Special Investigations Division
Uprising - Part 3
by Travis Anderson
(michelluthien@hotmail.com)

Uprising - Part 3

Chapter 6

Spencer licked his lips in anticipation. The freighter his starships were stalking had already been captured by a competitor. A competitor that Spencer wanted to see dead. He'd already destroyed Larnack's raider, now it was time to capture the freighter and destroy the Ktaarian himself.

Unlike Spencer's typical prey, Larnack was well aware of the true loyalties and objectives of the USS Manticore, USS Horatio Nelson, and USS Buzz Aldrin. His ship had immediately opened fire on the starships while Larnack began transmitting a distress call. The smaller, more manoeuvrable scoutship was able to distract the larger starships long enough for Larnack to get a subspace signal off. Spencer cursed the Starfleet engineers that had programmed the communication array with lockouts preventing the jamming of a distress call.

Deep in the recesses of the dark hole he called his heart, Spencer knew the fault lay with him. He'd never considered rewriting the comm protocols at the same time they rewrote the command codes. Now they'd paid a price for his oversight. The target was fleeing and had transmitted a signal that could provoke a real Starfleet response.

Spencer leaned forward in his seat as his helmsman pushed the ship after the lumbering freighter. The scout had been destroyed. The Aldrin suffered minor damage in the engagement. She'd affect repairs as the Manticore and the Nelson pursued her target.

* * * * *

"What've we got on scanners?" Macen asked.

"Long-range sensors have detected the source if the distress signal." T'Kir reported, "It is a freighter with Bolian registration, the SS Barituu."

"Any sign of why they activated a Priority One distress?"

"It might have something to do with the two Federation starships chasing it." T'Kir replied dryly.

* * * * *

"Sir," Joe Alberts, Spencer's Tactical 1st spoke up, "sensors have detected an incoming ship."

"Starfleet?" Spencer asked apprehensively.

"No, sir" Alberts replied, "A civilian craft. It appears to be a decommissioned Starfleet scoutship."

Spencer's terse expression shifted into a predatory smile, "Well, it seems our bounty may have just doubled. Can you determine what class of ship it is?"

"The computer labels it a Blackbird-class scout."

Spencer thought about that. The scouts had been built at the beginning of the 24th century. Most of them were being retired as the new Sabre-class assumed its border patrol duties. Even stripped for civilian service, the scout would still boast a powerful warpcore that could easily power any weapons they saw fit to install."

"Prepare to hail them." Spencer ordered, "Standby to target their warp drive. I want to capture this one and press her into service."

"Aye, sir." Alberts acknowledged with a leering grin.

* * * * *

"They're hailing us." Nerrit announced.

"The question is, who are they?" Macen asked.

"The signal is on general frequencies but the ships are both Starfleet."

"Run their names through the computer." Macen Said towards T'Kir, "I want to know who these ships are and what they're doing out here."

"You suspect something?" Nerrit asked, her professional paranoia tickling.

"Petris didn't mention any Starfleet vessels being nearby." Macen explained, "It could've been an oversight. It can't hurt to check while I talk to them."

The viewer shifted to a close up of a portly man without any hair save a Van Dyke beard. It was grey and the man sat with an air of assumed importance. He wore Starfleet command divisional colours and the four insignia pins of a captain. The image struck Macen as being wrong.

"Greetings." the "Captain" spoke, "I'm Captain Herbert Spencer, commanding officer of the USS Manticore. Thank you for responding to the Barituu's distress call, but as you can see, we have the situation well under control."

Macen rose an eyebrow, "Captain, it appears as though the Barituu is running from you."

Spencer barked a brittle laugh, "Fair observation, Captain...?"

"Macen." he allowed.

"Well, Captain Macen, you just missed the exciting part where raiders captured this freighter and then attacked us as we responded to her crew's calls for aid."

"I see." Macen said tactfully. He didn't Spencer to catch scent of Macen's suspicions yet. The man had a vole-like quality. He looked capable of stealing whatever lay in front of him and then running like hell.

"Perhaps I should simply leave and not distract you further?" Macen suggested.

Spencer weighed the suggestion for several moments before replying, "No, that shouldn't be necessary. You will be in no danger."

"Thank you for your guarantee." Macen said, suppressing a shudder. Spencer's smile reminded him a constrictor slowly squeezing its prey, "We'll adjust our course to avoid you and your quarry."

"Thank you, Captain." Spencer purred, "I'll contact you when this is over."

The screen switched back to the space lying before them. On maximum magnification, the fleeing "fox" and the chasing "hounds" could be seen. The freighter was a tube with warp nacelles. It was obvious that it would never outpace the older Miranda, much less the newer New Orleans.

The Miranda-variant dated from the same era as the Odyssey. The original design dated back a century to the late 2270s. The New Orleans dated in from the mid-24th century and was related to the Ambassador-class the way a Nebula-class was the more versatile cousin of the Galaxy-class.

Whoever was aboard that freighter knew they would never escape, but had started their flight with their distress beacon wailing. Without the beacon, the freighter captain may have been able to hide. With the beacon transmitting, there was no evasion. That meant the beacon was the reason behind the flight and pursuit.

Macen's gut clenched as he put these suspicions together. The freighter was running in order to keep its beacon broadcasting. The starships were pursuing in order to shut it down before a signal reached DS13 and Starfleet responded. It was a nice theory, but it needed more facts to support it other than the fact Spencer came across like a Ferengi-Orion crossbreed.

"Anything on their ship IDs?" he asked T'Kir.

T'Kir smiled grimly, it was a chilling sight, "The computer identifies them as the USS Manticore and the USS Horatio Nelson."

"Are they really Starfleet?"

"They were." That drew a sharp glance from Macen, "They were listed as MIA after the defence of Betazed."

Macen's eyes went hard, "That certainly changes things. Are you running a sensor log of their activities?"

She nodded in the affirmative, making Macen smile, "Hit them with every active sensor we've got. If they're up to anything, that should shake them up."

T'Kir tapped a few controls. She frowned as she monitored her displays. Within seconds, she spotted anomalies that the Tactical scans had missed.

"Skipper, we've got trouble." her tone carried her concern although her facial expression never changed, "I'm detecting two class 14 torpedoes aboard the Manticore."

Macen froze for a second. Class 14s were the largest thing in Starfleet's inventory. Powerful enough to create a subspace tear, they were rarely distributed and even more rarely used. Admiral Hwrath had been desperate indeed during the final battles against the Dominion regarding Betazoid territory.

The Odyssey's own quantum torpedo magazines were shielded in order to maintain the fiction that they'd been deactivated. Although far more powerful than any photon torpedo, they paled before a class 14 neutron torpedo. Theoretically, a neutron torpedo could be launched against a planetary surface with devastating effect.

The subspace rift would literally suck a portion of the planet's crust away and release the magma lying beneath the surface. The tectonic forces released would devastate continents and be felt across entire globes. Larger planets would be permanently altered. Smaller bodies, such as habitable moons, would be rendered lifeless.

"Sir!" Grace said urgently, "One of the starships has altered course and is now inbound on an intercept course."

"Looks like we rattled them." Macen murmured darkly. He began issuing orders, "Raise shields and arm phasers. T'Kir, keep me informed of what happens to that freighter. Grace, evasive manoeuvres. Keep space between us and that Miranda."

"Nerrit, hail them." Macen growled.

"No reply." Nerrit responded, "They're locking phasers."

"They've opened fire on the freighter." Danan reported, "The freighter is damaged."

Grace threw the scout into a rolling cartwheel around the starship. It fired phasers, but was unable to hit its erratic prey. Macen ordered Nerrit to return fire. The Odyssey struck two blows unopposed before the Nelson struck back.

"Shields holding at 84%." Nerrit reported.

"Target their weapons." Macen snapped off, "T'Kir, what's the freighter's status?"

"A lot of subspace communications." She reported, "The Manticore has inflicted several hull breaches. Every section but the bridge is streaming air."

"Have you intercepted any of those transmissions?"

T'Kir was tapping at her console furiously, "No, but I have patched a comm link into the Nelson's main computer. We may be able to shut her down if we override her command codes."

Macen grinned. It was streaks of brilliance like this that redeemed T'Kir's other aberrations. The Special Investigations Division had access to a series of codes that could lock any Starfleet computer system. They were meant to place records in stasis for further investigation without the risk of deletion. An unexpected benefit was that the system would be temporarily unresponsive as it locked all its memory archive from all access. It would require a retrieval code to access or delete the ship's memory.

He turned to the data terminal beside him and tapped in the codes known only to Daggit and himself. He transmitted them across the link T'Kir had established. They all waited for a breathless moment to see if they'd been successful. Nerrit was the first to pronounce success.

"Their shields are down and the weapons deactivated!"

"Hit their weapons while we have the chance!" Macen ordered, "Grace, set course for Manticore."

"The freighter has been destroyed." T'Kir snarled announced suddenly, dampening the flush if success, "They beamed the freighter's cargo from its holds and then used photon torpedoes to destroy her."

"Was her crew still aboard?"

T'Kir nodded angrily. Macen's eyes tracked back to the screen. A cold, contemptuous rage built within him. Killing a resistant foe was one thing, slaughtering a helpless crew just floating in space was another. It served only one function, the elimination of witnesses.

It was an act of calculated coldness. It blended the mentalities of the Borg and the Cardassians. It was mechanically utilitarian while being personalised. Both were racial imperatives Macen had spent a better part of his life fighting. Spencer had just made an implacable foe.

Macen had not been concerned over the Odyssey's confrontation with the Nelson. The scout had faced a Constitution-class before under Macen's command. The Miranda-class variants were slightly more powerful than the legendary Constitution design, but not significantly so. Facing a New Orleans was another matter altogether.

Macen had faced Cardassian Galor-class warships in this scout. They rivalled the Ambassador and New Orleans-classes for firepower. Fates knew the Maquis had faced enough of those in less equipped ships than the Odyssey. The enemy stayed the same, his species had merely changed.

Now wasn't the time for hesitation, it was a time for resolve. Resolve and split second decisions. He was about to find out how good this team was. He hoped they'd live up to their records.

"Lock torpedoes on target and fire at will." Macen ordered, "Helm, use attack pattern Theta 9."

Grace began the spiralling corkscrew that began the theta series. Nerrit fired torpedoes as fast as the magazines could load the two froward tubes. Phaser blasts accompanied the streaking torpedoes. Their shields shone with reactive energy as return fire struck.

The Manticore possessed more phaser arrays than the smaller Nelson. They were much more effective at hammering back at the Odyssey. The scout's agility and more powerful torpedoes gave it a slight advantage. Those advantages were severely offset by the renegade starship's power, speed, and stamina.

Starfleet tacticians across the fleet would consider pitting a scout with a maximum crew capacity of 22 persons against a cruiser with a crew capacity of 1,100 slightly ludicrous. Macen never thought twice about it. Defying conventional thinking had enabled him to survive against the Borg and the Cardassians. Most Starfleet officers tended to slide into operational ruts and Macen wanted to exploit that as much as possible.

"Sir!" Nerrit's voice was urgent, "The Nelson has recovered her systems and is approaching to engage."

"T'Kir," Macen asked through the clamour of the battle, "do you have any signs of reinforcements en route?"

"No." her voice was dismal.

"Grace, get us out of here." Macen ordered unhappily, "Target aft torpedoes at the Nelson. We need to slow her approach. T'Kir, do what you can to scramble their systems."

Silence descended. There was nothing to be said now. Macen had to trust in his people's abilities. He watched the monitors, waiting for an opening to develop.

He cursed silently as none appeared. Unlike the more inflexible manoeuvres used by military units, these ships employed tactics designed to prevent escape. While that meant that they weren't trying to destroy the scour outright, it still narrowed their options considerably. The only favourable benefit was that the scout was given even more opportunities to inflict damage that could be exploited by Starfleet later.

On an intellectual level, Macen was impressed by the pirate's use of their tractor beams. Rather than try to grab hold of the scout, they projected beams that formed a perimeter. It reduced the scout's evasive options, making them a more presentable target. The scout shuddered and systems blew as weapons fire rained down upon it.

Nerrit's console exploded, hurling the commando into the bulkhead. The Helm exploded. Grace barely had time to get clear as it went up in flames. She escaped with minor burns.

"Engineering reports plasma leaks!" T'Kir shouted over wailing alarms, "Main power's offline, as well as warp engines."

T'Kir transferred Tactical controls to her station then shook her head, "Weapons are down."

"Same with propulsion." Macen replied grimly as he tapped his console in futility.

"Brin!" T'Kir's voice was urgent now, "Dracas reports an imminent core breach."

"Jettison the log buoy." He tapped the intercom, "All hands, this is the captain, abandon ship. I repeat, abandon ship."

He rose out of the command chair and went to Nerrit. He'd begun to lift her when T'Kir and Grace joined him. T'Kir helped him get the surprisingly muscled Bajoran up and an arm over each of their shoulders. Grace led the way towards the lift.

* * * * *

The first lifepod jettisoned with four officers from the second watch. The Nelson destroyed it without a qualm. The captain, a former Maquis named Rachel Darnett, had no desire to take unnecessary prisoners. She already had a life sentence awaiting her in the Federation. Additional murders at this point would make little difference to her future if she were ever apprehended.

* * * * *

Dracas scrambled around Engineering. He desperately tried to slow the core breach. One of his juniors had died when the containment fields had failed for a split second. The other died when a coolant line ruptured, liquefying his flesh as it struck him. The two alter-watch engineers had arrived and were helping him erect a portable magnetic field projector. It wouldn't halt the intermix destabilisation underway, but it could slow it long enough for the crew to evacuate.

Dracas' hopes faded as he felt a transporter beam yank him out of material existence. He regained solidity to discover several men brandishing weapons surrounded him. He tried to ask where he'd been taken when one of them struck him in the jaw with a disrupter.

They marched him off in silence. Every step of the way, Dracas wondered how his ship was doing. The Odyssey refit had been his baby every step of the way. She was also the first ship he'd ever taken out after working on her. Her destruction generated a sense of loss akin to the loss of a child within the stoic engineer.

* * * * *

Macen and T'Kir struggled to get Nerrit to a nearby pod when Daggit happened by. He had Kort and two junior officers in tow. Kort immediately began examining Nerrit as the juniors took over supporting him. Macen noticed that no Engineering personnel were present and mentioned it to T'Kir and Daggit.

Both wore worried expressions. Daggit spoke first "I don't know. I could go look for them."

Macen shook his head, "Get these people out of here Lieutenant. I'll check Engineering."

"Sir..."

"Bloody hell! You have your orders." Macen snapped as he strode off. T'Kir and Grace followed. He turned to find them behind him. He scowled and his face darkened as his emotions mounted, "What d'you think you're doing?"

"Helping." T'Kir replied before Grace could finish blinking in surprise, "You might need help if they're injured."

"Besides which," T'Kir continued, "we wouldn't have been able to squeeze into that coffin of a pod with all the rest anyway. If we're gonna die, we might as well do it aboard rather in that ration can."

"And we're the only other ones that know this ship as well as you do." she reminded him.

Macen gave them a grimace, "C'mon then."

They reached Engineering to find the main door open. One engineer was left alive. He was staggering towards the door but collapsed several metres from it. Macen charged in.

He helped the engineer to his feet and half dragged, half carried the wounded man down the corridor. A high pitched whine began to wail forth from Engineering. T'Kir's face lost colour. Grace paled.

"It's the rad containment system." T'Kir commented, "Its about to overload."

"Go!" Macen shouted as he tried to accelerate. T'Kir grabbed Grace and dragged her further down the corridor. Grace resisted all the way.

"What are you doing?" she demanded to know when T'Kir released her.

"There are shield emitters placed 100 metres beyond the entrance." T'Kir explained breathlessly, watching Macen's progress, "We should be safe here, as long as the system's still working."

"We can't leave him!" Grace protested passionately and started forward.

T'Kir reached out and slammed her against the bulkhead using a single arm, "Don't be stupid! If we get exposed, we'll be of no use to them if they get hit."

"They'll die." Grace growled, "The'll die.

T'Kir's face blanched, then she recovered, "Macen's a survivor. He won't die today. Not like this. Besides, d'you really think he wants us in harm's way of this?"

Grace answered with stony silence.

A burst of energy sailed forth from Engineering and flooded the corridor. Macen and the Engineering rating had been centimetres from the shield projectors that engaged. Grace and T'Kir both stood behind the energy wall that protected them. Thick liquid sprayed out from the ceiling, neutralising the heavy isotopes.

The shield dropped and T'Kir sprang forward. Her fingers flew to Macen's neck. She broke into a bright smile. She then hefted him up like a sack and threw him over her shoulder.

"He's alive."

"Thank God." Grace sighed in relief. T'Kir's eyes burned towards her for a second, then softened. Grace knew how protective T'Kir was towards him. She'd quickly discovered her friend's unwavering devotion to her commander.

"What about the other man?" Grace asked glancing back towards the body.

"Dead." T'Kir replied without hesitation.

"How can you tell?" Grace asked accusingly, "You never checked."

"I'm a Vulcan m'dear." T'Kir replied dryly, "Only a Ferengi has better hearing than me. The man has no heartbeat."

"You checked Captain Macen." She replied without considering her words.

T'Kir's eyes bulged for a second. "I heard a heartbeat." T'Kir explained as she recomposed herself, "I wanted to make sure I wasn't just imagining it."

"So now what?" Grace asked a moment later..

"We get the hell out of here." T'Kir answered firmly.

* * * * *

Spencer saw the second lifepod eject. It was followed several minutes later by another. He'd ordered his gunners to stand down. He wanted to know how a survey vessel had acquired quantum torpedoes.

He watched the helpless pods as they drifted away. He literally held the power over their lives and deaths in his hands. It was an invigorating realisation. Every time he was in this position, the rush of power nearly overwhelmed him.

His hand hovered over the comm switch. He lusted for their deaths. He wanted to give the word, wanted to exercise his power. His heart hardened and his finger drifted down towards the control.

"Darnett to Spencer." The comm speakers spoke up.

He tapped the switch in irritation, "Spencer here."

"We have three Starfleet vessels approaching at Warp 9."

"ETA?"

"Under two minutes." Darnett replied sourly, "Shall we destroy the pods?"

No." Spencer replied with a pang of disappointment, "They'll stop to pick them up. That will give us time to escape. Set course for the Aldrin and get out of here at maximum warp."

"You got it. Nelson out."

Spencer cursed to himself as he saw the pods drift away. The scout exploded suddenly in a brilliant flash as the warpcore detonated. Denied his cargo, his prize ship, and his chance to kill those that had wounded his ships. He felt a bitter hatred the likes of which he hadn't experienced since the Manticore's captain had died. He was a patient man. He would avenge himself. He would rip the identities of this crew from the engineer they'd captured.

Chapter 7

Two guards in front and two to the rear flanked Dracas. They weren't marching him to the brig. He knew the layout of a New Orleans-class intimately. He'd served aboard an Ambassador-class for eight years. They were on their way to the Cargo Bays.

Dracas didn't know how these thugs had got aboard a starship, but they definitely weren't Starfleet. As they rounded a corner and approached the door labelled Cargo 1, he saw a man whose posture screamed "Fleet". The engineer entered the Cargo Bay with preternatural sense of calm. The descendent of a labour class, physical discomfort was a racial memory.

A large section of the bay was cleared. A strange conflagration of pipes was fitted together in the centre of the room. It was hinged in several spots, allowing its shape to be altered. It also possessed various restraints attached to numerous pipes. It was obviously an interrogation device of some kind.

"Strip." The Starfleet man ordered.

Dracas paused and received a blow to the head for it. He shrugged and removed his uniform. He was ordered to continue and he shed his undergarments as well. He stood naked before them and wondered if this was supposed to embarrass him.

Troglytes lived in communal work camps and mine shafts. He'd been raised in an environment where nudity was not taboo, merely a potential work hazard. He could see that his lack of response irritated his captors. He smiled inwardly, he vowed not to give them any response whatsoever throughout his interrogation.

He was ordered to the restraint system and ordered to raise his arms. His wrists and ankles were shackled, forcing him to stand in an X. His calm, level gaze met the ex-Starfleet man's. They regarded each other coldly for several seconds before the pirate spoke.

"Bring them in." was all the pirate said.

Four men and two women entered. One male was Bolian. One female was Klingon. The rest were human. All were scantily clad and wore leering expressions.

"Begin." The pirate officer commanded without a trace of inflection.

* * * * *

Daggit pointed at several key points of the data retrieved from the Odyssey's log buoy, "As you can see by the data here, the vessels had modified their tractor beam assemblies. These modifications allowed the pirates to use their tractor beams as containment nets. It was not powerful enough to control a ship's movement, but contained enough power to alter the flight trajectory. Thus making the afflicted vessel vulnerable while they regained control of their ship."

Nerrit approached from the side and stood alongside Daggit, "What about tactics? Did the sensors record their movements?"

Daggit nodded, "They used a variant of the Brekar Trap."

"The what?" Captain James Philips, captain of the USS Victorious, asked.

Nerrit took a deep breath and answered for Daggit, "It was a tactic invented by the Bajoran Resistance. The Maquis used it as well. Normally, the sizes of the vessels would be inverted. The small ships attacking the larger. Although it was adapted, it still contains several key similarities."

"I've noted the similarities and the changes in my report." Daggit offered.

"So they might be Maquis?" Philips asked with a tinge of hope.

"Maybe some of them." Daggit replied, "Not all of the surviving Maquis were recovered by Federation or Bajoran authorities. It makes sense that some of them would engage in piracy. That doesn't explain how they came in possession of two, possibly more, Starfleet vessels."

"No, it doesn't." Philips sighed, "Damn."

"How long until we reach DS13?" Daggit asked.

"Another two hours." Philips replied.

"Please inform Commander Petris to have us brought aboard as civilians, not Starfleet officers. For all we know, our cover is intact. That may prove useful in later efforts to gather intel on these scum."

"You want to try and gather intelligence?" Philips asked in surprise, "Lieutenant, your team has been cut in half and your ship destroyed. Your CO is in my Sickbay and we still don't have a prognosis on his condition. I'd think you'd want us to mount a pursuit rather than another investigation."

Daggit eyed him coldly, "We can only pursue them if we know where to find them. Right now, we don't know where they are. We don't know what other ships or surprises they can throw at us. Until we know that, I don't think pursuit is our best option, do you?"

Philips glared indignantly for several seconds before his gaze softened, "No, I suppose I don't. I'm sorry. This has to be harder on you and your team than anyone else. If you're advising caution, I guess we should listen."

"Once we know about them and know their vulnerabilities, I promise you, we'll go after them with everything we can spare." Daggit assured him.

Her comm badge chirped. He swatted it, "Daggit here."

"You wanted to know when the Captain was awake." Kort's weary voice rang out.

"Thanks Doctor." He glanced across the other taut worried faces, "Anyone want to go to Sickbay?"

Nerrit nearly ran through the door to get out. Philips smiled, "I think I'd like to tag along if you don't mind?"

He gave him a thankful smile, "Who'm I to tell you where you can go on your own ship?"

* * * * *

Kort waited for them outside of Sickbay. T'Kir and Grace were already there. T'Kir had refused to leave the vicinity until she had word on Macen. Grace had refused to leave T'Kir.

The Intrepid-class' Sickbay was far larger than anything the Odyssey would have dreamed of boasting. Dr. Villar had been gracious enough to allow Kort to treat his own superior. The decision had been influenced by the fact Villar knew little about El-Aurian physiology.

Kort waited until everyone was assembled before delivering the news, "He's fine. There's no cellular damage due to the radiation. His El-Aurian biology and health treatments spared him degenerative effects."

"But?" T'Kir asked, hearing the catch in Kort's voice.

"But the radiation has neutralised the anti-ageing treatment he received several centuries ago." Kort said evenly, "He is now ageing at a normal rate again."

"That's still over three hundred years." Grace replied.

Kort nodded wearily, "The natural lifespan of an El-Aurian turns out to be slightly longer than an average Vulcan's. He can easily expect to reach an age of over three hundred and fifty standard years, and has the potential to live up to four hundred."

"I thought he was over four hundred years old." Grace blurted.

"His biological age is roughly thirty years." Kort clarified, "Captain Macen still has a long and full life ahead of him."

"Does he know?" Daggit asked.

Kort nodded, "Yes. He took it like a warrior. It did not seem to phase him. He took the news of the Odyssey's destruction much more personally."

"We've been through a lot in that ship." T'Kir muttered, "It meant a lot to him."

"Is he all right?" Daggit asked, "Can I speak with him?"

Kort smiled, "He's ready for duty. Dr. Villar is taking a few final readings. After that, he will be cleared for duty."

"In that case, will you both join me in the Officer's Briefing Room as soon as you're ready?" Philips asked.

* * * * *

Hilde Edgars watched as several of Spencer's men brought Dracas to the brig. Unlike Witt, they hadn't allowed him to dress. This time, the pirates did not wear smug expressions of satisfaction. They were angry.

Dracas appeared battered and weary. His eyes were complacent. She caught a glimpse of the steel in his eyes as he was shoved past her cell. That explained the anger the pirates displayed. They'd subjected Dracas to their worst and he remained unbroken. She knew the savagery would only intensify. She wished she could speak with him and enlist her in her goal of escaping.

Spencer had displayed the events of Dracas' "interrogation". The females had been as bad as the males, cheering them on and offering suggestions as to what to do next. They'd gratified themselves while the males expended their energies on Dracas. When it became apparent that Dracas would not be humiliated by their efforts, they'd resorted to torture. Those efforts had apparently failed as well.

* * * * *

Macen stepped out of Sickbay to discover a small crowd waiting for him. Embarrassment permeated his expression. Every wish or encouragement only intensified the feeling. He finally changed the topic by asking where Captain Philips had gone.

"He's in his Officer's Briefing Room." Daggit answered, "He wants to see us two ASAP."

Macen's expression was one of resignation, "Right. I guess I'll catch up with the rest of you later."

They gave a murmur of approval and began to disband. T'Kir gave him smirk as she stayed. Kort had told him of her carrying him to the pod. He had a feeling he'd never hear the end of that.

He glanced back at Lisea, "I guess I have you to thank for getting me out of there."

"Brin, you almost died." She replied accusingly, "How can you just stand there like nothings happened?"

"I'm still alive." His reply held amusement.

Her eyes froze into an angry glare, "That isn't funny. You scared me half to death. We lost the Odyssey."

She regretted her last words as she saw the stinging effect they had upon him. That ship was one of the last tangible pieces they'd had to many of their lost comrades. It had been more of a home to them then virtually any world over most of the last six years. Its loss was as personal as that of any living being.

"We'll survive." He said firmly, "We'll survive and get the bastards that blew her up."

She watched him go with mute fascination as he and Daggit left to meet Philips. Once again, the universe had drop kicked Macen and he refused to surrender. He was already looking for a way to return the favour and restore things to the way they ought to be rather than the way they were. She wondered which of them was crazier, and knew the answer really didn't matter. She'd follow his lead into the gates of hell itself if he ordered it.

* * * * *

Macen and Daggit entered the Briefing Room. Philips was already seated comfortably. Philips thrust out a hand in Macen's direction. Macen accepted it and shook it firmly.

"A pleasure to meet you, Captain." Philips said with a toothy smile.

"Most people don't find it one." Macen shrugged as he released Philip's hand.

Philips guffawed. The Captain motioned for everyone to take a seat. Macen listened as they updated him as to what had occurred while he was unconscious. He silently noted Daggit's comfortability with Philips. That spoke highly of the man.

Macen shrugged sadly, "At least you've arranged to have us inducted to DS13 as civilians. Maintaining our cover may be more important now then ever."

"I don't follow." Philips admitted.

Macen grinned, "We need to infiltrate these pirates. If my team were revealed as Starfleet agents and their identities got out, that could prove disastrous to any effort to accomplish that."

"I take it you have candidates in mind?" Daggit asked with a sardonic smile.

"Yup." Macen affirmed, "Kort and T'Kir are perfect."

"Why not Nerrit?" Daggit asked, surprised by his nominees, "Why not me?"

Macen shook his head, "Wouldn't work. These guys have Starfleet connections. We have to assume they can penetrate any cover identity that Intelligence can produce."

"That doesn't explain how Kort and T'Kir could succeed under those same conditions." Daggit countered.

"Kort is still listed as being in exile by Imperial records." Macen explained, "T'Kir is still listed as being an escaped mental patient. She is wanted in order to finish her treatment in lieu of a penal sentence."

Daggit and Philips both wore shocked expressions. Daggit spoke first, "How is she in Starfleet?"

"Her records are sealed at the highest levels. Only the President, the Fleet Admiral, The Director of Starfleet Intelligence, the Director of Special Investigations, and myself."

"Of course, T'Kir has probably already accessed them herself. She's funny that way." Macen added with a smirk.

"She can break Omega Level encryption?" Philips sputtered.

Macen's facial expression conveyed the answer.

Philips shook his head ruefully, "You sure you want to let her loose? She sounds too dangerous, and too valuable to let go off."

"Who said anything about letting go?" Macen replied, "This is an undercover op. Its not like she won't be coming back."

"As far as yourself.," Macen looked directly at Daggit, "I have another mission for you."

He turned to Philips, "If you could book passage for T'Kir and Kort to DS9, it would be invaluable. Have them contact Quark."

"Are you sure?" Philips asked dubiously, knowing the Ferengi's reputation.

Macen nodded, "He owes me. He'll provide T'Kir anything she needs."

"Okay." Philips sighed.

Macen smiled enigmatically. He alone knew why Quark would co-operate and it wasn't a pleasant memory.

"Next, get the rest of us passage to Starbase 412." Macen ordered, "I want Grace to review the records of any and all starships that are listed as missing from the assault on Betazed. Compile a list of suspects."

"What about me?"

"You will track down leads concerning possible Orion connections with the Andergani" He told him.

"You want to split up the team?" He asked.

"It seems to the best way to obtain the information we need." Macen's tone reflected his determination.

Daggit shrugged in resignation. There was no point in continuing to protest. He grimaced mentally as he realised that resistance was futile. He and the other Angosian Starfleet commandos had learned there weren't many forces in this galaxy that could challenge Macen's resolve. T'Kir seemed the closest to having the ability and even she had a bugger of a time getting through.

* * * * *

Macen made his way to his guest quarters. He knew they were fortunate to have cabins for everyone. The rest of the team had to sleep barrack's style. Daggit and Kort would undoubtedly enjoy it, as much as T'Kir and Grace would hate it. Macen wondered how Nerrit would get along with three other juinors.

He sighed as he sank down onto the bed. His head swam with the events of the last day. He'd awoken to discover he'd been unconscious for almost fourteen hours. Philips and the other starship commanders had used this time to investigate the wreckage and recover the Odyssey's log buoy.

Thinking about the buoy forced Macen to confront his sense of loss regarding the ship's destruction. It was a final severance with his adopted family within the Maquis. The ship had lived a charmed life while he, Danan, and T'Kir had fought the Cardassians. Now the ship was destroyed.

Having lost his homeworld almost a century ago, Macen was no stranger to sorrow. He knew he'd survive this, just as he had before time and time again as he'd seen beloved comrades whither and die while he'd remained virtually immortal in comparison. He knew his ambivalent reaction to learning of his increased ageing process worried the medical staff aboard.

They didn't know him. If they had, they would have realised that Macen had accepted his own mortality years ago. He saw every day as a gift. Even facing a diminished life span was a gift. He no longer had to keep as many walls up, afraid to watch another dear friend die while he stood by and reminded them of youth long gone.

El-Aurians embraced old age. It was a time when centuries of experience could be taught and shared to eager younger minds. It was a time of leadership, when passions had been tempered and skills had been honed and tested countless times. He'd never understood the fear Terrans displayed when confronted with the topic.

He knew it was a cultural nuance he'd learned to appreciate mentally, but would never comprehend in his heart. He knew this topic amused Bajorans and confused Vulcans. Both were made of sturdier stuff than humans and shook their heads at the shorter-lived whirlwinds that heralded from Sol III.

Humanity had a passion for life and a lust for action that, while not unique, was nearly unrivalled. Longer-lived species tended towards more contemplative, introspective existences. The relatively short-lived humans wanted to get things done quickly. Their ambition limited only by time's eternal stopwatch counting down their remaining days and their own willingness to pursue their dreams.

Macen welcomed the shortening of his days. It would allow him to experience the universe in a way that he'd thought lost to him. El-Aurian philosophy taught that time was the fire in which all life burned. Some life burned hotter and faster, some cooler and steadier. His fire had heated up quite a bit; maybe it would give him the energy to accomplish what needed to be done.

T'Kir plunked down onto the bed behind him, "What're you thinking about?"

"Life's little ironies." He chuckled, "We brought that ship through worse odds than that a dozen times over, and this time we can't save her."

He shrugged, "That, and the first time I have a chance to find out what you thought of the Academy, its because we no longer have a ship."

She smirked, "How about the irony that the first time I get you alone in a bedroom, its right after you've almost died."

He gave her a wry expression, "I didn't die."

"You almost died." She asserted fiercely, "Right in front of me. You're the only family I have left, Brin Macen. I don't want to watch you die if it means I have to live with that memory."

Her sudden admission caught him by surprise, "I never realised that."

"I never wanted you to feel sorry for me." T'Kir growled, "I don't want you to want me around because you pity me."

Macen laughed, "That'll never happen. I've never felt sorry for you, T'Kir. I've been angry, frustrated, confused and irritated, but never sorry."

"Hey!" she protested.

His eyes filled with warmth, "I've also been proud of you, impressed by your ability, grateful for your friendship, and pleased you've stuck around."

She was momentarily speechless, then stammered, "You never said anything before."

He shrugged, "I didn't want your head to get any bigger than it already is."

She gave him a wintry glance in response to his teasing, "So what happens now?"

"Well, when we get to DS13, you and Kort will be going off to DS9. From there you'll be heading into the Andergani Oligarchy to try and infiltrate those pirates." He replied quickly.

An incensed light began to burn in her eyes, "And the rest of you will be...?"

"Daggit will be going undercover trying to figure out of the Orion Syndicate is involved somehow. Grace will be perusing personnel and ship's records to see if she can get a bead on our attackers' identities."

"What about you?" she asked irritably, instinctively knowing she wouldn't like the answer.

"I'll be returning to the Maquis worlds and trying to track down any possible connection between the pirates and former comrades."

"Will you be going alone?"

He hesitated, knowing the emotional firestorm the answer was going to produce, "Nerrit will be coming with me."

Macen sighed as she T'Kir rolled her eyes in disgust. She then proceeded to lambaste him with questions regarding the wisdom of the decision. Her arguments were well crafted and tested every potential flaw in the plans made thus far. He wondered of she'd ever realise that she was the most Vulcan when she was really angry.

Chapter 8

The door chimed. A few seconds later, it chimed again. A third attempt was followed by a fourth. The door finally opened with the distinctive "whoosh" that marked Federation doors.

"Captain?" Nerrit asked softly as she waited in the doorway.

She waited for a reply. Her heartbeat had time to accelerate before she decided she wasn't going to receive one. She stepped into the room and cleared the shelving unit that had obscured her view of the bed.

Macen lay still across it. For a moment, she thought he was dead. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room, she could see the rhythm of his breathing. She asked the computer to raise the illumination. She'd awoken almost two hours ago and been briefed regarding her upcoming mission by Daggit.

He still didn't respond. She crept closer to the bed. She knew he should be tired after the ordeal he'd been through. She also knew that his reflexes should be much sharper than this after years spent in combat.

She leaned forward and gently nudged his shoulder. He came awake in an instant. Awake, but not yet aware. He took her arm, spun her and placed her in a restraint that would allow him to easily snap her neck if he chose.

He blinked the last vestiges of sleep away and realised who he had a hold of. He released her immediately. He apologised profusely as she twisted and turned her head, testing the abused muscles of her neck. She laughed softly, alleviating his concern.

"It's alright." She assured him with a smile, "I'd have been more concerned if you hadn't responded."

"Yeah, me too."

She gave him an exasperated look, "How would you be concerned if you were already dead?"

"It's an El-Aurian thing." He replied with a shrug.

She shook her head, "I'm not going to pretend I understand. All I know is that Lt. Daggit asked me to inform that we've arrived."

* * * * *

Dracas studied the cell's interior. He'd installed and maintained brig systems, but he'd never designed one. As long as the cell was properly maintained, he had no chance of escape without any tools or instruments. Although the pirates had returned his clothes, he had no tools secreted in them.

As he'd lain on the cot, he thought he noticed a minuscule gap between the comm viewer and the surrounding wall it was recessed in. He wondered whether or not he could manage to widen the gap. If he could get to the isolinear systems, he might be able to override the surrounding systems and deactivate the forcefields holding him in the cell. If he accomplished this, then he could show the pirate the mistake they'd made by capturing him.

He scoffed at their earlier attempts to humiliate him. They'd obviously never dealt with a Troglyte before. His people had been slave labour for centuries before being freed. They'd lived in small, cramped hovels that prevented privacy. Stratosians seeking diversion had also used them as entertainment.

Although such practices had ended over a century ago as a result of James Kirk's historic visit. He had heralded social changes that had changed every level of the planet. Those changes brought their planet into the Federation. It had also opened new opportunities for his people.

The pirates were inflicting pains that were cultural memories. They held no stigma for him, only a deep abiding determination to end the pirate's power to inflict pain upon others. Each violent act or sexual assault hardened his resolve. He knew that human cultural mores would be far more vulnerable to such attacks and he wanted to liberate the other prisoners he'd seen as he'd been led to this cell.

The pirates were so confident of their prisoner's helplessness, they didn't even have a standing guard in the brig. Food was delivered via a slave replicator. It only delivered rations at designated times. If he could access the replicator's master computer through the comm system, he'd be able to request weapons as well as arrange an escape. This would be slow going, if it were even possible. It didn't matter to Dracas how long it took, as long as he could try.

* * * * *

The cylindrical airlock doors hissed as they opened. Passengers immediately began disembarking from the transport liner Fractious. Two Bajoran Militia officers stood silently nearby, waiting for the station's sensors to alert them to any "discrepancies" carried by the passengers. Their impassive eyes barely flickered as T'Kir and Kort passed by them.

The station still headquartered the Federation's 9th Fleet, but the administration was now almost entirely in Bajoran hands. Colonel Kira Nerys was now the station CO, and she ran a tight command. With the exceptions of Dr. Julian Bashir and Lt. Ezri Dax, none of the original Starfleet command staff had remained after the close of the Dominion War. Even Dax wasn't truly an original member, but the current host of the Trill symbiot that had been housed in an original mission member. That host, Jazdia, had discovered the wormhole that made this sector invaluable.

Their ace in the hole could be found in the form of Ro Laren, the station's new Security Chief. Macen and T'Kir has served alongside Ro during their stint with the Maquis. After the Dominion's extermination campaign against the Maquis, Ro has assembled a ragged band of fighters and continued a guerrilla war against the Cardassians, Jem'Hadar, and Breen forces. This campaign has been covertly supported by Bajor and granted Ro amnesty from Starfleet's standing arrest warrant for her as long as she remained in Bajoran service or on Bajor.

As a hub of interquadrant commerce, the station received dozens of new visitors on an hourly basis. Two civilians, a Vulcan and Klingon, could easily blend into the myriad forms of humanity loitering about. Kort had been loath to relinquish his personal energy weapons, but had contented himself with the fact that he'd been allowed to retain his edged weapons. T'Kir had constructed a projectile weapon from composites that sensors didn't seem to detect.

Kort wore his usual gruff demeanour like a shield. Although he was an intimidating presence, T'Kir was the one strangers shrank back from. It wasn't just the fact that she readily displayed emotions, that was disconcerting enough from a Vulcan, it was the emotion she'd chosen to display during their two day voyage here from DS13. She calmly met anyone's eyes that dared peer into hers with an unbridled, murderous rage.

She'd been infuriated since the moment she'd discovered her assignment. That anger had increased geometrically when she discovered what role Macen had chosen for himself. The thought of Macen and Nerrit alone together over the next week or two was enough to make T'Kir's teeth grind. The fact that Macen had obviously recognised the source of her rage did nothing to alleviate her feelings.

The loss of the Odyssey had been a blow to her as well. Her only ambition in life was to stay by Macen's side, in whatever capacity that entailed. She'd admitted to him that she considered him family, but didn't think he realised how protective she felt towards him. Macen had lost his ship, and several centuries off his life in the course the last few days, she didn't want him to lose anything else due to their newest teammate.

T'Kir tried to shrug her doubts and anger aside as she guided Kort through the labyrinthine corridors of DS9. She'd been here on two previous occasions, both were missions for the Maquis. Macen and Danan had been with her then. It was strange to cross the Promenade without them at her side.

He'd had devised this plan as well. It was because of him that they were about to accomplish what they were. She felt a sudden pang when she considered his absence. They'd separated two days ago when he and the others went on to Starbase 412 while she and Kort headed for DS9.

She stopped a few metres in front of Quark's Bar and turned to face Kort, "Okay, this is it. It'll help if you wore a really grim, bloodthirsty expression."

Kort glared at her, as she shook her head, "No That's not good enough. I'm not talking about your 'Doctor' face, we need a warrior face."

The resulting glare was perfect, "Great! Just hold that expression and let me do the talking." His expression darkened even further.

She strode into Quark's with a satisfied smirk. She took a second to glance about. Things were pretty much the same as she'd last seen them four years ago. She saw that the being known as Morn still sat at his customary stool. Scantily clad Dabo girls still ran the games as Ferengi waiters trolled the tables, encouraging customers to liberate more money from their purses.

Quark stood behind the hub of most of the activity. The Ferengi wore a suit of interwoven gleaming threads. It made him look as though he'd donned a rainbow. T'Kir had thought the outfit he'd worn on her last visit had been outlandish but it had paled in comparison.

She knew she looked outlandish herself if anyone were to apply Vulcan standards to her garb. Rather than don the loose robes or pants and tunic common to her people, she opted to wear leather pants and vest with a silk blouse and a woollen jacket. The typical Vulcan's apprehension towards the taking of a life prevented them from comfortably wearing hides. She'd never felt bound by that restriction and saw no need to adopt it now.

Both the jacket and the pants were designed to prevent her from chilling. Like most Vulcanoids, she found the standard temperatures maintained on Federation ships and station too cool for her liking. She knew that other races also disliked the Earth based standard, but very different reasons. Trills, Andorians, and Telarites all found the temperatures slightly warm whereas the Klingons and Bolians also found shipboard duty slightly chilly.

Kort wore his armour, but bereft of any house sigils or military insignia. He appeared to be a common ruffian seeking employment. Dishonoured or dismoded Klingons often hired themselves out as mercenaries or bodyguards. This was the impression they were trying to broadcast.

T'Kir saddled up to the bar and dropped the heavy shoulder bag she'd been lugging from transport to transport. The noise caught the attention of Quark's highly sensitive ears and made his head snap around. His mouth curved upward in his characteristic smile. His facial expression froze as he recognised who was standing before him.

"Hello, Quark." T'Kir said with a malicious grin as she sat down on a stool.

"H...h...hello, T'Kir." Quark replied nervously, "I thought you were dead." He shook his head, "That's not what I meant to say. I meant to say..."

"You meant to say you'd hoped I was dead." T'Kir amended for him.

Quark brushed the comment away with a wave of his hand, "Of course I wouldn't! I could never want someone as beautiful as you dead."

She gave him a wry look, "I'm a telepath, remember? Don't bother lying to me."

Quark assumed a look of contrite shock, "You misjudge me, my dear. I have never wanted any harm to befall you or your esteemed captain." His eyes narrowed, "Speaking of whom, where...ah...where is he now?"

"That's none of your concern." T'Kir replied, "Suffice it to say, he's not here...yet. He won't be coming unless our negotiations go badly."

"Good, good." Quark's body went rigid as her words sank in, "What negotiations?"

"The ones we're about to have regarding a small, armed courier ship." T'Kir explained.

"Courier?" Quark repeated, "Like the type the Maquis used? I thought you two were done with that nonsense. I'd even heard rumours that Macen was the one that broke the Gulag conspiracy."

T'Kir's eyes flashed dangerously and menace laced her voice as she replied huskily, "Don't ever refer to the Maquis as 'foolish'! We fought for our homes and our worlds without any help. Anyone would have done the same, except possibly the Ferengi."

"Fortunately, no one's ever wanted it." Quark replied happily.

"Little wonder." Kort growled.

"Excuse me," Quark said, turning to face him, "I don't believe we've been introduced."

"You won't be," T'Kir informed him sharply, "That way you can deny everything if questioned by the Imperial bounty hunters."

"I see your point." Quark conceded with upraised eyebrows.

He clapped his hands together, "Now, let's negotiate."

"The terms are simple." T'Kir said coolly, "You will deliver the type of vessel we've asked for. It must meet our specifications and inspection. You will receive five strips of latinum for brokering the deal."

"Five!" Quark sputtered, "That doesn't even make it worth my time!"

T'Kir arched an eyebrow at him, "Very well, its now three strips."

"What?" Quark shrieked.

"What about the ship?" T'Kir asked stonily, "When can you deliver?"

"Why should I?" Quark demanded.

T'Kir pulled him forward by his lapel, "Don't forget what you owe us. You can still make two strips, if you agree to act now."

"Okay!" Quark wailed, "I'll do it!"

She let go and he massaged his neck, "You didn't have to get so physical. I'll be more than happy to find you a ship."

"That fits our requirements." T'Kir stressed again.

"Of course." Quark assured her, "What else would you expect from me?"

"I expect you to do something stupid." T'Kir replied honestly, "I also expect you to forfeit your commission in the process."

"I assure you, that won't happen." Quark tried placating her, "When will you be needing this vessel?"

"Within the next three days." T'Kir informed him.

Quark sputtered. T'Kir gave him a victorious grin, "I don't think I need to inform you of the potential consequences of failing to deliver."

Quark sighed, "I know. I suppose you'll be on the station?"

Her smile was indulgent, "Of course. Where else would I be?"

"I don't know." Quark muttered, "A mental institution?"

"I've been there." T'Kir said as she rose, "Couldn't stand the food and decided to leave."

She left with Kort at her heels. Quark shook his head. He was trapped and he knew it. He'd learned the hard way about T'Kir's expertise with cybernetic systems. He doubted even his new encryption protocols purchased from the Binars.

It was a challenge he didn't want to issue. If she began rifling through his secure records, she'd find enough damning information about him to have him executed in over two dozen star systems. If that didn't occur, then Macen would return to find him. That was a worse fate and one he wouldn't dare risk.

* * * * *

Macen and Nerrit walked towards runabout pad 8, closely followed by Daggit. Macen and Nerrit both wore civilian garb of Bajoran origin. Daggit wore nondescript coveralls. He was leaving minutes after them and had already dressed for his part.

Macen and Nerrit had been assigned an older runabout of civilian origin. The Danube-class' modular design was so versatile that it had proven a hit across the Federation and beyond. The Maquis had wanted them more than the scoutships they'd depended upon. The major advantage to the scouts was their size. The runabouts only possessed two cots. The scouts at least provided barracks style quarters, "You don't need to do this, sir." Daggit protested, not for the first time.

Macen stopped and sighed, not for the first time, "Yes, I do Rab. We need to determine how wide this net is spread. We've seen evidence that former members of the Bajoran Resistance and the Maquis may be participating with Spencer."

"We can make that determination after we capture him." Daggit protested.

"We have no guarantees that T'Kir and Kort will be able to infiltrate the pirates." Macen replied wearily, "By trying to make contact with former members of both suspect groups, we may be able to establish a link that will produce hard evidence and information regarding our suspects."

"You're the team leader. You're place is here, co-ordinating the team's efforts." Daggit snorted.

"The team's all incognito." He reminded him coldly, "I can be the most useful by pursuing leads no one else is assigned to follow up and try to help put the pieces together."

His eyes narrowed as they bored into Daggit's, "If you have a problem with that, Lieutenant, I suggest you put in for another transfer."

With that said, he turned on his heel and strode down the corridor towards the runabout. Daggit stood there silently, digesting what he'd just been told. He glanced over towards Nerrit. Nerrit gave him a wan smile and shrugged.

"He has a point, but then again, so do you." She said and then followed in Macen's wake.

Chapter 9

Daggit fumed as he left the runabout pad access corridor. Macen was the team leader and was still recovering from extensive injuries. He was not supposed to be going off on some damned field mission leaving him behind to pursue another investigation. He was the team's Chief Tactical Officer as well as team XO, he was supposed to handle the fieldwork in order to free Macen up for research, strategy, and analysis. Dammit! he thought bitterly, I'm the one who's supposed to be out there taking the risks. I didn't join up this time to let my CO get himself killed..

He went to the small archive room that had been allocated for the team's use. He came in as though she was charging a squad of Jem'Hadar. He came to a stop as she realised that something was missing. He turned to Grace, who was sitting at a data terminal reviewing records surrounding starships that had gone missing during the battle for Betazed.

"Where's Simms?" Daggit asked sharply.

Grace's expression expressed her reticence to answer, "She's been called away."

"By whom?" Daggit asked testily, "For what?"

"Apparently Admiral Drake has already reassigned the junior team members." Grace answered slowly, "The Admiral already cut everyone's orders."

"Bloody hell!" Daggit exploded through clenched teeth, "How am I supposed to manage the safety of this team if I don't have a clue as to their whereabouts?"

"You'd have to ask the Admiral that." Grace replied reluctantly.

"Oh, I plan to Ensign." Daggit growled, sorry to place Grace in the middle of this, "Trust me, I will as soon as I get back from kicking Orion ass!"

* * * * *

Daggit left Starbase 412 shortly after Macen and Danan's departure. He'd booked passage on a freighter going to the Orion Confederacy. Rumour had it that Angosian commandos had been hiring on with the Orions as mercenaries. The Orions then provided "specialists" for the Andergani and other non-aligned powers. Daggit's mission was to seek an assignment within the Oligarchy.

As much as Daggit loathed violence, he also knew that combat was one of the few outlets for the heightened adrenal levels his body maintained. His body was essentially a reactor constantly running "hot". During the Dominion War, he'd discovered that the stresses of infiltration and undercover work served as outlets as effectively as combat. He was glad of this assignment since it spared him the nerve-wracking tedium of the records search that Grace were now conducting as well as burning off some of the anger he felt at Starfleet's bureaucratic interference in their investigation.

* * * * *

The runabout, christened Javelin, was underway into the heart of what was once the Cardassian/Federation DMZ. Nerrit had never seen it before. Macen had spent years out here, first serving Starfleet during the undeclared border war with Cardassia then with the Maquis after the Federation had abandoned her colonies here. Most of the original colonists had died when the Dominion swept through here, but those that had escaped were returning.

"It seems rather peaceful now." Nerrit observed from the co-pilot station, where she was running scans of the systems they passed.

"It's a pleasant change." Macen admitted, "This areas seen too much death."

"That does seem to be a reoccurring problem for these sectors." Nerrit agreed dryly.

He grinned at her irreverent humour. Most Federation and Bajoran citizens would balk at the apparent belittling of the tragedies that had occurred across this region of space for almost seventy years. Macen saw it has a coping mechanism. Rather than drown in sorrow over events that were immutably in the past, it allowed one to keep the events in one's mind without succumbing to sorrow.

The senseless violence that had plagued this corner of the Alpha Quadrant shouldn't be forgotten or ignored, but it also shouldn't be an oppressive cloud stifling new life and hope. Macen saw the Federation's attempts to portray all the events through a grim lens as demeaning as wilful denial of the abuse and warfare that had occurred.

"Y'know, it's always seemed a paradox that most of these worlds were established as agricultural colonies." Macen mused aloud.

"Why?" Nerrit asked.

"They seemed to reap nothing but unwanted crops." Macen observed, "These planets had no obvious strategic value. Most of the minerals and raw resources were widely available in greater abundance elsewhere. The majority weren't even all that temperate, which is the ideal for an agro planet."

"So you're saying the fighting was a waste?" Nerrit asked, "Sorry, but I think a lot of people reached that decision a long time ago without your insight to guide them."

His lips twisted up in a wry expression, "What I'm saying is that the true war was over people's right to exist. Everything else was window dressing."

"Isn't that the essence of war?" Nerrit asked, joining in the philosophical air of the moment, "Isn't it a struggle for supremacy and survival? Whether its the survival of a race, government, ideal, or religion it seems that all wars come down to the right of existence. I guess the question becomes, does everything have a right to exist?"

Macen gave her a rueful smile, "I don't think I'm qualified to answer that question."

"Why not?" she retorted, "You've been alive for almost five hundred years, surely you have some insight?"

"My insight is that I have a lot to learn before I'm qualified to answer that question."

"Quitter."

His eyebrow rose, "Can you answer it?"

"No, but I asked the question." She replied with a twinkle in her eye, "You're supposed to answer it. I'm just supposed to come up with another question after you answer it."

"I see. I'll guess we'll have to work on that."

"I guess we shall."

* * * * *

Dracas had managed to pry the comm panel loose form the wall. By changing the alignment of the isolinear rods controlling the system, he'd gained limited access tot he pirate's systems. He still couldn't access the security or replicator controls, but he was now able to eavesdrop on internal and external communications. If he had any tools, he could pry more out of the systems.

The pirates were pretty lax about security, but they watched the silverware issued with meals fairly closely. A guard would come during meals and observe their eating. The guard would then inspect the replicator logs from the guard post and verify that the silverware and dishes were recycled back into the replicator stores.

Dracas had spent a better part of the night perfecting his skills at tapping into their network. He'd been relieved to discover that the original Starfleet mainframe remained intact. It was easy to insert viral codes to obscure his access. He couldn't manipulate primary systems yet, but he was working on it.

His first concern now was contacting the other prisoners he'd seen. If he could gather support, his odds of successfully escaping would increase. He was starting to get a feel for the pirates' operating procedures and knew his chronometer was running out. His best estimate was that he had no more than forty-eight hours to make his move before Spencer ordered his death.

* * * * *

T'Kir strolled nonchalantly into Quark's. The barkeep had sent word for her to meet him in his office upstairs. She'd delivered her request for ship yesterday. She knew Quark was crafty, but if he'd found a suitable vessel in this short of time then he might also be qualified as a miracle worker.

One of Quark's waiters met her downstairs and led her towards Quark's private office. It was strange to be here without seeing his brother Rom bustling about. She'd learned that Rom had proven to be an engineering savant, and then something of a cultural reformer by taking a Bajoran as a wife. Knowing that Rom was now Grand Nagus of the Ferengi Consortium had to be driving Quark absolutely insane.

That thought brought a satisfied smirk to T'Kir's face. If anyone deserved a little insanity, it was definitely Quark. The Maquis had employed him as an information and procurement resource from time to time. Quark had tried to raise his profit margin by playing the Maquis against the Cardassians on more than one occasion. The last time he'd tried it, Macen had insured that Quark was caught squarely in the targeting sensors of both sides.

Quark escaped certain death, but only due to Macen's intervention. That left the Ferengi indebted to Macen. It was a debt he had little desire to carry and would be more than happy to discharge. Macen had discovered the one thing Quark did not want broadcast across the galaxy: the Ferengi actually had a conscience.

Quark displayed more than the typical Ferengi habit of insuring that contracts were followed to the letter, if not the spirit, in which they were written. Quark had an amazing tendency to display altruistic behaviour. He, of course, denied any such impulses. That had ended when Macen had presented him with documentation of his various charitable acts.

Macen and T'Kir had painfully spent weeks compiling the evidence. Much of it was gleaned from Quark's own records. He'd spent frenzied weeks after the confrontation trying to determine how T'Kir had accessed his records. The truly baffling part was that she'd done it while not even being aboard the station.

The door opened, revealing Quark sitting behind a desk with his feet propped up on it. He wore a satisfied grin. T'Kir was curious as to why he felt so flush with victory. She also knew better than to ask, he'd tell her soon enough.

After waiting several minutes, Quark finally grew impatient, "Well? Aren't you going to ask?"

"Ask what?" she asked as she folded her arms across her chest.

"Why I asked you here." He answered with growing agitation.

She shrugged, "I assumed you wanted to talk to me."

"Of course I wanted to talk you." He admitted with greater urgency, "Don't you want to know what about?"

"You'll tell me eventually." She replied nonchalantly.

Quark became increasingly fidgety as he waited for her to inquire as to his reasons. Finally, his impatience won out over his desire to gloat. He came out of his chair with an indignant cry. His arms flailed as he began to pace about and irately announced his motivation for summoning her.

"I find you a ship and you don't even ask how the search is going!" his tone was bitter, "I even track down leads regarding Maquis that haven't been incarcerated. I thought you might want to try and rejoin some of them."

He stopped pacing inches from her, yelling all the way, "I've done all of this for you, and you haven't even asked me how I'm doing?"

Her hands flashed out faster than his eyes could follow and took hold of his ears. She pulled outward, as though trying to pull his ears form his bulbous head. He shrieked as his knees buckled. Exerting upward pressure, she kept him in a kneeling position rather than letting him sink to the floor.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" she chided, "This could have been very easy, but noooo, you wanted to gloat. If you hadn't wanted to lord it over me, this wouldn't have turned painful."

"I'm sorry." Quark whimpered, tears filling his eyes as she exerted more pressure on his ultra sensitive lobes, "I'm so sorry."

The sobbing was pathetic, so she released his ears. He stayed where he'd landed. After waiting a moment, she stepped back and gave him a curious look. He appeared disappointed by her withdrawal.

"What's wrong with you, besides the obvious?"

"I was just taking a moment to enjoy the view." He answered with a lascivious grin.

"Get up." She sighed in resignation.

"Are you going to kill me?" he wheedled as he stood, "I've provided what you asked for, and more besides!"

"Shut up!" T'Kir snapped, "I'll only kill you if you don't stop annoying me. When will the ship be ready for inspection?"

"Tomorrow." He answered quickly.

"Where is it?"

"Does it matter?" he asked apprehensively.

"Where is it from Quark?" she asked again, her voice carried a dangerous edge.

"Well, I really don't...urk."

T'Kir lifted him several inches off the ground with her right hand, which was wrapped around his throat, "Don't make me show you exactly how strong a Vulcan is."

The way she'd hissed it caught his attention. "It was captured by the Cardassians." he managed to utter.

She released her hold on his throat. Quark crumpled on the floor with a gasping squeak. T'Kir moved away and went to his desk. She picked up his personal data terminal and hurled it against the wall.

"When were you going to tell me?" she yelled, "Don't you think I'd figure it out when I went aboard?"

"Listen, I didn't..."

"Shut the hell up." She cut him off viciously, "The ship had better be here tomorrow. If it isn't, I'll kill you."

She left in angry silence. Quark sat on the floor rubbing his throat. Until he'd met T'Kir, he'd assumed every Vulcan was cold and efficiently boring. She'd blown that stereotype and he was suddenly glad that she was the only one that had defied it.

* * * * *

Nerrit watched Macen as he monitored the navigational sensors. He'd grown increasingly silent the longer they were together. She wondered why that was. As far as she could tell, things were going well enough.

She finally had to ask, "Is something wrong?"

He blinked in surprise, then broke into a sheepish grin, "Just thinking about how this is a lousy reason for a reunion."

Her wry expression conveyed her empathy regarding his feelings. Her family had only returned to Bajor after the Cardassian withdrawal. Macen's return to see his former Maquis rebuilding their colonies would undoubtedly be received as critically by some as her family's choice had been. It wasn't a stigma that was easy to live with. Then again, Macen didn't seem to place much stock in what others thought.

* * * * *

Grace sighed as she set the padd down on the desktop. She rubbed her eyes and then pinched the bridge of her nose. She wondered what her superiors in Section 31 would think of her throwing in with Macen the way she had. D'art hadn't been the only operative they'd infiltrated into Macen's last crew. She'd begun to wonder if Macen suspected her or if T'Kir had detected her loyalties the way she had with Julia.

She'd intentionally cultivated a friendship with the Vulcan in order to distract her from penetrating her cover. The results of that effort had been startling. Rather than moving into a position to influence one of Macen's closest friends, she found herself falling under Macen's sway through T'Kir. The El-Aurian made a frightening amount of sense.

She found herself questioning the nature of the organisation she was sworn to. She'd enlisted to protect the ideals of the Federation, not to deport its citizenry. Although she knew Section 31 had to take measures that others found contemptible, she had always comforted herself with the knowledge that they did so in order to protect those people's right to condemn them. The Gulag threw that belief into the gutter.

She hadn't reported to her superiors in months. She knew that Macen himself had walked a similar tightrope while infiltrating the Maquis, ostensibly serving Starfleet interests while forwarding the Maquis cause. She also knew that Section 31 held a tighter leash on its operatives and that its wrath was far beyond anything Starfleet Intelligence could dream off.