Star Trek:

The Next Generation™:

Slings and Arrows

Book 1: A Sea of Troubles by J. Steven York & Christina F. York

Book 2: The Oppressor’s Wrong by Phaedra M. Weldon

Book 3: The Insolence of Office by William Leisner

Book 4: That Sleep of Death by Terri Osborne

Book 5: A Weary Life by Robert Greenberger

COMING SOON:

Book 6: Enterprises of Great Pitch and Moment by Keith R.A. DeCandido

STAR TREK

THE NEXT GENERATION™

SLINGS AND ARROWS

Book 5: A Weary Life

Robert Greenberger

Based upon Star Trek: The Next Generation™

Created by Gene Roddenberry

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CHAPTER

1

There were times Captain Jean-Luc Picard thought the Enterprise was too large. He mused on the size and comfort of his ready room, which he thought might actually be more spacious than the bridge aboard his first command, the Stargazer. That was a compact, older ship, and it brought about a certain familiarity among the crew. Later, when he took command of the fifth starship named Enterprise, it was some time before he got used to its size and larger crew.

He truly hoped Pádraig Daniels, one of the more recent additions, would last.

As the captain stared at the service record on his screen, Picard appreciated that the man seemed to be in the right place at the right time, helping the Enterprise and all of Starfleet be saved from the insidious actions of Snowden and his confederates. Below Commander Travec’s recommendation, he reread the probationary report his own first officer had added. It confirmed Picard’s impressions that Daniels had easily integrated into life aboard the Enterprise, forming solid bonds both personal and professional with the crew. He also was receiving good marks from those under his direct command. Picard noted, though, that he hadn’t seen Daniels at Riker’s poker games or interacting much with the senior staff. Other than his bond with Data, forged early on, he seemed more a “lower decks” officer, more easily spending time with the rank and file.

The musing was interrupted by a signature beep and the rising of a viewscreen from his desktop. Picard set aside the padd, watching the Federation emblem against a black background, then the incoming message details complete with authentication code to validate the transmission.

The screen changed smoothly to a picture of Admiral Jeremiah Hayes, recently appointed to Starfleet’s Strategic Command. They had met only months before, resulting in Starfleet ordering Geordi La Forge to have his VISOR replaced with upgraded optics. He disliked that his first meeting with so decorated an officer put them on opposite sides of an issue. Picard hoped that would not be repeated now.

“Admiral, good to see you again.”

“And you, Jean-Luc. Still on course for Deep Space 9?”

“Of course. Has something happened?”

“Not there,” Hayes said with a frown. He seemed older to Picard, the ongoing Klingon conflict wearing on him as it did everyone at command.

“At Starbase 19?”

That got a short laugh from the admiral, who had been posted to the starbase not that long before. “No, but an SI operative here has learned of something in the Salva system and we need you to handle it.”

“That’s in the DMZ,” Picard said, pleased he could conjure up the detail nearly as quickly as the ship’s computer.

“Close. Since the majority of residents relocated from there to Marva IV, it’s been used as an occasional Maquis base. Our intelligence indicates that two cells intend to meet there for a handoff.”

“Of what?”

Hayes smiled once more, a look that seemed to relax him. “Now that’s the question. SI has theories, but we need you to investigate and probably apprehend the cells and obtain the item or items.”

“That’s all rather vague, don’t you think?”

“True. But we need to track everything down. Your orders to report to DS9 came straight from the Palais, so I’m not in a position to countermand them. I also don’t think we need the flagship for something like this. It’s probably better if you just send a detachment. I’ve sent along the mission specs so you can choose appropriately.”

“Splitting forces may not necessarily be wise,” Picard mused, comfortable enough with the admiral to raise his concerns.

“Agreed. But you’ve handled the Maquis before, and this shouldn’t be too difficult a mission.”

“Famous last words,” Picard answered. “No mission ever goes as planned, that’s an axiom.”

“And probably something we should be adding to the handbook. Best of luck, Jean-Luc, with both missions. Check in when your team finishes at Salva II. Hayes out.”

The screen went black and then flashed with an indicator that he had a file waiting. He opened the new file, providing a retinal scan to confirm his authority to read an intelligence file. As he read, his brow knit and he began considering whom to send. The mission to DS9 really required only Picard himself—he was to try to open talks with Chancellor Gowron in an attempt to end the conflict between the Federation and the Klingon Empire.

After ordering himself a cup of tea, he resumed his place at the desk and cleared his mind for a moment. Satisfied he had chosen wisely, he tapped the combadge on his chest. “Commander Riker and Lieutenant Commander La Forge, please join me in my ready room.”

Acknowledgments from both men were received and then he waited, filling the time by transferring the report from Hayes to a padd. Moments later, Riker strolled into the room, his face a study of concern. The captain gestured for him to take a seat before the desk. Picard asked innocuous questions about their course and time of arrival at the space station that lay near the wormhole that was the conduit to the Gamma Quadrant, and Riker asked about Picard’s visit to the Palais de la Concorde and his talk with the president’s chief of staff, Koll Azernal.

Finally, La Forge arrived from engineering and took his place next to Riker. Briefly, Picard explained what he had heard from Hayes, studying their reactions. At the mention of the Maquis, Riker’s eyes blazed, but he quickly recovered. Picard was not at all surprised, given how his first officer and friend had been personally betrayed by his “brother” Thomas. Both had also been betrayed by Ro Laren just a few years before as the Maquis cause attracted many feeling disenfranchised by Starfleet. It was a prickly subject for all concerned.

“Since Starfleet Intelligence feels the handoff involves Klingon technology, I want you, Mr. La Forge, to be on hand to study what it is and what the Maquis intend to do with it. If we need it, fine; otherwise we’ll arrange a return to the Klingon Empire.”

“Dealing with the Klingons is tricky at best right now. Dividing our forces strikes me as risky,” Riker said. “We’re going to be about five days out from this point and even longer getting back to DS9.”

“I can spare you three, I think,” Picard said, a tight smile briefly crossing his face. “Data can certainly fill in admirably now that he seems more comfortable with handling the emotion chip.”

“Agreed,” Riker said and nodded to punctuate his faith in the android second officer. “I do have to say, I was looking forward to getting back to Quark’s. But you said ‘you three’? Who’s the third?”

“I’d like to assign Lieutenant Daniels to the mission.” Picard noticed that Riker bristled under the suggestion and suspected it had to do with comfort—dealing with the Maquis and Tom’s legacy would be distracting enough, and to have a relatively untested security chief along would not sit well with him.

“Sir, I think Geordi and I could handle this,” Riker began.

“Review the details, then prepare your supplies,” Picard said, cutting off his first officer. “I’d like to see you off within the next three hours.”

The men rose and Picard added, “A word with you, Number One?”

La Forge knew the two well enough to withdraw silently. When they were alone, Picard gestured for Riker to continue their conversation.

“Daniels is a fine officer and has performed admirably aboard the ship, but let’s face it, he has yet to handle a mission off the ship. His year and a half was planetside before coming here, so we don’t know how he’ll do.”

“All the more reason it’s high time we got him into such a situation,” Picard countered. “The crew seem to like him, and you certainly rated him well.”

“True, but neither of us know him that well,” Riker said.

“And?”

“I don’t think either one of us would be happy if the Maquis convinced another officer to abandon his post,” Riker said tightly.

“Will, I can’t make mission choices based on what-ifs,” Picard said. “The Maquis will be armed; they’re most likely dangerous and won’t just hand over whatever they have just because you asked oh so very politely. It’s a mission that requires the presence of the ship’s chief of security. If it were Tasha or Worf, would you be so hesitant?”

“No, sir. But I wasn’t hesitant with Ro, either.”

“Regardless, the decision has been made, Number One. Dismissed.”

The captain eyed his first officer, looking for any sign this might prove a difficult mission. Not that he’d change the order or personnel, but weighing whether or not he needed to ask Counselor Troi to speak with Riker prior to departure. On the other hand, knowing Will Riker, he suspected that was his first port of call.

“Shouldn’t you be packing?” Deanna Troi asked Riker as he settled into a chair in her quarters. He knew she was off duty, most likely asleep, but he needed to talk with her before departing. As usual, their personal and professional lives were all tangled up and he was uncertain what that meant at this juncture.

Riker knew that Troi had not had a serious relationship since she and Worf ended their romance shortly after the Enterprise-D’s destruction. Both Troi and Riker were single, and there was really nothing stopping them from rekindling their romance and yet…they weren’t. Not that he came to her cabin to discuss that much-discussed issue.

Instead, he wanted to talk about himself.

“I’ve got time for that. Doesn’t take long to pack a few hygiene tools, after all. I’m concerned about the mission to DS9.”

“Of course you are,” Deanna said lightly. “You think you’ll miss a chance at increasing your tongo winnings at Quark’s.”

“That I’m not worried about,” Riker said.

“Command is counting on the captain’s relationship with Gowron and how that might coax him back onto our side. However, Captain Sisko still harbors some feelings against the captain, and I should be there…just in case.”

“I don’t think that’s what this is all about,” Troi said.

“After all, managing feelings is my area of expertise, not yours. DS9 will be fine. You’re avoiding the real concern about your own assignment.”

He slumped deeper in his chair, low enough that he looked up a bit to meet her eyes. “I need to figure out if I can do this.”

“Of course you can.”

Imzadi. Something in him wanted her to call him that. The word meant the connection was still there, but right now she didn’t voice it, and for once it hurt.

She sat opposite him, not bothering to add a robe to her diaphanous sleeping gown. They’d seen far too much of each other, dressed and undressed, for any sense of modesty to be an issue. He just made certain to lock onto her large, luminous black eyes.

“The Maquis mean so many different things to me. As a group, they defy everything Starfleet and the Federation stand for.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We’ve seen friends and colleagues betray their oaths to join their ranks, weakening us at the outset of a war.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We’ve been betrayed on the Enterprise.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It could have been me.”

“Unh-uh.”

“Excuse me?”

“Will, you do realize you’ve just drilled down from something that affected everyone to the one unique betrayal. You could have just started with Thomas.”

He continued to gaze at her placid expression, but his body tensed. “I’d rather not talk about him.”

“It’s why you’re here,” she said. The calm look changed to one of purpose, the counselor about to perform her job. “You’re not in my quarters, waking me from a very sound sleep, thank you, just so you can regret Ro hurting you and the captain or because you’re worried about the mission on DS9. It’s Thomas that makes this painful, and we need to talk about him.”

“You mean me.”

“No, I mean Thomas Riker, late of the U.S.S. Gandhi. He’s the one who left his ship and crew. He’s the one who sympathized with the Maquis position. He imagined he understood what it was like being abandoned. Where he erred was equating his personal experience on Nervala IV with what occurred in the Demilitarized Zone. He acted rashly and is now paying the price for it.”

For a moment, Riker tried to imagine the kind of forced labor his twin was enduring on Lazon II. Whatever it had been before, it could only have doubled—tripled, even—after Tom’s recapture by the Cardassians when the Romulan plot to use Tom to assassinate Gowron had failed so spectacularly. Perhaps the Cardassians had even resorted to torture. He stifled a shiver and continued to think about Tom and the Maquis, not really paying attention to Troi. She raised her voice a bit, capturing his wandering mind.

“Will, you and Thomas had entirely different experiences. Over these last dozen years he’s acquired a different outlook on life, the universe…everything. You can’t equate your career and choices with his. The captain clearly has faith in you handling this mission. It’s one reason he’s chosen three of you and not a squadron. You can’t possibly be concerned that you’ll see him there.”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“They represent a path not taken, I think,” Riker said after a long pause.

Troi stifled a yawn but nodded and waited.

“The Maquis offered something to Tom that Starfleet couldn’t fulfill. I wonder if there’s some void I’m overlooking, something that might make them look tempting.”

“Will, unless one of them is drop-dead gorgeous or can play the trombone, chances are you will find none of them appealing in the slightest. It’s another mission, just one with a little extra baggage.”

“And, to top it off, he’s assigned Daniels.”

Troi nodded and waited for more. Not hearing anything, she added, “I think that’s wise. He’s done a very good job fitting in with the crew.”

“The crew, yes, but not so much the rest of us.”

“How does that have a bearing on the mission?”

“I won’t know what to expect. How he’ll react,” Riker said quietly, glancing around the room, not meeting her gaze. There was nothing wrong with Daniels, who seemed a disciplined officer, but he saw how the security chief and Data bonded over painting and he just stepped back and let things develop. Then he allowed himself to get distracted and never made the effort.

“He’ll follow your commands, we know that much,” she said reassuringly. “There’s more.”

“He should be watching the captain’s back. He’ll be dealing with the Klingons, who are far deadlier than the Maquis.”

“I’m sure Worf will be somewhat protective of the captain aboard the station. And Odo’s an excellent security chief, as well. The captain will be in good hands.”

Riker remembered that Troi had met Odo on Betazed when her half brother was born. “We’ve gone through too many security chiefs to lose another one,” Riker said. “Tasha. Then Worf goes to DS9. Addison gets killed before stepping aboard the ship, and Huff dies in action. Now we have Daniels. We lose too damned many of them.”

“He’s a fine officer, Will,” Troi said with assurance.

“There’s nothing in his record to make us think he’ll up and abandon you over some rhetoric on a mission. You just need to learn more about him. What better chance than five days aboard a shuttle?” She punctuated the comment with a wry grin. He, instead, looked glum and unconvinced.

“If you say so.”

“I say so. You can do this, Will. The captain has faith in you and so do I. I always will.”

Say it, he willed her.

She didn’t but offered him her warmest smile and then stood as he rose and gave him an enveloping hug. Despite all the light-years they’d traveled, they could always count on one another.

CHAPTER

2

The trip from the Enterprise’s position, near Xepolite, to the Salva system would take them a leisurely five days at warp six but Riker was anxious. The moment the Anaximenes left the shuttlebay, Riker pushed the engines to the maximum of warp six point seven. He half wanted to ask La Forge to play with the shuttle’s small warp engine to see if they could make warp seven but bit his tongue. Instead, he’d have to settle for arriving closer to four days than five. After all, according to their data, the meeting between cells was scheduled for six days from now, so all he’d be doing was rushing them to arrive and then wait. Better not overtax the engines; after all, they still needed to get back to the starship.

Riker was concerned that he’d drive his companions crazy between now and arriving in orbit.

La Forge and Riker had known each other for years, since their Academy days, and were comfortable in each other’s company. They had certainly endured enough side by side that there were few secrets between them. There rarely were in starships, regardless of their size. He was proud of how La Forge had advanced from flight controller to chief engineer and what a gifted diagnostician he had become. More recently, he watched La Forge faced with the demands from Starfleet that he replace his VISOR with implants or be assigned somewhere remote and presumably less dangerous. They never directly spoke about what the younger man should do, but Riker knew he sought opinions from others, weighed the pros and cons, and made a decision he could live with.

Fortunately for the starship, he agreed to the operation. Since then, it took a little time to adjust to seeing his entire dark-skinned face and metallic implants where normal eye color belonged, but Riker was getting used to it. It was a new look and a more mature one that the first officer approved of.

Their companion, currently in the rear seat, was one he was still getting to know. Sure, he had days ago completed a probationary review, but Riker and Daniels were each learning how the other liked to operate. They hadn’t spent much time together off duty, beyond some group sessions in Ten-Forward. While Riker preferred to play his trombone with a holodeck orchestra or poker with his closest friends, he hadn’t made an effort to include Daniels. Now that they sat in the shuttle together, he wished it were otherwise.

No time like the present to correct matters.

“Pádraig, do you play cards?”

La Forge let out a pained sound. “Commander, you don’t expect to play cards the next five days, do you?”

“What’s the matter, Geordi?”

“Last time we played, I wound up pulling gamma-shift bridge duty for a week.”

“You don’t want a little revenge for that winning streak?”

“I still swear the cards were marked.”

“With your eyes and Data’s positronic processors, don’t you think if I was cheating one of you would have caught me?”

At that, Daniels let out a laugh. “Sure, deal me in. What’s your poison?”

As Riker replicated a deck of cards and stack of chips, La Forge switched the controls to automatic pilot, a safe thing to do given the stretch of void they were traveling through. Daniels set up the table they used for meals and repair work. Within minutes, they were seated and Riker let the tactical officer deal first.

“So, Pádraig, does the Enterprise feel like home yet?”

“Nope and it never will, Commander.”

“Why’s that?”

“Home is wherever Siobhan is, and right now that’s back on Canopus.”

“Can’t argue with that, Commander,” La Forge said as he studied his cards. “We bachelors have no frame of reference for such an anchor.”

“What does she do?”

“Siobhan’s an artist, a very good one, too,” Daniels said, the pride clear in his tone.

“I thought you were the artist in the family,” Riker said with some surprise.

“Nope, she’s the better one of us. I paint, sure, but it’s just something we have in common. She works with children who have emotional problems, uses art to help them come to grips. To me it’s a good hobby.”

“Working on anything now?”

“Something different, actually. I’ll take two,” Daniels announced, sliding two cards facedown toward the stack of cards to his left. “I’m trying a starscape. After all this time out here, I woke up the other day feeling inspired.”

“Must be nice, finding inspiration like that,” La Forge said.

“Nothing like it, sir,” Daniels said.

“Please, it’s Geordi. Especially when it’s just us three in this shuttle for a week or two.”

“Kings and deuces,” Daniels said, reaching for the chips.

“Beginner’s luck,” Riker muttered with a grin. He flipped his busted hand onto the table.

Daniels slid the deck to La Forge, who began shuffling. “So tell me, Commander, what do you think of the new duty uniforms?”

Riker tugged at the collar, squared his shoulders, testing the new black and gray outfit. The color denoting division had been substantially reduced and the materials used seemed a little heavier. “Not bad.”

“I still like the old ones,” La Forge grumped.

“I actually logged an hour in the holodeck with this,” Daniels offered. “I went through one of the training courses to see how it breathed. Not bad, to be honest. It’ll do.”

“Not that we have a choice,” La Forge added, tossing down two cards.

Daniels picked up only one card and stared intently at his hand. “I even think they’re more stain resistant than the last set. Should be easier on you in the kitchen, Commander.”

He knew Riker liked to cook. Interesting. That Daniels knew more about him than he did about the tactical officer surprised Riker. Definitely someone he needed to know better.

The conversation continued and the cards were played and the shuttle sliced through the space between planets. Time slipped by as they consumed coffee and tea, told jokes, swapped Starfleet Academy experiences, and tried not to think about the many unknowns of the mission nearing them at an incredible speed.

Riker tried to sleep in the back of the shuttlecraft as Daniels wrote out his fourth letter to his wife. La Forge was very impressed that not only was he keeping a promise made years before, but that he was using the traditional pen-and-paper method for communication. At first, Daniels laughed at it, indicating it was an opportunity to practice his penmanship, but clearly there was more to it than that.

La Forge never really liked his own penmanship, something he didn’t care about as he grew up, coping with his augmented vision thanks to the VISOR technology that brought his world to life. He envied Daniels for having someone special, someone worth making the effort for.

Those thoughts were interrupted when a telltale winked to life to the pilot’s right. In an instant, data streamed across a screen above the signal light, and a moment after that, Daniels was leaning over his shoulder. Nice reflexes, La Forge mused.

“Proximity alert shows an unregistered vessel about one million kilometers away,” La Forge noted.

“I recognize the configuration,” Daniels added. “It’s one used by the Maquis.”

“Good eyes.”

“Actually, good briefing,” he admitted, earning him a chuckle. “I’ll wake the commander.”

La Forge nodded and then ran a navigation program to allow him to get close without being picked up by the inferior sensor technology the rogue ship possessed. He then accessed the communications array and began scanning known Maquis frequencies, seeking any sense a second ship might be out there.

“How far from Salva II are we?” Riker asked as he came forward. La Forge noted it didn’t look like Riker slept well. There were black smudges under his eyes, and with his hair askew, he looked more haggard than rested.

“About five hours,” La Forge said. “Lately the planet’s been used more for dropoffs and resupplying than any sort of base.”

“You’ve been reading the same reports, I see,” Daniels noted.

“Can’t let you have all the facts,” La Forge said.

“Makes you cocky.”

“I see you’ve been talking to Siobhan, too,” the security chief said.

“Can it,” Riker said. His tone was tense, and he slid into the seat beside La Forge and reviewed the sensor details. He studied the course the shuttle was following and seemed to accept it.

“Nothing on the comm channels,” La Forge said to break the tension.

“Keep scanning. That thing is just sitting there, waiting. You’re right; it doesn’t seem interested in the planet.”

Riker fell silent, and La Forge took the moment to study the first officer. Of course he understood what Riker was feeling without fully understanding those feelings himself. He wanted to stand by his old friend and offer support but also recognized that this was the sort of thing Riker would keep bottled up and discuss only with Troi. Once more he was wistful that even Riker had someone close to confide in. This was most certainly something he wanted to address but seemed not to have the right solution in his tool kit.

“I’ve got something faint on sensors,” Daniels said from an auxiliary station. Daniels had tasked the station to become a miniature tactical command post. The man was good, and La Forge was thankful to have someone so levelheaded along for the ride. Just in case.

“A different vessel, also unregistered. Different configuration and leaking neutrinos from its warp engine. That’ll make them easy to trace.”

“Geordi, look for comm traffic,” Riker ordered, never taking his eyes off his own data screens.

With his left hand, La Forge began scanning the routine frequencies. He also tried a few other bands that the Maquis might have tried, away from the frequencies Starfleet ships used. Since they hadn’t been detected, it was likely the Maquis would chat without making much effort to hide the signals. Sure enough, one ship contacted the other and La Forge boosted the gain on the shuttle’s receivers, quietly tapping the signal.

When the conversation ended, La Forge glanced at his friend. Riker seemed to visibly relax, assured that he wasn’t going to hear his own voice haunt him like a specter.

“They’re going to rendezvous and hand over supplies in an hour. Can we trail them without being seen?”

“Aye, Commander,” La Forge said. “Sounds like they want to land and make repairs, so we can leisurely follow them in.”

“I don’t think so,” Daniels called, his tone carrying a warning. “I’ve got multiple signatures coming out of warp. All Cardassian.”

“Damn.” Riker’s hands flew across the shuttle controls. So much for apprehending the technology and the Maquis. “Where?”

“Coming in from Dorvan. All five are fighters. They’ve slowed to impulse, shields up,” Daniels said.

La Forge recalled that the fighters, while tough, were the smallest of the Cardassians’ ships. Still, even if the Anaximenes allied itself with the Maquis, that was five against three, and he wasn’t enjoying the odds.

“Commander, I’ve scanned the Maquis ships and they seem to have standard phasers only,” Daniels said.

“Those things are faster than the Maquis,” La Forge added. “We’re outnumbered and likely outgunned.”

“Is this something we should be involved in?” Daniels asked, and La Forge looked over to see Riker’s reaction. The commander sat still, studying the readouts, his poker face in place. “You’d better decide soon, sir, they’re opening fire.”

Twin spiral-wave disruptors ripped the void between the Cardassians and the smaller, ill-equipped ships. Both veered off in opposite directions, one slipping down the z-axis while the other seemed ready to hightail directly for the Salva system. Neither ship moved with much grace or speed, making them both easy targets. Sure enough, two more ships unleashed their disruptors.

Both Maquis ships were clipped, sending them off course. La Forge studied his sensor screens and reported that both were damaged but functional. That would likely change rapidly if the Cardassians improved their aim.

Riker stared ahead, watching out the main viewscreen. He seemed to be evaluating the situation, and then La Forge saw his eyes narrow. A decision had been reached.

“Mr. Daniels, charge our own phasers. Raise shields. Geordi, get us between them.”

“Aye, sir,” both men echoed and then set to work. La Forge heard the whine of phasers coming on line, and the sound was good, reassuring.

“Commander, what justification will you offer the Cardassians if they ask?” Daniels wondered aloud.

“The Cardassian ships have violated the treaties by entering the DMZ without notice,” Riker said flatly.

“That’ll hold for now. Geordi, engage.”

With the familiar order, La Forge moved the shuttle forward. While he was a well-rated pilot, Riker was better, and he wondered why Riker wasn’t doing the actual flying. He had to table those thoughts as he focused on the actual flying of the Anaximenes. The shuttle was a fast craft, sleek and built for speed and maneuverability in addition to being capable of handling space or planetary environs.

He arced the shuttle to arrive on sensor screens as if it came out of the blue, confusing it for a moment. Once the Cardassians translated the transponder and learned it was a Starfleet ship, they were likely to get rough and try to obliterate the shuttle first.

“I wish we had time to stop at DS9 and collect Worf and the Defiant first,” La Forge muttered.

“We can do this,” Riker said with authority and confidence. La Forge pushed the vessel into the space between the opposing forces and was pleased the Maquis weren’t firing on them too. The lead Cardassian vessel was already taking shots at them, but La Forge was being totally random in the flight path so they couldn’t anticipate his location. He was also modulating the Anaximenes’s speed, thwarting easy anticipation of where they could safely fire.

“Daniels, we want to cripple, not destroy. Fire at will,” Riker said.

“Aye, sir.” The shuttle spit out ruby red phaser beams, most of which glanced off the fighters’ shielding.

La Forge forced the shuttle into a barrel roll and away from the approaching enemy ships. “You do know we’re outgunned, right?”

“I have an idea,” Riker said, and a familiar twinkle appeared in his eye, something that gave La Forge sudden confidence in their survival. “Look for antilepton interference keeping us from summoning reinforcements.”

“A standard Cardassian tactic,” Daniels noted.

“Right, so we use that against them,” Riker said.

La Forge frowned in concentration, then snapped his fingers and grinned. “A produced vector quarkonium.”

“A what?” Daniels asked.

La Forge continued, addressing Riker. “The resonant energy produced by the combined spin state of the leptons and antileptons is going to release a vast amount of energy. That should pretty much fry anything in the vicinity.”

“Daniels, keep firing. Geordi, I’ll take the helm. Try to send a quick signal to the Maquis and have them scatter. Then get to work.”

La Forge nodded and sent the signal before moving farther back in the ship to access the engineering controls.

“You sure this will work?”

Riker actually smiled at Daniels’s skepticism. “Once they get near the neutrinos, while still spreading the antileptons, we’ll release a burst of lepton radiation from the warp engine and neutralize them, blinding their sensors long enough to let us escape.”

“Nice thinking,” he said with actual admiration.

“Pat me on the back later; let’s get this done,” Riker said, and La Forge sensed the urgency and concern over the untried tactic. He and Daniels set to work without chatter, and after a very long two minutes, all was in readiness.

“The Maquis ships are hightailing it,” La Forge said, breaking the silence.

“Is the package ready?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Daniels, cease fire and engage.”

The invisible leptons emitted from the shuttle and did their job, charging the space that was already suffused with antileptons and neutrinos, overloading the Cardassian scanners as the quintet of ships moved toward the shuttle.

Riker seemed to hold his breath. The moment the sensors indicated they had slowed down, even a fraction, his right hand shoved the thrusters to their maximum and the shuttle did an about-face that tested the inertial dampers.

None of the Cardassian ships fired as the shuttle rocketed toward the Salva system, following the Maquis.

“Nice work, Commander,” La Forge said.

“I estimate three minutes before they can begin using their sensors,” Daniels said.

“Good enough,” Riker said. “Now, let’s find our friends.”

CHAPTER

3

It took under half a minute to lock on to the neutrino emissions from one of the vessels, and then they located both ships, which were seeking safety in numbers. Riker could feel the tension ebb from his muscles as he piloted the Anaximenes toward the interior of the Salva system. Its Class-G sun hosted eight worlds, double that number in moons, and an asteroid belt—all perfectly unremarkable.

As they cruised along, gaining distance from the Cardassians that were still a threat, Riker reviewed his decisions. He began by being thankful that he forced himself to brush up on Cardassian and Maquis tactics between games of cards. That proved to be the reason he managed to conjure up an escape. Otherwise, he feared they’d be destroyed or, worse, captured, and he’d find himself on Lazon II alongside his twin.

Regardless of how often he tried to force thoughts of Tom from his mind and focus on the mission, his brother continued to materialize. At least he was conscious of this, aware of what it all meant, and he didn’t need a counselor to tell him the same thing.

“The Maquis ships seem headed for the second moon around Salva IV,” Daniels said.

“What do we know about the moon?”

“Airless, gravity about seventy percent that of Earth-normal, a pile of rocks and lots of craters.”

“Well, I’m not happy there’s no fishing,” Riker said, forcing a lighter tone to his voice. He was in command and had to set the pace and tenor of the mission. He suspected Daniels knew little of the personal issues that complicated the mission for the commander. As a result, he wanted to keep things on the surface.

There were times he hated subtext, and this was one of them.

“Commander,” La Forge said, grabbing his attention, “I may have done some damage to a propulsion unit with all that flying before. I’ll need some time to figure it out before you try and outrun any more Cardassians.”

“Understood. Since the other ships are landing, I’ll put us down nearby. Daniels and I can pay them a visit while you stay here.”

“I’ll keep the boarding parties at bay,” the engineer quipped.

“I doubt it’ll come to that. Okay, I’ll set us down about a kilometer from them.” With that, he concentrated on bringing the Anaximenes in for a smooth landing. As he maneuvered the shuttle, the port thrusters felt sluggish. La Forge would certainly have some work to do.

Once the shuttle was safely down, La Forge immediately headed for the rear, grabbing his ever-present tool kit from an alcove. Riker studied the sensors and was satisfied the Maquis were staying put. He had some command decisions to make. Admiral Hayes’s orders were clear that not only should the technology, whatever it was, be confiscated, but also the Maquis were to be taken into custody. Considering they were now dealing with two ships, both far larger than the shuttle, the orders would need amending on the fly. Hayes and Picard would understand, given the numbers involved.

“Incoming message from the Maquis,” Daniels announced. Riker raised an eyebrow in surprise. He also began revising his tactics now that they were present. Subterfuge or even the element of surprise was taken away, so now he needed to establish who were the players involved.

“On speakers,” Riker ordered.

“Starfleet, this is Maass. What are your intentions?”

Riker processed the unrecognized name, drawing a blank. This was a new player at his table. So be it, he could work with that.

“This is Commander William Riker from the Starship Enterprise. What can we do for you, Maass?”

“To be honest, I wish you’d leave us alone, but since we’re damaged, I’m asking for help. Our other ship’s warp engine is failing. Without it, we don’t stand a chance of escaping the Cardies.”

Well, that news complicated things. Much as he might be tempted, he could not leave people without any aid, but that could become a bargaining chip. “I agree. Can it be abandoned and you use just one ship?”

“Ah, we have too many crew members for that, plus our supplies. As you might imagine, Commander, basic foodstuffs can be as valuable as latinum. Times are desperate.”

“And if we help you?”

“Isn’t that what Starfleet does? Come riding to the rescue, no reward asked?”

“Maass, we weren’t in the neighborhood sightseeing. As you can imagine, we were here for you and your special cargo.”

“You want that in exchange for helping us? A little Ferengi of you, isn’t it?”

“Times are desperate.” He felt movement beside him and stole a glance at La Forge, who seemed genuinely surprised at Riker’s blunt tack.

A long pause before there was a response. Riker and Daniels exchanged amused glances since they imagined the Maquis were not used to bargaining in this manner. Finally, the comm snapped back on and Maass replied.

“We agree to your terms, Commander. I don’t like it, but we need both ships to get out of here.”

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Riker began, keeping his tone neutral. “You’re going to pay in advance. We’ll meet half a kilometer from our positions in thirty minutes. You hand over the cargo and then our chief engineer will tend to your engine.”

“Agreed.” The word was filled with loathing, fear, and desperation. The signal was cut and Riker rose from the pilot’s chair. He stretched his back, noting how it kinked under the shoulder blades. Maybe it was time to get back into an exercise regimen, he mused.

“Geordi, how long to fix the Anaximenes?”

“I’ll need maybe an hour. It’s just the one thruster so it’s not as bad as I thought. Then I can pay them a house call.”

“Great. Daniels and I will go visit them, make certain they’re not too proud and haven’t mentioned the need for medical help. I want them fixed and us gone as quickly as possible. The Cardassians will start searching this system any minute now.”

“They picked a good location, sir,” Daniels said.

“The moon has a variety of trace metals in sufficient quantities that without in-depth probing we might get missed. With all the engines off, no one is leaking anything and our power consumption curves are all down.” He went to the equipment lockers and began pulling out a variety of gear, starting with, naturally, hand phasers. Riker was pleased to see two medikits, tricorders, and rations added to the pile on the worktable.

Right on schedule, as if to prove a point, Riker and Daniels stood exactly one-half kilometer from the shuttle. They moved slowly in the lighter gravity and with the awkwardness of their EVA suits. Both were laden with supplies and equipment. Riker only hoped it was sufficient, since they had no idea what it was they were collecting from the Maquis. After all, he was bluffing them a bit and they bought into it.

Four people, in raggedy-looking suits, ill fitting at least one of them, appeared in the distance. Each was carrying the corner of a tarp that sagged in the center. This very low-tech way to transport whatever it was made Riker actually feel sympathetic for the reversals the Maquis had been facing, leaving them to scramble in this manner.

Riker tried to fathom what might be in the cases being transported, but he was coming up with frivolous things like bloodwine and bad poetry.

Several meters separated them when the Maquis quartet stopped and lowered their burden. Riker opened the suit’s comm system and addressed them. “Identify yourselves, please.”

“Tregaar,” the leader said. From the name and guttural sound, Riker assumed him a Tellarite. “I know Maass cut a deal with you, but I want to go on record as saying I object. You don’t deserve what was given to us.”

“It’s not that I want it so much as I don’t want you to have it,” Riker admitted.

“That’s worse,” Tregaar growled.

“Who gave you this?”

“People who seem to care more about us than the Federation. People who have a vested interest in ridding the quadrant of the Cardassian threat once and for all.”

“You do know I’ve heard all this rhetoric before. I’m going to assume it’s the Klingons. And to be honest, I’m very surprised neither one of you have the cloaking devices they so kindly provided already.”

That made the Maquis pause. He then changed tactics. “Riker, don’t you want them gone? Don’t you care about peace in our lives?”

“Absolutely,” Riker said and meant it. He never wanted to devote as much time to security issues as he had since the Enterprise-E launched. It took the ship and its crew away from its primary mission, and it also presented complications in his life he wished were behind him.

“Then help us fix the ship and let us take this with us,” Tregaar said, as close to pleading as a Tellarite was capable of.

“Personally, I might be interested in your cause, but right now, my orders have me taking possession of your cargo. Tell you what, we’ll leave this here for now and go back to your ship and start inspecting the damage.”

That gave the Maquis pause, and they seemed to communicate privately for a few moments. Silently, they all backed away from their burden and gestured toward their ship, which Riker could spy in the distance, a gleaming silver dot set against the pitch-black sky.

Riker let Daniels go first, and he privately communicated with La Forge. Briefly, he filled the engineer in on the scenario and asked that the shuttle’s transporter beam the cargo to him. La Forge agreed and confirmed he’d meet Riker at the Maquis ship within the hour. The thruster repair was just about done, ahead of schedule, which made Riker grin. Engineers seemed to love to beat their estimates.

The walk to the ship was completed in silence and, thanks to the gravity, was less burdensome than it could have been given the use of EVA suits. Still, once the airlock cycled, Riker was glad to take off the helmet and breathe fresh, albeit scented, air. It was a fetid odor, one of ill-maintained scrubbers and over-cooked food. The narrow corridors were jammed with pieces of equipment, scraps of bandages, and a stray boot. As he passed other Maquis, he could feel the open hatred directed at the Starfleet chevron on his suit.

“Well, Commander, here we are,” Tregaar said as they paused in what seemed to be a common room that doubled as lounge and mess hall. He began taking off his own space suit as he talked, the others following his lead. “In a system that stands as a testament to the arrogance of the Federation Council. Rather than fight to preserve the colony here, they just gave up and walked away.”

“The argument’s old, Tregaar,” Riker said tensely.

“What the Federation and Cardassians negotiated is years past. When will the Maquis begin dealing with today?”

“Sure, let’s talk about today. The Cardies continue to harass worlds under their ‘benevolent’ control in the DMZ while the Federation turns a blind eye.”

“Don’t you think the Dominion is a slightly larger problem?”

“To you, maybe,” Tregaar spat. “To us, that’s light-years away. We have to worry about our families and friends, trying to make worlds produce food that we can keep. Do you know how many hectares of wheat they took from Dorvan V itself?”

Riker just stared at him with an unmoving expression.

“Of course you don’t. Your intelligence seems aimed strictly at the Gamma Quadrant these days.”

“Not true,” Riker interrupted. “We certainly know that you have been receiving supplies from the Klingons.”

“Someone has to help us in the struggle to be freed of the Cardassians! If not you, then we’ll take help from them!”

“How much help will you accept before the Klingons begin providing tactics as well as matériel? And then, should you prevail, would you in the DMZ be willing to become a part of the Klingon Empire? They’re no better with conquered worlds than the Cardassians.”

Tregaar paused at that, and the others looked alarmed at the notion.

Riker decided to press his point. “The Maquis had a good year, but it had more to do with external forces, not your own doing. That is, unless you’re willing to claim credit for the destruction of the Obsidian Order or provoking the Klingon-Cardassian war.”

His accusation was met with silence and glares.

“Do you really think the Klingons care about your grievances against us? You’re pawns to them, to help them destabilize what’s left of the Central Command and poke us every now and then. Trust me, your usefulness will come to an end—then see how many more cloaking devices they provide you.”

“The Federation had no right to abandon us!” Tregaar shouted.

“This wasn’t just about you!” Riker replied with some heat. “This was about the greater good and settling a conflict that would have claimed lives not just in the DMZ but elsewhere. It was taming a war before it turned into something ugly. Your arguments are years out of date, Tregaar. What’s your cause today?”

“Survival,” he shouted back. “We want them to leave us alone. We want you to leave us alone. If I had my way, the DMZ would become a sovereign region and you’d all be gone from our borders.”

“An intriguing idea,” Daniels said, speaking up for the first time. “However, the DMZ is strategically close enough to the Bajoran sector to be of interest to the Dominion. A nascent state such as your DMZ would be easy pickings for the Jem’Hadar.”

“We’d fight them like we fought you!” another voice rang out.

Daniels whirled about to face the speaker. “You needed rescuing just now. We protected you from the Cardassians and are here to repair your ship. What the Maquis have lost sight of is that the Federation is about the preservation of all life. Do you really think the Jem’Hadar would be anywhere near as benevolent? So the Cardassians took your wheat. Your planet remains able to produce more grain and leave some for you. The Dominion would take it all and ration it, turning Dorvan V into a slave planet. Is that what you want to fight to achieve?”

Riker was impressed at how quickly Daniels seemed to silence the people around them. Clearly, the Dominion invading their homes hadn’t occurred to them, and his colleague was correct, they were strategically placed and ripe for a takeover.

“Fighting for your sovereignty is all well and good,” Daniels continued. “But you need achievable, realistic goals. When was the last time you measured your desires against the galactic realties?”

“A good question,” said a voice from behind them.

Riker recognized the voice and assumed this man was Maass, their leader. He was tall and lean, with thinning black hair with a widow’s peak. At a glance, Riker could sense this was a man who has seen more than his share of battle and privation. If anyone could understand the horrors that awaited the Maquis, it would be him.

“You must be Riker,” he said, striding across the space and extending a hand. They shook and appraised one another. Maass was nearly as tall as Riker, and they easily met at eye level. Clearly, Maass liked what he saw and gestured for them to remove their suits in peace.

“We are indebted to you, Commander. While we’d prefer to leave the system intact, and with all our belongings, I will take intact. How long do we have?”

“Until what?”

“Until the Cardassians come looking for us and maybe find us all? I’m counting on you remaining until we are operational, maybe even help us plot a course that maximizes our chances of escape.”

This was a man used to leading, Riker concluded, one looking out for his people. He wasn’t Starfleet, but he was a commanding presence, one the others seemed to follow with a measure of loyalty.

“What we did to their sensors is probably clearing up just now or they’ve repaired the fried units. I didn’t stop to measure just how much energy we unleashed. But yes, they will come looking for us and it won’t be more than a few hours.”

“But will you still help or just run to protect yourselves?” Tregaar asked.

“Has Starfleet broken its word to you?”

“Often!”

“Starfleet, not the Federation,” Riker said, no longer wishing to debate a Tellarite for sport.

“Enough,” Maass said. “Then let us get started. Let me show you our damage; that might speed your engineer when he arrives.”

With a gesture, he directed the Starfleet officers toward the front of the ship. Tregaar and the others remained behind, but their sullen expressions spoke volumes about how they felt about having Riker and Daniels among them.

The small command center was little more than four chairs at stations with deck-to-ceiling displays, controls, and access panels. It was even more cramped than the shuttle and would be close work if La Forge needed to start taking things apart. Riker estimated the ship to be maybe two decades old and the control panels to be upgrades that were half that. It was a kludge of pieces no doubt scavenged along the way as the Maquis fought for their survival.

He admired their passion if not their cause.

“This is my pilot, Kalita,” Maass said with some pride. He indicated an older, spare woman, with a sad expression on her face. Her brown hair was swept back by a headband and she wore dull green cover-alls. Her oval face was worn and she clearly had not slept in some time.

Yet he still recognized her.

What surprised Riker, though, was that she recognized him. Her eyes gave a start, and he watched her take a deep breath before covering up the reaction.

“Kalita,” Riker repeated. “I never did learn your name.”

“How do you know her, sir?” Daniels asked.

“She stole aboard the Enterprise-D and helped steal medical supplies,” Riker explained without elaborating that she worked in concert with Ro Laren, who initially stole as a plant under Picard’s orders. Then she betrayed them all by leaving with the Maquis and joining their ranks. The last he heard of her was more than a year before, a raid on DS9 of all places. But it was to prevent an extremist Maquis member from assassinating a gul, so maybe there was some hope for her after all.

But Kalita’s reaction seemed stronger than the guilt stealing from the Enterprise would have engendered. There was something else.

“Commander,” she said stiffly by way of greeting.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the chair beside her. She nodded in agreement. He slid in, noting he either needed to lose a few kilos or the chairs were styled for a smaller race. His fingers deftly called up the warp engine diagnostics, looking for controls and details that commercial vessels, such as this one, did not possess. He would have to adjust his thinking accordingly, hoping it would not frustrate Geordi too much.

“You’ve got a host of problems,” Riker said. “When was the last time you serviced the engine?”

“You think we have the luxury?” Kalita said in a strong voice.

“It’s not a luxury but a matter of survival.”

“Okay, soon as we finish here, we’ll just jet over to Starbase 310 and ask for an overhaul,” she sarcastically replied.

While she may have had a point, so did he, and he didn’t want a fight. He was tired of every comment being twisted back at him. Ignoring her, he continued to study the diagnostics as a part of his mind continued to review her reaction. What could have provoked it?

He could have.

More accurately, his twin. Tom.

CHAPTER

4

Kalita knew Tom Riker.

“Commander, is something wrong?” Kalita prompted.

There were many answers to that fairly innocent question.

“Well, I think Commander La Forge will have his hands full. The first thing will be to plug the neutrino leak so you can no longer be so easily tracked,” he said.

“No, there’s something else,” she said.

“Plasma manifold’s shot and I bet you don’t have a spare,” he continued, sounding off, even to himself.

“Commander, go ahead and ask me,” she said with a touch of defiance in her voice.

“You knew him, didn’t you,” he softly asked.

“Yes.”

He wished Daniels and Maass would go away so they could speak privately. Talking about Tom to anyone, with the possible exception of Deanna, was uncomfortable. Still, they were here and weren’t going anywhere, so he just hoped they’d keep quiet.

“When?”

“I was part of his crew when he stole the Defiant,” she said. “I was its pilot before joining Maass.”

“What happened?”

“When? When my homeworld was suddenly in occupied Cardassian territory? Or when my sister was taken to work for the Cardies? A sister I haven’t seen since, by the way.”

“No,” Riker said.

“When I joined the Maquis to reclaim my world, my freedom?”

“No,” he said, a tightness in the word.

“How I found myself in the cell that worked with Ro?”

“No, damn it! Tell me about him.”

Kalita blinked, but her expression didn’t change and she met his eyes, her cool gaze hiding her pain.

“He’d been sent on a courier mission from the Gandhi, to deliver medical supplies to a Federation outpost. A Maquis cell operating nearby intercepted his shuttlecraft, hoping he had medicine that could help stop a plague on a little out-of-the way world, Helena.”

“I’ve heard of it,” said Riker. Helena was a Federation colony world in the DMZ, ceded to the Cardassians by the treaty.

“As the plague spread and the Cardies threatened to sterilize the planet to prevent the plague from spreading into the union, he saw that the Federation—and your Starfleet—was all too willing to stand by and do nothing as innocents died. All of us in the Maquis, we’ve seen what your Starfleet ideals mean. Nothing. Tregaar’s seen it. I’ve seen it. Tom saw it. He had nothing on the Gandhi left for him. But the Maquis? There he stood for something.”

Riker’s mind flashed on the image of a knife flicking at his neck, at yet another Starfleet betrayal. In a way, his betrayal. He said nothing, hoping Kalita would continue.

“We’d learned of a shipbuilding facility in the Orias sector, and it was Tom who conceived the plan to steal the Defiant, to pose as you to do it…and it was going so well. That is until Kira disabled us briefly and then the Cardies found us. We never imagined the ships were not under Central Command’s control.”

Riker recalled the reports, how Gul Dukat and Captain Sisko flushed out the Obsidian Order’s secret manufacturing facility at Orias. He owed Sisko a tremendous debt for arranging the return of the ship, even if it meant his “brother” would be a prisoner. But Sisko got the Ministry of Justice to agree to spare his life so the chance would exist that somehow, someday, Tom Riker could be rescued.

Not that Will necessarily wanted to be the one to do the rescuing. After all, Tom impersonated him, traded on the trust he had developed as a Starfleet officer during the years Tom clearly struggled to find his own way. Like a stern parent, Will assumed hard labor would teach Tom a lesson, and when fate had decided he had learned it, then he could come back. But then he thought of Tom’s escape and his subsequent recapture, and he realized darkly that perhaps Tom Riker would never learn that lesson.

“He gave his freedom to spare you,” Riker finally said.

“Yes. Me, Tamal, and the others. He turned command over to Kira, and she took us into custody once we cleared the Federation border. We spent weeks in the space station’s brig waiting for the Federation to determine how we were to be tried.”

Riker tried to recall what happened but couldn’t come up with information so gestured for Kalita to continue, despite her reticence.

“We were to be taken back to Earth since we were the largest group of Maquis in custody at one time. They wanted to turn it into a show, with us as the entertainment,” she said bitterly.

“We left Deep Space 9 in a runabout, to be transferred to a starship at Starbase 375. A different cell learned the plans and flew to our rescue. They got to the runabout before the rendezvous and we were free. We joined up with their cell and have been at work ever since. Happy?”

Riker just stared at her. No one was happy about the turn of events. In fact, on the galactic front, he doubted anyone could be said to be happy. The Federation’s ties to the Klingons had been severed, the Klingons and Cardassians were going at each other, and the Dominion was continuing to make progress in establishing roots within the quadrant. Then there remained other threats such as the Romulans and, no doubt, lurking out in the void somewhere remained the Borg, who could assimilate everyone and end war once and for all.

Not that he was willing to give up his humanity for galactic peace. Better they all fight for it and earn the peace rather than have a third party dictate it.

Of course, that was probably how the original Maquis felt, with the Federation and Cardassia dictating their fates without representation. And look how well that turned out.

“Thrilled,” Riker said. “We’re obviously not going to see eye to eye, so let’s fix this ship.”

He rose, ignoring Kalita, who continued to gaze ahead, refusing to look at Tom’s doppelgänger.

“Are you much of an engineer, sir?” Daniels asked as Maass led them toward the engine room, which was two decks below and at the ship’s rear.

“Started off as a conn officer, to be honest,” Will admitted. “Still, you learn a thing or two when you hang around guys like Geordi.” He was sounding a little more like himself, away from Kalita. That was something.

“She had some good points, you know,” Maass said as he led them down a ladder. “When you feel abandoned, you seek to protect your own with a certain ferocity.”

“Which world were you on?” Daniels asked.

“Valan III,” Maass said.

Of course, the birthplace of the Maquis under Lieutenant Commander Calvin Hudson. It certainly explained some of Maass’s demeanor—passion tempered with experience.

“Do you know what it’s like to suddenly go from Federation to Cardassian control? To suddenly have restrictions placed on your freedoms? When we gathered to meet, everyone was experiencing the same privations. You watch your children die from poisoned replicated food, you want to fight someone.”

“I understand your grievance and you have my sympathy,” Riker said. “But you chose to remain. All of you said this was your home despite the change in government. No one hid the truth about the Cardassians for the previous twenty years.”

“No, not at all. We entered this with our eyes wide open,” Maass said. “But when Hudson reported the problems to Starfleet, there was no action.”

“What did you expect?” By then, they had reached the engine room. It was as dirty as the rest of the ship, showing signs of neglect, inexperience, or both. La Forge would certainly not like crawling through these conduits, but he doubted the problem was an external one.

“I expected at minimum an investigation. We were abandoned, Riker. Do you know what that feels like?”

No, but Tom Riker knew. Years in isolation, his starship long gone, with no one the wiser to his existence.

“Starfleet wasn’t going to get involved, not so soon after the Cardassians took control. There had to be a reasonable period of adjustment.” Riker was carrying one of the tricorders Daniels thought to pack and he switched it on, taking a look at the general engine output. It wasn’t a pretty picture on the spectrographic analysis.

“Tell me, Commander, what’s a reasonable period of adjustment when people are dying?”

“That justifies you allying yourselves with the Klingons?” He suspected Maass lost family to the problem, so he needed to make this argument less personal for the Maquis leader, which meant this might be the moment to bring the Klingons into the conversation. As he awaited a response, he probed deeper, finding the source of the neutrino leak, and at least that looked like an easy patch. Hell, he could do it himself but wasn’t about to leave Daniels on his own. The security chief was probably feeling like an unneeded appendage at this point, but he also seemed to be following the conversation closely. Not for a moment did he think he’d lose Daniels to the Maquis, especially after the speech he’d given earlier, but he did wonder how this might affect his overall outlook.

“They offered help when we needed it, when no one else wanted anything to do with the problem,” Maass bitterly said.

“They were no longer our ally,” Riker shot back.

“Neither were you! We had no one else to turn to!”

Riker paused, biting back a comment. Instead, he took a deep breath and switched off the tricorder.

“Maass, what did you do before this all started?”

The man blinked a few times, surprised by the question and the calm in Riker’s voice. “I was a computer programmer, developing new methods for statistical analysis.”

“What happened after the Cardassians took over?”

“I was allowed to continue to work, but suddenly there were curfews. We couldn’t congregate in numbers greater than five. Then they demanded to look at my source code and began conducting surprise inspections of my workspace.”

“Could you lodge a protest?” Daniels asked.

“We sent representatives to the Cardassian governor and different people spoke with Hudson, who was supposed to be keeping an eye on the Cardies for us.”

“Did anything change?”

“The harassment increased, and then…then, they got sneaky…began tainting the organics…the replicator…Taliana…” His voice choked and he broke off, turning his back to the men for the briefest of moments. Riker felt a pang of regret and sympathy, also admiring the manner in which he quickly composed himself.

“You can imagine why I might have a…grudge…against the Cardies.”

They both could. Riker tried to imagine himself in Maass’s place. To not freely work, or to lose a daughter. Actually, he suspected that Daniels, the married man, might understand even better. If the Klingons offered help, he could see a chance he might actually accept.

Not that that changed the wanton destruction the Maquis as a whole caused Starfleet and the Federation. There were most definitely two sides to this argument, and he couldn’t lose sight of that.

He was tired of the circular arguments and disliked how he allowed himself to be so easily baited. No doubt, thoughts of Tom were proving more of a distraction than he had hoped.

“We need to get started on the repairs,” he told Maass. “Things are more of a mess than I imagined. Is your other ship this badly off?”

“God, I hope not,” Maass said. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, that’s something.” He tapped his badge.

“Riker to La Forge.”

“Go ahead, Commander.”

“What’s your status?”

“The Anaximenes is in pretty good shape, actually. Not perfect, it took a little more of a beating than I first thought.”

“Good work. We most definitely need your skills here.”

“That bad?”

“Pretty much.”

“I’ll secure things here and hurry over,” La Forge said. “Out.”

Maass looked at Riker, recognizing that the time for politics was over, for now at least. “You know, Kalita, Tregaar and the others won’t like having this many from Starfleet aboard.”

“You have two choices,” Riker said grimly. “Let us help you or be blasted to bits before you clear the gravity well.”

“Under the circumstances, I’ll happily deal with their scowls for a few hours.”

CHAPTER

5

While La Forge didn’t mind getting his hands dirty fixing the Anaximenes, he was less than thrilled to be helping the Maquis. After all, they more or less spat on everything Starfleet stood for and were pretty much terrorists who used legitimate complaints to become a stepping-stone for general anarchy. He also knew that there were those who climbed on for the thrill of it, and people like that bothered him. No doubt he’d be dealing with some of them on the ship.

And then there was Ro Laren. When she first came on board, La Forge hadn’t wanted anything to do with her, but he eventually came around—they’d even shared a traumatic experience, being sent out of phase with the crew thinking them dead. When she defected to the Maquis, La Forge found himself coming back to his original instinct—that Ro wasn’t to be trusted and didn’t belong in a Starfleet uniform.

He had been brought along in case there was something truly unique or dangerous being handed off from one ship to another. Now that they had it, whatever it was, he just wanted to turn around and begin the trip home. Not that he really liked the smaller confines of the shuttle, but it was better than being out here on a moon and exposed to hostiles.

Whatever he found would no doubt be a far cry from the cutting-edge sophistication of the Enterprise. The Sovereign-class starship was an engineer’s dream and he continued to delight in learning and tinkering with the engines and systems. The shakedown period had proved uneventful from a technical standpoint, so he had plenty of time to work with his team to boost efficiencies and report back to Starfleet Command. While he had briefly pondered a different assignment before the newest Enterprise was ready, he couldn’t resist being part of the future.

Plus, there was Captain Picard’s unwavering faith in his abilities. They’d been through a lot, and the fact that Picard stood by whatever decision he reached regarding his VISOR meant a lot to him. Beyond his father and sister, his crewmates really were his family, and he’d do just about anything for them. Even fixing Maquis engines.

A moving star caught his attention as he neared the first vessel. He focused his newly augmented eyes on the object and suddenly began reading engine emissions. The star was clearly one of the Cardassian fighters. His analytical mind presumed it was likely the farthest of the quintet, the one to have had the least sensor damage from their escape stunt. And they were running ahead of his schedule, which did not bode well.

The ship seemed to have locked in on his life sign as it enlarged in his view.

“La Forge to Riker. Cardassian fighter in the vicinity. I think it’s got me in its sights, so I could use a little help.”

“Acknowledged. Get somewhere safe!”

“Not a lot of big rocks to hide behind, Commander,” La Forge replied, then cut the signal.

With increasing desperation, he scouted the vicinity, seeking any place for refuge since reaching the Maquis ship was out of the question. Though plenty of big rocks were in fact in the area, none would dwarf him from a visual scan. One chance was a crater, deep enough to hide within, but reaching it was iffy. Still, moving was better than just standing still for target practice.

He broke into a trot while still tightly gripping his tool kit, then built up momentum to begin taking leaps, letting the lighter gravity carry him farther. His first landing was clumsy and he was reminded that this sort of physical activity was uncomfortable in an EVA suit. His knees ached from the tumble and he may have tweaked an ankle, but his mind forced him to keep moving. The second leap was better and the landing was more accomplished, but it also kicked up a considerable amount of dust, which virtually begged for visual sighting.

For his third leap, he chose to begin a zigzag pattern, at least to be less of an easy target. Between jumps, he glanced up and saw the ship coming closer and, with his prosthetics, began to read the identifying lettering on the ship’s prow. Not that he could read Cardassian, but its clarity was a cause for concern.

He could see the lip of the crater and figured he was two leaps away when the fighter opened fire. La Forge decided to cross the distance in one leap or at least try, and as he flew into the air, the yellowish beam of pure energy struck nearby. The rock it hit was shattered, pieces blowing high into the sky, creating a cloud he hoped would obscure their next shot. On the other hand, with targeting sensors, he was still all too visible.

The concussive force actually aided his trajectory and carried him farther than he thought possible under his own power. Still, he was not yet at the crater and once there, it offered no guarantee of protection. His landing was rough and awkward, forcing him to let go of the tool kit, which skittered several feet away. His ankle announced its discomfort with a shooting sensation that caused La Forge to bite his lip, attempting to suppress the pain.

He braced himself to take a final leap when the ship unleashed a fresh volley, this one coming closer to his position. Something must have been affecting their sensors to miss one target at this range, but he shoved the quandary from his mind as he focused on the takeoff, leap, and landing. He hunched over, letting bits of rock pelt his suit, which easily withstood the assault. Better rocks than disruptors, he thought as he launched himself into the air.

At that moment, a ruby red beam cut over his head, distracting La Forge, who then essentially crashed down the side of the crater. He rolled over and over, dust spewing in all directions, announcing his position. La Forge fought back bile that rose in his throat, ordered his ankle to stop sending out alert signals, and spread his arms wide to slow his skid. He fell a good twenty meters before managing to slow himself and regain his bearings.

What fired at him?

Nothing, he realized. The shot’s trajectory was going up, not down. Someone was firing on the fighter, risking calling attention to the ships that were clear targets to anyone conducting a visual sweep of the moon.

He caught his breath and rested for a moment, happy to have survived the fall. His suit’s communicator was damaged since no signal was going out, and he cursed to himself. Then he rose to his knees and assessed his condition. His knees bothered him, his ankle meant no running, and he was sweating profusely, which was going to make extended time in the suit no fun at all. But he was breathing and alive, which counted for something.

La Forge next focused his senses on what was happening above him. Brief flashes of light reflected off the rocks and edge of the crater, but they were too diffuse for him to have a real sense of what was occurring. He imagined a Maquis assault on the fighter, but the Cardassian ship was too powerful.

A shudder radiated through the ground. Rocks rolled down the crater’s sides, plumes of dust rose high enough for La Forge to see them from his position. With his comm system down, he had no idea what it was but thought perhaps somehow the fighter crashed. The silence was driving him nuts with his heavy breathing the only sound.

Slowly, he regained his footing and decided he needed to risk climbing back up and take a visual sweep of the vicinity. After all, his tricorder was in the case, which remained on the surface, and he prayed it remained undamaged.

The climb was harder than he had expected even with the lighter gravity. He tried not to favor his left leg and went for as steady a climb as possible, despite the pain. His effort took, he estimated, some twenty minutes, but he managed to reach the top and then braced himself, slowly raising his helmet above the rim.

Not that far away and fortunately nowhere near the Anaximenes, he saw the wreckage of what had been the Cardassian fighter. Somehow, it had been hit and damaged enough to cause it to smash into the surface. Arcing energy and gouts of fire erupted, only to be snuffed out in the vacuum. He studied the wreckage through the gray haze created by the dust and could see no survivors emerging. He saw no one at all on the surface, so whoever fired must have done so from one or both of the Maquis ships. If anything, it evened the odds a bit, with now four Cardassian fighters versus the Anaximenes and the two Maquis ships. He still didn’t like their chances and wouldn’t breathe easier until they were en route to Deep Space 9.

La Forge pushed past his pain, figuring there’d be at least some first-aid supplies on either ship. All he wanted right now was to reach the damaged ship, strip off the space suit, and have a drink of cool water. Simple enough, he considered, but not something that would happen while rooted to the dusty surface.

He felt stiff and could only imagine the bruises he would be sporting for the next few days. Slowly, he looked over the surface and sought his tool kit. He would need that if he ever reached the Maquis and, after all, it was his favorite kit and he would be damned if it got left behind on this oversized rock.

Once he retrieved it, he started moving slowly, gaining a sense of rhythm and momentum. He focused on the size of the ship growing in his field of vision. Each step made it incrementally larger, a tangible sign he was making progress. He focused everything on moving forward and not slowing down.

As he neared the ship, he began looking for a hatch to gain admittance. With his comm down, he couldn’t ask them to open the door, and transporters were most certainly out. He found his target and adjusted his angle. There were no portholes, no way to communicate visually with the ship’s complement, so he only hoped they recognized his suit and did not mistake him for a Cardassian survivor. Each step that was not met with a burst of fire was welcomed, and La Forge trudged forward.

Finally, the hatch cracked open and smoothly slid into position, granting him access to the interior. Glowing green lights let him know that the air had been cycled out and it was safe to come aboard. Gratefully, he stepped inside. The door silently slid closed, and the green light switched to amber, then quickly to red. La Forge stood still, his breathing hard, his heart beating faster.

Seconds ticked by, and finally the light switched back to green and a second door spiraled open to grant him access to the ship proper. On the other side of the doorway stood Riker with a Tellarite. Only one of them was smiling.

“Welcome aboard, Geordi,” Riker said.

“Thanks, Commander,” Geordi replied.

“You look a little beat up.”

“I feel worse. I hope this ship has first-aid supplies—I hurt my ankle.”

“Poor baby,” the Tellarite said in his gruff voice.

“Geordi La Forge, this is Tregaar, one of the Maquis leaders and our guide.”

“Swell,” La Forge said by way of greeting and began to take off his gloves. He winced as he found a new bruise and strained muscle.

“You don’t expect to just litter that thing around the airlock,” Tregaar said with a derisive snort.

“Of course not. Just show me a locker,” La Forge said without much emotion. The Maquis pointed to a locker across the corridor, and he shuffled in that direction, finally taking time to notice the rank air. At least there was plenty of it. And then he began adding things to his to-do list, objecting to its growing size.

As he shucked off the suit, carefully checking it for rips and serious damage, La Forge asked, “How’d you gun down the fighter?”

“Thank Daniels,” Riker replied, a sparkle of admiration in his eye. “We must have spotted it around the time you did. He suited up and grabbed their most powerful weapon, a Klingon disruptor rifle. You should have seen him, standing atop the ship and taking careful aim. I bet only Data or Worf could have shot with better accuracy.”

“Thanks for the compliment, sir,” Daniels said, climbing up from a hatchway.

“More than deserved,” Riker responded.

“I have to thank you for your help, Geordi.”

La Forge blinked. “Me? How?”

“They were so busy concentrating on you they never noticed me. I had several clear shots, which allowed me to take out their engines. They never imagined needing shields given the easy pickings.”

“Glad to be of help,” La Forge said, then winced as he eased his injured left leg out of the suit.

“Let me help you,” Daniels said, kneeling and helping the engineer get rid of the last pieces of the suit. He then secured everything in the locker while Riker took a grateful La Forge to their medical bay for some quick treatment.

“You know this means they likely told the others where we are,” Tregaar complained as they walked.

“I suspect they were arrogant enough not to mention anything, assuming they could gloat after the kill,” Riker said. La Forge just wanted the bickering to stop so he could concentrate on his body, then the ship. Politics could wait.

“You hope,” the Tellarite said.

“That I do.”

They reached what was essentially a small alcove with a single medical bed. Riker helped La Forge up and they were joined by a Bolian woman who introduced herself as Mesit, the closest thing they had to a medical officer. She was an older woman, her blue skin showing darker blue, almost purple, age spots. Mesit was missing an ear, and her neck showed badly healed scars.

Still, she seemed to know what she was doing, examining his foot and ankle, then taping it tightly. She measured out a dose of medicine and efficiently gave him an injection. Almost immediately, many of the aches stopped clamoring for attention. He was grateful for that and nodded in appreciation. She ignored the gesture.

“You look dehydrated. Drink,” she said in a slightly accented voice. A small cup of water was thrust his way, and as he sipped at it, the coolness of the liquid made him feel better. She gave him a second injection.

“What was that?” Riker asked.

“A basic dosage of vitamins. He’s here to fix the engine, and I’d rather not report to the engine room that he fainted.”

“Thank you again,” La Forge said, sincerely this time.

Again she ignored him and decided she was done. Mesit walked away as silently as she arrived, leaving the three Starfleet officers and Tregaar alone.

“Are you ready to work?” Tregaar asked.

“The sooner the better,” La Forge replied, annoyed at the expectations. Still, a deal was a deal, and he really would rather not leave them to be easy targets for the Cardassians, personal feelings aside.

The Maquis ship wasn’t very big, he noted. It housed at best twenty crew, and the ship probably topped out at warp six-point-five. The ship was probably also purchased (or stolen) used, and none of the crew was skilled maintenance staff. No one seemed able to use cleansers either.

The door irised open and he could hear misfiring injectors before seeing anything. Coolant leaks were also apparent, adding a fresh scent to the air, tempting him to clean the atmospheric exchange system first, but he doubted Tregaar would approve. La Forge looked around from the doorway and then hobbled inside. One lone man, another Bolian, was fiddling with a pile of isolinear chips, but La Forge couldn’t figure out what he was doing.

He walked over to the master control board, set down his beloved tool kit, and snapped it open. Feeling much more in his element, he withdrew his tricorder and achieved a connection with the ship’s systems. On the board itself, he ran the routine master diagnostic before going through things system by system.

Feeling several pairs of eyes on him, he looked over his shoulder. “Guys, this is gonna take a while.”

Riker got the hint and led the others out of the engine room. As the door closed, La Forge leaned back and relaxed for the first time that day.

Riker excused himself to return to the command center to talk with Maass and await La Forge’s report. That left Daniels with Tregaar, who looked none too pleased to have the security chief standing in the same corridor with him.

“What’s your problem?” Daniels asked.

“Nothing,” Tregaar said.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

They walked aimlessly through the ship’s corridors, every now and then passing another member of the Maquis crew. Most matched the Tellarite’s scowl and look of disapproval at Daniels being aboard.

“It’s not easy having you here,” Tregaar finally said.

“You represent the enemy.”

“Starfleet shouldn’t be anyone’s enemy,” Daniels said. “We’re largely an exploration operation.”

“Right. When was the last time you did any of that, mister security man?”

“I’ll admit our main mission has been set aside, but it’s not like we invited the Dominion to the quadrant. Do you really think we go looking for fights?”

“Don’t you?”

“No, and I object to your tone, mister angry at the galaxy,” Daniels shot back. “Really, what’s your problem with us?”

“You abandoned the people living in the DMZ. You let the Cardassians in and preferred politics to actual protection,” Tregaar said, his tone actually softening as they spoke. They stopped by a room filled with containers of different shapes and colors. There were two straight-backed chairs in and around the stuff. He gestured and Daniels gratefully sat.

“Which world were you on?”

“Tellar,” Tregaar said.

“Then you’re not even affected by this,” Daniels said, more than a little surprised.

“I grew…disillusioned…when I saw how my government could willingly abandon its people rather than fight a recognized evil. I attended many meetings, heard a lot of provocative ideas…”

“So you just bought into the rabble-rousers. Did you even bother to ask any of the residents what it was really like there?”

“No, no I didn’t,” he admitted. “I didn’t think I needed to. The news services more than clearly showed how hard things were getting. And then as time passed, the DMZ protests remained but the main coverage diminished. There were other things for them to waste time on, like the elections.”

“So you just up and left home to become what, a freedom fighter? I don’t get it, Tregaar. Let’s say the Maquis win, whatever it is they want. Let’s say it’s dumping both the Cardassians and Federation out of the DMZ. People move back to Salva II and everyone can prosper without fear. What happens to you?”

The Tellarite stared at Daniels, anger in his eyes. He breathed deeply several times, looking ready to yell or leap across the space. Daniels tensed, expecting the argument to become a brawl. Instead, his host seemed to calm down and finally form a reply.

“I’m not really sure.”

“Then what are you fighting for?”

“I want them at least to have a chance,” Tregaar said, practically imploring Daniels to understand. “It’s all they deserve. I want the original agreements followed. What about you, great explorer? You’re in security, the strong-arm division of Starfleet. What do you get out of exploration?”

“I want galactic peace,” Daniels said, somewhat challenging Tregaar. “Neither one of us are likely to get that.”

“You certainly knew how to handle that disruptor,” Tregaar said, with a hint of admiration.

“I wouldn’t be much of a security officer if I couldn’t hit a target that big,” Daniels said.

At that, Tregaar actually laughed.

“Commander, we have a problem,” La Forge said over the combadge.

“What’s wrong, Geordi?”

“Better you come and take a look.”

Riker looked at Maass, who nodded and rose from his chair. Together the two men walked down the decks to the opposite end of the ship in silence. They’d pretty much said what they needed to, aired out their sides.

When they reached the engine room, La Forge was the only one in sight and then only his legs were visible. The rest of him seemed deep inside an open manifold, one foot moving back and forth, keeping silent time.

“We’re here, Geordi,” Riker called.

The engineer wriggled out of the tight space and shook his head in resignation. As he got to his feet, Riker could see he was still favoring his injured leg.

“Basically, this system has been held together with spit and baling wire long enough for the wire to rust. They don’t have the replacement parts to make this thing spaceworthy, and neither do we.”

“What happened? It was fine before we were forced to land,” Maass demanded, his tone adding an unspoken accusation.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” La Forge said.

“Essentially, once this ship landed, and real gravity took hold, things settled, and not for the better. I don’t think this can generate enough thrust to lift off, let alone break orbit.”

“A tractor beam could help,” Maass said.

“Maybe, but you’re putting the crew at risk, not to mention possibly warping the hull’s integrity. That neutrino leak isn’t going away and is going to get worse. You’re low on deuterium and the Bussard collector was damaged in the landing. The injectors look like they haven’t been serviced since installation. Want me to go on?”

Maass seemed resigned. “What can we do?”

“I recommend you guys pile into the other ship and get out of here. Maybe we can fake some life signs and let the Cardassians blow this one up and let you escape.”

“Nice idea,” Riker said.

But Maass was shaking his head. “The other ship has fifteen people on it and it’s built for twenty. Where am I supposed to put everyone?”

“We can take a few,” Riker offered.

“You’d do that?”

Riker felt himself flush with anger and frustration so tried to control his voice when he replied. “Do you honestly think we’re going to abandon you on this moon to certain death?”

Maass was silenced and merely shook his head.

“What shape is the other ship in?” La Forge asked cautiously.

“Better than this,” Maass said.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” La Forge said.

“We don’t have time for me to take a look.”

“It’ll fly fine,” Tregaar said with defiance.

La Forge shrugged at Riker.

The first officer tapped his combadge. “Riker to Daniels. Report to the engine room.”

“Aye, sir.”

Moments later, it seemed, Daniels and Tregaar arrived, both looking curious. Riker quickly outlined the ship’s dire condition and the need to split the crew between the other Maquis ship and the shuttle.

“How many can you take?” Maass asked.

“Five, for a brief period. It’ll be a little uncomfortable,” Riker said.

“Tregaar, take Kalita and three others and follow the commander to his craft. I’ll evacuate the others with as much of the supplies as is practical.”

“Sir,” Daniels said, “by the time we’re ready to lift, the Cardassian sensors should all be back to normal. Not only will they be looking for us, but they’ll wonder what happened to their fighter. Getting out of the system won’t be easy.”

“Since when is our mission supposed to be easy?” Riker locked eyes with Maass. “We’ll get everyone out.”

“Understood.”

As they set about their work, Riker wondered if he had enough tricks up his sleeve to get them out and survive. Or was that asking for one miracle too many?

CHAPTER

6

“Tell me you have EVA suits,” Daniels said to Kalita.

She glared at him in response, then walked three meters away and pulled open a locker that contained a set of gear. Without a word, she tossed pieces to Tregaar and then grabbed a set for herself.

La Forge and Daniels shared exasperated looks while Riker was introduced to the other three who were to be their guest on the Anaximenes. One was a young human woman, barely out of her teens, the second was another Tellarite, and the final person was a Deltan man with the largest biceps the commander had ever seen.

“Geordi, is Maass’s idea a practical one?”

La Forge thought a moment, rubbing his chin, a habit Riker recognized all too readily. The delay told him that his engineer had ideas, probably several, considering the ship wasn’t in great shape to begin with.

“Yes, sir,” La Forge said. “I would think we can rig a time-delayed overload of the engine. I want us well away from here before the antimatter pod ruptures.”

“How big a yield would the blast be?”

“I see where you’re going,” Daniels jumped in. “The blast would most certainly reach the fighter and take it as well, making for a bigger burst.”

“Big enough to attract the Cardassians’ attention and let us slip away,” Riker said. “You know, I forgot you were our resident demolitions expert.”

“Yeah, I’ve always had an affinity for blowing things up,” Daniels said, grinning.

La Forge interrupted and Riker could practically see the figurative lightbulb over his head. “I had a thought. We have three probes aboard the Anaximenes, and I can rig those to emit signatures similar to the Maquis’ engines and throw them farther off the scent.”

“Good,” Riker said. “You and Daniels get a head start on rigging the engines. I want a word with the new crew. We’ll meet you at the airlock.”

“I’ll need maybe ten minutes down there,” La Forge said and Riker nodded acknowledgment.

Within minutes, the five were in their space suits and were checking each other’s seals. It hurt Riker to watch La Forge hobble across the deck. He hoped there’d be no running involved between ships.

“Okay, here are the ground rules,” he said, addressing the quintet before him. “We know our shuttle, you don’t, so just sit where I put you and if I ask for help, be ready to do whatever I say without question. The only way we’re all going to survive is if we work together. Your politics, your personal belief systems have to go on hold until we’re clear of the Cardassians. Understood?”

The girl, Indira, nodded; the Tellarite, Gavron, followed suit; and the Deltan, Banek, simply said, “Yes.” Tregaar and Kalita said nothing, but Riker took their silence as acquiescence.

He checked a chronometer built into his suit and realized the others weren’t going to be ready yet. Still, he could easily herd these five back to the shuttle and begin preflight.

“Right, let’s get to the airlock.”

The line of people trudged single file in their suits, the extra bulk filling the narrow confines of the ship. They all heard the movement of other members of the crew scrambling above and below them.

Fortunately, the crossing back to the Anaximenes was a lot less harrowing than La Forge’s first trip. Minutes after they began walking on the moon’s surface, Riker saw the first of the remaining crew begin working their way toward the other craft. He estimated that both crafts should be ready to take off within thirty minutes and prayed the Cardassians wouldn’t arrive before that. Even with the rigged explosions and decoys, he still needed a course for the ships.

As they walked, he fell in beside Kalita, who seemed all too ready to ignore him.

“Tell me about the other ship,” he asked.

She said nothing for a moment, then finally replied,

“It’s a converted pleasure cruiser. We obtained it from salvage after it hit an asteroid. The engine can get up to maybe warp five if the engineer is capable. I don’t know her. Malames, the pilot, is good. Not as good as me, but she can follow.”

“Good to know,” Riker said.

“You know, Riker, I really don’t like being in a subservient position to you.”

“This is all a matter of convenience, not choice. Just come for the ride.”

He left her alone before she could respond, turning his mind to what he recalled about the system and surrounding DMZ.

Soon he had everyone aboard the shuttle, and they took their gear off one at a time given the space considerations. Riker went first so he could begin powering up the shuttle for departure. Before heading forward, he pointed out where everyone should remain. The diagnostics showed that La Forge’s ministrations helped tremendously and the propulsion would be sufficient. Riker then called up charts and the sensor readings they took upon entering the zone. He heard the others grumble behind him, keeping their comments to themselves, which was fortunate since he really didn’t want more arguments.

Exterior monitors showed that La Forge and Daniels were finally making their way to the Anaximenes while the last of the others were vanishing from sight as they neared the other ship. He reached across to the passenger side controls and set up an active communications link to the other ship for later. Then he settled into the pilot’s chair and began activating the systems and engaging the engine. Everything hummed along, the sound emanating from behind giving him confidence.

Within minutes, his crewmates were aboard and taking off their gear. They made their way through the body of people and took the seats by Riker. La Forge sat beside the first officer while Daniels took his accustomed place behind them. Riker noted that Daniels had a sidearm strapped to his hip. He gave him a quizzical look, and Daniels’s incredulous expression more or less said, “Are you kidding me? I’m not traveling with five Maquis and not be prepared in case they decide to steal the shuttle.” And he couldn’t really argue with his security chief. He’d likely have done the same thing.

“We’re looking good, Commander,” La Forge said as he double-checked the systems.

“Riker to Maass.”

“This is Maass.”

“What’s your status?”

“We can leave the surface in about five minutes.”

“We have about that long to begin clearing space if we want to avoid any shock wave from the explosion. Hurry it up.”

Riker then turned to La Forge, whose fingers were already flying across a control board, configuring the probes. On one screen, he noted the energy signature from the other shuttle taken from the sensor logs. Bit by bit, the signature being emitted from the probes began to resemble it until, at a glance, they matched. It wouldn’t stand up against truly sophisticated investigation, and he hoped the Cardassians were blood-thirsty enough to be hasty, not thorough.

“Good work, Geordi. Ready?”

“No question about that, sir,” La Forge said.

Riker’s hands maneuvered the controls and the shuttle began to lift up slowly. He checked to make certain the propulsion units worked in balance. A warning sensor indicated they were over normal weight tolerances but not enough to cause a critical situation. Good thing this was a temporary arrangement. It would still make evasive maneuvers tough, but he’d already begun rethinking several ideas. After all, if he’d learned anything from Picard, it was to be prepared for any contingency given the circumstances. Having four Cardassian fighters seeking you certainly qualified as a time to be prepared.

“Probes are ready.”

“Good. Daniels, you’ll launch them on my mark. Geordi, I want to keep an eye on the systems, just in case.”

“Since when do you doubt my handiwork?”

“Doubt your work? Not at all. This just strikes me as one of those times that when we need everything to work with precision, something will go wrong.”

“I call that Monday,” La Forge said with a laugh.

Riker chuckled and eased the craft higher above the moon. The craters shrank in size and the mountain range nearby seemed picturesque, no longer ominous. He spotted the other vessel rising from the surface nice and smooth.

“Kalita,” Riker called behind him, “what’s the name of that ship?”

“Its pilot dubbed it the Liberté,” she said.

“That’s ‘freedom’ in French,” Daniels said helpfully.

“No kidding,” Riker said with sarcasm.

“I thought you were Irish,” La Forge said.

“A student of foreign tongues, I guess. I dated a French girl at the Academy.”

Both ships continued to rise, and Riker plotted out courses for the probes plus the escape route he wanted the ships to take. La Forge confirmed that the decisions made sense to him, and things ran quietly and smoothly. Riker suspected it wouldn’t last, not with the enemy so close by.

“T minus two minutes,” Daniels said.

“We going to make it clear?” Tregaar asked from the rear.

“Don’t see why not,” Riker said tightly, coaxing the shuttle for a little extra energy to be safe.

“Me either, don’t worry,” La Forge said to reassure his friend.

At the one-minute mark, Riker warned the Liberté and then banked the shuttle onto its course, leaving the moon’s gravity well and allowing them to safely engage the warp engines right after the explosion. The Maquis ship followed precisely—he was pleased Kalita’s estimation of the other pilot was accurate.

Right on schedule, a brilliant white light suddenly blossomed on the surface. Given the lack of atmosphere for drag, the shock waves reverberated through the void, and Riker braced his hands on the controls, suspecting they were not as far away as they should be. Sure enough, seconds later, the shuttle rocked from side to side, though more gently than he expected. Still, someone’s head banged against a bulkhead and he heard an interesting Orion curse from the injured party, surprisingly, the girl Indira.

Sensors indicated the Liberté was a little more shaken up by the energy emission, but it remained on course, right behind the Anaximenes. Riker silently counted to five, then instructed that the probes be released. As they flew away from the shuttle, he activated their transmission so it might resemble Maquis craft leaving the moon as a result of the explosion.

All he had to worry about now was being found by the Cardassians. Clever as this plan was, he still suspected that eluding four craft would be virtually impossible before they could clear the DMZ and get back into Federation space. He had them heading for Sol Arion, the nearest Federation system over the border, but if there was a chase, he didn’t doubt for a moment the Cardassians would follow and deal with the political fallout later. They always seemed to think the treaties meant nothing when it came to taking down the Maquis.

“We’ve cleared the gravity well,” La Forge said.

“Mr. Daniels, charge the phaser banks and be on alert. Anyone coming this way gets the first shot.”

“Got it,” he said.

“They’re clear, too,” said La Forge.

“Probes are on track,” Riker confirmed. “We can go to warp now, I think.”

“I’d recommend we not push things for either ship,” La Forge said. “Let’s try warp three and make certain we’re moving smoothly.”

“Acknowledged,” Riker said. “Anaximenes to Liberté. Prepare to go to warp three on my mark.”

Malames, the Liberté’s pilot, confirmed and Riker was satisfied.

He was about to send them into warp when the crimson proximity alert began flashing. Its strobelike effect filled the front of the ship with an intermittent red sheen.

“What’s going on?” Tregaar demanded to know.

“Shut up,” Daniels called back. “What’s going on, sir?”

“Two Cardassian ships just cleared Salva II, heading this way. They picked up one of the probe emissions. I’ll need to move us away, and we can’t go to warp as yet. Riker to Malames.”

“I see them, Commander,” Malames said. The clipped tone indicated she was used to taking commands, leading Riker to assume she was ex-Starfleet. That was to her advantage.

“We need to dodge them, and a warp bubble would be sending up a flare,” Riker said as he considered his meager options.

“May I respectfully suggest we hide in the asteroid belt?”

“Terrific suggestion. I’ll take point. Also, we’re now running silent.”

“Acknowledged. Liberté out.”

“This should be fun,” La Forge said bitterly as he gripped both armrests on his chair.

Riker dove down the z-axis then banked the shuttle to arc away from the moon and the probes, heading at an angle to the three false signals but making a direct line toward the asteroid belt between the outermost worlds in the Salva system. He moved at impulse power, keeping the ship steady and praying the Cardassians would track each signal separately, from closest to farthest, which would be the Liberté and then the Anaximenes. He wasn’t looking for a fight, simply trying to avoid detection. There were several hundred million kilometers to go, and he noted that the Cardassian ships were increasing speed, finally having something tangible to track. A part of his mind mused as to where the other two might be. Most likely, if he were the gul in command, the other two were just outside the system in case of the very escape Riker was attempting.

One hundred fifty million kilometers before entering the asteroid belt. Riker began intensively scanning the area, plotting a course that would allow them to weave inside as deeply as was practical. He was pleased to see the variety of metals embedded in the chunks of rock that ranged from the size of his fist to that of the continent of Australia. There were countless asteroids orbiting the Salva sun, and he needed to avoid hitting each and every one of them.

One hundred million kilometers. He sought sensor gaps—those asteroids with difficult-to-probe mineralogical content, praying for a cluster he could hide two ships near. A few spots but all too small. Unfortunately, that meant going deeper.

Fifty million kilometers. Nothing was coming up, and Riker was beginning to feel very tense as the Cardassians were now nearing the first probe. Once they realized it was a fake signature, they’d step up their search. Maybe be hasty and let them slip by or spot them like an eagle and make a direct approach. Exposed like this, one phaser bank against two fighters were not odds he liked.

Small bits of rock appeared on the forward viewscreen. They were entering the outer fringes of the asteroid belt, the Liberté right behind them. He imagined Malames to be a former conn officer, which was exactly what he needed right now.

Twenty-five thousand kilometers within the asteroid field, Riker began the delicate dance to avoid the smaller pieces from damaging their minimal shielding. They moved along in silence, dipping here, rising there, with one hard bank to starboard that brought a fresh round of curses from his passengers. At least they were remaining mostly quiet.

Seventy-five thousand kilometers in. He needed to maneuver the shuttle a little more often now, but he was also finding more sensor gaps. There was a particular blind spot that looked promising and he eased the shuttle toward it, the Maquis craft his mirror image. The Cardassian ships had already destroyed two of the probes, leaving just one innocent device out there and the two ships in here. He was feeling tension in his shoulders and a single bead of sweat creased his forehead. A glance showed him that atmospheric controls were nominal, so it was just worry making things hot for him.

One hundred fifty thousand kilometers in, the signal from the final probe went dark.

Two hundred thousand kilometers in, Riker was finally getting close enough to the mammoth asteroids that were clustered, creating the blind spot. They were large enough to land on, if necessary, but he preferred a parked position between the frozen remains of some long-dead planet. The Liberté seemed to have found a spot it liked, taking up a point equidistant between three of the asteroids. Riker nodded with approval and then eased the Anaximenes into a similar position but between two of the largest asteroids, making any visual contact with the Cardassians and even the Liberté just about impossible.

At two hundred thirty-three thousand kilometers inside the asteroid belt, the Anaximenes came to rest, and Riker let out a breath he finally realized he had been holding.

“Nice driving,” La Forge said, breaking the silence that had lasted for quite some time.

“We can’t scan for them, either,” Daniels noted.

“We’ll be going strictly on visual for now.”

“I’ll take that. We can alternate the watch.”

“And how long do you expect us to remain here in hiding?”

Riker rose and took two steps toward the defiant Tregaar. “As long as it takes. Have somewhere to be? Something better to do than survive?”

Tregaar’s eyes radiated anger, but he wisely said nothing further. Instead, Kalita moved forward, daring to leave her assigned spot. It didn’t look like she cared if that annoyed Riker or not.

“Let me help. I can take a watch, too. It’s not like I’m inexperienced at playing cat and mouse with the Cardies,” she said.

She had a point, and better to have her invested in their survival. He nodded in agreement and gestured to the chair next to Daniels. The security chief activated the controls by her position so she too had a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the area. “Welcome to the party,” he said with a grin.

Kalita settled in, looked at the various controls without touching them, and then stared intently at the screens, seeking the enemy. It took some time before she noticed that she was no longer opposite Daniels, but Riker, who had switched places. He gazed at her with deep interest, which seemed to unnerve her a bit.

“How well did you know him?”

She remained silent, unwilling to answer, so he continued to stare at her. Finally, she relented with a heavy sigh.

“Well enough. We worked together for months planning the operation. He worked very hard. He very much wanted it to be a success.”

“What was he like?”

That caught her by surprise and she blinked a few times as she considered the response. “He was funny. Always had a crack for people. He never took his eye off the prize—Orias. The joking façade made him easily liked and readily accessible, but you could tell he had something to prove.”

“What?”

“That he was his own man,” she shot at him. “That he wasn’t you. That’s really what you want to know, isn’t it?”

“I knew he wasn’t me from the moment we met,” Riker said tightly. He could feel himself stiffen, shields going up, but he forced them back. Deep down, he needed to understand the betrayal.

“Tom truly questioned the Federation’s action,” she continued, not meeting his eyes. “He wasn’t faking to be different. Something about that time in isolation seemed to change whatever you two had in common, and he became someone else. He believed in the cause and readily wanted to help.

“Where he went wrong, I think, is when he pushed the mission harder than he needed to. We could have cloaked and made a beeline to Orias, discovered if the building facility was true, and if so, blast it and get out. Instead, he had to send the nearby ships away, which brought the rest of the fleet down on us.”

Riker had read Sisko’s mission briefing report, of course, augmented by the comments appended by Kira Nerys, who seemed to display unusual sympathy for Tom’s situation. He could have done exactly as Kalita outlined but didn’t, and that gnawed at him.

“He was trying to outcommand me,” Riker said, more to himself than to the Maquis woman.

“Maybe,” she said softly. “The decoy was a brilliant but unnecessary idea. It put us all at risk.”

“Even if it did expose the Obsidian Order’s treachery,” Riker added.

“Then he gave up,” she spat. “Rather than go down fighting, as we were prepared to do, he just sacrificed himself and cost us the Defiant.”

“We weren’t all that different in the end, were we?”

“Maybe not, if you were as soft and self-sacrificing as he proved, but in all the wrong ways.” Her growing anger surprised Riker. He studied her body language, her expression, and, being a judge of fine women, came to a conclusion.

“You fell for him, didn’t you?”

“Not that he noticed,” she said in a loud, anguished voice. “Not even a hug good-bye. No, he had to first force me to give command to her, then he…kissed her and vanished!”

The first “her” confirmed it was Kira. Tom kissed Kira. Interesting. He had no idea there was any spark between them. For a moment, he wondered what that must have felt like. How she tasted.

Forcing his attention back to Kalita, the spurned woman, he gave her a look of sympathy that was met with disdain. She returned her attention to the monitor screen.

“I’m just so damned tired of fighting,” she said, without looking at the commander.

The conversation was clearly over, and he felt that he learned only a little more about what Tom’s life was like. He remained conflicted over that, disgusted by the actions his double took but trying to understand what compelled him. Certainly, his experience diverged enough that he could see the disillusionment with Starfleet. After all, Tom wasn’t the first Starfleet officer to abandon his post for the Maquis. Unlike the others, though, he accomplished a great deal that not only helped the Maquis but also improved Starfleet’s intelligence.

A brief swell of pride filled him, the first positive emotion he had felt for Tom in ages.

It wasn’t enough, though, since it still meant he stole the Defiant and endangered others to prove a personal point.

“Commander!”

La Forge’s voice had enough panic in it to put him on instant alert.

“The Liberté is moving and I’d swear they’ve been spotted,” the engineer said from the pilot’s chair.

Riker looked at the screen before him, noting the somewhat erratic pattern being employed. “I don’t see anything,” he said.

“Let me try something.” La Forge carefully took the Anaximenes out of position, rising above the asteroids that had hidden it for a time. Inching up at a very slow rate, Riker strained to find something substantive.

“I see it, top right of the screen,” Daniels called.

Sure enough, a small bit of Cardassian fighter was visible, and given the other ship’s position, it was more likely spotted. Now they’d be found, too, and it was time to act. He found himself looking forward to doing something proactive for a change.

“Daniels, get back here and ready phasers,” Riker said, rising from the seat. “I’ll take it from here.”

The two quickly changed seats, Kalita watching in silence.

Riker settled in and brought the impulse engines on line. He kept them at minimal levels, just enough to maneuver for the moment, but warmed and ready if they needed acceleration. He switched sensor readouts and concentrated them directly on the fighter, gleaming golden against the blackness of space. No doubt, the second ship was right behind it, flying in some formation, which also took it out of the equation at the moment.

Clearly, the Maquis ship was seeking some other place to hide, but it continued to expose its flanks to the Cardassians. Riker pushed the sensors, expecting the Cardassians to be charging weapons and targeting. They, like the Klingons, preferred to shoot first, interrogate any survivors second.

“Commander, structural integrity’s at only ninety-four percent,” La Forge said.

“Great,” Riker muttered. “Will that affect us in a fight?”

“I hope not.”

“Not the kind of reassurance I was looking for.” Riker swung the shuttle farther up, now glancing time and again at a new readout, this one of the hull integrity. A display above that changed hue, and the new data caused him alarm.

“They’re targeting,” he said. “Brace yourselves.” As he spoke, he increased speed and changed his course, placing the Anaximenes between the Liberté and the Cardassians. After all, last he checked, pleasure cruisers did not come armed. The shuttle responded without complaint, and the increased whine in impulse thrust sounded perfectly normal.

“I’m targeting their disruptor emitters,” Daniels said.

“You’ll have one shot at it.” Riker continued to work the controls, fighting the urge to try maneuvers a star-ship—not a shuttle—was built for. Yet, being smaller and somewhat more maneuverable, there were certain things a shuttle could do better.

“Here goes,” Riker said, increasing the speed and adjusting the angle, giving Daniels as clear a shot as possible.

“Firing,” the security chief said.

A single phaser beam reached across the void and impacted on the Cardassian ship’s shields. They were close enough that the impact would be considerable, and the best they could hope for was to weaken the shield directly in front of their disruptors.

Then the shuttle twisted and turned, diving straight down before banking to port and ducking behind an asteroid just slightly larger. Not even a second later, a disruptor shot filled the space where the shuttle was.

“Clean miss,” Daniels said.

“Good, because if they made contact, we’d be in a mess of trouble,” La Forge said. “Integrity holding at ninety-four but the thrusters are heating up a bit more than I’d like.”

“Must be the extra weight,” Daniels said, then looked abashed when he realized Kalita was right next to him.

She gave him a cold smile. “Never discuss a woman’s weight when she’s in the vicinity.”

“Siobhan says the same thing,” he replied with a smirk, then turned his attention to his screens.

“Now what, Commander?” Kalita asked Riker.

Good question. He scanned for the Maquis ship and saw that it was darting from asteroid to asteroid, avoiding exposing too much of itself to the Cardassians. The second ship was now visible and required extra attention. He had two ships to protect, and two ships to avoid or destroy. That latter option seemed more like wishful thinking to him. There were now nearly four dozen lives counting on him, and he needed a brilliant notion, something that would save them all. They didn’t have to name it after him, just note that it worked.

He moved the Anaximenes behind another larger asteroid and then concentrated on the sensor scans of the area. Almost one by one, he studied the asteroids in the vicinity, pausing to quickly check the visual positions of the other three ships in the equation. Then he returned his attention as he felt the time pressure growing, because the Cardassians clearly had the advantage.

Unless they could disappear.

Without a cloaking device, he needed to cover the ships or find someplace the Cardassians couldn’t see, scan, or reach.

That was when he spotted the asteroid some hundreds of kilometers away. It had a wide-mouthed opening with what looked to be a pillar of rock bisecting the entry to what appeared to be a cave. It was at an angle to the shuttle and tough to scan, but he tapped his screen and pointed it out to La Forge. His engineer studied it, checked his own sensor readouts, and slowly nodded.

“All it would take is one shot,” Riker mused.

“What would?” Kalita asked but was ignored.

“That’d create a lot of debris,” La Forge added.

“Could damage either ship trying to get in.”

“Not if we give Pádraig target practice.”

“You never use my first name; that suddenly sounds ominous,” Daniels said.

“Nah, he only sounds ominous when he uses your full name,” La Forge said.

“And only my mother uses that. But I get the idea. How do we keep that from the Cardassians and clue in the Liberté?”

“I’m working on it,” Riker said as his right hand rapidly tapped several controls. He took his last two minutes’ conversation from the ship’s recorder and turned it into a microburst transmission. Targeting the Maquis ship with a tight focus, he activated the communications system, and in less than a second, the message had been sent, too brief, he hoped, to be detected by the Cardassians.

“I’m giving them three minutes to be ready. Mark,” Riker said. “Everyone hold tight, we’re going to be moving quickly on this.”

Those behind him remained quiet, even Tregaar, for which the commander was thankful. He was tired. Five days’ travel in a shuttle would wear on anyone, and now fighting Cardassians just wore away at him further. If this worked, he’d definitely need some rest.

First things first.

As the seconds ticked down, he received no reply from Maass or Malames; then again, he didn’t detect any overt movement from their opponents. Daniels seemed set to do his part, so he just needed to keep the shuttle level and maintain a rate of speed that meant avoiding debris and ensured a smooth landing. He’d taken the time to do a more detailed look at their target and determined there was minimal gravity given the bulk of the dead rock. Its iron/nickel makeup wouldn’t necessarily save them from Cardassian probing, but if they went deep enough, wouldn’t hurt either.

“Ten seconds,” he said. He sensed people shifting, and he imagined the air thick with tension even though the atmospheric monitor indicated all was fine.

As the final seconds ticked down, he engaged the thrusters and began arcing the shuttle toward the asteroid and its inviting cave. Without raising his voice, he instructed Daniels, “Fire.”

The phaser beam was right on target, shattering the pillar of stone that prevented the shuttle from accessing the cavern. As expected, various size and shaped debris floated in all directions, including directly in the Anaximenes’s path. Daniels then targeted and fired a series of smaller bursts, pulverizing the larger pieces that would endanger the shuttle’s hull integrity.

All of which cleared the way for the Liberté to follow. He stole a glance at the tactical screen and was pleased to see the other ship moving into position behind them. So far so good.

A second glance showed the Cardassian ships still farther away, still seemingly clueless to the new game, hide-and-seek. He smiled at La Forge, who cracked a grin back at him, pleased that this ploy seemed to be working.

Within a minute, the firing stopped and Daniels gave Riker the all clear. Visually, the space seemed to confirm that, and his fingers increased the speed so they could get within the now-open asteroid as quickly as was practical. Their meager deflectors nudged aside the smaller rocks, and nothing seemed to endanger the shuttle. The gaping maw of the cave was inviting, and Riker took the shuttle right inside without letting up speed.

The Anaximenes’s lights offered the only real illumination. The cavern walls were ragged; the opening probably carved out by impact with other celestial objects millennia ago. All he could see was stratified rock and more stratified rock in colors ranging from black to dull gray and back again. For now, though, it was a safe haven and that would more than suffice.

The cavern stretched for more than a kilometer, and he took the shuttle toward the very rear and then cut speed, engaging the thrusters to begin lowering them to the uneven surface. Riker activated the levelers that extended from beneath the shuttle, telescoping based on sensor readouts to balance the shuttle so it would be even. They wobbled a bit as minute adjustments were made, but it gave him a chance to breathe and study their diagnostics. Overall integrity nudged down to ninety-two percent, but he could live with that for now. The thruster La Forge fixed seemed just fine.

“Here they come,” La Forge said.

Riker saw on the large view screen that the Liberté was negotiating the space just fine despite its larger shape. Of course, space cruisers were expected to be able to dock at all manner of ports of call, so this was just one of the less luxurious ones. They began to descend about five hundred meters from the shuttle, close enough just in case but with plenty of room if they needed to leave quickly.

With that thought, he once more studied the tactical sensors and saw little; the metallic ores definitely played a little havoc. He wished the Cardassians had similar issues if they neared this cluster. Satisfied, he began powering down systems, leaving the phasers on standby.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” Kalita asked.

“Until I’m certain they’re gone and we can safely leave the system,” Riker said.

“And how are you going to do that if you used your three probes?”

Good question. “I’ve got it covered.” He raised his voice and looked past her to the others. “We’re going to be here for a while. Everyone get something to eat from the replicator and try to rest. Mr. Daniels will be on first watch, so take your issues up with him.”

“Thanks,” Daniels said.

“Rank hath its privileges, Lieutenant,” La Forge said. “Don’t sweat it. I’ll catnap so I can relieve you in a couple of hours.”

After wolfing down some field rations, Riker slumped in the pilot’s chair, closed his eyes, and drifted off into what promised to be an uncomfortable and unfruitful sleep.

While Riker’s breathing evened out, Daniels finished his soup and recycled his bowl. As he retook his seat, which while comfortable proved stiff after long periods in it, Kalita looked his way.

He wasn’t sure what to make of the spare, hard woman. She was passionate and certainly seemed to have her reasons for being with the Maquis, but he wondered when she would realize it was a cause that was doomed to fail.

“You think of me as a terrorist,” she said plainly.

“Not really,” he admitted. “Some of your actions are certainly questionable, but you didn’t blow up the Defiant or the Enterprise. A criminal, I suppose.”

“Huh,” she said. “See, I never thought of my actions as criminal but just under the circumstances. The medical supplies Ro and I stole were for refugees and those harmed by the Cardassian governors.”

“Still, had you asked, I suspect Captain Picard would have provided aid,” Daniels said.

“He couldn’t. It would have violated the treaty with the Cardassians. And from what Ro said, Picard is a very disciplined man.”

“That he is.” While he was still getting used to the man and his command style, he was certainly aware of the man’s legend. When he was offered a post on the Enterprise, he was surprised, figuring the captain had a long list of better-qualified candidates. Then again, he did obtain his first captaincy in the field so was probably more open-minded than other commanders.

“You know what would have made a difference?” Kalita asked, clearly changing gear.

“Tell me.”

“When they began negotiating the treaty, maybe someone should have asked for our input.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Federation and Cardassians sat in their embassies or on some starbase or God knows where and coolly redrew the galactic maps. Did they have any colonist from the affected worlds provide feedback? Did the Federation bother to send ambassadors or emissaries to speak with us and get our opinion?”

“I’m guessing not,” he said, imaging how he would have felt under the circumstances.

“Ro knew what it was like to be betrayed by her own people after the Cardassians occupied Bajor. The things she had to endure, I don’t know how she did it, and then to be betrayed by Starfleet.”

“Wait a second. I don’t know Ro or her story, but Starfleet doesn’t betray its own.” Daniels was suddenly feeling defensive. He was also lying—after all, he’d been the one to find Admiral Eric Hahn’s body, and he died only because Admiral Leyton and his people betrayed him. “Neither of us were there. Now, I do understand your anger at not having a say.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” she said. “You know, once the DMZ was established, the Cardies armed their people to attack the Federation administrators. Did anyone call them on it? Did anyone come out and accuse the Cardies of abusing Federation citizens? Of course not. The treaty was signed, peace was established, and the war was over. There were other things to worry about rather than a strip of space.”

“Your little strip of space was not the only political issue. Those Changelings are out to take over the whole damned quadrant.”

“Our ‘little strip,’ as you call it, was our home! We had people dying and no one seemed to care.”

Daniels patted the air before him and then jerked a thumb at the slumbering Riker and Geordi. She gave them a look and then stared at him, clearly not caring if she raised her voice. Both also stole looks behind them. Of the four Maquis tightly packed in the rear, only one, the Deltan, seemed to be awake and following the discussion. Certainly their voices traveled well enough given the confines.

“So, you think its okay to kill in the name of freedom?” he asked in a quieter tone, hoping to lead by example.

“We were targeting our oppressors so they’d leave our families alone. No one should lose a sister like I did.”

“Allying yourself with the Klingons will save lives?”

Kalita fidgeted with the cup she had finished with long before. She was a walking raw nerve, he decided.

“Sure, we’re getting weapons and ordnance from them to wage a battle that the Federation refuses to acknowledge.”

“You do realize you’re just cannon fodder for them?”

She frowned at him. “I don’t know the phrase.”

“In the old days on Earth, the first lines of troops that rigidly walked onto the battlefield were the first ones knocked down by cannon fire, but that allowed the troops behind them to get closer so they could eventually attack. To the Klingons, you’re there to take down as many Cardassians as possible, softening them so they can make the killing blow and probably claim the union’s territory for themselves.”

“Will it buy us freedom?”

“The Klingon Empire tends to absorb their allies, so I can foresee a day when the DMZ is either part of the empire or the battleground in the next Federation-Klingon war.” He was beginning to sound like one of the professors he had at the Academy, droning on in full lecture mode. Talking with her was certainly enlightening, since he’d never really engaged a Maquis in debate before. In fact, prior to his posting aboard the Enterprise, he’d been at quite a remove from the actual front lines. This gave him an entirely different perspective.

“More will die, then? Do you truly believe that?” Kalita’s eyes softened, and for the first time he saw she was struggling with her life, no doubt brought on by the constant strain. Hard as she appeared, she still had a full range of emotions, and it seemed some were leaking out.

“You’ve lost a lot of people haven’t you?”

“My sister, my friends,” she said, her tone softening for the first time since the debate began. “Since joining the Maquis, I’ve seen colleagues fall. After we were freed from custody, Tamal died just months later. Tom sacrificed himself to buy us our lives and then Tamal goes and dies. Such a tragic waste.”

“You look tired.”

She nodded once. “I don’t think I’ve had a decent night’s sleep in over a year.”

“You could rest now.”

“How can I sleep when the Cardies are right outside?”

“Because they won’t be coming in here.”

“You can guarantee that?”

“I can guarantee the odds are against it, that’s the best I can do,” he said. There was a real conviction in his tone, as he processed and voiced his feelings for the first time. “Just like I can use my experience in the service to tell you that there are way too many unknowns out there to make promises about what happens when the Klingons pick off the Cardassians or the Jem’Hadar really engage us. About the best I can promise is that it’ll be messy and more will die before there’s a break in the action.”

She frowned at him again. “Don’t you mean peace?”

“No, I mean a break. Once we finish with the Dominion, there’s still the broken treaty with the Klingons, plus the Cardassians, the Romulans, and let’s not forget the Orions or Breen—or the Borg.”

“You always this cheerful?”

“I’m a realist. I signed on to serve and to protect and will do that to the best of my ability. It also means I serve with my eyes wide open and hope for the best by preparing for the worst.”

“The worst is going to be that when this break comes, the DMZ will remain intact, isolated, and neglected, still under someone’s boot heel.” With that, she turned and closed her eyes, trying to rest.

Daniels just sat and stared at her, unable to find the words to convince her otherwise.

CHAPTER

7

Three hours passed by the time Riker woke up, feeling anything but refreshed. Although still tired, he didn’t feel as emotionally drained, so that was something. A part of his mind knew he didn’t sleep too deeply since he knew Kalita was yelling at some point, but he couldn’t recall what it was all about. Probably for the best, he concluded, as he took a drink of water and then reviewed all the monitors.

“Riker to Maass.”

Seconds passed and the Maquis leader appeared on the view screen to the commander’s left. He looked to be in about the same shape: tired, worn, nerves on edge. But he also looked fairly composed, something that impressed Riker.

“What’s your status?”

“It’s cramped, like we anticipated, but we’re managing. We’re sleeping in shifts and the rest are making certain all systems are functioning.”

“Any problems?”

“We have some coolant issues but nothing we can’t handle.”

Riker and La Forge shared a glance of concern, but there was little they could do. The shuttle certainly didn’t carry extra supplies of that nature.

“You know, we can’t just lie low forever. Your ship will be worried, as will the rest of my people.”

“Maybe we won’t have to,” Daniels piped up from behind the commander. “All passive scans, those that I can take, indicate that the Cardassian fighters have moved off. No residual energy trails in the vicinity.”

“But your scans are incomplete. Can’t you obtain more information?”

Riker paused and then addressed the screen in full commander mode. “No, but you can. Contact your other ship.”

“The other ship blew up.”

“The other other ship,” he said with no trace of a smile.

Maass stared at Riker. The confrontation seemed to stretch, but Riker was not giving in. Good as Maass was as a leader, he couldn’t out bluff the Enterprise’s best card player.

“How did you know?”

“Your pilot, Malames, suggested we hide in the asteroid belt. It was a terrific suggestion, but she came up with it too quickly, as if she had familiarity with it. When we sent the probes out with the false signatures, I also kept their sensors active, and we discovered an engine trail ending conveniently enough in the asteroid field. Since it wasn’t Starfleet or Cardassian, I concluded you had a third vessel out here.”

Maass didn’t acknowledge or refute Riker’s comments, but he sensed Kalita stirring behind him, suddenly restless.

“That your backup defense? Extra troops?”

“It’s really none of your concern, Commander. But since you know it exists, that should suffice,” Maass said formally. “They have gone radio silent, as we did before, but I do have their coordinates. I haven’t been able to reach them to confirm the sensor readings.”

Kalita let out a tiny gasp.

Riker turned over his shoulder and locked eyes with Daniels. “Lieutenant, do you consider the area safe enough for us to leave the cave?”

Daniels hesitated as he checked the screens one final time. “I have no reason to believe the Cardassians are in the vicinity.”

“Very well,” Riker said. “Liftoff in five minutes. The moment we’re clear, we’ll take point, so please send me those coordinates. We’ll rendezvous with that ship, which should ease your cramped conditions.”

“Very well, Commander,” Maass said in resignation. He blacked out the screen, but a moment later the necessary data arrived from the Liberté. Riker put the information into the navigation computer and a course was instantly plotted. It took them away from the last known Cardassian position, but even so, it was a fifty-fifty chance they were still in the vicinity.

“All set for liftoff,” La Forge said.

“Thank you,” Riker said, tamping down his annoyance at this new wrinkle. When the sensor data came through hours before, he concluded it had to be a third Maquis ship and kept the information to himself, an ace up his sleeve, so to speak. He suspected they were going to ambush the Anaximenes or try and take out the Cardassians in some mad suicide mission but chose to wait them out.

He desperately wanted to bring this to an end, ensure their safety then get away. They had obtained the cargo that Starfleet asked for, whatever it was, and as far as he was concerned, it was mission accomplished. Capturing these people was not going to happen.

Silently, he nudged the shuttle off the surface and hovered, awaiting the Liberté’s actions. Moments later, it too achieved flight and eased backward out of the asteroid. In all, it took them about three minutes to clear the asteroid, and the commander felt better as they cleared the space and ran a full sensor sweep.

“Residual Cardassian energy signatures, but fading,” La Forge said. “They haven’t been in the area in at least two hours.”

“Good, let’s get this over with,” Riker said. With practiced ease, he activated the course program and directed the shuttle toward the mysterious Maquis ship. The other one flew close and to their right flank. They traveled in utter silence for several minutes as he concentrated on avoiding nearby chunks of rock.

Finally, they neared a relatively flat and craggy asteroid, roughly the shape of an old-fashioned aircraft carrier but five or six times the size. As they approached, he activated the sensors, and within moments a variety of data streamed across a screen. He was displeased by the information and narrowed the focus, seeking additional detail. Finally, he looked behind him, found Kalita gazing at him, and frowned.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Her voice was calm, a little rough from exhaustion.

“We’re not seeing any life signs and the ship is venting plasma in two places.”

“Very wrong.” She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them.

As they neared, a visual was possible and Daniels had it magnified. The ship was another cruiser, a little larger perhaps than the one Maass was on. Unlike that ship, this one had deep gouges along the prow and several holes punched through the hull, including the ones with reddish-orange plasma leaking into the vacuum.

“Is there a chance any of my people are still alive?”

Riker slowly shook his head. “But we need to go see for ourselves. Kalita, why don’t you and Tregaar join us? Geordi, can we beam over?”

“The plasma doesn’t seem to have flooded the ship, but atmospheric pressure is down. We should be prepared.”

Riker nodded, disliking the notion of suiting up again but didn’t see another option. “Mr. Daniels, prepare to lock the shuttle down. We’ll need all of us.”

“Acknowledged.” Daniels set about activating the security protocols that would keep the three remaining Maquis passengers from trying to take the shuttle for themselves. Without knowing anything about them, he assumed they were freedom fighters more than they were expert hackers who could bypass Starfleet encryption. To be certain, he added a unique pass code that locked out the phasers to all but himself—just in case.

Once more, everyone put the EVA suits back on, one at a time given the finite space available. Kalita and Tregaar were helped by their fellows, while Daniels saw to it Riker and La Forge were fully sealed up before stepping into his boots. Riker then helped ensure the security chief was ready. They all checked their comm systems and then stepped to the transporter pad. La Forge beamed Daniels over first, then Kalita, then Riker, and finally Tregaar before using the autoset to send himself over.

Riker materialized holding his phaser at the ready but saw nothing untoward. The whine next to him indicated the Tellarite was coming through, and then a moment after, La Forge arrived, clutching the medikit. The bridge was clear of people and blood, which made him feel somewhat better. Still, the lack of life signs was troublesome.

“We’ll do this deck by deck,” Riker said.

As he herded the others to the turbolift, Daniels walked over to the helm and tested several controls. Riker gave him a quizzical look, and the junior officer shrugged, a somewhat comical look given the suit.

“Escape pods intact, Commander,” Daniels said over the suit’s comm.

“Anything else?”

“Ship has power. All systems are running at one level or another.”

“Geordi, can this thing fly?”

La Forge was examining a series of screens against a far panel and he ran his hands over the controls before responding. He seemed entirely focused on the question, and his body language didn’t tell Riker anything. Riker did note, though, that Tregaar and Kalita both seemed as anxious to know the answer.

“The hull needs attention, but if they have basic maintenance supplies and someone good with his hands, this thing is spaceworthy. Not by a lot, mind you, and I certainly wouldn’t try high warp, but yeah, it’s salvageable.”

Kalita nodded, absorbing the information, and she shot Riker a defiant look, more or less saying, “It’s just like us. Battered but not down for the count.” In some ways he admired that determination; it had certainly carried Riker through some hair-raising missions in the past.

“All right, let’s go exploring.”

The five began on the next deck and went room by room. Along the way, they found signs of a struggle, and it was two decks down before they found huge amounts of blood smearing the deck and corridor walls. Whatever battle occurred took place here. Cardassians likely located the ship, boarded it, and the Maquis fought back. Still, lots of blood and no bodies. Cardassians weren’t usually that tidy.

When they got to the final deck, they found the bodies.

In the cargo bay, several containers had been opened, their contents dumped out. Replacing the spanners, stem bolts, foodstuffs, clothing, and bottles of illegal Romulan ale, each container was stuffed with the remains of the Maquis crew. Limbs were twisted and cracked at sickening angles; burn marks turned clothing into a melted mass. Atop the nearest container, one man was carefully placed, positioned as if protecting the cargo.

“That’s Oswind, the ship captain,” Kalita said.

“Butchers,” Tregaar added in a louder voice.

“Seems we found a tidy butcher,” Daniels quipped, earning him a disapproving glare from both Riker and Tregaar. Finally, something they could all agree on.

Riker went closer to the cargo and slowly shook his head. “This is your enemy. They outgun you, outnumber you, and won’t hesitate to do this. The Maquis will lose time and again until there’s no one left to oppose them.”

Kalita remained silent.

“I’ve seen enough,” Riker said. “Let’s get back to the Anaximenes.”

“Wait a second,” La Forge said.

Riker paused and gave his engineer a puzzled look. La Forge walked over to a closed cargo container that seemed innocuous enough. Still, if Geordi thought something was up, he was taking no chances.

“I’m picking up something odd about the contents,” La Forge said, slowing down and peering at the container. “Commander, there’s something unknown in here.”

Without waiting, Daniels had his phaser in his hand and looked anxiously at Tregaar and Kalita. Both remained in place, although the Tellarite wasn’t meeting his eyes.

Geordi activated the locks and the container hissed open, followed by a whistle of admiration, one Riker didn’t hear all that often.

“Commander, that’s Klingon gear,” La Forge informed him. “Stuff I don’t recognize.” He immediately withdrew a tricorder and began taking scans.

“Stuff?” Riker asked, more amused than concerned.

“May I?”

Riker was surprised by Daniels’s request but gestured for him to go ahead. The officer walked over and crouched low for a better look, positioning himself between La Forge and the equipment.

“Sir, I’ve read about this,” Daniels said after another few moments. “It’s a sensor shield, something designed for smaller vessels that can’t generate power for a cloaking device.”

“Perfect for most Maquis ships,” Riker mused.

“Especially pleasure cruisers.”

“No doubt the thirty cloaking devices proved too big and required too much energy, so the Klingons were bringing things down a notch,” Daniels added. “We were briefed on these some months ago. Pretty nice bit of work, actually.”

“I’ll say,” La Forge added with admiration.

“If this is the Klingon gear intended for transfer, then what on earth did we beam over to the shuttle?” Riker asked.

Geordi shrugged. “To be honest, Commander, I never took time to look.”

Riker turned his gaze toward Kalita, who wasn’t meeting his eyes, much as Tregaar was avoiding Daniels by this point. That told him volumes. Their bluff had been called, so he walked over to the Tellarite and puffed out his chest just a bit.

“And just what was it you gave us?”

“A pile of junk,” Tregaar said. “The Klingons thought they were doing us a favor by giving us old disruptors. They dated back to the Organian Treaty and kept breaking, so we figured you’d accept that as the real thing.”

“We’ll be confiscating this, since this was what we bargained for,” Riker announced. He didn’t receive any protest from the Maquis.

La Forge and Daniels secured the container and both men could handle it given the inferior gravity on the moon. As they did, Kalita finally spoke.

“It was Tregaar’s idea, not Maass’s. He argued against the deception, feeling if you were going to act honorably, we should, too. But most of us felt we had to do what we could to survive to fight another day. We’re desperate, Commander. No one else is fighting for us, and it’s a fight I still believe in.”

Riker paused at that, considering her passion. He tried to imagine if he could summon the same fire for something he was not personally connected to. He couldn’t, but clearly Tom could. Their differences continued to multiply, probably for the better.

“Those days are rapidly drawing to a close, Kalita,” Riker warned. “Until the bigger issues are settled, the DMZ will be a minor problem. The Maquis need to either fight against the Dominion or sit tight until the quadrant can properly focus on your complaints. It’s not that we’re deaf, but the shouting from the Gamma Quadrant is that much louder.”

Kalita’s eyes blazed for a moment and then she turned on her heel. “I have injured and dead to attend to. You have your bounty, so our business is done.” Tregaar followed her without a word, rather uncharacteristic for him. Riker and the others exchanged somewhat bewildered glances and then began moving the container into position so they could take it with them.

The walk back was slow and silent with no one feeling particularly joyful about the mission’s outcome.

As they headed back toward the transporter pad, Riker sidled up by La Forge and asked quietly, “Can you take a few minutes and check the engine room? I don’t want this thing to blow up if they try to preserve it.”

La Forge nodded without comment and didn’t ask any questions. He understood and also seemed to sympathize with the Maquis, dejected as they were. La Forge broke off from the group and went toward the nearest turbolift and vanished from sight. It wasn’t long after that they entered the cruiser’s transporter room, lavishly designed using natural materials and soothing colors to be welcoming to pleasure passengers, the last of whom had vacationed aboard this vessel a good decade previously.

While Daniels began powering up the transporter, Riker stood in front of the console and mused over everything they had experienced the last few hours. As a result, he was unprepared when Tregaar sucker punched him. The Tellarite’s massive fist carried a great deal of power and knocked the first officer off his feet.

At that instant, several things happened at once. As Riker recovered his footing, Tregaar lashed out with a boot as Kalita leaped at a startled Daniels, his hands rising off the controls in a defensive posture. The two fights could not have been any more different, as the larger figures brawled inelegantly, banging into one another and bouncing off the walls.

Kalita and Daniels, though, were more balletic, despite the EVA suits. There were arms jabbing out, bodies twisting to avoid contact, and a variety of martial arts forms coming into play. Riker barely had time to notice that his security chief was holding Kalita off but didn’t seem able to subdue her. Her attacks were no doubt fueled by rage and frustration. It was a fight they couldn’t possibly win.

Daniels kept looking at Riker, as if he was seeking direction as to how far or how brutal the fight should be. Hold them off? Hurt them? Worse?

With no time for an actual conversation, Riker returned his attention to Tregaar, who clasped his hands and pounded Riker’s right shoulder. That blow staggered him, and he tried to absorb it and return the favor, going for a flip, made difficult by his opponent’s bulk and the awkwardness of the suits. Failing that, he stepped back and breathed deeply, realizing he wasn’t angry at the attack, understood it more than he first imagined. When Tregaar charged him, Riker let him; the lack of resistance sent them both to collide heavily with the sculpted image of a sunset on some unrecognized world. The art crackled in three places and crumbled to the deck.

Riker slumped from the impact, which allowed Tregaar to grab his phaser from the suit clip.

Tregaar cried, “Kalita! I have him!”

Kalita jabbed one final elbow into Daniels before stepping back, letting the change in status quo sink in. For his part, Daniels caught Riker’s eye and seemed to read something in it and stopped struggling. Instead, he stood up and dropped his arms to his sides.

The phaser waved them both onto the transporter platform. Without a word, Kalita worked the controls at a furious pace while Riker and Daniels stood, awaiting their inevitable return to the shuttle. It did seem to be taking some time, though, and Riker was ready to ask what might be wrong, stalling so La Forge could find them.

“That does it, Tregaar,” she announced before he could open his mouth. “I’ve beamed the others to the Liberté. I’ve also beamed their engineer to the shuttle.”

She then addressed Riker. “Commander, you’re clearly a man of your word, and I appreciate that. It’s why I’m sending you back to your shuttle rather than taking it instead of this. This we can fix and will, resuming the fight. Win or lose, this is a fight I must finish. I think you understand.”

Riker merely nodded, not at all happy with the turn of events. In fact, the conflicting emotions made him suddenly think of Deanna. He wondered if even she could help him sort through the issues.

Those thoughts occupied his mind as he felt the transporter begin its work and Kalita faded from sight.

“Maybe the Federation could have handled things better,” Riker admitted. He shucked off his helmet and let it fall to the shuttlecraft deck. The other three Maquis had been beamed over to the Liberté.

La Forge was already out of his suit and was packing it into the locker. The engineer seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts.

“Well, the Maquis made that point pretty clear at the outset,” Daniels agreed. “Then it metastasized. The Maquis grew to attract the disenfranchised. They suddenly became a physical representation of the Federation. Talk about the body politic.”

“What do you mean?” Riker was done with his outfit and hastily stowed it in the locker, then headed to the shuttle’s controls. Daniels and La Forge followed, each taking his place and beginning the preflight routine.

“Are we pursuing them?” La Forge asked.

“No. We’re heading back,” Riker answered.

“Long-range sensors indicate no Cardassian signatures in the vicinity,” Daniels announced.

“Why not?”

“Because we’re done here,” Riker flatly told La Forge. “They’ve lost what, nearly two dozen people? We took out one Cardassian fighter. Not an even score, but it’s the best we can do.”

“What about the Klingon sensor shield?” Daniels asked. “We were assigned to collect it.”

“True, Lieutenant, but Starfleet had no idea what we were after. Now we know and also know it’s relatively insignificant in the grand scheme of things.”

“Will they see it that way?”

“I don’t really care right now. I’m tired.” He plotted a course, activated the thrusters, and maneuvered the ship away, noting that the Liberté was coming closer to the damaged cruiser below them. As they accelerated, he was relieved to put the Maquis issue behind him for a few days. That certainly gave him plenty of time to compose a report for Starfleet and an explanation for his commanding officer.

“So, the Maquis now have a sensor shield, maybe more than one,” La Forge said. “Do you think that will improve their chances?”

“Given the numbers and firepower out there, I wouldn’t be betting on the Maquis,” Riker said, his voice very weary.

“I could have rigged it to fail,” La Forge mused.

“No,” Riker said. “They deserve the chance to fight for their beliefs.”

Some minutes later, he turned to Daniels. “Now, what was your point before?”

The question threw Daniels for a moment, but he quickly resumed his discussion, once more sounding like an instructor. “The people who left Starfleet first did so because they got close to the situation—like Commander Hudson and Lieutenant Ro. But the others, the ones like Tom Riker, seemed to reject the Federation’s ideal and therefore Starfleet’s goals. Quitting was like a referendum, a vote of no confidence in the Federation president and his policies.”

Daniels probably had a point, Riker conceded. No one seemed happy with the deal President Amitra cut with the Cardassians that gave birth to the DMZ. Certainly, President Jaresh-Inyo didn’t do anything to calm the Maquis movement. Thank goodness he lost the election, and maybe the newcomer, Min Zife, could stabilize things.

“I concede your point,” Riker finally said.

“Can I ask a question?” Daniels said.

“Go.”

“Why’d you have me throw the fight?”

La Forge looked surprised, but Riker kept his eyes on the viewscreen and simply said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But, sir, when you let Tregaar take you down so easily…” With a hard look from Geordi, Daniels let the sentence fade away. Clearly, Riker was not going to answer the question.

The next several days passed without incident. Riker slept, he wrote his report, he brooded. There was little card play and even less jesting. The trip felt long and empty.

EPILOGUE

The Anaximenes docked with the Enterprise at Deep Space 9. After transmitting his report, Riker accessed the mission logs and kept track of the captain’s dealings with the Klingons in the Badlands. It sounded as if they had been kept busy enough.

Once they left the craft, La Forge directed his staff to begin a complete overhaul, and they were to contact him only if there was a warp core breach. He intended to get some proper sleep, he told them, once Beverly Crusher fixed his leg.

Riker also relieved Daniels from active duty for forty-eight hours after verifying that the ship’s tactical officer/security chief could be spared.

As he left the flight deck, he reported directly to the captain’s ready room, not at all looking forward to the conversation. He’d check his computer for messages, reports, and appointments later. This he should not delay.

Data looked up from the command chair and welcomed Riker back. Riker merely nodded and stayed on the bridge’s upper section and walked around to the doors.

“Come.”

Riker stepped inside and found Picard on his couch, a padd in one hand, a cup of tea in the other. The captain appeared relaxed in the new duty uniform, which fit him quite well, no doubt a result of his mission going somewhat better than Riker’s own.

“It’s good to have you back, Number One,” Picard said, gesturing his friend to a nearby chair. “A drink?”

“No, thanks.” Riker sat, settling in, his hands clasped between his knees. He felt like a kid in Alaska, sent to the principal’s office after he and Jackson “Squibby” Carter accidentally put on each other’s pants after phys ed only to change back by using the teachers’ lounge. Amazing how it seemed his world would end that day, being dressed down by the overweight, red-faced administrator.

Picard, neither overweight nor red faced, still carried the weight of a disappointed administrator, and Riker just wanted to get this over with.

“I was reviewing your mission report. No doubt, Admiral Hayes will be somewhat disappointed we don’t have the sensor shield for closer examination. But beyond that, I doubt he’ll have read it with much detail.”

“But you have, of course,” Riker said.

“Of course.”

“Well, Command should at least be happy with the intelligence we did put together. Geordi got some very detailed scans of the sensor shield, and he’s already figured out two different ways to get past it.”

“It certainly helps,” Picard said. “I’ve also read between the lines, and you were clearly not on your game. What happened, Will?”

Riker had been rehearsing this conversation in his mind for days now. He was prepared to take the full blame without getting into the emotional baggage he was unable to shed. Instead, he just said, “I had some doubts, sir.”

“Doubts?”

“We’re so focused on the Dominion right now, we seem to have ignored the problems in the DMZ. The Maquis I spoke with, they, well, they argued that there’s no one left to fight for them.”

Picard narrowed his eyes at that comment but merely sipped his tea.

“None of us felt good about the DMZ, but they’re the only ones who seem to be trying to fix something. I can understand their point of view a little better now, I think.”

“It’s up to the diplomats, Will, not us.”

“I’m not suggesting that the Enterprise get involved. But I can see better now why some in the fleet feel dissatisfied. Why they might leave their posts and take up a cause they can believe in.”

Picard met his eyes and looked deep into them. He seemed to be measuring his own convictions or choosing his words. Finally, in a quiet voice, he said, “Such as Lieutenant Riker?”

“Exactly. His actions haunted me the entire mission. On the one hand, it was a distraction; on the other, it forced me to listen to them. I have to admit, I kept trying to imagine why someone just like me would betray the oath.”

“But Thomas Riker is no longer just like you.”

“Exactly, but there’re years and years of shared experiences, and since he managed successfully to pass himself off as me, I thought I could try and see the universe through his eyes. It’s a pretty jaded view, I have to admit.”

“No one should have to endure the kind of isolation he went through. That it didn’t drive him mad says much about the Riker blood. Still, you didn’t obtain the sensor shield and you even let the Maquis take it.”

“They paid for it in lost lives, sir. Theirs is a very hard life and maybe I felt we owed them one. I admit I was not at my best, and if you feel there should be repercussions, I’ll understand.”

Picard mused for a moment then set down his tea.

Here it comes.

“Will, I can’t say that I’m not disappointed,” he began. “Following the letter of your orders, you failed the mission. It’ll have to be noted as such. While there are mitigating circumstances and the fact that we now have the specifications helps, it’s still a bit of a muddle. Things aren’t going to get any easier on this ship or in the future. I need to be able to count on you to get through those coming days. Talk to Counselor Troi, get some rest. Report back to me, ready for duty.”

Riker stood and nodded stiffly.

“Dismissed.”

Chastened, and still somewhat conflicted, Riker left the ready room and then the bridge, taking a turbolift down to his quarters. With every footstep he trod his own path, pushing the specter of his brother, far away on a prison planet, from his mind. Each had made his choice and was living according to that decision.

It would have to suffice.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

These projects never write themselves. Star Trek is too large a universe, with too many details, for anyone to keep tabs on everything. As a result, several friends and colleagues proved invaluable along the way from concept to completion.

First, a thank-you to Keith DeCandido for inviting me to the party. He helped me shape the story as circumstances evolved and provided me with a technical bit that actually inspired a twist I hadn’t initially envisioned. A tip of the cap to Terri Osborne, who was along for at least two of the plot conversations (we were all trapped in the same car, riding down to Baltimore so she had little choice). I also want to acknowledge the others in this miniseries: J. Steven York and Christina F. York, Phaedra M. Weldon, William Leisner, and the aforementioned Ms. Osborne, who did some nifty character bits that helped inform the characterizations in this story.

The amount of real science applied to Star Trek has risen through the years, and there remain times I find myself in need of a little help. This time, Alan Chafin rode to my rescue, taking my vague idea and helping find a real scientific solution. Allyn Gibson has gone from convention pal to writer colleague, and he agreed to be my beta reader, which proved invaluable. From nitpicks to plot points, he kept me honest, and this is a better story for his efforts.

Thanks, as always, to Paula M. Block at CBS Consumer Products, for her insight and helpful suggestions.

Finally, a thanks to all the readers who have been along for the ride.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Robert Greenberger is a well-established author of Star Trek fiction dating back over eighteen years. He has written collaborations with Carmen Carter, Peter David, and Michael Jan Friedman, in addition to solo efforts, ranging from novels to short stories to eBooks. Additionally, he is a longtime comic book professional, having logged twenty years between DC Comics and Marvel Comics. He also served as a producer at Gist Communications and was most recently managing editor at Weekly World News. His writing has ranged from fiction to nonfiction, interviews to histories. He’s written fifteen books for young adults on a wide variety of topics from the history of Pakistan to the nature of energy. He’s also written a handful of original science fiction and fantasy. His most recent book was Predator: Flesh & Blood, in collaboration with Mike Friedman. This summer, his novelization of Hellboy II: The Golden Army and The Essential Batman Encyclopedia will be on sale. Since 2007, Bob has been a regular contributor of news and commentary at ComicMix (www.comicmix.com), a pop culture site. He makes his home in Connecticut with his wife, Deb. Since 2005, he has served as an elected representative for the town’s Representative Town Meeting. For more information, you can check out his web page at www.bobgreenberger.com.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

EPILOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR