Star Trek™:

Corps of Engineers

Turn the Page by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

Troubleshooting by Robert Greenberger

The Light by Jeff D. Jacques

The Art of the Comeback by Glenn Greenberg

COMING SOON:

Signs from Heaven by Phaedra M. Weldon

Ghost by Ilsa J. Bick

An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2007 by CBS Studios Inc. All Rights Reserved.

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ISBN: 978-1-4165-4978-9

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Dedicated to the memory of

Elaine S. Greenberg

(1933–2004)

Acknowledgments

The biggest thank-you of all goes to editor extraordinaire Keith R.A. DeCandido, without whom this book—this entire series, in fact—would not exist.

Thanks also to Paula Block of CBS, whose comments and suggestions were invaluable.

To my wonderful wife, Ginny, and the apple of my eye, my daughter, Maddie—thanks for putting up with all the days and weeks and months that I spent at the computer working on this thing. I’ll do my best to make up for lost time, I promise!

And I’d like to acknowledge those individuals who particularly inspired me through their work, and family and friends who provided support, advice, or just a friendly ear, during the writing process: Andy Ball; Harve Bennett; J.M. DeMatteis; Richard Donner; James Doohan; Al Jardine; Mike Love; Tom Mankiewicz; Howard Margolin; Riley Martin; Nicholas Meyer; Peter Parides; Gregory Plonowski; Michael Resnick; Donna Richmond; Phil Rosenthal; Roger Stern; Brian, Carl, and Dennis Wilson; and Clive Young.

Chapter

1

Commander Sonya Gomez was pinned down, crouched behind a boulder, firearm drawn, her heart pounding with anticipation and dread. Her shipmates, engineer Fabian Stevens and deputy security chief Vance Hawkins, had already been gunned down by the enemy. The other members of her team had been captured.

She was itching to peek over the boulder, to see if she could spot any movement among the enemy forces and perhaps fire off a lucky shot or two and scramble to safer territory. But she suppressed the urge and again took in her surroundings, looking anxiously, almost desperately, for any possible escape route that could enable her to turn the tables on her adversaries. But the arid, desolate, sand-engulfed terrain that extended as far as her eyes could see offered no such salvation. If she left her spot behind that boulder, she would be picked off right away, no doubt about it.

This was not how she thought she would be spending her time when she and the U.S.S. da Vinci first arrived at Federation Outpost 32, on the planetoid Joras along the Romulan Neutral Zone. It was supposed to be a simple, routine engineering assignment. But having served as first officer of the da Vinci—and head of the Starfleet Corps of Engineers team aboard that ship—for over a year now, she was fast approaching the conclusion that there was no such thing.

Kept life interesting, that was for sure.

She thought briefly about the captured members of her team, Panajiotis Parides of Earth and Brilson Lodine of Argelius II. She barely knew them—they were technicians stationed at the outpost who seemed like they were capable and would remain coolheaded under stress, which was why they were recruited for this little jaunt. She couldn’t believe her judgment could be so off the mark. Her first impressions had almost always served her well in the past.

But now, Gomez was the last member of her team standing. She knew she couldn’t stay behind the boulder forever, and under the circumstances, getting help from the da Vinci was out of the question.

Worst-case scenario, she thought to herself.

Then she heard something: the crunching of sand beneath booted feet. Getting closer, closer, coming upon the boulder. She would be found. It was unavoidable. But if she was going to go down, she would go down fighting. Her finger tightened on the trigger of her rifle. She braced herself, took a deep breath, popped up from behind the boulder, and fired.

A small orb blasted out of the rifle, hitting its target square in the chest and exploding on impact—splashing pink paint all over the top half of the person’s body.

Gomez smiled, but only for a split second. Because she realized that the person she’d just blasted was her commanding officer, Captain David Gold. And he hadn’t even been taking part in the game.

Oh God, Gomez thought. Now would be a good time for the ground to swallow me up whole.

But no such luck. She remained there, standing before her pink-headed captain.

“Gomez,” Gold began in a neutral voice, maintaining his composure—outwardly, at least—as pink paint dripped from his hair, nose, and chin. “I think blue is more my color.”

Gomez stepped around the boulder and approached him. “Captain, I am so sorry.”

He didn’t say another word. His eyes alone asked the question.

“We were playing war games,” she explained. “With splatter guns.”

He remained silent. His eyes told her to go on.

“We were getting bored, sitting around waiting for the delivery ship to show up with the equipment for this project. It’s three days late, after all. We understand—engine trouble. But until they arrive, there’s really nothing for us to do, so since we’re all off duty until the supplies come, some of us thought it would be fun—and beneficial—to come out here and put ourselves in a combat situation. I mean, we are bordering the Neutral Zone. You never know when the Romulans might start acting up again, especially with a new praetor. So it was a way to keep us on our toes.”

Gold remained silent. Gomez kept going.

“We established a worst-case scenario—da Vinci presumed destroyed, total loss of communications capability. We wanted to make it a real challenge. Stevens, Hawkins, and me on one team, Corsi, Abramowitz, and Tev on the other. Even some of the outpost personnel joined in—they’re really good sports, very friendly.”

She broke into a very strained smile, trying desperately to lighten the mood.

“So, uh, what was it you needed me for, Captain?” she asked.

Gold finally spoke again. “Before you shot me? Nothing. I was off duty, too, so I decided to get some fresh air. Then I got a call from the da Vinci. It seems the supply ship has finally arrived. I was heading back to the outpost and this was the shortest route. And the messiest, it seems.”

The captain’s entire tone was calm and matter-of-fact. Gomez winced. Oh, he’s not going to let me live this down for a long time.

“We’re supposed to meet with the crew of the supply ship in one hour,” he told her. “You, me, Corsi, Stevens, Tev, and Soloman. Main conference room at the outpost. I’m going back to the ship to take a shower and change my uniform.”

He began to walk away from the boulder, passing Gomez and ascending the steep hill beyond. On the other side of that hill, in a valley both deep and wide, sat the Federation outpost—a bustling oasis of civilization and technology on an otherwise unremarkable world.

As Gold reached the top of the hill, he turned back to Gomez. She could see a devilish smirk under the drying paint on his face. “Oh, and to send a message to Captain Picard on the Enterprise and let him know it finally happened,” he added.

“Do you have to?” she asked ruefully.

“Oh yes,” he told her firmly, and then he turned again and kept walking.

Suddenly, da Vinci security chief Domenica Corsi came up alongside her, having emerged from wherever she had been hiding during the game. Corsi was followed by the other da Vinci crew members—Stevens, Hawkins, cultural specialist Carol Abramowitz, and the Tellarite second officer, Mor glasch Tev. The four members of the Outpost 32 personnel who had joined them for the excursion—Parides, Lodine, and a man and a woman whose names Gomez had, regrettably, forgotten—stood off to the side, huddled together and talking among themselves.

“That conversation couldn’t have been comfortable,” Corsi said.

“Nope,” Gomez replied simply.

“I’ll bet he tells Picard,” Stevens offered, the slightest trace of amusement in his voice.

“He will,” Gomez said flatly. She did not relish—in fact, she downright dreaded—her current captain informing her first captain about this incident.

“Wow,” Stevens continued, unable to resist ribbing her. “First you spill hot chocolate all over Picard and now you blast paint all over Gold! You’d better hope you never serve under Admiral Jellico—you’ll end up knocking him into a swimming pool or something and getting busted back down to ensign!”

“Thanks. Your support is greatly appreciated,” Gomez replied with a tight, humorless grin, trying her best to just let it slide off her back.

Silently, she said to herself, What was I saying before about worst-case scenario?

An hour later, Captain Gold was in Outpost 32’s main conference room, dressed in a new, clean uniform and fairly confident that he’d managed to get all of the pink paint out of his thinning hair. The crew members he had requested earlier were seated at the long conference table. The da Vinci’s Bynar computer specialist, Soloman, had beamed down from the ship just moments before to join them.

Gold stood by the head of the table and conversed with Eugene Palmer, the outpost’s young human commander. Palmer, in his early thirties with wavy brown hair and eyes to match, looked far younger than his years and exuded enthusiasm and confidence.

“I’m glad to see this project finally move forward,” he told Gold.

“Well, I know the R & D phase took longer than was expected,” Gold replied. “Everyone involved wanted to be absolutely sure all this new sensor and communications equipment was going to work right.”

Palmer nodded. “I agree with that. We have to make sure the Romulans don’t try anything sneaky. Sure, we’ve been allies since the Dominion War, but who knows how long that’ll last, especially with Praetor Neral dead. If they start sneaking into Federation space using cloaked vessels, we need this new equipment to let us know about it.”

Suddenly, the door to the conference room slid open and two crew members of the delivery ship entered. Their casual, stained, well-worn work outfits were in sharp contrast with the crisp, clean uniforms worn by the Starfleet personnel. The first to enter, a somewhat short, stocky, middle-aged human with thick dark hair, stubble, and the bushiest eyebrows Gold had ever seen, introduced himself with a smile.

“Captain Gavin Moon,” he said as he shook hands with the Starfleet captain and the outpost commander. Nodding toward his companion—a tall, lumpy-fleshed Arcturian male—Moon continued, “My first mate, Adjani…uh, well, I’m afraid I still can’t pronounce his last name. I’m only human, after all.”

“Adjani is fine,” the Arcturian said with a slight smirk, bowing his head.

“Pleasure to meet you both,” Gold said. Then he turned to Palmer. “Commander Palmer, shall we get down to business?”

“It’s really your meeting, Captain,” Palmer replied amiably. “You have the floor.”

Palmer took his seat at the table. Gold did the same and began the meeting.

“We’re a little behind schedule, as I’m sure you know,” he told Moon, trying not to come across as accusing.

“Yes, and my sincerest apologies, Captain,” Moon replied as he and his first mate sat down. “Clearly, our engines are in greater need of an overhaul than we thought. I hope we didn’t inconvenience you too much.”

Gold smirked. “Some of us made more productive use of our time than others.” He glanced over at Gomez, who immediately blushed and, amazingly, willed it away almost instantly. “But no, we weren’t overly inconvenienced. So let’s talk about this project.”

Moon held up his hand. “We should probably wait for the boss. Be here in just a minute. Finishing up some paperwork.”

“The boss?” Gold replied with surprise.

At that, the door to the conference room slid open again and in walked a beautiful, regal-looking, older human woman. She carried a metallic briefcase and was wearing a tight-fitting dark green dress with a high-backed white collar that descended down the front and formed a V just above her ample bosom. Her hair, jet-black with streaks of silver, was long and lustrous, flowing across her shoulders.

“Patrice,” Gold said, breaking into a smile. He rose from his chair and walked over to the woman. Damn, he thought. How come I keep getting older and she doesn’t? She held out her hand and he took it in both of his and squeezed gently. He escorted her over to the table, where Palmer stood and greeted her formally.

“I’m sure you remember Patrice Bennett,” Captain Gold said to his crew members. Indeed, they had met her on the planet Vemlar several months earlier, where she helped resolve a bit of business involving a particularly odious tycoon named Portlyn, whose efforts to cover up a sinister real estate scheme included an attempt to destroy the da Vinci and everyone aboard.

Gomez, Corsi, Stevens, Tev, and Soloman nodded and extended greetings to the woman, whom Gold had once described to them as “one of the sharpest, shrewdest, most successful business leaders in the Alpha Quadrant.” He had also acknowledged that they had been romantically involved many years ago, well before Gold met the woman who became his wife.

Gold and Patrice took their seats, and the captain asked, “So what brings you out here?”

“Well, this isn’t just any project,” she began. “It’s a big deal, helping the Federation develop all this new equipment for its outposts along the Neutral Zone. I was honored when my tech company was asked to work on it, and I wanted to be on hand to make sure everything went smoothly.”

Gold was satisfied with that explanation, but, looking into Patrice’s eyes, he could tell there was something more, something she was leaving unsaid. He wondered about it for a brief moment and then moved on.

Addressing everyone in the room, he said, “Our assignment is fairly straightforward. Now that Captain Moon has arrived with all this new sensor and communications equipment, it’s up to us to install it and make sure it works perfectly—and do all this without attracting the unwanted attention of our Romulan neighbors.” He added, “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you all that this project is classified, so we’re all under orders not to discuss it with anyone who isn’t directly involved. Any questions?”

There were none.

Gold continued. “Gomez, you’ll of course be overseeing the installation process. Corsi, you and your security team are to make sure that no unauthorized personnel gain access to the new equipment.”

“Understood, sir,” Corsi replied.

“All right, then,” Gold told everyone in the room. “Let’s get to work. Dismissed.”

Everyone began to file out of the conference room, though Gold remained behind. He believed that he had hid it well throughout the meeting, but the fact was, he was feeling anxious, impatient, and downright annoyed. The incident with Gomez and the splatter gun was hardly the reason. Gomez didn’t know that, though, and Gold knew she had to be wondering where she stood with him. At that moment, he was not really in the mood to clear the air. He would get around to it eventually. For now, he was too much inside his own head.

But he snapped out of his private musings when he noticed that Patrice Bennett had also remained behind. She was standing near the door, looking curiously at him.

“Just collecting my thoughts,” he explained with a chuckle.

“I’ve never really gotten a chance to see you at work,” she told him with a smile. “You and your crew make a great team.”

“Thanks. We have been through hell—and worse—together. But the bottom line is, they’re a damn good crew.”

“They have a damn good captain,” she told him.

He smiled briefly. “Thanks again.”

“It’s been a long time—far longer than I’d like to admit—but I know that look,” she told him. “Something’s bothering you.”

He looked at her sheepishly. He couldn’t deny it. So he didn’t try.

“Join me for dinner this evening, let’s talk about it,” she said.

“Oh, it’s nothing, Patrice, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” She shrugged cheerfully. “Join me for dinner anyway. We never did get a chance to catch up with each other, reminisce about old times—and you promised we would when we saw each other at Vemlar!”

“You’re right,” he conceded. “Okay, dinner it is.”

“Great,” she said enthusiastically. “My personal chef came with me. Beam over to my ship at seven tonight—that’s what, nineteen thousand hours Starfleet time, right?”

“Nineteen hundred, actually,” he said with a grin.

“Whatever.” She laughed. “See you then!” She waved and exited the room.

Gold was grateful to have the diversion. But the thing that was troubling him had not gone away, nor would it.

Chapter

2

This is a nightmare, Rod Portlyn thought bitterly as he took in his depressing surroundings. How did it come to this?

He leaned against the aging, dust-covered land rover that had brought him to the site of the archaeological dig where an eight-person work crew in his employ was digging out a big hole in the ground. Crumbling ruins that dated back thousands of years were scattered sparsely across the region, as far as the eye could see—ruins of the civilization that had once inhabited this isolated, unnamed world but had disappeared from it long ago. He sighed and looked up at the magenta-hued sky, shielding his eyes from the twin midday suns and taking another drag on his long, thick cigar.

He immediately grimaced, took the cigar out of his mouth, and glared at it. He tossed it to the sand-covered ground and stepped on its burning tip in frustration.

Betelgeusian cigars, he fumed silently to himself. How did I end up smoking Betelgeusian cigars? I only smoke Yridian cigars—the best this damned galaxy has to offer!

But they were also, by far, the most expensive. And these days, that was more than Rod Portlyn could afford.

Just months ago, he was one of the galaxy’s richest, most successful, and most influential business tycoons. He controlled an entire sector of space, nicknamed “the Corporate Corridor,” where his fast-growing business empire was centered. But then he crossed paths with that decaying old space fossil, Captain David Gold, and his pet engineers aboard that Federation garbage scow, the da Vinci. They didn’t approve of his business practices, so they took it upon themselves to interfere with him. And after overcoming his plot to eliminate them as a threat to him, they caused him to lose many of his holdings. Far too many.

Portlyn estimated that he was now worth no more than half of what he had been worth just a few months earlier. Certainly the size of his empire had been halved. Most of his properties in the Corporate Corridor—his most valuable holdings—were lost to him, seized in a surprise hostile takeover initiated by that self-righteous bitch, that wannabe corporate player, Patrice Bennett, at the behest of her old friend Gold.

Thinking about all this made the acid in his belly start to bubble, and his chest began to feel like lava was coursing through it. He reached into his pants pocket, pulled out the bottle of Denebian fast-acting antacids he now took with him everywhere, extracted two of the little yellow tablets, and popped them into his mouth.

He then noticed someone approaching him from the heart of the archaeological dig, someone very familiar. Someone with the same shade of pale green skin as his own.

It was his younger brother, Wade, who’d finally noticed his arrival at the site and was coming to greet him.

Which made Rod Portlyn seethe even more.

“Hey, Roddy!” Wade called out, waving enthusiastically as he got nearer.

Portlyn responded with a cold glare. “Don’t call me Roddy,” he muttered to himself.

Wade seemed oblivious. He came up alongside Portlyn and ran a hand through his thick, lustrous black hair. Portlyn frowned. As if he needed a reminder that the few remaining (and graying) hairs on his own head had lost even more of their brethren that morning in the shower.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Wade told his older brother with a smile. “We’re making a lot of progress.”

Portlyn looked around the dig site, scrutinizing the entire area. He frowned.

“The site looks no different from the way it looked when I came by three days ago,” he said.

“We’ve dug a lot deeper since then,” Wade told him proudly. “We found some kind of wall buried under the ground!”

“Another wall,” Portlyn replied with a total lack of enthusiasm. “And what’s so special about this one?”

“Well, it’s curved!”

“Awesome,” Portlyn said, doubtful that Wade recognized the sarcasm. “Tell me, how many items of real, discernible value have you discovered?”

“Well…none. Yet. But the deeper we get, the closer we get!”

“I’ve heard that song before,” Portlyn retorted, very close to losing his temper. “This whole thing was your project, Wade.”

This long-deserted planet was one of the real estate holdings that hadn’t been snatched away from Portlyn months ago, though it was perhaps his least significant property—which was exactly why he’d left it to his brother Wade to oversee, and also likely why it remained unsnatched. But now, it was taking up the majority of his time and attention.

Wade looked at him with concern. “Is something bothering you, Roddy?”

Portlyn closed his eyes briefly. Stop calling me Roddy, he thought. He then took a deep breath and replied, “Do you know what Dad said to me once?”

“Before he died?” Wade asked.

Portlyn blinked, then shook his head, as if to clear Wade’s question from his memory. He forged ahead.

“Dad asked me to always look out for you, to make sure you were taken care of and that you had your own things to do. That has to be the reason why I let you convince me to actually sink money into this dust bowl and fund this dig. I’ve given you enough time to find something—anything—of value. I’m running out of patience—and the money to keep this project going. In fact, business is so bad, this is the most promising venture I’ve got going for me right now!”

Wade put his hand on Portlyn’s shoulder and patted it.

“Don’t worry, big brother. Everything is going to work out just fine. Like I told you—I have it on good authority that this was once the homeworld of the Briavians—one of the earliest, most advanced civilizations in the known galaxy.”

Portlyn looked at Wade’s hand as if it were diseased. “The Briavians are little more than a myth,” he retorted as he brushed the hand off his shoulder. “And your ‘good authority’ was a burned-out drunk you met in a seedy bar on Nimbus III, who sold you a fairy tale.”

“What a grouch,” Wade replied, shaking his head in disappointment. “At least come take a look at the new wall we found.”

“I’m sure it’ll be the highlight of my day,” Portlyn grumbled. Which is a pretty sad commentary on my day, he added sourly to himself.

He followed Wade over to the pit, which was indeed wider and deeper than it had been several days earlier. They descended into it one after the other, climbing down a long ladder. As he climbed down, Portlyn could see below him, at the deepest point of the pit, something large, curved, and very old sticking out of the dirt. He and Wade reached the bottom of the ladder and approached the object. Several workers surrounded it, carefully digging around it to expose more of its surface.

One worker, unaware that Portlyn was approaching, chuckled and elbowed one of his comrades in the ribs as he took a brief respite from digging.

“What a comedown for the big man, huh?” the worker said. “Now this barren sand heap is the jewel in Rod Portlyn’s crown! Well, ya ask me, he needed to get taken down a couple o’ pegs. He was gettin’ way too big for his britches. Maybe now he won’t be thinkin’ that he’s better than anyone else.”

The worker then noticed the alarmed looks on the faces of his comrades and turned completely around to see Rod Portlyn himself standing before him and staring intently at him.

“Mr. Portlyn!” the worker blurted out.

“What’s your name?” Portlyn asked.

“Mosep, sir,” the man said, a regretful and embarrassed look now on his face—but something was missing.

Fear.

Portlyn saw no fear. This little insect, this Mosep, didn’t fear him, not anymore. Portlyn’s recent business woes had humbled him, had caused him to look vulnerable, and now his own wage slaves thought they could mock him behind his back. He could feel his pale green face darkening in barely controlled fury.

“Get back to work,” he told Mosep coldly, his hands clenched into tight fists.

“Yessir!” Mosep snapped and immediately began digging again—silently.

Portlyn rejoined Wade, who led him over to the unearthed object. Portlyn quickly scrutinized it, walking halfway around its exposed surface. “You were right about one thing—it is curved. Other than that, I don’t see anything of significance or value here.”

Wade had no response. Portlyn was angry, frustrated, disgusted, and ready to head back to his makeshift office.

“Find something soon, Wade, or I’m shutting this whole damned thing down.” He wanted out of the pit as quickly as possible and didn’t feel like walking all the way around the object again to get back to the ladder. Instead, he stepped onto the curved surface and intended to walk across it. After all, the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. He was approaching the apex of the object when he heard his brother call out to him from behind.

“You might not want to walk on that thing, Roddy. It’s very old. There might be weak spots.”

That was it. Portlyn snapped. He stomped his foot, whirled around to face his brother, and snarled, “Don’t call me Rod—”

Just then, right underneath him, the surface of the object gave way and caved in, dropping Portlyn into a realm of darkness.

Portlyn landed hard, and the wind was knocked out of him, but he was relatively unhurt. He was sprawled on the floor—of what? His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and sunlight was streaming down through the hole above, the one he’d fallen through. But it was still too dim to make out his surroundings. He breathed in and noted how thoroughly stale the air was. He was sure that he wasn’t inside a cave. The floor was too smooth, definitely made of something other than rock. Tile, perhaps? Or polished wood? He was at least able to determine that he was inside a large chamber of some kind, one that probably had not been entered by any life form in a long, long time. It had a very high, domed ceiling—that was actually the “curved wall” that his crew had unearthed above. He looked up at the hole and saw the silhouette of someone peeking through.

“Wade, is that you?” he called out, his voice echoing.

“Roddy! You okay?” his brother’s voice responded.

Roddy. Portlyn gritted his teeth, but he managed to keep his cool and let it slide. “Send down a hand lamp! And get a crew down here as soon as possible! I found something!”

“Something alive?”

Portlyn couldn’t help himself. “Yes, something alive. And it’s asking for you!”

There was a long moment of silence. Finally, Wade’s voice returned, asking tentatively, “Uh, you’re joking, right?”

“Get that hand lamp down here, now!”

A crew of five—Wade and even Mosep among them—were lowered down through the hole in the dome on thick, heavy ropes. Portlyn had already done a quick inspection of the dark chamber himself, once his younger brother had finally provided him with a hand lamp.

The workers had brought additional lamps with them and set them up around the chamber. The powerful illumination they cast allowed the assembled group to get a much clearer view of the realm they had discovered.

To Portlyn, the chamber seemed like it could have been the laboratory of some mad alien genius. Odd-looking instruments and machines of all shapes and sizes, with designs the likes of which Portlyn had never seen before, were strewn all over the place—some on the floor, some on what appeared to be a worktable, some on top of larger devices. Certain objects were in better condition than others. Were all these things tools of some sort? Weapons? Computers? Medical devices? What kind of work had been done here long ago? And how long ago, for that matter?

Portlyn glanced over at one of the workers, a reptilian of Rigellian origin. He wasn’t sure of the fellow’s name, but he’d taken to referring to this particular employee as “Beak-nose,” for a reason he considered fairly obvious. And Beak-nose was passing a tricorder over the contents of the room, the results of the scans appearing on the unit’s small screen.

“Readings are indeterminate,” Beak-nose announced. “Not sure what all this stuff is, but it’s from at least ten thousand years ago—no one’s been in here for at least that long.”

Portlyn frowned. “So it might be a find of some historical importance,” he mused. “But there’s no way to know at this time if any of this is the slightest bit valuable.”

He was ready to tie a rope around his waist and call the workers who were still up top to pull him out. But then something on the far side of the subterranean chamber caught his eye. He walked across the laboratory with his hand lamp to take a closer look.

Box shaped, it was not particularly large—four feet tall, one and a half feet in width, and two feet in length. It was in remarkably good condition, given its age. Portlyn took note of its sturdy outer casing, made from what appeared to be the same diamond rock that his workers had found in abundance on this unnamed planetoid. The casing, still shiny, was multicolored—a dark greenish gray overall splashed with radiant patches and swirls of pink, purple, aquamarine, white, and salmon.

Some sort of control console was built in atop the casing. There was a small readout screen built in to the console, and beneath this screen there were two small dials, one black and one white. Below the dials were three jeweled control buttons—one pale yellow, one cobalt blue, and one crimson red. Along the back of the device, spanning its width, were twelve thick, metallic gray rodlike appendages, each about eight inches tall, jutting up from the casing and making it look a bit like the pipe organ Portlyn used to see in the house of worship his parents took him to every week when he was a child.

He touched the side of it, feeling just how perfectly smooth it still was after all the thousands of years it had spent buried underground. He turned the white dial, then the black one, but nothing happened. Then he touched the pale yellow button, and, without hesitation, the device came to life. The readout screen flickered on but presented nothing more than a blank, gray-tinted image.

Portlyn was filled with wonder and anticipation. He licked his lips, which he realized had gone dry. He briefly looked away from the screen, to check on what was happening on the other side of the chamber. Wade and the others were busy just looking around, totally oblivious to what he was doing.

Then, with a slight hesitation, Portlyn moved his hand over to the cobalt blue button and placed a finger on it. Gritting his teeth, having no idea what the outcome would be, he went ahead and pressed it.

An image popped onto the readout screen. At first, Portlyn had no idea what it was or how to interpret it, but then it dawned on him that it was a highly detailed, multicolored schematic of the chamber and everything in it. He reasoned that the six blinking lights on the screen—registering as life-forms—represented himself and his crew. He saw that there was a small cursor at the top of the screen, in the shape of an upside-down triangle. It was pointing down to one blinking light in particular. Looking away from the screen again, he confirmed visually that this particular light happened to represent Mosep.

Portlyn looked back at the console, his eyes fixating on the crimson button, which had begun flashing at a steady, continuous pace. He had no idea what it was for, but he felt a wave of intense curiosity rising within him, impossible to resist. He bit his lower lip and tried to think of any good reason not to press it. He decided that there wasn’t one—he had to know what this machine was and what it could do.

Portlyn pressed the flashing red button. On the screen, the blinking light representing Mosep turned red. Portlyn quickly looked over to the other side of the chamber, where Mosep himself was standing—just in time to see the worker’s body seem to implode into nothingness. He was gone, without a trace.

Portlyn stared in mute disbelief. He didn’t see this coming at all.

Wade, Beak-nose, and the others saw what happened to Mosep. In shock and awe, they scrambled over to Portlyn. He pointed to the strange machine he had discovered.

“It was this thing,” Portlyn stated before any of them could get out a question. “I don’t know what happened. I have no idea what this thing is or what it just did.”

They stood together for a long moment of silence. Finally, Portlyn cleared his throat and spoke again.

“Did he have any family? Next of kin?”

“Not that I know of,” Beak-nose responded, his voice sounding shaky.

Portlyn frowned. “Clearly, this device is extremely dangerous. We have to bury it—make sure it isn’t discovered again. It can’t be allowed to fall into the wrong hands.” He looked at all of his men. They nodded in solemn agreement.

“Let’s get out of here for now,” he told them. “We’ll deal with all this tomorrow.”

Portlyn remained by the device as Beak-nose and the others started to walk away. Wade was bringing up the rear.

“Wade, I need to talk to you,” Portlyn called out. His younger brother turned and came back.

“This is awful,” Wade said mournfully. “If you need a shoulder to cry on, or just a hug, I’m here.”

Portlyn put his hands on Wade’s shoulders. “Wade, have I ever told you how much I love you and value you?”

A look of astonishment and delight came upon Wade’s face. “Never,” he replied with great anticipation.

“Well, I will. Someday. Especially if you help me get this thing out of here and onto my ship without anyone else finding out.”

“Huh?”

Portlyn smiled for the first time in months. He gently patted the top of the device. “This is my ticket back, little brother. This is my ticket back.”

Chapter

3

At 1900 hours sharp, Captain Gold beamed aboard the Otwa Tandewan, the vessel that brought Patrice Bennett and the new equipment for Outpost 32. He was greeted in the transporter room by a tall purple-skinned humanoid—a Zentrofian—who was dressed in a dark civilian suit, with his nearly shoulder-length jet-black hair swept back from his forehead.

“Captain Gold, welcome,” the man said in a soft, almost feminine voice. “I’m Gris Giernad, Ms. Bennett’s executive assistant. She’s been slightly delayed, so she asked me to escort you to her suite.”

She always did keep me waiting, Gold mused to himself as he shook Giernad’s cold hand.

They walked in silence alongside each other through the ship’s corridors until Giernad brought Gold to a closed door at the end of an isolated corridor.

Must be the VIP section, Gold thought.

Giernad pressed the buzzer on the side of the door.

“Ms. Bennett, I’ve brought Captain Gold.”

Patrice’s voice responded over the intercom. “Thank you, Gris. Enjoy your evening.”

“If you’ll excuse me, Captain,” Giernad said as he took his leave.

Gold was alone in the corridor for a brief moment before the door slid open and Patrice stood there, wearing a long red gown that rose up to her neck but revealed her delicate shoulders. She wore her hair up, though a lock of it curled down and hung over her forehead. She wore long, hanging earrings made of latinum and encrusted with Spican flame gems. Gold couldn’t help but acknowledge that she looked radiant.

“Captain,” she said with a big smile. “Come on in. Dinner is ready.”

They ate in the dining room of her spacious suite, seated across from each other at a large circular table topped with two long, white candles. Music played softly over the internal sound system, though Gold could not place the piece or its planet of origin.

The dinner was delicious, which was no surprise to Gold. When you can afford the very best food the galaxy has to offer, why wouldn’t you take advantage of it? Patrice certainly could, and the meal she provided—Rigellian dagger fish, Alpha Centaurian green potatoes, and an assortment of Vulcan vegetables, served with Altair water of the finest vintage—was the best he’d had since he was home last. It wasn’t as good as one of Rachel’s home-cooked meals, of course, but that was an impossible standard. However, this was as close as he was likely to get to one of Rachel’s feasts without actually making the schlep back to Earth.

That thought, though, turned the food to ashes in his mouth. Still, he tried to keep up appearances for Patrice’s sake and plastered a smile onto his face as he sipped his Altair water.

“I want to thank you again for recommending my tech company to the Federation,” Patrice told him. “We were qualified to handle the job, but it was definitely your word—and Captain Picard’s—that placed us above our competitors.”

“My pleasure,” Gold replied. “But that’s the key thing—I knew you were qualified.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and added, “My sincerest compliments to the chef.”

“Thank you, much appreciated,” she replied playfully.

“Wait—you’re not saying you cooked this, are you?” he asked skeptically.

“Would that be so surprising to you?”

Gold paused for a brief moment, thought about how to answer, and then replied bluntly, “Yes, actually it would. No offense, Patrice, but you were an awful cook. You didn’t know which part of the egg was the yolk. You tried to boil steak. You served me Klingon shell squid without cooking it long enough and I ended up with diarrhea and vomiting for ten days—often doing both at the same time!”

Patrice chuckled at the memories. “I’m still mortified by that, luv. But that was a long time ago. Once I could afford it, I took cooking lessons from some of the galaxy’s greatest chefs. I do almost all of my own cooking, in fact.”

“So you don’t have a personal chef?”

“Oh, no.” She laughed freely. “I was lying about that.”

Gold shot her a questioning look.

In response, she asked, “Would you have agreed to come here for dinner if you knew that I was doing the cooking?”

“Good point,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Now,” Patrice began, shifting topics, “are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, David. I saw that look on your face down at the outpost. Something’s troubling you.”

He sighed deeply. “Okay…Today is my wedding anniversary. The da Vinci was supposed to be on R & R right now, and I was going to go to Earth for a few days to celebrate. But then we got reassigned to this mission at the last minute. I had to disappoint my wife, my family, everyone who was expecting me to be home for this.”

“I’m sure you’ve missed your anniversary before.”

“Sure. And Rachel has always understood. She knew what she was getting into when she married a Starfleet officer. But this year was different. I promised I’d be home. I made all the necessary arrangements to be there. And because of forces beyond my control…I’m not.”

“Why is this year so different?” she asked.

Gold sighed again. “I’m not getting any younger, Patrice. The missions aren’t getting any easier. Some of them—well, I wasn’t so sure I’d come back in one piece. In one case, I didn’t.”

He looked down briefly at the lifelike artificial hand that replaced the natural one he’d lost months ago, during the mission at Galvan VI.

He looked up at her, seated across the table, and saw concern in her eyes.

“I don’t know how many anniversaries I’ve got left,” he continued. “I should be spending at least some of them with the woman I married, don’t you think? Because this mission’s classified, I couldn’t even contact her today to wish her a happy anniversary. She doesn’t know where I am or what I’m working on. I guess part of it is that I’m feeling guilty—for disappointing her, for not living up to my responsibilities as a husband…”

“And you’re lonely,” she added for him. “You don’t want to spend this day alone.”

A noncommittal shrug was his only response. He felt like he’d opened up too much already—he didn’t feel comfortable voicing his innermost feelings any further.

She reached across the table, taking his hand in hers.

“There’s an old Earth saying,” she began. “I think it’s been used in a song or two. ‘If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.’”

Her words flew right past him at first, until he focused on them, processed them through his brain again, and realized their meaning. He looked into her eyes and recognized the signal she was sending through them.

“Patrice,” he began, shaking his head. His felt his entire body tense up.

“I know what it’s like to be lonely, David,” she pressed on, squeezing his hand tighter. “I was married to my husband for twenty-six years. And when he died, so unexpectedly, there was a void in my life I knew could never be filled. I knew I’d never meet anyone like him again. Thankfully, I had my work, and that kept me busy, but it didn’t make me feel any less alone. But then you and I met up again on Vemlar, and it got me thinking about the old days, about us. We had some great times, didn’t we, David? We were good together for a while there.”

“For a while,” he agreed. “And then we decided it was best to go our separate ways.”

“I still have feelings for you, David. I realized that after Vemlar. That’s the real reason I came out here—to see you again. Moon could’ve handled this with his eyes shut. I know you still have feelings for me, too. I see it every time I look into your eyes.”

“Those are feelings of fondness, Patrice,” he told her gently. “Good, warm feelings of affection and friendship. I’m a married man. Devoted to my wife.”

“Your wife is light-years away,” she insisted. “You said yourself, you don’t know when or if you’ll ever see her again. Why not seize this moment? No one else needs to know.” She looked intently into his eyes.

“I’d know,” he replied. “That would be enough.”

He finally, gently, pulled his hand away from hers. Then he stood up from the table and murmured, “I think I should go.”

She slowly nodded. She was looking away from him, her face betraying no emotion.

“Are you going to be all right?” he asked. It was an awkward—probably stupid—question, but he felt it had to be voiced.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, her voice now cold and flat. “Don’t you worry about me. Happy anniversary.” She nodded once, curtly, indicating that he was being dismissed.

“Good night, Patrice.”

“Good-bye, Captain.”

Gold left her suite and walked back the way he’d come, headed for the transporter room. His shoulders sagged and he felt a bad headache coming on.

A perfect end to a perfect day, he thought dispiritedly.

Chapter

4

David Gold did not sleep well that night. He went to bed a bundle of mixed emotions, and he was not much different the next morning.

Forcing himself out of his bed, he showered, got into his uniform, and prepared to head to the bridge of the da Vinci, but then he decided there was something he had to do first. Of the several things that were bothering him, one of them could be addressed right away. At least, he hoped it could. He activated the communications console in his quarters and sent a transmission to the Otwa Tandewan.

First Mate Adjani’s face appeared on Gold’s screen. The Arcturian was also, apparently, the ship’s communications officer. “What can we do for you, Captain Gold?”

“I’d like to speak to Ms. Bennett, please. On a private channel.”

There was a slight pause and Adjani turned his head for a moment. Turning back to face Gold, he said, “Please hold one moment for Captain Moon.”

The image on the screen shifted and Adjani was replaced by Captain Gavin Moon, who seemed a bit wary.

“Captain Moon here.”

Gold hesitated briefly. Something was amiss, he could tell. And he was uncomfortable even making this call in the first place. But he tried to keep things pleasant and friendly. He grinned at his fellow captain.

“Good morning, Captain Moon,” he began. “I was wondering if…if I could speak with Ms. Bennett privately…There are some sensitive matters I need to discuss with her.”

“I’m afraid she’s gone, Captain Gold,” Moon replied.

Gold scowled, surprised and confused. “What do you mean, ‘gone’?”

“She left late last night in our shuttlecraft. Headed back to Tau Ophiucus. Said she forgot about an important business meeting and had to return home at once. She couldn’t wait for us to finish the repair work on our engines.”

“A business meeting, huh?”

“That’s what she said, Captain.” The tone in Moon’s voice, the expression on his face—they told Gold that this was nothing more than an excuse, and a pretty flimsy one at that. But it was clear that Moon would not divulge anything more.

“I see. Well, thank you, Captain. Gold out.”

Gold severed the connection and the screen went dark. He sat at the console in silence, staring at the wall across from him but not really seeing it.

So this was what it had come to. She left. Went away in the middle of the night, without a word. And he couldn’t send a transmission to Tau Ophiucus to try to speak with her—that would give away the da Vinci’s location. Patrice knew that just as well as he did. Clearly, she didn’t want to hear from him.

He’d seen this side of her before. He knew it meant that he was now at the top of her schmuck list.

He honestly didn’t know if he and Patrice would ever be able to get past this, if their friendship could be salvaged. He’d worked with engineers long enough to know that some things that break were just not possible to fix.

Gold took a deep breath and sighed, slumping down into his chair.

“At my age,” he wondered aloud, “who needs tsuris like this?”

It was early morning on Joras. Sonya Gomez was standing in an open field, observing a four-person team of S.C.E. engineers climbing the scaffolding that framed Station One, a one-hundred-foot-tall sensor/communications dish. The team, led by the da Vinci’s Nasat structural specialist, P8 Blue, consisted of Ensigns Maxwell Hammett and Martina Nemeckova and Crewperson Brenda Phelps. They were beginning the process of completely upgrading the enormous dish. It was necessary in order to make the dish compatible with the new equipment that had been delivered the day before.

It was the first full day that Gomez and the S.C.E. would be working on their project in the Neutral Zone. There were eleven other such dishes situated across Outpost 32, and other teams of engineers were performing the same operations on two of those—the da Vinci had enough engineering personnel to work on only three different dishes at the same time. Once the upgrading process was completed, installation of the new equipment could begin. Gomez anticipated that it would take about a month and a half, maybe a little longer, to complete the work on all twelve dishes.

“Pattie” Blue would supervise the team working on Station One. Once Gomez was confident that things were running smoothly there, she would leave Pattie to the task and go off to personally check on Stations Two and Three, which were being supervised by Tev and Stevens, respectively.

Gomez intended to take a hands-on role in the process at some point, to do some actual engineering work herself. She enjoyed her role as head of the S.C.E. team and as first officer of the da Vinci, but she never wanted to become so detached from her roots as an engineer that she would no longer get her hands dirty at least part of the time.

And she wanted to immerse herself in a task that would keep her mind fully occupied. That, she hoped, would stop her from dwelling on her recent romantic woes, capped off by her inexplicably kissing Fabian Stevens, followed by the colossal disappointment that was her brief involvement with Wayne Omthon, commanding officer of the freighter Vulpecula.

It was Captain Gold who’d once told her, “Work is a great alternative for wallowing in self-pity.” She’d found that to be true more often than not.

Suddenly, Gomez noticed that she had been joined by Brilson Lodine, one of the young men stationed at Outpost 32 who had participated in the war-game exercise the previous day. Although the tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed young man was a technician, he was not fully rated on all the new equipment and therefore could not assist the S.C.E. team in their project. But that didn’t stop him from coming over to their work area and engaging Gomez in conversation.

“That was a lot of fun yesterday,” Lodine commented.

“The war games? Yeah, it was—although I’m not so sure my captain shares that view.”

“Yeeesh. Are you in hot water over that?”

“I haven’t been forced out of an airlock yet.” She chuckled. “Or made to swab the decks, so I just might be okay.”

“That’s good. I’m just sorry I got taken out of the game so early. A shame you ended up all by yourself out there.”

“Well,” Gomez said with a friendly grin, “maybe we’ll get a chance to play again before we leave.”

She tried to shift her full attention back to Station One but was distracted as Lodine began speaking again. She did her best to tune him out without being completely rude.

“So, uhm, Commander,” Lodine was saying. “Or can I call you Sonya? Anyway, I was, uhm, wondering if, well, if you weren’t busy this evening, maybe, uhm, for dinner, you’d like to join—”

His voice was drowned out by the distinctive and familiar hum of a transporter beam. Gomez turned her attention away from the station and toward the spot from which the hum was originating. A column of energy came into view and solidified into the form of Captain Gold. Once the beamdown was complete, Gold began walking over.

Uh-oh, Gomez thought. Let me guess—he spoke to Picard, told him about the splatter ball incident, and now he’s come down to needle me about it.

Nevertheless, she greeted him cheerfully. “Good morning, Captain.” Indicating the young man standing next to her, she said, “This is Technician Brilson Lodine. He’s stationed here at the outpost and took part in our war games exercise yesterday.”

Gold glanced over at Lodine and replied with the slightest of smirks, “How’d you make out?”

“First one to go down, sir,” Lodine said with a lopsided grin. “I’m a techie, not a warrior.”

“Uh…is there anything you need, sir?” Gomez asked tentatively. This was it. She’d just opened the door for the merciless teasing to begin. She braced herself for it.

But Gold just shook his head. “Found myself with some free time. Wanted to see how things were coming along down here.”

There was a look on his face, and something in his voice, that told Gomez all was not right. She tried to brighten his mood.

“I have to say, sir, this new technology that Ms. Bennett’s company has developed seems terrific. I’m really glad the Federation decided to go with her for this project.”

Gold nodded once and pursed his lips slightly. Was that supposed to be a smile?

She pressed on. “I think this is going to end up being one of our easier assignments. Do you know if Ms. Bennett is sticking around for a while? I’d love to tell her all of this in person.”

“What do I look like, her executive assistant?” Gold snapped suddenly. “I don’t keep track of her comings and goings.”

Gomez was taken aback. She was not expecting this reaction from her captain and it did not sit well with her. She turned casually to face Brilson Lodine.

“Uh, could you give us a few minutes?” she asked with a polite smile.

“Sure,” Lodine answered with a shrug. He wandered off.

Gomez turned back to Gold and asked him pointedly, “With all due respect, Captain—what the hell was that all about?”

“Nothing,” Gold replied, waving off the question dismissively and starting to walk away.

A thought popped into Gomez’s head, sparked by the fact that she had seen the captain like this before. He’d become fairly uptight and difficult to be around during their recent mission in the Betrisius Major system, after he’d learned of the death of an old and dear friend.

“Does this have anything to do with Teramaet?” she inquired gently.

Gold turned back to her. “I appreciate the concern, Gomez,” he began in a voice that seemed perfectly calm but with a slight edge in it. “If I ever decide that we need a counselor aboard the da Vinci, you’ll be the first person I think of for the job. Until then, stick to engineering, would you please?” He walked off.

Gomez replayed the conversation in her mind and came up with another theory about the source of Captain Gold’s agitation. She realized that he was relatively fine before she mentioned Patrice Bennett.

Yes, that was it. Gomez was sure of it. Something had happened between the captain and Ms. Bennett. She wondered briefly if they were having an affair and were in the midst of a lovers’ quarrel. Gomez immediately dismissed that notion—she had stayed at the Gold-Gilman house after Galvan VI, and it was unthinkable to her that David Gold would ever cheat on his wife. But after what happened with Fabian and Wayne, Gomez was having a hard time believing in pretty much anyone lately, including herself. In the end, she had to admit, it was really none of her business.

Look on the bright side, she told herself. At least it’s not about the splatter ball incident.

Chapter

5

Aldo Corsi sat alone on a couch in a spacious and lavishly furnished hotel suite, waiting for his business meeting to begin. He gazed through a nearby transparent aluminum window at the endless expanse of outer space, picking out familiar distant stars. He had never visited the Starlight Casino and Hotel before, but he’d heard about it over the years and long hoped that he’d someday make it there. That day had finally arrived, and from the little he’d gotten to see of it, he was fairly impressed.

It had once been Federation Deep Space Station K-2, but when the Federation decided that they no longer had any need for it, they sold it off to a private consortium of entrepreneurs, who completely renovated and converted it into a luxury resort. It had everything a vacationer could want: fabulous rooms, heated swimming pools, three restaurants serving a wide variety of foods from every major species across the known galaxy, live entertainment, four holosuites, and, of course, the casino, which included nearly every popular game of chance imaginable.

Aldo had come to the resort strictly for this business meeting, but he fully intended to put in some time at that casino once business was out of the way.

The shuttle flight over was pleasant enough. The pilot—a tall, thin young man with thick black hair and pale green skin, dressed in a spiffy gray jacket-and-pants uniform with tall black boots—seemed like a nice fellow, though a bit hesitant and guarded. Upon their arrival, the pilot politely escorted Aldo to the hotel suite and told him that the man he’d come to meet would be with him momentarily. The pilot then entered a room on the other side of the suite and closed the door behind him.

He’s not only the pilot, he’s also the butler, for crying out loud, Aldo mused.

Just as Aldo was beginning to get the slightest bit restless, the door to the bedroom opened and another man with pale green skin came out. This man was older, shorter, and heavier than the pilot, with a lot less hair on his head. But he carried himself with far more confidence and authority.

“Mr. Corsi, glad you could make it,” the balding man said, walking over to the couch and putting out his hand. “I’m Benzev Kaz.”

Aldo rose from the couch, took his hand, and shook it. “Pleasure to meet you,” he replied.

“Please, sit down,” the green-skinned man said as he took his own seat in an easy chair across from the couch. “I trust your voyage here from Fahleena III was comfortable and uneventful?”

“Yes, thank you for sending your personal shuttle to pick me up,” Aldo said as he sat back down. “I would have come on my own ship, the Pharaon, but it’s an older vessel, so it’s undergoing maintenance at the moment.”

“No problem at all. Would you like some Q’babi juice?”

Aldo smiled at that—it was one of his favorite beverages. This Kaz fellow had apparently done his research. “Yes, thank you.”

His host leaned over to the glass table in front of him, picked up the elegant-looking decanter sitting atop it, and poured the juice into two square-shaped glasses.

“Shall we get right down to it?” he asked as he poured.

“Sure,” Aldo replied, taking the offered glass and eager to know why this man had contacted him in the first place. “I’m very curious about this business venture you said I might be interested in.”

“I looked into your transport service, Mr. Corsi, and I am very impressed. A privately owned fleet of freighters with a long-standing reputation for reliability and the utmost professionalism. You continue to oversee it personally, and you make a nice little profit year after year.”

“Thank you,” Aldo said simply. He took a sip from the glass and enjoyed the flavor of the Q’babi juice.

“I’ll get right to the point, Mr. Corsi. I want your business.”

Aldo cocked his head, not sure what his host was getting at. “How so? I mean, I have a regular fuel supplier and a full staff of engineers who maintain my freighters, and I’m very happy with them, so I’m not quite sure what you’d have to offer that I’d be interested in.”

That was met with a brief chuckle. “No, Mr. Corsi, you misunderstand. I don’t mean that I offer a service and want you as a client. I mean that I want to own your business. Your transport service. Your freighters. Everything.”

Now it was Aldo’s turn to chuckle. “My business isn’t for sale.”

“Everything is for sale, Mr. Corsi. Everything has a price.”

“Not my business,” Aldo retorted. “As you mentioned, it’s privately owned. A family business. My father passed it on to me. I nearly lost it once, but I managed to rebuild it from the bottom up and it’s been going strong ever since.”

His host leaned forward in his seat and put his hands together, interlocking his fingers. “And to whom will you pass it on? Your daughter? Isn’t she too busy with her Starfleet career to get involved with the family business?”

That rubbed Aldo the wrong way. How did this guy know about Domenica? He was starting to feel that Benzev Kaz had done too much research on him.

“I’m not here to discuss my daughter, Mr. Kaz,” Aldo said curtly. “The bottom line is, there’s no way I’m selling off my business.”

“I’m sorry that you feel that way.”

“Well, Mr. Kaz, I’m sorry you went to all this trouble to bring me here, only for me to disappoint you. If there’s nothing else, I’d say this meeting is over. I’ll understand if you don’t want to provide me with transportation back to Fahleena III. I can hire a ship from here to take me home.”

Aldo watched as his host got up out of his chair and strolled to the far side of the room, stopping when he came alongside a strange-looking device. Aldo hadn’t noticed it before. It looked like some sort of alien computer, or a musical instrument. Aldo wasn’t really interested to find out what it was, so he set his glass down on the table and began to stand up. He was leaving. He’d go over to the casino for a while, then look into chartering a flight home.

“You should have been more reasonable, Mr. Corsi. I’m afraid you won’t like what happens next.”

Aldo scowled and drew a deep breath, making his barrel chest puff out even farther than it did normally. “You think you can intimidate me? Don’t let my age fool you, buddy—I can still mop the floor with the likes of you!”

“That may well be. But you won’t get the opportunity.”

Aldo saw his host reaching for a flashing red button on the console of the strange device. He knew, somehow, that nothing good would come of it. He lunged toward the balding pale green man and the device.

But not in time.

The pale green man who identified himself as Benzev Kaz pressed the flashing red button.

And Aldo Corsi felt a brief, strange, slightly painful tingling in his body—just before he was swallowed whole by oblivion.

Rod Portlyn quickly glanced at the readout screen on the console of the alien machine he’d discovered three weeks earlier. The cursor was pointing to the blinking light that represented Mr. Corsi—everything was set. All Portlyn had to do was push the red button with his pale green finger. As he reached for it, he saw out of the corner of his eye a very worried-looking Aldo Corsi making a move toward him. The poor fool didn’t have a chance. He’d never reach Portlyn in time.

Portlyn pressed the flashing red button. The flashing stopped, but the button remained lit. And suddenly, Aldo Corsi was gone, as if he’d never been there at all.

That task done, Portlyn pressed the yellow button on the console and the device turned itself off. On the other side of the suite, the junior bedroom door opened and Wade stuck his head out to check on things. Seeing that Aldo Corsi was gone, Wade stepped into the room, a concerned look on his face.

“So what happens when this thing makes people disappear?” he asked Portlyn.

“Damned if I know,” Portlyn replied with a chuckle.

“I mean, do they die?” Wade continued.

Portlyn shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter one way or the other, really.”

“Oh. I figured since you’ve have had some time to study the machine, you’d know by now.”

Portlyn scowled but kept his temper in check. “It’s only been three weeks since I found it. I hardly know all the ins and outs of it. I may never know everything—it didn’t come with an instruction manual, for crying out loud. But I’ve learned enough. Enough to make it work for me in a variety of ways.”

Portlyn went back to his easy chair, sat down, picked up his glass of Q’babi juice, and drank what was left.

“This stuff isn’t half bad,” he commented. “We’ll have to stock up on it when we finally have a new headquarters.”

Wade sat down across from him, on the couch where Aldo Corsi had been just a few moments earlier. “So…what comes next?”

Portlyn did not hesitate in answering. “With Mr. Corsi out of the picture, I can move forward in growing my power base—and my portfolio of business holdings. And I’m one step closer to getting back at every single of those miserable bastards who tried to destroy me.”

“Okay,” Wade replied simply.

“But at this point, we can’t arouse any questions or suspicions of foul play. Mr. Corsi’s fate will have to be made to appear very straightforward, very cut-and-dried, completely on the up-and-up.”

“How?”

Portlyn smiled confidently at his younger brother. “Don’t you worry. I’ve got it all worked out.”

Chapter

6

Domenica Corsi returned to the da Vinci after a long daytime shift at Outpost 32 and looked forward to a quick, quiet dinner and a good night’s rest. The ship had been orbiting Joras for just over three weeks, and the mission was moving along smoothly and without incident. In fact, Corsi couldn’t remember the last time she and her security team had it so easy on a mission. It was a nice change of pace.

She was not sure what to think when she received a special coded message direct from Starfleet Headquarters. Since her current assignment was classified, she wasn’t expecting any messages at all from outside the Neutral Zone.

Sitting alone in her quarters, she ran the message through the computer for decoding. Upon reading it, her reaction was total disbelief.

Her mind was reeling. Everything was a blur. But she grasped the salient points. Her mother had tried to reach her directly and, having failed, contacted Starfleet and asked for the information to be forwarded. Starfleet obliged. Aldo Corsi—her father—had died in a shuttle explosion shortly after departing the Starlight Casino and Hotel. His body had not been recovered, but the explosion was recorded and wreckage of the shuttle had been found.

She felt numb at first; she wasn’t sure what feeling she should allow to overwhelm her—sorrow, regret, guilt, anger, emptiness…

A million thoughts went through her head at once. What caused the explosion? How was her mother dealing with it? Did her brother Bobby know yet? Of course he did. How was he coping with it? Did he go to Fahleena III to be with their mother?

She was flooded by moments from her childhood. The happy moments in which she and her father laughed together. What a hearty, infectious laugh he had! The trips they went on together, just the two of them. The late nights when he held and comforted her after she awoke from a nightmare, crying out in the darkness.

She thought of all the years that were squandered when she and her father barely spoke to each other because he was angry about her joining Starfleet. All that precious time utterly wasted. It wasn’t until recently that they had managed to get beyond all that and started to connect again as father and daughter. That was probably what pained her most—that the promise of a renewed and ongoing relationship with her father was now irretrievably lost.

Corsi felt her control beginning to crack. Her grief was rising to the surface. Her eyes began to well up with tears. She couldn’t let that happen. Not now. The ship’s chief medical officer, Dr. Elizabeth Lense, with whom Corsi shared her quarters, would be walking in soon, once her shift was over, and there was no way Corsi was going to let Lense see her like that. As security chief, she hated anyone to see her vulnerable—even Fabian Stevens, with whom she had become romantically involved—and she did her best never to let it happen.

She couldn’t just sit there. She had to address the situation head-on, which meant she had things to do, plans and arrangements to make. And her first task was to speak with Captain Gold.

Gold was taken aback by the news and thoroughly sympathetic.

“If there’s anything I can do, just let me know,” he told her. He was seated behind his desk in his ready room, and Corsi was standing before him at attention. He’d invited her to sit down, but she declined. She didn’t want this conversation to be any longer than absolutely necessary.

“Actually, sir, there is. You know I’d never willingly leave my post in the middle of an important mission. But I feel that I have to be with my mother during this time, sir. I have to help her plan the funeral, get all the family affairs in order, help her get adjusted to her new situation…”

“Absolutely,” Gold said firmly and without hesitation. “Some things transcend even the service. As of now, you’re on a leave of absence. Take all the time you need, and don’t come back until you’re ready. You can take the Kwolek to get home.”

“Thank you, sir,” Corsi said with a firm nod, desperately fighting back tears. She hoped the captain did not pick up on that. She hesitated until she was sure that she could speak without her voice cracking. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Be with your family, Corsi. Your job will still be here when you get back—no matter how long that takes.”

Corsi remained consummately professional. “I’ll speak to Hawkins about taking over as acting security chief while I’m gone. He’ll do a good job.”

“I know he will,” Gold assured her with a gentle smile. “When do you think you’ll be leaving?”

“As soon as I can. An hour or two, if possible.”

Gold nodded. “I’ll have McAvennie warm up the shuttle for you.”

“Thank you again, Captain.” Corsi turned to leave but Gold called after her. She turned back toward him.

“I’ve been where you are,” he told her. “I won’t lie to you. You never really get over something like this. But it won’t always hurt as much it does right now.”

Corsi nodded, remembering that Gold had lost his son and daughter-in-law during the attack on Betazed during the Dominion War.

“Have a safe trip, Domenica. My regards—and my deepest sympathies—to your family.”

“See you when I get back, Captain.”

She turned again and left.

In the da Vinci shuttle bay, Corsi was performing a quick preboarding visual inspection of the exterior of the shuttlecraft Kwolek. Fabian Stevens stood nearby, leaning against the side of the small craft, his arms folded against his chest and a troubled expression on his face.

“I wish I could go with you,” he told her.

“You’re needed here,” she replied firmly. “I’m not absolutely essential to this mission—you are. Besides…I prefer it this way.”

She glanced over at Stevens and noticed a look of hurt passing fleetingly on his face. He tried to hide it, but she knew him too well not to pick up on it.

She stopped her inspection—she was pretty much finished, anyway—and walked over to him, adding in a softened tone, “Don’t take it personally. It’s going to be a very depressing, very emotional scene at my parents’ house. I’d rather deal with it on my own. But I’ll be thinking of you.”

He smiled briefly, appreciatively, before turning very serious. “Please tell your mom how sorry I am,” he said. “She’s such a sweet lady. And your dad…he was quite a guy. He really made an impression on me.”

“He had a knack for that,” she replied with a brief smile. She took a deep breath, sighed, and finally said, “I’d better go.”

She picked up the Starfleet-issue duffel bag lying on the floor and slung it over her shoulder. Stevens came up close to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. His moved his face close to hers.

“Uh, is anyone looking this way?” she asked hesitantly. She knew there had to be at least a few others around—McAvennie was definitely in the control room waiting to open the shuttle bay doors for her.

“I paid them not to,” he replied with a smirk.

Their lips met in a kiss that was brief but filled with intensity and deep emotion. She pulled away, reluctantly but decisively, and said softly, “I’ll see you soon.”

She stepped up into the shuttlecraft and turned toward him one last time.

“Take care of yourself,” he told her, mustering a smile. “Fly safely.”

She nodded, waved, and closed up the little ship.

It was only after the Kwolek lifted off and flew through the opened shuttle bay doors, free and clear in outer space and beginning its journey to distant Fahleena III, that Corsi, now truly alone, finally allowed herself to surrender to the feelings that had been roiling within her since she received the message from Starfleet Command.

It was only then that she allowed the tears to flow freely.

Chapter

7

Rod Portlyn was rushing through the crowded corridors of the Starlight Casino and Hotel, trying very hard to make it look like he wasn’t in a rush. In fact, he was doing his best to look utterly inconspicuous. He wore a cloak over his business suit and its hood was over his head. He glanced behind him quickly, to make sure Wade, also cloaked, was keeping up with him and taking proper care of his precious cargo.

It was packed inside of a large metal crate, with two small antigravity units attached to either side of it, making it float above the ground and easy to move from place to place. Wade was behind it and pushing it forward. Portlyn winced inwardly as he saw Wade looking around nervously, as if he had everything to hide. Fortunately, everybody else moving through the corridors seemed far too preoccupied to notice. As long as Wade didn’t do anything really stupid that would get picked up on the security cameras, they should be all right. The private airlock was just up ahead, around the next corner—as soon as they got to it, they’d be home free.

Portlyn stopped short to peek around the corner before making the turn—he needed to know if there were any security guards standing by the airlock. He’d waved his hand behind him, before he stopped, to give Wade a heads-up. But apparently Wade wasn’t looking ahead or paying attention, because he kept on walking forward and pushed the crate right into Portlyn’s back. Portlyn stumbled forward into the adjoining corridor, completely exposed.

He looked ahead, in the direction of the airlock. Much to his relief, there were no security guards standing there waiting. He turned angrily toward his brother.

“Get it together, will you?” he hissed. “Now come on, the coast is clear!”

As they made their way toward the airlock door, suddenly, from down the corridor behind them, they heard a nasally voice call out.

“Mr. Kaz! May I have a word with you?”

Portlyn glanced back and saw the hotel manager approaching, backed by his beefy security chief.

“Damn,” Portlyn muttered. He slammed the button that would open the door to the airlock and yelled at his brother, “Come on!”

Portlyn waited impatiently, his hands balled into fists, as the bulky door began to slide open. But not fast enough, damn it! After what seemed like an eternity—but was really only a few seconds—the gap was wide enough for Portlyn to slip through. He was immediately followed by the floating cargo and then Wade.

As planned, a ship was connected to the airlock via a long transparent umbilical tube. It was a mediumsize, golden-brown vessel, large enough to fit about eight passengers. Its engines were already engaged and it was ready for immediate departure.

Portlyn made a run for it through the umbilical tube. By the time he reached the craft, he was sweating, huffing and puffing, completely out of breath, his pulse racing and his heart beating like a jackhammer.

That’s it, he told himself. My new headquarters is going to have a gymnasium.

Wade came up alongside him, not a drop of sweat on his brow or even breathing hard.

“Get the Zapper inside and strap yourself in,” he ordered Wade between wheezes, glaring bitterly at him. Portlyn had taken to referring to the ancient device he’d discovered as the “Zapper.” It seemed an appropriate enough appellation for the machine, and he had to call it something, since its actual name was lost to history.

Wade did as he was told, pushing the floating crate into the vessel and following it. Porltyn slipped inside the ship and then turned to see the hotel manager and the security chief entering the tube.

Portlyn hit a button inside the ship and the hatch door closed. He turned to the cockpit, where Beak-nose was seated and awaiting the order to depart.

“Get us out of here!” Portlyn ordered.

Beak-nose hit the controls and the vessel disengaged from the umbilical tube. Through a side window, Portlyn could see the now unoccupied tube automatically seal itself off, with the hotel manager and the security guard left standing on the other side of it, defeated and empty-handed.

Portlyn breathed a deep sigh of relief as the ship sped away from the resort.

“Did we really have to run out without paying our hotel bill?” Wade asked.

“That place hasn’t lost one single credit because of us, it’s so overpriced,” Portlyn snapped.

“Maybe so, but it’s…embarrassing,” Wade replied, clearly troubled.

“To Benzev Kaz, maybe—but he doesn’t exist, remember? He’s just a name I use when I don’t want to use my real one. And how many times do I have to tell you? We have to be very selective in how we spend our money. We needed that lavish suite solely to impress Aldo Corsi, to make him believe that Benzev Kaz is a wealthy, successful, on-the-rise businessman. We don’t need the suite anymore, and now we can invest our money in a much more important pursuit.”

Wade nodded, but Portlyn didn’t believe his younger brother fully grasped the situation. That was Wade’s problem, as far as Portlyn was concerned. Portlyn turned and headed into the cockpit.

He placed his hand on Beak-nose’s shoulder. “I want to thank you for coming to pick us up,” he said. “The shuttle we came in was…the victim of an unfortunate accident.”

A “necessary sacrifice” would have been a far more accurate description, but Beak-nose didn’t need to know that.

Beak-nose bowed his head appreciatively. “Glad to help, sir,” he said enthusiastically.

Nice fellow, Portlyn thought. I really ought to learn his name at some point.

“What course would you like me to set, sir?” Beak-nose asked.

Portlyn thought about it for a moment and then smiled. There was really only one answer.

“Set course for Tau Ophiucus,” he replied. “Best possible speed.”

Patrice Bennett had been keeping herself busy almost nonstop since returning to Tau Ophiucus from her aborted trip to Outpost 32. She’d been in touch with the chief executive officers of all of her various companies, just to check in personally with them. She’d read all the latest financial reports from those companies, reviewed and approved—and, in some cases, called for revisions to—their future plans, signed a huge stack of joint-venture contracts, and made sure that a specified percentage of her corporation’s profits were allocated to her favorite charities across the galaxy. And she went to meetings. Lots of meetings.

She remembered that many years earlier, when she was in college, she had told her boyfriend at the time, Starfleet Cadet David Gold, “Work is a great alternative for wallowing in self-pity.” She lived by that maxim as much in her later years as she did in her youth. Her latest encounter with that very same David Gold gave her more than enough temptation to wallow in self-pity, so she was only too happy to have so much work to do.

A new day was beginning and she awoke at sunrise, as she did every morning. She made herself a nutritious breakfast, showered, and dressed in loose-fitting, comfortable clothes. She then enjoyed an invigorating two-and-a-half-kilometer walk from her mansion in the residential area of the planet’s capital city to the business district, where the tall building that housed her main office headquarters stood. Once there, she headed for her private office, where she would change into her proper business attire and get down to work.

She was the first to arrive at work, as usual. Patrice always made sure to come in before everyone else—she liked having quiet and solitude for the first hour or so of every workday. During that time, there were no distractions, no urgent matters that needed her immediate attention. She could focus on paperwork and correspondence and other administrative matters that she would otherwise have to put off.

She walked along the carpeted floor of the silent, empty corridors until she finally reached her office suite. Patrice put her hand against the palm reader that unlocked the door. The door slid open and she entered the darkened office, heading straight for the closet in which her business attire was stored. The door slid shut behind her.

“Lights, medium intensity,” she called out to the computer. The lights came on, she opened the closet, took out the clothes that were hanging inside, turned toward her desk—

And noticed that Rod Portlyn was sitting behind it, with a confident, chilling smile.

“Hello, Patrice,” he said. “Nice place you have here.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Portlyn? How did you get into my office?”

“Second question first. How I got in here was simple—you’ve got a weak spot in your organization. I hope you don’t think you can trust all of your employees. A substantial amount of money, paid up front—and I’m talking really substantial—often trumps loyalty.”

He leaned back in the chair and put his feet up on her desk.

“So how’s your old friend Captain Gold these days?” he asked casually.

Patrice scowled. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m about as interested in discussing him as I am in having a discussion with you.”

“Oh, no,” he replied, feigning dismay. “Don’t tell me you two had a falling out. What a shame—and how utterly intriguing. Ah, the possibilities…”

“What are you talking about, Portlyn?” Patrice snapped angrily and impatiently. “Oh, forget it. Just get your fat rump out of my chair and out of my office and go back to whatever rock you crawled out from under.”

“Oooh, feisty.” Portlyn chuckled.

She’d had enough. She rushed toward the intercom built into the top of her desk, her hand reaching for the alarm button that would summon her security guards. But Portlyn violently slammed his thick-booted foot into the intercom, smashing it and rendering it inoperative.

“Uh-uh-uh,” Portlyn said, waving his index finger at her. “I only want you to see my new toy.” He indicated—and she finally noticed—the strange-looking machine that sat behind her desk, next to the seated Portlyn. The machine was totally alien to her, with a smooth, shiny, multicolored casing, a console with a small readout screen and dials and jeweled buttons, a series of what looked like pipes emerging vertically from the top…she’d never seen anything like it. And she could not deny that it had a certain exotic beauty to it. But if it was something that Rod Portlyn wanted to show her, under these circumstances, it couldn’t be good.

“Now,” Portlyn continued, “to answer your first question—why I’m here. That’s also simple. Payback, you bitch.”

Portlyn smiled even more, and there was a gleam in his eyes as he leaned over to his strange machine and pressed the red button on the console. And that was the last thing Patrice Bennett saw.

Chapter

8

Domenica Corsi joined her mother, Ulrika, at the breakfast table in the Corsi home on Fahleena III. Morning was just beginning, the sun still not quite above the horizon. Corsi had arrived from Outpost 32 the night before and hadn’t had any real time to get settled in. Aside from the pajamas she was wearing, all of the clothes she’d brought with her were still in her duffel bag.

Ulrika was sitting quietly, slowly sipping a cup of coffee with milk and staring off into space, immersed in her own thoughts. Domenica brought over a bowl filled with whole-grain wheat cereal and small assorted fruits from Vulcan, Earth, and Betazed. She poured some milk into the bowl, lifted her spoon, and began eating in silence.

Corsi realized that the reality of the situation hadn’t truly hit her yet. It felt, for the most part, like her father was simply off on another business trip, hauling freight across the cosmos, and he’d be back as soon as he could, with a colorful story or two to tell. Yes, everything seemed more or less normal—until Corsi looked over at her mother and saw the vacant, lost expression on her face, the deep sorrow in her eyes.

Corsi knew there was nothing she could do or say to ease her mother’s pain, so she felt the best thing to do was give the older woman her space and to just be available whenever Ulrika needed to talk, cry, or simply be held.

As for what Corsi herself needed, she wasn’t sure. She found herself missing Fabian, but she was nonetheless relieved that he hadn’t accompanied her home this time. Had he come, he’d just be surrounded by grief-stricken people he barely knew or had never met. She’d be too busy trying to fulfill family duties and responsibilities to give him any real attention, so he’d be on his own most of the time. Knowing Fabian, he would claim he didn’t mind—but she would. And her concern about how miserable a time he was having would distract her, adding an extra layer of pressure that she didn’t need at that point.

She had many questions about the shuttle accident that took her father’s life, but she didn’t want to start pressing her mother for detailed information. Ulrika was far too fragile emotionally, not at all in the right frame of mind for that kind of questioning. But Corsi was itching for those answers, to find out as much as she could, just to be able to understand why it happened and maybe get at least some sense of closure to replace the emptiness that she was feeling in her core.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts, and had become so accustomed to the silence in the room, that she was briefly startled when Ulrika finally spoke.

“Roberto called last night from Cestus III, after you went to sleep,” the older woman said. “He’s on his way. He’ll be here in a day or so.”

“Good,” Corsi replied. “It’ll be good to see Bobby.” She knew that she could count on her younger brother to help her get their father’s affairs in order, provide emotional support to their mother, and plan the memorial service—there would be no real funeral, of course, since Aldo Corsi’s body had not been recovered from the wreckage.

Mother and daughter fell back into silence for several moments. Corsi tentatively reached out and took her mother’s hand in hers. A faint smile passed across Ulrika’s face and she briefly squeezed her daughter’s hand.

Suddenly, the communications device in the family room started to beep. Ulrika began to rise from her chair to answer the call, but Corsi motioned for her to stay put.

“I’ll get it,” Corsi said as she rushed over to the device and activated it. On the small viewscreen, the image of a serious looking middle-aged man popped on. He was very thin—almost emaciated, really—with ivory-white skin and fine black hair plastered down on his head and parted to the left. Corsi smiled when she saw him.

“Dathan,” she said warmly.

Dathan Therm, the Corsi family’s attorney since she was a child, shifted from his usual grim demeanor to a fairly convincing enthusiasm.

“Domenica, so good to see you. I didn’t know you’d arrived.” His smile didn’t last long, though. “I’m so sorry for your loss. You know how I felt about your father.”

Corsi nodded. In her peripheral vision, she saw that her mother had left the table and was now standing beside her.

“Is Roberto there?” Therm asked.

“He’s on his way,” Corsi replied. “Do you need to speak with him?”

“Well, all of you, actually. You see, there’s been an offer to buy Aldo’s freighter business.”

“An offer from whom?” Corsi asked in surprise.

“An independent businessman named”—Therm looked down to check his notes—“Benzev Kaz.”

Ulrika spoke up. “Benzev Kaz…I think he’s the man Aldo went to meet at the Starlight.”

Therm nodded. “Indeed he is. In fact, Kaz claims that he and Aldo had reached a verbal agreement about the sale of the business. Kaz offered a substantial amount for it, and Aldo supposedly accepted. He’d still like to go through with the deal, same terms.”

Therm told them the amount that had been offered. Ulrika went silent again for a long moment. Finally, after clearing her throat and blinking back the tears that were forming in her eyes, she said, “I’ll have to think about it. We’ll have to talk about it, the kids and me. But not right now. After…”

“Of course, Ulrika. I understand. I just wanted to let you know that the offer was out there, so you could consider it as you plan for the future. I’ll let you go now. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll see you at the memorial service.”

Ulrika attempted a smile. “Thank you, Dathan.”

The screen went blank and Ulrika made her way back to the breakfast table. Corsi followed, frowning, and become more annoyed with each passing second.

“How tasteless is that? Dad just died, this guy Kaz was presumably the last one to see him alive, and all he can think about is this stupid business deal. He can’t even give us some time to mourn before he’s swooping in like an Izarian raptor bird.”

“It’s business,” Ulrika said with a shrug. “Your father would understand.”

Corsi pursed her lips and snorted, unconvinced. “I’ll tell you something else. I’m not so sure Dad was about to sell the business, for any price. Last time I saw him—when he, Fabian, and I went on that trip aboard the Pharaon—he told me about how much pride he took in the fact that he’d kept the business going all these years, how he’d built it up again after some major setbacks. I just don’t see him being at a point where he was ready to let it go.”

Ulrika stared into her cup of coffee. “Your father could be a very private man. Even I didn’t always know what was going on in his head. But Mr. Kaz’s offer does seem fair. I certainly can’t take over the business, you have your own career, and Roberto has never really shown any interest in it. Maybe we should at least consider accepting the offer.”

Corsi wasn’t so sure. She wanted to find out more about this Benzev Kaz individual.

“Is it okay if I use Dad’s office? I need some time on the computer and I have some private calls I need to make.”

Ulrika nodded. “Just don’t move things around in there.”

Corsi smiled. Aldo Corsi always liked his things—especially the things in his private office—to be exactly where he left them. He’d be very pleased to know that, even after his passing, his wife was still looking out for him.

Nine hours later, Corsi was still in her father’s home office, seated at his desk, his computer terminal on with data scrolling across its screen.

She had contacted an old friend of hers, Elliot Stabile, with whom she had attended Starfleet Academy years earlier. After graduation and several years as a security officer at Starbase 11, Stabile decided to leave Starfleet and open up his own private security and investigation firm on Sherman’s Planet. And he was quite good at his job, as Corsi got to see firsthand when the da Vinci visited that world a year earlier and Dr. Lense saved the planet from a nasty plague. Since Corsi was stuck on Fahleena III for the time being, with limited resources at her disposal, she hoped that Stabile would be willing to look into the background of Benzev Kaz.

As it turned out, Stabile was more than willing. The da Vinci in general and Lense in particular were heroes on Sherman’s Planet, and no one on that world would turn down a request from a da Vinci crew member, especially one he went to the Academy with.

Stabile, looking slightly older and more weathered than Corsi remembered but sporting the same severe-looking buzz cut, was on the small viewscreen of the communications console. Corsi was studying the data on the computer monitor as he spoke.

“As you can see, he does own a few small companies,” Stabile explained. “A computer-manufacturing firm, a waste-management company on Dantos VII, a dilithium-cracking station on Kinooine. Pretty innocuous stuff.”

“I see,” Corsi replied, almost disappointed. “And now he wants to expand into the freight-hauling business.”

“But—there’s almost no documentation on the annual performance of any of those companies. And I’m afraid there’s just as little information on Kaz himself. Not even a photo of him.”

“Do you find that suspicious?”

“You bet I do. Which is why I did some more digging and managed to get around some, shall we say, fire-walls. I found that these companies aren’t as independently owned as they appear to be on the surface. They’re all part of a larger corporation, one that seems to want to be kept in the shadows. It’s possible that these businesses run by Kaz are just dummy corporations, meant to hide something.”

“Any idea who owns this larger corporation?”

“Not yet. I’ll keep looking.”

“Thanks, Elliot. I really appreciate this.”

“Don’t even think about mentioning it. It’s my pleasure, really.”

Suddenly, the communications console beeped.

“Got to put you on hold for a minute, Elliot. Another call is coming in.”

The call turned out to be from Bront Kriegg, a thick-necked, square-jawed human with dark brown skin, who was head of security at the Starlight Casino and Hotel. Corsi had tried to reach him earlier in the day, but he was on duty so she left a message asking him to contact her. She was trying to cover all bases, and since that place was where her father was last seen, she wanted to know as much as she could about his time there. Kriegg didn’t know Corsi, so she was particularly appreciative that he actually called her back.

“I’m afraid I don’t know of anything suspicious having to do with your father’s visit here, or his departure,” Kriegg told her.

Corsi frowned. “Can you tell me anything about Benzev Kaz?”

Kriegg thought about it for a long moment. “Well…I really shouldn’t be telling you this, because we’re trying to keep it quiet—the management here is pretty embarrassed that it happened on their watch. But you’re Starfleet, and my mom was Starfleet, so you’re okay in my book.”

“Thanks,” Corsi replied, suddenly liking this man immensely.

“Here’s the deal. Kaz rented a suite here, ran up a pretty sizable bill, and managed to skip out without paying it.”

“Hmmm…Now why would a wealthy, successful businessman do something like that?” she wondered.

“Beats me. I don’t exactly travel in that social circle.”

Corsi smirked. She asked, “Can you tell me what he looks like?”

“I didn’t get a really good look at him. He was making his getaway at the time. But from what I could make out, he had pale green skin…”

Corsi’s eyes widened. She felt her cheeks turn hot and a thin layer of perspiration break out on her forehead. Her pulse was now racing.

“Are you all right?” Kriegg asked, his face showing some concern on the small viewscreen.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, though she could barely concentrate on what she was saying. “Thank you so much. You’ve helped me more than you could possibly know.”

She ended that call and switched back to Elliot Stabile.

“Elliot, I think I know who we’re dealing with here.”

Chapter

9

Captain Gold was surprised to receive a private, encoded transmission from Starfleet Command that originated from Tau Ophiucus. Leaving the bridge of the da Vinci to take it in his ready room, he soon found himself speaking to a well dressed Grazerite male named Ernesh-Flishmo, who explained that he was Patrice Bennett’s chief counsel. Gold’s first thought was that Patrice was still so steamed at him that she would now communicate with him only through intermediaries.

He learned quickly that he was far off the mark.

“We’re not sure quite how she might have done it, Captain,” Ernesh-Flishmo explained. “Her body has not yet been found. It’s possible she entered a transporter beam set for wide disperse, or somehow rigged a phaser set for dematerialize to fire at her via remote control. We just don’t know yet. We have investigators looking into it. The one thing that is definite is that Patrice Bennett is nowhere to be found. And based on the note left behind, there’s reason to believe that she indeed took her own life.”

It seemed unthinkable. Completely out of the realm of possibility. Gold could not bring himself to accept it.

“Why?” he asked helplessly.

Ernesh-Flishmo looked uncomfortable and cleared his throat before answering. “Apparently, she was fairly distraught over her recent falling out with you.”

That hit Gold like a punch in the gut. As far as he knew—and unless Patrice had suddenly become a woman who spread gossip about herself—the only people truly aware of their “falling out” were the two of them.

“What…what do you need from me?” he asked Ernesh-Flishmo, trying desperately to keep his composure.

“Actually, Captain, we need you,” the Grazerite replied. “Ms. Bennett named you the executor of her estate.”

“Huh?” Gold was speechless.

“She was a widow who had no children, both her parents are dead, and she was an only child. Shortly after her return from Vemlar, she updated her last will and testament to name you the executor. If we’re going to get her affairs in order and execute her will properly, we’ll need you on Tau Ophiucus as soon as possible.”

“I…I’ll see what I can do. I’ll be in touch.”

Gold ended the transmission, shaken. He told himself he knew Patrice Bennett and that she would never, not in a million years, throw her life away. Certainly not over something like this.

But he also had to also acknowledge that the Patrice Bennett he knew—really knew—existed decades ago. He was only just getting to know her again, so he really didn’t know how much she might have changed over all those years. When all was said and done, he wondered, how sure can anyone ever really be about someone else?

“All done, Commander,” Pattie shouted to Sonya Gomez. “My team is finished here.”

Hammett, Nemeckova, and Phelps, all humanoids, were climbing down the scaffolding that surrounded Station Six, the latest sensor/communication dish that they were upgrading. Pattie, an insectoid, climbed down the side of the dish itself, easily and swiftly.

Gomez stood at the foot of the tower and gave Pattie a smile and a thumbs-up before returning her attention to the open panel in the side of the tall structure. She carefully placed a large new sensor unit inside the panel. Gomez then began to install the unit wire by wire, plug by plug. There were other pieces she would have to install once this task was done, including an even larger new communications unit and then several smaller but essential components. Once all that was finished, all Gomez would have to do is place the panel’s metal cover back on, seal it shut using a beam from her phaser, and the work on Station Six would be complete.

She was pleased that after four weeks at Outpost 32, she was finally getting the opportunity to get her own hands dirty.

“Thanks, Pattie,” Gomez said when the Nasat finally reached the ground and came up alongside her. “I should be finished installing everything within the next couple of hours or so, well before sundown.”

Pattie nodded and said, “If you’d like, I will go over to Station Five now and offer my assistance there.”

“Great, thanks.”

As Pattie departed, Brilson Lodine came up alongside Gomez, seeming somewhat tentative but determined nonetheless.

“If you’re here for another round of war games, Lodine, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you,” she said with a chuckle. “This job is going to take me a while.”

Lodine scratched his head and looked down at the ground, off to the horizon—anywhere but at Gomez. “Uh, yeah, look, um…well, I’ve been having trouble getting this out, and my timing has been bad, so now I’m just going to say it, right here and now. I really like you, and I think we get along pretty well. So…would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

Gomez stopped work for a moment, her eyes widening and her entire body going stiff. Quickly regaining her composure, she connected one additional wire from the sensor unit to the tower before shifting her full attention to Lodine, confident that she’d be able to pick up where she left off.

“Uhmm, look, Lodine—Brilson. I’m very flattered, but, well, I’m afraid there’s just no place for that in my life right now.”

“Eating?”

“Come on, you know what I mean. I just…I’m not looking for a relationship at this time. With anyone.” She was trying her best to be polite but firm. The thought of interacting with him in anything other than a strictly professional manner had never even entered her mind. And after what she’d gone through recently in the romance department, she wanted to keep it that way.

“I was only asking about dinner,” he replied with more than a hint of defensiveness. “Boy, talk about jumping from zero to warp nine!”

She did think he was a really nice guy, and she even had to admit that he was quite attractive, and there was no real reason to reject his invitation other than what was going on in her own head and heart. But that was what she was determined to follow.

Suddenly, Gomez’s combadge beeped. “Gold to Gomez.”

“Excuse me,” she told Lodine before tapping the device attached to the front of her uniform. “Gomez here.”

“I need you back on the ship at once.”

“I’ll beam right up. Gomez out.”

Thank God for perfect timing, she thought with relief. This is getting uncomfortable.

She tapped the combadge again.

“Gomez to Tev.”

“Tev here.”

“Tev, get someone to cover for you at Station Seven and come over to Station Six. I need you to take over the installation process for me. I’ve only just gotten started.”

“Of course, Commander, I shall be right over. Tev out.”

Gomez couldn’t help but smile. There was a time when Tev would have at the very least complained about being diverted from his own task, but now he was actually following orders without question. It was a welcome change.

She tapped the combadge again, this time contacting Chief Poynter and requesting immediate beamup.

As she prepared to be swallowed up by the transporter beam, she turned her attention back to Lodine.

“Look, I do appreciate the invitation, and I really am flattered. It’s just…it’s not the right time for me. I’m sorry.”

Lodine shrugged. “Sure, whatever. See you around.” He turned and walked away.

She frowned, feeling that Lodine deserved better than that. But by the time she felt the first effects of the transporter beam taking hold of her, her thoughts shifted completely to her job and concern about whatever it was that Captain Gold needed her for.

“I explained the situation to the higher-ups and they granted me permission to go to Tau Ophiucus,” Gold told Gomez as they sat alone in his ready room. “Their position is that Patrice Bennett was a valued partner in recent months and we should cooperate with her people in any way we can. Of course, the da Vinci has to remain here and finish its current assignment—that takes priority over anything else. So you’ll be in command here, making sure things continue to run smoothly, while I’ll be going in our remaining shuttlecraft. Hawkins, Abramowitz, and Lense will be coming with me. I’ll need their expertise.”

“Yes, sir,” Gomez replied confidently. “I’ll have Tev fill in for me on the ground while I’m here on the ship.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t inspire a mutiny down there,” Gold said with the barest hint of a chuckle.

But she couldn’t help feeling concern about her commanding officer. Given the circumstances…

“Sir, are you all right?”

Before he could answer, the intercom in the ready room beeped suddenly.

“McAvennie to Captain Gold.”

“Gold here.”

“Shuttlecraft Shirley is ready for departure, sir.”

“Thank you. I’ll gather my party and we’ll be down there shortly.”

Gold cut the connection to the shuttle bay and got up from his chair. He picked up the packed duffel bag that was lying on the floor beside his desk. Gomez rose from her own chair. Gold walked over to her and placed his hand gently on her shoulder.

“I’m fine, Gomez,” he told her. “And even if I’m not, I will be. Thank you for your concern. Really.”

They walked together toward the door of the ready room and it slid open. Once they stepped out, they would be headed in different directions, at least for a while. Gold stepped onto the bridge and Gomez followed. The captain then headed straight for the turbolift and announced, formally and loud enough so that everyone present could hear him, “Commander Gomez, you have the conn.”

As he stepped into the turbolift, Gold shot Gomez a look and she could see a hint of the familiar twinkle in his eyes.

“Considering where we are right now,” Gold added, “the only advice I can offer is, ‘Beware Romulans bearing gifts.’”

“Safe travels, Captain,” Gomez replied with a smile. “We’ll be waiting for your return.”

The turbolift doors closed and Gomez sat down in the captain’s chair.

“Steady as she goes,” she said to no one in particular.

Chapter

10

Captain Gold sat at a worktable in the office of Ernesh-Flishmo, Patrice Bennett’s chief counsel, staring out the window and lost in thought. Carol Abramowitz, the da Vinci’s cultural specialist, sat beside him. She held a padd, on which she was reviewing the contents of Patrice’s will and the various duties and responsibilities that were expected of Gold as the executor of her estate, as per the laws of Tau Ophiucus.

“She left most of her personal fortune to various charities,” Abramowitz said, clearly impressed with Patrice’s philanthropy. “In terms of her businesses, Captain, you now have a lot of authority over what will be done with them. You’ll have a major voice in terms of deciding whether to sell them off or to liquidate them, to whom they should be sold…”

She realized he wasn’t paying attention.

“Sir?” she said to him gently. “This is kind of important.”

Instead of responding to her, Gold looked over at Ernesh-Flishmo, who was seated behind his large obsidian-colored desk halfway across the office and reviewing various other documents on his computer.

“The note that was found in Patrice’s office—you’re sure it was written by her?” Gold asked.

The Grazerite turned away from his computer to address the da Vinci captain directly. “It’s still being analyzed, but so far, that seems to be the case. The note was handwritten, and the fact of the matter is, Patrice Bennett did nearly all of her work on computer. But there are some samples of her handwriting—her signature on certain contracts, for example. The note was checked against those, and they seem to match, more or less.”

“But there’s at least a possibility that it’s a forgery, correct?” Gold pressed on.

“Anything is possible, Captain Gold,” the Grazerite replied. “But thus far, our findings are not leaning in that direction.”

Gold frowned, not liking that answer. He stood up and started walking toward the door on the other side of the room.

“Captain,” Abramowitz called out to him, “where are you going?”

“To join up with Hawkins and Lense.”

“But sir, we really have to go over all this stuff.”

“You go over all of it and write up a report for me—without all the legalese. I’ll read it later.”

Gold found Hawkins and Lense in Patrice Bennett’s large and luxurious office, continuing their search for any possible clues on what exactly happened to the missing woman and where she might be. The dark-skinned security officer and the very pregnant doctor told their captain that they had just come from Patrice’s home and found nothing out of sorts there.

“There was no evidence of her having been distraught, depressed, or even mildly perturbed,” Lense reported. “But plenty of evidence that she had impeccable taste in interior decorating.”

Hawkins chimed in. “We spoke to the members of her house staff and various employees here. They all said that upon returning from her trip, Ms. Bennett fell right back into her regular schedule without skipping a beat. She returned to work immediately, kept her usual hours, and, by all accounts, seemed no different from how she was before.”

It just didn’t make any damn sense.

“The only thing I found of even the slightest bit of interest,” Hawkins continued, moving over to Patrice’s desk, “is the desktop intercom. It’s brand-new. And if you take a good look at the top of this desk, you’ll see it’s perfectly smooth, not a scratch on it—except for the area around the intercom.” Hawkins pointed to that area. “Some very noticeable scratches and dents there, see? And you can also see that this new intercom wasn’t installed in perfect alignment with how the previous one had been installed—you can see the indentations in the desk that indicate where the previous intercom had been.”

Gold understood where Hawkins was going with this. “Patrice was…what you might call a ‘neatness freak,’ to put it mildly.”

“So I gathered, sir, based on the rest of this office and what we saw at her home. Clearly, she really liked things in her environment to be perfect, absolutely immaculate. It’s definitely odd that she would let something like this stand—especially on the desk that she used every day.”

“What do you think?” Gold asked Lense.

“I think it would be a lot easier if I actually had a body to examine so I could determine cause of death,” she replied, folding her arms against her chest, just above her swollen belly. “Without that…I’d say that note is the only indication that she intended to end her life. There’s just no way of knowing anything until we find some solid clues or leads.”

Suddenly, the door to the office slid open and Gris Giernad, Patrice’s purple-skinned executive assistant, stuck his head in.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Captain Gold, we’re receiving a transmission designated for you. Would you like to take it in here?”

“Yes, thank you,” the captain replied.

Giernad exited the room, and moments later, the large viewscreen on the far wall of Patrice’s office popped on.

“Corsi!” Gold said, completely taken aback when the face of his security chief appeared on the screen. She looked particularly grim.

“Hello, Captain. I contacted the ship via Starfleet Command to speak with you, and Commander Gomez told me where you were. When she told me what happened to Ms. Bennett, I knew I was on the right track.”

“What’s going on?”

“Sir, I have reason to believe that my father’s death was caused by Rod Portlyn.”

Gold was taken aback yet again. “Portlyn?” He hadn’t given that reprehensible schmendrick a thought in months—not since Portlyn’s downfall at Vemlar, where the tycoon had secretly and intentionally caused a terrible famine in order to manipulate the farmers living there into selling their lands to him. Once Gold and his crew had discovered what Portlyn had done, and made that information public, Portlyn was driven out and rendered virtually powerless. “What makes you think he’s involved?”

Corsi went on to tell him everything she’d learned during her consultations with Stabile and Kriegg, and stressed her strong belief that it would have been totally out of character for her father to sell the family business.

“Out of character,” Gold said thoughtfully. “That’s a damn good way to describe the notion that Patrice Bennett would ever kill herself. So two people, one connected to you, one connected to me, both supposedly doing things out of nowhere that can only be described as ‘out of character.’ Both apparently dead, under mysterious circumstances. Now you mention Rod Portlyn—Portlyn, who certainly has the motive to be behind all this. He targets Patrice to get revenge on her for taking his companies away from him. He makes it seem like she killed herself over me, to cause me pain. He targets your father to hurt you…”

“He’s got a hit list,” Corsi suggested grimly.

“Which means Patrice may be dead after all, just not by her own hand. If we’re right about all this, Corsi, he’s not even close to being finished. You and I are on that list for sure. We just haven’t been as easy to get to.”

That triggered a most unpleasant thought in Gold’s mind. Had he and Patrice not fallen out with each other, she may very well have remained at Outpost 32 and thus would have been safe.

A wave of guilt rushed through him, followed by deep conflict. How, he wondered, could their falling-out have been prevented without Gold betraying his wife? If he could relive that night knowing what happened afterward, would he change his actions? Was being faithful to his wife worth more than the life of a friend—who was once much more than that?

He decided that this was something best pondered at another time. Focusing again on the matter at hand, he acknowledged that what he and Corsi had just engaged in was pure speculation. While it felt absolutely right to him, they needed to be positive.

“I think we’ll need the resources aboard the da Vinci to proceed from here,” Gold announced. “We’re going back.”

The captain’s abrupt decision to depart had been met with dismayed protests from Ernesh-Flishmo, who argued that Gold was needed on Tau Ophiucus, that there were so many matters that needed his attention and direct involvement.

“They’ll all keep until I return,” Gold insisted. “Patrice ran a tight ship, and everything seems to still be running smoothly, even in her absence. No harm will be done if things remain as is for a while.”

The chief counsel was not satisfied with that answer, which had zero impact on Gold.

Once Abramowitz joined the captain, Hawkins, and Lense at Patrice’s office, the four of them headed to the spaceport where they had parked the shuttlecraft. As they approached the small vessel, Gold noticed someone standing near it, apparently looking it over. It was Gris Giernad, of all people.

“Mr. Giernad, is there something you need?” Gold called out.

Giernad seemed momentarily startled by their arrival but recovered quickly.

“No, Captain. I was just waiting for you. I wanted to wish you a safe trip—and success in your investigation. Ms. Bennett meant so much to so many people. She inspired nothing but loyalty and respect, and if what happened to her was indeed foul play, well, there are a lot of people here who’ll be counting on you to bring the person responsible for it to justice.”

“Thank you, Mr. Giernad,” Gold replied, patting the purple-skinned man on the shoulder. “We’ll do our very best not to let you down.”

The captain and his traveling companions boarded the shuttlecraft. Soon—but not soon enough, as far as an increasingly anxious David Gold was concerned—the vessel was back among the stars and headed for Joras and the da Vinci.

Chapter

11

After an uneventful journey from Tau Ophiucus, the shuttlecraft Shirley approached the Romulan Neutral Zone and the planetoid Joras, site of Federation Outpost 32. The small craft’s scanners showed the da Vinci as the sole vessel in orbit around the planetoid—Captain Moon’s ship had left the area, repair work on its engines having been completed. Sitting in the pilot’s seat, Captain Gold was thinking ahead, about getting back aboard the da Vinci, leading the effort to find solid evidence against Rod Portlyn, and determining the fallen tycoon’s whereabouts.

He was pulled out of his silent thoughts by the Shirley’s proximity alert, which began to sound suddenly. Gold quickly checked the scanners again, and they showed another vessel approaching rapidly from behind.

“It seems we’ve got company,” Gold announced to his companions.

“Could it be Captain Moon’s ship?” Hawkins suggested. “Maybe their engines went on the fritz again and they need our help.”

“No—this is a much smaller ship,” Gold replied. “It’s…it’s a yacht.”

“A yacht?” Carol Abramowitz blurted out in surprise. “Out here? Something must have really knocked them off course.”

“I don’t think so,” Gold answered, an ice-cold edge now in his voice as he studied the data appearing on the scanners. “It’s the Astral Maiden, Rod Portlyn’s personal ship.”

The newly arrived yacht began to accelerate and pull ahead, maneuvering to block off the Shirley.

The Astral Maiden had been speeding through space, with nothing but stars ahead. Rod Portlyn was on the bridge, seated at the helm, guiding the craft as it raced toward its destination. Only Portlyn and Wade were on board, so nearly all of the other key systems of the ship were fully automated. Portlyn was enjoying the peace, quiet, and solitude of the bridge—all of which was shattered when Wade entered and sat down in a passenger chair behind Portlyn.

“I’ve been doing some more reading about the Briavians,” Wade began without preamble. “Really interesting stuff. No one knows exactly why or how they disappeared from the galaxy. It’s one of the Alpha Quadrant’s greatest mysteries, actually.”

“Hmm-mmm,” Portlyn replied unenthusiastically.

“The most interesting thing I found,” Wade continued, “is that the Briavians supposedly had an incredibly advanced ultimate weapon, called the Siriex Apparatus. It protected them from all of their enemies, no matter how stacked the odds were against them.”

“It didn’t protect them from becoming extinct,” Portlyn retorted. “Something got to them, eventually. Assuming they ever existed in the first place.”

Wade sat quietly for a long moment. Finally speaking up again, he asked, with wonder in his voice, “This machine we’ve found…do you think it could be the Siriex Apparatus?”

Portlyn shrugged. “What I think is that it’s mine now and it’s helping me achieve my goals. That’s all that matters to me. I don’t know from any ‘Sirius Apparatus.’”

“Siriex,” Wade corrected.

“Whatever,” Portlyn replied through gritted teeth. He glanced longingly at the Zapper, which was positioned right near him on the floor of the bridge, and envisioned pressing the red button and, as a result, Wade no longer being there.

An alert began to sound, and Portlyn checked all the readouts on the helm console in front of him. There it was, dead ahead: Gold’s shuttlecraft.

“We’re coming up on them now,” he announced, anticipation and excitement building within him.

Portlyn’s Astral Maiden had effectively blocked off the Shirley. The small Federation shuttlecraft was unable to maneuver around the significantly larger yacht now looming in its path.

Aboard the Shirley, Vance Hawkins followed the readings on his tricorder until he reached the rear of the vessel—and a large container sitting on the floor, in which emergency rations were stored. Lifting the lid of the container and quickly pushing aside the sealed packages of rations inside, he soon called out to the cockpit, “I found it!”

Hawkins rushed back to the cockpit and presented what he’d found to Captain Gold: a small tracking device.

“You were right, sir. This is how Portlyn knew we were coming here, even though the da Vinci’s location is classified.”

Gold grimaced, took the small tracker, and smashed it against the control panel, breaking it into pieces.

“Giernad planted it,” the captain muttered. “It had to be him. ‘Just wanted to wish you a safe trip,’ my tuchos. Portlyn got to him, somehow. Probably paid him off.”

“It’s my fault sir,” Hawkins declared. “I should have done a thorough scan of the ship before liftoff.”

“Never mind that,” Gold snapped. “Strap yourself into the copilot’s seat and be ready.”

“For what, sir?” Hawkins asked as he did what he was told.

“I’ll let you know when I think of it,” the captain replied, looking at the front window of the shuttle, which was completely filled by Portlyn’s vessel.

Gold looked back at Dr. Lense, who sat in a chair behind him. Her hands were on her pregnant belly, holding it protectively. He gave her a nod of assurance that everything would be all right in the end.

The control panel suddenly emitted a beep, indicating that they were receiving a transmission. Gold and Hawkins exchanged a wary glance as Gold activated the communications unit.

“This is Rod Portlyn,” the tycoon announced triumphantly into the transmitter. “You didn’t really think you’d heard the last of me, did you, Gold?”

How he was relishing this moment! How long he’d waited to be in this position! He glanced over at Wade, smiling broadly.

Then he received Gold’s response. “Not at all—I know how hardy cockroaches can be.” The Starfleet captain’s voice was oozing with contempt.

Portlyn raised a jet-black eyebrow and reduced his smile to a smirk. “I don’t know what a cockroach is, but I’ll assume that was not a compliment. It doesn’t matter. I didn’t get to where I was—I didn’t build the empire that I had—by giving up whenever I suffered a setback. And that’s all you caused me at Vemlar, Gold—a setback. I’ve defeated your plans for me—I didn’t go crawl under a rock somewhere and give up. I’m back, and this time I won’t be stopped. You have no idea what you’re up against now.”

“Someone who’s still in love with the sound of his own voice, obviously,” Gold retorted.

“All right, enough conversation,” Portlyn snapped, already weary of this verbal jousting. “There’s no point in delaying the inevitable any further. So now, Gold, it’s time for you and your companions to face…well, I guess you could call it ‘liquidation.’”

Portlyn turned to the Zapper at his side. He’d learned enough about the device to know how to use it for this particular moment. He pressed the yellow jeweled button, which activated the device, and then the blue jeweled button, which activated the readout screen, on which he saw a schematic of the interior of his yacht and two blinking lights, representing Wade and himself. Portlyn then turned the white dial above the jeweled buttons one click to the left. The image on the readout screen immediately changed: instead of it being a schematic of the interior of the yacht, it was now a schematic of the shuttlecraft outside.

That was it. Just one more thing to do. He reached for the red jeweled button, which was flashing in anticipation.

Suddenly, a phaser beam shot past the side of the yacht, startling him. He looked up and saw a familiar vessel approaching fast.

“This is Commander Sonya Gomez of the U.S.S. da Vinci,” said the voice that came over the cockpit loudspeaker. “We know who you are. That was a warning shot, Mr. Portlyn. Back away from the shuttlecraft immediately and allow it to pass, or we will fire on you.”

“I think she’s serious,” Wade said nervously.

“That’s all right,” Portlyn murmured. “So am I.”

He reached for the black dial on the Zapper and turned it one click to the right. The schematic on the readout screen changed again.

Gold was briefly startled by the phaser blast that shot past the front of the shuttlecraft but recovered immediately and acted to take advantage of it. He surmised that Portlyn had to be momentarily distracted by the sudden arrival of the da Vinci, which meant that the tycoon’s complete attention would no longer be on the shuttlecraft. As Gomez’s voice came over the Shirley’s speakers, issuing an order to Portlyn to back off, Gold threw the shuttlecraft into full reverse, at full power. The little ship started to back away from the yacht. Soon, Gold would have room to maneuver.

Bless you, Gomez, Gold thought, allowing a smile of relief and satisfaction to grow on his face as Portlyn’s yacht began to recede. Consider yourself off the hook as far as that splatter ball incident is concerned.

Gold watched as the da Vinci closed in on the Astral Maiden. The Starfleet vessel, a Saber-class ship, was hardly in the same league as Jean-Luc Picard’s Enterprise, but it was more than a match for a private yacht. Gold was looking forward to taking Portlyn into custody and interrogating the tycoon personally.

Suddenly, Portlyn’s voice came over the speakers again.

“And now I get to inflict one last stab of pain in you, Gold, before I rid myself of you once and for all.”

Gold barely heard the gasps of shock and horror coming from his three companions in the shuttlecraft. He was too wrapped up in his own disbelief and dismay.

Right before his eyes, the U.S.S. da Vinci—the entire starship and everyone aboard her—blinked out of existence, without a trace.

Chapter

12

Captain Gold rose from his chair, completely numb, his mind reeling. He was barely aware of Vance Hawkins sliding swiftly into the pilot’s seat to take over for him at the controls of the shuttlecraft.

“Portlyn, you miserable bastard,” Gold uttered, finally finding his voice, although his body began to tremble in barely controlled rage. “What have you done?”

“Didn’t I say you had no idea what you were up against?” Portlyn’s smug voice replied over the speaker. “Don’t bother mourning your crew, old boy—you’ll be joining them in just a moment.”

Gold realized that during his exchange with Portlyn, Hawkins had managed to turn the shuttlecraft around and had accelerated to full impulse power, flying it away from the Astral Maiden. Not that it would do them much good—the da Vinci had been even farther away from the yacht when Portlyn…did whatever it was that he did to it. Even if they went to warp speed, what would stop Portlyn from simply following and easily catching up to them?

Then it hit Gold. There was something. It was risky, but given the situation, that was far preferable to the notion of trying nothing. He cut off communications with the yacht.

“Set course for Gamma Hydra,” he said to Hawkins as he slammed himself down into the copilot’s seat and reached for the warp-drive controls. Gold was no engineer, but he was confident that he knew enough to do what was needed. He quickly tinkered with the controls that regulated the little ship’s warp engines. As he worked, Gold briefly wondered why Portlyn hadn’t acted against them yet. Was he toying with them?

“Course is set, Captain,” Hawkins informed him.

“Good—go to warp, now!”

Hawkins began to carry out the order but then became alarmed. “Sir, I’m reading an imbalance in the warp engines!”

“Warp speed, Hawkins—now!”

Hawkins, clearly with great reluctance, made the shift to warp speed.

“Won’t he just be able to follow us in warp?” Lense asked from behind.

“He’ll try,” Gold replied, waiting for the inevitable to occur. “But if he does, I think he’ll regret it, considering the way we’re going.”

Then it happened. Gold watched as a vortex of roiling light and energy formed around the shuttlecraft, distorting everyone and everything around him. The shuttlecraft shuddered as it continued to plummet forward at warp speed.

Her voice distorted, Abramowitz said behind him, “Wormhole. You caused that imbalance in the warp engines, didn’t you, Captain?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Uhh, Captain,” Hawkins interjected hesitantly, “I’ve never flown through a wormhole before.”

“Neither have I,” Gold replied flatly. “But probably neither has that putz.”

Hawkins stabbed at the console. “Negative helm control, sir.”

“I was afraid that would happen,” Gold muttered. “Just hang on.”

Gold checked the shuttlecraft’s sensors. “It doesn’t look like Portlyn followed us in. That’s the good news.”

“What’s the bad news?” Lense asked, her distorted voice tinged with dread.

“Getting into a wormhole is fairly easy. Getting out—not so much. We’re basically flying blind. We could end up emerging from it in the heart of a sun or on a collision course with a planetary body or—”

“I think we get the idea,” Lense said tightly.

Gold looked over at Hawkins. The distortion effect was getting worse. He was no longer seeing the security guard and the ship’s control panel as completely solid objects. And the shuttlecraft had started to shudder more violently, almost as if it were a toy rattle in the hand of some giant baby.

“I think we’ve been in here long enough,” he told Hawkins. “Wherever we emerge, Portlyn won’t be close by. Try to get us back on impulse power, full reverse.”

Hawkins struggled to carry out the order. “Aye, sir.”

Gold estimated that lack of control over the helm from the inertial lag would continue for at least thirty seconds before the shuttlecraft’s forward velocity slowed to sublight speed. The question was, would the Shirley last that long?

“What’s happening?” Wade Portlyn asked his older brother.

“I’m not sure,” Portlyn replied, closely examining his precious machine and spotting something he hadn’t seen before: a blinking amber light on the readout screen. “I set everything correctly—they should’ve disappeared right after I hit the red button. Best guess, this thing needs a few moments to recharge after it zaps something as big as a starship.”

Portlyn returned his attention to the helm of the yacht to see Gold’s shuttlecraft accelerating away. He nudged the yacht forward in pursuit of the smaller vessel. Suddenly, the Zapper beeped twice. Portlyn turned back to it and saw the blinking amber light turn to green, hold for a moment, and then disappear.

“I think it’s back to full power,” he announced. He double-checked the settings, made sure the device was focused on the shuttlecraft, and prepared to press the flashing red button.

“They’re going to warp speed,” Wade announced.

Portlyn rushed back to the helm to see Gold’s ship now far ahead of them and rapidly shrinking from view. He started to engage his own warp engines.

“We can follow easily,” he confidently informed his younger brother. The Astral Maiden began its own buildup to faster-than-light speed.

But then the shuttlecraft disappeared from view, from the sensors, even from the readout screen on the Zapper. And up ahead, where it should have been, some sort of weird space anomaly was forming—opening up to swallow the Astral Maiden whole.

“What the hell—?” he sputtered. Was this some sort of natural phenomenon? A weapon launched by Gold? Whatever it was, Portlyn knew it wasn’t a good thing.

He immediately began to decelerate the yacht back to impulse power and laid in a new course that would avoid the anomaly—if forward momentum could be slowed down enough after the sudden drop from warp speed.

It was close, but the yacht just made it. The anomaly was avoided, but the shuttlecraft was gone without a trace.

He stood at the helm in silence, pondering what had just happened and what to do next. Wade came up alongside him to view the anomaly, which, oddly enough, was already beginning to collapse and fade.

Just as Gold was convinced that the shuttlecraft would fall apart around him and his crew, they were back in normal space and flying on impulse power—thankfully, not straight into the heart of a sun or a planet. It took several moments for everyone to readjust to their surroundings, to the sudden lack of the distortion effect.

“Everyone all right?” he asked, pleased to hear his voice sounding normal again. He looked specifically at Lense and her swollen belly.

“We’re okay,” Lense told him with a deep sigh of relief. “But if you could send a rescue ship back in there for my stomach, the kid and I would really appreciate it.”

Hawkins and Abramowitz both assured the captain they were fine. Satisfied, Gold then turned his attention to the ship’s sensors and the pattern of the stars in front of them.

“Where are we, sir?” Abramowitz asked. “Did we make it to Gamma Hydra?”

“Uhhhh…no,” Gold said, double-checking the data. “We’re well beyond Gamma Hydra, actually. We’ve ended up near Galorndon Core.”

Hawkins leaned over to the sensors to study the readings. “Galorndon Core…that’s only half a light-year from Romulan territory. Are we still in Federation space…?”

Gold reassured him. “According to these readings, yes, we are—but only just. We cut it very close. We were extremely lucky.”

“A lot luckier than the da Vinci,” Abramowitz said glumly. “Is there any chance that some of our crew are still on Joras? Maybe not all of them are gone.”

Hawkins checked the chronometer on the control panel and frowned.

“It’s nighttime at the outpost. Most, if not all, of our people would have beamed back up to the ship by now.”

Abramowitz looked like she was on the verge of tears. She looked the way Gold felt.

But there was no time to dwell on the loss of their ship and their crewmates. The sensors detected a vessel that had just appeared in the vicinity and was approaching rapidly. Had Portlyn found them again so soon?

No, it wasn’t Portlyn. But it wasn’t necessarily any better.

It was a huge Romulan warbird.

Chapter

13

“Hold position here,” Gold told Hawkins. “As long as we’re clearly on the Federation side, they won’t have an excuse to take aggressive action against us.”

“I hope they see things the same way you do,” Lense interjected.

The communication console started to beep. The warbird was hailing them. Gold turned to Abramowitz.

“You’re our cultural specialist,” he began. “Any suggestions on how to deal with them?”

“Whatever you tell them, be convincing,” she replied simply.

“You certainly earned your pay for the week,” the captain grumbled. He opened the channel.

“This is the Federation shuttlecraft Shirley, from the U.S.S. da Vinci. Captain David Gold in command. We are receiving your signal.”

“This is Commander Tokk of the Romulan warbird Lomiya . You are now dangerously close to entering Romulan space. The alliance our two governments signed during the Dominion War established that crossing the Neutral Zone no longer constitutes an act of war…but it would still be considered a cause of great concern to us.”

“We’re each still on our respective sides of the Neutral Zone, Commander. No need for concern on your part.”

“This is an odd region of space for such a tiny, fragile vessel to be flying alone. May I ask what your business is out here? And where is your mother ship?”

“Our mother ship is…elsewhere. We’re actually here by accident, Commander. We lost control of our vessel due to a malfunction in our warp engines. But we’ve got things under control now and we’ll be departing immediately for our correct location.”

All true, to a large extent, Gold told himself. So that should come off as pretty convincing.

There was a brief pause before the Romulan commander spoke again.

“A great inconvenience for you, I’d imagine, Captain. Very well, I will not delay you any further. May your journey home be free of incident. Oh, by the way, I understand there has been an increase in Starfleet activity at Joras recently. I trust all is well there?”

“Absolutely,” Gold answered without hesitation. “Just routine supply deliveries, repairs on aging and faltering technical systems, nothing out of the ordinary. But thank you for asking.”

“Not a problem, Captain. It is always nice to know what our…neighbors are up to.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Good-bye, Commander Tokk.”

“Farewell, Captain Gold.”

Gold cut communications. “That’s all we need now,” he muttered. “The meshuggeneh Romulans sticking their noses into this.” He turned to Hawkins. “Let’s get to the nearest starbase,” he told the security officer. “We need to regroup. And there are some people I need to contact.”

Chapter

14

Rod Portlyn quickly checked his jet-black, curly haired wig and matching false mustache and beard, just to make sure one last time that they were secure. Satisfied that they were, he entered the office of Ernesh-Flishmo, where the Grazerite attorney who had been Patrice Bennett’s chief counsel awaited him.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kaz,” Ernesh-Flishmo said as he shook his guest’s hand and motioned to the chair across from his large desk.

“Please, call me Benzev,” Portlyn said as he sat down, a wave of relief washing over him. As far as Portlyn knew, he and Ernesh-Flishmo had never met before, but he didn’t want to take the chance of being recognized, so he added the disguise to his “Benzev Kaz” alias. The special dye he had applied to his skin, which temporarily turned the pigment from pale green to pale blue, only helped matters.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” he added.

“Well, my colleague Gris Giernad recommended strongly that I do.”

Money well spent, Portlyn thought, smiling inwardly.

Following his setback in the Neutral Zone, along with confirmation that Gold’s shuttlecraft was nowhere to be found and a profanity-laden outburst, Portlyn realized he had two choices: begin a search for Gold’s ship, which could prove long and fruitless, or keep the appointment he’d already scheduled on Tau Ophiucus which, if successful, could prove to be very beneficial for him.

It was a no-brainer, really. He would pick up the search for Gold later.

“Gris said you had some business matters that you could discuss only with me,” Ernesh-Flishmo continued. “So, what is it you need to discuss?”

“In light of what has unfortunately happened with Ms. Bennett,” Portlyn began, “it occurs to me that the best thing that can be done for her companies—especially the ones she acquired most recently—is to have a strong hand guiding them. Having a vacuum at the very top of those companies could prove devastating to them, since they haven’t yet been fully integrated into the Bennett Corporation’s overall structure. I’d like to discuss the possibility of taking those companies off your hands.”

Ernesh-Flishmo took a moment to absorb that, then gave Portlyn a sympathetic look.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kaz, but I’m afraid we can’t have this discussion at this time. You see, the executor of Ms. Bennett’s estate will be actively involved in matters of that nature and, unfortunately, he’s off-planet at this time. We’ll have to wait until he returns.”

Portlyn scoffed. “Ah yes, the executor. Surely you know what’s better for those companies than some starship captain.”

“Regardless, sir, our laws are very clear about this.”

Portlyn sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his belly. He grinned slyly at the attorney.

“That’s the wonderful thing about laws, my friend. There’s always a way around them. With your legal acumen—and my deep pockets to support it—I’m sure we can make things happen to our mutual advantage.”

Ernesh-Flishmo looked away from Portlyn and sat behind his desk in silence. Portlyn could almost see the wheels turning in the attorney’s head. He was clearly conflicted between his duty to Patrice Bennett and the lure of a considerable boost to his own personal funds. This fellow was certainly more loyal to Bennett than Gris Giernad had been—Portlyn had seen no such internal conflict when he first approached the woman’s executive assistant. He was beginning to feel there was a very strong possibility that the attorney would turn him down. In which case Portlyn would be forced to consider a more…aggressive approach.

Finally, Ernesh-Flishmo turned back to Portlyn and looked him squarely in the eyes.

“I’m listening,” the attorney said.

Portlyn smiled broadly.

Chapter

15

Domenica Corsi snapped awake from the most disturbing dream she’d had in a long time. It was a dream in which she’d lost the father with whom she had only just begun to reconnect. And in this dream, her father was followed soon after by the man she had allowed into her heart, along with the ship on which she served—her home—and all of her friends aboard it.

Upon waking from this dream, Corsi felt a wave of relief rush over her. All of that tragedy had not really occurred. It was all in her head. She hadn’t really lost nearly everything that she held dear. Her first impulse was to call home and speak to her father—and after that, she would find Fabian and give him the biggest hug he’d ever received.

But then Corsi took in her surroundings and realized that what had haunted her in her sleep was very much real. It was her relief that was nothing but a dream. She was aboard the Starfleet runabout Amazon instead of the da Vinci, sitting in the copilot’s chair. She was en route to Federation Outpost 20, on the planet Hofstrof, to rendezvous with her captain and what remained of the da Vinci crew. She turned to the pilot of the runabout, who was looking at her with concern.

“Bad dream?” Captain Montgomery Scott asked.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, sitting up in her chair. “Are we almost there?”

“Almost.”

Corsi frowned. “I still wish we were going after Portlyn with a much larger force. I’d like to get the whole damn fleet on his tail.”

Scott shook his head. “You were in on that same subspace conversation between your captain and Starfleet Command that I was, lass. It was agreed that for now, it’s best to go after Portlyn quietly, with subtlety. We have a better chance of getting closer to him that way. And the closer we get to him, the more we’ll learn about just what it is he has in his possession.”

Corsi nodded glumly.

“There’s also the fact,” Scott continued, “that it’s better to risk losing a handful of people rather than hundreds—maybe thousands. Better to risk losing a small transport vessel or two than main ships of the line. Now that we know Portlyn’s got…something, we have to try to find out as much as we can about it. It might not stop him from takin’ us down…but it could help whoever would take our place.”

“Always a pleasure to be reminded of just how expendable you are,” Corsi replied with a slight smirk.

“Trust me, lass,” Scott said wryly, “you get used to it after a while.”

Corsi looked ahead at the stars, anticipating the moment when Hofstrof would appear to the naked eye.

“This thing Portlyn has—any idea what it could be?”

Scott was quiet for a long moment.

“Aye, an idea,” he finally answered.

Captain Gold was genuinely startled by the tight embrace he received from Security Chief Corsi when they were reunited at Outpost 20. He knew she had a heart—a big one—under that tough exterior, but to the best of his recollection, he had never before seen her so…demonstrative. But it was more than understandable. It was good to see her in person again. And, he had to acknowledge to himself, he needed the hug.

The mission at Galvan VI had been bad enough. There, Gold lost half his crew and the da Vinci was nearly destroyed. But this…it was if his heart had been ripped from his chest.

Gold was pleased to see Montgomery Scott, his liaison with Starfleet Command, but was still unsure that it was necessary for the legendary engineer to travel all the way out to Hofstrof and take part in what could be a fatal mission. But as Scott had told him, “David, I just may be the only person in this universe who has an idea of what we’re dealing with.”

Shortly after the Amazon arrived at Outpost 20, Gold assembled Corsi, Hawkins, Lense, and Abramowitz in a conference room. They waited for Captain Scott to show up—upon his arrival at the outpost, he’d asked Gold to turn over to him the visual recording that the Shirley had made of the da Vinci’s disappearance, along with the shuttlecraft’s sensor readings of that moment. Since then, Scott had been sequestered away, analyzing the materials.

Finally, Scott entered the conference room. Gold locked the door to ensure that they would have absolute privacy. He then turned the floor over to Scott, who remained standing to address everyone.

“Many years ago,” Scott began, “when I was chief engineer of the Enterprise, I was part of a landing party that became trapped in a parallel universe similar to ours but different in significant ways.”

“Right,” Gold said. “Instead of a peaceful Federation, there was a totalitarian Empire.”

“Aye. And the Captain Kirk of that universe had a secret weapon in his quarters, an alien device called the Tantalus Field. He used it to make his enemies…simply disappear. I didn’t see the actual device, but I saw what happened when it was used. Ever since we got back from that other universe, I’ve wondered if such a device existed here—and I feared that if it did, it might fall into the wrong hands.”

“So you think Portlyn found our universe’s Tantalus Field?” Corsi asked.

“It’s possible,” Scott answered. “This universe’s Captain Kirk certainly never found it. Now, that could mean that the device simply doesn’t exist here—or that my Captain Kirk simply wasn’t destined to find it.”

“You said the other Kirk used it to make his enemies disappear,” Lense said. “Could it be used on an entire ship?”

“I don’t know,” Scott said. “During our time in that other universe, it was only used on people. If it could be used on anything else, my captain certainly wasn’t aware of it. All right, let’s move on and review my actual findings.”

Scott activated the viewscreen on the wall of the conference room. The very last moments of the U.S.S. da Vinci—and the sensor readings of those moments—appeared on the screen, side by side, playing simultaneously.

Gold winced, having to watch that incident play out again.

“Regardless of whether it’s the Tantalus Field,” Scotty declared, “it is my belief that we’re dealing with something that functions on an interdimensional basis. To the naked eye, it must have seemed like the da Vinci simply winked out of existence, or was instantaneously disintegrated. Even in the visual recording, that’s how it looks—and I viewed that recording at the slowest possible speed. But the sensor readings? Ah, there’s the trick.”

Scott froze the image when the da Vinci disappeared.

“At that exact moment,” he explained, pointing to the sensor readings, “some sort of distortion appeared—very, very briefly—in the area of space where the da Vinci had been. Impossible to see with the naked eye, barely perceptible even to the sensors. But it’s there, nonetheless, and possible to find if you look hard enough.”

The sensor readings then took over the viewscreen. Scott magnified the image of the distortion.

“I believe that is an interdimensional nexus, briefly connecting our plane of existence to another. And if that’s true, the da Vinci was probably shunted there.”

“They could still be alive,” Corsi pointed out with anxiety in her voice.

“They could be,” Scott said. “But let’s not get our hopes up just yet. Even if they are alive, they’re trapped in another dimension, and we don’t know how to bring them back.”

“We have to get that device from Portlyn,” Gold said. “It could be the key.”

“Regardless, he can’t be allowed to hold on to it,” Abramowitz said.

“How do we get to him?” Hawkins asked. “We don’t even know where he is right now.”

Lense chimed in. “And while we’re trying to find him, who knows how much more damage he’ll cause?”

“We draw him out,” Gold said. “Get him to come to us. And I know just who we can go through to accomplish that.”

“Giernad,” Abramowitz said. Gold nodded.

“So it’s back to Tau Ophiucus, then,” Lense said.

“Yes,” Gold replied. “And Lense, maybe you ought to stay here. We’ve done a lot of planet hopping lately and you should probably get some…” He stopped when he saw the annoyed expression on her face. Since the moment her pregnancy became common knowledge, Lense made it clear that she did not want to be mollycoddled or treated any differently from before. She would stay on duty and share the risks until she was no longer physically able, and she expected everyone to accept that.

“Never mind,” Gold finished. “We may end up needing your services anyway.”

“Before Tau Ophiucus,” Scott broke in, “we ought to stop off at Outpost 32.”

“Why?” asked a puzzled Gold.

Scott placed his hand on Gold’s shoulder. “You know what I always say, lad—‘The right tool for the right job.’ And if I’m right about this—if our people really are trapped in some other dimension—we’ll need all the tools available to us.”

Chapter

16

Gris Giernad was a creature of habit. Each morning before work, he would stop at the same restaurant and order the same breakfast—two hard-boiled Regulusian eel-bird eggs, a slice of whole-grain toast, and a glass of Kaferian apple juice. He would arrive at work, take lunch, and end his workday at the exact same time every day, like clockwork. Five nights a week, he would have dinner at home, usually by himself but occasionally with friends. The other three nights were spent at music clubs or dance halls or watching a live performance at the Tau Ophiucus Grand Theater, hailed throughout the entire space sector as a bastion of entertainment excellence.

For Giernad, life without Patrice Bennett was not all that different from how it had been before. He still had his job and was considered an important part of her organization and was helping to keep it running smoothly and efficiently. He had worked directly for Patrice Bennett for nearly five years and had come to know the operations of her corporation and its subsidiaries inside and out. That made him a valuable employee, one who would be needed in the uncertain days, weeks, and months ahead.

Giernad genuinely admired and respected Patrice—and he honestly did regret the fact that she was gone. That was not the fate that he would have wished for her. Giernad didn’t know what Rod Portlyn’s intentions were when he agreed, for an extremely substantial payment, to assist Portlyn whenever the tycoon needed him. Had Giernad known beforehand, he might well have turned down the deal that Portlyn had offered him. As it was, Giernad chose to take comfort in the fact that his own actions were not the result of malice, but of an opportunity for great financial reward.

So it was that on a morning much like any other, Giernad stopped off at Neet’s Place, the cozy eatery at which he was a regular, and ordered his breakfast. He sat down at a small, circular outdoor table to wait as his food was being prepared, taking out his padd to get a head start on his work for the day.

All of a sudden, he began to feel a slight wave of dizziness—he surmised that he was even hungrier than he thought. But then, much to his shock, everything around him began to fade away—the eatery, the outdoor tables and chairs, the people passing by on the street, the tall office buildings—only to be replaced by the inside of a small transporter chamber.

Standing before him was a very angry-looking Captain David Gold.

“Wasn’t hard for us to locate the only Zentrofian on Tau Ophiucus,” Gold told Gris Giernad, who was secured to a passenger chair aboard the Amazon. Domenica Corsi loomed menacingly over Giernad on one side, Vance Hawkins on the other. It seemed to be having the intended effect—Giernad looked very small and extremely intimidated.

“Right now,” Gold continued, “I’m the only thing holding these two back from removing all of your limbs, one by one—and slowly. So I strongly advise you to cooperate. Where is Rod Portlyn?”

“I don’t know,” Giernad said.

Gold glanced at Corsi and Hawkins, who moved in on Giernad.

“You can’t do this,” the purple-skinned man said, apparently trying to come off as defiant but only sounding shrill and frightened. “You won’t! You’re Starfleet! You don’t do those kinds of things!”

“I lost my ship—nearly all of my crew—thanks in part to you,” Gold replied in his coldest voice. “I have nothing left to lose. You really think I’m going to go easy on you?”

Gold glared at his captive, staring him down, projecting as much anger through his eyes as he could muster. Finally, Giernad had to look away.

“He never lets me in on his comings and goings,” the Zentrofian finally said. “We contact each other through a special communicator he gave me. It’s set so that we can receive signals only from each other—on a private, secure channel.”

“Where is this communicator?” Gold asked.

Giernad frowned, remained silent for a long moment, and finally replied, “My left pocket.”

Corsi reached into the pocket and pulled out the small handheld communicator. She handed it to Gold, who held it in front of Giernad.

“This is what you’re going to do,” Gold began, looking squarely into the Zentrofian’s eyes. “You’re going to tell him that you heard through a source that my shuttlecraft has turned up, alone and helpless, on the edge of the Hanolin asteroid belt. Tell him that this source of yours picked up my distress call. If Portlyn hurries, he can get there before anyone else. Did you get all that?”

Giernad nodded.

“Good. Corsi, if he goes off script, rip out his tongue.”

Corsi nearly smirked at that one, and Gold hoped that Giernad was too scared to notice. His efforts to convince Giernad that he was as vicious as a Klingon with indigestion on a bad day would be for naught if his own officers couldn’t keep a straight face when he made his outrageous threats.

The captain activated the communicator.

“What is it, Giernad?” Rod Portlyn’s distinctive voice responded. “I’m in the middle of something.”

Giernad began speaking. He stuck to the script.

“The Hanolin asteroid belt, huh?” Rod Portlyn said into his communicator, trying not to explode with glee. “All right. Good work, Giernad. I’ll be in touch. You just may get a bonus for this.”

Portlyn deactivated the communicator and turned to the helm controls on the bridge of his brand-new yacht, the Stellar Dream, which he had just acquired on Donrus VII after trading in the Astral Maiden.

It was not that he was afraid of Starfleet, as he explained to his brother when Wade asked why he was changing vessels. He just didn’t want to make it particularly easy for them to find him. At least, not until he was completely ready to take them on if they came after him in full force.

Portlyn regretted parting with his beloved personal craft, but this new one was nothing to sneeze at, either.

“Get ready,” he called over his shoulder to Wade, who was roaming the new bridge, familiarizing himself with it. “We’re breaking out of orbit.”

Wade took his seat behind Portlyn’s. “Uh, what happens if we show up and they’re already being helped by another ship?” he asked.

“I won’t lose Gold again,” Portlyn declared. “If another ship is there when we arrive, it’ll back off—or else.”

Portlyn gently patted the side of his Zapper, which sat beside him at the helm console.

“No one will be able to defy me anymore, not with this thing in my possession. Before long, I’ll be one of the biggest players in the whole damned galaxy—maybe the biggest. This has to be the most incredible comeback in the history of the universe.”

Wade leaned over and patted the side of the Zapper too. “I bet you’re glad now that you let me talk you into funding that archaeological dig, huh?” he asked with a satisfied grin.

“Please don’t touch my Zapper,” Portlyn replied curtly.

The Stellar Dream broke out of orbit, leaving Donrus VII behind.

Chapter

17

Commander Sonya Gomez sat in the captain’s chair on the bridge of the U.S.S. da Vinci, staring in silence at the main viewscreen. She was almost totally mesmerized by the images she saw on the screen: huge, undulating globules of a glowing, gelatinouslike substance floated by, shifting from violet to green to yellow to red and then back again. There were also long tendrils of a pale blue form of energy that crept toward the ship like giant snakes but then whipped back from it in an instant, as if suddenly losing interest—and then creeping toward it again. And there were random bursts of black energy that coalesced into flowing, crackling streams that seemed to stretch into forever. And beyond, encompassing all, was an endless sea of white.

As far as she could tell, it had been no more than a week since the encounter with Portlyn, but she could no longer be fully sure. Upon their arrival in this strange realm, every chronometer aboard the da Vinci had stopped working. She was growing concerned that perhaps her perception of reality was being compromised—what if they had really been in this zone for months, or even years? Wasn’t that what had happened to Captain James T. Kirk? Hadn’t he become trapped in some sort of nonlinear temporal continuum for seventy-eight years and, for the entire time that he was inside, felt like he had just arrived? At least that’s what she had been told by her friend Geordi La Forge, who himself had heard it firsthand from Captain Jean-Luc Picard.

She could not even begin to guess where they were. As with the chronometers, this realm had an effect on the ship’s sensors, scanners, and the navigational system—all had become extremely erratic and unreliable. (Thankfully, the same could not be said for the life support system.) The da Vinci remained at a full stop, just sitting in one place. Thus far, they had detected no planets, no stars, and no traces of any sentient activity other than their own. The leading theory among the crew was that they had been shunted into some sort of interdimensional limbo.

Clearly, Rod Portlyn was responsible for what had happened to them. Gomez was angry at herself for failing to protect her captain and for getting the ship into this mess. She accused herself of entering the situation brimming with overconfidence, full of bluster, so sure that a mere private yacht could not hope to stand up to a Starfleet vessel, even one as small as the da Vinci. She knew that Portlyn was no fool—why didn’t she consider the possibility that he might have something up his sleeve, and thus tread carefully when approaching him?

As Fabian Stevens pointed out—repeatedly since they were shunted into this vast void—there was no way for Gomez to know what kind of secret weapon Portlyn might have, the kind of power they were up against. She had to stop blaming herself, he told her.

She knew he was right, in the sense that her main focus had to be on commanding the ship and its crew, and working on a way to get them back home.

Despite her concerns, Gomez insisted that life aboard the da Vinci remain as normal as possible—the crew would continue to work in their regular shifts (or as close to regular as they could manage, given the apparent absence of time), doing their regular jobs, fulfilling all of their regular duties and responsibilities, until further notice. The entire crew was coping admirably with the situation, not that she had any real doubts that they would.

While it was her intention to keep up morale, she privately had to acknowledge that it was within the realm of possibility that they might be stuck there for a good long time—and that would be like a long, drawn-out death. They would be all right for a while, but at some point, they would face a host of problems, starting with their supplies running out.

That was the thing foremost on her mind, but oddly enough, Gomez found her thoughts occasionally drifting to Brilson Lodine, of all people. She figured it was because he was the last new person she met—and possibly the last new person she’d ever meet. It was only in looking back that she realized just how long the poor guy had been trying simply to ask her to dinner. She felt bad about that—he was very nice and she realized that, to some degree, she’d made him pay for her recent experience with Wayne Omthon. She’d put up her blinders, paid Lodine little attention, didn’t allow herself to notice his interest in her and his initial, shy, and awkward overtures to her.

Gomez’s thoughts turned to Lodine again as she watched the truly fascinating objects on the viewscreen. She remembered the disappointed, hurt look on his face that last time, when she’d turned him down right before beaming back to the da Vinci. It genuinely bothered her that Lodine’s last memory of her would not be a positive one.

But Gomez was snapped out of her silent reverie when she received a call from the observation lounge. It was Fabian Stevens.

“We’re ready to brainstorm,” he informed her.

“Be right there,” she replied.

This ought to be interesting, she thought. Gomez and her team had been trapped in a black hole and inter-phasic space just in the time since she had first reported aboard the da Vinci. They’d gotten out of those, they’d get out of this.

She hoped.

Gomez joined Stevens, Tev, Soloman, P8 Blue, and Chief Engineer Nancy Conlon in the observation lounge. She had given the engineers the task of coming up with bold, creative ideas about how they could escape from the void, no matter how far-fetched those ideas might seem. A far-fetched idea, she reasoned, could possibly inspire one that was more within the realm of possibility.

Tev kicked off the meeting with his suggestion of a device that could generate an “interdimensional bridge” that would temporarily connect the plane of existence in which they were trapped to their home dimension. He even showed preliminary sketches of what such a device would look like and how it might operate. But he also acknowledged that, unfortunately, it would take decades—maybe even centuries—to build. And that was assuming they could replicate the technology that would be needed for such a project, which they certainly could not. Much of that technology did not even exist yet.

Soloman and P8 Blue presented their joint idea, which involved diverting power from the warp engines to the transporter, in order to convert the ship and everything aboard it into energy and then project that energy back into their home dimension—assuming they could somehow locate and connect to it. That seemed a bit more feasible than Tev’s idea, but not by much.

Conlon had been toying with the idea of creating a static warp bubble, which she based on an experiment done on the Enterprise-D a decade earlier, but the drawback there was it would shunt them into yet another dimension, which wouldn’t really improve matters. Unless she could figure out a way to zero in on their home dimension and shunt them there, it would be pointless to pursue this idea to any great extent.

Pessimism growing, Gomez turned her attention to Fabian Stevens, trying very hard not to look right at him.

“Given what we have to work with here,” he began, “let’s assume that we just won’t be able to get back under our own power. Maybe we can recruit help from the outside. These other ideas we’ve discussed involve finding a way to get ourselves from here to there. Maybe that’s just not possible. But maybe we can get a message from here to there, let the Federation know that we’re alive, that we’re here—wherever ‘here’ is—and that we need their help. If we could accomplish that, I have to think they’d put their very best people on it.”

With that idea, Gomez felt a spark of enthusiasm within her. It was as if something had fallen into place and clicked.

“An interdimensional version of subspace radio,” she suggested.

Stevens smiled and nodded. “More or less. And we’ve just spent the last few weeks acquainting ourselves with the most advanced, sophisticated communications equipment ever designed for Starfleet. Using that technology as our starting point, maybe we can come up with something—it would be crude, of course, primitive—that could allow us to send some sort of signal out of here, and hopefully it would reach the right people.”

“I like it,” Gomez said firmly. “I think it’s an idea worth pursuing.”

“I thought you wanted us to think big,” Tev remarked huffily.

“You get points for originality and presentation, Tev,” Gomez told the Tellarite. “But any idea that might get us home within our lifetime is the biggest idea of all. Now, let’s get to work on this.”

Chapter

18

The Hanolin asteroid belt, a vast and dark sea of space rocks both great and small, was finally within sight. And once the scanners aboard the Stellar Dream detected the Shuttlecraft Shirley, hanging alone at the edge of the belt, Rod Portlyn could not help but feel that a major turning point in his life was about to occur. This was it—Gold was the one he really needed to take out, and soon, in order to move onward and upward. He’d eventually get around to all the others he had targeted, but they were of lesser priority for the time being.

Upon scanning the shuttlecraft, Portlyn saw that it was at minimum power. He also noted that it was not transmitting a distress signal—in fact, the yacht had not picked up a distress signal at any point during its journey from Donrus VII.

“Maybe they were beamed aboard a rescue ship but left the shuttlecraft behind?” Wade suggested.

Portlyn considered the notion plausible, but his suspicions were aroused nonetheless. As his yacht neared the smaller craft, he scanned for life signs. The readings showed one life sign aboard; human.

“Someone stayed behind while everyone else left,” Portlyn thought aloud. “Or only one person survived that insane stunt that Gold pulled to escape me last time. Or…it’s some kind of trick.”

No matter, as far as Portlyn was concerned. Assuming it was Gold aboard that shuttlecraft, unless he now had his own Zapper, he was sunk. Portlyn steered the Stellar Dream to close in on the shuttlecraft, cautiously but determinedly. He was confident but not stupid. He even raised the yacht’s shields to full strength, just to be extra careful.

As the yacht approached the shuttlecraft, Portlyn turned to the Zapper and pressed the yellow jeweled button. The device came to life. He was thinking ahead, to that precious moment when he would push the red button and…

But he was startled when the proximity alert began to wail. Checking the position of the shuttlecraft, he confirmed that it had not moved. It was still dead ahead, still a safe distance away, still at minimum power. Nothing had changed. But behind his yacht? That was another story.

A Starfleet runabout was suddenly closing in on the rear of the Stellar Dream, fast. This other vessel hadn’t been detected at all by the scanners or sensors—it must have been hiding behind one of the larger asteroids at the edge of the belt, waiting for the right moment to strike.

“I had a feeling,” Portlyn muttered.

The runabout fired two phaser shots at the rear of the yacht, both of which bounced harmlessly off the shields.

“Dummies,” Portlyn said with a smirk. He glanced down at the sensors and noted that the runabout was running with shields down. That was strange, but he couldn’t dwell on it at that moment. He turned back to the Zapper and pressed the blue jeweled button, which activated the readout screen.

The runabout rushed past the Stellar Dream and came around again. It fired another phaser blast, which was deflected easily by the yacht’s rear shields.

Portlyn was setting the device to focus on the runabout when he was distracted again, this time by a shout from his brother.

“The shuttlecraft—look!” Wade exclaimed.

Portlyn turned his attention to the forward window on the bridge, to see the shuttlecraft, having come to life, hurtling itself at the yacht at top sublight speed, rushing headlong toward a direct collision.

Captain Gold sat at the controls of the Shirley, eyes fixed on the viewscreen in front of him. He watched intently as, a fair distance away, the Amazon fired upon Rod Portlyn’s new yacht. That was his cue.

He had been hanging in the same spot at the edge of the Hanolin asteroid belt for more than a day, waiting for Portlyn to arrive and keeping the shuttlecraft’s power and all of its systems operating at a bare minimum. That included life support. He had plenty of air, but he was cold. He had imposed a total communications blackout between himself and the Amazon. And the only illumination in his small vessel came from the lights in the control panels. It all served to make him feel very much alone and cut off from the rest of the universe.

But that ended with two phaser blasts. Gold immediately restored full power to the shuttlecraft and engaged the impulse engines. He hadn’t shut them down completely—if he had, it would take far too long for them to power up again. He set a course directly for the yacht, increasing speed to maximum sublight. The yacht grew larger and larger in his front window as he approached it. In mere seconds, the nose of the shuttlecraft would hit the defense shield surrounding the yacht—unless Portlyn was somehow able to shift his attention away from the attacking runabout and make Gold disappear. Gold didn’t think that was likely—the runabout had just fired on the yacht again.

The shuttlecraft had passed the point of no return. Even if Gold wanted to abort this plan and turn the little craft around, it was no longer possible. The yacht filled the window in front of him—he was about to crash into its shield. He opened a channel to the Amazon, finally breaking radio silence.

“Gold to Amazon—energize!”

He felt himself start to dematerialize as the nose of the Shirley was crushed inward.

Portlyn was thrown to the floor of his bridge as the shuttlecraft smashed into the yacht’s shields and exploded. He was stunned for a few moments, but upon recovering, his first thought went to the Zapper, which had tipped over and was lying on its side. He was mortified—he didn’t know how sensitive or how durable the device was. Just that one tip-over might be enough to render it inoperative. He rushed over to it, kneeled beside it, raised it up, and quickly inspected it. There didn’t seem to be any surface damage and the device was still activated and operating, so it seemed that it was durable enough.

Thank the gods, Portlyn thought, gently patting the side of the device.

He heard a grunt on the other side of the bridge and saw Wade slowly lifting himself up off the floor, rubbing his right shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’m all right,” Wade called out.

But Portlyn had already turned his attention to the yacht’s main control panel to check on the status of his ship.

“Our damned shields are down,” he growled. On the bright side, he had one less target to deal with. But he had to act fast—the runabout was closing in again. He briefly wondered who had been aboard that shuttlecraft. If it was Gold, well, good riddance to him. Though Portlyn had never considered him the suicidal type.

Portlyn quickly made final adjustments to the controls on the Zapper—the readout screen now showed a full schematic of the runabout. All he had to do was press the flashing red button—

Suddenly, he heard a brief, distinctive tinkling sound behind him, followed by an angry, snarling female voice.

“Freeze, Portlyn!” it called out to him.

He turned to see Domenica Corsi standing on his bridge, along with a bald, dark-skinned man he did not recognize. They were both armed with phasers, which were pointed directly at him.

Portlyn slowly moved his hand toward the red jeweled button on the Zapper behind him. He would get rid of the runabout, leaving these two stranded on his ship. Then he would find a way to turn the tables on them. It might take a little while, but he was sure he could do it—as long as Wade didn’t screw him up…

“Move away from that machine,” Corsi ordered, “or we’ll get to see how long you can keep standing there with a smoking, gaping hole in your chest.”

Portlyn stood his ground. There was no way some bitch from Starfleet was going to order him around on the bridge of his own ship. He just needed to reach the button…

“I promise you,” Corsi continued, her eyes locked directly on his, “this phaser isn’t set on ‘stun.’” Her finger was tensing on the trigger of the weapon.

He moved away from the Zapper, cursing under his breath.

“I’ll be fine, Hawkins,” Corsi told her companion. “You keep an eye on the other one.” The dark-skinned man—Hawkins, apparently—trained his phaser on Wade and began cautiously to approach him. Corsi grabbed Portlyn roughly and moved him across the bridge, away from the Zapper, shoving her phaser against his back and leaving it there.

Corsi tapped the combadge on her chest. “Corsi to Amazon. Bridge secured. You can beam over now.”

Three seconds later, Captain David Gold and another older human, with whom Portlyn was unfamiliar, beamed aboard.

Chapter

19

David Gold wasn’t sure how he would react, how he would feel, what he would do, when he came face-to-face with Rod Portlyn again. When it finally happened, he was pleased to find that he did not lunge at the bastard and try to tear him apart with his bare hands. Oh, he wanted to, that was for damn sure, but what would that get him, exactly?

No, he wasn’t the kind of person who beat people up who angered him—even though nobody had angered him to the degree that Rod Portlyn had in a very long time. He and Scotty walked calmly over to get a closer look at the strange device standing on the floor of the bridge, near the control panel.

“Is this it?” Gold asked Portlyn, pointing to the device and keeping his voice ice cold. “Is this your new toy?”

Portlyn remained silent.

Gold shook his head. “You’re some visionary, Portlyn. You get your hands on something like this, an object of vast, incredible power, and all you can think of using it for is settling old personal scores.”

Scotty was closely inspecting the device. The engineer looked a bit stumped.

“What do you make of it?” Gold asked.

Scotty scratched his chin. “Hmmmm…this doesn’t match the description that Captain Kirk gave at all. Maybe it’s not what I thought it was.”

Gold felt the sides of his temples begin to throb. “If it’s not the Tantalus Field, Scotty, what else could it be?”

“In a galaxy this big, lad, and our knowledge of it still so limited, this really could be anything,” Scotty told him frankly. “It could be something similar, yet different—the way we have phasers and the Klingons have disruptors, but they both do pretty much the same thing when you push on the trigger.”

Portlyn’s younger traveling companion, who was under the watchful eye of Vance Hawkins, spoke up.

“It might have been built by the Briavians,” he provided.

Scotty did a double take, his interest piqued. “The Briavians? You don’t say! This thing could be the Siriex Apparatus!”

“That’s exactly what I thought,” Portlyn’s associate replied with a delighted chuckle.

“Wade!” Portlyn snapped. “Stop fraternizing with the enemy, you dolt!”

The young man—Wade—frowned and lowered his head.

Scotty continued his inspection, looking over the entire unit. “I’ve never seen technology quite like this before,” he murmured. “But…the device seems straightforward enough, following a certain kind of logic. For one thing, that’s a schematic of our runabout on the readout screen.”

“Charming,” Gold replied flatly, glaring at Portlyn.

Scotty continued, pointing to the yellow, blue, and red jeweled buttons on the device’s control console. The red one was flashing, as if calling out to be pressed. “Presumably, one of these buttons is what you’d press to make the ship disappear. The red one would be my guess.”

Gold quickly glanced over at Portlyn and Wade to see their reactions. Portlyn remained stone-faced, but Wade’s eyes widened and the expression on his face revealed how impressed he was with Scotty’s ability to figure out so much in so little time. Yes, it was the red button.

“So we know not to press the red button, under any circumstances,” Gold commented.

Scotty then pointed to the black and white dials that were situated above the jeweled buttons. “Those seem to be for selecting a target. But I’m not seeing any way to connect to whatever interdimensional realm this device taps into.”

“Interdimensional realm?” Portlyn blurted out. “What are you talking about?”

Gold scowled at Portlyn, feeling his anger rising up again and doing his best to contain it. “You have no idea what you’ve been messing around with, do you? For all you knew, you were killing all those people when you used this thing. You cold-hearted—”

“Abramowitz to Gold.” The captaini tapped his combadge.

“Gold here.”

“Captain,” the cultural specialist’s anxious voice responded. “We’re picking up something! On the new communications equipment we borrowed from Outpost 32. It’s a repeating pattern of short and long clicks of static. Very faint, sir—we could barely make it out. But it’s definitely there. One thing’s for sure—we never would have detected it on our regular equipment.”

“Good call, Scotty,” Gold murmured to the engineer, who was taking great interest in this conversation. “Source?”

“That’s the weirdest part, sir—the source seems to be the yacht!”

Gold spoke up again. “Can you pinpoint where, exactly?”

“Trying, sir. Even with the new equipment, it’s a real challenge…the pattern itself is so faint, it’s…sir, it seems to be coming from the bridge. I can only give you rough coordinates…”

The coordinates matched the location of the device that Scotty was still examining.

Gold walked over to the yacht’s communications console and opened a channel that connected the yacht to the runabout. “Let’s hear it, Abramowitz,” he told the cultural specialist.

The pattern of clicks played over the speakers on the bridge of the yacht. Scotty reacted immediately.

“Just as I thought,” the engineer said. “Morse code.” He motioned for everyone to remain quiet as he listened carefully to the clicks. Scotty called out each word after he figured out in his head what it was. “Alive…trapped…other…dimension…SOS…da…Vinci…alive…All right, it’s repeating itself now.” He looked at his companions in amazement and delight. “I don’t believe it—they’ve managed to send a message through!”

Corsi, still holding a phaser at Portlyn, looked perplexed. “How?” she asked Scotty. “Through what?”

“Only one thing really makes sense, lass,” Scotty replied. He looked over at the alien device.

“What are you thinking, Scotty?” Gold asked.

“Tell me, David, have you ever heard of a tessaract?”

“Sure. According to the theory, it would be a solid, three-dimensional object on the outside with limitless, interdimensional space on the inside. But we don’t know of any that actually exist.”

Scotty smirked at him. Gold’s eyes widened.

“Wait—is that what you think this thing is? Are you saying that the da Vinci, and everyone aboard her, could be…inside of it?”

“It’s a theory,” Scotty said with a hint of optimism in his voice. “One worth pursuing. Because if this thing is a tessaract, it has to follow the principle that what goes in can come back out. So…”

Scotty returned to the controls of the device. He fiddled around with all of the controls—except for the red button—and after a few moments, his face lit up.

“I—I think I’ve got it,” he exclaimed. Gold went over for a closer look.

“The black dial,” Scotty began. “It’s the only one of the two that can be pressed inward and…!” Scotty had pulled the black dial outward, to its previous position, and the readout screen showed what it had been showing before: a schematic of the runabout. But when he pushed the dial inward again for Gold’s benefit, the image on the readout screen changed. Against a pure white background was the schematic of a very familiar shape.

“The da Vinci,” Gold said, barely above a whisper.

“Aye. And look at this, David.” Scotty turned the black dial one click to the right. The schematic of the da Vinci shrank down and shared space on the readout screen with three other schematics, all sectioned off from each other in their own separate “zones.”

Those three other schematics read as life forms.

Scotty turned the dial back one click to the left, and the lone da Vinci schematic took over the readout screen again.

“I’ll tell you, lad, I have a feeling that flashing red button is actually going to come in handy now.”

“Are you sure?” Gold asked, concerned.

“I don’t see any other way it can work, David. Like I said, the design follows a certain kind of logic, and that logic suggests that the red button taketh away, and the red button giveth back.”

Gold took a deep breath, then let it out. “I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?” Scotty asked.

“My ship, my responsibility. I’ll do it.”

Gold stared at the flashing red button for a long moment. He knew that if he waited any longer, he wouldn’t be able to go through with it. He forced himself to move.

He pressed the red button. It stopped flashing but remained lit for a moment before going dark.

“Look!” Corsi’s voice called out from behind him. “Outside!”

He looked at the forward window on the bridge of the yacht and there it was. His heart skipped a beat. He felt like he had been reborn, that he had finally awakened from a disturbing dream. Were those tears he felt welling up in his eyes?

Hanging in space was the U.S.S. da Vinci, fully intact.

Abramowitz’s voice came over the speakers again.

“Captain, do you see…?”

“Yes, Abramowitz,” he told her, smiling for the first time in what felt like an eternity. “We see. Contact the ship, let them know we’re here. I’ll speak to Gomez personally in a few minutes.”

He turned his attention back to Scotty. “Those life-forms,” he began.

“I’m already on it,” Scotty told him as he turned the black dial to the right again and reached for the flashing red button.

Chapter

20

Sudden hysteria swept through the corridors of the U.S.S. da Vinci. Thankfully, it was the good kind.

There had been no advance warning, no signal, no indication at all that anything was about to change. The endless sea of white remained on the viewscreen. The floating, creeping, crackling, mesmerizing objects of color and motion maintained their presence around the ship, continuing to be the only sources of activity within the entire realm. There was still no way to measure the passage of time. The crew had more or less settled into a new routine, having adapted as well as they could to their new situation.

And then, in an instant, everything was different. The white void on the viewscreen was suddenly black and filled with distant stars and planets. The many amorphous objects outside the ship were gone, replaced by just two: a large yacht—different from the one they had encountered before—and a Starfleet runabout. The chronometers started running again. Sensors, scanners, and the navigational system were all functioning normally.

They were back. They were home.

When the moment of transition occurred, Sonya Gomez was pacing the bridge as Fabian Stevens loomed over the communications console.

Working together, Stevens, Tev, P8 Blue, Soloman, Conlon, Ensign Nemeckova (the ship’s best communications tech), and Gomez herself had managed to construct a bulky, extremely crude-looking adapter unit that they attached to the communications console, tying it directly into the system.

They then brought in Bart Faulwell, the da Vinci’s linguist and cryptography expert, to devise the message that they would attempt to send out of what they had come to call “the white zone.” Faulwell entered the message he’d created, programmed it to run on a continuous loop, and sent it out.

At first, the group could not bear to tear themselves away from the console. For one thing, they wanted to make sure that the adapter unit continued to function. After all, it was untried technology—it could conceivably break down, or even damage the equipment to which it had been attached. But most of all, they wanted to be present if they actually received some kind of response from the outside.

“This could take a while,” Stevens noted. “If it happens at all.”

As it turned out, Stevens was correct. No response was forthcoming. They couldn’t even be sure if their message made it out of “the white zone.”

Eventually, once they were confident that the adapter was not going to short out the entire communications system, the group began to break up, most of them opting to catch up on some much needed sleep. But Gomez and Stevens remained. And it was only a little awkward, the dire situation doing a great deal to help Gomez ignore how uncomfortable she remained around the engineer.

It reached a point, however, when even Gomez was feeling antsy. But as she felt herself starting to pull away from the project, Stevens seemed to become more and more attached.

“We knew this was going to be a long shot at best,” she said to Stevens as she began pacing the bridge. “Obviously, we shouldn’t put all of our eggs in one basket. We’ll just have to keep trying to come up with other ideas. In the meantime, we’ll keep sending out the message on a perpetual basis and hope that it’s at least reaching its destination.”

Stevens nodded but still wouldn’t leave the console. He stared at it intently, as if his sheer willpower alone could force a response, any response. Gomez understood. Fabian feared—rightfully so—that he might never see Domenica Corsi again. And he would do anything—everything—he could to avoid that fate. Gomez was touched by that and couldn’t help feeling just the slightest bit jealous of Corsi for having someone in her life who was that devoted to her.

Suddenly, from behind her, Gomez heard the excited voice of Lieutenant Anthony Shabalala, who was stationed at the tactical console.

“Commander, the viewscreen! Look!”

Once it was confirmed that they were indeed back where they belonged, cheers filled the bridge and everyone grabbed and hugged the nearest person—except for Gomez and Stevens, who just looked at each other for a second, smiled stupidly, and then went and hugged other people.

At some point, Gomez thought, the two of us are going to have to deal with this. But later. Now, we’re home.

Gomez activated the shipwide intercom to let the entire crew know what had happened. She could swear that she actually heard shouts of excitement coming from the other decks of the ship.

She then joined Stevens at the communications console, where a hailing signal was already coming in from the runabout—from none other than Carol Abramowitz.

“I guess we don’t need any other baskets after all,” Stevens told Gomez with a grin.

Domenica Corsi was happy for her captain. Patrice Bennett was the first to be retrieved from the tessaract after the da Vinci reappeared. And yet she could detect some awkwardness between the two of them, awkwardness that Corsi doubted had much to do with Patrice’s extended stay in an interdimensional prison.

Captain Gold had embraced Patrice upon her reappearance, but she was a bit standoffish, returning the hug with a hesitation that seemed uncharacteristic of her. Regardless, the captain had her immediately beamed over to the da Vinci. There, she would be escorted to sickbay and given a thorough medical exam by Deputy Chief Medical Officer Sarjenka, as Lense was still aboard the runabout with Abramowitz.

“All right, here comes the next one,” Captain Scott announced as he again worked the controls of the alien device.

Corsi could not believe her eyes. Standing before her was her father, exactly the way she remembered him. It wasn’t a dream, a hoax, or a product of her imagination. She hadn’t dared to get her hopes up, even after the da Vinci and Patrice Bennett were retrieved. Had she allowed herself to hope, only to learn that Aldo Corsi had really died, she would have been crushed all over again. But there he was, alive and well—if slightly disoriented—and Corsi heard the same thing pounding in her mind over and over again: second chance.

Aldo Corsi glared at Rod Portlyn, then looked upon his daughter, and was clearly thoroughly confused.

“I’ll explain everything later, Dad,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. She couldn’t help smiling—and it was all she could do to stop herself from crying. That was something she wouldn’t allow to happen. “I’d come over to say hello, but I’m kind of working right now.”

Gold came over to her, snatched her phaser from her, and pressed it against Portlyn’s side.

“Go hug your father,” the captain ordered.

Corsi did as she was told.

Rod Portlyn had remained, for the most part, quiet and docile as Gold and his companions walked around the bridge of his ship as if they owned it, violated his Zapper, and restored the people he had personally done away with—those who had openly crossed him, opposed him, and defied him. He was biding his time, waiting for the right moment to act.

Aldo Corsi, like Patrice Bennett, had beamed over to Gold’s ship—but not before trying to take a swing at Portlyn. Ironic that it was Mr. Corsi’s own daughter who stepped in to stop it from happening. She then returned to watching over Portlyn once her father was off the ship.

“Thanks for the save,” Portlyn had told her, thoroughly enjoying the moment. She had no response, other than to shove her phaser into his back again, much rougher than she had done before.

Gold’s friend—the gray-haired man with the mustache, called Scotty—was at it again, fiddling with the controls on the Zapper. He pressed the flashing red button. Gold approached the hapless man in dust-covered work clothes who blinked into existence.

“Who are you?” Gold asked him.

“Mosep,” the man replied unsteadily.

“I work for—” Mosep glanced at the other side of the bridge, where Portlyn was standing, and pointed.

“Hi—him,” he finished, his body shuddering briefly.

Portlyn saw it in Mosep’s eyes: that which had been missing before, when they were at the archaeological dig on that unnamed world.

Fear.

“Not anymore,” Portlyn replied, filled with satisfaction and unable to resist a brief smile. “You’re fired.”

Within moments, Mosep too was beamed over to Gold’s ship, and Gold seemed ready to wrap things up. “Corsi, have a team of your people beam over to fully secure and shut down this vessel. It can be retrieved later.”

Gold then turned to his friend with the mustache and pointed to the Zapper. “Scotty, would you mind making sure this gets back to the da Vinci safely?”

“Of course not—I’m looking forward to having some real quality time with this thing.”

“Okay, then,” Gold said with a chuckle. “And the runabout can dock in our shuttle bay. I don’t want Lense and Abramowitz to go stir-crazy from being cooped up inside of it for so long.”

Gold walked over to Portlyn. All traces of humor were gone from his face.

“As for you and your associate here—”

“Uh, I’m actually his brother,” Wade interrupted. Portlyn winced inwardly.

“Brother,” Gold corrected himself. “Well, we’ll try to make our brig as comfortable as possible for the two of you.”

“Thanks!” Wade replied brightly.

Portlyn had had enough. “Whatever charges you bring against us will never stick,” he boasted. “We’re not Federation citizens, remember? We’re not subject to your laws. And as you’ve just proved, we didn’t hurt or kill anybody.”

Gold got in his face.

“You’d be surprised what a really ambitious, aggressive, crusading attorney can accomplish. I’ll make damned sure whoever prosecutes you is one of those.” Gold turned to his companions. “All right, let’s get back to the ship.” But then his combadge beeped.

“Abramowitz to Gold.”

“Gold here.”

“Captain, the new sensor equipment is detecting an energy reading, sir, closing in on us rapidly.”

“Captain!” Corsi blurted out from behind Portlyn, pointing at the forward window.

Outside, beyond the da Vinci, a large Romulan warbird was decloaking as it approached at full sub–light speed.

“Oy gevalt,” Gold groaned. “Again with the Romulans.”

He quickly tapped his combadge. “Gold to da Vinci.”

“Gomez here.” The concern in her voice was palpable. “Orders, Captain?”

Just then, six armed Romulans materialized on the bridge of the Stellar Dream, their weapons drawn and pointed at everyone.

“Captain?”

“Stand by, da Vinci,” Gold ordered. “Take no action at this time. Gold out.”

Chapter

21

“Captain Gold, I presume?” said the apparent leader of the Romulan party as he stepped forward and approached the da Vinci captain.

Gold recognized the voice. “Commander Tokk.”

“Indeed. Needless to say, we kept track of your activities following our initial encounter. Though I must admit, I was surprised to find that you have been taking part in war games and secret weapon experiments.”

If the situation were not so serious, Gold would have laughed at how far off the mark the Romulan commander was.

“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you that you had it all wrong,” he replied.

“Only if I were a fool, Captain—which, I assure you, I am not. We witnessed your combat exercises. We saw your vessel appear from out of nowhere—that was no simple cloaking device. We detected a source of vast power being used aboard this vessel. Even a Klingon could put all the pieces together.”

Tokk gazed around the bridge until his eyes settled on the alien tessaract device.

“This is that source, is it not?” he asked as he approached it.

He looked it over briefly, curiously, then turned to Scotty, who remained at the device’s control console.

“How was it built?” Tokk asked the engineer. “What is its purpose?”

“You’ve got me, lad,” Scotty replied casually—he was an old hand at dealing with Romulans. “Before today, I’d never set eyes on this thing.”

Tokk turned back to Gold, clearly unimpressed with Scotty’s answer. “You realize, Captain, that by developing this secret weapon, the Federation is in violation of its treaty with the Romulan Star Empire. I will confiscate this device and bring it back to my government as evidence of your government’s treachery.”

Oh, baloney, Gold thought. He plans to keep it for himself and use it to elevate his own status. But I’ve got to hand it to him—he’s definitely got the self-righteous routine down pat.

Portlyn had heard enough. Now the Romulans were out to take his prize away from him? No. He’d been waiting for an opportunity to act, and he finally saw it.

Corsi was still guarding him, but her phaser was no longer pressed into his back and she was distracted by the presence of Tokk and his men. Portlyn held his breath, clenched his fists, and slammed himself back into Corsi, who stumbled into the wall behind her.

Portlyn grabbed onto the phaser in Corsi’s hand and pressed down on her trigger finger. The phaser fired, emitting a beam that shot across the bridge, narrowly missing one of the Romulan officers and striking the opposite wall.

The shot had the intended effect—it startled the Romulans, who began to fire their own weapons. Chaos broke out on the bridge, with energy beams shooting out all over the place and everyone running and ducking for cover. Portlyn managed to break away from Corsi and, scrambling on his hands and knees, make his way toward the Zapper. He’d retake control of it and get rid of all of them.

Halfway there, Portlyn saw that Wade apparently had the same idea—and had beaten him to the device.

“Back off, Wade!” Portlyn shouted over all the noise. “Don’t touch my Zapper!”

“Don’t worry, Roddy!” Wade called back. “I know what I’m doing!”

“Damn it, Wade! Get away from there! And for the last time, don’t call me Rod—”

Gold saw Portlyn vanish.

“Cease fire!” he heard Tokk call out to his men. Apparently, the Romulan commander had also seen Portlyn disappear.

Silence engulfed the bridge with the cessation of weapons being fired. Miraculously, no one had been hit during the relatively brief melee, although much of the bridge was in shambles.

“Uh-oh,” Wade said, breaking the silence. He looked down at the controls of the tessaract device, panic visibly starting to rise within him.

“Don’t worry, Roddy!” he shouted at the device. “I’ll get you back!”

Wade’s hands moved across the controls quickly and erratically—he was pushing all the buttons, turning all the dials, with no rhyme or reason. He pressed down hard on the red button, keeping his finger there until the device started to hum. The humming got louder and louder.

“Get back!” Gold shouted.

Wade bolted, just as the device erupted in a hail of sparks and black smoke poured out of its rodlike appendages. Gold and Scotty rushed over to it and quickly looked it over. They were soon joined by Commander Tokk.

“To paraphrase a dear old friend of mine,” Scotty said grimly, “I think it’s dead, David.”

Wade slowly shambled back over. “I—I must’ve caused an overload,” he told them, his voice wavering. “I was just trying to get him back. Could…could it be fixed?”

“I don’t know, son,” Scotty told him. “You cannot fix something when you don’t know what makes it tick.”

Wade replied with a grunt, a brief nod, and a deeply thoughtful look on his face.

“He is trapped inside that device?” Tokk asked.

“That seems to be the case,” Gold replied icily.

“So it is a prison of sorts?”

“We’re not sure what it was built for.”

“And it is no longer functioning?”

“You can see for yourself.”

Tokk inspected the device, frowning. Then his communicator beeped. He activated it and held it near his mouth.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“Commander,” a youthful voice responded. “We are ordered to return to Romulus at once. Praetor Hiren himself issued the order. He sent us a subspace reprimand for crossing the Neutral Zone and threatening the armistice with the Federation.”

“We’re not in Federation space!” Tokk snapped. “This is nonaligned territory! Even you will acknowledge that, Gold!”

Gold folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. “Well, see, technically you’re right, Commander. This is nonaligned territory. But you would have had to pass through Federation space to follow us here, so…”

Tokk turned his back on Gold and spoke into his communicator again. “How did the praetor even know we were here? Who could have notified his office?”

Gold spoke up again. “Uh, that would be me.”

Tokk turned and glared at him.

Gold shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. “Well, I had to do something while everyone was shooting holes into this place. And since I happened to duck for cover near the communications console…”

Tokk angrily assembled his men in the center of the bridge. He pointed a threatening finger at Gold.

“Next time,” Tokk hissed.

“Bye, neighbor,” Gold replied with a grin.

“Bring us back,” the Romulan barked into his communicator. He and his team dematerialized. Through the front window, the warbird could be seen moving off and departing.

“Well, that turned out as well as I could have possibly hoped,” Gold commented. “I’m glad I took a chance that Praetor Hiren, at least, isn’t looking to stir up trouble right now.”

Gold then looked over at Wade Portlyn, who, if first impressions were any indication, didn’t seem like too bad a fellow, especially compared to his older brother.

“Our top people will study the device,” Gold told him gently. “They’ll do their best to get it working again, and to get your brother out of there.”

“I understand,” Wade replied simply.

“But it’ll be to face justice,” Gold continued firmly. “In the meantime, you’ll have to come with us. There are a lot of questions that our authorities will need to have answered, and as of now, you’re the only one who can answer them.”

“I understand.”

Gold nodded at Corsi, Hawkins, and Scotty with a smile. He tapped his combadge.

“Gold to da Vinci—we’re ready to come home.”

Chapter

22

Captain Gold gladly agreed to hold a party in the mess hall that night, to celebrate the return of the da Vinci, its crew, and everyone else who had been trapped inside the tessaract.

He spent most of his time at the event walking around the room, mingling, schmoozing, and observing the interactions among the members of his crew. It was hard to believe that just a short time ago, he truly thought he’d never see any of these people again. He felt that he needed to look at each and every one of them, watch them, talk to them, touch them, shake their hands…

Hawkins and Abramowitz were in a corner, sitting close together and thoroughly enjoying each other’s company—though avoiding any overt public displays of affection, which Gold appreciated. Even under the circumstances, a little decorum was expected.

Doctors Lense and Sarjenka were conversing, which was nice to see, given their somewhat rocky relationship. Sarjenka was filling Lense in on the examinations she had performed on Patrice, Aldo Corsi, and Mosep. She was happy to report that they seemed to have suffered no adverse effects from their extended stays in that interdimensional realm. And Lense was telling Sarjenka about the rather unorthodox—and thoroughly nausea-inducing—measure the captain took to escape from Portlyn after the da Vinci had vanished.

Soloman, P8 Blue, and even Tev had come over to Gold to express how pleased they were that he was back on the ship with them. And Gold made it a point to go over and congratulate Bart Faulwell on the “message from another dimension” he had devised that helped reveal exactly where the da Vinci had been sent.

Corsi sat a table with her father and Fabian Stevens. Aldo Corsi and Stevens were laughing heartily. And Corsi, sitting across from her father and next to Stevens—very close to Stevens, in fact—was allowing herself to smile freely and openly.

“I mean, the ‘Zapper’?” Stevens was saying between laughs. “The man has wealth beyond the dreams of avarice, he’s been to places we’ve only read about, he’s enjoyed luxuries we could only dream about, and the best name he could come up with was the Zapper? That’s just wrong.”

Gold chuckled at that himself.

Scotty came up alongside Gold, holding two glasses of Scotch.

“I had a bottle tucked away aboard the runabout,” he told Gold conspiratorially, then offered one of the glasses to him.

“Scotch isn’t really my drink,” Gold began, fully expecting dismay to appear on Scotty’s face—and the engineer did not disappoint. Gold couldn’t hold back his smile any longer. “But for you, Scotty, for tonight—bring it on.”

“Now you’re talking, lad!”

Gold took the glass from his friend, started drinking—and was immediately reminded of why Scotch wasn’t really his drink. But he got through the first sip and forced himself to smile rather than grimace.

After a few seconds passed, Scotty looked expectantly at him. “Aren’t you going to have any more?” he asked Gold.

“Uh, sure, just nursing it for now, you know…”

Scotty frowned and shook his head. “Och. Lightweight. Maybe the Tellarite is more fun…” Gold couldn’t help but grin as Scotty wandered off in search of Tev.

Nearby, the captain noticed, Sonya Gomez was standing with Patrice Bennett. Both were holding tall glasses of Saurian brandy, and Gomez was finally getting a chance to tell Patrice how impressed she was with the new technology that Patrice’s company had developed for Starfleet.

“The sensors apparently need some recalibration,” Patrice remarked. “They should have detected that cloaked Romulan ship when it was much farther away. But we’ll get it right.”

“Ladies,” Gold said as he came up to them. He hoped his presence wouldn’t drive Patrice away.

“Captain,” Gomez greeted him enthusiastically, raising her glass to him.

“Careful with that drink, okay, Gomez?” Gold replied, throwing his arm up in defense. “This is a new uniform.”

Gomez began to frown and blush. Gold laughed and kissed her on the cheek.

“I’m very proud of you,” he told her in all seriousness. “You and the entire crew. That was one hell of a worst-case scenario you were thrown into. And you handled yourselves remarkably.”

Gomez looked truly honored by that. “Thank you, sir,” she said solemnly. She smiled playfully and added, “And you didn’t end up covered in paint.”

“That’s the best part,” Gold replied with a genial chuckle.

He glanced over at Patrice, and she glanced back at him, nodding formally. Gomez seemed to pick up on it. She gulped down the last of her drink and said, “I need a refill. Please excuse me.”

Gomez headed off, leaving Gold and Patrice to themselves.

Somewhat lacking in subtlety, Gold thought, but effective nevertheless. Thanks, Sonya.

He and Patrice stood side by side, not looking at each other.

Patrice spoke first. “It was so strange, being in that realm. I was conscious, but only barely. It was almost like being in a dream state. I was unable to move, barely able to think. I really only remember just…floating, in an endless sea of…nothingness. Like a living death, really.”

“Mr. Corsi and Mosep described it pretty much the same way,” Gold told her. “Scotty’s theory is that the reason why my crew remained fully alert and active is because the device had swallowed the ship whole, with them inside. That essentially protected them.”

Patrice shook her head, frustrated over her lack of knowledge about what had happened to her.

“What was that thing, anyway? A weapon? A prison? A storage facility?”

Gold sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “We don’t know. We may never know for sure. All we know is that it’s thousands of years old and how dangerous it can be. According to Portlyn’s brother, it might have been built by the Briavians—who, incidentally, we’re not even fully sure ever existed.”

“Portlyn’s brother,” Patrice mused. “He actually doesn’t seem too bad. Hell, thanks to him, I know to fire Gris Giernad and Ernesh-Flishmo the moment I get back.”

“Yes, he’s been very cooperative so far,” Gold said. “I think he’ll actually come out of this all right. It’s pretty obvious that his brother was the real culprit in all this, and he’s been taken care of for the time being. Wade’ll probably be set free, and he’ll end up in complete control of whatever properties Portlyn still owns.”

Patrice nodded. “Right. And since he doesn’t have the reputation of his brother, he won’t be the pariah that Rod had become. Who knows? The Portlyn empire could eventually make quite a comeback.”

“You know,” Gold began, voicing a thought that had just popped into his head, “considering how well this could work out for Wade, it makes you wonder if that accident he caused was really unintentional…”

They glanced at each other peripherally. He could tell that she was thinking the very same thing. At that moment, they were on the same exact wavelength.

But the moment passed, and they arrived at a lull in the conversation. Gold decided to break it, to seize the bull by the horns. He finally turned to face her directly.

“Patrice, I’ve been really torn up about what happened between us that night. I would hate to lose you as a friend. If I hurt you, or insulted you, I am truly sorry. I just hope you can understand where I was coming from.”

Patrice turned to face him as well, her eyes looking straight into his. There was a wistful smile on her beautiful face.

“You’re a good man, David. A good captain, a good husband, a good friend…As an adulterer, you leave a lot to be desired.” She chuckled. That put him more at ease. “I’m the one who should apologize,” she continued solemnly. “I acted inappropriately, and I had no right to expect you to do the same. I realize now that I wasn’t really angry at you—I was angry at myself, for the position that I put us both in.”

“Still friends?” he asked her expectantly.

“Still friends,” she told him, a tear—one of happiness, he hoped—rolling down her cheek.

They embraced warmly.

“Uhm, David?” she asked as they remained locked in their hug.

“Mmmm?” he replied, enjoying the moment and feeling like an enormous weight had just been lifted from his shoulders.

“Do you know if your friend Scotty is seeing anyone…?”

Epilogue

Brilson Lodine was in his office, reading a new technical journal on the monitor of his desktop computer. It was late afternoon at Outpost 32, and he was getting hungry. He’d soon be ending his shift for the day, and he needed to figure out what he’d be doing for the evening. Most likely, he figured, he’d be spending it in his quarters, eating leftovers and watching, for the umpteenth time, the three-dimensional, holographic remastering of his all-time favorite twenty-first-century film: Rocky VIII: The Clone Factor.

He heard the door to his office slide open behind him. He assumed the visitor was his friend Panajiotis Parides, coming to invite him to another card game with their fellow technicians at the outpost—yet another opportunity for Lodine to lose his entire week’s earnings. He wanted to finish the sentence he was reading on his computer monitor, and then he would turn to face Parides and let him know he’d be staying in.

He was, therefore, very surprised to hear the sound of a woman clearing her throat. Lodine spun around in his chair to face the door.

Standing in the open doorway was Sonya Gomez.

He rose from his chair, not knowing what to say or do. He hadn’t even known that she was back at the outpost. He felt exposed—his office was a mess, he had food stains on his shirt and his trousers…

“Dinner, right?” she asked. “Just dinner? No expectations? No jumping from zero to warp nine?”

He was truly taken aback—this was completely unexpected. Somehow, he managed to snap out of his momentary daze and nod his head.

“Just dinner,” he told her earnestly. “No jumping.”

A bright smile appeared on her lovely face. “Sounds great,” she told him.

He returned the smile and couldn’t help but wonder if they had the same taste in films.

About the Author

GLENN GREENBERG is an award-winning editor and writer whose work has appeared in numerous fiction anthologies, comic books, lifestyle and news magazines, and on several web sites. The Art of the Comeback, his second eBook about the Starfleet Corps of Engineers, is a sequel to his first one, The Art of the Deal, which was published in 2004 (and will be available in the trade paperback collection Creative Couplings in December 2007). Glenn’s previous writing for the Star Trek franchise includes the five-issue Star Trek: Untold Voyages limited series for Marvel Comics, which chronicled adventures from the second five-year mission of Captain James T. Kirk and his crew aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise. Glenn’s writing work for Marvel also included stints on such world-famous characters as Spider-Man, the Hulk, Dracula, and the Silver Surfer. As a Marvel editor, he was proudest of having developed the Star-Lord limited series written by best-selling science-fiction author Timothy Zahn, as well as the intercompany crossover project, The Incredible Hulk vs. Superman. The latter project made Glenn one of the very few Marvel editors in history to edit a project featuring DC Comics’ flagship character, Superman. More recently, Glenn has done freelance writing for DC Comics and such magazines as Smoke and Time Out New York. He currently serves as editor and head writer for Scholastic News, a weekly newsmagazine for kids. In 2002, his work on that magazine earned him the prestigious Distinguished Achievement Award from the Association of Educational Publishers. Glenn lives in New York City with his wife, Ginny, and their daughter, Madelyne.

COMING NEXT MONTH:

STAR TREK™: CORPS OF

ENGINEERS

Continuing the adventures of the U.S.S. da Vinci, as Captain David Gold, Commander Sonya Gomez, and the rest of Starfleet’s miracle workers solve the problems of the galaxy, one disaster at a time.

SIGNS FROM HEAVEN

by Phaedra M. Weldon

For a century, the Cloud City of Stratos that hovers over Ardana has been abandoned, left only as a curiosity and a museum piece following the brutal civil war between the City Dwellers and the Troglytes. Now the city is starting to fall, and it’s up to the S.C.E. team on the U.S.S. da Vinci to keep it from crashing to Ardana’s surface.

However, there’s more to this than the usual engineering conundrum. Relics from Ardana’s past provide obstacles—from a parasite that invades Fabian Stevens’s brain to a booby trap that endangers Bart Faulwell’s life, and finally to the S.C.E. being caught in the crossfire between two opposing factions whose disagreements may cost two da Vinci crew members their lives!

COMING IN JUNE FROM POCKET BOOKS!

COMING IN OCTOBER:

CELEBRATING THE 20TH ANNIVERSARY OF

STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION, POCKET

BOOKS PROUDLY PRESENTS:

SLINGS AND ARROWS

A new six-part epic covering the first year of service of the U.S.S. Enterprise-E, leading up to the events of the hit movie Star Trek: First Contact.

BOOK 1: A SEA OF TROUBLES

by J. Steven York & Christina F. York

The U.S.S. Enterprise-E has launched, with Captain Jean-Luc Picard in command. In addition to many familiar faces, the new ship has some new crew members: conn officer Hawk, security chief Linda Addison, deputy chief engineer Shontee, and science officer Lilly Gamaney.

But soon Picard is devastated to learn that there’s a saboteur on board—in the form of a changeling infiltrator from the Dominion! Picard and his crew must learn who the changeling replaced and stop her before she destroys the fleet’s finest ship…

A new eBook from the authors of Enigma Ship and Spin!

COMING IN OCTOBER FROM POCKET BOOKS!

OTHER STAR TREK™ EBOOKS

Star Trek: The Next Generation™: Slings and Arrows

COMING IN 2007:

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

Star Trek: Mere Anarchy

Book 1: Things Fall Apart by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

Book 2: The Centre Cannot Hold by Mike W. Barr

Book 3: Shadows of the Indignant by Dave Galanter

Book 4: The Darkness Drops Again by Christopher L.

Bennett

Book 5: The Blood-Dimmed Tide by Howard Weinstein

Book 6: Its Hour Come Round by Margaret Wander Bonanno

Star Trek: S.C.E.

#1: The Belly of the Beast by Dean Wesley Smith

#2: Fatal Error by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#3: Hard Crash by Christie Golden

#4: Interphase Book 1 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#5: Interphase Book 2 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#6: Cold Fusion by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#7: Invincible Book 1 by David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido

#8: Invincible Book 2 by David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido

#9: The Riddled Post by Aaron Rosenberg

#10: Gateways Epilogue: Here There Be Monsters by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#11: Ambush by Dave Galanter & Greg Brodeur

#12: Some Assembly Required by Scott Ciencin & Dan Jolley

#13: No Surrender by Jeff Mariotte

#14: Caveat Emptor by Ian Edginton & Mike Collins

#15: Past Life by Robert Greenberger

#16: Oaths by Glenn Hauman

#17: Foundations Book 1 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#18: Foundations Book 2 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#19: Foundations Book 3 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#20: Enigma Ship by J. Steven York & Christina F. York

#21: War Stories Book 1 by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#22: War Stories Book 2 by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#23: Wildfire Book 1 by David Mack

#24: Wildfire Book 2 by David Mack

#25: Home Fires by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#26: Age of Unreason by Scott Ciencin

#27: Balance of Nature by Heather Jarman

#28: Breakdowns by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#29: Aftermath by Christopher L. Bennett

#30: Ishtar Rising Book 1 by Michael A. Martin & Andy Mangels

#31: Ishtar Rising Book 2 by Michael A. Martin & Andy Mangels

#32: Buying Time by Robert Greenberger

#33: Collective Hindsight Book 1 by Aaron Rosenberg

#34: Collective Hindsight Book 2 by Aaron Rosenberg

#35: The Demon Book 1 by Loren L. Coleman & Randall N. Bills

#36: The Demon Book 2 by Loren L. Coleman & Randall N. Bills

#37: Ring Around the Sky by Allyn Gibson

#38: Orphans by Kevin Killiany

#39: Grand Designs by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#40: Failsafe by David Mack

#41: Bitter Medicine by Dave Galanter

#42: Sargasso Sector by Paul Kupperberg

#43: Paradise Interrupted by John S. Drew

#44: Where Time Stands Still by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#45: The Art of the Deal by Glenn Greenberg

#46: Spin by J. Steven York & Christina F. York

#47: Creative Couplings Book 1 by Glenn Hauman & Aaron Rosenberg

#48: Creative Couplings Book 2 by Glenn Hauman & Aaron Rosenberg

#49: Small World by David Mack

#50: Malefictorum by Terri Osborne

#51: Lost Time by Ilsa J. Bick

#52: Identity Crisis by John J. Ordover

#53: Fables of the Prime Directive by Cory Rushton

#54: Security by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#55: Wounds Book 1 by Ilsa J. Bick

#56: Wounds Book 2 by Ilsa J. Bick

#57: Out of the Cocoon by William Leisner

#58: Honor by Kevin Killiany

#59: Blackout by Phaedra M. Weldon

#60: The Cleanup by Robert T. Jeschonek

#61: Progress by Terri Osborne (What’s Past Book 1)

#62: The Future Begins by Steve Mollmann & Michael Schuster (What’s Past Book 2)

#63: Echoes of Coventry by Richard C. White (What’s Past Book 3)

#64: Distant Early Warning by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore (What’s Past Book 4)

#65: 10 is Better Than 01 by Heather Jarman (What’s Past Book 5)

#66: Many Splendors by Keith R.A. DeCandido (What’s Past Book 6)

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Epilogue

About the Author