Star Trek: Aldrin – 1 – Sic Semper Tyrannis 1

Transcription

Star Trek: Aldrin – 1 – Sic Semper Tyrannis
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Star Trek: Aldrin and accompanying works are fan fiction based on and using elements from Star Trek,
which is trademarked by Paramount Pictures and CBS. I do not claim ownership of Star Trek or any
associated characters or the universe of Star Trek. The stories of the U.S.S. Aldrin are of my own invention
and are not part of the official Star Trek canon; these stories are for entertainment purposes only. I am not
in any way profiting financially from the creation or publication of these works. I am grateful to Gene
Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount for the wonderful Star Trek universe in which I can play; without it
these stories would not exist. If you desire to support my work, please consider making a donation to the
Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum to preserve our world’s space exploration heritage and
inspire the next generation of explorers.
Please note that Star Trek: Aldrin does not fit into the ‘expanded universe’ of post-TNG-era Star Trek
novels published by Pocket Books. I disagree with the direction the Star Trek novel universe has taken
under the direction of Pocket Books; Star Trek: Aldrin plots a different and less destructive course.
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STAR TREK: ALDRIN
-1Sic Semper Tyrannis
Derek Kessler
Prologue
Habitat Ring, Deep Space 9
Denorios Belt, Bajor System
16:46 Hours, November 19th, 2375
Stardate 52884.03334
Colonel Kira Nerys rubbed her tired eyes. After years of war, the moment she and the entire
quadrant had awaited nearly four years for was finally here. In front of her was a smooth black glass table,
surrounded by dignitaries from the United Federation of Planets, the Klingon Empire, the Romulan Empire,
and even representatives of the embattled Cardassian military. Crowded in at either end of the table, filling
the station’s largest conference room were dozens more Captains, Generals, Admirals, Commanders, and
other officers from those powers. And they were all just as tired.
She watched as the female leader of the Founders glided around the black table. She – at least she
appeared as a female in her current form – and two Vorta, accompanied by just two Jem’Hadar guards, had
been negotiating the terms of the Dominion surrender for fifteen seemingly endless hours with
representatives from the Allied powers.
Kira looked over her shoulder at the mass of reporters lining the far bulkhead. Annoying as they
were, they still had freedom of the press as allowed by both the Federation and Bajoran constitutions. She
smiled for a moment, watching as young Jake Sisko furiously took notes as the event transpired, all
recorded by the small camera perched on his right ear. The smile faded as her thoughts turned to Jake’s
father, perished just days earlier on Bajor. She had admired the late Captain, and now found herself
admiring Jake for so persistently carrying on with his career in spite of his father’s death.
The Colonel turned back to the table, finding the Founder now standing centered on it. Lying
before her was a rarity in this age: an actual paper document. The fifteen hours of negotiations had resulted
in a surrender agreement that could be fit onto just a few pages of paper for ceremonial purposes, though it
was all on a PADD set to the side as well. The Founder shuffled through the papers as the two Vorta looked
on over her shoulders. Aside from the quiet beeps, tapping, and clicks of the press corps, the briefing room
fell silent as the Founder leader stared in what almost seemed like grief at the document.
The Founder straightened and looked to her left, Klingon Chancellor Martok stood just a few
meters from Romulan Praetor Hiren, who had been aged considerably by the war. To her right, Federation
President Ak’telKi – a young Andorian woman – and newly appointed Cardassian Legate Ekoor with Elim
Garak stood. It had been the Federation President’s campaign to bring a swift and resounding end to the
war, defeating incumbent Jaresh Inyo soundly in the election three years prior. This was the first time Kira
had seen Ak’telKi in person, and despite the president’s relatively small size she projected an intimidating
confidence.
“May I speak?” the Founder asked, breaking the silence.
Ak’telKi quickly surveyed the other delegates, and then nodded, “You may.”
The Founder paused, taking the time that everybody else in the room would have taken for a deep
breath. “It was nearly seven years ago that your people discovered the wormhole that led across the galaxy,
to the region we considered to be our home. The Gamma Quadrant. You brought your ships, your
technology, your people… your cultures. Your intent was peaceful, but as has long been our way, the
Dominion approached you with hostility. We viewed your colonies as a prelude to attack; we were blinded
by our xenophobia.
“This conflict between our peoples was about more than territory or resources. It was about fear
and power.” She stared again at the surrender document, “My people have lived in fear for centuries. We
built the Dominion on that fear, conquered hundreds of worlds to ensure our security. We used fear as a
weapon, a weapon far more powerful than any disruptor or torpedo.
“We thought that we could use fear to drive apart the tenuous alliances that we saw as a threat.
You couldn’t have proven us more wrong. The strength of your people, the courage of your soldiers, and
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the audacity of your leaders; it was all far greater than we had anticipated. You harnessed that fear and it
made your alliances stronger than ever.
“As part of our surrender, we will withdraw all of our remaining forces back to the Gamma
Quadrant and I will surrender to face charges as leader of the Dominion. My people will take back with
them a lesson; our ways are wrong. Long ago my people were feared for what they were. We came to fear
everyone outside of ourselves. We built an empire for our own protection, and in the end our empire was
our downfall. Too many gave their lives for us to learn a lesson in humility.
“I know that nothing I say here today can assuage the personal loss that everybody in this room
has suffered. This war has cost us all dearly, and the Dominion will always regret the toll that we exacted
on your people. There’s no way we could ever hope to repay or repair the damage our actions wrought. For
everything that has transpired, I am truly and deeply sorry.”
The Founder paused for another moment, closing her dark glassy eyes. She looked down at the
papers in front of her, picked up the antique ink pen resting near the PADD, and scrawled a six-pointed
design in the space allotted for the Dominion signatory. The Founder lifted her chin, “I, as the sovereign
representative of The Dominion, hereby present to the Klingon Empire, the Romulan Empire, and the
United Federation of Planets the terms of our surrender.”
She set the pen on the table and stepped back. Hiren was the first to step in after her, putting his
mark onto the paper, followed by Martok, who grunted as he signed. Ak’telKi signed next, leaving behind a
typically elegant Andorian series of overlapping waves and loops.
Ekoor stepped in as Ak’telKi moved away. He leaned over, bracing himself on the table, and
stared at the papers. He stood back up and turned to face the Founder, “My people gave so much. We gave
you our allegiance, our resources, our world.” His voice wavered, “And you destroyed it in a fit of rage. I
can’t pretend to speak for everybody here, but I know that I will never be able to forgive you for what you
did.” Ekoor locked eyes with the Founder, staring into their blackness. She cordially closed her eyes and
lowered her head, prompting Ekoor to shake his head. He quickly signed and then stepped back.
The conference room broke into polite applause, though there was a notable lack of enthusiasm.
Kira stood with her arms behind her back, unable to relish in the victory. Nearly a billion Cardassians had
died in the war, along with hundreds of millions more Klingons, Romulans, and Federation troops and
civilians. It was odd, she thought, to be mourning the tremendous losses the Cardassians had suffered when
less than a decade earlier she’d been fighting as part of the resistance against their occupation of her home
planet of Bajor.
The applause continued for well over a minute until a brilliant flash of light outside the large
porthole windows stopped it cold. An alarm began to blast in the conference room as a thin, green wave of
energy radiated from the flash point. The room fell silent as the wave rushed towards the station,
effortlessly passed through Deep Space 9’s shields, and pushed through the station.
Time seemed to slow as the wave washed over the briefing room, washing out Kira’s vision of
almost everything inside with bright light. Kira found the Founder, her form collapsing onto the table,
reverting to a thick gold liquid. Kira rushed forward, but the seemingly thick air slowed her movement. She
turned her head, seeing a seemingly ancient Starfleet admiral falling and disappearing into the whiteness.
As quickly as it had hit, the wave passed.
Kira’s momentum carried her headfirst into the table. She hit with a loud thud, and bounced back
onto the deck. Kira shook off the impact and slowly stood, holding a hand to her aching forehead.
The two Vorta looked down as the Founder slowly regained her cohesion and humanoid form. The
delegates around the table looked on with a mixture of unabashed horror, revulsion, and curiosity. Kira’s
relationship with Odo – another Founder – had desensitized her and the station’s crew to the appearance of
shapeshifting, but most of those around the table had never seen such a display. Their shameless displays of
shock and disgust reminded Kira that the Founders’ concerns, their fear of ‘solids’, were not unfounded.
A Romulan and a Klingon were helping the ancient admiral up. He was clearly shaken, but didn’t
appear to be injured. In fact, he looked slightly rejuvenated, if a bit dazed. Kira shook her head and tapped
the Bajoran emblem combadge on her chest, “Kira to Ops.”
Nog answered, “Ops here.” The sound of a panicked command center filled the background.
Kira looked around the conference room, surveying to see if medical teams would be needed. It
appeared that her hitting the table was the worst injury in the lot, most just seemed to be dazed or confused
by the event. Jake held his headset in front of him, its status lights dark, apparently disabled by the wave.
Kira looked back out the porthole, seeing nothing but blackness and stars. “What… was that?”
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There was a short pause, “We’re not sure. It looks like it was some sort of polaron wave emitted
from the wormhole. Whatever it was, it knocked out all of our sensors.”
“Even internal?”
“That’s what I meant by all, Colonel.”
Kira nearly laughed, “Lieutenant, you better be hiding when I get back up there. Kira, out.”
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1
Drydock 4
Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards
Mars, Sol System, Sector 001
08:00 Hours, January 23rd, 2380
Stardate 57061.190388
A shimmering column of aqua energy and matter swirled above the glowing transporter pad of
Drydock 4. The glittering particles of energy condensed into the form of a Human Starfleet captain. He
stood well under two meters, with a face that bore more lines than his thirty-nine years should have allowed.
His wavy brown hair was long enough to have a hint of untamed nature to it, but not so long as to seem
unkempt. He closed his dark brown eyes and braced himself against the side of the cylindrical chamber, “I
hate transporters.”
The young ensign standing behind the controls looked unsure of what to do as the captain regained
his composure and stood upright. The door the corridor slid open and a short, frail, gray-haired two-star
Starfleet admiral walked in, “Captain David Clark, I take it your leave was relaxing?” His voice was weak,
yet warm. He stuck out a hand.
Clark nodded and gently shook it, “Admiral Russell, it’s good to see you. Honestly, I spent the
entire time anticipating coming back here.” He released Russell’s hand, “Sir, you didn’t really have to
come all this way just to show me the ship – I’m pretty familiar with it.”
Russell smiled, “As you should be.”
“But I have to ask, why couldn’t I have taken a shuttle?” Clark glanced over at the ensign, who
returned what amounted to a glare.
“You remember that plasma fire we had up here a couple of days ago? It damaged the drydock
staging bay; the atmospheric forcefields and bay doors for the shuttlebay were in there. They’re installed
now, but I don’t think final tests have been completed.”
Clark nodded, “Speaking of which, when can I expect her to be in good enough order to take her
out for a spin?” He eagerly rubbed his hands together.
“Uh…” Russell shifted his weight onto one leg and furrowed his brow in thought, “One or two
days, provided we can figure out where our forcefield emitters are at.” Clark cringed inwardly, but the
admiral quickly alleviated the concern with a gentle punch of his chest, “Kidding, kidding, the Corps of
Engineers was able to get us a new set in less than a day, after a bit of negotiating.”
Clark chuckled, “They’re a fickle bunch. I should know.”
“That you should,” Russell smiled and gestured at the door, “Captain, your ship awaits.”
Russell and Clark left the transporter room and walked slowly down a corridor lined with tan
bulkheads and a hip-height metal grab bar. The admiral dragged his feet along the carpet and occasionally
reached for the bar. “The transporter operator, I can trust he isn’t going to be part of my crew?” Clark asked.
“I saw the way he looked at you,” Russell chucked, “I’ll see to it that he isn’t.” He pointed down a
corridor to their right, “This way.” They passed several doors marked as storage rooms and fabrication
facilities, a few still bore black scorch marks from the fire.
They came to a portion of the hall lined with large windows that overlooked the expansive
docking area below. Cradled inside the thick grid walls of Drydock 4 was a large Akira-class starship. It
was a classic design, harkening back to the days of the NX-class starships, though with a decidedly modern
take on the concept. A round saucer, with wide notches at the front and back, led the way, topped by a large
bridge module. A pair of engineering hulls – catamarans – rose up on either side of the saucer, stretching
back in mirrored graceful curves, terminating with a weapons pod perched between them, and two large
blocky warp nacelles thrust forward to the outside. The closest nacelle was opened, allowing a small yellow
workbee shuttle access to the complex series of warp field coils inside. The top of the saucer, between the
bridge and the shuttlebay bow was painted with the black letters of the ship’s name and registration: U.S.S.
ALDRIN NCC-89465.
The Aldrin was connected to the drydock at an airlock directly behind the bridge and at two large
re-supply ports mid-way along the ridge topping each of the engineering hulls. There were still various
points across the ship where outer hull panels were missing, though Clark knew well enough that an
incomplete skin wasn’t entirely indicative of a ship far from launch.
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While the Akira-class design had been in active service for nearly a decade, what made the Aldrin
unique was the experimental technology it carried. That technology came from several decades in the
future, brought back three years prior by the U.S.S. Voyager. The exceedingly destructive transphasic
torpedoes stored in the weapons pod weren’t visible, but the dark gray ablative armor generators positioned
all across the hull were, standing out thanks to their angular design on the Aldrin’s otherwise curving hull.
With a moment’s notice they could surround the ship with a nearly impenetrable layer of ultra-dense
physical armor.
The ship was Starfleet’s first attempt at integrating this futuristic technology from the start of a
ship’s construction. When they had been installed on the Voyager, the weaponry and armor had been
grafted on, but with the Aldrin it was permanently wired into the design. The decision to build the ship
hadn’t come easily, with fears that the revelation of Starfleet possessing such advanced and powerful
technology could lead to an arms race or worse.
Clark watched as workbees affixed panels to the hull and continued to work on the warp nacelle.
For several years as an engineer he had worked just like the pilots of the workbees. He smiled, tracing the
lines of the ship with his eyes, remembering the celebration of his design team when the U.S.S. Akira
pulled out of drydock for the first time a decade prior.
Russell cleared his throat, bringing Clark back to the present, “So, do you want to actually go
inside, or are you going to try and command it from up here?” Clark felt his cheeks flush red. The admiral
chuckled, “Come on, let’s go meet your crew,” He smiled and started down the corridor. Clark followed
after him, his heart pounding in anticipation. They stepped into a turbolift, which dropped several meters
down.
The lift stopped and the door opened into the airlock behind the Aldrin’s bridge. Russell gestured
to the airlock, “Go on.”
Clark strode into the airlock and made his way over to the door leading to the rest of the ship. He
tapped in an access code and the door slid open to reveal a curved corridor that ramped up, its end not
visible from where Clark stood, but he knew it led to the bridge. Clark turned to the turbolift to find that it,
and Russell, where gone, replaced by the large, heavy duranium doors of Drydock 4. He shrugged and
walked up and around the ramp, smelling the same chemical-like ‘new ship scent’ he had last smelled on
the brand-new U.S.S. Akira.
He stopped at the top of the ramp and the door there split open, revealing the spacious and well-lit
bridge of the Aldrin. Clark stood there for a few seconds, taking in the Aldrin’s command center. There
were two large command chairs in the center of the bridge, and behind them, incorporated into a sweeping
brushed steel arc, was a station for the operations officer. The steel arc curved around the outside of the
command chairs, providing support for large maneuverable computer panels on articulated arms for the
captain and first officer. A shallow ramp curved up on both sides of the bridge, between the arc and the
tactical and science stations, elevating the back of the bridge above the front, a typical design for Starfleet
vessels.
Towards the back of the bridge was a cylindrical tactical station in the corner on the left, mirrored
by an identical science station on the right. In the center of the rear bulkhead was a massive system monitor,
spanning more than two meters across, currently displaying a detailed cross-section of the ship. Directly in
the front of the bridge was a single helm station and chair, facing a large, curved holographic viewscreen,
though at the moment it was dark. The overhead was supported by several thick gray beams that stretched
from the edge of the bridge to the center, in which was a meter-wide circular window directly above the
command area. Small lights around the edge of the overhead and the window cast a soft glow on the bridge.
Along one bulkhead, several panels had been opened to reveal complex webs of circuitry, gel packs, and
ODN relays. Half a dozen engineers were working at the open bulkhead, mostly prodding the internal
mechanics.
A young-looking Vulcan engineer, with the typical slanted eyebrows, pointed ears, and harshly
trimmed black hair of his race, noticed Clark and snapped to attention, “Captain on the bridge.”
Clark absently waved his hand, “As you were.” He surveyed the bridge as the engineers returned
to their work, and then asked the Vulcan, “What’s our status?”
The Vulcan approached, but stopped a respectable two meters away, “The ODN relays to the
tactical systems are being rerouted due to an overload in the primary EPS taps. Thirty one percent of the
crew has reported aboard, and Commander Jensen just left to get an update on the situation in Stellar
Cartography. There are several other items that require attention, but they are not of significance at this
time.”
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“What situation in Stellar Cartography?” Clark asked.
The Vulcan responded, “The holographic map projectors are not functioning properly.”
Satisfied, Clark nodded, “I see that things are ahead of schedule, so I have only one thing to do…”
he paused and looked up slightly, “Computer, this is Captain David Clark, assuming command of the U.S.S.
Aldrin.”
The computer beeped softly in response and said in its pleasant female voice, “Acknowledged.
Transferring command authority to Captain David Clark.”
“Well,” Clark rubbed his hands together, “Since it seems that I’m not needed here, I’ll be going to
my quarters. Thank you, Mr.…” he stopped with his mouth slightly open and pointed a finger at the Vulcan.
One of the Vulcan’s eyebrows rose, “Lieutenant Commander Vorik, Chief Engineer, Sir.”
“Ah, yes!” exclaimed Clark, “Vorik, of the Voyager! I do believe it will be a pleasure serving with
you.” He put his hand forward.
Vorik nodded passively, ignoring the gesture, “I look forward to serving with you as well, Sir.”
Clark smiled, “If you need me, I’ll be in my quarters. Or, you know, just call.” He pointed at the
Starfleet emblem combadge on his chest.
Vorik nodded and returned to the open bulkheads, unclipping a small tablet-style tricorder from
his belt as he walked. Clark headed to the turbolift alcove on the left side of the bridge, stopping to examine
the bronze dedication plaque. Topping the plaque was an etching of the Starfleet emblem, a gently bowed
triangle with a smaller offset triangular cutout in its base, both of which combined represented the
Cochrane Subspace Distortion, the basis of warp drive. This was set of a flattened and rounded hexagon,
with a horizontal slot cut through its middle. Below the emblem was the name U.S.S. ALDRIN, followed
by:
REGISTRY NUMBER NCC-89465 • AKIRA CLASS
LAUNCHED STARDATE 57070.5 • UTOPIA PLANITIA FLEET YARDS
SOL SECTOR • UNITED FEDERATION OF PLANETS
Below were the names of dozens of Starfleet officials, among them storied names like Berman,
Piller, Jefferies, and Roddenberry. Clark smiled, finding Lieutenant Commander David Clark listed below
the obligatory admirals as the Chief Design Architect. At the bottom was a quote from the ship’s namesake,
Earth astronaut Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin: “Exploration is wired into our brains. If we can see the horizon, we
want to know what's beyond.”
The turbolift arrived and the doors split open, its padded beige circular interior beckoning for
Clark to step in. He looked up at the lift’s top, which resembled a miniature version of the bridge overhead,
several small supports radiating down from a bright light in the center to the circular bulkhead, with a ring
of lights at the edge. He stepped in, “Deck 8, Section A.” The order came without hesitation; the plans for
the ship were emblazoned in Clark’s memory from months and months of design work.
The turbolift whisked him away, reaching its destination a few decks down after a few seconds
travel. The door slid open, revealing a short corridor feeding into another, with a dark gray door dead ahead.
Clark stepped out and walked down the hall, smiling as he read the maroon marker on the door: 08||1067
CAPTAIN DAVID CLARK, CAPTAIN.
He pressed his finger on the control panel to the side and the door slid open to reveal what was to
become his new home. The captain’s quarters were easily the largest on the ship, with a wide bank of tall
windows that looked out over the Aldrin’s bow. Beyond the saucer and the cradling arms of the drydock
were several distant orbital shipyard stations. But it was the massive red horizon of Mars that dominated
the view; even with the cabin’s lighting on full the reflection from the planet cast a reddish hue across the
quarters.
Clark leaned against the doorway, noting the sitting area with a pair of wide couches, two chairs,
and a table, the large curved desk with a comparably large display on the bulkhead behind it, a small
kitchen, and the door that led into his private bedroom and head. None of Clark’s personal belongings had
arrived yet and, devoid of them, the cabin seemed nothing more than a dull, empty space swathed in neutral
grays and tans.
“Won’t doo much good hanging out here,” he muttered. He called out, “Computer, where is
Commander Jensen?”
“Commander Jensen is in her quarters.”
“And just where are Commander Jensen’s quarters?” he asked.
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“Deck 4A, Section A, Cabin Zero Zero Two Seven.” Clark turned back and walked to the turbolift.
When the door opened a few seconds later, a young, blond-haired Human female ensign ran out of the lift,
nearly colliding with Clark.
“Oh my!” she stammered, and then tripped and almost careened into a bulkhead, “S-s-s-sorry Sir!”
She quickly scrambled down the corridor, turned at the intersection, and was out of sight before Clark
could so much as ask her name. He made a mental note to follow up on it later, then entered the turbolift,
ordering it to Deck 4A, Section A. It silently complied, only the display on the back bulkhead showing the
lift’s position betraying any sign of movement.
The door opened to the corner of two intersecting corridors. Directly ahead was a door marked
04A||0047 MAIN ENGINEERING-A. The Akira-class was designed with two active warp cores, one in
each catamaran hull, necessitating that there be two ‘engine rooms’; tradition dictated that they both be
‘Main Engineering.’ Clark confidently stepped out of the lift and made a u-turn to the left into a straight
corridor lined with doors every several meters. Clark walked down to the end of the hall to the left and
found a door labeled as 04A||0027 COMMANDER JENSEN LOY, FIRST OFFICER.
The companel to the right of the door beeped when Clark tapped the intercom. “Who’s there?” a
female voice asked from behind the door.
“Captain David Clark.” He tapped his foot on the deck, remembering now that he had forgotten to
even look over his senior staff’s records before coming aboard. At least he now knew his first officer was a
woman.
“Come on in.” The door slid open to reveal stark, plain quarters similar to – though smaller than –
Clark’s own. The overhead lights were turned off, but the bright lights of Drydock 4 pouring through the
windows providing enough illumination. A small elliptical coffee table was ahead, with low couches on
either side, all positioned under three wide, sweeping windows. To the right were another window and a
neat bed with closet doors beyond. To the left were a small kitchen and the open door to the head; the
lavatory was lit, though obfuscated by steam flowing through the doorway.
“Make yourself at home, Sir,” Jensen called, her voice coming from the head, “I’ll be out in just a
moment.”
Clark stepped in and walked towards the couches. He looked through the windows, looking out
across the top of the saucer at the bridge, with Engineering Hull B behind it, and the thick grid wall of
Drydock 4 and Mars beyond. He slowly sat on the couch under the windows, noticing a steaming mug
sitting on the table. After a few seconds he twisted around to look out through the windows.
“Enjoying the view?” Jensen’s voice came from the head.
Clark snapped around, surprised by remark. He was surprised again by her appearance, finding her
standing in the no-longer-steamy doorway. She was about his height and with shoulder-length black hair
and distinctly Bajoran horizontal ridges across the bridge of her nose; she wore a pair of standard issue duty
pants came up to her waist and a tight sleeveless gray undershirt that exposed her muscled arms. A
traditional Bajoran earpiece hung from the lower and back edge of her right ear.
She took a few steps in, “It’s a unique view, I can’t think of any other class that offers a view like
this.”
Clark blinked several times, trying intently not to stare, “Commander Jensen?”
She nodded her head, “What brings you up here, Captain?” She walked across the room and
opened the closet behind her bed.
“Well, I, uh, I had nothing to do, oddly enough. So I figured I might at least introduce myself, so I
came here to, uh, introduce myself,” Clark twisted his mouth to the side as he thought back on how stupid
that had sounded.
Jensen reached up to the top shelf in the closet and grabbed a command red shirt and a standard
black duty jacket with gray shoulders, “A captain with nothing to do? That’s a recipe for disaster.” She bent
her arms back, placed one in a sleeve of the red shirt, then the other, and pulled it up to her shoulders with a
quick flick of her arms. “So, now that we’ve completed our introductions?” she prompted.
Clark shook his head, hoping he hadn’t been too obvious in his leering, “Tell me about
Commander Jensen Loy.”
Jensen held up her jacket and looked it over, “You mean what’s not in my profile?”
“Let’s go for what’s in it too.”
“Didn’t read it, did you?” Jensen smiled coyly.
“Humor me.”
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“Okay. I am Commander Jensen Loy.” She nodded at Clark, “Starfleet Academy, class of 2370,
majoring in tactical systems. I was born on Bajor, escaped the occupation when I was seventeen.” She
pointed at the kitchen, which was filled with boxes, “I like to cook, I’m horrible at Parrises Squares, and…
I once served a week in disciplinary for kicking an instructor into the Bay.” She flipped the jacket up over
her head and slipped it on. “Your turn.”
Clark couldn’t help but grin, “You didn’t read the records either, did you?”
Jensen fastened the front of her jacket, “Humor me.”
Clark chuckled, “Class of 2366. I was a civilian lawyer before joining Starfleet; I’m an engineer
by trade. I play a mean marimba, I’m a bit of a food snob but I can’t cook worth beans, I get too involved in
politics, and I have a strange obsession with building models.”
Jensen tilted her head and looked at Clark, “Marimba?”
“A percussive keyboard instrument made of graduated wooden bars and tubular resonators, from
Earth,” he said. “I’m picking mine up when we stop by Earth. I could play it for you sometime.”
“I’d like that,” Jensen’s dark eyes sparkled, “I’d like that. Any other questions?”
Clark drummed his hands on his lap, “Let’s see, what’s your op-”
His combadge suddenly beeped, “Vorik to Captain Clark.”
Clark sighed and tapped the badge lightly, “Clark here.”
Vorik’s voice projected from the badge, “We’ve encountered a problem with the ODN relays on
the bridge. Your input on this matter would be greatly appreciated.”
“On my way, Clark, out.” The combadge beeped off. “It seems I’m wanted on the bridge. We’ll
talk later.” He stood and walked towards the door.
“Sure,” Jensen walked up to Clark, stopping about a meter away and leaning against the bulkhead,
“How about dinner, here, nineteen hundred hours?”
Clark nodded in agreement, “Loy, I think I’d like that.”
He walked out of Jensen’s quarters, and the door closed behind him, shook his head. There was
something about Jensen that stuck in his mind. He frowned and quickened his pace.
10
2
U.S.S. Aldrin, Drydock 4
Stardate 57062.344458
Clark groaned and slid his body along the deck, getting close enough to Vorik to reach over the
Vulcan and grab a hyperspanner from the engineering kit on his opposite side. They both were on their
backs, their upper torsos under an immensely complicated array of bio-neural gel packs, isolinear chips,
ODN relays and junctions, plasma conduits, and other pieces of technology that all comprised the bridge’s
primary processing bank. The engineering crew had been working on it for hours, and Clark’s assistance
hadn’t furthered their efforts in determining why the connection between this bank and the main computer
core was on the fritz.
Vorik looked over at Clark, who was staring intently up at the layers of computer over his head,
“We haven’t eliminated magnetic interference from an ODN cache array.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Clark said, not looking back at him.
“An improperly installed array could create a localized dipole magnetic field, disrupting plasma
flow at points beyond the primary flow constriction assembly,” Vorik said. “In theory.”
Clark thought for a moment, “That makes sense.” He looked over at Vorik and smiled, “In theory.”
Vorik did not return the smile, instead barely canting an eyebrow.
Clark shrugged and lifted his hyperspanner up into the frame that held the computer overhead. He
carefully maneuvered the tool around to the top of the closest ODN cache array, a blue cylinder the size of
two fists with a mess of glowing white cables snaking from either side and a wide luminous red ribbon atop.
He grunted and twisted his wrist, trying to get the hyperspanner in position to check the
connection between the array and the glowing red transport relay. The back end of the tool scraped against
a dark green bio-neural gel pack, which promptly burst and splattered everything within a meter with
organic goo.
Clark relaxed his outstretched arm, watching as the gel slowly ran down his sleeve, “I don’t think
our problem is the cache array.” He slowly pulled his arm back down, taking care not to hit the
hyperspanner against anything else.
Vorik nodded, “I concur.”
The remaining electronic parts of the burst gel pack sparked and caught fire, dropping burning bits
of the biosynthetic gel through the computer and onto the pair. Clark shouted as one landed on his face, and
an instant later the fire suppression system kicked into gear, spraying the entire computer bank with light
blue carbon dioxide foam.
Clark wiped a glob of the foam off his forehead, and looked to the side to see Vorik doing the
same to his arm. “Definitely not the cache array,” Clark said as he pushed himself out from under the
processing bank and sat up.
Vorik followed him, “How do you wish to proceed?”
“Tricorder,” Clark held out a hand; Vorik placed the requested scanner in it. Clark stood,
balancing himself against the opened frame, and began to take readings of the foam-covered mess before
him.
Vorik stood next to him, reading the tricorder’s palm-sized touch display, “It appears the gel pack
was in the late stages of a viral infection.”
“Any theories?”
He brought his arms back behind his back, “Approximately a year ago, an infectious viral strain
was discovered in the gel pack synthesizing labs on Luna,” Vorik said, “But it was reportedly contained
and eliminated.”
“Do you remember what kind of infectious strain?” Clark asked.
Vorik thought for a moment, recalling the information, “It was a de-synthesizing viral agent. It
attacked the synthetic neurons in the gel packs, causing severe synapse degradation, resulting in decreased
signal reliability, swelling, and eventual fatal malfunction.”
“Computer,” Clark ordered, “Scan all bio-neural gel packs aboard for a de-synthesizing viral
agent.”
11
The computer promptly responded, “Scanning.” After a few seconds of silence, it reported,
“Infections detected in one hundred thirty two out of one thousand three hundred forty seven bio-neural gel
packs.”
Clark shook his head in dismay, “Vorik, put in an emergency request for three hundred more gel
packs; we’re going to have to dump all of our spare supply.” He looked up to address the ship, “Computer,
why did internal sensors not detect the virus?”
“Unknown.”
“Intriguing,” Vorik said, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
Clark turned to him, “Commander, get to the bottom of this. Have your teams remove the infected
packs,” he pointed at the open bulkheads, “And whatever you need to do back there.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Clark tugged down on his uniform top and headed for his ready room on
the opposite side of the bridge, “I have a date to get ready for.” He paused, “Well, not a date per se, more of
a dinner…” Clark looked back to Vorik.
“Sir?”
He blinked a few times, “Never mind, carry on.”
Vorik nodded slightly and returned his attention to the processor bank. Clark rolled his head from
shoulder to shoulder as he walked through the automatic door into the ready room, a small office for the
captain attached to the side of the bridge. A small glossy black desk was immediately right inside the door
with a wide screen following the curve of the bulkhead behind the desk’s high-backed chair. A small couch
sat under a pair of meter-square windows looking out over the starboard side of the saucer and Engineering
Hull-A, with a low coffee table and two chairs on the other side.
Clark walked past the desk and sitting area, rounding the corner and heading into the small private
head. The lavatory was small, with a toilet, shower stall, sink, and cabinet crammed inside, but it was at
least functional. Clark pulled open the drawer under the sink and grabbed a palm-sized silvery dermal
regenerator. He set it on the side of the sink, and turned on the water, splashing his face to rinse off the
foam, soot, and sweat. He dried off with a small towel and then positioned the dermal regenerator over a
burn on his cheek. It emitted a faint blue light, accelerating cellular mitosis to quickly heal the wound.
He looked down at his uniform, noticing that it was spattered with the blue foam. He tried to brush
the foam off, but all he succeeded in doing was smearing it into dark blue streaks down his stomach. Clark
shook his head and turned around to the small cabinet, opening it to find four complete duty uniforms on
hangars. A small card sat in front of four neatly folded red command shirts on the shelf above the uniforms:
Figured you’d probably need these,
Lt. Harris, Quartermaster
Clark removed his combadge from his chest and set it beside the card, “Harris, I’m going to have
to put you in for an award.” He unzipped his soiled jacket and dropped it into a small bin in the bottom of
the cabinet, following with his pants, knowing that Harris would return to take the garments for cleaning.
This sort of catering was outside the official duties of the ship quartermaster, but they still upheld the
tradition of taking care of the captain.
He quickly turned back to the mirror over the sink, noting that none of the foam had gotten onto
the exposed collar of his red command shirt, though a bit had landed on the four gold pips on the right side.
He wiped it off with his fingers, and then grabbed a uniform from the closet and hastily put it on. He
straightened his duty jacket and then stepped through the door, paused, and leaned back in to grab his
combadge off the sink and Harris’s note from the cabinet.
Clark headed back out to the bridge, dropping the note on his desk on the way out. In the few
minutes it had taken Clark to clean up and change, Vorik had assembled a team of about a dozen
engineering technicians and was now removing the entire damaged assembly from the bulkhead. Clark
glanced around the bridge, finding that every console had gone dark from the work in progress. As he
waited for the turbolift to arrive, the crew slowly extracted the processor bank from the bulkhead. With
grunts and groans they pulled the four-meter-wide assembly out. Despite their best efforts it still hit the
deck with a sharp and resounding thud likely heard through several decks.
A turbolift finally arrived and Clark stepped in, ordering, “Deck 4A, Section A.”
The turbolift whisked Clark down four decks, then towards the starboard side, and then up four
decks into Engineering Hull-A. A short walk from the stop had him back at the door to Jensen’s quarters.
12
Before Clark could push the intercom, the door slid open. Jensen leaned against the doorframe in
full uniform, her arms crossed over her chest, “Punctual, just like I expected,” She smiled and walked into
her dark quarters, “Come on in.”
Clark stepped in, “So, dinner?” The door closed behind him, cutting off the bright corridor lights,
leaving the cabin to be lit by two low fat candles on the coffee table, a ring of dim accent lights at the edge
of the overhead, and the drydock lights through the windows.
Jensen stepped over to the replicator in the kitchen and sighed, glancing over her shoulder at the
still-packed boxes sitting on the counter. “How’s Mexican sound?”
“Earth cuisine?” Clark shoved his hands into the pockets in his uniform pants, not sure if he
should head to the sitting area or come help with the food.
Jensen laughed lightly as she scrolled through the replicator’s menu options, “Yeah, I fell in love
with stuff while I was at the Academy.”
Clark rocked back on his heels, “Love of food is a pretty profound thing.”
“Yeah, right. Have a seat,” Jensen said, gesturing at the couches as a plate of Mexican fare
materialized in the replicator. She picked up the plate and waited as another appeared in a sparkle of light.
Jensen the grabbed the second plate, walked over to the couches, set both plates down on the table, and
headed back to the kitchen. The aroma of spices and seasoned meat preceded her arrival.
As he was sitting on the low gray couch, Clark glanced at the plates’ contents: a filleted and
grilled chicken breast, smothered in melted cheese and a greenish-brown salsa, a half-plate of tortilla chips,
and merging spots of brown rice, beans, shredded lettuce completed the dish.
After quickly rummaging through the boxes in the kitchen, Jensen returned with two sets of
utensils, linen napkins, and two intricately etched whiskey glasses. Without sitting, she positioned them
around both plates and went over to her bed. Clark watched curiously as she crouched behind the bed, and
then rose, producing a glass bottle filled blue liquid.
Clark frowned, “You do know that…” Jensen’s coy expression over the bottle of illegal Romulan
ale made him pause, “Never mind.”
Jensen walked back to the table, poured the ale into both glasses, and set the bottle at the end of
the oval table. She slowly sat down across from Clark, “So, Captain, what’s your story?”
Clark picked up and examined the etching on the glass, then sipped the ale. He stifled a cough as
the simultaneously sweet and bitter drink burned down his throat. “Please, we’re off duty. I’m David.”
“Okay, David,” Jensen smiled, grabbing her own glass and leaning back into the couch. She
repeated, “What’s your story?”
“Didn’t we do this already?”
“Not nearly enough.”
“My life story?” Clark asked. He took a slow sip of the ale, the second drink going down easier.
Jensen shrugged, “We can start there.”
Clark set his glass on the table, “Well, Loy,” he smiled, “I was born and raised in Toronto,
Ontario.” He added, “In Canada. On Earth.”
Jensen peered at Clark over the rim of her cup and said softly, “I’ve been there before; it’s a
beautiful city.”
He nodded, “Yes, it is. My dad died when I was young, and my step father had me sent to a
military school in Pennsylvania when I was twelve; Valley Forge.” He cut off a bite of the chicken and put
it into his mouth, the spicy salsa almost instantly triggering sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Is that
habanero?” Clark coughed.
She effortlessly swallowed a bite, “Too hot? I can get you something more mild.”
Clark took a long drink of the ale, nearly emptying his glass. He shook his head, “I’ll manage.
That’s pretty killer for replicated pepper.”
“Forge Valley?” Jensen prompted.
“VFMA, Valley Forge Military Academy. It’s a centuries old military academy, dates back to the
days of gunpowder and horseback warfare. Nowadays it’s sort of a prep school.” He mused, “Or in my case
a place far enough away from Michael and my mother.”
“Must have been rough.”
Clark’s eyebrows rose, “Says the Bajoran?”
“I’m just trying to be sympathetic. Continue.” She took another bite of replicated chicken off her
fork.
13
“Anyway, that’s where I picked up music, took a shine to the marimba, and graduated two years
ahead of my age just to prove to Michael I wasn’t a complete waste of space.” A hint of animosity had
slipped into his voice, which he quickly squashed, “Went to Yale University, got degrees in criminal law
and starship engineering.”
“Those are both five or six year programs,” Jensen said, “You must have been in school until you
were thirty!” She grabbed a knife and started cutting through the chicken.
Clark finished the last of his ale, “Four years.”
“Each?”
“Total.”
Jensen’s knife slipped, pushing a bit of her rice over the edge of the plate. She looked up at Clark,
“You’re telling me that you graduated in four years from a premiere university with two completely
different degrees?”
“Yeah…”
She chuckled, “You must be some kind of genius. What are you doing here?” Jensen finished her
ale and uncapped the bottle.
“You’re going to make me jump ahead twenty years?”
“Time travel gives me a headache; please continue with the linear telling of your abbreviated life
story.” She filled her glass with blue alcohol, and then Clark’s.
Clark nodded, “I was a city attorney for two years, quit after a judge ruled against the city because
we didn’t have a railing to stop some guy’s blind dog from running into the river and drowning.”
“Seriously?”
“It was ridiculous. Civil law on Earth is so full of bullshit, I couldn’t take it. So I joined Starfleet.
It actually took me a full four years at the Academy, got assigned to the Saratoga and barely made it
through Wolf 359. From there I was on the Hood, rehabilitating Deep Space 9, joined the Corps of
Engineers and worked on the Intrepid-class and Akira-class.”
“I didn’t know you did the Akira-class.” Jensen bit into a salsa-loaded tortilla chip, sending flakes
of the chip through the air.
“That’s right, you didn’t read the profiles either.” Clark smiled, resisting laughing.
Jensen shook her head, “Takes all the fun out of getting to know the crew.” She put the rest of the
chip in her mouth and leaned forward, supporting her head on a hand. “What else?”
“I was assigned to upgrades for Third Fleet and was on the Bozeman when the Borg attacked.
Again. We were hit hard, I assumed command and just barely managed to hold on long enough for the
Enterprise to come and save the day yet again. Admiral Hayes was impressed, or so he said, so he
promoted me to Commander and decided it’d be best for Starfleet if I were to transition into command. At
that moment there wasn’t a command position open, so they slotted me onto the Cairo as chief engineer.”
Jensen sat up, slowly saying, “The Cairo disappeared with all hands.”
Clark slowly nodded, “With one exception.”
Clark stood in the cavernous shuttlebay of the U.S.S. Cairo, looking out at the bright stars of the
Romulan Neutral Zone floating beyond the open space door. A small, soft hand fell lightly on his shoulder,
“David, I’m going to miss you.”
He turned his head and looked into the face of Majel Hawkins. Her golden skin seemed to be a
mixture of the diversity of Human complexions, her dark, long, curly hair bounced when she walked, and
her deep chocolate eyes captivated Clark every moment he was in her presence. They had dated for nearly
seven months, and were now engaged and running headfirst for a long, happy life together. Majel wanted
to have lots of children, ‘Four or five’ she had told him, and Clark had just smiled, thinking of the joy that
their marriage would bring to his years, though he was having trouble with processing thoughts of four or
five kids.
“It’ll only be a few days,” Clark said, laying a reassuring hand on Majel’s, “I promise.”
“It better be.” Majel teasingly poked him in the chest, “Or this ring is going to the nearest
Ferengi.”
Clark looked down at the engagement ring he had gotten for Majel. The Vulcan Sapphire, set in
ten-karat latinum, had cost Clark a fortune in both time and money, two things he had very little of as a
senior Starfleet officer.
A young ensign stepped out of the door on the shuttle’s side, “Commander, it’s ready.”
14
Clark and Majel walked towards the shuttle together, holding each other at the waist. At the door,
Clark turned to face Majel and said quietly, “I love you.”
“I know,” Majel wrapped her arms around Clark’s neck and pulled herself up to his face. Clark
resisted. “What’s wrong?”
With a subtle movement of his eyebrows and a jerk of his head, Clark indicated the source of his
unease: the ensign, just standing a few meters beyond. Majel smiled, “Never mind him.” Before Clark
could dodge her again, Majel planted her lips on his. The power of her affection poured over Clark, and it
took every ounce of energy he could summon to prevent a collapse into a giddy pile of emotions.
Majel withdrew, still smiling, “I’ll see you in a few days. And don’t forget to pick up the rings.”
The last thing Clark saw before the shuttle hatch closed was a sparkle of light. He spent the next couple
days of his solitary trip to the outpost wondering if it was the ring or Majel’s eyes.
The trip to Starbase Seven had been uneventful, though the shuttle was now packed to the
overhead with supplies for the Cairo and her crew. Clark was flying back at high warp, having made an
excuse about the urgency of the replacement parts, though he really just wanted to be back in Majel’s arms
again. The hump of the small jewelry box containing their wedding rings was uncomfortable in his pocket,
but he liked that it reminded him it was there. He looked down at the navigation screen, noting that the
shuttle was well within communications range and rapidly approaching their predetermined rendezvous
point, though the Cairo had yet to hail.
He pressed a few controls and called, “This is Shuttle Winston, hailing U.S.S. Cairo.” After
several seconds of silence he repeated himself. Clark rolled his eyes, coming to the conclusion that the old
ship’s all too finicky subspace transceiver relay had failed again, a repair that would require his spacewalking on the bottom of the Excelsior-class ship’s saucer to repair. Growing concerned, Clark checked
the sensors, but was unable to locate the Cairo.
Clark brought his shuttle to a stop at the rendezvous coordinates, again scanned for the Cairo,
and found nothing. He checked his orders with the stellar chart displayed on his screen. They matched. The
Cairo should be here. Right here. But it wasn’t. He started to panic, but forced himself to stop and focus.
He located the Cairo’s warp plasma trail; it abruptly ended four light-years from the rendezvous point.
There was no sign of battle, no sign of other ships, not even residual tachyons from a cloaked ship.
He ran every scan the shuttle’s sensors were capable of performing and desperately combed back
and forth over the area, looking for any clue as to what had happened. But the Cairo was simply gone.
They’d been on a routine patrol of the Federation side of the Neutral Zone, sectors away from the
closest reported Dominion strikes from the sanctuary of the light-year-wide demilitarized strip.
The hails went ignored for days as Clark continued his search, repeating every scan a dozen times
over. By the time the investigating ship arrived Clark was on the edge of delirium from several days of not
eating or sleeping.
The officers and psychiatrists told Clark ‘they’re gone’ and ‘the Dominion’ and ‘I’m so sorry’, but
none of it registered. All that he could think of was Majel, with her curly hair, her dark eyes, her sparkling
smile, and all her overflowing love for him.
And she was gone.
“Captain?” Clark opened his eyes and lifted his head. Jensen repeated, “Captain, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Clark said, sitting up straight.
Jensen leaned back into her couch, “I kind of lost you there.”
Clark shrugged and blinked several times, hoping that the darkness hid his watery eyes, “Bad
memories. Where was I?”
“The Cairo.”
“So, uhm, after that I went back to the Engineers.” Clark continued, “Two years later, Voyager
returned, so I was on the engineering debrief and analysis team.” He held up his hands, intending to gesture
to the ship around him, but then thought better of it. “I went and worked on the Cardassian reconstruction
for a few months, came back here, and they threw on an extra pip and dropped me in the center chair.”
“Is that it?” Jensen asked.
Clark’s eyes bounced back in forth, “Uh, yeah, that’s just about it.” He leaned forward, grabbing a
chip off his plate and scraped some salsa off the top of his chicken, “Okay, your turn. Again.”
Jensen nodded, “Alright. Born on Bajor in 2347, middle of the occupation. Both my parents were
part of the resistance; they used to be marine biologists. They did their best to shield me from everything
15
going on around me, but there was only so much they could do. When I was seven they were killed by the
Cardassians.”
“I’m so sorry,” Clark said. He picked his glass off the table and took a long drink.
“The resistance took me in, took care of me, raised me,” Jensen continued. “I was just a courier; I
wanted to do more, but I was just a kid. I managed to get off Bajor when I was seventeen, ended up getting
picked up by the Odyssey.”
Clark leaned back, “The Cardassians had the Bajor system pretty well locked down, how’d you
get off?”
Jensen smiled, “Stowed away on an ore freighter, ejected in an escape pod with nothing but the
rags on my back and a…” Her smiled faded, “Anyway, I stayed on the Odyssey for a year and in ’65 was
accepted to the Academy, Danula campus. Graduated four years later, went through the Advanced Tactical
Training course, and was recruited into Section 31.”
Clark nearly choked on his food, “What?”
“I technically shouldn’t be telling you this,” Jensen said. “But you should probably know about it.
If you ever get around to looking at my records they’ll say I was serving with Starfleet Intelligence, but
that’s not entirely true.”
“I’ve only ever heard rumors about Section 31.”
“Long story short, it’s a covert ops and intelligence organization that doesn’t officially exist, as far
as Starfleet and the Federation government are concerned, tasked with ensuring the security of the
Federation no matter the cost,” Jensen said. “Essentially, they do the dirty work that has to be done, but that
the Federation government can’t be seen doing.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not. And no, I can’t tell you about what I did.”
“Even if I order you?” he teased.
“Your clearance level isn’t high enough,” Jensen ran her finger around the rim of her glass.
“Anyway, I left Section 31 at the start of the war, and was assigned to the Centaur, as chief of security.
After the war ended, I went to Cardassia to coordinate security during reconstruction,” She sipped her ale.
Clark grimaced, “You, you aren’t Jensen the Mercil–”
Jensen cut him off, “I did what had to be done to maintain security for the people of Cardassia.
That world, those people, they were in shambles. They were desperate. We didn’t have much to work with,
so yes, my tactics were harsh at times, but it was necessary. If we hadn’t cracked down when we did, the
Cardassians would be on their way to a new bronze age.”
“A sore subject, I take it?”
“A bit. I know the Cardassian media was still establishing itself, but they were… forget about it.”
She forced a smile, “Anyway, “A few months ago I got redeployment orders, and then I found myself here.
Is that good enough for you?” she smiled, this time genuine, over the edge of her glass.
“That’ll have to do for now.” He brought his glass of ale to his lips a bit to quickly, hitting it
against his chin and spilling the ale on his uniform. “Damn it,” he futilely wiped his soaked chest.
“I’ll get a towel,” Jensen jumped and went to the kitchen, looked in two boxes, and returned with a
small white washcloth. She sat on her legs on the couch next to Clark and dabbed at the black jacket with
the cloth. She dropped the cloth, spread her hand, and pressed it against Clark’s chest. He slowly looked up
from the wet spot to see her face mere centimeters away from his. Their eyes locked as Jensen leaned
forward, her hand sliding up to Clark’s shoulder. She smiled slightly as Clark hesitated briefly, and then
surrendered to his emotions.
16
3
Stardate 57062.454830
Dr. Richard Cochrane swiveled in his chair, lightly dragging his feet on the deck. The
Commander’s head was covered in snow-white hair and deep wrinkles creased his face. He propped his
legs up on the curved white desk before him and looked out through the large curved window dividing his
office from the main ward of the Aldrin’s sickbay. It was an impressive facility for a starship, though
nowhere near as impressive as those of his previous assignments at Starbase 375 and Starfleet Medical.
Nurse Jefferson Wright, a cordial young Human man with dark skin and an accent from the southeastern
parts of North America, had just given Cochrane a tour of the medical facilities, proudly showing him the
multiple private examination rooms, playfully hinting at scandalous activities Cochrane would rarely
consider at his age.
Wright continued the tour of the sickbay, pointing out the supply room, still with several
containers that required unpacking, followed by a brief look into the expansive emergency overflow ward,
then a more detailed stay in the technology-laden laboratories. Cochrane considered himself to be a man of
the 23rd century, even though he had lived the majority of his life in the 24th, and even though he already
possessed a thorough understanding of the sophisticated equipment, Wright insisted upon explaining their
uses and operations. Just trying to be nice to the old man, Cochrane assumed.
Upon completing a circuit of the Aldrin’s medical facilities, Cochrane had retreated to his rather
bland office and picked the first PADD – Personal Access Display Device – on top of a stack of seven. The
thin tablet computer’s display detailed the current medical staff duty roster, which until now had consisted
of just Wright. Several more would be joining when the Aldrin made a stop at Earth.
A sudden bang echoed through the sickbay. Compelled to investigate, Cochrane stiffly stood and
walked out of his office. He quickly surveyed the empty main ward, finding no sign of Wright. In spite of
his advanced age, Cochrane moved quickly around the bulkheads outside his office to the storage room
where he had last talked to Wright, finding the narrow door closed.
He pressed the small control panel by the door and it slid open, spilling medical supplies on the
deck, and causing Cochrane to jump back a meter. Glass beakers and vials shattered as a broken shelving
unit, no longer supported by the door, fell through the doorway, dumping its contents onto the deck.
Cochrane cautiously peered inside, finding that every shelf was on the deck. The burn pattern around a fistsized hole in the white bulkhead caught Cochrane’s eye. Dark blue bio-neural gel oozed from the opening.
Cochrane pointed at the burn point and then across the supply room, imagining the explosion
throwing small crates full of medicine and tools across the room into the shelves on the other side, causing
a collapse of the entire shelving system. He frowned, “I’m going to put in a request for mounted cabinets.”
Wright’s deep voice groaned from under the pile, “Doc?”
“Wright, are you okay?” Cochrane gingerly stepped in, crunching glass under his booted foot.
The glass shifted and a bloodied hand wiggled into view, “No.”
“Don’t move!” Cochrane ordered. He began shoving the glass shards aside with his bare hands,
ignoring the bits of glass scraping into his soft palms. Cochrane saw Wright’s face, distorted beneath the
layers of angular glass. He grabbed Wright’s arm and lifted him out of the pile, glass tumbling off his body.
More shards protruded all around Wright’s body.
“I’m getting too old for this,” Cochrane muttered, dragging Wright out of the supply room by his
arms. He carefully laid Wright on the deck, and hefted him back up, cradling him under his arms and knees.
Cochrane struggled as he carried Wright over to the surgical bay, a large round alcove with glowing red
decontamination arrays lining the curved wall, a sophisticated medical bed in the center, and room for a
dozen physicians to work on one or two patients together. He gently lowered Wright onto the surgical bed
and looked over Wright’s glass-covered body finding that his left hand and wrist were badly burned.
Cochrane walked back to the supply room and started digging through the debris.
Wright tilted his head to the left and spit a shard of glass out of his mouth, “Doc?”
17
Cochrane returned with a hypospray, tweezers, a dermal regenerator, and a small gray bucket.
“Yes?” Cochrane pressed the hypospray to Wright’s neck and its aero-suspension system injected a pain
reliever through Wright’s blue collar. He set the bucket on the deck by his feet.
“How bad does it look?” Wright asked. He cringed as Cochrane plucked a piece of glass from his
leg and dropped it into the bucket.
Cochrane rolled his eyes at the over-dramatic, over-used question, “Shiny. Almost glittery.” He
dropped another shard of glass into the bucket, clinking against the first.
“Seriously.”
“It’s not too bad,” Cochrane stated, “Looks like you’ve got several minor lacerations, many, many,
small cuts, and probably a bruise or two.” He removed another piece of glass from Wright’s skin and
dropped it into the bucket. “I’m not sure, but my ninety years of medical experience tells me you’re likely
to survive this,” Cochrane said.
Wright slowly nodded, “I feel like hell.”
“You look better than the supply room, which is saying a lot.”
The pain reliever took hold Wright slipped into blissful unconsciousness.
Stardate 57062.457490
The young female Human lieutenant squatted next to Vorik, asking with a southern Appalachian
accent, “So, where ya from?” She was a fairly attractive with a head of red hair pulled into a tight bun, but
her accent grated at Vorik’s nerves. He decided it would be best not to let her know so in the contained
environment of the Aldrin’s mess hall.
“I was born in the T’plana-Hath City on Vulcan, but most recently I was in the Delta Quadrant
aboard the U.S.S. Voyager,” Vorik pulled a gel pack out of the replicator in front of him, noting the sickly
blue-gray color of the bio-neural gel, which when healthy was a deep blue-green.
“You were part of that whole Voyager thing, huh? I’m from Arkansas myself,” the technician
rambled, “Ya ever been to Arkansas?” She took the gel pack from Vorik.
“No,” Vorik finished removing the infected gel packs from the replicator.
“Well, you should go there sometime. It’s a beautiful place, the mountains, the forests… I tell you
what, I’m goin’ to take you to Arkansas someday, just so ya know what a wonderful place it is. What do ya
think of that?”
“I think I need another gel pack,” Vorik said, attempting to steer her conversation to a different
subject. He turned to face her and she placed a fresh blue gel pack in Vorik’s hand.
The technician fell silent for a few moments, and then said, “I know that you Vulcans don’t have
any emotions, but it seems to me that you’re irritated about something.”
Vorik brusquely inserted the gel pack into a receiver at the base of the replicator, “That is incorrect,
Lieutenant. Vulcans do experience emotions, and I am not irritated.” After years with emotional species
trapped aboard the Voyager, Vorik’s understanding of emotions was such that he imagined sighing at this
point, betraying his irritation that his plan to change the subject had backfired by tracking into sensitive
territory.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“About what?” Vorik pulled his hands from the replicators and replaced the panel cover over the
inner workings.
“The emotions thing,” she said. Vorik stood and she did the same.
“Yes, Vulcans suppress their emotions with rigorous mental discipline and meditation,” he leaned
over and picked up the cases of bio-neural gel packs, “Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I will not
require your assistance to complete this task.” Vorik stood and left the mess hall, leaving the perplexed
lieutenant behind.
07:00 Hours, January 24th, 2380
Stardate 57063.815562
“The time is Zero Seven Hundred hours,” the computer’s smooth female voice announced. Clark
rolled over in the bed and opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, and focused on the closed eyelids on
18
either side of a ridged nasal bridge in front of his face. He shifted back, taking in the view of Jensen’s
sleeping face. She lay next to him under the sheet, on her side and facing towards Clark.
He picked his head up and glanced over at the couches, finding two empty glasses, an empty bottle,
and two half-finished meals surrounded by a spread of discarded clothing. He sighed quietly with the stark
reminder that Romulan ale and beautiful women were always a potent combination.
He pulled his arm up from his side and gently ran it down the side of Jensen’s body, confirming
his suspicion that she was unclothed under the thin gray bed sheet. Clark lifted the sheet to satisfy his visual
curiosity, verifying that both he and Jensen were completely nude, then took a few seconds to stare. He
dropped the sheet and tried to recall what had happened over the night, but came up blank on the events
that transpired after their brief dinner. Jensen’s dark eyes slowly opened, glistening in the light from the
drydock. “Good morning, Captain,” she whispered.
Clark’s hand found its way into her tussled brown hair, “Good morning.” He laughed lightly,
“You wouldn’t be able to recall what exactly happened last night?”
Jensen smiled, “I remember you spilled some ale, I got a towel… and then I woke up and found
you in my bed.”
“That’s all?”
“Well,” she looked up to the overhead as she thought, and then turned her head back to Clark,
grinning, “I’ve got a few flashes of the night.” She picked up the edge of the sheet and looked down at
Clark, and then back up, “Now that I remember.” She mischievously canted an eyebrow.
Clark laughed, “You seem to recall more than I do.”
Jensen kissed Clark and then rolled smoothly out of the bed. She stood, letting the gray sheets slip
off her thin body. With her bare behind facing the bed, she opened the closet and pulled out a towel, which
she tucked loosely around her waist. She turned around, finding that Clark had managed to get up, find his
pants by the bed, and was in the process of pulling them up. Jensen walked around to the other side of the
bed and pulled on Clark’s unfastened belt. They stood that way for a moment, then Clark tilted his head and
kissed Jensen, one hand holding her head and the other pulling her in at the small of her back.
She tightened her grip on the ends of his belt and pushed down, throwing Clark’s pants and her
towel onto the floor. Jensen grinned playfully as she slowly rubbed her hands up and down Clark’s naked
hips and pulled her body close to his. In one smooth motion she hooked a leg around the back of his calf
and upset his balance, knocking him back onto the bed and pulling her down with him.
Clark laughed as Jensen got up onto all fours over him, her hair cascading down around his head,
“What are you doing?”
She whispered as she lowered her lips towards his, “I want to remember.”
Stardate 57063.825632
Clark walked onto the bridge a few minutes before the start of his scheduled shift, finding no other
personnel in the Aldrin’s command center. Outside of drydock that would be a problem, but with the ship
not even launched there was little reason for a full complement of command, security, and science staff to
be manning the stations. The engineers had successfully replaced the damaged technology and reactivated
the bridge’s stations, now emitting colorful lights from all directions. He comfortably positioned himself in
the plush leather command chair and gazed at the nighttime Martian horizon filling the left side of the
viewscreen. The lights of sprawling Utopia Colony glittered on the edge of the horizon, illuminating the
pink, dust-filled atmosphere.
He picked up a nearby PADD and called up a status report; Vorik had managed to replace all of
the infected gel packs, both warp cores were now back online, new forcefield emitters and launch doors had
been installed in the shuttlebay, and Lieutenant Jefferson Wright had been injured in, and was recovering
nicely from, a small gel pack-triggered explosion in sickbay. The helm officer, operations officer, and
several other crewmembers were due aboard at 13:00 hours.
Clark balanced the PADD on his armrest and contemplated the Martian vista. He began vigorously
drumming his fingers on his lap and the chair in a classic Human musical style called ‘rock’. While
drumming, he decided he’d go visit sickbay, engineering, the shuttlebay, and then roam the ship for a short
while. He finished his drumming with a grand finale, at least it seemed grand in his head, hitting the corner
of the PADD as if it were a large splash cymbal, sending it flipping into the air above his head. Clark tried
to snatch the spinning PADD out of the air before it landed on the deck, but he only succeeded in batting it
19
away towards the helm. He rose from the command chair and headed towards the fallen PADD, picked it
up off the deck, and tossed it back onto his chair before heading back to the turbolift.
Stardate 57063.930874
Cochrane sat patiently in the sickbay office, wishing for something to do. It had taken him two
hours last night to clean up Wright, removing nearly half a kilogram of glass shards from the lieutenant’s
skin in the process. Cochrane had also reviewed the coming week’s medical staff duty roster and requested
a replacement crate of supplies and new cabinets. He’d spent the night in sickbay so he could keep an eye
on Wright, who was doing fine and protesting being kept for observation for mostly superficial wounds.
Exhausted by the unexpected overnight shift, Cochrane leaned back in his chair and propped his
legs up on the desk, his artificial left leg hitting with more of a thud than his organic and original right leg.
He decided to relax with a quick game of dom-jot on a PADD he had loaded with several games, a
mainstay on his desk since he was assigned to Starfleet Medical nearly sixty years prior. Seven games later,
he was still playing the computerized dom-jot when Clark walked into the main ward. Cochrane quickly
changed the display to the incoming supplies list and had set the PADD face-up on the desk by the time
Clark had reached the office entrance.
Clark rapped his fist against the doorframe, “May I come in?”
“Certainly, it’s not my ship,” Cochrane said, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture. He pulled
his feet down from the desk and leaned forward, “How can I help you, Sir?”
“Relax,” Clark smiled and extended a hand, which Cochrane took, “David Clark, Captain.”
Cochrane gave Clark a strong shake, “Richard Cochrane, CMO.”
Clark pulled back the chair on the other side of the desk and sat, crossing one leg over the other,
“Nice to meet you, doctor.”
Cochrane nodded, “You as well, Sir.”
Clark held up a hand, “Please, no ‘Sir’s. I may be the captain, but we don’t need to rest on those
sort of formalities to get the job done.”
“I think I like you already,” Cochrane smiled widely.
Clark returned the smile, “That’s always good. I’ll be honest, I didn’t read the crew profiles.”
“Oh?”
“Not one,” Clark shook his head, “Probably lost them.”
Cochrane grabbed a PADD from a rack to the side of this desk, “I’ve got them right here, if you’ d
like.”
“You read them?”
He nodded, “Skimmed over most of them. Gave the medical profiles a thorough reading, of
course.”
Clark nodded with mock seriousness, “Of course.”
Cochrane set the PADD to the side, “You’ll be pleased to know that I see nothing in your records
that is indicative of any long term health issues.”
“Glad to hear it.” Clark uncrossed his legs, “What do I need to know about you, Doctor?”
“For one thing,” started Cochrane, “I’m one hundred twelve years old, so don’t just bring me
along on any old away mission. I lost a leg at Tomed, so I’ll probably use the transporter for emergency
calls. I’m a great-great-grandfather, and I’ve been accused of having the best bedside manner this side of
the Neutral Zone.” He smiled and adjusted his duty jacket, “I also try to keep up on the latest events
galaxy-wide, so don’t be surprised when we start receiving news transmissions from Romulus.”
Clark stood and smiled, “Excellent. I’ll stop in later for more… talking. You have a nice day.”
Cochrane smiled back, “You too, Captain.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Clark said, “I’ve got places to go and people to meet.” As he walked out of
the office, he stopped and turned back to Cochrane, “Oh, and don’t let my being here keep you from your
dom-jot.” Clark grinned as the smile faded from Cochrane’s face, to be replaced a second later by a
bemused smirk.
Stardate 57063.933344
20
Clark stepped through the wide double doors into Main Engineering-B and was greeted by a wide
cylindrical warp core that dominated the two-deck-tall space. He stopped a few meters in, marveling at all
of the power swirling in almost iridescent blue-green waves of reacting matter and antimatter inside the
transparent cylinder. A thick band wrapped around the core, just over two meters off the deck, holding the
dilithium matrix that harnessed that raw power and sent it as pulses of plasma to the warp nacelles.
Unlike most Starfleet vessels, however, this power was not sent straight to the warp nacelles.
Because unlike most Starfleet vessels which had just one warp core, the Akira-class was designed with two
active power plants, one in each of the catamaran engineering hulls. Thus necessitating two engineering
departments to keep the ship operational. The added complexity had the benefit of greatly increased power,
more so than a single doubly large warp core could have achieved.
The twin engine rooms were set up in the typical crucifix arrangement, with the core at
intersection, surrounded by open space. The bulkheads along the long arm between the entrance and core
were lined with shallow alcoves filled with wide concave consoles that displayed practically every aspect
of the Aldrin’s physical management, with an engineer or two working at each.
The warp core at the center of it all was framed on the lower deck by the engineering chief’s openair office on one side and an enclosed lab and testing bay on the other. A pair of grid-decked platforms,
linked by short flights of stairs, wrapped around the core to provide access to the dilithium chamber and
upper deck.
Clark quietly listened to the warp core’s pulsating hum as Vorik stepped down a flight of stairs
from the upper platform around the warp core, stopping on the lower platform still more than a meter off
the deck. Either unaware or uncaring of Clark’s presence, the Vulcan called over the railing to a young
Andorian man at the back of Engineering, “Lieutenant Man’tA’el, please realign the EPS taps in junction
3A, correctly this time.” The Andorian quickly picked up a nearby engineering kit and scrambled out
through a door in an alcove to the left. Vorik lifted a PADD off a console attached to the railing. He studied
the PADD for several seconds before looking down at the console and checking something else.
Clark walked over to one of the display alcoves and pulled up a systems status chart. He squinted
at the numbers then said loudly enough to get Vorik’s attention, “You might want to try re-routing the
ODN relays through system bank number four instead of three.”
Vorik turned to Clark, looking at him over the railing, “I was not aware you were here, Sir.”
“No ‘Sirs’,” Clark said without turning away from the screens, “You can increase transfer
efficiency by rerouting through bank four.”
“Bank four is designated as an auxiliary bank,” Vorik stated.
Clark grinned slightly, “Yes, it is. As the auxiliary, bank four was designed to handle larger data
streams in the event of emergency rerouting. Switching to four should net about fifteen percent increased
throughput.” Clark looked up at Vorik, whose eyebrows were rising in a mix of confusion and
apprehension. Clark added, “It’s an oversight the computer engineers try not to let anyone know about.”
Vorik put the PADD back down on the console, walked down the steps to the deck, and
approached Clark’s alcove. He stood next to Clark and studied the computer systems charts and schematics
on the display, “Captain, I do believe you are correct.”
Clark smiled, “Of course I am.” Vorik started out of Engineering, to rectify the error, but Clark
decided to stop him, “Vorik, are you familiar with chess?”
The Vulcan struggled to repress the humor he found in a Human challenging a Vulcan to a game
of chess, “Traditional, three dimensional, or cylindrical?”
“After this shift, in the mess hall.” Clark’s smile grew, “I could use the challenge.”
Vorik nodded cordially and quickly walked out the Engineering doors. Clark smiled to himself
and turned back to the display screen, tapping a few controls and chuckling to himself.
21
4
Stardate 57064.399532
Clark and Jensen sat in their respective chairs on the bridge, Clark on the right, Jensen on the left.
Jensen glanced at the chronometer incorporated into the small display at the end of her armrest and said
disdainfully, “They’re late.”
“Not yet,” Clark replied, “They’ve still got fifteen seconds.” A second later the door leading down
to the airlock opened and in strode a young Human female lieutenant. Her hair hung down to the middle of
her back in long, silky waves of blond, intermixed with streaks of almost white. Her gray-green eyes were
set into deep sockets over her cheekbones, sharply defined under her pale skin. Her red-collared uniform
clung tightly to her thin body, doing little to ease her starved appearance.
She walked into the center of the bridge, between the two command chairs and the empty helm.
She turned crisply, snapping to attention and announcing, “Lieutenant Janice Kelley, reporting for duty, Sir.”
She stood as straight as a rod, even slightly rising up on her toes, as if she were trying to look taller and
reach a far elusive two meters.
Clark lifted his right hand off his armrest, “At ease, and no ‘Sirs’. Helm officer?”
Kelley visibly relaxed, dropping onto her heels hard enough to shake her shoulders. “Yes, Sir.”
“Please, don’t call me Sir,” Clark again requested, “Take your station.” Kelley turned around and
walked to the helm station. She slowly sat in the navigator’s chair and examined the controls along the
smooth, meter-wide curved console, her fingers floating delicately over the control surface.
“Is this your first starship?” Clark asked.
“Helm? No,” Kelley swiveled in her chair, her face flushing pink, “I was a helm officer aboard the
Prometheus.”
Jensen laughed lightly, “The Prometheus? Well, I’m sure you had some interesting experiences
there.” Clark looked at her, not understanding. Jensen silently mouth the word ‘later’.
Kelley twisted her mouth, “No, not really. In three years there I only went on one away mission.”
Jensen asked, “But wasn’t the Prometheus on the front lines of the war?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t,” Kelley with a touch more confidence, “It was part of the Sector 001 Defense
Task Force, at least during the war. I didn’t graduate from the academy until ‘75, and by the time I was
assigned to the Prometheus, the Dominion had surrendered,” She ran her fingers through her long blond
hair, pulling a lock over the front of her shoulder.
The airlock door parted again and a young Romulan woman in a Starfleet uniform walked through.
Her pointed ears were full and curved, and her thin, long eyebrows were slanted up from the bridge of her
nose at nearly forty-five degrees, with a subtle V-shaped forehead ridge that ran a parallel angle. The shiny
black hair that topped her head was cut in a more Human-styled manner, long enough that it was tucked
behind her Vulcan-like ears and dropped to just above her shoulders, instead of the traditional Romulan bob
cut. She stopped slightly off center from the bridge and announced a little too loudly, “Ensign Nevala
R’Mor, Operations, reporting for duty,” she hesitated, “Sir.” She was slightly shorter than Kelley and wore
a yellow division shirt.
Jensen glanced down at her display, “Ensign, you’re late.”
“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir,” R’Mor’s skin turned a darker shade of green as she blushed. She slightly
shook her head, continuing to hold it high.
Clark stood, sensing that R’Mor was fresh from the Academy, and looked into her eyes, “May I
ask why?”
“I was stopped in the drydock corridor by a, uh, rather elderly admiral.”
Clark smiled and looked down to Jensen, “Russell, he’s not too fond of Romulans.”
R’Mor’s blushing intensified, “So he informed me, Sir.” Her brow twitched.
“No more ‘Sirs’,” Clark said, “I’m ‘Captain,’ understand?”
R’Mor curtly nodded, “Yes,” she added, “Captain.”
“Go ahead and take your station,” Clark said, sitting back down.
R’Mor took a small step back and glanced around the bridge, “Where… where’s the ops station?”
22
Jensen swiveled her chair towards the center and pointed at the steel arc behind her, “Right there.”
R’Mor stepped up the ramp behind the command chairs, dragging her hand along the sleek bushed metal
surface of the arc. She came to her console at the apex and paused.
“Kelley,” Clark called.
The helm officer turned her chair, “Yes, S-,” she stopped herself and corrected, “Captain?”
“Are you familiar with the controls yet?” Clark asked.
Kelley nodded her head, “She looks standard enough.”
“How would you like to take her for a spin?” A smile inched across Clark’s face.
“I’d love to,” she returned the smile as she turned back to the helm.
Jensen tapped her combadge, “Bridge to Engineering.”
The conversation was automatically relayed onto the bridge comm system, “Vorik here.”
Jensen looked up, momentarily confused by the communicator hand-off, “Vorik, could you bring
the thrusters and impulse drive online? We’re going out for a spin around the block.”
Vorik was silent for a second before asking, “What block?”
“Never mind that, Vorik. We’re going to be leaving drydock soon for a quick shake down.”
“The primary impulse drive should be fully operational in twenty two minutes. Vorik, out.” The
speakers shut off.
“Ensign, open a channel to Admiral Russell,” Clark ordered.
A few beeps and, “Channel open.” Russell’s pale, wrinkled face came on the viewscreen. He sat in
an office in the drydock, with a view looking over the Aldrin’s bow behind him.
Russell chuckled, “Trying to leave early, David?”
Clark stood from his chair, “Just taking her out for a spin, Sir. I’ll be careful, promise.”
“I see.” The admiral smiled, “Permission granted to depart drydock in, oh heck, ten minutes.
Russell, out.” The viewscreen snapped back to the Martian horizon, with Olympus Mons slowly peeking
over the hazy pink horizon.
Clark turned to Jensen, “Make a station and ship-wide departure announcement.”
Jensen tapped her armrest control and announced, “This is the bridge. The U.S.S. Aldrin will be
departing drydock in ten minutes. All hands should report aboard by that time.”
“All crew already reporting aboard,” R’Mor immediately said, standing behind the arc.
Kelley spoke from the helm, “Thrusters are operational.”
“Good, let’s give all the station personnel a chance to get off,” Clark said.
Jensen turned her chair to face up at R’Mor, “I’m curious, Ensign, what brought you to Starfleet?”
R’Mor thought for a few seconds, “It’s a long story, Commander, and it doesn’t end with the
Empire and I being friends.”
“So you’re not part of some officer exchange program?” Kelley asked.
R’Mor shook her head, “I’m one hundred percent Starfleet. Let’s just say that there’s an awful lot
of exploitation in the ranks of the Star Force and it’s a system I was tired of being a part of. So I stole a
shuttle, nearly provoked an interstellar incident, and sought asylum with the Federation. But I just couldn’t
fathom staying on some planet for the rest of my life, so here I am.”
Her console beeped, drawing her attention down. She looked back up to Clark, “Captain, docking
control reports all station personnel aboard. And Admiral Russell wishes us luck.”
Clark kicked his chair to face forward, “Who needs ten minutes? Seal airlocks.” A low thump
came from the back of the bridge and he ordered, “Close supply ports.”
Clark paused before his next command, “Release docking clamps.” The Aldrin shuddered as the
drydock’s powerful docking clamps released their hold and the ship’s inertial dampers kicked online to
compensate.
“Docking clamps released, umbilical cords disengaged,” R’Mor reported.
Kelley reported from the helm, “Station-keeping thrusters are working. Full thruster power and
secondary impulse at your command.”
“Lieutenant, take us out,” commanded Clark.
“Yes, Captain,” Kelley smiled. Her fingers lightly bounced on the helm console and the Aldrin
quietly slid out of the cradling arms of Drydock 4. The ship drifted past a large, spider-like drydock
wrapped around the skeleton grid of a Galaxy-class saucer.
“Put us into standard orbit,” Jensen ordered. The Martian horizon dove off the left side of the
viewscreen as the Aldrin turned its belly down. The Akira-class ship smoothly glided down towards the
Martian equator.
23
“Bringing us even with the equatorial plane,” Kelley said. The forward thrusters fired and the
Aldrin slowed near the equator, using its momentum to rotate so that its port side was again facing Mars
and the ship was parallel to the equator. The horizon was again visible on the left side of the viewscreen.
“Standard orbit achieved,” announced Kelley.
Clark leaned forward in his chair, “How much impulse power do we have right now?”
Kelley looked over her console, “With the secondary reactors online, five hundred thousand
kilonewtons.”
Clark nodded and ordered, “Set a course for Jupiter Station, one quarter impulse.”
“Aye, Captain, course laid in.”
Clark’s eyes remained fixed on the viewscreen as he sat back up and pointed a hand forward,
“Engage.”
Stardate 57064.968302
The red light of Mars shining through the mess hall windows made Vorik’s transparent bishop
chess piece seem to glow, casting reflected and refracted light all around the lowest platform on the threedimensional chess tower. The Vulcan sat placidly, his eyes fixed on the bishop, as he ran through dozens of
scenarios in his head. He reached up and grabbed the bishop, moving it from the lower tier to a small foursquare landing sticking out from the middle platform. He looked up at Clark, who was oddly smiling in this
third hour of their chess match. Vorik’s fingers lingered on the bishop for a few seconds before he released
it and announced, “Check.”
Clark contemplated the chess tower for a few moments, then snatched a frosted white pawn from
the highest level and placed it in the bishop’s place, handing the discarded chess piece back to Vorik. “I
haven’t told you that I was on the analysis team for the Voyager.”
Vorik’s eyes darted around the platform as he considered his next move, “I recognized you.” He
moved his hand forward for a moment, and then retreated it back to his lap. “Had I known you would
become my future commander, I would have introduced myself.”
“The armor and weaponry were interesting,” Clark said, “But honestly it was the seven years of
duct tape and chewing gum engineering that was really fascinating.”
Vorik looked up from the game, “Duct tape… and chewing gum?”
“It’s an expression.” Met with a blank stare, Clark added, “Working with what you’ve got, using
components for non-design purposes… like how you took a phaser rifle compression matrix and used it as
a subspace transceiver alignment coil. That’s genius work.”
“That was the work of Lieutenant Torres.” Vorik grabbed a clear knight from near the pawn and
moved it into the spot occupied by Clark’s piece, taking the pawn and handing it to Clark.
Clark smiled, “I thought you would do that.” He reached up and switched the position of his king
and a rook, castling. Vorik’s pawn was in jeopardy from the newly positioned rook, but it was all that stood
between his wedged-in-place king and Clark’s rook. The Vulcan’s dark eyes darted over the platforms,
analyzing and discarding hundreds of possible scenarios in seconds. He finally picked his other bishop
from the bottom platform and placed it behind his knight, creating a wall between Clark’s rook and his king.
Vorik nearly sighed as he looked back up to Clark. His eyes followed Clark’s hand as he reached
up to the highest platform and grabbed the lone frosted pawn. Vorik’s eyes barely flinched as Clark moved
the piece down to the middle of the tower, pushing aside the bishop and putting the clear king directly in
the line of fire of a lowly pawn.
Clark smiled as he let go and the bishop toppled over, clinking against the glass platform,
“Checkmate.”
24
5
U.S.S. Aldrin
Stardate 57072.044620
The turbolift doors opened and Clark confidently strode onto the bridge, followed closely by
Jensen. He could tell from R’Mor’s raised eyebrow and Kelley’s smirk that the gossip mill was already in
full swing on the Aldrin, even with only part of its crew aboard. It had only been the morning prior that
Ensign Arels had walked in on Clark and Jensen in a turbolift down on Deck 10. Since then the news of
their up-until-then quiet relationship had apparently spread all the way to the bridge. Jensen barely lowered
her head and glared, prompting R’Mor and Kelley to quickly returned their attention to their stations.
Clark and Jensen sat themselves in the command chairs at the center of the bridge. Clark called out,
“R’Mor.”
She looked to Clark, “Yes, Captain?”
“Open a channel to Admiral Russell.”
“Channel open.” Admiral Russell’s face appeared on the viewscreen.
Russell smiled, “What do you want this time, David?” He chucked, his laugh low and rough,
almost bordering on a cough.
“Requesting permission to leave Drydock, permanently, Sir,” requested Clark.
“You sure you’re ready?” Russell asked.
“As soon as we pick up the rest of the crew from Earth, we will be,” Jensen said.
The admiral nodded, “Then I’ll suppose you’ll be needing a mission.”
Clark looked around the bridge, “We could just aimlessly wander around the quadrant.”
Russell chuckled again, and then grabbed a PADD off his desk, “Alright, you’re going to proceed
to Earth and pick up the rest of your crew, plus a subspace relay station that you’ll take out to Deep Space
Nine and install on the far side of the wormhole.”
Jensen blurted out, “The Gamma Quadrant?”
“Yes, Commander, the Gamma Quadrant,” Russell said. “We’ve had plans for some time to
install a new relay on the other side of the wormhole, and since you’ll be heading out there to do some
preliminary surveys, there’s no time like the present. The engineers tell me this new one’s quite the
transceiver.”
“Are we expecting any Dominion activity in the sector?” Clark asked.
Russell shrugged, “I’m not anticipating anything, though our contact with the Dominion has been
minimal since the war. You’ve got a full weapons compliment just in case, but this should be a fairly simple
long-cruise shakedown.”
“Is that all?” Clark asked, slowly absorbing and processing the information.
“Sure is. I’m sending your mission coordinates. Permission granted to depart Drydock 4. Russell,
out.” The viewscreen changed back to the Martian horizon.
“Ensign,” ordered Clark, “Give the ten minute departure warning.”
“Me?” R’Mor questioned.
Clark spun his chair around and asked Jensen, “Did you get demoted?”
Jensen confidently shook her head, “No, Captain.”
“Ms. Kelley?” Clark asked.
“I hope not,” Kelley said from the front of the bridge.
Clark looked up to R’Mor, “Ensign, I believe I may have been talking to you.” He watched her
swallow nervously, and then said, “Make the announcement.”
R’Mor looked down and pressed a button on the ops console, “The U.S.S. Aldrin will be departing
drydock in ten minutes. All personnel report aboard immediately, all stations report status.” She crisply
lifted her finger off the console and turned her eyes up towards Clark.
Clark nodded, “Well done, Ensign.” He turned his chair back around, “Kelley, lay in a course for
Earth, go ahead and transmit our perimeter clearance code now.”
Kelley’s fingers bounced across her console; it emitted a series of quiet beeps with each touch.
After a few seconds she looked up at the screen, “Course laid in, Captain.”
25
R’Mor reported, “All decks except seven and thirteen have reported ready. Drydock control
reports supply lines closed.”
Jensen shook her head, “The Gamma Quadrant.”
Clark looked back to her, “What about it?”
“Do we really want to be going back there?” she asked. “The last time we did that over a billion
people died.”
“These decisions are above my pay grade,” Clark said. He sighed, “It’s a mission, and it’ll give us
plenty of time to work any kinks out of the system.”
“All decks report ready,” R’Mor announced. “Drydock also reports ready, all personnel accounted
for.”
Clark looked to Jensen, who ordered, “Commence undocking.”
A quiet thump from the aft preceded R’Mor’s report, “Sealing airlocks. Disengaging umbilicals.”
Her finger hovered over a button for a second. She pressed it and a there was an immediate loud thump that
vibrated the deck, “Docking clamps released. Drydock 4 hails ‘Bon Voyage’. ”
Clark smiled, “Lieutenant Kelley: Engage course, one quarter impulse.”
The Aldrin’s thrusters fired and the ship smoothly slid out of Drydock 4’s cradling arms. The
powerful impulse engines on the back edges of the saucer and the end of the engineering hulls kicked to life
and the Aldrin accelerated across space, weaving between the dozens of drydocks that were Utopia Planitia
Fleet Yards.
Clark gripped the arms of chair as the bottom end of mushroom-shaped Starfleet Corps of
Engineers headquarters loomed close on the viewscreen. A proximity alarm sounded, but Kelley didn’t
adjust the Aldrin’s course. Clark yelled, “Lieutenant!”
More alarms sounded as the station cast a shadow over the entire ship. Kelley didn’t budge off
course, but the ship was close enough that the standard bow view from the viewscreen showed engineers in
the station scrambling away from the windows as the Aldrin hurtled closer.
A second later the Aldrin slipped past the station, its outboard nacelle passing within mere meters
of dozens of offices. The two were close enough that the Aldrin crew felt the gravitation pull of the station
for a moment, even over the force of the ship’s own gravity generators. One-by-one, the alarms quickly
died, leaving an eerily silent bridge.
Clark cleared his throat, “Lieutenant?”
Kelley quickly tapped a command into the helm and turned her chair around, “Yes, Captain?”
“That was an impressive demonstration of your piloting abilities,” Clark said. “But you are never
to do that again. Am I clear?”
Kelley nodded, “Yes, Captain.”
R’Mor’s console beeped with an incoming hail. She read off the screen, “SCE wants to know
‘what the hell we’re doing’.”
“Tell them we’re having some navigational difficulties,” Jensen growled. R’Mor nodded and
entered the commander’s response.
“Lieutenant,” Clark asked, “Do you think you can get us to Earth without getting us all killed?”
“Yes, Captain.”
Clark smiled, “Let’s go.”
Stardate 57072.151192
“Good morning, Sir,” said a tall Human ensign with short, spiked blond hair as Clark entered the
shuttle control room, located at the back of the saucer. The ensign sat in a wheeled chair at a long console
on one side of the long, narrow room. A series of large windows ran along each side of the room, one
looking out to the empty space beneath and between the engineering hulls, the other looked into the long
shuttlebay. Immediately below were three launch doors high enough for a small craft to enter, with the
shuttlebay behind nearly a whole three decks tall.
The shuttlebay stretched nearly two hundred meters from the front of the saucer to the rear. The
wide cylinder of the main computer core obstructed the center, ringed by docking terminals filled with a
handful of shuttlecraft. Shuttles could come and go through the doors at either end of the bay, but Clark’s
design intention had been for the shuttles to be rapidly launched through the front doors and return through
the rear, sheltered by the engineering hulls. It had been a design requirement for the Akira-class, as
26
Starfleet at the time was toying with the idea of using small, highly-maneuverable attack craft to
complement the brute force of a starship. In the end, that plan was destroyed by the frightening accuracy of
the Dominion’s weaponry against the smaller attack ships.
“Good morning, Ensign, uh…” Clark paused.
The ensign finished Clark's sentence, “Skon.”
“Skon,” Clark nodded. “Are there any shuttles are left?”
“As a matter of fact,” Skon turned to the console and read, “There are six: the Carpathia, Atlantis,
Braga, Hawking, Newton, and the Magellan.”
“Is the Magellan ready for launch?” Clark asked.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Okay, I’m taking it down,” Clark said. He began to walk towards a door at the end of the control
room.
“Sir,” Skon called.
Clark stopped and turned around, “Yes?”
Skon swallowed, “Please be careful. I don’t want any of my shuttles damaged.”
Clark turned back around and walked back to the door, rolling his eyes. The door slid open at his
approach and revealed an open lift down to the bay deck. Clark stepped onto the lift, which had a single
curved, hip-height safety bar, and rode it to the deck. The lift jerked to a stop and the bar automatically
swung open. Clark stepped off and looked around; the middle aft launch door, one of the three on the back
edge of the saucer, was open, the atmosphere held in by an electromagnetic forcefield. Seven new shuttles
were parked around the computer core, their chisel-shaped bows facing out. Clark quickly walked across
the light gray plastic deck to the docking stations, searching for the Magellan.
A shuttle lifted off from the docking ports and roared over Clark’s head. He instinctively ducked
and covered his head. Realizing that the shuttle posed no danger, Clark stood and watched as the forcefield
flashed and let off a static crackle as the shuttle passed through and escaped into space. The shuttle’s engine
noise echoed throughout the bay for a few seconds longer.
The name Magellan caught Clark’s eyes, and he walked directly to the shuttle, right in the middle
of a semi-circle of shuttles and facing directly towards the open launch door. It was a new Type-XI
shuttlecraft, almost eight meters long, five meters wide, and four meters tall. The shuttle was highly
aerodynamic, sloping gently to the front and the rear. The warp nacelles were mounted directly against the
base of the hull, and shaped to form small lifting wings for more efficient atmospheric flight without
bothering with shield geometry. A pair of impulse engines were mounted high and to the rear, with large
black intake scoops at their fronts.
Clark looked over the shuttle for a few seconds, smiling as he imagined the smooth ride down to
the surface, safely ensconced in its duranium shell, as opposed to the nauseating sudden shift that was the
atomic disassembly and reassembly of the transporter. He tapped a small control panel to the right of the
side door on the shuttle and after a quiet hiss the door slid up into the hull. Stepping up onto the raised deck
on the shuttle, he surveyed the surprisingly spacious cabin as the door closed behind him.
The front of the shuttle was dominated by a runabout-influenced sweeping double-cove console
with two seats, tucked under a full-width forward viewport that arched up overhead, with two elongated
triangles on either side permitting vision to the port and starboard. A small transporter pad was embedded
in the deck two meters behind the seats and storage cabinets and access panels lined the bulkheads to the
rear. As with most Starfleet shuttlecraft, the aft end was a large hatch, though on this new shuttle design the
steeply-angled hatch slid down and out instead of hinging at the bottom.
Clark stepped forward and slipped into the left chair. With a single tap the dark control console
illuminated and the shuttle’s systems activated. The matter-antimatter chamber embedded in the dorsal hull
began to hum, the impulse reactors quiet rumbled, the air recirculator faintly hissed, and the gravity
generator let off a barely-perceptible whine. A symphony of beeps sounded as the computer ran through its
automated diagnostics.
Skon’s voice came on the shuttle’s speakers, “Captain, you’re clear to launch.”
“Thank you, Ensign.” Clark tapped the console to direct the shuttle to disconnect from the docking
ports, and a low thump reverberated through the Magellan. He lightly fired the thrusters and the shuttle
lifted a few meters off the deck and slowly drifted forward. The Magellan glided through the expansive bay
towards the rear launch doors.
27
The ends of the nacelles and the inner sides of the catamaran engineering hulls were visible
through the open middle door. The forcefield sparked brightly as Magellan coasted through the entryway.
Clark slowly piloted the shuttle under the cradling arms of the Aldrin.
“Computer,” Clark said. “Set a course for Toronto, Canada.”
The computer’s pleasant female voice said, “Course set.”
“Engage.”
The shuttle floated down below the Aldrin’s saucer and spun around, entirely on computer control.
The impulse engines fired and it shot forward beneath the starship and began a casual descent towards
Earth’s surface. It turned its ventral side down towards Earth, the vast Pacific Ocean a thousand kilometers
below. The curve of Earth was clearly visible through the Magellan’s forward windows. With the western
coast of North America approaching, the thrusters fired and pushed the shuttle deeper into the atmosphere,
almost immediately fiction-induced plasma started licking at the bow.
After a few seconds the shuttle was engulfed in a streak of yellow and purple plasma, executing a
series of wide banking S-curves to bleed off the speed. The inferno around the Magellan died as it slowed
even further, gliding over the cloudless nighttime border between the northern United States and the
southern edge of Canada. A blanket of white snow covered the wide open plains, though the sparkling
lights of Calgary and New Winnipeg still shone brightly. In just a few seconds time the Magellan passed
through the red lights of dusk and flew straight on into the rising sun.
Just as the CN Tower began to peak over the horizon, the computer beeped, announcing that it was
approaching its destination. Clark took over the controls and piloted the Magellan around the circular pod
at the top of the tower, pointing towards a tall residential tower near the shore of Lake Ontario. He slowed
the shuttle to a stop over the snow-capped building, and then slowly descended to the landing pad, kicking
up a cloud of glittering white snow.
Clark powered down the shuttle and opened the side door. He was immediately shocked by the
bitter coldness of the winter wind, which pushed against him as he stepped out onto the roof. He held his
arms against his chest to maintain some measure of warmth against the wind as he quickly walked around
the shuttle to the lift door sticking up over the edge of the tower.
He stood there and shivered for several seconds before remembering to push the small round down
arrow button to summon the elevator to this level. He reached down and tapped the button with his shaking
hand, immediately withdrawing to under his arms to shield them against the cold wind. It took a few more
seconds for the lift to arrive, then the metal door slid to the side and emptied its warmth onto Clark all at
once. He quickly stepped in and pressed the round button labeled ’10.’ The doors closed and the lift began
its smooth descent.
Clark turned to watch the smooth steel and glass facades of Toronto’s business district slide by,
but the lift slid to a stop a few seconds later. It chimed and the door slid open, revealing a Human girl, no
older than five years, with olive skin and straight black hair. Her puffy coat was clearly warm, but the
beagle dog on the leash she held wore nothing but its fur. She smiled at Clark and stepped in, “First floor,
please,” eliciting an immediate whimper as the dog looked out the lift window.
Clark smiled and pressed the button. He glanced down at the girl, who was looking up at him with
squinting eyes. She asked, “Are you in Starflight?”
“Starfleet?” Clark questioned.
She nodded vigorously.
“I am,” Clark said. He looked back out the window.
“What do you do?”
He returned his attention to her, “I’m a starship captain.”
“Oh.” She briefly turned her head down to her dog, and then looked back up to Clark, “I don’t
know what that means.”
“I’m in charge of the ship. I make sure we are able to perform our missions and that nobody gets
hurt.”
The girl’s lips parted slightly, then she said with confidence that startled Clark, “Aren’t you that
guy on the tenth floor that makes music?”
Clark smiled, “That’s me. But I’m going to be leaving for a while.”
“Why?” she asked.
Clark crouched down and scratched the dog’s head. It rewarded him with a lick on his palm. “I’m
taking my starship and my crew and we’re going to go explore the galaxy,” Clark said.
28
The girl nodded her head lightly, “Okay.” The elevator stopped with a ding and the doors opened.
The floor indicator read ‘10’.
“Looks like this is my floor,” Clark stood and stepped out of the elevator into the hall.
“Bye, Mister Captain,” the girl waved as the lift door closed. Clark gave her an awkward wave in
return, and then straightened his uniform. He walked down the hall and stopped at an old riveted steel door
with the number 104. He placed his hand on the control pad to the right and the lock clicked. The door
swung open with a gentle tug, revealing Clark’s apartment.
The two-story space was spacious, but not large by any measure. He was the only one living here,
and his pursuits during his times planetside didn’t really require that much space in the apartment. The
lower level was about eight meters square, with worn wood floors that ran out to the floor-to-ceiling wall of
glass that provided an unimpeded view of the iced-over lake. The open kitchen, and areas for dining and
entertaining, along with a small enclosed bathroom filled the lower level, while an open steel spiral
staircase led up to the half-depth loft that served as both bedroom and office.
Clark headed up those stairs, pausing at the top to look over his low white bed on the left and the
PADD- and paper-covered desk to his right. A bank of drawers ran the length of the back wall, with open
wood shelves covering the walls on both ends of the loft.
He stepped towards the bed, opening a drawer and pulling out a stack of neatly-folded civilian
clothing. He dropped them and a few more stacks of clothed onto the bed, disturbing the taut white sheets.
Clark kneeled and pulled a duffle bag from a lower drawer, set it in the bed, and put the clothes inside. He
grabbed several small decorative items, including a small velvet jewelry box, off a shelf above the bed.
After carefully placed the trinkets in the bag, Clark stood for a moment with the jewelry box in his
hand. He rubbed his fingers over its soft black velvet surface and then flipped open the top. Two silver
rings, one slightly larger than the other, sat in the box and glinted brightly in the morning light. They were
the only physical reminder he had of Majel; everything else had perished with the Cairo. He felt the wave
of emotions coming on and quickly snapped the box shut and dropped it into the duffel.
After taking a moment to compose himself, Clark grabbed the bag and walked it over to his desk,
where he grabbed several PADDs and stacks of hand-written manuscript paper. He tapped the edge of the
pile against the desk, then slipped them into the bag and headed back down the stairs.
29
6
U.S.S. Aldrin
Earth, Sol System, Sector 001
Stardate 57077.522932
“How many are left on the surface?” Clark watched the viewscreen as Starbase 1, a massive blue
multi-tiered orbital station, peaked up over Earth’s horizon. Though nearly five kilometers tall – large
enough to house several starships at once – Starbase 1 was still just a speck in front of the moon in the
distance.
R’Mor, the only other officer on the bridge, tapped her console, scrunched her brow, and tapped it
a few more times, “Just a moment, my–” She futilely tapped with more force, “–my console is frozen.”
Clark tapped the controls at the end of his armrest, receiving no response. He held his hand over
the small screen, “Huh. Computer, run level one diagnostic of bridge systems.”
The computer beeped as Clark stood and tapped the controls on the empty first officer’s chair. He
looked up to R’Mor, “Check the back stations.”
R’Mor stepped over to the science station, leaning over the edge. As she shook her head and
moved to the wide master system display at the center, the computer reported, “Level one diagnostic
complete. Bridge controls have been disconnected at ODN junction 5A.”
Clark blinked several times, “Why?”
“Unknown.”
Clark looked to R’Mor as he questioned again, “Why wasn’t the disconnect detected?”
“Unknown.”
He shook his head, “Clark to Engineering.”
The computer buzzed in response, “Intraship communications are offline.”
“I think something’s wrong,” R’Mor said, only letting a hint of sarcasm into her voice. She smiled
meekly at the annoyed glare Clark cast her way.
“Ensign, please head to Engineering and find out what the hell is going on.”
R’Mor nodded and headed towards the turbolift on the port side of the bridge. Expecting the door
to immediately open to the on-call turbolift on her approach, she nearly smacked into the unmoving panels.
She reached out and touched the control panel on the door side and received no response. The bridge lights
flickered and she mused, “EPS failure?” She paused, “Do you hear that?”
“I do…” Clark trailed off as an electronic hum rose out of the processing banks to R’Mor’s right.
He stepped towards the bulkheads, holding out a hand to tell R’Mor to stay where she was. The hum grew
louder and stopped as Clark reached the gray panel. He looked to R’Mor, who shrugged. The bulkhead
panel to Clark’s right suddenly blew off in a fireball that knocked him to the deck.
Stardate 57077.523312
“Commander!” the young lieutenant from Arkansas called out as she ran towards the warp core
where Vorik was standing. “Commander!”
“Yes, Lieutenant?” Vorik calmly responded.
She breathed heavily, “All the consoles… in Engineering… are… frozen!”
Vorik almost dropped the PADD he was holding, “What about the rest of the ship?”
“I don’t know.” She braced herself on a support for the platform around the warp core. Vorik
turned and lightly tapped a console attached to the warp core, receiving no feedback from the screen.
“Computer,” called Vorik, “Why have the access consoles stopped functioning?”
The computer calmly replied, “Unknown.”
Vorik looked to her, “Lieutenant…”
“Brown. Julie Brown,” she grinned.
“Theories?” Vorik prompted. He remained still as the lights flickered, an event that drew Brown’s
gaze upward.
“Failure of the primary EPS network would disrupt plasma flow to the main computer and–” she
stopped as the deck shuddered. An instant later the lights and consoles in Engineering all went dark,
30
leaving the swirling blue-green reaction in the warp core as the sole light source. “Secondary EPS controls
should have activated by now,” Brown said quietly.
Vorik called out into the darkness, “Report to the storage lockers for accountability.” The sound of
a few sets of boots sounded over the low hum of the warp core as the skeleton crew in Engineering made its
way to the lockers around the aft side of the warp core.
He tapped his combadge, “Vorik to Bridge.” After getting no response, he tapped again, “Vorik to
Clark.” After waiting a few seconds for all to arrive, Vorik counted the six shadowy officers before him
and said, “The Aldrin has suffered a significant systems failure. James and Dawson: diagnostics. Colmee:
reestablish communications with Engineering-B. Connors and Bur’var: activate emergency fusion reactors
and ensure life support is operational. Brown and myself: reestablish communications with the bridge.”
Vorik stepped to a storage locker, opened it, and started removing and distributing Type-2 hand
phasers and wrist lights to the officers, “All parties are to be armed at all times until this situation resolves
itself.” He slapped a two-lens light onto his wrist and turned it on, “Get to work.”
As the engineers quickly dispersed, Brown attached her phaser to her belt, “I take it you don’t
suspect EPS failure?”
Vorik walked towards the open Jefferies tube ladder to the side of the warp core, “I suspect
sabotage.”
Starfleet Academy
San Francisco, California
Stardate 57077.523882
Kelley stood quietly on the Academy transporter pad, waiting to be beamed to the Aldrin. A young
male Human cadet stood at the controls next to the pad in the Starfleet Academy Transportation Center, a
large crescent-shaped building composed of transporter pads, control offices, and waiting rooms, all
wrapped around an open-air landing pad filled with two dozen shuttlecraft. The glass walls overlooked San
Francisco Bay, the Golden Gate Bridge, and Starfleet Headquarters at the far end of the bridge.
The cadet working the freestanding transporter controls stared intently at his screen, “Ma’am, I’ve
lost contact with your ship.”
The pleasant memories of her 36-hour leave, including a surprise dinner with her parents up on the
moon, faded in an instant, “What?”
“The transport link failed, and I can’t reconnect,” he said.
“Did you try hailing them?” Kelley asked as she stepped off the pad.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
She looked over the back end of the console, “Scan for the Aldrin. It can’t have gone far.”
The cadet started the scan, and then looked up at Kelley, “Lieutenant, I’m only a second-year
cadet. I’m not trained for this; I should get my supervisor.”
Kelley sternly pointed back down at the console, “Cadet, scan.”
He looked to the console, “Sensors indicate the Aldrin is still in a standard orbit, but appears to be
without main power.” His brow furrowed, “Or lifesigns.”
“What’s your name?” Kelley asked.
“Francis Key, Ma’am.”
“Come with me, you’re getting me a shuttle,” Kelley started away from the transporter, headed for
the nearest door out onto the landing pad. Key quickly deactivated the transporter controls and ran after her.
As they stepped outside, the strong bay winds caught Kelley’s long hair and whipped it about her head. She
walked straight to the small covered control desk that sat in front of the neatly arranged shuttles.
A dark-skinned Human female cadet, with the four vertical bars on her collar of a senior-year
student, looked up at their approach, “Good morning, Ma’am.”
“I need a shuttle,” Kelley said, dispensing with pleasantries.
“I’m going to need your clearance,” the cadet standing behind the desk replied.
Kelley leaned forward, resting her arms on the desk, “What’s your name, Cadet?”
“Ann Siddik. Your clearance, ma’am?”
Kelley pointed up at the sky, “My ship is in orbit right now with no power, no communications,
and no lifesigns.”
31
Siddik’s mouth fell open for a moment, and then she asked, “What’s your ship?”
“U.S.S. Aldrin, NCC-89465.”
She tapped a few commands into a screen built into the desk and read, “Command lost contact
with the Aldrin two minutes, seventeen seconds ago. And it says I need a level five security clearance for
additional data.” Siddik looked up to Kelley, “What kind of ship is this?”
“I need a shuttle,” Kelley said. “Now.”
“I can’t allow that,” Siddik replied. “Starfleet Code 57, Section 6, Paragraph 4 requires that all
derelict vessels undergo a level three scan before being boarded.”
Kelley leaned in closer, “Do you think I care about Starfleet Code 57, Section 6, Paragraph 4 right
now?”
Siddik swallowed, “No.”
“Shuttle. Now.”
The cadet quickly worked her screen and then said, “Shuttle 7 is yours, Ma’am.”
Kelley nodded, “Thank you. Key, come with me.” She turned around and bumped into a towering,
brown-skinned Human male Starfleet officer, with nary a hair on his scalp and a full black goatee around
his mouth. He was accompanied by a shorter blue-skinned Bolian officer with an academic air about him.
Both carried bulging black duffel bags. “Excuse me,” Kelley said, noticing the phaser rifle slung over the
Human’s shoulder.
He nodded and turned to Siddik as Kelley and Key walked away, “Who do I need to talk to about
a missing starship?”
Kelley stopped and turned around, “The Aldrin?”
The Bolian jumped to the side, “How’d you know?”
Kelley walked back to the desk and stretched out an open hand, “Lieutenant Janice Kelley,
helmsman, U.S.S. Aldrin.”
The tall man smiled, “Lieutenant Commander John M. Murphy, Chief Tactical Officer.” He took
Kelley’s hand and shook briefly.
The Bolian waved, “Lieutenant Toq’bae. Science.”
Kelley smiled back, “Gentlemen, if you’re ready, I’ve got a shuttle waiting.” She looked to Siddik,
“Isn’t that right, Cadet?”
Siddik nodded, “Yes, Ma’am.”
U.S.S. Aldrin
Stardate 57077.631974
“Captain?” R’Mor’s voice called out in the darkness. Clark opened his eyes and rolled onto his
back, feeling the stiff carpet under his head. A dim flickering reddish light barely illuminated the bridge.
He blinked several times, “Ensign?” Clark shifted his arms back and propped himself up, finding
that he was facing towards the dark viewscreen.
R’Mor reached out and helped Clark up, “I’m here.”
“Did the processing bank that I helped repair just blow up in my face?” He turned his head to the
left, seeing R’Mor’s crouched silhouette against the flame-illuminated smoke filtering out of the exploded
bulkhead.
She shined a wrist light up at the meter-wide hole that spanned the entire height of the bank, “Yes,
it did.”
Clark groaned as he surveyed the damage, “Are you okay?”
“I caught a few pieces of shrapnel,” R’Mor paused, “I think. I haven’t had a chance to look in the
mirror.” She shined the wrist light on her face, revealing gashes across her left temple, over her right eye,
and a burn on her neck, all seeping dark green blood, “How do I look?”
“Like you got into a fight with a Ra’tar,” Clark joked. When R’Mor’s eyebrow rose, he added,
“And won, of course.”
She chuckled, “Glad to hear it. You, however, seem to have gotten off without a scratch.”
Clark slowly stood, with R’Mor balancing him, “Then why do I feel like I was run over by a
shuttlecraft?” He brushed a few bits of debris off this chest. “That then landed on my head.”
32
R’Mor shined her light over at the bent bulkhead over by the command chairs that had been
blasted away from the explosion, “You got hit by that instead of the stuff behind it.” She handed him a
wrist light.
He slapped the light onto the top of his wrist and the band automatically shot out one side,
wrapped around, and tightened itself down. “That explains it.” Clark looked back at the smoldering remains
of the bank, “That shouldn’t have knocked out power to the entire bridge.”
“It didn’t,” R’Mor said, “Unless it also locked all the access points and jammed the comms.” She
wiped a trickle of blood away from her eye, smearing dark green across her forehead.
Clark immediately headed for the weapons locked on the right side of the master systems display
at the back of the bridge. He pulled out two phaser rifles, activated both, and tossed one over the operations
arc to R’Mor, “Did they teach you anything about how to deal with vessel-disabling sabotage at the
Academy?”
“That depends,” R’Mor walked up towards Clark, “Have we been boarded?”
“You said the comms are jammed.”
She nodded, “We’ve been boarded. Then yes, they did.”
Clark asked, “Then what do we do next?”
“Find the boarding party and neutralize them.”
“Good.” Clark turned on the beacon on his rifle and aimed it at the deck, finding the closest hatch,
which happened to be at R’Mor’s feet. “Ensign, you might want to take a few steps back.” She silently
obliged.
A loud thump sounded from the rear of the bridge.
R’Mor looked up from the hatch and whsispered, “What was that?”
Clark slowly lifted his head, “The docking port.” A quieter thump followed and Clark turned and
aimed his rifle at the door that led down towards the dorsal docking port. R’Mor did the same and they both
quietly lowered themselves behind the ops arc. The door itself thumped and it slowly split open. Once it
was a few centimeters open, Clark fired a low power shot into the deck in front of the door and shouted,
“Identify yourself!”
A string of Human and alien obscenities followed, and then Kelley called from behind, “Captain,
it’s Kelley!”
Clark stood and shook his head, “You could have knocked!”
Toq’bae stuck his head against the opening, “Hello Captain!”
“Hello?” Clark slowly responded as he stood.
“We didn’t detect any life signs from the shuttle, Sir,” Toq’bae said through the crack.
Clark walked towards the door, “There are at least two of us here.”
“Could we get some help here?” Murphy called, “The door’s kind of–” he pulled hard, moving the
door apart a few centimeters, “–jammed.”
“We noticed.” Clark pointed R’Mor to the left side of the door and he took the right. With the
three on the opposite side they pried the door apart, managing close to a meter opening.
Murphy was the first to step through, patting the door as he did, “New ships are always a bit tight.”
He stretched out his right hand to Clark, using his left to pull his rifle back onto his shoulder, “Lieutenant
Commander John M. Murphy, Tactical.”
Clark took the hand and shook, “Captain David Clark.”
Toq’bae stepped around from behind Murphy, “Shi’laan Toq’bae.”
“Doctor, right?” R’Mor asked. When Clark shot her a quizzical look, she responded, “He has a
doctorate in wormholes or some such.” Clark’s look didn’t change. “It’s on his profile. You read the
profiles, right?”
Clark looked back to Toq’bae and Murphy, “This one is Ensign R’Mor. Operations and smartass.”
Toq’bae nodded, “Charmed. And you don’t have to call me ‘Doctor’. I’d actually prefer you
didn’t.”
“Sure thing,” Clark pointed his rifle at the nearby hatch, “We were going to blast our way out of
here, but now that you’re here…”
Murphy quickly swung his rifle around and seemingly without aiming fired it at the hatch. As
everybody on the bridge jumped back, the hatch clattered back into place, a charred and smoking hole
where its lock used to be.
Clark stepped up to the hatch and pointed his light at it, saying with disappointment, “I wanted to
do that.”
33
Murphy slipped his rifle back onto his shoulder, “Sorry, Sir.”
“No ‘sirs’,” Clark instructed as he crouched and lifted the hatch. It opened into the overhead of the
corridor below, between the mess hall and docking port. A strip of emergency lights at the base of the
bulkheads softly illuminated the space.
Murphy stepped forward, aiming his rifle into the hole. He slowly circled around, clearing as
much of the corridor as he could from above. “Looks good.”
Clark nodded and Murphy hopped forward into the hatchway. He landed in a crouch, immediately
bringing up his rifle and sweeping the corridor in both directions. Satisfied, Murphy flashed a thumbs-up at
the hatch and stepped out of the way. R’Mor followed in similar fashion, and then caught Toq’bae’s rifle as
it was dropped through. Toq’bae rolled with his landing, awkwardly coming to rest against a bulkhead.
R’Mor handed him his rifle with her right hand as she caught Kelley’s with her left. The lieutenant and
captain dropped through without incident.
Murphy walked up to Clark as the captain accepted his rifle from R’Mor, “We might have a
problem.”
“No way?”
Murphy pointed at the small tricorder screen built into his riflescope, “I’m reading four life signs
in the mess hall. A Vulcan, Deltan, and two Humans.”
“We don’t have any Deltans on the crew,” Clark said as he studied the display. “They’ve got a
power source in there.”
Kelley asked, “What are they doing in the mess hall?”
“If they’re doing what I think they’re doing,” Clark paused, “Then they’re trying to gain access to
the ship’s control functions through the primary ODN relay. It runs under the bridge – and over the mess
hall – to that processor bank.”
“We’re in Earth orbit,” Toq’bae said, “And the Aldrin is armed to the teeth. This could be bad.”
“If they’re paying attention, then they know we’re here,” Clark pointed down the corridor, “The
entrance is around that corner.” The five slowly moved towards the corner with Murphy leading the way.
He stopped at the edge of the corner with his back to the bulkhead.
Murphy whipped around the corner, immediately drawing fire from two Starfleet hand phasers. He
dropped back to the other four, unscathed, “Door’s open. Two shooters, one far and on the deck, the other
close and upright.” R’Mor, standing next to him, nodded. Murphy stepped away from the bulkhead and
R’Mor took his place. He turned around and faced down towards the door, still shielded by the corner, and
whispered “On three.” He silently mouthed the countdown and on ‘three,’ R’Mor turned the corner and
fired a burst of shots at the firer on the deck while Murphy strafed to the far side of the corridor, firing at
the closer and standing of the two.
Clark nodded as the two slowly moved toward the doorway, “Nicely done.” R’Mor quickly slid
across the bulkheads toward the door, her weapon pointed into the opening, while Murphy slowly inched
his way in the same direction on the opposite side of the corridor. Clark, Kelley, and Toq’bae stacked up
behind R’Mor. The sound of tumbling chairs and tables came from within the mess hall. Murphy
sidestepped ever closer towards the door, his field of fire slowly widening and shifting across the darkened
mess hall as he moved. He was almost even with the door opening when he jumped away; a phaser beam
impacted the bulkhead where his chest had been just a moment prior.
Murphy whispered to the rest of the group, “There’s one standing on a table in the center of the
room, doing something in the overhead.”
“ODN relay,” Clark confirmed.
“The other put down some tables as barricades right next to him. I can’t take out the standing one
without getting in the line of fire,” Murphy continued.
“Suggestions?” Clark prompted.
Murphy looked around, “You wouldn’t happen to have brought a flash grenade with you?”
“I knew I was forgetting something,” Clark rolled his eyes. He saw movement back down the hall
and immediately lifted his rifle.
Jensen held her own rifle to her side as she approached, “Easy, David.”
Clark lowered his rifle, “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“I believe this makes six on one,” Jensen said, bringing her weapon back to a ready stance.
“We’re completely exposed if we try to rush the position,” Murphy countered. “He could mow
down the six of us one at a time.”
“Can you at least lay down suppressive fire?” Jensen asked.
34
“I lay down suppressive fire in my sleep,” Murphy said cockily.
Jensen chuckled, “I have a witty response, but I’m going to let that one slide.” She pointed back
down the hall, “You two lay down suppressive; the Captain and I will come in through the other entrance
and get him from behind.”
“He’s barricaded the back side too,” Murphy cautioned.
Jensen smiled, “Then keep him busy so he doesn’t know we’re coming up behind him.” She
turned and ran back down the hall, Clark stood for a second and then ran after her.
Murphy looked to R’Mor, “Put down a few shots – I’m going to take the other side.” She quickly
turned the corner and quickly fired blindly into the mess hall, forcing the shooter down as Murphy jumped
across the doorway to the far side. He slammed his back against the bulkhead and dropped to the deck,
“Keep your shots low enough that they’re not going to get over the tables.” R’Mor mirrored his stance and
a second later turned the corner to fire into the barricade.
Clark wedged his rifle stock into the seam of the closed door and pushed. The door resisted his
effort for a few seconds before sliding stiffly about half a meter open. Jensen crouched behind the door and
peered in, finding the shooter occupied with the sporadic fire from Murphy and R’Mor in the opposite
doorway. She looked up at Clark, “It looks like he’s not protected on the sides.”
Clark looked in, noting the figure on the table with his head and arms up in the overhead, “You go
right and put down some more suppressive fire. If he’s smart he’ll take the exit to the left – Murphy and
R’Mor don’t have coverage there. I’ll grab him as he comes out.”
“Got it.” Jensen slipped through the door, staying low as she quietly moved into the standing
tables and chairs by the forward windows. Clark followed and broke to the left, moving in towards the
barricades. Jensen took up a position behind a table, aiming obliquely into the shooter’s side. She looked to
her left, got a thumbs-up from Clark, and immediately began firing.
Her first shots barely missed and the shooter immediately dropped and scrambled on all four out
towards the galley. Clark lunged forward and tackled what was now visibly a red-haired female Human
from the side, kicking away her rifle and rolling over top of her in the process. He landed on his back with
the woman facing towards him and struggling to get up. Clark quickly kicked into her chest, knocking her
onto her back. He looked up to see the last man trying to climb up into the overhead, “Jensen!”
She was already on her way in. Jensen ran across the tabletops and leapt for the dangling legs. Her
arms wrapped around the man’s thighs and pulled his body out from the overhead, along with a mess of
conduits and cables in his hands. The pair flipped in the air over Clark and crashed into a cluster of chairs.
Clark stood as the other four came in, securing the unconscious bodies of the three shooters.
Jensen rolled off of the limp body of the fourth man and landed sitting upright on the deck. She and Clark
both froze. The man was clothed in beaten and heavily worn brown civilian attire, but his Vulcan features
were unmistakable. They both spoke at once, stunned and confused, “Vorik?”
35
7
U.S.S. Aldrin
Stardate 57077.861838
Clark squatted by the mess hall chair to which the Vulcan was bound with ODN cabling. A wrist
light sat on the table across from the unconscious figure, casting an eerie glow on his placid face. He wore
dirty gray pants, a well-worn simple brown leather jacket, and traditional Vulcan slippers. Clark looked up
at the identical Starfleet-uniformed Vulcan standing next to him, “You never told me you had a twin.” The
restrained Vulcan stirred quietly in the chair.
“I did not think it was necessary,” Vorik stated, “Starfleet records indicated that Taurik was lost
with the U.S.S. Geiger during the war.”
“Not entirely lost,” Cochrane pointed his wrist light at Taurik’s neck, the beam glinting off a small
transparent capsule protruding from the skin. “What have we here?” Bits of white residue flaked the
interior of the cartridge. The skin around the capsule was a dark green, cracked with dryness.
Vorik squatted slightly to look at it more closely, “I don’t recognize this implant.”
Clark’s expression turned grim, “That’s ketracel-white.”
Cochrane had pulled out a tricorder and confirmed, “It sure is.”
Jensen walked up, pushed the wristlight on the table to the side, and leaned against the tabletop,
“Why is it in his neck?”
Cochrane pointed his light over at the Human woman, the only conscious one of the four, tied to
another chair a few tables away and being examined by Wright, “Show me her neck.” Wright moved to lift
her head, but she quietly complied before he could touch her. A similar capsule was clearly visible sticking
from her neck.
Clark squinted, “Has she said anything?”
Wright shrugged as she glared at him, “Nothing, Sir.”
Clark turned his attention back to Taurik, “Let’s find out what they’re doing. Wake him.”
Cochrane fumbled with a hypospray in the dim light, then pressed it to Taurik’s neck. It hissed as the
chemicals were propelled into the Vulcan’s bloodstream. Cochrane immediately took a few steps back as
the Vulcan groggily raised his head.
Taurik slowly looked around the mess hall with bloodshot eyes, squinting at the light shining from
the table, and then suddenly lunged forward at Jensen. The commander instinctively pushed off the deck
and rolled over the top of the table. Restrained by the bindings around his chest, wrists, and legs, Taurik
and the chair lurched forward and then caught on the carpet. He tipped headfirst into the edge of the table,
hitting with a solid thud before crashing sideways against the deck, his back to Vorik’s feet.
Vorik put a booted foot on the side of the chair, firmly holding his brother against the deck. Taurik
struggled anyway, twisting against the restraints until a small brown bag fell out from inside his jacket and
clinked against the deck. He froze, his eyes focused on the bag in front of his face. His face twitched with
un-Vulcan-like panic and anger as green blood ran from the fresh gash on his forehead.
Clark calmly knelt by Taurik and gently picked up the bag. He looked inside and handed it up to
Cochrane, “More white.” Cochrane pulled a vial out and nodded in agreement. Clark stared at Taurik,
“What are you doing on my ship?”
Taurik spat a loose tooth onto the deck and said quietly, his voice raspy, but unmistakably similar
to Vorik’s, “We’re trying to… finish,” He coughed and spoke deliberately, “What the Dominion… started.”
“The war ended over four years ago,” Clark argued. “There’s nothing to finish.”
The Vulcan’s eyes suddenly burned with fury, “I am not finished!”
Taurik twisted violently against the cables, forcing Vorik to shift his weight towards the leg
holding down the chair, “Brother, you must retain control of your emotions.”
Undeterred, Taurik thrashed violently in the chair, “I cannot!” He succeeded in breaking the
binding on his left ankle and flipped the chair onto its back, sending Vorik tumbling back against a table.
Taurik forcefully kicked down with his free leg, lifting the chair up and twisting his own body to reach his
bound hands out to grab the side of the chair. Clark jumped up from his crouch, grabbed the back of the
airborne chair, and forced it and Taurik face-down against the deck.
36
The mess hall fell silent at the loud thud of Taurik’s face striking the deck. Taurik struggled to
move, but the weight of his body pulled against the restraints of the chair, forcing it down against the back
of his knees and neck. Clark stood over the immobilized Vulcan, breathing heavily and primed to continue
the fight.
“Captain…” Cochrane cautioned, his voice tinged with the tone of a scolding parent.
“Are you done?” Clark asked loudly, his attention focused solely on Taurik.
Taurik fought to breath, but managed to groan, “Yes.” Clark stood still for a few seconds longer
before kicking the side of the chair, knocking Taurik over with it.
The Vulcan gasped for air for several seconds, not fighting back as Vorik retied his freed leg to the
chair. Taurik closed his eyes and growled, “The Dominion must pay!”
Jensen stepped up to Clark’s side, “Pay for what?”
“What they did to us!”
Clark slowly kneeled, resting an arm on his knee, “And just what did they do to you?”
Taurik shuddered, and then said in a low, dark tone, “They experimented on us. Made us
dependent on ketracel-white… made us their slaves. They forced us to fight the Federation, or they would
take away the White. We had no choice,” The Vulcan paused, “Not having the White is worse than death.”
The cartridge in his neck gurgled, running low on the drug.
“Are you the one who sabotaged my ship?”
“Yes.”
Clark restrained himself from kicking Taurik in his exposed stomach, but kept a neutral face,
“What did you do?”
Taurik shifted slightly against his bindings, searching for a less uncomfortable position, “We
modified bio-neural gel packs to contain a hidden command sequence that would enable us to silently take
control of the ship.”
Vorik’s brow furrowed, “Modified gel packs would have been detected during the assembly
clearance scans.”
Taurik smiled for a moment, “Not if they were brought on in an emergency requisition.” Clark
lowered his head and grimaced as Taurik continued, “We recreated the de-synthesizing virus and released
it… into the gel pack labs on the moon.” He coughed and a slight gurgling emanated from his throat. “It’s
detectable, but not until the packs have been in use for several hours. Once they were installed on the
Aldrin, all we had to do was wait for them to be detected and have you install the modified packs yourself.”
Green blood trickled from the lower corner of his mouth.
“How did you get on the Aldrin?” Clark demanded.
Taurik started shuddering, “I require… a… new cartridge.”
Cochrane fingered the pack of ketracel-white tubes, “Captain, he’s suffering from ketracel-white
deprivation.”
Clark carefully watched Taurik as he coughed for several seconds, spattering blood on the carpet,
“So?”
“If he’s telling the truth, that the Dominion made them dependent on white, then he could die,”
Cochrane said as he stepped forward and hefted Taurik’s chair back to vertical. “He won’t be of much use
at all then.”
“How long does he have?”
Cochrane looked at his tricorder and shook his head. “No more than ten minutes before he suffers
permanent brain damage.”
“Ten minutes should be all I need,” Clark grabbed a chair, spun it backwards, and sat with is legs
straddling the back. He repeated to Taurik, “How did you get on the Aldrin?” Exasperated, Cochrane
walked away.
Taurik to a deep breathe and tried to collect himself, “We triggered a plasma fire in the drydock
staging area, and then disabled… the station’s internal sensors and transported onto the ship. We used
tricorders to… mask our signatures.” His eyes rolled back and his head fell to his chest.
Clark leaned forward against the chair back, “Where did they keep you?”
The Vulcan shook his head and gazed dully at Clark, “What?” Dark green blood dripped from his
open mouth.
“The Dominion. Where did they keep you?”
Taurik began to breath heavily, then suddenly let loose a string of loud, moist, coughs. Green
blood poured from his open mouth, splattering against his chest and lap. He struggled, “They kept us…
37
at… at Internment Camp… One… Twenty. Gamma Quadrant.” He coughed again, sputtering blood onto
the mess hall carpet.
His body suddenly went limp, throwing the chair off balance. The chair tipped over and slammed
to the deck, causing Taurik’s head to slam against the deck yet again. Dark green blood drained from the
his mouth and spread across the carpet. Vorik immediately dropped to his brother’s side and held a hand to
his neck to feel for a pulse.
Cochrane’s tricorder let out shrill series of beeps, but he didn’t have to look at the screen to know
what was happening. He rushed forward, brandishing a medical kit and the bag of ketracel-white cartridges,
“We’re losing him!”
Clark conceded, “All right, give him a cartridge.”
“That’s not going to be enough,” Cochrane said as he went to his knees by Taurik’s head. The
Vulcan began to tremble slightly as Cochrane rushed to open his kit.
“Damn it! Light!” the elderly doctor barked. R’Mor silently stepped forward and shined her wrist
light on the kit. Cochrane immediately snatched a cylinder full of green liquid from the kit and shoved it
into the bottom of the hypospray already in his hand. He pressed the hypospray to Taurik’s neck and a quiet
hiss followed.
Cochrane looked up at Vorik, who nodded as Taurik’s heartbeat stabilized. He snapped, “Let’s
undo these restraints. He needs to be in sickbay, not strapped to a galley chair.” He cast an angry glance up
at Clark.
Taurik’s trembling gradually subsided as Cochrane and Vorik untied the cables, removed the chair,
and rolled him onto his back. Cochrane carefully removed the empty ketracel-white cartridge from Taurik’s
neck, carefully placed it in his med-kit, and inserted a fresh cartridge in the hole.
Clark stood and walked over towards the Human woman, “What’s your name?” Wright closed his
medical kit and stepped away.
“Ward.”
Clark stepped around behind her, “Can I trust you enough to untie you?”
“White deprivation doesn’t bring emotions to the surface in Humans like it does in Vulcans,”
Ward said. “I’m not going to try and kill you, if that’s what you you’re asking.” The Aldrin’s orbit brought
it out of Earth’s shadow and the forward-facing mess hall windows were suddenly filled with blinding
yellow sunlight. Ward’s short red hair glowed like it was fire. Clark nodded and untied her restraints.
Ward slowly stood and stretched her arms in front of her, “Thank you, Captain.”
Clark pointed at the closest table and chairs, “Take a seat.” Ward silently obeyed and Clark took a
chair opposite hers, “You’re Starfleet.”
“Ensign Orlaith Ward, U.S.S. Geiger,” she responded.
“You were with Vorik?” Clark asked.
Ward nodded and rubbed her neck next to her white cartridge, “I was.”
“Tell me about Interment Camp One Twenty.”
She looked down at the table for a few seconds before looking back up, “What do you want to
know?”
Clark thought for a moment, “How did they get you to the Gamma Quadrant?”
Ward shook her head, “I don’t know. I remember the Geiger coming under attack, and then I woke
up at the camp.”
“How did you escape?”
“We sabotaged the power supplies and stole a Jem’Hadar attack ship in orbit.”
Clark nodded, “Where is it now?”
“The attack ship? We were forced to sell it to some Ferengi when we ran out of fuel and were
being pursued by a whole DM fleet.”
“How did you get here?” Clark questioned.
Ward chuckled, “Well, we purchased a shuttle from that sucker of a Ferengi and ran. We snuck
through the wormhole in the wake of a transport, abandoned the shuttle, and stowed away to here.”
Clark nodded slowly and then asked, “And where is this Interment Camp One Twenty?”
“Why do you care?”
“So we can find and punish those responsible for doing this to you.”
Ward swallowed hard, “I don’t have the coordinates. I’m a pilot, I can help you get there.”
Clark leaned back in his chair and studied Ward, who he could tell was studying him right back.
38
8
U.S.S. Aldrin
Stardate 57078.888816
Clark looked around the bridge, again fully lit and operational. The charred and mangled mess that
had been the processing bank had been replaced with an entirely new module. Toq’bae and Murphy had
taken their stations at the aft of the bridge for the first time, and all the rest were back at their posts. Clark
spun his chair around and looked up at R’Mor, “Ensign, open a channel to Admiral Russell.”
R’Mor lightly tapped her console, “Channel open.”
A holographic projection of Admiral Russell’s stooped body appeared in the middle of the bridge.
He held a PADD with both hands, “Interesting report here, Captain.”
Clark stood and approached the Russell hologram, “It’s an interesting situation, Sir.”
“Four Dominion POWs escape and try to hijack an experimental Starfleet vessel to exact revenge
on their captors? That’s the sort of plotline Herman Braga makes holonovels out of!” Russell exclaimed.
“I’ve seen stranger things happen,” Clark said.
“Indeed,” Russell nodded, “I’ve already called Commander Noton with the Diplomatic Corps to
get the investigation started. But I’m sure the DM’s just going to stonewall us.”
Clark took a deep breath, “Admiral, with all due respect to the Diplomatic Corps, I’d like the
opportunity for my crew to investigate.”
Russell crimped his face in thought, “I’ll have to get in touch with the Diplo’ Corps, but I’ll see
what I can do. Russell, out.” His image wavered and then disappeared. Clark let himself drop into his
command chair.
The console next to Clark’s chair suddenly beeped, “Vorik to the Bridge.”
Clark tapped the console, “Bridge here.”
“All systems are operational, Captain,” Vorik said.
“Good. Make sure they’re ready for departure,” Clark ordered.
“Yes, Captain. Vorik, out.” Clark waited, smiling a bit as he to the quiet humming of his ship.
After a few moments, Jensen turned to Clark, “Just what are you planning on doing?”
Clark paused for a moment, “Ward agreed to help guide us to the camp. Once we’re there, we’ll
try to get any prisoners still there. I’ll try some gentle diplomacy, and probably have to resort to acting,” he
paused, hating the idea, “Militarily.”
Jensen nodded and said with a hint of sarcasm, “Sounds fun.”
R’Mor spoke from behind the pair, “Admiral Russell is calling.”
“Put him on,” Clark ordered.
Russell appeared again in holographic form, “Well David, it seems that they like you in the Diplo’
Corps – and in Starfleet Command. You’ve got permission from Admiral West to go do your thing.”
Clark blinked several times, “That was fast.”
“West doesn’t mess around,” Russell chuckled, “As soon as you pick up the subspace relay,
you’re to proceed at maximum warp to Deep Space Nine and then on to the Gamma Quadrant.”
“Understood,” Clark nodded.
“Russell, out.” He smiled as his image winked out.
“The relay’s on the surface; I’ve got a transporter lock,” R’Mor stated, already beginning to
anticipate her next orders.
Jensen laughed, “Go ahead.”
R’Mor was silent for a few seconds and then said, “Got it. Cargo Bay One.”
“Lieutenant Kelley,” Clark said, “Set a course for Deep Space 9, maximum warp.”
“Course set.”
Clark paused, “Engage.” The humming of the ship went up in pitch as the Aldrin left Earth orbit.
Kelley piloted the vessel up and out of the solar plane, pointing out towards the Bajor system. The Aldrin
coasted forward for a few seconds before Kelley tapped a finger on the warp control on the helm and
dragged up.
39
The Aldrin’s advanced warp drive system responded instantly, channeling warp plasma energy
from the dual cores to the massive nacelles. The ship shot forward like a rock launched from a slingshot,
disappearing in a flash of subspace energy.
Unexpectedly, the crew on the bridge was painfully pressed back in their seats for a split second,
excepting R’Mor, who by virtue of having a standing station, was forcefully flung back into the aft screen.
Clark blinked several times with wide eyes, looked over at Jensen, and tapped his combadge,
“Clark to Vorik.”
“Vorik here.”
“The initial dampeners on the bridge are lagging just a hair,” Clark said, “We’re lucky we weren’t
flattened into a molecular paste up here.”
“I’m dispatching a repair team. Vorik, out.”
A loud moan of pain emanated from the back of the bridge. Toq’bae called out, “She’s hurt!”
Clark leapt from his seat and came around to find R’Mor’s thin body splayed out at the back of the bridge
with Toq’bae and Murphy kneeling on either side. R’Mor’s chest rose in shaky gasps as she breathed
heavily. Toq’bae looked up at Clark, fear piercing his dark blue eyes, “She’s not responding.”
Clark crouched over R’Mor’s face, contorted in pain. She opened her eyes and looked up,
breathing laboriously. Clark called to her in earnest, “Nevala!” She just absently looked up, and then
labored to breath again. She began to quickly whisper in Romulan, the language coming across to Clark as
incomprehensible, yet elegant. She dug her nails into the carpeted deck and the veins and tendons in her
neck bulged out, her pain almost too much for Clark to bear.
“Kelley!” Clark yelled, “Get back here!”
She was already on her way, med-kit in hand. Her field medical training took over as she fell to
her knees and opened the kit, promptly removing a hypospray and a canister filled with a clear liquid.
Kelley jammed the canister into the hypospray’s bottom and pressed it to R’Mor’s neck. With a hiss of the
hypospray, R’Mor quieted down and relaxed a bit. Kelley asked her, “Where does it hurt?”
R’Mor didn’t respond, so Kelley immediately began to gently push her fingers into various points
along her rib cage, probing for a response. Kelley moved her fingers to R’Mor’s back, pushed, and heard
the sickening grating of bone against bone. R’Mor screamed something that Clark assumed was a Romulan
curse.
Clark watched as Kelley looked up in horror. He smacked his combadge “Clark to Sickbay!”
“Cochrane here.”
“Doctor, we’ve got a medical emergency up here!” Clark said. Kelley received a tricorder from
Toq’bae and scanned R’Mor, “It’s R’Mor.”
“I’m on my wa-” Cochrane’s voice cut out as he rushed to the bridge.
A shimmer of transporter energy appeared next to R’Mor. It coalesced into a med-kit-toting
Cochrane, who immediately knelt next to R’Mor. He pulled a tricorder off his belt and scanned her.
Cochrane reported, “She’s fractured a few ribs and it looks like she’s bruised her spine. What on
Earth happened?” Cochrane opened his med-kit and removed a few tools.
“Inertial dampener misalignment,” Clark said.
Cochrane looked up at him with bewilderment, “And you’re still alive?”
“It was probably only a microsecond off,” Clark explained as Cochrane ran a small scanner over
R’Mor’s chest. “The rest of us should just be sore for a few hours.”
“She’s lucky to still be alive,” Cochrane said, “Her spinal column suffered a major blow. I’m
going to need to get her down to sickbay now.”
“Do it,” Clark stood and stepped back.
Cochrane tapped the combadge on his chest, “Cochrane to Transporter Room One. Two to beam
directly to sickbay.”
“Stand by,” came a voice from his combadge. Cochrane and R’Mor dissolved in a shimmer of
energy.
Bajor System
15:51 Hours, February 2nd, 2380
Stardate 57089.399202
The face of Colonel Kira Nerys filled the viewscreen on the Aldrin’s bridge, “Hello, Captain. A
bit late, aren’t we?”
40
Clark glanced at the antique silver linked watch on his wrist, looked up, and smiled, “Only by a
few hours. They’re new engines.”
“Yeah, right,” Kira sarcastically retorted, “Okay David, you’re cleared to dock at Upper Pylon
Two. Kira, out.” The viewscreen switched to a view of the former Cardassian mining station, now joint
Starfleet/Bajoran base Deep Space 9. When the Cardassians had abandoned their annexation of Bajor, they
had left the massive circular station in orbit. Soon after, when the Federation had stepped in to help the
ailing Bajorans, a stable wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant was discovered nearby, and the rest had
become history.
Clark smiled. “You heard her, Kelley. Upper Pylon Two.”
“David?” Murphy questioned.
Clark swiveled in his chair, “Yes?”
Murphy leaned forward, propping himself up on the edge of the tactical station, “David?”
“What?” Clark sat there for a moment, and then realized the tactical officer was questioning his
being called ‘David’ by a station commander, “Oh, ‘David’. Right, Nerys and I were friends while I was
stationed here.”
Murphy leaned back in his chair and stroked at his goatee, “Right. ‘Friends’.” He made mock
quotation marks in the air with his fingers as he said ‘friends’. Jensen looked over at Clark with a
questioning expression.
Clark laughed for a moment and raised his hands defensively, “I swear, we were only friends,
nothing more!”
Kelley interrupted them from the front of the bridge, “Commencing docking at Airlock Two.”
Clark spun his chair to a forward facing position and saw the tip of Upper Pylon One on the left side. A
quiet thud reverberated through the Aldrin. “Docking complete,” reported Kelley.
“Good,” Clark said. He smacked his open palms against his chair.
The turbolift door suddenly opened, and four fresh duty officers walked onto the bridge. “Shift
change! Looks like we’re off duty now,” Toq’bae said.
Clark stood from the command chair, “We certainly are.” He stood and handed a PADD of the
day’s rosters and reports to the ranking Lieutenant, and then headed towards the turbolift. Jensen, Kelley,
Toq’bae, and Murphy, with his phaser rifle slung across his back, were already inside. Once Clark stepped
in, Jensen ordered, “Airlock Two.”
The door slid shut and the lift began to descend. Toq’bae critically studied Murphy for a second
and then asked, “Do you carry that thing around with you wherever you go?”
“You mean my rifle?” Murphy reached back and patted its black stock. Toq’bae nodded. “I don’t
always carry it around when I’m off duty. Is that good?”
Toq’bae rolled his eyes, “I suppose it will have to do.”
“I only carry my knife when off duty.” Murphy stared flatly at Toq’bae for a few seconds before
slowly grinning.
The lift doors snapped open to reveal a corridor crowded with crewmen waiting to disembark.
“Apparently three days is enough to cause cabin fever,” Jensen quipped as she stepped off.
She turned to her right, finding empting space where she expected Clark to be standing. Jensen
looked over her shoulder, finding Clark still in the lift. He ordered, “Sickbay,” and the door slid shut.
Stardate 57089.504444
“Hey, Doc, when do I get to leave this place?” R’Mor huffed as she sat on one of the beds in
sickbay. Her fitted two-piece white post-surgery outfit was growing more and more itchy by the minute,
“I’d rather like to get back to duty.”
Cochrane walked out of his office, “As soon as your blood pressure is back down to normal.”
R’Mor sat up on the bed and vigorously scratched at her chest, “Are these things supposed to be
this itchy?” She suddenly took in a deep breath and sneezed violently, whipping her black hair.
“No,” Cochrane said, stopping as R’Mor inhaled deeply. She let out another powerful sneeze,
spraying saliva into the air. “Would you stop that?” Cochrane joked, “You’re getting bio-matter all over my
sickbay!”
R’Mor began scratching at her legs, “Everything in here is pre-sanitized and-,” she sneezed again,
“-and bio-matter resistant.” She sniffled lightly and rubbed her finger under her nose.
41
“Then why are you sneezing like that?” Cochrane asked.
“I don’t know!” R’Mor yelled. She slammed her hands against the bed, “You’re the doctor; you
tell me!”
Cochrane shrugged, “I’ll have to run some tests.” He walked away and grabbed a medical
tricorder off a small, freestanding lab station. He came back, flipped it open, and began scanning R’Mor.
Cochrane read the readouts and then said, “Your histamine levels are way above normal.”
R’Mor rubbed her eyes, “And that means what?”
“It would appear that you’re having an allergic reaction,” Cochrane stated.
“With what? I thought this place was pre-sanitized; doesn’t that mean no allergens?”
Cochrane raised his eyebrows, “I think it’s your post-op garb.”
R’Mor looked down at her white outfit and tugged at the bottom of her tunic, “This?” She stifled
another sneeze. “What’s it made of?” R’Mor sniffled lightly.
Cochrane thought for a moment, “I believe it’s synthetic cotton.”
“ ‘Cotton’?” she questioned.
“It’s a fabric made from the fibers of an Earth plant, or at least a synthetic facsimile of. I’ll get you
a different outfit.” R’Mor began to disrobe as he walked over to a replicator, “One caminar post-op outfit.”
As the folded silk-like outfit was materializing in the replicator, the door to the corridor slid open and Clark
walked into the sickbay.
Clark stopped, looked over at R’Mor, and found that she was topless, the sound of the opening
door apparently muffled when she was pulling her shirt off over her head. She deposited her removed tunic
as a rumpled pile of white fabric on the low bed between herself and Clark, and placed her thumbs in the
sides of her white pants, pulling them away from her hips. As much as he was enjoying the display, Clark
knew that he was stepping out of line as a commanding officer and gentlemen, so he quickly looked away
and cleared his throat to alert her of his presence.
His action came too late: R’Mor’s pants dropped, leaving her slim body completely naked. At
Clark’s throat clearing, R’Mor gasped, bent down, and pulled her pants back up to cover her lower torso.
She quickly grabbed the white tunic off the bed and held it against her chest. She managed a forced,
embarrassed smile, and her face and chest blushed green with her Romulan blood.
Clark laughed, “No need to be embarrassed, you have a, uh, amazing,” R’Mor leveled a scathing
glare on Clark, forcing him to quickly change his choice of words, “An attractive body.” He instantly
regretted the selection, but R’Mor simply brought her elbows closer into her body, covering the center of
her stomach in favor of the sides of her slender waist. Clark decided to steer the awkward one-way
conversation in a more neutral direction, “How are you feeling?”
“Fine, Captain, just having a, uh, allergic reaction.” The warm blushing slowly drain from her
cheeks.
Clark resisted laughing, “To what?”
R’Mor shifted uneasily, then moved her arms to hold the shirt against her chest with one hand,
while gently tugging at her white pants with the other, “Synthetic ‘cotton’.”
Clark looked to Cochrane and demanded, “Why didn’t we know about this?”
Cochrane pulled the folded stack of lustrous gray fabric from the replicator, “The Romulan
immune system is very unique. Her last physical only found an allergy to pollen.”
“I’m allergic to pollen?” R’Mor walked towards Clark and Cochrane.
“Mildly, but yes.” Cochrane handed the folded caminar to R’Mor, who held it to her chest. She
turned her head and sneezed loudly.
R’Mor sarcastically rolled her eyes, “Thanks for telling me.” She turned and placed the outfit on
an empty steel cart near the entrance to Cochrane’s office. Facing away from Clark and Cochrane, she
dropped the tunic on the deck and looked over her shoulder to see if either was watching her.
“Does she have any other allergies?” Clark looked directly at Cochrane.
Cochrane shook his head, “Not that I know of. I don’t think even a full body scan could reveal
much more.” Convinced that neither man was paying attention to her, R’Mor grabbed the upper layer of
gray fabric, and snapped it in the air, unfolding it.
“Do it anyway,” Clark said, “You might find something, you never know.”
R’Mor turned, holding a pair of meter-square gray sheets of caminar in front of her, “You might
want to have a talk with the replicator.”
42
Cochrane snatched the fabric out of R’Mor’s raised hands, forcing her to resort to covering herself
with only her hands. He held it up to Clark, “I asked it for a post-op outfit and it gave me a sheet of fabric?”
He tossed the sheets back to R’Mor.
Clark looked at the replicator and then ordered, “Computer, one glass of water.” A clear glass
shimmered into being in the replicator. It held its shape for a moment, and then collapsed into a puddle of
water that spilled out of the replicator and onto the carpeted deck.
“A ‘glass of water,’ apparently our replicator has a sense of literal humor,” Cochrane commented.
“I’ll get an engineer to come down here and take a look at it,” Clark said. He glanced at R’Mor
and found that she had taken the caminar sheets and used them as a non-allergenic covering, with one
tucked one around her hips like a towel and the other across her chest.
Cochrane was silent for a moment and then asked, “Captain, when will we be arriving at Deep
Space 9?”
“Oh, about fifteen minutes ago,” Clark said, “Oh, and before I forget, you’re both off duty now, so
you can go ahead and pay a visit to the station. And I highly suggest you do so before we head to the
Gamma Quadrant.” He turned and walked out of the sickbay.
“You heard the man,” R’Mor said, “We’re off duty. Where’s my uniform?”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that just yet,” Cochrane said.
“And why not?” R’Mor demanded.
“Full body scan, missy,” Cochrane stated. “Captain’s orders. Off duty or not.” He walked over to
the main surgery bed and gestured for R’Mor to get on it. She sauntered over, sat on the edge, and then laid
face up while rolling her eyes. Cochrane pressed a button on the bed’s console and a thin, curved computer
screen came from the bedside and arched over R’Mor’s stomach.
43
9
Ops Module, Deep Space 9
Stardate 57089.852280
Clark and Kira walked out through the wide doors of the Deep Space 9 commander’s office,
stepping down the short flight of steps, giggling uncontrollably. They reached the bottom and Clark
clapped a hand on Kira’s shoulder, “And then the Vulcan said, ‘Commander, your antennae are twitching’!”
Kira doubled over, laughing so hard her face turned noticeably red. Clark couldn’t help but join in
the laughter, chuckling as Kira grabbed onto a nearby dark brown console to steady herself. She stood
upright and grabbed both of Clark’s shoulders, “David, it’s been too long! Do you have time for a drink
down at Quark’s?”
Clark glanced at a chronometer on a nearby console, “Uh, yeah, plenty of time.”
They walked up to the open-air turbolift and stepped in, with Kira ordering, “Promenade.” The lift
descended with a steady mechanical drone.
“So,” Clark leaned against the turbolift rail, “Are the runabout bays still working out for you?”
“They’re great. And those runabouts are a lot more durable then they look.”
“Really? They look like crap.” Clark said flatly, “Speaking of runabouts, are you going to be
getting any of the Tigris-class runabouts?”
Kira shook her head, “No. We practically had to beg Starfleet just to keep the Danubes we have
now.”
Clark’s voice cracked, “What?”
“They wanted to recall our six runabouts for redeployment at Grangia Station,” Kira sighed, “The
treaty with the Tholians set a border far enough out that Grangia’s considered to be in a safe zone. So
Starfleet wanted to redeploy ours out to that sector, but without replacing ours. I mean, we have the Defiant
and all, but this station needs smaller transports.”
The turbolift slowed to a stop at the lower level of Deep Space 9’s promenade level. The two-level
ring-shaped commercial center was bustling with hundreds of people, a healthy mix of Starfleet and
Bajoran personnel and Ferengi and Klingon civilians. The promenade served as a home for several station
establishments, from the security office, infirmary, and grade school, to a Bajoran religious temple,
restaurants, and shops. Almost directly ahead of Clark and Kira’s turbolift was Quark’s Bar,
unquestionably the most active business on the station, thanks in part to its several holosuites and dabo
tables.
Clark and Kira stepped down off the turbolift and headed for the bar. The notorious Ferengi
working behind the bar by the entrance quickly sighted the colonel and made his way out of sight. Clark
stopped in the middle of the Promenade, letting the crowd flow around him. Kira stopped and turned to
face him, “What?”
He looked around the Promenade, “Are you sure you want to go to Quark’s? I hear the Klingon
deli is very nice.”
Kira glanced at the Klingon establishment, which was barely visible from her position. A heavyset Klingon man that looked as if he hadn’t trimmed his graying beard in several years was bellowing out a
Klingon opera while playing a very Klingon-looking clawed accordion. Kira looked back to Clark, “I’m not
sure ‘nice’ is quite the right word.”
The mostly Klingon patrons of the deli suddenly burst out in a roaring chorus, “ ’Ej ghaH Sop
ghaH yln! ’Ej ghaH ylt Daq Daj nach! ’Ej ghaH ghobe’ yln Daq ylt ghobe’ latlh!”
Stunned, Clark blinked several times, “You know, I’ve never really given Klingon food a fair shot.”
Kira prodded Clark in the chest, “You think Quark is still upset over the noodle incident, don’t
you?”
Clark feigned confidence, “Oh, no no no. Not even a thought about… nobody can prove I did that!”
The colonel rolled her eyes, “Right, then you don’t mind?”
“I’d really like to have some of that Kling-” He stopped protesting as Kira grabbed his arm and
dragged him towards Quark’s. Clark soon found himself seated across from Kira at a small round table next
to the railing that separated the bar area from the dabo tables. Quark was soon at Clark’s side, smiling with
a set of pointed yellow teeth.
44
The Ferengi acknowledged the pair; his voice weak from physical labor, but still just as grating
and annoying as Clark remembered, “Colonel, Lieutenant. Can I get you anything?”
“Quark!” Clark exclaimed, slapping his hands on the brown table, “How long has it been? Six,
seven?”
“It’s been seven years, Lieutenant,” Quark said, a smirk slowly crossing his face.
Clark viciously grabbed Quark’s massive right ear and pulled him down to the table. Quark yelped
in pain, but was lost in a loud bellowing cheer from a bald Lurian at a dabo table. “Quark,” Clark
whispered in the Ferengi’s ear, “Look at the collar.”
Quark squirmed under Clark’s firm grip, “What collar?”
“My collar, you idiot,” Clark growled.
“David…” Kira cautioned.
Quark crossed his eyes to focus on Clark’s collar, “One, two, three, four,” he said, counting the
gold rank pips, “Captain?”
Clark released Quark’s ear, “That’s right.”
The Ferengi stood and tenderly rubbed his over-sized ear, “Can I get you anything, Captain?”
“Sure,” Clark smiled, “Jovian custard. Colonel?”
Kira looked up at Quark, “Raktajino.”
“Is that all?” Quark asked. Clark and Kira nodded their heads and the Ferengi lingered for a
moment before quickly departing.
Kira turned back to Clark. “David!” she scolded, “Was that really necessary?”
“No, but I’ve always wanted to do that,” Clark shrugged.
Kira’s eyebrows rose, “I guess I can’t blame you. So, what brings you out to these parts?”
“The Gamma Quadrant.”
“Really?” Kira questioned, “It’s been a while since the last Starfleet expedition over there. I was
beginning to wonder if we were going to move the station back to Bajor.”
“We get to go where no one has been before,” Clark said, paraphrasing the Starfleet motto.
Kira laughed lightly, “You can’t imagine how many times I’ve heard that before.”
“So sue me, I’m a little excited. My over-active imagination has been doing double duty since I
got this assignment.”
“That imagination of yours is something not to be trifled with,” Kira rolled her eyes, “How else
could you have come up with something like the runabout bays?” Her eyes drifted to the dabo tables, where
the Lurian had lifted a scantily-clad green Orion dabo girl off the deck and was spinning around in circles
and shouting in celebration. Quark quickly deposited a laden tray on an empty table and went to go calm
him and separate him from the terrified woman.
With the commotion dying down, Kira turned back to Clark, “I’ve heard that your first officer is a
Bajoran.”
“She is,” Clark nodded politely at the server who set a small bowl of blue custard in front of him,
“She managed to get off Bajor back in ‘64.” He looked up at the upper deck holosuites, “I’m not sure if
she’s been back since.”
Kira’s sighed, “What’s she like?”
Clark’s combadge beeped, preventing him from offering a description, “Stevens to Clark.”
Clark tapped the badge, answering the hail from the Aldrin, “Clark here.”
“Sir, I’m detecting an increase in neutrino emissions. And Dominion signatures.”
Kira’s surprise betrayed her usually stern facade, “The Dominion?” The Promenade suddenly
glowed in a soft light. Kira and Clark jumped from their seats and ran out of Quark’s. Through the large
portals on the upper level they could see the Bajoran Wormhole’s blue-green maw opened in a wide swirl.
A group of three Jem’Hadar attack ship shot from the glowing aperture.
The colonel turned to Clark, “Five years…” She went to tap her combadge and Clark knew she
was going to bring the station to high alert: shields on full and weapons armed. Her rather painful
experience on Deep Space 9 during the war had left her wary of any Dominion presence.
Clark placed a hand on her shoulder, “Hold on.”
“What?” The wormhole snapped shut in a flash of light.
“We’re on a mission to investigate a possible Dominion internment camp holding Allied
prisoners,” Clark said lowly. “If Diplomatic Corps was able to get in contact with the Dominion, this might
be our escort.”
Kira turned to Clark, “Escort?”
45
Her combadge interrupted, “Colonel, we’re being hailed. They want you and Captain Clark.”
“On our way,” Kira slapped her combadge, “I believe we’re needed.” She started back to the
turbolift.
“What about Quark?” Clark asked, looking over his shoulder at the table where their halfconsumed meal still sat.
“It’s on my tab,” she said while stepping onto the turbolift. Clark ran after her, leaping onto the lift
just as it started to rise.
After a few seconds, they both looked up as the shaft cover slid above away and the lift came to a
stop in Ops. Immediately the Jem’Hadar on the elliptical viewscreen caught their attention. “Why is the
Federation vessel still docked at your station?” the Jem’Hadar demanded. A thick ridge ran over the
middle of his gray head, with two more ridges to the side, topped with small, bony spikes, giving his head a
blockish shape. A White-filled tube ran out of his thick neck and into the chest of his utilitarian combat
uniform. A large scar gleamed across his head and above his left eye, giving some credence to his
menacing manner.
Nog, a young Ferengi lieutenant, tried in vain to calm the Jem’Hadar, “Sir, you must realize that
your presence here is unexpected, we were not pre-” He was cut off by Clark.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Clark said, gently pushing Nog away. He turned his attention to the
viewscreen, “To whom I am speaking?”
The Jem’Hadar tensed slightly and tersely demanded, “Are you the commander of the Federation
vessel?”
“The Aldrin?” Clark asked, “Yes. I am Captain Clark. And you are?” He turned his head slightly.
“First Tir’nek. I am to be your,” the Jem’Hadar, paused, seemingly hating the word, “Escort.”
“First Tir’nek, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Clark said, “Might I ask why you’re–”
Tir’nek quickly barked, “When are you departing?”
Clark glanced at his watch, “About eighteen hours from now.” Clark had expected his escort to at
least be courteous, but dealing directly with Jem’Hadar rarely was. Though there was something to be said
for the Jem’Hadar’s straight-to-the-point manner as opposed to a double-talking Vorta.
Tir’nek’s glare narrowed to where his yellow eyes were barely visible, “I will be waiting.” The
screen switched to a view of the three attack ships, now waiting several kilometers out.
Kira looked to Clark, her voice and face etched with concern, “I don’t like this.”
Upper Pylon Two
13:45 Hours, February 3rd, 2380
Stardate 57091.908684
Clark patiently waited at the Cardassian docking port for his crew, greeting each as they reached
the upper end of the docking pylon. Behind him was a cylindrical corridor that led to the Aldrin’s airlock.
He was leaning against the bulkhead by the airlock and held a sheet of blank music staff paper, scribbling
with a primitive graphite pencil a series of chords and melodic lines. R’Mor came out of a newly arrived
lift. Clark looked up from the manuscript, “Is that everybody?”
R’Mor walked up to the docking port, “Station security reports that everybody else is off.”
“Good, let’s go,” Clark tapped the airlock door control and the massive round door rolled away
like a toothed gear. The two stepped over the threshold into the airlock and the door rolled shut behind
them. A few seconds later another round door ahead rolled open, letting Clark and R’Mor into another,
identical airlock. The door behind rolled shut and the third, and last, door rolled away, revealing a set of
gray double doors, the Aldrin’s airlock. Clark keyed a code into a small panel next to the seam between the
doors and they slid apart.
A few minutes later Clark and R’Mor walked onto the bridge. R’Mor assumed her position at the
ops station, replacing a young Human male ensign.
Clark settled into his command chair and ordered, “Commence undocking.”
A rumble reverberated throughout the ship as the Aldrin disengaged itself from the station.
“Moorings disengaged,” R’Mor reported.
Kelley fired the Aldrin’s thrusters, lifting the ship up from the arching docking pylons of Deep
Space 9 and pivoting towards the currently invisible gateway into the Bajoran Wormhole. The three
Jem’Hadar attack ships sat between the Starfleet vessel and its destination, a situation that just five years
earlier would have quickly degenerated into a brutal firefight.
46
Jensen glowered at the viewscreen, “This reeks of not good.”
“Yeah,” Clark said. “Take us out, Kelley.”
As the Aldrin eased forward from the station, the Jem’Hadar assumed a triangular formation
around the ship, with two leading and one behind. The Aldrin moved forward towards the invisible opening
of the wormhole, with the Dominion trio holding their positions around the vessel.
Toq’bae looked up from his console, “Neutrino levels are rising.” A second later the wormhole
flung itself open, filling the wide display of the viewscreen.
Clark looked over at Jensen, seeing her mouth slightly open, “First time you’ve seen this?”
“It never opened when I was on Bajor,” she said breathlessly.
The Aldrin accelerated into the bright opening, slipping into the subspace tunnel and hurtling
across the galaxy. The blues and purples of subspace surrounded the quartet of ships, with several
undulating turquoise bands of energy and bright white rings framing the boundaries of the wormhole.
The deck and bulkheads of the Aldrin began to tremor, prompting Toq’bae to advise,
“Compensating. There’s some resonance coming from the armor generators.”
“Captain,” R’Mor’s voice called with alarm, “I think I’m picking up multiple Dominion
transmissions. Weak, but getting stronger.”
“From our escorts?” Clark asked. The tremors subsided.
“No.”
Toq’bae spun to face the back of the science station, pulling in data from the communications
array, “It’s coming in over the silithium filament. The relay’s not up, so they have to be pretty close to the
terminus to be transmitted.”
Clark turned and looked up at R’Mor, “Are they clear enough to make out?”
“They would be if they weren’t encrypted,” she replied. A strong tremor briefly shook the ship
again. Her brow furrowed, “Wait a… there are two different encryptions.”
The three attack ships pulled away from the Aldrin. “They’re accelerating,” Kelley said cautiously
from the helm.
Murphy quickly followed, “I’m detecting weapons fire, I think over the filament. Lots of it.”
“Idran terminus in fifteen seconds,” Kelley reported.
“Red alert,” Clark ordered. The bridge lighting immediately dimmed, with a low pulsating klaxon
and warning lights indicating the state of battle stations.
“Shields are up,” Murphy reported, “Phasers and quantum torpedoes at standby.”
“Five seconds.” The escort ships exited the Gamma Quadrant end of the wormhole and
disappeared from sight.
Clark anxiously gripped the armrests of his chair as the bright light at the end of the tunnel grew to
fill the viewscreen. An instant later the Aldrin was flung into the Gamma Quadrant, five light-years from
the nearest system – Idran – seventy thousand light-years from Bajor, and directly into the middle of a
swarm of Dominion warships, attack ships, and crisscrossing blue polaron beams. The wormhole snapped
shut behind them in a flash of light.
“Evasive action!” Jensen shouted.
Clark yelled simultaneously, “Deploy the armor!”
The Aldrin immediately banked hard to the left, dodging a salvo of polaron beams. Murphy
cautioned, “The armor takes energy from the shields to deploy.”
Clark called out, “Kelley, keep them off our tail. Murphy, deploy the armor.”
The helmsman leaned in her seat with the motion of the ship, “Doing my best, Captain.”
“Diverting power from shields,” Murphy reported, “Deploying armor.” The armor generating
strips around the ship lit up in aquamarine and deployed teams of trillions of nanites that quickly replicated
panels of ablative tritanium armor, the sound pulsating through the ship as reassuring thuds. Within a few
seconds the Aldrin was wrapped in almost medieval-looking dark gray metallic armor from bow to stern.
As Kelley piloted the ship up and away from the fight, Clark called out, “Somebody tell me what’s
going on out there.”
R’Mor answered, “Forty Dominion vessels, and they seem to be attacking each – four attack ships
on our rear!”
“Any of them our escorts?” Jensen asked as polaron beams streaked by from behind.
“Two are,” R’Mor said. “And they’re attacking the other two. This is bizarre.”
“Tell me about it,” Clark grumbled, “Aft quantum torpedoes, take them out.”
Murphy looked up from his station, “Take out who?”
47
“Star with the ones that aren’t shooting at us,” Jensen said.
“Firing one,” Murphy reported, “And two. Both ships disabled.”
“Friendlies are breaking off,” R’Mor said.
Clark ordered, “Bring us about.” The Aldrin spun about, pointing towards the raging battle. Jensen
squinted at the screen, “What has this quadrant come to?”
Both Murphy’s and R’Mor’s consoles emitted shrill alarms. They looked to each other and R’Mor
reported, “Two warships incoming.” Her console beeped again, “Make that four!”
“We’re being targeted,” Murphy announced.
Clark ordered, “Evasive maneuvers.”
Jensen quickly followed, “Arm quantum torpedoes.” Kelley piloted the Aldrin forward and over
the advancing warships – each about double the size of the Akira-class Aldrin in every dimension – right as
they unleashed the power of their polaron disruptors.
Two landed hits on the armor-covered underside of the Aldrin’s saucer, lightly jostling the ship
and prompting Murphy to report, “Ventral armor at 99%.”
Jensen nodded, “Tough stuff.” The ship rumbled again as the turning battleships raked the Aldrin
with weapons fire.
“Take out the weapons array of the closest ship,” Clark ordered.
“Bringing us about,” Kelley said, turning the ship up into a twisting loop to bring it face-to-face
with the battleships again.
Murphy tapped his console, “Firing.” The four rapid-fire launchers in the weapons pod at the top
rear of the ship activated, firing off twenty bright aqua quantum torpedoes in under a second. The pack of
torpedoes impacted the lead Dominion warship’s shields in muted explosions, but proved enough to
overwhelm the energy screens enough to let several through to impact the jagged gray and purple hull with
more forceful explosions. The other three warships continued to fire polaron beams at the Aldrin, which
continued to dodge and weave, only letting the massive ships land a few glancing blows.
Clark grabbed the computer panel to his right and looked over the sensor readout, “I don’t know
what’s going on out there and I don’t want to take sides until I do.”
“Can you tell the sides apart?” Jensen quipped. The Aldrin ducked under the warships, narrowly
avoiding the listing of the damaged vessel.
He shook his head, “Not really. Kelley, keep us away from that mess. Whoever shoots at us is
going to get more quantum torpedoes than they can handle.”
“Warships still in pursuit,” R’Mor reported. “And more breaking off from the others.”
Toq’bae rolled his eyes, “Or the mess can follow us.” He grabbed the edge of his console to steady
himself as the warships hit the rear of the Aldrin several times.
“Aft armor at 96%,” Murphy reported.
Clark’s brow furrowed, “Ready three transphasic torpedoes; forward launchers. Kelley, attack
pattern bravo eight.”
She and Murphy echoed, “Aye.” Kelley pushed the Aldrin forward at maximum impulse and then
executed a series of quick sharp turns that brought them back to facing the attacking Dominion ships. A
dozen attack ships came up behind the warships, notably no longer under attack themselves.
“Fire!” Clark ordered. With a press of Murphy’s finger, three brilliant white torpedoes exited the
launchers, each aimed at a different warship. A smaller attack ship intercepted the first and was instantly
obliterated in a ball of fire, the other two punched through their target warship’s shields a moment later. In
the blink of an eye the ships went dark and then were ripped apart by massive explosions as the transphasic
torpedoes advanced multi-dimensional matrix literally sucked the energy from the warships’ power systems
and unleashed it all at once. The massive chunks of rapidly spinning debris demolished a handful of attack
ships unfortunate to be too close.
Toq’bae slumped back in his seat, “Damn.”
“Targeting the other warship,” Murphy said.
“Hold!” Clark ordered. He watched the viewscreen as the advancing Dominion ships slowed and
ceased their attack, “They’re not sure what to do with us. Load a full spread of transphasics.”
With a few taps Murphy reported back, “Loaded and ready.”
“They’re breaking off,” Kelley announced as the vessels turned and retreated. Two heavily scarred
attack ships – what was left of the escort – came through the departing fleet, positioning themselves
alongside the Aldrin.
Jensen looked to Clark and pointed at the view screen, “What in pahna was that about?”
48
10
U.S.S. Aldrin
Idran Terminus, Gamma Quadrant
Stardate 57092.016016
The battlefield lay devastated before the Aldrin and two remaining Jem’Hadar attack ships. Large,
burned-out chunks of the obliterated warships floated in the space, surrounded by a spreading field of
smaller bits of debris.
The bridge lay silent for several long moments before Clark quietly ordered, “Retract the armor.”
A quiet rumble ensued as the nanites disassembled the ablative armor. Dim red lights continued to pulsate
around the bridge overhead. Clark dropped his head, noticing that his hands were shaking slightly from the
adrenaline coursing through his veins. It had been years since his last encounter with the Dominion, but
never so outnumbered. Even with the Aldrin’s clearly superior firepower, it was still distressing to face so
many Dominion vessels with just one ship. He wiped away the sheen of sweat on his forehead, “Stand
down red alert.”
The bridge lighting brightened and the alarm ended.
R’Mor cleared her throat, “Captain, they’re hailing.”
Clark absently lifted his hand, “Put them on.”
Tir’nek’s menacing, ash-covered face appeared on the viewscreen. The Jem’Hadar was curt, “It is
good to see that you are still alive.”
Clark’s right eyebrow rose, “I’ve never seen a happy Jem’Hadar.”
“I am not happy,” Tir’nek said, “I am relieved that I will not yet be terminated”
“Why would you be terminated?” The statement only further confused Clark.
“It is my mission to safely escort you through Dominion space,” the Jem’Hadar explained, “If I
were to fail, I would be terminated.” A long pause followed, with Tir’nek seemingly suppressing disgust at
the thought of escorting an enemy vessel into Dominion territory, “As my duty of escort, I am to
accompany your vessel at all times while inside the territory of the Dominion. I have not been informed of
your destination.”
Clark pushed up out of his chair, “First you’re going to tell me what the hell just happened here.”
Jensen turned up towards R’Mor and whispered, “Get Ward up here.” R’Mor nodded and left her
station for the turbolift.
“There are splinter elements that wish to seize your vessel. We were attacked by them on our path
to the anomaly,” Tir’nek said in reference to the wormhole.
“Don’t you think you should have told us that before we jumped halfway across the galaxy?”
Clark asked.
“Our fleet was supposed to dispatch the rebels,” Tir’nek grumbled. “Clearly they have more
support than the Vorta implied.”
Clark stood, “First Tir’nek, I need you to take us to Internment Camp One Twenty. We are under
orders to investigate a distur–”
Tir’nek interrupted him curtly, “There is no Interment Camp One Twenty.”
“With all due respect,” Clark countered, “This is something we have to investigate. If the
allegations are true th–”
“Captain, you are incorrect.” A Jem’Hadar ran behind Tir’nek. “There are no Federation
prisoners of war in Dominion custody.”
“I didn’t say anything about Federation prisoners,” Clark replied slowly.
Tir’nek visibly straightened himself, “You are mistaken.” He exhaled sharply, blowing a puff of
ash from under his nostrils.
Murphy leaned forward from the tactical station and whispered, “They’re powering weapons.”
Clark didn’t acknowledge Murphy. He smiled at the viewscreen, “First, I will confer with my
commanders and inform you of our destination as soon as possible.” Clark signaled with a hand behind his
back for R’Mor to break the communication. “Deploy the armor and ready weapons!”
Murphy shook his head, “The armor generators were damaged in the battle.”
“Then raise shields!” Clark barked. He dropped into his chair and turned to Jensen, quietly
advising, “Remind me to work on my patience under pressure.”
49
Jensen nodded, “I’ll do that.”
The pair of attack ships split around the Aldrin and began firing, but the protective envelope of the
shields flashed green upon being struck by the Dominion weapons. Clark took a deep breath and calmly
ordered, “Target the port attack ship.”
Phaser beams lashed out from a gray phaser strip on the saucer and dug into the attack ship. The
forward portion of the attack ship blew off in an explosion, but the damaged attack ship darted past and
came back around, preparing to ram the Aldrin from behind.
“Evasive maneuvers!” Jensen yelled. The crew braced themselves as the Aldrin quickly slipped to
the right, all the time firing its rear phasers at the charging attack ship. The yellow phasers effortlessly
sliced through the damaged attack ship. It quietly broke apart and the shattered remains harmlessly hurtled
by the Aldrin.
The second attack ship turned about and sped away from the Aldrin at warp speed. “Pursuit
course,” Clark ordered. The Aldrin leapt into warp after the fleeing vessel.
“Seventy million kilometers,” Kelley reported, “Fifty five million.”
“They’re within visual range,” R’Mor’s hand hovered over her console.
Jensen nodded, “On screen.”
The dark purple attack ship appeared on the viewscreen. Even from the rear, the attack ship was a
menacing sight, looking almost as if it were ready to attack.
“Five seconds to weapons range,” Murphy said. A few seconds later he reported, “They’re in
range.”
“Just enough to disable them,” Clark said.
Murphy nodded, “Aye.” A single quantum torpedo flew from the weapons pod of the Aldrin.
Normally it would have traversed the space between the two ships in the blink of an eye, but at warp speed
it was only marginally faster than the speed of the two ships. From the viewpoint of the Aldrin, the torpedo
seemed to slowly drift forward towards the attack ship.
“They’re accelerating,” Kelley said as the attack ship began to pull away, though the torpedo was
close enough that it was casting light onto the aft end of the vessel.
“Detonating,” Murphy pushed his console, forcing the torpedo to explode without the impact
trigger. Even though it didn’t impart its full force on the attack ship, the warp-speed explosion was enough
to knock the Jem’Hadar out of warp and into a slow tumble.
The Aldrin shot past the disabled attack ship before Kelley could drop them out of warp. She
piloted the ship in a sweeping arc that brought it around to face the drifting Jem’Hadar vessel. Clark called
out, “Report.”
“Their life support, warp core, and weapons are all offline. Six lifesigns,” Toq’bae reported.
Jensen glared at the viewscreen, “Beam them all to the brig. Have medical teams on standby.”
R’Mor worked the controls for a few moments, “I’ve got six Jem’Hadar in the brig.”
“Let’s keep them there for now,” Clark said quietly. “Kelley, take us back to Idran. I believe we
have a relay station to set up.”
Kelley’s fingers lightly danced across her console, “Aye, Captain.”
Stardate 57092.270226
Clark stood opposite Tir’nek, with the invisible energy screen of a brig forcefield dividing the
space between them. There were two more Jem’Hadar standing against the back bulkhead of the brig cell,
with the other three in the neighboring middle cell. Clark’s arms were crossed; Tir’nek, clearly tensed,
stood nearly half a meter taller, and seemed ready to jump through the forcefield and rip Clark’s heart out.
“You aren’t giving me the answers I want,” Clark said.
“I do not know the answers,” Tir’nek growled back.
Clark rolled his eyes, “You say there is not an Interment Camp One Twenty.”
“There is not.”
“Yet you attacked us when I brought it up.”
Tir’nek paused and said carefully, “One Twenty is a keyword to determine compromised crews.”
“You’re a poor liar,” Clark responded.
“And you are weak!” Tir’nek nearly shouted back.
The lieutenant at the back of the brig called out, “Uh… Captain?”
50
Clark turned to face him and heard a pair of thumps come from the neighboring cell. He stepped
back to look in, finding two of the Jem’Hadar crumpled on the deck and the third on his knees. Clark ran
forward and slapped his combadge as the last one fell face first to the deck, “Medical teams to the brig!”
The lieutenant jumped forward, brandishing a tricorder, “They’re dead.”
“What?” Clark looked to the tricorder screen.
“Victory is life,” Tir’nek said proudly, choking for air. Clark moved to his cell in time to see the
three remaining Jem’Hadar collapse.
Clark grabbed the tricorder and scanned the bodies, “Dead. Drop the forcefields.”
The door to the corridor opened and Cochrane, Wright, and another medic rushed in, “What’s
going on?”
As the lieutenant dropped the forcefield, the medics moved into the cells. Clark turned off his
tricorder, “You might be too late.”
Wright gingerly pulled a narrow needle out of Tir’nek’s exposed and heavily bruised forearm and
held it up to Cochrane, “Tetrazolic acid.”
The corridor door opened again and Jensen walked in, “I heard there was a…” she trailed off upon
seeing the bodies.
Cochrane put on a glove and took the needle, “That explains why they refused medical aid.”
“Tetrazolic acid dissolves blood vessel walls almost instantly on contact,” Wright explained. He
looked down at the Jem’Hadar, “With the typical Jem’Hadar heartbeat it would make it to their heart in
under a second, and the lungs an instant later.” Dark purple blood slowly seeped out of Tir’nek’s mouth.
Cochrane slipped the needle into a vial, which he then placed into Wright’s open medkit, “Without
sedation they would have been in complete agony while waiting on the tetrazol to reach their brains.
Thankfully that wouldn’t take to long.”
“Isn’t tetrazol an industrial lubricant?” Jensen asked.
“It is,” Clark confirmed. “Commanders, stay. Everybody else, out.” Wright, the medic, and the
brig officer quietly and quickly exited to the corridor, the door loudly locked shut behind them. Clark
looked at each of the dead Jem’Hadar, Cochrane, and then Jensen, “We’ve got a problem.”
“Well, thank you, Mr. Obvious,” Jensen quipped. She stepped over to the security console and
leaned against it.
“That’s Captain Obvious to you,” Clark smiled for just a moment.
Cochrane crouched next to Tir’nek and thoughtfully gazed at the Jem’Hadar, “Why exactly would
the Jem’Hadar commit suicide? ‘Victory is life’ and all that.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Clark said, “And just how did a rag-tag band of saboteurs compromise our
gel packs?”
Jensen narrowed her eyes, “Something doesn’t add up.”
“A lot doesn’t add up,” Clark said. “I don’t want to throw the word conspiracy out there…”
“You just did,” Cochrane quipped, grabbing Tir’nek’s jaw and turning his head to the side.
Clark began to pace the brig, “This ship is essentially a testbed for this tech, and for our
shakedown cruise we’re sent to the Gamma Quadrant to set up a relay.”
“Fairly standard assignment, minus the Gamma Quadrant part,” Jensen says.
“I’m willing to chalk it up to an open assignment,” Clark said. “But then this ship is sabotaged by
escaped Dominion POWs who want to use this very ship to wage war against the Dominion. And then
when we get to the Gamma Quadrant, the Dominion greets us with disruptors. Twice.”
Cochrane looked back up at the pair, “And we were allowed to actually take on this mission? A
relay is one thing, but prodding the Dominion over war crimes? That’s a different level entirely.”
“To what end?” Jensen asked. “All to get their hands on the Aldrin? This seems more than a little
complicated – they could have just ambushed us and skipped the whole sabotage and escorts charade.”
Clark stopped pacing, “Oh… this is too good. Vorik took a look at the sabotage code – it was good
and probably would have worked. They could have taken control of the Aldrin over here and Starfleet
would have never known, and we would have been unwitting accomplices in reinitiating war with the
Dominion. But that plan backfired, so they had a story and sympathetic characters ready to take it the next
step further. If it had just been the sabotage we would have stayed put and transferred the relay to another
ship. But having the saboteurs aboard – and a relationship with our crew – it practically guaranteed that I’d
push for this crew to investigate.”
“That’s awfully tidy,” Cochrane stood and removed his glove, dropping it into the medkit. “And
would require knowledge not only of the Aldrin’s capabilities and mission, but of its crew.”
51
“The Dominion must have agents in Starfleet Command,” Jensen said. “It’s the only way for this
to work.”
“But it hasn’t yet,” Cochrane countered.
“Step three!” Clark resumed pacing, the thoughts still forming as he spoke, “We’re not dealing
with the entire Dominion here. Tir’nek said there are splinter groups, and I don’t think he was lying about
that. Except that he’s of that splinter group.”
“The proper Dominion tried to stop them, but failed, and we were baited into attacking Dominion
ships,” Jensen put her hands in the air. “It’s a trap.”
Clark held a fist up to his mouth, “We didn’t fall for it – we didn’t fire until we were fired upon.
We have the sensor logs to back it up.”
“I think you’re missing something,” Cochrane said.
Clark stopped, “What?”
“You.” Cochrane paused for a moment, and when Clark didn’t make the connection, continued,
“You blame the Dominion for the disappearance of the Cairo, of your fiancée.”
Jensen stared wide-eyed at Clark, “Your fiancée?”
Upon receiving Clark’s glare, Cochrane responded, “I read your files. You might be the lynchpin
in this. Your personal feelings and prejudices, real or imagined, they knew they’d be able to push your
buttons easily. If all else failed, you would have the motivation and the temper to use the firepower to
trigger war.”
Clark dropped his hands and felt the color draining from his face, “I…”
“Starfleet’s still in no shape for another war,” Jensen said. “Neither are the Klingons. The
Dominion still has massive power in this quadrant. We wouldn’t stand a chance, whether they captured the
Aldrin or not. Who’s going to stop them, the Romulans?”
Clark looked down to the Jem’Hadar corpses, “Why this? What are we still missing?” After a few
seconds of silence, he turned up to Jensen, “We’re under radio silence until we get this figured out. Get the
array set up, report nothing more back to Command. I don’t know who we can trust.”
Jensen nodded, “Aye.”
Cochrane tapped a Jem’Hadar with his boot, “I’ll get these lovely gents down to the morgue.”
Clark held up a hand, “We need to talk to Taurik again. Make up something to get him down to
sickbay.”
“Ensign Marcano picked up the Helax virus on Deep Space Nine. I’ll need to run some tests to
make sure he hasn’t contracted it; Vulcans are especially susceptible,” Cochrane said matter-of-factly.
Jensen tensed, “So are Bajorans. I had it once as a child. It’s not fun.”
Cochrane cracked a sly grin, “Nobody has Helax, Commander.”
Clark nodded, “Alright, let’s get to it.”
As Cochrane headed to the corridor to retrieve his medics, Jensen placed a hand on Clark’s
shoulder, “Are we still on for tonight?”
Clark playfully poked the earpiece dangling from her right ear, “Wouldn’t miss it for the entire
quadrant.”
Stardate 57092.304821
The door between the sickbay and the corridor opened and Taurik hesitantly stepped through.
Cochrane had observed that he’d calmed somewhat since the failed sabotage attempt, though it seemed that
the emotional damage wrought by the ketracel-white had left him shaken and uncertain – unusual traits for
a Vulcan. He wore a bandage over the hole in his neck where the now-removed white tubes had been
inserted.
Taurik walked to Cochrane’s office, finding the doctor leaning back in his chair with his legs
propped up on the desk, “Doctor, you requested my presence?”
Cochrane placed the PADD he was reading on the desk and got up with a groan, “Yes. Are you
feeling well?”
He blinked several times, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Are you experiencing any unexpected symptoms?” Cochrane prompted, “Nausea, fever,
headache?”
Taurik rubbed the bandage on his neck, “No. Why?” His left cheek twitched slightly as he rubbed.
52
“One of our officers came down with Helax fever,” Cochrane said. “We’re thinking he got it on
DS9.”
“I’m not familiar with Helax fever.”
Cochrane was puzzled by the muted reaction, but didn’t have the chance to dive deeper due to an
interruption – Wright knocked on the open doorway to the office, “Doc, where’d you want the bodies?”
Taurik and Cochrane turned to look at the Jem’Hadar corpses on anti-grav gurneys floating behind
Wright. Cochrane nodded, “Take them to the morgue.” Wright stepped back to the bodies and directed the
squad of security and medical personnel towards the morgue behind Cochrane’s office.
Taurik turned back to Cochrane, “Helax fever?”
“Symptoms can take a while to manifest. Step out there so I can run a few tests,” Cochrane
gestured for the door. Taurik exited into the main ward, followed closely by Cochrane, who gently guided
the skittish Vulcan to a testing station set against a bulkhead just a few meters away. He grabbed a
hypospray and reached up to press it against Taurik’s neck. Taurik jumped back at the movement, raising
two fists and glaring at Cochrane.
He put his hands out to his side, holding the hypospray so Taurik could see it clearly, “It’s just a
hypospray. I need to draw some blood to test for Helax.”
Taurik lowered his fighting stance and stepped back to Cochrane, “My apologies, doctor.” Taurik
took a deep breath and closed his eyes as Cochrane pressed the hypospray against his neck.
The device hissed quietly and Cochrane pulled it away, retrieving a small vial filled with dark
green blood from the base, “That wasn’t so bad.” He quickly slipped the vial into a slot in the testing
station and tapped in a few commands. A second later the station screen displayed ‘test results negative’
and Cochrane forced a smile, “Congratulations, you’re healthy.”
Taurik nodded slowly, “That is good to know.” He watched as Wright guided the last Jem’Hadar
body down the narrow corridor to the morgue.
“I’ve got an inoculation for this strain,” Cochrane said, walking to a tray of multi-colored
medicine vials near his office, “It can trigger some fast and nasty side-effects in Vulcans, so you’ll want to
stay in sickbay for at least half an hour.” He grabbed a vial and slipped it into the end of the hypospray.
“As opposed to Helax itself?” Taurik asked.
“Guaranteed long-lasting and nasty side-effects,” Cochrane said. “Trust me, you’d rather I give
you this.” Taurik nodded curtly and Cochrane pressed the hypospray against his neck, releasing the
medicine into Taurik’s artery with a quick hiss.
Taurik rubbed the injection site, “Thank you.”
Cochrane smiled and pointed a hand at the line of sickbay beds against the opposite wall, “Have a
seat, let me know if you start to feel anything unusual.”
The sickbay doors opened again and Clark walked in. He paused on seeing Taurik, “What are you
doing here?”
“Possible Helax virus outbreak,” Taurik said as he sat up on the second bed from the door.
Cochrane looked back from his office doorway, “Just taking precautions.”
Clark nodded and walked towards the office, “You wanted to see me, Doc?”
“In here,” Cochrane stepped into his office and Clark followed.
Taurik sat for several seconds on the bed, moving his hands from his side, to his lap to crossed
over his chest and back down to his side, before slowly slipping off the bed. He calmly walked down to the
surgical bay at the far end of sickbay and back towards the corridor door, exchanging nods with Cochrane
through the glass as he passed.
He paused at the corridor leading back to the supply room and morgue. Taurik turned around and
surveyed the empty sickbay, noting that Cochrane and Clark couldn’t see him from the office. The twitch in
his cheek stopped and he stood straight as he quickly and quietly walked to the end of the corridor and
pressed his hand against the control pad for the morgue door. It emitted a series of beeps and the door slid
open, revealing a small white sterile room with the six Jem’Hadar arranged on gurneys docked to stasis
bases. A quiet static hum from the stasis modules filled the room.
Taurik stepped into the morgue and the door stayed jammed open behind him. He walked up to
Tir’nek’s body and studied the Jem’Hadar for a few seconds. He then thrust his hand through the stasis
field, and punctured Tir’nek’s abdomen with his pointed hand. Violating the stasis field alone would have
caused even a Vulcan to jump back in pain, let alone ripping through tough Jem’Hadar uniforms and hide.
After a second of fishing around in the abdomen, Taurik pulled his hand out, grasping a small dark gray
53
flattened rectangle in his liquid gold fist. Dark purple blood and entrails flowed from the hole in Tir’nek’s
stomach, splattering against the deck.
Taurik turned around to the Jem’Hadar on the other side and repeated the procedure, the golden
liquefaction traveling up his arm as the stasis field meant to preserve the body wreaked havoc on his
shapeshifter matrix. He pulled out a slightly darker rectangle from the second Jem’Hadar and pressed it
against the first, fusing the two putty-like blocks together.
He didn’t bother to reform the disrupted arm, instead his entire body collapsed into a golden
puddle and slipped out of the morgue through an air vent at the base of a bulkhead, pulling the retrieved
putty with him.
54
11
U.S.S. Aldrin
Stardate 57092.317439
“Thanks Doc,” Clark said as he exited the sickbay office. He paused matter-of-factly in the ward
and looked around, not finding Taurik, and then turned back to Cochrane, “How long did you tell him to
wait?”
“Thirty minutes,” Cochrane stood, looking out through the window.
Clark stepped further into the ward, looking left and right again, “Well, it looks like he ignored
your advice.”
“Funny, Vulcans usually follow my prescriptions to the letter.” Cochrane stepped out into the
main ward with Clark.
“Computer,” Clark called, “Locate Taurik.”
The computer responded calmly, “Unable to locate.”
Clark rolled his eyes and headed for the exterior corridor, “Great. I’ll swing by his quart…” His
voice trailed off as he caught the light from the open morgue door out of the corner of his eye as he passed
the short hall. “Doc?”
“Captain?”
Clark pointed down the corridor and quietly asked, “Is there any reason why the morgue door
would be open?”
Cochrane moved to his side and looked into the corridor, “No. It’s supposed to automatically close
no matter what.”
“The control panel’s dark,” Clark ran back to Cochrane’s office and opened the weapons locker
behind the desk, “Taurik must have shorted it to get around the access code.” He pulled out two hand
phasers and returned to the end of the corridor.
Cochrane took one of the phasers and followed Clark as he slowly progressed down the short
passage. Clark reached the end and pushed himself into the corner against the door that looked to the
closest bulkhead inside the morgue. After a few silent seconds, Clark stepped in, phaser raised, and swept
the white room, finding only the six Jem’Hadar. He looked back to Cochrane, still in the corridor, “Clear.”
Cochrane came into the morgue and his eyes immediately went to the fist-sized hole in Tir’nek’s
stomach. Clark took a step forward to look at the wounds, but gagged and retreated upon seeing the mess of
purple blood and entrails that had spilled onto the deck. Unfazed, Cochrane moved forward and leaned in
close to Tir’nek, “Now this is blunt force trauma.”
Clark coughed and leaned against the furthest available bulkhead, averting his eyes, “Why?”
Cochrane looked back and forth between the two opened Jem’Hadar, “My guess: they smuggled
something onboard. Something that the transporters wouldn’t pick up when in two separate bodies.”
“The suicides…” Clark thought out loud. “One final chance to sabotage the ship. Damn, Taurik’s
involved in this too.” He tapped his combadge, “Clark to Murphy.”
“Murphy here.”
“The Jem’Hadar smuggled something onto the ship inside their bodies,” Clark explained.
“Something our transporters would pick up, but not if in two separate pieces.”
The other end was silent for a few seconds, and then Murphy responded, “We have plenty of
weapons on board, and I don’t think a disruptor would do well in a Jem’Hadar stomach. I’d have to guess
binary explosives – the ingredients are inert by themselves, but combine them and you’ve got a big
potential boom on your hands.”
“We have explosives on board,” Clark said.
“You need a security clearance for that,” Murphy said. “Only problem is that the only binary
ingredients I can think of that could survive in the gut of a Jemmie would need a binder to be able to
detonate.”
“They committed suicide by injecting themselves with tetrazolic acid,” Cochrane prompted.
“That’s not good. Tetrazol is high on the list of ideal binders.”
“Scan for Taurik,” Clark ordered.
55
“I’m not getting anything,” Murphy said, frustration clear in his voice. “Ward and the other two
aren’t showing either.”
“Get Toq’bae and R’Mor to amp up the sensitivity of the internal sensors. They’re on the ship
somewhere,” Clark ordered, “You get down to sickbay immediately.”
“On my way. Murphy, out.”
Stardate 57092.334547
Taurik grabbed onto a higher rung and pulled himself up a ladder in a vertical Jefferies tube,
passing a placard for deck seven. The loud mechanics of an opening hatched sounded below, immediately
followed by echoing voices; somebody else was in the network of access tubes, and close. Taurik
immediately climbed back down the ladder and jumped into a horizontal shaft. He hit the metal deck with a
thud.
Clark and Murphy were on their hands and feet in a Jefferies tube, with a phaser rifle slung across
Murphy’s back and a hand phaser on Clark’s hip. Clark lead the way through the narrow engineering
access tunnel. He looked back to Murphy, “Toq’bae said deck eight, right?” Clark snapped forward upon
hearing the thud, “Did you hear that?”
Murphy closed the hatch behind him, “Hear what?”
Clark shuffled forward towards the open vertical shaft ahead. He poked his head out, looking up
and then down through the tube that spanned almost the entire vertical reach of the saucer section of the
ship. Glowing ODN network cables filled a vertical trench on the right side of the shaft, with the Aldrin’s
massive computer core occupying the space behind the bulkhead.
Clark reached out and grabbed the closest ladder rung in the shaft, then slowly guided his legs out
onto lower rungs. As he started up towards deck five, Murphy followed, though he was less hesitant in
getting out onto the ladder. Clark paused at the deck seven intersection, first looking down the tunnel to his
left, and then to his right. He caught sight of Taurik’s brown pants and soft shoes shuffling away, and
shouted, “Taurik! Stop!”
Taurik froze for a moment as Clark pulled himself up into the tube, and then feverishly started
forward, quickly rounding a corner before Clark could get his phaser into position to fire. He started down
the tunnel after Taurik, his boots and rifle loudly banging against the deck and tunnel sides. Murphy rushed
in behind him as Clark threw himself forward into the intersection, picking up a twisted and sideways
prone position and taking aim at Taurik.
He squeezed the phaser trigger, sending a beam of yellow phaser energy down the tube and
impacting Taurik in the side. Taurik tumbled over in the narrow confines of the Jefferies tube, but quickly
pushed himself back up, unfazed by the strong stun setting on Clark’s weapon. Taurik lunged forward into
another vertical intersection and threw himself down into the shaft.
Stardate 57092.336445
Cochrane shook his head as he exited the morgue, puzzled over how Taurik had managed to rip
into the Jem’Hadars’ stomachs with what appeared to have been rather excessive force. He rounded the
corner into the main ward and walked back to his office, pausing when the vial of Taurik’s blood
protruding from the testing station caught his eye. Cochrane took a few steps back to the station and pulled
the vial out from his slot.
He could see it immediately, but still held the vial up to the light to confirm that it was indeed
filled not with dark green copper-based Vulcan blood but with a thick golden liquid: Changeling matrix.
Stardate 57092.338342
Clark rushed down the ladder, quickly glancing down the available Jefferies tubes at each deck
intersection. He sighted Taurik’s feet slipping behind a corner at deck nine and swung his body into the
tube, landing with a resounding bang. As he got back onto his hands and knees, Murphy crawled into the
tunnel behind him, “Keep it down, will ‘ya?”
56
Clark’s combadge beeped, “Cochrane to Clark.”
Clark tapped the badge and started forward through the tube, “Clark here.”
“I figured out how Taurik got into the morgue and through the stasis fields,” Cochrane said.
“Really?” Clark rounded the corner Taurik had taken, finding himself looking back into the
vertical shaft with the ODN lines. As a golden liquid tendril lifted up out of his sight in the shaft, he said
with Cochrane, “He’s a Changeling.”
“What?” Murphy blurted from behind.
“I see you’ve figured that out too.”
Clark crawled forward as quickly as he could, dropping onto his back and pointing his phaser up
the tube. Finding it clear, he pulled himself onto the ladder and resumed the game of hide-and-seek. He
rushed up three decks, glancing down the tubes at each, before Murphy yelled from a deck below, “Got
him!” Murphy hung away from the ladder with one arm, point the other with the rifle down the tube and
firing. The shot impacted just above the fleeing Taurik’s back, showering him in sparks.
Murphy dived into the tube as Clark clambered back down to follow. As Murphy crawled after
Taurik, Clark rolled onto his back in the tube and unlatched a panel from the top. He keyed in a code and
the electric hum of forcefields snapped into place.
“Dammit!” Murphy yelled, pushing back from the forcefield that had just gone up in front of his
face. He turned back to Clark, “Tell me before you do that!” Clark crawled up beside him, finding Taurik
on the other side of the forcefield, trapped between it and one at the intersection with the next vertical shaft.
Murphy’s rifle sat on the far side of the energy screen.
They stared at each other for several seconds, none daring to move. Taurik finally spoke, “You’re
in over your head, Captain.” Without giving Clark a chance to respond, Taurik’s Vulcan body liquefied and
collapsed into a golden puddle that oozed to the side of the tube and partially slipped up under an access
panel.
“Oh no you don’t!” Clark rolled onto his back and pushed off with his legs to slide his body back
down the tunnel to the controls he’d used to activate the forcefield. As he was reaching up to the small
panel, the lights flashed and went dark all around, followed by the loud pop of a short-circuited plasma
relay. Clark reached up and tapped the pane several times, and then pounded on it with his fist, “Dammit!”
He grabbed the cover panel and pitched it down the tube, hearing it spark off the forcefield and then clatter
to the deck.
The only illumination left in the tunnels was that of the light on top of Murphy’s rifle, sitting just
out of reach on the other side of the forcefield. “He’s leaving!” Murphy called out as the shapeshifter
slipped out of the access panel and funneled itself into a ventilation duct.
Clark tapped his combadge, “Clark to bridge.”
R’Mor immediately answered, her voice anxious, “Bridge here. What’s going on down there? I’m
reading phaser fire!”
“I’ll explain later,” Clark said, “Beam Murphy and me to the bridge.”
“I can’t.” R’Mor said, “There’s a secure level-ten forcefield around you two. I can’t seem to
deactivate it.”
“How secure?” Clark asked.
“Level nine clearance. I’ve never seen anybody less than an admiral with level nine.”
Clark shook his head, “Do what you can. And see if Jensen can do anything about that clearance.
Clark, out.”
Murphy sat down as best he could in the cramped tube, his outline barely visible in the rifle’s
reflected light, “What now?”
Stardate 57092.349726
Individually, bio-neural gel packs, isolinear chips, and ODN relays put out varying whines and
hums so quiet that even a Ferengi would have to struggle to hear them. But grouped by the thousands, as
they were in the Aldrin’s eight-deck-tall primary computer core, the multi-tonal hum was loud enough that
it overpowered the constant low hum of the Aldrin’s environmental systems, gravity plating, and warp
drive.
The core measured about four meters across, with a meter of working space all around to allow
access for technicians. Hanging racks of the blue-green gel packs alternated with trays of tightly-packed
57
vertical transparent yellow, green, and red isolinear chips, all interconnected by kilometers of optical cables.
A half-meter-wide processing column ran up the center, wrapped in glowing ODN cables.
The golden liquid of a Changeling flowed into the core room through the wide slats of an
atmospheric vent halfway up the tall cylindrical bulkhead. The shapeshifter quickly took on a roughly
humanoid shape, reaching an amorphous leg and arm out to a nearby strip of ladder rungs. Having gained
purchase, the rest of the Changeling slipped out of the vent and condensed into the form of Taurik.
Hanging from the ladder, Taurik looked down to the base of the core. On the circular deck fifteen
meters below him were two Starfleet engineers, standing at a wide curved system display against the
bulkhead. They spoke with raised voices, but at that distance the Changeling was unable to discern what
they were saying over the constant drone of the core. He hung there silently for several seconds, observing
the pair.
Satisfied that the engineers were oblivious to his presence, Taurik reached into the pocket of his
jacket and pulled out the small binary explosive pad. He squeezed his fist around it, forming the explosives
into a sphere, and then reached into the core. His outstretched arm turned back to gold liquid and extended
even further, reaching a meter further to the central column. Moving slowly, the Changeling’s fluid
representation of a hand pressed the explosives against the column, pushing the putty so that it stuck
against the wrapping of ODN cables.
Taurik carefully withdrew his arm, forming it back into the solid and textured form that matched
the rest of his false body. He looked down again, reassuring himself that the officers at the bottom were still
unaware. Taurik turned his attention back to the core, searching for a high-energy power source to ignite
the explosives – they were generally stable and required the application of significant energy to detonate.
He looked back down to the engineers again, noticing that one had a hand phaser attached to his belt.
The Changeling quickly lowered himself down the ladder, skipping every other rung on his way
down, and stopping a few meters above the officers. The ladder ran down the right side of the display
tended to by the engineers. Taurik jumped off the ladder, throwing himself at the engineers.
His feet made contact with the phaser-wearer’s shoulders, swiftly knocking him into the other and
taking both to the deck. His target knocked unconscious by the impact, Taurik twisted around to grab the
phaser. The other engineer scrambled onto his feet, raising two fists and taking a fighting stance. Taurik
slowly stood, holding his hands out to his sides.
“Who are you?” The engineer demanded. He shuffled forward, not taking his eyes off Taurik.
“Your end,” Taurik sneered. He reached out with the hand not holding the phaser, in the blink of
an eye liquefying the arm and stretching it out and around the engineer’s head. With blinding speed Taurik
withdrew his extended arm, snapping the engineer’s head around with the loud crack of a shattering spinal
column. The engineer’s body went limp and collapsed onto the deck.
A detonator secured, Taurik rushed back up the ladder, stopping halfway up where he’d planted
the explosive. He ramped up the controls on the phaser and forced it into an overload. It took only a second
for the weapon to start squealing, so Taurik quickly stretched his arm again to place the phaser-turnedgrenade on an isolinear tray closest to the explosive, and then wasted no time liquefying his entire body and
slipping back out through the vent.
The knocked-out engineer regained consciousness and rolled onto his back in time to see the
Changeling’s golden liquid mass sliding into the ventilation ducts. He reached for the phaser on his belt,
and froze when his hand slapped his hip instead. The distinctive whine of the overloading phaser pierced
through the drone of the computer core, prompting the engineer to roll over and push up onto his feet. He
bent down to grab his fallen comrade and then noticed the unnatural angle at which his head faced.
The phaser whine quickly increased to the point where the engineer clapped his hands over his
ears. The pent up energy in the phaser finally released, vaporizing the phaser in a bright flash, detonating
the nearby binary explosive and enveloping the upper half of the computer core in a fiery explosion. The
blast knocked the engineer back onto the deck and showered burning bits of gel and chips around him.
The explosion quickly dissipated, plunging the core room into darkness. Dim emergency lights
around the base of the bulkhead turned on, providing minimal illumination in the towering space. The
engineer groaned and flopped onto his back again, staring up at the quiet devastation about him – the
explosion had shredded close to five meter’s worth of the core and vaporized the center stretch of the
processing column.
The lower half of the column suddenly lurched downward, no longer properly supported by the
surrounding framework. The engineer scrambled backwards, pushing away from the center of the room as
58
the structure of the core gave way like the branches of a tree and sent the broken processing column
crashing to the deck in a cascade of gel packs, chips, cabling, and metal framing.
After sitting against the bulkhead curled in a ball with his hands over his head for several seconds
while the last unsupported pieces of the core collapsed, the engineer slowly stood, keeping his body close
to the wall. Ten meters worth of the computer core was piled in front of him in a two-meter-high mess of
cables and chips covered in the spilled gelatinous innards of the gel packs. The blue-green gel slowly
flowed out from the pile, pooling on the deck around his feet. He turned his gaze up to the upper half of the
core, still securely suspended from the overhead and the bulkheads, but also damaged to the point of
dripping gel and the occasional isolinear chip onto the pile below. He shook his head, “Well… damn.”
Stardate 57092. 355924
R’Mor looked nervously around the darkened bridge, her fingers lightly tapping the phaser at her
hip. She stood on the front side of Toq’bae’s science station, who despite being just a meter away was
barely visible against the dim emergency lighting. R’Mor looked over her shoulder to the science officer,
“If that was the computer core, why hasn’t the auxiliary taken over?”
“We scavenged gel packs from the auxiliary when we had to swap out some of the infected packs,”
Toq’bae said. “I think it was enough to render it mostly inoperable. I don’t know if they got around to
replacing them.”
R’Mor sighed, “Apparently not.”
A bang came from the Jefferies tube hatch set into the side of the turbolift alcove. The small door
slide to the side and Clark clambered out of the access tube. He stood and shook his head, “Status report.”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” R’Mor said. “We think something exploded a few decks below,
don’t know what or where. Everything’s down.” She smiled, “I see you got out of the forcefields.”
Clark nodded and straightened his uniform, “Yep. Murphy’s organizing teams to hunt down
Taurik.”
“Taurik?” Toq’bae asked, clearly surprised.
“He was behind this,” Clark said, walking up the ramp to stand beside R’Mor. “He took some sort
of explosives from the Jem’Hadar.”
R’Mor turned away from Clark and sneezed, bending slightly towards the deck. She straightened
back up and noticed the confused look on Clark’s face, “Doc said I’d probably be feeling the allergy for a
few days.” She rubbed her sleeve against her nose.
Clark nodded, “Pollen, right.” He looked back up to Toq’bae, “Have you been able to get into
contact with anybody?”
Toq’bae shook his head, “Not yet, Captain.”
Clark tapped his own combadge, but the device didn’t respond. He slowly looked down at the
communicator, his face showing confusion.
Toq’bae’s combadge beeped, “Clark to bridge.”
Toq’bae slowly raised a hand to his chest, not looking away from the Clark that stood in front of
him. He tapped the combadge, “Bridge here.”
“I’m assuming you heard that boom.”
“We did,” Toq’bae said. “Not sure what it was.”
The Clark on the bridge looked down at his side, finding R’Mor’s phaser pressed against his waist.
He slowly raised his arms.
“If you can figure out what it is, let me know,” Clark said over the combadge. “We’re going to
work on escaping the Jefferies tubes in the dark.”
“We’ll do that. Bridge, out.” Toq’bae stood from his station as Clark stepped back, holding his
hands behind his head, “So which Clark was the real Clark?”
R’Mor raised her phaser, taking aim at Clark, “What allergy made me sneeze?”
Clark’s eyebrows rose as he answered matter-of-factly, “Pollen.”
“Wrong answer.” Clark quickly shifted into the golden Changeling natural form and stretched out
towards R’Mor in the blink of an eye. She fired her phaser as his arm surged forward, knocking the
Changeling back and into a blob on the deck. It quickly turned a grayish solid and collapsed on itself like
ash.
59
Toq’bae blinked several times. He stepped up to R’Mor as she lowered the phaser and exhaled,
“Ensign, how did you know?”
“His combadge didn’t work,” R’Mor said, reattaching the phaser to her hip. She quickly whipped
her head to the side and sneezed, then looked back up to Toq’bae, “And cotton. Trust me, he’d remember.”
Toq’bae tapped his combadge, “Toq’bae to Clark.”
Clark responded, “Clark here. And still lost.”
He walked up to the low mound of ash where the Changeling had died, “Captain, can you explain
why R’Mor just killed you on the bridge?”
60
12
U.S.S. Aldrin
Stardate 57092.821680
“I’m sorry, Captain,” R’Mor said over the combadge, “I can’t shut down the forcefields.”
Clark sat up uncomfortably in the dark, narrow Jefferies tube, “Can you send somebody down
here with a phaser. Or at least a light?”
“All available personnel are working on restoring primary power and computer systems. Your
orders.”
Clark nodded, “That they are. Keep working on it, Clark, out.”
Murphy was rolled in a ball about two meters away. He rocked impatiently on his heels, “Okay.
How do we get out of here?”
“Well, we have two options,” Clark said. He put out his hand and held up his index finger, “A: we
blast our way out,” added his middle finger, “B: we take apart the tube and essentially burrow out.” Clark
realized that he couldn’t see his hand in the darkness and put it down, “Or, C: we sit and wait. Seeing as
we’re in a rather comfined space, I’d prefer we skip option A.”
Murphy laughed nervously, his voice echoing in the pitch-black tube, “It’s a shame the forcefields
are tied into emergency power.”
Clark rolled back onto his back and felt around for the closest access panel, “As opposed to
emergency forcefields failing in the brig, over hull breaches, and around the warp core when power is lost?”
He found a panel, unlatched it, and dropped it to the side.
The clattering of the metal panel made Murphy jump. “Sure, the pros outweigh the cons, but just
this once it would have been nice.”
“Yep.” Clark blindly reached into the void behind the removed panel, grabbing isolinear chips,
plasma routers, and other parts of the ship’s bowels before finding purchase on a bio-neural gel pack. He
grabbed on and yanked the bag out of its mount, and then sat up, “Commander, toss me your combadge.”
Murphy obliged, snatching the delta shield off his chest and tossing it to Clark. The captain
snatched the flying badge out of the air and quickly wrenched opened the casing.
“A little trick I learned on the Bozeman,” Clark explained as he inserted the internal circuitry of
the combadge into the ODN interface at the end of the gel pack. The pack began to glow an eerie blue,
casting a dim light onto the sides of the Jefferies tube. The thick neural fibers in the pack could be clearly
seen, glowing an intense white. “Ruins the pack,” Clark said, waving it in the air, “But there are times that
it’s worth it.” He put the gel pack on the deck between them. Clark noticed that Murphy was breathing
heavily and sweat was running down the sides of his head. Clark cocked his head slightly to the side, “John,
are you okay?”
Murphy gasped for air, “You might not have guessed, but I’m,” he swallowed hard,
“Claustrophobic.”
“Really?”
Murphy vigorously nodded his head. Clark couldn’t help but draw the connection to the image of
a small, frightened child.
“What do you normally do to deal with situations like this?” Clark asked.
Murphy chuckled, “I keep moving. As long as I’m in motion, I’m okay.” He looked to the
invisible boundary of the forcefield just to his left, and then down the tube a few meters to his right to the
other forcefield. “That’s not really an option right now.”
“And when you can’t?” Clark pushed the gel pack a bit closer to Murphy, thinking it might help,
like a child with a night-light. “Don’t tell me that you sing.”
Murphy laughed, his amusement echoing through the Jefferies tubes, “No! I don’t sing.” He
exhaled loudly and set his hands on the deck, “I try to think about anything other than getting crushed by
the walls of the tube closing in on me.”
Clark looked around him, noting the unnervingly close proximity of the tube sides and top, “Yeah,
don’t think about that.” Clark lowered himself down onto his back and slipped up close to the open panel.
“Option B: we burrow.”
“Great,” Murphy groaned.
61
Clark grabbed the edges of the opening and pulled his upper torso inside. Somewhere behind the
conduits and nodes was a bulkhead, and behind that was a cabin and open space. He reached out and
grabbed an ODN conduit, pulling to take out the slack elsewhere in the line and allowing him to move it
better out of his way. He detached a small atmospheric regulator from a ventilation duct and used the
forearm-length tube as a lever to bend the supports for the isolinear chip array and open a space big enough
that Murphy’s wider torso would fit through.
The regulator snapped under the pressure, with the half in Clark’s hand flipping over the isolinear
array and snapping through a conduit over his head. Sparks rained down on Clark as he curse and pushed
himself out, “Son of a bitch!”
Murphy kicked the glowing gel pack back down to Clark, “What happened?”
Clark reached out and grabbed the pack, “The conduit setup was changed in here. I think I just
severed a power relay.”
“Where to?”
“I’m not sure,” Clark said, “But I’d have to say that power is out somewhere within ten meters
of…” He hurriedly pushed himself out of the access port, “Emergency power is the only thing working
right now.” He reached back in and grabbed a handful of isolinear chips and then tossed them down the
tube. They clacked against the decking and slid to a stop about five meters away.
“Forcefields are out?” Murphy leaned over and reached through the space where the forcefield
separating him from his phaser rifle had been. With no painful feedback, Murphy grabbed the rifle and
pulled up, inspecting it in the dim blue light. He switched off the rifle’s top-mounted spotlight.
Clark’s combadge beeped, “R’Mor to Clark. The forcefields are down, and we just got external
sensors online.”
Clark nodded, “Thank you, Ensign?” He got onto his hands and knees and started down the tube
towards the chips, pushing the gel pack ahead of him.
“You didn’t let me finish.” She added, “Captain. They’re still recalibrating, but we’re definitely
picking something up out there.”
Clark stopped, “What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
Toq’bae’s distant voice could be heard through the combadge, “Visual’s online. And… oh shit.”
“Ensign?” Clark prodded.
“It’s a Dominion fleet,” R’Mor said dejectedly.
Clark started forward again, “Prepare the crew for boarding parties. Murphy is on his way up, I’m
heading to engineering.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Clark, out.” He squinted in the darkness, knowing that a vertical shaft was coming up ahead.
A deep voice with a hint of gravely harshness came from ahead in the tunnel, “You can’t stop us.”
The pair froze. Clark stared ahead into the darkness, “We’re onto you. It’s not going to work.”
The voice laughed, “You think you’re a step ahead? You’re five steps behind and you’re not
catching up.”
Clark rolled his eyes, “Is that all? Mind filling me in one what we’re missing?” Murphy slowly
rolled back onto his knees and raised his rifle, taking up a cramped kneeling position to fire over Clark’s
back.
“You do not amuse me.” The voice seemed to grow to grandiose, “You are doomed, Captain. The
Dominion will soon rule the galaxy. It is our destiny. And you’ve delivered the tools for conquest into our
hands.”
Even though he couldn’t make out anything in the dark reaches of the tunnel, Murphy fired his
phaser. The yellow phaser bolt impacted the side of the tube, showering sparks and briefly illuminating a
figure kneeling about five meters away with arms reaching up into access panels overhead.
The grandiosity turned to irritation, “That was the wrong move.” A small explosion erupted
behind Murphy, knocking him to the deck and blowing smoke into the tube. The voice continued, “I’ve
tapped into the power systems in this tube. Try anything else and I will kill you immediatedly.”
“Why not kill me now?” Clark asked. He kept his head facing forward as he slowly broke the
power supply off of the combadge circuitry he’d attached to the gel pack.
“You’re five steps behind. That wouldn’t be fair.”
62
Clark jammed the power supply into a mismatched port on the top of the gel pack, “I’ve never
known the Dominion for playing fair.” He tossed the gel pack down the tunnel, watching it slide to a stop at
the feet of the figure.
The light blue light illuminated a face of undistinguished features with deeply set eyes and slicked
back tan hair: a Founder. His arms were the liquid gold of a shapeshifter and extended up into the overhead,
quite literally reaching into the power systems and more than capable of triggering a localized overload like
the one that’d knocked down Murphy. The founder grew a third arm from his left shoulder and picked up
the glowing gel pack, “What is this?”
“It’s my step ahead,” Clark said. He fell to his side and slapped his combadge, “Clark to Murphy!”
The combadge chirped and the gel pack erupted in a small red-tinted explosion that obliterated the
Founder. Clark covered his head with his arms as bits of flaming gel flew past.
After a few seconds, Clark lowered his arms and looked up into the tunnel. Little bits of burning
gel pack cast an eerie reddish light in the tube, illuminating a charred space no longer occupied by the
Founder.
Murphy pushed himself up, coughing, “How the hell did you know that could to that?”
Clark laughed, turning around and helping Murphy onto his knees, “I didn’t!”
Stardate 57092.931862
Cochrane slowly paced the darkened sickbay, aimlessly casting his wristlight around the empty
beds. A fine dust was already suspended in the air, illuminating the conical path of the beam. Main power
had been out for what seemed like ages, but contrary to expectations nobody had made their way to sickbay
with injuries. “Of course, we can’t open the door,” he said to the empty sickbay. “I really should have taken
those Engineering lessons they offered me.” He sighed, “Ninety years ago.”
Wright came through the door leading to the overflow ward, “I got the corridor doors open.”
“Nice work,” Cochrane said. A station just to the right of the surgical bay illuminated, casting
bright light across the infirmary. Cochrane grunted and walked over to it, “What have we here?”
Wright shook his head, “No clue.”
Cochrane reached the station, a testing platform like the one across sickbay by his office, and
attempted to tap in a few commands, but the screen did not respond. The bulkhead to the right of the station
suddenly banged loudly several times. Cochrane stumbled backwards until he hit a medical bed. His
combadge suddenly beeped, “Clark to Cochrane.”
He pushed himself off the bed and tapped the combadge, “Uh, Cochrane here.”
“Doctor, are you in sickbay?” Clark asked.
Cochrane took a moment to recover his breath, “Yeah. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Murphy and I are at a the Jefferies tube access port leading into sickbay.”
“Really” Cochrane crouched next to the closed hatch, “I couldn’t tell.”
“What?”
Cochrane pounded his fist on the hatch, “This one?”
“Yeah, it’s locked with a code that I can override, but I have no way of entering the codes from in
here,” Clark said. “Well, I could, but it will take me a while to code them in by hand into the ODN junc–”
Cochrane spoke over him, “So, you want me to enter them for you?”
“Exactly. We’ve rerouted emergency power to this section; the console on your side should be
working.”
“It is.” Cochrane stood and tapped a few times on the screen to get to the hatch access screen, “It
says that lock access is restricted.”
“That’s fine,” Clark said, “Enter gamma epsilon seven six.”
Cochrane entered the code and the display changed. He read the text aloud, “Enter beta clearance
access code to unlock hatch.”
“Good.” Cochrane heard somebody else in the background, but Clark continued, “Beta omega
two zero.” Cochrane entered the new code and the hatch clicked loudly. The hatch swung open, trapping
Cochrane between the bed, the corner of two bulkheads, and the hatch.
Clark climbed through the open hatch, with Murphy following close behind. Murphy ran his hand
over his sweaty and ash-coated head, “I’m out!”
“Indeed you are.” Cochrane looked the security chief over, “Where’s your combadge?”
63
Clark turned to Cochrane, “I blew it up.” A quirky smile spread across his face.
“Oh,” Cochrane responded flatly. “Are you two all right?”
“I’m fine,” Murphy said. He rubbed his hands together. Clark nodded in agreement.
Cochrane studied the pair noting the smears of soot and gel pack allover them, “And precisely why
did you have to blow up a combadge?”
Clark looked to Murphy, and then back to Cochrane. He couldn’t help but grin, “It’s a long story.”
64
13
U.S.S. Aldrin
Stardate 57092.935662
One more pull. That’s all Kelley thought it would take. But it was also the ninth or tenth time she
had thought that while trying to wrench open the hatch in the deck of her stalled turbolift. After spending
an entire shift in a shuttlecraft maneuvering the new subspace relay into place, the last place she wanted to
be was stuck in an even smaller space. But the power had gone out with a deck-vibrating boom, and now
she was stuck. Four dim emergency lights lit the darkened turbolift from their mounts near the deck.
The hatch did have a handle, set into the deck, but it had sheared off after the third pull. She
stepped back over the hatch, straddling the square in the deck, and inserted her fingers in the crack between
the hatch and the deck. Kelley knew she wasn’t strong – she was short for a Human and bordering on
unhealthily skinny, and though fit to pass Starfleet’s standards, she simply didn’t have the strength to easily
open this hatch without a handle to grab onto.
She steadied herself over the hatch, counted to three, and then pulled with every bit of strength she
could muster. Every muscle in her body strained and burned, but not until she felt her shoulders starting to
separate did she stop. She released the hatch and dropped to the deck, breathing heavily as she pushed back
and rested against the lift’s closed door. She had already tried the door, but thanks to safety protocols it
wouldn’t open between decks. Not that it would have done her much good, all that she would have found
on the other side of the door was the smooth curved wall of the turboshaft.
Kelley glared at the stubborn hatch and saw in the dim light that she had managed to pull it open a
little over a centimeter. Ignoring all the protests of her stressed body, Kelley struggled up from the deck.
She again stood over the hatch and reached her fingers around its edge. She found handholds inset in the
edge of the hatch and quickly readied herself to pull the hatch right out of the deck.
She exerted every reserve of energy she could summon and the hatch slowly rose, groaning as she
drew it up from the deck. The hatch stopped resisting at about twenty degrees open, but Kelley was still
pulling hard. The hatch freely swung as she stumbled back and it slammed open on the deck between her
legs. Kelley grinned and stepped forward, standing astride the open hatchway and looking down through its
meter-square opening. She was greeted by a dark turboshaft, barely illuminated by three columns of
emergency lights running its height.
Kelley suddenly wished she had tried a different method of escape. At least twenty meters
separated her from the bottom of the shaft, far enough that one slip was instantly and almost certainly fatal.
Realizing that she was still standing over a pit several decks deep, Kelley jumped back, retreating to the
shallow alcove that held the door. After catching her breath, she took a step forward and examined the edge
of the hatch opening. Her eyes landed on a red-painted ladder rung, the first of several that would cross the
bottom of the turbolift to the shaft walls.
Recalling the simulation training from the Academy, Kelley lowered herself to sit over the edge of
the hatch opposite the rung. As her legs hung down through the hatch, she slowly leaned forward, bracing
herself with hands on the deck, until she could reach out and grab the rung. Kelley took a deep breath and
pulled forward, dragging her haunches across the deck until her body fell through the hatch. Her body
swung down underneath the lift, and feeling her fingers slipping, she quickly reached out for the next
handle, and then the next, working her way across the bottom of the turbolift car in just a few seconds.
Kelley reached out and grabbed onto a rung of a ladder recessed into the shaft’s side and hurriedly kicked
her feet forward, finding purchase on the ladder.
Kelley hugged the ladder for several seconds, working to bring her breathing under control. This
had been easy at the Academy, not so here where there weren’t holodeck safety protocols to save her if she
slipped. Her calm somewhat reclaimed, Kelley slowly stepped down the ladder until she reached the closest
deck, indicated to her right by a thin glowing strip at the base of the door. She carefully reached out with
her right leg, cautiously tapping with her boot the narrow strip of decking that would have bridged the
space between the open turbolift and the corridor. It was fifteen centimeters wide at best, barely enough for
Kelley to fit her foot sideways.
She could tell that she was trembling, both from exertion and fear, as she shifted her weight
towards her right leg. Moving slowly, Kelley released the ladder with her left hand, slid her arm across the
65
shaft wall, and reached across her chest to grasp the edge of the doorway. She took several deep breaths as
she shifted her right foot further along the ledge, and then pushed off from the ladder, bringing her left side
safely to the ledge while quickly reaching out and grabbing the opposite edge of the doorway. She hugged
the door, her chest and stomach pushing off it with each labored breath.
Her hands felt only smooth metal as she ran them down the doorframe, searching for the manual
release lever. Kelley stood back up and slid her foot across the ledge, feeling the tread of her boot catch on
the small grab handle. Still holding close to the door, she looked down at the handle, “You have got to be
kidding.”
Kelley nervously bit her lip as she let go of the right side of the doorframe and slowly pivoted on
her feet so she could crouch down to reach the lever. The fabric of her uniform audibly brushed against the
door as she slid down alongside it. Her shaking body only made matters worse as she paused, realizing the
maneuver was pushing her left foot and her center of gravity off the ledge. After several more deep breaths,
she reconsidered and started to stand, but the force exerted by standing back up pushed her left boot off the
ledge. Despite reaching out to re-grab the right side of the alcove, her right foot gave way and she quickly
slipped over the edge of the ledge.
Her forearms and chin caught on the ledge, slamming her head back but halting her plummet to
certain death. Kelley groaned in pain and rolled her hands into fists. Ripped from her chest, her combadge
bounced of the shaft walls before quietly hitting the bottom. Her jaw ached and blood poured from her
opened mouth. She searched the bulkhead below with the tips of her boots, but couldn’t find a foothold.
She looked up to the turbolift sitting overhead, imagining the power coming back on and the lift descending
on her as she hung there helplessly. Even though safety protocols would have prevented such an incident,
the thought was impetus enough for her to spread her arms out in an attempt to push up and get her whole
body back onto the ledge. As she was spreading, her right hand slipped over the grab hole for the release
lever.
Kelley froze as she considered her options. Chances were she wouldn’t have the strength to get
herself back up onto the ledge, and she knew she didn’t have it in her to hang off the ledge by her arms for
however many hours it took for somebody to come and find her. She nodded to herself, “Okay,” and
slipped her fingers into the slot, found the lever, and twisted her wrist up to pull. The door unlocked and
snapped open.
Before Kelley could look out and determine where she was, the higher pressure turbolift shaft
decompressed into the opened doorway. Kelley’s long blonde hair whipped across her face as she stretched
her arms into the opening and clawed into the carpet. Kicking and yelling, she pulled herself forward until
she was able bring her knees up into the doorway. Successful, Kelley flopped face-first onto the deck, and
after giving herself a few seconds of heavy breathing pushed up on her elbows and craned her neck to look
ahead.
She immediately recognized the small three-meter-square cabin as the airlock into the shuttlebay.
Kelley dropped her head and groaned, back where she’d started three hours earlier.
00:39 Hours, February 4th, 2380
Stardate 57093.158094
Clark ducked under a fried meter-long plasma junction propping open the door to Engineering-A.
Most of the consoles in Engineering had been restored to working order, with a small team of officers
feverishly working at each. The warp core, previously thrumming with energy, was dark, its transparent
casing gently reflecting the glow of the consoles and emergency lights. Clark quickly walked towards the
core, turning right into the corner occupied by the Chief Engineer’s office. It was a raised triangular
platform ringed with deep consoles; the long side facing the warp core was open so the occupant could
observe the warp core and work throughout Engineering. Vorik sat in a low-backed chair, his attention
focused on the screen in front of him.
“How’s it going?” Clark asked, peering at the complex series of numbers scrolling on the screen.
Vorik’s fingers danced over the console. He spoke without looking away, “Fractal encryption
codes are very complex; it will take me some time to lock out the entirety of the Aldrin’s systems.” The
screen flashed ‘Environmental Control Codes Encrypted’.
Clark nodded and tapped a few commands into a neighboring console, pulling up the view from
the Aldrin’s forward visual sensors. The Dominion fleet was hovering several kilometers away, well within
66
transporter range and close enough that Clark could identify even the smallest attack ships. “What have you
locked out so far?”
“Environmental, navigation, propulsion, shields, warp drive, and weapons,” Vorik recited. “The
joined computer cores should be secure in approximately twenty seven seconds.”
“What’s left of it,” Clark quipped. Vorik’s engineers had managed to link the remnants of the two
computer cores, one scavenged and the other halved by the explosion, joining them as a single core capable
of running basic functions like life support and sensors. But even with the self-organizing behavior of the
gel packs it had proven difficult to get much more capability than that in the short time.
The computer beeped and Vorik reported, “Main computer encrypted.”
“Isolate both computers and take them offline,” Clark ordered.
Vorik broke his gaze from the console, turning to Clark and simply prompting, “Captain?”
Clark pointed a hand at the sensor display, “I don’t know what they’re waiting for, but my gut tells
me we don’t have much longer before the boarding parties start beaming aboard.” As the words left his
mouth Clark realized that vital spaces like Engineering would be among the first the Jem’Hadar would
attempt to secure. He absently patted the hand phaser on his hip, “I want to make it as difficult as we can
for them to unlock this ship.”
Vorik simply turned back to the console and began entering more commands. After several
seconds he announced, “Secondary computer isolated.” The quiet whir of the atmospheric recyclers slowly
died.
The hair on the back of Clark’s neck stood on end as a new subspace hum filled the air, quickly
followed by the vertical aqua and purple light streaks of a Dominion transporter. The streaks quickly
resolved into six tall Jem’Hadar soldiers. Clark’s phaser was already in his hands and he fired on the closest
Jem’Hadar before it had even fully materialized.
The Jem’Hadar fell to the deck with a smoldering hole in its chest. Clark dove behind a console
dividing Vorik’s office from the rest of Engineering. Twin disruptor beams pierced the space Clark had
occupied just a spilt second earlier. The station behind him exploded, hurling small bits of heated shrapnel
against his back. Phaser and disruptor beams crossed between the Jem’Hadar and the other engineers.
Vorik was suddenly at Clark’s side as disruptor fire destroyed his console. He grabbed the phaser
from his own belt and said, “The primary computer has been isolated.”
That instant saw every console in Engineering go dark. The weapons fire stopped a second later.
Clark carefully pushed back from his hiding place behind the console, his eyes not adjusting quickly to the
darkness. He suddenly felt the hot metal of a recently discharged disruptor pressing against the back of his
skull.
The deep, hoarse voice of an elder Jem’Hadar growled from behind him, “Move and die.”
Stardate 57093.159234
Kelley yelled out in exasperation, her voice echoing as it bounced off the distant bulkheads and
overhead of the shuttlebay. Every door, access port, and ventilation grate leading out of the shuttlebay was
not just closed, but locked and unwilling to be coaxed open. She slumped against the side of one of the
shuttles docked around at the shuttlebay’s center core and sighed. The normally brightly-lit cavernous
space was dimly illuminated, with a good portion of the light at the aft end coming from the control room
over the center aft space door.
She slapped the side of the shuttle and looked down at the name painted near that hand: Carpathia.
Sitting in front of her was an identical shuttle named Atlantis. As a pilot she had a certain fondness for
shuttles – they were certainly more fun to fly than a hulking starship. Movement at the top edge of her field
of vision caught her attention; she looked up to see figures entering the control room. Kelley squinted
against the bright light and gasped as the figures sharpened into Jem’Hadar. She immediately dropped
down and crawled across the deck, sliding up against the port side of the Atlantis, her back to the control
room.
Thoughts raced through her head as she struggled to figure out what to do next. She slapped her
chest, her palm finding bare fabric, and then recalled the sound of her combadge hitting the bottom of the
turbolift shaft. Kelley closed her eyes and dropped her head back, resting it on the shuttle’s cold hull. Her
eyes snapped back open with realization, “A shuttle.”
67
Kelley slowly stood, keeping her back against the Atlantis, reaching out and feeling for the
exterior hatch control. The small palm-sized panel illuminated as her hand passed over it, and a quick press
caused the neighboring door to drop back a few centimeters and slide out of the way. Kelley eased herself
towards the open doorway and peaked her head inside, “Computer, leave the lights off and be quiet.” The
shuttle responded with a simple and quiet trilling tone. Kelley stepped up into the shuttle, which as
commanded stayed dark instead of following the default behavior and activating the lights as she entered.
In the darkness Kelley moved to the back end of the shuttle, finding the equipment lockers and
pulling out a hand phaser. She checked the levels, finding it fully charged, and then started back towards
the open door. Kelley froze when the shuttlebay door directly in front of her shuttle opened and a pair of
Jem’Hadar soldiers entered. As they sniffed the air, Kelley dropped behind the forward pilot’s console,
peaking over the edge. Two more Jem’Hadar exited from the door, followed by a group of ten Starfleet
officers with their hands held on the back of their heads. A third pair of Jem’Hadar brought up the rear.
Kelley’s heart beat wildly as she weighed her options. She knew she was a decent shot with a
phaser, but in a contest of decent Starfleet shot against six bred-for-battle Jem’Hadar, Kelley knew she’d be
lucky to take down one of them before she was killed. As the Jem’Hadar gathered in a line in front of the
Starfleet officers, Kelley rolled the phaser’s discharge level to maximum and stood.
She paused at the doorway, looked down at the dark pilot console, and then rushed into the chair
and called, “Computer, emergency power-up. Full power to phasers!”
The sound of high-powered polaron beams resounded through the shuttlebay as the Jem’Hadar
coldly executed their prisoners, not even making them face away. The bodies of ten Starfleet officers fell
onto the deck.
The Atlantis roared to life. The impulse reactor and warp drive cycled on as the anti-grav plating
lifted the multi-ton shuttlecraft off the deck. The graceful double-arched pilot’s console lit up as Kelley’s
fingers danced across the glossy surface.
The Jem’Hadar turned around to face the noise of the shuttle and paused, seemingly uncertain
what to do. One raised his rifle and took aim.
Kelley pressed the phaser control and swept her hand across the weapons area. The Atlantis
responded to the command by unleashing a sweep of phaser fire across the Jem’Hadar. Even at its lowest
setting the Atlantis’s phasers vaporized the Jem’Hadar and scorched the bulkhead behind them.
Between the noise of the shuttle and the display of phaser fire, Kelley knew the Jem’Hadar in the
control room had to be aware of her presence. She pushed the controls forward, easing the Atlantis away
from its berth and turning it so the nose pointed towards the aft control room. As expected, the handful of
Jem’Hadar had taken aim, pointing their rifles through the square windows.
Kelley’s hand hovered over the phaser controls for a second. She reconsidered and tapped a series
of numbers into the console, “Computer, acquire a transporter lock on the Jem’Hadar in the shuttlebay
control room and beam them to these coordinates.”
The female voice of the shuttle’s computer coolly responded, “The entered coordinates are
outside of the U.S.S. Aldrin environmental zone. Do you wish to proceed?”
Kelley couldn’t help but grin. She’d joined Starfleet to fight the Dominion, but had never gotten
the chance. The war was over, but here she had opportunity, “Proceed.” The transporter at the center of the
shuttle hummed to life as the Jem’Hadar disappeared in a wave of sparkling aqua energy. They resolved at
a point a kilometer to the aft of the Aldrin, quickly suffocating in the vacuum of space.
Stardate 57093.159614
“Your hour’s up,” R’Mor said. Unable to do anything with the dark ops console, she’d moved to
the captain’s chair. She pushed her foot off the back of the ops arch and slowly spun the chair. The
Dominion fleet still sat dead ahead on the viewscreen, having stopped their approach at just a few
kilometers distant.
Toq’bae laughed, “Does that mean we both lose?”
“Do you want to lose?” R’Mor dragged her boots on the carpet as the chair’s momentum kept it
spinning.
“Not really, I’m a sore loser.”
R’Mor planted her feet on the deck and stopped, facing the science station. She looked over her
shoulder at the viewscreen, “Fifteen minute extension?”
68
Toq’bae looked over his console, “Are you taking over or under?”
“Under.”
Toq’bae squinted at the viewscreen, “I’ll take that bet.”
The hum of transporters filled the bridge. As the bright aqua and purple streaks of Dominion
transporters appeared, R’Mor jumped to her feet and grabbed her phaser off her hip. As she brought the
weapon up a Jem’Hadar hand wrapped around the phaser body and crushed it, then pulled the broken
weapon away from her loose hand.
With a Jem’Hadar standing right at his station with a rifle aimed squarely at him, Toq’bae slowly
raised his hands over his head, “You win.”
R’Mor cautiously turned to face the Jem’Hadar that had disarmed her, “Great.” The soldier
whipped his rifle around, smacking the butt into the side of R’Mor’s head.
Stardate 57093.169564
Kelley desperately worked at the controls of the Atlantis. Moments after her victory over the
Jem’Hadar, the entire shuttlebay and control room had gone dark, and if the shuttle’s sensors were correct,
the entire Aldrin was powerless. She had a shuttle at her command, but with no power in the surrounding
ship there was no way for her to open the doors and escape.
Her only option was to blast her way out through the space doors, but she needed to do so while
dealing as little damage to the Aldrin as possible. Satisfied with the plan she’d formulated, Kelley piloted
the Atlantis around so it sat squarely in front of the middle of the three aft space doors. Taking a deep
breath, she pressed the console and the Atlantis’s phasers fired, giving just enough power to obliterate the
door without so much as dinging the deck below or control room above.
As the shuttlebay rapidly and violently decompressed through the newly-opened hole, Kelley
entered a new set of commands into the console. She ordered, “Computer, override and activate the
Carpathia and upload program Kelley Beta Phi.”
“Overriding.” Behind the Atlantis the Carpathia barely came to life, the only evidence being the
glow of the console inside. The Atlantis’s computer prompted, “Program initiated. Control lock
authorization required.”
“Kelley Tango Seven Bravo,” she said. The computer responded with a chirp.
Kelley looked forward through the blown-away door, noticing the trio of attack ships moving to
investigate and blocking the path to the wormhole. With the confidence of a seasoned pilot, she pushed the
Atlantis to full impulse and rocketed through the doorway. The Atlantis shot out under the Aldrin’s twin
catamaran hulls, with Kelley quickly turning the shuttle to arc up through the open space between the
engineering hulls, saucer, and weapons pod.
The attack ships reacted almost instantly, moving forward to intercept the shuttle. Polaron beams
streaked by as Kelley yelled, “Emergency warp, heading 009 mark 298!” The Atlantis responded by
banking sharply and jumping into warp.
It took only a few seconds for two of the attack ships to catch up. Blue torpedoes flashed past the
Atlantis. Kelley deftly steered the shuttle into sweeping curves. Despite the significantly more powerful
warp drive systems on the attack ships, they couldn’t keep up with the maneuvers. In a straight-line race it
would have been no contest, but with the right pilot at the controls the nimble shuttle could easily outrun
even a full-size starship.
Attack ships slowly fell further and further behind as Kelley executed increasingly complicated
maneuvers, finishing by executing a two billion kilometer loop at Warp 9 – fifteen hundred times the speed
of light. The attack ships simply couldn’t make that tight of a turn at that speed and fell out of sensor range.
Kelley leaned back in her seat, her heart pounding and a proud grin spreading across her face.
69
14
Location Unknown
Time and Date Unknown
Clark jerked awake, rolling off his bunk and falling onto the hard metal deck. Before he could
react or determine where he was, a rough deep male voice ordered, “Pick him up.” A pair of hands reached
under Clark’s arms and roughly hauled him onto his feet. He shook his head and looked up to either side,
finding a Jem’Hadar soldier holding him. Clark looked forward, finding a male-looking Founder sitting
calmly in on a short stool just a few meters away. The shapeshifter pointed at a three-legged metal stool
sitting in front of him, “Please sit, Captain.”
“Tell me where I am,” Clark demanded. He rubbed his chin, sore from the impact with the deck,
feeling two or three day’s worth of stubble.
The Founder said more sternly, “Captain, sit.”
Clark took a moment to survey the room while he stepped forward and sat. It measured just under
three meters by four meters, with smooth seamless metal walls. A single door sat in the corner opposite the
thin mattress bed. Lighting came from a wide recess that ran along the edge of the ceiling, which itself was
comprised of meter-square panels. Clark turned his attention to the Founder, “I like what you’ve done with
the place.”
“I need you to give me the unlock codes for your ship,” the Founder said plainly.
“I can’t do that.”
The Founder leaned forward and emphatically stated, “David, you will do this.”
Clark crossed his arms, “Why?”
“If you don’t I will have your crew executed one-by-one in front of you until you comply.” After
letting the threat sink in, the he demanded, “The codes.”
Even as the faces of the Aldrin crew flashed before his eyes, Clark forced himself to coolly
respond, “No.”
“Do you think this is a game?” the Founder asked, seemingly shocked by Clark’s refusal.
Clark smirked, “I take this very seriously.”
“I don’t think you understand how serious this is.”
Clark held his hands out to his side, “Enlighten me.”
“Don’t pretend to be ignorant,” the Founder said. “You’re intelligent, for a solid. You know what
is going on here, and you know what the Dominion is willing to do.”
“I’m not so certain you represent the Dominion,” Clark countered.
“I am the true Dominion.” The cryptic answer prompted a raised eyebrow from Clark. The
Founder continued, “You will give me the unlock codes or your crew will die.”
“Answer’s still no.”
“David,” The Founder sat up, shaking his head, “I need you to understand something here. We
will crack your unlock codes eventually. Either you give me the codes and I permit your crew to live, or I
crack the codes and your crew dies. It is your choice.”
Clark dropped his hands into his lap and looked around the cell, and then back to the Founder with
a blank stare.
The Founder stared back, unblinking, for several seconds. Without looking away he ordered,
“Bring in the first one.”
The door opened into a brightly-lit corridor and a Jem’Hadar stepped through, dragging a male
Human in behind him. Clark recognized the lanky dark-haired security officer, “Lieutenant Carpenter.”
Carpenter unsuccessfully tried to shake off the Jem’Hadar, “I haven’t told them anything, Captain.”
Clark turned back to the Founder, “He doesn’t know anything.”
“I know,” the Founder said. He looked up at Carpenter standing behind him, and then to the
Jem’Hadar holding the lieutenant, “Kill him.”
The Jem’Hadar quickly drew its disruptor pistol and pointed it at Carpenter’s head. Clark yelled,
“Stop!” and jumped up, but the two other Jem’Hadar clapped down on his shoulders and pushed him back
down onto the stool.
The Founder held up a hand and a finger lifted off the disruptor’s trigger, though the weapon
remained aimed at Carpenter’s head. The Founder turned back to Clark, “The codes, Captain.”
“I’m going to need to talk to Vorik,” Clark said. “He knows the codes.”
70
“Why don’t I just ‘talk’ to him myself?” the Founder asked.
“Have you ever interrogated a Vulcan?” Clark laughed. Met with stony silence from the Founder,
Clark expounded, “You won’t be able to break him. I can convince him that it’s in our best interests.”
The Founder stood and stared down at Clark for several seconds. He calmly ordered, “Kill him.”
Without hesitation the Jem’Hadar pulled the trigger on his disruptor, discharging it at point blank range into
the side of Carpenter’s head. The lieutenant crumpled to the deck, the side of his head now a blackened and
smoking pit from the disruptor.
Clark stared, his mouth agape, at Carpenter’s body, “Why…”
“To convince you that it’s in your best interests,” the Founder said darkly. He walked out of the
cell, followed by the Jem’Hadar dragging Carpenter’s corpse.
The door snapped shut, leaving Clark alone, sitting in stunned silence on the stool. He looked up
from the spot where Carpenter had dropped, taking a few seconds to study the cell again. His eyes landed
on a small access panel next to the door. He stood and patted himself down, finding his combadge, phaser,
and rank pips gone, but his antique watch still on his wrist. Clark noted the date: February 6, two days since
the Aldrin’s capture.
He stepped up to the door and ran his fingers around the edges of the panel. Clark pulled at the
edges, found the panel unforgiving, and slammed his fist against the top edge. The panel popped loose at
the impact, flipping down from a bottom hinge. He crouched and looked into the jumble of wires and chips
inside the wall.
Location Unknown
Vorik silently allowed the two Jem’Hadar to guide him through the corridor. He had little choice,
with his hands bound behind his back and a bag over his head. The Jem’Hadar stopped and pulled the black
cloth bag off from Vorik’s head, presenting him with the Founder.
The Founder’s dark eyes stared unwaveringly at Vorik, “You will give your captain the unlock
codes.”
Vorik was quick to respond, “Why not give it to you?”
The Founder smirked, “Because I know you would not.” He pointed at a door set into the smooth
metal bulkhead. “Your Captain will explain.” One of the Jem’Hadar reached out and pressed a control
panel next to the door. The door slid open, revealing a small cell with Clark sitting on the bunk inside.
Clark stood, “Vorik!”
The Jem’Hadar barked, “Sit.” Clark slowly lowered himself back onto the bunk as the Jem’Hadar
stepped in. The second pushed Vorik forward through the door and followed closely behind. The door
snapped shut behind him.
The Founder grabbed the edge of the control panel and pulled it off the wall, activating the
wireless monitor display. The screen flickered with static as it displayed a video feed from inside, though
without sound. He shook the screen and turned it over in his hands, failing to get a clear and steady picture
or sound as Clark and Vorik sat on the stools.
Clark sat upright on the stool, his hands folded in his lap. He glanced up at the Jem’Hadar
towering behind Vorik, and then turned his attention to Vorik, “The unlock codes.”
Vorik’s eyes darted down at Clark’s right foot, which was steadily and quietly tapping once every
second. “They have not breached the lock?”
“No.”
Vorik responded placidly, “It is only a matter of time.” The tapping reached ten.
Clark leaned forward. “They’ll kill the crew if they don’t get them.”
The Founder pushed the display against the bulkhead, docking it back in place. It switched to a
control panel layout with a small video feed from inside tucked into a corner. There was still no sound and
a static-flickering video. He groaned and pulled the screen back off the dock.
“How many would they have to kill before you to break?” Vorik asked. “Twenty? Thirty?”
“I don’t think I could take thirty.”
Vorik nodded as the tap count passed twenty. “Captain, you cannot turn over the codes.”
71
Clark sat up, placing his hands back in his lap, “Would I have to order you?”
“That is an order I would disobey.”
Clark’s foot tapped a thirtieth time. A second later a quiet high-pitched whine came from the
access panel, its frequency so high and volume so low that only Vorik’s sensitive Vulcan ears could hear it.
Vorik made eye contact with Clark and barely nodded.
Clark slowly stood, glaring down at Vorik, “You will give the Dominion the codes. That is an
order.”
Vorik defiantly stood, “I cannot.”
Clark reached out and grabbed the collar of Vorik’s uniform jacket. He yelled, much to the
amusement of the Jem’Hadar behind their backs, sharply enunciating each word, “Give. Them. The. Codes!”
“No,” Vorik’s response was typically calm.
“They’ll start killing the crew!” Clark shouted. “They already shot Carpenter!”
Vorik coldly replied, “I don’t care.”
“You son of a bitch!” Clark swung his balled-up right fist at Vorik’s head, but he was quick to
lean back and miss the right hook. The Jem’Hadar behind Vorik chuckled at the spectacle.
The Founder stood silently in the corridor, glowering at the malfunctioning display in his hands.
On the screen Clark again leaned forward, speaking words the Founder could not hear.
Clark hefted the small stool over his head and yelled as he lunged forward. Vorik deftly stepped to
the side at the last second, allowing Clark to plow through and viciously lower the stool onto the
Jem’Hadar’s head.
The Jem’Hadar lost consciousness from the sudden impact, falling forward into Clark’s open arms.
Vorik rushed forward and grabbed the outstretched and pistol-wielding arm of the other Jem’Hadar. Vorik
yanked forward, breaking the Jem’Hadar’s wrist and forcing him to drop the pistol while reaching behind
his neck with the other hand and applying targeted pressure to specific nerves. The Jem’Hadar’s eyes rolled
back as he lost consciousness, crumpling to his knees while Vorik reached under his arms to quietly lower
him onto the deck.
Vorik stood and looked down at the two unconscious Jem’Hadar and the mangled stool, “Thirty?”
Clark shook his head, “I don’t think I could take one.” He looked around the cell, “Okay, now that
they’re out of the way…”
The whine emanating from the hacked access panel by the door dropped in pitch again, prompting
Vorik to warn, “The surveillance recycle you’ve employed is close overload.”
“How long?” Clark asked as he grabbed the pistols from the Jem’Hadar.
“Ninety seconds at most.” Vorik looked up at the overhead, “I believe my cell was identical in
design to this one. A ventilation duct should run over the second row of panels.” He accepted a pistol from
Clark and slipped the barrel into his belt.
Clark grabbed the other stool, put it against the bulkhead, and stood on it. His head fit up into the
lighting recess and was immediately met with a rush of air, “You’re right!” Clark awkwardly reached up
inside the gap, feeling for anchoring points. He found them and announced, “Clips.” Vorik backed up
against the bulkhead and reached up by Clark’s side, grasping the edge of the metal panel. As Clark pushed
from above, Vorik pulled from below, lifting his feet off the deck.
The Founder froze as Clark leaned forward in silence yet again. It seemed that Clark couldn’t find
a comfortable position, leaning forward and sitting up every fifteen seconds. He touched the door lock icon
in the corner of the screen. The door didn’t open, so he pressed it again. With the door still not opening, the
Founder pressed the intercom button and called inside the cell, “Open the door.”
Clark and Vorik froze for a second following the voice from the Founder. They quickly returned
their attention to removing the panel, which was now unclipped from the side closest to the wall and
bending from the middle. Vorik turned around, facing the bulkhead and putting a boot against the wall to
provide leverage.
The Founder slowly repeated, “Open the door.” Convinced that the display’s link was failing, he
snapped it back into the dock and pounded a fist on the door. After a few seconds the door snapped open,
prompting only a brief moment of satisfaction for the Founder. Before him lay the crumpled and disarmed
72
bodies of two Jem’Hadar and a severely bent ceiling panel. He slowly stepped into the cell and looked up
into the opened overhead.
A bang sounded from the access panel by the door, blowing it open in a mess of cables, sparks,
and smoke.
73
15
Dominion Station
Gamma Quadrant
The ventilation grate rattled as Clark worked on the last clip holding it into place. In the dark and
cramped confines of the ventilation duct it wasn’t easy to unfasten the grate, and it wasn’t made any easier
given that the only tool Clark and Vorik had on them was the captain’s wristwatch. Clark grunted as he
wedged the watch’s linked band between the side of the duct and the final clip.
Vorik whispered from behind, “Captain, I think it would be easier if–”
Clark cut him off, “I know.” The watch dropped out of the notch and clattered against the metal
ducting. Clark slapped his hand down on top off it, too late to stop the echoing metal-on-metal bang. He
picked the watch back up and crammed it back into the narrow notch, this time getting it to seat securely,
and then pulled on the protruding loops, hoping to unlatch the clip. Clark shifted onto his side and pulled,
pushing against the side of the duct.
“If you were to–”
Clark again cut him off, “I know.”
Vorik paused, crouched on all fours behind the struggling captain, “There are at least three more
efficient methods you could emp–”
Clark sat up as far as he could in the duct and quietly snapped back, “Do you think you could do
this better?”
“Yes,” Vorik coolly replied.
Clark couldn’t help but chuckled, and then rolled back to the clip, yanking on his watch. He
grimaced as the watchband dug into his fingers. After several seconds the clip finally gave way and the
grate dropped a centimeter in its opening, landing with a thud against the bottom of the duct. Clark reached
out, grabbing onto the upper slats in the grate just as it started to fall away from the bulkhead.
He grunted and pulled the grate back in, “Oh that’s heavy.”
“Perhaps I should have been the one to open the grate,” Vorik suggested.
“You could have said that earlier,” Clark said as he awkward rolled onto his front while
maintaining a grip on the grate.
“I did.”
“When I’m wrong and refuse to admit it,” Clark said, “I need you to challenge me.”
Vorik nodded, “Next time I shall challenge you to a Suss Mahn sparring match.”
Clark smiled as he shifted forward, preparing to quietly lower the grate out of the duct, “That’s the
spirit.”
A shrill klaxon sounded from the corridor on the other side of the grate and both froze. Clark
looked back to Vorik, his eyebrows raised, “Sounds like they’re onto us.”
“Indeed.” Vorik pulled his disruptor out from his belt.
Clark closed his eyes and continued to face away as he released his grip the heavy metal grate. It
swung out of the duct and slammed to the deck below with a thundering boom. He drew his own disruptor
and slowly edged towards the opening. Clark poked his head out and looked to both sides, finding an empty
corridor. With barely a modicum of grace, Clark pulled himself out of the duct with his arms, eventually
getting far enough out that he could bend his legs to reach the deck and crawl away while Vorik followed.
As Clark awkwardly stood and again surveyed the corridor, Vorik smoothly rolled out of the duct,
landing his feet squarely in the center of the fallen grate and quickly standing upright, disruptor raised to
the left end of the corridor. The passage was wide, large enough to accommodate the movement of whole
platoons of Jem’Hadar soldiers. The side opposite of the ventilation outlet carried a pair of thick conduits
with small circular ports that pulsed with power. Clark blinked again as the alarm sound, “I don’t think
that’s quite loud enough.”
Vorik turned around, methodically dropping the disruptor as he swept past Clark and raising it
again to face down the opposite direction, “I believe it is of a more than adequate volume.”
Clark cocked his head towards Vorik, “You still don’t quite get sarcasm, do you?”
“It is a form of humor that causes me much frustration.”
“So… any guess as to where we should go now?”
“I am unfamiliar with the layout of this facility,” Vorik stated matter-of-factly.
74
The sudden slight lift of Vorik’s head caught Clark’s eye, “What is it?”
Vorik whipped around, pointing his pistol back down the left end of the corridor, which turned
sharply about ten meters away. He held a silencing hand up to Clark as he closed his eyes. After two
seconds, Vorik’s eyes opened and his brow furrowed. He whispered, “Jem’Hadar incoming.”
Clark pointed down the opposite end of the corridor, which similarly turned sharply some ten
meters away, “Let’s go this way.”
Vorik nodded, “Agreed.” The pair turned and sprinted away. A second later the Jem’Hadar
rounded the corner and immediately began firing at the fleeing officers.
Still a few meters away from the corner, Clark deliberately dropped onto his side and slid at an
angle across the slick metal deck towards the corner. At the same time he stretched back with his right arm,
firing indiscriminately down the corridor with his disruptor. He glanced back at his feet just in time to see
the rapidly approaching drop-off of a around the corner staircase, but not in time to offer more of a reaction
than, “Oh shit!” Clark slipped over the edge of the stairway and tumbled head-over-heels the height of an
entire deck, slamming into and rebounding off the far bulkhead halfway down.
Vorik smoothly bounded down the stairs, catching every third stair on his way down. He landed
and dropped to a knee by Clark’s sprawled body, “David?”
Clark shook his head, “Owww…”
“Are you injured?” Vorik asked, running his hands over Clark’s arms and legs to check for
fractures.
Clark sat up and gingerly reached for a bleeding gash over his left eye, “I’m fine.” He reached to
the side to pick up his disruptor and accepted Vorik’s help onto his feet. Clark found his balance and
looked around the new corridor – a steep staircase behind him and a four-meter-wide blast door twenty
meters ahead. The bulkheads were smooth with nary an outcropping to provide cover. Clark ran forward to
the door as Vorik dropped onto a knee and pointed his disruptor up the stairs, waiting for the eventual
arrival of the Jem’Hadar.
Clark slid to a stop against the far bulkhead, slamming into an access panel with his shoulder. The
narrow meter-tall panel buckled at the impact and fell to the deck, exposing a collection of conduits, cables,
and chips. Clark looked to the other side of the door, did not see a control panel, and kneeled to examine
the inner workings in front of him.
Vorik kneeled steadily a little over a meter from the base of the stairs, just far enough back that
any Jem’Hadar would have to approach the edge of the stairs to fire at him. He sat back on his right foot,
with his left leg extended ahead of him to allow him to lean back and hold a steady bent-arm stance with
the disruptor pistol.
For several seconds Clark worked in silence, fighting the urge to glance back to check on Vorik.
The quiet was all the confirmation he needed that things were okay while he rushed through pulling out
cables and shorting them in an effort to open the door. What exactly was behind that door was a mystery.
The silence was shattered by the sound of disruptor fire. Clark looked over his shoulder to see
Vorik holding steady, firing up the stairs as bright purple disruptor beams pounded the deck around him.
Clark returned his attention to the tangled mess of wires and furrowed his brow. He rolled his eyes and
reached in, grabbing the mass of cables and yanking hard to rip it all out. The result was a blinding shower
of sparks that forced Clark to stumble back, covering his face with his other arm as he fell onto the deck.
Clark blinked several times and rolled onto his side, coughing from the smoke that flowed out of
the bulkhead for a few seconds. He pushed himself up, cringing at the pressure on his freshly burned right
arm. As the smoke cleared, Clark couldn’t help but smile upon seeing the wide-open doorway, with what
appeared to be a well-illuminated hangar beyond. He stood and cheerfully shouted, “Vorik!”
As Clark called, a disruptor beam flashed down from the top of the stairs and pierced through
Vorik’s left thigh and impacted the deck below. Vorik returned fire as he buckled to the left and green
blood poured from the wound, splattering on the deck. Clark sprinted back down the corridor, pulling his
disruptor out of his belt. A few meters from Vorik, Clark dropped to his knees and pointed his disruptor up
towards the overhead as he slid forward. Once the top of the stairs were in sight, Clark started firing,
blindly and rapidly shooting disruptor beams into the overhead and bulkheads around the Jem’Hadar. The
combined volley from him and Vorik forced the Jem’Hadar to fall back around the corner.
“Captain…” Vorik said weakly from the deck. Clark looked down, seeing Vorik’s face drained of
color and a growing pool of dark green blood on the deck.
Clark briefly a hand on Vorik’s shoulder, “Hold on, just stay with me.” He turned his attention
back up to the stairs, just in time to see a Jem’Hadar spin around the corner. Before the soldier could fire,
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Clark rapidly pulled the trigger on his disruptor, striking the Jem’Hadar twice in the chest. His third shot
missed, puncturing one of the two conduits on the far bulkhead up there. Thick white gas billowed out of
the conduit, obscuring the view at the top of the stairs as the Jem’Hadar fell face-first over the edge of the
stairs. Clark hesitated for a moment, tracking the path of the conduits as the angled up to the overhead,
down the stairs, and over his own head.
Vorik pushed away from the stairs with his uninjured right leg and undid the belt around his waist.
Fighting the pain from the searing hole blasted through his leg and struggling to stay conscious despite his
rapid blood loss, he pulled the belt out of its loops and wrapped it around his right thigh several centimeters
above the disruptor’s entry and exit wounds.
Before any more Jem’Hadar could make another attempt at ending their impromptu escape
attempt, Clark aimed at the conduits at the top of the stairs and squeezed the trigger. Mixed with
atmospheric oxygen as an accelerant, the conduit exploded at the disruptor impact point, instantly filling
the upper corridor with fire. A shockwave blasted down the stairs and sent Clark sprawling onto his back.
A moment later bits of flaming debris rained down the stairs and bounced across the deck, followed by two
twisted bulkhead plates.
Vorik rolled onto his back and tightened down the belt, resisting the urge to howl in pain as the
impromptu tourniquet squeezed his thigh and cut off the blood flow to the artery. He pushed himself back
onto his side and pushed and clawed his way across the deck to Clark’s unmoving body, “Captain?”
Clark’s eyes fluttered open and he rolled onto his side, coughing. He looked up at Vorik and
wiped away the blood oozing from the gash over his eye, “Son of a bitch! What the hell was that stuff?”
“Based on the explosion propagation, my preliminary hypothesis is krellide plasma,” Vorik said as
he sat up. “Though I would need more data to offer a more conclusive analysis.”
Clark laughed and coughed, eliciting a bemused raised eyebrow from Vorik. Clark stood and held
out a hand to Vorik, who grasped him around the wrist and was hauled onto his feet. Clark looked over
himself and Vorik, noting their wounds, “This went south fast.”
Vorik nodded knowingly and looked towards the open blast doors, “Hangar?”
“Looks like–” Clark was interrupted by the shout of a Jem’Hadar soldier out-of-sight at the top of
the stairs. Clark grabbed Vorik’s arm, draped it over his shoulder, and wrapped his other arm Vorik’s waist.
They started towards the hangar as the lone Jem’Hadar rushed down the stairs.
Clark pushed Vorik off, “Go.”
Vorik protested, hobbling to a stop and grabbing his pistol, “Captain, I can’t let–”
“Just go!” Clark shouted back. Vorik started for the hangar, limping and balancing himself with an
outstretched arm. Clark turned around to see the Jem’Hadar come down into view. He snapped his
disruptor up and fired at the Jem’Hadar’s descending legs. The soldier showed no sign of pause at Clark’s
off-mark barrage, a moment later finding himself low enough to return fire. Clark dodged to the right,
picking up one of the larger chunks of the exploded bulkhead and using it to block the next round of
disruptor fire.
As the Jem’Hadar landed at the base of the stairs, Clark threw his impromptu shield at him and
raised his disruptor. The Jem’Hadar ducked the spiraling chunk of debris, giving Clark the opportunity to
fire into his side. Clark didn’t wait to see how injured the Jem’Hadar was from the shot, instead taking off
in an all-out sprint towards the hangar doors.
The Jem’Hadar crashed to the deck, loosing his grip on his disruptor. As the anti-coagulants laced
into the disruptors took hold and dark purple blood flowed from the large wound on his waist, he struggled
to stand, but was unable to get a secure footing amongst the bits of strewn across the deck. Seeing his
disruptor lying a few meters away, the Jem’Hadar summoned the strength to lunge forward onto his
stomach and grabbed the weapon. He pushed onto his side and lifted the disruptor to take aim at the fleeing
Clark. His first shot hit the deck just behind Clark, the second screamed past his head. Clark instinctively
stumbled to the side as he approached the open doorway.
Gathering the last of his strength as the puddle of blood around his body rapidly expanded, the
Jem’Hadar took aim again with his shaking hand. He squeezed the trigger, drilling a disruptor beam past
Clark into the scorched open bulkhead to the side of the door. The split doors snapped in from the sides by
about a meter; Clark slid to a stop and looked back at the Jem’Hadar. The soldier’s face contorted as he
struggled to steady his shaking arm.
Clark could see the look of determination in the Jem’Hadar’s eyes. He resumed his sprint for the
door, leaping into the air as he heard and saw out of the corner of his eye the disruptor beam impacting the
exposed cables. As the door snapped shut with a thunderous bang that echoed in the hangar, Clark slammed
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onto the smooth hangar deck and slid about two meters on his side, sending his disruptor skittering away.
He groaned and rolled onto his back, cracking a smile at the successful absurdity of their escape so far. The
smile quickly vanished when he opened his eyes to find to side-by-side Jem’Hadar looking down at him,
one pointing a disruptor pistol at his head, the other standing with a halberd-like kar’takin to his side.
The pistol-wielding Jem’Hadar growled, “You should be glad the Founder wants you alive.”
Clark slowly raised his hands, palms forward, to his sides, “I am thankful for that.”
A metal long metal pipe a few centimeters across swung in from out of Clark’s field of vision and
caught the disruptor-wielding Jem’Hadar in the side of his head, eliciting a sickening crunch as it crushed
the side of his skull. The soldier collapsed to the deck as the other stepped back and brought the kar’takin’s
blade down to point at the assailant: Vorik.
The Jem’Hadar thrust the blade forward, Vorik countered by swinging his two-meter pipe in to
deflect. As they thrust and parried, Clark scrambled over the fallen Jem’Hadar for the his disruptor. Vorik
ducked and narrowly missed as the kar’takin whistled through the space previously occupied by his neck.
His tourniquet-bound leg gave out under the exertion, sending Vorik onto all fours, losing hold of his pipe.
He rolled to the side as the Jem’Hadar stabbed down, thrusting the tip of the blade in the deck, close
enough to snag on the fabric of Vorik’s uniform’s waist.
With a shout, the Jem’Hadar wrenched the kar’takin from the deck and raised it over his head.
Vorik, on his back, struggled to push away, finding his disabled left leg unable to provide much force
against the slick decking. The Jem’Hadar’s mouth fell open and his eyes rolled back as he released his grip
on the weapon and collapsed in a pile on the deck. Behind the Jem’Hadar was Clark, on his knees with a
disruptor pistol pointed forward.
Vorik pushed up onto his knees and grabbed the kar’takin, using it as support as he fought to stand.
Clark too stood, grimacing as pain shot through his limbs and back from the repeated forceful encounters
with bulkheads, shockwaves, and the deck. He held the disruptor at his side as he surveyed the hangar
before them: it was a massive space, some hundred meters square with a neat line of runabout-sized
fighters vaguely the shape of insects and a pair of larger attack ships parked at the far end. An accordionstyle space door stretched the width and thirty-meter height of the far end of the hangar, with a control
room embedded into the wall behind them.
Clark pointed at a fighter parked ahead of them, “Ever hotwired a shuttle before?”
Vorik walked towards him, using the grip on the kar’takin as a support on his left side, “I have.”
77
16
Shuttlecraft Atlantis
Omarion Nebula, Gamma Quadrant
Stardate 57100.577900
Kelley would much rather have been looking at the beautiful purple nebula ahead of the shuttle,
but instead she was facing the rear of the shuttle, sitting cross-legged in her chair and staring up at the
holographic projection of a pale, black-haired Vorta male. His features were typically Vorta, with piercing
violet eyes and elongated transverse ridge-ringed ears that pointed up along the side of his head and flowed
down to the back of his jaw. His hair was long and black with a slight wave, styled into something like
pompadour.
The Atlantis was motionless in space, stopped five minutes earlier by the aggressive interception
of a large Dominion battleship. Kelley took the weapons lock on her shuttle as evidence that she was on the
right course. She sighed at the Vorta’s placid face, “Vigrel, I’m not kidding.”
The hologram rolled his bright purple eyes, “You know that request is insanity.”
Kelley stood, “I need an audience with a Founder. This is a matter of life and death for a lot of
people. You included.”
“I need more than that, Lieutenant Kelley.”
She turned and looked out the long and tall forward viewport, now dominated by Vigrel’s
battleship. “Do you know anything about Dominion activity near Idran?”
“There’s no Dominion activity remotely near Idran,” Vigrel said. “The Founders issued an order
five years ago to stay away from that sector, in accordance with the peace treaty.”
“Surrender agreement,” Kelley corrected, smirking.
Vigrel glared, “Whatever you call it, there should not be any Dominion activity in the area of
Idran.”
“I’m assuming you scanned my shuttle,” Kelley posited.
Vigrel nodded, “We did.”
“Then you saw the armor generators and the torpedoes.”
“Yes.”
“And the polaron weapon damage?”
Vigrel was silent, giving Kelley a face that seemed to confirm the suggestion but refused to offer
any explicit confirmation.
Kelley stepped forward, close enough to feel the heat radiating from the hologram. She spoke
softly, hoping that the effect would be properly conveyed by her twin projection in front of Vigrel on his
vessel, “My ship – the Aldrin – carries this same technology. It was captured by a Dominion fleet at the
place where you say not a single Dominion ship should be. At the very least we’re looking at a major
diplomatic incident, at worst the resumption of all-out war.”
Vigrel responded quietly, “What you’re saying is impossible.”
“Either there are elements in the Dominion that are acting out of the bounds set by the Founders,
or there’s something going on that a Vorta such as yourself should know about,” Kelley said. She took a
step back, “Either way, don’t you want to know what is going on here? Why I’m here with this shuttle
bearing damage done by your weapons?”
Vigrel stared into Kelley’s eyes, “I do not trust you.” He paused for a second before continuing,
“But I will transport aboard your vessel.”
Kelley nodded, “Thank you.” She stepped back as the hologram blinked out of existence.
Streaks of bright purple light appeared in the spot previously occupied by the hologram, quickly
condensing into Vigrel’s form. He crossed his arms and looked over the shuttle, “A quaint little ship you
have here.”
“One that could deal some pretty serious damage to your battleship,” Kelley sharply countered.
She shook her head, “Look, I – we – don’t have time for this petty back-and-forth. I need an audience with
a Founder. Immediately.”
“That’s preposterous,” Vigrel rolled his eyes. “It’s been years since I’ve been in the presence of a
Founder, and I’m trusted with the security of this sector.”
“Odo.” Kelley prompted. “Let me speak to Odo.”
78
“He’s one with The Great Link,” Vigrel said. “Or at least that’s what I’ve been told. I doubt he
wants to be bothered with a puny Human such as yourself.” He looked over Kelley, “You are a small thing.”
“You can review my sensor logs,” Kelley offered. “If something awful is going on here, I imagine
it’s something the Founders would want to know about. I don’t think they’d want another war with the
Federation – especially if our ships are equipped with the technology on this shuttle.”
Vigrel smiled slyly, “And what if that is what they want? Hypothetically speaking, of course. If
your ship–”
“The Aldrin,” Kelley interjected.
“–is as you say it is, that kind of firepower would be amazing.”
Kelley rolled her eyes, “I know your Jem’Hadar and Vorta aren’t that good at engineering. It’d
take years for you to reverse engineer it. In the meantime, Starfleet’s going to want to know what’s
happened to the Aldrin.” She continued, “The fleet that captured the Aldrin wasn’t the first we’ve
encountered since arriving in the Gamma Quadrant. There was a Dominion-on-Dominion battle at Idran
when we exited the wormhole – there are elements here that are out of your control and need to be brought
into line. Your Founders may not know what is going on here.”
“The Founders are wise and all-knowing,” Vigrel stated matter-of-factly. He absently looked up at
the bulkhead to his side, as if disinterested in what Kelley had to say.
Kelley swallowed her pride, resisting the urge to use a patronizing tone, “Of course they are. And
I’m sure they would reward greatly the Vorta that alerted them to the transgressions of a splinter group – or
brought to them a Starfleet officer in possession of highly advanced weapons technology. Either way, you
win.”
Vigrel looked back to Kelley, his eyes narrowed as he studied her expression, “I will take you to
The Great Link.”
Kelley sighed in relief, “Thank you.”
“You will follow the Ix’tara at no more than ten kilometers distance.” Vigrel stepped towards her,
“You will leave your shields and weapons offline. If you deviate from our course, arm your weapons, or
raise shields, I will not hesitate to fire on your ship and forget everything you’ve told me.”
Kelley nodded, “Understood.”
“I want to believe you,” Vigrel said. He looked around the Atlantis’s cabin. “The Dominion has
changed in the past five years. I wouldn’t want these changes to have been for nothing. This is a
considerable risk for me. If you’re wrong – or lying – I don’t know that they’ll activate a new Vigrel after
I’m terminated.”
Kelley chuckled, “You won’t regret this, I promise.”
Vigrel nodded and tapped his wristed, activating an implanted communicator, “Ix’tara, commence
transport.” He disappeared in the rapid shimmer Dominion transporter.
Kelley exhaled loudly and dropped into the pilot’s chair. She decompressed for a moment before
turning the chair to face forward and receiving a course transmission from the battleship.
Jem’Hadar Fighter
Dominion Station
Gamma Quadrant
The Dominion fighter ship had a pair of cabins, a sparse bay at the rear with a large landing door
at the back to enable the rapid disembarking of platoon of Jem’Hadar, and a small triangular command
center at the front with a pair of chair-less consoles flanking a dark two-meter-square screen at the forward
apex of the triangle. Both cabins were lacking in ornamentation, with metal grating for the deck and
overhead and raw metal panels for the bulkheads. Grab handles were placed throughout the cabin, as if to
indicate the ship lacked an effective inertial damper system.
The door into the aft bay closed as Clark stepped through, finding Vorik already at a station,
working to activate the ship. Clark walked up to the other station, which activated at his approach and filled
with what looked like navigational data. He looked back to Vorik, “Can you get this thing operational?”
The screen at the front activated, displaying a map of the surrounding space.
“I have limited experience with the Dominion,” Vorik said. “But their systems appear to operate
on a hierarchical modules system.” He paused, tapping a few controls. The lights in the cabin went dark.
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“That’s assuming that I’m able to translate the language. It would seem I am not proficient.” Another tap
brought the lights back on.
Clark turned back to his console, “This ought to be fun.”
Vorik didn’t look up from the console, “I fail to see what about this experience so far would lead
you to conclude that this exercise may qualify as ‘fun’.”
Clark chuckled, tapping the screen a few times, nodding as it reacted as he expected. He stepped
back as the hum of the impeller engines filled the cabin, “Engines are online?” The screen at the front
activated, filling with a tactical display showing the status of the fighter’s weapons and shields.
Vorik continued to work, “Yes, Captain.”
“Good. Navigational controls are running too.” Clark noticed a headset hanging from a post at the
back of the cabin. He grabbed the headset, consisting of a flexible metal band over the top with a small
rectangular projection screen held out in front of the left eye on a slim rod. Clark slowly lowered the
headset over this head, adjusting the positioning while the screen automatically pivoted in on a hinge to
parallel his eye. It activated, prompting Clark to flinch at the sharp pain, and displayed a view of the space
outside at whatever angle he looked. “This is cool.”
Vorik looked up to see Clark slowly turning around, looking up and down, “Captain?”
“It’s a virtual display,” Clark said, smiling. “All directions, no matter where I look. We have got
to get this on the Aldrin.”
“We have to get the Aldrin first.”
“Good point,” Clark replied. He looked to the rear, seeing a group of Jem’Hadar taking up
positions behind a row of cargo containers. “We’ve got company.” The door into the corridor opened and
twenty more Jem’Hadar marched into the hangar. They immediately took aim at the fighter. Clark ran back
to the navigation station, “Will this thing fly?”
“I believe it will,” Vorik calmly replied. “Can you operate it?”
“I believe I can,” Clark said cautiously. “Can you open the space doors?”
Vorik worked the console for a few seconds, “No. It appears they have erected a strong forcefield
across the door. I don’t believe we possess the firepower to breach it.”
Clark stepped up to the tactical display at the front of the cabin and studied the schematic of the
ship for a moment. He looked back to Vorik, “How much power can you route to engines and structural
integrity?”
After a flurry of taps on the console, Vorik announced, “All available power ready for transfer to
engines and inertial dampers.” He looked up to Clark, “Even with reinforced structural integrity, I’m not
certain this ship would survive impact with a forcefield of this magnitude.”
Clark pointed up at the pointed bow of the ship on the tactical schematic, “The Dominion likes to
armor their ships for ramming. Usually it’s not with the intent of surviving, but this is just a forcefield and a
space door. It looks like there’s a lot of structural reinforcement and power routed to the nose.”
The ship shuddered as the Jem’Hadar soldiers opened fire. Clark turned around, blinking several
times at the sight of disruptor beams shooting into his eye, “It looks like they’re firing on our engines.”
Vorik’s eyes darted around the console. He reached up and activated a menu, “Shields online.”
Clark nodded as the disruptor fire splashed against the newly activated energy screen. He rubbed
his temple, trying to ignore the rapidly-building headache from the headset, “Let’s get out of here before
they get the idea to use one of these other ships.”
“Thrusters online,” Vorik reported.
Clark sidestepped back to the navigational station, squinted at the controls, and pressed a button.
The fighter rocked slightly and Clark looked around with the headset, “Good, those were the ventral
thrusters.” The fighter hovered a few meters off the deck, with the blast of the thrusters reflecting out
across the deck in waves of searing heat. The console chimed, drawing Clark’s attention. He stared down at
the newly appeared symbol on the screen, and then looked up. The headset display showed the row of
fighters to the port side of their hijacked vessel, with the fourth one away rising up from the deck and
turning to face them.
“Are weapons online?”
Vorik’s eyes darted across the display before him, “I believe they are.”
Clark touched a few buttons on his console and the fighter began to pivot towards starboard, away
from the opposing fighter. “Shit shit shit…” Clark muttered under his breath as he pushed the buttons again
to accelerate their slow spin. A full second and two hundred seventy degrees later, the fighter stopped,
facing the other ship.
80
The headset chimed loudly, prompting Clark to yelp and grab the sides of his head in pain. Vorik
looked back at him, “Captain?”
Clark blinked several times, “Did you not hear that?”
“Hear what?” Vorik responded.
Rubbing his temple again, Clark rolled his eyes, “Damn neural interfaces.” He focused on the
headset’s little display, “Ah, we’re being hailed.”
Vorik returned his attention to the console, “Disruptor lock acquired.”
“Good,” Clark smiled, “I’m not in a talking mood anyway.” The headset chimed in his head again.
He shouted, “Fire, dammit!”
The press of Vorik’s finger unleashed the fighter’s weapons across the bay. The polaron beams
splashed brilliantly against the other vessel’s shields, but did little damage. Clark looked to his own display,
“Minimal shield loss.” He looked up at the ship, noting the blue circles the headset displayed around the
pair of disruptor ports on each side of the other fighter, “I think they’re arming disruptors as well.”
Vorik didn’t look up from his console, firing again. The violet polaron energy beams fired forth at
a downward angle from the ship, striking the parked fighter ahead of the Jem’Hadar-crewed vessel. Clark
looked back at Vorik, “I thought you had a lock?”
In the pressurized atmosphere of the hangar, the sound and shockwave of an explosion pummeled
their fighter, forcing Clark and Vorik to grab onto the nearest railing. Clark looked back to the other
fighters, seeing the massive fireball that resulted from the weapons impact on the unshielded hull of the
parked fighter. The neighboring fighter erupted from the exposure, unleashing a similar antimatter
explosion.
Clark grinned widely, “Nice shot, Commander.”
Another explosive shockwave rocked the ship as Vorik stated, “All available power transferred to
structural integrity and engines.”
Clark hovered a finger over the thruster controls, and then questioned his judgment and moved to
the opposite side of the diagram. Their fighter spun the ninety degrees to face back at the space door. The
fighter right next to theirs exploded, fiercely rocking the floating vessel. Clark struggled to hang on, losing
the headset in the process. He shouted to Vorik, “Target all forward weapons on the door. Let’s at least put
a dent in it before we hit.”
“Ready.”
“On my mark,” Clark said, steadying his position and preemptively grabbing a railing. “Three.
Two. One. Mark.” He mashed the impeller controls, shooting the fighter forward as Vorik unleashed the
polaron disruptors onto the forcefield. The energy screen rippled with brilliant distortions as the disruptors
pounded it for the few seconds before the fighter’s reinforced bow rammed through. Clark and Vorik were
thrown forward as the fighter impacted the space door.
A moment later the severe vibrations and tossing ceased and the fighter’s engines went quiet.
Vorik had ended up in a sitting position against the forward bulkhead, with Clark by his side, though with
his back on the deck and legs in the air. Clark grunted as he rolled onto his side and pushed up to stand. He
reached out and helped Vorik up, and then bent over to grab the headset. Putting it over his head he looked
around, finding the fighter tumbling slowly in space. The station lay behind them, the hangar door blown
wide open with the debris of a dozen fighters and attack ships drifting out of the mangled opening.
The station itself was a sprawling web of dark faceted spheres connected by narrow bridges. Clark
recognized the Dominion elements of the design, but it looked more haphazard than he had expected. A
quick glance around confirmed that there were no planetary bodies or orbited stars in sight – the station was
in deep space, hidden in the vastness of space between systems.
“Scan the station and tell me that we were lucky and damage was confined to the hangar.” The
fighter’s thrusters came back online, quickly stabilized the tumbling.
Vorik worked his console for a few moments, “It would appear so.”
Clark breathed a sigh of relief, and then spotted the Aldrin on the far side of the complex. The
Akira-class ship was 260 meters in length, and the way it was dwarfed by the station indicated that the
structure was at least two kilometers across. “There she is,” Clark smiled as he cautiously worked the
controls to bring the fighter around the station.
As they drew closer, the structure around the Aldrin became clear. It was cradled in a drydock of
sorts, with a thick grid wrapped in a flattened horizontal cylinder enveloping the ship. The grid was dotted
with spotlights, bathing the Aldrin in light, giving it an almost surreal radiance against the inky backdrop of
space. A pair of docking arms jutted in from the sides of the drydock, attaching to the starboard and port
81
docking ports. Mounted over the Aldrin were an additional docking port and two resupply umbilicals, they
were all retracted but clearly custom-built to dock with an Akira-class ship. The fighter settled into a
position to the aft of the Aldrin.
Vorik’s station beeped as it finished a scan of the Aldrin. He looked over the console and tapped it
several times to redo the scan. Clark looked over his shoulder, “What is it?”
“I’m not detecting any Dominion life-signs aboard the Aldrin,” Vorik said. The second scan
finished with a quiet beep. “Or any life-signs at all.”
“Hmmm.” Clark studied the displayed schematic of the Aldrin, “It’s not even detecting the gel
packs.”
Vorik looked to Clark, “I have a theory: the design of the Aldrin’s ablative armor generators and
manner in which they are tied directly into the EPS relays may have created a residual dampening field that
is blocking the detection of life-forms.”
Clark nodded, “That would explain why they didn’t just beam us off when we were sitting ducks
at Idran. Try scanning for DM tech. Disruptors, embedded communicators.”
After a few seconds, Vorik reported, “Thirty-two Dominion signatures detected.” He jumped to
the next question, “To where shall I beam them?”
“Into space,” Clark said grimly.
“Initializing transporters,” Vorik reported, “Locking on signatures. Beaming.”
Clark looked around with the headset, locating the transported Jem’Hadar materializing about a
hundred meters to the aft of the fighter. He quickly looked away as their rapid suffocation and freezing took
hold in the cold vacuum of space. “Can you beam us on?”
“I can,” Vorik coolly replied, “Though I may have a better plan.”
Clark pulled off the headset, hoping to abate the building headache, “Oh?”
Vorik didn’t look away from the console as he began entering commands and said, “Before
isolating the main computer, I set up a program to allow remote input. The communications array is
currently in silent listening mode, waiting for input.”
“I wish you’d told me that before,” Clark smiled, “What else did you do?”
“The program allows for remote command and control of the Aldrin.”
Clark leaned up against the bulkhead, smiling as he studied Vorik’s face, “Is that pride I see in
your eyes?”
Vorik paused and looked up to Clark, “No.” He returned his attention to the console, “I am ready
to attempt the remote system boot.”
Clark clapped a hand on Vorik’s shoulder and returned to the navigation station, “Can you transfer
weapons control over here? I’ll cut her free while you work on that.”
“Transferring.” The screen reconfigured itself to accept the new controls, placing navigation on
the left and weapons on the right. “If I may, Captain, why do you refer to the Aldrin as if it were a female?”
Clark shrugged as he tapped a few controls, “I… don’t know. I think it’s an old naval tradition.”
“It is an odd Human mannerism.”
Putting the headset back on, Clark looked back to Vorik, “Commander, just reactivate my ship.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Clark tapped the weapons half of his console, activating a schematic of the Aldrin, outlined in
purple, surrounded by the drydock in green. He tapped targeting crosses onto the two docking arms moored
to either side of the Aldrin’s saucer, immediately triggering a bright purple warning screen. Assuming it
was about his targeting a friendly installation with the fighter’s disruptors, Clark slapped the display to
dismiss the warning and retargeted the docking arms. He looked up through the headset as he ordered the
disruptors to fire, watching the twin polaron beams easily slice through the narrow unshielded arms. “She’s
free,” Clark dryly reported as the Aldrin drifted slowly back from the severed docking arms.
“Reinitializing the primary computer core,” Vorik paused as lines of Starfleet code streamed
across his screen, “Now.” Clark forward to the ship, knowing full well there wouldn’t be any outward signs
of the computer’s activation. “Initializing secondary fusion reactors and EPS relays.” The Aldrin came to
life, with windows and navigation beacons lighting up and the impulse bays at the back of the saucer and
catamarans glowing a dull red.
Clark smiled, “Open the shuttlebay doors.”
82
17
Founder’s Homeworld
Omarion Nebula, Gamma Quadrant
Stardate 57100.581130
Kelley, Vigrel, and a Jem’Hadar guard patiently waited on a small, rocky islet in the middle of an
ocean of undulating thick, golden liquid: The Great Link. Here the Founders lived in their natural liquid
state, freely mixing and communicating in a manner seemingly beyond the comprehension of any solid
being, humanoid or otherwise. It was from here, hidden deep in the Omarion Nebula on a planet without a
sun, that the Founders had launched the Dominion’s costly war with the Alpha Quadrant.
It had been several minutes since the trio had transported to the surface of the unnamed planet.
Vigrel had immediately launched into an appeal of his own humility and inadequacy with a request for an
audience with Odo before what he viewed as the godlike Founders. And then they stood in silence, waiting
for a response in the dead quiet and still atmosphere.
A few meters from the shore the undulation ceased and the sea flowed up into a two-meter pillar
that started moving forward and forming itself into a humanoid figure. He had deeply set eyes, slicked-back
tan hair, and wore a simple seamless muted orange floor-length robe. Kelley immediately recognized him
as Odo, even without the trademark tan-and-brown Bajoran security officer’s uniform he’d worn through
his course of duty on Deep Space Nine. His feet formed from the auric liquid as they hit the rough stone
surface of the island.
The Jem’Hadar stood stiffly while Vigrel took a few short steps forward. Vigrel bowed his head
and bent slightly at the knees while raising his hands a several centimeters from his sides with his palms
facing outward, “Oh, great Founder, we are honored by your gracing us with your divine pre–”
“Stop that,” Odo barked in his characteristic gruff and abrasive voice. As Vigrel obediently stood
upright and took a step back, Odo asked, “What are you doing here?” He looked past the Vorta, making eye
contact with Kelley.
Vigrel silently stepped back, put his hand in the center of Kelley’s back, and pulled her forward, as
if presenting her as a gift.
Odo let out a rough laugh, “Janice Lee Kelley. Spent a night in one of my cells after a night gone
wrong at Quark’s in 2379.” He looked over her Starfleet uniform, “Lieutenant, eh? I see you’ve gotten your
act together.”
“You,” Vigrel stuttered, “What? You know the Founder?”
Odo ignored him and spread his arms to his side, “What brings you to this corner of the galaxy?”
Kelley asked, “Do you know of any Dominion activity in the Idran system?”
“I do not,” Odo shook his head, “The Great Link is very detached from operational details, but I
do recall that the surrender agreement requires the Dominion stay out of the Idran sector.”
Kelley launched into her second explanation in twenty minutes, “I am assigned to the U.S.S.
Aldrin, an Akira-class vessel equipped with highly advanced experimental technology. We came to the
Gamma Quadrant to investigate reports of the continued confinement of POWs–” she paused and added,
“that ended up being false – and our ship was attacked, boarded, and captured by a Dominion fleet.”
Before she could continue, Odo growled, “Laas.”
“Laas?” Kelley questioned.
“I heard he had left The Great Link,” Vigrel said excitedly. “And that he was not alone.”
Odo cast a glance towards Vigrel, “It is good to know that you have time to engage in gossip.” He
looked back to Kelley, “Laas and I were two of the hundred newly-formed Changelings sent out to explore
the galaxy centuries ago. He developed a great dislike for solids and, like myself, eventually returned to
The Great Link. He left the link over a year ago with several other Changelings after growing dissent about
the future role of the Dominion.” He smiled a bit, “I believe that’s what Captain Sisko would have called
some ‘inside baseball’.”
“Is it possible they were able to secure the loyalty of entire fleets?”
“Laas could be very convincing,” Odo said. “And when you have subordinates that believe you to
be gods, recruiting followers isn’t a difficult task. If he’s amassed enough power and captured your ship, he
might be laying the groundwork for war.”
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“I think I speak for the entire United Federation of Planets when I say that’s the last thing we want
right now,” Kelley said.
Odo nodded, “Agreed.” He looked back to the sea of Changelings behind him. “I’ll see what I can
do.” Odo stepped away from the three visitors, calmly walking back into The Great Link, slowly melting
into it as he went.
Danbury Office Complex, Starfleet Headquarters
Sausalito, California
Stardate 57100.581320
The sound of muffled yells outside his office door drew the attention of Admiral Russell up from
the PADD on his desk. His office was located in the century-old Danbury office complex on the Starfleet
Headquarters campus, overlooking San Francisco Bay. The office itself was in a small single-story building
on the edge of the complex, with a wide sheet of glass stretching across the outer wall. Russell’s desk was
positioned centered against the window with his back to the scenery, allowing him to focus on the piles of
PADDs that had accumulated.
The door snapped open, with the setting sun streaming through the doorway silhouetting in bright
orange a petite Andorian female. As she walked in, Russell pushed up from his desk and a Trill ensign,
Russell’s aide, followed her in. The Trill hesitantly announced, “Sir, the President is here to see you.”
Ak’telKi stood before Russell wearing a simple and conservative gray tweed-like suit with a high squaredoff collar, all tailored closely to her small body. A small silver pin of the United Federation of Planets seal
– a circular starfield book-ended by stylized olive branches – sat on the left side of her chest, just under her
collarbone. The President kept her stark white hair cut short, letting it hang straight to just above her
shoulders, and though her face was expressionless, the way her two blue antennae sharply pointed at the
Admiral belied her intentions.
Russell locked eyes with Ak’telKi, “Thank you, Ensign.” The Trill silently and quickly departed
the office. As the door closed, Russell nodded slowly to Ak’telKi, “Madam President.”
Ak’telKi literally waved off the formal greetings, calling out, “Computer, disable all monitoring
services in this office.” After the computer chimed three times in response, she walked up to Russell’s desk,
“We need to talk about Eagle Two.”
Russell gestured towards the replicator set into the wall behind her, “Can I get you anything?”
“Sit down,” Ak’telKi ordered. As Russell slowly sat, Ak’telKi demanded, “Where is the Aldrin?”
“In the Gamma Quadrant, I would assume,” the Admiral replied, matter-of-factly.
Ak’telKi’s antennae twitched agitatedly, slightly ruffling her hair, “But where in that quadrant of
the galaxy are they?” Russell leaned forward and started shuffling through his PADDs and Ak’telKi
continued, “I authorized Project Eagle Two under your command and just in the past two weeks there’s
been a fire at the drydock, gel pack infection, and attempted saboteurs. Now they’ve been in the Gamma
Quadrant for three days – I just spoke with Admiral Morse at Communications and he says they haven’t
received any confirmation transmission from the relay the Aldrin was supposed to set up.”
Russell grabbed a PADD, squinted at it for a moment, and then set it to the side, “They must be
experiencing delays.”
The president leaned forward, pressing her hands against the desk and dislodging a few PADDs in
the process, “Then why haven’t they filed a report in three days? Or sent a shuttle through the wormhole to
check in?” Russell slowly turned his eyes up towards her, not speaking for he lacked an answer to give.
Ak’telKi furiously raised a fist and smashed it against a PADD unfortunate enough to be between her and
the desk. The PADD’s screen cracked like a web at the impact as a pile of tablets slipped over the edge,
cascading onto the carpeted floor below. She shouted, “Damn it, Steven! Where are they?”
“I don’t know,” Russell said softly, hoping to calm the enraged politician before him, “But I will
find out and let you know.”
Ak’telKi stood, pointing a hand and both her antennae at Russell, “Admiral, you better pull
yourself and this project together, or so help me, I will end your career right here.” She turned and calmly
walked out of the office, leaving Russell in stunned silence.
After several seconds, Russell pressed the comm button on his desk, “Ensign, get me Admiral
Morse.”
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Jem’Hadar Fighter
Gamma Quadrant
Clark slowly guided the attack ship through the hole that had been blasted through the center aft
door into the Aldrin’s shuttlebay. Vorik answered the unasked question, “Sensor readings appear to indicate
the door was breached by Starfleet phaser fire.”
Squinting through the pain of the headset, Clark looked at the twisted metal panels as the fighter
passed through, “It looks like the door was blown out.”
“The shuttlebay has decompressed,” Vorik reported, “The bodies of ten Starfleet crewmembers
are–” The fighter rocked violently and numerous alarms began to blare.
“What the hell!” Clark shouted, grabbing a nearby rail. He quickly looked around with his headset,
laying eyes on a Starfleet shuttle hovering off the deck, slowly easing away from its docking berth. “Report
on that shuttle.” The shuttle fired its phasers again, striking the fighter square on the nose.
Vorik answered, “Shuttlecraft Carpathia. No life-signs; it appears to be operating on an automatic
response program. There is significant phaser impact activity throughout the shuttlebay, with evidence of
Jem’Hadar biomatter.”
“That’s clever,” Clark remarked. The fighter rocked again under the phaser fire, prompting Clark
to ask, “Can you disable it?”
After a few seconds of work Vorik replied, “The Carpathia is not responding to my access
attempts. I expect it’s been programmed to ignore inputs directed from Dominion sources.”
Clark turned his attention back to his console, “Then we’ll do this the hard way.” Accessing the
weapons controls, Clark brought up the shuttle as a target – this time the system did not balk at his target,
being that it was a perceived enemy vessel. He studied the shuttle schematic for a moment, “Weak point…
dorsal EPS relay?”
“I recommend targeting the starboard impulse manifold. Destroying the dorsal EPS relay would
only result in–”
Clark fired the fighter’s polaron disruptors, silencing Vorik in the process. The overpowered
disruptors easily pierced the shuttle’s shields and cut into the impulse module on the shuttle’s right side.
The Carpathia instantly went dark and fell the meter onto the deck, deforming the light gray plastic deck
on impact.
Vorik remarked, “Excellent shot, Captain.”
“Do we have invasive transporters?” Clark asked.
“This vessel does appear to be so equipped,” Vorik said. “Bringing transporters online.”
Dominion Station
Gamma Quadrant
Jensen was partly relieved to finally be out of her cell after at least thirty-six hours of solitary
incarceration, but the fact that she now stood in a line in a long and nondescript corridor with her fellow
captive crewmates was making her worried. The dozens of heavily armed Jem’Hadar guards standing
against the opposite wall weren’t helping assuage her concerns. The Jem’Hadar, spaced every five meters,
stood with their massive rifles at the ready, fingers on the trigger, watching the Aldrin crew and only
speaking to bark at anybody who dared speak or move.
A short female Human with dark skin and even darker tightly-curled hair stood in front of Jensen.
She wore the yellow collar of operations and engineering. She whispered, “Commander?”
Jensen answered with a quiet grunt.
“What’s going on?” the woman asked, barely loud enough for Jensen to hear.
Keeping her head straight forward, Jensen whispered back, “What’s your name?”
“Ensign Nicole Mason.”
“Alright, Nicole,” Jensen swallowed, doing her best to be encouraging in what her instincts told
her was a very bad situation, “Everything’s going to be fine. Just remember your training.”
The Jem’Hadar nearest them barked, “No talking!” When Jensen’s eyes darted over to him, he
shouted, “Eyes forward!” Mason audibly sighed, drawing the annoyed glare of the Jem’Hadar.
85
Studiously keeping her eyes affixed to the back of Mason’s head, Jensen noticed the Jem’Hadar’s
head tilt slightly to the side and his brow furrow – his implanted communicator had been activated. In near
unison he and all the other Jem’Hadar snapped their rifles up and took aim at the nearest Starfleet officer.
Jensen didn’t waste a moment, lunging towards the Jem’Hadar with all her might before he could
fire. The sound of dozens of polaron disruptors sounded in the corridor, followed immediately by yelling
and fighting. Jensen slammed shoulder-first into the Jem’Hadar, throwing him back into the bulkhead and
discharging the rifle into the deck.
The Jem’Hadar moved fast, spinning the rifle around and swinging the hefty stock at Jensen’s
head. She ducked and simultaneously reached up, catching the rifle with her hands and letting its
momentum and the Jem’Hadar’s sheer strength haul her off the deck. She quickly swung her body up,
wrapping her thighs around the Jem’Hadar’s neck and lifting her torso up above his head. The guard
released the rifle and reached up to pry her off, but Jensen threw her body back, using her own momentum
to flip the Jem’Hadar over her as she flipped onto the deck. The Jem’Hadar slammed onto his back as
Jensen landed crouched with a stabilizing hand’s fingertips touching the smooth metal deck in front of her.
Mason picked up the dropped rifle and offered it to Jensen, who quickly waved her off and spun
around. Jensen charged at the next Jem’Hadar she saw, using the head and chest of her just subdued
opponent as a platform to leap forward.
Jem’Hadar Fighter
Gamma Quadrant
“Transporters are online,” Vorik stated.
Clark gingerly released the on-screen control for the fighter’s thrusters and the ship settled onto
the deck, facing directly at the damaged and offline Shuttlecraft Carpathia. He looked back to Vorik,
“Target all Starfleet personnel on the station. And share the feed over here, I’ll pick out identifiable
lifesigns and send them to their stations.”
Vorik didn’t look away from his station as his fingers worked the console. After a few seconds he
reported, “Sensors have located four hundred sixteen non-Dominion lifesigns.”
Clark froze as the lifesigns list appeared on his console, “Four one six?”
“Yes, Captain.”
Clark’s heart pounded and his breathing quickened, “We left DS9 with five hundred ninety four.”
Vorik’s console beeped and the list on Clark’s console refreshed, losing several entries. Vorik
looked back to Clark, “Three hundred ninety two.”
“Get them off! Now!” Clark shouted. He slammed a fist against a support along the side of his
console and then looked to the lifesigns list on his screen.
Dominion Station
Gamma Quadrant
The massive fist of the Jem’Hadar slammed into the side of Jensen’s head, sending her reeling to
the opposite side of the corridor. She crashed against the bulkhead and reached out with her hands to stop
herself from sliding to the deck. Her ears rang from the impact, drowning out the yelling and disruptor fire
in the chaotic corridor. As she pushed off and turned around, the Jem’Hadar unsheathed a hand-sized
dagger from his side and held it to his side. He swung and Jensen fell to her side, narrowly avoiding the
blade.
Jensen realized her mistake as soon as she hit the deck face down. She kicked over onto her front
just as the Jem’Hadar dropped onto his knees for additional momentum as his clenched fist drove the
jagged dagger towards her stomach. Before the knife could make contact the Jem’Hadar was thrown to the
side, dropping the knife landing in a heap with a Starfleet officer against the bulkhead.
Jensen pushed herself up, finding Murphy and the Jem’Hadar both getting onto their knees.
Murphy punched the Jem’Hadar in the small of his back, forcing him to arch back. Murphy’s hands
wrapped around the Jem’Hadar’s head and violently twisted, snapping the vertebrae in his neck. The
Jem’Hadar collapsed to the deck, his head twisted almost all the way around.
86
Murphy breathed heavily and stared at the dead Jem’Hadar before him. He looked over at Jensen,
“Commander.”
The streaks of a Dominion transporter quickly enveloped Jensen, whisking her away in less than a
second. Murphy slowly stood as the sound of transporter beams began to echo through the corridor.
87
18
U.S.S. Aldrin
Gamma Quadrant
Stardate 57100.345325
Jensen materialized on the carpeted deck between the command chairs and helm on the Aldrin’s
bridge. A pair of transporter beam columns coalesced as Toq’bae and Mason behind the operations arc, and
a fourth – a tall Human male with ruffled blonde hair – appeared by the helm. The bridge itself was dark,
illuminated only by the glow of the consoles and screens around them. Jensen stood and brushed an errant
lock of hair away from her face, “Everybody okay?”
After getting nods of confirmation from the three others, Jensen lowered herself into the first
officer’s chair, “Alright, what’s going on here? Report.”
Mason stepped up to the operations arc, tapping it a few times, “The ship is still powering up,
though we do not seem to be secured to the station.”
“How many do we have?” Jensen asked. She knew there were many casualties, having seen
several herself.
Toq’bae shook his head as he stepped into the science station, “Internal sensors aren’t yet online.”
A pair of Dominion transporter beams appeared in the space between Jensen and the helm. She
gripped the armrests of her chair, and then relaxed when the columns of energy formed into Clark and
Vorik.
Clark immediately stumbled forward, wide-eyed and clutching at his stomach. Jensen jumped
from her chair, “David!”
He waved her off, “Get Vorik to sickbay!” Vorik fell onto his knees, absently reaching for the belt
tourniquet around his blood-soaked thigh.
Jensen looked up to the dazed Human officer standing by the helm, “Get over here.”
He put his arms up, “I’m an archeologist, not a doctor!”
Clark straightened and turned to him, “Sickbay. Now!” They both moved to Vorik’s side and
helped him onto his feet.
Vorik steadied himself, draping an arm over the officer’s back as he reached around and grabbed
his waist, “What’s your name?”
“Ensign Schortman.” They slowly worked their way across the bridge to the turbolift.
Clark shook his head and grunted, “And I thought Cardassian transporters were bad.” The turbolift
door opened and Schortman and Vorik stepped in.
Jensen stepped close to him and examined the bloody gash over his left eye, “Are you okay?”
“It’s just transporter nausea,” Clark said. “And that damn Vorta headset.” The viewscreen turned
on behind him, displaying the cradling grid of the station’s drydock as the Aldrin slowly drifted out. Clark
noticed the bruise forming on the side of Jensen’s face, “That looks like it hurts.”
“Internal sensors are coming back online,” Toq’bae reported. The overhead lights switched on,
prompting the four remaining on the bridge to squint at the brightness.
“Get me a headcount,” Jensen ordered.
Clark and Toq’bae answered simultaneously, “Three hundred sixty nine.”
Jensen’s mouth fell slightly open as she stepped back from Clark. “Scan the station again.”
“Already did. We’re all aboard,” Toq’bae answered softly. The turbolift opened and Murphy and
R’Mor strode in. Mason nodded at R’Mor and left for the helm. Murphy stopped at the weapons locker by
the aft display and removed a rifle before continuing on to his station.
Clark shook his head again and headed for his chair, “How many Jem’Hadar on the station?”
Toq’bae directed a schematic of the web-like station onto the left third of viewscreen, “Six
hundred Jem’Hadar. The station is equipped with minimal armaments, nothing our shields can’t handle.
Their hangar deck appears to be badly damaged; it doesn’t look like they have any pursuit vehicles
available.”
“Yeah, that’s our fault,” Clark said, gingerly settling into his high-backed chair.
Jensen glumly remarked, “Nicely done.”
Clark tapped the comms button on his chair’s armrest, “Bridge to Engineering, what’s our status?”
88
“Man’tA’el here. We’re working on getting the warp drive up and running, but we’re going to
need a while. Impulse should be ready in five minutes.”
“Shields and weapons?” Jensen asked.
“Shields are barely functional. Phasers are at least five minutes, don’t know about torpedo
launchers or armor generators right now.”
“Thanks Lieutenant, get it done. Bridge out,” Clark tapped the control again and looked up to
Mason at the helm, “Ensign, engage thrusters and get us out of this thing.”
Mason went to work at the helm, “Yes, Captain.” The slow drift on the viewscreen stabilized.
Jensen looked up to Toq’bae, “What’s our position?”
Toq’bae looked over his screens, “Sector 1944.”
Clark kept his eyes affixed to the viewscreen, “How far from Idran are we?”
“Forty-six light-years. We’re well outside of known Dominion territory.” Toq’bae pushed a map
of the region onto the viewscreen in place of the station schematic. “We’re two light-years from the nearest
star, ten from any habitable planets, and out of sensor range from known trade routes.”
“The middle of nowhere,” R’Mor remarked. The station slipped out of view as the Aldrin moved
out of the confines of the drydock and pivoted.
An alarm chimed repeatedly at the security station. Murphy looked up, exhaustion evident in his
face, “Captain, a DM fleet just dropped out of warp, two hundred thousand kilometers ahead.” A series of
small flickers appeared in the center of the viewscreen.
“Full magnification,” Clark ordered. The viewscreen zoomed in on the fleet, revealing a rapidlyapproaching force of several Jem’Hadar warships, dozens of attack ships, and a single massive battleship.
“How long until they’re in weapons range?” Jensen asked.
Murphy replied, “Five seconds.”
“Red alert. Divert available power to shields,” Clark ordered. “Mason, get us out of here as fast as
you can.” The bridge lights dimmed red lights began a slow pulse around the overhead.
The ensign quipped as she worked the helm, “Won’t be easy with just thrusters.” The Aldrin
pitched down under her command, slowly moving down and away from the station.
“We’re in range,” Murphy grimly announced. As soon as his lips closed the Aldrin rumbled as the
shields absorbed the first salvo from the fleet. “Shields at 25%. Not that they were high to beg–” A second
louder and stronger rumble sounded. “Shields are down.”
The bridge fell eerily silent, absent the ambient noise of the impulse or warp drives. After a few
seconds, Murphy shouted, “Hold on!”
A series of polaron beams lashed into across the Aldrin’s dorsal hull, blasting through the
duranium panels on top of the saucer and scouring through the inboard side of the starboard engineering
hull.
The bridge crew grabbed onto their chairs and stations as the ship bucked under the impact. R’Mor
grabbed onto the top edge of the operations arc as alarms began to sound around the bridge, “Hull breaches:
decks five and six, section D, decks three and four, section K!”
Jensen looked up to R’Mor, “That’s Engineering-A.”
Clark punched the comm controls on his chair, “Bridge to engineering: we need impulse, weapons,
and armor now!”
Man’tA’el shouted back over the link, “Working on it! We’re a little short-handed right now!” A
shrill alarm sounded in the background, followed by multiple shouts.
Mason fired the thrusters and sent the Aldrin into a barrel roll, narrowing avoiding the next salvo
of disruptor beams.
Clark shook his head, “Lieutenant, if you can’t get this ship running we’re going to be more than a
little short-handed. Skip the authentications; we need everything online. Now!” He tapped the control again
and looked up in time to see disruptor beams drill into the forward section of the Aldrin’s saucer,
momentarily spewing debris and fire into the camera view.
The ship rocked and fire erupted from the breached hull. The processing bank to the left of the
viewscreen spewed sparks and a section of the overhead broke away, sending the end of a beam crashing to
the deck just to Clark’s right, blocking the way to the airlock and briefing room. Thick white gas poured
out of the opening with a loud hiss.
R’Mor sat up onto her knees after being knocked to the deck and peered at her station, “Hull
breach: deck eight, section B2. Emergency teams responding.”
“I have impulse!” Mason cheered.
89
Murphy followed, “Phasers and armor ready.”
Clark resisted the urge to jump out of his seat, “Deploy! Evasive maneuvers!”
Stardate 57100.352914
Cochrane reached out to stop himself from falling headfirst into a corridor bulkhead as the ship
rocked. Further down the corridor a bulkhead exploded in flames and was quickly contained by a forcefield.
He shook his head and looked to his side, finally finding the sickbay doors. They opened at his approach,
revealing chaos with a dozen injured crewmembers ranging from burns to fractures to deep lacerations and
only a handful of sickbay officers.
Cochrane quickly looked over the injured, triaging them in his head and headed for the surgical
bay where Wright was attempting to tend to a Denobulan female thrashing in agony. Cochrane snatched a
hypospray and vial of neurozine from a cart by his office and jogged to the bedside. He held the hypospray
up so Wright could see it, “Neurozine?”
Wright reached across the Denobulan, clamped onto her far forearm, and forced it down onto the
bed, “Haven’t given her anything yet.” Cochrane immediately pressed the hypospray just below her
shoulder and triggered it. She struggled for a second and then succumbed to the anesthetic.
Cochrane looked over her body, noting the disruptor wound on her stomach that poured dark red
blood in spite of the bandages padded over top of it. He shook his head, “God damn savages!” He unzipped
his duty jacket and quickly pulled it off, gently pressing it on top of her wound, “I’d love to give whichever
damn Vorta had the idea of lacing their disruptors with anti-coagulants a dose of his own damn medicine!”
The door to the corridor opened and Schortman walked in, practically dragging Vorik with an arm
draped over his shoulder, “I need help here!” The ship shook, sending the pair stumbling to the side.
Cochrane reached under the surgical bed and pulled a dermal regenerator out from the built-in
tools cabinet underneath, pausing as the Denobulan’s blood began to trickle over the side of the bed and
splatter against his blue sleeve. He popped back up and handed the tool to Wright, saying “You know what
to do,” and then headed for Schortman and Vorik. Cochrane pointed at a bed occupied by a Human male
with a broken humerus, judging by the way his arm bent unnaturally between his shoulder and elbow,
“Make way!”
The man jumped off and moved out of the way as Cochrane and Schortman hauled Vorik onto the
bed. The displays above and at the foot of the bed activated, quickly scanning and evaluating Vorik.
Cochrane squinted at the one above Vorik’s head, “Oh, he’s lost a lot of blood. We’re going to need to
transfuse.”
Wright looked up from patching the Denobulan’s stomach, “Then we’ve got a problem.”
Stardate 57100.352914
The Aldrin streaked over the Dominion station, dodging as much fire from the pursuing Dominion
fleet as it could. With twenty or more powerful polaron beams lashing out at a time and only comparatively
weak phasers online, the best the crew could manage was to avoid any additional hits while the ablative
armor was deployed. The long and low angular generators dispersed across the hull activated and formed a
series of overlapping armor panels that encompassed the ship within a few seconds.
“Armor is deployed,” Murphy reported. “No faults, looks like we’re good.”
The ship rumbled as the Dominion fleet found its mark on the armored hull. Toq’bae rolled his
eyes, “I wouldn’t say ‘we’re good’ just yet.”
“Helm,” Jensen called, “Keep up with the evasive maneuvers until we’ve got torpedoes. Phasers
won’t do us any good. We might as well throw rocks.”
The comm chimed and Cochrane’s voice called out, “Sickbay to bridge.”
Clark answered, “Doc, glad to hear your voice.”
“Likewise. Ensign R’Mor, you’re needed in sickbay for a blood transfusion,”
R’Mor stayed focused on her console, “I’m busy, Doctor. Can it wait?”
Cochrane shouted, “No, no! Over there!” He paused, “Sorry, no, it can’t. Vorik’s suffered a
massive amount of blood loss and you’re the only other one with hemocyanic blood on board – you’re a
type match too.”
90
Toq’bae chimed in, “What about the blood bank?”
“Damaged and in disarray.” Cochrane said, “Ensign, we need you now.”
Clark kicked his chair around, “Go.”
R’Mor nodded and ran toward the turbolift, “On my way. Bridge, out.”
Clark turned the chair to Jensen, “Take ops.” Jensen jumped up from her chair and skipped over
the end of the arc. “Mason, can you put the station between us and the fleet?”
She responded simply with, “Aye.” The Aldrin arced up away from the station and then banked
back down, streaking past the demolished hangar to the underside.
“The fleet is in pursuit,” Jensen reported. The turbolift opened and R’Mor stepped in.
A swarm of nimble attack ships were the first to round the edge of the station, finding the armorsheathed Aldrin fleeing at full impulse power.
Clark looked down to the deck in thought for a few seconds as polaron beams streaked by from
the aft. He stood and turned to Murphy, “John, I know the ablative armor does well dispersing energybased weapons, but how does it handle physical impacts?”
“Quite well. The panels have an impact rating in excess of, uh,” Murphy closed his eyes
momentarily as he recalled the statistics, “Ten billion Newtons. Impact energy is distributed throughout the
shell and excess load is transferred into the spaceframe at generation po…” Murphy paused upon a
realization, “Captain, you aren’t thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
Clark pivoted back around, “Helm, get us enough space to turn around. Divert available power to
structural integrity.”
Stardate 57100.363571
Cochrane noticed the groaning of the Aldrin’s superstructure right before Clark’s voice came over
the intercom, “All hands, prepare for impact. This is not a drill.”
Cochrane set down his hypospray and pulled out a strap from the side of the bed. He passed it over
Vorik’s chest to Schortman, “This day is not going as I planned.” Two more straps followed over Vorik’s
hips and shins.
The corridor door opened and R’Mor walked in, her hair slightly tossed about and a dark green
bruise forming on the side of her face. Cochrane waved her over, “Ensign, are you okay?”
“I ran, I fell,” R’Mor rolled her eyes as she walked over, “I’m fine.”
Cochrane pointed at a bed next to Vorik’s, “Lay down.” He pointed at a medic next to a stand full
of medical equipment, including a breadbox-sized contraption with a needle-tipped tube coming out of each
end.
As the medic grabbed the cart and pushed it over, R’Mor sat onto the edge of the bed and looked
with wide eyes as he approached. She slowly asked, “What is that?”
91
19
U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 1944, Gamma Quadrant
Stardate 57100.368504
“All available power is feeding into structural integrity,” Jensen reported, “SIF forcefields at two
hundred sixteen percent.” The starfield on the viewscreen turned to a blur as the Aldrin executed a
sweeping turn to face the Dominion fleet.
“Quantum torpedoes are online,” Murphy said. “The transphasic load system appears to be
damaged.”
“Quantum will do. Prepare full weapons spread. Plot a course through the center of the fleet, full
impulse,” Clark ordered. “I don’t care if there’s something in the way.” The fleet grew larger on the screen
as it and the Aldrin drew closer.
“Ready,” Murphy and Mason reported simultaneously.
Clark took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Polaron beams began to fire from the fleet, landing
their marks on the Aldrin as it slowly drifted forward on a predictably straight path. The alarms and the
hissing of the broken conduit overhead died away, replaced by the hurried beating of Clark’s heart, “Go.”
The Aldrin’s impulse engines roared to full power, thrusting the starship towards the charging
Dominion fleet. The ship’s arsenal was unleashed, with a combination of phaser beams, phaser cannons,
and streams of dozens of bright blue quantum torpedoes flying ahead. The wave of phaser and torpedo
strikes landed in the center of the Dominion vessels, obscuring them from view with a wide and fiery
explosion as the Aldrin streaked forward.
The explosion cleared, revealing a swath of damaged Jem’Hadar ships that was still rapidly
growing closer. Alarms began to blare at the helm and ops as the ship’s computer recognized the looming
impact threat.
Clark’s eyes darted across the viewscreen, noting the fleet closing in to fill in the gaps created by
the Aldrin’s initial assault, blocking the path to a massive battleship at the back. A lone attack ship powered
forward, angling directly for the Aldrin.
“Time to see how good this armor really is,” Clark groaned. He pressed the ship-wide intercom on
his armrest, “All hands, brace for impact.”
The attack ship twisted as approached the Aldrin, neither ship budging from their paths. The
smaller attack ship, about a half the size of the Aldrin’s saucer section, plowed into the starboard edge of
the saucer, exploding in a bright fireball as its fuel tanks ruptured. The surviving pieces of the smaller ship,
including the sickle-like warp nacelles from either side, bounded off the Aldrin’s armored hull, leaving
behind deep gouges and scorch marks on the dark gray surface, but not puncturing to reach the
comparatively vulnerable ship below.
Stardate 57100.372299
The entire sickbay shifted several meters to the side, sending every unrestrained object and person
off their perch. R’Mor fell backwards off the bed she was sitting on, while Cochrane, Wright, and the other
sickbay officers tumbled onto the deck and slid towards the surgical bay. The Aldrin righted itself from the
impact and the officers quickly acted to recover their bearings. Cochrane groaned as he pushed up,
“Everybody okay?”
The five critical patients in sight had been strapped down at Clark’s warning command, but the
equipment and medicine needed to treat them was strewn across the sickbay deck. The ship rocked again,
but not as violently this time.
“Ow,” R’Mor called from the space between two beds where she’d landed. Schortman and Wright
ran over, finding her crumpled upside against a bed, having landed on the top of her shoulders when she
fell. The pair helped her up as Cochrane walked over, “Ensign?”
R’Mor blinked a few times as blood began to flow past her eye from a cut on her forehead. Wright
quickly looked up to it, found it to be minor, and guided her back onto the bed next to Vorik.
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“Restrain her this time,” Cochrane ordered. “We don’t need her falling off the bed in the middle of
the transfusion.” He kneeled and righted the equipment cart, picking up the tools and equipment off the
deck. The ship shook again, with the medical staff this time grabbing onto the nearby beds and equipment
to prevent another mess and delay. Cochrane hurriedly sorted through the tubes hanging over the side of the
transfuser.
“Take off your blouse,” Wright directed as he grabbed a blade from the equipment cart and used it
to slice open the sleeve on Vorik’s nearest arm, opening it up from the wrist to the middle of his forearm.
R’Mor quickly complied, opening the front of her duty jacket and yellow division shirt and removing them
together. Her gray undershirt was damp with sweat, with the upper front darkened by the blood from the
cut on her head. She got up onto the bed and laid down, curiously watching as the restraining straps were
passed over her body.
As Cochrane rubbed an alcohol swab over the faint vein on the inside of Vorik’s elbow, Wright
did the same with R’Mor’s more prominent median cubital vein. They both quickly tied a light tourniquet
over the patients’ forearms, limiting the blood flow from the veins and quickly causing them to bulge.
R’Mor began the breath shallowly as she watched Cochrane smoothly insert the needle into
Vorik’s elbow. Green blood immediately began to flow through the clear tube and into the box on the cart.
“Doc, what does this thing do?”
Cochrane didn’t look up from the cart as he adjusted the controls of the device, “It runs your blood
through a mitosis catalyst, ensuring that the recipient receives an adequate supply of erythrocytes and
leukocytes in addition to your plasma.”
Wright offered a simplified explanation, “It doubles the contents of your blood so Vorik can
recover faster and draw less from you.” He reassuringly patted her shoulder and Cochrane removed the
tourniquet from Vorik’s arm.
R’Mor nodded and dropped her head back onto the bed. She nervously sighed, “Okay, let’s do
this.”
Wright took the needle-tipped tube from Cochrane and brought it to R’Mor’s elbow. He held
steady as the ship shook again, and then pushed the needle forward, puncturing R’Mor’s skin and eliciting a
howl.
Stardate 57100.373785
Russell sat in the high-backed chair of his office, his back towards the darkened room. He faced
out towards the bay, taking in the vista of the setting sun over the city of San Francisco while catching up
on a PADD of reports.
The admiral’s assistant’s voice came over the intercom, “Admiral, the President is ca– wait a
min–” As the Ensign was cut off Russell’s office suddenly brightened, with a brilliant light shining from
the other side of his desk behind his back. Russell looked up from the PADD, seeing in the window the
brightly-illuminated reflection of President Ak’telKi tersely staring at him. Russell kicked his chair around,
finding a holographic projection of the Andorian standing between his desk and the door, wearing a
startlingly white dress that complimented her stark white hair and revealed more of her thin blue torso and
legs than he’d ever seen. Her dress and azure body glowed brightly in the dark office, illuminated by the
environment from which she was projecting.
Russell slowly rose from his desk, setting down the PADD, “Madam President, I wasn’t expecting
to hear from you at this hour.”
“And I wasn’t expecting to be interrupting a campaign dinner to talk to you, but here I am,”
Ak’telKi said flatly. She sipped her drink and then nodded cordially to somebody outside of the projection.
“How can I help you, Ma’am?” Russell asked.
“Stand by for transport,” Ak’telKi said. An instant later a transporter beam grabbed hold of
Russell and transferred his body out of the office.
Russell reassembled in the same position in front of Ak’telKi, standing in the center of a brightlylit room of stone block walls and brick arches. Behind her sat an ancient iron cannon, pointed out an open
archway at the dark ocean beyond. Russell nodded slowly, recognizing the concrete pillars of the Golden
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Gate Bridge approach outside, “Fort Point.” The sounds of the reception drew Russell’s attention, but a
quick glance around revealed that he and the President were alone in the artillery battery.
Ak’telKi twisted around to pick up a small PADD off the cannon. She passed it to Russell,
“Admiral, I just received a communiqué from the Defiant. Hazard a guess as to what they found?”
Russell smiled as he took the PADD, “The Aldrin?” He looked down at the PADD and the smile
faded.
“They found the subspace relay the Aldrin was supposed to set up,” Ak’telKi said, taking a step
towards Russell. “They found enough debris to assemble a small Dominion fleet.” She took another step,
closing the space between them to less than a meter. “What didn’t they find?”
Russell looked up to her, his face ashen in the reflected light of the historic battery.
Ak’telKi’s deep blue eyes stared at Russell for a few seconds before she snapped, “Say it,
Admiral!”
Russell swallowed, “They didn’t find the Aldrin.”
She slowly echoed him, punctuating each word, “They didn’t find the Aldrin.” After taking a long
sip from her drink, she continued, “The Aldrin’s signal is quiet, there’s no ion trail from her impulse drive
or subspace wake from the warp engine.” Ak’telKi grabbed the PADD from his hands, waving it to the side
of her head, “Where are they, Admiral? Why’s there a pile of Dominion debris out there?”
“I don’t know, Ma’am.”
Ak’telKi hurled the PADD past Russell’s head, shattering it against the far stone wall. “Why don’t
you know? What the hell happened out there? Were they captured? Did somebody on that crew turn the
ship over to the Dominion? Did we lose track of the most advanced weapons Starfleet has in its possession
– on the other side of the damn galaxy?” Her antennae quivered furiously, remaining pointed in Russell’s
direction.
“Ma’am, our resources in the area of Deep Space Nine are already stretched thin,” he said. “The
Defiant’s the only ship available, and that’s leaving DS9 undefended.”
“I’d send you out there to find them yourself, but you’d probably lose yourself too.” Ak’telKi
drained the last of her drink into her mouth and snapped, “Get out of my sight.” Russell executed a crisp
about-face and quickly walked away, exiting through the closest door he could find out of the cannon
battery.
Ak’telKi looked down at her empty glass, still scowling from the encounter. She turned around
and looked out through the battery’s opening to the ocean, and then shouted as she pitched the glass out
into the darkness in frustration.
U.S.S. Aldrin
Stardate 57100.374196
“Come on, come on, come on,” Murphy pleaded, urging on the nearly continuous stream of
quantum torpedoes flying from the Aldrin’s weapons pod and into the shields of the warship that had
moved to block their path. While the armor-reinforced Aldrin would likely survive the impact, a softening
of the target would make the collision less severe for the Federation starship.
“Their shields are down!” Toq’bae reported.
Clark pressed his intercom switch again as the warship filled the viewscreen, “All hands, brace for
impact!” With the warship’s shields overpowered the flood of bright torpedoes erupted against its angular
hull like a small star.
The bridge crew braced themselves against their consoles as the Aldrin plowed head-first into the
warship’s exploding frame. The Jem’Hadar vessel cracked in two as the center hull disintegrated in an
expanding fireball. Trailing fire with burning bits of the warship’s structure lodged in the hull, the Aldrin
blasted out of the far side of the explosion, facing directly at the massive battleship ahead. An unimpeded
path lay between the two vessels, with the Jem’Hadar holding their fire for the moment.
Murphy pumped his fist in the air over his head and shouted victoriously, “Yes!” The Aldrin still
shuddered around him from the impact, but continued forward unabated and relatively unscathed.
“Helm, slow to one quarter impulse,” Clark ordered. “Maintain course, have full impulse power at
the ready.” He looked up to Murphy, “What’s our torpedo count looking like?”
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Murphy looked down at his console, “Quantum torpedo reserves are at forty two percent.
Transphasics still fully-stocked, no ETA on loader fix. Engineering says it was partially dismantled.”
“We don’t have nearly enough quantums to take on the entire fleet,” Jensen said. “Maybe we
should just ram them all?”
Clark squinted at the viewscreen, “Hail the battleship.”
Dominion Battleship Tik’ala
17:42 18:18 Hours, February 6th, 2380
Stardate 57100.375683
The command center of the battleship Tik’ala maintained the same elongated triangular design as
the smaller Dominion ships, though it was significantly larger to accommodate all of the Vorta and
Jem’Hadar needed to manage the ship’s functions. It was dark with no center viewer; the Jem’Hadar and
Vorta working the stations on the sides were separated by thick columns that blocked the view to
neighboring consoles, ensuring that all information flowed exclusively to the commander in the center.
Standing in the middle of the command center, flanked by two hip-height consoles, the Founder Laas
growled at a Vorta standing to his right, “You told me their armor wouldn’t be able to stand up to our
assault.”
The Vorta looked away from the bow and pressed the side of his headset, “It would appear that the
tritanium weave is more durable than we had anticipated. My most sincere apologies.”
“I’ll have you executed later,” Laas snapped.
A second Vorta from one of the stations called out, “We’re receiving a hail from the Aldrin. Audio
only.”
Laas pressed his hand on his console and Clark’s voice immediately sounded into speakers that
were directed only into the Founder’s central perch, “Stand down immediately or we will destroy you.”
The first Vorta whispered, “They don’t have enough weaponry to take on this entire fleet for much
longer. If they could use the transphasic torpedoes the would have by now.”
“You have ten seconds to respond,” Clark declared.
Laas stared ahead, narrowing his eyes in an inadvertent expression he’d picked up during his
centuries living amongst the Varalans. He dragged his hand back on the console, opening the
communication channel to respond. He replied sinisterly, “David, do you want to know Majel’s last
pathetic words?”
U.S.S. Aldrin
Stardate 57100.375683
The Aldrin’s bridge fell silent as the Founder’s words sounded over the speakers. Clark took a
slow, deep breath, trying and failing to summon a response that wouldn’t be filled with rage. Jensen
reached across the ops station and cut the transmission. She looked up to the back of Clark’s unmoving
head, “Your orders, Captain?”
Clark kicked his chair around, “John, get a single transphasic torpedo manually loaded. Now.”
Murphy nodded, “Yes, Sir.” He turned into his cylindrical station and began speaking into a comm
channel.
Clark continued, looking to Toq’bae, “Find weak spots in the warship’s shields, forward them to
tactical.” He turned his chair to face back to the front, “Mason, adjust course to intercept the center of the
battleship’s main hull.”
Jensen leaned forward over the ops arc, “That ship’s a lot bigger than the warship, David. I don’t
think we’ll be able to ram our way through this one.”
“I’m not planning on it,” Clark replied tersely.
“Course plotted,” Mason reported.
Toq’bae chimed in, “The weak spots aren’t that weak, but tactical’s got ‘em.”
“Transphasic load status?” Clark inquired.
“Uhh…” Murphy glanced around his station, “Fifteen seconds.”
95
“Engage full impulse,” Clark ordered. As Aldrin accelerated the Dominion fleet opened fire. Clark
commanded, “Target and fire all weapons on the battleship. The instant that transphasic is ready I want it
out the tube.”
Dominion Battleship Tik’ala
Stardate 57100.379477
“They’re advancing,” The Vorta second-in-command reported. The Tik’ala began to vibrate under
the assault from the Aldrin.
“Evasive maneuvers,” Laas ordered. “Send attack ships to intercept.”
“Impact in ten!” came a call from another Vorta.
The Vorta uttered, “Oh no.” He turned to Laas, a profound disappointment displayed on his
normally placid face and the transparent screen of his headset glowing a bright white, “Oh, Founder, I have
failed you.”
U.S.S. Aldrin
Stardate 57100.368884
“Transphasic torpedo away!” Murphy yelped. The brilliant white torpedo streaked forward,
accompanied by a spread of dimmer aquamarine quantum torpedoes and yellow phaser beams.
Clark triumphantly slammed a fist into his armrest, “Break course!”
As the torpedo rapidly closed the space to the battleship, the Aldrin tightly banked up and away,
heading into the mass of the Dominion fleet, trailed closely by a handful of attack ships.
The lone transphasic torpedo made contact with the battleship’s hull amid a flurry of explosions
from the lesser quantum torpedoes. In the space of a few nanoseconds the vessel went dark, followed
immediately by a blinding explosion that obliterated the battleship. Large sections of the battleship spiraled
away in flames, crashing into nearby warships and attack ships and sending the center of the fleet into
disarray just as it was pivoting to pursue the Aldrin.
Clark couldn’t help but crack a smile as the Aldrin bucked under the pressure of the explosion’s
shockwave and the officers around him cheered. After a moment’s reprieve the pounding from the
Dominion fleet resumed, prompting Clark to order, “Helm, get us out of here.”
Mason nodded, “With pleasure, Captain.” The impulse engines ramped to full power, forcing the
Aldrin forward with vigor. The fleet quickly reacted to the straight-line escape route, with the ships turning
in together to pursue the fleeing starship.
The weapons impacts diminished as the Aldrin punched out of the fleet, with purple polaron
beams impacting the armored rear and streaking past into empty space. Clark looked around the damaged
bridge, “Report.”
Murphy was the first to speak, “Quantum torpedo reserves down to thirty eight percent, phaser
banks at sixty. Ablative armor overall at seventy percent strength, localized impact areas at thirty percent.”
He glanced around the tactical station, “Transphasic loaders and primary shields are still offline.”
“Ops?” Clark prompted.
“Injury and damage reports from all decks,” Jensen replied. “Currently seventeen additional in
sickbay. Structural integrity is holding as are impulse and maneuvering thrusters. No ETA on warp power
restoration.”
A salvo of polaron beams landed on the rear of the Aldrin’s weapons pod, sending vibrations
through the ship. Murphy called out, “That’s one of those localized severely weakened spots in the armor.”
“Noted,” Mason answered, “Engaging evasive maneuvers.” The stars on the screen turned into
horizontal streaks as Mason piloted the Aldrin into a tight turn. The rumble of the impulse engines suddenly
ceased, prompting alarms and shouts on the bridge as the main lights momentarily died.
Clark jumped out of his chair, “What the hell?” The Aldrin hurtled forward on its last vector,
slowly spinning.
“Impulse controls aren’t responding!” Mason yelled.
96
“The entire fusion reactor system just went offline,” Jensen calmly reported. “No system alarms
were triggered, I don’t know what’s going on. We’re on reserve power right now.” Mason worked the helm
controls to bring the Aldrin’s spin under control, using the thrusters to stabilize the vessel while
maintaining its forward momentum.
Toq’bae shook his head, “That won’t last long in a firefight.” His station beeped shrilly, drawing
his attention, “Uh, Captain, we have a problem. Sensors are detecting another DM fleet approaching at high
warp.”
Jensen groaned, “Reinforcements.”
“Time to arrival?” Clark asked.
“They could be on top of us in under ninety seconds,” Toq’bae said grimly.
Clark dropped back into his chair and pressed the intercom, “All hands, this is the Captain.
Prepare for boarding parties, all decks. We have lost main power and Dominion reinforcements are inbound.
They will try to take this ship again, and we will not let them. The fate of the Federation, of the entire
galaxy, rests in our hands this day. The Dominion must not be allowed to capture the Aldrin. Arm
yourselves; think of your loved ones. It has been an honor to serve with you for this brief time. Clark, out.”
Upon releasing the intercom control, he ordered, “Load all torpedo tubes, prepare full radius
phaser spread. I want to take out as many of those Jem’Hadar bastards as we can. Get as many transphasics
manually loaded as you can.”
“Aye, Captain,” Murphy replied, turning back into the tactical station.
97
20
U.S.S. Aldrin
Stardate 57100.391399
Clark’s voice carried over the sickbay speakers, “…Arm yourselves; think of your loved ones. It
has been an honor to serve with you for this brief time. Clark, out.”
Wright looked up from Vorik’s unmoving body to Cochrane, who quickly comforted the
lieutenant, “Security is forming in the corridor right now.” He pointed his green blood-covered gloved hand
down at Vorik, “We have our own job to do here.” Wright silently nodded and turned his attention back to
Vorik. He grabbed a blade and neatly sliced open the left leg of Vorik’s pants, spreading apart the fabric to
expose a fist-sized pit in his thigh. Despite the makeshift tourniquet tied further up the leg, dark green
blood continued to flow from the wound, unabated thanks to the anti-coagulant properties of the Jem’Hadar
disruptor.
“It must have grazed the femoral artery,” Wright stated.
“Looks like it,” Cochrane agreed. “Get suction in there.” The Aldrin rocked under the barrage of
the Dominion fleet. Cochrane turned to the equipment cart by his side and grabbed a pair of narrow handlength autosuture styli.
Stardate 57100.395194
The muffled sound of rapid-fire torpedoes filled the silence on the bridge as the multiple launchers
around the weapons pod, the pairs on either side of the saucer section, and the single launcher below the
deflector dish all unleashed their firepower on the Dominion fleet as it surrounded the propulsion-less
Aldrin.
Toq’bae reported, “Looks like the reinforcements are going to drop in right on top of us.”
“That’s weird,” Mason remarked.
“What in the past few days hasn’t been?” Jensen retorted.
Toq’bae interrupted the repartee with a countdown, “Three. Two. One.”
Right on cue a second Dominion fleet of warships, attack ships, and a pair of battleships dropped
out of warp in a series of bright flashes within sight of the ongoing battle. They quickly moved forward,
firing indiscriminately into their fellow Jem’Hadar.
“By the Prophets,” Jensen remarked with astonishment as a trio of polaron beams pierced through
an attack ship moving across the viewscreen. A bright white torpedo flashed across the screen and
demolished a warship in a violent explosion.
“Cease fire!” Clark shouted. He jumped up, spinning to face Toq’bae, “Get a lock on the source of
that torpedo!” The fleet attacking the Aldrin turned its attention away from the Starfleet vessel and began
firing back at the new entrants into the fight.
A small craft, too small to be even a Jem’Hadar fighter, streaked across the viewscreen as Toq’bae
proclaimed, “Got it! It’s a Starfleet shuttlecraft, the Atlantis. It’s one of ours!” Another warship erupted in
flames, this time under Dominion assault.
Clark couldn’t help but grin, “They’re reinforcements alright! Helm, get us out of the line of fire.”
Jensen’s station beeped, she looked down and announced, “The Atlantis is hailing; it’s Kelley!”
U.S.S. Aldrin
Stardate 57100.696062
Clark stared out the bank of tall windows at the back of the Aldrin’s briefing room. His eyes
focused on the scorched hull breach on the inner side of the starboard engineering hull. The Dominion
disruptor had blasted away the duranium hull across two decks, severed the warp plasma relay, and
obliterated a pair of engineering labs, in the process shredding a five-meter stretch of bulkhead and
98
exposing Engineering-A to the vacuum of space. A shuttlecraft slowly rose from the bay below, its external
floodlights trained on the large ragged opening.
Far behind the Aldrin sat the debris field left behind by the second Dominion-on-Dominion assault
the Aldrin crew had witnessed in less than a week. The slowly spinning hunks of former starships barely
reflected in the dim starlight of interstellar space. The savior fleet, led in by Kelley, had obliterated the
vessels that had been trying to recapture the Aldrin. They now surrounded the prison station, having
successfully secured it as well.
Clark turned around, starting to feel the soreness of the day’s assault on his body. His uniform was
torn, burned, and bloodied and he’d yet to have found time to shave the stubble from his jaw. Excepting
Kelley, the Starfleet officers around the briefing room table before him weren’t in much better shape, all
battered by their escape from the station and subsequent assault by the fleet. After the events of the day,
Clark couldn’t help but feel a certain unease having a Founder and a Vorta also sitting at the table, even if
they were Odo and Vigrel, the first of whom Clark knew from his time on Deep Space Nine and the other
begrudgingly vouched for by Kelley.
Clark slowly walked around the table to his chair at the head of the table. He stood behind it,
grabbing the back of the tall tan seat, “Doctor, how’d we do?”
Cochrane leaned forward and picked up a PADD off the table, “We sustained heavy casualties in
the battle. Sixteen received minor injuries and eight more are still in sickbay with more serious wounds.
Thirteen died under care.”
“Twenty didn’t make it to sickbay,” Jensen added. Clark glanced up at the gaping hole in the
engineering hull.
Vigrel tilted his head back and forth, “For a ship of nearly six hundred that doesn’t seem to bad.”
The briefing room fell silent.
Odo slowly turned to face the Vorta, “There are one hundred ninety two Starfleet bodies on the
station.”
Clark squeezed his chair, “Two hundred twenty five total?”
Cochrane nodded, “Thirty eight percent loss.” He shot an icy glare to Vigrel, who visibly sank in
his chair.
Feeling a painful silence settling in, Odo continued, “Our Jem’Hadar are preparing the bodies for
transport.”
“I’d like to have a team of our officers to supervise and assist,” Jensen replied. “There are customs
and traditions to be upheld.”
Vigrel nodded, “Of course. I’ll let our soldiers know you’ll be taking the lead on recovery.”
Clark looked back out through the windows, his eyes landing on the weapons pod perched
between the aft end of the engineering hulls, “What about our technology? Laas may not have been able to
reactivate the Aldrin, but surely they were able to get detailed scans of our systems.”
Odo looked over to Vigrel, who reached into his tunic and pulled out a bright red hand-length
isolinear rod. “We performed a complete dump of the station’s records onto this chip and then wiped the
library.” The Vorta rolled the rod across the glass table to Clark, who handed it to Man’tA’el, “I brought it
directly here; I wanted to give you the chance to purge any of your sensitive data before we began our own
analysis. As a gesture of good faith.”
As Man’tA’el turned the rod around in his hands, Clark remarked, “You know, I could just destroy
the rod and call it a day.”
Odo gruffly answered, “There is a lot of sensitive data on there pertaining to Laas and his
compatriots that the Dominion needs. As a gesture of good faith, I’d appreciate getting that rod back.”
Clark slowly nodded, eyeing the rod, “Alright, agreed. Thanks.”
Murphy leaned in, laying his hands down on the table, “Can I ask the question everybody’s
thinking and is afraid to voice?”
“Ask away, Commander,” Clark gestured widely with a hand.
“How did Laas know we were coming?” Murphy asked. “He was after this ship, and as far as the
public is concerned this is just another ship. Not even a quarter of the crew was fully aware of what the
Aldrin is capable of. Only a select few in the government and Starfleet Command know. So how did a
Founder on the other side of the galaxy know enough to send shapeshifters to lure us out here and have a
fleet waiting when we crossed the wormhole?”
The question had been nagging at Clark too. He took a slow breath and declared, “Somebody in
Starfleet is involved.”
99
“Who?” Cochrane asked, “Admiral Russell? Bullock? The President?”
Vigrel quipped, “I doubt even we could get away with replacing President Ak’telKi.”
“I’ve known Bullock his entire career,” Cochrane added. “The Chief of Operations is a man of
honor.”
“Like John said,” Clark stood from his chair, “There are only a select few in Starfleet Command
who knew enough about this ship and its mission to be able to pull this off.” He stepped away from the
table, walking around to the large gold-colored bas-relief sculpture on the bulkhead, a stylized
representation of an eagle spreading its wings over an Akira-class starship. “That’s something we’re going
to have to investigate on our end. If there’s nothing else…”
Man’tA’el spoke up, “There is, Captain.”
Clark looked to the Andorian engineer, “Go ahead.”
“The power loss that we suffered at 17:45 hours, right before Odo’s fleet arrived,” Man’tA’el
started. “It wasn’t a system failure. Somebody physically disconnected both the primary and secondary
initial EPS junctions.” His antennae twitched to the sides.
“Sabotage?” Kelley asked.
Odo grunted, “Sounds like it.”
“Then it’s not just the perpetrator in the Alpha Quadrant we have to worry about,” Clark said.
“There’s somebody on this ship still working for Laas.”
Murphy pushed back in his seat, “I’ll get with Engineering and put together a list of critical
junctures we should have guarded.”
“You’ll be a little short on manpower,” Toq’bae said. “If you need any of my scientists, let me
know.”
“I’ll be calling,” Murphy said begrudgingly.
Clark grabbed the back of Vigrel’s chair, “Alright, we’ve got a lot of work to do. Dismissed.” As
the officers stood from the table, Clark started back towards the head of the table, “Man’tA’el, a moment
please.” He glanced over his shoulder, “Odo, could you hang back a moment please?”
Man’tA’el approached Clark, “Sir?”
Clark leaned in, hoping to subvert the superior capabilities of Vigrel’s Vorta hearing by barely
whispering. Man’tA’el, being taller than Clark by nearly a quarter of a meter, crouched awkwardly to
accommodate the captain, who quietly whispered, “I want you to make a copy of everything on that chip.
Everything. Do you understand?”
Man’tA’el nodded and audibly said, “I do.”
“Purge our data, delete any access logs, and then return it to Vigrel.”
“Understood.” Man’tA’el’s antennae relaxed from their angle away from Clark as the captain
pulled back. “Is there anything else, Sir?”
“Yeah,” Clark clapped him on the shoulder, “Don’t call me Sir.”
Man’tA’el gave a slight smile as he nodded curtly, “Captain.”
Clark returned the smile, “Dismissed, Lieutenant.” Man’tA’el left quietly, leaving Clark alone
with Odo and Vigrel.
As the door into the corridor whisked shut, Vigrel spoke, “Captain, I do believe I was picking up
some hostility from your officers.”
As Odo slowly turned to face the Vorta with indignation bubbling up in his normally placid face,
Clark retorted flatly, “Can you blame them? I can’t say I’m one hundred percent comfortable around you
either.”
Vigrel expressed surprise, “That’s no way to react in the presence of the people who save your
crew.”
Odo snapped at the Vorta, “The last time anybody on this crew saw a Vorta, Jem’Hadar, or a
Changeling was after the Dominion had slaughtered more than a billion people in two years of bloody war.
And the next time they see the Dominion they end up with their ship captured and a third of the crew dead.
Of course they’re uneasy around us!” Humbled, Vigrel took a step back as Odo turned back to Clark, “My
apologies, Captain.”
Clark kept his attention focused on Odo, knowing that after his little outburst he’d have trouble
restraining himself if he addressed the Vorta, “I wanted to thank you again for your invaluable assistance
today. We’d have been toast if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”
Odo slightly bowed his head to Clark, “David, I’m sorry you got pulled into this. We never should
have let it get this far.”
100
Clark put his hand on Odo’s shoulder as he approached, eliciting a shocked expression from
Vigrel. Clark nodded, “On that we can definitely agree. Let me walk you back to the transporter room.”
Stardate 57100.814224
R’Mor’s eyes fluttered open, finding the light gray sickbay overhead. She groaned lightly and
stretched her arms down to her side, noticing the tug against her skin of the tape holding in place the needle
and tube that ran from her elbow to the transfuser staged in the space between her bed and Vorik’s. Turning
her head to that side, even in the darkened sickbay she could see that the color had returned to Vorik’s face
and that the doctors and successfully patched his wounded leg. His duty pants and boots had been removed,
replaced by a standard pair of loose white cotton pants, with the left leg hiked up far enough to expose the
thin bandage wrapped around the middle of his thigh. R’Mor lifted her head and looked down at her own
body, finding that she was still wearing the torn and bloodied uniform she’d had on when she entered
sickbay hours earlier. She glanced to the right, seeing the other three beds in sickbay occupied by her
fellow officers. Wright stood by one, dividing his attention between the PADD in his hand and the display
mounted on the bulkhead over the patient’s head.
Cochrane came out of his office and noticed R’Mor moving around, “Ensign, how are you
feeling?” He strode over to her side.
“Sore,” R’Mor grunted as she pulled her arms back and propped her torso up on her elbows. She
blinked several times as the room spun, “And dizzy.”
Cochrane put a hand between her shoulders, “Lie down, Nevala.” She looked up at him, and then
slid her arms back down, allowing him to gently lower her back onto the bed. “You just donated a lot of
blood to Mr. Vorik.” He looked over to the lightly whirring transfuser, “Just over a liter, actually.”
“That sounds like a lot,” R’Mor said as Cochrane walked around the end of her bed to the machine.
“The average humanoid has something like five liters of blood, right?”
Cochrane tapped the controls on top of the transfuser, making the machine go silent. He crouched
and pulled a palm-sized dermal regenerator and a small swab packet from a lower shelf on the car,
“Average, yes. You’re both Romulan and below average in body mass.” He stood back up and stepped to
her side, gently feeling the insertion point of the needle, prompting wincing from R’Mor, “In your case I’d
estimate you to have closer to four liters of blood, maybe a little less. Giving a quarter of your supply is
going to leave you light-headed for a while.”
R’Mor twisted her head to watch as Cochrane pulled off the tape holding down the needle and
tube. Cochrane continued, “The advised donation for a Romulan of your size is more like four hundred
milliliters, and even that would likely keep you down for a few hours.” He tore open the packet and pulled
out a small liquid-soaked pad, which he rubbed in a circle around the needle site. Pressing the pad over the
puncture site, Cochrane grabbed the base of the needle and pulled it out. He grabbed R’Mor’s far hand and
guided her fingers to press down on the pad, “Hold this for a moment.”
As Cochrane wrapped up the tube to the transfuser, the blood inside quickly drained into the
device, he continued, “I want to keep you here at least overnight.” The dark green flow from the transfuser
into Vorik turned clear as R’Mor’s donated blood ceased and was replaced by a feed of hydrating fluids.
Cochrane turned his attention to Vorik’s arm, repeating the same needle removal process on the
unconscious Vulcan.
“He looks better,” R’Mor commented, shifting a bit onto her side.
Cochrane nodded, “Yeah, he’s certainly improving.” He pressed down on the pad as he pulled out
the needle. The needle tip clinked against the cart as he draped the loose tube over it, “Though he’s not
quite out of the woods yet.” Cochrane pulled the pad down to the side of Vorik’s elbow, releasing a slow
stream of blood that flowed into the absorbing pad. He grabbed the dermal regenerator and shined its blue
light over the puncture site, sealing the small hole, “His liver and kidneys have been working overtime
filtering out those damn Jem’Hadar anticoagulants.” Cochrane set down the regenerator and wiped up the
blood with the pad.
R’Mor sighed as Cochrane turned back to her, lifted her hand away from her elbow, and removed
the pad, “I never got to fight the Dominion before now.”
Even though her puncture point had clotted, Cochrane quickly ran the regenerator’s beam over her
elbow to heal the wound, “I thought you were in the Star Force before you joined Starfleet.”
101
R’Mor flexed her arm, grimacing at the achiness, “I was, but I left Romulus before we–” she
paused for a moment and put emphasis on her self correction, “they got involved in the war. And then I
wasn’t granted Federation citizenship and admission to the Academy until after the war had ended.” She
looked up to the overhead and pursed her lips, “Or so I thought.”
“Yep, maybe the war never really ended,” Cochrane put his hand on her jaw and gently turned her
head to face away from him, exposing a mottled dark brown bruise that covered the space from her high
cheekbone to her jaw, “What happened here?”
“I got clubbed in the head with a Jem’Hadar rifle,” R’Mor groaned. “And then I fell into a
bulkhead on my way down here.”
Cochrane brought the regenerator up over her face, “We’ll fix that right up, dear. And then I’ll get
you some ice cream.”
R’Mor laughed and then groaned from the exertion.
Stardate 57101.153510
A series of barrels, cargo cases, and load pallets formed a makeshift wall in the corner of the
Aldrin’s large cargo bay, sectioning off a forty-meter square. A grid of two hundred body bags on
individual tables sat inside the makeshift morgue. The Aldrin’s proper morgue had space for twenty bodies,
forcing the overflow to be stored in the cargo bay in self-cooling body bags.
The flag of the United Federation of Planets lay draped across all but one of the body bags, the
solid blue background dominated by the white seal of the Federation, a starfield surrounded by stylized
olive branches, with the name of the interstellar governing body set across the bottom, hanging over the
right side of each body bag.
Clark stood at attention against the bulkhead, centered on the final uncovered body bag. On the
opposite side of the body a pair of ensigns – a female Human and a male Coridanite – unfolded the last of
two hundred blue flags. Clark couldn’t help but notice how young they were as they undid the last of the
triangular folds, opening the flag its full three-meter length, though still folded into quarters lengthwise.
Clark’s eyes stayed fixed on the flag as they crisply moved their arms out wide, snapping open the width of
the flag at chest-level. The seal in the center lofted up from the motion, and then settled, hanging slightly
despite the tautness the pair exerted on the flag.
They stepped to the side, moving the flag over the top of the last body. The shiny rippled surface
of black bag reflected the blue light streaming through flag. The shape of the body inside was barely
discernable under the thick plastic surface, with the only identification being a palm-sized white tag
attached to the foot end, bearing the deceased’s name, I.D. number, and preliminary cause and time of
death.
Centered over the body, the ensigns slowly lowered the flag, taking care to guide the corners to
hang neatly. They stood back up and rendered a salute across the casket, prompting Clark to the same.
Despite his best efforts, his right hand tremored as he held his fingertips to the end of his eyebrow. After
silent three seconds, the three dropped their salutes together. Clark relaxed his stance, letting his shoulders
drop as the pair of officers stepped out from the array of bodies. As they quietly walked away, Clark
mumbled, “Thank you.” He was uncertain if they’d heard his expression of appreciation, and too
despondent to bother repeating.
Clark stepped forward and stared down at the flag-covered body bag, not knowing who laid inside
and not particularly caring. He slowly lifted his head, looking out over the neatly-aligned rows of draped
flags. “They’re all so young,” he muttered.
The ensigns approached the door into the corridor, the entry flanked by a pair of lieutenants
silently standing guard. They stood at the position of at ease, with their feet apart and hands clasped to the
rear. The wide door opened loudly and the Coridanite quietly exited. The female Human stopped just short
of crossing the threshold and stepped backwards into the cargo bay. The door closed as the Coridanite
turned around, with a surprised and puzzled look on his face.
She turned to her side, finding Clark still standing next to the body at the end of the row, quietly
staring out over the sea of blue flags. The lieutenants standing guard silently looked to each other, then to
her, and then back to each other. The ensign took a few steps forward, “Captain?”
Clark blinked several times before turning his head towards her. He stared blankly at her for a few
seconds before answering, his voice hoarse, “Ensign?”
102
“Sir, are you okay?” she asked worryingly.
“I…” Clark stopped and looked back out over the flag-draped body bags. He was quiet for several
seconds before looking back to the ensign. He weakly replied, “I don’t even know most of their names.”
The ensign clasped her hands behind her and turned her eyes out to the bodies. After a few
moments of quiet she offered, “Sir, if you need somebody to talk to,” she flashed a quick and subtle smile,
“We could all use somebody to talk to right now.” Flashes of brutal battles with the Borg and Dominion
momentarily filled Clark’s vision. They snapped away when the ensign belatedly added, “Don’t be afraid
of talking, Sir.”
Met with silence from Clark, she nodded politely and turned to leave the cargo bay. As the
approached the door, Clark called out, “Ensign.”
She stopped and faced him, “Sir?”
“What’s your name?”
“Alya Crenson.”
Clark nodded, “Thank you, Alya.”
“You’re welcome, Sir,” Crenson replied. “And thank you.” Clark felt uncomfortable accepting her
gratitude with two hundred of their fellow crewmen lying dead before them, so he just looked back out into
the flag-draped body bags. Crenson watched Clark for a few more seconds before turning and leaving.
Clark took a few steps backwards until his back bumped against the bulkhead. He slowly slid
down the bulkhead, lowering himself onto the deck. He folded his legs up close, laying his arms limply
over his knees. Despite the makeshift nature of the enclosure, Clark found the room overwhelming. He’d
seen untold death and destruction at the hands of the Borg and the Dominion, but until now had never felt
the crushing weight of responsibility for each of the officers that lie dead before him.
Fighting back the tears welling up, Clark looked up to the flag-covered body in front of him, “I
failed you. I’m sorry.”
103
21
U.S.S. Aldrin
Stardate 57102.528334
The resonant hum of the warp engines working at full power reverberated through the auxiliary
sensor lab that Clark, Jensen, Murphy, and Cochrane had commandeered. They’d chosen the cabin, though
small at just over four-meters square, for the large bulkhead-spanning display and its current unassigned
status, limiting the likelihood that they’d be accidentally interrupted.
Clark sat in a chair against the bulkhead opposite the display, his head resting against the
duranium panel and his hands interlocked on top of his head, staring into the overhead in front of the
display. Cochrane sat on top of the desk from which Clark had taken the chair and looked with irritation at
the screen. Murphy was leaning against a bulkhead to the side of the display, his rifle’s barrel pushed into
the carpeted deck, slowly spinning as he turned the butt stock with the fingers of his outstretched hand.
Jensen slowly and quietly paced the width of the display, thumbing through a list on a large PADD she
carried.
On the display was an array of official Starfleet and Federation government photos and
biographical data, boxes displaying data from events over the past several years, and a list of additional
names, all displayed on a black background with the warning at the top of ‘logging disabled’ in bright red
lettering. The faces of Admirals Russell and Bullock, as well as several high-ranking government officials
and field grade Starfleet officers stood out on the display. They were arranged in two groups: those that
might know specific details relating to the Aldrin and its mission versus those that were in a position to
know or have access to the entirety of Project Eagle Two. Those two divisions were separated into subgroups of those that were possible or likely candidates for Dominion sympathy or coercion and those that
were not.
Jensen stopped pacing and looked back up at the display. She declared, “I don’t think we gave
Councilor Mazibuko proper consideration.” She tapped her PADD and the gray-haired dark-skinned
Human male’s profile was pulled from the severely compromising but unlikely pile and displayed at a
larger size at the center of the display.
“The Federation Council representative from Earth?” Murphy questioned.
Cochrane nodded, “He was elected to the Council in 2370 by the United Earth Parliament,
nominated to the Security Council in 2377.” That data was displayed on the councilor’s on-screen profile,
but Cochrane continued with information not seen, “He was staunchly anti-war for the first year of the
Dominion War, but changed positions after the Breen attack on Earth.”
“How changed?” Clark asked.
“He advocated that the Federation Alliance force the Dominion and Breen back to their pre-war
borders before pursuing any peace agreement and actively petitioned the Romulans to join the fight,”
Cochrane said. Catching a bewildered look from Murphy, Cochrane shrugged, “I’m a news hound, I
remember stuff like that.”
Clark looked to Murphy, who’d stopped spinning his rifle, “John, you’ve been on Eagle Two
longer than any of us. Did you ever hear Russell discuss anything about Mazibuko?”
Murphy shook his head, “I heard plenty about Councilors Gleer and T'Latrek, but never anything
about Mazibuko.”
“What’s the councilor been like since the end of the war?” Clark asked.
Cochrane slowly bobbled his head, “He’s taken on a bit of an isolationist bent recently, advocating
for a complete withdrawal from Cardassian space and for limiting Federation membership expansion.”
Clark brought his hands back down into his lap, “Alright, Loy, what’s bothering you about Mr.
Mazibuko?”
Jensen stared at the photo on the display and sighed, “Something about him just doesn’t feel right.”
“Have you met him?” Cochrane asked.
“No…” Jensen trailed off. She jerked her head down at the PADD and tapped a few buttons to
bring up Mazibuko’s voting record. “Doc, I don’t suppose you’d know if the Security Council had any
input on Eagle Two?”
Cochrane shrugged, “I would imagine so, but that session’s records wouldn’t be public.”
104
She looked over her shoulder, “How do you think he would vote?”
Cochrane thought for a few seconds, “He’d be a ‘no’. Isolationist? Yes. But he’s never been
known to be actively in favor of overtly aggressive military projects like this.”
“Overtly aggressive?” Clark asked, unable to keep the offended tone from his voice.
Cochrane shifted around the corner of the desk to better face Clark, “Transphasic torpedoes don’t
exactly have ‘defensive measure’ written all over them.”
Jensen added, “Neither does the Akira-class, for that matter.”
Clark let loose an exasperated sigh, “Whatever. Put Mazibuko back in his pile.” When the
councilor’s profile shifted away, Clark prompted, “Next?”
Jensen tapped the PADD and a familiar face appeared, “Admiral William Ross.”
“Hero of the Dominion War,” Murphy chimed in.
Cochrane added, “Current Starfleet Liaison to the Office of the President.”
“Damaging, highly unlikely,” Clark declared. “Next.”
Jensen dismissed Ross’s profile and pulled up the next on the list, “Rear Admiral Kathryn
Janeway.”
“Hero of the U.S.S. Voyager,” Murphy said.
Clark spoke as he studied the Admiral’s smiling image, “Responsible for bringing us ablative
armor and transphasic torpedoes. Russell told me she had conflicted feelings about Eagle Two.”
“Conflicted how?” Jensen asked.
Clark held his hands up and out, “That’s all he said, I didn’t ask.”
“Voyager returned two years after the war ended,” Cochrane said. “I really can’t see how she’d be
a target for the Dominion. She’s a scientist, not an engineer.”
“And she was never directly involved with Eagle Two,” Jensen said. She looked back to Clark,
“Less damaging, unlikely?”
Clark nodded in agreement and Janeway’s profile was dismissed into the pile in the lower left
corner of the display. “Who’s next?” Clark asked, noting with pleasure that the list of names they’d
assembled for consideration was no longer ran off the bottom of the display.
Jensen stared at her PADD for a few seconds, her finger hovering over a control. She sighed
lightly and tapped the tablet. A large image of President Ak’telKi appeared on the screen, immediately
prompting Murphy to pronounce, “I can’t even believe we’re considering this!”
“President of the United Federation of Planets Ak’telKi,” Jensen said flatly.
“Former Archprefect of Andoria,” Cochrane stated, “Elected as Federation President in 2372,
handily defeating Jaresh-Inyo. Reelected in 2376, currently running for her third term and polling quiet
well.”
Jensen crossed her arms, “She was what, thirty years old when first elected?”
“Youngest to win election in Federation history,” Cochrane commented, “By seven years at that.”
Clark stood up and almost defensively declared, “Also responsible for the execution of the entire
war during her first term.”
“I take it you voted for her?” Jensen probed,
“That’s beside the point,” Clark said, walking up towards the screen. He held a hand out to the
Andorian face displayed, “Are we seriously considering that the President of the Federation would be open
to sympathize or be coerced into working with the Dominion?”
“She could be tricked,” Murphy offered.
“How do you trick the President?” Clark countered. “You’d have to trick multiple levels of
Starfleet and the government before it even got to the Palais de la Concorde.”
“We were tricked,” Jensen argued. “What’s to say the Office of the President isn’t above being
tricked as well?”
Clark rolled his eyes, “Those years in Intelligence really left you distrustful of everything, didn’t
they?”
Jensen shrugged and before she could retort the sensor lab’s door chimed. She tapped the PADD
and both it and the bulkhead display went dark. After visibly checking with the other three in the cabin, she
replied, “Enter.”
The door opened and Man’tA’el entered, appearing slightly panicked, “Captain, there’s something
you need to come see.” He looked around the room, “Actually, you all should see this.” His antennae stood
on end, occasionally dipping down and snapping back up.
Clark pointed at his the combadge on his chest, “Why didn’t you call?”
105
The Andorian slowly nodded, “You’ll be glad I didn’t.”
Office of the President, Palais de la Concorde
Paris, France
12:42 Hours (21:42 local time), February 7th, 2380
Stardate 57102.539940
Russell fought the urge to pace in the administrative area outside of the President’s office. He
glanced out the wall of glass to his side, finding a view that looked north up the Seine. The Palais de la
Concorde, the home of both the Federation Council and the Office of the Federation President, straddled
the Avenue des Champs-Élysées in Paris, towering at one hundred meters over the nearby buildings on the
eastern bank of the Seine, but dwarfed by the collection of glittering skyscrapers on the western bank.
The Office of the President of the United Federation of Planets sat on the fifteenth floor and
highest of the Palais de la Concorde, with a whole level of administrative offices for the executive on the
floor below. Even with just the upper level staff on the top floor the office was abuzz with activity. A pair
of Bolians walked past, exchanging PADDs while discussing the deteriorating macroeconomic situation in
the Tzenkethi region while in an open meeting room nearby a Deltan Starfleet captain argued with a
contingent of Klingon diplomats over the proposed placement of a new starbase near the Klingon border.
“Admiral Russell?” a French-accented male voice drew Russell’s attention. He turned to find a
Human male dressed in a simple dark blue business suit over an open-collar white shirt standing nearby,
“The President will see you now.” He gestured down a hall to his right, with an open door that framed a
view of the Eiffel Tower in the distance.
Russell nodded at the man and walked down the hall, feeling his heart beating faster as he
approached. He’d had plenty of meetings with Ak’telKi over the past few years, but none of them in the
Office of the President. He stopped just past the open doorway, finding it was a pair of traditionally-styled
swinging doors, fashioned out of solid single pieces of darkly stained wood. The floor was carpeted a light
tan, while the walls were paneled with wide sheets of the same wood up to hip level, and then a neutral tan
to the ceiling. Set into the center of the carpet, between the President’s ornate wooden desk and a set of
couches and chairs surrounding a low glass table, was the seal of the Federation in white on a deep blue
background.
Around the perimeter of the office hung portraits of multiple Federation Presidents past, including
founder Thomas Vanderbilt, early Starfleet explorer Jonathan Archer, Kenneth Wescott of the Organian
Peace Treaty, and Ra-ghoratreii of the Khitomer Accords. The far wall was composed of a continuous sheet
of glass, stretching ten meters across and from the floor to the ceiling, offering an unrivaled view directly
down the Champs-Élysées, with the Arc de Triomphe, Luxor Obelisk, and Musée du Louvre neatly lined
up, with the iron lattice Eiffel Tower standing in the distance to the right.
Ak’telKi, wearing a closely-tailored black jacket with a standing collar, sat behind the large desk
with her back to the glorious view of Paris. She glanced up at Russell’s entrance, “Admiral, come in.” Her
attention briefly turned to a PADD, which she then set aside. She stood from the desk and pointed to the
chairs and couches across the seal from her, “Have a seat.” The doors automatically closed behind him,
shutting with a heavy thud.
Russell stepped into the cluster, but stayed standing in front of a couch until Ak’telKi had reached
and chair and sat down. The President looked both at ease and entirely in command in the office; she
confidently crossed her legs and leaned in to Russell, “How goes the search?”
“We’re still looking,” Russell said. “I don’t have anything to report at this time.”
Ak’telKi nodded, “I’ve had Starfleet Command pouring back through the records for Eagle Two,
and they noticed something interesting. Would you care to guess what that something might be?”
Russell swallowed hard, “I try to make it a policy not to guess, Ma’am.”
She flashed a quick smile before continuing, “They found a whole raft of promotions of officers
when they were transferred to the Aldrin.”
“That’s to be expected,” Russell replied, “Standing up a new starship requires a new set of officers,
sometimes you have to promote to fill positions.”
“Ninety three,” Ak’telKi said.
“I’m not certain, but that sounds about right,” Russell nodded.
106
Ak’telKi shook her head and calmly responded, “No, that’s the number of officers that weren’t
promoted before being assigned to the Aldrin. Nearly a hundred of the crew complement was fresh from
the Academy.”
“Ma’am, I don’t think it–”
She cut him off, “Captain Clark, the tactical and engineering chiefs,” she threw her hands in the air,
“You assigned an Ensign fresh out of the Academy as the chief of operations!” Russell opened his mouth to
speak, but Ak’telKi continued, “This is an experimental ship, outfitted with the most advanced armaments
in the quadrant, and you put an inexperienced captain and crew aboard. Are you mad?”
“No, Madam President, I assure you I am not mad.”
Ak’telKi uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, “Then how do
you explain all this?”
“They are all highly-qualified officers deserving of the promotions they received,” Russell said.
Sitting back up, she replied, “I don’t doubt that. I do doubt that there weren’t a few dozen more
experienced officers available to take command of that ship.” Met with silence from Russell, Ak’telKi
stood, prompting Russell to follow suit. She walked back towards the desk, “If you haven’t found the
Aldrin in one piece in the next forty-eight hours, I’ll expect your letter of resignation on Admiral Ross’s
desk.”
Russell clasped his hands behind his back and nodded deferentially, “Yes Ma’am.”
Ak’telKi lowered herself into the chair behind the desk and turned her eyes up to the admiral, “Get
out.”
U.S.S. Aldrin
Stardate 57102.539940
Clark, Jensen, Murphy, and Cochrane followed Man’tA’el into one of the Aldrin’s several
engineering labs. The lab’s various machining and testing tools were stacked neatly against the side
bulkheads, leaving open a space on the far bulkhead of the small cabin for a two-meter display with a fullwidth console and two chairs at its base. The display was filled with an analysis program that was rapidly
sorting, translating, and classifying data. A list of files on the left side ticked vertically by as masses of
code streamed across the right side in a blur.
As the door closed behind Cochrane, Man’tA’el walked up to the console and sat, “I copied the
Dominion chip as you instructed, Captain. It contained just over an exabyte of data, which the lab’s
independent and isolated computer has been analyzing since last night. A lot of it’s logs and communiqués
from the ships in Laas’s fleet, but not too long ago the computer popped this up…” He tapped the console
and the right side switched to a decrypted and translated file, with the Starfleet portrait of Admiral Russell
displayed at the top.
“It’s probably just a file of what the Dominion knows about the Admiral,” Jensen said
dismissively, “I’m sure there’s one for each of us in there too.”
Man’tA’el shook his head, “Not like this.” He scrolled the dossier, “This is a complete
biographical portrait, personality profile, and personal life briefing, down to his granddaughter’s favorite
color, the name of his dog that died thirty years ago, and his preferred style of undergarment. Orange,
Phillie, and button-fly boxers, in case you were curious.”
Murphy crossed and then uncrossed his arms, “Is this what I think it is?” He shifted anxiously,
finally settling on reaching across his chest with his left arm to grab the strap of his slung rifle.
Jensen nodded, “It’s a complete guide on everything you need to know to be Admiral Steven
Russell.”
Clark stepped up to Man’tA’el’s side, “Who else knows about this?”
“Just you,” the Andorian replied. “I came straight to you once I verified the file.” Jensen stepped
forward and scrolled the profile, skimming over its contents.
“Does anybody know what you’re working on in here?” Clark asked.
Man’tA’el shook his head, “No, Captain. They think I’m inspecting a misbehaving ODN junction.”
Clark nodded slowly, “Good. Don’t tell anybody else.”
107
Cochrane’s eyes darted back and forth, quickly reading the profile as Jensen scrolled, “Is it
possible this is a fake meant to throw us off?” Clark walked past him to a supply locker built into the
bulkhead.
Jensen stopped scrolling and stood, looking back to Cochrane, and then returning her attention to
the report on Russell, “This is far too detailed and accurate to be a fake. If it is, it’s one hell of a ruse.” She
scrolled again and pointed at the screen, “Look, an analysis of how Russell sits in a chair. And a timeline of
everything the Admiral’s done or seen of any significance since grade school up to five years ago.”
Man’tA’el stared up at the screen, “The Admiral’s been replaced with a shapeshifter.”
Clark returned to Man’tA’el’s side with a PADD, which he set on the console, “Copy the file onto
here. I’ve got some reading to do.”
Murphy took a step forward, “We can’t just go waltzing into Starfleet Command claiming that the
two star admiral in charge of this project is a Changeling infiltrator and the only proof we have comes out
of the computer banks of a Dominion station we’re accusing this very admiral of sending us to.”
“We can’t do that?” Jensen asked, only half joking.
Clark shook his head and took the PADD as Man’tA’el handed it back up to him with the file
loaded, “We need more evidence. If Russell really is a Founder impersonator, we’re going to have new
issues once we get back into the Alpha Quadrant.”
Jensen slowly stood and turned to Clark, “The Fifth Fleet falls under Russell’s command.”
108
22
Stardate 57104.525273
Kira grabbed her hair and stared wide-eyed at the pair of Starfleet officers in front of her, “Ro did
what?” She dropped her arms and continued, “I want her and Quark in my office immediately.”
The officers nodded, both responding, “Yes ma’am,” and then turned and left, bounding up from
the pit in the center of the ops section to the lift.
Kira turned to face Nog, making no effort to hide her exasperation, “Can you believe that?”
Nog shook his large Ferengi head, “It’s–” he paused as the station he stood inside chimed. Nog
looked down and then back up to the colonel, “Sensors are detecting a rise in neutrino emissions.”
“On screen,” Kira ordered. Both looked up to the large oval viewscreen, which was filled with the
familiar constellations of the Bajoran system. The ops center grew quiet as the wormhole blew wide open
like a twisting blue flower, pouring forth a bright column of light from the center. After a quiet moment a
Starfleet starship flew out.
“Getting ID,” Nog reported, “It’s the Aldrin.” The wormhole closed in on itself in a flash as the
ship banked towards Deep Space 9.
“By the Prophets,” Kira muttered. She took a step back, centering herself in the pit, “Hail them.”
“They’re hailing us,” Nog replied. Upon receiving an incredulous glance from Kira, Nog stated,
“Putting them on.”
The viewscreen switched to the head and shoulders of Clark, who smiled, “Nerys, it’s good to see
you again.” The damaged bridge of the Aldrin was visible behind him.
Kira crossed her arms, “Likewise, Captain. Are you aware the Defiant is on the other side looking
for you?”
Clark looked to either side, “Well… here we are?”
“I’ll recall the Defiant and inform Admiral Russell of your–”
“No!” Clark shouted. He twisted around and ordered, “Ensign, jam long-range communications
from Deep Space 9.”
“I’ve lost our data link with Starfleet Command,” Nog reported a second later.
Kira took another step back, putting herself against a bank of isolinear rods built into the back of
the science station, “David, what are you doing?”
“There are some things that you don’t know,” Clark said, “I’m beaming over. Aldrin, out.” The
viewscreen snapped back to a view of the Aldrin. Kira looked with bewilderment around ops, not finding
an officer that could offer an explanation as to what was going on.
U.S.S. Aldrin
Stardate 57104.530965
As Clark walked towards the turbolift, R’Mor looked down at her console, furrowed her brow, and
announced, “We’ve got an unauthorized transmission.”
Clark stopped, his boot kicking bits of debris that still remained on the bridge deck. He turned to
face her as Jensen ordered, “Shut it down and get me the source.”
“Transmission’s already ended,” R’Mor reported, holding her hands over the ops arc.
Jensen stood and turned to face R’Mor, “What was the transmission?”
R’Mor shook her head, tapping the console a few times, “It’s encrypted, I’m not sure. But it
wasn’t a lot, couldn’t be more than a brief message.”
Clark stepped back towards the center, “Source?”
“Routed through multiple relays and transceivers on the ship,” R’Mor said, looking at the display
at her waist, “It’ll take a while to track down.”
“Destination?” Clark asked.
“Unknown.”
109
Jensen turned to Clark, “David, go. Kira’s waiting.” Clark nodded and headed back to the turbolift.
She walked around the other end of the ops arc to R’Mor’s side, “Let’s see what encryption algorithm they
used…”
Stardate 57104.536657
Kira crossed her arms, standing on the upper level of the ops module, looking sternly into the
empty space over the orange transporter pad. A Bajoran officer behind her reported, “Incoming transport
from the Aldrin.”
The transporter pad lit up with orange light and a two-meter column of sparks and streaks
appeared. After a second the transporter beam coalesced into Clark. He stood there for a moment, wideeyed and wavering back and forth, before reaching out to grab the edge of the rail around the transporter
pad and crouching, dropping his head towards the deck and coughing.
Kira didn’t move from her spot, looking unsympathetically down at Clark. He coughed for several
seconds before slowly standing, gingerly opening his eyes and looking around the station’s command
center. He tentatively released his grip on the railing and turned his attention to Kira, “I forgot how awful
Cardassian transporters are.”
Kira promptly dispensed with small talk and demanded, “Why are you jamming our
communications?”
“Can we talk about this in your office?” Clark asked, tugging down on his rumpled uniform jacket.
“Why are you jamming our communications?” Kira repeated.
Clark glared at Kira, “Colonel, we are going to discuss this in your office. Now.”
Kira stood fast for several seconds before snapping, “Follow me.” She spun about and walked
around the upper level to the stairs up into the commander’s office. As they walked up to the office and the
doors shut behind them, a Bajoran security officer took up a cautionary position at the base of the stairs.
As Kira put her hands on her head and walked to the side of her large office, Clark started, “Now,
Nerys–”
She whirled about, cutting him off, “What in the name of the Prophets are you doing, David? You
disappear for five days, pop through the wormhole without warning, and then block our communications?
Did you literally lose your mind in the Gamma Quadrant?”
“We can’t trust Starfleet right now,” Clark said. “They’ve been compromised by the Dominion.”
Kira blinked several times, “What happened to you out there? I saw the breaches in the hull.”
Clark consciously turned his back to the glass door leading back into Ops, “The Aldrin is outfitted
with highly advanced and highly secret offensive and defensive systems. We were ambushed and captured
as soon as we hit the other side.”
“Clearly, you escaped,” Kira said.
“It cost us dearly,” Clark replied, looking over at the worn baseball sitting in a small stand on the
colonel’s desk. “The DM has somebody in Starfleet. Somebody high up that orchestrated dropping the
Aldrin into their laps.”
Kira slowly walked around behind the desk, “Do you know who?”
“I need more proof,” Clark said. “And I think I that proof is here on this station. I don’t know who
I can trust in Starfleet right now; they cannot know that we’ve returned.”
Kira stared into Clark’s eyes, trying to discern his truthfulness and intent. She leaned forward
slightly and tapped a button on the desk, “Nog, take the subspace communications array offline for a level
six diagnostic.”
Outside the office, the Ferengi looked up to the doors, “Colonel, that’ll take forty two hours! We
haven’t had any transmission errors worthy of a level six diag–”
“Lieutenant,” Kira ordered, “Just do it.”
“Yes sir, beginning level six communications array diagnostic. Long range subspace
communications will be offline for the next forty two hours.”
“Thank you, Nog,” Kira lifted her finger from the desk and looked back up to Clark, “Is there
anything else you need?”
110
“Two things, actually,” Clark said. He stepped up to the desk and grabbed the baseball, “How long
do you keep sensor logs on the station?”
“Until we run out of space in the computer,” Kira said. “Haven’t yet, so we’ve got twelve years
worth available.”
Clark studied the baseball, turning it around in his hand, “Can you pull up stardate 52884?”
Kira thought for a second, “Sure, that was…”
He finished her thought, “The Dominion surrender ceremony. I have a theory.”
“Okay,” Kira said, nodding slowly. “I’ll get Nog on that. You said two things.”
Clark lightly tossed the baseball to Kira, “Is Jake Sisko still on the station?”
Habitat Ring
Stardate 57104.553734
The door into Cabin 14067 snapped open, revealing a Human adult male, with dark brown skin, a
shaved head, and a thin goatee. Clark nearly stumbled back at the striking resemblance Jake Sisko now
bore to his late father, “Jake, it’s good to see you.”
Jake stood, blocking the doorway into his quarters, “It’s been what, a decade?”
Clark nodded, recalling the precise count of years, months, and days since he’d last encountered a
then teenaged Jake Sisko, son of then Commander Benjamin Sisko, “Just about.”
“You’ve come a long way in ten years,” Jake said. He added, smiling a bit, “Captain.”
Clark chuckled, “Can I come inside?”
Jake stepped back, clearing the doorway for Clark to walk through. After the door slipped shut
behind Clark, Jake switched into journalist mode, “Would you care to tell me what’s going on?”
“Hmm?” Clark said, stopping in the middle of the cabin and nodding approvingly, noticing some
of Captain Sisko’s belongings hanging off the bulkhead.
Walking past a desk against the bulkhead, Jake grabbed a finger-sized audio recorder and quietly
flipped it on, “The Aldrin returns unannounced from the Gamma Quadrant after going dark for five days,
and then it starts jamming communications from the station?”
Clark slowly turned around, carefully eyeing Jake. He took a few steps forward, stopping a meter
short of Jake, and put out his open hand, “Give me the recorder, Jake.”
Jake calmly responded, “No.”
Clark balled his open hand into a fist and then quickly opened it back up, “This is important. A lot
of people have already died, and a whole lot more are going to die, if you don’t turn off that recorder and
work with me.”
After a defeated sigh, Jake brought the audio recorder up to shoulder level, visibly switched it off,
and then set it in Clark’s open hand. Clark promptly took two steps back, turned the recorder over a few
times in his hands, and then unlatched the bottom and removed the power cell and memory chip.
“What the hell is going on?” Jake demanded.
“I’ll give you all the details I can when this is all over,” Clark said. “But for now you just have to
trust me that the less you know, the better things will be for you and for everybody.”
Jake looked down to the deck for several seconds, and then looked back up to Clark, “Okay. What
do you need from me?”
Clark pulled out a small palm-sized PADD from his pocket, switched it on, and handed it to Jake,
“You covered the Dominion surrender ceremony, right?”
Jake glanced at the PADD, “Seeing as this is a copy of my report from that day, you already know
the answer to that.” He slowly walked over towards a small couch.
“Do you remember the polaron discharge from the wormhole?”
“I do,” Jake said. “It killed my headset recorder.” He held up the PADD, which displayed the
headline ‘Dominion surrenders’ in all capital letters over an image of the Founder leader signing the paper
surrender document. “I was lucky the memory chip was shielded, but everything else was fried by the, uh,
shockwave.” Jake looked with scorn at the photo, “I’d still kill to have a photo of her and Ak’telKi shaking
hands.”
Jake handed the PADD back to Clark, who asked, “Do you still have that recording?”
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“I think I do,” Jake walked back to his desk and grabbed a small box from the side. He sat in the
desk chair, set the box squarely in front of him, and opened it, revealing an array of small isolinear chips.
Flipping through the colorful transparent chips, he asked, “What was that stardate?”
Clark answered, “Five two eight…”
Jake said the last two digits with him, pulling out a bright orange chip the size of three fingers,
“Eight four.” He smoothly inserted the chip into the side of a monitor sitting on the desk, which promptly
activated and displayed a listing of the chip’s contents. “What did you need to see?”
Clark crouched by Jake’s side, bouncing on the balls of his feet and grabbing onto the side of the
desk, “Go to the very end, to the polaron discharge.”
Jake reached forward and tapped the screen, which pulled up the video recorded in the crowded
briefing room by his headset. With a quick swipe across the display the video jumped to the end, a single
frame of bright static. Jake dragged his finger back along the bottom, playing the video in a slow reverse.
The wave visibly passed through the crowd, washing them in about two-meters worth of shimmering green
polarons particles.
Clark squinted at the display as Jake pulled the video in reverse. The wave rolled back outside the
large circular windows, to the point where the assembled crowd was merely looking with puzzlement at the
rapidly approaching bubble of green energy. “Go back forward, slowly,” Clark directed.
“Did you see something?” Jake asked, slowly dragging his finger back to the right, advancing the
video at less than a tenth of normal speed.
The video feed was centered on the Founder, though Clark noticed a familiar face on the left side.
He whispered, “Admiral Russell.” As the video slowly advanced, the wave passed through the bulkhead.
“Stop,” Clark ordered. His eyes focused on Russell, who despite being at least two meters from the
approaching wave, was surrounded by a glowing haze.
“What the…” Jake said, noticing the anomaly. He tapped the screen, advancing it one frame at a
time. As the wave inched forward, Russell slowly faded away inside a shimmering column of transporter
energy.
Clark glanced away from Russell, seeing the Founder start to liquefy from the polaron exposure. It
was one of the few weaknesses of the Founders; polarons were capable of destabilizing their morphogenic
matrix, albeit temporarily. Clark pointed below the table, noticing a growing shadow stretching to the side
from the Founder’s dissolving feet, “What’s that?” Russell had all but faded away between the transporter
and the light of the polaron wave.
The shadow quickly separated from the Founder’s collapsing body and filled into the space
formerly occupied by Russell. It morphed into a humanoid form, shining a bright gold in the light of the
polaron shockwave. As the wave hit Jake, the video tilted down towards the deck as the split-off
Changeling began to rapidly coalesce into a replicate of Russell, itself falling towards the deck while still a
reflective gold.
Jake lifted his hand off the screen, pausing the feed right before Russell and the Founder left the
frame, the former nearly fully formed while the portion of the Changeling that still filled the space of the
Founder leader was completely amorphous over the table and hard to identify as humanoid-shaped, at least
through the blinding light of the polaron shockwave. It was all Jake could muster to utter, “Holy shit.”
Clark pushed up off the top of the desk, reached out to the side of the monitor, and snatched the
chip from its port. He looked down at Jake, “And now you know.” Clark slipped the small chip into his
pocket. “Do you have backups?”
“I’ll erase them,” Jake offered.
Clark shook his head, picking up his PADD from the desk, “No, keep them. Make a copy and get
to Earth. If the Aldrin doesn’t make it, it’s going to be up to you.”
Jake slowly stood from his chair, “It’ll be the story of the year.”
Clark offered his hand to Jake, who took it. The two squeezed for a moment, as Clark said,
“Thank you for your help, Jake Sisko.” He let go, turned around, and left Jake’s quarters.
Jake stood still for several seconds, staring at the closed door.
112
23
Stardate 57104.574605
The shield over the ops turbolift shaft slid away, clearing the way for the lift to rise through with
Clark on board. He stood at the opening of the lift, holding onto the railing on either side with his head
dropped towards the deck. The lift shuddered to a stop and Clark stood there, collecting himself for a few
seconds before looking up. Kira quickly exited her office, nearly bounding down the steps, “Was he
helpful?”
Clark nodded as he stepped off the lift, “Quite.”
Kira walked further down into the central pit, “Lieutenant Nog, were you able to recover the
sensor logs I requested?”
Nog, standing up at the operations station, pointed at a console next to Kira in the pit, “Just sent
them to that console, Colonel.”
Clark stepped down to the lower level and moved up beside Kira as she activated the screen and
started scrolling through the logs. Without looking up, she asked, “So just what did you need to see?”
“Do you have the visual log of the polaron flash?” Clark asked.
Kira turned to her side, finding a young male Andorian Starfleet ensign nearby, “What did we
determine was the reason for the polaron flash?”
“The leading theory was that the discharge resulted from a localized subspace cascade caused by a
build-up of verterons inside the wormhole,” the ensign said. “But it’s just a theory, and there are some
holes in it.”
Clark looked up to the Andorian, “What’s your name?”
“ch’Thane, Sir.”
“ch’Thane, how much analysis did you do yourself?” Clark asked.
“Several hours,” ch’Thane replied. “I performed analysis of verteron, polaron, neutrino, metreon,
subspace–”
“Tachyon?” Clark asked.
“No, sir.”
Clark raised an eyebrow, “Visual?”
ch’Thane smirked, “Sir, visual light study is rarely useful in the scientific analysis of subspace
phenomenon.”
“I’m an engineer,” Clark shrugged. He turned to Kira, “And I don’t think this ever was a scientific
phenomenon.” ch’Thane’s stocky antennae straightened out at the declaration.
Kira looked down at the station, “Visual feed… visual feed…” She found the entry and tapped it,
bringing up a video centered on the empty space where the Alpha Quadrant entry to the Bajoran Wormhole
would appear. As the time code at the bottom of the video advanced, a brilliant flash appeared in the center
of the screen, followed a moment later by the rapidly expanding hazy green shockwave. After a few
seconds the feed went to static.
Clark reached down to rewind the video, but paused, “I could never get the hang of these
Cardassian computers.”
Kira knocked his hands out of the way, “Where do you want it?”
“Go back to right before the flash, magnify fifty times,” Clark said. Kira tapped and swiped,
bringing the video back to the frames prior to the flash and zoomed in on the center of the screen. Clark
directed, “Advance at two percent normal speed.”
The time code slowly ticked forward as the video played in slow motion. The screen went white
for several frames with the flash, which quickly dissipated as the shockwave erupted from the center.
“Pause,” Clark quietly ordered. The video paused and Clark leaned in close to the console, “Forward one
frame.” The screen advanced, with the shockwave barely expanding, but an oddly-shaped distortion and
void in the center became clearer.
Kira squinted at the screen, and then looked up to ch’Thane, who was leaning over his console,
propping himself up with his arms to get a better view of the station below. “Ensign,” Kira asked, “Do you
see this?”
113
ch’Thane slowly nodded, his long white hair getting snagged on his antennae, “That is unusual.”
Kira turned back down to the video and advanced it several more frames, watching the voids and
distortions rippled around for a split second at the origin point of the shockwave before quickly fading
away. Clark straightened up, looking slightly ashen, “I don’t like what I think I’m seeing.” He looked up to
ch’Thane, “Can you clear this up?”
The Andorian immediately turned his attention to his console, pulling up the video feed and
entering a series of commands into the computer. Clark and Kira looked down at their own screen, which
mirrored the work being done by ch’Thane. Analyzing the video frame-by-frame, the computer took a few
seconds to sketch the visible edges and discontinuities around the shockwave origin point. The lines
quickly converged on a familiar shape, prompting ch’Thane to slowly stand, staring down at his own
console, “That’s an attack ship.” He paused the analysis, showing the outline of the attack ship filled with a
swirl of green energy.
Clark nodded, staring down at the outline of the Jem’Hadar vessel, “And it’s cloaked.”
Nog, on the opposite side of Ops, and out of earshot were it not for his large Ferengi ears, snapped
his head up, “What?”
Clark reached into his pocket and pulled out the isolinear chip he’d taken from Jake. He handed it
up to ch’Thane, “Ensign, I need that analysis on here.” As ch’Thane took the orange chip, Clark added,
“And only on here. Wipe it from your system and don’t speak of this to anybody.” Clark turned his head
towards Nog and quietly said, “And you too, Lieutenant.” Nog nodded curtly in acknowledgement.
Nog’s station chimed and he reported, “Captain, Commander Jensen from the Aldrin is hailing.”
Clark glanced to Kira, who ordered, “Put her on.”
Jensen’s face appeared inside the viewer. “Colonel,” she said, nodding politely to Kira. “Captain,
bad news. We decrypted the illicit transmission, it looks like it was sent directly to Russell.”
“Was there a message?” Clark asked.
“Just our coordinates,” Jensen said.
Clark nodded slowly, “I’ll be returning shortly.”
Toq’bae called out from behind Jensen, “Commander, long-range sensors just picked up an
incoming Starfleet vessel. Coming in at high warp from the Cardassian DMZ.”
“So much for jamming our communications,” Kira said under her breath.
Clark walked up to ch’Thane’s side, saying as he jumped the short set of steps, “I’m on my way
back. Clark, out.” The viewscreen flickered off. Clark stepped in next to ch’Thane, who silently handed
him the orange chip, “Thank you, Ensign.” He moved took a few steps to the transporter pad, took a deep
breath, and then stepped up into the alcove.
“David,” Kira called, drawing Clark’s attention back down to the pit, “May you walk with the
Prophets.”
Clark smiled and tapped his combadge, “Clark to Aldrin. One to beam up.” The transporter kicked
on, sweeping Clark away in a shimmer of orange energy.
U.S.S. Aldrin
Stardate 57104.588013
Jensen sat in her chair on the bridge as first officer, her legs crossed and hands resting on the
armrests, “Do we have an ID on the incoming vessel?”
“U.S.S. Columbia,” R’Mor said. “Excelsior-class refit, commanded by Captain Jenna Ramon.”
“What’s their ETA?” Jensen asked.
“Three minutes,” Toq’bae said. “Maybe less if they want to drop in right on top of us.”
The turbolift door opened and Clark stepped in, his hair slightly more wild than normal. He
staggered a bit as he walked onto the bridge, “Have they responded to our hails?”
“No, Captain,” R’Mor answered. “Are you okay?”
Clark closed his eyes tightly for a few seconds, standing at his seat, “Transporters; don’t worry
about it.”
Jensen looked up to Clark, “My assumption is that the Columbia was told the Aldrin had been
captured or otherwise compromised.”
“Not entirely untrue,” Murphy quipped.
114
The commander continued, “Standard operating procedure in that situation is to ignore any hails
from the suspected ship unless they come over a secured line.”
R’Mor added, “And we tried that too.”
“Russell probably told them we were too dangerous and should be destroyed,” Clark said, sitting
down. “ETA?”
“Doesn’t look like they’re approaching with caution,” Toq’bae reported from his station, “They’re
going to drop in right on top of us in ten seconds.”
“Red alert!” Clark ordered. “Raise shields, arm phasers. Helm: course for Earth, maximum warp.”
The bridge lights dimmed as the klaxon began to sound, accompanied by pulsing red lights all around.
“Course set,” Kelley reported from the helm. The vista on the viewscreen panned as she pivoted
the Aldrin on thrusters, turning from the tri-symmetrical design of Deep Space Nine to pointing almost
directly at the Bajoran sun.
“Contact!” R’Mor yelped just as the Columbia dropped out of warp less than a kilometer off of the
bow of the Aldrin. The large Excelsior-class starship dwarfed the Aldrin and sat between it and the yellow
star, casting a dark shadow onto the Aldrin. The Columbia was a more traditional Starfleet ship design,
with a large circular saucer up top, attached by a stocky neck to a long engineering hull with a central
deflector dish below, itself supporting a pair of slender warp nacelles that stretched to the rear.
“Columbia’s weapons are fully armed!” Murphy reported.
R’Mor called out simultaneously, “They’re still not responding to hails.”
Clark stared at the viewscreen, dominated by the shaded front of the Columbia, “Helm, re-plot
previous heading.”
“Aye, Captain,” Kelley responded, following a few seconds later with, “Course set.”
“Message from the Columbia,” R’Mor announced. “ ‘Stand down immediately or we will open
fire. You have ten seconds to comply.’ ”
“I could never see the Excelsior-class as intimidating,” Clark commented. “Helm, engage.”
“With pleasure,” Kelley said, reaching her hand forward onto her station. As she pushed the
controls, the hum of the warp drive cut out, leaving the bridge eerily quiet.
As Clark tried to suppress his panicking, Jensen uttered, “Oh no.”
The phaser arrays on the top and bottom of the Columbia’s saucer lit up, sending a concentrated
stream of energy towards the Aldrin. The phaser beams were intercepted by the Aldrin’s shields, which
splashed and pulsed with blue green energy as they struggled to absorb and dissipate the phaser energy.
“Bridge to Engineering, I need warp now!” Clark barked.
“We’re working on it!” was the audibly stressed response from Man’tA’el, followed by the quiet
chime of the connection being terminated.
The Columbia’s phasers continued to pummel the Aldrin’s protective shield bubble, prompting
Murphy to announce, “Shields at 90%. Shall we return fire?”
“Not yet,” Jensen said enthusiastically, jumping up from her chair. She turned to the aft, “Toq’bae,
I want a highly detailed scan of the Columbia’s warp signature.”
Clark swiveled his chair, “What are you doing?”
She returned his question with a wry smile, “Trust me.”
Clark turned back to the viewscreen, which flashed with another barrage of point-blank phasers,
“Okay…”
Stardate 57104.591808
As the sound of the Aldrin’s powerful matter/antimatter reactor faded away amidst the red alert
siren, Vorik sat up on his sickbay bed. The sickbay staff was hurriedly rushing to prepare the medical
center for the red alert, staging equipment carts and readying the surgical bay for the possible arrival of
wounded. Vorik resisted the urge to grunt as he used his arms to turn on the bed and swung his legs over
the edge. Cochrane pushed a cart into the space behind Vorik, noticing that he was sitting up and
examining the bandage around his thigh.
Cochrane put a hand onto Vorik’s white-clad shoulder, “Commander, lie down. On your back.”
Vorik twisted at his waist, “Doctor, with our current personnel depletions it is not tenable that I
remain away from my post.”
“I haven’t cleared you for duty,” Cochrane said as he locked the cart into place.
115
Vorik raised an eyebrow, “We are at red alert.”
Cochrane looked around sickbay for a moment, and then turned back to Vorik, “Take it easy on
the leg.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Vorik said as he slipped off the far side of the bed, holding an arm out to
steady himself. He took a moment to push down the left leg of his plants over the bandage and down to the
deck, and then started towards the corridor door, visibly favoring his injured leg.
Stardate 57104.597500
Jensen looked down at Clark’s nervously tapping boot, smirked, and then turned her eyes up to
Toq’bae, “Is the scan done yet?”
He slowly responded, “Almost there.” His station beeped five times in quick submission,
prompting Toq’bae to declare, “Got it.” The Aldrin rumbled lightly under another phaser barrage from the
Columbia.
“Shields down to 60%,” Murphy reported. “At this rate we’ve got another seven salvos before
shields give out.”
Clark looked up to Jensen, “Are you done now?”
She smiled, “That should be it.” The commander gracefully sat in her chair.
Kelley turned around at the helm, clearly frustrated, “Any chance we can stop playing the role of
target in their phaser zeroing practice?”
Clark directed, “Take us on a course that will pass back by DS9, within five hundred meters.” He
looked up at R’Mor, “Ensign, broadcast to the station: hasperat.”
“Hasperat?” R’Mor questioned.
“Kira will know what it means,” Clark said. He looked back to the viewscreen, “I hope.”
“Course set,” Kelley announced.
“Take us around,” Clark ordered.
At Kelley’s direction the Aldrin backed away as the Columbia fired its phasers again. The Aldrin
spun around as it reversed, and then propelled forward under impulse power towards Deep Space 9. The
Columbia followed closely, rapidly firing its phasers into the Aldrin’s aft end.
“Fire two quantum torpedoes, twenty five percent yield,” Clark ordered.
Murphy questioned, “Captain?”
Toq’bae added, “Do we really want to fire on a Starfleet vessel?”
Clark sighed, “Is this Question The Captain Day? Just do it.”
“Two quantum torpedoes, twenty five percent yield,” Murphy confirmed. “Firing.” A pair of blue
torpedoes flashed out of the Aldrin’s rear launcher and exploded against the bow shielding of the Columbia.
The Aldrin banked as it executed a rapid loop around Deep Space 9, with the Columbia in close pursuit.
Toq’bae yelped, “The station is arming weapons!”
Clark smiled, “Looks like she remembered the code word.”
As the Columbia streaked past the station, the phaser emitters along the outer docking ring lit up,
quickly overwhelming the unsuspecting starship’s shields and then pummeling their weapons and
propulsion systems. The Columbia briefly returned fire on Deep Space 9, but it only managed a few phaser
strikes on its powerful shields before it was sent adrift and defenseless by a final salvo from the station’s
many phasers.
“Status report on the Columbia,” Clark commanded.
“Columbia’s shields, phasers, torpedo launchers, warp, and impulse drive are offline,” R’Mor
reported. “Reading minimal secondary damage; looks like DS9 was precise enough with their fire.” Her
console beeped and she read out, “Columbia’s attempting to broadcast a distress signal. Our jamming is
keeping it suppressed for now.”
Clark ordered, “Put it on.”
The viewscreen switched to a view of the Columbia’s smoke-filled bridge, with a young oliveskinned Human female Captain Jenna Ramon sitting in the center seat. She was reaching across her body
with her left hand, keeping pressure on a burn on her right upper arm, “…sustained heavy damage, are
under attack from hijacked Starfleet vessel U.S.S. Aldrin. We’ve sustained numerous casualties and unable
to defend ourselves. Request immediate assistance.” The viewscreen briefly went static before switching
back to the listing Columbia.
116
“DS9 has joined our jamming,” R’Mor announced.
Clark slowly stood, “Hail the Columbia, make sure DS9 is listening.”
Ramon’s face appeared on the screen again. She stood, wincing as a burst of sparks fell from
overhead, “Starship Aldrin, stand down immediately.”
“I can’t do that, Captain Ramon,” Clark answered. “The Aldrin has not been hijacked. We are not
your enemy.”
“Admiral Russell has evidence that you’ve been replaced with a Changeling. You’re on a mission
to destroy Earth.”
“You’ve been fooled.” Clark ordered, “Lieutenant Toq’bae, get a hypospray and an empty vial
from the medical locker.”
Toq’bae quickly moved to the tall locker between his station and the master systems display at the
aft of the bridge. He opened the door, removed a hypospray, and walked down to Clark. “Captain,” he said,
offering Clark the medical tool.
Without looking away from the viewscreen, Clark slightly lifted his arm, “Draw my blood,
Lieutenant.”
Toq’bae looked at Clark’s unmoving face for a few seconds, and then pressed the hypospray’s tip
to Clark’s bicep. Ramon took several steps forward, getting closer to her own viewscreen as the vial filled
with red blood. Toq’bae pulled the hypospray back, removed the vial, and held it up to the light.
Upon seeing that the sample of Clark’s blood hadn’t reverted to a golden gelatinous state,
Ramon’s shoulders slouched. She lifted her head slightly and sighed loudly, “Stand down red alert.”
Clark nodded, “Deep Space 9 will be sending over medical and repair teams.”
Ramon nodded, “Maybe someday you’ll explain to me what this is about.”
“I suspect you’re already on your way to figuring it out. Aldrin, out.”
The comm beeped and Vorik’s voice came over the speakers, “Engineering to bridge.” Toq’bae
awkwardly handed the vial of blood to Clark and returned to his station.
Jensen smiled, “Bridge here.”
“Warp drive is back online,” Vorik reported.
“Excellent,” Clark sat back in his chair. “And I’m glad to hear you’re out of sickbay.”
“I too am pleased,” Vorik replied. The familiar resonant hum slowly grew louder in the
background.
Clark grinned, “Prepare for maximum warp. Bridge, out.” He turned his attention back forward.
“Reduce alert status to yellow, plot a course for Earth.”
Kelley chuckled, “Course for Earth plotted. Again.”
Clark took a deep breath, watching the Columbia as it slowly tumbled aft over bow. “Engage.”
The Aldrin shot forward, visibly stretching as it leapt into subspace in a flash of light.
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24
U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 033
Stardate 57104.666628
As the turbolift closed behind her, Jensen paused in the corridor outside Engineering-B. The
corridor audibly resonated with the low pulsating hum of the straining warp core and the deck noticeably
tremored under Jensen’s boots. Under normal circumstances, even at sustained high warp, this level of
shuddering was considered unacceptable, especially on a ship as new as the Aldrin.
She briefly looked down at her feet, finding herself uneasy with the vibration. Jensen looked back
up and walked forward towards the Engineering-B doors. The wide double doors split on her approach,
flooding the corridor with the loud drone of the overtaxed warp core. The core itself stood several meters
ahead at the far end of the abbreviated crucifix layout. Ordinarily the interior of the core rapidly swirled
with the lightly luminous blue-green energy of a contained matter/antimatter reaction. As if to justify the
sound and vibration, the churning eddies of energy moved with conspicuous speed and glowed so brightly
it almost seemed white and cast shadows into the corridor.
Jensen stepped in, letting the doors close behind her as officers rushed about in Engineering-B.
Vorik, still wearing his white post-op shirt and pants, stepped out of the office near the core and shouted to
be heard over the cacophony, “Stabilize the secondary antimatter inducers. The plasma variance is point
five eight beyond standard.”
“Commander Vorik!” Jensen shouted, jogging up to him.
Vorik turned to face her, his face barely showing a hint of surprise at her arrival, “Commander.”
Jensen pointed an open hand at the warp core, “What’s going on here?”
Vorik’s eyebrows rose slightly, “With Engineering-A offline and the transverse warp plasma
conduit severed, the load balancing array can no longer function. All warp drive load is being handled by
this reaction chamber.”
Jensen nodded slowly, “I see…” Her brow furrowed slightly as she stared at the warp core.
Noticing the expression, Vorik prodded, “Is there something I can do for you, Commander?”
“Yes,” Jensen turned her attention back to Vorik, “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
Vorik shifted, moving to the side to relieve the pressure on his healing leg, “I am a Vulcan and a
Starfleet officer. It does not matter what I like, nor am I likely to express such sentiments.”
Jensen suppressed the urge to laugh, “Fair enough. I need you to make alterations to our warp
signature.”
Uncharacteristically, Vorik put a hand on Jensen’s shoulder and pulled her to the side as he
walked back towards the open-air office near the core, “Commander, you are aware that alterations to
affect changes to our warp signature will result in further degradation of our warp efficiency, aren’t you?
We’re already operating in far from optimal operational conditions.”
Jensen followed Vorik into the office, feeling notable heat radiating off of the warp core behind
her, “I am, I’ve done it before.” She stepped up to one of Vorik’s consoles and pulled up a display of
overlapping waveforms, “This is the warp signature we scanned from the Columbia.”
“Am I to assume that you want the Aldrin’s warp signature to mimic that of the Columbia?” Vorik
asked, sitting in a chair and wheeling it to Jensen’s side.
“You assume correctly.”
Vorik took a few seconds to study the graph before pronouncing, “With the second warp core
offline this warp signature will be simpler to mimic.”
Jensen looked down to him, “Seriously?”
“Yes.” Vorik tapped a few commands, bringing up the Aldrin’s current warp signature, a slightly
more chaotic set of waveforms, “Significant modifications would have been required were we running with
dual warp cores. However, in our current state I believe the modifications you’re requesting will quickly
deal significant damage to the EPS conduits.”
“Will we be able to make it to Earth?”
Vorik turned his chair, looking out to the brilliantly glowing core, “So long as the warp drive
system isn’t placed under any additional strain we will be able to reach Sector 001 without reaching the
point of failure.” He looked up to Jensen, “There is one other issue.”
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Jensen leaned against the station, staring out at the core, “What is that?”
“We’ll only be able to achieve a marginal similarity to the Columbia’s warp signature,” Vorik said.
“It will be obvious at anything beyond a cursory scan that our warp signature is being faked. If we modify
our automated transponder to also mimic the Columbia then we should be able to achieve a second level of
imitation.”
“Already on it,” Jensen said, patting Vorik on the shoulder. As she walked out of the Engineering
office, she looked over her shoulder and grinned, “This isn’t my first springball match.”
Stardate 57104.715897
Clark leaned back in the chair behind his ready room desk, slowly spinning between his fingers
the digit-sized vial of his own blood that Toq’bae had drawn just an hour prior. The dark red liquid rolled
inside the clear tube, beading and recombining in small splashes. The door to the bridge chimed, prompting
Clark to respond without looking away from the vial, “Enter.”
The door slid to the side and Cochrane stepped through, “You wanted to see me, Captain?”
Clark pointed the vial at the chair across from him, “Doctor.”
Cochrane took a few steps to the chair, pulled it away from the desk, and sat. He reached forward
and grabbed the vial from Clark’s hand, “Is this you?”
“It is.”
“Well,” Cochrane turned the vial around, watching the blood flow around. “At least you’re not a
Changeling.”
Clark sat upright, “One down, three hundred sixty eight to go.”
“You want me to screen the crew for Changelings?”
“The impulse drive,” Clark’s gaze drifted out to the windows to his right. “The warp drive. Key
systems surreptitiously disabled at key moments. We have a saboteur.”
Cochrane set the vial on the glossy black desk, “How do you know it’s a Changeling?” The vial
chattered lightly against the vibrating desk, slowly spinning on its center.
“I don’t, at least not for certain,” Clark said. “I’m going off my gut here.”
“Any suggestions on where to start?”
Clark picked up the vial and tapped it twice on the desk, “Sickbay, I would think. You’re going to
need help, and they’ll need to be cleared.”
Cochrane replied crankily, “Obviously. And after I’ve gone through the standard Starfleet
screening protocols?”
“I’m sorry,” Clark shook his head, “You’ve done this before.”
“Many, many times,” Cochrane nodded slowly.
“Engineering,” Clark said. “It’s the only department where somebody would have uncontested
access to the necessary junctures to pull off this level of sabotage.”
Cochrane stood, resting a hand on the desk, “We’ll get right on it.” Clark nodded and Cochrane
left the ready room. Clark reached out to the vial, holding his hand over the tube for a few seconds as it
chattered against the desktop, before snatching it up. He held the blood-filled vessel up to the light and
sighed.
Stardate 57104.873697
The door between Engineering-B and the corridor split open and Cochrane pushed a metal cart
through. The empty vials set into four trays clinked and rattled as he stopped the cart a few meters in, and
continued to lightly rattle from the vibrating deck. Around his neck hung a white band with a vial of blood
dangling in front of his stomach. Following behind him were Wright and Murphy, who had a hand up on
the sling of his shouldered rifle; all three had a handheld phaser strapped to their hips. Murphy stepped
forward, standing to the side of Cochrane, and announced over the rumbling warp core, “Under the order of
the Captain, we are conducting blood screenings of the entire crew.”
The officers in Engineering paused and turned their attention to the trio, some stepping out to get a
clear view. Murphy continued, “Nobody is to leave this cabin until all personnel have been screened. You
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may continue to work at your stations while we perform the screenings.” At that the engineers returned
their attention to their work, adding a layer of chatter on top of the warp core’s drone.
Cochrane smiled at Murphy, “Thanks for that.” He pushed the cart to the left and Wright followed,
brandishing a hypospray. They approached the closest officer, a squat and furry Tellarite lieutenant
focusing on an impulse reactor readout. “Lieutenant,” Cochrane prompted when he stopped the cart.
The Tellarite turned slightly and grunted at the pair as Cochrane handed Wright a vial, “Blood
screenings? Afraid one of us is a Changeling?” Met with knowing looks from Wright and Cochrane, the
Tellarite groaned, “And how do I know you aren’t Changelings?” Wright slipped the vial into the base of
his hypospray.
Cochrane held up the vial of blood around his neck, “Still warm.”
“I thought we’d gotten past this four years ago,” the engineer grunted, offering his arm to Wright.
He pressed the rounded tip of the hypospray to the Tellarite’s forearm and drew a vial full of deep purple
blood. Wright pulled the vial out from the hypospray’s base and handed it to Cochrane, who shook it
lightly and held it up for a few seconds.
Satisfied that the sample wasn’t going to revert into the thick golden liquid, Cochrane slipped the
vial back into its slot on the cart and pushed it past the Tellarite, smiling politely as he passed, sparking a
growl of irritation from the eternally incorrigible Tellarite.
Murphy stood in wide passage that bridged the space between the core and the corridor, watching
with distrust the bustling engineers working at their stations, occasionally crossing the workspace to talk
with a colleague. Murphy’s vision drifted to the core, thrumming and pulsating with nearly white energy.
He made eye contact with a Human female on the lower of the two platforms that wrapped around the
backside of the core. She quickly looked back down at the large PADD in her hands. Her blond hair was
pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head, exposing the fair skin around her face and long neck.
Murphy tightened his grip on his rifle’s sling, feeling uneasy with the thought that anybody in the room
could be a Changeling.
As Cochrane and Wright drew blood from another engineer, Murphy started forward towards the
core. Cochrane shook the vial of red blood drawn from the officer, and glanced over to see Murphy slowly
advancing. Murphy dropped his right hand from the sling down to the butt of the rifle and grasped the sling
across his chest with the other hand as his pace quickened.
The female engineer’s eyes darted up, noticing Murphy’s approach. As she walked behind the core,
Cochrane tapped on Wright’s shoulder and pointed to the core, “Go. I’ll stay here.” Wright handed the
hypospray to Cochrane and quickly followed behind Murphy, grabbing the phaser off his hip and carrying
it pointed at the deck.
Murphy unslung his phaser rifle as he approach, smoothly swinging the dark gray and black
weapon from his shoulder and into his hands. He raised it slightly as he approached the bottom of the steps
leading up to the first platform around the warp core. This close to the overtaxed reaction chamber the heat
caused sweat to start beading on his clean scalp almost immediately. Murphy quickened his ascent as he
realized he hadn’t seen the woman sweating at all, despite her having been at the core since before the
screening team had arrived. He reached the far side of the core and the next set of stairs in time to see her
blond head disappear beyond the edge of the deck above.
Still in his white sickbay clothing, Vorik walked up to Cochrane and the engineer he had last
examined, “Doctor, how long is–”
Cochrane pushed the engineer next to him forward and cut off Vorik, “Go check core for sabotage.”
He quickly snapped to the puzzled looks that met him, “Now!” Vorik and the engineer turned and jogged to
the core.
Murphy bounded up the stairs to the second platform with Wright following closely behind. The
tactical officer stopped a few steps short of the upper deck and crouched, raising his rifle to his face. He
took a slow step forward, raising his head and the rifle over the edge of the deck in front of him, cautiously
scanning the workspace in front of them. It closely mirrored the bay below, with a series of screen-lined
alcoves along each side and a wide door at the far end. The blond engineer was steadily strolling down the
center of the bay, her hips swaying slightly and the PADD in her hand swinging as she closed the final few
meters to the door.
“Freeze!” Murphy shouted as he quickly climbed the last few steps, his rifle staying trained on her
back. The engineers working the alcoves all obeyed Murphy’s command, some slowly stepping back from
their stations to see what was going on. The woman continued forward unfazed and the door open at her
approach.
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Murphy ran forward, crouching slightly to maintain steadiness in his upper torso and the rifle. He
bellowed, “I said freeze!” She silently stepped through the open doorway and turned to the left, not looking
back into Engineering as she exited. Murphy burst into a full sprint towards the door.
Wright followed, tapping his combadge, “Security to deck 4B, section O! Human female, blond
hair, 1.6 meters. Seal the deck!”
Murphy burst through the doorway as it opened, whipping his rifle to the left and then the right.
Directly across from the door back into Engineering was a turbolift stop, the corridor wrapped around the
side of the turbolift and headed towards the bow and a row of crew quarters. To the left the corridor turned
again after several meters, heading down along the side of Engineering to a set of engineering and science
labs, eventually reaching the aft end of the Aldrin, a juncture that led to critical components including the
impulse engines, warp nacelles, and the weapons pod.
Wright stepped through the door and immediately went to the right, aiming his phaser with both
hands down the corridor. A straight line until it dead-ended at the front of the catamaran hull, the brightlylit corridor was clear of any personnel. “Clear,” Wright announced, lowering his phaser and following
behind Murphy as he rounded the corner to the left.
Looking back at the medic and noting his slightly panicked look, Murphy quietly asked, “You
okay?”
Wright nodded earnestly and swallowed hard.
Murphy brought his face back to his rifle’s stock, “Let’s go.” They quickly moved forward,
glancing at each lab door as they passed to ensure that the control pad by each still reading ‘LOCKED’.
The corridor ahead angled slightly to the right, preventing a clear view to the aft end.
Murphy moved along the bulkhead that led to the outside of the corner, pointing across the
corridor for Wright to do the same on the other side. Murphy raised his rifle and slowed as he reached the
corner, slowly sweeping around the bend.
The woman came into view, several meters down the corridor. She was leaning against a closed
door, her hand transformed into an undulating golden mass and pressed over the control panel. “Do not
move!” Murphy ordered. Her attention remained fixated on the control panel.
Wright rounded the corner, raising his phaser. Upon seeing the Changeling he uttered, “Holy shit.”
Murphy took a few steps forward, closing the gap between him and the woman to six meters,
“Remove your… self from the control panel.”
The door snapped open in a burst of sparks. Murphy and Wright both fired, but the Changeling
darted through the doorway in the blink of an eye. The phaser beams sliced through the empty air,
impacting the bulkheads a several meters down. As Murphy and Wright rushed towards the door, Wright
shouted, “That’s environmental control!” The loud whir of atmospheric scrubbers came from the open
doorway.
Murphy slid against the bulkhead towards the door, aiming his rifle through the opening. He
reached the edge and slowly pivoted around, sweeping his sector of fire across the squat four-meter-wide
cylindrical scrubbers and a jumble of conduits and ducts.
The woman’s arm slammed around the corner, smashing her PADD edge-on into Murphy’s
forehead. He collapsed back into the corridor, blood already pouring from a jagged gash from his left
temple to his right eyebrow. The bent and broken PADD landed at his feet.
Wright instinctively dropped to a knee, “Commander!”
Murphy’s eyes fluttered open and he grunted, “Stop her!” He groaned as he lifted his rifle across
his body and handed it to Wright.
Taking the weapon, Wright stepped over Murphy’s body and pointed the rifle into the doorway.
The Changeling had moved further inside and was working at a console mounted to the side of one of the
scrubbers. Wright steadied the rifle and squinted as he aimed at her. Without looking away from the
console, the Changeling whipped her arm out towards him, rapidly liquefying and extending across the
three-meter-space between her and Wright.
Wright squeezed the trigger as the Changeling’s outstretched arm slammed into his stomach. The
rifle fired a burst of energy that impacted a duct behind her. The duct immediately and loudly burst,
spewing thick white gas into the cabin and almost instantly enveloping the Changeling. Wright stumbled
back into the corridor, crashing against the bulkhead and falling onto his side. A second later the computer
chimed inside the environmental control room and the flow of gas was shut off.
Murphy sat up, ignoring the gouge on his forehead and grabbing the spare handheld phaser off his
hip. He pushed up onto his feet and pointed the phaser through the door, finding the well-lit cabin slightly
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hazy and feeling cold air pouring through the doorway. The corner where the Changeling had been was
covered with white frost, laid out emanating from the burst duct. The Changeling stood at the console,
likewise covered in icy frost crystals. Her left arm was still visibly stretched towards the doorway and
lacking in definition, though seemingly solid, and her other side appeared to be slightly warped as well.
He slowly stepped forward, the frost on the deck crunching under his boots. The Changeling
didn’t move as he approached, even with a phaser pointed at her torso. Murphy stopped and looked down at
the frosted arm that stretched out in front of him, reaching nearly two meters away from her body. He
slowly reached out and grabbed onto the ten-centimeter-wide limb-form. The arm broke off with a crisp
crack several centimeters from her shoulder. Surprised both by the break and the sudden weight in his
hands, Murphy lost his grip on the frigid two-meter appendage and it crashed onto the deck, breaking into
several pieces.
Murphy’s head whipped back and forth between the shattered arm and the Changeling’s still
unmoving form. After several seconds he slowly walked around the Changeling to the burst duct. Noticing
a label obscured under the frost, he brushed away the ice crystals. Murphy laughed and looked back at
Wright, who was sitting up against the far wall in the corridor, “Liquid nitrogen line. Good shot!”
Wright chuckled and wiped a dribble of blood away from the corner of his mouth, “I was aiming
for her!”
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25
U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 033
Stardate 57104.954652
Clark looked up from the Changeling’s body on the morgue tray before him. The Changeling still
held the form of a female Human, though its right side had in patches reverted to a wavy reflective gold,
and its right arm was missing. A collection of similarly-textured broken cylinders and shards sat along the
side of the Changeling, comprising the remnants of her arm. Clark asked, “Why didn’t it revert to the liquid
form? I’ve heard of Changelings existing in the vacuum of space, and that’s pretty darn cold.”
Cochrane grabbed onto the side of the tray and sighed, “My working theory is that the sudden
temperature change imparted by the liquid nitrogen exposure froze and corrupted its morphogenic matrix.”
Jensen, standing to Clark’s side, said, “Starfleet Medical will love this.”
“Assuming they don’t shoot us out of the sky before we get to Earth,” Clark said. He stepped back
from the tray and Cochrane pushed the body into the stasis chamber in the bulkhead, “How are the blood
screenings progressing?”
“We’ve got about a quarter of the crew done,” Cochrane said as he closed the hatched and keyed
in a lock code. “It’ll take a few hours to finish, assuming you still want us to.”
“There’s no way to know if she was the only one,” Clark said. “Who was she anyway?”
“Ensign Chalmers,” Jensen answered. “I’ll amend the personnel log. Two hundred twenty six dead
or missing.”
Cochrane followed them towards the door into sickbay, “Let’s hope that’s the last time we have to
adjust that number.”
Sitting on the end of a biobed, Murphy sat up slightly upon Clark’s exit from the short corridor to
the morgue into the main sickbay ward, “Captain.” The female Denobulan medic tending to him grabbed
Murphy’s head with both hands and turned it to face back towards her, and then held a dermal regenerator
back over the gash on his forehead. Wright was on his back on a neighboring bed, another medic pressing a
hypospray to his arm.
Clark smiled, “Good work, John.”
Murphy laughed, “Honestly, it was mostly Wright. She took me down without a fight.” The
Denobulan put a hand on top of Wright’s bald head and again forcibly straightened it.
The door to the corridor opened and Vorik stepped through, visibly pained and limping. Cochrane
walked up to him, “You left here three hours ago and still haven’t changed into a proper uniform?”
“Engineering has been busy,” Vorik said. He looked to Jensen, “The alterations you requested
have been completed.”
Clark looked back to her, “What alterations?”
“I’ll explain later,” Jensen said.
Vorik turned to Clark, “We also successfully removed an explosive device the Changeling
installed in the dilithium chamber. I have teams checking other critical junctures for potential sabotage.”
“What was she doing in an environmental control room anyway?”
One of Vorik’s eyebrows rose slightly, “She was attempting to vent the atmosphere in
Engineering-B into space, and she was nearly successful.”
Jensen exhaled loudly and said, “Depressurize Engineering and nobody will be there to notice the
bomb on the warp core.”
“Precisely,” Vorik confirmed. “Standard procedure would have been to reestablish environmental
controls, repressurize the cabin, and check for structural damage from the rapid decompression. We only
found the bomb because of Doctor Cochrane’s suspicions.”
Murphy added, “She wasn’t sweating.”
Noticing Clark’s puzzled look, Jensen said, “The warp core’s running hot right now.”
Vorik turned his attention back to Cochrane, “Doctor, I believe I may require an additional dose of
hydrocortilene. The pain is making it difficult to focus on my work.”
Cochrane nodded, “I’m also ordering you off duty for the next twelve hours.” He stepped back to
the medicine cart parked outside the window into the sickbay office, “You need to keep off that leg if the
hexadrin is going to do its job.” He grabbed a hypospray and a vial filled with clear liquid from the cart.
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“Understood.”
Cochrane walked back and pressed the hypospray against Vorik’s bicep. The hypospray hissed
and within a second Vorik visibly relaxed. “Now off to your quarters,” Cochrane said. “Sleep, meditate,
watch a squares match, I don’t care – just take it easy.” He patted Vorik on the shoulder and gently pushed
him towards the door. As Vorik exited, Cochrane turned to Clark and Jensen, “Is there anything I can do
for the two of you?”
Clark and Jensen looked at each other and shrugged. He shook his head, “Nope, we’re good.”
Cochrane threw his arms up in the air, “Then get out of my sickbay!” When the commander and
captain laughed, he waved his arms at them, “Go on, shoo!”
Starfleet Sensor Relay 471
Trill System
Stardate 57105.798516
The raw data from a dozen remote unmanned sensor posts arrayed across Sectors 014 and 015
streamed down the massive display in front of Lieutenant Ragun. The male Trill Starfleet officer stood
behind a wide free-standing console, observing the data stream on the left side of the six-meter-wide screen
and a map of the nearby sectors detailing the same data in a more easily-understood manner. Among the
items noted on the map were the accelerating gravitational collapse of a dust cloud in the Plexion Nebula,
the twelve starships of the Fifth Fleet’s Galaxy Wing engaging in exercises, and a massive solar flare just
unleashed by the red giant Sira Adun. The map was centered on the Trill star system, the home of Sensor
Relay 471.
“Ragun!” a voice shouted from behind him.
The lieutenant turned around, finding a female Coridanite lieutenant commander walking up
behind him. Ragun smiled, “Kalev, how was Trill?”
She smiled, “Delightful, as always. The Festival of Lights is amazing. Absolutely amazing.”
Ragun shrugged, “I’m already putting in for leave next year.”
Kalev put her hands out at her sides, “It’s Friday!”
Grinning, Ragun turned around and pulled a Type-2 hand phaser out from under the console. He
aimed at the map side of the screen, closed his eyes, and growled, “I love Fridays.” He squeezed the trigger
and a small foam dart shot out of the end of the weapon, impacting with the glossy display with a quiet
thunk and sticking in place. He opened his eyes as Kalev walked up to the screen, “What’d I get?”
“This week’s long range resolution diagnostic test candidate is…” Kalev pulled the foam dart off
of the screen, revealing a small Starfleet emblem representing a lone starship not far from the mass of ships
from the Fifth Fleet. She read the text below it, “The U.S.S. Columbia NCC-2003.”
“Focusing Sensor Post Mizar,” Ragun said, working the console. “2003? She’s an old one.”
Kalev walked back to him, picking up the phaser and reinserting the dart in its tip, “Location?”
“Sector 015, coordinates 5812-1781. Heading: 057 mark 012. Speed: Warp 9.997,” Ragun
reported.
“She’s in a hurry,” Kalev said. “That heading should puts them on a course for Sol, right?”
Ragun tapped the console, plotting a heading vector on the display from the Columbia marker to
the Sol System in the upper right corner, “That is correct.”
Kalev nodded, “Alright. Let’s get our diagnostic done with. Initiate subspace field scan.”
The screen refocused closer in to the Columbia and illuminated a series of undulating blue wake
lines trailing the ship. Ragun looked down at his console, “Warp signature reads as an Excelsior-class
starship. Judging by the output I’d say one of the mid-century refits.”
The Coridanite placed the dart-firing mock phaser back under the console and pulled out a PADD.
She tapped it a few times and confirmed, “The Columbia was refitted in 2361.” Kalev looked back to the
screen, “What’s with the wake eddies two light-years back?” She pointed at a pair of elliptical disruptions
trailing in the subspace wake.
“Probably just subspace shadows,” Ragun said. “This has been a high-traffic corridor for the past
decade, there’s always some subspace decay.” He tapped the console a few times, “Gamma scan registers
nothing unexpected. Tachyon readings are slightly elevated, but within expected bounds.”
Kalev held up the PADD so Ragun could see it, showing a schematic of the long and elegant
Excelsior-class starship, “Visual sensor check.”
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“She’s close to the edge of Mizar’s visual range,” Ragun said. “Focusing the lateral sensor array.”
The subspace wake map was replaced by a blurry image of an Akira-class starship from above, its dualcatamaran design clearly visible in spite of the lack of resolution. The starfield behind streaked past at high
warp. “Uhh…”
Kalev looked at the PADD, and then back at the screen, “That’s an Akira.”
“Yep.” Ragun focused on the console, his fingers dancing across the glowing controls.
“Check that we’re focused on the right vessel.”
Ragun shook his head, “Transponder is broadcasting Columbia NCC-2003. Warp signature
appears Excelsior. Verified clear line of sight between Mizar post and vessel.”
Kalev stared at the blurry Akira-class starship on the screen, “Can you focus it? Boost the
resolution?”
“Diverting all power to the lateral sensor array,” Ragun said. A few seconds later the image
pixelated and then sharpened, resolving with detail enough to read the ship’s hull markings.
Kalev took a few steps towards the huge screen, reading off the registry name and number painted
on the top of the saucer, “U.S.S. Aldrin. Registry number NCC-89465. Definitely not the Columbia.”
Ragun tapped the info into his console, which promptly switched to a red color scheme and
chirped loudly. He read slowly, “Priority one target.”
“Get me Admiral Russell immediately,” Kalev ordered.
U.S.S. Ticonderoga
Sector 015
Stardate 57106.060962
Caitian Captain M’Reng leaned forward in her chair on the Ticonderoga’s large bridge, propping
up her tan-furred head on a balled fist. The Galaxy-class starship’s bridge was painted and carpeted in
earthy tans and browns, though at the moment they were awash in the crimson light of red alert. M’Reng’s
long tail, draped over the armrest of her chair at the center of the bridge, twitched back and forth. She
hissed, “Mr. Cameron, where is the Enterprise?”
The Ticonderoga’s silver-haired Human helmsman slapped an open hand on the edge of his
console, “I’ve lost them!”
M’Reng looked down at her side, where a medical team was tending to her injured first officer on
the deck. She shook her head, “How do you lose a Sovereign-class starship?”
The wide curved viewscreen that dominated the front of the bridge flashed blue as the
Ticonderoga’s shields took an impact. The male Vulcan tactical officer standing at the apex of the wooden
arc behind the command chairs announced, “Shields are offline.”
The sleek elliptical saucer, elongated engineering hull, and slender and tapered warp nacelles of
the Enterprise-E streaked vertically across the viewscreen, pummeling the Ticonderoga with phaser fire as
it passed. As alarms blared across the bridge, M’Reng ordered, “Pursuit course!” Cameron immediately
fired the Ticonderoga’s thrusters, pivoting the massive starship to chase after the Enterprise.
The dark-skinned female Vulcan sitting at the operations station to Cameron’s left calmly reported,
“Hull breaches Deck 36 Section A, Deck 22 Section C, and Deck 6 section E. Damage control teams
responding.” The aft end of the Enterprise slid onto the viewscreen.
“Target the aft shield junction, all phasers,” M’Reng ordered, sitting back in her chair. “It’s a weak
spot in the Sovereign’s shield design, should be enough to knock them out once and for all.”
The Vulcan tactical officer replied, “Target locked.”
“Fire.”
The phaser arrays on the top and bottom of the Ticonderoga’s massive saucer lit up and blasted
yellow energy beams across space into the Enterprise’s aft. The phasers held steady for several seconds,
sending brilliant ripples through the Enterprise’s shield envelope.
M’Reng sat up, pushing back into her chair, “Their shields?”
“Still holding,” the operations officer reported.
“Are you kidding me?” M’Reng snapped. The Vulcan female turned and looked at her briefly with
a typically placid expression that disarmed her disbelief, and then returned her attention forward.
The tactical officer spoke up, “They appear to have modified their shield geometry.”
125
“Damn, La Forge is good,” M’Reng said. The Enterprise began to execute a sharp turn on the
viewscreen. “Ready quantum torpedoes.” Phaser fired rained forth from the Enterprise, setting off more
alarms on the Ticonderoga bridge.
“Multiple hull breaches,” the operations officer reported. “Decks 4, 5, 9, 14, 24, 25, 27, 28, 30,
and 41. Emergency forcefields are offline.”
Tactical added, “Targeting sensors and forward torpedo launchers are offline.”
“I’ve lost helm control!” Cameron yelped simultaneously.
“Bridge to Engineering,” M’Reng called, “Weapons and helm control back online right now!” The
Enterprise thrusted forward and began firing its phasers again.
A voice from Main Engineering shouted back over the comm, “We’re losing antimatter
containment, Captain!”
M’Reng’s clawed finger instinctively landed on the ship-wide intercom, “All hands, abandon–”
The red alert lights and consoles around the bridge turned blue and all of the alarms fell silent. The
words ‘Vessel Destroyed’ appeared on the center of the viewscreen as the Enterprise sailed overhead.
Her urgent tone was immediately replaced with disappointed resignation, “–ship. Good work,
ladies and gentlemen. Begin reset for the next exercise.” M’Reng released the intercom button. “They are
good.”
“The Enterprise has destroyed the Brady,” the Vulcan ops officer reported. “And disabled the
Bolton.” The first officer, a male Xindi-Arboreal, sat up and grunted loudly. The medics around him
packed up their kits and walked back to the turbolift.
Cameron whistled and said, “That didn’t take long.”
“Incoming priority one message from Starfleet Command,” the ops officer announced.
M’Reng laughed, “The Admiral must have been watching. He can’t be happy the Enterprise
managed to take out all of his Galaxy Wing in a matter of minutes. What’s it say?”
“New orders,” the Vulcan read. “ ‘Fifth Fleet Galaxy Wing and U.S.S. Enterprise are to
immediately suspend simulation exercises. Compromised starship U.S.S. Aldrin spotted in Sector 015,
pursuit and engagement ordered. Target is priority number one, hostile response anticipated. Use of deadly
force is authorized. Coordinates and heading attached.’ ” The bridge fell silent.
“Compromised how?” M’Reng asked.
“It does not say.”
M’Reng straightened up, “Acknowledge receipt. Cancel training simulation. Lay in intercept
course to the Aldrin.” The blue lighting disappeared in favor of white illumination.
Cameron reported, “Intercept course laid in.” He stretched his arms out in front of him,
interlocking his fingers with his palms out and stretching.
“Maximum warp. Engage.”
The Ticonderoga shot into warp, followed by eleven other Galaxy-class starships and the
Enterprise.
U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 015
Stardate 57105.827071
Toq’bae leaned in to his console and tapped the screen in front of him. He squinted briefly and
then his eyes grew wide. He uttered under his breath, “Uh oh.”
R’Mor looked over her shoulder at him, “Uh oh what?” Seeing a surprised look from the science
officer, she pointed a finger at her sensitive Romulan ears.
“Captain,” Toq’bae said more loudly, “We’ve got a problem coming in at high warp.”
Clark turned his chair and looked over the operations arc to him, “What kind of problem?”
“A dozen Galaxy-class starships on an intercept course.” Toq’bae glanced back at the screen, “Led
by the Enterprise.”
“That didn’t work out so well,” Clark said while eyeing Jensen.
Jensen grabbed the swing arm console from her side and pulled it towards her seat, “Time to
intercept?”
Toq’bae sighed, “Ten minutes.”
Clark asked, “Ms. Kelley, can we adjust course to buy us time?”
126
“Not more than a few seconds,” Kelley answered without looking away from the helm. “Unless
we reverse course, that is.”
“Let’s not do that,” Clark said. He loudly exhaled, “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to do this in
the Alpha Quadrant. Red alert, deploy ablative armor.”
“Aye captain,” Murphy replied, reaching out and pressing a control on his console. The muffled
drumming of the armor plates being rapidly assembled audibly spread across the hull. Accompanied by the
familiar alarm, the bridge lighting dimmed and turned red.
Clark turned to Jensen, “A dozen Galaxies and the Enterprise?”
She glumly replied, “The Aldrin can take them.”
“Sure, we’ve got the firepower to wipe them out easily, but that’s twelve thousand Starfleet
officers,” Clark said. “I will not have that blood on our hands, no matter how important our mission.”
“I may have a solution,” Toq’bae said, grabbing a PADD and walking around to the pair. “In 2370
the U.S.S. Odyssey observed a minor fluctuation in their warp field while passing through the Bajoran
Wormhole.”
“I’m an engineer,” Clark said, “The wormhole wreaks all sorts of havoc on warp systems. And
how would you know about a minor fluctuation?”
Toq’bae handed him the PADD, “I was studying the wormhole with the Vulcan Science Academy
at the time. I collected data from dozens of ships that passed through the wormhole. I believe we might be
able to exploit that fluctuation and force them to drop out of warp.”
Jensen leaned over and looked at the PADD, “We’re a little far from the wormhole.”
“We can cause and amplify the same fluctuation with a subspace smear,” Toq’bae said.
“A smear?” R’Mor questioned.
Kelley kicked her chair around and moaned, “Oh no, please, no.”
“We eject an active matter/antimatter chamber while at warp speed,” Toq’bae said. “The sheer
forces the core encounters while transitioning out of the subspace bubble will detonate the core, but spread
the subspace rippling out over a much greater area than a stationary detonation – a smear. My theory is that
the subspace compression waves observed in the wormhole were responsible for the Odyssey’s fluctuations,
and a properly-timed smear could be enough to exacerbate the condition.” Noting the skeptical looks he
was getting from around the bridge, Toq’bae sighed, “Come on, I have a doctorate. I taught this stuff at
VSA for twelve years!”
“Alright Professor,” Clark said, handing back the PADD, “What kind of damage will this cause?”
“Nothing major,” Toq’bae said. “Not even really minor. We’d just be gumming up their works for
a brief while. It will likely take them some time to get their engines back online, and there shouldn’t be any
lasting affects on the fabric of space-time.”
Jensen smiled, “It’s like an oil slick.”
“More like a tar pit.” Toq’bae returned the smile, “But close enough, Commander.”
“Make your calculations,” Clark ordered. As Toq’bae jogged back up to his station, Clark added,
“Quickly!”
Jensen pressed the comm panel at the end of her armrest, “Bridge to Engineering.”
Vorik’s voice answered, “Engineering here.”
“Vorik?” Jensen questioned.
“Yes, Commander.”
“I thought Doc said to stay off your feet for twelve hours,” Jensen said.
Clark added, “It’s been seven.”
Vorik calmly answered over the speakers, “Starfleet Regulation 18-2 states that during a red alert
all medically-capable personnel are to report to battle stations unless otherwise directed by their
commanding officer.”
Clark smirked at Jensen, “He’s got us there.”
“Vorik, I know Engineering-A took some damage. Can we still activate the starboard warp core?”
Jensen asked.
“Repair crews haven’t yet repaired the breach in that section,” Vorik said, “Scans indicated that
the core had been damaged and would likely fail within several minutes of initialization.”
Clark stood from his chair, “Is the damage bad enough to prevent a quick activation and ejection?”
Vorik was silent for a few seconds before responding, “The damage was concentrated on the
dilithium matrix, though I fail to understand wh–”
127
Clark cut him off as he started towards the turbolift, “I’m on my way to Engineering-A. Bridge,
out.” The comm beeped in acknowledgement.
Toq’bae announced, “The fleet has entered visual range.”
“Aft sensors on screen,” Jensen ordered, “Maximum magnification.”
As the turbolift door opened and Clark stepped through, the streaking stars ahead of the Aldrin on
the viewscreen were replaced by an image of a dozen rapidly-approaching Galaxy-class starships and the
Enterprise. Clark whistled as the turbolift shut, “Good luck Commander.”
128
26
U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 015
Stardate 57105.838993
Clark stood in the corridor in front of the doors to Engineering-A, keying in a code on the large
circular lock that had been mounted over the seam between the doors. The lock had a small control panel in
its center, surrounded by a narrow glowing red ring and a pair of handles on either side. The turbolift
behind him opened and Vorik stepped out, “Captain, I believe an explanation for what Commander Jensen
has requested is warranted.” He had changed into the standard gray-shouldered black duty uniform and
carried and engineering kit in one hand.
Clark glanced over his shoulder, “I see you managed to get yourself into a uniform.” He tapped
the lock control and the red ring blinked off, followed by a loud metallic thump as the lock released. Clark
grabbed the handles and pulled the device off the door.
“Why have we been requested to activate and eject a damaged warp core?” Vorik demanded.
Clark stepped to the side and attached the lock to the adjacent bulkhead, “We’re being pursued by
a Galaxy wing. We’re going to detonate the core to knock them out of warp.”
Vorik stepped forward and tapped a code into the control panel to the side of the doors, “How long
until they intercept?”
The door split open and Clark walked through, “Not enough time.” His pace slowed to a stop as he
noticed that Engineering-A was nearly pitch black, with the overhead lighting, dozens of consoles and
screens, and the warp core itself all offline. A static hum filled the air, coming from the transparent
forcefield that bridged gaping five-meter hole in the bulkhead on both decks. Visible through the invisible
energy screen was the scorched and sheared-away decking, bulkheads, and conduits of the neighboring
engineering labs. The smooth gray panels of the ablative armor beyond that blocked the view to the port
engineering hull and warp nacelle, as well as the long spectral streaks of stars at high warp beyond.
Vorik kneeled just inside and set down and opened his kit. He pulled out two wrist lights, tossing
one to Clark and attaching the other to his own wrist. They turned on the torches and surveyed the damage.
The powerful Dominion disruptor beam had removed a five-by-two-meter chunk of EngineeringA along the inner side of the starboard hull, stretching forward from the warp core and reaching halfway to
the doors. Obliterated in the blast were the Chief Engineer’s office and a pair of alcoves along the
workspace and their mirrored counterparts on the deck above, along with the attached labs behind the
alcoves and office. The deck was littered with small pieces of burned and twisted debris, with a few larger
chunks of demolished bulkheads and conduits scattered about. The metal deck itself had warped and
cracked from the explosion and bent down precipitously towards the edge of the breach. A structural beam
from the upper deck had broken loose in the blast, its free end falling into the deck below and obstructing
the path to the warp core.
“Computer: lights.” Clark called out. A handful of the overhead lighting panels in Engineering-A
turned on, almost entirely on the side opposite the breach; a few closer in spastically flickered on and off.
The flickering light dimly illuminated the engine room, but provided enough light to work by. Clark
continued, “Activate manual initialization sequence for warp core alpha.”
The female computer voice calmly responded, “Initialization of warp core alpha is not
recommended until primary safety checks have been completed.” Vorik started forward towards the warp
core, its transparent and empty housing marred with burn streaks and pitting.
“I know,” Clark snapped back. “Override, authorization Clark Alpha Nine Seven Epsilon.”
“Override acknowledged. Beginning manual initialization sequence.” The consoles around the
base of the warp core and on the platforms surrounding the core lit up.
Vorik walked up stairs to the first platform around the warp core, “I will remove the dilithium
matrix.” He stopped and crouched by the large round hatch built into the thick metal band that wrapped
around the center of the core. The hatch had two handholds set into its sides and a control panel.
Clark agreed as he ducked under the fallen beam, “No sense in throwing away something like that.”
Vorik pulled out on the hatch, sliding out on rails the dilithium matrix from the center of the core.
The dilithium, a opaque head-sized hunk of crystalline mineral, was suspended at the end of the matrix in a
pyramidal frame, with an array of needle-like electro-plasma waveguides set up in a ring to the rear,
129
feeding into a T-shaped splitter that routed the plasma energy into a pair of conduits that led out the sides of
the core, up to the overhead, and back to the warp nacelles. When operational, the entire assembly
harnessed and directed the energy released by the otherwise destructive matter/antimatter reaction taking
place inside the core. Vorik stood over the frame and grabbed it from both sides. He calmly lifted it out of
its tray, turned around, and dropped it unceremoniously on the platform.
Clark stepped up behind him and kicked the hatch closed, sliding the empty tray back into the core.
He joined Vorik at the curved console mounted to the railing at the edge of the platform, “How are things
looking?”
“Deuterium and antideuterium injectors appear to be functional,” Vorik said. “Preliminary scans
indicate the containment casing integrity to be at seventy five percent.”
Clark nodded, “I’ll add a level ten forcefield, just to be safe.” He tapped the console a few times.
“I will not argue that,” Vorik said as the energy screen snapped into place around the warp core
behind them.
“Decoupling warp plasma relays. Clearing fuel conduits,” Clark said.
Vorik followed, “Activating magnetic constrictors and opening injectors.”
A muffled explosion was accompanied by the rumbling of the deck and distressingly loud
rumbling of the damaged superstructure. Clark’s combadge beeped with Jensen’s voice, “Bridge to Clark,
what’s your status? The fleet’s in weapons range and exercising their torpedo launchers.” The ship
vibrated again.
Clark tapped the badge, “We’re initializing now. I’ll let you know when we’re ready. Clark, out.”
He tapped the badge again to end the conversation, and then looked over his shoulder at the core. It was
turning a hazy gray as the deuterium-based fuels flowed in from the top and bottom, both a deck above the
upper level of Engineering and two decks below. The core flashed white as the fuels contacted and began to
reactively annihilate each other, followed by a roiling blue-green energy. Clark found himself unsettled by
the disorganized nature of the energy, normally it swirled in a predictable fashion towards the dilithium
matrix in the center, but with that removed there was nothing to harness or channel the reactive energy.
“Intermix ratio is steady,” Vorik announced. A panel fell off the overhead in a shower of sparks,
followed by a jet of gray gasses. “Core integrity at seventy percent and dropping rapidly. I estimate a
containment breach in four minutes.”
The computer calmly announced, “Warp core alpha containment failure imminent.”
Clark looked away from the core, “Alright, time to go!” He quickly descended the stairs and
jogged across the lower Engineering deck with Vorik following closely behind. Clark ducked under the
beam and stopped to look over it to the core, which was humming loudly and sending small arcs of white
energy into the nearby decking and surrounding platforms.
Vorik nearly walked past him, but stopped and grabbed Clark’s shoulder, “Captain, we must
evacuate Engineering.” An arc of energy reached out from the core and sparked against the deck a meter
from their feet, as if to emphasize the point. Clark followed Vorik out without a word, feeling the Aldrin
shudder under another torpedo impact.
With the door closed behind them, Clark tapped his combadge, “Clark to Bridge. We’re ready.”
Stardate 57105.850156
Jensen grimly replied to Clark’s declaration, “We’ll take it from here, Captain. Bridge, out.” She
looked up to the viewscreen, which displayed the thirteen Starfleet vessels that had quickly closed the gap
with the Aldrin.
R’Mor reported, “The Bolton is firing torpedoes.” A trio of brilliant red photon torpedoes flashed
from the graceful flared neck of a Galaxy-class starship towards the front of the pack. Accelerated to
slightly faster than the high velocity warp factor of the pursuing starships, the torpedoes took a few seconds
to cross the space to the Aldrin. The three warheads impacted the rear of the Aldrin, exploding against the
dark gray armor wrapped around the port warp nacelle pylon and the weapons pod high and center at the aft.
“Rear armor down to eighty two percent,” Murphy growled. “Can I return fire now?”
Jensen shook her head, “I will not fire on a Federation starship unless absolutely necessary.” She
tilted her head slightly, “Lieutenant Toq’bae, are they close enough?”
“Yes, Commander,” Toq’bae responded.
Jensen nodded, “Ensign, eject warp core alpha.”
130
R’Mor turned her head down towards her console, “Clearing an opening in the armor.” Her finger
hovered briefly over the glowing controls, “Ejecting warp core alpha.” She pressed the console,
immediately triggering the core ejection program.
A three-meter circle on top of the starboard engineering hull had been cleared of the thick ablative
armor, exposing the duranium hull and a square hatch. In the span of a second the hatch slid open with a
snap and the warp core was expelled through the opening by a magnetic propulsion system. The core,
measuring some twenty meters long and two meters across, was sheathed in duranium at the top and
bottom, with the transparent center span visible inside Engineering. Tendrils of energy trailed the
overloading core as it shot vertically away from the Aldrin, beginning to tumble to the rear as it traveled
through the ship’s warp field.
Toq’bae reported, “Three seconds to detonation.”
Jensen sighed and whispered, “May the prophets forgive us.”
“Two. One. Mark.”
About a hundred meters above and to the rear of the Aldrin, the core crossed out of the vessel’s
warp field. In the blink of an eye the core stretched into the distance and then ignited in a dazzling white
explosion that filled the field of view of the viewscreen. The Aldrin rocked as the shockwave from the
sprawling blast washed over the ship.
Jensen cringed as the small empty engineering station on the right side of the bridge erupted in
sparks. She looked up at the viewscreen, which displayed the rear-facing view from the Aldrin, albeit
obscured by static interference and stuttering visual artifacts. “Report.”
“Minor damage reports from most decks,” R’Mor reported. “No injuries. Our warp field appears
to have been destabilized by the explosion, but it is holding.”
Murphy followed, “Aft armor is down to seventy percent. Shield grid is offline. And I’m getting
garbled automated reports from the weapons pod; we might be down to the saucer-mounted launchers and
phasers.”
“What about our pursuers?” Jensen asked.
Toq’bae grinned, “Sensors read all twelve Galaxies have been warp neutralized. Not reading any
serious damage reports or injuries.”
Jensen squinted at the viewscreen, “And the Enterprise?” The bright aquamarine flash of a
quantum torpedo filled the viewscreen, followed by an intense vibration that caused a second cascade of
sparks from the burned-out engineering station.
“I think that answers the question,” R’Mor quipped.
“Do we have rear launchers?” Jensen asked.
“I…” Murphy slapped an open fist against his console, “I don’t know!”
Toq’bae offered, “The ODN relays might have been corrupted by the subspace shockwave.”
Jensen stood from her chair and faced the rear, “Shouldn’t the smear have had at least some effect
on the Enterprise?”
Turned into his cylindrical station, Toq’bae replied, “They appear to have modified their shield
geometry. It seems to have had the affect of diverting the majority of the shockwave. Though I doubt that
was intention.” The bridge shuddered violently from another torpedo impact.
Jensen dropped back into her seat and pulled over her control panel. She began typing in a series
of codes, “Ensign, hail the Enterprise.”
“Commander?” R’Mor questioned. The ship shook again, breaking open a panel below the master
systems display behind her with a burst of gray smoke and more sparks.
“Aft armor at fifty two percent,” Murphy reported.
Her eyes fixed to the screen in front of her, Jensen snapped, “Ensign, do not make repeat myself.
Hail the Enterprise.”
R’Mor brushed away hair kicked into her face and tapped her console, “Hailing.” After a few
seconds she added, “No response.” The static on the viewscreen cleared, displaying a sharp image of the
sleek Sovereign-class Enterprise to the rear.
“That’s fine…” Jensen said, trailing off as she furiously typed on the panel. She yelped, “Yes!”
and the pushed the panel aside. “Terminate comm link.”
Kelley looked back at her, asking with a hint of consternation, “What did you do?”
Jensen grinned, “I used the carrier band to transmit a code that disabled their weapons.”
“I guess that works,” Murphy said, frowning at a readout on his own console.
“So what now?” R’Mor asked.
131
“We get our weapons back online first,” Jensen said.
Toq’bae leaned in towards his console, “Commander, that might not be a problem. I’m reading a
surge in gravitons in their deflector.”
“What’ll that do?” Murphy asked.
Stardate 57105.862995
Man’tA’el shouted across Engineering-B, “Paulson! Switch to secondary flow regulators, the
primaries are fried!” The warp core to his side glowed nearly white, casting shadows and heat across the
engine room. The deck still vibrated underfoot from the raw power channeling through the reaction
chamber, sending the bits of debris scattered across it dancing in random patterns. Jets of gaseous blue
coolant cascaded down the sides of the core from ports built into the overhead. Sparks and heavy smoke
poured from a broken conduit in the center of the workspace between the core and the main doorway.
Those doors opened and Clark and Vorik walked through. Vorik immediately called out, “Report,
Lieutenant.”
Man’tA’el accepted a PADD from a passing engineer and jogged towards the pair, “The
shockwave overloaded the plasma flow regulators, we’re switching to secondaries. We’re also having
trouble stabilizing the warp field, the blast introduced irregularities into the subspace system that keep
compounding when we attempt an adjustment.”
Clark grabbed the PADD, “Have you tried resetting the matrix flux capacitor?”
“First thing we did,” the Andorian said, wiping away the sweat dripping off his brow. “No effect.
Well, it actually made the fluctuations worse. I’m not sure how much longer we can maintain our current
speed.”
Clark opened his mouth to speak, but Jensen’s voice through Vorik’s combadge stopped him,
“Bridge to Engineering, the Enterprise is charging a graviton pulse!”
“Shut down the core!” Clark shouted, dropping the PADD and running towards the chief
engineer’s office. Man’tA’el whirled about and sprinted back towards the overtaxed engine core.
Seemingly every alarm in Engineering began to cry out at once as Vorik shouted, “A graviton
surge is destabilizing the gravimetric field displacement manifold!” The glowing white pair of warp plasma
conduits mounted to the overhead in the two-deck high opening around the core began to erupt, breaking
away half-meter-long segments of translucent ducting back towards the core at a pace of a meter each
second. Glowing white plasma slowly drifted down from the burst conduits, dispersing against the
bulkheads and deck with a sparkling and smoking sizzle.
Clark bounded over the step up into the office and slid to the far end of the long curved console
against the bulkhead opposite the core. He slapped his open hand onto the console and yelled, “Computer,
disengage warp core bravo!”
The disconcerting rumble, heat, and light of the straining warp core immediately faded away,
followed a split second later by the cessation of the familiar hum from the nacelles. One final segment of
the plasma conduit overhead burst, raining bits of the duct on the deck, trailing streams of radiant plasma
behind them, but still two meters from the core. The nearly white glow of the warp core quickly faded to a
dull hazy gray of unannihilated deuterium gas, leaving the hiss of the coolant jets as the dominant ambient
sound in Engineering-B.
As the Aldrin suddenly dropped out of warp, the superstructure of the starship audibly groaned
under the stress. Additional alarms sounded as the ship twisted and tumbled from the violent speed
reduction.
Clark stepped into the office doorway, looking up at the core with concern as the ship creaked and
groaned around him. “Can somebody get thrusters back online?”
Vorik walked up to the console alcove to the office, prompting Clark to step out and join him. The
wide curved display in front of them displayed a full schematic of the Aldrin, with alerts and warning
markers displayed across the diagram. Vorik took a second to look over the readouts before declaring,
“That nearly sheared off the starboard warp nacelle. Nearly the entire warp plasma relay system will need
to be replaced.”
“I designed the Akira-class,” Clark said. “She should have been able to take a graviton pulse with
more grace than this.”
132
Vorik looked to him with an eyebrow cocked, “Captain, this ship has suffered serious damage in
battle, been repeatedly sabotaged, and pushed well past defined safety limits for an extended time. I
wouldn’t have predicted we would make it this far given the punishment afflicted on this vessel.”
Clark opened his mouth as if to speak, but paused and instead just sighed loudly. He turned around,
his shoulders drooping dejectedly, and looked up at the silent gray warp core. The bulkhead and deck
behind it were scorched from the plasma contact and littered with shattered bits of the conduit.
His combadge beeped, “Jensen to Clark. Captain, the Enterprise is hailing.”
133
27
U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 015
Stardate 57105.891583
Clark stood at the head of the briefing room table, awkwardly holding small saucer and teacup. He
smirked as he glanced down at the steaming hot cup of transparent red liquid. Jensen stood behind and to
the side of Clark, absently staring at the gray armor panel that blocked the view outside the bank of tall
windows to their right. A lone PADD sat in the center of the table, barely illuminated by the dim auxiliary
lighting.
The harmonic quantum hum of the transporter drew their attention forward to the four columns of
azure transporter energy that had appeared at the far end of the table near the door down to the bridge. The
beams quickly coalesced into four Starfleet officers. Flanked by two security officers with phaser rifles at
the ready were two icons and legends of Starfleet: the Enterprise’s chief engineer Lieutenant Commander
Geordi La Forge and Captain Jean-Luc Picard. La Forge’s short-cropped black hair had begun to gray
slightly around the temples, a change only noticeable thanks to his brown skin, though his bright blue
vision-granting ocular implants in place of his damaged corneas and irises were more likely to draw
attention. Picard’s angular face was beginning to show his age, though he still exuded an imposing
command presence.
Clark smiled and offered forward the cup and saucer, “Tea, Earl Grey, hot.”
Picard didn’t return the smile, “Captain Clark, you have five minutes to explain what the hell is
going on.”
Clark stepped forward and set the teacup on the glass briefing room table. He grabbed onto the
back of his chair, “We need to speak to you alone.”
“Anything you need to say to me you can say to Mr. La Forge,” Picard said. He turned to the
phaser-wielding officer to his side, “Lieutenant, Ensign, wait outside.” The two guards quietly stepped back
from Picard and La Forge, walking out through the door behind them.
“Are you familiar with Project Eagle Two?” Clark asked after the door closed. He took a few steps
away from the head of the table, walking along the armor-covered windows.
“Admiral Janeway and I both pushed aggressively for Starfleet to investigate possible
implementations for the 25th century technology she brought back with Voyager,” Picard said. “I am very
familiar with Eagle Two.”
“Do you know Admiral Steven Russell?” Clark asked.
Picard’s eyes followed Clark as he slowly walked forward, “He was my first officer when I was
assigned to the Antares. A good man.”
Jensen spoke up, “We have evidence that he’s been replaced with a changeling.”
“Five years ago,” Clark said. “He’s manipulated Eagle Two to deliver this technology,” he pointed
at the armor outside the window, “Into the hands of DM factions that want to restart the war. He sent us
into a Jem’Hadar fleet in the Gamma Quadrant, he sent the Columbia to stop us, and then the Fifth Fleet to
destroy us. I’ve lost two hundred twenty six officers.” Clark stopped about two meters from the senior
captain.
Picard’s brow creased as he stared into Clark’s unwavering eyes. “David, I’ll take that tea now.”
Jensen picked up the cup and saucer and walked them over to Picard, who accepted the drink with a cordial
nod, “So what’s the plan now?”
Jensen sighed, “We were on our way to Earth to arrest Russell before he could do any more
damage, but that’s not going to happen now.”
La Forge spoke up, “For what it’s worth, you almost made it. You were unlucky enough to be the
randomly selected diagnostic target for a sensor station. If it hadn’t been for that you probably would have
gotten all the way to Sol without raising any alarms.”
“By the word of the…” Jensen threw up her arms and walked away from the table, “I knew we’d
done better than that!”
Picard smirked briefly and then turned back to Clark, “I want to assist you, but I’m going to need
to see your evidence first.” He took a sip of the tea.
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“Of course.” Clark took a few steps and leaned over the table to grab the PADD. He handed it to
Picard, “First-hand footage of the Founder replacing Russell and the Dominion’s far-too-extensive history
and profile on the admiral, among other things.”
Picard set down the tea and turned on the PADD, caught off guard by the statement, “The
replacement was caught on camera?”
“The Dominion surrender ceremony,” Clark said.
“Ah,” La Forge nodded, “The polaron flash.”
Clark pointed at the PADD, “Triggered by a cloaked Jem’Hadar attack ship.”
“This just keeps getting better,” La Forge said, rolling his eyes.
Picard handed the PADD back to Clark and picked up his tea, “How can the Enterprise help?”
“That graviton pulse really wrecked the ship,” Clark said. “We can’t even retract the armor.”
Looking over the edge of his teacup, Picard wryly asked, “Does young Captain Clark require a
lift?”
“Are you going to make me beg?” Clark sighed.
After taking a long sip of the tea, Picard set the cup back on the briefing room table and smiled,
“Come on, Captain, let’s go.”
La Forge took a step forward, “If I may, that hijack code that you used to shut down our weapons?”
Jensen grinned, holding her hands behind her back, “That was me.”
“Commander,” La Forge held up his hands in front of him as if he were about to clap and
enthusiastically declared, “That was genius!”
“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeves,” Jensen said, still smiling.
Clark clapped a hand on La Forge’s shoulder, “You two can exchange notes later; we’ve got to go.”
La Forge smiled broadly, “I’ll be calling you, Commander.”
Clark held back a bit while Picard and La Forge exited. Jensen bounded up to him, grabbed the
sides of his head with both hands, and kissed him. La Forge stopped just past the doorway and looked back,
laughing, “Captain, I wish you and Doctor Crusher had these two as an example back on the D.”
Picard stepped back to look through the doorway and shrugged, “We got there eventually.”
Jensen leaned back from Clark, “I could say something really clichéd right now.”
“Not in front of Picard,” Clark groaned.
Picard laughed, “Don’t mind me.”
Jensen’s grin faded, “Two hundred twenty six.”
Clark nodded and repeated, “Two hundred twenty six.”
Jensen pushed him away, “Go kill the bastard.”
Clark’s serious expression was betrayed by a slight sly smirk as he stepped back. Following after
Picard and La Forge, he tapped his combadge, “Clark to Cochrane, meet me in Transporter Room One.”
Paris, France
Stardate 56106.920834
The heavy wood door into the administrative area of the Office of the President opened, drawing
Ak’telKi’s attention up from the large PADD she held in front of her on the desk. One of the President’s
assistants, a young male Grazerite, leaned through the opening, “Madam President, Admiral Ross to see
you.” The sparkling lights of late night Paris shone through the window behind the president’s desk.
Ak’telKi set down the PADD, “He’s not on today’s schedule, right? It’s Saturday, right?”
“It is early Saturday, and no, the Admiral is not scheduled for today,” the assistant said. “He says
it’s urgent.” He stifled a yawn, covering his mouth with his hand.
“He’s the Starfleet Liaison to the President,” she said. “If Ross says it’s urgent, then it’s clearly
urgent. Send him in.” The Grazerite stepped back and a second later Admiral Ross strode through, carrying
a PADD of his own. Ak’telKi stood, leaning on her arms straightened against her desk, “Kartesh!”
The assistant stepped back through the doorway, “Madam President?”
“I have the Ferengi ambassador at 0800,” Ak’telKi said. “Push him back to 0900, and please
inform my husband I’ll be late to breakfast.”
“Yes ma’am,” the assistant disappeared, closing the door behind him.
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Ross walked up to the desk, extending his right hand to Ak’telKi, “Madam President, how is the
First Gentlemen doing?”
Ak’telKi took his hand and shook, “I can guarantee he’s not happy I’m working this late, again.
He’s been planning a day for our anniversary, which I’ve had to reschedule twice already.” She released
Ross’s hand, “What’s so urgent that you had to transport over to Paris to deliver the news in person?”
The Admiral handed her the PADD and took a deep breath, “We found the Aldrin.”
Her head snapped up from the PADD and her antennae straightened out, “Where?”
“They’re in the Alpha Quadrant,” Ross said. “We’re still trying to piece together the complete
picture, but it appears they returned this morning and set a course towards Earth at high warp.”
“Why am I hearing about this from you and not Russell?” She looked back down at the PADD and
swiped through the logs displayed.
“Actually, that’s why I came to you,” Ross walked away from the desk. “Communications was
only able to recover partial records of the transmissions, but it appears that Russell sent the Fifth Fleet’s
Galaxy wing to intercept the Aldrin in Sector 015. Sensor readings from Trill indicate that the Aldrin
detonated one of its cores, but the subspace interference has obscured further scans. We don’t have a clear
reading on the Galaxy wing or the Aldrin.”
Ak’telKi dropped the PADD onto the desk, “When did this happen?”
“In the last hour.”
“Have you been able to contact the Aldrin?”
Ross shook his head, “They’re either not receiving or not responding to our hails.”
Ak’telKi walked out from behind the desk, “They took out an entire Galaxy wing with one ship?”
She held a hand out to her side, “Never mind that, why would Russell send that Galaxy wing after the
Aldrin?”
“He covered his tracks quite well, deleting all of his logs as they were created,” Ross said. “We’re
still reconstructing the transmissions, but it looks like he said the Aldrin was under hostile command.”
The president’s shoulders dropped, “Is it?”
Ross sighed, “I honestly don’t know.” He looked at the presidential portraits hanging on the walls.
“If Russell actually believes the Aldrin is under enemy control, he’s not following standard procedure.”
“If?” Ak’telKi questioned.
“Frankly, his behavior is ringing too many alarm bells for me,” Ross said.
“Have you spoken to him?” she said, looking out the window at the city.
The admiral stepped up to her side, holding his hands behind his back, “Not since this morning.”
“He’s been playing the fool,” Ak’telKi growled. “When he’s really been playing us the fools.” Her
antennae pointed sharply forward.
“But to what end?”
Ak’telKi looked up at Ross, “That’s why I gave you that extra star, Admiral. Put together as much
as you can by tomorrow morning; I’ll confront him myself.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise,” Ross cautioned. “If he’s not incompetent, then I don’t know his
intentions, where his loyalties lie, or why. As my mother-in-law so very much likes to tell me, ‘you can’t
know what doesn’t want to be known’.”
“She sounds like a wise woman.”
Ross rolled his eyes, “She’s an eternal pain in my ass, ma’am.”
Ak’telKi laughed and then continued. “I will be at Starfleet Command at noon tomorrow. Get
together as much as you can, and I’ll get either Russell’s resignation or throw him in the brig myself.”
“Will there be anything else, ma’am?” Ross asked.
“You didn’t happen to bring any coffee with you?” Ak’telKi asked optimistically.
“No,” Ross furrowed his brow as he looked down at the Andorian, “Do you ever sleep?”
She stepped back from the window, “On rare occasion, yes.” Walking back behind her desk and
picking up the PADD brought by Ross, Ak’telKi said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bill.”
“Goodnight, Madam President.” Ross quietly walked out of the office as Ak’telKi slowly sat in
her chair, turning on the tablet.
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28
Stardate 57108.045910
Trailed by Cochrane and a pair of officers from the Enterprise’s security team, Clark confidently
walked across the large tree-filled quad at the center of Starfleet Headquarters. The complex sat at the south
end of the Marin Headlands, nestled between the hills by the small Horseshoe Bay just to the east of the
Golden Gate Bridge, looking out at the city of San Francisco across the bay. The east side of the complex
was dominated by a tall concave office tower bearing a bronze-colored representation of the Federation seal.
A shorter pair of trapezoidal buildings, topped with dozens of antenna and communications dishes, formed
the far side of the large rectangular courtyard. Ahead, sitting near the edge of the water, was a low row of
offices – the Danbury Offices from which Admiral Russell and several other high-ranking Starfleet
officials commanded the fleet.
As they approached the reflective glass doors leading into the center building, Clark nodded curtly
to a tall Vulcan officer standing to the side of the door with a hand phaser hanging off his hip and a rifle
slung across his back. The Vulcan stepped forward, holding up a hand to Clark, “Captain, this building is
closed.”
Clark stopped and looked quizzically at the Vulcan, “I have a meeting with Admiral Russell. It’s
quite urgent.”
“Name?” the Vulcan inquired, dropping his hand.
“Clark, David. And you are?”
The Vulcan held a hand up to his ear, activating a communicator hidden inside his ear canal,
“There is a Captain David Clark attempting to enter the building.” He blinked quickly, instinctively
drawing his head back from the noise inside his ear. “Affirmative, Clark.”
The door slid open, revealing Ross. The admiral stood tall, his arms crossed across his chest,
“Captain Clark.” He was in the middle of the building’s small semicircular lobby, the receptionist desk to
the right unmanned.
Clark held his hands behind his back, “Admiral.”
“We’ve been looking for you, Captain,” Ross said sternly. “Come in.” Clark glanced at the Vulcan,
and then slowly walked through the door. Ross looked Clark up and down, and then at Cochrane and the
two security officers, “Since you’re here, I’m guessing you’ve come to the same conclusion as we have.”
The door closed behind them.
“That Russell has been replaced with a Founder and sent the Aldrin to the Gamma Quadrant to be
captured by the Dominion?” Clark offered.
Ross leaned back slightly, “I see you’re a bit ahead of us.”
The admiral’s combadge beeped, “Target is approaching.”
Ross straightened up and dropped his arms, “You might want to come with me.” He turned and
walked down the hall behind him; Clark and Cochrane followed. As they passed through an intersection in
the hall, Clark turned around to the security officers and pointed down each corridor. The guards silently
split down each hall, taking up positions at each end. The Vulcan officer walked in, unslung his rifle, and
sat behind the receptionist desk.
Ross led Clark and Cochrane through a door, walking into Russell’s bay view office. Behind the
desk stood a female Andorian officer with her white hair pulled back in a short ponytail. She was focused
on a large PADD on the desk. A pair of security officers stood in the corners of the office, facing the door.
The Andorian looked up, causing Clark to stutter, “Ma- Madam President?”
Ak’telKi’s antennae pointed at Clark, quivering, “Clark?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Clark replied.
“What are you doing here?” Ak’telKi demanded.
Ross cocked an eyebrow, “He’s here to expose Russell as a Changeling.”
The president looked down at the desk, and then back up at the officers in front of her, “Huh.”
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Ross’s combadge beeped again, “Target is entering the building.” Cochrane and Ross moved to a
corner away from the windows and Clark stepped up to the desk. He turned to lean against the desk, facing
the closed door.
Ak’telKi squinted at Clark, “How did you get here?”
“Hitched a ride.” Clark looked over his shoulder, “What’s with the uniform? Captain?”
She laughed, “You’d be surprised how much the black-and-grays hide who you are.”
The door opened and Russell walked through, holding a mug in one hand and a PADD in the other.
He took a few steps in before stopping in his tracks. He slowly looked up, finding Clark leaning against the
back of his desk and Ak’telKi standing behind it, “This is…”
Cochrane and the security officers stepped forward. He brandished a hypospray, “Don’t move.”
Russell took a step away from him, backing into the strong hands of one of the guards. “This is
absolutely preposterous. You can’t think I’m a… no. No.” The security officer grabbed onto Russell’s
elbows, holding him still so Cochrane could press the hypospray to the admiral’s bicep. Red blood flowed
into the vial in the hypospray’s base.
Cochrane pulled the hypospray away and removed the vial. He held it up in the light, watching as
the sample quickly morphed into a thick golden liquid. Cochrane grunted, “Yep.” The security guards took
his PADD and mug.
Ak’telKi’s jaw clenched with fury. She took a slow breath before speaking, “Why?”
The stunned expression disappeared from Russell’s face as he turned to her, “The Dominion does
not surrender.”
Clark pushed up off the desk, “Your cohorts in the Gamma Quadrant have been neutralized.
We’ve escaped every trap you laid for us.” He walked up to Russell, “You failed.”
“Admiral Russell,” Ross stepped forward, “Or whoever you are – you are under arrest for murder,
attempted murder, espionage, impersonating a Starfleet official, and whatever else we can come up with.”
“Hardly,” Russell snorted.
“What was that?” Ak’telKi growled.
Russell stared at her and declared, “The Dominion does not surrender.” He violently wrested
himself free from the security officers, shoving them back into the walls. His body instantly turned to a
column of golden liquid, with a branch shooting out and slamming into the wall opposite Cochrane and
Ross. The wall exploded on the impact, throwing a debris-filled fireball across the office.
U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 015
Stardate 57108.055334
Jensen glanced up from the PADD in her lap, finding the unmoving stars still displayed on the
viewscreen. It had been nearly twenty hours since the Enterprise had departed for Earth, leaving the Aldrin
alone, light-years from the nearest system with the warp drive offline and heavily damaged. Jensen looked
around the dark bridge, finding Kelley sitting quietly at the helm, Murphy reviewing tactical plans at his
station, and Toq’bae and R’Mor standing in front of the wide master systems display, discussing repair
strategy.
Due for his hourly progress report, Jensen’s combadge beeped, “Vorik to Jensen.”
She tapped the badge, “Jensen here.”
“Commander, we have exhausted our available repair supplies. Unless we begin to breakdown
and recycle components from across the ship, we won’t be able to complete any further repairs on the warp
drive system without resorting to a repair facility.”
Jensen sighed, “Do we have any warp functionality?”
“No,” Vorik replied calmly. “The ship is operating entirely on fusion power.”
“Let’s move on,” Jensen said. “Shift priority to weapons.”
“Praise the lord and pass the ammunition,” Murphy mumbled from the rear.
“Aye, Commander. Vorik, out.”
“Commander,” Toq’bae called, stepping into his station. “Sensors just picked up a spike in
tachyon levels.”
Jensen turned her chair to face the science station, “Tachyons? From where?”
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“About a kilometer off the bow,” he said. “And another, same location.” R’Mor slipped into the
back of the science station and looked over Toq’bae’s shoulder.
Jensen kicked against the deck, spinning her chair back to the front. The viewscreen displayed the
same starfield. “What’s causing these spikes?”
R’Mor’s heavy brow furrowed, “The tachyon profile matches that of a Romulan cloak generator,
though about a decade old. It must be malfunctioning, it shouldn’t be putting out this level of tachyon
radiation.”
Murphy was flabbergasted, “The Romulans?”
“It’s not the Romulans,” Jensen said. She calmly ordered, “Red alert. Prepare for boarding parties.”
The red alert lights turned on, adding a splash of illumination to the darkened bridge. Jensen laid a
reassuring hand on the phaser attached to her hip.
R’Mor put a hand on Toq’bae’s shoulder and leaned in, “If I had to guess they’re using a highoutput power source without proper plasma impedance.” When Toq’bae leaned to the side to shoot her a
puzzled look, she added, “I was a cloak systems mechanic when I was in the Star Force.”
Jensen slowly stood, declaring, “It’s the Jem’Hadar.” She looked over her shoulder to Murphy,
“Do we have any weapons?”
Murphy shook his head, “All offensive and defensive systems are still offline. I still can’t even
retract the armor.” R’Mor sidestepped out from behind Toq’bae and took up her position at the top of the
operations arc.
“That’s a good thing,” Jensen replied. “We might be sitting ducks, but we’re at least sitting ducks
with a suit of ablative armor.” She tapped her combadge, “Jensen to Vorik.”
“Vorik here,” the engineer quickly replied.
“New priority: long-range subspace communications,” Jensen directed.
“Acknowledged. Vorik, out.”
Toq’bae announced, “Detecting twin energy build-ups. Might be disruptors.” A second later a pair
of bright purple energy beams appeared from empty space and slammed into the armored forward hull of
the Aldrin.
The bridge lightly tremored from the impact. Murphy laughed, “It’s going to take more than that
to get through the armor.”
Jensen crossed her arms over her chest, “A Human writer once said that ‘the two most powerful
warriors are patience and time.’ Right now, the Jem’Hadar have an infinite supply of both.” Another pair of
polaron beams shot from empty space, impacting the same point on the armor.
Stardate 57108.341340
The voice of Ross cut into the darkness surrounding Cochrane, “Commander!” Cochrane’s eyes
fluttered open, finding the Admiral standing over him, the blue sky visible beyond. Ross kneeled by
Cochrane’s side, “Commander, are you alright?” Ross’s face was burned on one side and streaked with
soot on the other.
Cochrane coughed, “I think so. Though I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. And the head.”
Ross offered a hand, which Cochrane took and was hauled onto his feet, bits of rubble falling off his body
as he stood. He looked around, finding they were standing near the center of a crater blasted out of the
office building. The hole extended about ten meters all around, having leveled a large portion of the
structure. Cochrane felt his head, finding blood coming from a gash at the of his neck, “What happened?”
Ross shook his head, “A bomb of some sort, I think.” The office they had been standing in had
been obliterated in the blast, tearing open the building in a radiating fashion. Aside from the remnants of a
few walls or a desk, nothing was immediately recognizable amongst the smoking and dusty rubble in the
immediate vicinity.
Cochrane looked around him, and then out towards the cleared view to the bay. He whispered,
“The president,” and then rushed forward, jumping over a pile of rubble. The debris shifted as he landed,
sending Cochrane falling onto his back. He groaned and sat up, “Where is she?” A large section of rubble
several meters behind him, comprised of the partially collapsed roof, slid to the ground with a thud, letting
139
loose a burst of flames. Both Cochrane and Ross ducked at the noise, but Cochrane quickly got onto his
knees and started shoving away debris. He shouted into the rubble in front of him, “Madam President!”
Ross came up to his side and joined in removing the debris, helping to lift away a body-sized
section of ducting. They pulled away a bent metal panel, revealing a blue hand and forearm arm, covered in
dark blue blood. “Stop!” Cochrane put a hand out in front of Ross, preventing him from grabbing and
moving another piece of the rubble. Cochrane grabbed onto the wrist, “She’s got a pulse. Madam President,
can you hear me?” She made a fist with her hand. Cochrane continued to hold her wrist, “We’re going to
get you out of there, just hang on.”
Clark stumbled up behind them, cradling his left arm. His uniform was burned and ripped in
several places and a deep gash on the side of his neck was seeping blood. Clark immediately moved around
to the opposite side of Ak’telKi and let go of his arm, which fell loosely to his side. Blood dripped off his
fingertips, splashing against the debris at his feet. He crouched and examined at the rubble piled on top of
her, “It looks like part of the desk landed on top of her. Along with the roof.”
Ross got down on his knees and looked into the opening through which Ak’telKi’s arm was
protruding, “Can we move it?”
Clark grabbed onto an overturned desk drawer on top of the rubble with his right hand and flung it
to the side, sending it and its spilled contents tumbling towards the bay, “We’ll have to get some of this off
of it first.” He and Ross quickly pushed and threw away more of the debris, uncovering the rest of
Ak’telKi’s arm and a leg. Clark shifted back, looked over the rubble, and declared, “That’ll do.”
All three men moved down to her feet and got their hands under the edge of the desktop. Ross, in
the middle of the trio, looked to Clark and then Cochrane. “On three. One. Two. Three.” They slowly stood,
pivoting the desk up and over Ak’telKi’s body, dumping the remaining rubble on the board past the top of
her head. The desk rolled over the pile of removed debris, flipping away from them.
Ak’telKi coughed, spitting up dark blue blood. She was on her back, with a few PADDs a small
bits of wreckage scattered over her bloodied body. Cochrane dropped back onto his knees and placed two
fingers on her neck to feel her pulse as Clark and Ross quickly removed the remaining debris. Worry
crossed Cochrane’s face as he started to run his hand down her torso, “Her pulse is weak; she’s suffering
massive blood loss.” She moaned loudly as his hands passed over broken ribs and lacerations on her waist.
Pulling back his blood-covered hands, Cochrane moved up to her arms, slowly patting them to check for
cuts and breaks.
Ak’telKi shouted a curse in Andorian as Cochrane’s hands squeezed her right bicep, “Shazko!”
She turned her head towards Cochrane, clearly in pain, and tried to look down at her arm.
“Sorry,” Cochrane apologized as he got lower to the ground, peering under her arm. He reached
his hand underneath, probed lightly, and then pulled it out. Blue blood dripped off his fingertips as he
looked up to Clark and Russell, “Do we have a medkit?”
Clark looked around the cratered office, “I wouldn’t know where to look.”
“Admiral,” Cochrane pointed to Ak’telKi’s far side. “Get down there and talk to her.”
Ross kneeled at her side, “What should I say?” She rolled her head to the side to face him.
Cochrane leaned in to Ak’telKi, “Madam president?”
Ak’telKi turned her head back towards Cochrane. She weakly responded, “Doctor?”
“You have a shard of metal stuck into your upper arm,” Cochrane said. “It has punctured your
bicep and probably an artery. I’m going to attempt to remove it; this will probably hurt. A lot.”
Panic flooded onto Ak’telKi’s face as she turned back to Ross. The admiral grabbed her free hand
with both of his, “It’s going to be okay.” As Cochrane carefully positioned her lower arm and pushed
against her shoulder, Ross let her squeeze his hand and calmly asked, “When’s your niece graduating from
Jormek Sathra?”
Ak’telKi grunted as Cochrane lifted her injured arm slightly, “August.”
“Really?” Ross glanced up at Cochrane and then turned his attention back to Ak’telKi. “You must
be proud.”
She nodded briskly, “Very. She’s a bright girl. Her mother says she’s mentioned possibly joining
Starfleet after she’s done at JSA.” A section of rubble at the edge of the cratered office building shifted
loudly.
Ross smiled, “Has there ever been a telKi in Starfleet?” Cochrane slowly wrapped his hands
around the top and bottom of her upper arm.
140
“She’d be the first.” Ak’telKi screamed as Cochrane lifted her arm, revealing a jagged bloodcovered shard of metal sticking up from the rubble under her. Dark blue Andorian blood immediately
began to pour in bursts from the gash left behind.
Cochrane immediately clamped a hand around the wound and tapped his combadge, “Cochrane to
Starfleet Medical.”
“Starfleet Medical here,” a calm male voice answered.
“Requesting immediate transport from Danbury to a surgical suite,” Cochrane said. “I have an
Andorian female, age thirty seven, with a severed brachial artery, severe blood loss, and likely internal
bleeding.” Ak’telKi coughed again, spitting blood onto her splayed white hair.
The officer at Starfleet Medical responded, “Emergency teams are setting up a triage station in
the quad. You should move your patient–”
Cochrane talked over him, “Son, I have the President of the United Federation of Planets bleeding
out in front of me.”
After a few seconds silence, the voice said, “Stand by for transport.” Ross released her hand and a
second later Ak’telKi and Cochrane disappeared in a transporter beam. Blue blood spilled on the rubble
below nearly outlined her former position.
Clark slowly stood, grabbing his injured left arm. He looked around the smoking crater, and then
back to Ross, “Where’s Russell?”
A sheet of roofing at the side of the crater moved to the side, shoved away by a pair of Starfleet
officers working their way into the blast zone.
141
29
Stardate 57108.070291
Ramon looked over the PADD and nodded approvingly, “Colonel, I appreciate your loaning Mr.
Nog and his crew to assist our repairs.” She stood with Kira in the pit at the center of Ops. Immediately
after the altercation between the Aldrin and the Columbia, ended by precision fire from the station, Kira
had offered Deep Space 9’s facilities to repair the damaged starship and tend her crew’s wounds – all under
the condition that the Columbia stay at the station until given the all-clear by Clark.
Kira took the PADD as Ramon offered it to her, “I’m just glad we could help, Captain. Was
Doctor Bashir able to release Ensign Haveft?”
“He should be back on duty this evening,” Ramon said.
“Colonel,” ch’Thane called from a station a level higher. “Neutrinos from the wormhole.” Kira
and Ramon looked up at the elliptical viewscreen as the wormhole blossomed open. The Bajoran crossed
her arms as ch’Thane added, “Reading a Dominion signature. It’s huge!”
“Stand by for red alert,” Kira calmly ordered.
A massive Dominion battleship exited the wormhole; its breadth was so wide that it trailed a wake
of glowing blue neutrinos off of its wings. The battleship was roughly triangular in shape, with huge warp
nacelles mounted a kilometer apart on heavily-braced wings that were swept down and towards the rear.
Ramon’s mouth fell open as the ship turned towards the station, “My god…”
An officer behind them announced, “We’ve been hailed. They want to beam over a representative
for discussions.”
Kira kept her gaze on the viewscreen, “Discussions about what?”
“Doesn’t say.”
The colonel walked up out of the pit towards a locker at the edge of Ops. She opened the door and
pulled out a pair of phaser rifles, “Signal we agree to accept their representative.” Kira handed one of the
rifles to ch’Thane and the other to a nearby Bajoran security officer. The two ran towards the empty
transporter pad, taking up positions on either side, holding their rifles at the ready should anything hostile
be beamed over. Kira stepped between them, standing a meter directly in front of the pad.
“Transport incoming,” ch’Thane announced. The transporter pad lit up orange and a sparkling
patchwork-gridded column of energy appeared. It quickly formed into Odo, who stared sternly ahead at
Kira, “Colonel.”
She barely nodded, “Constable.” ch’Thane and the Bajoran guard lowered and deactivated their
rifles.
Odo stepped forward off of the transporter pad, and skipping pleasantries bluntly asked, “Have
you spoken with Captain David Clark?”
Kira nodded again, “A week ago when the Aldrin stopped on its way to the Gamma Quadrant.”
Noticing the bewildered look on Ramon’s face, Odo said to Kira, “I’m on your side, Nerys. Did
the Aldrin make it back?”
“Thirty hours ago,” Kira admitted. “They’re en route to Earth.”
“I was not aware of this until quite recently,” Odo said. “There are two Jem’Hadar attack ships
equipped with cloaking devices in the Alpha Quadrant. They were not withdrawn at the end of the war and
fell under the command–”
Kira finished the sentence, “The Founder impersonating Admiral Russell.”
“Yes.”
She turned around and ordered, “Cancel the communications array diagnostic and open a priority
one channel to the Aldrin.” Kira slowly stepped down into the pit, followed by Odo.
ch’Thane quickly worked his console, “I can’t connect to the Aldrin.”
“Starfleet Command, then,” Kira said. “Admiral William Ross.”
“Colonel,” ch’Thane said, looking up at the viewscreen. The image of the hulking battleship had
been replaced by a view of Starfleet Headquarters on Earth. A column of smoke rose from a demolished
building at the edge of the complex, obscuring the bridge and city beyond.
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“What happened?” Ramon asked, feeling her stomach twist. The sight was eerily similar to the
destruction wrought on Starfleet Headquarters after the surprise Breen attack five years earlier.
“Report says explosion at an admiralty office,” ch’Thane read off his console.
Kira couldn’t look away from the screen, “Priority one channel to Admiral Ross. Now.”
U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 015
Stardate 57108.075541
Jensen gripped her chair as the pair of cloaked ships fired again, their polaron beams striking the
same point of the armor towards the bow. Murphy grimly announced, “Armor locally at sixty one percent.”
Kelley growled from the helm, “I would kill just to have thrusters right now.”
“They’re not firing as quickly as they could be,” Murphy said with mock cheerfulness.
R’Mor had moved back to the side of the science station, looking at the screens with Toq’bae,
“The cloak takes an enormous amount of power. They probably can’t cycle their disruptors as quickly
without dropping cloak.” She looked up from the screen, “How did they get a cloak?”
Jensen asked, “Remember the Tal Shiar/Obsidian Order strike on the Founders?”
“That was seven years ago?” Toq’bae said.
R’Mor corrected, “Eight. I was still with Romulus then.”
“They took forty cloaking devices into battle,” Jensen said. “There were several Cardassian and
Romulan survivors; it stands to reason that they recovered tech like the cloaking devices too.”
“Wait a minute,” Kelley turned her chair to face into the bridge. “If the DM had cloaking devices
before the war, why didn’t they ever use them? They could have crippled the Alpha Quadrant in weeks!”
“Not that we’d want that,” Murphy quipped.
The bridge shuddered again as polaron beams impacted the armor. Jensen squinted at the
viewscreen, certain that she’d seen the illuminated outline of one of the cloaked ships, “I’m not sure, but
Starfleet Intelligence’s best theory is that they weren’t able to replicate the technology.”
R’Mor craned her neck to look around Toq’bae’s head, “Well, they’ve at least been able to
implement it.”
“I have an idea!” Toq’bae announced excitedly. R’Mor stepped back, surprised by his enthusiasm.
“Do tell, Professor,” Jensen said, turning towards him.
Toq’bae tapped his console a few times, “A high-yield antiproton burst would trigger a tachyon
resonance overload and disable their cloaks.”
R’Mor moved back to the ops arc, “And without proper impedance filtering the overload could
cascade through their entire power system.”
“Do we have the power to do that?” Jensen asked.
“We’ll have to draw from auxiliary,” Toq’bae said.
R’Mor added, “And it will probably blow half the relays on the Aldrin. And maybe the fusion
generators too.”
Jensen tapped her combadge, “Bridge to engineering.”
Stardate 57108.084996
Clark stepped to the side as a pair of officers carried away the limp body of one of the Enterprise’s
security officers. He kept his tricorder pointed at the rubble a few meters ahead of him, slowly sweeping
back and forth as he moved forward. Ross walked up beside him, “Anything?”
“Nothing.” Clark shook his head.
Ross growled, “Damn Changelings. He could be anything in here.”
“He could have drifted away as smoke or a bird,” Clark mused. “He could be my tricorder.”
“Where did you get that tricorder?” Ross asked suspiciously.
143
Clark paused and looked down at the handheld scanner. He turned it over and removed the back
panel, holding the palm-sized metal plate in his other hand for a few seconds. Satisfied that it wasn’t about
to revert to gelatinous gold, he replaced the panel and resumed scanning, “Pretty sure I brought it with me.”
Ross’s burned combadge beeped and a female voice called out, “Command to Admiral Ross.”
He tapped the badge, causing the top half of the damaged casing to fall off, “Ross here.”
“Admiral, we’re receiving a priority one message from Deep Space 9. Colonel Kira says it’s
about the Aldrin?” Clark’s head snapped up from his tricorder.
Ross quickly replied, “Beam me and Captain Clark directly to the Primary Command Center.”
“Stand by for transport.” The pair were whisked away by the aquamarine shimmer of a
transporter beam.
U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 015
Stardate 57108.088791
R’Mor’s console beeped loudly, drawing her attention down from the viewscreen. She reported,
“Power’s been taken from life support.”
“That’s fine,” Jensen sighed. “If this doesn’t work we won’t need it anyway.”
The cloaked attack ships fired again, digging deeper into the ablative armor. Murphy grimly
announced, “Armor down to twenty six percent.”
Jensen’s combadge beeped, “Vorik to bridge.”
She tapped the communicator, “Bridge here.”
“We’re ready, Commander.”
The Aldrin shuddered again under the paired fire. Jensen nodded, “Let’s light them up.”
Vorik’s voice came through the combadge, “Charging buffers.” The already dimmed overhead
lighting turned even weaker and the bright consoles and screens around the bridge momentarily dimmed.
R’Mor spoke as she worked the ops arc, “Transferring deflector control to tactical.”
Murphy replied, “Got it. Target locked.”
“The deflector is fully charged,” Vorik reported.
Jensen took a deep breath and gripped her chair, anticipating chaos to follow her next command,
“Fire.”
The Aldrin’s glowing blue deflector dish, mounted facing forward in the bulge at the bottom of the
saucer section, flashed white and emitted a brilliant white energy beam several meters across straight ahead.
The beam stopped at a point roughly between the two cloaked ships, forming a bright and rapidly growing
ball of energy.
The bridge shook and rumbled, with conduits erupting and sparks flying from practically every
direction. Toq’bae shouted, “Antiproton discharge at thirty percent!”
Jensen cursed under her breath as a panel fell loose from the overhead and crashed to the deck
right in front of her. She turned up to Toq’bae, “How much longer?”
He reported again, “Sixty percent!” The viewscreen flickered with static, but the quickly
brightening sphere of energy from the deflector shone through. “Ninety percent! Ninety fi– hold on to
someth–”
The energy beam from the deflector ceased, leaving the quickly-formed ball of antiprotons
seemingly alone in space. Without the additional energy input from the Aldrin, the antiprotons collapsed in
on themselves, unleashing a blinding burst of light and energy. The blast washed over the cloaked vessels,
revealing them as Jem’Hadar attack ships and then smashed into the Aldrin with enough force to push the
vessel back.
Primary Command Center, Starfleet Headquarters
Stardate 57108.092586
144
Clark and Ross materialized at the edge of the Primary Command Center, the nerve center of
Starfleet, located at one end of the headquarters complex tower. Behind them was a bank of windows
overlooking the bay, ahead was a space some fifteen meters square and five tall. The floor gradually
stepped down away from the windows, with a rows of consoles lined up facing a wall-filling screen on the
far end, itself divided into multiple segments that provided an overview of the entirety of Starfleet
operations at the moment. At the base of the screen was a trio of large planning tables, essentially two-byfour-meter screens mounted horizontally; a pair of similar tables sat in the empty space at the back of the
room. A wide open-air observation bridge hung across the back end of the command center, giving any
observing officials an overview of the entire operation.
Over a hundred officers sat at the rows of consoles, managing everything from communications to
logistics to astrometrics. About a dozen stood up against the windows, peering to the left at the smoking
crater in the center of the Danbury offices. They were mostly lieutenant commanders, commanders, and
captains, with only a handful of ensigns and lieutenants visible. The appearance of the burned and bloodied
Ross and Clark drew the attention of several officers.
Ross ignored an approaching commander and immediately headed for a nearby planning table.
With a few taps ,a hologram of Kira appeared in front of him, just to the side of the table. Kira looked over
the battered uniform and body, “Oh Prophets, you weren’t in there?”
“The Aldrin?” Ross asked promptly.
Kira looked up and down over Ross again, before answering, “There are…” she looked around,
“Where are you?”
“Primary Command Center,” the Admiral said.
“You might want this in private…” Kira said.
An alarm sounded inside the tiered command center, drawing Ross’s attention away from Kira’s
hologram. A Denobulan captain towards the front stood and shouted, “Get a fix on that!”
“What’s going on?” Kira asked, only getting the hologram of Ross transmitted to Deep Space 9.
The massive screen reconfigured itself, with a large space map taking up the center half.
Ross took a few steps forward and barked, “Status!”
A Human commander at the back row of consoles turned around, “Admiral, Sensor Station 471 at
Trill has detected two Jem’Hadar attack ships in Sector 015.”
“Where did they come from?” Ross asked.
“They decloaked,” Kira said, crossing her arms.
Ross whirled around, “What?”
Clark slowly spoke, “The Aldrin is in 015.”
“They were under Russell’s command,” Kira’s hologram said.
“The Fifth Fleet’s Galaxy Wing is in 015,” Clark said. “They should have recovered by now.”
Ross squinted at him, “Recovered from what?”
“I’ll explain later,” Clark said.
Ross turned back to the commander, “Get me Captain M’Reng of the Ticonderoga.”
145
30
U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 015
Stardate 57108.098594
Jensen felt a hand on her shoulder, stirring her out of unconsciousness. She opened her eyes,
finding darkness. A spotlight landed on her face, causing her to squint. Kelley’s voice cut in, “Commander?
Are you okay?” The commander groaned and attempted to roll over, but realized she wasn’t feeling the
affects of the Aldrin’s artificial gravity. Her outstretched arm had upset her center of gravity, sending her
floating body spinning. Kelley quickly grabbed onto both of Jensen’s shoulders, stopping the spin.
Jensen nodded slowly as her boots made contact with the deck, “I take it the grav plating is
offline?”
Kelley pointed the flashlight on her wrist down at her feet, revealing bulky white magnetic gravity
boots on her feet holding her firmly to the deck. “Everything’s offline.” She looked back up to Jensen, the
reflected light of the wristlight casting eerily on her pale skin, “For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure I saw
two attack ships get lit up by the antiproton burst before sensors cut out.”
“Have they fired since?” Jensen asked.
Kelley took a step back, pointing the wrist light into the empty space behind her. Amongst the
hazy smoke and floating hunks of debris hung a pair of gravity boots. Reaching back to grab them, Kelley
shook her head, “Nothing.” She pulled the boots in and handed them to Jensen.
A thump sounded to Jensen’s right, followed by R’Mor shouting in the darkness, “Seikkea kllhe!”
“What’d she say?” Kelley whispered, passing her a wristlight.
Jensen whispered back, “You don’t want to know.” She raised her voice and pointed the light
towards the rear, “R’Mor?”
R’Mor’s hand carefully reached up from underneath the operations arc. She slowly pulled her
upper body up, holding onto the console, “Ow.”
As Jensen put on and activated her boots, Kelley slowly worked her way back to R’Mor, her boots
thumping against the deck and humming while stepping. “Are you hurt?”
R’Mor gingerly touched the left side of her hip, “Maybe.”
Jensen tapped her combadge, “Jensen to Vorik.”
After a few seconds, Vorik answered, “Vorik here.”
“Status report.”
“I do not currently have complete data,” Vorik said. “It appears that the feedback from the
antiproton pulse overloaded the fusion generators and auxiliary batteries.”
“So we’re dead in the water?” Jensen asked.
“In the figurative sense,” Vorik confirmed. “We will begin installation of the spare fusion
generators, but it will be several hours before we are able to complete the work.”
“Thank you, Commander. Jensen, out.” She pointed her wristlight at the dark viewscreen and
sighed.
U.S.S. Ticonderoga
Sector 015
Stardate 57108.104697
M’Reng tapped her claws anxiously on the control pad at the end of her armrest, “Time to the
Aldrin?” The Ticonderoga shuddered for a second as it passed through a band of the residual subspace
interference.
Cameron glanced down from the streaking stars on the viewscreen to the helm station, “Thirty
seconds.”
“Red alert!” The Xindi-Arboreal first officer gruffly ordered. The bridge lights dimmed and turned
red. “What’s waiting for us?”
The Vulcan operations officer calmly answered, “The U.S.S. Aldrin and two Jem’Hadar attack
ships.”
146
“Where the hell did they come from?” M’Reng hissed. “Arm weapons, shields up.”
“Sensors are not reading any power emissions,” the Vulcan said.
“From whom?” M’Reng questioned.
“All three vessels.”
Cameron started counting down, “Intercept in five, four, three, two, one.” The Ticonderoga
dropped out of warp, falling into a banking curve around the Aldrin and two attack ships. The slowly
tumbling vessels were dark and barely illuminated by the light of distance stars. A flash of light heralded
the arrival of the Bolton, followed a second later by the Brady, slipping into the same slow cautious circle
as the Ticonderoga. Bright searchlights activated on each of the Galaxy-class starships, shining on the three
smaller vessels inside the circle.
The operations officer reported, “Thirty lifesigns on each attack ship. No lifesigns on the Aldrin.”
M’Reng stared at the upside-down armor-covered Aldrin, “None?”
“Zero lifesigns.”
Primary Command Center, Starfleet Headquarters
Stardate 57108.10681668681
“Bolton and Brady confirm, no lifesigns detected on Aldrin,” a commander towards the front of
the command center announced. The already subdued din of the hundred officers died to next to nothing.
Ross put a hand on Clark’s injured left shoulder, prompting an involuntary wince. The admiral
slumped slightly, “I’m sorry, Captain.”
“Have them scan for bio-neural gel packs,” Clark ordered.
After a few seconds, the same commander turned around in his chair, “Ticonderoga reports no
indicators from the gel packs.”
Clark smiled broadly, “Check for inter-personnel communicator activity.” The commander turned
back to his station.
Ross stepped back from Clark, “Captain, nobody alive is onboard that ship.”
With a yelp, the commander jumped up from his seat, “Detecting a low-level ad-hoc
communicator network! Three hundred sixty eight distinct signals.”
Clark exhaled loudly and took several steps back, looking up at the ceiling and grinning widely.
Ross’s posture instantly straightened and he turned back towards the tiers of the command center, “Have
the Ticonderoga prepare rescue and recovery teams. Bolton and Brady secure the crews of the attack ships.”
The hubbub in the command center quickly ramped up as orders were rapidly dispatched. Ross looked to
Clark, “You’re going to have to explain something to me. There’s no way the sensors on the Ticonderoga,
Brady, and Bolton are all malfunctioning.”
Clark laughed lightly, “My chief engineer theorized that by tying the armor generators directly
into the EPS system we inadvertently created a residual bio-dampening field. It makes sense; the nanites
carry a biaxial field modifier to stabilize the matrix assembly during replication of the laminated tritanium
stratum. In the quantities needed to–”
Ross cut him off, “I get it, Captain.”
“You do?” Clark asked, surprised.
“No, I don’t.” Ross laughed, “I just want you to stop making me feel like I know nothing.”
An announcement came from inside the command center, “Attack ships secured, crews under
guard in brigs on the Bolton and Brady.”
“Have them scan the Jem’Hadar for implanted separated binary explosives,” Clark warned. Noting
the puzzled look from Ross, he said, “It’s going to be a long debrief.”
The commander communicating with the Ticonderoga announced, “Survivors found on the Aldrin.
They appear to be in good shape.”
“How many?” Clark asked.
After a few seconds, the commander replied, “Three hundred sixty eight.” Clark sighed again, his
face showing both pain and relief.
Ross stepped in front of Clark, “That’s two hundred fewer than you left with.”
Clark swallowed hard. “Admiral, things are not good out there.”
147
“Hail from the Ticonderoga,” the commander said. “Requesting Admiral Ross.”
Ross turned to face the screen, “Put them on.”
The center half of the viewscreen switched to display the Ticonderoga’s spacious bridge, with
M’Reng and Jensen standing in the center. Jensen smiled, “Starfleet, it’s good to see you. And not have you
firing at us.”
M’Reng’s large triangular ears tilted back, “I already apologized for that…”
Clark returned the grin, “Loy.”
Jensen’s smiled weakened a bit, seeing Clark’s burned uniform and limp and bloody arm,
“David…”
M’Reng looked to Ross, “Admiral, we’ve secured the Jem’Hadar vessels and the Aldrin. Medical
crews are preparing to remove the explosives implanted in the Jem’Hadar – how did you know to look for
that?”
“Long story,” Clark answered.
M’Reng held her hands behind her back, “Alright… we’re transporting the Aldrin’s crew onto the
Ticonderoga; transfer should be complete within the next fifteen minutes. It’s a little slow-going without
lifesigns to lock on to.”
Ross nodded slowly, “I can imagine.”
“Sir, do you have orders?” M’Reng asked.
“Give the Aldrin’s crew whatever they need or want,” Ross said. “Tow all three ships back to Sol.”
M’Reng nodded curtly, “We’ll get it done, Admiral.”
Ross returned the nod, “Command, out.” The feed from the Ticonderoga bridge was replaced with
that ship’s visual sensors, displaying the illuminated forms of the Aldrin and the two disabled attack ships.
Ross looked over Clark, noting that he was again cradling his left arm. The Admiral called over a nearby
Selarian officer, “Lieutenant, please get Captain Clark to Medical and ensure he’s taken care of.”
The reptilian lieutenant silently stepped up to Clark and led him out the closest door at the rear of
the command center. As the door closed behind them, Ross clapped his hands together and ordered, “I want
a thorough five light-year radius sweep of the area around the Aldrin. Arrange for Utopia Planitia to be
ready to receive the recovered vessels, have Starfleet Intelligence ready to take custody of the prisoners.
And contact the Romulan ambassador to arrange for a meeting; I’m sure she’ll find these cloaked attack
ships of interest.”
1321 Trail Ave, Muscatine, Iowa, United States of America
Stardate 57113.715499
Light flakes of brilliant white snow swirled around Clark as he trudged up the plowed gravel
driveway. The sky over this part of country Iowa, some six kilometers from the nearest settlement, was a
bright cloudless blue. A half a meter of snow blanketed the countryside, though the persistent wind had
driven the powdery fluff into drifts four times that high. Several meters behind Clark sat a small Starfleet
shuttlecraft, parked across the cracked gray asphalt road near a leafless tree. Ahead of him was a centuriesold yellow two-story farmhouse, framed by a pair of red barns and tall steel grain siloes.
Clark wore a heavy Starfleet issue winter overcoat; the bottom edge of the quilted gray coat
fluttered and flapped against his legs in the frigid wind. Under the overcoat he wore the classic Starfleet
dress uniform, a double-breasted red jacket over a white turtleneck, with a thick leather belt around the
waist and the rank pinned onto white bands around the sleeve cuffs and a strap over the right shoulder. The
uniform had changed little over the past century. He flinched and then shivered briefly as a burst of snow
slapped against his exposed face, sticking into his hair and eyebrows. Clark wiped the snow away as he
continued forward, leaving treaded boot prints behind in the drifting snow.
He slowly walked up the three steps to the wooden porch at the front of the house and opened the
creaky screen door. As he raised his hand to knock on the stained glass window in the center of the wooden
front door, the door swung open into the house, revealing a short light-skinned Human woman with graying
black hair. Clark slowly lowered his hand as she said, puzzlement in her voice, “Can I help you?”
“Hello, Ma’am,” Clark swallowed hard, “I’m Capta–”
She cut him off, throwing a hand up to her side, “Forgive my manners. I’m sorry, please, come in.
It’s freezing out there!” She took a few steps back, pulling the door further open.
148
Clark hesitated, and then stepped through the open doorway. As the screen door clattered shut
behind him, he felt a blast of heat on his boots. He looked down, finding a pair of heating panels on either
side of the entryway, quickly melting and evaporating the snow off his boots. The stained glass door slowly
swung closed behind him.
“Can I get you a coffee, or a cup of tea?” the woman offered. She stood at the base of a narrow
wooden staircase with a hallway on the side that led back to a brightly-lit kitchen and dining room.
“Are you Mrs. Holmes?” Clark asked.
She nodded, “Please, call me Jill. Can I take your coat?”
“My name is Captain David Clark,” he said. “I’m the–”
The deep voice of a Human man came from back in the kitchen, “Jill, honey, who’s there?” A tall
dark-skinned bald Human man dressed in a set of gray pants with bulging cargo pockets and a rumpled
gray shirt walked into the hallway. He noticed the four gold pips on Clark’s collar and instinctively
straightened, “What can we do for you, Captain?”
“Mark Holmes?” Clark asked. Getting a confirming nod, Clark glumly reintroduced himself, “I’m
Captain David Clark, captain of the U.S.S Aldrin. Your son, John, was assigned under my command.”
Mark slowly walked forward, setting a heavily scratched hyperspanner on a wooden console table
in the hall. Jill’s shoulders slumped, “What happened?”
Clark clasped his hands in front of him, “This isn’t yet public. The Aldrin was attacked by a rogue
sect of the Dominion. We suffered heavy casualties; your son, he–” Clark looked down at the worn wooden
floor. Despite having done this a dozen times already this day alone it still hadn’t gotten any easier. He
slowly raised his head, seeing tears welling in Jill’s eyes, “John was killed. I’m sorry.”
“J-Johnny’s dead?” Mark stuttered. Jill stifled a sob, holding both of her hands to her face to cover
her mouth and nose.
Clark slowly nodded, uncomfortably wringing his hands, “I know there’s nothing I can say that
will make this any easier. I want you to know that Starfleet, and I personally, are available to you for
whatever you need.”
Mark wrapped his arm around Jill’s shoulder; she rolled in rested her head against his chest, tears
beginning to stream down her face. He slowly ran his hand over his hairless head, “How did he… how did
he die?”
“I’m afraid the details are classified,” Clark said. “I can tell you that he died in combat with
Jem’Hadar soldiers. He died trying to save his crewmates.”
Jill lifted her head, “Did he?”
“I’m sorry?” Clark asked.
“Did he save them?” Jill asked, wiping away tears.
“He did,” Clark said, lying; witnesses that had survived the Jem’Hadar executions said that
Holmes was one of the first killed, gunned down before they’d even had a chance to start fighting back.
“John died a hero.”
Mark looked down at the floor, and then back up at Clark, “Do you have his body? I want my boy
to have a proper burial.”
“He is at Starfleet Medical in San Francisco, awaiting a formal autopsy,” Clark said. He took a
deep breath, “I know this is going to be a very difficult time for your family, but I must ask you to please
try to avoid any public statements until we’ve finished notifying all of the next of kin.”
“I’ve been out of Starfleet for ten years,” Mark said, slightly defensive. “You can’t tell us not to
talk.”
Clark nodded, “You’re right. I’m asking that you give us time to complete our notifications. News
of this isn’t public yet; we don’t want families to be wondering if we’re going to show up with bad news.”
Jill stepped back from Mark and looked up at Clark, “So you’re just going to leave them in the
dark?”
“I don’t like it any more than you do, Ma’am,” Clark wrung his hands. “But I’m afraid this is the
best way. It should only be a few days.”
“How many notifications are we talking about?” Jill asked.
Clark sighed, “We’ve completed several already, but more than two hundred. I think you can
understand why we need some time.”
Mark solemnly nodded, “You’ll have it.”
149
“Somebody from Starfleet Command should be contacting you tomorrow to help with the
arrangements,” Clark said, hating to cold terminology. “I want you to know that whatever you need,
Starfleet will be ready and willing to assist.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Jill muttered, slipping her hand into Mark’s. She sniffled, struggling to
fight back more tears.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Clark said, trying not to sound forced. While getting over the
breaking of bad news hadn’t gotten an easier, past that point he kept going numb. He dropped his head and
turned around, placing a hand on the door handle behind him.
“Stop!” Jill said, straightening up.
Clark paused for a second before turning back to face her, “Ma’am?”
Jill asked him pointedly, “How well did you know our Johnny?”
He released the door handle, slowly dropping his hand to his side, “Not very well; I’m afraid I
only met him once, rather briefly.”
“Can I tell you about him? Since we can’t talk to…” Jill trailed off as she looked straight into
Clark’s eyes.
Clark stammered, “I, I’m not sure that I, uh–”
“I insist,” she said gently. “You didn’t get a chance to get to know him.”
Mark smiled a bit, “Captain, you’ve been at this all day, haven’t you?”
“It’s something that needs to be done,” Clark said glumly.
“You need a break,” Mark said as he stepped behind Clark and grabbed the shoulders of his
overcoat. “Come in, have a cup of coffee, let us brag about our son.”
Clark rolled his shoulders back, facilitating Mark’s removal of the coat. He looked up at the tall
father and then to the mother, “It would be my honor.”
150
31
San Francisco, California
Stardate 57121.344711
Ross quietly looked out through the tinted right side window of the hovercraft as it passed through
the streets of San Francisco. The vehicle slipped through a residential neighborhood of centuries-old
Victorian-style rowhouses, one of many large swathes of the city that had resisted the hyper urbanization
that had produced towering skyscrapers that lined the northeastern waterfront. He sat in the back with Clark;
they had left Starfleet Medical several minutes earlier, where the Admiral had checked in on President
Ak’telKi’s recovery.
“She’ll be fine,” Clark said, attempting to comfort the Admiral. He knew the two had grown close
since he’d taken the post of Starfleet Liaison a few years earlier. The President’s recovery was progressing
quickly; the doctors said she’d be out in a few more days, though Clark was surprised it was going to be
that long given how actively engaged she was in governing the Federation from her hospital room. They’d
bumped into the Klingon ambassador in the hallway on the way in, and as they left a few minutes later
they’d found the ministers of commerce and agriculture waiting outside along with a pair of Federation
Council members.
Ross nodded absently, “I know.” The hovercraft banked as it slipped out of the residential
neighborhood and onto the expressway that passed along the northern edge of the Starfleet Academy
campus in The Presidio. He looked to Clark, “Security finished a second scan and phaser sweep of the
Danbury rubble. Still nothing.”
Clark sighed, “Russell’s in the wind.”
“So it would seem,” Ross replied. “And, as usual, the Founder leader’s not talking. She’s barely
said a word since we took her into custody.” The hovercraft banked to the right as the expressway took it
out onto the Golden Gate Bridge. The dark orange suspension cables and pedestrians on the eastern side
whipped past as they crossed over the opening of the bay. “You remember the rules from the public affairs
office?”
“No changelings, no friendly fire, no twenty-fifth century weapons; everything’s just peachy,”
Clark said, shaking his head side-to-side. He shifted to the side so he could look out through the glass door
by Ross. Ahead and to the right, sitting at the back of the small Horseshoe Bay, was Starfleet Headquarters,
with work crews already clearly visible repairing the damage dealt by Russell’s explosion.
The hovercraft slowed and banked off the first exit, gliding down the hill towards the main
entrance to Starfleet Headquarters, a set of five stairs – one for each of the five founding members of the
United Federation of Planets – some twenty meters across. The stairs led up to an open concrete plaza in
front of the vertical glass façade of the public-facing Starfleet Headquarters building. A row of one hundred
eighty poles flying flags of all different shapes for each of the Federation’s members crossed the middle of
the plaza.
Clark swallowed hard as they made the sweeping approach; a gaggle of dozens of reporters at the
base of the stairs was waiting for them, along with around two hundred additional Starfleet officers and
civilians waiting on the steps. Starfleet’s public affairs office had worked actively to control the story
surrounding the Aldrin and explosion in Starfleet Command since it had broken a few days prior, putting
Clark in front of the media was the final step in their plan to steer the direction of reporting.
Ross chuckled and reached over to place a comforting hand on Clark’s shoulder, “It’ll be fine,
Captain. Just stick with the script.” As the hovercraft slowed to a stop, the crowd turned to watch.
“This is ridiculous,” Clark said, watching the reporters jostle for positions while a handful of
junior Starfleet officers tried to keep them back from the vehicle. Several spherical camera pods floated
about a meter over their heads, their cameras focused down on the hovercraft’s door.
Ross laughed, “Captain, you’re going to have to get used to this. It only gets worse from here.”
“Great,” Clark moaned as Ross swiped his hand across the glass. The door responded a moment
later by sliding silently to the rear, allowing Ross to confidently step out onto the sidewalk. A few of the
reporters called for his attention, some presumptively asking questions in vain as the admiral ignored them.
The rest were focused on the open doorway in the side of the hovercraft, waiting for Clark to exit.
151
Ross turned around, “Captain?” He couldn’t help but be amused by Clark’s stance, crouched
halfway to the door, as if he was frozen in fear by the near silence of the assembled press. Clark reluctantly
moved forward, stepping out and awkwardly straightening his uniform top. He was instantly assaulted with
a mass of questions, so many he struggled to make out complete queries. The floating camera pods moved
in closer and a dozen individual spotlights and dozens more camera flashes overwhelmed his eyes. The
crowd of onlookers on either side of the press broke into applause, with a handful of cheers peppered in.
Clark resisted the urge to dive back into the hovercraft, in spite of his best judgment of the bright
and loud crowd in front of him. He held up a hand to block the spotlight from a particularly bright camera
pod that floated less than a meter away. Looking across the crowd, he couldn’t find an opening to get to the
podium at the top of the stairs where three bemused public affairs officers stood.
Ross stepped back to Clark’s side and leaned it towards his ear to speak over the onslaught of
questions from the reporters, “Are you okay?”
“How are we supposed to get up there?” Clark asked, gesturing towards the podium.
Ross laughed loudly and walked towards the steps, forcing the mass of reporters to step back and
form a pathway as he moved. Clark quickly followed behind, doing his best to ignore the multiple
questions and calls of his name as he passed through. Ross walked up the steps to the podium, immediately
grabbing the outstretched hand of a tan-haired female Caitian commander. Clark followed, smiling as he
clasped her hand and spoke loud enough that she could hear him over the crowd, “Commander M’Rha, it’s
good to see you again.”
“Likewise, Captain,” she replied in a silky voice typical of Caitians.
Clark smiled at Ross, “The Commander was one of my instructors at the Academy; Diplomacy
201.” He looked back to M’Rha, “You’re in public affairs now?”
“Starfleet Spokesman,” she said, slapping his shoulder. “And you’re a starship captain?”
Clark laughed, “For now!” He looked over his shoulder at the clapping crowd, and then back to
M’Rha, “Have you ever seen anything like this?”
She shook her head, “No, David, I have not.” She slapped his shoulder and walked back to the
podium. M’Rha held up both her hands, attempting to quiet the press, “Please, please…” The chatter died
down and she said into the microphone, “Alright, alright, calm down people. We know why you’re here, so
I’ll stop wasting your time.” She pointed a hand over to Clark, “Captain of the U.S.S. Aldrin, Captain David
Clark.”
M’Rha stepped away from the podium, making way for Clark. He walked up, pulled a small
PADD from his pants pocket, and set it on the podium. A cluster of small black microphones sat at the top
edge of the podium, ready to broadcast his words. The camera pods hovered nearby, quietly filming as the
press roared back into action, throwing a dozen questions at once at Clark.
Clark took a deep breath and said, “I have a statement to read, and then I will take your questions.”
The reporters didn’t quiet down, continuing to press him with questions. Clark rolled his eyes and let his
annoyance show, “Will you be quiet for just one minute?” He held up the PADD, “Statement first, then
your questions. That’s not hard.”
The reporters quickly went quiet, though a ripple of laughter rolled through crowd of onlookers.
Clark smirked, “Thank you.” He set the PADD back down and began to read, “On Stardate 57091,
the U.S.S. Aldrin under my command traveled into the Gamma Quadrant via the Bajoran Wormhole. A
dissident sect of the Dominion–” Clark broke from the script and looked up to add, “Apparently displeased
with the outcome the war–” he looked back down to the PADD, “–captured the Aldrin and its crew. The
crew of the Aldrin escaped their confinement on Stardate 57100 and secured the vessel with the assistance
of the legitimate Dominion forces. Though the leaders of the dissident sect were killed in the operation, it is
believed their goal was to reignite hostilities between the Dominion and the Alpha Quadrant. Two hundred
twenty six officers from the U.S.S. Aldrin were killed or declared missing in action as a result of this
operation. Our hearts go out to their loved ones at this time.” He took a slow breath and then looked back
up to the crowd, “I’ll take your questions at this time.”
The reporters burst out all at once, their overlapping questions indecipherable to Clark. He pointed
at an aging Human man at the front of the pack; the reporters all died down so he could ask his question.
The man introduced himself, “Dwight Bern, Federation News Service. Captain, Starfleet Command has
been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about the circumstances under which the Aldrin was captured. How
was the Dominion able to take the ship?”
Clark nodded and answered, “Thank you for the question, Mr. Bern. The Aldrin’s systems were
taken offline by a Dominion computer virus; they were able to take the ship without firing a shot.”
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The reporters immediately threw a barrage of questions at Clark, prompting him to point to a
Bolian woman to the side. She asked, “You said a Dominion computer virus? Are other ships in the fleet
vulnerable to such hacking?”
“I’m not certain,” Clark said. “It would depend on the nature of the vulnerability, though I doubt
that every ship in the fleet is susceptible to infection.” Realizing the less-than-reassuring tone of his answer,
he added, “Starfleet is analyzing the virus and will ensure that any exploits revealed by it are patched. I
haven’t seen anything to indicate that this is more than an isolated incident.” He swallowed hard,
desperately wanting to tell the truth about the Aldrin’s capture.
Clark anticipated the surge of questions from the mass of reporters and quickly pointed to a
Vulcan man in the center, who calmly asked, “You stated that you believe the goal of this supposed
dissident sect of the Dominion was to reignite hostilities with the Alpha Quadrant. How were their goals
better served by capturing the Aldrin versus destroying it?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question,” Clark said, biding for more time as he rushed to form an
answer.
The Vulcan rephrased, “If their goal was to resume the war with the Federation and other Alpha
Quadrant powers, how was it more advantageous for them to commit the resources to capturing the Aldrin
and its crew intact instead of destroying it outright?”
“First off,” Clark leaned onto the podium, “The crew was not intact. We lost two hundred twenty
six fine men and women. Second, the Aldrin is the newest ship in the fleet. It is outfitted with the latest
technologies; the Dominion would want to get their hands on it to analyze what we’ve developed in the last
five years for weaknesses. That’s why.”
The Vulcan quickly responded, “To what technologies are you referring? The Aldrin is an Akiraclass starship, a design that is several years old and saw extensive action during the war. The Dominion
should be quite familiar with its capabilities.”
Clark blinked several times before answering, “There have been numerous developments in recent
years that have improved our offensive and defensive capabilities, as well as enhancements to our warp
drive, communications, and computer systems. I can’t comment specifically on what they may have been
hoping to exploit, but I can assure you we have been working closely with representatives from the proper
Dominion leadership to ensure that any sensitive data has been recovered.” M’Rha nodded slowly in
approval.
The reporters again launched into questions, and the word ‘Russell’ caught is attention. He pointed
to a young Human woman at the back of the crowd, “You had a question, Ma’am?”
“Padma Kapoor, Times of India,” she said. “Is there any connection between this Dominion plot,
your return to Earth, and the near simultaneous explosion here at Starfleet HQ that killed your commanding
admiral and put the President in the hospital?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Clark said with false matter-of-factness. “The accident that took the lives
of Admiral Russell, Lieutenant Commander Benza, and Lieutenant Gahn was a tragedy. We mourn their
loss as we mourn the loss of those aboard the Aldrin. Every indication is that the explosion at the Danbury
Offices was an accidental power juncture overload. Nothing more.”
“I don’t know about you, Captain” Kapoor said, “But I have a hard time believing it’s a
coincidence.”
Clark rolled his eyes, “Next question.” He pointed a hand at a Coridanite woman waving her arm.
She quickly said, “I have two questions, Captain.”
“I’m not sure I can handle two questions,” Clark interjected, eliciting a bit of laughter from the
crowd.
The Coridanite woman continued, “First, why did the Aldrin travel almost the entire way to Earth
after returning from the Gamma Quadrant instead of contacting Starfleet Command? Second, do you care
to comment on the rumors of the Fifth Fleet and the U.S.S. Columbia engaging the Aldrin while en route to
Earth?”
Clark looked over to Ross and M’Rha with an amused look on his face, and then turned back to
the reporters, “Okay, two answers. We feared the virus infecting the Aldrin might also have compromised
elements of Starfleet’s infrastructure or might be relaying our communications to the rogue Dominion sect.
So we headed directly for Earth under radio silence to avoid giving any inadvertent, uh, warnings to any
remaining hostiles that we were onto their plan. As for the rumors about the Aldrin being engaged by
Starfleet vessels, that’s complete horseshit. I believe the Fifth Fleet was engaged in training exercises
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around Trill and we passed by the system on our way to Earth; I can see how somebody with only partial
knowledge of the tactical situation could come to such a nonsensical conclusion.”
The Coridanite pressed on, “What about the reports of Dominion vessels recovered in that area
and transported to Utopia Planitia for analysis?”
“First I’ve heard of that,” Clark said with false matter-of-factness. “Look, I don’t know what you
want me to say. I’m not going to validate these insane conspiracy theories. Two hundred twenty six people
died on the Aldrin. You need to stop trying to find something more sinister at work here – is it not bad
enough that a group of war-crazed madmen half a galaxy away almost pushed us back into war?”
That comment sent the media into a tizzy, with the questions coming so densely that Clark
instinctively stepped back slightly from the podium. He looked over to M’Rha, who tapped her wrist,
giving Clark a signal to wrap things up, so he stepped back up to the podium, “Last question.” The
reporters continued their interrogative barrage, prompting Clark to lean in and snap at the microphones,
“Shut up!”
The reporters instantly went quiet. Clark stood back up and took a deep breath, then said, “I have
time for one more question. Make it count; hands up.” Close to two-thirds of the press raised a hand into
the air. Clark smirked and pointed at a Bajoran man in the center, “You, Bajoran State Media?”
The Bajoran nodded, “Yes; I’m Jaram Rhok, Earth Correspondent. You brought up war; is the
Federation planning any sort of retaliatory attacks against the Dominion over this incident?”
“No,” Clark said flatly. “The parties involved in this plot were either killed or apprehended and are
now in Dominion custody; I have no doubt they will be dealt with most strongly. The war’s been over for
nearly five years, nobody wants to see it started again. I, along with everybody else in the quadrant, lost
people I cared about in the war. We won the peace, and believe me we will do whatever it takes to ensure
we keep it.”
M’Rha stepped up next to him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Clark stepped back from
the podium and she moved in, speaking to the microphones, “Thank you, Captain. That concludes this
press conference. If you have any further questions, please direct them to the Starfleet Public Affairs
Directorate.”
She stepped away from the podium as the reporters launched into a new volley of questions,
joining Clark and Ross a few meters to the rear. M’Rha smiled, “Excellent job handling the jackals,
Captain.”
Clark returned the grin, “Thanks.”
Her smile quickly disappeared, “Though, I could have done without you telling them to shut up
and calling a rumor complete horseshit; even if it is.”
Ross laughed and started towards the glass doors, “Come on, Captain, we’ve got another meeting.”
As Clark walked away from the podium, a wave of applause rippled through the crowd, drawing a
perplexed expression to his face.
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32
Paris, France
06:04 Hours (14:04 local time), February 21st, 2380
Stardate 57140.035164
Clark and Vorik stood side-by-side at attention in the center of the President’s office. They wore
the red double-breasted Starfleet dress uniform, each with a several medals hanging off of short ribbons
pinned over the left side of their chests, just below their combadges. In addition to the Starfleet awards,
Clark wore a segmented flamed copper aiguillette bearing the three-pointed emblem of the Klingon Empire
over his left shoulder.
Behind and to their sides stood a collection of Federation officials and Starfleet officers, including
a few admirals and Federation Council members. In front of Clark and Vorik stood Ak’telKi, wearing a
high-collared light gray suit, her Grazerite aide, and Admiral Ross, also wearing his red dress uniform with
about a dozen more medals than Clark or Vorik and several awards from the Klingons, Romulans, and
Cardassians.
Clark’s heart pounded rapidly as Ross read from a PADD, “Lieutenant Commander Vorik has
distinguished himself by acts of gallantry and bravery above and beyond the call of duty while serving as
Chief Engineering Officer of the U.S.S. Aldrin in connection with combat operations against enemy forces
from Stardate 57901 to Stardate 57108. In the course of operations, Lieutenant Commander Vorik escaped
enemy confinement, coordinated the rescue of the Aldrin’s crew from imprisonment and certain death, and
secured from the enemy highly sensitive technologies of the Federation and Starfleet, all while severely
wounded from having engaged the enemy in hand-to-hand combat. Lieutenant Vorik’s gallant actions
directly saved three hundred sixty eight Starfleet officers from certain death and contributed to preventing
the outbreak of renewed interstellar hostilities. For conspicuous gallantry and bravery at the risk of his own
life above and beyond the call of duty, Lieutenant Commander Vorik is hereby awarded the Christopher
Pike Medal of Valor. Signed, Ak’telKi, President, United Federation of Planets, Stardate 57140.”
The Grazerite opened a flat wooden box on the desk behind him, picked it up, and presented it to
Ak’telKi. She put both hands into the box and pulled out a five-centimeter matte gold disc suspended from
a fifty-centimeter silk neck ribbon that was striped along its length dark red, gold, and dark blue. The gold
disc was etched on the front with a relief portrait of former Starfleet Fleet Captain Christopher Pike, with
the words “Sic semper tyrannis” inscribed in a ring along the edge.
Ak’telKi held the medal out in front of her and took a few steps forward to Vorik. Vorik bowed
slightly, allowing Ak’telKi to reach over his head and drape the medal around his neck. She gently
positioned it over the white collar of his uniform and patted him on the shoulder. As Vorik stood, she
smiled at him, “Congratulations, Lieutenant Commander.” The room broke into applause for several
seconds before Ak’telKi held up a silencing hand and returned to her position in front of her desk.
Ross looked back down at his PADD and began reading, “Captain David Josiah Clark has
distinguished himself by acts of gallantry and bravery above and beyond the call of duty while serving as
Captain of the U.S.S. Aldrin in connection with combat operations against enemy forces from Stardate
57901 to Stardate 57108. In the course of operations, Captain Clark escaped enemy confinement,
coordinated the rescue of the Aldrin’s crew from imprisonment and certain death, engaged and destroyed
an overwhelming enemy force, and exposed and neutralized an enemy infiltration at the highest ranks of
Starfleet. Captain Clark’s gallant actions directly saved three hundred sixty eight Starfleet officers from
certain death and contributed to preventing the outbreak of renewed interstellar hostilities. For conspicuous
gallantry and bravery at the risk of his own life above and beyond the call of duty, Captain David Josiah
Clark is hereby awarded the Christopher Pike Medal of Valor. Signed, Ak’telKi, President, United
Federation of Planets, Stardate 57140.”
Ak’telKi removed a second ribbon-suspended medal from a case and walked it over to Clark. He
bowed and the president slipped the ribbon over his head. With a pat on his shoulder, Clark straightened
back up and the office again burst into applause as she said, “Congratulations, Captain.” Ak’telKi took a
few steps back and joined the clapping, smiling broadly at the two decorated officers in front of her.
Clark turned and took Vorik’s hand in his. He said just loud enough for Vorik to hear, “Vorik,
congratulations.”
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Vorik nodded curtly, “To you as well, Captain.”
As the applause died down, Ak’telKi said, “Normally the awarding of the Medal of Valor has a bit
more pomp and circumstance to it, but given the clandestine and classified nature of the actions and events
described in these citations, we have to be a bit more low key. Gentlemen, I’m afraid that after you leave
here you’re going to have to stash those medals in the back of a desk drawer and not mention them until the
public is ready to hear about your heroics.”
Ross added, “You and several of your fellow crewmates will be awarded the Star Cross for what is
public. It’s the least we can do.”
“There’s also a Presidential Unit Citation for the Aldrin crew coming,” Ak’telKi said. “But you
didn’t hear that from me, because we never had this conversation.”
Clark chuckled, “Yes, Ma’am.”
She pushed off from the desk, “Congratulations again, gentlemen. You’ve made us all proud.” As
the officials along the wall moved in and started conversing amongst themselves, Ak’telKi walked up to
Clark, “Captain, how are the repairs progressing?”
“Quite well, Ma’am,” Clark said. “We’ll be ready to begin warp validation trials in three weeks.”
She nodded and smiled slightly, “Glad to hear it. What we’re doing with the Aldrin is very
important to the future of Starfleet. I’m not planning on deploying the new tech across the fleet, but
knowing that it works for when we will need it is very reassuring.”
“When we need it?” Clark questioned suspiciously.
Before Ak’telKi could answer, a towering dark-skinned Human man with long gray hair stepped
up to her side and said in a rich, deep voice, “Madam President, it’s good to see you on your feet.” He
smiled at Clark and extended a hand, “Captain, I don’t believe we’ve met. Councilor Ismaa’eel Mazibuko,
representative on the Federation Council from Earth.” He extended a hand to Clark.
Clark smiled and took the hand. He tried to avoid wincing at Mazibuko’s crushing grip, “It’s a
pleasure to meet you, Councilor.”
Ak’telKi cast a quick and subtle look of contempt at Mazibuko, and then forced a smile,
“Councilor, Captain, if you’ll excuse me.”
Mazibuko nodded graciously, “Of course, Madam President.” As Ak’telKi stepped away,
Mazibuko released Clark’s hand and pointed at the medal hanging over his chest, “It’s a shame you won’t
be able to show that thing off.”
Clark looked down at the medal and sighed, “There’s a lot of weight to it. I’m not sure I’d want to
bring it out that often, considering how…” he trailed off as he looked back up.
“How many people died?” Mazibuko said, attempting to finish Clark’s sentence.
“Among other factors,” Clark said.
“If you ask me,” Mazibuko said, stepping forward so he stood close to Clark and could lower his
voice so only he could hear, “Far too many people died for you to get that medal.”
Clark moved to step back, but Mazibuko draped an arm across his back and grabbed onto his
shoulder. Clark shifted uncomfortably, “I’m not exactly comfortable with the number either.”
Mazibuko laughed and gently shook Clark’s shoulder, feigning amusement. He smiled as he
whispered to Clark, “Captain, this whole Project Eagle Two deal is going to go down as the biggest mistake
Ak’telKi’s made, and she’s had some whoppers. Starfleet should have thrown the Voyager into the Sun
with those damn torpedoes and armor as soon as they realized what they had.”
“With all due respect, Councilor, we live in uncertain times–” Clark began to protest.
Before Clark could finish his argument, Mazibuko nodded, “Yes, Captain, uncertain times. And
by playing around with weapons we’re not supposed to have for decades, Starfleet is making these times
even more uncertain. You saw what a disgruntled Changeling was willing to do to get his hands on the
Aldrin. Now imagine the Tholians or the Romulans figure out what we’re doing. How about the Klingons?”
He hooked a finger under the copper Klingon aiguillette on Clark’s shoulder, “The Klingons would quite
literally kill to get their hands on transphasic torpedoes.” Mazibuko added a mock hiss to his voice,
sounding convincingly Klingon, and gestured widely in front of Clark, “For the glory of the Empire.”
Clark shifted enough to break out of Mazibuko’s embrace, “These decisions are above my grade,
Sir. You should take your concerns up with Starfleet Command.”
Mazibuko patted Clark on the shoulder and grinned, “You’re lucky Eagle Two is the president’s
little pet project. If it were up to me you wouldn’t still be wearing this uniform, let alone the Pike Medal.”
“I suppose I am lucky,” Clark said, struggling to keep the rising feeling of defiance from his voice.
“We’re all lucky we were able to thwart Laas’s and Russell’s plans. The Aldrin was just an excuse; they
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acted hastily. They could still be biding their time, sowing discord and mistrust in the Alpha Quadrant
while they take their time to prepare in secret.”
“I’m sure that’s of great comfort to the two hundred twenty six mothers and fathers that lost their
children,” Mazibuko sneered. He picked up the medal from Clark’s chest, “You’re right, it’s heavy. Heavy
with contrition.” He read the inscription around the edge, “Sic semper tyrannis.”
Clark translated from the Latin, “Thus always to tyrants.”
“Brutus.” Mazibuko released the medal, letting it fall against Clark’s chest, “Ask yourself this,
Captain: just who is the tyrant here?” He grinned again as he walked away from Clark.
Clark shook his head, still trying to process the interaction. Ak’telKi stepped up to his side, “I’ve
never liked him.”
He looked down at her, “I can’t say he left a good taste in my mouth either.”
She laughed softly, “Don’t worry, Captain, he only hates you because of the uniform you wear. He
hates me for a dozen other reasons, mostly political. Some personal.”
“Remind me to never get into politics,” Clark groaned.
“I don’t know Captain,” Ak’telKi said wryly, “I saw how you handled those reporters in San
Francisco. You might do well in politics.”
“Would you believe I joined Starfleet to be an engineer?” Clark queried.
Ak’telKi nodded, “I can believe that. There are two types of good politicians: those that are born
to politics and embrace it–”
Clark interjected, “Like yourself.”
“Exactly. And those that are born with it and, as the Klingons say, have power thrust upon them.”
“You’ll forgive me for not jumping at a chance to beg voters to let me spend my days with people
like Mazibuko,” Clark laughed.
Ak’telKi echoed the laugh, “The universe has a plan for you, Captain. All you have to do is listen.”
Clark looked back down to her with a puzzled look, prompting additional laughter, “I don’t think the
universe wants to pluck you out of the command chair just yet, David.” She looked over to the wide
wooden desk in front of them, with a sunny Paris beyond, “Though… I wouldn’t be surprised to see you in
that chair someday.”
Clark stared at the desk for a few seconds before remarking, “Madam President, I think I’ll leave
the governing to you.”
“That Klingon proverb,” Ak’telKi said, walking around to the other side of the desk. “It begins
‘great men do not seek power’.” She planted her hands on the polished desktop and smiled mischievously
at Clark.
U.S.S. Aldrin, Spacedock Four
Stardate 57157.4453551
Clark stood back towards the closed rear doors of the shuttlebay, watching the formation of nearly
six hundred Starfleet officers in front of him. Jensen stood facing the grid of officers, looking out at nearly
as many new faces as there were familiar ones. She called out, “Company, atten-tion!” The officers all
snapped to attention, the sound of their heels coming together in near unison echoing in the large shuttlebay.
Jensen crisply executed an about-face and announced, “Sir, the company is formed.”
With a deep breath, Clark walked up to her. He was thankful it was just the crew in the shuttlebay;
it’d taken several hours to convince the public affairs office to tell the press they wouldn’t be invited to
cover this address, in spite of all the attention the Aldrin’s story had captured. It was just Clark and the
replenished crew; no press, no politicians, no admirals. Clark stopped a meter in front of Jensen, who
promptly and sharply saluted. He quickly returned the salute, and then dropped his hand, with Jensen
following a moment later. She turned to the left and walked away, taking Clark’s vacated position by the
space doors.
“Stand at ease,” Clark ordered. The formation relaxed, spreading their legs to shoulder width and
holding their hands behind their backs. He stepped out from his position at the front of the officers, “Good
afternoon. For the two hundred of you that I haven’t yet met, I’m Captain David Clark, commander of the
Aldrin. Three weeks ago we lost two hundred twenty six of Starfleet’s finest officers from this ship. Three
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hundred sixty eight survived to stop the outbreak of interstellar war.” He stopped in line with the edge of
the formation, “It fills me with immense pride in this crew to know that all three hundred sixty eight elected
not just to stay in Starfleet, but to stay on board the Aldrin. What this ship – this crew – went through
would have been enough to break mere mortals. But here you all are,” Clark smiled, “And here this ship
still is.
“I don’t know how much attention you’ve been paying to the media, but they’ve turned this into a
circus. Words like ‘blunder’ and ‘failure’ and ‘disaster’ are being thrown about like they’re nothing. But I
know the truth,” Clark started to pace towards the other side of the formation. He pointed a hand at the
officers, “You all know the truth. You know that three hundred sixty eight determined and courageous
officers fought off the Dominion and stopped a war that would have killed tens of millions more. I thought
that four years ago was the end of war; now I’m not so sure. But I know that whatever comes, this is the
ship and this is the crew that I want with me.
“To all of those new to the Aldrin, welcome aboard.” Clark stopped near the center of the
formation, “I know some of you have been briefed on just what the deal is with this ship; the rest of you
will find out soon enough. You’re joining a fine, no,” he couldn’t help but smile, “A fantastic crew. A
tough crew. A crew that’s grown up and grown together fast. Both I and Commander Jensen will have high
expectations of you, though I have no doubt you’ll be able to live up to them. You are Starfleet officers,
after all.
“Starfleet Command expects us to be underway in a month. We’ve got our work cut out for us –
the Aldrin is still in need of patching, and there’s a lot of training to be done before we can leave drydock. I
wish I could tell you where we’ll be going; as soon as I know, you’ll know. This is Starfleet, and we have
one of – if not the – most advanced ships in the fleet here, so don’t be surprised if it’s to someplace you’ve
never heard of.” Clark grinned again, “Ladies and gentlemen, the adventure is just beginning.”
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33
U.S.S. Aldrin, Spacedock Four
Stardate 57163.494453
Cochrane slowly tipped over the gently curved powder horn-shaped glass bottle, partially-filling
the fist-sized snifter glass on the table with dark orange Saurian brandy. “Vintage 2363. I won this from
Captain Bateman in a poker game. He was not pleased to part with it.” He passed the glass to Kelley, who
handed it to Murphy on the other side of her.
Sitting around the coffee table under the tall sloping windows of Clark’s quarters were the
Aldrin’s senior officers. Clark and Jensen sat side-by-side on the couch, with Murphy taking the third seat
on the end. The couch on the opposite side of the table held R’Mor, Toq’bae, and Cochrane, while Kelley
and Vorik sat in single chairs at either end of the rounded rectangular glass table. Half of the bow view out
of the windows was filled with the curved red horizon of Mars, with the cradling arms of the spacedock
bracketing the edges.
As Cochrane poured another glass, Clark laughed, “Bateman is a brandy connoisseur; I can’t
fathom him putting a bottle of 2363 up on a bet.” He held up his own glass, slowly swirling the drink in the
dim light of his quarters.
Cochrane passed the glass to Kelley, who this time kept it. Cochrane glanced up at Clark before
pouring another glass, “Morgan is a brandy snob. He put the 2363 up because it was the worst in his
collection.” He handed the half-filled glass of brandy to Toq’bae and grinned mischievously. “And because
I’d already taken all of his chips.”
Vorik looked up from his glass, “I’d be interested in playing you, Doctor.”
Cochrane poured a final glass of the brandy and then sat the bottle on the table. He raised his
eyebrows as he looked up, “Vorik, I’ve been playing poker since before you were a gleam in your parents’
eyes. I don’t think that’d be fair.”
“Poker, like every card game, can be broken down mathematically. I am quite good at
mathematics and probability,” Vorik replied matter-of-factly.
Cochrane laughed, “They’re your credits, throw them away if you want.”
Toq’bae looked sideways at Cochrane, “Somebody’s confident.”
R’Mor chimed in, “You’ll have to deal me in too.”
Cochrane tipped his glass towards her, “See, I’d expect a Romulan to be good at poker.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” R’Mor asked, not masking her offense and instantly wiping the
grin off Cochrane’s face. A second later the corners of her lips began to tick up, unable to sustain the mock
outrage.
Clark looked around the officers around him, “I’m glad you were all able to make it tonight.”
Jensen leaned away from him and cast him a puzzled glance as she quoted, “ ‘All of you, my
quarters, twenty hundred’?”
He shrugged, “Okay, maybe I made it sound like an order. So, thank you for not questioning my
pseudo-orders.” Clark looked down at his glass, and then back up to his officers, “We are all incredibly
fortunate. More than a third of our crew didn’t make it back from the Gamma Quadrant.” He swallowed
hard, “Did any of you know Ensign Holmes?”
Toq’bae glumly answered, “He was in astrometrics.”
“Did you know him?” Clark asked.
“We’d met,” Toq’bae said, “I wouldn’t say I knew him. Didn’t really get the chance.”
Clark slowly nodded and repeated, “Didn’t get the chance. None of us knew him. He reported
aboard on Stardate 57072. Twelve days later he was dead, and none of us knew the better. His mother
insisted on telling me about him. He built a subspace telescope when he was twelve. His father was in
Starfleet, he survived Wolf 359. He was top of his class in high school. He was planning to ask his
girlfriend back in Iowa to marry him.” Clark choked back his voice cracking, the revelation hitting close to
home. “And none of us knew.”
He looked up, seeing pained looks on the faces of his officers, excepting Vorik and Jensen. Clark
set his glass on the table, “That can’t happen. We can’t expect to be effective leaders if we don’t know the
159
people we’re trying to lead. I… I hardly even know most of you. And we’ve been together for a month
now.”
Cochrane skewed his mouth to the side while he slowly swirled his glass of brandy, “During the
Dominion War, I was CMO of Starbase 375. Twenty four thousand patients went through my sickbay. And
I can’t remember any of their names. Twenty four thousand and you’d think I could remember one, but I
just started zoning out so I could get through the day.” He pointed with his glass and sternly added, “No old
man jokes.”
Clark grabbed his glass, “The five hundred ninety six men and women on this ship are going to be
our family, for better or worse. I can’t promise that we’ll always be able to bring everybody home safe, but
I can – and I do – promise that I will do everything I can to keep all of you safe. The welfare of this crew
will be my number one priority, higher than the ship, higher than the mission, higher than anything else.
That is my promise to you, to this crew.”
Kelley held up her brandy, “I can drink to that.”
Clark held up his glass as well and the other officers followed. He took a slow look around at the
seven seated around him. Murphy smiled, “To getting to know our new family.”
“And to keeping them safe,” Clark added. He pulled the glass back to him and took a slow sip,
with the others doing the same. Vorik stifled a cough as he swallowed and R’Mor looked into the glass
with a bemused look.
Toq’bae looked over at R’Mor, “First time drinking Saurian brandy?”
She nodded and looked up from the glass, “I expected it to be stronger.”
Vorik cleared his throat and questioned, “Stronger?”
Jensen laughed, “You should try Romulan ale. It’ll peel the skin right off your tongue.”
“I fail to see why that would be desirable,” Vorik replied flatly.
Clark laughed, “I do have news. Two hours ago we received new orders: we’re going back to the
Gamma Quadrant.”
“Seriously?” Kelley questioned.
“Seriously,” Clark confirmed. “Starfleet Command wants to resume exploration operations in the
Gamma Quadrant, but given recent events they’re questioning how safe it is.”
“So we’re going to clear the way?” Jensen asked.
Clark nodded, “Hopefully just making sure the way is clear.”
Murphy took another drink of his brandy, “I’d be okay with it being a long time before we have to
deploy the armor and load the torpedo tubes again.”
“Isn’t that your job?” Jensen questioned. Murphy merely shrugged in response, prompting
chuckles from Cochrane and Toq’bae.
Clark raised his glass again, “To the journey.” The seven officers seated around him mimicked the
movement, lightly clinking their glasses.
U.S.S. Aldrin
15:24 Hours, April 11th, 2380
Stardate 57277.710673
“On final approach to DS9,” Kelley reported from the helm. Stars streaked by on the viewscreen
as the low hum of the Aldrin’s warp drive resonated throughout the bridge.
Clark sat up slightly in his chair, “Time to arrival?”
“Thirty seconds.”
Jensen turned her chair and looked up to R’Mor, “Ensign, notify Engineering to have the relay
deployment teams on standby.”
R’Mor nodded, “Yes, ma’am.” She started working her console.
Clark sighed, “I feel like I should be quoting Shakespeare or something here.” Jensen gently
patted his shoulder while rolling her eyes.
“Dropping from warp in five,” Kelley began her countdown, “four, three, two, one.” The Aldrin
streaked out of subspace with a flash, switching to sublight impulse power as it approached Deep Space 9.
“Hail the station,” Clark ordered.
A second later Kira’s face appeared on the viewscreen, “Captain, we’re glad to see the Aldrin
back out here.”
160
“We won’t be around for long, Colonel,” Clark said. “U.S.S. Aldrin requesting authorization to
enter the Bajoran Wormhole.”
Kira nodded, “Authorization granted, Aldrin.”
Clark smiled, “Thank you, Colonel. We should be pinging you tomorrow once we get the relay set
up.”
“We’ll be listening for you,” Kira returned the smile. “Walk with the Prophets, David.”
He returned the blessing in Bajoran, “Voka a Bentel, Nerys. Aldrin, out.” The viewscreen
switched back to a view of the station, growing larger as the Aldrin approached. “Helm, lay and engage
course to the wormhole.”
Jensen playfully nudged Clark’s shoulder, “She likes you.”
“Good thing I’ve got you,” Clark replied with a smile.
“Correct answer,” Jensen said sternly. The Aldrin executed a wide, sweeping bank around Deep
Space 9.
Kelley reported, “Coming up on the wormhole.”
“Once more unto the breach, dear friends,” Clark uttered.
“There’s your Shakespeare,” Toq’bae remarked.
The wormhole twisted open in a flash of light, casting a beam of bright white light from the center
of the swirling blue whirlpool onto approaching starship. “Take us in,” Clark ordered. The Aldrin thrusted
forward into the open maw of the Bajoran Wormhole, which a moment later snapped shut in a flash behind
them.
Captain’s Log
Stardate 57280.338
Our engineering crews have completed work on the wormhole relay station and confirmed a solid
subspace link back to the Alpha Quadrant. Honestly, I’m surprised the relay was in as good of shape as it
was after sitting out here without shielding for a month.
We’ve received orders to conduct an initial survey of FAS-N433, a nebula a little over fifty lightyears from here. It’s just outside of what we know to be Dominion space, though to be honest that’s
outdated information. We’ll be treading lightly, especially as the Dominion has closed its borders in the
wake of the Aldrin incident. I told myself I wouldn’t be calling what happened that, but nobody seems to be
able to come up with anything better.
Additionally, Admiral Ross informed me that their analysis of the data we recovered from the
Dominion station has revealed they’re facing some sort of threat towards the far end of their territory. The
information was vague, but it seems there have been multiple skirmishes which the Dominion lost badly,
but who or what exactly they’re fighting isn’t clear. Needless to say, we’ll be keeping an eye out for
whatever is going on out there.
In the meantime we’re going to try our hand at some old fashioned exploration. Starfleet’s data on
FAS-N433 has only ever come from long-range observations. What awaits us in the nebula? Well… that’s
the question we’re out here to answer.
161

Star Trek: Aldrin – 1 – Sic Semper Tyrannis 1

Transcription

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