Keogh, Orta, and Dax all looked at her as if she was slightly demented—certainly

Keogh was starting to believe that.

“Something amuses you, Nerys?” Orta asked. That got Keogh’s attention, because

the smug, supercilious tone was gone. Now Orta sounded angry.

Keogh wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

“When are you going to tell us the truth, Orta? The real truth. Not what you

wanted me to believe, and not what Dax thinks you’re doing.”

Dax blinked. “Excuse me?”

Keogh took a certain satisfaction out of the hurt look on Dax’s face.

Kira, though, ignored her. “Come on, Orta, I know you. Hell, I used to be you.

You don’t want peace. If you did, you’d have been the first person to come back

home, not the last. You’ve been sitting in that cave on Valo IX waiting for the

war to start up again—hoping and praying to gods you don’t even believe in that

the Cardassians were kidding. That they’d come back so you could blow up more of

their ships and depots and outposts. And, after two years, when that didn’t

happen, you figured you’d manufacture your own war.”

Keogh looked aghast at Kira. “He wants to start a war with the Federation?

That’s insane.”

In a low voice, Orta said, “That’s what they told us about fighting the

Cardassians, Captain.”

It took Keogh a moment to find his voice. “Is she right? Is this what you plan?”

“I have obtained a weapon of mass destruction, Captain. Its purpose is to

destroy—not to push.” Again, the smile. “Except, perhaps in a metaphoric sense.”

“So that nonsense about the prophecy was—?” He let the question hang.

Orta shrugged. “A way to convince you that my motives were pure. I knew that

Nerys was one of the devout, so she was likely to believe me—and having the

lieutenant support me was an added bonus.”

Kira laughed again. “You’re an idiot, Orta. You always were.”

“You think so?”

Keogh said, “You damn well sound like one. Do you have any idea of the

consequences of your actions? Shifting the moon’s orbit was deadly enough—to

actually destroy it will cause uncounted changes to Bajor, none of them for the

good. The planet’s entire ecosystem will be thrown off-kilter. The planet’s

barely recovered from the Cardassians. You won’t be starting a war, you’ll be

committing genocide.”

“Bajor survived Cardassia’s occupation, Captain,” Orta said. “I survived having

my throat cut. For that matter, Qo’noS survived Praxis’s destruction eighty

years ago. Your attempts to frighten me are fruitless.”

“Don’t even bother, Captain,” Kira said with disdain. “You’ll never convince

him. Go ahead, Orta, fire up your weapon. See how much good it does you.”

“Major!” Keogh barked. He couldn’t believe this fool woman was encouraging him

to destroy the moon. And why the hell is the Odyssey just sitting out there? Why

don’t they do something?

“Computer,” Orta said slowly. “Fire the weapon.”

Then the entire runabout went dark.

 

“All systems on the Rio Grande read dead, Joe,” Gonzalez said from the ops

station. Then she turned and looked at the command center, smiling. To Sisko,

she said, “Looks like you were right, Commander.”

Jason Talltree couldn’t believe his eyes. He had been sure that the whole thing

was a waste of time, that they needed to disable the runabout and then beam a

team on board. He didn’t expect some Bajoran Militia thug like this Odo person

to understand the niceties of Starfleet General Orders, but Talltree knew that

they had to capture the artifact. And that was what he’d do.

He had not expected things to be this easy.

Turning to Odo, he asked, “What, exactly, just happened?”

The Deep Space 9 security chief turned his disquieting gaze upon his Odyssey

counterpart. The constable had what looked like an unfinished face—it was almost

uncomfortable to look at. Odo was a shape-changer, and Talltree wondered if he

chose so bizarre a facial structure as an intimidation tactic. If so, he found

himself admiring it.

“Security, Mr. Talltree,” Odo said. “I don’t know if you’ve kept abreast of

activity in the DMZ, but the ranks of the Maquis are growing—particularly with

Starfleet personnel,” he added with a disdain that Talltree thought unfair. “On

DS9, we devised a security protocol to keep our runabouts out of Maquis hands.

The security codes were changed, but the old codes still work—after a fashion. A

coded message is sent, embedded in the power signature so the saboteurs won’t

detect it. Normal operation of the runabout proceeds unless the library computer

is accessed, or any defensive systems or the warp drive go online.”

Talltree nodded. “If they do, the runabout shuts down.”

O’Brien put in, “The idea’s to keep any thieves in place until a Starfleet

vessel can pick ’em up.”

“An excellent idea,” Shabalala said, “but you might want to inform people of

this next time.” The commander spoke in his usual pleasant tone, but Talltree

noticed an undercurrent of annoyance.

“We, uh, only just installed it in the Rio Grande,” O’Brien added hesitantly.

Sisko smiled toothily. “We hadn’t tested it—until now, that is.”

“Fair enough,” Shabalala said, though he did not return Sisko’s smile. “Mr.

Talltree, get over there with a security team—Mr. O’Brien, go with them.”

Talltree nodded. “Yes, sir.” They still didn’t know the captain’s fate, after

all—this wasn’t over yet. He tapped his combadge as he headed toward the

turbolift, O’Brien walking alongside. “DeNoux, Hyzy, report to Transporter Room

3.”

He then heard Odo’s voice from behind him. “Request permission to accompany the

away team, Commander.”

After only a brief hesitation, the first officer said, “Granted.” Talltree

almost objected, then decided he’d rather have Odo’s experience with Bajoran

terrorists on his side.

The trio rode the turbolift in silence. Within minutes, they arrived at the

transporter room, DeNoux and Hyzy already present and armed and ready to go. The

transporter chief handed out wristlamps, since there’d be no other light source

until O’Brien could re-establish power on the runabout.

“On stun, people,” Talltree said as the five of them stepped on the platform. As

his people and O’Brien set their phasers, Talltree noted that Odo wasn’t armed.

To the transporter chief, he said, “Get the constable a phaser.”

“No need. I don’t carry weapons.”

“You don’t?” The idea of a security chief who went about unarmed was

incomprehensible to Talltree.

“Trust me,” O’Brien said with a smile, “he doesn’t need one.”

Shrugging, Talltree said, “Suit yourself.”

“I always do,” Odo muttered.

“Energize.”

Although he had anticipated having to adjust from the brightness of the Odyssey

transporter room to the darkness of the runabout, it still took Talltree’s eyes

several seconds to adjust. Those seconds were, he knew, crucial given that they

had no idea what to expect. Even with the runabout powered down, the artifact

was interfering with sensors. They still only knew for sure that Lieutenant Dax

and three other humanoids were on the runabout.

It quickly became apparent that none of them were in the fore compartment, where

they had beamed in.

“What the hell is that?” O’Brien asked.

Talltree followed the path of O’Brien’s wristlamp to one of the side consoles.

Talltree wasn’t completely familiar with runabout design, but he was fairly

certain that a small black box attached to one of the consoles wasn’t standard.

“That’s probably the artifact,” he said. “I assume you want to disconnect it?”

“Definitely,” O’Brien said emphatically.

Smiling, Talltree said, “Get to work, then. DeNoux, stay with him. The rest of

you, let’s check the aft—”

The security chief’s instructions were interrupted by a grunt of pain from the

aft compartment.

“That sounded like Major Kira,” Odo said.

He had no idea how Odo could tell that from a muffled grunt, but Talltree wasn’t

about to argue, either. “C’mon,” he said, and dashed toward the aft compartment,

Odo and Hyzy right behind him.

 

Orta had not screamed when he watched his foster parents eliminated by

Cardassian soldiers. He had not screamed when he was tortured on Cardassia.

After that Obsidian Order agent cut his vocal cords, he couldn’t scream.

But when the Rio Grande went dark, mutilated throat notwithstanding, Orta

screamed.

This can’t be. It was all in my grasp. It can’t go wrong now!

“It’s over, Orta,” came the hated voice of Kira Nerys.

Orta blinked several times, trying to clear his vision, to adjust to the

darkness that the runabout had been plunged into. What could’ve gone wrong?

He reached out with his mind to the glorious weapon that had made all this

possible. Why have you betrayed me?

Before he could get an answer, a fist collided with his jaw.

As he fell to the deck, he instinctively kicked with his left leg, and felt its

impact against something soft. A female voice let out an “Oof!” in response.

“Damn you!” Orta said. Somehow he just knew the woman who attacked was Kira. The

Trill didn’t have the skill to untie Orta’s knots. “You have ruined everything!

You have betrayed Bajor!”

“I’m trying to help Bajor—help our people,” Kira said, sounding winded.

Orta clambered to his feet. “Then you’ll die for Bajor,” he said, running for

the sound of her voice.

To his surprise, he was tackled from behind. “Not today,” Kira said.

As he and Kira fell to the deck once again, Orta cursed himself. Kira had

deliberately spoken and then moved so he would go for the sound of her voice. He

had then fallen for a similar trick—she had jumped him after locating him via

his voice.

They rolled on the floor for a moment. Orta tried to land a punch, but failed.

Kira, though, got a grip on his vocoder and ripped it off.

The pain was unimaginable. A small control would release the mechanism’s grip on

the mutilated skin of his throat, but by simply tearing it off, Kira also

removed a layer of that skin.

Again, Orta screamed, but this time no sounds emerged. Blood seeped from his

neck.

You betrayed me! his mind screamed, both at Kira and at the device that should

have been his salvation. You’re like all of them! Mother, Father, Syed,

Starfleet, the provisional government—betrayers, all of them!

In his now-silent rage, Orta kicked at Kira, who was knocked off him by the

impact.

The device’s oh-so-compelling voice sounded in his head. I can still give you

what you want. You must kill this woman. It is the only way to accomplish your

goals.

Orta stood, put a hand to his throat to stanch the bleeding, and smiled. He

would kill Kira as he killed Syed and the Obsidian Order agent and so many

others who stood in his way. They all had to die.

It was the only way…

 

As Jason Talltree entered the aft compartment, he shined his wristlamp inside.

The first thing the beam fell on was the pleasant sight of Keogh in a chair. His

arms were behind his back in such a way to lead Talltree to believe that they

were tied together—but that was comparatively irrelevant. Talltree was just

relieved to see him alive. “Captain!”

“Over there, Lieutenant!” Keogh said, just as Odo bellowed, “Kira!”

Before Talltree could turn to see what they were talking about, his attention

was drawn by the thud of bodies crashing into a bulkhead. He shined his lamp to

see two Bajoran figures struggling—one in a red Militia uniform, the other in

civilian clothes.

“Stand back!” Odo said as Talltree drew his phaser. Talltree planned to just

stun both of them and sort it out later, but Odo seemed to have something else

in mind.

The shapeshifter made as if to throw something with his right hand, though that

hand was empty. As his arm came around, it seemed to dissolve—in fact, it turned

into a golden liquid and extended toward the scuffle. By the time the protrusion

reached the non-Militia Bajoran, it looked like a length of rope tied into a

lasso, which wrapped around the Bajoran’s left wrist.

Odo pulled his now-rather-long right arm downward, which yanked the Bajoran off

the Militia woman. Talltree then fired his phaser at the Bajoran. He missed, as

the Bajoran ducked—

—right into Hyzy’s shot, which stunned him.

Just as the Bajoran—whom Talltree realized had to be Orta—hit the deck, the

lights came on. “Thank you, Chief,” Talltree muttered.

Talltree looked around and saw the Bajoran Militia woman—Major Kira—rubbing her

wrists, and Keogh and Dax tied to chairs.

“Hyzy, take care of the captain and lieutenant, will you?” Talltree said.

Keogh was looking at Kira. “Major, how the hell did you get out of your bonds?”

She smiled. “Orta always tied a lousy knot.”

Talltree wasn’t sure, but he thought that Keogh got an unusually sour look—even

by his high standards—at that.

“It’s good to see you alive, sir,” Talltree said to Keogh as Hyzy finished

undoing his hands.

The security guard moved over to Dax while Keogh undid his feet. “It’s good to

be seen,” the captain said. He undid his feet and stood up. “Major, would you

mind explaining to me what the hell happened here?”

Before the major could reply, Shabalala’s voice sounded over the comm channel.

“Shabalala to run-about. Report.”

Keogh went to an intercom on the wall and tapped it, his own combadge having

gone missing. “This is Keogh. We’re all fine, Commander.”

“It’s very good to hear your voice, Captain. We were worried that you’d been

killed.”

“Negative, Commander, though Mr. Rodzinski wasn’t so lucky. I’ll tell you all

about it back on the ship. Tell the transporter room to prepare to beam us

over.”

Chapter Fourteen

AFEW HOURS LATER , Keogh stood with Sisko, Kira, and Shabalala in the shuttlebay

of the Odyssey, the Galaxy -class ship’s own shuttles having been moved out of

the way to make room for the larger Rio Grande. O’Brien had gone over the

runabout to make sure that no further damage was done by Orta before being done

in by the counter-Maquis program. The Odyssey was preparing to return its

various passengers (including Orta, presently in the brig) and the artifact to

Deep Space 9, then proceed to its scheduled patrol of the Cardassian border.

“I wish you’d told me about that little security program of yours, Commander,”

Keogh said to Sisko, who held the Malkus Artifact, which had been recovered from

the runabout. With a glance at Kira, he added, “It might’ve saved us all some

embarrassment.”

“I am sorry about that, Captain,” Kira said, “but I couldn’t very well let Orta

run loose, and I couldn’t clue you in without cluing him in as well.”

“Besides,” Sisko added with a smile, “I’m sure your bickering helped keep Orta

in the dark—so to speak.”

Keogh grudgingly conceded the point. “Perhaps.”

“I’m sorry for the loss of your chief engineer, Captain,” Sisko said in a quiet

voice.

“Thank you,” Keogh said formally. He had already gone through the onerous duty

of informing Rodzinski’s wife and daughter—both also Starfleet officers,

presently serving on Starbase 12 and the U.S.S. Sugihara, respectively—of his

death, and the bittersweet duty of promoting Kovac to lieutenant commander and

giving him Rodzinski’s job.

“In any case,” Kira said, turning toward the run-about hatch, “I need to get

back down to the moon and try to put things back together. I’ll see you all back

at the station in a few days.”

Just as she started to walk toward the runabout, the artifact in Sisko’s

hands—which had been glowing a slightly greenish color—suddenly let loose a

quick burst of bright green light.

Then the glow disappeared altogether.

Keogh reacted immediately. “Computer, scan the shuttlebay for any anomalous

readings and report.”

After a moment, the computer’s voice calmly said, “No anomalous readings.”

Shabalala had taken out a tricorder. “The artifact is reading as inert, sir.”

Sisko shrugged. “Probably shutting down now that it isn’t being used.”

“I hope that’s all it is,” Keogh said.

After Kira departed, Sisko, Keogh, and Shabalala went to a turbolift.

“Would you like to join us in Ten-Forward, Commander?” Keogh asked Sisko.

“Perhaps later. I want to bring this thing to Dax for safekeeping. Someone from

the Rector Institute on Earth is scheduled to come to DS9 and pick it up in a

month or two.”

“I have to say, Commander,” Keogh said to Sisko, “I was less than impressed with

your science officer. She’s a bit on the—well, arrogant side. I know she’s a

friend of yours, but—”

“It’s hard not to be arrogant after three hundred years, Captain.” With a small

half-smile, he said, “I’ll be sure to let her know of your assessment.”

Keogh and Shabalala got off at deck ten, leaving Sisko to continue up to deck

eight and the guest quarters.

After a hesitation, Shabalala said, “It’s—good to have you back, Captain. You

had us worried.”

“I’m afraid the center chair is going to remain occupied for a while longer,

Commander,” Keogh said, allowing himself a smile.

“And you’re welcome to it, sir. I’m just glad I didn’t have to lose another CO

so soon.”

Keogh frowned. He knew the details of Patnira, of course, but had thought

Shabalala recovered from it. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

As they entered Ten-Forward, he said, “I suppose you’ll want that Saurian swill

of yours.”

“Actually, sir—I think I’d like to share a whiskey with you.” Shabalala broke

into a grin.

After blinking in surprise, Keogh then smiled again. “I’d be honored,

Commander.”

Within minutes, they sat at a table, sharing a bottle of syntheholic whiskey.

“Captain, if you don’t mind my asking—what happened?”

Again, Keogh frowned. “What happened when, Commander?”

“What happened to make you decide not to let anyone call you ‘Deco’—or even say

the name in your presence?”

Instinctively, Keogh started to shoot down this line of conversation, but then

stopped. If he isn’t as over Patnira as I thought, maybe my story will do him

some good.

“You may find this hard to believe, Commander, but I had something of a

reputation in my younger days as a—well, a wild man.”

“Really, sir?” Shabalala said, sounding surprised.

“Yes, really. I insisted everyone call me ‘Deco,’ and that informality stretched

to—many things. Mostly to women and drinking.” He held up his glass. “Usually

liquids far stronger and less syntheholic than this.” He took a sip from the

glass, then set it down, staring at the amber liquid, imagining he could see his

younger self. “One night, twenty-two years ago, I was security chief on the

Lexington. I indulged in both pursuitsrather aggressively the night before we

arrived at Altair VI to attend a presidential inauguration. It was someone’s

birthday—I don’t even remember whose—and we had a very loud party on the rec

deck. I woke up the next morning with an overloading phaser in my head, cotton

in my mouth, and a sudden desire to not attend a dull ceremony. So I changed the

duty roster—perfectly within my rights as chief of security, mind you—and stayed

on the ship at tactical while sending down my assistant chief in my place, along

with the five other security guards that had been requested to attend the

inauguration.”

Shabalala gave Keogh a look. “Wait a moment—twenty-two years ago? Wasn’t that

when—”

Keogh nodded. “The coup, yes. All five of my people down there died when the

an-Jirok attacked—including Ensign Manojlovich, who should’ve been safe back on

the bridge. But, because I was young and stupid, he died.”

Shabalala took a sip of his whiskey, then gave Keogh as serious a look as the

captain had ever seen from his first officer. “Sir, you can’t blame yourself for

that. Every two years since the founding of the Federation, Starfleet has sent

three ships to attend the inauguration at Altair VI. The only time they didn’t

was during the time the an-Jirok ruled, and that only lasted three years.

Starship crews live in dread of getting the assignment. There was no reason for

you to attend as chief of security for an event that had, until that point, had

the same level of security concerns as walking to the bridge from your

quarters.”

“That’s not the point,” Keogh said angrily. “I was going to attend, and the only

reason I didn’t was because I thought a party was more important than being

ready to do my duty.”

“Maybe.” Shabalala hesitated, then put a hand on Keogh’s shoulder—a familiar

gesture that surprised Keogh, and angered him slightly. “And certainly you’re

not going to change your ways now. But you still can’t blame yourself. Every

day, I think about what happened on Patnira. Every time I close my eyes, I see

the horrendous thing that Captain Simon became. Every time I’m in a quiet room,

I can hear her voice begging me to kill her. And yet, no matter how much that

day haunts me—I don’t regret what I did. It needed to be done, I did it, and if

I had to go through it again, the only thing I’d do differently is that I

wouldn’t have hesitated before firing the phaser. Life is far too short to waste

on might-have-beens, Captain.”

Keogh then heard a sound he hadn’t heard in quite some time: his own laughter.

Several heads in Ten-Forward turned in surprise, as their captain laughing was a

unique experience.

Shabalala himself was grinning. “I hadn’t realized that what I said was so

amusing, Captain.”

“It’s not that, Commander, it’s just—one of the reasons why I told you about the

Lexington was that I wasn’t sure if you had gotten over what happened on

Patnira. Looks like I was the one who needed the therapy.”

“Well, if I were you, sir, I wouldn’t go signing up for sessions with Counselor

Zumsteg just yet.” Another hesitation. “But I’m glad we had this conversation,

nonetheless.”

“As am I, Commander, as am I.” Keogh raised his glass. “To many years of serving

together, Mr. Shabalala.”

“I’ll definitely drink to that—Deco.”

 

Over the years, the Klingon Empire had built a large base on Narendra III.

Proximate to both the Romulan and Federation borders, it was the site of a

treacherous attack by several Romulan warbirds. Only the sacrifice of the

Starship Enterprise, commanded by Rachel Garrett, enabled the base to survive.

In all the years that the Klingons occupied the world, though, they never

managed to disturb—or even discover the existence of—the metal box with the

green glow.

The screams had continued all but uninterrupted. Their only pause had been a

century ago. There had been hope then, but it was fleeting.

That hope revived itself with a second chance for freedom. This one was much

better suited to the task—he was a fighter, a warrior, and, best of all, a

warmonger. The signs were much better than they were the last time.

But he too failed.

And the screaming continued.

However, now four more minds joined the three that had imprinted themselves

before.

Now there were potentially seven to fight on behalf of Malkus the Mighty.

When the time was right…

Second Interlude

Station log, Deep Space 9, Commander Benjamin Sisko, Stardate 47999.2

The U.S.S. Yorktown and Venture are on their way to the station, the former to

transport the survivors of the Odyssey, the latter to begin the cleanup work on

what’s left of the New Bajor colony.

To say that the existence of this new threat from the Gamma Quadrant troubles me

would be a vast understatement. The Dominion has made its hostile intentions

clear with the destruction of New Bajor and the kamikaze attack on the Odyssey

that resulted in the deaths of Captain Keogh, Commander Shabalala, and the rest

of their fine crew. Captain Keogh at least offloaded all civilians and

nonessential personnel before their mission to the Gamma Quadrant, but that

still leaves the death toll in the hundreds of thousands—merely to prove a

point.

I have requested that Starfleet assign additional forces to the station. The

deaths of the good people of New Bajor and the valiant crew of the Odyssey will

not go unavenged.

 

TO BE CONTINUED…

About the Author

After a trip to the galactic barrier in order to save an injured Klingon,Keith

R.A. DeCandido found himself seventy thousand light years from home and put on

trial for the crimes of humanity, after which he was declared Emissary.

Eventually, after switching bodies with an insane woman, he was able to become

one with the Prophets, stop an anti-time wave from destroying the multiverse,

and get home with the help of his alternate future self. These days, he writes

in a variety of milieus. His other Star Trek work ranges from the Star Trek: The

Next Generation novel Diplomatic Implausibility to the Star Trek: Deep Space

Nine novel Demons of Air and Darkness to the TNG comic book Perchance to Dream

to the DS9 novella “Horn and Ivory.” In addition, he is the co-developer of the

Star Trek: S.C.E. line, and has written or cowritten over half a dozen eBooks in

this series of adventures featuring the Starfleet Corps of Engineers (some

reprinted in the volumes Have Tech, Will Travel and Miracle Workers in early

2002). The year 2003 will see the debut of Star Trek: I.K.S. Gorkon, books

starring Captain Klag and his Klingon crew—the first time Pocket Books has

published a series focusing on Star Trek’ 'smost popular aliens. To say Keith is

thrilled at this opportunity would be the gravest of understatements. He will

also be contributing to the Star Trek: The Lost Era mini-series.

In addition to all this Trek kin’, Keith has written novels, short stories, and

nonfiction books in the worlds of Andromeda, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Doctor

Who, Farscape, Magic: The Gathering, Marvel Comics, and Xena. He is also the

editor of the upcoming anthology of original science fiction Imaginings.

Keith lives in the Bronx with his girlfriend and the world’s two goofiest cats.

Find out even more useless information about him at his official Web site at the

easy-to-remember URL of DeCandido.net, or just e-mail him directly at

[email protected] and tell him just what you think of him.

Look for STAR TREK fiction from Pocket Books

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The Ashes of Eden

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#29 • Dreadnought! • Diane Carey

#30 • Demons • J.M. Dillard

#31 • Battlestations! • Diane Carey

#32 • Chain of Attack • Gene DeWeese

#33 • Deep Domain • Howard Weinstein

#34 • Dreams of the Raven • Carmen Carter

#35 • The Romulan Way • Diane Duane & Peter Morwood

#36 • How Much for Just the Planet? • John M. Ford

#37 • Bloodthirst • J.M. Dillard

#38 • The IDIC Epidemic • Jean Lorrah

#39 • Time for Yesterday • A.C. Crispin

#40 • Timetrap • David Dvorkin

#41 • The Three-Minute Universe • Barbara Paul

#42 • Memory Prime • Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens

#43 • The Final Nexus • Gene DeWeese

#44 • Vulcan’s Glory • D.C. Fontana

#45 • Double, Double • Michael Jan Friedman

#46 • The Cry of the Onlies • Judy Klass

#47 • The Kobayashi Maru • Julia Ecklar

#48 • Rules of Engagement • Peter Morwood

#49 • The Pandora Principle • Carolyn Clowes

#50 • Doctor’s Orders • Diane Duane

#51 • Enemy Unseen • V.E. Mitchell

#52 • Home Is the Hunter • Dana Kramer-Rolls

#53 • Ghost-Walker • Barbara Hambly

#54 • A Flag Full of Stars • Brad Ferguson

#55 • Renegade • Gene DeWeese

#56 • Legacy • Michael Jan Friedman

#57 • The Rift • Peter David

#58 • Faces of Fire • Michael Jan Friedman

#59 • The Disinherited • Peter David, Michael Jan Friedman, Robert Greenberger

#60 • Ice Trap • L.A. Graf

#61 • Sanctuary • John Vornholt

#62 • Death Count • L.A. Graf

#63 • Shell Game • Melissa Crandall

#64 • The Starship Trap • Mel Gilden

#65 • Windows on a Lost World • V.E. Mitchell

#66 • From the Depths • Victor Milan

#67 • The Great Starship Race • Diane Carey

#68 • Firestorm • L.A. Graf

#69 • The Patrian Transgression • Simon Hawke

#70 • Traitor Winds • L.A. Graf

#71 • Crossroad • Barbara Hambly

#72 • The Better Man • Howard Weinstein

#73 • Recovery • J.M. Dillard

#74 • The Fearful Summons • Denny Martin Flinn

#75 • First Frontier • Diane Carey & Dr. James I. Kirkland

#76 • The Captain’s Daughter • Peter David

#77 • Twilight’s End • Jerry Oltion

#78 • The Rings of Tautee • Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Kathryn Rusch

#79 • Invasion! #1: First Strike • Diane Carey

#80 • The Joy Machine • James Gunn

#81 • Mudd in Your Eye • Jerry Oltion

#82 • Mind Meld • John Vornholt

#83 • Heart of the Sun • Pamela Sargent & George Zebrowski

#84 • Assignment: Eternity • Greg Cox

#85-87 • My Brother’s Keeper • Michael Jan Friedman

#85 • Republic

#86 • Constitution

#87 • Enterprise

#88 • Across the Universe • Pamela Sargent & George Zebrowski

#89-94 • New Earth

#89 • Wagon Train to the Stars • Diane Carey

#90 • Belle Terre • Dean Wesley Smith with Diane Carey

#91 • Rough Trails • L.A. Graf

#92 • The Flaming Arrow • Kathy and Jerry Oltion

#93 • Thin Air • Kristine Kathryn Rusch & Dean Wesley Smith

#94 • Challenger • Diane Carey

#95-96 • Rihannsu • Diane Duane

#95 • Swordhunt

#96 • Honor Blade

#97 • In the Name of Honor • Dayton Ward

Star Trek®: The Original Series

The Janus Gate • L.A. Graf

#1 • Present Tense

#2 • Future Imperfect

#3 • Past Prologue

Errand of Vengeance • Kevin Ryan

#1 • The Edge of the Sword

#2 • Killing Blow

#3 • River of Blood

Star Trek: The Next Generation ®

Metamorphosis • Jean Lorrah

Vendetta • Peter David

Reunion • Michael Jan Friedman

Imzadi • Peter David

The Devil’s Heart • Carmen Carter

Dark Mirror • Diane Duane

Q-Squared • Peter David

Crossover • Michael Jan Friedman

Kahless • Michael Jan Friedman

Ship of the Line • Diane Carey

The Best and the Brightest • Susan Wright

Planet X • Michael Jan Friedman

Imzadi II: Triangle • Peter David

I, Q • John de Lancie & Peter David

The Valiant • Michael Jan Friedman

The Genesis Wave, Books One, Two, and Three • John Vornholt

Immortal Coil • Jeffrey Lang

A Hard Rain • Dean Wesley Smith

The Battle of Betazed • Charlotte Douglas & Susan Kearney

Novelizations

Encounter at Farpoint • David Gerrold

Unification • Jeri Taylor

Relics • Michael Jan Friedman

Descent • Diane Carey

All Good Things… • Michael Jan Friedman

Star Trek: Klingon • Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Star Trek Generations • J.M. Dillard

Star Trek: First Contact • J.M. Dillard

Star Trek: Insurrection • J.M. Dillard

Star Trek: Nemesis • J.M. Dillard

 

#1 • Ghost Ship • Diane Carey

#2 • The Peacekeepers • Gene DeWeese

#3 • The Children of Hamlin • Carmen Carter

#4 • Survivors • Jean Lorrah

#5 • Strike Zone • Peter David

#6 • Power Hungry • Howard Weinstein

#7 • Masks • John Vornholt

#8 • The Captain’s Honor • David & Daniel Dvorkin

#9 • A Call to Darkness • Michael Jan Friedman

#10 • A Rock and a Hard Place • Peter David

#11 • Gulliver’s Fugitives • Keith Sharee

#12 • Doomsday World • Carter, David, Friedman & Greenberger

#13 • The Eyes of the Beholders • A.C. Crispin

#14 • Exiles • Howard Weinstein

#15 • Fortune’s Light • Michael Jan Friedman

#16 • Contamination • John Vornholt

#17 • Boogeymen • Mel Gilden

#18 • Q-in-Law • Peter David

#19 • Perchance to Dream • Howard Weinstein

#20 • Spartacus • T.L. Mancour

#21 • Chains of Command • W.A. McCay & E.L. Flood

#22 • Imbalance • V.E. Mitchell

#23 • War Drums • John Vornholt

#24 • Nightshade • Laurell K. Hamilton

#25 • Grounded • David Bischoff

#26 • The Romulan Prize • Simon Hawke

#27 • Guises of the Mind • Rebecca Neason

#28 • Here There Be Dragons • John Peel

#29 • Sins of Commission • Susan Wright

#30 • Debtor’s Planet • W.R. Thompson

#31 • Foreign Foes • Dave Galanter & Greg Brodeur

#32 • Requiem • Michael Jan Friedman & Kevin Ryan

#33 • Balance of Power • Dafydd ab Hugh

#34 • Blaze of Glory • Simon Hawke

#35 • The Romulan Stratagem • Robert Greenberger

#36 • Into the Nebula • Gene DeWeese

#37 • The Last Stand • Brad Ferguson

#38 • Dragon’s Honor • Kij Johnson & Greg Cox

#39 • Rogue Saucer • John Vornholt

#40 • Possession • J.M. Dillard & Kathleen O’Malley

#41 • Invasion! #2: The Soldiers of Fear • Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Kathryn

Rusch

#42 • Infiltrator • W.R. Thompson

#43 • A Fury Scorned • Pamela Sargent & George Zebrowski

#44 • The Death of Princes • John Peel

#45 • Intellivore • Diane Duane

#46 • To Storm Heaven • Esther Friesner

#47-49 • The Q Continuum • Greg Cox

#47 • Q-Space

#48 • Q-Zone

#49 • Q-Strike

#50 • Dyson Sphere • Charles Pellegrino & George Zebrowski

#51-56 • Double Helix

#51 • Infection • John Gregory Betancourt

#52 • Vectors • Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Kathryn Rusch

#53 • Red Sector • Diane Carey

#54 • Quarantine • John Vornholt

#55 • Double or Nothing • Peter David

#56 • The First Virtue • Michael Jan Friedman & Christie Golden

#57 • The Forgotten War • William R. Forstchen

#58-59 • Gemworld • John Vornholt

#58 • Gemworld #1

#59 • Gemworld #2

#60 • Tooth and Claw • Doranna Durgin

#61 • Diplomatic Implausibility • Keith R.A. DeCandido

#62-63 • Maximum Warp • Dave Galanter & Greg Brodeur

#62 • Dead Zone

#63 • Forever Dark

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine®

Warped • K.W. Jeter

Legends of the Ferengi • Ira Steven Behr & Robert Hewitt Wolfe

Novelizations

Emissary • J.M. Dillard

The Search • Diane Carey

The Way of the Warrior • Diane Carey

Star Trek: Klingon • Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Trials and Tribble-ations • Diane Carey

Far Beyond the Stars • Steve Barnes

What You Leave Behind • Diane Carey

 

#1 • Emissary • J.M. Dillard

#2 • The Siege • Peter David

#3 • Bloodletter • K.W. Jeter

#4 • The Big Game • Sandy Schofield

#5 • Fallen Heroes • Dafydd ab Hugh

#6 • Betrayal • Lois Tilton

#7 • Warchild • Esther Friesner

#8 • Antimatter • John Vornholt

#9 • Proud Helios • Melissa Scott

#10 • Valhalla • Nathan Archer

#11 • Devil in the Sky • Greg Cox & John Gregory Betancourt

#12 • The Laertian Gamble • Robert Sheckley

#13 • Station Rage • Diane Carey

#14 • The Long Night • Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Kathryn Rusch

#15 • Objective: Bajor • John Peel

#16 • Invasion! #3: Time’s Enemy • L.A. Graf

#17 • The Heart of the Warrior • John Gregory Betancourt

#18 • Saratoga • Michael Jan Friedman

#19 • The Tempest • Susan Wright

#20 • Wrath of the Prophets • David, Friedman & Greenberger

#21 • Trial by Error • Mark Garland

#22 • Vengeance • Dafydd ab Hugh

#23 • The 34th Rule • Armin Shimerman & David R. George III

#24-26 • Rebels • Dafydd ab Hugh

#24 • The Conquered

#25 • The Courageous

#26 • The Liberated

 

Books set after the series

The Lives of Dax • Marco Palmieri, ed.

Millennium Omnibus • Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens

#1 • The Fall of Terok Nor

#2 • The War of the Prophets

#3 • Inferno

A Stitch in Time • Andrew J. Robinson

Avatar, Book One • S.D. Perry

Avatar, Book Two • S.D. Perry

Section 31: Abyss • David Weddle & Jeffrey Lang

Gateways #4: Demons of Air and Darkness • Keith R.A. DeCandido

Gateways #7: What Lay Beyond: “Horn and Ivory” • Keith R.A. DeCandido

Mission: Gamma

#1 • Twilight • David R. George III

#2 • This Gray Spirit • Heather Jarman

#3 • Cathedral • Michael A. Martin & Andy Mangels

#4 • Lesser Evil • Robert Simpson

Star Trek: Voyager ®

Mosaic • Jeri Taylor

Pathways • Jeri Taylor

Captain Proton: Defender of the Earth • D.W. “Prof” Smith

The Nanotech War • Steven Piziks

Novelizations

Caretaker • L.A. Graf

Flashback • Diane Carey

Day of Honor • Michael Jan Friedman

Equinox • Diane Carey

Endgame • Diane Carey & Christie Golden

 

#1 • Caretaker • L.A. Graf

#2 • The Escape • Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Kathryn Rusch

#3 • Ragnarok • Nathan Archer

#4 • Violations • Susan Wright

#5 • Incident at Arbuk • John Gregory Betancourt

#6 • The Murdered Sun • Christie Golden

#7 • Ghost of a Chance • Mark A. Garland & Charles G. McGraw

#8 • Cybersong • S.N. Lewitt

#9 • Invasion! #4: The Final Fury • Dafydd ab Hugh

#10 • Bless the Beasts • Karen Haber

#11 • The Garden • Melissa Scott

#12 • Chrysalis • David Niall Wilson

#13 • The Black Shore • Greg Cox

#14 • Marooned • Christie Golden

#15 • Echoes • Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Kathryn Rusch & Nina Kiriki Hoffman

#16 • Seven of Nine • Christie Golden

#17 • Death of a Neutron Star • Eric Kotani

#18 • Battle Lines • Dave Galanter & Greg Brodeur

#19-21 • Dark Matters • Christie Golden

#19 • Cloak and Dagger

#20 • Ghost Dance

#21 • Shadow of Heaven

Enterprise®

Broken Bow • Diane Carey

Shockwave • Paul Ruditis

By the Book • Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Kathryn Rusch

What Price Honor? • Dave Stern

Star Trek®: New Frontier

New Frontier #1-4 Collector’s Edition • Peter David

#1 • House of Cards

#2 • Into the Void

#3 • The Two-Front War

#4 • End Game

#5 • Martyr • Peter David

#6 • Fire on High • Peter David

The Captain’s Table #5 • Once Burned • Peter David

Double Helix #5 • Double or Nothing • Peter David

#7 • The Quiet Place • Peter David

#8 • Dark Allies • Peter David

#9-11 • Excalibur • Peter David

#9 • Requiem

#10 • Renaissance

#11 • Restoration

Gateways #6: Cold Wars • Peter David

Gateways #7: What Lay Beyond: “Death After Life” • Peter David

#12 • Being Human • Peter David

Star Trek®: Stargazer

The Valiant • Michael Jan Friedman

Double Helix #6: The First Virtue • Michael Jan Friedman and Christie Golden

Gauntlet • Michael Jan Friedman

Progenitor • Michael Jan Friedman

Star Trek®: Starfleet Corps of Engineers (eBooks)

Have Tech, Will Travel (paperback) • various

#1 • The Belly of the Beast • Dean Wesley Smith

#2 • Fatal Error • Keith R.A. DeCandido

#3 • Hard Crash • Christie Golden

#4 • Interphase, Book One • Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

Miracle Workers (paperback) • various

#5 • Interphase, Book Two • Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#6 • Cold Fusion • Keith R.A. DeCandido

#7 • Invincible, Book One • David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido

#8 • Invincible, Book Two • David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido

#9 • The Riddled Post • Aaron Rosenberg

#10 • Gateways Epilogue: Here There Be Monsters • Keith R.A. DeCandido

#11 • Ambush • Dave Galanter & Greg Brodeur

#12 • Some Assembly Required • Scott Ciencin & Dan Jolley

#13 • No Surrender • Jeff Mariotte

#14 • Caveat Emptor • Ian Edginton & Michael Collins

#15 • Past Life • Robert Greenberger

#16 • Oaths • Glenn Hauman

#17 • Foundations, Book One • Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#18 • Foundations, Book Two • Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#19 • Foundations, Book Three • Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#20 • Enigma Ship • J. Steven and Christina F. York

#21 • War Stories, Book One • Keith R.A. DeCandido

#22 • War Stories, Book Two • Keith R.A. DeCandido

Star Trek®: Invasion!

#1 • First Strike • Diane Carey

#2 • The Soldiers of Fear • Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Kathryn Rusch

#3 • Time’s Enemy • L.A. Graf

#4 • The Final Fury • Dafydd ab Hugh

Invasion! Omnibus • various

Star Trek®: Day of Honor

#1 • Ancient Blood • Diane Carey

#2 • Armageddon Sky • L.A. Graf

#3 • Her Klingon Soul • Michael Jan Friedman

#4 • Treaty’s Law • Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Kathryn Rusch

The Television Episode • Michael Jan Friedman

Day of Honor Omnibus • various

Star Trek®: The Captain’s Table

#1 • War Dragons • L.A. Graf

#2 • Dujonian’s Hoard • Michael Jan Friedman

#3 • The Mist • Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Kathryn Rusch

#4 • Fire Ship • Diane Carey

#5 • Once Burned • Peter David

#6 • Where Sea Meets Sky • Jerry Oltion

The Captain’s Table Omnibus • various

Star Trek®: The Dominion War

#1 • Behind Enemy Lines • John Vornholt

#2 • Call to Arms… • Diane Carey

#3 • Tunnel Through the Stars • John Vornholt

#4 • …Sacrifice of Angels • Diane Carey

Star Trek®: Section 31™

Rogue • Andy Mangels & Michael A. Martin

Shadow • Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Cloak • S.D. Perry

Abyss • David Weddle & Jeffrey Lang

Star Trek®: Gateways

#1 • One Small Step • Susan Wright

#2 • Chainmail • Diane Carey

#3 • Doors Into Chaos • Robert Greenberger

#4 • Demons of Air and Darkness • Keith R.A. DeCandido

#5 • No Man’s Land • Christie Golden

#6 • Cold Wars • Peter David

#7 • What Lay Beyond • various

Epilogue: Here There Be Monsters • Keith R.A. DeCandido

Star Trek®: The Badlands

#1 • Susan Wright

#2 • Susan Wright

Star Trek®: Dark Passions

#1 • Susan Wright

#2 • Susan Wright

Star Trek®: The Brave and the Bold

#1 • Keith R.A. DeCandido

#2 • Keith R.A. DeCandido

Star Trek® Omnibus Editions

Invasion! Omnibus • various

Day of Honor Omnibus • various

The Captain’s Table Omnibus • various

Star Trek: Odyssey • William Shatner with Judith and Garfield Reeves Stevens

Millennium Omnibus • Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens

Starfleet: Year One • Michael Jan Friedman

Other Star Trek® Fiction

Legends of the Ferengi • Ira Steven Behr & Robert Hewitt Wolfe

Strange New Worlds , vol. I, II, III, IV, and V • Dean Wesley Smith, ed.

Adventures in Time and Space • Mary P. Taylor, ed.

Captain Proton: Defender of the Earth • D.W. “Prof” Smith

New Worlds, New Civilizations • Michael Jan Friedman

The Lives of Dax • Marco Palmieri, ed.

The Klingon Hamlet • Wil’yam Shex’pir

Enterprise Logs • Carol Greenburg, ed.

The Amazing Stories • various

 

Chapter One

THARIA DIDN ’T CRY when his three mates died.

It had been nine months, and not a single tear had run down his blue cheek.

He sat with two of his fellow Maquis rebels in a cave on some planet or other.

Tharia wasn’t even sure where they were, to be honest. He’d been too busy trying

to repair one of the consoles to pay attention to wherever it was that they had

crash-landed their shuttle. There had been four of them, but their pilot—a

Bolian who had replaced Tom Paris after the imbecile Earther had gotten himself

caught by the Federation—died in the crash. That left Tharia ch’Ren, Gerron Ral,

and B’Elanna Torres.

“When’s Chakotay supposed to get here?” Gerron asked in a whiny voice that made

Tharia want to strangle him.

“He’ll get here soon,” B’Elanna snapped in a voice intended to intimidate. She

didn’t bother to look at Gerron. She was too busy keeping her eyes glued to her

ancient tricorder, hoping it would tell her of Chakotay’s imminent arrival with

their ship, hoping it wouldn’t tell her that Gul Evek or some other Cardassian

had found them and was going to blast them into atoms.

At least their mission had been more or less successful. The shipment of

grenades that Cardassian Central Command had earmarked for occupying forces on

Dorvan V had been annihilated, first stolen from the freighter that was taking

them to Dorvan, then destroyed an hour later in the shuttle crash. (Mercifully,

the grenades hadn’t been primed yet; had they been, more than the Bolian pilot

would have been lost, and Chakotay would only have been able to find their

remains with a tricorder—or tweezers.)

It would have been better if they had managed to keep the grenades intact and

thus be able to add them to the Maquis’s arsenal, but the important thing was

that the Cardassians wouldn’t be able to use them. Sometimes it didn’t matter if

you won, so long as the other side lost.

“It’s going to be dark soon.” Gerron, Tharia noted, sounded wholly

unintimidated—which meant he was a fool, as B’Elanna’s actions generally spoke

louder than her words, and her words were fairly high in volume. “And with all

our supplies trashed, we’ll have to forage. I don’t know if there’s anything

here we can even eat, much less—”

Tharia stood up, running a hand through his feathery white hair. “Oh, for

Thori’s sake, I’ll go look for food.” He looked down at Gerron. “If you want to

make yourself useful, gather up some rocks that we can heat.”

“Rocks?”

“Basic survival.” Tharia sighed. “Did they teach you nothing on Bajor? You can

use a phaser on rocks to heat them.”

Gerron at least had the decency to look abashed. “Sorry. Forgot,” he muttered.

Looking over at the half-Klingon, half-Earther engineer, Tharia said, “I’ll be

back soon.”

B’Elanna only grunted, focused as she was on the tricorder. Knowing that was all

the acknowledgment he’d get, Tharia headed outward toward the cave entrance in

the hopes of finding something edible. Given that three—four, really, given

B’Elanna’s half-breed nature—species were represented in the cave, it would be a

challenge. Andorians, Bajorans, Earthers, and Klingons didn’t have similar

eating habits, after all. But Tharia didn’t care that much—he mainly needed to

get away from Gerron before the young Bajoran drove him to anger.

Tharia preferred to keep his emotions in check.

His zhavey had cried, of course, back then. It took very little for her to cry,

truth be told, and the deaths of her chei’ 'sthree mates was certainly more than

a little. And several of his friends cried.

But Tharia didn’t. Not when he found their broken, bloody bodies in the wreckage

of their home on Beaulieu’s World after the Cardassian bomb had destroyed it,

not at the death rites held at the community center on Beaulieu’s, not at the

ceremony back home on Andor.

Ignoring the advice of his zhavey to stay on Andor, Tharia had returned to

Beaulieu’s after the ceremony. Once a Federation colony, Beaulieu’s World had

been one of many planets ceded to the Cardassians in a treaty intended to settle

a border dispute. Unfortunately, the Federation colonists saw no reason to leave

their homes, even if those homes were now in Cardassian territory. The

Cardassians, in turn, saw no reason to let them live in peace. Tensions in the

Demilitarized Zone that was created between Federation and Cardassian space

became increasingly heated, incidents of harassment on both sides were reported,

and the treaty intended to settle a dispute wound up setting off a powder keg.

A group of (now former) Federation citizens of the colonies, as well as a number

of Starfleet personnel sympathetic to the cause, formed a group called the

Maquis. Tharia had never been too clear on the etymology of the term, only that

it was the same name as a similar group in Earth’s pre-spaceflight days. It was

also derived from one of Earth’s secondary languages, so it was pronounced “mah-

kee” rather than “may -kwiss,” as Tharia had initially assumed.

Before the bomb struck his home, Tharia had been one of the more outspoken

opponents of the Maquis. He didn’t think their formation would gain the

colonists anything but trouble. True, the Cardassians weren’t exactly living up

to their side of the bargain—hounding non-Cardassians, occasionally sending

military ships into the Demilitarized Zone—but Tharia didn’t see that as a

reason to become terrorists.

The governing body of Beaulieu’s had held an open forum in the community center

on the subject of the Maquis, and Tharia had spoken against them there.

“Sentient beings should be able to reason out their problems without having to

resort to mindless violence,” he had said. “Effecting change from behind a

phaser bank is no true change, simply an imposition of will.”

When someone in the audience had pointed out that negotiation was how they got

into this mess in the first place, Tharia had said, “One poor example does not

invalidate the method. And one does not compound an error by making a bigger

one.”

Tharia had been so passionate at that open forum that tears came to his eyes,

and all three of his mates congratulated him on his rhetorical skills.

Two months later, all three were dead, their home destroyed by a bomb of

Cardassian make.

Three months later, Tharia sold the land on which the remains of their house

stood to an Yridian developer who had been making overtures to them for over a

year.

Four months later, he was part of a Maquis cell led by an Earther named

Chakotay.

Five months later, he killed his first Cardassian, during a raid on a supply

depot.

Tharia hugged himself in the bitter cold that greeted him at the cave mouth. In

the two hours since the crash, the temperature had dropped by at least twenty

degrees.

He hadn’t cared what the name of the planet was, but now he found himself

desiring to know it so he could avoid it in the future. He hadn’t paid much

attention when they crashed—he was more concerned with getting under cover—but

now that he had a chance to look around, he realized that this place was what

Tom Paris would have termed a dump.

When Thori in Her Greatness created this particular world, Tharia observed, She

obviously was having a bad day. It was as if She couldn’t be bothered to put

together a proper ecosystem, so She tossed a few rocks and bushes around a flat,

gray surface and hoped no one would notice. The sky was equally gray, and a limp

wind blew, barely disturbing the minimal vegetation. Tharia’s antennae quivered

at—something, he couldn’t tell what, exactly. All he knew for sure was that this

world was dull and gray and he didn’t want to be here any longer than he had to.

As Tharia walked across that hard, flat ground, he found no animal life, and the

plant life was poisonous to all of them. Ironically, the plants were edible for

Bolians. Obviously, he thought with irritation, the wrong person died in the

shuttle crash.

After ten minutes, he gave up. His tricorder—a thirty-year-old Starfleet model

that worked only sporadically at the best of times—was starting to lose power,

and the temperature continued to drop. Tharia had never liked the cold. One of

the reasons Beaulieu’s had appealed to him when he and his family chose to move

off Andor was because it was warm. And his antennae were quivering so fast he

was sure they were vibrating on top of his head. It was time he went back to

B’Elanna and Gerron.

You can do better.

Tharia whirled around. “What?”

You can do better. You don’t need to settle for this. You can destroy them once

and for all.

The tricorder had now completely lost power, but Tharia’s antennae were now

quivering with a purpose. The voice was coming from under one of the gray rocks.

He knew this mainly because the voice didn’t sound in his ears or in his

antennae, but in his mind.

Deducing that telepathy was at work, Tharia stopped walking. Only when he

stopped did he realize that he’d been moving in the first place. He had been

going toward the rock from which the telepathic voice had emanated, almost

against his will. Tharia hated telepaths.

“What do you want with me?”

I want to help you achieve your goal.

“Really? Show yourself—and speak! I will not converse with a telepath who

hides.”

I am no telepath, and I’m not hiding. I’m but a tool that can give you what you

desire.

Tharia made a derisive noise. “Can you bring my three mates back to me?”

No.

“Then you lie.”

You misunderstand my purpose and my words, Tharia ch’Ren.

“Do I?” He didn’t bother to question how the voice knew his name. Telepaths

loved to show off how much they knew that was unspoken.

Yes. Getting your family back is a wish, not a goal. Items that can grant wishes

are the purview of stories and myths. As I said, I’m a tool—and I can help you

get—

“What I desire, yes, I see.” Tharia felt foolish standing in the middle of the

gray rocks talking to nothing, so he sat down. “So you can help me get rid of

the Cardassians? Aid me in destroying them? Assist me in driving them from my

home forever?”

Yes.

“And what do you get in return?”

I have lain unused on this miserable rock for thousands of lifetimes, Tharia

ch’Ren. What good is a tool that gets no use?

Tharia leaned back, supporting himself on the rock with his arms. He could feel

the emissions from this whatever-it-was more precisely now in his antennae. It

was wedged in between two rocks amid the underbrush of a bush that stuck out

between them.

“I will not be coerced. I can feel you trying to convince me with your mind

games.”

You are a wise man, Tharia ch’Ren. You are also a man with a mission. I can be a

valuable aid on that mission. All you must do is hold me in your grasp.

Tharia stood up. “No. I refuse.”

Images appeared in Tharia’s head then.

He saw a humanoid of some kind, holding a small black box that glowed with an

odd green hue.

He saw other humanoid figures kneeling before the figure holding the box.

He saw the figure walk outside into a day that was filled with sunlight, a sky

with no clouds.

He saw the figure hold up the box.

He saw clouds appear seemingly out of nowhere, saw winds start to gust where the

air had been still.

He saw the people cheer as rain came pouring down from the sky.

Then the vista changed: he saw the figure again—older this time—using the black

box to start a blizzard. Then using it to melt a snow-filled region with

intense, desertlike heat. Then causing a hurricane to tear through a residential

area.

“Get out of my head!” Tharia was now screaming as he unholstered his phaser, his

dead tricorder long since dropped to the rocky ground. He didn’t even check to

see what setting the phaser was on, he just activated it and fired.

The images continued to pour into his mind as he fired. As the amber phaser beam

tore into the leaves of the bush, he saw the figure use the black box to wipe

out a village with a tornado. As the phaser pulverized the branches, rain was

brought to the desert. As the rocks blew apart, a fog rolled into a sky filled

with air traffic, causing massive slow-ups and collisions.

“Enough!” Tharia cried as he finally stopped firing. He wrinkled his nose at the

smell that emanated from the ground. Nothing remained of the two rocks and the

bush but smoke and ash—

—and a black box with a greenish hue.

His mind was free of the images, but the voice remained. You see what you can do

if you wield me. All that is required is—

“No!” Tharia raised his phaser to its highest setting and fired again, this time

directly at the box.

The box seemed to simply absorb the phaser beam. The weapon had no effect on it.

Think what you can do with my capabilities. Think of the glory you can bring to

the Maquis.

“I care nothing for glory! If you’ve seen into my mind you know that. I simply

want—I want—to see the Cardassians—to get them—”

You want revenge.

Tears started to flow down Tharia’s cheek. “Yes, damn you! I want revenge! I

want them all destroyed! I want their heads ripped from their bodies!”

You want them to feel what you felt when you saw your mates’bodies in the

wreckage of your home.

More images entered Tharia’s mind, but they were not from the box. They were his

own memories, suppressed for all these months when he refused to think about

what had happened.

Athmin, impaled on a structural beam. Ushra, her head caved in by the ceiling.

Shers, ripped to pieces by fragments from the Cardassians’ explosive device.

Tharia fell to his knees. Pain shot through his legs as his knees collided with

the hard ground, but he barely noticed. “I should have died with them,” he said,

his voice barely above a whisper.

But you didn’t. As I said, I don’t grant wishes. What I can do is make sure that

those responsible pay for what they did to you.

He looked at the black box that sat on the ground, blurred by the months of

repressed tears that now poured from his eyes. “Yes,” he said in a whisper so

quiet that Tharia himself could barely hear his own voice over the wind. “Yes,

they must pay. All of them.”

And they will. All you have to do is pick me up.

Tharia could not make his legs move properly, but somehow, he managed to crawl

over to where the box sat, ignoring the pain of the superheated ground around

it.

It was cool to the touch, which was impossible. He had been firing on it with a

phaser at full, and the box had been absorbing the blast. He should have gotten

third-degree burns just touching it. Yet he was able to cradle the box in his

arms.

Everything you desire will be yours.

The moment he touched the box, Tharia noticed that the air around him got

warmer. The chill that permeated the atmosphere was gone in an instant. It was

now as warm on this despicable gray planet as it was on the most pleasant day

back home on Beaulieu’s.

“What did you do?” he asked quietly, wiping a tear from his cheek with his right

hand as he cradled the box under his left.

Fulfilled a simple desire in order to show my ability to do so: I raised the

temperature to one comfortable for you.

Tharia stood up. “Thank you.”

It is the first of many desires I will fulfill for you.

 

It was another hour before Tharia finally made it back to the cave. B’Elanna and

Gerron sat in the same spot, but this time they were on either side of a pile of

rocks that had been heated by phaser fire. Still, even with that, it was cooler

in the cave than it had become outside thanks to Tharia’s new possession.

B’Elanna stood up quickly and barked, “Where the hell have you been?”

“I told you,” Tharia said in a quiet, almost subdued voice. He had wiped his

face dry, and carried the box—the tool—the weapon —under his left arm. “I went

out to search for food.”

“And you put it in that box?” B’Elanna asked snidely.

“No. This place doesn’t seem to have any native animal life, and the plants are

all poisonous.”

“Figures,” Gerron muttered.

B’Elanna sighed. “Well, it doesn’t matter—Chakotay’s in orbit, and he’ll be

landing inside of fifteen minutes.”

Nodding, Tharia said, “Good.”

There was a momentary pause. “So what is in the box?” B’Elanna finally asked.

“I’ll tell you all about it when Chakotay arrives,” he said.

B’Elanna stood in front of the Andorian. Tharia could tell she was agitated by

the way his antennae retracted in her presence. “I’m not letting you bring that

thing on the ship until you tell me what it is, Tharia.”

“It’s a weapon. The only weapon we’ll ever need. Trust me, B’Elanna. Have I ever

lied to you?”

Knowing full well that he hadn’t, B’Elanna could only let out a growl. “Fine. So

what does the stupid thing do?”

For the first time in many months, Tharia smiled.

“I’ll tell you when Chakotay arrives.”

Chapter Two

CAPTAIN ROBERT DE SOTO knew he was in trouble the minute he realized that his

first officer was threatening his territory.

The extremely wide, almost disturbingly toothy smile of Lieutenant Commander

Dina Voyskunsky flashed across the table of the Hood’ 'slounge at the captain as

she placed a black stone down in a position that cut one group of his white

stones off from the rest of his pieces. Suddenly, what seemed to be a solid,

secure group of stones was now in serious trouble. Either it was going to wither

and die, or he was going to have to struggle mightily to survive.

Regardless, it was quite possible that the move had cost DeSoto the game. And

Voyskunsky knew it. The first officer had a thin face with a disproportionately

wide mouth. She also had wide teeth that DeSoto, in his less charitable

moments—like right now, when she was beating him at Go—thought would be more at

place on a horse than a human.

“Your move, Captain,” she said, leaning back in her chair.

DeSoto sighed, and gazed over the Go board. He could resign the game, of

course—that was the proper thing to do when one was defeated and knew it. And

DeSoto did know it.

Under any other circumstances, he would, of course, resign, but he wanted to at

least try to get some of his own back, even though intellectually he knew

better. It wasn’t worthy of him—but what the hell, he was the captain, he could

make an idiot of himself if he wanted.

Besides, there was a possibility, however slim. Thirty-five years in Starfleet

had taught him that there were always possibilities. You just sometimes had to

look really hard for them.

“I must once again thank you for teaching me how to play this game.” Voyskunsky

grabbed her glass of synthale, moved as if to take a sip, then realized it was

empty and put it back down.

“Yeah, yeah, gloat all you want. You know I was the captain of the Academy team

my junior and senior years? In fact, all four years I was there—”

“You won two out of four Federation championships,” Voyskunsky said in a

singsong tone. “You’ve only told me three times a day every day since I beat you

the first time. That was, in case you’ve forgotten, eight months ago, and I’ve

beaten you—”

“Regularly ever since,” DeSoto said, taking some small pleasure in being the

interrupter this time, “I know, I know.” He ran a hand through his rapidly

thinning brown hair. I’m going to be as bald as old Jean-Luc soon, he thought,

referring to his old friend Captain Picard of the Enterprise. Sooner if I keep

playing Dina.

DeSoto’s mother, Captain Mirabelle Brodeur, had been an amateur champion player

of the ancient Earth game of Go, which dated back at least three thousand years.

Originated in China, where it was called Wei Chi, the game was deceptively

simple. One player got one hundred and eighty-one black stones and went first,

the other got one hundred and eighty white ones and went second. The board was a

grid of nineteen horizontal lines and nineteen vertical lines. Each player took

turns placing a stone on an intersection, with the object being to secure the

most territory. It was the precursor to many a tabletop war and strategy game,

but where they had come and gone—and in some cases improved, particularly with

the development of holographic technology—Go remained a vital and popular game.

It also had remained all but unchanged over the millennia.

Brodeur’s husband, Dr. Hiram DeSoto, a civilian physician, had never evinced any

interest in the game, but their son did. By the time Robert DeSoto reached his

teen years, he had become renowned—first at his local school, later at the

Academy—as a championship-caliber player.

He couldn’t get anyone on the Hood to play against him, though. The problem with

being a such a good player, of course, was that you were far superior to most of

those around you. This, along with the added awkwardness most had at the idea of

playing against their commanding officer, left him with either the deeply

unsatisfying notion of playing the ship’s computer, or not playing.

Then Dina Voyskunsky transferred to the Hood from the Excalibur, and one day saw

DeSoto playing against the computer. She asked what he was doing; he told her;

she was intrigued, never having heard of the game; and he proceeded to take her

under his wing as his mother had done with him.

A year later, he was deeply regretting that decision. Voyskunsky had gone from a

nine-stone handicap to playing even with him in six months, and now she was

beating him with alarming regularity.

Then he saw it. There was indeed a possibility. It would require both of them to

play brilliantly, and would probably still wind up with him on the losing end.

However, he had to give it a shot. He had to do something to salvage the

tattered threads of his dignity.

As he prepared to place one of his stones, he was interrupted by the beep of the

communication system. “Bridge to Captain DeSoto.”

It was the voice of Lieutenant Manolet Dayrit, the Hood’ 'ssecurity chief and

current duty officer on the bridge. “Go ahead, Manolet,” DeSoto said after

tapping his combadge.

“Sir, you need to come up here. We’re receiving a distress signal from the

U.S.S. Voyager.”

DeSoto frowned, then recalled a recent fleet memo about the newest Intrepid

-class ship, which was supposed to incorporate bioneural circuitry that would

facilitate navigation through the Badlands. With the growing Maquis problem—and

with the Maquis increasingly making use of the plasma-storm-filled Badlands as a

hiding place—Starfleet had decided to create a ship that could handle that

navigation hazard more easily.

“We’ll be right up,” the captain said, standing. “DeSoto out.”

Voyskunsky had once again employed her too-wide smile. “So what’s your move?”

“We’ll finish this later. Right now I’m more worried about that distress

signal.”

As they exited the lounge, Voyskunsky asked, “Why?” As they headed toward the

turbolift, Voyskunsky reached to the back of her head to tie her long brown hair

back into a ponytail. She wore it loose only off duty.

“Because Voyager’ 'ssupposed to be on her shakedown cruise. I don’t know where

that was supposed to be offhand, but I doubt it was this far out.”

As they entered the turbolift, Voyskunsky said, “So it could be a very clumsily

laid trap.”

DeSoto nodded. “Bridge.” The turbolift started to accelerate upward. “Or they

really could be out here near the Cardassian border, in which case, I’d say the

shakedown cruise went horribly wrong.”

Dayrit had already moved from the command chair to the tactical station behind

it when DeSoto and Voyskunsky entered the Hood’ 'ssmall bridge. Ensign José

Kojima stood at the operations console next to Dayrit, also right behind the

captain, with Lieutenant Baifang Hsu at the conn at the bridge’s fore. While

DeSoto moved to the captain’s chair, Voyskunsky stood between Dayrit and Kojima.

“Report.”

“The distress call does seem to be from Voyager, sir—the hailing language

matches. We can be there in ten minutes at warp nine. But I checked— Voyager

should be in Sector 001 on its shakedown cruise. The location of the distress

call is only about an eighth of a light-year from the DMZ.”

Voyskunsky looked down at DeSoto. “We have to check it out, Captain.”

DeSoto nodded. “Agreed. Baifang, set course for that distress call, warp nine.”

The young woman’s long-fingered hands played across the conn. “Course plotted

and laid in, sir.”

“Hit it. José, the nanosecond we’re in sensor range, I want a full scan on

whatever’s broadcasting that signal. Manolet, give me long-range—make sure there

aren’t any Maquis or Cardassian surprises waiting for us.”

A pair of “Aye, sir’s” came from behind him.

Ten uncomfortable minutes later, Hsu said, “Coming out of warp, sir.”

Voyskunsky peered over Kojima’s shoulder. “Reading the ship’s ID beacon. It and

the hull configuration match with NCC-74656, U.S.S. Voyager.” She turned to

Dayrit. “Anything on long-range?”

Dayrit shook his head—an odd sight, as the Filipino security chief had no

discernible neck, so his head seemed to swivel directly on his shoulders.

“There’s some activity in the DMZ, but it all seems to be interplanetary—and

it’s all civilian.”

“As it should be,” Voyskunsky said. “After all, ‘demilitarized’ means ‘no

military.’”

Kojima muttered, “And don’t think the Maquis don’t love that.”

Turning back to the ops officer, Voyskunsky asked, “What was that, Ensign?”

“Nothing important, sir,” Kojima said, straightening. “I just—well, if they

allowed military ships in the DMZ, the Maquis might not be so much of a

problem.”

Snorting, Dayrit said, “No, instead we’d have Starfleet and Central Command

ships baring their teeth at each other. Three minutes later, we have another

Cardassian War on our hands.” Something on the tactical console then caught

Dayrit’s attention. “Incoming call from Voyager —it’s Captain Janeway.”

Good, DeSoto thought. It was looking more and more like this call was

legitimate.

“In visual range,” Hsu announced from the conn.

“Put it on the viewer,” DeSoto said.

DeSoto watched as the general vista of space was replaced with a side view of

the U.S.S. Voyager. The ship had a more angular saucer section that made it more

aerodynamic. Where that was an unnecessary consideration for most starships, the

Intrepid -class ships like Voyager were designed to be able to land on a

planet’s surface. DeSoto appreciated the alteration to the standard design,

though he couldn’t help but think that it made the ship look like a garden

spade.

Right now, the nacelles were dimmed, and only about half the ship’s running

lights were operational. If this wasn’t a true distress call, they were

certainly making a good show of it.

Standing up, DeSoto said, “Let’s answer the hail, Manolet. Put Captain Janeway

onscreen.”

The view of Voyager was replaced with that of her bridge. DeSoto smiled at the

sight of the other ship’s much roomier control center. When his former first

officer Will Riker had transferred to the Enterprise to be Picard’s first

officer over seven years earlier, DeSoto had joked that he was going to a luxury

liner. While Voyager wasn’t as grandiose as the Galaxy -class monster that

Jean-Luc and Will served on, it still put the Hood to shame in its roominess.

You could run laps on that bridge and not disturb a single duty officer, he

thought with a smile.

In the center seat was a woman with features that managed to be both hard and

soft, her brown hair tied into a bun at the back of her head.

“This is Captain Robert DeSoto of the U.S.S. Hood.”

“Captain Kathryn Janeway of what’s left of the Voyager ,” the woman said dryly.

“Thanks for coming so quickly, Captain.”

“You’re a little far from home, aren’t you?” he said with a smile.

“No, we’re a lot far from home. The whole point of a shakedown cruise is to

shake the ship and see what falls down. In our case, it fell right on our

heads.”

“What happened?”

“Something’s wrong with the new bioneural gel packs. First they supercharged the

engines so much that our dash to Alpha Centauri at warp one became a crazed

sprint to the Cardassian border at warp nine-point-nine-eight.”

DeSoto whistled in appreciation mixed with horror.

“Now we’re at ten percent power. We’d appreciate a boost, if you’d be so kind,

Captain.”

Voyskunsky said, “Bridge to engineering. Prepare to set up a power transfer

between Hood and Voyager.”

“On it, Commander,” Lieutenant Czierniewski, the Hood’ 'schief engineer, said.

Janeway smiled. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Happy to be of help.”

“I’m afraid there’s something else. My security chief discovered something

before sensors went down. We need to verify it with you.”

DeSoto shrugged. “Sure.”

A tall, mahogany-skinned Vulcan lieutenant stepped forward from the tactical

station at the aft of the bridge and addressed the screen. “If you would please

direct your sensors at coordinates 318 mark 15.”

“Scanning,” Dayrit said, manipulating his console. His dark eyes then went wide.

“What the hell—?”

“What is it, Manolet?” Voyskunsky asked.

“Weird energy reading is what it is. It’s focused on one of the ships in the

DMZ—hell, it’s changing course. Heading is 211 mark 9, heading away from us.

Can’t get a solid fix on the ship.” His dark face contorted into a grimace.

“Damn, they changed course again.”

Kojima spoke up. “Sir, I’ve determined what the energy reading is. It relates to

General Order 16.”

DeSoto turned around to look at Kojima. “Sixteen?”

“That confirms my suspicions,” the Vulcan said. “There is a ship in the

Demilitarized Zone that is carrying one of the Malkus Artifacts from the Zalkat

Union. Standard procedure would be to pursue that ship and confiscate the

artifact.”

Turning back to the screen, DeSoto said, “Yeah, well, standard procedure is also

that Starfleet vessels don’t enter the DMZ—or abandon ships in distress that

they’re in the middle of helping.” He sat back down in the command chair.

“Manolet, try to track that ship as best you can until it goes off sensors.”

“It’s already changed course four times, Captain.”

“Understood. Keep trying anyhow.” He looked at the viewscreen. “Captain, I’m

familiar with what General Order 16 says but not why it says it. Since your

security chief seems to know more about it, I suggest you beam over here so we

can figure out the best way to retrieve it.”

“I already have some thoughts about that, actually.”

DeSoto smiled. “I’m sure. Meantime, I’ll send a damage control team over to help

your engineer out.”

“Mr. Honigsberg will welcome the help.” Janeway returned the smile. “We’ll be

ready to beam over in fifteen minutes. Janeway out.”

Voyskunsky was checking one of the aft consoles. “Power transfer beam is

active—reading stable. Power is increasing to Voyager.”

Nodding, DeSoto got up. “Great. C’mon, Dina, let’s greet our guests. You have

the conn, Manolet. Send all our sensor telemetry to Admiral Nechayev at

Starfleet with a note that more will be forthcoming.”

Dayrit nodded, which looked on him like his head was about to tumble forward and

fall off.

As he walked toward the turbolift, DeSoto looked forward at Hsu. “Baifang, once

the ship goes off sensors, project a course—take all their course corrections

into account. If I’m going to talk Nechayev into letting us fly free in the DMZ,

I’m going to need to know I have a course to follow.”

Hsu nodded. “Aye, sir.”

Voyskunsky’s too-wide smile made a return as they entered the turbolift. “You’re

going to convince the Ice Queen to let you hop the fence?”

DeSoto grinned. “That’s the plan.”

 

“I guess the first question before us,” DeSoto said as he looked around the

table in the briefing room, “is what, exactly, are the Malkus Artifacts, and why

is there a Starfleet General Order regarding them?”

In addition to himself and Voyskunsky, three officers from Voyager had come over

for the briefing: Captain Janeway; her first officer, Lieutenant Commander

Cavit; and the Vulcan security chief, Lieutenant Tuvok.

Janeway cut an impressive figure. She had what DeSoto had always thought of as

the “captain’s trick”—appearing to be the tallest person in the room even when

he or she wasn’t. DeSoto, who barely cleared a meter and a quarter, had never

mastered the trick, which was why he had always cultivated a more relaxed style

of command. People like Janeway or Picard could lead by their presence. Bob

DeSoto knew he didn’t have that, so he led his people in other ways.

Aaron Cavit had the look of a seasoned officer, though DeSoto found his round

face almost as impossible to read as Tuvok’s—from whom he at least expected it.

DeSoto did, however, notice Cavit giving Voyskunsky an odd look as he entered.

If DeSoto’s first officer had any reaction to that look, she hid it well.

Tuvok, who was holding a padd, answered the captain’s opening question. “There

are, in fact, four Malkus Artifacts, and they date back to the heyday of the

Zalkat Union—an interplanetary governmental body that encompassed much of what

is now known as the Alpha Quadrant approximately ninety millennia ago. For a

period of indeterminate length, the Union was ruled by a tyrant colloquially

known as ‘Malkus the Mighty.’ Two hundred and twenty years ago, an Earth ship

discovered what is believed to be the homeworld of the Union on Beta Aurigae

VII.”

Voyskunsky snapped her fingers. “That’s where I know the name. We used to

vacation on Aurigae when I was a girl. We visited the museum there.” She smiled.

“I haven’t been back there in years, though. As I recall, the ruins and

artifacts found there were quite impressive.”

“Indeed,” Tuvok said, betraying only the slightest irritation at the

interruption. He touched the display on his padd, and an image appeared on the

briefing-room screen. It was a human woman in an old-style Earth space-service

uniform and a Vulcan woman in a uniform that DeSoto didn’t recognize. They were

both wearing some kind of gloves and holding small objects that looked like

old-fashioned optical chips. “Most telling was a chronicle that the officers of

the Earth ship, aided by a Vulcan observer, were able to translate. It indicated

that Malkus was able to enforce his rule with the aid of four devices.”

DeSoto nodded. “The so-called Malkus Artifacts.”

“Yes, Captain.” Tuvok changed the display to one that showed a Vulcan Starfleet

officer in a blue uniform holding a black box. The picture had to be at least a

century old, based on the uniform, and after a moment DeSoto realized with

surprise that he was looking at Ambassador Spock from his days serving in

Starfleet. “Though all the artifacts look alike, each serves a particular

function. One can exert telepathic control; one can manipulate weather patterns;

one emits a beam of force; and one imparts a deadly disease. After Malkus was

overthrown, the artifacts were removed from the Zalkatian homeworld and placed

on distant worlds throughout the quadrant.”

Janeway, who had been leaning forward in her chair, smirked. “But they didn’t

say which worlds, right?”

“No. It was feared that if any record was made of the artifacts’ destination,

someone of a less than scrupulous nature would seek them out and try to

re-create Malkus’s tyranny.”

“Why not simply destroy them?” Janeway asked.

Tuvok’s eyebrow shot up in that manner common to many Vulcans. “That was

attempted, but the artifacts have proven resistant to brute force. They also

give off a distinctive energy signature, which was encoded in the chronicles.”

“I don’t understand,” Voyskunsky said. “If they wanted to hide them, why make

them easy to find?”

“It’s not a question of being easy to find,” Cavit said with a level of

annoyance out of proportion to Voyskunsky’s question, “it’s a question of

knowing what you find if you stumble across it.”

“Precisely,” Tuvok said. “Thus far, two of the artifacts have been located. The

first, as you can see from this picture, was found by the U.S.S. Enterprise and

the U.S.S. Constellation during a mission to Alpha Proxima II to aid in curing a

plague that had broken out on the surface.”

“Caused by the artifact?” DeSoto asked.

“Yes.” Tuvok changed the image again, this time to a starship shuttlebay. Once

again a Starfleet officer held a black box, but this time the uniform was

contemporary. And once again DeSoto recognized the figure: Benjamin Sisko, the

commander of Station Deep Space 9. “The next was found four-point-five months

ago on one of Bajor’s moons by a terrorist known as Orta. This was the artifact

that emits a beam of force. Orta was captured on the Runabout Rio Grande and

incarcerated on the U.S.S. Odyssey. Both artifacts are presently being studied

at the Rector Institute on Earth.”

Cavit leaned back. “And it looks like the Maquis have found the third artifact.

God help us if it’s the mind controller, but even the weather controller would

be devastating in their hands.”

“There is one other concern.” Tuvok changed the display once again, this time

showing several identical sensor readings. Two were obviously from older

Starfleet sensors, based on the style of the displays; the other four were

modern starship displays. “These are the sensor readings taken of the artifacts.

The first two are from the Constellation and the Enterprise a century ago, the

second two from the Odyssey and the Rio Grande four-point-five months ago, the

latter two the ones just taken from Voyager and the Hood. Notice the slight

difference.”

DeSoto squinted and realized that there was a slight variation in the energy

pattern given off by the artifact in the DMZ. “That difference is pretty

negligible.”

“Indeed it would be, but for the fact that, according to the chronicle, the

energy signatures should be precisely the same.”

“And the signatures of the first two artifacts were precisely the same,” Janeway

added. “I doubt it’s anything that significant, though.”

“Perhaps not, but I thought it worth pointing out,” Tuvok said archly.

Janeway smiled affectionately. “Of course you did.”

DeSoto also smiled. Obviously these two have served together a long time.

“We need to go in,” Voyskunsky said. “General Order 16 is pretty clear: we have

to confiscate the artifact. Even if there wasn’t such an order, Aaron’s right—we

have to keep that thing out of Maquis hands.”

“An aggressive charge across the DMZ would be a mistake,” Janeway said. “For one

thing, it would alert the Maquis that we’re onto them. Besides, you know full

well that the Cardassians won’t allow a Starfleet vessel to go in without an

equivalent Central Command presence.”

DeSoto sighed. “And that way lies madness.”

“Definitely.”

“What do you suggest, Captain?”

Janeway smiled. “I’m glad you asked. Tuvok?”

Tuvok changed the image on the screen once again. This time it was yet another

familiar Starfleet face, though he wasn’t wearing a Starfleet uniform. In fact,

legend had it that he’d disintegrated his uniform with a phaser.

“Cal Hudson?” DeSoto asked, bemused. “What does he have to do with this?”

“Our first mission, once the shakedown is complete,” Janeway said, “is to go

into the Badlands to try to root out some of the terrorists that are hiding out

in there—especially the Starfleet defectors like Hudson.”

Tuvok steepled his fingers together. “Captain Janeway, Lieutenant Commander

Cavit, and I have been formulating a plan whereby I would infiltrate the Maquis.

Starfleet Intelligence has been able to trace Lieutenant Commander Hudson’s

movements, and we’re reasonably sure that we can locate his cell. From there, I

should be able to join them and gather intelligence about the organization.”

Cavit added with a small smile, “We were kind of hoping to do this once Voyager

was fully operational, so we’d be available to pull him out if need be, but with

this…”

“The only alteration to Mr. Tuvok’s mission would be that he would also be

tasked with finding the Malkus Artifact and working to get it out of Maquis

hands,” Janeway said.

“And the only change in plan,” Cavit added, “is to use the Hood instead of the

Voyager as the backup ship, since we’re out of action.”

DeSoto tapped his finger on the desk. He certainly didn’t have any problems with

the idea in theory—he’d need to look at the plan the three of them had

concocted, of course—but it would have been preferable for Tuvok’s own ship to

keep an eye on things.

“Dayrit to DeSoto.”

The captain looked up. “Go ahead.”

“Sir, Lieutenants Czierniewski and Honigsberg are requesting permission to beam

aboard. They have a report they want to give you regarding Voyager.”

“Send them down here, Manolet.”

Within minutes, the short, rotund form of Tara Czierniewski entered, joined by

the tall, lithe form of a human in a lieutenant’s uniform—presumably Alexander

Honigsberg, Voyager’ 'schief engineer. “Report,” DeSoto said.

Honigsberg tossed a padd onto the table. “It’s broken.”

Janeway blinked. “Can you be a touch more specific, Mr. Honigsberg?”

“Oh, I’m sure I could spend half an hour breaking down all the specifics in a

way that would sound really complicated, but it’s all in the report,” Honigsberg

said, pointing at the padd. “And what it boils down to is that it’s broken.”

The smile Janeway hit Honigsberg with was as scary a sight as DeSoto had ever

seen. “Try me, Lieutenant. I’ve used the occasional two-syllable word in my

time. I think I can handle it.”

Letting out a long breath, Honigsberg closed his eyes. Then he reopened them and

spoke. “The connections between the gel packs and the other systems are

misreading the inputs. It’s transferring power at a greatly accelerated rate,

and we can’t slow it down. It’s not just improving response time like it’s

supposed to, it’s increasing everything. And it’s not a software problem. The

only way to fix this is to go back to Mars and replace every single damn

gel-pack unit—and every single gel pack, since the current ones are all burned

out.”

The smile became a sweet one, but no less scary for that. “See, Mr. Honigsberg,

was that so hard?”

“How much time will we need at Utopia Planitia?” Cavit asked.

“We’re talking weeks, Commander, at least. This is a major design flaw.”

Czierniewski added, “But not unusual when you’re playing with new toys. I mean

hey, this is why you have shakedown cruises.”

Cavit turned to DeSoto. “All the more reason why we need your help here,

Captain.”

Turning to his first officer, DeSoto asked, “Any objections, Commander?”

“Assuming the plan is sound, no. Aaron’s plans do tend to work, though, so I’m

pretty sanguine.” She smiled. Cavit grimaced. “I still think we’d be better off

going in full force, but sometimes the sneaky approach is better.”

Remembering their latest Go game, DeSoto silently agreed, and turned back to

Janeway. “All right, then, let’s see what you’ve got. If we both back it up, I’m

sure we can sell the changes in the plan to Nechayev.”

Chapter Three

HAVING FINALLY CONVINCED DE SOTO to resign the Go game—and gaining great

satisfaction out of it, especially since she was able to counter his last-ditch

maneuver—Dina Voyskunsky left the lounge and headed to the bridge while the

captain headed for bed. Just as she arrived for the overnight shift, a

communication came in from Voyager. Taking it in the captain’s ready room, she

was greeted by the smiling face of Lieutenant Honigsberg.

“Commander, it looks like we’re as shipshape as we’re going to be. We’re back up

to a hundred percent. I figure we’ll only be at optimum power consumption for

about six hours or so, but that’s enough to get us home so we can beat this

puppy into shape.”

Voyskunsky returned the smile, remembering the glee of problem-solving from her

own days as an engineer. “Looking forward to it, eh?”

“Nah, not so much,” Honigsberg said with a slight tilt to his head. “I want to

get out into the field with this beast. I’m greatly looking forward to spending

many years with these engines.”

Chuckling, Voyskunsky said, “I’ll have Czierniewski cut the power transfer,

then.”

“Fine. Thank her and her team for me, will you? The extra hands really helped.

Oh, and Mr. Cavit wanted to talk to you.”

“Put him on,” Voyskunsky said with a smile, thinking, I doubt that “wanted” is

the right word to use. “Felt it necessary,” maybe.

The image switched from the happy face of a chief engineer to the dour face of a

first officer. “You know,” she said without preamble, “you didn’t used to always

look grumpy all the time.”

Cavit closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them. “I was really

hoping DeSoto would be on duty.”

“Nope, he’s asleep,” Voyskunsky said, reveling in his discomfort. “Went to bed

after I whupped him at Go again.”

Blinking, Cavit said, “I couldn’t have heard that right.”

“Heard what?” Voyskunsky blinked coquettishly, feigning innocence.

“It sounded like you said you beat Captain DeSoto at Go.”

“That’s because it’s what I said.” Voyskunsky got up and went over to the

replicator in the ready room. If she was going to have a lengthy one-on-one talk

with Aaron Cavit, she needed fortification. “Orange blossom tea, hot,” she

instructed the computer.

“When did you learn how to play well enough to beat him?”

“Captain taught me himself,” she said, removing the tea from the replicator

dispenser. The steam carried the lovely scent of oranges to her nose, relaxing

her almost instantly. She retook the desk chair and faced Cavit. He looked more

shocked than he had that time on Risa. Now, that was a shore leave, she thought

with fond remembrance.

He snorted in a long-suffering manner. “Doing your usual making friends and

influencing people, I see.”

“Was there a point to this call, Aaron, or did you just feel like making up for

lost time by cramming twelve years of verbal abuse into five minutes?” She took

a sip of her tea. It was too bitter again. She made a mental note to talk to

Czierniewski about it.

Cavit looked like he was about to say one thing; then he stopped himself, to

Voyskunsky’s annoyance. “I wanted to tell you that Mr. Tuvok is ready to beam

over. Have you taken care of everything on your end?”

She’d been hoping to get a proper response out of him, but he was reverting back

to professional mode. “I’ve updated all the records—as far as anybody’s

concerned, Tuvok’s been serving on the Hood for three months and his family

moved to Amniphon three years ago. I even got the authorities on Vulcan to

change his wife and kids’ records around so they’re listed as having died on

Amniphon last month, though I doubt the Maquis would be able to dig that deep.”

She smiled, then decided to take another shot. “I did tell you that I’d take

care of it. You doubting my word now?”

“No, I just—” He sighed. “Never mind. What was that crack about in the meeting,

anyhow? About my plans ‘tending’to work?”

“They always did in my experience.” She managed to keep her face straight. “When

can we expect Tuvok?”

“At 0100 hours. Look, you don’t have to make snide comments in meetings. If you

want to—”

Voyskunsky rolled her eyes. This was not what she was hoping for. She wasn’t

sure what to expect after twelve years, honestly, but this whining certainly

wasn’t it. “Enough of this. Look, Aaron, I wasn’t going to bring a damn thing

up. I didn’t say anything in that meeting that was out of line with my duty as

first officer of the Hood. Anything you choose to interpret is, frankly, your

problem. Now, is there anything else?”

“I—” Cavit sighed. His dark eyes looked almost pleading, but she didn’t want

pleading, dammit, she wanted contrition. Or at least an emotional response of

some kind that wasn’t snarky. “No, Commander, nothing else. We’ll be getting

under way shortly after Mr. Tuvok reports to you.”

“Fine. And good luck.”

“Thank you.” Cavit sounded like he wanted to say something else.

She decided to go for broke. “Look, Aaron, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve got a

lot of gall copping an attitude when you were the one who never showed on

Pacifica. Now unless there’s anything else, I actually have work to do over

here.”

“No, Commander,” he said tightly, “there’s nothing else. Voyager out.”

He cut the connection.

Damn, damn, damn, she thought. Could’ve handled that more smoothly. She started

to sip her tea, then thought better of it.

She tapped her combadge as she exited the ready room, leaving the tea behind.

“Voyskunsky to engineering. Cut the power transfer to Voyager.” To the young

night-shift ensign at conn, she said, “Set course for the Cardassian border.

We’ll implement at warp three once Lieutenant Tuvok reports on board.”

“Aye, sir.”

The viewscreen held the image of Voyager, a gray line seeming to connect it to a

point just under the screen: the power transfer. Then the line blinked out of

existence. All of the Intrepid -class ship’s running lights were going at full

bore; the nacelles glowed with their full blue luminescence. From what

Honigsberg had said, that was a temporary condition, but at least they should be

able to get back to Utopia Planitia and fix whatever was wrong.

“Transporter room to bridge. Lieutenant Tuvok and all his personal effects have

arrived safely, Commander.”

Voyskunsky smiled. “Hit it, Ensign.”

 

The following morning, Captain DeSoto found his first officer in the main

shuttlebay along with Lieutenant Tuvok. The former was holding a tricorder, the

latter a phaser rifle, and both were standing near the Shuttlecraft Manhattan.

The shuttle had seen better days: phaser scars marred several parts of the hull.

As the captain entered, Voyskunsky said, “Now fourteen centimeters up and six

centimeters to the right.”

Tuvok fired the phaser at the hull of the Manhattan without bothering to take

any measurements. DeSoto had no doubt that the resultant phaser blast was right

where Voyskunsky instructed it to be in relation to another phaser scar.

“How goes the deception?” DeSoto asked.

“Almost finished,” Voyskunsky said. “Next one should be across the port bow, say

a forty-five-degree angle.”

Tuvok turned to look at the lieutenant commander. “That would not be

consistent.”

“I beg your pardon?”

DeSoto smiled. “Let me guess, Mr. Tuvok—you’re about to point out that the next

logical phaser blast would be across the starboard bow, as that would be the

standard Starfleet tactical procedure when firing on a small vessel taking a

standard evasive course, yes?”

“That is correct. If we wish the Maquis to believe that I stole this shuttle

from the Hood—”

“Then the phaser scarring should match the pattern that we’d follow. Not

everything in the field is by the book. Commander Voyskunsky, Lieutenant Dayrit,

and I sometimes improvise these things. Besides, we’d know that you, logical

person that you are, would follow a textbook evasive course.”

“And we’re the kind of people who like to throw people off by reading the book

backward,” Voyskunsky added with a smile.

“The Maquis would not necessarily be aware of your—proclivity for

improvisation.” Tuvok hesitated briefly, and DeSoto suspected the Vulcan was

searching for an appropriately diplomatic way of putting it.

Voyskunsky nodded. “Maybe. And it’s true, there are no known Starfleet defectors

in the Maquis who served on this ship. A testament, I’m sure, to our fearless

leader’s ability to inspire loyalty,” she said with a nod to DeSoto.

“If you’re trying to suck up after last night’s game, Commander, it won’t work,”

DeSoto said with a chuckle.

“Noted, Captain.” Her face growing more serious, Voyskunsky continued. “On the

other hand, for all we know they have informants in Starfleet, and even here on

the Hood —or at the very least, someone I may have served with on the Excalibur

or that Manolet served with on the Discovery. I’d rather we erred on the side of

personal consistency.”

“And if Lieutenant Commander Hudson or one of the other Maquis examine the

Manhattan and question this anomaly?”

DeSoto shrugged. “Then you tell them the truth. Adds versimilitude to an

otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative.”

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. “Let us hope that, unlike Pooh-Bah’s, my narrative is

believed.”