Star Trek: Mariner
Episode 002:
Sweet Sorrow
by Bodie A. Ashton
(uss_mariner_01@enterprise.startrek.org)

Episode 002: Sweet Sorrow

PROLOGUE
Stardate 54750.1
Sierra System

The plasma relay explosion hurled Ensign Lavinia Blake across the bridge. Anthony heard her scream, saw the sparks, smelt the acrid stench of smoke. He turned to where the operations officer lay still. Ben Solomon, his executive officer, ran the few steps to the downed Starfleet officer. He stooped to check her pulse. His hand slowly pulled away from her neck. He looked up at his captain sadly.
"Simon, she's dead", he said in a wavering, remorseful tone.
Suddenly, Anthony found himself no longer on the bridge of the USS Ankara. He was standing by the turbolift door on the bridge of a Federation starship. He looked at the dedication plaque. It read: 'USS Scimitar, Saber-class frigate'. He turned his attention to the centre of the large room, to where Ben Solomon stood in his cranberry command uniform, phaser in hand. The opposite turbolift door was being wrenched open…
He saw Solomon fire as the first of the raiders prised the doors apart, and he saw the Klingon officer fall. Then, just as he fired again, he was surrounded by the luminescent blue glow of a Federation transporter beam. His unexpected dematerialisation gave the second Klingon on the bridge just enough time to aim and fire his modified T6 disruptor. The particle beam hit Solomon a split second before he would have been as tangible on that bridge as a light mist, but it was enough to fatally wound the commander. His scream echoed throughout the Scimitar's command centre…

Simon Anthony awoke with a start. The reason for his sudden awakening became apparent when the commbadge spoke.

"Bridge to Captain Anthony", the voice of Commander Jakob Ramelow said. Anthony clicked the badge.

"Anthony here."

"Sir, we are picking up a distress call from the Federation-registered freighter Diligence. They're two light years from here, and they say that they have been severely damaged by violent gravimetric shears."

Anthony grimaced. He had always contended that Starfleet, as an exploratory and military wing of the United Federation of Planets, should keep out of civilian matters. He, along with many other Starfleet and civilian officials, had been campaigning for years for a special merchant search-and-rescue service, specifically for freighters and other non-Starfleet vehicles. It had, unfortunately, amounted to naught.

"I suppose we'd better go and help them", he said at last. "Commander, set a course for the Diligence and engage at maximum warp. I'm on my way to the bridge now."

Anthony clicked his commbadge to close the channel, and habitually ran his hand through his hair. He was surprised to find it soaking, drenched with perspiration. Again, he pulled a face. The dreams had been getting worse recently. He resolved to get some counselling from Rebecca Gregory if it began affecting his work. With a sigh, he rose from bed, and dressed himself.

* * *

The screen of USS Mariner depicted a peculiar panorama for those on the bridge. The crippled freighter Diligence was adrift, and many small fragments of the hull were floating freely. They had been expecting that, but what they hadn't expected was the backdrop to this scene. Indeed, the blackness of space melded into a purple-blue funnel-shaped anomaly, which tapered at a tiny apex.

"Sir", Ensign Frank Dalton, the science officer, hailed in his typically snide, patronising tone, "the aperture of the anomaly is just three centimetres in diameter. I would deduce that it is a micro- wormhole of some kind."

Anthony was about to ask a question of Dalton when a jarring vibration reverberated through the hull. Before he could ask the obvious question, Alexandra Lane supplied the answer.

"That was a gravimetric swell of three gee intensity", the attractive young operations officer confirmed. Anthony took no chances.

"Lon", he addressed to the helmsman, Lieutenant Lon Tanier, "back us off slowly, but keep us in transporter range of the Diligence."

He turned to Ramelow.

"I know what you're going to say, Commander, but I'm going over to Diligence to assess the damage myself."

Ramelow frowned and shook his head.

"Sir, as First Officer, it is my duty to protect you from harm. You don't know what you're going to find over there."

Anthony nodded to Lane.

"Mr Lane, what's the state of the Diligence's hull?"

"There are a few hull breaches, sir, but there are several points on the ship where someone can be transported with no difficulty or danger."

Satisfied, he turned back to the First Officer. "You see, Commander? There's no risk. I just want to see first-hand what damage there is."

Ramelow made to speak, but Anthony had already entered the turbolift, on his was down to Transporter Room One.

* * *

Captain Bruce Rokana shifted uncomfortably. To stay close to his comm. system, he had to sit in a very confined space, filled with debris. The gravimetric forces they had encountered had caused extensive damage, but luckily the hull integrity had not been fatally compromised.

"Federation starship Mariner calling Diligence", the comm. crackled.

"Yes, this is Captain Rokana of the Diligence."

"We are beaming our commanding officer aboard. Standby to receive him."

Rokana stood up from his awkward seating position. He was not greeted by the ubiquitous hum, the blue glow, nor the vague materialising outline of a Starfleet captain, but rather absolute nothingness. He waited for a couple of minutes. Finally, he opened a channel to Mariner.

"Rokana to Mariner. Where the Hell is your captain?"

The reply was in a bewildered tone.

"What do you mean? Captain Anthony must be there!"

"Well, he definitely is not aboard the Diligence."

At that moment in time, the relative excitement on board both Diligence and Mariner would have been welcome to Captain Kathryn Janeway. She was sitting in her captain's chair on the bridge of the Intrepid-class ship USS Voyager, watching listlessly as the stars crawled past her ship. Every hour brought her crew two hundred and thirty billion kilometres closer to home, but, with several thousand light years between Voyager and the Alpha Quadrant, it seemed to her like they were merely strolling through the uncharted territories of the Delta Quadrant. Her days had been brightened when Tom Paris introduced her to a friend of his from Earth via the Pathfinder communications link. She had found him to be a charming man in his mid-thirties, a fellow captain, no less. Though he, of course, still wished to chat with Tom, every second week it would be her turn to see a bright face from the Alpha Quadrant. For all his charm and wit, however, Janeway noted an underlying depression. When she asked him about it, he simply replied that he had suffered a loss recently that had stabbed close to his heart, but he did not elaborate and she didn't push him.

"Transporter Room to Captain Janeway", blurted a voice over the comm. Before she replied, the transporter supervisor continued. "Captain, there's a transport signal being routed to our buffers."

Janeway frowned. There were no ships in the vicinity. Though the situation demanded caution, her curiosity got the better of her.

"On my way, Chief", she replied, then addressed her bridge crew. "Tuvok, Chakotay; you're with me. Mr Paris, you have the conn."

* * *

When the captain, First Officer and chief of security arrived in the Transporter Room, they were greeted with an incongruous view. Lying unconscious on the transporter pad was a human male dressed in standard Starfleet uniform. The pips on his collar suggested the rank of captain. Janeway immediately rushed to his side. She clicked her commbadge.

"Sickbay, standby for an emergency medical transport."

She nodded to the transporter chief, who prepared to initiate the transport. Just before he did so, however, she turned the man over on to his back. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared into a familiar face. As the new arrival dematerialised on his short trip to Sickbay, Janeway was able to utter a small selection of words to the party accompanying her.

"Anthony", she said disbelievingly. "Captain Simon Anthony."

CHAPTER ONE

The blurred images began to appear sharper as his vision gained resolution. The first discernable figure was a half-bald man of medium height, leaning over him whilst in the garb of a Starfleet medic.

"How are you feeling?", the figure inquired. Anthony took a moment to realise why the face was recognisable.

"You're an Emergency Medical Hologram", he managed to choke out. The medic ignored the statement.

"The dizziness, sore throat and poor vision will remedy soon."

Anthony looked around. He was lying on a bio-bed in a sickbay. It was a design he knew well, but he realised that the room he was in could not be aboard Mariner; the décor on the Sovereign-class was a soft red, as opposed to the mixture of greys and blues in this example.

"Where am I?"

The EMH made to answer, but at that moment the door swished open, and an officer in the cranberry- topped uniform of a command-level individual walked in. Anthony could not even determine whether it was male or female, but that soon became apparent.

"How's our patient, Doctor?"

The voice was feminine and very memorable. Indeed, Anthony grasped with utter confusion, he had only heard this person speak to him last night.

"Kathryn?", he offered, hoping that he was not completely wrong, that his brain's audio pathways were not damaged so that he had mistaken the voice of a man for that of Kathryn Janeway. He did not hope in vain.

"An unexpected pleasure, Captain Anthony", she replied. "To what do we owe it?"

Voyager's new guest tried to prop himself up on one elbow, but his weakened state compelled him to collapse back on to the bio-bed in exhaustion. The EMH turned to his captain.

"He is suffering from slight molecular degradation, which indicates that his transporter beam travelled a great distance before arriving here. I would guess the beam travelled about ten light years."

Janeway looked at her doctor in hope. "You mean that there's another Starfleet vessel in the Delta Quadrant?"

Anthony, though close to blacking out, inclined himself slightly. "The Delta Quadrant? Only Voyager is in the Delta Quadrant…"

With that final effort, Captain Anthony lost consciousness.

* * *

"Commander Ramelow, you have an incoming message from Starfleet Command", announced the voice of Frank Dalton without ceremony or preamble. Ramelow was sitting behind Captain Anthony's desk in the ready room when Dalton contacted him over the comm. The screen in front of him blinked, and suddenly, the image of a middle-aged man sat before him.

"Admiral Courtenay", Ramelow greeted as he nodded his head in respect. The loose jowls of Geoffrey Courtenay did not appear jovial.

"Commander, a situation has flared up on Sierra Prime. I need not remind you that Sierra Prime is a protectorate of the Federation. Since you're in the system, I'd like you to appear in your diplomatic capacity."

Ramelow frowned.

"Sir, maybe you haven't been notified, but Captain Anthony is missing:…"

"I know all of that, damn it!", Courtenay bellowed. "You know as well as I do that if he hasn't materialised yet, he's dead."

Ramelow was shocked, and he did not attempt to hide it.

"Sir, I owe it to the captain to exhaust every avenue of hope." Noting that Courtenay was no longer looking at him, Ramelow tried another tack. "Besides, Admiral, we are here because we were answering to a distress call from the freighter Diligence. We haven't yet finished repairs…"

"How long?"

"I don't know, sir", Ramelow replied truthfully. "I haven't consulted Lieutenant Davies yet, but…"

The admiral interrupted for the third time in the short conversation.

"You have one hour to finish your business, Captain", he said coldly. "Upon the death of Simon Anthony, you have been given a battlefield command."

With that, the connection was broken. Ramelow was fuming. He could not believe that this was the same Admiral Courtenay who, just a few weeks previously and while Mariner was being repaired at Earth Station McKinlay, had arranged a dinner in honour of the captain, for 'playing a major role in the salvation of peace' from a rogue Klingon battleship. He clicked his commbadge.

"Ramelow to Davies."

"Chief Engineer here", replied the South African.

"Chief", Ramelow began, careful to choose his words warily, "is there any type of accident you can think of which would render our warp and impulse engines inoperative, whilst posing no threat to this ship or her crew?"

Davies had learnt not to question the First Officer, yet he had known him for just a couple of months. "I suppose a magnetic constriction failure on the primary thermal induction valves would be the answer, sir", he replied after a few seconds of thought. "Without the induction valves, I wouldn't be able to control the amount of power being routed to either engine system. If I shut the warp core and the impulse reactors down while we were at a dead stop, there would be no ill effects."

"Make it so, Mr Davies."

This time, the South African engineer had to question his superior's motives. "Why, sir?"

"Mr Davies", responded Ramelow matter-of-factly, "Admiral Courtenay wants us to depart for Sierra Prime in less than one hour to mediate some trivial dispute or the like. If we leave, we lose any chance, no matter how slight, of ever seeing the captain again."

He paused.

"Therefore, Mr Davies, am I right in thinking I will hear an alarm alerting us to a loss of constriction in the near future?"

Davies, fiercely loyal to Anthony, was loath to consider abandoning his captain, even if he was now just a scattering of molecules in empty space. He smirked knowingly. "I believe you may have some Scottish blood in you, Commander", he said. "I think my panel here is telling me that the level of magnetic constriction is falling. I'll have to shut down all primary propulsion systems."

It was Ramelow's turn to smile. "Whatever you think is necessary, Lieutenant."

* * *

Kathryn Janeway was still by the side of the bio-bed when Anthony awoke again. This time, he was able to sit up without any undue effort, and she was faintly pleased to note that he had a small smile on his face as he saw her.

"It's always nice to see a friendly face when one is in Sickbay", he commented. His voice was still weak, but compared to his condition a few hours before, he sounded like he was ready to sing a Klingon opera.

"Captain Simon Anthony", Janeway said, smiling widely and shaking her head. "I knew that, one day, I'd probably meet you, but I didn't think it would be this soon."

Anthony raised his right hand and grabbed her elbow. "Am I to assume that Voyager is still in the Delta Quadrant?"

Janeway's pleasant expression turned to bemusement. "Why, of course. Otherwise, I'd be gladly putting my feet up at home on Earth."

Anthony cringed and sighed. "It must have been the micro-wormhole", he muttered to himself. Voyager's captain furrowed her brow, so he explained.

"I was on board Mariner. We answered a distress call from the freighter Diligence, and, when we arrived, we found the ship being pummelled by gravimetric currents from some type of micro- wormhole. I was on the transporter pad, beaming across to the freighter…"

He rubbed his chin. "The next thing I knew, I was being treated by an EMH."

"A very handsome EMH, no less", a new voice put in. Entering Anthony's field of view, Voyager's doctor appeared. He was tapping a hypospray canister and beaming. Janeway waved her hand towards him.

"Captain Simon Anthony, meet the Doctor."

The holographic physician nodded.

"Your cell degradation, Captain Anthony, suggested you had beamed aboard from a great distance. How far away is your ship?"

"If she hasn't left her captain behind", Anthony said wryly, "Mariner should still be in the Sierra System."

The Doctor dropped his hypospray. "In the Alpha Quadrant? That is not possible! Your transporter beam would have taken years to get here, and it wouldn't have been strong enough to rematerialise you."

"Doctor", Janeway said, "I think the captain believes that his signal was sucked into this micro- wormhole, which deposited him here in the Delta Quadrant."

"The transporter beam would then seek out Federation-type transport pads, because I was going to a Federation-registered vessel, and the only ones it could find were on Voyager", finished Anthony.

Janeway clicked her commbadge. "Janeway to Astrometrics."

"Yes, Captain?", replied a female voice.

"Seven, use the Astrometric sensors, and see if you can find a spatial disturbance which would be consistent with a micro-wormhole."

Janeway clicked her badge again, closing the channel. She turned to Anthony. "That may take a while. Would you like to see the rest of the ship?"

Anthony grinned. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

CHAPTER TWO

First Officer's Log, Stardate 54750.2
It is now twenty-four hours since Captain Anthony disappeared whilst in transport. While some of the crew have given up hope, I have not. Having conferred with Science Officer Dalton, I have concluded that it is possible the captain's beam was diverted into the micro-wormhole. As yet, we have been unable to locate the position of the wormhole's exit point, but I hope against hope that the captain arrived on a friendly ship or planet with transporter technology, who will assist him in returning. In the meantime, I have asked Ensign Lane to monitor the situation on Sierra Prime. So far, we do not know what the disturbance was that Admiral Courtenay wished us to address, and while I have disobeyed orders to assist, it is my duty to at least oversee the progress of… whatever it is, and then determine the next course of action.

"Enter."

The door had not yet chimed, but Commander Ramelow had heard the footfalls approaching the ready room. The door swished open, and Ensign Lane entered, carrying a PADD.

"Sir, I've been analysing the transmissions and sensor logs from Sierra Prime, as you requested", she said as a preamble. Ramelow nodded. Lane handed over the handheld computer to her superior officer.

"The Sierrans report that their armament depots on the northern continent of Ghalt are under attack."

Ramelow looked up with a start.

"By whom?" "The transmissions were laced with static", Lane admitted, "but I picked up on the word 'Ta'ga'."

Ramelow sucked in a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Great", he said sarcastically. "That's the last thing we need."

Lane raised her eyebrow.

"Forgive me, sir, but I've never heard of the Ta'ga."

Ramelow rose from his chair and began pacing.

"The Ta'ga are a race of people found in the asteroid belt between Sierra Prime and Sierra II. They are fairly primitive; they only developed warp drive three years ago. What they lack in speed, however, they more than make up for in weaponry.

"For almost a century, since the Ta'ga worked out how to travel through space in liquid-fuelled ships, they have been attacking Sierran satellites. They view the system as theirs, and therefore the Sierrans are 'trespassers'. Once they gained warp flight, the Sierrans, as a Federation protectorate, requested that Starfleet make first contact, and offer them a position on the Federation High Council. They hoped that this would smooth the differences between them."

"Since I've never heard of the Ta'ga, I assume it didn't work?"

Ramelow's face turned bitter.

"It was a disaster. Starfleet sent the USS Venturer, a Miranda III-class ship, with Ambassador Pellec Askad, one of the Trill representatives. He met with their leader and was making headway, until he mentioned that Sierra Prime was a Federation member. The Ta'ga are a paranoid race, and the moment they heard that, they began to think that the Federation were actually trying to orchestrate a Sierran takeover of the Ta'ga asteroid territories. They executed Ambassador Askad and sent a swarm of non- warp ships to attack the Venturer. Their weapons were devastating, and while Venturer managed to escape, she lost about twenty crewmembers and was dry-docked at Utopia Planitia for three months."

"I remember seeing her under repair, when Ankara returned from one of our cruises", Lane remarked. "She looked pretty beaten up, but we were told by Starfleet that she had run into a massive ion storm."

Ramelow nodded.

"Starfleet felt it best not to make it common knowledge, but issued warnings about travelling near the asteroid field. The only reason I know so much is because I was at Starfleet Communications at the time, and I was monitoring the communiqués between Venturer and the Council."

Lane sucked in a breath.

"So, we'd better hope that the Ta'ga don't detect us while we're dead in the water or we're going to suffer a lot of casualties."

"We'd better find the captain soon", Ramelow said.

* * *

The mess hall of USS Voyager was set up to appear more like a concert hall than an eatery. Indeed, upon the suggestion of the Doctor, an impromptu musical recital, showcasing the finest that the little ship had to offer, had been arranged by Captain Janeway in honour of Captain Anthony. Anthony, seated in between the captain and his old friend Tom Paris, was more than pleased to hear 'Harry Kim & the Kim-tones', for while he had to laugh at the rather lame title for the group, he enjoyed Twentieth Century jazz and swing music. On top of that, their renditions of the ancient Louis Armstrong classics were heart-warming, and, as usual, What A Wonderful World brought a tear to his eyes. Upon the closing of the piece, and amid the applause, Paris leaned over.

"Why don't you get up there and sing, Simon?", he asked with a broad smile. Anthony stifled a laugh.

"I couldn't, Tom. I haven't sung anything for a good six years!"

Paris furrowed his brow in mock disappointment.

"For old times' sake, I'm sure you could."

This he said loud enough to grab the attention of Janeway, who in turn leaned over towards her guest.

"I didn't know you could sing", she said, with a mischievous grin. Anthony slapped his forehead in exasperation, and said something unintelligible in German, an ancient Terran language he had learnt at Henry Archer-Gymnasium. He slowly rose from his seat, and clasped the shoulder of Harry Kim, who had just rested his saxophone on his chair.

"Ensign, may I have a word?"

* * *

The Kim-tones arrived back in the mess hall fifteen minutes later, and took their positions. A few seconds later, Anthony strode in, decked out in a top hat, a dinner jacket with tails, shirt and dress trousers, and a white bow tie, whilst carrying a walnut and brass cane. The congregated audience cheered upon his arrival, but he guessed that it was more out of amusement or bemusement that anything else. As he walked briskly to the centre of the carpet, Janeway tugged on his elbow.

"Well, you're out to impress."

"Dressed to the nines, I believe was the term for the period", Anthony laughed. He proceeded to 'centre stage', before turning to the pianist of the group, and giving a signal. The Bolian pounded out a few notes before Simon Anthony began to sing.

"I've just got an invitation in the mail: 'Your presence requested this evening, it's formal. Top hat, white tie and tails'…"

Janeway whispered to Paris.

"I had no idea he could sing this well."

"He used to do a little bit of a repertoire whenever we met at Sandrine's", Paris whispered back, whistfully. "Those were the good old days."

Janeway could barely stifle the giggle.

"I'm stepping out, my dear, to breathe the atmosphere that simply reeks with class…"

Harry Kim had begun to play his saxophone by now, and soon was belting out a magnificent solo. As the song drew to a close, the crowd rose to give an ovation. Again, not allowing any type of pride to enter his mind, Anthony assumed it was for the band, who had supported him so well.

Afterwards, as he was leaving the hall, he was met by Paris and Janeway, who both praised his singing.

"I'm sure the rest of the crew enjoyed it too", chortled the lieutenant. "After all, I did have your performance broadcasted throughout the entire ship."

Anthony's jaw dropped.

"You didn't!"

"I certainly did", shot back Paris. Anthony was about to chastise his old friend, when Janeway's commbadge suddenly spoke.

"Seven of Nine to the Captain."

"Go ahead."

"I have completed my sensor sweeps", Seven of Nine reported. "There is a small spatial disturbance approximately five light years away. It could be a micro-wormhole."

"We're on our way", replied Kathryn.

CHAPTER THREE

Simon Anthony craned his neck to view the projection on the screen in the Astrometrics lab. Next to him, resplendent in a contour-hugging mauve uniform, stood Seven of Nine. Anthony had made a point of searching through Voyager's personnel files when he came aboard, to have at least a basic knowledge of the crew. Seven of Nine intrigued him.

She was born Annika Hansen, the daughter of the famed exobiologists, Magnus and Erin Hansen. They had set off in their little science vessel several years previously, to investigate the Borg. Unfortunately, they were all assimilated. Later, when Captain Janeway had organised a temporary treaty between Voyager and the Borg, Seven of Nine had come aboard. Her link with the Collective was severed, and she had been striving to regain her humanity ever since. Despite this, she often concealed her emotions behind controlled responses, though she was not slow to speak her mind. He noted that Janeway had added official commendations to her file. Seven was an enigma to Anthony, and a beautiful one too, he had to concede. Indeed, her cybernetic implants did nothing to spoil her pleasing lines; if anything, they made her even more appealing. Anthony shook his head and refocused on the current issues.

"The disturbance is almost exactly five light years away, and at warp nine we will require twenty-four hours."

Seven had her hands behind her back, and gave nothing away in her tone of voice. Despite this, Janeway straightened.

"I hear a 'but' coming on…"

Seven nodded.

"You are correct, Captain." She punched a button on the console. Instantly, the projection changed perspective. A thin, pale blue cloud appeared, no more than a billion kilometres distant from the anomaly.

"An ion storm is approaching the disturbance, and will be there in twenty-five hours. It appears to have been charged with yridiolum particles. The Borg have designated this disturbance Spatial Anomaly 2391. Several Cubes have been lost over the years, when a transwarp conduit came in contact with this type of storm. It has the ability to erode the conduit, until it becomes unstable and collapses on itself."

Janeway asked: "Would this also happen to a micro-wormhole?"

"Yes", replied the former drone matter-of-factly. Anthony and Janeway both cringed. Janeway clicked her badge.

"Mr Paris, set the course which has just been downloaded to the helm, and engage at warp nine."

Anthony turned to leave, but as he did so, Seven fired off a parting comment.

"Your singing was…", she halted, attempting to find a suitable word. "Nostalgic, Captain", she finished. Anthony waved off the comment, and exited Astrometrics.

* * *

Bruce Rokana watched on as the Mariner engineers set to work, repairing the damage done by the gravimetric currents. He was, reflected Ensign Toby Garrick, as relaxed as a Klingon who has just discovered a Romulan has married into his family. Garrick stopped for a moment and chuckled inwardly at the mental picture his simile had conjured up. Standing at just under five feet six inches in height, Garrick was an imp of a man, despite his age. Whereas the majority of the Mariner crew was aged younger than forty years, Garrick was fast becoming the oldest ensign in Starfleet. His fifty-ninth birthday was approaching, but it did not matter to the aging engineer that he had been passed over for promotion several times. His life as the second engineer was fulfilling, and while he liked the privileges that being an officer bestowed upon him, he did not want to enter the real command structure of a ship. Besides being a veteran of the Cardassian Wars, he was also a member of the crew of the USS Thunderchild, which was critically damaged by a Borg Cube in Sector 001. Since that time, he had served under Anthony.

Rokana leapt to his feet suddenly, as two Starfleet engineers wrenched open the doors to Cargo Bay Six. It had previously been cut off from the rest of the ship due to many thousand microfractures in the hull but, after two days of repairs, it was now deemed safe to enter. The freighter captain shook his hands.

"There's no need to go in there, gentlemen", he said. "My crew can inspect that when we're underway."

Something in his tone grabbed Garrick's attention, and he glanced sharply at Rokana. The bearded captain was hiding something, the engineer deduced, after taking in the sweating face and anxious expression. He pointed to the doors.

"Captain Rokana", he said in a patient voice. "We're here, and we're conducting repairs. We might as well take a peek."

Rokana opened his mouth to protest, but the old engineer had already traversed the distance to the cargo bay. Without hesitation he entered.

Ten minutes later, Garrick clicked his commbadge. "This is Ensign Garrick to Commander Ramelow and Lieutenant-Commander Tasek." Without pausing for an acknowledgement he went on. "I think you'd better come over and take a look at this."

* * *

The confinement chambers had been well hidden within the empty storage barrels, but the turbulence encountered by Diligence had left a few of the barrels open and sprawled across the deck. Ramelow and Tasek bent over one of the chambers as Garrick turned it over, revealing a placard, printed in Cardassian. To Jakob Ramelow, it was an incomprehensible mixture of squiggles.

The Second Engineer looked up at his senior officers.

"I learned a lot of Cardassian script during the wars", he said. Ramelow had a puzzled expression.

"Okay, Ensign. I'll bite. What does it mean?"

"It says: 'Warning: Supercooled nucleonic particles present.'"

Tasek raised an eyebrow. Ramelow rose to his feet. Slowly, he paced over to where Captain Rokana stood. He now looked like a man who had found a stash of Tellarian crystals, and then dropped them.

"So, we have a Federation freighter covertly transporting several chambers of weapons-grade Cardassian nucleonic particles", the acting captain of the Mariner said slowly. He stopped and looked back towards Tasek. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached for the collar of Rokana's shirt. Without warning, he lifted the shorter and less well-built man violently off his feet. "What were you doing with them?", he snarled, teeth bared. Rokana let out an involuntary yelp of fear. Ramelow, sensing victory, dropped the freighter captain, who slumped on to the deck, more out of relief than anything else.

"It was for the good of the Federation", he whimpered. Tasek stepped forward.

"That would seem unlikely", he said in his deadpan voice.

"I think", Ramelow muttered, "Captain Rokana had better explain."

* * *

Bruce Rokana stood as a dejected and broken man. He was quite sure that his days as a space boomer were over, and that Jakob Ramelow would have no compunctions if he sent him to a Federation penal colony. Rokana stared into the blue eyes of the acting captain. Usually, they were warm. Friendly. Intelligent. Now they looked positively glacial, and the older man could not stop himself from giving an involuntary shiver.

Rokana had not hesitated to regurgitate his entire story once he had been forcibly escorted to the brig of the USS Mariner. He had been paid a large amount in latinum by the Sierran government to transport discarded Cardassian nucleonic particles to Sierra Prime. They did not inform him why they wanted the highly volatile and devastating material. He had guessed that they intended to build nucleonic weapons to use against the pirate Ta'ga, but he felt that it was better not to know. His instructions were to deliver the canisters to a waiting Sierran shuttle on the fringe of the system.

"They didn't turn up", growled Rokana. "I realised that, if I didn't deliver the merchandise, I wouldn't get paid. So, I took Diligence inside the solar system, but we got caught in those damned gravimetric currents."

Ramelow, standing on the outside of the cell, and separated from the boomer by a powerful force-field, clicked his fingers as a thought came to him.

"So that's what it's about", he murmured to himself. Aloud, he spoke to Tasek. "I believe that the Ta'ga were tipped off about this delivery, and aimed to destroy the ammunition dumps where the particles were to be held. However, they attacked early." He turned to Rokana. "The Sierran shuttle was probably destroyed as it tried to leave the system."

The full implications of this dawned on Tasek.

"Commander, I would advise that if the Ta'ga detect Diligence or Mariner, they will attack to finish their mission."

Ramelow merely nodded. His thoughts were a million parsecs away.

CHAPTER FOUR

Chakotay lay awake on the couch in his quarters. By his side was a steaming cup of herbal tea, which he would occasionally reach for and sip the contents. He was staring at the ceiling, deep in contemplative thought, and he almost missed the door chime as it pierced through the silent atmosphere. He remained still for a moment, unsure of whether he had indeed heard anything. Then it came again, the three-toned electronic beep, which announced a visitor to his door. Still, he did not move, but he did speak.

"Come in."

The door swished open, revealing Simon Anthony standing in the doorjamb. Chakotay turned his head to catch sight of his caller.

"I'm terribly sorry, Commander; I have obviously disturbed you", Anthony said quietly, but Chakotay shook his head.

"Not at all, sir. Please, come in."

The captain of the Mariner took a step inside the room, and the door closed behind him. "I was hoping that we could take a few moments to get to know one another; or rather", he corrected himself, "for me to get to know you."

Chakotay's brow rose in a quizzical expression.

"What I mean is", continued Anthony hastily, "ever since Voyager was 'rediscovered', I've often wondered about the Maquis contingent, and especially you: how you have adapted to life on a Federation starship, what the Maquis was like, how your lines of thought differ from that of the captain."

Chakotay's eyes seemed to cloud.

"The Maquis are dead, Captain Anthony, and I am no longer one of their ranks, for I am still alive."

"I know that they're dead, Chakotay", Anthony replied, using Chakotay's proper name for the first time. "I was there."

Chakotay looked up into Anthony's eyes. Suddenly, Anthony felt the need to explain.

"A large contingent of the rag-tag Maquis fleet appeared on the outskirts of the Badlands one day, just after my little destroyer, the Ankara, left Deep Space Nine on a routine patrol. I was asked to investigate this build-up of forces, and Ankara arrived at the Badlands about twelve hours after they first showed up on sensors.

"The leader of the force was a Bajoran named Shunaar."

"I knew him", interrupted Chakotay. "We once flew a mission together against a Cardassian freighter. He was a great pilot and tactician."

"He seemed to be very competent, the way he handled the group of about twenty ships", Anthony acknowledged. "He convinced me that it was just an exercise, and I decided, against standing orders, that I would not interfere with them. I ordered Ankara around, and we set a course back to DS9.

"Before we could jump to warp, a huge mass of ships dropped out of warp and headed for the Maquis vessels. The fleet was comprised of roughly fifteen Cardassian Galor cruisers, and twice that number of Dominion warships. They went straight for the Maquis."

He stopped for a moment to rub his forehead, which was glistening with perspiration. It was obviously a stressful memory.

"The little Peregrine IIs and the like stood no chance. Within a couple of minutes, all that was left was a massive debris field. The enemy ships sped away. They completely ignored us."

Chakotay was still looking deep into Anthony's eyes, and he could see pain. Starfleet and the Maquis had once been enemies, but Chakotay had always known that even the most hardened of Starfleet crews usually had some sympathies for the rogues. As a spiritual man, Chakotay could also determine that there were other emotional burdens that the other man was hiding. He had seen many times before the anguish of both Maquis and Starfleet crews, and he knew that Anthony was close to cracking under the pressure. Chakotay touched Anthony lightly on the shoulder. "It wasn't your fault."

"I know", Anthony replied, sounding frustrated. "Had I tried to do anything, Ankara would have been lost as well. All the same, it hurts to know that I was so close to all that death and destruction, and I didn't lift a finger to stop it."

Chakotay wisely decided to halt the conversation.

"Sir, if I may. It's getting late, and I have a duty shift which starts in seven hours. I should get some rest."

"Of course", Anthony agreed, regaining the usual assurance in his voice. He stood and walked to the door. He turned.

"Good night, Commander."

* * *

Exiting Chakotay's quarters, Anthony made his way to the mess hall. The lights were not bright inside the large room, but Anthony could make out Neelix, the Talaxian cook, morale officer and ambassador for Voyager, standing behind his stove in the kitchen, stirring a bubbling mixture. Neelix was the first to speak, which surprised Anthony, for he thought he had entered the mess unobserved.

"Good evening, Captain Anthony", he said, his demeanour as bubbly as his boiling concoction. He hurriedly wiped his hands on a hand-cloth and appeared from behind the counter. "Neelix", Anthony exclaimed, a smile appearing on his face. "I would kill for a cup of coffee right now."

Neelix beamed.

"Right away, sir", he pronounced, as if Anthony had made a profound statement worthy of popular acclaim. As the stout alien scuttled away, Anthony caught sight of a figure sitting at one of the tables. He made his way over, and took the chair opposite. Ensign Harry Kim was busy studying a PADD, but he put it aside as he sensed a new arrival.

"Captain", he said with a grin, but Anthony held up his hand.

"Ensign, please. While I am aboard this ship, my rank is irrelevant. I'm Simon."

"In that case…Simon", Kim hesitated, "I'm Harry."

As Neelix brought the steaming cup of coffee over to the table, Anthony motioned to the PADD. "A little bit of light reading?"

Kim made a half-smile.

"I wouldn't call power expenditure reports 'light reading'. I'm trying to find a way to distribute more power to the deflector dish without severely disrupting other systems."

Anthony thought for a moment.

"You know, just before the Battle for DS9, we made a similar modification to the shield generators on Ankara. If you simply lower the power to the magnetic recycling ports on the warp nacelles, you should get enough power to reroute to the deflector."

Kim scratched his chin in contemplation. "That would lead to a build-up of un-purified plasmatic residue in the secondary coolant ducts", he said at last. "Also, there would be a power spike in the engineering computers, if that residue seeped into the ducts and corroded the gel packs in the nacelle pylons."

"That may be so if you only lowered the power level, but what if you activated a containment field around vital areas of the hull? That way, if Voyager was somehow damaged, critical areas of the ship would already have rudimentary protection from a hull breach. Besides, if you did that, the plasmatic substances need not be refined; all you need is the raw energy."

There was a gleam in the young operations officer's eyes as Anthony spoke. "So the residue would dissipate while the containment fields were active."

"Precisely."

Kim shot up out of his seat with renewed energy.

"I should get to work right away. We'll be nearing the wormhole in about eight hours, and we'll need to boost the transporter beam with the deflector if you're going to get through."

Harry strode quickly out of the mess hall, leaving Anthony sitting at the table, peering gloomily into his coffee. Presently, Neelix quietly slid into the chair next to him. The Talaxian did not have to speak. Anthony needed no encouragement.

"Neelix, I need advice."

The Talaxian nodded, as if he had already known this to be the case. Anthony continued.

"I lost a dear friend of mine a few weeks back. His name was Ben Solomon. For many years he was my First Officer, and I was glad that he was, because I needed someone like him beside me in command. He was one of the most competent officers I have ever served with.

"Then, he gets a command of his own. He was overjoyed, and I was glad for him, but he was attacked on his first mission with his new ship. We went to help, but…". Anthony halted for a moment and sucked in a deep breath.

"…But I arrived too late to save him. He was killed."

Now he paused again, reaching for his coffee. He took a large sip, and waited for the liquid to slide down his throat.

"Ever since that event, I've been empty. Mariner is a fine ship, but I am unfulfilled. I hear Ben's cries for help, just like I used to hear Tom Paris calling out for me. "Since I've been here, I've regained some of what I lost. I'm not sure if I want to return to the Alpha Quadrant now, or if I want to stay with Voyager."

Neelix tugged his whiskers.

"I may not be a counsellor, nor am I a philosopher", he said. "But there is an ancient Talaxian proverb which comes to mind: Life is not life unless it is lived."

Anthony cocked his head.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You will understand", Neelix replied with a wink. "Some time soon, you will understand."

* * *

Anthony left the mess hall soon after. He stepped into the turbolift.

"Deck six, living quarters", he said.

He stood for a moment as the turbolift began to speed towards it's destination. Suddenly, he changed his mind.

"Computer, halt turbolift, and locate Captain Janeway." The lift slowed to a stop. Within a second, the computer answered.

"Captain Janeway is in her quarters."

Anthony held his hands behind his back.

"Computer, resume turbolift, for deck two, Captain's quarters."

* * *

The chime sounded in Kathryn Janeway's quarters. Though she had been trying to sleep, she had been unable to, so she called the visitor into her abode of the past seven years. She was mildly surprised to find Anthony standing in the doorway.

"I didn't wake you, did I?", he asked hopefully, with a slight smile. She returned the expression.

"Are you kidding? I can't seem to get to sleep tonight."

Anthony halted, not sure of his next move. Almost without conscious thought, his mouth spoke again.

"It sounds like you need a massage."

Janeway stared at him, a mix of bemusement and surprise etched in her face. Anthony instantly regretted his words.

"I'm sorry Captain…"

Janeway cut him off, a sly grin spreading across her face.

"I didn't realise you were a masseuse, Captain Simon Anthony", she said quietly, annunciating every syllable of the name. "Perhaps you can show me your techniques."

The door swished quietly closed behind Anthony.

CHAPTER FIVE

Jakob Ramelow should have been bright and alert as he sat in the 'Big Chair'. His countenance betrayed otherwise; slouched limply in the chair, minus his usual rigidity, he appeared a rag doll. His eyes were bleary and barely ajar, his lips were dry, his cheeks flushed pink. If Alexandra Lane didn't know better, she would have guessed that he was suffering from a hangover. However, she knew well that Ramelow had not touched even a glass of synthehol since the Captain disappeared. Rather, she guessed that he had not slept that night, probably not for the past few days, either. For that matter, she thought with a tight frown, nor had she. She supposed that she looked even worse than the commander.

Her speculations were diverted suddenly by a chirp from her instrument panel, accompanied by a flashing blue light.

"Sir", she called to Ramelow, "we're being hailed."

Ramelow stirred from his exhausted stupor, shook his head, and turned to look at Lane.

"By whom? The Diligence?"

Her expression conveyed a feeling of confusion.

"No, sir. It appears to be coming from the other end of the wormhole."

Ramelow rubbed his chin, running his hand over the stubble which had appeared over the course of Mariner's stay in the Sierra System. Still his face was blank.

"On screen."

The screen blinked from the view of the wormhole to a fuzzy explosion of colour, permeated with static. Ramelow turned to Lane.

"Can you clear up the interference?"

Lane merely nodded, and tapped at several panels. Suddenly, the image cleared, and Ramelow found himself staring into the gaze of his commanding officer.

* * *

Anthony was mildly amused to see the dishevelled state of his First Officer, but only for an instant. "Hello, Commander", he hailed.

The man in the Alpha Quadrant remained silent for a moment, lost in thought. Finally he spoke.

"Sir… we hoped you were still alive. Where the Hell are you?"

Anthony ignored what may have been construed as an insubordinate response.

"I've met up with some long-lost friends."

He stepped aside, revealing a ship's bridge, with blue-grey trimmings. A small group of Starfleet personnel stood and sat in plain view.

"Meet the senior bridge staff of the Intrepid-class starship USS Voyager."

This was met with a baffled stare, as the incredible revelation sank in. Before Ramelow could speak, Anthony continued.

"I'll be coming home in a few moments. We're at the exit of the micro-wormhole on the Delta Quadrant side. To make sure I can cross quadrants without being scattered, we're going to piggyback the transporter signal on a deflector beam. Mariner will have to adjust her deflector to a field polarity variance of 285.76 hectobars."

Ramelow spun in his chair and looked to Dalton, who nodded and entered the turbolift, on his way to Deflector Control. Anthony explained further.

"Once you receive the deflector beam, you'll have to channel it through to a transporter pad. There's also an ion-yridiolum storm which is about to break on the wormhole, so after I've materialised, you'll have to commence an emergency deflector shutdown sequence. Otherwise, those yridiolum particles will be attracted to Mariner's deflector like a Ferengi to latinum."

"Understood, sir", Ramelow managed to say in response. He looked to the woman sitting in Voyager's captain's chair. "Captain Janeway, I speak for all of this crew and Starfleet, when I tell you that we wish you all the best."

Janeway nodded her thanks. Anthony spoke yet again.

"Well, we'd better be going. I've got a long way to travel, Jakob. See you soon."

Then the screen went black.

* * * The hallway leading to Transporter Room One was lined with the officers and crew of the Voyager. Anthony had not expected a guard of honour, as it were, but he had learned over a very short time not to underestimate the Voyager crew. As he wound through the passage, he was met by Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres, who stood in the middle of the corridor. Paris handed him a PADD. Anthony took it from him.

"What's this?"

Tom smiled. "A present for the Alpha Quadrant. It's all the programming notes and algorithms for a holodeck creation of mine."

Anthony read the title and smiled. "Captain Proton & the Sanctuary of General X. Sounds like fun."

He turned to Tom's wife. She held another PADD. "These are two letters; one for my father, and one for Tom's. We were hoping you could deliver them by hand, if it's no trouble."

"Not in the least", Anthony said. He gazed down at her swollen abdomen. "It's a shame I won't be here to see you two become parents. I can't imagine a better mother. As for the father…"

All three of them laughed. Anthony kissed B'Elanna lightly on both cheeks, before embracing his old friend. "Take care of yourselves."

Next he moved towards Neelix. He made to say something, but Neelix nodded knowingly. Anthony wasn't quite sure what the Talaxian was nodding about, but he kept going. Passing Harry and Tuvok, he came across Seven of Nine and Chakotay, who stood together near the door. He shook Chakotay's hand.

"Commander, I know some Maquis survivors on Bajor and Earth. Is there anything you would like for me to pass on?"

Chakotay shook his head. "The Maquis are dead, Captain, and evermore shall be so."

Anthony nodded curtly. He understood. Seven stepped forward.

"It was… interesting to meet you, Captain Anthony", she said. He repeated his farewell with B'Elanna, planting a light kiss on each cheek. The door of the transporter room swished open, and he stepped inside. As it closed, he found Janeway standing there, a broad smile embedded in her beautiful features.

"Enjoy your ship", she whispered as they embraced warmly. He kissed her on her ruby red lips.

"I intend to."

He stepped on to the transporter pads. He felt a feeling of melancholy come about him, as he realised sadly that this would probably be the last time he ever saw her in person. "Goodbye, Captain Kathryn Janeway", he said softly. Janeway took her last few glances at him, then clicked her badge.

"Janeway to Deflector Control. Initialise beam."

This was met by three beeps from the control panel, as she patched the pattern buffer and energising array through to the deflector.

"Energise", she whispered, drawing her fingers up the transport controls. In an instant, Captain Simon Anthony had dematerialised in a pale blue glow. A single tear streamed down her cheek.

* * *

Ramelow contacted Transporter Room Three the moment the deflector beam cut through the wormhole and absorbed itself into Mariner's deflector with a jolt.

"Transporter Room, once you have the Captain's pattern, beam him directly to Sickbay."

"Understood", came the reply.

Ramelow was smiling now, but the grin was washed off his face when Lane chimed in.

"Sir, I am detecting Ta'ga vessels on an intercept course, bearing one five four mark two five. They'll be on us in two minutes. They must have been masking their impulse signature somehow."

Ramelow clicked his badge. "Engineering, standby to go to warp when I give the word."

"I'll need at least ten minutes to realign the primary thermal induction valves", replied Davies curtly. "They've been shut down for almost three days now, so they're not going to come straight back online."

Ramelow swore acidly.

"We don't have ten minutes, Chief. We have less than two. Can you give me full impulse power?"

"Theoretically, no."

"Theoretically?"

"Well, I can bloody well try", Davies replied with gritty determination. No sooner had he signed off than Transporter Room Three hailed the First Officer.

"Sir, Captain Anthony is being routed to Sickbay now."

"Good!", Ramelow exclaimed. "Begin emergency deflector shutdown sequence."

He hadn't finished his sentence when Dalton shouted over the comm. system from Deflector Control. "There's an ionic yridiolum stream coming through the beam!"

"Shut it down, now!"

"It's no use, sir", Dalton replied with terror. "Here it comes!"

Ramelow thumbed a button.

"All hands, brace for impact!"

* * *

The apocalyptically powerful burst of energy collided with the Sovereign-class ship with little more than a bump. For a moment, Ramelow thought they had gotten away with no problems. But the deflector shutdown sequence had not yet finished, and the energy discharge had entered the power grid. At that moment, all Hell broke loose.

Petty Officer Halka was standing at his console in Transporter Room Three. He heard a loud hum, emanating from the transporter pads. Before his eyes, they began to glow a brilliant gold. The reason suddenly occurred to him: the storm's energy had been channelled through the deflector beam, to the Transporter Room! Before he could even raise his hand to hit the commbadge, the room exploded into a violent burst of heat. Halka was vaporised in a fraction of a second, as the destructive power blew out bulkheads and destroyed the bio-neural gel pack system on that deck.

* * *

The crippling explosion chilled Davies to the bone. As it happened, he saw a power grid explode in a shower of sparks, the panel barely avoiding the heads of two engineers. Most of the control panels detonated, throwing some men violently to the floor. As Davies looked up at the Warp Core, he noticed with alarm that it was racing. A breach was imminent. Leaping over the crumpled forms of two unconscious ensigns, he sprinted to the core controls. Rapidly he initiated the emergency core shutdown procedure. Now, Mariner could only rely on her impulse drive, and Davies had no idea whether or not it had been damaged.

* * *

In Sickbay, Doctor Taryll prepared an anaesthetic in a hypospray, as Counsellor Gregory stumbled through the door. She made it over to Taryll, as the floor vibrated wildly beneath them.

"You wanted to see me?", she asked.

Taryll merely pointed to one of the bio-beds. On the very end of it, huddled into a ball, sat a shaking, weeping Simon Anthony.

CHAPTER SIX

Da'Karl Yaktil sat in his chair on the bridge of the Ta'ga flagship Iaskel. On his console, with crude, three-dimensional animations, the scene before his ship was being played out. He smirked grimly as he saw an explosion rock the huge Federation battleship, and he flicked several switches accordingly, which shifted the targeting box to the most damaged areas of Mariner.

The Iaskel was one of the few warp-capable ships in the large Ta'ga fleet. She was small by the standards of Starfleet, and as such only had a crew of six. However, as with all of the vessels of the asteroid territories, she was packed to the bilges with a massive array of powerful weapons. Her particle weapons had been used in anger on many occasions, most notably against the USS Venturer. At that time, Yaktil had been the Ge'Karl of the Iaskel, but immediately afterwards had been promoted to Da'Karl.

Yaktil signalled to his own second-in-command.

"Give me a communications channel to the fleet."

When this was done, he spoke into a microphone mounted on the console.

"This is the Iaskel to the fleet of the mighty Ta'ga. The two Federation ships must be destroyed, for the security of our people. Fighter Wing Two, prepare to engage the most heavily-armed vessel."

On that note, the swarms of enemy attack craft winged towards USS Mariner.

* * *

Jakob Ramelow picked himself up off the deck, crimson trickles pouring from his nose. For several seconds he remained oblivious to the scene around him. Shaking his head, he regained his senses. He clicked his commbadge.

"Ramelow to Engineering."

His only answer was silence. He tried again, but still had no response from the trusty South African engineer. He gave up when Tasek spoke, still in a calm voice, but to Ramelow, he sounded slightly strained.

"The lead Ta'ga vessels will be within range in fifteen seconds."

Ramelow wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve.

"Raise shields and charge phasers."

Tasek typed on the panel, but looked up at the First Officer after a couple of seconds.

"We only have thirty percent shields, and I cannot access the phaser control."

"Quantum torpedoes?"

Tasek shook his head nonchalantly.

"They are also offline."

Ramelow punched the back of the captain's chair, cursing. In desperation he turned to Lon Tanier, who had only just propped himself back up on his seat.

"Take us to full impulse, Mr. Tanier."

Tanier smashed his fist down on the helm console in frustration.

"She's not answering her helm, sir."

Wearily, Commander Ramelow slumped back into the maroon chair, and in the pale red glow of the alert bars, he watched the screen as the Ta'ga warships closed in on them.

* * *

At that precise moment, Lieutenant Henry Davies was attempting to restore order in Main Engineering. No one had been able to contact another member of the crew who was not on the lower nine decks, and Davies, entertaining the awful possibility that the bridge crew had all been killed or incapacitated in the violent discharge of yridiolum energy, declared that he had assumed command of the Mariner. His first deed as acting captain was as it would have been if he still considered himself to simply be the chief engineer. He pulled Toby Garrick aside.

"Toby, we need power quickly. From what I understood, we're expecting very hostile company in about thirty seconds or so, and I doubt we're in any condition to fight."

Garrick nodded.

"Understood, sir", he said. "I'll pull power from life support if I have to; we'll just have to hold our breaths."

Davies allowed himself a half-smile, but this disappeared as he felt Mariner shake forcefully. A console began to beep, so he made his way to it as quickly as possible. What he saw did not please him. He called to the second engineer.

"Toby, we need power yesterday. It looks like we're under attack. Our shields are down to twenty-eight percent!"

Garrick merely waved his hand in acknowledgement. Davies continued to work, as the second Ta'ga particle weapon strike collided with the dorsal shields.

* * *

Doctor Taryll Kalis was being worked off his feet by the influx of casualties. The normally mild- mannered Bajoran was becoming ever more stressed, a condition which was not helped by the constant weapons impacts against the shields. As he worked, he glanced out of the corner of his eye to Counsellor Gregory and Captain Anthony. In contrast with the chaotic settings, the counsellor appeared very much at ease. Anthony had uncurled himself, and was now sitting on the edge of the bio-bed, apparently oblivious to the surroundings. Taryll wondered for an instant what was being said, but only for an instant; his attention was diverted by a new patient.

* * *

Anthony was concerned that he was not making any sense, but he needn't have bothered. To Counsellor Rebecca Gregory, the incomprehensible statements of a man verging on a nervous breakdown opened up a new dimension of knowledge and possibilities. As they spoke, the conversation drifted, from his experiences on Voyager, to the recurring nightmares which troubled him so. Then, without warning, Gregory fired off an unexpected question.

"Sir, are you romantically involved with Captain Janeway?"

He was taken completely by surprise, so much so that he answered immediately, without the opportunity to create an untruth.

"Yes", he confirmed, before stiffening. "How did you guess?"

The counsellor smiled.

"I realise that you're suffering from a tremendous amount of grief, and it has been welling up inside of you for a long time", she began. "But you have dealt with it before now. I took a guess that you're also suffering a broken heart."

Anthony buried his head in his hands, but his eyes remained dry.

"Everyone I've ever been close to seems to die or disappear on me. Then I get a chance to reacquaint myself with Tom Paris, who I'd given up as lost. I made new friends on Voyager, and I also gained a lover."

He paused, and managed to look up into the soft hazel eyes of Rebecca Gregory.

"Now it's all faded away, like I've just shut down the holodeck program."

Counsellor Gregory stayed silent for a few moments, contemplating what her captain had just said. While they sat, a crewman stumbled into Sickbay, his face contorted in a mask of dried blood and bruises. Taryll, inundated in patients, could only glance at the newcomer and attempt to chat, to take his mind off his injuries.

"So what's the situation?", he asked conversationally, but a slight waver betrayed his fear and apprehension. The crewman, no more than twenty years of age, responded with a maturity and stability of voice which impressed Gregory.

"Not good, Doctor. We can't contact the bridge, or for that matter anyone above Deck Sixteen. Lieutenant Davies has taken command, but last I heard, we don't have impulse drive or warp, and shields are buckling."

The counsellor seized the moment. Turning back to Anthony, she grabbed his hands forcefully.

"Sir, you have eight hundred and fifty-four men and women on this ship who risked their lives by staying in this region, just so they could have you back. Now, they're in deep trouble. They need their captain."

This short spiel hit its mark. Anthony's eyes suddenly steeled, and he jumped to his feet.

"By God, you're right!"

With that, he ran out of Sickbay, leaving a perplexed Bajoran doctor wondering what the counsellor had said to her patient.

* * *

Davies was busy barking orders to his subordinates when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar face.

"Can I have my old job back now, Chief?", Simon Anthony asked with a friendly smile. Davies could merely nod, but Anthony launched himself back into command. His first task was to make his way to the makeshift tactical console, situated next to the warp core controls. He noted with some despair that the shields were on the verge of collapsing. A plan began to formulate in his head, but he knew that he needed luck on his side. Luck, and an obliging enemy.

* * *

Yaktil was very pleased with the situation at hand. The Starfleet ship was more or less without power, while the freighter… well, he thought, it's their turn now. He keyed his microphone.

"Fighter Wing Two, switch targets, and engage the Federation freighter."

He laughed behind his chrome helmet. Mariner could wait. She wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

Anthony broke into a wide grin when he realised what the Ta'ga fleet was doing. He called Davies over to his position.

"They're going for the Diligence. They've given us a chance to get out of here."

Davies sucked in a deep breath.

"Sir, the Diligence is still manned. They have twelve crew on board. We have to try and save them."

Anthony shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Chief", he said, "but it's a case of twelve versus eight hundred and fifty. Mariner must take priority, or else everyone dies. I like it even less than you do, but I'm afraid that's how it is."

Henry Davies looked down at his shoes, with a sad but resigned expression. The captain was correct, he knew, but that didn't make it right in this case. Nonetheless, he was forced to agree.

"Aye, sir."

Anthony looked up at the chief engineer. This time he spoke more softly, attempting to quell the feelings of guilt welling inside both Davies and himself.

"What engine power can you give me, Chief?", he asked. Davies shook his head.

"I can give you about one-fifth impulse and manoeuvring thrusters", he replied dejectedly. Anthony, however, was fired with renewed enthusiasm.

"Just what we need", he said excitedly. He slid across the floor to the acting helm console. He turned to Davies.

"Give me everything you've got, full ahead."

Davies hesitated.

"Full ahead, sir? That will take us towards the wormhole!"

"I know", Anthony replied. "I don't know who is attacking us, but from these scans, I'd say their technology is limited. I want to draw them towards the wormhole. If I'm right, their equipment is unfamiliar with wormholes, especially ones which are less than three centimetres in diameter."

"Sir", Davies pleaded desperately, "our shields are collapsing. We're going to hit severe gravimetric currents, and I can't guarantee our hull integrity will hold."

"I know, Chief. I also know that, if we get too close to the event horizon, we'll be sucked in, and no shielding will save us from the stresses of a wormhole compacting this ship into an object small enough to pass through", Anthony said, though he still held a smile. "The trick is, not to allow Mariner close enough to it, while forcing the enemy to do exactly that."

Again, Davies didn't like it, but he also knew that if they didn't try, they'd be dead. He shook his head and sucked in another breath. He punched a sequence on his console.

"All ahead full, aye, sir."

* * *

The Iaskel loosed off the first antimatter missile at the Diligence and, all the while, both she and the rest of the fighter wing fired their particle beams. Diligence had been without primary power since Mariner came to her aid, and she was thus without shields. The antimatter missile, upon detonation, ripped a massive hole in the port bow, encompassing three decks. The flagships other weapons followed a similar course, blasting deep into the corridors and rooms which were now without any protective hull plating. Yaktil laughed with pleasure as he ordered more and more strikes on the defenceless freighter. Each strike landed upon the starship should have been a deathblow but, resilient to the end, Diligence refused to die. Yaktil, however, was delighted. It wasn't often that he could test the might of the Ta'ga arsenal on a ship which would not simply roll over and cease to exist. Every now and then, the cargo ship would drift to a new heading, as a result of the attack. Yaktil responded by switching the target area, inflicting damage over a larger area.

The Ge'Karl of the Iaskel was given the task of observing the ship's unsophisticated sensors. The Ta'ga had never left their star system before; they preferred to employ their warships in raids on Sierran shipping and facilities within their own space. Consequently, the designers of the Iaskel and her sisters and cousins in the Ta'ga fleet had built their ships purely for short cruises. They did not envisage a need for complex imaging sensor arrays. They complied with the Ta'ga design philosophy which had prevailed for the four hundred years since the Ta'ga had first ventured into space: if it does not give a clear advantage in battle, it is a waste of space. Without the complex particle arrays prevalent on all Earth and Starfleet vessels since the first Enterprise, the Iaskel could detect Mariner and Diligence clearly, but the spatial distortion of the wormhole appeared simply as elevated background radiation. As for the explosion which had rocked Mariner shortly before the Ta'ga attack began, the Ge'Karl, as the sensory expert, felt certain that it had simply been an accident aboard the mighty Starfleet battleship.

The Ge'Karl stiffened and spoke in a rasp.

"Da'Karl, the large Federation ship is moving away under her own power", he muttered in disbelief. He and Yaktil were both at a loss. Since they had entered the engagement zone, the two Starfleet vessels had made no attempt to flee, which had led the Ta'ga commander to believe that they had been unable to, for whatever reason. Now, the prospect of allowing the Mariner to escape his clutches terrified Yaktil. He knew that, as leader of the assault, he was responsible for the possible failure. The repercussions would be fatal. With this thought in mind, he quickly regained his composure.

"We will follow her and engage", he declared, both to his First Officer and the helmsman. The Ge'Karl nodded.

"I shall signal the fleet to shift their attack."

"No!", yelled Yaktil decisively. "They can finish the freighter, but that…" —he stabbed his finger on the tactical display in front of him, which depicted Mariner limping away— "…that is my trophy!"

* * *

The bridge officers on Mariner were at a loss. Despite Lon Tanier's valiant efforts, he had been unable to re-establish helm control. Now, Mariner was accelerating away from the fray. What was more disturbing was that she was pulling towards the wormhole. Ramelow had puzzled over what was going on for several seconds. Tasek ventured an explanation.

"Sir, logically, there is one explanation."

Ramelow turned to face the tactical officer.

"Explain, Lieutenant-Commander."

"It is my belief that someone, probably in Engineering, has rerouted control to their location, possibly because they believe we are all dead. It is they who are manoeuvring the ship."

Alexandra Lane looked doubtful.

"I hope they can see where they're going", she said. "If we get into the event horizon, it's curtains for us."

"Yes", agreed Ramelow, "and very small curtains at that."

* * *

To Anthony, it seemed as though he was performing a million tasks at once. One second he was piloting the ship, the next he was checking the tactical display, and then he was querying Davies about the status of the warp drive. His scheme was hare-brained, he surmised with a wry half-smile, but, from the way the chief engineer reported the progress of the repairs on the warp system, it was so crazy it just might work. His musings took less than a hundredth of a second, before he was employed in more critical work. He noted with relief that the lead ship of the enemy fleet was pursuing.

So far, so good.

* * *

Mariner's hull had taken a beating at the hands of the antimatter missiles and particle beams but, despite Davies' pessimism, she refused to allow the gravimetric shears concern her as she ploughed through, towards the spatial aperture.

For the Iaskel, it wasn't quite so easy. Yaktil had ordered the distance between the nose of his ship and the stern of the fleeing battleship closed to five hundred metres. Shortly after this order was given, the flagship began to rock violently. The Da'Karl was considering this when, without prior warning, a power cell behind one of the inner bulkheads ruptured, billowing smoke and heat throughout the cramped bridge. As it cleared, Yaktil shouted to his second-in-command.

"What is happening?"

"Nothing's on our sensors", he reported with befuddlement. "I might venture that it is some kind of spatial vortex caused by the Federation infidel's engine drive system."

Yaktil nodded, accepting this reasoning.

"Helm, back us away to nine hundred metres", he ordered. Though the act was almost instantaneous, the vibrations worsened. Yaktil could not understand it. He had almost doubled his distance from the enemy ship, yet the turbulence was becoming more and more violent.

"What's going on?"

* * *

Anthony no longer cared about the positioning of the Ta'ga ship. Mariner was all that mattered now. He watched apprehensively as the distance between the event horizon and the ship closed. He could feel the same vibrations that Yaktil could, even more so, in fact. However, Mariner had been built to withstand worse, and he would bet his life that the attacker had not been.

My God, he realised with a shudder, I am betting my life on it.

Steadily the distance closed, and Anthony watched in silence. Then, in one sudden moment, he shouted to the chief engineer with an acid tongue.

"Full reverse, damn you! Now! Now! Now!"

As unexpected as this was, Davies acted instantaneously. In one swift movement, the engines of the Sovereign-class starship were delivering power in the opposite direction than before. In the midst of all this, Simon Anthony prayed for the first time in his life. He prayed that he hadn't done it too early, and he prayed that he hadn't done it too late.

* * *

In less than two seconds, the most modern and powerful impulse engines in the whole of Starfleet had drawn Mariner to a sudden halt. Then, with all the force of millions of nuclear reactions, she leapt backwards.

* * *

Yaktil, busily trying to brace himself against the jarring vibrations, barely heard his First Officer as the helmeted Ta'ga shouted over the reverberating din.

"Sir! The Federation battleship… she's reversing!"

Though Yaktil only just made out the words, his action was resolute.

"Helm, make sure we either go over or under that hull!"

The helmsman, wearing the chrome-plated helmet that all adult Ta'ga are obligated to sport, complied. Iaskel streaked just feet from the underside of Mariner's drive section. Once clear, Yaktil spoke again.

"Bring us about and resume attack run."

The helm gave his manual steering column a full starboard turn, but nothing happened. Instead, the flagship of the Ta'ga fleet hurtled on, following her previous course. The vibrations were even fiercer now. Yaktil, for the first time feeling fear, was still sure of himself.

"Reverse all engines", he ordered. The helm pulled back on the levers controlling the primitive ion drive. Though the ship decelerated slightly, she still remained on course. The gravimetric shears were now beginning to buckle the titanium hull plating. Yaktil could hear the hull screaming in protest as it began to crush. The bridge and engineering sections of the Iaskel became hives of frenzied and chaotic activity as the unknown force pulled the ship, accelerating now, towards an equally unknown fate. As she reached the event horizon of the micro-wormhole, the whole vessel, the pride of the Ta'ga fleet, was crushed to a size smaller than Anthony's commbadge. In a flash of bright light, she ceased to exist. Then the light, too, was sucked into the orifice.

* * *

Anthony slumped against the control panel, both mentally and physically drained. Around him, there was stony silence from the engineering crew. Then, led by Toby Garrick, they exploded into spontaneous cheering and applause. This went on for several seconds before Davies, in a scathing and brutal tone, shouted at a group of Non-Coms to reinitialise the deuterium conversion matrix. The cheers died, as the engineers realised with suddenness that the Mariner was not yet out of the woods. Immediately, every single engineer not otherwise engaged scrambled to assist the four non- commissioned officers who had been chastised. Within three minutes, Davies called to Captain Anthony.

"Captain, we have warp drive back", he yelled with jubilation. Though he felt like he had just fought in hand-to-hand combat against a group of Klingon Dahar Masters, Anthony was able to struggle to his feet.

"What can you give me, Chief?", he asked in a tired slur. Davies, anxious to try and get the captain out of Engineering as soon as possible, so that he could rest, replied as soon as Anthony had finished his query.

"Up to Warp Five, sir."

Anthony laid in a course on the console.

"Then give me Warp Five, Henry."

Mariner wheeled around, her bows swinging to face her intended course. Several hundred miles aft of her nacelles, there was a bright flash as Diligence finally succumbed to the relentless fire. Then, before Fighter Wing Two could even alter their heading to intercept the battered Starfleet ship, she was gone, blasting off at two hundred and thirty billion kilometres per hour.

* * *

Simon Anthony stumbled out of Main Engineering, a spent man. He leaned against a bulkhead for support. Then, coming round a corner, came a familiar figure. Counsellor Rebecca Gregory appeared immaculate as usual, yet Anthony sensed that all was not well. He stopped her with a yell before she could turn another corridor and leave his sight. As she moved closer, he could see that her hazel eyes, normally so inviting and energetic, were bloodshot. He did not have to ask her what was troubling her. She volunteered the information.

"Sir, we've re-established communication and passage with the upper decks. Everyone who was on the bridge and most of the other crew are alive and well", she reported waveringly. Anthony pressed.

"But…"

"But", she continued, "all of Deck Fifteen is gone. Engineering Support, Deflector Control, Shuttlebay Three, Transporter Room Three…they're all depressurised and damaged, if not destroyed."

She paused, to catch her breath.

"There were seven people on that deck at the time. They're all dead. One of them…" —she halted for a few seconds, but managed to finish her sentence after a moment— "One of them was Frank Dalton."

It was as if one of the Dahar Masters Anthony had previously felt like he had faced had just pierced his lung with a d'k tahg knife. Frank Dalton, the chief science officer and commander of the Night Shift, had been killed. He regained his senses just in time to stop himself from collapsing to the deck.

"How?"

"He was in Deflector Control when the energy burst hit us", Gregory choked out. Anthony found the irony in such a demise, though he did not find it even vaguely amusing.

Ensign Frank Dalton had been killed before the battle had even begun.

EPILOGUE

Captain's Log, Stardate 54750.5
The funeral service for the twenty crewmen who died yesterday in the battle or beforehand was conducted today. I remember finding it hard to lead Ensign Blake's service a few years ago, and that was for only one person. Today was as if all of the bad things about being a starship captain were all rolled into one and flung at me.
I asked Commander Ramelow if he would at least send the preliminary condolences to the families of those lost. I shall do the proper, more official notifications in a couple of days; we have had to return to Earth Station McKinlay for repairs. At least the stopover will give me a chance to express my regrets in person.
After such a testing time for the crew, I have decided to grant most of them shore leave when we get to Earth. I shall leave a skeleton crew aboard for the repairs.
The victory move which destroyed the Ta'ga flagship was no more than a theoretical chance, and I must admit that I doubted for some time that it would work. Now, Ensign Garrick seems to think I'm some type of hero. I hear from Lieutenant Davies that Toby is going to contact Starfleet Academy, petitioning them to call it 'The Anthony Manoeuvre'. I hope to God he doesn't…
It seems that Ensign Dalton's death has hit me harder than I would previously have thought. Maybe it's because, despite the fact he's served under me for three years, I know almost nothing about him. Unfortunately, it's too late to change that. However, it has given me the urge to try and make new friends among my crew, and not just wallow in self-pity regarding those I have lost. I think I finally realise what Neelix was trying to tell me when he said that 'life is not life unless it is lived'. I miss Kathryn and the crew of Voyager deeply, but I look forward to my next opportunity to speak with them. Hopefully, someday, I'll see them again.

* * *

The docking arms of Earth Station McKinlay beckoned to USS Mariner and, under the expert hand of Lon Tanier and the confident command of Jakob Ramelow, she obliged. The huge starship glided gently under the supports of the massive repair station, and ever so slowly floated to a halt.

* * *

Captain Simon Anthony was in his quarters when the door chimed. "Come in", he called. The doors slid open, and Rebecca Gregory stood in the jamb.

"Captain", she said, "your appointment with Admiral Owen Paris has been scheduled for tomorrow at 1030 hours at Starfleet Communications in San Francisco. As per your request, I've also contacted John Torres, and he's expecting you at his office in San Diego on Thursday at 1300."

Anthony nodded his thanks.

"Thank you, Rebecca. You've acted as the guide of my soul and my personal secretary for the past few days. You've done more for me than I deserve."

Gregory did not immediately depart.

"You miss her, don't you?", she ventured. "Captain Janeway, I mean."

Anthony smiled softly. He stood, his head tilted ever so slightly, an expression of quiet remembrance enveloping his face.

"I do indeed, Counsellor. I do indeed."

Gregory guessed correctly that the captain wished to be alone, and she made a quiet and discreet exit. Anthony turned to one of the viewing ports and stood with his hands behind his back, simply looking at the scenery. Outside, Earth's moon, Luna, appeared as a large grey-white ball, peppered with the twinkling lights of the city of New Berlin as it came into view. Anthony pictured Kathryn Janeway's smiling face, and, almost unconsciously, he began to sing faintly.

"I'll be looking at the moon, but I'll be seeing you…"