Endeavour 01: Brave New World

Chapter One

“A peace treaty!”

The words were incredulous. Captain Ford had to agree that he’d felt the same sentiment only an hour ago upon hearing the news. He kept his brown eyes even and cool as he regarded his first officer. Commander Ben Thomas was understandably perplexed, and the captain intended to give the hulk of a man plenty of time to adjust and cope before voicing his own feeling on the matter. They each had a lifetime of personal angst to get over before the news would ever make sense.

“A peace treaty…” Thomas repeated, turning to pace across the confines of the captain’s cabin. He stopped before Ford’s antique firearms cabinet. “I can’t fuckin’ believe it…”

Most would blanch at the XO’s use of profanity. It wasn’t common in this day and age. But the captain had used the same and various worse terms from alien tongues. He didn’t have virgin ears.

“How’d this happen?”

Captain Chevis Ford sank down onto his bunk and raised his tumbler of rum back to his lips. “So far as I’m informed by the Command message, Praxis’s explosion three months ago brought on a series of rush negotiations. The Klingons suffered an assassination of Chancellor Gorkon—”

“I’d heard that much…”

“Which led to the first female Klingon Chancellor, Azetbur, Gorkon’s daughter…”

“I hadn’t heard that.”

“Wherein she called for further negotiations at Khitomer. There was this big-ass conspiracy… Something about Klingons, Romulans and certain Starfleet officers being in cahoots and trying to derail the peace initiative. Enterprise and Excelsior intervened and took down a Klingon warship in orbit of Khitomer and the negotiation went off successfully.”

“So now Admiral Sharp’s Starfleet Chief of Operations.”

“Our big boss.” Ford agreed. Word of Sharp’s taking over for Cartwright had come on the heels of news of the latter having been arrested for unspecified breaches of interstellar law. It was all slowly coming into focus in the big picture.

“How’s that affect us?”

“Thus far, our orders are to finish our refit, reprovision and get ready for deployment.”

“Nothing from the top of the food chain?”

Ford looked up at the other, who still held a forgotten drink in his own meaty hand. Thomas was betting that Ford’s friendship with Admiral Sharp had let him in on a few secrets. It had, but only in terms of details about the opponent Enterprise had faced. Sharp had given nothing away as to fleet’s intentions toward their ship. Endeavour was freshly equipped, repaired and champing at the bit. But what would her duty be if the Klingons weren’t the bad guys any more?

“Not really. Just a gentle prod to replace our reassigned division officers.”

Ben rendered a look that was part grimace and part admonition.

“Tactical division would be fine if you hadn’t promoted your chief of security…”

“Fleet gave you such a high rank that the only way I could keep you was to make you XO. Sorry…”

“Keep your ‘sorry’s. I was comfortable. Shoot the guns, beat up the bad guys.”

“Life can’t stay simple forever. Would you rather be commanding a class at Advanced Tactical at the Academy? That’s what your experience and rank gets in that division. You’re better off.”

Thomas pulled at the slim collar of his white duty shirt. He looked good in command division white. Security grey was very subdued. The new gold pin of a full-ranked commander still gleamed on the shoulder of his open jacket. “Probably. I wouldn’t take to any teaching job.” Thomas stared at the blue carpeted deck in silence for a time, then glanced back at Chevis. “I’ll gather you up a list of prospective division officer candidates and all them that might be promoted from within.”

“Thank you, Mister Thomas. I got some data work ahead of me, so…carry on.”

Thomas nodded back, downed his rum in one good gulp and made for the hatch. “I’ll get you that list by oh-eight-hundred tomorrow.” He said, setting his tumbler down as he left. Ford watched as the twin, deep blue doors hissed closed behind him.

Endeavour was nearly empty of personnel and had been powered down for weeks undergoing her scheduled, sixth year refit. The ship had the feel of a house that was empty of all her children. The feeling was temporary. Endeavour was young, and it wasn’t as though they were putting her down. He’d decommissioned his previous command, the Gibbons. She’d been a forty-year-old Okinawa-Class frigate, refitted and retrofitted till she barely resembled her original form. It had been time enough to put her down.

In another week at the most, this ship would be right back out there, making a difference. The only real question would be what kind of differences were necessary in this new world they had found themselves in…

Chapter Two

“I was told you were only accepting applications from Vulcans for the science officer position. Is there a reason for this, Captain?”

Captain Ford looked up from his desk to consider the expression on the dark fleshed Vulcan lieutenant standing at attention before him. He almost immediately chided himself for even looking for an expression. Being Vulcan, there was nothing to see. Her angular face was devoid of obvious emotion. He shrugged as he went back to looking over the data PADD in his palm.

“Commander Thomas knows I prefer a Vulcan head of science, and took the liberty of only selecting applicants from your world.”

“Why the preference?”

The bald headed CO didn’t look up.

“Y’all are smarter than we are.”

“Sir?”

Ah… A bit of surprise in her voice. Ford took a bit of gleeful pleasure at having prized a tiny little hole in her unemotional veneer so swiftly. Innocently he glanced up at her. “You don’t agree, Lieutenant Surall?”

“Sir… I am uncertain how to respond.”

“Your species has a higher average intelligence quotient than mine, right?”

Surall seemed a bit taken aback, leaning a bit further away from the oak desk. Chevis retained his bland expression. The woman seemed to struggle with the right formula with which to answer. Likely she wanted to answer truthfully, but did not wish to ruin her chance to be the chief science officer aboard one of the few Excelsior-class starships. “Sir, perhaps, however—”

Ford smirked, hoping to let her off the hook with his expression.

“A bit of modesty there, Lieutenant?”

“Some, Captain.”

“Good. Suffice it to say that I believe your race to be the most scientifically inclined of all Federation members. An Excelsior requires the very best. Are you it?”

Surall remained quiet for a few heartbeats.

“I believe so, Captain. And I have the experience other candidates do not.”

“Yeah, experience is at a premium these days since Kirk fired up the Genesis Planet and sucked in nearly every good science officer this side of the Great Barrier. You have the job, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Surall turned to leave, heading out to the now nearly fully staffed bridge beyond his ready room. Ford reclined in his office chair and studied the model of his first command, the USS Hawking. Ford was no stranger to combat missions, especially while in command of Endeavour. For all his efforts to replace his former XO with a great science officer, he really had to wonder how much work Miss Surall would really get. Would all the effort be wasted?

A shill reproduction of a boson’s whistle sounded from the desk comm.

“Yes?”

“Communications, sir. Urgent communiqué incoming from Command.”

“Patch it through.”

Ford straightened in his seat as the blue and white seal of the Federation appeared on his visual screen. Ford waited patiently for the system to do its security profile and load the waiting signal. Admiral Sharp’s wide cheeked face was what appeared. Ford instantly smiled.

“Got me a job, boss?”

Sharp’s deflated mood barely lent him to even the faintest smile. He looked over-tired and harried. His normal skin tone was nearly as dark as Ford’s new science officer’s, but today his pallor was faded and strained. His almond shaped eyes focused slowly on the bearded captain. “Yes I do, Captain.”

“Something big?”

“Possibly. You are familiar with the KL-115 sector, are you not?”

“A few parsecs away from Goesa’vaina.”

“Indeed. You’re going to a planet in the Kovarn System within that sector. There is a prison camp based there run by the Ya’wenn. They mine bacinite ore using prisoner labor…” Sharp’s voice seemed so very tired. Likely he had been up all night going over critical developments dealing with the new Klingon situation. “A rumor recently reached General Tor of the Empire that the crew of one of his ships operating near the border might have been captured by a merc ship and taken there in the eighties.”

“Kovarn is on our side of the Neutral Zone?”

“The Klingons would have to cross over it to get there. The rumor reached him after the last bit of negotiations, and Tor’s been ordered to consult Starfleet before undertaking any operation to get any men it might have there.”

“Klingons are playing nice, eh?”

“Yes, they are.”

“So, are we escorting a vengeful cruiser across our space to beat down some non-aligned prison wardens?”

Sharp did smile at that. Almost.

“Not quite, Captain. I’m sending you. Go in, ascertain whether the Klingons are being held there, and if so, effect their return without beating anyone down…if you can manage that…”

Ford nodded seriously.

“Tall order, Admiral. Most non-aligned prison wardens aren’t going to hand over their prisoners without a fight or at least adequate monetary gain. Are we taking any latinum with us?”

“Ten blocks, Captain.”

Ford eyed Sharp closely. That was a huge amount of cash.

“We’re really wanting this treaty with the Klingons.”

“Of course we do, Captain. It’s what we’ve been hoping for.” The Admiral didn’t sound convinced with his spoken conviction. Starfleet opted for peace, but the Klingons had always been the enemy. Weren’t they always supposed to be, now and forever?

“So I’m to sweet talk them?”

“Whatever you have to do. There are other details, Captain, but those will be loaded into your computer within the hour. Go over the briefing info carefully. But whatever goes down there, make sure the Klingons get any survivors back. It’ll go a long way toward securing a future, firm treaty. Good hunting, Captain.”

“Aye, sir.”

The image of Jon Sharp faded and was replaced by the Starfleet security emblem. Ford leaned back in his synthetic leather chair and turned to look out the aft facing window. The cavernous interior of the huge docking station was all that could be seen outside the transparent aluminum porthole. A few, dimly lit windows were all to be had out there. So, he thought, these are the kind of missions that ensure peace. Bringing home the expatriates of your former enemy. He sat still and reflected on it all for a moment. In the end, he liked what he found within himself. His mission was to return captured soldiers to their homeland. He could live with that. Sucking down the last dribble of his near cold coffee, he left his ready room for the bridge beyond.

Passing through the security lobby and the two sentries there, he entered the bridge deck and looked the compartment over. There were a lot of new faces. There were also some familiar ones manning new positions. His gaze went past the new weapons officer, Lieutenant Daniel Nechayev, and fell upon the operations station in front and left of the conn. The large, dark haired man sitting there had been the ship’s former chief of engineering. Now he was the head of operations and every department head aboard answered to him. Ford was about to address him as the communications officer swung his seat around and sounded off in a high pitched young voice. “Captain on the bridge!”

Every hand on deck turned to greet him, some of the older hands doing so with amused looks on their faces. Ford did not disparage the youthful comm officer, but he wasn’t really used to being announced as he stepped onto the bridge. With a smile and a quick nod to all those looking at him, Ford stepped close to the comm station.

“Smith?”

The tall (it seemed most of the bridge crew was taller than he was now…) blonde-headed lad stood up from his station and posed himself at attention. Ford smirked at the display. “Lieutenant Noah Smith, sir!”

“At ease, Lieutenant. You’re straight from the academy, yes?”

“Aye, sir!” The enthusiasm was cute, really…

“Quit yelling. You were promoted straight to O-3 level right after your training cruise due to excellent performance and equally excellent grades, yes?”

Lower now, and with pride.

“Aye, sir.”

“Great, kid. Now don’t rattle off every time I come back from the head. If I want people to take note of my returning to the bridge, I’ll holler at ‘em as I roll through the doors. Got it?”

Lieutenant Noah Smith honestly looked as though he didn’t know what to say. Ford figured there would be a lot of times like this with this boy. He seemed highly excitable. Chevis continued to look the boy in the eye till he responded.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Good boy.” Ford turned away, letting the young lieutenant sit back down, and returned his gaze toward his chief of operations. “Mister Davenport, how’s my ship squared away?”

“Ready to go, Cap’n.”

“Groovy, all hands stand to. Prepare for launch.” The captain nudged the lad beside him. “Get me clearance from yard control.”

“On speakers, Captain?” Smith asked. Ford moved away from comm to stand by the tactical station.

“I don’t want to talk to them. That’s what I hired you for.” Thomas glanced back from the helm station where he was leaning next to the new officer there. He grinned at the humorous glint in his captain’s eye. Ford returned the expression. “Mister Thomas, ready for a mission?”

“Aye, Cap’n.” Thomas never called his friend ‘sir’. Ford had noticed long ago, but never commented on it. “We’re a bit early for departure. I suppose Command cut us some orders?”

“Yeah. Staff briefing in four hours. I want a course set for the Kovarn starsystem, sector KL-115.”

The thin, black haired kid at the helm glanced back Ford’s way. “Lots of stellar debris out that way, Cap’.”

“Plasma strings and nebulae?”

“Aye.”

“Just about what I was remembering. Get the course laid in and review the most current astro-data you have on that sector. Starfleet doesn’t get that way often, but the merchant guild has got to have something on the area.”

“Aye.”

As the helmsman got to work, Ford inclined his head to Mister Thomas. “Is the new warp scale programmed in?”

“Yes, Cap’n. Ever figure out why they made the change?”

“Not a clue. What does out new top speed come out as?”

“Warp nine-point-two.”

Ford had to smirk a bit. The seemingly nonsensical recalculation in speed scales merely meant they traveled a couple of factors ‘lower’ than before. The ironic thing about it was that 9.2 was the former Endeavour’s maximum speed on the old scale.

“Yard command signals clear, Captain.” Mister Smith called out from comm.

Ford glanced at his security chief. The dirty blonde haired man did not look like a Russian, such as his name implied, but his accent sure belied his appearance. “Ready for space, Keptin.” The slender officer said.

Ford nodded and headed for the center seat. His command chair hadn’t changed in the six years he’d commanded this vessel. The blue upholstered cushioning was well broken in and the control surfaces were blemished and chipped around the edges. He’d had to chase dockworkers away from his beloved chair a week ago. They’d already brought the replacement conn to the bridge and were undoing the bolts by the time he’d found them. The captain fondly eased himself into the comfortable confines of his seat and took a long look about the bridge. Starship command was a great thing. He’d never thought he’d fit in the role, but for the last twelve years or so, he’d known nothing but.

“Mister Davenport, clear all moorings.”

“Moorings clear, aye.” The lieutenant commander replied.

“Comm, advise port control we’re getting underway.”

“Aye, Captain.” Smith called back. His voice still remained at trainee pitch. He’d grow out of it. “Control advises we’re cleared to approach Gate Four.”

Mister Thomas departed from the helm and strode to his station to the right of Ford’s. The situation control console had been installed for Thomas’s predecessor, Commander Surrak. Surrak had his own command now, and the custom built station now belonged to a new XO.

“Helm has a preliminary course laid in.” Thomas stated as he leaned over his board. “All decks report ready for space.”

“Very well, XO.”

Ben looked now at his friend in the center seat.

“XO, huh? No more ‘Mister Thomas’?”

“You’ll still get that too, but only when I’m mad at ya’.”

“Great…I ever tell you how much I love workin’ for you?”

“I’m sure it’s an experience. Helm, aft thrusters to one-quarter. Take us out.”

Chapter Three

“This could degenerate into an armed rescue mission.” Lieutenant Commander Davenport was saying to the gathered officers within the briefing room. Ford, for his own part, nodded his agreement. Getting the Klingon captives back from the Ya’wenn could turn ugly if they didn’t go for the cash offered. And with so little tactical intelligence available on the planet itself, he really didn’t know what to expect.

“The merchant guild’s records are a bit spotty about the prison world, Cap’n.” Helmsman Bronstien chimed in. He’d evidently read up on the files accompanying the nav records. “Two planets in the system are habitable, the prison planet being the lesser of the two. Most traders stop at Yu’derra rather than going on to Kovarn. Kovarn’s listed as barren and rocky, with barely survivable jungle belts near the continental interiors.”

Ford was impressed with the boy. Most helmsmen were only interested in the space surrounding the objective worlds they traveled to. “You’re well informed for a fly-boy, Mister Bronstien. Wanting a little shore time, are we?”

Johnathan Bronstien smiled broadly back at the captain from his end of the silver table.

“If I can get it, Cap’n.”

“You’ll get it, Mister. Do we have any intel on how many prisoners we can expect on the planet?”

Lieutenant Surall shook her head.

“Negative, Captain. No traders or Federation agents have ever visited the prison. At least, not that they’ve reported.”

“Nice,” Thomas sighed. He sat to the captain’s right, opposite of the operations officer. “Go in to a planet we know dick about, get some Klingons who may or may not be there, and hope they want a Starfleet ship to take them home…”

“Just another easy mission from the brass at Command.” Ford answered.

“Tactical can handle any problem that arises on planet, Keptin.” This from Nechayev. The Russian officer sat with his form a bit less than erect, but he held about him a certain bearing of pride. He believed in his skill. He’d inherited a good security crew from Thomas. “If ve must break the Klingons out, ve can do it.”

“Good to know,” Ford replied. “But, I’d like to not make enemies of these people. We’ll ask nicely first, then negotiate…maybe threaten. I don’t really want to fight them, so let’s save that for a last resort. How about getting there. As Mister Bronstien says, there’s a lot of debris ahead. How dangerous is this region to us?”

The helmsman responded first.

“Well, Cap’n, the plasma strings gravitate toward each other, forming newer, larger strings in erratic places. The charts note that the mapped strings will not be where they were last seen, month to month. The nebulae cause these streams of gas to slingshot around and can create gravimetric hazards to ships traveling the area.”

Surall nodded at this.

“Indeed, Captain. The nebulae themselves seem to suffer from irregular gravity phenomena, causing the entire area to be moderately unstable. Sensor resolution will also be weak, even for this ship. I advise caution to our piloting team as they take us through.”

Johnathan shot an evilly happy look at the science officer.

“Oh, I can get us through there. A few plasma storms aren’t enough to scare me—”

“Alright, Mister Bronstien.” Ford cut him off. “Let’s keep it civil, even if you are playin’ around. Just see to it that we get in and out without singeing the hull plating.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

Ford looked at them all with a quick scan.

“Dismissed. Thomas and Davenport remain here.”

Each of the division officers filed out of the rectangular briefing room and into the corridor outside. Ford stood and went to the refreshment table behind his seat. “Our helmsman seems like a proficient lad.” He commented as he poured himself some coffee. Thomas and Davenport joined their captain for a hot drink.

“Kind of a hot head, if you ask me.” The ops chief mentioned after a sip of his own cup.

“I don’t think he was serious, Ron. Just trying to get the science officer’s goat.”

Thomas smiled at the colloquialism. Ford was always coming up with ancient redneck sayings. “Well, not all of us get along with Vulcans anyway. What about our new security chief?”

“Nechayev?” Ford polished off his coffee and set the silver cup down on the tray. “He’s gotta be good, or you wouldn’t have put him on the list.”

Thomas almost blanched.

“Well, pickin’s were kinda slim. Not many people get rid of good tactical officers. They just make XO’s out of ‘em.”

Ford’s brows bobbed.

“Wonder who you’re insinuating there… I think Danny is going to be pretty decent for a first timer in command. He’s confident. His record shows skill and bravery. He holds the Starfleet Credit for Meritorious Conduct and a couple of Purple Hearts.”

Ronald laughed out loud. “But no one holds as many Purple Hearts as our good Captain here.”

“What can I say, everyone and everything wants to kill me.”

Ben joined in. “That winnin’ personality. I think we’ve got ourselves a good crew.”

“Same here. We should get along just fine.” Allowing the other two to finish off their java, the captain led them out of the room and back to their duty.

Lieutenant Commander Davenport exited the turbolift and strode quickly down the hall to his former haunt. The bass thrum of the mighty engine core reverberated throughout the ship, but was strongest here, on Deck Nineteen. Main Engineering was the heart of the ship, the life-blood. Ron found it hard to stay away after having been an engineer for 80% of his career. The heavy main doors of the compartment parted before him with the drone of heavy hydraulics. He missed this room.

The great, linear mass of the warp reactor chamber loomed in the far rear quarter of the room. Brilliant blue accelerator coils glowed from inside the recesses built into its dark hued alloy shape. The sound, loud as it was outside the room, was twice as strong inside. The vibration of the detonation of matter with antimatter moved in waves through a person’s body. It was like being next to a dragon’s heart.

The room was arrayed about the intermix chamber, with nearly every attached room and station facing the core. The master control console was set directly before it. Davenport, driven by instinct as natural to him as breathing, went straight to that station and looked over the readouts arranged in rows of blue lit displays. Everything looked normal at the first glance.

“Can I help you, Commander?” came a new voice. The accent forming the words was heavy and icy, leaning heavily on ‘h’-sounds and turning all ‘o’s into long sounds. Davenport knew the primary Andorian accent, and knew who he would find standing behind him.

“No, Miss Tolin. Just bein’ nosey.”

Lieutenant Commander Xia Tolin stepped around the induction sensor she’d been examining and set her tricorder down on the master console. Davenport gave her his most benign expression possible. Hopefully she wouldn’t take too much offense at the former chief engineer poking about in her business.

“Does everything meet with your approval?”

“Nothing’s on fire. We haven’t blown up…so yeah, I guess it passes muster.”

Xia pressed her thin blue lips into a small smile as she clasped her hands behind her.

“I promise I will take care of your engine room, sir—”

Ron waved her off, amused by her playful sarcasm.

“You can drop the ‘sir’-bit. We’re both O-4 grade. But, I’m gonna drop by from time to time to take a look at my babies. Hope you don’t take any offense at that.” Davenport searched her eyes for any measure of expression. It could be hard to map an alien species' reactions. He was rather familiar with Andorians, but no one knew everything about another culture.

“Drop by any time, Commander. Just don’t be surprised if I put you to work.”

Ron smiled. He was a bit galled by the idea of being put to work, but he had no aversion to the idea of helping out with the engines. He looked forward to it in fact. “I’ll probably come down here just for that, Chief. So…what’s your handle?”

“’Handle’?” Her head cocked to the left and her tiny antennae curled.

“Every chief engineer has a nickname. What’s yours?”

Xia’s lips pursed again. “I have none. Unless my crew calls me something I am unaware of.”

“Dirty words don’t count. We’ll have to look into that.” Ron turned to leave.

“What is yours?”

Davenport glanced over his shoulder.

“Sparky. Had a habit of getting zapped in my younger, more klutzy days.”

Ronald received a small smile as he turned back about and removed himself from the engine room. He’d only come by to glance about. He might have made a friend at the same time.

Chapter Four

“Coming up on Sector KL-115, Cap’n.” Bronstien called out from the helm. It was late in the day’s shift, and each of the division officers had elected to modify their duty cycles to be here on the bridge as they entered this dangerous area. Ford was glad of his officers’ commitment. Often it was the more experienced eye that caught the small signs of approaching trouble. The captain glanced to his right at his executive officer.

Mister Thomas had pulled a double shift to be here right now, insisting that Ford take the time and get some rest. The ship’s commander had to be fresh, he’d reasoned as Ford had argued. Yes, Thomas was going to make an excellent XO. Right now, though, he seemed a bit sluggish. Ford turned to his comm officer.

“Mister Smith, order the yeoman up with some coffee. Looks like we could all use a cup.”

Smith responded and did as he was bid. It was not long before the head yeoman and two of his stewards appeared from the turbolift to begin distributing their caffeinated wares. The largest cup always went to Mister Davenport. Thomas noted and laughed a bit.

“We need to attach a cup holder on the ops console. Ron drinks too much.”

Davenport held his stainless mug up in salute. “Hey, I’m all for that.”

A shared laugh passed about the bridge. Ford smiled kindly at his main yeoman as the muscular African headed for the aft lifts. The camaraderie of the ship hadn’t diminished since the crew change. If anything, it had increased. In fact, Ford was very glad of the change in operations. Davenport was so much more amicable than the young lady he’d finally decided to transfer.

“Sensor resolution down to thirty percent, Captain.”

The captain looked over with more than a touch of shock at Surall’s report. He hadn’t expected that drastic of a drop in efficiency. At their current speed of warp seven, it was almost like flying blind. “Helm, reduce speed to warp five. Engineer, direct additional power to the sensor array.”

Responses came from both positions. The low roar of the warp drive cycled down to a softer baritone as the star streaks on the forward screen slowed by nearly half. Beside the captain, Commander Thomas had gotten busy with his own instrument panel.

“Cap’n, interference is located in pockets surrounding each of the plasma strings… They’re dotting the area like walls in some kind of 3-D maze in space. Damn near anything could be hid out here.”

“Ideal for bandits, might you say?” Ford asked.

“Might explain why even the Guild doesn’t get out here too often.”

Ford had to agree.

“Excelsiors are still new enough that backwater pirates might not know to be scared of ‘em. Someone might decide to take a shot or two at us.”

Thomas nodded, the decision made.

“Yellow Alert. Get those shields up.”

“Yes, Commander.” Came from Lieutenant Nechayev. The high pitched, repetitive warble of the Condition Two alarm sounded off as small yellow spots replaced half of the main lights throughout the ship. With the light level now much dimmer, the control faces on every console now shone out like beacons. Ford could feel the inertial dampeners in the deck kick in to a more powerful setting. This would protect the crew from dangerous falls should the ship meet any… turbulence.

“Tactical, maintain a close scan for threats. See to it nothing sneaks in on our rear.”

“Aye, Keptin. Beginning level two sweeps.”

“Estimated ETA now five hours, twenty minutes, present speed.” Davenport updated from ops, mug still in hand.

“Captain!”

Lieutenant Smith’s voice was particularly excited this time around. Ford whirled his seat to face the comm station. Noah looked over his shoulder at the conn. “Picking up low-band transmissions, ship to ship traffic.”

“Source?”

“Two… now three sources! Two aft at 187 mark 073 and 199 mark 015. One forward at 357 mark 007. Distance indeterminate.”

Ford stood and made for the bridge railing that separated the inner and outer ring of stations.

“Who’s talking out there, son?”

“I can’t tell. They’re using a code I’ve never seen before.”

“Pretty good chance they’re talking about us!” Thomas interjected.

“Who else is out here?” Ford added in agreement.

“Lateral sensor contact.” Called out Surall at the starboard science console. Ford looked back at her long, curving station. The after subspace array definitely was showing something. She went on, her dark face lit by the scrolling readouts she studied. “Two vessels, identity unknown. Approaching from aft at warp factor seven. Their bearings match communication’s triangulation.”

“Are their weapons hot?” Came from Thomas. Ford was already headed back to his seat, expectant of fireworks.

“Indeterminate. However the tri-axial array does show an energy concentration at their bow section. Their deflectors are definitely up. Weapons range in one minute.”

“Red Alert!” The captain decided, now safely in his chair. Behind him he could hear the tell-tales of weapons arming and target acquisition. “Comm, order those ships to wave off.”

“Aye!” Smith keyed the sending controls and held tightly at the microphone piece in his right ear. “Unidentified starships, this is the USS Endeavour. We order you to change course. Do not close with this ship or you will be fired upon. Please respond!”

Ford waited as the youth repeated the challenge. Thomas glanced his way. “Targets still inbound, Cap’n.” Ford nodded, eyes glued to the viewer image ops had pictured of the ships closing in on his ship’s rear.

“Captain, no response from either vessel. Comm traffic only between the incoming craft.” Reported Smith. Ford squared his jaw and licked the back of his teeth. He’d hoped to avoid fighting, and had barely thought of bandits hitting them. These were unsettled areas for the most part though.

“Very well, comm. Begin wide-band jamming of all comm signals. Tactical, lock aft weaponry on the foremost vessel and fire as she bears.”

“Aye, Keptin. Target locked!”

There was a note of relish in the Russian’s tone as he’d replied. Ford had heard the same tune in his new XO’s voice more than once. He would undoubtedly be a good gunnery officer, but would bear watching for a while.

“Lead vessel has begun active targeting.” Came from science.

“Target in range!” From Thomas.

“Fire aft torpedoes!”

The alien ship obviously did not have long ranged weaponry. Ford heard a trio of ‘woop’ signals from the tactical computer denoting weapon firings, and counted five seconds without a report of return fire. Three torpedoes angled in on the wedge shaped craft and impacted on its prow. Firelight illuminated every cranny of the ship’s hull and it staggered like a drunkard in its flight path. Sparks of electricity arced down the ship’s length. The damage was quite apparent.

“Direct hit on bandit forward section.” Surall reported. Her voice remained a level monotone. “Several hull breaches detected along with apparent structural buckling. Its forward shields are down.”

Ford nodded with a bit of satisfaction. “Either not very advanced, or not a true warship.”

On the forward screen, purple lances of jagged energy shot out at them. Endeavour rumbled under the strike, but little turbulence disturbed the crew. Ford had felt worse gouges from civilian weaponry. “No effect on aft screens, Keptin.” Nechayev intoned behind the captain.

“Their weaponry is suffering massive output fall-off as the energy passes through their warp field.” Surall said from her post. She had a large blue line schematic of the enemy vessel depicted on her primary panel. The computer was detailing everything useful it could discern from the aft sensor array. The ship seemed to be packing a lot of firepower.

“Early Starfleet ships had the same problem with their phasers before the annular confinement beam.” Thomas was almost muttering tactical data. The enemy’s lack of warp speed weapon power gave Endeavour a distinct advantage. “The second ship has entered firing range.”

“Put another couple of torpedoes into the lead ship. Maybe we can convince them to go home.”

“Aye, Keptin. Firing.”

Another two photons leapt out and smacked the enemy in the face. This time, parts flew from the center of the explosion and the ship began to wobble like a toy. After a moment of this, the forward hull of the bandit shredded into twirling chunks of flotsam and the ship fell from warp. The other moved up to take its place.

“Cap!” Bronstien hollered out from his piloting station. “Plasma fields are narrowing down up here! I’m running out of maneuvering space!”

Ford sat forward in alarm. “You need to reduce speed?”

The pause from the helm did not bolster the captain’s confidence. Johnathan stiffened in his seat and became very measured in his movements about his console. Then he shrugged. “Nope, I got it.”

Ford’s expression turned incredulous. “You sure?”

“Got it, Cap. No problem!” The kid’s hands then began to fly about the controls. The roar from the engines changed pitch and ship’s gravity began to slew to the right. “Thirty degrees port yaw, forty degrees positive pitch!”

Ford clutched the handgrips of his seat as the inertia of the turn threatened to toss him to the deck. One of the white-shouldered enlisted hands forward fell flat on his butt and slid to the center of the room. “Your piloting is causing more ruckus than their guns, boy!” The captain yelled. He thought he saw the flash of a smile from the youth.

“Ten degrees starboard yaw, fifty degrees negative pitch!”

The crew’s stomachs lurched upward as the ship suddenly went into a warp speed dive beneath a dense cloud of ionized energy. Ford was glad the viewer was angled aft so he only saw the enormous clouds of roiling destruction in hindsight. The trailing bandit was still following Endeavour, its greater maneuverability allowing it to close in. More purple blasts of energy lashed out at the Starfleet ship. The Endeavour rocked harder this time, this ship obviously not having as much weapon difficulty as its companion did. As it followed through another set of hairy turns with Bronstien calling off vectors all the while, the bandit lashed out with shot after shot. The larger starship slued side to side with these harder impacts.

“Aft shields down to ninety percent, Keptin.” Tactical reported. “I am having difficulty maintaining torpedo lock on the hostile vith all of the turning!”

“Lock phasers on target. Are they within range?”

“Ten seconds—!”

Another, far more violent blast rocked Endeavour. Ford could tell by the view on screen that helm had just lost a large bit of control. Bronstien stabilized their flight path, but the effect could have been disastrous. The kid paused in his rattle of flight jabber to pass a warning. “Another hit like that one at the wrong time an’ we’re all walkin’ home!”

“Reduce to warp four and bring ‘em in range!” Ford ordered.

Bronstien only nodded his ascent, further changing the engine pitch by a full octave. The vessel trailing them suddenly grew in size as it looped beneath a string of hazy pink energy. They were now in full weapons range.

“Phasers!”

“Firing!”

The aft phaser banks came to life, spitting alternating bolts of phaser pulses at the incoming craft. The streams of weapons blasts pelted the prow of the enemy craft and sent it rattling along its path. Its deflector grid flared under the strain as the rapid torrents of energy passed along its shields. The ship in the viewer grew to enormous proportions.

“She’s passin’ broadside, starboard flank!” Thomas called, excitement rising in his voice. The enemy had just done the worst thing it could have. “All starboard and ‘midships phasers, fire!”

As the unfortunate bandit ship zipped past the silver-hulled Federation starship, Endeavour's main armament came alive, phasers hurling streams of phaser pulses out in front of the craft like fields of ancient flak. The alien bandit staggered nearly to a halt as multiple impacts rained in on it. Entire sections of its hull shattered and internal explosions tore out from within. Its left-most, underslung nacelle exploded into a fiery, plasmic cloud. Before Endeavour’s phaser barrage ended, the craft was whirling into a swirling fog of stellar plasma to Endeavour’s port side.

Ford watched the bandit twirl toward its doom.

“All stop! Tactical, lock forward tractor beams on target and halt their flight!”

Endeavour’s mighty engines growled as they powered down. Bronstien piloted the massive starship closer to its target, careful not to wind up in a plasma string as well. A low hum sounded from the power grid and a shimmering blue field of gravitons snared the uncontrolled bandit. The raiding vessel was now held firmly in the Federation ship’s grasp.

Ford stood and approached the fore railing between ops and the view screen. He looked over the battered, flaming hull of the alien ship. The enemy had set upon them with Lord knew what on their minds. But, Starfleet did not choose men to command their ships who were without mercy. If he could spare these aliens, he would. He glanced back over his shoulder.

“Keep a close watch out for the third vessel Communications detected. She might be a bit more stout than these little guys.”

“Aye.” His officers sounded off. He returned his studious gaze to his captive, pondering what to do with them. These ships made their way by preying on those unfortunate enough to wander through this narrow fairway unawares. Inferior vessel without adequate defenses would be picked off and looted, their crews likely taken as hostages, slaves of just murdered. But, these ships and their commanders had likely been operating in this area for some time. Long enough, obviously, to have good knowledge of the plasma strings’ habits and take advantage of its tactical benefit for entrapping starships. The captain had to wonder if this fact might prove useful.

Chapter Five

“Open hailing frequencies.” Captain Ford called out to the comm officer.

Mister Smith nodded with an “Aye, sir”, then hesitated. He looked frantically back to Ford. “Uhm…sir…Do you want to…talk to them…yourself, that is?”

“Yes, Mister Smith, I want to talk to them myself. Put ‘em on screen if you can.”

“Aye, sir. Go ahead.”

Ford mentally cleared his throat.

“This is Captain Chevis Ford of the USS Endeavour. We represent the United Federation of Planets. I’m ordering your vessel to stand down its offensive systems. Respond, if you have the capacity.”

A short time passed as Lieutenant Smith worked with his controls. After a few long moments, the captain wondered if the lad was going to be able to raise anyone on the defeated ship. Finally, though, the viewer snapped on with an image of a hair-covered humanoid with a wide girth. The heavy alien had human-like eyes of a green color and flat teeth behind thick lips. It wore only a pair of bandoleers, likely for ammo, crossed about its chest and a pistol holster on its hip.

“I’m Prefan Lodus of the raider Cuunaan.” The alien said in a low, husky voice. A male, then, the captain decided. “How can I help you, Captain Chevis Ford?”

Ford affected a lop-sided smirk.

“Odd reply from someone who just tried to bushwhack my ship. You can help me by killing your weapon systems. Otherwise, I’ll start killing them for you.”

The alien commander seemed to consider his options, then calmly shrugged. He nodded to someone off screen. Ford glanced back to his science officer. Surall nodded back. The bandit’s weapons were shut down. He looked back to the now smiling commander. “That’s better, Commander—”

“The title is ‘Prefan’, Captain. Translates as ‘rebel commander’ in our tongue.”

“I couldn’t care less, Prefan. We’re not trading pleasantries here. I’m going to cut my ship’s jamming long enough for you to send a message to the third ship that you have tucked away. You’ll order them to steer clear of my ship. Understood?”

“Crystal clear, my good Captain.”

“Flatter me and you’ll eat another phaser barrage, Prefan. You send that message.”

Ford motioned for his comm officer to suspend the long range signal jamming they’d been running. “Jamming secure,” responded Lieutenant Smith. The captain continued to glare holes through the alien commander. With another lazy-looking shrug, the Prefan turned to a member of his crew and began to speak in low tones. The translator circuit could not pick it up.

Finally, Prefan Lodus turned fully back to the screen. “I have ordered my final ship away, Captain. Is there more I can do for you?”

“Yes.” Ford answered. “You’re coming over here for a chat.”

The doors parted before the trio of beings and allowed them to enter the main briefing room. Captain Ford looked up from the data PADD he was perusing and eyed the shaggy alien male with aggravation. The bandit Prefan did not look nearly so smug now that he was aboard a hostile alien starship and surrounded by those he’d intended to victimize. Prefan Lodus had been stripped of his pistols and his bandoleers and several pieces of miscellaneous equipment, which was being analyzed by security. The expression in his bright eyes was one of quiet fear.

Flanking the alien commander was Mister Thomas and one of Security Chief Nechayev’s enlisted specialists. Both men bore phaser rifles. Neither treated the alien guest kindly, shoving him bodily through the entrance with the butts of their weapons. Lodus stumbled to the silver table and had to halt himself with both hands to prevent his fall. The alien showed a flash of rage as he glared up at Ford.

“Is this how you treat a visiting representative of an alien culture—”

“This is how I treat criminals, dickhead. This isn’t a damn state visit. I want information and your continued existence is dependent solely upon my whim. Therefore you’re going to answer each and every question I render you to the best of your ability.” Ford motioned to the tall, metallic chair which security had positioned at the farthest end of the table and looked up to Thomas. “Strap him in.”

“If this is torture—” Lodus began to cry, his voice raising to high levels. Thomas laughed as he and the enlisted man gruffly handled the alien into the waiting chair.

“Not today, fuzzy-boy. Ain’t got the time.”

The two humans strapped the commander down into the chair and began to press lit controls on its control panels. Lodus looked from one to the other with evident fright on his face. His eyes focused back on the captain.

“I operate only three ships, Captain Ford! I know little about the others in this area! If you’re hunting down the other bandit raiders—”

“We’re not at the moment, but we’ll be sure to look you up if we ever get around to it. No, I want to ask you about a planet near this plasma storm.” Ford paused for a measured amount of time and stared the alien captain down. Lodus remained wide-eyed, mouth agape. “For the record…what is your species known as?”

“Idari… Captain, what is this chair?”

Ford smiled with feigned reassurance.

“Nothing special, Prefan. Just a lil’ toy that’ll assured me that you’re telling the truth. Your bio readings from the transporter have been programmed in and will be compared to the data the chair’s sensors pick up as I question you.”

Lodus looked at the captain strangely. He did not seem to understand his treatment at the hands of the humans. One moment they battered him about, cursing him in ways that even their translators couldn’t relate to him, and then they refuse to torture him for what they wanted. He’d been treated both better, and much worse. But the Idari criminal did not want to press his luck. “I see.”

“Your name is Prefan Lodus?” Ford asked, beginning the procedure. Thomas watched the control remote in his meaty palm with intent. The alien commander looked about uncertainly and then nodded.

“Yes, Captain.”

“You say you are Idari?”

“Yes.”

“You attacked my ship with intent to harm or harass my crew?”

If the furry alien could have flushed, he would have right then. He looked nervously from side to side and then dropped his eyes to the deck. “We’re… pirates, after all, Captain.”

“Yes or no, Prefan.”

“Yes.”

Ford glanced at his first officer. Thomas nodded back. The truth finder was now tuned in to Lodus’s bio readings. The device should be at least eighty percent accurate to begin with, with its efficiency increasing as questioning went on. Ford returned the nod and went on.

“Prefan Lodus, do you know the prison planet in the Kovarn system?”

Lodus’s eyes narrowed.

“Kovarn Six? Yes, I know of it. Why?”

“Have you ever heard of a group of Klingon captives being held there?”

“Klingons… Who are they?”

Ford glanced at his XO. Thomas shook his head. The machine had given no indication that the Idari had lied. Ford went back to glaring at the Prefan. “You’ve heard of no alien captives on Kovarn who come from a warrior society?”

Lodus shrugged where he sat strapped in the tall chair.

“Oh, many, Captain. Various species claim to be warriors. Can you be more specific?”

Ford pressed a series of keys till a hovering holo of a Klingon male in IKF uniform appeared above the metallic tabletop. Lodus studied the image as it revolved before them all. Ford added detail the alien likely could not read from his perch.

“Klingons are a tall muscular race, most standing well over two-point-three meters in height. They are fast, impressively strong and have redundant sets of organs.”

“Sounds like a wonderful workforce.” The Prefan said back, sarcasm evident. He was beginning to return Ford’s glare. Ford ignored it.

“The leader of the group was known as Captain Dath’mar. Is any of this familiar to you?”

“No, Captain…” Acid was beginning to stir within the Idari’s voice. He tilted his head a bit. “What has any of this to do with me?”

It was Ford’s turn to shrug.

“You are familiar with this area and its societies. We aren’t. Simple as that. Maybe I can get some information from you that will help me get these Klingons back, and if so…maybe you’ll profit from it.”

“Profit,” Ford could tell the Prefan doubted his sincerity. “How?”

“You’ll come out ahead when we leave because I’ll only order you to eject your weapons coils rather than disabling all your vessels and leaving you to be found by who ever patrols this God-forsaken route. Sound good?”

Lodus sank in the chair as much as the restraints would allow him.

“Lovely, Captain, just lovely…”

“Good then, these Ya’wenn who run Kovarn. How liable are they to allow us to retrieve our Klingon…friends?” Ford watched the alien carefully for his reactions. Lodus seemed to froth a bit beneath his veneer, but still remained calm.

“How much money did you bring?”

“They would be interested in a trade of cash?”

“You can buy as many of their workers as you bring cash for. The better the worker and the better his health, the more they ask. How many of these Klingons are you looking to purchase?”

“We’re not buying anybody.”

“Liberate, then.”

“The crew of a Akif-class starship is about three-fifty to three-ninety.”

“Then if they are as good of physical specimens as you say, then they’ll ask a great deal. Fifty thousand dak’tariates.”

“Have y’all ever dealt in gold-pressed latinum?”

“Occasionally. It would translate to…eight and a half blocks or better.”

Ford felt a little bit better about their chances of buying the Klingons’ freedom. Eight and a half was well within their bartering range. It was an exorbitant fee, but how much was a life worth? Ford certainly didn’t mind. It wasn’t his money. He glanced to his XO and the petty officer in his white-shouldered enlisted uniform. Thomas seemed assured the truth finder was doing its job. Mister Daniels didn’t seem to care what so ever so long as the Prefan didn’t move a muscle.

“How well traveled is Kovarn?”

“At times, very. Others, not so much. Now is the time of their export shipments of bacinite ore. Their sky will be filled with transports and escorts from various neighboring leagues. There will also be increased piracy and raiding along the system perimeter.” Lodus chuckled as he considered something he didn’t share. “It would be an interesting time to visit, Captain. I envy you.”

“Why aren’t you there instead of raiding hapless vessels passing through the area?”

Lodus’s smile returned full force.

“It is how I make my living, Captain. Yours was a target too tempting to pass up. Its available cargo space alone made it worth my interest, and well worth passing up any of those bacinite transports…” Another shrug, “At least, if I had made the capture, that is.”

“Lucky for you that you didn’t beam in, dumbass!” Thomas chortled. “We really would’a kicked your hairy ass!”

        Captain’s Log, Stardate: 9701.2

        We have returned the Idari Prefan to his ship and destroyed the weapons 
	they ejected as terms of their surrender. I have allowed them to go 
	with the warning to never attack a Federation starship again. I also 
	advised them to seek… alternative employment. They’ll… 
	probably become slavers or something.

        We are resuming our course to the Kovarn System at best possible speed.
	Helmsman Bronstien is a proficient pilot and I wish I could have had 
	him years ago. He makes Martinez look like a bus driver. We will exit 
	the plasma storm in the next fifty-two minutes and then arrive at 
	destination twenty-seven hours later at warp seven. I’m starting to 
	like the new warp scale. Feels like old times...

        I am reasonably confident that we will be able to retrieve the Klingons
	and bring them home. We’re still ahead of schedule, and I wish to 
	remain so before the vessel we are supposed to deliver the prisoners to
	decides to get impatient and cross the Neutral Zone. I am expecting all
	manner of lowlife on Kovarn Six. Lodus’s very attitude suggested I 
	wouldn’t like what I would find there.

        End of Log. 

Chapter Six

“Now entering Kovarn System outer limits, Cap. Eleven minutes to orbital range.” Bronstien reported. Ford answered him and joined Mister Thomas next to the science station.

“Pre-approach scan, Miss Surall.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Lieutenant Surall leaned in close to her control board and pressed a waiting key. A long, slender viewing scope extended from the console face. Manipulating her keyboards without looking, she scrutinized the images the myriad of sensors and scanners overlaid atop each other in the scope.

“Multiple vessels and energy signatures in planetary orbit. Three high orbit cargo transfer stations, possibly seven mid-orbit fueling stations. There are definite defensive platforms in orbit, they read as… small, unmanned satellites, massing… three hundred metric tons. I am directing an intensive scan on the weapons array of the closest…”

Ford and Thomas waited in silence as the science officer did her job. The quiet, ever-present sounds of the bridge crept into their perception. The captain was beginning to count the pings of the chronometer when Surall finally came across with more intel. “Low yield fusion beam cannon tied directly into their main power reactors. Common technology, if a bit crude. They represent a moderate threat level, but their maneuverability is limited.”

“Evident technological centers on the surface?” Ford inquired.

“Scanning… Three large industrial centers, several notable mining sites. All centers are arranged near a spinal mountain chain extending from the northern tip of the main continent to the eastern edge of a large forested region. The most central facility bears landing platforms for up to mid-size transports. Roads interlink the other centers to it.”

A topographical map of the area under scrutiny appeared on the upper main readout above Surall’s scope. Ford looked the terrain over with the eye of a military commander. He noted areas where defenses would likely be hidden among surface features. He spotted several areas that would likely be impossible to fight in if the worst were to happen. His was the duty to take advantage of all his own advantages and use them to negate the opposition’s capacity to derail his mission. Sharp felt it imperative these Klingons be returned to their Empire to show the Federation’s willingness to further the peace initiative. Ford was not going to fail his former captain.

“We’ll beam down three groups—” The captain began, but was cut off as a dark skinned hand projected into view. Surall faced him.

“Transporter function will not be possible, Captain. The prison and all of the main continent is covered by an electromagnetic barrier.”

“We could knock the barrier out with a few phaser blasts.” Ben suggested.

“Sharp didn’t want us to start a war with anyone we don’t even know yet. We won’t employ weapons till we have to.” He mentally adjusted his operational plans. “We’ll go in with three shuttles, then. Mister Thomas, you and me will go down in a Type J with a full security party. Two Type L personnel shuttles will fly escort with a full security team each. Security will equip for hostile terrain. Accompanying us in the Type J will be Lieutenants Bronstien and Smith, and we’ll equip with light gear.”

“Weaponry, Cap’n?” Thomas asked. He didn’t want to go down naked.

“Pistols only. No rifles for us. We’ll want to look somewhat reasonable when we meet with whoever runs this place. Hard to do that with rifles in hand.”

Thomas didn’t look convinced, but did not argue. Ford looked past the XO to the inner ring of stations. “Mister Davenport will have the conn.”

“Nearing inner system, Cap.” Helm called.

“Reduce to full impulse.” Ford headed for his command chair. Taking a seat as Thomas conferred with the chief of security, the captain turned toward the comm station. “Mister Smith, hail the prison facility.”

“Aye, sir. Hailing them now.”

“We’ve got somebody’s attention, Cap.” Bronstien commented from his helm console. Ford flicked his eyes from the pilot to the forward viewer. The growing image of the little brown-colored world in the center of the screen suddenly grew in stature as the lieutenant zoomed in on the northern hemisphere. Dozens of orbiting craft were turning away from their previous paths and were beginning to move in on their visitor. Captain Ford knew few of the ships viewed, but several of them possessed noticeable weapon ports. Barrels were turning the Endeavour’s direction and others were already beginning to glow.

Any one of these ships, Ford counted six so far, was not likely to be a match for his ship, but the captain did not want to tangle with any of them. They weren’t here to make enemies of these people. Getting into an orbital starship battle was not going to help their relations on the surface.

“Slow to one-quarter impulse. Yellow Alert.” Ford decided.

“Shields coming up, Keptin.”

As the lighting changed overhead and the alarm sounded, the captain held his breath slightly. The sensation was akin to waiting on a girl’s answer for a first date. Would everything turn out good… or bad? The half dozen vessels eased in closer, assuming as they approached a definite attack posture, their heaviest ship in the lead center of a ‘v’ formation. Backs began to stiffen all about the bridge as the officers manning their stations tensed for what was about to happen.

“I read a wide variety of weaponry aboard the approaching vessels, Captain,” Surall offered unbidden from Science. “The most dangerous craft is likely the lead ship, which bears ten accelerated plasma cannon and nuclear torpedoes.”

“Nukes,” Thomas muttered, “… great…”

“Set phaser banks 2, 3, 4, 11 and 12 for point defense and stand by.” Ford ordered his weapons officer. And still the waiting continued. The approaching ships seemed to slow. Was this a good sign?

“Closing wessels are drawing to a halt, Keptin. They are outside standard torpedo range.” Lieutenant Nechayev leaned close over his console, hands braced on either side of his panel.

“Steady as she goes.” Ford was not willing to yield too much. He would approach from a position of strength, which meant not halting of backing down from their weaponry. He would act as though their show of force didn’t concern him.

“Range four million kilometers, Cap.” Bronstien reported. The young man’s eyes were glued to the indicators covering his panel. His hands remained poised over the RCS system.

“Sir,” called out Lieutenant Smith, turning in his seat at whiplash speed. “We’ve got an answering hail.”

“On screen.” Ford was relieved, and hoped it didn’t show too greatly.

The image of the halted defense ships was replaced by the visage of a large, muscle-bound mountain of a man standing behind a desk cluttered with junk and data modules. The alien had oily looking skin of a grayish color and short black hair. His face bore whiskers unshaven for more than three days and the expression he wore was a mixture of indifference and displeasure that told Ford he didn’t want to deal with whatever the unidentified ship presented. Chevis had worked with many similar folks during his career. These he knew he could work with. They would do whatever they could do to get the visitors to just go away and do so quickly. And they were always looking for ways to profit without having to work for it. This made them dangerous, but predicable.

“Who are you?” The large alien asked as he sat lazily into his office chair and took a long drink of whatever he was carrying.

Ford would normally stand when addressing an alien representative, but would not do so today. Standing would only show this man more respect than he himself had shown Ford. Still seated, he inclined his head to the man on the viewer. “I’m Captain Ford of the Federation starship Endeavour. I represent the government of the United Federation of Planets which lies beyond the plasma string phenomena several light-years back.”

Ford could see that the large man still did not care much. He shifted in his seat and looked more interested in the drink in his meaty hand. Finally he looked back up to the screen.

“And what does your Federation of Planets want here?”

Ford did not answer straight away. He remained silent and forced a small, half smile on his face. “I might tell you once I have your name, sir. You have me at a disadvantage.”

The alien returned the smile. It looked more disgusting on the near-human face.

“More than you know, Captain. But if it makes you feel any better, I am Over Warden Jarn. I run this place for the Ya’wenn Government. What has your government sent you here for? Are you here to buy metals?”

“Maybe in the future…” Now Ford stood and approached the visual pickup. “We’ve been ordered here to negotiate the release of a group of your… workers… to our custody for return to their home planet.”

Jarn seemed absolutely unfazed by the request. It seemed that he bought and sold prisoners on a daily basis, and likely did. He pursed his bottom lip in a manner that showed slight interest. “What specific group, Captain?”

“A group of Klingon warriors.”

Jarn paused a moment. He wasn’t the consummate actor.

“Klingons… good workers those Klingons.” He said, his voice so gravelly that it sounded as though he’d suffered some throat damage in his sordid past. “They’ll cost you plenty, Captain Ford. But I don’t talk money with a ship in orbit. You have landing ships?”

“We carry shuttles.”

“Well, then, bring your cash and a minimal group of men down to the coordinates we’ll send you. I don’t allow matter teleporters on my planet. Too much danger of things going missing, you understand.”

“I figured as much. We’ll make orbit in ten minutes and see you after that.”

“Very well, Captain. My ships will let you pass.”

The viewer shed the link to the Over Warden and returned to the view of the planet and escorting ships. The six little starships were turning to match Endeavour’s flight path, though their weapons remained powered. Behind the conn, Lieutenant Nechayev continued scanning their escorts for defensive weaknesses. Ford heard him working and felt all the safer for it. Commander Thomas gave the captain a sideways glance.

“We’re not really taking the money with us, are we?”

“Hell no. We’ll bluff ‘em on the money, bring it down when we have the prisoners. There’s something not right down there, though.” Ford paused in recollection. “He hesitated when I mentioned the Klingons. They might not even be down there. Or they might be dead and buried. Whatever is wrong, he isn’t going to play straight with us, and we’re going to have to be careful.”

Ford patted Bronstien on the shoulder.

“Assume standard orbit, helm. Then get down to Shuttle Bay One. I want my best pilot on the main shuttle incase we have to hotfoot it out of there.” He looked left to the Ops position. “Ron, you have the conn.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

Davenport stood and made for the center seat. A replacement NCO took Ops as the captain headed for the after lifts. “Mister Nechayev, ready another shuttle and appropriate security forces for the latinum should we need it. And map out the location of the field generators just in case we need to eliminate them.”

“Yes, Keptin.”

“XO, Comm, y’all are with me.”

“This isn’t the way we do things, Captain…” Ford turned to the sound of the voice behind him. Lieutenant Smith stood at the foot of the personnel shuttle’s boarding ramp, phaser pistol in hand and question upon his face. Chevy gave the boy half a smirk and faced him fully as he pulled the slim, light field jacket over his shoulders. The kid’s eyes focussed for a second on the shiny gold Captain pins on the jacket’s shoulder and arm. Most of his resolve drained from him.

“Something to say, Comm?”

“Well, Captain…” Ford could tell the young officer now wished he’d never spoken up. He shuffled foot to foot, glancing away uncertainly. Commander Thomas thumped up the ramp, passing the boy and slapping him painfully hard on the back. Thomas’s face bore a cruelly sardonic expression as he passed by Chevis. Ford pretended to ignore him. The boy stammered a bit more.

“Well, this isn’t how we were trained at the Academy. I mean, we weren’t trained to negotiate from behind armed phasers.”

“That’s right, Lieutenant. You weren’t trained like this. You were trained in a cozy little simulated environment, negotiating against instructors skilled in playing a role. No one was pointing a weapon at you. No one was looking for a way to screw you and take advantage of all your weaknesses. No one wanted what you had. Right now though,” Chevy smiled a bit, hefting the weight of his own grey-blue phaser pistol, “We’re going to operate on a planet where all of those instances might be true. We have to get our job done, return a former enemy home, and do all that while still protecting our asses. Do you have any idea how many times Captain Archer of the NX-01 was captured in his ten years of command?”

Smith seemed taken aback. This might not be the butt-chewing he’d expected for questioning his captain, but he knew now that Ford wouldn’t tolerate much in the way of scrutiny. Chevis Ford played things his way. “No… uh, no, sir.”

“Fifty times. Some of those were re-captures! Him and his engineer were notorious for getting nabbed. Ever read Captain James Kirk’s history? Not counting the recent Klingon trial where he was arrested, he, Spock and Doctor McCoy were captured times uncountable. Now… any idea how many times Admiral Sharp was captured during his years in command?”

Only a questioning look came back in answer. Ford held up a solitary finger.

“Just once. One time, by Commander La’ra of the Hiv’laposh. Who’s school of thought do we want to emulate?”

“Sharp’s, sir?”

“Damn right! Get aboard.”

Lieutenant Smith stepped quickly past his CO. He was probably very glad to be out of the captain’s sight. Ford, however, stepped back down the ramp and examined the polymer casing of his Type-Two pistol. He did indeed wish for easier ways to get things done. But, often, a good solid weapon was the only tool one could count on. Maybe things would be different for the next generation of Starfleet, but today, one had to remain realistic.

Ford glanced about the cavernous main shuttle bay. Closest by his own craft were two other vessels, filled with security men and rifles. Further away was another cargo shuttle being prepped for launch when the captain called for it. Chevy proclaimed to be no genius, but did everything within his power to protect his ship and crew. He just hoped none of this would be necessary.

Far across the steel and white colored bay, the final officer he awaited emerged from the after turbolift. He came on at a trot, holstering his own phaser and sliding on a field jacket. Ford greeted Mister Bronstien as he neared the ramp. “Ready for a short trip, helmsman?”

“Aye, Cap.” The youth said with a wide grin. His short-cropped black hair made the lad look even younger than he acted. Such children made the captain feel old. Ford motioned the boy to the cockpit and holstered his own phaser.

“Let’s go, kids.” He murmured as he closed the aft hatch.

Chapter Seven

The forward, starboard-facing door of the main shuttle bay droned slowly open to allow the trio of shuttlecraft to exit into open space. Each of the tiny reserve ships emerged from within the structure of the larger vessel’s thick neck and held position before the Endeavour to wait for the others. Once gathered; the smaller escort shuttles flanking behind the single, large cargo shuttle; they slowly descended toward the surface of the rocky little world.

Commander Thomas held solidly to either side of the ops section of the pilot console as he watched the insertion intelligence scroll automatically across his readouts. “Lower atmosphere thirty percent oxygen, seventy percent nitrogen… the rest a bunch of trace elements. Computer says it’s breathable, but I figure its gonna stink. Gravity reads as one-point-two Earth standard.”

“A lot of heavy metals in the core, then.” The Captain commented. For such a small planet to have gravity even greater than Earth meant it was made of some dense material. Ford resisted the urge to order his men to set their equipment accordingly. Twenty years ago, personnel equipment had to be hand adjusted for environmental differences such as gravity, EM fields and terrestrial gasses. These days, however, they equipment they carried was built to adjust itself automatically. Everything from their phasers to their universal translators had some kind of a chip or module meant to set it to operate more efficiently in whatever environment it found itself. Progress.

“Touchdown in three, Cap.” Mister Bronstien reported. The kid’s hands moved across his controls with fluid skill. The cargo shuttle they rode in barely wobbled during the entire entry. He was good. Clouds were parting themselves before the main view port as the shuttle forged its way to the waiting ground.

The captain glanced at the helmeted faces of the waiting security grunts sharing the cargo bay with him. Each sat with his or her rifle held beside their knee and stared back at their CO. The captain gave them an appraising nod. “Your primary role on the surface is to act as guards for this shuttle. I will imply to the Over Warden that we have the latinum on board. Your real purpose, aside from guarding the dummy load, is to act as a backup force should the negotiating team get into trouble. Hopefully, our talks with these people won’t take us too far from the landing sight. If it does, attempt two-man beams ins with the emergency transporter array. Hopefully, it’ll work fine beneath the security field. If not, make your way in the best you can, and call for back up from the reserve units as needed. Understood?”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

“I’m reading a lot of guards gathered around the landing site, Cap’n.” Thomas called back to the cargo area. “Armed with focused particle rifles and well armored. They ain’t slouches.”

Ford looked back to the security team, then to his comm officer. “You heard the XO. Set your rifles to heavy stun to begin with, but jack it up to high disruption if any heavy shooting starts. Mister Smith, check your pistol setting and make sure it’s locked on level two.”

The officer nodded back without speaking and drew the pistol to check it. Ford noticed with some relief that his finger came nowhere near the trigger as he examined his weapon. He’d served with seasoned comm officers, with ten years experience or better, who did not know the first thing about weapon safety. No Starfleet issue weapon in history had ever been built with a trigger guard, and probably never would be. It was good to know this kid wouldn’t likely blow his CO’s head off on accident.

Satisfied with what his indicators showed him, Mister Smith replaced the weapon in his hip holster. The boy still seemed worried, but the captain thought it pretty normal. This was his first shore duty since exiting the Academy. And worse, he had an unorthodox skipper. It was enough to make any kid nervous.

“Lining up for touchdown!” Bronstien informed. Beside him, Thomas was pointing out the view port at some area below them.

“Set ‘er down with the side door facing the main complex. We don’t want them getting a good look at our empty cargo module.”

“Aye.” The pilot answered. Most of the kid’s concentration was on committing the landing with a powerful side-wind blowing in. Ford held onto an overhead safety strap for support as the landing pads thudded onto a solid surface. The antigravs cycled through their wind-down and their noise faded into the background. Ford arose with his men and made for the port exit. Two grunts, a blonde human woman and a gray-skinned Axanari, took forward flanking positions before their commander and opened the hatch. Beside the captain, another grunt scanned the immediate area with a combat tricorder and pronounced it safe with a curt nod.

“Let’s go.” Chevy ordered. His men filed out, two before him, the rest behind. The security force encircled the officers, creating what, in macabre humor, they called a meat shield around their charges. Two men remained behind to guard the still open hatch to the shuttlecraft. Above them, and still circling the complex and the landing platform, were the two backup shuttles.

The platform about the Starfleet visitors was of a common type. Heavy, polymer-laced earthen materials formed the sturdy tarmac surface where vessels set down. It was stained black against the lighter painted markings meant to help pilots align their approach and smelled of a thick petroleum compound. Drab, old steel and concrete structures lined the perimeter of the landing zone and supplied it with various services. The captain and crew could make out warehouses for holding materials, fueling stations, and round topped buildings that resembled old military barracks on Earth. The main structure lay directly ahead of the group, and rose high above them. It led into the main processing station and was also built into the stone of a giant, craggy peaked mountain. Behind them, and past the shuttle, dense jungle pressed up close to the edge of the landing platform. The tops of huge, swaying trees came up almost level to the ‘ground’ of the tarmac they walked on.

Emerging ahead of the team, a group of resident aliens led by Over Warden Jarn walked purposefully their way. As the heavy door reeled back down behind them, Chevis found himself hiding a smirk.

“Everybody walks a little bit faster when money or guns are involved,” he muttered to his XO.

“Yeah,” Thomas agreed, his eyes measuring the faces before them all. “And they practically run when both are involved.”

“Captain Ford!” Jarn was shouting. The tall alien pointed up toward one of the Starfleet craft lazily circling above. “I ordered you come with a small group!”

Ford waved his men to a halt. His forward most grunts raised their rifles across their chest armor.

“I have come with a small group, Over Warden. You didn’t expect me to bring an enormous load of gold-pressed latinum without adequate escort?”

“You defied my instructions! You bring a veritable army to besiege my installation!”

“If my paltry force is all I would need to lay siege to anything on your planet, then you need better trained men, Mister Jarn.” Ford looked at the Warden rather pointedly. “Surely my little unit isn’t going to… usurp your estimable power here?”

Jarn’s jaw worked as his teeth ground.

“Not likely, Captain.”

“Then why quibble? We’re here to discuss a transaction, and I am secure that my cargo is in safe hands. You are also secure that your installation is secure…”

Jarn looked the waiting shuttle over with distaste. This was little more than a primal strutting contest, now. Jarn’s pride had been injured. The Warden glowered back onto the human. “You violated my orders.”

Ford bobbed his brows in feigned disappointment.

“Well, I don’t take orders from you. I’m here at the behest of my government to deal with you… but if you aren’t interested in latinum…” Chevy half turned as if to leave. Many among his party did likewise. This cracked Jarn’s resolve.

“You wouldn’t be here if I weren’t interested, Captain. You may enter, but your soldiers will remain with your vessel!”

Ford felt the concession to be reasonable under the circumstances. He hadn’t expected to get them into the complex, but at least they would be nearby. He nodded back to the Over Warden. “Fair enough.”

The NCO nearest to the captain turned on his heel and directed his men back to the shuttlecraft. Thomas took the lead to the group with Smith beside Ford and Bronstien in the rear. If only the Warden had realized what kind of a tank he was allowing to walk through his front door, he might have ordered Mister Thomas to remain behind as well. Ford felt reasonably safe under the big man’s protection.

The sights that greeted the Federation party upon passing through the loading doors of the main complex were relatively similar to what they had experienced of other mining establishments. Smelters, cracking devices, ore movers and sensor devices of varied designs filled chamber after chamber. Workers culled from many a world filled the rooms, spaces and catwalks above. The noise of all the work was deafening. Shouts and mechanized signals competed for supremacy amid a cacophony of unidentifiable sounds. Ford wished his field jacket had been equipped with ear mufflers.

Jarn gave no pretext of offering a guided tour of any kind. He said nothing as he stalked along, leading them deep into the recesses of the enormous installation. But Ford looked around just the same. Like everyone else in his party, he was looking for Klingons. None could be seen, but these were all low-security jobs. Few guards abound, and Klingons would have to be under heavy, constant guard.

“No Klingon biosigns within one hundred meters, Captain.” Smith reported. Chevy looked to the kid beside him and noticed for the first time that he’d been scanning with his tricorder. It was a good bit of initiative on his part, but something their hosts might object to. Saying nothing, Ford nodded and pushed the boy’s scanner back out of sight and closed its top.

They arrived at a flat wall built of concrete and inset with a multitude of doors. Jarn leered back at the bunch and keyed open the closest door, leading them inside. The Starfleet crew followed, with the Warden’s bunch coming in behind.

Within this new section was a sight completely different. A veritable cathouse of scantily dressed humanoids caroused around a wide and spacious room decorated in every manner of decadence known to this sector. Expensive wall tapestries adorned a formerly polished marble floor. Statues of unparalleled skill stood sentry all about the area amid levels of stairs and raised platforms. Women of several species danced in slow, lusty and sinuous fashion, some on poles, and others from chains hanging from the high ceiling. Beings lounged on overstuffed, luxurious pieces of imported furniture and many lay about the lushly carpeted floors in orgy-like masses. The amount of drugs and alcohol one could smell alone within this room led Ford and Thomas to know how Jarn ran things here. He was certainly no warden of any justice system. He was a criminal making a huge profit in a variety of fields. Much of his garnered wealth likely had been founded upon the shoulders of those he worked to the bone.

Jarn did not pause amid any of the wonders moving about the room, but instead led the Feds on a climb through it all. They ascended level upon level of hedonism till at last reaching what one could at least pretend was an official area reserved for business. Guards bearing nasty looking weapons lined the wall, and for the first time in over twenty minutes, Ford could see daylight again. Jarn opened another door, this one a simple wooden design with a turning knob, and led them into the office he’d been in when they’d hailed. A nude female of the Warden’s species lay draped across a black leather couch against the right wall, and two more guards stood at either side of the inner entrance. Jarn made right for a table full of liquid filled decanters to the left and began to pour a drink of red fluid.

“A drink, Captain? You or your men?” The alien’s gravelly voice boomed.

“Not till the deal is done, Over Warden.”

Jarn looked back at the captain with humor in his eyes and a touch of respect on his face.

“Like to keep a crisp eye on what’s going on around you, Captain? Not a bad method. Thankfully, alcohol has little effect of Ya’wenn physiology.” He held up a tall glass of the stuff. “Cheers!”

Downing the bloody brew, the giant lumbered to his chair and sat.

“Alright, Captain, let’s deal. You want a bunch of smelly, violent Klingons.”

Ford felt a bit relieved. At least the Warden had seen a Klingon before.

“Indeed.”

“What the hirruul for, Captain? You have any idea how poor of workers they are?”

Ford approached the desk, lacing his fingers before him almost like a priest.

“I don’t personally want them. But their government wants them home. My government offered to get them there.”

“Are you their servants?”

“Nope. But they would have to cross our territory to get here, and we don’t want that.”

“Why, Captain?” Jarn had the twinkle of pleasure in his eye. “Do you fear them? I know that Klingons are violent, but does their military—”

“I’m not here to deliver you intel, Jarn. How many Klingons were brought to you?”

Jarn paused, looking away to amuse himself by making Ford wait. Chevy continued to stare at him without blinking. Finally the alien returned the glare. “If I recall, I bought over a hundred of those grimy bastards nearly a decade ago…”

“And their leader?”

“Leader?”

“Surely you found out their names.”

Jarn stared in silence, then… “Dath’mar, I believe.”

Ford felt vindicated. Perhaps all this wasn’t going to be a waste of time. He knew the name of the Klingon leader, and there was no way he could have gotten it without having had them here. Hopefully they still remained here. “Any how many remain?”

Jarn shrugged.

“How should I know?”

“You have a prisoner count, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, Captain. But you won’t find them on one presently.” Jarn was again smiling. It wasn’t a pretty visage. His hand grasped the empty glass on his desk as though it was some child he was taking pleasure in strangling. “You see, Captain Ford, they escaped six months after they were brought here. They’ve been raiding and attacking my operation for years! I would almost pay you to take them away!”

Jarn held up a scarred and bent finger.

“Almost,” he repeated. “But you’re going to need my intel and assistance to capture these Klingons if you hope to take them anywhere. And that…is going to cost you.”

Ford glowered at the man, his forehead furrowing in displeasure.

“Oh, really? Pay you for the privilege of tracking them down myself? Why would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, Captain, the ships in orbit with you will force you to withdraw. And you’ll have nothing. Save for a blemish on your service record.” Jarn looked overly pleased with himself. He reclined in the seat he occupied and toyed with his glass. Chevis wanted to ram it down his smug throat.

“In the end, it doesn’t matter much,” the captain said instead. “But I won’t pay nearly as much if I have to hunt them myself. How much cash is required for the right to track them and get your intel?”

“Ten blocks gold pressed latinum!”

Ford was stunned by such a close guess. It was grossly over-priced, but at least the Warden hadn’t asked for more than they’d been issued. Latinum could not be synthesized in any way. It was mined and encapsulated into golden containers to be used as money. There would be no way of acquiring more.

The captain scoffed.

“Ten blocks! You’re full of shit, jailer-boy! You’d be lucky to get three!”

Jarn stood in self-generated rage. His gnarled finger jabbed at Ford’s chest. The captain had long ago made a habit of not standing within jabbing distance of anyone he didn’t like.

“You’re damn lucky I’m even talking to you for ten blocks!” The Warden thundered, spittle flinging. “You’ll pay ten or leave.”

“You will take four or you can keep the war-mongering Klingons for yourself!” Ford countered. “Let them wreck your installation. It’ll cost you more than any blemish on my record might.”

Jarn paused a second.

“Eight!”

Ford grinned. This was how negotiations really started. Haggling prices.

“Five.”

“Seven, and not a slip less!” Again the finger pointed.

“Six and a deal.”

Jarn looked ready to argue further. But at last, sensing the captain’s readiness to walk out of the room and go home, he nodded. “Six, then, Captain. Well done.” The big man straightened. “I’ll get you that drink now.”

Ford nodded and watched the alien lumber that way. Chevis shared a glance at Mister Thomas, who was suppressing a small grin at the spectacle. He grew almost giddy when the captain yelled. It happened so little. Jarn returned with a drink both Ford and himself. They raised the glasses together. The warden drained his in a few deep drafts; Ford sipped his. It was stiff, but honey sweet. It’d be easy to get looped on this stuff.

“I’ll be sending my men to acquire payment. I assume the cash is on that larger shuttle out there?”

“You’ll get half now, then half before we leave with the prisoners.” Ford returned. “And no, it isn’t. I’m not stupid enough to come to an unknown planet, looking for people I still don’t know are even here with a ton of currency I can’t defend for any length of time.”

Jarn grunted a laugh to show his agreement. “I wouldn’t trust me either, Captain. I think we may do further business in the future. Do you like dancing women?”

Chapter Eight

The Starfleet party walked quickly toward the landing zone and their waiting shuttlecraft. They finally shed their guards and were reasonably alone as they made it to the center of the tarmac. Commander Thomas stepped in close to his captain as they moved along.

“So, Cap’n, what do you think?”

Ford drew his communicator from the back of his belt. “What I think is that we’re not going to make our deadline. The Klingons were supposed to meet us at the border zone in forty hours to either get their men, or an answer. It’ll take us ten hours at maximum warp to reach the border, which leaves just thirty or so hours to find a bunch of Klingons who’ve had a decade to find really good hiding places. And I figure that about an hour past our rendezvous time, Governor Ron’jar is gonna hop across that border and come looking for us.”

“Fuckin’ great.” Ben groused as they came to a halt near to the waiting shuttle. “Countdown to an interstellar incident. Thanks for makin’ me your XO, skippy.”

Ford pressed the key to flip open his communicator. “Welcome.” He smiled past the exec to speak into the comm. “Ford to Endeavour.”

“Davenport. Go ahead, Cap’n.” Came the scratchy reply from the tiny speaker.

“Launch the cash-cow with an advance payment of three blocks. Cover it with active targeting.”

“It’ll be down in ten, Cap’n. Anything else?”

Ford grimaced to the rest of his party and eyed the growing gloom gathering in the skies. A light drizzle was beginning to come down in cold waves. The wind was beginning to pick up as well. “Yeah, Ron. We’ve met with complications. Our hosts lost our Klingons ten years or so back and we have to go looking for them. Commander Thomas is going to remain on site and carry out search and recovery while we coordinate our efforts with prison personnel via Endeavour. Security will supply whatever the XO requires.”

“You’re returning to the ship?”

“Indeed. Mister Smith will accompany me, my security team and Mister Bronstien will remain with the XO. Stand by to retrieve my shuttle.” Ford looked the party of prison guards back at the main doors over with dubious apprehension. He had to shake his head. “Ford out.”

Thomas was smiling as the captain stowed his communicator. “You look like you don’t trust our hosts, Cap’n.”

“I don’t. You gonna be able to handle all this down here?”

Ben gave his friend a scornful eye. “You once sent me down to a planet crawling with Klingons to steal a database. Alone. I think I can handle a few search parties in unfriendly terrain filled with untrustworthy allies and former enemies. You just go back to your floating battleship and sip on some ice tea and try not to dribble it on your nice clean uniform.”

Ford chuckled as he turned for the boarding hatch.

“Well, you’re older and fatter these days, Mister Thomas. Just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t prefer your old rockin’ chair and a knee blanket.” The captain glanced over to the senior noncom as he began to step into the small ship. “Remain with the XO, Petty Officer. I’ll pilot the Thunderkiss myself.”

Ford and Smith took to the cockpit and settled themselves into the command seats. They ran through a standard preflight of the waiting equipment and readied for launch. As they worked in silence, Noah continually glanced in his captain’s direction.

“Question, Lieutenant?”

“Well…”

Ford didn’t slow as he brought the main thrusters up to heat.

“Spit it out, kid.”

“Why did you bring me along?”

“Same reason you take a rubber to a strip bar on Denobula. Just in case.”

“Sir?”

“If I needed a command base on site in a hurry, who would I need there as quickly as he could get there?” Now the captain was looking right back at the boy. The blonde-headed lieutenant thought for just a moment, then swallowed.

“Your comm officer.”

“Right. And if things went south and we were on the run and needed to break jamming or set up covert comm with the ship?”

“Comm officer.”

Ford nodded, returning to the task of getting the shuttle airborne.

“Exactly. There are no unimportant positions on a starship, Lieutenant. Besides, you need the ground experience.”

A voice called into the confines of the ship from without. “Hey, old man! You remember how to fly one of these things? What’s the hold up?” Thomas guffawed in laughter. Ford flew him a foul finger.

“Get your damn head outta my door or I’m takin’ it with me!” Chevy pressed the control to close the hatch down. Thomas withdrew with even more laughter and stepped out of the way as the shuttle lifted skyward.

Commander Thomas watched dispassionately as the prison guards worked at unloading the advance payment from the shuttle Patricia at the furthest end of the landing zone. The quartet of lightly armored gunmen were sweating and panting and cursing as they labored to remove the heavy blocks of currency completely by hand. There seemed to be few antigrav lifters at hand here or within the complex. They were expensive devices, and might not be so easy to purchase out here on the backwaters. Or, possibly, the Over Warden didn’t want to equip men who might try to steal the money with the means to carry it easily.

Ben turned away from the scene and eyed the landing of one of the escort shuttles that had originally come with their party. The shuttle Curry evened off for a textbook touchdown and settled onto the short landing studs beneath its twin nacelles. The executive officer now had the beginnings of a plan to look for the Klingons. Warden Jarn had provided them with a data pad programmed with a map of nearly every building the prison had and the terrain of the main continent. Also in the module’s memory was a complete listing of every Klingon sighting and attack in the last year. Having looked the list over, Ben had to admire Captain Dath’mar’s men. They kept busy…

The Curry’s side hatch popped open as a security spec emerged carrying an extra rifle. Thomas accepted the weapon and paused in thought. “Chief York, we’ll begin our search in the northern foothills of this mountain chain. We’ll keep low over the trees to get better sensor penetration and look for signs of habitation. The Klingons have got to be sticking close to the mountains since they’ve kept off the orbital scans. The ore is the only thing that could be blocking them.”

York was a short, stocky woman with wild blonde hair beneath her slim helmet. She’d been a part of Thomas’s security team for years, long before his promotion. She was a good hand. Her blue eyes were dubious. “Why the northern hills, XO?”

“Because there’s nothing there, and there’s never been an attack or a sighting in that area. The prison guards wouldn’t waste their time in that area because it’s so damn far from what the rebels have been hitting. They don’t understand Klingon tenacity.”

York nodded. She knew Klingons from experience. They would think nothing of trekking through the mountains for hundreds of klicks just to hit a target. And they’d find excellent ways to achieve just that. “Very well, XO. Are we ready?”

Thomas glanced into the now rain-swept distance to where the cargo shuttle was pulling up her after ramp. The money had been delivered and was now being ushered into the main building. He nodded his answer back to the NCO and followed her back to the shuttle. Packing the extra security men into the two remaining craft was a bit of a chore, but by splitting the difference, they managed. And so the search began.

Chapter Nine

Commander Davenport vacated the center seat as the captain stepped down into the command level. “I stand relieved, Cap’n.” The chief of ops said as he resumed his own post.

Chevis glanced over the readouts on the arms of his seat and took a look at the aft tactical display. “We’ve gathered some more company.” He observed.

“Indeed we have, Captain.” Davenport answered, flicking the main viewer from image to image as he showed Ford the new bunch of vessels hanging close by Endeavour. “Our ‘escort’ is growing. They only want us to leave on their terms.”

“Or not at all.” Chevy murmured in a low voice as he sat. “Shield status?”

“Full power, Keptin,” Nechayev replied. His arms were crossed and professional pride rode atop his voice. “Ve lowered them only to accept your wessel into the hanger.”

“Very good. Keep the cut-off times as low as possible when we bring other shuttles back. And maintain Yellow Alert. I don’t trust these bastards any further than I can sling ‘em.”

“Wery vise, Keptin.” The Russian complimented.

Ford rotated his seat in the direction of communications.

“Comm, send an update to Starfleet Command and inform them of our delays. And see if you can get me Governor Ron’jar’s office or his ship.”

“Aye, sir.”

The conn swung the opposite direction.

“Science officer, any luck in picking up Klingon bio-signatures?”

Lieutenant Surall rose from the long scope protruding from the center of her panel. Her brilliant eyes were showing a hint of having stared into the device too long. Ford knew better than to advise a Vulcan of anything, and so ignored the darkening rings beneath her eyelids. She looked back at him smartly enough, after all. “Indications are negative at this time, Captain. However, Commander Thomas has directed his search north of the mining complex. Narrowing my search to coincide with his may produce greater results.”

“Sounds like a winner, Lieutenant. Get some extra help if you need.”

“As you wish, Captain.”

With no further preamble, the olive woman bent back to her sensors, though the captain did note her hand reaching for the intercom. She could direct every science and scanning center aboard to assist her task if she so desired. Chevy found he wanted exactly that. The sooner his ship left this place, the better.

“Message sent to Starfleet Command, sir,” reported the comm officer. “I have an open frequency with the Toq’hiGH, Governor Ron’jar’s command ship.”

Ford grinned at the mention of the Klingon ship’s name. Toq’hiGH meant ‘bird that fights dirty’ as best as he knew. He stood from the conn and approached the comm station. “I’ll take the transmission here, Mister Smith. On screen.”

A small, round viewer activated to show the black on red image of the Klingon Trefoil symbol. The emblem cleared away to reveal the dark-skinned, dour-eyed face of the Imperial Governor. Ford had seen that face many times before. The Klingon had black, dagger-like eyes that were even now boring through the human captain’s skull. The man had an omnipresent essence of… something… foreboding. The darkened bridge of a warship showed behind him.

“You have Captain Dath’mar’s men?”

No greeting, no demands… just the question. Get down to business. That was the Governor. And apparently his subjects loved him for it.

“Not yet, Governor.” Ford consciously looked down to the Klingon’s collar piece to check his current rank. Still a captain, he saw. “The prisoners escaped not long after being deposited on this world. They’ve been destroying everything they could lay weapons on ever since.”

There came no change in expression. It was as though he’d expected no less.

“Good. You’re searching for them?”

“Indeed. But we’re not likely to make the original deadline. This planet is mountainous and heavily forested in many areas. It could take some time.” Ford wondered what kind of response he was about to get. How hard would he have to argue with the man?

Ron’jar nodded.

“Understood. My ship could facilitate in the search.”

Ford was a bit taken aback. He’d expected Ron’jar to demand clearance to pass, not just offer it benignly. He found his eyes narrowing. Klingons weren’t known for their patience with other races.

“I don’t have the authorization to allow you to cross the border,” a bit of a lie, but would the governor know? “But my men will find the prisoners—”

The governor cut him off with a stony voice.

“As you have said, they are not prisoners.” The Klingon leaned closer to the feed, his face looming. “They are warriors… battling criminals. Were it I there, and not you, I would supply them arms and let them finish the job.”

“Trust me, Governor…” Ford let his face relax completely. His expression was one of understanding and agreement. “I’m tempted to do just that.”

“La’ra says you are a man of metal, Captain Ford. Do well by my countrymen, for I will be watching.”

The screen went black. The captain turned and walked back to the center seat, holding in a curse. Davenport glanced back at his friend at the sound of his loud boot steps. Usually Ford was quite light on his feet. Chevy pegged the operations officer with a black look.

“He’s coming. Ron’jar’s probably already on his way.”

Ronald nodded, now understanding his captain’s agitation. They’d informed the Klingons too soon of the news, and now they would violate the border. From behind Chevy, Smith piped up as he took the silver mike from his ear.

“Sir, won’t our border ships stop Ron’jar?”

“The Toq’hiGH has a cloaking device, Lieutenant.” Davenport answered for Ford. “And he’s damn careful. The border patrol probably has no idea where to start looking.”

“We’re not likely to know he’s here till he wants us to,” Chevis agreed. The captain sat with tired irritation as he thought over the situation. Cupping his bearded chin, he lapsed into silence. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing. The Klingons could find the ex-prisoners a lot quicker. But they would likely kill as many of the prison staff as they could in the process. This was what Command had been concerned about. Damn his short sightedness!

The captain released a low grunt, nearly a growl.

“Alright, Comm, get me the XO.”

“Aye, sir,” Smith pressed his silver mike into his ear and began tapping a series of yellow-lit keys. Overhead, the main intercom system thrummed to life. Noah cast a glance at the captain in the center seat. “On speakers, Captain.”

“Go ahead, Skip.” Came Commander Thomas’s gruff voice from above.

Ford drew a breath in with a sigh. “’Fraid I goofed, XO. The Klingons know the prisoners are loose on the planet and fighting the Ya’wenn. Governor Ron’jar’s probably on his way here right now.”

“Great job there, buddy.” Ford was relieved by the humor reflected in his friend’s voice. It caused him to smile broadly.

“How about the search, Ben? Found me some rebels, yet?”

“That’s a negative so far. We are closing in on an energy trace under the forest canopy. Not sure what kind of technology or device but we’re going to check it out… It doesn’t appear on the prison’s maps…”

Ford looked over to the science station and eyed the location of Thomas’s shuttle. The Curry was passing over the expanse of the northern forests and making for a squat outcropping of stony mountains. According to the Over Warden’s info, the mountain chain was littered with massive caves and grottos. The Klingon rebels could be anywhere down there.

“Sir,” the voice of Bronstien at the shuttle helm was saying on Ben’s side of the link, “We’re one hundred meters from the signature. Slowing to ten meters per second.”

“Power level of the reading is spiking.” Thomas reported. “It’s gotta be a—Raise shields!”

The captain’s eyes flew wide open. A great thud came through the overhead speakers and static began to flow. Ford stood in shock, mouth gaping. “Ben! What’s going on? Shuttle Curry, report!”

“We’ve lost all contact with the shuttlecraft, Captain!” Smith reported from comm.

“Try to get them back,” Ford stomped over to the edge of the rail facing the science station. “Lieutenant Surall, what’s going on down there?”

Surall bent her face to her main scope.

“Analyzing readings now, Captain.”

“Captain!” Lieutenant Smith whirled his seat about toward the command center. “Emergency signal from Shuttle Blocker, sir!”

Ford spared the kid a glance and prepared himself for further bad news. If he’d had hair, it’d have been standing on edge. “On speakers.”

“—Captain, the Shuttle Curry has been shot down!” Said the voice of an unfamiliar noncom.

This much he’d guessed. He needed more to go on before he could decide whom to get mad at.

“By whom?”

“Weapon of indeterminate origin. Possibly ground based, sir. I’m getting radiation signatures that I can’t identify. Prison weaponry, maybe…”

Ford ground his teeth hard. A flash of anger and images of stomping the Over Warden’s head flat flashed through the captain’s mind. He fought to control the anger. He had no conclusive proof that the prison troops had done this…

“What is the condition of the Curry?”

“She’s down, Captain. We saw a glimpse of movement around the craft as we passed over, but there’s radiation leaking from their EPS grid. It’s making direct sensor scans impossible.” There was a pause as someone on their end said something. Then: “We can see smoke now, Captain. Orders?”

“Get down there and provide assistance. Expect resistance. We’re readying backup.” Ford stalked back to the security console. “Mister Nechayev, ready another two security teams and get them to Shuttle Bay Two, full tactical gear! Engineering, order all standby shuttles prepared for launch. Mister Smith, continue trying to raise Shuttle Curry.”

Mister Smith nodded without looking back to his CO. He pushed the comm mike further home in his ear and again keyed the transmit tab. “Shuttle Curry, this is Endeavour calling. Do you read?” Unkeying, he waited for a time. “Shuttle Curry, this is Endeavour… Commander Thomas or Lieutenant Bronstien, please respond.”

As the moments of static wound by, anxiety built within Noah’s mind. He was friends with Johnathan, but he knew little of Thomas, and nothing of the other members of the team. But he feared for them all none the less. The lack of response caused him a terrible fear. He looked back to the skipper.

“No response from the Curry or her party, Captain.”

Ford’s glare was like black fire when he shot a look back at the comm officer.

“Then get me Jarn!”

“Yes, sir!”

PO1 Dawayne Goodwin leaned in close to the thick, protective layer of alloy between he, his men and the Curry. The butt of his dual-handled phaser rifle dug into the nook of his shoulder with a satisfying pressure as he eased it and its enhanced optics out from behind cover to examine the scene before him.

His shuttle, the Blocker, was parked behind the Curry, her nose facing the tail of the downed craft. The close, jungle-like flora stood close on all quarters, much of it blackened and smoking from the Curry’s descent. The Curry’s starboard nacelle and aft thruster assembly was blown to carbon-scorched ribbons and the mess of her ravaging crash lay fifty meters behind Goodwin. The damage looked much like a hit from a disruptor cannon or focused particle weapon.

Added to this damage was a blasted-in main door at the shuttle’s fantail. Bits of the door lay scattered across the Curry’s cargo deck, and protruded from several of the inert bodies within. Dawayne touched the comm key on the side of his slim helmet.

“Endeavour, we have casualties. I count seven down.”

Crewman Daniels spoke up from the other edge of the shuttle.

“Tricorder shows faint life signs from inside the Curry. Three definite survivors!”

“We have three viables within the shuttle, Captain!” Goodwin reported into his comm. “Requesting med support. We’re moving in!”

At a hand signal from the Petty Officer, the security squad jumped into motion, leaving only one man with the Blocker. The team spread out, leap-frogging from cover to cover. Two riflemen flanked either side of the Curry, while two more took positions further away to cover the surrounding forest. Dawayne and a final grunt entered the Curry and slung their weapons.

Daniels bent over the nearest live casualty, passing his tricorder over her bloody form. The look on the slim-faced man grew dark. “Sanchez has a broken collar bone, a large piece of shrapnel lodged in her sternum and multiple contusions all over her body. She’s also been stabbed, Dawayne!”

Goodwin looked back with a hint of surprise.

“Stabbed? By what?”

“Tricorder indicates an edged weapon. A blade shaped like a Klingon d’k’tagh, though traces of an inferior metal.” Daniels began to pull first aid supplies from his armored vest pockets. Dawayne moved forward to look over the remaining wounded. One, an Andorian named S’laan, had a severe neck injury and his blue tinted blood pooled all about the diamond-plate deck. He also had a myriad of minor shrapnel wounds about his back and side. He, also, had been stabbed by some bladed implement. The same was true for the final casualty, a human man whose name he didn’t know. His mind screamed Klingons. The bloodthirsty bastards were known to finish off the injured before leaving an area they’d attacked. Goodwin went about the task of trying to bind the injuries of the remaining survivors. As he plied his mundane healing skills, his eye examined the collected corpses around him.

Out of the people lying here, any one of them would have survived the injuries they’d incurred during the crash and the destruction of the door. But their attackers had slaughtered them. The prison staff would have taken prisoners, or shot them wholesale rather than stepping foot in here. He did a count of the victims. Four bodies, three survivors. Two were missing. He glanced toward the cockpit. The bodies of Lieutenant Bronstien and the XO were not here.

Goodwin came back to Crewman S’laan. His pulse was thready and weak. He wouldn’t likely last till any medical support arrived. He tapped the comm link on his helmet. “Endeavour, Goodwin! Can we get an emergency transport?”

The voice of Lieutenant Smith came back. “Negative as yet, Petty Officer. Planetary shield remains active.”

With a curse, Goodwin shouted out the hatch. “Gornt, get in here!”

Crewman Gornt was one of the flankers, his closest support. It didn’t take the Tellarite long to get inside the shuttle. Dawayne looked up at the crewman. “Get a stretcher and help Daniels get these people to the Blocker. We’ve gotta get them up to Endeavour.”

“Aye, sir!” The husky alien replied and hotfooted it back out the hatch.

Goodwin tapped his comm again. “Endeavour, ETA on backup?”

“Shuttles Tucker and Hoshi are en route. Touchdown in six minutes.” Came that green kid’s voice once more. It would take at least that long to get the injured into the Blocker.

“Understood, Endeavour,” he replied. “We’re medevac-ing the casualties aboard the Blocker. We’ll remain on site to search for Commander Thomas and Lieutenant Bronstien. They are not among the people we have here.”

The captain’s voice came through next.

“Very well, Mister Goodwin. Any idea the ID of the attackers?”

“Gotta be Klingons, Captain. They slaughtered the survivors of the crash. Bladed weapons. They’re probably using whatever energy weapons they can scrounge up, but they’ve built traditional melee weapons from local alloys.”

Gornt had returned, and now both he and Daniels were bumping around as they lifted S’laan from before him and gingerly placed him on the skiff. Goodwin stood, unslinging his rifle and jacking the setting up to level five. He intended to respond to any violence in the same way the Klingons had treated his fellows here.

“Understood, Goodwin,” responded Ford. “When backup arrives, I want you to move toward a cavern entrance Two hundred meters north-east of your current position. Once there, give me a report and await further instructions.”

“Aye, Captain. Goodwin out.”

Captain Chevis Ford resisted the urge to growl in frustration. His inability to help his friend and the team on the surface was building up pressure in his chest. The captain could feel blood rising in his face. He wasn’t a pacer. But he did stand by the edge of the command center and thump his hand again and again on the dark rail there. He glowered at the image of the dirty little planet before his starship.

“Captain,” Came Smith’s voice. “I have Over Warden Jarn.”

About damn time! Ford stomped to the foreground between the helm and ops. The grizzled humanoid appeared on the center screen, lounging at a couch somewhere in his base with another drink in his hand.

“What do you want, Captain Ford?” There was a disdainful tone to his voice that said he’d rather not be bothered by Ford’s trivial matters. The captain bared his teeth.

“I have a combat situation developing on the surface of your planet. I need you to lower your shield so I can transport injured men back to my—”

“Not going to happen, Captain. I’m giving a lot just allowing you to operate down here.”

The captain gave the warden a suspicious glare.

“Do you have any men in the search zone I should know about, Warden?”

The alien stood, tossing a female of his species to the floor beneath him as he arose. “Are you accusing me of attacking your people?! I have no men anywhere near the northern mountains! And if I had ordered their attack, I would not have left you any survivors to transport back!”

“You won’t help me get my people back.” It wasn’t a question, more a confirmation. Ford stared deep into the Over Warden’s eyes. The alien was much more confident being safe on his own world.

“You’re on your own, Captain.”

Ford smiled back with an evil glint.

“I’ll remember that, Jarn. Endeavour out.”

The screen clicked back to the orbital view. Ford returned to his command chair. His fear for his friend and his men on the planet below was like a wet, cold mass in the depths of his gut. He would recover Thomas and Bronstien. And he would make sure Jarn regretted resisting him. He already had the inkling of an idea of how to ruin the warden’s disposition. He forced himself to relax in the blue command chair.

“Comm, maintain a constant link with the ground party. Mister Nechayev, get a passive lock on the nearest planetary shield generator. Should our casualties go critical, I will beam them up. Jarn be damned.”

“Aye’s” came from each of the officers. Ford glared at the forward screen and simmered.

Chapter Ten

Commander Benjamin Thomas stumbled as the nearest Klingon behind him slammed his rifle into the back of his skull. Lights flashed into his eyes as the ground of the stony cave rushed up to kiss him. The Starfleet officer tasted grit from the ground and blood. Guttural words barked back and forth among their captors. The Klingons were making a sport of his and Bronstien’s capture. Thomas forced himself to his feet, squelching a belly-load of rage and hate, and looked to the corner the Klingons were shoving his helmsman toward.

Lieutenant Bronstien was in sad shape. They’d beaten the skinny young man twice as badly as they had the XO. Johnathan was a smaller man, and compared to the ruffians who possessed them, he was scrawny. Bronstien himself had brought quite a bit of further abuse on himself by continually returning the Klingons’ attacks. That was probably the only reason they’d allowed him to live till now. Thomas’s natural inclination would be to do likewise. But experience told him that unless they caused him serious injury, it would be more prudent just to roll with the punches and bide his time. These bastards were taking him where he’d been ordered to go. Right to the leader of the Klingon rebels. No matter how much he’d like to kill all these miserable monsters, he had to remain calm… detached from the death of comrades.

However, he swore to himself in the same instance, if they killed Bronstien like they had the survivors of the crash, he’d make as many of them as he could pay for their sins. There would be a great quantity of blood on his hands before they brought him down. The XO could taste the thrill of seeing their broken bodies lying about him…

Silence fell amid the warriors gathered within the dim cave. A new presence had joined them. Thomas strained his aching eyes to focus in the diffuse torchlight. A solitary shape stood before him. Tall, slim and stately, this Klingon was obviously the leader. Finally details became apparent.

The Klingon was slim and wiry. He stood just a bit taller than Ben, but hardly had half the mass. But his stained and torn armor betrayed ropy bands of muscle, taught and practiced. The leader’s face was stone. His pale colored crests were few, but jagged. Beneath his razor-like brows, his single remaining eye stared through space with laser precision. His other eye, the left, was obscured by a tarnished silver patch that had been nailed directly into his skull.

Thomas recognized the leader. Captain Dath’mar had indeed survived.

Ben wanted nothing more right now than to remedy that. He could feel his clammy palms tightening around that Klingon throat; feel the sinews snap as he plied on the pressure. He could imagine the captain struggling beneath him, eyes bulging and tongue protruding as he fought to drag air into his body…

Dath’mar stepped a pace closer to the Endeavour’s XO. He glowered at him with his single eye, mouth twisting into a near sneer. Ben glared back, his own orbs raging like an inferno. Thomas thought it funny how the alien looked so much like a Klingon version of Jesus. He’d like to remove a few of those familiar features. Dath’mar inclined his face.

“You are Benjamin Thomas. Gunner of the USS Hawking…”

Ben was caught off guard. He hadn’t been on that ship in over a decade. But then, Dath’mar had been here all that time. He almost smiled at how out of date the alien was. “That was a while back… XO of the Endeavour now.”

“Endeavour.” Dath’mar stumbled over the name just a bit. One could see the memories passing over the captain’s eye. “Sharp’s ship?”

“No, that ship was destroyed by your buddy La’ra. Got us a bigger, newer ship.”

Dath’mar did not appear entertained. Both men knew something of the other. Thomas had read the Klingon’s intel file. Likely the same was true for Dath’mar. The captain stepped away, closer to the light. Improvised weaponry adorned the soldier’s belt. The pistol in his holster was unfamiliar, but he did have a handmade d’k’tagh in his boot. He looked again at Ben.

“You are aiding the Ya’wenn jailers?”

Thomas glanced back to the Klinks holding his lieutenant. They had yet to do more than smack him a couple of times since entering this cavern. He would continue to watch over the boy. These bastards would take no more of his men today, not without sacrificing a few of their own. He looked back to the captain, judging how best to slam his ugly, pale nose into his brain pan…

“Not a chance. We came here to transport your people home, only to find that you’d escaped and were running rampant.”

Dath’mar waved him off with a slow, deliberate gesture. Ben imagined breaking the smug alien’s arm… The captain posed another query.

“What purpose would your Starfleet have in taking my people home, Earther?”

“To help the peace process.”

“Peace process.” The captain repeated. He was grasping that things might well have changed in the years he’d been here. But he did not trust the words of some human captive. “So you sue again for peace with the Empire—”

Dath’mar grunted a laugh at the ridiculous notion.

“No, your Chancellor Gorkon did.”

“Gorkon is a council member. K’tarkin…”

“Died six years ago. Assassinated.”

Dath’mar jerked his head back the human’s way. His eye narrowed.

“Who?”

“We don’t have any proof—”

“Who!”

Ben sobered even more than he had been. He steadied his stance and returned the captain’s scrutiny without blinking. “The Kla’davin.”

Dath’mar looked skyward and turned to face away. He crossed his arms for some time. The remaining Klingons seemed to be looking back and forth with uncertainty. Their leader’s obvious dishevelment had them concerned. At length, Dath’mar turned back to his captive.

“You come heavily armed for a transport detail.”

“We expected to get screwed by the Over Warden. And we didn’t know how y’all were gonna react to all the news. Thought you might do something stupid… like… shoot at us. We’d prefer to have a Klingon ship here to take you home, but the brass wouldn’t allow it.”

“Why?”

“Any Klingon ship would have to pass through Federation space to get here, and our member worlds balked at the idea.”

“Federation space…” Dath’mar drifted off in thought. He probably didn’t really know where this planet was located. “And my government initiated the… peace process?”

“After Praxis exploded, Gorkon thought it was the smartest thing to do.”

“Praxis…”

Dath’mar was a cold and intellectual commander. Analytical. He processed everything like a computer. But he also made decisions based on incorrect perceptions. And he was cruel. He left no room in his decisions for mercy. If he decided Thomas was lying, then he was dead. He wouldn’t die quickly.

“I require proof.” He said finally, his voice low and tired.

Thomas grimaced, shaking his head. Fresh blood dripped from his hairline.

“Fresh outta proof, Cap’n. All we can do is signal the Endeavour, maybe set up a link with Klingon Command.”

“I would hardly consider a disembodied voice to be proof.” But Dath’mar motioned for Ben’s captured communicator. A soldier at the sideline stepped up and handed the thing over.

A gravely voice barked out from the far end of the cavern. Dath’mar looked back that way, listening to what was being relayed. He looked back at his prisoner. “Your compatriots are at the mouth of the cavern. They have come for you.”

“I can call them off.” Thomas felt his stomach drop at the thought of more of his men getting killed out there. Quickly, he held a hand out for his comm. The captain slowly handed it over. Then he drew his stolen energy pistol. The barrel was long and heavy.

“At the first sign of treachery, your lieutenant dies.”

Dath’mar leisurely aimed the weapon at Bronstien. A Klingon behind the helmsman kicked him behind the knees, driving him to the rough ground. Several of the captors drew weapons on the smaller man. Johnathan’s expression became wry with sardonic spite.

Ben stared an icy hole through his captor and flipped the communicator open.

“Thomas to security team, come in.”

There was little wait.

“This is Petty Officer Goodwin, XO. Are you alright?”

“Good for now. I need you to hold off and maintain position. Do not advance.”

“I hear you, XO. Hold as I confer with base.”

Thomas looked searchingly at the captain. He wanted nothing more than to kill this man. But there was a bigger picture to preserve here than just a personal grudge. For the peace initiative to have any hope of succeeding, an incident could not unravel here. Not when they were closer than the Empire and Federation had ever been to real peace. So many lives, now and in the future, would be affected by what he was to do right here in this cavern. He put aside his hate for a moment. It took everything he had.

“What’s it gonna take to get you outta these caves, Captain?”

“Proof that shows me that I am better off in your hands than in the Over Warden’s.”

Ben nodded once, and brought the hand comm close to his lips.

Goodwin’s voice came back through the small speaker.

“XO, we are pulling back to the tree line. We’re going to patch your signal into a repeater and let the captain confer with you. Over.”

“Very good, Petty Officer.”

“Mister Thomas, are you there?” Ford’s voice was filled with concern. Ben smirked.

“Thought you’d only call me that if I pissed you off, Cap’n.”

“I meant it, XO. I made a big stink with one of the junior officers about not getting captured today. What is your status?”

Dath’mar snatched the black device away from Thomas. Ben raised a left to slug the Klingon in the jaw but found himself instantly seized. He forced his arms to slacken.

“His status is that he is in dire danger of being killed, Captain. I am speaking with Captain Ford?”

“…Indeed. Am I speaking with Captain Dath’mar?”

“You are, Ford. You have little time to prove that your First Officer’s claims are true.”

“About getting you home… or the peace initiative?”

“Both.”

There was a silence from the hand comm. Ben grew fearful that there would be nothing to persuade this man that their claims were valid. He doubted the Klingon captain would take Jarn’s word for it. His eyes fell to Bronstien. The dark haired LT looked up at him bleakly. The kid would be alright, but only if they got out of this cave… Finally, Ford offered something.

“Governor Ron’jar will be in orbit within a few hours… I can arrange to have him meet with you on the planet surface.”

Dath’mar looked back to Thomas in dark disbelief.

“I was told our ships weren’t being allowed to come here.”

“That’s true, but the Governor is coming anyway.” Ford replied.

“How long till his arrival?”

“Ten, maybe twelve hours.”

“I will give you twelve hours to produce the Governor. After that, and both your men die. If your men are observed closing on my position, they will die then also.”

Dath’mar slammed the communicator closed and threw it to one of his soldiers. He passed his eye over the two humans a final time, then stalked away, exiting out a side tunnel. Thomas and Bronstien were roughly gathered up and hustled into a separate chamber and put under heavy guard. Time began to grind away.

Chapter Eleven

Lieutenant Commander Davenport moved through the officer’s lounge at a slow, deliberate pace, aiming for his usual place near the corner windows. In his tired hands rested a tray with a plate of meat loaf and a huge mug of black coffee. The captain had enforced the shift rotation despite the tense situation on the planet surface. This allowed his main department heads time to get some needed rest. Ron felt a twinge of regret that he had not been able to coax the skipper to take the same liberty himself. Ford could be a very stubborn commander, and Ron would not go too far out of his way to argue with him. He just didn’t have the heart to.

The ops officer looked up to his normal table, and noted the unfamiliar shape present at it. Most people preferred the center of main window seats. Usually he had this spot all to himself. But today he seemed to have an uninvited guest. Lieutenant Smith. The young LT was idly munching after a sandwich and staring out at the little dirt ball they were orbiting. He had not noticed the commander’s approach.

For a moment, Ron entertained the notion of turning away and picking out another seat. But, damn it, if he let the kid have his table now, he’d be there every damn time Ron came down here. No, he decided, best to hike his leg on this particular tree and let the new pup know whose territory he was in.

Ron circled the table and halted beside his customary seat, back to the fore bulkhead and facing out toward the port side. He had a clear view of the main doors, the synthesizer banks and the windows from that vantage. With a clatter a little noisier than his norm, Ron deposited his tray to the tabletop and took his seat with a long, tired sigh.

“Commander Dave—” The lad nearly dropped his sandwich as he shot to attention. Ron waved him down before he could stand.

“At ease, Lieutenant. We’re off duty. Just taking my usual seat.”

“If this is your table, I’ll move on!” Noah grabbed up the edges of his tray, already beginning to rise. The sight of it softened the older officer. He smiled back at the kid.

“Oh… don’t worry, Mister Smith. I’m not gonna run you off. Sit and eat your sandwich.”

Noah returned the smile with exuberance. He picked his meal back up and began to once more show it who was boss. Ron picked at his own selection with a fork. “Think I should have stuck with a sandwich, myself.” He commented. “You never know what synthetic meatloaf is going to taste like.”

Smith nodded, swallowing. “I try to avoid it myself. Back at the Academy we had a cook who really knew her way around an Italian meatloaf.”

Ron nodded, finally chancing a bite of his meal. Not bad. Needed more ketchup and less grease. He chewed it with slightly more glee than he gave field rations. “Could be better.” He eyed the youth. This young man had been out of the Academy for less than a year and was already into the thick of things. He’d been in the fleet for less than five years all together, and nearly all of that was training time. He suddenly found himself wondering what all this must feel like to such a fresh member of Starfleet.

“So… what do you think of all this, Lieutenant? The mission, that is?”

Noah seemed taken aback some. He’d not likely had such interest taken in his observations since coming aboard. He took his time in answering. “Well, the captain certainly has his own way of doing things.”

Davenport could think of no truer statement.

“That he does. Captain Ford isn’t like most ship commanders.”

“He doesn’t follow standard protocol, at least not my understanding of it. He locked weapons on those alien ships in the plasma field before their intent was known. And we certainly weren’t taught to negotiate like him at school. Captain Ford blatantly bullies the people who don’t agree with him. He uses overwhelming force when dealing with people I’d think he might try to be nicer to.”

“Like the Warden fellow down there?”

Noah stared back at the seasoned officer. The kid knew his ears were so green they dripped. But he held his ground. Davenport seemed much more approachable than any of the other higher-ups. The ops commander took a long pull of his coffee and gazed back expectantly.

“Well, yeah. The Xenocultural professor back home would have advised being as non-confrontational as possible to prompt the Warden to be more cooperative—”

“That professor would probably be chained up down there by now, mining bacinite with the rest of the landing party, Lieutenant. Did those same professors ever delve into the inner workings of criminal organizations?”

Smith nodded, rising to the defense of his instructors.

“Yeah. They taught us the command hierarchy of the Orion cartels and the Syndicate organization. They—”

Davenport shrugged, holding up a halting hand.

“Sorry to keep interrupting you, but the cartels and the Syndicate are almost governments to themselves. They’re more civilized than what you find out here in the middle of nowhere. Sure, these guys run a big racket out in this neck of the woods, but they haven’t gotten so big as to knock down all their competition. So they do things in a more bloodthirsty way. These guys would blast us out of orbit if they thought they could and if they weren’t gaining by letting us have the rebel Klingons. Any armchair negotiation professor can work a deal with people who play by some kind of rules. But those guys down there don’t. They make their own rules.

“The captain served in the lower enlisted ranks and as an officer. He served on border patrol frigates near the Klingon border before there was a neutral zone. He dealt with these medium-sized crime operators before and had to learn from trial and error. And what you don’t do, is back down from these guys. So don’t judge Ford too badly till you learn more yourself.”

Smith seemed to wonder if he’d just been chewed out. He averted his eyes a bit.

“I don’t mean to down his command methods. I’m just saying they’re different.”

“Well, as the Vulcans say, Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations.” Ron leaned back, now more concerned with the warm mug in his hand than with his forgotten meal. He looked the kid over searchingly. He wasn’t a bad sort. “Trust me, though. The captain does what he does to keep his ship and crew safe. Another starship commander would’ve let those pirates yesterday get a lot closer before readying their defenses. They would have operated from the idea of not showing unnecessary force to an unknown species. And we would have taken direct damage to the ship. Not enough to lose against those guys, but we would’ve lost lives. This morning, the captain took down enough men for a show of force, and to watch your backs while you arranged the deal.”

Noah looked up from his empty tray, fingering the rim of his glass of cola.

“But we did lose lives today. We had fatalities from the Curry.”

Ron nodded his agreement. He’d known each of the men lost today.

“Indeed we did, Lieutenant. But ask yourself… did the captain’s decisions lead to that?”

“No, he was trying to help the Klingons.”

“Right. Not every victim knows what help looks like when it arrives. And that’s what happened today.” Ron’s brows raised an inch as he slid a grin on his face. “Actually, we got off kinda easy considering we’re dealing with Klingons. They only downed the one shuttle, not both.”

“How’s that easy?”

“It showed us that Dath’mar was curious and not dead convinced we were his enemy. He wanted to question the commander of the mission and therefore captured the two highest ranking… Had he just believed we were the enemy, he’d have shot down both craft, then hid himself better.”

Smith rocked back a bit, chewing on those ideas. He hadn’t counted on such a conversation when he’d chosen this spot for a seat. Neither, though, had the commander. But both had learned a little something. Smith realized that not everything was a textbook example and something to be approached from a set parameter. There were many ways of dealing with situations. And some ways that he’d been taught might not work at all.

Davenport learned that despite the sterile environments of the classrooms at the Academy, there still abounded smart kids who could learn how things worked out here. Both men felt a bit more confident as they delved into more mundane small talk.

Captain Ford settled into the synthetic leather of his favorite office chair and set the arm control to medium power. Vibrating coils began to massage away the tension of a day full of bridge duty and he closed his brown eyes. Ford could not bury or forget his fears for the two men trapped amid the Klingons. Nor could he suspend the misgivings he had about the Toq’hiGH not responding to his hails. Despite his guess that Ron’jar was indeed on his way, he had no proof that allayed the thoughts that he might actually not be coming. And if the Klingon warship didn’t show in the next four hours… Thomas and Bronstien would be out of time.

Ford wouldn’t wait quite that long. If he saw that his men were in imminent danger, he would order his security force to intervene. Even if it meant blasting the prison transporter shields and beaming teams directly into the caverns. Ford opened his dry, burning eyes and focused on the pile of PADDs on his desktop. The ship may still be at Condition Two, but yeomen still carried those damn things from deck to deck to acquire their collection of thumbprints and okays. The PADDs could wait, though. He’d allow them to build up a few more reinforcements just so they could put up a better fight tomorrow…

The captain turned his massaging chair aft to gaze out the office’s main porthole. From here he could see a grand array of his ship’s hull, the slope of saucer and the stretch of the impulse deck. The grand length of the starboard nacelle. The brilliant formation lights blinked on and off, slicing away the shadows that collected into the nooks and crannies of the hull’s design. Ford allowed his mind to empty of its stress, a task that while relieving could only be maintained for mere seconds. There was too much at stake down on the planet for his mind to rest for long.

A quick boson’s whistle cut through the silence, startling the captain.

“Captain to the bridge!” It was Davenport’s voice, filled with urgency. Ford was on his feet immediately and through the security lobby outside his office in no time, emerging onto the bridge.

“Report.” He called toward the conn. Ron was standing up from the soft blue chair as Chevis descended the steps beside it.

“Cap’n, short range sensors picking up sporadic readings of gamma radiation, bearing 007 mark 028. Range twelve hundred km. Likely a Klingon battlecruiser.”

Ronald made for his post at ops after passing a solid, assured look to his commanding officer. Ford eased into his chair and gazed at the forward screen. “Shields up, tactical. Open hailing frequencies.”

The washing sound of the shield generators powering up came through the bulkheads as Smith’s voice sounded: “You’re on, Captain.”

Ford made sure his voice was ready and spoke up sternly.

“Klingon vessel, this is Captain Ford of the Endeavour. Drop your cloak and state your intentions.”

The response was immediate. Likely the Klingons had decided to cut their stealth systems as soon as Endeavour’s shields had activated. A field of indeterminate shape and definition began to form in the upper field of the viewer. Ops centered the screen on the mirage as it began to waver and amalgamate into a solid image of a winged bird-ship. The massive green vessel grew more substantial as the seconds ticked by; its wings raising into their landing position above its beaked head and hunch backed body.

Ford recognized the red and black feather paint of the undersides of the wings. It was the Toq’hiGH. Ron’jar’s ship. The Governor must have pushed his engines quite hard to get here inside seven hours. This mission must have been equally as important to Ron’jar and his government as it was to Starfleet. The captain felt a small tide of relief finally. He just hoped the situation grew better from here on, and not worse.

The viewer shifted to the image of the Klingon governor, crouched in his own command chair and already wearing his traveling cloak over his armor. His hooded eyes stared darkly at Ford.

“You have found Dath’mar’s men?” Ron’jar inquired. His tone and inflection stated that he’d expected nothing less.

“Indeed we have, Governor. You don’t sound surprised to hear that there were survivors…”

A shoulder raised on the Klingons broad frame, a deliberate shrug.

“They’re Klingon. Transmit the beam down coordinates.”

“The planet is protected by a transporter shield. You’ll have to use shuttle—”

“Silence!” The shout thundered across the starship’s bridge, stunning Ford. Ron’jar stood, letting the tail of his cloak fall where it may as he glowered at the human captain. “I have no time for banter. Coordinates!”

Biting down on an ineffectual rebuttal, Captain Ford grimaced and pointed a signaling finger at his science officer. Surall nodded her understanding and relayed the cavern’s position through the comm station. Ron’jar looked somewhere off screen and nodded. The image of the Klingon bridge faded, replaced by his battlecruiser.

“Klingons…” Ford muttered aloud, “Always so damn polite.”

“Captain,” Davenport spoke up again. “The Toq’hiGH is changing position. She’s angling for planetary descent.”

Ford studied the image of the huge bird on the fore screen. The ship was turning toward the planet and pointing her nose toward the atmosphere. Ron’jar was either going to land his ship, or he was going to drop below the beaming shield and transport men to the surface. Either way, he avoided the vulnerability of flying a shuttle over an unfriendly landscape. Ford got up and made for the aft lifts.

“Ron, you have the conn. Signal Bay Two to have my shuttle crewed up and ready.”

Chapter Twelve

The shuttlecraft Firefly settled down on her landing pads just beneath the looming neck of the perched Bird of Prey. Captain Ford emerged from the interior of the craft, flanked by his security men, and took a second to appreciate the intimidating bulk of the graceful warship standing above him. He’d seen huge ships landed on terrestrial surfaces before, but never had he been so close to the hull of a Klingon warship. This was no 157-meter long scout Bird. This was the newer, 325-meter long cruiser version of the design. The mere fact that it had landing struts capable of holding it aloft was worthy of awe.

Ford glanced at the swath of smashed trees and foliage destroyed by the beast’s descent and then hiked his way up the slope of the land toward the mountainside. A Klingon party was already present before his security team near the mouth of the cave. His men’s weapons weren’t raised on the Klingons, but were held very much at the ready. The captain hurried his pace to make up ground all the more quickly.

“—not till I receive authorization from my Captain,” PO1 Goodwin could be heard saying as Ford drew near. Ford glanced up to Ron’jar.

“Welcome to Kovarn, Governor.” Ford smiled happily at the mirthless glare Ron’jar returned him. “I see you’ve met Petty Officer Goodwin’s crew.”

“Your petty officer blocks my entrance.”

Ford drew to a halt, hands on his hips and nodded blithely.

“Yeah, his orders didn’t include warships landing beside his base camp and disgorging more Klingons.” The captain waved his men off, gathering them closer to himself. The Klingon’s tension slackened visibly. “That and I wanted them to slow you down long enough for me to get here.”

“You obviously do not value the lives of your men.”

“Actually, I do. So much so that I wanted to be here when Dath’mar releases his hostages back to me.” Ford’s glare at the larger alien did not waver. Ron’jar returned it with the glaze of feigned boredom.

“Klingons do not take… hostages.”

Chevy smirked as he shrugged.

“Tell that to the captain in there holding my people.”

Ron’jar signaled his men to follow and led them into the yawning mouth of the cavern. Ford pointed to Goodwin and three others and did likewise. The two groups trod through the dark, guided by the light of rifle lamps and tricorder scans. They emerged into guarded sections and amassed a larger following of Klingon guards. Ford eyed each of the new warriors as he encountered them.

They were a lean, hungry looking mob, armed to the teeth and covered in the evidence of years of savage combat. The whole caravan of men went on, going deeper and deeper into the mountain’s heart till finally, they came to a great hall full of torches, stalactites and Klingons. Kneeling amid them beside the towering form of Captain Dath’mar were both Ford’s missing officers.

Chevis hurried forward, unconscious of the danger to himself, and bent between the two men. Thomas and Bronstien were both battered and a bit worse for wear, but alive. Ford exchanged glances with the both of them, then glared in smoky anger at their tormentor. “You had no provocation to attack and assault my men.”

Dath’mar raised his upper lip into a sneer, stabbing daggers through Ford with his eye.

“You are my enemy till proven otherwise.”

Ford leapt to his feet, the sudden action drawing aimed weaponry to him. His own security men encircled his position, hopeless to defend him, but ready to claim a few lives of their own in trade. Ron’jar moved like a juggernaut through the throng of raised weapons. He halted between Ford and Dath’mar, eyes locked on the former Klingon ship commander.

“Enough of this. We are taking you home, Captain.”

Dath’mar looked back at the governor. His expression registered shock. It was entirely possible that he’d never truly realized the fact of his freedom till just this moment. His lone eye quivered in disbelief. Ron’jar took hold of his shoulder.

“It is true. Your labors here are done.”

Dath’mar blinked, as though a decade-long trance were being broken. His shoulders sagged. Small cheers, then louder and more raucous ones began to sweep through the masses of his men. The rebel commander looked aside, then back to Ron’jar. “And the war?”

Ron’jar looked over to the Federation captain, standing there amid the dirty, sweat stained Klingon rebels in his clean, bright red alien uniform. The governor returned Dath’mar’s look with a nod.

“Indeed. We have begun the trek toward peace with the Earthers. A new century is dawning.”

Dath’mar shook his head. Disbelief and bewilderment were visibly swimming through his muddled mind. What was the world coming to?

Ford gazed about as he helped his officers to their shaky feet. He took in all the Klingons about him. Most were overjoyed in the prospect of returning home. Many were staring around as though wondering if they were in a dream. Some stared at him in disbelief, suspicion evident of their faces. A few looked about ready to kill him and his men. Ford looked at them all, and had to wonder just how long, and how hard, the road to peace was going to be…

Ford’s communicator sang out its tone.

“Security Team Two to Captain’s party!”

Ford whipped out the device and flipped it open. The entire room was now riveted on him.

“Go ahead, Team Two.”

“Captain, Endeavour reports six attack craft from the prison complex, closing on our position. Their weapons are hot!”

Over Warden Jarn had evidently taken exception to the presence of more Klingons on his planet and decided to act rashly. Chevy looked between Ron’jar and Dath’mar. “Now’s the time to get the hell outta here.”

Movement was instantaneous. At a gesture from Dath’mar, the entire assemblage of Klingon warriors up and began to move toward the exits from the chamber. Even had Ford and his party intended to remain, they would have been grabbed and swept away in the flood of large, moving bodies surging for the surface. As it was, Ford and company were running just as fast, packed into the center of the alien soldiers. Ford tried not to pant as he spoke into his comm and shouted so as to be heard above the trample of booted feet.

“Team Two, get to your respective shuttles and get back to Endeavour. Order my shuttle to launch also, and patch me through to Davenport!”

“Aye, Captain!” Came the reply, “Switching you over now.”

There was a crackle of dense static as the ground team leader switched his comm unit over to act as a relay from the cave to orbit. Ron’s voice came through next, a bit echoey with the cave’s interference. “This is Endeavour. Go ahead, Cap’n.”

“Ron, I’ve ordered our shuttles to return immediately, but we’re a good five minutes from the surface. You know what to do!”

There was a subtle pause from Davenport’s end of the transmission as he gave orders about the bridge. When he came back, there was assurance in his voice. “Copy that, Cap’n. We’re standing by.”

“Let me know when!”

Ford could hear the first echoes of explosions on the surface above as he planted his communicator back on his belt. Dust shook down upon the running masses. Dath’mar glanced back to both Ford and Ron’jar as they went. “Should the main entrances become impassable, we have alternative routes. They will take more time.”

“Don’t worry,” Ford replied, trying not to sound exhausted. He was not a runner. “I’ve got that end covered.”

“What do you mean?” Growled Ron’jar.

“We don’t have to make it topside. We just have to get within sixty meters.”

Another, heavier series of concussion shook the floor of the tunnel. Rocks were dislodged, staggering Klingons and felling one. This warrior was picked up and borne along by his brethren. None would be left behind. Ford just hoped the tunnel remained intact for a few more minutes…

Commander Davenport looked sideward as Lieutenant Nechayev made his report.

“Target locked, Commander.”

“Activate phasers and fire.” The chief of ops ordered with loud authority.

A single lance of crimson energy shot out from the bottom of the main viewer and impacted on a point far below on the planet surface. There was a tiny flash and the phaser beam terminated. Daniel smiled with his next report.

“Anti-transporter field down, Commander. The primary field generator is destroyed.”

“Is the landing party within beaming range of the surface?”

“A few more meters to go, sir.”

Ron nodded. “Then have Transporter Room Six beam in the secondary objective now.”

“Aye, sir.”

Lieutenant Smith’s voice rang out from comm. “Our last shuttle has landed. Shuttle Bay One is closing main doors.”

“Very well, Lieutenant.” Ron replied. One less bit of business to worry over. “Signal the captain that we are beginning transports.”

At the science station, Lieutenant Surall was as always hooked to her primary scope. She looked left to the conn and inclined her head to Davenport. “The first groups of Klingons are now within safe beaming distance of the surface.”

Ron tapped a waiting blue key on the conn’s armrest.

“Transporter rooms, begin emergency beaming of the survivors, and remember to disarm all active weapons.”

“Energizing now.” Came the reply.

Endeavour shook just then, her upper hull and structural members quaking with a tremendous impact. Sparks flew from after consoles as safety systems fought to control power overloads. They’d just taken a weapon strike.

“A defense satellite has locked onto our position and is charging for a second blast! Two more are locking on!” Nechayev shouted over the damage alarms. Davenport winced mentally at the thought of the damage the engineers were going to have to repair. “I’m raising aft shields!”

That would cut their ability to beam survivors up by fifty percent as half the transporter emitters were based in the after portions of the hull. But nothing else could be done for it. They either activated their defenses, or they were dismembered. “Very well, Tactical. Return fire with aft photons and destroy those platforms. Surall, any indication that the Toq’hiGH is beaming up any survivors from the planet?”

“Yes, sir. She’s lowered her forward screens and angled her remaining shields to cover the gap as she engages transporters.” Another hard blast rocked Endeavour from behind. The Vulcan woman glanced at a series of monitors. “Commander, three defense vessels are aligning to supplement the satellites’ firepower. They are locking on.”

Ron shot a look toward the portside engineering stations. “Reinforce aft screens with the forward generators. Give ‘em all the power we can spare.”

A trio of weapon blasts rattled the ship once more. A circuit blew out just above the main viewer and the ship’s chronometer began to run amok. Ron turned to the tactical station. “Return fire, maximum weapons!”

“Yes, sir!”

The full array of Endeavour’s aft armament went to work, concentrating fire on the lead starship. The smaller warship’s shields flared and sparkled under the assault, and after six successive phaser hits and three photon detonations, failed utterly. The ship ducked its starboard side as it began an evasive turn, and caught a three more torpedoes in her flank. The right side of the ship ruptured inward then blew out into a fan of debris and glowing plasma. Its two companions took the hint and began to back away from the angry Excelsior.

“Remaining defense ships are backing away and holding fire, Commander.” Daniel reported. The ship shuddered again as another defense platform took up the assault. “But ve still have four satellites firing on us and eight more ships inbound. Veapons range in one minute!”

Davenport slammed a hand down on the intercom panel.

“Transporter room! Have we got the last of them?”

“One more group, Commander, just coming in range! The captain is aboard and en route to the bridge!”

“Great!” The commander exclaimed and killed the connection. Behind him, the lift doors whispered open. Ford’s voice called out amid the noise and alarms, sounding tired and breathless.

“Report!”

Davenport propelled himself out of the conn and on toward ops. Endeavour heaved under a harder hit than before, slinging the captain into his seat. When both were safely seated, Ron risked a response.

“We’re taking heavy fire from the aft quarter from defensive platforms and orbiting ships. Our forward quarter is protected by our low altitude, but aft shields are falling to…” he read over his readouts, “thirty percent.”

Smith jerked around from his console, hand on his mike. “Transporter room signals last Klingons are aboard!”

Ford slapped his armrest. “Restore forward shields and get us the hell outta orbit! Tactical, place me a parting torpedo on the mining complex’s main landing dock as we go.”

“Yes, Keptin!”

“Forward shields up now at sixty percent,” came from ops. “Aft falling to ten percent without the added support!”

“Auxiliary power to aft shields!”

	Captain’s Log, Supplemental.


        The Endeavour’s escape from planetary obit was a bumpy one, but one made
	in good time. Even as the enemy angled to pursue us, several were 
	disabled from behind as Toq’hiGH arose from the atmosphere and pummeled
	them. The bastards never even saw it coming. We took moderate damage 
	from the first hit we sustained. Engineering is replacing destroyed 
	materiel, recycling ductwork and shoring up the structural members that
	were cracked. The damaged hull plating will be repaired when we reach 
	destination. There was no hull breach.

        All in all, I guess casualties can be considered light, but I can’t get
	over losing men to the people we came to rescue. They butchered them 
	inside that shuttle! I was more than happy to beam Dath’mar and his 
	smelly band over to Ron’jar’s ship and be done with ‘em. How he could 
	look me in the eye and tell me that they were his enemy till he knew 
	otherwise…

        Damn…

        We’re presently escorting the Governor’s ship across Federation space.
	I’m opting not to pursue any kind of official action over their 
	crossing our space originally. Were it not for Ron’jar’s presence, I 
	wouldn’t likely have my officers back. I probably wouldn’t be taking the
	Klingons home, either. So much about this mission was dependent on his 
	being there. 

        Ultimately, the mission was a success. Hopefully the Federation will get
	whatever pull they were hoping for out of it. Maybe they’ll just be 
	happy that we beamed back all the latinum we paid to buy the Klingons 
	back from Jarn. I’ll bet he’s chewing nails, though I personally hope he
	was out there on his dock when I blew it up.

        As for Mister Thomas, he is already back on active duty with only a 
	broken rib to complain about. Bronstien suffered more severe injuries 
	and will likely be in sickbay for another day. The Klingons gave that 
	kid a helluva beating. He’ll pull through, though. The other survivors 
	from the Curry will be down for more than a week. And as for the shuttle
	itself, PO Goodwin set its auto destruct before lifting off the planet.
	I commend his initiative.

        Our ETA to Klingon border is seven hours, and from there we’ll remain on
	station awaiting further orders.

        End of Log. 

Ford switched off the log recorder and put it down on his cabin’s small desktop. The Pekinese dog in his lap panted tolerantly as he waited for his owner’s hand to descend and give him some much wanted loving. Chevy stroked the old dog’s head and ruffled his ears. China had suffered through four long voyages with him, on two different ships. He was now ten years old, and mottled in grey. But his old eyes still held a luster for adventure. No amount of thunder of deck rattling seemed to deter him. He pawed his way up into Ford’s face and returned some slobbery loving of his own.

If this dog could muster such faithful resolve without even knowing what they were all fighting for, Ford figured he could put a little more faith in the peace initiative with the Empire. It sounded silly, perhaps. But a lot of lives were riding on the prospect of peace, or at the very least a lasting cease-fire. The loss of four of his men hurt and rankled him. But compared to the millions that could die at the failure of these talks… Well, hopefully they had died to help bring the initiative further. Maybe the next generation would have peace with the Klingon Empire.

Ford put China down on the deck and took that thought with him as he left his cabin to conduct the ship’s memorial services for four brave souls. The dog sat on his haunches, watching him go, wondering why his owner felt so disconsolate.

The End