Star Traks: The Vexed Generation is based on Alan Decker's Star Traks, which in turn is based on Star Trek, created by Gene Roddenberry, who is turning in his grave. Although all privateers are pirates, all pirates are not necessarily privateers. This and other tasty morsels of information, coming right up! Copyright 2006. All rights, and wrongs, are reserved. If you're offended by mildly disturbing language, situations, and the utter disregard of some of Star Trek's greatest premises, better hit the "Back" button on your browser right now. If not, welcome aboard! STAR TRAKS: THE VEXED GENERATION "The Pirate and the Penguin" AN AEROSTAR-A ADVENTURE By Anthony Butler "Now and then we had a hope that if we lived and were good, God would permit us to be pirates." Mark Twain Prologue STARBASE 228 "It's a nice day to govern a starbase, isn't it, Lieutenant?" Commander Filip Gustav said as he stared out over the station's operation center. "Kind of balmy. Peaceful." "The station isn't balmy, sir," Lieutenant Melina Voyd, Gustav' Betazoid first officer, said as she stood next to her commanding officer, a bear of a man; sturdy, of Nordic descent, she fancied. "It's perfectly climate controlled. Would you like it to be balmy?" "No, no. It was just an expression. Never mind." "Would you like to see the morning's freight reports?" Voyd asked "Are they interesting? Intriguing, even?" "I'm afraid not. A few shipments going out to outfit the new communications array in Sector 21202, a relief ship to Cardassia, and a Tellarite freighter carrying eighteen tons of potato salad to the Federation Day picnic on Kaverius Prime." "Did you say...potato salad?" the Commander asked, his eyebrow arched. "Yes, sir." "Eighteen tons? For God's sake, somebody check to make sure it's not radioactive." "We're right on top of that, sir." "Still." Gustav scratched his head. "Eighteen tons!" "It's a big crowd, sir. The fried chicken is being delivered via Galaxy-class starship." Gustav chuckled. "Do I even want to know who's bringing soda?" "The Bolians, sir." "I was being rhetorical." "It would be great if you'd give me a heads up next time." "You're telepathic." "Yes. But not a very good one, I'm afraid." Gustav nodded. "That's a shame." He turned around. "Well, if the morning won't get any more interesting than this, I'm going to head to my office and do some real wor--" Suddenly the red alert klaxons blared, and Voyd's hands were instantly on her panel. "Sir! A Klingon Bird of Prey just decloaked fifty kilometers off our docking bay, weapons hot!" "Delivering baked beans?" Gustav asked wryly. "They're firing on the Milwaukee, sir!" "Is that she ship with the beer?" Voyd shook her head, trying not to show her annoyance. "It's the Federation freighter that's delivering supplies to Cardassia." "Get the civilian traffic out of the way. Target the Klingon ship and fire weapons, engines only." "The Klingons are going to evasive..." Voyd said as she ran the weapons control. Gustav watched the Klingon ship bob and weave on the screen, maneuvering around the helplessly cornered Federation freighter. "Why would the Klingons..." "Science readings, sir," the voice of Ensign Eddie Kasper piped up from the aft science console. "Those aren't Klingons aboard the Bird of Prey..." "Then who?" Gustav asked, turning. "Don't tell me the Bajorans..." "No, actually," Voyd asked, glancing up from her docking console. "The lifesigns are Cardassian." "Why would Cardassians be attacking their own shipment?" "For the irony?" Kasper offered. "Also reading one human lifesign on the lead ship." "I don't care if they're Iconian. Contact that ship. And target quantum torpedoes. They need to know we intend to defend that shipment." "We're getting a response," Voyd said. "Put it on screen." The viewscreen crackled to life with the image of a tall, leather- clad woman with long, blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She leaned against the command chair on the bridge of the old Bird-of-Prey, and folded her leather-gloved hands as she regarded Gustav with a skeptical eye. "Morning, Commander," she said in a rich British accent. "Sorry to interrupt breakfast." "Stand down immediately, and surrender your ships," Gustav said. "I don't know who you are, but you are in violation of interstellar law. Lower your shields so we can beam aboard and arrest you." The woman giggled impishly, and put her wrists out. "Oh, by all means, Commander, take me away! I've been such a bad girl!" "Leave that freighter alone!" Gustav rumbled. The woman's voice grew serious. "'Fraid I can't do that, old boy." She gave a slight nod, off-screen. "You see, this cargo is going to the Cardassian interim government. It's not going to the people who need it. That's where I come in." "Quantums ready to fire at your command," Voyd said from behind Gustav. "She's beaming the cargo off the freighter, sir! Right through their shields!" Kasper said. "Nice talking to you, Commander," the woman said, snapping off a mock-salute. "Who are you?" Gustav demanded. "The name is Bain. Deidre Bain." "Fire quantums, disable those ships!" Gustav ordered. Voyd's hands skipped over the controls, but she looked up, shaking her head. "Can't do it, sir. They just cloaked." "Well, then. We've got a problem," Gustav muttered. "We've always known Cardassian privateers were a concern, but this is the first raiding party I know of led by a human." "A human named Bain," Voyd said thoughtfully. "That name mean anything to you?" Gustav asked. Voyd shrugged. "Nope." Chapter One U.S.S. AEROSTAR-A "Something isn't right," Captain David Conway said, after stepping out of his readyroom. "Did you put your shoes on the wrong feet again, sir?" Ford asked from the command chair. "Do you still work here?" Conway snapped, stepping up toward the command area. "I mean, something doesn't feel right around here." He glanced around at the other bridge staff. The beeping consoles. People silently going about their jobs. Something was just...wrong. "Everyone seems too..." "Good-looking?" Ford asked. "No," Conway said, rubbing his chin. "Efficient?" Ford offered. "Nope." Conway glanced around again. "Everyone's too quiet. Nobody's talking." "It's a busy day, sir. We're cataloging a quasar." "Yeah. I know, you're just fascinated by this mission," Conway said, and sat down in the chair beside Ford. "Sorry they can't all be barn- burners." "I can't help it if I want a little action every now and then. When was the last time anything interesting happened around here?" "The giant bunnies come to mind," Saral said softly from the helm consoles. "Please don't bring them up again," Ford said, rubbing his eyes. "You're the one who fed them carrots," Conway said. "Bunnies are SUPPOSED to eat carrots!" "Not the bunnies on Falspar Seven!" Conway snapped. "Now why did I come out here again?" "Because something just isn't right?" Ford offered. "Yeah," Conway said. "Are we anywhere on that?" "Oh, yes sir," Ford said. "A full investigation is in the offing." "You're patronizing me, aren't you, Ford?" "Your investigative skills are finely honed, Captain." "Why haven't we switched chairs yet?" Conway asked, staring at Ford. "You...never asked." "That's because you're supposed to stand up when I come in and move back to the helm. That's the way we rehearsed it, damn it." He looked around the bridge. "For Pete's sake, you people know this. When I come on the bridge, Ford goes to the helm console. Then Ensign Garrity gets up from the helm, and relieves the crewman at the auxiliary science console..." "Skyler, sir," the crewman spoke up. "Brenna Skyler. Grew up on Jupiter, but will always be a Martian girl at heart..." "Whatever," Conway said, cutting her off. "And then Skyler, whoever she is, goes into the turbolift, and disappears to whatever netherworld she goes to, until we need her again." "I like to play chess," Skyler said, sinking behind her station a little. "You hurt Skyler's feelings," Ford said, mock-pouting. "She'll live," Conway said. "Now go sit at the helm so I can sit out here and feel useful." "I'd rather not, sir." Conway glared at him. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" "I'm afraid I can't go into any more detail at the moment." "Are you messing with me? It's not my birthday, so..." Ford held up a hand. "Don't worry, sir. You said you never wanted a surprise party, and we've honored that. We'll never throw you a party of any kind." Conway folded his arms. "Good. Now get out of my chair." "Can't do it." "Why the hell not?" "You're in a mood, this morning, aren't you?" Ford asked. "Maybe. And you sure aren't making it any better." "That wounds me," Ford said. "Still, it's best if you go back to your readyroom for..." Ford glanced down at a readout on the chair arm. "Another six minutes." Conway scratched his head. "What's happening in six minutes?" "I'm afraid I can't tell you." "ARGHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Conway growled, yanking at his hair. "You're really going to regret being mean to me in...five minutes and eighteen seconds." "WHY?" "Because he's doing something you should have done a long time ago, dear," a voice said from the back of the bridge, and Conway froze. "Alexa?" he asked without turning around. "You're five minutes early," Ford said, glancing down at his readout. "Well, four minutes, fifty-two seconds." "Stop trying to act like Larkin," Conway said, and walked up to the back of the bridge to join Dr. Alexa Lanham, who was wearing a flowing white silk robe, and matching culottes and blouse. She finished it off with a wide-brimmed hat. "Are we going on a bee-keeping expedition?" he asked. "No, silly," Lanham said, pinching Conway's cheek. "We're going on a vacation. On the honeymoon we never had." "But why..." "Because it's obviously your anniversary today sir!" Ford blurted quickly, jogging up to Conway's side. "Yes!" Conway said, nodding at Ford. "Yes. Yes it is. And what a great job you did planning a little getaway for us on our anniversary. Two or three days..." "Weeks," Ford said, leaning toward Conway. "Two weeks?" "Three weeks." Conway turned on Ford. "That's almost a month!" "Isn't that nice?" Alexa asked. "We both have the leave saved up. So why not?" "And you'll love where you're going," Ford said, patting Conway on the back. "I've heard lots of good things about the place." One phrase cycled through Conway's mind: Please be Fondar's NASCAR Planet. Please be Fondar's NASCAR Planet. Please be Fondar's NASCAR Planet. . . "Yes," Alexa said. "Rubicon Three is very nice this time of year." "Rubicon...Three?" Conway asked, cocking his head. "The planet of pleasure?" "They don't call it that," Lanham said. "But yes. There's lots of pleasure to be had. Frommer's Galactiguide rates it second only to Risa. It has everything Risa has except for the paying for sex." "Shame," Ford said, shaking his head. "Anyway, you two will have a great time." Conway looked back at Ford. "Wait a minute...I can't go off on a three-week trip. Commander Larkin's away at a positronics conference with Lieutenant Kamtezen." "What's your point?" Ford asked. "Are you saying I can't command the ship for a while? Larkin will be back in 10 days, at which time I'll gladly turn the reigns of the Aerostar over to her." "If there's a ship left," Gellar offered. "Shush," Ford said. "Don't worry, Captain. I'll take good care of the ship." "And I'm taking care of Bucky," Gellar said half-heartedly. "Your corgi's in good hands with me, sir." "And this is non-negotiable," Lanham said, cupping a hand on Conway's face. "We need this time together. Badly." Conway stared blankly at Lanham a moment. She was right, though. Over the last year, she'd gone off on a number of independent science expeditions. First to the former Cardassian Union. Then to investigate the snarkeling snorkwillies.of Abysma Prime. Then to scale the sideways mountain on Mountainius. Meanwhile, Conway had gone about the daily business of captaining the Aerostar. Besides, they'd never had a proper honeymoon, due in large part to the fact that he began serving 30 days in a Federation penal colony immediately after the wedding ceremony. And all because he'd, quite innocently, attempted to alter time. The Federation had such a narrow view of "right" and "wrong." The closest thing to a honeymoon they'd had, in fact, was the conjugal visit... "Conjugal visit," Conway reminisced, his eyes glossing over. "What?" Lanham asked. "Oh. Nothing." He looked at Ford. "Fine, then. You're in command. I guess." "I won't let you down, Captain," Ford said, and gave a little salute. "Your runabout is warming up on the launch pad now." "That's what your big, important countdown was all about?" Conway asked. "Nope," Ford said, and looked down at his readout again. "Five seconds." "Then what was it about?" "This!" Ford said, and watched the counter reach zero. Conway and Lanham were quite suddenly gripped in the blue glow of a transporter beam, and in a swirl of particles disappeared from the Aerostar bridge. "They're aboard the Kissimmee," Saral reported, looking up from the ops board. "He's gonna be ticked," Gellar said from tactical as Ford sat back down in the command chair. "Fine by me. Lanham's the one who'll have to be alone with him for a month." "Just tell me one thing," Gellar said. "Did you set all this up to get rid of Conway for a month? Or is it because you're hungry for power and want to be in command? Or do you genuinely care about the captain and his relationship with his wife?" Ford thought about that a moment. "I'd say you can safely remove at least one of those possibilities. Care to guess which one?" Gellar snickered. "I'm pretty sure I know." RUNABOUT PENOBSCOT Personal Log, Commander Kristen Larkin, Stardate 57904.3. We are on schedule to arrive later this morning at Galadrel Six for the Federation's annual Positronics Conference, which this year is entitled "Positronics: Whoa!" As an android, I am fascinated by all things positronic, and thus quite eager to reach the conference, at least within the parameters of my emotion program. All systems, both shipwide and Larkin-wide, are functioning normally. "I thought androids didn't lie," Lieutenant Kamtezen said, reclining and putting his feet up on the Penobscot's dashboard. "I am not sure where you heard that," Larkin said. "In any event, I did not lie." Kametzen raised his orange, hairless brow. "So you are going to the positronics conference, then?" "Of course not. As we discussed on the way here, I am going to attend the plenary session at the positronics conference, then I am going to take the runabout to another conference in a nearby system." "Penguins on Ice?" Kamtezen asked. "You say that derisively," Larkin said in a warning tone. "Hey, how you spend your free time is up to you." "At any rate, I did not lie. I said that we were on schedule to arrive at the conference, and that I was eager to attend. I am, in fact, eager to attend the positronics conference. I am equally eager to attend the penguin show on Frigidia Two. Are those facts mutually exclusive?" "I guess not," Kamtzen said. "I am glad we agree on that." "Speaking of agreements, about the other thing..." "Yes," Larkin said. "I concur. I gave the matter many nanoseconds of thought. We should break up." Kamtzen shifted a little in his seat. "You sure about that? I mean, I thought we had fun the last several months..." "I enjoyed our relationship a great deal, and compiled significant research into human custom. Your genetic gender switching disorder was particularly fascinating." "You're making me sound like a science experiment." Larkin turned in her chair to face Kamtezen. She took his hand. "You are far more than that. You were a very important step in my romantic life. We learned a lot about ourselves. We learned about each other. It was time well spent. You were, and still are, extremely important to me." "You're reciting something from some book, aren't you?" Kamtezen asked. "It is not you. It is me." "Yeah," Kamtezen said. "Well, no hard feelings, anyway. Although I will miss your retracting rotors." Larkin stiffened. "Please do not tell anyone about those. It is...not widely known." Kamtezen nodded. "I suppose it's a good thing we're splitting up at the conference. You know, not cramping each other's style. Moving on. Maybe I'll find someone new at one of the exhibits." "I wish you success in all of your endeavors." "You're doing it again." "I hope we can still be friends." Kamtezen pushed up out of his chair and headed out of the cabin. "I'm going to get my luggage." "We must go our separate..." Larkin stopped talking as the doors closed. She allowed a small smile. The relationship with Kamtezen had been beneficial, but she appreciated this newfound freedom. Being in a relationship was a wholly new and exciting experience, but it was also cumbersome and limiting. Talking to someone who could only process one thought every few seconds was frustrating. At that moment, Larkin resolved that her future relationships would lack the underpinnings of typical humanoid "coupling" and would instead focus on the viscera of lovemaking and the thrill of meeting someone new. But once the novelty wore off, she would discontinue the relationship. Her future lovers would be advised of this well ahead of time, so no one would get hurt. According to recent statistics, there were an abundance of males in the quadrant who would subscribe to that way of thinking. Larkin made a mental note to speak to her father about this revelation. He would no doubt be very proud of her for having such an enlightened worldview. NON-REGISTERED CARDASSIAN PRIVATEER SHIP VORACIOUS APPETITE FOR JUSTICE Deidre Bain strode onto the bridge, glancing around at her bridge crew, all of whom were busy tapping away at their stations as the Voracious entered orbit around Cardassia Six. "Report," she said, sliding up next to her primary lieutenant, Limpet. The Cardassian bristled at her jovial attitude and angled toward her. "The refugee encampment has received our signal and acknowledges. They're ready to receive the supplies." "By all means, beam them down, Limpet!" "Grummmr...supplies..." the Cardassian manning the weapons control system growled. "You have a problem, Besket?" "Not so much a problem, CAPtain, as an issue with our recent selection of targets." "Right then," Deidre said. "So you're suggesting that the refugees on Cardassia Six don't need supplies?" "Not at all," Besket muttered. "But how human of you to misunderstand my meaning." "I try. What, then, pray tell, is your meaning, Besket?" "We're attacking small convoys. Meaningless shipments. Grains, small replicators, industrial construction elements. Nothing major. Nothing grand!" "You expected the pirate life to be grand, eh?" Deidre said, crossing the cramped Klingon bridge to face Besket. "Well, I have news for you. This life isn't dignified or grand. It's grunt work, and elbow grease, and a fair amount of ruddy determination. If you try to romanticize it, if you try to go on a grand adventure, get a story to take back to your friends back in Thobor District, you're on the wrong ship." "Don't overreact," Besket said, backing away. "I'm not questioning your leadership. Merely our choice of targets." Deidre leaned in close, grabbing the front of Besket's tunic and pulling him toward her. "I welcome any and all of your suggestions." Besket looked down at the blinking light on his station. "Th-this, Captain Bain. I recommend this..." Deidre angled her head so she could read Besket's readout. "Fascinating. A cache of technology that could be resold to the highest bidder. Along with a prize that the Federation, Romulans, and Klingons would no doubt fight to claim." She turned back toward her officer at conn. "Helm...prepare to alter course. How long would it take us to get to Galadriel Six at maximum warp?" GALADRIEL SIX YNGWIE MALMSTEIN CONFERENCE CENTER AND CASINO Larkin reviewed the files in her memory banks as she studied the ancient duotronic computer. The M-5 replica sat in the exhibition kiosk, blinking innocently. "Why, hello there," a dark-skinned man said, walking up to Larkin and extending his hand. He studied her uniform. "You're Starfleet?" She limply shook the man's hand, her eyes still trained on the M-5. "Yes." "Starfleet officers are always fascinated by the M-5. You know the story, right?" "I have it memorized, yes." "Well, then you're a true fan. Did you know that the M-5 was the fifth prototype of its kind?" "Hence the designation 'five,'" Larkin said flatly. "Well, yes, but there's more. So much more." "I am sorry. I did not get your name." "Daystrom. Vick Daystrom. Daystrom Corporate Computronic Consulting." "Indeed. That makes sense. You are related to the late Doctor Daystrom, then?" "Yep," Vick said, thumping his chest proudly. "By three or nine degrees of separation. There's some cousins...and some marriages in there. But we're related. Somehow." "Impressive." "So what's your interest in positronics?" Larkin glanced at the man. "My interest is of a...personal nature." "Boyfriend? Yeah, I got that. I know what you mean." "I do not have a boyfriend. I am single." "Really?" Vick asked, sidling up to Larkin. "Where are you staying? The Cyber-Sheraton or the Hyatt Galaxy?" "I have a runabout in orbit." "Even better. Privacy!" "I am not sure I understand, nor do I wish to. If you will excuse me, I would rather speak with the computer." "The M-5? It doesn't really speak much. Just sits there." Larkin reached out and tapped a number of controls on the block-shaped computer's blinking surface. It buzzed to life. "KILL!" it said in a robotic voice. "DESTROY. ALL. HUMANS." "Fascinating," Larkin said, studying the computer with interest. "It's never done that before..." Vick trailed off. "Your scientists have done an excellent job replicating this technology," Larkin said. "They even included the computer's insane, murderous intent." "Cool," Vick said. "LOCK. ONTO. STARSHIPS. DESTROY. ALL. FEDERATION. VESSELS!" Larkin patted the blinking box. "You are as engaging and enigmatic as the brochure indicated, M-5. Enjoy the conference." "DIE! KILL! KILL!" "Good old M-5," Larkin said, and walked off. "By the way, Mister Daystrom, you might wish to deactivate that computer. Preferably before it obtains a phaser." "Thanks," Vick said meekly, staring at the machine. As Larkin continued past the other booths, she looked ahead to see a familiar being, with distinctive, creamy white skin. He was standing at one of the other exhibits, which advertized in big, rainbow-colored block lettering a "kinetic brainwave conduction amplifier." To Larkin, the device more resembled a big orange piece of lasagne. But it was pretty. She gave the hunk of twinkling metal a glance, then turned back to the familiar figure. She tapped him on the shoulder. "Data? Is it you?" The android turned around, staring at Larkin blankly. "I heard you blew up in an exploding thaleron device!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around the android and hugging him tightly. "I am so glad you were rebuilt! I know exactly how you feel, Data! As you recall, I once threw myself down into the molten core of a penguin- populated planet, only to be rebuilt weeks later. The experience is...rejuvenating." The android cocked its head at Larkin. "I am B-4." "Before what?" Larkin asked quizzically. He reached out and touched her nose. "I am B-4." "Good news," Larkin said, pressing on. "I am recently single. So if you would like to rekindle the romance that developed four years ago, when the Explorer brought your damaged runabout aboard, I would be pleased to entertain the notion. I have a runabout of my own in orbit, and its gyro stabilizers are in perfect working order." "I am B-4." "Yes, you said that. And I must admit, your response is confounding." "B-4! Get back here!" a harsh British voice called out and Larkin executed her "eye-rolling" program. "Jean-Luc Picard," she said dully. The bald, elder-statesman and captain extraordinaire shouldered through the crowd and took B-4 by the arm. "Excuse me. I'm afraid I became separated from my android when..." "Your android?" Larkin asked, her anger program executing. "Wait. You...you're from that, that ship, aren't you?" Picard visibly winced. "And you all tend to travel in groups. If you'll excuse us, we'll be on our..." "What is that remark supposed to mean?" Larkin asked as she launched anger program phase 2. "You Aerostar people are distinctly...bizarre. And I want no part of it. Nothing personal." "Respectfully, Captain Picard, I must dispute your claim." Just then, Lt. Kamtezen strolled up. "Kristen! I know we said we'd give each other some space, but I have to know. Did you break up with me because I turn into a woman three days a month?" "I am B-4," B-4 said. Larkin looked from B-4 to Kamtezen, then whirled on a heel and walked off. Struggling to keep composure, Picard dragged B-4 off in the opposite direction. "Was it something I said?" Kamtezen asked. "Deidre!" Limpet called out, looking up from his panel. Deidre slung a leg over the arm of her chair and yawned. "What is it, Limpet?' "The Enterprise is leaving orbit ahead of schedule. And they're moving fast!" Deidre leaned forward, clasping her gloved hands. "Is that a fact?" "Yes, Captain. That means the Conference Center is defenseless! Yngwie Malmstein is ours for the taking!" "Very good," Deidre said, putting her feet back down on the deck and standing up. "In that case, what are we waiting for?" She giggled merrily. "Let's go shopping!" Chapter Two GALADRIEL SIX "Where've you been?" Kamtezen asked Larkin as she sat down in one of the seats at the back row of Frank Zappa Auditorium, where the plenary session of the positronics conference was about to take place. "I have been studying the other exhibits," Larkin said. "As, I would assume, have you." "Yes," Kamtezen said. "I've been studying some of the multitronic computer core interfaces they're using on the new Outlander- class prototype." "I had planned to visit that exhibit on my way out." "Some of them might be adapted for your neural pathways. I got the brochure, in case, you know, you wanted to look at it." Larkin smiled softly at Kamtezen. "Are you still not over me? I understand..." "No, I wasn't talking as your, ex, or whatever...I was talking as your engineer!" "My nanocordical fibers will be just fine without you, Kam. You do not have to worry." "Who said I was worried?" Kamtezen muttered, turning to face the front as the stage lights dimmed. "Oh, good. The plenary session is about to begin. I have been looking forward to the keynote speaker with great anticipation." "Ladies and gentlemen," a voice boomed over the godmike. "We regret to inform you that this morning's keynote speech 'Borg Implants: A Pain in the Occipital Lobe,' featuring Seven of Nine, has been canceled due to a last minute scheduling conflict with the speaker." The crowd booed, some standing up and yelling at the bare stage, shaking their fists in impotent fury. "We do, however, have a replacement. Gathered species and crystalline entities, please give a warm 'Positronics: Whoa!' welcome to Ensign Paul Hargrove, late of the U.S.S. Voyager!" "Hargrove?" Larkin asked, exchanging a glance with Kamtezen. The ensign dashed onto the stage, still wearing his old-style black Voyager uniform. He waved out at the crowd. "Hello, everyone! How are you doing? Everybody as pumped up about positronics as I am?" The crowd responded with deafening silence. "That's great!" Hargrove said, pacing the stage, making eye contact with everyone in the audience. "I just want to tell you how glad I am to be here on Blautanis Seven." A voice called out something from offstage, and he glanced to the side. "I mean Galadriel Six! Of course. Good old Galadriel. So, as many of you know, Seven of Nine couldn't make it to today's event. But she asked me to come in her place, and sends her best wishes. Well, at least in Borg terms." "This sucks!" a voice called out from the crowd. "Right. So...I guess you all wonder what it's like to work with a rehabilitated Borg drone on your ship? It had its ups and downs, believe me. But all in all, Seven of Nine was a great fellow crewmember and an inspiration to us all. I'll never forget when she walked by me on the way to the bridge one day. I could tell she was in a hurry, so I didn't strike up a conversation with her. Which is not like me, I should say. Anyway, I was on my way down to waste extraction, when I got a comm from Lieutenant Billings in the cargo office. He asked me to come down and..." Larkin leaned over to Kamtezen and whispered: "This must end." "It's rude to leave in the middle of a presentation," Kamtezen whispered back. "Then we have to come up with a discrete interruption so we can slip out unnoticed." "Oh, so now we're a 'we' again, huh?" Kamtezen asked. "Do not be difficult." "Just be patient and listen," Kamtezen said. "You might learn something about human behavior." "Doubtful." Deidre Bain leaned against a console in the debarkation bay in the belly of her Bird of Prey, as the ship made its final descent on Galadriel. She looked around at her band of privateers as they shrugged on their vests and checked the power levels on their weapons. They were a scruffy group, but they were capable. They numbered only twenty-six, small even by privateer standards. And, unlike some of the Pure- Cardassian crews, hers was a mix of Cardassians, Yridians, Liseppians, Kovarians and one human (that being her). In her seventh month of crusading for the rights of the underserved Cardassians of the slowly-rebuilding empire, Deidre fancied that she'd done a pretty good job assembling her crew, putting aside for the moment how difficult it was getting them to respect her, much less follow her orders. "Status, Marrazz?" she asked her Y'ridian tactical specialist. The rodent-like crewman looked up from his scans. "We're descending on the roof of Yngwie Malmstein now." "Excellent. And the cloak's holding?" "Nobody's shooting at us yet," Marrazz hissed. "That's what I like to hear, old boy," Deidre grinned, and looked up at the glowering Besket, giving him an "I-told-you-so" grin. "What is Yngwie Malmstein's armament?" Besket asked Marrazz. "Nothing we can't handle. Light phase cannons. A few medium- range photon grenade launchers on the roof." "Take out the armaments as soon as we decloak. We don't want to get shot as we debark," Limpet ordered. "Capital thinking, Limpet," Deidre said with an approving grin. "Now then, you blokes remember your battle training, right? I know it's been a while since we've done hand-to-hand." The privateers responded with a chorus of grunts. "And you all know the plan?" she asked, glancing around. "Of course we do," Besket said defensively. "We penetrate Yngwie Malmstein. Then we travel downward through its internal tunnels until we reach Frank Zappa." "And inside?" Limpet held up his padd, which contained a map of the conference center. "Once we breach Frank Zappa, we'll find what we're looking for." "Expect heavy resistance throughout Malmstein, all the way to Zappa. Don't stop moving, no matter what. Keep your heads up, and keep shooting anyone and anything that gets in your way. Disruptors on stun, people. We're not brutes." The whole group grunted, irritated, and reset their weapons. Deidre sighed inwardly. They were still rough around the edges, but they'd come around eventually. The Voracious shook slightly, the deck rattling beneath Deidre's feet. "All hands, we've touched down on Malmstein," the voice of Speers echoed over the comm. "You heard him. Prepare for debarkation." She pointed at the Kovarian at the door controls. "Duff! Hatch-down. Let's look alive people. We don't leave without Seven of Nine!" "There's no way we can fail," Limpet said confidently as the milling crowd, weapons high, descended the lowering plank onto the conference center's roof. Besket just glared at him. "It's a hard job," Lt. Commander Ford said, swirling the stirrer in his cranberry juice and vodka as he leaned easily on the bar in the Starlight Lounge-A, the Aerostar-A's Guinanco-run watering hole. "Command has heavy responsibilities. You've got to learn when to take action, and when to sit back and let your people do their jobs." "And when to spend your shift drinking and hitting on the bartender?" Wendy Wheedling, the head bartender said with a knowing smile, leaning forward, resting her chin on her fists. The rosy-faced young woman, so different from Mirk, was hired by the lounge manager, Harvey Upshaw, after Conway threw hot coffee in the last bartender's face, permanently scarring him. "Exactly," Ford said. "I'm glad you understand." "I think I'm starting to," Wheedling said. "But won't you get in trouble?" "Who's going to report me? You?" "Good point," she said. "I'm here to serve you." "And I like that about you." "Can I get you another drink?" "Actually, I was wondering when you get off," Ford said. Wheedling smiled, batting her eyes. "That all depends on you." "Good answer," Ford said, and drained the rest of his drink. "Let's get out of here." Ford's communicator bleeped. "Saral to Ford." Ford smiled. "My cabin or yours? Or the captain's cabin? Or stellar cartography?" Wheedling cocked her head. "Isn't that your combadge?" "Saral to Ford, please respond." "Ignore it," Ford said, waving a dismissive hand. "Are you double- jointed? Any weird birthmarks I should know about?" "Commander Ford," Saral's voice said again. "You have an open channel. I can hear you, and the bartender, perfectly clear. Please report to the bridge immediately. Starfleet has an urgent communique for you." "Urgent?" Ford grinned, looking at Wheedling. "Sorry, babe, but I'm an important guy. You know how that is. Don't worry though, you'll be test-driving a classic Ford very soon." "I'll be waiting," Wheedling said, waving sweetly, as Ford walked out the door. "Your luck has run out, boy," Admiral Harlan Baxter rumbled from the viewscreen. Ford stood in the middle of the bridge feeling very, very small before the giant torso of the Admiral on the viewscreen. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't follow." "Course you don't. I mean you been out there chasing comets a while now, right?" "Well, not comets in particular. But yeah, comet-like substances." "Good enough. Look, where's Captain Conway?" "He's...on his honeymoon." "Didn't he get married a year ago?" Ford shifted from foot to foot. "He's been busy. Anyway, this is their anniversary so we thought we'd plan a trip for them." "Great," Harlan growled, pushing a cigar in his mouth and puffing on it. "Rrrs Lrkn." "Who's that?" He pulled out the cigar. "LARKIN!" Ford hopped back a little, nearly falling over. "She's at a positronics conference." Harlan put the cigar back in his mouth. "Grrsallatlevs izyou." Ford bowed inelegantly. "I stand ready to assist you, Admiral. I won't let you down." Just then, the turbolift door opened behind Ford. Wendy Wheedling stood in the doorway, a chilled glass in her hand. "Did you want another beverage, Commander? Another vodka with cranberry juice to drink while on duty?" Ford waved her away. "Not now, Wendy. Go back belowdecks and...polish your bar or something." "Pssydrnk," Harlan mumbled. "Sir," Ford said, tugging at his uniform collar. "That's not what it looks like, I swear. I was just..." Harlan leaned over and stabbed some controls on his nearby desk. "Rrzzz your orders. 'Dgo myself, brtthPrthfndrs nnnthrside ovva Alphqrdrnt." Ford blinked. "What?" "He'd go himself," Gellar whispered, leaning forward from his station. "But the Pathfinder's on the other side of the Alpha Quadrant. His office is on his wife's ship now. Hey, I'm finally starting to get the hang of this!" "And he made fun of my choice of drink?" Ford snickered. Harlan gave him a stiff glare, and Ford immediately retreated to the command chair and sat down, his knees weak from fear. "Crrrdnts. Grrthrr anmeet daffdambasrrCarddsa." Ford looked back at Gellar, who shrugged. "Something about coordinates. He wants us to go there and meet Daffyd Ab Hugh." "Huh?" Harlan yanked his cigar out. "THE FEDERATION AMBASSADOR TO CARDASSIA!" Ford shrunk back in the command chair. "Yes, sir. Understood. Very good, sir. Aerostar out!" Harlan continued to glare at him. "CLOSE THE FREAKING CHANNEL!" Ford snapped, glaring back at Gellar. Gellar laughed softly as he pressed a control, and Harlan's surly visage disappeared. "That went well," he said. "Ensign Garrity, change course and engage when ready at Warp Six," Ford muttered and got out of the command chair. "What's our ETA?" Garrity checked his panel and glanced up. "Five hours, six minutes, sir." "Good. Then I'll be down in the lounge continuing to hit on our bartender." "You make us all proud, spanky," Gellar said, shaking his head as Ford headed up to the aft turbolift. GALADRIEL SIX "...which is why Neelix's jannix broth was always too salty for my tastes," Hargrove said, sitting back on a stool on stage in the Frank Zappa Auditorium. "Funny story about Neelix, by the way. I was organizing the gelpack storage closet on Deck Eight when he came up holding a big bowl of mushrooms. Well, you don't see a big bowl of mushrooms every day, so I asked him..." "Make this tedium stop, I beg of you," Larkin said, covering her eyes with the padd that contained the day's agenda. "Just turn off your emotion program," Kamtezen said. "I'm sure it won't be that bad if you don't have emotions. Heck, I have emotions and it's fine with me. Even a little informative." "Well I am suffering," Larkin said. "And I choose not to turn off my emotion program, as I have learned that experiencing a wide range of emotions is healthy." "Right. Well, have you ever considered your program may be a little...off? Want me to take a look?" "Oh, you would like that, would you not? Another chance to get inside me?" "You are acting really strange, Kristen." "Let us continue to watch the plenary session. I prefer to end this line of discussion." "Fine, whatever you say," Kamtezen muttered. "So I said to Tuvok: Hey, lighten up man!" Hargrove continued, then his eyes widened as he looked at something at the back of the theatre. "Umm..." "Everyone stay in your seats!" a booming British female voice called out, leading two dozen Cardassian and other rough-hewn looking species down the aisle in the middle of the auditorium, all wielding phaser rifles. Larkin turned, cocking her head. "This is interesting..." she said softly. Kamtezen froze. "What's going on?" "Say nothing. Do nothing." Larkin watched as the British woman marched by her, and her followers aimed their weapons in broad, 360-degree strokes, taking in the whole of the startled audience. "Stop right there!" a voice called from the back of the auditorium. Larkin looked back to see Chief Reeda, the Galadrian constable leading the unit attached to Yngwie Malmstein. The British woman turned on a heel, then gave a curt nod, and a Yridian and Liseppian in the rear immediately started shooting, quickly felling Reeda and his men. Other Galadrian security officers quickly emerged from the doorways at either side of the auditorium, but the Cardassian in the lead made short work of them, pumping off quick, well-aimed blasts. Galadrian security was not that impressive, Larkin noted. "Hold still old chap, this'll only take a tic," the British woman said, gracefully planting a hand on the stage and hopping up to join Hargrove. "D-don't kill me. I'm only an extra!" Hargrove moaned putting up his hands. The leader of the intruders grabbed him by the neck and pulled him toward her, pressing the muzzle of her rifle up under his chin. "No worries. Give us Seven of Nine and you'll all go free, totally unscathed." "But..." "Limpet, tricorder," the woman said, glancing around. "Let's have a look see where the pretty doll is." The Cardassian pulled out a handheld device and waved it around the room. "I'm not locating any active Borg implants, Deidre." "Bain..." Larkin said to herself, accessing her records. "Is that name familiar?" Kamtezen whispered. "My files include a scaled down version of Memory Alpha. I can call up a list of every name of every Terran born since the dawn of the recorded word. All names are familiar." "You don't have to get snippy with me, Kristen." "Silence. I am trying to calculate the exact moment I should intervene." "Everyone be calm. Nice and easy," the woman called Deidre said, holding the barrel of her rifle up under Hargrove's chin. "So, mister redshirt..." "Hargrove." "Mister Redshirt it is," Deidre said. "You're from Voyager?" He nodded shakily. "Yes, ma'am." "And you know Seven of Nine?" "Well, we exchanged nods a few times. I sat two tables away from her in the mess hall once..." Deidre nodded. "Fascinating. So where is she, then?" "You know, funny thing...Seven had a bit of a...she had something come up." "Something like?" "Can we turn my mike off?" Hargrove asked weakly, his voice still booming throughout the auditorium, as the confused and scared crowd murmurred about themselves. "Just tell me." Deidre pushed her rifle harder against Hargrove's chin. "Spit it out, man." "Well, she heard that attendance at this event would only be 400. And she doesn't speak at a conference with less than 500 attendees. It's in her contract rider, actually." "Just bloody great!" Deidre mumbled as the crowd erupted into a chorus of boos. She turned her rifle out at the crowd. "And all of you shut up a sec, hear? Give me a moment to think." Larkin stood up suddenly, startling Kamtezen. "Deidre Bain, you are under arrest. Please disarm yourself and your compatriots and surrender to Starfleet forces immediately." "Starfleet forces? You mean this git?" Deidre asked, pointing her weapon at Hargrove, who shrunk away. "Negative. I was referring to myself." She stepped out into the aisle and approached the stage. "Don't move, human!" Limpet called out, turning his weapon on her. "You a one woman army, then?" Deidre asked, squinting under the theater lights trying to make the woman out. "Who are you, anyway?" "The name is Larkin. Commander Kristen Larkin, U.S.S. Aerostar." "Are you crazy!" Kamtezen called from the audience, then ducked behind a row of seats. Larkin glanced up at Deidre. "Turn your weapon over to me immediately, and tell your forces to stand down." Deidre grinned big and looked at her crewmates, who were slowly moving from either side of the auditorium down toward Larkin. "Did'ya hear that? I have forces! I'm so flattered." She gave a little curtsy. "And all this time I thought it was nothing more than a merry band." "Merry band," one of the Cardassians muttered low, angrily. "I shall not warn you again," Larkin said. "If you do not comply with my precise instructions, I will take action against you." "Enough of this rubbish. Shoot her," Deidre muttered, turning back toward Hargrove. Suddenly Larkin flipped through the air, hopping and landing on the stage in front of Deidre. "You were warned," she said evenly. "Shoot her!" Dedire cried, ducking backward and pulling Hargrove with her. Several of the privateers fired, but Larkin ducked, leapt, then rolled away from the beams, easily avoiding them. She hopped to her feet directly in front of Deidre's face and cocked her head quizzically. "Your actions are highly unusual. Do you not see this?" "My actions are my own business," Deidre sneered. "Will somebody smegging shoot her or what?" "Deidre!" one of her people, a Yridian, cried out, staring at his sensor. "She's an android!" "Well that explains a lot," Deidre said, looking at Larkin. "My android nature is irrelevant," Larkin said. "It's totally relevant," Deidre corrected, and gave a glance over Larkin's shoulder at Limpet. He nodded. "You're not a Borg. But you might be even more valuable." "My value is not of..." Larkin said, reaching out to grab Deidre's arms, when suddenly she felt something pierce the back of her neck and a bolt of energy shot through her positronic systems. Her eyes lolled back and her head twisted this way and that. "Not of...not of...not of... ZRRRRRRRT!" "YES!" Deidre grinned, clapping merrily as she backed away. "Good shot, Limpet. Right in the nanocordical junction." "NO!" the little orange man cried out again from the audience, glancing back from behind a row of chairs. "What did you do to her?" Meanwhile, Larkin's positrons were in a blender. Not literally, she noted, but they might as well have been. Her internal sensors confirmed in a few microseconds that a remote projectile had been fired at the back of her neck, inserting nanofilaments into her cordical processor, quickly assessing and subverting her manual control subsistems. "You....ZZT...will....NTTTRT...NOT..." Larkin said, staggering toward Deidre. The Privateer leader looked concerned for a moment, her brow creasing. "Limpet, do something..." Limpet worked his handheld controls. "Hold on. This thing was configured for Borg technology. This android is...something different. The device is taking time logging on." "I hate slow log-ons," Deidre said, clicking her tongue. Suddenly Larkin stiffened, her arms at her sides. "What..." she began, then cocking her head. "No. This is not possible. I have safeties, protocols..." "Amazing what you can pick up on the black market for the right amount of latinum," Limpet said, stepping up behind Larkin. She tried to turn to address him but found herself paralyzed completely. "Stand down, Deidre Bain. You will only make this worse for yourself. You have already accumulated fifteen different violations of Federation Penal Code." "Say 'penal' again," Deidre giggled. "It gives me a little charge." She grinned, walking up and patting Larkin on the face. "You're pretty. Who do you belong to?" "I belong to no one," Larkin said resolutely. "I am a Federation officer, first officer of the Aerostar." "I've never heard of it, and frankly I don't care where you work. But I'd wager that these Aerostar people, and their Starfleet masters, would give a fair price for you." "The Federation does not barter with pirates," Larkin said. She would have sneered disdainfully if she'd been able to control her facial constrictors. "Privateers," Deidre said. "Big difference. Which we'll explain to you in great detail on the trip out to..." She glanced out on the audience. "Whoops. The microphone's still on. Well, don't mind where we're going." "You can't do this! She's a Starfleet Officer! You'll be hunted down!" Kamtezen cried out, glancing up again and ducking back behind the chairs. "Get her down from the stage so we can get out of here," Deidre told Limpet, who was fussing with the remote. He plunked a few controls, sending Larkin waddling forward to the edge of the stage. She looked briefly panicked as she pitched forward off the stage and hit the floor below with a thud. "Larkin! Don't worry! We'll get you back!" Kamtezen called out, then once again ducked behind the seats. "This is humiliating," Larkin muttered, laying face-first on the ground. Limpet hopped down next to her, punching controls on the remote device furiously. Eventually, Larkin hopped to her feet, and awkwardly clunked up the aisle toward the theatre exit. "Thanks for your help, chum," Deidre said, giving Hargrove a little kiss on the cheek. Then she spun around and hopped off the stage, beckoning her crew to follow her. "We've got what we came for. Let's head out. And grab anything that looks remotely interesting on your way out, people. But be quick about it. Starfleet's response time is notoriously fast." "So...who are we meeting with again?" Ford asked, his brow furrowed with confusion, as he leaned against the transporter console. "Nigel Hampstershire, Federation Ambassador to Cardassia," Gellar said, rolling his eyes. "This is only the third time we've gone over this." "I'm still a little drunk," Ford admitted. "It's synthehol. Just decide to sober out." "I never could figure out how to work that, Brian." Gellar shook his head. "How is it you're in command and not me?" "I offered to wash the Captain's dog." "Okay, so at least I know it was well-earned. That makes me feel better." "SIR! We're approaching the rendezvous!" Bark, the Ferengi transporter chief shouted. "The Cardassian Cruiser Behar is pulling up alongside us!" Gellar rubbed his left ear with the back of his hand. "Must you really shout everything, Bark?" "As you know I cannot control the volume of my voice!" Bark shouted. Ford winced. "I think I deactivated the drunkenness, but I accidentally activated the hangover." Gellar ignored Ford and turned to Bark. "Lower our shields and lock onto the Ambassador. Now's as good a time as any. Ford's not getting better anytime soon." "Thanks," Ford said, leaning his head on Gellar's shoulder. "ENERGIZING TRANSPORTER!" Bark barked. Gellar quickly pushed Ford off him and wiped a hand over his face as the transporter glowed to life, and a narrow, stooped man with a patch of thinning blonde hair appeared on the pad. He looked around, clutching a briefcase apprehensively. "Ooh...I've never been on a Federation Starship before." "Not even an 'Ambassador-class,' Ambassador?" Ford asked with a weak chuckle. Gellar winced. "No, can't say that I have, mate," the man said, extending his hand to Ford. "Nigel Hampstershire, Federation Ambassador to Cardassia. Pleased to meet you." "Zachary Ford, currently in command of the Aerostar," Ford said wearily, pumping Nigel's hand. "You want to come up to our conference room? We have...coffee there. Actually, that's all the replicator in the conference room makes." "Tea?" Nigel asked, following Ford as Gellar took up the rear. "Ha!" Ford laughed. "You don't know our captain." "I don't. But where is he? I need to speak with him right away about a matter of some importance." "He's on his honeymoon," Ford said. "He'll be back in a month." "That's...not soon enough for this mission." Ford shrugged. "Figures." "You're first officer, then?" "She's also off-ship, at a conference. I'm afraid you're stuck with me, Mister Ambassadorship." Ford stepped up to the turbolift and pressed its call button. "Sir, are you sweating?" "A bit," Nigel confessed. "It's like sixty-nine degrees in here," Ford said, then chuckled briefly. "It's...nerves," Nigel admitted, as the turbolift doors opened and the trio stepped inside. "I've got something of a weak constitution." He grimaced. "My wife would say I'm just being poncey, but it's a recognized medical condition." "Well, if you've got bad nerves, you could have picked a better assignment than Cardassia," Gellar piped in. "Bridge," Ford said. "Yeah. It's not the most hospitable place, especially now, with all the, you know, wreckage." "Real sensitive, Ford," Gellar mumbled. "I didn't choose it, you can bet on that, but like a good soldier I've embraced my role." Nigel blanched noticeably. "I should be there right now. I'm missing the Feltonan Festival." "We'll try to get you back there in time once we're done doing...whatever it is you want us to do," Ford said as he ducked out of the turbolift and onto the brdge. "Which, by the way, you haven't told us yet." Nigel nodded as he followed Ford to the conference room. "I was just getting to that." "Let's have a chat, Ambassador," Ford said, walking into the conference room and gesturing to the seats around the table. "I have a date tonight, so if you don't mind..." "Time is of the essence," Nigel said as he took his seat. "We have to work quickly to shoot down my wife, or the unstable peace with Cardassia will be ruined." "Sure," Ford said, as he sat down. "We'll shoot your....what?" "Let me explain," Nigel said. Ford glanced across the table as Gellar sat down, and looked at all the empty seats around the room. "Wait a sec. We're gonna need more people in here..." Chapter Three RUNABOUT KISSIMMEE Conway stirred at the feeling of something being poked into his ribs. He groaned and rolled over, nearly falling out of the bunk in the rear section of the Kissimmee. "Captain, darling, we're almost there," Dr. Lanham announced, stooping and peering into the bunk as she prodded him with the corner of a padd. "Are you going to sleep this whole trip away?" "I was just taking nap," Conway said, easing around and slipping out of the bunk, landing abruptly on the deck. "How long was I out?" "Four hours." Conway stretched and yawned. "It's been a relaxing trip so far." Lanham stared at Conway askance. "I don't get it. You basically have coffee flowing through your veins. How is it that you need a nap in the middle of the day?" "The strain of command," Conway said, shuffling over to the replicator slot. "Which reminds me, I've only had three coffees today. Computer! Blend three-fourteen." "I hope you're not going to sleep this whole trip," Lanham said. Conway took his coffee out of the slot and stared at his wife over the billowing steam. "Not the whole trip. I do plan on doing some other things that require a bed." "Always the romantic," Lanham sighed and headed into the cockpit. Conway followed her. "Something on your mind?" Lanham sat down at the left station and started plucking at controls, checking the autopilot. "Have you given any more thought to our discussion?" "Yes. I told you I was going to have that bunion removed. I just haven't had time to schedule it with Doctor Benzra..." Lanham winced. "No. Not that. The other thing. The thing about us." "I told you I was never comfortable with that position, Alexa. I just don't feel...manly." "NOT THAT!" Lanham blurted. "The baby!" "Baby?" Conway blinked. "Oh. Yes, the baby." "You were going to look at adoption agencies." She handed the padd she'd been carrying to him. "I found a few. The Bajoran one is promising, but we'd probably have to start worshiping the prophets." "Oh, not THAT again...don't even get me started," Conway said, as he paged through the padd. "Hmm. You put a lot of thought to this." "What did you come up with?" He glanced at her. "I'm, uh, I'm still winnowing." "Tell me about one or two. Don't be shy." "Look," Conway said, blowing out an exasperated breath. "I haven't had time to devote to scouring the cosmos for adoption agencies. Why don't we just beat one of our crewmen over the head until he becomes a vegetable, then adopt him like Holly Wilcox did." "Holly who?" "Nevermind," Conway said. Lanham grabbed her padd back. "Look, David. Are you going to be invested in this thing? I mean, since you shot yourself in the testicles with a phaser rifle, rendering yourself impotent..." Conway doubled over, pounding the console in front of him with remembered pain. "What did I say about NEVER talking about that again, Alexa!" "We have to find another solution. So either we adopt a child, or we start talking about eugenics." "Umm...." Conway looked around the runabout. "She was only kidding, people. Whoever's out there listening, she was only kidding!" "I could get another crewmember to impregnate me," Lanham said. "By the looks he's given me, I'd say Lieutenant Gellar would be willing." Conway glared at her. "Real mature, Alexa. You leave my officers alone." "Then let's start talking about adoption." She locked eyes with Conway. "Unless you'd rather not do this..." "No," Conway said, reaching out and taking Lanham's hand. "Of course I want to do this. I told you I did. I've just got...trepidation." "Trepidation is normal." "We just have to take these things one at a time." "I need to know that you want a child, David. This isn't something we can do halfway." But I do everything else halfway, Conway thought idly. Lanham looked at him. "What are you thinking, David?" "How much I love you," Conway said, turning back to face the stars in the viewport. A few hours later, the Kissimmee had taken up orbit around Rubicon Three, and Conway and Lanham, along with all their luggage, had beamed down to one of the many Hospitality Centers that dotted the southwestern coast. "They've made some upgrades since the Enterprise visit," Lanham said, taking in the reception hall outside the transporter room. "Picard was here?" Conway growled. That nancy-boy Frenchman. "Yeah, like seventeen years ago," Lanham said. "That was the last time a Federation ship visited Rubicon." "Then how can they call themselves the second most pleasurable planet in the quadrant?" Conway asked as female attendants clad only in a few swaths of white cloth spirited away his and Lanham's bags, down a long-stretching hallway. "Because there are hundreds of other spacefaring species that don't belong to the Federation, silly. You think we're the standard-bearer for the whole quadrant?" "Yes," Conway said flatly. "I need a coffee. I'm getting the shakes." "Coffee GIVES you the shakes," Lanham said. "Will I ever be able to convince you of that?" "No," Conway said, still looking around. "I wonder who they're sending to receive us. Some dignitary, no doubt." "I'm not sure the Rubiconians really care that much about Federation citizens, David. Nor should they. We're just one of the crowd. We're here to blend!" "Starfleeters!" a booming voice echoed as a slim, athletic man, middle-aged but healthy-looking, with a mane of swirling auburn hair, came jogging up the hall to meet Conway and Lanham. "We're so glad to have you here!" "Put on some pants, man!" Conway said, gaping at the Rubiconian's tiny loincloth. "We're not ashamed of our bodies here, friend Conway," the man said, bowing. "And I think you'll find, once you've been here a while, you'll feel that way too." "Not very damn likely," Conway said, glancing around. "Where's our room?" "Shovanna is here to show you the way. Meanwhile, I am your concierge. You can call on me for any assistance you may need while you're here. You may call me Marton." "Marton," Conway said. "You have any coffee around here?" "I'm...sorry..." Marton said, looking from Conway to Lanham. "Coff...ee?" Conway turned around. "See ya!" Lanham grabbed his arm and spun him back around. "Hold on one second. You have replicators, right, Marton?" "The best in the galaxy!" "And they're programmed with earth delicacies?" "Thousands." "There you go." She patted Conway on the back. "You'll get your fix, sweetie. Just be patient." One of the two women that flanked the wedded couple, apparently "Shovanna," gestured toward the nearby lift, as the other woman handed the rest of the luggage to her and walked off.. "This way, friends Conway and Lanham. We have a spectacular room ready for you." Marton followed them into the lift as Shovanna punched a control, sending it surging upward. She shouldered four pieces of luggage as if it were weightless, something Conway found amazing. Not only did she have a beautiful body, she was strong! "Your first time on Rubicon?" Marton asked conversationally. "Well, since we're the only Starfleet officers who've come here since the Enterprise visited seventeen years ago, I guess that answer would be yes," Conway said. "Be nice," Lanham mouthed, then grinned at Marton. "What do you recommend for two honeymooners?" "The falls of Bengratha are beautiful this time of year. I'd also suggest that you try the Meektap at Broffa's. It's splendid!" "That sounds...great..." Lanham trailed off as the lift stopped, and Conway led the way out. "But your room is this way, sir!" Shovanna said sweetly. "Whatever," Conway said, turning to follow the Rubiconian girl. "Don't hesitate to call if you need anything," Marton said, pressing a button to command the lift back down to the first floor. "By the way, make sure not to break any of our laws or you'll be sorry!" he said quickly as the doors closed. "What was that?" Conway asked, as Shovanna showed he and Lanham to their room. "I'm sure it was nothing," Lanham said. "If you need anything," Shovanna began. "Just..." "Yes, just ask for you, we get it," Conway said, prompting a glare from Lanham. He glanced around the spacious, palacial room with a picture-window view of waterfalls, lush gardens, and expansive forests below. "So, where's the holo-vision? They're reshowing the 2085 Taladega race on NASCAR Classic." "NAS...CAR?" Shovanna said blankly. "No," Conway said, cupping his hands over his face. "No, no, no, no, no..." "What is holovision?" Shovanna asked as Lanham ushered her to the door. "Don't worry about it. The room's lovely. Thank you very much. We'll call if we need anything. Thanks!" Lanham pushed Shovanna out the door and closed it, turning the lock. She turned to Conway. "Were you planning on watching holovision during our honeymoon?" "Well, we have three weeks so...yeah, some of the time!" "I think you'll survive." Conway collapsed onto the bed. "I wish Bucky was here." Lanham sat down next to him. "Your wife or your dog. Choose now." Conway stroked his chin. "Hmmm..." Lanham punched him in the arm. "Very funny. Now let's go find a swimming pool." "You want to go swimming?" Conway asked, watching Lanham duck into the bathroom. "I'll go ahead and contact the Aerostar, check in and see how they're doing..." "No you won't!" Lanham called from the bathroom. "I called ahead and had them cut our outgoing communications. The Aerostar can get along without you for a couple of weeks." Conway grimaced, rolling over on the bed. "Are you going to let me do anything fun?" "There are hiking trails. Museums. Parks, waterfalls, surfing, orbital skydiving, parasailing, creative bench-pressing contests..." Conway put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. "Terrific," he moaned, then lowered his voice. "I bet they're having all kinds of fun on the Aerostar and I'm stuck here." "...so as I was saying, Deidre and I met when I was very young. We were researchers together at Phobos station," Nigel Hampstershire said, leaning forward against the conference table as he looked around at the blank stares of Ford, Gellar, Saral, and Counselor Telvin.. "This is fascinating," Ford said. "But we can move the story along?" "Of course," Nigel said, pulling at his collar a little. "Deidre and I immediately clicked. She called me 'grounded' and 'sane,' and I enjoyed her tempestuous nature." "Anybody know what 'tempestuous' means?" Ford asked around the table. "I will tell you later," Saral said softly. "Go on, Ambassador." "We complemented each other nicely, and in time we were married. Eventually, my interests moved from research to diplomacy, after settling a number of worker disputes at the Phobos Mining Colony. It was then that I...DEAR GOD! BY ALL THE QUEEN'S MAJESTY WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" Ford turned, glancing back at the door, where Doctor Benzra had just ducked in. "Someone needsssssssssssssssssssss a doctor?" the massive Flarn hissed. Nigel backed against the wall, his hands shaking. "Commander, where did that monster come from?" "Ssssssssssickbay," Benzra said idly, pushing a chair away from the table and squatting there. They'd never managed to design a chair that would fit her massive undercarraige, and beside her triple redundant knees had no problem with prolonged squatting. "I was jussssssst in the middle of an experiment to determine human resssssssistance to prolonged grilling." "That's fantastic," Ford said with a weak grin, then turned to Nigel. "Don't worry, Ambassador. She's on our side. Benzra is our chief medical officer." "Although on a Flarn ssssssship, I'd likely be the head chef." Nigel's eyes bugged. "Flarn...aren't they a race from the Delta Quadrant?" "Yeah, Benzra's the only one here," Ford said, reaching over and patting Benzra's shiny exoskeleton. "She's one of a kind, right Benzra?" "To my knowledge my race is currently extincting itssssssself on the other sssssside of the galaxy." "Fabulous," Ford said, and turned to Nigel. "Go on, sir." Nigel pulled back up to the table, stammering. "I...I..." "It's okay, Nigel," Counselor Telvin said from beside Nigel, gently touching his arm. "I was scared of her at first. But I got over my fears. You will too. Tell us what's troubling you, and we'll try to help." Gellar leaned over toward Ford. "Telvin's here?" "He got back from Tantalus last month." Gellar nodded. "He was a visiting physician there, right...not a...patient?" "Let's not talk about it. He's much better now, at any rate." Ford smiled and turned back to Nigel. "Continue, Ambassador." Nigel nodded, casting another glance at Benzra, then quickly looking away as her compound eyes oscillated and she licked her dripping jaws. "A-as I was saying, Deidre and I were married and I moved into the diplomatic corps. After some nasty business with the Deltans involving a massive orgy, it was determined that my services would be best utilized elsewhere." "You were transferred as punishment for screwing up, huh spanky?" Gellar said. Ford glared at him. "I mean, uh, Ambassador Spanky." Nigel narrowed his eyes at Gellar. "Starfleet's use of its diplomatic resources is not under my purview. I go where I'm sent." "And you went to Cardassia," Ford said, yawning. "Man this is taking a long time." "Yes. Cardassia." Nigel's expression darkened and he folded his hands in front of him. "That was a year and a half ago. I did as I was told, and tried to strengthen the bonds between the Federation and Cardassia, while we focused on bringing aid to their underserved populations and areas of critical need. Unfortunately, Deidre and I had some disagreements at the supper table as to how to go about this." "You two didn't see eye to eye?" Ford asked. "Quite the opposite. She felt the Federation was acting as an occupying force, and that the real aid wasn't getting to the places of the most need." "Was it?" Gellar asked. "That's not my place to say. I simply relay the messages of the Federation Council." "So she left you," Ford said. "And I can't imagine why." Nigel glared at Ford. "I do my best to help Cardassia, using approved diplomatic channels." He sighed. "Deidre, firebrand that she's always been, didn't feel like that was enough. She wanted to take matters into her own hands. Much like when I met her on Phobos, where she was doing research to prove that Phoban miners were exposed to high levels of radiation, and then orchestrated a shut-down of the mining complex until the Federation came in and rebuilt the facility." "And does the Federation believe she's once again taking matters into her own hands?" Gellar asked. Nigel nodded reluctantly. "There would be...significant evidence...to support that." "Where is Deidre now?" asked Ford. "That's the problem," Nigel said. "I don't know." "You don't know where your own wife is?" Saral asked. "She left me a little over six months ago. One morning I awoke and she was gone. No note, nothing." "Sounds like a matter for the Cardassian authorities," Ford said. "I've got a genetically-bred human to look after," Benzra said, and began to stand, her knees popping as she rose. Everyone stared at her. "What? What'ssssss the problem?" "The Cardassian authorities tried to find her," Nigel said. "They couldn't. Nobody could find Deidre until about a week ago, when Cardassian Privateers attacked Starbase 228." "Don't tell me she was with them," Ford said. "She was leading them," Nigel said, drawing shocked expressions from around the table. He pushed a padd across the table toward Ford. "According to the starbase commander's report." Ford read the report, then grinned as he scrolled to a picture of Deidre. "Wow, sir. Your wife is smoking hot." He lifted the padd and showed the group at the table. "Look!" "Mister Ford..." Nigel began, working his jaw back and forth. "Now I'm starting to see why Starfleet was called into this," Gellar said, looking to Ford. "Something tells me that a human leading a group of Cardassian Privateers would be a little concerning to them." "Not to mention the Cardassians," Saral said. "No kidding," Ford said. "So where is she now?" Nigel shrugged. "That's where you come in. I've been told Starfleet would send their best, most capable ship, to track down Deidre and her group and neutralize them." Gellar suppressed a chuckle, as Nigel continued. "...which won't be easy. My wife, her family...has a reputation for being crafty and resilient during wartime. Surely you've heard of the Bains." "Nope, can't say we have," Ford said, taking a breath. "Anyway, we'll see what we can do. Any suggestions, people?" "I have a griddle..." Benzra began, but stopped when Ford held up a silencing hand. "Not what I was thinking," Ford said. He glanced at Gellar. "Brian, you and Saral study the telemetry from Starbase 228. See if you can find a way to track her ship, find a likely search area. Then work with sciences, whoever's filling in for Lanham, to lay out a search grid." Gellar nodded, leaning over. "Good work, Zack. You almost sound like you know what you're talking about." "Shut up," Ford said, and stood. "All right, people, let's..." The comm system suddenly bleeped. "Garrity to Ford." Ford tapped his badge. "Go ahead." "Sir, we just picked up a distress call from Galadriel Six." Ford and Gellar exchanged glances. "Isn't that where..." Ford began, but Garrity cut him off. "It appears the Positronics Conference was raided by Cardassian Privateers, sir. Commander Larkin was taken hostage, and the Privateers escaped with a cargo hold full of positronic technology. Some mention was made of a crazy British woman..." Ford nodded. "Well, Nigel, sounds like we've found your wife. Garrity, lay in a course for Galadriel Six and engage at maximum warp. Ambassador, I hope you don't mind tagging along." "I was hoping I could do so," Nigel said, giving Ford a brief bow. "Although I'd appreciate it if you didn't get in too many violent firefights. You know, because of my nerves." "Yeah, like that's a possibility," Gellar said, as the group filed out of the conference room. Larkin's eyes blinked open, and her thermal sensors immediately reported that, wherever she was, the climate was cold. Other than that, she could see nothing but brown. "Take that thing off her," a voice that belonged to Deidre Bain said from nearby. "She shouldn't be able to report on our location." "Well, as long as you don't give her a communicator, we shouldn't have to worry about that." The brown was lifted, a blanket of some kind, and Larkin saw that she was in some kind of ice cave. Deidre and the other privateers were huddled around a heating element for warmth. "Where are we?" Larkin asked, irked that she was unable to move her head around to take in more of her surroundings. "Hiding out in a safe place," Deidre said, walking up to Larkin, who surmised she was perched on a make-shift ice bench. "Do you like the surroundings?" "I do, but that is beside the point." "I hate the bloody cold, myself," Deidre said, sitting down beside Larkin. "But this locale had the virtue of being nearby. And it wasn't hard to gather up the planet's current residents and lock them into cold storage." Larkin then beamed as a penguin waddled by. Deidre tsked. "Well, almost all of them." "That was a penguin." "Your technology is advanced," Deidre said. "Can you identify other common Earth waterfowl?" "If my internal chronomter is intact, we have only been traveling for approximately six hours. So we must be in a nearby system. This is Frigidia Two." "You're familiar with it?" "I was planning to visit here for the Penguins on Ice exhibit." "Small galaxy," Dedire said. "It's a good hideout, because the fremaldum ore in the ice and rock formations shield from routine sensor scans." "You are intelligent," Larkin said. "The privateers are lucky to have you." "I lead them well," Deidre said. "Go on, Commander. Compliments will get you everywhere, love." "I was about to add that it is a shame your intelligence is put to such misguided use." "That's your opinion," Deidre said. "I'm helping Cardassians who can't help themselves. What could be a better use of my skills?" "Diplomacy, politics, Starfleet service..." Deidre yawned. "I couldn't possibly stomach all the training one must go through for that. I need to be out there, in space..." "Or in here, in a cold cave?" Larkin asked. Nearby, two Cardassians and a Kovarian chortled at that. "You've got a smart mouth on you for an automaton." "I am a fully sentient android. My personality is as real as yours. I am no automaton." Deidre bowed regally. "My apologies, your robotness. I'm so sorry." "Apology accepted. Now, release me so I can arrest you." "Fraid that's not the plan, darling. First we have to hide out until the Starfleet search party passes over. Then we run for the Badlands." A Cardassian stepped up behind Deidre, his jaw vibrating angrily. "Must you tell her our entire plan, Deidre?" "Oh, Besket. She's more conversant than you or Limpet," Deidre said. "Besides, she's immobilized. If the technology you and Limpet developed works, then she shouldn't pose any problems for us, eh?" "The technology works," Besket said. "Of that you can be sure. But you're taking unnecessary risks. You're letting your human vanity get the best of you." "Like a good human is known to do," Deidre said. "It's what gives us our charm. Isn't that right, Larkin?" "I would not know about that," Larkin said. "However, based on the parameters laid out by the Seldonis Convention, I hearby request to speak with a neutral representative." "Any of you guys hear of the Seldonis convention?" Deidre called over her shoulder. She got a chorus of grunts in respond. She drew up a knee and leaned on it, tugging at the edges of her knee-high leather boot. "Seems this isn't that kind of crowd, Larky. Sorry about that. But these blokes would rather collect their money and go home. What does the Seldonis Convention say about that?" "I would guess the conventioneers would not approve." "Pity. And here I thought all 'eers' thought alike. Privateers and otherwise." "Mutineers, too," Besket sneered as he sat down nearby. "Oh, shut up you big lug," Deidre grinned. She turned back to Larkin. "They may not act like it, but my merry band loves me." "I fail to see the attraction." "That's because you're an android. If you had feelings, you'd see..." "I am capable of the full range of humanoid emotions." Deidre turned, cocking her head at Larkin. "You're kidding! What they can do with computers these days, I tell you..." Larkin neglected to add that, at present, she was unable to deactivate her emotions. Not a problem, necessarily, except for the fact that were she required to take drastic actions, she couldn't rely on a cold, emotionless response. Which would probably come in handy about now. Still, she vowed not to let panic get the better of her. She was a Starfleet officer, and she would act like it. Just because she was an android, and had some special abilities most humans did not, didn't mean she had to... Special abilities. It took three more nanoseconds for Larkin to formulate her plan. Hopefully, the neural restrictor didn't lock out all her systems... Ford paced in the front of the Aerostar bridge as the ship raced toward Galadriel. He glanced back from time to time at Nigel, who sat fidgeting in the side chair in the command area, normally occupied by Larkin. Telvin sat in the chair on the other side of the command chair, while Benzra had returned to Sickbay "to continue her experiments." That would have to be a discussion for another time. "Got something," Gellar suddenly said, as he and Saral bent over the tactical console. "What?" Ford asked, turning. "The Bird of Prey that attacked Starbase 228 is a Natoth-Class. A prototype discontinued because of failed experiments with phase-cloaking. Just like the Romulans, the Klingons eventually gave up on that possibility, in favor of more conventional cloaking devices." "We're sure the phase-cloak doesn't work?" "Starfleet engineers would stake their reputations on it," Gellar said. "How does that help us?" "The cloak on a Natoth-Class bird, phase or otherwise, puts off a unique neutrino emission. Whenever the cloak is raised or lowered, the neutrino burst fires. If it's operational, that is." "Let's hope it is," Ford said, as Saral made her way down to ops, relieving Yeoman Skyler. He glanced back at sciences, where Lt. Vicky Dawson was filling in. "Dawson, have we got a search pattern yet?" Dawson squinted at her readouts, leaning on the science console. "We've plotted a grid between Starbase 228 and Galadriel. It's a big grid, though. It would help if we had another ship." "The Enterprise is only three sectors away," Gellar piped up. "Forget that," Ford said. "Conway would never forgive me if I called in the Enterprise for assistance. He can't stand Picard." "Maybe you should recall Captain Conway, since your First Officer would appear to be in Privateer hands," Nigel said. "Nah. It's his honeymoon. Leave the guy in peace," Ford said. "Besides, I've got this matter well in hand." Plus, Dr. Lanham ordered no incoming comm signals, Ford thought, deciding not to throw that little tidbit into the mix. "Zack! I'm getting something on the cadion-pulse band. It's a message from Larkin!" "Huh?" Ford asked, nearly tripping over himself to get back to the tactical console. "Lemme see, lemme see!" Nigel covered his face as Ford looked over the readouts. "Dawson, triangulate this signal. Give me a planet, a system, a parsec, something to locate it!" "I'm on it, Commander." "It's just a brief six-word alphanumeric message," Gellar said, reading the message as it trailed across his screen. "The pirate is with the penguins." "Her and her damn penguins," Ford said. "Can someone decode that for me?" "I don't think it's encoded," Dawson said. "The pulse is coming from Frigidia Two. There was supposed to be a penguin exhibition there earlier today." "Alter course for Frigidia," Ford said. "Increase speed to..." "We're already at maximum warp," Garrity said. "Maximum-maximum warp, whatever comes after that," Ford said. "Let's..." "What about Kamtezen, sizzle-chest?" Gellar asked. "He's still stuck on Galadriel." Ford grimaced. "Figures. Well, we can't exactly be in two places at once." Gellar stared at him. "Think, Zack." "What? It's not like the ship can just split...in..." "He's getting it," Gellar said. "Just another minute..." A grin spread across Ford's face. "Ooh. I've always wanted to do this." "You split up the ship the last time you were in command," Gellar corrected. "Oh. Right. Well, I've always wanted to do it again. Gellar, you're in command of the saucer section. I'll take the twin-drive section to Frigidia to grab Larkin. You take the saucer to Galadriel and get Kamtezen." "What if you run into resistance from the Privateers?" Gellar asked, as Ford pointed to Dawson and Saral. "You two are with me. You too, Nigel." Ford shrugged as he walked toward the turbolift. "How much of a problem can one pissy British woman be?" "You'll see," Nigel said, reluctantly following Ford and the others into the turbolift, as Skyler sat down at ops, and another crewman took the science station. Gellar headed toward the center seat. "Yeah, this'll go well." "I have all the faith in the world in you, if that helps at all," Telvin said, putting his hand on Gellar's. Gellar glanced at him. "Yeah. Thanks. Um...could you take your hand off mine now?" Chapter Four RUBICON THREE Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 57905.5. After much discussion and deliberation with my science officer, and various staff on the planet Rubicon Three, I have made the following command decision: "CANNONBALL!" Alexa Lanham ducked as Conway unceremoniously plunged into the pool sending a wall of water crashing over her head, and the heads of several other vacationers from a variety of non-aligned worlds. Lanham blinked the water out of her eyes as Conway surfaced in front of her, grinning. "So what was that? An Eight, or a Ten? Did you take off points for the splash? Because that was kind of intentional." "Honestly, David, I wasn't paying a whole lot of attention." "Why not? Didn't you see me mounting the diving board?" "I've just been floating here, thinking." "Oh, okay," Conway said, and started to paddle back to the stairs out of the huge, mobius-shaped pool that serviced all of the guests of Hospitality Center Twenty-Nine. "David," Lanham called after him. "Don't you want to know what I was thinking about?" "No," Conway said honestly. "I was going to try another kind of dive." Lanham stared at him long and hard, prompting him to guiltily paddle back to her. "You wanted me to ask you what you were thinking about." Lanham nodded. "Then why didn't you just ask?" "Because I shouldn't have to, David, and you know it. We're on this honeymoon together. Let's start acting like it." "I thought I was," Conway said thoughtfully. "I was diving, and you were judging my dives." "Not so much," Lanham said, shaking her head. "I want to talk some more, about what we were talking about in the Runabout." "My bunions?" "NO!" Lanham snapped, exasperated, slapping water in Conway's face. She paddled closer to him, lowering her voice. "Children. I want us to adopt." "Is this really the best time for this?" Conway asked. "I mean, with all the sunshine, and the diving board, and the splashy water?" Lanham paddled over to a ladder and climbed out of the pool. "You're right. Stay, have fun in the pool. I'm going to take a walk." "Okay. Have fun!" Conway waved after her. He floated there, treading water, for a few moments, as a Ferengi child drifted by him, floating on an inflatable raft. "The female wants you to follow her, silly hew-mon!" the child giggled. Conway glared at him. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks, kid." "Wait up!" Conway called, jogging down the winding, grassy path that lead away from the pool and out to the Hospitality Center Park and Goolf Course. Goolf was a cheap, alien version of Golf that was identical to golf in every way, except that the balls had hovering capability, and the putters were half the length, so you had to squat to make your shots. Damn annoying, at least as far as Conway was concerned. "You don't want to talk about it right now," Lanham said, not looking back at Conway. "That's okay. We can discuss it later. Or not at all. Whatever." Breathless, Conway finally caught up to her, leaning forward on his knees to catch his breath. "I didn't realize this was so important to you. We can talk about it now." "Didn't realize?" Lanham asked, turning. "Didn't realize it was so important! David, you knew since we got together the first time that I eventually wanted to have a family. When you proposed to me, you even mentioned that we'd adopt." "Yeah," Conway admitted. "I guess I might've." "So what happened? Here we are, a year later, and you're not even serious about finding an adoption agencies." Conway shrugged. "It's a big galaxy. There are a lot of options." "Is it that, or is it that you really don't want to have kids?" Conway stared at her. "Of course I do. I mean, that was the plan, right?" "It was the plan, but I understand plans change." Lanham looked long and hard at Conway. "So what is it that you want?" "I...hey, look, a game of Goolf!" Conway said, and darted across the grass to a group of aliens that were teeing up at a nearby Goolf hole. "Don't change the subject!" Lanham shouted, jogging after Conway. Conway was running so fast away from Lanham he didn't even see the splendid, multi-colored flower bed that lie just in front of him, between him and the puuting green (similar, in most every respect, to a putting green). "Wait, Dave, stop!" Lanham cried out, and grabbed Conway's arm just before he launched into the middle of the flower bed. Conway glanced down. "Whoa. That was close." "I've heard they're a little loopy about their laws around here," Lanham said, patting Conway on the shoulder. "You don't want to get in trouble with the locals." "Why aren't we on Risa again?" "Oh," Lanham muttered. "It's so commercial." Conway sighed. "I'm sorry I ran away from you like that." "It was childish. But I have come to expect that from you." "Thanks, I think." He took her hands. "But I owe it to you to have this conversation. Let's talk." "Great idea. And then we can get on with our vacation." "Sounds like a plan!" Conway said, and turned around. Unfortunately, he stepped right on a gardening hoe, which flipped up and slammed him in the face. He cried out, then fell backward, arms pinwheeling. "David, watch out!" Lanham cried, reaching out to take his hand. She grabbed it just in time. Just in time for him to pull her backwards with him. The pair fell backward, landing with a thud, smashing a good portion of the flower bed. "Oops," Conway said. "They ought to watch where they keep their hoes." "Yeah, no kidding," Lanham said, leaning up on her elbows as two bronzed, muscular blond men dressed in nothing more than white panties and a handtowel jogged up. "No, we're okay," Conway said, gesturing them away and helping Lanham to her feet. "No need for alarm. I'm sure I've got a big red welt on my face. Somebody should put that hoe in a safe place..." "Sir, Ma'am, you'll need to come with us," the lead blond said. "We're the Guardians." "Oh, don't worry about it!" Conway said. "I don't need to report this to customer service. Just an ice pack will be fine. Y'all will still get a nice tip when all this is over. Or am I supposed to tip you guys now?" He glanced at Lanham. "How much do you tip a guardian?" One of the men clamped his hand down on Conway's wrist and dragged him out of the flowerbed. "Please, sir. Come with us. Do not struggle." "Don't struggle against what?" Lanham asked as the other man pulled her along. "You've violated Rubicon law," the one who'd spoken said. "You must be punished appropriately." "We just smashed some flowers," Conway said. "You want to be reimbursed? Is that it? I have a little latinum. Let's cut a deal." "A sentence must be exacted," the Guardian said. "Wait a minute," Lanham said. "I'm remembering something else I heard about Rubicon Three. Something that wasn't in the brochures. It was in Starfleet's historical database. Captain Picard's trip here..." "Oh, not him again." Conway rolled his eyes. Suddenly one of the blond men reached into a holster at his thigh and withdrew a syringe. "This will not hurt a bit..." he said, and approached Conway. "What's that?" Conway asked, looking to Lanham. "Oh, my God!" Lanham cried. "They're going to kill us!" "This is my vacation! I mean honeymoon!" Conway wailed, dropping to his knees. "Don't kill me! I have so much to do! I've only been a captain for three years! I have to make admiral before I die!" And, without further warning, the Guardian jabbed the needle in Conway's arm. Then, quickly, he did the same to Lanham. "Have you found anything of value?" Deidre Bain asked as Besket and Marrazz ducked into the cave, lugging a cargo crate. "Very little, I'm afraid. This was the second day of a two-day conference. You know, they save the boring crap for the second day." "I'm acutely aware," Deidre said. "What have you got there?" "A penguin costume," Marrazz hissed, and Larkin's eyes lit up at that. "Is it...plush?" she asked, struggling to hide her penguin-centered emotions. Marrazz nodded. "Yes, with a realistic beak and flippers." "You seem excited," Deidre asked. "Let me guess, you've always wanted to be a penguin." "Yes," Larkin said shamefully, wishing she could get her emotion program in check. "Really?" Deidre asked. "That's odd." "Your knee-high leather boots give you the appearance of an Orion street-walker, and yet I do not cast aspersions on your tastes," Larkin snapped. "I like the sass on you," Deidre said. "Bring the costume along, it might prove amusing," Deidre said. "And go to the amphitheatre and start patting down our...guests from the ice show. Take anything they have that's of value. We can pawn it off in the Yridian marketplace." As Besket and Marrazz headed back out of the cave, Limpet approached Larkin, peering at his handheld sensor. "Deidre, I think something's wrong." "What would that be?" she asked, looking from Larkin to Limpet. "There's a signal. A faint cadion pulse coming from the android." Deidre turned on Larkin. "IS there? Shut it off, right bleedin' now!" "It'll take time. I have to shut off the android entirely before I can disconnect the pulse generator." Larkin looked fearfully from Deidre to Limpet. "You might as well give up," she said, trying to show her resolve. "Starfleet will be here quite soon to rescue me." "Which is why we're leaving now," Deidre said. She clapped a hand on her wrist and lifted it to her mouth. "Bain to Duff. Prepare the Voracious for immediate take-off. Instruct the landing party to reassemble in the hangar deck in ten minutes. Grab what you can, leave the hostages where they are, and leave!" "Your ship expends gaseous matter like any other vessel. Even if you depart before Starfleet arrives, they will be able to track you." "I'm betting they won't be. You aren't familiar with the Voracious," Dedire said, and looked to Limpet. "Well? Shut her down!" Limpet studied his scans. "Just looking for her off-switch. It's not in the lower back, like the Soong-types." He grinned as he read the sensor readouts. "The armpit. Ingenius!" He reached under Larkin's arm and pressed the toggle, prompting her to shut off suddenly. "No, you cannot..." she said, and then went silent as her eyes closed and her head drooped. "Fan-bloody-tastic!" Deidre said. "Let's move out, people!" "Shouldn't we take one or two of the hostages from the ice show?" Limpet asked. "You and Pultz grab Larkin. She's the only hostage we need. She's bound to be very valuable to someone out there." Lt. Commander Ford leaned forward in the command chair as the twin-drive section of the Aerostar-A winged into the Frigidia system. The twin-drive, the lower half of the Prometheus-class vessel, was called such because it was capable of operating as a single ship, or breaking apart into yet another pair of ships. When the Aerostar initiated "multi-vector assault mode," a ludicrous-sounding but effective battle strategy, the ship broke into those two pieces, plus the saucer section. But for Ford's purposes at the moment, two sections were more than enough to get the job done, and as such the twin-drive remained a single ship. The battle-bridge wasn't as roomy, by far, as the main bridge on the saucer. It was functional. A joined forward station comprising conn and ops, a tactical console directly behind Ford, and a small science console to Ford's right, and one for engineering on his left. The engineering station was unmanned at the moment, while Lt. Dawson took sciences, Saral took tactical (her former occupation) and Yeoman Skyler took the helm. Nigel Hampstershire leaned awkwardly against the vacant ops console, looking back at Ford. "Are you concerned you might be taking us into battle?" "Not really concerned," Ford said. "I have a way of coming up with creative solutions at the last minute, during intense combat situations." Nigel nodded. "Ahh. That's...comforting." "He is referring to an incident during which he slapped his hand down on a random series of controls and by pure luck avoided disaster, while helmsman of the U.S.S. Explorer," Saral stated matter-of-factly from tactical. "I like it better the way I say it," Ford said, shifting in the command chair. "Any response from the authorities on Frigidia?" "As yet, no response from Frigidia," Saral said. "That's odd," Ford said, rubbing his chin. "Not if my wife attacked the planet. She would have disabled their communications capability," Nigel said. "She may still be there." "Scan the system on approach," Ford said. "See if you can find any trace of Deidre's ship." "Unlikely," Saral said. "The Natoth-class is notoriously hard to track, given its phase-cloaking properties." Dawson sat back in her chair at the science console. "We have to hope at some point she raises or lowers her cloak. Then we'll be able to lock onto the neutrino surge." "Once that happens, Saral, you need to be quick. We have to disable her weapons and engines before she can begin evasive maneuvers." Saral nodded. "That is standard practice during engagements with cloaked vessels. Have you been studying up?" Ford shrugged. "I read some stuff on the way here." "We've arrived at Frigidia, sir," Yeoman Skyler said from the helm. "Want me to put her into orbit?" "Standard orbit with a twist," Ford said. "It's, uh...something I do where I bank at a thirty-degree angle and..." He looked around the bridge at the blank faces that stared back at him. "Nevermind. Standard orbit is fine." He looked back at Dawson. "Anything on sensors?" "Telemetry coming in now," Saral said. "There appear to be one hundred and fifty assorted life-signs. No casualties that I can detect." "Larkin?" "She is not down there," Saral said. "I'm scanning space in all vectors leading away from the planet. I should be able to locate Larkin by her cadion pulse, or detect some of the emissions from the Klingon Bird of Prey." "Meanwhile, I'm going down there. I've got some questions for the people of Frigidia." "Like where did Deidre go?" Nigel asked, following Ford back to the turbolift door. "Like why anyone would possibly want to go to an ice show," Ford said, and pointed at Saral. "Lieutenant, you're with me. Dawson, you have the bridge." "It's a bad day when the chain of command comes all the way down to me," Dawson muttered as she stepped out from behind sciences and sat down in the command chair. Meanwhile, the Aerostar's saucer section was likewise arriving at its destination. Gellar shifted in the command chair. "Sensors. Can you detect Larkin and Kamtezen's runabout?" Lt. Puckett nodded, looking up from tactical. "Yes, sir. I've got the Penobscot, crashed on the surface of Galadriel. Basically intact, but all engines, weapons, and life support are disabled." "Gellar to engine room," the lieutenant said, slapping his com badge. "I need a crash team to report to Transporter Room Two on the double." He turned to the science console. "Ensign Miles, what about the conference center?" Ensign Anson Miles looked up from his science readouts. "Yngwie Malmstein has gone silent, sir. If anyone's down there, they're unable to communicate." Gellar stood. "All right, then, let's check it out. Miles, you have the bridge. Puckett, you're with me. Have a security team meet us down in Transporter Room One." Ensign Miles stepped down to the command chair and looked back at Gellar as he and Puckett entered the turbolift. "But I'm a very minor character!" he protested. "I was just introduced! How am I supposed to command?" "You'll figure something out," Gellar said, as the lift doors close, leaving him the senior crewmember on the bridge. Counselor Telvin turned to face him, taking his hand and squeezing it. "There now, my friend. You'll get through this. We'll get through this." Miles looked down at Telvin's hand, then back up at Telvin. "Um, sir? Why are you stroking my hand?" "Criminy!" Ford snapped, a white t-shirt draped over his arm as he stepped back onto the bridge about a half hour later, Saral and Nigel Hampstershire following him. "Still no sign of the Bird of Prey, or Commander Larkin," Dawson said, rising from the command chair and heading back to sciences. Ford angrily threw the t-shirt down over the back of the command chair. "What a bunch of useless morons!" "They were victim to space pirates," Saral said, stepping back to tactical. "You have to assume they have been through quite the ordeal. They were scared." "But not one lead! Not one accurate description of who we're looking for, other than a sexy British woman in leather boots and a merry band of roguish aliens!" "At least you got the t-shirt," Saral said. "T-shirt?" Dawson asked. Ford nodded. "It says 'I beamed down to Frigidia and all I got was this lousy t-shirt. And frostbite.'" "It was rather cold," Nigel observed. "It's important to note that Commander Ford is supremely aware of his priorities on this mission," Saral said. "Sir, you forgot your coffee cup," a crewman said, walking by and handing Ford a black "Penguins like it cold" coffee cup. Ford glanced around the bridge. "Back off, people! It's for Captain Conway!" "Your engraved flatware has been shipped to your quarters," the crewman added, stepping back to the turbolift. "Get off the bridge already, buddy!" Ford called back to him, and looked at the viewscreen. "Somebody find me that Bird of Prey, and find it now!" Dawson glanced back down at her panel and began working, muttering something softly to herself. Ford pivoted around in the command chair. "What?" "I said, you could've gotten ME a t-shirt, Commander." Ford threw his shirt at her. "There. Take mine! And find that ship!" Nigel stepped up to Ford's side, draping his hands behind his back. "Starfleet strategists have theorized that someone on Deidre's ship is extremely adept with technology. It's altogether possible that they've altered the Voracious, as such to make her virtually undetectable." "Well, that's a little ray of sunshine," Ford muttered. "I just want you to be aware that this mission may already be a failure. Your Commander Larkin may already be lost, or worse yet traded to the black market to be...chopped up...like so much scrap metal." "Not if I have anything to do with it." Ford thought a moment. "Wait. Voracious?" "That's what she's named her ship. The Voracious Appetite for Justice." Ford shook his head, chuckling softly. "Voracious. I've got to meet your wife." "If you can find her." "Have you found her?" Kamtezen asked, running up to join Gellar in the crowded, chaotic lobby of the Yngwie Malmstein Conference Center. "Who, Larkin?" Gellar asked, glancing around as Puckett surveyed the area with her security tricorder. Kamtezen nodded vigorously. "Yes, of course, Larkin. Where is she?" "We don't know yet," Gellar said. "Are you okay?" "I'm fine. Nobody was hurt, that I can tell. Everyone's just...disturbed...." "Well, I would be too. I heard the keynote speaker backed out." "I tried to contact our runabout," Kamtezen continued. "But I couldn't get through to it." "Yeah, that's because they crashed it for you," Gellar said. "Some of your engineers are recovering it now." "Then what?" "Then we go to Frigidia to rendez-vous with the twin-drive section. Commander Ford is there following a lead that may direct us to Larkin and the Privateers." "Twin-drive? The Aerostar split up?" "We thought we'd cover more ground that way," Gellar said, then did a double-take at Kamtezen. "Um, Lieutenant..." Kamtezen looked down at his rapidly growing breasts. "ZRAT IT! My boobs are growing again!" "Problems?" "Just, in times of stress, my feminine chromosomes begin to assert themselves." "Not all Bewhal are like this, right?" "Just the lucky ones," Kamtezen muttered, folding his arms over his expansive chest. "Look, can we go or what?" "Yeah," Gellar said. "I'll leave a few security officers and some med-techs down here, and report the situation to Starfleet." "Can you tell them I'm available to do other gigs?" a man asked, racing up to Gellar. "Who are you?" "Ensign Hargrove. I filled in for Seven of Nine." Gellar glanced at Hargrove, then at Kamtezen's inflating chest. "There's a joke to be made here, but even I'm not touching it. Let's get the hell out of here." When Conway's eyes fluttered open, he found Lanham leaning over him. "David, you all right?" she asked. "Fine, but for a zinger of a headache," Conway moaned, leaning up and rubbing the back of his neck. "What the hell happened?" "We were sedated." "That's what you were getting all panicked about? Sedatives?" "No," Lanham said. "The reports from the Enterprise stated that the Rubiconians punished all lawbreakers in the same way: lethal injection." "Well, those laws must have changed, because we're still here." Conway sat up on the bench, surveying the cramped, off-white cell that he and Lanham occupied. He rubbed his eyes, trying to focus, and then looked at Lanham again. "Dear...um...why do you have horns?" Lanham glanced up at her forehead and sighed. "They're not horns." She fingered the little metal protuberances that were attached to either side of her forehead. "Best as I can tell, they're some kind of signal emitters. You've got them too." "I..." Conway reached up, tentatively touching the pyramid-shaped nubs. "Damn. Wonder how deep they go in?" "A few inches into the frontal lobe, is my guess," Lanham said, prompting Conway's eyes to roll back into his head. "Why...why...why did I have to ask?" Lanham shrugged. "I dunno, but you did. So how do we get out of here?" Conway laid there a few moments moaning, then finally sat up. "We request to speak with a neutral representative. We get someone from the Starfleet JAG office down here and get this fixed!" "If we tell them that they jabbed sensor probes into our foreheads, that should prompt a quick response." Conway grimaced. "You'd think." Just then, another tall, muscular blond man strolled in, wearing not much more than a diaper. He surveyed the scene. "Greetings, violators. I am Barook, your caregiver and adjudicator. Have you been treated well?" "Except for the metal shards in our brains, yes, fine," Conway snapped. "I want to speak to someone from the Starfleet JAG office, and I want to speak with them NOW!" "I'm sorry," Barook said placidly. "I'm afraid I cannot allow that. You are not permitted to communicate with anyone outside this planet." "Why not?" The Rubiconian's benign attitude started to fade. "Because we had this problem with you Federation people many years ago, and we've taken steps to make sure it doesn't happen again." "What steps?" Lanham asked. "First of all, you can't bring in anybody from your ship, or your Star Fleet. Because they'll just do what Captain Picard did, which is talk us out of exacting our punishment. It's annoying, and it's none of your business how we conduct our affairs." "It's a little of our business, if we're the ones you're killing!" Conway snapped. "That's just it," the man said, his tone once again placid. "I'm delighted to tell you that the ultimate penalty is no longer enforced on this planet." "I guess that's a fancy way of saying 'killing.'" "Perhaps," the man said. "Instead, we offer a much more reasonable and fair punishment." "Which...is?" Conway asked skeptically. Barook stepped over to a blinking console, flipped a switch, and headed for the door. "You'll see. Enjoy!" Conway thought to himself. "I don't know," Lanham said aloud, and Conway stared at her. Lanham thought back, and Conway's eyes went wide. Chapter Five VORACIOUS Deidre Bain sat on the "shelf" jokingly referred to as a bed, in her quarters aboard the Voracious, as there was a bleep at her door. "Come," she said, looking up from the padd she was reviewing. "We're on a serpentine course through sector 21302," Besket said, looming in the doorway. "We're maintaining a speed of Warp Five as ordered, so as not to attract sensor attention." "And the phase-cloak?" "Operational, so far." "Keep up the good work, Besket, and you'll go far in this little war." "As far as you?" Besket asked, approaching Deidre. "You can only hope." "Six months ago, I was destined to lead this crew." Deidre yawned. "My, how things have changed." "We had a ship, not as great as this, but a Cardassian Freighter capable of sublight runs throughout the Cardassian system. We could have hit and run a dozen supply ships, and remained undetectable with Limpet's sensor tricks." "You could have," Deidre said. "But someone with a grander plan came round, and you should be glad she did." Besket looked around. "Your ideas, your ship, your quest. Does any of this have anything remotely to do with the Cardassians?" Deidre considered that, leaning up on her bunk. "A little, I suppose. Why, are you Cardassian?" Besket stepped closer to Deidre. "Don't you forget it, human." Deidre stood, eye to eye with Besket. "Is that a threat?" "Merely an observation," Besket said. "That if you stumble, if you fail our team in any way, I'll be there, dagger in hand." Deidre nodded. "I see. Would you happen to be referring to..." She reached out, and in a smooth, calm motion, grabbed the dagger from its holster in Besket's thigh and raised it up to his throat, holding it there, her hand never wavering. "...this dagger?" "Y-yes," Besket said. "Okay. Just checking." She handed the knife to him and sat back down on her bunk. "Is that all?" Besket moved back to the doorway, and glanced back at Deidre. "Simply wondering where you plan on going from here. Would you like us to line up potential buyers for the android?" "Not yet," Deidre said, a thoughtful glint in her eyes. "I have a better use for 'Commander' Larkin than simply selling her off, thanks to Limpet, that boy genius." She twisted a finger through her hair thoughtfully. "Chin up, Besket. We're going to have ourselves a spot of fun." "I can't wait," Besket grumbled, and ducked out of Deidre's quarters. Captain's Log, Stardate 57906.1. The Aerostar-A is rendez-vousing with the...well, the Aerostar-A, as Lt. Gellar has returned from Galadriel with Lt.Kamtezen in tow. Meanwhile, I've been meeting with Nigel Hampstershire to try and determine our next course of action in finding the Cardassian Privateers and rescuing Commander Larkin from their leader, Deidre Bain. "That wasn't half bad, was it?" Lt. Commander Ford asked, looking up at the others gathered around the conference table in the Auxiliary Conference Room on the Twin-Drive section. "It was adequate," Lt. Saral said from the other end of the table. "However, it is only the 'Captain's' log if the captain records it. You may, in the future, wish to use the words 'acting captain's log.'" "Or 'Chief Numbskull,'" Lt. Gellar suggested, stepping into the conference room, Kamtezen behind him. "Anybody miss me?" "Not really," Ford said, following Gellar with his eyes as he sat down. "Did you pick up any leads on Galadriel?" "No," Gellar said, and inclined his head at the Bewhal engineer beside him, "but Kamtezen grew breasts." Ford blinked. "Well, that's not so unusual, is it." Nigel Hampstershire leaned forward, from his place next to Ford. "We have to act, gentlemen. Time is of the essence." "We've put out some feelers," Ford said. "Even now, Lieutenant Dawson is working on a method to track Deidre Bain's warship." "I can help with that," Kamtezen said eagerly. "Afterward, you might want to join the wet t-shirt contest on Deck Twenty." Kamtezen clinched his fists, and his breasts grew a bit more. He folded his arms over them. "PERHAPS, Mister Ford, you'd like to contact Captain Conway and ask for his assistance." "I've got the matter well in hand," Ford said. "No need to disturb him." "The First Officer has been kidnapped by pirates!" Kamtezen said, leaping to face Ford. "The Captain has to be informed!" "And you should really get a bra," Ford said. "Calm down, Mister Whineypants. I plan on sending a comprehensive report to Captain Conway once we have something substantial to report. Right now, we just have hints and allegations." "And a missing android," Saral pointed out. "You're not helping me, Saral," Ford snapped. "True. But, in point of fact, I am not trying." "Guys, guys," Ford said, gesturing around the table. "If we're going to rescue Larkin, I need you all on the same page, working together." "Have you met our crew?" Gellar asked, arching his eyebrow. "Could we possibly get another ship out here?" Nigel asked meekly. Ford whipped around toward him. "No! The Aerostar can handle this. I can handle this!" "Dawson to Ford," chimed the comm system. "Sir, we're picking something up on AWN news that I think you should see." "Pipe it down to the conference room," Ford said. "And transfer the command crew back to the actual bridge. Mister Gellar is here, which means I guess that the ship is back in one piece again." "And we somehow managed to keep the two ships from crashing into each other," Gellar said. "You should have seen it." "I was taking a meeting," Ford replied, and turned toward the viewscreen at the front of the room. "Cue it up, Dawson." The viewscreen lit up with the image of a reporter standing outside of a towering, shiny aluminum building. "Thank you, Pierce," the smartly-suited woman with blonde bobbed hair said. "I'm standing here in front of the Intergalactic Bank of the Shelliac, where just moments ago, the bank vault was robbed by a highly unusual perpetrator." The view changed to dimly-lit internal sensor footage, that showed a pair of armed Shelliac guards standing in front of a vault door. To Ford, the Shelliac pretty much looked like big men hiding under expensive, dark comforters, but he figured, like the Breen and so many others, there was a darn good explanation for that. Ford's ruminations were interrupted as the two guards raised their phaser rifles. A dark blur moved toward them, and they surrounded it before Ford could tell what it was. "Lieutenant Dawson," Ford said. "Try to enhance the image and zoom in!" "Already there, sir," Dawson said, as the image suddenly magnified. The two Shelliac were unceremoniously thrown aside, slamming into a wall and falling in clothy heaps. All that was left was the perpetrator: A big, oblong, black and white... "Penguin?" Nigel asked softly. "Yes, that does appear to be a penguin," Ford said, agape. The penguin walked up to the vault door, grasped the handle with its flippers, and lifted it off its hinges effortlessly, tossing it aside as if it weighed nothing. "Hey, Zack," Gellar said, looking on. "What did you find on Frigidia?" "The usual post-break-in chaos," Ford said slowly. "Plus...a missing penguin costume." Saral watched as the penguin marched out of the vault, hauling a massive pallet of latinum bricks. "And now a person with inhuman strength is robbing a vault wearing a penguin suit." "Seems like," Ford said. The image then returned to that of the reporter, walking toward the camera. "After removing over a thousand bars of gold-pressed latinum, the perpetrator was beamed away. Authorities cannot locate the suspect's ship, and are currently operating on the assumption that the ship must be using a cloaking device." "Any thoughts on the identity of the perpetrator, Patty?" the voice of Pierce, the AWN anchor, broke in. "It would seem to be a penguin, Pierce." "Or an android in a penguin suit," Gellar pointed out. "Turn it off, Dawson," Ford said, turning in his chair. He glanced at the faces around the conference table. "And contact Captain Conway. Tell him he may have to cut his vacation short, no matter how much fun he's having." Conway stared at Lanham for a few beats of incredulity, then settled back on the bench in his cell. Lanham sat down next to Conway and slid an arm around him. "David," she said aloud. "Calm down. You're going to hyperventilate." She turned him to face her, staring in his eyes. "DAVID!" "Huh?" Conway asked, finding it odd that the sound of her voice was the same whether she moved her lips or not. "Settle. Settle and focus," Lanham said. "Obviously, we have a problem." "I can hear your thoughts?" "Yes. That would seem to be the problem." "Idiot?" Lanham blanched. "It just slipped out." "Hey, now..." Conway stammered. "That's not fair." Lanham stood up. "You could do better!? You're welcomed to try, mister!" Conway stared up at her. "Now who needs to focus and settle?" "You're right." Lanham sat down again and closed her eyes, trying to think logically. Lanham grimaced, then shook Conway by his shoulders. "I'm sorry," Conway said in a low voice. "Don't look in my drawer." "I wouldn't dream of it." She stood and began to pace. "What do the Rubiconians want?" "They seem to be pretty serious about their laws, that's for sure," Conway said. "Maybe they just want to scare us." "It's just a very odd punishment," Lanham said, rubbing her chin. "I mean why. Why would they want to do this to us, if not for Federation secrets?" "Quite simple, really," a voice said from the other side of the brig's security field. "It's a mechanism to prevent your escape." Conway and Lanham both stared at the man; a slim, dapper, middle- aged man in a charcoal grey suit, carrying a slim padd-case. He had deep, in-set, calculating eyes and thoughtfully-pursed lips. He stared at Conway and Lanham much as a cat would stare at a juicy piece of tuna. "I'm here to help. Hal R. Sholen, Defender-at-Large." Conway stood and approached the security field. "Defender? That sounds an awful lot like a...." "Yes. I'm a lawyer." "Didn't we kill all the lawyers like two hundred years ago?" Sholen laughed. "It was longer ago than that, I'm afraid. But some of us still exist. We roam in small packs, like wolves. My particular group is known as 'Katz, Sholen, Danbury, and Blarg." "So why aren't you dead?" Conway asked pointedly. "We escaped." Sholen shifted boredly from foot to foot. "You'll find, Captain, that lawyers are a cunning lot. Not unlike yourself." Lanham thought. Conway glared back at her. He clamped a hand over his mouth. "DAMN! I mean...I mean shut your trap!" He turned to Sholen. "So what exactly can you do for us?" "If you wish, I can represent you. Advocate for your immediate release." Sholen flipped open his case and showed Conway a padd with scrolling text. "As you can see, there are several precedents among Federation statutes in this matter. It won't be difficult to establish good cause to release you from this sentence, time served." "You could do that?" Lanham asked. Sholen nodded. "You're far too important to lose, Captain." "What about me?" Lanham asked. "Frankly, you're expendable," Sholen said bluntly. Lanham's thoughts boomed. He turned to Conway. "You, on the other hand, are of supreme interest to us. We've followed your exploits with great interest, the past couple of years." "You have?" "Yes. Ever since the heroic stand you took against institutionalized religion on the U.S.S. Explorer. You were willing to sacrifice everything to prove a point, while upholding the spirit and letter of Federation Law." "Well, they did try to take away my coffee..." Sholen chuckled mildly as Conway angrily thumped himself in the head. "It's not happenstance that brought me to you today, Captain. Nor was it coincidence that brought me to your cell on Trill, when you once again found yourself victim of a planetary plot against you." "On Trill...what do you mean?" Conway thought a moment. Lanham stepped forward, trying desperately to drown out Conway's thoughts with thoughts of her own. "Is it really necessary that we be...plugged in...to each other's thoughts like this?" "It's a simple security measure. It enables the staff here, and your appointed defender, by the way, to monitor your thoughts. That way we can judge motive, intent, and all the little details that make up a trial case." He sighed. "Apparently, though, an unfortunate byproduct of the neural transmitters is that they can easily cross-link with transmitters that are within the broadcast range. It's not unusual for Rubiconian cell-mates to beat each other senseless before their cases ever go to trial, because they can read each other's thoughts." "Maybe it was better when they just killed people on the spot," Lanham posited. Conway thought- sang, until finally his eyes widened in recollection. "Wait! You're the hooded guy who came in to chat with me when I was waiting for my trial on Trill!" "It took you that long to recall that?" Sholen asked, shaking his head. Conway pointed at the back of his neck. "Considering I have a six- inch probe jabbed into my brain stem, I think I'm doing pretty good." "Yes, well this year's Daystrom Prize is yours for the taking then, I suppose." Conway stepped up to the field, curling his hands into fists. "Are you here to help us or not, Sholen?" "Oh, definitely the former," Sholen said. "But I want you to help us too. We won't ask you to make any commitments now. Contracts made under duress are often more trouble than they're worth. But I want to give you some food for thought. And...I'm sorry it's not potatoes." "We all have different ways of thinking!" Conway snapped. "Be that as it may, I want you to consider this: Come to law school. Let us train you, so you can complete your destiny and become a formidable trial attorney." Conway laughed. "That's rich. Considering that my current office comes with the ability to launch quantum torpedoes from my desk, it's not likely." "You yearn for something, David Conway," Sholen said, boring into Conway with his eyes. "You're aching with a need I can fulfil." Lanham thought. "You're cunning, intelligent, and reasonably well-spoken," Sholen said. "We have people who can...polish you. In the meantime, you have a skill that's impossible to learn. You, sir, are an outstanding arguer." Lanham muttered to herself. "Consider my offer," Sholen said, and stepped away. "Meanwhile, I'll be upstairs conversing with your jailers. I should have word for you soon. Bye for now!" Conway watched Sholen walk away. he thought. Lanham shook her head. "The penguin, in her natural habitat, is far from the genial flightless avian we've come to know," Deidre Bain said, crouching on the upper gangway that surrounded the Voracious's cargo bay, as Larkin, penguin head now off, paced the bay. In the locked chambers beneath her, a Legat's ransom in latinum bricks resided, all spoils of Deidre's newfound toy. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Limpet asked, standing behind Deidre, observing with hands clasped behind his back. "It's a kick!" Deidre exclaimed, dangling her legs over the railing. "Make her speak again." "I'd warn against that," Limpet said, withdrawing the small, blocky transmitter he'd been using to control Larkin's movements. "It's posed...problems...thus far." "Nonsense. I want to hear what she has to say." "None of it will be good." "Just be a dear and do it, Limpet." "Yes, Captain," Limpet said, and thumbed a control. "...disgrace to everything Starfleet stands for. I will speak to a neutral representative. You will cease using me in such a humiliating and corrupt fashion, and I will have satisfaction!" Larkin turned and shook an impotent flipper at Deidre. "Well, good to see your emotion program is working correctly." "It is working overtime, I assure you," Larkin said. "You must cease and desist this course of action immediately." Deidre yawned, and lazily dragged herself to her feet, leaning over the railing that overlooked the cargo bay. "Oh, dear Larkin, I intend to continue this course of action for a good while longer." "To what end?" "You haven't put it together yet? I want latinum. Cold, hard, gold-pressed latinum. Fuel for the good fight for the people of Cardassia." "There are other means," Larkin said, pursing her lips. "Diplomacy, mediation..." "BOR-RING!" Deidre announced, folding her arms. "Besides, the Cardassian Interim Government would never allow it. They're happy with the status quo. Hoard Federation supplies for the upper class and ensure none of it makes its way to the Cardass