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**“What Price Honor?”**

__Part I: Honor Among Friends__**Bold Text**

**<U.S.S. Republic (Luna Class); in orbit of Nimbus III. Present Day.>
**
John Carter and Leon Cromwell exchanged nervous looks. Then they both turned their attention to Doug Forrest who held up his hands in protest. “Don't look at me.” The Blackshirt said. “I just got here.” With no further fanfare, the trio made the quick journey from the briefing room, through the hatch that opened to the front of Republic's bridge.

Expressions varied from confused to shocked, to resolute, and it didn't take long for Leon Cromwell to realize that whatever had happened was serious. Given the events of the last few days, the doctor turned captain shuddered to think what that might mean. Leon shot a quizzical look to Reittan Tolkath, who'd had the watch during Cromwell's reunion with Carter. Now, the Counsellor's expression was dark, and Leon braced himself for the worst. He moved to the centre seat on Republic's bridge and gave a quick nod to the communications officer on duty. “Let's see it.”

On the ship's main viewer, the swirling earth tones of Nimbus III were replaced by a middle-aged woman in a conservatively cut formal suit. Leon didn't recognize the woman, but the computer generated titles in the corner of the screen explained who she was. Althea Cochrane, current Assembly Leader of Alpha Centauri. The oldest independent earth colony. Her expression was deadly serious as she looked directly into the camera. Behind her, other members of the planetary assembly were visible. “Fellow citizens of the Federation.” She began. “Like many of you, I have been concerned about the tactics employed by Starfleet following the outbreak of hostilities with the Gorn Hegemony.” She paused to keep her tone and pace even. “What began as a limited campaign with clearly defined goals has spiralled into something dark and terrible.”

The woman paused again as her fingers tapped at controls on her podium. “What you are seeing is a verified record from Starfleet vessels which took part in war crimes against Gorn civilians as they were trying to surrender.” Her voice wavered slightly as she caught sight of the attacks again on a nearby monitor. “When I began this broadcast, I also sent a copy of this data, including proof of its authenticity to the Federation Council, as well as several allied governments and inter-stellar media organisations.”

“It is the belief of myself and the members of the Alpha Centauri Governing Council that Federation President Vladimir Kristoff Kostya sanctioned these attacks in flagrant violation of numerous treaties, and in fact, against the Articles of the Federation. In accordance with Article VII, as a Federation member world in good standing, Alpha Centauri officially calls for a vote of 'no confidence' in President Kostya. Further, we demand an emergency session of the Federation Council, to resolve this issue with all due haste.” She said firmly.

A moment later she continued, but this time, her voice was a compelling mix of steel and fury. “For too long, we have watched as our values, our integrity, and our very sense of self have been traded away in the name of 'security' and a twisted version of power and prosperity. Today, Alpha Centauri stands united, and we say in a loud, clear voice: 'Not in our name.'” Her head dropped slightly, then came up again as if a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. There was a slight shuddering of the subspace feed, and the message began to repeat.

In the command chair, Leon sat back, his mind racing as he contemplated what his next move might be. To his left, Doug Forrest glanced back at the communications officer. “Who saw this?” He asked.

“Uh...everybody, Sir.” The young officer said. “They put it out wide on open subspace. It's probably half-way to the Gamma Quadrant by now.” he observed.

“Grozit!” John Carter cursed. “We're in it now.”

“Yeah we are.” Forrest agreed, and his eyes tracked as Carter pivoted, heading back into the ready room. “Where are YOU going?” He asked.

“To take care of something I should have done a long time ago.” Carter said as the lift doors closed.   


__**Part II: Honor Among Enemies**__


**<Personal residence of the Vice-President of the Federation Council. Caldos Colony, Beta Quadrant. Present Day.>**

James August Wilson was by all accounts a small man. Physically that was due mostly to his father’s side of the family, which he could also thank for his rather nondescript eye color, and his weak chin. By trade, he was an inter-stellar litigator who had become a sector judge in his mid fifties. From there, he tried his hand at politics, becoming a back-bencher in the Neo-Whigs, just before the events of The Stand, and the election of Vladimir Kostya to the presidency of the Federation council. Truth be told, James Wilson was picked to be Kostya’s vice-president because he was nobody. He filled the seat, he wouldn’t make any waves, and no one would notice him. Which is how James Wilson preferred things.

For the better part of a year, during the work up to the deployment of Apollo and the declaration of war against the Gorn Hegemony, Wilson had gone to ground-breakings, commemorations, and funerals. Officially speaking however, he’d had very little to do. Which left him a great deal of time to indulge in his favorite hobby. Long ago, James Wilson had discovered that, because he didn’t say much, and tried not to attract attention, people assumed that he couldn’t hear them, and often forgot he was in the room. As a result, the vice president was very good at collecting other people’s secrets, and he had an uncanny knack for using them to his advantage when the time was right. 

Unlike the rest of the Kostya administration Wilson wasn’t a believer in the ‘Earth First’ mantra that Ben Maxwell and Kostya himself often spouted. He wasn’t even all that much in favor of the principle of ‘Home Rule’ which a certain influential faction in the Vulcan government had managed to logic themselves into. He was a man who enjoyed the finer things in life, and took an inordinate amount of pleasure in doing as little as possible to get them. Wilson didn’t want power, but he did enjoy status, and he found that just now, he was willing to do anything to keep it. There was just one problem. President Kostya had proved to be an over-zealous idiot who didn’t know how to win gracefully. Taking back Cestus III had always been the plan. Interstellar War with the Hegemony was not, and the particularly oafish way Kostya had overplayed his hand is what really bothered Wilson. ‘Why couldn’t you take the win, Kris?’ he thought. ‘Why did you have to make this so hard?’ 

Wilson stared at the fireplace which was the main feature of his comfortable family cottage on Caldos. The flames danced across his field of vision and stirred up difficult thoughts that the former judge couldn’t seem to shake. No matter how much 16-year-old Belveny scotch he drank. Like the rest of the galaxy, he’d seen the subspace broadcast from Alpha Centauri, but unlike most of those who saw it, he was going to be a direct participant. According to the Articles of the Federation, if a vote of No Confidence was called, then it would be the Vice President’s job to oversee the proceedings. He had no power to decide the agenda, not ability to call witnesses or determine the value of evidence, but he would get to run the show, and he, better than any other man alive knew exactly what Vladimir Kristoff Kostya would do to Alpha Centauri, even if the vote did go his way.

Wilson shook his head ruefully, and tapped the small communicator at his wrist. “Allan?” He called out, asking for his personal assistant. “How long until the flight back to Geneva for the vote?” He asked.

The low, steady baritone of Allan Bates, former Starfleet security answered in a crisp, professional tone. “The vote is scheduled for 2100 Zulu, day after tomorrow, Sir.” He answered. “Our current launch window is 5 hours from now. That’s assuming warp 8 to get back to Sol. Did you need to change the plan, Sir.”

Wilson shook his head and his voice was grave. “No, we’ll proceed as planned.” Wilson answered. “No point in changing anything until we absolutely have to. Thank You Allan.”

“Very good, Sir.” the valet responded. “Shall I have your lunch brought in?”

“I’d appreciate that, yes. Thank You.” Wilson answered as he closed the link. “Dining on ashes at a table for one.” he said coldly, and he began constructing ways to survive what he knew was coming.

**<Starbase 39 Sierra, Conference Room 2. Present Day.>**
Kim Dorian, Vance Devloch, Chase Meridian, and Nat Hawk each felt very different things as they waited for what was sure to be a contentious briefing from both Starfleet Intelligence, and Starfleet Operations Command. In the chaos that followed the commandeering of the U.S.S. Republic from her rightful command crew, the fraction of ship’s personnel who had remained loyal to Kim Dorian made the tactical decision to fall back to the Luna class ship’s mission pod, ostensibly to regroup and restore order. To Dorian’s now eternal regret, it hadn’t worked out that way. 

Though Kim had her suspicions, she couldn’t actually prove who had orchestrated the mutiny on Republic. There were too many things that would have had to line up for Cromwell to have orchestrated everything. Leon had been in the brig. What’s more; while Cromwell was a gifted physician, and even Kim had to admit, likeable enough, as irascible as he could be, the good doctor was no grand strategist. In addition, if anyone on the ship were going to lead a jailbreak to free the good doctor, it would have been Nat Hawk. And yet, here Hawk was, sitting with her. Literally on her side. It had been Hawk who used the tractor beam of his own fighter craft to pull the mission pod clear of Republic’s escape vector. Indeed had it not been for the intervention of Hawk and Meridian, who’d made her own way to a shuttle once suspicious things had begun occurring, the mission pod could easily have been caught in the ship’s transition to warp speed and sheared in half, thrust into a fatal collision with another vessel, or just left to drift in the confusion. ‘No’ Roth thought to herself. ‘If Hawk were working with the others then even he wouldn’t be fool enough to stay behind.’ 

The thought caught Roth up short as it occurred to her how much her understanding of Nat Hawk had changed. Hawk had gone from a genuine loose cannon and first-class annoyance, to a mature officer (albeit rough around the edges), to someone she genuinely owed her life to. Kim also knew that shift was due in no small part to her ex-husband, the former Admiral Tom Dorian. Tom had been Hawk’s mentor, and following the events of The Stand and Kim’s brief marriage to the man, she’d come to see what her ex had recognized in Hawk. Roth shuddered as she thought of Tom. She felt a cold rush of apathy wash over her as she realised she didn’t miss him. Wanted nothing to do with him in fact. Tom Dorian had lacked courage. He was too kind, too naive to exist in the universe that was. She didn’t miss Tom Dorian, but she was at least glad she understood Nat Hawk better.

‘Poker’s got  nothin’ ta do with the cards.’ Nat Hawk thought to himself. ‘You don’t play the cards. You play the player.’   
      
======

**<Location: Nimbus III, Present Day>**

The Kobheerian spaceliner arrived in the Nimbus system as part of the regular monthly passenger service that made the Planet of Galactic Peace one of its many ports-of-call throughout the Neutral Zone each year.  Truth be told, it was a seldom-packed flight, and mostly relegated to mundane cargo and foodstuffs.  While a few of the dozen or so passengers aboard would embark or debark, the remainder usually stayed on, ignoring this simple waypoint on their way to their final destinations.

However, this particular month was unusual, as the spaceliner was packed with over four-dozen passengers, all of whom conspicuously chose to disembark at Nimbus Three, giving the one grimy and bored customs agent at the Paradise City shuttle port his first major run of business in years.  They came in groups of five to six at a time via the spaceliner's trans-atmospheric shuttlepods, as the low-tech passenger ship in orbit was not outfitted with transporters.  Once past customs, they were greeted clandestinely by a member of the Luna-Class Republic's crew dressed in civilian attire, all before being ushered to a more remote locale for beam up out of sight from the local populace.

By the time the spaceliner left the Nimbus system, no one was the wiser that Republic was even in high solar orbit above the planet, let alone had increased the size of her crew by over fifty people.


**<Location: Main Shuttlebay, Deck 10, Engineering Section, USS Republic (Luna Class), in orbit of Nimbus III>**

As with most starships, one of the largest gathering places for the crew was the shuttle deck, and the Republic was no different.  As the newcomers came aboard, they were assembled on the shuttlebay floor

Leon reviewed the official notice on the PADD, emblazoned with the seal of the Federation rather than the more familiar Starfleet logo he would have expected from PERSCOMM.  In fact, the seal was not even the current logo of United Federation of Planets, but an earlier version from perhaps the 22nd or 23rd century.  Regardless, it had the proper clearance cypher, so it was indeed an authentic Federation order, so the doctor chose to read it aloud to the assembled contingent.

"Attention to orders," Leon announced commandingly, reading from the PADD.  "Pursuant to... Article 115 Statute 224 of the Articles of the Federation... whereby it is established that no less than three founding member states of the United Federation of Planets hold legislative agency over executive orders issued under the Authorization for Use of Military Force by Starfleet... do hereby execute oversight authority vested within the planetary governing bodies of the planets Vulcan, Andor, and Tellar via the Appointments Clause and the Rules for the Government and Regulation of Starfleet Assets..."

Leon paused after the verbose legal introduction to gather his thoughts before he continued reading.  "Furthermore, in recognition of said oversight authority, said member states do hereby issue this joint directive and establish regimented planetary defence assets aboard the Starfleet vessel USS Republic NCC-81371 for the purposes of observation and Duty to Provide Assistance under the Interstellar Commerce Law... signed by our hands on this stardate, 62098.5... Secretaries S'dahr, Jenlop, and Gitahn; Directors of Intelligence for the Vulcan High Command, Andorian Imperial Guard, and Tellarite Defense Directorate."

Leon looked over the formation of young, clean-and-crisp alien faces standing at attention before him.  While there were a few older members of different races among the ranks, such as an Antican, an Efrosian, and even a Benzite, most were of the three governments represented in the orders, along with the occasional out-of-place Terran lining up in formation with the rest of the non-human personnel.  Leading the contingent was a stolid, seasoned Andorian in the black attire of the Andorian Imperial Guard with senior officer rank.  He knew this to be Anathon: the Republic Eight trial witness and infamous crewman from the Valiant II that John Carter both warned him about, and spoke of an unspecified personal debt yet to be collected.  He could see the years of Starfleet experience etched into the man's azure face, yet he strode up to Leon in a uniform representing a different government altogether.

"Commander," started the Andorian who extended a hand of greeting.  "I am Chief Intelligence Officer First Class Anathon.  My detachment and I are hereby commanded to provide unconditional aid and assistance to the captain of the USS Republic... this appears to be you.  We standby for your further orders."

So it was.  The "help" that Forrest had procured for them was delivered as promised, and with the apparent blessing of a variety of planetary governments from the Federation that conspicuously excluded Earth.  Leon accepted the Andorian's outstretched hand and shook it firmly with acceptance.

"We're glad to have you," Leon replied diplomatically, and with obvious anticipation of his arrival.  "I've discussed this with my officers, and we've agreed that we'd like to incorporate your detachment into our crew under Starfleet rules and regulations.  Is this acceptable?"

"We've been dispatched to this sector by our governments and are under your orders, sir," he replied with an equal level of officiousness.  "We are required to accept."

"This is my Chief of Engineering, Vehns," Leon pointed to the Starfleet Chief Petty Officer standing behind him to the left, and "Lieutenant Cail Jarin, my Chief of Operations," he introduced the young dark-skinned Bajoran to his rear right.  "They are in command over Republic departments that are most in need of your help.  That, and of course, tactical, which I have yet to appoint a lead officer to."

"In that case," the Andorian offered.  "I'd be happy to step into that role.  As I'm sure you're aware, I have several decades of tactical experience both within Starfleet as well as other Federation governments."

"Then report to Commander Tolkath on the bridge at your convenience," Leon ordered.  "He'll familiarise you with your new role, and you'll be given the provisional rank of lieutenant commander for the rest of your cruise with us.  As for the rest of your team, they'll report to Vehns and Cail here and be given their new assignments before the end of the day.  I'll expect them to report to the quartermaster and be in Starfleet uniforms before reporting for full duty tomorrow at 0800 hours."

"Understood."

"Thank you, commander, and welcome aboard."

With a nod of his head and a twitch of his antenna, Anathon spun around, brought his team to attention, and dismissed them, thus breaking up the formation.  As promised, Vehns and Cail took the newcomers in hand and dividing them up by rank and occupational specialty.  As for the newest member of the Republic's command crew, Anathon walked towards the turbolift enroute to the bridge, but found someone standing between him and the doors.

His antenna laid themselves flat as he recognized the individual.

"Carter..." he hissed venomously.  "I had heard you might be here.  Looks like my informants were right."

"When I saw your name on the list of officers that Forrest provided, I thought it had to be a joke, or that maybe Anathon was a common name, so I had to come down here and see for myself.”

“Make sure you use the correct eye then.” The Andorian sniped.

Carter couldn’t help but chuckle. It was a good jab, and John felt keenly aware in the moment that he wasn’t angry at Anathon. For anything. He decided in that moment to reset the conversation. Clear the air, as it were, and maybe make up for a bit of foolish hubris that had been left to fester for too long. 

John looked at the blue-skinned blackshirt for a long moment..  "Why are you here?"  He crossed his arms and remained interposed between the Andorian and the door.  "Why are you doing this?"

Slowly, the Andorian walked up to meet John eye-to-eye.  "The reason I'm helping your friend is the same reason I was bound, by ritual, to kill YOU those many years ago, pink-skin...  Honour."

“What does our history have to do with you being Leon's tactical officer?  It's not like you KNOW him."

"It's not for HIM. I'm doing this.  It's for his father."

"His father?" John winced in confusion.  "Arthur?"

"Arthur Cromwell wasn't meant to pay for the loss of the Cestus colony four years ago," explained the sour Andorian.  "I was.”

“What?” Carter said in confusion.

 “ I alone was supposed to be held responsible by Starfleet Intelligence for losing the planet to the Gorns. The hearing was being set up so I would take the fall."

"Wait," John interjected.  "I knew the Republic Eight hearing was a sham trial, but I thought that *I* was supposed to be the fall guy?  You were called as a WITNESS, not a defendant."

Anathon's face twisted into a grimace of 'you-are-so-naive'.  "How little you know," he came back with a voice of subtle pretentiousness.  "If the prosecutor that Kostya originally picked took up the case, my testimony would have gone very differently.  In fact, if your friend Forrest didn't have the pull he did with Section 31, you and I BOTH would have been sent to a penal colony somewhere."  He allowed one side of his mouth to show the barest hint of amusement at the thought.  "Of course, that might have given me some sense of justice by personally witnessing your purgatory..."

"Look, aside from Forrest, I’ve got no love for Black Shirts.” John said flatly. “Anytime they show up, things get WAY too complicated. But I thought you guys were supposed to stick together, not stab each other in the back?"

"Did you?" he twitched an antenna towards the commander. “How idiotic.” He spat. “The essence of intelligence work is plausible deniability, Carter. We’re all expendable, and we all know it.”

The Andorian huffed in exasperation. “You never thought it odd, that you were represented by one of the most famous security officers in Starfleet? Even when legal jurisdiction was inexplicably switched to that of a civilian hearing at the last minute?"  The gears in John's mind turned at the recollection of the hearing years ago, remembering when Judge Wade -- a civilian mediator -- took up oversight over what should have been a case administered by the fleet JAG office.  Anathon continued.  "The truth was if it had remained a Starfleet trial like Kostya originally planned it to be, you and I would have been roasted alive by the JAG Corps. I’m not clear on how it happened, but the sudden shift to a civilian hearing threw Kostya’s plans into chaos, and it was Cromwell's father who unwittingly took the fall instead of me."  The former intelligence officer turned his eyes away momentarily to control his snowballing anger.  "I was enraged...  I had no ability to refuse... I suddenly owed Arthur Cromwell a great personal debt, and now... I can NEVER pay it back since he passed away a few weeks ago."

The news hit John like a ton of bricks.  Leon hadn't said anything to him about his father dying, and so, it was even more impactful to hear it come from a former nemesis.  John couldn’t find the words to respond, so let the Andorian officer continue his explanation.

"The only way I can even BEGIN to rebuild my honor is to serve Arthur Cromwell's memory and keep his only descendant from harm..."  The Andorian turned his eyes back to stare intently into John's.  "I'm here to protect that man util my last dying breath," Anathon emphasised by pointing towards the doctor in the next room.  "And I swear, Carter," he held up a finger for emphasis.  "If you EVER tell him... I will ABSOLUTELY collect my original promise to you from the Valiant II."

The sentiment hung in the air between them.  John couldn't tell if Anathon truly meant to do him further harm, or just was brusquely making his point that he intended to keep this conversation just between the two of them.

There were a few long beats before either of them spoke. When the silence was broken, it was John who did it. “I had no…” He stopped short and let his hands drop to his sides. “Leon Cromwell is a good man, and he’s lucky to have you watching his back.” Carter said.

Ananthon regarded him skeptically, his antennae pitching forward in a classic show of curiosity.

“I…owe you an apology.” Carter said. “I know it’s too little, too late. And for all I know the words of a naive pink-skin mean less than nothing to you. But…I was wrong. What I did to you back on Valliant was disrespectful, and an act of cowardice.” Carter said. “The truth is that back then, I was a BAD officer.” The Martian admitted. “I couldn’t stand the idea that ANYONE knew more than me. That ANYONE could beat me in a test of my choosing. I thought I could take on any and all comers, all by myself.” He paused a moment to study the confusion on Anathon’s face.

“You know what the scariest thing about humans is?”

“Enlighten me.” Anathon said almost dismissively, as though he was waiting for another trick.

“It’s the Ego.” Carter explained. “Our sense of self, but it gets bound up and twisted when there’s a difference between who we KNOW we are in our own mind, and who we want everyone else to THINK we are.”

“What are you…”

“On the Valiant II, I was a thrown into a chair I had no business sitting in.” Carter said. “I wasn’t ready.” He waited a moment before continuing. “Of course, the Academy teaches us to grab opportunities. To make our mark. So…I thought that was my moment. Every call was right. Every act, no matter how desperate…no matter how STUPID was justified because I was going to solve the problem. Even if I didn’t know what the sprock I was doing, and I was scared to death that everyone could see it all over my face.” Carter took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

“So I over-played my hand.” He continued. “I made a fool of you instead of listening. Rather than admit that YOU should have been in that slot instead of me…because you’d actually TRAINED for it, I let my ego tell me that I could do anything. That I was right because I deserved to be. And all of that was a lie. All of that was foolishness. And I never should have done it.” Carter admitted. “I can’t change the past.” He said, leveling his gaze at Anathon. “Right now, I wish I could, I wish I could go back and slap some sense into stupid, Lieutenant me. But I can’t.” He stepped closer to the Andorian, and slid to one side. “All I can tell you now is that I’m sorry for what I did. For not valuing you enough. Because the truth is that the universe is cold, and deadly, and dangerous, and the only way any of us will survive is if we see the value in each other, when we’re willing to but ourselves second, rather than indulge in the ridiculous idea that the fate of the universe is up to any single one of us.”

“I was an arrogant, conceited, fool. And I’m sorry that I made your life harder because I was too scared to admit it to myself.”

Anathon shouldered past Carter and entered the turbolift car. He looked back at Carter. “This doesn’t change anything between us.” He said.

“Maybe not.” Carter nodded. “But now, both of us know the truth. So whatever IS between us from now on can be real. He stepped back from the lift doors ensuring they could close. “I appreciate your time. Carry On.”

The lift doors closed and John Carter lingered for a long moment. What he’d told Anathon had been the truth. A truth that Carter had discovered when the heat and dust of Garsol had scoured away all his pretense and bravado. When he should have died, but didn’t. Garsol had been many things to John. It was a prison, it was paradise, it was a myth… but more than anything else, it was the place where John Carter realized who he really wanted to be. He wanted to be the person others thought he was, and that left no room for comfortable, convenient lies. He had no way of knowing if his words meant anything to Anathon. Time would tell. He supposed.

Now that the truth was out, and the real John Carter had finally woken up from his sleep in the desert. He had work to do. 

**<Location: Deep Space Nine, Ops. Present Day>**     
Vic didn’t waste time ogling the fact that he was in perhaps the most famous Starfleet office in history as he quickly seated himself behind the communications console.  Making sure he had enough elbow room between the Saltah'na clock on one side of the monitor, and the baseball memento on the other, his fingers danced across the keypad, tracing the location of the communique before opening the channel.  His mind raced in inquisitiveness at who the caller might be, going through all the possibilities of who would know the archaic precedence that was of his own design.

The transmission itself wasn’t coming directly from Bajor.  According to his trace, it was being bounced off a re-transmitting buoy in Orion Space, and originating from somewhere in the neutral zone in Beta Quadrant.  It wasn’t until his curiosity drove him to pressing the “accept” button that he realized who was calling him.  A surge of adrenaline and joyous relief welled within him as he saw the bearded and eye-patch covered face of John Carter looking back at him.  The Starfleet commander smiled upon seeing his friend for the first time in over three years.

“Hola, Comprade.” Vic managed to mutter through the upsurge of emotion.  “I’m glad you made it. Though, you are over two months later than I expected.”

Carter looked down slightly and smirked. “ You expec… Of course you did.” Carter smiled in earnest.

“Please tell me the fate of only one universe kept you busy this time, John.”

Carter nodded. “Just one.” He confirmed. “I’ll fill you in on the details when we get to you. But we’ve got some serious planning to do first.”

“Captain Kira and I await the arrival of your merry band…that is, since you said ‘we’, with baited breath.” He commented. “She will be thrilled I’m sure.” Virtus noted with a quick glance back toward Ops.

On the other side of the screen, Carter’s expression turned serious. “Vic, I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.” Carter said simply. “To tell you the truth, I’m just glad someone got the message,” he said. “It had been so long, I was starting to think I was just screaming into the void.”

“Oh, there’s been plenty of that over the last year or so.” Virtus said. “You needn’t have worried John, though I must apologise that I couldn’t be the one to come charging to your rescue.” The engineer paused stroking his moustache in thought. “It was Leon, wasn’t it?” He added, though it was more a statement than a question. 

“Stop that.” Carter said with a chuckle. “I’m the one apologising to you for Sprock’s sake!” The Martian took a deep breath. “It was actually Forrest who made the trip, though we did link up with Leon eventually.”

As if on cue, the door to the ready room opened, and Leon Cromell strode in. “John, I’d appreciate it if you got back out here,” Leon said, his tone now less guarded and more weary. Even so, his face brightened as he saw who Carter was speaking to through subspace. “Vic!” Leon exclaimed. “Oh God, I’m sorry. We should have commed you right away…”

“Can we all stop apologising please?” Carter said in mock frustration laced with good humor at the ersatz reunion. Leon nodded and took a seat at the table next to John so that they were both in view of Vic’s subspace pick-up. “Vic, did the folks on DS9 see the message from Alpha Centauri just now?”

“We did, but as with most things around here, that particular can of worms will have to wait.  At the moment there are twenty-three… No, strike that, twenty-four, by now… Starships, freighters and various and sundry small craft orbiting Deep Space Nine.”

Carter and Cromwell looked at each other quizzically. “I agree that’s a lot of ships Vic, but, why does that get added to the list of OUR problems?”

“Because they’re all named Republic…and they’re being helmed by sentient holograms.” Vic said, letting the words hang in the air for a beat. “Some of them, very familiar.”

“You’ve got my attention,” Carter said, and he waited for Virtus to explain.

**<Tag=Open>**
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