Star Traks: The Vexed Generation was created by Anthony Butler.  It's
based on Alan Decker's Star Traks, which in turn is based on Star Trek,
created by Gene Roddenberry.  Paramount and Viacom, their dark 
masters, own everything.  We certainly don't want to ruffle their feathers.
(The Prologue can also be seen on the Alternate Star Traks page under
the title "Penguins on the Brain," by Peter Macready.  I assimilated it.)

Copyright 1999.  All rights, such as they are, are reserved.

If you're offended by mildly disturbing language, situations, and the utter 
disregard of some of Star Trek's greatest premises, better hit the "Back" 
button on your browser right now.  If not, welcome aboard!



STAR TRAKS: THE VEXED GENERATION   

"Birds of a Feather"                                
                                
BY ANTHONY BUTLER
(PROLOGUE BY PETER MACREADY)




PROLOGUE





USS SECONDPRIZE
FIVE YEARS AGO

     Captain Alexander Rydell stared blankly at the star-filled
viewscreen before him.  He would swear that the image hadn't
changed for the last twenty days.  He could feel his eyelids
gaining weight as he struggled to stay awake.  His bridge shift
didn't end for another four hours, and he was seriously starting
to doubt that he'd still be conscious at the end of it.
     From her position at the helm console, Ensign Kristen
Larkin observed her colleagues.  She did not feel the boredom
that the monotony of their mission was causing in the others, but
she could definitely see its effects.  A small line of drool was
falling from Captain Rydell's lower lip to the floor.  A sudden
thud drew her attention to Ensign Andrea Sullivan.  She was
slumped over her console, face down, and beginning to snore
softly.  At the rear of the bridge, Lieutenant Commander Jaroch was
continuing the riveting game of Go Fish that he'd been playing
with the ship's computer for the last week and a half.  As she
continued her sweep of the bridge, Larkin could see Lieutenant
Lisa Beck's prostrate body on the floor behind the command chair. 
She'd brought a pillow from her quarters and gone right to sleep
when her shift started.  By the turbolift, a small penguin was
observing the scene with what looked to Larkin like a look of
amusement.  She ran a quick diagnostic of her systems to make sure
that her optical sensors were not malfunctioning.  Everything was
working fine.  There was a penguin on the bridge.  She stared at
the small bird as it waddled toward Beck.  Suddenly, it turned
toward Larkin who continued to stare at it.  A look of disbelief
spread across its face.  The two gazed at each other for about two
minutes.  Finally, the penguin waved its flipper at her.  She
returned the gesture.
     A bit of movement to his left dragged Captain Rydell out of
oblivion long enough for him to see what was going on.  His
helmsman was waving to something.  He looked and saw nothing.  
He turned back to Larkin.  She was still waving at empty space. 
Rydell knew that he was going to regret this, but he had to ask
the question anyway.
     "Ensign, what are you doing?"
     "I am waving to the penguin, sir," Larkin replied matter-
of-factly.  Rydell wanted to question her further about this, but
his brain, which was bordering on jello at that moment, decided
that this would require too much effort.  He knew that some defect
in the android's programming had given her a minor obsession with
penguins.  This probably had something to do with that.  Nothing
to worry about.  He'd just ignore it for the moment.
     After he brief conversation with her captain, Ensign Larkin 
turned back to the penguin.  It, however, had disappeared.
     "Captain?"
     "Yes, Larkin," Rydell mumbled.
     "The penguin has disappeared."
     "I'm happy for it, Larkin."  He was starting to sink lower
and lower in his chair.  Seconds later, the penguin reappeared on
the tactical console behind his command chair, and this time, it
brought four of its friends.
     "The penguins have returned."
     "Oh joy, where are they now?"
     "Right behind you," Larkin replied as the penguins all
started flapping their flippers at her.  She waved back
hesitantly.  Rydell decided that he didn't want to be a part of
Larkin's hallucinations anymore.  With as close as her penguins
were getting to him, they'd be dropping imaginary bird poop on him
in a minute.
     "Why don't you go back to your quarters, Ensign?" Rydell
suggested.  "You can serve your guests sushi or ice cream or
something."  Larkin suddenly realized something: Captain Rydell
must not be seeing the penguins.  She decided to test her
hypothesis.
     "Captain, do you see the penguins?"  One suddenly appeared
on the floor in front of Rydell's chair and rolled by him on a
tiny pair of roller skates.
     "No, I don't.  Jaroch, do you see any penguins?"
     "No, sir.  Do you have any nines?"
     "Go fish," the computer replied.
     "Do you see any penguins, Beck?" Rydell continued.
     "Unnh...uuuuh...nuuu," Beck mumbled.
     "How about you, Ensign Sullivan?"
     "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ."
     "I'll take that as a no.  Sorry, Larkin, you're the only
one seeing penguins.  Now, just go back to your room and check
your circuitry."
     "I've already run a diagnostic, and all my systems are
functioning normally."
     "I don't care.  There are no penguins here, so something
must be wrong with you."
     "But it was roller skating by you."
     "Go to your room, Ensign," Rydell ordered.
     "Yes, sir," she replied as she walked slowly toward the
turbolift.  A penguin wearing sunglasses and clasping a cigar in
its beak was waiting for her as the doors opened.
     "Wanna lift?" it asked gruffly.
     "I am ignoring you," Larkin replied.  "You are just a
glitch in my programming."
     "Too bad," the penguin commented as it lowered its
sunglasses.  "You're pretty cute for a hunk of metal and wires.'
     "I am constructed from a complex alloy of..."   She stopped
in mid-sentence.  Her audience had disappeared.  Slightly
distressed, Larkin walked the rest of the way back to her
quarters with her eyes closed.  She knocked over two crewman 
and stomped on another's foot breaking three of his toes, but she
didn't see any more penguins.
     After a bit of sleep and some careful thought, Captain
Rydell decided that Ensign Larkin had better have a talk with
Counselor Webber.  Claire didn't usually handle machines, but
Larkin swore that nothing was mechanically wrong with her.  And
if it was mental, Claire was the person to find it.
     The next morning, Ensign Kristen Larkin was in Counselor
Webber's office discussing her visions.
     "And then one was in the turbolift with me, and it talked."
     "What did it say?" Webber asked.
     "It said that I was cute."
     "Ahh.  Now then, Kristen, have you been feeling lonely
lately?"
     "No.  Why?"
     "I just thought that you might be creating these penguins to
fulfill your needs for companionship."
     "That is definitely not the case, Counselor," Larkin
replied.  Suddenly, a line of five penguins appeared and began
dancing around Webber's chair.  "They are here," Larkin
announced.
     "What are they doing?"
     "Forming a conga line, I believe."
     Captain Rydell found Counselor Webber's report about Larkin
very disturbing.  The last thing he needed to deal with was a
crazy android.  He really only had one option.  Larkin was going
to have to be shut down, and Chief Engineer Scott Baird would have
to disassemble and fix her.
     Larkin was more disturbed by this news than Rydell was by
the news of her condition.  Unfortunately, she had to follow his
orders.  She reported to engineering that afternoon, so Commander
Baird could shut her down.  Captain Rydell was waiting there 
with Baird.
     "I'm really sorry about this, Larkin," Rydell said
consolingly.  "I don't want to do this, but I'm trying to look
after your welfare.  This is just like me ordering someone to
report to sickbay."
     "Except for the fact that Dr. Singer doesn't usually take
her patients apart piece by piece," Larkin replied.
     "I promise to be gentle," Baird assured her.
     "Shut her down, Commander," Rydell ordered.
     "I wouldn't do that," a voice commanded.  Rydell and Baird
looked around for its origin.  "Down here," the voice said.  They
looked down to the floor and spotted a penguin staring up at them. 
It disappeared and reappeared an instant later on the work-station
next to them.
     "Uh... Captain," Baird stammered.  "That's a..."
     "Penguin," Rydell finished.
     "Actually, I am a Jernasi," the bird replied.  "Evidently,
our race bears a resemblance to a creature from your homeworld.  I
extend greetings to you from our people."  Rydell quickly got over
his astonishment and switched over into diplomacy mode.
     "And I extend greetings to you on behalf of the United
Federation of Planets."
     "Thank you, Captain Rydell.  As your ensign can tell you, we
have been observing you for the last day.  Then, we scanned your
computer records and decided that we must not be catching you at
your best."
     "That's the truth," Rydell replied.  "But why did you not
want your presence known?"
     "We had never encountered your kind before, and did not know
how you would react to a different culture.  We thought that it
would be best to cloak ourselves so we could observe you before
making contact.  Unfortunately, we did not count on the fact that
your android's vision is far superior to your own.  Much to our
surprise, she was able to detect us."
     "So you had to make us think she was crazy in order to keep
your presence a secret," Baird said.
     "That is correct.  We are sorry that it almost caused her
dismantling."  The Jernasi turned to Larkin.  "We hope that you
can forgive us."
     "I am not capable of anger or holding a grudge," she
replied.  "Consider it forgotten."
     "Thank you.  Now then, Captain, we will decloak our ship,
and then we would like to discuss the possibility of joining your
Federation."
     "Of course," Rydell replied.  "Just follow me up to our
Observation Lounge, and we can talk."  Rydell and the Jernasi left
the room discussing Jernasi cloaking technology and the benefits
of consuming large amounts of raw fish.
     "Well, it looks like you narrowly avoided becoming a pile of
spare parts, Larkin," Baird said as he put away his tools.  "I
just can't believe that a race of intelligent penguins exists."
     "I just hope they do not have any enemies coming to look for
them," Larkin replied.
     "What do you mean?"
     "Do you really want to deal with a race of intelligent polar
bears?"
     "Good point," Commander Baird replied, laughing.                        




CHAPTER ONE





USS EXPLORER
THE PRESENT

Captain's Log,
     Stardate 53542.9.  The Explorer is en route to the Jernas
system to settle a dispute between the Jernasi and the Golath, a
race of highly intelligent polar bears.  The Golath and the
Jernasi have barely tolerated each other for the last several
decades, and lately it seems that negotiations are breaking down
on both sides.  Since the Jernasi are members of the Federation,
we've been asked to step in to offer diplomatic aid.  I have a
feeling some members of the crew will enjoy this mission more 
than others.

     "What do you mean you don't care?" Lt. Commander Chris
Richards asked, leaning over Lt. Commander Larkin's shoulder as her
hands worked at incredible speed, diassembling a faulty warp flux
capacitor.
     "I have moved the penguin-related portion of my program to a
nested buffer, where the files have been compressed and earmarked
for deletion."
     "Deletion?" Richards said, sitting down at his desk, across from 
Larkin.  "That sounds kind of final."
     "They are unnecessary protocols, Commander."
     "Chris."
     "They are unnecessary protocols, Chris.  My data processors
function with point zero three percent more accuracy without
them."
     "Well, that certainly is a marked improvement," Richards
said.  He continued to watch Larkin work on the capacitor.  She
had completely disassembled it in less than ten seconds.  The tiny
piece of machinery was incredibly complex; it would have taken his
engineers all day to fix the faulty component.    
     "Indeed, it is."  Larkin held up a small, diamond-shaped
piece.  "This regenerative pulse modifier is corroded."
     "I'll have to replicate another one," Richards mumbled.
     "Unneccessary," Larkin said, palming the modifier and
squeezing, moving her fingers back and forth over it.  After
several seconds, the android placed the piece on Richards's
desk.  "I am finished."
     "Amazing," Richards said, examining the modifier.  "What
would I do without you?"
     "Without me, the task would have taken seven point four
hours longer."
     "Then it's good we have your abilities, Kristen," Richards
said with a smile, putting the newly repaired piece and moving
around to the front of his desk.  He sat on the edge of the desk,
across from Larkin, and looked down at her.  "Now what on Earth
possessed you to take the penguin protocols out of your
programming?"
     "Your aliteration impresses me, Commander."
     "Chris."
     "Your aliteration impresses me, Chris," Larkin corrected. 
"As I said before, there is no need for them."
     "But something must have inspired you to do it..."
     "Indeed, Counselor Peterman suggested it, during a
counseling session I had with her on Stardate 53421.6."
     "I knew she had something to do with this," Richards
scowled.  "Listen, Kristen, those protocols may have taken up
extra space in your memory core, but they were part of you...an
essential component to your personality."
     "I do not see how."
     Richards folded his arms and looked up at the ceiling.  He
sighed.  "Think of it this way, Kristen.  Do you know how I'm
always going on about art?  Sketching, color, contrast, hue?  That
kind of thing?"
     "I do.  It occupies substantial time."
     "Well, it might, but would I be me without that part of my
personality?"
     "Yes."
     "No, I wouldn't.  Don't you see, when it comes to the human
mind, there isn't anything in there that isn't important.  It all
makes up what we are, who we are!"
     "I am not human."
     "That doesn't matter...you have a personality, as sure as
you have arms and legs.  You have subroutines and algorithms that
define the way you act.  Heck, I should know.  I wrote them!"
     Larkin considered this.  "True.  What is your point?"
     "The point is, the person you are is the sum total of what's
in that database."  Richards knocked on Larkin's head for
effect.  She rolled her eyes up toward his outstretched hand and
regarded it, with what seemed to be skepticism.
     "I concede that point to you, Commander.  I will return the
aforementioned protocols to my primary database immediately."
     "Glad to hear it," Richards said, slapping his legs and
standing up.  He glanced at the chronometer.  "Well, it's about
time we called it a day.  You can finish repairing that flux
capacitor tomorrow."
     "Very well."  Larkin stood up.  "Do you wish for me to watch
you eat dinner now?"
     "Actually..." Richards smiled.  "I kind of have a date
tonight."
     Larkin raised her eyebrow.  "Indeed.  May I ask with
whom?"
     "Ensign Madera."
     "Accessing.  Ensign Susan Madera.  Federation
Psychological Profile 0079898-B.  She is afraid of Venemar 
spike bats and enjoys golfing.  Her favorite color is rouge.  
Allergies include..."
     Richards placed a hand over Larkin's mouth.  "That's all
right, Kristen.  I want to date her, not dissect her."
     "As you wish," Larkin conceded.  "At any rate, I hope you
have an enjoyable date.  It is apparent that you require someone
to occupy your time after the cooling of your relationship with
Dr. Browning."
     "That I do, Kristen," Richards said as he hurried out of
Engineering.  "That I do."


     "So after flunking art school, I applied to the academy, and
can you believe it?  I got accepted!" Lt. Commander Richards
said, eating another spoonful of Circassian Cheesecake.  "The
rest, as they say, is history."
     "Hmm," Ensign Madera said, poking at her dessert.  "That's
really interesting.  I applied to Starfleet so I could play harp
for the admiralty and the Federation President.  Then I got stuck
on the Aerostar for some reason."
     "No one ever explained why?" Richards asked, arching an
eyebrow.
     Madera shrugged.  "It could be because I got in a fight
with the concert master.  She said I had chubby legs."
     "Well, that's simply not true!" Richards said, glancing
under the table.  "You have wonderful legs."
     "Really?"  Madera grinned.  "Thank you."
     "As a matter of fact..."  Richards leaned forward, looked
over his shoulder, then whispered.  "I would love to paint you."
     "Me?  Really?"  Madera replied, obviously flattered.
     "Sure.  Beauty like yours should be captured forever."
     Madera leaned forward and kissed Richards on the cheek. 
"That is SO sweet, Mr. Richards."
     "You can call me Chris," Richards said idly, glancing over
Madera's shoulder.  In walked Dr. Browning and Dr. Delgano, 
the visiting internal specialist, still in their labcoats.  Amara rushed 
over and escorted them to a booth.  "What the hell are they doing 
here?"
     Madera glanced over her shoulder.  "Who?"   
     "Umm..." Richards said, pointing in a randomly chosen
direction.  "Uh, them."
     "Mr. and Mrs. Baxter?  Captain Baxter's parents?" Madera
said, glancing at the older couple.  Harlan stared at his plate,
eating quietly, while Lucille talked, gesturing wildly.  "Why
shouldn't they be here?"
     "Umm...I don't know.  Because they're living in sin?" 
Richards was sinking deeper.
     "They've been married for like forty years!" 
     "Still, that's no reason for them to flaunt their urges in
public."
     "What urges?"
     "Never mind.  How's the cheesecake?"
     Madera smiled, popped a cherry into her mouth.  "Delicious,
Christopher."
     "Chris.  Not Christopher."  Richards glared at Browning and
Delgano as they ordered, laughing over some amusing item on the
menu.
     "Why not Christopher?  I think it's a beautiful name!"
     "It brings back some painful memories.  Because...uh, my
parents used to call me that."
     "And did they live in sin too?"
     "Yes," Richards said quickly, getting up and stretching. 
"Well, that certainly was delicious.  We'll have to do this again
sometime."
     "Uh-huh," Madera said, pushing out of her chair.  "Care to
come back to my quarters for a little nightcap?"
     Richards shook his head.  "No thanks.  It's getting late. 
I should be getting to bed."
     "It's only 1900 hours!"
     "Well," Richards said, taking Madera's arm.  "The early
bird gets the worm!"
     "Right.  So when do you want to paint me?"
     "I'll get back to you on that."  Richards led Madera out
of the Constellation Cafe and down the corridor to the nearby
turbolift, pressing the call button.  When the doors opened, he
gestured.  "After you!"
     Madera stepped in, and Richards paused at the doorway. 
"Hmm...look at that bulkhead.  Looks like it could use some
shoring up!"
     "Christopher...I mean Chris!  The door is closing!" Madera 
said, stepping forward to hold the door.  
     "Don't worry!" Richards said, pushing Madera's hand back
through the door as it slid shut.  "I'll just get the next car!"
     Richards turned on a heel and rushed back to the Cafe. 
Once he approached Browning's booth, he slowed down and 
strode by.  "Oh, Janice," he said, glancing over his shoulder.  
"Fancy seeing you here!'
     "Yes, you and I at the only restaurant on the ship, and around
dinner time no less, quite a coincidence," Browning joked, looking 
up at Richards queerly.  "Have you met Dr. Delgano?"
     Richards turned to look at the other doctor.  He looked to
be in his late thirties and balding.  He smiled at Richards, who
did his best to return the favor, plastering on the fakest smile
possible.  "No, I don't think I've had the pleasure!"
     "Lt. Commander Christopher Richards, Chief Engineer of the
Explorer," Browning said, gesturing at Richards.  "This is Dr.
Donald Delgano.  Our visiting internal specialist."
     "Call me Don," Dr. Delgano said amiably, reaching up to
shake Richards's hand.
     "Hello, Don."  Richards grabbed the doctor's hand and
gripped it as hard as he could.
     "Wow, quite a handshake you have there, Mr. Richards," 
Dr. Delgano said, withdrawing his hand.
     "Donald and I were just going over the specs for the Sickbay
renovations.  We're trying to make it a little more patient-friendly."
     "Bedside manner is so important," Delgano agreed.  "We want
our patients to be comfortable."
     "Yep.  Comfortable," Richards muttered.
     "Would you like to sit down?" Browning asked.  "We could 
look over the new sensor cluster your engineers are putting in."
     "I don't think so," Richards said, backing away.  "I was
just about to go to the bar and drink heavily."
     "Um...okay," Browning said.  "I'll call you later about that
sensor array."
     "All right."
     "Nice meeting you!" Delgano called out.
     "Uh-huh."  Richards saddled up to the bar.  "A bottle of
your best antimatter, Mr. Mirk!"
     Mirk walked over and obediently poured Richards a shot of
Bringloidi limon rum.  "See how that passes through the phase
converters, Mr. Richards."
     Richards tossed back the shot, pounded the bar and hacked
for close to a minute.  "Woo wee, that was strong.  Hit me again."
     Mirk poured again.  "This isn't like you, Mr. Richards. 
Why don't you tell Uncle Mirk what's wrong?"
     "I'll tell you what's wrong," Richards said, holding back
a shriek as he downed the next shot.  He thumbed over his
shoulder.  "I have a feeling Browning and that other doctor are
getting ready to operate...on each other."
     "Are you kidding?" Mirk asked.  "That relationship is purely
professional.  Now you and Ensign Madera, I think, are a
different story."
     "Leave her out of this," Richards belched, dumping another
shot messily into the frosted Federation shotglass.  "Listen, Mirk.  
I can't be friends with her.  I don't want to be friends with her. 
I want it to be like it was.  The sweetest, gentlest romance ever
to be seen in this galaxy."
     "We're talking about you and Janice, right?"
     "Yes!" Richarson barked.
     "It wasn't all that, Chris.  Really.  It was one pit-stop on a 
long and winding road.  You need to move on."
     "Move on?"
     "Yes.  You'd be surprised how everything else in the
universe will keep moving long after you break up with your
girlfriend."
     "I don't care what you say," Richards said, thumbing his
chest.  "I love her!"
     "You'll get over it," Mirk said, taking the bottle away from
Richards and sticking it back under the counter.  "Now why don't
you go back to your quarters and sober up?  I promise things will
look better in the morning."
     "Mirk, you really know how to make a guy feel better,"
Richards said, leaning over the bar and engulfing Mirk in a bear
hug.
     "That's what I'm here for," Mirk replied, struggling
uncomfortably in Richards's grip.
     "You know, you should start counseling people around the
ship about love," Richards suggested.
     "No way," Mirk replied, wiping up the spot on the bar where
Richards had spilled rum.  "I stepped on Counselor Peterman's
toes once before and I won't make that mistake again."
     "If you say so," Richards said, and stumbled out of the
cafe.


     BLEEEEEEEP.
     BLEEEEEEEP.
     BLEEEEEEEP.
     "Shut up!" Richards called out, tossing an empty kanar
bottle at the door to his quarters.
     "Christopher, it's Susan.  Can I come in?"
     Richards scrubbed a hand through his close-cut mat of
hair.  "Hold on."
     He dragged himself into the bathroom and looked himself over
in the mirror.  "Dear God.  I look like hell."
     "Christopher?"
     "Hold on!" Richards barked, and splashed water in his face.
     At least he needn't worry about getting dressed: he'd passed
out while still wearing his Starfleet uniform.
     Richards dried his face off, threw the towel onto his
desk, and leaned against his doorframe, keying the doors open.
     When they opened, blinding light from the corridor outside
flooded in, knocking Richards to the carpet.
     "Christopher!" Madera said, hurrying in.  "What did you do 
to yourself?"
     Burying his face in the carpet for a moment, Richards
relished the darkness.  "I drank myself silly, Susan."
     "Why?"
     "Why does anyone drink?"  He rolled over on his back.  "To
forget."
     "Oh."  Madera surveyed Richards's quarters.  It looked as
if a Tellarite sandstorm had hit.  Clothes were everywhere, the
bed was unmade, and the couch had split up into its component
cushions.  "This place really needs a woman's touch."
     "It had one."  Richards covered his eyes with his hands. 
Memories flooded back to him.  Evidently, after leaving Mirk's,
he'd gone back to his quarters, busted open his case of Cardassian
kanar, and emptied three of the six bottles.  It was a miracle he
was still alive.
     Madera replaced a cushion on his couch and sat down. 
"So...when would you like to paint me?"
     Richards peered through his fingers at Madera. 
"Paint...you?"
     "You said you'd love to paint me last night?  Remember?"
     "I'm having a hard time remembering my name right now,
Susan," Richards replied.
     "Uh-huh."  Madera stood up, walked over.  "I have a concert
coming up tomorrow night.  Are you going to be there?"
     "Listen, Ensign," Richards choked out, looking up at
Madera from the floor.  "I'll be frank with you.  I'm just
getting over a two year relationship.  I really just wanted to
date you and have fun, but now I realize that I'm still nowhere
near over Janice.  So how about we break it off now and prevent
either of us from being hurt in the future?"
     Madera's face darkened as she looked down at Richards. 
"Maybe you've been in a relationship so long you forgot this:
Never be frank with a woman!"
     She kicked Richards hard in the stomach and marched out of
his quarters, leaving Richards to vomit all over his favorite
rug.


     "It's a gorgeous day," Captain Andy Baxter announced,
strolling onto the bridge and looking out at the stars on the
viewscreen.
     "They are the same f***ing stars we always see," J'hana
remarked, leaning against her station.  "Why should they look 
any more gorgeous today?"
     "Because today is the day that I finally get rid of my
parents," Baxter declared, resting his hands on the railing that
surrounded the command chairs, taking a deep breath and soaking in
the view of the onrushing stars.
     "You've said that before," Tilleran noted, turning in her
chair and plucking some controls at her station.
     "But I mean it this time!" Baxter said, approaching the
science console and looking from Tilleran to J'hana.  "Don't you
see...it's this diplomatic mission to Jernas.  That's the key!"
     "You are coming apart, sir," J'hana said.  "Perhaps you
should spend some time with your wife in counseling."
     "No, I'm not coming apart," Baxter declared, spinning on a
heel and spreading his arms out wide.  "I'm coming together!"
     "Captain's lost it," Ford announced from the helm.     
     "I haven't lost it!" Baxter cried, circling around to the
front of the bridge, making a fist and shaking it in Ford's face
for emphasis.  "I've gained it!"
     "Permission to shoot you, Captain," J'hana requested grimly.
     "Denied, denied, denied!" Baxter called out, whirling around
to his command chair.  "This is how it will happen: I will let my
dad show his natural diplomatic talents down on Jernas--"
     "What diplomatic talents?" interrupted J'hana.
     "Nevermind that, he has them," Baxter snapped.  "Anyway, I
will let him show his true diplomatic talents, and then the
Federation will see what a gem they're passing up.  They'll offer
him anything he wants to join the diplomatic corps.  And I'll be
rid of him and my mother forever!"
     "That sounds good in theory," Tilleran said.  "We'll see how
well that works in practice."
     "It's either that," Baxter said, lowering himself into the
command chair.  "Or I kill them."
     "I am prepared to offer my services in that respect, sir,"
J'hana said.
     "I'll keep that in mind, Lieutenant."  Baxter turned in his
command chair as the turbolift doors at the back of the bridge
wooshed open to reveal Counselor Peterman.
     "Good morning, Andy," Peterman said, strolling over to
her chair and plopping down with an exausted sigh.  "My, you 
were energetic last night."
     "Any reason I shouldn't have been?"
     "Listen, Andy, I don't want you to get your hopes up
about this plan to get rid of your parents."
     "And why shouldn't I?"
     "Because, the best laid plans of mice and men often go
awry," Peterman said.
     "Is that so?  Well, I suppose you thought up that little saying
all by yourself?"
     "No, it's from an ancient poem.  Andy, the point is, you
should allow for the chance that this plan won't work."
     "I'll just remember you said that, Nancy Naysayer," Baxter
taunted.  "We'll see after we get done with the Jernas mission."
     "Listen, that isn't even what I came up here to talk to you
about," Peterman said, pushing her hair back over her shoulders 
in frustration. 
     "Well what did you come up here for, then?" Baxter asked.
     "I found out something very interesting in our crew database
about Lt. Commander Larkin."
     Baxter leaned forward.  "I'm all ears."
     "Today is her birthday!"
     Baxter blinked.  "Pardon?"
     "I was doing some research for an upcoming session I have
with her, and I came across the date she was first activated.  It
was twelve years ago today!"
     "I wonder why she didn't tell us about it," Baxter mused,
rubbing his bearded chin.
     "She's very secretive about things like that.  She probably
doesn't want us to make a big fuss over it."
     "So, obviously, your plan is to make a big fuss over it,"
Baxter reasoned.
     "Exactly," Peterman said.  "The surprise party will be at
Mirk's at nineteen hundred hours tonight.  Yeoman Briggs and 
I are taking care of all the arrangements.  Attire is dressy-casual."
     "Presents?" Baxter asked.
     "Of course."
     "Hmm.  What do you get a twelve-year-old android?"
     "You'll have to figure that out for yourself, Andy,"
Peterman said, rising from her chair.  "Get the word out to as
many people as you can.  Just don't let Larkin find out.  That
means you can't use the computers."
     "Okeydoke.  I'll try to find time to get that present and
hand out secret invitations while I'm trying to stop two entire
worlds from going to war."
     "I know you'll find something tasteful," Peterman grinned,
heading back into the turbolift.
     "Do not be so sure," remarked J'hana, snickering as Peterman
stepped into the lift.
     "Well, that's that," Baxter said, leaning out of his command
chair.  "I was going to prepare my speech to the Jernasi today,
but now I've got to spend the whole day looking for a blasted
present for Larkin."
     "Your sense of priorities is commendable, Captain."
     "Stuff it, J'hana," Baxter muttered, stepping into the
alternate turbolift that was located at the front of the bridge by
the science station.  "Just for that, Tilleran has the conn."
     Tilleran grinned at J'hana as she swung around her station
and made her way down to the command chair.  "See what you get
when you're not nice?"
     "It is not worth it," J'hana grumbled.


     "Hold still, Christopher," Dr. Browning said as she ran her 
hand-held mender across Richards's stomach.  "You have a couple 
bruised ribs."
     Richards grimaced as Browning worked on him, dangling his
legs over the biobed.  "It was a nasty fall."
     "It looks like you were kicked," Browning said, looking up at 
Richards as she finished the job.
     "Well, I wasn't," Richards snapped, defensive.
     Browning peered into each of Richards's eyes, while glancing
down at her medical tricorder readings.  "It also looks like you
have a huge hangover."  She sniffed the air and grimaced.  "You
hit that bottle of kanar we got last year during our trip to Risa, 
didn't you?"
     "I hit three of them."
     "Why?"
     "Because I felt like it," Richards said.  "Is it so wrong
to get a little drunk every now and then?"
     Browning shook her head.  "You weren't a little drunk.  A few
more ounces of that Cardassian drain-cleaner would have killed
you."
     "Hmm.  I'll have to remember that for next time.  I hate to
leave a job unfinished," Richards remarked.
     "What's wrong with you, Christopher?" Browning asked, closing 
her tricorder and setting her tools down on a nearby medtable.
     Richards looked around Sickbay--it was mostly empty, save
Nurse Carter, who was studying gel cultures in the biolab.  "Maybe
it had a little bit to do with the fact that you're getting so cozy 
with Dr. Delgano."
     "Him?  Chris, really, he's ten years older than me."
     "That doesn't mean anything and you know it.  In Vulcan/Human 
marraiges, there is sometimes a one hundred year difference in age!"
     "It's a totally professional relationship, Christopher.  Now you
can take my word for it or not," Browning said, folding her arms. 
"But it doesn't take a ship's counselor to see that you're using
Dr. Delgano as an excuse to vent your frustrations over something
else."
     "Would it surprise you to know that I'm having a little
trouble adjusting to single life?"
     Browning scooted up on the medtable next to Richards.  "Nope,
actually, it wouldn't.  It's a new experience for me too."
     "Then you think we should get back together?"
     "No way.  I said it's a new experience, not a bad one.  We
just need time to adjust to the situation.  I still love you, but
we can't be a couple anymore.  I've moved past that."
     "You've moved past it," Richards muttered.  "Where does
that leave me?"
     Browning shrugged, scooted off the medtable.  "Wherever you
want to be, I guess."
     Just then, Captain Baxter stepped through the doors into
Sickbay.  "Hey, guys.  Good, you're both here.  That saves time. 
It's Larkin's birthday, and we have until tonight to find her
presents."
     "Larkin's birthday?" Browning asked, looking to Richards.
     "Wow," Richards said, rubbing his chin.  "That's right.  I
didn't even realize it."
     "What a neglectful mother," Baxter scoffed.  "I was about to
head down to the replideck.  You two want to go shopping with 
me?"
     "I don't think so.  I'm supposed to be planning the Sickbay
renovations today," Browning said.
     Baxter looked to Richards.  "Well?"
     "I have to be in Engineering," Richards said, taking one
last glance at Browning and heading out of Sickbay.  "You're on 
your own, Captain."
     "What's got him?" Baxter asked, scratching his head as
Richards left.
     Browning sighed.  "What do you think?"
     "Still hung up about the breakup?" Baxter asked.
     "Bingo."
     "Man, that's tough."  Baxter waited there a moment, then
turned on a heel.  "Well, off to the replideck!"
     
     
     Lt. Commander Larkin proceeded down the corridor toward the
turbolift, noting the strange looks she was getting from all the
crewmembers.  They smiled, whispered, grinned, poked each
other and pointed.  The android construed all these strange
actions as having something to do with her, and made it a point to
ask the next person she saw about it.
     That person ended up being Ensign Howard Sefelt.
     Sefelt strolled past Larkin, trying to keep his face
completely straight, sweat beading on his forehead.
     "Ensign," Larkin said, clamping a hand on his shoulder.
     Sefelt whipped around.  "I know nothing!"
     "Why are you and my crewmates behaving in this fashion?"
Larkin asked.  
     "Please don't hurt me!" Sefelt cried, shrinking down to the deck 
and curling into a fetal ball.
     "It is not my intention to hurt you.  I simply wish to know
why everyone is acting so strangely."
     "It's your birthday!  It's your birthday!  Happy Birthday! 
Now leave me alone!" Sefelt cried, bolting down the corridor.
     "My birthday," Larkin repeated to herself.  She reasoned
that someone on the crew had deduced that today was the twelth
anniversary of her activation, and had thus planned to surprise
her, in an all-too-predictable humanoid maneuver.
      Very well, Larkin said to herself, switching to Internal
Monologue mode as she stepped into the turbolift.  I will abide by
human custom and act surprised when the allotted time comes.  I
have no need for presents or special attention, but I will act as
if I enjoy it regardless.
     "Bridge," she said out loud.


     Commander Conway looked up from the padd he was sharing 
with Lieutenant J'hana.  "Now, let me see if I have this right.  You
and Tilleran will stand here.  The Captain and I will be here. 
Mirk, Peterman, and Browning will hide behind the bar, and the rest
of the group will be positioned behind tables here and here."
     "It is a sound battle strategy," J'hana said.  "Which I have
found works well for ground assaults and surprise parties alike."
     "Ingenious," Conway remarked.  Suddenly, the turbolift doors
swept open and emitted Lt. Commander Larkin.  Conway flung the 
padd behind his back and whirled around.  "Morning, Commander!"
     "Commander," Larkin nodded, and headed over to her station
to begin her shift.
     "She doesn't suspect a thing," Conway whispered, shoving the
padd into J'hana's hands.  "This is approved, J'hana.  Get the word 
out."
     "Aye, sir," J'hana said, returning to her station.
     Conway stepped down to the forward stations, leaning against
the ops console as Larkin began her work.  "How are you today,
Commander?"
     "I am functioning within normal parameters, sir," Larkin
replied.  "And you?"
     "Couldn't be better."  Conway eyed Larkin carefully.  "So,
what are you, a size nine?"
     "On the contrary, I am a size six."  Larkin cocked her
head, processing the information.  "Why do you ask?"
     Conway smiled, heading back to the command chair.  "Oh,
no reason."
     Perfectly handled, Conway thought to himself.
     He thinks I am fat, Larkin noted.


     "I'll never make it, Christopher," Kris Larkin said over the
crackling comm channel.  "I'm four days' travel away at warp four,
which is all the Daisy can do."
     Richards swung back and forth in his chair at his desk and
regarded the human woman that inspired Lt. Commander Larkin's 
creation on his desktop terminal.  "But Kris, it would mean so much 
to her if you came!"
     "There's no way."  Kris smiled.  "Unless you diverted the
Explorer to come get me."
     "No can do.  We're on diplomatic duty."  Richards thought
a moment.  "We could send the Escort."
     "That's a nice thought, Christopher, but I doubt your captain
would go for it."
     "You're probably right," Richards sighed.  "Well, we're
due to head back out toward your neck of the woods next month. 
Maybe you can visit then."
     "Sounds like a plan," Kris replied.  "And you know what..."
she looked down at the glowing terminal beside her.  "We're near a
polar-type planet.  Maybe I could beam up a block of ice and carve
her an ice sculpture."
     "I think she's trying to get out of her penguin phase," Richards 
said.  "Besides, I'm the artist, remember?"
     "Sorry to step on your toes.  I'll get up with you and Larkin in 
a week or two and we can plan my visit, okay?"
     "Sounds good," Richards said, and leaned forward to switch
off the viewer.
     
     
     "Report, Centurion."
     Centurion Krellin stiffened, warily regarding the commander of
the Horshak as he gave his report.  "We just intercepted a
transmission between the Daisy and a Federation starship,
Commander."
     "Explorer?"  Commander Ardek steepled his fingers, staring
at the tiny freighter Daisy as it chugged slowly through space on
the viewscreen at the front of the bridge.
     "That's correct," Krellin said, his face registering shock. 
"How did you know?"
     "Because I can smell a bad wind coming, Centurion.  Did the
message say anything about Explorer coming here?"
     Krellin shook his head.  "Negative.  Just some nonsense about
a birthday."
     Ardek arched an eyebrow.  "The android?"
     "Apparently."
     The Romulan commander rubbed his hands together, sliding out
of his command chair and pacing the bridge.  "Well, then,
Lieutenant Commander Kristen Larkin of the Explorer will be getting 
a pleasant birthday present indeed.  A very pleasant one!"
     "She will, sir?"
     "No, you idiot!  I was being sarcastic!"
     "Oh."

               

CHAPTER TWO





     Captain Baxter precariously balanced the huge grey case he'd
brought up from the replideck on his shoulder with one hand,
tugging Pandora along behind him on her leash.  It had taken him
most of the morning to find the proper gift.  But once he'd come
across the Bolian bookcase, he knew he'd hit the jackpot.
     "Stupid replicators," he mumbled.  "Why couldn't they have
just replicated me a completely assembled bookcase?"
     Baxter reached forward with his toe and keyed open the door
to his quarters, barely squeezing through the door with the huge
case.  He slammed it down on the floor with a thud and collapsed
onto his couch.
     "There you are," Lucille Baxter said, poking her head out of
Baxter's bedroom.
     "Mom?" Baxter asked, hopping off his couch.  "What the hell
are you doing in there?"
     "Looking for you," she said, marching purposefully out of
the bedroom.  If Baxter didn't know better, it would seem as if
Lucille lived in the cabin instead of him.  "I thought you'd be here
writing your speech."
     Pandora jumped up on the couch and looked from Baxter to
Lucille with intense interest.  "Remind me to restrict your access
codes," Baxter muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.
     "What's that?" Lucille asked, nodding toward the grey case.
     "It's a birthday present for Lt. Commander Larkin," Baxter said.  
"I got her a very nice Vladasic Era pre-fab imitation oronium Bolian
bookcase.  It rotates and everything."
     Lucille snapped the padd off the top of the case and paged
through it.  "You'll never get this assembled.  Why not have
someone from Engineering do it?"  
     Baxter snatched the padd.  "Because I can do it myself, Mom. 
Now why did you barge into my quarters this time?"
     "I think that would be obvious, considering that you're out
buying presents for your crew instead of concentrating on your
speech to the Jernasi."
     "What are you talking about?"  Baxter played dumb.
     Lucille folded her arms.  "Andy, I think you should let your
father handle these negotiations.  They're very important to the
Federation."
     Baxter tried to hide his smile.  "Are you saying I can't handle 
them?"
     "Truthfully?" Lucille asked.  "No.  You may have faced races in
conflict, but what's going on between the Jernasi and the Golath
is like nothing you've dealt with before.  Let the real diplomats
deal with this."    
     "Mom, I'm insulted," Baxter said, holding back a chuckle.
     "Don't take it personally.  It's for the good of the Federation," 
Lucille said, putting a hand on Baxter's shoulder.
     "I guess you're right.  In that case, Dad can take the lead
on the negotations."  She's falling right into my trap, thought Baxter
triumphantly.
     "I knew you'd see it my way," Lucille said, looking around
Baxter's quarters.  "You know, it smells like a zoo in here. 
Can't you increase power to the ventilation systems or something?"
     Baxter shrugged.  "It's a constant problem, what with Kelly's pets 
and everything."
     "Well, I'll talk to someone in Operations.  I'm sure something can 
be done about it."
     Baxter grinned.  "You do that mom."
     "We'll see you at Larkin's party tonight, then?"
     "You knew about it?" Baxter asked, shocked.
     "Commander Conway told us."
     "Conway!"  Baxter clenched his fist.  Damn him.  "Right.  See 
you there."
     Lucille pecked Baxter on the cheek and sidled out of his
quarters.  Once she was gone, Baxter picked Pandora up, kissed her
right on the face, spun her around, and lept in the air.
     "Everything's going according to plan, Pandy!  We're almost
rid of them!"
     "Yip!" Pandora said agreeably.


     A padd clacked down noisily in front of Richards as he worked 
at the master systems table.
     "Helm report," a grating voice said.
     "Susan," Richards said, looking up.  "How are you?"
     "Alignment is off again.  There's a point four centimeter
drift on the helm controls."
     "I'll get Stuart on it," Richards said amiably.  "Things
going well with you?"
     "I'm still not talking to you," Madera said, turning on a
heel and walking off toward the turbolift.
     "Susan, please, don't be like that!" Richards called after 
her.  "I really want us to still be friends!"
     "Tough!"
     "Problems, Romeo?" Ensign Stuart said, hovering behind
Richards and watching Madera leave.
     "Yeah, Cassanova," Richards muttered, shoving the padd
with Madera's report into Stuart's hands.  "I've got problems
with the helm control alignment.  It's off point four centimeters. 
Fix it."
     "Sir, have you thought about going to counseling?" Stuart
asked, backing toward the Jeffries tube.
     "Yes.  Now get busy," Richards snapped, stomping off
toward his office.  Once inside, he told the computer to lock the
door and turned toward the meter-tall object that loomed on his
desk, covered in cloth.  It was his first work in the medium of
biomemetic protoplasm.  Actually, thought Richards, it was
probably the only work in the medium of biomemetic protoplasm. 
He'd collected quite a bit of it after the refit of Explorer's gel
packs, and since he hated the idea of all that bluish gel going to
waste, had collected it in a drum for future use.
     Since finding out about Larkin's birthday, he'd finally
come upon a use for it.  By placing electrodes strategically
throughout the block of gel, he could design a computer algorithm
that would mold the gel into any shape he wished.
     "Computer, begin program Richards Gel-Alpha and dim the
lights to one quarter normal."
     "Acknowledged.  Begining electromagnetic induction
sequence," the computer announced.
     A blue glow began to emanate from under the cloth as
Richards ripped it away, reveling in the fizzling and popping
sound that the burbling and boiling plasma produced.
     "Come to life, my gel-based friend...come to life!"
Richards called out.
     

     "Time to Jernas system?" Baxter asked, crossing from the
turbolift to the forward bridge stations and surveying the stars 
that flashed by on the viewscreen.
     "At our present speed of Warp Five, we should arrive at the
Jernas system in just under an hour," said Larkin from the
operations console.
     "Excellent," Baxter said, plopping down into the command
chair.  He looked over at Commander Conway.  "Commander."
     "Captain," Conway nodded.
     Baxter glanced at Larkin.  Good, she was intent on her
panel.
     He grabbed a padd from the storage case behind his chair and
began tapping on it, then passed it to Conway.

     HOW ARE THE PREPARATIONS COMING?

     Conway erased Baxter's words and tapped in some more.

     WE'RE ALL SET.  EXCEPT THE LEFTOVER LOBSTER 
     PATE FROM YOUR WEDDING IS RANCID.
     
     Baxter looked at the printing, shrugged, and tapped some
more.
     
     REALLY?  I THOUGHT SEAFOOD NEVER SPOILED!
     
     Conway grabbed the padd, shook his head in disbelief, and
tapped:   
     
     WELL IT DOES, IDIOT.
     
     Baxter grimaced as he read this, and stabbed the buttons on
the padd. 

     WATCH YOUR TONE, COMMANDER!
     
     Conway changed tacks:
     
     WHAT DID YOU GET HER?
     
     Baxter saw this and grinned.
     
     BOOKCASE.  A NICE ONE, TOO.
     
     Back to Conway, who shook his head again.
     
     STUPID!  SHE MEMORIZES EVERYTHING.  WHY 
     WOULD SHE NEED BOOKS?
     
     Another disgruntled glare from Baxter and furious plunking
of buttons.
     
     SAYS YOU.  WE'LL SEE AT HER PARTY.
     
     "Ahem."  J'hana cleared her throat.  "If you are done
passing notes, Captain, you have a visitor."
     Harlan Baxter glared at the viewscreen, arms folded, waiting
just behind J'hana.
     "How long as he been here?" Baxter whispered, pulling J'hana
closer.
     "Five minutes.  But I instructed him not to disturb you.  I
know how you and the Commander value your privacy," the 
Andorian snickered.
     "Shut up and get back to your station," Baxter said, pushing
out of his chair.  "We can meet in my ready room," Baxter said,
gesturing for Harlan to follow him.  "Commander Conway, the 
bridge is yours."
     "Notes," Conway muttered, glaring dangerously at J'hana as
he slided over to the command chair.
     

     "Do you want something to drink?" Baxter asked, circling
around behind his desk and taking a seat.
     Harlan Baxter was staring at the crew portrait that
Richards had painted, which hung above Baxter's couch, next to
his autographed image of someone named Troy Aikman handing 
an oblong leather object off to someone else named Emmitt Smith.
     Baxter waited a few moments.  "Dad?"
     "Hmm?" Harlan replied, turning his head.
     "Something to drink?"
     "Nope," Harlan said firmly, heading over to the viewport behind 
Baxter's desk and staring out at the stars.  "Lucille says you want me 
to handle most of these negotiations?"
     Manipulative woman, Baxter cursed to himself.  "Yep.  It was
all my idea.  You are the diplomat, after all."
     "Been quite a while since I worked in that capacity, though."
     Baxter stood, placed a hand on Harlan's shoulder.  "You'll
be fine, Dad.  I'm sure it's just like piloting a shuttle.  You
never forget how."
     "You sure you don't mind me stepping in?  I'd think you'd be
a little put off..."
     "Nah, don't be silly," Baxter grinned.  "I'm more than happy
to let the renowned Harlan Baxter handle these negotiations.  I'm
content to sit in the background."
     "Well, if you say so," Harlan said.  "I can look back over
my journals.  I was at the reception when Jernas was accepted into
the Federation."
     "You were," Baxter said, leading Harlan back across his
readyroom toward the door.  "That's fascinating, Dad.  I'd love to
hear about it, but I imagine you have a lot of work to do before
we meet the Jernasi delegation tomorrow morning."
     "You're right," Harlan said.  "I have to get a speech
prepared.  Think up a strategy, study the background of the
Golath..."
     "Sounds like you have a busy day ahead..."  Baxter ushered
Harlan out of the readyroom and across the bridge to the aft
turbolift.  "Don't let me stop you!"
     "Thanks, son, I..." Harlan said, as the turbolift doors
whooshed closed.
     Baxter wiped his hands together.  "Well, that takes care of
that.  If I'm not needed here, I think I'll head down to the
holodeck."
     Larkin turned in her chair.  "Are you not preparing to
work with the Jernasi, sir?"
     "Didn't I tell you?" Baxter asked.  "My dad's handling that. 
Not only will that give me the next week or so off, but it'll also
tempt the Federation into snatching him and my mother right off
this ship."
     "Curious," Larkin said, cocking her head and accessing her
database. 
     "Why curious?"
     "Was he not involved in the Derregan Two incident?"
     "Derregan Two?" Baxter shook his head.  "Doesn't sound
familiar."
     Larkin continued to access her records.  "Stardate 42090. 
A corps of Federation officials was sent to Derregan Two to
mediate a civil war.  Ambassador Sarek was able to schedule a
meeting between the two warring factions and..."
     As Larkin reported what she knew about the Derregan Two
incident, Baxter's smile vanished.
     

     "What do I see for you, Mrs. Baxter?" Yeoman Briggs asked,
rubbing his fingers slowly through Lucille Baxter's lathered hair. 
"I see a totally new look.  Maybe some short bangs..." Briggs
pulled at the back of Lucille's hair.  "Then we trim this to about
yay long.  Keep it all even, layer it though the back.  Oh, we'll
have you looking so good!"
     "Do what you think needs to be done, James," Lucille said,
closing her eyes as Briggs worked.  "I have total faith in you."
     Lucille was so relaxed by Briggs's head massaging she barely
heard the doors to Briggs's boutique slide open.
     "You're relieved, Yeoman," she heard a voice say.
     "I'm in the middle of a style and cut, Captain," Briggs said
testily.
     "That may be, but I need to talk to her."
     "At least let me rinse it.  If I leave the shampoo in, it'll
permanently damage her hair.  Do you want that on your
conscience?"
     "I'll risk it.  Now get out.  That's an order."
     "Fine, be that way," Briggs huffed, and headed out of the
door.  "Bitch!"
     Lucille opened her eyes, rubbing at the stinging shampoo 
that dripped down her forehead.  "What's so important you had 
to interrupt my styling, Andrew?"
     Baxter swung the chair opposite Lucille's toward her and sat
down.  "We have to talk, Mom."
     "What about?" Lucille asked, wrapping a towel around her head.
     "Does Derregan Two ring a bell?"
     Lucille faltered.  "Uh, should it?"
     "Cut the crap, Mom."
     "Andrew Jackson Baxter!"
     Baxter flicked on a razor and hovered over Lucille.  "Talk to
me about Derregan Two or I'll shave you silly."
     "You'd never..."
     Baxter held the razor closer.  "Try me."
     "Okay, okay..." Lucille relented, holding up her hands in
submission.  "It was two years after you'd left for Starfleet
Academy.  Your father was diplomatic attache to the Vulcan
consulate."  She took a deep breath.  "When Sarek was sent to 
deal with the Derregan civil war, he took your father with him."
     "And what did Dad do?" Baxter asked, putting the phaser away
and leaning back in the barber's chair.
     "It was two nights into the negotiations.  Sarek was
sponsoring a dinner for both factions of Derregans.  One of the
members of the Alpha factions sat next to your dad.  And spilled
some champagne on him."
     "Oh, Mom..."
     Lucille's eyes welled with tears.  "And your father took a
candelabra and bashed the man's head in.  He didn't die exactly,
but it gave him quite a...well, speech impediment.  A fight broke 
out in the room and, as a result of that fight, all of Derregan Two 
went to war.  Your dad was flushed out of the Diplomatic corps and 
went back to working for Starfleet.  The only thing that kept him out 
of prison was the exemplary record he had before then.  They 
reinstated his old rank of Captain, and then he made Vice Admiral 
faster than anyone else in Starfleet.  He took over Internal Affairs and 
the rest you know."
     "Why the hell didn't you tell me all this before?" Baxter
asked, scratching his head.
     Lucille shrugged.  "You never asked."
     Baxter paced the salon.  "Well, I can't very well let Dad
take over negotiations now.  I have to stop him."
     Lucille gripped Baxter's hand forcefully.  "No, you won't,
Andrew.  This means a lot to him."
     "What if he loses his temper again on Jernas and spreads
penguin guts all over the place?  What then?  It'll be on MY
record!"
     "He'll do fine.  He just needs to get his confidence back. 
This is the perfect opportunity."
     Baxter rubbed his chin.  "We're staking a lot on this
opportunity."
     "But if it works out you may get rid of us for good."  
Lucille grinned.
     "Mom, what are you talking about?" Baxter asked, feigning
shock.
     "You're not the only one who's not happy with this
arrangement," Lucille muttered.  "Think I like having that mannish
Andorian boss me around?  Think I like planting flowers all day
and acting out boring holonovels?  This whole retirement thing was
your father's idea.  I want to get back out there, Andrew.  And
if some Jernasi blood has to be shed to get that accomplished,
well, that's how it will be, hear me?"
     Baxter took his mother's arm and walked with her out of the
Salon.  "Mom, I don't think I've ever felt as close to getting rid
of you as I do now."
     "And I you, son."


     Baxter strolled out onto the bridge feeling much more
confident about the Jernasi negotiations.  So his father had a bit
of a temper--was that such a big deal?  As long as Baxter kept an
eye on him and nobody spilled anything, the mission should go
exactly as planned.
     "Entering Jernas system," Larkin announced from ops. 
     "Come out of warp and take us into orbit around Jernasi
Prime, Mr. Ford," Baxter said, taking a position between the conn
and ops stations.  
     Commander Conway stepped up behind him.  "Did you settle
things with your mommy?"
     "You let me worry about that," Baxter snapped, turning his
attention to the viewscreen.
     The Explorer gracefully swung into orbit around the huge
blue orb of Jernasi Prime.  It was a very deep, almost cerulean
blue.  To Baxter, it looked extremely cold.  He glanced back at
the science station.  "What's the weather like down there,
Lieutenant?"
     "Well, let's see," Tilleran said, calling up her sensor
scans.  "In the capital city the ambient temperature is negative
three degrees Celsius.
     "Brrr," Baxter said, looking to Conway and smiling.  Conway
sneered back.
     "Then you still have to factor in the wind chill...that's
about twenty degrees below zero," continued Tilleran.
     Baxter smiled.  "How nice for the Commander, since we all
know how much he loves the cold."
     "Har-har."  Conway made his way up to the tactical station. 
"What's the tactical report on this system?"
     J'hana looked at her console.  "Nine Jernasi battleships are
standing guard around the three inhabited planets."
     "What about the Golath?" Baxter asked.
     "I'm reading a fleet of seven Golath destroyers holding
position just outside the system."
     "Waiting for the other shoe to drop," Conway surmised.
     "Apparently," Baxter replied.  "Well, I guess we might as
well ring the doorbell.  Hail the Jernasi capital, J'hana."
     "They are returning the hail, sir," J'hana replied.
     Baxter tugged down on the front of his uniform and readied
his best diplomatic smile.  "On screen."
     As expected, a being exactly resembling a penguin appeared
on the viewscreen, looking perfectly serene at his large, glossy,
wooden desk.  "Ah, you must be Captain Baxter."
     "That's correct," Baxter replied.  "Of the Federation Starship
Explorer.  We're here to offer diplomatic aid."
     "It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain," the penguin said,
folding his flippers one on top of the other.  "I am Quaylig,
Prime Minister of Jernas.  I must say, you aren't a moment too
soon.  The Golath have gotten more and more aggressive with each
passing day.  Just yesterday, they stopped a Jernasi ship and
attempted to search it for contraband.  That was the third time in
as many weeks."
     "Do they have any reason to suspect contraband, Mr. Prime
Minister?" Baxter asked.
     "We're not a violent people, Captain.  I don't know why the
Golath are intent on violating our space."
     "Well, don't worry.  Starfleet's here now.  You can rest
easy.  I'm sure we'll come up with a solution to this..."
     "You are Larkin!" Quaylig said suddenly, pointing a
flipper in Larkin's direction.
     Larkin looked to Baxter, who shrugged.  "That is correct,"
she finally replied.
     "You are quite respected among my people, since you had 
the ability to see through our cloaking device.  Perhaps we 
could discuss that during this visit?"
     "That would be acceptable," Larkin said, glancing up at
Baxter.  "However, I think we should get through the negotiations
first."
     "Of course.  You all are welcomed on Jernas.  Feel free to
send as many away teams as you wish to visit our world."
     Baxter didn't have the heart to tell Quaylig that no human
would be go somewhere that cold on purpose.  "We'll keep that in
mind.  For now, I'd like to send down a preliminary survey team to
meet with you and discuss the situation."
     "We are sending the coordinates for our Governmental Hall
now, Captain."
     Baxter looked back to J'hana, who acknowledged that she'd
recieved the coordinates.  "Very good.  I'm sure we'll be in
contact again."  Baxter turned to J'hana and drew a finger across
his throat.  "Cut channel, J'hana."
     Conway sighed as he rose from his chair.  "I suppose you
want me to go down there."
     "Damn right.  I hate the cold."  Baxter collapsed into his
seat.  "And take my Dad with you.  He'll want to meet with the
Jernasi diplomatic team as soon as possible."
     "This is just getting sweeter by the minute," Conway
muttered, heading toward the turbolift.  "J'hana, Larkin.  You
two are with me."


     Commander Conway ran into Harlan Baxter as he was moving
down the corridor toward the transporter room, fighting to get his
hefty aluminum-covered survival jacket on.  "Mr. Baxter," Conway
said curtly, fumbling angrily with the zipper.    
     "Let's get on with it," Harlan said cheerily, clapping
Conway on the back and leading him into the transporter room.
     J'hana and Larkin were already waiting within, configuring
their phasers and tricorders.
     Ensign Yang appeared from the back room with a spare
survival jacket in hand.  "Here you go, sir," she said, handing
the jacket to Harlan.  "This should fit."
     "Thanks, Ensign."
     Conway glared at Yang as she took her position behind the
transporter console.  "Where the hell is Hartley?"
     "Mr. Richards assigned her part-time to the Escort's 
engineering room," Yang explained.
     "Huh," Conway said, taking his place on the transporter pad.
     J'hana mounted the pad beside him.  "What's the matter,
Commander?  You miss Lieutenant Hartley's gentle touch?"
     "Not hardly," Conway scoffed, as Harlan zipped up his jacket
and stepped up to the pad, followed by Larkin.  "Energize,
Ensign."

     
     The surface of Jernasi Prime was about like Conway imagined
it would be:  Frigid, desolate, white.  Cold.  All the makings of
the perfect vacation getaway.  And far too reminiscent of the time
he spent on a planet in the Delta Quadrant two and a half years
ago--a planet that was also occupied by a penguinoid lifeform.
     Wind whipped through Larkin's hair as she took tricorder 
readings.  "According to my scans, we are in the middle of a 
blizzard."
     "No kidding," Conway muttered, plodding forward.  "Mind
telling me which way the central government building is?"
     "Right ahead, this way," Larkin said, pointing. 
     "How do you like the weather so far?" J'hana asked heartily,
nudging Harlan.
     "Invigorating," Harlan grunted, striding forward against the
wind.
     "My ass," Conway mumbled.
     "What's that?" asked Harlan.
     "Nothing."
     Once the group reached the large double doors to the
government building, Larkin conducted more scans.  She examined
the panel next to the doors.  "It would appear that this is the
doorbell."
     "Well, then.  Ring it already," Conway grumbled.
     Larkin thumbed a control on the keypad and, moments later,
the doors swung open to reveal a shiny black penguin about a meter
tall, wearing a glittery blue vest.
     "Hello," the Jernasi said brightly.  "We've been expecting
you."
     Conway bent down so he could address the penguin.  "Are you
the one we talked to earlier?"
     "Me," the penguin chuckled.  "Ha ha.  That's a laugh.  I am
merely the doorman.  This way."
     "He is obviously not the penguin we talked to earlier,"
Larkin remarked quietly to Conway.  "They look nothing alike."
     "What do you mean?  They look exactly alike.  They're
penguins."
     "That is a very close-minded view, Commander."
     "Whatever."  Conway followed the Jernasi all the way up a
winding staircase, down to the end of a long, beautifully
wallpapered corridor.
     "People from the Explorer to see you," the doorman said,
punching a button.
     "Great.  Send them in."
     Conway led the way into the suite that obviously belonged to
Jernas' leader.
     At the rear of the suite, the penguin that Conway assumed
was Quaylig slid out of his chair and waddled around his huge
desk, extending a flipper.
     Conway shook the flipper and pasted on a smile. 
"Hello...uh, Quaylig?"
     "That's right," chirped the Jernasi Prime Minister.  Before
Conway could say anything else, he moved right on to Larkin. 
"Ah, Lt. Commander Larkin, nice to finally meet you.  I've heard 
so much about you."
     Larkin engaged small-talk mode.  "I hope you heard only
good things."
     "Of course!" Quaylig smiled.  "Sit down, please."
     The group lowered themselves into chairs in front of
Quaylig's desk.  Conway found it incredibly hard to squeeze into
the chairs; after all, they were fitted for meter-tall tiny penguins. 
     "Well then."  Conway took a deep breath.  "Let's get down to
business... first..."
     "Let's fire up a cigar," Harlan interrupted, leaning forward
and sliding a stogie across Quaylig's desk.  "An old negotiating
tradition."
     Quaylig studied the oblong object.  "Cig...ar?"
     "Yes.  A human delicacy."  Harlan produced a lighter from
within his jacket.  "Just put it in your mou--I mean put it in
your beak."
     "Well, this is a bit out of the ordinary, but whatever
pleases you pleases us."  Quaylig placed the cigar in his beak and 
Harlan leaned forward, sparking it up.  He then lit his own and he 
and Quaylig puffed for several moments.
     "Well?" Harlan finally asked.
     "Ahem...ach...uh, exquisite!" Quaylig said.  "Very
enjoyable."
     "Commanders, Lieutenant?" Harlan asked, waving his cigar
pouch in front of Conway, Larkin, and J'hana.
     "Please," J'hana said, snatching a cigar.
     Conway stared at the pack, looked at Quaylig, Harlan, and
J'hana as they puffed, and shrugged.  "Okay.  Sure."
     "I think not," Larkin said, when the pack was offered to
her.
     Conway elbowed Larkin as he sparked up, chewing the cigar
as he talked.  "Come on, Larkin.  Be one of the guys."
     "Yes," J'hana said, blowing rings of smoke.  "One of the
guys."
     "I insist," Quaylig said.
     "Very well."  Larkin took Harlan's lighter and lit the
cigar.  After a few puffs, she nodded.  "Not a complex chemical
makeup.  Extended use will degrade humanoid lung tissue.  And it
is..."
     While Larkin talked, a tiny black, smoking hole began to
form in her neck.  The hole soon opened wider, glowing orange 
and emitting a little waft of smoke.    
     "Oh goodness," Quaylig said with alarm, as Conway leaned
over and slapped at Larkin's neck until the small fire was out.
     "There is no need for concern," Larkin said, pinching the
end of her cigar until it was extinguished and tossing it into a
wastebasket.  "The damage was minimal."
     "Then let's get right down to business," Harlan said.  "We
should begin by arranging a meeting between your diplomats and the
Golath as soon as possible."
     "Agreed," Quaylig said.  "But forgive me...who are you?"
     "Harlan Baxter.  Special Diplomatic Attache."
     "Ah," Quaylig said.  "Very good.  I suggest we have our first
official meeting tomorrow.  In the meantime, I invite you to dinner in 
our grand ballroom tonight at nineteen hundred hours."
     Conway's eyes had become red and watery.  He leaned over and
choked a few moments, finally regaining his composure and looking
up at Quaylig.  "That, uh...won't due.  We have an important staff
meeting at that time."
     "We do?" asked J'hana.
     "We do," Conway grumbled, glaring at J'hana.
     "Oh, that's right."
     Larkin looked from J'hana and Conway.  Obviously their
behavior was directly related to her birthday celebration. 
Protocol dictated that she "play dumb."
     "I believe you both are in error.  There are no scheduled
staff meetings tonight."
     "It's a surprise staff meeting," J'hana snapped.  
     Conway glared again, then quickly turned his attention to
Quaylig.  "How about a breakfast?"
     Quaylig bowed.  "As you wish."
     "That was close," J'hana whispered, as Quaylig ushered the
away team out of the office for a tour of the city.
     "Surprise staff meeting," Conway harrumphed.  "Real good,
J'hana."


     Richards poked an electrode into the mass of biomemetic
goo, so startled by the sudden ringing of his door chime that he
accidentally shoved the electrode in too far and caused the
wobbling mass to split open, oozing goo all over his desk.
     "Come," he snapped, scooping goo back into the gelatinous
cube.
     Lt. Hartley strolled into Richards's office, stopping short
as she stared at the gargantuan blue cube he was working on. 
"What the hell is that?"
     "It's Larkin's birthday present," Richards explained,
patting the last bit of goo into place.  "Electro-responsive
biomemetic gel.  Its semi-solid properties will no doubt be
fascinating from a scientific viewpoint."  Richards adopted
Larkin's tone as he explained.
     "Aww," Hartley cooed sarcastically.  "You really know 
how your daughter thinks."
     "I should," Richards shrugged, collapsing into the seat
opposite his desk.  "I designed her brain."
     "This is true," Hartley said, tapping her padd thoughtfully.
     "Did you want something?" Richards asked.
     "Oh, yes."  Hartley dropped the padd into Richards's lap. 
"This is a request for all the supplies I'll be needing to upgrade
the Escort's engines and weapon capabilities."
     "I didn't realize there were so many problems," Richards
said, scrolling through the padd.
     "What do you expect?" Hartley asked, leaning against the 
arm of the small couch at the rear of Richards's office.  "It's a
40-year-old ship with brand new engines and weaponry.  There 
are all kinds of glitches in the way the systems interact.  The ship
was never designed to do warp nine point nine--or fire quantum
torpedoes for that matter."
     "Why didn't you take care of this when you were Chief
Engineer?"
     Hartley shrugged.  "I had more important things to take care
of.  Like, I don't know, the Explorer for instance."
     "Point taken," Richards said, tossing the padd onto his
desk.  "I'll look into it."
     "Fair enough."  Hartley sidled over to Richards.  "Now, any
chance you can give me some pointers on what the hell you get an
android for her birthday?"
     "You're on your own there," Richards said.  "She's
programmed to be polite, so it's not like she'll reject anything
you get her.  Just shoot for practical."
     "Practical.  Like a great big bubbling blue cube?"
     Richards narrowed his eyes at Hartley.  "Dismissed,
Lieutenant!"
     Hartley grinned as she slid out of Richards's office. 
"I'll be on the replideck if you need me!"


     Kris Larkin mounted the ladder that led up to the cramped
bridge of the freighter Daisy.
     "It's about time those mealy-mouthed little worms showed
up," she said off-handedly, leaning against her command chair as
Bort, her Bolian navigator/weapons officer/helmsman/engineer,
manned the forward station.
     "Try not to call them that when you're negotiating our
price," Bort grunted, bringing up the approaching Ferengi 
Marauder on the forward viewscreen.
     "Hail them already," Kris said, ignoring Bort's comment and
facing the main screen.
     "They're returning," Bort chimed, after a few moments delay.
     "On screen."
     A toothy-grinned Ferengi appeared on the screen, glancing
over his shoulder at Kris.  "Ah, there you are, Daisy.  I trust
you have our shipment of Verillium spidersilk ready?"
     "I pulled it out of the spider's ass myself, Mr. Benkow,"
Kris fake-smiled.  "Now let's get on with our swap so I can get
back to my normal route."
     "You're very to-the-point for a hu-mon," Benkow said
appraisingly.  "And you have nice, slender fingers.  Perfect for
oo-mox."
     Kris shuddered.  "I'm flattered.  Listen up:  I've got
fourteen ninety-kilo cargo containers of spidersilk.  I can give
you the whole consigment for say...50 bars?"
     "Robbery!  You may be pretty, but not pretty enough to
sucker me into a deal like that."
     Kris laughed.  "Fine.  Mr. Bort, close channel."
     "Wait--" Benkow said, as Bort reached for the control. 
"Aren't you even going to negotiate?"
     "I stuck my hand into a Verillium spider's ass for that
silk, Benkow," Kris muttered.  "The particular spider I was
milking was about twice my size.  After going through that, I'm
damned well not going to barter."
     "How about 45 bars?" Benkow asked abruptly.
     Kris rolled the figure around in her mind a moment.  "Okay. 
You have a deal.  But remember the deal I gave you the next time
you're looking for a freighter pilot to pick up a consignment."
     "I'd never forget a face as pretty as yours, Kris," Benkow
grinned.
     "Shut him up while I go activate the cargo transporter,"
Kris said to Bort as she crossed over to the cargo control
station.
     "With pleasure," Bort muttered, shutting off the viewscreen
with the flick of the button.
     Kris initialized the transporter and watched as the cargo
bay sensors registered her latinum being beamed in.  "Wonderful. 
Looks like they didn't short-change us for once."
     "I'm sure they found some way to cheat us," Bort said. 
"They always do."
     "Chin up, Bort," Kris said.  "We're going to Corsica on this
latinum."
     "Why, Miss Larkin, I do believe you're flirting with me,"
Bort chuckled.
     Kris returned to her command chair and brought up an image
of the Ferengi Marauder on the viewscreen as it entered warp. 
Evidently Benkow was not interested in chatting now that he had
his cargo.  "Well," Kris said, "I guess we'd better get underway
too.  Lay in a course for..."
     "Neutrino surge off the port bow!" Bort suddenly interrupted
as an Alert buzzer sounded throughout the bridge.
     Kris was out of her command chair and manning tactical in an
instant.  "Move us away from it...full impulse.  Find out what it
is and get it onscreen!"
     Raising shields and arming the Daisy's modest weapons, Kris
turned to look at the viewscreen, staring in horror as a Romulan
Warbird loomed over them.  
     "Oh, f***..."  
     "It's the Horshak," Bort called out.  
     "Ardek," Kris muttered, turning her attention to the weapons.  
"Find us some shelter and quick, while I try to raise that pointy-
eared son of a bitch."
     "There's not much out here," Bort muttered.  "I'll have to
get creative." 
     "Anything will do in a pinch," Kris said, noting that Ardek
was returning her hail.  She switched him onto the small screen
above the tactical station.  "Ardek.  If you're looking for the
android, you won't find her here."
     "I'm not looking for the android," Ardek tittered.  "I know
exactly where she is.  On Explorer.  But that will change as soon
as she finds out that you're being held hostage...heheh...by me!"
     "I'll blow up this ship before I let you use me as bait, you
demonic mother f***er," Kris snapped.
     "You'll what?" Bort called over his shoulder.
     "Shut up."  Kris turned back to Ardek.  "I thought the
Romulans weren't supposed to be our enemies anymore.  What's 
the deal, Ardek?"
     "This has nothing to do with agression.  It's pure science. 
The Federation won't give us the technology behind its android
officers, so we have to take it.  It's that simple."
     "Remember that rogue ice planetoid we passed earlier today?"
Bort asked.
     Kris put Ardek on mute.  "What about it?"
     "According to my scans, it has some subterranean tunnels
that might hide the Daisy."
     "Atmosphere?"
     "Deep inside the planetoid, but none on the surface.  I've
found a tunnel that should be large enough for us to navigate in."
     "And what's to stop the Romulans from coming in to get us?"
     "Nothing.  But they'll have to scramble a shuttle to follow
us."
     Kris bit her lip.  "Or start blowing up the planetoid."
     "You're no good to them dead, remember?" Bort asked.
     "Well, since we seem to be running out of alternatives,
we'll have to go with that.  Get us there as fast as you can,
Bort."
     "Engaging engines, warp two," Bort said.  "It's only two
systems over.  We'll be there in a few minutes."
     Kris looked back to the comm screen, where Ardek's muted
mouth was running faster than her warp drive.  She flicked off the
mute button.   
     "...an affront to the Romulan people.  I insist that you
allow me to taunt you immediately."
     "Taunt all you want," Kris said.  "But you're not taking me
hostage."
     "We'll see about that," Ardek said.  "We're faster and more
powerful than you."
     "But not smaller," Kris said under her breath.  "Time,
Bort?"
     "Two minutes to planet surface."
     Ardek looked over his shoulder and barked at someone off
screen.  "What are they doing?  Yes, I want you to follow them,
idiot!"
     "Getting worried, Ardek?"
     "Romulans don't worry.  We conquer," Ardek shot back.
 "Weapons officer:  Prepare to knock out their engines and lock 
on a tractor."
     "Twenty seconds."
     "What do you mean they're getting too close to that planet's
gravitational pull?  Follow them!  Lock on the tractor before they
get too deep--" cried Ardek angrily.
     A blast from the Romulan disruptors rocked Daisy, sending it
careening toward the ice planet.
     "Get us under control, Bort!" Kris cried, grabbing a support
strut for as the sound of hull-ripping echoed throughout her tiny 
ship.
     "They knocked out our shields and blew out thrusters two and 
three, along with our port impulse engine."
     "Redistribute engine power to compensate," Kris said,
steadying herself as the immense ice cavern came into view on the
main screen.  Bort had managed to steady the Daisy, but now he had
to struggle with the controls just to keep it level--to say nothing for 
navigating the twists and turns of the underground cavern they were 
diving into. 
     "Come back here, Larkin!" Ardek called from the comm
screen.  "The more you resist, the more painful I'll make it for
you!  You don't want me to get not nice, do you?"
     "I'll take my chances," Kris said, switching off the comm
channel and focusing on the forward screen.  "Do you know what
you're doing, Bort?"
     "I have no clue."  Bort grappled with the Daisy's helm as
the small freighter crushed against icy stalagtites and
stalagmites, bucking through the narrow cavern.
     "I'll see if I can get the aft photon launcher working,"
Kris said, tapping way at the tactical panel.  "Maybe we can
collapse the cavern so they can't follow us."
     "Then how are we going to get out?" Bort asked wryly.
     Kris shrugged.  "We'll cross that bridge when we come to
it."  After rerouting power from virtually every other part of the
ship to the photon launchers, Kris punched the "fire" control and
watched the glimmering red ball slam against the cavern ceiling,
collapsing the tunnel behind them.
     "I'm getting a reading of atmosphere down here...and some
other interference.  Like some kind of subneutrino particles..." 
Bort said.  "Whatever it is, it'll make it virtually impossible for the 
Romulans to transport through.  They'll have to take a ship in after 
us."
     "Too bad you didn't become a scientist instead of a freighter 
navigator," Kris said, swinging down to the forward station, 
standing behind Bort as sensor scans of the tunnel ahead came up 
on the main screen.
     "We're running out of tunnel.  We'll reach an open area in
twenty seconds," Bort called out.  
     "Well--" Before Kris could complete her thought, the Daisy's
nose bucked up on a mound of ice and crashed into the ceiling,
sending a crushing avalanche of ice down.
     Daisy's hull screamed as tons of ice slammed down on it from
above.  Bort cursed as he fought with the already badly damaged
engines.
     Then suddenluy, with a dying whimper, Daisy's engines
overloaded and shut down.
     "Failsafes kicked in," Bort surmised.  "Or else we blew up
and this is hell."
     Kris fingered a control on Bort's station and looked up at
the main screen.  The sensors were still working...barely.  Ahead
of them, through about ninety meters of ice, was a vast open
cavern filled with algae, lichen, and moss.  "It's too cold to be hell." 
Kris said matter-of-factly.
     "Maybe in human legend, but Bolian hell is freezing cold,"
Bort countered.     
     "Wait a minute..." Kris brought the auxilliary scanners
online and tried to boost their gain.  "I'm picking up lifeforms."
     "Humanoid?" Bort asked, glancing up at the complex DNA
readings that flashed on the viewscreen.  Kris switched to a
cloudy, static-filled view of a few of the life-forms milling
about in the cavern.
     As she enhanced the image, her face wrinkled with confusion. 
The oblong black shapes waddled about, beaks flapping away. 
"No...penguinoid."
     Bort shook his head, grunted.  "I should have guessed."



 
CHAPTER THREE





     Commander Conway stomped into the Constellation Cafe,
ripping open his thick survival jacket, shaking off the snow, and 
barking a drink order to Mirk.  "Coffee.  Scalding.  With brandy."
     "Nice trip?" Captain Baxter asked from a nearby table, feet
propped up, setting aside the padd he'd been reading.
     Conway took his drink and fell into a chair opposite Baxter. 
"Not hardly.  It's freezing down there."  He rubbed his hands
together and sipped eagerly at his coffee.  "And Quaylig just
wouldn't stop talking."
     "You certainly were gone long enough.  Larkin's party is
in an hour." 
     As if in response to Baxter's remark, Yeoman Briggs rushed
by the table, barking orders at Amara.  "That's not where the
banner goes.  Raise it, you fool, raise it!"
     "Watch how you talk to her," Mirk said angrily from behind
the bar.  "That's my girlfriend."
     Briggs turned on a heel.  "Well, she doesn't know a thing
about hanging banners."
     Mirk glared at Briggs.  "Amara.  Drop the banner."
     "What?" Amara asked, teetering atop the ladder she'd erected
in the middle of the cafe.
     "Drop it."
     Amara shrugged, let the banner go.
     Mirk glanced over at the banner, and immediately it was
airborn, glowing bright green.
     "All right," Mirk said, matter-of-factly.  "Where do you
want it?"
     "I can't work like this!" Briggs huffed, and marched out of
the cafe.
     Baxter shook his head.  "I sure hope we can stay on
schedule."
     "Just give me enough time to change and get Larkin's
present," Conway said, sighing and rising to his feet, finishing
off the coffee.
     "You still haven't gotten that?"
     "It's very hard to buy for an android!" Conway exclaimed. 
"What do you get for someone who has no emotions?"
     Baxter giggled.  "The most thoughtless, simple gift
possible, I suppose."
     "Of course!"  Conway snapped his fingers and dashed out 
of the cafe.
     Baxter idly wondered what Conway was up to as he returned 
to his padd--the Federation News.  As he read, he overheard
Amara talking to Mirk.
     "That was very nice of you, protecting me like that," Amara
said.  That was followed by a long series of smooching sounds. 
Then, before Baxter knew what was happening, the huge banner
fluttered to the deck, completely draping over him.
     "Mr. Mirk!" Baxter bellowed from underneath the banner. 
"Keep your mind on your work!"
     "Sorry, sir."

     
     Lt. Commander Larkin walked into Engineering, surprised to see 
it completely empty.  It was ten minutes before 0700 hours--no where
near the night shift.  So where was everyone?
     "Computer...please locate Lt. Commander Richards,"
Larkin said, exploring the area behind the warp core and leaning
against the railing, looking the huge core up and down.
     "Lt. Commander Richards is in his office."
     "Thank you," Larkin said curtly, heading over to Richards's office 
door and hitting the chime.
     "Give me a second," came the quick reply.
     Moments later, the doors slid open.  Over Richards's shoulder, 
Larkin could see the flicker of a transporter beam.
     "Ready for dinner?" Richards asked, taking Larkin's arm.
     Larkin glanced back at Richards's office as he escorted
her out of Engineering.  "What were you transporting?"
     "Pardon?" 
     "Just now.  Something was transported out of your office."
     "Oh, that..." Richards thought a moment.  "It was
just...dust.  I hate it when dust builds up."     
     "But the Explorer's atmosphere is recycled on a semi-hourly
basis.  It is therefore totally dust-free."
     "So, how was your day?"
     Larkin cocked her head.  The abrupt change of subject had
caused a momentary (meaning nanoseconds) hang in her processing
time.  "Adequate.  Quaylig seems a quite competent leader.  And
Mr. Baxter is very capable.  I am confident the diplomatic crisis
between the Jernasi and the Golath will be resolved to the
satisfaction of all involved."
     Richards nodded as Larkin spoke, motioning for her to
step first into the turbolift.  "Good for them!  What are you in
the mood for tonight?  Fish?"
     "I do not eat."
     "Well, why not?  It couldn't hurt.  Deck Ten."
     As the turbolift thrummed upward, Larkin considered this. 
"I do not enjoy the intake of food, as it has does not measurably
benefit my systems and clogs my lower dorsal processing unit."
     "Hmm.  I'll have to check that out.  You've tried the new
solvent, haven't you?"
     "Indeed," Larkin said, nodding.  "But it corrodes the
inner lining of my thoracic cavity."
     Richards shook his head.  "Listen, can we talk about this
after dinner?  Long after?"
     "As you wish."  Larkin and Richards stepped out of the
turbolift. 
     As the pair approached the Constellation Cafe, Larkin
observed through the frosted oval windows that it was 
completely dark.
     "It would appear that the Constellation Cafe is closed,
Commander."
     "You think so?" Richards asked.  "Well, we'll just check
it out to make sure."
     One of Larkin's detection algorithms flared up: This must
be the surprise party.  All of the factors so far led to that
conclusion.
     As Richards led Larkin through the double doors and she
stepped into the Cafe, Larkin prepared to engage "surprised"
mode.
     Richards scanned the dark room.  "Hmmm.  Wonder where
everyone is?"
     Larkin studied the visual data brought in by her optic
units.  "There are forty-five people in this room, judging by
their thermal signatures."
     "You don't say," Richards muttered.
     Suddenly the lights came on bright, and all forty-five
people screamed at the top of their lungs:
     "SURPRISE!"
     Surprise mode engaged.
     "Oh, my goodness," Larkin said solemnly.  "This is
amazing.  You have indeed taken me by surprise."
     Confetti cannons shot off wads of confetti into the air as
the resurrected Glee Club started into "For She's a Jolly Good
Android."
     Captain Baxter stepped forward, placing a party hat on
Larkin's head and pulling the string down under her chin. 
"Happy Birthday, Commander."
     "Thank you very much, sir," Larkin said.  "I do not know
what to say."
     "You can say thank you," J'hana said, blowing a noisemaker
half-heartedly.
     Richards came up from behind Larkin and hugged her
tightly.  "Happy Twelfth, Kristen."
     "Was this your doing, sir?" Larkin asked.
     "Nope," Richards said.  "Honestly I forgot the date your
were activated entirely.  You'll have to thank Counselor
Peterman."
     Peterman rushed forward to embrace Larkin, decked out in a
sparkling floor-length dress, hair curled and poofed beyond
recognition.  "Oh, Kristen, I'm so happy for you!  You've grown 
so much over the years!"
     "I am the exact same size I was when I was first activated,
Counselor, but thank you for the sentiment."
     "Let's open the gifts, already," Commander Conway said,
sucking down coffee and gesturing toward the gift table.
     "Very well."  Larkin sat down at the table and scanned the
huge pile of presents.  "Forty-five gifts, all ranging in size and
weight.  Which is appropriate to start with?"
     "Go ahead and open mine," Conway said, reaching for the top
of the pile and grabbing a brick of gold pressed latinum.  He
dropped it in front of Larkin with a clunk.  "Can you guess what
it is?"
     "It is a brick of gold-pressed latinum."  Larkin picked it
up.  "Approximately one kilogram."
     "Commander, how insensitive," Peterman said.  "You could
have at least wrapped it."
     "Or gotten a card," Tilleran added.
     "Hey, that gift is from the heart," Conway said.  "I won
that thing on Garbax Nine in a Grenthleman watter-hopper race."
     "I will cherish it," Larkin said, setting the brick aside
and picking up the next gift.  "I see this is from Lt. Tilleran."
     "I hope you like it," Tilleran said, glancing at Conway.  "I
put a lot of thought into it."
     "Please," Conway huffed.
     Larkin carefully removed the wrapping around the box and
lifted it open.  Within, an ornate, spiky glowing orange crystal
awaited Larkin's inspection.
     "A geode.  Apparently from Betazed.  Approximately four
kilograms."
     "It reflects your feelings," Tilleran said, pointing at the
large rock  Larkin cradled in her hands.
     "What feelings?" asked Ford.
     "Lt. Ford is correct," Larkin said.  "I have no feelings
to reflect."
     "Then why is it saying you're happy?" Tilleran asked with a
grin.
     "Because it is malfunctioning.  Thank you."  Larkin set
the rock aside and continued opening presents.


HALF AN HOUR LATER

     "A lace nighty from Nendegar's Secret.  Less than four
grams.  Inadequate for sleeping in, even if I did sleep, which I
do not, Mr. Ford."  Larkin held the nighty up for the group's
inspection.
     Everyone glared at Ford.
     "What?" Ford asked incredulously.  "That was supposed to 
be for my girlfriend.  But then I never got one, so..."
     "Charming," Peterman muttered.  "Open mine now!"
     "Yeah, before it suffocates," Baxter grumbled, glancing at
Peterman.
     "Shut up!" Peterman said, punching Baxter in the shoulder.
     Larkin obediently pulled the wrapping from Peterman's
gift, exposing a wire cage with a small green bird inside.
     "A parakeet," Larkin stated.  "Genus indeterminite. 
Breeding unremarkable.  One of the more intelligent Earth birds,
as I recall."
     "It talks," Peterman said knowingly.  "Go ahead, talk to
it."
     "I will not," Larkin said, setting the cage aside.  "Thank
you."
     "Ark!" said the parakeet.  "I will not!  Thank you!"
     "How cute!"  Peterman said.  "Now she has a little companion
to share her off-hours with."
     "Indeed," Larkin replied, moving on to the next gift.  "I
see this is from Mr. and Mrs. Baxter," the android said, reading
the label.     
     "We know you'll love it," Lucille said energetically, sipping
from her vodka and orange juice.
     "Harrumph," Harlan Baxter harrumphed.
     Delicately, Larkin removed the wrapping around the box and
opened it.  She reached inside and withdrew a finely bound book.
     "It's a collection of ancient earth stories," Lucille
explained, as Larkin flipped through the tome.  I bookmarked the
one I thought you'd enjoy most."
     "'I , Robot,'" Larkin interrupted, closing the book.  "I
am familiar with it.  A quaint, somewhat twisted story by a
misguided human.  Thank you.  I will enjoy it."  She moved to
place the book on the bookcase Baxter had gotten for her, waiting
until an appropriate shelf rotated by.  Once she dropped the book
onto the shelf, the entire structure collasped to the deck
noisily.
     "Oops."  Baxter shrugged.  "Sorry."  Lucille shot Baxter an 
"I told you so" glare.
     "It is not a problem," Larkin replied.  "I did not have any
books to put there anyway."
     This brought on a series of guffaws from Conway.
     "It's a hell of a lot better than a latinum brick, Mister!"
Baxter barked, folding his arms.
     "It is the thought that counts," Larkin concluded,
proceeding to the next gift.


ANOTHER HALF AN HOUR LATER

     "A gallon jug of barbecue sauce," Larkin surmised.  "Thank
you Doctor Browning.  I will endeavor to find a use for this, since 
I do not eat."
     "I can think of a use for it..." Browning said, licking her
lips.
     Larkin proceeded to the next gift, a tiny box with Lt.
J'hana's name inscribed on it.  She cracked open the box to reveal
an isolinear chip.  "Curious.  May I ask what this is, Lieutenant?"
     J'hana sipped her Klingon war nog and gave a hearty bellow. 
"An Andorian song I created for you.  Please play it in private."
     "I for one would like to hear it now," Richards said,
glancing at J'hana with amusement.
     "Irrelevant," J'hana said firmly.  "Play it later."
     Conway quickly grabbed the chip from Larkin and tossed it
to Richards, who tossed it over his shoulder to Mirk, just as
J'hana tackled him.
     Mirk ran over to the bar and shoved it into the isolinear
player, filling the Cafe with screeching guitar riffs and a
pounding drum beat.
     "ZzattttttnnaaaaaaaaaazzrrrrarrrrrrzzzzzzzKORSHSSSSSSS
VAAAZZ ZZZnnndgggggggdddedddddddddddddddddddddddd..." 
J'hana's voice boomed over the recording.  Much of the same 
followed, until Mirk hurriedly yanked the chip out.
     Baxter rubbed his ears, wincing, trying to get that sound
out of his mind.  "J'hana, what the hell was that?"
     "The translation is...murky, sir," J'hana said, glaring at
Richards and Conway. 
     "Give me the gist," Baxter insisted.
     J'hana rolled her eyes.  "Very well.  Roughly, it translates
into 'Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, may you 
die sloppy and honorable, Happy Birthday to you.'"
     "Thank you very much," Larkin said, as Mirk handed her the
chip.  "I will treasure it."
     "Okay, Larkin," Richards said, sitting down opposite the
android.  "You've opened all the other gifts.  Now for the piece
de resistance."
     "Am I to take it that you are referring to your gift?"
Larkin asked, indicating the large, tarp-covered structure at
the center of the gift table.
     Richards nodded.  "Go ahead.  Open it."
     Larkin removed the tarp to reveal the wobbly gelatinous
blue cube underneath.
     "It is..." Larkin said, cocking her head and examining the
cube.
     "It's a piece de crap," Conway commented.
     "It's a work of art," Richards said defensively.  He
picked up the padd next to the blue cube and pressed a few
buttons.  "It is the first official work of biomemetic gel art. 
It can take several different forms."
     Richards hit a control, causing the blob to wobble even
more, forming into a shiny blue statue of Larkin.  He hit
another control and it transformed into a gracefully-rendered
bubbly blue Explorer.
     "An ingenious design, Mother," Larkin said as Richards
handed her the padd.  "I will enjoy it."
     "Okay, that does it for the presents," Baxter said.  "Mirk,
haul out the birthday cake!"
     Mirk wheeled a huge two meter tall cake out of the back
room, huffing with the effort.  "Boy this thing is heavy."
     Lt. Hartley clapped a hand on Larkin's back.  "You're going
to love this cake, Larkin."
     "Lt. Hartley," Larkin said.  "I do not recall getting a gift 
from you."
     "Just wait."
     Mirk rolled the cake in front of Larkin and handed her a
knife.  "You'd better do the cutting.  I don't want to get too
close."
     "Very well," Larkin said, eying Mirk strangely and
approaching the cake.  Before she could put the knife into it, it
exploded open to reveal not one, not two, but three muscular
Klingons, bellowing Larkin's name out in Klingonese.
     "We've come to bring you honor!" one Klingon shouted,
holding a bat'leth high above his head and screaming a battle cry.
     "And bring in the funk!" another Klingon shouted, as the
Constellatioin Cafe roared with peppry polyphonic dance music.
     The lead Klingon tossed his betleth to Larkin as all three
of them began to strip their armor off, thrusting their pelvises
as they did so.
     "Hold me back..." J'hana growled softly to Conway.
     "What the hell is this?" Baxter asked, scratching his head.
     "It's extremely arousing," Peterman sighed as one of the
Klingons slid up against her.
     "Hey, watch where you point that thing!" Baxter barked,
pushing the Klingon away.
     "Happy Birthday, Kristen," Hartley said, staring at the
Klingons with satisfaction.  One of them danced over and began
rubbing himself against Larkin agressively.
     "This is fascinating," Larkin commented.
     Moments later, drunk on war nog, J'hana was dancing on the
top of the gift table with one of the Klingons, endangering
Richards's precious project.
     Meanwhile, the other two Klingons were working their way
through the crowd, stripping armor and wagging their butts
suggestively in the female crewmembers' faces.
     "I said practical!" Richards shouted over the music as
Hartley tossed her uniform tunic around one of the Klingons and 
he lifted her in the air, spinning her rapidly.
     "Sorry, Commander.  I don't do practical!" Hartley said
dizzily as she spun.     
     "You knew about this?" Baxter asked, working his way over 
to Mirk.
     "Lt. Hartley can be very persuasive, sir," Mirk said
innocently.  "Besides, she's the one that actually installed the
holographic projectors in here.  I just rolled out the cake."
     "At least they're only holograms," Conway said reasonably as
Tilleran flew by him, being slam-danced about by one of the
Klingons.
     "Wheeeee!" she cried.
     "Well that hologram has my wife pressed up against the
viewport!" Baxter exclaimed, pointing.
     "Any Klingon women in there?" Ford asked, poking his head
down into the cake.



     Beeeee--beep! sounded the comm, prompting Larkin's eyes to
snap open.
     "Bridge to Larkin," came Lt. Gellar's voice.
     Larkin sat up in her bed immediately, rolling one of the
three snoring Klingons off of her.   She'd programmed herself for
a regenerative cycle after the energy-depleting six hour Klingon
triathalon that she'd participated in after her birthday party. 
She wondered how Lt. Hartley had managed to sneak into her 
quarters and install the holographic projectors.  At any rate, the 
night with the Klingons was quite an impressive sociological study.  
She had already begun planning an extensive thesis for Federation
University on Klingon mating rituals.
     "Larkin here," Larkin finally said, after shoving one of
the Klingons off her endtable and punching the comm button.
     "We have an encoded subspace transmission for your eyes only
coming from the Magila system."
     "Magila system," Larkin pondered.  "That is where my human
counterpart is carrying out a trade expedition.  I assume she is
sending me a birthday greeting."
     "Strange coding for a birthday greeting if you ask me,"
Gellar commented.  "Should I pipe it down to your quarters?"
     "Please," Larkin said, throwing on the nightie Ford had
gotten her and lowering herself into the chair behind her desk.
     Larkin switched her terminal on and tapped in her personal
access code. 
     Much to the android's surprise, a familiar Romulan popped up
on the screen, flashing a toothy grin.
     "Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy
Birthday dear Larkin, we've kidnapped your friend so you'd
better come quick!"
     "Ardek," Larkin said.  "Quite disagreeable."
     The scene on the viewscreen panned out to reveal Ardek
standing in front of the massive viewscreen on his ship.  "I
apologize for the lack of rhyme, but I'm not an expert on
Federation Standard."  Ardek gestured toward the viewscreen. 
"This is a rogue planet in the Magila system.  Your human
counterpart, Kristen Larkin, is trapped inside.  Come here alone
or we'll blow up the planet with her inside it.  Hope you've
enjoyed your special day!  Horshak out."
     

     "Captain."
     "Hmmmmph," Captain Baxter said, flopping over in bed and
throwing an arm around Counselor Peterman.
     "Captain," Larkin said again.
     "Hrrrk...Nuq'neh.  HuqvaH kos.  D'sengh," Peterman muttered,
nuzzling against Baxter's chest.
     Larkin gently nudged Baxter's shoulder.  "Captain," she
said, a bit louder.
     "Nnnnnnnk.." Baxter said, rolling in the opposite direction.
     "Very well," Larkin said.  "Please forgive me in advance
for this, Captain.  Computer, on my mark please turn the lights on
full and play the 1812 Overature at maximum tolerable volume."
     "Acknowledged."
     "Mark."
     The lights suddenly flared to life as canons and music
boomed in Baxter and Peterman's ears.  Charlie whined and covered
his head with his paws.
     Baxter snapped up in bed.  "Red Alert!"
     "You are in your quarters, Captain.  I have come to you in
need of assistance."
     "You what?" Baxter cried over the music, as Peterman sat up
beside him, rubbing her eyes.
     "I said I have come to you in need of assistance."
     "Computer, cut music and bring the lights down to one half!"
Baxter barked.  "Now...what are you doing here at..." Baxter
glanced at his chronometer.  "Oh-two hundred?"
     "Kris Larkin, my human counterpart, is being held hostage by 
Commander Ardek of the Romulan Warbird Horshak.  As we have 
little time, I saw fit to break into your quarters to ask for assistance."  
Larkin quickly explained the particulars of Kris' kidnapping.
     "Damn," Baxter said groggily, rubbing his beard.  "Well, we
can't very well leave this assignment.  We'll have Starfleet send
a..."
     "Negative.  It is I who must go alone so that Ardek may take
me in Kris's place.  Ardek will kill her otherwise."
     "That bastard!" Peterman said, turning to Baxter.  "What's
she talking about?"
     "Go back to sleep, honey," Baxter said, looking back to
Larkin.  "So, you're just going to take a runabout and give
yourself up?"
     "That is correct.  I have spent the past four point five
minutes exploring every other viable alternative.  Giving myself
up to Ardek is the only strategy with less than a five percent
chance of error."
     "What if you took the Escort?  You could slip past Ardek
with the sensor-reflective shielding and rescue Kris."
     "I considered that strategem.  The margin of error is
fifteen percent, judging by the success of the SR shielding in the
past."    
     "Well, you can't just give yourself up, Commander," Baxter
said resolutely.  "I won't let you."
     "It is my life to give, sir."
     "Larkin..." Baxter sighed.  He rubbed his eyes again,
staring through his fingers at the android.  She was wearing her
uniform trousers, with Ford's frilly nightie and her Starfleet
vest on top.  He shook his head and tried to gather his thoughts. 
"Baxter to Richards."
     "Richards here," came the groggy voice after a few moments'
pause.
     "Can we configure the Escort to tunnel inside an ice
planetoid without being noticed by Romulan sensors?"
     "Uh, I guess.  But may I ask why you'd need to do that?"
     Baxter repeated what Larkin had told him.
     "Holy crap," Richards said, stunned.  "I'm getting dressed
now.  Have Larkin meet me on the Escort in ten minutes."
     "She's on her way," Baxter said, looking up to Larkin. 
"Baxter out."
     "Sir, I..."
     "Larkin, you are part of a crew.  We stick together when
one of our own gets into trouble.  Do you recall when Peterman,
Browning, J'hana and I risked our necks going into Klingon territory
to save Chris?"
     "Vividly, sir.  However, this is an entirely different scenario.  
I did not ask for help."
     "Richards didn't either, but we went to save him anyway. 
Now get down to the Escort deck and bring a security team with
you.  Every minute you sit here is a minute wasted.  Kris needs
our help, and by the Great Bird, we're going to help her.  Got
that?"
     "Yes, sir," Larkin said.  "I appreciate your help."
     "Think nothing of it."  Baxter ordered the lights cut off
and fell back onto the bed, curling against Peterman as Larkin
hurried out of his quarters.
     "Hrrrmmmmm..." Peterman sighed.  "Was someone just in here?"
     "Was who just where?" Baxter asked sleepily.
     "You were talking to someone.  About sticking together...ice
planets... great birds?"
     "Doesn't sound familiar, honey," Baxter murmured, snuggling
against Peterman.  "Just go back to sleep."


     "Andrews...McCarthy...Puckett...O'Donnell."  Lt. Gellar
called off the roster of his security team as they briskly filed
by him, each picking up a phaser rifle from the table at the
center of Escort's cramped engine room.
     Hartley watched Gellar drilling his officers as she slid down
the ladder from the upper warp core to the main level.  "Could 
you quiet down, Brian?  I only got an hour of sleep."
     "Serves you right," Gellar said, examining his padd, not
bothering to look at Hartley.
     "What," Hartley said, wrapping her arms around Gellar's
waist.  "Jealous of Brak and Dunk?"
     "If lots of muscles and hair is what you like, I guess
they're fine.  Whatever.  I don't care."
     "My poor little Brian is hurt, isn't he?" Hartley said with a
laugh.  "That's so cute."
     "Lieutenant!" Richards barked, hurrying into the engine
room and zipping up his uniform vest.
     Hartley flipped around, snapped to attention.  "Commander..."
     "Status on the engines?"
     "Warming up," Hartley said.  "Give them four more minutes."
     Richards looked over the warp core, then turned back to
Hartley.  "What about the SR shields?"
     "I redirected power from some nonvital systems.  Doubled
their effectiveness.  No way the Romulans will see us."
     "Good.  Then prepare for departure."
     "You're awfully clipped this morning, Commander," Hartley
said.  "Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?"
     "Gee, Lieutenant, I don't know why I'm crabby," Richards
snapped.  "Maybe it's because someone's LIFE is at stake?"
     "That doesn't give you the right to be snappish at me,
Commander!" Hartley fired back.     
     "Uh..." Gellar said reluctantly.  "Security team's ready,
sirs."
     "Shut up!" Hartley and Richards both shouted, prompting
Gellar to quickly lead his team out of the compartment.
     Richards glared one more time at Hartley and turned on a
heel.  "I'll be on the bridge.  I want to be ready to leave by the
time I get up there."
     "We'll see," Hartley huffed, sitting down behind the systems
display and folding her arms.
     

     Lt. Commander Larkin sat erect in Escort's command chair, 
staring at the stars on the viewscreen.  "Prepare to release docking 
clamps."
     Ensign Sefelt fumbled with the operations console. 
"Affirmative, Lieutenant.  We have clearance from the bridge."
     "Engine warm-up sequence begun," Madera ticked off from the
helm.  
     Gellar rushed out of the bridge access hatch and took up a
seat opposite Sefelt at the tactical/comm console.  "Weapons and
communications on-line."
     "Proceed with debarkation," Larkin ordered promptly.
     "Releasing docking clamps," Sefelt announced, as the Escort
dropped away from Explorer.
     Richards gripped the door frame as he stumbled onto the
bridge.  "Larkin...did you launch us?"
     "I felt it appropriate to begin as soon as possible,"
Larkin stated.  "Ensign Madera, lay in a course for the Magila
system.  Full impulse, then Warp Nine once we clear the Jernas
system."
     "Aye, sir."
     "Execute."
     "Let's get this straight from the get-go, Kristen,"
Richards said, approaching the command chair.  "I'm in command
of the mission."
     "There is no need to take this mission personally, Commander," 
Larkin said.  "We are both concerned with Kris' safety.  It so 
happens that I am next in the rotation to command the Escort.  It is 
simply logical that..."
     "Get out of the chair, Kristen."
     Larkin looked at Richards a moment, cocked her head.  Very 
well."
     The android vacated the command chair and appraoched
Sefelt's station.
     "Ensign..."
     Sefelt looked up at the android fearfully.  "You want me to
leave..."
     "Affirmative.  You may man the aft science panel."
     Sefelt hurried out of his chair and scuttled over to the
wall of blinking lights at the rear of the bridge, staring at
Larkin incredulously.  He could have sworn she was angry.
     Just as Richards fell into the command chair, the Escort 
jumped into warp and the stars in the screen streaked toward 
him.
     "We're underway," Madera said, glaring back at Richards. 
"Jerk."
     Richards winced.  "As you were."  As if he didn't have
enough problems, Ensign Madera had been up for helm duty on the
Escort.  So not only did he have to keep Larkin from sacrificing
herself, rescue Kris from a rogue ice planetoid, and fight an
assanine Romulan commander, he'd also have to deal with a helms-
man whose feelings he'd hurt.
     

     Wrapped in a thick survival jacket she'd picked up at a
"must-go" sale on Caldera Prime, Kris Larkin braced either side
of the bridge-level escape hatch and yanked herself up and out,
stumbling into a bank of snow.
     Bort extended a hand to her, lifting Kris to her feet. 
"That first step is a doozy, Kris."
     "I noticed," Kris replied.  "Let's get moving before that
son of a bitch gets to us."
     Bort adjusted the loaded-down backpack on his shoulders. 
"You sure we've got everything?"
     "More or less," Kris replied, yanking her own duffel out of
the escape hatch.
     "Feels like more, if you ask me," Bort chuckled softly.
     Kris pushed ahead of Bort and climbed her way through the
narrow crevice of ice that led out toward the open cavern she'd
detected on Daisy's sensors.
     Yanking a refurbished tricorder form a Federaton R&D auction
she'd attended out of her pouch, Kris examined the wall of ice
before her.  "We can squirm through about twenty more meters. 
Then there's still eighty meters we'll have to cut through to get
to the other side."
     Bort yanked out his Cardassian phaser rifle and patted it
lovingly.  "That's why I brought ol' Nekto here."
     "Glad to hear it," Kris said.  "Now let's get going before
that elfin bastard catches up to us."
     

     "What's taking so long?" Ardek asked, tapping his feet
impatiently as Centurion Krellin worked the Romulan scout 
ship's controls.
     "We have to reconfigure our disruptors to tunnel through 
the ice, Commander," Krellin said as he worked.
     "I do not like this," Sub-Commander Gatana said warily,
hovering behind Ardek. 
     "Oh, what now?" Ardek muttered, staring up at Gatana.
     "Sir, if I may speak freely..."
     Ardek folded his arms.  "I suppose."
     "The Romulan government is growing tiresome of these
hairbrained schemes of yours.  Other Romulan commanders are 
out threatening people, controlling our colonies, discovering new
forms of weaponry.  And you're busy trying to dig a freighter
captain out of the ice so you can trade her for the android she is
modeled after."
     "If you have a point, I'd love to hear it," Ardek said testily.
     "Your actions are irrational, sir.  May I suggest..."
     "I have a suggestion," Ardek snapped.  "You get up to the
bridge and keep a lookout for the android.  I want to know the
second she gets here."
     "What if Explorer comes?" Gatana asked.
     "Then we'll kill the human Larkin and be done with it."
     "Shall I then scuttle the planet with you and her inside it?"
     "You very well shall not!" Ardek barked.  "Warn us to get
out and THEN scuttle it."
     "I'll try to remember that, sir," said Gatana, ducking out
of the scout craft's hatch.
     "Impudent bitch," Ardek muttered.  "Come on, Krellin!  I 
don't have all day, here."
     "We're ready, sir," Krellin finally said, emerging from
underneath the hatch beneath the helm console.  "Tunneling
disruptors are online."
     "Good," Ardek said, rubbing his hands together.  "Let's go
ice fishing, then, shall we?"
     "I thought we were going to capture the human, sir."
     "Just launch the damn ship, Krellin!"
     
     
     About an hour after they'd abandoned the Daisy, Kris and
Bort managed to blast their way out of the ice and into the large
open cavern at the core of the Magila ice planetoid.
     Bort leaned his elbows up against a large ice formation and
put a pair of binoculars up to his eyes. 
     "What do you see?" Kris asked impatiently from behind him.
     "Five of them.  No weapons to speak of.  Not much clothing,
either."
     "Do they look hostile?"
     "I've never seen a hostile penguin, so I really wouldn't know."
     "Then we're going to go try to make contact," Kris said
resolutely.
     "I don't know," Bort said, putting the binoculars down. 
"They look pretty big.  I'm not sure if I can take them all out
should they get pissy with us."
     "Just get my back.  I'll talk to them.  I'm sure they'll be
reasonable."
     "What makes you say that?"
     "Kristen has always spoken fondly of penguins.  They're
really a docile breed of bird.  Harmless, actually."
     "May I remind you that just because those things look like
penguins doesn't necessarily mean they'll act like penguins."
     "Noted," Kris said. "Let's go, then."
     "Are you sure about this?"
     "Do you have a better idea?"
     "Not especially," Bort admitted, following Kris across the
vast ice plain.
     Bort and Kris made their way toward the cluster of
penguinoids quickly and cautiously, hands at sides so that they
didn't give off any hostile signals.
     As they approached, the penguinoids stopped squawking 
among themselves and turned their bulbous little heads.  
     Kris approached the group, pasting on the widest grin
possible and extending her hand.  "Pleasure to meet you.  Kris
Larkin.  How do you do?"
     "Waaawwwk!  Larrin!" one of the penguins cried, and before
Bort could raise his weapon, he knocked the Bolian off his feet
with one flipper and hurled Kris over his shoulder.
     "Larrin?" Kris asked dumbly as she was dragged away.  "Who
the hell is Larrin?"
                           



CHAPTER FOUR
                           
                           
                           
                           
                           
     "So you can see, Captain, why our situation might be
construed as a bit tenuous."
     Baxter leaned forward on his elbows, staring across the
conference room at the towering polar bear that read from his
prepared notes, peering over a pair of dignified-looking
spectacles.  It was all he could do just to keep his eyes open.
     On his left, Peterman nudged him in the gut, stirring him
awake.
     "Of course," Baxter said, sitting back in his chair.  "You
feel like there are irreconcilable differences between you and the
Jernasi.  You're polar bears, they're penguins.  It's natural to
feel a kind of deep-seated animosity toward them."
     "It's a shame," Harlan Baxter interjected from Baxter's
right side, "that you and the Jernasi can't settle those
differences."
     Ngaa folded his paws primly in front of him on the
conference table.  "It is all about armaments, Mr. Baxter.  The
Jernasi are preparing for war.  Is it not sensible that we do the
same?"
     Baxter motioned to J'hana, who was standing beside him,
flanked by two of her top security guards, Saral and Henson.
     J'hana stepped forward and handed him a padd, then resumed
her surveillance of the room.
     Reading from the padd, Baxter wearily said, "Judging by our
scans, it looks like the Jernasi have just as many ships as you."
     "But you forget about their cloaking devices, Captain!" Ngaa
exlaimed.  "They have many other ships hidden throughout this
system."
     "Can you substantiate that claim, sir?" Harlan asked.
     "Not exactly," Ngaa admitted.  "But we have strong
suspicions."
     "Strong suspicions are not much to base a war on," Harlan
said.  "Are your people truly ready for a prolonged conflict?"
     "Admittedly, no, but neither are we prepared to be
conquered!"
     "The Jernasi won't be doing any conquering," Baxter piped
up.  "You can be assured of that, Mr. Ngaa."
     "You'll forgive me if I don't completely trust you, Captain."
     "And what would prevent you from trusting the Federation's
word?" Harlan asked.
     "The Jernasi are your protectorate.  You'll make sure they
come to no harm.  If they drag us into war, you'll have to support
them."
     Baxter began to nod off again.
     "Andy," Peterman whispered.  She turned her attention to
Ngaa.  "Mr. Ngaa, what I think the Captain is trying to say is
that the Federation has no intentions of helping the Jernasi go to
war with you."
     "Is that so?" Ngaa asked, twitching his furry white nose. 
"Then why did they send a warship here to aid the Jernasi?"
     "The Explorer is not a warship," Baxter said, eyes
fluttering.  "J'hana:  Get me some coffee.  A Conway blend,
preferably."
     J'hana stepped forward, arms clasped behind her back.  "Sir,
that is not altogether wise.  Might I reccomend something in
Orange Pekoe?"
     "A Conway blend!" Baxter said, teeth clenched, then looked
back at Ngaa.  "The Explorer is heavily armed, but those armaments
are only for defense."
     "We shall see when the time comes."
     "What time is that?" Harlan asked.  
     "The time for war," Ngaa said plainly.
     Baxter took the steaming cup J'hana offered him and sipped
from it.  "That is exactly why we're here, sir.  To prevent a
war."
     "Then force the Jernasi to disarm."
     "We can't really..."  Baxter faltered as electric caffeine
surged through his system.  He could feel his eyes bulging. 
"Do...that..."
     "Then there will be war."  Ngaa stood up, glancing at the
two Golath that flanked him.  "I can see that your people cannot
be reasoned with.  Let whatever deaths result from this be on your
head."
     "Whooo!" Baxter exclaimed, jumping out of his chair.  "Uh,
wait a minute, Ngaa!  I'm sure we can come to some sort of
compromise!"
     "That is doubtful."  Ngaa stormed out of the conference
room, his ceremonial red and blue cape fluttering behind.  The two
polar bears that had accompanied him filed out behind him.
     "Well, that was an unprecedented success," Harlan muttered.
     "My toes are curling," Baxter said, looking down at his
feet.
     "I warned you," J'hana growled.  "Now you won't be able to
sleep for days."
     "Don't either of you think it's strange that the Golath
ordered this informal meeting hours before we're scheduled to have
breakfast with the Jernasi?" Peterman asked, swiveling in her
chair.
     "It's a common diplomatic tactic," Harlan said.  "They
wanted time to size us up without the Jernasi here."
     "I never thought a fluffy polar bear could be so damn
crafty," Baxter said.
     "Well, what do we do now?" Peterman asked.
     "We go back to Jernas and eat breakfast," Baxter said,
jumping out of his chair.  "And hope we can avert a war."
     

     Lt. Commander Richards leaned up against the railing that
overlooked the second level of the Escort's two-story warp core,
watching the swirling matter and anti-matter as it flared
together.
     "Commander, I expected you to be regenerating," Lt. Commander 
Larkin said, crawling out of the Jeffries' tube access nearby.
     "Couldn't."
     Larkin joined Richards at the railing.  "Could not
regenerate?  I find that hard to believe.  Your normal sleep cycle
dictates you be sleeping right now."
     "Things are different.  Humans can't sleep when they're
worried about someone, Kristen."
     "That makes little sense.  You need all of your faculties
about you when we come up against Ardek.  Lack of sleep will only
hinder you."
     "Maybe so.  Tell my psyche that."
     "I do not see how I would accomplish that."
     "Nevermind."  Richards turned around and leaned back
against the railing.  "We'll be at the Magila system soon.  It's
pointless to go to sleep now."
     "I had not realized that my human counterpart had that much
emotional significance to you," Larkin said, following
Richards down to the bottom level.
     "We were friends a long time ago.  Me, her, and Chris."
     "You are referring to my father."
     "Yes, Henricks."  Richards thought a moment.  "And I
guess it was nice seeing her again, after so much time had gone
by.  It reminded me of the past."
     "A common enough occurrence."
     "Friends are hard to come by in this life, Larkin.  You
have to treasure them."
     "If Kris Larkin ceased to function, it would certainly
affect my systems negatively."
     Richards chuckled.  "You mean you would miss her,
Larkin."
     "Not in so many words.  But yes."
     "You old softie."
     "I am only twelve, sir."


     "I think you all have made a grave mistake," Kris Larkin
said, as she was hauled into the massive ice-carved building at
the center of the cavern.  She assumed it was some sort of
government building or something.  She found the penguins use of
buttresses and mosques quite interesting; however, penguinoid
architecture was not foremost on her mind at the moment.    
     "Really," Kris said.  "I'm not 'Larrin.'  I don't even know
what a Larrin is."
     "SQUUAAAAWK," replied the penguin that was toting her. 
"Waawwwk waaak waaak."
     "That's nice," Kris replied.  "But what about putting me
down?  Can you do that for me?  Please?"
     "Waaaaaawk!"
     Kris sighed.  Negotiation was getting her nowhere.  She
glanced over the penguin's shoulder.  Bort's unconcious body was
being hauled behind her by another penguin.
     If only she had a universal translator, she might have some
hope of getting through to these beings.  But, as it was, all she
could do was hope that 'Larrin' was a respected figure in the
culture of these penguinoids and not a foul demon.
     As Kris debated that question, her captor lugged her up a
grand staircase, down an icy hallway, and into what looked like
some type of temple.  She was hauled to an altar at the front of
the temple and tied down at the wrists and ankles.
     "So I take it I'm a vengeful god, huh?" Kris asked plainly.
     "KRWAAAAWWK!"
     "Hey," Kris said, spitting hair out of her face.  "Watch
your tone, big guy!"
     The penguinoid spat in her face and marched out defiantly,
followed by his fellow penguins.
     "Great, just great," Kris said, trying to wipe her face off
on the ice slab she was tied to.  She glanced to her right to see
that Bort had been slumped into a nearby pew.  "Hey, Bort!  
Bort!  Wake up!" she said in a hushed voice.
     Bort leaned up, groggy.  "What hit me?"
     "A giant flipper," Kris said with a half-smile.
     "I take it they didn't like your negotiating style?" Bort
asked, rubbing his head.
     "You could say that.  Now come here and untie me!"
     Bort slogged over to the altar and began yanking at the
straps.
     "Hurry.  I have no idea when they're coming back."
     "It would be a hell of a lot easier if they hadn't taken my
phaser rifle," Bort muttered.  
     "Shut up and hurry.  I hear something coming.  It sounds
like...webbed feet!"
     "You're not making this any easier," Bort grunted.
     "WAAAAAAARKKK!"
     "F***," Kris said.  "Just go, Bort.  Try to find help."
     "Here???" 
     "I said GO!" Kris cried, kicking her one free leg at Bort. 
She could hear the webbed feet marching fast down the aisle.
     "Okay, okay," Bort said, glancing over his shoulder at the
approaching penguinoids, then hurrying behind the altar, ducking
down a corridor.
     "SQAWK, WAWWK WAWWK!" one of the penguins 
commanded, gesturing for a group to follow Bort.  That penguin, 
meanwhile, stayed behind to reaffix Kris' straps.  It looked at Kris 
with what she assumed was a very disapproving glare.  Kris learned 
very quickly that one's emotions couldn't be judged very well when 
one had a beak.
     "So..." Kris said nervously, wincing as her bonds were
pulled tighter.  "Is the weather around here always this cold?"
     "WARK!" squawked the penguinoid, who turned on a webbed 
foot and marched out of the temple.
     "Just peachy."


     Lt. Hartley was curled in the Escort's command chair, one leg
pulled up to her chest, engrossed in the latest Vulcan romance
novel, when Ensign Madera spoke up.
     "What do you know about Commander Richards, Lieutenant?"
     Hartley glanced up from her padd.  "What?"
     Madera returned to the helm controls.  "Never mind.  I
didn't say anything."
     "No, I distinctly remember hearing something."
     "Lt. Commander Richards.  What do you know about him?"
     "I've served under him for almost three years," Hartley said,
stretching out and laying the padd on the console next to the
command chair.  "I guess I know him pretty well."
     "Dateable?"
     "I couldn't speak on that," Hartley admitted.  "But he's a
nice enough guy.  He's being an ass right now because he's 
worried about his friend--and probably because he's uptight about 
the situation between him and Dr. Browning.  Why?"
     Madera turned around in her chair.  "We went on a date.  I
thought it went fine, then the next day he tells me he's not ready
for a relationship.  Spouts some crap about not wanting to ruin
our friendship."
     "Ouch."
     "Exactly.  What do you make of it?"
     "He's an artist, Susan.  He's not supposed to make sense."
     "Wait just a minute.  I'm a musician...what's that supposed
to mean?"
     Hartley blinked.  "Uh...totally different things.  Musicians
are practical.  They have scales and...bars...and uh, rhythms--
structure.  Artists have a blank piece of paper and a lot of
colors.  You can't expect him to be predictable."
     "So I'm too predictable to him?"
     "Oh, jeeze," Hartley said.  "Listen, Susan, Chris's got a
lot to sort through right now, what with Janice, Kristen, Kris, 
and the whole Klingon TV thing.  I suggest you find someone a 
little bit more stable."
     "Like who?"
     Not my boyfriend, Miss Tramp, Hartley thought to herself,
recalling the problems Madera had caused between she and Gellar
the previous year.  "Someone in the science division, maybe."  Yes, 
that would be safe.
     "Maybe you're right," Madera replied, glancing over at ops. 
"Or maybe someone in operations."
     "Huh?" Ensign Sefelt said, looking up from his panel.
     Madera grinned and turned around.  "Never mind."  When she
turned around, she saw something truly disturbing pop up on her
sensors.  "Oh my gosh--Lieutenant!"
     Hartley shot forward in her chair.  "What is it?"
     Madera punched a control, bringing the sensor image up on
her screen: It was a Romulan Warbird.  Weapons hot.  Angling 
right toward them.
     "That would be the Horshak," Madera said fearfully.
     "Holy s***," Hartley said, punching a button on the command
chair.  "Red Alert.  Lt. Commander Richards to the bridge!"
     "Maybe they just picked up our engine emissions," Sefelt
offered shakily from ops.
     "Good thinking," Hartley said.  "Susan, all stop."
     "Answering all stop," Madera said, punching at her panel.
     Hartley hopped out of the command chair and began tapping 
in calculations at the vacant tactical console.  "Our emissions are
being totally masked.  They shouldn't be able to spot us."
     Gellar rushed out onto the bridge and pushed past Hartley
into the tactical chair.  "What's going on?"
     Hartley looked down at Gellar with skepticism.  "Romulans. 
But I feel much better now that you're here to save the day, hon."
     "Very funny.  Did you call Commander Richards?"
     "Just now.  But until he gets here, I'm in command."
     Gellar bristled.  "I'll bet you just love that."
     "Shut up and prepare to arm weapons.  If they so much as
twitch we need to come out firing."
     "A hell of a lot of good that'll do us," Gellar snapped
back.  "The Explorer is barely a match for that thing."
     "That's why I'm glad they don't have a Lt. Gellar at
tactical," Hartley grinned.  Then, quickly, her smile disappeared. 
"Now tell me what they're doing over there, Brian."
     Gellar checked his panel.  "They're initiating intense localized
scanning bursts."
     "Then it's something we can outrun," Hartley said, crossing
to the front of the bridge and putting her hands on Madera's
chair.  "Pick up on those scans and swerve around them, Susan. 
All we have to use against them is our size and maneuverability."
     "That'll take a bit of doing," Madera said, pulling the
Escort ahead and banking it hard to port.  "Especially when you
want us to keep a low engine profile."
     "What's going on?" Richards said, as he and Larkin filed
onto the bridge.
     "Them," Hartley said, thumbing back at the viewscreen.
     Larkin relieved Sefelt at ops and examined the scans.  "It
appears they are using intense scanning bursts to locate us."
     "What could have gotten their attention?" Richards asked,
falling into the command chair.
     "Anything from our engine emissions to the replicator on
Deck Two," Hartley said, rapidly tapping at the Engineering
controls at the rear of the bridge.  "I'm trying to intensify the
sensor-jamming effects of our shields."
     "They're going to spot us," said Madera.  "We have to get
out of here."
     "No," Richards said.  "Just the opposite.  We have to get
so close to them that they can't find us.  If we get right under
their noses, they won't be able to scan for us."
     Madera turned in her chair.  "Pardon?"
     Richards jumped up and leaned over Madera's shoulder,
tapping at the helm console.  "See this empty space between 
her forward and aft hull?  I want you to get us inside it."
     "You have to be joking."
     "It's that or we get blown to bits," Richards said
reasonably, returning to the command chair.
     "That it is," Madera said, engaging Escort's engines.


     Sub-Commander Gatana paced the bridge of the Horshak,
squinting at the mass of stars on the viewscreen.  "There is
something out there, D'mona."
     "Perhaps something appeared for an instant, Sub-Commander,"
D'mona said, looking up from the science panel.  "But it is gone
now."
     Gatana lowered herself into the command chair. 
"Unacceptable.  Continue scanning.  We must find whatever it was
that triggered our sensors."
     "With all respect, Sub-Commander, shouldn't we return to
Magila?  Commander Ardek's orders were explicit that we stand
guard there."
     "Excuse me," Gatana hissed.  "But who's the Sub-Commander
here?"
     "My apologies."
     "Keep your apologies," snapped Gatana, "and keep scanning."
     

     Richards drummed his fingers on the arms of the command
chair as he watched the green deck plating of the Warbird Horshak
o