Vectors 27

Rrueo

I believe I am starting to warm to Y'Nadan.

True, the Hazari spokesman is loud and arrogant, taking up one end of the Brathana's conference room as though he owns it. But he is also practical, and he shows the right attitude towards dealing with the Vaadwaur.

"And I say, knock his head off his shoulders and use it for a door stop!"

"Rrueo agrees," I say. "But first we must find him, and we have little to go on."

Y'Nadan glares at the other two Hazari in the room. N'Drask sits quietly at the conference table, his eyes darting occasionally from side to side. Ge'Sirn, beside him, is a slumped, sullen shape. "You two have any ideas?" Y'Nadan snaps. "You brought him here, after all."

I let my psychic senses feel the room. Y'Nadan's mind is a force, constant and powerful, like a tidal bore. N'Drask... N'Drask's mind is active, and ingenious, but it is like a mechanical engine - finely crafted, highly tuned, but in the end it answers to another's hand on the controls. For all his abilities, N'Drask is a follower at heart.

And he follows Ge'Sirn, whose mind is as sullen as his body, a dark thing squatting in a briar-like tangle of plots and possibilities. Had I time, and interrogation devices to hand, I might unravel those plots and uncover whatever truth lies within him. But I do not have time, and our diplomatic relations with the Hazari would not permit it in any event.

Now, Ge'Sirn stirs, and the tangles in his mind shift and darken. "We didn't know," he says in sulky tones. "We thought we'd seen him off. But, well, we've got tactical scans of that ship, we can reconstruct his warp signature -"

"Timor has all that is needed, there," I say. Though the science vessel is in sorry shape after the battle, and M'eioi is overseeing the urgent repairs. "It is doubtful we could track the warp signature through Underspace, though, even if the Turei can be persuaded to allow us access."

"Yeah," says Y'Nadan, "but we can pick it up again once they leave the Underspace, and there are two likely exit points near here. We can cover both, if we split our forces up a bit -"

"Rrueo does not like to divide an already small force -"

"I figure on sending a pair of Hazari ships with each one of yours. That still gives you a bigger force than you had when you started, right? Hazari Intelligence has a file on this Tuarak," he adds in dark tones. I did not even know the Hazari had a centralized intelligence agency, though there is no valid reason why the idea should surprise me.

"What does it say?" I ask.

"Tuarak is a former Overseer of the Supremacy, and a right-hand - thug - for one of the higher ups, High Overseer Kabol. But Kabol turned out to be infested with a neural parasite, and all his staff were downgraded in the clear-up, even if they weren't infected themselves. Tuarak went - independent. He took one ship, the interdictor cruiser we saw here, and as many loyal followers as he could scrape together, and he's been working ever since as a privateer. You Klingons have similar setups, right?"

"It is not unknown." And this explains some of what I felt in Tuarak's mind - the pride, the poisonous grievances. "If this is correct... then Tuarak is a man with much to prove, and little to lose," I say. "Such men can be dangerous adversaries."

"Yeah," says Y'Nadan, "but I don't care how motivated he is, he only has one ship, your Alphan friends gave it a proper pounding, and we need to catch up with him before he can make repairs. Sound like a plan to you?"

"Indeed," I say. I do not know if Pexlini will approve of this plan, but it will do no harm to present my self-proclaimed new commanding officer with a fait accompli. "Though there is one other possible lead we should investigate - this name Rrueo heard, Nessick."

At the sound of that name, the briars of Ge'Sirn's mind all tremble as if in a high wind. No time to be subtle; I turn to him with fierce eyes. "You know that name. How?"

If he did not already know I was a telepath, he does now, and the tangles of his mind contract into a hard knot. I could break it... given time and opportunity. "I don't know for sure if it's the same guy," he says in guarded tones. "It's just the one name, after all, but -"

"Spit it out!" snaps Y'Nadan.

"I've had... dealings... with an information broker by that name," Ge'Sirn mutters. "Octanti. Never met him - talked by subspace radio - but some of his info's been pretty reliable. If it's the same guy, I might have some idea where he is - backtracking from signals records, that kind of thing. If it's the same guy. It's a big galaxy out there, know what I'm saying?"

"Still, it's a possibility," says Y'Nadan.

"Rrueo concurs. It should be investigated. While repairs to Timor and Ostankino are completed, Rrueo will take the Brathana out... obviously, Rrueo must take Ge'Sirn with her."

"Obviously," Y'Nadan echoes.

Ge'Sirn folds his arms across his chest. Sparks are flickering in the tight knotwork of his brain. "Not without my ship," he says.

"Or mine," N'Drask adds. Yes, indeed, Ge'Sirn holds the key that sets N'Drask's motor running. I narrow my eyes at them both.

"Oh, it's reasonable," says Y'Nadan. "You could use the added firepower of their ships, anyway."

This is true... but Ge'Sirn has something in mind, and I do not know what. "Rrueo is not anxious to have the protomatter device turned against her," I say slowly.

"Oh, use your fuzzy head," Ge'Sirn snaps. "I can't use the protomatter device, can I? Tuarak has it."

"You expect Rrueo to believe that you cannot manufacture another?"

"Of course I can," says Ge'Sirn. "Can churn out a dozen of 'em before my replicator runs out of specialist materials. But I've got no protomatter. The whole reserve was in the actualizer when Tuarak took it. Scan my ship. You can confirm that."

"Rrueo will do so. Well, then." I rise to my feet. Something is still worrying me about Ge'Sirn. "Starfleet's ships need repairs. Rrueo is ready to take the Brathana out within the hour, though." I fix Ge'Sirn with what I hope is an intimidating stare. "Do not waste Rrueo's time."

---

"It sounds OK to me." Pexlini is shuffling across the Brathana's command deck, evidently in pain - from the vascular protoplasers and the rapid-healing agents administered to cure her various acceleration injuries, I would judge. Such healing can be swift, but there is always a price to pay.

"Rrueo does not trust Ge'Sirn," I say.

"Well, heck, who does?" says Pexlini. "That's why I'm locking the Hazari up neatly with a contract. Cooperation on returning the actualizer, conference afterwards with Federation and Empire representatives to decide what to do with the damn thing, standard no-hostile-action-against-friendly-personnel clause, yadda yadda, all that. Ge'Sirn signed it. It's in his interests, after all, his only alternative is to go chasing Tuarak by himself."

"Rrueo... supposes that will suffice. The Hazari honour their contracts." I frown. "Federation and Empire? Not Republic?"

Pexlini shrugs. "It'd take too long to get the Roms into the loop, and besides, what are they going to say that we won't? We'll tell them all about it once this has blown over - and when we've got our secure comms back. This Nessick," she adds, "sounds distinctly interesting to me."

"What the Romulans do not know will not hurt them," I mutter.

"Dead right," says Pexlini. "By the way, the same thing goes for those discreet listening devices I've got stuck to N'Drask's ship. I'm gonna pass the details over to your comms people, you never know when that sort of thing will come in handy." She moves off towards Oschmann at the comms console; her movements are rapid, but stiff. I follow, my tail switching - my disquiet is still there.

Oschmann looks up as Pexlini hands her a datapad. "So," the human renegade says, "what's the story here, exactly?"

"Pexlini is familiar with the Hazari and is therefore handling negotiations with them," I say. It seems a reasonable enough pretext - I have, obviously, not announced Pexlini's real status to my crew.

"Doing pretty well out of it, too," Pexlini says. "Got myself a neat little bonus -"

"No doubt," says Oschmann in frosty tones. She eyes the Talaxian with undisguised suspicion.

"If it comes to that," Pexlini says, "what's your story, anyhow? How come you're in with the lumpy forehead mob?" Clearly, tact is not part of her cover story.

Oschmann glares at her. "I'm sure you can look it up for yourself," she snaps.

"I dunno. All I've got is Cynthia Carlotta Oschmann, resigned after being censured by the Inspector General. Doesn't tell me much - and I don't exactly have a pipeline into Starfleet's personnel files, do I?" True, though disingenuous, I note.

"Carlotta Cynthia," Oschmann spits. "Personnel never got round to fixing that - not that it's Starfleet's only mistake. You want to know the story?" She swivels in her seat to glare full-face at Pexlini. "Sidoneus Zeta was a system on the verge of interstellar contact, only one political faction there had already made interstellar contact without knowing it. The Ferengi - well, one consortium within the Ferengi Alliance. Their agents were bringing in new technological innovations, giving their chosen faction an edge. I made an agreement with another faction to provide equivalent technical information to them, enough to level the playing field. There was precedent for it - James Kirk, at Neural -" Her voice has risen to a shout.

"IG's office didn't agree, huh?" says Pexlini.

"Stupid," says Oschmann. "And - dishonourable. So I joined a military where honour still has some meaning."

"OK," says Pexlini. "Kinda see your point, I guess." Oschmann's mind is burning with remembered grievance - and, in the burning, her inchoate suspicions of the Talaxian have been forgotten. No doubt that is for the best.

"So what're your plans now?" Pexlini asks me.

"There are three leads - Nessick, two Underspace exits. We have three ships, and whatever backup the Hazari contract specifies. Dividing our forces never appeals to Rrueo, but in this case, time is of importance."

Pexlini nods. "So, I guess, you want to take Ge'Sirn and N'Drask and follow their lead on Nessick, while M'eioi and I complete repairs and head for the Underspace loci?"

"This seems a sound plan to Rrueo. Perhaps not ideal, but sound enough."

Pexlini nods again, this time enthusiastically enough to set her topknot bobbing. "OK, let's do it, then. Unless you want another set of Hazari - ?"

"Ge'Sirn knows the coordinates, and so Rrueo must have him. Ge'Sirn will want his supporter N'Drask, and Rrueo thinks we want him too, albeit -" I point to the datapad on Oschmann's console "- for different reasons. The Hazari have limited manpower after the bombardment, so Rrueo should not further deplete the forces available to Pexlini and M'eioi." I snarl. "We will just have to hope that Ge'Sirn holds true to this new contract."

---

Hours pass. Hours pass, and I worry, without clearly knowing why.

Our ships speed between the stars, Brathana leading, N'Drask following, Ge'Sirn's ship with its weird parti-coloured hull bringing up the rear. The harlequin coating on the Hazari's ship is purely cosmetic, I have been assured. I do not know whether to be concerned or comforted by the idea that Ge'Sirn's ship remains fully operational.

"Approaching the designated coordinates now," Toriash reports. I sit up straight in the command chair.

"Stand ready to drop out of warp. Do we know anything of this locality?"

"Nothing on the Delta Quadrant intelligence files," Oschmann answers.

Those files are a few known hard facts, supporting a mountain of conjecture, surrounded by a vast ocean of absolute ignorance. "Any information on sensors?" I demand.

"Long range scan shows... some sort of object," says Toriash. "Details are unknown, as yet."

"Drop out of warp," I order. "Approach it. Cautiously."

"Shields or cloak, sir?" asks K'Rokok.

"Shields. Rrueo wants protection more than stealth. We will need to run active scans in any event. Inform the Hazari."

Brathana shudders slightly as she drops to sublight speeds. I lean forward, studying the console displays.

"Metallic. Evidence of power sources...." But no life signs - not visible yet, at any rate.

"My thoughts would be, a communications buoy," Toriash rumbles.

"Possible. The Hirogen use such.... Maintain constant vigilance. Three-sixty degree spherical scans at maximum intensity. Rrueo has no wish to be distracted again by the Hirogen."

"Their comms buoys have life support capacity for a limited crew," Oschmann observes.

"True. A caretaker staff on station would be a wise precaution for anyone, so far from the nearest habitable world...." The buoy - or whatever it is - is in deep space, light-years from the nearest star. I do not even know where the nearest habitable world is, from here. But there are still no detectable life signs.

"Perhaps this Nessick is not at home," K'Rokok suggests in a sour voice.

"Then he will not mind if Rrueo makes herself comfortable and awaits his return," I muse.

"Sir -" Toriash shifts uneasily on his seat.

"What is it?"

"Perhaps nothing." The big Gorn leans forward to peer more closely at his console. "My scans caught a flash, a flicker - not from the object -"

"From where, then?"

"Attempting to refine now, sir." Toriash's shoulders are hunched, his massive talons almost caressing the console. "It looks like... coherent light. Scattering off some particulate debris in space... somewhere behind us...."

Coherent light. A laser beam, encountering some tiny speck of interstellar dust.... But there is nothing behind us, save the two Hazari ships -

My ears fold flat to my head, and my fur bristles. "Red alert. Come about, now."

"Sir?" says K'Rokok.

"Laser link. Secure comms, between Ge'Sirn and N'Drask. If they do not want us to hear what they are saying -"

Brathana dips and swings around -

Not fast enough. White-gold flashes of light streak from the two Hazari ships; corrosive plasma cannon fire, rapid and high intensity - and targeting us.

Shudders run through the ship. There is a brief flash-bang of a transient surge on one console - but the Hazari are aiming their fire precisely, very precisely. Overloaded at one point, our shields flicker and fail, and the plasma barrage proceeds unimpeded into our starboard nacelle.

"Return fire!" And Brathana's disruptors lash out, raking along the Hazari ships' shields.

But it is too little, too late, and I can only watch helplessly as Ge'Sirn and N'Drask turn and vanish into warp.

"Damn him to the fiery pits of Gre'thor!" I screech.

"Starboard nacelle is down," K'Rokok reports gloomily. "Unable to establish warp field. I will have a repair estimate soon -"

"Why did they not try to finish us?" Toriash asks.

"Contracts," I spit. "Pexlini insisted on a standard clause in their contract. No hostile action against personnel. But our warp drive is not personnel. They hold to the letter of their contract - and now they must be on their way to Nessick's real location."

There is an ugly silence on the bridge for a moment, broken only by a hiss as the automated fire suppressors deal with that console.

"There's still one possibility, sir -" Oschmann begins.

"Yes. The tracking devices on N'Drask's ship. But we can do nothing about that until our warp drive is operational again." I claw at the air in exasperation. "Signal the Ostankino and the Timor. Perhaps they will be able to intercept Ge'Sirn in time...."

Vectors 26

Nessick's listening post was a haphazard collection of domes and modules clinging to the side of an asteroid in interstellar space. The docking tube extended like a spidery limb from its side towards the Bereit.

Nessick met Tuarak in the docking tube, watching as Vaadwaur crewmen manhandled the actualizer on its AG float pallet towards the post. At first, the Octanti scientist barely glanced at the Vaadwaur commander, but then he turned and studied Tuarak more closely.

"Things did not go entirely to plan, then, I see," he said.

Tuarak turned to glare at him. One side of the Vaadwaur's face was streaked with fresh scars, stretching from cheekbone to jawline. "Not entirely," he snarled.

"I have dermal regenerators, if your own medical supplies are insufficient -"

"No," Tuarak spat. "I will have this dealt with, but only once I have the pelt of the animal who did this in my quarters for a rug."

"Quite so, quite so," murmured Nessick. He nodded in the direction of the actualizer. "That is undamaged, though?"

"It is. I do not entirely trust its protomatter components, not enough to subject them to the transporter beam, at least. But the device was captured intact, and has remained so."

"Protomatter, yes, that requires careful handling." Nessick turned to stroll along behind the float pallet, ignoring the Vaadwaur crewmen who looked daggers at him as they laboured. "Substantial, substantial," he muttered. "Too substantial to be a mere component of the whole... a complete system in itself. Yes, you have done well, well. This will repay careful study."

"Oh, I am relieved to hear it," said Tuarak.

"You are angry," said Nessick. "Yes, I can understand that. It is irksome when things do not go to plan. You did not capture the Hazari himself? The maker of the device?"

"Not yet." Tuarak glowered. "That one offended me. Once I have him, make sure you have all that you need from him, because he will not outlive his usefulness."

"He offended you? Unwise of him, most unwise. He may not prove necessary at all. That device is complete, I may well be able to ascertain its workings without his assistance. I should make certain of this, though, before you exact your vengeance.... Well, let us proceed, first, to the isolation laboratory. Protomatter, yes. It requires careful handling."

"Direct my crewmen as you see fit," said Tuarak. The Vaadwaur crewmen looked sullen, but voiced no complaint. "I have other matters to attend to. Many other matters." He turned abruptly, his long coat swishing around his legs, and stalked off down the docking tube, back to the Bereit.

Nessick watched him go, and shook his head. "He is angry. Well, well, I suppose it is only to be expected." He turned back to the glowering Vaadwaur crewmen. "The isolation laboratory is not far. Then you may rest, while I labour. I hope we will achieve something that will lighten his mood, no?"

---

The situation aboard the Bereit was chaotic. Work crews were swarming through the corridors, clearing debris and repairing damage. The air was heavy with the smell of hot metal. Tuarak stalked across decks illuminated only by the glare of welding torches, and none of his crew dared speak to him.

He went first to the bridge, received the report of the watch officer with a silent glare, and retreated to his ready room, sealing the door behind him.

It was some hours later when Sarn walked up to the closed door, took a deep breath, and rapped sharply on the metal. For a moment, there was no response, and then the intercom clicked on and Tuarak's voice said, "Who is that?"

"Sarn, sir. I have reports for you."

Tuarak said nothing more, but the door unsealed with a clank and a hiss. Sarn squared his shoulders and stepped through.

Tuarak was sitting behind his desk, a litter of datapads spread out before him. Sarn stepped up to the desk, cleared his throat, and stood at attention. Tuarak looked up at him through bloodshot eyes. "Well?" he said.

"Repairs to the drives are completed. All hull breaches have been sealed, and the armour brought back up to combat standard. The Bereit is spaceworthy once more. But, sir -"

"But what?"

Sarn swallowed. "As your executive officer, sir, it is my duty to report my concerns to you -"

"Concerns," said Tuarak. "What concerns?"

"Our supplies of spares have been seriously reduced, below establishment minimum in many cases. Sir, we must acquire more replacements, and urgently."

"It will be attended to," said Tuarak.

"Sir, we do not have authority to indent for repairs at the Supremacy's shipyards -"

"It will be attended to," Tuarak repeated. "Nessick will earn his keep by replenishing our stocks."

"Yes, sir." The Octanti's own supplies were irregular and unreliable, Sarn reflected bleakly. Now was evidently not the time to mention that, though. "There is another matter, sir."

Tuarak growled, deep in his throat. "Well?"

"Casualties, sir. We have suffered substantial losses. Three engineering compartments were breached to space in the battle, with no survivors from their complements. Troop shuttle two was shot down by the Hazari, also a total loss. And... the ground battle did not go according to plan. Several of our units were not able to evacuate their deployment areas before the railgun barrage hit them. Friendly fire casualties, sir. It... affects morale."

"Oh, they are unhappy, are they?" said Tuarak. "They are not alone in that. You are my executive officer, the minutiae of discipline are your preserve. Deal with it."

"It would be useful to know, sir, if we can expect crew replacements." Tuarak's brows gathered in a frown. "From the viewpoint of maintaining order and discipline, sir."

"We can expect nothing from the Supremacy military," said Tuarak. "But there are many Vaadwaur, now, who have become detached from their original units...."

"Dregs and deserters, sir!"

"They can redeem themselves in my service. We shall make Nessick work for us, again, there - he hears news of such groups. Vaadwaur, selling themselves as mercenaries to the lesser species...." Tuarak shook his head. "It is positively our duty to reclaim them."

"Standing orders from the Supremacy are that deserters are to be returned to central authority -"

"The Supremacy has cut me loose, Sarn. Me. They have chosen to treat me like that - Well. For this purpose, my authority is central enough. I doubt you will find the deserters disposed to argue on this score."

"No, sir." Sarn's expression was carefully blank.

"Well, then. If that is all -"

The communicator on Tuarak's desk buzzed. Tuarak glared at it. He jabbed at the intercom button and snarled, "What is it?"

"Sir." The communications officer's voice was nervous. "I have Nessick on comms - he wants to speak with you -"

Tuarak sighed. "Put him through."

There was an audible click, and then the Octanti's voice said, "Tuarak? Tuarak, are you there? Tuarak?"

"Speak," said Tuarak.

"Ah, you are there, good, good. The device. Yes. I am greatly afraid that there is a problem."

"A problem," said Tuarak. His hand clenched on the edge of the desk. "I do not need any more problems, Nessick."

"No, no, quite. No more do I. But the device - I have made a certain amount of headway with it, to be sure, but several of the functions cannot be accessed without both a deciphering key and a biometric signature. The Hazari's, presumably. Yes, yes, I can think of no other explanation. The Hazari, Ge'Sirn. We will require him, after all. It is regrettable, I know -"

"No," said Tuarak. "I would have sought him out in due course, anyway. I have plans for Ge'Sirn - So. I must advance my timetable. Very well."

"I shall provide you with all the current data concerning the Alphans and the Hazari -"

"Do so. Begin the data dowload to my ship now." Tuarak turned his gaze on Sarn. "We are spaceworthy, you say?"

"Yes, sir, but -"

"But nothing." Tuarak stood. "We have the measure of the Alphans - and Ge'Sirn is nothing without his device. Alert the crew, Sarn. We hunt."

---

From an observation cupola some distance above the main laboratory, Nessick watched the interdictor cruiser as it pulled away from the asteroid. His eyes tracked it steadily as it dwindled among the stars, marked the flash as it jumped to warp speed.

"Satisfactory," he said to himself, "most satisfactory."

He left the cupola and made his way down a number of ramps and accessways, along a number of corridors, until he came to a sealed door. He studied it pensively for a while, calling the access code back to mind. It had been some time, he reflected, since he had last used this facility....

He tapped in the code on the keypad, nodded with satisfaction when the door swished open.

Beyond it was a small room, dominated by a communications console with one seat before it. Nessick slid into the seat, touched a biometric ID pad, waited as the console sprang to life.

"This is Nessick at facility 2387-Delta," he said, and a greenish glow within the console showed that his words were heard. "I have acquired a new technology, and it shows promise. I have a plan to deploy it against the Borg. Requesting, now, the following support measures -"

Vectors 25

M'eioi

"Singularity charge now!"

The ship is coming alive all around me, lights brightening, power levels climbing. In a couple of minutes, the Timor will be back at full strength, ready for anything. The problem is, I don't have a couple of minutes.

"Firing," Marya Kothe snaps back at me. The swirling energies of the singularity fill the screen for a moment, and then it is moving, sweeping away from my ship, towards the Vaadwaur railgun. The singularity crashes into the railgun, sucking it in, spitting it back out again as a spray of white-hot debris.

Whatever Pexlini has done to the damping field generator has set it tumbling, its damaged antennae giving it a lopsided look - but the Vaadwaur can stabilise and repair it, given time. My ship's forward banks lock on, and fire. Even at lower power levels, the plasma beams make sure there is nothing left to repair.

That leaves the Vaadwaur ship itself. The interdictor cruiser is moving, fast, towards the planetoid. Too fast. Those antiques are shockingly nimble for their size and age. The tactical display is still stuttering, riven by lines of interference as my sensors come back to full strength. The Vaadwaur are moving towards the planetoid - Ostankino is hurtling across a low orbital, apparently chasing something - the Hazari picket frigates are regaining power, moving to intercept the Vaadwaur. Brathana is down on the surface, underneath the battered domes - perhaps intact, perhaps not. No help to be had from her, anyway.

"Steer two eight four mark two seven three! Get me a targeting lock on the Vaadwaur!"

Timor turns and stoops like a hunting bird upon her prey. There are other things on the sensors, now - small craft - Hazari shuttles? No, not Hazari -

"The Vaadwaur ship is attempting to recover its troop shuttles," I say. "When they do that, they'll have to lower their shields, at least for a moment. Be ready." Marya Kothe nods.

"Power levels at eighty-five per cent and building," Joaj reports.

Light glimmers across space. The Hazari pickets are firing, corrosive plasma bolts spitting from their cannons. There is no response from the Vaadwaur ship's shields - but one of the approaching shuttles bursts into flames, tumbles, explodes. The interdictor cruiser turns, slightly away from the Hazari - and blue light flares from its bifurcated hull, the light of a sustained polaron broadside that rips across the Hazari ships, overwhelming their shields, crushing them.

"In weapons range," Marya reports.

"Wait," I snarl. The cruiser is too big - we need to wait our chance, find the right moment -

"Cruiser's shields are fluctuating," Onguma says from the science console.

"Open fire!"

Green-hot light raves out of my beam banks, reaching for the Vaadwaur ship, raking along its hull and leaving trails of glowing devastation along its armour. The cruiser turns, moving with that same deadly agility - but trailing streamers of debris and escaping air. We've hurt it. How badly?

The answer comes immediately, as the polaron cannons flare and space explodes around us.

Timor rocks and trembles; alarms wail, the damage control board breaks out in a rash of red and yellow lights, and there is the flash-bang of a transient power surge in one bridge console. I curse under my breath. That first barrage has taken my shields down too far already, and there will be more to come. I can't win a slugging match with that cruiser - I have to fight smart, with all my ship's capabilities -

"Photonics online! And jam his targeting sensors!"

Just outside my ship, space shimmers as the combat holograms materialize. Driven by my ship's warp core, the phantom warships add considerably to my firepower - and, with his sensors jammed, the Vaadwaur commander can't use his. We stand a chance now -

Timor rocks, the deck leaping beneath me. More explosions on the bridge, and the lights flicker.

"Tricobalt warhead hit," Joaj reports. "Hull breach deck seven, sealing now. Main power couplings shot at section sixteen - rerouting -" The little engineer's fingers are hammering on her console.

The communicator chimes. "This is sickbay." Dr. Islim's voice. "We have incoming wounded, in quantity. If you can try not to drum up any more trade for me today -"

The Vaadwaur ship is turning. My shields are flatlined. One of the photonics, caught in a polaron blast, winks out like a bursting bubble. "No promises, doctor," I say, and cut him off.

"Secondary deflector is still operational." Sumal Jetuz sounds completely unruffled. "Sir, if we can peg him with a tractor beam -"

Yes. Get behind the cruiser, slow it with the tractors, lock on and shoot its drives away - "Steer eight four mark two. Ready tractor. And get those shields back up!"

"Couplings re-routed," says Joaj. And my shields are coming back. Woefully low, still, but they are back.

On the tactical display, the lines of the course projections twist and turn like fighting snakes. "Fire viral probes." A computer subversion attack might buy us enough time. Might. But the last of my photonics is dead already, the singularity charge is still rebuilding, and the Vaadwaur ship is so fast....

"Coming about," Marya reports. "Targeting tractor -"

The cruiser's cannons flare again, and Timor is caught in the barrage - and this time it is closer, and worse, far worse. Marya screams as her console explodes. The lights flicker and fail, to be replaced by the lurid red glare of the emergencies. The artificial gravity wavers. Smoke and sparks fill the air of the bridge. Somehow, we ride it out. Somehow.

"Main power offline," says Joaj. "Hull breaches decks three through eight. Weapons banks are drained - attempting to make repairs -"

No beams. We still have our aft-mounted torpedo tube, though, and the rear shield has taken less of a hammering than the others - "Come about. Target aft torpedo, warhead maximum yield." Hopefully, the Vaadwaur commander will think we are turning to flee, will spare some thought for his own damage before ordering his gun crews to finish us.

I will not give up. I will not.

Something flashes on the stuttering tactical display. The cruiser's shields are flaring, as something slams into them - I reach out for my console, bring up a visual.

The Ostankino. The little raider has come up on the other side of the Vaadwaur ship, and her cannons are blazing with corrosive plasma, and torpedoes are spilling from her launch tubes. The Vaadwaur are firing back, of course, but the raider is nimbler and more agile even than their ships, is avoiding the worst of the barrage, is continuing to rain fire onto them.

"Get me some power!" I yell. "Get us something to fight with!"

"Linkages are shot past frame sixteen," Joaj mutters, "but I can manage -" Her fingers fly across the engineering console. "Bypassed. We've got power to the after beam arrays. Can't tell you how much, but -"

"Use it," I spit. "Open fire."

Timor's spaceframe groans as the beam arrays open up, as the heavy tricobalt torpedo shoots out of the tube. The Vaadwaur aren't the only ones who can use tricobalt. And they find that out, as the plasma beams claw down their shields, and the torpedo slams into their drive assembly. This close, the detonation is intense, apocalyptic. The tac display fills with dazzle. Is it enough?

The display clears. I snarl. Not enough.

The cruiser is still there, and it is moving - limping and sluggish, shields failing, fragments of hull falling away as Ostankino presses her attack. But the cruiser is moving, and its return fire is weak and ragged. I put the situation together in my head. The Vaadwaur ship is fleeing -

Then space curdles and tears in front of the cruiser, and it passes through and vanishes. The Underspace tunnel. Of course.

I sag, defeated, in my command chair. Marya Kothe groans feebly at my feet. I get up, kneel to check on her. Burned, shocked, but she will live. Perhaps we all will.

"Hail from the Ostankino, sir," says Sumal. I rise to my feet.

"On screen."

Pexlini appears in the viewer. The Talaxian looks terrible - her face is puffy and bluish, as if it is all one massive bruise, and in it her eyes are nightmares, the whites turned solid red by broken blood vessels in the sclera. Her voice is weak and rasping. "I'm guessing you're in no shape to pursue," she says.

I look around the smouldering bridge. "We've taken substantial damage," I say quietly.

"Yeah, so've we," says Pexlini. "On the plus side, we definitely hurt that cruiser... but no telling what support he might have stashed in Underspace, and anyway the Turei'll get mad if we go down their rabbit hole without permission." She coughs. "Damn the Hazari anyway. They could've told us that thing was there."

"Perhaps they didn't know."

"Oh, they knew, all right. Why'd you think they chose this particular rock for a conference venue?" Pexlini coughs again. "Look, we'd better paper over the cracks a bit. You need to make repairs, and I think I got a date with my ship's doctor. Meet you in an hour, say, and see if we can pull anything out of this situation, right?" She cuts the channel before I can agree.

I look around the bridge. Repairing everything will take a lot more than an hour. I turn to Sumal. "Scan all frequencies. See if we can contact the surviving Hazari, or the Brathana."

"Yes, sir." Even the impeccable Betazoid looks hurt and bedraggled. I kneel down by Marya again and press her hand, comforting her. "Sir, I have a visual on the Brathana now -"

On the screen, I can see it, the lean shape of the Klingon cruiser slinking out of the wrecked Hazari docking bays. I stand up, snarling. "Contact them. Tell that arrogant genetic reject there will be a command conference here in one hour's time."

---

Pexlini still looks terrible, though her medics have evidently been hard at work. The bruising is still plainly apparent on her face, she moves slowly and stiffly, and her eyes are still horribly bloodshot. But it is not Pexlini who has my attention.

"We could have had them," I snarl at Rrueo. "If the Brathana had been out in space to back us up - but no, you had to take her down to the planetoid, so you could grandstand in front of the Hazari -"

"You should have used your resources better!" Rrueo spits back. "Why did you waste the singularity charge on the railgun? You should have taken down that cruiser with your first shot!"

"We had to stop the barrage! It was a matter of protecting lives - including your life!"

"Unimportant," says Rrueo. Her ears are flat to her head, and her fur is bristling. Like mine. "The paramount task was to stop the Vaadwaur - and a competent tactical commander should have achieved that! If Rrueo could get help from the KDF, instead of having to rely on a soft Starfleet scientist -"

"This soft scientist was the one who fought the Vaadwaur while you were trapped underground!"

"Rrueo also fought. Do you wish to see Rrueo's claws as proof? Rrueo is ready."

My own claws tense in my fingertips. The Ferasan stands there, scowling, still spattered with dried Vaadwaur blood. I don't know if I can take her - but I am seconds away from trying -

Then a hoarse voice says, "All right, that's enough."

We both turn our heads. Pexlini raises her wrist to her mouth, speaks into a communicator. "Ajbit. Transmit my command clearances to the Timor and the Brathana via secure laser link."

There is a brief pause, and then the Bajoran's voice comes back, "Are you sure, sir?"

"I'm sure. It's need to know." Her bloodshot gaze sweeps across us both. "They need to know. Transmit."

"Yes, sir. Transmitting now."

Pexlini lets her arm fall back to her side. "While that data download's going on," she says, and her voice is somehow different, "let me explain. M'eioi, remember how you asked me if we'd met before?"

I blink at her in bafflement. "Yes?"

"Simple explanation. We have met. A couple of times, at the Academy. I was on tactical track, and you were sciences, and anyway, the Academy is full of freaky-looking aliens from everybody's point of view. Even weird cases like me get lost in the crowd."

"Wait," says Rrueo. "The Academy? The Starfleet Academy?"

Pexlini nods.

"But you are Talaxian," says Rrueo. Then her eyes narrow, and she adds, "Are you?"

"Oh, yeah," says Pexlini. "Born in the Delta Quadrant, but my parents - they ran a tramp freighter, they'd heard a bit about Neelix, and Voyager - so, when a freak wormhole opened up in front of them, they decided to take a chance. Not the best, as it turned out. We wound up in Ferengi Alliance space, and things got kinda hairy until we fetched up in the Federation. Federation's a lot better place to live if you're obscure alien refugees, believe me. So, when I got old enough, I decided I owed something to 'em, and I applied to Starfleet Academy."

My head is spinning. "So why did you drop out?" I ask.

"I didn't. Must've graduated the same time you did, but I was on a cold-weather commando course on Andoria so I missed the actual ceremony. Of course, when the whole Delta Quadrant business blew up again, I was a natural choice for Intelligence to feed me back in, undercover. I get to be a slightly shady independent trader, somewhere on the wrong side of the law... travelling around and keeping my eyes and ears open. And I make damn sure I live the cover too. Never let a day pass by without doing something that'd get me cashiered for conduct unbecoming." The corners of her mouth lift in a brief grin. "I'm not saying some of it doesn't come natural."

Her tone sharpens. "However, I am still a Starfleet officer, and I have the same roving commission and the same authority as you do. And since you two are cooperating like cats in a sack, I am the ranking Starfleet tactical officer here, and so I am assuming command of this operation. Admiral M'eioi, I expect you to follow my orders. General Rrueo, if you don't want to follow my orders, you can take your ship back to Qo'noS and sort it out with the Chancellor, because I will not permit interference. By now, your secure comms will have my clearance codes, so you can verify all this at your convenience. So, are we clear on this?"

It is a completely different person, standing there. "I -" I swallow. "Yes, sir."

Rrueo looks down and glowers. "Rrueo must comply. The protomatter device is in Vaadwaur hands, the situation is too urgent to permit dissension. Rrueo... accepts your orders."

"Good," says Pexlini. "So, the first thing to do is figure out what we can salvage. Have we got any sort of line to the surviving Hazari captains?"

"Rrueo is holding Ge'Sirn. Rrueo's crew got him back to the Brathana without further incident. Rrueo also has the attention, at least, of Y'Nadan, who seems to be senior among the Hazari gathered here. The Hazari are angry, and Rrueo believes they can be trusted to cooperate with us against the Vaadwaur."

"OK," says Pexlini. "Now, we've got one name, anyway, to work with - this Tuarak. Ordinarily, I'd say search the Delta Command intelligence databases, but as we know, that's going to ring someone's alarm bells. Can we get any background on him from the Hazari?"

"Rrueo can ask. Rrueo... also has another name. She heard this Tuarak mention someone called Nessick. It is a slim lead to follow, but all our leads are slim."

"Wait," I say. "Nessick?" I turn to Pexlini. "We still haven't cracked the encryption on those data chips you gave me... but we've got partial deciphering of the comms envelopes. I'm almost certain that name's been mentioned. Somewhere."

"All right," says Pexlini, "now that might be good news. If we can connect up some dots here... if we can tie Tuarak and Nessick back to the security leak... that's an angle we can follow up."

"Rrueo will enquire among the Hazari while the Caitian completes her data analysis."

"Sorry," says Pexlini. "While who completes her data analysis?"

Rrueo stares at her. "The Caitian -"

"Sorry," says Pexlini. "Who?"

Rrueo's whole body tenses. Her green eyes lock with the scruffy little Talaxian's bloodshot ones. I feel the tension myself, feel my claws ready to slide out.... It lasts for what seems like an age.

Then Rrueo says, rather faintly, "M'eioi."

"Right," said Pexlini. "I guessed that was who you meant. Now then. Brathana is least damaged, so we can process the Hazari casualties through her med bay, maybe get some brownie points with them there -"

---

Afterwards, I escort Rrueo back to the transporter room. The Ferasan is uncharacteristically quiet, subdued, her whiskers drooping.

"That was unexpected," I say to her.

"Quite," she mutters. "Well. Rrueo will accomplish her assigned tasks, Rrueo expects M'eioi to do the same -"

"I still rate a name, then?"

Rrueo stops and looks at me, hard. "Once given, a name can be lost only if its bearer commits some act of exceptional infamy. M'eioi has not done so. Yet," she adds tartly. "Since Pexlini obviously required it -"

"She gets her name too?"

"Pexlini required Rrueo to give M'eioi a name, and would not have - standing - to make such a demand, if Pexlini did not merit one herself. Simple logic. The only alternative would have been for Rrueo to kill Pexlini."

"I'm surprised you didn't."

"Rrueo is not blinded by pride. The situation is critical, Rrueo would have done everyone a disservice by reducing our scanty force by a third." She steps onto the transporter pad, then turns. "Besides...."

I look hard at her. She is visibly uncomfortable. "Besides, what?"

"Rrueo is in the habit of devising metaphors for the minds Rrueo touches. When Rrueo perceived Pexlini's mind, Rrueo's image was of a dabo table."

"Fast and flashy? I suppose an intelligence operative would have to have a mind like that -"

"It is a more exact metaphor than Rrueo had first thought. Look beneath the superficial gaud and glamour of the dabo table, and what is there to find? It is a quite pitiless machine for extracting money from gamblers. To prevent tampering, most dabo tables are built on a solid duranium base. And Pexlini's mind is... like that." Rrueo shakes her head. "If Rrueo were to engage Pexlini in combat, Rrueo is not entirely certain who would be victorious."

I stare at her. "Seriously?"

"Pexlini is not a soft Starfleet scientist. Rrueo does not make these admissions lightly. M'eioi should be aware of that."

I snort. "All this avoiding pronouns is going to get tedious."

"M'eioi is under no obligation to follow Ferasan custom." She steps back on to the pad. "Rrueo notes M'eioi does not ask how Rrueo perceives M'eioi's mind...."

"I'm not sure I want to know."

She smiles, displaying those terrible Ferasan teeth. "M'eioi's mind is an army, an army with banners. Thus far, they do not droop in defeat. Thus far. Rrueo hopes they will still be flying bravely when this business is concluded." She nods to the transporter chief. "Energize."

I stare at her as she sparkles into nothingness.

I'm still staring when the transporter room door slides open. Marya Kothe comes in. Her face is half shiny pink, fresh from the dermal regenerator, but she is up and moving, at least.

"There you are, sir," she says. "Dr. Islim wants you to review these casualty lists, and Commander Joaj has completed her estimates on the urgent repairs." She holds out a PADD.

I take it from her hand. An army with banners. Indeed.

Vectors 24

Pexlini

"Three can keep a secret if but two of them are dead," Hal Welti quotes at me in lugubrious tones.

And seventy-odd stood no chance at all. Whoever's earwigging Delta Command communications is listening out for Hazari chatter too, and this gathering must have shown up on their radar. Dunno how much they actually know, but it was enough to pass on to the Vaadwaur.

And the Hazari planetoid is uncomfortably close to an uncharted Underspace exit, it turns out. So, when the Vaadwaur ship popped out of that, with its damping-field satellite in tow, we had only a couple of minutes to respond - and we hadn't even got within weapons range when the satellite went live, and our power systems went dead. The Hazari frigates picketing the planetoid, and the Timor, were caught in the field too, and are now drifting uselessly in elliptical orbits. Like us.

Damn it. I hate being useless.

We're so useless the Vaadwaur didn't even bother to kill us. The interdictor cruiser is hanging in high orbit, just far enough on the other side of the satellite that it's not caught in the damping field. The huge curving antennae on that satellite make the field highly directional - it engulfs the planetoid and the near orbitals, but the Vaadwaur ship can stay within a few kilometres on the back side of it, monitoring it and feeding it energy. And monitoring the other satellite assembly, too. The one that's the other half of a really pretty neat orbital siege package....

Directed energy weapons will diffuse to uselessness in the damping field; torpedoes will lose motive power and control. But the railgun, squatting out by the Vaadwaur cruiser like a malignant stinging insect, is delivering pure kinetic projectiles, chunks of meteoritic nickel-iron most likely, simple slugs that cross space to the planetoid in seconds, and are meticulously pounding the Hazari station into wreckage.

Sound doesn't travel through space. It's just my imagination that's adding the ka-THUMP every time that railgun fires.

"We got any sort of capabilities yet?" I ask. I should know better, but I ask anyway.

"Main power is out, auxiliary is fluctuating," Goyar reports. "Computer core keeps going into power-save mode. I can keep life support going, but generating countermeasures -" He shakes his head.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit," I mutter. "The Vaadwaur got their shuttles through the damping field -"

"They went through on thrusters only," says Ajbit. "Besides, they know the frequencies of the field... they can tune out at least some of the effect. Pex, face facts, there's nothing we can do. I know you want to play the angles, to find some way, but it just isn't going to work."

"Those Vaadwaur troop shuttles were antiques," I mutter, "but we're an antique, too, practically - Wait." Something's glimmering in the back of my mind. "What did you say just then?"

"I said, there's nothing we can do." Ajbit is sounding exasperated.

"After that." The thought coalesces in my mind. I jump up out of the command chair. "Come on."

Ajbit shakes her head. "Where to?"

"Shuttle bay." I look around. Goyar needs to stay at engineering, to keep life support online. I need one science officer at least trying to crack this damn field, so that leaves Voesyy out - Hal is versatile, he can help them - "Veb, you and Ajbit with me."

The Pakled smiles. "We make the shuttle go?"

"That's the plan. Thrusters only, but the shuttle's an antique like the Vaadwaur, it's got decent speed and manoeuvre capacity on thrusters, right?"

"And no shields or weapons," Ajbit points out.

"Won't need 'em. Shuttle doesn't have an EPS grid either, so no power fluctuations, so its computer will work." I head for the bridge doors. "Gonna need the computer. Seriously, guys, I've got an idea here."

Vebanillo follows with alacrity. Ajbit follows with a frown, but she follows, which is all I could ask. We work the hydraulics on the door.

We think of ships like the Ostankino as Kazon heavy raiders, but in fact they were designed, and most of them built, by a species called the Trabe, who kept the Kazon as sort of pets. Worked out about as well for them as you might have expected. Point is, though, the ships they built for their pets are robust, simple, and largely idiot-proof, which they kinda had to be, because they were crewed by idiots. A heavy raider in a good state of maintenance - which the Ostankino is, despite all the crud on the main viewscreen - is a pretty effective ship, really. And it is simple and durable, so if things go wrong, there is always a way around it. Power is being diverted from trivia like the sliding doors, but we can hand-crank 'em with the hydraulics. The same goes for the doors of the small shuttle bay, though they'll need some hard cranking. Which is what Ajbit and Veb are here for.

It doesn't take long to reach the shuttle bay. But it's long enough for another ka-THUMP from that railgun, more than one in fact. I don't want to think about what must be happening inside the Hazari station. I rummage in a locker, drag out an EV suit, and start putting it on.

"Pex," Ajbit says, "what exactly is the plan here?"

"Playing the angles, like you said. That railgun is banging away in a predictable pattern, and we can use that."

"Until they change it," says Ajbit.

"They won't. They can't. Their own troops are down there, comms are gonna be sketchy at best, they must know the schedule so they can be somewhere the railgun rounds aren't coming down." Even so, it's a hell of a risky plan, cavalier with the lives of their own soldiers as well as the civilians on the station. Typically Vaadwaur, in fact. I shrug into the EV suit. "I'm taking the shuttle out, and I'm gonna break that pattern for them."

"And likely the shuttle too," Ajbit points out.

"Eggs, omelettes, whatever. C'mon, I need to be onboard." Veb has cranked the main bay doors open already, bless her. The three of us work on extending the internal docking tube that latches onto the shuttle's hatch. Once it's locked, I clamber through. Ajbit starts to follow.

"No need," I say. "Don't need a tailgunner, or an engineer, or a radar operator. This'll only take one of us, believe me."

Ajbit stops. She looks at me very hard indeed. "I hope to hell you know what you're doing, Pex," she says.

"I am on this," I assure her, and I duck through the hatch before she can come up with a comeback. I settle myself in the pilot seat of the shuttlepod, put my suit's gloves and helmet on the deck beside me. "OK. Pull the docking tube and release the main latches," I say into the comms. Standard wiring, no EPS grid, still works. Antique tech, gotta love it sometimes.

There are clunks and bangs against the hull. I turn around and fiddle with the comms board. "Got a laser link going," I say. "Oh, yeah, testing, testing, come in Ostankino, all that."

"Receiving you," says Ajbit's voice. The laser link will degrade in the damping field, but it should hold up long enough. I can't take too long about this anyway, entirely too many ka-THUMPs have already gone by. "Main latches retracted, shuttle is clear for exit."

"OK, then." I hit the controls. The main drive is dead, but the thrusters work just fine. Reaction mass hisses through the RCS arrays, and through the forward viewport I see the wall of the docking bay slide away, revealing the stars and the round bulk of the planetoid beyond. I punch the control board again, and the shuttle moves forwards and down, away from the ship.

Got to be sparing of that reaction mass.... I turn to the other side of the cockpit, and start banging the parameters of the problem into the shuttle's computer.

It's a simple one, really, in concept at least. In practice, it needs precise calculation, way more precise than I or any organic being can muster - but, hey, that's why we have computers. Maybe Unity should be here instead of me -

I think that, and then I think, no. My crazy idea, my risk. Them's the rules.

"What exactly are you doing?" Ajbit's voice asks.

"Like you said. Playing the angles. Those domes on the surface, over the docking bays, they're armoured, right?" And we have specs on that Hazari armour. We have specs on a whole bunch of things we probably shouldn't have, that's kinda the point of us.

"Not hard enough. The railgun slugs are punching straight through."

"'cause they're coming straight in," I say absently, as I study the computer simulation. It is possible. Chancy, but possible. My mouth goes dry as I realize I'm actually gonna have to do this. "Give one a nudge, make it hit at an angle, it'll glance off, right?"

"You can't nudge a railgun slug with the shuttle!"

"Well," I say, "I reckon I can't nudge more than one railgun slug with the shuttle, but one might be enough, right? It glances off, it's got to go somewhere."

"You're trying to set up controlled ricochets to -?"

"Simple problem in trajectories, right? We know all the factors." And the computer has them laid out, glowing lines describing the vectors I need - I start checking the mass factors, though I already know what they'll say.

"You're insane. There's always an error factor, and even the slightest error -"

"Not at this close range. That satellite's antennae are big." I set the automated sequence into the navigation board. The shuttle's computer is pretty stupid. Good enough to calculate the angles, not quite good enough to realize it's committing suicide. Poor computer.

The seat kicks against my spine as the main thrusters fire. The shuttle turns, then straightens out again.

"If they realise what you're up to, one burst from that cruiser -"

"Will fade out in the damping field, and a torpedo won't reach me in time. Besides, they'll just think like you, they'll reckon I'm crazy and it won't work."

Ajbit is silent for a moment. Outside, everything looks deceptively still. I'm not moving anywhere near fast enough for apparent star motion, and I can't see the planetoid from this angle, and everything else is just a bright dot in space.

"OK," she says, "it's worth a try. But I don't know how we're going to recover you if it doesn't work."

"Well, that's my problem, right?" I say as airily as I can. I've set up a countdown, and the numbers are already getting too small for my liking.

"You'll need to eject inside the next minute," says Ajbit.

"Yeah," I say. I twist around far enough to reach the engineering console, and I make all the adjustments I can.

"Seriously. If you don't eject right now, you'll be in the danger radius if - when - the shuttle blows."

"Um, yeah, about that," I say. I slip on the suit's gloves and seal them, pick up the helmet and push it into place. The suit's comms take over seamlessly. "See, this kinda depends on hitting the slug with all the mass I've got available. Like, all the mass. Once I've expended the reaction mass to get to the intersection point, well -" I shrug. "Can't lose any more. Them's the breaks."

"Pex -!"

"Relax. I've dumped everything into the inertial dampers, and I'm turning my suit's fields up to max, and anyway it'll be a glancing blow, right? See you on the flip side. Probably. If not, can you start the paperwork to get a new shuttle, like, now? Quicker the better, you know what Logistics Bureau is like out here."

The stars are still, the sky is motionless. But somewhere up above me, the railgun is proceeding on its remorseless pre-programmed sequence, and my countdown is in its dying instants, and the railgun has already gone ka-

The THUMP hits me everywhere at once, a jolt that goes right through every molecule of me in an instant of pressure that transcends pain. It's followed by a moment of absolute nothing, silence, blackness and free fall. Perhaps I'm dead. It'd make sense.

Then blurry vision returns, and with it a physical sensation, a sort of solid all-over ache as if my whole body's been turned to pain. Stars. I see stars, mostly not inside my head. They are swirling and turning, and I see a lot of them through the viewport -

No. Not through the viewport. The entire nose of the shuttle is gone, I'm looking at naked space. I look down a little, and for a brief moment spot the control console. Then it breaks free, torn loose by inertial forces, whirling off into space.

The shuttle is coming apart. Only to be expected. I push against the arms of the pilot's seat, and the pain gets an awful lot worse, but I lever myself up and drop gracelessly forwards and out through the big hole where the front of the shuttle was. I reach my wrist control with what feels like the last of my strength, and touch the emergency button. The suit's thrusters go into "bug out" mode, firing, pushing me in any direction so long as it's away. That hurts, too, rather a lot.

At some point, somewhere behind me, the wreck of the shuttle blows up. Dimly, I feel a waft of expanding gases push into me, and a couple of glancing blows from more solid debris. Something knocks the heel of one boot, hard, and I start spinning. Thrusters are drained. So am I. No way to stop....

I hang there, revolving in the heavens. The planetoid, some distance away, spins past me. I can't see if there are any fresh impact scars on the armoured domes. I hope there are. And they're on the ones I aimed for....

Simple physics. Well, simple if you've got a computer to do the sums. The railgun slug took a glancing hit from the shuttle, and that made it glance off one dome, then ricochet off another - and then off into the depths of space. Only, if the computer and I got it right, paying one last call on the Vaadwaur's damping satellite.

Something blasts into my ears. That hurts, too. Let's face it, everything hurts. But this hurty thing is a voice, and after a little while I work out what it's saying.

" - field is down, we have main power online! Timor is moving to engagement range with the Vaadwaur! Pex, we're moving to assist just as soon as we've recovered you, don't move! Pex, respond, please!"

"Don' worry," I mumble into the suit's mic. "Tol' you I'd see you on th' flip side, right? Don' worry... not goin' anywhere...."

Actually, I'm going plenty of places, spinning on some random course above the planetoid, a course I can't even make a vague guess at. There's nothing I can do about that, though. After a while, the revolving starscape starts to make me nauseous, so I close my eyes.

Vectors 23

Rrueo

I glance around me. The meeting hall is large, almost cavernous. It has many entrances and exits, and very little in the way of cover. If the Vaadwaur arrive in force, it will become a killing ground.

"I can confirm the tetryon damping field," Oschmann says. "It's knocking out the main EPS grid, and it will negate directed energy weapons -"

"We cannot use our disruptors," I say. "Woe is us, for we are helpless." I draw my d'k tahg, check the blades. "Or perhaps not. You." I turn to the elderly Hazari who seems to be some kind of leader. "We cannot stay here to be killed. We should evacuate towards the docking bays."

He nods. "If we can get to our ships -"

"Brathana may be able to counteract the damping field." Though if my ship is already within the field - warp core powered down, EPS grid drained - generating countermeasures will be a long, slow, process. Perhaps we can get a signal out via laser link to the Caitian or the Talaxian - if their ships are not also wallowing helplessly in the draining field -

I shake my head. Too many things to worry about, not enough time. I turn to Ge'Sirn. "You. With us."

"Now wait -"

I reach with my free hand, seize him by the collar of his tunic. "This Tuarak wants you. That means Rrueo wants you more. And, luckily for you, Rrueo is working with the Feds, and they would be displeased if Rrueo killed you. Feds are sentimental. The truth is, you would be more convenient to Rrueo as a corpse. Bear that in mind." I turn to the actualizer, the other target of Tuarak's desire. The unit is too large to carry, the housing is armoured. With disruptors, I could destroy it - but if I had my disruptors, there would be no problem in the first place.

There is a distant sound, like hammers falling.

"Guns," says Oschmann.

"They cannot have energy weapons in a damping field," says K'Rokok.

"Chemical-propellant firearms, most likely," says Oschmann.

"Rrueo concurs. Crude, but effective. Our body armour should protect us, but try not to get shot in the head."

K'Rokok unslings his bat'leth with a grin; the other Klingons follow suit. Oschmann draws her own cultural weapon, a narrow length of razor-edged steel called a rapier. Toriash flexes his huge Gorn claws.

There are indistinct noises from above us. The elderly Hazari looks up. "Sounds like they're coming in through the upstairs gallery -"

The gallery runs all around the upper part of the conference room. It makes sense; they will stand above us and pour down fire, and other squads will be moving to the exits on our level, to cut us down as we run. It is a sound tactical plan. I may congratulate this Tuarak for it, before I take his life.

I sense minds above and around us, minds that burn like cold flames. Somewhere along the gallery, a door bursts open, then another -

And I scream, and leap.

Even at normal gravity settings, I could reach the gallery in one bound. With the gravity plating weakening, I sail easily over the guard railing, over the single row of seating -

There are three Vaadwaur coming through the doorway, all dressed in long coats over utilitarian combat gear, all with ugly-looking grey metal weapons in their hands. The reek of burning propellant fills my nostrils. Their minds waver and flicker in amazement as I rise up and plunge down on them -

The first one has no chance to recover himself; my d'k tahg plunges into his chest and finds his heart. The secondary blades open, though, and the weapon is caught in his dead body. I have no time to pull it free; I slash at the second Vaadwaur, claws outstretched. Varnished in polycarbonate, my claws can score steel; they do bloody execution on Vaadwaur flesh. The third one has time to bring his weapon to bear. There is a concussive blast which hurts my ears, and the bullet slams into my chest. The impact knocks the breath from my body, but my armour holds, and rage and adrenaline send me flying at his throat. My claws find the folds of his neck, and rip, and tear - It is only when his head comes away from his torso that I realize he is dead.

I look around. My team have taken a more conventional route to the gallery, up the stairs at one side of the room. Even now, they are engaging another Vaadwaur fire team. One long-coated figure is falling, body slashed open by K'Rokok's bat'leth; another stares in disbelief at the stump of his wrist, while Oschmann's blade snaps back and whickers through his throat. Toriash has seized the third -

Gunfire is erupting on all sides. I stoop down and scoop up a dropped weapon. It is unfamiliar, but I am a warrior of the Empire, I can kill with any tool. There are screams and shouts from the floor below. The Hazari are doughty fighters themselves, and they are not waiting peacefully to be killed. I aim the gun, experimentally, and press the trigger. It bucks in my hands like a wild thing, yammering as it sends out bullet after bullet -

"Keep that down!" a cold voice orders. "Whose side d'you think you're on?"

I aim for that voice, press the trigger again, feel shock and panic bloom in the mind behind it, and then pain. I have hit that one, but there are many more. Too many.

"Through that door! The main concourse, and quickly!" I order. Ge'Sirn is with my people; he can follow some orders, at least. K'Rokok, Oschmann and Toriash have captured Vaadwaur weapons; all three are covered in blood, but it is not their own. We plunge through the doorway in a body, come upon another Vaadwaur team. Guns roar, blades flash, and they are down.

The Hazari station is a warren, a labyrinth. I reach out with my mind. The Hazari in the conference room have taken advantage of the shock of our counterattack; they have punched through the surrounding Vaadwaur and are scattering, running, heading for the docking bays and their ships. Some of them may make it. We must do the same. The Vaadwaur are regrouping -

And there is a mind among them, at the limits of my telepathic range - a mind like a running sore, poisoned with pride and resentment and ancient grudges, oozing malice and bloodlust. The arrogance in it shines like a beacon. This is the leader - no underling with a mind like that would be allowed to live. The mere touch of it makes my fur bristle.

"Straight along the concourse, to the docking bay!" I spit the order at K'Rokok. "Do not allow Ge'Sirn to fall into Vaadwaur hands. Support the other Hazari if you can, but your first objective is to reach the ship."

K'Rokok stares at me. "Our first objective -" he begins, doubtfully.

"You are to go. Now. Rrueo will follow." I check my captured weapon. "The Vaadwaur leader. Rrueo has the scent of that one's mind. Now, Rrueo will hunt."

---

I plunge back into the station's maze of corridors. By now, my telepathic senses are flooded with confused images, flashes of blood and anger and fear. The Vaadwaur have surprise on their side, and armaments suited to the situation - but the Hazari are numerous, angry and capable, and my own forces are fanning out from the Brathana. The fighting is fierce, and telepathy - never strongly directional in any event - is swamped with the urgent sensations of battle.

But if psi powers fail me, conventional logic may be enough. Tuarak wants Ge'Sirn and his apparatus. He does not know where Ge'Sirn is, but the device itself should be easy enough to locate. And Tuarak is a Vaadwaur, and the aggressive culture of the Vaadwaur demands that he should lead from the front. Indeed, from the images I see in his mind, he is trying to be more Vaadwaur than any other Vaadwaur. No doubt a competent psychiatrist could address the insecurity underlying this over-compensation, could devise a therapy to deflect his energies into more constructive channels. Not being a competent psychiatrist, I will content myself with killing him.

So I make my way back, through the corridors, past the bodies of Vaadwaur soldiers we have killed - and quite a number, Vaadwaur and Hazari, for which we are not responsible - towards the conference room. If I am to find Tuarak, it will be there.

I stop to slip off my boots. The chance of being shot in the foot is not significant, compared to the advantages of hunting on soft, silent paws. I take a knife and a spare gun from a fallen Vaadwaur. Every tool of killing is an advantage, and I need as many as I can carry.

Voices, the clatter of boots on deckplates, the flare of nearby minds - a Vaadwaur strike team nearby. I flatten myself into an angle of the corridor. I do not want to alarm my prey before I reach him. The Vaadwaur troop along a parallel corridor, unaware of my presence.

I creep towards the conference room, weapons ready, whiskers bristling, every sense on the alert.

It is hearing that gives me the first sign; a commanding voice whose words I can just make out.

"… gently. If we cannot find Ge'Sirn, we must keep the device reasonably intact so that Nessick can reverse-engineer it. So, gently, but quickly, back to the shuttle."

The snide arrogance of the voice matches the mind behind it. Tuarak. If I had time, I would concentrate, penetrate that mind and lay bare its secrets... but I do not have time. Even with their leader dead, the Vaadwaur will be a problem. I sidle closer to the nearest entrance.

There is a guard on the door. A single guard - chancy, but Tuarak's forces are, no doubt, thinly spread, and dealing with many unexpected contingencies. The guard is alert, capable, but he happens to be looking the wrong way - I throw the knife. It strikes the back of his neck, just below the skull, and he sees nothing more, ever.

There is more than one still in the conference room, though. And Tuarak is speaking, using a communicator - obviously, he must have communications that will function through the damping field.

"We have secured the device itself. The Hazari resistance is depressingly heavy, so I do not think it worthwhile to pursue Ge'Sirn himself at this time. I will not lose more Vaadwaur soldiers for the worthless hide of one Hazari. Commence the bombardment now. If he chances to survive, I will take him on another occasion."

It sounds as though my time is short. I crouch-run over the fallen guard, through the doorway, and take cover behind a row of seats. No mind-flash of alarm from the others in the room; I have not been spotted. I concentrate. Three minds, one of them Tuarak. I bare my teeth. It is time to disclose myself.

I rise from behind the seats, levelling one of the captured guns, firing as soon as I have line of sight. The gun roars and shudders, sending out a spray of projectiles. One Vaadwaur falls at once, a lucky shot catching his head. Another curses and clutches at his thigh. I take aim at that one and loose off another burst. He drops -

But the gun clicks empty, and there is one Vaadwaur left, and it is Tuarak himself with a pistol in his hand.

I dive behind the seats as he shoots, and bullets punch through the seat backs and send up great clouds of flock and splinters from the upholstery. He is shooting rapidly, he has no clear idea where I am - I pull out the other captured gun and work the action.

"Animal!" Tuarak shouts. "Show yourself!"

"Rrueo will oblige." And I rise from behind the seats and send a burst of bullets in his direction, and then dodge his return of fire.

He has a handgun, with limited capacity in range - I have a longarm which fires automatic bursts - but he is familiar with these weapons, and I am not, and both of us are moving. I feel sure I have hit him, once or twice, but I cannot have penetrated his body armour. Punishing impacts on my chest, my arm, my shoulder tell me that he is having no better, but no worse, luck.

Our guns both run dry at almost the same time, and we stand there, glaring at one another through the haze of expended propellants.

"Filthy animal," Tuarak says, and he reaches for his belt, for another clip of ammunition.

I have no more ammunition, but I have the weapons I was born with. Again, I scream and I leap.

But as I leap, a dull booming sound echoes through the station, and the deck shudders and shifts beneath my pads. Fractionally off-balance, I flail through the air towards Tuarak. I would fall short, would not reach him at all - but the same sudden impact has made him stumble a step or two forwards. I do not reach his throat, as I had planned, but one desperately outstretched hand finds his face, and my claws slash down his cheek before I fall gracelessly at his feet.

He screams, his mind afire with pain. I roll quickly away. He has slammed a fresh clip into his pistol, is firing, wildly, blindly. I move to one of his fallen guards, scrambling for another weapon of my own. At this range, I can finish him.

And he knows it. I seize a gun, roll again, rise to my feet and turn. He is sprinting for an exit. I snarl and open fire from the hip, but my shots go wild, ricochets flickering through the air around him. He reaches the door and is through it in a flash.

No matter. I have the scent, now, not just of his mind, but of his blood as well. I will pursue him, I will end this. And him.

Then there is another massive impact, and this is closer at hand. The bombardment Tuarak ordered - kinetic projectiles, no doubt. The floor of the conference room shifts and tilts and splits, and I am sliding down an incline into whatever lies beneath - I drop the gun, and leap to one side. One hand finds something solid, a structural support of some kind, and for a moment I swing, dangling, beneath it. I pull myself up, panting.

I look down. Below me, storage space, and a fifteen-metre drop to the floor. The lights are flickering, and there is a faint keening of escaping air. I snarl in frustration as I clamber back up to the level of the conference room. For the moment, I must forget Tuarak. My first need is to survive.

Vectors 22

"What the hell happened to your ship?"

"Relax," said Ge'Sirn. "It's just... cosmetic."

N'Drask continued to stare out of the viewport. The Hazari rendezvous point was a purpose-built docking station, set into a small asteroid on the fringe of an uninhabited star system. Beneath armoured domes of white cerametal, docking bays had capacity to hold dozens of Hazari ships. The design of the station was bright, clean, functional, all silvery-white surfaces and plain lines....

In the middle of one docking bay, Ge'Sirn's ship stood out like a sore thumb. The hull of the vessel was covered in a shimmering polychromatic sheen, like oil on water, and the metal bulged out in places, in spots that looked like the outbreak of some kind of disease. "What happened?" N'Drask asked again.

Ge'Sirn sighed. "It's just a side effect. We had to overload the new holo-emitters to generate a photonic fleet and chase off the Vaadwaur. Some kind of subspace harmonic modified the crystal structure of the outer layer of the hull. It's harmless. And believe me, it was one hell of a good test for the holo-systems. Should be a lot easier to sell, now we can prove they work."

N'Drask shook his head. "Not going to be easy to sell people on that, though."

"So my ship broke out in coloured warts. So what? The Vaadwaur ran, N'Drask, that's what counts."

N'Drask shook his head. "I hope so. I hope so.... How many others are coming?" He craned his neck, peering around the other docking bays, more than half of them full already.

"I'm hoping for at least seventy ship captains," said Ge'Sirn. "That's enough prestige and financial clout to form a serious consortium. We can develop this thing, exploit it, work on other avenues of research -"

"Have you thought about -?"

"I am not doing a deal with the Federation. You'll just have to go back to them and say you've made a good-faith effort. They're supposed to respect that, right?"

"They're supposed to do a lot of things. But I don't trust 'em. They're tricky. I'm not sure they're just going to sit around and wait for me to get back."

"Have you seen anything? Spotted any sensor traces?" An urgent look came into Ge'Sirn's eyes. "Did they follow you here?"

"I don't know. Oh, nothing turned up on my detectors, but -" N'Drask's shoulders hunched. "Sometimes, you know, you just get a feeling. I'm getting one now. Like, there's a bunch of stuff all on, well, a collision course. And this might be where it's going to hit."

"But nothing definite?"

"Maybe, maybe not. There's been a Kazon heavy raider hanging around - I know, I know, those things are everywhere, they're like vermin. But I'm almost sure it's the same one."

"Kazon raider against seventy-odd of our ships - yeah, that'd work." Ge'Sirn snorted. "Well, anyway. Time for me to go do the really scary stuff."

---

"The beauty of this system," Ge'Sirn declaimed, "is that it makes its own rules. Normally, holograms interact with real objects according to the standard laws of physics, and in those, the odds are stacked against the hologram - it's inherently more fragile, easier to destabilize, than a physical object. Our actualizer, though, sets up subspace harmonics which not only reinforce the hologram's structure, they allow us to program in whole sets of novel interactions with normal spacetime. You can easily create exotic weapons with energy types that will bypass an enemy's shields - I'll be submitting combat records which show this - or novel chemical structures based on unreal periodic tables, which has all sorts of interesting research uses."

His mouth was dry. Above him, as he stood on the presentation dais next to the device, serried ranks of Hazari faces looked down on him. Were they interested? Were they convinced? It was hard to tell.

"What sort of uses?" called out Y'Nadan. He was one of the oldest, most experienced Hazari owner-captains. If he could convince Y'Nadan, Ge'Sirn thought, he could convince anyone.

"We've had some success," he said, "with holographic kironide. Now, you know that stuff is hard to handle and hard to predict. But we can create a substance, using the actualizer, that technically isn't kironide, but works just like it. The implications of that -"

"Psi powers are unpredictable anyway," someone muttered. Not Y'Nadan; his mouth was firmly closed, his expression blank.

"It's one avenue of research," Ge'Sirn said firmly. "There's plenty of others. Biology, for instance." There was a stir among the watching audience. Had he touched on something interesting? Ge'Sirn wondered. "That was why we contacted the Kadirians for field tests. Their holograms, for safety reasons, were already running biological systems, but with an invented biochemistry behind them. Adding our actualizer -"

"Had certain unanticipated side effects," said a snarling voice from behind him. Ge'Sirn whirled round.

His first thought was of N'Drask's description, of a black hairy thing with teeth. But this creature - though it had teeth, and very prominent ones - was not black, so much as blue. And while one of the armed and armoured figures behind it was visibly human, others were quite clearly Klingon, or Gorn -

"Who the hell are you?" It was Y'Nadan's voice.

The creature swaggered up to the presentation dais. "Rrueo-Captain, Rrueo-Thinker, owner and master of the IKS Brathana. Rrueo has had questions for some time, and it seems that this toy -" she laid one hairy hand on the actualizer "- is key to the answers." She turned to face Ge'Sirn. "Will you give them complete information, or shall Rrueo do that?"

"How did you get here?" Ge'Sirn spat.

"Rrueo and her associates tracked your partner's vessel. And Rrueo made a private deal with the portmaster here, to bring the Brathana into dock. Rrueo knows that the Hazari are to be trusted in the matter of contracts. Rrueo suggests, though -" she turned to face the audience "- that you know what you are buying."

"I'm telling them everything!" Ge'Sirn shouted.

"Rrueo suspects you do not know everything." Ge'Sirn felt an immense urge to punch the interfering Alphan right in her furry face. He restrained himself. Never mind the armed guards - the creature looked quite capable of tearing him apart by herself.

"What do you know, Alphan?" Y'Nadan demanded.

"Rrueo knows how this device achieves its no doubt impressive results. It infuses holograms with minute quantities of protomatter, using the protean qualities of that substance to bolster and sustain them -"

"I told them that! I'm being honest with them!" Ge'Sirn yelled.

"What you do not appreciate is that the protomatter effect is prone to become elaborate, and in unpredictable ways. In the Alpha Quadrant, it was used, once, in a machine called the Genesis Device. A nebula was transformed into a class M planet - one with hypertachytelic evolutionary processes, one with a burgeoning vitality that even brought one man back from the dead. An asset of considerable value - for the short time before it exploded."

"Nothing's exploded here!"

"Not yet. But when your Kadirians spoke to a Kobali colony, the protomatter amplified some aspects of their entirely fictional biochemistry - it extrapolated, almost, from simulations of the Kadirians' antibodies, a holographic analogue of the virus that ravaged the Kadirian homeworld. That holographic virus lasted long enough to infect the Kobali colonists. There were no survivors."

"That's absurd!" said Y'Nadan. "The virus would have had to continue existing even outside the field of the holo-emitters -" He broke off, stared hard at Ge'Sirn.

"They can," Ge'Sirn muttered. "Our amplified holograms can persist, sometimes for hours -"

"Sometimes days, in a low-energy environment," said Rrueo, "such as the Oort cloud of a star. Rrueo was perturbed to find ghosts in space... but now Rrueo knows what they were; remnants of holograms created by this device - and left there when the emitter was destroyed, by the enemies who want it. Rrueo assumes you are aware that the Vaadwaur are seeking this device?"

"The Vaadwaur?" someone asked.

"The Empire and the Federation are not your enemies," said Rrueo. "We are willing to negotiate, to come to some arrangement that will - suppress a potentially disastrous line of research. The Vaadwaur, on the other hand, are not noted for being reasonable. Rrueo puts it to you that an agreement should be reached, and swiftly."

"No!" Ge'Sirn shouted. "Damn you! The whole point is to build up our resources, push you damned Alphans back to your own side of the galaxy!"

"Your point," said Y'Nadan grimly. "Not ours, necessarily."

Ge'Sirn stared at him, fury throbbing in his temples, his fists clenched at his sides. How had this situation got so far out of his control? He felt physically sick, light-headed, dizzy -

Then he realized. It was not just a feeling.

The human with Rrueo, a cold-faced, light-haired female, spoke. "Something's wrong with the gravity plating." She checked a device in her hand. "Main power levels are plummeting all the way through this installation -"

From all around, there was a click and a hiss. The station's public address system. A voice spoke - one Ge'Sirn recognized with a sudden rush of horror.

"Your attention. This is Tuarak of the Vaadwaur. You are to surrender the Hazari Ge'Sirn and his intriguing apparatus. My forces are taking control of this facility now, and we have established a wide-area tetryon field to negate your power sources. Please, feel free to offer resistance. My troops will relish the entertainment."

Vectors 21

Rrueo

The trinary system of Tramil was devastated by the Vaadwaur during their early advances. The industrialized worlds circling the Alpha and Beta stars are recovering, rebuilding... the scientific bases and scattered military installations around the feeble red spark of Tramil Gamma are abandoned. Except by us.

The KDF has - appropriated - one asteroid moonlet for a repair and resupply base. As Brathana glides towards the barren planetoid, I can see a scattering of other ships in the orbital approaches - a flight of Birds of Prey, a massive Vo'Quv carrier surrounded by the sparking lights of repair drones - and, a little closer to the base, the gleaming shape of the Timor. With, it seems, a companion.

"Kazon heavy raider, extensively modified," says Toriash. "ID transponder checks out on the demilitarized list - sold to a Delta Quadrant trading concern, apparently. Ship is called Ostankino."

Oschmann looks up from her console. "What was that name?"

Toriash turns towards her. "Ostankino. Does it mean something to you?"

Oschmann's face expresses puzzlement, as does the tone of her mind. "It's a place name... from Earth. I wouldn't have expected it for a Delta Quadrant ship. I suppose it might be... some kind of coincidence...."

"Interesting," I say. "Perhaps the Caitian will have some explanation for her... companion. Rrueo hopes the Caitian will have an explanation for a number of things. Contact the Timor, tell her that Rrueo is coming." I stand up. "K'Rokok. Speak to the base personnel, coordinate with them on necessary repairs and resupply. Oschmann, with Rrueo."

"Sir." K'Rokok stands. "A word, sir, before you depart." His mind shows anger and determination.

I stand quite still for a second or two, then say, "Very well. In the ready room."

He nods. What he has to say, evidently, he would rather say in private - so far. I am relieved. If he went so far as to speak out in the open -

But he accompanies me to the ready room in silence, and waits as the door shuts behind us, cutting off all sound. I go to my desk, but I do not sit; I stand beside it and look steadily at him. "Speak."

His lips compress, and he inhales deeply, and then his anger bursts out. "Why do you favour the human renegade over me?"

My claws slide out from my fingertips, an involuntary reflex that I do not even try to suppress. I take a step closer to him, fix his eyes with mine. "Rrueo did not hear what you just said."

"I said -"

"No. You misunderstand. Rrueo did not hear what you said, and Rrueo will continue not to have heard it, because if Rrueo ever did hear it, she would have to kill you where you stand. Rrueo dislikes killing competent officers. She finds it wasteful."

He does not speak, but I see resentment bubbling in him, would see it even if his mind were closed to me. "Rrueo was not aware that we were in Starfleet," I say. "Rrueo does not see the need to justify her orders before a committee. But, once only, Rrueo will explain her reasoning, in response to the words she did not hear. Because you are a good officer. Rrueo assigns you the responsibility of seeing that her ship is ready once more for battle - a serious task. Rrueo will take Oschmann to visit the Caitian, because Oschmann has experience of Starfleet, and because her mere presence is enough to unsettle our... allies." I grin without mirth, baring my
fangs. "You are to perform a necessary duty. Oschmann is to be... a walking insult to the Feds. Now, do you feel slighted?"

He holds my gaze a few heartbeats longer, then bows his head. "I am at fault, sir," he mutters. "I accept and await your discipline."

"Discipline? There will be none, this time, for the words that Rrueo did not hear." I lean a little closer to him. "If Rrueo ever does hear those words, your first taste of discipline will be Rrueo's fangs meeting in your throat. Does Rrueo make herself clear?"

Despite everything, he smiles. Klingons... they appreciate savagery. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Then let us be about our duties." And I stride to the door.

---

The briefing room aboard the Timor is bright and neat, typical of the Federation. The Caitian is there, and her Betazoid henchman. Both are bright and neat, too. The one incongruous note in all this... is not neat.

The Talaxian is sitting on a couch with her legs drawn up on the seat. She is skinny, with the typical reticulated skin patterns of her species; her hair is drawn up in an unruly topknot, and she is dressed in the outfit of a dilithium miner, with many pouches and pockets, and heavy armoured boots that must be making terrible marks on the Caitian's seat cushions. She is not neat. But, despite the presence of the Betazoid, I risk a peek at her mind, and that is bright... bright with a gaudy rapid flickering of thought, chains of ideas sparkling with a meretricious light, like... like a dabo table in action. Interesting. Who is she?

"Rrueo has transmitted log extracts along a secure ship-to-ship data channel," I say without preamble. "Rrueo hopes you have had the time to review and digest them."

"Yes." The Caitian sits back in her chair and steeples her hands. "Captain Pexlini, here -" she indicates the Talaxian "- made me aware of the security breach."

"Yeah," the Talaxian says. "We've been spotting problems for a while, now - 'course, your problems tell us something, right? Gotta mean KDF data channels are compromised too, and that maybe narrows things down. There are only so many places where all the allied forces share comms resources in Delta Command -"

"Rrueo notes that you know a good deal about Delta Command's secure networks," I comment.

"Yeah, well," says the Talaxian, "kinda goes with the territory, know what I mean?"

"Captain Pexlini operates as an irregular asset for Starfleet in the Delta Quadrant."

"I'm cleared for some things on a need to know basis," says the Talaxian, "and, y'know, sometimes you need to know quite a lot of stuff. 'Sides, I'm full of 'satiable curiosity, like the elephant's child." I do not know what this means, but I sense a flicker in Oschmann's mind as she stands at my right hand behind me.

"In any case," I say, as I take a seat across the desk from the Caitian, "this breach complicates our situation. Prudence would seem to dictate a withdrawal to the Alpha Quadrant, to inform Starfleet and KDF authorities and begin a formal investigation. Rrueo does not, however, believe we have time for prudence. The Vaadwaur may already have whatever weapon the Kadirians used -"

"No," the Caitian interrupts. "I've looked through your logs, and they confirm something we've been sort of suspecting for a while now. The Kadirians aren't the issue. Whatever killed the Kobali, it's something to do with the Hazari guard the Kadirians employed." She taps at a desk console, swings it around so that I can see the screen. I recognize the graphs, the data readouts. "There's your scans from that - anomaly - you found in Kadirian space." She types in another command, and a second set of graphs appears. "I recognized the similarities immediately. But, then, high energy physics - well, it's my field."

"What is it?" I am in no mood to hear her congratulate herself.

"The Genesis Wave."

"Ah," I say. "The Federation's ultimate weapon - oh, please forgive Rrueo, she means the entirely peaceful terraforming device."

"Only ever used the one time," says the Caitian, "because we have no way of predicting the reactions of the protomatter components in the system. It might even be theoretically impossible to predict them. But your anomaly confirms the use of a protomatter device - and the Kadirians' Hazari escort has a deal with another Hazari, who was siphoning protomatter out of a Hierarchy research station."

I sit still, digesting this. The Federation exercises restraint in the use of doomsday weapons like the Genesis Device. There is no guarantee that the Hazari would do likewise - and, as for the Vaadwaur, restraint to them means only a device for keeping prisoners still under torture. "The Hazari need to be... dissuaded... from this line of research," I say, eventually.

"Knowledge can't be suppressed," says the Caitian, "but we can at least make them aware of the probable consequences. We have to make some sort of deal with them, one that will get them to discontinue this - whatever it is they're doing. And we have to do that before the Vaadwaur get to them. If they haven't already."

"Thing is this." The Talaxian speaks up. "We can maybe use this whole deal to backtrack onto our other big problem, if we can get some cooperation from the Hazari. Y'know, find out what they're up to, we can work out who's after them, maybe work out from that how they got their information. If you see what I mean." The gaudy lights in her mind are flashing in sequence. She obviously knows what she means... I think I follow her.

"The involvement of the Vaadwaur suggests that their intelligence services are at the heart of this," I say. "That is a matter of urgent concern."

The Caitian and the Talaxian both shake their heads. "Not Vaadwaur military intelligence," says the Talaxian. "They wouldn't bother with the chickenfeed, or the piecemeal selling of information to bottom-feeders like Ro'khellselan. No, our leak is going out through someone who is not a major player, but who's trying to get into the big leagues. See what I mean?"

"It's... consistent with what we've deciphered from the isolinear chips," says the Caitian. I am tempted to bang her head against the desk until she tells me what these chips are, and who or what Ro'khellselan is. But it would not be productive. "There is a lot of unorganized, low-level data -"

"Like, someone's listening to a lot of what Delta Command is saying, but can't easily pick out the important stuff," the Talaxian adds. "So they sell on what they can, where they can."

"Very well," I say. "Rrueo will read your full report when you submit it, and she hopes it will contain all the relevant information. In the meantime, how are we to proceed?"

"We have tabs on one of the Hazari ships," says the Talaxian. "I'm guessing that at some point very soon, this guy will be wanting a meet with the one we think has the protomatter device. So, we move in then, and, well, make a deal."

"The Hazari are not, by and large, an unreasonable people," says the Caitian. And they may be yet more reasonable with Brathana's disruptors locked on their ship - but I keep that thought to myself, for the moment.

"And the deal involves what? Setting some bait for the pursuing Vaadwaur to take, and then learning from them where their information came from - Rrueo will tell you now, that will prove difficult."

"Well," says the Caitian, "let's at least rough out a plan, based on what we know of Vaadwaur and Hazari tactical patterns -"

"Also," says the Talaxian, "we can maybe now get a handle on the leak from another direction, kinda thing. KDF and Federation don't share all the secure data channels, and since we know KDF info is leaking too, maybe we can narrow down the places it might be leaking from, am I right?"

I sigh, inwardly. This is going to be a long session.

---

It is. I am low in spirits when we step off the Brathana's transporter platform, hoping for nothing else to bother me while I return to my quarters and sleep.

"That Talaxian is... wearing," I mutter.

"If she's Talaxian," growls Oschmann.

I stop, and turn towards her. The light in her mind is gleaming brightly, she has some thoughts. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," says Oschmann, "that it's not impossible she's a Starfleet agent, surgically or cosmetically altered to look like a Talaxian. Starfleet does it while studying pre-warp alien species - you can safely bet Intelligence uses the same technique."

My whiskers twitch. "Why do you think this?"

"Cultural references," says Oschmann. "Ostankino is an Earth place name - well, that might be a coincidence. But an elephant is an Earth animal - and I recognized the reference, too, it's to a story by a human writer. An Earth writer."

"You think she is a human disguised as a Talaxian?"

"I don't know." Oschmann shakes her head. "But she is steeped in Earth culture, I'm sure of that much. And how would she pick that up, from the other side of the galaxy?"

"The Caitian seems to take her at face value." I sniff. "Perhaps that is one reason to suppose you are right."

"The Caitian's not stupid, sir. Though maybe a little naïve."

I shake my head. "It amounts to the same thing.... Never mind. We will address these matters soon enough. For now, Rrueo must rest."