Star Trek and all its references are the sole property of Paramount
and Viacom Communications. Star Traks, the Secondprize,
Waystation, and all their references are the sole property of Alan
Decker.  That tiny portion left over is ALL MINE!  Anthony
Butler, Copyright 1997.

WARNING: The following contains mildly disturbing language
and situations.  I'd say it's comparable to the primetime timeslot.  If
Seinfeld doesn't offend you, you're probably okay :)







    
          STAR TRAKS: CONFRONTATIONS    
    
          BY ANTHONY BUTLER    
    
    
    


 



     For new beginnings, which all of us could use
    from time to time--no matter how hard they
    are to come by.











                             
                             
  



                         PROLOGUE
                               
    
    
    
    
USS CAPISTRANO
OBERTH-CLASS
DEEP SPACE EXPLORER
    
    Captain's Log,
       Stardate 51989.4.  We have completed our scans of sector
    21994, and are currently en route to sector 21995.  So far,
    there's nothing unusual to report.  Sector 21994 was about as
    action packed as the last twenty sectors.  Something tells me
    if this crew doesn't see some action soon, they'll go nuts.
    
       Captain Marion Gray grabbed a cup of coffee out of the
    replicator and sat down in the command chair, rubbing her eyes
    tiredly as she watched the stars float by on the viewscreen.
       Gray blew on the steaming cup before taking a sip,
    peering over the steam at the Ensign sitting at ops.
       "How was the party last night, Carla?"
       Ensign Payne turned around in her chair.  "Not very
    eventful, sir.  Muldoon and Wilkins got really drunk, as usual,
    and Parker almost blew out deck four's primary plasma
    manifold."
       "We're really getting cabin fever, aren't we?" Gray
    asked, leaning back and sipping again from the cup of coffee
    thoughtfully.
       "Yes, sir," Payne said, turning back to her panel.  "And,
    frankly, the ship's counselor is not much help."
       Gray nodded.  "I've heard similar things from the rest
    of the crew.  You have to remember that Starfleet believes in
    giving second chances."   
       "But, Captain...really..." Payne said, "What kind of
    morons would hire a Vulcan ship's counselor?  And one with a
    severe case of manic depression at that?"
       "Starfleet morons, Ensign Payne, that's who," Gray
    said sternly.  "Try and remember that."
       "Yes, sir," Payne said, deciding to let the matter rest.
       "Captain, we're picking something up on the long range
    sensors."  Lieutenant Uriel said from tactical.  "It's
    huge."
       "Is it a vessel or a natural space body?" Gray asked,
    leaning forward with concern.
       "It's definitlely not naturally occuring," Uriel replied.
       Gray turned to face her officer.  "How can you be so
    sure?"
       "Well," Uriel said, gulping.  "It's slowing down."
       "Red Alert," Captain Gray said, turning back around. 
    "Recall the remainder of the senior staff."
       Ten minutes later, the remainder of the senior staff,
    which was comprised of science officer Hill, Commander Fred
    Muldoon, the first officer, and Counselor Telvin.
       Commander Muldoon took his seat and stared at the
    approaching blip on the viewscreen.  "What is it, Captain?"
       Captain Gray frowned.  "I wish we knew.  Payne can't
    identify it as anything in the Federation database."
       "Can we tell if it's hostile?" Muldoon asked, concerned.
       "Well," Lieutenant Uriel piped up.  "It's armed to the
    teeth with antiproton cannons and plasma torpedoes.  And
    they're all aimed at us."
       Gray raised an eyebrow.  "Sounds pretty darn hostile
    to me.  Arm our weapons, Mr. Uriel.  And try to hail them."
       "Affirmative," Uriel replied, going to work at his panel.
       "The vessel is moving to intercept us, Captain."  Ensign
    Payne reported.  "It will be within weapons range in one
    minute."
       "No response to our hails, Captain," Uriel reported. 
       "We should get the hell out of here," Muldoon said.
       "Do you have anything to add to this?" Captain Gray
    asked, turning her command chair to face Conselor Telvin.
       Rather obese for a Vulcan, Telvin shifted uncomfortably in
    his chair.  "I wish I knew.  I'm very scared, Captain.  We
    could all die!"
       "You're a Vulcan, for goodness sake," Gray said
    incredulously.  "Start acting like one.  You're supposed to be
    dispassionate."
       "Tell that to my hands, sir," Telvin said, holding up his
    hands.  "Look at them, they're shaking."
       Gray just rolled her eyes, turning her chair to face
    forward.  "Mr. Uriel, send to Starfleet, priority channel: 
    Contact made with new lifeform, well armed, may be hostile. 
    Please advise."
       "Aye, sir," the Bajoran replied, entering the proper commands. 
       "Captain..." Ensign Payne said, panic in her eyes.  "The
    vessel is within weapons range and closing fast."
       "Open a channel," Gray said urgently.
       "Open," Uriel reported. 
       "This is Captain Marion Gray of the Federation Starship
    Capistrano.  We are a peaceful vessel on a mission of
    exploration.  Please stand down your weapons and identify
    yourself."
       Uriel looked down at his panel.  "We're getting a
    response, Captain.  Audio only."
       "On speakers," Gray commanded.
       "Did you sssssssay Federation?" The voice asked.  The
    raspy, almost effeminate sound of the voice made Captain
    Gray shiver.
       "Y-yes, that's correct," Gray said nervously.  "Why,
    have you heard of us?"
       "You could ssssssay that," the voice said angrily.
       "Sir, they're firing!" Uriel shouted.
       "Evasive maneuvers!" Gray replied, as suddenly the
    ship was pounded by the other vessel's antiproton cannons.
       "Shields down to forty percent," Uriel replied, holding
    onto his station as the vessel shook.  "Hull damage on deck
    fourteen."
       "Return fire, all weapons," Gray replied, as the ship
    was pounded again.
       "Our shields are down," Uriel said.  "Hull breaches on
    decks six and ten."
       "I don't want to die!" Counselor Telvin said suddenly,
    jumping to his feet and running off the bridge.
       "Counselor!  Come back--oh, why bother," Gray said,
    jumping to her feet and struggling over to the helm console. 
    "Ensign Wilkins, can you get us out of here?"
       "No sir," Wilkins replied, holding onto his station.  "We
    can't go to warp and I can't even divert enough power for
    impulse."
       "Damn," Gray said, looking up at the massive, hawklike
    vessel as it loomed over the Capistrano.  She quickly tapped
    her comm badge  "This is the captain to all hands, abandon
    ship!"
       The bridge crew scrambled for the turbolifts, not waiting
    to be told a second time and not even following proper
    Starfleet evacuation protocol.  
       Ensign Payne stepped into the turbolift, turning back
    momentarily to watch the huge vessel on the screen fire another
    antiproton blast.
       The blast tore through the Capistrano's engineering hull
    immediately, sending the saucer section spiralling through
    space like a huge frisbee.  Seconds later, another blast
    destroyed the saucer section.
       And that quickly, the entire Starship Capistrano was
    destroyed by this powerful new foe.
       All hands were killed.
       Well, all but one.
      














                      
                       CHAPTER/ONE
                            
                            
                            
                            
                            
WAYSTATION
STARDATE 51991.6
       
       Commander Lisa Beck tied her robe quickly around her
    waist as she stepped out of the turbolift and onto the ops
    deck.
       "This better be good, Commander," she said angrily,
    folding her arms and looking over Lt. Commander Walter Morales's
    shoulder.  "You woke me up from a wonderful dream."
       "See for yourself, Commander," Morales said, hitting a
    button on his docking panel.  
       Beck looked up at the viewscreen, which suddenly
    displayed a severely damaged vessel.
       "It's Nebula-class," Beck said thoughtfully.  "We don't
    have any Nebula-class vessels in the area."
       "We sure don't," Morales agreed.
       "Which means..." Beck said tiredly.
       "You won't believe it when you see it, Commander," Lt.
    Commander Morales said, hitting another button on his panel,
    which zoomed in on the top of the vessel's saucer section.
       Beck gasped as she followed the huge, black gash that
    scarred the vessel's saucer section.  Whatever attacked this
    ship was pretty damn...
       And that's when her eyes hit upon the call letters of the
    ship. "NCC-83835," Morales said, now behind Beck as she
    approached the viewscreen.  "USS Aerostar."
       "You're right, Commander," Beck said incredulously.  "I
    don't believe it."
       "Should we contact Starfleet?" Morales asked.
       Beck turned around, shrugging.  "Might as well."
    
    
FEDERATION HEADQUARTERS
PARIS, FRANCE
    
       "So, in conclusion, the Explorer project is a dream given
    form,"  Admiral Frank McGrath said, smiling broadly as he
    addressed the Federation council.  "And the dream is closer at
    hand than you might think.  The ship is almost finished.  All I
    need now is a crew."
       "Frankly, Admiral McGrath," President Jaresh-Inyo said slowly,
    turning his back to the giant viewscreen at the front of the
    council chambers and folding his hands on top of his desk.  "I
    fail to see the necessity for such a project.  Our new ship can
    be put to much better uses than what you propose.  We are
    always in need of a new warship to guard the Federation
    borders."
       "Perhaps," McGrath said, approaching Inyo's desk.  "But sir,
    with all due respect, we have enough warships.  What we need is
    a ship of discovery, of exploration.  We need to seek out new
    life, new civilizations."
       At the rear of the chambers, Admiral John Phillips bent
    over and whispered to the woman sitting next to him.  "He's
    finally lost it, hasn't he?"
       "Perhaps," Admiral Mora Neilson replied.
       "The Explorer will give us the greatest weapon we could
    add to our arsenal, Mister President," McGrath said, turning back
    to face the council.  "Knowledge."
       "I thought our greatest weapon was the tri-cobalt
    device," Inyo said, rubbing his chin.  
       "I have a question," one of the councilmembers said,
    raising his hand.  "Where exactly do you plan on getting your
    crew?  You'll need experienced officers, won't you?"
       "I hadn't thought of that," McGrath admitted.
       "Very well, Admiral," Inyo said, standing up and
    replacing McGrath at the podium as he stepped aside.  "Find your
    crew.  Meanwhile, we will put off our decision until the
    completion of the new starship."
       Admiral McGrath shook the President's hand and made his way
    out of the council chambers, suddenly feeling very uneasy about           
    the project he had been preparing for ever since he had heard of 
    the construction of the new, upgraded Galaxy-class starship.
       The council member did have a point.  What kind of crew
    would actually be able to survive the ravages of unfamiliar
    space?  None he knew of.  
    
    
       "Damn," Commander David Conway said, pounding the
    tactical railing in frustration.  "You w-w-w-win again, sir."
       "Never challenge me at 'rock, scissors, paper,' C-c-c-c-
    commander.  I'll always win," Captain Andy Baxter said,
    patting Conway on the back.  "But it was a nice t-t-t-t-try."
       "Care to play m-m-m-me?" Lt. Tilleran asked, as she
    huddled underneath the science console.
       "Not on your l-l-l-l-life," Baxter stammered, as lights
    suddenly began to flicker on all over the bridge, casting a 
    dim glow over the room.
       "It's about damn t-t-t-time," Commander Conway said, watching
    as the bridge's malfuncioning panels fizzled on.
       The comm system buzzed to life:  "Larkin to bridge.  The 
    primary power conduit was fatally damaged.  I was, however, 
    able to repair the battery backups.  They should sufficiently 
    handle our power needs for a short time."
       Baxter tapped his comm badge as he walked around to the
    front of the bridge, where Peterman was curled in his command
    chair.  "That's g-g-g-g-great news, Larkin.  I can feel it
    getting w-w-w-w-warmer already."
       "Indeed.  Larkin out."
       "When did you say the r-rescue party was coming?"
    Counselor Peterman asked, as Captain Baxter walked back down to
    the front of the bridge where she sat huddled in the command
    chair.
       "Well," Baxter said, sitting down next to her, "Commander
    Morales said that Starfleet would dispatch its nearest vessel."
       "Which means we could be waiting anywhere between an hour
    and a day," Commander Richards said unhappily, cuddling up to
    Dr. Browning near the engineering console.
       "I wish you would stop complaining, Commander," J'hana
    said, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of the beam that
    pinned her.
       "Try not to move J'hana," Browning cautioned.  "Remember,
    you have a fractured vertebrae and four broken ribs."
       J'hana huffed in annoyance.  "Please.  It is a minor
    injury.  If Lt. Larkin had been kind enough to pull the beam
    off of me before gallivanting down to Engineering to restore
    power, I would be helping her repair the ship's systems right
    now."
       "Can we just try to get along?" Captain Baxter said,
    pulling Peterman closer to him.  "We don't know how much longer
    we'll be here, so we should start getting comfortable."
       "What about the turbolifts?" Ford asked.  "They should be
    operable again.  We could at least spread out some."
       "When Larkin took the Jeffries' tube down to
    Engineering, she said that there were large pockets of
    radiation," Commander Conway said.  "It's not worth risking
    any lives just to make sure our possessions are still intact."
       "Oh, I'd never thought of that," Peterman said worriedly. 
    "What about my babies?  Charlie, and the others?  They could be
    dead!"
       "I'm sure they're fine," Baxter said reassuringly.  "But
    just in case, I'll have Lt. Larkin look for them."
       "Thanks," Peterman said, leaning back against Baxter's
    chest.
       "Well, I don't know about the rest of you guys," Baxter
    said with a sigh, "but I could sure go for a nice stiff dr-"
       Suddenly the tactical console beeped threateningly.
       Commander Conway stepped over J'hana's crippled body and
    looked over the tactical readings.  "Captain, our scanners are
    barely functioning, but the proximity sensors are picking up
    something approaching us."
       "Well, this could be good or bad," Peterman said.
       "They're scanning us," Conway said.  "What should we do?"
       "What can we do?  We're dead in space with only minimal
    battery power," Baxter replied.     
       "We could go outside and throw rocks at them," Lt.
    Tilleran suggested.
       Commander Conway walked over to the supply closet and
    pulled out a phaser.  "Well, whoever they are, I'm going to be
    ready to blast them to atoms if neccessary."
       Baxter held Peterman close.  "Just make sure your trigger
    finger isn't too damn itchy.  This could be our rescue party
    for all we know."
       "Or they could be Yridian pirates," J'hana suggested.
       "Always the optimist," Browning sighed.
       Suddenly five figures materialized at the center of the
    bridge.
       Conway immediately aimed his phaser at the group.    
       "Don't shoot!" Commander Travis Dillon cried, shielding his
    face with his hands.  "We're Starfleet officers!  From the
    Secondprize!"
       Another member of the away team, Lt. Patricia Hawkins, Chief
    of Security, had her phaser out in a flash, trained on Conway. 
    The Secondprize's science officer, Lieutenant Commander Jaroch,
    just shook his head in disgust at Dillon as Dr. Beth Aldridge
    and Commander Scott Baird, the Secondprize's chief engineer,
    spread out to survey the damage. 
       "Oh, boy, it's the cavalry!" Ensign Ford said
    sarcastically, picking himself up and walking over to greet the
    away team.  "My, Lt. Hawkins, you've filled out nicely in the
    last year."
       "Can it, Ensign," Dillon said.
       "I can handle this one," Hawkins said, turning her weapon
    on Ford and firing.
       "A woman after my own heart," Conway said, gently putting
    his phaser down.  "You guys took long enough to get here. 
    We've been dead in space for over an hour, you know."
       Lt. Commander Jaroch pulled out his tricorder and began
    scanning the bridge.  "You are lucky that we arrived at all. 
    We just happened to be on our way here to study the strange
    behavior of the Bermuda Expanse."
       "What kind of behavior?" Baxter asked.
       "It disappeared.  Approximately one hour ago," Jaroch said.
       "That's around the time we got back here," Baxter said,
    rubbing his chin.
       "Yes, about that," Dillon said, looking around.  "Could
    you tell us exactly how you got back from the Delta Quadrant?"
       "All in good time, Commander.  Right now, we've got
    injured people for you to see to, and our ship is in pretty bad
    shape," Baxter replied.
       Dr. Aldridge looked up from Lt. J'hana as she scanned the
    Andorian with her medical tricorder.  "This one took the worst
    of it with a broken back.  We need to get her back to sickbay
    immediately."
       "Nonsense," J'hana grunted.  "It's only a minor flesh
    wound."
       "The ship's f**ked," Commander Baird said, looking to
    Dillon.  "It'll have to be towed."
       "Okay," Dillon said, glaring down at Baxter.  "Let's get
    you guys back to the Secondprize."
    
    
       "Did you hear the news?" Lt. Megan Hartley asked,
    dangling over the railing around the warp core.  
       Larkin looked up from the power conduit she was
    repairing three levels down.  "What news are you referring to?"
       "The Secondprize just got here.  They're evacuating
    everyone from the ship.  I think it's going to be towed or
    something."
       "Then it would seem my work here was for nothing,"
    Larkin said, grabbing her tools and walking over to the lift
    that would take her up to Engineering's main level.
       Hartley met Larkin at the main level with a look of
    disbelief.  "Don't you have any feelings about that?  I mean,
    the ship is wrecked; we're leaving it, probably for good, and
    we're very likely going to be reassigned.  Isn't that sad?"  
        "I would not know."  The android proceeded to put her
    tools away.
       Hartley shrugged.  "I just thought that after your
    encounter with the Borg, and with your separation from your
    newly found 'father', you'd gain some new insight on life."  
       "I have indeed gained many insights," Larkin said as
    she worked.  "But my experiences in the last weeks have not
    changed the fundamental truth of my programming.  I have no
    feelings."
       "Maybe you could duplicate the chip that Mr. Data has,"
    Hartley suggested, following Larkin down the corridor leading
    away from Engineering.
       "You do not understand, Lieutenant.  I have no feelings,
    nor do I wish to have any feelings, or any other human traits."
       "Then what do you want?" Hartley asked.  "Everyone wants
    something."
       Larkin stopped again.  "Want?  I do not know.  I had
    not considered the possibility of us ever returning to this
    quadrant.  I suppose a whole new variety of choices are open to
    me.  Perhaps even my own command.  Of course, as an android, I 
    am devoid of ambition.  Still, it may be interesting to consider 
    my new options."
       "I know what I'm going to do," Hartley said, as they
    entered the now functioning turbolift.  "Deck Nine."
       "And what is that?" Larkin asked.
       "I have a month of leave saved up.  I'm going to Corsica
    and spending the entire time working on my tan."
       "Hmm.  It sounds as if you are devoid of ambition as
    well."
    
    
       "Almost ready?" Baxter asked, sticking his head into
    Counselor Peterman's quarters.
       Peterman was slumped in her couch, clutching the huge,
    white teddy bear that Baxter had replicated for her for her
    birthday.  Charlie and Fritz were snuggled next to her, asleep.
       "I guess," Peterman said quietly.  
       Baxter carefully picked Fritz up and set him on the
    floor.  The almost fully grown kitten immediately woke up and
    began to hiss and scratch at Baxter's hand.
       "Damn cat," Baxter said, momentarily forgetting that he
    was glad to see Peterman's pets had come to no harm.  He
    composed himself and turned to Peterman.  "What's wrong,
    honey?"
       "I don't know," Peterman said, sadly.  "All my pets are
    fine; but, when I got down here, I realized how screwed up the
    last couple weeks have been.  And then I realized how screwed up
    the last year has been.  And then I realized that they're
    probably going to scrap the Aerostar and reassign us all.  And
    then I realized...I realized that I would probably never see
    you again..."
       The Counselor burst out crying and buried her face in
    Baxter's shoulder.  "And I don't want that to happen."
       Baxter kissed Peterman's head and hugged her tightly. 
    "Don't worry...that won't happen.  I'll make sure of that. 
    Whichever ship they put me on next, it's bound to need a 
    Counselor."
       "Are you sure?  They're in less and less demand lately,"
    Peterman sniffled, looking up.
       Baxter leaned down and kissed her.  "I'm positive."
       Peterman smiled.  "Good.  In that case, I've got eight
    suitcases full of stuff in there for you to haul down to cargo
    bay five."
       Baxter glanced into Peterman's bedroom, saw the giant
    Suitcases, and let out a brief sigh.  "That's my Kelly."
    
                             
        "Oh, hello Commander," Lt. Larkin said, letting Lt.
    Commander Richards into her quarters.  "I did not expect to
    see you here." 
        "Well, Janice was helping Dr. Aldridge move some
    of our injured out of sickbay, and I'm already all packed up. 
    I just thought I'd come down here and, um..." 
       "Is something on your mind, Commander?" Larkin asked,
    as she placed all of her penguin dolls carefully into a large
    box.
       "Well, yes," Richards replied, sitting down on
    Larkin's sofa.  "Isn't it a little cold in here?  I thought
    life support was back up..."
       "This temperature reflects that of the penguin habitats
    of the arctic, Commander," Larkin replied.  "As do the walls
    and floors."
       Richards looked around, then looked down at the
    slippery area at the center of the room, feeling relieved that
    he hadn't stepped anywhere near there.  The walls and the
    slippery area were painted as a giant, icy mural, which, at
    least from an artistic standpoint, Richards had to
    appreciate.
       "Nice mural," Richards said. 
       "Thank you," Larkin replied.  "I believe the walls are
    an accurate representation of ice."
       Richards picked up a painting, again, of ice.  "Maybe
    you could get a little more creative, though.  I mean, all of
    these pieces are either of penguins, or ice, or sometimes,
    penguins on ice.  Maybe you should expand your horizons."
       "To what end?" Larkin asked.
       "I don't know," Richards said.  "But the fun is in
    finding out."
       "Fun?" Larkin asked.
       "Yes, the reason you create is because its fun, right?"
       "I create to explore the many facets of penguinkind.  I
    am not capable of having fun."
       "Oh," Richards said, looking down.    
       "Is there something else I could help you with,
    Commander?"  Larkin asked.
       "No, I mean yes.  I mean, well, I don't know," Richards
    said.  "I've just been thinking.  I mean, ever since I found
    out that I was your...um, mother, or whatever, I've had trouble
    figuring out how I should act around you.  I mean, I did create
    the brain you have.  That makes me an inextricable part of your
    life."
       "Would you like the brain back?" Larkin asked calmly.
       "No, no!" Richards said.  "I just...well, wanted you to
    know, that if you ever wanted to talk, I'm here."  The engineer
    felt like that might have opened up a huge Pandora's box, since
    Larkin was known as one of the most talkative crewmembers aboard
    Aerostar.
       "I will keep that in mind, Commander," Larkin said, as
    she continued packing.
       "Thanks, Lieutenant.  And call me Chris," Richards
    said, standing up to leave.
       "In that case, thank you for stopping by, Chris," Larkin
    said.
       "Don't mention it," Richards replied, leaving quickly.
       Richards idly wondered whether all mothers felt this
    awkward at first.
       
    
       Mirk slung his duffel bag onto the bar and walked behind
    it, grabbing a bottle of Tellarite scotch and pouring himself a
    glass full.
       He sipped at it quietly, surveying the overturned tables,
    smashed glasses, and tipped over stools.  The Starlight Lounge
    was as much of a disaster area of the rest of the ship.
       It wasn't very comforting to the Maloxian that the
    only thing he had left near to him was completely wrecked.
       "Hello?" Lt. Hartley asked, pushing past the broken doors
    and peeking into the dimly lit lounge.
       "We're closed," Mirk said solemnly, throwing some bottles
    into a box and sitting it on top of the bar.
       Hartley walked up to the bar, picked up a stool, and sat
    down on it.  "I'll have a Bolian fizz."  
       "I said we're closed," Mirk said.
       Hartley looked around.  "Really?  I didn't notice."
       "Very funny."
       "What's wrong with you?" The transporter chief asked,
    grabbing the bottle of Aldebran whiskey from Mirk's box and
    pouring some in a glass.
       Mirk glared at her as she drank.  "Well, I'm permanantly
    separated from everyone I've ever cared about and the gods I
    used to worship are gone forever.  Other than that, I'm just
    peachy."
       "Gee, far away from home.  I can't imagine what that must
    be like," Hartley said sarcastically.
       "Well, you're home now, be thankful," Mirk said, walking
    around the bar and seeing if he could salvage any of the
    decorations he had put up when he took over the bar.
       "I don't know what to tell you, Mirk.  But, from what I
    hear, the Directors wanted you to come here.  They said it was
    part of your destiny."    
       "I don't know anything about my destiny anymore.  I used
    to think I knew exactly what I was doing.  But not anymore."
       Hartley set the bottle down and turned around to watch
    Mirk take down the charicatures that Richards had done of the
    command crew, and the pictures of different Starlight Lounge
    events, such as the "Drunken Limbo" contest, and the "Klingon
    Country Line Dancing" lessons.  
       "C'mon, Mirk, I'm sure we'll be assigned to a new ship. 
    And that new ship will probably need a bartender."
       Mirk thought about that.  "Then that's all I'll do? 
    Shlep drinks the rest of my life?  Is that my great destiny?"
       "Who knows?" Hartley asked.  "But it'll be a great way of
    finding out.  And besides, I don't think the crew would be the
    same without you."
       Mirk turned over one of the chairs and sat down.  "You
    think I belong with these people?  The Federations that I
    taunted and teased into following me to the Delta Quadrant less
    than a year ago?  The Federations whose friends I let the
    Flarn destroy?  The Federations who, months ago, my people
    swore to destroy?  Those people?"
       "As one of those people," Hartley said, placing a hand on
    Mirk's shoulder.  "I'd have to say yes."
       
    
       Captain Baxter hurriedly left his readyroom, loaded down
    with his model of the Secondprize, as well as the several packs
    of cards he had replicated, his Dallas Cowboys game ball, and
    several padds.  He was on his way up to the turbolift to meet
    Counselor Peterman in cargo bay five for transport to the
    Secondprize, when he noticed Commander Conway sitting in the
    command chair.
       "What are you still doing here, Commander?" Baxter asked,
    turning around.
       Conway sighed.  "I don't know.  Maybe I'm getting
    sentimental in my old age."
       "Don't count on it, Conway," Baxter said.  "You're just
    trying to get one last chance to sit in the big chair."
       "It is comfortable, Captain," Conway said, standing up
    and taking one last look at the destroyed viewscreen.
       "Damn right it is.  Now come on, we're going to be late,"
    Baxter said, reaching over to hit the turbolift's call button.
       Conway made his way up to the turbolift, taking one last
    look at the dedication plaque, reading the line at the bottom
    one more time:
    
    "We're on a road to nowhere, come on inside.  Takin' that ride
         to nowhere, we'll take that ride..."
                               
       "Who said that?" Conway asked, joining Baxter in the
    turbolift.  
       "The quote on the plaque?" Baxter asked.
       "Yeah."
       "Melville, I think.  Or maybe Keats."
         










                          
                       CHAPTER/TWO
                            
                            
                            
                            
                               
USS SECONDPRIZE
    
    Captain's Log,
       Stardate 51992.1.  We have completed transfer of all
    personnel from the starship Aerostar.  A tug ship from
    Waystation should be here within the hour to take the Aerostar
    to a starbase, where she will be stripped down and
    eventually sent off to the nearest scrapyard.  Meanwhile, we're
    taking the Aerostar's crew back to Earth, where I'm sure their
    story will spark a rebirth of tabloid journalism.
    
       "Have you read this?" Captain Alexander Rydell asked, looking
    at Captain Baxter's report.
       Commander Dillon nodded, sitting down in the chair
    opposite Rydell's desk.  "I certainly did.  It's pretty
    amazing, if you ask me."
       "Which part?"
       "All of it."   
       Rydell nodded.  "I especially like the part about the
    Federation Marine who stowed away and tried to lure the Borg
    back to the Delta Quadrant."   
       "Personally, Captain, I like the part about the Romulan
    Tal Shiar agent.  The fact that he could successfully
    infiltrate a Federation vessel for that long is astounding."
       "Not when you consider who's in command, Commander.  By
    the way, is that guy still in the brig?"
       "T'Phil?  Yes, sir.  Luckily there were independent power
    backups in the brig that kept the security field intact.  He
    might have escaped, otherwise."     
       Rydell scrolled through the report, nodding.  "I guess
    the crew of the Aerostar is lucky all the way around."
       "Yes, sir."
       Rydell put the padd down and looked up at Dillon.  "Have
    you told Baxter the truth yet?"
       "You mean about their mission?  No, sir, I thought I'd
    let you."
       Rydell stood up.  "Fine.  But you're coming with me."  
       Dillon gulped.  "Do I have to?"
       "Yes," Rydell said, leading Dillon out of his readyroom.


       "It's just not the same," Captain Baxter said, staring
    down at his drink and looking around Seven Backward.
       Commander Conway downed a shot of whiskey and pounded his
    glass on the table.  "You can say that again, sir.  No
    atmosphere at all."
       Trinian, Seven Backward's hostess, refilled Conway's
    shotglass and smiled.  "I'll try not to take offense to that,
    Commander."
       Conway looked up, narrowing his eyes.  "Sorry."
       Counselor Peterman nursed her pink squirrel quietly,
    looking up.  "I think it's very nice, Miss Trinian."     
       "It's just Trinian," Trinian said, turning around and
    heading back to the bar.
       "Let's face it," Commander Richards said, sipping at
    his beer.  "We miss Mirk."
       "I miss his cheese cake," Dr. Browning said woefully as she
    drank her hot chocolate.
       "Has anyone heard anything about J'hana?" Conway asked,
    trying to change the subject.
       "Dr. Aldridge said she's going to be fine," Dr. Browning said. 
    "She'll be up and around by the time we get back to Earth."
       "Back to Earth," Peterman repeated.  "It almost seems
    impossible."
       "I told you I'd do it," Baxter said, smiling.
       Commander Conway grunted.  "Don't be so humble about it,
    Captain."
       "Okay," Baxter said, grinning as he finished his beer. 
    "You guys helped a little too."
    
       
       "Do you think we should go over there?" Counselor Claire
    Webber asked, watching as the crew from the Aerostar talked.
       Lt. Commander Jaroch worked quietly on a padd as the two sat
    at the bar.  He was obviously not paying much attention. 
    "Hmmm," he said, not moving his eyes from the padd.
       "It wouldn't hurt," Trinian said.  "They're probably
    feeling a little wierd about being back in the Alpha Quadrant
    and everything."
       Webber smiled.  "I bet they are.  Come on, Jaroch.  We should
    go over there."
       "Why?" Jaroch said as he worked.
       "Because, they need to see a bright, happy face.  They
    need hugs and care.  They need love."
       "I do not believe I have any love to give at the moment,"
    Jaroch said, momentarily looking up from his padd.  "Although I
    will keep you posted if any becomes available."
       "C'mon," Webber said, grabbing Jaroch's arm and pulling him
    out of his seat.
       "No," Jaroch said firmly, holding on to the bar.
    
    
       Lieutenant Larkin looked around Seven Backward,
    recognizing several familiar faces from the Secondprize,
    including Trinian, Lt. Commander Jaroch, and Counselor Webber.  As
    the android walked by, she nodded briefly at Jaroch and Webber, who
    seemed to be involved in some sort of struggle.
       Larkin continued to the opposite end of Seven Backward,
    approaching the table where Baxter and some of the other senior
    officers from the Aerostar were gathered.
       "I have retured from the Aerostar, Captain," Larkin
    said firmly, standing behind Baxter's seat.   
       "Well, don't just stand there.  Pull up a chair," Baxter
    said heartily, indicating the chair opposite Commander Conway.
       "Very well," Larkin said, sitting down and folding her
    hands neatly on the table.  "A preliminary Engineering survey
    indicates a systemwide failure of the power distribution net. 
    However, Commander Baird has stabilized main power for the
    duration of the trip back to Waystation."
       "And after that?" Conway asked.
       "I don't know," Baxter said.  "I haven't talked to
    Starfleet yet.  I assume they'll have her decommissioned and
    stripped down."
       "Sad end for a great ship," Conway said, just as a waiter
    came up and refilled everyones drinks.
       "Life goes on," Baxter said.  "Anything else,
    Lieutenant?"
       "Waystation has dispatched a tug ship to retrieve the
    Aerostar.  As for the the crew, I understand that Captain
    Rydell's orders are to bring us all back to Earth immediately."
       "Guess I'll have to talk to him pretty soon," Baxter
    said.
       "What's going to happen to us?" Dr. Browning asked.  "Are we
    going to be kept together or sent off on different
    assignments?"
       "In these cases," Larkin said, "Starfleet rarely
    assigns an entire crew to a new vessel." 
       "Then that's it," Richards said.  "We're all going our
    separate ways."
       "I'll try not to cry too hard," Conway muttered.
       "Well, come what may," Baxter said, smiling and raising
    his glass, "I'd just like to make a toast to the finest crew
    Starfleet ever sent to the Delta Quadrant."
       "Here, here," Peterman said happily, as the group clanged
    their glasses together.
       "Excuse me," a woman said politely, approaching the table
    Baxter and his officers were seated at.  "My name is Claire
    Webber, and I'm the Secondprize's Ship's Counselor.  I'd just
    like to congratulate you on your triumphant return to this
    quadrant.  What stories you must have to tell!"    
       Baxter looked up at the woman, noting her tie-dyed
    Starfleet uniform.  Obviously, she was some sort of wierdo. 
    "Yep.  That's very thoughtful of you, Counselor."  
       Counselor Peterman smiled up at Webber.  "What a pleasure
    it is to meet you.  My name is Kelly Peterman.  I am--I was
    --the Aerostar's Ship's Counselor."
       "Is that so?" Webber asked.  "Keeping everyone together on
    a voyage like yours must have been quite a chore."
       "Well..." Peterman said.
       "Can I leave now?" Commander Jaroch asked from behind Webber.
       "No," Webber said with teeth clenched.  "You will say 'hi'
    and be nice to these people."
       "Okay, fine," Jaroch said, stepping out from behind the
    Counselor.  "I'm Commander Jaroch, the science officer.  Hi."    
       "We've met," Baxter said, glaring up at Jaroch.  The Yynsian
    wasn't too nice a few months back when Baxter's mind had been
    combined with Commander Dillon's.
       "Charmed," Conway said blandly.
       "I hear you're the one that gave the Captain his
    assignment," Dr. Browning said, trying to break the tension.
       "I assure you, I merely briefed the Captain.  It was
    Captain Rydell and Commander Dillon who actually..."    
       "Yeah, what was Starfleet thinking anyway?" Conway asked. 
    "Do you know how many Federation ships alone were lost in the
    Bermuda Expanse before we were sent in there?"
       "Dozens," Richards chimed in.    
       "So what gives?" Baxter asked.  "Why did Starfleet send
    us on that mission?" 
       "Do you really wish to know?"  Jaroch said, bending down and
    staring Baxter in the eye, an unsettling smirk spreading across
    his face.  "They sent you to die.  They were hoping you and
    your crew of abject failures and incompetants would be lost out
    there in the Bermuda Expanse...forever.  And so were we."
    
    
       "Where are they?" Captain Rydell said, as he and Dillon
    entered Seven Backward.
       "If you're talking about the people from the Aerostar,"
    Trinian said tiredly, leaning against the bar, "they're right
    over there."
       She pointed towards the corner of the bar where Baxter
    and the other senior officers sat, and where Jaroch could be
    plainly seen bending down and staring mockingly into Baxter's
    face.
       "...They were hoping you'd be lost out there in the
    Bermuda Expanse,"  Jaroch said, smiling.  "And so where we."
       "Uh oh," Dillon said, following Rydell quickly to the
    other side of the bar.  "Looks like Jaroch beat us to the punch."
       
    
       "Why you little..." Baxter growled, jumping to his feet
    and cold-cocking Jaroch right in the jaw.
       The Yynsian science officer was sent reeling backwards
    into the table behind him.
       "Oh, dear," Dr. Browning said, peering over the table at the
    dazed officer.
       Counselor Webber looked down fearfully at Jaroch, slowly
    moving backwards.  "That wasn't happy at all, Captain."
       "I would tend to agree with Counselor Webber," Larkin
    said.  "That was quite unwise."
       "Um...sorry, Jaroch," Baxter said, bending over and looking
    down at Jaroch.  
       The Yynsian shook his head, grunting angrily, his eyes
    glazing over.   
       "You...should not have...done...that," he growled.
       "Uh-oh," Baxter said, as Jaroch pulled the Captain's legs out
    from under him, body slamming Baxter before he could react.
       "Beware the wrath of the mighty J'ter!" he shouted,
    pummeling Baxter with his fists.
       Richards and Conway immediately came to Baxter's aid,
    trying to pull the crazed Yynsian off of him.
       "Stop beating up my boyfriend!" Peterman cried, dumping
    the remainder of her pink squirrel into Jaroch's face.
       "What the heck is happening?" Dr. Browning asked in
    confusion.
       "Yynsians have a peculiar connection to past lives,
    Doctor.  Occasionally, when subjected to violent stimuli, they
    regress," Larkin explained.
       "Oh," Browning said, watching as Baxter was beaten severely. 
    "Shouldn't you help him?"
       Larkin peered down at the brawl, which had now
    encompassed Richards and Conway as well.
       "It seems they are doing quite well without me, Doctor."
       
    
       Captain Rydell quickly slapped his comm badge.  "Rydell
    to security.  I need a team in Seven Backward on the double."
       When had things started going so wrong?
       When we met up with the Aerostar, that's when, he thought
    wryly.
       "Break it up, break it up!" Commander Dillon shouted,
    trying to pull Baxter and Jaroch apart. 
       "I have been waiting for this for a long time, puny
    weakling!"  Jaroch/J'ter shouted, as he pounded Baxter against the
    table he had been sitting at moments ago.
       "Me too," Baxter croaked.  "So far it's not exactly all
    I'd hoped it'd be."
       "Hey, watch it!" Commander Conway said, as Dillon tried
    to break up the fight.  Conway gave the Secondprize's First
    Officer a shove, who in turn shoved Conway back, until both of
    them dropped to the floor in a no-holds-barred flurry of fists.
       "At ease, Commander Jaroch!" Rydell shouted, moving into the
    fray.  "Both of you, start acting like men about this!"
       "We are acting like men, you pantywaist," Jaroch/J'ter
    growled as he pummeled Baxter.
       "I'd just love to thank you for sending me and our crew
    to our deaths, Captain..." Baxter choked out.  "But first I
    have to get this crazy bastard off me!"
       Before Rydell could respond, a chair flew up into his
    face and knocked him backwards.
       
    
       Lt. Patricia Hawkins, Chief of Security and Chief Tactical
    Officer for the Secondprize, gasped as she entered Seven
    Backward.
       The entire room had descended into chaos, reminiscent of
    old fashioned bar room brawls of the Ancient West.
       "What the hell is going on?" Hawkins shouted to Trinian,
    as the Hostess smashed a bottle of Bolian Brandy over one of
    the combatants heads.
       "I believe we're having a rumble.  Secondprize versus
    Aerostar," Trinian said, as Hawkins pushed through the crowd.
       "Break it up!" Hawkins cried, pushing towards the back of
    the room in a vain attempt to find the center of the brawl.
       Suddenly Counselor Webber sailed by her, flying face first
    into a giant ikoberry tort that Ensign Carpel had been enjoying a
    few minutes earlier.
       Counselor Peterman leapt past Hawkins, grabbing the back
    of Webber's uniform and pulling her back, then plunging her back
    into the tort.  "Eat up, you tie-died freak!"
       As the two Counselors proceeded to roll onto the floor in
    a flurry of hair pulling and biting, Hawkins continued on, to
    find Commander Dillon pinned to the floor in a Full Nelson, at
    the mercy of the Aerostar's first officer.
       "Say mercy!" Commander Conway cried, yanking back on
    Dillon's arms.  "Say it, dork!"
       "Never!" Dillon returned.  "Someone save me!"
       "Get off!" Hawkins cried, kicking at Conway.  But it was
    no use.  Hawkins finally grabbed Conway by the scruff of his
    neck and yanked him off Dillon.  "Find someone else to ruff up
    on, Bozo."
       "Watch out!" Dillon called out, just in time for Hawkins
    to see Conway come rushing back, this time wielding one of
    Seven Backwards' plush, fluffy chairs.
       Hawkins ducked, sending Conway flying over her and into
    the wall.  The security officer turned to find Lt. Larkin
    struggling to get ahold of Commander Jaroch, who had obviously, in
    a fit of rage, become J'ter.
       "I must have my revenge!" Jaroch/J'ter bellowed, struggling
    against Larkin's steely grip.
       "And I must protect my commanding officer.  Might I
    suggest you vent your frustration in a more healthy manner, Mr.
    Jaroch," Larkin replied.
       Hawkins pushed past Larkin and Jaroch to find Captain
    Rydell and Captain Baxter locked in combat.
       They were circling each other like angry jungle cats,
    sneering and growling.
       "You assaulted my science officer!" Rydell said.  
       "You sent us to die!" Baxter said.
       "Stop it, you two.  This is insane!" Hawkins shouted, as
    Rydell and Baxter sized each other up.
       "Yet somehow strangely satisfying," Rydell said, as
    Baxter lept at him.  The two rolled around the floor, fists
    flailing.
       "What should we do?" one of the other security officers
    asked, as Hawkins surveyed the situation.     
       "Set your phasers on minimum stun, broad beam,"  Hawkins
    said, pulling out her phaser, "and light 'em up."  
       Four minutes and several phaser blasts later, just about
    everyone in Seven Backward was unconcious.
       
                 
       "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" a voice
    asked, as Captain Baxter opened his eyes, wincing at the bright
    light as his eyes adjusted.
       His head was pounding and it felt as if someone had
    driven a freighter right into his stomach.
       Baxter looked up.
       He was in the brig.
       And on the other side of the security field, Captain
    Rydell stood, a gray bandage on his forehead, and a very angry
    look on his face.  Baxter also noted that Rydell was holding
    his left arm gingerly with his right arm. 
       Someone must have twisted it.  Who could that have been?
       "Well?" Rydell asked expectantly.
       "What was the question?" Baxter said, straining to pull
    himself into a sitting position.
       "I asked you what you have to say for yourself."
       "Maybe I should be asking you that," Baxter said, looking
    around his cell.
       "Okay, I deserved that one," Rydell said.  "I guess Jaroch
    told you before I got the chance."
       "What?  That you guys planned on sending us out there so
    that we would disappear or be killed?  That you wanted to get
    rid of us, like some sort of bad rubbish, or out of date dairy
    products?"  Baxter asked angrily, standing up and lurching over
    to the perimeter of the force field.  "Am I to believe that it
    just slipped your mind, Captain?"  Baxter stared Rydell in the
    eyes.
       "Not exactly," Rydell said, stepping back a bit.  He
    winced at the pain the movement caused in his arm.  "Listen, we
    did want to get rid of you, but we never really expected that
    the mission would end up like it did.  We just thought that you
    guys would hit some turbulence, get shaken up a bit, then come
    back."     
       "You mean like all those other ships that didn't return?"
    Baxter asked incredulously.
       "Okay, so maybe it wasn't that well planned out," Rydell
    admitted.  "The point is, we're not your enemies.  As a matter
    of fact, when you turned up missing, we went looking for you."
       "And?" Baxter said, sitting down and folding his arms.
       "And Starfleet suspended our investigation.  Not only
    that, but they also closed off the entire area around the
    Bermuda Expanse.  Suddenly we realized we were caught up in
    something bigger than ourselves."
       "Damn right you were.  And we ended up paying for it,"
    Baxter said angrily.
       "But I have a feeling someone in Starfleet knew what was
    in there," Rydell said.  "Admiral Neilson was awfully quick to
    seal off that area and stop our investigation.  And after that
    incident when your mind was combined with Commander Dillon's
    last year, we tried to report your location to Starfleet, but
    Admiral Neilson put a gag on us and marked the whole thing
    confidential.  I'm just guessing here but it seems like she's
    hiding something."
       "I wonder what?" Baxter said, rubbing his chin.
       "That's for you to find out," Rydell said.  "After you've
    cooled down in here a while longer."
       Baxter suddenly heard Commander Conway grunt from the
    cell next door.  
       "What the hell happened?" Conway asked tiredly, before
    collapsing back to his cot and falling back unconcious.
       "So I guess your officers got off scot free?" Baxter
    asked wearily, as he watched Conway slumber in the adjacent
    cell.
       "On the contrary," Rydell said, stepping aside to reveal
    Commander Dillon and Commander Jaroch passed out on the cots 
    in the cells opposite Baxter and Conway's.  "We thought we'd 
    punish the highest ranking officers as an example for the rest.  
    I mean, we only have so much brig space."  
       "Right," Baxter said, watching Dillon snore.  "What about
    Counselor Peterman?"
       "I think she's at pottery class with Counselor Webber. 
    They've become the best of friends."
       "Well, how nice for them," Baxter muttered.  "And what
    about you?  Shouldn't you be stuck in here too?"   
       "Hey," Rydell said, heading for the door, "it's my ship."
       
       
STARFLEET COMMAND
    
       "Well, what the hell are we going to do now, Mora?"
    Admiral John Phillips asked, arms folded behind his back as
    he stared out the window at Golden Gate bridge.  He idly
    wondered why Admiral Neilson's office had such a great view.  All
    he could see from his office was the matter reclamation units.
       Admiral Mora Neilson sat back at her desk.  "We've been
    caught with our pants down.  We never really expected
    the Aerostar to come back.  Even after Captain Baxter's failed
    attempt to contact the Secondprize last year we assumed they'd
    be stranded there forever."
       "But they are back, and that leaves us with several
    issues to deal with," Phillips said uneasily.
       "Do you think our infiltrator was found?" Neilson asked,
    turning back to face Phillips.
       "Undoubtedly," Phillips replied.  "And if I know
    Internal Affairs, they probably had someone working there as
    well."
       "For all we know, it was Captain Baxter himself," Neilson
    said, plopping down into the chair opposite Phillips's desk.
       "It was your dumb idea to send the son of the Vice
    Admiral in charge of Internal Affairs into the Delta Quadrant,"
    Phillips grunted.  "Damned risky if you ask me." 
       "I didn't ask you," Neilson said flatly.  "Anyway, it seemed
    like a good idea at the time."
       "Well, Admiral Baxter is going to have a lot of questions
    for his son when he gets back," Phillips said uneasily.
       Neilson raised an eyebrow.  "What if he doesn't make it
    back?" 
    
    
USS AEROSTAR
    
       Ensign Ryan Stuart folded his arms and looked around
    engineering one last time.  He still couldn't get over the
    giant gash in the side of the ship, now covered by a piece of
    duranium.  Paul Dunbar was sucked out of that gash a few days
    ago, and it could have easily been him instead.
       Stuart tried to clear his head of such thoughts as he
    slapped his comm badge.  "Stuart to Tangier."
       "Tangier here.  What is your status, Stuart?" Captain
    Gibson's deep voice responded.
       "Power systems have been stabilized," Stuart said,
    looking around at the flickering panels around engineering. 
    "We can be tractored in at any time now."
       "Stand by, Mister Stuart.  We'll leave for Waystation
    in five minutes."
       Stuart sat down at a nearby console and propped his
    chin up on his hands.  Why'd he get stuck babysitting the ship
    while it was being stripped and salvaged?  Why couldn't
    Richards have done it?
       Because he's the boss, that's why, Stuart reminded
    himself.
       Stuart't thoughts were interrupted when he saw a blur
    of orange briefly fly down the corridor near engineering.
       What the hell was that?
       The ensign shook his head in disbelief.  "Computer...how
    many life signs on board?"
       "There are four life signs on board the Aerostar," the
    computer replied.  Well, that would account for him, Colonel
    T'Phil, and the two security officers assigned to watch over
    him.  Stuart's brain must have been playing tricks on him.
                    
       
       Captain Gibson leaned forward over the helm and
    operations console of the freighter Tangier's cramped bridge. 
    "Are we ready?"
       The Ensign at the helm nodded.  "Yes, sir, as soon as
    we..."
       Suddenly the Ensign seemed very alarmed.  She looked down
    at her panel.  "Captain...there's some kind of distortion
    forming off our port bow!"     
       "On screen," Gibson said, straightening.
       On the Tangier's tiny viewscreen, a huge Romulan Warbird
    suddenly appeared.
       "Oh, my God..." Gibson said, when suddenly the Warbird
    fired a disruptor blast, which crossed space in seconds,
    blowing the Tangier to dust.
       
    
       On board the Romulan Warbird Exalax, Commander Ardek
    smiled, let out a whoop of joy.  "I just love blowing up
    Federation ships!"
       "Shall we secure the Aerostar now, Commander?" Sub-
    Commander Gatana said, hands clasped behind her back.
       "Yes, yes, yes!" Ardek said happily, bouncing up and down
    in his command chair.  "Send in the teams!"
       "You heard him," Gatana said gruffly, inclining her head
    toward the chief of security.  She turned to Ardek, concern
    plain on her face.  "You realize we will not be safe here for
    much longer.  We have destroyed a Federation vessel.  They will
    be looking for us."
       Ardek rolled his eyes.  "Don't worry about that.  As soon
    as we get T'Phil, we'll make for the Neutral Zone.  Now prepare
    to extend cloaking shields around the Aerostar."
       Gatana gritted her teeth angrily.  "As I am sure you are
    aware, extending cloaking shields around such a large object
    will greatly decrease their effectiveness."
       "We won't need them for long.  The Neutral Zone is not
    that far," Ardek said testily.  "Now follow my orders."
       Gatana nodded reluctantly.  "As you wish, Commander."
       
    
       Ensign Saral and Lt. Gellar had run out of conversation
    after the first hour of being stuck guarding Colonel T'Phil. 
    All in all, it was a pretty darn boring job.  
       Gellar was about to suggest that he run get them
    something to drink when he heard the intruder alert klaxon go
    off.
       "Intruder alert.  Decks One, Nine, Twelve, and Twenty-
    Nine," the computer said calmly.
       Gellar withdrew his phaser and looked to Saral.  "Stay
    with the prisoner, Ensign.  I'll go check it out."
       Saral nodded.  "Very well."
       In one of the cells in the brig, T'Phil stirred.  "My
    friends have finally arrived.  I'm going home."
       Saral diverted her eyes to T'Phil for a moment.  "If you
    are referring to the Romulans, I find that highly unlikely." 
    She had barely finished making that statement, when suddenly
    she heard a loud disruptor blast and a cry for help from Lt.
    Gellar.
       "Saral to Gellar.  Please respond."
       There was no response.
       The Vulcan slapped her comm badge.  "Saral to Tangier. 
    Security alert."
       Again, there was no response.
       "You see?" T'Phil said, standing up and rubbing his hands
    together.  "They're coming."
       Saral was about to reply, when suddenly the door to the
    brig burst open, allowing several Romulans to pour in.
       "Do not move," the lead Romulan said, leveling his
    disruptor at Saral.
       "This is still highly unlikely," Saral said, as she was
    clubbed over the head by the butt of the disruptor and knocked
    unconcious.
                            
                                
       An hour later, Commander Lisa Beck stepped out of her
    office and out into Ops.  "Any word from the Tangier, Commander
    Morales?"
       Lt. Commander Morales shook his head, leaning against the
    docking console, a worried look on his face.  "No, but they
    should have checked in by now."
       "Hail them," Beck said, resting her hands on her hips and
    staring up at the viewscreen.
       "No response," Morales said.
       Beck looked back at the science console.  "Check the long
    range scanners, Mr. Porter.  See if you can track them down out
    there."
       Lt. Craig Porter checked the scans, then rechecked them,
    shaking his head in disbelief.  "I can't find them, Commander. 
    What's more, I can't find the Aerostar now either."
       "They didn't just disappear," Beck said, walking around
    to the science console.
       "I'm enhancing the scan resolution.  Maybe I can find--"
    Porter said, "--wait a minute.  I'm picking up debris.  I'm not
    positive, but it looks like what's left of the Tangier."
       "Damn," Beck said, looking up at the viewscreen as Porter
    put the scans onscreen.  Chunks of duranium of all different
    sizes floated by on the screen.  "Contact Starfleet and apprise
    them of our current situation."
       "They're going to start getting tired of hearing from
    us," Morales said grimly from the docking console.
       "I would too if I was them," Porter added.
       
    
SECONDPRIZE
       
       "Time to Earth?" Captain Rydell asked, settling down into
    the command chair and staring at the stars as they rushed by on
    the viewscreen.
       "A little more than an hour," Ensign Carr replied
    from ops.
       Lt. Hawkins sighed loudly, drumming her fingers on the
    tactical console.
       Rydell turned to face her.  "Problem, Lieutenant?"
       "I was just wondering when you planned on letting Dillon
    out of the brig."    
       Rydell smiled.  "Don't tell me you're already starting to
    miss him."
       Hawkins looked down.  "It was bad enough that I had to
    shoot him.  Then I had to throw him in the brig.  That's not
    going to do wonders for our relationship."
       "The only wonder in your relationship is why it's still
    going on," Lieutenant Andrea Sullivan said from the conn.
       "And that's the end of today's episode of Love in Space,"
    Rydell said, derailing the conversation before Hawkins could
    respond to Sullivan's jab.  "You can go get him at the end of
    your shift."
       "Yes, sir," Hawkins said, returning her gaze to her
    panel.  Suddenly she looked up.  "Captain...there's a vessel 
    entering the area."
       Rydell sat up in his chair.  "What kind of vessel?"
       Hawkins studied her scans.  "Starfleet transport vessel. 
    Miranda class.  They're hailing us."
       "Onscreen," Rydell said, idly wondering what the heck a
    Starfleet transport would want with them.
       A rather chubby, blank-looking man appeared on the
    viewscreen.  "Hello, Captain Rydell.  My name is Commander Vincent
    Kramer.  Starfleet has ordered me to transport the Aerostar's
    crew to Earth."
       At least he was the get-to-the-point type.  "Might I know
    why?"
       "Starfleet belives that the Secondprize should be kept
    available for more pressing duty."
       "I can't think of anything more pressing," Rydell
    replied.
       "I have my orders, sir," Kramer said dully.  "Please come
    out of warp and drop your shields."
       "Okay," Rydell said grudgingly.  "Sullivan, take us out
    of warp.  Hawkins, drop the shields and apprise the Aerostar
    crew of their change in location."  
       Kramer nodded curtly to Rydell and disappeared, the view
    of the approaching starship replacing his image.  Captain
    Rydell wasn't sure what it was, but something felt wrong about
    this Kramer fellow.
       
    
       "What do you have to say, Mister Hothead?" Counselor
    Peterman asked, nudging Baxter insistantly as he stood, staring
    at his boots, in the transporter room.
       "I'm...sorry I decked you, Mister Jaroch," Baxter said
    weakly.
       Counselor Webber smiled.  "How big of you, Captain Baxter. 
    How do you respond to that, Jaroch?"
       Lt. Commander Jaroch stared blankly at Baxter, hands clasped
    behind his back.  "I am...sorry that I tried to snap your neck. 
    And I apologize for trying to send your crew to their doom."
       Baxter shrugged.  "No harm done."
       "Now shake on it," Peterman and Webber said in unison.
       Baxter and Jaroch reluctantly shook hands.
       "All right, let's get you guys over there.  We've got
    places to go, people to see," Commander Dillon said hurriedly.
       Baxter and Peterman quickly mounted the pad, joining Dr.
    Browning, Lt. Commander Richards, and Commander Conway.
       "That was very big of you," Conway whispered mockingly.
       "Be quiet," Baxter snapped, as Commander Dillon gave the
    command for the transporter chief to energize.
       
    
BETA QUADRANT

       The Pakled trade vessel Pookie chugged through space at a
    slow clip of one-tenth impulse power.  They had been hired by
    the Tellarites to transport a load of food supplies to one of
    their far-reaching colonies.  It wasn't much in the way of
    money, but then again, like most Pakleds, these weren't that
    picky.
       "We need to go faster," Captain Chub said slowly, his
    unibrow creasing with worry.  "We need speed."
       Engineer Burbert shook his head.  "No more power.  We
    can't go."
       "But we have to get there fast," Chub protested.
       "Uh-uh," Burbert said, continuing to shake his head.
       "We are slow," Chub said, finally deferring to his
    engineer's intelligence.
       "There's a thing out there," the science officer piped up,
    interrupting Chub's concentration.  
       "A thing?" Chub asked.  Now this was interesting.
       "A big thing.  A fast thing."
       "Big and fast?" Chub scratched his chin.
       What could be big and fast?  A ship!
       "A ship?" Chub asked.
       "Maybe," the navigator replied.
       "We should destroy it," Burbert said.
       Chub turned.  "Can we?"
       "We have lasers," Burbert said.
       Captain Chub clenched his chubby fist.  "Then shoot our
    lasers at them." 
       The Pookie's lasers flared out at the approaching craft.
       "Well?" Chub asked impatiently.
       "We did not hurt them," the navigator said sadly.  "Our
    lasers are not strong."
       Chub turned back to Burbert.  "Is this bad?"
       Burbert thought a moment.  "They may have bigger lasers."
       "Oh," Chub said.  "We are not smart."   
       Suddenly the oncoming craft fired a thick, blue beam at
    the Pookie, destroying it in one shot.
    
    
       "This tiressssss me," former Overmaster Granok of the
    former Flarn Empire said disappointedly.  "Thesssse
    weaklingssss are not what we sssseek."
       Lieutenant Lord Kenjek nodded, keeping his place behind
    Granok.  "True.  But we are getting clossssser.  The lasssst
    ship we desssstroyed was quite similar to the Aerostar."
       "The Aerossssstar," Granok hissed, narrowing his eyes, 
    remembering the unhappy incident nearly one year ago, when the
    Aerostar had shoved them through the portal in the Crebius Cluster, 
    and doomed them to wander space, thousands of light years away from
    Flarn space.  "They banissssshed us from our own empire.  For that 
    they will be obliterated."
       Kenjek smiled.  "Do not fear, Granok.  We will find them. 
    They cannot hide for long."
      









                          
                      CHAPTER/THREE
                            
                            
                            
                            
                               
STARFLEET HEADQUARTERS
OFFICE OF INTERNAL AFFAIRS
    
       Yvonne walked into the office, smiling pleasantly as she
    sat several padds down on the Admiral's desk, adjusting the
    curtains in the room, and whistling a happy tune as she placed
    some new flowers in the vase near the window.
       "You should be happy, Admiral," Yvonne said,
    straightening the furniture carefully.  "Your son will be home
    soon."
       Vice Admiral Harlan Baxter turned in his chair, puffing
    away on a cigar.  "I'm not happy at all, Yvonne.  Not when I
    still haven't heard from our agent."
       "Maybe she just forgot to check in," Yvonne offered
    helpfully.
       "I.A. operatives don't just forget anything," Harlan
    grunted.  "Something smells rotten around here, and I'm going
    to get to the bottom of it."
       "Well, the Aerostar is back, and that's the important
    thing," Yvonne said, heading towards the door to Harlan's
    office.  "Should I contact your wife and tell her where the
    welcoming reception will be?"
       "She already knows.  She's on her way," Harlan said.
       "I do love a party," Yvonne said, smiling.
       
    
       "We'll arrive at Earth in about thirty minutes.  Begin
    preparations for beamdown," Commander Kramer said
    unenthusiastically over the comm system.
       Captain Baxter tossed one of his suitcases onto the bed
    in the cramped quarters he had been issued aboard the
    Federation Transport Richard M. Nixon.
       "Something is really bothering me about this whole
    thing,"  Counselor Peterman said, ducking out of the cramped
    bathroom and brushing her teeth.  "I mean, why move us all to
    another ship an hour before reaching Earth?"
       "I don't know," Baxter said.  "Maybe they just needed the
    Secondprize for more important duty."
       "That's not all, though, Andy," Peterman said.  "Have
    you noticed how edgy the people on this ship are acting?  It's
    like they're waiting for something terrible to happen."
       Baxter went over and grabbed Peterman's hand, pulling the
    tooth brush out of her mouth.  "Don't be silly, Kelly.  We're
    home, we're safe.  Nothing bad could possibly happen here.  I
    promise."
       Suddenly the door to Baxter's temporary quarters chimed
    happily.
       "Come in," Baxter said, looking towards the doorway.
       Lt. Ariel Tilleran rushed into the room.  "Captain, we're
    all in terrible danger here!"
       
    
       Dr. Browning strolled into what was jokingly referred to as
    "sickbay" aboard the Nixon.  It was really just an assortment
    of beds, medical tricorders, hypos, and closet space. 
    Actually, there seemed to be a lot of closets.  More than
    ususal.
       "How's my patient?" Browning asked, walking over to the
    biobed where Lt. J'hana sat on her hands, rocking back and
    forth impatiently.
       "I am fine.  I want to leave right now," J'hana growled.
       Browning grabbed a medical tricorder and looked J'hana over
    with it.  "Well, the bone has completely healed.  I think it's
    safe to release you now."
       "Thank the hive mother," J'hana grunted.
       Browning crossed sickbay, looking up at the dizzying row of
    cabinets and long file-type drawers.  "Let me just scan you with 
    the dermal subscanner, just to make sure."
       Dr. Browning searched the cabinets, only coming up with a
    few padds and isolinear chips.  No good.
       Next the doctor opened up one of the long drawers, hoping
    to find the tool she needed in there.
       Instead, she found the partially incinerated body of
    Captain Andrew Baxter.  One intact eye stared blankly back at
    her.
       Browning just covered her mouth, gasping in horror.  "Oh,
    my..."
       "What is it?" J'hana asked, sliding off her biobed and
    walking over.
       "I don't..." Browning said, when suddenly her comm badge
    beeped.
       "Baxter to all senior officers.  Report to my quarters
    immediately."
       J'hana stared impassively down at Baxter's body, then
    looked up to Browning.  "I suppose we should go see what he
    wants."
       Browning nodded, still not able to take her eyes of the
    burned and mutilated body.
    
       
       "We found the entire command crew in there," J'hana said
    grimly, leaning against Baxter's couch.  "As well as some
    random low-level officers."
       "How the hell did they do that?" Commander Conway asked
    incredulously.
       "I don't know," Browning said, shaking her head.  "We
    scanned them with the medical tricorder.  The DNA was matched
    up perfectly.  My only guess is that the bodies were grown
    organically in a lab.  It's possible, but quite difficult."
       "But, why?" Richards asked.  "Why would someone want to
    simulate our deaths like that?"
       "Because they are going to want us alive when they
    question us," Tilleran said calmly, standing in the opposite
    corner of the room with her arms crossed.  "But everyone else
    has to believe that we're dead."
       "Who?" Conway asked.  "Who wants us alive, or dead, or
    whatever?"
       "It's a general feeling I have, Commander," Tilleran said
    wearily.  "My abilities have been terribly stressed lately. 
    All I know is that the people behind this are high-ranking
    Starfleet officals.  I can't say any more than that."
       Baxter leaned back on his couch, shaking his head.  "I
    refuse to believe that."
       "Believe it or not, Captain, it is the truth," J'hana
    said.  "We have learned to trust Lt. Tilleran's powers, have
    we not?"
       "Yes," Baxter said grimly.  "We have."
       "So what do we do?" Peterman asked.
       "Simple," Baxter said, pulling a phaser out of his
    duffel.  "We go to Sickbay and fry the command crew."
    
    
       Colonel T'Phil stepped onto the bridge of the Exalax,
    straightening the folds in his Romulan uniform.  He'd become
    quite sick of wearing that disgustingly comfortable Starfleet
    uniform, and was glad to get out of it.
       Commander Ardek turned in his chair to inspect the
    Colonel as he walked out onto the bridge.
       "I see they were able to restore your ears to their
    proper state," Ardek noted.
       T'Phil nodded.  "Thankfully.  You wouldn't believe how
    disturbing it was to wake up every morning to see a pair of
    human ears looking back at you."
       Ardek shivered slightly at the thought.  "How terrible it
    must have been."
       "Well, it's all over now.  Now we can reap the rewards of
    my year in exile."
       "About that..." Ardek said uncomfortably.
       At the same time, T'Phil looked up at the viewscreen.  The
    stars seemed to be moving far to slow.  "Have we slowed down?"
    T'Phil asked with concern.
       "Our engineers detected a spike in the quantum
    singularity core.  It wasn't dangerous to us, but it was
    detectable through our cloak, so we had to come out of warp,"
    Ardek said.
       "Can't we fix it?" T'Phil asked, annoyed.
       "I am afraid not.  The spike is being caused by the
    Aerostar's power core, and even with all of that ship's main
    systems deactivated, the singularity is still affected," Sub-
    Commander Gatana said solemnly from beside Ardek.
       "So what do we do?" T'Phil asked impatiently.
       "We head back to Romulus at impulse speed," Ardek said.
    "And hope that we're not spotted."
       "Why would we be spotted?" T'Phil asked.  He was anxious 
    to get back to Romulus.
       "Well," Ardek replied with uncertainty.  "It's really not
    that big a deal..."
       "What is it?" T'Phil demanded.
       "We're...uh...having trouble masking the Aerostar's power
    signature."
       "Then we can be tracked..." T'Phil said nervously.
       "Only if someone was capable of detecting the alien power
    signature the Aerostar is giving off.  Luckily, we're not in
    the Delta Quadrant.  What are the chances of a ship looking for
    a--what did you call it--Sulani...power signature?"
       T'Phil calmed down a bit.  "You are correct, Commander. 
    Still, I will feel safer when we get back to Romulan space."
       "As will I," Ardek said, settling into his seat.
    
       
       Lieutenant J'hana poked her head around the corner,
    looking around quickly.
       "Well?" Baxter asked from behind her.
       "The coast is clear," J'hana said, leading Baxter and
    Conway around the corner and down the corridor towards sickbay.
       Baxter tapped his comm badge as he walked.  "Team two. 
    How's it coming?"
       "Slow," Lt. Tilleran's voice replied.  "We'll get back to
    you."
       
       
       "She's taking too long," Dr. Browning whispered, looking
    over Tilleran's shoulder at the image on the tricorder the
    Betazoid held pointed at Commander Kramer's quarters.  They had
    managed to squeeze into a supply closet adjacent to his
    quarters, but found that they had very little room to move
    around once inside.
       "Stop worrying," Tilleran whispered back.  "And get that
    coil spanner out of my back."
       
    
       "So, how long have you commanded this powerful vessel?"
    Counselor Peterman asked, draped sultrily on Commander Kramer's
    couch.
       Kramer smiled very slightly, pouring Peterman a drink and
    joining her on the couch.  "Only a few weeks actually.  I run
    errands for Admiral Neilson."
       "Admiral Neilson, huh?" Peterman asked.  "As in Mora Neilson?" 
    Peterman repeated this very loudly.
       "Uh, yes," Kramer said, draping his arm around Peterman's
    shoulder.  "But, enough about me.  What's your story?"
       "You could say I've been around, Commander," Peterman
    said, smiling nervously.  "It's really hot in here.  In fact,
    I'm burning up."
       Kramer laughed.  "You sure are," he knew he was running
    out of time; but, hell, he was always the no nonsense type when
    it came to the bedroom.  "Let's have sex."
       Peterman smiled coyly.  "Why Commander Kramer, I do
    believe you're flirting with me."
       
    
       "Burn 'em," Baxter said, drawing his phaser and
    vaporizing his body in its coffinlike drawer.
       "This is kind of spooky," Conway said, as he blasted away
    at Dr. Browning. 
       J'hana quickly vaporized Conway's body.  "I like it."
       
    
       "Commander Kramer, there has been a phaser discharged in
    sickbay,"  Kramer's security officer, Lieutenant Seligman,
    reported.
       Kramer smiled at Peterman momentarily, as she tried to
    pull away from his vicelike grip.  The Commander quickly tapped
    his comm badge.  "Take care of it, Seligman," he said quickly. 
    "Now."     
       "Gee, I hope nothing's wrong," Peterman said, trying to
    pull to the opposite side of the couch.
       "Everything looks fine from here," Kramer said, climbing
    across the couch in an attempt to mount Peterman.
       
    
       "Okay," Tilleran said firmly, putting away her tricorder
    and drawing her phaser.  "We have all the evidence we need. 
    We're going in.  Stay behind me."
       "This is so cool," Browning said, following Tilleran out of
    the cramped closet.
       
    
       "You do it," Baxter said, looking down at Counselor
    Peterman with disgust.  "Please."
       "With pleasure," Conway said, pushing Baxter aside and
    vaporizing the Counselor's body.
       Suddenly, the doors to sickbay parted.  "What the hell do
    you think you are doing?" Lt. Seligman asked angrily.
       "The dirty laundry," Commander Conway said, tossing Lt.
    J'hana's fragmented body at him.
       The Andorian's body hit Seligman, knocking him backwards
    into the other three members of his security team.
       "Go!" Baxter cried, setting his phaser back to stun and
    firing at Seligman before he could get up.
       J'hana quickly tapped her comm badge.  "J'hana to
    Henson.  I want you to mobilize every officer we
    have and begin locking up the Nixon's crewmembers."
       "You want me to do what?" Henson asked incredulously.
       "You heard me," J'hana said, following Baxter and Conway
    out of Sickbay.  "I'll explain later."
       With that, Baxter, Conway, and J'hana jumped over the
    stunned officers and ran like hell out of sickbay, phasers at
    the ready.
    
    
       "Get away from her!" Lt. Tilleran shouted, running into
    Kramer's quarters.
       Kramer put his hands up quickly, allowing Peterman to
    jump up from the couch and run for cover behind Tilleran. 
    "What is this all about?"
       "You can't hide the truth from a Betazoid," Tilleran
    said, approaching Kramer and sticking the phaser in his face. 
    "I know what you're planning on doing.  And the more frightened
    you get, the clearer it gets to me."
       "Mind telling us?" Browning said, her arm draped
    comfortingly around Peterman.
       "Yeah," Peterman said.  "What are you up to, besides
    trying to feel me up?"
       Kramer frowned.  "Damn.  They didn't tell me about any
    Betazoid."
       Tilleran glanced back at Browning and Peterman.  "He's going
    to blow up the ship and he and his crew are going to escape
    safely aboard the lifepods.  Meanwhile, we'll be transported to
    a holding place somewhere in San Francisco by a suppressed
    carrier wave transporter beam.  The rescue parties will find
    some charred bodies at the Nixon's crash site and they'll assume 
    we all died in the crash.  Am I leaving anything out?"
       "That about covers it," Kramer said, nervously glancing
    at the chronometer on the wall.
       "You look kind of anxious there, Commander," Browning said. 
    "Do you have somewhere you're supposed to be right now?"
       "Yeah," Tilleran said, still aiming her phaser at Kramer. 
    "He's supposed to be safe in his escape pod right now."
       "Look," Kramer said, "none of us wants to die.  I'm sure
    we could work something out."
       "I doubt it," Peterman replied angrily.
       Kramer looked again at the chronometer.  His other
    officers were probably scrambling for the escape pods right
    now, and here he was, trapped with these psycho women, about to
    get blown to smithereens.  And simply because he couldn't reign
    in his hormones.  He had known that they would get him in
    trouble sooner or later.
    
    
       "Team three.  Please tell me you're making progress," Baxter's
    voice said nervously from Richards' comm badge.
       Lt. Commander Richards edged along the Jeffries tube,
    slowly making his way towards the well-hidden access panel.
       "Almost there, Captain," Richards grunted, pulling
    himself farther along the tube.  "But I have no idea how long
    it will take to disable this system."
       "Approximately four minutes, given your engineering
    skill," Lt. Larkin said, from behind Richards.
       "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Larkin," Richards
    said, pulling the panel off.
       "My time estimate had nothing to do with confidence.  It
    was a cross reference of your skills relative to the task at
    hand."
       "Right," Richards said, carefully removing the casing
    of the mechanism.  It was a fairly common Maquis device, used
    to override the lockouts on the magnetic constrictors.  They
    would have an operative place it deep in the Jeffries' tube of
    a Cardassian warship, and blow it up before their engineers
    even knew what had happened.  The problem was, the device
    completely overrode the magnetic constrictor controls, which
    meant, if he removed it, they would fail immediately and the
    ship's warp core would breach.
    
    
       "Move it, fellas," Commander Conway said, pushing the
    last remaining crewmen of the Nixon into the cargo bay and
    locking the door.  "That does it, Captain."
       Baxter patted Commander Conway and Lt. J'hana on the
    shoulders and motioned for them to move on down the corridor. 
    "Whoever planned this must not have expected us to find out
    about their little plan; I mean, we outnumbered this crew ten
    to one.  Once we mobilized J'hana's security forces, Kramer's
    people didn't stand a chance."
       "Poor tactical strategy," J'hana commented.
       "What's next, Captain?" Conway asked as they moved down
    the corridor.
       "We're going to have a little talk with Commander
    Kramer," Baxter said, cracking his knuckles angrily.
       "What about Richards' team?" Conway asked.  "What if
    he can't stop the ship from blowing up?"
       "I have complete faith in my engineer," Baxter said,
    quickening his pace down the corridor.
       
    
       "Might I remind you that the device is set to go off in
    four minutes?" Larkin said, as she watched Richards work.
       "I remember," Richards replied testily.  "I almost have
    it."
       "Perhaps I should..." Larkin said.
       "Don't worry...I can do it!" Richards said, his hands
    pulling at the optical cable that stood between him and the
    device's power feed.  "Just give me a couple more minutes..."
       "I am not capable of worrying, Commander," Larkin said. 
    "However, it stands to reason that I would consider the death
    of everyone aboard this ship, including myself, to be
    unfortunate."
       "You don't say," Richards said dryly.
       "As a matter of fact, I find that idea quite distasteful. 
    But to say that I am worrying...that would not be an accurate
    statement."
       "Shut up!" Richards said, ripping the cable out.  "I
    need to concentrate."
       "Of course," Larkin replied.
       
    
       Ensign Ford stroked the arms of the Nixon's command chair
    lovingly.  He didn't really know when he'd get another chance
    to sit in a command chair, so he thought he'd get as much
    pleasure out of it as he possibly could.
       Of course, seeing that they were all in imminent danger,
    pleasure was not really formost on anyone else's mind.
       That went double, Ford thought, for Ensign Puckett.  
    The two of them had been assigned to go and secure the bridge,
    and during the rollicking firefight up there, she hadn't responded
    very well to his flirtations.  As a matter of fact, she'd threatened
    to shoot him with her phaser on more than one occasion.
       Oh well, Ford thought, glancing back at Puckett as she
    worked at the tactical station behind him.  There's plenty of
    other fish in the...
       Suddenly, Ensign Ford felt the unmistakable sensation of
    an arm latching around his throat and threatening to choke the
    life out of  him.    
       "Urk..." Ford choked out, as his unseen adversary
    squeezed harder.
       Puckett immediately withdrew her phaser, leveling it at
    Ford's assailant.
       "Drop it," a man in a Starfleet Lieutenant's uniform
    said, "or the 'Captain' here dies."
       Puckett seemed to consider this a moment.
       "Errggggg..." Ford protested angrily.
       "Oh, alright," Puckett said, dropping her phaser and
    stepping back.
       The Lieutenant threw Ford to the deck roughly, looking
    down at him with disdain.
       "I thought we stunned all of you..." Ford said, rubbing
    his neck.
       "You're an ignorant fool," the lieutenant said with
    disgust, looking up at Ensign Puckett.  "And so are you.  So is
    the rest of your so-called 'heroic' crew.  But it's no matter. 
    You won't live long enough to do anything else foolish."
       Suddenly the lieutenant's arm stretched across the
    bridge, grabbing Puckett's phaser and pulling it back towards
    him.
       "You're a changeling!" Puckett said in astonishment.
       "Oh, what gave it away?" the changeling said, pointing
    one phaser at each officer.  "Now both of you get in the
    corner."  The changeling walked over to the ops panel and hit a
    few buttons.  "Admiral."
       "Yes?" A female voice crackled over the speakers.
       "We have the situation under control.  What should I do?"
       "Continue as planned, Lieutenant."
       "But the bodies have been destroyed."
       "Just blow the ship up in space, then.  The crash landing
    and the bodies were merely for theatrics anyway."
       "Understood," the Lieutenant said cooly, closing the
    channel.
       
    
       "You see, John?" Admiral Neilson said, turning in her chair. 
    "Nothing to worry about."
       "But they managed to completely take over the Nixon,"
    Admiral Phillips protested.  "You don't expect them to just
    give up that easily."
       "I don't expect them to give up at all.  I expect them to
    die," Neilson said.  "We'll get the information we need out of
    the senior staff, and the rest of the crew will perish in a
    horrible...accident."
       "And Admiral Baxter will never see his pathetic son
    again,"  Phillips replied with a smile.  
       "And before you know it, Starfleet and the Federation
    will be ours," Neilson grinned, watching the approaching blip on
    her office's viewscreen.  The Nixon was just now clearing
    Neptune.  Soon her secret would be safe, and everything she
    wanted would be well within her grasp.
    
    
       Admiral Harlan Baxter stalked across the courtyard at the
    center of Starfleet command angrily.  The uncharictaristcally
    sunny San Francisco day did little to brighten his mood.
       He had just recived the signal that proved his greatest
    fears.  He had intercepted a carefully coded message directed
    to Admiral Neilson from the Nixon.  And he suddenly realized
    exactly what she was planning to do.
       Harlan made his way to Admiral Neilson's office, determined
    to settle this one himself.
    
       
       "Who sent you, Kramer?" Captain Baxter asked, looming
    over Commander Kramer ominously as he sat on the couch.  "Was
    it Admiral Neilson?  Was it?  Afraid I'd go public with her plans
    for the Borg?  Well, I'll tell you..."
       Suddenly he found himself caught up in the familiar blue
    swirl of a transporter beam.  Looking around, Baxter noted that
    Peterman, Browning, Tilleran, J'hana, and Conway were being beamed
    away as well.  But to where?
       "Get his phaser!" A voice shouted, as Baxter
    rematerialized.
       Before he knew what was happening, a hand pushed him back
    into a chair and ripped the phaser out of his hand.
       "You were saying?" Kramer asked.  Suddenly, it seemed,
    the tables were turned.  
       "Hi, Captain," Ensign Ford said, beside him.
       Baxter looked up at Kramer, then to the man behind him. 
    Baxter didn't recognize the other man, but he could tell by the
    shape of his face that he was a changeling.  "You can't win. 
    You guys are outnumbered."
       "You have a point there," the man behind Kramer said. 
    "But that fact won't be true for long.  We're all beaming down
    to Earth as soon as we are in transporter range.  And as for
    your gallant crew, they'll all die."
       "Richards to Baxter.  Larkin and I have disabled the
    device they were going to use to blow up the ship.  What are we
    supposed to do next?"
       Baxter looked up at his captors.
       "Answer him," the changeling said.  "Tell him everything
    is just fine."  
       "Everything's fine, Chris," Baxter said calmly.  "Tell
    everyone to stay calm down there and wait for further
    instructions."
       "Gotcha, Captain.  Richards out."
       "I have a question," Kramer said nervously, glancing back
    at the changeling as he pointed the phaser at Baxter and his
    crew.  "If they disabled the device that we were going to use
    to blow up the ship, how are we going to blow up the ship?"
       "Simple," the changeling replied, walking over to the
    helm station.  "I'm going to crash us into Earth's moon."
       "Oh," Kramer said blankly.  "What about us?"
       "Admiral Neilson will beam you and I, as well as Baxter and
    his senior staff, to safety."
       "Are you sure that's safe?" Kramer asked.  He was
    beginning to have his doubts.  "Couldn't we just use the self
    destruct?"
       The changeling shook his head, glaring at Baxter.  "No
    doubt Captain Baxter's engineer locked out those subsystems
    before doing anything else."   
       Baxter looked around at his senior officers.  "Well, it
    was a good guess."
       "It wasn't a guess you imbecile!  Do you think I'm an
    idiot?  Do I look like a baboon or something to you?"
       "Well, judging by the last changeling we ran into..."
    Baxter replied.
       "Enough!" the changeling said, turning around and
    programming in the ship's crash course with the moon.
       "Could we talk about this?" Kramer said, turning to face
    the changeling.  "I'm sure we could come up with a better..."
       Baxter took that opportunity to leap out of his chair and 
    charge at Kramer with all his might, ramming him up against the
    viewscreen.
       The changeling had just enough time to engage the course
    and tap some other buttons before Commander Conway charged into
    him, with J'hana right behind him.
       "Let me at him!" J'hana cried.
       Conway wrapped his arms around the changeling, pushing
    him up against the wall.  "I gotcha!"
       "You have nothing!" the changeling cried, as he suddenly
    melted in between Conway's fingers and dripped to the floor,
    collecting at Conway's feet and pushing him up into the air.
       "Ford..." Baxter grunted, as he fought Kramer.  "See if
    you can get us back on course."
       Ford jumped to the helm panel, looking fearfully at the
    controls.  "They're locked out, sir.  And I can't break the
    access code."
       Baxter slapped his comm badge with one hand, and Kramer
    with the other.
       "Baxter to Richards.  They managed to put the ship on a
    collision course and we can't seem to stop it.  Get everyone to
    the escape pods now!"
       "But, Captain, maybe I can stop..."
       "No time..." Baxter grunted, as he pummeled Commander
    Kramer.  "Just get everyone out of here."
       "But what about y -"
       "We'll be fine.  Just move it!"
       "And get my pets!" Peterman cried.
       "And my luggage!" Conway cried.
       "And my batleth!" J'hana cried.
       "And my pornographic playdoh!" Ford cried.
       "Um.  I'll see what I can do," Richards replied,
    cutting the channel.
       "Starship Nixon, this is McKinley Station.  Your course
    has become erratic.  Are you in need of assistance?" the
    viewscreen suddenly came to life.
       "Yes!" Baxter cried as he strangled Commander Kramer,
    pushing him up against the viewscreen and strangling him,
    causing the face of the small Asian woman on the screen to
    contort as the delicate fabric of the screen was dented by
    Kramer' bulky body.
       "He's trying to kill me!" Kramer choked out.
       "Help is on the way, Nixon, just hold on!"
       Conway, Browning, Tilleran, Peterman, Puckett, and J'hana
    continued to fight with the changeling as it sloshed around the
    bridge, constantly taking shape just long enough to throw one
    of them off balance or attempt to strangle one of them.
       "Just hold still long enough for me to shoot you, you
    bastard!"  J'hana shouted, trying to take aim with her phaser.
       Suddenly the Nixon jerked backwards, causing everyone on
    the bridge to fly forward.  It felt as if someone was trying
    to lock a tractor beam onto them.
       It also felt like it wasn't working.
       
    
       Captain Robinson of the USS Goodall grimaced as he
    listened to the report from tactical.
       "We cannot get a positive lock.  We're too near the
    moon's gravity well," Lt. Poloma reported, slamming her fist
    down on the tactical panel.
       "Very well," Robinson said, turning to his executive
    officer.  "Go over and get them out of there."
       "Yes, sir," the First Officer said, jumping out of her
    chair, pointing to Poloma and the ensign at ops, glancing
    back as the two follwed her to the turbolift  "Think he'll be
    surprised to see me?"
       Robinson allowed himself a brief giggle as his exec
    stepped into the turbolift.  "Given the circumstances, I bet
    he'll be happy to see anyone right now."  Robinson then looked
    back up at the viewscreen.  The Nixon was about to collide with
    the moon.
    
                               
       Lt. Commander Richards tried desparately to see through
    Ozzie the osprey's flapping wings as he ran down the Nixon's
    corridor toward the last escape pod.  With a cat in each hand, 
    a bird on his head, and a dog trotting along at his side,
    Richards looked like a deranged version of Dr. Doolittle.
       "Everyone has reported to their respective escape pods,
    Commander," Lt. Larkin said, coming up behind Richards, a
    cage full of bunnies, gerbils and hamsters in her arms.
       "Great.  I guess I'll see you down on Earth."
       "I beg to differ, Commander," Larkin said, following
    Richards into the cramped pod.  "This is the last
    escape pod."
       Charlie clawed at Richards's crotch as he tried to hold
    him at bay.  
       "Oh," Richards replied, gulping nervously as the hatch
    sealed and pressurized, sealing him off from the Nixon's
    corridor.
       Animals squirmed around the tight compartment, including
    Ozzie the osprey, who continued to flap his wings in the poor
    engineer's face.
       "Why do I feel like I'm on Noah's Ark?" Richards asked,
    as he felt the pod jerk free of its moorings and shoot out into
    open space.
       "That is an interesting historical analogy," Larkin
    said, balancing the cage of hamsters, gerbils and rabbits in
    her lap.  "I should like to discuss it with you at length
    during the hours before we are rescued."
       Richards briefly wondered if it was too late to go back
    to the Nixon.
    
    
       "Hold on!" Captain Baxter cried, as suddenly the Nixon 
    shuddered severely and rammed into the moon, sliding across 
    its surface at a blinding speed, spinning uncontrollably over
    the rocky terrain.
       Baxter looked up at the viewscreen just in time to see
    the Nixon plow over the ancient American flag that Neil
    Armstrong placed on the moon back in 1969.  Oh, well.  It was
    getting pretty old anyway.
       The Captain was hoping the ship would come to a merciful
    stop, but, evidently, the ship had other things in mind.
       The Nixon continued in a straight line, still following
    its course, which had been altered ever so slightly by the
    Goodall's tractor beam.  Clearing the moon's gravity, the Nixon
    continued on course, right toward Earth.
       "Well, everyone," Baxter announced, as the green-blue
    planet grew larger and larger on the viewscreen.  "Welcome back
    to Earth."
       Suddenly, Kramer, who Baxter had sworn was out cold,
    kicked Baxter right in the gut, jumping to his feet and diving
    on top of the Captain.
       "Help!" Commander Conway cried, flailing around as the
    changeling wrapped itself around him.
       "Escape pods launched," the computer reported happily.
       "How comforting," Ford said.  "What about us?"
       "We're going to die!" J'hana replied with vigor as she
    ripped at the orange ectoplasmic goo that surrounded Commander
    Conway.  "Finally!"
       Captain Baxter suddenly found himself smashed up against
    the viewscreen, in another fierce struggle with the Nixon's
    commander.  He had almost freed himself from Kramer' grip, when
    suddenly Kramer threw him against the bulkhead.
       When Baxter heard the high pitched whine, he assumed it
    just went along with all the pretty colors the collision had
    caused.
       That's when Baxter saw a bright yellow flash over Kramer's
    shoulder, a flash that immediately disintegrated the changeling
    that grappled with Commander Conway.
       Conway cringed as he looked down at his scorched uniform. 
    "Jeeze, you almost vaporized me!"
       "Sorry," A dark haired woman with a gold-collared uniform
    said, holstering her phaser and helping him up.  "Next time
    I'll make sure I do vaporize you."
       "As you were, Lt. Poloma," another officer said,
    walking over to where Baxter and Kramer fought.
       Captain Baxter suddenly felt a wave of nostalgia as a
    hand clamped down on his ear and jerked him away from Kramer.
       Kramer yelped as another hand latched down on his ear. 
    "Hey, get off!" 
       The first officer looked from Baxter to Kramer, shaking
    her head.  "Starfleet officers, fighting like children.  I
    can't believe it.  I would have thought better of both of you." 
    She turned to Baxter.  "Especially you."
       "Hi, mom," Baxter said meekly.
       "Pardon me?" The woman said, looking at Baxter
    scoldingly.
       "Uh, I mean Commander Mom," Baxter corrected.
       "Better," Commander Lucille Baxter said, looking at the two
    men she held in her grip.  "Now can both of you settle this
    like good boys, or  will I have to stun you both?"
       Baxter blushed, looking down and mumbled, "Uh...I guess."
       "What, I didn't hear you?"
       "I said, yes, I can settle this like a good boy."
       Commander Baxter looked to Kramer.  "What about you?"
       "He started it," Kramer said quietly.
       "Throw him in the brig, mom.  He's a traitor," Captain
    Baxter said.  "He tried to kill all of us."
       "Is that so?" Commander Baxter asked, shaking Kramer by
    his uniform collar.
       "Yes, Ma'am," Kramer said meekly.
       "Then off you go," she handed Kramer over to Lt.
    Poloma.  "Now I suggest we all get back to the Goodall."  
       Baxter watched as Earth got bigger and bigger on the
    screen.  They were almost within the atmosphere.
       "Good idea, Mom.  I mean, Commander."
       Lucille slapped her comm badge.  "Baxter to
    Goodall.  Beam everyone out of here."
       "Aw, his mommy came to save him," Ensign Ford said
    sweetly, looking up at Baxter and batting his eyes.  "That's so
    sweet."
       "Shut up, Ensign," Captain Baxter sneered, as the entire
    group beamed out.
       
    
       Counselor Peterman held Captain Baxter's hand as the
    senior officers were led by Commander Baxter up to the bridge
    of the Goodall.  As far as she was concerned, she'd been on too
    damn many starships in the last day.
       She'd definitely be glad to get back to Earth, that was
    for sure.  She was also glad she wasn't going to be getting
    back by riding the Nixon through the atmosphere and hitting the
    Earth at hundereds of thousands of miles an hour.
       During the turbolift ride, Peterman breifly studied
    Commander Baxter.  She didn't seem to resemble Andy much at
    all.  As a matter of fact, other than having the same dirty
    blonde hair and blue eyes, they seemed almost like polar
    opposites.
       Commander Baxter was short, slim, and compact, as opposed
    to Andy's big, lumbering awkwardness, and her hair was worn
    in the standard "aging female Starfleet officer bun."  
       Early on in her Starfleet career, Peterman had decided
    that she would never go to the bun...no matter how old she got. 
    The bun was so infamous, it was generally accepted as the
    telltale sign that a female Starfleet officer was beginning to
    age.
       Peterman felt a little sad that Baxter and his mom hadn't
    even hugged yet, after being apart for a year.  But, she
    reasoned that there must be a Starfleet regulation somewhere
    against it.  And Commander Baxter didn't strike her as someone
    that broke many Starfleet regulations.  Another difference
    between her and Andy, Peterman supposed.
       "...so your father told the Captain that if he didn't
    want to fill out the proper paperwork, he'd have him digging
    out forsythias with old Boothby at the Academy," Commander
    Baxter said, as the turbolift reached the bridge.
       "That old man can't still be alive," Baxter said,
    chuckling as he followed his mother out of the lift.
       "Not only is he alive, but I bet he could still outrun you in
    a sprint," Commander Baxter said evenly.  "I'd place my bets on
    him any day."
       "So would I," Captain Baxter admitted.
       "Finally, we've reached the bridge," Conway muttered as
    he and Peterman followed the two Baxters out of the turbolift. 
    "Maybe they'll finally stop chit-chatting about family stuff."
       Peterman elbowed Conway.  "Come on, Commander.  That's
    his mom."
       "Sorry, close brushes with death tend to affect my
    sensitivity."
       "What sensitivity?" Peterman asked.
       Captain Robinson immediately rose to his feet, rushing to
    shake Captain Baxter's hand.  "Well, well, well.  It's been a
    long time.  Last time I saw you, you were a struggling Ensign
    whose voice had hardly changed."    
       Baxter shook the Captain's hand.  "Wasn't that long ago
    sir."
       "And he's a Captain now," Commander Baxter said proudly.
       "Well," Baxter said, blushing again.
       "Won't be long before he's giving his mom orders,"
    Captain Robinson said, patting Baxter's shoulder and smiling.
       "Sheesh," Baxter said.
       "You know, we were almost killed a few minutes ago...am I
    the only one here that rememembers that?" Commander Conway
    said angrily.
       "You've got a point, Commander," Robinson said, turning
    to the tactical station.  "Lt. Poloma, hail Starfleet
    command and ask them how we should proceed."

    
       Yvonne had just finished blowing up the balloons for
    Captain Baxter's welcome back party when two admirals were
    unceremoniously tossed into the office, knocking into the 
    table where the "Welcome Back from the Delta Quadrant, Captain
    Baxter" cake had been laid out.
       The secretary frowned as Admiral Baxter strolled in.
       "They crushed your son's cake," Yvonne said, looking down
    at the admirals and frowning.
       "We can get another one," Harlan grunted.
       "You can't do this," Admiral Neilson protested, pulling at
    the restraining bolts that held her hands together.
       "We outrank you," Phillips chimed in, pulling at his
    own restraints.
       "Not anymore you don't.  Traitors have no rank," Harlan
    said, turning to Yvonne.  "Get someone from Starfleet security
    over here.  I have two prisoners for them."
       "What's the charge?" Yvonne asked, peering at Neilson and
    Phillips.     
       "For starters, collaborating with a changeling to murder 
    Starfleet officers, conspiring to take over Starfleet, witholding     
    information from the Federation council, and sending an entire 
    starship to the other side of the galaxy without authorization."
       "Wow, that's a lot of charges," Yvonne mused, heading
    back out into the reception area.
       "You can't prove anything," Neilson said.  "It's your word
    against ours."
       "Well, I've got recorded evidence against you from my
    operative's files, plus the testimony of the entire crew of the
    Aerostar that you two were up to no good."
       "You're too late," Admiral Neilson said, smiling.  "We took
    care of your son and his friends."
       Harlan smiled back.  "That's what you think."
       "Admiral..." Yvonne said rushing back into the
    office.  "We just got word that the transport carrying
    Captain Baxter and his crew crash-landed somewhere near 
    Peking."
       Harlan turned around.  "What?"
       "You see?" Neilson said.
       "And the Goodall reports that they rescued the entire
    crew, including the Commander that was responsible."
       "Doh!" Neilson said.  She would have smacked her forehead,
    had she a free hand with which to smack it.
       "It's all over, Mora," Harlan said, turning to Yvonne. 
    "You could have told me the bit about them being saved first."
       "Wouldn't have been as dramatic," Yvonne explained.
       "Enough with the drama, Yvonne, go call Starfleet
    Security," Admiral Baxter barked, looking back to Neilson and
    Phillips.
       "Yes, sir," Yvonne said, hurrying out once again into the
    reception area outside Harlan's office.
       Admiral Baxter stared disapprovingly at Neilson and
    Phillips.  "What has Starfleet come to?"
       "I don't know," Neilson said, watching the chronometer on
    her wall.  "But I may be able to tell you where Starfleet's
    going."
       "What?" Harlan asked.
       Suddenly Admirals Baxter, Neilson, and Phillips
    disappeared in a flash of purple.
       "Admiral, I called Starfleet Security.  They said they'd
    send someone right--" Yvonne looked around the empty office. 
    "Admiral?"
       Yvonne looked around Admiral Baxter's office in
    confusion.  "Admiral?" she peered under Harlan's huge mahogany
    desk.  "Admiral?  Where are you?"
       Admiral Baxter sauntered out of the private restroom at
    the back of his office, adjusting his uniform pants.  "Right
    here, Yvonne.  I had to use the bathroom."
       Yvonne scratched her head.  "Where are the prisoners,
    sir?"
       "I had them beamed to a brig to save Starfleet Security
    the trouble of getting them," Harlan said, placing a reassuring
    hand on Yvonne's shoulder.  "Now, why don't you go get another
    cake for my son."
       "Yes, sir.  Should I also cancel the rest of you
    appointments for today so that you can spend time with him?"
       "That's a good idea, Yvonne," Harlan said, a menacing
    grin spreading across his face, "my son and I have a lot to
    discuss."
      










  
                       CHAPTER/FOUR
                               
    
    
    
    
       "Well, what do you have to say about your smug Starfleet
    beliefs now, Admiral?" Neilson asked, looking gloatingly at 
    Harlan as two hulking Jem'Hadar guards held him at bay.
       "You two are changelings!" Harlan said incredulously.
       "I am," Neilson said, crossing to the center of the ship's
    bridge.  "Admiral Phillips here is one of you, but he's a
    collaborator."
       "They promised me my own ship," Phillips said happily.
       "Soon enough," Neilson said.  "Right now we have other
    business to attend to."
       "How could you have gotten around Earth's defenses?"
    Harlan asked angrily.
       Neilson gestured at their surroundings.  "This is a
    prototype Jem'Hadar warship that's equipped with a cloaking
    device.  Just one of the perks of our battle with the Tal
    Shiar."
       "You conniving bastards," Harlan growled.
       "We're not finished yet," Neilson said with a smile.  "Since
    your son was unkind enough to mess up our plans, we'll have to
    change strategies."
       "How's that?"
       "We just exchanged one changeling Admiral for another. 
    And this one has access to your son."
       "You replaced me with a changeling," Harlan said grimly.
       "And BINGO was his name," Phillips said pleasantly,
    placing a hand on Harlan's shoulder.
       "And as for us, we have a starship to capture," Neilson
    said, grinning.
       "The Aerostar?"
       "Precisely," Neilson said.  "We're going to capture that
    starship and get all the information we need on the Bermuda Expanse. 
    Then the Dominion will conquer one more quadrant!"
       "I'd worry about the Alpha and Beta quadrants first, if I
    were you," Harlan growled.
       Neilson smiled.  "I wouldn't."
    
    
USS SECONDPRIZE

    Captain's Log, 
       Stardate 51993.3.  We have been sent by Starfleet to
    investigate the destruction of the Federation freighter
    Tangier, as well as the mysterious disappearance of the
    Starship Aerostar.  I don't know why Captain Baxter gets to
    relax back on Earth while we sit out here and root around for
    his stupid ship, but, like a good Captain, I'm complying with
    Starfleet's orders.
    
       "Well?" Commander Dillon asked, leaning over Lt.
    Commander Jaroch's shoulder.  "What have you got?"
       "An imbecile looking over my shoulder," Jaroch said, not
    looking up.
       "What have you got on the sensors?" Dillon demanded.
       "You must try to be more precise in the future,
    Commander," Jaroch said, looking up.  "There is insufficient 
    debris here to represent the mass of the Aerostar and the Tangier. 
    Therefore, I am forced to assume that the Aerostar has been
    taken."
       "Waystation told us that much, Jaroch," Rydell said from the
    command chair.  "What I want to know is where the heck the
    Aerostar went."
       "Oh, Waystation already figured that out?" Jaroch asked. 
    "Well, good for them.  I am gratified to see that I am using my
    abilities so productively."
       "Get over it, Jaroch.  We need to find the Aerostar," Rydell
    said.
       "Very well," Jaroch said, looking at the long range scanners. 
    "I am picking up a faint power signature...almost unreadable. 
    It seems like a distorted echo of some sort."
       Dillon rubbed his hands together.  "Now we're getting
    somewhere.  Could it be the Aerostar?"
       "Quite likely," Jaroch said, continuing to look at his
    scanners.  "However, the sensor image is not clear enough to
    get a specific location."
       "Well, it's a start," Rydell said.  "Helm, lay in a
    course to inter-"
       "Captain..." Lt. Hawkins said from tactical.  "We're
    being hailed by an approaching Bolian freighter."
       "What the heck could they want?" Dillon asked, walking
    over to Hawkins's station.
       "They say they have someone who needs to talk to us on
    board.  Someone who specifcally requested to be taken to a
    Federation Starship."
       "Put them onscreen," Rydell said, leaning forward in his
    command chair.
       A very disheveled looking Vulcan appeared on the screen.
       "Uh, h-hi, I am Counselor Telvin of the late Starship
    Capistrano.  We were on a d-deep space expedition when we were
    a-a-attacked.  They killed e-everybody."
       "Attacked?  By who...or what?" Rydell asked.
       "Don't know," the Vulcan stammered.  "Big ship.  Big,
    scary, ship."
       "What an odd Vulcan," Jaroch mused.    
       "Quiet, Jaroch," Rydell said under his breath.  "Mister
    Telvin, please beam aboard our ship immediately, and we'll try
    to find out who destroyed your ship."
       "Okay, th-thank you.  It's been a long...c-couple of
    days."
       "I bet," Rydell said.  "Secondprize out."  As soon as
    Telvin's image disappeared, Rydell turned to Commander Dillon. 
    "Mister Dillon, go down and fetch our visitor.  And take
    Counselor Webber with you.  Something tells me her services
    might be needed."


        Telvin took the cup of tea from Counselor Webber with
    shaking hands, as he tried to recount his story.
       "Then our shields came down, and the hull started to
    breach," Telvin said, sipping from the tea gingerly.
       Commander Dillon and Captain Rydell leaned forward at the
    other end of the conference table with interest, as Counselor
    Webber sat down across from Dillon on Rydell's left side.
       "And then what?" Dillon asked.
       "Then I left," Telvin said plainly.
       "Left?  What do you mean you left?" Rydell asked.
       "I ran to an escape pod and jumped ship.  I'm no idiot,
    Captain.  I'm technically a civilian.  I didn't make any oath to
    Starfleet.  I got my PhD in psychology from Yale, where the
    students are not expected to get shot at."
       Rydell grimaced inwardly.  He was obviously not talking
    to the selfless hero-type.  "Then, two days later, you were
    rescued by the Bolians."
       "And taken here, yes, that's correct Captain," Telvin
    said, taking another sip.  "By the way, this is wonderful tea."
       "Thank you," Webber said sweetly.  "So, Telvin, you seem
    quite rattled.  If you don't mind me asking, how is it a Vulcan
    could possibly have this reaction?"
       "Quite simple, Counselor," Telvin said, "I am half human. 
    My full name is actually Telvin Abramowitz, which is my mother's
    maiden name.  Of course, when she married my father she changed
    it to, well, nothing, because Vulcans don't have last names. 
    Why is that?"
       "I don't know," Rydell said tiredly.
       "Anyway, mom raised me on Earth, with all the normal
    schooling a Terran would recieve, much to my father's chagrin."
       "I'm sure," Rydell said.  "About that ship that attacked
    you.  Can you remember what it looked like?  Is there something
    you might be able to tell us that would help us track it down?"
       Telvin turned in his chair to face the conference room
    windows.  He stared out at the slowly moving stars beyond the
    windows, his gaze falling on one particularly bright, twinkling
    star.  Maybe it was Vulcan.  Heck, he'd never been there--how
    would he know?
       "It was really big," Telvin said, glancing back at Rydell. 
    "With a predatory, almost birdlike shape to it."
       "Romulan...Dominion?" Dillon asked, looking to Rydell.
       "No," Telvin said, shaking his head.  "Bigger, bulkier. 
    And it wasn't green or purple...it was more like a tannish color. 
    With some dark blue spots.
       "Tan and blue," Rydell said, rubbing his chin.  Didn't
    sound like any damned ship he'd heard of.  But it did sound
    like a good color scheme.
       Telvin squinted a moment at the twinkling star.  Was it
    his poor eyesight, or was the star coming towards them?  
       "It sounds like the Federation has a new enemy,"
    Commander Dillon said.  "Whoever it is, they took out a
    Starfleet ship with a few shots."
       "Maybe it was Tamarian," Webber offered.  "Their ships are
    kind of bird shaped, but they're more a greyish color."
       "No," Telvin said.  "Whoever attacked us spoke English
    through the Universal Translator.  They did, however, make a
    kind of hissing sound."
       "Hissing?" Rydell asked.
       Telvin stared harder at the star.  It was definitely not a
    star.  It was some sort of ship, and it was coming closer, with
    great speed.
       "Mister Telvin..." Rydell said, after a few moments of
    silence.  "If you can tell us anything else that would help us,
    we'd greatly appreciate it.  As it is, we have very little to
    work with."
       "You know..." Telvin said, looking out the windows, as his
    teacup began to shake more violently.  "It looked a lot
    like..."
       "Like what?" Rydell prodded.  Interrogating this fellow
    was like talking to a little child.
       Telvin dropped his teacup and raised a pointed finger at
    the transparent aluminum window.  "Like that!"     
       Rydell, Dillon, and Webber all turned to look out the
    window, just in time to see a ball of blue light shimmer
    towards them.
       "Red Alert," Lt. Commander Jaroch's voice said calmly as the
    red alert klaxons began.  "Captain Rydell to the bridge."
    
    
       "Evasive maneuvers, Lt. Sullivan," Rydell ordered taking
    his chair from Jaroch.  "Damage report."
       "Shields are down to sixty percent," Hawkins said.
       "They are using some kind of focused antiproton beam,"
    Lieutenant Commander Jaroch said, as he returned to the science
    station.  "I calculate that two more blasts will disable our
    shields."
       "Hail them," Rydell said.  "Maybe we can reason with
    them."
       "There is no reasoning with them.  They're killers!"
    Telvin ranted.
       "I'll remember that," Rydell said.
       "They're responding," Lt. Hawkins said.
       "Onscreen," Rydell ordered.
       Suddenly, a huge, menacing, predatory looking creature
    appeared on the screen.  It seemed to be half reptile, half
    insect, with a huge torso, tiny, spindly arms and legs, huge,
    almost lobsterlike talons, and deep set compound eyes.  The
    creature smiled, revealing huge jaws full of sharp teeth. 
    Rydell shivered.
       "Another Federation ssssstarship, eh?  Would you mind
    telling us where we might find the USS Aerossssstar?"
       "The Aerostar?" Rydell said.  "They've only been back in
    this quadrant for a day."
       "A day, you ssssay?" the creature hissed.  "But they are
    back?"
       "Yes," Rydell said.  "Now would you guys mind terribly
    not blowing up any more of our ships?"   
       "Sssssorry," the creature said, leaning back in his
    chair.  "We have quite a few more ships to dessssstroy before
    we begin stockpiling you for consumption."
       Dillon gulped.  "Did he say consumption?"
       "Yesssss, I did," the creature hissed angrily.  "That
    meanssss we are going to eat you.  We've found humans to be
    quite tassssty."     
       "Who are you?" Rydell asked.  "Where are you from?"
       "If you must know, we are the Flarn, and we come from a
    far away region of space, where we control a huge empire."
       "Why didn't we think of that before?" Webber asked.  "This
    is the species the Aerostar ran into in the Delta Quadrant!"
       "Damn," Dillon said.  "Then we are in trouble."
       Rydell glared at Dillon and Webber and turned back to the
    viewscreen.  "What do you want with the Aerostar?"
       The Flarn's smile widened.  "Very sssssimply, we want
    revenge.  Now are you done with all the quesssstions?"
       "I--" Rydell said.
       "Good.  Have a nice day, and thank you for all your
    sssssplendid help."
       "But--" Rydell said.
       "They're firing again!" Hawkins said, as the deck rattled
    underneath Rydell's feet.  "Shields now down to twenty-three
    percent."
       "I'd love to be able to complete just one sentence," Rydell
    muttered.  "Return fire, all weapons."
       Hawkins looked up from her panel.  "We weakened their
    shields.  Negligible damage."
       "Damn it," Rydell said.  "Back us off, Sullivan."
       Suddenly, another volley came from the Flarn ship, this
    time causing several panels on the bridge to overload and
    explode.
       "Shields down!" Hawkins cried.  "Damage to decks eleven
    and twenty."
       "We're finished," Dillon said quietly.
       Telvin cowered at Hawkins's feet, deciding that it was the
    best port in a storm, since he had no idea where the escape
    pods were on this starship.
       "We will not withstand another hit, Captain," Jaroch said.
       Rydell watched the massive ship loom over him.  Was this
    really it?  After all its crew had been through, were they
    doomed to bite the dust out in the backwaters of space,
    destroyed in less than ten minutes by a ship they couldn't even
    identify?
       The Captain tried to ignore the sound of Commander
    Dillon's nervous whimpering from beside him as he attempted to
    think of a way out of this mess.  Maybe it really was a
    Kobayashi Maru.  A no win situation.
       Maybe it was time to simply throw in the--
       "Sir!" Jaroch said from the science console.  "They are
    coming about!"
       Rydell looked up.  Jaroch was right.  Suddenly the ship
    turned on a wing and warped away.
       "Talk about luck," Ensign Carr said from ops.
       "Maybe they found something that interested them more,"
    Jaroch suggested.
       "Whew," Commander Dillon said, wiping a hand over his
    forehead.  "I really thought we were finished there, Captain."
       "We still may be," Rydell said.  "Helm, set a course to
    follow that ship.  Maximum warp."
       "Are you crazy?" Sullivan asked.
       "Quite possibly," Rydell replied.  "Now engage."
    
    
       "Are you ssssure it is a Ssssssulani signature?" Granok
    asked, watching as the Federation ship they were attacking
    vanished away in the distance.
       "Yessss," Astrok said from the science console.  "But
    ssssomeone is attempting to massssk the signal.  It is sssssome
    sort of camoflage device."
       "Can we sssssee through it?" Kenjek asked.
       "Enough to get a target lock," Astrok said, baring his
    teeth in a menacing smile.
    

        Colonel T'Phil paced the bridge of the Exalax nervously,
    his fingers twiddling behind his back. 
       "How long now, pilot?" T'Phil asked, as he came to the
    helm station.
       The pilot straightened.  "Six hours, fourteen minutes, at
    our present sublight speed."
       "That's not good enough," T'Phil said, turning to Ardek,
    who sat in the command chair busily working on a padd.  "We're
    still not out of Federation territory."
       "'The strongest of all warriors are these two--Time and
    Patience,'"  Ardek said, looking up at T'Phil proudly.
       "What?" T'Phil asked.
       Ardek smiled.  "It's my thought of the day.  Do you know
    who said that?"
       "Mevak?  Or was it V'karn?" T'Phil asked, raising an
    eyebrow.
       "Tolstoi," Ardek corrected.  "A human writer."
       "Well, he writes like a Romulan," T'Phil commented,
    returning his gaze to the viewscreen.
       "That's what I thought, too," Ardek said.  "Do you know
    what it means?"
       "That I should be patient?"
       "Exactly," Ardek said.  "Patience is a virtue, wouldn't
    you agree?"
       "I supposed the Tal Shiar have something to learn from
    Tolstoi.  Maybe if we had thought like that, we would have
    never sent that fleet into the Gamma Quadrant."    
       "Live and learn," Ardek said cheerfully.
       T'Phil grimaced as he remembered the dreadful day he had
    heard of the destruction of the Tal Shiar fleet.  Since that
    time, he had difficutly getting used to the fact that his
    organization was crippled, a mere shadow of the fierce,
    devastating political power they once had been.  That's why he
    was forced to lower himself to undercover work aboard the
    Aerostar.  In the old days, one of his minions would have taken
    care of that task.  But now, most of those minions were dead. 
    Slaughtered by the Jem'Hadar.  Oh, well.
       "These organizers really do help you keep your life in
    order,"  Ardek said, happily tapping away at his padd.  "Not
    only do they have a quote for each day, but they have a list of
    things to do as well.  See, I have 'steal Federation starship
    and take it back to Romulus' right here under stardate 51992.  
       "And 51995 is my daughter's birthday."  Ardek continued
    to page through his padd.  "And, of course, who could forget
    stardate 52050, Tarshak day."
       "Commander..." the science officer said, looking up from
    his console.  "I just detected a vessel on an intercept course
    with us.  They are approaching at warp two, on a course of 214
    mark 5."
       "On screen," Ardek said, putting his padd down and
    looking up at the viewscreen.
       T'Phil looked up, and gasped.  "No...it's not possible..."
       The huge, predatory starship loomed closer on the screen.
       "The ship matches nothing in our databanks," the science
    officer added.
       "What is it, Colonel?" Ardek asked urgently.
       "Get us out of here.  As fast as we can go," T'Phil said.
       "But...the Aerostar..."
       "Forget the Aerostar!" T'Phil cried frantically, pushing
    the pilot aside and grabbing the controls.
       Suddenly a blue beam lanced across space, connecting with
    what appeared to be empty space.
       The Exalax shook, as panels on the bridge began to spark
    and explode.
       "Direct hit on the Aerostar.  The energy surge from the
    blast was absorbed into our cloaking shields and our tractor
    beam," the science officer reported.
       "Can we maintain our cloak?"
       "Barely," the science officer said.  "Our electrical
    systems took a lot of damage."
       "I'm disengaging the tractor beam and getting us out of
    here,"  T'Phil said, grabbing at the helm controls.
       "Who are they, T'Phil?" Ardek asked, watching as the
    Aerostar emerged from the cloaking shields and became visible,
    a huge new scar apparent on its lower hull.
       "They are called the Flarn, and they are likely the
    most fearsome species I have ever come in contact with," T'Phil
    said, watching the vessel on the screen as it fired another
    shot at the Aerostar, cleaving a giant tear in the bottom of
    its saucer section.
    
    
       "Overmassssster!" Astrok shouted, as Granok watched the
    crippled Aerostar list in space.  "It issss the Aerossssstar. 
    They sssssseem to have been refitted with Sulani enginesssss."
       "Excellent," Granok said, looking excitedly at the image
    of the Aerostar on the viewscreen.  "Find me Captain Baxter."
       "One problem, ssssssir..." Astrok said.  "The
    Aerossssssstar is dessssssserted."
       "Where issssss the crew?" Granok asked.        
       Astrok studied his panel.  "I am detecting another power
    sssssignature.  There issss another camoflauged vessel in the
    area."
       "Can we find it?" Granok asked     
       "Ssssscanning...I've got them!" Astrok reported.
       "Sssssshoot them!" Granok commanded, slamming his hand
    down on the arm of his command throne.
    
    
       "Our cloaking device is failing!" the science officer
    reported.  "They may be able to detect us!"
       Suddenly the science officer's fears were confirmed when
    a huge blast rocked the Exalax.
       "Drop the cloak and raise the shields," Ardek commanded,
    as the ship shook.  "Lock our disruptors onto them and fire!"
     
    
    
       "There she is," Commander Dillon said, watching the
    gruesome vessel come into view on the screen.
       Captain Rydell peered at the viewscreen as the
    Secondprize grew closer to the Flarn ship.  "And is that the
    Aerostar?"
       "It seems as though they have they found it, Captain," Jaroch
    reported.  
       "Well, where the hell was it?" Rydell asked.  "You can't
    just make a ship disappear."   
       "Romulan Warbird decloaking ahead, Captain!" Lieutenant
    Hawkins reported.
       "I stand corrected," Rydell admitted.
       "Oh, dear," Telvin said, still cowering behind Hawkins.
       "Lt. Hawkins.  Give Starfleet a little update," Rydell
    said, slapping his comm badge and watching as the Romulan
    Warbird began to attack the Flarn vessel.  "Rydell to Baird. 
    How are those shields coming?"
       "They were pretty f**ed," Baird cursed.  "But I managed
    to get them back up to sixty percent.  Why?"
       "We're heading in for round two," Rydell sighed.
       "F**k."
    
       
       "We've lost our shields!" the science officer of the
    Exalax cried out.  "Damage to the warp engines."
       "We're as good as eaten, Ardek," T'Phil said.
       "What do you mean?" Ardek asked.  "Eaten?"
       "The Flarn find humanoids tasty," T'Phil said.
       Ardek madly stabbed at the comm button on his command
    chair.  "Engineering.  We need warp power.  You have to get us
    out of here."
       "It is useless, Commander Ardek.  The warp engines are
    disabled," the engineer replied.
       Another blast sent the Exalax spiralling, one wing ripped
    open.
       Suddenly something appeared right in front of Commander
    Ardek in a shimmer of purple.
       "Intruder alert!" the pilot cried, pulling his disruptor
    out and running towards the huge creature that materialized in
    front of Ardek.
       The gigantic reptilian creature jabbed a claw into the
    pilot, impaling him, then tossing him across the bridge.
       "What did you do with the crewmemberssssss of the
    Aerossssstar?  Where isss Baxter?" the creature hissed.
       "Oh, Captain Baxter?" T'Phil asked, stepping up behind
    Ardek, who appeared to be paralyzed with fear.  "He went back
    to Earth."
       "Earth?" the creature asked, obviously interested. 
    "Ssssso he's returning home."
       "Yes, home.  I'm sure he'd be happy to see you," T'Phil
    said uneasily.  "Why don't you look him up?  Earth is lovely
    this time of year."
       The creature grabbed Ardek in one claw and T'Phil in the
    other.  "Why don't WE look him up?" he asked.  "Assssstrok to
    Jendak.  Transsssssport three."
            
    
       Lt. Commander Jaroch gripped the science console as the
    Secondprize shook.  "Damage to the port stabilizer!  We are
    clearly outgunned here!"
       "We can't last much longer like this!" Commander Dillon
    said, as the Flarn ship pounded them again.  
       "Starfleet said they would try to send us some backup... 
    but they don't have much out this way.  It could be a
    while," Lt. Hawkins reported.  "Waystation is sending two
    runabouts to take some pressure off us.  But we can't expect
    them to do much good."
       Rydell gripped the command chair, trying to maintain his
    balance as his ship recieved its beating.  "I need some
    solutions."
       "We could lead them towards Waystation," Jaroch suggested. 
    "They are equipped with some more advanced weaponry to battle
    the Multeks."
       "I don't want to endanger so many innocent lives," Rydell
    said.  "There must be another answer."   
       Suddenly the Flarn ship turned again on the viewscreen
    and engaged into warp.
       "They're leaving," Jaroch said incredulously.  "Again, what
    dumb, stupid luck."
       "Luck is not chance--it's toil--Fortune's expensive smile
    is earned," Rydell said.  "That's Emily Dickinson."
       "Where on Earth did you get that from?" Jaroch asked.
       "Thought for the day," Ryde