Disclaimer: Credit where credit's due - the basic idea for this timeline comes originally from a man called Dan Carlson. He has a great website at www.st-minutiae.com and has kindly 'loaned' me the ST Restoration idea for development here. You can find his initial ideas at http://www.st-minutiae.com/misc/restoration/. I will warn you that although I have changed quite a lot in my own story/timeline/etc... there may be a few spoilers for what I may or may not be doing with this story on the website. So be warned!

Anyway, without further ado...



Star Trek: Restoration
Book One : A New Order

Chapter 1

3rd March, 2631
The Hounslow Residence
Southern France
Earth

"It is 0700 hours."

The familiar sound of the computer pulled Ba'el Sarine from his nightmare. It lingered a moment longer – he was back on the bridge of the Enterprise, giving the order, watching the blackness unfold across the planet on the viewscreen as the voices screamed over the intercom…

Third time this week, he thought as he lay there, staring up at the ceiling. That’s gotta be a record.

He waited a few moments to see if sleep was still within his grasp, then gave up. Sliding out of bed, he padded across the room to the fresher unit. The water took a moment to sputter out of the tap. He splashed some on his face and behind his neck, then glanced in the mirror. God, Ba, you look like hell. His eyes were sunken, the dark blue of his iris’ verging on the black in the dim light. He brushed his lanky, unkempt hair away from his pointed ears, the scar tissue evident on the left one. He let it fall back. How long has it been since I’ve been to have a haircut? He realised he couldn’t remember.

Shaking his head, he walked to the door, which slid open to reveal the vast living room beyond, bathed in sunlight. He was blinded for a moment, lifting a scarred hand to protect his eyes

"Computer, shade."

Within seconds, the blinds began to slide across the window, only sticking twice as they swept out from the wall. They filtered out some of the early morning sun's bright glare. He could still see out of the vast wall to wall windows, his eyes taking in the majesty of the southern European coast. The azure tint of the sky met the darker blue of the Mediterannean far on the horizon. Ba’el stood there for a moment, taking in the view. He wondered how many times his mother had stood here looking out over the same vista before the Dominion killed her.

Turning away from the window, he grabbed his robe from the back of a chair and walked over to the small kitchen area. He sat down on a stool, switching on the small comm screen he had installed the week before. The floor beneath him shook slightly as the generator turned on in the basement. The screen sputtered to life

An attractive blond woman in a tailored blue suit sat in front of a holographic display showing the spinning glory of the Milky Way. The words Your Galaxy Today spun around and around the galactic hologram.

"... telling us that until the Andorians make an official request for our assistance, there is nothing the FAW can do."

Ba’el reached down and grabbed a bowl as the woman went on, "In other news, the Laurentine Hegemony has recently reopened negotiations for the possible presence of a Federation starship to be permanently attached to their space station Onyx. This has been welcomed by the Federation Security Council on Romulus as a major step towards normalising relations between the two nations. However, Admiral Killstreet has..."

Ba'el was reaching for the box of cereal above his head when a beeping sound interrupted the news feed. He touched the screen and a menu appeared, informing him that there was a comm signal coming through. Ba’el blinked. He hadn’t received any kind of call since he had moved in to his mother’s old house three months before. Especially not one with a Starfleet ID code.

Reluctantly, he touched the flickering icon to accept the call. Nothing happened. He touched the screen harder this time and it went black.

He was about to hit the damned thing to bring it back on line when the screen flickered and a smart young Ferengi male in a Starfleet ensign’s uniform appeared. Behind him, through the thick static, Ba’el could just about make out a Starfleet comm centre, banal in its organised chaos.

"Captain Sarine. Please hold for Admiral Kovat."

Before Ba'el could object that he was no longer a captain of any kind, the screen went black again, replaced rapidly by the dark-skinned, reptilian face of a Cardassian, also in a Starfleet uniform. His cheeks were marred by three long scars, which ran from his forehead all the way down before vanishing beneath his uniform collar. The scars tensed as the man smiled

"Ba'el.” He seemed genuinely happy to see his old friend. “You look like you’ve been dragged through the streets by a Klingon."

"It's good to see you too, sir." It was only partly a lie.

Jasad Kovat had been Ba'el's cell leader during the Occupation. The two had fought together in too many engagements to number. Once they had infiltrated a Dominion training facility and assassinated both the Vorta overseer and the Jem’hadar First and Second before they were found. They had escaped aboard an ancient Bajoran freighter whose warpdrive had given out after seven lightyears. Both men had remained close right up until the end of the war when Kovat had joined the fledgling Starfleet, shoved upstairs almost instantly with the rank of Admiral. As for Ba'el... Ba'el had come to Earth, the homeworld he had never known, to this house where his mother had once lived. He'd left the war and its aftermath far behind.

"I'm on Earth for a conference,” Kovat said. “I was hoping I could come out there and see you."

“What for?"

Kovat seemed taken aback by Ba’el’s tone. I’m not part of your Starfleet, Jasad. We did things differently in the Resistance, or have you already forgotten? Still, he recovered well, his smile only faltering for an instant. “Just to catch up, see how you’re doing. I haven’t seen you since…”

“Yeah,” Ba’el cut him off. He didn’t need a reminder of the Incident. He lived through it often enough in his dreams.

An uncomfortable silence grew between them. Kovat avoided Ba’el’s gaze, obviously aware of what was going through his old friend’s mind. Finally, the quiet became too much for him. “It’s important, Ba’el. You know I wouldn’t contact you otherwise."

He thought about it, then decided it couldn’t hurt. His former commander might even be telling the truth. He shrugged. “Why not.”

"Excellent,” Kovat said with a tight smile. “I’m going to be here in London giving a report to the Refugee Comitte for the whole day, but I could probably comandeer a transport out your way around 1700. I could be at your house by 1800."

"Fine. I'll make us some dinner."

"Looking forward to it."

"Me too," Ba'el lied.

The comm line broke off, leaving Ba'el to stare at the blank screen. He sat there, idly rolling the bowl over the work desk with one finger, wondering exactly what Kovat wanted. Despite what the Admiral had said, he had the distant feeling it had nothing to do with old times or swapping war stories. In fact, he thought he knew exactly what Kovat wanted to see him about.

And he was almost sure that he wasn’t going to like it.

Chapter 2

Same day
USS Ulysses
En route to Romulus

Deep in the darkness, Kalara stalked her prey, a tight hold on her bat’leth. All of her senses were alert and her muscles tense beneath her skin-tight leotard. Her blood sang the song of the hunt, the song even her ancestors had been unable to tame. Lips curled back, she revealed the sharp teeth that were her genetic heritage as a Klingon. Her head rose and she sniffed the dust-ridden air, searching for a hint of her prey.

She knew that the tunnels wound round towards a central cavern. A few side passages offered places to hide, but she did not think her opponent would be capable of such subterfuge. No, he would be waiting for her somewhere in these passageways. She just hoped that he would not be so crass as to simply be waiting for her in the central cave. She paused again, tossing her head this way and that as she sought out any trace of him on the air. Nothing.

She moved on. There was no natural light in the tunnel system, but she could see perfectly well in the darkness. It was one of many advantages she held over her prey. He would need some kind of equipment to be able to distinguish her in the shadows. Hopefully, that would give him away long before they found one another.

Pausing at a crossroads, Kalara flicked out her tongue, tasting the air. She felt the chalky taste of dust, the stale slick of enclosed air. And something else. A tang of sweat. Coming from behind her.

She spun round just in time to see a shadow detach from the wall and spring at her. Her eyes caught the slightest glint of metal in his hand. How did he get behind me? She grinned and spun again, this time kicking out with her left foot. She caught her adversary on the chin, the impact almost sending her toppling over. She dropped into a crouch as her opponent went down with a grunt. To her surprise, he tucked and rolled, his dk’tagh knife scoring a line in the rock. He flowed back to his feet, his features surprisingly feral as he sneered at her.

Have you been practicing, Damien?

“Is that the best you can do, little girl?” The taunting tone in his voice sent a thrill through her lithe frame.

Steeling her face against the feeling, she began to circle round him, spinning her bat’leth a few times as she danced across the rock. She curled her upper lip, her tongue darting out as her breathing quickened.

“If you want more, come and get it,” she sneered.

To her dismay, he took the invitation, rushing forward with an almighty roar. Oh, Damien. She side-stepped easily, the blade of his knife passing a good few centimetres from her side. She allowed her body to flow around, following him and bringing her bat’leth around to strike him behind the knees. The blow took out his legs and sent him tumbling to the floor. His knife skittered away, lost in the darkness.

Kalara moved quickly, springing from her crouch and pouncing on him. She straddled him, her bat’leth already in motion. She stopped it inches from his throat, one of the inverted blade points pressing against his skin.

“Do you yield?”

To her surprise, her opponent laughed. His oh-so human features scrunched up and his shoulders began to rise and fall. For a moment, Kalara stiffened, her Klingon blood screaming for her to avenge the insult by taking his head from his throat. Then she remembered who this man was and she stilled her hand.

“May I ask what is so funny?” she growled.

He shook his head, his attempts to choke back his laughter failing miserably. As he began to cough uncontrollably, she sighed. Climbing off of him, she sat down on the floor, crossing her legs and staring at him.

“Damien, if you’re not going to take this seriously…” she began.

“No!” He coughed again, then started to giggle. “I do, I do. I swear, I’m taking this seriously.”

She eyed him. “It does not look like it.”

He shook his head, trying to hold back the laughter. “It’s just when you asked whether I yielded, I had a flash of the look on your face this morning when…” He broke off, his laughter seizing him again.

“When what,” she asked, her voice dangerously low. She had a feeling she knew what he was going to say.

“When… when… when that Tellarite girl asked why you had those funny wrinkles on your face.” He began to howl with laughter, rolling around on the cave floor. Kalara did not find the story funny, nor had she that morning. The incident had occurred back on Earth, when they had been waiting to board the Ulysses. She was sure that she had maintained her usual honorable composure during the whole incident.

Still, Damien had one of the most infectious laughs she had ever heard. The sight of him rolling around on the cave floor, covered in dust, his face red, forced a chuckle from her. This single crack in her demeanour only pushed him further, which increased her own laughter. Within moments, the two of them were both on their backs, howling like a couple of Khitomer sabre-wolves.

“Oh God,” Damien wheezed, clutching his belly as his laugh faded to a mere chuckle. “I’m sorry, Kali. I know how important it is for you to teach me the Klingon way. Let’s go again. I promise I’ll do better.”

She felt a surge of affection and attraction for her husband. He may not be a Klingon, he may not be a warrior, but he loved her and he was the only person who could pierce her armour of honor and responsibility. It was the reason she loved him. The reason she had married him despite her mother’s objections.

Reaching out, she laid a hand on his arm. “I don’t much feel like fighting, anymore.”

The tone in her voice was unmistakeable. He looked over her, a cocky grin on his face. He growled. “Kalara, daughter of Elyra, are you propositioning me?”

She loved the edge to his voice. A shiver ran down her spine. Sliding across the rock floor, she swung her leg over his body, then straddled him. She leant down over him, letting her dark hair brush over his face. Then she bit his shoulder. Hard.

“What do you think?”

After that, there were no more words.
xxx

Once they had finished, they lay together on the cave floor. Her body was bruised, her breasts hurt where he had bitten her, while her legs were red with teethmarks. Their clothes lay in a heap beside them. Kalara felt wonderful. We managed to rip almost everything this time, she thought with a smile, her head cradled in the small indentation where Damien’s arm met his shoulder. He’s getting better.

Lying there, in the darkness, she wondered how this had happened. She hadn’t been looking for love, especially not with a human. Her people may have gained in respect for the human race since seeing them fight so bravely during the Occupation, but they still considered them weak in comparison to Klingon.

And this one is not even a warrior, she heard her mother’s voice in her head. He cares for children. A woman’s job!


She couldn’t deny it. Damien was a school teacher. He was also a writer, a novelist who wrote historical novels set before and during the Dominion Occupation. Thanks to his second job, he had been able to take an indefinite leave of absence and join her now on the Redemption. The Restoration-class starship was to be her first command and she was waiting for in the space docks in orbit of Romulus.

Of course, it was also his career as a novelist that had brought the two of them together. Damien had come to Khitomer doing research for a new book. Kalara had taken a month’s leave to spend some time visiting her mother’s estate on the homeworld. She remembered the day that Damien had shown up, dressed in slacks and a shirt, asking whether he could ask her mother a few questions about Korloth, her grand-father, who had been a key figure in the Khitomer Riots. He had been totally fearless before Lady Elyra, which was one of the first things Kalara had noticed about him. He may be a mere human, but only a man with a Klingon heart could stand up to Lady Elyra of the House of Maraka.

Kalara had been so impressed that she had volunteered to show him around the estate and help him trawl his way through the reams of family history that her mother kept meticulously in the House archives. The two of them had discovered mutual interests and a shared love for pre-Occupation Klingon politics. The rest…

“The rest was…” she murmured, more to herself, trying to jog the rest of the human expression from her memory.

“Hmmm?” Damien stirred beside her.

“What is that human expression? The rest is…?”

“What?” he muttered, obviously still half-asleep.

She smiled to herself and patted his side. "Don't worry. Go back to sleep." She squirmed slightly, making herself more comfortable.

Her husband murmured something she couldn't make out, his breathing slowing. Kalara closed her eyes, snuggling up against him. Of course, if anyone ask, she would deny ever snuggling anything. The feeling, though, was very agreable.

She was just drifting off when a voice cut through the darkness, destroying any chance of sleep. "Commander Thomas to Commander Kalara."

Kalara’s eyes snapped open. In moments, she transformed from a wife to a Starfleet officer. She reached across her husband, who groaned loudly, and tapped the comm badge she had hidden in her clothes.

"Kalara here."

"Sorry to interrupt your training session, Commander, but there's a priority message coming in for you. From Starfleet Command."

Any last trace of sleep evaporated. She sat up, seeing her husband looking at her blindly in the darkness. She could see the confused look he wore. The Ulysses should only be five hours out from Romulus. Surely Command could have waited until she arrived to speak to her.

Still, one didn’t keep Command waiting. Especially not if you were just about to be minted Captain of a brand new starship.

"Patch it in down here," she instructed the Ulysses XO, reaching down to grab her robe.

Draping it over her, she moved a few steps away from her husband. Asking for the computer to show the holodeck’s arch, she turned her face away as the bright lights appeared out of the cave wall. Damien groaned again at the sudden brilliance. Hushing him with a waved hand, she moved into the arch, standing as close as possible to the screen. Let’s hope he can’t see the bruises.

When the communication was established, Kalara was surprised to see an elderly Ferengi staring back. She had been expecting Admiral Kovath to be contacting her since he had offered her the position of Captain and would be handling the reception aboard the Redemption. Instead, she found herself face to face with this Ferengi, white hair sprouting copiously from his large ears. Still, from the pips on his jacket, she could see that he was a Vice-Admiral.

"Sir," she said, snapping to attention.

"Commander Kalara?" he peered at her as though through a veil of mist.

"Yes, sir."

"Is it my imagination or are you a Klingon?"

"Sir?" She didn’t know what else to say.

"Surprising nowadays to see a Klingon in the Federation, considering your people ditched us all the moment the Occupation was over. I suppose you're one of those Khitomer Klingons, aren't you?"

She gritted her teeth. Is he purposefully trying to insult me? "Sir. Yes sir."

"Never understood the difference myself,” he said dismissively. “Anyway, as the humons like to say, that is neither here nor there. Of course no one knows where either location actually is. Still… I'm contacting you to inform you of a change in your orders. You are not to report to the Redemption when you reach Starfleet Command here on Romulus. Instead you are to report to my office.”

“Sir! I was told to report to Admiral Kovath aboard the Redemption. Why hasn’t he contacted me directly?”

“Admiral Kovath has other things to deal with. You are to report here to my office, Commander Kalara. Is that understood?”

“Sir. Yes sir.”

“Good.” He peered at her. “What are those bruises on your face?”

She flushed. “I… I injured myself in a training exercice.”

“Well, be that as it may, it would be more fitting for a Commander to show the proper example to those who serve under her. I will see you when you arrive. Command out.”

Before she could say anything else, the screen went black. Kalara stood there a moment longer, just staring at the screen. Her thoughts were in a whirl. There was only one reason she could see for this change of orders and the fact that Kovath had not wanted to talk to her directly. Her anger flared.

"What was all that about?" Damien asked, coming up behind her.

"I don't know,” she said through gritted teeth. “I think..." She trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence.

"What?" Damien pushed her.

She turned and looked down at him, her eyes blazing. "I think I just lost Redemption."

Chapter 3

That Night
The Hounslow Residence
Southern France
Earth

With dinner over, Ba’el and his guest headed outside, a glass of Romulan ale in hand. One of the first things Ba’el had done when he returned to his mother’s home was to restore the garden. Enclosed by a high wall, the garden was now cloaked in darkness, but during the day it was a splendid vista of colours. Even now, though they were hidden, the plants and flowers filled the air with a heady aroma of life.

Both men stood for a moment, both staring up at the stars. Ba’el cradled his glass in both hands, enjoying the silence. The evening had gone well, so far. Kovat had held to his side of the bargain and the conversation had revolved around happy memories from their times in the cell – mad escapes, insane plans, simple moments spent around a camp fire on some Beta Quadrant planet, waiting for the sun to come up. For a few hours, at least, Ba’el had almost been able to forget what the war had cost him.

Then Kovat spoke. "Don't you miss it?" he asked. Ba’el’s heart sank.

Here we go. Ba’el decided not to allow his old friend to come at him from a tangent. "Why don't you cut the crap and tell me why you really came here, Jas?"

The Cardassian turned away from the starscape. His face had changed – Jasad Kovat, the friend and former ally, was gone. Jasad Kovat the Starfleet Admiral, a man charged with great responsibilities, now stood in his place. He was all business, as he said, "I want you to join Starfleet."

Ba’el shook his head. "Not going to happen."

"At least hear me out."

"For what?” Ba’el snapped. “So you can give me some speech about honor and freedom and responsibility? I've heard it all before, Jas. From you, from Carlson, and Dana, and Ly'et. I told you then, I've served my time." He looked off into the shadows at the bottom of the garden, his eyes seeming to pierce the darkness. "I've paid the price."

"We know all of that, Bay. And we respect it. You know I wouldn't ask this of you if I had any other choice."

"There are always other choices, Jas. I learned that after Lutara.”

The spectre of that mission, and its aftermath, hung between them for a long moment, like a physical presence. Ba'el went back to staring at the stars as Kovat gathered himself.

"This isn't just any mission, you know? We want you to command the Redemption."

"Never heard of her."

"You wouldn’t have. She's fresh out of space dock. The first in a new line. Restoration-class."

"Subtle,” Ba’el snorted. “Redemption. Restoration. What's next? USS We're-Very-Sorry?"

"She's a good ship, Bay. Top of the line. Like one of the ships we would have built before the Occupation. Better than the Enterprise even.” He paused. “We're thinking of making her the flag."

Ba’el couldn’t help glancing at Kovat. "You're offering me the flagship?" Kovat nodded. Ba’el shook his head. "You must be desperate."

"You want the truth? Yes, we are."

"But why? Why do you want me to join your little toy navy so bad?"

A touch of heat seeped into Kovat's next words. "To tell you the truth, Bay, I don't. I don't need the grief. I don't need the guilt."

"Then why the hell are you..."

"It's the Laurentine."

"What?" Now Ba’el was totally confused.

"Two weeks ago, the Hegemony opened negotiations with the Federation. They have agreed to allow one of our ships to be posted to Onyx. We already had Redemption ready to go, crew chosen, captain selected. It seemed like the perfect opportunity. Then, a few days ago, the bastards added a condition. You."

"What are you talking about, Jas?"

"The Hegemony will only allow us to send a ship if you command it."

Ba'el didn't know what to say. The Laurentine Hegemony lay on the far side of the Federation. They had seized a large chunk of what had once been Klingon space during the Occupation, allying themselves with the Dominion. As far as anyone had been able to tell, they had arrived from outside the galaxy, crossing the intergalactic rift in order to flee some unnamed foe. When the Dominion turned against them, the Hegemony joined the fledgling Resistance. Their help had been instrumental in the last years of the war. After the end of the Occupation, though, the Hegemony had vanished back beyond their borders, refusing each and every attempt the Federation had made to reach out to them.

"Why?" Ba’el asked after a moment.

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"I have no idea.” He wracked his brains, trying to think of anything that could have ? this request. He couldn’t. “I mean I fought alongside a few of them during the War, same as anyone in the Resistance. I spent a few months aboard the Onyx Station when we were designing the Enterprise. But from there to making a personal request for my presence on this mission..." He shook his head. It makes no sense.

"You know how important this could be, Bay,” Kovat pressed. “We've already lost Andor, Vulcan and the Klingons, not to mention the dozens of independant worlds that chose to go their own way after the Occupation. The Earth Conference was a disaster. We can barely call ourselves the Federation of Allied Worlds."

"Now with the Klingons making forays into our territory, the Andorians proclaiming a new empire, the Gorn and the Breen baring their teeth... We can't afford another enemy on our doorstep. This is the first sign that the Hegemony may be willing to talk. If this goes well, we may be able to negotiate a more permanent alliance. Prophets, we may even be able to bring them into the Federation."

Kovat lapsed into silence, waiting. Ba'el closed his eyes, processing what his friend had told him. Part of him felt for his old cell leader. They had both fought hard for their freedom from the Dominion, only to discover that that freedom was not as simple as it had seemed. Both had taken different paths at the end of the war, but their initial plan had been the same.

But I made a promise, he told himself. I can't go back. I won't.

Finally, he shook his head. "I'm sorry Jas. You're going to have to find another way."

"There is no other way!” his old friend burst out. “Don't you have any sense of duty left? Your people need you!"

"My people are buried at the bottom of this garden, Admiral,” Ba’el said coldly. “I abandoned them once, I won't do it again."

"They're gone, Bay. Elera, Torvol, they died. You weren't here. How long are you going to punish yourself?"

"As long as it takes."

"The other Admirals were right.” Kovat waved his hand dismissively. “You are nothing but a shadow. You’re just waiting to die, aren’t you? Well I have news for you, Bay. You didn't die. You lived. That may hurt, but maybe it's about time you realised that we all lost people in the Occupation. We carry on. We get on with living. It isn't easy, it's damned painful in fact. But it's what people do. If you can't, then maybe it's time for you to end it."

His old friend turned, walking back into the house. He paused in the doorway, not looking at Ba'el as he spoke.

"There are millions of beings suffering out there, Bay. Picking up the pieces. You may have a chance here to make sure that the galaxy they wake up to every morning is a safer one than it could have been. Ask yourself what Elera would have wanted you to do. Think about all the other families who might be torn apart if the Hegemony decide we're a more tantalising victim than we are allies."

Without another word, he was gone. Leaving Ba'el to the stars and the silence and the guilt.

XXX


Once Ba'el had cleared away the plates and tidied the kitchen, he went back outside. He stood for a moment, enjoying the cool air and looking up at the stars. His mind echoed with Kovat’s last words – all of the other families who would suffer as he had suffered if another war broke out now. Could he let that happen? Could he turn his back on Jas, on everything they had fought so hard to gain? And for what? For the first time since Goltara, he actually wondered who he was doing it all for. For his wife and his son? Or for himself?

Finally, he made a decision. Slowly, he walked down the path towards the bottom of the garden, pushing through the fringe of caspa roots, their tendril-like leaves brushing over his shoulder.

They stood beneath a willow tree, their white brilliance like a beacon in the moonlight. Two marble stones, set in the ground. As he reached them, Ba'el fell to his knees in front of them, oblivious to the tears that had begun to fall.

ELERA SARINE
LOVING WIFE AND MOTHER
Her light will shine upon the Valley of Fire

TORVOL SARINE
BELOVED SON
His light shone too brightly and faded too fast.

There were no bodies underneath, of course. They had never been found. The blood had been enough. Now, only the headstones remained as markers.

"I'm sorry," Ba'el whispered. "I'm so sorry." He bowed his head and began to weep.

There was no reply.

XXX


Admiral Jasad Kovat walked into his hotel room in New York in a foul mood. Ba’el’s stubborn refusal had been bad enough. When he had reached his transport, though, he had found another message from the Company, pressing for news on his efforts to convince his former friend to join the Redemption mission. He had erased it without responding. He wasn’t ready yet to give up, but he knew his time was running out.

Throwing his jacket over the chair, Jasad headed for the fresher. A good long shower would clear his mind, help him gain a little clarity. Afterwards, he would ask the Prophets to guide him. He was halfway to the little shower room when he heard the beeping.

He stopped in his tracks. The beeping was coming from the room’s comm terminal. He hadn’t told anyone which hotel he was staying in. No one, except… He hurried over and pressed the connection button. There was a slight lag in the transmission, then Ba'el's face appeared.

By the Prophets, he looks as if he's seen a ghost.

"Bay! What is it? "

"I... I've reconsidered. What you said. What I said. I… I think it’s about time I did something to make sure no one goes through what I did. If you are absolutely sure that you still trust me. I know how people felt after the Enterprise, and… Well, I’m in. If you want me. What do I have to do?"

As Kovat arranged a rendez-vous with Bay the next day at the Paris Transport Hub, he felt a surge of relief. The Company would be pleased.

And he would really have hated ordering his old friend's execution.

Chapter 4

4th March 2631
USS Redemption
Starfleet Construction Yard
In Orbit of Romulus

Second Officer’s Log, 4th March 2631. Final preparations for launch should be complete by 1400 this afternoon, just in time for Captain Kalara’s arrival. Most of the crew is onboard and they seem to be settling in. Rumours are rife as to what our final mission will be, but no one seems to know exactly where Starfleet is sending us. Even if I wanted to, I could not clear up the uncertainty, as my own orders from Command have been very vague. I hope that Captain Kalara will be able to reassure the crew once she arrives. In the meantime, I am anxious to meet our new Operations Officer who is en route aboard his former vessel, the Reliant.

XXX

For the brief moment that the transporter effect lasted, Jasto was at peace. As soon as the Redemption’s transporter room coalesced into solid reality around him, though, Haebron began to scream, the sound echoing through his mind.

Taken aback by the sudden change, Jasto took a moment to get his bearings. He blinked a few times, as if trying to clear his head. When he saw the smile on the transporter operator’s face, he quickly recovered and stepped down from the padd, hefting his duffel bag on his shoulder.

A gold-skinned officer in a black and grey uniform - gold stripes running around his collar and down his arms - stepped forward, hand held out.

“Lieutenant Dax? Welcome to the Redemption. I’m Lieutenant-Commander Ianto.”

Jasto Dax took the outstretched hand, shaking it firmly. To his surprise, it was cold.

“You were expecting something more… metallic?” the android asked with a wry smile.

“Am I that obvious?”

“No, not at all. It has simply been my observation that most non-artifical lifeforms have certain… expectations about androids. One of those is that their skin should feel cold or metal like. Thankfully, my father was able to perfect a nearly undistinguishable substitute for ‘living’ skin.”

Jasto blinked. “Your father?”

Ianto nodded. “My maker. The android known as Data.”

“I didn’t realise that you and your fellow Data-class androids saw Data as a father. Sir.”

“Most do not. I… I have a slightly more complicated relationship with our initiator.”

Before Dax could ask any more, the comm badge on Ianto’s chest beeped. The android reached up and tapped it.

“Lieutenant-Commander Ianto here.”

“Sir, we have a problem down in Secondary Engineering. The power flow to the third slipstream drive is playing up. We were wondering if…”

Ianto cocked his head, his eyes becoming glazed. Dax had heard that the few Data-class androids still around had a harmonic link to the ships they served on, allowing them to better deal with problems and even take full control of the ship if necessary. He guessed Ianto was connecting to the main computer to check the diagnostic systems. After a moment, he sighed. “I’ll be right there. Ianto out.”

He focused on the Trill. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Dax, I was hoping to give you a tour of the ship, but it looks like duty calls. If you wish, I can show you to your quarters on my way to Secondary Engineering?”

“That would be fine, sir.”

“After you.”

The android bowed his head and indicated with a sweep of his hand for Dax to precede him out into the corridor. Stepping through the open door, the first thing Dax noted was how similar it looked to the pre-Occupation Starfleet corridors. The last time Dax had seen corridors like this had been aboard the Aventine, Ezri Dax’s ship. He had become so used to the dark, military grey of most Starfleet vessels built during and since the Occupation, that the unmarred white walls and bright illumination came as quite a surprise. The Romulan Construction Yards had made a real effort to replicate the feel of the old ships.

He also noted the high level of activity that always preceded the launch of a new ship – he had seen it from a number of different perspectives over the span of his many lifetimes, from the lowly ensign carrying cables to a Jefferies tube, to the Captain walking the decks and getting acquainted with his crew. The Redemption didn’t seem any different. People ran every which way, only the cut and colour of their uniforms giving any hint as to what they were doing or where they were going.

“The level of activity has increased exponentially over the past few days,” Commander Ianto said as he followed Dax into the corridor. Dax would have sworn he detected a hint of pride in the android’s voice. “I have noted a 46 % increase in congestion within the corridors and a 73 % increase in average foot speed.”

Dax allowed himself an ironic smile. Ianto was a Data-class android, alright.

“Did I say something amusing, Lieutenant?”

There was the slightest hint of censure in Ianto’s voice and Dax reminded himself that this was not Data and he wasn’t Lerin. Ianto was, however, Dax’s direct superior. As second officer, Ianto was supposed to coordinate all of the different sections, including Dax’s own Ops position. He quickly erased the smile. Last time I was aboard a ship like this, I was her captain. Now… Well, this is going to take some getting used to.

“No, sir. Sorry, sir”

Ianto nodded curtly, then began to lead Dax down the corridor. “I believe that one of your hosts knew my father?”

Dax nodded. “The first host born during the Occupation, Lerin Dax.”

“Ah yes, I remember Lerin. An eager young rebel. A shame how he died.”

Dax stopped short in surprise. Ianto turned and looked at him, a single eyebrow raised. “I’m sorry, sir. You remember Lerin?”

“I travelled with my father in his last days, as the Dominion closed in. Every night, he imprinted his memory engrams onto my neural cortex, just in case he should be captured or killed. I carry a full set of his memories right up until the night when the Dominion finally caught up with him.”

“On Seraphis.” One of Dax’s former hosts, Zaria Dax, remembered hearing about it as a child living on New Trill. The Dominion had proclaimed Data’s death all over the news services, proud to have finally brought down such a key member of the Resistance.

“Exactly.” Ianto’s voice grew sad. “I stood with him as the Jem’hadar broke through our defences, but he ordered me to retreat, to carry on the work he had started to draw the Resistance movements together. He programmed each of his children with an obediance sub-routine, a special harmonic that none of us could refuse. I was compelled to leave him behind.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ianto smiled. “In a way, we are not at all dissimilar. I carry all of my father’s memories, which I will pass on in the event of my deactivation. Much as your symbiont passes on the memories from the former host.”

Dax forced a smile as Haebron’s screams rattled through his mind. He struggled not to wince. He’s getting worse. He glanced at Ianto again. Trust me, Commander, we’re more different than you think.

While they had been talking, Ianto had started walking again, leading them through the corridors to the nearest turbolift. They waited for a few moments among the milling crew members, then stepped on to the first available pod. Most of the crew members already aboard were young, the pip on their collars identifying them as ensigns. An uncomfortable silence fell over the pod as the two officers stepped on board. Dax tried to hold back a smile, remembering his own experiences as an ensign. And Ezri’s. And Jadzia’s. Both women had been the last members of the Dax ‘family’ to be members of Starfleet. Of course, after Ezri, there hadn’t been a Starfleet left to serve in.

As the turbolift descended, Ianto carried on talking. Dax listened with half an ear – it was taking all of his concentration to do even that much with Haebron’s screams rising and falling every few moments.

“I think you’ll find that the Redemption is very different to the ships you’re used to serving on. Starfleet has made a real effort to improve the living conditions considering the length of time we are probably going to spend out of range of a starbase. We have three holodecks, a number of recreational facilities and relatively large quarters. Of course, she’s nowhere near the size of pre-Occupation Starfleet vessels. In fact, by my calculations, she is about the size of the Constitution-class Enterprise.”

Dax nodded politely. No! Haebron screamed in his head. Don’t. Please. Just… Stop. I’m begging you. Please, don’t!

The turbolift stopped. When the the doors opened, Dax found himself face to face with a young human woman. Blond hair cut in a bob around a heart-shaped face, she would have been stunning if it hadn’t been for the brutal scar that twisted around her neck, starting on her left cheek. When her eyes met his, Dax’s blood froze.

No! No! Haebron screamed at the sight of her. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. They made me. Please, don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me. I’m begging you. No!

Clamping down on a sudden urge to scream, Dax took in a hitching breath. The young woman stared at him coldly then stepped on to the turbolift, nodding curtly to Ianto. She knows, Dax thought. She knows who I am.

“Lieutenant Williams, I would like you to meet Lieutenant –“

“Dax.”

Ianto raised an eyebrow. “You know one another.”

Lieutenant Williams glanced at Dax. He almost took a step backwards at the raging hate that blazed in those blue eyes. “We have never met. No.”

Dax could only nod feebly. The lieutenant’s presence had turned Haebron into a raving monster. Dax felt his lips begin to move and he realised that he was mouthing Haebron’s words. Stop it! he screamed in his mind. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or if he was talking to the madman who shared his mind.

Ianto seemed to sense the tension between the two of them. Still, he went on, “Lieutenant Dax, this is Lieutenant Astrid Williams. She is our primary helmsman.”

Of course she is, Dax thought, stifling a groan. It had to be her. He nodded again, not trusting his voice. “The two of you will be working closely together,” Ianto went on, emphasising the word closely.

Dax was saved from saying anything when the turbolift stopped. The doors opened, revealing a long corridor broken every few metres by a door. Ianto politely pushed through the ensigns, telling Astrid Williams that he would be seeing her later. Dax followed along behind, his mind in a daze.

Ianto led him to a door a few feet down and pressed the pad. The door whooshed open, revealing the room beyond. “Here are your quarters, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, sir,” Dax responded, pretending to look inside. “They look perfect.” The door closed again.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to Secondary Engineering. The Dominion’s Quantum Slipstream Device was a wonderful invention, but we’re nowhere near as proficient in its use as they were. Sometimes I miss the good old warp-drive.”

“I know what you mean,” Dax said. “The price of carrying another man’s memories. Nostalgia.”

Ianto smiled. “I’m sure you’re going to fit in fine, here, Lieutenant.” He held out his hand.

“I hope so, sir.”

They shook then Ianto headed back down the corridor. He stopped for a moment, then turned back. “I’m not sure what your history is with Lieutenant Williams, Lieutenant Dax, but as operations officer you are going to be working very closely with her. I hope that the two of you will be able to handle that.”

“Of course sir. I’ll… I’ll speak with her.”

“Good. Well, good day, Lieutenant.”

“And to you, sir.”

As soon as the Lieutenant-Commander had vanished into the turbo-lift, Dax let out a sigh of relief, his whole body shaking with the effort it had taken to hide his discomfort. Throughout the whole trip from the transporter room, Haebron’s screams had been getting increasingly louder, as if the moment of absence during transport had urged him on to greater effort. Seeing Astrid Williams had not helped. What is she doing here? Gritting his teeth, Dax slapped his hand on the pad and stepped into his quarters.

He glanced around, barely taking in the simple bunk, desk and chair that were the only furniture. He hurried over to the bunk and threw himself down. Grinding his fists against his eyes, he groaned.

“Stop it, Haebron. Please, you have to stop it.”

Dax’s last host just continued to howl.

Reaching down to his duffel, Dax rummaged around blindly until he found the hypo. Good thing I charged this up before beaming over from the Reliant, he thought. With trembling hands, he pressed the hypo to his neck and depressed the button. With a whoosh of air, the drug spread through his system. Moments later, Haebron’s voice began to fade. It took a good two or three minutes, though, for his screams to become little more than a murmuring in the back of his mind.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Dax rubbed at his eyes. Haebron had been getting worse over the past few months and the drug prescribed to him by Doc Jones was taking longer and longer to have an effect. Soon he was going to have to get his dosage increased. If the Redemption’s doctor would even allow it. Doc Jones had warned him of the dangerous side-effects of jalapamine.

Lying back, Dax closed his eyes. Immediately, he saw Astrid William’s face. In his mind’s eye though she was screaming. He forced Haebron’s memory away. He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. He felt sick. Shaking his head, he closed his eyes again and wondered what he was going to do.

Chapter 5

4th March 2631
Steer’s Pleasure Palace
Laibok
Andoria

“Lay a finger on me, and I’ll make sure you never touch anything again. You got me?”

Her eyes fixed on the human who had just entered the whore house’s common room, Zoraya whispered softly to the Ferengi on his knees before her. His face pressed against her breasts, he could barely breath, let alone speak. Still, for extra emphasis, she twisted both of his lobes, her breath caressing his inner ear as she spoke again.

“Got it?”

She felt the Ferengi nod weakly, his sudden movement almost pulling both her breasts from the flimsy robe she wore. Letting go of his lobes, she stepped back into the shadow of the archway, checking the immediate area. Damn, why now? This was her fifth night in Steer’s, and the first that one of the marks finally decided he wanted a piece of her. Just as her target walked in the room. Still, as she looked around, no one seemed to have noticed.

Jaspa smoke filled the air, the gloom hiding what had just happened from anyone else. Only her genetically enhanced eye sight had allowed her to pierce the haze and see her target enter the room. Those whores not already engaged, and close enough to have seen anything, seemed too glazed from the jaspa anyway. I still have time, she told herself, moving forward.

Pushing through the jaspa haze as if through a curtain, she headed for her target, Casper O’Brien. While she had been busy with the Ferengi, the human had settled on one of the younger whores, an Andorian girl barely overage, with the ravaged body of a whore twice her age. Zoraya saw his left hand darting over her body while his other hand pressed against her neck. Three claws curled against her skin where his three middle fingers should have been, metallic nails glowering in the dim light. O’Brien’s little gift from the Syndicate.

“You know,” O’Brien was saying, “they say that pleasure and pain are two sides of the same coin.” He grinned, livid scar tissue pulled taut over his face. “What do you think?”

The girl – Zoraya couldn’t even remember her name – shook her head, pulling away from the crime boss. O’Brien wasn’t having any of it. He dragged her closer, pressing his claws harder against her neck and drawing a drop of indigo blood that hung, shiny and brilliant against her blue skin.

Zoraya tore her eyes away from O’Brien for a moment, catching the eye of another mark stood just behind her target. The little planetlight filtering through the boarded up windows sparked off of his green skin as he whispered sweet-nothings to a black-haired older whore whose breasts were almost tumbling out of her dress. His eyes met Zoraya’s and she nodded. He nodded back, once, then whispered something in the whore’s ear, sending her scurrying for the door. The Orion met de Vayre’s gaze again, then began to come at O’Brien from behind.

Her attention drawn back to O’Brien by a sudden intake of breath, Zoraya saw him draw a single line down the girl’s neck with his middle finger. Blue blood bubbled to the surface, the azure line criss-crossing with two others he had already had time to draw. Zoraya felt her gorge rise at the sight of his smile, her mind suddenly elsewhere, in another time and another place, watching another man smile… Her fists clenched.

“Why don’t you let her go, O’Brien?”

O’Brien looked up, as did the Andorian girl. To Zoraya’s surprise – and disgust – the whore glared at her.

“Why don’t you mind your own business, Bajoran?”

O’Brien, though, seemed intrigued. He stepped away from the whore, his clawed hand dropping slightly. The whore he had been torturing pouted, stepping closer and pressing her chest against him. O’Brien slapped her away absently, turning fully to face Zoraya. Perfect. Now if Gril can just…

“And who might you be?” O’Brien asked, interrupting her train of thought.

The whore reached out for him again, glaring at Zoraya. “She’s nobody. Some refugee from Bajor, arrived a couple of days ago.”

Zoraya ignored the Andorian girl, her eyes locked with Fett’s. If she could keep his attention for another few seconds, Gril would be in place. She could see him coming closer, sliding an electric rod out of the inner pocket of his jacket. A few more steps…

O’Brien looked her up and down, leering at her. He waved his disfigured hand in her direction.

“You want to take her place?”

Zoraya opened her mouth to spout some lust-filled nonsense, anything to keep him talking, when the whore screamed. She launched herself at Zoraya, fingers crooked like O’Brien’s claws. Her sudden attack knocked O’Brien off balance, just as Gril moved in to take him down. Zoraya just had time to see the rod glance off his shoulder, narrowly missing the back of his neck, and then the Andorian was on her, throwing her down to the floor. She felt pain as the back of her head struck the stone slabs beneath her, a surge of nausea rushing to her belly.

“I’ll kill you,” the Andorian screeched, her fingernails trying to gouge out Zoraya’s eyes.

Zoraya didn’t waste any time. She wrapped her legs around the Andorian’s back and flipped her over. Before the girl could get over her surprise, Zoraya cocked back her first and punched her, once, in the face. Bone snapped beneath her knuckles and blood spurted on the floor. The girl’s head snapped back, hitting the stone pavings, and her face and body went slack.

Shaking her fist in pain, Zoraya scrambled to her feet, the manteau tied around her neck ripping away, leaving her in nothing but the skimpy shift. Gril had not fared as well, she saw. He was down on the ground, green skin ripped and torn, bleeding from slashes to his forehead and cheek. O’Brien stood over him, his claw hand flexing.

Zoraya reached underneath her shift, pulling on a string and catching the tiny phaser she had tied to her thigh. The welcome weight settled into the palm of her hand. It only had enough battery for one, maybe two shots, but it should be more than enough.

She brought the weapon to bare, aiming at O’Brien’s back. As she pressed the firing stub, though, something collided with her arm. Her shot went wide, the phaser beam scoring the wall behind him. O’Brien looked up, saw the pistol and ran for it.

Turning wildly, Zoraya saw another whore, a Cardassian woman. She had thrown herself at Zoraya to save O’Brien. What is wrong with you all? She swung her arm, catching the woman across the face with her phaser, sending her crashing to the floor. Zoraya spared the time it took to spit.

“Whore.”

Gril was on his feet and he joined Zoraya as she ran for the door out into the corridor. She saw O’Brien at the door as they burst from the room, his hand pulling frantically at the handle. She was pleased to see that the Ferengi whoremistress who owned this hole had kept her side of the bargain and locked it. She lifted her phaser, but O’Brien didn’t waste any time, launching himself across the hall for the stairs.

Not this time, she thought. Though adrenaline was telling her to take her shot, she held off. Tracking O’Brien’s course, she steadied her arm and pressed the stub again.

The red laser beam caught O’Brien square in the chest. For a moment, he seemed to pause in mid-air, caught by the beam’s phased energy. Then he dropped, crashing down five or six stairs and sprawling at the bottom.

“Come on,” she snapped, throwing the useless phaser away. Gril followed her as she ran over to O’Brien’s unconscious form.

“Give me the locator.”

A bang and a rattle. She looked up to see the door shake as some of the men O’Brien had brought with him threw themselves against it.

“Come on, come on,” she hissed as Gril searched through his pockets. Finally, he fished out a small circular disk and handed it to her.

Not wasting any time, she slapped the disk on O’Brien’s chest. Then she grabbed the comm badge O’Brien held out to her, tapping it with the same motion.

“Zoraya to Babylon. Three to beam up.”

She felt the transporter beam surround her and pull her away just as the door caved in and O’Brien’s men burst into the whorehouse.

XXX

Three hours later, Zoraya turned away from the runabout’s controls and breathed a sigh of relief.

It had been a stressful hour as she piloted the Babylon through the ion storms of Andor’s atmosphere, trying to stay hidden from the Imperial Navy’s sensor sweeps. Someone high up in the Empire wanted O’Brien back. Zoraya had never seen so many Andorian heavy cruisers dispatched to one place. Luckily, they didn’t seem to think anyone could actually survive in the gas giant’s violent atmospheric conditions, at least not for long. They had concentrated their search on the outer worlds of the Andorian system.

Still, they had had to sit tight for a while. She had only been able to leave the atmosphere fifteen minutes before and make a mad dash for warp, using the planet’s gravitational field to hide their escape. Now that they were finally on their way back to Federation space, with no pursuit in sensor range, Zoraya just hoped that the storms hadn’t damaged the engines.

“How’s our guest?” she asked as Gril joined her in the fore cabin. He held two cups of raktojino in his hands and he handed one to her as he sat down.

“Still unconscious. I pumped him full of drugs, he should stay out until we can hand him over to the interrogation team.”

“Good,” she said. “Speaking of which, I guess it’s about time we check in.”

Gril grunted as she keyed in the special comm frequency she had been given in her briefing. Moments later, the connection was established. A tall, white-haired Cardassian, wearing a well-tailored civilian suit, stared back at her.

“Ah, Agent Zoraya. How good to see you. Though I wasn’t expecting to see so much of you,” he leered, glancing at her skimpy shift.

“We have him, Commander,” Zoraya said without missing a beat. Lin Parmek had been her commanding officer in Starfleet Intelligence for almost five years now. He had never congratulated her on a mission well done, nor was he one to engage in pleasantries with his agents. She wasn’t going to justify not having changed out of her whore’s costume.

“Indeed. That is good news. He is… intact?”

“He’ll have a bit of a headache, but apart from that he’ll be fine.”

“Excellent. He may be the key to this whole mess.”

“This whole mess” was the reason Zoraya had been charged with capturing O’Brien. He was the only link between the Orion Syndicate and the Andorian Empire. The Syndicate had been selling the Empire top-secret information that they had been getting from someone within Starfleet, allowing the Andorians to seize three systems in the past four months. With the ‘cold war’ between the two powers rapidly escalating into a fully fledged conflict, Starfleet could ill afford a leak. Zoraya’s superiors obviously hoped O’Brien could lead them to the source.

“I hope so, sir. We should be arriving in Earth orbit in a few hours.”

“Actually, Agent Zoraya, I want you to head to Romulus instead.”

“Romulus?”

“Yes. I will have one of our stealthships waiting for you there. They’ll take Mister O’Brien off your hands and provide you with everything you need for your new identity.”

“My new identity?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say, Agent Zoraya?” Parmek asked. “Yes, a new identity. I have a new mission for you.”

“Yes, sir?”

“What do you know about the Laurentine Hegemony?”

“Not much, sir. Rumours. All that is officially known is that they seem to be masters of genetic manipulation, their entire fleet is made up of living starships, and they originally come from somewhere beyond the galactic divide. Beyond that, nothing has ever been confirmed.”

“Well, the Hegemony has offered to allow a Federation starship to be permanently posted at their Onyx space station on the border. Kind of a roving diplomatic presence. Officially, Starfleet has promised the Hegemony that no intelligence operation will be carried out, however… We have decided that an undercover operative could be very useful in case of… complications.”

“You want me to infiltrate the mission to this Onyx Station?”

“I believe that is what I am saying, yes, Agent Zoraya. We have created a very elaborate new identity for you. You will be assigned to the starship Redemption, the vessel that has been chosen to represent the Federation at Onyx Station, as a junior science officer. I believe that you majored in xenobiology at the Academy?”

She nodded. “Yes sir.”

“Good. That should be perfect for your cover. I am transmitting all the information you may require to your runabout now. The commander of the stealthship Bashir will have a full briefing for you when you arrive.”

“Yes sir. Thank you sir.”

“Oh and Agent Zoraya?”

“Yes sir?”

“Keep an eye on the Redemption’s captain, alright? He… He may be a liability.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Parmek out.”

As soon as the screen went black, Zoraya turned to Gril. “What the hell is all that about?”

The Orion was grinning. “Sounds like someone up there likes you.”

“Yeah,” she said, shaking her head. She stood up and stretched. “Take the conn, will you, I’ve got to get out of these clothes.”

“That an invitation?”

She snorted. “You wish, Gril. Just get us to Romulus, ok?”

As she walked to the back of the runabout, she squirmed out of the loose fitting shift and thanked the Prophets for small mercies. At least I’ll be wearing a proper uniform on this mission.

Chapter 6

4th March 2631
Starfleet Command
Ki’Baratan
Romulus

Kalara stood at the window, her back to Admiral Qwert’s office, her arms crossed behind her back. She had been waiting for three hours, ever since arriving from her temporary quarters in the Command complex. Actually, no, she corrected herself. She had been waiting for a whole day. The Ulysses had arrived on schedule, the day before, but Admiral Qwert had sent her a message pushing back their meeting to this morning.

Damien had offered to beam over with her, but she had told him to make the most of the time to look around the city – he was hoping to start a new novel once aboard the Redemption, changing his focus from the Klingons to the Romulans. So she had come alone and been told to wait. And wait. And wait.

If she had been a human, she would have been biting her nails. As a Klingon, she wanted to be pacing the room, throwing things against the wall and roaring out her frustration. As a Starfleet officer, she stood ramrod straight and glared through the window at the city beyond.

At least she had a magnificent view. Ki’Baratan had been completely destroyed in the last year of the Occupation, a Dominion revenge attack that killed 15 million. When the new Federation decided to rebuild Starfleet Command on Romulus, though, a lot of the money set aside by the Reconstruction Bill had been allocated to the city. It had grown into an awe-inspiring vista of spires and domes, all in greens and blues, sparkling in the morning sun. The Command complex sat on one of the city’s nine slopes, providing an eye-watering view over the rest.

Despite the view, though, Kalara felt like she was going to go mad. Finally, she couldn't take anymore. Enough is enough. Determined, she spun round and stalked towards the Admiral's secretary, who looked up at her with wide, terrified eyes.

"Are you sure he knows I'm here?" she growled.

"I... Yes, sir. I... He told me... That is, my orders were to..."

"Yes?" She leaned down until her forehead almost touched his. "What exactly are your orders, ensign?"

"To keep you waiting until I arrived," a voice said behind her.

Kalara swung round, snapping to attention in the same, fluid motion. A tall, elder Klingon stood there in a Starfleet uniform, his white hair tied behind his back in a non-regulation ponytail. That wasn’t the only thing non-regulation about him – he wore a Klingon sache over his chest and a leather belt around his middle holding half a dozen sharp knives.

"Admiral. I was informed that you wouldn’t be present."

"Is that a problem, Commander?"

"No, sir. Of course not, sir."

"Good." He looked past her at the ensign. "Please inform Admiral Qwert that we are here."

"Yes sir!"

Moments later, Kalara followed Admiral Kovoth into Admiral Qwert’s office. The room was stifling hot and humid. All of the drapes had been pulled closed, leaving only the overhead strip lights to illuminate the meagre furniture and slime-covered plants. The Ferengi himself was waiting for them, his hands clasped in front of him on the desk.

"Well, its about time, Kovoth. I've been sat here counting my latinum for the part three hours, and I can tell you, with the Seas of Prosperity this choppy, it hasn't been a pleasant time."

Kovoth grimaced. "Let's just get this over with, shall we?"

Admiral Qwert scowled and turned to his screen. As he did, Kalara heard him mutter something that sounded awefully like ‘Klingons'. She bristled at his tone of voice, but Kovoth threw her a warning glance that shut her up.

"Well, Commander, we've called you here because we're in a bit of a situation. You see we've promised you the Redemption, and as the 297th Rule of Acquisition says : 'Never make a Klingon a promise you can't keep.' Unfortunately, we find ourselves in a tight bind. What do you know of the Laurentine?"

Kalara was taken aback by the sudden change in direction the conversation had just taken. She stared at the Admiral for a few moments, before answering.

"Nothing beyond what is written in the Starfleet database."

"Well one thing you won't find in the database is the fact that since the end of the Occupation, the Hegemony has turned down fifteen separate invitations or requests from the Federation to open some kind of dialogue. Fifteen. Most people would have given up the negotiations. I know most Ferengi would. But, the 343rd Rule will be proven once again : 'Persistence often pays off."

He chuckled softly until he realised that neither Klingon were smiling. He grunted. "Well, be that as it may, the Hegemony have finally accepted our offer and are willing to discuss a merger."

"What the Admiral," Kovoth said with an unmistakable sneer, "is trying to say, is that three days ago, the Laurentine Hegemony contacted President Hammond and invited the Federation to send a ship, along with a diplomatic party, to act as a permanent representative to the Hegemony. That ship is to be stationed at their Onyx space station, and will be allowed to explore Hegemony space, make trade agreements, conduct military training with Hegemony vessels and, eventually, open negotiations for a permanent treaty with the Laurentine."

Kalara tried to process this revelation. It was a huge opportunity. With the Hegemony as allies, the Federation might actually begin to resemble what it had once been. Still, she didn't understand what this had to do with her command of the Redemption and she said so.

"That is where the situation becomes... Complicated,” Admiral Qwert went on. “Obviously, we want to make the best possible impression. Sending the flag-ship of the fleet is our best option. You’ve seen the Redemption, you know the kind of message she sends out. However, the Hegemony requested that this mission be commanded by someone in particular. And that person, my lovely, is not you."

Kalara had had enough of the Ferengi’s tone and his never-ending words. She wished that the meeting had been held with Kovoth alone, it would have been over by now. She would just have to move things along.

"Permission to speak freely, sir."

"Granted,” Qwert said with a leer.

"This is a load of bull, to borrow an Earth-expression. I know the Redemption, I've picked out her crew, I've studied every inch of her decks, and I could repair her QSD drive with my eyes closed. Who the hell do you think can command this mission better than me?"

The Ferengi smirked. "Personally, I can't think of anyone better. Unfortunately, however lovely you may be, the prospect of a merger with the Hegemony has my lobes all atingle."

"With all due respect, sir, if you call me lovely one more time, I'll pin you to the walls with my dagger."

Beside her, Kovoth sprang to his feet. Kalara had been expecting it. Before her former commanding officer could even draw his dagger, she had her own knife in hand and pressed against his neck.

"If this was the Empire, I would kill you for such insubordination,” Kovoth growled.

“If this was the Empire, you’d be dead already.” She stepped back, putting the knife back in her sheath. She sat down and looked up at Kovoth, waiting. With a growl, he sat down as well, glowering at her.

The sound of applause drew her eyes back to the desk. The damned troll was actually clapping.

"Kovoth told me you had spirit. Good. That's exactly what we need for this mission."

"Sir?"

"The Hegemony may be forcing our hand with this appointment, but that doesn't mean we want to lose you. As you said, you know the Redemption, you hand picked its crew. We'll need that knowledge once we reach the Hegemony."

“We?”

"Admiral Qwert volunteered to lead the trade delegation,” Kovoth sneered.

"Someone has to do it."

"And you want me along as what?"

"My lovely, what I want and what you'll give me are two very different things."

Kalara rolled her eyes and looked at Kovoth, who went on, "We want you to stay on as first officer. That way we keep you onboard, along with all of your experience."

"No."

"This is not a negotiation, Commander," Admiral Qwert said, his voice suddenly commanding. "This is an order."

"I don't care. I've worked too damned hard to get this far, I'm not going to spend another tour as someone else's XO."

"Admiral, give us a moment," Kovoth ordered.

The Ferengi looked as though he were going to object, but when he saw the look on Kovoth's face, he obviously decided not to press the point. Grumbling about 'damned Klingons' throwing him out of his own office, he stood, using a gold pressed walking stick to waddle over to the door. Kalara just had time to hear him say something about 'lovely scars' when the door closed.

"For what you just did, I should gut you and hang you from the nearest window."

Kalara met his gaze, stare for stare. "You might even manage it. But not before I slit you from groin to throat."

Kovoth paused, then he laughed. "I’ve missed you, Kala! I miss that aboard the Yav'tar. My new first officer is a human. He has no stomach for our ways."

"I won't do it, Admiral. I won't."

He shook his head. "Yes, you will, Kala. You are an honorable woman, probably the most honorable warrior I know. You are a Klingon and you know what that means."

He sneered as he went on, "Our people have forgotten what honor means. Our warriors lost their way in the War and during the Occupation. Too many compromises were made. Now, in the Empire, a man's honor is as easily bought as a Ferengi's mother. Instead of burning in a last glorious blaze of battle, we capitulated while others whom we had looked down upon fought more bravely and with more honor. Even the Romulans."

"And now what are we? If Kahless were to return now, what would he find? His children sundered, his Empire become the pirates of the galaxy."

Kalara had allowed him to speak without interruption until now, but she felt compelled to speak up. "We still hold the faith."

"And that is why you will do this thing. Not because you want to, not for the Federation, or diplomacy, or even for the Klingon people. You will do it for your own starv'a'kai."

The word sent shivers down her spine. Starv'a'kai. The Way Back. The very foundation of the schism that had led to what the Federation called the Khitomer Klingons. It was at the centre of everything Kalara believed in, her soul's path through this life and into the next. At its core was the belief that every Klingon born since the Occupation was born without honor. What had once been the birthright of every Klingon was now something to be sought, to be fought for, to be gained, rather than to be kept, protected and demonstrated. As she sat there, she realised that Kovoth was right. Honor demanded that she stand by the crew she had chosen, the oath she had sworn. If she wanted to follow her Starv'a'kai, she had to accept.

Though all she wanted to do was look at the floor, she kept her head tall and proud. I am a Klingon warrior, I will act like one. "I will serve."

Kovoth gazed at her, his eyes alive with pride. "Magnificent," was all he said.

"You may call the Ferengi back in, Admiral. I will take his mission."

"Know this, Kalara, daughter of Elyra. I will not rest until you gain what you desire the most. I will see you captain of your own ship, on my father's blood."

"I will hold you to that, Kovoth, son of Kurn."

He turned to fetch Admiral Qwert back into the room. He was almost at the door, when Kalara realised there was one question she had not asked. "Who is replacing me as Captain?"

Kovoth's turned back to her, smile grim. "I think you’ll like him. His name is Ba'el Sarine. You may know him as the Butcher of Lutara."

He turned away, leaving Kalara wondering what by Stovokor she had just agreed to.

Chapter 7

4th March 2631
Starfleet Construction Yard
Near Romulus

The runabout Herod dropped out of warp and began its final approach towards Starbase 2, in orbit of Romulus.

Sat in the copilot's seat, Ba'el stared through the viewscreen. Romulus hung before the starfield like a green and white marble, the surface obscured by thick cloud cover. Beyond it lay the shattered planetoid of Remus, red with rage and barren of life. The two circled around one another like the two brothers of legend that had given rise to the human name for these worlds. Ba’el stared at them, trying to capture some sense of coming home. He couldn’t. Without the presence of his wife and son, nowhere was home anymore.

Ba’el hadn't been back to his birth planet since long before the end of the war. He had escaped as a teenager aboard a Darmok garbage scow, determined to find the Resistance. Once he had joined up, he hadn’t looked back. Looking at the surface now, it didn't appear any different to the way it had looked when he left. Logically, though, he knew that it couldn't have changed more.

A dark mass appeared on the viewscreen, orbiting high above the planet’s surface. Dark red as the surface of Remus, Starbase 2 was all sharp angles and bulbous modules. A handful of Ketana­­-class frigates orbited the spinning space station, while shuttles and runabouts darted in and out of its vast docking bays. Behind the starbase hung the spidery frames of the construction yards.

The comm system crackled to life. "Runabout Herod, this is Starbase 2. Come in."

The runabout's pilot - a five tentacled Terginian with ebony scales and a long snout whose Starfleet uniform had been tailored to fit his anatomy – waved two of his tentacles in a complicated sequence of loops and twirls. The mechanical voice of his translator system spoke moments later, slow and deliberate. "Acknowledged Starbase 2. Runabout Herod carrying commander, USS Redemption, requests permission to dock."

A crackle, then, "Denied, Herod. Captain Sarine is expected planet side. Transmitting coordinates now."

Ba’el logged on to the comm system from his panel, waiting for the coordinates. When the transmission came through, he saw that they were being directed to land on one of the shuttle pads surrounding Starfleet Command. He sighed. I should have expected this.

"Understood, Starbase 2," the Terginian signed. He glanced at Ba'el. "Permission to fly past Space Dock 22 on my way down?"

There was a pause, then the docking master's voice came back on the line, the smile evident in his tone. "Affirmative, Herod. Take a nice long look."

The Terginian’s tentacles all rose and fell a half a dozen times, but the translator system remained silent. He’s laughing, Ba'el realised. He reached over and keyed the comm line open. "Thank you, Starbase 2. Much appreciated."

"Welcome to Romulus, Captain."

As the comm line cut off, the runabout veered away from the dark metal hub of the starbase. The Terginian sent them shooting towards the planet at half-impulse, the tips of his tentacles dancing across the controls. They just grazed the atmosphere, before ricocheting back into space. The space station was behind them now, while in front of them sprawled the fragile cradles of the Romulus Construction Yards, like the cocoons of some strange space-dwelling alien race.

As the runabout zeroed in on Dock 22, Ba'el allowed himself an appreciative look over the other ships under construction. Most were military frigates, Sisko-class. Dark metal hull plating of reinforced duritanium, bristling with weapons, the Sisko frigates had a single fifty deck saucer section, snub-nosed and almost triangular. A single QSD nacelle rising from the saucer section’s central hub completed the ship's configuration.

Ba’el identified a few more ship classes under construction, every single one dark and brooding. If the construction yards were anything to go by, the Federation didn't seen much different from the Resistance. Or the Dominion.

A high pitched whistle caught Ba'el's attention. He had been studying one of the massive Defiance-class dreadnaughts as it flew past them on some kind of test run, memories of his Enterprise flashing through his mind. He turned back to the viewscreen to see what the Terginian was whistling about and let out a faint gasp despite himself.

Like a beacon of light in the darkness, the ship appeared out of the night. Blazing white hull plating illuminated by the construction dock’s strobe lights, she looked like some vestige of the deep past, from a time before war and occupation destroyed the fragile balance of the galaxy. Gone were the harsh lines and bulky hulls of the military frigates. This ship before him had been made to fly.

The saucer section was streamlined, forming a perfect oval shape. As the Terginian took them up and over the construction dock, Ba’el saw that the saucer shrunk backwards into a tapered tail, sweeping into three nacelles that extended upwards and back away from the saucer section, one in the middle and two on either side.

His pilot guided the runabout back round for another pass, sweeping forward towards the front of the saucer section, slowing as they flew over the registry number and name.



USS REDEMPTION
NCC 3954

"She's a beauty, sir," the pilot said, even his mechanical voice conveying the awe he felt as they turned back around for another pass.

Ba'el could only nod in agreement.

Starfleet Command Complex
Ki’Baratan
Romulus

The runabout touched down on the shuttle pad with hardly a jolt. The pilot killed the engines, one of his tendrils rising to wrap around Ba'el's hand.

"A pleasure, sir."

"Thank you for running me out here, Lieutenant. And for the fly-by."

"You are most welcome."

Ba'el reached down and grabbed his gear from the stowall at his side. He had picked a few personal belongings – a couple of books, some holocaptures, civilian clothes. The rest of his things had been put into storage back home and would be waiting for him when he finished this mission. Swinging the bag over his shoulder, he nodded farewell to the Terginian and headed for the runabout's open hatch.

"Captain.”

Ba'el turned back. The alien had turned his chair to face him, his tendrils writhing in what he assumed was a nervous tick.

"I just wanted to say thank you. For what you did with the Enterprise.” Ba’el felt his stomach clench at the words.

“I fought at Ocara,” the Terginian went on, his metallic voice slow and ponderous, each word drawn out and painful. “If it hadn’t been for what you and your crew did… We would have been overrun for sure. A lot of my friends, they died anyway. Afterwards… Well, I saw the news, I heard what people said about you and what you did… No matter what people might say, I can tell you that anyone who fought in the War sees you as a hero."

The pilot's words propelled Ba'el back to that day. For an instant he was back in the centre seat of the Entreprise, the Seventh Fleet engaging the Dominion forces while he instructed Lieutenant Martak to set a course for Lucara. He could smell the burnt flesh of Javon, his body still smoking where he had fallen behind him. The planet grew in the viewscreen, as the ship shook under the barrage of laser fire from the last few defences around the planet. He heard Commander Kane in Engineering begging him to give the order…

He shook his head, banishing the memories. A hero? I'm not a hero. He forced a smile.

"Thank you. That means a lot." He was surprised to hear how hoarse his voice sounded.

"I just wanted you to know."

Without another word, the Terginian turned back to his controls. Ba'el realised he didn’t even know his name. He opened his mouth to ask, then thought better of it. He watched his back for a moment, then turned and walked out into the sunlight.

Two humans in Starfleet jumpsuits – red collars revealing they were Starfleet Security – were waiting for him. "Captain Sarine?" one of them, a woman of about thirty with raven hair, asked. Ba'el nodded and smiled at both of them. Her mouth didn’t even twitch. "Please, come with us."

Ba'el sighed, settled his bag on his shoulder more comfortably, and followed the two officers to the nearby stairwell. At the bottom, he found himself on a large avenue, green and blue buildings on either side. His escort waited patiently, then set off towards a large building at the end of the avenue, glancing back once or twice to make sure he wasn’t falling behind. He followed without a word. Even if the two officers knew why they were taking him wherever they were taking him, he knew that they wouldn't tell him anything.

Starfleet Command had been designed to fit in with the overall architecture of Ki'Baran. Though the military architects had chosen to avoid the willowy spires and impressive towers, the building materials were the same, a dozen different shades of blue, green and grey.

The buildings themselves were low to the ground, rarely more than two or three stories high. The exception seemed to be the vast command centre his escort was leading him to, the FAW flag flying over the vast entrance way. The building towered above all of the others, at least fifteen stories high if not more.

When they reached the command centre, the two security officers led him up the steps into the lobby. The large reception area was bustling with people, and the noise level was tremendous. Indicating that Ba'el should take a seat in a corner, the female security officer went over to a desk and began filling out forms, while the other officer posted himself a fair distance away.

Ba'el took the opportunity to glance around. Beings of every age, race and gender scurried around, most dressed in standard Starfleet uniforms. Many sat in the comfortable seats scattered in every corner. Ba’el picked out a varied mixture of humans and Romulans, Bajoran and Ferengi, Cardassians and Orions, as well as a dozen races he had never seen before.

Light filled the room, gushing in through the vast windows thart fronted the building and formed the lobby’s ceiling. Outside, he could see down the large avenue to a gated wall. Beyond that wall rose the spires of Ki'Baran. He wondered idly whether he would have time to take a walk around the city before he had to report to the Redemption. Probably not.

The female officer came back. She held out a badge that said Visitor in large red letters. "Ambassador Benjamani has asked to see you in her office."

"I'm sorry?” Ba’el said in surprise. “Ambassador? I thought I was here to receive a mission briefing."

"My instructions are to take you to the Ambassador, sir. If you'll follow me."

His sense of unease increasing by the minute, Ba'el stood. He followed her across the lobby to a security checkpoint that allowed access to the warren of offices beyond. They passed through with a cursory glance from the security officer on duty, then dove into a series of winding corridors. Having wandered through miles of corridor marked by featureless door after featureless door and climbed at least three sets of stairs, by the time they arrived at their destination Ba'el was totally lost.

His escort stopped in front of another featureless door and pressed the button to announce their presence. After a few moment's the door slid into the wall. The security officer stepped back and indicated for Ba'el to step inside. As he stepped past her, she drifted to the side, standing at attention. I guess I can expect her to be waiting for me when I come out.

Then why do I feel like I'm stepping off a cliff into the Valley of Fire?

Inside, the office was bright, Earth plants scattered in every corner. Large windows offered a view of the former Senate building, rebuilt as a circular dome and which now housed the Federation Security Council. Stood with her back to him was a short, white-haired woman wearing an Admiral's uniform. It was only when she turned around that he was able to tell she was human.

"Captain Sarine, I presume?" Her voice was cold, though not as cold as her eyes.

He stepped forward, not sure whether to salute or offer his hand. He settled for bowing his head. "Yes, Ambassador. How may I help you?"

"You can start by explaining why the hell the Laurentine Hegemony have demanded you lead the diplomatic mission I’ve spent five years trying to organise?"

He bristled at her tone, but forced a grim smile. "I would like nothing better, Ambassador. Unfortunately, I have no more idea than you do."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"With all due respect, Ambassador, you can believe whatever the hell you want."

The light in her eyes flared but instead of snapping at him, she smiled. Walking over to her desk, she picked up a padd, tapping it on her open palm. "Quite an interesting file they have on you."

He didn't need to be a Betazoid to know 'they' probably meant Starfleet Intelligence. He just stared at her, waiting for her to get to the point.

"Born on Romulus to a Romulan father and a human mother,” she began, looking down at the tab, “not unusual considering the Dominion's policy of population transference. Father was a weapon’s manufacturer, mother one of his many concubines. Recognised by your father and grew up in the lap of luxury, it seems." She looked up, eyes narrowing. "Now why would the son of a collaborator choose to join the Resistance?"

He kept quiet. He had met women - and men - like Ambassador Benjamani before. She would push him until she got a reaction, until she found a weak-spot. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.

After a moment, she shrugged and looked back down at the padd. He say a flicker of disappointment in her eyes before she looked away, though.

"Be that as it may, you did decide to join the Resistance. You started off in a cell here on Romulus I believe?"

He nodded.

"From what I can see, you showed an unusual propensity for tactical planning and... where was it? Ah yes here it is - a natural flare for piloting. Is that why your cell leaders went to such lengths to get you off world?"

"I suppose they believed I would be more useful in one of the more mobile cells," he said, just to keep her off balance.

She smirked. "Ah, it talks. So, you got off world and then..."

"Let me spare you the monologue, Ambassador. You don't have to prove the all knowing, all seeing power of Starfleet Intelligence or how much you know about me. As you obviously know from that file there, I ran the Resistance espionage wing for three years towards the end of the war. I know exactly what kind of information you have on me. What I don't know is where exactly you're going with all of this?"

She stared at him for a moment, expressionless. Then she looked back down at the padd. "As I was saying," she went on. “You went on to join the crew of the Resistance fighter Liberty Bell, where you met…”

Ba'el tried hard not to sigh. This was turning out to be a very long day.

Ambassador Benjamani’s Office
Starfleet Command Complex
Ki’Baratan
Romulus

Almost an hour later, the Ambassador put down the padd. Ba’el heaved a sigh of relief. Over the past hour, she had gone into excruciating detail of pretty much every mission he had planned, led or even participated in, second guessing every decision or choice he made along the way. Throughout, Ba'el had forced himself to remain totally silent, nodding once or twice to give the impression he was paying attention. As for Ambassador Benjamani, she had grown more and more cutting, her tone growing more and more ironic.

She glared at him now. "And then we come to the crux of the matter. Operation Heartstrike. The complete and utter destruction of an entire race. Genocide." She smiled coldly. "I believe it was your idea?"

He forced his face to remain totally expressionless. Here we go, he thought. This is what she's been building towards.

Now that she had reached her point, she didn't seem to be willing to just let him sit quietly. "I asked you a question, Captain."

"Yes ma'am. It was my idea."

To be fair, it had been a joint effort. At the time, the rebellion against the Dominion had finally turned in their favour. The Resistance movement had been on the rise, the Dominion on the back foot. And yet for every system they liberated, they lost countless thousands of lives, whether in battle or down to Jem'hadar revenge attacks. The ruling council had realised that they needed something big, a clear signal of intent to the Dominion that just might bring about an end to the war. Ba’el and a handful of others had been tasked with coming up with the operation. Once the general lines had been discussed, Ba’el had planned and carried it out.

"You planned the genocide of an entire race, Captain,” the Admiral pressed. “And then you carried it out.”

She jabbed her finger at him. “And now you come back here, hoping for a hero's welcome, forcing your way into a mission of peace. My mission of peace."

Ba’el had had enough. He stood up. "I didn't force myself into anything, Ambassador. If it had been left up to me, I'd be back on Earth, rebuilding my mother's house and working in my garden. You have a problem with me leading this mission? Fine. You won't hear any argument from me. I'll go with you to the office of whichever Admiral we need to see and get someone else assigned to go in my place."

When she didn't speak, he went on. "Except you can't, can you? Because the Laurentine won't even speak with you unless I'm there. I don't know why that is, but I'll tell you this, I'm damned curious to find out. So since neither of us are going to get what we want out of this, why don't you stop breaking my balls and let me do my job?"

She slammed the padd down on the desk. He heard the sound of breaking glass. "So you want it to play out like this? Very well. I don't trust you. I think you know full well why the Hegemony wants you, and I think it has something to do with the time you spent aboard Onyx Station preparing your genocide. I think you're a danger to the Federation, a man who doesn't know when to stop. And I think that you're going to jeopardise my mission by your very presence."

By the end of her rant, she was panting. Ba'el looked her square in the eye, and smiled. "There now, don't you feel better?"

She was trembling. Pointing at the door, she spat, "Get out."

He nodded, then turned, taking his time. He stopped on the threshhold of the open door, and turned his head to look at her. "I look forward to working with you, Ambassador."

He left before she could respond. He would have sworn he heard something smash against the wall as he followed the security guard back to the lobby.

Chapter 8

4th March 2631
USS Redemption
Starfleet Construction Yard
In Orbit of Romulus

Doctor Andrew Keene heard his boss approaching and swore loudly. He toggled a button on the padd in front of him, replacing the information on the screen with a virtual gene resequencing experiment he had been working on earlier. As planned, the complex seven-helixal structure collapsed into a disparate series of proteins just as the Redemption's Chief Medical Officer peered round the door.

Doctor Malok, a hulking Klingon who looked almost silly in his Starfleet uniform and long white coat, smiled amiably, reminding Keene of a lamb ready for slaughter.

"A problem, doctor?" he boomed in his deep voice.

"This damn genome again,” Keene explained, waving the padd. “I can't get the cytosine to splice together with the phosphate deoxyribose backbone.”

“You’re still working on the ketrecel white study?”

Keene nodded. “I know that if I can find some way of modifying the key integer, I’ll be able to bring out the drug’s medicinal properties without causing the long term addiction.”

"Would you like me to take a look?"

No, I don't want you to take a look, you p'tagh, Keene thought. He frowned down at the padd to hide his savage expression and shook his head. "I'm sure I'll work it out eventually."

Doctor Malok nodded his head affably, then vanished back into his office. Keene watched him go, barely able to contain his disgust. If I had a bat-leth in my hand...

Keene – whose real name was L’goth, son of Bartok - fought back the desire to stand up, cross the sickbay and kill the false Klingon where he sat. A doctor! A Klingon doctor! Klingon ships carried medics and sawbones, warriors who had developed particular skills and put them at the service of their fellow warriors, when they weren’t fighting. No true Klingon would devote his life to the care of others.

He knew that Malok was one of the shuvoth'shu, the honorless, but that didn’t make it any better. Those false Klingons may have turned away from the old ways completely after the war, abandoning the way of the warrior in favour of pacifistic beliefs, but they were still Klingons.

Even those cursed Khitomer traitors with their twisted beliefs about honour are better than these… these farmers. Farmers! Scientists! Doctors! Klingons refusing to take up arms, no matter the provocation. If they hadn’t joined the Federation and gained their protection, the Empress would have wiped them out long before.

Keene fought back the desire to spit. P'taghs, all of them.

He forced himself to release a long, drawn out breath. Casting a surreptitious glance around the sickbay, he checked that none of his fellow doctors were watching him. Once he was sure, he keyed in the code that would release the real file he had been working on. It reappeared instantly, filling him with delight.

He had downloaded it from another padd the night before, a padd that had been left for him in a Jeffries tube by an unknown ally. On it were the command and control codes for the sensor perimeter surrounding the Romulan sector, the command overrides for the planetary defence platforms of Romulus itself, the shield harmonic frequencies for Starbase 2 and the planet below, as well as the exact locations of the Federation fleets. With this information, General K’mpak’s fleet would be able to approach the construction yard without being detected and carry out their attack on the Redemption. A glorious blow for the Empire.

Now all he needed to do was to transmit it.

His plan was in place, he just needed to create an opportunity. If it succeeded, he should be able to maintain his cover even if the attack failed to destroy the ship. It was so elegant that even if the transmission were discovered or intercepted, his plan would still create a schism between the Federation and those damned Khitomer Klingons. That would be an added bonus, though. The Empress had made his main objective very clear - the Federation could not be allowed to forged an alliance with the Laurentine Hegemony. Destroying the Redemption would be the easiest way to assure that.

Standing, he wandered over towards Doctor Malok's office. The Redemption’s sickbay was as state of the art as the rest of the ship. In his time undercover, Keene had come to respect the Federation’s ingenuity if nothing else. A vast series of brilliantly white circular rooms connected by short corridors, the medical centre held almost one hundred biobeds, a handful of stasis units and enough medical equipment to fill three planetary hospitals. The medical staff itself was three dozen strong. And Keene knew that none of it would do the ship the slightest good if his plan succeeded.

Keeping an eye on the other doctors, Keene wondered again who his mysterious ally was. It couldn't be another undercover Klingon – an agent of the Empire would simply have transmitted the information himself. That meant it was someone else, someone who also had a vested interest in seeing the Federation's mission to Onyx Station fail.

Arriving at a station near Malok's office, he bent down as if to check something in the database, and slipped a small command device from his sleeve. He had programmed it himself the night before, using the access codes that the Imperial Secret Service had provided him. With those, he was able to hack into any part of the Redemption’s computer mainframe and insert any program he wanted.

Now he activated the command code he had uploaded the night before and waited.

Within seconds, an alarm began to sound. The insufferable voice of the Federation computer system spoke over the whining alarm. "Attention, medical emergency on Deck 12. Plasma leak detected. Attention, medical emergency on Deck 12. Plasma leak detected. Attention..."

The door to Malok's office whooshed open and the burly doctor rushed out, followed by two medical technicians. Every eye in the room turned to follow them out the door. Keene took the opportunity to slip through the open doors and into the CMO's office.

Before the door had even closed behind him, Keene was round the desk and settled in the high-backed chair. Reaching into his pocket, he slipped out a tiny circular device and affixed it to his chest. The holo-emitter had cost him two bars of latinum on one of the Empire's backwater worlds, purchased from a trader who claimed to have brought it in the Delta Quadrant.

Keene pressed the button, waiting for the energy field to expand and settle around him. If anyone came in now, they would see the figure of a tall Klingon woman in a Starfleet Commander's uniform. Getting Commander Kalara's likeness had been difficult, but a key part of his plan.

The mobile emitter had a limited amount of energy, so Keene quickly called up the embedded screen in the Doctor's desk. Attaching a communication's scrambler to the computer, which would reroute the transmission through a warren of comm lines and relays, he keyed in a secure code and waited for General K’mpak to respond.

IKS Ho’dath’nek
Klingon Empire – Federation Border

K’mpak, son of Tyrel, did not like waiting.

As he sat in the command chair of the Martok-class destroyer, stroking the hair of his human slave, he gazed at the blazing stars of the Federation. That was where he wanted to be. They seemed to call out to him, a song of blood and conquest and vengeance. He let their calls wash over him like radiation, stirring his blood and quickening his pulse.

The fleet had been in position on the border for three days now, waiting for some kind of signal from inside Federation space, as per K’mpak’s orders. Those orders had come from the Empress herself – he was to keep the fleet ready, in formation, until her agent contacted him. Her agent! He turned his head to the side and spat in the bowl on the floor. Spies and secrets! That was not the way of the Klingon warrior. What kind of a weakling could have accepted such a mission? To infiltrate the puny humans’ puny little ship! A woman’s job.

"Anything?" he growled finally.

His sta'ko'mar, an officer position similar to an operations' manager, turned in his seat. He shook his head, baring his teeth. "Nothing, my general."

"What is he waiting for?" K’mpak growled, tightening his fingers in his slave's blond hair. She whimpered, drawing his attention. He looked down at her and leered. "You have something to add, my sweet?"

She shook her head, wincing as the movement pulled on her hair. K’mpak laughed and went back to stroking her head. "At least this one knows her place."

He had taken her from her husband three months before, seizing her as spoils aboard a civilian freighter carrying supplies to Mostan III, a colony world settled by the cursed shuvoth'shu. She had shared his bed every night since and crouched at his side every day. Surprisingly, he had yet to tire of her.

"General," his sta'ko'mar interrupted the train of his thoughts, voice suddenly taut with excitement. "I am receiving an encoded transmission." He turned to K’mpak with a grin. "It carries an Imperial identifier."

"On-screen," K’mpak crowed, standing up and stepping into the middle of the bridge. "Let's see him."

To K’mpak's surprise, a Klingon woman appeared on the viewscreen. A striking female, she bore scars on her face and neck. To his utter disgust, she wore a Starfleet uniform.

One of the traitors! A Federation lapdog!

"Identify yourself!" K’mpak spat. How dare this woman contact him?

"My name is not important, General K’mpak" the woman said calmly. "You need know me only as your kapamai."

"A spy," one of the bridge officers sneered. The others laughed. The only people lower in a Klingon's esteem than a spy were the traitors who had abandoned the Empire, and non-Klingons. K’mpak allowed his crew their fun, then he lifted a gauntleted fist. Silence fell like a shroud.

"And what does my kapamai have for me?"

The woman reached over to a padd by her side and pressed a button. Almost immediately, a light lit up on the sta'ko'mar's station.

"As ordered, the full command and control codes for the entire Romulan sector, including the specifications of the shipyard defence systems."

K’mpak looked over at his sta’ko’mar. The man stared at the scrolling data for a minute, then looked up at the general and nodded once. K’mpak could see the gleam of bloodlust in the man's eyes. Much slaughter will be done tonight.

“As you can see, the Federation is depending on Starbase 2 and their planetary defences to protect them,” the woman went on. “They are spread so thin that the Fourth Fleet has had to abandon their station to show their teeth to the Andorians.”

“Andorians.” K’mpak spat again.

“They pose a threat to the Federation, general. One that gives us an opportunity. You will find that the transmission also holds the shield frequency for Starbase 2, as well as that of the Romulus planetary shield. If you maintain the advantage of surprise, you should have at least an hour before reinforcements arrive.” The woman snarled. “More than enough time to destroy Redemption.”

K’mpak sneered. “Redemption is but one ship. But to destroy their command headquarters and their starbase… That would be a victory worthy of song.”

“No, General, you must…”

“What did you say?” Behind him on the bridge, he felt everyone go very still.

“My general, the Redemption is the most important part of…”

“Do not forget your place, kapamai. You have done a great service to the Empire. A deed almost worthy of a true warrior."

"I live to serve the Empire and the will of the Empress."

"When this is over, perhaps you would like to serve the will of a General of the Empire," K’mpak leered.

The woman smiled. "Perhaps. But first, you must destroy Redemption and…"

"You whine like a Ferengi, kapamai. I am in command of this fleet. I will decide what targets to attack.”

“But…”

“Do not try my patience, kapamai. We will be at your location in seven hours."

The woman seemed about to say something more, then she let out a deep breath. "Then I wish you success. Qapl'a, General."

K’mpak didn't respond, indicating to his sta'ko'mar that he should cut the communication. The viewscreen returned to the previous view of the stars. Stars that will soon burn in the Empire's name, K’mpak thought happily.

Turning back to his seat, his cloak swirling around him, K’mpak settled into the command chair, his hand returning to his human pet's head. He sensed the mounting tension in his men, the desire to taste blood this day. Still, he waited.

Only when he could sense their desire reaching a fever pitch did he turn to his sta'ko'mar.

"Soldier."

"Yes, my general."

K’mpak's fanged teeth glimmered in the bridge's dim lights. "Instruct the fleet to move into escort positions. Then take us out. The Federation awaits."

He smiled as his men roared in anticipation. Sitting back in his chair, he stroked the slave's hair and decided that today would be a good day to die.

USS Redemption

Keene disconnected the communication's scrambler from the doctor's computer with a snarl. Placing it on the floor, he stamped on it with his foot. The metal gave way beneath his boot, the electrics inside leaving a trace of ozone in the air.

Damn the fool! Everything had gone according to plan, up until now. The Empress’ plan had been flawless. But that p’tagh would ruin everything if he didn’t do exactly as the Empress had commanded. If K’mpak attacked the starbase or the planet instead of concentrating on the ship…

As he gathered the rest of his equipment, Keene wondered why men like K’mpak continued to hold his kind - spies - in such low esteem. They were warriors, just like the soldiers aboard that ship. Shadow warriors, striking from the darkness. Yes, he liked that. Shadow warriors.

At least the Empress understood. One of her first acts after coming to the throne had been to form a new secret service, a group of trusted men and women able and willing to infiltrate the Empire’s enemies. That farsightedness was beginning to bear fruit. If men like General K’mpak didn’t ruin it.

He was about to disconnect the holo-emitter when the door to the office slid open, revealing Doctor Malok. Keene froze, his heart suddenly beating wildly. Both men stood stock still, staring at the other. Luckily, Keene recovered first.

"Finally, doctor, I've been waiting for you. Where have you been?"

"Captain, I... I wasn't aware that you had arrived on board."

“I didn’t ask you for what you thought, Doctor. I asked you where you have been.”

Malok straightened. “A false alarm, Captain. One of the sensor arrays on Deck 12 seems to have malfunctioned and reported a plasma leak. As per Starfleet regulations…”

"Don’t quote Starfleet regulations to me, Doctor. I had been hoping to discuss your posting to this ship, but I have run out of time. We will have to speak of this at another time."

"Discuss my posting, Captain?" Malok’s eyes had grown wary. He knows, Keene thought. He’s afraid of what she must think of him.

"Well yes," Keene sneered, hoping to confirm the Doctor’s suspicions. "You are a shuvoth'shu after all. I'm not sure how comfortable I am serving with someone with so little honor."

Before the words had left his mouth, Malok had crossed the room and had him by the throat. Keene felt himself lifted off the floor and spun round, then found himself on his back on the table, Malok's fist clenched around his windpipe.

"For that, I should kill you here and now, Commander,” Malok hissed. His eyes were fire. “Do not mistake refusal to take up arms as a lack of Klingon honor or pride."

Keene tried to choke out a few words, but Malok’s grip was unbreakable as an iron band. His struggles did seem to cut through the doctor’s rage, through. The fire slowly faded from his eyes and his grip lessened. As he let go, Keene gasped, sucking in a deep breath. His throat burned. Malok stumbled back, his hand clenching and unclenching on thin air as Keene struggled to his feet. He was absolutely astounded at the reaction. It was the last thing he would have expected from one of the shuvoth'shu. Perhaps there is a hint of the Klingon heart in these people after all.

“Commander, I…” He bowed his head. “I have dishonored myself.”

"Not at all, doctor. Indeed, perhaps I have misjudged you," he said in Kalara's voice, hoarse from the doctor’s attack. "I... I will take this under advisement."

Malok continued to look down, refusing to meet his eyes. Keene opened his mouth to say something else, then realised he had no idea what to say. He turned smartly on his heels, instead, and marched from the doctor's office. Ignoring the startled glances he received from the medical staff, he fled the sickbay, breaking into a run when he reached the corridor. He didn’t meet anyone on the way to the nearest turbolift. Only once he was alone inside did he press the button on the holo-emitter, destroying the illusion of the Klingon commander and returning to his human form.

He heaved a sigh of relief. He'd done it. K’mpak might use the information or he might not, but he had done his part. The fleet had all the information they needed to get past the Federation's defences. If anyone ever discovered the transmission, suspicion would fall on either Captain Kalara or Doctor Malok. He had done everything he could. Now everything depended on the General.

As he instructed the turbolift to carry him back to his quarters, Keene just prayed to the old gods that no one had noticed the sudden absence of Doctor Keene.

Chapter 9

Starfleet Command – Personnel Quarters
Ki’Baratan
Romulus

"I can't believe you're letting them get away with this."

Kalara savagely stuffed a pair of underpants and a bra into the side pocket of her carry-all, then reached for a spare set of boots. "And what exactly do you expect me to do?" She glanced at her husband, who lifted his hands in the air.

"I don't know. But you’ve worked so hard for this, honey. You deserve it. They can’t just… Surely there's something... Someone you can appeal to?"

"This is Starfleet, Damien, not some publishing house,” she snapped. “There are no appeals, no committee discussions. I follow orders or I leave the service."

"Then leave. Let's go back to Earth, we could find some way for..."

"Find what?" she snarled, throwing the socks she was trying to force into the bag down on the bed and turning on him. "Find something for me to do? Courier captain? Piloting a delivery runabout around Earth? Some job where I'll be back in time for dinner? Or why not just give up working altogether? You'd love that wouldn't you? Your little stay at home wife to take care of you!"

She could see that she'd hurt him with her accusations, but she didn't care. Her vision was coloured red and she needed to lash out at something. She wanted him to shout back, to yell at her, even to strike her. In short, she wanted him to act like a Klingon male. Instead, he just stared at her, his eyes burning.

"Wow," he said, finally. "That's so unbelievably unfair... Wow."

Before he or she could say anything else, her comm badge chirped. She tapped it, hard, half hoping she would break it. "Kalara here."

There was a pause. "Commander, this is Redemption. We're ready to beam you and your husband up when you are."

Dammit, the ship. She checked the chrono on the wall and realised she was supposed to have contacted them for beam-out fifteen minutes before. How had the time gone by so fast? It seemed like mere minutes ago she had come back to her quarters and told Damien what had happened with Qwert and Kovoth. They had started to fight almost immediately, Damien trying to make her feel better by trashing the service, while she lashed out at him for not understanding… She ran a hand through her hair. She was exhausted.

"Give me five minutes, Redemption."

"Standing by, Commander."

Kalara turned away from her husband, packing furiously. Half of her hoped he would try and smooth things over like he usually did, the other half hoped he wouldn't. Finally, she finished packing. Damien had been ready when she got back, his bags packed and his carry-on ready at his side. Without looking at him, she tapped her comm badge again.

"Commander Kalara to Redemption."

"Redemption here,” came the response.

Glancing at Damien, she saw him still staring at her, as if waiting for her to say something. She turned away, but moved closer to him to make the beaming process safer. This was going to have to wait and if he couldn’t understand that… Well, she would cross that bridge if she came to it.

"Two to beam up," she ordered.

As the transporter beam caught them both up towards the waiting ship, she wondered whether this - having her husband on board - had been such a good idea after all.

USS Redemption
Starfleet Construction Yard - Romulus

Jasto squirmed slightly in his dress uniform.

He glanced at Ianto. The android seemed to be totally at ease in his own dress uniform, the white and grey bringing out the golden tinge of his skin. The same couldn't be said for Lieutenant Vareen, the ship's security officer. A massive Xindi reptilian, she looked totally out of place in the white and grey dress uniform. He could see her clawed hands clenching and unclenching every few moments, while her eyes darted all around the room, never settling.

At least someone is more uncomfortable than I am.

Just as he thought that, the transporter buffer began to hum. He felt himself stiffen involuntarily and cursed. How many times have I done this and I still get nervous? Hell, Karina stood in a Dominion transporter room and welcomed the Borg Queen herself, and she didn’t even break a sweat. Of course, Karina had been… well Karina. He didn’t think even Curzon had as strange and exciting a life as she had. He smiled at the thought, then wiped it away as the transporter hum increased in volume.

Two shimmering columns of light appeared on the transporter pads. The hum increased as two figures coalesced within the opalescent brilliance, resolving finally into the forms of a Klingon woman wearing a dark Starfleet uniform, the shoulders, arms and collar edged out in command purple, and a human man, stocky with very short brown hair and an angry look on his face. One glance at the Commander - or should that be Captain? - showed her own tight jaw and red, angry eyes. Uh oh, Jasto thought, trouble in paradise.

As the sound of the transporter faded, a whistle blew from behind as one of the ship's stewards sounded the arrival of the XO. Ianto, as acting commander, stepped forward.

"Welcome aboard, Captain."

Jasto caught the merest hint of pain flash through Kalara's eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Her husband’s eye rolling, though, was more obvious. What's going on here?

"Thank you, Lieutenant Commander, but I'm still a Commander."

Ianto seemed taken aback by her cold manner. The part of Jasto that was still Ezri Dax recognised that Kalara was trying very hard not to break down by putting up a hard, professional front. All the signs of her pain were there to see, though. Maybe for a counselor.

"Of course," Ianto said with a smile, recovering quickly. "I didn't mean to put the unpowered seating unit before the quadrupedal equinian."

Kalara just stared at him, then carried on as if she hadn’t heard the joke. "Please call a meeting of the senior staff, Lieutenant-Commander, in m- in the captain's briefing room at 1700. I would also like to visit the bridge before that. If someone could show my husband to our quarters..."

Jasto wondered if anyone else had caught the Commander’s strange slip of the tongue. Why didn’t she want to say my briefing room?

Ianto seemed determined not to let Kalara's strange behaviour affect him. He nodded smartly. "Of course, sir." He turned to Jasto. "Lieutenant Dax? Perhaps you could show Mister Laurel to his quarters?"

"Of course, sir." Jasto fought back a sigh. Oh, this is going to be fun.

Kalara nodded to Jasto in thanks and, without a backward glance at her husband, she swept out of the room. Ianto glanced at Jasto for a moment, obviously confused, then hurried to catch up.

"Sorry about that," Damien Laurel said, stepping down from the transporter pad. "It's been a rough couple of days."

"Sir," Jasto responded, uncomfortable talking about his commanding officer that way.

"Sorry. Am I breaking some Starfleet regulation?"

A part of Jasto - the young cadet he had been before being joined – didn’t take too kindly to the derisive tone in Damien Laurel’s voice. The part of him that was Dax, though – and remembered what is was like to look at any military organisation from the outside, with all of the foibles and endless rules that went with it – could understand his frustration. He glanced at the door, as if expecting his commanding officer to come jumping out at him, then took a chance. It seemed like the man needed a friend.

"I'm sure she'll calm down once she gets settled in." He had to almost tear the words from his throat.

Damien Laurel looked taken aback, but he grinned. "You've obviously never been in a relationship with a Klingon," he said ruefully.

Oh hell. Jasto couldn't hold back a grin. "You'd be surprised."

Damien looked him up and down, as if trying to picture the slim Trill with a Klingon woman. "Now I'm intrigued. Come on. Where can two men go to have a drink and a manly conversation around here?"

Jasto frowned. "Actually, sir, I'm on duty."

"Fine. I'll drink, you talk."

Hefting his sack, he headed for the door. Jasto hesitated. Damien turned, framed by the open doorway, and sighed. "Listen, Starfleet, I believe you were ordered to accompany me to my quarters? Well, either you come with me and make a small detour to the nearest watering hole or I’ll just have to contact my wife and tell her that her subordinate abandoned me to wander the corridors.”

Jasto hesitated a moment longer, then shaking his head, he followed Damien into the corridor. This is such a bad idea...

Ready Room
USS Redemption

Three hours later, Kalara stepped into the briefing room.

She heaved a sigh of relief when she saw that no one else was there yet. She could use the time to relax and unwind slightly. She hadn’t had an opportunity since arriving and the fight with Damien had left her wound up and tense.

Walking around the large oval table, she stopped in front of the large ceiling-to-floor window that covered the far wall. Rubbing the back of her neck, she watched as a tug-shuttle dragged a repulsor trolley packed with a large engineering team in front of the huge limbs of the construction dock. She stared beyond the tug, past the dock, out to the stars.

She felt exhausted. She had kept a tight leash on her emotions throughout the tour with Ianto, which had mainly consisted of a rapid visit to Engineering and a walk around the bridge. Seeing the Captain’s chair had been harder than she had expected – she had stood there for a moment, just staring at it, picturing what might have been. For a moment, she had wondered if she was going to be able to go through with it. Then she had remembered what Kovoth had said and that had firmed her resolve.

It had been good to see Ianto again. They had served together for a year aboard the USS Jean-Luc Picard, and again back on Earth where both of them had been part of the Restoration-class design project. When she had received confirmation of her command, she had immediately commandeered him into becoming the ship’s chief engineer. In the last couple of weeks, all during her fruitless search for an XO, she had actually begun to consider making him her XO and appointing someone else – perhaps Lieutenant Dax – as the second officer.

The sound of the door hissing open behind her broke through her thought. She turned to see Ianto step inside, followed closely by Lieutenant Jasto Dax. The Trill seemed a bit nervous, glancing at her every few seconds and then looking away again almost as quickly. She supposed she couldn’t blame him after the way she had acted in the transporter room. Well, she would just have to make up for that now.

Crossing the room, she forced a smile on her face and held out her hand.

“Lieutenant. I don’t think we were probably introduced earlier on. I am Commander Kalara.”

He flinched slightly, but took her hand. “Uh… Yes Cap- Commander. Lieutenant Jasto Dax. Ops.”

She kept her grip on his hand for a moment longer, then turned to Ianto. “You called together the rest of the command crew?”

“Yes, Commander. They should be here any moment.”

As if on cue, the door opened again and the rest of the command crew walked in. Kalara immediately recognized Vareen, the Xindi reptilian from the transporter room, who would be serving as her security chief. Behind her was a very young blond human woman who Ianto had introduced her to on the bridge as the primary Helm officer.

She held her hand up in the traditional greeting as Ensign Q’Sar, the only Vulcan left in Starfleet, stepped into the room. The Helm officer seemed somewhat surprised at the courtesy, but he returned the gesture before blushing and scurrying to his seat.

Following the Vulcan into the ready room were her Tactical and Security officers, respectively Lieutenant L’Wynd, a Crystat with strangely opalescent skin, and Lieutenant-Commander Katal, a Cardassian male with a blinking metal graft where his left eye should have been. Both officers smiled warmly as she greeted them, Lieutenant L’Wynd’s hand hard and brittle in hers, then took their seats around the table.

The last two members of the crew were introduced to her by Lieutenant Commander Ianto. Lieutenant Hakim Benouakhir, a tall, dusky-skinned human, was the ship’s Starfleet Press Liaison officer – the Redemption was such an important mission for the Federation that a full staff of press officers from every major news network had been permitted to travel onboard. That was one problem Kalara was happy to leave to Captain Sarine. Still, Benouakhir seemed a pleasant, affable man, who Kalara imagined would be able to put anyone at ease.

Last into the briefing room was the ship’s Chief Medical Officer. Kalara had been looking forward to meeting Doctor Malok ever since she had learned he was available for the Redemption. Not only was he a member of the shuvoth'shu, whose beliefs about the path to honour had always intrigued her, but according to his file, he had borne witness to some of the key events of the final years of the War. Malok had served aboard a Resistance fighter before joining the pacifist sect and she had been impatient to hear his stories and discuss philosophy with him.

To her surprise, though, the Doctor would not even look at her as she greeted him. When she tried to engage him in conversation, she received a handful of one-word answers and then he requested leave to sit down. She shared a surprised look with Ianto, who seemed as confused as she was. The android shook his head, then went to take his seat.

Once everyone was seated, Kalara walked around the table to the front. She put her hands on the chair and took a deep breath. She had spent the past two hours running through what she could possibly say to this crew – her crew – to explain the change in situation. After changing the wording a dozen times, she had decided the simple, straightforward approach would probably be best.

“I will not be Captain of Redemption.”

A murmur ran round the table as nine pairs of eyes stared at her in surprise. She waited for the noise level to drop, then forced a smile.

“I will however be continuing on board as XO and…”

“Commander.” Jasto seemed as surprised as anybody to be the one to have interrupted. When she had been XO aboard Kovoth’s ship, she did not suffer anyone to interrupt her or the captain. In this situation, though, she decided to show some leniency.

“Go on Lieutenant.”

“But who is going to be Captain?”

“Captain Ba’el Sarine has been selected by Starfleet Command.”

Another murmur at the mention of Sarine’s name. Astrid and Q’sar glanced at one another, obviously not understanding what all the fuss was about, but Kalara was sure that the other officers would fill them in very quickly.

She held up her hand to forestall any other questions. “I expect that each and every one of you has questions, maybe even fears. I can tell you that I have received assurances from Command that your positions aboard this ship are as secure under Captain Sarine as they were when I was going to be taking command.” For some reason, Doctor Malok looked up at her with what could only be described as anger. What is wrong with him? “I wanted to be able to tell you personally before Captain Sarine arrived,” she went on, “and before the launch tomorrow.”

“When can we expect Captain Sarine?” Ianto asked. She smiled. Always efficient.

“In the morning. He is spending today meeting with the diplomatic delegation, as well as receiving final instructions from Command and selecting someone for the one position I had not decided on yet – that of Flight Commander.”

“Permission to speak freely, Commander?” Jasto asked.

She nodded.

“Why? What are Command thinking changing command the day before the launch?”

“That… is intrinsically linked to our mission. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty yet to reveal what that mission is, though I am sure Captain Sarine will do so as soon as possible.”

None of them looked happy. Kalara sighed. “I know you must all be shaken up by this, but I’m sure that as long as we…”

Whatever she had been about to say was cut off by the sudden sound of the red alert klaxon reverberating around the ready room. Kalara slapped her comm badge.

“Kalara to bridge. What’s going on?”

The voice of the duty officer who had been left on the bridge shook with fear. “Commander… I…”

“What is it?” she snapped.

“Klingons, sir. We’re under attack.”

Chapter 10

Briefing Room Delta
Starfleet Command Complex
Ki’Baratan
Romulus

As soon as the briefing room door closed, Ba'el heaved a sigh of relief and collapsed back in his chair. Unfastening the top button of his new uniform, he rubbed at the back of his neck. He'd thought the Ferengi would never leave.

He checked the chrono on the wall. Three hours, the damned troll had kept him here, asking him questions about the Hegemony, quoting his Rules of Acquisition and making lewd suggestions about the cadet who had been charged with bringing them raktojino and SluggoCola. By the end of it, Ba’el had a headache. All he wanted to do was climb into a bunk somewhere and sleep for a couple of weeks.

He settled for standing up from his chair and stretching. A day with Admiral Qwert would be too much. The months or years that they might be assigned to Onyx Station... Ba'el wasn't convinced both of them would survive.

The intercom system buzzed. Ba'el rolled his eyes and reached out to press the button. What now?

"Yes Ensign?"

"Commander Turner is here to see you, sir. She's... She's been waiting for quite a while."

Dammit. He had completely forgotten his appointment with the flight commander. Reaching up, he refastened the collar of his jacket. "Send her in."

He began to move round the table as the fighter pilot walked through the door. A tall, shapely human, Commander Turner wore a modified Starfleet uniform - a form fitting pair of trousers, a sleeveless dark grey t-shirt, and a zip up jacket. Instead of the purple lining of command, the jacket was lined in silver, as was the pin on the breast of her jacket, a pin that seemed to represent an exploding star. The whole was complemented by a leather cap pulled low over her black hair.

She met Ba’el half way, stopping short and saluting.

"Commander Gemma Turner, Starburst Squadron, reporting for duty, sir!"

"Relax, Commander," Ba’el said with a smile. He held out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

Turner grinned and grabbed Ba'el's hand in hers. "Sorry, sir. Never know if one of you fleeters is gonna be the stiff upper lip type."

Her smile was charming, and so infectious that Ba'el found himself smiling back. "Well, if I can set your mind at ease, I haven't been a fleeter for more than a day myself, and my lip is as loose as they come."

Turner laughed merrily. "I think I'm gonna like working with you, sir."

"Well, that’s what we’re here to discuss, isn’t it Commander?"

His words seemed to bring her back to the reality of her situation. She straightened. "Aye, sir."

He indicated she should take a seat. "Why don’t you sit down and tell me why you volunteered for this assignment?"

The captain studied her as he returned back to his own seat and sat down. She sat with her back straight, but obviously comfortable, her hands clasped in front of her, body angled towards him, her smile engaging. She's confident, I'll give her that.

She waited until he had sat down before speaking. "To tell you the truth, sir, I volunteered for this mission because this is it. The first real mission of the Federation. And I want to be a part of it."

Though he thought he knew what she meant, he frowned. "The first real mission? Why do you say that?"

"My family have quite a long history in Starfleet, sir. I grew up hearing my dad telling stories of my ancestors, especially of my great-great-great-great, well I’ll save you all of the greats, but suffice to say my grandmother’s uncle, Admiral Picard."

"Quite an illustrious predecessor."

Smiling again, she said, "I grew up on stories of the glory days of the old Federation, sir, stories of Picard. And Kirk. Pike and Janeway. Sulu and Calhoun. Var'tol and Jrenim. Dax and..."

Ba'el held up his hands, laughing. "Alright Commander, I think I get it. And you hope that if you join Redemption, you’ll get a chance to join that hallowed list?"

To his surprise, she shook her head. "No, sir. I hope that you will."

When she saw the expression on his face, she laughed. "You're the captain, Captain. I'll just be along for the ride." Her face grew serious. "Sir, to be honest, ever since the war ended and the Federation Charter was signed, I've been waiting for this. Waited for Starfleet to launch a real exploratory vessel on a mission of peace, of discovery. Instead, there've been more military frigates and transport ships. Don't get me wrong, I know how important all of that is and my squadron and I have gone where we were ordered and we've done our duty."

"Very well, from what I see here," Ba'el cut in, looking down at the padd that held her Starfleet file.

"Thank you, sir. I've got a good squad of people, with good ships. We get the job done. But this mission... This is the reason I enlisted in Starfleet, sir. New worlds and new civilisations, and all that. I have to be a part of that."

She seemed so earnest that Ba'el wanted to welcome her onboard straight away and put her out of her misery. Instead, he forced himself to nod gravely. "You do realise that the main objective is not exploration, don't you Commander? The Hegemony would be a formidable ally and bringing them into an alliance with us is our primary goal. If that doesn't happen... Well, we may need you to fight more than explore."

"I know that sir. I understand that things could go wrong, and I also understand that my primary role aboard ship is as a fighter pilot." She placed the emphasis on the fight part of the word fighter. "But just to be part of such a mission... It will be a dream come true."

Ba'el finally allowed himself a smile. "Well, I suppose I only have one more question - how soon can you and your people be onboard?"

She let out a wild peal of laughter, which she quickly smothered. "Sorry, sir."

"That's alright, Commander, I think you've..."

Before he could finish his sentence, an alert siren began to wail through the Command centre. Ba’el froze for a moment, then he reached for the intercom, but it buzzed before he could press the button. He answered quickly.

"What's going on, Ensign?"

"It's… It’s Klingons, sir. They're attacking the construction yards."

Ba'el and Turner shared a shocked glance. Turner spoke first, giving voice to what they were both thinking.

"Redemption."

Bridge
USS Redemption

First out onto the bridge, Kalara accepted a headset from one of the ensign's stationed outside the briefing room, slipping it over head and settling the rectangular viewfinder over her right eye.

"Status," she barked as her vision expanded to a forward view from the Redemption's saucer section. She moved to the rear of the bridge, taking up station behind the railing so that she would better be able to see and be seen by her crew.

Lieutenant L'wynd had descended into the Pit, the sunken central section of the bridge delimitated by the railing that ran all the way round it. She relieved the on-shift officer at the Tactical station, settling her own headset over her skull as her fingers danced over the holographic readout that floated in the air in front of her.

"It looks like we have fifteen enemy ships, Commander. Ten Kor-class birds of prey, two D'thar class cruisers, two Martok-class cruisers and..." She paused, then turned to look up at her commanding officer. "Commander, they have a Dominion Battlecruiser with them."

Kalara gritted her teeth. "General K’mpak."

"Commander, we're being hailed by the cruiser," Dax said from Ops.

"Don't answer yet," Kalara snapped, thinking furiously. K’mpak was a loyalist, he wouldn’t have launched this attack without at least tacit approval from the Empress herself. How did they get this far without being detected, though? She shook her head. Later. "Lieutenant, what are the ships doing?"

The tactical officer’s eyes seemed to glaze over as she called up the information on her headset display. "They launched an initial attack on one of the planet's defence platforms, destroying it. Now they just seem to be holding station."

Kalara nodded. K’mpak wants up to know that he can get through our defences. "Very well, Lieutenant Dax, open a channel."

The view outside the Redemption was replaced almost immediately by the scarred face of General K’mpak. Behind him she could make out the dimly lit bridge of a D’thar cruiser. Of course, he would not stoop to commanding an alien’s vessel, even one that he captured himself. Kalara knew the general by reputation only - he had a singular hatred for any Klingon who 'abandoned' the Empire. He had claimed responsibility for any number of brutal attacks on planets, shipping routes and colony worlds. K’mpak's father was also the leader of the House of Martok, an influential member of the Council and one of the key proponents of the Empire's withdrawal from the Alliance after the end of the Occupation.

The general wore a self-satisfied smile on his face, but it vanished when he saw Kalara.

"You!"

Kalara frowned. "I don't believe we've met, General. However, maybe you'd like to tell me what the hell you are doing in Federation space?"

K’mpak glared at her and even across the coldness of space, she could feel his hatred. She would have expected it considering how he felt about her people, but this seemed somehow... personal.

Before she could push the general any further, K’mpak vanished with a snarled command.

"They've broken communications, sir," Dax said, at the same time as L'wynd warned, "They're moving into an attack formation, Commander. Powering weapons."

Ianto had remained on the bridge, and now he stepped over beside Kalara, his voice pitched low. "We're no match for that cruiser, Commander."

Kalara nodded. "Agreed. But if we stay in here we're targ meat."

The android looked at her for a moment, then nodded. "I'll be down in engineering."

As he moved off towards the turbolift, Kalara gripped the railing and looked down into the Pit.

"Lieutenant L'wynd."

The Crystat officer turned her beautiful carved face up to Kalara. "Commander."

Last chance, Kalara thought. You can still decide to turn tail and run. The very thought was laughable, though, and she knew it. Even if the ship were not in danger, there was no way she could abandon the construction yards, space station and planet to the mercy of these p’tagh.

Fighting back a sigh, she gave the order. "Bring weapons on line. Raise shields."

The lieutenant didn't even hesitate, pressing her palm to the holographic readouts and spinning them around to face her. "Aye, sir."

Kalara moved her eyes, instructing the headset to tap into Starbase 2's sensor grid. The images unfurled before her - she watched as the Klingon ships separated into multiple attack wings, going after their individual targets, phaser banks dealing death and destruction with every hateful volley. Kalara wondered coldly whether this was how war started - in fire and anger and fear.

"Defence systems on line," L'wynd reported, slicing through Kalara's thoughts.

The bridge seemed to freeze as every officer held their breath in anticipation of her next order. Kalara said a silent prayer to the gods. Then she smiled.

"Helm. Take us out."

Tunnels beneath Starfleet Command
Ki’Baratan
Romulus

Ba’el followed Turner through the underground tunnels towards the docking bay buried deep beneath Ki’Baratan. Her cap had fallen off in their flight from the briefing room and she clutched it in her hands, her dark hair bouncing as she ran. They had left almost the moment that the ensign had announced the Klingons’ arrival in orbit, just as the green death of Klingon phaser beams had begun to illuminate the planetary shield above them. Turner had led her new commanding officer to a high clearance turbolift that carried them down to these tunnels, explaining they were the quickest way to reach the docking bay where her fighters were waiting.

The ceiling above them shook, plaster crumbling and raining around them, as the sounds of multiple explosions echoed through the tight enclosed space. They both paused for a moment as the lights flickered off and on, Ba’el reaching out to place his palm against the reassuring stone of the tunnel walls.

“A lucky shot,” Turner said uneasily, as they set off again, turning left at an intersection.

“How are they getting through the planet’s defences so easily?” Ba’el wondered out loud.

Turner shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, the fact is they’re doing it.”

Ba’el nodded, but he knew that once this was all over, he was going to be asking the question again. If we get out of this, he told himself.

Minutes later, the two officers burst through a double door and into the docking bay. Chaos greeted them, a cacophony of shouted orders, throbbing machinery and yowling engines. Men and women in the black jumpsuits of Starfleet NCO’s, mechanics for the most part, ran every which way, carrying tools and spare parts, faces fearful but determined. The strong smell of repulsordrive fuel and burning ozone fired Ba’el’s memory, sending him back to countless other docking bays on more planets and starships than he could number. The memories were almost overwhelming.

He forced them away anyway, following Turner across the vast, cavernous space to a dozen or so pilots who stood patiently by a similar number of Hornet-class starfighters. The grey and white vessels resembled the old Starfleet Valkyrie fighters, right down to the bat-like wings that surmounted the cockpit. Each and every pilot was already decked out in their flight gear and they all stood to attention as Turner and Ba’el arrived.

“All pilots present and accounted for, sir,” a short Bolian barked.

Turner nodded to the man, obviously her XO, then turned to her pilots. “Mount up, Starburst Squadron.”

“Yes sir,” they all said in a chorus.

As they watched the pilots scramble for their fighters, Ba’el saw conflicting expressions of pride and concern warring on Turner’s face. I definitely made the right choice, he thought.

“Don’t worry, Commander,” he said gently, reminded of how he had felt every time he led his men out to risk their lives. “You said it yourself, they’re a good group of men and women.”

“I know sir.” She turned and looked at them. “I could say the same to you, sir. We’ll take care of your ship. You just sit tight.”

He shook his head. “You may not know this, Commander, but I spent the first eleven years in the Resistance piloting old J-class fighters against Dominion Battlecruisers. There is no way I’m staying planetside.”

“If I was a fleeter, I’d be telling you that you’re the Captain and you can’t be risked,” Turner reminded him.

“But you’re not a fleeter, are you?”

“No sir.” She grinned, then she craned her neck, whipping her head around looking for something. Finally she found what she had been searching for. Or rather who. “Cable. Get your butt over here.”

A short Ferengi in mechanic’s fatigues, face smeared with grease and oil, stopped his mad dash towards one of the Hornet’s and began to jog towards them instead. The NCO was a little overweight, and he was breathing heavily by the time he arrived.

“What can I do for you, Commander Turner, ma’am?”

“Get Garibaldi’s Hornet prepped for flight.” She pointed at Ba’el. “Captain Sarine is flying out with us.”

The Ferengi gave Ba’el the once over. He didn’t look impressed. “You sure he’s up to it?”

“You questioning me, mister?”

“No sir, ma’am. My moogie always told me, never question a lady in uniform,” Cable said with a grin. He turned to Ba’el. “Well, come on then.”

Ba’el saluted Turner, then jogged after Cable. The Ferengi darted in and out of the crazed service crew, leading him over to another of the starfighters that was sitting on its own in a corner of the bay. The moment they arrived, Ba’el began to peel off his Starfleet uniform, while Cable started to fuel up the fighter.

“So why’s this one on its own?” Ba’el asked, throwing his jacket on a nearby chair and beginning to unbutton his trousers.

“Refit. It got banged up pretty good when Lieutenant Garibaldi bit the bullet.”

“Bit the bullet?”

“Hey, you spent time around enough hu-mons, you start to pick up the lingo.”

“I guess so.”

While Cable finished prepping the Hornet, two or three other NCOs hurried over, carrying a flightsuit, headset and helmet. Ba’el threw his trousers on a nearby chair, then began to shimmy into the protective flightsuit. He accepted the comm device to stick in his ear and a headset with viewscreen which he snapped over his eye. It flashed to life immediately, providing him with a scrolling description of his fighter’s specifications. He blinked rapidly, turning the damn thing off. He’d only turn it on when he needed it.

He allowed the NCOs to fit the helmet over his head and seal it carefully. By the time they had finished, Cable had completed work on the Hornet. He saluted awkwardly. “She’s all yours, Cap’n.”

“Thank you, Cable.”

Climbing up the staircase, he settled into the cockpit, strapping himself in. Once he was in, a crackle came over the comm. line.

“You alright in there, Captain?”

He looked over to the other fighters and could just make out Turner in her own cockpit. “I tell you what Commander. How about for the duration of this mission, you call me Joker.”

“Joker?”

“My old Resistance call-sign.”

“You got it, Cap- I mean Joker. You can call me Scarlet.”

“Scarlet?”

“Yeah. That sound funny?” Her tone was playful.

“No, Commander Scarlet. Not at all.”

“Good.” Her voice grew serious. “You sure you know how to fly that thing?”

He glanced down at the controls. One thing he had learned in the Resistance, where he had been forced to grow familiar with human, Klingon, Romulan and even Dominion small-ranger fighters, was that the majority of them were remarkably similar when it came down to the basic controls. “I should be able to work it out.”

“Alright then.” Another crackle, then he heard Turner’s voice again. “You with me Starburst Squadron? Check in.”

“Starburst 2, checking in.”

“Starburst 3, present.”

He listened as all of the pilots confirmed their presence one after another, each one using a slightly different wording. When they had all finished, he spoke up. The feeling of nostalgia was almost a tangible presence beside him.

“Joker 1, loud and clear.”

“Okay Starburst Squadron. We’ve got Klingons bombarding us from orbit, so watch your six on your way up. Once we break orbit, you follow my lead and Captain Sarine’s, you got me? And watch for friendly fire, hopefully Starbase 2 will have scrambled her defences by now.”

Ba’el was amazed at the change in the flight commander. The friendly, engaging young woman was gone, replaced by a consummate professional. Ba’el had flown with men and women like that throughout his career. He just hoped he had been half as good a commander as Turner seemed to be. And that you’ll be half as good a starship captain.

“Alright then,” she said once everyone had confirmed her orders. “Fire ‘em up and let’s get up there.”

With a slight tremor in his hand, Ba’el flipped the switch, activating the repulsor drive. He felt the Hornet spring to life, filling his ears with a familiar dull, trembling, throb. Closing his eyes, he said a silent prayer to his ancestors to watch over him. You see, Father, you did teach me one thing. Then he opened his eyes, engaged the repulsors and followed the other starfighters out of the bay.

Chapter 11

Bridge
USS Redemption
Starfleet Construction Yards
Romulus

“Computer, initiate Tactical Projection System,” Kalara ordered as the Redemption began to pull out of spacedock.

All around her, the bridge’s walls, floor and ceiling seemed to vanish, replaced instead by a real-time holographic projection of the view outside the ship. It appeared as though all of the bridge crew were sat or stood on nothing, affording them a 360° view of the grey and white ribs of the spacedock around them, and beyond that, space.

“Steady as she goes,” Kalara said, trying to imbue her words with confidence. She glanced down at Lieutenants Williams and Q’sar. The young woman’s eyes were glued to the holographic controls in front of her, making minute adjustments with the control thrusters as they slid out of the spider-like structure. As for the Vulcan Navigation officer, he seemed to have inherited the true impertuable Vulcan mindset, despite what had happened to the rest of his people.

With the tactical projection activated, Kalara mentally instructed her headset’s viewfinder to provide her with a sensor readout of the tactical situation. A green screen appeared before her left eye, showing the whole Romulus system. She saw a large red icon representing the Dominon battlecruiser split off from the rest of the fleet, and Kalara imagined the ship’s impulse drives flaring as she descended towards the planet, three Birds-of-Prey tight on her rear. The rest of the fleet began to break up as well, with one of the Martok-class cruisers setting course for the starbase.

“Commander, that other Martok cruiser is heading straight for us,” Lieutenant L’wynd said, “along with both D’thar-class cruisers and seven of the Birds-of-Prey.”

“I see them,” Kalara said through gritted teeth. “Lieutenant Williams, can you get us out of this dock any faster?”

“Can do, Commander,” Williams said. Her fingers slid flashing icons from left to right and Redemption leapt forward. Kalara winced slightly as the edge of the saucer section screeched along one of the docking bay’s ribs, then the front of the ship was out into open space, followed moments later by the rest.

“Well done, Lieutenant.”

Williams nodded. “Course, Commander?”

Kalara studied the space before her for a moment, comparing what her eyes could see through the tactical projection with what the sensors were telling her through her viewfinder. She saw it a moment before L’wynd called out.

“Both D’thar-class cruisers and four accompanying Birds-of-Prey are changing course.”

“They’re heading for the other construction docks,” Kalara said. “They’re going to try and cause as much damage as possible.”

“The Martok-class is still on an intercept course, along with three Birds-of-Prey.”

Kalara nodded. “Helm, increase speed. Lay in a course towards the closest Bird-of-Prey.”

L’wynd turned to look at her. “Cap- I mean Commander, the Martok-class is the more immediate threat.”

“I know that, Lieutenant, but we need to play the odds.”

“Yes sir.”

Again, Kalara felt the Redemption surge beneath her, rolling slightly to starboard as Williams guided her towards the flanking Bird-of-Prey.

“How long until we’re in range?”

“55 seconds.”

“And the cruiser?”

“78.”

“Lieutenant L’wynd, fire a spread of subspace disruption torpedoes at the front of the Bird-of-Prey on my mark. Then follow that up with a full burst of our forward phaser banks. Target the phasers at the Bird-of-Prey’s left wing, right where it meets the hull.”

“With all due respect, sir, subspace disruption torpedoes will be unable to penetrate the…”

“Lieutenant, I am in command. If you question my orders one more time, I will have you removed from your post. Is that understood?”

A mass of crystaline flesh rippled across L’wynd’s body, turning it into a solid mass of diamond-like facets. A moment later, the effect disappeared. The Crystat’s head bobbed. “Aye, sir.”

I know you don’t trust me yet, Kalara thought. You’re just going to have obey my orders anyway.

The oncoming ships grew larger and larger in the forward view. Kalara realised she was gripping the railing so hard that her knuckles were turning white. She forced herself to relax. This will work, I know it will.

“In range in ten seconds,” Dax spoke up from his post.

“Wait for it,” Kalara whispered. “Wait for it.”

After exactly eleven seconds, Kalara shouted, “Now, Lieutenant. Fire.”

The spread of torpedoes volleyed from the Redemption’s forward launchers like miniature stars. They impacted against the Bird-of-Prey’s forward shields, illuminating them but not doing any damage.

“Now. The phasers,” Kalara snarled.

L’wynd did as she was ordered, firing all banks. From the bridge’s secure location deep within the ship, Kalara couldn’t hear anything, but she imagined the whining moan of the phased energy beams as they leapt from their coils. As she had known it would, the torpedo spread had forced the Bird-of-Prey’s commander to recalibrate his forward shields to counterbalance the subspace disturbances that they had created or risk them tearing his ship apart. The phasers cut straight through the unbalanced shields, shearing the port wing off at the base. The Bird-of-Prey began to spin out of control, explosions wracking its tortured form. Then it exploded in a glorious fireball that filled the screen.

“Target destroyed,” L’wynd said, her voice surprised.

Before Kalara could say anything, Dax shouted, “Incoming.”

The ship was rocked as a full spread of quantum torpedoes struck their shields. Kalara shouted, “Evasive manoeuvers,” but it was already too late. Battle had been joined.

She just prayed they would be as lucky with the cruiser as they had been with the Bird-of-Prey.

Hornet-Class Starfighter
Above Ki’Baratan
Romulus

The moment they had cleared the launch tunnel, Ba’el moved in behind the two trailing fighters, slotting into a larger diamond position that had him as the lowest point. They were flying almost directly upwards, the planetary shield a constant blaze of green light above them. The constant battering from the Dominion Battlecruiser’s phaser banks did not seem to be visibly weakening the shield, despite the odd phaser beam breaking through to strike the city below. Seeing the insect-like form hanging in orbit brought back unpleasant memories for Ba’el.

“What is it doing?” he heard someone say through his ear piece. “Surely it knows that it can’t get through the shields with brute force.”

“Stow it, airman,” Turner snapped. “Concentrate on your job.”

Silence fell over the radio, each pilot left with his own thoughts. Ba’el stared at the waiting ship. The last time he had flown a fighter against one of these, the end of the Occupation had still been five years away. Laurentia, he realised. I was flying with three Hegemony fighter wings. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Now the question was whether he would be able to do the same thing today as he had done then. There seemed to be only one way to find out.

Flipping a switch on the controls in front of him, he opened a secure, private channel to Turner. “Commander? I may have an idea how to take out that Battlecruiser.”

“Good because I’m all out.”

“Are Hornets equipped with warp cores?”

Turner didn’t respond straight away and he could imagine her mind racing as she tried to work out why he was asking. “Yes,” she said finally, the word drawn out. “Why?”

“Just a little something I pulled off during the Occupation.”

“Captain, I don’t think…”

“What did I tell you, Commander? For this mission, call me Joker.”

Before she could say anything, he heard a sharp intake of breath and a warning shout over the comm system. He looked up just in time to see a glowing, whirling, spitting ball of energy pass through the planetary shield. He acted on instinct, jinking the fighter to the left with a sharp tug on his joystick.

The phased energy weapon – a torpedo of some kind – charged the air as it passed, creating shock waves that tossed his fighter about in the air. With sheer force of will and strength of muscle, he managed to hold her steady, but he saw two of the other fighters above him collide in the air, vanishing in a burst of light and fury and static over the comm system. He swerved out of the way of the falling debris, avoiding all but what looked like a burning helmet, which clipped his wing as it fell.

“What happened?”

“Allah-Yahwe.”

“What just happened?”

“How did that penetrate the shield?”

“Flight Commander Turner to Starfleet Command. What the hell is going on down there?”

There was a moment of static then they heard a voice shouting over the sounds of vigorous explosions. “Oh my God, they’ve destroyed the shield generators. We’re defenceless. We have four ships, I repeat, four ships in attack positions over the planet’s surface. They hit all four shield generators at once. The planetary shield is down, I repeat the planetary shield is…” The voice vanished in a burst of static amid the sound of tortured screams.

A series of curses sounded through the comm system until Turner’s voice cut through them. “That’s enough, Starburst Squadron. Look alive, we’ve got incoming.”

With the shields down, the Battlecruiser had begun to bombard the surface again, laser beams streaking down through the atmosphere. All those people. Ba’el felt sick. This wasn’t supposed to happen again. Not again.

“Captain, if you have an idea, I’m all ears,” Turner’s voice came over the comm system. Ba’el narrowly avoided a phaser beam that dropped like a shooting star from the ship above. He glanced down at the readouts on his console to confirm that they were on a secure line before he spoke, his eyes snapping back upwards to keep an eye out for another phaser beam.

He told her what he had planned. Her response was almost immediate. “No way. It’s too risky.”

“That’s the job, Commander. You know that.”

“Fine. Then let me do it.”

“No way. You don’t have the reflexes or the training. You’d blow up on impact. I practiced this a hundred times before doing it for real.”

“And that was how many years ago? Sir.”

“You let me worry about that.”

By this time, they had reached the atmosphere. The Battlecruiser’s short range phaser banks began to target them as well, forcing the squadron to break formation and scatter. Ba’el sent his fighter through a tight curve, stars giving way to planet giving way to stars in his cockpit window. He jinked to avoid the incoming phaser beams, spinning and jukeing like an old boxer.

Suddenly, a new voice came over the comm. “To all ships, this is Admiral Qwert.” The Ferengi! “The Klingons have brought down the planetary defence grids. We have three, repeat, three Birds-of-Prey in the lower atmosphere, firing on Ra’tleihfi, Val’danadex Trel and Dinalla. Ki Baratan is being bombarded by a Dominion Battlecruiser. If anyone can provide assistance, please respond. Repeat, to all ships, this is Admiral Qwert. The Klingons have…”

Qwert’s voice was replaced by Turner’s. “Alright Starbursters, you heard the man. We have four bogies strafing the planet. We’re going to take them out.”

“What about the other squadrons?”

“How the hell are we supposed to take out a Dominion Battlecruiser?”

“Captain Sarine has an idea on that, don’t you Captain?” Turner said, ignoring the first question.

Ba’el keyed his own comm. “I can do it. I just need a couple of pilots to watch my back.”

“Starburst 11, 12 and 13, you just volunteered. Form up on Captain Sarine and do whatever the hell he asks you to do.” Ba’el could almost hear the ‘no matter how crazy’ that she left unsaid.

Ba’el led the three Hornets out of range of the Battlecruiser’s phaser banks. They flew into a triangle formation and dropped in behind him. All four of them watched as the rest of the squadron broke into three separate wings, then flared their thrusters. Each group headed in a different direction. Ba’el said a silent prayer for their success before he opened a channel to all three of his own wingmen.

“What do you need us to do, Captain?”

Again he explained his plan. There was a moment of silence then one of them spoke. “You’re kidding, right? He’s kidding, right?”

“No Starburst 12, I’m not kidding. You keep those phasers off me, I’ll take care of the rest. You got me?”

“Loud and clear, Captain. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

So do I, Ba’el thought as he began to make the necessary adjustements to his shields. So do I.

Bridge
USS Redemption

“Repeat, to all ships, this is Admiral Qwert. The Klingons have brought down the…”

“Shut that off,” Commander Kalara ordered. Jasto sliced a finger through the communication’s grid on his left, the broken holographic projection effectively severing the line. The Admiral’s voice was replaced by the sound of explosions as another volley from the Martok-class cruiser rocked the ship.

Jasto spun his chair round to see the cruiser gaining on them. The Redemption was running, trying to lead the cruiser and its escorts away from the undefended construction yard. The plan seemed to be working, only too well. He turned round again and glanced over at Williams on the helm – she seemed totally concentrated on what she was doing, almost not blinking. The light of another volley striking the shields illuminated the bridge, catching her scars. He turned away, feeling sick. Thank the Caves that I just had my injection. At least he didn’t have to deal with Haebron’s screams.

One of the Birds-of-Prey fired at them, a direct hit on the rear shields. L’wynd spoke up from her place at tactical. “Rear shields down to sixty percent.”

Jasto was quite impressed at how well the shields were holding up, actually. One of Ezri Dax’s memories popped up, a memory of the Defiant during the Battle of Bajor, taking the same kind of pounding. He dismissed it, but a thought lingered. She was a good ship too, until that battle. He hoped the Redemption would have a kinder fate.

A warning light on his display caught his attention. He slid the projection through the air with his palm, bringing the sensor readings to the fore. The strange readings seemed to be coming from Starbase 2. He glanced at them once, twice, a third time before he was sure of what he was seeing.

“Commander, I’m picking up some strange readings coming from the starbase.”

“I’m kind of busy right now, Lieutenant Dax.”

“I know, sir, but I think you’re going to want to see these.”

He crumpled the sensor readings off his readout into a ball of light in his palm, then threw it towards the Commander. She caught it, bringing her hand up to her headset to download the information. Moments later, he heard her gasp.

“Turn us around.”

“But Commander,” Astrid Williams began.

“Turn us around, Lieutenant. Prepare to fire phasers.”

The starfield in front of Jasto spun as Williams fired the thrusters, swinging the Redemption around to face the oncoming ships. The Klingon cruiser bore down upon them, flanked by three Birds-of-Prey. Kalara ordered L’wynd to fire all phasers, but Jasto knew before the tactical officer spoke that the damage would be minimal. Still, the barrage got them past the ships and kept the Klingons from inflicting any major damage of their own. The problem is, we just lost whatever lead we had over them.

The construction yard reappeared in front of them now, with Starbase 2 hanging behind it. At least twenty-five percent of the construction docks – seven or eight of the spider-like bays – had been destroyed, along with the ships that had been under construction there. Jasto felt sick to the stomach at the thought of all of those engineers who must have died. Then his attention turned to the starbase.

The other Martok-class cruiser was pounding her with everything she had – transphasic torpedoes, quantum torpedoes, phaser banks… As Jasto watched, he saw a phaser blast cut right through the shields, slicing into the station’s main hull, tearing off another few layers of her ablative armor.

“But how are they firing through their shields?”

“The Klingons must have the shield frequency harmonics.”

“Why isn’t the station changing frequencies?”

“Cut the chatter people,” Jasto ordered his Helm and Navigation officers. “Stay focused on…”

Before he could say any more, a series of torpedoes struck the Starbase’s core. They must have hit a main energy relay, he thought. A vast explosion burst out of the side of the Starbase, extinguished almost immediately by the cold vacuum of space. Moments later, though, another cloud of fire and debris vented into space. Before Jasto could order them to increase speed, a pointless gesture anyway, Starbase 2 blew apart, scattering metal, fire and dead bodies in every direction.

Chapter 12

Hornet-Class Fighter
Romulus System

“Captain, you may want to look at this.”

Ba'el glanced up from his control board, irritated at the interruption. His anger was forgotten moments later when he saw Starbase 2 vanish in a vast explosion of white fire. The sight struck him like a punch to the gut, took his breath away. He had thought he had put all of this behind him – the death and destruction, the fear and the fury. Now, here he was again, watching who knew how many hundreds extinguished in a moment.

"All those people," he heard one of the pilot's whisper over the intercom, echoing his own thoughts. We can’t mourn those people now. He forced himself to push his own feelings aside, infusing his next words with cold, calculated fury.

"Stay focused, airman."

"But they killed all those people..."

"And they're going to kill a hell of a lot more unless we take out that Battlecruiser, you got me?"

He waited for the chorus of 'Aye sirs’ to echo over the comm before he looked back down at his controls. The warp core pre-initialisation sequence was complete. Slowly, he brought the core online, playing with the flow matrix until he had a steady pulse. Then, taking a deep breath, he activated the core, creating a static warp bubble around the ship.

He quietly thanked his former chief engineer. You see, Kane, I did learn something. He began to play with the bubble, realigning the flow regulators some more and reshaping it into a wedge-like shape that extended out in front of his ship. The bubble held for about ten seconds in this new configuration before collapsing. Ten seconds. More than enough time. As long as nothing goes wrong.

He keyed the intership comm line. Time to do this. "Alright Starbursts, form up."

Following his instructions, the three pilots used their guidance thrusters to move their Hornets into a triangle pattern in front of him, one above and two below. Moments later, their shields began to expand, invisible until they met in a sparking, spitting confluence of energy. All three fields merged just in front of Ba'el's fighter.

"Captain, our shields are being severely weakened by this expansion. I don't know how protected we'll be going in there."

A hell of a lot more than I will be, Ba'el thought. For this to work, he was going to have to go in completely shieldless, or the protective energy barrier would interfere with the warp bubble.

Before he could say anything, though, another of the pilots gasped.

"Oh my God, look at that."

Ba'el twisted his head around and saw both Martok-class cruisers pursuing the Redemption through the construction yard. The beautiful ship had already taken a hell of a pounding, her hull pitted and scoured by the Klingons’ phaser banks. Even without sensors, Ba'el could tell that the ship - his ship - wasn't going to hold out much longer. Still, she was giving as good as she got. The pilot twisted the ship past a dock, so close she must have scratched the paint work. The ship’s rear phasers struck a direct hit on the nearest cruiser’s forward shields. He forced himself to turn away.

"Alright, enough chit-chat, people. Looks like we're out of time. Set course 293 mark 42 and engage impulse drives at full on my mark. Stay on target until I give the word, then break as fast as you can. And be ready to blow that son of a bitch to the Seven Hells when her shields come down."

Once the three pilots had confirmed their orders, Ba’el checked his own systems one last time. Once he was sure he was ready, he allowed his hand to hover over the impulse drive controls. He gazed out the window at the Battlecruiser, her weapon’s array blazing. Here goes nothing.

“Engage,” he ordered, his hand activating the impulse drive a few seconds later.

All four ships surged forward at almost the same moment, managing to maintain a steady distance one from the other. Ba’el checked his systems again - at full impulse, they would reach the leading edge of the Battlecruiser’s shields in about 95 seconds. With the cruiser’s full phaser banks firing at them, though, those 95 seconds were going to seem like hours.

After a few seconds of calm and quiet, phased energy splashed across green shielding with rare fury. The shields sparked and expanded, but they seemed to be holding. For now. Ba’el glanced at the chrono. 75 seconds left.

“Stay on target,” he ordered as one of the fighters was hit by a more powerful blast and almost fell out of formation. The man quickly compensated, his fighter coming back into line with the others. 60 seconds.

“My shields are weakening,” Starbust 12 yelled over the comm. Ba’el realized that he didn’t know any of their names. They were risking their lives for him and he hadn’t even asked them their names. 50 seconds.

“I’ve got buckling in my impulse drive,” Starburst 11 shouted in turn. Ba’el glanced at his sensor readings and saw that the drive was having trouble compensating for the incoming barrage.

“Maintain your course and speed,” Ba’el snapped. 45 seconds.

A torpedo struck the shield, then another, the impact rocking the three fighters back. Somehow they stayed in formation. Ba’el swerved, sending his own fighter through a loop in space to avoid them, before dropping back into formation behind. All three fighters were wavering and Ba’el could see Starburst 12’s impulse engines begin to spark. 30 seconds.

“I can’t hold it,” Starburst 12 screamed. “I’m going to lose it.”

“Stay your course, airman. You hear me? Stay your course!”

“But my drive is going to blow!”

“If you drop out of formation, I’ll shoot you myself,” he snapped. 15 seconds.

“My shields are failing. I’m out of power.”

“Power down your life support and shunt the power to shields,” Ba’el ordered. “Your mask will keep you breathing for the next few minutes.”

Before she could follow his advice, one of the phaser blasts tore through her weakened shields. Her fighter exploded in a maelstrom of metal and fire. Bael swerved out of the way, taking refuge behind the two remaining fighters.

He glanced at the chrono. 5 seconds. 4. 3. 2. “Pull out, pull out, pull out!”

Both remaining ships disengaged, scrambling away from impact with the shield. Ba’el didn’t have time to check whether they got away. He waited until the last possible moment, then brought his warp core online. With a scream of highly charged particles, the static warp bubble appeared around his fighter. The tip of the wedge intersected perfectly with the very edge of the Battlecruiser’s shield. Acting as a bridge through subspace, the bubble split through the shield and carried Ba’el and his fighter through to the other side.

Bridge
USS Redemption
Between Romulus and Remus

With both Martok-class cruisers in hot pursuit, Redemption raced towards the angry red globe of Remus, leading the enemy ships away from the construction yards again. Every hit sent shudders through the invisible deck plating, every burst from the phaser banks bringing the shields that much closer to total collapse. A few of the smaller localized generators had been destroyed already, leaving the armoured hull plating to take the brunt of the attacks, but even that was peeling away or burning off, leaving nothing but bulkheads between the crew of the Restoration-class vessel and the cold harsh death of vacuum.

“Commander, we can’t take much more of this!” Dax called from Ops as L’wynd returned fire. Kalara gritted her teeth, gripping the railing and trying to stay on her feet.

One Martok-class cruiser might have been a decent match for the ship. Two… She needed to even the odds. Her father had served aboard a Martok-class cruiser during the last days of the Resistance. He had died on one. What had he told her about them? She had to think of something before these p’tagh blew her ship and her crew out from under her feet.

“Can we lose them in the atmosphere?”

“Negative sir. I doubt we’d be able to hold out until we reach the planet, and even if we did, they could follow us down.”

Kalara growled. She had known that. What was the matter with her? She had been in battles before. What was so different about this one?

Even as she asked herself the question, she realized what the answer was. The difference was Damien. He was down there somewhere, locked in their quarters by the red alert order, feeling every impact and hearing every explosion, waiting for her to save them all. She was worried about protecting him and it was affecting her ability to make decisions.

What would my father have done? What would Kovoth do? She wracked her brains, trying to dredge up the slightest hint, the tiniest story, that would give her an edge. Then, with a flash of insight, she had it.

Not even bothering to run around the railing, she simply vaulted over the top, landing in the middle of the Pit. L’wynd looked up at her in surprise, but she ignored the tactical officer, racing over to Dax instead.

“We’re about twenty seconds away from losing aft shields completely, Captain,” the Crystat shouted after her. “Forward shields are…”

“Not now,” Kalara snapped over her shoulder. She dropped into a crouch beside Dax. “Lieutenant, I need you to prepare a subspace pulse, modulated to this exact frequency,” she typed the numbers into the ops station, “and targeted at these coordinates.”

When Dax saw the place Kalara was pointing, he looked as if he was going to object, but one glance at Kalara’s face convinced him to simply obey the order. She stood over his shoulder as he prepared the pulse, realigning the subspace emitter and rerouting power through the relays. Once it was done, he looked back at her and nodded. Kalara turned to Williams at the helm.

“Lieutenant Williams, bring us around to face the nearest cruiser.”

The words had barely left her mouth before the ship had already begun spinning on its axis, only the artificial gravity keeping them all from being hurled through the nearest bulkhead. The ‘cruiser filled the screen, already unleashing another holocaust of phased energy at the now oncoming Redemption.

The bridge erupted in fire and smoke. Flames clawed at work stations and half the holographic emitters failed, revealing the blackened plating of the bridge’s walls. One of the security officers was thrown over the railing – Kalara glimpsed Doctor Molak rushing down the steps, tricorder in hand. She turned back to the forward view and snarled.

“Fire the pulse.”

The Klingon cruisers bore down on them, weapons blazing. Kalara knew that this was their only chance. She clenched her hand into a fist, her fingernails biting into her flesh. A red electric pulse leapt from beneath the saucer section, striking at the exact coordinates she had indicated, just below the nearest cruiser’s bridge.

“Sir,” L’wynd exclaimed, obviously astonished. “Their shields. They’re down.”

Thank you Father. Kalara smiled. “Fire at will.”

As Williams tried to evade the other ship’s fire, L’wynd fired everything they had. Phaser banks cast lances of red fury, torpedo launchers hurled power that defied quantum physics, all aimed at the oncoming ship. Every shot counted and every shot drilled into the Klingon ship. She spun out of control, dropping out of the pursuit, dead in the water.

“That”s one down,” Dax shouted out. He paused, a strange look on his face, then he shook his head. “We did it, Captain.”

Kalara allowed herself a tight smile, deciding not to correct him for her rank. “One being the operative word, Lieutenant. There’s another one to go.”

As if in response, the other ‘cruiser, K’mpak’s cruiser, fired a volley of torpedoes that caught the Redemption as she attempted to spin out of the way. The ship seemed as if she was going to shake apart. This is far from over, she thought. She looked down at Dax.

“Lieutenant. Prepare another subspace pulse.”

Looking back up at the ship, she hoped that the trick would work just as well a second time.

Hornet-Class Starfighter
Dominion Battlecruiser
Romulus Orbit

Ba'el flew so close to the Battlecruiser's ventral hull that he could almost see through her viewports.

He kept a tight hold on the controls - a single deviation up or down would send him crashing into the shield or the hull. Neither option seemed particularly inviting. At least not before he had finished what he had started.

He jinked to the left to avoid one of the phaser cannons, increasing his aft shield strength just in case it managed to get off a lucky shot. One thing he had learned during the Occupation was that a Dominion Battlecruiser's short range sensors were pitiful. If one of the Klingons wanted to pick him off, they were going to have to do it by line of sight. As soon as he was out of range, he shunted the power back to the forward shields in anticipation of the next cannon.

Swinging up and around the side of the 'cruiser, he caught a glimpse of his target - the shield generators surrounding the ship's engineering section. He juked to the left, then dove down even closer to the hull, raking the hull plates with phaser fire. With a quick twist of the controls, he brought the nose up until he could see the mushroom like generators. Squeezing the trigger, he launched one, two, three torpedoes at the generators, twisting away at the last second to avoid a pot-shot from a nearby cannon.

His controls lit up green. He pulled the fighter's nose around again to see both generators reduced to nothing more than smoking ruins. Gripping the controls, Ba'el sent his fighter spinning through a hail of debris, allowing his sensors to guide him up and out of the breach in the shields. Stars whirled in the cockpit viewer. He had done it!

As he went to toggle on the intership comm, he felt something hit him from behind, throwing him forward in his restraints. Electricity raced across his console and the smell of ozone filled the cabin. He looked down at his readouts. He'd lost everything but propulsion and basic helm control. No weapons, no shields. One more lucky shot and he was dead.

"That's it," he shouted, finally turning the comm system on. "Fire."

Nothing happened. He glanced out at the view, then down at his sensors. Nothing. All three of the fighters were gone. They had all been destroyed. The hole was there, but there was no one to take advantage of it.

No one but me. He realised what he had to do. Strangely, he felt at peace with the idea. Flipping over, he brought the nose of the fighter back towards the 'cruiser. If he struck the engineering section at full impulse, he should burst straight through the hull. The explosion would take out the core.

Before he could engage the drive, though, a volley of torpedoes flashed by his cockpit. He glanced back at his sensor screen and saw a single fighter coming in hot.

"Thought you might need some help, Joker," Commander Turner's voice came over the com system. Ba'el did not think he had ever heard a more welcome sound.

“Thanks.”

The torpedoes burst through the hole in the shields, piercing the hull and exploding in a vast plume of fire. As Ba’el had hoped, the explosion of the core caused a chain reaction. Fire erupted all over the ship’s hull, plumes reaching out into space like solar flares. The ship was tearing herself apart from the inside.

Ba’el did not wait to see the result. He turned his fighter around, engaging the impulse drive to carry him away from the dying ship as quickly as possible. In his rear sensor feed, he saw Turner fall in behind him. She hailed him.

“What now?”

Ba’el searched the stars for Redemption. He saw her, speeding away from the blackened hull of a Klingon cruiser. She got one, he thought proudly. The other ‘cruiser was in pursuit. Turning his fighter towards them, he shunted as much power as he could from the dead systems towards the impulse drive. “Now, we save my ship.”

Chapter 13

Bridge
USS Redemption

''Damage report!"

Jasto struggled to stay in his seat, one hand gripping the chair while with the other he tried to pull up the necessary information on his readout. Another explosion rocked the ship, whipping his head back.

"Hull breaches on decks eleven through fifteen,” he shouted over the sound of screaming metal. “Engineering reports that the impulse engines have suffered severe damage to their primary relays. We've lost forward shields and..."

Dax felt the deck buckle beneath him, as if some unseen hand had grabbed the ship and shaken it, hard. A relay running under the deck exploded, venting smoke and flames into the air. All the lights on the bridge flickered out, and the holographic illusion of space vanished completely from the walls.

The heat seared his throat, making him cough. The UPS grid suddenly came to life and the emergency power systems sprang to life. Through the gloom, Dax saw Commander Kalara pick herself up from the deck, hair waving wildly around her face, blood on her lips. She reached up a hand and savagely wiped it away.

Another shock ran through the ship. "Evasive manoeuvres," Kalara ordered. There was no response.

Dax glanced over at Williams only to see her bloodied body lying prostrate on the deck. Just next to the fire caused by the burst power relay.

Oh no. He tried to get to his feet and help her. He was half out of his seat when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder and found himself forced back down.

"I'll take care of her," Commander Kalara said. "I need you to fly the ship."

Dax hesitated for a moment, and then he nodded, turning back to his holographic console. Thank the Pools of New Trill, the holographic command and control consoles all had their own power sources, which would keep them running despite the failure of the primary relays. He accessed the helm system, transferring control of the thrusters to his position.

As he did, he heard a voice whispering in the back of his mind. You left her to die. You did. You did the same as me. You're going to be punished.

Haebron's giggle sent shivers down Dax's spine. Not now, he prayed. Please, not now.

XXX

Kalara grabbed a medical kit from a wall console on her way to Lieutenant Williams’ side. With her headset on, she saw the starfield swerve suddenly as the ship narrowly avoiding a volley of torpedoes. How many damned torpedoes does that thing have?!

She reached her helmsman's side, stopping a few steps away and running a tricorder over her injuries. When the computer confirmed that there was no internal bleeding, she grabbed the girl's ankles and dragged her out of danger. Then she pulled a hypo from the kit, charging it full of bymexazine.

As she injected the stimulant into Williams' body, the ship slewed suddenly to port, then shuddered. Another explosion erupted, this time from above the Pit, and she heard a scream. The stench of burning flesh became almost overpowering.

“Report!”

“We’re dead in the water, Captain,” Dax said. “Main power is off line, we’ve lost helm control and weapons. But… I think we hit her, ma’am, with our last volley. She’s adrift.”

So are we. Kalara changed the settings on her viewfinder, revealing the Klingon cruiser spinning slowly through space behind them. She tapped her comm badge.

"Kalara to Lieutenant-Commander Ianto."

"Engineering here, Commander." She heard men yelling something about a fire behind him.

"I need main power back on line now, Ianto. We’re both drifting here, so the first one to get weapons or propulsion back on line is going to have the advantage."

"I'm doing everything I can, Commander."

"I know you are. Do more. Kalara out."

“Captain!” Dax’s voice rose over the sound of sirens that filled the bridge. “We’ve got incoming. Two, make that three ships arriving from the far side of the system on an intercept course. They’re…” He looked up, a grin on his face. “It’s Starfleet, ma’am.”

Kalara called up the information on her viewfinder. Three Starfleet attack ships, led by a Defiance-class frigate, were headed for Redemption at full impulse speed.

“They’re hailing us.”

“Put them through, Lieutenant.”

A tall, striking Romulan woman appeared in Kalara’s viewfinder. She smiled. “This is Captain Tal’ydia of the Opalius. Sorry to be late, Captain, but as the humans like to say, better late than never.”

“I’m just happy to see you, Captain.”

“Yes, I can imagine you are. The other Klingon ships have been taken care of. From what I can see, you’re both dead in space. It looks like you took quite a…”

“Captain!”

Kalara looked over at L’wynd. “The Klingon cruiser seems to have regained helm and thruster control. They’ve engaged their impulse drive and they’re… They’ve set a collision course.”

Shit! “Did you hear that Captain?”

Tal’ydia was already looking away to someone on her own bridge. When she looked back at Kalara, she did not look happy. “According to our best estimates, the Klingon ship will impact with yours fifteen seconds before we reach you.”

Kalara took a moment to digest the information. “I understand. Would you excuse me for a moment, Captain?”

The Romulan nodded her head. Kalara cut the communication and turned to Dax. “Hail K’mpak.”

Moments later, the scarred general appeared on the viewfinder. He snarled. “You betrayed me, kapamai.” Kalara frowned. Kapamai was an old Klingon word. It meant spy. Had the fool lost his mind? “But you wished me to destroy that glorious ship of yours and that is what I’m going to do.”

“K’mpak, listen to me…”

“No! I will not listen to a traitor.”

“He cut the communication,” Dax said as K’mpak vanished. “They’re increasing speed.”

“Kalara to Ianto. If you’re going to bring back full power, now is the time to do it.”

“I’m sorry, Commander. There’s nothing I can do.”

Kalara would not allow herself to give in to despair. She forced herself to her feet and walked over to Dax, Q’sar and L’wynd. “Suggestions?”

All three of them refused to meet her eyes. “Gentlemen, this is our last chance. Unless we can come up with something in the next few moments, this ship and everyone on board is going to die.”

Silence. She was about to make one last attempt, when she saw Dax frown at his readout. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

“We’re being hailed again, Captain. It… The person says he is Captain Ba’el Sarine and he knows how to save the ship!”

Hornet-Class Starfighter
On approach to USS Redemption

Ba’el made sure that his suit was pumping enough oxygen into his helmet before shutting down life-support, throwing all of the power he could into the impulse drive. “Repeat, this is Captain Ba’el Sarine,” he shouted into the comm system, “and if you want to save that god-damned ship you’d better listen to me.”

In front of him, he could see the Klingon cruiser moving closer and closer, faster and faster, towards Redemption. His sensors had already confirmed the obvious – the Federation ships that had just arrived wouldn’t get there in time.

“Captain Sarine, this is Commander Kalara.”

“Finally,” Ba’el shouted. “It’s about time.”

“Lieutenant Dax says you know how to save the ship.”

“You have to engage the slipstream drive.”

“What?!” A male voice cut in. Ba’el guessed it was Lieutenant Dax. “That’s insane.”

“Captain, forgive me, but you must be kidding.”

“I wish people would stop saying that. Listen, if you engage your slipstream drive, it will create a quantum singularity right in front of your bow. Directly…”

“In the path of the Klingon ship,” Lieutenant Dax finished. “Cap- I mean Commander, he might be on to something.”

“No,” he heard Kalara say. “It is too dangerous. Not only would we be destroying General K’mpak’s ship, we would likely be destroying the Redemption as well.”

“I know it’s a risk, Commander, but it’s the only chance you have. It might just buy you the time you need for the other ships to reach you.”

“Or it might create a singularity that would engulf this whole system. We have no idea how the slipstream aperture might react under these conditions and…”

“Listen, we don’t have time to argue,” Ba’el snapped. “I am Captain of the Redemption and I’m telling you to engage your slipstream drive.”

“No!” This Kalara woman was really starting to piss him off.

“Are you refusing a direct order, Commander?”

“I don’t recognise your authority to give it, Captain.”

Fine, if that’s the way you want to play this… “Lieutenant Dax, this is your captain speaking. I know we’ve never met, but I’m sure you’ve been informed that Starfleet has placed me in command of the Redemption. I am ordering you to engage the slipstream drive.”

“Captain, I…”

“Lieutenant, that is a direct order.”

Kalara spoke over him. “Lieutenant, I am in command of the Redemption until Captain Sarine has been confirmed as captain through due process. And I am ordering you not to engage the drive.”

And the Klingon ship drew closer.

Bridge
USS Redemption

Jasto stared at the oncoming Klingon ship and tried desperately to think of another way. Haebron had begun to scream in his head, relegating Captain Sarine and Commander Kalara’s words to distant background noise. The Klingon ship grew larger and larger in his viewfinder. He could just see Astrid Williams’ broken body out of the corner of his eye, like a ghost come to haunt him.

“Listen, we don’t have time to argue,” Captain Sarine was saying. “I am Captain of the Redemption and I’m telling you to engage your slipstream drive.”

Jasto reacted on instinct, pulling up the command control for the slipstream drive and prepared to activate it. His hand was about to press the activation command when Kalara grabbed his arm.

“No!”

“Are you refusing a direct order, Commander?”

Jasto turned his face and saw her sneer. “I don’t recognise your authority to give it, Captain.”

“Lieutenant Dax, this is your captain speaking. I know we’ve never met, but I’m sure you know that Starfleet has placed me in command of the Redemption. I am ordering you to engage the slipstream drive.”

Even with over a dozen lifetimes of experience, the memories of leaders, healers, rebels, killers and counsellors to draw upon, he had no idea what to do. “Captain, I…”

“Lieutenant, this is a direct order.”

“Lieutenant, I am in command of the Redemption until Captain Sarine has been confirmed as captain through due process. And I am ordering you not to engage the drive.”

Jasto stared at his readout, the sound of Captain Sarine and Commander Kalara’s arguing fading away. It all came down to a choice – his choice. He could let the Klingon ship kill them, or he could take a chance. In his mind’s eye, he was Ezri Dax as she activated the self-destruct and guided the USS Titan towards the Dominion Battlecruiser that had just obliterated Trill. He was Lerin as he allowed Doctor Caemin to remove the symbiont before strapping a bomb to his chest and walking into the Vorta High Command on Khitomer. He was Jadzia, and Curzon, and Haebron, and Karina and all of them. They all spoke to him through Dax, telling him what he had to do, what it took to be a Dax.

Shaking off Kalara’s grip, he activated the drive.

Hornet-class Starfighter
On approach to USS Redemption

“Do you hear me, Lieutenant, activate the damned drive!”

As Ba’el’s words faded, blue light appeared suddenly from the bottom of the ship. The deflector array manipulated the quantum field on the sub-atomic level and projected it out towards the oncoming Klingon cruiser. Ba’el watched the light pierce the space in front of the ship and then it began to spin. From his vantage point, it looked like a rapidly revolving ball of white light, growing exponentially as it opened out like a swirling flower. The light turned blue, then crystallised into the aperture of a tunnel through subspace.

The Klingon cruiser struck the aperture from behind. The gravitational forces seized it like a giant seizing a rattle, shaking and shattering it. Ba’el could only stare as the cruiser broke up into a thousand pieces. Ripped apart.

You did it. He felt hollow. Empty. You did it again.

Bridge
USS Redemption

Dax stared in horror as the subspace tunnel tore the Klingon cruiser apart. Although this was the ship that had destroyed Starbase 2, had inflicted so much damage and killed so many of his fellow officers, never mind all of the civilians who had been serving aboard the station, the way that they had died was not something he would wish on anybody.

Beside him, he saw Kalara move. He looked up at her as she lifted her hand to strike him. They both stared at one another, caught in that moment like insects in amber. Finally, her hand fell back down without making impact. The look in her eyes, though, was enough. The hatred and disgust he saw there was unlike anything he had seen even in fifteen lifetimes.

Suddenly, her comm badge beeped. “Ianto to Kalara.”

“What is it Ianto?”

“The slipstream drive is out of control, Commander. Without main power, the safeguards have failed. That aperture is going to keep on growing unless we do something.”

“Are you saying we have to eject the core?”

“No, Commander. I’m saying that without main power, we can’t. Unless we find another solution, that aperture is going to destroy the ship and then it’s going to engulf this entire system.”

Main Engineering
USS Redemption

Ianto waited for Kalara to say something. While he waited, his positronic matrix calculated the chances of survival. Within a couple of nano-seconds, he had the answer. It was not good. A good thing he had switched off his father’s emotion chip. Otherwise he would probably be absolutely terrified right about now.

All around him, the scars of the battle with the Klingons were strewn throughout the vast cavernous space. Pipes and wiring hung from the ceiling, great jagged holes had been blown through the bulkheads. Injured crewmembers cared for ones who were worse off, while those who were still able tried to hold the brand new ship together.

“Commander?”

“Wh- What can we do?”

He sighed. He had been hoping that she would come up with some miracle solution, worried that she was going to ask him for one. He had an idea, but she wasn’t going to like it. The easiest solution, he decided, was to simply not tell her.

“I’ll get back to you.”

“Ianto, wait…”

But he had already cut off the communication. She tried to hail him again, but he ignored it. He turned to the closest walking wounded, a young cadet whose brand new uniform was torn, his face covered in sweat and dust and the residue of the fires that had killed so many of his young colleagues. “Cadet, I want you to prepare to raise a level 9 forcefield around the slipstream core.”

“Sir… What are we going to do?”

“You’re going to raise a forcefield around the core.” Ianto laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder. He reminded him of Wesley Crusher. Even with his emotion chip turned off, experience had taught him the reassuring quality a smile could have. He smiled. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

His words seemed to comfort the cadet and he ran over to the nearest control station. Ianto waited for him to give him a thumbs-up, then he headed for the core.

Usually, the slipstream drive was a thing of beauty, an hourglass form with swirling shades of blue, green and purple mixing within the two chambers. Now, though, the colours had taken on a sickly orange tinge and the swirling had become a boiling, like a storm cloud.

Ianto turned back to the cadet. “Cadet, raise the forcefield.”

“But… But Chief, you’ll be trapped inside.”

Ianto smiled, again. He activated a soothing routine in his vocal sub-processors. “I know. Do what I say, cadet.”

The boy hesitated, then his fear got the better of him and he engaged the forcefield. Ianto saw the flickering glimmer of the defensive shield as it rose up around him. He knew that it would have no effect if he failed, but it would keep out anyone who wanted to stop him.

Ianto took a moment to look around the engine room. She was a good ship. Not as good as the Enterprise, but Redemption had had promise. He was only sad that he wouldn’t get to see her fulfill it.

“Computer, activate program Ianto Delta 7.”

He waited for the computer to confirm that the program had been successfully activated. At least now she wouldn’t be able to get in here to try and stop him. He wondered for a moment what the chances were that he would survive this. The calculation was almost instantaneous.

Then, at peace, he turned and reached out his hands towards the core.

Hornet-Class Starfighter
On approach to USS Redemption

Ba’el wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. The subspace aperture continued to grow. Filaments of pure quantic energy writhed across the vacuum of space, licking at the front section of Redemption like some spatial predator playing with its prey.

Looking down, he checked his sensors, but they only confirmed his fears. The aperture was getting bigger, feeding on the local gravitational field to stoke its hunger. If someone didn’t stop it, it would tear Redemption apart. It would continue to grow and it might just turn into a singularity. Ba’el had seen it happen once, in the last days of the Occupation. The Topakin system. A whole colony world had been destroyed by a subspace distortion explosive launched by the Dominion into the middle of a small rebel fleet. The whole system remained a no-fly zone even today, a patchwork of quantum singularities and subspace tears.

The memory crystallised his determination. For the second time that day, he realized that there was only one possible solution. He glanced at Redemption. Despite his best efforts, he had grown attached to the ship. She seemed to represent everything he had fought for. Even now, torn apart and broken, she was beautiful. He closed his eyes. He would have liked to command her. There, he had admitted it. He would have liked to sit in that captain’s chair.

Well, what is meant to be… He opened his eyes and called up a system’s check on his controls. The status of the warp core scrolled across his screens. Though pretty much everything else was down, the core still seemed to be intact. He took a deep breath. You don’t have a choice, he told himself. Ignoring the fear that clawed at his belly, he began to initiate the self-destruct sequence.

Almost immediately, his comm crackled. “Captain, what the hell are you doing?” Turner’s voice echoed in the cockpit.

He ignored her.

“Captain Sarine, our sensors are reading a build-up of energy in your warp core,” Lieutenant Dax’s voice replaced Turner’s. “Do you require assistance?”

He ignored him, as well.

Once the self-destruct sequence had been initialized, he checked his navigational sensors to see how long it would take him to reach the aperture under full impulse. Then he set the destruct sequence for 60 seconds.

“Captain, turn off your engines, now!” He saw Turner begin to swing her fighter towards him. “God help me, Captain, if you don’t, I’ll…”

He keyed on the intercom. “I just want to say thank you, Turner. Thank you for letting me make a difference.”

Ignoring her protests, he shut off the intercom, turned the nose of his fighter towards the aperture and engaged the impulse drive.

Jeffries Tube
Deck Twenty-One
USS Redemption

Kalara kicked out at the access panel again and again, pouring every ounce of anger and frustration into the metal screen. It crumpled outwards then burst from the hatch, tumbling to the metal floor below. She slid forward, clambering out of the hatch and stepping down into the corridor.

The smell of super-heated metal and burning wires filled the enclosed space. Lights flicked above her, hopelessly trying to break through the haze that hung in the air like a shroud. Kalara set off at a run, her heart racing. Though there hadn’t been anything tangible in Ianto’s voice to worry her, the moment he cut off her comm line, she had known something wasn’t right. When he refused to answer her further hails, she had left Lieutenant Dax in charge of the shattered bridge and taken the Jefferies’ tubes down to engineering.

Thoughts of Lieutenant Dax left her with a bitter taste in the mouth. The p’tagh had betrayed her, had disobeyed a direct order. And for what? The ship was going to be destroyed anyway. And all of those Klingons aboard K’mpak’s ship… They had died without honor. She wasn’t sure which thought made her feel sicker.

Her thoughts evaporated as she reached the doors to Main Engineering. One of them had been crumpled outwards by some unseen force, while the other had collapsed to the side. Setting her feet, she wedged her fingertips beneath the collapsed door and pulled. Pain stabbed through her every muscle, but she pushed past it. The door rose, little by little, until she could just about squeeze underneath. She forced her whole body through the gap, pushing forward with her shoulders until she popped through, tumbling to the floor of the engine room.

Scrambling to her feet, she looked around for Ianto. All eyes seemed trained on the slipstream drive. When she followed their gaze, she frowned. Energy flowed out of the drive in great flickering tongues of electricity. A shadow seemed caught in the middle of the flow. When she caught a glimpse of golden skin and a black uniform, she screamed.

“No!” She ran forward, but found herself grabbed from behind. She turned and kicked out blindly, catching a young human cadet in the mouth. He rolled away, his hands cupping the blood that burst from his lip and broken teeth.

He had slowed her down, though, long enough for three engineers to reach her. They fell on her and held her down as she struggled to fight free.

“Commander, you can’t go in there.”

“I have to do something. I can’t just leave him.”

“It’s too late. You’ll just get yourself killed.”

“But what’s he doing?”

“We think…” The man’s voice broke. “We think he’s created some kind of feedback loop with his own body, to relieve the pressure in the drive.”

“He’s going to die.”

“He… He’s locked us out of the forcefield controls. He knew what he was doing, Commander.”

All of the strength left her body. The three engineers held on for another few moments, then realized that she had stopped fighting them. They let go, stumbling to their feet, and for the first time, Kalara realized that every single one of them was carrying an injury.

“How… How long?” she asked.

One of the engineers, a Bolian, shrugged. “We have no way of knowing.”

“And will it work?”

He shrugged again. “If he hadn’t done it, the core would probably already have exploded.”

Kalara took a step towards the forcefield. All three jumped in front of her, but she waved them away. “I… I’ll stay a safe distance away. I need to speak to him.” She couldn’t believe how tired her voice sounded.

They hesitated, then one by one they fell back. Kalara stepped past them, approaching the forcefield.

She pressed her commbadge. “Kalara to… Kalara to Ianto.”

She saw his head drop. His voice, when she heard it, sounded faint. Damaged. For the first time since she had known him, he sounded like a machine. “Ianto… here.”

“Ianto. What have you done?”

“My duty, Commander.”

“Ianto please. Don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry… Kalara.” His voice was devoid of any emotion. Mechanical. Dead.

“Why are you doing this?”

“It was… the only way.”

Another burst of energy ran through him and she saw his body convulse. “Are you… Are you in pain?”

“No, Kalara. I have turned off my father’s emotion chip. I feel nothing.”

“Oh Ianto. We could have found another way.”

“There was no other way.”

“But surely…”

“I… I cannot hold it much longer.”

“No, Ianto, please, you have to…”

“Do not mourn for me, Kalara. This was meant to be.”

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but a burst of light engulfed the space inside the forcefield. She tried to watch for as long as she could, but the light was too bright. She turned away, tears of fury running down her cheeks.

When she looked back, her friend was gone.

Kalara, daughter of Elyra, threw back her head and screamed.

Hornet-class Starfighter
30 seconds from impact

Time seemed to pass slowly as his fighter sped towards the subspace tunnel. Ba’el had been told that when people saw death approaching, they saw their whole life flash before their eyes. Ba’el saw only his wife and his son. Not a vision of their life together or what their life could have been. Instead, he simply saw their faces reflected in the cockpit window, as if it had become a viewscreen back in time. Both of them were smiling.

For the first time in years, Ba’el was at peace. He could feel that this was supposed to happen. Every decision he had made in the past few days had been leading him up this. He would sacrifice his life to save that ship, so that she and her crew would go on and complete the mission. A mission of restoration and of redemption. And he… He would see his family again. He had never been more certain of anything. This was his time and they were waiting for him.

His fighter struck the aperture and the warp core overloaded and Ba’el Sarine was filled with light.

Chapter 14

Transporter Room 3
USS Redemption

Ba'el Sarine was filled with light.

Then the transporter effect faded and he found himself crouching over a glowing pad. Losing his balance, he tumbled back on his ass, staring in surprise at the young transporter operator who stood behind the controls. He was alive. Somehow, against all odds, he was alive. And if his guess was right he was on the Redemption.

The vision of his wife and son wavered for a moment longer in front of him then vanished. He closed his eyes, squeezing back the tears. They had no right to take that away from him. His first reaction was despair, followed swiftly by anger. It had been his time. He knew it had been his time and he had been ready for it.

He opened his eyes again when he heard the transporter operator tap his comm badge. He was surprised to see a young Vulcan officer stood behind the console. The Vulcan’s uniform was dirty and torn, his eyes bloodshot. "Transporter room 3 to bridge. We have him, Lieutenant."

"Well done, Ensign,” came the now familiar voice of Lieutenant Dax. “Please escort the Captain to the bridge."

"Aye, sir."

The Vulcan walked around his console and over to Ba'el. Leaning down, he offered his arm. Ba'el stared at it for a moment, feeling numb. Part of him wanted to swing for the man. Instead, he reached up and took the proffered forearm, pulling himself up. Once he was on his feet, he twisted off the helmet, letting it drop next to the transporter pad.

"If you'll follow me, sir."

Out in the corridors, men and women stumbled from one place to the next, caked in soot and blood. They looked like refugees stepped out of the past, reminding Ba'el of similar faces he had seen back on Earth just after the end of the Occupation. Though a few glanced at Ba'el and his escort as they passed, most wore the dazed and damaged expressions of the damned.

None of them were expecting this, Ba'el thought. He felt a surge of fury wash away his own feeling of despair. Dammit, we were supposed to be done with this kind of thing.

The corridor ended at a white door, Bridge written in the top corner with clear silver markings. The Vulcan ensign tapped the pad beside the door. Nothing happened. He tapped it again, harder this time, but it still remained stuck. Ba’el pushed the man aside and placed both his hands against the warm metal. The Vulcan realised what he was doing and added his own strength as Ba’el pushed back with his knees. With the groan of tortured metal, the door slid into the wall. Ba’el stepped through on to the bridge and stopped dead.

The bridge was a wreck. Hull plating had buckled in numerous places, revealing the conduits, wiring and tubes underneath. Smoke choked the room, the internal climate controls unable to handle the conditions. A handful of security officers stood around the walls and they saluted when they saw Ba’el. The Vulcan stepped past them, over to the railing, then looked back at Ba’el, waiting for him to join him.

Having studied the Redemption's specs on his way to Romulus, he knew that this deep indentation was known as the Pit. It was in even worse shape than the higher section. Two officers stood amongst the ruins, huddled together in a tight knot around the central captain’s chair. One of them, a male Trill whose eyes seemed to shine with haunted regret, looked up at him. He seemed confused for a moment, then his eyes cleared and he snapped to attention.

"Captain on the bridge."

The other officer – a strange being with hard, opalescent skin – turned in surprise, then saluted when she glimpsed Ba’el above them. Ba'el lifted both his hands. God, they're so young.

"At ease gentlemen. Report."

"The warp core breach destabilised the slipstream aperture, sir,” Lieutenant Dax said. “It’s collapsed back into subspace. Main power is still off line and the comm system seems to be down - we can't reach the engineering section."

"Where is Commander Kalara?"

Before Dax could respond, a broken voice spoke behind him. "I'm right here, Captain."

He turned to see a tall Klingon woman stood in the doorway. Her eyes were wild, almost feral. In her hand was a phase-pistol, trained on Ba'el.

He couldn't hold back a smile. Here we go. "Quite a welcome, Commander."

She stepped through the door, the phaser never wavering. "Captain Sarine, I'm placing you under arrest for inciting a Starfleet officer to mutiny."

He lifted his hands. "I think Command might have something to say about that, Commander. After all, they placed me in command of the Redemption.”

“Not until the official transference of power, Captain. Until then, I’m in command of this ship and I gave a direct order. You forced Lieutenant Dax to disobey that order. Starfleet Regulation 234, sub-section 9 clearly says…”

“I don’t care about your Starfleet regulations, Commander.” She shut up in surprise. “I am in command of this vessel and I made a decision.”

“One that cost those Klingons aboard that ship their lives.”

“Is that what’s bothering you, Commander? Would you be less affected if it had been a ship full of Romulans?”

Kalara snarled. “Do not dare imply that I would have acted any differently if…”

“Oh come on, Commander. Can you really tell me that if that had been a Romulan ship out there, you wouldn’t have ordered Lieutenant Dax to initiate that slipstream tunnel? Those poor Klingons just destroyed a Federation Starbase. Or don’t you care about that?”

“Shut up,” Kalara lifted the phaser higher. “You’re under arrest.” She turned to the Xindi-reptilian who stood beside the door. “Lieutenant Vareen, take Captain Sarine to…”

“Commander, you can’t do this.”

Lieutenant Dax and the female officer with the strange skin had joined them on the higher level. It was the Trill officer who had spoken.

“Do not tell me what I can or cannot do, Lieutenant. You’re in enough trouble as it is. Now, Lieutenant Vareen.”

The Xindi stepped towards Ba’el. At the same time, a phaser beam streaked past her, striking the railing next to Ba’el. Everyone moved at once, phasers dragged from holsters, fingers twitching above trigger stubs. Ba’el glanced past the security officer. Flight Commander Turner stood behind her, her phaser aimed squarely at Commander Kalara. She held her helmet under her arm. She smiled.

“In trouble again, sir?”

Ba’el did not smile back. There were as many phasers pointed at him and Turner as there were at Kalara and Vareen. “Good to see you, Commander.”

“Who is she?” Kalara snarled.

“She is the Redemption’s new Flight Commander. She’s with me.”

“I’d suggest that you drop your phaser, Commander. I’m not sure exactly what setting this is on and I would hate to make a mistake.”

“This is mutiny.”

“That’s what I was going to say,” Turner retorted.

Ba’el looked Kalara in the eyes. “Is this really what you want, Commander? To tear this crew apart in a running firefight through the corridors? If you’re willing to take it that far, you should know one thing.” His eyes bore into hers. “I’ll take it even further.”

He could see in her eyes that she was wavering. He pressed on. “Do you really want to see how far you can push me? Or are you going to drop your phaser and let Command decide who was right and who was wrong?”

The Klingon woman glanced around the bridge, seeming to take in the drawn weapons and hard eyes for the first time. Her hand shook slightly, then she let the phaser drop to the deck. Ba’el heard an audible sigh as everyone on the bridge suddenly let out their collective breaths. Hands relaxed, phasers dropped. Kalara’s head fell. Part of him wanted to go over to her – he got the feeling that she was suffering more than he was. But he kept his distance. He had to for what he was about to do.

“Lieutenant Vareen, Commander Turner, please place Commander Kalara under arrest.”

“What?” Kalara looked up, shock and pain mirrored in her eyes. “But…”

“Thank you for preserving the peace, Commander. But I can’t have you running around this ship.” He stepped close to her. “I can’t trust you.”

Turner was already at the Klingon woman’s side. Vareen hesitated, then she stepped forward as well. “The brig, Captain?”

He shook his head. “No. Place her under guard in her quarters until we get back to Command.”

Both officers did as they were told. Each took one of Kalara’s arms. The Klingon glared at him. “You won’t get away with this,” she spat back at him as she was led off. He nodded. You’re probably right.

Taking a deep breath, he turned. “I’m aware none of you know me. You probably don’t trust me. You may or may not agree with my decisions, but I am assuming command of this ship. Anyone who doesn’t accept that, you’re more than welcome to go back to your quarters and wait there until we return to Command.” He waited for a beat, looking each and every member of the bridge crew in the eyes. None of them moved. “Good. Now that that’s done, what do you say we get this ship back to the construction yards?”

He pushed past them and walked over to the steps that led down into the Pit. With every step, he felt the fluttering in his stomach increase. Last time he had felt this way, he had been about to invite Elera to dinner for the first time. They had been in the mess hall of the Kie’ranis, the rebel ship where they had both been serving. What’s the matter with me? Still, he couldn’t deny the feeling. He was nervous.

Stepping down into the Pit, he hesitated before walking over to the captain’s chair. He reached down and picked up the headset that hung halfway to the floor, turning it around in his hands. He felt the eyes of every man and woman on the bridge watching him, waiting to see what he would do.

This was his chance, he realized. If he wanted to, he could put the headset back on the chair, call Commander Kalara back and go home. He would be free. Free to go back to a life without meaning. Free to deny Elera and Torvol’s sacrifice. Free to allow this galaxy he had fought so hard for fall back into chaos. Today had given him a glimpse of what that could be. Not again, he vowed. Never again.

Taking a deep breath, he placed the headset on his forehead, allowing the viewfinder to drop over his eye.

Then he sat down in the captain’s chair, and began to issue orders.

End of Volume One – Redemption

Coming Soon: Volume Two – Aftermath!!