Star Trek: Fortitude - "Afterburn"

[admiralelm11]

Jack D. Elmlinger

Presents

“Afterburn”


Starring

LUKE EVANS as EWAN LLEWELLYN

SIR PATRICK STEWART as JEAN-LUC PICARD

And featuring

KATE MULGREW as KATHRYN JANEWAY


The following tale takes place in 2382, three years after the events in Star Trek: Nemesis and six years after the final episode of Star Trek: Fortitude.


* * * *


PROLOGUE
MODEL OFFICER


System V-47, Spatial Grid 993
Deep within the unexplored reaches of the Beta Quadrant
Stardate 58422.8
2381 AD


She had come to dread sleep.

Coffee… It was her ally in the fight against her physical limitations. So many times, she had felt her eyelids try to surrender. Sometimes, they drifted down, light as a feather. Other times, they had crashed down as though they were tethered with dark matter. So many times… and each time, a quick word to the replicator and another cup of coffee kept the nightmares at bay. It just reinforces her view that it was the finest organic suspension ever devised.

Sipping at her third fresh mug, the steel rim quickly awash with black liquid caffeine, she absentmindedly tapped at the flashing buttons just within her arms’ reach. They seemed to be vibrating in her field of vision. Her senses were literally buzzing with the forced state of a constant alert. The headache that started so long ago had become such a part of everyday life that she barely even registered it anymore. How much longer could she go on like this? How many more star systems could she explore? How many more interstellar rocks could she lift? When would this search come to an end?

Some of the buttons made an ugly noise. She recoiled in frustration.

“Play nice now…”

It was a warning to the shuttle, even though it couldn’t really hear. Forming a personal bond with the vessels upon which she traveled seemed to be a bad habit of hers, aside from the coffee addiction. Inwardly she managed a self-reflective chuckle. Speaking to inanimate objects and being constantly wired. Well, she was hardly the model officer!

Then again, her actions alone sealed that description pretty tight. It was times like these, the end of particularly long days that yielded no results, which made her question herself. She could have easily requisitioned a starship. Calling in a few old favors would have worked wonders. There were enough of her old crew in Starfleet that she could have cobbled them together quite nicely. They would have understood and they would have helped. They would have kept her from doing this alone and most likely would have found a few more answers by now! Why hadn’t she done that?

Ah, of course… because this was personal. This was her quest.

It had always been. There was no denying that.

Besides, somebody that she had encountered once did something very similar. That person had succeeded after a fashion. If they could do it, then so could she. Because, after all, that person had been her. She had even used the very same shuttlecraft with the very same weapons, armor, sensors, and resources.

Downing the last of her coffee, Admiral Kathryn Janeway recalculated her scan.

She would find them.

She would find them and make them pay.


CHAPTER ONE
BACK DOWN TO EARTH

Armstrong Family Farm
Inner Bluegrass Region, Northern Kentucky
Tuesday, September 21st, 2382 AD (PM)


With a sigh, he pushed the fedora back from his brow and just watched. Sunset was his favorite part of the day. Well, apart from sunrise, just maybe.

The songs of exhausted birds filled the warm countryside air as Jason Armstrong chewed on the straw that ran between his lips. He had always belonged here, in the rolling Kentuckian nature, leaning against the very same fencepost that he had conquered as a small child. Many of the local folk had told him but he already knew it. Deep down inside, despite all of his fantastic travels and explorations through the stars, he always found himself drawn back to the fields, to the lifestyle… and to the fencepost. His nostalgia had demanded that he travel into Lexington and have his leather jacket made to exactly replicate the scuffs and weathering from his boyhood adventures. Knee-high riding boots and stonewashed blue jeans completed the traditional cowboy image, an image that Jason wore extremely well.

At least, James Morgan thought so. He was less of the eternal nature lover with a childhood spent entirely within the concrete jungle of San Francisco seeing to that. Nevertheless, over the past three years, he had learned to adapt. While his outfit wasn’t even close to the authenticity of his partner, it was close enough. In fact, the only aspect of life on the Armstrong Family Farm that he had expressed genuine difficulty with was the hats. For some reason, his thick dark hair just didn't want to be covered. It also made him squint at the sunset. Logic told him to look away but it was simply too beautiful to miss.

Leaning over to drape his arm around Jim’s shoulder, Jason noticed the squint. “We can go back if you like…?”

“Jay, it took you three years to get me out here for this,” the dark-skinned man pointed out with a grin. “The journey back is one hour on foot too, and something tells me that you’re not ready to leave yet. I don’t want to be walking alone.”

“So you do want to walk back?,” Jason chuckled.

“I didn’t say that. You were right. It is absolutely breathtaking.”

Everything shone with a golden hue. Barely visible on the horizon were the various buildings and structures that made up the Armstrong Family Farm, the most prominent of which was the old farmhouse.

At this distance, it was merely a big speck amongst smaller specks, dwarfed by the mercifully preserved landscape. The hills cascaded effortlessly into one another, all coated in lush and fertile varieties of crops and some of them were home to livestock. For the walk back, Jason planned to rustle up a few trusty steeds and go for a quick ride. Jim had made learning about horses his top priority and he was now almost as competent as his boyfriend… almost. Was this evening a good time for their first race? The river was low at this time of year and sunset would surely last long enough.

“Did you get that letter from your parents?,” Jim asked, interrupting their race plans.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, thanks.”

“Are they well?”

“As well as can be expected,” Jason had to smile. “Dad loves the place, but Mom gets all antsy. She says she wants to be cleaning and cooking for herself and all. One of these days it will finally snap that they’re retired now. Half of the letter was still given over to reminders about the farm systems and half of them were reminders that I’d gotten before!”

“Parents can’t quit being parents,” Jim noted with a nod.

“You got that right.”

“I don’t know, though. I think that maybe they can’t quit this place. I mean, you were always telling me how your family had crafted this farm since anybody can remember! We may be the next generation but we’re not them. They’re still with us and they still want to be part of the legacy. Standing here alongside you… this sunset… these vast hills and all of this beauty… Yeah, I think I can understand that.”

Jason leaned into his partner, his fedora cast aside as he nuzzled his dirty blonde hair against the warmth of Jim’s neck. To finally hear him speak about this place in such terms was beyond rewarding. It made his heart skip a beat, and it made him love Jim even more, if such a feat was even possible. It made him confident in their shared future together, a feeling that he didn’t always have. He still remembered their days of Starfleet service. In particular, he remembered the agonizing moment when he had received word of Jim’s apparent death and quickly alongside it, he remembered the moment of his return. All of it had simply become parts of the past. It had been a joint decision to move on.

This evening, the much smaller decision to move along home was Jason’s. “Come on, we’ve seen enough,” he whispered,” and I’m starving.”

“I wasn’t until you mentioned it,” Jim agreed, hearing his stomach rumble.

“Pinch you an apple on the way?”

“But whatever will the farm manager say?”

“Let me check,” Jason laughed, dripping with sarcasm as he tilted his head to one side and pulled a face. After a second’s thought, he returned to gazing at his partner. “Yeah, the farm manager says that we’re a-okay for that!”

“Damn, that’s good news. I’d hate to break the … rules…”

Jim trailed off. The twinkle in his dark eyes had disappeared. They were now fixed on something over Jason’s shoulder. Something that filled them with horror. Turning to follow the line of sight, the Kentuckian barely had time to react. It was lucky for him that Jim had the head start and suddenly an arm was grabbing his waist, pulling him safely and sharply down into the dirt.

Both men were missed by inches. The shockwave that preceded and followed the near-death experience tore their clothing to shreds. A mutual yell of pain was mercilessly drowned out by a thundering roar as… What the hell was it? As their immediate vicinity settled, an earth-shattering explosion broke the evening calm.

Something had just crash landed.

Jason went to move but Jim continued to hold him down. A large, pointed chunk of debris fell, seconds later, justifying the caution. Blinking through a mixture of dust and confusion, Jason made out a few words of writing scrawled across it and gasped.

“Holy cow!”

“What is it?,” Jim asked after a cough. “A meteor or something?”

“Not unless meteors are made out of duranium alloy… and belong to Starfleet Command!”

 

[admiralelm11]

CHAPTER TWO
MY STARSHIP IS YOUR STARSHIP.


Type-11 Shuttlecraft Nightingale Alpha
Currently breaking Earth’s atmosphere
Stardate 59724.9
2382 AD


My, my… she was certainly a beast of a starship, wasn’t she?

It was the first time that Katherine Pulaski had ever seen a Sovereign-class starship. She wasn't surprised, given the nature of her position and her disinterest in the technical manuals of the Federation Starfleet. Still, regardless of all of that, even she had to admit that the vessel’s sleek hull made an impact. It looked like a panther, crouched and ready to pounce at any moment.

With a knowing smile, she altered her approach vector. Sensors aboard the Nightingale Alpha were pointing her towards the upper Shuttlebay, mounted on the back of the dorsal. Plotting a new course, the physician watched as two gigantic nacelles framed her arrival, bathing the cockpit in a rich blue glow.

It matched her uniform’s collar which she quickly straightened. There was nothing formal about the visit and nobody aboard would outrank her… even the Captain. Still, for this particular ship and this particular crew, Pulaski wanted to look her best. A hand deftly buoyed the base of her blonde curls. The reflection that stared back from one of the black LCARS monitors was the best of a bad situation. At least, that’s how she saw it. She was getting on and time was letting itself show.

“Docking Control to Nightingale Alpha. Stand by for tractor beam.”

“Tractor beam, aye,” she responded politely. “You have control.”

“Enjoy the ride, Nightingale Alpha. Welcome aboard.”

The landing was graceful and entirely free of jolts. Modern tractor beams were so advanced these days, weren’t they? Perhaps a younger Katherine Pulaski wouldn’t have cared, but now anything that made the ride much smoothie was appreciated. It was a rarity to leave Earth at all, save for the odd medical conference. The benefit of her stature was that many conferences simply came to Earth. This was her first step aboard a starship in, ooh… ten months? Maybe it was even longer. She couldn’t recall exactly.

As the ramp lowered, she hardly even cared.

“Doctor,” beamed a smile from another age, "welcome aboard the Enterprise!”

“Captain Picard,” Pulaski cried, rushing forward with no regard for protocol, and her arms were flung wide open. Taken aback for only a second, Jean-Luc Picard graciously accepted the warm reception and returned her hug. Upon parting, he couldn’t break the continued grin, even if he wanted to. Neither could she. “It’s been too long, Captain!”

“Oh, formality,” Picard dismissed with a wave.

“You’ll always be the Captain,” his guest corrected him.

Chuckling to themselves, they left the Shuttlebay of the USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-E behind them, and moved out into the corridors of the Federation flagship. They hadn’t seen each other since Pulaski’s departure as Chief Medical Officer of the former flagship, the Galaxy-class Enterprise-D in 2365. Both of them had endured busy lives since. There was a terrific amount to catch up on. As they walked, though, much of it waited for later.

“The years have been kind to you,” Picard noted generously.

“Same to you,” she deflected. “Being a starship captain must agree with you.”

His blushing cheeks accompanied a bowed head. “It always will, Doctor.”

“Unless you accept a promotion, of course.”

“Oh, they’ve tried,” the Captain laughed. “Believe me!”

“I assume you were included in the recent batch. Many of these new admirals are far too young, I must say. A couple of them are old colleagues who, frankly, I was surprised to see up there during the ceremonies. They ever tried to pin an extra rank pip on my collar, not that it would mean much anyway.”

“Why didn’t you accept it, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Being Head of Starfleet Medical isn’t about the ranks, Captain. It’s about the patients.”

“How true…”

Turning around the corridor towards the turbolift, Picard and Pulaski came face-to-face with a decidedly-flustered Geordi LaForge. The chief engineer had clearly been stopped mid-stride by a crewman with a PADD and a frown. With his biomechanical eyes flexing with exhaustion, he simply shot a peeved expression towards his subordinate to dismiss him. He turned to leave, forcing Picard to call out after him.

“Captain?,” Geordi replied before noticing his accompanying visitor. “Doctor, hey!”

“It’s good to see you again, Geordi,” the physician smiled, skipping the hug this time. The man clearly had other places to be right now. “Keeping you busy?”

“Yeah, actually… I’m sorry. I’d love to stay and chat but we’ve got…”

“Not to worry. We’ll catch up later.”

“Is anything the matter, Mister LaForge?,” Picard asked him quickly.

“Everything’s the matter, sir. The engineering teams from the surface want miracles, but I’ve been trying to tell them that ablative armor simply won’t work for a starship as big as the Enterprise. They just don’t want to listen right now.”

“Keep me apprised. If there’s anybody that I can speak to on your behalf…?”

“Thanks, Captain. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Parting ways, Picard led Pulaski through more of the ship’s corridors. His first action after the encounter with Geordi was to run a pensive hand over his bald scalp and emit a low, resonating sigh. It didn’t go unnoticed by his guest. She decided against probing into his problems for now. If there was one thing that she had learned over the years, it was that being a starship captain led to a ridiculous level of stress. The healer inside of her wanted to help but her experience told her to leave it well alone. Jean-Luc Picard had been doing this sort of thing for years and he probably would for years to come. He could handle it.

They reached the VIP guest quarters in silence.

“Thank you, Captain,” Pulaski nodded.

“Listen, Sandra heard that you were coming aboard,” Picard admitted, referring to his wife with indisputable affection,” and she would never forgive me if I didn’t invite you to dinner. Say, my quarters, nineteen-hundred hours?”

“I’ll be there with bells on.”

“Until tonight, then… as the saying goes, my starship is your starship!”

Watching him disappear down the corridor, Pulaski kept her objection to herself. She had been aboard many starships in her time, seen many captains, and analyzed many of the relationships between them and their ships. If it were anybody else, she would have gone along with the saying, but here?

The Enterprise belonged to nobody but Jean-Luc Picard.

That was a fact.


* * * *


CHAPTER THREE
THE RECOVERY PROCESS


Armstrong Family Farm
Wednesday, September 22nd (AM)


Neither man had gotten any sleep. The animals had kept them awake long into the early hours. The livestock didn’t take kindly to having a Federation shuttlecraft crash land into the farm, let alone one that had nearly killed their owners. Especially the horses, their sixth sense working overtime and alerting them to the possible danger, took significant effort to calm down and return to the stable. It was a precautionary move on the part of Jason Armstrong, getting to ride after all… just not for fun.

Starfleet Investigations showed up within thirty minutes of impact. They scurried over the wreckage like ants at a picnic. Whenever either Jason or Jim wanted to get close or even pass by ground zero, they were checked and stamped by an officious-looking Tellarite. It was as though their own farmland had become the site of some exclusive function and they were the waiters. It irritated them both. Only the memories of their Starfleet training and protocol kept them going, watching from a distance to observe each stage being completed. That way they knew just how quickly they would be finished.

It was at one such moment that Jim caught his partner’s attention. “It looks like they’ve finished the trajectory analysis.”

“Yeah,” Jason grumbled, hauling up a gigantic tree branch from the mud. It had been ripped from the large oak tree at the far end of the paddock, sucked into the shuttlecraft’s slipstream as it blasted through. With a grunt of effort, he pushed it aside. “They finally gave me permission to tidy up the route in.”

All the night’s excitement was finally getting to Jason’s eternally-serene mood. With a gentle touch, Jim sidled up behind him and carefully placed the previous-discarded fedora back over the dirty blonde hair. It was enough to snap him back to reality. The Kentuckian turned and embraced his boyfriend, gathering up the plaid shirt in his arms and squeezing tightly. He just wanted it over, and he wanted them to get back to their lives.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

“Anytime,” Jim soothed, letting the hug linger.

“Oh my word, is that the sun back already?”

Indeed it was.

Matching the beauty of the previous sunset, a piercing orange haze was creeping over the horizon. It set off the birdsong again, warming up the environment with a peaceful calm that the shuttle crash didn’t deserve. Parting, Jason and Jim watched the morning unfold for as long as they could manage.

“I had no idea that we’ve been working all night,” the local farmer blinked, exhausted.

“I say breakfast,” Jim suggested, a guiding hand indicating towards the farmhouse.

Jason had to agree, following the hand. Perhaps a full stomach would make time pass by more quickly. Nourishment was the last thing that they would secure at the farmhouse.

Every room contained, at least, three Starfleet officers who were busy chatting away in rapid unison about all sorts of technobabble. Their words were only paused for the electronic beeps and whirls of their tricorders and data terminals. They were all components of a life that Jason and Jim had tried to escape and had, literally, come crashing back towards them. Trying to usher a gamut of various science-type people out of his kitchen, Jason was close to his breaking point and hiding it unsuccessfully.

Jim instantly headed for the replicator. They only had one on the entire property, used for emergency situations and nothing more. This morning qualified as an emergency and with a mere request, the quick-thinking partner had conjured up two cups of breakfast tea. The promise of hot liquid and extra sugar lured Jason to the ancient wooden table. For the first time in over ten hours, she sat down and took the weight off of his booted feet.

“What would I do without you, eh?”

“You wouldn’t have me, had you not done the same, six years ago,” Jim pointed out to him.

“That ain’t your own reason though… right?”

“Are you kidding?”

“Sorry, tired. Shoot me later…”

The conversation was interrupted by approaching footsteps. They could only have been the polished regulation soles of a Starfleet uniform scuffing against the pine flooring. Rolling his eyes in dismay, Jason let his forehead slam into the table.

When would this end? When would they just do their scans, move the wreckage, and go back to wherever it was that this investigation would be running from?

The only one with their eyes still open, Jim turned to see a slender Vulcan officer enter the kitchen and raise an inquisitive eyebrow which was a common species trait. She was about thirty-five years old, by Human standard, meaning that she could have been well into three digits on her actual birthdays. What made her interesting was the collar of her uniform which was red, indicating command division, not the blue like the rest of the investigatory team. Jim opened his mouth to introduce himself, getting to his feet, despite his aching limbs protesting against such a maneuver, but he was interrupted before he could begin.

“Mister Hunter, I presume.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“And Mister Armstrong as well?”

Jason didn’t even bother to lift his head. A disgruntled moan was all that he could manage.

“You’ll have to excuse him,” Jim apologized sheepishly. “Long night.”

The Vulcan hardly missed a beat, clearly unimpressed. “My superior officer wishes to know if you are able to answer a few questions.”

“Uh, sure, I guess…”

Another figure loomed in the doorway. It took Jim’s warmout brain longer than usual to process the man’s face. It had aged a good deal since the last time that he had seen it. Slight flecks of gray were evident in the once-sleek black hair. New wrinkles arched away from the corners of his sparkling blue eyes and accentuated the concern on his forehead. Despite such signs, he still cut a handsome and dashing figure. With his lips pursed, not quite expecting what reception he would gain from the two farmers, he stepped forward and just let Jim absorb his presence.

The silence wretched Jason from his shutdown, his curiosity getting the better of him. When he saw who it was, he literally jumped away from his chair.

“Captain!”

“Admiral,” Jim corrected his partner. “Vice Admiral, to be exact!

It was true. The gold braid on his uniform and the Federation emblem belt buckle told no lies.

Ewan Llewellyn had arrived.

 

[admiralelm11]

CHAPTER FOUR
OLD WOUNDS

Armstrong Family Farm


“Good morning, gentlemen. I wish this reunion was under better circumstances.”

Jim instantly pulled out a third chair from the old wooden dining table. With a grateful nod, Vice Admiral Ewan Llewellyn took it and watched as the couple remained standing straight and tall. It puzzled him, adding frown lines to his face with each passing second before he could take no more.

“Relax, guys,” he said to his hosts. “It’s been three years, remember?”

“Uh… sorry, sir,” Jason stuttered, returning to the table.

“Force of habit, sir,” Jim chipped in.

“Okay, tell you what. Why don’t you offer me a cup of tea, drop the formality and call me Ewan like all of my other friends do? You’ve been out of Starfleet for too long to stand on ceremony… and God knows that I don’t deserve the ceremony.”

A third cup of breakfast tea was fetched from the replicator and handed to the Vice Admiral with both speed and apology. The Welshman was right. It had been three years since they had seen one another. The day that they had all stopped serving together was a barrage of emotions for all involved. The serenity of life on the Armstrong Family Farm had subconsciously repressed the memory from both men’s minds. It wasn’t the sort of thing that enjoyed being dwelled upon and therefore gave up no resistance to being tucked away… and now seeing Ewan Llewellyn sitting in their kitchen, they felt it all make a potent return. The sights, the smells, the words, the noises… and the screaming…

No. it would go unmentioned. Now was not the time to bring it all back up now.

“So,” Jason began,” are you liking your new promotion?”

“Who cares?,” Ewan shot back in awe of the Kentuckian’s restraint. “You must be dying for some answers, am I right? I’m sorry to say that I can’t give you many. Well, no, that’s not technically correct… I’m not authorized to give you many. Had this crash occurred on any other farm or anybody else’s farm, I would follow the rules. Frankly, seeing as you are the unlucky pair in all of this and given our history of serving together, the hell with them.”

“Thanks,” the local man grinned, pushing his fedora back with a practiced thumb.

“We saw a chunk of the debris,” Jim admitted, relieved that this question practically got the go-ahead from the Vice Admiral. “It was marked with SC-1. That stands for Starfleet Command One. Those shuttles are reserved for top brass only.”

“It wasn’t yours, was it?,” Jason jokingly added, making his guest laugh.

“No, it wasn’t mine. It wasn’t actually anybody’s. She was empty on arrival. Listen, all of this is classified information, so keep it under your hats. No pun intended, Jason. Yesterday evening, SC-1 dropped out of warp far too close to Earth’s atmosphere. She spiraled out of control and crashed into your farm, thanks to a faulty recall setting. That setting was supposed to take her safely back to San Francisco but it clearly had other ideas.”

“Recall setting?,” Jim wondered aloud.

“You mean somebody sent an empty shuttle home alone?,” Jason confirmed.

Ewan silently nodded over a sip of tea. He could almost predict the next question and kicked himself for letting it happen.

“Can we ask if it was… her?”

The silence continued as Ewan fixed the younger man with a stare that seemed to want to end the conversation. Despite his flagrant rule-bending on behalf of his two old colleagues, there were some lines that the Welshman simply couldn’t bring himself to cross.

Yes, he trusted them.

Yes, he knew that they would keep quiet.

Yes, he counted on their loyalty… but the piece of information for which he had asked was too much. As much as it pained him to do so, he simply maintained his frosty glare.

Jim got the message and resigned himself to ignorance, but Jason had other ideas. Damn it, a large section of his land had been obliterated overnight! His farmhouse had been transformed into a Starfleet Investigations headquarters. He deserved to know!

“Come on, Ewan,” he urged. “We watch FNN. it doesn’t take a genius to work it out.”

“Jason, please. I really can’t say.”

“I’m sure you can. You just don’t want to tell us, in case we spill in!”

The subject needed changing.

“Is it me or has your accent become much stronger?”

“Dropping the formality, remember?,” Jason continued to press him. “Tell us!”

“Look, I’m sorry for all of the damage that this incident has caused,” Ewan concluded, finishing his tea and rising to his full height. It was done to kill the fuse that had been sparked off. The last thing that he wanted was to have an argument with two of his oldest and dearest friends. “As soon as the shuttle wreckage has been removed, I’ll see to organizing repairs to anything you need. Thanks for the tea. I really must be going now.”

Amicable smiles and handshakes were exchanged.

Vice Admiral Llewellyn turned and left.

On that note, rather abruptly, Jason and Jim ceased to be involved… for now. Outside in the courtyard, he had to pause for a moment and recover.

Seeing them again had been difficult. Having Jason nearly fly off the handle towards the end there, too, had threatened to unleash certain demons from their emotional cages. He had come dangerously close to snapping right back at the farmer. Taking a deep, cleansing breath of sweet morning air, Ewan let it rejuvenate his spirit. The glorious warmth of sunlight made his tanned skin tingle, the birdsong being the perfect musical accompaniment. It all came together to force the tears back down inside the well from which they came.

“Sir?”

It was the Vulcan officer assigned to his side. She was carrying a large data screen.

“Yes, go ahead,” Ewan sighed.

“I have located Doctor Pulaski. Would you care to…?”

“Yes, excellent, thank you!” Taking the screen from the Vulcan, he turned around and looked at the blonde curls and thin smile that stared back at him. This was a face that wasn;t difficult to see, more recent in his memory. “Kate! I’ve been trying to reach your office at Starfleet Medical all morning. Where are you, exactly?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Pulaski observed over the communications link. “I see sunshine, Ewan. I’m glad to see that you’ve finally taken my advice about a holiday.”

“Far from it, I’m afraid. So, seriously, where are you?”

“I’m aboard the Enterprise. She’s in orbit and I’m catching up with some old friends.”

“Really?,” Ewan replied, his eyebrows shooting skyward in appreciation of coincidence. “That was going to be my next stop. I was wondering, Kate, if you could do me a favor and make a certain introduction?”

The physician nodded in agreement. “I’d be happy to.”


* * * *


CHAPTER FIVE
THE NEXT GENERATION

Ready Room, USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-E
Stardate 59725.3


The privilege of rank said that Ewan Llewellyn could have simply walked right through the sliding doors as he pleased. Thankfully, he was enough of a gentleman to ignore the heady power given to him by the additional rank pips and uniform belt. Politely, he waited with his hands clasped behind his back after having pressed the doorbell to Jean-Luc Picard’s Ready Room. there was no sense in over-dramatizing the events that brought him here or the orders that he was about to administer. He was a professional and the Captain’s reputation was no different. Rushing things wouldn’t help.

“Come,” a voice boomed from within the room.

Stepping into the Ready Room, the Welshman met the Frenchman for the first time.

“Admiral Llewellyn,” Picard blurted out, standing immediately.

Ewan let the doors slide shut behind him, the hiss of the soundproofed seal reassuring their privacy from the Bridge of the Enterprise. It wasn’t a matter of trust that forced him to wait, just unfamiliarity. Hell, if he couldn’t tell Jason and Jim any further details than what was being reported on FNN, and he trusted them implicitly. No, the door needed to be shut for the conversation to progress forward.

“Captain Picard,” he finally smiled, walking to the desk and extending his right arm across it, his palm open. The handshake was firm and respectful. “Please, be at ease. I can’t say that I’m quite used to everybody leaping to their feet when I walk into a room. It makes me feel on-edge and on display the entire time.”

“Would you care for some tea, Admiral?,” Picard offered.

“No, thank you.”

Both men sat down and let the relaxing comfort of the chairs go to work. There was nothing awkward about the moment of silence that hung between them. On the contrary, there was no tension, whatsoever, on the part of either of them. The age gap probably had something to do with it. Ewan was perhaps the youngest Vice Admiral in Starfleet history. Well… at least, in recent history as that much was certain.

While his rank said otherwise, it was the superior who looked upon his inferior with wide-eyed admiration. The legendary Jean-Luc Picard wore his experience on every single line and crevice spread across his face and he was about to take orders from a forty-five-year-old man. It didn’t feel quite right… and yet, not a sliver of nerves or tension threatened the meeting.

Picard was the first to break the calm. “The shuttle crash,” he murmured, taking a guess.

“The shuttle crash,” Ewan confirmed with a slow nod of his head. “Before you ask, I can confirm that it was her shuttle too. Fortunately, she wasn’t aboard. It was operating on an automatic recall, a broken automatic recall that sent it plowing into Kentucky. We’ve analyzed what logs that she could find, but there’s not much to go on.”

“My word…,” the Captain whispered. “After all this time…”

“Sixteen months,” the Vice Admiral added. “We were this close to declaring her officially missing in action and now her shuttle returns, empty.”

Picard put on a brave face, despite the overwhelming thoughts of possibility. “Still, there is hope.”

“That hope is what brings me here today, Captain.”

Gesturing towards Picard’s desktop monitor, Ewan waited for the approving encouragement before turning it towards him and punching up the orders that he had requested to be transferred directly aboard the Enterprise computer. Unlocking the classified intelligence, he rotated the screen back toward Picard and gave him time to start reading. When his facial reactions gave away what parts of the orders were being examined, he began to narrate.

“There are three locations that are still intact aboard the SC-1 navigational log. They seem to be the last three locations that were visited. Now, at such short notice, I’ve only managed to recall two of the closest starships, meaning that we’ve got a third location left to investigate.”

“Understood,” Picard mused. “However, the Enterprise is currently undergoing -- “

“... engineering upgrades. Ablative armor testing, isn’t it? Captain, you and I both know that such technology is never going to encompass a Sovereign-class starship and I’m sure that your chief engineer knows it too. Before I beamed up here, I took the liberty of canceling all of the upgrades on the Enterprise schedule. You’ll be ready to go in fifteen minutes.”

Picard’s eyes widened. He didn’t know whether to be impressed or insulted. Thankfully, for now, he chose the former.

“Which of the locations will we be investigating?”

“Rigel X,” Ewan told him. “As you can see, the other two are deep within the Beta Quadrant and the ships that I have recalled are manned by crews with more experience in those sectors of the Galaxy. I want to play to everyone’s strengths.”

“If I’m not mistaken, you spent a great deal of time out there yourself?”

“Five years attached to Starbase 499. I’ll be heading back out there, too, aboard one of the other ships. I know, I know, the top brass going in search of top brass, but I couldn’t give a tinker's damn about regulations. Without wanting to sound arrogant, there isn’t anybody in Starfleet with as much experience in that corner of space. I’ve met the races, made a few friends, made a few enemies too, and I know how to deal with them. If any rescue mission is to succeed, we need all available resources in the field. That includes me.”

Vice Admiral Llewellyn was making a big impression on Captain Picard. The Frenchman saw the dedication and drive behind those narrow blue eyes. It was something that the older man sympathized with, as he could recognize it as the type of dedication and drive born out of a shock to the system, suffering … and healing. Whatever made Ewan get out of bed in the morning and serve the United Federation of Planets was strong, raw, and powerful. Being able to see it firsthand reassured his standpoint on the young admiral.

If this was the next generation of the upper ranks, the future was in safe hands.

“I wish you the very best of luck,” he said with sincerity.

“And you, Captain,” Llewellyn seconded. “If she’s still out there, we’ll find her.”

Another handshake ended the meeting.

The Welshman turned and left the Ready Room, leaving Picard standing alone. Pensively, he approached the replicator, tugging the waistband of his uniform sharply back into place as he went. The search ahead on Rigel X… it was multi-layered. There would be many variables to consider. They weren’t just looking for her. They were looking for her reasons for disappearing, her reasons for climbing aboard SC-1, sixteen months ago and vanishing off among the stars.

“Tea,” he ordered. “Earl Grey. Hot.”

Above all, he just hoped that they would find her alive.

Starfleet could do without the loss of Admiral Kathryn Janeway.


* * * *

 

[Cobalt Frost]

Great stuff as usual!

 

[admiralelm11]

Thank you, Cobalt Frost. I'm having a lot of fun, writing this novella.

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

One of the challenges of writing for beloved characters is getting their voices and mannerisms right. Which you've done well. I can definitely hear Diana Muldaur's voice in your Pulaski.
Good start on the novella. I particularly enjoyed the turn of phrase "...the songs of exhausted birds..." Jason's love of the land reminds me of my Oklahoma childhood. Kind of hoping he and Jim get to sit this one out. They've served their time in hell.

Thanks!! rbs

 

[admiralelm11]

CHAPTER FIVE
THE NEXT GENERATION


Ready Room, USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-E
Stardate 59725.3


The privilege of rank said that Ewan Llewellyn could have simply walked right through the sliding doors as he pleased. Thankfully, he was enough of a gentleman to ignore the heady power given to him by the additional rank pips and uniform belt. Politely, he waited with his hands clasped behind his back after having pressed the doorbell to Jean-Luc Picard’s Ready Room. there was no sense in over-dramatizing the events that brought him here or the orders that he was about to administer. He was a professional and the Captain’s reputation was no different. Rushing things wouldn’t help.

“Come,” a voice boomed from within the room.

Stepping into the Ready Room, the Welshman met the Frenchman for the first time.

“Admiral Llewellyn,” Picard blurted out, standing immediately.

Ewan let the doors slide shut behind him, the hiss of the soundproofed seal reassuring their privacy from the Bridge of the Enterprise. It wasn’t a matter of trust that forced him to wait, just unfamiliarity. Hell, if he couldn’t tell Jason and Jim any further details than what was being reported on FNN, and he trusted them implicitly. No, the door needed to be shut for the conversation to progress forward.

“Captain Picard,” he finally smiled, walking to the desk and extending his right arm across it, his palm open. The handshake was firm and respectful. “Please, be at ease. I can’t say that I’m quite used to everybody leaping to their feet when I walk into a room. It makes me feel on-edge and on display the entire time.”

“Would you care for some tea, Admiral?,” Picard offered.

“No, thank you.”

Both men sat down and let the relaxing comfort of the chairs go to work. There was nothing awkward about the moment of silence that hung between them. On the contrary, there was no tension, whatsoever, on the part of either of them. The age gap probably had something to do with it. Ewan was perhaps the youngest Vice Admiral in Starfleet history. Well… at least, in recent history as that much was certain.

While his rank said otherwise, it was the superior who looked upon his inferior with wide-eyed admiration. The legendary Jean-Luc Picard wore his experience on every single line and crevices spread across his face and he was about to take orders from a forty-five-year-old. It didn’t feel quite right… and yet, not a sliver of nerves or tension threatened the meeting.

Picard was the first to break the calm. “The shuttle crash,” he murmured, taking a guess.

“The shuttle crash,” Ewan confirmed with a slow nod of his head. “Before you ask, I can confirm that it was her shuttle too. Fortunately, she wasn’t aboard. It was operating on an automatic recall, a broken automatic recall that sent it plowing into Kentucky. We’ve analyzed what logs that she could find, but there’s not much to go on.”

“My word…,” the Captain whispered. “After all this time…”

“Sixteen months,” the Vice Admiral added. “We were this close to declaring her officially missing in action and now her shuttle returns, empty.”

Picard put on a brave face, despite the overwhelming thoughts of possibility. “Still, there is hope.”

“That hope is what brings me here today, Captain.”

Gesturing towards Picard’s desktop monitor, Ewan waited for the approving encouragement before turning it towards him and punching up the orders that he had requested to be transferred directly aboard the Enterprise computer. Unlocking the classified intelligence, he rotated the screen back toward Picard and gave him time to start reading. When his facial reactions gave away what parts of the orders were being examined, he began to narrate.

“There are three locations that are still intact aboard the SC-1 navigational log. They seem to be the last three locations that were visited. Now, at such short notice, I’ve only managed to recall two of the closest starships, meaning that we’ve got a third location left to investigate.”

“Understood,” Picard mused. “However, the Enterprise is currently undergoing -- “

“... engineering upgrades. Ablative armor testing, isn’t it? Captain, you and I both know that such technology is never going to encompass a Sovereign-class starship and I’m sure that your chief engineer knows it too. Before I beamed up here, I took the liberty of canceling all of the upgrades on the Enterprise schedule. You’ll be ready to go in fifteen minutes.”

Picard’s eyes widened. He didn’t know whether to be impressed or insulted. Thankfully, for now, he chose the former.

“Which of the locations will we be investigating?”

“Rigel X,” Ewan told him. “As you can see, the other two are deep within the Beta Quadrant and the ships that I have recalled are manned by crews with more experience in those sectors of the Galaxy. I want to play to everyone’s strengths.”

“If I’m not mistaken, you spent a great deal of time out there yourself?”

“Five years attached to Starbase 499. I’ll be heading back out there, too, aboard one of the other ships. I know, I know, the top brass going in search of top brass, but I couldn’t give a tinker's damn about regulations. Without wanting to sound arrogant, there isn’t anybody in Starfleet with as much experience in that corner of space. I’ve met the races, made a few friends, made a few enemies too, and I know how to deal with them. If any rescue mission is to succeed, we need all available resources in the field. That includes me.”

Vice Admiral Llewellyn was making a big impression on Captain Picard. The Frenchman saw the dedication and drive behind those narrow blue eyes. It was something that the older man sympathized with, as he could recognize it as the type of dedication and drive born out of a shock to the system, suffering … and healing. Whatever made Ewan get out of bed in the morning and serve the United Federation of Planets was strong, raw, and powerful. Being able to see it firsthand reassured his standpoint on the young admiral.

If this was the next generation of the upper ranks, the future was in safe hands.

“I wish you the very best of luck,” he said with sincerity.

“And you, Captain,” Llewellyn seconded. “If she’s still out there, we’ll find her.”

Another handshake ended the meeting.

The Welshman turned and left the Ready Room, leaving Picard standing alone. Pensively, he approached the replicator, tugging the waistband of his uniform sharply back into place as he went. The search ahead on Rigel X… it was multi-layered. There would be many variables to consider. They weren’t just looking for her. They were looking for her reasons for disappearing, her reasons for climbing aboard SC-1, sixteen months ago and vanishing off among the stars.

“Tea,” he ordered. “Earl Grey. Hot.”

Above all, he just hoped that they would find her alive.

Starfleet could do without the loss of Admiral Kathryn Janeway.


* * * *


CHAPTER SIX
ADDITIONAL ASSISTANCE


Transporter Room One
USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-E


“How did things go back there? Everything taken care of?”

“Yes, thanks, Kate. Now comes the time that I ask you for a favor.”

“Oh…?”

Vice Admiral Llewellyn placed a gentle hand on Doctor Pulaski’s shoulder to try and drive home the sincerity of his request. There was no way that he could order the Head of Starfleet Medical to do anything that she didn’t want to, so the optimism for a positive response was all tied up in the gesture. After all, he was juggling so many elements to the SC-1 crash investigation. There was more to be uncovered, and more history to face. If he was going to succeed, he needed his friends on his side.

“I would like you to remain aboard the Enterprise for her mission to Rigel X,” Ewan asked her,” if you wouldn’t mind. I want connections aboard all three of the ships involved in this search. Not that I don’t trust Captain Picard or anything, of course. This is my first big coordinated undertaking and your additional assistance will provide a friendly face.”

“I understand, Ewan,” Pulaski smiled. “Does that mean that the other two ships are…?”

“Yes,” the Welshman nodded quickly.

“That’s going to be difficult for you. Will you manage?”

“I’ll have to, Kate. Besides, I’ll get a head start on the big reunion later today. Erica’s ship is the closer of the two. Just like seeing Jason and Jim again,” I’ll consider it a rehearsal before the big dance number.”

“When did you last speak to her?”

“You mean Erica?”

“No. You know that I don’t mean Erica.”

Llewellyn felt his mind leap backwards through time once more. It arrived at the same point that he recalled while standing in the Armstrong Family Farm kitchen, the same point, three years ago, when they had all stopped serving together. However, this time, it wasn’t the mutual horror of the experience that filled his mind. This time, it was the confrontation that happened afterward, the heated argument in the Observation Lounge that ended both a professional and a personal relationship. He had said things that he had never meant. She had responded in kind. It was like something from a different timeline, a memory that he seemed to observe from the third person, watching powerless to change things.

Snapping back to Pulaski’s concerned expression, the Vice Admiral blustered. “Oh, uh… well, not since…”

“You’ve been silent all this time?,” the physician gasped at him. “Ewan, I’m so sorry! I mean, I never asked because I just assumed that you had patched things up!”

“I wish, Kate. it would have ensured that tomorrow would be less filled with dread.”

“Whenever you need to talk, I’ll find the time.”

“That’s much appreciated, but we’re both adults, Starfleet officers… and we’ve got a serious job to do. I don’t intend to let our personal history interfere, and I’m sure that she’ll feel the same. After all, it’s her ship these days. Put as many medals on my chest as you want, I’ll still be a guest at the end of the day.”

“This is your mission, Ewan. Don’t forget that. Don’t let her make you forget that.”

“It sounds like you’re taking sides,” he jibed.

“Who? Me?,” came the deliberately exaggerated reply.

Parting with a short, meaningful hug, Ewan stepped up onto the transporter pad and smiled back at Doctor Pulaski all the way through the dematerialization process. Seeing him leave with so much left unanswered and so much danger looming over the horizon sent a chill down her spine.. It left her swamped with an uneasy mixture of nostalgia and regret. Things were bad enough with the mysterious disappearance of Admiral Janeway that they didn’t need to be overcomplicated with the search party damaged by such delicate baggage.

It was funny how circumstances have a way of conspiring against certain people.


* * * *


Main Bridge
USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-E


Jean-Luc Picard marched out of his Ready Room with a natural authority unmatched by any commanding officer in Starfleet. Even if they didn’t show it, all of the crew members on duty instantly became aware of his presence. Here was a man who owned the very deck plating that he walked across. Disputing that fact would be a foolish endeavor, but the loyalty that he instilled in the hearts and minds of the Bridge officers canceled out any such dispute. Stern, a professional frown locked securely in place, the Captain headed for his command chair and prepared to dispense new orders.

Standing from the command chair, Commander Martin Madden moved respectfully aside. The duty-bound officer was finally at the stage of his career aboard the Enterprise where he was able to finely tune his senses alongside the Captain’s. Whatever was about to happen and wherever they were about to go, it was important business. Deciding not to probe him for answers, he assumed his place in the First Officer’s chair in silence.

“Have the engineering teams returned to the surface?,” Picard asked him.

“Mister LaForge reports that the last of them have just beamed down,” the Commander answered promptly, his tone even and steady. “He’s waiting for your orders, sir.”

The Captain pressed the intercom panel on his chair’s armrest. “Picard to Engineering,” he called out.

“LaForge here, Captain,” came the digitized reply.

“I trust that everything has been straightened out down there, Commander?”

“Back to just the way that I like it, sir.”

“Grand.”

Closing the line of communication down, Picard felt a peaceful wave of relaxation wash over him. It was at odds with the urgency of the new mission, the possible risk, and the fear of finding Admiral Janeway in a less-than-safe scenario… but, for some reason when his ship was working properly, so was he. No more upgrades, no more tinkering, and no more experimentation on the ship’s systems. Things were back to normal and things worked.

It was time to get underway.

“Helm, lay in a new course. Take us to Rigel X, Warp Factor Nine!”

“Aye, sir,” the helm officer responded.

“Engage!”


CHAPTER SEVEN
CAPTAIN ERICA MARTINEZ


Starfleet Command Headquarters
San Francisco
Wednesday, September 22nd (PM)


For the first time since accepting his promotion to Vice Admiral, the view from Ewan Llewellyn’s office window did nothing to calm the raging waters of the Welshman’s mind. He was so overwhelmed by the mere prospect of the next twenty-four hours. Switching off and soaking in the natural beauty of the San Francisco Bay area was a tragic impossibility, no matter how hard he tried. It was a glorious day outside, too. He had stormed in here at countless times. Long hours often took their toll on the top brass. He enjoyed letting his consciousness leave his tired body and wander over the vista. It ran across the gardens, explored the city and enjoyed climbing across the Golden Gate Bridge. It always returned to him refreshed and clear, allowing him to continue his work.

Not this afternoon.

This afternoon, it sat and festered inside his aching skull.

Old faces from a past that he had tried so desperately to forget kept haunting him. There was the face that he had welcomed to stay, the face of Katherine Pulaski, the face that he considered to be a true pillar of support. There were the faces that he had already met since SC-1 had unceremoniously returned to Earth. Jason Armstrong and James Morgan, the couple who had successfully fled from their Starfleet service.

Then there were the faces that he was yet to meet. The faces that he was scheduled to meet…

Then there was her face.

Fate was certainly twisting the knife too as she was the last one that he would meet. Seconds turned to minutes. Minutes became hours, and hours felt like days. Why was it, whenever you were enjoying yourself that time seemed to speed up? And why was it, whenever you dreaded a moment, time slowed to a crawl. Turning away from the ineffective view, Ewan considered calling Temporal Investigations and asking them. At the very least, it would give him something to do while he waited.

The communications panel on his glass-topped desk chimed.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Admiral, there is a Captain Martinez here to see you,” the Vulcan aide reported from his desk outside. “Shall I send her in?”

“Go ahead, please,” Ewan answered enthusiastically. This was one reunion that he didn’t mind so much. It was still difficult, given many aspects, and it marked his first proper step away from Earth, away from the safety of his office, and towards the unpredictable emotions of seeing the final name on his list. Still, he couldn’t help but smile as the door slid open and revealed the strikingly attractive Latina woman.

“Erica, come in, please!”

“Vice Admiral Llewellyn,” Erica Martinez whispered to herself. “There’s a nice ring to it.”

“You think? Well, I’m glad that one of us does.”

The usual formality of a handshake was replaced by the gracious and forgiving release of a hug. It lingered, both officers feeling pangs of regret for being apart for so long. The events that split them all apart, three years ago, didn’t consist of anything personal between them, not in particular, but rather they just packed a powerful mutual punch. They had both simply retreated into their careers, both of them accepting promotions, and indeed, after the hug, Ewan leaned back to admire the four golden rank pips on Erica’s crimson collar.

“Captain Martinez,” he simply breathed.

“It was bound to happen sooner or later,” she chuckled. “Are you ready to go?”

“More or less. I’ve just got a few more bits and pieces to throw together. Take a seat and make the most of the view. I know that this is your first time back to Earth in, what, almost twenty months? My apologies that it couldn’t be more of a lengthy visit. Your crew must hate me for teasing them!”

Erica eased herself into one of the comfortable armchairs that faced his desk and the broad, sweeping window. It was nice to be back, but even the snippet of information that she had been given about the recall and the subsequent mission was enough to justify leaving again so quickly and so urgently. Still, the view was damn nice.

“My crew understands, sir.”

“Hey,” he snapped immediately,” don’t you start that too!”

“Start what?,” the Latina woman asked innocently.

“My name is Ewan. it’s what you’ve always called me and that you should continue to call me!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You don’t really like all of this formal crap, do you?”

“I don’t actively dislike it,” her superior officer explained as he collected together a stack of reports and bundled them into a shoulder-mounted bag. “I mean, for example, earlier today, I met with Captain Jean-Luc Picard aboard the Enterprise. Now, there’s a man who respects authority and manners so I kept it polite and formal. He called me Admiral. I called him Captain. It worked out fine… but you, Erica? You know me. We’re friends! We served together for five years and, in my book, that counts for something.”

Captain Martinez gave him an indebted smile. “Well, thanks. I’d like to keep it formal aboard the Blackmore, though, if you don’t mind.”

Ewan froze.

He knew that it would get said at some point, but bearing that name again. It had adorned the fleet reports that he had scanned the previous night that told him which ships to call in to help in the search. It had even been said while he issued the recall orders but hearing it said by a familiar voice from the past made it ten times more potent. His packing slowed right down as his eyes shifted to one side. Erica saw what she had done and got to her feet, her hands wringing apologetically. She might have gotten used to the name, being the ship’s captain and all, but it was the first time that he was going to set foot aboard her. The tender nature of that wound was palpable.

“Are you all right?,” came the gentle inquiry from his visitor.

“I will be. I’m sorry,” the Welshman mumbled. “I’m just not used to… you know…”

“I’ll try to be more careful.”

“No, don’t be. I think that it’s wonderful that they changed the name… A true honor…”

The final moments of packing were completed in silence. Erica let things hang in the air for as long as they needed, and the Vice Admiral dragged it out with even more time than was needed to finalize the contents of his bag. When he eventually finished, he signalled his Vulcan aide and bid her farewell. Returning to stand beside his Latina friend, he gave her the all-clear and she tapped her combadge accordingly.

“Martinez to Blackmore,” she stated clearly,” two to beam up.”

In a swirl of blue transporter energy, Ewan Llewellyn left his office at Starfleet Command Headquarters.

He could achieve no more on Earth.

It was time to take his latest mission to the stars.


* * * *

 

[admiralelm11]

CHAPTER EIGHT
REVELATION


Main Bridge
USS Blackmore, NCC-82499
Stardate 59725.7


She was a Luna-class starship, and an explorer by nature, just like her namesake.

Even the registry number had been tweaked, Vice Admiral Llewellyn noticed with a jovial snort of his nostrils as he passed by the golden dedication plaque. Starfleet had really gone out of their way to make this vessel an everlasting tribute to him, hadn’t they? Well, Erica would have fought hard to ensure that. Thanks to his promotion, Ewan understood how difficult it was getting the desk jockeys to do anything, especially something as trivial as painting a new name on the hull of a starship. A silent smile passed between him and Captain Martinez in recognition of this. Bless her spirit.

The Bridge of the Blackmore collectively snapped to attention to mark the return of their commanding officer, upon noticing the Welshman a few steps behind her, their attention became even more rigid. Erica ran a tight ship… that much was clear. Despite the urge to wave everybody back down into their seats or back to their regular duties, Ewan resisted. He didn’t want to step on the Latina Captain’s toes.

However, another man had no difficulty relaxing around her.

“Welcome back,” Gabriel Brodie greeted them, rising from the command chair. He planted a brief, polite kiss on Erica’s cheek before he turned towards Llewellyn. “Admiral, sir, it’s an honor to see you again! Welcome aboard the Blackmore.”

“Thanks, Gabe,” Ewan grinned, shaking the black man’s hand vigorously.

The symbolism wasn’t lost on him. After his promotion to full Commander, Gabriel Brodie had become Erica Martinez’s trusted First Officer. It had reinforced their relationship, the two of them having fallen deeper and deeper in love ever since the Battle of Four-Nine-Nine and the subsequent departure from the Santrag system all those years ago. When given a Luna-class starship and a mission of exploration, they had it made. It reminded Ewan all too strongly of his own relationship with his one-time First Officer… The relationship that, unlike Erica and Gabe, had disintegrated. The echoes of which, he inwardly dreaded, would be coming back to haunt him in a very real sense, very soon.

“We should get underway,” Erica interrupted, cutting through the worry and assuming her position of authority in the middle of the Bridge. “At ease, everybody. We’ve got a scheduled rendezvous to make. Gabe, why don't you show the Admiral to guest quarters? I’m sure that he’s got plenty of work to do.”

Ewan had to laugh, breaking the formality. “You just inadvertently quoted my mother… uh, Captain.”

The Latina woman allowed a tiny flash of a smile to break the surface before returning her attention to her command duties. With a gesture towards the turbolift, Commander Brodie ushered him away as a course was laid in and the Blackmore jumped to eight times the speed of light.


* * * *


Personal Log, Vice Admiral Ewan Llewellyn, Stardate 59728.3;

Despite the lateness of the hour, I find myself unable to get any meaningful sleep aboard the Luna-class vessel upon which I now travel. Perhaps, I’m overloading myself at the moment. So much seems designed to test me. Ships filled with faces from my past, small indicators pointing towards what might have been.

Erica and Gabe, serving together in perfect harmony, and I know it isn’t their fault. I can’t hold them responsible. All of this comes when I’m supposed to be focusing on the task at hand, namely finding clues as to the possible fate of Admiral Kathryn Janeway.

Why did SC-1 return to Earth empty? Why was it malfunctioning so severely? Yes, there’s little wonder as to why I can’t sleep. I suppose taking another look at what information was recovered from the crash is the best use of my insomnia… Besides, some of it is new…


The coffee wasn’t really required. There was a difference between simply being awake and being alert. Ewan owed it to his mission to be the latter, not the former, and so knocked back the reminder in the steel cup as he slumped back down to work. His guest quarters aboard the Blackmore were, as he expected, both a blessing and a curse. They were lavish, comfortable, and bright… but they reminded him too painfully of his own quarters aboard his own ship, the ship that he no longer commanded.

“Enough melancholy,” he viewed, speaking aloud to himself.

Punching the desktop monitor before him, he replaced the empty cup with a PADD. At least, he was making some headway, trying to figure out the last moments of SC-1 and, maybe, therefore, the last movements of Admiral Janeway. The three destinations would be examined in time, but there was more to it than that.

“Computer, refresh the live datastream from Earth.”

“Refresh complete,” the computer chimed blankly after a moment of contemplation.

“Are there any additional files transmitted?”

“Affirmative. One additional file, marked Alpha-Priority.”

“Display the file.”

When he read the header, Ewan leaned forward instinctively. All hints of tiredness vanished away from his face, the threatening headache dissipating almost instantly. It was a personal log. They had recovered a personal log from the wreckage!

Finally, a chance to see first-hand what Janeway was up to! Finally, a chance to hear from her! Eagerly anticipating success, he played the voice recording, only to be slightly disheartened to hear it fragmented. It had been damaged quite badly. Still, it was something.

The sharp, penetrating tones of Kathryn Janeway filled the room. “Personal log, Star… point-five… This system does not contain the trace that I was hoping for. Sensors obviously… redoubling my efforts… Others would turn back, but I remain convinced that the… still out there, somewhere… lonely, but I’ve faced worse. Getting through this is the least of my concerns, because if… could spell disaster… Federation… kept hearing them in the back of my mind… her mind… his mind too.”

“Whoa, hold on,” Ewan whispered.

All of this sounded deeply ominous. Maybe it was the distortions in the recording or maybe it was the tone of her voice, but there was a creepy edge to the words being spoken. It sent a shiver down the Vice Admiral’s spine as, combining a gasp with a yawn, he continued to listen to the end of the log.

“I have several systems left to… beyond the reaches of my shuttle… borders of Federation space, but that won’t… readings from deep within the Beta Quadrant had been the mainstay of my search. I can’t shake the… they’re still out there.”

“Who, Admiral?,” he asked aloud. “Who’s still out there? Who were you looking for?”

“I won’t stop until I’ve found… remnants of the Borg Collective.”

Ewan’s eyes widened with shock. He dropped his PADD.

“Oh my God…!”


* * * *


CHAPTER NINE
BACK FROM THE DEAD


Astrometrics
USS Blackmore, NCC-82499


Everybody knew the story.

Despite the exhausting fog that settled in the minds of Erica Martinez and Gabriel Brodie, they could recall every single detail of the most famous voyage home in Starfleet history. It made headline news for months. Interviews with the crew lasted forever in subspace as schools across the Federation taught children all about it.

Yes, the return of the USS Voyager, NCC-74656 from her seven-year adventure in the Delta Quadrant was etched into modern consciousness no matter what the hour… and yet, standing in front of Vice Admiral Ewan Llewellyn, both officers were now being told a different version of history, one that filled them with terror.

“The Borg?,” Erica gasped, brushing her long dark hair aside.

“I thought they were wiped out,” Gabe confirmed,” by a neurolytic pathogen? I remember that it infected the Queen herself and spread throughout the Collective. Scavengers have been picking at annihilated Cubes clean for ages! You can still buy bits and pieces of a drone on the black market, damn it! The Borg are dead!”

“Admiral Janeway thinks otherwise,” Ewan simply stated,” according to this log.”

“And that’s why she went on some rogue operation?”

Standing before the myriad of glowing readouts and displays that made up the towering curvature of the astrometrics screen, the lanky Welshman nodded soberly. Getting all of this through to the two command officers of the Blackmore was proving to be quite a challenge at this hour, but he didn’t want to wait until morning to share the possible dangers of the search. It wasn’t fair on the Captain or her First Officer.

Pacing as he often did in such situations, Ewan continued the impromptu briefing with a determined precision. After all, he was fighting through the urge to simply fall asleep.

“Look, we all thought that it was too good to be true, right?,” he went on. “Voyager gets home, wiping out the Borg Collective along the way, and soon enough, we get a truckload of new goodies to play with. I understand that his ship has ablative armor, yes? A gift from the future. Something to defend against the Borg, an enemy that doesn’t exist anymore. I’m sorry, but you and I both know that things never turn out that rosy.”

“Okay,” Erica sighed, holding her hands up in mock-surrender. “What makes Janeway think that the Borg are back or didn’t the log specify that much?”

“Fragments,” Ewan admitted. “Something about hearing them in the back of her mind…?”

Gabriel Brodie stepped forward, the imposing presence of his broad shoulders overriding any difference in rank. His tactical knowledge and encyclopedic knack for retaining trivia on the strengths and weaknesses of alien races hadn’t washed out so much as a single brain cell in his entire life. If there was a way of exploiting it in battle, he knew about it, and the once-fearsome Borg Collective had been a pet project of his for several years. Clearing his throat, he got the attention of his superior officers.

“Janeway was once assimilated and turned into a drone,” he told them. “I read about it in one of the mission transcripts, one of the lucky ones that didn’t get turned into a cheap, tacky holonovel. While the procedure never actually took hold of her mind, as it was all for some part of elaborate espionage, nothing can change the fact that she was implanted with Borg technology. No amount of neural suppression is foolproof.”

Erica was starting to understand. “Former drones have reported hearing whispers of the Collective.”

“That must be it,” Ewan concluded, heaving his chest with an emphatic exchale. “She heard the echoes of the Collective and went out looking for them. That’s why I’m telling you all of this, Erica. We’re heading for the last known location of SC-1. if there’s a remote chance of the Blackmore slamming into the Borg, I want you to be ready.”

With her weary attitude finally beaten into submission, the New Mexican native nodded her appreciation of full disclosure. It had been worth waking her up, tearing her away from Gabe’s arms, and bringing her down to Astrometrics, although she had brought those arms and the comfort that they represented with her. Things had been peaceful of late. The Romulans were behaving themselves now with their talks with the Federation Council going smoothie. The Dominion War was still fresh enough in peoples’ minds to keep them from causing trouble. It had been a very long time since she had to order a Red Alert on her Bridge.

If the Borg were back, that absence wouldn’t last much longer.

Walking towards the curved display, she noted the course ahead with a frown. “There’s nothing too sinister ahead but we’ll keep the ablative armor on standby all the same. It’s better to be safe than sorry. How long until we make our rendezvous?”

“Seven hours and thirty minutes,” Gabe quickly replied.

“I want to increase our speed, just in case. Safety in numbers, okay?”

Standing to one side, allowing his superiors to continue their musings on the subject, the Blackmore First Officer took a respectful distance. He didn’t want to impact upon any careful thought processes, considering the weight of what had just been revealed.

Quietly, he activated his combadge and made the call. “Bridge to Commander Brodie.”

“Lieutenant Shlessshh here,” a vicious reptilian hissing sound replied to the summons.

“Continue along our current heading, Lieutenant, but take us to maximum warp.”

“Underssstood, sssir. Speed increasssed to maxxximum warp, aye.”

“Thanks. Brodie out.”

Behind him, with their arms folded in a rare mirrored stance that framed the spatial grid being displayed on the Astrometrics screen, Ewan and Erica shared a glance of apprehension. Ahead of them stretched the Beta Quadrant. Much of it was still unexplored and there would doubtlessly prove to be filled with various hiding places. Whether they could find Admiral Janeway or the Borg was a question that neither officer wanted to blindly or accidentally trip over. There was another worry too. Both of them had thought of it but it took the ballsy and direct nature of Erica Martinez’s newfound strictness to voice it.

“You’ve sent the Enterprise to Rigel X,” she reminded Llewellyn.

“Yes, I have.”

“Don’t you think that you should warn Captain Picard about this?”

The Vice Admiral unfolded his arms long enough to rub his drained facial features back into motion. He barely had enough energy for the reply that he shot back towards Martinez, let alone for the eyebrow that rose in accompaniment to the comment. There was nothing left for logic, professionalism, or kindness, not at this hour.

“If former drones really do hear voices, then I won’t have to warn him at all…”


* * * *


CHAPTER TEN
CAPTAIN’S PREROGATIVE


Main Bridge
USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-E
Stardate 5729.3



“Commander Madden, status report?”

“Uh, I was just about to call you, Captain. We’re approaching Rigel X.”

The First Officer’s index finger hovered over the communications panel that he was preparing to activate, no word of a lie in his answer to Jean-Luc Picard. He stood up from the center seat with respect and moved quickly aside, allowing his commanding officer to sit down. It was early, and yet the Captain had emerged from his Ready Room, not the turbolift. In fact, thinking about it, he never saw him leave the Ready Room overnight. Had he slept in there again? What was keeping him awake? Was this mission really that stressful?

“Drop to impulse and assume standard orbit,” he ordered sternly.

“Sir, if I may,” Madden ventured to ask him. “How did you know…?”

It wasn’t an answer that Picard was ready to give just yet. He could barely hear his First Officer at the moment as he could barely hear anything else. The reason for his premonition still rang in his ears, a dull noise that he simultaneously strained to clarify and fought to suppress. It was from his past and he never wanted to hear it again. It had many layers, making each difficult to discern. Sentences, all spoken in varying voices and tones, swarming together to create a cacophony of disorder and chaos. Somehow, they were also harmonious. None of the words tried to outdo the others or shout to overcome the confusion. The closest thing that he could relate it to, he recalled, was a memory of overhearing a certain android friend of his listening to six different pieces of music all at the same time.

Such a comparison wasn’t required. It was simply his mind, trying to comfort itself by sharing a happy thought alongside the dread and fear of recognition. Picard knew what the voices were, who they belonged to… and the fact that they had woken him up, just as the Enterprise arrived at Rigel X. It foretold of a mission now filled with an unexpected edge that was dangerously sharp.

Instead of answering Commander Madden, the Captain got to his feet and walked a few steps forward, aiming for the operations console. The young Lieutenant on duty was caught up, staring at the windswept cerulean planet that now dominated the viewscreen.

“Lieutenant,” Picard asked,” scan for Borg lifesigns.”

Everybody froze in shock.

Madden had his answer, lurching to stand beside his superior. With their eyes wide and their mouths agape, the Bridge crew looked to Picard for reassurance.

They found none.

“You heard me, Lieutenant,” the Captain repeated his order. “I said Borg lifesigns.”

Slowly, the startled young officer began to input the required scanned parameters and direct them at the bustling surface of Rigel X.

While the powerful Sovereign-class starship got to work, Madden ran his fingers through his short, dark haircut and realized that they were trembling slightly. He had been one of the lucky ones, having never faced the Borg Collective before. Never once in his career, he had never encountered so much as a single drone. Given the extent of the two largest Borg incursions into Federation space, his luck was also a rare thing in modern Starfleet ranks. Standing alongside Jean-Luc Picard and faced with the potential resurrection of the deadly foe, Madden could therefore justify his nerves. He almost felt like ordering the Lieutenant at the operations console to report nothing but good news. Unfortunately, this morning, it wasn’t to be.

“There’s some interference. Sensors can’t establish a precise lock, but I am detecting weak Borg lifesigns coming from the vicinity of one of the northern trading outposts. I estimate anywhere between ten and thirty individual readings.”

“What’s the source of the interference?,” Picard demanded.

“It’ll be nothing more than comms traffic on the commerce channels,” Madden pointed out, the image of Rigel X before them buzzing with the ferocity of a hornet’s nest, thanks to all of the multiple types of cargo ships entering and leaving the system. “Not to mention the black market down there, Captain. I’ve been doing some research. It would appear that the benefits of the United Federation of Planets don’t extend to all the corners of society.”

There was a silence, a pause for thought.

“Well then,” Picard finally determined,” we’ll have to go down there.”

Turning towards the turbolift, he made his intentions clear. He was preparing to lead the away team.

“Sir,” Madden said immediately,” with all due respect to the Captain’s prerogative, regulations exist for a reason! If there are Borg down on the surface, you’ll be placing yourself directly in the line of fire. Let me take a handful of security officers. I’ll keep an open channel and report any developments directly to the Bridge!”

The Captain stopped in mid-stride. He respected the genuine concern in his First Officer’s tone. He really did, but it had to be ignored. The weight of his history with the Borg overrode the regulations in a heartbeat.

Madden wasn’t to blame for his ignorance of this, but nevertheless, Picard found himself thinking that previous members of his senior staff wouldn’t have made such passionate pleas on the subject. Well, there were two other officers aboard the Enterprise that would understand and they were officers that he wanted alongside him on the surface. First, however, he placated the Commander.

“If Admiral Janeway has encountered the Borg, I’ll know how to retrieve her. Nobody else here has such first-hand experience. This is something that I must do, Martin. Keep transporters on standby for emergency extraction and wait for my signal.”

Above all, Madden valued the power of rank. He backed down accordingly. “Yes, Captain.”

“Grand. You have the Bridge.”

Letting the hiss of the turbolift doors end the conversation, Martin Madden cast a pair of narrow eyes around the expressions of abject panic preserved and concealed behind the dutiful uniforms of the crew. They were all looking to him now for an unassailable presence to settle the ship in the Captain’s absence. Keeping his own nerves in check had become a secondary concern.

Slowly, to symbolize that unassailable presence, he assumed a place in the command chair.

He only hoped that it wouldn’t become his permanent home.


* * * *

 

[admiralelm11]

CHAPTER ELEVEN
GREY AREAS

Type-11 Shuttlecraft Galileo
Currently entering Rigel X’s atmosphere.


Katherine Pulaski didn’t need the telepathy of a Betazoid or the listening skills of an El-Aurian to figure out that something was bothering the Captain. The physician’s natural empathy did the job just fine, flagging the preoccupied scowl creasing his bald scalp. It was something beyond a straightforward fear of the Borg or concern for Admiral Janeway’s life. It was something altogether more difficult to diagnose and something more enigmatic.

Stepping out from the aft compartment of the shuttlecraft, she approached the forward controls to see if there was anything that she could do. After all, Jean-Luc Picard had specially requested her presence as part of the away team, and as such, had avoided beaming down to the surface of Rigel X, just to accommodate her technophobia. The Galileo was taking twice the normal duration to penetrate the snowstorms in the atmosphere too. He was wasting valuable time and in the face of a possible resurgence of the Borg Collective. She was here for a reason, she determined, and that reason was now clear.

Slowly, she placed a hand on the gray shoulder of his uniform.

“Doctor,” Picard finally replied with a forced smile,” is anything the matter?”

“Perhaps,” she answered him, honestly. “Have you got a minute?”

Geordi LaForge looked up from his controls, his biomechanical blue eyes meeting his commanding officer’s gaze for confirmation. He gave a curt, considerate inclination of his short black hair towards the aft compartment, his skilled hands not once leaving the flight controls spread out before him. Knowing that his chief engineer would call before landing, Picard thanked him with a reflection of his signal.

Several steps later, and the privacy of a door slid into place.

The native of La Barre, France turned towards the doctor. There was more room to be enjoyed back here, no need to stoop underneath bulkheads or squirm into any corner seats. Almost making the best of the space, her arms were spread in a gesture that tried to mask the Captain’s worry. Pulaski wasn’t buying any of it but she let him speak first all the same.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Actually, I’m more interested in what’s on yours. Care to share, Captain?”

All of the pretense of attempting to feign stability washed away. Jean-Luc Picard would never allow himself to show weakness in front of his fellow Enterprise officers and that was just an unshakable principle of his career. However, safely tucked away in the aft compartment of the shuttle, Kate Pulaski was pressing him for answers out of admirable and genuine concern?

With a sigh and a pensive hand running across his hairless head, he let his shields down… only slightly, but just enough. “If anything,” he admitted to her,” I’m confused.”

“What specifically confuses you?”

“The Borg’s entire raison d’etre is expansion, assimilation, and the quest for perfection. I can’t see how a group of drones would hide beneath the surface of a trading outpost without attempting to conquer it. I can’t see how such docile tactics can amount to perfection. Doctor, if these were your average Borg, I wouldn’t be worried. I understand them. I fight them, and there should be no gray areas about it.”

“But there are gray areas,” Pulaski quickly picked up from him.

Picard dipped his head, his eyebrows raised and his stare locked firmly on his friend. “Exactly… and that’s what has me so confused… and concerned.”

Despite the inertial dampeners trying their best to keep the ride smooth, they simply couldn’t win the battle with the furious blizzard that ravaged the atmosphere and buffeted the sleek lines of the Type-11 shuttle. Faced with such a tempest, the deck beneath Picard and Pulaski jolted in precedence of a thunderclap. It cut the brooding conversation short, sending the Captain and the middle-aged physician back to the forward controls of the Galileo for an update from Geordi LaForge.

“I have a landing site locking in ahead,” the chief engineer noted, struggling to maintain his erratic flight path while leaning back to deliver his report.

Shards of ice accompanied flakes of snow in a barrage that assaulted the forward viewport. Nevertheless, the stark box-like shape of an ugly industrial structure loomed out of the shadows. It was fused with the peak of a particularly high arctic mountain. Whatever was keeping it there, against the elements, was of little concern. It was the perfect place for the underbelly of the Federation to conduct its nefarious, unscrupulous business. As long as it held, the black market of Rigel X would hold too. LaForge set about, moving the Galileo down towards one of the vacant rear landing pads, despite his stomach telling him not to. “Shall I initiate the final approach?”

“Make it so,” Picard growled, his hand returning to his apprehensive forehead as it whispered with the disjointed Borg voices that urged him onward. Finding no solace in his open palm, he turned his thoughts to tactical matters. “Doctor, you and I need sidearms and tricorders. Mister LaForge, you may indulge yourself in a compression rifle.”

“Aye, Captain. I’ve set all types of phaser weapons aboard, including the hull-mounted emitters to a rotating transphasic frequency.”

“That should punch through any attempts to adapt, right?,” Pulaski confirmed.

“From what we learned about transphasics, it should,” Geordi’s answer came in short order, harking back to the day that he had received the technical specifications from the USS Voyager, NCC-74656 upon her return to the Alpha Quadrant. Those specifications and the tinkering that they had inspired before launch, were the only glimmer of hope that the blind African-American held onto so tightly. “Hopefully, resistance won’t be so futile this time around.”

The play on words went unchallenged.

The shuttlecraft needed landing and the away team needed to arm themselves.

Soon enough, the warmth from the nacelles of the Galileo was fading away, powering down as the heart of the auxiliary vessel fell asleep. The rear landing ramp was slowly lowered onto the frosty surface of the trading outpost’s haphazard shell. It felt as though the gears themselves were nervous about working and letting the three Humans out into the untamed unknowns of Rigel X’s seedy underworld. Geordi inwardly thanked the shuttlecraft for the show of anxiety, whereas Pulaski inwardly cursed it.

Jean-Luc Picard didn’t even care.

His mind was elsewhere.

It was reaching out into the complex beyond, searching for the Borg. Carefully, one of his Starfleet-issue boots crunched into the snow.

The hunt was underway.


* * * *


CHAPTER TWELVE
STORM ON THE HORIZON


Main Bridge, USS Fortitude, NCC-76240-A
Currently in orbit of Shelia Major, Shelia system
Stardate 59732.8



Standard orbit… Was there anything more frustrating for a skilled pilot?

Well, no, he couldn’t really grumble. This was his passion, his career, and even the most mundane aspect of it still gave him a twinge of pure excitement and adrenaline. His fingers gently caressed the helm accordingly, watched in awe by the young ensign sitting at the operations console beside him. If it weren’t for the wedding ring affixed to his left hand, she might have been watching him in a very different light, the rank difference be damned, but he was taken.

Lucky woman.

He was a handsome pilot who still maintained his immaturity despite his advancing years and paternal responsibilities. With an audible sigh, the ensign returned to her duties.

“You’re not bored or anything, are you?,” Thomas Eugene Paris whispered to her.

“Huh? Oh, no, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Relax,” the flyboy chuckled with a wink. Twisting around in his seat, he cast an eye across the rest of the starship’s peaceful Bridge and confirmed his seniority. “When I’m in charge, the formality is dropped around here. Besides, I’m just making myself look busy here and I bet the sensors are just as downbeat as my course corrections.”

“More or less,” the ensign smiled, the ice successfully broken between them for now.

Tom decided to stretch his legs. Holding the Bridge with his Lieutenant Commander’s rank pips, he had his choice of seats. Only his dedication to piloting the Norway-class vessel had kept him at the helm.

With his hands clasped behind his back, he stepped up towards the Captain’s chair and kept his eye line level with the viewscreen. Upon it rested the image of Shelia Major, homeworld of the Sheliak Corporate and temporary home to both Fortitude’s Captain and First Officer. All the hopes and prayers of the eighty crew members were with them, not at least, because they had been in orbit for seventeen days solid. The negotiations were obviously a diplomatic challenge, to say the least.

The Sheliak weren’t known for being the most welcoming of people. Trust… they just had to trust the Captain’s skill.

Given the uneventful atmosphere aboard the ship, Tom let himself slouch down into the command chair, rather than treat it with the ceremony and respect that it deserved. If only B’Elanna and Miral had agreed to come to visit a little earlier, he would have their warm smiles to look forward to as another empty evening rolled around. As it stood, there was a question mark hanging over their rendezvous back on Earth.

Damn reclusive Sheliak… If they had just talked a little more often, Fortitude wouldn’t have had to come running, would it? Maybe his wife had been right, he begrudgingly admitted to himself. Maybe he should have taken a break from being a flyboy after serving aboard Voyager.

“Commander Paris, I’m receiving a transmission,” the ensign called out to him.

Retrospect was shoved aside to make way for duty. Tom sat upright and rotated the chair towards the operations console. Was this finally over? Did the Captain reach an agreement with the Sheliak? Could they finally move on?

“Source, Ensign?”

“At bearing zero-three-one, mark two… just outside the system,” came her answer, followed by a few more seconds of working out the trajectory and the caller’s identification. “Sir, it’s the Starship Blackmore on a direct intercept course. Captain Erica Martinez is hailing us on a secure frequency with a priority signal. Should I alert the surface?”

If it were anybody else, or any other starship on another frequency, Tom would have taken the call himself and done his best to safeguard the delicate negotiations below. That incoming ship commanded by that particular officer… He was dealing with history here, a personal history that he only knew tiny shards of. No, he had to do it.

He had to interrupt them.

He just hoped that it wouldn’t get his head bitten off.

“Fortitude to Captain Valerie Archer,” he said aloud,” please respond.”


* * * *


Grand Palace of the Sheliak Corporate
Lekiarch Province, Shelia Major



She was semi-grateful for the interruption. The low lighting and the strange, resonating tones of the Sheliak translation matrix gave her a headache after a few hours and this particular session at the table had been the longest yet. Asking for a recess, however, was a sign of weakness. Hell, everything was a sign of weakness to them! It was like taking the bloody-minded aggression of a Klingon and blending it with the shadowy deceit of a Romulan, with a fine line to tread between the clashing facets of Sheliak personality and culture. Seventeen days of this… and no end in sight.

Valerie Archer paused as the doors to the negotiating chamber sealed behind her. This corridor was no different from in there, bright pillars of light glistening in otherwise total darkness, but, at least, she was alone. Clad in the stifling formality of Starfleet’s white dress uniform, her slender figure doubled over for a well-deserved gasp. however urgent the call from Fortitude was, it could wait a few seconds.

Brushing her dark brown hair away from her frown, she was finally ready. Straightened back, relaxed shoulders… Now she could answer.

“Fortitude, this is Captain Archer, go ahead.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, ma’am,” Commander Tom Paris replied with a metallic edge to his voice,” but we’ve got a priority signal from Captain Martinez aboard the Starship Blackmore. She’s on a direct intercept course. Given the nature of who’s making the call… and besides, I didn’t think we had requested any back-up out here, had we?”

Whoa, whoa! Valerie’s head had been spinning before, overloaded with the delicate and difficult nature of the negotiating table. Now it was overloaded with memories and emotions, as the deluge was instigated by the mention of “Martinez” and “Blackmore”. They were old names familiar to chapters of her past life that kept bubbling away on the surface of his consciousness, thanks to their one-time proximity to the USS Fortitude and the place that they once took on the Bridge, beside her chair… the chair that had once been his.

There was a sudden gut-wrenching realization that tore into her abdomen. She had a horrible feeling that this was something serious.

“Tom, send out a reply. Tell Erica that I’ll beam directly to her upon arrival. Archer out.”

One thing was certain.

The Sheliak weren’t going to be happy about this.


* * * *


CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE REUNION


Transporter Room One
USS Blackmore, NCC-82499


Three years.

He had seen her since, of course. All he had to do was close his eyes and call upon his memories. They had preoccupied his waking moments and his evening slumbers for a good deal of time afterward, only recently subsiding, thanks to the burden of a Vice Admiral’s timetable. It was God’s law, wasn’t it?

Just as all of those feelings were finally being overcome, events had to conspire to drag them back together again for one more mission. Well, they were both adults. They would get to grips with the task at hand, with the hunt for Admiral Kathryn Janeway and the defense against a possible Borg resurgence. They wouldn’t let their history interfere, would they?

Would they?

Watching her molecules coalesce, Ewan Llewellyn wasn’t so sure that they would.

As the whine of the transporter beam subsided, Captain Valerie Archer noticed the lone officer standing to greet her and immediately took a defensive step forward. The Welshman held his ground, letting his former lover size up the situation. He used the pause in time to soak in the details of her appearance. The white of her dress uniform would have made her appear to be almost angelic if it weren't for the immensely peeved expression emblazoned on her sharp features. Another step forward, louder and more forceful this time. The Blackmore transporter chief simply left the room. It didn’t take a genius to recognize the need for privacy.

Silence reigned for nearly a full minute.

“I knew it,” Valerie finally hissed,” I just knew it!”

“If you had answered your recall orders, I wouldn’t have had to be here!,” Ewan retorted.

“You have no idea just how tricky the Sheliak can be, do you?”

“We have a situation…”

“You aren’t kidding!,” the Captain interrupted him. Her hands went to her hips, the galactically constant symbol of being downright pissed.

For a moment, Ewan forgot about the belt surrounding his waist and the gold braid on his uniform. She was standing over him, elevated by the transporter pad and she was dominating their reunion.

“So, what is so important that you would jeopardize the Treaty of Armens, huh? What had to drag you out here so quickly aboard, oh, and that’s the best part, Erica’s ship of all things? The Blackmore? What? Am I supposed to be overcome with nostalgia and regret? Damn it, Ewan, I have been working my ass off for seventeen days and --”

It was his turn to interrupt.

“It’s the Borg.”

That interruption stopped her little rant dead in its tracks. The vicious edge to her glare fell into disarray. The mere mention of the Collective was enough to override even the most powerful of emotions. She had wanted an answer that was worthy enough to crash the Sheliak negotiations. Well, she had gotten one, hadn’t she? As though symbolizing her defeat, Valerie stepped down from the transporter pad.

Wait, hold on… No, she wasn’t going to let him do that! Ewan Llewellyn couldn’t just march back into her life and blurt out the name of some threat! The Sheliak could prove to be a dangerous foe if they were angered, could they now? If the treaty fell apart, wouldn’t several colony worlds be placed in mortal danger? Why was Fortitude so important? Why did it have to be her? Why did it have to be her ship? Still operating parting on her diplomatic instincts, Valerie locked her piercing stare on Ewan’s eyes and decided that the argument wasn’t over yet. She had been embroiled in a seventeen-day argument on the surface after all, and she didn’t give up so lightly.

The Vice Admiral decided to cut her short with formality. He had suddenly remembered his standing, his higher Starfleet rank, and Captain Archer knew it as well. Another tirade wasn't what he wanted to hear right now.

“You and I are to turn to the Bridge of the Fortitude and set a course for System V-47 at best possible speed,” he ordered, leaving Valerie’s jaw hanging open. “We will be intercepted by another Federation starship for one final transfer of resources before heading into a possible confrontation with the Borg Collective. Our mission is the potential rescue of the renegade Admiral Kathryn Janeway.”

Another pause followed. It was the essential processing time for Valerie’s shocked mind. First and foremost, she was a starship captain.

“A Norway-class ship, alone?,” she blurted out. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“It sounds like goddamned suicide! There must be other ships!”

“Other ships, yes, but not other crews. Nobody’s been as close to V-47 as we were, all of those years ago.” Ewan couldn’t help himself now. She had opened a gate, breached his defenses with her objections. The resulting cascade of emotions raised both his temper and his tone. “I can’t believe that you’re making me say this, and making this so bloody difficult, but… Valerie, damn it, I need you! Whatever may have become of us, I won’t let that history damage the Federation! I won’t. So, consider this a direct order from your superior officer, Captain, and take me to V-47 right now!”

There was no choice in the matter, of course. Not now, not after that. She could still manifest her protest though.

Sarcasm dripped from the words that barked from her lips.

“Yes, sir!”

With no need to continue any further, Ewan Llewellyn stormed out of the Transporter Room and into the corridor beyond. Waiting there was the transporter chief who was sent back in with a jerk of the Vice Admiral’s thumb. He would beam Captain Valerie Archer back across to her vessel before waiting for his return, his bags in hand, to undertake the same transfer. Like it or not, the search and rescue efforts were fully underway now. The mission had to come first and to be a part of everybody’s focus. It would be a challenge, given what just happened.

Left alone and reeling with head pounding from the adrenaline and the trauma of his outburst, the Welshman felt his knees buckle. His gray-clad shoulders found the bulkhead and gratefully rested upon it. That had been hard.

No, correction…

That had been one of the hardest things that he had ever done.


* * * *

 

[Cobalt Frost]

I know, be patient.. but I really want to know what caused the rift between Ewan and Valerie.

 

[admiralelm11]

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PARTING WAYS


Main Bridge
USS Blackmore, NCC-82499
Stardate 59733.0


“Bridge, this is Transporter Room One. Vice Admiral Llewellyn has just left the ship.”

“Acknowledged,” Gabriel Brodie grunted. “Bridge out.”

To his left, Captain Erica Martinez felt like she should let out a sigh of relief. At least, now she could walk around her own ship without awkwardly running into Ewan and having to ask the awful ‘how are you feeling’ question. The Welshman’s personal disputes could be constrained to another vessel, and be the problem of another captain who was intimately involved in that dispute anyway. No, as much as she loved both Ewan and Valerie, and as much as she respected their past together, she simply hated watching other people bicker. The tragedy surrounding them only made it worse.

“Do you think that will ever be us?”

The question had been a long time coming. The New Mexican Latina woman turned towards the source, staring deeply into Gabe’s dark eyes and answering with a broad smile. Indeed, there were those who would point at Llewellyn and Archer as evidence against such high-ranking relationships. Erica was smiling because she knew how to counter those people. All she had to do was reach over and squeeze the hand of her African-American First Officer.

“We survived what tore them apart, remember?,” she pointed out to him.

“Good point. Well, then, are you ready to get underway?”

“You bet.. This place gives me the creeps.”

The viewscreen was engulfed with the image of Shelia Major. It looked like a particularly foreboding and sinister place at this late hour. That wasn’t to say that the mission ahead was devoid of a foreboding and sinister tone, but the quicker that it was tackled, the quicker that it would be over and done with. Sitting with her gargantuan frame hunched over the helm, Lieutenant Shlessshh listened for the forthcoming orders.

“Set course for the Eastlean system,” Erica instructed her. It was one of the three places that SC-1 had last visited. One of the three possible locations of Admiral Kathryn Janeway, and one of the three possible hiding places of the Borg Collective. “Speed to maximum.”

“Yesss, ma’am,” the hulking Gorn woman confirmed with a hiss. “Courssse input.”

“Take us out. Engage!”


* * * *


Main Bridge
USS Fortitude, NCC-76240-A


Valerie Archer watched the Luna-class USS Blackmore depart the Shelia system from the comfort of her command chair. Part of her envied those aboard and the fact that they would be undertaking their assigned orders without being scrutinized and observed at every moment by a certain Vice Admiral. The mere knowledge that he was aboard was enough to make her temples thud with aching pain. It was all too much to handle for one officer, no matter how good that officer was. Perhaps the highest stakes of any mission ever faced by her ship and crew, and it all had to be led by Ewan Llewellyn. Damn… somebody up there, somebody controlling the fates, must have really hated them.

“Here’s hoping that they find what they’re looking for,” Tom Paris observed dryly.

“They’re looking for the Borg, Tom,” Valerie reminded the Lieutenant Commander with a disapproving frown. “You’re actually hoping that they encounter them? That’s not a very nice parting sentiment, is it?”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” the flyboy defended himself. “It’s just that we’re looking for the Borg too, and so given the choice… With all due respect, I’ve faced enough Cubes and Spheres to last a lifetime. I’m hoping that System V-47 is nice and empty.”

“We’re also looking for your former commanding officer or have you forgotten?”

“No, ma’am. I haven’t forgotten that at all.”

It was a very low blow. Valerie instantly regretted mentioning it. Of course, he hadn’t forgotten about the missing Admiral Janeway! It was cruel to even suggest such a thing. Son of a bitch, what was she thinking?

This was his doing.

His presence.

His outburst earlier, proving that the emotions were still there, exposing the emotions that were still inside of her. Curse him! Curse him and the effect that he was having on her! Tom deserved an immediate apology. If anything, Valerie Archer was in no way, a callous captain.

Putting her head in her hands, she took a deep, calming breath.

“That wasn’t me. I’m sorry,” she retracted, thankful that the Bridge wasn’t that busy.

“No need to apologize,” Tom countered instantly, spinning around in his seat to face her.

Valerie gave a grateful smile, weak as it was. A full day of trying to bargain with the immovable Sheliak Corporate was capped off with the most difficult reunion of her life, so face, and a tomorrow filled with unknown dangers and horrors. It was no wonder that, with every passing second, she had to fight to keep her eyelids from falling. At that moment, Lieutenant Commander Paris went from a hotshot pilot to a concerned crewmate as he leaned forward and whispered a challenging yet essential question.

“Speaking freely, what’s the history between you and the Vice Admiral?”

“You must be the only person aboard who doesn’t know the answer to that one. I’m sure you’ll find out for yourself over the next couple of days. Right now, I’m thinking it’s high time that we got a move on, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Understood, ma’am,” Tom winked, returning to face forward and tapping at the helm console with a practiced skill. “Course plotted for System V-47.”

The turbolift doors over Valerie’s right shoulder slid aside, preempting the final departure execution. Stepping out onto the Bridge, the lean Suliban sporting three rank pips on the golden neck of his uniform was actually grinning. It was a rare thing to see. Commander Sollik wasn’t the most jovial of men. In fact, he was usually grumpy anywhere but Main Engineering. The day that he had been promoted to the First Officer of the USS Fortitude and yet having been granted the ability to remain as the ship’s chief engineering officer had been the only day that anybody could remember hearing him laugh with joy.

Both Valerie and Tom noticed the yellow teeth on display and raised their eyebrows.

“What?,” Sollik protested, stopping deep in his tracks.

“I take it that you delivered the Vice Admiral to guest quarters?,” the Captain noted.

“It was good to see him again,” came the admittance.

“Well, I’m happy for you,” Valerie dismissed him with an almost waspish sneer.

It seemed that Ewan was enjoying his trip down memory lane, despite the circumstances that instigated it. Well, how nice for him. Vowing not to let it get to her, yet doing precisely that all the same, she simply tried to get on with the job. Maybe if she made it through this one night, maybe managed some sleep, then maybe things would be smoother.

Maybe.

“Right then, gentleman… V-47, best possible speed! Do it!”


* * * *


CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE ENCLAVE ON LEVEL NINETEEN


Northernmost Trading Outpost
Rigel X
Eighth Quarterly Rotation, 36:82 Intervals



“Have you seen…?”

“Have you seen this woman?”

“No, I don’t want to buy anything, thank you…”

“Have you seen…? No…”

Captain Jean-Luc Picard was becoming frustrated with the whole effort. The whispers of disjointed and chaotic voices in his head were growing distant. Perhaps they weren’t down here after all? That was impossible. He had heard them! They had to be here! Surely asking around the local denizens and making a very obvious Starfleet presence in the trading complex would have drawn them out by now?

Ah, but what of the gray areas? They weren’t your ordinary Borg, not given their presumed behavior. Still, it was simply frustrating. He, Geordi LaForge, and Katherine Pulaski had been at this for far too long now. They were running out of lowlifes to question.

It wouldn’t have been such a bad search operation were the surroundings more pleasing to the senses. The shadows seemed to almost buzz with the threat of sucking away whatever morality that visitors clung to. Various noxious odors assaulted the nostrils, all of them more wretched than anything that any member of the away team had smelled before. Every so often, the rolling chatter of the underworld black market business would be overcome by a distant scream or the crackle of a discharging energy weapon.

Rigel X was hardly taking a space on Picard’s possible holiday destination list. Besides, he considered as he waved away an irritating cloud of exotic insect life, Sandra hated bugs. The flying beasts, even when miniaturized, seemed to dominate the atmosphere. Far from the relentless cold of the snowstorm outside, the ramshackle construction’s interior was almost overpoweringly hot and sticky.

Wiping beads of sweat from his brow, Geordi shared the Captain’s frustration.

“My tricorder scans of this section reveal nothing new,” he lamented, jabbing at the flatscreen of his handheld scanner to mark the latest portion of the map completed. “That takes care of the main civilian areas, sir. Our next port of call is Level Nineteen, one floor below us. I’m picking up some vague readings despite the interference.”

“Some sort of enclave?,” Pulaski asked with blatant concern.

“Let’s go,” Picard overrode her, following his chief engineer’s gesture towards a small access port behind a haphazard bed for an equally haphazard homeless alien. Taking into account the valid reasons for Pulaski’s fear, he unleashed his phaser from the holster on his belt and slowly allowed the muzzle to lead the way. “It’s better to be safe than sorry,” he agreed. “I would do the same if I were you.”

As they made their way deeper into the structure of the trading complex, ducking steam pipes that gushed all over the slime that coated the floor, heading into God-only-knows what awaited them, the Head of Starfleet Medical considered the change that had come over her old commanding officer. The Frenchman never drew his sidearm first, and never even led away teams usually. Of course, the Borg factor explained some of this, but not all of it. Back up on the Enterprise in orbit, Commander Madden had been correct to protest and to volunteer himself for the job. Rules were rules and, nine times out of ten, Jean-Luc Picard respected them. What made this situation an exception?

Keeping her voice low, Pulaski decided to ask. At the very least, it kept her mind away from the almost choking depression that festered in the underbelly of Rigel X. There was a pause after her injury, but as it turned out, Picard welcomed the distraction too. He replied with a fleeting smile.

“Something that your friend Vice Admiral Llewellyn said,” he said quietly,” about using all available resources in the field.”

“That’s funny. I would have thought that you were a starship captain, first and foremost.”

“Indeed, but I’m also a former Borg drone, Doctor. I can’t change that as much as I often wish that I could. My instincts are telling me that I’m the best man for the job, facing whatever threat that we find down here, head-on… and yet, something still doesn’t feel quite right about all of this. I can hear them… but then I can’t. They’re hiding but… they’re Borg…”

Pulaski let him trail off. He was obviously struggling with all of the elements of this unusual away mission. She knew him well enough too, to diagnose confusion as the main cause of his anxiety. To Jean-Luc Picard, a mystery was as irresistible as any other addiction, and an unsolved mystery was as dangerous as any untreated wound.

Together, the three-strong group stepped out onto an even concrete surface. As it turned out, this Level Nineteen was some kind of primitive-looking labyrinth of metal. Vents hissed and connections rattled. Hydraulic pumps worked overtime to regulate their various tasks. Judging from the temperature alone, the Captain surmised that this was the main source of the trading outpost’s heating system.

It was warm. Very warm… almost like…

“Geordi, what’s the exact temperature?”

“Thirty-nine-point-one degrees Celsius,” was the predictable, and yet shocking answer.

“Any change in your tricorder readings? Any biosigns?”

“The interference is very strong down here, Captain. I’m having a hard time getting any kind of reading on anything. Tricorder functions are almost down to zero. This place is a handy place to hide. Should we continue?”

“Why don’t we check in with Commander Madden first?,” Pulaski suggested.

“Good idea. Picard to Enterprise.”

Nothing.

Again, Picard tapped his combadge and repeated himself.

Again, nothing. Complete silence.

“Enterprise, this is Captain Picard. Respond!”

Suddenly, something moved. There was a response, but it was from a shape towards the right of the away team. It was quickly joined by another, and another. Soon footsteps were ringing out from all directions. It was a net, closing down and ensnaring the three Humans. Phasers were quickly raised, but with the steady tone of leadership, Picard called out for his two colleagues to hold their fire. They reluctantly did. The shapes were bipedal, humanoid in appearance, and already outnumbering them, three-to-one. Shooting wasn’t going to solve anything. Conversation was their only hope.

Facial features started to become apparent. They were blank, emotionless, and pale. Most of them were masculine, hailing from a variety of species, and all of them with vacant stares from behind hollow gray eyes. They all wore black clothing and few of them had any hair. They walked slowly and menacingly from the shadows and steam of the industrial maze, emerging to surround the away team with the element of surprise rather than speed.

One of them in particular, a broad young Osaarian spoke as their representative. His words solidified the abject terror of the trap.

“We are the Borg.”


* * * *


CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EXPERT


Main Bridge
USS Fortitude, NCC-76240-A
Stardate 59736.4



“Captain, the USS Raven is hailing us.”

“On screen.”

Having twisted her chair forward towards the viewscreen, Captain Valerie Archer decided to stand. She had never met her counterpart from the famed USS Raven, NCC-8008-A before, despite hearing about his various exploits. She wanted to make a good impression, but moreover, she also wanted to make sure that he paid attention to what she had to say. After all, he was going to be taking over the negotiations with the Sheliak Corporate. He had to understand the consequences of the situation and she had to make him understand.

“Captain Archer, this is Captain Alan Demitri.”

The viewscreen showed a man who was comfortable on his own Bridge. Tousled brown hair fell across his handsome features as a grin responded to the sight of the striking woman in command of the Fortitude. Unaware of just how much he knew, Valerie decided to keep things short and simple. She didn’t want to reveal anything about the Borg or about who they were attempting to rescue if she wasn’t supposed to. All that she wanted to do was to get going. The sooner that all of this was over, then the sooner she could resume her day job.

“Captain Demitri,” she smiled curtly,” a pleasure.”

“Please call me Alan,” charmed the other captain, his grin widening.

“I wish we had time for pleasantries, Alan. stand by to transfer you VIP.”

“She’s heading to the Transporter Room as we speak. Then I guess we’ll be heading to the Shelia system at our best possible speed. Any last-minute tips that you can give me before I resume dealing with those difficult bastards?”

“Well, for a start, drop that kind of language,” Archer immediately suggested, her frown being semi-serious as she folded her arms. “I have respect for your infamous cowboy diplomacy but the Sheliak won’t take kindly to being slapped about. You’re going to have to learn to bite your tongue, Alan, and let them do most of the talking.”

“Hmm… I’ll consider myself told,” said Demitri, adopting a lower tone.

“My apologies if I’m being blunt, but I think you can guess how I feel about this.”

Despite her obvious chagrin, Valerie chose to end on another polite smile. This situation, the situation that she considered to be an absolute mess, wasn’t the fault of Alan Demitri after all. There was no telling what the future held for either starship. Yes, it never hurts to end on a smile and her counterpart noticed the effort.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “I’m sure that I’ll manage.”

“I know you will. Good luck. Fortitude out.”


* * * *


Transporter Room
USS Fortitude, NCC-76240-A


Okay, so they were taking aboard an expert for the coming mission. That was fine and understandable. Vice Admiral Llewellyn was covering all of his bases. Smart guy. There was no issue there. No, what had Tom Paris so confused was the simple matter of rank. Why had he been sent to collect the incoming specialist from the Transporter Room? He was Fortitude’s Second Officer behind both Captain Archer and Commander Sollik! They weren’t busy with anything particularly important, were they? Why did they allow him to meet and greet? Why did they almost insist? Why did the Captain appear to be particularly keen as if she was trying to apologize or make up for something? Oh, she wasn’t still embarrassed about her comment on the Bridge, was she? He had said that no damage was done!

The transporter began to whine, flaring to life. Whoever the expert was, they started to form in the tempestuous swarm of molecules before the pilot’s very eyes. Who was this? Why did he have to greet them?

As soon as enough of the molecules had coalesced into existence, Tom understood why.

“Seven!,” he exclaimed with surprise.

“Not quite, Mister Paris,” replied a beautiful smile. “It’s Annika Hansen now.”

They hadn’t seen one another in years. It had been too long. Taken rather aback by the changes in his former shipmate, Tom took a moment before returning to the affectionate embrace that heralded Annika’s arrival aboard Fortitude. She was carrying herself with a degree of comfort and poise that had never been seen before by the helmsman. While visually there was a little alteration, even with the Borg ocular implant securely placed above her sparkling left eye, she seemed to be a totally different person inside. The hug was enough evidence of that. This newfound confidence made her twice as attractive as her effervescent blonde hair and extraordinary physique ever could.

Tom mirrored her smile.

It had been deliberate. This was Valerie Archer’s way of apologizing.

“You’re the expert?,” he gaped, collecting his thoughts.

“I was attending a conference in the Mintaka system,” the former drone’s explanation began. “The irony of a ship called Raven, I didn’t expect to be transported by her.” Life had been injected into Annika’s speech patterns, far from the monotone delivery that Tom remembered. She had changed all right and it seemed to be for the better. “However, the call from Vice Admiral Llewellyn explained everything. I had to come. Do we know anything further about Kathryn?”

“Who?,” asked the Lieutenant Commander, completely forgetting the non-commissioned status of the guest. Four years of serving together, four years of calling her Captain rather than mentioning her forename… when he finally realized who she meant and it took a second, he regretfully shook his head. “Oh! No, nothing. In fact, I should take you to meet the Vice Admiral. He can bring you up to speed.”

Paris let Annika out of the Transporter Room with a friendly gesture. As they traversed the network of corridors and headed for the nearest turbolift, the small slice of time became devoted to personal news. They made the most of it, and given the nature of the coming mission, there was no guarantee that they would be able to catch up at any length.

“How are B’Elanna and Miral?”

“Great! You’d love Miral. She won’t stop growing.”

“Exponential growth spurts are common in humanoid children around such ages.”

Tom Paris couldn’t help himself. He had to laugh.

“Yeah, you’ve still got a little Seven of Nine about you!”


* * * *

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Good old borg - by far the best baddies ST ever came up with. And nothing better than borg being weird... Again - good use of voices for the series regulars you have included. The story continues to intrigue...
Thanks!! rbs

 

[admiralelm11]

This novella feels like it's slowly becoming a novel. I've never written a novel before!

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

This novella feels like it's slowly becoming a novel....

I'd say rapidly becoming... Given the story you've set out to tell, it can easily support a novel length treatment.

 

[admiralelm11]

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BEHIND THE CURTAIN


Observation Lounge
USS Fortitude, NCC-76240-A


The stars… They hadn’t been the same since his promotion.

With his hands clasped firmly behind his back, Vice Admiral Ewan Llewellyn considered the wide expanse of the Galaxy that spread out before him. Each twinkling star, each possible lifeform they could nurture, each potential civilization that they would create… None of it impressed him anymore. None of it compared to the view of the San Francisco Bay from his office window back on Earth. How he missed that view and the emotional solace that it brought his feelings, day by day. Out here, in the desolate reaches of space, he found no such consolation greeting him. All that he found were reminders.

Reminders of when he last set foot aboard this vessel.

Reminders of when he commanded it.

Reminders of when he had confronted Valerie in this very room.

The starfield shifted slightly. In the time that it took the Welshman to blink, each pinprick of light had become a streaking lance across the darkness. Fortitude had gone back to high warp, the highest speed possible with her rendezvous complete. That meant Annika Hansen would be aboard, and sure enough soon, the Observation Lounge door opened and Ewan turned away from the window.

The face that greeted him instantly made him feel old.

There were no gray hairs creeping from her temples. No additional lines crossed her skin.

“Sir,” Tom Paris said, making the introduction,” Annika Hansen.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Ewan dismissed. “That’ll be all.”

As the pilot retreated back towards the Bridge, a polite handshake was exchanged between the Vice Admiral and his requested Borg expert. With her eyebrows raised in curiosity, Annika was obviously looking for more details on the growing situation. Her glance skipped over her host’s shoulders and towards the mountainous stack of PADDs on the glass-topped table behind him. The offer of a drink was made and rejected. It was clear that business needed to be kept clear with her, and it was something that Ewan respected. Finally, here was somebody that he could work alongside that he shared no personal baggage with. Someone who wanted to get the job down and leave it at that.

“Kathryn Janeway,” Annika began quickly,” where is she?”

“Frankly, we don’t know,” Llewellyn admitted. “All that we have are the three last locations SC-1 visited before returning and crash landing on Earth. Since I spoke to you, we’ve been unsuccessful in our attempts to retrieve more of Admiral Janeway’s log fragments. I’m sorry to say that we’re still operating on scant data.”

“May I ask you a direct question?”

“You’re not Starfleet, Miss Hansen. You can ask me whatever you want.”

“Have you ever faced the Borg?”

It was a valid question, he had to admit. The straightforward delivery conjured up words like ‘ballsy’ and ‘headstrong’. Words that had once been used to describe him. He knew where she was going with this, but he allowed it all the same. Thanks to the extra gold on his crimson collar, it had been a while since he had been lectured. Gently easing back into his seat at the head of the table, he arched his fingers together and sighed.

“Only once,” he finally replied. “We barely survived and failed to stop them.”

“So you fought them and lost?”

“Yes. What’s your point?”

“No point,” Annika reassured him, taking her own seat and digging into the assorted piles of reports and SC-1 sensor logs. “Your experience makes you adequate to lead a mission against the Collective, no matter how weak they may be. Admiral Llewellyn, the one constant that you can be certain of is that the Borg are relentless. They introduce themselves with the phrase ‘Resistance is futile’ for a reason. Starfleet may have advanced technology in the form of ablative armor and transphasic torpedoes but in a prolonged engagement that technology will inevitably become irrelevant. To have somebody who understands this, and understands the nature of losing to the Borg in command of this mission is reassuring.”

Ewan simply sat there, wide-eyed with dismay.

Was that a compliment?

Regardless, he was anything but reassured.


* * * *


Personal Log, Vice Admiral Llewellyn, Stardate 59737.2;

Accelerating towards System V-47 at maximum warp speed has brought us to the first major obstacle of our search and rescue effort, the border of Santragan space. It would appear that they’ve expanded their territory since my last visit. Relations are anything but smooth these days but we have no choice. We have to cut through one of their sectors. The collective hope of everyone aboard is that Sollik’s plan will work. Keeping our course simple and our speed to a certain minimum will ensure that we remain undetected and manage to slip through quietly. The tension between decks is almost explicit.


The Norway-class starship was rigged for silent running. Even the usual background hum of equipment and ship’s systems seemed to have been dialed down. It was as though, on request, Fortitude was holding her breath for them, sneaking them behind the curtain of the ever-escalating Santragan People’s Freedom Coalition for a quick peek. Of course, nobody was interested in peeking anywhere. Sensors were kept to navigational use only. Power levels were lowered to cover essential systems and little else. It was bad news for those who had booked holodeck time, but they understood. Getting caught by a Santrangan destroyer was the last thing that anybody wanted. The hunt for Admiral Janeway didn’t want to be over before it had even begun.

Ewan even found himself trying to make his footsteps as quiet as possible as he walked onto the Bridge. The lights were low and he found everybody present to be perched on the edge of their seats. Approaching the helm, he caught Valerie Archer’s attention and didn’t dare to look at the expression of contempt that heralded his arrival.

“Status report?,” asked the Welshman.

“Our current speed is Warp Six-point-Two,” Tom Paris informed him.

“Nobody has seen us yet?”

“Nothing on… Wait…” The helmsman pitched forward, frowning at the navigational array as the readings changed. Ewan immediately regretted asking the question. They had been so well and now he had gone and jinxed it. He knew what was coming. “A vessel has just entered sensor range, dead ahead and it’s on an intercept course!”

As the Vice Admiral let his forehead collapse into his palm, Valerie got to her feet.

“You and your big mouth,” she chastised him. “All stations, go to Yellow Alert!”


* * * *


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
COOKIE JAR

Main Bridge
USS Fortitude, NCC-76240-A


Lieutenant Commander Paris readjusted himself in his seat and heaved a sigh. “Ever get caught with your hand in the cookie jar?”

If it was a little anachronistic, the analogy was certainly fitting. Turning away from where it came, Valerie Archer resumed her place in the command chair and crossed her legs. Her mind almost did the same, ignoring the sarcasm of her helmsman and adopting a command mentality. Focus and reason would see them through this encounter, whatever it would bring. In a split-second, she analyzed her options quicker than even the main computer could manage.

In that split-second, she was acutely aware of Ewan Llewellyn standing to her right. His body language alone spoke volumes as this used to be his ship, after all. The impulse of the memory, that history, was driving his reactions now. Two steps were taken towards the viewscreen. It was in defiance of his admiral’s uniform and more akin to the response of a starship captain rather than a top-brass mission commander. Valerie saw it and instantly scowled. No, not today, he wouldn’t. This was her ship now.

“Prepare to drop to impulse speed on my order,” she barked, perhaps slightly louder than was actually needed. It was deliberate to reassert her authority over the entire Bridge. “Can you identify them, Tom?”

“Affirmative, ma’am. They’re a Santragan T-Type destroyer!”

“Have they charged weapons?”

“You bet they have!”

“Okay. Nice and gently, take us down to impulse. We’ll let them talk first, seeing as we’re in their backyard. Maintain Yellow Alert status.”

Throughout the unfolding scene, Vice Admiral Llewellyn was biting his tongue so hard that he could have sworn that he tasted blood. With his fist clenched at his side, it was more of a reaction to be facing off against a Santragan presence rather than the obvious posturing of his former First Officer. His past history with the Santragan People’s Freedom Democracy was simple to define, though it had now expanded into an entire coalition. Somebody had certainly been empire-building. It was made up exclusively of pure rage and anger.

Five years of his life that he had spent, placing himself and his crew in harm’s way to defend Santrag II and what had been the reward? An attempt made on his life and one of the most offensive and shocking exits of any Federation member world. Yes, Ewan was itching for the opportunity to override Valerie and take command of Fortitude in that instant, but only to teach those self-righteous idiots a lesson.

So engulfed by his resentment that he failed to hear the incoming call.

“Sir… sir… Admiral Llewellyn… Damn it, Ewan!”

“Huh?”

It was the Captain, snapping him back to reality with a snarl. “You had better hide,” she was instructing him. “They still think that you’re dead, right?”

“Right, yes,” Ewan had to admit, backing down to her logic.

He cleared himself aside, ducking into one of the wall-mounted science stations and making himself look busy. Of course, he didn’t stop listening. The buttons in front of his eyes could have been tribbles for all that he cared for. All that dominated that moment in his life was the conversation between Valerie Archer and the Santragans.

It started with a male voice, laden with venom, hissing across the communications system. “State your purpose in our space!”

“I’m Captain Valerie Archer of the Federation starship Fortitude.”

“I asked you for your purpose, woman, not your name!”

“I can assure you that we have no interest in any system claimed by your government.”

“As a representative of the Santragan People’s Freedom Coalition, I demand that you reverse course and leave our space immediately! You are in direct violation of the treaty stipulations existing between my people and the United Federation of Planets. Your presence inside our borders is entirely unauthorized!”

Ewan finally braved a small peek towards the viewscreen. It was enough to absorb the vicious countenance of the Santragan commander. Perhaps it was all a facade for show, but what an intimidating show that it was. His bared teeth were as sharp as the vestigial horns that crowned his receding hairline. Wild, untamed, sprouts of matted curls framed his grimace. Much of it was, indeed, an attempted display of superiority.

Normally, Santragans came across as nothing more than Humans with bumpy craniums. Not this one… No, this one was acting more like a deranged Nausicaan. Lingering for too long, knowing that he couldn’t allow himself to be seen alive and well aboard Fortitude, the Vice Admiral quickly spun around back to the station that was miles below his actual rank.

He just had to place all of his trust in Valerie Archer.

No matter how difficult that was for him to swallow these days.

“We can intercept you in two of your minutes,” the Santragan commander’s threats continued,” and tow you out into neutral space if we have to! Comply with our demands!”

“Listen to me very carefully,” Valerie said in reply, her tone being steady as she spoke. “We are but one ship on a highly urgent mission that, if jeopardized, could threaten the security of the entire quadrant. Not only that, but check your sensors. There are many light years behind us. We will exit Santragan space far sooner on our present course than if we turned around. Please note that we’re also deliberately avoiding any inhabited worlds.”

“That may be so, but…”

“What would you rather report to your superiors?,” her plea continued. “You could demonstrate your power and savvy with the quickest possible dismissal of my ship from your territory or you could risk a direct confrontation with us… and probably start an interstellar war in the process. Your call.”

There was a sinister pause. Ewan wished he could turn again. Finally, after what seemed like an agonizing eternity, he didn’t need to.

“Proceed along your present course. Be aware that we are watching you closely.”

“You are most gracious,” Valerie bowed slightly,” and wise to boot.”

“Hmm… we shall see, Federation Captain. End transmission.”

The Bridge paused to enjoy the wave of relief that such words delivered.

“Stand down from Yellow Alert. Tom, resume course and speed.”

Stars replaced the Santragan’s defeated visage on the viewscreen and once again, a thundering flash from the warp nacelles sent the Fortitude tearing away into the distance.

Finally released from his science station cover, Ewan Llewellyn turned around on the rest of the Bridge and unleashed the breath that he had been holding. It carried away his pent-up anger along with it, clearing up his mind for the task ahead. Despite every instinct that he had developed over the past three years, every emotion burning in the fires of despair since that fateful day, he had to hand it to Valerie Archer.

A short nod and a lopsided grin went her way.

Predictably, she blanked the gesture.

At least, on the surface.


* * * *


CHAPTER NINETEEN
NIGHTMARE PERSONIFIED

Level Nineteen
Northernmost Trading Outpost
Rigel X
Eighth Quarterly Rotation, 39:24 Intervals


Jean-Luc Picard felt a torrent of hatred and deep-seated resentment swell up inside of him. It overrode his moral compass in seconds, turning his usually placid hands into a pair of tightly-balled fights.

Standing before him was an Osaarian, entirely clad in black clothing and claiming to be Borg. it was enough to place the Captain’s wits on autopilot. Never mind the questions that were surrounding the entire situation. Never mind the doubts whispering into his consciousness and shouting now, trying to be heard over the primal, knee-jerk reaction to these so-called Borg. Every sleepless night, every haunting flashback, this was his nightmare personified.

A shred of reasoning broke through all of the fury.

“I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation starship Enterprise,” that reasoning made him say.

There was no reply.

The Osaarian’s empty expression remained unaltered.

Several steps behind the Captain, Katherine Pulaski, and Geordi LaForge were also helplessly encircled by the small collective of black-clad, pale-face humanoids. While the chief engineer was desperately fighting the urge to pull the trigger of his modified phaser compression rifle, knowing that his upgrades would punch through whatever Borg defenses that they hit, the Head of Starfleet Medical had other ideas. The lack of obvious cybernetic implants in the enemy net had her curious.. Slowly, she replaced the sidearm in her hand with a tricorder. There was no move to stop her, and no counterattack from their captors. One by one, she gently pressed a few buttons and conducted a scan.

Meanwhile, the Osaarian and his gang continued their emotionless silence. It eventually drove Picard to the brink of insanity.

“I am Locutus of Borg!,” he bellowed. “You will respond to my questions!”

The Osaarian tilted his head. It wasn’t in reply to Picard. Instead, his hollow eyes seemed to rest upon one of his fellow drones. Another one joined the staring contest before turning towards one of the few female members beside him. Frowning, the Captain turned to see Pulaski tapping away at her tricorder and murmured for clarification.

“Doctor?”

“They’re communicating telepathically,” she revealed,” but they’re not Borg.”

“What does that mean?,” Geordi asked her, leaning over her shoulder with a low voice.

“I’m reading Borg technology inside their bodies, but most of it is dormant. I’m only picking up a strong signal from the Osaarian. All of the telepathic connections that my tricorder is detecting run through him. They have a collective consciousness, Captain, but they weren’t assimilated to get it. They did this to themselves.”

“You mean to say that they’re some kind of… black market drones?”

“Roughly, Geordi, I’d say that fits.”

It was all starting to make sense to Picard. He had to thank Pulaski for reassuring him about the status of their captors. The revelation that they weren’t actually Borg drones had calmed him long enough to process the explanation given to him. No wonder he had been uneasy about the voices that he had been hearing! They were haphazard, chaotic, unordered… The result of tampering with stolen Borg technology.

This group of humanoids probably acquired some scattered bits and pieces of a small scout vessel or perhaps just the cranial implants of a handful of drones, and hotwired them to regulate their members. It was stupid and dangerous but then, this was Rigel X, a world populated by stupid and dangerous beings.

Picard shook his bald head.

One type of anger was substituted for another. Now he didn't want to destroy the circle of aliens that surrounded him. Now he wanted to teach them a lesson.

Unfortunately, the brief window of opportunity was being closed. The telepathic conversation was over. The Osaarian squared off with the Captain.

“You will come with us,” he instructed them in monotone,” for assimilation.”

“You are not Borg,” Picard sternly objected. The rules of this game had changed and therefore, so had his pitch. No longer did he speak with a confrontational weight but rather his words were delivered as though to a naughty child. His phaser was lowered accordingly. These people were innocent. Foolish, but innocent. “You have meddled with technology that is beyond your comprehension. You do not assimilate others!”

The Osaarian stayed dispassionate and cold, despite the plea to his logic. “We are the Borg. Resistance is useless.”

“But I can help you! Listen to me!”

“We are the Borg.”

“No, you’re not!”

Shouting was hopeless. Many hands reached out inward from the circle of gang members. They took all of the away team’s weapons into their care, stripping them of any advantage. Picard, Pulaski, and LaForge had no alternative but to let them. After all, they were still outnumbered three-to-one. Gradually, the net began to march.

Caught within it, the away team were led deeper into the noxious, grim shadows of Level Nineteen. Steam pipes hissed and metallic systems clanged to announce their detention. Deep, foreboding shadows on either side of them swallowed up all hope. It was like walking through the Gates of Hell.

Picard had no desire to experience whatever fate that the gang would bestow upon him. Carefully as they moved, he drew shoulder-to-shoulder with his colleagues. He had to formulate a plan and fast.

“You said that the Osaarian was the hub of the telepathic signals,” he asked Pulaski under his breath, gaining a nod of verification in reply. “If we manage to subdue him, the others should be free of his influence. The disconnection experience is somewhat unsettling. It should distract them long enough for us to make a run for the shuttle.”

“That sounds great,” the Doctor agreed with him,” but he’s a big fellow. How will we…?”

“Leave that to me,” Geordi LaForge chipped in. With a slight squint, his biomechanical eyes went into overdrive. They were analyzing every single pipe, every single junction, and every single element of their surroundings. It didn’t take him long to find something in such a crude environment. “Steam valve, twelve meters ahead. Pull it counter-clockwise by ninety degrees and it should undergo an emergency vent.”

There was no time to argue. Twelve meters wasn’t long at their pace.

Soon, they were within arm’s reach of the rusty valve. Picard didn’t even have to think twice.

He just had to grab it and pull.


* * * *

 

[admiralelm11]

CHAPTER TWENTY
PRIMITIVE INSTINCTS


Type-11 Shuttlecraft Galileo
Currently resting on Landing Pad Six
Northernmost Trading Outpost
Rigel X


“Geordi, get us airborne!”

“Thrusters and impulse engines are coming online now, Captain!”

There was a horrible crunching sound. Sparks danced over the main window that spread out before Lieutenant Commander LaForge. Normally the chief engineer would have ignored them and continued to carry out his orders, but unfortunately today, each bright fleck was interlinked with the takeoff process and not in a good way. Throwing his compression rifle into the copilot’s seat, he used both of his hands to confirm his fears.

“They’ve hit the port stabilizer!,” he yelled quickly towards the after compartment.

“Ignore it, Commander!,” a deep voice echoed behind him. “Take us up!”

“Firing thrusters! Hold on!”

Galileo gave everybody aboard a shuddering lurch. It sent them reeling into the portside bulkhead as, like a bird with a clipped bird, the shuttlecraft attempted to limb away. Vibrations in the deck plating grew more powerful as the impulse reactor struggled to rip the nacelles away from the snow-covered landing pad. Outside, fighting through that snow was the gang of disillusioned humanoids that, only minutes ago, were calling themselves Borg.

They were no longer.

Now they were confused, disconnected, disjointed… and calling on their primitive instincts to dictate their actions. To that end, disruptor fire flashed through the storm, bouncing off of the silvery skin of the Galileo as it rose up into the dark sky. Their guttural cries of determination and perplexity could only be drowned out by the artificial thunder that roared in the wake of the escaping Starfleet away team.

As Geordi wrestled with the controls, Jean-Luc Picard slumped down to his knees and rested his breathless form against the rear landing ramp of the shuttle. It had been sealed manually, sapping the last of his strength. A stray disruptor bolt had shattered the small LCARS panel that would have done it for him. The shot had missed his glistening head by mere inches, not that he cared. The distance between the enclave on Level Nineteen and Landing Pad Six had been greater than his memory served. Adding a running phaser battle to that distance only made things all the more difficult. He was just happy to put the whole experience behind him and fill his lungs with clear air again.

“We’re getting too old for this, Doctor,” he said after he eventually found the strength to speak.

Across from him on the opposite side of the landing ramp, Katherine Pulaski could do nothing but chuckle. The Frenchman had a point. As the Head of Starfleet Medical, her action-packed days were supposed to be over. If it wasn’t for the accursed interference that smothered the trading outpost, she would have gladly welcomed the tingling embrace of a transporter beam to lift her away from the gang of not-quite-Borg. It was an unsettling thought for a technophobe. It just reinforced how close they had really come to death, but as a physician, she respected the healing power of laughter, and so she chuckled all the same.. Gradually, in response, Picard chuckled too.

It was a release. His mind had been overloaded with hate, rage, and the images of nightmares harking back to his time as Locutus of Borg. the whispers that had drawn him to the surface of Rigel X were gone now. He had stopped them the moment that he had pulled that valve. Searing hot steam had engulfed the Osaarian gang leader. There had been no time to pause and check to see if he was still alive or not…

The one biggest regret.

After all, he had no proper idea what he was dealing with. Experimenting with Borg technology and rigging some crude telepathic network with it… Well, the voices had stopped. Picard couldn’t hear them anymore and the gang members were most certainly disconnected from the network. The Osaarian was probably dead.

Another element of this bloody mess.

“Captain,” the intercom buzzed,” you have better get up here, quick!”

The moment of levity had passed. He was the Captain again. He had work to do.

Standing up, he helped Pulaski to her feet. She went to join him in the Galileo’s cockpit.

“Status report, Mister LaForge?”

“It seems that we took more damage than I initially thought,” Geordi revealed, his eyes wide with both regret and concern. “The local weather isn’t helping either, sir. I have just enough power to break through the atmosphere, but our reactor stability is going critical. If I push Galileo into space, she’s going to explode!”

There was only one option. One possible lifeline.

Picard found a seat and accessed the communications system. “Away team to Enterprise,” he called out. “Commander Madden, do you read me?”


* * * *


Main Bridge
USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-E


“All right, we’ll need split-second timing here,” Martin Madden confirmed, hunched over the Ensign at the operations console. “As soon as they break through the interference, initiate an emergency transport. Helm, that shuttle’s core is going to breach, damn fast, so get ready to punch it on my order.” Turning around, he made eye contact with another officer at the tactical station and wrapped up the preparation phase. “Lieutenant, have you informed the Rigelian orbital regulators and all of the local traffic?”

“The gradient is clear,” came the answer. “Everything is out of range.”

That was the planning finished with. Now all that remained was the final act.

The viewscreen was tightly locked on the ever-expanding outline of the Galileo. It was straining desperately against the friction of the atmosphere, its nose glowing white-hot in the absence of shields. Everybody on the Bridge leaned forward at their positions, their fingers poised over whatever button that they had to press.

Madden squeezed the armrest of the Captain’s chair, his well-formed muscles were tense as he willed the shuttle to climb higher… higher… just a little higher and they had to make it close enough to…

“I have a lock!,” cried the Ensign at Operations.

“Energize!,” shouted Madden. He almost tore a chunk out of an armrest.

“I’ve got them!”

Ignoring the sudden kick of elation that those words gave him, the Commander still had his eyes glued to the viewscreen. The now-empty Galileo was starting to break apart. A nacelle crumpled and fell back towards the fierce surface of Rigel X. If he had so much as blinked, he would have wasted time. Nobody wanted to have front-row seats to a warp core breach.

Whether intentional or not, Martin Madden mimicked his Captain and pointed dead ahead.

“Helm, Warp One, engage!”


* * * *

 

[admiralelm11]

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
UP TO SPEED


Mess Hall
USS Fortitude, NCC-76240-A
Stardate 59738.7


“Do you mind if I join you? Is this seat taken, Commander?”

With his mottled green forehead smoothing in an expression of acceptance, Sollik lowered the calming herbal tea that he had been enjoying to the otherwise-empty table. Across from him, taking the seat that he sought, Tom Paris let an exhausted hand run over his exhausted eyes before falling into his exhausted lap. It had been one of the longest shifts that the eternal pilot had ever endured at the helm, guiding the Norway-class starship out of Santragan space. Now the windows of the Mess Hall displayed the unexplored chasm of the Beta Quadrant’s most remote edge. Somewhere out there was System V-47, and they hoped that somewhere out there was the last known location of Admiral Kathryn Janeway.

Tom’s lips finally found the rim of his replicated coffee and with his last ounce of strength, he eagerly swallowed a mouthful. Watching the process, the Fortitude First Officer let him finish in silence. Sollik was never the one to begin a conversation. Then again, he knew that the helmsman’s mind must be full of questions. Perhaps sticking around and answering a few of them would be the kind thing to do. However uncomfortable that it made the Suliban, he was devoted to his position. He was responsible for the crew beneath him. He ran them, regulated them, and compensated for any gaps in their knowledge.

There was certainly a gap here.

“Okay, I have to ask,” Tom finally broke the silence between them. “The Captain and the Vice Admiral…?”

“I was wondering when you would ask. I’m not one for gossip, Mister Paris.”

“I’m not asking for gossip, but come on… the tension between them is stronger than a Level-Ten force field! I’ve got Seven ask… Sorry… I’ve got Annika Hansen asking me about their history and I have to admit, despite being Fortitude’s Second Officer, that I’ve got no idea what’s going on up there.”

Sollik let out a low hissing sound. It was a painful memory for everyone involved.

“Look, I don’t want to cause any trouble,” Tom quicked said.

“No,” interrupted his superior officer. “You deserve to be brought up to speed.”

His mind ran backward. It searched for the appropriate moment to begin recounting it all and to begin briefing the Lieutenant Commander on the heady mixture of personal and political events that surrounded everything, three years ago. It had torn through so much… The bond between Ewan Llewellyn and Valerie Archer, the skin of a respected friend, the hull plating of the Fortitude for starters. Yes, that was the right moment to begin. The hull plating, the damage caused, and the reconstruction that followed.

The moment that Thomas Eugene Paris had joined the infamous crew.

“Do you remember when you came aboard that we were in drydock at Utopia Planitia?”

“Yeah, sure,” Tom nodded. “Two days ahead of launch.”

“We had been there for two months,” Sollik revealed, watching the eyebrows opposite him react with surprise. “The entire engineering area had been completely rebuilt. Our previous mission had resulted in the loss of Main Engineering. It had been blown away by an ultridium explosive lodged in the starboard plasma injection system.”

“A bomb?,” asked the pilot. He was already hooked on the story. “Who planted it?”

“An individual named Naketha. Have you heard the name before?”

Tom shook his head.

Sollik replied with another hiss. This was going to take a while.

“Naketha was the Chief Medical Officer of the original Intrepid-class Fortitude. I made the mistake of befriending her… We, all of us, the entire crew, believed her to be a Vulcan officer named T’Verra, but in fact, she was an agent of the Romulan Tal Shiar. She was uncovered in a complex series of events that I shouldn’t rake over in too much detail. Suffice to say, she became somewhat of a nemesis for then-Captain Llewellyn.”

It probably wasn’t the proper reaction to give, but Tom felt the corners of his mouth curl upwards. He was experiencing his own little flashback, remembering a double-agent aboard a previous posting of his. The outlandish scheme that he had become involved in to uncover the spy was one of his fondest memories. The beauty of retrospect allowed him to look back and ignore the danger. It had been exciting to roll around a Kazon Raider, fun to play the devil’s advocate for a while… and deeply satisfying to punch Commander Chakotay across the jaw, sending him sprawling to the deck. The smile on his face broadened as it was the little things that he cherished.

“Do you find something amusing, Mister Paris?”

“Uh,” Tom blustered, refocusing on Sollik’s green scowl. “I’m sorry. It’s unrelated. Go on, sir.”

“Naketha’s fate was uncertain,” the Suliban continued from behind a wary glance. The grin finally left his shipmate’s face and he returned to his usual sharp, brisk delivery. “She was stolen from our Brig in Seventy-Six. Whether she was killed or not, nobody knew. All that we did know is that, sometime beforehand, she managed to plant an ultridium explosive device inside the starboard plasma injection system. Naketha was a clearly unstable individual. She was convinced that Starfleet would, one day, move against the Romulan Star Empire and she often tried to pin her suspicions on us, specifically Llewellyn.”

More and more tables around them were being vacated as the evening drew to a close. With the anxiety of Santragan space behind them, the crew was going to make the most of sleep that didn’t carry the threat of being interrupted at any moment. Sollik realized, watching as two young ensigns departed, that he could speak with more freedom. The history so far behind the story of Naketha was well-known. What was coming next, however, was still classified in certain circles. Leaning forward, he continued the tale.

“The bomb was set to explode at a precise proximity to Romulus. In Seventy-Nine, after the attempted coup by Shinzon of Remus, the Fortitude was assigned to ferry several high-ranking diplomats from Earth to the Imperial Senate.”

“The peace process was everybody’s focus,” Tom remembered. Despite this, he still felt somewhat confused. “I’m piecing this together, and I’m grateful for the briefing, but what do a bomb plot and a Romulan spy have to do with the Captain wanting to bite Vice Admiral Llewellyn’s head off every second?”

“Because of what happened when the bomb detonated,” Sollik growled.

“What, structural damage to the ship?”

Somberly, his heart laden with the grief of the memory, the chief engineer corrected him. “No. Not the damage to the ship.”

“Then what…?”

“It was a death, Mister Paris. Have some patience and I’ll explain.”


* * * *


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE FLASHBACK


USS Fortitude, NCC-76240-A
Currently crossing the Romulan Neutral Zone
Stardate 56862.5
2379 AD


She was moving at full impulse power. Her course was ornate, describing a panoramic curve to encompass the binary star system. It was deliberately sweeping, trying to reflect the majesty of the moment. The order had been pretty specific in that regard. This was the first time since the formation of the Romulan Neutral Zone that a Federation starship had ever crossed this particular sector of space. No Human eyes had seen the energetic topaz nebulae that scattered the starry backdrop. No Starfleet sensors had scanned the tumultuous storms of the gas giant below.

To mark the occasion, to mark the return, the compact Norway-class starship was purposefully dramatic. Her pointed saucer section cut through the system, thrown forward by the dynamic warp nacelles that pulsated with the raw energy of a matter/antimatter reaction. Each window, along with her silver hull, contained an excited face. The smaller allowed eager crew members to watch the spectacle, whereas the larger played host to the various traveling dignitaries.

This was a major step towards peace, a starship crossing the Zone. nobody had ever expected to see it happen… and yet they were here.

They were a part of history.

Having ordered that history to be undertaken, Captain Ewan Llewellyn didn’t need to sit and watch it unfold. The Welshman had planned it as a small treat for his loyal crew, not to mention a landmark for the high-ranking diplomats that occupied guest quarters aboard the Fortitude at that moment. With everybody looking outward, he could seize the opportunity to look inward at his ship. Marching with a relaxed authority, he entered Main Engineering and found the ever-determined Lieutenant Commander Sollik beside the warp core. The Suliban was, predictably, working. Somehow, gaping at the spectacular view just wasn’t his scene as he felt himself smile.

“Captain?!”

“I’m just doing the rounds. Don’t worry. The inspection’s next week!”

The smile expanded as he was noticed. It formed a few additional lines that spread from the corners of his narrow blue-gray eyes. Age was catching up with him, as steady as his pace, but he still maintained a fresh-faced enthusiasm and boyish demeanor. No white hairs encroached on his black hair… Well, not yet anyway. It was remarkable, given the more stressful experiences of his captaincy. Something told him that it would take an event of an apocalyptic catastrophe to bring on the visible aging process. With a pleasant mood securely in place, nothing was to tell Ewan that such an event was brewing. Everything seemed just fine. Gently, therefore, he waved his chief engineer down.

“You know me, sir,” Sollik confidently retorted. “I’m always ready for inspection.”

“Oh, good… then you won’t mind my guest tagging along.”

“Guest, Captain?”

The answer came with heavy footsteps. They echoed in between the throbbing tones of the warp core with an overriding authority. All eyes turned their way, led by Sollik’s curiosity. They fell upon a weathered face, creased with age, experience and decorated with a neat salt-and-pepper beard. The gruff expression was tempered by a warmth of character seen by a select few and denied to all others. Fortunately for the Captain and the chief engineer, that warmth was on blatant display today, directed equally to both men. The beard expanded to encircle a wide grin. It was at odds with his important stature.

“Admiral on deck!,” Sollik yelled upon recognition. His staff snapped to attention.

“Stand easy, guys,” Edward Blackmore chuckled, his age adding bass to his tenor. The old friend and superior officer waited as the officers scattered about the engineering deck relaxed. “Really, Ewan, you’ve got to stop teasing your crew!”

“Never,” Captain Llewellyn vowed with a grin that was as cheeky as ever.

“As much as I’m enjoying a look around the place, poker doesn’t play itself, you know.”

“Of course, I’m sorry,” the younger man apologized with a nod, turning briskly from superior officer to subordinate. “Listen, Sollik, as soon as we’ve given our various guests enough of an eyeful in the Kazis binary system, I was hoping to punch Fortitude up to maximum warp. If we can make good time to Romulus, it’ll give the diplomatic envoy longer to settle in. anything we can do to make this peace process move more smoothly.”

The Suliban accepted the idea with the rigid formality of attention. His engineering crew might have stood down upon Rear Admiral Blackmore’s suggestion, but he was a man bound by the rules and regulations that drove him to serve Starfleet. Faced with the top brass and being only a humble Lieutenant Commander, he maintained his composure. It was half respect for the rank and half respect for the man. Five years together in the Santrag system, attached to the remote Starbase 499, here was a man who didn’t need authority to be awarded to him, for his character alone commanded instant esteem. In accordance with that esteem, not a single inch of mottled green skin flinched.

“Well, that sounds like a yes to me,” Blackmore observed. “Let’s head out.”

“Poor, poor Boxer,” Ewan laughed out the nickname. Sollik was using up all of the ceremony for the entire room, after all. “You’re always so eager to be taken to the cleaners. Maybe I’ll get Kate to take a look at you and see if we can’t diagnose what this is. I mean, you’re --”

Suddenly, it happened.

All of the lights in the room flashed a hazy, sinister crimson and the jovial banter was replaced with a klaxon.

It was a Red Alert… but why?

Sollik’s posture was finally broken by the unexpected chaos. He lunged for his central console, the warp core towering over him while he frantically began punching at systems. Not now, not after he had just boasted about his excellence. Flanking him on either side, Ewan and Ed appeared over his shoulders and joined in the search for a report. Nothing was forthcoming, not for an agonizing several minutes.

Then a razor-sharp voice penetrated the air. It had a garbled quality. Regardless of the distortion, it was recognized.

“I see that my fears were justified. If this prerecorded message is being heard, then the supposedly brave officers and crew of the USS Fortitude have begun to cross the Neutral Zone. The Federation is attempting to invade the Romulan Star Empire, just as I always predicted that they would. Hopefully, by this time, I will have succeeded in killing one Ewan Llewellyn, but to whoever is in command of this vessel now, I can guarantee that you will never reach my homeworld. Your ambition has been your undoing, for Romulus will prevail. The Tal Shiar will prevail. The Tal Shiar has beaten you!”

Ewan gasped. Slowly, he stared at Rear Admiral Blackmore, his face bathed in red.

“Son of a bitch,” he cursed,” that’s Naketha!”


* * * *


All traces of rationality immediately drained away from Captain Ewan Llewellyn.

Naketha was an open wound in his life. Never knowing her fate or if she lived or died left the damage that she caused free to aggravate and fester within him. Hearing her voice once again, albeit prerecorded, sent him crashing into a spiral of claustrophobic depression. It clung to every nightmare that flashed through his mind. Her exposure as T’Verra, her involvement in the Santragan revolution, her invasion of the L’Raka, and the subsequent duel… that he had lost.

Absently, he gripped his left forearm. Underneath the synthetic flesh, he could feel the wires and circuits involuntarily flex. It was almost as though they were wincing at the moment of Naketha too.

Somebody slapped Ewan’s back. The force of the impact slapped him back into focus.

“Come on,” Rear Admiral Blackmore yelled at him,” I need you!”

“Wha… what?,” asked the Captain, still in a daze.

“Sollik’s found an ultridium explosive device lodged in the starboard plasma injection system! If it goes, it’ll take Engineering with it, and the core breach will destroy the ship so we’ve got to eject the core… And I need a hand, so come on!”

As Ewan began to follow his old friend towards the emergency release, Sollik was waving frantically at his engineering crew. Wheeling his arms like a windmill, he was beckoning them all out into the corridor. Whatever Naketha had done, whatever she had put into Fortitude’s systems, it was interfering with the normal ejection process. Containment fields were barely responding, and it would come down to bulkheads. They would stand between the bomb and the crew. There was no question that the damage would be severe… but if it took the warp core with it, the damage would become total destruction. Right now, the goal was to save as many lives as possible. There were diplomats aboard, noncombatants, innocents on an important quest for peace on Romulus.

Ed Blackmore should have been evacuated as well. The old space dog wasn’t a rank-and-file member of the crew. Technically, Sollik or even Captain Llewellyn should have grabbed him and dragged him from Main Engineering, getting him somewhere safe. However, both men knew that the Rear Admiral wouldn’t have stood for it. He wasn’t that kind of top brass. He was a friend, a member of the Fortitude family, and so he stayed behind.

“Magnetic constrictors are disengaged!,” he growled, seconds later.

“I’m uncoupling the plasma injection system,” Ewan nodded in reply, working fast.

“Engineering, this is the Bridge,” a light Kentuckian accent blurted out. “What’s going on down there? We’re showing an emergency core ejection in process! Reports are coming in from all across Deck Seven of systems failure! Report, please!”

“Jason, this is the Captain. Stand fast. We’re dealing with it.”

“Captain, I’m also showing a massive ultridium power wave in your area!”

“Good, then you can monitor it,” the Welshman thought on his feet. “The wave’s coming from an explosive device. Keep your eyes on the damned thing. As soon as it reaches its detonation threshold, I want you to seal off Deck Seven. Force fields are out so it’ll have to be manual. I’m talking doors, bulkheads, and even the Jefferies Tubes. Understood?”

“Absolutely. You’ve got it. Bridge out.”

As the conversation finished, so did Ewan’s work. He turned towards Blackmore. “Everything’s clear!”

“Gotcha,” acknowledged the Rear Admiral. “Let’s get out of here!”

Sollik ran to join his two superior officers. His scowl said it all. “I’ve just sealed the main doors!”

“It looked like it’s the Jefferies Tube for us then,” the Captain noted. Reaching for a detachable panel in the wall, he yanked it open and revealed the narrow crawl space behind. Sollik went first on his hands and knees, heading for the first ladder that would deliver them from the impending fate of Deck Seven. “Come on, Boxer! You’re next!”

“Get in there, Ewan,” Ed objected out of selflessness. “I’ll seal it up… Go!”

It was an order from a superior officer. Ewan had no other choice. He dove in.

With the Suliban chief engineer leading the way, the three officers quickly made it to a vertical shaft complete with an emergency access ladder. All the while, Lieutenant Junior Grade Jason Armstrong was calling out the ever-increasing percentages of the ultridium power wave. Naketha’s bomb grew stronger and stronger with each passing second. Sollik climbed first. His feet found the surface of Deck Six and he instantly spun around to help his Captain, who, in turn, seized the Rear Admiral’s hand and started to pull him through.

“Ultridium power wave is at eighty percent,” Jason’s voice reminded them. “Ninety percent!”

They couldn’t wait any longer.

“Computer,” Blackmore roared with urgency,” eject the core!”

Around them, the Fortitude seemed to cry out in agony. She was tearing out her very heart. Carefully-placed microcharges tore metal from metal. There was a loud industrial groan with technology being wrenched apart as a section of hull plating was lost to the depths of the Neutral Zone. It was directly beneath the slender warp core, which followed in short order, sliding smoothly from the belly of the Norway-class starship and spinning away into the starfield. With no more power to guide her, Fortitude began to slow down naturally. The saucer pitched forward, her angle unfixable, and she just had to drift.

For those in the Jefferies Tube leading away from Engineering, it was a rough ride.

Halfway between Decks Seven and Six, Ed Blackmore lost his footing.

Ewan’s chest slammed into the edge of the hatch as the weight of his old friend pulled him unexpectedly downwards. Two aged hands clasped desperately to his left wrist as his remaining hand searched frantically for an anchor. It found the outstretched green palm of Sollik. Together, the two shipmates tried to pull. They tried to save the dangling Rear Admiral. They tried to save their friend.

“Ultridium power wave is at maximum! Detonation is imminent!”

The Captain’s eyes bulged.

“Initiating Deck Seven lockdown in five seconds! Clear all bulkheads and hatches!”

Oh no…

“Four, three… two…!”

The final second seemed more like ten. Everything slowed to a crawl. The look of realization that spread across Ed’s bearded face was barely enough to cover the gut-wrenching situation. Nevertheless, it would stick in the mind of Ewan Llewellyn forever with the panic, the fear… and then, heartbreakingly, the calm.

“Don’t worry, Ewan,” he said, simply staring upwards and winking. “Thank you.”

“... one!”

“NO! BOXER, NO!”

The hatch sealed shut and it sliced right through the circuitry of Ewan’s left forearm like a knife through butter. With only a sparking, fused stump remaining, he collapsed backwards onto Sollik. Beneath them, the deck began to shake. Naketha’s trap had detonated and it was consuming anything that it could reach. The outer hull framed a blossoming orange fireball that spat out any debris that it failed to vaporize. It wounded the ship greatly.

It wounded the crew, too.

It had taken Rear Admiral Edward Blackmore away from them.


* * * *

 

[Cobalt Frost]

Hot damn!

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Big fan of Annika's assessment of the borg and Llewellyn. And very interesting proto-borg sequence - it only makes sense someone would try to recreate the borg experience...

I'm also enjoying the rapid advancement of the Santragans as a capable antagonist. Interesting way to introduce the flashback - definitely some needed backstory.

Thanks!! rbs

 

[admiralelm11]

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
AFTERBURN


Mess Hall
USS Fortitude, NCC-76240-A
Stardate 59738.7
2382 AD



“Damn,” Tom Paris whistled in dismay, shaking his head. “That’s awful.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” grimaced Commander Sollik from across the table.

“Why have I never heard this version of events before?”

The Mess Hall was now completely empty. The First Officer and helmsman were the only two officers left behind, hunched over their long-empty mugs and lost in the emotional wilderness of their conversation.

Dredging through the past exploits of the Fortitude, the Suliban involved was letting his prickly voice speak with more liberty. His slender fingers had unzipped the golden collar of his uniform, a relaxing maneuver that Lieutenant Commander Paris had copied in short order. The pilot had his booted feet propped up on an empty chair, his fingers interlocked behind his head.

Until now, that was.

The story of Rear Admiral Edward Blackmore’s heroic fate forced him back to bolt-upright awareness.

“The specifics were classified,” Sollik revealed bluntly. There was little point in theatrics in his delivery since the story was dramatic enough. There was also little point in keeping protected information anymore. At least, not from Tom. “We were on route to the peace process on Romulus, remember? Six other officers besides the Rear Admiral were lost in the explosion. History records that they died in an accidental plasma containment leak that resulted in the destruction of Main Engineering.”

“But why?,” Tom pressed him, his frown deepening.

“Oh, come on, seriously? A Tal Shiar bomb plot kills a high-ranking Starfleet admiral on the eve of a peace treaty between the Federation and the Empire? What do you think would have happened? It would have played havoc with the peace process! No, everybody who knew the truth was sworn to secrecy. Blackmore would have wanted it that way.”

That much was certain. Ever the hero.

Everything was starting to click into place. There was one remaining question, however, that had started the entire conversation in the first place. Fortitude was now commanded by Captain Valerie Archer and Ewan Llewellyn was a Vice Admiral. Tom wanted to know why such brazen hostility existed between them. After all, it wasn’t like she had planted the bomb, was it? What had driven them apart? What had separated them from one another? Even he knew of their previous relationship status and how they had served together as more than simple colleagues. It was hardly a secret. It wasn’t then and it certainly wasn’t now either.

“So, back to my original question,” he asked. “The Captain and the Vice Admiral?”

“This is where my ability to give details becomes lacking,” Sollik revealed, beginning to wrap up the informal briefing. “I obviously had my hands full as chief engineer. We were left drifting in the Neutral Zone without a warp core and utterly crippled by a gigantic slice in our side. I set about getting communications back online and we called for help. Three Warbirds would eventually arrive and tractor us to the nearest Federation outpost. I didn’t leave Deck Six until we reached Utopia Planitia. The same cannot be said for Captain Llewellyn. He was devastated by the loss of Rear Admiral Blackmore. From what I heard, he returned to the Bridge and called then-Commander Archer into the Observation Lounge. They emerged an hour later, and everything had changed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Archer was suddenly the Captain. Llewellyn had resigned.”

“So quickly after a disaster?”

“Indeed. I can only imagine the afterburn that he must have experienced, having tried to save his best friend and failed. From what I understand, he attempted to resign his entire Starfleet commission upon our return to Earth. Only an offer of a promotion and a more grounded position was enough to prevent that.” Sollik’s somewhat easy-going tone descended into somber territory as he locked his yellow eyes onto his shipmate. “Before you ask, I have no comments on the motivation of the man, Mister Paris. He remains my superior officer and my friend to this day and for all days. The decisions he made were his to make and not for us to pick apart over a drink.”

“I wasn’t even going to ask,” Tom legitimately reassured the Suliban. This new version of history that he was trying to comprehend was fantastical enough without a deeper layer of character analysis added to the mix. Besides, his wondering had been fulfilled, albeit with a distinct frustration. Whatever had caused the animosity between Captain Archer and Vice Admiral Llewellyn had occurred behind closed doors. Obviously kickstarted by the shocking loss of Edward Blackmore, it had torn them apart, both professionally and personally…

Whatever it was, he was never going to know. Regardless, the atmosphere on the Bridge would remain as prickly as a Denobulan hedgehog. It certainly wasn’t welcome news.

System v-47 beckoned with the potential threat of a Borg resurence. Kathryn Janeway remained lost, out there somewhere, waiting to be rescued.

And who was doing the rescuing?

Two Starfleet officers who couldn’t bear one another… Yeah, great…


* * * *


Main Bridge
USS Fortitude, NCC-76240-A


“Captain, we are approaching System V-47.”

“Okay, thanks, Ensign.”

With her legs crossed and her authority displayed in posture, Valerie Archer couldn’t be moved from her command chair. A quick tap on the armrest was all that she needed, and soon enough the viewscreen was responding to her commands. It showed an unremarkable corner of space, left alone by explorers for a very good reason. Beyond a white dwarf star and a handful of gray spheres, there was nothing here. No life could ever exist on the dusty rock surfaces of those planets. No life could ever be nourished by the weakling sun. What the hell had SC-1 been doing out here?

“Captain, I’m reading a dense nebula cloud, bearing zero-six-three, mark twelve.”

“Is there any reason why I should care, Ensign?”

“Yes, ma’am,” came the nervous reply. “The nebula is giving off high neutrino emissions and an intermittent graviton flux consistent with all known wormholes. I’ve run a match through the database and found the same type of phenomena. It was encountered by the USS Voyager in the Delta Quadrant on Stardate 54974.”

Valerie felt herself frown as she leaned forward. “I know that date…”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s the date that they came home through a Borg Transwarp Hub.”

“So you’re saying…?”

“Yes, ma’am. Yes, I am.”


* * * *


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CLEANUP OPERATION

Landing Pad Six
Northernmost Trading Outpost
Rigel X
Eighth Quarterly Rotation, 46:71 Intervals



Computer terminals and scanning equipment surrounded the Commander. He was standing at the direct center of the landing pad, the same pad that had seen the beginning of the Galileo’s final flight. The dirty marks of weapons fire were now covered with the temporary command post. Morning was breaking overhead with sunlight desperately trying to fight through the snowstorm and separate the thick gray clouds. It seemed to divert the howling wind upwards with all of the energy given over to the battle for meteorological supremacy and provided the away team with enough relief to carry out their assignment.

Martin Madden thanked one of the Enterprise security officers as he was handed a PADD with the latest report. The First Officer had been spearheading the away team on the surface personally for the past two hours. His orders were to track down every single trace of illegal Borg technology and arrest those responsible for the attempted kidnapping of Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Doctor Katherine Pulaski, and Lieutenant Commander Geordi LaForge. They were orders that he relished. He had never fully supported the Captain’s decision to explore Rigel X’s seedy underworld. Past connections with the Borg Collective be damned, the rules were the rules and they existed for a reason. Only respect for the chain of command and respect for the man himself had allowed him to back down. Now, however, he was doing things by the book. The Enterprise was safely in orbit, her Captain enjoying a shower, a hot meal, and allowing himself to recover. By the time that he was finished, the cleanup operations would be over and they could all leave this hellish world.

“All right, sweep back around over Level Eighteen,” he ordered sharply. “I want to make sure that the entire gang was uncovered. Set phasers to stun and report back if you find anybody or anything. Any Borg technology, bring it back here to be quarantined. Make sure that your team knows not to take any chances, okay?”

“Aye, Commander,” the security officer agreed, walking away.

“Madden to Pulaski,” was the next thing that he did, tapping his combadge accordingly.

“Pulaski here, Commander,” came the reply. “Go ahead.”

“How’s it coming along down there?”

“I’ll have finished treating the final patient in time for beam-up. We’ve got buckets filled with implants. I would estimate that this gang was the hub for the black market Borg technology we’ve been hearing about in the area .What do you want done with it?”

“What? The technology or the gang?,” Martin asked her. He quickly realized that his wry smile wouldn’t be transmitted over the combadge and that Pulaski would probably miss the little joke. Clearing his throat, he returned to professionalism. “Seal the containers and get them brought back up here for quarantine. The Captain has yet to make a decision. We might just end up vaporizing the whole lot. It’s better to be safe than sorry, but right now, I don’t have a final answer for you.”

“Understood,” Pulaski said,” and what about the gang members?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, they can’t very well be left in the Enterprise Brig indefinitely, can they?”

“Don’t worry, Doctor. We’re going to make a rendezvous and transfer them to Starbase 139.”

“Very good, Commander. Pulaski out.”

Just as their conversation ended, another one of the security teams returned from their exploration of the frigid trading outpost. They carried with them the confused, disoriented, and terrified forms of three young humanoids. It was like looking upon a band of lifeless ghosts. With pale skin and hollow eyes,, they shuffled past Martin, heading towards a small corner of the landing pad.

Four portable force field generators waited for them, ready to hold them securely in place. Watching them being marched into captivity made the Enterprise First Officer feel a knot of depression in his stomach. They were barely adults, all of them hailing from civilized cultures of the Federation… and now with their entire lives ruined by some gang leader’s short-sighted tinkering with Borg technology. Such sights made him just shake his head. It made him thankful that he didn’t have any children of his own.

The worry alone would drive him insane.

Suddenly, he had something real to worry about. There was movement.

One of the security team members went down. Sticking out of her blood-spattered stomach, a crude blade was responsible for her death. White skin clad in black clothing darted across to another of the Starfleet officers and shoved him with unexpected force. The lieutenant stumbled over a box of tricorders, rolled over and found the edge of the landing pad insufficient to contain him. The agonizing scream echoed down the mountainside as the frantic prisoner, an Enolian male that was no older than fifteen, began to run. Despite his actions, there was no malice or evil on display, just fear and panic.

Madden was there in a heartbeat.

He blocked the Enolian with his broad shoulders. A fist came towards him, easily deflected, before a heavy dark boot heralded the next attack. Martin seized the boot, pulling upwards and sending the frightened young gang member cartwheeling to the cold surface of the landing pad. Approaching to help him back up, the Commander was surprised to find another, albeit severely weakened, punch waiting for him.

Left with no alternative, Martin simply unleashed his own fist across the kid’s jaw.

The body went limp, his eyes rolling back behind ashen eyelids.

“Picard to Commander Madden,” his combadge chirped with perfect timing.

“Madden here, Captain,” he managed to sigh, offloading the unconscious Enolian into the waiting arms of one of the remaining security officers. Peering further back, he saw another crouched over the stab wound of the fallen team member. The report that he was looking for came with a silent shake of the head. “Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt but you should be informed that we just lost Crewman Taylor and Lieutenant Ahmed.”

Barely audible over the sounds of the trading complex, Martin heard the Captain swear in his native French language.

“We’ll beam them up to the Morgue,” Picard finally answered him, a layer of grief added to his stern voice. “I was calling to inform you that we’re preparing to depart for our rendezvous. I need a status report from you. How soon will you have everything completed?”

“Final sweeps are underway now. Twenty minutes, tops.”

“Thank you, Commander. One last thing… The Osaarian gang leader… is he dead?”

“Yes, Captain.”

Another grave pause, only this one was slightly shorter. “Understood. Picard out.”

With their exchange over, it was time to get back to work.

Only now, Martin Madden’s relish for that work was starting to wear thin.

“This mission was a mistake…”


* * * *