Disclaimer: Paramount Studios and the estate of Gene Roddenberry own copyright of all things Star Trek. The original plot is my own as are any characters created specifically for this story.

'Enterprise, we..der..tack. We require urg..sistance. They came.. nowhere. 'trolling.. Mutara Nebula. Shields.. gone… More pass and...' Picard reached out to stop playback of the fragmented recording. He glanced round the table at the familiar ring of faces and their expected expressions. Worf, blood lust high, Klingon pride even now baying for vengeance. Riker, face stern, since the attack on the Hood.. Picard aware suddenly that only Deanna knew what had really happened back there. Deanna herself, grief-stricken for the pointless loss of life, as was Crusher. LaForge, simply angry.

He turned to the only member of his staff that he knew could be relied on for total objectivity. Even under extreme duress he knew he could rely on Data's objec.. He stopped.

'Commander?' He waited. 'Why?' the voice grated suddenly. The tone like two slabs of granite scraped over one another. They all stopped and stared at Data. Geordie stepped around the table. 'Data? Are you O.K.?'

The android shook his head, 'I am sorry. I was experimenting earlier with a variant of the emotion chip Dr. Soong created for me. The experiment was unsuccessful, and I subsequently removed the component. However, it would appear that I need to perform a self-diagnostic to purge my systems of any random data remaining.

The ship', he continued unabated, 'was the U.S.S. Intrepid, Excelsior class, Starfleet registry, NCC-''

'38907. Q'utvatlth!' Worf exploded, 'They will suffer for this dishonourable act!'

'Mr. Worf', Picard broke icily into the Klingon's vehement rhetoric. Worf settled down still breathing heavily, 'Now, I understand that hearing of the destruction of the ship which rescued you, your parents, and your comrades from the Khitomer outpost is hard to bear. But please allow Commander Data to continue', this last in words of granite, brooked no argument. He turned, at a nod of agreement from Worf, 'Data please continue', and, after eyeing Worf somewhat warily, Data completed his briefing.

Will Riker spoke first, 'Firstly, Worf, my condolences', he cleared his throat, 'Excelsior class. They didn't have a chance. The Hood got lucky is why Captain DeSoto is still around. But the big question is why? Not, why attack in that manner? But why at all? What purpose did it serve? What did it prove?' A thought struck him. He turned to Data, continuing, 'Or, should we be asking, what are they short of? What did the Intrepid have that they wanted, needed even? Data do we have a inventory of material that should have survived the attack, but didn't?'

Data scanned his memory banks. Soon the answer was forthcoming. 'The entire ship is open to space, due to explosive decompression. But Main Engineering and Photon Torpedo Tubes are virtually undamaged. Yet no torpedoes are aboard and there is a discrepancy between the amount of dilithium in the articulation chamber, and that remaining in the stores. In short a quantity of dilithium and photon torpedoes are missing.'

'Any way to tell how much of each?'

'I could attempt to recreate their combat log. See how many torpedoes they fired. Could be they exhausted their supplies in desperation.' LaForge paused, 'Or they may never have got a shot off. The Cardassians may have got a full load off them.' Deanna spoke, 'Excuse me. This may sound a little obvious, but are we sure the rogue Galaxy did this? Admittedly, it fits the pattern, but, isn't that the point, aren't we fitting it all together because we want it to be so?' She turned to Picard.

'A valid point Counsellor, however. Computer, replay time index 223.6 to 384.2'

'Sir, ship decloaking off the port beam.'

'Shields up! Red Alert! Helm, come about half-impulse. Tactical, what is she?'

A bewildered voice replied, 'Galaxy class sir! Sir she's firing!'

'Computer, cease playback', Picard glanced around the table, 'Suggestions?'

LaForge requested, and got, permission to start work on the Intrepid's log. Data left with him to assist. Beverly left to check on the readiness of her medical staff. Despite her earlier comments to him on the subject, she suddenly felt glad of Bashir's presence on board. She had the nasty feeling that they may both soon have their hands full. Very full.

Riker groaned and looked across the table to where Deanna was seated. Shocked. Despite her years of Starfleet service, she was basically, as they all were, peace loving. It was totally beyond her comprehension that anyone could attack without provocation, or as brutally as they had just witnessed. Picard broke the uneasy silence.

'Counsellor', he spoke gently, but firmly, 'we need your professional assessment.' At his words, she seemed to break out of whatever trance she was in. 'Yes... yes. I think this new attack shows the growing confidence of the Cardassians. As you probably noticed, the attack on the Hood was not followed up. They broke cover, attacked, and then let their prey slip away. Alright, so they were caught by surprise. They were not operational and it showed. But this attack was on an Excelsior class starship, the same class as the Hood, and it was followed up. Viciously. There was no need...'

'Agreed Counsellor', Picard broke in abruptly, 'Mr. Worf, what is your assessment?'

'Sir, I agree with the Counsellor, in that the Cardassians latest attack shows that they have shaken whatever problems they experienced during the Hood incident out of their systems. I now believe that we are facing, not as I previously stated, simply a caretaker crew. Their job being to get the Galaxy home as fast as possible.

I suspect that the ship is under the command of at least one Gul, one of which is undoubtedly Evek. As to the other...'

'Hold on Worf', Riker interrupted, 'why at least one Gul? That's not standard Cardassian policy is it?' Worf bristled at the interruption. 'Sir, I say at least one Gul for several reasons. First of all, this new attack shows a marked change of policy in itself. Cardassians are very single minded. They believe that the best way to destroy a plan is to change it. For a single Gul to suddenly decide to alter his entire strategy midway through implementation would be unheard of. Therefore there must be another Gul present tugging at the reins. They could be in subspace contact, but that would be very risky. Cardassians hate risks.

Obviously one of the Guls is Evek. This project is his, at least that's what we think at present. Evek is one of the more brute-force Guls. I think at present that his opinion is holding sway in the argument.'

Picard held up his hand. Worf was silent. Picard steeped his hands, lowering his chin to touch his fingertips. He thought carefully about what Worf had said. It made sense. This whole operation was a marked departure from normal Cardassian operations. More departures were to be expected. But who was in overall command? He looked up at Will Riker.

'Number One? Any suggestions as to the other Gul?' Riker looked back thoughtfully. He noted before replying that there was no longer any question as to the presence of two Guls. Ah well. Worf had made a good argument, and Will was never slow to admit fault.

'Macet. Yes, I know all about the much-publicised disgrace of the esteemed commander of the Second Order. But isn't that exactly the point? I've been thinking about that and it irritates me. The Cardassians have never liked to wash their dirty linen in public. Yet Kira Nerys was the only one on DS9 who didn't know about his disgrace. Inefficiency on her part? I don't think so! To my mind, the only reason that she was unaware of it was because whatever sources she has within the Central Command didn't attach any importance to it and therefore didn't pass it on. And the only reason for them not to attach any importance to a piece of information of that nature, is because they didn't believe it!'

He slapped the table in front of him in triumph, continuing, 'Now you may call that tortuous train of logic the spawn of a diseased and devious mind', he grinned, 'and you'd be right! But the Cardassians are known for playing mind games. Think back to any time any of us has encountered Cardassians in a confrontation. Every time we have become the subjects of a Cardassian game of mental torture.

Also, Macet has long been an opponent of Evek's strong-arm tactics. Evek has very few enemies, and I feel that of them, only Macet has the power base and guts, to publicly disagree with him, and effect the kind of change in policy we have witnessed.'

'Agreed. So, we have Macet and Evek. Question. What will they do next?' He sat back to listen to his staff argue over their own personal viewpoints. Picard was a good captain. He always knew when to allow his crew their head. He interjected only when he felt they were wandering off the point, or that no progress was being made. But brainstorming sessions were what they were good at. So he accepted the headache that he knew from experience the current session would provoke. He suffered in silence.

Bashir picked up the tricorder and studied the readout intently. Then grinned broadly at his patient. 'Well Ensign, it's not a virus', she breathed a sigh of relief. He continued, 'You're pregnant. Congratulations.

Catch her someone!'

The subject of his comment slid gracefully to the floor, supported by Alyssa Ogawa. He grinned ruefully, and turned to Beverly Crusher. She grinned back, 'Well that was...'

'Brutal? Blunt?' He offered. 'Funny!' She sniggered, then burst out laughing, 'really Julian, we must work on your bedside manner. I don't know how your patients have survived on DS9 with you dispensing medicine with a sledgehammer like that!'

'Data, pass me that tricorder, would you?' LaForge's voice was muffled. Data placed the tricorder in the hand that was groping out of the access panel beneath the central workstation in Main Engineering. The hand grasped it and withdrew into the space already occupied by a large proportion of the upper torso of the Enterprise Chief Engineer, and his current assistant, Ensign Sonya Gomez.

Data was just musing in his mind that Geordie of late had been spending an inordinate amount of time in the ensign's company. He knew Geordie professed to be very wary of Gomez and her famous lack of co-ordination. Yet.. There was a muffled growl from the floor. He looked down, perplexed. 'Yes Geordie?'

'The other tricorder Data', came the pained reply, 'this one is set to scan for magnascopic interference. I need the one set for ODN power feeds.' The hand reappeared, dumping the offending item back onto the top of the worktop, scrabbling for its' counterpart. Data dutifully guided it over to the item required. Once grasped in the hand it once again disappeared from view. Data waited patiently, listening to the muffled grunts and curses as Geordie struggled in the confined space. His mind returned to the other matter, as a thought occurred to him. He voiced it.

'Geordie, did you suggest Ensign Gomez to assist you because she is female, and has a smaller torso than I in order to accommodate the confined space required, or..' The torso below convulsed, as its' owner mistakenly tried to sit up. There was a sharp bang, and a howl of pain, followed by a groan of anguish. The torso collapsed, then a few seconds later gradually, painfully extricated itself from the confinement. Data was interested to note the fresh red gash in the dark skin of the irate face that eventually appeared. Geordie was not pleased.

'Data, I am going to sickbay. Can you finish up here? I'm sure between you that you and Ensign Gomez can sort out that maze back there. Back in a minute.' He walked away, turning left down the corridor to the nearest turbo-lift.

He staggered into sickbay, by now his head thumping. Quick to notice the new arrival, both Crusher and Bashir rushed to his aid. He collapsed into their arms and allowed himself to be dragged over a nearby couch.

'What on earth happened?' Inquired a concerned Beverly. As she asked, she passed a probe over the gash, and studied the readout of her tricorder with concern. 'Data happened...' Groaning, he filled in the remaining details for her. She struggled valiantly with her face, then sniggered, snorted, then howled. Bashir was most amused, 'And you call my bedside manner lacking! Come on Commander, let's get a look at that nasty gash, and rescue you from the clutches of this nasty doctor!' He turned away so that neither saw the broad grin that threatened to split his face in half. He turned back, hypospray at the ready,

'Now, hold still.'

The atmosphere was relaxed and confident on the bridge. Both Macet and Evek were deep in 'discussion' in the Captain's Ready Room. The sounds of that discussion carrying well out of the room and across the far side of the bridge. Terek, on the helm, looked across to his counterpart on Ops. Seetel glanced across at him and smiled shyly. He winked. Unusually for a Cardassian, Terek had a well-developed sense of humour, which had made him a very popular member of this crew.

'Seems like our leaders are having a difference of opinion', he murmured amused. His amusement was heightened at the sound of a large crash from the closed door. 'Hey Seetel, what are you doing later?' She regarded him curiously replying, 'Nothing. Why?' he grinned, 'You'll see.'

'Dammit Evek, this is stupidity in the extreme! To risk the whole operation in a pointless exchange was both foolhardy and reckless!' Macet was furious. He held a padd in his hand, and slammed it down on the desk in front of him for emphasis. The pompous arrogance of Evek was really beginning to annoy him. The Gul was sat leaning back in the armchair behind the desk, turned to one side, his left boot perched on the edge of the desk. He jerked forward as the boot was swept off the desk, then growled an angry response.

'You are soft Macet! Too many years in that soft office on Terek Nor. You should have been in the front line, like me! A few years in the thick of the fight against those pathetic Bajoran dissidents would have made you a real Cardassian. There were many..'

Macet had turned away in disgust, to face the window. At Evek's taunts he whirled, and grasped at the padd on the desk. Thrusting it under the Gul's nose he gripped his throat with his free hand. Despite Evek's greater strength, he was unable to break the grip as Macet spat his angry reply,

'Yes Evek, you are right! If I had been in the front line then I would have become just like you. And Cardassia can think itself very lucky that there are still some of us left. Able to think with our heads, not our fists! If we continue to attack every target that strays into our sights, what do you think will happen, eh?' He loosened his grip enough for Evek to croak a reply, 'We would show the Quadrant that the Cardassian military are a match for anything the Federation can throw at us!'

He found himself thrust back into the chair as Macet explosively released his grip. His eyes burned with the fire of a long held deep hatred for the other. He rubbed his throat, sore from the fierce grip of the angry Gul. Macet swore his reply, 'You fool Evek! How long do you think our supplies would last? How long until we run out of food, munitions, deuterium, and dilithium? We cannot trust to luck that we can continue to attack targets with impunity. Sooner or later the Federation will tire of chasing us around the sector. And they will form a taskforce. Include the Klingons - they are not fools, they must know by now where our cloak came from! - who will aid them in our detection. And we will be caught and killed!

You know as well as I that this is a black operation. If we are caught the Central Command will deny all knowledge. We will be sacrificed. Cardassia cannot afford to become embroiled in another conflict with the Federation. Rather than that we will be declared renegades, to be killed on sight. To preserve the Treaty we will be allowed to die.

More than that. Think you fool! Every time we attack, we disclose our location. Too often and our enemies will be able to detect a pattern. We slow down our progress home. The sooner we cross the border into Cardassian territory, the greater our chance of success. The less time the Federation will have to prepare a blockade to prevent our crossing. Even someone of your limited intellect can see that!'

Grudgingly, Evek admitted that Macet had a point. Even a thug like Evek occasionally saw sense, 'Very well Macet. We will play this your way. For now..' He left the unspoken implication hang in the air as he stood and stormed from the room. Macet turned back to the window. He gazed out at the stars. His thoughts turned to his son, his seventh birthday only weeks away. He had hoped to be present for once. Too many times his duties had prevented him from enjoying his family. His mind returned to the present, and he grinned mirthlessly at the memory of Evek's throat in his grip.

'Sir, incoming message from the transport ship, Itel.'

Picard half turned in his chair, momentarily caught off-guard. He was expecting no communication. He turned back to face the main viewscreen, commanding, 'Onscreen.'

The image was of a Bolian captain. His blue skinned visage was jovial as was common with members of his race. Essentially a peace loving race, the Bolians had long been allies of the Federation. The barber on the flagship, Picard reflected suppressing a smile - Mr. Mott, the barber, a well known and popular character aboard ship - was a Bolian. Yet on closer inspection Picard could detect something not quite right. A slight tension in the jaw. Troi leaned in, and spoke quietly into his left ear, 'He's worried sir.'

'Yes, thank you Counsellor', he left the 'I know', unspoken.

'Captain Picard', the image spoke, 'Greetings. I am Captain Portth, of the Itel. Starfleet Command informs me you have some passengers for me.' He waited expectantly. Bemused, Picard glanced at Riker. He shrugged, as much in the dark as his captain. Assuming, however, that a response was required other than the noncommittal physical, he put his brain into gear, and found the answer.

'The civilians sir. If you recall, I dispatched a manifest of those wishing to disembark at a Starbase, rather than stay onboard, to Starfleet three hours ago. Presumably, this is their response. They obviously felt that this option would be preferable to diverting us to Starbase, thus delaying our search. The lack of use of a subspace message to advise us could simply be to protect our location. Even if the message couldn't be read, its' destination could.' He swung in the console to his right, and tapped in his request, 'Yes. Yorkshire class. The Itel has accommodations for four hundred. Our manifest comprised five hundred. It'll be a squeeze, but with a bit of double-bunking - it's preferable to them staying on board.'

'Sir, they are accompanied by the Endeavor. She is assigned as escort. Apparently, Starfleet are taking the risk to unarmed ships in the sector seriously.'

'Very seriously', the thought rose to all their minds. The Endeavor was Nebula class, not a ship to be pulled off normal duties lightly. Picard cleared his throat, aware that Portth was patiently, still awaiting a response.

'Captain Portth. Please forgive the delay. As you are no doubt aware, in the interests of security, Starfleet declined to use subspace to advise us of your arrival. However, we are now ready to begin transport. My thanks for your assistance. Enterprise out.' He tapped his comm. badge, 'Picard to all transporters, begin transport. Cargo transporters also, let's complete this quickly. Counsellor, would you supervise the procedure, and advise me upon completion?'

'Aye sir', Troi uncrossed her legs, and stood. Then turned and walked quickly up the ramp to her left, entering the turbo-lift and disappeared from sight. Riker watched her leave, unaccountably wistful. He dragged his attention back to the action. Picard turned to Data on Ops. His mind now clearly focused on the vulnerability of the three vessels. If the rogue should blunder into them in the midst of the transport, then it could prove disastrous.

'Mr. Data, any contacts on long-range sensors?' The android's fingers flew over the panels in front of him. Reconfiguring the layout from its present function of monitoring the passage of the transported civilians. He scanned the readouts thus produced, then responded, 'Nothing within three light years sir. The Charleston, Potemkin and Merrimac are engaged in what appear to be search operations between four and seven light-years distant.'

Worf spoke gruffly, 'It appears that they are trying to attract attention to their presence. It was very near here that the Intrepid was attacked. They seem to be trying to shepherd their quarry in our direction. It will not work. If the Intrepid was unable to detect the rogue, then they will not.'

'The Lieutenant Commander is correct sir. There is every reason to assume that the Cardassians will simply sit quietly, and allow the searchers to pass them by, and then head off in an entirely new, and unexpected direction.'

'Thank you Mr. Data. I want you and Mr. Worf to prepare a list of the most likely courses of action for the Cardassians. Brief me on the one which you decide they will take at', he deliberated. How much time did he have? '1600 hours.'

'Aye sir', both officers spoke in unison. They left the bridge together, their deputies slipping smoothly into the positions left vacant by their absence. As he contemplated the bridge in front of him Picard became aware of the gaze of his first officer, regarding him curiously. He turned expectantly, 'Yes, Number One.'

'Captain. Worf, and Data? They don't exac..' Picard grinned and Riker realized his mistake. He knew that thrusting Data and Worf together would cause a conflict of opinions. That was what he wanted. If those two could agree on a briefing, then the result could pretty much be accepted as fact. Riker acknowledged the insight of the manoeuvre, and chuckled quietly. Oh to be a fly on that wall.

The young ensign passing the door at the rear of the bridge winced. A student of the Klingon culture, she was fluent in Hol. But that which was emanating, only slightly muffled from the Observation Lounge was not in any dictionary she had ever read. Only once, on leave in a bar on Qo'nos, had she ever heard that word uttered to another being. Never to a superior officer. As she turned, she saw Will Riker glancing back in her direction. Evidently, he too had heard the comment. She blushed, embarrassed and he grinned, turning back to examine his console.

'Something amuses you Number One', Picard inquired wryly. Riker simply inclined his head toward the right rear of the bridge. No other reply was required. The ghost of a smile passed over Picard's lips as replied, 'Yes, it does seem to be working well, doesn't it?' Not trusting himself to meet his captain's eyes, Riker simply nodded, biting his lip, attention glued fiercely to his padd.

The intercom beeped for their attention. Picard raised his head 'Troi to Captain Picard. Transport complete.' Picard responded. 'Excellent. Mr. Samuels, signal the Itel and the Endeavor that we are prepared to move off. Helm, set course for the rendezvous with the Klingons, Warp Six.' He sat back, relaxed in his chair. 'Engage.'

The phalanx of battle cruisers hung in space. Malevolent, forbidding. Viewing the sight from the comfort of Ten-Forward, on one of his all too rare visits, Picard sighed. Grateful for the actions of the second Enterprise' crew all those years before, preventing the assassination of the daughter of the late Chancellor Gorkon. Curiously, he considered briefly that it had been one of the very few times when a female had been allowed to hold office in the High Council, and the only time that a woman had been Chancellor. For that act had helped pave the way to the détente which the Federation and the Klingon Empire now enjoyed. Not for the first time he realized that, but for those actions, he might now have a very different task. Not to mention a different chief of security. He smiled at the thought, redirecting his gaze to his left, where a family reunion was taking place. At typical, Klingon, high volume.

'Brother!' boomed the leather and metal clad behemoth, 'It is good to see you', his face split in a wide toothy grin. He slapped Worf simultaneously on both shoulders. Worf returned the greeting, after which the two rubbed their sore spots and, arms around each other's shoulders, made their way boisterously to a table. A waiter nervously approached. Worf regarded him benevolently, 'Bregit lung, pipius claw, gagh, heart of targ, rokeg blood pie', the waiter responded swiftly, 'Dessert?' 'Tarvokian pound cake', 'and to drink?'

Worf grinned, 'Warnog, and chech'tluth!' Even Kurn eyed him dubiously at that. Either beverage was considered potent, even to a Klingon. In combination together, they could only be described as.. explosive. Not being brave enough to question an exuberant Klingon, the waiter backed off, to collect the order. Worf regarded his younger brother proudly.

'So, tell me, how are things in the Empire? I see from our last meeting that Martok is busy rewriting history again. He seems to be correcting… inaccuracies.. from Gowron's Chancellorship. Despite our help, yours and mine, against the Duras family, he always denied any hint of outside assistance..' Kurn interrupted, 'That is of no matter brother. He restored our family name. We have our honour. Lursa and B'Etor are dead, Duras' son is... no longer a threat. What more do we need?' At this point the waiter returned, and Worf was spared answering as they both set to devouring the stack of plates in front of them. For several minutes the silence was only broken by the sounds of their feeding. Eventually, their labours completed, they collapsed in their chairs. Kurn belched contentedly.