Mack had been asleep for perhaps ten minutes when there was a noise. Years of prison life had conditioned her, and she slept on a hair trigger. She was up in a flash, and grabbed at the intruder quickly. 

The intruder was … furry. 

“Sorry! Sorry!” It was Crita’s voice. 

“Wha –?” Mack blinked several times. “Lights!” Sure enough, she had Crita by the scruff of her furry white neck. “Uh, sorry.” She released the Daranaean. “What are you doing here?” Silently, she cursed herself for not locking the door. There had been no locks at Canamar, except at the exterior – the thought simply hadn’t crossed her mind. 

“I, uh,” Crita had a pillow and a small blanket with her – too small to actually cover her. “Can I sleep here tonight? Please?” 

“What’s the matter? Did you pick a bunk too close to where they’re working? You can go to just about any of the other bunks, yanno.” 

“It’s, no, the noise level is fine. It’s that,” Crita admitted, “it is scary, alone at night. I have never slept by myself before.” 

“What about the convent? Uh, the Daranaean dormitory?” 

“They are closed up for the night.” 

“Daniya’s bunk?” Mack asked. 

“It is locked. There is a small smell of her pheromones. I suspect she has less control as she sleeps.” 

“Huh. You’re likely right. Hmm, bed’s kinda small, but not as small as I’m used to.” 

“The bed? Oh, no, I can sleep on the floor. That is what we do.” 

“There’s no padding. Don’t be silly. Take, uh, take the right side. Don’t come onto me, and we’ll be fine.” 

“Excuse me?” Crita was confused, and tilted her head, which gave her even more of a canid appearance. 

“Uh, never mind. What’s that?” Mack indicated the small blanket. 

“My mother gave it to me when I first emerged from her pouch. It still has some of her scent, but that is fading.” 

“Well, whenever we get to Daranaea, you can recharge it, I guess. C’mon, don’t be shy.” 

Crita cautiously got into the bed. “I have never slept on a raised platform before. How do you keep from falling out?” 

“You don’t roll a lot.” 

“Oh. Dana?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Tomorrow, I can return to the dormitory. I can sleep there a few more days.” 

“That’s probably a good idea. But don’t worry. While I’m holding tryouts, I’ll see about getting you a roommate. G’night.” 

“Good night. I  thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it, Puppy Girl. Computer, dim lights.” 

“Puppy Girl?” 

“You remind me of a puppy. It’s meant positively.” 

“Okay. Good night, Dana.” 

=/= 

The next day, Marty had a breakfast meeting with Captain Picard, Chief Medical Officer Beverly Crusher and her son, Wesley. 

“Mister Madden, how was life on the Talos?” asked the captain. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been on it.” 

“Uh, it was okay – smaller than here. Captain? Can I ask you something?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“I’ve read the literature on ionization diffusers. It’s a technology that seems, to me, to still be in its infancy.” 

“What’s an ionization diffuser?” Wesley inquired as he cut a sausage into pieces. 

“It’s a device that Starfleet does not use. It skirts the Treaty of Algeron,” Picard stated a bit sternly.

“What’s that?” Wesley asked. 

“Humans and Romulans agreed to not manufacture – or even research – cloaking technology,” Beverly explained. 

“So it’s a kind of cloak,” her son concluded. 

“It isn’t. At least, the one I’m thinking of isn’t,” Marty stated. 

“So, what is it, if it isn’t a cloak, Mister Madden?” Picard’s tone was a bit more bemused. 

“It’s, here,” Marty grabbed the salt and pepper shakers off the table. “Let’s say the salt is the Enterprise. The pepper is a Borg ship.” 

“The bad guys wear black,” Beverly quipped. 

“Uh, yeah,” Marty said. “This fork,” he used his own utensil, “is some other ship, say, a Tholian ship.” 

“Okay,” Wesley said, passing his mother a basket with croissants in it. 

“Now, the Borg cube, it figures this,” Marty held up the salt shaker, “is the Enterprise. They do their best to destroy it.” 

“If I’m not mistaken,” stated Doctor Crusher, “that’s what’s happening already. Thank you, Wesley.” 

“Exactly,” Marty confirmed, “that’s the status quo ante. Now, let’s assume that the Enterprise is equipped with an ionization diffuser. When we use the diffuser, the strangest thing happens. The Borg scan and they see this,” he held up the salt shaker again, “but they think it’s this.” He held up the fork. 

“What?” asked Wesley. 

“Would the Enterprise be cloaked?” Captain Picard inquired. 

“Not exactly,” Marty explained. “It’s really just a trick to get the Borg cube’s own readings to turn against it. Now, what happens if not only the Enterprise doesn’t look like itself, but instead of looking like a Tholian ship, it looks like another Borg cube?” 

“The Borg would expect certain behaviors,” Picard pointed out, “including boarding the Tholian vessel.” 

“Maybe,” Marty conceded. 

“What if the field were increased somehow?” Wesley asked, scraping his plate. 

“Increased?” asked his mother. 

“The Borg ship – maybe they think they see two other cubes. Is that possible?” Wes asked. 

“I dunno. You’d have to ask Myst – uh, Dana.” Marty said. “But that would come in even handier, as the Borg don’t expect to beam between cubes. Plus, they tend to keep subspace chatter to a minimum.” 

“It’s crude,” Picard observed. 

“It is; I won’t deny that,” Marty conceded. “But with development, it could become something really useful.” 

“But it’s still a cloak,” Beverly concluded.

“No, Mom, it’s really just a means of scrambling sensor data. At least, that’s what I’m thinking, but I’d love to confirm that in person.” 

“Ya wanna?” Marty asked. 

“What?” The younger man was incredulous. 

“This whole shebang is owned by my cousin, Dana MacKenzie. She needs an engineer.” 

“Could I, Mom?” 

“Wesley, one of the great things about being an adult is, you can do whatever you want with your life, without running it by your dear old mother.” 

“So you wouldn’t worry?” 

“I always worry.” 

“When do you stop?” 

Beverly Crusher smiled. “That part never stops.” 

“How much of an engineer are you really, Wes?” asked Marty. “I mean, this is family I’m talking about. I don’t wanna see her hurt if you don’t know what the hell you’re doing.” 

“I’ve got Starfleet training. I’ve worked with Geordi more times than I can count. This sounds, well, it sounds like quite the opportunity.” 

“Well, I can’t guarantee acceptance or anything. If she doesn’t like you, she won’t take you on.”

“Understood,” Wesley said. “Captain, since I’m no longer with Starfleet, this wouldn’t be anything official, right?” 

“I suppose not,” Picard allowed. “Mister Madden, what does your cousin intend to do with, well, I suppose she has a ship, yes?” 

“Yes, she does. She’s looking to barnstorm around the galaxy, sir. She needs a doctor, too. Doctor Crusher, would you know of anyone?” 

Beverly thought for a moment. “I imagine most of the issues would be orthopedic, for playing sports.” 

“You’re likely correct,” Picard agreed. 

“Huh, then – oh, it could work. I was at an Ikaaran Medical Conference last year. They were a most interesting people.” 

“Ikaaran?” asked Marty. 

“They’re empathic healers, Mister Madden,” explained the doctor. “But a trained physician would be best, as there are always going to be problems that can’t just be healed by touch, I’ll bet.” 

“Do you have anyone in particular in mind?” inquired the captain. 

“No one specific, but I can make sure they aren’t Starfleet.” 

“I feel that would be best,” Picard said. 

“Captain,” Marty asked, “she wants me to be a part-owner, of both the team and the ship. Do you think that’ll be a problem?”

“I don’t have any issues with you holding an ownership stake in the team,” Picard conceded. “However, I do think ownership of the vessel – and, by extension, its ionization diffuser – would be far more problematic. I can ask Admiral Nechayev.” He sighed very slightly. 

“Thank you, sir,” Marty said, and then added, “In the interests of full disclosure, you should know, Wes; that my cousin just got out of an Enolian prison called Canamar.” 

Beverly’s eyes widened. “Are we talking about a dangerous criminal here?” 

“No, Doctor,” Marty assured her, “look her up on your PADD, Wes, and you’ll see. Look under Dana MacKenzie – M-A-C.” 

“Okay.” The younger man clicked around a bit. “It says here she was drafted in 2349 and played shortstop for the Titan Bluebirds.” 

“You should look at 2360,” Marty suggested. 

There was a little more clicking. “It says here the team went to Keto-Enol for a little R & R. They were at some open-air market and she had a bag with her. According to the court records, it says there were drugs planted on her. She served, holy cow, almost two decades, and just got out.” 

“That’s an awfully long time for an appeal,” the doctor said sympathetically, “What kind of contraband was planted on her?” 

“It was something called Etrotherium,” Marty explained. 

Beverly shook her head. “What is that, Doctor?” Picard inquired. 

“It’s a rather expensive high, I understand. It’s a derivative of tricoulamine.” 

“The nerve toxin?” the captain asked. 

“Yes,” Beverly confirmed. “It’s particularly hazardous as the processing has to be perfect. Otherwise, it’s lethal to humans and several other species, including Calafans, Caitians, and Daranaeans, just for starters. If I’m recalling correctly, the street name is Fugu.” 

“Fugu?” asked her son. 

“That’s Japanese puffer fish,” Marty explained. “It’s poisonous unless it’s prepared properly. Makes sense to me why it would also be the street name for an equally deadly drug.” 

“Wow,” Wes said. “Commander, how is your cousin affected?” 

“Right now, she’s been quiet about it. I can’t honestly tell you how she’ll finally, really, react. But so far, so good. I spoke with her last night and she was okay, but didn’t wanna think or talk about it. She’s remarkably resilient.” 

“I imagine it was quite the ordeal,” the captain said. There was a chime and he checked his PADD. “Ah, Mister Madden, it’s time for you and I to head to the Bridge. Doctor, Wesley.” 

“See ya,” Beverly smiled as they departed. She turned to her son after they had left. “I thought you told me you had met a girl.” 

“I did, yeah, at Will and Deanna’s wedding,” Wes confirmed. “But I know I’m not ready to settle down just yet. I don’t think Lakeisha is, either.” 

“Lakeisha?” 

“Lakeisha Warren. There was the band from the Academy, remember? She was in it. She plays the French horn. She’s Second Year.” 

“I see,” said his mother. “Go on.” 

“I just think, before I get tied down, I should scratch this traveling itch. I dunno what the future’s gonna bring. I’m hopeful, but I figure even under the best of circumstances, there will still be hurdles to it all working out.” 

“Just don’t add any extra hurdles, Wesley.” 

=/=  

On the Cookie, Mack awoke to find Crita gone. Her own PADD was flashing, signifying that there were messages. She first read Crita’s – I will be at the dormitory if you need me. If you have information on the communications system, I could study that. I thank you for last night. A raised platform is so odd! But I was much less frightened. 

Then Mack read Daniya’s note – Once you get any info on piloting and navigation, I can start studying it. I’ll be in the tavern mostly, reading, and trying to sell my excess stuff. See you soon. 

Mack looked over other notes. The Kreetassan merchant had gotten her preliminary specifications. She passed them along to Crita and Daniya. 

There was a short note from Marty – I might have found you your Engineer. Plus I have a lead on a doctor. 

She responded with her thanks and sent the note quickly. There were already responses to her advertisement. She instructed the computer to only accept one hundred applicants for the fifty openings, and to retain anyone else in reserve. Then she told the computer to randomly number the one hundred anticipated applicants from one to one hundred. 

She padded over to the mess and its working replicator, and got herself a change of clothing and a sesame bagel with cream cheese and a cup of regular coffee. She took all of that back to her new quarters, and made the mistake of looking at more messages. 

It was an older message from 2360.  “Oh, God,” she said aloud to no one. “This is from just as my sentence was starting.” Food and clothing forgotten, she opened the note. 

Misty, 

Your father and I are doing everything in our power to get you freed as soon as possible. Your cousin Martin is trying through Starfleet channels. We are pressing the Titan Bluebirds organization to keep your back wages in trust. We are also praying. We love you and we are still proud of you. 

All my love, Mom. 

Mack stared at the note for a while. “May freakin’ ninth of 2360. Less than two weeks after I was thrown in the slammer for no goddamned good reason! No trial! No evidence! No jury! No judge! No lawyer! All you bastards wanted was a scapegoat. All you Enolians wanted was someone to take the fall for your drug problem. You didn’t really care who was blamed, didja? Didja? What about this, this note? Goddamn you! You never let me see it! You never let me see them. You didn’t even have the basic decency to tell me when they were killed! 

She started sobbing, finding it pouring out of her. It was everything that had been held back while she’d been in Canamar.

It was a good six hours later by the time she finally stopped, feeling dehydrated and exhausted. 

There were a few new messages on her PADD. Daniya had written – I’ve gotten a few buyers for my things. Can you send me information on some of the sports that the team will be playing? I’d like to at least get a passing familiarity. 

Mack found information on all human, Tellarite, Vulcan, Daranaean, and Calafan sports, and sent the file. 

Crita had written – I have studied the specifications you sent. I am certain I now know how to correctly mute the sound on demand. The ship appears to have better range than most. What else do you want me to do? 

Mack sent her the same file, and then wrote to both of them – Sorry about today. Some of it is hitting me. I’ll get it together for tomorrow. Thanks for understanding. 

There was a note from Marty, but she didn’t open it. Instead, she opened a channel to him. “How’re you doing?” she asked him. 

“I’m okay. You look down. Wanna talk?” 

“Not, well, not about myself, not yet.” 

“Got it. I need to get back to the Bridge in a few. Didja see my notes?” 

“I saw you had an engineer for me,” she confirmed. 

“Ah, you didn’t read the second note. He can meet you in two days. He’s already on his way. I should be able to get the doctor to rendezvous with you then, too.” 

“Oh, that’s great,” she said, a little distracted. 

“You look tired, Mystic. Go to bed, okay? We can talk tomorrow, Black Sheep.” 

“Fair enough, Straight Arrow. Thanks for all you did on my appeal, Marty.” 

“Any time. Madden out.” 

Marty returned to the Bridge. Captain Picard said, “I’ll be in my Ready Room. You have the Bridge, Mister Madden.” 

“Aye, sir.” 

In his Ready Room, the captain engaged his computer. “Get me Admiral Nechayev.” 

 “Captain Picard,” she said, “To what do I owe this call?” 

“My new First Officer informs me that a relative of his has purchased a ship with an ionization diffuser.” 

“Oh?” 

“The woman needs a crew, and wants him to be a part-owner of the ship.” 

“I see. Well, Starfleet really can’t directly be a part of that,” she stated flatly. “But the Federation won’t have a problem with its regular citizenry serving on such a vessel. However, Madden cannot be an owner or a part-owner. It’s technically not a violation of the Treaty of Algeron – at least, it’s not against the letter of the treaty, although it would be against its spirit.” 

“That’s about what I told him. She also wants him to become a part-owner of her team.” 

“Team?” 

“The vessel will be used for traveling sport, apparently.” 

“I suppose it’s far enough removed. Jean-Luc, a truly reliable, working diffuser would be of great value to the Federation.” 

“Yet it would also skirt the treaty.” 

“True,” she admitted. “Do you know the name of this relative?” 

“He says her name is Dana MacKenzie,” Picard informed her. 

The admiral checked her PADD briefly. “A nineteen-year Enolian appeal! I imagine Ms. MacKenzie has some tales to tell. Thank you for coming to me with this. Nechayev out.” 

Once the connection was broken, she engaged communications. “Get me Section 31.”