COVERT MANEUVERS

Episode One: In Harm's Way

The jungle was alive. Birds, similar to parrots on Earth, but with such iridescent plumage they practically glowed, called to one another with melodious songs. Insects -- flying, crawling, slithering -- buzzed and hummed in an unceasing, search for food. Ganar cats, announcing their readiness to mate, roared and howled. An ecologist's dream. And all perfectly safe, of course. Nothing truly dangerous would ever be allowed here, on this world, in this most regulated and controlled of environments. Even the ganars, as large and ferocious-looking as any of Earth's predator cats, were strict herbivores and really quite timid.

It was all perfectly lovely. And Kenan Negasi cursed it. It wasn't that he had no appreciation for the intricate beauty of nature. But the constant din from the wildlife made it virtually impossible to hear his quarry, and this made tracking it that much more difficult.

If only it would block out the sound of his companion.

"They could be anywhere," panted the young Bolian man crouched next to Kenan beside the massive trunk of a fallen tree.

Kenan glanced briefly at the blue-skinned individual beside him, and then turned his attention back to the jungle. "Uh hu," he responded, hoping his brief reply would discourage further conversation. It didn't.

"Anywhere," the Bolian continued at a rapid pace that put the buzzing insects to shame. "It's impossible to tell. Only a meter away and we wouldn't even see them through these trees. Behind us even!" Startled by his own thought, the Bolian spun around, almost swiping Kenan across the face with his phaser rifle.

Kenan pushed the offending weapon aside. "I think we should split up," he said through clenched teeth.

The Bolian looked shocked, even terrified, at the suggestion. "But ... but wouldn't it be safer to stay together? We could cover each other's backs. Keep a lookout. What if we're ambushed? What if they try to set a trap for us? What if --"

Kenan grabbed the young man's shoulder, perhaps a little harder than he meant to, judging by the young man's wince. "We can cover more ground if we split up."

"But --"

"You go that way," Kenan pointed off to the left.

"But --"

"I'll go this way."

"But --"

"Signal if you find anyone."

"But --"

"But what?!"

The Bolian was almost trembling. "How ... how should I signal?"

Kenan closed his eyes while he took a deep breath. "Whistle," he answered quietly.

"Right. Right. I'll whistle. I'll whistle if I see anyone. Like a bird call. I'm very good with bird calls. Back home on --"

"Go!" Kenan snapped. He didn't wait to see if the Bolian had followed the order. He set off in his own direction, creeping carefully through the almost impenetrable vines.

It was only a few minutes later that Kenan heard a most un-birdlike whistle. It was quickly followed by another. Then a third, more shrill. And then the distinctive sound of a phaser beam slicing the air.

Kenan considered going back; guilty conscience or ingrained training that said you never leave a man behind, he couldn't tell which. In either case, he decided against it. There was no point; the Bolian was finished. Besides, he had just found what he was looking for: a broken twig. True, it could have been from the passing of a ganar cat, but a quick examination of the soft ground nearby revealed humanoid footprints. Ganars didn't wear shoes.

Kenan followed the tracks and in a few minutes caught up with the person responsible. She was only meters ahead, crouched behind a giant fern. Dressed in camouflage fatigues similar to Kenan's own, but with a blue band around her helmet instead of red she could have been anyone on the opposing side. But Kenan recognized her trim and toned, yet shapely profile, her graceful movements, the way she carried herself, cautious, yet confident.

Unfortunately he didn't have a clear line of fire through the trees. He needed to draw her out into the open.

Without taking his eyes from the target, Kenan reached down and picked up a pebble from the ground at his feet. But which way to throw it? If this was his talkative Bolian friend he was after, he'd throw the stone where he didn't want him to go, sure he'd retreat from any possible danger. But this one was different, a fighter, aggressive. She'd be more likely to move toward the source of the sound, looking for an opportunity to attack.

Kenan drew back, took aim, and threw the stone so it struck a tree to the woman's right. As he anticipated, she reacted immediately, dropping low and advancing in that direction.

Kenan raised his phaser rifle and took aim. Patiently, he waited till she was clear of the trees. He tightened a finger on the trigger and a narrow burst of energy erupted from the emitter of the weapon.

It struck the woman dead-center in the small of her back and she went down in a heap with a stifled scream.

Kenan stood up and advanced, cautious. Although the chase was now over, he wouldn't have put anything past her. The woman turned over with a quiet groan, already shaking off the effects of the stun. Her rifle lay a meter away and she glanced at it, but obviously knew there was no point in further resistance.

She was human, in her mid-twenties, and remarkably beautiful. When she pulled off her helmet, a torrent of raven-black hair cascaded over her shoulders.

"So, now that you've caught me," she said, almost smirking, "what are you going to do with me?"

Kenan didn't lower his rifle. "I can think of a number of options."

The woman leaned back in what she may have thought was a seductive pose. If so, it didn't work. Perhaps it was the environment: stifling heat, the pungent odor of decaying vegetation, oppressive humidity. Even on an environmentally controlled world like this, a jungle was still a jungle.

"The post-game party is a Risa tradition," Kenan mused, motioning with a nod of his head back the way he had come."

The woman's smirk disappeared. "I'm sure your Bolian friend would like that."

Kenan frowned. "Then again ..."

"We, could ... " she began.

"Yes?"

She shook her head. "No. I left my Horga'hn in my room."

"Well, let's go get it." Kenan held out his hand and helped the woman to her feet.

"Let's not," she said. She stooped and picked up her phaser rifle.

"Oh?"

"The Horga'hn may be the traditional Risian symbol that one is seeking jamaharon but it's not strictly required." She set off through the jungle with Kenan following. "Besides," she said, winking at him over her shoulder. "Your room is closer."

The Promenade on Deep Space 9 was unusually busy that evening. Every docking port on the station was occupied by a vessel, and there were a dozen more ships station-keeping nearby. Many of the crew and passengers from these ships were aboard the station, to rest, to trade, or -- in the case of Sitara Rajagopal and her companions -- to celebrate.

"To Ensign Rajagopal," a young woman in uniform said in a loud, slightly slurred voice. "May she find adventure and romance among the stars of the Gamma Quadrant."

"Here! Here!" a half-dozen other young officers shouted. They raised their glasses in unison and downed their contents.

Sitara followed suit, choking slightly on her drink, a concoction someone had told her was called a Silven Surprise.

"Where is that Ferengi?" the woman who had made the toast asked, looking around for a waiter. When she spotted him she held up her empty glass. "More all around," she told him.

A harried Ferengi bowed politely and rushed off with an expression anything but polite.

"Where do you think she's going to find romance in the Gamma Quadrant?" one of the friends asked. "A reformed Jem'Hadar?"

The young woman shrugged. "There are lots of alien cultures in the Gamma Quadrant, more than just Jem'Hadar. But I was thinking specifically about her crew mates, or at least one in particular."

"Who?" Sitara asked quickly.

Her friend, Ensign Jessica Rollins, wagged her finger. "No, no. We mustn't spoil it for you. You'll find out soon enough." She bent down and whispered, "But I'd keep an eye on the seat next to yours on that bridge."

"Ops?" Sitara exclaimed. "Who's on ops?"

An Andorian male wearing a lieutenant's pips shook his head. "The Equinox is a Miranda-class starship."

"So?" Rollins asked.

"Yeah! So?" Sitara echoed, feeling her head spin as the Silven Surprise took effect. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing is wrong with it," the Andorian continued, his antennae twitching. "I'm sure it's a fine ship. But it's also a small ship. There's not a lot of room for ... privacy."

Rollins elbowed Sitara. "Some things don't take a lot of room," she said with a wink.

"Right now," Sitara said, "romance is the last thing on my mind. Tomorrow morning I'm going to be piloting a starship through the wormhole. Knowing me I'll probably run into some energy ribbon or something and get the ship stuck."

The Andorian shook his head. "Not possible," he assured her.

"No energy ribbons?" Sitara asked hopefully.

"Oh, there are all sorts of possible hazards. Energy ribbons. Subspace vortexes. Stellar matter that's been sucked in from either end. Even other ships."

Sitara closed her eyes and put her hands over her face. "What have I gotten myself into?! Why didn't I stay on Earth and marry an artist like my father?"

"Shrell, you're scaring her," Jessica scolded the Andorian. "Besides, you just told her that's not going to happen."

Shrell laughed. "I meant it's not going to happen tomorrow morning."

"What?" Sitara looked up at him.

"If it's going to happen at all, it will be this morning."

Sitara gasped. "What time is it?"

Shrell held out his wrist chronometer so she could see. "Zero-thirty," he told her.

"Oh no! I was supposed to report aboard a half hour ago!" She quickly gathered up the gifts her friends had given her. "First day of my first assignment and I'm going to end up on report." She gave each of her friends a tight hug, wished them luck on their own assignments, and rushed for the entrance of the bar. When she reached it she stopped and turned around, allowing herself one last wave, one last smile.

These were her classmates she had just spend four years with at Starfleet Academy. They had become more than friends; they were family. And while the ships they'd be serving on were bigger, newer, more advanced, hers -- the U.S.S. Equinox -- was one of the few assigned to long range exploration of the Gamma Quadrant. While it was a choice assignment, she knew it meant she might not see any of these people again for years. As happy as she was, a part of her heart was breaking.

Holding back a tear, she smiled and gave them all one last wave. Then she turned and stepped out onto the Promenade. She was a good twenty meters from Quark's when someone called her name. She turned and saw Jessica running toward her. She ran too and they almost slammed into each other in a tight embrace.

"Subspace," Jessica sniffled when they stepped apart. She wiped a tear from her cheek. "The Equinox will be dropping subspace relay buoys, right?"

Sitara added. "Yeah, I think so."

"Then we can keep in touch via subspace. We'll write. Promise me we'll write."

"I promise." Sitara smiled.

They stared at each other for a moment and then Jessica said, "Go on, you don't want to end up on report."

A quick kiss on each other's cheeks and Sitara turned and headed for the nearest turbo lift. She had turned back and was waving to Jessica again when the door opened. Without looking she turned and stepped ahead, running right into a rather large and solidly built man in a starfleet captain's uniform.

It hadn't hurt. Indeed, the ensign -- a pretty young human female with large, doe-like eyes and deeply tanned skin -- was so tiny he had barely felt her. At any other time he might have enjoyed the collision. But not tonight.

"Ensign!" McTavish barked.

"S -- sir! I'm s -- so s -- sorry!" the young officer stammered. She had dropped one of the bags she was carrying and McTavish bent to pick it up ... at the same time she did.

This, McTavish felt.

Both were rubbing their foreheads when both stooped again to pick up the parcel. This time McTavish noticed in time. "Ensign! Don't move." The girl froze as if petrified, and McTavish carefully bent to pick up the parcel.

"I am so very sorry, sir." the girl apologized again, taking the parcel from him with a shaking hand.

McTavish was about to say something but when he heard the tremble in the girl's voice he thought better of it. "Good night, Ensign," he said quietly and deliberately.

"G -- goodnight, sir."

McTavish stepped aside to allow the girl to enter the turbolift. Then he made his way toward Quark's bar.

He noticed the older woman who fell into step beside him, but he didn't acknowledge her.

"So, what's got you in such a foul mood?" the woman asked.

She was about McTavish's own age, somewhere in her late sixties. And while she appeared to be human, her pure black eyes said otherwise. She was dressed in civilian clothes, comfortable and flowing.

"Not tonight, Enelya."

"Not tonight, what?" the woman said, smiling mischievously.

"I'm not in the mood for your Betazoid probing," McTavish grumbled.

"Oh, come now," Enelya laughed. "It doesn't take an empath to sense how upset you are."

"I am not upset!" McTavish almost shouted.

"Really?" Enelya said. She knew Angus McTavish well. He just hoped she knew him well enough to know when to stop pushing. Sometimes she didn't. Or, she knew, but she pushed anyway. "Then why did you almost bite the head off that poor ensign?"

"I didn't," McTavish insisted. "Young people today should watch where they're going. When I was that age --"

"You were in the stockade more often than not. I should know, I was with you."

Those memories seemed to calm him somewhat. He let a faint smile flit briefly across his face. Then he scowled again. "Just ... not tonight."

"Does it have anything to do with your meeting with Admiral Ross?"

McTavish shot her a dark look.

"Late night meetings with Admirals are never a good thing."

"I'm not at liberty to discuss it," McTavish grumbled.

"Then does it have anything to do with the fact that we're losing our civilian scientists?" Enelya asked.

McTavish stopped and turned to face her. "What do you know about that?"

"Doctor Lanstrom, the biologist, told me. Hildegarde said the whole lot of them have been assigned to other ships. We're getting a few others, some Vulcan astrophysicist named Sovor and his team. But nowhere near the forty we were suppose to have. My God, Angus, the ship's going to be half empty!"

"We'll manage," McTavish assured her.

They had reached the entrance to Quark's bar. Even at this late hour the place was still busy. McTavish surveyed the crowd, trying to decide whether he was in the mood for this or not. "Yes, you are," Enelya said, apparently sensing his feelings again. "And so am I." She took him by the arm and led him in.

Ensign Sitara Rajagopal managed to find her way to the correct docking port on Upper Pylon 2. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the familiar uniform of the starfleet security officer on the other side of the airlock. Truth be told, the Cardassian architecture of the station gave her the creeps, and it was only worse when most of the corridors were dark and deserted, as they were at this hour.

After confirming her identity and transfer orders, the security officer, a Benzite of indeterminate age and gender, suggested she report to the duty officer on the bridge. Still carrying the gifts from her friends, Sitara found the nearest turbolift and told the computer where she wanted to go.

The ride lasted no more than thirty seconds, but Sitara used the time to take a few deep breaths and steady her nerves. When the turbolift doors opened she at first thought the bridge was deserted. She stepped off the lift just as a young officer rose from the captain's chair to greet her. Her first impression was that this was the youngest and most handsome captain she had ever seen. He looked to be in his early twenties, with wavy, sandy colored hair, the most alluring blue eyes, and adorable dimples that appeared when he smiled. Sitara was so taken by his appearance that she didn't immediately notice the pips on his collar that indicated a rank of lieutenant, not captain.

"Ensign Sitara Rajagopal reporting for duty, sir," Sitara said formally.

The young man stepped up to her from the lower level, his hand extended. "Welcome aboard, Ensign. I'm Lieutenant Matthew Sadler. You must be our new conn."

"I guess so," Sitara replied. Then, realizing that might have sounded too casual, she added, "Yes, sir." She set down her bags and they shook hands.

"Then it looks like we'll be working together," Matthew said. "I've got ops."

"It's you!" Sitara gasped.

"Pardon me?" Matthew said, looking puzzled.

"I mean, it's you on ops," she said quickly. "You're on ops. So, you're on ops, then?"

Matthew grinned, still looking puzzled. "I ... guess so."

Matthew motioned around the empty bridge. "As you can see we're a bit short-staffed tonight. The captain has authorized shore leave for most of the crew. Most everyone is either on the station or planet side on Bajor."

"I have to apologize for being tardy, then," Sitara said.

"Pardon me?"

"I was supposed to report aboard at zero hundred hours."

Matthew laughed. "No, of course not. That was just when your transfer officially took effect. No one expected you to assume your duties then."

"Oh, no. Of course not," Sitara agreed. "I just meant, well, I could have. I mean, I'm ready to do whatever's required." Matt touched a few controls on the ops station and displayed the duty roster. "It looks like the captain's placed you on beta shift. That means you'll go on duty at zero eight hundred. But I expect he'll want to meet with you before then. So you can still get a few hours sleep. Have you received your quarters assignment yet?"

Sitara shook her head. "No. I came straight here from the airlock."

Matthew hit a few more controls. "G12, deck 4," he read aloud. "Just down the corridor from me."

"Oh good," Sitara said. Then, "I mean, um, that's ... fine."

"You're fortunate," Matthew said. "Several of our civilian scientists have just been transfered to other ships. Otherwise you'd probably be sharing a cabin. As it is, you get quarters all to yourself."

Sitara was about to say something she was sure would have come out sounding foolish. But she was spared any additional embarrassment when a voice sounded over the intercom.

"Engineering to Bridge," a male voice called.

"Bridge here," Matthew responded.

"Matt, I need a hand with a plasma injector. Everyone else is either asleep or off ship. Can you come down?"

"I've got bridge duty," Matthew replied, "and there's no one ..." He smiled at Sitara. "Actually, there is. I'll be down in a moment. Bridge out."

"You said you were ready for duty?" Matthew asked Sitara.

"What?" Sitara gasped, her eyes going wide as she realized what he meant. "Well, yes, but ... but ..."

"It'll be fine," Matthew assured her. "Most of the major systems are shutdown. It's just a matter of basic monitoring. If anything happens call me and I'll come right back."

Sitara nodded. "Yes, sir," she replied, trying to feign confidence she didn't feel.

Lieutenant Sadler left and Sitara found herself alone on the bridge of a starship. It was a situation she had not even dreamed of, and one she really would rather have not had. For a full minute she stood there, listening to the quiet hum of the various consoles, unsure of what to do. Soon, however, she began to relax. She walked over to the conn, the station she'd be manning, and sat down. Of course, she couldn't actually go anywhere, but she did run through some navigational exercises and she performed a level one diagnostic of the helm and navigation sub-systems, quite capably she thought.

She should have stayed at the conn, she told herself later. Stayed there and run some more exercises. Instead, she got bored. She got up and wandered around the bridge, examining the various consoles. And then, somehow, she ended up in the captain's chair. If Lieutenant Sadler could sit here, so could she. After all, he had left her in charge of the bridge.

"Comfortable," she said aloud. She sat back and closed her eyes. "Ops, what's our status?" she said. Of course there was no response but that didn't bother her. "Helm, lay in a course for the wormhole and engage at maximum warp."

"What the devil is going on?!"

Sitara catapulted out of the captain's chair. A man was standing in the open turbo lift doors. He was in uniform. He had the rank of captain. And he was the same man Sitara had almost given a concussion to a half hour ago.

"You!" the captain exclaimed. His hand going to the bump on his head.

"Ensign Sitara Rajagopal reporting for duty, sir!" Sitara shouted while standing at attention.

"I asked you a question, Ensign," the captain barked. "What's going on here?"

Sitara stammered, "I was ... I was ..."

"You were behaving like a first year cadet," the captain finished for her.

"Yes, sir," Sitara replied, choking back a sob.

The captain glared at her for a moment and then sighed wearily. "At ease, Ensign." He said in a softer tone, "Probably the same thing I would have done when I was your age." He frowned, "Did do, come to think of it."

The captain stepped forward and shook her hand. "Captain Angus McTavish. Welcome aboard, Ensign. I'm sorry I didn't recognize you when we bumped into each other on the station. I was a bit preoccupied ... and seeing stars." He rubbed the bump on his head again.

"I am so sorry, sir," Sitara began.

The captain waved the issue aside. "You've already apologized for it once. Besides, I daresay my skull is a bit thicker than yours." He grinned and Sitara risked a return smile.

"Where's Lieutenant Sadler?" the captain asked. "I thought he had bridge duty tonight."

"He was called to engineering, sir. He left me in charge ... um ... here."

McTavish nodded. "Well, when he gets back, tell him I'd like to see him in my ready room." The captain stepped toward the door that led to his private office. Then he paused. "Our new first officer's shuttle is due in from Risa shortly. When it arrives have the Commander report to me as well."

"Yes, sir," Sitara replied.

The captain took another step toward his ready room and the door opened to admit him. He paused again. "One more thing, Ensign."

"Sir?"

"It's generally not a good idea to enter a wormhole at maximum warp." He winked and entered his ready room, the doors closing behind him.

"Yes, sir!" Sitara replied. She breathed a long sigh of relief.

Lien Etana found the ventilation shaft exactly where the probe's scans said it would be. Unfortunately, finding it and entering it where two different things.

One obstacle was the darkness. Of course, attempting an operation like this in broad daylight would have been suicidal. Well, more suicidal.

Another obstacle was the rain. The probe had obviously been deployed during much better weather when there had been no indication the site was subject to intense and persistent rain that fell through the thin atmosphere and struck like needles. She understood now why a high magnification analysis of the scans had revealed that the parsteel exterior of the facility was pitted and scarred. It wasn't from meteorite bombardment or particle weapons. It was from the rain.

A third obstacle, the show stopper, was the lock on the grating covering the shaft. It was far stronger than they had anticipated and her manual hacksaw was simply not up to the task. While a single phaser blast could have melted the lock, scans had indicated the presence of active sensors blanketing the entire complex. While her clothing was designed to dampen her bioreadings, effectively cloaking her from standard sensors, a phaser discharge was bound to raise alarms.

Unless ...

Etana pocketed her hacksaw and unholstered her phaser. While the rain was an inconvenience, it was accompanied by high-intensity atmospheric plasma discharges -- lightning. If she turned her phaser to its lowest setting, shielded her actions with her body and the biodampening fabrics, and timed the hit to coincide with a burst of lightning, perhaps the energy discharge would go unnoticed. She waited, shivering in the freezing rain for several minutes until a particularly bright burst of lightning split the sky. At the same instant her thumb pressed the trigger on the phaser, the microsecond pulse causing the lock to glow white-hot. Before it had a chance to cool she pulled on the grating as hard as she could. The rusted hinges resisted for a moment and then squealed as the lock popped open.

Etana quickly climbed down into the ventilation shaft and pulled the grating closed behind her.

The shaft descended out of sight, but from the scans she knew she had a climb of more than a thousand meters before her. Only a few meters down the darkness was so complete even her night vision goggles did little to a reveal her surroundings, the damp steel walls and the slippery steel ladder.

At twenty meters the sound of the rain above began to fade and by thirty meters Etana could hear nothing save her own steady breathing and her rhythmic footfalls on the ladder. She was engulfed in silence until she was near the bottom when, almost imperceptible at first, she picked out the drip, drip, drip of water.

At the bottom of the shaft Etana found another locked grating, but this one yielded easily. Careful to avoid more noise than necessary -- although intel indicated this section of the complex was abandoned -- she pushed it open and dropped to the floor. Almost before her feet touched ground her phaser was out and ready.

The layout of the corridors had, of course, been committed to memory, but she still had to contend with darkness. And here, a kilometer below ground, the darkness was absolute. Fortunately she could now afford some illumination. She switched on the infrared penlight built into her goggles -- the frequency had been tuned to be outside the perceptual range of ninety percent of known humanoid species -- and set off at a run.

About two kilometers along Etana came upon a section of wall where the steel had been corroded away by acid, exposing the rock behind. The acid had come from the secretions of a nest of insects. Each creature had about twenty or more legs, no discernible head or tail, and was about thirty centimeters long and as thick as her wrist. With her goggles and the infrared light she couldn't tell what color they were, but she would have guessed a pale green. It somehow went with the noxious odor they gave off, like puss and vomit. Etana pressed against the opposite wall and crept past the creatures, thankful they seemed unaware of her presence and thankful she wouldn't be coming back this way.

Despite her above average physical conditioning and stamina, Etana was winded when she finally reached the end of the maze of corridors an hour later and entered the active area of the complex. Unfortunately there was no time to rest.

A quick scan with a mini-tricorder revealed no life forms nearby and no sensor arrays. Odd. She had expected and prepared for better security than this.

The corridor into which Etana now emerged was well lit and dry, and she switched off her goggles.

Down another corridor, up another ladder, and then down another corridor, she finally arrived at her destination, the launch silos for a series of metreon warhead assault probes. Each probe was capable of delivering thirty warheads. And each warhead was capable of decimating all life in a hundred kilometer radius, more than enough to wipe out a large city. There were a hundred such probes stacked neatly on launch platforms in the cavernous chamber in which Etana now found herself.

And still no security.

Something was wrong. Etana stayed back against the wall, hiding in the shadows, listening and watching. She checked her tricorder again and confirmed there were no lifeforms nearby. Except for the hum of machinery and consoles, everything was quiet and still.

There should have been technicians monitoring the equipment, maintaining the facility. But there was no one here.

Eventually Etana made her decision. She had come here with a job to do, and if the job turned out to be easier than she had anticipated, she wasn't about to complain. Still watchful, she crept out from her hiding place and approached the first rack of probes.

Each probe was little larger than a standard photon torpedo, but equipped with a high-warp capable drive mechanism. In all, their appearance was similar to the inter-continental ballistic missiles she had read humans once used to almost destroy themselves. Only these probes had a much longer range than a mere ocean. From this base they were within striking distance of dozens of worlds, thousands of cities, billions of people.

From her backpack Etana withdrew an ion pulse grenade, a small but potent explosive. She attached it to the base of the nearest probe, and armed it, set to detonate on a signal from a remote she also carried. She then withdrew another grenade, ready to move on.

That was when she was struck from behind.

Etana absorbed the blow, moving with it rather than resisting it, and went down, rolling, only to spring back to her feet, spin, and kick out at her attacker. Her foot hit the Jem'Hadar soldier in the side of the head, sending him crashing into the rack of assault probes.

Etana didn't stop to question what a Jem'Hadar was doing here. That was a subject for the post mission analysis. Now, she had only one choice: stay and fight, or try to escape? There was really no option.

When the Jem'Hadar had gone down he had not lost his grip on his disruptor rifle. So Etana, letting her momentum carry her, spun again, this time kicking at the weapon. The disruptor flew out of her attacker's hands, and somersaulted across the floor. Etana lunged for it but at that moment four more Jem'Hadar appeared out of thin air, around her, all armed, all with their weapons trained on her.

Etana pulled up, her arms raised in surrender. She sensed movement behind her and was about to turn when the Jem'Hadar she had fought before struck her across the back of her head. She was on the floor, the room around her going dark, when she saw another figure step out from behind one of the racks.

"Bajoran," a voice said, and through the haze she saw a Ferengi face leering down at her. "And female." The face pulled away, out of her field of view, but she heard it's last words before she lost consciousness. "Put her in confinement. And get rid of her clothes."

"Come," a voice called, and the door to the captain's ready room slid open. Kylie stepped forward. Her first impression was that Captain McTavish desperately needed a comb. His salt-and-pepper hair was disheveled, as if windblown, although that was unlikely on a starship.

"Commander Duncan reporting for duty," she introduced herself. The captain rose out of his chair to greet her and shook her hand warmly, her hand fully covered in his. McTavish was a large man, not overly tall or overly wide, just large, and solidly built.

"Welcome aboard, Commander. Please, have a seat." He remained standing and walked to the replicator in the corner. "Can I offer you anything to drink?" he asked.

"No, thank you," Kylie responded.

"Coffee, special," McTavish ordered. A moment later he returned to his seat behind his desk with a steaming cup. There was a faint aroma in the air Kylie couldn't identify, something sweet mingled with the coffee.

For the next twenty minutes they chatted, covering a range of subjects; their previous experiences, the recent refit of the ship, the Dominion war. When Captain McTavish commended her on her performance aboard the Corte'z, the way she had saved the lives of the captain and three junior officers, Kylie smiled politely. Perhaps he sensed her discomfort for he quickly changed the subject.

"You'll find the atmosphere on the Equinox somewhat ... informal," the captain told her. He took a sip of his coffee before continuing. "I know that isn't something that sits well with some."

"I'll try to get used to it," Kylie smiled. Coming from a long line of Starfleet officers -- her father had been an admiral -- she thought that this could either be very good, or very bad. It all depended on the captain's definition of informal.

"Don't worry," McTavish assured her quickly. "I still believe in maintaining discipline."

Kylie smiled again, wondering whether McTavish was just very adept at reading facial expressions, or whether he had some Betazoid blood.

They continued their discussion for a few minutes more, and then the captain said, "Well, it's quite late and you must be tired after your trip from Risa." He stood and Kylie followed his lead. "I trust you can find your quarters?"

"I'm sure I'll manage sir," Kylie replied. They shook hands again.

Just as she was leaving, Kylie turned and asked, "Sir, have you ever been through the wormhole?"

McTavish nodded, "Yes, once. Well, twice if you count the return trip. Why?"

Kylie smiled. "It must be quite an experience."

"Yes," McTavish said, but he didn't smile. In fact, he seemed to have a slight frown. "Yes, it is."

Lieutenant Matthew Sadler's shift on the bridge began at zero-eight-hundred hours, but he reported, as usual, a few minutes early. He was not at all surprised to see the captain already in the center seat -- he rarely kept normal hours and was on the bridge more often than not. Also present was their new first officer, Commander Kylie Duncan, whom Matt had met briefly earlier that morning, and Ensign Sitara Rajagopal, their new conn officer.

"Nervous?", Matt whispered to Sitara as he took his seat at ops beside her.

"A little," she confessed.

Matt smiled. "Don't worry. You'll do fine. She's a lot more responsive since our refit." He began running through his own pre-flight checklist, co-ordinating a variety of the ships functions, making sure all required sub-systems were online.

In a moment several other individuals entered the bridge: two junior officers whose job it was to monitor secondary consoles and stand ready to take over at ops or conn should the need arise; the ship's chief medical officer, Doctor Enelya Bandel; and the Chief Engineer, Commander Andrew Nen, a Trill.

The captain had apparently been expecting the last two because he now made formal introductions of their two new officers. When the requisite handshaking was complete, the captain turned to Matt. "Is everyone back aboard?"

"Yes sir," Matt replied, double-checking his logs. "All crew present and accounted for. All station personnel have left the ship."

"Status?"

"All systems online. All departments report ready and standing-by. Station control has cleared us for departure."

"Commander," the captain turned to the first officer. "Would you be so kind as to take us out of dock?"

"Sir," Duncan nodded from the station at tactical. "Lieutenant Sadler, signal station control to release the docking clamps."

Matt opened a signal to the ops station on DS-9 and made the request, confirming completion a moment later.

"Ensign Rajagopal," Duncan said, "Port thrusters, one second burn."

"Aye sir," Sitara complied. The inertial dampeners eliminated even the slightest vibrations and even the forward view screen showed only an imperceptible change in their attitude with respect to the station. "We're clear of the docking pylon, Commander," Sitara announced.

"Ahead one-quarter impulse," Duncan ordered, and when Sitara input the commands they saw the station slide away silently beneath them.

"Lay in a course for the wormhole and prepare to engage at one-half impulse," Duncan said.

"Aye sir," Sitara replied. But she never got a chance to complete the action.

"Belay that," the captain said. Every head turned in his direction.

"Sir?" Both Commander Duncan and Sitara asked simultaneously.

"Lay in a course for the Argolis Cluster and engage at full impulse. As soon as we're clear of the Bajoran System go to warp six."

"Aye sir," Sitara said, her expression one of confusion. She wasn't the only one.

The doctor stepped closer to the captain's chair. "I take it this means there's been a change of plans. We're not going to the Gamma Quadrant?"

"Not just yet," Captain McTavish replied.

Commander Nen heaved a sigh. "Well, if there aren't going to be any fireworks I may as well go back to engineering. At least the warp core puts on a good show."

"Not just yet," the captain repeated. "I'd like to speak with the senior officers in the briefing room." He got up and headed for the door on the starboard side of the bridge. The doctor, Commander Nen, and Commander Duncan followed.

Sitara looked over her shoulder at the departing officers and when she looked back her expression had altered from confusion to frustration.

"Don't sweat it," Matt told her.

"What?"

"You get used to it after a while, being excluded. They don't do it on purpose. It's just that," he shrugged, "they're senior officers and we're not. Don't worry, you'll get there eventually."

Sitara nodded. "I just wish I knew what was going on, why we're not going through the wormhole."

Matt smiled. "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough."

At that moment the door to the briefing room opened again and Captain McTavish stepped out. "Matt," he called. "I'd like you in here too."

"Yes, sir!" Matt replied, a little more enthusiastically than he should have. He jumped to his feet and started for the briefing room. After a couple of steps he paused and looked back at Sitara. She looked even more frustrated, almost heartbroken.

Matt smiled apologetically. "Sorry," he said, and proceeded into the briefing room.

In the briefing room, Matt took the vacant seat between doctor Bandel and Commander Nen. This, conveniently, put him across the table from -- and therefore gave him a good view of -- Commander Duncan. Matt attempted a casual smile at her but she either chose to ignore it or sincerely didn't notice, for she shifted her gaze to the captain. She, and everyone else, waited expectantly.

The captain seemed to be deep in thought, his head bowed, while his audience sat silently. Finally he looked up, his expression as dark as Matt had ever seen.

"What we're about to discuss must not leave this room," the captain began. "There is to be no discussion with the rest of the crew."

Matt suddenly became aware that every face had turned to him. He sat up straighter. "What? Why is everyone looking at me?"

Nen smirked. "Could it be that we know you?"

"What's that suppose to mean?" Matt asked, aware as he said it that his tone was plainly defensive and ... inappropriate. "Sir," he added.

"It means," the Chief Engineer explained, still smirking, "that a certain young lieutenant might want to impress a certain pretty young ensign with his inside knowledge."

"I would never do that!" Matt protested, again plainly defensive. He wondered if doctor Bandel could sense his guilty conscience with her half-Betazoid abilities, since that had been precisely what he had been thinking of doing.

"Of course you wouldn't," the captain spoke, fixing Matt with a piercing gaze. "You're a lieutenant now and you understand that with that position comes responsibility, and a need for discretion."

Matt swallowed nervously. "Yes sir, I do."

The captain smiled slightly. "As do we all." And then his expression clouded again. "The Federation is in trouble. We may have won the war with the Dominion -- if you can call the losses we suffered winning -- but it's left us weakened. There are factions from outside, from non-aligned worlds, who won't hesitate to take advantage of those weaknesses."

"Not to mention," Nen spoke up, "of factions within the Federation itself."

Captain McTavish nodded. "Aye, from within as well. To protect against this threat, Starfleet has stepped-up its intelligence profile and assembled a number of covert operatives. Each team will be led by an officer who will answer directly to Starfleet Command. Their task will be to monitor and, where necessary, intervene in matters affecting Federation security."

While the captain paused. The first officer asked, "Where do we come in?"

Nen responded immediately. "We're a taxi cab," he said, the bitterness in his voice evident.

"Or baby sitters," the doctor added, no less bitter.

"Not quite," the captain insisted firmly. "Each team will be assigned to a support vessel. The Equinox is to be such a vessel."

"Taxi cab," Nen repeated.

"Baby sitters," Bandel said.

"No!", the captain emphasized. "Look, I'm not happy about this either. I'd rather be exploring the Gamma Quadrant. But we've got a job to do, a responsibility to the Federation. And right now, the Federation needs us. Besides there's plenty of exploring to do right in our own backyard. We've only chartered a fraction of the Alpha Quadrant, and we've only thoroughly explored a tiny fraction of that. The Equinox is still primarily a research vessel. Our mission is still to seek out new life and new civilizations. We'll just be doing it a little closer to home for a while."

Nen spoke up again. "Are you implying we'll still get to the Gamma Quadrant?"

McTavish nodded. "I have no doubt. It won't be immediately, but we will get there."

"Why us?" the doctor asked. "Why not one of the new Sovereign-class ships, or a Galaxy-class? Surely they'd be better equipped for a support role like this."

Nen snorted. "Isn't it obvious? They're too valuable."

"Nonsense," the captain insisted. "The Equinox was chosen because it won't draw as much attention as a larger ship. We've got a reputation as a science vessel that will help to deflect suspicion."

Matt cleared his throat. "Um, sir? By being involved in covert operations, even just in a supporting role, don't we risk damaging our reputation?"

The doctor patted him on the shoulder. "Out of the mouths of babes," she said. Matt appreciated the compliment but wasn't sure he liked being referred to as a babe.

The captain fixed Matt with that gaze again and Matt had the distinct impression he had overstepped his bounds. "The mission will require discretion," he said slowly and deliberately. "But the Equinox is, and will remain, a research vessel."

The room was quiet for a moment. Matt certainly wasn't about to say anything else. Then Commander Duncan spoke again. "When do we receive our ... team?" she asked.

"One of them is already aboard. The Vulcan astrophysicist, Captain Sovor."

"He's a captain?" doctor Bandel queried. "This should be interesting."

McTavish frowned. "Sovor is in command of the intelligence team only. The command structure of this ship remains the same."

Nen said, "I assume we're picking up the others in the Argolis Cluster."

"Correct. I haven't received their personnel records yet. But I'm told they each have a strong science background." McTavish said. "Which is how they will be presented to the crew, as scientists."

"Speaking of the crew," Bandel said, her hand back on Matt's shoulder. "There are bound to be questions."

McTavish nodded. "Within limits, tell them the truth. Our mission to the Gamma Quadrant has just been delayed a little."

When Matt returned to the Bridge and sat down at ops, he avoided Sitara's questioning looks.

Kenan entered The Black Hole prepared for the worst. He was hardly disappointed.

The ecosystem of Tarkanis IV had been overwhelmed with toxic waste for so long that virtually nothing survived on the surface outside the bio-domes, not without some kind of protection. Like all buildings on the surface, the bar at the edge of the mining colony had its own airlock. Once he was through and the inner door had closed behind him, Kenan removed his goggles and breath mask. He regretted it immediately.

The air, while breathable, was stale and filled with odors of smoke, exotic foods, and the flatulence of a dozen species mingling in a noxious haze that almost made him gag. On a circular platform in the middle of the room two scantily-clad females -- humanoid, sort of -- danced -- sort of -- to music that reminded Kenan of the wailing of a Klingon targ in heat.

Forty or so patrons sat at tables around the platform, most of them showing not the slightest interest in the entertainment. They were of a variety of species, one or two of which even Kenan couldn't identify. A Gorn and an Andorian argued over the outcome of some sort of card game. A clutch of Chalnoth competed in a finger wresting match that ended only with broken bones. A Klingon sat slumped over with his face in a plate of wriggling gagh, apparently passed out from over-indulgence in bloodwine.

Kenan wandered over to the bar where he found a blue-skinned Bolian serving drinks. To his surprise this Bolian seemed to be a man of few words; he merely grunted when Kenan ordered a Romulan ale. Once he had his glass and had let the first sip burn his throat, he casually searched the room for a specific individual.

I've found him, Kenan thought when he spotted the Ferengi sitting at a table with a Benzite while two Nausicaans stood by. He approached the table, ignoring the Nausicaans, pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Rot, I presume," he said, smiling, addressing the Ferengi.

"Who are you?!" the Ferengi demanded, spitting when he talked. He was ugly bordering on the grotesque, and short even for a Ferengi. "Go away. Can't you see I'm busy?"

"I've got a business proposition for you," Kenan said, still smiling.

"Business?" The Ferengi, Rot, replied. His misshapen and vaguely lopsided ears twitched. "I'm already conducting business. Go away and come back later. Make an appointment with my secretary." He motioned to one of the Nausicaans.

Kenan turned to the Benzite. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, are you doing business with this Ferengi turd?"

The Benzite looked from Kenan to Rot and back to Kenan, his long whiskers twitching. "Well, I ... I ..."

Rot waved his hand at the Nausicaans and then pointed to Kenan. "Get this hu-mon out of my sight."

The Nausicaans stepped forward and at the same time, Kenan rose to his feet. In a swift and flowing movement he turned, caught the nearest Nausicaan, who was a good twenty centimeters taller than himself, in a headlock, bent him over so his forehead slammed against the table, and dropped him to the ground, dazed. Before the second Nausicaan had a chance to move any closer, Kenan had pulled a disrupter from under his jacket and had the emitter shoved firmly in the Ferengi's ear.

"Unless you want to be out of a job," Kenan said to the Nausicaan still standing, "I suggest you and your companion put your weapons down and back away nice and slow."

The Nausicaan on his feet hesitated for a moment, then took out his own disruptor, only half drawn, and placed it on the table, then backed away. The other Nausicaan, shaking his head to clear it, climbed slowly to his feet and did the same.

The Benzite leaned forward and spoke to Rot. "Perhaps we can conclude our business at another time." He got up quickly and almost raced across the room to the bar.

Kenan noted with some amusement that the altercation had drawn only minimal attention from the other patrons. A few people glanced at them, but either this was nothing out of the ordinary or their good judgment convinced them to mind their own business. In any case, no one intervened as Kenan forced the Ferengi to his feet and led him -- with the disruptor still in his ear -- out the front airlock. The Nausicaans stayed put.

I've got him, Kenan thought.

Kenan used his free hand to don his breath mask and goggles. Rot was given no such opportunity and, before they had taken a few steps, was coughing and gasping for breath.

"What do you want with me?" Rot demanded in a wheezing voice. "If you just wanted me dead you could have killed me at the bar. It's not like anyone would have noticed."

"I don't want you dead," Kenan told him. "At least not yet." He led the Ferengi across a courtyard and toward an alley, beyond which lay the spaceport.

We're heading for his ship, Kenan thought.

"Then ... what?" Rot gasped. He stumbled but then yelped in pain and got back to his feet when Kenan jammed the disruptor harder into his ear.

"I want what's on your ship," Kenan told him, hustling him along faster as they entered the dark alley between gray, stained buildings.

"There's ... there's nothing on my ship," Rot choked.

Kenan shoved him forward. "For your sake I hope that's a lie or I'm going to be very disappointed."

"Why ... why don't you just board the ship and take ... take what you want?"

Kenan laughed. "Because I happen to know that you've booby-trapped your ship. While I could bypass the security, it's easier to get you to do it."

They left the alley and headed down a long road that led past dozens of huge concrete slabs, each equipped with automated landing beacons and nav-aids. Most of the pads were vacant. Here and there sat a ship, dark and still. At the farthest end of the space dock, almost out of sight, a small shuttle appeared to be powering up. Fortunately, Rot's ship wasn't far along; the Ferengi was really laboring now and soon it wouldn't matter how frightened or in pain he was, he wouldn't be able to go on.

"No tricks," Kenan warned, as they ascended the ramp to Rot's ship, a hulk of mismatched parts almost as ugly as its owner and about the size of a Klingon B'rel-class bird-of-prey. "If I even think you may possibly be trying to trap me, I'll spray your putrid brain across the pad. Understood?"

Rot nodded, too short of breath to speak. He touched a control by the main hatch to the ship and a small cover slid back, revealing a panel. He entered a series of commands and the hatch slid open.

Kenan pushed the disruptor harder into Rot's ear. "The rest of it," he ordered.

Rot nodded and entered a few more commands. There was no change in the display or in the appearance of the darkened open hatch.

"All of it!" Kenan snarled. He twisted the blaster in Rot's ear, causing the Ferengi to scream in pain. Quickly Rot entered another series of commands. Only then did a small indicator on the console turn from red to green.

"Inside," Kenan ordered, and he pushed and shoved the Ferengi into the airlock. "Cycle it," Kenan said, and Rot touched another control panel. The outer hatch closed, fresh air was pumped in as the toxic air from outside was evacuated. When the process was complete the inner hatch slid open and Rot collapsed on the floor of the chamber, gasping for breath, trembling, eyes streaming to clear them of the toxins.

Kenan took out a hand-held sensor and ran a scan of the interior of the ship.

I'm inside, he thought, and then, she's here.

"Get up," Kenan ordered, grabbing Rot by one of his wrinkled earlobes and dragging him to his feet. "This way." He pushed Rot ahead of him down a corridor toward the stern of the ship. His disruptor was still lodged securely in Rot's ear, but the battered Ferengi was in no condition to resist.

Through a hatch, down another corridor, and then through another hatch, they entered a small room. Half of it was sealed off with a force-field, beyond which lay a woman, naked, on a metal bunk.

"Open it," Kenan ordered.

At the sound of his voice the woman, who may have been asleep, sat up. She made no effort to cover up, perhaps because she had nothing to cover up with; the cell was as bare as she was.

"It's about time," Lien Etana said dryly. "You can't imagine what this Ferengi toad has been asking me to do."

"Oh, I think I can imagine," Kenan replied.

Rot ignored the exchange. He was still recovering from his exposure to the atmosphere and deactivating the force-field seemed to take all of his concentration. As soon as it was down, however, and as Etana stood, he bolted back up the corridor. It was a stupid move; Kenan could have burned a hole in his back the size of Rot's misshapen head. Instead he simply took a few steps -- his stride was twice that of the Ferengi's -- and clubbed him across the back of the head with the disruptor. Rot dropped to the floor in a heap.

"You should have let me do that," Etana said as she emerged from her cell.

Kenan removed his jacket and helped her put it on. It almost succeeded in covering her.

We're ready, Kenan thought. At that moment the lights flickered and went out, to be replaced immediately with dim emergency lights.

"Come on," Kenan said, taking Etana by the hand and leading her back up the corridors toward the main hatch. They moved cautiously, with Kenan's disruptor at the ready, but only just managed to duck for cover when a plasma discharge sizzled over their heads.

The shot had come from the area of the airlock. Obviously someone had entered after Kenan had come through with Rot; the scanner readings he had run at the time had shown no other life forms aboard.

Kenan returned fire immediately, but he had no real target. Whoever was out there had perfect cover behind a mass of large cargo containers.

We're under attack, Kenan thought.

The firefight continued unabated for another twenty or so seconds, causing the temperature in the confined space to soar, and filling the air with ionized gas almost as toxic as the atmosphere outside. Then, one of the disruptor blasts from the unknown attacker ruptured a coolant conduit running nearby and conditions became considerably worse.

Three things happened immediately: it became almost impossible to see more than a few meters; it became almost impossible to breathe; and warning alarms signaled the impending overload of the ship's fusion reactor.

"We've got to get out of here!" Kenan shouted. He grabbed Etana's hand and dragged her forward laying down a constant stream of disruptor fire ahead of them. He expected to have to deal with their attackers when they reached the airlock, but it proved unnecessary. One of them -- the Nausicaan he had introduced to the table in The Black Hole -- was lying on the floor, twitching and clutching a wound in his neck gushing blood.

An instant later the second Nausicaan fell atop the second, two Klingon D'ktangs protruding from his back. Kenan lowered his disruptor as Korath, the drunk Klingon from the bar, strode casually over to the expired Nausicaans and retrieved his daggers.

"It's about time you showed up," Kenan said.

Korath grinned, an expression more fear inspiring than a scowl in most other species. "I didn't want to interrupt your fun." He gestured out through the airlock. "Kestra has a shuttle."

Kenan pushed Etana forwards. "Get her on board. I'm going back for our Ferengi friend." He quickly donned his breath mask and goggles and turned back into the thickening haze.

According to the warnings on the consoles he passed there was less than sixty seconds before reactor implosion; plenty of time to pick up Rot and get off the ship. Only, Rot wasn't where Kenan had left him.

Kenan swore and pulled out his tricorder. The Ferengi was one deck up. Kenan found an access ladder and climbed up, ready with his disruptor should it be necessary. He emerged from the hatch just in time to see the shimmering glow of a transporter fading out.

Again Kenan swore but he wasted no time in getting back down the hatch, through the ship, and to the airlock which Korath had thoughtfully left open.

A small shuttle was hovering about a meter away. Kenan leaped aboard and Kestra had them accelerating away even before the hatch was closed. They were buffeted by the shock wave as Rot's ship exploded, but suffered no damage.

"The Ferengi beamed out," Kenan called to the young Betazoid woman at the helm, the person Kenan had been thinking to since he had entered the bar. "Can you trace his transporter signal?"

Kestra shook her head. "Sorry, this bird has basic sensors only. But it was the best I could manage under the circumstances."

"Where did you get it?"

Kestra looked back at him and smiled. "I stole it, of course. Pardon me," she frowned in mock consternation. "Sovor wouldn't like that. Let's just say I borrowed it with every intention of returning it at the first opportunity."

Kenan laughed. "I'm sure."

Beside him Etana looked across at Korath, squinted, and then grimaced. "Korath, you've got a worm in your hair!"

"What?" the Klingon felt around until he found it and then held it up. It wriggled and squirmed. "Gagh," he explained. "You want it?"

Etana shrank back in her seat. "No! Thank you."

Korath laughed and popped the hapless worm into his mouth.

"Kenan," Kestra called. "I'm going to need your help up here."

Kenan moved forward into the cockpit of the cramped shuttle and took the co-pilot's seat. They had just cleared the planet's upper atmosphere. At this altitude it was impossible to see the effects of decades of contamination and the planet's arc stretched before them like a turquoise jewel. Above them the twin moons hung suspended in the glistening star field.

"What's up?' Kenan asked. He knew Kestra was an accomplished pilot and didn't need his help to lay in a course.

"Company," Kestra said, pointing to the Nav/Con display. "A ship. Fighter, by the look of it. It's on an intercept course."

Sitara was in the main lounge, referred to by the crew as The Vista. Situated on Deck 6 at the leading edge of the ship's saucer-like hull, the lounge provided a panoramic view of space through eleven floor-to-ceiling windows. It was the closest one could come to being out in space without having to don an E.V.A. suit.

"I thought I had done something wrong," Sitara confessed to doctor Bandel who sat across from her at a small table.

The doctor shook her head. "No, it had nothing to do with you. Just a ... last minute change of plans. It happens all the time. You'll get used to it."

"Does that mean we're not going to the Gamma Quadrant?" Sitara asked, in what she hoped was a casual, disinterested tone.

The doctor's eyes narrowed slightly and she cocked her head to the side. "You're not disappointed." It wasn't a question.

"Oh, yes! Yes I am," Sitara lied, suddenly remembering that the person across from her was a Betazoid -- or at least half-Betazoid -- and could almost certainly tell she was not at all disappointed. "I ... I was really looking forward to going through the wormhole."

The doctor studied her for a moment. "The wormhole, yes. But you weren't looking forward to the Gamma Quadrant. In fact, you're relieved we're not going."

Sitara considered denying it again, but realized there was little point. "Yes," she finally admitted. "It's just so far away! What if something happened out there? What if we got lost? What if the wormhole closed and we couldn't come through again? I worked it out; it could take us more than seventy years at maximum warp to get home. By the time we got back I'd be -"

"An old woman," the doctor finished for her.

"Exactly," Sitara agreed. "An old woman."

"Like me," the doctor said.

Sitara gasped and put her hands to her cheeks. "No! I didn't mean -- I'm so sorry!"

Doctor Bandel patted her on the arm. "Don't worry about it, I know what you meant. I'm just playing with you, child. You're going to have to learn to relax."

"It's hard," Sitara sighed.

"The Equinox doesn't have a ship's counselor," the doctor told her. "It may be because we're too small, but I prefer to think it's because we're all just so damned emotionally stable we don't need one."

Sitara laughed.

"In any case," the doctor continued, "I want you to know that if you ever need to talk, I'm here to listen."

"Thank you," Sitara replied, suddenly more relaxed than she had been in a long time.

Captain McTavish was in his ready room and, although Kylie had the bridge, she wasn't in the center seat. Instead she was at her own station at Tactical, reviewing the available data on the Argolis Cluster. The captain had told them they'd be picking up the rest of the Starfleet Intelligence team somewhere in this group of star systems. While it was possible it would be an uneventful encounter, she wasn't prepared to place a wager on that, and she wanted to be ready for anything that might occur.

As they neared the first system in the cluster, Kylie signaled the captain and a moment later Captain McTavish and Captain Sovor emerged from the ready room. Kylie was not a Betazoid, but even she could sense the tension emanating from the two officers.

"Status?" Captain McTavish barked as he took the center seat. Captain Sovor began circling the bridge, hovering for a moment by each console, staring over the shoulders of the crew, as if making an inspection.

"We've just entered the Argolis Cluster," Kylie responded, trying to ignore Sovor's critical eye as he came to stand beside her. "The Tagra system is directly ahead. Our current speed is warp factor six. We'll reach the outer edge of the system in just under ten minutes."

McTavish glanced over his shoulder at Sovor. "There's no need to detain you on the bridge, Doctor," McTavish said. He didn't address Sovor by his rank, perhaps because not everyone on the bridge was privy to Sovor's real position and assignment; as far as the rest of the crew was aware, Sovor was a civilian scientist, not a Starfleet Intelligence officer. Accordingly, his attire was a plain, black outfit with a Vulcan emblem on the collar. "I'll be sure to inform you when the science team is aboard," McTavish said with a faint smile.

Sovor nodded slightly, but remained standing by the Tactical station. "Thank you, Captain. However, I will remain here."

McTavish's smile didn't falter in the least but his jaw seemed to tighten. "As you wish," he said in a level voice.

"Helm," the captain said, turning back to face forward. "When we reach the outer edge of the system take us out of warp and establish a standard orbit around the fourth planet."

"Aye, sir" Ensign Rajagopal responded.

Sovor spoke. "Approach the planet from the far side of the second moon and take up a stationary position there."

Ensign Rajagopal almost moved to lay in the course before realizing the command had not come from her captain. She looked back at the captain, then to Sovor, and back to the captain.

McTavish didn't keep her in suspense for long. "Standard orbit," he repeated evenly.

"Aye, sir" the ensign responded again and entered the course Captain McTavish had ordered.

They were a week out of Bajor and Kylie had been pleased to see the young ensign relaxing into her new position. Although Kylie was the First Officer she felt a certain affinity with Rajagopal; they were both newcomers to the Equinox, and both replacing officers that had been killed in the Dominion war. It would take them both some time to fit in. But now the evident power struggle between McTavish and Sovor seemed to be telling on the ensign. She again seemed nervous and unsure of herself. It was unheard of for a civilian guest to give orders on the bridge of a Starfleet vessel, especially orders contradicting the captain. Perhaps it would have been easier if Rajagopal had understood who Sovor really was, but apparently Lieutenant Sadler had remembered his responsibility.

For the next ten minutes, no one on the bridge spoke. The only sound was the console indications and monitored comm traffic from other departments on the ship. Ensign Rajagopal finally broke the silence when she announced that they had reached the edge of the system and they were dropping to full impulse. Her voice sounded tense, her throat dry. It hadn't improved a few minutes later when she announced that they were entering standard orbit around Tagra IV.

"Lieutenant Sadler," McTavish said, "scan for other traffic."

Sadler did so, and reported, "Two other ships in orbit, both are Tellarite freighters."

Kylie had glanced at the shipping schedules for the system and remembered seeing a reference to Tellarite ships. She quickly rechecked the database. "Expected, sir," she told the captain. "They have a routine run delivering maintenance supplies to Tagra IV."

The captain nodded. "Then we wait."

Sovor moved down to the ops station and entered several commands at the console. Lieutenant Sadler seemed irritated, but otherwise didn't react. Sitting beside him, Ensign Rajagopal was shocked and her expression -- wide-eyed and opened mouthed -- showed it.

"Monitor subspace communications traffic on this frequency," Sovor ordered.

Captain McTavish fumed. "You didn't tell me about the comm frequency."

Sovor looked at him, expressionless, "It wasn't required." He turned back to the ops console.

"No signal on this frequency," Sadler reported.

The captain leaned back in his chair. "Then, again, we wait."

They waited for a full half-hour. Sovor didn't move from beside the ops console and as before, everyone was quiet, speaking only when necessary. When the ops interface to the subspace communications system suddenly started beeping, Ensign Rajagopal almost jumped out of her seat.

"A signal, sir," Lieutenant Sadler reported to the captain, apparently doing his best to ignore Sovor as the other all but pushed him out of his chair. "Coming from a --"

"A nebula on the far side of the cluster," Sovor interrupted. "Helm," he said to Rajagopal, "lay in a course and engage at maximum warp."

The ensign again looked shocked. "Sir?," she addressed Captain McTavish.

The captain now stood and moved down to stand beside the ensign, his hand on her shoulder. "Scan for traffic in the area."

The ensign's hands flew across her console. "Nothing, Sir. It's open. Wait, there's a ship moving out near the third planet, but it's well away from us."

"Lay in a course for the nebula," McTavish directed, "engage at full impulse." Sovor started to say something but McTavish raised his other hand to silence him. "Once we're two million kilometers from the planet, increase to maximum warp."

The captain patted the ensign on her shoulder and returned to his seat. Sovor left the ops station and moved up to the captain's chair.

"We are wasting time," Sovor said.

McTavish remained seated but his hands gripped the arm rests of his chair. "We'll make two million kilometers in less than three minutes. Another five minutes to the nebula."

"I am aware of the navigation," Sovor said.

"Then you should also be aware," McTavish said slowly, "that going to warp while in the gravity well of a planet can be hazardous in the extreme."

"An acceptable risk in these circumstances," Sovor said.

"I determine what risks are acceptable when it involves my ship and my crew," McTavish responded, emphasizing his pronouns.

It became a moot point a moment later when the ship jumped to warp nine.

Kylie had been so engrossed by the conversation between the two captains that she had not paid proper attention to her console and she chided herself when Lieutenant Sadler suddenly interrupted.

"I'm picking up weapons fire in the nebula," Sadler reported.

"Source?" McTavish demanded. He got to his feet, stepped around Sovor, and moved forward to stand between the helm and ops stations.

Sadler's hands flew across his console as he tried to resolve the sensor data. "We're still too far," he reported.

"Red alert," McTavish said over his shoulder to Kylie and she hit the necessary controls. Immediately the lighting on the bridge shifted into the red end of the spectrum and a klaxon sounded.

"Time?" McTavish asked.

"Eighty seconds to the nebula," Rajagopal responded.

"I've got a sensor image," Sadler reported. "It's ..."

"Matt?"

"Jem'Hadar." Sadler looked up at the captain, aghast. "A Jem'Hadar attack ship."

"I had hoped we had seen the last of them," McTavish almost growled.

Sovor spoke again. "After the armistice was signed with the Dominion, it was discovered that seven Jem'Hadar ships and their crews were unaccounted for. The Founder being held by Starfleet was questioned but she insisted she knew nothing of their whereabouts. It was assumed that without a supply of ketracel-white they would die in a matter of weeks."

"That was a month ago," McTavish said, "and they seem very much alive."

"Or someone has commandeered one of their vessels." Sovor reasoned.

"In any case, they're attacking someone. Matt, can you locate the source of the subspace signal?"

Sadler frowned. "I can't get a positive fix. There's too much background radiation from the nebula. But they're definitely inside."

"We're coming out of warp," Ensign Rajagopal announced.

McTavish returned to his seat, again stepping around Sovor. "Commander," he said to Kylie, "stand by on phasers and torpedoes. Doctor, either get out of my way or get off my bridge."

Sovor said nothing but his raised eyebrow spoke volumes as he moved to the far side of the captain's chair. Kylie had to work to suppress a smirk.

"Open a channel to that ship," McTavish ordered.

"Hailing frequencies open." Kylie reported.

"Jem'Hadar vessel," McTavish said in a reassuringly authoritative voice, "By order of Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets, in accord with the agreements signed by Dominion representatives on stardate 52879.3, you are ordered to stand down and prepare to be boarded."

There was not the slightest likelihood that the Jem'Hadar would surrender. Kylie knew this and she was sure Captain McTavish did too. But he was obligated to follow protocol. A moment after the Equinox dropped out of warp, the Jem'Hadar ship answered with a polaron burst to the port nacelle.

"Return fire," McTavish ordered. "Target their weapons."

Kylie had done this hundreds of times during the war, as tactical officer on the Corte'z. She had studied and memorized schematics obtained from captured Jem'Hadar ships. She had reviewed hours of sensor logs obtained during previous battles. In short, she knew just where to hit them. She pressed the firing controls and the Equinox' phaser emitters spewed forth a coherent barrage of high-energy particles.

"Direct hit," Kylie reported. "Minimal damage. Their shields are holding."

"Continue firing," McTavish ordered. "We're not just flirting with them. Helm, evasive pattern delta. Keep us moving. Don't give them an easy target."

Kylie would have liked to have observed how Ensign Rajagopal was handling this. Seven days into her first assignment since graduating from Starfleet Academy and she was maneuvering a starship through combat. The poor girl must be terrified. As First Officer, it was Kylie's responsibility to keep tabs on the crew's well-being. Unfortunately she was a little busy at the moment. For five minutes -- a long time as far as battles like this went -- the Equinox traded shots with the Jem'Hadar attack ship. Their recent shield upgrades helped, protecting them from the polaron beams that would otherwise have ripped through their hull. And the impulse and thruster modifications gave them a little more to work with. Still, the attack ship was faster, more maneuverable, and possessed greater firepower.

They were in trouble.

"Shields down to thirty-percent!" Kylie shouted as she continued firing.

"Warp drive is off-line!" Lieutenant Sadler reported. "Hull breech on deck six!"

"Tell me about them," McTavish demanded.

Sadler responded. "Shields appear to be holding. But they've taken some engine damage. They seem to have lost maneuverability."

Kylie could have confirmed that; the enemy ship had suddenly become easier to hit. She activated the forward torpedo launcher, took aim, and fired. Instantly, a blazing comet-like missile raced toward the attack ship. Their remaining shields were insufficient to completely protect them from the cataclysmic forces unleashed when the warhead detonated. There was a blinding burst of light -- the forward view screen dimmed automatically to protect the eyesight of those on the bridge -- and when it cleared they saw the front portion of the ship, specifically the weapons array, dissolving in a shower of superheated fragments.

"Their weapons are down!" Kylie reported triumphantly.

"Their engines aren't," Sadler added.

McTavish rose to his feet prepared, no doubt, for the worst. It was typical that the Jem'Hadar, when all else failed, resorted to ramming their enemies in a Kamikaze-style last act. During the war with the Dominion the Federation and its allies had lost as many ships to these suicide runs as they had to conventional weapons fire. Kylie checked her readouts and knew the Equinox' shields were too weakened to withstand such an assault.

"Evasive," the captain ordered. "Evasive!"

Rajagopal scrambled to comply but it was too late. On the view screen the Jem'Hadar ship accelerated toward them, but not directly toward them. They must have come within a few meters.

Everyone was silent for a moment. Then McTavish asked, "Matt?"

Lieutenant Sadler checked his console. "They've gone to warp," he said, releasing a long sigh. "They're heading out of the system."

"They were definitely Jem'Hadar!" Etana insisted with vehemence. Kenan allowed himself the hint of a smile as he listened to her report during the debriefing. She had always been quick tempered. Fiery. It was one of the reasons he found her so attractive. They were, in that respect, much alike.

"I am not disputing their species," Sovor told her in his level, even-toned Vulcan manner that could be so infuriating. "I merely stated that their actions, both during your encounter with them beneath the mine and our encounter with them in the nebula, was inconsistent with what we know of them."

That seemed to mollify Etana somewhat, although she was obviously still upset. Kenan was sure her close-call with becoming a Ferengi sex slave might have something to do with it. During the two days they had spent in the shuttle playing cat-and-mouse with the Jem'Hadar she had told them in explicit detail what Rot had asked of her. They were the sort of degraded and perverted acts only a sick Ferengi mind could conceive, and Kenan had wondered if he might be able to convince Etana to perform some of them for him, the ones that didn't involve sticking things in his ears anyway.

"Perhaps," Korath growled, bringing Kenan back to the matter at hand, "the Jem'Hadar are no longer addicted to the white."

"Indeed," Sovor mused. "A disturbing possibility. Lieutenant Lien, did the Jem'Hadar soldiers who attacked you have feeding tubes?"

Etana furrowed her brow as she tried to remember. If she couldn't remember on her own, Sovor may offer to help by performing a Vulcan mind meld. Kenan had experienced Sovor's 'help' before, as had Etana and Kestra. The only one on the team who had not was Korath. Sovor said he found the experience of melding with non-Vulcans 'distasteful.' No doubt peering into the Klingon's mind would be downright terrifying, even for a Vulcan. In any case, Kenan and the others found it more than a little unsettling themselves. Etana had good reason to remember on her own.

"Yes," Etana nodded slowly. Then she sat up straight in her chair, perhaps as an unconscious -- or conscious -- effort to project an air of confidence. "Yes," she repeated, definite. "They had feeding tubes. But," she added, faltering ever so slightly, "It was dark. I couldn't tell if there was actually anything flowing through them."

Sovor regarded her for a moment, and in that pause Kenan spoke up. "It's also possible," he said, "that someone else is supplying the Jem'Hadar with ketracel-white, or that they've found a way of producing it themselves."

"Both disturbing possibilities as well," Sovor acknowledged. "I shall report this to Admiral Zahran," he concluded as he stood up. "Dismissed."

As they were leaving, Sovor called to Kestra." "Lieutenant Elbrun."

"Sir?" Kestra replied, stepping aside so her teammates could leave the room. Of course, they slowed down so they could listen in.

"You may be relieved to know that I have asked Captain McTavish to have the shuttle you ... borrowed ... repaired and returned to Tagra IV."

"Oh, thank you," Kestra replied with all seriousness. "That was weighing heavily on my mind."

"I'm sure it was," Sovor said.

They left the briefing room and, mindful that Vulcans possessed acute hearing, managed to maintain their composure till they had entered the turbo lift and the doors had slid closed. Then, as one, they burst into laughter.

"Didn't I tell you?" Kenan said, wiping his eyes. "You've got to say one thing for Sovor. He's predictable. Deck Five."

The turbolift hummed into motion and a moment later they stepped out and headed for their respective quarters. After the Equinox had tractored their disabled shuttle into the landing bay Sovor had generously given them time to get cleaned up and, in Etana's case, dressed, before dragging them into the debriefing. But it had been more than two full days since any of them had slept properly. They muttered casual good-nights to one another, Kestra first -- her quarters were nearest to the turbo lift -- then Korath.

"Night," Kenan said to Etana as he passed her quarters. He was at his own door -- the next one along the corridor -- with his finger on the keypad before he realized Etana hadn't responded, nor had he heard her door open. He turned to find Etana standing behind him, sporting a mischievous grin he knew well.

"I take it you're not interested in sleeping just yet," he said.

"Oh, we'll sleep," Etana said. She reached around him and touched the control to open the door. "I just thought I'd demonstrate some of those Ferengi positions first," she said as she pushed him into the room.

She was already peeling his shirt off as the doors were sliding shut and Kenan, just for moment, locked eyes with a person walking by in the corridor, a woman, a woman with whom he had very recently played phaser tag on Risa.

The Argolis cluster was -- thankfully, mercifully -- a dozen light years behind him. Rot would not be disappointed if he never set foot in that wretched group of systems again. The horrid environmental conditions he could almost tolerate, after all some of his own industrial interests were contributing to the pollution. It was the disastrous encounter with those meddlesome Starfleet people that really raised his ire.

At first he had been unsure of who they were, where they were from. The analysis of the equipment the Bajoran female was carrying was inconclusive, and he knew for a fact that there weren't many Bajorans in Starfleet. He kept up with regional politics and he knew that Bajor, while friendly with the Federation, was still not a full member.

Then that hu-mon had appeared, displaying typical Federation arrogance.

The others he wasn't sure about; he hadn't gotten a good look at them. How could he? He was too busy avoiding being incinerated in his own ship.

The proof had come when that Starfleet vessel had arrived. The Jem'Hadar attack ship he had sent after the escaping shuttle had reported a Starfleet cruiser of some sort approaching at high warp. That was the last he had heard of any of them.

Now he was stuck aboard an old, slow, and cramped Acamarian transport on which he had managed to purchase passage back to Ferenginar. Worst of all, he was alone, without the female companionship he had hoped for. That alluring Bajoran was supposed to have been with him, on his own ship. Of course, he wouldn't actually have been able to share a room with her, not yet. Doing so would have been fatal, he was sure. But he could have amused himself, as he had, by sitting outside the forcefield of her cell, watching her. And eventually, maybe, possibly, he could have 'trained' her to appreciate him. There were methods of mental reprogramming -- illegal to be sure but what did that matter -- that could have rendered her delightfully compliant, if somewhat brain-damaged.

Oh well, he mused to himself. There were plenty of other women in the galaxy. Obtaining one was simply a matter of money, which he had plenty of. For now, he had more important issues to occupy his attention, like procuring a new ship, new guards -- but not Nausicaans this time, they were obviously too unreliable -- and explaining to 'them' what had happened to the shipment. That was the hard part and he wasn't looking forward to it. 'They' could be frighteningly unreasonable at times.

Rot returned from the ship's mess hall -- mess was the right word for it -- and entered his quarters, not much larger than a waste extraction room. It was dark inside and as the door wheezed closed behind him he called for lights. "Computer, lights."

The room remained dark.

"Lights, computer. Turn on the lights!" He then recalled that the Acamarian systems didn't respond to voice commands. He fumbled for the control panel by the door, found the button for the lights and pushed it.

Nothing happened.

"Lights!" he roared again as he continued to jab at the controls. "What is wrong with this thing?" Giving up, he tried the control for the door and found that that too was inoperative. Beginning to panic, he started pounding on the door. "Open up! Open --"

"Don't bother, Rot," a calm voice spoke out of the darkness.

Rot froze. The room was deathly dark, without even a small port hole to allow in starlight. Still, he turned in the direction of the voice, trying in vain to see its source.

"You?" Rot squeaked in a frightened voice.

"You were expecting someone else?" the voice asked. It came from a male, possibly humanoid, although Rot had never seen him so he couldn't say for sure.

"I ... I was going to contact you," Rot stammered, still stuck in his squeaky voice. "As soon as I got back to Ferenginar I was going to contact you to explain what had happened."

"I'm not interested in your explanations," the voice said, "or your lies. We're fully aware of what happened at the weapons facility."

"You ... you are?" Rot gulped. "Then you know ... you know it wasn't my fault."

"You were responsible for the operation of the facility. You were responsible for its security."

Rot felt his knees begin to buckle.

"You cost us a lot, Rot."

"I'm ... I'm rich," Rot almost wept. "I can make it up to you. I've ... I've got holdings across the quadrant."

The voice laughed. "Anything you have we could take whenever we wished. But I'm not talking about money."

"Then what?"

"You allowed a Starfleet agent to infiltrate the facility, where she encountered Jem'Hadar soldiers."

"But I --"

"You then allowed her to escape."

"Yes, but --"

"You then sent a Jem'Hadar ship after her, which encountered a Starfleet vessel."

"I ... I ..."

"Starfleet is now aware of our use of the Jem'Hadar."

Rot shook his head and shrugged. Although he knew -- or hoped -- the visitor couldn't see him. "But they were bound to find out eventually."

"Eventually," the voice agreed, and Rot relaxed a bit. "But not yet." Rot tensed again.

"If Starfleet is aware of the Jem'Hadar," the voice continued quietly, almost as if the person was speaking to himself, "then our enemy is aware."

"Our ... our enemy?" Now Rot was confused, and he hated being confused. "I thought Starfleet was our enemy."

The voice seemed to laugh, perhaps. Or at least Rot thought he heard a smile behind the next words. "Starfleet is not our enemy. Not our friend. But not our enemy."

"Then who --"

"Terrorists!" the voice responded with a vehemence that made Rot jump.

"Terrorists?" Rot repeated, again in his squeaky voice. In his line of work he had encountered many unsavory characters, some of whom would stop at nothing to accomplish their goals. But that particular word held a connotation that frightened even him.

"They're a secret organization, within the upper echelons of the Federation," the voice in the dark explained.

"Like the Orion Syndicate," Rot said casually. Now he understood.

"No, not like the Orion Syndicate," the voice almost spat in distaste. "The Syndicate is nothing more than a gang of greedy thugs squabbling for money. Inconsequential."

"And ... and these terrorists?"

"Sophisticated," the voice said with a hint of admiration. "Shrewd. Devious. With a lust for power that makes your Orion Syndicate look like a philanthropic charity organization."

Rot gulped. "What ... what do we do now?"

"We?"

"About the terrorists?" Rot asked, not at all pleased with the visitor's tone.

"We will deal with them, in time."

"And me?"

Rot waited, but there was only silence.