Star Trek: Mariner
Episode 009:
The Sacrificial Lamb
by Bodie A. Ashton
(uss_mariner_01@enterprise.startrek.org)

Episode 009: The Sacrificial Lamb

PROLOGUE

In the Proxima Centauri system hangs a small space station, belonging to the United Federation of Planets. It is nondescript in that it conforms to all the latest Starfleet design parameters. To the casual observer, it might remind one of a four-leafed clover; there is a central body, and connected to this are four identical disks, protruding outwards like the famous good luck charm of Earth

The station itself was virtually unknown outside the higher echelons of Starfleet. Occasionally, a small starship would dock and deliver supplies to the crew of twenty, but aside from this, service on this outpost in the Proxima Centauri system was a lonely affair.

Concord Station suited Commodore Aureliano Sevaro's purposes admirably.

Sevaro was seated in his assigned quarters in the outermost section of Ring Two. The large transparent aluminium window afforded him a wonderful view, both of the closest star to the Sol system, and also-and more importantly to Sevaro-of a starship, his starship. A starship unlike any other.

The USS Eximius was docked on Ring Three. From above, she would look like an elongated diamond, with her semi-buried twin nacelles sloping gracefully towards the stern. From the side elevation that was shown to Sevaro, she was a sleek, streamlined craft, with only the underslung engineering section marring her lines, and even then, that had been especially contoured to fit in with the design. Unlike most Starfleet vessels, the Eximius was painted jet black, with blue, red and white trimmings. Along one of the nacelles was the clearly visible appellation, FEDERATION STARSHIP USS EXIMIUS NX-80000.

Sevaro had been in on the Eximius' design from day one, even while he was serving as captain of the Garrett. The entire process had been secretive; the ship had been designed with a specific philosophy in mind: the adaptability of a Miranda and the firepower of a Galaxy, all in the space of an Intrepid. Ostensibly, she had been designed to counter the Borg and, as the Dominion War progressed, the Jem'Hadar, but as the threat of the Dominion petered away, Eximius' role became more shadowy. The choice of her captain suggested that.

Commodore Aureliano Sevaro was Starfleet Intelligence. As far back as when he captained the Orion during the Cardassian Border Wars, he had been an SI operative. The Orion, and later, the Garrett, had been sent on many an intelligence-gathering operation while under his command. With the advent of the Eximius, Starfleet Intelligence now had more opportunities than ever before.

Before the Dominion War, SI had conceived the notion of an undetectable ship. Of course, the Klingons and Romulans had cloaked vessels, and the USS Defiant was also equipped with a cloaking device, but these were imperfect, and required tremendous amounts of power. What was more, a cloaked vessel was defenceless, for it did not have the power reserves to fire weapons or raise shields. So, the Eximius programme was expanded.

An elite team of engineers, under the expert eye of Doctor Leah Brahms, as well as Sonya Gomez of SCE, worked long and hard for four years, developing a propulsion system that would be undetectable to standard sensors. After intensive study, they had developed a warp engine unparalleled in the known universe: the quantum subspace drive. This utilised the energy of surrounding space to create a warp reaction, and thus used no more power than was required at any given time. In the blink of an eye, the amount of energy being produced by the reactor could alter from just enough to light the mess hall, to enough to vaporise a Jem'Hadar battleship using just one burst from both of the forward-mounted pulse phasers. However, such power had its dangers; too much energy would overload the reactor stabilisers and blow up half the ship, so regulators had been placed at all primary and secondary power junctions.

In addition to the incredible propulsion system, the hull of the Eximius was composed of a duranium alloy, slightly altered at the sub-molecular level, to create an EM-absorbing coating. A Galaxy-class starship, the USS Andromeda, had been used as the guinea-pig for this; the saucer section had been coated in the altered duranium, and had then separated from the stardrive section. From the battle-bridge of the Andromeda's main segment, the saucer suddenly disappeared completely from sensors. The only warning the crew had of the presence of the saucer was when they felt a bump, and it was reported to them that the entire ship had been reassembled.

Sensors were continued advancements on the Sovereign-class arrays, to allow for the new intelligence role.

Finally, and most importantly from a non-SI point of view once the Dominion War had commenced, the weaponry on the Eximius could not be bettered by any other ship of the line. The twin pulse phasers up front were complemented by three Type XIII phaser arrays, with fields of fire extending 180 degrees around the bow of the ship. On the stern were two Type XII arrays. In terms of heavy weaponry, the Eximius had been originally built to carry the then-new quantum torpedoes, but had since been refitted. Accordingly, she now sported some four forward-firing tubes and two rearward-firing, each of a new adaptable design. In accordance with the research of the Perovina III laboratory, Eximius could fire everything in the Federation's projectile arsenal, including photon torpedoes, quantum torpedoes, gravimetric torpedoes, tri-cobalt explosives, and the highly experimental dutonic torpedoes. The latter had been made infamous by Admiral Geoffrey Courtenay late in the previous year, when he had planned to use such devices to destroy Bajor.

In a nutshell, Eximius had the capability to sneak into a battle zone, decimate a fleet, and sneak out, all the while unnoticed.

* * * * *

The desktop computer beeped, wresting Commodore Sevaro's mind away from his beautiful ship. Sighing, he turned away from the vista of the Proxima Centauri system, and instead turned his attention to the screen, which bore the logo of Starfleet Command, and required Sevaro's authorisation code to activate the communications link.

"Computer, recognise Commodore Aureliano Sevaro, authorisation Sevaro two-four-oh-zeta."

The Starfleet emblem disappeared, replaced by an elderly human face. Sevaro smiled.

"Admiral Harriman", he greeted warmly, in a thick South American accent. "Great to see you."

"You too, Aurelito", Admiral John Harriman replied, using Sevaro's nickname, which was reserved only for close friends. "How's Concord Station? Is the Eximius ready for her first trials?"

"You better believe it", Sevaro replied. "John, she's great, and your admin people did a good job getting us Concord; this sector is perfect for our first cruise."

Sevaro cocked his head at this thought. Harriman would not have called just to get his impression of Concord Station.

Harriman seemed to pre-empt him.

"Aurelito", he said slowly, "do you remember your tenure as captain of the Garrett?"

Sevaro laughed.

"I'm not that old, John. I'm sixty-four, and I only quit the Garrett two years ago."

"Do you recall a helmsman of yours, by the name of Ramelow?"

"Of course! Lieutenant Jake Ramelow....no, wait, he's a commander now, under that Anthony guy. I met him once, you know. They must suit well together, 'cause they're both great officers."

Harriman leaned forward.

"The Judge Advocate General doesn't seem to think so", he confided. "Commander Ramelow is to face a court-martial in four days, charged with wilful attempted genocide."

That stopped Sevaro in his tracks. He had become optimistic when Harriman had mentioned Ramelow; perhaps Jake was going to be named the First Officer of the Eximius. As Sevaro knew, though, reality rarely complied with one's wishes.

"No, that's not possible", he said. "Ramelow would never try and kill an entire civilisation. Never."

"I'm sending you a copy of the report from Captain Anthony now", Harriman said, tapping at a computer off the screen. "You can read it yourself, but basically, the USS Mariner was sent back in time, and Ramelow, who was in command, made a decision to kill a species called the Darsellians. His plan was thwarted by the chief engineer, who sabotaged the torpedo tubes."

"He had to have a reason!", protested Sevaro. "It would have been a damn good one, too!"

Harriman leaned even closer, and lowered his voice.

"Aurelito, do you know much about Admiral Geoff Courtenay?"

"I should do", Sevaro replied, almost indignantly. "That nut tried to blow up Bajor. If I recall, it was this Captain Anthony and Jake who led the fleet that stopped Courtenay."

"True, but before that, Courtenay was advocating taking Anthony's command away. He may have been absolutely crazy when he recommended this, but he got some converts.

"This is off the record, Aurelito. No one else hears this but you. You got it?"

Sevaro nodded.

"There's a group of admirals, led by Admiral Braank at Starfleet Tactical, who say that Courtenay was right. Mariner's not even two years old, and yet she's been patched up more times than a Nausicaan barfly. In those two years, Anthony's almost led us to war with the Klingons, the Ta'ga, the Sierrans and even the Starfleet Marines. Braank and his little bloc reckon that Anthony is a loose cannon. Unfortunately for them, they've got no grounds to relieve him of command; sure, he had some psychotic episode last year, but apparently he's fighting fit now."

"Let me guess", Sevaro groaned. "Braank and his lot figure that if they can't get Anthony, they can do the next best thing, and ruin his exec."

"Not just Ramelow, either", Harriman corrected. "Lieutenant-Commander Henry Davies, the chief engineer, is also standing trial for treason and sabotage. The whisper around Command is that Braank will stop at nothing to get these two officers convicted, on the off chance that it forces Anthony to resign his commission."

Harriman sighed heavily. He was well over one hundred years of age, and while he was normally fit enough to jog up and down some of the old San Francisco streets, there were some occasions when his age got to him.

"Sometimes, Aurelito, I hate Starfleet, if only for all of the bureaucracy." Sevaro rubbed his eyes.

"John", he said at last. "I need to get back to Earth. I want to defend Jake Ramelow."

Harriman withdrew from the screen, and exhaled slowly.

"I'd give you leave, Aurelito, but Eximius is scheduled for her space trials to begin in three days, and she's a bit young to be gallivanting around the galaxy without her captain."

"Why can't she go to Earth for her trials?"

"You know you can't do that. She's top secret. If she entered the Sol system, you can bet that the Romulans, the Cardassians and the Dominion would probably have pictures of her by the end of the week."

"Come on, John", Sevaro pleaded. "I've never asked a favour from you before. I'm asking you now; recall me to Earth so I can help Ramelow."

The Starfleet Intelligence chief rubbed his forehead in contemplation. Suddenly, he felt all of his one hundred and ten years.

"All right, Aurelito", he sighed at last. "I'll give you leave, and I'll postpone the Eximius trials for a month. Tell the CO of Concord that I'm giving you permission to borrow a Runabout."

Sevaro cracked a smile.

"Thank you, John."

CHAPTER ONE
Collegiate School of St Peter
Adelaide, South Australia
Earth

Doctor Patrick Coleman craned his neck to admire the fa‡ade, a building front so familiar that he could have pictured it in his dreams. It was hard to believe that it had been three hundred and seventy-four years since he had last walked though the doors to this particular building as a student.

The Collegiate School of St Peter, or simply 'Saints', had been established in the mid-Nineteenth Century, and, while Coleman studied there, was arguably the most prestigious and most excellent school in the southern hemisphere. Even today, Saints was renowned for its standard of achievement. Patrick saw with glee that, ostensibly at least, Saints had not changed much since his days there. Granted, the tuck shop had been replaced by a replimat, but aside from that, the school looked as if it had been plucked from the pages of yesterday.

Old School House was the building before which Coleman, Simon Anthony and Jakob Ramelow stood. Despite the name, Old School House was not the oldest building in the school. That honour, Coleman explained to his colleagues, belonged to Big School Room, which could be found behind the House.

Ramelow pivoted and took in the scenery of the Main Oval, where Australian Rules football goals were currently set up. Saints had carried on the traditions of the old sports, and frequently competed with other institutions in Australia for sporting glory.

Across from this was a large structure which, Coleman said, housed a pool and basketball courts.

"Excuse me, gentlemen."

The three Starfleet personnel turned to their right, to see a figure in a suit approach them. He was relatively tall, with salt-and-pepper hair that gave him a distinguished appearance.

"Are you the group from the starship Mariner?", the newcomer asked, taking note of the uniform that Anthony wore.

"Yes", replied Coleman. "This is Captain Simon Anthony and Commander Jakob Ramelow. My name is Patrick Coleman."

The stranger stared.

"The Patrick Coleman? I heard through the Federation Forum of Modern History that you had been discovered in stasis. It is indeed an honour."

He shook hands.

"Forgive me; I am forgetting my manners. I am George Masterson, the headmaster of St Peter's College."

"A pleasure" Coleman replied. "Not a lot seems to have changed."

Masterson laughed.

"No, I don't suppose it has. You were here during the Birchnall era, yes?"

Coleman nodded, indicating that he had been at Saints when that particular headmaster had been in charge.

"The last building project the school had after your generation graduated was to redesign the Miller Library, and that was in 2160."

He pointed to the library complex, which had sleek, modern lines, in contrast to the Nineteenth Century architecture prevalent on Old School House.

"So you haven't gotten rid of the Gordon Building?", Coleman asked, surprised. "God, that was always the ugliest building in an otherwise beautiful school."

Masterson chuckled.

"No. We could never bring ourselves to demolish it. We did refurbish it, though, as of seven years ago."

The four of them began walking through the school grounds, Ramelow and Anthony marvelling at the splendour of the school, while at the same time feeling envious of Coleman for having had the privilege of studying here.

"You're a legend here, Doctor Coleman", Masterson was saying. "All our students know that you were an old scholar; they're reminded of it every week, in fact, because your name is still on the scholarships boards in Memorial Hall, not to mention the vice-captaincy roll. What's more, the maths classrooms, which are still located on the Big Quadrangle"-he pointed out the Big Quad for the others as they passed it by-"are known as the Coleman rooms."

A group of schoolboys passed them. All of them wore vertically blue-striped shirts and grey trousers, the shirt tucking in at the waist. Two of them wore cyan jumpers with the appellation "Year XII" on the breast. While they all wore ties, two of the boys wore predominantly white ties with blue diagonal stripes and accompanying, but smaller, gold streaks, while the other two wore blue ties with white stripes. The two with the whiter ties wore white blazers, while the others were outfitted in royal blue ones.

Anthony tapped Masterson's shoulder.

"Is there some difference I hierarchy here between the boys?", he asked, drawing attention to the four boys who had just walked by. Masterson nodded.

"Yes. The prefects are issued with white blazers and special ties, denoting their position in the school, while other boys simply have the blue blazer and normal school tie. Additionally, the year twelve boys are given special pullovers, which show that they are the senior boys in the school, although it isn't compulsory to wear it."

"It was the same when I was here", added Coleman, "only we had to buy the whole uniform."

Masterson nodded.

"You may have noticed that there is no monetary currency on Earth, Doctor. It's slightly different to the early Twenty-First Century."

At that moment, Anthony's commbadge spoke.

"Starfleet Security to Captain Anthony."

Anthony smiled apologetically.

"Excuse me for a moment, please", he said, extracting himself from the other three. Once out of earshot, he tapped the badge.

"Anthony here."

"Captain, I'm sorry for interrupting your shore-leave", the voice said, but the tone suggested otherwise, "but you are ordered to return Commander Ramelow into the custody of Starfleet Security."

Anthony sighed.

"Very well. We'll go to the next transporter station. We'll be in San Francisco in three hours."

"Negative, Captain. You will be beamed immediately to Starfleet Security via the USS Mariner's transporters."

Anthony shook his head. Granted, Ramelow was about to face trial for attempted genocide, but couldn't Starfleet give him even a little bit of liberty?

"Understood, Starfleet. I will signal Mariner when we are ready to transport."

Wearily, Anthony returned to the group, who were by now looking on to the Lloyd Oval, where a small group of boys were playing soccer.

"Sorry, gents", the captain said as he drew alongside Masterson, Ramelow and Coleman, "but we have to get back to San Fran now."

Coleman visibly deflated. Ramelow grimaced.

"Sorry, Patrick", he said. "My fault."

Masterson shook everyone's hand, before bidding his guests a farewell, and gaining a promise from Coleman that he would gladly conduct a lecture for the students in the near future.

Anthony clicked his commbadge.

"Anthony to Mariner. Three to beam to Starfleet Security in San Francisco. Energise."

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

Ensign Luke Barrows entered the main turbolift at Jupiter Station, lightly brushing his hair out of his eyes as the door closed.

"Computer", he said, "take me to crew's quarters."

The turbolift whirred into action, but just a couple of seconds later, it jerked to a halt. Barrows was not alarmed at this unforeseen event, however; there could only be one reason for such an interruption.

Barrows turned as he heard a light hum behind him. There, only a few centimetres from his nose, was a face he knew by sight, a face not many others had ever seen.

Cole.

"Good evening, Ethan", the director of Section 31 said, using Barrows' genuine Christian name. "How's the job here at Jupiter Station?"

Barrows smiled.

"Cleaning plasma conduits, realigning holo-emitters, tweaking energy coils and polishing self-sealing stem bolts...it's just what I've always dreamed of."

Cole nodded.

"I'm afraid, Ethan, that you'll never be scrubbing the decks ever again. I have an assignment for you."

"A juicy one, I hope."

The Section 31 director chuckled.

"Simon Anthony", he divulged. Barrows looked up with a start.

"What about the bastard?"

"You're going to eliminate him, and his mathematician friend, Patrick Coleman."

Barrows rubbed his hands in glee, but he had learned the hard way never to accept a job he didn't have all the details about.

"Why am I getting rid of them?"

Cole allowed his gaze to wander around the turbolift cabin.

"Coleman is an unstable element in history", he explained. "His warp flight will undermine the Federation's entire future. Already, Starfleet engineers are trying to work out how Coleman used deuratonium hydroxide to power his warp engine. Resources that were originally earmarked for new Sovereign, Intrepid, Defiant and Akira-class warships are now being reallocated for research into new propulsion systems based on Coleman's technology. Jesus Christ, Ethan! That technology is three centuries old. We don't even know if it will work, and if it does, it's obsolete. Starfleet seems to think that we've got nothing to worry about now that the Dominion's gone and the Romulans are wanting to get into bed with us; they think we can just dither along at our leisure, without emphasis on defence. Let me tell you something: the Romulans, the Dominion, the Cardassians and the Klingons are all potential enemies, threats in the future. Without Coleman's knowledge, SCE can't progress with their investigations, and those supplies will go back to safeguarding our borders.

"As for Captain Anthony, he's always been a thorn in our side since the Tempest incident. He's got too many friends in high places: Paris, Janeway, Nechayev, Sisko, Picard, Riker and Rhodes, to name a few. His First Officer is also pally with Sevaro, who is coming to Earth to defend Ramelow on his court-martial charges, and who, in turn, counts Harriman as his closest colleague. If they wanted to, and I think it's a distinct possibility, they could form a powerful bloc against the Organisation, and Anthony is the linchpin in this, both because of Tempest, and because he is the least high-profile of them all.

"Your orders are to kill Coleman and Anthony using any means necessary. If you need to, you can even blow up the Mariner, as long as they both die."

Barrows was grinning widely now, already plotting his revenge. One final thought occurred to him.

"Am I going to be 'removed' from the records in the usual way?"

Cole patted him on the shoulder.

"Ensign Luke Barrows, you are about suffer a fatal accident", he nodded, just as the transporter beam surrounded them both.

* * * * *

Jupiter Station rocked as the explosion tore through the Section Three crew's quarters. The damage control teams were soon on scene, but the report filed to Starfleet Command would illustrate what they found: Quarters 341D had been destroyed by a powerful detonation resulting from a ruptured power relay. The damage was extensive, and several Jupiter Station crewmen were being treated for injuries, but there had been one fatality, an engineering officer whose body had apparently been vaporised by the blast. As he had no living relatives, however, there was no note of condolence, and the only reminder of the life of Ensign Luke Barrows was the short and austere memorial service held on the space station two days later.

CHAPTER TWO

The Danube-class runabout lightly drifted into orbit over Earth, and while she swung lazily around Earth Station McKinlay, Aureliano Sevaro caught sight of the USS Mariner, NCC-77301. She was certainly a sight to behold. Even under the sprawling arms of McKinlay, powered down, she looked as if she might, at any moment, glide gracefully into space, ready to conduct a scientific study, or to engage a Borg Cube.

Of course, he thought with a smile, I'd put my money on the Eximius any day.

He had just received a heads-up from Admiral Harriman that Commander Ramelow had been remanded to the custody of Starfleet Security, after a short amount of liberty in Australia. Consequently, Sevaro inputted the coordinates of the San Francisco offices into the computer. Then, he stepped on to the small transporter pad, and in a matter of seconds, had been beamed to the continent of North America.

* * * * *

Almost the moment Sevaro had dematerialised, a figure coalesced in a glowing transporter beam on the flight deck of the runabout Volga. Once he had fully formed, the human formerly known as Luke Barrows set to work, realigning the power matrix of the phasers of the small vessel. As soon as that task was completed, he stripped off his black jumpsuit, revealing the uniform of a lieutenant, junior grade, of the engineering/security category. He folded the jumpsuit and placed it in the runabout's replicator, and with one command, the suit was broken down at the submolecular level, converted into energy for use in the replicator system. Satisfied, Barrows flicked a tiny implant in one of his fingernails. In an instant, he was compressed into a data stream, being transported to San Francisco.

* * * * *

By this time, Commander Jakob Ramelow was under guard in the holding area at Starfleet Security. Commodore Aureliano Sevaro was making his way to the compound, when he was stopped by two uniformed guards at the door.

"Commodore Sevaro?", one asked. Sevaro was immediately wary.

"That's right."

"Sir", the second guard said, "we have orders to escort you to see Admiral Harriman immediately."

Sevaro was not sure whether to trust these two. They were gruff, true, but SI often employed slightly more crude men for the police-style work. Nodding, he allowed them to lead the way.

He was surprised, therefore, when they did not leave the area, but rather walked just two hundred metres away, to a rotunda by a small pond in the grounds of Starfleet Command.

Seated inside the small structure was Admiral John Harriman.

"Aurelito", he greeted warmly. "Sit down, sit down."

He gestured to a small wooden seat. Sevaro accepted.

"I suppose you're wondering why you're here", Harriman said, his tone dropping, and Sevaro immediately realised the gravity of what his superior was about to say.

"The stakes are higher now", the elder human continued. "Yesterday, Jupiter Station was sabotaged. One occupant was killed, an Ensign Luke Barrows."

Harriman was consulting a PADD as he said this. Sevaro rubbed his chin.

"That's terrible, sir", he said genuinely, "but I fail to see what that has to do with Commander Ramelow."

"It doesn't", Harriman replied. "It does have something to do, though, with Captain Anthony. His being in the Sol system has placed his life in danger.

"Ensign Barrows has been under ultra-covert surveillance since I took charge of a small unit of SI known as Section One-Oh-Four. Our aim is to try and discover the purpose, leadership and operatives of Section Thirty-One, the breakaway radical pro-Federation organisation. I conducted background checks on him myself; they all seemed to check out, until I dug deeper.

"After running several image enhancement programs on photos of Ensign Barrows, I came to the conclusion that Ensign Barrows has served in Starfleet before, under the alias of Lieutenant Ethan Merklin. He was a security officer on board the USS Tempest until his disappearance in 2367. The First Officer, and indeed acting-chief of security at the time, was Lieutenant-Commander Simon Anthony.

"I won't go into details about the Tempest Incident, but the gist is, Merklin, Barrows, or whatever he wants to call himself, has a score to settle with Anthony."

He paused, allowing his subordinate to digest this information. When he was satisfied that Sevaro completely understood the data, such as it was, Harriman continued.

"Ten minutes ago, this man beamed into Starfleet Command."

He handed over the PADD, which showed a picture of a nondescript security officer entering Headquarters.

"Again, with enhancement programs, we've determined that it is Merklin. His DNA test upon entering the complex, however, showed up as a Lieutenant Freestone Prockey, from Boise, Idaho. Apparently, he's just been transferred here from the USS Farragut, which is a surprise, because the Farragut hasn't been to Earth for a month. It seems Section Thirty-One is getting sloppy."

"Either that, or they don't know that Section One-Zero-Four exists", Sevaro suggested.

"They know alright."

Harriman stood up, turned to the railing of the rotunda and looked over the beautiful grounds.

"There are about two hundred people outside of the Section in the universe who know that Section Thirty-One exist", the old man continued. "Of those, eight or so know what I'm about to tell you.

"The former Section head, a man named Sloane, is dead. He was killed by Doctor Bashir on DS9 in the last year of the Dominion War. Under his leadership, Section One-Oh-Four was constantly outfoxed by his organisation. We believe his prot‚g‚ is a man named Cole, according to Bashir.

"Cole is a first-class administrator, but he just doesn't have the devious streak that Sloane had. The Section is becoming a little bit careless in their work. Naturally, this is a Godsend to me."

"Undoubtedly", Aureliano nodded. "So, John, you decided that I could look into this Freestone Prockey while I'm here? Is that the general idea?"

Harriman swung around, turning back to his subordinate.

"That's about it, Aurelito. We've got a wonderful opportunity to throw a spanner in the works of Section Thirty-One, and I don't think we can pass it up. I'm also assigning two agents to inconspicuously guard Captain Anthony."

He gestured to the two SI goons who had escorted Sevaro to the meeting.

"I trust you know Ensign Fraser and Lieutenant Presh."

Sevaro greeted the two officers, with whom he was already acquainted.

"Admiral, I'd better get going", he said. "The Starfleet Security people are expecting me. It wouldn't look good if I turned up late."

"Of course not", Harriman acknowledged. He shook Sevaro's hand. "Good luck, Aurelito. With luck, next time we meet, Commander Ramelow will be a free man, and Ethan Merklin will be in a holding-cell himself."

* * * * *

The door to the holding area opened with a clunk, rousing Commander Jakob Ramelow from his nap. With naught to do, he figured that he could catch up on lost sleep. When that portal opened, though, he sensed that he would not get any sleep for a while.

Ramelow's face reddened, and he frowned, as his visitor appeared in the light. The bronzed complexion, the once-black sculpted hair, now grey from age, the active aqua-green eyes, bursting with life; Aureliano Sevaro was almost exactly the same as when Ramelow last saw him.

The commodore was smiling.

"Jake, it's good to see you", he said.

"Commodore", Ramelow replied, icily. "I'd shake your hand, but..."

Sevaro turned to the guard in the room.

"Sergeant, you can leave us", he said. The guard, who was merely a fresh-faced teen, shook his head.

"Sorry, Commodore, but I have orders..."

Sevaro removed a small wallet from his uniform, and opened it so that the sergeant could see inside.

"I am Commodore Sevaro of Starfleet Intelligence", he growled. "Commander Ramelow is an important element in an ongoing, classified SI investigation. If you stay here, I can't interview him. If I can't interview him, then the investigation will fail and I shall make sure you never have a job in Starfleet ever again."

The colour in the young man's face drained. His hands almost shook as he hurried for the exit.

Sevaro grinned.

"Now, if he knew his job", he said jokingly to Ramelow, "he would have called his superior in here."

Ramelow didn't laugh.

"Why are you here, Commodore?"

Sevaro thumbed the control that regulated the force-field, allowing it to fail. Then, he entered the cell, and took a seat next to the Mariner First Officer.

"Jake, it's Aurelito, remember?", he prodded. "We've been friends too long to make me pull rank."

"We're not friends anymore, sir", Ramelow reminded him darkly. "Haven't been for three years."

His face grew stony as he remembered. "Not since Tau Ceti IV."

Sevaro sighed.

"There was nothing else we could do..."

"Bullshit", Ramelow answered acidly. "There are always options. Why did the one we used have to involve the death of an innocent?"

"Eskara Mor was not an innocent", Sevaro pointed out. "She was Syndicate, just like the others."

"Not by choice! She never had a chance. When she was born, her future was already determined. We owed it to her to help."

"We didn't owe her anything", Aureliano hissed. "She sold out Erdman, and he was tortured because of it. Then she tried to kill you, too. I don't care whether she could potentially have been a useful contributor to society; she was a Syndicate agent who almost caused two of my operatives to get killed."

Sevaro himself ran the memories through his mind. Ramelow had not known that Sevaro was SI until the South American, as captain of the USS Garrett, had approached his helmsman.

"One of our operatives on the inside of the Orion Syndicate has been captured. The Syndicate will stop at nothing to get out of him what he knows. I'm putting together a small rescue team from outside of SI, and I want you, Jake, to be my right-hand man."

He could remember, word for word, the sales pitch he had used to recruit Ramelow for the mission. The prospects had excited the young lieutenant. He was perfect for the mission; Sevaro feared that SI had been compromised by the Orion Syndicate, so Ramelow, a non-SI Starfleeter, should have been safe. As it turned out, he was, and so was the rest of the six-man team. It was their own actions, not the Syndicate's, which had been devastating to all of them, except Sevaro.

They had tracked down Erdman and his captors to Tau Ceti IV, and Ramelow had been tasked with seducing Eskara Mor, the concubine of the senior Syndicate operative there, in order to pump her for information. He had discovered that the Rigellian had been sold from birth into working for the Syndicate, but she was growing discontented with her work. The lieutenant also found out that it was Eskara Mor who had determined the identity of Agent Erdman, and had turned him over to her boss.

From this information, Sevaro had masterminded a brilliant assault on the Syndicate compound in the Tau Ceti capital, with a secondary objective of assassinating the Syndicate man.

They had managed to penetrate far into the compound before the alarm was raised, but by that time, they had split up; Hargreaves, T'Kana, Brodecker and Delhak went for Erdman, while Sevaro and Ramelow searched for Brosker Trint, the Syndicate boss on Tau Ceti. They had found him in his chambers, lying in bed with Eskara Mor.

Trint had noticed the entrance of the Starfleet officers, but he would have had to be blind and deaf not to, for they had blasted the doors open. He had jumped up, sliding out of his bed towards his dresser, to retrieve a weapon. Ramelow had not hesitated. He fired his compression rifle, and Trint's naked form slumped to the expensive carpet.

Ramelow had turned then, to face the unclothed figure of Eskara Mor. She was shocked, pale, as she gazed at the body of her employer. Then, she shoved her hand behind her pillow, before pulling a knife out in front of her. She rose from the bed, the covers falling away from her naked skin as she prepared to throw the dagger. Sevaro raised his phaser.

"No!", Ramelow had protested in a yell, but it was too late. The bolt of energy blasted from the muzzle, striking the girl in the chest. She flew backwards, dropping the knife before crashing into the wall behind the headboard, but she was dead the moment Sevaro fired.

It was the day after the conclusion of the mission that Ramelow applied for a transfer to Starfleet Communications.

* * * * *

Why Ramelow and Sevaro had drifted separate ways was no mystery to either of them. As Ramelow had succinctly put it to his captain the day he left the Garrett, "SI and other Starfleet men have a difference of opinion. I seek to preserve and embrace life. You seek to exploit it."

Sevaro would never apologise for killing Eskara Mor. She had served a purpose, and the loss of a useful resource was regrettable, but she had been about to kill Ramelow, and Sevaro had had no time to switch his phaser from kill to stun.

Ramelow had seen it differently. To him, Eskara Mor had been a pitiful soul, one who had been exploited her whole life. He had offered her an understanding ear, a reassuring smile and a warm bed. She had been so happy to sleep with someone other than the brutal Trint, and for once she had a confidant. She told Ramelow all that Sevaro and SI had needed to know. He understood why she responded to the intrusion into the chambers of Trint the way she did; two men, both unidentifiably covered from tip to toe with the native garb, had burst in carrying rifles, and had slew her boss. Was it not possible that they were going to kill her? Or worse, take her into their services? Had Sevaro waited a second just to switch the rifle's setting, Ramelow could have dodged the knife, and the then-captain could have subdued the frightened girl. As it was, she was dead, and so was Ramelow's faith in Commodore Aureliano Sevaro and Starfleet Intelligence.

* * * * *

"Anyway", Sevaro cut in wearily before Ramelow could launch another tirade, "I'm here to defend you."

"From what?", Ramelow sneered. "I'm guilty. I gave the order to fire. If it wasn't for Davies, the Darsellians wouldn't be alive anymore."

"Extenuating circumstances", Sevaro shot back with a dismissive wave of his hand. "At the time you believed what you were doing was right, and that as it was, the Temporal Prime Directive overrides these charges."

"The Temporal Prime Directive doesn't apply. I was wrong."

"You didn't have all the information you needed. At the time, you thought that you were justified."

"Then I was negligent", Ramelow spat. "If I didn't have all the information I needed, then I shouldn't have made such a drastic decision."

Sevaro got up.

"Why are you being so negative, Jake?", he asked. "Don't you want to get off these charges?"

"Of course", Ramelow muttered. "I'm just being realistic. Everything we say can be countered."

Unexpectedly, Sevaro grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard with a force that did not seem possible for the sexagenarian.

"Damn it, Jake! This isn't simply about you anymore!"

Ramelow grabbed the commodore's right wrist, twisting it slightly, while his left hand, with an open palm, struck a blow against the SI man's solar plexus. Caught off-balance, Sevaro released Ramelow, and fell backwards. For a moment, he lay on the floor, not moving. Then, he chuckled.

"Good to see your SI hand-to-hand combat training hasn't left you."

Ramelow cracked a smile.

"It's about the only thing about SI that I want to remember."

He gave Sevaro a hand, pulling him up to his feet.

"What did you mean, this isn't about me?"

As if from thin air, Sevaro produced a PADD, which he handed to his prot‚g‚. Ramelow studied the photo on screen.

"That's Admiral Braank, head of Starfleet Tactical", Sevaro explained. "He doesn't like your Captain Anthony. The rumour around Starfleet is that he will be prosecuting both you and Lieutenant-Commander Davies, and he won't stop until you're both locked away. Apparently, he hopes that your convictions will destabilise Anthony's mental state. Of course you know about his mental breakdown last year."

"It isn't for me to comment on the captain's health", Ramelow replied lamely, but his tone betrayed his knowledge of the fact. Sevaro nodded.

"Braank hopes that Anthony will no longer be able to function as captain of a ship of the line. Then, he can be removed from command."

Sevaro thumbed a control on the PADD, revealing a different face.

"That man is in Starfleet Security as a Lieutenant Freestone Prockey, formerly of the Farragut. The fact that the name is false and the Farragut is nowhere near Earth suggests that this is a very temporary placement, and that Prockey is hoping that he won't be detected by SI, so we're talking about days or even hours. Prockey is, in fact, a man by the name of Merklin, who works for a terrorist organisation that I don't want to discuss at the moment. To cut a long story short, we have reason to believe he is going to kill Captain Anthony. My duties as your defending counsel will also allow me to safeguard Anthony's life to the best of my abilities."

Ramelow sat in silence for a moment.

Can I trust Sevaro?, he thought. He had trusted him on Tau Ceti IV, and Eskara Mor was dead because of it. Now, he was being asked to place his career and Captain Anthony's life in the hands of the same man.

"Commodore", he said at last. "Consider yourself hired."

CHAPTER THREE

The courtroom was packed as Commodore Aureliano Sevaro and Commander Jakob Ramelow entered the chambers, flanked by Starfleet Security personnel. Sevaro had quickly glanced through the entourage, but had not seen any sign of Lieutenant Freestone Prockey.

The defence counsel and his client took their seats to the right of the prosecution bench, which was already occupied by the imposing bulk of a Bolian. Admiral Braank of Starfleet Tactical.

Presiding over the hearing was none other than the Judge Advocate General himself, Admiral Luigi Brescia. Sevaro had met the JAG on a few occasions; like most other Starfleet officers, Brescia did not know Sevaro's true brief as an SI agent.

Brescia did not waste any time.

"Commander Jakob Christian Ramelow, you have been charged with one count of attempted genocide. How do you plead?"

Ramelow stood.

"Not guilty, Your Honour."

Brescia nodded.

"Very well, Commander. Admiral Braank, you may begin your opening."

Braank stood.

"Thank you, Your Honour. May the record show that I, Admiral Braank of Bolius, represent the United Federation of Planets in these proceedings.

"We, the prosecution, intend to prove to this court that Commander Ramelow did, with wilful and conscious thought, attempt to destroy a race known as the Darsellians. On this charge, we urge the court to find the defendant guilty."

Braank retook his seat. Brescia nodded to Sevaro.

"Your Honour, I am Commodore Aureliano Sevaro, representing the defendant, Commander Ramelow.

"What Admiral Braank has mentioned so far is entirely true. My client did decide to destroy the Darsellians, and he was in full charge of his faculties when he made the decision. What the admiral has not acknowledged, however, is that there were several extenuating circumstances.

"Firstly, this was a temporal incident. Mariner, under Commander Ramelow's temporary command, was dropped into a past timeline with information from our future. Based on this, under the direction of Special Order One, the commander made the decision to fire the torpedoes which would have wiped out the race.

"Thus, Your Honour, I maintain that Commander Ramelow must be found not guilty."

Sevaro sat back down. Brescia turned to Braank.

"Admiral, call your first witness."

"The prosecution calls Lieutenant-Commander Henry Davies."

There was a quiet murmuring within the courtroom as Davies was ushered in. He took the stand, and after taking his oath of honesty, settled back into his chair.

"Commander Davies, you are the chief engineer of the USS Mariner. Correct?"

Davies nodded.

"Yes, sir."

Braank asked the engineer to recount the events surrounding Ramelow's fateful order, which Davies did succinctly. Ramelow could find no flaw in the recounting.

"Did you agree with Commander Ramelow's solution to the problem?", Braank asked. Davies hesitated.

"No, sir", he answered at last. Braank smiled.

"Commander, was Commander Ramelow's decision the right one?"

Again the engineer waited for a moment.

"No, sir. We later discovered that the Hawking, the timeship that ordered us to destroy the Darsellians, had been taken over by a terrorist group, with the aim of destroying the Federation."

"Would these terrorists have succeeded, had Mariner fired?"

"Yes, sir."

"No further questions."

Even before Braank had sat back down, Sevaro was on his feet.

"Commander Davies, what was the mistake that Commander Ramelow made in interpreting the evidence that you did not?"

Davies frowned.

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir."

"Let me put it another way", Sevaro offered. "Commander Ramelow had outlined to all of you what the visitor from the future had told him. He had come to the conclusion that, based upon the evidence, the only way to save the Federation was to adhere to the Temporal Prime Directive and commit genocide. What was wrong with his interpretation?"

Davies shrugged.

"I guess the fact that Atchison was a terrorist."

"Did you know he wasn't Starfleet?"

"No, sir."

Sevaro spoke more slowly now, annunciating every syllable of every word.

"So if the only flaw to Ramelow's logic was that the man who had given him the information was not Starfleet, and he didn't know that and neither did you, why did you oppose Ramelow?"

"I didn't want to be a party to genocide", Davies responded. Sevaro looked up sharply.

"Therefore, at the time, there was nothing to say that Commander Ramelow was making the wrong decision. If you were in command, Lieutenant-Commander, what would you have done?"

Braank leapt from his chair.

"Objection!", he cried. "The witness is not qualified to answer hypothetical command questions."

"On the contrary, Your Honour", Sevaro countered. "Lieutenant-Commander Davies is a senior officer on board a ship of the line. Given his meteoric rise in rank, he could well be in command of his own starship within the next five years. He has taken the Advanced Starfleet Command Course. Surely, he can answer a simple question, based on the situation, about what decision he would have made."

Brescia rubbed his chin.

"The objection is overruled", he announced. "You may proceed, Commodore."

"Thank you, Your Honour", Sevaro acknowledged. He turned his attention back to the witness. "In fact, Commander, evaluate the evidence for the court."

Davies looked uncomfortable.

"Well, there was the fact that we were sent back in time by a Starfleet vessel, commanded by a man wearing a Starfleet uniform", he stuttered. "Then, the instructions seemed to conform to the Temporal Prime Directive, and it explained why none of us had ever heard of Darsellia XII. Finally, the damage to the Hawking corroborated with Atchison's story."

"So what's your conclusion?", pressed Sevaro.

Davies gulped.

"Sir, based on the evidence available, I would have acted as Commander Ramelow did."

Sevaro smiled.

"What? And be a party to genocide?"

"Things look a lot different in that chair", Davies explained. "For me, as the chief engineer, we could not possibly condone the destruction of an entire race. I know Lieutenant Lane felt the same way.

"But Commander Ramelow, as acting captain, had to take a much larger picture into consideration than his own personal feelings. I know he didn't want to kill the Darsellians, but, because he was in command, he had to abide by the Temporal Prime Directive. If I was in command, I would have to, as well."

"Thank you, Commander."

Davies left the stand. On the way to the back of the chambers, he nodded briefly to Ramelow. Encouragement.

* * * * *

By the end of the day, the prosecution had called all of their witnesses. Sevaro was pleased with how the case was going; for the most part, he had been able to rebut most of the key points. The entire battle, however, would hinge on his own witnesses, to be called tomorrow.

As he and Commander Ramelow left through the large oak doors, Ramelow asked him about the proceedings.

"Now what happens, sir?"

"Now", Sevaro answered, "we put up defence witnesses and experts, and hopefully, they'll shoot Braank's case to pieces."

"Who's up first?"

Sevaro looked up as Ramelow asked, and caught sight of a captain approaching. With some small annoyance he noticed the shadowing Fraser and Presh. If he could see them, Prockey probably could too.

"Just the man", he said with a smile. "Captain Anthony."

Anthony drew up to the two men. He shook Sevaro's hand with a friendly grin.

"Commodore Sevaro, it's good to meet you. You're doing a top-notch job in there."

"You may not like me tomorrow", the commodore replied. "I want to put you on the stand tomorrow."

Anthony shrugged.

"No problem. Should you prep me for the questions you'll be asking?"

Sevaro suddenly realised something.

I've been here two days, and Prockey hasn't tried anything yet. His move is imminent.

"Captain Anthony", he suddenly said sharply. "You wouldn't know, but I'm SI. We fear your life is in danger. San Francisco is not safe. I suggest we beam to the Mariner to get you ready for tomorrow."

Anthony seemed to take it in his stride. He clicked his commbadge.

"Anthony to Mariner. Beam Commodore Sevaro and me aboard."

He looked apologetically to his First Officer.

"Sorry, Commander, but you have to stay down here."

Ramelow nodded. In a second, two of his captains, one past, one present, dematerialised in front of him.

* * * * *

Many hours later, after Sevaro had finished briefing Anthony on his tactics in the courtroom for the next day, he was beamed to his flat in New Orleans. The first thing he did was go to his desktop computer.

"Computer", he commanded, "open a secure channel on frequency zero-five-one-three. Authorisation Sevaro two-four-oh-zeta."

The computer beeped.

"Please state intended recipient and destination of communiqu‚."

"Commander Alan Foyle, Concord Station, Proxima Centauri system."

CHAPTER FOUR

"Commodore Sevaro, you may call your first witness", Admiral Luigi Brescia informed Sevaro before the packed law chambers. Sevaro nodded.

"Thank you, Your Honour", he said. "The defence calls Captain Simon Anthony."

After Anthony had taken the stand, Sevaro began his examination-in-chief.

"Captain Anthony, you have been in command of Federation starships for nine years now. Is that correct?"

"Officially in command, yes", Anthony replied. "Previously, I took temporary command of the USS Tempest on a couple of occasions, but I was given my own ship nine years ago."

"How many times have you personally been involved in a temporal incident?"

"Only once, thank God", Anthony replied. "Five years ago, the Ankara got caught in a causality loop. According to Starfleet, we were caught in the loop for two weeks before we were able to get free."

"So you've never faced a similar situation to Commander Ramelow?"

"I would have, but I was knocked unconscious before the whole incident occurred."

Sevaro paced in front of the witness stand.

"If you had been conscious and in command of the Mariner instead of Commander Ramelow, what would you have done?"

Anthony shook his head.

"I can't answer that."

"Why not?"

Anthony smirked slightly.

"I know the eventual result. No matter how hard I try to picture the circumstances, at the back of my mind is always the eventuality of all the actions."

Sevaro clapped his hands.

"But, surely, there is some sort of standard operating procedure for these things?"

Anthony shook his head again.

"No, sir. Events involving time-travel are all different, and have infinite variables. To create an instruction manual for such things would be like trying to devise a formula of how much rain there will be on a given day, as affected by what you ate for breakfast; just because, one morning, you ate porridge with Tarkalean honey, and that day the town recorded thirty millimetres of rain, doesn't mean that that will always happen whenever you eat the same porridge with the same honey."

"So, what you're saying is that it's impossible to predict what's going to happen in a temporal anomaly, even basing it on other experiences? Why do we have protocols for first contact, then?"

"First contact is different", explained the captain. "There's always some type of commonality. Whether a species is militant, isolationist or absolutely welcoming, there is always the constant that a captain or ambassador has to open a dialogue with the species, with the aim of creating cordial relations. In temporal anomalies, the aim may be very dissimilar from thing to thing; in Ankara's causality loop, we had to save the ship. In this case, however, Mariner had to save the Federation."

Sevaro flashed his teeth.

"Captain, do you agree with what Commander Ramelow did?"

"I completely stand by his decision", Anthony responded firmly.

Sevaro cocked his head.

"But Commander Ramelow was going to commit genocide. How can you justify your claim?"

Anthony gestured with his hands.

"At the time there was nothing to contradict the evidence that this Atchison character had presented to the commander. Accordingly, he cited Special Order One as his reason for ordering the wiping out of the Darsellians. On that level, I completely concur with his decision. The Temporal Prime Directive maintains that the integrity of the timeline must be assured. All other considerations, including the safety of oneself, one's crew, one's ship, or even a species, are secondary. The Temporal Prime Directive, in this instance, would not condone genocide. It would demand it."

Sevaro took his seat.

"Thank you, Captain Anthony. You've been most helpful."

Braank was next up.

"Captain Anthony, you claim that there was nothing to contradict the evidence provided to Commander Ramelow. Yet one of the biggest claims that 'Captain' Atchison made was that there was a sensor dampening field around Darsellia XII, which was why Starfleet vessels had never been able to detect the development of the Darsellians.

"If Commander Ramelow had researched the point thoroughly, he would have discovered that the inner two planets of the Darsel system exploded in 2190, leading to a huge build-up of radiation that hindered the sensors of Starfleet vessels. That would seem a contradiction to me."

It was the kind of point that would break the case wide open. Admiral Braank was certainly hoping so, as he stood in front of Anthony, grinning like he had just been to Risa for the first time. To Aureliano Sevaro's great joy, however, Anthony took the bait, and ripped it apart.

"That would be true, sir, if Commander Ramelow had had time to conduct such in-depth research. I looked into the matter myself after Mariner docked at McKinlay, because I was intrigued as to why I'd never heard of Darsellia XII.

"First of all, that particular reference is not mentioned in any material about the Darsel system, nor the sector it is within. As a matter of a fact, the LCARS database lists it in a general file, entitled 'Spatial Anomalies Involving Binary Star Clusters', and even then, the system is referred to by its original name, Gamma-Omega Four-Three-Three, a name it has not been known by for two hundred years. Also, don't forget that the Mariner computer core was still damaged. The reliability of the system was questionable.

"If Commander Ramelow had decided to look up peculiarities of occasional binary clusters, and had then had a star-chart from the Twenty-Second Century handy, then he might have worked out the contradiction. However, he saw no need to. I would have seen no need to. You would have seen no need to. I doubt James Kirk would have seen a need to.

"Hindsight is a lovely thing, Admiral. There are limits, though. If Admiral Janeway had not been quite so foolhardy in trying to find Commander Tuvok, Voyager would not have been lost in the Delta Quadrant. If Captain Sisko had been slightly more cautious in exploring the Gamma Quadrant, the Federation may never have gone to war with the Dominion. What's the significance of these two examples compared with Commander Ramelow? All of these occurrences-the Caretaker beam, the belligerent Dominion, the duplicity of Atchison-all of them were unforeseeable."

Braank had gone pale, a vaguely comical appearance for a Bolian. He spluttered for a moment.

"In a temporal incident, the commanding officer must make certain to get things right", he offered weakly.

Anthony smiled.

"Yes, sir. One of those things he must get right is that he does not have an overbearing influence on the timeline. The duty of a captain in such a situation is to get out of it as quickly as possible. Commander Ramelow made a snap decision based on seemingly reliable evidence, so as to not stay in a different time for an extended period of time, which could possibly have been even more damaging to the timeline than destroying the Darsellians."

Admiral Braank withdrew to his bench, where he sipped at a glass of water. Just as Anthony thought the interrogation had concluded, Braank exploded with another round.

"Captain, you have suffered a nervous breakdown, have you not?"

Sevaro was on his feet.

"Objection, Your Honour! The witness' health is irrelevant to this proceeding."

"I put it to you, Captain Anthony, that you have lied on the stand. You have committed perjury. You've done this because of your fragile mental state- "

"Your Honour!"

"Sustained!", Brescia shouted. "Admiral, you will desist from this line of questioning."

"-because you realise full well that you will have another breakdown if you lose another First Officer. I'll remind you of Commander Benjamin Solomon, whom you failed to protect-"

"Another word, Admiral Braank, and you will be held in contempt."

"-and you protect Commander Ramelow because he did what you would have done, only Commander Davies would have followed your orders. You should be the accused here, Captain, not Commander Ramelow!"

"Enough!"

The bellow came from Anthony. The courtroom froze. Even Braank halted his tirade.

Regaining his composure, Anthony looked the admiral straight in the eyes.

"First, Admiral, I did indeed suffer a nervous breakdown last year. I got over it, though, with the help of people like Commander Ramelow, and the rest of my crew. They are not just my crew, they are my friends. That means I feel loyalty towards Commander Ramelow, yes, but I also have loyalty to Starfleet, and I think sixteen years of service shows that.

"Second, I don't see how Commander Solomon's death is relevant. If you think it's my fault he's dead, that's your prerogative.

"Third, losing Commander Ramelow would be a disaster for Starfleet and the Mariner, not just me. I would not, however, go to pieces, because there are eight hundred and fifty crewmen who depend on me every day, and I've come to realise that.

"Finally, you may be right that Commander Davies would have complied with Jakob's orders had they come from me. You may be right that I would have done the same thing. But I ask you Admiral: when did this trial suddenly become about me? Why am I suddenly on trial?"

"Captain Anthony, I can assure you that you are not on trial", the JAG said from above the stand. "I am ordering a mistrial. The charges against Commander Ramelow are suspended."

The courtroom erupted into hysterics, with a multitude of people congratulating Sevaro and Ramelow. The commodore, however, shrugged off the pats on the back and platitudes. Instead, he and the Mariner First Officer hurried to the captain.

"I sense that danger is close by", Sevaro hissed. "We need to get to the Mariner now."

Anthony nodded, and clicked his commbadge.

"Anthony to Mariner. Three for emergency beam-up. Energise"

As he dematerialised, Captain Simon Anthony caught a final look at the rotund blue face of Admiral Braank.

He was smiling.

CHAPTER FIVE

Simon Anthony, Aureliano Sevaro and Jakob Ramelow had barely materialised on the transporter pads on Anthony's ship before they were rocked by tremendous vibrations.

Anthony hit the comm. panel on the transporter controls.

"Anthony to bridge. Report."

"Captain", replied the voice of Counsellor Rebecca Gregory, who was in charge of the skeleton crew left on the ship while in dock. "There has been an explosion at the main docking clamp from the station. We are beginning to drift free. Luckily an emergency force-field activated the moment we no longer had a positive lock; the primary hatch is now in place."

Anthony looked up. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Anthony to Main Engineering. Power up the warp core and stand-by with shields."

Anthony expected the crisp Transvaal accent of Henry Davies to respond. However, he had forgotten that the chief engineer was still in custody on Earth. Instead, Ensign Toby Garrick, the aging second engineer, replied.

"Sir, the warp core has been shut down for several days. It will take hours to power up again."

"Impulse reactors?"

"There's the good news, sir; they'll be online in about forty minutes."

Anthony nodded to the transporter chief.

"Beam the three of us to the bridge."

* * * * *

Lieutenant Lon Tanier had decided to remain on the ship while she was undergoing maintenance at McKinlay. This was good for Anthony, because his arrival on the bridge was met with the view he wanted to see: Mariner leaving McKinlay under power from the thrusters. With the expert hands and eyes of Tanier guiding them, Anthony was at once put at ease.

Suddenly, the Sovereign-class battleship shuddered. Anthony grabbed the railing in front of himself, in order to keep his balance.

"What the heck was that?"

"We're being fired on!", replied the stand-in ops officer, Lieutenant Reshir, with a waver in his voice.

"Confirmed", Tanier put in, with more confidence and reassurance in his voice than the night watch crewman. "The ship attacking us is a Danube-class runabout, identified as the USS Volga."

"What! That's my ship!", Sevaro shouted with consternation.

"Our ablative armour is online", Tanier continued. "It looks like the phasers on the Volga have been ramped up a bit, but even if they hit us continuously, our armour will last almost an hour. By that time, we'll have at least partial weapons and shields, as well as impulse drive."

"Sir", Reshir called. "The Volga is hailing."

The screen changed from the panorama of the planet Earth to the face of a man clad in a Starfleet gold-topped uniform. The face was vaguely familiar to Anthony, but he couldn't place it.

Ramelow knew exactly who it was, and so did Sevaro. However, they did not betray their knowledge.

"Who the bloody hell are you?", demanded Anthony. "Explain your attack on my ship!"

A smirk.

"Lieutenant-Commander Anthony! Oh, wait, I'm sorry. You're a captain now. It's been a while.

"Yes, Captain, you do know me. So does Commodore Sevaro. You both know me by different names, though. The commodore knows me as Lieutenant Freestone Prockey from Boise, Idaho."

For the pronouncement of the name, he applied a hillbilly-style tone. Then, his accent reverted to that of an educated Boston resident.

"You would remember me as Lieutenant Ethan Merklin, Captain. You tried to kill me on the Tempest, remember?"

Anthony's face flashed to shock. Then, he returned to normal.

"Merklin! The traitor. Yes, I remember...You tried to kill a senior Romulan official the Tempest rescued from a damaged shuttle in the Neutral Zone."

Merklin snorted.

"Tomalak is a warhawk. Ask Picard; he knows. You and Captain Kaaba should have left him to die in that shuttle. Instead, I had to finish the work."

"And you failed, too, but only because I had foreseen the possibility of an attempt on his life by the Tal'Shiar. I thought Section Thirty-One was supposed to be pro-Federation. You almost started a war with the Romulan Star Empire. I don't see how that benefits the UFP."

"Sooner or later, Tomalak would have begged for war. I was merely trying to prevent the inevitable. You know, I haven't forgiven you for trying to blow me out of that airlock."

"How else was I going to stop you?", Anthony countered. "You were in the chamber, putting on an EV suit. I couldn't let you get out; for all I knew, the Section used cloaked ships, and you would be beamed aboard once outside. So I depressurised the chamber while you weren't fully dressed."

"You were right, Captain. We do use cloaked ships. One of them beamed me off about two seconds before my lungs would have imploded."

Anthony shook his head.

"What do you want, Merklin?"

A terrible grin flashed across the Section 31 agent's face.

"You, Captain. I want you and Doctor Coleman to beam over to the Volga. Alone. Trust me, I've modulated the shields to only let through people with the exact DNA of you and Coleman. If you try to send over an armed security team, their molecules will be smattered throughout space."

"Why Patrick?"

"That is not for you to know", the agent snapped. "It's either that, or your entire ship is destroyed. I suggest you check your computer core."

Anthony nodded to Reshir, who tapped at his console. He tapped at his console.

"Sir", he reported after a couple of moments, "those phaser pulses have begun a feedback loop through the computer core. If they remain online, they'll overload the system. The warp core will probably blow."

"You can see, Commodore, that I made some modifications to your runabout. It's a paradox, Captain, but not of the temporal kind. If you leave your computer core online, your ship will blow up. If you take it offline, your ablative armour will also go offline, and I'll blow your ship up. There's an easy solution: surrender yourself and Doctor Coleman immediately."

At that moment, just as Anthony was about to signal his surrender, a tiny panel in the ring on Sevaro's left index finger began to flash red. No one noticed but Sevaro, who turned away from the screen and signalled to Reshir to cut audio to the runabout. Then, he raised the ring close to his lips and began speaking into it. Anthony raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. After a minute, Sevaro turned back.

"Re-establish communications with the Volga, Lieutenant", he ordered. Merklin's voice suddenly returned to the speakers.

"What was that interruption, Commodore? Are you trying to prepare a shuttle to launch? A transported boarding party? It isn't going to work. And don't bother trying to contact Starfleet; I made a point of jamming their comm. and planetary sensor systems before I came up here. They have no idea what's going on."

Sevaro rubbed the stubble forming on his chin.

"Lieutenant Merklin, Ensign Barrows, Lieutenant Prockey...whoever you feel like being at the moment, I suggest you look out your port viewing window."

As he said this, his lips curled into a smile

* * * * *

Ethan Merklin frowned.

Why do I want to look outside?, he wondered. Satisfied that the Mariner could do nothing while his gaze was averted, he decided to indulge his curiosity.

Abruptly Luna disappeared, blotted out by a huge polygon. At first, Merklin panicked. The shape, the colour; so indicative of the Borg. Then, as the great vessel grew closer, it levelled out. It was no longer a giant diamond. It was clearly a starship. This was confirmed when it manoeuvred in between the runabout and the Sovereign-class, and Merklin could clearly see the name and registry number stamped on the primary hull.

USS EXIMIUS
NX-80000

In one fell swoop, his meticulous planning, his long-awaited revenge, his joy, suddenly amounted to naught, negated by a strange, oblong ship he didn't even know existed.

* * * * *

"Lieutenant, open a channel", Sevaro ordered.

"To what, sir?", Reshir asked, befuddled. "Our sensors don't detect that vessel."

"Just open the channel", Anthony replied, equally as confused as Reshir.

The comm. system beeped, and straight away, another face appeared on the screen. This one was wearing a command uniform, and was entirely unfamiliar to all except Sevaro.

"Commodore, may we be of any assistance?"

Sevaro grinned from ear to ear.

"You wouldn't believe it, Commander Foyle, but that little Danube has been hassling this huge battleship. See to it, will you?"

* * * * *

The Type XIII phaser strip on the upper hull of the Eximius glowed for less than a second. Then, it exploded with energy, and the phaser beam blasted against Merklin's ship. The shields folded easily, and all of a sudden the ship was careening, ablaze, out of control, towards the globe.

Inside the cabin, Merklin battled out of his seat. He grabbed the phaser that had been in the toolkit by the control panel, and then he pressed his fingernail. He was beamed out an instant before the Volga's hull integrity collapsed, and she was torn apart by the friction of entering the atmosphere.

* * * * *

The ops station on the starship Eximius sounded with an advisory alarm. The ops officer, an Argelian named Branados, reported the reason for this before the First Officer, Alan Foyle, could query it.

"Commander, sensors have detected a transporter beam from an unknown origin, possibly a cloaked ship, which has beamed the occupant of the runabout down to San Francisco."

The Eximius' captain, still on the USS Mariner, rubbed his stubble again.

"Any idea what the exact destination was, Ensign Branados?"

"Sir, I have located the terminus of the signal", the Argelian replied. "Starfleet Tactical Headquarters, Embarcadero, East Wing, seventy-fifth floor."

Sevaro continued smiling.

"Nice work, Ensign. Commander, I think it's time the security teams of the Mariner and the Eximius had a cooperative exercise, don't you think?"

It was Commander Foyle's turn to smile.

"I'll pick our away team right away, sir."

* * * * *

The hallways of level seventy-five of Starfleet Tactical had been quiet all day, but the peace was broken when, to the surprise of the workers there, two teams of ten men materialised from nothingness, each brandishing a phaser rifle. Leading the two teams, as would befit Sevaro's previous idea of a 'cooperative exercise', were the two commanding officers, Simon Anthony and Aureliano Sevaro. While their subordinates secured the passageways, making certain that Merklin had no armed colleagues in the building, Sevaro and Anthony crept noiselessly towards the office at the end of the corridor. They reached the door, and Anthony whipped out a tricorder, which he used to scan the interior. He detected two biosigns. One was Merklin. The other was Braank.

Abruptly, Sevaro hit the door control with the heel of his palm. The door slid open, and the commodore and the captain levelled their rifles before either Ethan Merklin or Admiral Braank could act.

"Gentlemen", Sevaro said with a cordial smile. "I'm pleased to see we weren't late to the party, after all."

Anthony laughed.

"Now, isn't this something? There's a conspiracy between Admiral Braank and a known Section Thirty-One assassin. Or am I delusional, Admiral? Try telling me that your stunt in the courtroom wasn't engineered to get me back to Mariner, so he could bump me off."

Braank shuddered.

"You don't know what you're talking about", he challenged, but his voice betrayed that he was scared. Braank had, for the first time, realised that his career could be over.

As an afterthought, Anthony switched his target to Merklin.

"I wouldn't try to beam out if I were you. The Eximius has been able to isolate the transporter frequency you use. If you try to get out, not only will you materialise in a holding cell, we'll be able to track your cloaked ship."

Merklin thought for a moment. Then, he smiled. Coldly.

"You've been a far more cunning foe than I imagined, Captain", he said. "I take my hat off to you."

Then he pressed on one finger, holding down the nail.

"Cole, initiate transporter code fourteen!", he cried.

"No!", Anthony shouted, leaping forward. Sevaro grabbed him around the waist, barely able to drag him from the office. Inside, Braank stared, open-mouthed, aware of what was going to happen, yet frozen, unable to save his own life.

Merklin began to glow in the blue of a transporter beam. Then, there was a flash, as the energy of the beam transferred to that of awesome destructive power. In a burst of light, Ethan Merklin exploded, blasting the transparent aluminium windows, and catapulting Admiral Braank out, into the empty sky. Screaming, the Bolian plummeted seventy-five storeys, crashing to the ground below with a sickening thud.

In the hallway, Captain Anthony looked up, having been shielded against the blast by his arms. Sevaro, next to him, was already on his feet, brushing himself off.

"Captain", he said with a tight grin. "Remind me to do this more often."

EPILOGUE

Captain's Log, Stardate 56847
The USS Eximius has departed the Sol system, destination unknown. Commodore Sevaro, however, has stayed on, in order to defend Lieutenant-Commander Davies.
The charges against Commander Ramelow have been dropped, as has the charge of treason against Davies. However, Admiral Brescia tells me that, if found guilty, Davies will be discharged, and will spend time in the penal colony on New Zealand.
I have informed the crew of this. All of the senior officers will be present at the hearing.

"Lieutenant-Commander Henry Francis Davies. You are charged with one count of sabotage", Admiral Brescia informed Davies from his box above the court. "How do you plead?"

Davies gripped his chair, attempting to push himself from the seated position, so he could stand and speak the truth. He would plead guilty. He would be drummed out. His career was over.

"Wait!"

Davies spun his head, to see Ensign Toby Garrick, the second engineer, vault from his seat. Before anyone could stop him, he was before the court.

Davies could not believe it. Garrick wouldn't. Garrick couldn't.

Oh hell.

"Lieutenant Davies pleads not guilty, Your Honour", the ensign announced, "because I am the guilty one."

The court became a hubbub of murmurs. Davies finally sprang from his chair.

"Admiral, you mustn't listen to him! He-"

"Admiral", Garrick raised his voice over Davies'. "Henry is trying to protect me. He knows I'm getting on for a Starfleet crewman. He knows that the Mariner crew is my family, and that I live for Starfleet. But I can't see a good man go down for this."

Garrick turned to Davies, and mouthed words that only the chief engineer could make out.

Let me do this, Henry. In the name of God, let me do this.

"What is your name, sir?", the JAG asked, peering down upon the fifty-nine year-old.

"I am Ensign Tobias Garrick, sir, the second engineer of the starship Mariner."

Brescia nodded.

"Very well. Commander Davies, you are a free man. Ensign Garrick, you are to be remanded to custody, to be sentenced at a later date."

The gavel struck the block for the last time.

* * * * *

The door chimed, and Simon Anthony turned to the portal expectantly.

"Enter."

Lieutenant-Commander Henry Davies entered, carrying a PADD. He handed it to Anthony.

"Sir, this confirms that I have been released for duty", he reported. Anthony grabbed the PADD, glanced over it cursorily, and flung it to one side.

"Henry, I want to make one thing clear", he said slowly. He edged closer to the engineer, until both were virtually eyeball-to-eyeball. "If I am incapacitated, relieved of command or killed in the future, Commander Ramelow will take command. You will not disobey his orders. Ever. They are my orders, voiced by him. Is. That. Clear?"

Davies gulped.

"Perfectly, sir."

Anthony nodded. He withdrew.

"We both know that an honourable man got unjust treatment today", he sighed. "Toby saved your career by sacrificing his own. I respect you as an engineer, Mr Davies. It's going to be a while before I respect you as a person again."

Davies nodded glumly.

"Permission to leave, sir."

Anthony waved his hand dismissively. Davies bowed curtly, before stalking out of the ready room.

Anthony turned his attention back to a photograph on his desktop computer. Lieutenant Ethan Merklin of the starship Tempest grinned back at him, the same grin he displayed before committing suicide.

"When did you start your tricks, Monsieur?", Anthony whispered gloomily, as he shut down the console and closed another chapter of the past.