COVERT MANEUVERS

Episode Two: Between Friends

Something was wrong.

Kam-Lestik was dozing with his feet up on the main console when the shiver ran down his spine. He sat up, instantly alert.

As an Ibernian, Kam-Lestik was used to having premonitions of his own death. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate; he was hardly used to it, the premonitions still terrified him, which was their apparent purpose.

Ibernians had been blessed with the ability to sense extreme impending personal danger, from which they'd naturally flee or otherwise avoid. That, coupled with the fact that most Ibernians never left their home world, and that they tended to be a gentle, peace-loving people, meant that the typical Ibernian lived a long and quiet life.

Kam-Lestik was not a typical Ibernian.

When he was still a child, Kam-Lestik had left his people's home world to seek a life of "fun and adventure", as he had explained to his dismayed and disappointed parents. The fun had so far eluded him but the adventure he had encountered in abundance, to the extent that he had long ago abandoned the gentle nature of his species.

Kam-Lestik's death premonitions had so far served him well. Whether it was from vengeful creditors, angry authorities, or jealous husbands, he always knew when to run. But there were still close calls. Sometimes he barely got away unscathed. One such close call, the most recent, was the reason he was out here.

Kam-Lestik leaned forward out of the command chair and checked the sensor readings. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Everything was just as it had been for the past thirty-seven days, since they had entered the Hekaras Corridor.

A narrow channel that wound its way between giant clouds of tetryon particles, a calm passage in an otherwise violent sea, the corridor was the only safe way of reaching the Hekaras system. Thanks to increasingly unstable subspace rifts, high warp was difficult to achieve, and dangerous if one managed it. Most ships avoided the area. Once or twice a year a convoy of freighters would make the journey to the isolated world.

These conditions made traversing the corridor a long and tedious affair, which suited Kam-Lestik perfectly at the moment; he needed time to reflect on the life choices he had made. The peace and quiet was supposed to give him time to think.

Then why had he just experienced a death premonition?

Kam-Lestik checked the sensor readings again.

Still nothing.

He considered calling his companions, the three others on board the freighter, but thought better of it. Not being Ibernian they'd have no appreciation for his premonition, and would think him either insane or lying.

Of course, there was nothing he could do about it anyway. There was no where to run out here, even if he knew the source of the perceived danger. He leaned back, trying to shake the feeling when, on the forward view screen, the ship ahead of them in the convoy exploded in a shower of superheated debris.

Kam-Lestik slammed his hand down on the alert button -- as if it would make a difference -- sending an automatic distress signal and activating the ship's shield array.

As its warp field collapsed, the bulk of what had been the lead ship fell back into normal space. From the perspective of the remaining vessels it appeared to suddenly speed toward them. Fortunately there wasn't much left. The rapidly dissolving hull impacted against the shields Kam-Lestik had just engaged, sending a violent shudder down the length of the ship. Kam-Lestik was thrown from the command chair across the tiny bridge. By the time he managed to drag himself to his feet, another vessel had appeared on the forward display.

Kam-Lestik had only seen pictures of ships like this, in news reports about the Federation-Dominion war, but he couldn't help but recognize the menacing beetle-like shape emanating an ominous blue glow: Jem'Hadar.

Commander Carlin Ferris was just reaching the punchline of his transgender Klingon joke -- carefully calculated to appeal to the Kressari ambassador's notoriously lewd sense of humor -- when someone behind him spilled a drink all over his tunic. He was shocked for an instant, but seven years in the Federation's diplomatic corps before his current position had trained him to keep smiling whatever happened.

Carlin turned to find the most beautiful woman he had ever seen standing so close to him her ample breasts brushed his sleeves. There was no reason for her to be so close, the banquet room was not that crowded, but he wasn't about to complain.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said. But her voice -- sublimely musical and with an accent Carlin couldn't identify -- didn't sound sorry, and she continued to smile, a subtle Cheshire Cat grin that reflected in her eyes. She wore an alarmingly short, form-fitting black dress with a plunging neckline and her straight, long, raven-black hair that fell to the small of her back contrasted sharply with her pale, almost pearl-white skin.

"It's ... it's perfectly all right," Carlin stammered before recovering his composure. He wanted to be angry, or at least irritated. But he couldn't, not with a woman this unfathomably desirable. "Please, let me get you another drink." He was two steps away when the Kressarian muttered an obscenity. Carlin heard him and should have responded. Everything in his training screamed that one did not just abandon the guest of honor at a diplomatic function. But somehow he couldn't hear what his own mind was telling him.

"What's your name?" Carlin asked the woman as they stood at the bar waiting for her drink.

"Ileana," the woman responded.

"That's lovely," Carlin sighed. "My name's --"

"Carlin," Ileana finished for him. "I know. I've been watching you."

"Me?" Carlin frowned for just a moment. Why would she have been watching him? Had she arranged their meeting, spilling her drink on purpose? He needed to respond to the alarm bells that were going off in his head, but doing so -- thinking at all -- seemed to take too much effort to sustain.

"You're the most interesting man here," Ileana told him. "And the most handsome. I had to meet you."

So the spill wasn't an accident. That should have bothered him. But it didn't. Ileana moved closer to him and any suspicions were washed away by the fragrance of her perfume.

The bartender delivered her drink and Ileana picked it up without breaking eye-contact with Carlin.

"Do you enjoy these banquets?" Ileana asked.

"Um, yeah." It was his job, after all. But more than that. He loved the excitement and the action, the chance to meet people from half-way across the galaxy, and, he had to admit, the prestige. Not everyone got to mingle with the Kressari ambassador. Carlin had turned down other opportunities in Starfleet in favor of this position. He couldn't think of anyplace he'd rather be.

"I don't," Ileana pouted, an expression almost as adorable as her grin. "Everyone is so pretentious."

Suddenly Carlin couldn't agree more. Without reason, as if to feel otherwise would simply be insane, he hated this environment and would have done anything to escape from it ... with Ileana. "We can leave," he suggested eagerly. "Go somewhere. Someplace quiet."

"You're place?" Ileana asked with that grin again.

Carlin gasped with the prospect. "Of course! My apartment is just across the courtyard." He offered her his arm and a feeling of contentment washed over him as she placed her arm in his.

As they left the banquet hall they passed the ambassador. You should be there, a voice in Carlin's head shouted at him. But Ileana snuggled closer to him and he ignored the voice. It was all right after all. The ambassador was again chatting happily and laughing at another lewd joke, this time told by Carlin's new superior officer, Admiral Sykes, head of Starfleet Intelligence.

Lieutenant Matthew Sadler generally relished any opportunity to take part in an away mission. That was, after all, one of the main reasons he had joined Starfleet: the exploration of strange new worlds. This world, Tarkanis IV, was neither strange nor new; it was simply horrendous. Never lush, it had at one time provided at least basic life-support to a variety of plant and animal species. But it was also rich in minerals, including dilithium. Now, after decades of mining and industrialization, the planet was a toxic wasteland. Matt had no desire to spend any more time here than was absolutely necessary.

Fortunately, the assignment was simple. Track down a Ferengi named Rot. They had been unable to do this from orbit because the planetary traffic control facility had experienced a mysterious system outage and no one on duty had -- or would admit to having -- the necessary technical skills to repair it. Technicians had been summoned, but they wouldn't arrive for several days. And whether they'd have the necessary resources once they did ...

So the Lieutenant, along with Commander Duncan and three security officers, had been sent to help the control facility with its problem. Matt would supply the technical expertise, repairing the station's main computer array, while the commander kept the uncooperative station personnel from interfering and while the security officers kept them all from getting shot. Matt wasn't comfortable working under armed guard, even if they were there to protect him, but the captain had considered it prudent. In retrospect, it had been a good idea.

"You are wasting your time," the station overseer hissed. "The entire database is corrupt. It can not be recovered."

He was an Antican, not unlike a human-sized rodent, with fangs Matt was sure were not just decorative.

"You must have a backup," Matt said.

Two other Anticans, aids perhaps, or guards, stood behind him, looking menacing.

"Of course we do," the overseer glared back.

"Then we should be able to restore --"

"The backup is also damaged! As I said, it can not be recovered."

Commander Duncan stepped forward. "Lieutenant Sadler's computer skills are extensive. He may be able to recover the data we require." She motioned toward the nearest terminal and Matt moved to sit down.

The overseer and his aids moved forward, one of them stepping between Matt and the terminal, a furry clawed paw on his chest.

Immediately the Starfleet guards stepped forward, phasers drawn.

Commander Duncan held up her hand. "Overseer, there's no need for this to become unpleasant. We're simply here to help. Under the agreement between the Federation and the Tarkanis Govern--"

"I am aware of the agreement," the overseer snarled, baring his fangs.

Duncan forced a smile. "Then you are also aware that the agreement obligates your facility to provide Federation vessels with current and historical traffic data as needed and when requested."

Matt was impressed, the commander had obviously done her homework. Either that, or she was making it up and gambling the overseer wouldn't know the difference.

"Further," the Commander continued in a level tone, "we are obligated to assist you in matters of security, defense, and operational support. Now, if you'd rather not abide by the terms of the agreement, I'm sure the Tarkanis Central Council would be interested in knowing why.

The overseer looked smug, as if Duncan's threat meant nothing to him. "The Central Council --" he began.

"Would," Duncan interrupted him, "be interested in knowing why the Federation has withdrawn its support and invited the Cardassians to -- occupy -- the position we held."

That stopped the overseer cold, but only for a moment. "You wouldn't," he said. "The Federation wouldn't. Tarkanis is a strategic --"

"Was," Duncan interrupted again. "Things have changed since the Dominion War. Cardassia is no longer a threat ... to the Federation. And Tarkanis no longer holds a strategic position. Haven't you noticed that traffic levels have dropped off dramatically, and that all you're getting now are merchant trade vessels? The Federation no longer has any use for Tarkanis. The Cardassians, on the other hand, are rebuilding. They need resources. Your resources. I'm sure you know what they did when they needed Bajor's resources."

The overseer ground his teeth for a moment, then made a dismissive gesture toward the console. "Do what you wish. It won't do you any good."

The Antican with his paw on Matt's chest didn't immediately back off, not until the overseer finally barked some word the universal translator couldn't process. He then gave Matt a parting shove and turned away in disgust.

"If they find --" the aid hissed to the overseer, but stopped short when the overseer cuffed him across the head.

Matt swallowed nervously, resisting the urge to rub his chest where the Antican's claws had almost shredded his tunic, and sat down at the console. Commander Duncan came and stood beside him, not so much watching over his shoulder, he soon realized, but watching his back. The security guards too stayed alert, their phasers lowered but still drawn.

The system was almost archaic by Starfleet standards, and it took Matt a few minutes to get his bearings. Once he did he realized that the overseer was telling the truth, at least about the condition of the database; it was entirely corrupt.

"Odd," Matt murmured.

"Lieutenant?" Duncan asked.

"How did you say this happened?" Matt asked the overseer.

The overseer regarded him with undisguised contempt and finally answered, "I didn't."

"How!" Matt repeated, much more forcefully than he would have if he didn't have armed security backing him up.

"A power surge." the overseer sneered.

"Right," Matt nodded.

"Lieutenant?" Duncan repeated.

"Um," Matt stalled as he flipped open his tricorder and set it to begin recording. He kept the instrument low, out of site of the Anticans. Duncan clued in instantly and stepped closer, further hiding his actions.

"The database is completely scrambled," Matt told her, loud enough for their hosts to hear. "The power surge must have occurred during a critical point in the system update cycle."

The tricorder beeped, signally the completion of its download. Matt raised his voice to cover the sound.

"The technicians from Tarkanis prime may have better luck." He closed his tricorder and stood up.

Duncan nodded. "We'll wait on the ship," she said. "Overseer, thank you for your cooperation."

Matt began suiting up, not eager to return to the toxic haze between the station and their beam-down point, but more than ready to get out of that office. The security team started to follow his lead, until he stopped when he realized Duncan had not put on her breath mask.

"Commander?"

"Equinox." Duncan said after tapping her communicator. "Five to transport. Energize now."

Andren got to the meeting late, but with good reason; after their encounter with the Jem'Hadar attack ship he had been busy overseeing repairs. That, and the other matters holding his attention just now made for a busy schedule.

"It was no power surge," Lieutenant Sadler was explaining. "The data files were intentionally overwritten."

"How did you recover it?" McTavish asked.

"They used a repeating block of pseudo-random data. Must have been in a hurry. It was just a matter of identifying the algorithm they used and canceling it out. Not very sophisticated."

Andren smiled. Matt, as usual, was being modest. Discovering the problem and fixing it would have required real talent.

Ensign Rajagopal asked, "Why would they try to wipe out their own database?"

"Someone got to them," McTavish answered. "It may have been this Ferengi you're looking for," he addressed Captain Sovor.

All of the senior officers were present as well as Captain Sovor and his apparent number one, Commander Negasi.

"Unlikely," Sovor responded to the Captain's suggestion. "Our intelligence indicates that Mister Rot is little more than a common arms merchant. His influence is limited."

"In any case," McTavish continued quickly, "We have the traffic data from Tarkanis system control. Commander," he turned to Duncan, "what did your analysis reveal?"

"Four vessels left the system in the last three days. One was unidentified, apparently the Jem'Hadar ship that attacked us. Two others were Tellarite freighters, automated ore transports. Neither possesses life-support systems and they have a maximum speed of warp two. Their programmed destination is the Tellarite home world. The fourth is an Acamarian transport. Crew compliment of eight. Minimal passenger accommodations. However, the flight plan they registered takes them within three light years of Ferenginar."

Sovor turned to McTavish. "Rot may have been on the Jem'Hadar ship. Otherwise the Acamarian vessel is the only logical alternative. Lay in a pursuit course immediately."

McTavish locked his gaze on the Vulcan captain for a moment, then turned back to Duncan. "What is the maximum speed of the transport?"

"Warp three, sir."

McTavish now turned to their new conn officer. "Ensign, at warp three, how long would it take that vessel to reach Ferenginar?"

The ensign went wide-eyed, obviously not prepared for a navigational question out of the blue. Well, she'd have to get used to it, especially if she hoped to attend these staff meetings. "Um ... um ..." she sputtered.

"A rough estimate will do," McTavish smiled.

"Twenty, twenty-one days?" Rajagopal responded, making it a question.

"And if they left four days ago, how long would it take us to overtake them at warp seven?"

Her hesitation this time was brief, but Andren could still see her swallow hard. "About three days, sir."

"Very good," McTavish told her, and the ensign visibly relaxed, leaning back in her chair. "Andren," McTavish asked, "what's the state of our engines?"

"Repairs are complete," Andren responded. "Engines are fully operational. Warp is at your discretion."

"Excellent. Kylie where do we stand with weapons and shields?"

"All shield arrays are back on line," the commander responded. "Phaser banks are fully charged. But we still have to replicate the components for six torpedoes. If commander Nen can spare some power from the engines we should be able to complete the assembly process by tomorrow noon."

Andren nodded. "So long as we keep her below warp seven I should be able to give you what you need."

"Then we'll proceed," McTavish said. "Now, unless anyone has anything else --" Rajagopal started to rise from her seat when McTavish continued. "-- we'll discuss ensign Rajagopal's project."

"Sir?" the ensign asked, sinking back down.

"I want you to increase sensor range by fifty percent." McTavish actually smiled as he said it.

"Sir?" The ensign's eyes went wide again.

"Better still, let's double it. One hundred percent."

"Sir! Wouldn't Lieutenant Sadler be better suited for that? Or maybe one of the senior officers? Someone with more experience with sub-space field dynamics?"

"Matt," McTavish said, still smiling. "Explain it to her, please."

"What was your weakest field of study at the academy?" Matt asked her.

"Sub-space field dynamics," Sitara shrugged. "I was hopeless. I still am."

"Exactly. Mine was the biosciences," Matt told her. "Which is why my project is discovering a cure for Irumodic Syndrome."

"But," Sitara shook her head, "I thought Irumodic Syndrome was incurable."

Matt glanced at the doctor with a wry smile. "Yeah, that's what I thought too."

"You mean you've discovered a cure!" the young ensign almost gasped and Andren was sure her opinion of Matthew Sadler jumped even higher, if that was possible.

"Um, no," Matt confessed. "But I have learned a lot about the biosciences and that's the point. You may or may not double our sensor range, but for sure you'll learn a lot about sub-space field dynamics while you try."

"But I don't even know where to begin," Rajagopal said.

McTavish took over. "Commander Nen will be guiding you," he said, "just as Doctor Bandel has guided Matt."

"Guiding," Andren told her, allowing himself the merest hint of a smile. "The work will be all yours."

The ensign nodded. "Yes sir. I understand."

"Very well then," McTavish said, standing. The others followed his lead. "We're adjourned. Ensign, please plot a course to intercept the Acamarian transport. Engage at warp six. We'll increase to warp seven once the torpedo components are restocked."

Andren left the briefing room along with the others, but didn't go to the bridge. After their encounter with the Jem'Hadar and the subsequent repairs, he really needed to be in engineering, monitoring the warp system to be sure it preformed as expected under load. It wasn't that he didn't have confidence in his repair teams, but three lifetimes as an engineer had taught him that it was always better to be safe than sorry. He stopped at his quarters on the way.

Kestra could sense the concentration of thoughts and feelings well before the doors slid open and she entered The Vista. It was a cacophony of consciousness, white noise for the most part, but with a few distinct tones rising out of the chaos. Kenan was there, his thoughts ringing like crystal, yet so coherent, so disciplined even at rest, they were nigh impossible to decipher. Also present was Doctor Enelya Bandel, her Betazoid heritage combined with her maturity giving her thoughts a clarity most of the others lacked.

Kestra's telepathic ability was atypical, even for a Betazoid. Her older brother, Tam, had possessed psi abilities so acute it made it difficult for him to live in normal society; uncomfortable for those around him, torture for himself. Eventually he had found peace with an alien life form and the two of them had disappeared. She hadn't seen her brother for several years, and likely never would again. Her own abilities were not nearly as strong as Tam's, yet they were still stronger than most of her species. She found it gave her a unique perspective. She enjoyed probing the thoughts of others, especially those they preferred to keep hidden. Sometimes -- often -- that enjoyment crossed over into voyeuristic thrill.

Inside the lounge she found Kenan seated at the bar beside Korath. Even though they were team mates and friends, even though she knew Korath was driven by honor, even though he had saved her life several times, the Klingon frightened her. He kept his thoughts hidden almost as well as Kenan, most of the time. But occasionally, when he got angry and was seized by his species' primal blood lust, the flashes of rage and fury she sensed from him were nothing less than terrifying.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, taking the seat to Korath's left. Kenan was to his right.

"If you're looking for bloodwine," Korath growled, "you're going to be disappointed. All they have is some swill the replicator calls bloodwine. I wouldn't feed it to my targ." He gazed at the crimson drink in his hand with a tooth-baring sneer, then took a swig anyway.

Kestra patted his shoulder -- it was like patting granite -- and told him, "I'm sure you'll be able to pick up the real thing somewhere. What about the Black Hole? They had real bloodwine, didn't they?"

Korath laughed, a frightening sound "That was worse than the synthehol!"

At that moment the starboard doors to the lounge slid open and a young man in a lieutenant's uniform entered. Kestra heard -- or rather felt -- a sigh of longing, distinctly sexual, not from the lieutenant, but from somewhere else in the room. She swiveled in her seat, quickly surveying the occupants in the room, trying to locate the source of the emotion. She found her in a moment; a young ensign sitting at a table with the half-Betazoid doctor.

"Mind if I join you?" the lieutenant asked, approaching the doctor and the ensign.

Please! Please! Please!   The ensign almost shouted but said nothing.

"Have a seat, Matt," the Doctor said. "Sitara was just about to tell me about her project."

Could Bandel sense the erotic craving of the girl sitting next to her? She must, given their close proximity. Even her diluted abilities couldn't miss that potent a lust.

Kestra turned away but kept the conversation at the table in focus. She couldn't blame the young ensign for her feelings. The lieutenant, while too emotionally immature for Kestra's own tastes, was nevertheless physically appealing.

"Commander Nen has given me a stack of pads to read," the ensign said. I am so overwhelmed.   "He wants a report by the end of the week." I'd love for you to just hold me.   "I don't even know what to report on."

"That's the way I started," the lieutenant told her. "The Doctor loaded me up with medical texts, some of them so advanced I could barely read them, let alone understand them." Humility is good, right? Girls like that.   "It was worse than fourth year exam prep. For three weeks, whenever I wasn't at my station I was studying. My first progress report was eighty pages."

You are so brilliant, the ensign thought.

"Eighty pages of drivel," the Doctor laughed. "He even got some of the titles of the books wrong."

"I was trying to impress you!" Matt laughed too. Thanks, now she's going to think I'm an idiot.

"You did," the Doctor consoled him, placing her hand on his arm. "With your effort if nothing else. All I really wanted was a brief overview of what he had learned. A couple of pages would have done."

"Don't let Nen scare you," the lieutenant told the ensign. "He comes across as stern and humorless, but he's really not. I'm sure he just wants a review of what you've learned. He certainly doesn't expect you to actually double our sensor range."

"I hope not," the ensign sighed. "With my luck I'll probably shut them down completely." Now, if you were helping me ...

"I could help you, if you'd like." That didn't sound too eager, did it? I don't want to sound desperate.

"That would be great!" Oh god, that sounded so desperate.

Kestra's attention began to waver. She could only take so much of such immature sexual banter. Perhaps when their relationship began to heat up ...

Fortunately she was saved from further insipidness when Commander Duncan entered the lounge. Kestra had been introduced to the first officer earlier, but she hadn't picked up any thoughts of note. Indeed, the commander had seemed quite -- dull. Now she understood why: Kenan had not been present at that meeting.

A psychic sigh of longing issued from Duncan when she spotted Kenan, but it was mixed with something else. Resentment? Jealousy? Yes, but not for Kenan. Then ... Where's your little plaything today?

Of course. Duncan must have seen Kenan and Etana together. And judging by the intensity of her emotions, this really could be interesting.

Duncan was dressed in some sort of athletic gear and held a two-meter long staff with an oddly shaped mallet at the end. Putting Kenan out of her mind, or trying to -- she wasn't entirely successful -- she approached the table where Sadler, Rajagopal, and Bandel were sitting. "Anyone up to a game of parrises squares she asked.

Now it was Sadler's turn to groan as he surveyed the Commander's figure in the form fitting suit. I would just love to.   "Sorry, I'm covering a shift for lieutenant Bing in a few minutes." But I would so rather get hot and sweaty with you.

"Sorry, I don't play," Rajagopal said. How can I compete with a body like that?

"Count me out," the Doctor smiled. "That game was too rough for me even when I was your age."

"No problem," Duncan said. "I'll have the holodeck provide an opponent." God, I wish I was back on the Corte'z.   "See you later," she said smiling, and left the lounge.

On her way out, Duncan passed Etana coming in. Etana apparently took no notice of the other woman, but Duncan certainly noticed Etana. Kestra almost sprayed her drink all over Korath when she heard the expletives issue from Duncan's mind.

Like her team mates, Etana was dressed in casual civilian garb. Only, her attire was suitably revealing, a skin-tight jumpsuit with an open, plunging neckline. Kestra understood at once. Her friend's carnal lust for Kenan was even more intense -- and obscene -- than that of the young ensign for her lieutenant. The only reason she wasn't openly acting on it was that Kenan had so obligingly satiated her desires the night before. With Kestra's quarters so close to Kenan's, she couldn't help but eavesdrop on their thoughts; last night had been particularly interesting.

"I'm bored," Etana announced as she approached. She placed her hand on the small of Kenan's back.

"I'm sure something will pop up soon," Kenan said. Hm, maybe not a wise thing to say. You're likely to take it the wrong way and you really don't need any encouragement.

Etana smiled. Is that an invitation?

"Unlikely," Korath growled. "Not as long as we're hunting that sniveling Ferengi. Now, if we could find the Jem'Hadar ..." Images of violence exploded into Kestra's mind and she winced in psychic pain until Korath relaxed and shook his head. "But even they now run from battle."

"You play parrises squares, don't you?" Kestra asked Etana.

Etana shrugged. "Of course. I was on the Circuit. Stellar Competition level. Why? I didn't think you played."

"Not me," Kestra told her. "But I think if you go to the holodeck right now you'd find someone who plays. And I assure you, it will not be boring."

"Who?" Etana asked.

"What are you up to?" Kenan asked, his eyes narrowing. Why are you two always plotting something?

"Because it's fun," Kestra answered his unspoken question, her eyes twinkling.

"What's fun?" Etana asked.

"Come on," Kestra said, taking her friend's arm, "I'll explain on the way."

For a moment, Kestra still heard the thoughts behind her. Korath told Kenan, "Those two are more devious than Romulans." And Kenan's response: "If they're not careful, someone could get hurt." And then just before she was too far away, Doctor Bandel: What an irresponsible ...

Kestra accompanied Etana to her quarters and explained the scenario to her while Etana replicated a parrises uniform. Once she was dressed, they headed for the holodeck together, but Kestra didn't enter with her. It wasn't necessary for her to be in the chamber to witness what went on. Etana didn't mind her friend's eavesdropping; on the contrary it made it easier since she wouldn't have to tell her all about it later.

So Duncan had her sights set on Kenan, did she? Etana couldn't blame her, but she wasn't about to let it continue either. True, she and Kenan had made no formal commitment to each other. And they had both had -- and would have -- other encounters. But those were casual, meaningless. What Kestra had felt from Kylie Duncan was much more serious. Duncan hoped for, and may have been working toward, a long term relationship with Kenan. To Kestra's knowledge there was no reciprocation on Kenan's part, yet. But Etana would make sure it stayed that way.

Duncan was just returning a disc with a powerful backhand when Etana entered the holodeck. Her opponent, computer generated, lunged for it but missed.

"Twenty, four," the computer announced the score.

"Computer," Duncan said, "increase the skill level by twenty percent."

"The problem with holo-opponents is that they have no passion," Etana observed, drawing Duncan's attention. "They don't care whether they win or lose, so no matter how much the computer ups the difficulty there's no real satisfaction in winning."

Duncan regarded her for a moment, her expression steady and unreadable. "There doesn't seem to be much real competition here," she said finally.

"Oh, I don't know," Etana replied with a tight smile as she moved around to the side of the arena where the holo player waited silently. "You may find someone who can best you."

Duncan again seemed to consider, and then said, "Computer, remove opponent and reset the score."

As the holo opponent disappeared, Etana climbed onto the now-vacant center column. Duncan was holding a red mallet; Etana ordered the computer to provide her with a blue one. It materialized suspended in the air in front of her and she took hold of it, then assumed the traditional starting stance: legs slightly apart, knees bent at forty-five degrees, and leaning forward slightly with the mallet held horizontally, at the ready.

Without any preamble, Duncan served. They used only a single disc; that gave Etana an idea of the level of her opponent. In Stellar-level competition it was not uncommon to play with two or even three discs in a two person match, more in doubles, triples, and quads. This would be amusing if nothing else.

The disc spun toward Etana's left, between the second and third columns in the forward row, and Etana sprang into action, leaping over the first column, landing solidly on the second, snatching the disc in her mallet, and returning it to Duncan's far right, all in one easy flowing motion.

It felt good to be back on the squares. Although she loved her life with Starfleet, part of her missed the competition circuit. She could almost sympathize with Duncan; it was difficult to find challenging opponents. Few people played -- few were willing to risk the inevitable injuries -- and fewer still were any good. So it was really too bad she had to hate Duncan on principle; she played well for an amateur. Ten minutes into the game and the score was close: Etana led by only three points. Both women had fallen twice. Both were bruised. Both were dripping with sweat and panting hard.

"You had a vacation on Risa recently, didn't you?" Etana asked while Duncan prepared to serve again. She had intended on broaching this subject earlier but had almost forgotten. She had been enjoying the game too much. She wondered if Kestra had gotten bored and left, or if she was still listening in telepathically from out in the corridor.

Duncan paused in mid-swing. "Why?"

"And you met Kenan there," Etana stated.

Duncan lowered her mallet. "I don't see that it's any of your business, but yes, I met Commander Negasi on Risa. Is that a problem?"

Etana smiled and shook her head. "Not a problem at all. Kenan and I have a very ... intimate relationship. A meaningless casual fling, never to be repeated, doesn't bother me."

Duncan raised her mallet. Just before launching the disc she said, "Who said it won't be repeated?"

The game became decidedly nasty after that. If before they had both been playing to win, they were now playing to kill, or at least to injure. The mallets became weapons and the disc a dangerous projectile, launched with all the force the combatants could muster. Rather than aiming for an open spot, forcing the opponent to jump to another column to catch it, as was usual, they targeted each other.

"Keenan is focusing ... on his career," Etana gasped while avoiding the disc that spun toward her face. "He doesn't need any distractions." She snatched the disc out of the air with her mallet and flung it back, directly toward Duncan.

"Then why don't you ... stop distracting him?" Duncan fired back. "Or is late-night play time ... typical intelligence duty?"

Etana slammed the disc back, smirking as it hit Duncan in the head and was deflected by her helmet.

"Twenty nine, twenty seven," the computer intoned.

"Kenan's recreation is none of your business," Etana spat.

Duncan was visibly shaking when she served again, but she used a technique Etana had seen only highly skilled Circuit players master, one even she herself sometimes failed to execute cleanly. It put a reverse spin on the disc, making the trajectory erratic. Etana lunged for the disc, missed and stumbled, and came back up just in time for it to come back around like a boomerang and slice across the back of her neck just below her helmet. She stumbled again, lost her footing, and fell from the column.

"Twenty nine, twenty eight," the computer announced.

"The term 'recreation' hardly implies serious commitment," Duncan said in a gloating tone as Etana climbed back onto the center column. "Maybe he'd do better with a game of parrises squares."

With one point separating them, and herself only one point from victory, Etana decided she had held back long enough. She called for a disc and the computer materialized one in place on her mallet. Without replying to Duncan's taunt she drew back, ready to serve.

"I'm sure I could teach him a move or two," Duncan interjected with a smirk.

Etana hesitated for just a brief moment, altered her stance almost imperceptibly, and then served. The disc seemed to spiral through the air, not directly at Duncan, as she would by now have come to expect, but just off to her left. She was forced to swing her mallet around, leap to the next square, and twist and lunge for the disc. She caught it all right, as Etana expected she would, but she had too much momentum, also as Etana expected she would. She teetered on the edge of the column for several seconds and then fell, smashing against the corner of the next column back before plunging to the ground below with a thud and a groan.

"Thirty, twenty eight," the computer declared. "Blue wins."

Etana tossed her mallet aside, whipped off her helmet and tossed that too. She jumped from the center column to the next and then the next, till she stood on the column from which Duncan had fallen. She looked down at her opponent, just then getting painfully to her feet.

"I'd stick to your holodeck partners if I were you," she said with a sneer. "That's about all you can handle." She leaped off the column and exited the holodeck.

Commander Duncan had been gone for a couple of minutes, and the two women from the Intelligence team for a minute, when Matt stood up from the table where he was seated with Enelya and Ensign Rajagopal.

"I'm going to get a drink before I go on duty," he announced. "Would either of you like anything?"

"Nothing for me," Enelya said. She was still fuming about the thoughts she had overheard from the Betazoid, Elbrun.

"Oh, I'd love a Silven Surprise ... if you don't mind," Sitara told him.

Matt smiled at her. "Not at all. One Silven Surprise coming up." He turned and started toward the bar, but seemed to freeze, suspended in mid-stride.

Enelya gasped with the sudden flash of emotion she felt from the young lieutenant.

"Doctor?" Sitara said, concern in her voice.

Enelya ignored her. "Matt?" she spoke gently. "Matt, come and sit down."

Matt seemed to have not heard. He remained standing, staring at the people at the bar. Or rather, at one person in particular.

"Matt, that's an order Lieutenant. Sit down."

"What's wrong?" Sitara asked, confused.

"Matt!" Enelya hissed, still ignoring Sitara.

Slowly, Matt turned. He didn't sit immediately, not until Enelya again ordered him to do so. His complexion had gone red and his hands were balled into fists on the table.

"Take a deep breath," Enelya counseled.

"He has no right being here," Matt said through clenched teeth.

"Who?" Sitara said, turning in her seat to survey the people at the bar.

"Oh, turn around!" Enelya snapped, slapping the ensign's hand to get her attention. "He has every right to be here," she addressed Matt. "He's here by invitation of Starfleet, as are we all."

"We don't need his kind," Matt still boiled.

"Who?" Sitara asked again, almost turning to stare at the bar again but apparently thinking better of it.

"His kind?" Enelya made a dismissive sound. "Will you listen to yourself? Haven't we grown beyond such petty bigotry?"

"No!" Matt snapped at her. "We haven't. I haven't. And I never will." He got to his feet, still trembling with rage, and strode from the room, studiously ignoring the people at the bar.

Enelya folded her arms on the table and lowered her head to them, her eyes closed.

"Doctor?" Sitar spoke quietly after a moment.

"Don't ask," Enelya responded wearily and without looking up. "It's not my place to tell you. Matt may. Or he may not. But just don't ask."

When Carlin had first learned that his predecessor, Commander Jasien Lienster, had been responsible for suggesting the mobile covert operations teams currently assigned to upwards of a dozen starships, he had thought it a foolish waste of resources. Certainly security and intelligence were ongoing concerns, but didn't it make more sense to focus on restoration now that the war was over? Relations with the Klingons, the Romulans, and even the Cardassians had never been better. This was a time for rebuilding the Federation, for strengthening ties with their allies. Perhaps if they had focused on this earlier, the Dominion would never have gained a foothold in the Alpha Quadrant in the first place.

It wasn't until he was promoted as Admiral Sykes's Senior Adjutant and had access to the reports from the teams that he recognized the wisdom of Lienster's proposal. Already, in the few weeks they had been active, the covert teams had uncovered a slew of potentially devastating security issues: Pakleds selling technology scavenged from wrecked Starfleet vessels, Andorian extremists plotting to assassinate the Federation advisor to Cardassia, Ferengi selling metreon cascade weapons, and even rogue Jem'Hadar attack ships.

To state that Carlin was busy would be a gross understatement. He had barely slept since the reception for the Kressari Ambassador ... or rather, since the day after the reception. He was drowning under a mountain of intelligence reports. The few hours he now had to rest would be spent on a cot in his office. So when the door to his office slid open and he found Ileana lounging on his cot, he was more than a little upset.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Carlin demanded.

Ileana, dressed in a casual, nondescript jumpsuit that still seemed to accentuate the curves of her body, rose from the cot and strolled forward to meet him. "That's a rather harsh greeting, considering the pleasant time we had together."

Carlin sidestepped her embrace and went to his desk where he opened the bottom drawer, taking out a phaser. He flipped off the safety and trained the weapon on Ileana's midriff. To his surprise, his visitor continued to smile. "I'll ask you again, what are you doing here?"

"Isn't it possible I just want the pleasure of your company?" Ileana responded.

"Somehow I doubt that. You see, I know you're not who you're pretending to be."

Ileana's eyebrows raised and her grin widened. "Oh? Who am I pretending to be?"

Carlin hesitated for just a moment. He didn't have an answer to that. In fact, Ileana hadn't made any claims during their first encounter. After leaving the reception they had gone to Carlin's apartment where they had made passionate love. Neither of them had spoken much, and when Carlin had awoken the next morning, Ileana was gone.

"You're Deltan," Carlin accused.

Ileana laughed. "Is that a crime?" She took a step closer.

"Don't," Carlin warned, emphasizing with a motion of the phaser. "It won't work anyway. I've taken pheromone inhibitors."

Ileana pouted in a mocking sort of way. "Now, why would you do something like that? Didn't you enjoy our time together? I did."

"After you left my apartment, and after I came to my senses, I couldn't figure out why I was so ..."

"Aroused?"

"Disturbed. So I ran a tricorder scan and found some of your DNA."

"And you discovered that I'm Deltan," Ileana concluded for him. "I never said I wasn't."

"Your hair," Carlin nodded, "it's an implant. Deltans don't have hair."

Ileana shrugged. "Lot's of people have cosmetic enhancements."

"And your pheromones? Those have been artificially enhanced too."

"Again, not a crime."

"But unusual for a people already so endowed, especially considering you're on Earth, and considering Deltans consider humans to be a sexually immature species."

"I assure you," Ileana purred, "your performance was more than satisfactory, if that's what you're worried about."

"No," Carlin's jaw tightened. "You want something. So cut the charade and get to it."

Ileana seemed to consider for a moment. Then, although her posture and demeanor remained the same, a subtle shift occurred. Carlin realized that she had consciously turned off her enhanced pheromones.

"The Equinox," she said. "I want you to send it into the Hekaras Corridor."

Carlin stared, dumbfounded for a moment, but he recovered quickly. "What makes you think I could send a starship anywhere? Starship Operations have jurisdiction --"

"The Equinox is hosting a covert intelligence team," Ileana stated simply. "That puts the ship under the jurisdiction of Starfleet Intelligence."

"How do you --"

"I know quite a bit," she anticipated the question. "I know you've been selling information to the Breen.

Carlin's jaw tightened and he raised the phaser which, until then, he had let droop. "I have not --"

"I have proof," Ileana interrupted again, shrugging. "I have enough evidence to have you put away for a very long time."

"What ... what do you want?" Carlin seethed.

"I told you. Send the Equinox into the Hekaras Corridor."

"Why?"

"They'll find out when they arrive."

"They're already --"

"Wasting their time. I know what they're doing. This is more important."

Carlin shook his head. "Even ... even if I wanted to --"

"You're the Senior Adjutant to the head of Starfleet Intelligence. Make it happen."

Ileana didn't wait for his reply. She strode toward the office door, clearly signaling that their conversation was over and that Carlin had no choice but to comply. Well, Carlin wasn't about to accept that. He had kept the phaser trained on her and just before she reached the door he pulled the trigger. The device emitted a quiet chirp and then died.

Ileana turned and smiled. "You didn't think I'd leave it active, did you?" Then she continued out of his office.

Carlin followed, but by the time he reached the outer office -- a scant second after she did -- she was gone.

"We'll be destroyed!" Kam-Lestik knew that raising his voice was a risk. The Jem'Hadar soldiers didn't take kindly to insubordination. The cuts and bruises on his face were evidence of that. But he didn't think he had a choice this time.

The Jem'Hadar closest to him took a step closer and a moment later Kam-Lestik dragged himself back onto his chair, fresh blood trickling down his chin.

"Set the course," the Jem'Hadar commander, First Tanik'tonor, ordered again.

Kam-Lestik moved to obey, but slowly. "We will be destroyed," he said with somewhat more deference. "The tetryon --"

"The course I have given you is safe."

His hands trembling, Kam-Lestik entered the coordinates and the beleaguered freighter lumbered to follow them. On the forward monitors, menacing clouds of swirling gas at the very edge of the Hekaras Corridor reached out for the frail vessel. As they made contact, the hull shuddered and groaned but that was all. Kam-Lestik released a slow breath as it occurred to him that he had not just had a premonition of his own death. Perhaps the Jem'Hadar was correct and this was a safe course.

For more than two hours -- and hundreds of course corrections -- the freighter slithered through a narrow channel between raging tetryon fields. Kam-Lestik wiped away a steady steam of perspiration that ran down his cheek. He was so focused on piloting the freighter that he failed to notice they had reached their destination.

First Tanik'tonor stepped closer to the console. "Bring us to within transporter range and then hold position."

"What?" Kam-Lestik looked up at him, confused, then looked at the forward monitors. Before them hung a space station, dark, a dozen arms extending from a bloated central body like some deformed arachnid. It was impossible to judge the size of the station, until another Jem'Hadar attach ship moved into view and approached one of the docking arms, an ant approaching an elephant.

Tanik'tonor addressed one of the other three Jem'Hadar on the bridge. "As soon as we're in position begin unloading the cargo." He then touched a control on the console and the comm system activated, sending out a hail. In a moment a face appeared on the secondary display. The man, apparently human and middle-aged, bore a sour expression.

"You're late."

"We have contacted the commander of the transport," Sovor said, briefing his team on their away mission. "He has confirmed that a Ferengi matching Rot's description came on board at Tarkanis IV."

"Short, ugly, and repulsive?" Lieutenant Lien asked, smirking. The others, except for Sovor, chuckled. Sovor did not so much as raise an eyebrow and the laughter quickly died.

The captain touched a control and the display on the briefing room wall showed them a schematic of the Acamarian transport. The primary hull of the vessel was essentially a long cylinder with two sets of warp nacelles on either side. Behind this was a cluster of three more cylinders, large cargo units, with what appeared to be warp repeaters. Korath doubted if a ship of this primitive design could achieve better than warp three or four.

"The vessel is carrying five million tons of unstable tellerium ore," Sovor told them.

"No transporters then," Commander Negasi said.

Sovor touched another control and the display rotated, showing a flashing red dot in one of the rooms on the port side of the ship. "Not directly to the Ferengi's quarters, no. Which is why we can not simply beam him off the ship. However," he touched another control and the display rotated again, this time narrowing in on a small chamber at the bow of the ship. "This section is far enough from the cargo containers that our transporter function will not be impaired. You will materialize here and then make your way to Mister Rot's quarters on foot. The ship's crew report that he has remained in his quarters for most of the journey so you will likely find him there. The surrounding corridors will be cleared before you arrive."

"Expected resistance?" Negasi asked.

"He may be armed," Sovor replied. "However, Ferengi, while not known for their combat skills, can be vicious when cornered." Korath let out a derisive snort but Sovor ignored him. "Take the usual precautions. Nevertheless, this should be routine. Dismissed."

They rose and exited the briefing room. Sovor headed for the bridge while Commander Negasi led the others to the armory to gear up.

"Tell me I can have five minutes alone with the toad before we bring him back," Lien said. "I want to pay him back for what he did to me."

"Our captain does not approve of revenge," Korath growled, his tone making his own thoughts on the subject plain.

"He humiliated me," the lieutenant said, pouting. "I think I deserve some compensation."

"Humiliation comes from within," Korath lectured. He was continually amazed that humans, as socially advanced as they claimed to be, could not grasp such simple concepts. "No matter what an enemy does to you, they can not take away your honor unless you let them."

"So you don't think I should seek revenge?"

Korath smiled at her. "I think you should tear off his ugly misshapen ears and force feed them to him. I'll even hold him down while you do it."

"We'll see," Negasi said. "Weapons check."

They had entered the armory and each taken a standard issue hand phaser as well as a type-3 phaser rifle. Probably overkill for what they were about to do. Korath would have been happy with nothing more than his D'ktangs. Still, the humans seem to take comfort in heavy armaments. It compensated for their usually less than adequate hand-to-hand skills. Commander Negasi was a rare exception, almost as comfortable with a blade, or even just his bare hands, as any Klingon.

From the armory they proceeded to the transporter room. The technician on duty already had the coordinates and she materialized them in the forward chamber Sovor had indicated. Negasi and Korath led the way down the dimly lit corridors which, as promised, were deserted, until they were a few meters from the Ferengi's quarters.

"Readings," Negasi ordered.

Elbrun flipped open a tricorder. "Right place. Rot's quarters are behind the second door up on the left." She frowned. "I'm not picking up any life form readings."

"The tellerium could be interfering," Negasi mused. "Lien, Elbrun, stay here, cover our backs. Korath, you're with me."

Negasi and Korath approached the door to the Ferengi's quarters. At Negasi's signal Korath hit the control pad and rushed into the room, phaser rifle raised.

The room was empty. It was so small that, even without searching it they could tell that the Ferengi wasn't present.

Negasi signaled to Elbrun and Lien, then tapped his communicator. "Away team to Equinox."

"Equinox here," a female voice -- Commander Duncan most likely -- responded.

"The target is not in his quarters. I need a ship-wide scan for Ferengi life signs."

"We already ran them," Duncan responded. "No indications."

Elbrun maneuvered her way into the room and started her own scans. "I'm picking up coherent ionization traces," she told them. "Probably a transporter."

"I thought that wasn't possible," Lien said quickly.

"Not with standard Starfleet transporters anyway," Negasi said. "How long ago?"

Elbrun continued her scan. "From the decay rate I'd estimate between twenty-four and thirty hours."

Another voice came over the comm channel: Sovor. "Commander, bring your team back immediately. We have received new directives."

"Understood," Negasi responded. He hit the safety on his phaser rifle. "No show today," he said tightly.

Elbrun was still scanning. Her brow furrowed. "Wait, what's this ..."

An instant later, the room exploded.