The Proxima Affair

[Tabor Nansk 0]

Star Trek

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The Proxima Affair

From the voyages of the USS Reaent

Dee Ellis

Acknowledgements

This has been a wonderful – and challenging – journey, and I need to recognize and thank a number of groups, people and sources for their assistance in making this work possible.







Distances and travel times were computed with the help of the Warp Speed Calculator found on the USS Dragonstar website www.ussdragonstar.com/utilitycore/warpspeeds.asp. There were many sites with calculators, but this was my favorite.



Location names and their places in the galaxy are based on Star Trek star charts available at http://ucip.org/sims/science/newmaps.



An incredible source of information – ships, people, dates, events and more – can be found at Memory Alpha, http://memory-alpha.org/wiki/Portal:Main.



Inspiration for this project came from the exceptional creativity of the crew of the USS Reaent, of which I am proud to be a member, home-based at the Star Trek Simulation Forum, www.stsf.net.



Thanks to Fred Michaels for permission to use the Reaent and expand on her Proxima mission.



And finally, special thanks to the crew members of the USS Reaent who had the faith in me to produce a quality product and therefore gave me permission to use their characters, logs and biographies in the making of this book. I couldn’t have done it without you!



Debbie Mathews

Wimbley Murray

Annabelle O’Halloran

Aaron Scherer

William Tomlinson



















Dee Ellis

August, 2010

Prologue

2369 - 2370

The Gamma Quadrant

Sometime before the second millennium, B.C. (earth time), on a water planet inside the Omarian Nebula, in the far reaches of the Gamma Quadrant, a race of Changelings emerged. Their natural state was fluidic, as befitting their world. But they were a fragile race, vulnerable to other world corporeal beings they called “solids”. To overcome this vulnerability, the Changelings developed a relentless drive to control the worlds around them and thus neutralize any threat to their existence.



Foremost in their plan was to limit contact between themselves and the solids. This is not to say that isolationism was their policy, quite the opposite. The Changelings wanted to dominate everything around them, but using, however, a behind the scenes approach. To accomplish this, a benign race known as the Vorta was conscripted to act in a service capacity, performing administrative, diplomatic, scientific and command functions. The Vorta would be the “face” of a Changeling-led coalition known as the Dominion. The Changelings themselves were considered gods, the Founders, by the Vorta and to an assorted collection of “member races” acquired through expansion.



The muscle behind this expansion was a genetically engineered race called the Jem’Hadar. Bred specifically for war, the Jem’Hadar were ruthless in their service to the Dominion. To further ensure their unwavering loyalty, the Founders also bred into this force an addiction to a chemical known as Ketracel White which, of course, was supplied only by the Dominion. Through the ensuing millennia, a significant expanse of the Gamma Quadrant and a growing list of member races came under Dominion control. Given the vast distances of space and the time required for inter-Galactic travel, the Founders had every reason to believe their rule would go unchallenged.



When the Bajoran wormhole was discovered in 2369, shaving off seventy-thousand light years of travel between the Alpha and Gamma Quadrants, the Founders’ assumptions were about to be tested. In the eyes of the Bajorans, inhabitants of the planet nearest the Alpha Quadrant terminus of the conduit, the wormhole was a religious phenomenon, spoken of as the Celestial Temple by their Prophets. For the other worlds of the Alpha Quadrant, the connector represented exploration, trade and, most importantly considering the impact it had on future events, expansion.



Bajor was quick to press claims in this region of space - New Bajor was the first colony established in the Gamma Quadrant. From the Gamma Quadrant terminus of the wormhole, near the Idran System, it was only a few additional light years to the Kotha Tremali System where, on the one class-M planet, Kotha Tremali III, the colony settled. The colony was the pride of its home world and twice a week supply shipments traversed the passage that linked the two quadrants together, bringing needed materials and new, eager settlers. Over a surprisingly short period of time, the population on New Bajor grew to over 138,000 people.



The Dominion, too, was quick to exploit the link and began their own explorations of the Alpha Quadrant. The aggressiveness of their intrusion, along with harassing the Bajoran settlement, ships and various outposts that sprang up on the Gamma Quadrant side of the anomaly, served as a warning to the major powers of the Alpha Quadrant that the Dominion was a force to be reckoned with.



In 2370, when diplomatic ventures by the United Federation of Planets ended in failure, these powers began preparing for an anticipated incursion. Correspondingly, the Dominion withdrew their Jem’Hadar troops from the Alpha Quadrant and began a build-up of forces in preparations of their own. Despite the ensuing lull in hostilities, to most observers, war was just around the corner.

Chapter One

The Gamma Quadrant

2370

1.1

The Jenkata Nebula



“Man, do you stink.” Commander Mike Basham wrinkled up his nose and scowled at the newcomer to the forward observation array.

The young lieutenant wasn’t about to let a mere matter of rank hold his tongue. “Twenty-three days without a shower hasn’t done you any favors either…sir.”

The man’s quick smile would have clued an outside observer to the joke: all four men onboard, the entire complement of the USS Nathan Hale FS-503, were well past the definition of ripe. The FS designation on the ship’s registry put the vessel in the Forward Scout category, a Hermes-class ship consisting of a small saucer section and one nacelle, though nowhere on the Hale would one find such registry information. Highly modified, the Hale was a spy ship and as such, even the crew wore no distinguishing uniforms or indications of rank.

“I thought you were going to fix that thing. ‘No problem’ is what you said as I recall,” Basham returned in mock anger.

The lieutenant shrugged. “Sue me. I’m a communications specialist, not a plumber.”

Even that was a joke as the facility in question used sonic waves to cleanse the user rather than water. “I relieve you of the watch, sir,” said Lt. Harkin, making as much a flourish as was possible in the tight confines of the room.

The Hale was a short range vessel – though capable of short bursts of high warp – that required the longer range transport services of a “mother ship”. On this mission, that role was played by the USS Sarajevo which inserted the Hale into position just over three weeks ago. Obviously as a spy ship, communication back to the support vessel was restricted to only vital information or emergencies. Unfortunately for the crew, a balky shower didn’t make the cut.

The commander squeezed by, performing the shift change ritual of ducking and twisting around the equipment crammed into the small space.

“Thank you, Connor. Nothing to report, just the usual cargo run to New Bajor.” He checked a screen to his right and confirmed the ship, “the Odyssey.”

Currently, the Hale lay hidden in a stellar cluster known as the Jenkata Nebula. Located about 3 light years from the Idran system, the nebula sat on the edge of Dominion space, though the exact boundaries of that region tended to fluctuate depending on who was pressing the claim. From that position she could monitor the wormhole terminus, the traffic going to and from New Bajor and any other activities – meaning Dominion – that might occur in the area.

“The others asleep?” asked Basham.

The three man crew rotated six, four-hour duty cycles manning the sensor equipment and monitoring power emissions to avoid detection. When not in the forward array, each crewmember had specific maintenance duties and schedules to follow for an additional four hours, four hours of “free time” and eight hours for sleep.

“I think Grunder is, but that new guy is back in the storage bay playing handball against the bulkhead.” The “new guy” was unassigned though even Basham’s orders failed to explain exactly why, only that they specified he be “kept appraised” and given access to all available data the ship collected. The unknown rankled Basham, along with the fact that the man was an outsider, a Bajoran.

“I’m going down to the bilateral arrays, “said Basham, “I noticed a slight harmonic resonance in the signal return earlier in my shift.”

“I’ll keep an eye on it.” Harkin gave the commander a nod as he settled into the observation chair.

The bilateral arrays gave the ship its peripheral vision, something very useful as the ship gently maneuvered among the drifting gasses of the nebula. They weren’t critical to the mission, but without them it would be as if one held a hand over one eye: you still had sight, but lost the depth perception – and the ability to track events, or obstacles, on the edge of your main focus. On this mission, the main focus was not New Bajor or the convoys heading to and from the colony. It was deeper into the Gamma Quadrant.

Not long after the wormhole was discovered, and Alpha Quadrant ships began exploring in earnest, contact was made with an alliance called the Dominion. Fronted by an aggressive species called the Jem’Hadar, the Dominion claimed exclusivity of all space in the Gamma Quadrant. The Dominion accused the Alpha Quadrant powers, of which many were pushing through the wormhole, of infringing on their territory. There had been several incidents already where Jem’Hadar had attacked outposts and the Hale’s mission was to be an early warning against an assault by a relatively unknown, but potentially dangerous opponent.

“And do try to stay awake!” the commander added with a wink. He turned, secure in the knowledge that Harkin was one of the best he’d worked with in a long time. But more than three weeks of staring into empty space was enough to drive anyone into a stupor.

Halfway down the corridor a thought occurred to him and he decided to pay his “guest” a visit. He worked his way down a narrow access tube that exited on the upper deck of the storage bay. Indeed, there was the fourth man, intently swatting a small, black ball against the far bulkhead.

“Nansk!” Basham called out to him.

The Bajoran deftly caught the ball as it rebounded back to him, then turned to look up at the commander. “Yes?”

“Want a little friendly competition?”

The man glanced around at the limited space in the bay, doubting this would work out well. He shrugged his shoulders and replied unconvincingly, “Sure.”

Basham climbed down the ladder to the bay floor and took up his position on the Bajoran’s left. “Your serve?”

Nansk bent low and delivered a sweeping, upward scoop. The ball sailed high and to the right, rebounding on a path that was going to cause the commander trouble with the cargo secured along the left bulkhead wall. Basham leapt to take the ball mid-flight and returned it with his left hand, though it was a fairly weak strike. Fortune was with him, as the ball barely made it to the front wall and left the Bajoran with a short dribbler. Nansk was able to reach the ball in time with his own weak return, but as he backpedaled to a defensive position, he collided with the commander with a heavy, tangled thud.

Looking at Basham laid out on his back on the bay floor, and giving him an ‘I knew this would happen’ expression, he said simply, “Sorry.”

Basham propped himself up on his elbows and said, “Not to worry.” He stood and dusted off his dignity. “You don’t say much, do you?”

“What would you like me to say?”

Basham’s frustration at the man’s elusiveness had been growing the entire mission. “For starters, you come aboard my ship with vague orders that make me wonder why you’re here. You have no official function on this ship, yet I’m supposed to give you all data we collect. Believe me, I’m used to secret missions.” He waved his arm in display, “I mean, look around, it’s what we do. But you’re off even our screens. Who the hell are you?”

Nonplussed, the Bajoran answered quietly, “My friends call me Lucian.”

The commander stared incredulously for a long moment. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

“I can’t tell you any more, Commander, at least not here. But if you’ll come with me to my quarters, I have something I need to show you.”

1.2

The Bajoran Wormhole





“Three minutes to terminus, sir.”

Captain Ron Parker took the helmsman’s report with a nod. The USS Proxima, a Nebula-class starship, was on her scheduled run to New Bajor, alternating inbound and outbound legs with her counterparts, the Bajoran transport ship Celestial Prophet, and a second Federation ship, the USS Odyssey. The colony of 138,000 was only a few months from its founding and needed constant resupply, but the Federation had an additional motive for being so heavily involved in a non-member settlement. Ever since the discovery and opening of the worm hole in 2369, exploration ships and outposts began running into conflicts with the major power in the Gamma Quadrant - the Dominion. The Federation wanted an increased presence in the quadrant and Star Fleet was tapped to provide the muscle.

“Number One, make all decks ready for wormhole exit. I want to go to warp as soon as possible.”

First Officer Martin Sherin was a burly man that gave one pause until you got to know his genial disposition. “Expecting trouble, sir?” he asked.

Parker shook his head slightly, “Not really. The last Star Fleet briefing mentioned increased harassment by the Jem’Hadar on some of the more distant outposts. I doubt they’d be so bold as to try something this close in, but one never knows.”

Sherin was a capable First Officer and he carried out the order without further questioning. He trusted Captain Parker completely, the result of seven years of service under Parker’s command. His pride was running a top-notch ship and his reward was the Captain’s confidence.

“One minute to terminus, sir.” The helmsman started the sixty-second clock and began the preparation to transition from the wormhole event horizon and the jump from impulse power to warp.

Parker looked at Sherin and received an ‘all ready’ nod in return. Typically, the transition wasn’t rough, but it could be momentarily unsettling if one didn’t know it was coming. Not the best situation to be caught in if one was engaged in something delicate.

“Thirty seconds.” The viewscreen showed the familiar rush and swirl of wormhole travel. To a trained eye, one could sense a thinning in the vortex patterns that signaled the end of the line. Suddenly, the screen went black as it took a split second to recalibrate to the Gamma Quadrant and display the region’s stars.

“Transition complete, sir. Confirmed we’re in the Gamma Quadrant.”

“Let’s hope so, Lieutenant, or we’re going to have to get a new map,” said Parker with a slight chuckle. “Helm, lay in a course for New Bajor, warp eight. Engage.”

The helm responded efficiently and a satisfied Parker turned to his first officer. “You have the bridge, Mr. Sherin. I’ll be in my ready room.”

He pushed out of the command chair, did a quick survey of the bridge personnel, and exited to his port-side ready room. The office was lean but not Spartan, as Parker was a private sort and not one to display a lot about his personal life. He sat down behind his desk and started reviewing a couple of the recent reports submitted by his department heads. The Proxima had a well trained crew and Parker found no fault in any of the findings.

Shortly, his attention began to drift and spun his chair around to face the observation window. This whole business of Star Fleet supporting a non-member planet’s colony in a quadrant that was barely explored, and even less secured, was troubling. He understood the strategic decision; having eyes and ears on the edge of hostile territory was invaluable. But it was a two-edged sword as it also meant that the Federation was essentially hanging bait out to the Dominion, almost daring them to attack. And it wasn’t just the outposts that were vulnerable; the Jem’Hadar had accosted ships, too. At warp eight, it would take the Proxima a little under thirty-six hours to reach New Bajor – the freighters would take even more. As one composer from 20^th century earth put it, “It’s a long time to hang in the sky.”

1.3

The Nathan Hale



“But these orders virtually place you in command of the ship! My ship!” exclaimed Basham as he read the padd Nansk had given him, holding it as though it was some kind of repulsive object. Following the Bajoran to his quarter as though he were a junior officer had done nothing to improve the commander’s disposition.

“No Commander. I have no designs on your ship. You just need to know there is a higher priority mission at stake – assuming the situation presents itself.”

“But you can’t tell me what it is.”

“My orders say no.” Nansk took the padd from the commander’s hands and placed it back in the locked drawer from whence it came. Pausing briefly to look at the small holo-display of a man, a woman and two boys, one in his teens, the other much younger, he activated the thumbprint lock and turned to face Basham once more.

“It probably won’t even happen, Commander. We don’t know if the information we have is correct. That’s one reason why we’re here.”

“We?” Basham confronted the man. “Tell me, right now, who are you? Who do you work for?”

Nansk took a breath and thought a moment. He liked the commander and understood the man’s frustration. But his orders were clear; no outside personnel were to have access to mission details. Still, antagonizing the man wasn’t going to make things any easier; and if events did play out, having an ally would increase the odds of success greatly.

“My associates and I aren’t on what you would call the official register.”

“Let me guess, Section 31?” Basham spat out the words in disgust. “What are you doing on my ship? From what I’ve heard, nothing good ever comes from dealing with you guys.”

The Bajoran stifled a short laugh. “Actually, a lot of that is intentional. It keeps operations quieter and simpler.”

“Well nothing is going to be quiet or simple around here mister if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

After another short pause, Nansk made his decision. “For the last several weeks, ships running to and from New Bajor have reported unusually high levels of magnaton particles emanating from somewhere near the Jenkata Nebula. You know the way things are out here, politically I mean. That’s why you’re sitting here spying on the Dominion. Star Fleet would love to get an advance heads up on any new weapons system they might have.”

“What’s so top secret about adding ‘look for new weapons’ to my orders? Why are you here?”

As Nansk detailed the information that led Section 31 to place him on this mission, the Commander’s face grew grayer and grayer. The Bajoran nodded in understanding. “A war is coming, Commander, though with who remains to be seen. I sincerely hope the Section is wrong on this, and when the Sarajevo comes to pick us up with our relief, I want nothing more than to go home and be with my family. But I need to know that you understand what we’ll have to do if they’re right.”

Basham look at him with steel gray eyes. “We’ll do it, Mr. Nansk. I still don’t see why Section 31 had to be involved, but we’ll do it.

“Politics, Commander. It’s all politics. And when the politicians finally screw things up so that there’s no other solution, you and I will get the call to clean things up.”

“You’ve got that right, mister,” said Basham, finally finding agreement in all that he’s heard until now.

1.4

USS Proxima



By the end of the thirty-fifth hour, the Proxima was nearing the Idran system. A ternary system with no habitable planets, it was really only a navigation mark on the way to New Bajor. It was point in the journey when ships’ crews began to perk up, anticipating arrival and shore leave at the colony. For the helm, the system’s outer asteroid ring was something to keep note of on the slim chance that one of the rocky fragments escaped its orbit and drifted into the shipping lane.

From Idran, the Proxima began making preparations for arrival. Down in the cargo bays, crew personnel spent the last hours readying the supply containers for transport to the planet’s surface and checking the manifests for whatever freight they would be loading for the return flight to Bajor. On the upper decks, those crew who were fortunate enough to be “off-rotation” were making plans for a quick shore leave.

For Captain Parker, the chronometer seemed to have stopped. He couldn’t shake the inner feeling that this wasn’t going to be a normal flight and was anxious to arrive. He seemed to be literally holding his breath when the helmsman finally announced, “Fifteen minutes to arrival, sir.”

“Put us into standard orbit over the capital. Contact New Rekantha and let them know I want to start offloading right away.”

“You’re in a hurry this trip, sir,” noted the First Officer. Sherin held a secret hope that he, too, could get off the ship and ‘stretch his legs’ on solid ground, even if it was for just a few hours.

Parker read his XO’s mind. “Not to worry, Marty, I want you planetside to supervise the transfers.” Then he added in an aside, “Actually I want you to ride herd over the crew going down. It’s going to be a quick turn around and I don’t want anyone wandering off.”

Sherin was puzzled by the captain’s demeanor, but acknowledged the ‘order’. “Aye, sir.” As he turned to leave the bridge, he had a thought. “Do you want me to bring you anything back from the surface?”

Parker thought for a moment about the Bajoran ale that was sure to be brewing somewhere within the teeming capital – and then got a hold of himself. “No, but thanks for asking.” He gave Sherin a lopsided grin and nodded in the direction of the turbo lift.

As Sherin departed, Parker turned the bridge over to his Operations Officer. “I’ll be in my ready room, Mr. Rivard,” and walked up the ramp to the upper level and into his office.

Sitting at his desk, he activated the console computer. “Computer, display the latest intelligence advisories for the Idran Sector.” Parker scrolled through the files, not finding anything that called for his attention. After several minutes, he leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and willed himself to relax. It didn’t work.

************

Six hours later, the transfer of cargo was complete. The planet had received the equipment and medical supplies it had requested and the Proxima had taken aboard mineral samples, reports from various government officials and – not too surprisingly – a few passengers; colonists who couldn’t make it in the difficult early weeks and months of settlement. Parker was privately amazed that the number wasn’t greater. He admired the rugged determination required of colonists of any planet and wondered if he could ever trade the relative ease of a starship captain for the life of a settler.

Re-emerging onto the bridge, the captain settled into the command chair. He looked around and noted that shift change had occurred and the stations were manned with new faces. On the right armrest, he tapped the comlink button, “Bridge to Commander Sherin, report.”

A slightly metallic voice responded, “Sherin here, sir.”

“Mr. Sherin, are all personnel back on board?”

“Yes, sir. Everyone’s accounted for and the cargo is stowed and secure.”

“Excellent, Mr. Sherin. Bridge out.” To the helmsman, “Make ready for departure. Plot us the same course back to the wormhole.”

“Aye, sir,” responded the young lieutenant.

Operations announced, “All decks report ready, sir.”

“Very good,” said Parker. “Helm, break orbit. Go to warp 8 when we’re clear.”

The helm engaged the thrusters and the ship pulled slowly out of the planet’s gravity. At the specified distance, the pilot brought the main drive online and the Proxima winked out into warp.

1.5

The Jenkata Nebula



With only a few days remaining in their deployment, Commander Basham permitted himself a glimpse of the light at the end of the tunnel. With any luck, none of the issues that the Section 31 agent represented would unfold. It wasn’t that he was unsure of his, or his crew’s, abilities as certainly his training with Special Ops had prepared him for almost any contingency. But what the Bajoran had told him was a magnitude beyond ordinary clandestine – whatever that oxymoron was.

It was C-shift. Grunder was in the observation array and Basham was supposed to be in his quarters sleeping. However, sleep had been an elusive state since that dreadful conversation in Nansk’s quarters. An entire host of zero sum scenarios kept running through his head. Had he been prone to making analogies, he might have likened the situation to another famously unsolvable situation – rescuing the Kobayashi Maru.

Finally surrendering to frustration, the commander arose and, since he’d never changed into sleepwear, went straight away to the observation array. He poked his head into the room and caught Grunder’s attention.

“How’s it going?”

Grunder pulled the audio-visual headset off his head and gave Basham a shrug. “Same old, same old.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way,” said Basham, as if any of them could control the future.

The commander left the array and was halfway down the length of the ship when the alarm rang. He spun on the balls of his feet and sprinted back to the forward observatory.

Reaching the doorway, arms outstretched on either side of the opening to halt his momentum he asked, “What have you got?”

“Three ships approaching from three-five-five mark 6.” Grunder faced the commander with a grim expression. “Jem’Hadar, sir.”

Basham turned at the sound of running feet along the passageway. He knew it would have to be the Bajoran – Harkin’s responsibility in an emergency during C-shift was the engine room. As the man came within view, Basham took no pleasure in being right.

“Commander, what is it?” said the agent.

“Visitors, and probably not in a welcoming mood,” he said and then returned his attention to Grunder’s displays. “How long until they get here, Brian?”

“They’re not in a big hurry, coming in at warp two. About thirty minutes? But they’re heading straight toward us so I’d guess we’ve been spotted.”

Basham swore under his breath. He checked the chronometer on the bulkhead and mentally calculated. “The Sarajevo ought to be just clearing the wormhole,” he said to Nansk. “If we send them a message they could increase warp to the rendezvous point. We can maintain nine point five for about an hour and close the distance.” He tilted his head in conjecture, “We might just make it.”

“Worth a try.”

The Commander turned back to Grunder’s waiting visage. “Send a narrow beam, sub-space message to the Sarajevo. Let her know what’s happening and include all the data packets. Then start dumping everything in the system. You know the drill.”

Grunder nodded his understanding and immediately went to work. A spy ship was expendable but her collected reconnaissance was not. Their top priority was transmitting nearly thirty days of surveillance data and then wiping everything from the computer’s memory. This seemingly redundant task was necessary in the event the self-destruct sequence was somehow interrupted and the ship fell into enemy hands. Additionally, much of the equipment would be sabotaged for just the same reason.

Basham tapped his comm badge. “Connor, get ready for a burst. And we’re going to need it for as long as the engines hold out.”

“I’m on it, sir,” came the reply.

“What do you want me to do?” asked Nansk.

“You got anything you don’t want the Dominion to have?”

Nansk nodded, “A couple of things,” and turned back down the passageway and hurried down to his quarters.

The Nathan Hale had light weaponry, but it was no match for one, let alone three Jem’Hadar warships. Speed was her primary advantage and as the warp core annihilations ramped up to nine point five, not even the best inertial dampers could disguise the fact that the ship was near to tearing herself apart.

1.6

U.S.S. Sarajevo



The Sarajevo wasn’t ten minutes post-transition from the Bajoran wormhole when the message arrived.

“Captain, incoming comm from the Nathan Hale,” announced the Communications Officer, a young lieutenant j.g. His voice elevated a notch, “It’s got an emergency code attached!”

“Start the data transmission download protocols and put the emergency code onscreen.” The captain arose from her chair and took a couple of steps towards the forward viewscreen.

“It’s ‘text-only’ sir,” he said as his fingers danced around his station panel.

The viewer changed from Gamma Quadrant stars to the Hale’s hastily sent distress call. All it took was seeing ‘three Jem’Hadar warships’ and the captain leapt into action.

“Helm, plot an intercept to where the Hale will be, assuming she holds course and speed. Maximum warp. Bridge to Engineering, if we’ve got anything more than warp nine, now would be a good time to have it.”

The Sarajevo flashed into warp in a race against time.

1.7

USS Nathan Hale



“Holding at nine point five, commander.” Even through the comm system, Lt. Harkin’s voice revealed the tension they all felt.

Basham checked the chronometer again, though he already knew the answer. Thirty-six more minutes until the drive unit failed – assuming the ship didn’t break apart before then. Thirty-six minutes to a rendezvous with the Sarajevo – assuming the Hale’s emergency transmission made it through. Two big assumptions, and they wouldn’t be out of the woods even if they held true. Certainly the Sarajevo was a more formidable opponent than a spy ship, but Basham had no doubts that that would give three Jem’Hadar warships no more than a moment’s hesitation before attacking.

“Where’s our pursuit, Mr. Grunder?”

Grunder looked up from his console, pausing in his task of sabotaging the equipment to check the tactical display. “We got a good jump on them, sir. If the Sarajevo is there, we should be in the bay with time to spare.”

“Good. Keep on up here. I’m going down to engineering to help Harkin.” In reality, there wasn’t much ‘helping’ to be done; more like crossing one’s fingers and keeping vigil over the engines.

Back in the crew quarters section, Nansk was hurriedly, but methodically, destroying the contents of his locked drawer. Padds of classified material – much of the details of which even Basham still didn’t know when the agent ‘read him in’ to the mission – were erased, the electronics physically destroyed and the pieces collected for disposal. They would be ejected from the ship and dispersed into space.

“Twenty-four minutes,” came Grunder’s announcement over the comm.

The Bajoran was almost finished with his task, hesitating on the last item – the holo-display of his family. Training had taught him to let nothing fall into enemy hands that might be turned against you, but he couldn’t bring himself to sever the only connection he had left to a ‘normal’ life. There would be time later if things came down to it, he thought, trying to delude himself.

“Fourteen minutes,” as Grunder’s countdown continued.

Nansk tucked a few belongings into a small duffle and left it on the desktop for a quick grab if and when it became necessary. He left his quarters and made his way forward to the observation array to get a firsthand look as events played out - and discovered he wasn’t alone with the idea. The Commander and Lt. Harkin were already there. He gave Connor a questioning tilt of the head.

“They don’t need me at this point. They’ll either hold together or not,” Harkin responded concerning the engines, correctly interpreting Nansk’s body language.

Grunder turned to the assembled group, “Six minutes.”

“Any word from the Sarajevo?” Basham asked.

“Nothing, sir.”

The four men spent the remaining minutes in silence as the event chronometer counted down to zero. Grunder cut the drive and gave Harkin a “good job, we’re still in one piece” smirk.

“The Sarajevo?” asked Basham.

“No signal yet, sir”

“The Jem’Hadar?”

Grunder checked the tactical display and looked back at the commander with hope. “Ten minutes back.”

Basham was grateful for the ten minutes, but he tempered the younger man’s hope with the stern reality – if the Sarajevo didn’t show, and soon, the Hale was going to be in deep trouble. For a tense minute or two the men waited, scanning the viewscreen as if their eyes could see more than the ship’s sensors.

Suddenly, Grunder’s voice rang out. “Power build-up off the port side, sir. It must be the Sarajevo.” His joy was short-lived, however, as a frown crossed his face. “Magnaton particles?” he said turning with a questioning look to the commander.

Basham slumped in resignation and shot a glance at Nansk. The Bajoran gave a nod in reply.

“Can you pinpoint the source of the emissions?”

Grunder made a few adjustments to his console and his head bobbed in the affirmative. “About three thousand meters off, sir. It’s coming from a small object, just over two meters in length, one in circumference.”

“Can we bring it on board?” Basham was truly hoping they couldn’t as this object had to be the device that Nansk had told him about.

“Why do you want to bring it onboard, sir?” asked Harkin.

The commander faced Connor with a grim expression. “I’ve got my reasons, Lieutenant. Will it fit in the cargo bay?”

Harkin thought a moment, “Just, sir”

“Mr. Grunder, move us to the far side of the object. I want to put it between ourselves and the Jem’Hadar.”

After warp nine point five, impulse seemed a snail’s pace as the Nathan Hale inched over to the device. The ship had just reached position when time ran out. A phased polaron beam caught the ship’s nacelle, sending the Hale into a flat spin.

“Guess who’s here,” said Grunder bravely, working the helm controls to compensate for the loss of thrust.

“Evasive maneuvers,” shouted Basham as he reached for a support to keep from falling.

The other two men crowding the passageway weren’t as fortunate to find a handhold, and were sent crashing into the opposite bulkhead.

“Commander, you must get that object,” protested Nansk, pulling himself up and stumbling back to the array doorway.

Basham looked at the Bajoran with loathing, “That’s going to be difficult right now.”

“You have to try. You know what’s at stake.”

The commander fought an internal war with himself. He turned back to the array room and questioned, “Grunder, can you get us under enough control to get a grappler on that thing?”

Grunder gave him a shrug and said, “I can try, sir. It would be easier if they’d stop shooting at us, though.”

He made another adjustment on the console and the ship stabilized somewhat into an unsteady wobble. With a finger poised over the grappling control, another alert sounded and drew his attention.

“We’ve got more company, sir,” his eyes lighting up. “It’s the Sarajevo!”

Basham ducked through the doorway further into the room, craning to see the viewscreen from a better angle. Phaser fire slashed across the viewer to what he hoped was a Jem’Hadar target.

“Grunder, get that object and let’s get out of here.”

Despite Grunder’s best efforts, the ship’s gyrations made aiming problematic and the grapplers missed high and to the left. He reeled in and his second attempt was right on target.

“Got it!”

On the fortunate side, the ship’s instability also made the Jem’Hadar’s aim erratic, their second salvo once again only grazing the ship. But it was enough. Plasma spewed from a gash along the starboardside fuselage and the Nathan Hale sat dead in space.

1.8

USS Sarajevo





As the Sarajevo dropped out of warp, she was immediately confronted with a dilemma. Three Jem’Hadar warships, flying in a delta formation, were closing in on the Nathan Hale. But instead of rendezvousing directly with the mother ship, the little spy ship was moving away in a tangential direction.

“Where’s she going?” the captain asked to no one in particular, staring at the viewscreen in stunned surprise. “Shields up! Red Alert! Comm, raise the Hale and tell her to change course to….one nine zero mark two five. Helm, put us between them and the Jem’Hadar.” Tapping her comm badge, “Bridge to Flight Deck, standby for docking procedures.”

But no sooner had the orders been given, than the lead warship opened fire on the Hale. The polaron beam shattered the spy ship’s nacelle and spun her out of control.

“Weapons lock on that lead ship,” ordered the captain.

“Phasers locked and ready, sir,” was Tactical’s response.

“Fire!”

The shot was a direct hit on the Jem’Hadar vessel. It pulled out of formation and lagged behind, wounded but not out of action.

“Where’s the Hale?” demanded the captain, her voice betraying an impatience made acute by their situation.

Though the Sarajevo’s fire had reduced the odds somewhat, it also had alerted the remaining Jem’Hadar that a new player had entered the scene. Leaving their crippled brethren behind, and ignoring the still spinning Hale, the two ships turned and spread out to flank the newcomer.

The tactical officer looked up from his display and answered, “The Hale appears to have lost port thrusters.” Amazed he continued, “She’s still moving away from us! I’m reading a small cylinder, about the size of a drone, emitting magnaton particles. I think they’re trying to retrieve it.”

“That had better be one damned important cylinder,” swore the captain. “Helm, evasive maneuvers, but keep us as close to the Hale as you can. Weapons, fire at will.”

With her movements limited by her protective duties, the Sarajevo was caught in a losing battle. Again and again, the Jem’Hadar ships raked her hull with their polaron weapons.

“Shields down to thirty-four percent, sir,” tactical reported, as the ship rocked from the impacts.

The captain screwed up her face in frustration. “Comm, tell the Hale she’s coming on board ready or not. We can’t stay here. Weapons, photon torpedoes, full spread. Buy us some time.”

The Sarajevo lashed out at her attackers, inflicting considerable damage but not enough to stem the onslaught. The two Jem’Hadar ships pressed in from both sides.

Suddenly, the tactical officer shouted over the noise of battle, “Sir! The Hale has taken another hit. She’s dead in the water!”

“Comm, do we have response from the Hale?”

“None, Captain.”

The list of options was growing shorter for the captain. Docking with the damaged craft would require her to drop shields, though it could be done in minimal time – if the Hale had helm control. Trying to grapple the disabled ship into the landing bay would leave too much time exposed to Jem’Hadar fire. And tractoring it out of the area meant dropping the shields altogether.

“Scan for life signs.”

Before the captain received her answer, the Sarajevo was rocked by another round of fire.

“Captain, shields down to twenty-one percent. We can’t take much more.”

“Sensors are down, Captain.”

Bad news was coming in from all stations. Biting her lip, the Captain made a fateful decision. They weren’t going to be able to retrieve the spy ship and they certainly couldn’t let her fall into Jem’Hadar hands.

“Weapons, target the Hale.”

It was a testament to the bridge crew’s training that that order solicited nothing more than a few widened eyes. The tactical officer locked on to the target and was rewarded with a shower of sparks as the console erupted along with much of the bridge. Everywhere, crew battle flames and falling debris – and none of the station reports were good.

“Shields are down!”

“Weapons offline!”

“Casualty reports coming in!”

“Engineering to Bridge. We’ve got an anti-matter containment leak. If we can’t stop it, we’re looking at a warp core breach in five minutes!”

The captain surveyed her ruined bridge and imagined what devastation lay below decks. She was going to lose her ship, the ultimate dread of any commander.

“Comm, send a subspace distress call to New Bajor. There might be a Federation ship in the lanes to pick it up. Operations, set the self-destruct sequence at ten minutes and wait for my mark.” She tapped her comm badge and addressed the ship, “All hands, this is the Captain. Make ready the escape pods and standby to abandon ship.”

Her plan was to give engineering four minutes, but she only had two. A polaron beam cut into the heart of the engineering section killing all who had remained frantically trying to save the core.

“Operations, initiate self-destruct. All hands, this is the Captain. Abandon ship! I say again, abandon ship!” Scrambling over the wreckage, she was the last of the bridge crew through the escape hatch.

All along the hull, pods that were still functional were jettisoned from their moorings and floated away from the crippled ship. Heartbroken, the captain viewed her ship and silently counted down the minutes.

Inexplicably there was no explosion from a warp core breach.

Confused, she checked her chronometer and waited for the self-destruct sequence to engage its final command. It seemed like an eternity until the timer wound down to zero.

There was no explosion from the self-destruct.

The captain was in despair. The Sarajevo drifted as a lifeless hulk, as two Jem’Hadar warships made their final close.

1.9

USS Proxima





Four hours into the return voyage, Captain Parker was summoned from his ready room.

“Captain,” came the page from the Comm, “We’re receiving a distress call from a Federation ship.”

Parker bounded out of his desk chair, “On my way.” He entered the bridge and made his way down to the command level. First Officer Sherin ceded the Captain’s chair but Parker did not sit down. “What do you have?”

“It’s from the USS Sarajevo, verified signature code. They say they’re under attack from the Jem’Hadar.”

“The Jem’Hadar?” The captain turned to his tactical officer, “What’s their position?”

The officer checked his display and reported, “Near the Jenkata Nebula, sir, about three light years from here.”

Parker was surprised. “The Nebula is virtually in Dominion space! What are they doing so far out? Is there visual?”

“No, sir,” replied the Comm. “It’s audio only.”

“Play it.”

The bridge crew listened as the Sarajevo’s call for help crackled through the obvious sounds of battle.

“What does Star Fleet records have on the Sarajevo?”

After a short moment of query, tactical replied, “The Sarajevo is an Istanbul-class starship. There’s no record of what her mission is in the Gamma Quadrant.”

“I’m not familiar with that class,” said Parker with a frown.

Tactical queried again. “There are only three ships listed belonging to that class. Again, there is no information as to their purpose.”

Parker did not want to go running off deeper into the Gamma Quadrant but a distress call took top priority.

“Helm, lay in a course to the Sarajevo. Warp nine.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Time to intercept?”

The helmsman looked back unhappily, “Eighteen hours, sir.”

Parker shook his head and turned to Sherin. “Too long. Put the ship on Yellow Alert and notify Sickbay to get ready for casualties.”

Sherin went to work and the Captain finally sat down in the command chair. Resting his chin in the fingers of his left hand and tried to imagine what scenario his ship was now racing into. It wasn’t going to be good. Although he had no idea what kind of ship the Sarajevo was, after eighteen hours, someone was going to be in pieces – and he wasn’t betting against the Jem’Hadar.

Restless, Parker arose from his chair and went up to the Tactical console. “Lieutenant, let me see the display on the Jenkata Nebula and the nearby systems.”

The screen showed the stellar formation existing just outside “official” Dominion space and his feelings questioning Federation presence in the Gamma Quadrant resurfaced. This wasn’t the first incident involving an Alpha Quadrant ship but, as far as he knew, it was the first for the Federation, though it probably wouldn’t be the last. They’d tip-toed into someone else’s neighborhood and discovered they weren’t welcome. Back on Earth, the Council was going to have to decide, and soon, whether they were going to pack up and leave, or plant the flag and stay. The former meant foregoing potentially lucrative trade opportunities; the latter meant war.

***************************

At seventeen hours, thirty minutes after the incoming distress call, Captain Parker put the ship on Red Alert. They had received no further communication from the Sarajevo.

“I want sensors covering the entire sector around the Nebula,” he ordered.

The sensors swept in vain for a sign from the stricken ship. The returns indicated no ships were in the area, only a debris field that was too small to account for a starship.

Parker sat on the front edge of his command chair as though ready to leap out of it. The Proxima closed the final distance and dropped out of warp at the coordinates given in the distress call.

“Well at least the Jem’Hadar have left,” said Parker to himself. “Analysis of the debris, Mr. Patterson.”

The Science Officer swiveled his work seat to face the captain, “Consistent with Star Fleet materials, sir. Hull fragments mostly and, judging by the residual matter/anti-matter scarring on it, at least one fairly intact warp nacelle – though it’s size would indicate it’s from a much smaller vessel.”

“How much smaller?”

Patterson made a quick calculation and accessed the Star Fleet schematic database. “Probably from something about the size of a Hermes-class scout ship.”

Parker turned to his XO, who had joined him even though he was technically “off shift”.

“What do you make of that, Number One?”

Sherin thought a moment before postulating, “A ship that small couldn’t have made it out here on her own. Maybe she was part of the Sarajevo’s complement.”

An idea flickered in Parker’s mind. “Perhaps that’s what an Istanbul-class ship is, a carrier. But why would you use such a small craft when you have a starship at your disposal?”

The answer came to the two men simultaneously. “It’s a spy ship!”

“Of course,” said Parker, “that explains its proximity to the Nebula. What better place to hide while keeping an eye on the surrounding sector?”

“Clearly the Sarajevo isn’t here. There’s not enough debris and there are no escape pods. Do you think the scout could have made it back into the nebula to escape from the Jem’Hadar?” asked Sherin.

Parker was skeptical, but if there was any chance of finding survivors, that’s where it would be. “Helm, take us back to the Nebula, warp 7. Mr. Patterson, see if you can adjust the sensors to filter out the interference.”

“Aye, sir,” said the Science Officer, his hands flying over the console.

Sherin leaned closer to the captain and said in a low voice, “They’d need at least warp 3.5 to get there before we arrived, say seventeen hours or so, and that much speed would certainly attract the wrong kind of attention.”

Parker nodded in agreement. “And not likely to have happened minus their warp nacelle.” Warp 7 put them on the edge of the nebula in 87 minutes. Thrusters moved the Proxima gently into the formation as the sensors peered in.

“Like looking for a needle in a haystack, Captain,” said Sherin, “Especially if it’s a needle that doesn’t want to be found.”

The CO was about to agree with him when Patterson’s voice interrupted.

“Got ‘em, sir! Two thousand kilometers in, bearing zero five zero mark one one five.”

The captain bounded from his seat. “Helm, take us there, slow and steady. Bridge to Engineering, standby tractor beam. I want to bring that ship into the…” he started to say “launch bay”, and then realized a Hermes-class would never fit. “I want to bring it alongside for docking.”

The Proxima crept through the nebula until she came within range.

“Engineering to Bridge, We’re ready when you are.”

Captain Parker peered through the static on the viewscreen to trying to determine the ship’s condition. He could see no identification numbers but he had to admit he didn’t really expect any, not if the ship was part of a covert operation and certainly not after the pounding the scorch marks on the hull seemed to suggest she endured.

“Comm, can you raise her?”

“No, sir.”

“Mr. Patterson, any life signs?”

Patterson grimaced and shook his head. “The ship appears to be heavily shielded. Between that and the interference from the nebula, I can’t be sure.”

“Engineering, engage tractor beam and bring her alongside. Sickbay, have a medical team standing by at the airlock. Mr. Sherin, you have the bridge. Go to Yellow Alert. Back us out of here and set a course for the wormhole, I’m going down to see what we’ve got.” As the turbo lift doors swooshed open he added, “Oh, and have a Security team meet me there.”

The captain took the lift to deck thirteen where the port-side docking ring was located. It always gave him a chuckle when he recalled having read somewhere that high-rise buildings on Earth often “omitted” a thirteenth floor because some thought the number bad luck. He hoped that wouldn’t be the case today.

When he arrived at the airlock, the wrecked ship was just being hard tethered to the Proxima. As the airlock cycled to ‘green’, teams rushed toward the craft to investigate and render aid. Work crews prized open the main hatch and the Security personnel entered cautiously, flashlights and weapons in hand.

Parker followed in behind one of the security officers. Ship’s power was running emergency systems only, but the air was breathable – though choking with dust. The team searched the small ship quickly and the Security Chief hurried up to the captain.

“Looks like a crew of four. Three dead, one barely hanging on back in their cargo bay.” The officer signaled the medical team to come aboard and ordered the rest of his security detail to disembark to make room.

Marveling at how even four crewmembers could manage in such cramped quarters, Parker squeezed into the cargo bay along with the ship’s doctor and a corpsman. The injured man lay unconscious, draped over a strangely configured device that had the ominous look of a coffin. It was attached to a portable power generator that was no longer functioning.

“Doctor, report.”

The doctor looked back at the captain with a snort, “You don’t give a woman much time, do you?” She ran her tricorder over the body and pronounced, “Well, he’s alive – barely. But I’ve got to get him to Sick Bay and away from whatever this thing is. He’s been exposed to high levels of magnaton particles and it’s playing havoc with my tricorder.”

Parker frowned, “Magnaton particles? Are we in any danger? Why didn’t we pick them up before?”

The doctor moved aside to let her corpsman move the man. “My guess is that the shielding on this ship contained the emissions enough that our sensors couldn’t distinguish them from the nebula’s background radiation. I don’t think we’re in any immediate danger, but I wouldn’t advise spending a lot of time just standing here.”

The two backed further down along the passageway to allow a gurney to enter the room. The man was carefully lifted into place and secured with the safety straps.

“Do what you can for him, Doctor and let me know when he regains consciousness.” Parker went forward and found his security chief in the little ship’s observation array.

“What do you make of all this, Chief?”

“Most of it’s destroyed, sir, but I can tell you that it’s at a level of technology that I could only dream about.”

The Captain shook his head in wonder. “What about that thing in the back?”

Now it was the Chief’s turn to shake his head. “I have no idea, sir. I’ll have someone from Science take a look at it.”

“The Doctor says it may have been emitting magnaton particles. Tell them to take precautions and limit their exposure. Let’s find out quickly what that thing is and how to shut it down if it starts emitting again. Otherwise, I want it off my ship. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain.”

Parker shook his head once more in amazement and thought, “Definitely a spy ship. I wonder what they found?” and with that he worked his way back to the cargo bay. The medical team was just removing their patient, accompanied by two security personnel. The captain let his mind wander about the identity of this mystery man but his thoughts were broken by the XO’s voice.

“Bridge to Captain Parker. We’re clear of the nebula and the course to the Alpha Quadrant is laid in.”

“Very good, Mr. Sherin. Take us back…”

“NOOO!” The strangled cry interrupted the captain’s order.

The medical team halted the gurney as the doctor ran her tricorder over the man’s body in disbelief. Parker stepped up beside the bed and a bloodied hand grabbed for his sleeve.

“Captain, you can’t take the device into the Alpha Quadrant, not now,” the man said frantically.

Parker leaned closer and asked, “Why? What is it? It doesn’t seem to be functioning. Is it a danger to my ship?”

“It’s a trigger! It needs to be…” Convulsions wracked the man’s body and he lapsed back into unconsciousness.

“Captain, I must get him to Sick Bay immediately!” pleaded the doctor.

“Go!” ordered Parker and then tapped his comm badge, “Mr. Sherin, hold your position. I’ll be up to the bridge shortly.”

As he strode off the little spy ship he turned and quickly surveyed the wrecked interior one last time. So many questions that needed answers. Parker headed for the nearest turbo lift and waited impatiently for it to arrive. “Bridge,” he said upon entering, not even waiting for the doors to close.

***************************

A combined Science and Engineering team had been studying the device for the best part of two hours. Their scans revealed a configuration that matched nothing in Star Fleet records and they were no closer to figuring out what it did than they were at the beginning.

“Turning it on would probably tell us a lot,” said one technician.

“And have it start bombarding you with magnaton particles? That wouldn’t do well for your future, Ensign,” laughed Willoughby, the head of the Science department, a lean-framed man with over twenty years of service.

“What would magnaton particles do, I mean other than kill me?” the lad persisted. “The man said this was a trigger. What would magnaton particles trigger?”

“That’s the question of the day,” said Phillips, the Chief Engineer. “And why, whatever it does trigger, can’t it be triggered in the Alpha Quadrant?”

As fate would have it, the men didn’t have long to wait for an answer. Without warning, the device came to life sending their instruments off their scales.

“What did you do?” Willoughby demanded of the young ensign, who had been poking a two-tined probed into every nook and cranny it would fit into.

Ensign Scott was aghast. “Nothing, sir! I was taking passive readings, that’s all!”

“It’s spewing magnaton particles, Will. We need to shut it down or get out of here,” Phillips warned.

Willoughby gave the engineer an exasperated look that admitted he had no idea how to disable the device. “Pack it up, gentlemen, it’s time to go.”

Outside of the spy ship, Willoughby tapped his comm badge, “Willoughby to the Bridge. Captain, the device is on and we can’t turn it off.”

On the bridge, Parker took the news with resignation. “Understood, Mr. Willoughby. Clear the scout ship, we’ll jettison it out to space.”

The captain nodded to the XO and Sherin put the pre-arranged plan into action. The airlock sealed off the accessway and the restraining clamps released the little ship. Tractor beams reversed the procedure of bringing the craft alongside, gently pushing it out into open space.

“Helm, move us to a safe distance from the ship,” Sherin ordered.

When the thrusters had taken the Proxima out a few thousand kilometers, Parker spun the ship one hundred eighty degrees. “Weapons, target one photon torpedo on that ship.”

“Captain! I’m reading increasing levels of neutrinos directly astern,” announced the science officer. “Magnitude is now…” he made a quick check of his display, “Sir! It’s a wormhole event horizon!”

“Helm! One hundred eighty degrees about,” commanded Parker. “Red Alert, shields up!”

The view screen showed the signature swirl of a wormhole opening not more than a thousand kilometers in front of them.

Tactical added to Science’s report. “Sensors detect a ship emerging from the wormhole.”

Before their eyes, a ship appeared that no one on the bridge had any trouble identifying.

Parker was incredulous. “What the hell are they doing here?”

A Romulan Bird of Prey stood nose to nose with the Proxima for a seemingly eternal second before cloaking and vanishing from their screen. Like a child’s game of Blind Man’s Bluff, Proxima’s sensors swept the region in a futile attempt to locate their foe.

Suddenly Tactical warned, “Bird of Prey de-cloaking one hundred eighty degrees astern. She’s firing her disruptors!”

The Proxima was rocked by the impact that caught her squarely along the engineering decks.

“Warp drive is off-line. Aft shields down to forty-seven percent,” reported Operations.

“Maneuvering thrusters, one hundred eighty degrees about. Keep our forward shields towards her,” shouted Parker, though by the time the Proxima rotated the Romulan had re-cloaked and was gone.

“They’ll have us chasing our tail, Number One.”

“De-cloaking again, off the port side!” cried the tactical officer.

“Phasers, lock and fire!”

Two bolts of energy, phaser and disruptor, crossed paths and found their marks. The Bird of Prey reeled from the hit and immediately re-cloaked. The Proxima, however, fared worse as the disruptor beam shattered the port nacelle. The ship began to tilt off-axis as the helm struggled to maintain control.

“Photon torpedoes, wide dispersal. Fire!”

They were firing in the dark, hoping to make a lucky hit, but their long shot didn’t pay off. The Romulan ship appeared again astern, starboard quarter, the disruptors easily slicing through the remaining shields. The Proxima rolled onto her back, drifting without power.

Captain Parker hung on to the command chair as people and objects began floating away in various directions.

“We’ve lost gravity control! Comm, send a subspace message. Give Star Fleet our location and situation.”

“The communications array must be down, Captain, I can’t generate a carrier frequency.”

Just then the crew felt the jerk of a tractor beam. Incredibly, the view screen was still functioning and someone cried, “They’re pulling us into the worm hole!”

Clinging to his chair, his feet dangling above his head, Parker twisted to watch in stunned fascination as his ship was pulled, slowly, inexorably into the swirling vortex.

Chapter Two

Earth

2384

2.1

San Francisco



The three men sat around an oblong table in an expansive office on the 40^th floor of a building owned by a well-known financial institution. It could have been a meeting between the CEO of the bank and his regional vice-presidents – but it wasn’t. The affairs they were discussing weren’t financial, they were political. In fact, the men didn’t work for the institution at all. Their allegiance was to the United Federation of Planets, although one wouldn’t find their group on an official organization chart.

Since 2161, the Federation has occupied various sites scattered around San Francisco. While its Executive offices are located in Paris, the Legislative chambers and Judiciary were located in the Presidio within the city. Star Fleet, which provided the diplomatic and military muscle, was based at Fort Baker, just outside the city on Angel Island, sharing the island with Star Fleet’s Academy.

The fact that these men were meeting in an office building not affiliated with any of the Federation’s official activities should give one a hint as to the nature of their existence. These men were the top three of an organization known as Section 31. The group took its name from Article 14, Section 31 of the original United Earth Star Fleet Charter which, if liberally interpreted, allowed established rules of conduct to be “bent” in the event of extraordinary circumstances. Though neither condoned nor even acknowledged, Section 31 activities have run in a parallel shadow throughout Star Fleet’s history.

Tonight was the first time in many months that the three had met together in the same room, an indication that an “extraordinary circumstance” had taken place. Tomorrow, the office would once again be vacant with a real estate firms’ “For Lease” sign on the door.

“You’ve all read the latest intelligence brief?” asked the Director alternating his questioning look between the other two men. Their affirmative nods prompted him to continue. “What’s your perspective on this, Mueller?”

Mueller spread his hands on the table and spoke. “First off, for the Romulans to contact us in this way is highly unusual. Second, what they’ve sent us is of dubious value – information about a ship that’s been lost for fourteen years? Certainly the Romulans would have had it stripped it down to the bolts long ago.”

The third man, Sterns, interjected in agreement. “I think it’s safe to presume that the Romulans want something from us. They key is why did this come to us, rather than to Star Fleet? That tells me that whatever they want, it’s not official. If it’s not official, then who are we dealing with?”

Mueller speculated, “The probability is Tal Shiar. They’re still trying to make a comeback after the Dominion War.”

“That still doesn’t give us what they want or why we would be interested in a fourteen year old ship,” argued Sterns.

The Director considered for a moment, then leaned forward and set a small object on the table in front of them. “Perhaps this might alter your thinking. This wasn’t in your briefings and the two of you are too young to remember the circumstances.” He activated the device and a holo-image of a family appeared before them.

“Who are they?” asked Sterns.

“They’re the family of one of our operatives. He’s the older boy in this picture when it was taken. The emitter is a memento he always carried with him, despite me telling him not to.”

“How does this affect our situation?”

The Director leaned back into his chair and gazed at the ceiling, as if recalling a painful memory. “His name was Lucian Nansk, recruited out of a resistance cell on Bajor during the Cardassian occupation. He was a bright, young kid, always eager to take the more difficult missions. His last one was aboard the Nathan Hale, a Star Fleet spy ship sent to the Gamma Quadrant just before the outbreak of the Dominion War. It disappeared somewhere around the Jenkata Nebula, along with its mother ship, the Sarajevo. Everyone presumed the Dominion had something to do with it. In fact, the Sarajevo got off a distress call claiming to be under a Jem’Hadar attack.”

Mueller picked up on it. “Claiming, sir?”

The Director nodded. “Not a word about her – or from her - until 2374 when, interestingly enough, the Sarajevo shows up again, just in time to be destroyed in a battle during the war.”

“Dead men tell no tales,” quipped Mueller.

The Director returned forward toward the table. “But back in 2370, the closest Star Fleet vessel was the Proxima, your fourteen year old ship, Sterns. But they were eighteen hours away.”

“So what happened?” asked Sterns. “And how did she get into Romulan hands?”

“That’s the mystery here. The Proxima was never heard from again. The Dominion War broke out a few weeks later and the whole thing was lost or conveniently forgotten in the post-war reconstruction.”

Mueller began connecting the dots. “So we’ve got an operative’s keepsake that goes from spy ship to maybe mother ship to maybe rescue ship to Romulan hands. However that happened, that last part is the only thing that’s definite. They had it, and now they’ve sent it to us – along with suddenly revealing ‘Oh by the way, we have your ship, too.’”

“And that’s the dilemma the Romulans have handed us,” said the Director. He waved his hand in the air, “The Proxima is secondary, almost inconsequential. As you’ve noted, there are certainly no more secrets left to be salvaged after all this time.” He picked up the holo device, switched it off and examined it. “But this damned emitter. How did they get it? Was Nansk taken captive somehow? Did he defect? Was he and the rest of the crew dead and the Romulans just stumbled across it? And why in blazes has it taken them fourteen years to do something with this?”

“We’re back to what do they want,” said Sterns.

The Director nodded. “And until we figure out what it is, there’s not a whole lot we can do.”

“How do you want to proceed?” asked Mueller.

“As it happens, Nansk’s younger brother has just recently graduated from the Academy. I did a little checking and found out his first posting is directing traffic at a backwater star base – not the kind of thing that’s likely to excite an active, young ensign. I think he’d make the perfect recruit for our purposes. And I’ll bet he’ll jump at the chance to find out about his brother.”

The two other men gave a knowing smile to each other. “And what are our purposes, sir?” asked Sterns.

“We need some firsthand intel, a sneak and peak. I have someone in mind who can put things into motion. We get young Nansk posted to the right ship, Star Fleet sends it for a look-see, Nansk relays what they find and we make our move from there.”

“How much background do we give him?” asked Mueller.

“Just that his brother may be alive and that we need to find out more information before sending in the cavalry.”

“Who do you want making the recruitment?”

“Already taken care of.” The Director looked at his watch. “The boy’s in Spain. Allowing for a nine hour time difference, we should have our answer sometime tomorrow.” He slapped his hands down on the table top. “Any other questions, gentlemen? No? Good, I’ll be in touch. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an admiral to call upon.”

2.2

New Madrid



Tabor walked through the narrow streets of a city that despite its name was decidedly old. Once one got off the main boulevards and away from the tourist traps, the rugged splendor of a nearly forgotten time emerged. Life here hadn’t really changed in centuries. New Madrid took its name after extensive rebuilding following the devastating earthquake of 2106, but the culture of a people was anything but new.

Fresh from Star Fleet Academy, newly minted Ensign Nansk was enjoying a two week leave before starting his first assignment – an admittedly lackluster posting to a transport operations hub on Starbase 47, near the Cardassian Demilitarized Zone. The one good thing about the base was its proximity to his home world, Bajor. The young Bajoran had disappointed his parents with his decision to join Star Fleet and he hoped to atone for this grievance by being able to visit them more frequently.

New Madrid was unbearably hot during the long, summer days and Tabor quickly grew to appreciate the local custom of “siesta”, taking refuge from the blazing sun and only re-emerging when the later evening breezes cooled the city and its inhabitants. It seemed the entire population would then be out strolling the parks or sipping sangria at a table at one of the myriad of outside cafes that surrounded every major and minor plaza in the city.

Tabor’s command of Spanish was minimal and certainly atrocious to native ears, but he learned that a smile and a “por favor” smoothed most transactions. Tonight he was into his second liter of sangria, eavesdropping on a particularly animated conversation going on at the table next to his. He had no idea what the two gentlemen were discussing but it was entertaining to watch the passion with which they made their respective cases. He pushed his empty tapas plate forward and leaned back, letting his imagination run wild.

Surprising him from behind came a low voice – in English. “It’s not polite to intrude on other people’s business, Tabor.”

He spun in his chair, then recoiled at being face to face with a total stranger. “Excuse me? Do I know you?”

The man slid into the empty chair next to Tabor and leaned forward on the table, interlacing the fingers of his hands as if in prayer. “No, but that’s not important. What is important is that I know you. And that we are going to help each other in ways you can’t begin to imagine yet.”

Tabor eyed the man suspiciously. There was nothing distinguishing about him. The dark hair with a touch of grey at the temples gave him a fatherly image. He wore a black, leather jacket – a bit odd in this heat - and khaki pants, an outfit that could have described your average tourist. But his eyes were as cold as rolled steel, though he tried to soften their penetrating stare with an oily grin.

“Who are you and how do you know me?”

The man sat back, reached into his jacket with his right hand and pulled out a small holo-emitter, the kind people use for keepsakes. He set it on the table and activated the device. Tabor was stunned to see the image of his family – his mother and father, his older brother and himself. The picture had been taken in front of the family’s home when he was about eight years old.

“Where did you get this?” He was sure he recognized the emitter. “This is my brother’s. He always carried it with him.”

The man leaned forward again and re-clasped his hands. “It is indeed your brother’s, Tabor, and I would like very much to tell you how I came to be in possession of it. But not here.” The man pushed back his chair, pocketed the emitter and stood. “Come for a walk with me, Tabor? It’s a beautiful evening for a stroll don’t you think?”

Tabor sat in momentary indecision.

“Come Tabor, I mean you no harm. As I said, I want to help you and for you to help me.”

Tabor set his jaw and threw caution to the wind. “Alright,” he said standing, “I’ll give you till the next plaza.” He reached into his pocket and deposited a few coins on the table to pay for his meal.

The two men left the café and walked leisurely out into the middle of the square.

“I assume you wanted privacy. Now you’ve got it,” said Tabor. “So tell me, where did you get this?”

The man continued his stride and replied evenly, “What would you say if I told you your brother was alive?”

Tabor stopped in his tracks and turned on the man. “I’d say you were a liar. Lucian died when I was nine years old. That picture was taken the day he joined the Bajoran resistance against Cardassia. It was the last time I saw him – except for the funeral. He was killed when the Cardassians raided one of their strongholds.”

“Did you actually ‘see’ him at the funeral, Tabor? Think carefully.”

Tabor thought back to that day when some members of the resistance brought his parents the fateful news. There was no body and the service that followed was closed as well. The only thing Tabor could remember was himself as a young boy crying in anguish over the coffin of the big brother he worshiped. It was Lucian’s death that made him vow to join Star Fleet. If the Bajorans couldn’t defeat the Cardassians, maybe the Federation could.

“No, I didn’t see him.”

“No. That’s because Lucian didn’t die in that raid. In fact, he wasn’t in the Resistance at all. He was working for us. His “death” was just a cover story to shield you and your parents from any repercussions his real assignments might bring to you. And it worked, too. At least until he got careless and let that emitter fall into the wrong hands.”

Tabor’s quick temper got the better of him. “My brother was never careless! Something must have happened for him to lose that.”

“Something did happen, and that’s what we want you to find out.”

“Why me? And who is us?”

“I’ll answer your second question first. We’re a small, intentionally not very visible part of the Federation. We play an integral role in maintaining security in the quadrant so folks like you can have a nice, peaceful life.”

Tabor bristled at the implication. “You know nothing about my life or you wouldn’t be making statements like that.”

The man shrugged, “Have it your way, it changes nothing. Your brother is still in trouble, and you’re the one he needs.”

Tabor was about to protest when the man cut him off.

“I know, ‘Why me?’ Your brother may be being held captive and, as you know, it will have been for a very long time. People sometimes change, do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do. Psychiatrists call it the Stockholm Syndrome and they say that having someone close to the victim making initial contact at the time of rescue is often critical in bringing them back. I can’t think of anyone closer to your brother than you, Tabor.”

That clinched it. “What do you need me to do?”

“Well first off we need to put you into a position where you can be the most effective when the time comes. That means not sitting twiddling your thumbs on low priority star base.” The man pretended to think a moment, toying with Tabor’s emotions. “We have a ship in mind, the Reaent, an Ambassador-class starship that will be going the right direction very soon.”

“Going where?”

“It’s best you don’t know just yet, Tabor. Believe me, it’s somewhere where the Federation can’t just walk right in, if you know what I mean. For now, your job will be to simply become one of the crew. I understand you’re a pilot by training?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Excellent. It just so happens the Reaent is in need of a fighter pilot. Interested?”

Tabor was hooked. Flying was his dream and rescuing his brother was unimaginable. All he could do was nod.

The man’s face broke into a satisfied smile. “I thought you might be.”

Questions began to bubble to the front of Tabor’s mind. “How will I know what I’m supposed to do, and when and where and…”

The stranger held up a cautioning hand and turned deadly serious. “We’ll communicate with you at the appropriate time with instructions. Do understand, Tabor, that secrecy is the most vital element in this mission. You are to tell no one about this conversation or anything about your brother. If any of this leaks prematurely, the whole thing is off and your brother’s fate will be sealed. It’s in your hands, Tabor.”

Again Tabor just nodded, then found his voice. “One last question. Who are you?”

“We’re known as Section 31. Now, finish your vacation Tabor – on schedule – and report back to Star Fleet headquarters. Your transfer orders will be waiting when you arrive. We probably won’t be seeing one another again for a while, but you will be contacted. Good luck.”

The man turned and disappeared into the crowded plaza leaving Tabor in a whirl of thoughts and emotions. His brother, alive! Tabor vowed then and there to do whatever it took to make that possibility a reality.

Chapter Three

USS Reaent

3.1

Reporting for Duty



When Tabor came aboard it, it was like the proverbial kid in a candy shop. Certainly the Reaent wasn’t the newest or fanciest ship in Star Fleet, but she had a storied reputation and an outstanding service record. Built in 2357, the Reaent was an Ambassador-class, Scientific Light Carrier laid down on a design that had been introduced in the 2330’s. By 2372, newer designs and more demanding missions had left her functionally obsolete. Unwilling to simply scrap a structurally sound starship – along with her fifty sister ships – Star Fleet initiated a refit program to enable continued service to the Federation.

With work completed, the Reaent was re-commissioned in 2378 and spent the next five years adding to her record. The ship underwent yet another modification with an “Enhanced Scientific Explorer” refit in 2383. Basically that meant the additional capability of carrying approximately thirty Peregrine Class fighters for ship defense and support while on extended – and often isolated – missions.

Tabor wandered the passageways with his duffel bag trying not to look lost while he oriented himself to the ship’s layout displayed on his padd. Eventually he arrived at the Flight Operations Office and presented himself to the Officer of the Day.

“Ensign Tabor Nansk, reporting for duty, sir.”

The OD eyed him skeptically, “You one of the new pilots?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmm,” he said, checking a padd lying on the desk. “Nansk? Yes, here you are. Expected you an hour ago.”

Tabor felt his face flush. “I’m sorry, sir. I had a little trouble locating the Flight Ops. The schematic on my padd doesn’t seem to match up with the ship.”

The OD gave a little chuckle. “I suspect we’ve had a few changes around here since that diagram was uploaded. Never mind, you’re late. What that means is that you don’t get your quarters assignment right now. You’re overdue for your new crewmember physical and the doctor doesn’t like to be kept waiting. I suggest you get moving. I’ll forward your arrival on to the Executive Officer. Now, get going!”

Tabor gave a quick salute and backed out of the office. The doors whooshed shut and he stood dumbfounded in the passageway for a moment. Sickbay… Now where was that? Ditching the padd, Tabor located a display console on the bulkhead wall. “Computer, show me Sickbay.”

A blue line was generated on the diagram and Tabor committed the route to memory. Still feeling out of place lugging his duffel bag around, he set off for his next destination. All in all, the crew he encountered in the corridors was friendly enough, but he was mostly ignored as he made his way to the sickbay.

The Flight Office was on Deck 3 and Sick Bay on Deck 19. Tabor found the turbo lift exactly where the blue line said it would be – to his relief. He smiled at a female ensign as he entered and stated his destination. She nodded in reply but didn’t say a word. Standing awkwardly to one side, he felt like she was giving him the once over, deciding if he was someone worth talking to.

The Ensign disembarked on Deck 12 and Tabor made a mental note to find out which departments were located there. Maybe he could find a good reason to be there and run into her again.

“Resume,” he said and as the lift doors swooshed shut and he rode the rest of the way alone.

At Deck 19 he finished the “blue line route” and presently came to a set of doors marked “Medical”. Tabor paused a moment, rearranged his duffel bag across the other shoulder, and then entered.

3.2

Sickbay



Tabor entered a reception area and was impressed at the state of the art facility. He wasn’t sure why he expected anything less, but one never knows on a military vessel.

“Can I help you?” asked a woman in a white lab coat.

Tabor stammered, “I’m Ensign Nansk. I’m supposed to see the doctor for a new crewmember physical?”

“You sound like you’re not sure, Ensign. Are you a new crewmember?”

Nodding foolishly, “Yes, ma’am.”

“And isn’t it a requirement that all new crewmembers receive clearance from the ship’s doctor that you’re fit and ready for duty?”

“I suppose it is, ma’am. This is my first assignment, so I don’t have a lot of experience to go by.”

Laughing at his discomfort – though not derisively - she said, “No, I don’t suppose you do! And stop calling me, ma’am. It makes me sound old! My name is Mathews, Doctor Mathews.”

“Hello Doctor Mathews.” The doctor checked her desktop computer and located Tabor’s base-side medical records. “I see you’re a pilot, Ensign Nansk. Please take a seat,” motioning to one of the biobeds. Tabor bobbed his head again, dropped his duffel bag in what he hoped was an out of the way corner and went to the bed indicated, hopping up trying to look nonchalant. Doctor Mathews grabbed a tricorder off her desk and walked over to her new patient. With a practiced hand, she made a quick but thorough examination of the nervous Ensign before her. Tabor listened to all the beeps and sounds from the medical scanner, and wondered what they all meant. From somewhere in the back of the bay, an assistant called out, “Be careful with that scanner, Doctor! You know, that’s the one that short circuits all the time. Don't want to shock the new guy!” Tabor’s eyes widened at the warning. Again Doctor Mathews poked fun at his discomfort. “Don’t listen to her, Ensign. It’s sometimes a little slow down here and we get our jollies pretending to torment the newbies.” The doctor looked at her tricorder then to Tabor. “You’re fine, Ensign. I’ll be sending my report to the Executive Officer and Flight Ops shortly. You should be on duty very soon now! Oh, and breathe, Ensign.”

Tabor realized he’d been holding his breath and exhaled after a seeming eternity. “Thanks, Doctor,” and gave her a “can I get down now" look. This time when Doctor Mathews laughed, he felt the warmth of her caring personality. “Yes, Ensign, you may get down.” She waited while Tabor retrieved his duffel bag and then motioned for him to come over to her desk. Reaching into the bottom drawer, the doctor pulled out a wrapped piece of candy on a small, white stick. To his questioning look she answered, “It’s a lollipop. Mostly they’re for children, but I find that most of my patients are just big kids at heart.” Tabor unwrapped the treat and plopped it into his mouth. The sweet taste reminded him of home and he felt a fleeting pang of regret not seeing his parents before reporting on board. “Thank you, Doctor,” and quickly left so she wouldn’t see the shadow that crossed his face. Doctor Mathews smiled as he left. Sending off new crewmembers always made her feel a bit like a new parent waving their child off on the first day of school. What would become of them? She sat down at her desk and began to download the examination information into the computer’s medical database.

3.3

Murray



The weeks and months went by quickly for Tabor. As he settled in and got to know more and more of the crew, the Reaent was becoming his second home. The missions were exciting and he reveled in the challenges. With each new assignment, he wondered if this would be the one to rescue his brother. But he’d heard nothing from his Section 31 contact and was beginning to wonder if he ever would. Patience was not Tabor’s strong point.

He worked hard to earn his Flight Leader’s confidence and apparently succeeded when one day the Captain presented him with his first promotion – to Lieutenant J.g. Tabor re-doubled his efforts to improve his performance, both as a personal objective and to distract his mind from what might be happening with his brother.

Then one day while he was taking a meal in the junior officer’s mess, he spotted someone who was rarely seen there. It was well known that Wimbley Murray preferred a more private setting, so to find the First Lieutenant sitting at a table amidst the barely contained chaos of chattering crewmates was indeed unusual. Tabor decided to investigate.

“Lt. Murray,” he said approaching the table with his tray, “Mind if I join you?”

Murray looked up at Tabor, apparently undecided as to whether or not he wanted to allow this intrusion. Finally he pushed the chair opposite him back with his foot and said simply, “Have a seat.”

Tabor quickly unloaded his tray and set it off on the next table over. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said sitting down and pulling his bowl of Bajoran stew closer. “I don’t see you much down here. Something special today?”

“Haven’t you heard? We’ve got a new mission, a real doozy. Thought I’d come down and take the pulse of the crew, so to speak.”

“I haven’t heard a thing! Of course, you’re on the bridge so you get everything first hand. Me, I’ve got to wait until the CAG decides to tell us before I know anything. What is it?”

“We’re going to the Neutral Zone. Going through the Neutral Zone – uninvited.”

Tabor thought that was a bad idea. “That’s not going to be taken well by the Romulans,” he said cautiously. “Why are we doing this?”

Murray sized up the Bajoran who, although a couple of years older than he, had less time in Star Fleet service. He leaned forward conspiratorially. “OK. You didn’t hear this from me. We’re going to look for a ship. Seems it’s been missing for fourteen years and just now started broadcasting a distress beacon.”

Tabor sat bolt upright and nearly dropped his spoon. Fourteen years was how long his brother had been presumed dead – at least until the Section 31 operative told him otherwise. Could this be the mission?

“And this ship is in Romulan space?”

Murray nodded with a Cheshire cat smile.

“So what are we going to do if we find it?”

Murray just shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t think anyone’s thinking that far ahead, if you ask me. I mean, just getting across the Neutral Zone without getting caught is like a gazillion to one.”

“Someone must have a plan. Why else would Star Fleet send us?”

“To answer your second question first – or maybe not to answer it,” Murray said, laughing at his own joke, “Who knows? I guess they don’t want to send in an entire rescue fleet for a ship that probably isn’t even there.”

“You think it’s a trap?” asked Tabor, his mind racing with possibilities.

Murray just gave the Bajoran an ‘are you really that green’ look.

“So what is the plan? How are we going to get into Romulan space undetected?”

“Right now, the front runner is to disguise ourselves as little lost asteroids and simply float across.”

Now it was Tabor’s turn to look incredulous. “You can’t be serious. The Romulans are not that stupid.”

Murray shrugged again and stood, picking up his meal tray. “Remember, you didn’t hear any of this from me.” As he passed Tabor, who seemed to be stuck in his chair, he smiled and said, “I’ve enjoyed our little conversation, Mr. Nansk. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

3.4

Engineering





Down in Engineering, a different type of conversation was taking place, namely how to get an entire starship across the Neutral Zone without being detected by the Romulans. Chief Engineer Aaron Scherer and his team had been working with the Flight Group earlier on equipping the individual fighter craft with holo-emitters to disguise their configuration, and were now devising a plan to expand the ship’s arrays to make it appear as a rogue asteroid when a new face entered the room.

“Hello. We haven’t met yet, I’m the new Science Officer, Anna O’Halloran.”

Scherer looked up and made a quick appraisal of the pretty young woman standing in front of him. “Hello to you. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

“The Captain asked the Science Department to coordinate with Engineering and I got nominated.”

Scherer was taken with her raven-black hair and piercing blue eyes. He decided to give her his full attention and stood up from his console. “A pleasure, Anna. What have you brought for us?”

Anna faced an imposing looking man with a scar running across his left eye. Even though she had heard the Chief was as gentle as a pussycat, his face could just as easily have told a different story.

“Just an idea I would like to talk to you about – if you have a moment.”

“I think we’re all ready for any new ideas. What does the Science Department have in mind?”

“I've heard the talk about using holo-emitters to hide the ship from sensors and I'd like to offer an idea to go along with that.”

“Please don’t keep us wondering,” said Scherer leaning slightly on the table. “Do go on.”

Anna took a breath and let it out, hoping she wouldn’t look like an idiot. “We’ll be using the ship’s sensors to detect and analyze incoming sensor frequencies from the grid. We can try to use these for electronic counter measures to either absorb or negate the signal. We could disperse a signal that is similar but completely out of phase in order to produce completely destructive interference.” She finished in a rush, as though if she paused to take a new breath, the whole plan would evaporate. “That’s it.”

Scherer nodded thoughtfully. “Very original. You’re a credit to your department.”

Greatly relieved, Anna smiled and gave a simple, “Thank you.”

One of the other engineers now spoke up. “We have personal cloaking technology that we could modify to either mask the fighters for escort or expand to hide the entire ship.”

“Can’t do the ship – Treaty of Organia and all – but the fighters might slip through the fine print,” said Scherer rubbing his head. “It’s an interesting idea. We would have to look at the specs to see if we could modify the field to at least a shuttle dimensions.”

“Well, we just need to give it a bigger power source and alter the projection field.”

“And make sure the heat sinks don’t burn out.”

Anna wedged in a question as the two engineers paused for thought. “Wouldn’t the Romulans be able to see us because of the power output?”

“Not necessarily,” answered Scherer. “But heat dispersion would be the key.” He turned to his colleague, “Ok, run with it. Work up some numbers and we’ll keep it as a backup plan.”

“It sounds risky,” said Anna, not really wanting to sound like a skeptic in her first meeting.

Scherer chuckled, “We’re going into Romulan space. That’s a pretty big risk in and of itself.”

Anna conceded, “True, but I wouldn’t want give them extra ways to find us.”

“I think the holo-emitters are going to be our first choice,” said the Chief. “At least that’s the impression I get from the Captain. That’s not fool-proof either, but then nothing is.”

3.5

The Neutral Zone

Alpha Quadrant



After weeks of preparation, the Reaent was nearly ready to attempt crossing the Neutral Zone. The holo-emitter idea had remained “Plan A” and was about to be put to the ultimate test. Tabor had been consumed with the thought that somehow this mysterious ship was linked to his brother’s disappearance. The Proxima. He rolled the name around on his tongue like the pit of some enticing fruit.

He was torn with indecision. On one hand, nothing of what he knew about this mission made much sense and, granted, he knew very little. First, you have a ship missing for fourteen years in enemy space that suddenly starts sending out a signal. And the Romulans don’t hear it? Second, if Star Fleet knows the ship is there, why not take more aggressive action in retrieving it? If Star Fleet doesn’t know it’s there – and they suspect a trap – how could they order one, nearly worn out star ship to go on a virtual suicide mission? And third, what were they supposed to do if they made it across the Neutral Zone, made across Romulan space and actually found the ship?

Tabor shook his head. On the other hand, it all made perfect sense – at least with regards to Lucian. From the limited information contained in the ship’s database, he discovered that the Proxima was lost sometime at the beginning of the Dominion War, the same time period that Lucian supposedly died. The Section 31 operative said his brother had been a spy and who better to spy upon during that time than the Dominion? How the ship had gotten into Romulan space was a question unanswered, but for a time the Romulans had signed a neutrality agreement with the Dominion. Perhaps there was a connection there. And even though he hadn’t been contacted by the Section 31 agent, Tabor had no doubt that a mission of this magnitude is what the man meant when he said the Reaent would be “going in the right direction soon.”

Distracting him from his thoughts were his duties in the Flight Group – of which he was now a full Lieutenant and second in command – and a new, pup of a pilot named Will Tomlinson. Will was a strapping young man and Tabor was constantly amazed the boy could squeeze his 6’ 1” frame into a fighter. More to Tabor’s consternation was Will’s almost psychic empathy when it came to judging the emotional states of others – in this case, Tabor’s – that nearly drove him up a wall. It was as though Will could see right through him and know every doubt or hesitation that crossed Tabor’s mind. But the kid had a winning personality and over time they became best friends.

“Hey, wing mate!” cried Will as he spotted Tabor entering the flight deck.

Tabor gave the boy a half hearted grin in return and called Bravo squad – his flight squadron – over to one side of the launch bay.

“OK, gentlemen. Today we’re going to find out if all this extra crap we’ve been hanging on our fighters is going to be worth its weight in drag,” he said referring to the holo-emitters and knowing the metaphor completely lost something in translation. “We’re going to go outside and play like nice little asteroids. Any last questions?”

Of course, it was Will who spoke up. “If we get fired upon, do we get to fire back?”

“You will wait for orders. Is that clear?” Tabor looked at all the other pilots first before settling in on Will. “And you stay glued to my wing.”

“That’s my job,” he replied enthusiastically.

Tabor continued, “Besides, if all goes right, no one is going to be shooting at a rogue asteroid and scattered pieces.” He looked again at Will felt a chill run down his spine. Those darn green eyes of his were peering into Tabor’s soul again, exposing the lie that the squadron leader in any way believed that all was going to go right.

The pilots took to their fighters and at the signal from the bridge, launched into their formation. Tabor was always taken by the sight of open space whenever he first left the launch bay. He shook off the distraction and ran through the checklist Engineering had provided to ensure proper function of the holo-emitters. His console showed all green, all systems functioning normally. Off his right wingtip was Will, and behind them, intentionally raggedly spaced, was the rest of the squadron.

“Standby to engage holo-emitters,” he gave as command.

“Standing by,” replied Will cheerfully, as did the other pilots.

Tabor felt like he and the others were sitting ducks, a feeling that didn’t diminish when the order came to engage the emitters. Now they were sitting rocks, if anyone actually fell for the ruse. Power levels were kept at a minimum, with just an occasional push of thrust to keep the formation floating in the right direction.

Tabor had argued with his Flight Leader against the “asteroid plan”, favoring something more believable in the event they were caught sneaking across the Neutral Zone by the Romulans. But the Captain had chosen this plan and now they had to make it work. As the cluster slowly edged into the zone, Tabor knew only time would tell if it would be successful or not.

Chapter Four

Romulan Space

4.1

The Neutral Zone

Romulan Space



The IRW Petan hung motionless in its patrol zone in the Hyralan Sector, much to the dismay of her Sub-Commander, an ambitious officer named B’Ril. Messages from the Petan’s nearby sister ship indicated a similar feeling of frustration. He sidled over to the man sitting in the command chair at the center of the bridge.

“Commander, if I may have a word,” he spoke in a quiet, yet urgent voice.

“Speak, B’Ril,” replied the older officer. “You’re views are always welcome.”

It was Commander Omalar’s standard response, yet B’Ril was never quite sure if he really meant it or not.

“Sir, are we not leaving much of our sector unguarded by remaining here such an extended length of time?”

“Why? Is there something wrong with your sensors?”

B’Ril winced at the remark. Whenever something was amiss onboard, it was always his ship, his systems, his responsibility.

“No, sir. Everything is in proper order.”

Omalar pressed on. “Are your scans focused on the co-ordinates I’ve given you?”

“Yes, sir. As you’ve ordered.”

The Commander turned in his chair to face his subordinate. “Then what, B’Ril? Do you not trust me?”

This is what it always came down to whenever B’Ril questioned a command. Trust. Loyalty. Obedience.

“Always, Commander. Do you know a vital piece of information that makes you stay here?”

“I know many things, Sub-Commander,” he said with emphasis on the word ‘sub’. Omalar had risen in the ranks from Centurion during and after the Dominion War, to a “senior” commander status, partly through skill, partly through intrigue and never missed an opportunity to remind an underling of his or her place in the chain of command. “One of the most important is patience.”

He leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. B’Ril knew what was coming.

“When I was a boy, my grandfather used to take me fishing in a small boat on a lake near our village. We would sit for hours waiting a fish to bite. I was certain there were no fish in the lake and complained to him repeatedly. He just smiled, occasionally telling me to check my bait. I would pull in my line and be astonished that the bait was gone. ‘There’s something down there’ he would say. ‘You just need the right bait and patience’.”

B’Ril had heard the story before, but he couldn’t help asking. “Are we using the right bait, sir?”

Omalar smiled and re-focused on his sub-commander. “Oh yes, B’Ril. And with a little patience, we’re going after a fish bigger than you can imagine.”

4.2

Neutral Zone

USS Reaent



Tabor watched with growing concern how two hours of drifting had separated his squadron.

“Tighten up, Bravo. We need to look like a cluster of asteroid bits as much as possible.”

Will had nearly fallen asleep when the message roused him. “Great first assignment, boss.”

How the kid could be bored out of his mind floating across the Neutral Zone was a wonder to Tabor. He rubbed his hands together for warmth, as the cockpit started to chill from the reduced power levels they were using. “Stay alert, Will. We’re on borrowed time.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a comm from the Reaent put them on alert. Murray’s tactical sensors had picked up a contact. “Long range sensors have detected two unknown vessels bearing zero five zero mark six, heading across our way.”

“Only two?” thought Tabor, “we must be living right.”

After a tense twenty minutes of waiting, the other ships passed from sensor range and the ‘all clear’ put them at relative ease. Apparently, on the bridge, the Captain was through with the charade. Tabor looked on in disbelief as the Reaent suddenly emerged from its asteroid shape. Will, seeing the ship shed her disguise, perked up awaiting orders.

“Fighters, drop your holos and take up escort positions,” barked the Flight Leader.

“It couldn’t last forever,” thought Tabor switching off the emitters.

Will disengaged his emitters and powered up his fighter, waiting for Tabor to move. The fighter squadrons now formed a defensive ring around the ship.

Tabor sent a private message to the Flight Leader. “You know, if the Romulans catch us now, my plan for drifting across hiding in wreckage might actually happen. Except it’ll be real wreckage.”

Now in a more forward position, he checked to see if the new pilot was still with him. He twisted in the cockpit to look over his right shoulder. Yep, there he was, right off his wingtip. Tabor could almost see the young pilot grinning.

“Bravo Squadron,” came the instructions over the comm, “Turn to a heading of 180 relative. We need an ID on that contact.”

Tabor passed the message to his wing mate. “Will, follow me, we’re going on a field trip.”

The two fighters broke formation and shot out deeper into Romulan space. They cut power to avoid detection and began scanning for the lost contact.

Will picked it up first on his screen, his eyes widening. “Tabor, am I reading this right? Is that a warbird?”

“Hard to tell at this distance, but I’d guess it’s probably not a tourist vessel.”

“Can they see us?”

Checking his tactical display, Tabor responded with more confidence in his voice than he felt, “Probably not. We’d be at the very edge of Romulan sensor range, and we’re a whole lot smaller target for them to pick up.”

A few more minutes of scanning produced enough data to make a reasonably sure conclusion: The vessels were indeed Romulan. Two Valdore-class warbirds to be precise. Tabor sent the information back to the Reaent and received a “Clear to go weapons hot. Fire if fired upon” in return. Will felt the surge of adrenaline in his body as he brought his weapons online for real for the first time.

But Will’s “surge” was short lived.

“Fighters, disengage escort and return to the ship,” was the order from the bridge.

Will couldn’t believe it. Boring as it was, the asteroid disguise was working. Yet at the first sign of trouble, the plan was being ditched. And of what use were fighters sitting in the launch bay? He didn’t have time to fret over such matters as the squadron regrouped and made their approach to the Reaent. One by one, the fighters made their landings and taxied to their tie down positions.

After getting the raised, crossed arms at the wrist “hold” signal from the ground crew, Will cut his engines and popped the canopy. He almost tore off his helmet and shouted across the bay to his squadron leader.

“Hey Tabor! What gives?”

Tabor gave a “who knows” shrug and climbed out of the cockpit and down the access ladder that had been rolled up to the side of his fighter. He didn’t know, but he was certainly going to find out.

4.5

IRW Petan

Ready Room



The tension in the ready room was palatable. Omalar had ordered the two warbirds to break off shadowing the Federation ship and set a new course. The Commander from the Urok was pacing like a caged beast and B’Ril was torn between defending his mentor or joining in on the assault on the senior commander’s recent orders and the reason he had just used to justify them.

“The Tal Shiar? You’re going to blame this on the Tal Shiar?” asked the Urok’s panicking commander. It was common knowledge that to go against the elite intelligence agency, however hated and mistrusted, usually ended with someone “disappearing”.

“Calm yourself,” ordered Omalar, “let me explain it to you…one time.”

And so the story unfolded. “In the late 2260’s, the Tal Shiar discovered a device deep in the Chaltok System that they could not identify – its purpose nor its origin. They brought it to a secret research facility that had been built on the fourth planet to study its function. What they discovered, after many failures, was that the device was a trigger.”

Omalar, ever the fisherman, paused to set the hook. “It opened a worm hole to the Gamma Quadrant.” The look on the two officers’ faces told him they were on the line.

Continuing, he said, “The Tal Shiar made contact with an aggressive race of changelings known as the Founders and as you know now, these Founders led the Dominion. In 2369, when the Bajoran worm hole was discovered and the Federation” – he said the word with distaste – “began intruding on their space, the Dominion prepared for war. At the time, the Tal Shiar wanted no part of this war tried to convince the Founders that the Empire would stay out of the way. Besides, the worm hole was not always stable. It required two of these alien devices to open it, one at each terminus, and tremendous amounts of energy to operate them, virtually consuming an entire quantum singularity drive.”

Omalar indicated for the two officers to sit, and he sat himself down behind his desk. “And then the Tal Shiar got greedy. In 2370, on one voyage through the worm hole, a Tal Shiar ship ran into a Federation ship and decided to attack it. Not only attack it, but to drag it back through the worm hole into Romulan space.”

“How do you know this?” asked B’Ril.

The Commander brushed off the inquiry with a shrug, “That’s another story for another time, Sub-Commander. For now, just accept that I have my contacts and that the information is true.” He leaned forward on his desk before proceeding. “They hid the ship inside an artificial asteroid/moon orbiting around Chaltok IV and studied it thoroughly. The Military decided to let that fact remain secret for the time being, even from the Senate. When the Dominion began pressing the Senate to abandon their neutrality, some members of the Tal Shiar tried to join forces with the Obsidian Order and strike at the Founders’ home world. You know the outcome of that.”

B’Ril and the Urok commander nodded sullenly. The annihilation of the Romulan and Cardassian fleet at the Omarion Nebula was legendary.

Omalar continued. “Why that didn’t bring an immediate declaration of war against us by the Dominion I don’t know. What it did do was alert the Military to Tal Shiar scheming. And,” he said stabbing the air with his right index finger, “bring us information about this Federation ship. Some in the Senate were worried that the Tal Shiar might be dragging the Empire into war, and wanted to reduce the agency’s grasp on political power. As it turned out, the loss at the Omarion Nebula nearly did the job for them. The Tal Shiar appeared to be in ruins.”

The Commander pushed his chair back and stood behind his desk, turning to gaze out the viewing window. “Unfortunately, that condition did not last. In the next few years, as the Tal Shiar again began to grow in power, they saw their future tied to the success of the Founders over the Federation. So it should come as no surprise to you that the leading proponent of closer relations with the Dominion was the Tal Shiar’s own Vice-Chairman, Senator Vreenak. It was he that negotiated and pushed the Non-Aggression Treaty through the Senate.”

The senior commander turned back to his subordinates. “This part I’m about to tell you brings me no pleasure, but let me assure you it was a necessary task. After delivering the signed treaty to the Dominion, Senator Vreenak’s shuttle was diverted on a ruse to the Federation’s Deep Space Nine station. There, an operative of ours, planted deep within the Obsidian Order, gave him evidence that the Dominion was planning an invasion of Romulan space. It was false, but the Military was desperate to avoid an entanglement with a Dominion at war with our sworn enemy. Truth be told, we were not ready for a conflict with the Federation. That’s a secret that was held at the highest levels of the Military and the Senate Council.”

The two officers looked at each other with shock at hearing such heresy.

“Vreenak discovered our subterfuge and threatened to expose us to the Council. As a matter of last resort, our operative placed an explosive device aboard the Senator’s shuttle and destroyed it in route to Romulus. The subsequent investigation pointed to Dominion treachery and even the Tal Shiar could not prevent the Council from declaring war on the Founders.”

“But Commander,” protested B’Ril, “how did that help the Military? If we weren’t prepared for war with the Federation, how were we going to fight against the Dominion?”

“An old Romulan saying, B’Ril: ‘The enemy you know is better than the enemy you don’t’. Besides, we didn’t have to commit all of our forces in assisting the Federation. If Star Fleet was defeated, we would have been in a much better strategic position to capitalize on that event.”

“But we’ve digressed, gentlemen. To the here and now. Your consternation is what to do about this Federation ship in our space. Once again the Tal Shiar is extending its tentacles in a grasp for power and the Military will not let that happen. And so, to our mysterious, long-hidden ship. We’re going to let the Federation find it…in Tal Shiar hands! The Senate will be forced to discipline the Tal Shiar for jeopardizing the neutrality we’ve enjoyed with our neighbors for these many years. Remember, as I’ve told you B’Ril, it’s all about the bait.”

The Urok commander was left speechless, but B’Ril found his voice. “How do you know they’ll go to Chaltok IV? How did Star Fleet find out about this ship?”

Omalar’s face broke into a cagey smile. “Because I told them.”

4.6

Chaltok IV



After a nerve-wracking few hours at maximum warp, the Reaent was within sensor range of the Chaltok System. The Proxima’s signal still emanated from near the fourth planet, but now seemed localized in the vicinity of a small asteroid that orbited moon-like around the sphere. The Reaent dropped out of warp to allow the science and tactical sensors a better look at the system.

Almost immediately, warnings sounded on Murray’s console. “I’ve got Romulan ships in the area of Chaltok IV that seem to be in a holding pattern around the asteroid. And two more on the outer edge of the system.”

The Captain asked for a tactical overlay on main viewscreen. “Anyone making a move?”

“No, sir, everyone’s just sitting.”

At her science station, Anna let out a low whistle. “Nine of them!” She checked her database, “Six that fit known Romulan science profiles and three medium sized war ships, not counting the two beyond the seventh planet.” She checked again, “They’re Valdores!”

Murray confirmed that analysis and added, “Sir, it’s reasonable to assume the Romulans can detect us as well.”

The Captain’s perpetual frown turned into an outright scowl as more warning alarms sounded on the bridge.

“Magnaton particle fluctuations, building rapidly between the fourth and fifth planet,” announced Anna. She looked up at the main screen in amazement at what was now clear for all to see. “It’s a worm hole!”

“Helm, get us in behind the sixth planet, out of their sensor range,” ordered the Captain.

The sixth planet in the system was a gas giant tilted on its axis. The Reaent maneuvered into a geo-synchronous polar orbit, hidden from Romulan sensors, but also blinded with their own.

“I’m assuming they still don’t know we are here,” asked the Captain.

Murray shook his head and replied, “I can’t imagine they don’t, but if they do, they’re doing a good job at ignoring us.”

Anna was doing her best to coax an image through the gaseous interference of the planet. She was somewhat startled to discover Dr. Mathews on the bridge standing quietly beside her.

“Dr. Mathews,” she declared quietly, “what brings you to the bridge?”

“A small medical issue going on in sick bay. I didn’t want to call and interrupt anything up here. What’s happening?”

Anna motioned for the doctor to take the second science station seat and proceeded to outline the situation.

“How do we get closer without them noticing us?” asked Mathews.

“The real question is whether it’s worth the risk. We don’t even know if the Proxima is actually there. After fourteen years in Romulan hands the odds are slim.”

Mathews was inclined to agree. “Even if those are science vessels, they’re undoubtedly armed. We would be a sitting duck if we tried to sneak in.”

Anna tapped her console screen. “There might be way. Look at that! There’s a radiation belt that extends out pretty extensively. If we stayed within the field I don’t think they could pick us up on their sensors if we ventured a little closer.”

The Doctor was suddenly worried. “How much radiation?”

Anna checked the readout. “Quite a bit as it turns out. We really shouldn’t stay here all that much longer with our shields down.”

Murray had overheard the conversation and couldn’t help adding his two cents worth. “We’re in Romulan space. We really shouldn’t stay here at all that much longer. Period!”

Anna gave him a disapproving look and Murray assumed a pose of mock defense. “I mean, I’m just saying!”

The Captain and the First Officer had been engaged in discussing the options for further investigation.

“Unless you’re proposing to do a snatch and grab and pull it and us through that worm hole, wherever it goes, I doubt the Romulans are going to let us take an extended look,” said the XO.

Anna took advantage of a pause in the debate to notify the Captain about the radiation issue. He turned and opened his mouth to speak, then stopped as he noticed Dr. Mathews.

“Dr. Mathews, I didn’t see you come in. How long can we stay here?” he asked, redirecting his question to her.

“As little time as possible, but if we can get out of here within the next thirty minutes, that would be good.”

Murray chimed in, “In any case, sir, we need to make a move and we need to do it soon. The longer we stay here, the longer we risk being found.”

The Captain muttered in exasperation, “Even the hiding spots will kill you around here.” He spent another few moments in contemplation and then had a spark of inspiration. “Stand by here. Number One, I’m going down to Engineering. You have the bridge. Keep me informed if anything changes.” And with that he rushed into the transporter, leaving a bewildered bridge crew.

*********************************

Scherer and his staff were putting the finishing touches on an admittedly inelegant patch job, trying to ensure a stable power supply regardless of whether the holo-emitters were on or off. He was surprised to see the Captain burst into the room and ask, nearly out of breath.

“Chief, the computer systems of the fighters feed real time data to the ship. And we can transmit through that connection to relay ship sensor information, right?”

Scherer nodded in agreement, “Yes, that’s certainly possible.”

“What’s the best range we could expect?”

Scherer thought a moment and replied, “Under perfect conditions we could probably get through the solar system.”

“How much data could that connection handle?”

“A standard data link still leaves us enough bandwidth for a secondary signal, particularly audio/video in case of emergency. Plus, I could probably tweak the settings to get a bit more than that. What did you have in mind, sir?”

“Lieutenant Commander, you have fifteen minutes to have your teams rewrite the autopilot protocols on five fighters so they will accept commands through the fighters’ communications arrays. You are then to upgrade that array as best you can.”

Scherer’s eyes widened in skepticism.

“They don’t have to operate long, Chief. Just long enough to fire off a few phaser shots, a few torpedoes, attract attention, jump to warp and be gone.”

“You’re hoping the foxes will give chase and leave the hen house unguarded.”

The Captain tapped his comm badge, “Captain to Bridge. Mr. Murray, I need the Reaent’s tactical computer to be able to remotely handle all flight controls of a Peregrine fighter. I need to link the data feed to the flight simulation program on the holodeck and run the signal both directions. And you’ve got less than fifteen minutes to do it.”

On the bridge, Murray bent over his console and got to work. “I’m glad he didn’t ask for something impossible,” he muttered.

4.7

Into the Looking Glass





Holding position outside the Chaltok system, the Petan and her sister ship had a tactical front row seat to the action. The arrival of the Federation ship had caused no alarm among the vessels surrounding the fourth planet. Omalar shook his head in disgust.

“Fourteen years of guarding a derelict has made them complacent,” he commented to B’Ril.

“We should warn them, Commander,” said the junior officer.

“No, let them find out on their own. It will merely add to their embarrassment before the Senate.”

The two officers watched their viewscreen a noted how the starship eased into the concealment of the gas giant six planets out into the system.

“See how they use the gravimetric radiation to hide their energy signature, B’Ril? Just like a fish hiding in the shadows of the rocks in a stream.”

The man never stops, thought B’Ril. He was about to make a pointed comment to that effect when the Federation ship disgorged a swarm of smaller craft.

“Commander, those must be the fighters the ship carries.”

Omalar was intent on the screen. “Yes, the ‘enhanced’ Ambassador-class.”

“They can’t possibly think those small fighters will penetrate the defensive screen around the base?”

The Commander scrunched up his face in thought. “One would think not. There must be another strategy at play here.”

The fighters swooped in on the ships surrounding the asteroid, firing phasers and launching torpedoes all the while performing sometimes erratic, evasive acrobatics. The Romulan ships awoke from their stupor and began to return fire. Breaking from their formation, the three Praetor-class warbirds gave pursuit to the wildly maneuvering attackers.

The skirmish lasted only a few minutes with neither side inflicting a fatal blow. Suddenly, the fighters retreated and blinked out into warp away from the planet, perpendicular to the plane of the ecliptic. The warbirds joined the chase. A few moments later, the Federation starship began to move, leaving its cover and heading for the fourth planet.

“Ah, B’ril, do you see? Masterfully done, a textbook diversion, wouldn’t you say? Draw away the defenders with one hand, and attack with the other.”

But instead of attacking, the Federation ship launched two probes. Several of the science vessels shifted their orbit to cover the gaps created when the Praetors left. Though only lightly armed, the ships targeted the probes, destroying one and severely damaging the second. Their efforts against the starship itself were yielding a lesser result.

On the far side of the asteroid, a series of marker beacons illuminated a “lane” in space and a drone began emitting magnaton particles. The Federation ship steered a course to position herself between the asteroid and the lane.

The communications officer aboard the Petan announced, “Commander, the Science vessels have sent out a distress call. The Praetors are returning to the base and four D’deridexes have signaled their approach.”

“We must respond, Commander!” pleaded B’Ril.

Omalar hesitated, but finally relented. “Yes, but not in too great of a hurry, I think. We are still missing an important player in this drama.”

B’Ril was confused what the older man meant, but agreed to approach the battle at low speed. He returned his attention to the viewscreen in time to witness a spread of photon torpedoes fired by the starship at the asteroid. Strangely, the torpedoes didn’t impact on the surface, finally exploding some ten seconds later from the interior of the rock.

“What is that?” he asked as the asteroid “flickered”, its cloaking field deactivated, revealing a space dock built inside. Tethered to the framework of the dock was a Nebula-class starship.

“That, B’Ril, is the prize,” beamed Omalar. “Now all that remains is to see what the Federation ship will do with it.”

Whatever its strategy, the Reaent wasn’t having much success. The fire from the science vessels was easily repelled by her shields, but the buffeting made it difficult to hold a position relative to the newly discovered starship. Of more concern was the pounding she was taking from four newly decloaked D’deridexes. Scars along her hull showed where the Romulan disruptors were penetrating shields and wreaking havoc on the outnumbered ship.

Omalar’s complacency now gave way to urgent concern. He ordered the Petan to intercede itself between the Reaent and the other Romulan ships.

“Sub-Commander, see those marker beacons leading away from the asteroid? I want you to target the starship with disruptors set at twenty-five percent power and push it to the end of that lane.”

B’ril was stunned. “What?!”

The senior Commander spun on his subordinate and grabbed him by the shoulders. “That ship must survive, B’Ril. Otherwise the Federation will never know about their captured ship and the Tal Shiar will escape the wrath of the Senate.”

B’Ril still remained unbelieving. Omalar called over his shoulder to the tactical officer behind him.

“What’s the level of magnaton particles coming from that drone, Centurion?”

“It’s rising exponentially, sir, like a singularity drive about to overload.”

Omalar kept his eyes fixed on B’Ril’s. “Push it, Sub-Commander! Push it into the worm hole!”

B’Ril looked at the viewscreen but saw no worm hole. What he did see was a Federation ship moments away from destruction.

“Trust me, B’Ril! Hurry! Do it now!”

The Sub-Commander didn’t understand why he had to give the orders, but he took a leap of faith in his mentor.

“Disruptors at twenty-five percent. Fire at will!”

The Petan’s aim caught the Reaent just under the saucer section, tipping the starship into a slow roll. Ignoring the incoming protests from the other Romulan ships, B’Ril ordered his weapons to focus along the Reaent’s main hull. The effect was like a body blow and the Federation ship skidded towards the outer boundary of the beacons.

“I still don’t see a worm hole, Commander.”

“It will be there, B’Ril. Believe me, it will be there.”

Omalar wasn’t really sure he believed either but he had no other option. His contacts had brought him information about the Tal Shiar’s experiments with an unknown device that created artificial worm holes, but no one could ever state categorically that they had actually seen one produced.

“Magnaton particle emissions are off the scale!” cried the Centurion.

Suddenly the Petan’s sensors went wild. B’Ril ordered aft thrusters to hold their position then watched in amazement the sequence of events unfolding on the viewscreen. There, at the end of the markers, appeared the classic swirling pattern of a worm hole. The Federation ship’s forward momentum carried it into the open vortex where it was swallowed up and vanished in an instant. One of the D’deridex-class warbirds had raced past the Petan’s starboard flank during the battle, wanting to claim glory and make the kill on the Federation ship. Flanking it were three other warbirds, including the Urok. When the worm hole opened, they were unable to reverse course in time and all four were pulled into the gaping maw.

Omalar slumped into the command chair. His work was done and now his fate was up to the Romulan Senate. Only time would tell whether he would emerge in victory or defeat.