade her otherwise."

"But…" Antonio didn't like that. "Surely that isn't safe."

"Have you ever tried to argue with your mother?" Leandra asked acerbically. "Don't worry, she's being guarded." She did not add the obvious; that Krang had been guarded and they'd still managed to get at him. "There's a transport inhibitor around the property, by the way," she continued, "So don't try to beam there direct.

"Thanks for the warning." Releasing his grip on her hands, he stepped back, preparing to take his leave. "Very well; I'll come by later this evening."

"Good." Kahsil nodded his head. "Security Captain Moragh said that he wants to talk to you once you've settled in."

"Uncle Moragh is here?" For some reason that surprised Antonio. Not that Moragh really was his uncle, but he'd always thought of him in that role. It made sense now that he gave it a moment's thought; someone would have to take command while his… while Krang was away, and for many reasons, Moragh was the obvious choice.

He arrived two days ago," Kahsil explained. He made no comment about the use of the familiar title, making Antonio think he must know about the deep and longstanding friendship between the two security captains. He also thought he detected a hint of relief in the Klingon's tone. It must have been a nightmare for the FedKIN staff with no senior officer to run things, so that was not surprising.

"This evening then," Antonio confirmed. There was little more to be said. He glanced at his fellow Ranger, who had not, up to now, participated in the conversation but had stood listening quietly. "Rollo, mon ami…"

Leandra frowned as the two Rangers spoke together in that language that sounded like, but was not quite, French. It had an old-fashioned sound to it, and she thought it might be an antiquated form of that language. Listening carefully, she could just about follow the conversation, understanding enough to know that he was thanking his companion for the lift and asking his plans.

The older Ranger responded that he had some business of his own to take care of and would be in port for a few days. Aware that Leandra was listening, he caught her eye and inclined his head slightly, wordlessly informing her that he would catch up with her as soon as possible. Then, with his part in the proceedings done, he bowed in that beautifully courteous way he had, and with a polite "au revoir," he returned to his ship.

The nearest transporter hub was only just on the other side of the docking bay and since the two FedKIN agents had to go that way to return to their offices, they walked with Antonio. For once, there was almost no queue, and in less than a minute, Kahsil was speaking with the operator, authorising his transport and providing coordinates. A few seconds after that, the beam took him, and he found himself standing in the warm Frontera sunlight. He was home.

The Inigan House, Frontera,

Leaving her combadge on the kitchen table, Chrissie had come out to her garden, to her sanctuary, in search of a little peace. Why wouldn't people leave her alone? Call after call after call, all asking the same stupid question. "Are you all right?" Honestly, it was enough to make her want to scream. They meant well, she knew that, but her husband was missing, and her ten-year-old daughter was traumatised. Come to that, she was traumatised, although for the sake of her family she was trying very hard to stay strong and calm.

For almost the first time since Krang's abduction, she was completely alone. Much against their will, Arwen had gone to school and Fina to work. Her eldest daughter would be somewhere in the engineering labs on the starbase, her little boy safely ensconced in day-care for the afternoon. That was a relief to Chrissie. Michael was a lively, energetic little boy and for a little while at least, she did not feel completely able to cope with his mischief.

As for the rest of the children, they were scattered across the quadrant. Her thoughts drifted to Kara, the first of the three children she had born to Krang. She was too far away for communication in real time to be possible, the distance so great that Chrissie's mind, still rooted in Earth's twentieth century even after so many years, could not quite grasp it. Nor was coming home possible; the ship on which she was serving could not be expected to abandon its mission and make the weeks-long journey to Starbase 24. That too was a relief. She loved her daughter unreservedly but no one who knew her would ever deny that she could be difficult.

She thought of Kally, born a little over a year later… Kally, who was so different to her sister. Where Kara was cool and calculating, in so many ways like her father, Kally was warm and bubbly, and Chrissie had more than once heard her described as effervescent.

Krang had not been pleased when she'd become pregnant so quickly, Chrissie remembered, and it had led to several very memorable fights. Not, she thought wryly, that he'd had any right to complain, considering how much he'd enjoyed the making of the child. Still, she'd understood his concern. Her pregnancy with Kara had been difficult, even life-threatening, and Kally's had not been much easier.

A student at Starfleet Academy, Kally had wanted to come home when she'd heard the news, but she had exams coming up and Chrissie had refused to allow it, reminding her that Krang would not want her to jeopardise her future. Duty, honour, loyalty… those things had been… still were, she corrected herself fiercely… the mainstay of Krang's life. On receiving reassurances that her mother and sisters were 'fine', and that they would keep her informed, Kally had reluctantly obeyed.

K'ehleyr, technically Krang's niece but whom Chrissie had considered another daughter since she'd come to live with them shortly after her tenth birthday. Despite the initial culture shock, having spent all her life on Qo'noS, she'd fitted in well and she, Kara and Kally had been like triplets. She was back on Qo'noS now, having followed in her uncle's footsteps and joined Imperial Intelligence.

Then there was Meren, the youngest of Krang's natural born children, and as the only male, his heir. Her son was currently serving in the Defence Force as was his duty, and his ship was currently on high alert, participating in the search, although what they would find so far away on the other side of the Klingon Empire, Chrissie didn't know.

He loved the Defence Force, and it was all he had ever wanted as a boy, but he had a keen and subtle mind and Chrissie rather thought that when he was older, he would turn to politics. A perfect mix of Klingon and human, Meren was equally comfortable in both cultures, able to swap between them at will, and he would make a good politician, an ambassador maybe, when the time came. It had been a very long time since a member of the Inigan family had taken up the seat on the High Council to which the House was entitled.

That only left Antonio, the eldest of her brood. Her brow furrowed at the thought of him, the only one of her children she hadn't been able to contact. His relationship with his adoptive father had been troubled… non existent, rather… for many years – and she knew she held some of the blame for that, something for which she had still not forgiven herself. They had since made their peace, but she'd always sensed that on Antonio's side at least, it was a surface peace under which resentment still simmered. Even so, she missed her son desperately. Where was he? She wanted so much to see him.

Still thinking of Antonio, she looked around the garden, trying to decide what needed doing. She'd thought of doing some weeding, but all was neat and tidy and there was nothing to do. A solitary tear trickled down her cheek and she lifted a hand to wipe it away, determined not to cry. If she did, she might never stop.

Her eyes fell on the nearest of her rose bushes. This one was special, even if it was a little overgrown. Knowing that she preferred to look after it herself, the gardener who assisted her had left it alone and it was in urgent need of deadheading. Her secateurs finding their way into her hand, she stepped purposefully towards it.

Snip. The first of the dead flowers fell to the floor. The secateurs clicked and another bloom fell to join the previous one, and then another, this one not quite so dead, joined it. About to remove yet another spent flower head, Chrissie stopped and bent to pick it up. Still in its prime, the rose was a beautiful pale yellow, with pink-tipped petals. The Peace Rose, or as her botanist's mind automatically classified it, Rosa Madame A. Meilland; to this day, still one of the most famous roses in Earth history. As of 1992, the year that the Klingons had invaded Earth and her life had changed forever, Chrissie knew that over a hundred million plants had been sold. How many more in the years since then, she had no idea.

Knowing it was one of her favourites, Krang had arranged for the rose to be imported from Earth and had given it to her for their first wedding anniversary. She'd kept it in a pot during those early years on board the Ulysses – the environment of a starship hadn't really been suitable for a rose, and it hadn't been completely happy, but she'd managed to keep it alive.

When they had moved to Frontera, it had been the first plant in her new garden where, after the initial shock of being planted in alien soil, it had thrived. Somehow, it had survived the Jem'Hadar attack on Frontera and the destruction of their home, and when they'd built a new house on a different site, since none of the family wanted to return to that place to live, they'd salvaged the miraculously undamaged rose bush from the ruins and taken it with them.

Chrissie had always thought the plant had much in common with her husband… strong, adaptable, a survivor. Prickly – yes, definitely prickly… Snip. And beautiful, although he wouldn't appreciate that comparison. Inevitably, her mind focussed on her mate. Where was he? What had happened to him? Snip. Was he injured and in pain? Snip. Or worse? Snip. Snip. He was not dead. He couldn't be dead, and she wouldn't allow herself to even think it. Not really paying attention to what she was doing, she attacked the rose bush again. Surely, they would not have taken him if they'd wanted him dead; they'd have just killed him! Snip. It had been five days and still no sign of him. No message from the kidnappers, no ransom demand. Nothing. WHY HADN'T THEY FOUND HIM?

She reached for another bloom and stopped, realising that there was nothing left to prune. Stepping back, she surveyed the mutilated rose bush in distress. What had she done? This was Krang's rose bush; she couldn't let it die. Reason told her that it would be fine, that roses didn't mind a good, hard pruning even if it was the wrong time of year, but somehow, its welfare had become mixed up in her mind with that of her husband. Ridiculous as it was, she could not escape the sense that if it died, so would he, and that if she saved it, so too would he be all right.

Kneeling on the grass, she sat back on her heels and picked up the fallen roses. Several were still in their prime and she bent her head, inhaling the delicate fragrance. She'd done the same to Krang's shirt, she remembered, although admittedly the flowers smelt better. She still hadn't put it in the wash; she knew she should, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Nor could she bring herself to discard the flowers; instead, she put them aside to take indoors when she was finished and put in a vase next to the photo of Krang on the bedside table.

There was little she could do to repair the damaged bush, but she could propagate some new plants from the stems she'd cut. Not completely sure if that counted as saving the bush, she decided to do it anyway. Dropping the secateurs, she fished out her little pruning knife from the pocket in her apron, opened it up and got to work.