STAR TREK: KHITOMER
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B'Elanna had taken Molly from the Hall of the High Council and dropped her back to the Salan shipyards, where she would go back to the Chameleon, on which Mitena Haro had been working for several days now. She was a Bolian like Hars, fifty years old, originally a propulsion specialist, but now the kind of expert in all things Molly loved having at her side — "just like Daddy did".
Then B'Elanna had rushed to the Samurai, where the situation was evolving quicker than anyone would have thought.
"Nice to see you back, Colonel." Wilkins had greeted her.
"Please, Admiral. Just call me B'Elanna. Admiral O'Brien, I dropped your daughter back to Salan. The meeting with the High Council was not entirely productive, I'm afraid."
"Did we really expect anything productive from a bunch of Klingons?" Tomalak sneered.
"I'm under the impression that the Chancellor knows more than he cares to say right now, Admiral", B'Elanna continued, ignoring the Romulan's remark.
"Like what?"
"I don't think this was a first. I also believe that he is not the only one in the know. May I suggest that you address him directly on the subject?"
"I will, Col … B'Elanna. We have other matters at hand, though. Bajor wants us out of DS9."
"What?"
"They say it's for our own protection, that they would have freer hands to maybe serve as intermediaries to a possible peaceful ending to the war, but I don't believe it, and neither do Fox and Kira."
"And certainly you shouldn't, Sir. The Dominion can't be trusted, and if that new guy Jaro wants to talk with them, neither can he."
"Is that the opinion of the High Council or your own?"
"The High Council and I do not agree on several things, Sir, but on this one I don't think we'll have a problem."
"So what should we do?"
"I'd say this is a job for Section 31, Admiral."
Section 31! That officially nonexistent and un-condoned rogue agency within Starfleet Intelligence, claiming to operate in the name of the security of the United Federation of Planets, but theoretically autonomous and not controlled by Starfleet Command or the Federation government, was Wilkins' nightmare. Its existence was in fact now known from all, even if their actions were still stealthier than anything the Tal Shiar, the Obsidian Order or any other equivalent organization had ever done.
"I hate Section 31, B'Elanna."
"They're a necessary evil, Admiral."
"I don't want to use them."
B'Elanna walked to Tomalak, looked at him straight in the eyes and sneered back at him.
"It can't be worse than using the Romulans."
Wilkins smiled. He knew the game those two were playing.
B'Elanna walked back to Wilkins, stopped so close to him their chests almost touched.
"I heard we also had good news?"
"Yes. The Commander of the Deletham has finally produced her final report. She salvaged about eight hundred of our people."
"So Rommies are good for something after all."
"The Deletham has also attacked and destroyed five Cubes."
"We'll really have to tear that little ship open and see what makes her tick."
"Unfortunately", Tomalak interrupted, "all her designers were killed during the invasion."
"I'll tear her open with my own bare hands if I have to", B'Elanna answered, ignoring Tomalak once again.
"Unfortunately, we need the Deletham, B'Elanna, and I need you."
"Let's send Tomalak then", B'Elanna said, smiling once again.
The Proconsul didn't say anything, but he appreciated the joke. O'Brien intervened.
"We were thinking of selecting the very best available engineers, Starfleet, Romulan and Klingon alike, and embark them on the Deletham to study her and find out how to reproduce it."
B'Elanna looked at the old man.
"I bet there already is one name on your list, Admiral."
"I would be honored if you helped me refine it. After all, you are exactly the kind of engineer I would have on it, if you were available."
"Do we really need to include Romulans?" B'Elanna asked, once more looking at Tomalak.
"They built the ship."
"Shucks!"
***
Sabrina had finally been taken out of the tank. Two female nurses were busy cleaning her up, very delicately, as they knew her grafted skin wouldn't hold for long. The young girl was more or less awake, vaguely aware of what was being done to her, much more of the intense cold which had suddenly replaced the 37.5 Celsius in which she had bathed for so long now.
At last she was wrapped in a heat field and brought to the operating room, where they tried and failed anesthetizing her, tried and failed desensitizing her — which was quite an irony, since after the operation, she would have no sense of touch left —, and finally started doing what they so much dreaded they'd have to do: restrain her and start operating on her without anesthesia.
She moaned, a few tears came out of her left eye, but she did not complain as she was essentially being flayed alive, then covered with the gel which eventually would have to be cast on her muscles and bones until her body would look as closely as possible like the body she had lost on the Chameleon.
They came out after fifty-nine hours. Sabrina was now sleeping, monitored by an unheard of battery of medical devices. Fillmore walked to Samantha Dvorak, who had been sent there by Wilkins to get information as soon as it became available.
"How is she, Doctor?"
The man yawned, trying to regain a semblance of composure, and finally answered:
"I don't know, Commander. That skin can take two to three weeks before it stabilizes and integrates to the rest of her body. We installed the new eye, the new lung, the new kidney, the new liver, everything needed. We also prepared her stumps for her new artificial arm and leg. It's gonna take time, lots of it. But on the whole, when I compare notes with the other case we know of, Annie Racicot, I'd say the skin itself, which is by far the iffiest item of all, should take no more than five to seven days to start doing its job properly."
"You replaced every square inch of it?"
"We kept the original lips."
"Is she still suffering?"
Fillmore smiled and shook his head.
"No. That at least is over. I figure she's going to sleep for quite some time now. She'll probably feel completely lost and groggy when she finally wakes up. Has Starfleet found her uncle yet?"
"He won't come."
Fillmore looked at Dvorak in a stunned way.
"He won't?"
"Don't ask. She must have other friends?"
"I'd try that Ensign Fox, who supported her while she walked during her hundred-day ordeal. She came almost every day."
"Good idea. I'll get her."
Then B'Elanna had rushed to the Samurai, where the situation was evolving quicker than anyone would have thought.
"Nice to see you back, Colonel." Wilkins had greeted her.
"Please, Admiral. Just call me B'Elanna. Admiral O'Brien, I dropped your daughter back to Salan. The meeting with the High Council was not entirely productive, I'm afraid."
"Did we really expect anything productive from a bunch of Klingons?" Tomalak sneered.
"I'm under the impression that the Chancellor knows more than he cares to say right now, Admiral", B'Elanna continued, ignoring the Romulan's remark.
"Like what?"
"I don't think this was a first. I also believe that he is not the only one in the know. May I suggest that you address him directly on the subject?"
"I will, Col … B'Elanna. We have other matters at hand, though. Bajor wants us out of DS9."
"What?"
"They say it's for our own protection, that they would have freer hands to maybe serve as intermediaries to a possible peaceful ending to the war, but I don't believe it, and neither do Fox and Kira."
"And certainly you shouldn't, Sir. The Dominion can't be trusted, and if that new guy Jaro wants to talk with them, neither can he."
"Is that the opinion of the High Council or your own?"
"The High Council and I do not agree on several things, Sir, but on this one I don't think we'll have a problem."
"So what should we do?"
"I'd say this is a job for Section 31, Admiral."
Section 31! That officially nonexistent and un-condoned rogue agency within Starfleet Intelligence, claiming to operate in the name of the security of the United Federation of Planets, but theoretically autonomous and not controlled by Starfleet Command or the Federation government, was Wilkins' nightmare. Its existence was in fact now known from all, even if their actions were still stealthier than anything the Tal Shiar, the Obsidian Order or any other equivalent organization had ever done.
"I hate Section 31, B'Elanna."
"They're a necessary evil, Admiral."
"I don't want to use them."
B'Elanna walked to Tomalak, looked at him straight in the eyes and sneered back at him.
"It can't be worse than using the Romulans."
Wilkins smiled. He knew the game those two were playing.
B'Elanna walked back to Wilkins, stopped so close to him their chests almost touched.
"I heard we also had good news?"
"Yes. The Commander of the Deletham has finally produced her final report. She salvaged about eight hundred of our people."
"So Rommies are good for something after all."
"The Deletham has also attacked and destroyed five Cubes."
"We'll really have to tear that little ship open and see what makes her tick."
"Unfortunately", Tomalak interrupted, "all her designers were killed during the invasion."
"I'll tear her open with my own bare hands if I have to", B'Elanna answered, ignoring Tomalak once again.
"Unfortunately, we need the Deletham, B'Elanna, and I need you."
"Let's send Tomalak then", B'Elanna said, smiling once again.
The Proconsul didn't say anything, but he appreciated the joke. O'Brien intervened.
"We were thinking of selecting the very best available engineers, Starfleet, Romulan and Klingon alike, and embark them on the Deletham to study her and find out how to reproduce it."
B'Elanna looked at the old man.
"I bet there already is one name on your list, Admiral."
"I would be honored if you helped me refine it. After all, you are exactly the kind of engineer I would have on it, if you were available."
"Do we really need to include Romulans?" B'Elanna asked, once more looking at Tomalak.
"They built the ship."
"Shucks!"
***
Sabrina had finally been taken out of the tank. Two female nurses were busy cleaning her up, very delicately, as they knew her grafted skin wouldn't hold for long. The young girl was more or less awake, vaguely aware of what was being done to her, much more of the intense cold which had suddenly replaced the 37.5 Celsius in which she had bathed for so long now.
At last she was wrapped in a heat field and brought to the operating room, where they tried and failed anesthetizing her, tried and failed desensitizing her — which was quite an irony, since after the operation, she would have no sense of touch left —, and finally started doing what they so much dreaded they'd have to do: restrain her and start operating on her without anesthesia.
She moaned, a few tears came out of her left eye, but she did not complain as she was essentially being flayed alive, then covered with the gel which eventually would have to be cast on her muscles and bones until her body would look as closely as possible like the body she had lost on the Chameleon.
They came out after fifty-nine hours. Sabrina was now sleeping, monitored by an unheard of battery of medical devices. Fillmore walked to Samantha Dvorak, who had been sent there by Wilkins to get information as soon as it became available.
"How is she, Doctor?"
The man yawned, trying to regain a semblance of composure, and finally answered:
"I don't know, Commander. That skin can take two to three weeks before it stabilizes and integrates to the rest of her body. We installed the new eye, the new lung, the new kidney, the new liver, everything needed. We also prepared her stumps for her new artificial arm and leg. It's gonna take time, lots of it. But on the whole, when I compare notes with the other case we know of, Annie Racicot, I'd say the skin itself, which is by far the iffiest item of all, should take no more than five to seven days to start doing its job properly."
"You replaced every square inch of it?"
"We kept the original lips."
"Is she still suffering?"
Fillmore smiled and shook his head.
"No. That at least is over. I figure she's going to sleep for quite some time now. She'll probably feel completely lost and groggy when she finally wakes up. Has Starfleet found her uncle yet?"
"He won't come."
Fillmore looked at Dvorak in a stunned way.
"He won't?"
"Don't ask. She must have other friends?"
"I'd try that Ensign Fox, who supported her while she walked during her hundred-day ordeal. She came almost every day."
"Good idea. I'll get her."
STAR TREK: KHITOMER
"I guess you know what to do."
Yes, Rear Admiral William Harrington Forsythe knew exactly what to do now. And, what was quite a good thing sometimes, a very bad thing other times, he also knew who to talk to, and where to find that person. In this case, he was on the Ramirez, the Samurai's supply ship. They met in the shadows of a remote corridor.
"So, you came to cash in on one of your favors, Admiral."
"Yes."
"Let me guess: it has something to do with the situation in the Bajoran System. Admiral Wilkins wants to know exactly what Jaro's projects are about that possible Dominion Alliance."
"He already has a good idea."
"Well, of course! He's not a fool! Jaro wants to break from the Federation. But what makes you believe he will conclude an Alliance with the Dominion after that?"
"It would all depend on what the Dominion is ready to give to keep the ear of the Prophets, who control the Wormhole."
"That would mean finding out exactly what the Prophets asked, and what they gave in return, Admiral. Section 31 doesn't have a representative in the Wormhole yet."
"But I bet you have quite a few on Bajor, especially in the government."
"Possibly. What exactly do you want, Admiral?"
"I just told you."
The tone of the man became threatening.
"If you came here to make jokes, then obviously you don't know me, Admiral, and you still don't understand anything about Section 31."
Forsythe shuddered for a second.
"I'm sorry. The point is, I know very well what you are able of. I haven't forgotten yet the role you made me play in Sela's fall."
"Sela wanted to break the alliance with Romulus, which at the time made sense to us."
"We want you to make sure that this Bajor-Dominion Alliance never sees the light of day."
"I can't promise there will be no deaths."
"I know."
"Is Admiral Wilkins comfortable with that?"
"Admiral Wilkins is not comfortable with the very idea of your existence."
"Excellent! I knew he was a smart man. Well, Admiral, this is no small favor you're asking. I guess you'll agree it counts for two."
Forsythe looked in the darkness.
"Agreed."
"Excellent. There will be no Bajor-Dominion Alliance then, Admiral. You can count on us."
Another deal with the Devil. What have I put myself into again?
***
On Deep Space Nine, Fox and Rashid were sitting in the Commander's office with Kira and Ro. The Admiral had just read the communiqué, and had given it to Rashid.
"General, we have received new orders from Starfleet Command."
"I hope they're good ones."
"You tell me. We have been ordered to hold Deep Space Nine by any means necessary, and collapse the entrance to the Wormhole."
"You can't do that!" Kira protested.
"We have our orders."
"I mean you can't collapse the entrance of the Wormhole unless you're ready to have Bajor destroyed by the Dominion Fleet in the following hours."
"I know. That's what I told them."
"So?"
"We've been authorized to consider that order as a last resort measure. But it stands."
"And how about the first part, holding the station?"
"We have the station's weapons, the four Defiants, the eighteen runabouts, which we can arm to the teeth, and the five civilian ships, which we can commandeer and prepare for battle."
"That will stop the Bajorans, not the Jem'Hadars."
"So you too believe in the Alliance?"
"Considering the jerk currently in power, nothing can surprise me."
"So what will be your answer, General?"
Kira looked at Fox. There was anxiety in his face. Clearly he knew that what he was asked to do went against about everything the Federation was supposed to be. What was becoming more and more an internal matter was now counteracted by Starfleet Command. That could mean for Bajor to go deeper into its opposition to remaining in the Federation. The people itself might ask for withdrawal.
She looked at Rashid. He seemed to already know her answer. Of course, they had met countless times during all those years, and had become reasonably good friends, nothing like with Sisko, but still, Rashid was a good man and he could be trusted to do what was right.
She looked at Ro. In her eyes she found what she was looking for.
Ro had always put the interests of Bajor first. She had betrayed Starfleet and her mentor, Picard, for Bajor. She had come back and fought in Starfleet for Bajor. She had agreed to serve as Kira's adjutant rather than take command of a major Federation starship, the Orinoco, for Bajor. She had lived all her life for Bajor. She would die for Bajor.
So would Kira.
"You have room for us on your station?"
Fox was not surprised by her decision, just that it would come that quickly.
"Are you sure?"
"You think I'm going to trust that ass face of an opportunistic politician? Jaro Essa is already sold to the Dominion, I know it! I don't know what they offered to convince him, but what is done is done, and the only place where I can fight him is here! I'll talk to the Bajoran personnel on the station. All I ask is that, Starfleet or not, you let them go to Bajor or get out if they so choose."
Fox stood up and extended his hand.
"You have my word, General."
Kira shook the Admiral's hand.
"Better star calling me Admiral, Admiral. Better yet, call me Nerys, I'll call you Charlie."
***
The explosion was felt all around the Salan shipyards.
As soon as the emergency teams could stop the fire which had practically razed the whole installation to its grounds, rescue teams had started looking through the ruins.
All ships present had been irreparably damaged. The Chameleon, in particular, was now nothing but a humongous heap of debris. As for the personnel, there were hundreds of corpses to collect and sort, hundreds of bodies to try to keep alive until the Curie and the D'Amarok, the closest hospital ships, arrived.
Close to the Chameleon, Mitena, covered with blood and burns, clothes mostly torn off her body, kept screaming:
"Molly? Molly?"
"I guess you know what to do."
Yes, Rear Admiral William Harrington Forsythe knew exactly what to do now. And, what was quite a good thing sometimes, a very bad thing other times, he also knew who to talk to, and where to find that person. In this case, he was on the Ramirez, the Samurai's supply ship. They met in the shadows of a remote corridor.
"So, you came to cash in on one of your favors, Admiral."
"Yes."
"Let me guess: it has something to do with the situation in the Bajoran System. Admiral Wilkins wants to know exactly what Jaro's projects are about that possible Dominion Alliance."
"He already has a good idea."
"Well, of course! He's not a fool! Jaro wants to break from the Federation. But what makes you believe he will conclude an Alliance with the Dominion after that?"
"It would all depend on what the Dominion is ready to give to keep the ear of the Prophets, who control the Wormhole."
"That would mean finding out exactly what the Prophets asked, and what they gave in return, Admiral. Section 31 doesn't have a representative in the Wormhole yet."
"But I bet you have quite a few on Bajor, especially in the government."
"Possibly. What exactly do you want, Admiral?"
"I just told you."
The tone of the man became threatening.
"If you came here to make jokes, then obviously you don't know me, Admiral, and you still don't understand anything about Section 31."
Forsythe shuddered for a second.
"I'm sorry. The point is, I know very well what you are able of. I haven't forgotten yet the role you made me play in Sela's fall."
"Sela wanted to break the alliance with Romulus, which at the time made sense to us."
"We want you to make sure that this Bajor-Dominion Alliance never sees the light of day."
"I can't promise there will be no deaths."
"I know."
"Is Admiral Wilkins comfortable with that?"
"Admiral Wilkins is not comfortable with the very idea of your existence."
"Excellent! I knew he was a smart man. Well, Admiral, this is no small favor you're asking. I guess you'll agree it counts for two."
Forsythe looked in the darkness.
"Agreed."
"Excellent. There will be no Bajor-Dominion Alliance then, Admiral. You can count on us."
Another deal with the Devil. What have I put myself into again?
***
On Deep Space Nine, Fox and Rashid were sitting in the Commander's office with Kira and Ro. The Admiral had just read the communiqué, and had given it to Rashid.
"General, we have received new orders from Starfleet Command."
"I hope they're good ones."
"You tell me. We have been ordered to hold Deep Space Nine by any means necessary, and collapse the entrance to the Wormhole."
"You can't do that!" Kira protested.
"We have our orders."
"I mean you can't collapse the entrance of the Wormhole unless you're ready to have Bajor destroyed by the Dominion Fleet in the following hours."
"I know. That's what I told them."
"So?"
"We've been authorized to consider that order as a last resort measure. But it stands."
"And how about the first part, holding the station?"
"We have the station's weapons, the four Defiants, the eighteen runabouts, which we can arm to the teeth, and the five civilian ships, which we can commandeer and prepare for battle."
"That will stop the Bajorans, not the Jem'Hadars."
"So you too believe in the Alliance?"
"Considering the jerk currently in power, nothing can surprise me."
"So what will be your answer, General?"
Kira looked at Fox. There was anxiety in his face. Clearly he knew that what he was asked to do went against about everything the Federation was supposed to be. What was becoming more and more an internal matter was now counteracted by Starfleet Command. That could mean for Bajor to go deeper into its opposition to remaining in the Federation. The people itself might ask for withdrawal.
She looked at Rashid. He seemed to already know her answer. Of course, they had met countless times during all those years, and had become reasonably good friends, nothing like with Sisko, but still, Rashid was a good man and he could be trusted to do what was right.
She looked at Ro. In her eyes she found what she was looking for.
Ro had always put the interests of Bajor first. She had betrayed Starfleet and her mentor, Picard, for Bajor. She had come back and fought in Starfleet for Bajor. She had agreed to serve as Kira's adjutant rather than take command of a major Federation starship, the Orinoco, for Bajor. She had lived all her life for Bajor. She would die for Bajor.
So would Kira.
"You have room for us on your station?"
Fox was not surprised by her decision, just that it would come that quickly.
"Are you sure?"
"You think I'm going to trust that ass face of an opportunistic politician? Jaro Essa is already sold to the Dominion, I know it! I don't know what they offered to convince him, but what is done is done, and the only place where I can fight him is here! I'll talk to the Bajoran personnel on the station. All I ask is that, Starfleet or not, you let them go to Bajor or get out if they so choose."
Fox stood up and extended his hand.
"You have my word, General."
Kira shook the Admiral's hand.
"Better star calling me Admiral, Admiral. Better yet, call me Nerys, I'll call you Charlie."
***
The explosion was felt all around the Salan shipyards.
As soon as the emergency teams could stop the fire which had practically razed the whole installation to its grounds, rescue teams had started looking through the ruins.
All ships present had been irreparably damaged. The Chameleon, in particular, was now nothing but a humongous heap of debris. As for the personnel, there were hundreds of corpses to collect and sort, hundreds of bodies to try to keep alive until the Curie and the D'Amarok, the closest hospital ships, arrived.
Close to the Chameleon, Mitena, covered with blood and burns, clothes mostly torn off her body, kept screaming:
"Molly? Molly?"
OOPS who knew that old still could go up like that perhaps next time they should mind their whisky makin' 
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most smartass thing i could come up with good part though since molly is lost perhaps a quick next chapter for your currious readers? if the stuff kills cats what would it do to us lesser intelegent species?
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most smartass thing i could come up with good part though since molly is lost perhaps a quick next chapter for your currious readers? if the stuff kills cats what would it do to us lesser intelegent species?
Exciting! Can't wait to see what happens next, but I think they might be making a mistake enlisting Section 31. Of course, not like they really have any choice here. Once again, your portrayal of Torres is spot-on. 
CHAPTER FOUR — THE TANGLED WEBS
February 1, 2400
"Hi, sweetheart!"
Sabrina had just opened her eyes when she heard the soft, friendly voice. It took her a few seconds to finally recognize the 1.70-meter tall, thin, smiling redhead.
"Nicole."
"How do you feel?"
"Woozy."
"Good answer. The doctors thought you wouldn't wake up for a few more days."
"How are you, Nic?"
"I'm fine. They worked on my leg and finally repaired whatever was making me limp."
"Good for you. I'm so happy it was your left leg."
"Yeah. You helped me, I helped you."
Sabrina tried to look, but she was entirely covered by the sheet. Yet it was obvious that something was still missing.
"I … I don't have a new leg yet, huh?"
"No, sweetheart. The doctors want to test you before they start customizing it for you. They say it's just a matter of a couple of days, then they'll fumigate your bed to force you into walking."
Sabrina smiled. That was Nic all right.
"I've lost an arm too?"
"Sorry. It seems you used it so much to rest on me and whip the crew that you tore everything in and out."
"What was left?"
Nicole Fox knew she had to answer truthfully. The counselors had made sure she understood the necessity of not lying to Sabrina. Besides, she could never lie to her companion of more than three months. She had carried Sabrina everywhere in the day, despite the excruciating pain both felt. She had also comforted her at night, when Sabrina's eyes betrayed her panic at the idea of being left alone to suffer and die.
"Most of the left side, except the inside of your left leg."
Sabrina looked at her matter-of-fact friend. She knew she would tell her the truth. She always had, always would. And now tears were running down her cheeks.
She took Nicole's hand into her own. Something was wrong.
"Nicole …"
"Yeah?"
"Your hands have always been warm. How come I don't feel it anymore?"
***
Wilkins' rage had not diminished after six days.
He had tried to talk to Worf, but "the Chancellor was not available".
He had tried to talk to Karov, but "the General was in conference about the defense of the Klingon Empire" and could not be bothered.
He had tried to talk to B'Elanna, and for three days had received an equivalent of "Not tonight, dear, I have a headache". The fourth day she had appeared in his office.
"What happened, B'Elanna?"
"The investigation is still on, Admiral. The Klingon Imperial Police is still looking around the place to find any clues."
"What kind of clues?"
B'Elanna Torres looked at the man. She also looked at Admiral O'Brien, who had lost a daughter in there, and would lead personally the Engineer Corps' investigation, once the Klingons would be through.
She owed them the truth.
"Admiral, they're trying to design a good reason for justifying an accident. They will never acknowledge that it was a terrorist attack."
Wilkins came much closer to her and looked at her eyes, more intensely than ever. He put his hand on her arm.
"Thank you, B'Elanna. I'm so happy to know that I can trust you."
She looked at him and O'Brien again.
"You knew, didn't you?"
"Why else would Worf refuse to talk to us? Why would he have recalled Karov? And why, B'Elanna, would you have run from us for three days?"
She smiled.
"You're not so dumb for humans."
"Colonel", O'Brien intervened, "we have to get access to the shipyards now."
"I agree. But Worf will oppose it."
"Those were our ships, our people."
"It was my daughter."
B'Elanna sighed.
"I'll talk with Troi. Maybe she can get Worf's approval on a limited team. Who would you send?"
"The Andorian twins."
"I've heard about them. Very well, Admiral, send them there. I'll be on Salan too, and I'll make enough heads roll that no one will question my authority."
"Thank you, B'Elanna."
***
The Commander and First Officer of the Mogai were perplexed.
"Get to Deep Space Nine and deliver the cloaking devices."
"Quite simple really, Commander."
"You think so, Lovok?"
"Our cloaks have demonstrated their ability to fool the Borg, Commander."
Teroth looked at her First Officer and smiled.
"Yes, of course. But what about the Dominion blockade? They have a way to see through it, you know."
"Yet we have time to adapt."
"You think that human will find a way?"
"She's one of Starfleet's best, Commander. She has worked on the Enterprise."
"But the Enterprise has been defeated, hasn't it?"
"Yes, Commander."
"Besides, that's only the first part of our mission, and by far the easiest. The rest will be quite another story, if we even find a way to leave the Bajoran System afterwards …"
***
"Sabrina, what are you doing outside in your jacket?"
The little woman turned around and looked at Luna, the J'naii counselor.
"I'm trying to feel the grass between my toes, Counselor."
"Oh. And you're not cold?"
"I'm nothing, Counselor. I feel nothing. You know what they did to me?"
"Yes."
"I can't feel anything anymore, Counselor. My friend's hand in mine, the grass under my feet, the breeze in my face … nothing. Can you imagine what that's like?"
"No, I can't."
"How could you? Please don't think that I'm complaining. I understand it had to be done, but — it's hard to accept that I'll never feel anything again for as long as I live."
"I would have to have experienced the same thing."
"I doubt anyone ever did. Well, I guess that makes me a contender for Starfleet's Freak of the Year, right?"
Luna looked at the little woman. Softly she took her left hand in hers and pulled on her arm. Sabrina followed inside docilely. But the J'naii already knew what to do next.
February 1, 2400
"Hi, sweetheart!"
Sabrina had just opened her eyes when she heard the soft, friendly voice. It took her a few seconds to finally recognize the 1.70-meter tall, thin, smiling redhead.
"Nicole."
"How do you feel?"
"Woozy."
"Good answer. The doctors thought you wouldn't wake up for a few more days."
"How are you, Nic?"
"I'm fine. They worked on my leg and finally repaired whatever was making me limp."
"Good for you. I'm so happy it was your left leg."
"Yeah. You helped me, I helped you."
Sabrina tried to look, but she was entirely covered by the sheet. Yet it was obvious that something was still missing.
"I … I don't have a new leg yet, huh?"
"No, sweetheart. The doctors want to test you before they start customizing it for you. They say it's just a matter of a couple of days, then they'll fumigate your bed to force you into walking."
Sabrina smiled. That was Nic all right.
"I've lost an arm too?"
"Sorry. It seems you used it so much to rest on me and whip the crew that you tore everything in and out."
"What was left?"
Nicole Fox knew she had to answer truthfully. The counselors had made sure she understood the necessity of not lying to Sabrina. Besides, she could never lie to her companion of more than three months. She had carried Sabrina everywhere in the day, despite the excruciating pain both felt. She had also comforted her at night, when Sabrina's eyes betrayed her panic at the idea of being left alone to suffer and die.
"Most of the left side, except the inside of your left leg."
Sabrina looked at her matter-of-fact friend. She knew she would tell her the truth. She always had, always would. And now tears were running down her cheeks.
She took Nicole's hand into her own. Something was wrong.
"Nicole …"
"Yeah?"
"Your hands have always been warm. How come I don't feel it anymore?"
***
Wilkins' rage had not diminished after six days.
He had tried to talk to Worf, but "the Chancellor was not available".
He had tried to talk to Karov, but "the General was in conference about the defense of the Klingon Empire" and could not be bothered.
He had tried to talk to B'Elanna, and for three days had received an equivalent of "Not tonight, dear, I have a headache". The fourth day she had appeared in his office.
"What happened, B'Elanna?"
"The investigation is still on, Admiral. The Klingon Imperial Police is still looking around the place to find any clues."
"What kind of clues?"
B'Elanna Torres looked at the man. She also looked at Admiral O'Brien, who had lost a daughter in there, and would lead personally the Engineer Corps' investigation, once the Klingons would be through.
She owed them the truth.
"Admiral, they're trying to design a good reason for justifying an accident. They will never acknowledge that it was a terrorist attack."
Wilkins came much closer to her and looked at her eyes, more intensely than ever. He put his hand on her arm.
"Thank you, B'Elanna. I'm so happy to know that I can trust you."
She looked at him and O'Brien again.
"You knew, didn't you?"
"Why else would Worf refuse to talk to us? Why would he have recalled Karov? And why, B'Elanna, would you have run from us for three days?"
She smiled.
"You're not so dumb for humans."
"Colonel", O'Brien intervened, "we have to get access to the shipyards now."
"I agree. But Worf will oppose it."
"Those were our ships, our people."
"It was my daughter."
B'Elanna sighed.
"I'll talk with Troi. Maybe she can get Worf's approval on a limited team. Who would you send?"
"The Andorian twins."
"I've heard about them. Very well, Admiral, send them there. I'll be on Salan too, and I'll make enough heads roll that no one will question my authority."
"Thank you, B'Elanna."
***
The Commander and First Officer of the Mogai were perplexed.
"Get to Deep Space Nine and deliver the cloaking devices."
"Quite simple really, Commander."
"You think so, Lovok?"
"Our cloaks have demonstrated their ability to fool the Borg, Commander."
Teroth looked at her First Officer and smiled.
"Yes, of course. But what about the Dominion blockade? They have a way to see through it, you know."
"Yet we have time to adapt."
"You think that human will find a way?"
"She's one of Starfleet's best, Commander. She has worked on the Enterprise."
"But the Enterprise has been defeated, hasn't it?"
"Yes, Commander."
"Besides, that's only the first part of our mission, and by far the easiest. The rest will be quite another story, if we even find a way to leave the Bajoran System afterwards …"
***
"Sabrina, what are you doing outside in your jacket?"
The little woman turned around and looked at Luna, the J'naii counselor.
"I'm trying to feel the grass between my toes, Counselor."
"Oh. And you're not cold?"
"I'm nothing, Counselor. I feel nothing. You know what they did to me?"
"Yes."
"I can't feel anything anymore, Counselor. My friend's hand in mine, the grass under my feet, the breeze in my face … nothing. Can you imagine what that's like?"
"No, I can't."
"How could you? Please don't think that I'm complaining. I understand it had to be done, but — it's hard to accept that I'll never feel anything again for as long as I live."
"I would have to have experienced the same thing."
"I doubt anyone ever did. Well, I guess that makes me a contender for Starfleet's Freak of the Year, right?"
Luna looked at the little woman. Softly she took her left hand in hers and pulled on her arm. Sabrina followed inside docilely. But the J'naii already knew what to do next.
February 5, 2400
She was twenty-two, and a very beautiful girl, with a smile which could warm up a Breen freezer. She had less than two years of real-life, post-Academy experience, but she had already demonstrated a very vivacious intelligence, which had earned her the trust of the Chief Engineer of the Sovereign II-Class starship USS Hawthorne.
But here, she would have to start again. A new ship, a new engineering crew, new superior officers — it seemed that her records were not eloquent enough to earn her a responsibility really challenging her talents. Of course, that would surely come in due time.
She had really no particular reason for being in that area. She simply was getting acquainted with her new ship. She had just heard the moan. She should have called Security, but instead she decided to investigate herself. Cautiously, she moved closer. After a moment, looking behind another wall of containers, she saw her.
"My gods, what happened to you?" she enquired promptly. "Sick …"
"NO!" the young woman said firmly, painfully turning on herself to see who was there.
"Huh?" said the ensign, jerking backwards.
"That's just … my luck. A … filthy … Klingon!" the other smirked with a rasping voice.
The gold-shirted ensign couldn't help smirking.
"You're in no position to call anyone filthy, Rommie!"
"Kll'inghann ryak'na!"
The Klingon sneered.
"I may be garbage, but at least I don't look like it, Qa'Hom!"
"We'll see who's too weak to defend herself when I tear your spine away from your back, ryak'na!"
The ensign had to fight her blood to stay cool. It wouldn't have been honorable to smack an opponent until her head came off while she was still half-groggy from having been beaten up anyway.
"Yeah, well, we'll see. For now, I'll get you to Sickbay."
The Romulan moved away.
"NO!"
"Why not?"
"I'll go back to my quarters, alone. I don't need you", she just said, trying to get on her feet and failing for the third time.
"Listen, crewman", the Klingon female said, "you see that pip? It means that I give the orders here. I'll help you get up and you'll rest on me to get to your quarters. Where are they?"
With a sigh, she answered:
"Deck Eight …"
"Too far. My quarters are on this deck. I'll take care of you, Qa'Hom", she ordered on a tone quite different from the rest of the conversation.
The Romulan female looked at her.
"Yes, Sir", she finally conceded before placing her arm around her shoulders.
***
On Deep Space Nine, the last ten days had been a cat-and-mouse game. Only nobody was really sure of the true identity of the cat.
Kira and Ro had remained on the station, sending back their Bajoran transporter, officially to supervise Starfleet's evacuation. Only ten days later, no ship had left.
Kira had talked to the Bajorans on the station. She had reminded them of what Bajor really stood for and added a few horror stories from the First Dominion War.
They had all sworn their loyalty to the Federation.
Starfleet was watching the Wormhole, the Jem'Hadars and the Bajorans. The Jem'Hadars were watching the Wormhole, the Bajorans, the Borg and Starfleet. The Bajorans were watching the Wormhole and Starfleet. But nobody really knew what was happening. The party who would be first to get that knowledge would gain a definite advantage.
There was obviously something going with the Bajoran government. At that time, it was certainly much too late to try using her connections to learn more. Even the Kai didn't want to meet her — at least, that's what she had been told. If that was the case, there was only one person who could find out what she was looking for.
So Kira went the extra mile.
She hated the idea almost as much as letting Jaro lead the Chamber of Ministers and the whole planet in the Dominion trap. She did not want to talk to him. She did not want to see that weasel, that no-good treacherous cross between the Ghost of Christmases past and a Turok-Han — since she was dealing so often with humans, Kira had decided to learn more about some of their antiquated subcultures, and stories like A Christmas Carol and Buffy the Vampire Slayer had baffled her, notably for the depth of the emotions and social issues hammered on by Dickens and hinted at by Whedon.
No, Kira did not want to talk to that — that disgusting, ghastly, filthy, repugnant, nauseating, stomach-churning Gollum. She would not be his Eowyn. She would not be the Leia of that sickening, revolting Jabba. She would rather become the sex toy of a Borg drone than uttering a word to that … That …
"Hello, Quark."
"Hello, General. How long has it been since your last visit?"
"I don't know."
The Ferengi looked at her. He was not smiling.
"Nineteen years, eight months and thirteen days. So you're finally thirsty?"
"Quark …"
"What will it be, General?" Quark said like the perfect barman.
Kira sighed.
"Root beer."
"Again?"
"What do you mean?"
"That's what you had last time. One root beer coming up. Now, what do you want?"
"Information."
"Concerning First Minister Jaro and his plans to have Bajor become a member of the Dominion?"
Kira was stunned. But Quark saw it and continued:
"Rule of Acquisition 22, General: 'A wise man can hear profit in the wind'. I listened. I have 'the lobes', remember?"
"How could I forget? So, what do you know?"
"I know the Rules of Acquisition."
"They've been rescinded."
"Not in this bar, Colonel! I told you, years ago: 'This establishment will be the last outpost of what made Ferenginar great — the unrelenting lust for profit.' I said it, and that's what it still is today, and it will stay that way until the day I die!"
Kira knew where that debate was leading. So she cut to the chase:
"What do you want?"
"Me? What makes you think I want anything?"
"I wouldn't trust you if you didn't want anything for your help, Quark."
The Ferengi smiled, came closer and whispered:
"It's nice to see that you haven't forgotten me completely, General. So, what's your offer?"
She was twenty-two, and a very beautiful girl, with a smile which could warm up a Breen freezer. She had less than two years of real-life, post-Academy experience, but she had already demonstrated a very vivacious intelligence, which had earned her the trust of the Chief Engineer of the Sovereign II-Class starship USS Hawthorne.
But here, she would have to start again. A new ship, a new engineering crew, new superior officers — it seemed that her records were not eloquent enough to earn her a responsibility really challenging her talents. Of course, that would surely come in due time.
She had really no particular reason for being in that area. She simply was getting acquainted with her new ship. She had just heard the moan. She should have called Security, but instead she decided to investigate herself. Cautiously, she moved closer. After a moment, looking behind another wall of containers, she saw her.
"My gods, what happened to you?" she enquired promptly. "Sick …"
"NO!" the young woman said firmly, painfully turning on herself to see who was there.
"Huh?" said the ensign, jerking backwards.
"That's just … my luck. A … filthy … Klingon!" the other smirked with a rasping voice.
The gold-shirted ensign couldn't help smirking.
"You're in no position to call anyone filthy, Rommie!"
"Kll'inghann ryak'na!"
The Klingon sneered.
"I may be garbage, but at least I don't look like it, Qa'Hom!"
"We'll see who's too weak to defend herself when I tear your spine away from your back, ryak'na!"
The ensign had to fight her blood to stay cool. It wouldn't have been honorable to smack an opponent until her head came off while she was still half-groggy from having been beaten up anyway.
"Yeah, well, we'll see. For now, I'll get you to Sickbay."
The Romulan moved away.
"NO!"
"Why not?"
"I'll go back to my quarters, alone. I don't need you", she just said, trying to get on her feet and failing for the third time.
"Listen, crewman", the Klingon female said, "you see that pip? It means that I give the orders here. I'll help you get up and you'll rest on me to get to your quarters. Where are they?"
With a sigh, she answered:
"Deck Eight …"
"Too far. My quarters are on this deck. I'll take care of you, Qa'Hom", she ordered on a tone quite different from the rest of the conversation.
The Romulan female looked at her.
"Yes, Sir", she finally conceded before placing her arm around her shoulders.
***
On Deep Space Nine, the last ten days had been a cat-and-mouse game. Only nobody was really sure of the true identity of the cat.
Kira and Ro had remained on the station, sending back their Bajoran transporter, officially to supervise Starfleet's evacuation. Only ten days later, no ship had left.
Kira had talked to the Bajorans on the station. She had reminded them of what Bajor really stood for and added a few horror stories from the First Dominion War.
They had all sworn their loyalty to the Federation.
Starfleet was watching the Wormhole, the Jem'Hadars and the Bajorans. The Jem'Hadars were watching the Wormhole, the Bajorans, the Borg and Starfleet. The Bajorans were watching the Wormhole and Starfleet. But nobody really knew what was happening. The party who would be first to get that knowledge would gain a definite advantage.
There was obviously something going with the Bajoran government. At that time, it was certainly much too late to try using her connections to learn more. Even the Kai didn't want to meet her — at least, that's what she had been told. If that was the case, there was only one person who could find out what she was looking for.
So Kira went the extra mile.
She hated the idea almost as much as letting Jaro lead the Chamber of Ministers and the whole planet in the Dominion trap. She did not want to talk to him. She did not want to see that weasel, that no-good treacherous cross between the Ghost of Christmases past and a Turok-Han — since she was dealing so often with humans, Kira had decided to learn more about some of their antiquated subcultures, and stories like A Christmas Carol and Buffy the Vampire Slayer had baffled her, notably for the depth of the emotions and social issues hammered on by Dickens and hinted at by Whedon.
No, Kira did not want to talk to that — that disgusting, ghastly, filthy, repugnant, nauseating, stomach-churning Gollum. She would not be his Eowyn. She would not be the Leia of that sickening, revolting Jabba. She would rather become the sex toy of a Borg drone than uttering a word to that … That …
"Hello, Quark."
"Hello, General. How long has it been since your last visit?"
"I don't know."
The Ferengi looked at her. He was not smiling.
"Nineteen years, eight months and thirteen days. So you're finally thirsty?"
"Quark …"
"What will it be, General?" Quark said like the perfect barman.
Kira sighed.
"Root beer."
"Again?"
"What do you mean?"
"That's what you had last time. One root beer coming up. Now, what do you want?"
"Information."
"Concerning First Minister Jaro and his plans to have Bajor become a member of the Dominion?"
Kira was stunned. But Quark saw it and continued:
"Rule of Acquisition 22, General: 'A wise man can hear profit in the wind'. I listened. I have 'the lobes', remember?"
"How could I forget? So, what do you know?"
"I know the Rules of Acquisition."
"They've been rescinded."
"Not in this bar, Colonel! I told you, years ago: 'This establishment will be the last outpost of what made Ferenginar great — the unrelenting lust for profit.' I said it, and that's what it still is today, and it will stay that way until the day I die!"
Kira knew where that debate was leading. So she cut to the chase:
"What do you want?"
"Me? What makes you think I want anything?"
"I wouldn't trust you if you didn't want anything for your help, Quark."
The Ferengi smiled, came closer and whispered:
"It's nice to see that you haven't forgotten me completely, General. So, what's your offer?"
"Hi there."
The Bolian woman turned around on her pillow and acknowledged the young human now at her bedside.
"Hi. I'm Mitena", she said, smiling
"I'm Sabrina."
"Hi, Sabrina. Are you a patient too?"
"What gave me up? The Pierre Cardin hospital jacket or the bare feet?"
"The bracelet."
Sabrina looked at her wrist and smiled.
"Oh. So my disguise is not perfect yet. Yeah, I'm a patient. I'm trying to relearn to walk, so I decided I might as well be useful. I'm having several friends and colleagues in here, and I'm trying to find them."
"I'm not one of them, am I?"
"Not yet."
Mitena smiled wider this time.
"I hope I'm not making you waste too much of your time."
"No way, Mitena. I'm glad to meet you. Why did they bring you in?"
"Isn't it obvious? Look at the scars."
"You have no scars."
"Oh? Good. Well, I was in the explosion at the Salan shipyards."
Sabrina jerked. Nobody had told her. She inquired:
"Salan? Isn't that where the Chameleon was docked?"
"Yes. I was working on it — Hey! Are you Lieutenant Watson by any chance?"
Sabrina turned away and replied:
"Yeah. Guilty as charged."
"Guilty of what?"
She turned back to Mitena.
"I broke my battleship."
"But you brought it back for repairs. They're talking of giving you the Christopher Pike Medal of Valor."
Sabrina smiled incredulously.
"What? Noooo! No way!"
"I'm telling you, Sabrina, you're a hero."
"The others are heroes. I just did my job, and not very well at that. How is the Chameleon?"
"Completely destroyed in the explosion, unfortunately."
"Noooo."
"I'm sorry. But we had time to extract every last bit of information from it and transmit it to the Samurai. I'm sure Beta Command is working on it night and day."
***
"The twins" had just arrived to what was left of the Salan shipyards. The Klingon investigators were definitely not amused.
Well, in fact they were, and it made matters even worse.
Akeen and Akoval Shran were born in 2360. After two years at Starfleet Academy, from 2376 to 2378, they had been admitted to the exclusive Starfleet Police Academy. They had graduated in 2382, had taken the short Judicial course from 2382 to 2384, and had graduated with a choice to make.
Every Federation service wanted them.
In 2381, during a stage on Orion, they had practically single-handedly put Starfleet Intelligence on its way to apprehend three of the leaders of the Orion Syndicate, they had identified the Pedophile Cannibal of Rufus III and solved the mystery of the assassination of Prelate Zarkov, fifteen years earlier.
That was only the start of their exploits. They were notorious for being more obstinate than a herd of sehlats, those giant teddy bear-like beasts native to Vulcan, with six-inch fangs, who did not like to climb, preferring to remain on low ground, and could wait several days for their prey to try their luck at escaping them.
But Chief Investigator Vidok was not impressed.
"You two blue skins have no reason to be here. I am leading this investigation under direct orders from Chancellor Worf."
They were not impressed either.
"We are here under direct orders from Starfleet Command, which has cleared everything with Colonel Torres, the Federation direct liaison with the Chancellor."
"That half-bred female has nothing to say in here. I answer to the Chancellor."
Akeen knew what it was all about. He stepped in, fully knowing that Akoval would follow in stride.
"Do you have something to hide, Chief Investigator?"
"WHAT?"
"Are you afraid that we will find out the depth of your incompetence?"
"You're pushing your luck, Andorian."
"It's the only way to lead an investigation of this magnitude, the only way we know of working efficiently. So, take your so-called investigators out of the way and let's see if we still can find something significant that they have not trampled over a thousand times already."
"I know your reputation, blue skin. Investigate, while I clear your statute with the Chancellor. Then get ready to be thrown out of here by your antennae."
***
"Worf, Admiral Wilkins called — again."
Worf sighed deeply.
"Tell him again, I'm not available."
Deanna looked at him.
"Is it reasonable to make him wait that long, Worf?"
"What can I tell him, Deanna?"
"Ooooh, I don't know … The truth?"
Worf looked at his wife as if she had suddenly become crazy.
"The truth. Yes, of course. Why didn't I think of that?"
"Don't mock me, Worf."
"Deanna, you know as well as I do that if we start unveiling this conspiracy, our enemies will use it to call me unfit to rule. And you also know what that would mean."
"Is Torres your enemy?"
"What's Torres doing in this discussion?"
"She believes Wilkins to be a man of honor, who would keep his mouth shut and could better fight the Alliance's enemies if he knew what's happening."
"Does she know?"
"She knows that you're hiding something, and she knows that only Klingons could have destroyed the Ch'Tang and the Salan shipyards. She also authorized Starfleet to send two special investigators to Salan."
"WHAT?"
"I told her that you would approve. Will you make me a liar, Worf?"
Worf looked at Deanna. She was looking back at him with that "so, big boy, what are you gonna do now?" expression he couldn't resist to.
"Please promise me that it's all you did, and all you'll do about this."
"Until I feel that your honor needs more."
"Damn you. As if I had a chance against you."
"At least after all this time, you finally realize it."
The Bolian woman turned around on her pillow and acknowledged the young human now at her bedside.
"Hi. I'm Mitena", she said, smiling
"I'm Sabrina."
"Hi, Sabrina. Are you a patient too?"
"What gave me up? The Pierre Cardin hospital jacket or the bare feet?"
"The bracelet."
Sabrina looked at her wrist and smiled.
"Oh. So my disguise is not perfect yet. Yeah, I'm a patient. I'm trying to relearn to walk, so I decided I might as well be useful. I'm having several friends and colleagues in here, and I'm trying to find them."
"I'm not one of them, am I?"
"Not yet."
Mitena smiled wider this time.
"I hope I'm not making you waste too much of your time."
"No way, Mitena. I'm glad to meet you. Why did they bring you in?"
"Isn't it obvious? Look at the scars."
"You have no scars."
"Oh? Good. Well, I was in the explosion at the Salan shipyards."
Sabrina jerked. Nobody had told her. She inquired:
"Salan? Isn't that where the Chameleon was docked?"
"Yes. I was working on it — Hey! Are you Lieutenant Watson by any chance?"
Sabrina turned away and replied:
"Yeah. Guilty as charged."
"Guilty of what?"
She turned back to Mitena.
"I broke my battleship."
"But you brought it back for repairs. They're talking of giving you the Christopher Pike Medal of Valor."
Sabrina smiled incredulously.
"What? Noooo! No way!"
"I'm telling you, Sabrina, you're a hero."
"The others are heroes. I just did my job, and not very well at that. How is the Chameleon?"
"Completely destroyed in the explosion, unfortunately."
"Noooo."
"I'm sorry. But we had time to extract every last bit of information from it and transmit it to the Samurai. I'm sure Beta Command is working on it night and day."
***
"The twins" had just arrived to what was left of the Salan shipyards. The Klingon investigators were definitely not amused.
Well, in fact they were, and it made matters even worse.
Akeen and Akoval Shran were born in 2360. After two years at Starfleet Academy, from 2376 to 2378, they had been admitted to the exclusive Starfleet Police Academy. They had graduated in 2382, had taken the short Judicial course from 2382 to 2384, and had graduated with a choice to make.
Every Federation service wanted them.
In 2381, during a stage on Orion, they had practically single-handedly put Starfleet Intelligence on its way to apprehend three of the leaders of the Orion Syndicate, they had identified the Pedophile Cannibal of Rufus III and solved the mystery of the assassination of Prelate Zarkov, fifteen years earlier.
That was only the start of their exploits. They were notorious for being more obstinate than a herd of sehlats, those giant teddy bear-like beasts native to Vulcan, with six-inch fangs, who did not like to climb, preferring to remain on low ground, and could wait several days for their prey to try their luck at escaping them.
But Chief Investigator Vidok was not impressed.
"You two blue skins have no reason to be here. I am leading this investigation under direct orders from Chancellor Worf."
They were not impressed either.
"We are here under direct orders from Starfleet Command, which has cleared everything with Colonel Torres, the Federation direct liaison with the Chancellor."
"That half-bred female has nothing to say in here. I answer to the Chancellor."
Akeen knew what it was all about. He stepped in, fully knowing that Akoval would follow in stride.
"Do you have something to hide, Chief Investigator?"
"WHAT?"
"Are you afraid that we will find out the depth of your incompetence?"
"You're pushing your luck, Andorian."
"It's the only way to lead an investigation of this magnitude, the only way we know of working efficiently. So, take your so-called investigators out of the way and let's see if we still can find something significant that they have not trampled over a thousand times already."
"I know your reputation, blue skin. Investigate, while I clear your statute with the Chancellor. Then get ready to be thrown out of here by your antennae."
***
"Worf, Admiral Wilkins called — again."
Worf sighed deeply.
"Tell him again, I'm not available."
Deanna looked at him.
"Is it reasonable to make him wait that long, Worf?"
"What can I tell him, Deanna?"
"Ooooh, I don't know … The truth?"
Worf looked at his wife as if she had suddenly become crazy.
"The truth. Yes, of course. Why didn't I think of that?"
"Don't mock me, Worf."
"Deanna, you know as well as I do that if we start unveiling this conspiracy, our enemies will use it to call me unfit to rule. And you also know what that would mean."
"Is Torres your enemy?"
"What's Torres doing in this discussion?"
"She believes Wilkins to be a man of honor, who would keep his mouth shut and could better fight the Alliance's enemies if he knew what's happening."
"Does she know?"
"She knows that you're hiding something, and she knows that only Klingons could have destroyed the Ch'Tang and the Salan shipyards. She also authorized Starfleet to send two special investigators to Salan."
"WHAT?"
"I told her that you would approve. Will you make me a liar, Worf?"
Worf looked at Deanna. She was looking back at him with that "so, big boy, what are you gonna do now?" expression he couldn't resist to.
"Please promise me that it's all you did, and all you'll do about this."
"Until I feel that your honor needs more."
"Damn you. As if I had a chance against you."
"At least after all this time, you finally realize it."
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