Special Investigations Division
Uprising Parts 1 & 2
by Travis Anderson
(michelluthien@hotmail.com)

Uprising Part 1

"Ma'am," Santos spoke up from Ops, "I'm reading a Federation distress beacon."

"From where?" Captain Hilde Edgars asked.

"It's originating from what appears to be a freighter at the edge of our sensor range."

"Helm, set course for the those co-ordinates, warp 6."

* * *

Edgars' ship, the U.S.S. Horta, was a Nebula-class starship. She was configured for long-range scanning operations and conducting stellar cartography update surveys of the Federation's border regions. It took nearly three hours at high warp to reach the periphery of her scanning range from their previous location. What they found was a gutted freighter.

Phaser blasts had pockmarked the hull and caused several breaches. There was no power and no signs of life. Edgars sent a boarding party in environmental suits to try and retrieve the ship's logs as well as collect forensic evidence to determine what happened. They found more than they had bargained for.

"Ma'am, there were still people alive when the life support failed." Alicia Witt, Edgars' First Officer reported, "The warp core didn't fail, it was shut down. Those people were murdered."

Edgars eyes hardened, "Do we have any idea who's responsible?

"Someone tried to wipe the records." Witt answered, "We sent copies of everything we recovered to Starfleet Command. Hopefully they'll have better luck then we did."

Edgars gave Witt a grim smile, "In the meantime, I suggest we conduct a few 'surveys' in this area and see if we can turn up anything more."

"Sounds like a plan, Captain."

* * *

Three weeks later....

"You couldn't resist, could you?" Alicia Drake asked in exasperation. On the receiving end of her scrutiny, Brin Macen merely shrugged and fought to suppress an unrepentant smirk. Drake shook her head and released a mournful sigh. Now she knew why Alynna Nechayev had placed him under her command.

"You couldn't resist lecturing a class of Starfleet cadets on the supposed similarities between the Federation and the Dominion."

"There are quite a few similarities." Macen stated calmly, "Both societies are utterly and thoroughly convinced of the superiority and inherent morality of their respective approaches."

"You are an officer sworn to the service of that Federation!" Drake sputtered.

"Which means that I, as well as any other citizen, should have the right to analyse and critique the system I serve in an effort to improve it." He said placidly.

The cherubic innocence he projected was the most irritating facet of the conversation, "I agree in principle, but don't you think that posing such questions to a freshman class is a tad premature?"

"No." Macen replied decisively, "I think they should be exposed to such questions years before that point. Facing such diversity at this point is almost too late."

"But they're so young..."

"And they will soon share the responsibilities we take for granted." Macen replied, "They need to decide for themselves why the Federation is their preferred system of government, based upon their own judgement, not what they have been force-fed all their lives."

Drake resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands. Arguing with a man over four hundred years old had its drawbacks. It also didn't help that Macen had seen more of the galaxy than the rest of Starfleet put together. She was suddenly grateful that most El-Aurians had avoided Starfleet after arriving in the Alpha Quadrant.

"Well, maybe its just as well." Drake said ruefully, "I'm giving you your first assignment as a member of the Special Investigations Division."

"I thought that my group wouldn't be receiving any missions until the ship's refit was completed and T'Kir had finished her remedial training."

Drake grimaced at his words. Macen's insistence on using a fifty-eight year old scoutship that Starfleet had decommissioned six years ago frustrated her. Drake appreciated the fact that the ship gave its occupants a ready made undercover identity, but modernising it had been an annoyance. At least the engineers assigned to the task had had a field day.

T'Kir was another matter altogether. Macen's damnable refusal to have her recommitted to an insane asylum baffled her more than his attachment to the ship. Drake happened to know that the unstable Vulcan had tried to murder him on at least one occasion. Drake didn't even want to guess at what personal imperatives drove him to keep T'Kir around.

The only consolation was that T'Kir's condition had improved. Some obscure herbal concoction that Macen had recommended for her had helped her bring her telepathic abilities under heel. Vulcan specialists had been brought in as well to give personalised instructions. One of them had left after she had propositioned him. Drake could only imagine the poor man was only half as scandalised as she had been.

The Admiral grudgingly had to admit that the Vulcan was a prodigy when dealing with operational and cybernetic systems. One of the counsellors had suggested that T'Kir had been drawn to machinery since it did not produce thoughts that would then intrude themselves into her own mind. Drake didn't know where she'd gained her knowledge. She didn't care. All she knew was that the damned lunatic was good at her job!

The group's medical specialist was almost as off kilter. A doctor that dreamed of being a warrior was a guarantee for an empty sickbay. Kort's contentious nature often inflicted greater injuries to his patients than those they had arrived with. The sole consolation was that you knew that any patients subjecting themselves to Kort's care were well and truly incapacitated.

Lisea Danan remained the bedrock of this eclectic lot. The Trill Science Officer Lisea Togran had been a capable scientist, but Lisea Danan had blossomed into an investigator of rare ability. Of course, drawing on the experience of eight other lifetimes would give anyone a capability boost. The key factor in the equation was Lisea herself. Her obvious unhappiness with Starfleet and her ongoing leave of absence over the last three months had been a worry for Drake. Brin Macen was the enigma that held his unusual team together. He had even more experience than a Trill, and all in a single lifetime. His personality brought back adages of "forces of nature". That certainly helped, but what set Macen apart was that he didn't see the universe the way others did.

Some had dismissed it as more ethereal El-Aurian nonsense. Nechayev, however, put a great deal of stock in Macen's "hunches". Jean-Luc Picard had certainly been willing to fly into the maws of death trusting in Guinnan's instincts. Whatever it was, Drake had been impressed with his handling of the Gulag crisis and of his service during the Dominion War.

She also had to admit she respected his performance in the classroom. She'd had several of his lectures piped into her office and had been amused at their irreverence and audacity. Macen definitely saw the Federation in ways that wouldn't occur to a native of the Alpha Quadrant. He made students re-examine cherished beliefs and ideologies applying critical thinking to them to see how valid they seemed from an outsider's perspective.

Other Academy instructors had either been ecstatic or frothing. The enthusiasts claimed that he was bolstering their dedication by making them enlarge their paradigms to include doubt. The detractors had gone so far as to accuse him of being a Changeling saboteur stranded on Earth after the war. Macen had merely smiled and informed them that he Federation had already won the war.

He'd then asked two simple questions, "And that being the case, why are you still afraid of being defeated? Who is your enemy, is it a foreign power or your own fears?"

Drake and the Academy Commandant had spent an entire afternoon fending off outraged and sputtering Academy instructors after that courtyard confrontation. Macen had become a folk hero to the cadets and discovered a willing audience wherever he went on campus. For awhile, Drake was worried about what he might be urging them to do but swiftly learned from Boothby that Macen was merely expanding his lectures.

Drake smiled inwardly at recalling Boothby's ringing endorsement of Macen's activities. The aged groundskeeper may have been officially "retired", but no one could keep him from his beloved flowerbeds or his latest crop of cadets. Over the decades, Starfleet had learned to listen to his insights. Boothby knew how to pick promising cadets and groom them the same way he could pick a bulb and groom it into an award winning bloom. His ringing endorsement of Macen had convinced her to leave him be.

"He's good for the kids." Boothby had declared, "Makes 'em think, by God. They need that. He makes sure they don't get stuck in mental boxes."

Drake's face turned hard as she thought about why she'd summoned Macen, "We have a situation and I think your group is the most qualified to solve it."

"That bodes ill." Macen remarked dryly, "Somebody's knickers must really be in a twist if they think my group is the most qualified."

Drake smirked despite herself. Macen and his team had been accused of being "cowboys" and of being throwbacks to the days of James Kirk and Hikaru Sulu. Not surprising since Macen actually served under Sulu. She knew that their antics went far beyond anything Macen had committed. At least so far, she amended.

"You could say that." Drake replied and activated the display of her data terminal and swivelled it so that Macen could view it.

"This is the NDT-129016 S.S. Hornblower. She was discovered by the U.S.S. Horta three weeks."

"It looks like someone beat the hell out of her." Macen commented, "Where was she found?"

"Five hundred kilometres beyond the Andergani frontier."

Macen winced, "The Andergani haven't tried any shipping raids since the beginning of the war." He also knew why they had stopped those raiding efforts. Macen had been the commander of a mission to insert Angosian commandos into the Andergani capital. The commandos had "persuaded" the Oligarchy to stay within their own borders for the duration of the war.

The Andergani Oligarchy had been a persistent thorn in the Federation's side since First Contact twelve years before. The Andergani were humanoid. They also possessed a lower tech base than the Federation and were ruled by a twelve-member council known as the Polstice. The Polstice kept their grip over the populace by regulating the release of technology. They bought loyalty by rewarding privateers that were able to secure samples of more advanced equipment.

Colonisation near the frontier was strictly regulated. Trade, however, was virtually unregulated. Various shadow enterprises like the Orion Syndicate used this to their benefit but so did a multitude of legitimate businesses. Freighters like the Hornblower constantly ran across the border. Most escaped serious harm but occasionally a tragedy like this happened.

"You want us to see if the Andergani are responsible?"

"I'm afraid the situation is more complicated than that." Drake said, her voice weary, "Take a look at this."

The display switched to the interior of the craft. Bodies lay sprawled across the decks. Others were frozen, their faces captured in the rictus of death. No one had died easily.

"Their power and life support was cut after their attackers had control of the ship."

"What kind of weapons were used?" Macen asked, pointing at the burn marks across several victims' chest.

"Federation issued phasers."

Macen gave her a sharp look, "I see you understand the problem. It gets worse."

"I'd like to know how." Macen said sourly.

"We've lost contact with the Horta. We haven't heard from her in three days. They went of the charts just after they ran another comparison of the ship's crew manifest and the victim tally and realised that there was a discrepancy."

"They've been kidnapped?"

"Looks that way." Drake agreed, "The Horta was supposed to transmit another report six hours after that discovery was mad. They never sent a signal."

"And I assume they were using encrypted channels?"

"The latest and greatest."

"This just gets better."

"Aren't you glad I called you in now?"

Macen gave her a look that indicated exactly how he felt.

* * *

The cadets stumbled out of the simulator. All were in various stages of shock. The Kobiyashi Maru simulation was infamous for rattling trainees, but this run had been something special. This "mission" had been commanded by T'Kir.

Hannah Grace and T'Kir were the last to leave. They were both laughing hysterically. They abruptly stopped when they suddenly found themselves confronted by Admirals Stoner and Arnor. Both of them came to attention, although T'Kir had far less enthusiasm and her posture was much more lax.

"Ensign Grace, your presence is not required." Stoner informed her icily.

"Begging the Admiral's pardon," Grace began.

"Ensign, are you typically in the habit of ignoring orders from a superior officer?" Arnor asked dryly.

"No, ma'am." Grace replied emphatically.

"Then there's hope for you yet." Arnor's tone would have dehydrated the Pacific, "Dismissed."

Grace left, leaving T'Kir facing the two Admirals. Stoner was a human male form the colony world Tarsus VI. It was a rugged mining colony on the edge of Federation space. Stoner reflected his native origins.

Arnor was Circian. She was essentially a six-metre celery stalk with appendages and eye slits. Arnor was only one of two members of her race to join Starfleet since her homeworld's introduction to the Federation forty years ago. She possessed no mouth per se. Vibrating her outer cellulose sheath generated her "voice".

"Lieutenant, I must confess that your...solution marks a new epoch in Starfleet history." Arnor informed her.

"I try." T'Kir replied jovially, her head cocked to one side.

"Lt. T'Kir," Stoner's voice rumbled, creating images of a landslide, "what were you thinking when you gave you last set of orders?"

"I was thinking about how to stop the enemy." She replied evenly.

"By inverting your warp field and destroying yourself and creating a subspace rift that made warp navigation impossible?"

"Yes!" T'Kir replied hotly, "I was one ship against six Jem'Hadar attach ships while trying to hold the Bajoran wormhole and defend a freighter. I 'neutralised' the Jem'Hadar and made it impossible for any of their reinforcements to enter the Alpha Quadrant until Starfleet could recall the 9th Fleet to DS9."

"But you secured this victory by sacrificing your crew." Stoner intoned harshly.

"Yes, I did." She replied with satisfaction, "I thought Starfleet officers swore an oath to lay their lives down in pursuit of their duty?"

"They do." Arnor responded, "But that does not mean their lives should be thrown away recklessly."

"I don't think they were." T'Kir replied defiantly.

"Hopefully, you will never be forced to relive this experience in actuality." Arnor said solemnly, "I fear to see how you would respond in reality."

T'Kir stifled a yawn, "Can I go now?"

Stoner nearly choked over her impertinence. Arnor vibrated with her species' version of laughter, "Yes, you're dismissed Lieutenant."

T'Kir snapped off a sloppy salute and strolled down the corridor towards the exit.

"Deities preserve us." Arnor hummed.

"At least she's Intelligence and not Fleet." Stoner commented, "I don't think God Herself could save us if that one ever got her hands on a starship."

* * *

Lisea smiled as Macen stepped into the flat she'd moved into overlooking the Puget Sound. The Queen Anne Heights area of Seattle held been preserved intact and unchanged for three centuries now, indicating its resident's love. Macen had been impressed with the city and its surrounding areas. He could see why the fanciful nickname, the Emerald City, had stayed with the metropolis throughout the years.

Lisea's decision to reside here, as much as the look on her face as he entered, confirmed what he'd already suspected, "You've resigned then?"

His matter of fact tone surprised her, "You knew?"

He shrugged, "I suspected it. I've barely heard from you over the last two months, and when I have, it's been rather distant."

She sighed, sitting on a stool next to the counter, "I didn't want this to happen."

He gave her a grin, "I know."

She shot him an irritated glance, "You don't have to be so damned understanding about it."

"What d'you want me to be?" he asked sarcastically.

She leaned her head against her propped arm, "I don't know." Her voice was weary, "We were reunited after a three absence and then split apart again. I tell you I'm leaving and you're being... so rational about it. It's annoying."

Macen's face twisted in a wry expression, "Lees, when we were reunited, it was wonderful. It was also different. You'd put together a new life, one that returned you to your career and your ambitions."

What you wanted before meeting me and joining the Maquis, he left unspoken as well as, before discovering that the Federation was exiling its own citizens to a Gulag in the Beta Quadrant.

"I still love you." She informed him, her voice catching.

"And I still love you, always will." He replied honestly.

"You could come with me." She suggested, "The Daystrom Institute is looking for social scientists."

He shook his head, "You know I can't. I have obligations."

"She'll be fine." Danan growled in irritation, "She's Nechayev's problem now."

Macen gave her an amused grin, "T'Kir's not my only loyalty here. I have other promises to keep."

She nodded sadly, "I know. I just had to be certain."

He stepped closer and took her hand, "We've shared incredible times, Lisea. I hate for them to end, but I can see it's for the best."

She looked up, her eyes misting, "I hate to see you go like this, but I think I need to be alone now."

He nodded. He left without a sound. Lisea shuddered as emotions rippled through her. She knew her decision was for the best, but it would take awhile for her to feel that way in earnest about it.

Uprising Part 2

"She's beautiful." Alynna Nechayev exclaimed softly. The Admiral's surprise appearance at the dockyards had become less of a surprise when she'd expressed her condolences regarding Danan's resignation and handed him a padd sent by Drake. The padd contained the personnel record of his new team XO.

Brin wasn't about to dispute her. Floating before them, the SS Odyssey sat in dock. She'd spent the last three months at the Planetia Utopia yards being refitted for her new assignment. Her modifications were complete, just in time for them to be utilised.

He'd spent nearly three years aboard her together. It had been a defining time in his life. Although he'd infiltrated the Maquis for Starfleet Intelligence, he'd actually endorsed the cause of the freedom fighters. Many of his Maquis comrades were now dead, but he still had the ship and the memories. It had served as his home for years and was one of the few physical links he had to his past.

Starfleet had commissioned the scoutship in 2323. She'd spent her entire existence on or near the Federation's contested border with the Cardassian Union. Officially lost in action, the ship had been "acquired" by the enigmatic Section 31. Macen and Danan had led a team of Maquis to a secret storage facility and "liberated" the ship, and several others, from Section 31's possession.

The ship was a smaller hybrid of the Excelsior and Ambassador-classes. It took a maximum crew of twenty-two, and could be operated by as few as three. Packing incredible power and speed for her size, she could engage ships several times her size. Unfortunately, Starfleet Operations tended towards larger starship designs. Unlike the Klingon Bird of Prey, the Blackbird-class was consigned to decommissioning and private ownership.

Admiral Drake had decided that the ship, once updated, provided more than served the Special Investigations team's needs. Her maximum speed had been boosted from Warp 8.3 to 9.3. Her phaser arrays had been replaced with the new Type XI design. She now boasted quantum torpedoes and ablative armour. Her computers had also been augmented by the addition of neuro-gel components.

"They don't make them like this any more." Nechayev commented, "Although may change with the impact from the war. Starfleet's changing, returning to its past as a paramilitary organisation."

She stole a glance at his barely suppressed grin, "You like that fact don't you?"

He didn't try to hide his smile any longer, "Starfleet is a force for exploration and diplomacy, but it also needs a backbone of officers and ships specialising in defence."

"You'd split the fleet?" she asked with surprised curiosity, "Establish a scientific branch and a military branch?"

"I wouldn't call it a complete split." Macen replied, "More of an interwoven framework. When Starfleet was first founded, it was set up along similar lines."

"I know. The Admiralty has spent a lot of time reviewing those records lately." She almost sighed as she continued to stare at the ship.

"Want a tour?" he asked.

She brightened immediately, "I thought you'd never get around to asking."

* * *

They strolled through the various decks. The bridge had been altered. It now resembled a hybrid between those of the Defiant and Intrepid-classes. The design gave the ship a sleeker, deadlier ambience.

The Flight Control station remained in the front of the bridge. Tactical and Science/Ops were in alcoves to either side slightly behind the Helm. The command chair was dead centre, between two terminal/displays. Behind the command chair were two wall consoles to busy relief crew.

The other decks were largely unchanged merely modernised a bit. Engineering had been redesigned with a much more powerful and efficient warp core. It also had an engineer bustling about. Macen and Nechayev stopped and waited for the man to notice their arrival.

After a few more adjustments, and more than a few expletives, the engineer looked up, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Nechayev blinked in surprise, admiral's rarely received that kind of reception. Macen laughed. Their reactions seemed to infuriate the engineer even more. He folded his arms across his chest and glowered.

"I happen to be the commander of this vessel." Macen informed him, "Who would you be?"

The man ran a hand across his nearly bald head. A few sandy strands remained atop with the rest forming a half crown around his head. He was a thin, reedy man with sharp features. His face and hands were heavily lined.

"Name's Hal Dracas." The engineer answered gruffly, "I'm the supervising Engineer for the refit."

Dracas' eyes narrowed, "I'm also the new Chief Engineer for this tub according to the orders I received this morning."

Macen extended his hand, "Welcome aboard Chief. I'm Brin Macen."

"Thanks." Dracas replied, accepting Macen's hand.

Nechayev extended hers, "I'm Alynna Nechayev."

"I've heard of you." Dracas admitted, he glanced at Nechayev's rank insignia, "I wasn't expecting any visitors today."

"It shows." Macen replied lightly.

"You're not human are you?"

Macen grinned, "No, why?"

"I'm a Troglyte from Ardanna IV. I've noticed that humans generally exhibit the same arrogance as our native Stratosians. They wouldn't react well to my insulting one of their admirals," he nodded towards Nechayev, " but not you even though you look human. You carry yourself wrong."

Macen smiled appreciatively, "Thanks, I'll take that as a compliment."

"Somehow Chief, I think you'll fit right in with this crew." Nechayev laughed as she handed him a padd, "You've been reassigned as this ship's engineer."

Dracas gave her a relieved glance and sighed, "Glad to hear it, ma'am. And I'm glad I'm not getting court-martialled"

* * *

T'Kir, Grace and Kort stepped off the runabout. They'd been cramped aboard its confines for the better part of a day. The first half of the day had been placid enough. The second half had been far more strenuous.

"You are wrong!" Kort thundered.

"I am not, you Klingon eflim!" T'Kir shouted back, despite the fact he was walking less than a metre from her.

Grace shook her head and picked up her pace. She'd been listening to the same argument since Alpha Centauri. It had been tiresome fifteen minutes after it had started. It was even more tiresome ten hours later.

Kort stopped. His eyes appeared to be swelling. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps as he struggled to contain his rage. T'Kir stood before him, fists on her hips, not giving an inch.

"I will only say this one more time." Kort said slowly.

That'd be a relief. Grace thought sourly.

"Klingon medicine is not inferior to Vulcan methods." Kort snarled, "Klingons can endure greater amounts of pain than humans so we do not rely as heavily on pain-killers as Federation practitioners."

T'Kir never wavered, "Vulcans can block all pain from their minds and induce healing trances which make physicians unnecessary."

"Block pain, eh?" Kort asked sceptically.

"All pain." T'Kir challenged, then shrieked suddenly. She leapt away from Kort, bouncing herself of the station's bulkhead. She tried rubbed her backside and her head simultaneously. Her face twisted into a frustrated pout.

Kort smiled broadly in triumph as he sheathed his dagger, "I guess there are some pains that Vulcans can't block."

He walked away chuckling to himself. T'Kir stuck out her tongue at his departing back. Grace approached her friend while shaking her head. T'Kir was often as frustrating as she was brilliant. Grace supposed that was the price T'Kir had to pay for being a powerful but untrained telepath.

"I hope that issue is finally settled." Grace said dryly.

T'Kir gave her a sullen glare, "He just caught me by surprise."

"You're a telepath." Grace retorted dryly, "You're not supposed to be surprised."

"The inhibitors I've been taking make it so I don't pick up everyone's thoughts all the time, just stray ones here and there." T'Kir sniffed in reply.

"Good excuse." Grace's teased.

"What've I done to deserve this abuse?" T'Kir threw her arms in the air.

"You were born." Grace laughed.

Passengers started filing out of the adjacent airlock. Most wore Starfleet uniforms. Two were in civilian attire. The last to exit wore a rust coloured Bajoran Militia uniform.

T'Kir's head cocked to one side as she watched the other woman shift the large bag thrown over her shoulder. The Bajoran consulted a nearby display outlining the station's layout. When she'd found what she was looking for, she marched off with a purposeful stride. T'Kir and Grace exchanged curious glances.

"Why d'you think she's here?" Grace mused aloud.

"She's probably here for the same assignment we are." T'Kir replied.

Grace rolled her eyes, "I suppose this is one of those 'stray' thoughts?"

"Nope." T'Kir replied grimly, "Just an intimate knowledge of Bajoran uniforms. That's a Military Intelligence uniform. There's no reason a Bajoran intel officer would be here unless it was as an exchange officer."

"And since a shipyard hardly qualifies as a Starfleet Intelligence outpost, that leaves us." Grace continued.

"Course, she could always be heading for another ship." T'Kir hedged.

"And the likelihood of that?" Grace asked wryly.

"Less than discovering you're a Borg in disguise." T'Kir replied grimly.

"Thought so."

* * *

The door to Macen's quarters chimed. Macen sighed as he called out, "Enter."

The door slid open to reveal a short, muscular figure. His hair was close-cropped and greying. A ragged scar ran down his left cheek. His eyes and movements marked him for what he truly was, a professional soldier.

"Rab Daggit!" Macen exclaimed in surprise.

"Hello, Captain." Daggit replied softly.

"Who's your friend?" Nechayev asked as she stepped out of the head.

"Lt. Rab Daggit." the Angosian answered before Macen had an opportunity to speak, "I served with the commander during the war."

"I'm sorry." Nechayev replied sincerely.

Daggit laughed, "So was I, ma'am."

Macen gave them both a rueful look, "What are you doing here Rab?"

"I've been assigned to your team, sir." Daggit informed him.

"How?" Macen asked in surprise, "I heard you'd been assigned to the Enterprise as a Tactical Officer."

"I was, sir." Daggit explained, "I turned down the assignment and volunteered for this one."

Macen couldn't hide his confused shock, "Why?"

Shame passed across Daggit's face before he replied, "I was aboard the Enterprise when you were on your way to find that gulag that Federation citizens were being deported to. I advised Captain Picard not to trust you. I misjudged you during the war, and I wanted a chance to make up for it."

Macen was both flattered and dismayed, "Do you still hold negative feelings towards me?"

"No." came the swift and fervent reply.

"Low opinions?"

"No!"

"Then I'm happy and you shouldn't have transferred off the flagship of the fleet." Macen told him.

"I'm also doing this for myself, sir." Daggit said softly, "I wasn't entirely happy in my duties."

Macen could understand that. The Angosian had undergone physical and mental modifications at the hands of his native government during the course of a war they'd fought. The soldiers had been physiologically enhanced and psychologically programmed for warfare and survival. Unfortunately, they hadn't known how to reverse the programming once the soldiers came home.

That tragedy had caused the Federation to decline Angosia's application for membership until a solution had been found. That policy had changed with the advent of the Dominion War. Starfleet had needed commandos with the skills and abilities the Angosians had possessed. Their planet had been allowed into the Federation in exchange for a wholesale enlistment of its former soldiers.

Macen had been the intelligence officer assigned to the commando unit. That had been his punishment for stretching his orders to the breaking point by aiding the Maquis while infiltrating them. He and the Angosians spent nearly three years behind enemy lines gathering military intelligence and conducting sabotage. It had been like being in the Maquis all over again.

Due to Daggit's programming and enhanced reflexes, Starfleet's normal protocols towards an aggressor would seem woefully inadequate. The Angosian commandos operated best under threat and while fighting for their lives. They were edgy and uncomfortable in times of peace. That was what had prevented them from rejoining their native society.

Macen held out his hand, "Then I'm happy to have you aboard." Daggit took it gratefully and gave Macen a beaming smile.

"You'd better be." Nechayev interjected, "After all, Daggit's your new XO."

She relished the stunned look Macen gave her. It was fitting revenge for scaring her half to death by having himself beamed directly atop her desk in her office.

She smiled sweetly, "I gave you the personnel jacket. It's not my fault you haven't read it."

* * *

Macen was on his way to one of the primary station's briefing room's loaned to the Special Investigation team. Everyone had already gone inside except for Kort, T'Kir, and Grace. They exchanged pleasantries with Macen before proceeding into the Briefing Room. T'Kir lingered a moment longer, extracting a promise from Macen to hear about her Academy exploits.

Macen hesitated for a moment as his eye caught a flurry of movement approaching down the corridor. A young woman in a rust Bajoran uniform was running towards him. Her expression alternated between desperation and anger. She skidded to a halt before Macen and struggled to catch her breath.

"Is this where the Special Investigations unit briefing is being held?"

"Yes." Macen answered, trying to keep his amusement out of his voice, "I take it no one offered to show you around the station?"

"No, they didn't." she answered with a wry smile as she extended her hand, "Lt. Nerrit Wen at your service."

He took her hand, "Captain Brin Macen at yours."

He watched the colour drain from her face. Her thin lips dropped open as her jaw went slack then clenched shut. Macen examined the fiercely determined expression that settled on her angular face. She was a feisty one.

Her blue eyes projected steel as she spoke, "I'm sorry I'm late, sir."

Macen shrugged, "Everyone's allowed a few unfortunate circumstances, Lieutenant. Just don't make it a habit."

"I won't, sir." she replied confidently.

Macen admired her spunk as she entered before him. She'd accepted the situation and adjusted to it quickly. Macen judged her to be just slightly older than T'Kir. That meant she was old enough to participate in the last years of the Resistance against the Cardassian occupation of Bajor. If that were true, she'd undoubtedly prove to be a mistress at improvisation.

* * *

Macen brought the meeting to order. He gazed across the room. There were sixteen people present. The ship wouldn't carry its full compliment of twenty-two due to the simple fact that civilian vessels rarely carried their maximum crew. A good quarter of the crew were engineers.

"Well, as you can see here," Macen spoke to the group, "we're a pretty diverse bunch."

He examined the padd that contained a copy of their orders, "The senior staff will comprise of myself, Dr. Kort, Lt. Daggit, Lt. T'Kir, Ensign Grace, and Chief Dracas."

He saw nods of approval at that. Although they were being assigned to the Odyssey, they weren't being assigned along traditional lines. Kort remained the medical specialist for the team. Most of them received this assignment more because of their paramilitary skills than their shipboard abilities.

All in all, it was a good mix they'd ended up with. Grace, T'Kir, and Macen were all rated for the helm. T'Kir, Kort, and Macen all held speciality ratings for the Science station. T'Kir and Dracas were both Ops wizards while Daggit and their exchange officer, Nerrit, were highly trained Tactical experts, which did not factor in Macen and T'Kir's guerrilla experiences.

Dracas held the title of Chief Engineer for the ship. Grace was the Chief Helmsman. T'Kir would man the Science/Ops station. Daggit had Tactical duties, with Nerrit as his junior. Daggit and Macen would rotate command duties on the second watch as well as including juniors. The eight other officers would comprise the night shift and the Engineering crew.

It worked great on a padd. Now it was just a matter of getting the disparate personalities to blend together into a cohesive unit rather than a group of individualists. Since Macen's team had been built out of a group of determined non-conformists, transforming them into Starfleet's vision of a team would prove interesting indeed. Macen's head throbbed in anticipation of headaches to come.

"We're headed for Deep Space 13." Macen informed the gathered crew, "It's a joint venture operated by the Kresh and the Federation."

The Kresh were an amphibian species, that thought technologically advanced preferred staying close to the world of their origin to space travel. Their territory bordered the Andergani's. The Polstice had ordered several attacks on the laconic Kresh ion the past. Starfleet's mission there was to provide protection as well as a layover base for deep space exploration efforts.

"DS 13?" a junior repeated distastefully, "It's in the middle of nowhere."

"That's why it's called the frontier." Macen replied dryly, "Are there any other questions?" Seeing no responses, he spoke again, "Then stow your gear and get your duty rotation form your department heads."