The Wrong Box 2

Personal log: Tylha Shohl, officer commanding USS King Estmere, NCC-92984

"It even looks like a proper spaceship," I say.

On the other side of the big viewport, we can see the Dechenchholing floating in her drydock; a narrow, tapering ovoid hull, flaring out just behind the waist into stubby trapezoidal wings tipped with rakish-looking warp nacelles. The weapons pods for her cannons are slung just beneath the wings, and the silvery hull now gleams with the greenish traces of advanced Romulan-designed armour and shielding. She looks fast, elegant and deadly - a thoroughbred among the workhorses of ordinary Starfleet ships passing by outside Earth Spacedock.

The scruffy-looking young woman beside me makes a vaguely pleased noise. Her name is Pexlini; she looks like a moderately successful Talaxian dilithium miner, in worn civilian clothing with armoured boots and many cargo pouches, her brown skin covered with the reticulated patterns common to her species, her mousy hair drawn up into a simple topknot. That's what she looks like. As for what she is - well, the "Talaxian" bit is true, anyway.

"Gotta admit, you guys did a great job," she says. "Must've been quite a challenge, yeah?"

I shrug. "Experimental Engineering is used to these sorts of challenges. The Hazari systems are - interesting, certainly. But we were able to drop the Romulan modular packages in pretty seamlessly, I think. You're going to get much higher efficiency out of that corrosive-plasma armament - well, your engineers can fill you in on the technical specs."

"Uh-huh," says Pexlini. Somehow, I don't think she'll be listening any too closely. "Well, anyway," she adds, "it'll be something to read on that long trip back to the Delta Quadrant -"

"Oh, yes," I say. "About that."

Pexlini's head snaps around to face me, her pale blue eyes glittering with instant suspicion. "What about that?" she demands.

Two months of crawling around the interior of the Hazari escort, fitting the Romulan systems and a number of other upgrades, testing for compatibility and installing a whole new set of hybrid control software... and now comes the difficult part. "Starfleet Command reviewed your after-action reports," I begin.

"Aw, cripes," says Pexlini. "We plugged the security leak in Delta Command, we squashed the Hazari's protomatter project, we stopped Tuarak and Nessick blowing up half the quadrant with it, too - now, don't tell me we didn't do it all by the book, because you know darn well there ain't no book for that kind of thing!"

"Everyone's happy with your overall performance," I assure her. "There's just one or two things -"

"Like what?"

"Well," I say, "Starfleet Intelligence is concerned about your role - you're supposed to keep a relatively low profile, right? But that fight with the Kazon-Nirriz, and then the whole business with the Hazari and the Vaadwaur renegade - well, Intelligence is concerned that you've become a little too, umm, visible."

Pexlini waves her hands in exasperation. "You know what it's like out there! Stuff needed to get done, I was on the spot, there was no one else to do it!"

"But it did raise your profile," I point out. "And quite a lot. And that -" I point at the sleek shape of the Dechenchholing "- is going to be a lot more obvious than the Kazon heavy raider you used to fly." And which, amazingly, is still in a condition to fly. Just.

"I got a justification for it," Pexlini snarls at me. "I got a chance to nab myself a Hazari ship, the sort of person I'm supposed to be wouldn't pass up a chance like that -"

"Then there's the diplomatic problem," I say, raising my voice over hers. Heads turn towards us. "The, what was it, the Mask of Dhalselapur?"

Pexlini pulls a face, and looks away from me, at the toes of her armoured boots. "That wasn't my fault," she mutters. "We needed leverage on the Hazari -"

"So you stole an artifact one of them was meant to be guarding, and pressured them that way. Diplomatic Corps isn't best pleased about that, true, but they're realists, they're prepared to excuse it. Only, well, it would have been nice to give the artifact back -"

"I was gonna." Now she sounds like a sulky teenager. "I had it in secure storage, only -"

Only the storage wasn't secure enough to stand up to the Vaadwaur polaron barrage that opened up her quarters to vacuum. "We all appreciate it wasn't your fault," I say. "And, of course, the whole business can't be brought home to you, anyway." Not with the evidence scattered across interstellar space, and key witnesses assimilated by the Borg and then killed. "But, still, the diplomats would like time for the dust to settle. And between that, and Intelligence wanting to lower your profile - well, everyone feels it's best if you have an extended break from Delta Quadrant duties. Not permanent - we all appreciate your usefulness out there. Just, well, long enough for things to calm down."

Pexlini kicks at the base of a nearby console, her armoured boot making a loud clang. "So what's the deal now, then?" she asks.

"Officially? You're attached to Experimental Engineering on a temporary basis. For extended trials of the new systems on your ship."

"I'm not an engineer!"

"You don't have to be. You just have to take the Dechenchholing out and about, see how she handles, and report back." It's the same arrangement I have myself with EE - or used to. Now, my boss Admiral Semok is increasingly needed for other work - there is so much reconstruction that needs to be done - and I'm finding myself doing the admin and theoretical work that used to be his job. Maybe it's increased responsibility, but I don't have to like it.

"What about my crew? They've got family in the Delta Quadrant, they've got commitments -"

"Personnel Division has already talked with your Commander Pingood, they've made sure her welfare's been considered -"

"I've got other officers from the Delta Quadrant!"

I'm getting tired of this. "Oh yeah?" I say. "Name six."

Pexlini glowers at me. She doesn't name six.

"It's not a punishment," I say, as patiently as I can manage. "Just a precaution. Once Intelligence and SDC reckon things have calmed down enough, they'll be sending you back in. Until then, you just get to carry on as normal, only on this side of the galaxy."

"Where you can keep an eye on me." She's still glowering.

"Nobody expects you to set off any diplomatic incidents. It's not like you're Ronnie Grau, or Admiral Janna."

Pexlini kicks the console again. "Goddamn - rusticated," she spits.

"There is plenty of work to be done in this quadrant," I assure her. "If you really don't like the idea -" I point behind her, to the stairway leading up to the big glass-walled office. "Admiral Quinn's up there now. He's probably already heard you yelling."

Pexlini looks up the steps. Then she sighs. "You and him already fixed this up, didn't you?"

"It wasn't just me and Quinn, believe me." I take a brisker tone. "Go grab a drink at Club 47 or something, then come back and see me when you're ready, and we'll rough out a patrol pattern for you. Like I said, there's lots to do around here."

She shakes her head. "OK, OK. I got the damn message." She slouches away, a picture of dejection.

Then she turns back. "Hey," she says, "one thing."

My antennae twitch. "What?"

"What did Admiral Janna do with the Gorn Ambassador?"

I shake my head. "You do not want to know."