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Chapter 1: A Simple Twist of FateTop

Location: Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, North America, Sol III

It was towards the end of the workday when the blonde desk secretary looked up from her screen to see a tall, gray-haired admiral strut through the doors. Although his clean-shaven face was calm with soft wrinkles, his blue eyes were ablaze with rage as he completely ignored the protesting ensign in command red at the desk.

“Sir?” she stood up. “Sir! You can't go in there!”

Passing through the reception lobby, Admiral Kostya set his focus on the doors in front of him. As they opened, Rear Admiral Pamela Krockover stood in the center of her office with her Vulcan aide camp, Ensign S'kak, standing next to her in conversation. The two officers immediately halted their exchange as Kostya marched into the room.

“What the hell do you think you're doing, Krockover?” the admiral bellowed at the aging rear admiral with short grey hair.

Realizing his fervor, Krockover looked back to S'kak.

“Would you mind getting the admiral and I some coffee?” she peacefully asked. “Cream and sugar in mine.” Turning back to Kostya, she offered him his choice of condiments. “Any cream or sugar for you, sir?”

“Why did you counterman my criminal investigation order?” Kostya ignored the latter question, determined to have his own as the center of conversation.

“Nothing for the admiral,” Krockover turned back to S'kak. As the Vulcan officer left the room, the doors closed, and the junior admiral gave Kostya her full attention.

“I'm sorry, sir,” Krockover offered. “I thought that Criminal Investigation Command fell under the JAG office, not operations.”

“One of my ships was destroyed, and I want to find out WHY!”

“Captain Roth's official report indicated that there was no basis for a criminal investigation. The Republic's sensor logs confirm everything she reported. Allegiance was destroyed in a diplomatic incident with the Tholians.”

“That's not good enough!” Kostya demanded. “I know that Republic's command staff had something to do with it!”

“Unfortunately,” Krockover replied. “My superiors disagree. I'm sorry sir, but there will be no investigation.”

“It doesn't matter,” the senior admiral sneered. “When Republic gets back to 39-Sierra, I'll drag Carter and his merry band of do-gooders off that heap and throw them in the stockade! They WON'T get away with causing the destruction of the Allegiance!”

“If memory serves,” Krockover replied. “The Allegiance was under covert orders from you to attack any non-Federation vessels in orbit of Sigma Omicron Five. Those orders were in conflict with Republic's, which were to solve the mystery of the terraforming malfunctions.”

“I was acting on the basis of a possible external threat causing the malfunctions! Lives were at stake if Allegiance hesitated upon entering the sector!”

“And how did you know of this 'external threat', admiral?” she questioned. “Republic didn't know of any outside influences until they discovered the planet was a Tholian hatchery. Did you know something that they didn't?”

Krockover, taking lessons from her Vulcan subordinate over the years, learned to keep her emotions suppressed during a heated debate; a tool she found useful in her position. Her question caused Kostya to hesitate, and as she noticed a small amount of sweat forming on his forehead, knew that she had caught him at an impasse. However, due to the clandestine nature of the Allegiance's orders, there was no way to prove that Kostya was the true cause of her demise. Still, the admiral's silence was her personal affirmation to his guilt.

“No matter,” Krockover pushed the subject aside. “Republic did the best she could under the circumstances, and if it were not for her, Allegiance's entire crew would be dead. As it stands, more than a dozen of her officers owe their lives to the Republic's quick actions. Commendations will be awarded once she arrives at Deep Space Nine.”

“Commendations?!” the senior admiral interjected with provocation. “That's outrag . . .” Kostya paused in mid-sentence. “What do you mean Deep Space Nine? I've assigned her to Starbase 39-Sierra!”

“Yes you did, admiral,” she replied. “However, Republic has recently been reassigned, and their mission no longer falls under the central Operations Command.”

“Impossible!” he spouted. “No other Starfleet office can take control over operational forces except for OpsCom! I'M in control of fleet forces, and Republic will be assigned to EXACTLY where I decide!”

“I'm afraid you're in error, admiral.”

“Oh, and what did you do? Transfer Republic to freighter duty? Or perhaps she's an in-system courier now?” It was clear by Kostya's tone that he was being sarcastic.

“Actually,” Krockover responded calmly. “Republic has been assigned directly to the Office for Research and Exploration.”

“WHAT?” he shouted. “Galaxy Exploration Command is the controlling authority for exploration vessels! Research and Exploration NEVER has starships assigned directly to them!”

“Research and Exploration has many vessels available to them, admiral,” the rear admiral countered him. “Republic is no different.”

“Are you kidding?! Those are unarmed civilian research vessels! Not heavy cruisers! Did Janeway put you up to this? I remind you, Krockover! I outrank you!”

“Yes, admiral,” Krockover replied smoothly. “You do. But I have no control over these matters. Republic now falls under the auspice of Research and Exploration, and she's due to commence deep space exploration operations in the Gamma Quadrant.”

“Are you telling me that a bunch of scientists in the Blue Towers are going to issue orders to a Galaxy Class starship?!”

The elderly woman was unmoved. “Admiral Paris has the authority and the right to assign vessels to special duty whenever he sees fit. If you have problems with the transfer of Republic, I suggest you take it up with him.”

“Paris?” a stunned Kostya replied. “The C-in-C overruled my authority?”

“If that's what you wish to call it,” Krockover answered. “However, I doubt you'll get him to change his mind. Starfleet was publicly humiliated by the incident at Cestus Three, and by sending Republic to a remote part of the frontier for a while, the Fleet Admiral is allowing the political environment to cool down here in the Alpha Quadrant. Do you disagree with that strategy? Or should we have Republic's constant presence in the core systems remind the press corps of Starfleet's blunder that handed a Federation planet over to the Gorns?”

Although it was only a few seconds, the time that passed where Kostya and Krockover stared at one another in silence seemed like an eternity.

“This isn't over, Krockover,” the admiral hissed through gritted teeth before spinning around and exiting the office. Pam looked at the door for a long time after he left.

---

Location: Main sickbay, deck 12, USS Republic

“Hold still, please,” admonished the Extremely Marginal Housecall, mark whatever-the-hell-model-number this one was.

“Maybe if ya weren't fritzin' like a half-dead light bulb, I wouldn't have ta hold still. Ever think a that?” Hawk challenged as the hologram – whose photons continued to seep from his force fields – ran a dermal regenerator over a cut on his forehead. Though his remark was quickly followed by an increase in the severity of dermal regeneration, causing a minor sting for a half-second, Hawk verbalized nothing more. Though he did offer the hologram a cold stare that threatened de-compilation of his program.

“There, all done.” reported the hologram, as he deactivated the dermal regenerator and withdrew the device from Hawk's forehead. “Now really, was that so difficult?” questioned the doctor, his British accent unintentionally cutting his sarcasm in half.

“Can I get outta here now?” was Hawk's only response, still fuming over being relegated to the hologram's care. Granted, Republic's sickbay had been over-flowing with casualties for nearly twenty hours, ever since her close encounter with the tholian web. As such, her entire staff had been on-call for the bulk of that time, only recently dwindling back in numbers as many retired for much needed rest.

Still, he had saved the ship. He felt such a deed entitled him to at least a modicum of preferential treatment, at least as far as health care was concerned. If not for his intervention, the Republic would likely be a debris field at the moment. Certainly, the medical staff could have provided him with at least a flesh and blood individual to tend his wounds. Even a med-tech would have sufficed over the current photonic foible of Starfleet.

“Not just yet, I'm afraid.” responded the hologram with an obviously contrived and forced smile across his lips.

Flopping back on the bio-bed as if he had just been shot with a phaser, Hawk sighed – loudly. “What n'the hell else could ya possibly need ta fix? I feel fine!” Hawk protested.

“A good sign, certainly, considering you came in here with multiple contusions, abrasions, broken ribs, internal bleeding, sprained joints, not to mention suffering from physical, if not mental, exhaustion.” replied the Emergency Medical Hothead, as he scanned the contents of a PADD.

“Yeah, well, that's 'bout normal fer me after most away missions,” Hawk stated, pushing himself up and off of the bio-bed, “so unless you've got somethin' more serious n'that, I'm outta here.” he added, without looking back at the hologram.

“Lieutenant!” the hologram shouted after him.

Irritated, Hawk stopped and groaned, before spinning on his heel as he began to tear into the hologram. “Ya know, yer the most annoying, irritating, pain-in-the-ass…” he stopped then, suddenly, as he laid eyes upon Captain Kimberly Roth standing next to the hologram. “Uh… sorry, ma'am. I was just, uhm…” he stammered, at a loss for words.

Putting up a hand, Roth shook her head gently from side-to-side, a slight smile creasing her lips, “It's alright, Lieutenant,” she assured him promptly, before turning her gaze towards the EMH next to her. “Thank you, doctor, you're assistance was invaluable.” she stated with an appreciate bow.

The hologram, for his part, smiled broadly at his captain and nodded with respect and gratitude for her approval. It seemed even holograms appreciated the ego stroke of their captain.

“You're dismissed.” Roth then told the program, who obliged without response, retreating to another ward of the vast sickbay facility. Turning to Hawk, she narrowed her eyes for a moment as if gauging him, before extending her arm towards the nearest egress. “Walk with me, Lieutenant.” she asked without asking, as Captain's so often do.

“Alright.” he replied, mildly confused, as he stepped to the door. As it opened, he waited and allowed her to step out into the corridor before him, before joining her. He wasn't sure what this was all about, but typically, when a Captain wanted to talk to him as it seemed Roth did, it wasn't something good…

“My apologies for the doctor,” she began without pause as they moved down the corridor, her hands clasped behind her back, “I wasn't sure how long my communiqué would last, and wanted to speak with you in a setting you might find more comfortable.” she told him, glancing to him for a reaction. Seeing his befuddled furrowed brow, she explained further, “the ready room can be disquieting to some, intimidating to others.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess so.” Hawk replied, as they turned a bend.

“I was impressed with how you handled your first command,” Roth revealed, “your own after action report stated the facts and events well, but those of the rest of your team offered considerably more insight into your strengths, as well as your weaknesses, as far as command situations go.” the Captain stated. “Granted, you took a few right turns where I would have turned left, a risk that some may have viewed as unnecessary, but that's not to say any of those choices where the wrong ones to make. Sometimes, it's not about the decisions themselves, so much as you're ability to make them in critical situations.” Roth imparted upon him. Hawk, for his part, simply nodded in silent agreement, unsure what - if anything - to say.

“There's one portion of you're report though, that's rather vague.” she said, slowing to a stop. Looking Hawk in the eyes, she continued. “Hranok, Evok, whichever you prefer. How exactly did he perish?” Roth questioned, her eyes trained upon his in a search for the truth.

Taking a deep breath, Nat paused for a moment before offering his response and explanation. “He took his own life.”

“I see.” Roth stated, not taking her gaze from his. It was stern, yet without actual accusation. As if a dark thought had crossed her mind, but the seed hadn't taken.

Exhaling, Hawk recalled those moments, knowing she required more explanation. “We'd made it back ta Station Ops. Least, what was left of it. Place was comin' down 'round us, magma meltin' the place from the foundation up. Mid-way 'cross Ops, he pushed me away suddenly. Deck plates started ta heave, give way. There was no way ta save 'em.” Hawk apprised her. “I can't say fer sure why he did it,” Hawk stated, “but n'my experience, when someone working for the Syndicate fails in their task, suicide usually seems like a good option to 'em. Protects their family, at least.”

For a moment, Roth said nothing, her features stoic as a Vulcan. “Alright,” she commented finally. “next time, be sure to include such details in your official reports.” she admonished.

“Yes ma'am.” Hawk acknowledged.

Resuming their walk through the corridors of the Republic, Roth turned their conversation to another matter. “Starfleet Intelligence likely isn't going to be satisfied with your safety aboard the Republic any longer. I was curious what you thought on the matter.”

“Ta be blunt ma'am, SI ain't happy with anything, anytime.” Hawk countered. “They'll likely pitch a fit, try ta re-assign me, likely standard protective detail. They've got the weaker hand, though, ma'am. I hold all the top cards, n'they know it. I'll deal with them when the time comes.”

“Remaining aboard may cost you any credit you have left with them.” Roth cautioned.

“That don't matter much ta me. First time in a helluva long time, I feel like I belong here. I ain't givin' that up just cause they got their britches in a twist.” Hawk concluded.

“Lieutenant,” she said, stopping once again, this time with the twinge of a smile creasing the corners of her mouth, “that's exactly what I was hoping you would say.”

---

Chapter 2: Homeward BoundTop

Location: Chief Helmsman's quarters, USS Republic
Shiptime: 07:52 hours (next day)

Looking at himself in the mirror over his bureau, Lieutenant Nathan Hawk scrutinized his appearance. Nothing was any different than it had been in the days and weeks past, mind you. He simply felt different. Felt even as if he looked different. Which made no logical sense, as much as he hated to consider logic. All of his career though, he had seen a slightly different reflection each morning. It unnerved him now to see such a difference in himself.

Taking sight of the chronometer, he took a deep breath before heading out the door. Walking briskly down the corridor, he darted into a turbolift as the doors closed, and called out for his destination: the Main Bridge. As the lift ascended, he tried to ignore the fleeting glances from others. It was as if they too could see something different in him, could see a change.

As they slowed to a stop, the doors parting to admit those inside to the bridge, Hawk felt himself tense. For a moment, no one moved. None of the occupants exited, none of those waiting beyond the door frame entering. It took him a moment to realize why. Stepping forward onto the darkened command center, it's lights dimmed for night watch, he made his way down the narrow ramp.

His instinct was to take his station, the Helm. Today was going to be different, though. As he imagined many days would be from now on.

Turning to his right, he stepped towards the Junior Lieutenant seated in Commander Carter's normal position. The Junior Lieutenant, in turn, rose and offered a PADD to Hawk. Accepting it, he surveyed it's contents and nodded.

“Night shift is relieved, begin day watch.” he announced after a moment.

Without pause, the lights increased in intensity, and officers funneled in and out of the turbolifts, swapping assignments. It was an abnormal scene for him to watch, at least from his perspective. It was downright weird to watch Lieutenant Jack Snyder take the Helm instead of himself. Weird was part of the job, though.

With a moments hesitation, Hawk turned his back to the Executive Officers post, before sitting back in the seat itself. He felt out of place, to say the least. Glancing to his right and to the Captain's unoccupied chair, he was thankful for not having to leap that particular hurtle today. 'Someday, though…' he heard his mind say.

But not today.

Today was just one small step.

“Sir,” prompted the Ops officer on duty. “Sir?”

Off-guard, it took Hawk a moment to realize that the prompting was meant for him.

“Yeah?” he said at first. “Er, uh, yes ensign?” he recovered.

“Sir, our lateral sensor array is out of alignment by point-twenty-one microns. Should I re-align? We would need to drop out of warp.” reported the Ensign.

'My first command decision…' he thought to himself.

“No, ensign.” he replied. “Mark it down fer later.” he ordered.

“Yes sir.” replied the ensign from ops.

Glancing at the stars streaking by before him on the view screen for a moment, he shook his head and smiled at the irony of things, of life, and of his present circumstances, and suddenly felt more like himself.

“And ensign,” he addressed the Ops officer again.

“Yes sir?” he queried.

“Don't call me sir n'less where 'bout ta explode.” said the Second Officer with a wink and a grin…

---

“Captain on the bridge,” shouted Chief Rainier at the ops station. Kim Roth strolled out of her ready room, causing the bridge crew to turn and look at her momentarily before returning to their duties. For her part, Kim walked casually into the command pit where Lieutenant Nat Hawk sat comfortably in the command chair.

Since his return as first-time away team leader at Sigma Omicron, Hawk was bestowed with extra duties to help hone his leadership abilities by the captain – which included time on the bridge as the CDO, or command duty officer. Normally, this rotating position was shared amongst the senior officers with the rank of Lieutenant Commander and above, but occasionally, a selected number of junior officers would be chosen to perform the task. As head of the navigation department, Nat was a natural choice for such a duty, but due to disciplinary problems and the unusual nature of Republic's latest missions, the chief helmsman had not the chance (or perhaps, the desire) to serve in the center seat. However, recent events had changed both Hawks attitude towards the Republic's chain-of-command, as well as his senior officers' opinions of him – each for the better. As it turns out, the missing ingredient for Nat to dutifully accept orders from his immediate superiors, as well as his their own ability to confide in his judgment, was a simple matter of trust. The life-and-death scenarios of recent weeks served to establish this vital link, as everyone aboard the Republic found themselves in dire straights with no one but themselves to rely upon in order to survive.

“Enjoying your new duties, Mister Hawk?” Captain Roth asked with amusement. Nat looked up to his skipper with a devil-may-care grin and replied, “Heck, it ain't all that different from the con, ma'am. I jus' have to remember that there'r other stations on the ship 'sides the helm.”

With raised eyebrows, the assistant helmsman, Lieutenant Snyder, turned from the navigation controls momentarily to look at the two officers with amusement.

“Does this mean I'm stuck with a double shift?” Jack Snyder commented to his departmental head. “Or do I have to call you 'sir' now?”

“Pfft,” Nat waved his hand, getting up from the captain's chair. “Even if I said yes to either, y'wouldn't do it.”

The exchange brought forth chuckles from several of the bridge crew as Hawk relieved Snyder at the helm console, and Captain Roth took the command chair with a smile.

“Careful, gentlemen,” she warned in jest. “One of you is liable to make Lieutenant Commander before too long, and I'd hate to see the other in a court-martial due to insubordination.” As she crossed her legs and adjusted her duty jacket, it was clear the captain was enjoying the light-hearted atmosphere. It was an environment she worked hard to cultivate over the past few weeks since Sigma Omicron, ensuring that her officers were not afraid to be themselves in front of their commander. Although every leader has their way of gaining trust and respect from their subordinates, this relaxed, friendly manner was Kim's own method, and the crew responded positively. She was never worried about anyone taking advantage of her laid-back form of leadership, for if there were ever a question that someone was stepping over the line, either Commander Carter or Chief Rainier would put them in their place.

As if almost on cue, the port-aft turbolift doors parted, and Commander John Carter, accompanied by Lieutenant Zoe Beauvais, walked out onto the bridge. They passed Lieutenant Snyder coming off shift, and as doors closed once again, the newcomers proceeded to their stations.

“Well, it's official,” Carter announced, walking down the side of the command pit.

Roth looked over her shoulder in curiosity. “Number One?” she inquired.

“Starfleet has approved the transfer request,” John explained. “Lieutenant Beauvais is now a member of Republic's crew.”

For her part, Zoe smiled silently as she took her post at the tactical station.

Kim, however, was slightly more somber at the thought of Lieutenant Danzig and his premature departure from the realm of the living. After allowing a brief moment of mourning, the captain smiled and turned to the new tactical officer.

“That's good news . . . Welcome to the family, lieutenant.”

“Approaching destination coordinates in three minutes, mark,” announced Nat from the helm as Carter took his seat to the captain's right.

“Take us out of warp at your convenience, Mister Hawk,” Captain Roth ordered, and moments later, the main viewscreen changed from the streaked starlines of faster-than-light travel to normal space.

At first, it was only an insignificant speck in the vast backdrop of pulsating stars, but as the Galaxy-Class starship slowly moved closer, the dimly lit object took shape. Initially, a thin metallic disk emerged, with diffuse starlight splashing across its axis, and highlighting the merest hint of something other than black space. As the monolithic structure smoothly exposed tertiary sets of dorsal and ventral spires, the disk revealed itself to be not a solid form, but a hollow ring, complete with a central hub and radial spokes. Boasting a taupe hull of minute and intricate plating carved into its fascia, lit portholes and windows beamed with the presence of civilization. Small craft and courier ships flew silently to and fro the ring-edge docking ports, while larger capital ships remained coupled to the apex of the mooring spires.

The station was not so much a utilitarian hulk as it was a towering example of Cardassian architecture. Despite the temperament of its creators, this was not the inhuman form of a mere mining station; it was a work of art. No Starfleet facility bore more beauty and poise than this metropolis-in-space, for no matter the species, all who gazed upon her form could feel the striking presence of an honored landmark; a placeholder of history.

Captain Roth slowly stood up from her chair, gazing with respect and admiration at the viewscreen. Although other members of the bridge remained at their positions to maintain ship operations, no one could ignore the spectacle ahead. As the crew became entranced, Kimberly, without removing her eyes from the viewer, cued Lieutenant Beauvais at tactical.

“Hail the dockmaster,” she ordered. “Request permission to commence docking procedures.”

As the lieutenant keyed in the request, she nodded silently in response upon completion of the task.

“Greetings Republic, this is Deep Space Nine,” returned the authoritarian voice over the subspace comm. “Your transfer of operational command has been confirmed by Starfleet Headquarters, and you're cleared to dock at gangway two. Welcome home.”

“Republic acknowledges,” Roth replied.

---

Location: Conference Room Three, Deep Space Nine

Four Starfleet officers entered the conference room, all wearing operations-branch uniforms. The four took seats next to each other at one end of the table as a tall, dark man turned around to face them.

“I know all of you have been waiting along time to be reassigned, and I can imagine some of the misgivings you feel towards Starfleet Personnel Command at the moment regarding the issuance of your orders.”

“That's an understatement” whispered Ensign Palrak, sarcastically to the others.

Admiral Ross continued to talk, “Ensign Palrak and Ensign Ken'du, you are to report to Captain Johnson on the USS Fearless for you new assignments, Lieutenant Merrick and Ensign Jenkins, you are to report to Captain Roth on the USS Republic.”

Ensign Palrak gawked as replied with an outburst, “Oooh man… You're splitting up one of the best operations teams in the quadrant!”

“I'm sorry,” stated Admiral Ross. “Normally we wouldn't do something like this, but the Republic and Fearless are in need of good quality officers.”

“Thank you Admiral,” said Reia, trying to keep the briefing formal. “I am glad you think highly of us.”

“Good luck on your new assignments… Dismissed” concluded Admiral Ross.

The four officers stood up and began to leave the conference room.

“Wow, that was a short briefing…” commented Ensign Ken'du

Ensign Palrak sighed, replying “heh, maybe the Admiral wanted to apologize to us in person.”

“Yea… sucks that we're being split up,” said Ensign Ken'du sadly.

“Lieutenant Merrick… a moment please?” asked Admiral Ross.

“Sir?” inquired Reia as she turned around.

The doors slid shut, leaving only Admiral Ross and Reia in in the room. Ross walked over to a table with a pile of PADDS.

“How well do you know Ensign Jenkins?” asked Admiral Ross, walks back towards Reia with a PADD in hand.

“Off the record sir?” inquired Reia.

“This is all off the record lieutenant,” said Admiral Ross as he sat down. “Intelligence reports that Ensign Jenkins may be working for a covert group within Section 31, and that group appears to have some interest in one of Republic's officers.”

Reia sighed, not sure what she was about to get into. “I take it my assignment on the Republic will be more just working in Operations?” she inquired.

Admiral Ross dropped a PADD on the table, sliding it over to Reia. “Ensign Naruko Kuga. She's the current Chief of Operations on the Republic. Just before the Republic was attacked by the Tholians, she disappeared and was picked up by the Runabout Vaal several days later. I want you to play detective for me… find out more about the group that Ensign Jenkins is working for and their interest in Ensign Kuga.”

Reia felt as if she was being pushed, yet she wanted to affirm the admiral's trust in her. “Aye, aye, sir”

---

Location: Tolkath Home, Betazed

As the matriarch entered the room, the Tolkaths noticed she was not alone. At the sight of the unexpected guest Yaxara gasped slightly. Thoughts concerning her presence flooded Mrs. Tolkath with fear.

After a moment of awkward silence, Kestra introduced her friend. “Yaxara, Jaren, you know Admiral Janeway.”

Yaxara was the first to speak, the words stumbling out of her mouth. “Is everything . . . is everything. . .”

Janeway intervened to calm the worries of the anxious mother. “Yes everything is alright; Reittan is fine as far as I know.” She continued, “I wanted to be here personally to hear the outcome of the debate today. After all, it does concern us all.”

“Speaking of decisions,” Jaren began, walking closer to the two with his hands behind his back, “what is the outcome?”

At news of the amendment's passing, there was a collective sigh of relief; Reittan was safe, for the time being.

The admiral continued, “I have locked out his records, so anyone trying to get to them has to go through me. That also means I will be alerted to anyone requesting his records.”

The lights within the home had come to life as the last ray of light disappeared behind the horizon.

“Where are our manners?” Kestra suddenly asked. “Here,” she said, “sit down.”

As they were moving over to the chairs Yaxara asked, “We have been wondering about this last transfer, to the Republic . . . if you . . .

“If I had anything to do with it?” the Admiral interjected. “Yes, I did. I felt . . . he was needed the most there. Don't worry,” she continued, “he is in good hands there.” The admiral paused stared out the window as if in deep thought. “Very good hands . . .”

Just as suddenly as the reflective mood had overtaken the Admiral, it took its leave.

After sitting down and getting comfortable, the four continued in conversation that carried on late into the night.

---

Location: Counselor's quarters, USS Republic

The Counselor, exhausted from the latest mission sat down at his desk. The flashing view-screen caught his attention, alerting him of a new message.

As Tolkath adjusted the screen to his view, he let out a drained sigh. He suddenly twisted the chair, stood up and then headed toward the shower, the messages could wait. He stretched his aching body and removed his starfleet uniform.

Being a counselor, Starfleet afforded some relaxed regulations regarding attire required to be worn while on duty. The Lieutenant Commander wore his uniform with pride while on duty; this practice avoided ill feelings of others because of the extended luxury of being able to work casually.

After cleaning up and dressing into a jump suit, the counselor laid down on his Vulcan bed and was about to close his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye he suddenly noticed the priority of the message. How he had missed it earlier, eluded his mind; he was more tired than he realized.

He quickly rose and traversed his way over to his desk. Looking closer he noticed he had received two messages while he was away. The first was from his mother, the second was encrypted.”

“Computer,” he said slightly anxious, “display message two.”

“Authorization?” the computer voice inquired.

“Tolkath-gamma-alpha-3-9-0-theta.”

At the recognition of the code, the view-screen began to fill with color. As the image materialized the Counselor's eyebrow raised inquisitively.

“Counselor Tolkath,” the familiar voice began. “We have a slight problem.” The admiral then paused. It was the two second pause and the concern in the admiral's voice that alerted Reittan to the possible severity of the situation. “Someone aboard the Republic has repeatedly tried to access your records. And when I say repeatedly, I don't mean one or two times or in the same manner. This person has been persistent in trying to get your records. So be alert. And congratulations, I just left your home on Betazed. This is a small, yet great victory. Janeway out.”

The counselor began to become increasingly more uneasy, and frankly quite confused. “Congratulations? What does that mean?”

The pain of someone giving birth in sickbay, floated to his conscious, then ebbed away into the sea of voices and emotions. Reittan was not surprised by this event, it often occurred when empaths were exhausted beyond reason. But, even these strong feelings did not sway the Counselor's focus.

The Lieutenant Commander continued to try to decipher the Admiral's message. His records slightly concerned him, but oddly enough it was the congratulatory part that held his attention.

“Computer, save message.” Reittan would get back to it later when he was more mentally astute.

Fearing retribution if he could not say he had gotten right to her message as soon as he could upon further contact with his mother, Reittan opened the message to hear her voice.

“Reittan, dear, it's me.”

The counselor rolled his eyes and said to himself, “of course it's you mother, who else would it be?”

As soon as he had finished the thought, his mother continued, “Don't get smart.”

Reittan shuddered and wondered, “How does she do that?”

“Dear, the Council has ruled on the amendment.”

This news riveted the Counselor's attention to his mother.

“They ruled in favor of amending the Code of Sentience. The usage of telepathy can be used in self defense, or in the event of war.”

Reittan was filled with exuberance; the fatigue of the previous assignment melted away and the admiral's message finally made sense.

“I know you are really excited, it has come as a great relief to us to, contact us when you get back from saving the Federation. Love you.” The face of Yaxara Tolkath faded into the blackness of the view-screen.

“It passed!!!” The thought repeated over and over in Tolkath's head. Years of worry and dread had been eased somewhat. It passed. Even the weaving in and out of the pain from the current birth couldn't dampen his day.

Reittan walked over to the window of his quarters and watched the stars slide by, while the Republic was making her journey towards DS9. His shift would begin in a few hours, he bathed in his excitement for a while more, then went to sleep.

---

Location: Chief Tactical Officer's Quarters, USS Republic
Shiptime: 1645

Zoe had gone through and gotten herself adjusted to the new quarters that she had. She was never one to have too many belongings – nothing that she couldn't just replicate. Her cut on her head had been repaired and she had decided to take a quick shower and get cleaned up before she headed to the “Hill”. It had been a long couple of days with the destruction of the Allegiance and now with the arrival on the Republic.

She wasn't too keen on leaving her current assignment on the London, but one had to do what they had to do to survive. She of all people understood this when she had gone through the difficult times and battles in her life.

Now that she was back to being, hopefully, somewhat normal, she finished adjusting her hair. Giving herself a once over, she smiled that everything was back in place. As she left her new quarters, she looked back again and realized that this was going to be home for awhile, and that she was going to have to fix it up to her tastes. But that could wait until a later time. She had been invited to socialize with the crew. Knowing that this was a good thing, she didn't want to pass it up as it would allow her to get to know the people that she was now going to call a family.

She exited her quarters and headed to the mess and looked around. She spotted the commander speaking to another crewmember in the corner by the windows. Replicating herself a drink, she headed over there and smiled as she waited for them to finish enough for her to interrupt. “Sirs,” she said. “May I join you?” With the nod, she sat down and joined them, entering into conversation.

---

Location: Promenade, Deep Space Nine

With Vulcan precision eyes, the new Chief Science Officer for the Republic watched the people run to and fro with daily business around the promenade of Deep Space Nine. It was weird for her to be back on her old stomping grounds. But since she was now hiding underneath a different alias, she couldn't interact with those that she had called friends all those years ago.

It pained her deep inside, but she shoved her feelings aside – she had a job to do and now she had to protect herself again. She watched as the others that were to be assigned to the Republic come out of the conference room at the other end of the hallway. She had already looked into some of their histories discreetly along with the rest of the crew of the Republic.

Coming across some barriers and locked crew members, she realized that this wasn't going to be the ordinary mission that she was embarking on. There were too many different factors in the equation and she didn't like that. The more factors that were present, the more of an opportunity for something to foul up her mission.

She wasn't going to end up the way that the rest of her teammates were going to end up. Surviving wasn't an issue for her. The real issue was who was going to interfere with her plans enough that would end up discretely removed from the manifest. She took a note of everyone that she couldn't find out information for. These were going to be the people that she needed to gather intelligence on first hand – allowing for more of an opportunity to have her cover blown.

That was okay with her though, she knew why she was there, but they wouldn't. To anyone in Starfleet, she was a walking corpse. Anyone who thought that they recognized her were sadly mistaken, as she technically had died many years before to the hands of Section 31. There were always complications though. Now here she was in what she would call her past, still living life as best as she could under the circumstances.

Normally she would remain low during such times as these, but she had to agree with the Admiral, maybe it is the time to stop hiding and take a more proactive stance towards life. She could change her ways and become a normal person again, but she knew that the organizations out there that wanted her dead would never cease until they had her lifeless body in their hands – and she wasn't going to go down without a fight.

Sipping her tea, she continued her cold calculating of her new mission and the people that she was going to interact with. All she had to do was wait until the Republic came back to berth with the station in order to take on new crew and her mission would really begin.

---

Chapter 3: BetrayalTop

Location: Runabout Vaal, Alpha Quadrant

“We're about 3 hours from Deep Space Nine, Admiral…” stated a lieutenant.

The Admiral, a middle-aged woman with a stoic face, took a seat at an operations console as she sighed with relief. “Looks like we might make it after all… McCain must not have been informed about our passenger.”

“Pardon me, admiral,” asked the lieutenant. “But why don't we just eliminate Naruko Kuga now?” The officer glanced across the runabout cabin to the rear of the vessel, where a human-sized, transparent tank was clamped to the floor. The tank was filled with a blue gel infused with bubbling gases, and contained the floating, unconscious body of Ensign Kuga.

“That would take all the fun out of it, lieutenant,” she smiled morbidly. “Besides, I prefer to keep her alive for now,” said the Admiral, as she inputted a few commands into the computer.

The lieutenant stared blankly at the viewport before returning to face the Admiral, “But if our passenger poses such a great risk to the Federation, should we not take more precautions to ensure she doesn't fall into McCain's hands?”

“Indeed… I have, in fact, already taken care of that..” commented the Admiral as an image came across the nearby communication screen. It was an spitting image of herself on the comm viewer.

“Hows your end coming, my sister?” inquired the Admiral.

“Everything is going along as planned. However, Admiral Ross may be on to us.”

“Has Ensign Jenkins been spotted?” the Admiral assumed.

“Maybe. They're assigning a Lieutenant Merrick to the Republic, possibly to keep an eye on him… Should I reassign him?”

The Admiral rubbed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. “No… Continue as planed, Admiral Ross is just giving us some extra insurance.”

“I see your point…”

Suddenly, the Admiral was thrown to the floor as the runabout shook violently. Outside, a Starfleet Defiant-class ship shot several volleys of phaser-fire and quantum torpedoes at the small craft. On the surface of the attacking vessel was the registry name, “USS Coeus”.

“Send out a distress call to the Kasagi!” ordered the Admiral to the pilot, as another volley of enemy fire hit the runabout. She attempted to walk to the aft crew cabin only to be tossed about with each hit. Helplessly, the admiral watched as a biotank containing an unconscious Ensign Kuga was beamed off the runabout.

“Shields are failing!” cried out the injured lieutenant. “I don't think we'll last another hit, Admiral!”

For a moment in time, the Admiral felt as if time had stopped, watching the Runabout explode around her. As a last volley of weapons fire hit the vessel, the Admiral was engulfed in a flash of light and fire. The Runabout was no more.

---

Location: Brig, USS Coeus

Naruko sat on one of the bunks in the brig as she looked at the security officer in front of her. “Not much of a talker are you?” she asked only to hear the sound of the force field hum. “That's what I thought” she added before laying back down.

A few moments passed as the doors to the brig opened with McCain entering the room, and a handful of others in tow. McCain walked over to the cell, looking at Naruko, smiling in his victory. “Hello again, Ensign Kuga.”

Naruko looked at him questioningly. “What am I doing here… Sir?”

McCain gave a nod to the security officer to let down the force field. As the force field dropped, he entered the cell. “Do you think I would let one of the greatest weapons invented by the Federation to simply…” He rubbed his hand through Naruko's hair while she jerked her body away from him. “…go on living on that out-dated death trap of a Galaxy Class ship?”

Naruko tapped her heels three times, hoping she was asleep and in a nightmare.

McCain let out a big laugh. “I'm sorry Naruko, but there will be no fairy godmother to save you.” McCain gave a nod to his attendants, and they proceeded to rush into the cell, overcoming the ensign as she screamed for them to stop.

---

Location: Ops, Deep Space Nine

Captain Kira walked down the stairs from her office, “Report” she ordered.

A young Starfleet cadet looked at the panel confused, “I'm not sure what to report, Captain. One minute, the sensors momentarily detected a craft before it disappeared again.”

“A cloaked ship?” questioned Kira.

The cadet, still confused and unsure about the readings, replied “I believe so, sir. But it would be rather odd for a cloaking device to fail for a split second then start working again.”

A voice from the other side of Ops interrupted. “Sorry Captain, but I have an incoming communication from the Kasagi.”

Kira turned to face the viewscreen. “On screen.”

An image of a human male Starfleet captain appeared, sitting in his command chair.

“This is Captain Kira of Deep Space nine, how can I help you?”

“This is Captain Duncan of the USS Kasagi. Our science officer is tracking an intermittent contact in sector zero one nine. Possibly a vessel. Have you picked up anything?”

“As a matter of fact, captain, we did. Do you have any information as to what it might be?”

“Not at this time, but we are moving in to investigate. If you wish, we can keep you updated on whatever we come across.”

“That would be most reassuring Captain,” replied Kira. “Thank you.”

As the communications channel was closed, the young cadet whispered to himself, “And I thought this would be an easy shift…”

---

Location: Main sickbay, USS Republic

Doctor Cromwell stood back from the table where his patient lay. The medical team had just brought him in and positioned him on the examination table. Dutifully, Leon began a more intense scan of the body with a nurse's assistance. The dark-haired patient lay motionless on the bed, unconscious of everything surrounding him.

The area on the back of the head that had taken the blunt force was beginning to swell and redden due to the broken capillaries on the skin.

“That's going to hurt a bit when he wakes up,” the Doctor mumbled to himself.

“What's that Doctor?” the attending nurse inquired.

“Oh, nothing. I want a full bio-scan of the Counselor.”

“Yes sir,” the ensign stated as she began preparing for the scan.

Leon scanned the unconscious Lieutenant Commander with his tricorder one last time to make sure the damage was no more serious than a mild concussion. He paused for a moment.

The pause was interrupted when the sickbay's door suddenly hissed open, announcing the arrival of the Captain into the softly lit room.

“I came as soon as I heard,” Captain Roth stated, slightly shocked from the incident. “What happened?”

“It was blunt trauma to the back of the head,” Leon answered matter-of-factly. Turning the head gently and pointing to the swelling above the occipital lobe and the cerebellum. He paused to look up at the biomonitor which began to display Reittan's life signs.

Half-jocularly, he continued, “I didn't realize you could sneak up on an empath like that.”

The Captain gazed at the unconscious Counselor, perplexed. Her mind wandered back to the conversation she had with him in her ready room.

Tolkath had entered the room with a look of concern on his face, something somewhat out of character for the usually jovial Lieutenant Commander.

“Captain,” he began, “there is a matter of concern I have concerning the crew of the ship.”

When the Counselor had entered, Smoke, who had previously been nestled on his owner's lap, raised his head to see who was addressing the Captain.

The Counselor continued after giving a brief pause to acknowledge the unusual little life form.

“I have been sensing some strong feelings of malice aboard the ship, though I can't quite pinpoint the exact source, if it is just one.”

“What do you mean Counselor? How strong are these feelings?”

“There are two kinds of emotions radiating from crew members that I am concerned about. One is hatred, pure undefiled hatred towards an individual; enough hatred to be . . . well . . . murderous.” Tolkath paused to allow the Captain to absorb what he was saying. When Captain Roth had nodded expressing her understanding he continued. “The other emotion, the one I am most concerned about, is that of complete coldness.”

“What do you mean by coldness, commander?” Roth enquired.

“It is a cool, calculated coldness, the type that means someone is trying to remain undetected . . . undetected by an empath,” the Counselor began.

“It is that kind of feeling . . . the apathetic, yet spiteful feeling I am sensing. Like someone . . .” The Counselor trailed off, lost in thought. “It is like someone is going to hurt someone else, but not for personal reasons. It's more like they are going to hurt someone because they have been told or paid to.”

The memory began to fade until it had vanished into the present time.

“But, this is interesting,” Leon continued. He had been so absorbed in his tricorder readings that he hadn't noticed the captain when she drifted out of their previous conversation to her own memory of the counselor.

“What is it?” the Captain asked, hoping it would lead to some insight as to why the Counselor had been attacked.

“Here,” the Doctor said pointing to the brightly lit bio-monitor.

Roth's eyes focused in on the image of the Counselor's brain. She followed Leon's pointed finger towards the lights representing the area of the paracortex. The eyes of the Captain widened in subtle disbelief.

“The paracortex is much larger and more developed than normal,” stated the Doctor, confirming Roth's observations.

“But Doctor, don't those who have this phenomenon . . .”

“Go insane? Go mad?” Leon said finishing her statement. “Yes. It must be the Vulcan side of him, all of the training he has gone through, that counters the potential madness.”

The pieces of the puzzle had begun to fall in place for Captain Roth.

The Captain, knowing there was little more to do for the Lieutenant Commander, told the Doctor, “I am going back to the bridge. Keep me posted on our Counselor's condition; especially tell me when he wakes up.”

The Doctor affirmed he would follow the Captain's orders before returning to treating his patient.

---

Location: Executive Officer's quarters, USS Republic

John Carter “huffed” in frustration.

“Don't be like that John,” Shannon Harris asked from the doorway, where she was leaning. “It's not like I TOLD Lieutenant Simms to have a complicated pregnancy you know.” Shannon placed one hand on her hip to emphasize her point.

“I know Shannon,” Carter answered with a dismissive wave, “It's just that we're finally in port, no one's trying to kill us,” John looked sideways for a moment, “Well, not YET anyway… and I was looking forward to the two of us spending some time together OFF the ship.”

Shannon Harris felt her eyebrow raise. “And just what's wrong with the ship?” her tone seemed more agitated than John had expected.

“Nothing”, the XO offered as he stepped closer, “but we've been spinning our wheels here for a while, and I'd like to show you around DS9 a little. I haven't been here in a long time.”

“Ten years, seven months, eleven days, fourteen hours, six seconds, mark.” Shannon said softly.

“What was that?” Carter asked.

“Nothing,” the doctor explained, nervously running her fingers through her hair. “I didn't realize you'd been stationed here before.”

“Well, not exactly,” Carter said with a smile, “I was on the test crew for the Defiant, a while back. Never actually got to see this place then; but Discovery ended up here during my first tour. Besides, Quark pours a mean pint.”

Doctor Harris gave the tall officer a gentle hug, then backed away toward the door. “I really can't John,” Shannon said with regret. “The Lieutenant is really at a delicate stage right now. Take a rain check?”

Reluctantly, Carter nodded and walked ahead to join Harris in the main corridor. “I guess I'll have to, won't I?”

Shannon patted Carter's shoulder, then stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “I'll make it up to you.” She smiled.

“Ok Shannon,” Carter relented as he put his arms around Republic's resident pediatrician. “I think I'm going to hit Qua…” he felt a smile cross his face, “that is, the embassy.”

John turned after giving Shannon a light peck on the cheek, then stepped toward the door and turned back again, “Can I pick you up anything?”

“Anything but a dabo girl, John,” Harris offered with a playful wink. Then the hatch shut, leaving her alone in the XO's quarters.


Location: Promenade, Deep Space Nine

The bustle of activity was unmistakable, and John Carter felt himself smiling as he worked his way through the various humanoids, sapiens and sentients that made DS9 a mosaic of life from all quadrants of the galaxy. A central landmark of the Cardassian-built station's merchant sector was Quark's Bar, recently sanctioned by Grand Nagus Rom as an official embassy of the Ferengi government.

Quark's had all the charm a spacer could want out of a second-rate gin mill, but between the festive decorations and impeccably clean gaming floor, it was easy to forget the more unsavory things that might be going on from moment to moment in the bar's darker corners on the upper level, where smoke tended to hang like the early morning fog off San Francisco Bay. That, John Carter decided, as he took an empty seat at the bar, was probably just how Quark wanted it.

“Credit for your thoughts…Commander?” came the slightly piercing voice of the establishment's chief bar tender, as he wiped away the remnants of a Jovian sunspot with a rag.

John Carter took a moment to regard the being who asked the question. The large lobed forehead and flanking ears where unmistakably Ferengi, to say nothing of the ridged nose, and the slightly green coloration over the bar-tender's eyes, but what really caught Carter's attention, as well as confirmed this particular Ferengi's identity, was the unmistakable multi-coloured, striped waist-coat.

Carter smirked, wondering if Quark had recognized him, or if the proprietor was simply being courteous to the uniform. “Is it too early for a root beer?”

“Bah!” Quark scoffed, wagging his finger, “You Hu-Mahns! You can keep your root beer!” the small entrepreneur couldn't hide his contempt for the beverage, “You're the one who's lost an eye Commander Car-tear, not me,” Quark smiled. “I'd remember you no matter what rank you were.” The Ferengi Major-Domo flipped the bar rag over his shoulder and continued, “and John Car Tear of Mars is the one Hu-Mahn I know who would never touch that sickening, syrupy poison.”

“Fair enough,” Carter smiled, pleased that he'd managed to make an impression on the infamous Quark. “Tell you what”, he offered, “I'll take an Aldeberan whiskey. And don't water it down.”

Quark's jaw hung open for a brief second. “Commander,” he said in mock-astonishment, “I'm wounded. Do you honestly think that I would risk the wrath of one of Starfleet's most infamous officers, just for the sake of profit? Why,” Quark knelt down, producing a dusty decanter from under the bar, half-filled with a pale green liquid, “if I tried to cheat you, you might decide to invade Ferengenar on principle!”

Carter laughed as Quark poured a short glass of the verdant concoction. “Invade? No,” he answered, “WAY too much work. Though I might have to blockade the planet. Just until you said you were sorry.”

“Ah, yes. Spoken like a true pirate. And tell me Commander,” Quark said, leaning forward on the bar, “would you even bother with a ship? Or would it just be you yourself?”

“I'm glad we understand each other,” Carter said, `clinking' his glass against the crystal decanter.

“That we do, Commander.” Quark looked Republic's XO over with the practiced eye of a jeweler appraising a find. “I like the patch by the way. What happened?” he asked with a leer, “Jealous husband? Or was it the fury of a lover scorned?”

John winced as he felt the warmth of the whiskey spread down his throat and chest. “A little of both to be honest.” Carter set the glass down. Quark obligingly filled it again.

“Now that sounds like a story!”

“For another time,” Carter offered. He looked across the interior of Quark's watering hole, not sure what he was looking for. Then he found it.

At the far left dabo table, Carter spied Nat Hawk, reluctant hero of Sigma Omicron V, and helmsman of Republic, who was now clearly in his element. Hawk sat at the table with a modest stack of chips in front of him and a pretty, blonde dabo girl on his knee. The empty glasses arranged around Hawk like the wall of an ancient castle told Carter that the helmsman had been there for quite some time.

“Same old Hawk.” Carter muttered, turning his attention back to Quark. “Do me a favor, will you Quark?”

“Oh, anything to keep Ferengenar safe, Car-Tear. How can I avoid a blockade today? Hmm?”

John looked back over his shoulder, indicating Hawk with a nod. “Don't let that guy get too far along tonight, will ya?”

Quark shook his head with a 'tisk'. “Oh no, Commander,” he countered, “I'm not here to baby sit your crew. You want to keep that man out of Ro's sights, you'll have to do it yourself. Besides,” Quark looked to the right of the room with a nod of his own. “He's already got a shadow.”

Carter followed Quark's gesture and spotted Zoe Beauvais, sipping at a drink in a secluded booth on the bar's second tier. “Well I'll be.” Carter downed the rest of his whiskey, then slipped off the bar stool and made his way to the winding staircase that lead to the upper floor of the cantina-cum-embassy.

Indignant, Quark called back, “You're welcome!”


Location: Junior officer's quarters, USS Republic

Lost in her own thoughts, Shannon Harris was suddenly, distinctly aware that she had no place to be, or rather that, at that instant, she was nowhere. No need for a uniform, quarters, or even physical being. At least, not at the moment. Why should she bother? She knew where her patients were, knew that Lieutenant Simms was resting comfortably, she even knew where John was. He was in Quark's, and had been stationary for some 18 minutes. Shannon also knew that his pulse was slightly elevated. Oh, nothing to be concerned with, certainly, but something…or was it some one, had caught his attention. She knew that much at least.

A pico-second of concentration was all that was needed to tell Shannon the rest. Zoe Beauvais was also in Quark's, as was Nat Hawk, and that civilian reporter John had been so leery of. What caught Shannon's attention was the fact that Lieutenant Beauvais was two feet from John Carter, and her heart rate was also slightly elevated. She could guess why.

In the simple, safe, nothing, there were things Shannon Harris knew for certain, and she no longer cared about why or how. All that mattered was that that John was off the ship, HIS ship.

He was with someone else, and Shannon Harris hated the thought of that.

---

Chapter 4: Subspace MessagesTop

---

Chapter 5: Zen's EndTop

Location: Captain's ready room, main bridge, USS Republic

Reia stood in front of the Captain's desk, feeling the sweat running down the side of her face. It had been almost three months she last stepped foot on board a starship. Not so long for some, but long enough that she got used to the daily 'nothing' of Deep Space Nine life. She had hopes to head back to the Academy for a year to finish her command courses, but Starfleet apparently had other plans for her.

Captain Roth placed the PADD containing Reia's service record on her desk as she picked up a cup of coffee. “Well lieutenant,” she started while taking a sip. “Looks like you have had an interesting career so far.” Taking another quick glance at the PADD again, she continued “. . . bronze star during the battle of Tyra, the Dominion Campaign medal . . .” Roth was impressed, but worried as she stopped on one item in particular. “What happened in the Torga system?”

Reia closed her eyes for a second, remembering the fatal decision she made over three years ago. “We were conducting repairs on a Cardassian power station on the fourth planet. The section that my team and I were in had lost power and life support. We were cut off from the surface of the planet and the USS Malinche couldn't get a transporter lock on us. The only way to get power back online before we ran out air was for someone to fix the damaged coils from inside the core. But who ever entered the core would die shortly afterwards due to the radiation.”

Roth got the feeling that there was more to the story. “Go on.”

The lieutenant took a small breath as she continued to confess her sins, “With all honestly Captain, it should have been me to enter the core and repair the coils. I had the most training to fix them.”

Captain Roth stood up from her chair and looked Reia in the eyes. “You're absolutely right. You should have. But what I want to know is why you let that poor Ensign go instead of yourself.”

“Ensign Douglas volunteered to enter the core . . . he could have been one of the best engineers in Starfleet if he lived . . . but I let him enter the core when I should have gone . . . I was too scared to go.” Reia bowed her head, trying to hide her guilt. “I will not make that mistake again . . . that decision will continue to haunt me for a long time.”

Roth took a quick glance in Reia's eyes. “The truth is, lieutenant, I already have a Chief of Operations. Unfortunately, she is still missing in action, and won't be listed as 'presumed dead' until after the investigation into her death is complete. Even afterwards, I am not about to replace her with you unless you prove yourself to be a better officer than the one who sent Ensign Douglas to his death. As far as the rest of the ship is concerned . . . you are here on a temporary basis until I can find a replacement. Understood?”

“Yes Ma'am,” replied Reia with a nod.

“Dismissed.”

---

Location: Lab Two, USS Coeus

The doors to the lab opened with Zen Kuga entering the room, stopping to look at the lab bed. He shook his head, muttering despairingly, “no, no, no” over and over again until McCain walked up behind him.

“Josh, you said she would be left out of this!” Zen declared somberly as he turned his head to face McCain.

McCain let out a chuckle. “I never said for how long, Zen. Besides, I think your daughter may have something to say to you…”

Zen turned back around to look at his daughter who stood up from the lab bed. She was wearing a strange black body suit that appeared to be grafted onto her skin, and a blank expression on her face suggesting that she was in some sort of trance-like state.

“My god . . .” Zen stammered, looking in shock at his daughter.

McCain then walked over to Naruko and whispered into her ear, “…kill Zen Kuga.” Turning around to look at Zen, the commodore said, “Well Zen, I think your services with the organization are complete.” With a smile, he walked out of the room, snapping his fingers as he exited.

Naruko then pointed a phaser toward her father…


Location: Main bridge, USS Coeus
Time: Two hours later

McCain entered the bridge of the Coeus. His first officer, Commander Isaac Romahof, stood up from the command chair and stepped aside. “Commodore on Deck!”

Walking over to his chair, McCain ordered “At ease, commander. I want Naruko to pilot the Dragon, so have it ready for launch within the hour.”

Isaac raised an eyebrow, “Are we going ahead with the operation sir?” he asked.

“I want the Dragon launched and it's target destroyed by the time the Republic enters the Gamma Quadrant,” McCain ordered sternly.

“Sir, do you truly feel that now is the time to launch this operation?” the commander questioned. “We don't even have the most recent intelligence report on the Dominion homeworld.”

“You have your orders Commander,” said McCain, looking rather disgusted towards his first officer.

“Yes sir,” Isaac plied apologetically before exiting the bridge.

---

Chapter 6: Walking WoundedTop

“…Veer off, you crazy son-of-a-bitch!”

The words fell on deaf ears as the gargantuan Galor-Class cruiser grew before him, encompassing his entire forward field of view.

He held his course without pause.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Because it was the only thing left that he could do.

The only way he could keep fighting.

The old Peregrine's weapons where gone.

The only weapon he had left now was the nimble craft itself.

The only thing he could still fight with, his own life - his own death.

“…Damn it, Wildcard! It's suicide!”

His fate - perhaps his destiny - was only moments away.

Moments that could not be measured by time.

The hull of the Cardassian warship so close, so clear, that he could make out each minor detail.

His end was upon him. And he embraced that end;

The end of a short and tragic life.

A long awaited release from the pain of that existence.

And it would be a heroes death, more than he had ever hoped for.

More important, he would finally know peace.

Even if only by knowing nothing at all.

“…You crazy fool! Get the hell out of there!”

He felt the jarring impact, heard the crunch of metal.

Yet he did not feel the effects, the snap of bone.

A fireball expanded before him, as each hull tore into the other.

He felt it's heat, it's radiance, but was not consumed by it.

He expected to feel it sear his flesh.

Instead, he felt a rush of cold throughout his body.

In the moment, he did not understand any of what happened.

Perhaps that was part of death?

His vision blurred, but not from injury.

His senses dulled, but not from death.

Only as the scene of carnage faded did he begin to understand.

Only as his senses returned, did he realize what had happened.

“…Transporter room to Bridge, we've got him!”

Most would have been pleased to cheat death.

He was not pleased, though.

Because he had not cheated death.

He had been cheated of death.

And as the moment faded, so too did his agony over that truth.

Bolting upright with a start, a sheen of cold sweat coating his naked body, he looked around at his unfamiliar surroundings with disorientation. His breathing shallow and quick, adrenaline surging through his veins, he took in deep breaths and waited for the haze of dream and nightmare to clear from his mind. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to focus on the here and now. Forced himself to bury those thoughts and feelings, those memories, back into the dark depths. To step back from the brink once more, just as he had been snatched away from it once upon a time.

As his eyes opened, he quickly surmised he was not aboard the Republic, but instead on station Deep Space 9. He quickly took notice of someone else beside him on the firm Cardassian mattress. A rather attractive young woman who shared his state of undress, sheathed only by the same thin sheet as himself. This, in of itself, was not so disconcerting as was the fact that he had no idea whom the young woman was, or how he had come to be here, nude in her bed, and smelling of sex.

Sex, and something else.

It only took a moment to identify what that something else was. It was as familiar to him as anything he knew. His own breath had smelled of such for most of his life. Glancing to the small end table beside the bed, the short glass still containing a mouthful of the amber liquid only confirmed what he already knew it to be. For the life of him, though, he could not understand how or why. It had been his constant companion, his crutch, his escape, for so long. Yet in the three weeks since Sigma Omicron V, he had not touched so much as a drop of his old stalwart beverage of choice.

At least, not until now, apparently.

Gingerly extricating his legs from the silken bed clothes, he placed his feet upon the floor and took note of the rather unique sensation of alien traction carpet upon bare skin. It was quite a contrast to Starfleet, who even with focus on function tried to fit comfort into the equation. Something the Cardassians had apparently considered irrelevant, judging by the rough texture beneath his toes. A rough texture that reminded him all too much of his own parched throat and dry mouth. Looking to the glass, even now, a part of him wanted so badly to reach for it. To accept it's soothing embrace again.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he stood up, his feet unsure beneath him. As equilibrium returned to him, he followed the trail of discarded clothes that lead from the door. Gathering each item, he found it odd that almost all of it was his, something else that didn't make sense until he finally found an article of clothing that wasn't his. The flimsy, see-thru, strategically patterned garment brought back a piece of the puzzle. She was a dabo girl at Quark's, he recalled now, the memories flooding in…

~ his arms wrapped around her waist ~
~ her upon his lap ~
~ the raucous laughter of the bar ~
~ the scent of her perfume ~
~ the taste of her lips ~
~ the sensation of her flesh; her caress ~

Even as the latent images of memory rushed through his conscious mind, he found with each question answered, more simply took their place. Pushing his questions and doubts aside for the moment, he sifted through the pile of clothes and began to dress. Sitting back upon the edge of the bed in order to pull his boots on, he caught sight of his own faded reflection in the view port. He was surprised not only by what he saw, but by the angry disappointment he felt towards himself. Stepping over to the transparent aluminum barrier, he scrutinized his appearance.

Uniform wrinkled and smelling of cheap perfume and even cheaper whiskey. Eyes bloodshot, hair mussed and disheveled. He tried in vain to mend the condition of his hair, to straighten the creases in his uniform, and as he did, he spotted something else from the corner of his eye. Latched to upper pylon one, just as she should be, the sterling visage of the Republic. The battle damage that had marred her hull for nearly a month since their encounter with the Tholians now repaired. The repairs to her internal damage close to completion as well. If only his own 'internal damage' could be so easily fixed, he mused.

As his gaze drifted back to his own translucent reflection, he saw something in his own eyes that he had not seen before, nor had ever expected to see. Disappointment. He had never been the model Starfleet officer, so he had seen that look before from many others over the past ten years. It was a kind of sadness, twined with either sympathy, empathy, or disgust. Sometimes all of the above. Yet never before had he seen it reflected back at him from his own eyes. It did remind him of something though. No, not something. Someone…

~ sitting around a table in Quark's ~
~ the Bolian Gren, Sven Buttenhoff; his friends ~
~ spotting her across the bar ~
~ the reporter, Warner ~
~ disappointment and hurt in her eyes ~
~ the dabo girl kissing him ~
~ breaking the kiss, looking for her in the crowd ~
~ she's gone ~
~ “What are you looking for?” ~
~ “Nothin' 'mportant,” he lied ~

She was why he had been at Quark's. He had arranged to meet her there. Had wanted to see if there was anything to what he had felt that day that seemed so long ago. That day in the ship's Gymnasium, before the mission. The day that had focused him on the path he had now stumbled off of. She had expected more of him. She had expected him not to falter, and he had let her down. Even though they barely knew each other, whatever existed between them was strong. Was something he had never experienced before. Could it be… was it somehow… love? How could it be, though? He barely knew her. But he barely knew what love was, either.

He had known sex, had known attraction.

Had he ever let himself know love, though?

He had to find out. Had to make things right. He may have faltered on his new path in life, but he would not let that be the end of it. Looking to the Republic once more, he knew where his future lay. And it was certainly not in the quarters of a dabo girl whose name he didn't even known. Stepping away from the window and towards the door with determination, he stopped abruptly in the door way at the sound of a voice choked by sleep, as his stranger lover called out to him.

“Wait,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper, “you don't have to go.”

Pausing to consider his words carefully, he turned to her and replied simply, “Yeah. I do.” He knew she deserved more than that, though. “This ain't who I am anymore.” he told her. Considering himself though, he amended, “At least, it ain't who I wanna be.”

As she looked at him, her expression neutral and unreadable, he prepared himself to launch into an explanatory speech. When she opened her mouth though, rather than reply, she simply yawned. “Whatever,” came her nonchalant reply, “look me up if you come back this way.” she tacked on, so like what he himself might have done not so long ago.

He didn't bother to tell her that he would not be doing so, nor did he offer his explanation of how their interlude had been a mistake. One of his own weakness. As he stepped into the poorly lit corridors of Deep Space 9, the single door sliding closed in his wake, he questioned those decisions. Wondered whether, perhaps, by offering his life as an example of how dark the road she was on could become, he might be able to help her somehow. Who was he to counsel another on mending their ways and straightening out their life, though?

Making his way through the unfamiliar passages that seemed to stretch on for eternity, he found himself experiencing another unfamiliar emotion as he approached a pair of fellow Starfleet officers. Embarrassed by his unkempt appearance, he at first kept his head down and his eyes trained upon the traction carpet beneath his feet, intending to pass them by without exchange. At least, he had hoped to do so, until he found he recognized the duo as their paths neared crossing. Captain Kira Nerys, commander of this station, and Lieutenant Ro Laren, station chief of security.

Though it increased his own remorse at his recent actions, he realized he could not simply pass them by without acknowledgment. Both officers where of note within the Federation, and even more so within Starfleet. Not only did their reputations precede them, but he himself respected them both more so than he did many of the rest of Starfleet's most noteworthy officers. Because like Voyager's executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Tom Paris, Captain Kira and Lieutenant Ro had both overcome their own reputations to achieve what they had. Something he aspired to, now. Not only that, but in the current climate of conspiracy within Starfleet courtesy of men like Vladimir Kostya, these two women where also allies.

Mustering up all the inner strength he had - which was less than abundant at the moment - he straightened his posture as he neared the two Bajorans, and offered a respectful and distinct nod at each woman, accompanied by what served as a respectful greeting from one officer to another, “Cap'n. Lieutenant.” he said simply as he passed. Though Ro did not recognize him, she nodded in return. Kira offered more, “Lieutenant Hawk.” she replied simply. He was at once both pleased and dismayed that Kira knew him. She of course would know him to a degree, considering her level 10 access to such things as the 'Republic 8' hearing files.

As he came upon the Republic's berth and stepped through the alien design of the airlock, passing the cog-shaped burgundy pressure doors that remained withdrawn into the bulkhead, he wondered of he would have the opportunity to make a better impression on Kira. Such an abnormal thought caused him to stop just within the confines of the Galaxy-class vessel and shake his head quickly, as if casting off the thought. It was one thing to sober up, yet another to earn the respect of those he served with. Being overly concerned with what impressions he made upon superiors though, that was still one step still to far for him.

Returning to his previous stride, he set a mental course through the corridors for his quarters. He didn't even know what time it was aboard ship or if he had missed his duty shift, but he intended to clean himself up and fix that, too, if it be the case. Halting at a set of turbolift doors, he pressed the call button and wondered to himself how he might approach Warner. His thoughts where cut short though by the low wail of an alarm klaxon sounding three times, followed by an unfamiliar voice over the intra-ship comm.

“Security alert, all hands, general quarters.”

As his lift arrived and a trio of enlisted personnel emerged and hurried off down the corridor, he stepped inside, called out his destination of the bridge, and tapped his communicator, eliciting it's familiar chirp. “Hawk ta bridge, report.” he stated quickly, grateful for his new position as second officer, and as such, the ability to use such short hand with even the Captain instead of having to request information.

“Beauvais here,” came the reply, “Counselor Tolkath has been attacked, we don't know by whom or why. He's in Sickbay. We may have an intruder aboard. I'm afraid that's all the Captain relayed, sir.”

Pressing and holding down his communicator to mute the channel without closing it, he quickly prompted the computer, “Locate C'mander Carter.”

“Commander Carter is en-route to the main bridge.” reported the synthetic voice of the Republic without hesitation.

“Computer, change destination ta Sickbay.” he ordered before releasing his hold on the communicator and addressing Beauvais once more as the lift altered it's route. “Inform C'mander Carter when he gets there that I'm headin' ta sickbay.” he told her.

“Understood.” acknowledged Beauvais, who obviously had her hands full deploying security teams and ensuring no one left the Republic.

As his lift descended towards deck twelve, he reflected on his gut reaction to the security alert - that it was something to do with him. Ever since Hranok/Evok's disclosure on Sigma Omicron of his true status as a hired-by-force assassin for the Orion Syndicate, his regard towards his own security had gone up ten fold. It had cost him every last favor, every last iota of tolerance and slack cut to him by Starfleet Intelligence to remain aboard the Republic in the aftermath of such. A concession the division only made on a number of exacting terms, one of which included the Republic's assumption of another vessels exploratory mission into the Gamma Quadrant. A mission the ship and crew where soon to undertake.

With all of this in mind, and with Tolkath's genetically provided gifts for insight, empathy, and telepathy, he felt increasingly sure his instinct was indeed the only logical explanation to such an assault. This had to be connected to him, nothing else fit. Tolkath was one of the few people aboard that anyone intending harm to him would have to disable before making such an attempt, even if that did show their hand prematurely and remove the element of surprise from the equation. The harder one tried to conceal themselves from a telepath, the more aware a telepath became of such a presence, it seemed.

He did not wait for the doors to retreat as the turbolift car slowed and stopped, instead angling his body through them as they opened. Charging through the halls of the Republic, he was upon Sickbay in an instant, surging through those doors as well. In his haste, he almost surged directly into Captain Roth, hardly able to stop himself before colliding with his commanding officer. Though startled, she was not at all surprised to see him. She had expected as such the moment she had received the call from sickbay concerning Tolkath; earlier than that even, since her conversation with Tolkath before his assault.

She saw the concern in her Helmsman's blood-shot eyes, knew his thoughts and hers ran parallel.

“He'll be alright,” she told him.

Looking past the captain, to the still form of the Republic's counselor, he could feel himself beginning to boil within. This was his fault. He had stayed here, aboard the Republic because of his own selfish desires. Now it was beginning to cost those her served closest with, as the ever vigilant, unforgiving, dark hand of the Orion Syndicate made itself known. “This s'my fault,” he said softly his eyes still on Tolkath. Turning to his Captain, he added, “I shouldn't've stayed here.”

Roth's response was immediate and purposeful, though caring in tone. “If I believed for a minute that you're presence aboard this ship put anyone else at risk, you wouldn't be here, Lieutenant. Part of this ships continuing mission is to protect those in need, whether those people are strangers or our very own.” Placing her hand on his arm, she went on. “That mission puts us all at risk sometimes… yourself included.”

Though he could not believe his captain's words, he forced himself to nod and appear as if he did. If for no other reason than to avoid a debate that would accomplish nothing at this juncture. Stepping away from his commander, he turned his attention to Doctor Leon Cromwell. He could read the concern in his friend's eyes, concern not for the out-of-risk Tolkath, but for him. He wondered how much the doctor knew of his exploits of the night before. At the moment though, it didn't matter. He needed to know what happened. Needed to do something about it.

“What happened?” he asked of Leon.

“Blunt force trauma,” Cromwell responded thoughtfully, a graphic of the Vulcan-Human-Betazoid's cranium replacing the life-sign readout on the console above the bio-bed. Rotating, it focused in on the occipital lobe and the cerebellum, highlighting an area laced with fracture patterns. The decisive blow had accomplished what had been intended, no more and no less. Though momentarily perplexed at why Tolkath had not been killed, he quickly picked up on the message that had been meant for him via the counselor's injury.

“This wasn't just 'bout incapacitatin' Tolkath.” he revealed, drawing Roth over to the bio-bed and focusing both her own and Leon's attention upon himself.

“How can you be sure?” Roth questioned as she stepped up behind him and considered Tolkath's docile form. Outwardly, he revealed nothing of the violence that had befallen him, nor the violent struggle that he likely fought within himself on a regular basis.

“B'Cause if it was just 'bout removin' Tolkath as a threat, he'd be dead.” Continuing, he pointed to the fracture patterns on the hybrid's skull as he explained. “This was a decisive attack, meant ta let me know it was decisive. Ta let me know they didn't wanna take me out the easy n'sloppy way, like blowin' up the ship. They tried that with Evok's back-up plan, it didn't work. This time, they're lookin' for surgical precision. A message ta the Federation, n'everybody else, that their wrath can be blunt n'bloody, or sharp n'swift.”

As Roth and Cromwell absorbed what he had told them, his own explanation lead him to another realization. A realization that inspired him and provided both the Republic and he himself an opportunity to turn the tables. “Whoever did this, they're still 'board ship.”

Both Roth and Cromwell's eyes widened with alarm, though it was the captain who asked, “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” he answered, turning to Roth. “They ain't gonna leave this up ta fate 'er technology. They're desperate, but they want more n'just a dead witness. They want a message and a trophy. Which is where they got stupid.” he rationalized. Without either officer having to ask the question, Hawk filled in the blank for them. “They don't know 'bout us goin' ta the Gamma Quadrant.”

Though at first both of his colleagues looked perplexed, not quite following is logic, it quickly dawned upon both of them what he was saying.

“They think this is just a layover,” Roth surmised, “and that their assassin has the perfect escape route in Deep Space 9, because we'll delay departure in order to investigate.”

“Which is why we gotta go, now, b'fore whoever the hell hit Tolkath, whoever's after me, finds out we're going 'cross the galaxy n'realizes they only way back s'through one big ole bottle neck.” Hawk concluded, his unwavering gaze upon Roth, propelling her into action.

“Roth to bridge,” she commanded as she pressed her communicator, “Commander Carter, are all personnel and equipment aboard in preparation for our mission?” she queried.

“Yes ma'am.” came Carter's confused voice in response.

Looking to Hawk, then to Cromwell, and finally upon Tolkath, she made her decision. “Contact Deep Space Nine, request emergency departure clearance, priority one.” she commanded.

“Captain?” questioned Carter simply.

“Just do it, John. Once we've detached umbilical and sealed the airlocks, make sure we have everyone we should and no one we shouldn't, then take us through the wormhole, full impulse. I'll explain later.” she answered with assurance as looked at Hawk once more.

“Understood.” the First Officer acknowledged, though it was doubtful he actually did understand his captain's reasoning.

Once more placing her hand upon his shoulder, Roth supportively instructed her helmsman to get some rest, informing him she would be assigning a security detail disguised as a maintenance crew in the corridor outside his quarters. Though he had begun to protest, not wishing to put anyone else in harms way, she cut him off. “They aren't at risk, they're doing their jobs.” Nodding to Cromwell, she advised the physician she would be on the bridge before departing sickbay.

As he himself turned to leave, Cromwell asked the question that had been on his mind and in his eyes since he had entered Sickbay a few minutes ago. “Are you alright?”

Taking a moment to consider his response, he turned to his friend, “No, I ain't,” he replied honestly, “but I will be.” Accepting this response, Cromwell nodded and repeated the captain's advisory to get some rest before turning his attention to a passing nurse and questioning her concerning sickbay business.

Though he made his way to his quarters, he did so not because he had been instructed to, but because he knew he needed to. His intent had been to recycle his uniform and partake of a sonic shower. As he stood just inside his cabin doors though, he found himself irresolute. He could not help but feel responsible for what had befallen Tolkath. Pondering his accountability, his thoughts dove further into darkness. How many other lives had been placed in danger because of his simple presence? Everyone aboard the Republic, all those on the Sigma Omicron terra-forming station… how many more people would be at risk because of him? How many more people would be hurt?

The image of Jess Warner's face from the bar, disappointed and hurt, came to him once more. He was even more unsure now what to do about her. He knew what he felt - or at least, thought he knew what he felt. Was it fair, though, to put her at risk so he could explore and express those feelings? To find out if she felt the same? Even if she did, that would only put her at an even greater risk of being hurt. Could he take that chance? Could he deal with it if he didn't? Agitated and upset, he paced back and forth across the room as he struggled with everything that had happened, that would yet happen, that he was responsible for…

Passing by the open doorway to the sonic shower, he caught sight of his reflection once again. More disheveled than he had been before, now bearing the added burden of an even graver reality than his own failings, he stepped over to the mirror slowly. Standing before it, he closed his eyes, wishing against logic than the reflection would be gone when he opened them. It remained though, as he knew it would. Wanting to change it, to be rid of it, to escape himself, he pushed his hands beneath the faucet in the sink below the mirror, letting the cool water stream through his fingers.

Cupping his hands, he filled them with water and leaned over, splashing it upon his face. Keeping his hands over his face, the water running down his face and neck, he stood upright once more, hoping once again that when he looked upon himself, he would not see what had had. Lowering his hands, he opened his eyes slowly, and stared at his likeness, unchanged. Overwhelmed, he lashed out, his right hand becoming a fist as it rushed forward and slammed into the glass, fracturing the mirror in a spider-web pattern. Even so, his image - distorted as it was - remained.

Flexing his hand, feeling the pain, watching the blood ooze forth from a dozen tiny cuts, he focused on the pain. It had been the one constant in his life, the one thing always real, the one thing he could count on to remind himself that this wasn't just a bad dream. Looking at the broken mirror once again, the blood that had been left upon it streaking down across it's surface, he still didn't know what to do about anything. Opening the drawers beneath the sink, he rummaged through the contents for a towel to wrap around his wounded hand, wishing he could do something about the wounds deep within.

Locating the shimmering cloth, he withdrew it and began to wrap it around his hand. When he moved to close the drawer though, something within it caught his eye. A faded holo-image. A family portrait. Taken nearly eighteen years ago. In a way, it was all he had left of them. The only real proof he even had of their existence. He hadn't seen it since he had come aboard more than six months ago. He tried never to look at it, tried never to remember his life before. In only made things worse, only made the pain more real. Looking at it now though, it helped him to realize that no matter what he did, he couldn't change how he felt.

Picking the image up, he turned away from the mirror, and moved back through the cabin door to the corridor. Though he spotted the security officers posed as a maintenance crew as the captain had promised, he paid them no attention. Moving through the corridors swiftly, he came to another set of cabin doors. Hers.

Pressing the request button, he waited for what felt like an eternity until she answered. Though surprised to see him, and still hurt by the events of the last day, she asks him in. Noticing his hand, she starts to ask what happened, but stops herself. Retrieving a med-kit from the desk drawer, she takes his hand and unwraps the towel-bandage without a word between them. For a moment, their eyes meet, but she pushes the moment aside, returning her attention to his hand. He breaks the silence between them.

“I wanna tell you my story,” he tells her, “not you as a reporter, just… you as you.” he explains, as she looks up at him, unsure if she can risk trusting him. Holding out his other, uninjured hand, he offers her the faded holo-image. Though she doesn't know what it means exactly, she understands it's significance, and agrees to listen.

It wasn't easy for him. It never was. In the whole of his life, he had only told this story - his story - three times. More often, anyone who needed to know the bulk of his life story could gain that knowledge through reading a classified Starfleet file. Rarely had he told the tragic tale himself, complete and full, with all the sorted details. Even those details which not even Starfleet knew. Or if they did, had sanitized for their official reports.

Somehow though, this time felt different. It still wasn't any easier for him to voice the truth than it had ever been. As he told Leah Warner his story, not in her capacity as a reporter, but in her capacity as… whatever else she might be to him - they might be to each other - something was different. Somehow, it felt right.

He had started from the very beginning as the Republic ebbed and flowed through the neutrino streams of the Bajoran wormhole at half impulse. He had paused to admire the breathtaking scene, as had Warner. It had long been a desire of his to navigate the portal that united two quadrants. He took solace in the fact he would have the opportunity again though.

Some things where more important, he realized. As the Galaxy-Class vessel had begun it's voyage through the Idran system at full impulse, seventy-thousand light years from where they had been only moments before, he had made the first revelation that many found shocking. That of the risk Starfleet Intelligence was willing to place innocent children into, once upon a time.

He knew she had many questions. It was a part of her, of who she was. Yet she didn't ask them. She simply listened, trying to keep her expression impassive. He had been surprised at how quickly the hurt hidden behind her eyes had vanished. Vaporized by his honesty, by his regret, by her own empathy. All of which he knew she could sense from him, not just through her genetic heritage, but through whatever strange bond they shared.

Looking at the faded holo-image she held with delicate grace, he spoke of those he so rarely did. Those whom he had, at times, refused to even acknowledged existed. Hoping that with his stubborn refusal, he could somehow refuse the pain of their loss. Though her eyes where fixated upon the image in her hands, he knew she was truly seeing him, as if for the first time.

Through the ten-year-old boy he had been, she could see through time to the man he was for the first time. Having even the first few pieces of the puzzle that was his existence helped her to make sense of so much more. Pressing on, he told her of that day. February 27, 2362. Two weeks after his tenth birthday, and the day that would determine the course of the rest of his life. One way or the other…

---

Chapter 7: Surprise PassengerTop

Location: Main bridge, USS Republic

As the doors to the bridge's port-aft turbolift slid open, Captain Roth, with her companion Smoke silently perched on her shoulder, walked onto the busy command center.

“Captain on the bridge,” announced Chief Rainier at the rear science station. The rest of the staff turned to look at her before returning to their duties. All that is, except for Commander Carter. The executive officer remained standing after removing himself from the command chair, and as the captain walked past tactical into the center pit, he addressed her.

“All sections have reported in,” John informed the captain. “Hatches were sealed and moorings cleared less than thirty seconds after you gave the order. All personnel still left on the station were beamed aboard. No one else has left the ship.”

“Excellent,” Roth replied before glancing at the viewscreen. Deep Space Nine was slowly diminishing in size among the backdrop of stars as Republic pulled away. “Whoever attacked our counselor is probably stymied at the moment. Any additional unlucky passengers that got trapped?”

“A few,” said John with a smile. “Mostly friends and family of the crew, but a few VIP's. Most of the really displeased ones have already checked in, and we informed them to settle down until we get this straightened out.”

“VIP's?” queried the captain. “Who?”

“Maybe you'd better talk to Captain Kira about that,” John instructed her with amusement. “She's waiting on a secure channel in your ready room.”

A smile crept across Kim's face as she and John realized that the prospect of a raving ambassador or two will make their next mission most interesting.

“Very well,” the captain said while stepping towards her office. “As soon as I'm done talking with her, set course through the wormhole. Heading 051 mark 6, warp 4. Assemble the senior staff in the observation lounge in one hour for a mission briefing.”

“Acknowledged.”


Location: Captain's ready room, main bridge, USS Republic

There was little protest from the small marsupial as Kim walked to the wall-mounted terrarium and unlatched the round, transparent-aluminum front door. “In you go,” she remarked, extending her arm and allowing Smoke to crawl into his abode. After sniffing around on the open gravel, Smoke slipped under the tropical brush and settled upon a small log to preen himself.

As the captain closed the cage, she sat down at her desk, pivoted the computer screen towards her, and pressed the flashing “COMM HOLD” button. In the blink of an eye, the blank, black monitor switched to the Bajoran face of Captain Kira Nerys. Like Commander Carter, she wore an amused expression on her face.

“Sorry for the quick departure, Captain,” Roth apologized. She still was getting used to seeing the former Bajoran resistance operative in a Starfleet uniform.

“It's your call, Kim. I only wish you would have let Lieutenant Ro do some investigating first.”

“You and I both know that Hawk's situation deals with some of the most unscrupulous people imaginable. If we didn't act quickly and unpredictably, my counselor's attacker would have had a better chance of getting away.”

“They still might've escaped, you know.”

“All the more reason to have Ro stay on the station,” Kim smiled back. “Besides, Lieutenant Beauvais has her work cut out for her here, and having another security chief around here would only make things more complicated.”

“I suppose. But come home in one piece, will you? We've gotten used to having a second starship around here, and the Defiant will get lonely.”

Kim was touched by the family-like remark. “Don't worry we'll be fine. Besides, we've got some unwilling passengers aboard that want to get back as soon as possible.”

“Some of them aren't all that unwilling.”

Kira's grin became a little more pronounced, causing Kim to raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, since you won't let me send Ro along with you, I've let one of my staff stay aboard. He might be able to help in a pinch.”

“What do you mean?” Roth inquired. “Who?”


Location: Exam room two, main sickbay, USS Republic

Counselor Tolkath remained immobile and unconscious on the diagnostic table as Doctor Cromwell remained deep in thought regarding the readings on the large wall-mounted viewscreen. Reittan's wound was precise and damaging, and if he had not been found in time, may have been deadly. So engrossed in treatment options was Leon that he did not turn around immediately when the doors to the room opened and closed.

“Doctor Cromwell?” came a smooth, familiar British accent. As Leon turned around, he saw the smooth-shaven face of Doctor Julian Bashir looking at him from the doorway. With a frown, Republic's CMO walked to a nearby computer terminal and pressed a button.

“Computer,” he grumbled. “Deactivate EMH.”

“The Emergency Medical Hologram is not active.”

“Damn engineers,” Leon muttered. “Run level three diagnostic on the EMH sub-processors. We've got another glitch in the system.”

“I assure you doctor, I . . .” Bashir's sentence was cut off by the computer's voice.

“Diagnostic complete. All systems normal.”

“What the . . .” Leon stood surprised for a moment.

“Sorry,” Julian interjected. “It's the real thing this time.”

Embarrassed, Leon's eyes grew wide as he addressed the newcomer. “Doctor Bashir?” he asked with trepidation.

“Good to finally meet you, doctor,” Julian walked forward to grasp Leon's hand in greeting. “Sorry I didn't come to see you sooner but I've . . .”

“Yes,” Leon interrupted. “Been on a mission in the Gamma Quadrant for the past three weeks. Captain Kira told me.”

“We were performing one of many relief missions to the Teplan Homeworld,” Julian explained. “The planet is recovering from a genetic plague inflicted by the Jem H'dar many years ago. As soon as I got back and heard the Republic was in port, I made my way here. Unfortunately, it looks like I'm stuck here for a little while.”

“I'm sure we can make arrangements to get you back to DS9,” Leon offered. “Our security department will probably not list you as a suspect for our counselor's attacker.”

“Not necessary,” Doctor Bashir returned. “Captain Kira actually ordered me to stay. She said I could use a little down time after my mission, and that the Republic was a perfect place to get away.”

“Let me get this straight,” asked Leon with confusion. “You come back from a three-week mission in the Gamma Quadrant, and your captain sends you right back out again? What kind of vacation is that?”

“Well, Republic IS a Galaxy Class starship, isn't she? Your recreation facilities are a cut above Quark's holosuites. Besides, I think Kira's orders had an ulterior motive.” Julian finished his sentence by looking at the unconscious form of Reittan on the diagnostic table.

“Yes,” Leon replied. “It seems we have a mystery attacker on our hands at them moment, and Captain Roth wants to make sure the fish doesn't get away.” Looking back to Bashir, he continued. “But why you? Why not someone from station security? No offense, doctor, but . . .”

“Please,” Bashir interrupted. “Call me Julian.”

The thought of calling one of Starfleet's most renown doctors by his first name was completely alien to Leon, especially since he just mistook him for the ship's EMH. However, Doctor Bashir had a certain charisma surrounding him that Leon could appreciate, and the fact that Julian accepted him as a respected colleague was a compliment in and of itself.

“I think Kira's motive was to offer someone with outside experience in Black Ops matters.” Turning his eyes from the unconscious counselor back to Leon. “Section 31 may be involved here.”

“We used to have an intelligence officer aboard,” Leon replied. “But Commander Forrest kept being recalled to other missions whenever we needed him the most.”

“Hence my presence here,” Julian iterated. “Who would suspect a visiting medical officer as a counter-intelligence advisor?”

“I guess I see your point,” Leon finished. He turned his attention back to the biobed. “The counselor's injury is healed, and I was finishing a diagnostic scan of his paracortex. I was about to wake him.”

“Please do,” Doctor Bashir replied.

---

Location: Observation lounge, main bridge, USS Republic

For a senior staff briefing, the conference table was unusually vacant. Normally, all departments would be represented, especially with an upcoming mission of which the crew remained uninformed. Yet, the expedited departure caught everyone by surprise, and to go from a light duty schedule to active duty within 60 minutes was not long enough for personnel to adjust their shifts. So, with Republic scrambling to resume normal operations, only five officers took a seat at the senior staff meeting.

Captain Roth, her dark blond hair tied up in a bun, propped her elbows up on the counter and interlaced her fingers. To her left, Commander Carter sat back in his chair, stroking his clean-shaven chin while staring out the viewport at the streaked starlines of warped space. Both were deep in thought, as Chief Rainier, the ship's senior non-commissioned officer, completed an oral report of the passenger manifest obtained during the hasty departure from Deep Space Nine.

On the other side of the table, two female lieutenants in operations gold sat quietly but attentively as they listened to the Chief-of-the-Boat. One of the lieutenants was none other that the tall, blond tactical officer, Lieutenant Zoe Beauvais, while the other was Republic's temporary new operations chief, Lieutenant Reia.

“So,” Chief Rainier concluded. “As soon as we got Ambassador Keil settled in his quarters, he quieted down about how he was 'kidnapped' from the station during his short tour of the ship. Apparently, the thought of spending some time on a Galaxy Class starship was more appealing when he saw how well stocked the food replicator was. As far as Crewman Swanson's family, they were very excited to be staying aboard, and we set them up in a family VIP suite. Unfortunately, the crewman's younger sister will miss out on a week of school, but we'll see if she can attend the ship's elementary class if our mission is extended. Overall, the Republic is hosting 37 unexpected guests, and Yeoman Sheffield has issued them all combadges and explained our emergency procedures to them in detail.”

“Glad to hear we didn't stir up too much trouble, chief,” Captain Roth replied to Brad Rainier's report. Turning to John Carter, she asked, “have all the crew reported in, Number One?”

“All Starfleet hands present and accounted for, captain,” the commander replied. “All except for our chief engineer. Commander Burke was sent back to Earth during our time in port, and I've temporarily assigned Lieutenant Pakita to the post. We never got our request fulfilled for a new chief science officer, so I've temporarily reassigned Lieutenant Butenhoff from engineering to keep a rein on all our new civilian scientists. I'm sure they'll work fine on their own, but I wanted an officer looking over their shoulder as a liaison to the chain of command. Especially with Counselor Tolkath out,” Turning his one functioning eye towards his captain, John continued. “But, it would help them if I could give them something to do, ma'am.”

“Right,” Kim Roth started authoritatively. “Officially, we've been ordered to map and catalog a previously uncharted nebula in sector 172 in the Gamma Quadrant. Those are the orders you will post to the crew. As for our unofficial orders,” Roth turned her eyes towards Lieutenant Beauvais, “we've got a mystery attacker to capture. My understanding is, lieutenant, that DS9 security sweeps showed no one leaving the ship via the gangway from between the time of the counselor's attack to the time of our departure. Since the transporters were not used except to beam people TO the ship after we left, and that none of the shuttlebay doors have opened a single time during the past seven days, we can assume that our attacker is still onboard and somehow avoiding our internal scans. Therefore, we need YOU to diligently, yet unobtrusively, find our intruder without letting them know we're onto them. Check every nook and cranny of this vessel. Hopefully, he or she will try to use the presumed lack of security measures to try an escape, leaving us with an opportunity to catch them. According to Doctor Cromwell's prognosis of the counselor's injuries, there could be more than one perpetrator aboard, so be extra watchful lieutenant.”

“I'm on it, captain,” Beauvais replied.

“Very well,” Roth replied to the security chief. “Keep myself and Commander Carter informed of your progress, and don't hesitate to sound the alarm if you find that our intruder is in a panic and putting more of our people at risk.”

The captain turned to the newcomer to the crew, Lieutenant Reia.

“Lieutenant, since you're a new face around here, I'll give you some time to get used to your position. Starfleet has sent us a nice handful of fresh junior officers for operations, but unfortunately, they're all inexperienced ensigns. That leaves only you and Lieutenant Junior-Grade Klaus as the senior officers in the operations department. However, your enlisted people are veterans, and have been through quite a bit with this ship, and you could do worse than to spend some time learning the ropes from them. Besides, the loss of Ensign Kuga has upset several of them, and they could use a morale boost from you. I doubt you'll find Lieutenant Klaus capable of such a task, so it'll be up to you.”

“I'll do my best, captain,” Reia replied nervously.

“Good,” the captain replied. Looking at the few faces around the table, Kim adjourned the meeting. “If that's all, you each have your assignments, and I expect you to be extra-diligent with an intruder aboard. Remember: We are hosts to civilians and children, and as much as I'd like to sound general quarters to alert everyone, the move could agitate our perpetrator into doing something more heinous than injuring our counselor. Dismissed.”

As everyone stood up and headed for the door, Commander Carter touched Kim on her shoulder.

“Could I talk to you for a moment, Captain?”

“Sure, John,” Roth replied, and the two officers stood until the last person left the room. “What's on your mind?”

“I don't like the idea of not sounding general quarters,” Carter explained. “Like you said, we've got children aboard. In my opinion, we should have beamed every civie off this vessel before leaving port.”

“You disagree with Starfleet hosting families aboard starships?”

“Yes, but that's not the point here, captain,” John explained, scratching the area of his face next to his eye-patch, indicating his frustration. “We've got a criminal on the loose, and by not sounding the alarm and sending all non-essential personnel to their quarters, you're taking a big risk.”

Kim nodded her head in agreement. “I understand your apprehension, John. Your service to this ship as tactical officer in the past has been commendable. And for what it's worth, I agree with you. But, I've weighed the options, and it comes down to this: We're dealing with VERY intelligent individuals who are after our friend, Mister Hawk. If our attacker is linked to the Syndicate, then I'm not even sure they're still onboard. If they ARE onboard, then tipping them off that we're aware of them makes them even more dangerous, as they'll stop at nothing to achieve their goal of escaping. If they think that we're not aware of them, then they'll be a little more careful, working to not sound the intruder alert, thus making us all a bit safer.”

“Let me get this straight,” John interjected. “You're trusting a possible Syndicate assassin to NOT hurt people?”

“It's how they work, John. In the shadows. Moving unseen. If they're given the option to stay out of the spotlight, they'll take it.”

“And what if we give them too much room?” John pointed out. “What if they succeed in their mission?”

“I'm not saying that there aren't risks here, Number One,” Roth became slightly more formal. “We knew that keeping Nathan Hawk aboard could come back and haunt us. If this attacker is linked to the Syndicate, and they're after him, we need to use unconventional means to capture them. They're expecting us to sound the intruder alert. By not doing so, we've stymied them. They don't know whether to try a quiet escape after attacking the counselor, or to try and fulfill their mission and continue hunting Hawk.”

“And if our intruder ISN'T a Syndicate operative?”

“If they're not linked to the Syndicate,” Roth continued. “Then I'm confident in Lieutenant Beauvais's ability to capture them without incident.”

“For the record,” John explained. “I want you to know I disagree with your decision in this matter, captain.”

“Noted,” Kim nodded her head. “To help put you at ease, commander, I'll compromise. If Lieutenant Beauvais detects an intruder aboard, then we'll find someway to get non-essential personnel to stay in their quarters. We can vein an ion storm, perhaps. Make it seem like a natural precaution to normal operations.”

“Thank you, captain.”

---

Back on the bridge, Lieutenant Beauvais was at the tactical station, reviewing the latest sensors readings. As soon as the captain and Commander Carter emerged from the observation lounge, Zoe turned to address Roth. “Captain, I'm picking up a debris field off the starboard side about 600 kilometers out.”

“Analysis Lieutenant?” inquired Roth as she took her seat in the command pit.

“The field appears to be a wreckage of an unknown vessel made of duranium and tritanium materials. The same standard hull composition of Federation ships.”

“Then it couldn't be a Dominion or Bajoran vessel?” asked Carter.

“The wreckage suggests that the vessel was much larger than a Sovereign Class” Beauvais continued her analysis. “I'm picking up what might be an escape pod in the debris.”

“Life signs?” asked Roth.

“Possible, sir … but I'm having trouble getting a reading due to interference from the wreckage.”

“Hawk, move us into transporter range of the object,” ordered Roth

“You plan on beaming it aboard Captain?” Carter questioned.

“Yes,” she stated clearly. “So far, it's our only clue as to what this ship was …”

---

Chapter 8: Workings of the MindTop

The Counselor sat back in his chair looking over the personnel files that he and the XO would soon be going over for their quarterly performance evaluation. The PADD rested on the chest of the counselor as he scanned the information being displayed. He was rather casual today, leaning back in his comfortable chair, and enjoying the ambient lighting mode of the room. This room was a sanctuary from some of the default brighter lit room settings on the ship. The softer lighting also helped those who were in a more anxious state to be able to calm down.

His only appointment for today had cancelled at the last minute; something about a forgotten birthday. So, the Counselor decided to get a head start in the finalization of crew assessments. Tolkath had conducted some of these evaluations personally, but most had been reported through a network of people in the psychology department and department heads. The Counselor was engrossed in names and reviews with his back to the door, when a sound signaled the arrival of a guest.

Half lost in the stories and psychological write ups of people, he answered, “Enter.”

As the doors slid closed behind the guest, Reittan sensed something wrong. The din of emotion and thought that emanated from the Starfleet Officers surrounding Tolkath had blanketed the intruder's intents. Now, his senses sharpened, the Counselor felt a life-form devoid of feeling, someone cold and calculated. A person trained to counter the intuition of empathic abilities.

The intruder lunged towards the Counselor, knocking him out of his chair and on to the ground beside his PADD. Reittan's eyes caught sight of some kind of hypospray and knew he had to get it out of the assailant's grasp. The two continued wrestling on the floor, jockeying for position. Finally the better trained assassin had Tolkath pinned with his face to the ground and his hands behind his back.

The intruder reached for the hypospray, when suddenly the assassin's body exploded with pain. But, it wasn't just pain. It was every emotion that the body could sense all at once. Every sensory neuron in the predator's body fired and re-fired as soon as the nerves could recover from the initial discharge. Unprepared for the emotional onslaught, the intruder's body writhed in pain and the assailant fell to the ground.

Reittan, upon realizing his helplessness, and knowing that nothing pleasant was hidden with in the hypospray, felt desperate, trapped. What happened next was an almost unconscious response. The Counselor began to concentrate, using his psionic energy as a defensive weapon against his attacker. It had worked effectively to begin with, but soon the attacker became accustomed to the empathic onslaught.

After getting out from under the Counselor sensed that the assailant was going to kill the Lieutenant Commander or die trying. Knowing he was out classed in hand to hand combat and realizing the attacker had gotten hold of the hypospray and was making his second wave of attack, Reittan realized what he had to do; this person had to be stopped or he would kill the Counselor.

Reittan dodged a swipe from the attacker, and he pressed in to the attacker's deeper, more painful, morbid thoughts; making the attacker relive them over and over again. Tolkath in order to make the attack more intense placed his right hand on the intruder's head and soon had the predator incapacitated. He was restrained, and if that didn't work he was in a position where the Vulcan death grip could easily be applied.

The Lieutenant Commander began to release the assailant from the psionic defensive attack when he heard the familiar hissing of the doors announcing another visitor. Assuming security had been called Tolkath was about to greet them when he felt a sudden feeling of shock and betrayal emanate from both the original intruder and the new visitor. They were surprised to see each other and upset that the other had been sent there; showing a lack of confidence in their work.

Reittan, distracted by his channeling psychic energy, towards his attacker, suddenly realized the same cold feeling radiating from the new guest. The original assailant suddenly vaporized in front of Reittan's eyes.

Knowing his life was in danger, he swung the psionic shield around to the new enemy. The mental strain caused the Counselor to start to sweat and had drained him of his energy. The Lieutenant Commander knew if he were to let go now, despite his exhaustion, he would die. As Tolkath reached into all the reserves of energy he had, he turned to face his new opponent. Scarcely had he began to turn when he felt a searing pain shoot across his head and all went black.

---

Reittan lay unconscious in sickbay, the scenario replaying over and over in his mind as if on auto play. The two Doctors, looking over Tolkath's bio-scans, prepared to wake the ship's counselor up.

“I don't understand,” Leon mumbled with bafflement. “All bio-readouts are in the green . . . his injuries are healed . . . he should be talking up a storm.”

Doctor Cromwell and Doctor Bashir stood around the diagnostic table with their arms crossed, observing the unconscious form of Counselor Tolkath with puzzled eyes. Although the injuries to the officer were severe, with blunt trauma to the head from multiple blows, the work to repair Reittan's physical wounds was complete. However, despite numerous attempts to revive him, the counselor remained motionless and did not stir.

“The only time I've seen cases like this,” Julian reminisced. “Was either influence by external telepathic forces, or through the patient's own mental defenses.”

“What?” Leon inquired. “Are you saying this is the result the subconscious attempting to protect the conscious mind from the horrors of the attack?”

“Possibly,” Julian replied. “But we won't know until we give him time to rouse on his own.”

“How long, do you think?”

“Days,” the Australian doctor from DS 9 shrugged his shoulders. “Weeks. Maybe months. It's hard to say.”

Leon shook his head. “No, the counselor is stronger than that. During a counseling session with me, he peered into my mind and saw many horrors from the Dominion War. I can't envision anything so traumatic that it would push Reittan's subconscious into short-circuiting his higher functions.”

“Then it has to be telepathic,” Julian concluded. “Someone or something is actively keeping him asleep.”

“But we have no other telepaths onboard,” remarked Doctor Cromwell. “The counselor here was the only one.”

“Then maybe his attacker *IS* still on board.”

The two physicians looked at one another, reviewing the possibility. After a moment, Leon shook his head again.

“If they are, then why simply keep him unconscious? Why not just kill him telepathically?”

“Maybe he or she doesn't have the ability.”

“No, that doesn't make sense either,” Leon explained. “If they have the ability to render unconscious, but not kill, then they would have used that power to escape by now.”

“I don't understand,” Julian admitted.

“It's like the Vulcan nerve pinch. The attacker knows that they can't physically overcome everyone on this ship, but if they could telepathically put someone asleep, they would have found a way to steal a shuttle by now.

Leon returned to watching the counselor's unconscious form.

“Maybe,” Julian suggested. “If we're dealing with telepathy, either with the attacker or the counselor here, we should consult a telepath?”

Leon and Julian looked at one another in thought once more before slowly arriving at the same conclusion.


Location: Chief Medical Officer's office, deck 12, main sickbay, USS Republic

“Doctor Cromwell, I'm not sure you're going about your diagnosis in the correct manner.”

A smooth, feminine British voice spoke to Leon as he sat behind his desk. As the doctor conversed with the small black computer screen, Julian Bashir paced around the office.

“I don't understand,” Leon replied in frustration. “Are you telling me this has nothing to do with a possible telepathic attacker?”

“Exactly. There are depths to the mind of an empath that medical science is only beginning to explore. You're approaching the problem as if Reittan was a member of a single telepathic species. He's not. Like me, his ancestry is a mix of different species. In his case, more than two.”

Julian stopped his pacing, and turned towards Leon with an expression of conviction.

“She's right,” he concluded. “We're ignoring the Vulcan aspect to the counselor's physiology.”

“Commander Troi,” Leon continued. “Could Counselor Tolkath's Vulcan ancestry be impacting his state? I mean, is there a possibility that his active telepathic traits are interfering with his Betazoid empathic abilities?”

“It's not an interference, per se. It's more of a hybrid between empathy and telepathy, where disciplined conscious control of his Vulcan traits are intimately intertwined with his natural Betazoid skills, and they're working in concert to protect his comparatively fragile human mental psyche. It might be best termed as psionic shielding. What appears to be an unconscious state to you is most likely an active defense mechanism carefully developed over the years to prevent a catastrophic backlash from extreme usage of his Vulcan/Betazoid telepathic/empathic abilities.”

“Are you saying that our counselor put his . . . unique . . . mental powers on overload to stop the attacker?”

“Yes, and by doing so, he has been forced to protect the multi-faceted human side of his mind from the enormous psychic energies he must have channeled to fend off his assailant.”

“Well, that's great,” Leon replied gruffly. “But how do we get our counselor back?”

“For the most part, it's up to Reittan. He has to find his own way out of the mental cocoon he's wrapped himself up in. However, you might be able to help by encouraging him to lower his defenses.”

“With all due respect commander, if he can't perceive us, how are we supposed to communicate with him?”

“The only active part of his mind at the moment is the R-Complex: What psychologists call the combined structures of the Basal Ganglia and Thalamus. They compose the most basic instincts of the humanoid brain. The only way to stimulate Reittan's higher functions is through the R-Complex. What you'll have to do is find some sort of outside stimuli that communicates on a basic level. A mother's voice or a nursery rhyme, perhaps. Something that pierces the shield of his complex paracortex and encourages him to . . . well, relax.”

”. . . I see.“ It was clear that Leon was at a loss.

“You're a connoisseur of classical music, are you not, doctor?”

Leon looked up to stare at Julian with confusion. His questioning expression suggested he was searching for both professional support from a colleague and an answer they could agree on.

“I think we should give something a try,” Doctor Bashir offered. “It's all we have to go on, and it comes from an authority in the field.”

Leon nodded his head before returning to the image of Counselor Deanna Troi on the screen.

“Thanks for taking the time our to help us, commander,” Leon offered.

“You're quite welcome, doctor. Titan out.”

After a moment of silence, Leon folded his hands and realized them on the desk.

“So what do you think?” he asked the doctor from Deep Space Nine. “Bach or Beethoven?”

“We may want to start small,” Julian suggested. “Like Commander Troi said, something a baby could recognize.”

At that moment, the intercom came to life with Commander Carter's voice.

“Doctor, prepare a medical team to meet Lieutenant Merrick and Beauvais in cargo bay one for a possible injured life form.”

Leon immediately stood up and tapped his combadge.

“Aye sir,” he replied before turning back to Doctor Bashir. “A chief medical officer's work is never done.”

“Go ahead and take care of it,” Julian offered. “I can tend to the counselor.”

“Thanks.”

With that, Leon grabbed a medical kit and exited the sickbay while Doctor Bashir returned to exam room two. Before long, the medical officer from Deep Space Nine sat on a stool next to the unconscious Counselor Tolkath, trying to stay awake himself to simplified computer reproductions of “Rock-A-By-Baby” and “Twinkle-Twinkle-Little-Star.”

---

Chapter 9: Odd WreckageTop

Location: Corridor, deck 5, USS Republic

Scratching her neck, the operative made her way to the Science office. As soon as she entered, she saw someone sitting behind the Chief's desk – her desk. “Excuse me, can I help you?” he asked.

“Yes, I believe that you are sitting behind my desk, Lieutenant –?” she asked, even though she knew exactly who he was. After all, she had the entire crew memorized, but that was for her to know and no one else.

“Lieutenant Butenhoff, and you are?”

“Lieutenant Commander Cha'rik, Chief Science Officer.”

“I'm sorry, Ma'am, I didn't know that there was someone assigned here already,” he replied getting up from behind the desk rather quickly after her stoic glare that could tear a man in two.

She scoffed lightly and headed behind the desk and sat down. “It was rather last minute. I was assigned to Deep Space missions before this and was pulled in order to fill the position temporarily until someone more permanent could be found. Now I can tell by your uniform that you are not of this department.”

“That is correct,” he replied. “Engineering by default. I was assigned here to help out with the new scientists that are coming along on this mission for the exploration of the Gamma Quadrant, seeing that we hadn't heard of anyone having the position.”

“Yes, well, this will teach you and your superiors, never underestimate the face value and never ever assume. Assumptions can kill. I take it that these are the reports of the staff?” she asked fingering lightly between the different PADDs that were scattered across the desk.

He straightened his uniform and said, “Yes. They just arrived right before you came in.”

“Well, Lieutenant that will be all for now. If I need anything else, I will know where to find you. I would hope that your station in Engineering is a bit more organized than this desk,” she replied. Yes, it was a bit harsh but there were standards and with her work in Starfleet Intelligence, they were very high.

He stood at attention and left the room. Now, she could breathe a bit. Collecting the PADDs in one fell swoop, she put them in the replicator and pressed the button and she turned back to the office as they were dematerialized. It was definitely small, but that is okay. Taking a quick tour of the main lab, she new that this was going to be a bit more difficult then what she had originally thought. That was okay, she was up for the challenge. It still disgusted her deep down that she was here on a baby-sitting run, and not one to regain the glory of Starfleet Intelligence.

However she looked on the bright side of things, maybe this way she would be able to find out who was responsible for the deaths and missing persons throughout her section. Gathering the rest of the information that she needed to present to the Captain, she headed to the bridge to check in.

---

Location: Cargo bay one, deck 4, USS Republic

Lieutenant Reia Merrick, along with Lieutenant Beauvais and a security team, entered the cargo bay where the two meter-long damaged escape pod lay in the center of the floor. As Beauvais and her security team stayed close, Reia moved in to examine the pod for a console or hatch. As she did so, her eyes focused on an all too familiar logo.

“What is it?” asked Beauvais

Reia pointed to the delta-shaped icon.

Beauvais formed a similar expression to that of Reia, not believing her eyes. “This can't be from Starfleet…”

Reia opened the console pad next to the logo, and a miniature video screen displayed a familiar LCARS design. With a few taps on the console, a concealed hatch opened on the side of the pod, and a strange blue gel dribbled out onto the floor. Wide-eyed, Reia pulled out her tricorder to examine the substance.

“Why so much bio-neural gel in this capsule?” she thought outloud. Slowly peeking inside, the team sees a human figure, and both Reia and Beauvais reach in to pull out the young human female.

At about that time, Doctor Cromwell and his medical team enter the cargo bay. “What's the situation, lieutenant?” he inquired.

“You better see for yourself, doctor,” Reia replied, not sure how to translate her surprise into words.

Doctor Cromwell moved closer to his new patient, and as he did so, an expression of recognition and disbelief formed on his face. With a quick tap of his combadge, he summoned Captain Roth. “Captain, you'd better meet us in sickbay.”

“What's the problem, doctor?”

“Let's just say we found someone…”


Location: Deck 12, USS Republic

Transporting the escape pod occupant to sickbay became more of a practice in crowd control than that of an emergency medical procedure. As Doctor Cromwell led the way through the corridors, two medical technicians tending an anti-grav stretcher followed, and the unconscious patient drew stares and gasps from individuals who recognized the face. Although Starfleet personnel, who by way of training knew to keep their distance, civilians were less capable of restraining themselves.

“Naruko!” shouted one young sixteen year-old who caught sight of the patient. The young man was a fond acquaintance of Ensign Kuga shortly after her arrival aboard Republic, as his parents were subordinate coworkers to the deceased ops chief. His shock and disbelief at seeing the face of the ensign was more than he could handle.

“Naruko!” shouted another person. It was an older man who worked in the ships arboretum and who knew the deceased ops chief from numerous encounters in the Ten Forward lounge. “Naruko! I . . . I . . . you're supposed to be dead!” Like the young teenager, the man also started to follow the stretcher through the corridors.

“Is that Kuga?” whispered one enlisted crewman to a companion as they rounded a corner and gawked at the spectacle moving towards them. As the crowd grew, and the corridors became packed, Doctor Cromwell's temper flared.

“Out of the way!” he shouted angrily. “This is a medical emergency! Clear the corridor!” Slowing down to come alongside the stretcher, he waved away the people following them. “Go back to your stations! Your questions will be answered in due time! Go away!”

Before long, the contingent arrived at the medical complex, but not before Doctor Cromwell summoned ship security, and stationed a pair of guards outside the facility. While he knew that the crowd meant well, and that their surprise and confusion was a natural response to the otherworldly sight of what was supposed to be a dead comrade, Leon did not fancy having a visitor every few minutes asking about the status of the newcomer and whether it really was indeed, Ensign Kuga.

“LSS module!” Leon ordered as the medical technicians moved the unconscious body to a diagnostic table. Seconds later, a life support system encased the patient's upper and lower torso with a plethora of computerized gadgetry. “Start an infusion of zee-three-six plasma. Oxygenation ratio of thirty percent.” While the technicians complied, Doctor Cromwell loaded a hypospray with a medical cocktail and pressed it to the patient's neck.

“Start cleaning this bio-gel off her,” he ordered. “But get a sample for laboratory analysis. I want to know exactly what this stuff is doing to her!”

At that moment, the doors to sickbay parted, and Captain Roth walked into the ward followed by Commander Carter. They silently watched from the sidelines as Leon stabilized the patient. As the doctor began an intensive bio-molecular scan, the results only served to heighten the mystery.

“The brain scan is an almost perfect match to Kuga's medical profile,” Leon muttered as he reviewed the ongoing readings. “Too perfect.”

“What do you mean?” Captain Roth interjected carefully, trying not to interfere with the doctor's work.

“Mentally, she's Kuga. But physically . . .”

“Are you saying she is, but she isn't Ensign Kuga?” Carter asked impatiently.

“I know it sounds odd,” Leon admitted. “Her brain functions are congruent to the last medical scan I did on her when she came aboard, but her cellular nucleotides tell a different story.”

“You mean she's a clone?” Roth asked.

“I think so,” the doctor replied. “But it's a very well designed clone. Normally, a simple genetic clone would have markedly different brain scans from one another – something normally found in identical twins. But here, it's nearly a perfect match.”

“Then how do you know it's a clone?” Carter inquired.

“Telomeres.”

“What?” It was clear that John Carter was becoming frustrated at the scientific jargon.

“Telomeres,” Leon insisted. “It's a long repeating chain of nucleotides found in the genes of most human cells. When a cell undergoes mitosis, or cell division, the telomeres get slightly shorter. Over the lifespan of an individual, the telomeres can be used to gauge a person's age almost to the day.”

“How old is this clone?” Captain Roth asked.

“That's the most interesting part,” Leon explained, closing his tricorder and looking the captain directly in the eye. “She's nearly the same age as Ensign Kuga, and if it weren't for the medical scanners we have aboard the Republic, we wouldn't be able to tell that this is a clone. Whoever did this knew what they were doing, and nearly covered their tracks. But because we have the capability to determine the exact length of the clone's telomeres and compare them to Kuga's last scan before she died, we can tell the difference. This clone was grown from tissue cultured from Ensign Kuga exactly six months before she came aboard the Republic.”

The three officers looked at one another in silence while the medical technicians worked to finish stabilizing the Kuga clone. The news of a Kuga clone in itself was disturbing, and as the officers digested the information, Commander Carter was the first to speak.

“Captain? Doctor?” he addressed Kim and Leon. “A meeting, please.” The tone was stern and direct, leaving little room for negotiation.

Watching as the captain, first officer, and doctor walked off in private conversation, Lieutenant Reia Merrick observed as a nurse readied a petri dish in preparation for gathering a sample of the bio-gel. The lieutenant turned to look at the strange readings on the wall console, which displayed the physiology of the look-alike of Ensign Kuga. While Reia was no geneticist, she knew something about brain scans, as it was her specialty in an electro-neurology course she took at the academy while studying bio-mechanics. 'Clones almost never have perfectly matching brain scans to the original person,' she thought. 'There would HAVE to be small differences between her last scan.' Something didn't add up.

As the nurse finished gathering the bio-gel sample, she closed the petri dish and began walking back towards the medical lab when Reia intervened. “I'll take that if you don't mind,” she said pointedly.

Taken aback, the nurse was about to protest when Reia snatched the petri dish from her hand. “Follow me,” the lieutenant ordered.

---

In the medical lab, Reia sat at a lab bench, placing the bio-gel sample under an electron micrograph to get a better look at it. The nurse, watching over Reia's shoulder, asked “what are you looking for?”

“I'm not entirely sure,” the lieutenant admitted. “The bio-gel appears to be more of a highly-viscous electronic matrix than just standard medical bio-gel. It's reacting oddly with the clone's detached skin cells… look.”

The nurse nodded at the picture on the screen where molecules of the bio-gel morphed and merged with one of Kuga's dead skin cells that arbitrarily flaked off while it was in contact with her. Strangely, what was once a simple dead skin cell, suddenly registered as living tissue, and began to reproduce. Amazed, the two officers looked at one another.

“Not even Borg nanites can do that…” the nurse commented.

“But,” Reia shook her head. “The DNA analysis already shows that this is a clone of Kuga.”

“Let's take another look at that cell-replication process,” the nurse added, selecting a play-back function on the micrograph, and zooming in on the nucleus of the skin cell. Watching with surprise, Lieutenant Merrick and the nurse saw as the bio-gel rewrote the genetic code of the skin cell right before their eyes. The telomeres, on which Doctor Cromwell had based his conclusion about this being a clone of Kuga, were completely reconfigured.

“You know what this means?” the nurse gawked.

Reia, nodding her head, whispered in amazement. “She's not a clone…”

---

“She's not a clone!” Lieutenant Merrick shouted as she and the nurse emerged from the medical lab into the main sickbay.

“What in the world?” Doctor Cromwell replied, breaking off his conversation with the captain and Commander Carter.

“This IS Ensign Kuga!” Reia explained, point towards the biobed. “And the reason her telomeres make her look like a clone is because she is not human!”

“What?” Commander Carter exclaimed.

“How can she NOT be human?” a confused Leon asked. “I would have picked that up right away during the genetic scan!”

“She not human on the MOLECULAR level!” Reia explained further. “She can't be! The nucleic acids of her so-called 'human' cells are in a state of molecular flux. Breaking apart and reforming into new segments of DNA, telomeres included. According to the micrograph analysis that Nurse Watson and I just performed, her genes are being re-written, and I believe its due to the nano-enhanced bioneuro-gel.”

Immediately, Doctor Cromwell turned back to the biobed where the unconscious Kuga lay. Dialing a few commands into the wall-console, he activated the sub-cellular scanner and watched in amazement at the interaction of Kuga's cells with the bio-gel.

“Incredible!” he exclaimed. “Her cells show less than ten-to-the-minus-twelve percent degradation in genetic material from her last scan! Somehow, these nano-machines are maintaining genetic and cellular integrity despite the decreasing length of her telomeres. The re-writing of her DNA is somehow pre-empting normal biological mitosis! Her cells are replicating without the effects of the normal aging process! Technically, she could never die of old age, no matter how short her telomeres get!”

“These machines do more than just defy aging,” suggested Reia.

Roth looked at the lieutenant, “Go on.”

“These nano-machines are so electronically active with her neurons that they could, in theory, act as a electronic interface. Theoretically, they could speed up her brain functions and - and I know this sounds strange - might even allow her nervous system to interface with a computer…”

“What?” the doctor asked, flabbergasted.

“My studies at the academy involved electro-neurology, and these nano-machines are of a design that were only in the theoretical stage when I studied my courses in bio-mechanics. They were meant to allow direct neurological impulses to be converted to digital computer signals. Simple for small applications such as motor functions, but on their own and using the bio gel as a transmission medium, Kuga's brain could conceivably interface with an entire computer mainframe, with enough capacity to control something as hugely complex like a science probe or a small starship.”

“Who in the world would do this to her?” inquired Roth, thinking outloud.

Reia turned to Kuga as finished her theory, “I don't think this was done while she was missing, but rather… she was born this way.”

Leon looked completely confused. “How could these nano-machines have escaped detection by our medical scans? If she's really Ensign Kuga, she had biannual medical exams throughout her career, not to mention the academy entrance physical…”

“Look closer at her other cells,” Reia explained to Leon. “Especially her blood cells.” Reia pressed a control that caused the screen to zoom in closer to the DNA-modifying nanites. “Take a look at that mechanical superstructure.”

“My god!” Leon commented with disbelief. “Those nano-machines are structured so precisely that they actually mimic hemoglobin in Ensign Kuga's blood! No wonder we didn't notice them! They were hiding in plain sight!”

The four officers, plus the nurse, remained silent for the next several seconds, staring at the readings on the medical screen, completely dumbfounded. It was all they could do to suppress the incredulity of the concept that what they once thought was a normal human being was actually a bioengineered life form designed to interface with a computer system as complex and sophisticated as a starship.

“Whoever did this,” Leon finally broke the silence. “Not only knew what they were doing, but went to great lengths to fool us all . . . the Republic . . . Starfleet Academy . . . Starfleet Medical. Who knows who else may have scanned her and didn't see this.”

“Maybe we should worry less about who did this, and focus more on why they did it,” replied Captain Roth.

“Well,” Reia suggested. “Like I said, it looks as though she could physically interface with just about any computer system using these nano-machines. It's possible she could be some sort of weapon designed to take over a starship.”

“You don't suppose,” Carter theorized. “That someone sent her here in an escape knowing the Republic would pick her up?” Carter asked.

“You think someone wants to take over the Republic using Kuga?” replied Leon.

“Think about it,” explained John. “We're in the middle of the Gamma Quadrant. Both Starfleet and DS9 have our mission plan. There's nothing but space dust between the wormhole and the nebula we're going to survey. Tell me: what are the odds that our supposedly dead ex-crewmember shows up along our trajectory path in an escape pod? It's way more than a coincidence. Someone wanted us to find her, and I don't think that someone is any do-gooder towards the Republic.”

“There's only one way to find out why she's here,” Captain Roth stated. “Let's ask.”

“I have to agree with Carter,” Leon said sternly. “I'm extremely hesitant to wake her.”

“Why not?”

“Do YOU want to explain to her exactly who she is?” Leon rebuffed with rising anger. “Better yet, how about telling those dozen or so people who followed us to sickbay? Are you going to tell them that their friend isn't dead, but actually some sort of bio-mechanical zombie? Hell, I don't even know what will happen when I wake her! Suppose those damned nano-machines have reprogrammed her brain to turn us all into Borgs?”

Doctor Cromwell's words echoed in Lieutenant Merrick's head. The thought of the nano-machines turning ship personnel into Borgs seemed to make Reia bristle, but it also triggered a thought: Anyone who went to such lengths to hide this advanced biotechnology from Starfleet during Kuga's training at the academy would not stand by while her physiological secrets were divulged by the Republic crew. “She's being tracked,” Reia concluded to herself. “And they'll try to keep their little secret about Kuga from the rest of us.” The lieutenant's words were a quiet, rhetorical whisper, and went unheard by the officers around her. Realizing that she had to secure the bio-gel sample she had just analyzed, the operations chief absconded from the current situation and returned to the medical lab.

“Doctor,” the captain interrupted, as Reia left the main ward unnoticed. “We have to wake her at some point. Besides, from looking at the condition of the escape pod, she might very well already know who she is.”

“Then do it in the brig,” Leon suggested. “Allow her to wake from her coma naturally to reduce system shock, and keep her away from anything with access to the ship's computer.”

“That seems like a reasonable precaution,” Carter added.

Roth thought about the situation for a moment, and began to nod her head. “Very well,” the captain replied. “But let's beam her directly there. No need to parade her around the ship gathering everyone's attention.”

“Sickbay to transporter room two,” Carter tapped his combadge. “Make preparations to beam the patient in the main ward to the brig.”

---

Chapter 10: Martian DiplomacyTop

John Carter looked on as the body of Naruko Kuga disappeared in the haze of transporter energy. Republic's XO looked over to Leon Cromwell. “Any idea when she'll wake up Doc? I've got a feeling she'll have a lot to tell us.”

“No way to be sure John”, Leon offered as the two officers walked into the Doctor's office for some hard to find privacy. “To tell you the truth, I'm not even sure how it is she's still alive.” Leon gave a quick glance through the door to Lieutenant Merrick, “illegal nano-technology not withstanding.”

Carter nodded in agreement. “Mark my words Doc,” John said in a low voice, “this has Kostya written ALL over it.” Carter shook his head. “I just wish I knew why Republic herself was so important to him.”

John absently rubbed the back of his neck. “It's not firepower. There are plenty of other, more powerful ships in `Fleet.”

Cromwell nodded. “And it's not her crew,” the doctor added, “despite your charming personality.

Carter smirked in reply. “Plus, he all but assured me I'd never leave Republic, but why not order at least you and I re-assigned if all he wants is the ship?”

“Can't help you there either John,” Leon said, “but I'm sure you'll ferret out something.” Cromwell tilted his head and gave the First Officer an appraising glance. “How's the eye by the way? Are you adjusting to monocular life?”

Carter's expression soured. “I've been meaning to talk to you about that.” Carter's fingers lightly stroked the soft, black fabric of his eye patch. “Functionally, I think I'm fine. No trouble shaving, reading, anything like that, but there is a problem.”

“Oh? Headaches? Sometimes the supplemental lens I fitted you with causes distortions in depth-perception.”

“Nope, no pain, but since regen's a no-go for most Martians, I may have to ask you to break your word.”

Leon recalled one of the many late-night “bull sessions” as John had called them, when Leon, Carter, and then Chief Engineer Victor Virtus, would play cards, enjoy some of Leon's more exotic spirits, and in general solve the galaxy's problems. On one occasion, while Carter was on a rant about technology making humanity soft, the First Officer made Leon promise, then and there, that he'd never turn Carter into a “cyber-jacked freak.” Leon looked on gravely. “What's the issue?”

“According to `Fleet regs, I'm fine for active duty onboard the ship, but if I want to keep my flight status, I need to possess `functional binocular vision, or the corresponding racial equivalent to allow for normal operation of aerospace craft.' How's that for a mouthful?”

Leon smiled. “That sounds like Starfleet Medical all right. I'll make you a deal. I'll fix your little problem for you. Yoyodine Multi-systems just perfected a next-generation ocular implant. Self-contained, minimally invasive, even removable. We'll get you fitted.”

“And?” Carter added wearily.

“And you get me through the Basic Starship Combat Qualifications.”

“You're going through with it?”

Cromwell nodded.

“Good,” Carter smiled again, “your dad would be proud of you.”

“I think he might, but he'd never admit it.”

Just then, Carter's comm. badge chirped.

“Rainier to XO.”

“Go ahead Chief.” Carter acknowledged.

“Ambassador Keil is insisting on speaking with a member of the command staff, Sir.”

Carter rolled his eyes. “Did you explain to him that you ARE a member of the command staff?”

“First thing I did, Sir, but he's demanding a 'proper' officer.”

“Understood Chief. On my way.” Carter stepped out of the Doctor's office, nodding to Captain Roth on the way. “I'll be back when I can, Captain.”


Location: VIP Quarters, USS Republic

“Ambassador Keil,” John Carter tried his best to soothe what he could clearly see were ruffled feathers, “I understand how you feel, but please try to understand, we have a very delicate situation on boa…”

Across the well-appointed room the smallish, grey haired man clenched his fists, while his voice thundered throughout the room. “Delicate situation? Delicate situation?!.” Gunther Keil slammed his fists down on the dark wood table in front of him. “Mister,” he tilted his head up to look the taller officer in the eye. “You have no idea what a delicate situation is. Let me paint you a picture. Round about ten years ago it was another…”

“Commander.” John said coolly.

“Excuse me?” The elder man quirked his brow.

“I worked hard for my rank Ambassador,” Carter was careful to emphasize the elder man's own title, “I'd appreciate if you would use it, sir.”

“Of course Commander,” Keil spat with an icy edge. “How rude of me.” The admission did little to calm Keil's demeanor. The Federation ambassador walked slowly around the front of his desk, resting on the edge as he looked Carter over.

“Let me tell you what `delicate' means to me. I'm the Federation's duly appointed representative to re-open relations with the Malcorians.” Carter nodded as the ambassador continued. “You may recall that because of rash actions from another Starfleet Officer, a Commander as well, now that I think about it,” Keil tilted his head down and continued, “First Contact with the Malcorians was bungled into disaster. Now, thanks to this little hijacking of yours,” Keil pointed a fat, angry finger in Carter's direction, “You're helping history repeat itself.”

Carter folded his arms across his chest. “I thought Chief Rainier explained to you that this was anything but planned. I'm sorry that you're inconvenienced, but…”

“Which reminds me,” Keil pointed again. “Is it protocol onboard this ship to have members of the Federation Diplomatic Corps be shown around by a non-commissioned officer?”

Carter felt his eyebrow raise under his eye patch. “Chief Rainier is the senior NCO on this ship. He's logged more space hours than the Captain and myself combined.” Carter said matter-of-factly. “I should think that a man of your… experience,” he said, noting the deep lines in Keil's face and his stark white hair, “would appreciate his sense of… perspective.”

“Don't play word games with me, Mister!”

“Commander.” John corrected again. “I wouldn't dream of it, Ambassador, and I am genuinely sorry that you feel under-appreciated. If you're that unhappy, I'd be more than willing to offer you one of our shuttle craft, and you can go about your business.”

“Do you mean to say that you'd just cut me loose and leave me at the mercy of Gods-Know-What in the middle of the Gamma Quadrant?”

Carter nodded. “I mean to say.” The Martian officer stepped back toward the door to Ambassador Keil's cabin, and looked back over his shoulder. “I'll do my best to get you back on schedule as soon as I can Ambassador,” Carter explained. “But I'd like you to consider that `Gods-Know-What' is what brought the Federation out here in the first place. Think of it as a chance to catch up on your research. Good Day, Ambassador.” With that, John Carter left the cabin.

In the corridor, in route to a turbolift shaft, Carter nodded as he saw Republic's new Chief Tactical Officer, Lieutenant Zoe Beauvais, approaching. Without breaking stride, Carter held up a hand. “Don't tell me… let me guess. You're an Organian in disguise and you need to go explore higher planes of existence.”

“What?” Zoe asked, genuinely confused, “No, I was just on my way to check on the Ambassador. Scuttlebutt says he was giving The Chief a hard time.” The blonde Lieutenant fell in step with Carter, and continued back the way she'd come. “Have you even met an Organian, XO?”

“Not that I know of, but anything's possible. Any leads on Tolkath's attacker?”

Zoe shook her head. “I'm whittling away on the list. Sensor logs and security feeds are actually helping me figure out who DIDN'T do it, but I can't tell you yet who did.”

“Well, that's better news than I expected,” Carter admitted. “How soon can you clear the Ambassador and a the non- related personnel to leave? We should be able to coordinate with DS9 and make transfers fairly quickly.”

Zoe's brow furrowed as she thought. “Well, the Ambassador's clean,” she admitted, but I'm still concerned that we keep one hundred percent containment until we get Tolkath's attacker in the brig. I've got Narundi running down travel records and Doctor Yezbeck is looking for any exotics the standard medical scans might have missed.”

Carter folded his hands across his chest. “You think the Counselor was poisoned as well as assaulted?”

“Nothing I can confirm, just a feeling really, but an engineered neuro-toxin could explain some of the oddities Doctor Cromwell mentioned in his report.”

“Hmm,” Carter mused. “Get down to medical and see if anything from the scans pops out at you. I'm headed to the brig to check on a late arrival.”

“It's true then? Ensign… Kuga, is it? I heard someone say something about it.”

“Unfortunately, right now all it is, is something. Not sure what yet.”

“Well you better keep an eye on her, XO.” Zoe cautioned. “Anyone who could take three Capellans and a D'Haar Master in a brawl is bound to be a handful.”

Carter chuckled, despite the seriousness of the situation. “She was just brought onboard, Lieutenant. I'm pretty sure even Kuga couldn't bring down Tolkath from a quadrant away.”

“If you say so, Commander,” Zoe added with a smile. “I'll let you know what I get from medical.”

“On your way then.”

“Aye, Sir.” Zoe nodded and then stepped into the turbolift car.

John Carter felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck, what his Grandmother Rose used to call `someone walking over your grave.'

“Catch you at a bad time, John?”

Carter whirled back around, feeling his heart jump in surprise. It took a moment for his brain to register that the voice, which had startled him, belonged to Doctor Shannon Harris, Republic's pediatrician.

“Damn it! Shannon? What are you doing here?”

Harris cocked her head, looking crookedly at the XO. “Nothing I shouldn't be, if that's what you mean. Just helping Vic collect some data. Why? Is there somewhere else I should be?”

Carter felt his face screw into a scowl. “That's not what I meant, I just didn't expect to see you up here.”

“That's obvious.” Shannon shot back. The chill in her tone was hard to ignore.

“Excuse me?” Carter put his hands on his hips, now officially confused. “What does that mean?”

“Just what I said. Not only did you not expect me, I don't think you want to see me.”

“What?” John took a step forward, opening his arms to Harris. In response, the doctor backed away. “Shannon, what's wrong? I know we haven't been able to spend much time together, but…”

“But the new Lieutenant needs `special attention'? Don't insult me, John.”

“My god…” Carter said, “you're serious? The Lieutenant and I were discussing the hunt for Tolkath's assailant, not planning a weekend.”

“Losing your touch? It's been a while since the Devonshire.”

Carter felt his confusion being replaced with anger. “Now hang on a second.” Despite his attempts to keep things civil, he could hear the edge in his own voice. “Did I or did I not ask you on multiple occasions to get away with me for a little while when we were in port at DS9?”

“You know full well that Ensign Simms was…”

“And did I or did I not set up weekend liberty on Risa?”

Shannon shook her head again. “My fit-rep was due, so…”

“You couldn't ask Leon to re-schedule? He owes both of us, and as much as he might tease you or me for it, he'd help us make SOMETHING work if he could, but you didn't even ASK, did you?”

“John Thelonius Carter,” Shannon said angrily, “don't you DARE put this back on me! I'm not the one slipping off to seedy bars to break regs with a new arrival. I'm not the one whose heart jumps anytime ANY woman walks by. You're IMPOSSIBLE!”

“Seedy bars? What are you talking about?”

Shannon felt her eyes begin to sting with tears. “Stop it. Just stop it. I know.”

“Know? Know what?”

“I know you met Zoe in Quarks, and I know you bought a certain reporter a number of Aldeberan whiskies. You were with her for hours! Just stop lying!”

“Lying? When have I ever told you something other than the absolute truth? And just for the record, I didn't MEET Lieutenant Beauvais in Quark's she was there well before me. As for our reporter friend, you KNOW I don't trust her.”

“Fair bit of that going around.” Shannon blurted out.

Carter felt a sudden calm come over him as some part of his brain processed the last piece of information it needed to. He stepped back from Shannon and keyed the turbolift door control.

“Fine,” Carter said at last, “you don't trust me, there's nothing I can do about that. I've tried Shannon. I've asked, I've bribed, I've pleaded, but so help me if we can't manage to be together off this damn ship, then what's the point of hoping for something else?”

Dumbfounded, Shannon Harris blinked tears away. “What?” The turbolift arrived and John stepped into the car before looking back at Harris. “Don't forget I've seen the future Shannon. I liked what I saw… a lot, but we have to work at this together, and I'm tired of doing it alone. When you're ready to pull your weight, you know where to find me.”

Shannon Harris stared in silence as lift car sped away. Then she shook her head. As she did so, there was the soft rush of photons realigning, and all traces of tears and trauma were gone from the young doctor's face. “Pull my weight eh?” she said aloud with an edge of menace. “John, you have no IDEA what I'm capable of.”

In another wash of photons, 'she' was gone.

---

Chapter 11: ProgressionsTop

Lieutenant Desiree Chante Devenerux was furious. Once more she had to take over the psychology department while the Counselor lay in some sort of coma. The 5 foot 2 inch brown eyed woman was ready to pounce on the next person who walked in to her office. She paced the floor, her shoulder length brown hair slightly swaying side-to-side with her deliberate gait; her normally pale face was tinted red with fury.

She had been there during the Bajoran counselor's folly; she was the one who had left the graffiti on the walls of the Counselor's office. It was she who rigged the computer to not recognize the graffiti so it wouldn't clean itself up, and also to flash the “Bajoran moron” message across the view screen at the counselor's desk. She had prided herself in not getting caught. The ultimate insult to her was done when they had placed the pediatrician over the department. She knew that Carter and the doctor were in a relationship and felt that is how the woman got the position. In her journals she had referred to the doctor as “the slut sleeping her way to the top.”

Once again she was tired of the politics of Starfleet that seemed to work against her. What Devenerux lacked in height she made up with her temper. It had gotten her in trouble more than once, and one time it landed her with a formal reprimand after she knocked out a fellow crewman in ten-forward. Those who witnessed the situation could see no reason for the outburst except the possibility she had loss in chess.

She looked around her office and with clenched fists and gritted teeth said, “I had better get promoted after this incident.” She then slammed her fists on her desk.

She couldn't deny that Tolkath's current situation brought her some satisfaction. She had never really like him, especially since she had applied for the position, had been turned down, and the Lieutenant Commander had been appointed. Now she could run things the way she liked, at least until the Counselor returned to duty.

Suddenly an idea popped into her head. It struck her with such force that her anger deserted her, and she stopped pacing. Then an evil smile began in the corner of her mouth and spread.

“If it's politics they want, then it is politics they will get,” she muttered under her breath.

The plan was simple, go to Tolkath's bedside and feign worry for her superior. Her presence there may help her in her career. A thoughtful crewmember at the side of a wounded compatriot; she would begin the façade of being a saint.

She knew how to overt an empath's ability to sense emotion. She had done it ever since Reittan had usurped her rightful position. With new determination to secure a promotion, she walked out of her office; the doors give way with a soft hiss.

Upon reaching Sickbay she was a little startled to see a stranger scanning the counselor with his tricorder and the sound of . . . lullabies???

Doctor Julian Bashir was standing over the Counselor fascinated by the condition of the patient. He was so engrossed with the patient and the sound of lullabies being played that he did not hear the Lieutenant come over to where he was working until she spoke.

“Is he going to be alright?”

Doctor Bashir slightly jumped, startled by the new visitor.

“Yes, I do believe so.”

“What a relief.” Devenerux feigned.

The lieutenant looked at the unconscious counselor. Suddenly all the fury and hatred she had felt in her office for the Lieutenant Commander flooded through her body. She had let her guard down, after all, no one would notice and the Counselor was unconscious.

Suddenly, pain seared through her body and all her emotions inundated her. Memories that she had hidden so many years ago began to flood her mind. She began to relive her parent's death. The guilt surrounding their transport's demise wracked her body. If only the scanners had picked it up sooner, if only she had stayed with the ship instead of storming out and beaming over to the starship. The sound of red alert being sounded as she stepped off the pad when a Dominion vessel had entered the system flooded her memory. Her temper had once again driven a schism between Devenerux and her parents. She felt her stomach drop when she heard that the transport was destroyed, her only family aboard. She should have died with them. Other horrifying memories of close crew members being killed in the line of duty entered her mind as every neuron fired. Suddenly she fell to the ground.

Julian saw the Lieutenant fall to the floor and began scanning her. Her neural activity was 300 times normal levels. He stood in shock; it was as if every neuron had been activated. He had never seen anything like it. Suddenly the Lieutenant began to convulse. Bashir's mind realized what had happened. Tolkath's mind had viewed her as a threat. He called for a nurse to help him drag Desiree's thrashing body away from the Counselor. After pulling her out of the examination room, just as suddenly as the violent convulsions had set on, they dramatically reduced. After making sure the nurse had helped Devenerux into a bed and had ordered the nurse to give her a hypospray to try and get her neuron chemistry back to normal, he returned to his original patient.

The DS9 Doctor scanned the Counselor's brain once again. The paracortex had been activated, and was now returning to normal levels.

“Fascinating,” Bashir commented to himself as he rubbed his chin with his forefinger and thumb.

Suddenly, he realized that the Lieutenant was weeping in the next examination room. He walked over to find her trembling and sweating. The whole affair had drawn the entire staff's attention.

“I didn't mean to . . .” Devenerux stammered incoherently. “If only I'd stayed. . . I killed them. . .”

Realizing he had to protect the psychologist's fragile psyche, the Doctor administered a hypospray that caused Desiree to lose consciousness.

“It will be easier for her to cope with what happened after her body regenerates from this experience.”

But, what did happen? After making sure Deneverux was being attended to by the nurses, the doctor returned to the Counselor's bedside pondering the drama that had just played out. The sound of Braham's lullaby played on as Tolkath remained unconscious with the Doctor hovering over him.

---

Location: Chief science officer's office, deck 5, USS Republic

Lieutenant Commander Cha'rik was sipping on her tea as she quietly looked over the sensor readings that had poured in since before they had left DS9. To the untrained eye, they would just be readings on spatial dimensions, however, to a trained eye like hers and maybe a few others, they would see that it includes how many people were on the ship at the time, and the glitch in the sensors allowing the attacker to try to complete their mission now stuck on the ship.

However, as she looked through it deeper and deeper, the person was either still in hiding on the ship or was posed to be one of the new transfers, or it could have even been one of the former crew members. Her thoughts were interrupted by the swishing sound that the doors made when someone either entered or left. Waving her hand absent-mindedly over the readings, she looked up and saw the Chief Tactical Officer standing above her. “Can I help you?” she asked as she set her tea down.

“I am doing a background check on all crew members either assigned at DS9 or before that trying to find the attacker,” she replied simply. “You are the next one I have to interview. Do you have a moment?”

“No,” she stoically replied. “I have plenty of work that needs completely.”

“Well, good, it can wait,” Zoe replied sitting down and started recording the information on the PADD. “State your name and rank for the records please.”

“Lieutenant Commander Cha'rik, Daughter of Sorik.”

“You're place of birth?”

“I do not see the relevance in this, Lieutenant,” she replied stressing distaste on the rank. No reply came from the French looking woman. “Vulcan.”

True she could have listed the place of her birth, but she never really delved that deeply into this persona that she took on. “Why are you here on this ship?”

“I requested a ship that sees the frontier in order to further my scientific research and to increase our knowledge in the field.”

“Sounds ambitious.”

“I am a Vulcan; it is our nature to be ambitious.”

“So the records showed that you arrived onboard right before we departed. I saw you on the station, why did you not come aboard sooner?” she asked.

“I wished to see the Wormhole a few more times before I decided to come and get settled in.”

“I see. But you could have seen that from the ship.”

“Putting holes into the logic of a Vulcan is a very disrespectful thing to do. The viewing of the Wormhole is best seen from the Promenade. I have gone through there many times,” it fit both her truthfully and this persona. How she despised the science field. “Is there anything else?”

“Not for now. If I think of anything, I will come and find you,” she replied as she stood and started to leave the room. She stopped and turned slightly on her heel. “One more thing, Commander, could you please take a look at our newest visitor? I would like more information about her.”

With that she left leaving the Vulcan in a near state of shock if that was possible. Oh well time to living the lie again. She got up and headed out of her office. She just wished that this assignment would be over with and she would be able to go back to the way that everything was before.


Location: Deep Space Nine
Time: Two days ago

“Well, that was fun Doc,” Vance said to the medical officer who had finally finished the neural scans.

“I'm sure it was… But it's done now,” responded the doctor hastily as he walked away. “See your self out. And don't be late for the counselor.”

Vance snorted and left, his usual frustrated self when he had nothing important on his mind.

Naturally he was late for the shrink.

“Glad you could finally show up,” said the counselor. He had grey tousled hair, and was wearing a shirt and tie instead of the Starfleet uniform and Commanders rank he had earned. “Anything special keep you this time?”

“Look,” Vance replied. “I don't like seeing you, and the neural scans put me in a bad mood. I shouldn't be trying to take it out on you, but your handy, and your connected to the issues.”

Vance, it should be noted, was not a huge fan of counselors as a whole. And Commander Johanson was a particularly annoying example.

“I want you to tell me some more about your experiences during your captivity.” The annoying bastard said.

“Thankfully, I am in control of my memory,” Vance muttered to himself pouring another glass of whiskey. “So I don't have to relive that arrogant so and so's prying.”

“Well, I really think that you should continue seeing someone,” said the counselor. “But you've come a long way and I think you will manage on your own if you insist on being stubborn.”

“Great, can I go now?” Vance asked impatiently. He didn't really have anywhere to go, or anything to do, he just wanted to get away from the bastard.

“Yes Vance,” said Johanson. “You can go.” With that, the commander turned to his computer station and began making an entry into Vance's psych file.

Vance, naturally, left immediately.

“So, now what am I going to do?” Vance asked himself after he had returned to his quarters. Vance shrugged, and activated his comm to ask the computer system a question. “Computer, what is the location of the nearest fighter pilot who served in the Dominion War?”

“The nearest person matching that description is Lieutenant Nathan Hawk, currently stationed aboard the USS Republic. His current whereabouts are…”

“Don't worry computer, I know where the ship is,” Vance interrupted. “Nat huh? Death Wish himself… that's perfect.”

Vance walked off heading to the docking ring at DS9 that connected to the Republic.


Location: Officer's Mess, deck 3, USS Republic
Time: Present day

Vance sat in a corner of the Officers Lounge, he was sharing a table with a bottle of whiskey.

“That certainly felt like a wild goose chase.” Vance said to himself. “Seems like everyone on the ship knows Nat, and everyone had a helpful suggestion as to where he might be. If I didn't know any better I would swore they were sending me on a snipe hunt. Oh well, hopefully he'll show up here eventually.”

Vance Devloch stared into the bottle he had extorted out of the Bartender, He had been very surprised to actually find Irish Whisky on a Starfleet Ship. The booze was good and the food was decent. Not a bad place to kill some time. Now if only he could find “Nat” Hawk, His day would be complete

Stepping through the massive solid earth-oak double doors as they parted to reveal the Officer's Lounge, a part of his psyche cringed with caution, reminded of how many times that sound had heralded both the beginning and end of another drunken stupor. It was only his own failings that made it so, but he was still a ways from shaking off the bad memories. Until then, he had to keep reminding himself that it was only his own faults that lead to the wrong thing from the right place.

Stopping just inside the doors, next to the main service window, he caught the attention of one of the Lounges service staff tending bar.

“Lieutenant, it's been a while,” said the young Bajoran whose name escaped him, “what can I get for you?”

The question provoked the same warning voice deep in his thoughts that screamed for him to run from this place before temptation overtook him. Pushing the voice down, he replied to the young Bajoran, “Altair water.”

The befuddled look upon the Bajoran's face said everything, but without questioning, he nodded and departed back into the galley, only to reappear a few seconds later with a tall glass of the clear liquid.

“Anyone been looking for me?” Hawk queried, knowing someone had, but curious which of the patrons it was. Silently, the Bajoran acknowledged affirmative and pointed out another man across the spacious lounge, seated at one of the prime tables - center left - of the upper dining level.

Picking up the glass, he thanked the Bajoran before setting off toward the stranger. The fleeting thought that this person could, in fact, be the Orion Syndicate assassin came and went. No Syndicate employee would be that obvious.

“Word is you've been lookin' fer me,” Hawk stated as he stepped up behind the stranger.

“Ah! There you are.” Vance exclaimed. “Mr. Death Wish himself. I've been wanting to meet you for a good long time. And seeing as I've been exiled to that godforsaken station for “Mandatory Medical Leave”(said in a sarcastic voice) you just happened to wander into my path.”

With that Vance Devloch stood up and offered his hand. “I'm Vance Devloch, you may have heard of some of my stupider exploits that nearly got me killed.”

Setting his drink down upon the table, Hawk took the offered hand and shook his head slightly in recognition, muttering the other man's call sign, “Neuromancer?”

“Sadly not anymore. With the damage to my damn implant I can barely fly a simulator, let alone a shuttle. Which puts the beautiful wings I've left behind far out of my reach.” Vance said morosely. “These day's I'm just a lowly engineer.” As the sentence ended Vance poured himself another glass of Whiskey, and gave it a strong pull.

“Now if only Starfleet Medical would understand that there's nothing bloody wrong with me, I could get on with my life.”

Cracking a smile for the first time in recent memory - at least, while sober - Hawk nodded in both understanding and amusement. “Yep, yer a pilot,” Hawk declared, as if in blessing. Anyone who had ever flown a fighter was like this; like himself, like Vance. Outspoken, open, and usually at the bottom of a bottle. Though to what extreme varied wildly - he himself had set the bar for the most extreme, only now in the wake of recent events pulling back from it. “Ya gotta love how 'Fleet loves us durin' wartime n'treats us like kids ta be coddled soon s'the dust settles.”

“Aye, that's their usual game,” Agreed Vance. “But for me it's even worse. Some of the powers that be feel guilty about whats wrong with my head. And they keep trying to help me. They don't understand that I don't want their help!” As he neared the end of the sentence Vance's speech reached a crescendo, until he was practically shouting. Vance seemed to notice this, and looked around guiltily. “I just want this stupid thing out of my head. Either that or working again. Most day's I wish I had never volunteered for that stupid project.” With that Vance tossed back the glass of Whiskey.

Nat felt displaced to be on this side of things. Vance reminded him so much of himself, more so with each glass of Whiskey he polished off. While it was almost painful for him to watch - for more reasons than he could articulate - it was also oddly comforting. Yes, he had let his own faults and failings consume him, he accepted that. His demons had ruled him for most of his life, and to many degrees still did. Watching Vance up-end his glass again and again though, he found it oddly reassuring that he wasn't alone in that. “Never volunteer fer anythin',” He said, quoting himself, remembering his first assignment aboard the Republic. “So why come lookin' fer me?”

“Do you have any idea how tired I am with talking to Shrinks and Doctors, who ask me how I feel about losing something they have no idea about?” Asked Vance. “Never mind that I hardly know anyone on DS9. The thought of seeing a kindred spirit was more than I could pass up. And now it seems I'm stuck here for a while. Why the devil were you all in such a rush to leave anyway? I mean I know that DS9 can get kind of boring, but it's not that bad.”

“Ya really don't wanna know.” Hawk replied, finally taking his first sip of the Altair water. It was certainly… different. “So how'd ya go from pilot ta pitbull?” he asked, pitbull being the 'unofficial' designation of a fighter pilot engineer.

“Well, I'd always loved the more technical side of piloting, if there is such a thing; that's part of the reason I was brought into the Mars MMI project.” Vance started off. “Hell, I'd trained in both engineering and flight ops at the academy. And I needed something to do with myself without the beautiful black oblivion of space to touch. So I brushed up on the newer details of engineering, and started working my way up the corporate ladder as it were.” Vance poured himself another glass, this time sipping at it instead of downing it. “It's not the same, but it pays the bills, and it keeps me occupied. As any pilot knows, there's always something going wrong with an engine.” Vance finished.

“Ya got any experience with retrofits 'er antiques?” Nat asked.

“I'd a project or two I've worked on. Though, to be honest, there hasn't really been a whole lot of changes in the basics of impulse engine design,” Replied Vance. “And I could always use a new project, and an additional subject for late night reading. I love engineering, but some of the technical books are so dry they put me to sleep. And they help take my mind off of the frequent headaches.”

“Ever seen a mark-1 prototype in the flesh, so ta speak?” Hawk asked, knowing the answer - they where extinct as far as everyone else knew. They had only built five in the first unit, and two had been lost shortly after. The other three has vanished to time - most speculated into scrap. The only one known to exist at this moment in time was aboard this very ship, buried away in one of the lower cargo bays. And it was his.

“A mark-1 you say?” Asked Vance with a whistle. “I've seen the specs and the performance profiles, obviously, but never in the flesh. It's my understanding they were all sent for scrap when the production models came out.”

“I used ta think that maself. 'Til I got ahold a one.” he added with a grin. Amongst fighter vets, there was no greater myth, no holy-er grail.

“Well then what the hell are we still doing here? Let's go 'ave a look,” Vance exclaimed. “They wont mind if I take the bottle will they? I am on leave after all, and I didn't bring my minibar” As he said the last he stopped up the bottle, stashed it in his jacket pocket, grabbed his glass and got up to leave.

“Naw, they won't mind.” Hawk replied simply. Part of him wanted to say more, wanted to ask him 'Do you really need it?' - but he couldn't get passed the hypocrisy of such a question coming from him.

“Good, so how bad a shape is it in?” The conversation moves toward more and more Pilot jargon as Vance and Nat leave the Lounge, and head towards the cargo bay.

---

Chapter 12: Locked Down, Screwed UpTop

Location: Brig, deck 38, USS Republic

Naruko heard the hum of the force field next to her as she slowly opened her eyes and began to get her bearings. She took a glance to her right finding herself inside a cell, “Auh! why do I always find myself in a jail cell?” she thought to herself. With the sound of the doors opening to the brig, she quickly closed her eyes hoping to get the surprise on whoever had captured her.

“She's coming around, captain,” Doctor Cromwell's voice resonated in the spartan cell-block area of the security offices. Putting away his tricorder, Leon walked out of the cell and re-activated the force field behind him.

John Carter stepped close to the security field, feeling the electro static buzz near his nose. “Kuga? Naruko? Can you hear me? It's Commander Carter.” John looked back to Captain Roth for a moment, then squared his shoulders as his CO nodded. “Naruko, you're onboard Republic. Do you have any idea how you got here?”

Naruko's eyes jumped open as she sat up in a flash. Realizing where she was, she began to stutter the name, “Repub..lic?”

“That's right, ensign,” Captain Roth responded. “You're back aboard the Republic.”

“You've been missing for almost two weeks, Ensign. We need to know what happened to you.”

A flood of memories and sensations assaulted Kuga. But, while the scenes were traumatic, she felt remarkably calm. The Ensign stood up and walked gracefully to the security field. She looked the energized doorway over, then regarded her ship's XO. “I was visiting family.”

“Family? FAMILY!” Carter thundered. He could appreciate that Kuga had been through a lot. Cromwell's scans had confirmed that, but he was already suspicious of the manner in which Kuga had been 'returned' to Republic, and now he was being lied to. There was no quicker way to get under a Carter's skin than to lie. Especially to their face.

“You leave your post during red alert, disappear for almost two weeks, and then miraculously return…in the Gamma Quadrant no less…and the best you can do is; 'I was visiting family?'” Carter stepped away as he felt Leon Cromwell's hand on his shoulder.

“Easy John,” he whispered. “She may not fully realize what's happened to her.” Cromwell stepped forward, and regarded Kuga with a trained physician's eye. “Are you aware, ensign,” Doctor Cromwell seemed to be searching for the right words in which to ask about Kuga's physical condition. “Exactly who . . . or perhaps what . . . you are?”

Naruko seemed cold and unmoved. “I suppose I'm my father's daughter, Doctor.” she responded. “More than that, I don't think I can tell you.”

“I must admit,” Captain Roth added with concern laced with a touch of suspicion, “We're all quite shocked that you're even alive. But after examining your unconscious body in sickbay . . . well, I guess the word 'astonished' doesn't quite sum it up. Is there anything you'd like to tell us, ensign?”

Naruko looked at the four standing in front of her not wanting to say anything as she remembered what the Admiral said to her onboard the Runabout Vaal:

---

“You'll soon realize who you are,” the Admiral said to Naruko with a disgusted look. “Maybe on the shuttle ride back to the Republic, or maybe when we meet again. In any case, you must keep this a secret. For your sake and ours.”

“I just want to know what's going on here,” pleaded Naruko while struggling against the restrains within the biotank. Her words were muffled as the tank filled slowly with the blue bioneural gel.

“It's better if you don't know Ensign, and for you to go back to the Republic.” With that, the Admiral pressed a button on the tank controls, and Naruko fell into unconsciousness as the tank filled to capacity.

---

Naruko started to feel the burden that had been placed on her. “I'm sorry, but I would only be putting the crew and you in danger if I say anything.”

“Look Ensign, I may not know you, but most of the crew onboard this ship does.” Reia paused for a second trying to think of a way to persuade Naruko into giving up some hints on why she was here. “And they are concerned for you Ensign. All we want do is try to help you if you are in trouble.”

“Who did this to you, ensign?” Doctor Cromwell couldn't help but interject. “Your metabolism is unlike anything I've ever seen. Not even the Borg are so detailed in their physiology.”

Carter looked on, arms folded across his chest. He had calmed down a bit, but was still anxious for answers that had remained too elusive for his tastes. “Ensign,” he said firmly, “it's only a matter of time before we piece this together.” Carter couldn't help but give Reia Merrick a glance. “When we do, there'll be hell to pay by everyone… EVERYONE… involved. If there's anything you can tell us to speed things up…”

Kim Roth cleared her throat. “You're facing some very serious charges Ensign,” she offered, “and regardless of anything official, you're a girl who's in a lot of trouble right now. I don't need a tricorder to know that. Tell us what you know. We can help you.”

Naruko shook her head several times. “No. I'm sorry. I can't do that. Captain, if you have to leave me in the brig until you return to the alpha quadrant than you can, I give you my word I will not try and escape from the ship.”

“Naruko…” started Reia before being interrupted.

“If you don't mind I would like to be left alone until I am transferred off this ship,” said Naruko as she curled up into a ball.

Reia Merrick and the rest of the assembled officers stepped out of the brig and into the Duty Officer's antechamber, then the door hissed shut. Leon Cromwell was the first to speak up.

“Well, whatever else she is, she's scared to death and suffering from PTSD. I can tell you that for sure.”

Next to the Doctor, Carter 'huffed' in disbelief. “Are you kidding me Doc? Did you see the way she was sizing up the security field? She's working an angle. Cold calculating, by the numbers. No doubt Captain,” Carter said, shifting his focus to Kim Roth, “she's nothing more than a weapon that somebody put out here for us to find. I don't know what that is, but it's not Ensign Kuga.”

“John,” Leon said in disbelief, “she's scared. How can you…”

“No Doc, she's waiting. She's a threat, and we need to start seeing her as that. Not a shipmate, not a tragic mistake. She may be all those things, or used to be, but the longer she stays here, the more danger we're all in.”

Leon Cromwell looked at Kim Roth for some form of support, but he didn't get it.

“Right,” Roth said firmly. “She stays right where she is. No contact with any of the crew unless I personally approve.”

“Now hang on, Captain,” Leon objected. “That's a person in there,” he indicated with a sweep of the hand toward the door, “She's not a damned toaster!”

Roth's eyes were set and determined. “This is not a debate Doctor. I appreciate your feelings, but my decision stands. If you wish, you can file a complaint on medical grounds.” She didn't wait for the doctor to reply. “Merrick?”

Reia Merrick started, genuinely surprised that the captain had remembered she was there. “Ma'am?”

“I want to limit the crew's exposure to Kuga as much as we can. You're a new addition, so you won't have the sentimental vulnerabilities some of the others might. Keep an eye on her and find out what you can.” Roth stepped out of the antechamber with Carter and Cromwell following behind. Then, she looked back, adding, “You've got the ball, lieutenant. Don't drop it.”

“Yes Ma'am” added Reia as the others walked off she entered the Brig again.

After the other officers left, Reia walked over to the security officer on duty and asked, “Ensign please take a break for 10 minutes, I'll cover for you.”

The security officer gave Reia a blank, stare not sure what to make of the request. “Ma'am. I need authorization from Lieutenant Beauvais first.”

Reia returned with a cold death stare at the ensign, stating “Don't make me repeat myself, ensign. The Captain has given me full support over this matter.”

The security officer shook his head and muttered, “I'll have to put this in my report, ma'am,” before walking out of the room.

Watching as the security officer exited, she waited until the door was closed before activating the computer monitor. “Computer disable all audio and video recording, authorization Merrick theta six omega nine.”

The computer responded with a simple beep to confirm the order.

“So you work for them too?” questioned Naruko, wondering how big the organization really is.

“Work for who, ensign?” questioned Reia. “If you are indeed Ensign Kuga.”

Naruko was a little surprised, as Lieutenant Merrick wasn't coming across like the others she had dealt with on the Coeus. 'Perhaps she doesn't work for them after all,' she thought.

“I… never mind,” she stumbled, feeling it would be best that no one on the Republic knew why she was there.

“Ensign, I only want to help,” begged Reia walking towards the forcefield. “So please, give me something to work with.”

“Why did you disable the recorder?” questioned Naruko.

“I thought it would be best to have some private time,” replied Reia, hoping that her action would ease tensions between them. “Besides, you gave your word to the Captain that you wouldn't try to escape, and if you are indeed the real Ensign Naruko Kuga, then your word means everything. Now let me give you *my* word, whether you say anything or nothing at all I will do my best to protect you.”

Naruko sat in silence for a minute before she began to talk.

---

Reia sat on the cold floor of the brig in front of the force field of Kuga's cell; she couldn't help but feel pity as she looked into Kuga's eyes.

Naruko felt as if she was about to cut a limb off her body as she started to talk. “It began a couple of weeks ago after I first came on board the Republic. I was having these odd dreams…” she thought for a moment trying to put the right words in place ”…Like someone sending out a distress call, but I was the only one that could hear it.“ The memories began to flood into her mind as she recalled the events. “I don't really remember how I got off the ship, but I do remember running to an engineer who was working on some bio-gel. After I went back to my quarters to get cleaned up, everything seemed to fade away. The next thing I realize I was in a white room … I think I was communicating to some alien race in another dimension… not sure though… it still seems odd to me.” She took a deep breath and continued on with her story. “I was later placed in a biotank on board the Admiral's runabout, which was supposed to take me back to the Republic at Deep Space Nine. It was then that the Admiral told me that I wasn't supposed to talk about what I am and what had happened to me. All I knew was that I was going back to the Republic, and told to forget about whole encounter. But I got this feeling that if I didn't keep my mouth shut they would kill me…” Naruko took a deep breath. ”…or that is what I believe they would do.“

Reia sat in silence as she waited for Naruko to continue, still trying to soak up all the information, and not sure what to make of the story yet.

“Next thing I know, I found myself in the brig of the Coeus commanded by Commodore McCain. They did things to me… things I had no control over.”

It was clear that Naruko was feeling a bit uneasy with the situation.

“Who are they?” asked Reia, trying to get an understanding of this group of people.

“They call themselves the 'Organization'. During the trip to Deep Space Nine, the runabout was attacked by McCain. As far as I know, I'm the only survivor…” A tear slowly rolled down Naruko's left cheek. ”…They did experiments on me…“ the tears started to flow faster as she recalled how violated she felt. “They added a mind control device to me, along with some type of skin-tight armor. The next thing I knew I had shot my father with a phaser.” She bowed her head with a puddle of tears in her hands as she continued to cry.

Reia stood up and placed her hand on the control panel next to the cell door, and the force-field dropped. Walking over to Naruko, she sat down next to her, placing her arm around Naruko, trying to ease her sadness. “I know this is painful for you Naruko, but I need to know more,” said Reia, all the time thinking to herself, 'Poor girl'.

Naruko wiped the tears away form her eyes as she tried to get a hold of her feelings. “About a day later, I was taken to a secret drydock in the Gamma Serpentis system to be the sole pilot of a drone ship called the 'Dragon'. This ship was an extremely large and powerful warship, built for nothing more than to destroy any target it encountered. When I was strapped into the cockpit and interfaced with the ship, my orders from McCain were to attack the Founder's homeworld… to start another war with the Dominion…”

Naruko began to feel some relief as continued on with her story, ”…Just before I was supposed to launch on my mission, the XO of the Coeus, who I think was working as a Starfleet intelligence officer who had infiltrated the Organization, removed the mind control device that was attached to by back of my neck. He told me that I was in the gamma quadrant, gave me a set of coordinates to navigate to, and told me to jettison myself and set the self destruct on the drone. He said a starship would find and rescue me. I didn't know it would be the Republic.“

Reia sat in silence for a minute contemplating what Naruko has just told her, “This group, called the 'Organization', do you know *why* they want to start another Dominion war?” she asked.

“Far as I know, not everyone in the organization feels this way. I believe at one point I over heard McCain talking to someone high up in Starfleet… I never heard his name during the conversation, but I did hear McCain saying that they would get their war… one way or another.” Naruko closed her eyes trying to focus her concentration on her memory. “I'm sorry, but I can't remember anymore than that… most of it is still a burr in my mind.” Naruko stood up and started pacing the small cell. “What are you going to do, now that you know?”

Reia was unsure of what to do with all of the information. She knew that Roth was going to want to know this, yet at the same time, she felt as if she needed to help Naruko. “I'm not sure… Naruko, I may have to go the Captain about this, but I assure you that I will do my best to help you, ensure your safety, and maybe if we work together, we can stop McCain.”

Naruko gave a nod as she watch Reia walk out of the cell, turning the force-field back on.

---

Location: Office of the Chief of Operations, deck 6, USS Republic

Resigned to her office, Reia sat at her desk pondering everything Naruko had told her. This “Organization”, as the ensign had called it, seemed impossible to believe, considering the fantastic technology they must have possessed. But the very presence of Naruko, and her physiology thereof, was quite literally living proof. Recalling Admiral Ross's warning about a splinter group of Section 31, it suddenly dawned on her that if Naruko were aboard due to a spy in the midsts of the Organization, they would be tracking Republic, and it was only a matter of time before they tried to capture her back.

Putting two and two together, Reia muttered, “I have to take this to the captain.” However, before she could do so, the doors to her office slid open unexpectedly. There was no doorbell or announcement chime, it just… opened. As her eyesight focused on the figure walking through the open doorway, her stomach tightened as she recognized who it was. “Chris…” she whispered, as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

Quickly, she jumped out of her chair and made a dash towards the cabinet next to her desk where she kept her phasor. But Ensign Jenkins was too quick for her. As Reia fumbled to find her weapon, Jenkins raised his hand and pointed an extended index finger towards her. Suddenly, a bright blue bolt of electricity erupted from Jenkins' finger, knocking Reia to the ground.

“Where is the bio-gel sample from Ensign Kuga?” questioned Jenkins, coldly.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” lied Reia, as the stunning effect of the electric charge faded from her brain.

“I know you're lying, Reia,” Jenkins revealed. “I accessed the medical logs, and the sample isn't being stored in sickbay. YOU were the last one to have access to it, so cut the crap and I'll let you live. WHERE is the sample?”

“I don't know what you are talking about,” lied Reia again, and while fear was creeping down every inch of her spine, she also became angry with herself for not keeping better track of Jenkins. ' Admiral Ross knew he was going to pull something,' she thought. 'I just wish I had guessed better on when.'

Meanwhile, Ensign Jenkins simply walked over to the secure Ops Chief console, touched his hand to the panel, and small blue threads of electricity danced over the surface of the computer, accessing Reia's personal logs and secure report files to Admiral Ross. After that, the location of the bio-gel sample became clear to the ensign.

“I was hoping to make this easy for the both of us…” Jenkins reached down and, with a swift clenching of his hand, grabbed Reia by the neck and picked her up off the floor with such ease that it was clear his strength far exceeded any humanoid. As Reia dangled from his arm like a rag doll, she struggled when Jenkins began to unzip Reia's uniform jacket with his other hand.

“Hey!” she gasped for air. “What you are you doing?” Feeling the cold hand of her attacker on her breast, Jenkins discovered the small foil packet that contained the single bio-gel sample she collected from Ensign Kuga in sickbay.

Smiling in triumph at his success in locating the item, he turned back to Reia with contempt, and in another flash of blue lightning, everything around Reia went black.

---

Location: Brig, deck 38, USS Republic

Naruko sat in her cell looking towards the security officer outside who was completely ignoring her. Suddenly, the console at the officer's workstation overloaded, throwing the young man to the ground. Surprised, Naruko stood up and moved to the force field, trying get a better look at the guard to see if he was alright. Before she could call out, the doors to the Brig are slid open, and another man in operations gold solidly and intently walked over to Kuga's cell.

“Who are you?” questioned Naruko with fear.

“Stand back,” said Ensign Jenkins while placing a hand on the force field. In the blink of an eye, the field dissipated and disappeared.

Watching in amazement, Naruko stammered, “How did you…”

“I never thought my older sister would be amazed at a such a simple trick like that,” Jenkins interrupted with amusement.

“Sister?” Naruko replied with a mix of surprise and fear. “I don't even look anything like you!”

“Look, we don't have time for this, Naruko,” stated Jenkins. Tapping his combadge, he called out to an unknown recipient. “Argus… Two to beam out.”

Within a few seconds, Ensign Kuga and Ensign Jenkins were no longer on board the Republic.

---

Chapter 13: The Resonance of WeirdnessTop

“This ship just keeps gettin' weirder n'weirder…” remarked Lieutenant Nathan Hawk to no one in particular. As the ship's Second Officer, he was currently seated in the center chair of Republic's bridge as Captain Kim Roth and Commander John Carter attended to the latest random act of galactic weirdness. He was glad to not be neck-deep in this one, though. He liked to be in the loop, for sure. Every once and awhile though, that loop turned into a noose. And to Hawk, it felt like just one of those occasions.

Cha'rik waited patiently for the turbolift to stop and once it did, she composed herself again. It was time to check in on her little babysitting project. With everyone else busy on the ship, she figured that this would be the perfect time to get everything squared away in her books. She exited the turbolift and headed to the science station at the back of the bridge. Here she would have a bird's eye view of the bridge and Hawk.

Taking note of the Vulcan Lieutenant in Sci-Med blue who took over at the main science station to his immediate right, Hawk stifled a sigh, and quipped under his breath, “Spoke to soon…”

“Excuse me, did you say something?” she asked turning her head to his direction.

“Guess them ears ain't just fer show, now are they?” Hawk asked with a smirk, eliciting similar expressions from some of the other bridge crew.

“No,” with that she turned back to her work, not knowing what else to say. No matter how old she really was and who she really was…she never learned how to be social the right way.

Nothing quite irritated Nat like a Vulcan. It wasn't a prejudice, just an annoyance. Rising from the command chair, he stepped forward into the center of the bridge to look over the shoulders of both Ops and the Helm. As he did so, he could feel the eyes of the Vulcan Science Officer upon him. As he tensed his muscles to turn towards her though, he knew before he saw that her attention had refocused upon her console. “Somethin' ta report, Lieutenant?” he questioned her.

“Not at this time, just calibrating the console to my specifications,” now how the blazes did he know that she was eyeing him up. This was going to be even a trickier assignment than she thought. No better way to know what she was dealing with than to fight them…but she was out of fight…she just wanted peace…

Wondering why a Vulcan would lie, he didn't turn his attention from her at first. After a few seconds though, he stepped back over to the command chair and sat down again. It was still an odd sensation, sitting in the center chair. He was used to a flight console in front of him, not two tiny command consoles which could override the rest of the bridge if need be. He was thankful to only be second officer. The idea of dealing with such responsibility more often wasn't quite appealing to him.

Checking the left-hand command console for any new information that had been filed relating to Ensign Kuga, he was disappointed to find nothing new. He had barely known the ensign during her brief stint at Ops. They had only encountered each other outside of the bridge once, shortly after she had come aboard. Still, sitting here on the bridge, the ship at station keeping, he was pensive for information. Realizing he had an untapped resource, loathe as he may be to utilize it, her turned his head towards Science station one again.

“Lieutenant,” he began, “you know anythin' new 'bout Ensign Kuga?” he questioned.

“Nothing new. Her scans are still being analyzed by sickbay,” she replied without turning.

A bit miffed at her dismissive tone, he straightened up in the center chair before continuing, “Well, whadya think it is?”

“I do not jump to conclusions, Sir,” with that she started looking over an anomalous reading on her scanners. There was a fluctuation in the space around the ship. Realigning her sensors, she started to train the sensors on it, then she detected the worst coming from the Brig. “Sir, there has been an unauthorized transport from the Brig, two lifesigns have vanished from the scanners. Not only that, I detected a disturbance off the port bow. Now it is gone.”

“Damn,” came his initial response, “Security alert, Mister Narundi,” Nat ordered of the eager young south-american ensign at Tactical as he fell back into the center chair. “Can ya confirm who beamed out?” he asked of the Vulcan Science Officer.

“Not yet, I am still trying to reconfigure the internal sensors to go from the logs of the signatures before and after.” With saying that the turbolift opened and out came Lieutenant Beauvais. She looked pissed.

“Lieutenant, Ensign Kuga is no longer aboard the Republic,” it was simple as she headed to her station. “Cha'rik, have you been able to determine who the other transporter signature was?”

“Not yet,” she replied. “The computer is still working on it. I should know momentarily.”

“Scan local space fer signs of a ship,” Hawk ordered Beauvais as she took over for Narundi at Tactical, who looked quite disappointed to be relegated to an aft station now that his supervisor was present. “Bridge ta Cap'n Roth,” he called out.

“Go ahead, Lieutenant.” came the captain's voice over the comm.

“Ensign Kuga n'somebody else, we ain't sure who yet, just beamed off.” Hawk reported.

“Any signs of a vessel?” Roth asked.

Craning his neck back towards Beauvais, he waited for her response.

“There is no longer any sign of the disturbance that Lieutenant Cha'rik had detected. Whoever they are, they vanished quickly. Between her work and my work, we might be able to get enough to find where they went.” Beauvais stated.

“Acknowledged. Continue scans of the area and begin an analysis of Lieutenant Cha'rik's sensor readings. Roth out.” commanded the Captain.

“They've gotta be at impulse if we ain't pickin' up anything…” Hawk reasoned aloud. Remembering something from the end months of the dominion war, he stepped over to Operations, which was being manned by a new arrival. Ensign Cail Jarn, a former Bajoran Militia Officer whom had been absorbed into Starfleet with most of his brethren when Bajor joined the Federation three years ago. “Cail, can ya saturate local space with inverse graviton bursts?” he questioned.

“Yes sir,” replied Cail, his tone indicating he didn't quite follow Hawk's reasoning. Despite this, he had already begun configuring to comply.

“Do it.” Nat ordered, turning away from Ops as soon as he had. “Beauvais, ready tractor beam, shields on stand-by.”

“Aye, Sir,” she started to ready everything. Within moments a ship shimmered into existence, and she initialized the tractor beam. It held momentarily. “I have them, trying to get information about the ship now.”

Looking upon the vessel, Hawk barely recognized it as Federation. If not for the trademark blue-red color scheme of her nacelles - if you could even classify the oddly-placed protrusions on the hull as nacelles - he would have thought it alien. As he scrutinized the vessel, he caught sight of brief flare of energy. Before he could say anything about it though, the flare upon the hull became an orb of amber energy that darted towards them.

“Shields!” he ordered, just as the unknown energy burst slammed into the ships forward hull. Unprepared, the inertial dampeners failed to cancel out the opposing force, and threw the ship - and her crew - roughly back. Hawk himself ended up on his ass in the middle of the bridge. As he pushed himself up, he watched on-screen as the blue-glow of Republic's tractor beam winked out, and the odd-looking ship banked hard to starboard.

“I'm losing them!!” Beauvais yelled against the sirens. “If you have anything, Cha'rik, give it to me!”

“I am already doing so. Flooding the immediate area again,” there was a pause. “No effect.”

She knew the class of a ship that looked familiar to the one that was out there, but her information being supplied would end her up being court marshaled. Right now, with only a few of the true Starfleet Intelligence members left, she couldn't end up in prison as a sitting duck. It reminded her of something that she had seen during her time before she went into hiding from Section 31. But she couldn't put her finger on it. Her mind was still fragmented from what the Borg did to her again. Then again, she would have broken the temporal directive as well. “Nothing. I am not getting any results…they have adjusted against what we were trying.”

“She's still out there,” Hawk stated, putting his hand on the back of the Ops station to steady himself incase the vessel returned. “Inverse graviton bursts mess with warp fields, which means they're stuck at impulse.” he explained. He knew whatever was out there couldn't have gone to warp, or Cha'rik would have picked up signs of that. His hunch had been right, but he hadn't anticipated the other ship packing such a wallop.

---

Location: Torga V, Cardassian Power Station, Control Room
Stardate: 53641.05 (four years ago)

Reia smashed her fist on the control panel in frustration. “Why won't you work you piece of Cardassian junk!” she yelled.

Although there was little time to spare, and the reactor would soon go critical, Patrick placed his hands on Reia's shoulders to try and ease her consternation. “Anything I can help with, lieutenant?” he asked with a smile.

“Not unless you got a magic wand that can fix this scrap-heap…” commented Reia.

“One minute and twenty seconds to core meltdown,” the computer announced.

She sighed, fearing that she would have to use her last option. It was an option of extreme risk, but considering how many lives were at stake on the station, she had no choice. With a lump in her throat and knot in her stomach, she turned to her companion. “I'm sorry Patrick… it looks like we won't be able have dinner together anymore.”

Patrick's face turned from a cheerful smile to confusion. He looked at the control panel, then towards the reactor room. His eyes grew wide with panic as he realized what Reia was about to do. “You… you know that anyone who goes into the reactor room will die from the radiation??”

Reia looked at the chronometer. One minute left before the power core exploded. She had to act now, or it would be too late. Her heart pounded as she stood up from the control console and began to walk towards the reactor chamber. “Nobody said the life of a Starfleet officer was easy…”

“Hey…” shouted Patrick, trying to stop Reia. His mind raced with thoughts of how to keep her from throwing her life away. He ran up to her, and as Reia turned around to face him, Patrick looked into her eyes. “Are you sure that this is the only way?”

The two stood in silence as Reia gave a nod to confirm Patrick's fears. He then grabbed Reia, pulling her close to him, and for a brief moment, the two locked lips with one another. After a kiss that seemed to last forever, Reia pushed herself away and said in whisper, “I'm sorry . . . please make sure everyone gets out safe.” She then turned around and resumed her walk down the corridor to the reactor chamber.

In a moment of passion, Patrick drew his phaser, set it for stun, then pointed it at Reia. “No… That's your job.” With a flash, an orange beam hit Reia in the back.

---

“What hit me?” Reia thought, just as she realized what happened to her. “Oh no…” she whispered with anxiety. Picking herself up from the cold metal floor, the lights in the control room flickered, and her heart raced as she dashed down the corridor despite the pain from the phaser hit.

Running down the corridor, time itself felt as if it had stopped, and her heart skipped a beat. With the lights of the corridor returning to normal she summoned the last of her will to keep moving.

Patrick had succeeded in stopping the reactor from going critical, but his last moments of life occurred just within the airlock of the reactor core.

Reia saw the injured body of her love through the window of the airlock; he was lying motionless on the floor, and his skin was blistered with bloody radiation burns. A wave of emotion flowed over her as she dropped to her knees in a scream of anguish. Tears of anger, regret, and sadness rolled down her face.

Suddenly, she saw the body move. Before she knew what she was doing, she had purged the atmosphere in the airlock and opened the door. As he lay near death, Patrick muscled all of his strength to speak. “Looks like I am the one who's sorry…” he barely managed to mumble under is breath, feeling the intense pain of his burned and radiated flesh.

Reia inched her way closer to Patrick, picking up his head, and laying it on her lap. “Please try to hold on,” she wept. “We'll get you back to the ship…” She started to reach for her combadge only to find Patrick's hand grabbing hers.

“I'll be dead by the time they get here…” he started to say before coughing up some blood. ”… I rather die here … with you.“

With all of Reia's strength, she pulled Patrick's body closer to hers and held in him tightly. “Why?” she whimpered, resting her head on his. Patrick wanted to answer, but only smiled as he felt his life slip away.


Location: Main sickbay, USS Republic
Time: Present day

The familiar beep noise echoed in the background as Reia laid unconscious on the diagnostic bed in sickbay. The doors to sickbay slid open as Captain Roth walked in. “Status Doctor?” she asked.

For his part, Leon was leaned over the table with a medical wand and a tricorder, scanning Reia's vital signs.

“Well, let's see,” the doctor started sarcastically. “I've got two of the ship's senior staff lying unconscious in my sickbay, both injured by a renegade assassin who still seems to be on the loose. A third officer from the psychology department appears to be all but brain dead thanks to some sort of 'psionic reflex' from our ship's counselor, who himself is apparently in a self-induced, telepathic coma. Our attempts to revive him have involved a series auditory stimulation experiments that include visual and behavioral descriptions about Mary and her Little Lamb.”

Completing his scan, Leon closed his tricorder and concluded his report with the barest hint of mockery. “So basically, everything's normal around here. How are you?”

Ignoring the doctor's colorful remarks, the captain looked down at Reia, and furrow developed in her forehead. “Wake her,” Roth ordered firmly.

“Captain,” the doctor replied. “No disrespect intended, but why is it that no matter the status of my patients, I always seem to get the same order from you? Can't this wait until she's has some time to recover?”

“Doctor, if this is related to the counselor's attack or about our guest in the brig I need to know now,” demanded Roth.

“At least you chose the one patient I CAN revive,” Leon commented as he dialed a stimulant into a hypospray. A second later, he pressed the instrument to Reia's neck and discharged the medicine into her bloodstream.

Reia's eyes slowly opened as she tried to adjust her vision to the intense light.

“Can you hear me Lieutenant?” asked Captain Roth.

“Captain?” questioned Reia feeling a bit disoriented.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Reia tried to focus her Swiss-cheese-of-a-brain to answer Roth's question. “Ensign Jenkins… He's after Ensign Kuga.”

“Bridge ta Cap'n Roth,” said Hawk over the comm.

Roth tapped her combadge to response, “Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“Ensign Kuga n'somebody else, we ain't sure who yet, just beamed off.”

Reia clinched her right fist in frustration after hearing the news from the bridge.

“What?” Captain Roth replied with incredulity. Her eyes grew wide with exasperation. “How did it happen? Where did they beam to? Is there any sign of a vessel?”

“We're not sure how it happened yet, ma'am. The guard on duty was found unconscious, an' sensors briefly showed a vessel in our area. But there's no longer any sign of it. Whoever they are, they vanished quickly. Science Officer Cha'rik was able to record the sensor readins' an' she's analyzing 'em now. She might be able to get enough info ta find where they went.”

Roth shook her head in dismay and anger. 'Damn it!' she thought, with her instincts telling her to go to the bridge. However, after a moment, common sense took over, and she realized that her presence there wouldn't help the immediate situation. “Acknowledged,” she replied to Hawk. “Continue scans of the area and continue the analysis of Lieutenant Cha'rik's sensor readings. Roth out.”

After the order, Roth closed her eyes to calm down before returning her focus to Reia. “Why did Ensign Jenkins attack you?”

“He was after the biogel sample we took from Ensign Kuga. I didn't leave it in the lab, because I didn't feel it was safe there. So I kept it with me.”

“You WHAT?” Leon exclaimed, not believing his ears.

Reia felt angry with herself for not coming to Captain Roth earlier about the situation. “I'm sorry, captain.”

“You're . . . you're apologizing to the CAPTAIN??” Leon fumed. Roth was startled at the doctor's outburst. “You took a laboratory specimen from MY sickbay without telling me! Who do you think you ARE?”

“Doctor . . .” the captain attempted to interpose, but Leon was far too angry to acknowledge her.

“What you did was a gross violation of protocol! You had no right to do that!”

“Doctor!” the captain raised her voice. “That's enough!”

His eyes wide with rage, Doctor Cromwell finally acquiesced to his skipper.

“Why didn't you think the bio-gel sample was safe in sickbay?” the captain asked the lieutenant.

Reia sat up shaking her head. “I had some proof that Ensign Jenkins might pull something like this. Admiral Ross didn't just recommend me for this assignment. He wanted me here, captain.”

Before Roth could reply, the ship shook violently, and the alert klaxons sounded.

The captain, out of instinct, tapped her combadge. “Roth to Bridge, report!”

“Ya better get up 'er, ma'am. We finally located the cloaked ship, but whoever we're dealin' with, they don't seem ta take kindly ta us.”

“I'm on my way!” Roth replied, and headed towards the door. Before she exited, she turned to Doctor Cromwell. “Keep an eye on her.”

As the captain left, Leon turned to look at his patient with a cold, penetrating glare. “We're not finished with this,” he scolded her in a calculating voice. “You can be damn sure I'm going to take this up with the captain and XO at the next staff briefing. For now . . . get some rest.”

Reia watched as Doctor Cromwell walked intently away to his office. She fell into the bed, stared at the ceiling, and mumbled, “I really messed things up this time, huh Patrick?”

---

Location: Bridge, USS Republic

Turning to Beauvais, Hawk asked from the command chair, “Any damage from that last hit?”

“Internal Dampeners had issues taking the hit. Nothing major. I wouldn't recommend another hit like that, whatever it was.”

“Well it sure as hell wasn't phasers 'er photons, 'er even quantums,” Hawk mused, “or we'd have one helluva hull breech. At best.”

“Agreed. As far as I can tell the energy readings are very close to what we have learned of the Borg and the transwarp conduit technology they have.” Cha'rik slid her chair to the side to another station and started to pull up those records…at least the Borg history wouldn't have to come up…not just yet. “Analyzing now.”

“Oh, that's just what we need, Borg…” Hawk replied with a sigh.

“Not Borg, but similar. It looks Federation in sign, however, far more advanced.”

“Even better, time travel…” Hawk remarked with sarcasm.

“Time travel?” questioned Captain Roth as she stepped from the turbolift.

“A possibility but highly unlikely. Time travel is highly frowned upon by the Federation. Even though it is frowned upon, it is highly technologically advanced to travel. Some technologies can be advanced without time-travel. It just takes one hell of an engineer. From what I gathered from the ship while it was visible, this ship is not that advanced.” Cha'rik knew that this class wasn't from the Future, but now she was living a parallel life to what she lived before. This type of technology was indeed Federation, not Borg. However, with her internal mind fragmented and the databases here on this ship not up to speed…it was going to take some time.

Absorbing what she was being told, Roth paused a moment before turning to Hawk, “What happened?” she asked him.

“Somethin' told me they where still floatin' 'round out there, so I had Cail flood the area with inverse graviton bursts.” he reported.

“Makes sense. Disable their ability to generate a warp field.” Roth responded. “Then what?”

“Well they… I dunno what ta call it, didn't look like a cloak, but they appeared n'we snared 'em in a tractor beam. B'fore we knew it, they'd fired some sorta unknown weapon, took out the tractor and knocked us 'round, b'fore vanishin' again.” Hawk explained.

“If they have transwarp - or something like it - capability… why worry about graviton bursts?” Cail questioned aloud.

“Good question.” Roth replied. “Any ideas, Lieutenant Cha'rik?”

“The field is too understudied at this time. I do not have enough information to counter-act this…for now, I have not detected their escape. If they escape either with regular warp, impulse or transwarp, it would leave a signature…when that happens, I will be able to track the trajectory of the ship but not its destination,” she replied. “Of my studies of the Borg and the studies of technology returned with Voyager it could be years before we can determine what they are and how to fully stop them.”

Looking out at the stars on the main view screen, Kim Roth wondered, not for the first time this day, just what in the hell they had stumbled into…

---

Chapter 14: What Lay Beyond InfinityTop

Standing between flight control and operations, arms crossed, Kim Roth studied the forward view screen, hoping against hope for some visual clue as to the location of the enigmatic ship eluding them. On her right, Nathan Hawk had relieved his subordinate and returned to the helm. She could tell he was more comfortable in that position than he had been in command. Yet his capability to take the reigns when the situation called for it was a testament to the potential wrapped in rogue form. Even after his performance on Sigma Omicron V there had been a nagging question as to whether she had made the right choice. Now though, she found that echo of doubt assuaged, and finally understood just why John Carter had suggested him.

Angling to look down over the shoulder of her Operations officer, a dark skinned Bajoran named Cail, she studied the sensor readouts that flooded across his console. The age-old adage 'needle in a haystack' came instantly to mind. Despite the abundance of sensor data flooding in, for all intents and purposes, there was nothing out there. At least, nothing useful or out of the ordinary. Nothing to help them find their quarry, anyway. Particulate matter, radiation, energy, traces of this and that, nothing that couldn't be–wait…

“Ensign, put the sensor data feed on the viewer,” she ordered Cail, not taking her eyes off the console as he did as had been ordered. Even as the information displayed upon the larger screen, she continued to look at the active feed on the console. “go back, one third speed.” she ordered, turning now to the main screen.

Scrolling upwards in reverse of normal, the text that the computer converted the raw sensor information into passed by like it had a moment ago. It was only a few moments before the reading that had caught her eye did so once more. “There, that element,” she said, pointing to the periodic identification, “what's it's dispersal? How many parts per million?” she queried.

Focusing sensor bandwidth and scan, Cail furrowed his brow in confusion at the readings coming back. “It's a concentrated reading, ma'am.” he reported.

She had it. Turning on her heal, she looked to the Science station.

“Cha'rik, you said the earlier readings looked like indications of transwarp?” Roth questioned the Vulcan science officer.

“Yes ma'am, though not definitively.” Cha'rik replied.

“Did you consider any alternatives?” Roth prompted.

Hesitating for a moment, Cha'rik finally replied, “Of course. However, there is an old Terran phrase. Something concerning appearing and vocalizing like a web-footed swimming bird of the family anatidae?”

“The who n'the what now?” Hawk asked.

“Ducks, Lieutenant.” Roth explained, the corner of her mouth curling into a restrained smile as she turned back to face the view screen. “What Miss Cha'rik is trying to say is… 'If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck…it's probably a duck.'”

“Last time I checked ducks didn't do transwarp.” Hawk retorted.

Her restrained smile expanding to a warm grin, she nodded, agreeing with Hawk. “And neither do our friends out there, it seems.”

“Captain?” Cha'rik questioned.

“Benamite crystals are rare, unstable, and decay rapidly. So how then could a concentrated quantity exist out here, in the middle of no where, a dozen light years from any star system?” Roth queried.

“Logically, they could not.” Cha'rik replied.

“Exactly. Unless they where somehow being stabilized by artificial means. Something our science isn't supposed to be capable of, last I heard.” Roth went on, leading her people along the trail of bread crumbs she herself had followed.

“Why would anyone want to even try?” Beauvais questioned from Tactical.

“Good question.” Roth observed. “Why would they?” she asked rhetorically - though looking at Cha'rik.

The Vulcan considered the question for a moment.

“Quantum slipstream.” she finally stated with impassionate distance.

“Bingo.” Roth said…


Location: Main bridge, USS Argus

The bridge of the Argus was rather odd in configuration compared to a standard Starfleet vessel. With far fewer consoles than most ships and only a hand full of crew manning them, the bridge felt… open. Almost unfinished. Pacing back and forth near the center chair, Rachel waited for Republic's next move with impatience.

“How long until we are out of the graviton field?” she asked.

“At current speed, four minutes, Ma'am.” answered the officer at helm.

Beside her, the doors from the corridor slid open with Jenkins and Kuga stepping through them on to the bridge. Rachel turned he attention to them as they entered, “Glad to see you both are okay. I take it no one was seriously hurt on the Republic, Chris?”

“Unfortunately ma'am, two people where injured during the escape. However, I had no other course of action to take.” replied Chris, sounding like a vulcan.

Kuga stood in disbelief looking at Rachel, whom she thought had died in the runabout explosion. “Admiral…?” she started to say, uncertain.

Rachel gave a little chuckle, “Are you okay, Naruko?…You look like you have seen a ghost.”

“I thought you died in the Runabout explosion…” said Naruko in dismay.

“You must be referring to my sister, dear.” commented Rachel, as she turned towards the viewscreen.

Chris whispered into Naruko's ear then, explaining, “She's a clone.”

“How many of her are there?” asked Naruko whispering back.

“There were six total, but she is the last one.” whispered Chris

“What do you think Captain Roth will do, Naruko?” interrogated Rachel.

“Well, I wasn't on the Republic long enough to know what Roth will do, but they do think of me as a member of the crew still…” Naruko answered, unsure of her feelings.

“Then she will do her best to get you back,” deduced Rachel, as she tried to plan out some strategy to get out of this mess.

“Why don't we hail the Republic and explain…” Naruko suggested, interrupting Rachel's thoughts.

“Impossible. I have standing orders to keep the members of this crew and ship a secret from the universe, and that includes you now Naruko.” Rachel informed her.

“Admir-” started Naruko. But she was cut off.

“I'm flattered that you wish to call me Admiral, but if you keep instancing on calling me by my rank, then call me Captain,” ordered Rachel as she looked at the helm officer. “How must longer?”

“Another minute, Ma'am, and should be able to go to slipstream,” answered the helm officer.

“Captain… If Roth is able to locate us, both the lives of this ship and the Republic will be in even more danger,” stated Naruko in protest of the current course of actions.

Rachel turned to face Kuga, replying, “I swore to protect this vessel and it's secrets and we will die doing so, Ensign, is that clear?”

“Cap-” began Naruko again only to be interrupted once more.

“Chris… Show Miss Kuga to her cabin,” ordered Rachel as she turned to face the view screen once more.


Location: Main bridge, USS Republic

Junior Lieutenant Maria Pakita had heard the call for the Chief Engineer to report to the bridge a hundred times before, at the least. This was the first occasion though where that call from the Captain was meant for her. She wasn't really the Chief, not full time, anyway. Though considering the Republic hadn't had a steady Chief since Victor Virtus had left the post a few months ago, she was the most consistent senior engineer aboard ship. A fact that, admittedly, made her a little anxious. Not so much in her abilities, but in her anxiety over the 'burden of command' as they called it.

She had never been faced with a situation where she, personally, would or could be responsible for another persons life. Not in the way she was as Acting Chief Engineer. She knew she could make the decisions, and make the right ones at that. What she was anxious about was how she would deal with the reality of it after the fact. It was a self-involved concern that she hated having run through her mind. Which just made the whole thing even worse. So, pushing the thought aside, she stepped forward through the turbolift doors and onto the Main Bridge.

Before she took her third step, she was being addressed by the Captain.

“Lieutenant,” Roth began, her attention focusing in upon Pakita, “what do you know about quantum slipstream technology?”

The question hit her like a hyper-spanner from three levels up. 'Quantum slipstream? Christ, what have we stepped into now?' she thought to herself as she tried to remember everything (which wasn't very much) she had ever read about the Voyager technology. She wanted to impress the Captain with her knowledge, but this wasn't the topic to do it on. “To be honest ma'am, not a lot.”

“Well then at least we're all in the same boat,” Roth replied, then added with a fleeting smile, “pardon the pun,” as she gestured for Pakita to take her place at the bridge engineering-1 station, which mirrored the science-1 station.

“It don't make sense,” Lieutenant Hawk commented from the Helm.

“Mister Hawk?” the Captain questioned.

“If they got some fancy-pants super-duper-warp-thingy, why'd the inverse graviton bursts stop 'em?”

“Quite simply, because slipstream drive operates via a narrowly-focused directed warp field that is initiated by manipulating the fabric of the space-time continuum at the quantum level via a vessel's deflector array.” Science Officer Cha'rik responded, sounding a little condescending in her explanation. As if realizing this, the Vulcan continued, “Which is why you're tactic was, and continues to be, successful. Though your intent may have been to limit standard warp travel, it accomplished the additional task of likewise limiting the unidentified vessel from utilizing it's advanced drive system.”

“Unfortunately, the graviton field we're generating drops off after a quarter-billion kilometers. So all they have to do is clear the field via impulse and we'll have lost them.” Roth pointed out, with frustration and disappointment.

“A fact I have used to calculate that we have less than three minutes before a vessel operating at maximum impulse could clear such a distance.” Cha'rik informed the bridge.

“Wait a minute,” Beauvais interjected from the tactical console, “we picked up the fact that they have benamite aboard from our scans, right?” she asked. Knowing the answer, she continued, “So if it's showing through whatever cloaking system they use, why don't we just lock on to that signal? We could be on top of them before they knew it.”

“Only problem s'the inverse graviton field. Second we stop saturatin' local space, feild'll dissipate like n'ice cube on Vulcan.” Hawk answered. “They'd be able ta slipstream right on outta here half-a-jiff b'fore we overtook 'em.”

An idea occurring to Pakita, her mouth acted before her brain could fully process it, “Not if we turn command control over to the computer.”

“That's crazy,” Hawk replied on instinct.

Roth cut him off from saying more with a quick glance before turning to Pakita. “Lieutenant?” she prompted.

Mindful that all attention was once more upon her, Pakita voiced her half-formed plan. “If we turn over command control to the computer, and pre-program what we want the ship to do, we could carry out everything we need to do in a fraction of the time it would take all of us to actually do it, even with the best coordination.” she explained. “So instead, we program the maneuvers in the sequence we would carry them out and then… let the computer do the job.”

“What, exactly, would those maneuvers be?” Cha'rik queried.

Realizing that what she was proposing was ambitious to say the least, Pakita took a deep breath before entering into the sequence of events, as she saw it.

“First, we locate the unidentified ship via the benamite readings. Once we have her basic location, we stop saturation of inverse gravitons. Less than a second after we do that, we should be able to create a stable warp field. The other ship will still be reading the sensor results telling them the field is gone as the Republic warps to their approximate location.”

“Problem is the transit time,” Hawk interrupted, “even if we go straight ta warp seven, it's gonna take us eight 'er nine seconds ta cover the distance. They'll be rev'd up n'ready ta slipstream outta here by then. We could miss 'em, 'specially if we don't hit the bull's-eye with the tractor beam on our first shot.”

“Which is why we don't try to tractor them at first,” Pakita countered, “while we're in transit for those eight or nine seconds, the other ship will, like Lieutenant Hawk said, be on the verge of going to slipstream velocity. Which means they'll be generating a pretty high-profile narrow-focused directed quantum warp field. The ships sensors can lock on to that which we use to extrapolate their position and identify their quantum warp field frequency, so we can match it and-”

”-and follow them into slipstream before they realize what's going on.“ Roth extrapolated, finishing Pakita's thought.

“That's the idea.” Pakita concurred. “Once we're in slipstream with them, they likely won't risk a ship-to-ship fire-fight, especially since we'll be within each others shield perimeters. We have to outnumber them, just based on the size difference between us, so we could beam a dozen security teams over and take control of the ship. Get some answers.”

For a few moments, no one said anything, as if each person on the bridge was running over the multitude of variables. She didn't know the new Tactical Officer, Beauvais, well enough to read her. Nor could she decipher what the Vulcan Science Officer, Cha'rik was concluding. Reading Nat Hawk though was like reading a flashing neon sign, and from the gentle affirmative nodding of his head, she could tell he, at least, agreed with the idea of the plan. Whether or not that was because he thought the plan viable or simply because it would require him to test his piloting skills at slipstream velocity for the first time, she didn't know.

“Lets make it happen, people.” Roth finally declared in a firm, assured tone.

---

It all happened so fast. It was a cliché, yet, it was true. The enterprising plan was based on a foundation of speed. Speed of thought and action more rapid than human or alien was capable of. Which was why command control had been turned over to machine. It was a risk, but as someone once said, that's what it's all about. The consequences of failure where variable and unknown. The odds of success slim and in doubt. The chance existed to be taken, though. So, either without any other options or without the time to think of any, it was the only choice.

Feeling isolated and helpless, the Captain and crew of the Starship Republic watched rather than manipulated their consoles, as the virtual mind of the vessel which made so much of what they did possible carried out it's program. In short order, the sensors scanned local space and homed in upon an unusual energy signature. That of benamite crystals. Then the inverse graviton bursts ceased, putting an end to the field of saturation engulfing them and their foe. Within nine tenths of a second, a warp field was established. Another point five seconds and the Republic had leapt beyond the realm of normal space-time and was propelled faster-than-light.

On the bridge of the Argus, a set of sensor alarms chimed, alerting the ships minimal compliment of bridge crew to the sudden change of things. They where both no longer bogged down and yet seconds from being over-taken by the goliath hulk that hunted them. Though anxious, there was also a sense calm. They had been upon the cusp of clearing the inverse graviton field, on the cusp of escaping via slipstream. Their foe would be both unable to stop them and unable to pursue, left to wonder who and what had beaten them.

Rachel, the Admiral–the Captain, and the last of her kind, could only smile as she contemplated the expression of her counter-part aboard Republic a few moments from now. One of defeat and confusion over this entire encounter. It would be something she might enjoy witnessing, if only it where feasible. Seeing the reaction to the knowledge that another had been bested by her, by the Argus, by what she represented, had always been one of her few pleasures of her existences. As she watched her helmsman adjust their narrow-focus directed quantum warp field, the fabric of space-time manipulating as if by her will, she wondered what the audacious Captain Roth could be thinking…

…Watching the forward view screen, Kim Roth marveled at the design of their adversary. Though there was nothing visual to discern as the geometric anomaly of a starship sped up in preparation for quantum slipstream, she knew the next few moments would make or break their plan. As the Republic slowed to match speed with the unknown, Roth concerned herself with her ship, not knowing how long she could survive the quantum stresses soon to be inflicted upon her. She hoped her acting Chief Engineer was as capable as her plan was risky.

For an instant, the two ships became as one according to the laws of faster-than-light travel, as their warp fields joined in harmony on the brink of acceleration beyond what was normally capable. As quickly as they had become one though, they divided once again into two, torn, pushed, pulled apart by a point-zero-four phase variance between them. The Republic was knocked away like a ship upon the sea during a storm, shaken but undamaged. The Argus was another story. On the literal brink, between here and there, between warp and slipstream, she could neither accelerate nor decelerate as the integrity of her quantum warp field was shattered like an egg-shell.

And like that proverbial egg shell, like her warp field, integrity pushed beyond the ability to be maintained, so too was the hull of the Argus shattered. Spewn through a half-formed slipstream conduit into infinity. Crushed and atomized by quantum stresses so great they could not be calculated. What had been an enigmatic starship was now little more than confetti, spread out for a dozen light years.

On the bridge of the Republic, every eye was upon the forward view screen, as if searching the void for an answer to present itself. When logic began to take domain over shock and confusion, one pair of eyes in particular turned to the port side of the bridge.

“What happened?” asked Captain Kimberly Roth as her eyes fell upon Lieutenant Maria Pakita.

“I… I don't… I don't know…” replied the stunned acting chief. For the life of her, she truly had no idea what could have happened. It was outside the realm of reason, outside of every variable she had considered. What she did know was that she was now face-to-face with one of her greatest fears. It had been her plan that lead to this point. To Pakita, that placed the blame for whatever happened upon her shoulders, no matter what anyone else said. How she would live with that fact, she did not know…

---

Chapter 15: A Tale of Two AdmiralsTop

Location: Earth

The sapphire sky over the Pacific yielded a crisp, cool day on the California coast. Deep blue undulating sea waves complimented a swift ocean breeze into San Francisco Bay as the rust-colored trestles of the Golden Gate Bridge shined like a crimson beacon in the sunlight. Nearby, various sized buildings of diverse design dotted the shoreline, their sporadic layout dwarfed only by the smooth, ivory walls of Starfleet Headquarters towering in their midsts.

The headquarters was composed of hundred structures, most devoted to a specific function within the multi-faceted bureaucracy of that which is Starfleet. However, there were a few that were more generalized in their services, one such building being the main operations building. While the lower levels were devoted to large scale communications and traffic control centers, the upper levels housed numerous offices and reception areas, as well as lecture halls and small conference rooms. The corridors were wide and roomy. These passageways were lined with a tan low-profile carpet, and adorned with carefully cultivated planters and framed paintings of stars and planetscapes. It was deep within the vestiges of this citadel that the Fleet Admiral's staff resided, each with their own spacious office and reception area, and boasting an ornate placard identifying the high-brass resident on the corridor wall outside. One such reception area read: Admiral Vladimir C. Kostya, Chief of Starfleet Operations.

Within the lobby, a transparent, crescent-shaped receptionist desk was situated toward the center of the room, and a young female lieutenant in command red sat typing away at a computer console. Towards the right side of the room, several empty recliners were situated around a coffee table and a viewing screen that currently displayed the olive-wreathed Federation logo. In the corner, a large saltwater aquarium, stocked with several exotic ichthyoids, bubbled away quietly. Towards the other side of the room, and just to the left of the receptionist, a wood-lathed door with an oval, Starfleet emblazoned window embedded in the center led the way to the main office of the admiral himself.

Within the circular office, numerous personal articles of the admiral lined the walls: A bookshelf full of antique literature; a pedestal upholding a model of an Excelsior-class starship; an ornately-designed 15th century Germanic suit of plate armor; an ancient Westminster grandfather clock; an authentic varnished wood globe of Renaissance-era Earth. All these possessions were but faint insights into the person who was Vladimir Kostya, as were the lesser items of painted portraits of Starfleet officers and holocubes of family members. In fact, it was the center of the office that told the tales of his exploits, and the position from which he wielded his power: his desk. This metallic, semi-circular monolith was a testament to the missions that the admiral had authorized, the dignitaries he hosted, and the officers he led. It was here where Kostya's authority rested, and it was from here where others learned to fear him . . .

“Are you MAD?” shouted the admiral, his nostrils flaring and face livid with incredulity. “Josh, what the hell are you doing over there??” Kostya was seated at his desk, muscles tense, and shoulders arched over the computer console as he scolded an individual over a secure communiqué.

On the other end of the open subspace channel, Commodore McCain of the USS Coeus, though submitting to Kostya's authority, remained unrepentant at the outburst.

“Sir, with all due respect, I'm carrying out my duty to you and the Federation.”

“Have you EVER heard of the word 'discretion'?” returned Kostya. “You're in the gamma quadrant to protect our interests! Not expose them for all the galaxy to see!”

“I acted with your bests interests in mind, sir. No more, no less.”

“How does this serve our interests? You exposed the Dragon Project! An experiment that I had ordered into mothballs years ago! Now I hear that you've been working behind my back!”

“The Dragon project was our best, long term investment. I pulled it out of mothballs when I realized that our operations in the alpha and beta quadrants were not going as planned. Your work with the Tholians and the Gorns have been less than successful, so I focused on the Dominion. You should be proud of what we accomplished with Kuga. She blossomed into more than we could ever have hoped for.”

“If you had succeeded in your attacks on the Founders, I might have agreed with you. But as it stands, you didn't. Dragon is a failure, thanks to you. Now I have to clean up your mess!”

“Don't bother,” McCain explained. “Republic already crossed paths with the debris field. We arrived two hours after they did. There wasn't enough debris left for them to identify the Dragon. The project is safe.”

“Josh . . . never, NEVER underestimate that ship! She's already interfered with three major operations, and this blunder is quickly becoming the FOURTH!” Kostya's eyes turned away from the screen. “I should have thrown Carter into the stockade when I had the chance . . .” he mused angrily.

“Chris, you know as well as I do that the technology of the Dragon Project is too advanced for standard Starfleet equipment to analyze. They'll be unable to identify the wreckage.”

It was most unusual for McCain to address the admiral by his middle name, Chris, instead of his first name. In fact, this was something done only by the closest of friends and confidants. However, it was McCain's way of disarming the admiral, and invoking a reminder of their common cause to the hawk movement.

“YOU don't know the Republic crew as well as I do,” rebuffed Kostya. “They're like Tiberian Bats. They'll sink their fangs in where they don't belong, and hang on until they've sucked every last drop of blood.”

“They don't know anything about the project. I'll stake my reputation on it.”

“Your reputation, Josh,” Kostya interjected through intense, squinted eyes. “Doesn't mean very much right now.” After a deep breath to calm himself, the admiral continued. “You're to report back to the Gamma Serpentis system at once – and this time, dismantle the entire project. If any shred of evidence is traced back to either you or me, we might as well turn ourselves in to the Federation Council.”

“What about Republic?”

“You leave Republic to me. Follow my orders, and don't screw up this time. If you weren't my friend, I'd have you demoted all the way back to crewman first class. Kostya out.”

Admiral Kostya closed the channel, and proceeded to slowly swivel his chair back and forth while he stared at the blank screen. His eyes betrayed a wandering mind and a longing soul, and as the back-and-forth motion of the chair subsided, Admiral Vladimir Christopher Kostya dialed a security code into the lower right drawer of his executive desk. A soft pneumatic hiss registered the opening of the compartment, and after pushing aside a few cherished trinkets and classified security tapes, he produced a deactivated PADD device. With a press of his thumbprint, the admiral brought title screen to life:

USS SARATOGA INCIDENT FILE BRIEF
INTERDICTION ORDER #1224
STARDATE 53718.6
TOP SECRET - FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

Settling back into his chair, Kostya sighed. “I won't let them take you from me again, my darling,” he whispered. Sifting through several pages on the PADD, he stopped to read one page in detail, as if relishing a nostalgic memory:

EXPERIMENTAL HOLOGRID PROJECT
RESURGENT MEMORY PROGRAMMING
EMH/COMPUTER INTERFACE ANOMALY REPORT

---

Location: Captain's ready room, main bridge, USS Coeus, Gamma Quadrant

McCain, like Kostya, stayed behind his desk and stared at the blank screen after the communication concluded. There was so much he wanted to tell the admiral, yet he couldn't. Blaming the resumption of the Dragon Project on the Cestus Three and Sigma Omicron disasters wasn't the truth, but Kostya's position would be in jeopardy if he knew about “the Admiral.” While the Chief of Starfleet Operations knew all about black ops and Section 31, the Organization was far more coercive in their methods, and to obfuscate it was to protect Kostya.

Still, McCain longed to tell him the truth.

The Organization had the potential to be a useful tool to the hawks, but while “the Admiral” was in charge, its loyalties were in doubt. It's assets included numerous outposts in the gamma quadrant, mostly in asteroid belts and unpopulated star systems. As long as those self-sustaining bases remained undercover, and the occasional diversion of resources, ships, and manpower from Section 31 remained undetected by Starfleet Operations, the Organization was safe from the prying eyes of both the Federation and its enemies.

“The Admiral”, however, was another story altogether. Up until McCain had destroyed her runabout, she had firm control over the Organization. It was she who had ordered him to resume the Dragon Project many months ago, flying in the face of Kostya's orders. While assassination wasn't one of McCain's usual methods of dispatching an enemy of the hawks, “the Admiral” had proven resilient over the years to other forms of elimination by her subordinates. It seemed though, that Josh had been successful. Although she was far from being a dove, countermanding Kostya's mothball orders for the Dragon Project was what sealed her fate in McCain's mind. Despite Josh's agreement in the project's potential, his duty to the hawks and what they stood for was what took precedence. Besides, killing “the Admiral” had other benefits: the Organization was now his to control . . .

“Bridge,” McCain tapped the intercom button on his console.

“Yes, Commodore,”

“Set course for Gamma Serpentis Base,” he ordered. “Warp seven.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Inform all section leaders. I will meet with them individually in my ready room as soon as we dock.”

“Shall I tell them what it's about, sir?”

“Yes. Tell them that the Dragon Project has been compromised. Kuga's leash was cut. We have a spy in our midst.”

“Understood. Bridge out.”

The Kuga situation was the other variable McCain hadn't counted on. Everything was fine until the Dragon was launched with orders to attack the Founder's homeworld. It was then when they discovered that the mind control device had been removed from Kuga. The perpetrator behind it had already escaped, and the ship was no longer under the Organization's control. How a spy had managed to infiltrate their ranks was beyond his understanding, considering the level of secrecy of not only the project, but the entire Organization.

'It was probably that Doug Forrest character,' McCain concluded. 'He's the newest member . . . showed up two weeks ago . . . Lieutenant Sheppard said his jacket looked scrubbed.' The term “scrubbed jacket” was intelligence lingo for a personal record that had signs of computerized tampering. 'But the Admiral didn't listen,' he continued his line of thought. 'She said it was normal for Section 31 transfers to have ink-stains. If she only stopped to think that maybe Starfleet Intelligence itself had caught on to her little operation.'

“No matter,” McCain mumbled to himself. “The damage is done.”

His next course of action was simple. Follow his orders, and dismantle all traces of the Dragon Project. Then, divert the surplus resources elsewhere to reinforce their assets in the gamma quadrant. With “the Admiral” out of the way, there was no one to stop him from shaping the Organization into his own image of what the Federation needed most for its defense: the ultimate invasion force.

McCain cracked a smile at the thought.

Kostya's vision was of paramount importance: protect the Federation through a proactive military policy. In other words, the best defense is a good offense. “We cannot wait for our enemies to attack us,” Kostya once said to McCain. Josh took those words to heart, and in the near future, when his hawkish friend at Starfleet Operations sees what he has built here, he'll get the respect that's due him.

There, in his ready room aboard the USS Coeus, Commodore Joshua McCain vowed that under his careful tutelage, and guided by the principles set forth by Admiral Vladimir Kostya, the Organization would become the most powerful security force that the Federation has ever seen . . .

---

Chapter 16: Of Holograms and HemoglobinTop

Gamma shift in sickbay was perhaps one of the most uninteresting assignments on the whole ship. While there may be an occasional patient interned for overnight observation, or an on-shift crewmember from another department needing minor medical attention, there was very little happening while the rest of the crew slept. Oftentimes, the senior surgeon on duty would dismiss a majority of the sickbay staff several hours before the shift officially ended. While Doctor Cromwell frowned on the practice, he did not outright ban it, as the ship's CMO knew all too well what kind of mischief a bored medical crew could get into if they were forced to stay in one place for eight hours straight.

This evening was just such a night. Although Counselor Tolkath remained unconscious in exam room two, and a subordinate staff member of his, Lieutenant Devenerux, was also incapacitated in exam room one, both individuals were physically in good health. Their maladies were embedded deep within their subconscious mind, defying traditional medical treatment. Unfortunately, no other facility aboard ship was better suited to keep watch on them, and despite the inability of the sickbay staff to treat them, all anyone could do was sit and wait for them to arouse on their own.

Doctor Eliza Fernmoore remained seated at the Surgeon-On-Duty desk, or “SOD” desk, sifting through the latest weekly issue of the Starfleet Medical Journal. The time was roughly 0400 hours, Lieutenant Merrick was released to active duty several hours ago, and so, most the staff had been excused for the rest of the shift with nothing left to do. Aside from the blue-uniformed nurse who tended watch at the nurse's station, there was one lone chief petty officer checking the inventory of a nearby emergency equipment locker when the main door to sickbay opened.

Julian Bashir, chief medical officer of Deep Space Nine, was an early riser. Whether out of habit, or because he was aboard a starship on which he had little to do in order to occupy himself, the doctor woke up at this pre-dawn hour and began his morning routine. However, to his curiosity, there was a message from Doctor Cromwell in his VIP quarters' computer console. It was straightforward, but nowhere close to the proverbial point: 'Doctor Bashir, come see me when you get the chance.' A shower and a cup of Raktajino later had him strolling into the Republic's medical center, looking not so out of place, but definitely at a loss.

“Um, excuse me,” he beckoned to the gray haired Doctor Fernmoore.

The elder MD looked up from her screen without so much as a blink. Shallow age lines were etched into her face, and their patterns brought her expression to that of a perpetual scowl. Squinting briefly to recognize who had addressed her, she responded, “can I help you, Doctor Bashir?”

“I'm looking for Doctor Cromwell. The computer locator told me he was here in sickbay.”

“He's in the medical lab. Second door on your right down the hallway off the right of the surgical ward.” She didn't wait for a response before turning her attention back to her medical journal.

For his part, Julian simply raised his eyebrows in a silent 'sorry-to-bother-you' gesture before following the directions given to him.

---

Sickbay's medical laboratory was a large, spacious room with countertops, lab benches, and workstations lining the walls on one half, and two large wall-mounted viewscreens on the other. The large space in the center of the lab contained a single countertop island that supported a plethora of diagnostic and research machinery as well as one lone workstation. The only sound in the room was that of the computer console at the end of the counter where Doctor Leon Cromwell sat reviewing medical data.

It had been about twenty full hours since Leon had woke the previous morning, as the recent medical situations in sickbay and elsewhere drove sleep from his mind. After the Kuga-Jenkins escape, and subsequent destruction of an unidentifiable, technologically-advanced starship, the doctor found himself sifting through the only data available to him of the mysterious person they once knew as Ensign Kuga: the data recorded during her brief stop in sickbay. Time had passed as the doctor poured over the information, analyzing it and reviewing it from all possible angles. Early evening turned to late evening, and late evening turned to midnight. Before Leon knew it, he was pulling an all-nighter as the startling secrets about Kuga's unique physiology continued to reveal themselves one by one with each passing hour. Slowly, his eyelids began to creep closed on him, little by little, as if daring the unconscious realm to take over his mind. However, before they sealed shut for the last time, the door to the lab suddenly opened.

Sitting up abruptly, Leon turned to see Doctor Bashir greeting him with wakeful eyes, and a demeanor that suggested he achieved a full nights sleep. Leon was jealous.

“Has my staff stopped mistaking you for our EMH yet?” Leon asked, rubbing the sleep out of his tired eyes.

“Most of them,” Julian replied with amusement. “There were a few holdouts yesterday morning. Tell me, why are you still using a Mark 19 EMH?”

Tired, Leon was confused at the change of subject, as he had spent the last eight hours performing data analysis. But after thinking for a moment, he shook his head and snorted. “Well, when it actually *works* it does a pretty good job.”

“What do you mean?” Julian continued his line of questioning, his British accent highlighting his academic curiosity.

Although Leon was annoyed at having to interrupt his work to entertain a visitor, deep down inside, he was relieved that someone had diverted his single-track attention span. “We've had problems with it in the past,” he explained. “Mostly with sudden deactivation. Since it's not programmed for major surgery, and our need for the EMH so infrequent, we haven't considered it much of a problem. Just an occasional annoyance.”

“I'd hate to think that a computer program with my likeness is actually impeding your medical staff.” Although Julian's concern was genuine, the vanity of the statement mildly irritated Leon's tired nerves.

“Don't worry about it,” he replied gruffly. “Like I said, we hardly use it as it is. Frankly, the staff and I are wary of upgrading to one of those newer, surgically-certified EMH's. Can you imagine what would happen if it gave out in the middle of an operation?”

“The surgically-certified ones are actually really good. I've seen them in action. You might want to consider getting one, just in case you end up stranded in the Delta Quadrant like Voyager.”

“Voyager didn't have seven MD's aboard when she was stranded,” came the sour reply as Leon turned his attention back to the workstation. Even though Bashir was a renowned physician, he had inadvertently stepped on a raw nerve of Leon's, as he didn't like someone telling him what to do with his own sickbay facilities.

“True,” Julian admitted, remaining unaware of Leon's disdain. “But if weren't for Voyager, EMH's wouldn't be as popular as they are now. I've heard that some ships are even equipped with an intra-ship hologrid so they can quickly respond to emergencies anywhere aboard ship.”

“Actually, you're aboard just such a ship,” Leon informed him.

“Really?” Julian looked around the room, as if searching for one of the holo projectors.

“Yes, and to sum up the EMH hologrid in one word: worthless.”

Doctor Bashir remained inquisitive. “What do you mean?”

“We never use it,” he stated flatly.

“Why not? Surely it's a lifesaver when an emergency happens.”

Leon sighed with annoyance, slumping his shoulders as he surrendered to the fact that he would not be able to escape an argument. Halting his work with the computer, he swiveled his lab stool towards the CMO from Deep Space Nine to engage him eye-to-eye, giving him his full attention. “It's fine and dandy if you have a holographic doctor show up to a medical emergency in a remote part of the ship. But a lot of good a holographic medical kit will do you.” His sarcasm was not accusatory, but it was certainly opinionated. “Sure, the EMH works great when there's real-world medical equipment at hand, but if you've got an open head wound in the deuterium tank catwalks, by the time the EMH finds the nearest medical tricorder, you might as well have sent a trauma team instead.”

“You could beam a real medical kit to the EMH.” Julian was curious, but as he continued to pursue the subject with the exhausted Doctor Cromwell, he had no idea what can of worms he was opening.

That did it. Leon couldn't hold back his annoyance any longer. “Beam a medical kit?” Leon interjected expressively. “Why bother? We might as well just beam the casualty directly to sickbay. My point is that there's no need to waste time with an EMH elsewhere on the ship. These intra-ship hologrids for EMH's are a waste of resources and energy.”

Julian finally got the message. Leon was tired, and he realized he had pushed the doctor a little too far with his curiosity. He decided to offer an olive branch. In a conciliatory tone, he replied, “I guess that's why they haven't caught on very quick, eh?”

“Don't count on them EVER catching on,” Cromwell added, his irritation beginning to subside. “The Voyager doctor, and his ability to wander his ship, was a fluke. Mind you, a FANTASTIC fluke, but a fluke nonetheless. It's pointless to try and re-create his unique niche on other ships. The emergency medical hologram belongs in sickbay. Period. No amount of technology will replace a real flesh-and-blood doctor elsewhere on the ship.”

“But . . .” Julian started, but paused at the annoyed expression in Leon's eyes. The two looked at one another, realizing that they would have to agree to disagree on this subject.

“There's no point in arguing with you is there?” Julian finally asked.

“Nope.” Leon replied with a sense of satisfaction creeping into his drowsy voice. With the argument won in his mind, he changed the subject. “Is there something I can do for you, doctor?”

“Actually, I should be asking you the same thing. I got a message from you at my computer console.”

Leon turned back to his workstation, suddenly realizing what time it was. He closed his eyes in exasperation and muttered, “Damn! I was planning on asking you about this tomorrow after I got some sleep. Only 'today' turned into 'tomorrow'.”

“I'm sorry,” Julian offered. “When the computer said you were here, I thought you were on the night shift. I can come back later.”

Julian began to walk back towards the door when Leon stopped him.

“No, no,” he beckoned. “I'd better get this off my chest. If anything, so I can get some damned sleep.”

The DS9 doctor stopped as Leon gestured towards one of the wall-mounted viewscreens. “Have a look at this.” He entered a command on his console, and the blank screen switched to a large gray shape that resembled a quasi-round, wart-covered ornamental gourd. To the normal eye, it was a nothing more than a lumpy ball of oatmeal, but to Doctors Bashir and Cromwell, it was commonly known form.

“Hemoglobin,” Julian said as he walked up to the screen and looked over the molecule with interest.

“Are you sure?” asked Leon.

Julian slowly turned to face Cromwell with a look of annoyance. “I'm a medical doctor. I think I know a hemoglobin molecule when I see one.”

Leon allowed himself a half-smile. “I borrowed a sub-molecular data re-processor from engineering. Take a look at this sequence of the hemoglobin subunits.” Leon pressed a button that zoomed in on part of the molecule, and the new view revealed short, spiraled shapes interconnected in a seemingly random fashion by flat fields of bead-like objects. It vaguely resembled a jumble of pipes. “Now what do you see?”

Again, Julian looked over the molecular diagram. “Alpha helixes. Beta sheets. All composed of standard amino acid structures. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“And that's what you *should* see . . . at ten to the minus nine.” Like before, Leon manipulated the controls to zoom even closer to the hemoglobin molecule. “Now look at it at ten to the minus twelve. . . Look at those amine and carboxyl groups . . .”

“What?” Bashir inquired, look back at the screen. “I don't see what you're getting at.”

“There,” he pointed out. “Tantalum, tungsten, hafnium. There's even some rubidium there.”

Slowly, Julian looked over the forms in excruciating detail. He walked up to the wall, inches away from the screen, and focused on three particular points. As he did so, his eyes grew wide with comprehension as he understood what Leon was trying to show him.

“That's impossible!” Julian exclaimed, not believing his eyes. As if by instinct, he quickly spun around to where Doctor Cromwell was seated, and read the digital computer information from over his shoulder. After briefly looking back to the large screen, Bashir was clearly flummoxed. “Their atomic radii, weights, and valence charges indicate these atoms to be carbon and nitrogen! These readings can't right!”

“They're correct,” Leon replied soberly. “But the nuclear charges indicate heavy metallic elements. Somehow, they've been engineered on a quantum level to mimic lighter non-metals normally found in organic tissue. Medical scanners show hemoglobin, and any other scanner programmed for biological material will show the same thing. Only finely tuned sub-atomic scanners are able to reveal what these molecules really are.”

“It doesn't make sense,” Doctor Bashir mused. “The atomic weights of these elements alone should have revealed something.”

“Look closer at the nuclei.” Leon dialed a few keystrokes, and the graphical image zoomed into the center of one of the structural atoms. “Those aren't neutrons holding the protons in place. Those are antigravitons. They reduce the overall mass of the atom, and any spectrometer you look at will say it's nothing more than common elements found in organic matter.”

“Antigravitons? But . . . that's an anti-particle. How can it coexist with matter, let alone subatomic matter?”

“I don't know . . .” Leon stared at the screen, almost transfixed on the enigma.

Julian spoke up after a moment of silence. “Who could have designed these things?” he whispered in awe. “Who could have built them?”

“Someone with technology far beyond anything the Federation possesses, that's for sure.”

“Quantum dating?” Julian suggested. “Could it be from the future?”

“No,” Leon shook his head. “Quantum resonance frequencies are normal. They're from this time period. That much is certain.”

“But WHAT are they? What's their purpose?”

Leaning back on his stool, Leon crossed his arms and stroked his chin in thought. “From what I can gather, these molecules are actually highly-evolved nano-mechanisms. They not only oxygenate human cells like hemoglobin, but in Kuga, they also repaired them when they got old, re-enforced their membranes when they were under attack by viral organisms, and even fed them simplistic m-RNA instructions for protein synthesis.”

“You mean they had the capability to rewrite her DNA? That's something that Borg nanites would do.”

“Yes, but these little devils are orders of magnitude smaller than nanites, and much more sophisticated. They also communicate with one another through electrochemical stimuli, and act as a single cohesive nerve bundle. I've analyzed the signal patterns in the data records of a tissue sample we obtained from Kuga. It seems to be a simple binary language. In a nutshell, she had tiny molecule-sized robots flowing through her veins. Smart robots that could communicate with one another, influence biological functions in all regards, and swim circles around any Borg nanite.”

“How do they reproduce?” Julian asked. “CAN they reproduce?”

A furrow developed in Leon's forehead. “I don't know,” he replied sourly. “And we'll probably never know.”

“What do you mean? Surely there are still some functioning units left in the tissue sample?”

“Oh, there probably were,” Leon explained. “Unfortunately, our laboratory was the victim of a little robbery.” The doctor glared into space when he spoke the words, as a mix of anger and resentment at Lieutenant Merrick flowed through his mind.

Julian nodded his head in regret. “I see. That's too bad. It would have been nice to take a fresh look at the sample.” After a moment, he looked back at the screen. “So what's the next step?”

Leon shook off the negative thought, and returned his attention to the matter at hand.

“Well, since it was probably an engineer that designed out little friends here, it might be best to have an engineer take a look at what we've found.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Doctor Bashir said enthusiastically. “I have this friend of mine at Starfleet Academy. He used to be chief of operations at the station, but this sort of thing is right up his . . .”

“Um,” Leon interposed. “No offense, but I'd like to have someone *I* know look at it first.” It was apparent that Julian had yet again stepped on Doctor Cromwell's proverbial toes.

“If you insist, doctor.” Julian wasn't hurt, but he was also used to having the free reign of Deep Space Nine when it came to biomedical issues. He could not remember the last time he had to collaborate with anyone of equal stature regarding matters in medicine. It was almost belittling. “May I ask who you have in mind?”

“Doctor Victor Virtus,” he replied almost immediately. “If there's anyone who can figure this out, it's him.”

“Virtus . . .” Julian looked to the ceiling in thought. “Wasn't he one of the 'Republic Eight'?”

Leon's face collapsed into his hands. When he looked back up, his bloodshot eyes were wide with trepidation. “Dear lord, has anyone NOT heard about that sham of a legal hearing?”

“Most everyone on the station was glued to the network feeds for the Cestus Three hearing,” Julian admitted. He made a sound as if he was clearing his throat. “Actually, several of our staff were former Marquis, and they took an interest in your father's resistance movement. Sorry to hear about his sentencing. Actually, I know how you feel. My father was also . . .”

Despite Julian's intentions, Leon was not in the mood to swap family stories. Leon rolled his eyes as a thought passed through his head. 'First, he tells me which model of EMH I should have in my sickbay, THEN he tells me who I should hand this research off to, NOW he's prying into my father's situation.'

“Doctor Bashir,” Leon started as diplomatically as he could. “Not to be rude, but the situation between my father and I is a private matter. While I appreciate your candor, as well as your insights into the Kuga hemoglobin mystery, I'm very tired. I have a staff meeting at 0930 to present my findings to the captain and executive officer, and I'd really like to get some sleep.”

Julian looked at Doctor Cromwell, realizing that their personalities were running head-on into one another. He had experienced this before, both in medical school and elsewhere, but he couldn't escape the nagging feeling that despite their cordial first encounter, they each had a fundamental flaw that has and will continue to predominate their professional relationship: They were both used to being the proverbial 'top dog' in their field. No competitors, no arguments. Julian decided that it was time to leave sleeping dogs lie, and diffuse the situation by removing himself from the room. He nursed the hope that their next encounter would be somewhat friendlier.

“I understand,” Doctor Bashir nodded. “We can pick this up another time if you'd like. I'll give the robotic hemoglobin mystery some thought, and if I have any ideas, I'll be sure to let you know.”

“Thank you,” Cromwell replied, and with a slight bow, Julian left the room.

As soon as the door closed, Leon turned back to his computer console with a scowl. “I think I like him better as a hologram,” he grumbled to himself.

---

Chapter 17: Behinds the ScenesTop

Julian Bashir walked away from his meeting with Cromwell, frustrated with the situation, yet intrigued with the implications of Doctor Cromwell's findings. He thought about the disagreement that he had with the CMO of the Republic, their clash of personalities playing over in his mind. It seemed that Leon had judged him harshly; like he was incapable of doing anything correctly. He walked deep in thought, his hands crossed behind him and head slightly bowed.

He thought back on the situation he thought about their bickering back and forth. As he sauntered around the corner by the Counselor's room he murmured to himself while chuckling, “Reminds me a little of my Dad and Mum. . .”

Looking at the Counselor it finally clicked. “His mother. . .” The though struck Bashir with great force. They had tried everything except the one completely logical solution.

“If this works, maybe it will help lift some burden off Cromwell and help us get on with the hemoglobin theory.”

---

Yaxara Tolkath's face illuminated the viewscreen that had been patched into the Lieutenant Commander's room. Bashir was going to share his idea with the Republic's CMO, but thought twice when he saw the exhausted Doctor Cromwell leave sickbay. When Julian had explained the situation to Reittan's mother she seemed to react well to the news. The odd part of the interaction was when the majority of her concern towards the fellow crewmember that lay unconscious. It almost seemed to Bashir that this incident, or something like it, may have occurred before.

“So doctor, what would you like me to do?”

“Well, was there something you said or did to help Reittan calm himself in the past; A lullaby, perhaps?”

Yaxara leaned back in her high back chair revealing more books in her office than had been shown previously.

“There is one song . . .” Doctor Tolkath began, “from when he was a boy that I used to sing to him when he would wake up in the night from a nightmare.”

“That will do,” interjected Julian. “Just a moment and I'll tell you when to begin.”

The doctor looked over the Counselor's biorhythms and data being displayed on the panel beside him. He then said to the attending nurse, “Watch the vitals and readings from the anatomy below his neck, and I'll keep an eye on his neurochemistry. It should let us know if this is working or not.”

The nurse gave a nervous look towards the Counselor's comatose body. She had heard from the other nurses what had happened to the person in the next room. Almost sensing the concern from the nurse, Julian assured her that as long that she wasn't perceived a threat by Tolkath, she would be alright.

Standing at his post, the doctor gave the cue to Yaxara to start singing. At first the song started out weak, and slightly broken. But, Mrs. Tolkath cleared her throat and started again. The melody was simple, yet one Bashir hadn't heard before.

The neural activity within the Counselor's brain started to increase. As the indicators climbed the scale slowly, the nurse gave an uneasy look at the doctor. The brain was reacting, but only getting more defensive.

“Come on . . . Come on . . .” Bashir whispered to himself, “calm down . . . calm down. . .”

The song carried on, just as the brain activity was going to reach the point where Lieutenant Devenerux had been assaulted, the readings dropped dramatically into normal levels.

The Bashir and the nurse gave out a collective sigh of relief as the lullaby came to a close.

“I take it he responded favorably?” Mrs. Tolkath inquired.

“Yes, very favorably,” replied Julian.

“Tell Reittan to contact me as soon as he can, I have class in a few minutes.”

“Alright.”

The viewscreen flashed black.

“Odd. She didn't even make sure everything worked out completely. It's almost as if . . .” Doctor Bashir let the thought drift away as his patient gained consciousness.

---

Location: Chief Tactical Officer's office, USS Republic

The reports had piled high since she had first taken over the department, but Zoe knew that that was going to happen with any new assignment. Not only did she have to read all the current and upcoming events and reports, she had to read everything pertinent that had been archived. Ever since AR558, she had learned to never take anything for face value and make sure to know exactly what she was getting into.

The recent events had cascaded a flood of memories from the buried past to the now ever present time. She knew that she needed to get better control of these memories or she was going to spend more time than was necessary in the counselor's office and she hated doctors. She had done many different things that she wasn't proud of in her time, but she wasn't going to let it get her down, not now. She had finally gotten a good position to serve and she wasn't about to lose it.

Taking note that the Chief Counselor had finally awoken from the coma, she was going to give him some time before popping in and checking on him as she had been doing with the rest of the crew. She wasn't going to rest until she knew exactly who was there that shouldn't be there. Even though they had lost two crew in their latest incident, she needed to know for sure if they were the ones that they need to worry about or if they still had an intruder on board.

She had engineering up in arms about the sensor sweeps, but she wanted to make sure that if a grain of dust fell, that it fell off one of the crew, not someone else. It was hard trying to discern the impostor out of the rest of the crew, but she liked challenges, after all she requested to go to AR558 until they got stranded there.

Setting the reports back down to her over-cluttered desk, she closed up shop for the night and headed to bed. But first, she was going to stop at Stellar Cartography and enjoy a little bit of sight seeing to relax the mind and maybe hit the gym to relax her body before heading to actual sleep.

---

Location: Cha'rik's quarters, deck 8, USS Republic

Cha'rik was sitting in the standard meditation pose with her mind running rampant. She was kicking herself for letting go certain information than she should have corrupting the timeline, but then she realized that they pretty much had figured it out themselves and that there was nothing that she could do now to stop what had been found.

However with the destruction of the smaller ship, she was quite disappointed. She wanted an opportunity to dissect it before it went, but that didn't happen either. Now here she was trying to blend in with a crew that she personally didn't feel like that she belonged in. Her past was truly in the past and that there was nothing else that could be done about it. The hardest part was learning how to hide again. It still bothered her day in and day out that no one was returning the pages, either due to hiding or discovery.

There were so few of her left, even though she was one of a kind. The skin around her implants was sore from the inverse graviton pulses that the Republic had emitted in order to slow down the escape of the smaller ship. She shrugged the pain away burying it with all her other buried emotions and pains.

Stretching her back one more time, she still couldn't get into the meditation state; her mind was all over the place. Her old mentor would laugh at her for not being able to control her mind, but then again she was quite different than all the other Vulcans she grew up with, as well as all the other recovered assimilated Borg drones.

There was still the threat on board to her target and she wasn't going to fail this task or end up being the next target. That is what made this mission the hardest for her, not only was she having to protect a target (which she normally doesn't do) and having to protect her own life. She had to be careful with who she associated with, what she did, and how she behaved.

This was definitely difficult for her as she was used to the cloak-and-dagger-wet-work missions, not these out-in-the-open impersonation missions. Calming her thoughts even further, she shoved the rest of her feelings about the current mission and the recent events away to be assimilated at another time. The time now was to relax.

---

Chapter 18: Open SecretsTop

Location: Observation lounge, deck 1, USS Republic

The mood around the conference table in the observation lounge was subdued as Captain Roth heard the reports from each of the department heads. Lieutenant Beauvais, Lieutenant Hawk, Lieutenant Merrick, Lieutenant Commander Cha'rik, and Doctor Cromwell all were present, as was Commander Carter. The captain was relatively silent as she listened to the individual summaries, each outlining the written reports she read the previous evening. Even still, there was an unspoken tension in the air as the Captain cleared her throat and began briefing her officers on the next steps to be taken.

“Now that our mystery attacker has been identified, and is no longer on the ship, I'm going to send the Runabout Fowler back to Deep Space Nine with the guests we've had since our hasty departure. By request, a few are staying, but the rest have lives to get back to.”

Looking around the table, Captain Roth changed the subject. “You'll notice that we're a few faces short. “With the welcome assistance to Doctor Bashir, Counselor Tolkath is on the mend, and will return to duty shortly.” Roth gave a quick nod to Doctor Cromwell to silently confirm the as yet undisclosed prognosis.

“Lieutenant Pakita, however, has requested to be relieved of duty after the destruction of the mystery ship.” Roth's eyes lowered a bit and her mood seemed to darken. “She's taken the deaths of those people rather hard, and I would appreciate it if you all gave her a kind word over the next few days.” Kim glanced quickly down at the PADD on the conference table, which held electronic copies of all recent transfers and changes in status, and continued. “Unfortunately, that leaves engineering without a chief and short of available senior officers.”

“I might have an idea on that, ma'am,” Hawk announced.

“We're all ears, Lieutenant,” Roth came back, turning her attention to him.

“One a the folks who got Shanghaied when we left DS9, fella named Vance Devloch, he's an Engy… hell of an Engineer, Ma'am. Knows engines n'the like fairly well from what I seen. He's Starfleet, on leave from somewhere. Has his quirks. Think he'd make a pretty good actin' chief, though.”

Intrigued, Roth nodded and looked to Carter before turning back to Hawk, “Work it out with the XO. If all parties agree, I have no problem.”

“I want to close this meeting by saying a few words about our recently departed crewmates,” Roth started somberly. “Despite the questionable circumstances under which they left our ship, and the tragic way in which they perished, their loss is regrettable.”

“During their stay with us they served admirably, and I would like their memories to remain untainted for the rest of the crew. I've read the reports from each department outlining the events of the past few days, and while the final allegiances of Ensigns Kuga and Jenkins remain a mystery, I'm not convinced that either of them was personally working against Starfleet or the Federation.”

“In fact,” Roth glanced at Republic's newly minted Ops Chief, “Lieutenant Merrick's report leads me to the conclusion that whatever malevolent organization they belonged to did not have full control over their individual actions, and in the end, their character proved true. Because of this, a potential second war with the Founders was averted, for which we can all be thankful.”

“While the individual records of Kuga and Jenkins will be noted as having disobeyed orders, I'm not going to further shame their memory by placing any formal reprimand in their personal file. Such action seems pointless in the wake of their deaths.”

Roth gave another quick glance down the table, pleased to see that she still had the attention of her Department Heads. “Officially,” she offered, “while I'm against leaving any mystery unsolved, I'm considering all events concerning the recent attack on us finished as is.”

For a moment, some of the assembled staff looked first at the Captain, then at John Carter, somewhat surprised that either of them would let the unknowns remain unknown, but both the Captain and XO remained inscrutable. For her part, Roth continued. “Ensign Kuga offered detailed descriptions of a previously unknown black-ops group, working under the already dubious Section 31. Due to the lack of any physical proof of said organization's existence, I'm forced to declare the matter closed.”

“In regards to her escape with the help of Ensign Jenkins, the wreckage of the unknown escape vessel was scattered over five cubic parsecs, and while Sciences and Tactical have been able to make some educated guesses, the largest debris found was only microscopic in size. Our scans and incident logs have been transmitted to Starfleet Headquarters, and unless we're directed to further investigate the matter, I'm forced to consider that closed as well.” Kim paused to look at everyone around the table, ensuring that her words were clearly received.

“On the unofficial side,” she continued, her face becoming stolid. “I'm not at all pleased about what happened here. Who and what Ensign Kuga was could not be determined, and while that in its self is not troubling, the fact she escaped detection while operating as regular member of my crew is.” There was a marked edge to Roth's voice; less threatening and angry, more certain and resolved. “I do not blame Ensign Kuga for who she was, but I'm outraged that this ship was used as a venue to perpetuate a dark conspiracy. Furthermore, her escape was even more outrageous, if for no other reason than secrets were kept aboard this vessel. The entire operation happened right under our noses.” Roth was careful to stretch out those last four words, capping each with emphasis.

“For the past several months, operatives were lurking in the shadows of this ship, wearing the ship's uniform, sitting at this ship's table, hurting her crew and following the orders of someone other than her captain.”

Roth's next action drew the attention of everyone around the table as she stood up and slammed her fist into the surface. “This. WILL NOT Stand.” She thundered, barely raising her voice to a shout, but the menace in her voice seemed to intensify as her eyes glared furiously. “Every single officer aboard this ship swore an oath to uphold and defend the principles of the Federation and Starfleet. If others outside this ship dare to dirty the uniform by betraying that oath, then let me make it crystal clear. I will NOT stand for it on the Republic.”

An authority she seemed to radiate tempered the fury in Roth's voice; letting all the officers assembled know that, in this instance, she simply could not be moved to any other point of view. “Admirals and Interdiction Orders be damned,” she hissed. “I run this ship. Not some cloistered fool with a gold braid on his cuff, in an office a thousand light years away.”

She looked each officer lining the table dead in the eyes. “As long as you're aboard Republic, you follow MY orders. I will not stand for anything else. If any of you take exception to this, your transfers are waiting in my office.” Looking from person to person around the table, Captain Roth allowed time for her displeasure to sink in. Realizing that the tension in the room was stifling her officers, she slowly sat back down, satisfied her point was driven home.

“I'll tolerate bending the rules,” she continued, her tone becoming less harsh. “I'll welcome opposing views. I'll even encourage relaxed discipline when the situation allows for it, but I WILL NOT tolerate secrets. Not from me, and not at the expense of this ship. You're not just Starfleet officers, you're REPUBLIC officers . . . and we work together. Always; to the end. No discussion.”

Kim leaned back in her chair, shifting her eyes back and forth, looking for a consensus among her officers. “We have to stick together. We have to be very, very careful now,” she continued ominously. “Although we cannot prove it as well as I'd like, rogue elements in Starfleet have attempted to start a war three times in the past year. Each of those times, Republic has been at the center of it. Whether by coincidence or by design, we're now in the spotlight - perhaps the crosshairs- of these rogue elements. We cannot afford to keep anything to ourselves. If any of you . . . ANY of you . . . come across anything out of the ordinary in our daily operations, no matter how trite or benign it may seem, I expect it to be reported immediately to either myself or Commander Carter. When dealing with people outside of this ship, even family, take nothing for granted. One shred of misplaced trust on our part could have ramifications throughout the known galaxy.”

Pausing to look around the table one last time, she finally concluded the meeting. “In the meantime, I believe we have a nebula awaiting our science teams. Dismissed.”

As Republic's senior staff filed out, John Carter noted the absence of murmur and small talk that accompanied so many people in one place. In surprisingly short order, Roth and Carter were the only two left in the room. “I'd call that settled.” Carter commented.

“For now,” Roth said with a huff, letting relief and some relaxation ease into her body.

“What's next?” Carter asked as he strode for the door.

“Simple, we do our job and let nothing happen for once.”

Carter felt his eyebrow raise, feeling amused and uncertain at the thought. “And if 'something' happens instead?”

Roth steepled her fingers in front of her and glared at the polished wood face of the conference table. “Then,” she paused, “the gloves come off.”

“Aye, Captain.”

---

Vibrant colors more intense than those known to exist in nature invaded every view port aboard the Starship Republic. It was as if a sentient being was desperate to escape the vacuum of interstellar space. Massive swirls of reds, purples, and blues danced around and across the outer hull like the limbs, embracing the fragile Federation vessel. After so many long months - in some cases, years - spent in the company of darkness in one form or another, to be here now was like being born anew for the Starfleet crew. On every deck, the scene was the same, as people stopped and stared outward into the awe-inspiring rainbow.

Even now, nearly an hour after they had first entered the uncharted mass known only as the Ash'aar Nebula, it continued to draw crowds of on-lookers, and fill any area of the ship with a dance of color and light that made Earth's aurora borealis look like a planetarium light show. The crew lounge on deck three was no different, where every table along the outer bulkhead was occupied. Most of the other tables where not though, as people simply stood around with drinks in hand, taking it all in. The energy and mood of everyone aboard has shifted, and it could be felt in the air, as palpable as the tension usually was in it's place.

Nathan Hawk himself had seen many astronomical phenomenon in his day, like everyone else though, he had never before encountered something of such wonder and beauty. The thought of what possibilities awaited them on their extended tour of the Gamma Quadrant seemed less ominous as it originally had, and for the first time in… maybe forever… Hawk allowed himself to consider those possibilities as a Starfleet Officer instead of any of the other definitions that applied to him. Ash'aar had never been charted, never probed, never even scanned before today. It's name came from one of the stars it contained, which had played home to an encircling world and it's antique and long dead culture of which next to nothing was known.

What must it have been like for those people, so many millennia ago, to look up at the night sky and see… this. Had they appreciated or even realized this gift? Or had they taken it as common, and given it as much - but no more - thought than humans gave the black night sky? Had they known that long, long after they where gone, a part of them would live on in the memory of the galaxy through the name of this majestic cloud? He hadn't really ever allowed himself to consider such things before. He had always been so driven, so angry. If it didn't help him forget his pain, numb it, block it out, cloud it, it was of no use to him.

Things where beginning to change, though. His pain was still deep, his determination still firm, his resolve to right all that was wrong far from forgotten. Something unexpected had happened though, in the 18 months he had been aboard the Republic. He had finally begun to feel as if he belonged somewhere. That maybe, finally, after so much pain and loss, he had found something good. It was a strange feeling, hope. It had never fit into his life before, and even still it felt awkward. It was irrational and based on little else than thought. Yet it was also powerful, and addictive.

“Penny for your thoughts?” came a voice from beside him.

Glancing to his left, he found something else of considerable beauty. Leah Warner.

He had been attracted to her from the moment the Federation News Service Reporter had introduced herself on Starbase 39-Sierra so many months ago. She to him, as well. Both of them had disguised those feelings behind fear and doubt and a thick layer of sarcasm and verbal sparring. That had begun to change during the Sigma Omicron Incident, and took a dramatic shift towards the positive two weeks ago, as they had departed Deep Space 9. He had gone to her after falling off the old proverbial wagon and confessed more than just his sins. He had laid out his life for her, his secrets, his past, his pain. Exposed everything that made him who he was to her, something he had never done for anyone before.

“Lets see the penny,” He quipped with smirk.

Unexpectedly, she tossed something through the air towards him. He caught it awkwardly, and opened his hand to look down upon a small disc of copper.

“It's a reporter thing,” she informed him, “well, actually, it's a family reporter thing. My dad always says, 'if you want to give somebody your two-cents on something, you might as well keep the real things with you'. I added the 'penny for your thoughts' bit myself.”

“Cute.” he said simply, keeping ambiguous what he meant.

A moments silence passed between them before Leah echoed her question.

“So what's on your mind?”

Part of him wanted to admit exactly what occupied his thoughts, but he was decidedly against pushing things too far, too fast. So instead he told her what had been on his mind in the moments before his thoughts had turned to her. “Nothin' serious 'er life n'death fer a change.”

“I'm glad,” she told him, placing her hand upon his arm in a supportive gesture. Knowing she meant it, he accepted it rather than shrug it off as he normally would have.

It wasn't so long ago that she had been a stranger to him. Not to mention a potential liability. Just before Sigma Omicron, she had begun to be curious about him. Oblivious to the hornet's nest she was poking with a stick. Fate had stepped in though and kept her from having the time or ability to contact any sources. Nearly two months later, she had all the information - and it had come from the source. It had been a major gamble for him to confide in her. His story was one that any reporter would give their life for. She hadn't betrayed his confidence - and that meant something.

He just wasn't sure exactly what. He only knew what he hoped it meant.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” she asked.

“Sure,” Nat agreed, gesturing for her to lead the way.

Wandering through the corridors without purpose or destination, they made small talk, avoiding any real substantive issues. Somehow they ended up at the arboretum two decks down and spent a good deal of time in the artificial nature setting it created. They spotted Counselor Tolkath with Lieutenant Pakita by one of the meditation pools, both in casual attire. Whether it was an impromptu counseling session for the Junior Engineer, or two colleagues who had both experienced recent difficulties finding comfort in talking with one another, they couldn't quite tell. It was just another sign of the healing and hopeful atmosphere that now seemed to permeate the ship.

After nearly two hours, they ended up outside her quarters, both standing by the door, each waiting for the other to say or do something. He had never been shy about his intentions with women in the past. Things where different now, though.

“Had a good time,” he told her.

“So did I.” she replied, smiling.

Departing from what he would normally say in just such a situation as this, he took the road less traveled by.

“Goodnight,” he said to her.

As he turned to go, he felt her take hold of his hand and pull him back towards her. Pulling him into an embrace, she put her lips to his and kissed him softly, but with passion. Though taken by surprise, he returned the kiss. Pulling back after a moment, they looked into each others eyes and communicated so much without a word between them.

“Goodnight,” he said once more, his voice barely a whisper.

Separating from their embrace, he stood there as she turned and entered her quarters. Pausing for a moment, lost in thought, he then turned and headed down the corridor feeling something he hadn't in a long time: happy.

---

Location: Lieutenant Merrick's cabin, deck 8, USS Republic

Reia had spent the entire night thinking over what had happen the previous day it had gone through her mind over and over on what she should do next. She rolled over to the other side of her bed looking at a picture of a man she once loved, after staring at the picture for a few seconds she knew what she had to do. She threw her bed sheets off her and walked over to her desk.

“Computer open a channel to Admiral Ross.”

After several seconds of looking at a black screen an image of Admiral Ross appeared.

“Don't you think you're a little under dressed lieutenant?” questioned Admiral Ross chuckling slightly.

Reia felt a little embarrassed. “I apologize for my appearance sir, but I have completed my task on the Republic.”

“Go on, lieutenant.”

Reia then explained everything to Admiral Ross about what happened with Ensign Kuga and Ensign Jenkins.

“What happen to the bio-gel sample?” inquired Admiral Ross.

“I kept the sample on my person while I was considering the best, safest repository for it. However, Ensign Jenkins tracked the sample to me just before his and Kuga's escape.”

Admiral Ross's face looked a little disappointed as he spoke, “That's too bad. Well, I'll clear things up for you so you can return to Earth when Republic's mission is finished.”

“Sir, there is one more thing I would like to add to the record. I feel that Captain Roth should be told about everything, and my reason for being on Republic. Also, I would like to leave it up to her if she wishes for me to stay on board or not.” Reia felt somewhat responsible for what had transpired on the ship with regards to Jenkins and Kuga. Therefore, she felt obligated to try and convince Captain Roth to keep her onboard until she made up for it.

“Very well Lieutenant, but not a word to the other crew members. I will leave it up to Captain Roth on who she feels should be entrusted with this information. Ross Out.”


Location: Captain's ready room, deck 1, USS Republic

Reia stood at attention as Captain Roth read her report on everything she knew about what happened regarding the Jenkins-Kuga incident. There was worry lingering within her mind that this may leave a bad mark on her record.

For her part, Captain Roth placed the PADD on her desk and looked at Reia sternly. “Lieutenant, while I appreciate that you came forward to me with this information, I think there are some questions you need to answer. First, why did you take the bio-gel sample of Ensign Kuga from sickbay?”

“I had reason to believe that it would not be safe in the medical laboratory.” Reia took a deep breath. “Unfortunately, I was unable to place it in a more secure location before it was taken from me.”

“And this is when you were attacked by Ensign Jenkins?” interrupted Roth, wondering if Reia's intentions were the truth.

“Yes Ma'am.”

Roth still felt as if she had not been told the entire truth about Ensign Jenkins. “So, when were you aware that Ensign Jenkins was part of this… 'Organization'?”

“It was unconfirmed ma'am, but Admiral Ross and few members in Starfleet had their suspicions. The main reason you were not informed was because there was no real proof on the matter. Only speculation.”

Captain Roth sat in silence, pondering the situation.

“Captain, I would like to add one more thing…”

Roth broke away from her thoughts and looked at Reia. “Go on.”

“I wanted to let you know that I admire this ship… this crew, and that I feel that I let down everything I believe in. I let the shadows of corruption blind me, and I fear that my choices will have a negative, lifetime impact for not only on myself, but everyone around me.” Reia took a deep breath as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I… I know you have several reasons not to trust me, but I would very much like to stay onboard to regain that trust. Not only as member of this crew, but as a starfleet officer… someone who you can count on. I failed to keep a promise to Admiral Ross, but if you give me a second chance, I won't fail you.” She felt somewhat at ease after getting everything off her chest, but she was still worried about the Captain's attitude towards her.

“I'll think about it lieutenant,” Roth answered cryptically. “Dismissed.”

---

Chapter 19: Welcome ArrivalsTop

Location: Sickbay, deck 12, USS Republic

It had been almost a week since Reittan had awoken from one nightmare to another. His comrade lay in a hospital bed in a comatose state. While it was true the Counselor had no real control over what his mind had done to her, he still held himself accountable for Lieutenant Devenerux's current condition.

He stood there left arm folded while he chewed at his right thumb; his nervous quirk. He scanned the monitors, which had reduced in number considerably since he had regained full consciousness.

Doctors Bashir and Cromwell had given Tolkath a clean slate of health and told him he could return to duty. The Lieutenant Commander had returned to duty, but would spend some time each day at the bedside of his fellow officer.

Today was different; Tolkath had decided to take matters into his own hands. He would right, as much as he could, what his mind had done.

The idea had come to him while he had been with Lieutenant Pakita by one of the meditation pools, both of them hurting for the lives that had been so severely affected around them.

Looking at Cromwell and Bashir the Counselor went over in his mind the plan. A nurse brushing beside him brought Tolkath back to the moment. The nurse began bringing the bio-monitors back online, scanning Devenerux's life signs.

The Lieutenant Commander refocused on the two Doctors and asked, “You are sure that the physical aspect of her brain is intact?”

Both began to answer “Yes” but half way through Bashir stopped and let Cromwell finish the answer. He was beginning to, with measured difficulty, stay within his bounds with the CMO.

“By all accounts she should be awake,” Cromwell continued.

“Then let's begin.”

The theory was simple, go in telepathically and see what was wrong inside the psyche.

Tolkath could sense the nervousness and how uncomfortable the nurse at the bedside was.

The Counselor walked up to the unconscious Desiree and placed his right hand on the patient's forehead after brushing away her brown hair.

As the Lieutenant Commander, began to use his telepathy, Julian Bashir muttered softly to Cromwell, “Doesn't this seem a little rehearsed? Like he has done this before?”

Leon looked a Doctor Bashir incredulously. “He does have a PhD in telepathic studies.”

Julian had learned that there was no use in arguing with the CMO of the Republic. Though he wasn't going to pursue the thought further with Cromwell, he still had a strange feeling that something about this whole episode was to familiar to the Tolkath family.

The indicators on the bio-monitors began to move upward; brain activity was increasing. The neural chemistry was rising to normal levels rather than the lower levels they had been.

After five minutes had passed the Counselor straightened up and broke the psychic link. His dark eyes met the Doctor's and he spoke.

“It took a bit of persuading, but she should be coming-to momentarily.”

Doctor Bashir was going to question the Counselor on his statement, but as he opened his mouth, their patient suddenly stirred, opened her eyes, and regained consciousness. She sat up and looked curiously around the room.

“She will probably have amnesia and have to learn many things over again,” Tolkath stated. “But, it should be temporary. We just have to let the psyche reconnect with itself.”

Cromwell noticed the Counselor was shaking.

“Are you alright?”

“I am a little tired; I need some rest,” the Lieutenant Commander replied.

Cromwell noticed how Reittan had carefully avoided the question. Betazoids couldn't lie, but decided not to pursue with questioning him further. Even though all of the drama he still trusted the Counselor.

“I will be in my quarters if you need any further assistance.”

The Counselor Tolkath left sickbay still shaking and began massaging his right arm above the elbow, wrinkling his blue Starfleet uniform with every squeeze. Entered his room and collapsed on his bed.

---

Location: Guest quarters, deck 8, USS Republic

John Carter waved politely as junior officers and enlisted personnel gave him polite nods. At times like this, Republic's XO was glad that Starfleet had done away with any sort of formal salute. For hundreds of years, it had been enough to simply acknowledge a fellow, or superior officer's presence. As First Officer of Republic, John knew pretty much every officer onboard. There were a few exceptions however, and the man Carter was about to meet with was one of them.

John touched the comm pad near the bulkhead door in front of him. There was a faint electronic chirp, and the door opened. Carter took a few steps in to see the visiting Lieutenant Vance Devloch, Late of Deep Space Nine, packing his few belongings into a small bag. Like a handful of others onboard, Vance had been forced to stay on Republic while the ship's tactical department tried to get to the bottom of a mysterious attack. With the attacker now identified, Republic's `Shanghais' had been cleared to leave by her Captain. John, however, was hoping to press this particular visitor into service.

“Pardon me, Lieutenant. Do you have a minute?” John asked, taking a second to size up the man he addressed, “I'm John Carter, ship's XO. Don't think we've met.”

Vance looked up, heaving his `abduction bag' up on his shoulder. It was an old-style canvas bag first designed for pre-Eugenics Wars pilots to carry the bare essentials in a time when they didn't know when or where they might be flying to. The Lieutenant straightened up and smiled.

“Vance Devloch, at your service; though, since you obviously know my rank you probably know that too. What can I help you with sir?”

John was surprised how forward and how observant Devloch was, but was also glad to note that as a good thing. “Huh”, he said absently, hoping to ease the atmosphere in the room, “haven't seen a gig bag like that in a while. You a flyer?”

Vance snorted, rolling his eyes. “You could say that sir. I came out of the Dominion war with too many medals and the baggage to go with them.” Vance gave a wistful rub to his shoulder, one that was less out of pain, and more out of habit. “Unfortunately, I also came out medically unfit to fly. While flying was my life, Engineering was always my mistress.”

John smiled at the thought, and also reflected that circumstances for him were somewhat reversed. For him, command seemed something he was suited to, but John suspected that he'd always see himself as an aviator of a sort. “I suppose we've all got those,” he admitted. Should have figured you for a pilot. Is that how you met Hawk?”

Vance shook his head. “Well, we never met until just recently. There have always been people who've claimed that one or the other of us was the best pilot in the war, despite my protests that Hawk could fly rings around me. So when I finished with the canker mechanics and brain-shrinkers, I figured that a few drinks and some Flying stories would be just the thing.”

Vance paused as if considering weather to continue or not, shrugged and said, “Do you know the difference between a fairy tale and a Flying Story?”

Carter shook his head.

“One begins 'once upon a time' the other begins with 'No shit, this REALLY happened.”

“Heh,” Carter smiled, genuinely pleased to have found some common ground with the Lieutenant. “I think I've used that line a few times myself.” Carter looked again at the bag on Devloch's shoulder. “You headed back on the shuttle?”

Vance shrugged and responded, “That's the plan. I have no idea what I am going to do with the rest of my leave. Probably try hiking on Bajor or something; either that or try to bank the bank at Quarks.”

John nodded slowly. “Would you consider a counter offer?”

“I might…” Vance answered, intrigued.

“How are you on Galaxy Class specs?”

“Most of the components are standard through the fleet,” Said Vance, “and the concepts never change. Actually, one of the things I was working on before being coerced into going on leave was a small part of the latest Galaxy class refit program.” Vance shook his head, as if bringing himself back to reality.

“And whatever it is, the answer is yes. Despite what command thinks, the last thing I need is to be feeling useless while on leave. Keep the mind busy and focused, that's the ticket.”

“Good answer.” John smiled, relieved. “Listen, I don't know how much you've heard about what just went down, but my ACE has asked not to be promoted to chief. Problem is that asking PERSCOM for a replacement would take forever, so…any way I could cut down on paperwork…”

Devloch nodded. “I don't know all the details, but it was pretty obvious to anything but a brain dead observer that SOMETHING nasty was going on. And,” he added with a bit of a smile, I'm always fond of whatever route requires the least amount of paperwork. Besides, this will give me a nice big toy chest to play with.”

“I'd call that settled then, ” Carter said as he turned toward the cabin hatch. “I should warn you. Republic's got…an unusual pedigree.”

“Well, if HALF the stories about this ship are true, at least I won't get bored. I never did like being bored. Besides”, Vance said with a grin, “how bad can it be?”

“Don't say that until after you've had a chat with Pakita. We've gone through two stardrives and half a computer core.”

“How did you manage to lose `half' of a computer core?” Vance continued.

“Let's just say that Republic wasn't always Republic. She used to be the Saratoga, but some of the command codes kind of stuck around.”

“Damn, you're serious aren't you ?”

Carter just nodded.

“Well, sounds like the logs are going to be interesting bed time reading.” Vance smiled, “Sounds like I don't think I really need to worry about packing. Though, it would be nice to have the rest of my usual gear from storage.

“I'll see about getting your effects from DS9 as soon as we can,” John offered.

“It's not too big a thing,” Vance countered, “I usually keep the replication patterns for the most important things right here.” Vance patted his pilot's bag. “Be prepared, is a good motto to follow.”

“Sounds good to me,” Carter said, as he stepped into the corridor, “With your okay, I'll pass my recommendation to the Captain that you come on as CoE, assuming your certifications are current?” It amused John that he only thought of Devloch's qualifications as an after-thought.

“Everything is current and up to date. Though you might hear some whining from Starfleet Medical. I passed all of my physical and mental check-ups. I'm sure as long as I talk to the counseling staff, I expect they'll allow it without too much screaming.” Vance inflected in such a way that a casual observer might get the impression that screaming Medical Officers were a GOOD thing.

“Oh, Leon will LOVE you”, Carter said with a smirk. “Consider this green light Vance. Welcome aboard.”

“Yes Sir,” Vance said. “Looking forward to it.”

“Carry on then,” Carter said as he headed down the corridor. He took a few strides, rubbing his fingers absently over the smooth cloth of his eye patch, considering his next stop for the day.”

“You seem pleased with your self,” a smooth alto voice offered.

Carter started and jerked his head to see Doctor Shannon Harris matching him stride for stride. “Haven't seen you in a while,” she continued. “Are we still okay?”

“You tell me,” Carter countered, “Are there any sick toddlers I need to worry about?”

Harris gave the XO an icy stare. “That's not fair John. Those `sick toddlers' happen to be my job. I'm sorry if work gets in the way, but to MY knowledge, I've never beamed over to a dying planet, or crossed the Neutral Zone… on purpose no less.”

The last remark made John wince, both because Harris had a point and because, as John sometimes forgot, one day the Romulans would come knocking. Thankfully, today probably wasn't that day. “Point taken, Shannon. I'm sorry,” John said as he took her hand. “It's just frustrating is all.”

Harris smiled and rested her head on Carter's shoulder. “I know John, just don't take it out on me, okay?”

“Fair enough,” John said, giving Harris a soft kiss on the forehead. “Tell you what, let's have dinner tonight. We can celebrate.”

Shannon felt a wicked grin cross her face. “Well THAT sounds promising,” she chuckled. “We haven't…celebrated in a while. What's the occasion?”

“I'm going to go see a man about an eye.” Carter said cryptically as he stepped into the turbo-lift.

Shannon blinked silently as the doors closed, and Carter was out of sight. Then, so was she.

---

Seated on the floor of Cargo Bay 4, his legs criss-crossed in what school children continued to label 'Indian-style' despite centuries of social progress, Lieutenant Nathan Hawk stared at the massive hulk of the prototype Peregrine-Class fighter that had sat untouched for the past few months. He had planned to restore the antique fighter to it's original configuration, and to that end had even collected or replicated a number of out-of-date parts to replace damaged originals. They, too, sat untouched, scattered on the floor around the noble craft like disturbed bones around a corpse. It was a depressing sight to say the least, especially for a pilot.

In his life, Nat had been many things, had many less-than-desirable quirks and qualities - some might say 'character flaws'. One he had never had though was the inability to make decisions. He made up his mind quickly, easily, and didn't look back later and question himself. He lived in the past to much already without analyzing every choice he made after-the-fact. So it was perplexing to him how he had managed to procrastinate on such a simple choice for such an extended period of time. Yet so often he had come here and stared at the ship as if waiting for it to provide him with the answer, and time and again he ended up back at the same damned dilemma.

After briefly looking for Hawk the old fashioned way, Lieutenant Vance Devloch had given up and asked the computer for his location.

“There you are,” exclaimed Vance as he entered the cargo bay. “You are not an easy person to find.” he commented, still wearing civilian clothing with his gig bag over his shoulder.

Looking up at Vance, Nat was tempted to ask if he could get that on record to forward to the ever-worried black shirts at Starfleet Intelligence.

“I doubt you'll be surprised by this,” Vance went on, “but the XO asked me to stick around as Chief Engineer, and I took the liberty of pulling a few strings with medical to make sure they don't screw this up.” Pausing for a moment, Devloch then continued. “Anyway, I just thought you might want to celebrate with me.” Suiting actions to words Vance pulled a bottle out of his bag.

Eyeing the bottle, Nat sighed and turned his attention back to the Peregrine, “Never thought I'd see the day I'd be sayin' this, but… I don't drink.” he told Vance, the words coming out like an embarrassed admission. It was the first time he had actually owned up to his sobriety despite the fact that with one note worthy exception, he hadn't had a drink since Sigma Omicron V.

“Well that's unexpected,” Vance said with a sigh, replacing the bottle inside his bag. “That's one more thing down on my list of things I hadn't expected to ever hear. Damn, and I am already over quota on flying solo.” he commented. After a moment, he said something Hawk had never expected to hear. “Some tea perhaps?” Vance asked as he pulled out a thermos and a small ornamental box of green tea. “It's the good stuff, earth grown.”

“Tea?” Nat echoed, looking at Vance as if he had just suggesting drinking plasma coolant, “I ain't that far gone yet,” he said with a grin and a chuckle. Pushing himself to his feet, he pulled out his trusty old flask from within the gray engineer's jump-suit he wore (he had quickly grown tired of looking like a walking banana in the standard regulation gold versions and replicated this one to his own specs) and stepped over towards Vance. “May only be synthehol, but it's better n'tea.” Nat remarked.

“Synthehol?” Vance repeated this time, a similar look on his face to the one Nat had just given him. “I also drink seltzer when I want soda, eat rice crackers when I want chocolate, chew gum when I want to smoke, and listen to a Vulcan Lyre when I want Klingon Opera.” Vance said, the sarcasm so thick you could hit it with a shuttle. “Thanks, I'll stick to tea. I like tea. Anyway, what's up?” he questioned with a glance around the bay.

Returning the flask to the inside pocket of his jump-suit, Nat sighed lightly with a hint of frustration and nodded towards the Peregrine. “She's drivin' me crazy. Keep goin' back n'forth on what ta do with 'er.” he explained, figuring Vance would understand if anyone would.

“Well… what are you options?” Vance asked as he sat down on the floor and started preparing his tea. Nat tried not to gag at the smell of the stuff as he launched into the details of his dilemma.

“Well, I can either restore 'er ta prototype specs an make 'er a museum piece…or…refit 'er an customize ta the teeth an maybe get some use outta the old girl.” Nat told him. “Trouble is any time I decide one way 'er another, b'fore I get started, I wonder if I'm doin' the right thing.” he explained as he paced towards the fighter. “I mean, she's a fighter - designed fer that, best at that - so part a me wants ta make 'er the best she can be. Other side though, she's a prototype - rare as can be - so then I think maybe she deserves ta be on a pedestal, so everybody else can see what the class was meant fer.” Sighing again, he slumped down to the floor, his back against the subject of his frustrations.

“Well it's yours, so you really ought to do what's best for you, not what's best for everyone else.” Vance said after brief consideration. “Also, you might want to think about the fighter itself. A thing should be used for it's intended purpose. A fighter should fly - should fight. They can put a replica on display if anyone wants to. That being said…It's your ship. You can do what you want with it. Though I'll gladly help you with either choice - you've got to make it.” Devloch proclaimed.

Neither one said anything for a long moment as each considered the situation. Vance then poured some tea into one of the tumblers intended for the nameless booze before offering a third alternative. “We could always just sit here and admire it.”

Nat snorted, almost laughing, as he retorted, “Been doin' that fer months already.” Shaking his head, he looked to Vance. “What would you do?” he asked.

“Well, since I basically can't fly it, I would make it into a museum piece. Or maybe a modern art expression of how I can no longer fly. Somehow shackling it's form to the ground, with weights and heavy imagery.” Vance said, delivering the last bit with powerfully maudlin sarcasm and finally, a smile. “If - like you - I could fly it? I would do my best to get every single G out of it and make it into the pinnacle of small craft of destruction that it should be.”

Nat considered what Vance had said for a moment as he climbed to his feet again and looked over the battered hulk.

“Well I ain't no artist, that's fer sure. An I can fly her - if I get 'er space worthy again…” he said, as his mind began to consider the various possibilities. Once again though, he felt the considerable weight of his decision slam home on him and stopped. “I dunno,” he stated, once more unsure, “feels like I'd be… I dunno, paintin' over the Mona Lisa 'er somethin', ya know?”

“Not really. The Mona Lisa was made to just sit there. This was made to soar,” Vance said with a glint in his eye as he took a sip of his tea. “Let it feel the true freedom of vacuum once again.”

Looking at Devloch with bemused accusation in his eyes, Nat quoted the engineer back to himself, “ 'feel the true freedom of vacuum once again'? Sure ya didn't Irish-up that tea?”

“Naw,” Said Vance with a sigh. “I'm just stuck with a poets soul, a pilots heart, and an engineer's job. Poetic Irish style maudlin verse comes with the territory.” Trying to change the subject, he asked, “Are you sure you don't want some tea?” Asked Vance. “It's really quite good.”

“Heh,” Nat laughed, “it's nice ta have somebody normal aboard fer a change. 'N by normal I mean totally abnormal a'course.”

“I have absolutely no idea what your talking about.” Vance said, somehow maintaining a straight face. “Now, I've been thinking. We could probably boost the acceleration considerably. I've had an antimatter afterburner design floating in the back of my mind for a while.”

Nat didn't bother to point out to Vance that technically, he hadn't said what he was going to do with the old Peregrine. He hadn't had to. Vance was a pilot at heart, whether or not his flight status had been revoked. A kindred soul of the same mold as Hawk himself. As much as he loved the Republic and trusted in his friends, it had been quite a while since he'd had someone to just shoot the breeze with.

“Well what goods it gonna do in yer head?” Hawk asked. Gesturing to an assortment of parts and equipment on the far side of the bay, he added, “There should be a PADD over n'that pile somewheres. Lets get ta work.”

---

Chapter 20: The Long Road AheadTop

Location: “The Hill”, Ten forward lounge, deck 10, USS Republic

Reia sat in the far corner of Ten Forward looking at the stars as her ears still rang with the conversation she had with Captain Roth a short while ago. Reia took of a sip of her sukeroot tea, hoping it would ease her mind as it did when her grandmother would give it to her as a child. However, the taste of the tea no longer seemed sweet to her, and instead, tasted bitter with the echoes of the conversation still fresh in her mind.

---

“I've looked over your record, lieutenant, and everything in the Starfleet databanks about the incident at the Torga V power station four years ago. What concerns me is what your commanding officer, Captain Sanders, said to you about the incident.” Roth read aloud from a PADD “…It's terrible to hear the news of a death of someone under command, and I am sure it's harder for young Lieutenant Merrick since this is her first command in an away mission. However, I can't help but wonder about the rumors of a relationship between Ensign Douglas and the Lieutenant, and my gut says that something else happened at that station that only Merrick knows about, but refuses to report…”

Roth stopped reading and looked at Reia. “It has more to say here, but I'm sure you know what's going though my mind… Why would Captain Sanders put this in his report unless he had no doubt that you were hiding something?”

“If Captain Sanders' suspicions were correct in his report, then this would not be the first time you have withheld information from your commanding officer,” Roth looked at Reia. “If you truly want to stay on board my ship, then I need to know from here on out that there are no secrets.” Roth emphasized the last three words of the sentence.

Reia wasn't sure how to respond to Roth's ultimatum, knowing that her career and a promise she made long ago was on the line now. “Have you ever been in love with someone you would sacrifice everything for just to touch them one more time?” She closed her eyes for a moment while holding back the tears. “That's why I cannot speak on this matter, captain.”

Roth considered the half-trill for a moment, “I'm not sure what you expect me to say, Lieutenant. You're asking me to trust you. You're asking everyone on this ship to trust you. Yet, you're not providing any reason to do so.” she summarized. “Normally, I don't question the word of a fellow Starfleet Officer, and if you gave it to me that I could trust you from now on, I might accept that under other circumstances. But you've already broken your word. You did so the moment you set forth on my ship and withheld vital information from myself and my senior staff. How do you expect me to have faith in it's veracity now?”

“I… I had a relationship. A serious relationship with Ensign Douglas.” a tear rolled down her cheek “I still have the engagement ring that he gave me a few days before the incident. I didn't want the official record to show that he… that he…” She paused for a moment not sure if she wanted to continue “I'm sorry Captain, I just can't.”

Leaning forward against her desk, Roth looked upon Merrick. Although she felt pity, she had to know for sure that she could trust the young woman. She couldn't put the lives of her crew at further risk by exposing them to someone she couldn't trust. “I'm not seeking to amend the record, Lieutenant. And under other circumstances, I wouldn't push the issue, especially considering how much this appears to be personal rather than professional. But I need something from you. Even if it's off the record. I need you to demonstrate that I can trust you. If I'm to take a leap of faith with you, I need YOU to meet me half-way. Whatever it is, presuming it's not criminal on your part, will stay between you and I.”

“What I failed to report… was that Ensign Douglas shot me with his hand phaser… I was planning to be the one to enter the reactor room. I was in charge, and it was my intention to be the one to die, not him,” Reia tried to hold back her tears as she recalled the event. “I didn't want Starfleet to view his death as a mutiny, and I didn't want his official record and his family to remember him as someone who had betrayed his orders…”

Stunned into silence, Roth bowed her head for a moment before turning her gaze back to the lieutenant. Reaching across her desk, she placed her hand upon Merrick's in a support, hoping to affirm the conviction of what she said next, “I'm truly sorry, Lieutenant. Both for your loss, and for pressing the matter. I can understand your reluctance to share those particular details, and in such a case, Captain or not, I do understand that decision.” Roth told her, looking off for a moment, back in time to a part of her own past. Folding her hands together on top of her desk, she sat up a little straighter as she spoke again. “There are some times when we have valid reasons to keep secrets, Lieutenant. Very few,” she told Merrick. “In professional matters - even personal ones that cross into the professional - I expect, and will not tolerate anything less, than the absolute truth. Whether or not personal details become part of the official record is something to deal with on a case-by-case basis; in scenarios such as what you've just told me. What's important is that they not be held back, because as painful as it may be to share them, it may be the difference between life and death. Not just of you or me, but of everyone aboard this ship. Do you understand?”

“I perfectly understand, Captain. At least, I do now. That's why I came forward with the information this morning about why I was assigned here.” Reia looked into Captain Roth's eyes admitting her sins. “I couldn't live with myself after what happen to Ensign Kuga. I feel somewhat responsible for what happened to her, but I was too consumed with Admiral Ross and his orders to come forward sooner.”

Roth nodded sympathetically, “Believe me, Lieutenant, I understand your dilemma. Admiral Ross does outrank me, and on the record, you were only following his orders. Off the record though, Admiral Ross is not aboard this ship. He's not your commanding officer - I am. If that is to remain so, I expect the whole truth and the complete truth from you from now on. Is that clear?”

Reia nodded in reply. “Yes Ma'am.”

“I want this to work, Lieutenant,” Roth offered. “You're a good officer - you just fell into an age-old pitfall… 'Only following orders'. That said… you've got a lot of work ahead of you. You may have provided me with a foundation on which to rebuild my trust in you, but the rest of the crew is another matter. It won't be easy, but most things worthwhile in life never are. I hope you're up to it. Dismissed.”

---

Time seemed to have slowed down for Reia as she finished her tea, Unfortunately, it hadn't bought her the piece of mind she was hoping it would. She stood up and headed out of Ten Forward and proceeded towards the turbo-lift to her cabin, still thinking about the conversation in the Captain's ready room. As Reia entered her cabin, she walked over to her desk and pulled out a small black box. As she opened it, she looked at the ring with a brief smile while a few tears rolled down her face. She knew from this point on that she had a long road ahead of her, and regaining the trust of this crew would be a challenge. Reia put away the ring, only to have a picture of her previous shipmates from the USS Malinche catch her eye. She picked up the photo and analyzed it for a moment, trying to forget the recent memories to remember the old ones. However, no matter how long she stared at the photo, the conversation with Roth still echoed in her mind. Reia paced around the room attempting to find a way to ease her mind. Finally, it hit her: Something she hadn't done since she lived on Earth. She proceeded out of her cabin to the turbo-lift. “Deck eleven.” She ordered as the hum from the lift drifted her mind back to an earlier moment in her life.

Reia approached the holodeck doors, and with a few inputs into the console, she entered the holodeck to find herself behind home plate in a small baseball field. “Computer, add a aluminum bat and medium size batting helmet.” Within a few nano seconds, the objects appeared next to Reia. She put on the helmet, and with a firm grip on the bat, she looked at the mound. “Computer add a softball pitcher, top speed one hundred kph.” Reia squeezed the handle of the bat a few times trying to find the swing grip as she waited for the pitch. The pitcher moved her arms in a circle, winding her pitch. Her program randomly selected through a series of computer calculations, and with a speed of 80 kph, the pitcher released the ball towards Reia. The pitch was thrown.

Within that second, Reia recalled the final part of the conversation with Captain Roth as she swung her bat with all of her skill and hit the ball. She watched the ball fly into the outfield, dropping the bat to the ground. A pain in her left elbow shot through her as an old athletic wound reopened. Despite the pain, she closed her eyes, taking in the atmosphere of the ball field. It felt good to be there once again.

---

Location: Chief science officer's quarters, deck 8, USS Republic

Lieutenant Cha'rik was studying the data from the nebula closely. After all, she would need to pull out any of the information necessary in case someone asked her, even though she wasn't a scientist. She was a warrior.

She was still having trouble keeping her mind in control of her emotions. She wasn't about to let herself break down and go through and give her position away. Even though the immediate threat was gone, there was something still wrong. Call it a gut instinct or not, but she had grown used to the feeling after the many years that she spent hiding from different organizations and different assassins.

Now that she was here to protect someone that she particularly didn't see the point too, she realized that it was her chance to hide from the other organization that was doing a damn good job keeping the fingers pointing between Section 31 and Starfleet Intelligence. She wanted to know more about it, but she knew that the more that she inquired about it, the more that she would be giving away her position.

After the meeting with the Captain, she really would have liked to come out in the open about who she was so that she didn't have to do the impersonation anymore, but she couldn't risk the wrong person finding out about that. She would hopefully be gone off of the ship once she found the hired assassin out for her target.

On another PADD next to the one that she was currently studying was the crew reports again. She made sure that she kept a close eye on everything. Even the slightest hint of problems could show her where to start looking for the said assassin.

Luck had never been on her side, but so far, she was doing pretty well compared to everything going on. Beauvais made her life quite difficult. The only way that she could go through and get what information she needed was tap into the Chief's security information. However, Beauvais had learned a long time ago how to keep things quiet if need be. They were both war heroes and if she could feel the pain, it pained her to do what she was doing to one of her own. However, she didn't have emotions, and she needed to get this job done.

Soon, hopefully answers would come apparent, but now to the focus of the Ash'aar Nebula.

---

Location: AR-558
Timeframe: Six years ago, during the Dominion War

Phaser blasts could be heard across the horizon and in the immediate area punching into the darkness of the night. Each volley that came across their defenses, they had one to return. However, against the Jem'Hadar, they were far and few between.

They had been losing far too many of their own, and now they were fighting for their lives again. Not only did they need to keep the array in Federation hands, they needed to keep themselves protected against the Houdini's that had made their way into their camp.

This time, they had made their way into their side of the camp. There weren't that many soldiers, but as she fought hard to keep her ground, she looked to her left as she thought that she saw something moving out of the corner of her eye. Just as she looked, she became on the receiving end of blunt force from a rifle. Fighting back, she felt herself get hit many different times but she didn't take them into account.

Next thing that she realized was a cool sensation flowing down her chest and falling backwards. As she looked up as she fell, she could see the soldier she was fighting fall as well, but another one standing behind him. She aimed her rifle the best that she could and fired. Even though her aim was crap, she managed to kill the soldier, ending the battle for this evening.

She struggled to move, but as she tried, an officer was standing over her pinning her down hard. She looked at his hands on her chest and could see the blood flowing through his fingers. As she started to get lightheaded, all she could hear was them ordering her to stay alive.

She fought hard to stay conscious but between the painkillers they were giving her, the pain, and the loss of blood, she felt as if she was slipping forever.


Location: Lieutenant Beauvais' quarters, deck 8, USS Republic
Timeframe: Present day

She woke up with a start clutching her chest. Looking down, she realized it was just the nightmare again that she suffered from time to time. Breathing heavily, she wiped the tears and sweat from her face and reached for the glass of water that she always had on the bedside table. Drinking it all down in one gulp, she started to take deep breaths. It wasn't the fact that the nightmare had been real, but it still plagued her and haunted her to this day.

Rubbing her hand over the scar, she got up from bed and headed over to the sink. The brilliant colors of the nebula cascaded and danced across the floor providing the necessary illumination. Turning on the faucet, cool water started to rush forth. Cupping her hands, she took up the water and splashed it on her face. As she looked at herself in the mirror, even though there was the brilliant Ash'aar nebula staring her back, all she could see was that fateful night at AR-558. Shutting her eyes momentarily and muttering to herself, she reopened them and looked back only seeing the nebula. She breathed a sigh of relief and tried to head back to bed for the rest of the night, even though she knew it was a fateful attempt and a waste of time after the nightmare that she personally lived those few years ago.


Location, Holodeck 3, deck 12, USS Republic

Cha'rik had made her way with her beautiful Sha'riens to the holodeck. She was getting stir crazy and couldn't take it anymore. Not only did she find the science field flat, her target was fine for the mean time. Everything was quiet for the most part on the home front. As she entered the holodeck, the light penetrated her tight black work-out fit. It was time to work off some of the aggression that was building up inside her. The kohl-tor was doing its best to keep her calm, but from time to time, it no longer worked.

When she was a younger Vulcan and more naïve, she didn't spend her time working on the kolinahr like the rest of the young Vulcans did. This forced her to leave Vulcan at a very young age. After many years of fighting and learning herself, she finally completed the kolinahr, but not to its complete success.

She walked to the console and inserted a chip with one of her training programs on it. She had to be careful not to let her true persona come out. With enough security encryption, no one would know what she had been working on here in the holodeck. The program self-initialized shimmering in a few fighters and then to the barren scenery reminiscent of Vulcan. She always felt better fighting in her natural environment. It was a harsh environment and it conditioned her to be ready and able for anything that was thrown at her. She didn't just receive perfect conditioning from living on Vulcan, but going through Starfleet Intelligence and the Marines.

Entering between the fighters, they came to life and readied their weapons for a full attack. She pulled the two short ceremonial swords from their resting place on her back and stood in defensive waiting for them to come closer. Once they came within range, she moved from her stoic position to an attacking stance and then gracefully danced among them slaughtering them down one by one. Her fighting techniques though refined over the many years she had been fighting were enhanced when she had been assimilated by the Borg. Their massive amounts of information both offensive, defensive, cultural was a golden database for anthropologist or anyone else that cared about that stuff. She used it for bettering herself and her fighting techniques. The more unique she fought, the better she had the upper hand in battle.

It didn't take long for the first round of failed contestants to disappear back into the holodeck buffer. Another set shimmered into the arena and then immediately came to life. These rounds continued until she was left with one last component. Sweat beaded off of her green-tinted skin from the intense workout that she was forcing her way through. As she brought her swords across the neck of the soldier, a chime could be heard. She finished killing him and tapped her communicator.

“Cha'rik here.”

“We have the latest sensor readings of the nebula as you requested, Ma'am,” came through.

“Wonderful. I will be there momentarily.”

She walked back over to the control console, removed the chip and cleared the memory of the program there. The foreign environment shimmered back to the black and yellow tiling. She then sheathed her swords and walked out of the holodeck back to her quarters to clean up before heading back to the mundane of the Science Department.

---

Chapter 21: Eye of the CarterTop

Dim colored lighting permeated the crowded room as conversation mixed with music reverberated in the air. Over a hundred people shared the space, some seated at round wooden tables towards the back and sides, and others on a clean white dance floor situated in front of a stage where a three-man band played. The attire of everyone in the room was unique at the very least, with some females in miniskirts, and others in long denim jeans or slacks with wide, loose-fitting hems around the ankles. Equally unique was the male portion of the crowd, many wearing half-buttoned V-neck shirts, and boasting ample gold jewelry around their necks. With respect to hair, both men and women wore outlandish styles upon their heads, usually of the long shoulder-length variety, or for those with more wooly textured hair, large cloud-shaped “fro” styles with small, tightly coiled strands. The melodies emanating from the musical group was a combination of rhythm guitar, bass, and electro-acoustic keyboard, and the crowded dance floor responded to the rhythmic tones with slow, bobbing gyrations of the hips, arms, and legs in a four-step pattern under the sparkling light of a mirror ball.

“Come on, Leon,” a serene, feminine voice spoke above the noise of the crowd.

Doctor Cromwell sat at one of the tables in the audience wearing his usual ivory turtleneck sweater. He was clearly uncomfortable where he sat, with arms folded, and an almost sulky if not embarrassed expression on his face. “I'm sorry, Susan,” he replied shaking his head. “I'm just not the best dancer.”

“Please?” the voice pleaded in return. The request came from a handsome woman in her thirties, with dark, almost ebony skin. Her long, flowing hair was jet black, and was a stark contrast to the sapphire blue eyes brimming with energy and intrigue. When she smiled, a set of brilliant white teeth showed off a pleasant, friendly demeanor. Thin, yet not petite, this young lady wore an outfit that rivaled the exotic attire of the dance crowd; long, bell-bottomed polyester slacks with a loose-fitting, sequin-covered chiffon blouse, complete with a pair of open-toed platform shoes.

“Look, why don't you just program a holographic dance partner?”

“Because,” she emphasized. “We're supposed to be doing things that each of us like. We went to the Brahams concert at The Hill last week, now this week, we do what *I* want.”

“I'm just not sure if this is something I can do.”

Susan's expression turned to frustration. She had been planning this special trip to the holodeck for over a week, and Leon promised to join her. However, Susan had detected a change in Leon's demeanor from when they dated on the Bremerton over two years ago. Back then, he smiled more, was the life of the party, and much more adventurous to try new things such as an anachronistic holo-program. Unfortunately, since she reunited with him aboard Republic during the last crew rotation, Susan found Leon to be much more sullen and moody, not to mention withdrawn; a hollow shell of his former self and much less fun to be around. She opened her mouth to ask what was the matter, but was cutoff by the pneumatic grinding of the holodeck's door.

With the hallway light pouring into the dimly lit room, Susan and Leon shaded their eyes to see a single figure walk into the space. It was only when the door closed that they were able to make out the face of Doctor Bashir.

“Here you are, doctor,” declared Julian in a chipper, upbeat British-accented voice. “I've been looking all over for you.” The announcement seemed almost a facsimile, barely hiding a personal motivation to mend recently soured relations with Doctor Cromwell. For his part, Leon acknowledged Bashir by turning back around to Susan with a silent 'here-we-go-again' expression complete with a sigh, raised eyebrows, and rolling eyes.

Susan took note.

“Interesting program you've got here,” Julian commented, placing his hands on his hips. He took in the strange surroundings, nodding in approval. “We have something from a similar time period on the station. It's a holo-suite program called 'Vics'.”

For the first time since she entered the holodeck this evening, Susan broke a smile. Julian's upbeat mood was a stark contrast from Leon's downcast deportment, and although she uploaded this program for only herself and Doctor Cromwell, her companion's current frame of mind put a damper on their date. Doctor Bashir's arrival, though unannounced, made the atmosphere much more relaxed and to her liking, and a sly thought entered her head: It had been nearly an hour since she began attempting to coax Leon from the table for a simple dance, and she was getting nowhere. While she wasn't one to promote partner-swapping during a dance, her feet had been eager to hit the floor all night, and she would be damned if she left without doing at least one number.

With a grin and twinkle in her eye, Susan stood up, and to Leon's surprise, bluntly asked Doctor Bashir the question, “Would you care to dance?”

“And interactive too!” Julian observed, apparently assuming that Susan's attire made her one of the holodeck characters rather than a flesh-and-blood person. “Nicely done!”

Leon glared directly at Susan with a 'don't-you-dare' look in his eye. Susan, however, felt that Leon needed to be taught a lesson about how to treat woman on a date, and as she led Julian away from the table, smirked back in Leon's direction before they faded towards the front of the room.

As the two walked onto the dance floor, the crowd, by program, parted to make room. The band, which was in the middle of a funk-inspired instrumental, began a new song that included an undulating strumming from the lead guitar, accompanied by a percussion-based background symphonic reminiscent of a funk/soul combination. With the drums playing in a steady, four-to-the-floor beat, Susan began a rhythmic twisting of her hips and legs while simultaneously moving her arms and torso to the music. She started to take in-and-out steps as the tempo flowed, all the while keeping her eyes on Doctor Bashir.

Julian smiled at the unusual motions, but understood that as Susan looked at him, and the crowd began to form a circle around them, that he was expected to explore some moves of his own. In response to Susan, albeit less graceful, the doctor from Deep Space Nine began to mimic the woman's cadence, and as he did, the band started into the vocal portion of their song. Their tones were unusually high for an all-male band, and their words nearly unrecognizable, yet their lyrics seemed to run in step with the music. As if on cue with the vocals, the white-tiled dance floor lit up and came alive with pulsating, colored patterns.

Throughout the rest of the number, Susan and Julian played a game of follow-the-leader, as Susan led the doctor through more and more complex steps of the California Hustle. The moves were very articulate, not to mention stimulating, as she drew her unsuspecting dance partner towards her, and then away. The crowd began to clap to the beat in approval of the duo, but as the music approached a climax, Susan started a solo of her own, leaving Julian to watch in awe as she synchronized her feet and body in a 48-beat sequence, and ending in a multiple-spin rumba that brought the house down. The crowd cheered as the band finished, and Doctor Bashir, grinning from ear to ear, joined in on the applause.

Only Leon remained stolid as he continued to sit, watching the spectacle with arms crossed and resentment welling.

Susan blushed and smiled while she took a few bows for the crowd, brushing her hair out her eyes each time. She was about to turn back to Julian, but the doctor from Deep Space Nine had already headed back towards Leon's table, apparently dismissing the dance – and Susan – as another holodeck performance that had completed it's programmed sequence for his amusement. Raising an eyebrow, Susan watched after him for a moment before following.

“So that's why you like this music, Doctor,” Julian remarked while strutting up to the table, slightly out of breath.

“Excuse me?” Leon replied, barely able to hide his vehemence.

“Well, I can't quite make out the lyrics, but I believe they just sung something about 'staying alive.' What was the name of this musical group?”

“Um,” Leon muttered, showing little interest in Julian's question. “The Beavers . . . or something like that.”

“No . . . the Bee Gees!” Susan emphasized with annoyance. “They're one of the musical legends of Earth's late twentieth century. They were at the forefront of the art of disco.”

Julian turned around to face Susan with surprise. “Art of . . . disco?”

“At least *someone* is showing an interest in my hobby,” remarked Susan with a glimmer in her eyes and shifting a glance towards Leon.

Doctor Cromwell wasn't amused.

“I'd better be getting back to the lab . . .” Susan concluded, realizing that maybe Leon needed some time to think over the evening's events.

Julian looked at a loss. “You're . . . leaving?” he asked with confusion. “But, you're a hologram!”

“Computer . . . end program,” Susan announced. With an electronic whisper, the discothèque around the trio disappeared, followed a moment later by Susan's obsolescent outfit that shimmered away into non-existence, revealing a standard ship-issue technician's jumpsuit with combadge. All that remained in the black-walled, yellow-matrixed holodeck was the table and chair that Leon was utilizing.

With an amused expression, Susan shook Julian's hand and introduced herself. “Doctor Susan Hayworth. Ship's oceanographer.”

As the realization began to dawn upon Doctor Bashir, a knot formed in his stomach, and he looked from Susan to Leon, then back to Susan again.

“I'll see you later Leon,” she said, walking up to Doctor Cromwell and offering a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for the dance, Doctor,” she smiled at the befuddled Julian before exiting the holodeck.

After the grinding sound of the doors subsided, a moment of silence accentuated the awkward social situation as Julian looked at the exit for several seconds after Susan left.

“I . . .” he turned to Leon. “I just stole your date . . .”

Leon did not answer with words; he only crossed his arms and forced a smile that conveyed disdain bordering on contempt. Julian received the message, and could only manage a few words of apology.

“I'm . . . I'm terribly sorry . . .”

The two doctors looked at one another while Julian tensely hoped for absolution. Unfortunately, Leon offered none, and continued to stare at him thus exacerbating the already gauche atmosphere. The moment was unbearable, and without further discourse, Julian yet again found himself exiting a room after having his hopes dashed to warm the icy waters between him and Doctor Cromwell.

As the doors to the holodeck opened, Leon closed his eyes and laid his head down on the table, letting out a lengthy sigh. He barely heard Julian's voice in the hallway outside saying “good evening, commander,” before the doors closed again.

'Blessed silence,' Leon thought to himself, his ears still ringing from the raucous chatter of the dance club. A moment passed where he slipped into a light slumber, but a soft foot shuffling and a muted cough woke the doctor with a start.

“Um . . . doc?”

Leon sat up with surprise in his eyes, and turned to see John Carter standing casually with arms behind his back.

“Is this what you do on your spare time? Sit in an empty holodeck?”

With surprise turning to a sour expression, Leon rubbed his forehead. “You caught me on a bad night,” he replied. “I usually sit in cargo bay three and talk to the storage modules . . .”

John snickered with a half-smile, recognizing the sarcasm in his friend's voice. Noting the table and chair, he changed the subject. “I assume you've been studying?”

“Studying?” Leon was again taken by surprise. “What do you think I am? A cadet?”

“Your bridge officer's test is in less than a week. I'd think you would be studying.”

“Look John, I've been reviewing my coursework from the past three months, and with the exception of Warp Physics, I'd say I'm doing fine. What's to worry?”

“Leon,” John's voice turned from light-hearted to stern. “The exam is more than a comprehensive final to the holodeck courses you've been taking. It'll test every . . .”

“I know! I know!” Doctor Cromwell rolled his eyes. “It'll test every fiber of in my psychological profile. Listen, why do you keep trying to scare me with that?”

“Because, it's the truth. A senior bridge officer has to know his own weaknesses, AND how to overcome them. Have you been running that old Starfleet simulation I told you to?”

“The Kobyashi Maru?” Leon asked. “Yes. At least three times. I gave up a month ago because I got as far as I could, and wasn't able to win.”

“Uh huh . . .” John remarked skeptically. “That tells me you haven't run it enough.”

“Something tells me you didn't come find me on your off duty hours to discuss my educational situation.”

“Actually, you're right.” John started to lightly tap the eye-patch over his left eye. “A deal's a deal. You promised me a prosthetic.”

“Didn't you keep your appointment with Doctor Yezbeck? He's our bionics expert. I'm only the regen specialist, and as a Martian, your metabolism doesn't respond to regen treatment very well.”

“As a matter of fact, I did keep my appointment. But, it didn't last long. He showed me a series of different prosthetics, and talked about how easy the procedure was.”

“But?”

“But, YOU'RE my doctor. As capable as Saal is, I'd rather have you do it.”

“Why's that?”

“Well, the way I see it – if you'll excuse the pun – you were the one to fix me up when I lost my old eyeball, so I think it's only fair that you put in my new one.”

“I'm honored,” Leon replied with a touch of insincerity. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope,” John stated with a smile.

With a resigned sigh, Leon acquiesced and looked down at the table, reflecting upon the night's events. “Well, my evening is shot anyway. Come on . . . Let's see if we can find an open exam room . . .”


Location: Deck 3, Officers Mess
Shiptime: 2200 hours

Zoe was sitting staring out the window. The nightmares were still plaguing her, especially after spending some time at DS9. There were a few familiar faces there, but primarily she didn't know why they were surfacing again. It happened from time to time that the nightmares would come but then sooner or later, they would just leave and disappear into the ether leaving her alone.

However, this was the longest bought of nightmares that she had. It primarily involved the injury she took while fighting there, then again there were a few others of her friends and crewmates dying to the hands of the Jem'Hadar. She struggled to actually sleep each night. She didn't want to go and talk to the doctors aboard. Since the injury, she tended to steer herself far clear of them. She had gotten her fill of doctors after getting injured, and then being the war veteran she was, the post traumatic problems that she had and had to remain in counseling.

She sipped the warm tea from the mug just hoping that tonight would be different and that she would be able to sleep. She tuned out all the other bustling noises in the mess and just let herself listen to the quiet part of her mind. She tried to focus just on the stars and the nebula out there in front of them, but the thoughts of nightmares kept trying to creep back into the front of all her thoughts. Spending her energy to quiet her mind, she nearly jumped when someone came up and touched her shoulder.

“Excuse me, lieutenant?” the newcomer asked in a smooth, familiar British accent. As Zoe turned around, her eyes fell upon a familiar face. Doctor Julian Bashir, chief medical officer of Deep Space Nine, was standing next to her with an expression of puzzlement. “I don't mean to intrude, but I've a strange feeling that you and I have met sometime in the past. I hope that you'll forgive my memory?”

“AR-558, you were part of the team that came from DS9 to resupply the outpost when things went south.”

“I thought you looked familiar!” Julian replied, his eyes widening with recognition. “That was several years ago, and I've wondered how everyone else has made out since. How've you been?”

She thought quietly for a moment. She didn't quite feel comfortable talking about the nightmares that she had been suffering, but then again, maybe this was something that she needed to get off of her chest, and he was a doctor after all. “Physical therapy for my shoulder, extensive counseling for the PSTD and the nightmares which lately have decided to resurface.”

Julian listened with interest, nodding in comprehension, empathizing with the trauma she had endured since those fateful days at the outpost. AR-558 was perhaps one of the most heinous places in the war, and the fact that he, along with Sisko, Ezri, Quark and Nog, were able to make it out alive was a near miracle. However, what was often overlooked in the written history of that war was that several others had made it out of there alive along with the Deep Space Nine officers. Julian never overlooked that fact, and the pain suffered by others who had survived death must have been even greater than his; for many had been there even longer.

“So in the end it could be better. I've personally seen a lot of carnage, but getting injured myself makes the carnage real and too horrible to just forget.”

Julian followed Zoe's gaze out the viewport with a sullen expression. He could remember all too well the agony and terror of the Dominion war, and although the security officer's ghosts of the past still haunted her, it was a story he had heard countless times. Each time, the same problem arose: forgetting. Some tried to forget at the bottom of a bottle, others shaped their anger into blaming the other side for everything thus harboring a burning rage deep within, but each time the result was the same. In the end, those who tried to forget failed, and their souls were left drained and heart lifeless.

With a slight furrow in his brow, the doctor looked down in thought. “I know it may sound callous, but the truth is that you never forget.” He looked up again, directing his soft blue eyes towards the security officer. “It's all a part of you now, whether or not you want it to be. What matters now is how you learn to live with it.”

“Sometimes I wish that I could forget everything that I went through. However, I thought that I had come to terms with what I have been through. I didn't just go through the Dominion War but other things as well. It's just that the Dominion War sticks out most in my mind because of the injury I took.”

It hadn't occurred to Julian that Zoe was the victim of things worse than AR-558. Usually, the incident itself was enough to drive a human mind insane; away from Starfleet, and away from life. So, he assumed that since she was still wearing the uniform, that she was no run-of-the-mill officer. However, to have a person withstand the torture of the outpost-under-seige, and then stay in Starfleet only to endure even more horror was unthinkable. There must have been much more to this person than being simply tough-skinned. She obviously possessed an inner strength uncommon in normal people.

“What else besides the Dominion War did you participate in?” Julian asked.

“Second incursion of the Borg was the other 'campaign' I was apart of.”

The doctor remembered the incident a little over seven years ago. In fact, Worf had taken the Defiant into battle at Earth that day, and the Borg left the warship crippled in space and several of her crew dead. Again, as with AR-558, Julian knew that more than just Deep Space Nine officers were involved in the incident, but he had never talked with any before.

“Which ship did you serve on in the battle?”

“I was aboard the USS Thunderchild. We survived, just barely.”

'Wow,' thought Julian. 'Just like Defiant. Maybe she should talk to Worf.' He kept his inner voice to himself, listening to the lieutenant tell her story.

“The Borg were the reason why I joined Starfleet. It just took the Dominion War to determine my state of mind today. I have accepted what I went through, but acceptance isn't going to be enough here…”

“Why?” Julian spoke. The question came out quicker than his mind could gauge whether it was an appropriate query. Nevertheless, the damage, if any, had been done. And like his recent dealings with Doctor Cromwell, his stomach tightened as he wondered if he would have to endure a venomous tirade. However, from Julian's point of view, he had opened this particular Pandora's box, and the least he could do was see what was in it. “What will it take for you to move on?” he continued his line of questioning.

She thought quietly for a moment and then looked over to him. “See, I thought that I had fully accepted what I have gone through but with the nightmares still resurfacing and reliving that moment over and over, I just don't know what to do anymore.”

Julian raised an eyebrow. “Have the nightmares been away for a while, and just recently returned? Or have they occurred on a regular basis for the last several years?” His inquiry sounded diagnostic, but was not meant to be a professional analysis. “I ask,” he added. “Because if it's the latter, I'd say you've gone much longer than you should have without talking to a counselor. If it's the former, then you need to figure out what's changed in your life so dramatically so as to cause your nightmares to resurface. Either way, a professional psychotherapist can work wonders for PTSD.”

“They surface from time to time, but ever since I arrived on board I have been dealing with them again. It's just gotten worse the last few nights.”

“You're not alone, you know,” Julian reminded her. “Many, many veterans from the Dominion War and other conflicts have been through similar situations, and are still recovering from the emotional wounds. There's even some on this ship. Have you met Doctor Cromwell?”

“In passing.”

“According to his file, he was a POW in the Dominion War. While I don't know how he dealt with it, his experience must have been quite traumatic. Almost as bad as yours or mine. Perhaps sharing your thoughts with a fellow crewmate might help?”

She thought quietly for a moment. “I don't think that I am quite ready to be discussing such histories as I am new to the vessel and I don't know who all I can trust yet.”

“Oh yes,” Julian blushed slightly. “I suppose being new to a vessel makes it hard to trust people. But, I can personally assure you that the senior staff of this vessel have your best interests in mind.”

“I know.”

Doctor Bashir smiled. “You'll have to trust me on that. But look at it this way – after what you and I went through on AR-558, what would make me lie to you now?”

“True.” With that, she downed the rest of her drink and got up. “I have to get to my shift, Doctor. It was nice talking to you, and I may take you up on that offer to see someone about the nightmares.”

“Try to make it sooner rather than later,” Bashir added as Zoe walked away, causing her to pause and look back at him. “For your own personal happiness, if anything else. If we don't work to keep happiness in our lives, life can be a very dreary place.”

She nodded and left the messhall, heading to the bridge for her nightly shift.

Julian watched her as she left, admiring the lieutenant's physique. However, as the doors closed, he shook off the slight surge in hormones, realizing that she was much younger than him, and that he wasn't as flirtatious as he used to be. At least not since Jadzia passed away.

'Besides,' the doctor thought. 'I'm here for a reason, and it's not personal.' He sighed as he flagged down a waiter and ordered a nightcap.

---

Chapter 22: The Death of Lieutenant HawkTop

Watching the shadows play across the floor of the Observation Lounge as the Republic's position relative to the nearest star changing sifted slowly through the depths of Ash'aar nebula, a singular thought occurred to Lieutenant Nathan Hawk as his mind otherwise came up blank: I'm dead. Something else within his mind, another part of himself, answered: No. His subconscious maybe? What's it matter? Yer dead, he thought as something else, also dark and fluid of movement, yet not a shadow, entered the periphery of his vision. It crept slowly across the beige carpet, growing larger in every direction - but what was it? Blood, the other part of him replied once again. Blood? Who's bleeding? he asked himself. You are, the other part answered.

Something happened then, a memory, he remembered something. In image, no, a feeling? He wasn't sure. Whichever it was, it made him think of a knife, of pain. Had he stabbed someone? No, he told himself this time, not needing the other part of himself to do it. He had been stabbed, he remembered now. The darkness moving across the floor, the thing that wasn't a shadow - it was his own blood pooling on the carpet. Why didn't I know that? he asked himself with alarm. Cause yer in shock, the other him answered without delay. It made sense - or at least, he thought it did. If he had been stabbed though, why didn't he feel it? Shouldn't it hurt like he remembered, like he knew it should? Yer in shock, remember? Ya can't barely think, let alone feel, the other him said.

If I was stabbed, and I ain't dead, how come I'm just layin' here on the floor? he asked his other self. When no response came this time, he decided to find out. As he tried to remember how to move though, it occurred to him that you didn't move by thinking about it, but simply by doing it. So he did it. Bad idea, said his other self as he picked up his head. His vision swam, his head pounded, and pain coursed through his body all in the same instant. His head fell back upon the deck and his mind went blank again, his eyes closing for an instant/eternity. Forcing them open again, he saw the same scene before his eyes. Shadows, carpet, the conference lounge, and a pool of blood. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, though.

This time when he tried to move once again, he was smart enough not to try to move his head. His hand seemed much less risky by comparison. Indeed, it didn't seem to cause offer any objections. It didn't accomplish anything though. He realized with a sense of dread that if he was going to actually do something other than lay here and bleed to death, he would have to try to really move. Not just a head or a hand, but everything, his whole self. I'm tellin' ya, that's a bad idea, warned his other self from deep in his mind. Something else though, yet another part of himself that had been silent up until now, conveyed a sense of defiance in response to the warning thought. Survival instinct, maybe? Move! he yelled at himself, drawing his focus back to the task at hand.

Fighting the pain, fighting his muscles, fighting for focus, fighting everything, he moved. He pushed himself up from the deck with his hands and arms. He drew his legs in underneath of himself, until he was on his knees. He braced himself against the bulkhead as he forced himself to his feet. The edges of his vision blurred and darkened, and he stumbled his first awkward step, keeping from falling only by his grip on the corner of the wall. He knew the door was there, ahead of him, but his obscured vision kept him from seeing it. He heard it though, or rather, maybe he felt the gentle whoosh of air instead? He didn't stop to give it enough thought to decide. One hand after the other clawing across the smooth finish of the cream colored bulkhead. One foot in front of the other, awkward and disjointed, across the traction carpet. As his vision cleared some, he saw finally the door the opened to the bridge.

The light from the bridge was darker than he thought it should be, until he remembered this was gamma shift. A few meters away, he saw a lithe humanoid body clad black with a Starfleet uniform. After another moment, he recognized from the form it was a female. Her collar and her hair the same color, lips full, eyes bright and expressive, attractive in a Starfleet sort of way. Beauvais, he realized, and as he did so, she turned to glance towards him, towards the sound of the door that had opened. Her eyes on him, her lips moved as she said something directed to him. He heard the sounds, the words, as she asked him with a subdued, friendly, professional smile if he had “Finally finished that conn report?” That's why he had been in the lounge, alone, he remembered now. He had been working on his conn report.

He wanted to call out to her, to ask her to help him, but he could not. He didn't know why, but he couldn't even seem to try to speak. As if he couldn't remember how. His eyes locked on Beauvais face, he watched as her expression slowly changed from professional friendly to first questioning, then briefly confusion, before finally to a mask of concern all within a second or two. “Lieutenant?” he heard her ask, prompting him for a reply, her voice sounding distant and faint. His mouth was so dry, he couldn't even make a simple sound. Watching Beauvais eyes, he saw them travel down along his uniform. He followed suit and looked down as well, to his left side and hip. The black of his uniform seemed… darker, somehow. Darker and wet, maybe? Putting his left hand to the his side, he pulled it back and found it coated red. Blood, he remembered. Looking back up at Beauvais, he could see she had realized the same thing.

Knowing that made it easy for him to accept what his body was saying, as he fell forward onto his knees. Beauvais was moving towards him now, her right hand moving to her combadge, everything moving so slowly now. Slower than even before. As the darkness claimed his vision again, threatening to claim him, he felt himself falling once more. Hitting the deck with a hard thud, he knew he had done everything he could. This battle could no longer be fought from the waking world, he somehow knew. At least not on his side of things. Feeling his body being moved, his head cradled, he couldn't help but hope that Leon wasn't the type to be groggy when he first woke up like most people where. He trusted his friend though, trusted him to do his best.

The last thing he knew as he allowed the darkness to overcome him was the sound of Beauvais voice, urgent and raised, as she called for an emergency transport for two to sickbay. Whether the sense of cold pins-and-needles he felt next was the transporter, or death, he wasn't sure he would ever know…


Location: Main sickbay, USS Republic
Shiptime: 02:21 hours

“Well, I guess no one will be calling you 'Cyclops' anymore,” remarked a sarcastic Leon.

“Okay, but, tell me again,” Carter asked while touching the area around his left eye, inspecting his near-perfect artificial reproduction of his natural eyeball. “why I can't have one of those fancy, multi-spectrum bionic eyes?”

The Republic's XO was seated in front of a medical mirror in exam room one, with Doctors Cromwell and Yezbeck standing behind him in light blue physician's jackets. Cromwell was using a tricorder and diagnostic wand to scan the ocular connections now connecting man and machine within Carter's head, while Yezbeck checked it's functional specifications against it's optimal settings on a PADD.

“It's a matter of compatibility, John,” Leon replied.

“You see,” interjected Yezbeck. “You had the luxury of growing up with a normal visual organ. Your brain has become accustom to a specific series of neural impulses from your organic eye. If we overloaded it with excess visual spectra that an enhanced prosthetic would provide, your system wouldn't be able to adjust.” the bearded physician explained. “Hell it's tough for even those who didn't ever have normal vision to accept all that data.”

In Republic's past, a change of pace was almost always preceded by an ominous blaring of the ship's comm system, or the warbling of an alert klaxon. Usually, there was some inkling as to the cause, whether it be the ship's status already being at condition yellow, or some thrashing of the hull signaling an enemy attack. Whenever such events occurred, the crew sprang into action, each knowing exactly where they had to be, and what they could be expecting next.

This was not one of those times, as the exam room's intercom came to life.

“Medical emergency! Doctor Cromwell to the main ward!”

Shooting Saal a perplexed expression, Leon immediately turned around and exited the exam room at a brisk pace. Before the doors could close, Yezbeck and Carter followed on heel's of the Republic's chief medical officer.

Of the two diagnostic beds in the main ward, a half-dozen medical crew were already huddled around the one closest to the door. A bright examination light beamed down onto the table where a single body lay immobile. However, as he approached, it wasn't the body that drew Leon's attention at first. It was one of the standing personnel, Lieutenant Zoe Beauvais. Her hands and uniform were stained a bright crimson red while her face betrayed an expression of horror and shock. Leon's stomach tightened in the realization that there were very few situations that could force such a reaction from a seasoned security officer. Looking down upon his patient, Leon felt as if he has just been shot with a phaser on heavy stun.

“Oh my god…” he gasped. In an instant, it was pushed aside as his instincts and training took control. “Get me a life support module!” Leon shouted. “Start a plasma infusion and 200cc's of ferrizone!”

As Yezbeck and Carter arrived at the table, both their eyes' widened with astonishment.

“Hawk…” John exclaimed.

“Activate internal scan!” Yezbeck ordered, turning around and running towards a wall-mounted computer console.

At the rear of the room, a pair of medical technicians rushed into the ward with a medical cart bearing a tetrahedral-shaped life support module. With scalpels, two nurses quickly cut off Nat's blood-drenched uniform, further staining the upholstery of both the bed and carpet, while accentuating the gravity of his injuries.

“Multiple stab wounds!” Leon announced over the clatter of medical alert chimes. “He's lost several liters of blood!” Working to seal and lock the life support module around Nat's body, Leon snatched an auto-suture from an offering hand and began to seal the hemorrhaging incisions. “Saal! What have you got?”

“The injuries have invaded the left side of the abdominal cavity from behind . . . directly through the eighth and ninth intercostals . . .” Yezbeck reported.

“Organ damage?” Cromwell questioned.

“The posterior mediastinum is nicked in six places . . .”

“I know that!” Leon shouted angrily. “I've got them! I need the organ damage!”

“Drop in blood pressure, doctor!” a nurse reported as another alarm joined the chorus.

“Increase arterial restriction . . . 15cc's of anasipulum!”

“Posterior lacerations of the left renal papilla and minor calyx!” Yezbeck finally said.

“Kidney damage. We can deal with that. What else?” he demanded harshly.

“Three perforations of the lower pulmonary lobe . . . looks like the diaphragm too . . . he's in bad shape . . .” Yezbeck commented, instantly wishing he hadn't.

“I'm getting a lot of bleeding from the diaphragm,” Leon stressed, his forearms turning a deep red as he worked. “Any thoracic damage?”

“Yes,” Saal responded. “The thoracic cavity was penetrated . . . looks like his left ventricle was nicked . . .”

“Damn-it!” Leon cursed. “Put his cardiopulmonary system on full support . . .”

“Yes doctor.” replied one of the medics.

Anxious moments ticked by in an instant and an eternity without conversation or commentary as the medical staff worked at a dizzying pace to keep the Republic's helmsman alive. Despite his grave concern, Carter pulled Lieutenant Beauvais aside, whispering orders for her to contact the bridge and place the ship on security alert. As she retreated to a corner of sickbay to do so, Captain Kimberly Roth and Doctor Julian Bashir entered Sickbay. Although Julian offered his help, Leon didn't respond, too engrossed with the situation. Yezbeck motioned him over to the diagnostic console. For her part, the captain walked over to Carter and quietly whispered, “What happened?”

“It looks like Hawk was attacked,” Carter said quietly, keeping his attention focused on the scene unfolding. “It looks pretty bad.” the first officer admitted, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I had Beauvais sound intruder alert.”

As if a switch had been thrown, Hawk's eyes rolled back into his head, and blood began to trickle from the corner of his mouth a split second before his body became rigid and he began to convulse violently.

“What the hell?!” Leon exclaimed, drawing his hands away from the seeping wounds. “Did the thoraco-abdominal bundle get lacerated?” he demanded, as he and three others struggled to keep Hawk as still as possible.

“Negative!” Yezbeck replied. “I don't see any nerve damage!”

“Then what the hell is happening!?” Leon demanded.

“I'm not sure!” Yezbeck admitted, staring at the monitor. “I'm beginning a system-wide neurological scan!”

“I'm getting multiple muscular contractions all over his body,” Leon explained, dialing a few buttons on the life support module. “It's indicative of a blood-borne neurotoxin . . . administer 500 cc's of quadrantropine!” the ship's surgeon barked.

“Quadrantropine . . . . ” Saal whispered to himself, the word jogging a distant memory as he began a new diagnostic program.

“What are you doing?” Julian asked softly, standing at the console next to him.

“A toxicology analysis . . .” Yezbeck replied without turning his attention away from the console.

“Give me something Saal!” Leon demanded urgently.

“Standby . . .”

“Saal!” Leon shouted loudly. “What have you got?”

With alarm creeping into his voice, Doctor Yezbeck turned around to face Leon.

“Uh, there's a toxin in his system . . . it's exhibiting asynchronous isomerism . . .”

The two doctors locked stares as they both realized what the diagnosis meant. Only a molecularly engineered poison can undergo asynchronous isomerism. Designed to kill by changing their atomic configuration to different types of compounds so quickly that an antidote cannot be synthesized in time, they had a 97% mortality rate. The last time that either of them had encountered such a substance involved the agonizing death of a Starfleet captain. Their only drawback was the difficulty in producing them - something that had obviously been overcome in this instance.

“Pull up the Starfleet Medical database,” Leon said to Saal in a raspy voice. “Figure out how many permutations they found to the molecular structure and synthesize an antidote cocktail.”

“I'm on it,” Doctor Yezbeck obliged, turning back to the computer screen. “But its molecular weight is at ten to the sixth. There's no guarantee that Starfleet has figured out every single permutation.”

Several medical monitors turned from a wary yellow to an ominous red as a new set of alert signals sounded. Like a gunshot, everyone in the room jumped at the cascade of warning tones. Immediately, Doctor Cromwell dialed several commands into the life support module.

“Begin a cardiovascular purge!” Leon ordered, his nerves beginning to unravel.

Upon hearing the order, Julian's medical instincts disallowed him to be silent any longer. “He's in shock!” the Deep Space Nine doctor exclaimed. “He won't survive the transfusion!”

“We've got to try!” Leon countered. “Inject 100cc's of hemolyte!”

“The toxin has permeated his tissues!” Yezbeck explained without taking his eyes of the medical screen. “A CV purge won't do anything!”

“Stasis!” shouted Leon, scrambling for solutions. “We can put him in stasis! Ready a stasis locker!” he ordered to a nearby technician.

“The toxin's isomerism is too random!” Bashir pointed out. “If we put him in stasis, he'll die!”

For a moment, all of the alarms stopped. Sickbay became a deafening quiet for a split second. Then, as quickly as the silence had come, it was replaced by a single, constant, dreaded tone from the cardiac monitor. Flatline.

“Cardiac failure, doctor!” shouted a nurse, her voice wavering. “Life support systems are maintaining circulation, but the blood pressure is dropping again!”

Leon abandoned his current idea of stasis in lieu of the new emergency. “Alright!” he conceded. “Forget stasis! I'll work to keep his vital organs from shutting down. You two give me some sort of defense against this blasted toxin – stat!” Refocusing his efforts to the life support module, Doctor Cromwell's fingers danced across the control panel at a dizzying pace, revitalizing neural pathways as quickly as the toxin paralyzed them. Or at least trying to.

Doctors Bashir and Yezbeck stood at the diagnostic console, both working in tandem, and feverishly accessing the toxicology database - Julian going through them at five times the speed of most humans. With dozens of images of different chemicals and antitoxins displayed on the screen, Julian abruptly halted his part of the search, selected several new molecular configurations, and activated the medical replicator. As the hum of matter/energy conversion faded, a hypospray materialized in the small alcove of the wall-mounted medical dispensary. Julian collected the instrument, and as he did so, shot a glance towards Saal who gave him a quizzical look. Julian said nothing, and only nodded in affirmation that he had the correct dosage. Quickly, he moved to the diagnostic table and injected the hypospray into Nat's neck.

“What was in that?” Leon asked, trying not to be too distracted from his work on Nat's cardiac system.

“The antidote cocktail you asked for,” Julian replied. “There's still no guarantee it'll work . . .”

“I could use a little less pessimism right now, doctor.” Cromwell replied.

The edge to Leon's voice was less distinct than what Julian had been used to lately, and although he could have easily attributed it to Doctor Cromwell's intense focus on his patient, Bashir decided that was the closest to a 'thank you' that he was going to get from the man – especially with Mister Hawk's life hanging by a thread.

A moment passed where a nurse wiped the sweat from Leon's forehead. Slowly, the medical monitors showed improvement in Hawk's condition, as the a few of the red-colored screens returned to yellow.

“That's it!” a nurse exclaimed. “The antidote is working!”

No sooner were the words spoken than Nat began to convulse once more. His body thrashed within the life support module, and alarms sounded once more as the yellow monitors were forced back into a deep crimson.

“His entire nervous system is shutting down!” Leon exclaimed in shock. “I can't keep up with the toxin . . . there's just way too many permutations! They're impacting every neuron in his body.”

Without warning, Nat's body went rigid as every muscle contracted into an intense spasm. His mouth frothed, and his eyes rolled back into his head, his eye-lids fluttering, and as quickly as the grave symptoms emerged, his body went limp. For an instant it seemed the convulsions had passed. Then a single ragged breath escaped Hawk's lips, and the dreaded tone of a cardiac flatline returned.

“Cortical stimulators!” Doctor Cromwell ordered. “Set for 500 faradays!”

Twin electrodes were fastened to Lieutenant Hawk's forehead, and with a static snap, his body twitched before falling limp again.

“800 faradays!” Leon ordered again, and the same electronic sizzle sounded with minimal results. All medical monitors now registered a steady red light.

“Again!” the CMO shouted, with even less effect. He called for the stimulators two more times before ordering another adjustment. With each jolt, Hawk's body responded less.

“1000 faradays!” Leon barked, his voice filled with desperation and determination.

“Doctor-” Julian began to suggest softly.

“Now!” Leon cut him off.

The technician complied. It made no difference. The screens showed no change. Hawk's body remained perfectly immobile as the piercing wail of the alarms registered the obvious conclusion that hit like a photon torpedo.

It was over.

Everyone in the room stood where they were, staring in disbelief at either the steady red lines on the synaptic monitor or Hawk's bloodied and lifeless form. Some had tears welling in their eyes, while others seemed almost catatonic. No one spoke a word, for there could be no explaining the event which had just transpired. Seemingly out of nowhere, a healthy, functioning member of this crew was snatched away from them in less than a few minutes. For some, especially John Carter and Leon Cromwell, the shock ran even deeper: A human being they initially considered a troublesome burden in their lives – and who, over the course of only a few months had defied all logic by becoming a close comrade-in-arms – was gone.

Dead.

Over half a minute passed where nobody moved, afraid to break the fleeting moment, clinging in vain to the hope that by some miracle Nathan Hawk would spring to life once more. They hoped that this was simply a nightmarish dream that would pass momentarily, that Nat would recover in a few days, and he would be making jokes in the officers mess next week, bringing the usual round of smiles to everybody's face as he always did.

But the miracle didn't come. Their hopes slowly evaporated like a lone puddle in a blistering desert, leaving behind an empty, desolate terrain in depths of their hearts. Only Julian seemed to muster the courage to perform a closing act, as he reached over and closed Nat's lifeless eyes.

The motion stirred a chaotic spark in Leon's consciousness. With his pupils pinpointed and jaw clenched, Doctor Cromwell's upper lip twitched ever so slightly as his anger, sorrow, and frustration were all funneled into a burning rage. In a second of sheer fury, his right hand formed a fist and exploded into a nearby medical cart, sending it flying across the room, and crashing into an empty biobed in the corner. With his knuckles bloodied, Leon spoke no words as he stumbled backwards from the bio-bed and stormed out of sickbay.

Leon did not stop as he brushed past Leah Warner in the entrance to Sickbay. Her face, a mask of concern and anxiety, turned to one of shock and horror at the sight before her. In the silence, it didn't seem real. It couldn't be real. She refused to accept it. She looked around at those gathered in Sickbay, expecting someone to do something, anything. For a long moment, no one did. Then, finally, someone did. A face she knew from reports, Julian Bashir, opened his mouth to speak. The words he spoke hit her like shockwaves.

“Time of death… 02:27 hours.”

---

Chapter 23: Flooding EmotionsTop

The hum of the turbo-lift and the alert siren pierced Reia's ears. 'Why? Why does it have to be now?' she kept asking herself 'I was having such a good dream too,' she sighed in disbelief. The turbo-lift doors opened up revealing the bridge; she took a few steps, noticing no other senior officers present. She gave herself a little slap on the face to wake her up a bit. 'Great. looks like I'm in charge,' she commented sarcastically to herself, walking towards the operation station.

“Status report, ensign.”

The ensign took a quick glance at the woman standing behind him only to confirm who he believed it to be. “Two minutes ago Lieutenant Beauvais called for an intruder alert when Lieutenant Hawk came stumbling out of the observation lounge. He seemed to be covered in blood. They both beamed directly to sickbay within a few seconds.”

“What steps have you taken so far?” inquired Reia, trying to get an idea what she should do next.

“All transporter rooms, cargo bays, and shuttle bays have been sealed and no crew members are reported in those sections of the ship. All security teams have reported in at their assigned stations.”

“Good. Shut power off on all transporter rooms, except for transporter room one. It's only to be used in the event of an emergency. Also, place a modulating one-twenty-eight terra-bit encryption on all security locks.” Reia turned to face the on duty security officer, “Has the observation lounge been sealed yet?”

The ensign hesitated a little in his reply, “Not yet Ma'am.”

“Then get on it ensign,” ordered Reia as her attention turned towards the command chair. 'Go ahead sit in it,' her alter-ego whispered in her mind. 'Not yet' she returned the with a counter thought, convincing herself that it's not her time. She turned her attention back to the ensign at ops. “Have you determined the means of how the intruder boarded the ship?”

“No ma'am, internal sensors did not register any weapons fire or transporter activity.”

Reia thought about the many different possibilities of how the intruder got on board. 'He didn't transport in, so was he on the ship since we left Deep Space Nine. Did he fool our sensors somehow?'

“Any traces of a warp signature or unusual anomalies within transporter range?”

“Nothing out there but the nebula, Ma'am.”

“Keep looking,” Reia ordered. After a moment, a thought passed through her mind. 'Did a ship dock without us knowing it?' Turning to the security officer, she asked, “have all airlocks been checked?”

“Decks one through fifteen have checked out, no sign of tampering or entry in sometime.”

'Damn. How the hell did he…' Reia's train of thought was derailed when the current on-duty operations officer interrupted her.

“A report from sickbay is coming in,” the ensign paused. “Lieutenant Nathan Hawk died at oh-two-twenty-seven hours.”

To all present, time itself came to a complete halt, and the bridge fell silent at the news of Hawk's death.

---

When it happened, Zoe was sitting behind the tactical station on the bridge, reviewing the reports from the day shift. She had exchanged few words with Hawk prior to him going to the observation lounge to work on his CONN report. She hadn't realized how much time had passed as she got lost in her routine tactical reports. Not only that, but her mind kept going back to what she and Doctor Bashir had discussed only hours before.

As she recalled, she had heard the door swish open to the side of her when Hawk emerged. “Finally finished that CONN report?” she remembered asking him obliviously as she looked back down to her own reports. When she glanced back up to look at him, she knew something was wrong.

“Lieutenant?” she remembered asking him again. She looked him over, trying to figure out what was going on. Zoe recalled the shock she felt when Hawk pulled his hand from his side and saw that it was covered in blood.

Her memory recalled the event as if it were in slow motion. She got up from her station as Hawk fell forward to his knees. She ran towards him, tapping her combadge. “Medical Emergency!”

Zoe remembered her heart sinking when Hawk fell completely to the deck. She cradled his head in her lap as she did a quick diagnostic. They didn't have time to wait for the medics to make it to the bridge, so she tapped her badge again. “Emergency transport! Two to sickbay!” she ordered.

When Zoe and Hawk arrived, she remembered looking around the room, noting that it was vacant due to the late hour. She tapped her badge again, “Medical Emergency! Doctor Cromwell to the main ward!”

Zoe's memory sped up after that when people started rushing into the room from the woodwork. She recalled backing away from the medical personnel who started to treat Hawk. Shock had taken over her body and mind. Her chest, arms, and hands were still covered in fresh blood. With her arms still positioned as if she was holding him, she continued to back away until she hit the wall. She couldn't believe what had happened. Not only for what happened or who it happened to, but that it had happened on her watch.

She recalled her mind racing to nothingness. There weren't any conscious thoughts… just the same scene that had happened on the bridge replaying over and over in her head. She remembered words and orders being shouted across the room. Even though she could hear what they said, she didn't remember understanding them, nor did she try to understand them.

When time started moving again, Zoe remembered watching from a distance at everyone rushing to and fro in sickbay. She recalled feeling someone pulling her aside. She felt someone whispering in her ear. She looked and saw that it was Commander Carter. She nodded at what she heard and moved to a secluded corner of sickbay.

“Beauvais to the bridge,” she remembered tapping her combadge again. “Place the ship on Red Alert. Sound intruder alert,” she ordered distantly. She was still in shock. In all her years, and in all the blood and gore she had seen throughout the different wars that she had partaken, nothing had prepared her for what had happened on this night.

She remembered the details of what the medical personnel were talking about, but it didn't sink in due to shock. She remembered finding a stool to sit down. She recalled committing herself to what had happened, vowing to gather all the information possible in order to find the person who had done this to Lieutenant Hawk. Suddenly, what had seemed like fleeting minutes, she memory echoed what Doctor Bashir called out into the room.

“Time of death… 02:27 hours.”

Now, as she sat in sickbay, guilt flooded past all the shock and horror that she had been frozen within. She could tell that people were starting to flood out of sickbay. One of the medical personnel came over to check her out before clearing her for duty. She headed out of sickbay in a catatonic state, heading to her quarters to clean herself up before starting the investigation into the horrific murder of Lieutenant Hawk.

---

As he recalled, the Counselor was already having a sleepless night. It began when his eyes had suddenly opened, realizing that he had lost his sense of time. He remembered getting to his feet from his meditative posture. With a slight tone of trepidation he had asked “Computer, what time is it?” He had been in such a predicament before, it almost made him late for his shift.

“The time is 00:00” he recalled the computer replying that first wakeful moment.

After that, Reittan recalled breathing a sigh of relief; he had only been unconscious for two hours. The first signs of that strange loss of consciousness while meditating happened after the attack on him, and his mind was still recuperating from the constant psychic vigil he had held.

Reittan remembered lazily slipping back into his bed, his Vulcan garb for meditating still wrapped around him. He recalled that he paused, looking down at the ceremonial attire, arose again, and retired the garment the clothes closet.

After that, as his memory had recorded it, the lieutenant commander's exposed skin had suddenly prickled, as if a chill had set in. The counselor remembered having the feeling of a passing thought before donning his regular blue, loose fitting sleeping attire, and returning to his bed.

Reittan remembered quickly descending into sleep after that, when strange images permeated his dreams. The last time Tolkath had such a dream was only a few days after his encounter with the unknown assailant. He recalled that the dream kept repeating in his head, like he was stuck in a temporal anomaly which played the same moment in time. Only that time, things were different. . .

Tolkath remembered every detail of the dream, like one who had seen the same play repeatedly the exact same way. This time, however, he was in a different room, but with the same assailant that had attacked him earlier. Reittan remembered sensing the attacker's presence; feeling the brush of the assailant's brain waves and the scent of the deviant's biorhythms. He remembered that they were pleased… too pleased. Something had happened aboard the ship and it wasn't good.

Tolkath recalled jerking himself awake, not sure whether the dream was real or just a shadow. He remembered that he had been sweating, which was a huge indicator that his body had been under an unusual amount of stress, for it was the only time he could perspire.

“Computer, time.” He remembered barking out in a raspy voice.

Then he recalled a sterile voice replying, “The time is 02:21 hours.”

He knew he had to do something, as he recalled, but wasn't sure what at that moment in time. He had quickly changed into his uniform and walked as quickly as he dared to the turbo lift. The doors had hissed open when he recalled coming face to face with a startled Ensign returning to her quarters. He remembered allowing her to pass, and then entered the turbolift himself.

When the doors closed behind him, Tolkath remembered that he couldn't, in his panic, decide where to go.

“Main Sickbay,” he recalled the thought coming to him vehemently. Even during the fiasco with Devenerux, the Doctors hadn't shied away from him like many of the other crewmembers; even when they were uneasy about what was happening.

Reittan wasn't even sure if he had told the turbolift where to go. He recalled that, upon reaching the correct level, the intruder alert had been sounded.

From his memory, he could tell from a distance that pandemonium had encased main sickbay. Monitors were lighting up everyones' faces. He remembered that they had looked fearful; the fear was thick enough that his empathic ability was drowning in it. He could recall Cromwell's voice barking out orders.

“But, who?” the Counselor remembered asking himself, straining his senses in vain to tell who it was. Reittan recalled taking off at a full sprint when he felt an individual's cognitive functions had disappeared.

Tolkath had entered the sickbay doors just in time to hear Doctor Bashir announce, “Time of death… 02:27 hours.” He remembered looking towards the operating table to see Lieutenant Hawk's body lying motionless. Now, as shock had quieted the room to a deathly silence, the counselor looked around at his compatriots, knowing tomorrow was going to be a long day.

Instinctively after the announced death of Hawk the Counselor had slipped outside of the medical facilities to not break the revered silence within the room and tapped his com badge.

“Tolkath to Devenerux.”

“Devenerux here”

“Prepare the counseling center for grief clients. We have just lost Lieutenant Hawk.”

The pause before the Lieutenant's reply signaled her shock.

“Right away, Sir.”

Tolkath knew that the majority those who would take advantage of the services would not know Hawk directly; many would come out of pure shock of the passing of one in command in such mysterious circumstances. Even though it was known that many die in the line of duty, it was the loss of a sense of safety that would shake the crew. Many were prepared for death during battle or missions, but to lose one of the senior officers so suddenly only added to the chaos since the sudden departure of the Republic from her dock at Deep Space nine.

---

Chapter 24: Life and DeathTop

Captain Kimberly Roth stood in stark contrast to the overly-sterile environment of the ship's morgue, her unkempt appearance the result of the emergency call that had awoken her from an unusually sound and dreamless sleep. Even though that emergency was now over, she could not yet bring herself to depart the confines of sickbay. So she stood a few meters back from the surgical autopsy bed at the rooms center, and considered the lifeless form there upon before her. She had of course lost people under her command before; no one who made it to captain could claim otherwise. This time felt different though. Which she supposed only made a sort of ironic sense, since the loss in this case had, himself, been different - to put it mildly.

Lieutenant Nathan Hawk was, at best, an enigma. One she knew she was far from making any sense of. He was an extreme on either end of the spectrum, and though by no means tamed, he had in recent times demonstrated a sense of control no one had expected. When her first officer had initially made the suggestion of appointing the rogue helmsman second officer, the concept of such a man being third in overall command of her ship was jarring. So much so that she had first believed John Carter to be kidding - at least, until she had heard his reasoning.

Even with Carter's advocation though, she had remained unsure until after Sigma Omicron V, when she had caught up with Hawk in the corridor in the aftermath. No one would ever know for sure what had lead to Hranok/Evok's certain death on planet. Hawk had offered up an explanation of course, but even though she tried never to doubt the word of a Starfleet officer, she had to admit to having had a shadow of a doubt as to whether it was the truth, or just Hawk's version of the truth. Still, she had learned three critical things about Nathan Hawk from that mission - he was dedicated to the Republic, he was a capable leader, and he was much more than met the eye.

In the end, that had been enough for Roth to trust her first officer's advice and her own instincts. In turn, Hawk had not made her doubt his decision ever since, even handling the first minutes of the final Kuga incident without error. He had truly begun to make some tiny sense of peace with his demons, it had seemed, and now…

Now, she was looking down upon his blood-stained corpse, constrained within a surgical stasis field to preserve the remains from the moment of death for autopsy.

For a moment, she questioned whether she had made the right decisions with regards to Hawk. If she had not appointed him second officer, he would not have been on-shift tonight, working alone in the observation lounge. Of course she knew logically that such made no difference. Hawk's assassin would have gotten to him one way or another, one place or time or another. It had only been a matter of time, she had known. So had Hawk, when he had fought so purposefully with his guardians at Starfleet Intelligence to stay here, aboard the Republic, in the wake of the revelation that the Syndicate knew of his survival and location.

That Hawk knew the dangers did not set her mind at ease, though. Perhaps she should have forced him to go? No, she knew well enough that Hawk was one of those people that could not truly be forced to do anything he did not wish to. If she had tried, she had no doubt that Hawk would have simply taken his survival upon himself alone and been at more substantial risk in the process. At least by remaining here, there was a chance at keeping him safe. Or so she had reasoned with herself. Now she was second guessing many choices she had made pertaining to Hawk, wondering if anything could have been done to avoid this.

“Bashir to Captain Roth,” sounded the accented voice of the visiting medical officer from Deep Space 9 over the comm-lines.

Pressing her communicator, Roth replied.

“If you have a moment, I have the report you asked for.” Bashir informed her.

“I'll be there momentarily, Doctor.” she signaled back. “Roth out.”

Turning away from the deceased helmsman, Roth exited silently into the narrow corridor linking the various sections of Sickbay. After a dozen meters, she stopped and passed through a set of doors into another section of corridor. Within the medical equivalent of an airlock, she would normally be scanned and decontaminated by a bio-filter beam, but such had been deactivated for this case. As the first set of doors closed, the second set before her opened. Entering the smaller isolation room, a smaller yet better equipped version of one of sickbay's standard exam rooms, she watched Bashir work for a moment before addressing him.

“Report.” she commands simply.

Bashir, clad in a crimson surgical gown from head to toe, doesn't bother to turn as he responds to her request for information as he continues to work on his patient.

“Lets just say that the odds are against us and the situation grim.” Bashir offered in response.

“That much I think we're all well aware of, Doctor,” replied Roth, “I'm more interested in specifics.”

“Can you finish?” Bashir asks, looking up across the surgical table at Doctor Saal Yezbeck, his only compatriot for the moment.

“Suuuuure, leave me to clean up your mess,” Yezbeck remarks, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere to no success.

Turning away from his patient, Bashir removes the surgical gloves and disposes of them before pushing back the hood of the surgical garment, his hair no better than Roth's own now, matted and slick with perspiration. Roth waits patiently as Bashir takes a moment to compose himself and his thoughts.

“To say that the situation is bleak would be an understatement,” Bashir begins. “The damage was extensive, of course, as you well know. We've been able to repair the wounds themselves, thankfully, but the cellular damage is another matter…”

“How bad?” Roth asked.

“I'm not sure, yet. For the moment, it's wait and see. The next twenty-four hours will be critical.” Bashir answered.

“Long term?”

“If there is a long term, the after-effects on a cellular level could be… problematic.” Bashir replied.

“Specifics, please, doctor.” Roth insisted.

“We could be looking at anything from as minor as a chronic nuisance condition to as serious as a long-term or even permanent disability of various sorts. It's far too soon to even venture a guess at this point.”

“What about cognitive function?” Roth queried.

“Hopefully, that brain should be the one area unaffected. The extreme measures taken should have offered enough protection.” Bashir said. “We did have some complications, though. We had to use nearly triple the dosages of cortolin, dexalin and lectrazine. Counter-acting the cellular necrosis was successful, but only by ninety-two percent. Organ regeneration was partly unsuccessful - we had to implant an artificial ventricular bypass - and metrazine therapy will be required for the immediate future. I'm even considering use of vasokin therapy as well, but at this point the risks associated are too great.”

“A colleague of mine has had substantial success with a vasokin derivative.” Yezbeck interjected.

“End result, Doctor,” Roth questioned, keeping Bashir on track.

Turning back to his patient, Bashir sighs as he says, “All of this may well have been in vain.”

Feeling the weight of Bashir's words, Roth herself approaches the patient. “If he doesn't survive, no one will ever know the difference. He'll have died hours ago, like the logs say he did. But if he pulls through… who ever tried to kill him is going to wish they never heard the name Nathan Hawk.”

---

Location: Observation lounge, deck 1, USS Republic

With arms crossed Zoe stood staring at the pool of blood drying into the carpet. Samples had been sent to the lab per the doctor's request, that and she personally wanted to know who on this ship was capable of doing this. Not only that but she needed to know how fast the poison had started working its dangerous course.

Her mind was still racing from what happened. There had been no one on the Bridge so they would have had to access through the other door that was on the back of Deck 1. She kept trying to force the thoughts out of her head that there could have been more that she could have done. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get the thoughts to leave her mind. She knew that she should have been able to do something, but she couldn't even put her finger on the thing that she could have done. She knew that she was helpless against these thoughts due to the guilt that she felt for letting this happen on her watch.

She tried though to focus on the task at hand. The thought of maybe forgetting to do something more for him while he was alive weighed heavy on her mind. Now she knew that she would never be able to change the past, but was now forced into changing the future.

The blood pool was reasonable for the amount of stab wounds Hawk had endured. Some spots were darker, and she knew that was where the wounds themselves were. She looked at the room. Nothing had been touched since the incident had happened. Not one of the chairs had been disturbed. The attacker was definitely professional there was no doubt about that. Looking over the room once more, she still couldn't figure out how something like this could happen in Starfleet. She had known about his history when she read the personnel files when she came aboard the Republic, but the thought of an attack on someone never crossed her mind.

The veteran side of her kicked in. She was a fighter and she wasn't going to let something like this go quietly. She looked around the room one final time. She was going to go over this room with a as with a fine tooth comb looking for anything that was out of the ordinary or out of place. She knew though that if they found anything that they would be lucky with the type of attack that he had endured. Professional or not, they were aboard this ship now and they were stuck for the mean time. That meant that she had to go over the entire crew histories to see which ones stood out. It did cross her mind though that she might have to look deeper than that. If a professional like this was aboard, then their profiles would have been most likely created and definitely would be in a place of authority or of a position that reported directly to a senior officer. That way they would be able to get close without looking suspicious.

First and foremost she would go through the room, then she would take a look at the navigators aboard this ship. Then her attention would shift to the Engineering Department as those two were closely related. If that didn't make this task more difficult this was a Galaxy class ship.

Even though she knew that it wasn't a personal attack against her, this was going to be personal. It happened on her watch. That is what got to her the most. Secondly, it happened on a Federation Starship. Here they were in the Gamma Quadrant, at least she would be able to find the person that was responsible for this. It was the least that she could do to honor the recently deceased.

With that she locked up the room and headed back to her quarters. She wanted to take another look at her uniform to see if there was any transfer evidence. On her way there she was going to stop at the Morgue to collect the tatters of Hawk's uniform. The assassin hopefully made a mistake. It didn't have to be a big one, just enough to give her some form of direction. Yes this may be a professional that she was dealing with, but this was her ship.

---

Location: Lieutenant Commander Cha'rik's Quarters

Cha'rik's attention was jarred from the studying that she had been immersed in when red alert had been called. She quickly turned her attention to the matter at hand. Grabbing her uniform jacket she headed out of her quarters and went to her office. When she reported there, she heard the news that Lieutenant Hawk had been murdered. Dread washed over her as she realized that she had failed her mission.

She had studied the entire crew, not one of them had been out of place. Even the visitors that they had taken on from DS9 had passed the check. After their little incident everything had calmed down. Now everything was back out of place. The dread finally succumbed to rage as she dealt with the fact that she actually failed her mission. She had never failed anything in her life.

None of the training or any of her life experiences had prepared her for how she felt right now. She felt like she didn't deserve to be where she was. She knew that it was just the fact that she had failed not only herself but her superiors. It wasn't like there were a lot of them left in her department to criticize her, but she knew that this wasn't going to look good on her spotless wet-work history.

There was going to be no way that she would be able to make up for this failure. She was going to have to face the chorus of justice when the Republic returned to the Alpha Quadrant. She knew that she wasn't going to be able to get out of this one. However, she had to do something in order to semi-redeem herself. She was going to need to solve this and take out the assassin that was still stuck on the ship. At least that they were stuck here for the time being. She had this entire trip to find this person and either expose them for the murderous traitor that they were or kill them without leaving a trace. The rage inside her fueled her passion for the latter of the two options, but she knew that there was going to be protocol for a matter like this.

Tugging hard on her jacket she sat down at her desk and started to pull up every person that had reported on board the Republic current crew and visitors. As soon as the information was retrieved she went through it looking for any t that wasn't crossed or i that wasn't dotted. She wasn't going to let this go lightly. She was wronged; Starfleet Intelligence therefore had been wronged.

Hours passed as she looked over the information that she had been studying. She went through the entire crew record, she had gone through all the information that had already been documented about the murder and the current investigation after a little manipulation to get past the security check points that had been enabled.

It appeared that they didn't have any other information except that what truly killed him was poison. So few worked with poison these days that it would definitely narrow down the place that hired the assassin or the place that had trained it. She needed to do her own little investigation of the matter. But she had to be careful, she knew that she couldn't afford to be discovered, not now. She had to be able to out the person who did this before she could release her cover.

She knew if she could play it right she wouldn't have to reveal her true identity and that she worked for Starfleet Intelligence and that she had failed. That was what was getting her the most. She failed. It still angered her hours later. A small smirk crossed her face when she realized that the emotions that she had worked so hard to bury had finally gotten the best of her once more. It had taken her too many times to actually complete Kolinahr, but that's what she knew made her special and even more dangerous. She could be warm hearted or a completely a cold assassin able to slip by even the best of defenses.

Her mind shifted to her fiancé that she had been separated for all these years. The rage slowly melted into remorse that she didn't get to spend more time with him. She had loved him with all her heart. That's when she decided to shift her mind to the other side. She had spent so many years studying Section 31 in order to remove them from the galaxy. She had spent even more time learning from their stupid mistakes as they blundered behind her on her run. She even learned more in the last few years when she fallen in love with one of their former agents. He had taught her a thing or two that she didn't even know. That was when she realized, she wasn't dealing with Section 31, she wasn't dealing with a rogue agent. Yes there had been talk of another organization out there, but she didn't think that they would try to do something so bold.

All she had to do was to wait. It killed her to think that she would have to wait in the shadows, but this assassin was sloppy to kill in the Gamma Quadrant. Now they were stuck aboard the ship with no where to run, but would have to make a report of some kind to a superior of some kind letting them know of the success of the mission. This is when she was going to be able to strike.

Though the assassin could wait until their return but for a target this large, they would become emotional and prideful of their work. She left her office in a rush as she knew that she was going to at least have a fighting shot in finding this assassin.

As soon as she arrived to the Bridge, she could see that it was busy with security officers looking over the logs. The Security Chief exited the lounge and Cha'rik looked at her closely while sitting down at her station. She could tell that the chief was not only distraught over the matter, but was upset at the same time. She was one that could mask her emotions well to the untrained eye but she could read her well enough. After she had left the bridge, a few of the officers started talking amongst themselves.

“I heard that she was the only one on watch when it happened.”

“I heard from Tarsis that it took her an hour before she returned to duty after it happened.”

“It's not like she knew him all that well.”

Cha'rik was at first amused at the banter between them but then they had crossed the line. She stood up from her station and walked over to them. Quietly and discreetly behind them she said, “not all of us knew him well. Not only was he a superior pilot, but he was a Starfleet officer. He was a senior officer of this crew and now has been murdered. You should be careful of your words and fear offending someone who knew him well. Above that, I will report you to the Captain myself if I hear anything more along those lines. It has been a long night for all of us losing one a member of our family. You should both be ashamed.”

Both of their faces turned bright red and she cocked and eyebrow in the typical Vulcan fashion. “Good, I thought so. I believe that you both were left with work that had a timed deadline and if I were you I would hurry before the Lieutenant returns.”

They then turned to their stations once more and she walked off the Bridge. She didn't want to be seen entering the lounge after the security protocol had been initiated. She was going to go the way of the assassin. Walking through the back way she stopped in front of the door and examined all the minute details. There may not be something out of place, but she was going to look for it anyways.

The way that she gathered it was that the assassin entered from the back entrance and then had exited the same way that they had come. They had gotten the job done quickly and efficiently to the point that the Security Chief on the bridge had been unaware of the actions that had been taken. The assimilation tubules came out of her hand and entered the control panel. Through sheer concentration she bypassed all the security protocols and the door unlocked and opened. She retracted the tubules and rubbed the back of her hand. It had been too long since she had used them and it irritated her skin every single time. However, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Entering the room, she looked around and saw that the chairs were all neatly tucked under the table save one that had been slightly pulled from its unused position. She looked at deck near it and saw the large pool of drying blood. She scanned the room taking in everything that could be seen to be studied at a later time. She didn't want to be in here too long in case the Lieutenant returned or she would have lots of explaining to do. After doing a three-sixty take of the room, she walked around the table and scanned the under the table for anything that could have been knocked out of place.

As she finished her turn of the table she ended at the edge of the blood pool. She knelt down and took a little disk out of her pocket. Barely touching the pool she had gotten microscopic evidence of what had truly killed the Helmsman. It verified the report that the doctors had already given the Security chief on what killed him. Even though she had no doubt of their professional abilities, it was truly a harsh night on everyone and there could be no room for error.

She then stood back up and in her minds' eye she could see what happened. The assassin had entered from the back entrance, and had come up behind him. Deftly they stabbed him in the back and he fell down to the deck and remained there bleeding out as the poison started working its deadly course. What she didn't know was how the assassin had quieted him so that he couldn't scream out. Either the assassin had a tranquilizer laced on their blade, or their hand covered his mouth. She would need to visit Sickbay in order to be sure of what happened. She walked towards the door and even though it was locked, it opened for her due to the commands that she had entered into the panel when she was linked directly to it. She turned down the corridor and headed directly to Sickbay to pay her respects.

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Chapter 25: Mourning Cannot Wait Until MorningTop

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Chapter 26: Maneuvers in the DarkTop

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Chapter 27: Inquiring MindsTop

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Chapter 28: Success to Failure and Failure to SuccessTop

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Chapter 29: The Nature of ThingsTop

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Chapter 30: Confessions and ConfrontationsTop

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Chapter 31: Re-AdjustingTop

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Chapter 32: Resolutions & ReservationsTop

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Chapter 33: After the Midnight HourTop

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Chapter 34: Recriminations & MechinationsTop

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Chapter 35: Longings for the T'KumbraTop

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Chapter 36: A Fighting Chance to LiveTop

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Chapter 37: InterludesTop

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Chapter 38: Caduceus of CommandTop