Gibraltar
Geometries of Chance - Part 1
by Samuel Redfeather
(tabmow1@hotmail.com)

Geometries of Chance - Part 1

CHAPTER 1

Captain's Log, Stardate - 53290.4

We've just begun our escort duty to Phersivon VI, one of three starships safeguarding a convoy carrying humanitarian relief for the survivors of the Cardassian settlement on that beleaguered world.

It has been a month and a half since Gibraltar departed dry dock, and our participation in the ensuing disasters at Lakesh. The crew seem to be recovering from those events apace, and have begun to mesh into what I can only hope will be a cohesive unit. I anticipate that they will enjoy some much needed R&R upon the completion of our current assignment and our arrival at Deep Space Nine.

USS Gibraltar, corridor intersection 7-D

The attack had seemingly come from nowhere. The transition from normal shipboard operations to a life-or-death struggle for control of the vessel had been brutally abrupt.

Blistering volleys of phaser and disruptor fire illuminated the dimly lit corridor intersection with brilliant, strobe-like flashes. Terse shouts could barely be heard among the whine of weapons fire and the jolting claps of their impact against Gibraltar's tritanium wall plating. Master Chief Tark, a stout Tellarite security NCO hefted his ungainly Type-III phaser rifle, driving the stock into his shoulder as he inched out around the corner he'd been hugging for cover. "Two of them just headed portside!" he roared to his security team, "They're trying to flank us. Weatherly and Stins, move to junction 7-E double time!" With that, Tark triggered a three pulse burst of phaser energy towards the shadowy figures lurking ten meters away in the next intersection.

Darting back behind cover, Tark queried loudly to the woman crouched next to him. "Dunleavy, where's my damn forcefield?" The petty officer was up to her elbows in an open power relay access hatch.

Flinching as an eruption of sparks rained down on her from a disruptor strike overhead, Dunleavy groused, "This would be delicate work under the best of circumstances, Master Chief." Then, more quietly, "Piss off."

Tark spared Dunleavy an admiring smirk, urging, "Hurry it up or we're going to get overrun." The Tellarite sent another burst of phaser energy screaming down the corridor.

Dunleavy's fingers felt leaden and clumsy as she rushed to swap isoliner chips in the relay control node. The enemy had somehow been able to generate a power surge though the ship's internal defensive systems only moments after inexplicably beaming through the Gibraltar's raised shields. Now, the young woman struggled to bypass the primary and secondary power relays while squarely in the middle of a ferocious firefight.

From somewhere to port came the roar of an explosion. Seconds later a wave of hot air laden with debris began pouring down the corridor, buffeting Dunleavy as she strained to maintain her concentration. One slip and she'd have to restart the bypass cycle from the beginning. Frantic cries for a medic competed with the near-hysterical screaming of multiple wounded, but Dunleavy forced herself to ignore both.

Completing her task, she slotted the last of the re-synched chips and initiated the EPS bypass, breathing a sigh of relief when the small screen flashed a friendly green. Dunleavy bellowed, "It's up!"

With a growl of approval, Tark lobbed a photon grenade down the corridor. "Raise it!"

Dunleavy activated the field, which snapped into place with a brief flash of ionization. The presence of the forcefield funneled the full brunt of the grenade's explosion down the corridor towards the enemy. Two of the furtive humanoids appeared to catch fire as a third was thrown bodily into a wall and collapsed.

Tark laughed appreciatively as he moved from his position, turning to the assembled security team. "Alright, fan out, teams of four in covering pairs. Advance by bounds and secure your six by erecting shield barriers behind you." The porcine-faced Master Chief glanced at Dunleavy. "Saihra, you're on bypass detail."

Dunleavy rolled her eyes as she shouldered her rifle, "Grand." She turned, preparing to follow Ensign Qawasimi's team and came face to face with one of their attackers as the figure appeared to step cleanly through the bulkhead. She tried to yell out a warning, but her breath caught in her throat as the mysterious assailant, clad in black form fitting body armor and helmet, drove its rifle-fixed bayonet into her chest just below her sternum.

Her weapon clattered to the floor as her hands clawed reflexively but ineffectually at her foe's rifle. It didn't hurt as much as she would have thought, and she idly noted the sounds of hand-to-hand struggle around her as the enemy closed ranks with her crewmates. A voice in her head that sounded very much like Tark shouted at her to remember her training and do something.

Instinctively, her right hand moved to where her phaser pistol sidearm was holstered. Just as she grasped the phaser's handle her opponent twisted the bayonet savagely, causing her knees to buckle and sending her sinking to the floor. Her killer eased her to the deck with surprising gentleness, and as Saihra Dunleavy lost consciousness, she could hear the distant sounds of disruptor fire as the enemy soldiers attempted to break Tark's death grip on their comrade's neck.

"Computer, pause program." The words were spoken with a dissatisfied snarl. As their attackers had done so moments before, Lieutenant Pava Lar'ragos emerged from within the seemingly solid wall of the corridor. "Awful. Truly appalling. Everyone on your feet!"

Her simulated wounds now in abeyance, Dunleavy scrambled to her feet among a flurry of activity that brought the security team into formation.

Lar'ragos was not a large man, nor was he especially muscular. He was, however, whipcord taut, lightening fast and surprisingly strong. His jet black hair was tightly curled and cropped short, giving him the look that was so in vogue with the members of the security division right now.

Looking down his nose at Tark, Lar'ragos' tone dripped with derision. "Situation not as 'under control' as you'd thought, Master Chief?"

The Tellarite bristled, reigning in his irritation with great effort. He managed somehow to keep his tone civil as he replied, "The enemy has demonstrated some unexpected abilities, sir."

"Really? You don't say? After crippling our ship with their opening volley and beaming through our shields, they took you and your teams completely by surprise by doing something unexpected?" The El Aurian lieutenant's eyes narrowed and his upper lip twitched with the beginnings of a sneer. "I'm shocked. This is my shocked face."

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Tark offered, "I think the team's hit the wall for the day, sir. Perhaps a chance to re-group and come at this again tomorrow?"

Lar'ragos chewed the inside of his lip, considering this. "Why not? You're all dead, anyway." He deigned to look upon his remaining subordinates. "Go home."

The group shuffled out sullenly, exhausted but clearly displeased with being dismissed so heatedly. The doors to the holosuite parted, and the team left, muttering angrily amongst themselves as the doors closed behind them.

When they were finally alone, Tark grumbled, "You've never refused me the latitude to speak my mind, so I'm going to exploit that tradition." Setting the butt of the rifle on the floor, he rested the weapon against the wall of the holographic corridor. "You're pushing too hard."

Lar'ragos gave him a sharp look, but held his tongue.

Tark folded his thick forearms across his chest. "I'd understand if we were training for a specific mission, but you've been running the security department through these battle drills for weeks with no letup in sight."

Pava glanced around at the war torn section of corridor, noting the scorch marks and blast patterns that had marred the super strong alloys. "The end of the war was in name only, Master Chief. The Federation has never been so vulnerable; our enemies are everywhere."

The Tellarite cocked his head slightly, scrutinizing his superior. "I would agree that we're living a dark chapter of the Federation's history, but I don't subscribe to the notion that we're surrounded by foes."

"I suppose you wouldn't, Chief."

The stocky noncom glowered at the lieutenant. "Meaning?"

"Bury your head in the sand if you like. You were born on a peace-loving Federation planet, and given the end of active hostilities it's only natural that you'd revert to your innate tendencies."

Tark blinked, astounded. "Peace-loving? Have you ever been to Tellar?"

Lar'ragos continued his tirade, "The scavengers are approaching. They smell our wounds and they'll be drawn to see just how much of the Federation's carcass they can take for themselves." Lar'ragos shook his head, his expression shifting to one of contempt. "The Talarians, Tholians, Breen, Gorn, Tzenkethi... you name them. Soon they'll begin encroaching on our borders, testing our defenses, salivating at the chance to add to their little empires by tearing bits and pieces from our great civilization."

Struck momentarily speechless by this uncomfortable insight into his superior's psyche, Tark finally conjured up a response. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"Absolutely."

Tark shrugged, turning for the exit. "That's very sad, sir."

"We're not done here, Chief." That stopped Tark in his tracks.

His frame rigid with barely contained rage, the Tellarite pivoted back towards Lar'ragos slowly. "Sir?"

"The security teams, their performance in this round of scenarios was unacceptable."

Tark snorted derisively, "This isn't the Enterprise, Lieutenant." It was widely known among the crew that Lar'ragos had passed up an opportunity to serve aboard the Enterprise-E under Captain Picard in order to take his current post on the Gibraltar.

Lar'ragos stepped forward, bridling at the implication. "Beg pardon?"

The Tellarite snuffled humorlessly. "Forget I mentioned it." He abruptly turned and stormed out.

Lar'ragos directed a surly, "Dismissed" at the master chief's retreating back.

* * * * *

USS Brahmaputra Patrol grid Alpha-Epsilon 3 Federation/Cardassian Border

The cockpit of the Danube-class Runabout Brahmaputra was the last place Lieutenant JG Olivia Juneau had expected to find herself. Strangely, however, the decidedly claustrophobic confines of the small ship were proving a welcome distraction from the emotional turmoil that had thus far marked her lackluster Starfleet career. She didn't believe she was a bad officer, not really. The grueling workload and rigorous testing of Starfleet Academy were usually sufficient to weed out those persons that would otherwise prove incapable of the day-to-day tasks required of a Starfleet officer. Granted, she had graduated at the bottom third of her class, but she had graduated.

Juneau busied herself with routine administrative tasks while Petty Officer Duane Shaver piloted the craft. She was settling into her first genuine command, getting a taste of what some more ambitious officers strove their entire careers for. At the encouragement of Lt. Commander Ramirez, the executive officer aboard Juneau's current posting, she had accepted a temporary detached assignment to the sector's Reconnaissance and Patrol section. It was, as Ramirez had put it, an opportunity to explore her command potential that might not otherwise be available to her for years. Or decades, Juneau thought soberly.

Olivia wouldn't go as far as to say she and the others aboard had melded into a seamless whole. However, two weeks into an assignment whose most defining feature was the nearly absolute lack of personal space and privacy, and they had yet to get on one another's nerves. It was a good start.

Her first commission consisted of herself and a crew of three, tasked with routine patrol and light escort duties along the Federation/Cardassian border. At times the Brahmaputra pulled convoy escort duty with other Starfleet vessels, and alternately engaged in solitary patrols. The Fleet's runabout assets also served as mobile sensor platforms, giving Command more reliable real-time data about the region than could be gleaned from long-range sensor platforms or fixed satellites.

The hum of the replicator station behind her announced the arrival of Ensign Kuenre Shanthi, the ship's young science officer. Barely four months out of Starfleet Academy, Shanthi had forgone a berth aboard a Galaxy-class explorer as a third string science technician in order to double as both science and communications officer aboard a patrol ship. It was an incongruous posting for the youngest son of revered Starfleet Fleet Admiral Thuosana Shanthi. Nevertheless, he eschewed any connection to his mother's lofty station, and claimed that he sought only to make a career and name for himself.

Juneau felt a swell of envy towards the man. Shanthi was here because he had chosen to be. She was here because her superiors felt she needed remedial instruction in leadership. Nevertheless, she bent over backwards to be civil to the man, if for no other reason than his political connections within the Fleet.

"Good morning, Kuenre." She glanced over her shoulder from the co-pilot's seat, favoring him with a smile.

Shanthi's first reply was a barely audible grunt of acknowledgement. Following an experimental sip at his steaming mug of what Olivia presumed to be coffee, he muttered something unintelligible that ended in 'sir.'

Juneau laughed softly, "Sorry, I didn't copy that. Your universal translator must be inoperative."

Shaver looked up from punching navigational waypoints into the helm console long enough to give Shanthi a conspiratorial smirk. "Morning, sleepyhead."

His mug still tilted to his lips, Shanthi took a draught of the steaming liquid. "I thought the field bunks we had at academy away mission training were uncomfortable. They were nothing compared to the coffins onboard this tub."

Olivia shrugged lightly, "Well, if you weren't so tall..."

"I'm Zulu, Lieutenant. We're built tall, can't be helped."

Shaver tossed him a data padd, which Shanthi fumbled while trying heroically not to spill his coffee. "I thought you'd find this interesting. We picked these up on the overnight long rang sensor telemetry."

Shanthi squinted at the padd, looking befuddled. "Weird. This looks like some kind of omicron particle spike."

"Aye, that's what the computer thought," Juneau replied, "Only there's nothing in the Pierosh system that should be producing anything like that."

Ensign Shanthi slid into one of the unmanned auxiliary stations, activating the console. "Does the Federation have any assets in that system? I'm not familiar with it."

Juneau shook her head, "Only one. An old meteorological survey station on the second planet that was abandoned three months before the war started."

"Is Pierosh II Class-M?" Shanthi queried.

"Barely. More like a Class-K on a really good day."

Shanthi set to work, accessing the sensor logs and compiling an initial science report based on the gathered data. "Give me a few minutes to crunch the numbers, sir. I'll have something for you before too long."

"Take your time, Ensign," Juneau coached. "I'd rather have complete facts as opposed to conjecture." Looking over at Duane in the pilot's seat she said, "Mr. Shaver, come to course 284, mark 19. I'm putting us on an oblique trajectory across the stellar plane of the Pierosh system."

Shaver raised a curious eyebrow while inputting the new coordinates. "Not waiting for new orders, sir?"

Rather than chafing at the petty officer's implicit questioning of her command as she might have done two weeks earlier, Juneau patiently tolerated the inquiry by her subordinate. "We haven't seen anything out of the ordinary out here in the past week. Command will take one look at the ensign's report and send us for a look-see. This way, when the order arrives, we'll already be halfway there."

Shaver nodded, still looking unconvinced, "If you say so, sir."

Juneau tried to look authoritative, but couldn't quite pull it off. "I do."

* * * * *

Pierosh II

The scientist intoned a calming mantra over and over, forcing himself to relax. The realization of his life's work was only minutes away, and he fought to maintain his composure at this most critical of junctures. 'Be still. Become the stillness. Emotion is entropy; anticipation courts disharmony. Revelation comes only unto still waters. Be still...'

The pieces were all in place. Equipment was functioning at capacity and repeated computer modeling indicated that their probability of success was high. He looked around the room, seeing the others just as excited and anxious.

These men and women, all undeniably brilliant in their own right, had foregone notoriety within the scientific community in order to toil here in obscurity with him. It was both measure of their individual dedication to the project, as well as the importance of their work.

Once the initial breakthrough had occurred, then and only then would the skeptics and charlatans seated on the Science Council admit the brilliance and necessity of what they had accomplished. Time and again his requests for approval and resources had been denied. Too dangerous, they'd said, too many unknown variables. They had raised the specters of the Genesis experiments and the tragedy of the Omega molecule. Finally, in despair and anger, he'd cut his ties with the apostates of the Federation's science community and struck out on his own.

Fortunately, he had found a benefactor. An individual who seemed to grasp how utterly essential his research was to pulling back the curtain on the multiverse. The necessary deceptions and guile that had followed troubled him greatly, but they had proved instrumental in safeguarding the existence of the project.

It was now out of his hands. Either their calculations were correct, or they weren't. One of his assistants handed him a padd containing updated information on the countdown sequence. "Seventeen minutes, Doctor." The young man noted eagerly.

Chapter 2

Lt. Commander Liana Ramirez liked it quiet. The normal, subdued atmosphere of daily bridge operations was much preferable, in her opinion, to the din of alarms and flashing alert lights. That being said, five weeks straight of convoy duty had Ramirez yearning for something to break the tedium. She sat in the captain's chair, idly inspecting a padd containing a multitude of fuel consumption logs, division status reports, personnel fitness reports, and anything else anyone aboard had thought necessary to forward to the command division.

Gibraltar was part of a three ship contingent assigned to escort the gargantuan Continent-class supply ships to and from occupied Cardassian space. The ungainly behemoths had been utilized during the Dominion War to transport ground troops into battle, and to ferry civilian refugees away from planets in the path of the Dominion's advance. Now laden with medical supplies, foodstuffs, and industrial replicators, these vessels spearheaded Starfleet's growing sentientarian relief effort for the Cardassian people.

Though undeniably boring, the relative peace of their ongoing escort duties had given Ramirez the opportunity to reflect on the recent loss of her first command, the ill-fated starship Phoenix. She had been assigned by Captain Sandhurst as the vessel's acting commanding officer after Phoenix's captain had been struck down along with two-thirds of his crew by a neuropathogen visited upon them by Cardassian insurgents. Liana's command had been short lived. Two days after assuming the post, the starship had been destroyed in combat with insurgent vessels. Her escape from the collapsing bridge in an escape pod had been a very near thing.

Six weeks later, Ramirez was still experiencing sleepless nights, and a gnawing, nameless anxiety. On those nights when she was fortunate or exhausted enough to succumb to sleep, her dreams were haunted by the dead.

On any other assignment, these obstacles would be difficult enough to overcome. Here, onboard a ship she didn't feel she belonged on, Ramirez felt as though she had nowhere to turn. She had been strong-armed into the executive officer's post aboard the Gibraltar, victim to the machinations of Captain Sandhurst and his old friend, Admiral Monica Covey. At first it was only to be a single mission; then Covey had dangled the carrot of her own command in front of her to compel Liana to agree to a year's tour aboard the old Constitution-class. 'What's next?' She wondered. 'Do I end up spending the rest of my days here, momentum stalled, watching my career slip through my fingers like so much sand?'

"Incoming message from the Trafalgar, Commander," announced Ensign Browder from the Operations station, interrupting Ramirez's morose reverie. "It's Captain Littlefoot."

Ramirez smiled at the mention of the gregarious captain's name. "Put him onscreen, Ensign." She stood in deference to her superior, raising her diminutive frame from the command chair. Despite being small in stature, she had a reputation for being both tough and decisive, and woe be unto anyone who dared underestimate her abilities.

The image of heavily laden supply ships in tight formation was replaced on the main viewer by the impressive form of Captain Marcus Littlefoot, CO of the Akira-class starship Trafalgar. The giant, barrel-chested Native American looked uncharacteristically somber. "I'm afraid I've got a new mission for you, Commander. Is Captain Sandhurst about?"

Liana unconsciously brought herself to her full height in the presence of the prominent officer. "He's otherwise occupied, sir. May I be of assistance?"

Littlefoot bobbed his head once in assent. "I'm tasking Gibraltar to investigate the possible disappearance of a Starfleet runabout. One of our sector patrol ships, the Brahmaputra, reported detecting some anomalous energy signatures emanating from the Pierosh system. They were dispatched to reconnoiter the situation, and haven't been heard from since. As of now, they're a little over five hours late for their scheduled check-in."

'Damn.' She thought darkly. 'That's Olivia's runabout. I recommended her for that command...' Outwardly she replied, "Understood, sir. I take it we're the closest ships in the area?" Liana was uncomfortable with the idea of abandoning the convoy. Three starships as escort was already an insufficient number to protect as inviting a target as twenty-one of the mammoth supply ships. For all they knew, the mysterious energy signature and the disappearance of the runabout were insurgent tactics designed to pry one of the escorts away from the convoy.

"Unfortunately, yes. With the recent insurgent attacks on Epsilon station and Starbase 375, we're stretched even more thinly than usual out here."

To his credit, Littlefoot didn't voice the obvious conclusion. Of the three starships escorting the convoy, the 90-year old Gibraltar was the least well armed, and thus the most logical to be spared for the new mission. "I'm sending over all the data we have on this so far. Hell, I wish we were going. It's got to be more interesting than slogging along the trade routes at warp five."

Ramirez nodded curtly, "We'll get the job done, Captain." As an afterthought she added, "Nia'ish," in Littlefoot's native Cheyenne.

The large man cracked a smile, allowing himself a moment's amusement. "I'd forgotten you were a linguist, Ramirez. You're welcome." And with that, the transmission ended.

She settled back into the command chair, spinning ominous scenarios in her mind as to what could have happened to Juneau and her tiny crew. 'If she got in over her head and made the wrong decision, I'm ultimately responsible. Not just for her, but for all of them.' Turning to Ensign Lightner at Helm, Liana ordered, "New course..."

* * * * *

Captain Donald Sandhurst was in agony. The lungs within his heaving chest burned without respite and he had lost nearly all sensation in his legs. Sweat coated his body and his parched throat begged for reprieve. Despite the worst his enemy could throw at him, Sandhurst refused to surrender. He would not and could not back down. He was a starship commander, a man responsible for the lives of one-hundred seventeen people, and he would be damned if he allowed his present circumstances to best him.

With a torturous slowness, the counter on the treadmill ticked away the meters towards his goal of five kilometers. Cursed by an aging body of average height, Sandhurst yearned for the days when he could eat and drink with impunity, confident in his body's metabolic prowess. Those days were long over. He was carrying at least twenty-five unnecessary pounds, weight that Gibraltar's chief medical officer had told him needed to come off. And so, with the towering Bolian engineer Lieutenant Ashok as his personal trainer, Sandhurst had embarked on a fitness regimen designed to reduce his waistline and improve his health.

"Can I..." he huffed, "...stop now?" 4.6 kilometers was sufficient, wasn't it? He felt his resolve begin to waver.

From an old-fashioned free weight bench nearby, the booming voice of Ashok replied in absolute deadpan, "Pain is weakness leaving the body, sir."

Sandhurst gasped noisily in response and soldiered on, biting back a reply that involved a fervent wish that Bolarus IX had held a higher priority on the Dominion's targeting task list during the war.

"Bridge to Captain Sandhurst." Donald had rarely been as happy to hear his exec's voice.

Planting his feet on either side of the still moving treadmill, he tapped the compin affixed to his workout shirt. He tried not to sound out of breath and failed miserably. "Go... ahead."

"We've new orders from Captain Littlefoot, sir. I've adjusted our heading and increased speed to Warp 7. Our destination is the Pierosh system."

"Acknowledged. On my way." Sandhurst stepped gratefully off the sadistic device and grabbed his towel, wiping down his head and neck as he made a beeline for the exit. "Apologies, Lieutenant. We'll have to pick this up later."

Stepping out into the narrow corridor, Sandhurst nearly stumbled into Lar'ragos. It appeared the lieutenant was in the middle of dressing down one of the junior-most security officers aboard, Specialist Sharpe. "The next time you sweep the back of another team member's head with your rifle's emitter during a tactical exercise, I'm going to have you pulling armory detail for a month!"

The younger man stood ramrod straight, eyes locked ahead of him. "Aye, sir!"

"Each member of this team has to depend on one another. They have to trust one another. Part of that trust is the absolute knowledge that the person behind you in a tactical formation isn't going to blow the back of your head off." Glancing over his shoulder at the captain, Lar'ragos waved the specialist away. "Go and sin no more," he growled. Sharpe moved off down the curving corridor at a brisk pace.

Sandhurst raised an eyebrow, prompting Lar'ragos to set his jaw tightly. "What?" The El Aurian's tone was very similar to the one he'd used with Sharpe.

"I wasn't aware I'd said anything." Sandhurst said, frowning.

"Didn't have to." Lar'ragos gestured to his ears. "Remember?"

Draping his towel over his shoulder, Sandhurst made a point of scrutinizing his old friend. "Have we been infiltrated by doppelgangers again?" The captain leaned in, appearing to study the smaller man's facial features. "Really magnificent work, though. If it weren't for all the yelling and frothing at the mouth, I'd really have believed it was my security chief."

Lar'ragos rolled his eyes, muttering, "Please desist, sir, lest you wound me further with your rapier wit."

"Seriously, Pava, what's going on? I've been hearing mutterings that your department is about ready to stage a revolt, and that's after Ramirez has gone to the trouble of filtering out ninety percent of the complaints."

Cocking his head to one side, Lar'ragos frowned. "We're not dealing with the cream of the Fleet here, sir. Some of those in my department seem to be under the impression that a posting to Gibraltar was going to be a pleasure cruise. Now that I'm working them hard, they're whining to whoever will listen."

Sandhurst nodded, "I give my senior officers wide latitude in how they run their departments, Pava; you know that. I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. However, I seem to recall that many of these people that you're accusing of being dead weight were also the ones that rescued the away team from Lakesh and assisted the Klingons in assaulting an insurgent firebase."

Pava refused to back down. "I'm not concerned with what they did last month, Captain. I'm worried about tomorrow."

Shaking his head, Sandhurst said, "Suit yourself. Just be careful you don't alienate your whole department while you're whipping them into shape."

Lar'ragos offered him a little salute, "Aye, aye, my captain. Will that be all, sir?"

A mischievous smile formed on Sandhurst's lips. "As a matter of fact, no. Lieutenant Taiee sent me a memo this morning saying that you still haven't reported for your initial medical screening."

"I've been busy." It sounded petulant, even to Pava's own ears.

"How nice for you. Make yourself un-busy and report to Sickbay immediately."

Lar'ragos crossed his arms. "And that would be..."

"Yes, Pava. That would be an order." Sandhurst came about and started off down the corridor the other direction. Slowing his pace, he called back to his friend, "And I want you to calculate the odds that I'm going to follow up on this to see that you got there."

Smiling weakly, Lar'ragos murmured, "Naturally."

* * * * *

One quick shower and clean uniform later, Sandhurst strode onto the bridge. Ramirez moved to rise from the command chair but Donald waved her off. "I'm just here for an update, Commander."

"Yes, sir." She resumed her seat, handing over a padd. "This is the mission order brief from the Trafalgar."

Scanning the contents, Sandhurst's brow furrowed. "Brahmaputra, isn't that-"

"Juneau's ship," she finished for him. "Aye." She pointed to the padd, "And it gets better. Check the names on the crew manifest."

Sandhurst scrolled down. "Shaver, Osterlund, Shan-oh, frinx!"

Now it was Ramirez's turn to be impressed at another's linguistic proclivity. Despite the seriousness of the situation, she smirked. "Sir, the Prophets would be appalled."

His eyes still fixed on the padd, Donald nodded glumly. "So would my ex." He sighed deeply, handing the padd back. "This complicates things."

"Just slightly."

Sandhurst stepped back, bracing his elbows atop the bridge well's safety railing. "ETA?"

"Thirteen hours, twenty-six minutes at present speed."

Donald pondered that for a moment. "Step it up to Warp 8.2 for as long as the engines can handle it. I know it'll only buy us a few hours grace, but if this proves to be something other than a comms failure..."

Ramirez inclined her head, "Understood."

Sparing a glance at the ship's chronometer, the captain moved to the upper deck. "Have the senior staff assemble for a briefing at 05:00, and keep me apprised of any significant updates." With that, he stepped into the turbolift wondering if he would be the one to have to tell the Fleet Admiral that her son had died in the line of duty. 'That's right, Donald,' he berated himself, 'make it all about you.'

* * * * * Lar'ragos entered Sickbay with deliberate reluctance. Like most others, he considered the obligatory start-of-tour checkup to be a burdensome necessity, one best avoided for as long as possible. However, in his case it went deeper than that. His medical exams invariably sparked questions from his doctors that were, in his opinion, better left unasked..

Chief Medical Officer Lieutenant JG Taiee looked up from where she was calibrating a diagnostic sensor wand from a medical tricorder. Usually, that type of busy work was the province of junior nurses or medical technicians, but Lar'ragos had noticed that Taiee seemed willing to share in the tedious grunt work needed to keep the medical department running smoothly. She was a compact woman who, with her utilitarian bobbed haircut and matter-of-fact style, somehow generated nearly limitless quantities of cheer. For a ship with no official counselor or morale officer, Taiee served as both with equal aptitude.

Plastering on a forced smile, Lar'ragos said, "Good morning, Doc." The title served as both a running joke with the senior staff, as well as a statement of their confidence in her abilities. Taiee was a nurse practitioner by trade and not a licensed physician. Regardless, the crew was more than satisfied with her formidable talents as a healer.

Answering his insincere smile with a more genuine one of her own, Issara Taiee set down the scanner and moved to the exam bed, patting its surface. "Well, you've finally reported as ordered." She shook her head, her amusement evident. "And it only took a month and a half."

"I was unavoidably detained?" He offered as he scooted up and onto the biobed.

"Sure, sure." Taiee gently moved him to lay down with mild pressure applied to his chest. "C'mon now, Pava. A big bad security officer like yourself acting as though a routine exam is worse than being sentenced to Rura Penthe."

Lar'ragos grumbled good-naturedly as Taiee initiated a scan via the overhead sensor node recessed into the ceiling. She moved to the large wall mounted viewscreen and activated a display of the El Aurian's physiology. Taiee sifted through multiple layers, skin, musculature, skeletal, internal organs and circulatory system, making the occasional notation on an oversized medical padd with a stylus.

Though giving no outward sign, she was startled by the massive amounts of scar tissue and internal damage the scans registered. Much of it had been cleaned up, fairly recently and by Federation medical science, or so she guessed. But the sheer volume of evidence indicated that Lar'ragos had been the victim of multiple internal injuries, dozens of broken bones in varying degrees of severity, as well as wounds from an assortment of weapons both primitive and modern. 'Who did this to him?'

She took into account Lar'ragos' extended longevity; his service record listed him as being four-hundred and twenty seven years old. Still, even compensating for age, most humans never accumulated even a fraction of this kind of trauma and lived to speak of it.

Taiee returned to the biobed, finding Lar'ragos looking uncommonly self-conscious. He glanced over at her, "So... we done here?"

She smiled patiently. "Scans can only tell me so much, Pava. We've got a treadmill stress test and some other hoops for you to jump through before I can let you go."

He nodded hesitantly. "Sure."

Taiee placed a friendly hand on his upper arm. "Seriously, this won't be so bad. A few more things and I'll have you out of here and back to duty."

True to her word, Taiee released him after a brief, monitored run on the treadmill. Toweling off, Lar'ragos pulled his mustard hued uniform shirt on over his tank-top undershirt. Taiee was making a final series of notations on her padd, and glanced up as the lieutenant slipped into his jacket.

"Anything you'd care to discuss, Pava?"

Focusing an inordinate amount of concentration on zipping up his jacket, Lar'ragos feigned ignorance. "Such as?"

"Well, offhand I'd say the results of your physical show someone who's in overall good health. However, you're also demonstrating some conditions which are symptomatic of prolonged stress and fatigue." She crossed her arms, tapping the padd idly against her side. "In the short term this won't affect your health to any great extent, but if the root causes of these symptoms aren't addressed, your health will be impacted."

Again donning a saccharine smile, Pava shrugged indifferently. "Things are tense right now, Doc. Being stuck on convoy duty doesn't help." He tugged at his uniform jacket, straightening it. "Why, you trying out for counselor now?" It was a cheap shot, and he knew it.

Taiee met him head-on. "I don't have to be El Aurian to know bullshit when I hear it, Lieutenant. If you need to talk, I'm here for you. If you don't, and you want to let whatever's eating at you affect your job performance, that's on you." She turned her back on him, pretending to fiddle with a medical display module. "We're done here."

Feeling guilty but not knowing what else to say, Pava strode out of Sickbay, now hating the routine exam process all the more.

Chapter 3

USS Brahmaputra
Pierosh System

The survival mask helped to filter out most but not all of the acrid smoke that choked the shattered cockpit of the Brahmaputra. Seething with impotent frustration, Olivia Juneau beat her fists against the darkened console interface at the pilot's station. She'd tried every technique she knew to restore primary, auxiliary, or even partial battery power to the panel. It was all in vain. The runabout was dead in space, and unless rescue appeared quickly, she and her crew were sure to follow.

Behind her on the floor were her two surviving comrades, Chief Petty Officer Osterlund and Ensign Shanthi. Both men were encased in the runabout's only two undamaged EVA suits. They were injured, and though Juneau had treated them to the best of her abilities using the ship's emergency medical kit, she feared they would succumb to the runabout's life support failure long before expiring from their injuries.

The shockwave that overwhelmed them had seemingly come from nowhere. It had been a paltry seven seconds between when they'd first detected the oncoming wall of chronometric energy and when it had crashed through their pathetically insufficient shielding. Now, drifting without power at the far edge of the Pierosh system, Juneau wracked her brains trying to come up with some kind of solution to their predicament.

'What would Ramirez do in my place?' Her mind straddled the razor's edge between palpable fear and outright panic. 'I can't lose it. If I come unglued we're all done for. I'm the only thing separating us from certain death right now.' Juneau looked down at her shaking hands, idly wondering if terror or oxygen deprivation was to blame. She couldn't think, couldn't move, and felt the clutching hand of dread tightening around her heart. 'I don't have any options. I'm going to die... here... now.'

And just like that, the fear was gone. It was as if someone had thrown a switch inside Olivia's head. The Juneau who had been about to let herself be overcome by indecision and panic was banished to a small, dark corner of her mind. In her place was someone not entirely different, but who answered to a higher calling and held very definite priorities, survival being foremost among them.

Her hands now steady, she crept gingerly through the smoke shrouded cockpit and into the compartment beyond, locating an engineering systems control hatch. Removing the hatch door, she set to work on repairing or diverting damaged systems that by all rights she should have had no knowledge of. Her fingers moved with the practiced delicacy of an experienced engineer, and within minutes she'd managed to restore sufficient power to get minimal life support back online. She then shunted just enough energy to arm and launch the runabout's emergency distress beacon.

As the atmospheric pumps labored to clear the smoke from the air, Juneau replaced the hatch cover and returned to the cockpit. Checking to make sure the beacon was safely away and broadcasting, she took her place on the floor alongside Shanthi and Osterlund. When the Starfleet rescue response arrived, they would find her barely conscious, with no memory of what had happened here. 'Hell of a way to live,' she mused. She allowed herself one final though before releasing control of her mind to its rightful owner. 'Whatever this was, and whoever is responsible, this should prove of interest to us.'

* * * * *

Sol System, Sector 001
Luna, Mare Moscoviense
Temporal Investigations Agency HQ
Sub-Level 9 - 'The Vault'

The history of this subsurface facility was relatively recent, though as any of the agents, technicians, and scientists in the employ of the Federation's enigmatic Temporal Investigations Agency could tell you with no small amount of irony... time was relative.

Founded nearly a century earlier by the Federation Council following a series of near disastrous time-travel experiments conducted by a naively reckless Starfleet Command, the TIA had begun as no more than a communal think tank staffed by some of Federation's more eccentric intellects of the period.

Rumors had abounded since the dawn of the Federation of a 'temporal cold war' that supposedly raged across entire eons, but whose combatants were shrouded in mystery. However, such repositories of knowledge as the Daystrom Institute and the Vulcan Science Academy still argued that time travel was at best impractical and at worst impossible. That argument had held fast right up until Starfleet had gone and done it.

The men and women of the nascent TIA had plotted and planned, studied the philosophy and ethics of time travel, and had written paper after paper on the dangers and benefits of purposefully violating the integrity of the known time/space continuum. The ultimate result of their work had been the Temporal Prime Directive, the corollary to Starfleet's Directive Number One. It forbade any Federation official, researcher, or Starfleet member from intentionally tampering with the existing timeline in any way, and included strict provisos against time travel.

Over the past century, TIA researchers and investigators had scrutinized hundreds of purported cross-temporal incidents. Everything from oddities at the sub-atomic level to events that spanned multiple sectors of Federation space were explored. Various curiosities had been collected, documented, studied and eventually warehoused at the TIA's headquarters on earth's moon. But by and large, TIA existed simply to investigate and report, advising the Federation Science Council on such things that fell within their purview.

The second Borg assault on Sector 001 in 2373 had changed all that. Employing temporal technology in an attempt to undermine the Federation's very founding, this effort had come far too close to success. Such intentionally destructive temporal incursions had been theorized by TIA's personnel for decades, but Federation leaders were unwilling to take costly and largely theoretical preventative measures in the face of an indefinite threat.

No longer. Fearing that the growing Dominion threat might attempt to utilize similar tactics, the Federation Council had granted the TIA the equivalent of temporal wartime powers. The agency's resources, influence and authority had thus grown exponentially in the past three years. Agents whose inquiries once had been a minor inconvenience to Starfleet officers were now feared. A negative review of an officer's participation in a cross-temporal event, however unintentional, could now result in the ending of a career, if not outright incarceration.

The physical embodiment of the agency's new proactive stance was the Temporal Inversion Stasis Complex, known simply as the Vault. Equipped with largely experimental chronometric shielding, it had been designed as a self-sufficient bunker against any detrimental changes in the existing timeline. Theoretically, even if the Federation itself ceased to exist, the personnel within the Vault would remain immune to those changes. For that reason, in addition to the technicians, researchers, and regular agents assigned to three-month rotations, the Vault also contained specially trained response teams of ex-Starfleet special forces whose unenviable task it would be to restore any alterations in the timeline that threatened the Federation.

* * * * *

Aquinas Devonshire looked up from his dog-eared hardbound copy of Past Prologue, the definitive work of the historic author Jacob Sisko. The young man stared incredulously at the beeping console in front of him, momentarily at a loss for what to do despite the months of exhaustive training required for a three month tour in the Vault.

"You have something, Devonshire?" queried G'rukian, the Betelgeusian watch officer.

Aquinas shook off his fleeting paralysis and went to work, gleaning critical information from a river of scrolling data. "Yes, sir. "It's reading as... well, either a temporal or spatial incursion of some kind."

"Which is it?" G'rukian replied brusquely.

"I... uh, it appears to be both, sir."

Aquinas' supervisor moved quickly to his side, his colorfully billowing Eknoa vestments swishing softly with the effort. G'rukian inclined his head, which Aquinas imagined couldn't be an easy gesture as the being wore a large and ornate headdress. "Location fix?"

His confidence returning, Devonshire's hands moved swiftly over his console, narrowing sensor fields and tweaking output parameters. "It's along the Cardassian border with the Federation, Sector 21509. Looks to be the Pierosh star system." He had to recheck his figures before announcing, "And by the looks of these readings, it's a level seven event, sir." It wouldn't sound so harrowing to an outsider unfamiliar with TIA's rating system, Devonshire thought, until you informed them that a supernova only registered as a level eight.

If it were possible, G'rukian looked even more solemn than usual. "Do we have any agents in that region?"

Devonshire cross referenced TIA's current deployment roster. "No, sir. The closest team is Barnaby and ZinZil. They're currently investigating a possible level two incident in the Rudyard Colonies. That's 23 light-years away from Pierosh."

"Very well. Send this upstairs to Directorate-O with a recommendation to alert Starfleet, though I'd be surprised if they hadn't detected this already. Also compile a brief for the quarantine response team."

"Right away, sir." As he began to carry out his assigned tasks, Devonshire became aware that G'rukian was still hovering over him. The Betelgeusian reached forward, running a pale green finger along the spine of Aquinas' book.

"Devonshire, where did you get this?"

The human winced, turning his head only slightly towards his superior. "I-uh, borrowed it from the research library, sir."

G'rukian grumbled with distaste, "This book will not be written for another twelve years, Mr. Devonshire. It is a classified artifact, not a souvenir. I should not have to remind you that the Temporal Prime Directive applies doubly so to we here in this facility."

Devonshire sighed. "Yes, sir."

* * * * *

USS Gibraltar
En-route to Pierosh star system, Warp 8

Ramirez arrived to the briefing room unusually early, breaking with her habit of sliding into their senior staff meetings with only seconds to spare. Sandhurst, who was invariably the first to arrive, was already seated, perusing the latest information gathered on the Pierosh system on a padd.

Taking her usual seat at the table, she fixed her gaze on him until he looked up, noticing the displeasure written on her face. "Problem, Exec?" He amended, "Other than having to drag yourself in here at oh-dark-hundred?"

She nodded, holding up a padd of her own. Ramirez summed up the situation in a single word, "Lar'ragos."

The captain's expression soured, and a small sigh escaped his lips as he settled back in his chair. "What now?"

"More complaints from members of the security division. And this isn't just petty grumbling about shift rotations or duty posts. There are some very damning accusations in here." She tapped at the padd, activating it and reading verbatim. "Lieutenant Lar'ragos has in past weeks become verbally abusive towards staff, repeatedly haranguing subordinates about even minor infractions of accepted security protocol. This behavior, coupled with an accelerated program of high-impact holographic scenarios during which the actions of security personnel are repeatedly disparaged has seriously undermined the morale and effectiveness of division personnel and threatens departmental cohesiveness. This in turn could translate into critical errors committed in life-or-death situations that would likely result in unnecessary casualties."

Sandhurst winced slightly. "Damn. Who's that from?"

"Master Chief Tark, Captain." She met his gaze, "Tark's a service lifer, sir. He's as crusty and salty as they come, but he's also loyal to a fault." She tossed the padd onto the table top where it slid to a stop in front of Sandhurst. "If he's actually lodging a formal protest against Lar'ragos, things down in the security division must have deteriorated badly."

The captain shook his head unhappily, making no move to pick up the other padd. "I'd hoped he would get past whatever's troubling him, but it doesn't appear that's happening."

"I know he's your friend, sir. Have you tried speaking with him about this?"

"Tried and failed." Sandhurst leaned forward, pushing the padd back towards Ramirez. "Personnel issues are your territory, Commander. I'll back whatever decision you make regarding this matter. Friend or no, I won't have him endangering the lives of his people because he can't hold his temper in check."

The conversation ended with the arrival of the chief engineer, Lieutenant Ashok. The large Bolian entered, giving the captain and XO cursory nods before assuming his seat. The rest of the senior staff soon followed. Lt. Commander Elisto Plazzi, the aging science officer, Lt(jg) Taiee from Medical, and Lt. Lar'ragos from Security/Tactical. Ensign Browder stood in for the absent Lt(jg) Juneau at Ops, and flight control officer Ensign Lightner was also on hand.

Sandhurst looked to Plazzi, who was sipping from his ever present beverage mug. "What's the probe's ETA, Elisto?"

Referencing a running timer on his padd, Plazzi replied tiredly, "Seven minutes, thirty-eight seconds, Captain."

Sandhurst scanned the faces of his senior officers, many of whom were just coming off shift or who had precious little opportunity for sleep. "Thank you for being here so early. I know it's inconvenient, but we're only two hours out from Pierosh. We've launched a sensor probe ahead of us to reconnoiter the area."

He then polled the officers, each of whom gave a brief recitation of their departments' preparedness.

Turning back to Plazzi, Sandhurst said, "While we're awaiting the probe's telemetry, why don't we get some background on the Pierosh system."

Toggling the LCARS interface at the table top at his seat, Plazzi activated the large viewscreen set into the inner bulkhead. The image of a medium orange star surrounded by the concentric circles of its five planets' orbital paths sprang to life on the viewer. In his rich voice, Plazzi began narrating the diorama unfolding before them. "The system anchors on an unremarkable K-type star. Of five planets, only the second is marginally Class-M. The atmospheric oxygen content is primarily the result of geo-thermal venting, as the biosphere supports only a limited variety of Phylum Bryophyta; essentially complex mosses and lichens."

The image centered on the second planet and closed in, revealing a dull grayish-white surface devoid of large bodies of water or apparent terrestrial vegetation. Plazzi continued, "What makes this planet of interest to Federation science is its unusual weather patterns. Due to a little understood confluence of the world's magnetosphere, gravitational field, and orbital inclination, Pierosh II exhibits some of the most exotic and unusual weather patterns ever recorded on a habitable planet." He paused to draw another wake-inducing sip from his mug. "A meteorological survey station was established sixteen years ago to study these phenomena. Data gathered from the subsequent observation has helped Earth and a number of other Federation worlds make significant upgrades to their planetary weather modification networks."

Ramirez interjected, "What's the status of the survey station?"

Lar'ragos fielded this one. "It was evacuated in the months leading up to the Dominion War, when it became apparent that Starfleet couldn't safeguard smaller outposts and colonies along the DMZ."

The exec focused on Plazzi, "Is there anything in that planet's atmosphere which could have produced these energy signatures?"

"No, sir. No known meteorological phenomenon could produce power readings on that scale."

Browder's padd beeped insistently. He activated the device, scanning its contents. "Ops has patched in new information from Starfleet Command, Captain."

"Let's hear it, Ensign."

"Yes, sir." Browder replied crisply, displaying none of the self-conscious hesitation that was a hallmark of his predecessor, Juneau. "Whatever happened in that system created a Level 3 shockwave. Sensor records gathered from several civilian ships within scanning range indicate that the wavefront dissipated some .04 lightyears out from its point of origin." He frowned, looking at the captain. "If the Brahmaputra was nearby when that event occurred, something of that magnitude could have easily destroyed a lightly shielded craft like a runabout."

Sandhurst nodded soberly. "Hope for the best, but plan for the worst."

A flashing icon appeared in the corner of the viewer display. Plazzi announced, "Incoming data from our probe, sir." Taking the captain's nod as permission to proceed, he switched from the image of Pierosh II to active sensor telemetry from their probe.

A graphical representation of the Pierosh system took shape, with a text overlay as various points of interest were identified and labeled. In an affront to their expectations, the system appeared conspicuously devoid of either widespread destruction or obvious anomalies.

Ramirez held her breath, anticipating the discovery of a small debris field marking the final resting place of the Brahmaputra and her crew.

"Sensor contact, sir," Plazzi noted. "Reading a subspace distress beacon, transmitting Brahmaputra's registry." He highlighted the region in the immediate vicinity of the beacon and enhanced the resolution. "We've got her, Captain. Danube-class runabout... I'm seeing diminished power signatures and severe structural damage." He directed a relieved expression at Sandhurst, "But they appear to be largely intact. I'm detecting three life signs, weak but stable."

Sandhurst looked intensely at Ashok. "Lieutenant, I need Warp 8.4."

The Bolian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He replied hesitantly in his deep, basso voice, "Captain, we've already had to throttle back from 8.2; we've been redlining the engines for the past six hours. I strongly recommend against-"

For that brief moment, it seemed to Sandhurst as if only the two of them existed in the room. He leaned forward in his chair, cutting the engineer off in mid-sentence. "Lieutenant, I'd remind you that not only is our Lieutenant Juneau aboard that ship, but the Fleet Admiral's son as well. Two hours may as well be an eternity if we arrive too late to save them."

The towering Bolian stood, his frame taut with anger and embarrassment. "I'll do what I can, sir. But I won't promise what I can't deliver." With that he walked stiffly out of the room.

An awkward silence followed, which was broken with the captain's query, "Any information on the source of the energy readings and shockwave, Elisto?"

Plazzi tapped at his interface, centering the viewer squarely on Pierosh II. "We're reading slightly elevated radiation signatures coming from the planet, Captain." The older scientist squinted at the viewscreen, clearly perplexed, "And chronometric energy readings... along with Q-particle emissions."

Taiee frowned, "Q-particles?"

Still engrossed by the onscreen images, Sandhurst replied without at looking at the CMO. "Any energy particle that the computer can't identify is designated a Q-particle, Doc."

Plazzi looked at the captain, his expression one of grave concern. "Such unidentified particles are most often encountered in the vicinity of spatial rifts or extra-dimensional incursions."

Sandhurst looked nonplussed. "Lovely." Turning to look at the remaining senior staff members, he asked, "Anything else for the good of the order?"

No one replied in the affirmative, and the captain took the opportunity to bring the meeting to a close. "I want Medical prepped for those casualties from the runabout, and an Away Team on standby for a surface investigation. Lar'ragos, make sure we've got ample security escort, no telling what we're going to find down there." Turning to the ship's young helmsman, he intoned, "Mr. Lightner, make sure you have multiple egress routes plotted. We may have to break orbit at a moment's notice." As the respective officers acknowledged his orders, he stood. "Let's make it happen, people."

The senior officers filed out, most scribbling notations onto theirs padds as they left. Sandhurst and Ramirez remained behind. Still seated, the exec studied the display on the viewer, "Little harsh with Ashok, weren't you?"

Sandhurst gave her a sidelong glance, "No, actually. He needs to learn the difference between what the specs say is possible, and how a ship will actually deliver beyond those expectations."

"And if he doesn't?"

Sandhurst stretched, looking perturbed. "Then I'll go down there and squeeze 8.4 out of those engines myself."

Chapter 4

Pierosh II

It boiled into space, seething like a living wave of purest rage. It was free, and yet it wasn't. Its intellect was still fragmented; its sense of self and purpose remained jumbled and tenuous. It continued to feel the agonizing cage of its imprisonment, which should not have been possible if it were truly free. As for where it was, it could not fathom.

As its awareness of its surroundings became clearer, it discovered something that might satiate its aching hunger. Still tethered as it was to its former/current prison, it would not be easy... but it was so very hungry.

Orion Merchantman Sethret
En-route to Pierosh star system, Warp 9.8

Ahmet Kutav's fortunes had just improved, and unexpectedly so. Long months of running cargo, both legitimate and illicit, from place to place in the former Demilitarized Zone was proving dangerous and decreasingly profitable. The Cardassians were desperate, and desperation bred betrayal. Even when making officially sanctioned cargo runs on behalf of Federation relief agencies, Kutav and his crew had twice been the intended victims of attacks on his ship. The would-be thieves had discovered, to their short-lived regret, that the Sethret was no mere cargo carrier. Her speed, weapons and shielding made her a formidable foe.

"Status of the distress beacon?" Kutav stared at Vanei as the bulky Orion squirmed in his acceleration couch. It usually amused the Ahmet to watch his larger cousin flail in the decidedly too-small seat, but now was not the time for such distractions.

Drawing in a frustrated breath, Vanei replied, "The signal remains strong and consistent."

"And the Federation starship?"

Vanei shifted to toggle the sensor interface, grumbling as he did so. "It is still on an intercept course with the scout vessel, holding at Warp 8.3. We will arrive at the scout's coordinates a full thirty minutes before the starship."

Kutav stroked his neatly trimmed beard thoughtfully. "Have they detected us yet?"

"No, Ahmet. Their sensors are in passive mode. They are relying on the long-range probe they sent ahead to be their eyes in the system." He turned to study the engineering readouts. "Even with their sensors actively searching, our subspace field modulations would prevent them from seeing us until we were much closer."

"Why would they do such a thing?" Kutav already knew the answer, of course, but Vanei was family, and destined to one day command his own corsair. It was Kutav's responsibility to ensure that the younger man knew his opponents' strengths and weaknesses. Piracy and predation were no trades for the foolish.

"Standard Starfleet intercept protocol, Ahmet. They too wish to approach as stealthily as possible."

Kutav smiled, "Very good, Vanei. Maintain course and speed." He brought his communicator to his lips, activating the device. "Dobros, ready your boarding team. We'll be in transport range in twenty-seven minutes." A double-click from his subordinate's comms device indicated Kutav's message had been heard and understood.

The Ahmet settled back into his chair, an anticipatory thrill beginning to build in his stomachs. The Cardassian insurgency would pay a hefty sum for captured Starfleet personnel. Even if the prisoners had little in the way of vital tactical knowledge, they could still be made to serve as game pieces in the insurgency's campaign against the allied occupation of Cardassian territory. And to snatch such a prize right from under the noses of Starfleet would not only prove a welcoming diversion from the mundane cargo handling duties of late. It was an action worthy of a pirate, worthy of an Orion.

* * * * *

Chained as it was to its prison, it was still able to reach far enough into space from the planet's gravity well. It was upon them quickly, and they were completely unaware. No device they possessed was calibrated to detect its presence. Wherever it was, the corporeal beings inhabiting this place had no knowledge of it, or its abilities. In the past it had not been given to acts of subtlety, but it had learned much patience during its long confinement. It would test the limits of its control, a nudge here, an errant impression there, and it would observe how easily these creatures could be manipulated. It sensed the approach of yet another vessel, containing even greater numbers of potential quarry...

* * * * *

Ahmet Kutav fidgeted uneasily in his seat, his earlier excitement having inexplicably evaporated. Now he felt angry. 'The Federation.' The sanctimonious, bloated superpower had spread across the quadrant like a plague, destroying commerce and free enterprise and leaving a supposed utopian economic vacuum in its wake. His people, renowned for countless generations as traders, raiders, thieves and slavers had been practically emasculated by the stultifying presence of the UFP and its laws.

The Orions had even been pushed into the background of interstellar politics. Once an undeniable force to be reckoned with in the quadrant, they were now a second-tier power. As for the formerly legendary merchant princes of Rigel, they had become someone people turned to if the rapacious Ferengi were not interested in doing business. It was beyond humiliating, and Kutav had suffered enough.

"Alter course. Set intercept trajectory with the approaching starship. Activate defenses and arm weapons."

Far from sounding alarmed by the order, Vanei and Gult both grinned maniacally as they acknowledged the Ahmet's command.

Vanei sounded a cautionary note, however, "Ahmet, despite its age and size, the starship still outguns us 3-to-1."

Kutav settled into his seat, his nerves tingling now with the anticipation of a frontal assault. Never before in his life had he attempted something so bold. "Prepare the subspace charge."

Purchased from the Son'a, Kutav's nasty little surprise was an isolytic subspace weapon, a device used to tear a hole in the fabric of subspace. Never intended as an offensive weapon, Kutav had acquired the device as a last-ditch escape diversion. Now, however, he planned to use it to level the playing field. The charge was dangerously unpredictable, of course, so much so that its use had been outlawed by numerous treaties between the great powers. 'Too bad no one had thought to make the Syndicate a signatory,' Kutav thought pitilessly.

"Beginning build-up to detonation. Warhead will be armed in six minutes. ETA to weapons range with Federation starship... six minutes, eight seconds."

* * * * *

Warp 8.3 was all Ashok had been able to coax from Gibraltar's overtaxed engines. Sandhurst decided it would have to be enough. That last percentage of propulsive energy would have been purchased at the cost of his Chief Engineer's reputation, and the captain was not yet prepared to upstage the lieutenant in front of his department.

Sandhurst's last posting had been aboard the Galaxy-class starship Venture, first as Chief Engineer and finally as the ship's First Officer. Had he been in command of such a vessel, he and his crew would have been in the Pierosh system hours ago, and in possession of sensors and defensive systems capable of identifying and coping with nearly any contingency.

He was not ashamed of the Gibraltar; far from it. However, Sandhurst refused to delude himself about the ship's capabilities. He and his crew would have to be smart, avoiding trouble where possible and thinking their way around situations that larger more durable vessels could fight their way out of.

After the third time Sandhurst had asked for an updated ETA, Ensign Lightner at Flight Control had quietly added a small chronometer window in the corner of the viewscreen. That had prompted a raised eyebrow from Ensign Browder seated next to him at Ops, and had made the captain smile despite the mounting tension on the bridge.

The assembled staff were unusually quiet as they approached the system ahead, muted voices making inquiries and giving status reports. When Lt. Commander Plazzi addressed the captain, there was a tinge of concern in his voice. "Sensor contact, Captain. Bearing 301, mark 228. Reads as a transient object moving at warp speed. Contact is sporadic."

Sandhurst turned in his chair to face the Science station. "Projected course of the object?"

Plazzi's fingers danced across the console, making adjustments and attempting to compensate for the meager sensor return. He raised his head from his monitor and looked to Sandhurst. "Intercept course with us, sir. It's moving at Warp 9.6 or better."

Sandhurst fought the sudden urge to stand from the command chair and move about. He was gradually learning the importance of monitoring his own non-verbals in the presence of his crew. "Time until intercept?"

"Roughly two minutes, sir. Impossible to be more precise than that considering the intermittent sensor readings."

Glancing behind him at where Lar'ragos stood at the Tactical station, the captain inquired, "Status of shields, Lieutenant?"

"Shields on hot standby, sir." Pava's expression was unreadable, though his movement seemed unnaturally laconic. "If you want them raised, we'll have to reduce speed."

"Agreed, sir." This from the Chief Petty Officer manning the bridge's Engineering station.

Sandhurst did not hesitate. "Red alert. Tactical, raise shields and arm defensive systems. Helm, reduce speed to maximum sustainable with shields at full. Science, sensors to active scanning."

A chorus of confirmations echoed his orders. The captain watched Plazzi patiently as the older man illuminated the approaching object with Gibraltar's full sensor suite.

* * * * *

"Ahmet, they are scanning us."

"Hold course and lock target."

"Yes, Ahmet." Vanei locked the targeting reticule onto the starship. A brief moment of hesitation took hold as some part of his mind screamed out that this course of action was madness, certain suicide.

Kutav felt it as well. The enemy target was seductive, but a growing sense of wrongness began to permeate his awareness. As his mind flirted with lucidity, he reached out to toggle the override control on his armrest. Something unseen seemed to grip him in an iron vise. His mouth opened, and he slurred the words, "Open fire" even as he struggled mightily to trap them in his throat.

At the weapons board, a plaintive wail escaped Gult as his hands moved of their own accord, launching the isolytic charge.

* * * * *

Seconds groaned past as the crew awaited Plazzi's verdict. Sandhurst tried not to stare at the man and failed. Still facing his sensor display, the science officer announced, "Orion corsair, Zumschao-class-"

"They've locked weapons on us," Lar'ragos finished for him.

An electric charge seemed to race the length of Sandhurst's spine at Pava's proclamation. Still, he took an extra second to ensure that when he spoke his voice was calm and authoritative, "Helm, drop to impulse and take evasive action. Ops, hail them and identify ourselves. Tactical, launch countermeasures and prepare to return fire if fired upon."

He spared a glance at Ramirez, who was monitoring sensor information at the exec's seat in the lower well. Even from where he sat, he imagined that he could feel her bridled energy, her impatience. She was a person of action, and though having to sit idle as another gave commands in a dynamic situation pained her, she hid it well.

Lar'ragos launched two sensor drones from the aft torpedo bay, both set to mimic Gibraltar's warp signature and energy emissions. They peeled away in opposite directions, one accelerating as the other slowed.

At Helm, Lightner thrilled to the words, 'evasive action.' To him, such a command was a blank canvas, begging to be filled by as wild and unpredictable maneuvers as he could muster.

Plazzi, forgoing all pretense of remaining calm, shouted, "They're firing!"

Sandhurst snapped around in his chair more quickly than intended as the ship's inertial dampeners struggled to keep pace with Lightner's erratic course adjustments. He focused on Lar'ragos at the Tactical board. "Lieutenant, return the compliment."

"Aye, sir. Four photon torpedoes away; they're not yet in phaser range."

At Ops, Browder announced, "Torpedo inbound... warhead yield indeterminate." He squinted at the wavering image on his sensor readout, "It appears to be tracking the accelerating drone, sir."

"Well, thank goodness for small fav-"

The thought went uncompleted as the image on the main viewer was washed away by a brilliant flash of light. Before their eyes the fabric of the universe was rent asunder, sending out a cataclysmic shockwave, the second the Pierosh system had suffered in as many days.

Sandhurst activated the command chair's automated restraint harness, shouting, "Emergency power to shields!" His hand moved for the public address toggle on his armrest.

Ramirez beat him to it, her voice ringing out throughout the ship, "All hands, brace for impact!"

Chapter 5

Two of Gibraltar's four torpedoes had struck Sethret amidships, causing serious hull buckling despite the craft's sturdy shields. Their own isolytic detonation finished the job, crashing through their weakened shielding and frying every multitronic component in the ship. The once graceful Orion blockade runner now drifted, defenseless, a victim of her own intrigues.

Ahmet Kutav sat in his chair, watching Vanei writhe spasmodically in his seat. It was not mere discomfort this time, but an exposed EPS relay in his console that caused the man's charring corpse to thrash wildly.

He had inexplicably thrown caution to the wind, endangering and ultimately dooming his ship and crew, and for the life of him Kutav could not say why. The ahmet fumbled for the key dangling from the chain around his neck, forcing it into the locking mechanism on his chair's armrest. His shaking hand forced the key to turn, opening a small compartment housing a single green button. 'I have failed my family, my crew, and the Syndicate. At the very least I can die like an Orion.' He pressed the button, activating the explosive charges set at critical junctures throughout the ship. His last thought was of his younger cousin, who would never know the joys and privileges of his own command. 'Apologies, Vanei...'

* * * * *

If it could have, it would have screamed. It had grossly misjudged its ability to control the corporeals in this place. After it had provoked them into attacking the other vessel, they had launched some manner of weapon whose detonation had caused the rift back to its place of imprisonment to fluctuate. Despite lacking any physical substance, it was not immune to pain, and this disturbance wracked the creature with an agony that made its eons of confinement pale in comparison.

Weakened and hurting, it recoiled back into the planet's gravity well. There it would lick its proverbial wounds until its strength returned. It reasoned that it must find a way to break itself free from this place. If not, it would be forever chained to this world, subject to the torture of being able to see its prey passing almost within reach, but forever prevented from feeding.

* * * * *

The din grew louder, intruding upon his peaceful solitude until it became so distracting that he was forced to open his eyes. Blood red emergency lighting greeted Sandhurst's swimming vision. Voices had awakened him, along with sounds of computer systems restarting. He saw Ramirez, moving from station to station on the still-intact bridge, rousing those crew still incapacitated by the shockwave.

Sandhurst cleared his throat, then croaked, "Report... Commander."

Ramirez leaned across the Ops board, toggling a control as she gently shook Ensign Browder awake with her other hand. "Trying to determine our status, Captain. We're obviously still here, so I'm taking that as a positive sign." She moved to the upper level of the bridge, easing past the duty engineer's still unconscious form to check the ship's status. "Looks like the computer core shut down automatically to prevent a complete systems collapse, sir. It's rebooting now, and main systems are coming back online."

Sandhurst rubbed his face; feeling as though he'd just awoke from a long slumber. "Any idea what that was, or how long we've been out?"

From the Science station, Plazzi replied, sounding groggy. "Backup power remained on through the core shutdown, Captain, so the chronometers kept running. It's been less than a minute since the detonation. As for what exactly hit us... I'll have to review the sensor logs. Give me a few minutes." The older man, looking haggard, turned to his console and set to work.

Sandhurst did a full rotation in his chair to assess the condition of the bridge and crew. He saw Ramirez kneeling next to where Lt. Lar'ragos lay sprawled at the base of the Tactical console. Ramirez shook the El Aurian gently, but he did not respond. Detecting a strong pulse in his carotid artery, she met the captain's expectant stare evenly. "He's fine sir, just out." She tapped her compin with her other hand, ordering a medical team to the bridge.

She then stood, manning the Tactical console. Murmuring quietly enough that only the captain could hear, she said, "I would remind you that the ship that attacked us is still out there, and we're both blind and defenseless at the moment."

Sandhurst directed a patient smile at his exec. "I haven't forgotten. One thing at a time, Commander." He turned back to face the viewscreen, ordering, "Get me a position fix on the threat vessel as soon as sensors come back online. Tactical, status of shields and weapons?"

The XO replied from behind him, "Shields are still up, holding at sixteen percent. Weapons systems and targeting sensors still offline."

Sandhurst resisted the urge to call down to Engineering. Doubtless, Lt. Ashok was working feverishly to restore primary systems, and having the captain nipping at his heels wouldn't make his job any easier.

The wait for sensor capacity to be restored was agonizing. The captain sat quietly, trying not to fidget, thinking that any second their opponent could deliver the killing strike. Now I understand the reasoning behind all the simulator time at Command School, he thought. 'Staying calm during an exercise is one thing. But no matter how "real" your instructors make the scenarios, you're still aware that you aren't in any actual danger. They wanted me to be ready for this moment, where I have to sit here, otherwise useless, and still be the steady pillar of leadership for my crew.' Sandhurst actually shook his head and smirked at the thought, which drew a curious look from Ramirez who'd resumed her station in the well.

Chief Petty Officer Keld at Engineering breathed a sigh of relief. "We have partial sensors, Captain."

Craning his head around to look behind him, Sandhurst inquired, "Tactical?"

Ensign Qawasimi had taken the Lar'ragos' place at the Tactical station, while the lieutenant lay off to one side, being revived by a medical technician. He checked his board, "Sir, I'm reading a debris field, approximately eight hundred-thousand kilometers from our position. Mass and constituents would appear consistent with an Orion vessel."

The tightness in Sandhurst's gut seemed to ease just a fraction at that news. "Status of the runabout?"

"Unchanged, sir. It appears to have been outside the range of the shockwave."

Sandhurst swiveled in his chair to face the Science officer. In response to the Captain's gaze, Plazzi announced, "I believe I have some answers for you, sir." Plazzi was beginning to look a bit better, the color having returned to his features. "I'm seeing residual byproducts of a localized subspace disturbance, Captain." He drew his bearded face away from his display, his expression troubled. "I think they fired a subspace charge at us."

"Then how are we still here?" Sandhurst tried to calculate the potential destructive forces unleashed by such a hellish weapon, and failed.

"It appears to have been a relatively low yield weapon, sir. The rift it created lasted only a fraction of a second before it collapsed." He called up some data on another display, nodding distractedly to himself as he read. "That might also explains why we blacked out, sir. Subspace disturbances have been known to interfere with the neural pathways of carbon-based lifeforms."

"What would have been the result if the weapon had struck us directly?"

Plazzi replied dourly, "We'd have been completely annihilated, sir."

Nodding somberly, the captain intoned, "Very well." Sandhurst turned to Ramirez. "Exec, take a rescue team by shuttle to the Brahmaputra and recover the runabout's crew. We'll hold position, effect repairs, and screen you from any additional insurgent attacks."

"Aye." Ramirez stood from her station, looking curiously at Sandhurst. "So, you're sure this is another insurgent operation, Captain?"

"No, but that's the assumption I'm working under for the time being. It certainly looks as though the mysterious energy emissions and the attack on the runabout were meant to lure us into an ambush." He gestured to Ensign Browder at Ops. "Hail DS9 and update them on our status, then contact the Trafalgar and warn them the convoy could be facing an imminent attack as well."

"Aye, sir."

Moving for the turbolift, Ramirez tapped her compin, "Lieutenant Taiee, meet me in the shuttle bay for a rescue detail." She stepped into the car, "Ensigns Qawasimi and Lightner, you're with me."

Grinning broadly at the chance to pilot the shuttle, Lightner abandoned his station and joined the exec.

The captain fixed a serious look on Ramirez as the doors closed. "Bring them back to us, Commander."

* * * * *

Pierosh II

The dark figure stood alone, silhouetted against the lavender sunset of the local star as he cursed the fates. Drawing his heavy cloak around him for warmth against the frigid wind that blustered across the barren, rocky landscape, he plotted his next move. On some level he could appreciate the irony of his situation. Decades of planning and effort had gone into this, and on the cusp of his greatest victory over his enemies, he had been thwarted. Not by any man or army or nation, though. That he could have made allowances for. After all, he had been defeated by those who sought to be his equal before. No, this time the very fabric of the universe had conspired against him.

From within the folds of his cloak he withdrew an amber colored, tear drop shaped crystal that filled the palm of his hand. He passed his other hand over it, watching the flickering lights and patterns play across its facets, coalescing into a steady stream of information that only he could decipher. There were others nearby. Loath though he was to admit it, he would need the assistance of outsiders to complete this task.

He traced a design across the face of the crystal with one finger, causing a door to appear before him, seemingly out of thin air. He stepped through this portal without hesitation, his mind filled with dark thoughts. He mused to himself as he crossed the threshold, 'The best laid plans of mice and men...'

Chapter 6

Her eyes fluttered open then snapped closed immediately at the bright lights overhead.

A familiar voice called to her soothingly, "It's alright, Lieutenant. You're back aboard Gibraltar." It was Lt. Taiee.

Olivia Juneau tried to sit up, only to find she was secured beneath a restraining field. Opening her eyes again cautiously against the glare, she saw Taiee's face appear above her, smiling warmly. "Don't struggle, Olivia. Everything's fine, you're home."

Her throat was dry, her mouth parched, but somehow Juneau managed to form the word, "Crew?"

A brief flicker of concern passed over Taiee's face, "We can discuss that later. For right now all you need to be concerned with is that you're alright and in good hands."

Juneau nodded weakly, and ceased straining against the field. She couldn't recall anything after the shockwave had struck the Brahmaputra. She wanted to insist that Taiee tell her the fate of her crewmates, but she was so exhausted that it took every ounce of strength she could muster to even remain awake.

Just beneath the surface of her conscious mind, her alter ego lurked, watching and waiting. There was an opportunity here, something much more suited to her abilities than planting experimental devices in the ship's engineering section, as she'd been tasked to do prior to the Lakesh mission. Whatever was happening in the Pierosh system was clearly a threat to Federation security. When the opportunity arose, she would contact her handler and request instructions. Until then, she would play her part, and allow the angst-ridden Olivia to wrestle with the aftermath of her first, abortive command.

* * * * *

Lt. Taiee injected Juneau with a mild sedative, sending the young woman to sleep. Her injuries were serious, but not life threatening. Smoke inhalation and some bruised organs were the worst of it, and she was in far better condition than her two surviving comrades from the runabout.

Fortunately Taiee was not only good at her job, she was practical enough to call for help when someone's condition was beyond her capabilities. She'd activated one of the ship's two Emergency Medical Holograms, and assisted as the photonic doctor had repaired the more severe injuries sustained by Ensign Shanthi and CPO Osterlund. Every time she worked alongside the EMH she learned something new, and today had been no different. She pitied those physicians who were so insecure that they could not bring themselves to activate the holograms for fear of undermining their own positions.

She walked over to another biobed, this one containing the enigmatic Lt. Lar'ragos. He'd collapsed along with ninety-five percent of the crew following the subspace shockwave that had engulfed Gibraltar. Despite the best efforts of the med-techs on the bridge, Lar'ragos had resisted being revived, managing only a confused and muddled half-waking state that warranted further observation in Sickbay.

Taiee had checked the Starfleet medical database, the interlinked archive accessible by every ship and outpost in the Fleet. El Aurians were a mysterious people, and although the workings of their various internal organs were known to medical science, their special psionic abilities were still an unknown variable in their makeup. She found a single reference, from a Commander Beverly Crusher of the Enterprise-D, that suggested the El Aurian civilian assigned to that ship may have been hypersensitive to changes or disruptions in the immediate time/space continuum. The notation had been flagged for future inquiry by Starfleet Medical, but it appeared that no further research into this area had ever been done.

Her scans of his brain indicated that his neurotransmitter levels had increased by twenty-percent, but she couldn't localize the activity to any one section of his neural structure. The EMH had recommended a broad-spectrum anti-inflammatory and a mild neurotransmitter inhibitor. Taiee loaded a hypospray and injected Lar'ragos, patting his shoulder gently. "Pava my dear, you are a mess."

She hoped that some prolonged rest might give the El Aurian's body a chance to decompress from its hyper-vigilant state. Whatever was tormenting him, Taiee surmised that it had surfaced recently after the Gibraltar's first mission.

As Lar'ragos slept, he dreamed.

* * * * *

Vot'u-Shay City
Planet Dabroth, Ig'Vean Principalities
Delta Quadrant
Circa 1983 A.D., Terran Calendar

It was the textbook definition of a backwater planet, the fifth such world that the 507th Royal Fusiliers had been assigned to in the past three years. A technological m‚lange of the ancient and state-of-the-art, Vot'u-Shay City was the headquarters for Dabroth's merchant warlords. These men trafficked in all manner of goods: narcotics, weapons, slaves, and even did a brisk business in the sale and transport of humanoid organs into the quarantined and blockaded Vidiian Sodality.

The subahdar leaned against the side of the crumbling tenement, shrouded in the suffocating multi-layered robes that were worn by the natives to protect against Dabroth's glaring sun and churning sandstorms. He was hot, itchy, and irritable. His plasma pulse rifle was dangling from a shoulder harness beneath his robes, but even if the locals could have seen it, they'd have given him little notice. Everyone here was armed; it was a society whose only laws flowed from the gun barrels of the warlord elite.

The city stretched out to the horizon. It was a decaying, fetid mishmash of multistory mud-brick hovels interspersed with stark glass and metal towers which looked as though they had been intentionally misplaced here by some capricious deity. There were few straight avenues, and much of the city was a rabbit's warren of interconnecting roads and alleyways. Some of the streets had been paved centuries earlier, but now they consisted of dirt and the ever-present blowing sand. Above the buildings was a crazed web of electrical power lines, crisscrossing the skyline and creating a confusing buzz of electromagnetic interference that played hell with Hekosian scanners.

The people here, clad in the ubiquitous shaura robes moved with the slow deliberation of those without hope for the future. Chaos and squalor was all they knew, and for them there could be no other way.

The Empire had come to change all that.

"Unit One to Lead, we're in position." The message crackled in the earpiece of his comms headset.

The subahdar accessed the chronometer displayed across the special contact lens in his left eye. T + 1 minute. They were running late. He keyed his mic, "Copy, standby. Awaiting confirmation of target's presence." "Boss, the skimmer's idling. They can't hang there much longer without attracting attention."

His voice took on a stern edge, "Copy. I said standby."

He sensed someone approaching, and instinctively grasped the handle of his combat knife in the sheath on his leg, turning to confront the new arrival. It was only Nellit. The man waggled his eyebrows expressively at the subahdar, the gesture speaking volumes even though only his eyes were visible through his layered shaura. "Greetings, boss. Aren't we about due to start spreading hate and discontent?"

"We're on hold," the subahdar hissed.

Nellit's impatience was evident in his stance. "He's not in there, Pava. We've got hard intel that he's spending the night in Lort, and you damn well know it. Wishing on all the stars in the night sky won't make it otherwise." Nellit reached out a hand, encased in a thick tactical glove, and grasped the subahdar's arm. "I know you were hoping for a shot at the old man himself, but that's not the Op." His grip hardened, conveying conviction as well as mounting anger, "Either give the word or scrub the mission."

After a moment, 1st Subahdar Pava Lar'ragos gave a terse, reluctant nod. In response, Nellit fumbled with something bulky beneath his robes and began moving towards the main entrance of the warlord Jebrosk's multistory compound. Keying the comms, Lar'ragos barked, "Sandstorm! Repeat, Sandstorm! All teams go!"

Instantly, a dozen of the shrouded, shuffling figures in the streets surrounding Jebrosk's dilapidated palace surged into action. Casting aside their robes in favor of the desert patterned camouflage and ballistic armor hidden beneath, they freed their plasma rifles and laser carbines as they charged the building.

A series of loud snapping noises overhead heralded the deaths of the warlord's rooftop spotters on the surrounding buildings, eliminated by the 507th's pre-positioned snipers. One of the spotters, felled from the roof above Lar'ragos, thudded into the dusty street just meters away from the subahdar.

Nellit dropped to one knee in the middle of the street, flinging his shaura away from him and hefting a menacing looking tetryon cannon to his shoulder. He took careful aim and fired, sending a white hot bolt of energy into the main entryway of the building, obliterating the massive and ornate wierwood doors, as well as the four bodyguards the team knew to be stationed on the other side.

The scream of the skimmer's engines announced its arrival as the squat craft, bristling with weapons ports and studded with missiles, flared out to a hover above the target building. The aft hatch dropped open, and a squad of fusiliers jumped down onto the roof, engaging the few surviving roof sentries with short, controlled bursts of fire. Using shaped demolition charges, they blew their own entry points through the ceiling and stormed the top floor, catching the defenders who lurked near the stairwells to the roof by surprise.

The ground level assault team blasted through the building's reinforced first story windows, then hurled concussion grenades inside that detonated with muffled thumps. The raiders lined up in entry team formation to one side of the now shattered main doorway, then rushed inside, covering pre-assigned quadrants of fire.

The fight for control of the compound was brief, and ridiculously one-sided. They took the structure floor by floor, exercising speed and violence to overcome the remaining guards. Within five minutes it was over. The sounds of battle from within the building began to wane, and moments later Lar'ragos observed a line of civilians, hands atop their heads, being marched out of the entryway and into the street.

The fusiliers had them kneel in the street, dropping reluctantly to the scorching sand and gravel. These were Jebrosk's wives, children, cousins, courtesans, retainers, and a handful of his security detail who'd chosen the humiliation of capture over certain death at the hands of the 507th.

Lar'ragos motioned to one of his men, who lowered his rifle and raised a holocamera, focusing on the subahdar with the captured civilians arrayed behind him in the background. Pava pulled the hood of the shaura back, exposing his face to the camera. "Iton-mai Jebrosk, the Hekosian Empire approached you with the hand of friendship. We offered you trade and the promise of greater influence for your clan with the offworld commerce guilds. In return for your fealty, the Empire would have awarded you the protection of our laws and the soldiers who enforce them." Lar'ragos spat theatrically into the sand at his feet. "You dismissed our entreaties, and executed our envoy."

He stepped aside, allowing the camera to pan across the faces of the prisoners. "Now your family and loyal followers are in our hands. They shall remain safe and healthy, so long as you sign our treaty in good faith and abide by its provisions." The camera zoomed in on the El Aurian's severe expression. "If you refuse, we'll send them back to you, one piece at a time."

Lar'ragos made a cutting motion at his neck, and the soldier ceased recording. Activating his comms, the subahdar ordered, "Fusiliers, we are leaving!" He swung his arm in a circular motion above his head as a sign for his men to assemble for exfiltration; it was an anachronistic gesture, a throwback to the days when the Hekosian military used rotary aircraft for troop transport. The skimmer roared overhead, settling slowly into the street to collect the platoon and their prisoners.

Taking the camera's holodisk from his subordinate, Lar'ragos stalked across the road to the side of the building. He pulled a plasma flare from his tactical vest and ignited it. With swift, brutal strokes he carved a crude representation of the Hekosian Royal Crest into the wall, dropping the holodisk on the sand beneath the smoldering graffiti.

The departing platoon hustled the prisoners aboard the skimmer, pushing or dragging those who resisted. Lar'ragos lagged behind, covering their egress with a handful of troopers until he was the only one remaining. Taking a last look around, he spat again into the shifting sands of Dabroth, bidding the miserable planet farewell for the time being. He stepped up onto the landing ramp, shaking his head. 'For honor... for Empire,' he thought wryly as the whine of the powering engines drowned out the sounds of whimpering hostages.

Chapter 7

USS Gibraltar, Transporter Room 2
In geo-synchronous orbit of Pierosh II

Ramirez hadn't realized how much she'd missed the bustle and camaraderie of away team prep. This was her first away mission in six weeks, and as she and the rest of the team geared up, she felt a momentary twinge of nostalgia for those bright, na‹ve days before the Dominion War. Exploration, diplomacy, science; such things had been given short shrift during the bloody conflict.

She regretted that Lar'ragos was still confined to Sickbay. Despite whatever recent issues he might be having, his tactical abilities in the field made him a welcome addition to any landing party. In his stead, Master Chief Tark would be leading the team's security contingent, comprised of three additional security personnel. Taiee and a medical technician would render aid to any injured discovered on the surface. Plazzi and Ashok rounded out the team.

Loaded for bear with phaser sidearms, tricorders, field jackets, and various specialized equipment, the team stood ready. Ramirez briefly inspected them, making sure everyone had a full compliment of gear. "I'll beam down first with the security team to ensure the landing zone is safe. Once we signal things are clear, we'll bring the rest of you down." She turned to Taiee. "Lieutenant, you're sure about the radiation danger?"

"Yes, sir." The nurse practitioner replied, "The hyronaline boosters I've given the away team members should suffice to offset any moderate elevation in radiation levels encountered on the surface." Ramirez had wanted to avoid encasing the away team in the bulky, cumbersome radiation-hardened EVA suits. If an ambush awaited them on the planet, she didn't want the team facing the threat with the added disadvantages of poor visibility and decreased mobility.

Ramirez directed an appraising look at Plazzi. "And we're not going to get fried by some unexpected radiation surge, right Commander?"

The older scientist shrugged awkwardly as he struggled into his field jacket. "Latest sensor readings show that the ambient radiation levels have gone back down to near normal." He fastened the jacket, made an irritated face, and busied himself rearranging the placement of his gear for the third time. "Since we don't know what caused the radiation spike and the shockwave in the first place, I can't tell you if or when it might recur." He gave the XO a blase smile, "But that's okay. I'm in Starfleet. We live for danger."

Tark snorted, Taiee chuckled, and Ramirez rolled her eyes. "And on that note..." Ramirez stepped onto the transporter dais, followed by the master chief and his security team. They assumed a tactical beam-in formation, all five facing outwards with phasers rifles at the ready. She nodded to the transporter operator, "Energize."

* * * * *

Pierosh II
Meteorological Research Station Aristotle

'Wonderful. It's Planet Shale.' That was Ramirez's first thought as she looked out across the featureless landscape surrounding the survey station. It appeared as if the entire surface of the world had been littered with the chipped away refuse from some gigantic rock quarry. No vegetation, no water, no distractions of any kind to break up the monotonous vista. The flat, loose stones stretched out in all directions, giving the planet a chillingly desolate feel; a world of crushed rock under steel gray skies.

"Charming, Ramirez quipped, "Now that I've seen it, I'll have to cancel my next trip to Risa." She glanced at the sensor window displayed on her rifle's scope. "Clear on my side. Master Chief?"

"Same here," Tark replied. The other three offered identical reports. Breaking out their tricorders, which had greater range and sensitivity than their tactical scanners, the security team probed for hidden traps or devices. They found nothing.

Ramirez tapped the compin affixed to her survival jacket. "Ramirez to Gibraltar, all clear planetside. Send down the rest of the team."

A moment later, Plazzi, Ashok, Taiee and Medical Specialist Yoichi materialized. Taiee frowned and zipped her jacket to the top in deference to the biting wind that whipped across the plain. Plazzi's eyes lit up upon seeing the surrounding panorama, the geologist in him thrilling to the forces that created this sight.

The exec ordered the security team into a perimeter around the specialists, and headed off towards the survey station, some two kilometers distant. The station was nearly as dreary as its surroundings. It was comprised of a series of boxy, two story structures interconnected by elevated walkways; a cubist's dream. Plated with drab green weather resistant tritanium sheeting, the buildings had long, narrow windows and nests of antennae and sensor arrays extruding from their roofs.

As they approached, Plazzi noted, "No power signatures, Commander. When the facility was operational, it was supposed to be run on four mega-wattage fusion reactors, one in each structure."

"Radiation levels?" the exec inquired.

"Nominal for the moment. I am reading slightly elevated gamma emissions from the southeastern most building, however."

In response, Ramirez turned to Taiee. Issara looked up from her own tricorder, meeting Ramirez's eyes. "Still within safety parameters, sir."

"Then that's where we'll head first."

* * * * *

With half the security team taking point and the other half bringing up the rear, they cautiously entered the structure. Not only was the building without power, it appeared every electronic device in the structure had been violently disrupted. They had been forced to cut through the doors at the entrance with their phasers. Lighting fixtures dangled from the ceiling by charred optical cabling, and computer terminals were blackened or partially melted.

Ashok paused, shining his palm beacon onto a scorched door control panel as he scanned it with his tricorder. In response to Ramirez's questioning look, he muttered, "Electromagnetic pulse, Commander. A big one. Would have corrupted every multitronic component within kilometers of here."

"Is that the result of a weapon used on the facility, or something that originated here?"

The massive Bolian snapped his tricorder shut with a flick of his wrist, leveling a carefully neutral expression at his superior. "Don't know yet."

From up ahead, PO2 Dunleavy from the security detachment called out, "I've... got something." There was a strained quality to her voice that spurred the others ahead double-time.

The sight was so remarkable that even Taiee involuntarily gasped. A man, human by the look of him, slouched awkwardly from where the chair that he'd presumably been seated in had somehow joined with his torso. It appeared that the man had become momentarily incorporeal, and had begun to fall through the chair towards the floor, only to regain his solidity just in time for his abdominal cavity to fuse with the seat.

"Please take your seats," Plazzi said, voice barely above a whisper. Nobody laughed.

Taiee crouched next to the man, running the sensor wand from her medical tricorder over him. "I'm reading massive cellular disruption. Fortunately, whatever did this killed him instantly."

Ramirez forced herself to look away from the ghastly sight. "Yes. Fortunately," she echoed, unable to mask the irony in her tone. "So, now we know that there were people home in our supposedly abandoned research outpost." Sneaking a peek at Taiee's tricorder over her shoulder, Ramirez asked, "What would you estimate the time of death was?"

"Somewhere between fifteen and twenty hours ago."

Ramirez nodded, "Right about the time of our shockwave, then." Gesturing to the lead security detail, the exec instructed, "Let's keep going."

They proceeded further into the building, passing laboratories that looked as if they'd been struck by miniature tornados, and living quarters and office cubicles that appeared untouched, aside from their now defunct electronic systems.

Reaching the main operations center, they swept their lights across the various shattered computer banks, their boots crunching on shards of polymers blown free from workstations and monitors.

Taiee's frozen breath billowed in her searchlight's beam as she probed the darkness with it. Something caught her attention, a computer console that didn't look quite right. She approached, her brain having difficulty deciphering what her eyes were telling her. "Found another one. I think."

A Tellarite female had collapsed onto her workstation, but her arm and part of her head had taken on the properties of the workstation itself. An older style console, it was studded with push buttons, toggles and switches, some of which now extruded from the metallic mass of the woman's skull and arm.

Calling Ashok over to where the woman lay, Ramirez gestured towards the body. "Could an EM pulse do that, Lieutenant?"

Ashok inspected the macabre scene, then delivered his succinct analysis. "No."

Giving the Bolian an incredulous look, Ramirez pried further. "What could, Mr. Ashok?"

"Something else we've yet to encounter, sir."

Ramirez bit back a snide reply about Ashok's grasp of the obvious, keenly aware that her own discomfort with this eerie place was agitating her. She admonished herself silently. 'Don't take it out on your people, Liana.' Instead, she hailed the Gibraltar, giving the captain a brief update on what they'd discovered so far, as the rest of the team continued their examination of the operations center.

A moment later, she noticed Tark squatting on his haunches near a bank of wrecked computer processors affixed to one wall. He was studying his tricorder intently as she approached, "Something of note, Master Chief?"

Tark wiped the face of his tricorder across one sleeve, removing the crystallized water vapor from his exhalations that had clouded the display. "Yes, sir. There are three sublevels beneath the physical plant room in the basement."

Ramirez frowned, "And...?"

The grizzled Tellarite looked up at her. "And they're not in the design specs for the station that we requested from the Federation Science Directorate."

Her frown growing more severe, Ramirez postulated, "An unintentional omission?"

Tark stood, stifling a groan as his old soldier's knees crackled in protest. "I don't think so, Commander." He held his tricorder up for her inspection. "Those levels aren't accessible from the power plant. Only through what appears to be a hidden stairwell located behind one of those processor towers."

Looking past the tricorder at the bank of processors, Ramirez muttered some choice phrases in Cardassian under her breath. Then, more loudly, "A secret compartment and a hidden stairwell leading to underground chambers? You have got to be kidding."

"I'm afraid not, sir."

They approached the wall, Ramirez playing her palm beacon's beam into the seams between the processor towers. Handing the light to Tark, she squeezed her fingers into the gap between two towers and pulled. "Nothing. It won't budge."

"Scans show there's a small motor mechanism in the wall. It was probably activated by a switch somewhere in this room." Tark drew his phaser pistol, the weapon chirping as he increased the power setting. "Stand back, sir."

Retreating quickly from the towers, Ramirez looked on as Tark directed a brief yet surgical phaser beam that vaporized two of the processors and part of a third. Behind them, as promised, was a small doorway leading to a staircase.

She swept her light down the stairs, and looked back to the away team. "Plazzi, call the ship and let them know what that phaser fire was before we have a rescue team beaming into our midst." She started down the stairs. "Oh, and tell the captain we found stairs." She grinned nervously, pausing for dramatic effect. "Tell him... they go down."

Chapter 8

USS Gibraltar
In geo-synchronous orbit of Pierosh II

Orbit was a bad thing. Ensign Lightner hated orbit. Having to park the ship around a planet and continue to stand watch at the Flight Control station was like someone's sick idea of purgatory for a pilot. 'There isn't enough coffee in the entire galaxy,' he thought glumly as he quietly observed the ship's automated systems making minute course corrections to hold their orbital position above the survey station.

Captain Sandhurst had been in the ready room for the past hour, fielding subspace inquiries as to the mission's progress from multiple divisions of Starfleet Command and more than one delegate of the Federation Science Council, if the incoming comms signatures had been accurate. Suddenly, the Pierosh system was the hottest spot on the border.

Repairs continued throughout the ship, engineering teams attending to the remaining damage caused by the enemy subspace charge. It appeared to Lightner that Engineering was having difficulty reassembling the shield grid, which did not bode well if they were to be subject to further attacks.

With Lt. Lar'ragos out of commission and the rest of the senior staff on the surface, Ensign Qawasimi, the assistant chief of security sat in the captain's chair. Lightner fretted about not having been asked to take the conn by the captain. It was, he decided, just one more prize denied him since his graduation from the academy some three months earlier.

Though not as depressed as he'd originally been, Lightner still bemoaned his assignment to the Gibraltar. He'd graduated in the top third of his academy class, and had even flown on the academy's elite aerobatics team during his plebe year. As such he'd requested a posting to a combat fighter wing or one of Starfleet's smaller, more maneuverable starships, such as the Saber-class. Brett Lightner was enough of a pragmatist to understand that not everyone got their preference of assignment, no matter what their graduation standing. Nevertheless, he was convinced that in his case there was more to it.

He'd been born and raised on Ronara Prime, a Federation colony along the Federation/Cardassian border that would eventually fall within the Demilitarized Zone. Lightner had grown up hating the provincial feel of the small settlement, certain he was living his life lightyears away from where anything of consequence was happening. In the face of the newly established DMZ and the rising tensions along the border, his family relocated to the Rudyard Colonies the same year Brett was accepted to Starfleet Academy. All except his older brother Karl.

Flying in the face of reason, Karl had run off and joined the Maquis. His brother, although rated at a genius level IQ as a child, hadn't the common sense of a housefly in Brett's opinion. Fortunately, he proved as incompetent a freedom fighter as he had at any of his other endeavors, and was quickly apprehended by Starfleet. Karl had spent the last three years in a Federation penal settlement on Alpha Centauri, growing angrier and ever more embittered. Brett had tried to correspond with him, but Karl froze both he and his parents out.

Brett believed it was his brother's unsavory ties to the Maquis that had cost him a more noteworthy first assignment. It wasn't officially sanctioned discrimination, of course, but the results were just the same. Someone up the chain of command had decided that Brett might hold Maquis sympathies too, despite all evidence to the contrary.

It wasn't as if his posting to the Gibraltar had been a total disaster; he'd seen plenty of action on their first mission. The intervening weeks of drudge work had left him aching for greener pastures, however.

Seated next to Lightner at Operations, Ensign Browder sat forward slightly, making note of something as he examined the readout of a routine surface scan. Momentarily shaken from his funk, Lightner glanced over at Browder's board. Browder looked behind him to Ensign Qawasimi. "I'm reading a phaser discharge on the surface, Ensign."

Qawasimi stood, moving down into the well to take a look for himself. "I'd concur, Mr. Browder." He turned towards the closed ready room door, reaching for his compin, "Cap-" The incoming hail cut him off.

"Plazzi to Gibraltar, we've just cut through a bank of computers with phasers to get at a hidden doorway. Be advised, we've apparently discovered some deliberately hidden levels beneath the facility. We're moving to investigate."

Qawasimi toggled the comms control at Browder's station, "Gibraltar copies, Commander. Standing by for further updates."

Looking a bit disappointed, the security ensign ascended to the command chair and resumed his seat. Lightner turned in his chair to face him, grinning and inclining his head towards the small replicator terminal at the back of the bridge, "More coffee, Ensign?"

Qawasimi's reply was cut short as the doors to the ready room hissed open. A very tense looking Captain Sandhurst emerged, massaging the back of his neck with one hand. He looked at the ensign in the command chair. "If anyone else needs to talk to me, tell them I'm unavailable and will get back to them as soon as possible." With that, the captain headed for the turbolift.

Conscientious of his responsibility as the duty watch officer, Qawasimi quickly recited, "Sir, the away team reports having located some hidden levels to the survey station. They're checking them out now."

Sandhurst nodded, "Very well. Keep me apprised of anything noteworthy, Mr. Qawasimi."

"Aye, sir. And... where will you be, sir?"

Sandhurst stepped into the lift car, smiling faintly. "In Engineering, getting my hands dirty."

* * * * *

Lt. Olivia Juneau lay atop the biobed, sleeping peacefully. Though cleared medically hours earlier to resume duty, her psychological state had Taiee worried enough that she'd ordered Juneau to remain for observation. Gibraltar was too small a ship to warrant a counselor, and with Taiee planetside and the EMH in charge, the medical department's psychiatric assets were nil.

So, Juneau had been sedated and left to rest until Taiee's return. This proved utterly intolerable to the junior lieutenant's alter ego, who refused to be incapacitated due to the inherent weaknesses of her host. Taking charge of the situation, she flooded Juneau's system with the appropriate cocktail of endorphins and adrenaline to offset the sedative, clawing her way back to consciousness. She would be far from one-hundred percent, remaining lethargic and addled, but she would be able to function for long enough to free herself from Sickbay.

Her eyes slammed open, and she found herself once again beneath the damnable restraining field. "Doctor," she croaked, struggling to regain her voice and equilibrium.

The EMH approached, looking perturbed. "Lieutenant? You shouldn't be awake." The hologram studied Juneau's biometric readouts on the display at the head of the bed. "That's very odd..."

Juneau fought to keep focus, dumping more adrenaline into her system to correct for her swimming vision and impossibly heavy eyelids. "Doctor, I'm thinking of a number..."

The Mark I EMH, never known for its winning bedside manner, was having none of it. "I'm sure you are, Lieutenant." It stepped away from the biobed, reaching for a hypospray and another sedative ampoule.

Juneau wrestled with her leaden tongue, forcing the words out. "It's a prime number..."

The EMH charged the hypo, nodding distractedly. "Mmm-hmm." It approached, poised to inject her.

"...that number is thirty-one." The EMH stopped in its tracks, as if frozen. The expression on its face shifted from one of professional irritation at a medical irregularity to one of helpful anticipation.

"How may I be of assistance?" it inquired.

Juneau sighed, thanking the brilliant engineers centuries earlier who had subtly grafted emergency overrides not only into the operating programming of all Starfleet systems, but into the very hardware that supported them. They had remained there through successive generations of advances and upgrades, undetected. They were rarely used, so as to avoid exposure, but when absolutely necessary they proved invaluable.

"Release the restraining field and give me the appropriate stimulant to counteract the sedative."

"Right away, Lieutenant."

* * * * *

Pierosh II
Meteorological Research Station Aristotle

Thirty minutes and several wrecked rooms later, Lt. Commander Ramirez and company stood before a sealed pressure door situated one level above what their scans indicated was the actual lowest level of the building. Ashok and Tark examined the blast door carefully for a few minutes, pointing to one another's tricorders and muttering terminologies that Ramirez wouldn't pretend to understand. Ashok finally gave his professional assessment. "The door is heavily reinforced, Commander."

"We can't cut through it with phasers?"

Tark spoke up, "I wouldn't recommend it, sir. We'd have to put our phasers on a high enough setting that we'd risk destroying whatever's on the other side, including any forensic evidence."

Ramirez turned to Plazzi. "Can we have the ship beam us to the other side?"

The scientist referenced his tricorder. "Not with the levels of chroniton radiation in the vicinity, sir. Chronmetric particles and transporters don't play well together."

"Okay, then. Suggestions?"

Ashok held up his engineering kit. "I have a battery pack, sir. I could attempt to power the locking mechanism and run a bypass."

The exec nodded curtly. "Do it."

Stepping aside to give the lieutenant room to work, Ramirez observed that whatever his failings in the area of interpersonal relations, the man attacked an engineering problem with the tenacity of a Caldorian eel. It took less than five minutes for Ashok to run a successful bypass, the door cycling open with a juddering pneumatic sigh.

The room on the other side was illuminated by a wavering bluish light, emanating from a large transparent aluminum observation window that ran nearly the entire length of the room's far wall. The now familiar sight of blown out control consoles and the scent of burning electronics were evident here, as well as a number of humanoid bodies strewn about the room.

Taiee started to move towards them, only to find herself restrained by Ramirez's arm on her bicep. Nodding towards the security team, the exec murmured, "Let them do their jobs, Issara." Taiee blushed, rightly admonished. Tark and his people quickly swept the room, securing it and declaring it safe for the others.

The Tellarite's tricorder began to warble and he appeared to be following it towards something of interest. "I've got life signs," he announced. Ramirez and Taiee moved to assist him as Plazzi wandered towards the viewing windows, tricorder in hand.

Tark found him beneath a mound of debris. An exploding computer processor had collapsed atop the man, who appeared to be a Caucasian human in his mid-to-late 60's. Dressed in a now torn and blackened lab coat, the man stared at the away team members wild eyed, his mouth moving soundlessly as his one free hand clawed at the air. Taiee began scanning him even as the others worked to remove the debris from atop him.

"I'm seeing erratic neural activity, weakened pulse, and signs of systemic shock." Taiee focused on Ramirez. "We've got to get this man back to the ship, and fast."

"Didn't..." the man gurgled desperately, "Didn't mean..."

The exec stood, gesturing to Dunleavy and Bostwick from the Security detail. "Assist Lt. Taiee in getting him to the surface for emergency beam-out." They quickly unfolded a collapsible litter from Dunleavy's pack, and gently set the injured man onto it.

As Taiee led them out of the room, Ashok approached Ramirez, looming over her uncomfortably until she turned to acknowledge him. "What have you got, Lieutenant?"

The Bolian waved a hand towards the surrounding equipment. "None of these systems have anything to do with meteorological studies, Commander. Much of it is non-Federation in nature. I've found Ferengi, Angosian, and Nyberrite systems componants."

Ramirez took a moment to look around the room. "Any idea what they were doing here?"

From his vantage point at the viewing gallery, Plazzi replied to Ramirez in a voice laden with tension, "I've got a pretty good idea, sir." He cleared his throat nervously, "You'll want to take a look at this."

Ramirez approached the observation windows with the others in tow, barely containing the sharp intake of breath that threatened to escape her lips as she got her first glimpse of the thing in all it's horribly beauty.

Some fifteen meters below them, sandwiched between what appeared to be two ruined subspace field coils, was a bright, roiling mass of energy. It was in constant motion, expanding and contracting, emiting crackling electrical discharges and sinuous ribbons of bluish plasma.

Pursing her lips in consternation, Ramirez inquired, "That what I think it is?"

Plazzi responded in complete deadpan. "If you mean 'is that a spatial rift and the source of both the radiation anomalies and the shockwave?' Very likely, sir."

TO BE CONTINUED...