The words hung thick and stale in the air, and the atmosphere in the captain's ready room was suffocating with tension.

The visage of Admiral Forestall glared back at the captain and commander from a small desktop viewer "Place the commander under arrest and confine him for the duration of your trip, Captain," he ordered.

"Admiral Forestall, if I could just speak with you about this matter I--"

Sutherland's attempt at explanation was cut short with a dismissive wave of the admiral's hand. "The Avenger has its orders, and I advise that you carry them out, Captain. Starfleet out."

Captain Tobias Sutherland stared intensely at the small viewer, which now displayed only the blue and white symbol of the Federation. He was stunned. Finally he glanced at his first officer, but said nothing.

"I'll notify Security and report to the brig as soon as I gather a few things, Captain," Commander Andrew Brower said finally after a few lingering moments of uncomfortable silence. He had seen this coming. By going back to rescue the captain and others he had directly disobeyed orders from a superior officer. And disobedience was something which could not be tolerated in the ranks of Starfleet. He had made his choice, now he would have to live with the consequences.

"No," Sutherland said quietly. "You aren't a criminal, and I will not treat you as one. Report to your quarters, and as soon as we reach Earth I'll straighten this mess out," the captain said with an assurance he did not entirely feel.

Andrew departed, and as the doors closed on the seclusion of the ready room, Sutherland wondered what he could really do to clear the air with Starfleet brass.

"Court martial?!" Dr. Chris Logan asked emphatically. He waved his wrists wildly, the anger of his scowl reflected in the smooth, polished surface of the ward room conference table. "Has Starfleet lost its mind?"

Sutherland eyed the doctor, a bit surprised at his vehement reaction. The physician was normally a very calm individual not prone to such physical outbursts. But as the captain's eyes swept the faces of the remaining senior staff seated around the small table, the doctor's opinion seemed to be echoed on all their faces.

"It's not right!" Lucas West slapped the tabletop as he emphasized each word, his short, braided dreadlocks twitching slightly with the impact of each angry slap. The ebony of his skin masked the blood which rushed to his face and forehead. "Without Brower, the Lia IV mission could have been disastrous!"

While excessive outbursts were not exactly routine during staff meetings, the Chief Engineer was known for over emphasizing his opinions from time to time. However everyone seated around the table knew this was not one of those occasions.

This time Sutherland happened to agree with him. "But without discipline, there is no order," the captain played devil's advocate.

"And when soldiers blindly follow authority, they can sometimes be led astray," Lanei countered, her words carefully modulated with Deltan precision. She could agree with Starfleet's principle, but not its practicality.

"But orders are not meant to be questioned," Kaleran Rataan interjected. The Security Chief was torn between his strict beliefs and his gut instinct which told him something about this was all wrong.

Schoen Rutledge leaned forward, seeming to take a genuine interest in the conversation for the first time. He was routinely quiet and often reserved comment for times when he had something of value to contribute, and this was such a time. "If orders are never to be questioned, then I feel that I must join Commander Brower in standing trial for disobeying orders," he said without waver. His dark Betazoid eyes looked back at questioning stares, finally coming to rest on Rataan's.

The room seemed stunned. From the outset, the Ops Chief had been one of the most outspoken opponents of Brower's appointment to the Avenger as first officer. Now he was supporting him.

Chris Logan clasped his hands and placed them on the table. "And I feel as though I too should be placed under arrest, Captain."

Sutherland looked at them with frustration. "I appreciate your loyalty, gentlemen. But it is misplaced." He knew full well that Logan had known in advance that Brower was going to disobey orders and did nothing to stop him. He was also aware of the gag order Rutledge had violated in relation to the secret storage depot on Lia IV. "But the simple fact is, I cannot have a ship full of senior officers confining themselves to quarters. Starfleet Command will get to you when and if they feel such action is warranted."

He scanned their faces. "Until then, the best thing you can do for the commander is assist in clearing up the confusion over this matter," he told them evenly, standing and departing the room. The conversation had ended.

Brower sat quietly in his cabin gazing at the stars of home. He had sat in the small apartment watching inordinent stars streaking past for the last eight days. But somehow he knew these stars. There was a comforting familiarity about them.

Soon the ship dropped out of warp and the gentle streaks of light wrested into tiny pinpoints of glitter against a backdrop of jet black, and for better or worse, Andrew knew he was home. The Avenger would soon be arriving at Earth.

His mind raced forward in time, trying to glimpse what would transpire over the next days and weeks. He somehow knew the impending events would not be pleasant. But he was determined to endure them. A wise man had once advised that what did not kill us serves only to make us stronger.

The door tone chimed softly, wresting him from his thoughts. "Come in," he turned and said, not surprised to see the doctor stepping through the doorway.

Logan did his best to smile. He wasn't surprised to see Brower seated on the white, overstuffed sofa nearest the viewport. During many visits over the past days he had seldom arrived to find his host sitting anywhere else. "We'll be arriving at spacedock shortly." He crossed the room and sat in the chair closest to the sofa.

Brower nodded. "I know," he gestured to the stars outside.

There wasn't really much to say, but Logan wanted to be there if his friend should need anything. This was bound to be a trying experience, and he knew a friendly face would be appreciated.

As he sat back in the chair Logan's eyes glanced to the desk nearby. Waiting there was a small case, probably packed with essential items Brower would need during the trial. He glanced down pensively at the gray carpeting underfoot.

"Look, Andrew..." the doctor began awkwardly, "I just wanted you to know that we're all behind you. The senior staff is doing everything they can to get you out of this mess."

Andrew reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Logan's shoulder. "I know, Chris." He had heard how they had rallied behind him over the past days, and he was thankful. No matter what the outcome of this all would be, he was satisfied in knowing that he had done the right thing, by the book or not. And it helped that his shipmates supported that. "And I'm grateful."

Logan returned the glance, finding it ironic that Brower was providing reassurance to him.

Suddenly the comm tone sounded. "All senior officers, please report to transporter room one," Schoen Rutledge's disembodied voice requested.

Just then the door chime toned. Brower grabbed his case and slowly followed Logan to the doors. They slid apart, revealing Captain Sutherland who waited in the corridor. "Are you ready, Commander?"

"Ready as I'll ever be, sir."

They made their way to the transporter room where all of the remaining senior staff was assembled. As Brower, the captain, and the doctor entered the others snapped to attention.

Without a word, they each shook Brower's hand. He smiled as he passed them all, thinking how close he had gotten to this bunch in only his short time on board. Quietly he stepped onto the transporter pad, followed by Captain Sutherland. The others remained at attention.

Brower locked eyes with the engineer as the captain nodded to the transporter tech. As he began to dissolve into a blue light, the last thing Andrew saw was West's determined stare urging him on.

As the light faded, he saw that he and the captain were in a small, utilitarian transporter room. Nearby stood two officers from Starfleet Security wearing full body armor. A third man in command red was also present.

The man stepped forward. "I am Commander Quinn, of the Judge Advocate General's office," he announced formally. He stared coldly at Brower. "Commander Andrew Clayton Brower, I formally charge you with the crime of willfully disobeying a superior officer's direct order." He nodded to the guards who stepped forward and produced a pair of bonding cuffs.

Andrew offered no resistance as the restraints were placed on his wrists.

"Commander, you will be taken to a security cell to await formal trial and a General Court Martial," Quinn continued.

Sutherland looked on, nonplused by this unnecessary display of procedure. Helplessly he watched as the guards led his first officer away.

''Look, Commander James, I am very long on temper and short on patience at this point," Captain Sutherland was saying through gritted teeth to the man on his ready room communications screen. "I would like to speak directly with Admiral Forestall."

After unsuccessfully attempting to see the admiral in person all morning, Sutherland had decided to return to the Avenger and attempt to beat his way through the red tape surrounding Brower's case. He was determined to get some answers, and was sure he had fought battles with Romulans under less stress.

"I'm sorry, sir," the nondescript commander was saying once more, "but that won't be possible." The man glanced off screen, as if looking for assurance from someone. "Admiral Forestall has left Headquarters to attend to personal matters."

Impatience burned in the captain's eyes. "Then get me someone else who can answer--"

A woman in an admiral's uniform moved James aside, stepping into view and interrupting Sutherland. "Captain Sutherland, I am Admiral Debra Hewlett," she said with measured calm. "What can I do to assist you?"

Sutherland assessed the woman. Hewlett was not beautiful but she definitely wore an air of command. There was no doubt she was a person use to exerting her authority. "I would like an explanation," he began again, in a tone that was markedly more calm. "My executive officer, Commander Andrew Brower, is being court-martialed, and I would like an explanation."

She blinked in surprise. "Certainly that must be obvious," she replied in a patronizing tone. "Brower disobeyed a direct order, and he must suffer the consequences."

Inside Sutherland was fuming. There was more to the situation, and they both knew it. "That explanation is not good enough, Admiral!" the captain argued in a heated tone. "There is more to it! Why is Command pursuing this matter to this extreme? Brower has an exemplary record, his service has proved him a valuable officer. Why is he being tried to the full extent of the law? A reprimand, a demotion, or reassignment; all of these options could have sufficed." Sutherland knew that certain members of the admiralty had it in for him personally, but going after a member of his crew made no sense. "But instead he is being railroaded in a court-martial trail that's nothing more than a kangaroo court. Brower appears to have been tried and convicted."

Anger flushed the woman's neck and face as she responded to Sutherland's questioning tone. "Those are very serious implications you are making, Captain," her patronizing continued.

"I'm not implying;" he said evenly, "I'm saying it straight out. This trial is a mockery of justice." His voice remained quiet, giving his words a deadly impact.

Hewlett drew herself up, giving the captain an icy glare. "Captain, you are obviously too upset to be reasonable and objective about this matter. Perhaps you need something else to concentrate on," she suggested as she motioned to an aid out of view. "Orders for the Avenger's next mission are being transmitted to you as we speak. I suggest that you obey them to the letter," she paused for emphasis, "unless you wish to join your first officer."

Sutherland's eyes narrowed as he eyed her carefully. That's what this is all about. The admiralty was using Brower as an example to him and the rest of Avenger's crew. Suddenly he felt guilty that his quarrel with Command had boiled over and now involved one of his officers. Hewlett stared back without expression.

"I understand your message, Admiral. You're making it loud and clear that you intend to give this ship no quarter," he told her icily.

"You are being dramatic, Captain," she suggested. She glanced at him a moment longer, contemplating further debate, but she decided against it. "You have your orders. And I no longer have time to indulge you. Any further discussions involving the Brower case will be handled by my staff. You may contact Commander James with any question you might have." She was about to end transmission, then seemed to change her mind. "And Captain, I can overlook your insubordinate attitude. I understand your concern for Commander Brower, but do not test my patients further. I assure you, I am very serious about your orders, and the consequences should you disobey them."

The screen abruptly winked out as the seal of the Federation appeared. Sutherland's fist exploded down on the top of his desk. He sat in his chair fuming with frustrated rage. He was about to slam the desktop once more when a com chime interrupted his thoughts.

"Captain," came the Ops Chief's voice from the bridge, "priority-one orders have been received from Starfleet Command, sir."

Sutherland took a deep breath to calm himself. "Understood, Mr. Rutledge," he said glancing to his viewscreen just in time for the scrolling display of Avenger's new orders to pop onto the terminal. As the information scrolled, he used those few moments to further contain his anger, compartmentalizing it and shutting it away.

When he stepped onto the bridge and gave orders for their course, there was no sign of his feelings. His very lack of expression spoke more eloquently of his failure to help Brower that any show of emotion could have. The bridge crew each echoed the captain's silent resolve as they set off on this mission. They were not done trying to help Brower yet. They would be back.

Brower sat in a bare room at a table where he had been directed to wait. He wore nondescript gray coveralls, his uniform having been replaced shortly after being taken into custody. Two long days had gone by, since the Avenger was forced to turn him over to Starfleet custody. Still he hadn't been told any information about his case, nor had he been contacted by the Judge Advocate General's office about counsel for his defense. In a civilian court this would have been unconstitutional, but Starfleet court-martial hearings did not fall under the jurisdiction of civil law. He knew he was entirely at the mercy of the whims of the Advocate's office, not a comforting thought in these uncertain days.

Andrew had spent his entire adult life in Starfleet. In fact, he literally could not imagine life apart from it. Now he was faced with the potential loss of everything that made him who he was. It left him wondering if there was an Andrew Brower at the core of his being who would survive once the Starfleet husk had been stripped away.

Without notice the door opened and a young woman entered. She wore no uniform, just a tailored jacket and skirt. She was attractive with her vivid coloring, dark hair, and generous mouth. On her lapel she wore a security pass with her picture and name on it. The insignia of the JAG office was labeled in the corner.

"Commander Andrew Brower?" she asked politely.

"You were expecting someone else?" he replied with a bitter glance around the bare detention room. The past two days had already seemed to strip him of his manners.

She squared her shoulders at his sarcasm. "I'm Lieutenant Becca Raull, your defense counsel," she replied seating herself across the small table from him. She pulled a padd from her pocket and laid a tricorder on the table. "I'll be recording our interview so that I may review it for details later, if necessary." She set the tricorder to record. He said nothing, and for the first time she looked at this man she had been assigned to defend. He was a handsome man, not unlike many other officers she had met before, but something in his deep brown eyes seemed to portray an unusual trait. He had an almost palpable inner strength.

Andrew had been observing the lieutenant as well. He noticed her deep blue eyes and smooth young face. Despite the mature way in which she wore her hair, she looked barely old enough to be out of the academy. Her youthful appearance was something she obviously tried to disguise through her manner of dress , unsuccessful as it was.

"Commander Brower?" she questioned nervously noticing that his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.

"How old are you?" he asked her finally.

"I beg your pardon?"

He could hold back his frustrations no longer. "You're just a kid! They call this fair process, giving me a damned kid for a lawyer?!" he lashed out, not so much at her as at the situation. He had been sure all along that someone in the hierarchy of Starfleet Command must be behind pushing this issue to its present extreme. But until now he had never considered that he'd get anything less than a fair hearing. His situation looked more and more desperate.

"Sir, I am a competent law counselor, despite what you may think of my age," she said with controlled calm. "I can give you my assurance, you will get only the best from me. I will see to it that your trial is fair and that you get the defense you deserve."

He looked at the determined set of her jaw, impressed by the way she stood by her convictions. But it had never been more apparent, he needed someone who would win this case. "How many cases have you won?" he questioned.

She hesitated, "I've never lost."

His expression was incredulous. "This is your first case!"

She nodded, but not a flicker of self doubt crossed her face. "And I don't intend to begin my career by losing my first case, so if you're ready to begin, sir, I'd like to start our interview."

Brower swore under his breath. "What choice do I have?"

"None," and she meant it. "Now tell me, in your own words, about the Lia IV situation now being called into question at this court-martial hearing."

The Avenger would be arriving in the Calrami Sector in two hours. Captain Sutherland stood staring out the transparent aluminum window in the ward room. The technicolor lines of distorted stars rushed by in a dazzling display, but he barely noticed the familiar sight. His mind was organizing his thoughts for the mission briefing he was about to give his senior staff.

His ship was being sent to investigate the disappearance of several ships along an established trading route. An undercover agent had already been placed at Calra Prime, and was investigating the possibility that pirates could be responsible. They would first rendezvous with this man and then plan further investigation.

The thought that pirates could be marauding within Federation space didn't bother the captain near as much as the alternative cause for the missing ships, marauding Cardassians. He had suspected that this mission was not as simple as it first appeared when he noted that Admiral Hewlett had personally assigned the Avenger herself. When he had poured through the manifests of the missing ships, he believed he had uncovered the reason she had insisted it was his ship that was sent to investigate.

His thoughts were interrupted with a hiss from the room's double door as his senior officers began to file into the ward room. He waited until they were all seated before taking his own chair at the large, round table. "You already know that we are being sent to investigate the disappearance of several trading vessels in the Calrami Sector," he began. "Mr. Rataan, were you able to piece together any clues from the available information on the possible causes?"

The chief security officer sat at attention. "Each ship was equipped with the standard telemetry tracking devises. So far, Starfleet has managed to pinpoint most of the vessels' last known locations. They've also pinpointed substantial ambient energy traces in those areas."

"Sounds like the aftermath of a battle," Lt. Commander West interjected.

Kale nodded. "Yes, but there were no signs of wreckage. If there was a firefight, each of the ships were taken whole, overrun and boarded," Rataan finished.

"So these ships aren't being hit merely for the contents, but for the vessel as well?" West observed.

"Which leads to the theory of piracy," Sutherland suggested hesitantly, putting the idea forward for discussion.

Lieutenant Lanei looked at him speculatively, "But you're not convinced of that?" she asked "Do you think there may be some other explanation?"

He had decided not to share his uneasy feelings about Admiral Hewlett, but needed to share them with his crew. "One of the ships, the Caldron, was carrying a shipment of Northryte to Vulcan bound for the medical facility in ShiKahr," he explained. Questioning glances told him several of the officers were obviously unfamiliar with the properties of the element. "Doctor, could you elaborate, please?"

"Northryte is a very rare substance. Only two known systems have quantities of any harvestable proportion. Northryte is also a very essential catalyst in developing serums for certain antitoxins. Aside from that, its applications are limited," Chris Logan recited.

"Why would someone go to this much trouble to steal Northryte? By itself it is useless," Rutledge puzzled.

Lanei's expression was grim, "Because it could, theoretically, be used as a super-catalyst in a Metagenic weapon," she said seriously.

The captain nodded darkly. Under other circumstances he may never have thought that the small shipment of Northryte had been the main target of these raids, but the Avenger had been recently sent to the Lia IV system on a rescue mission, only to discover that colonists had attempted to sell a secretly stockpiled Metagenic weapon. Cardassians had learned of its existence and tried to steal it for themselves. In a final confrontation between the Cardassians and the Avenger, the Cardassians had managed to escape with only part of the necessary components for the weapon in a prototype runabout. Now he feared that the New Obsidian Order was in fact responsible for the raids. "We have to consider the possibility that Gul A'Kare and his band of Cardassian friends are behind the missing Northryte. The other missing ships may merely be a diversion to throw us off the true target," he said.

The room was silent for a few moments.

"Pirates or Cardassians, I don't know which I'd rather face," Dr. Logan commented.

"Your captain ordered you to take the ship away from Lia IV?" Becca Raull questioned Brower.

Andrew sighed. They had been over the events once already. He was uncomfortably aware of the numerous holes in his account of what had happened. He felt as if his hands were tied, unable to tell his counselor all of the facts. There was no doubt in his mind that if he violated the gag order by revealing the true nature of events of Lia IV, even if it would help his case, he would then be open to charges of treason. "I had no idea what was happening on the planet," he replied. "The captain had beamed to the surface with Dr. Logan to locate and talk to the survivors. Moments after beaming down, his order to leave came."

"And you obeyed?" she asked.

He nodded, "Yes, I took the Avenger out of the sector."

"And when you informed Starfleet Command of this, they ordered you to wait for a second starship, not to go back," she continued. Her face remained expressionless, and she was careful that her voice not reflect any of her own thoughts on the situation.

She'd be damn good at poker, Brower thought as he watched her. "Yes."

"Why?"

He didn't answer.

"There were only a few life signs left on the planet, and no ships in detectable space. So what made you leave your captain on that planet?" Her blue eyes bored into him. After nearly an hour of interviewing him and getting nowhere, Becca knew there was more to this whole situation, and she knew Brower was hiding it from her. But why? "What was Starfleet so afraid of that they'd risk losing a valued captain by ordering you not to go back for him? What on Lia IV was so threatening that needed two starships to deal with it?"

He watched her carefully as she stared at him, pressing him for more information than he could give. "I can't say what Starfleet thought we were dealing with. You'd have to look at the official reports," he answered her finally.

"Can't say, or won't?" she accused.

But again Brower refused to answer.

"Look, Commander, I can only defend you based on the information you can give me." She paused, staring into the depth of his brown eyes once more. "You are being charged with a serious crime. You could end up in a prison colony, at the very least your career as an officer will be finished." She urged him to help her, to help himself.

He watched her. She was convincing, and his growing desire to confess himself to her was overwhelming. But he couldn't. "What more can I tell you? That is what happened. There isn't any more that I can give you, Lieutenant."

She pinned him with her eyes. "Tell me there were extenuating circumstances. Tell me you had reasons to disobey the orders given. Tell me the truth!" She watched as he started to protest, and she held up her hand to stop his reply, "Oh, I have no doubt that what you have told me is absolutely true--to a point. But I need more. I need the truth surrounding the bare bones of what you have given me. Because without that, Commander, this is a cut and dried case... and you will be found guilty of willfully disobeying a direct order." Still there was no answer.

Andrew admired her persistence, but he was torn. There was nothing else he could tell her without violating his orders, and that would only place him in further jeopardy. The situation was claustrophobic. He struggled to keep his own expressions of mounting frustration under control. The walls were closing in, and there seemed no way out of this trap.

Somewhere deep inside Andrew knew he had been ensnared. Someone high within the ranks of Starfleet wanted him to be found guilty, but he didn't want to believe that. Still the argument was strong. His hands had been bound by the gag-order, and now he had been given an under-experienced defense counsel. No one could be accused of wrong doing, because so far everything had stayed within the letter of the law, but the letter of the law was quite different from the spirit of justice. And justice was something he was being denied. There could only be a limited few individuals behind his legal entanglement, but that did nothing to diminish the feelings of betrayal that were growing within him.

His glazed look and refusal to answer had worn Becca down. "All right, have it your way," she warned as she got to her feet, preparing to leave.

"Lieutenant Raull," he called after her before she reached the door, "I wouldn't blame you if you wanted off my case," he told her in a disheartening tone. "Like you said, losing the first case isn't a great way to start a career." He tried to smile.

As she watched him, suddenly her anger was gone, replaced by a renewed commitment to find out what was going on here. She gave him a self-mocking smile. "Sorry to say, I never learned how to quit. You're stuck with me." Her chin went up, "And in spite of you, Commander, I won't lose."

Lanei and Kaleran sat reviewing the codes that would be used to communicate with the undercover agent once they reached Calra Prime. The local authorities were expecting the starship to arrive. They had themselves requested aid in investigating the disappearance of the missing merchant vessels. But no one on Calra Prime was aware of the intelligence agent that Starfleet had planted on the planet. Avenger had been given a code to contact him but as an extra precaution they would disguise the origin of their transmissions to the surface. It would be Lanei's job to accomplish this subterfuge with her technical wizardry.

"He calls himself Batai," she said almost to herself.

"Sounds fairly ordinary, I imagine it's as good a name as any for someone who doesn't want to be noticed," Rataan answered.

Lanei looked up as if she had been lost in memory, "I guess so," she smiled. "There is a Deltan children's story with a hero called Batai. He was quite a trickster, and always fought for the under-dog. When I was a child I used to pretend to be Batai, out to correct all the injustices in the world," her voice trailed off as she thought of those happy times. Her brother, Lath, used to tell her she was too much of an idealist, that Batai was a dream and she should grow up. "I think I like this fellow already," she said to Kale as she memorized the key to the contact code. "A secret agent that goes by the name of Batai must be special."

Calra Prime was a conspicuously ordinary planet. It had no resources of value to sell. It had no natural wonders of beauty to attract tourists; no historical events of any significance; no pleasure resorts; and no miraculous health spas. There weren't even any native life forms to exploit. Calra Prime had only one thing to recommend it: location. But as every business entrepreneur knew, location was the key to prosperity.

Calra Prime sat nearly equa-distant from three sectors of space, making trade between them easier and more profitable. It's gravity and atmosphere were relatively acceptable to most humanoid species, and there were no better facilities for ship repair within ten dozen light years. In short, Calra Prime was the perfect location for a trade depot, and everything that went along with such an installation.

Batai entered the Wildcat Cantina. It was the sort of establishment that seemed to follow intergalactic trade; dark, smoky, secluded tables, and service with no questions asked. He took a seat in a corner booth, back to the wall and a clear view of the door. A Fabrini waiter appeared at his side to take his order of synth-ale. Casually he scanned the room. Beings of every description, Federation and non-Federation alike, were scattered about the large room. Humans seemed to outnumber most species, but it was hard to tell in the poor lighting if all who appeared to be human truly were.

He hoped that in this sort of place he would be approached with the information he sought. For days now he had been laying his cover. He had let it be known that his ship, the Lanya, had blown its coolant system while in warp drive. It was a common enough malfunction on small ships that were pushed too hard and too long without maintenance. There was also an inevitable chain reaction from a failed coolant system; the pilot had to either force an immediate shutdown of the reaction chamber, or risk a breech of the containment fields, which would have in turn caused the whole warp core to explode. Forced emergency shut-downs tended to do unkind things to engines.

The Lanya now had enough damage to leave him a substantial repair bill. It was a string of bad fortune any space trader could empathize with.

Leaving nothing to chance, he had also added fine details to his cover. His ship was a small one-man merchant class hopper. It had been rigged with enough alterations to give the impression of an highly overpowered ship with juried sensors that would be more than sufficient for a legitimate trader. In fact, the changes were just enough to raise the suspicion of shadiness, without being obvious. In the intelligence game, obvious got you dead. He just hoped that his attention to detail paid off. So far his investigation had only confirmed what Starfleet already knew; ships were disappearing, and pirates were probably to blame.

A being with leathery skin and bat-wing like ears scooted into the seat across from him.

"Can I help you, friend?" Batai said as if he were annoyed by this intrusion into his brooding.

"I may can help you, may I can," Ears said in a wispy voice. "Hear you need ship repairs made good."

Batai snorted, "Yeah, know a good mechanic that works for free?"

"Free, nothing free," Ears seemed to find his sarcasm funny, and whistled a laugh through his bifurcated mouth parts. "May you have money?"

"I was on the down side of a run, on my way to Sauria to do some trading. I was empty when the ol' girl decided to force a rest stop," he answered.

"Then, you need a job, eh, may you?"

"What kind of job? Without the repairs to my ship, I can't go anywhere." Batai now showed a little more interest in the fellow's words.

"May I know someone who looks for someone may like you, may I." Ears seemed eager now. "Needs someone special, someone good with ships."

"I've piloted my own ship for years," Batai interjected.

"Know this, I do," Batai was glad he'd been thorough in his cover work. Apparently he'd been checked out. "Know too may you good at other things; things some people not appreciate, may authority peoples, eh?" His bat like ears twitched.

His eyes narrowed, this character had done a lot of checking. He was sure now that this was no idle fishing. Batai was being offered the hook, and if he allowed himself to be reeled in he just might get lucky and net the big fish he was after. But he couldn't appear too eager. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said getting up as if to leave.

"Friend, friend, sit, sit," the other being urged. "I not say to angry make you. I say so you may know I appreciate how you special," He emphasized the word, giving it significant meaning. "I tell you, I know people look for special person like may you."

Batai sat back down. "I'm listening."

The space port of Calra Prime was a maze of warehouses and business fronts. Batai followed his guide through a dozen twists and turns. Every so often the wing-eared alien would turn to see if his new cohort was keeping up.

Signs of decay, broken windows and bars, refuse and rodents all marked the invisible line the two crossed as they traveled into the less prosperous district. People they passed here seemed to mimic the rodents in their furtive movements. He noticed that they gave his new friend a certain amount of respect, or fear, sidestepping out of his way. They turned down an alley, darker than the rest, or perhaps it was just the atmosphere here that made it seem so. "Seeth," as Batai learned the alien was called, "how much further?"

With a grand gesture at a door camouflaged by a pile of debris Seeth answered, "Here we are, may we."

Once inside the warehouse, a veritable treasure trove of crates and plasteel containers filled the huge facility for as far as the eye could see. The markings on the crates were from various planets throughout the three sectors near Calrami. It didn't take a genius to realize that he had discovered the clearinghouse for materials pirated from the missing ships in and around the sector. He had discovered the secret headquarters for the pirates behind the disappearances, he was certain of it. Batai knew also that he had been brought here as a test, and his reactions in these first few moments were critical.

"Very impressive," Batai complimented as he casually strolled along the first row of cartons. "Must have taken some planning to get these cargoes stowed away. Whoever works your logistics is a real pro."

"Thank you very much," a voice said as a man stepped out from around one of the stacks. He held a phaser rifle casually propped against his hip and roughly pointed in Batai's direction. Batai wasn't fooled for a second, knowing that the man's casual tone did not conceal the fact that he was most likely a crack shot. "Now, who the hell are you?" the new comer demanded.

Seeth eagerly moved forward. "Good pilot he is. Good with ships. I bring may I to meet the captain."

The one holding the rifle never took his eyes off of the agent. "You'd better be sure about this one, Seeth, 'cause if you're wrong, the Old Man will serve both your heads to the crew for dinner," he gestured including Batai in his threat.

"Sure, sure," Seeth cooed, "I do some checking, may I. This one special."

The other man seemed to decide that the matter was no longer of interest to him personally. It was clear that whatever consequences would come if Batai didn't pass inspection, would fall on Seeth and Batai alone. He lowered his weapon and held out his hand, surprising Batai with the friendly gesture.

"Name's Daren Freenight," he introduced himself. "You might as well have a seat. The captain probably won't see you for a while... likes to put people on edge before he meets them."

Batai decided it was appropriate to show a little curiosity at this point. "What sort of captain is he?"

"Fair," Freenight shrugged, "but you don't want to be on his bad side."

Seeth wandered off behind a stack. "Hey!" Freenight shouted at him, "You keep out of that Saurian Brandy, Seeth. I'm the one has to answer to the Old Man for what's in here."

A descriptive whistle was the only reply. "Plague on all Whisherians," Freenight cursed. "They're all alike. Can't keep them out of the goods. They make good computer splicers though."

"And the rest of the crew?" Batai probed.

"A Ferengi navigator, boss calls him Clarence to irritate him, a Klingon at weapons, the rest human. You're the first Deltan," Freenight answered.

"What job do you think I'll be given?"

He gave a humorless laugh. "You won't be given anything. You might earn the job of pilot, if you're as good as Seeth is betting."

"And the ship? Is it a merchant vessel?"

Freenight's eyes narrowed, "We deal in merchandise."

The door behind them opened. A shaft of light outlined a tall, thin human figure. Daren Freenight stood up, almost at attention. Seeth seemed to appear from nowhere to stand at his side. Batai stood and waited. They all began to step forward as the shadowed figure beckoned them to enter. Batai swallowed nervously. He was about to meet the captain.

Once inside the new, tinier room, Batai could see why Freenight had referred to the captain as the Old Man. The captain was gray-headed and extremely thin, yet his dark, hooded eyes and graceful movements seemed to defy his apparent age. He was clearly athletic, and he carried an air of authority like the cape that draped across his shoulders.

The Old Man stared for a moment at Batai, then cocked a questioning brow at his two men.

"He may is good pilot," Seeth rushed to explain. "I find, I find. You say we need. I find."

The Old Man looked Batai up and down. "I don't like Deltans."

Batai squared his shoulders as if he were about to take offense. "I don't know if I like you," he glared. "But I may like being your pilot," he gestured at the stockpile of wares around them.

The Old Man glowered at the Deltan for a second, his eyes boring into this newcomer. He sighed a deep sigh and looked over at Seeth. "You checked him out good?"

"Good."

He turned back to Batai, "You entered no-man's-land when you came here. You had best be a good pilot, and you had best not try to double cross me," he warned, stepping closer so their noses were almost touching. "'Cause if you do, you'll live to regret it; not long," his laugh came out as a foul whisper, "but you will regret it."

Avenger dropped out of warp and entered standard orbit. The Deltan Chief Science Officer entered the bridge. "Lieutenant, initiate contact with Agent Batai," the captain said.

Lanei took a seat at the science station on the upper deck and began her coded transmission to the surface. She took great care to bounce the communications signal off of the atmosphere. It could be compared to a skilled ventriloquist throwing their voice. If anyone were monitoring communications with the agent from the surface, Avenger's transmission would appear to come from a ship in lower orbit and on the other side of the planet. With the addition of a freighter's telemetry code on a frequency sub-carrier, there would be no way for anyone to connect the communications with the orbiting starship.

"Sir, there is no answer," she said after a moment.

Sutherland had no reason to worry as yet. There were plenty of reasons why an undercover operative might be unable to respond immediately to their hails. But his seasoned instincts told him that something was amiss. "Lieutenant, repeat the hail every fifteen minutes," he instructed.

After two more hails, Sutherland had to assume the worst. Their contact on the planet had somehow been compromised. Now Avenger would have to continue the investigation on its own. He would send down a team to discretely investigate the disappearance of Starfleet's security operative, and to find information about the missing ship. Rataan was a trained Security Chief, and he was an obvious choice for the duty. Despite some misgivings, Sutherland also decided to send his science officer. She was already familiar with the contact codes, should they need them, and she was a valuable asset with her Deltan telepathic abilities.

Lanei and Rataan met in the transporter room, both dressed in ordinary clothes and armed with concealed phasers. The ship would monitor them from above, but they had to appear as average citizens passing through Calra Prime's depot facilities. Their actual task seemed simple. They were to track down information on the mysterious agent Batai, or better yet, Batai himself. This mission was out of the norm, as it did not involve confronting terrorists or helping quiet a political uprising. This assignment was simply a bit of detective work. Nevertheless, they exchanged concerned glances as they made their final preparations. Anything could go wrong.

When they had been unable to contact the agent as arranged, Lanei had felt uneasy. With things going from bad to worse all around, it was strange that one more dilemma should worry her so. She felt weary of the adventure she was about to embark upon before it had even begun.

"I want reports every hour," the captain instructed as he watched his two officers take their places upon the transporter pads. "We'll keep a lock on you at all times. If you get into trouble, hit your panic buttons." He was referring to the hidden transponders each wore concealed inside their plain clothing. "I don't think I need to tell you both to be careful."

"No, sir, we'll be fine," Rataan said. Lanei nodded.

Sutherland stepped back and the transporter chief set the controls, engaging them as Rataan gave the order to energize.

They materialized on the surface in a dreary, highly industrialized section of the thriving spaceport city and Kale quickly swept the area taking in their surroundings. Despite the activity, it was cold and lifeless here and the air was thick with the curious mixture of hot chemicals, melted alloys, and burning polymers. They moved quickly through this industrial area of the port facility. While most of the hangars and repair stations appeared to be drab, prefabricated structures, the rest of the gigantic city sprawled out in a crazy-quilt of mixed architectural styles. From one extreme to the other, the stark ellegant lines of Vulcan design co-existed with the eye-catching--eye-blinding in Rataan's opinion--style of Ferengi merchants.

Kale's mind worked frantically as the two made their way through the space port into the city towards the last known whereabouts of their missing contact. He was torn. As recent events unfolded, he felt as though he were being pulled apart. Duty and fairness were everything to him, as was honor and loyalty. But his sense of loyalty to Starfleet had suffered tremendous blows as of late. First their had been the fear that someone high up in the Command had placed an infiltrator on board his ship. To him it was incomprehensible that Starfleet would spy on its own. But because of the mistrust it had caused, he and several others aboard the ship had treated Commander Brower unfairly. And now Brower was being treated unfairly again, this time by Starfleet. There was no doubt in his mind that the charges against Avenger's first officer should be dropped, but the fact that Command was so unfairly going after Brower made him wonder what type of organization it was that he had sworn his allegiance to. His loyalties had indeed been shaken, but he forced all of that from his mind. He would work these problems out at a more opportune time. Right now he needed all of his concentration.

He had to use all of his skill and perceptive abilities to track down Starfleet's missing man. This agent, if he did exist, had failed to meet them as planned. Had he been killed? Was he a conspirator, a traitor? Could Starfleet be setting up some sort of trap for them? This last thought sickened him. His faith in Starfleet had once been so absolute. Command would never turn on their own...but then his thoughts drifted back to Brower, on trial for rescuing the captain. He couldn't seem to shake this shadow that now haunted his faith.

Lanei's worries occupied her as well. She wondered if it was the stress of the recent events, or if there was something out of the ordinary here she was sensing. Her Deltan abilities usually served her well, giving her an instinctive edge through times like these. But now she felt a bit puzzled, as if she had heard a faint noise she almost recognized, or seen a motion in the distance that was too far away to identify, but somehow seemed almost familiar. Something felt vaguely out of place, but she hadn't the time to bother about it now. They were nearing the entertainment district of the Calra Prime's first city. They hoped to find their answer's here in a place called the Wildcat Cantina.

After finding the establishment and scouting around outside for a few minutes, the officers eased themselves inside the bar. They stepped into an enormous room. The Wildcat was a popular pub where exotic and, to some, poisonous drinks were served along with secrets and fortune. This bar, and bars like it across the galaxy, served as the initial point of illegal dealings of every possible kind.

The two disguised Starfleet officers passed through three sets of doors and a maze of corridors, being stopped and searched by two separately posted bouncers before gaining final admittance. Their phasers had been quietly confiscated. It appeared that the bar's owner, while supporting every other illegality, did not permit weapons inside his bar--as they most likely proved disruptive and thus, bad for business.

Lanei tugged at the sleeves of her loose jacket, trying to keep the cuffs above the wrists. The sleeves were too long, the fabric abrasive. She had enjoyed the initial idea of working incognito, but appeal was quickly beginning to wear off. She sensed that Rataan too was uncomfortable in his disguise... or perhaps it was the atmosphere of the place that made him ill at ease. The disorder, the feel of secretive criminal doings... she sensed it brought up dark images of his early childhood on Rigel V.

They both edged carefully around the fringes of the dark, crowded room. A couple of insects buzzed past now and again while the stench of liquor hung heavily in the air. Arguments, drunken laughter, conspiratorial whispers, clandestine meetings, and a myriad of threats rang all around them, but they made their way to the main bar.

"What'll it be?" a harried, overweight, scowling bartender grunted at them.

In the dim light Rataan felt safe displaying a fistful of latinum strips that quickly caught the man's attention. "Answers," he looked purposefully at the money in his hand, "about a man that was here."

The bartender reached tentatively towards the tantalizing bribe. "Let me have it and I'll introduce you to a man who is in the business of selling information."

Lanei reached out and quickly intercepted the money, covering Kale's hand with her own, "Why should we pay for an introduction? We could find him on our own," she countered. They hadn't brought a lot of currency, and she wasn't sure how many of these generous bribes they could afford.

"Ha!" the rotund bartender replied with genuine amusement, "If you could have done that, you would have!. Besides," he leaned closer and lowered his voice, "one whiff of you, and most snitches would clam up."

They had been too direct in their approach. Rataan could tell that the man suspected they were more than they appeared to be.

Lanei and Kaleran scanned the shadows, knowing the man was right. The room seemed to be watching them carefully, and neither of them had any idea who might have the answers they sought, and they didn't have the experience as undercover investigators to find out. With a slight frown Rataan handed over the money and waited.

"Down there," the man gestured vaguely as he counted the unexpected fortune, "he's always here, knows every regular, and their business. He's not much particular who he does business with as long as they pay well." The barkeep jingled the strips in his hand and dropped them into a pocket, hurrying off to attend to other patrons before any more questions could be asked.

The two Starfleet officers headed for the end of the bar, hoping the answers would be found in the scrawny, motionless figure who sat there.

"Excuse me," Lanei began, but took a quick step back when she felt how startled the man was. All too late she realized that her approach was too business-like, too official. She wondered how long it had been since the phrase excuse me had been heard in this place.

"We need some information," Rataan explained to the man, discreetly displayed another handful of currency. He kept his manner relaxed and his voice confident. The man nodded and stood. Gesturing to a nearby table, where all three sat down.

As they sat, Rataan noticed that, in this dim light, the man looked human, but his exact race could not be discerned. He appeared fairly young, no more than thirty, but he had a sickly pallor, as though he had never seen a decent meal. The establishment was apparently his office and home, for it was obvious he had not been out into the sunlight in a very long time.

"I'm Jeh." he introduced himself openly, "and I can give you any information for the right price."

"How do we know that you can tell us what we need to know?" Kale questioned.

The man smiled sardonically, "I know everything about everyone who comes here."

Lanei glanced at Kale, could it really be that easy?! "We're looking for a man named Batai, he..." A sudden commotion nearby interrupted Rataan.

Three tables away a group of Tellerites roared with laughter as one of their drunken fellows lurched unsteadily to his feet. He grumbled loudly but incoherently about something, grabbing the back of a vacant chair. With a clumsy but amazingly fast motion he threw the chair, which missed its target and struck a group of Nausicans.

Within the duration of a breath, the two groups were shoving one another and trading insults. Another chair took flight, then a glass whizzed across the bar and shattered. The small argument quickly escalated into a serious brawl and the violence spread rapidly through the rest of the crowded room. Patrons who were seated one moment, were mauling one another the next. Fights seemed to erupt between long-standing enemies and complete strangers. The burly guards who came racing out of the shadows, found themselves unable to control the situation. For a group deprived of weapons, these bar fighters were making do remarkably well.

Lanei ducked a shower of raining glass, and met Kaleran beneath the table. "What should we do?" she asked aboard the growing din.

He didn't get a chance to answer because someone grabbed and hauled him out into the fray. Their phasers had been taken at the door and Lanei didn't waste time wishing to have them back. She snatched up a chair and used it to batter the enormous man who was pounding on Rataan. It did little more than annoy his attacker, but bought them both enough time to dodge out of the way when Jeh tackled the brute.

For someone who appeared so frail and timid, Jeh fought with incredible zeal. Like the rest of the crowd, he threw punches, chairs, eating utensils, whatever he could get his hands on.... As debris and flying dinnerware showered upon him, the bartender wisely retreated through an inconspicuous door behind the bar. In no time people began climbing over the counter to pillage whatever prize of drink, money, or makeshift weapon they could find there.

A woman brandishing a broken-off chair leg came rushing toward the officers, angrily striking at anyone unfortunate enough to be in her path.

She rushed Kale, but he managed to wrest the improvised club from her and used it as a battering ram to work his way through the mob. Lanei followed him closely and they soon found relative safety behind a couple of overturned tables near the wall. Each had a few small cuts and bruises, and Rataan's lip was bleeding, but they considered themselves lucky to have escaped the fray at all.

Kale looked around, hoping to see some sign of Jeh. If only they had managed to speak with him for five minutes more, maybe there was a chance they could locate him and meet somewhere else.

An alarmed yell rang out from the other side of the room. A small fire had broken out, adding to the general disorientation and confusion. People began to push towards the exits as they became less concerned with beating one another, and more interested in leaving the fire trap. The rush to get to the doors became as disorganized and deadly as the fight itself had been. Bar employees were attempting to get the fire under control, but the air was clouded with hazy smoke. As the crowd inside thinned, the bouncers broke up the few remaining brawlers. Fallen patrons littered the floor along with the broken furniture, glass, and spilled drinks.

"Kale!" shouted Lanei, spotting some one crawling along the floor. It was Jeh.

The security officer hurried over to help the man to his feet. He was bleeding and badly beaten, but managed to point towards the darkest corner. "There...," he gasped.

Carefully Kale and Lanei lifted him between them and made their way in the direction indicated. They found a door which led to a twisting, narrow stairwell. Jeh managed to go down a couple of flights and then collapsed.

The officers knelt beside him. Lanei gasped when she found two puncture wounds where he had been stabbed in the back. There was nothing they could do, he would bleed to death before they could get help.

He coughed weakly and tried to smile. "Never seen anything like it..." He coughed again, pink foam formed at the edge of his mouth. "Didn't expect...," he closed his eyes for a moment, then said with wry humor, "When the owner finds out..." he laughed a little, gasping at the end for breath, "he'll fire those bouncers, if he doesn't kill them first."

Lanei and Rataan looked at each other helplessly. This man could be their only lead, and he was dying. There was no hope of saving his life, and if they didn't hurry--

"Batai," Jeh said, voice very quiet and raspy, "never seen his kind before." He looked at Lanei, "and now you...."

Suddenly Lanei felt that strange out of focus sensation again, but it was clearer now, stronger. "Batai was Deltan?" The word was unfamiliar to the man, so she tried again, "Like me, he looked like me?"

Jeh nodded with incredible effort. "Just like you....He was looking for... a ship..."

"Do you remember the name of the ship?" Kale pressed, feeling very guilty that the end of someone's life was being used in such a way.

Jeh struggled to raise a hand stained with red, curling his fingers slightly he said, "Called the Blood," he muttered, closing his eyes for the last time. The officers regarded him for a moment longer, regretting his passing.

A door opened somewhere above them, alarming them. They jumped to their feet, running for an exit before the bouncers could find them and start asking questions. Each wished a final farewell to the man who had helped them with his dying breath.

Lanei ran in shock as she registered the final image of Agent Batai that she had gotten from Jeh's mind. Batai was definitely Deltan, but his true name was not Batai. His name was Lath, and he was her brother.

Lucas West sat in the mess hall, sipping coffee with his assistant, Schyler Anderson, and Transporter Chief Mike Baden. West was thankful for Baden's company as women made him anxious, and Anderson's physical elegance caused that particular feeling to multiply. He tended to avoid her while off-duty. If she noticed, she hadn't let on.

"So what do you think is going to happen to Commander Brower?" Baden asked, placing his cup in its saucer. "I hear his chances aren't too good."

"I think your sources are miss-informed, Mister," Schyler replied in a cool tone.

He raised his hand in a defensive gesture. "Hey, I'm just relating what I hear, Lieutenant."

"Who told you that?"

"I can't say."

"You can't say, or you won't say?"

West looked up from the ebony liquid he had been swirling, "Take it easy you two. Whatever happens, happens. We can't go jumping each other over speculation."

The engineers looked at their chief. "No offense, sir," Said Anderson, "but you haven't exactly been Andrew--Commander Brower's number one fan. Showing a bit of support for our First Officer might be a good idea."

"I do support him, Lieutenant. I've objected to his detainment by Starfleet from the start. The whole situation smells like a cover-up."

Baden nervously looked around the room, lowering his voice. "I wouldn't go spouting that around the ship, sir. Remember how you told us you thought the commander had been a plant? Well, there's still a possibility that might be true."

Baden's paranoia nearly matched that of Security Chief Rataan's at times, but he was expressing a common feeling among some of the crew. West simply nodded, "You may be right," He said, not wanting to believe it.

Suddenly the ship's intercom tone sounded. "Attention all hands," Said the level female voice of the ship's computer, "Red alert. Attention all hands. Red alert."

The personnel occupying the dining area quickly began to filter out the doors as they headed for their duty stations. "Let's go," West told Anderson as he stood. "Mike, you'd better get to the transporter room," He told the other unnecessarily.

West and Anderson caught the open lift in the corridor outside and it whisked them the nine decks down to the ship's engine room.

Adrenaline surged through Lucas' body as he stepped into Main Engineering. The alert klaxon was muted to nearly inaudible levels by this point, but the personnel at each of the duty stations stood outlined in the red glow of the alert lights, ready for the worst. "Here we go, people," He called out. "Damage control teams, stand by."

"Sir," Rutledge's voice immediately called for attention, "I am receiving a distress call--audio only. It's from the freighter Ramool."

"On screen," Sutherland ordered in a clipped tone. The atmosphere on the bridge was instantly alert.

A view filled with static flared across the front screen of the bridge. Over the snapping and popping of a distorted transmission, a terrified male could be heard on the com system. "This is th...Bolian freighter, Ram... to any sh... the vicinity. We are under at...ck, and heavily...aged. Please assist."

"Can you clear that up?" Sutherland demanded impatiently. Turning slightly in his chair he spoke into the com, "Chief Baden, as soon as Lieutenants Rataan and Lanei are back safely aboard, instruct them to report to the bridge immediately," he told the Transporter Chief.

"Aye sir," the crewman replied. "They are on board now, sir."

Rutledge swept his hand over the controls, trying to tighten reception of the incoming distress call. He grunted in irritation.

The message cleared only slightly. "If any one can hear us, this is the Ramool. We need help! We are...tack!"

"I'm sorry sir, that's the best I can do. There is too much interference on their end," Rutledge apologized. But he had called up some additional information on the ship. "The Ramool is a class-two Bolian cargo freighter. Twenty-three officers and crew."

"Can you pinpoint the Ramool's location?" the captain asked.

He glanced quickly at his controls. "Yes sir, oh-three-one mark nine. Very close to where the other ships disappeared."

At this distance there was no telling what they would find, or even if the freighter truly was in distress. But, no matter what the dangers, he had to investigate. "Helm, set course for those coordinates, warp five. Mr. Rutledge, red alert! Bring phasers on-line and load forward torpedo bays," the captain commanded smoothly, standing from his chair.

The amber glow of the bridge lighting shifted to a flickering red as the crew responded to his commands without reply. The pinpoint stars on the main viewer slid to starboard as Jansen adjusted the ship's heading.

"Open hailing frequencies." Sutherland peered at the screen, as if his penetrating stare could pull the scene into resolution. "Freighter Ramool, this is Captain Tobias Sutherland of the Federation starship Avenger. We are on our way to assist. Can you hold out a little longer?"

"Captain," relief was palpable in the other man's voice and apparent on his blue skinned face, "please hurry! We are heavily dam...." The screen flared with light and then reverted to the previous starfield image.

"I'm sorry, sir. Their transmission has been cut off," Rutledge informed unnecessarily.

"Increase speed to warp nine!" Sutherland commanded with steel in his voice.

"That will put us in range in two minutes, sir," Conn Officer Jansen said.

"I've got preliminary sensor data from the Bolian vessel," Rutledge reported. "Their shields are about to fail and their life support is giving out. Captain, they have no appreciable weapons to speak of." They were sitting ducks.

"Weapons ready," Rataan affirmed.

"Entering visual range," apprised Jansen. He touched a control, and the viewscreen blinked to a gut wrenching scene.

The Bolian vessel was bulky and cylindrical with its tapered-off warp nacelles forming a tail at the rear. The ship reminded Sutherland slightly of a Terran whale--a whale being attacked by vicious pirhannas. A small fleet of ships, dwarfed by the Ramool, circled the fat Bolian trader in a deadly dance. As soon as a ship had taken one or two shots, it scurried away as another attacker took its place.

"What can you give me on those ships over there?" Sutherland asked, directing the question to Rutledge.

The commander shook his head in irritation, his dark brow forming a single line over his eyes. "Unknown, sir. The ships are giving off some kind of metaphasic particle echoes. The echoes are overlapping and confusing the sensors." This particle shielding appeared to be a sort of camouflage that concealed the ships when they flew in a pack, making it hard to single out one from another. "Not only is it hard to get an accurate count, I don't think they'll be easy to target."

Rataan had taken his position on the bridge, and the scene had piqued his curiosity from the beginning. "Captain, I've been studying the ships on the screen and I believe that most are early model Peregrine-class courier ships," Kale injected. "However, these ships appear to have been modified to carry type-six phaser emplacements."

"Damn," the captain slammed his hand down on the arm rest. He hated to take the ship in blind, but he had no choice. He was not going to allow the Bolian ship to be sacrificed for the safety of Avenger. "Helm take us in. All hands, stand ready."

It is a good day to plunder, the leader of the renegade group decided. Standing on the bridge of his circa 2260 Ptolomey-class tow ship, he surveyed the attack fleet as it nibbled away at the Bolian freighter's shields. He nearly drooled with delight upon considering the latinum he would receive from the stolen cargoes that he would rip from the belly of the bloated vessel. In fact, if he was able to keep the freighter intact , he might be able to sell it as well. Maybe even the Breen would buy a few Bolian slaves from him. This was a fine day indeed.

"Captain!" shouted Smitty, a human technician. "You'd better take a look at this!"

The old captain joined him at the scanning station. "What is it?" the older man grunted with impatience.

"A Federation starship has just entered the system. Intrepid-class. They're approaching our position."

"Starfleet pigs!" The Klingon weapons tech cursed. She had no love for the Federation. "Always sticking their little pink noses in other people's business."

The captain had had enough. "Order the fleet to attack the Starfleet vessel."

Smitty looked at him incredulously. "But didn't you hear me? I said Intrepid-class. That's top of the line. How long do you think we'll last out there?"

A callused hand struck the impudent man's head. "Do as I say! We have numbers on our side." No one else raised their voice in objection.

The man touched his sore cheek. "Uh...right. Attention all fighters. Turn your attack on the approaching vessel. Now!"

After a few objections from one or two of the pilots, the fleet swerved away from its prey towards the new intruder. A captured Starfleet vessel would sell for a very high price on the Romulan market. A very high price indeed. The captain licked his lips in anticipation.

Sutherland steadied himself after the first few blasts struck his ship. "Return fire! Torpedoes, full spread."

"Aye, sir!" Rataan responded as he entered the command into his weapons console.

A swarm of a half-dozen antimatter warheads streaked away from the Avenger into the center of the cloud of incoming ships. But the enemy pilots were not amateurs. Several managed to barrel roll away without being touched. A couple of the Peregrine ships were knocked around but managed to recover quickly. Because the Avenger's phasers were unable to lock onto the sensor echoes, the tongues of compressed nadion energy lanced into empty space. Rataan, Vulcan-like in sterness, glowered at his control screens. "No appreciable damage to enemy ships," he reported regretfully.

The Avenger was jolted by another wave of incoming fire. Sparks shot out from lighting elements and smoke began to cluster around the bridge ceiling. Sutherland gripped the armrests of his chair to keep from being thrown to the swaying deck. "Helm, evasive maneuvers!"

Jansen's fingers pounded across the key pads. "Aye, sir!" he yelled over the noise.

The ship dived, looped, and rolled as the pirate vessels gave quick chase. The Intrepid-class scout was the most maneuverable type of starship to date, but even it was having trouble weaving out of range of the modified two-man Peregrines.

"Captain, I've partially modified our sensors," said Rutledge. "I still can't get an exact count or position on enemy vessels, but there appears to be another ship in polar orbit of the third planet. It's attempting to use the planet's magnetic fields to shield itself from our scans."

This new, mysterious ship must be orchestrating the attack, Sutherland theorized. It could hang out of the battle while watching everything that went on, directing the tiny attacking ships freely. "Jansen, change course. Bring us on an intercept course with that ship, full impulse," Sutherland commanded. "West, tighten it up down there! We'll need every ounce of speed you can give us."

"Aye, Captain," Lucas responded. He turned to Anderson at her station near the warp core. "Let's try rerouting the excess warp power shunts to the impulse engines."

Anderson steadied herself as another shock wave rocked the ship. A crewman on the upper level nearly toppled to the decks below.

"Those modifications will red-line the impulse engines," she told West, knowing that he already knew that. But she was bound to point it out just the same. She watched as information on the screens before her reflected in her wide eyes. "We run the risk of burning out the driver coils."

"We'll have to take that chance," he replied, already inputting his computer codes for safety override of the maneuver. "That should do it."

Suddenly sparks and fire leapt from several computer stations around the engineering complex. The lights overhead dimmed. An enlisted engineer who was standing in the wrong place at the wrong moment, screamed as the scalding heat wave rolled into his body and he fell to the grated deck. Two nearby officers swatted out the flames and dragged the writhing crewman out of the engine room, contacting sickbay.

"What the hell was that?" West demanded, sprinting to the blown out panels.

Another crewman raced in with fire suppression equipment to help douse the flames. "The engines wouldn't have overloaded that quickly!"

Another blast hit the ship and more power conduits ruptured. Sparks from plasma relays began to rain down from above as repair teams attempted to seal the damage and prevent further ruptures. Engineers covered their faces as they ran through the spray of twinkling fire and caustic gases. Damage control was their prime duty now.

"Captain, enemy ships are in pursuit," reported Rataan.

"Target aft phasers and open fire," the captain ordered.

He did so, watching as the streaks of energy sped towards the pursuing craft. Hopefully he waited for the computer to confirm the results. His features lifted slightly as he informed the captain, "We've damaged one craft. Its engines appear to be damaged and it is breaking off it's attack. Another has lost shields." He watched as that ship fell victim to high speed debris from the damage to the first ship. Without shielding it broke up and exploded under the barrage.

"Continue firing," Sutherland commanded, but before he could issue more orders, the ship shuddered beneath and it felt as though Avenger was losing speed. He tapped his com badge angrily. "Engineering, what's going on down there?"

"We've lost primary power conduits on deck eleven, sir!" West's strained voice replied over the com. Shouting could be heard in the background. "It's going to be at least fifteen minutes before we can reroute!"

Jansen turned from the Con shaking his head. "Warp and impulse power are off-line, sir."

Sutherland rubbed the time-worn wrinkles on the side of his forehead, his mind anxiously searching for options.

The pirate leader's white eyebrows lowered over his sapphire eyes as he stared at the view screen. "What's going on?" he barked at Smitty.

Smitty's pudgy little hands flew over the toggles and switches. Standing, he glanced into the ancient sensor scope. Blue light reflected off his face. "Sir, the Starfleet ship is coming right at us. Our ships are in pursuit, but they don't seem to be slowing it down."

"What?" the Old Man growled in disbelief, shoving the other man aside to peer in the scope for himself. It only confirmed his fear. "Damn!"

"Whu-whu-what do we do now?" Smitty stammered, picking himself up off the deck where he had fallen. "The Blood doesn't stand a chance against that ship!"

The captain slammed a grizzled old hand down on the red support railing, nearly cracking it. But his voice was dangerously calm. "For now... we run. Helm, set course out of here. Full warp."

The helmsman, a Ferengi, glanced over his shoulder. "Sir?" he questioned.

"With big ears like that you should have heard me the first time!" he barked. "FULL WARP! NOW!"

The old tow ship rolled around on its axis and shot off into deep space.

"Captain," said Rutledge from Ops, "the enemy vessels are breaking off their attack. In fact, they appear to be retreating out of the system."

"Are you certain?" Sutherland asked, joining him on the upper level at Ops.

"Positive, sir," he smiled. "We've stopped them, for now."

"So it would seem, Commander. I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth." The captain glanced toward the view screen. "Jansen, use maneuvering thrusters to bring us up along side the Bolian ship." He turned back to Rutledge. "We will offer them assistance with their repairs while we conduct our own."

Two hours later the Captain was sitting in his ready room, glancing over damage reports, when the door chimed. The door slid open, revealing the troubled countenance of the Chief Engineer.

"Captain," Lucas began, "we've completed our repairs. And in another couple of hours, the Ramool should be able to return to her home port under her own power."

Sutherland nodded. "Very well, Commander. Well done," he praised, but he noticed the other man's hesitancy to leave. "Is there something else, Mr. West?"

Lucas nodded. A sour look fouled his features, as if the subject he wished to discuss left a bad taste in his mouth. "Sir, I believe that the engine power loss we experienced during the battle, was caused by a secondary rupture in several of the auxiliary flux capacitors."

"Yes, you mentioned that in your report," he said glancing to the padd laying on his desk. "Is there something unusual about that?"

"Only that it shouldn't have been possible. Those capacitors were replaced under my supervision not three weeks ago. They wouldn't have given out so quickly, not on their own. And especially not all at the same time."

Sutherland's hands came together to rest on the obsidian surface of his desk. "What are you suggesting, Commander?"

"Sir, I have no proof, but I believe that the systems failure was no accident or coincidence." Lucas saw a hint of change in Sutherland's expression upon his mention of this. He took a deep breath and said plainly, "I'm talking about sabotage, sir."

The captain winced, then nodded. "Unfortunately, I know very well what you are talking about." He stood and turned towards the window for a moment, as if gathering strength from the view. "For now, Commander West, I don't want you to share your suspicions with anyone. We have no proof." He turned back to the engineer. "Just keep a close eye on the ship. A very close eye."

Becca Raull cursed her computer screen once more. There were more security locks on the events surrounding the Lia IV incident than a Ferengi put on his personal bank access code. She was beginning to realize that the commander was in a lot more trouble than she had first thought. With the admiralty pushing his court-martial, and the apparent restraints on shedding light on the truth, a fair hearing seemed more and more unlikely.

"All right Becca," she said to herself, imitating the voice of one of her debate instructors at the academy, "one avenue of argument is cut off. What do you do now?" She thought about it for a moment. "You change tactics."

She punched up information from the historical archives. Her eyes scanning at an incredible pace she finally found what she was looking for. "Eureka! Or as my mother used to say, There's more than one way to skin a targ." A smile lit her face as she took down notes from the file she had called up.

Tomorrow had been set as the hearing date for Brower's case. Time was running out, but Becca Raull saw that as more spice to the challenge. She hadn't been exaggerating when she had told Brower that she didn't know how to give up a fight. She was going to enjoy this, and she was determined to find an argument to win his case. Becca hated to lose.

Lanei paced her quarters.

After beaming back aboard the Avenger, she had felt dazed and in shock. More than ten years ago, her brother Lath had disagreed bitterly with their parents and run away. His disappearance had been traumatic to the whole family, but especially to her. She had been so close to him, his continued silence through the years had been a black hole that she carried inside. And now she had seen him, in the thoughts of a dying man. But she had no time to think about it then, to stop and sort through her thoughts and feelings. Then the ship was at red alert, ready for battle. So she had once again found a way to push her feelings aside, locking the information she had discovered away for examination later. Later was now.

What could have happened to Lath? Why hadn't he been there to meet the Avenger? There was a time she would have known exactly what her brother was doing. But the loss of the years of closeness between them left her unsure of everything. Most of all she was torn by the question of why he had never contacted her.

She had searched on her own for years, finding no trace of him. A part of her had even begun to believe that he must be dead after all this time. Now she was faced with the reality of his being alive, which could only mean one thing; he had not contacted her because he did not want to. And that was harder to bear than his disappearance had been.

Anger began to build in her stomach, hard as a knot. Lath had left without a word, had allowed their parents and her to believe he was dead. Whatever the cause of the disagreement, what he had done was unforgivable! Furious, she headed towards the door, refusing to allow her mind to think clearly about what she was about to do. She had to find Lath.

The space port was spread out over a large section of land. There were numerous ships and hangers arranged in organized chaos. She blended in with the small groups of people hurrying about, doing their jobs. Walking with an air of confidence, as if she knew exactly where she was going, she drew no attention. Her first idea was to check the port computer system for a ship registered as the Blood. Of course the pirates had not been so careless as to leave such an obvious a trail. Soon she began to wonder how she would track the ship down.

She studied the people passing by. Most wore insignia of trade unions, some the uniforms of specialists and techs, others wore the rich fabrics of wealthy merchants. A young Ferengi caught her eye. He wasn't prosperous, judging by his clothes, and he wore the dissatisfied air of someone with a grudge, someone in the habit of being used. He was just the material she was looking for.

"Hello there," she said to him as he neared where she stood. She poured a note of admiration into her voice. The Ferengi looked over his shoulder, as if not sure she was talking to him. "I need some one to help me," she continued, and she allowed her Deltan chemistry to further put off his guard. She tried to push her own distaste for this kind of behavior out of her mind. "Can you help me?"

"I-I-I can help," he stammered. His greedy eyes were devouring her figure as he spoke.

"I'm looking for a friend, one who owns a ship but doesn't like to broadcast his business--if you know what I mean," she nearly purred the words.

"Sounds like a smart business man," he chuckled as if he had made a joke. "What is the name of the ship?"

"Well," she moved closer to him, "he calls it the Blood."

She wasn't prepared for the immediate reaction of horror that the Ferengi gave. "I-I can't help you, never heard of that ship." He was backing away even as he spoke.

But I have to find the captain," she blurted desperately.

"The captain," the Ferengi looked unsure what to do. "You know the captain?"

She could not read his thoughts, but the way he spoke made her think that the title Captain held more significance here than she had at first realized. "Yes, the Captain and I are old friends. He would be very upset if I didn't look him up while I'm here." She could tell that the Ferengi was wavering. "And I would be so grateful for any help you could give me finding his ship," she said softly, reaching out and lightly brushed her hand along the rim of one of his large ears. He shivered with delight.

"Hanger one-four-eight, birth one," he said weakly.

"I knew you were the one to help me." She turned briskly on her heel, leaving the dazed Ferengi before he could come to his senses.

Lanei disappeared down the street and around a corner, finally coming to an informational kiosk. She had pulled a map from the port computer terminal. A quick check and she was crossing the space port as quickly and unobtrusively as she could.

Despite being in a very congested part of the city, the particular hangar she was searching for was isolated from the others by a dozen yards; enough open space around it to give a clear view of anyone approaching. She stood in shadows, watching people come and go from inside. They seemed to be in a hurry, preparing for something.

Her conscience told her she should contact the Avenger--there was no doubt that she had stumbled onto the lair of the raiders responsible for the missing ships. She was a Starfleet officer. But her yearning, her need to find Lath, over-rode her conscience. Perhaps at the back of her mind she had begun to wonder, as Rataan had, whether Lath was somehow involved with the pirates. It wouldn't be the first time that an undercover operative had been seduced into the very life style he was fighting. She had to be sure of Lath for herself before she could risk exposing him. She coldly closed off the part of her mind that urged her to turn back.

"Hands up, Starfleet!" a sudden voice growled from behind her.

Lanei turned to see a Klingon woman behind her, disrupter in hand, and a look in her eye that told her she would love to use it. Th Deltan resigned herself to obedience and slowly held her hands in the air. "How do you know I'm a Starfleet officer?" she asked curiously as they walked, hoping to buy some time.

"I can smell you Starfleets a sector away!" the Klingon woman shoved Lanei, nearly knocking her off her feet. "Move it!"

A man with white hair and cold eyes met them at the door of the hanger. The Ferengi she had tricked stood there too.

"Who is this?" the white-haired man demanded.

"She was watching the hanger," the Klingon woman reported.

The Ferengi seemed to flinch internally at the words. "She said she knew you."

"What do you mean, Clarence?" the man said to the Ferengi in a dangerously quiet voice, "what do you know about this?"

He hesitated, but only briefly. "She said she was your friend, that you would be angry if she didn't find you--she tricked me!" The Ferengi was backing up with every word, his hands held defensively in front of his face.

"I don't have friends," the man enunciated each word in clipped tones as he advanced on the hapless alien. "Fool!"

Lanei used the distraction and dived past the edge of the door, bolting for the open street beyond. She made about three steps when a blinding pain crashed down from behind. She was unconscious before she hit the ground.

Lieutenant Becca Raull swept into the court room with the air of a conqueror. She wore the dress uniform of a Defense Counsel of Starfleet. The white and black of her uniform seemed symbolic of her purpose, to expose the black and white truths, leaving no gray doubts in the minds of the judges. If she felt any trepidation about her first case, it didn't show in her expression or manner.

Brower decided to take his cue from his counselor and put on his best poker face. He stood nervously beside her at the defendant's table wearing his red command dress uniform. Becca had insisted that he also wear his medals from various actions to the trial. Personally he was uncomfortable with the show, but she had reminded him that the courtroom was a field of psychological warfare and that impressions, especially subconscious ones, mattered a great deal.

Another counselor represented the prosecution. His air of confidence seemed equal to Raull's, and he gave her a mocking salute as she prepared her notes on the large polished table before her. Three officers would sit as judges of the case. Becca read their names from the padd that the courtroom bailiff handed her, and seemed to be pleased. Andrew didn't recognize any of them.

A bell at the side of the bench was tapped three times in a syncopated rhythm to call the room to attention as the three officers acting as judges entered. Captain S'Toris of Vulcan, Admiral Val Corris of Mars Colony, and Commodore Chi Lang of Earth presided. The air of the room was suddenly stale and humid.

The trial began with the formal charges against Brower being stated; willful disobedience of a superior officer's direct order. As the charge was read aloud, Andrew's heart sank. The prosecution called him to the stand as their first witness. He made his way to the witness box and sat.

"Commander," the prosecutor smiled in a stiff, polite manner to acknowledge his presence on the stand, "you were in command of the USS Avenger, Starfleet registry NCC 74718, on stardate 96401.12 when your captain, Tobias Sutherland, beamed to the surface of Lia IV, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Tell us, did your captain give an order from the surface for you to take the Avenger out of the area of Lia IV?"

"His order was rushed and he said it was a trap, to get the 'ship out of there'."

"'Out of there,'" the prosecutor repeated. "Where did you take the ship?"

"Into established Federation territory, to be specific--"

"And," he interrupted, "when you reached the safety of Federation territory, you alerted Starfleet of the situation?" He waited for Brower's affirmative reply. "And what was their reply?"

Irritation was turning to anger. Andrew could feel that he was being manipulated into incriminating himself. "I was ordered to keep the Avenger where it was, not to return to Lia IV."

"I see," the prosecutor said in a patronizing manner. "And what did you do?"

"I tried to convince Starfleet of the necessity of returning. My captain was in danger and as his first officer, it was my duty to insure his safety," Brower answered, trying to emphasize his intent, knowing it would likely do no good. He watched with disdain as the prosecutor nodded mockingly with his every reply.

"And when Admiral Forestall reiterated your orders, not to return to Lia IV," he paused for effect, "you returned anyway. Is that correct?"

Brower looked over at Becca Raull, carefully watching her reaction to the inevitable line the questioning was taking. Her expression hadn't altered. She sat straight, and her gaze held his steadily. He turned back to the menacing face of the prosecutor. "Yes, that's correct," he admitted, not having to glance at the judges to know that his reply had not helped his defense.

The prosecutor made a sweeping gesture with his hands and gave a slight shrug, as if to say seems pretty simple to me; he's guilty. Andrew's face burned and his eyes smoldered. "No further questions, your Honors." The prosecutor took his seat.

It was Lieutenant Raull's turn now to question him, and he hoped that she had a plan to turn this case around. The evidence was pretty damning against him. She moved to stand in front of him in the witness box.

"Commander Brower, did your captain have good reason to send the ship away? Was there eminent danger?" she asked.

He knew he would have to be very careful in his answers. Being in a courtroom did not release him from his orders not to reveal the events surrounding Lia IV. Therefore he could not say anything about the Cardassian ship, or the ensuing battle. "The captain believed there was danger, yes."

"And did Starfleet have a good reason to order the Avenger not to return to rescue Captain Sutherland?"

"Objection," the prosecutor interjected. "Witness is being asked to conjecture on the validity of orders given by superior officers."

"Sustained," Commodore Chi Lang acknowledged.

Undaunted, Raull continued. "Is there any reason you know of that Starfleet would refuse to allow Avenger to return?"

There was the pitfall. She was asking him to tell what he knew, under oath.

She locked glances with him, silently pushing him to answer what he had evaded up until now.

"None that I can say," he finally replied.

"Your answer seems unclear, Commander Brower." She gave him a puzzled look. "Does your reply mean that you are unaware of any reason the order was given, or," she paused, "does it mean that you are aware of reasons, but are under some sort of constraint which prevents you from answering, even though such information would serve in your defense?"

Many times he had faced enemies without fear. But it was easier fighting for an abstract goal when it involved something as pure and simple as saving one's ship, or the lives of others. It was entirely different to push away the fear when the consequences were so tangible. He remained silent and stared at Raull.

She glared back. "Your Honors, I request that you order the witness to answer the question."

"This is highly unusual, Lieutenant Raull." Admiral Corris told her. "But under the circumstances... Commander Brower, I will instruct you to answer the counselor's question."

He hesitated. "To answer counsel's question as to Starfleet's motives would mean violating specific orders, your Honor," Andrew answered in clipped tones.

A look of satisfaction crossed Raull's face. "Then I withdraw the question, Commander," she said. "Commander, how do you feel about Starfleet?"

"Objection," the prosecutor once again interrupted. "It is irrelevant how an officer feels about Starfleet. The issue is duty and obedience."

"I am inclined to agree," Captain S'Toris stated, "unless you can give reason for your line of questioning, Counsel." He raised a Vulcan eyebrow at her.

Becca knew she was on shaky ground. Her next reply was important. "I ask for your indulgence, your Honors. My line of questioning will be apparent in a moment." Perhaps because the two humans in judgment were curious, she was allowed to continue. She reiterated the question.

Brower allowed himself a pensive second before answering. "Starfleet is my life," he explained at last. "I define myself by my ability to serve and live up to it's standards."

A puzzled look crossed her face. "Yet you disobeyed a direct order."

For a second he wondered if this woman really were trying to help his case. "Yes."

"Then I am curious, Commander, you admit to disobeying a direct order on the date in question, yet here, under trial and under the potential loss of your freedom, to say nothing of your entire career, you obey an order that could cost you everything you say you value. Why? Why the discrepancy? What possible reason could you have to uphold your duty in one situation, and not in another?" she pressed him.

The only reply he could safely make was, "There was more at stake."

"More at stake, more than your career, more than your freedom, more than your very definition of your existence?" She didn't wait for his reply. "Your Honors, I agree with my colleague when he stated that the issue today is about duty and obedience, but I suggest that the two are not one and the same." She walked slowly across the courtroom with every sentence, slowly approaching the prosecutor's table. "Commander Brower has testified that on the date in question there was much more at stake than merely obedience to an order. And in this act, I suggest that he has demonstrated in the profoundest way, his dedication to Starfleet. He has proved that he is even willing to sacrifice himself to fulfill an order, to live up to his duty."

She paused dramatically, allowing the courtroom's attention to follow her back to the witness box. "But there are times when duty outweighs obedience. I maintain that under the evidence available to this court, that while the defendant is not innocent of disobeying an order, he is in no way guilty of failing in his duty to Starfleet." She allowed her words to hang in the courtroom for a moment, her conviction nearly a physical element in the air. "No further questions, your Honors. But I reserve the right to call the witness back to the stand at a later time."

Brower wasn't sure how the judges were reacting to the lieutenant's argument, but he was suddenly very glad she was on his side.

"We will reconvene to hear further testimony at 1300" Captain S'Toris announced. "Until then, this court is in recess." The ceremonial bell was rung and the room dismissed.

A guard was with Batai everywhere he went. It was clear that the pirate captain was nowhere near to trusting him yet. He knew the crew had gone out on a raid, but he had been left behind with Freenight to guard the warehouse. A day had come and gone since his appointment to rendezvous with the Avenger. Batai knew that someone would be looking for him, but he had been unable to get away from his surveillance even long enough to contact the ship. His only option was to gain the captain's trust and wait.

In the mean time, he had been making as thorough an investigation of the pirates as he was able. He had managed to memorize a rough inventory of the supplies and spoils in the warehouse.

Freenight had turned out to be a fountain of information in that regard, and had told him the raids were accomplished not by one ship, but by six small vessels of modified design. The captain orchestrated the attacks from a tug ship which waited off sides for the trader vessel to surrender. Freenight hadn't said what happened to the crews of the ships, but Batai had seen no captives, and had to assume the worst.

The appearance of the Avenger in orbit around Calra Prime had worried Freenight. His guess was that the Old Man would likely pull their operation out of the sector soon. It was a shame to leave such good pickings. But what good was wealth if you weren't free long enough to enjoy it?

"Freenight," Batai said as they sat playing cards and passing the time, "you ever think about doing anything else?"

"You mean other work?" he asked not looking up from his cards. "Yeah, I used to be a soldier."

"Really, where?"

"Little planet called Edsin, a jungle world outside of Federation territory. Don't know when it was colonized, or why, for that matter. Seems like there was always somebody coming after us, trying to take what little we had. Cardassians were the worst. In the end, the damn Cardies won." There was a wealth of bitterness in his voice.

"What happened?" Batai asked quietly.

"Cardassians don't care how they win, as long as they win," Freenight explained. "They used some sort of weapon that catalyzed with something in the atmosphere... just burned up all the oxygen. Not one living thing survived. People were literally consumed by the air they breathed."

"How did you escape?"

"My unit was in space. When our ship returned to Edsin, the planet was a cinder." His face was sullen, and still he did not look away from his hand of cards. "I lost everyone I knew. My mother, sister...," he trailed off.

The man was sinking into dark memories of the past. Batai was sorry to have inadvertently caused him pain by bringing up the subject. "Since then you've worked for the Old Man?" he used the description of the pirate captain like a title, like the other pirates did.

"When the remnant of our army disbanded, we all drifted around a bit," he explained. "I ran into the Ol' Man somewhere near Bajor. I had thought about joining the Maqui and continuing to fight the Cardassians, but the captain offered me the chance to fight for myself." He stared hard at his cards, reliving the memories. "I wasn't going to come out of any more battles with nothing to show for it."

In a strange way, what he said made sense. Batai could understand why a man would turn to mercenary ways or piracy after all that Freenight had seen and lost.

The proximity detectors cried out, indicating someone was coming down the ally outside. They both stood up, Freenight moving swiftly behind a stack of crates grabbing his phaser rifle, Batai standing in the open to challenge any intruder, hand phaser ready.

With his Deltan telepathy he reached out to identify who was approaching. He immediately recognized the captain. The Old Man's mind was cold and rigidly organized, calculating. There were two others with him, one Klingon female, probably the weapons specialist that Freenight had mentioned on the crew. The other was also female, and strangely familiar, even though she was unconscious and he couldn't read much from her.

The door opened and the captain walked in. Behind him the Klingon woman carried a slumped figure over her shoulder. "Dump her there," the captain ordered, pointing to a low stack of crates.

Freenight stepped into the open, lowering his weapon. "Another recruit?" he asked as he looked at the unconscious woman puzzled.

Batai was staring at her too. Every fiber of his being was stunned, but he carefully maintained his bland expression. It was a face he knew well. She was older, more mature now, but there was no mistaking who she was. He knew now why her mind had seemed familiar even in its present state. No number of years could have erased the memory of its pattern from his mind. There, laying pale and limp before him, was his own sister, Lanei.

"No, a nuisance!" the Old Man answered, "She's a Federation spy from that stinking ship above." There was anger in his voice. "They think they can trap me so easy? Well they have another think coming!" He stomped away through the warehouse, heading towards the small office at the back. "Keep an eye on her, Freenight!" he yelled over his shoulder.

The Klingon woman searched the stacks briefly for something, "Where is that crate of phase amplitude tracking components? I need them for some repairs to the Blood."

Freenight knew exactly where every bit of merchandise had been stored in the gigantic warehouse. "Uh, I'll have to show you," he called after her, looking down uncertainly at the captive then expectantly at Batai.

"I'll watch her," the Deltan confirmed.

The other man gave a smile, "Thanks, be a moment."

As soon as the other two were out of sight, he began to check Lanei for injuries. A discolored lump at the back of her head seemed to be the only malady. He laid her in a more comfortable position. His mind raced. Plans had changed and it seemed that now his only priority was to figure a way to get them both out of here alive. It had been one thing to bide his time while he was alone and sure that his cover was still intact. It was a whole new story now that Lanei was involved.

He was aware of the minute she began to regain consciousness. She lay still, pretending to still be unconscious, but her mind began to reach out, probing the area to see who or what was around.

He reached back, Lanei, don't move or give me away, he sent.

He felt her shock, then her eager grasping at his thoughts, much like a drowning man groping for a life-line. Lath! You're here! I knew it was you!, she thought back.

I'm here. But I wish you weren't. You are in danger, he replied, Getting caught was stupid! His concern for her boiled into anger for a minute.

Her own thoughts quickly flared in return, You had disappeared. I had to try to find you!

He knew she was referring to more than just the few days he had been missing while undercover. For the years he had been estranged from his family, it was his relationship with her that he had missed the most.

Then I'm sorry I got you into this, he apologized. But you're going to have to trust me. Follow my lead and we may be able to both get out of this alive. For now, just stay quiet.

You've got a lot of explaining to do! There was a multitude of pain as well as accusation in her voice.

Gods, Lanei, I can't begin to tell you how many times I've wanted to do just that. But now is not the time!

Freenight and the Klingon came back around the stacks. Obviously the woman had found the part she needed. She didn't say a word to Batai. Without a farewell, in common Klingon style, she headed out the door.

"Now there goes a Woman!" Daren Freenight said with appreciation as he watched her go.

"Speaking of women," Batai, once known as Lath, said, "what do you think the boss will do with her?" he asked pointing, indicating the motionless Deltan woman on the floor.

"She's a Federation officer, if he can't figure out a way to use her, he'll probably get rid of her." Freenight sounded a little regretful but accepted it as the consequences of their business.

"You mean kill her?"

"Most likely."

Lath was now sure that he had to get his sister out of here, fast. But how?

Captain Tobias Sutherland stood looking at his bridge staff seated around the ward room conference table. The empty chair where his Chief Science Officer would have sat was disturbing. His anger at her rash behavior, beaming down to the planet alone, chasing after a hunch, pursuing a personal quest, all had to be set aside for now. Their primary mission now was to apprehend the raiders. If at all possible they would also find and retrieve their missing comrade.

"Mr. West," he said, "have you analyzed the sensor readings from our engagement?"

"I have, sir,." West said, jerking his chin towards a display that he called up. "The pirate vessels use a highly developed screening technique. They are able to confuse conventional sensors. But now that we know what to expect, we can make adjustments." A cocky smile crossed his dark skinned face, "They won't be able to fool us again."

"Do we have any leads on their location?" Sutherland addressed Lieutenant Rataan.

"We know from the proximity of the attacks, the frequency of their raids, and also the approximate size of the cargoes taken, that they must have a base somewhere on or near Calra Prime. To haul the cargoes any further would be uneconomical." he replied.

"How do we know, after our last confrontation with them, that they didn't just decide to high tail it out of here?" Chris Logan interjected.

Sutherland thought about it for a moment. "This operation has been very profitable so far. I'm willing to bet that their are greed alone would make them reluctant to leave their spoils, and potential victims, behind." He stoked his chin speculatively. "Even if they were eager to depart, they would have had to repair their ships, and pick up their ill-gotten gains before leaving the system."

"I'd say they'll have to make some extensive repairs to some of their ships," Rutledge interjected.

"Then we still have a margin of time to track them down," Sutherland said getting out of his chair. It was his informal way of ending the discussion and getting back to work. "Let's begin sweeping Calra Prime, paying special attention to any anomalous sensor readings which could indicate a screened ship."

Sensor sweeping a planet the size of Calra Prime was tedious. With the amount of space traffic in and out of its ports, and with the interference of legitimate security screens owned by prosperous traders, the job was made even slower. Twice they had moved in to check out an anomalous reading only to find an indignant merchant. Apologies and explanations that the raid was a mere mistake did nothing to assuage the merchant's feelings.

"Captain," Lieutenant Rutledge thought he may have good news to report, "I have a large area in the middle of the main port that I think we should take a look at."

"A screened ship?" Sutherland asked.

"I'm not sure, sir. I can't tell what it is." Rutledge sounded unsure of how to explain his hunch about this sweep. "The sensors aren't even picking up an anomalous glitch. There doesn't appear to be a screened ship there."

"Then what do you want us to check out, Mr. Rutledge?" the captain asked, sounding a little impatient.

"That's just it, sir. The sensors read nothing there. But that area is prime real estate. It is right at the hub of the space port. No one would let it go to waste. There has to be something there."

"Check it out," Sutherland ordered over his shoulder to Rataan. "Nice work, Mr. Rutledge."

"Your Honors," Becca Raull addressed the judges, "you have now heard testimony via holo-recording, from no less than six officers, two of them captains of starships, who have served with Commander Brower. All of them, without exception, have testified that they have nothing but respect and faith in the commander's abilities and dedication to his duty."

Andrew had been moved and more than a little surprised by the testimonies of Captain Sutherland and the bridge crew of the Avenger. They had apparently been left for his defense when Starfleet had sent the ship away. Raull had also managed to contact Captain Forrester of the Endeavour, securing his testimony. It had been a good move on her part. The prosecution had already aired testimony from Admiral Forestall's reports, detailing the insubordinate act of disobedience on Brower's part. He hoped that she would be able to undo the damage of that testimony against him.

"My colleague," she continued, "would like to paint a picture of Commander Brower, as being a reckless, independent, and ambitious man." She paused for dramatic effect. She turned and looked at Andrew as if she were examining him for the first time, objectively viewing him through her opponents eyes. "And he would be correct." She finished with the last statement he had expected to hear.

Again he wondered what she was doing, and where her loyalties lay. This didn't sound like a solid defense to be agreeing with the opposition. But he had learned to trust her. And as she had once told him, he had no choice.

"Commander Brower is all those things; reckless- at times-, independent, ambitious, and capable, and committed to his duty." She looked back at the court. "That is also the exact description of one of the greatest captains in history, Captain James T. Kirk, by the Ambassador Spock of Vulcan. The very qualities that my noted opponent would like to have you condemn, are the qualities that are absolutely necessary in a starship commander.

"One day," she continued, wearing a look in her eyes as if she could see into the future, "Commander Brower very likely could be a great captain. Could... because one thing stands in his way--this trial." Her eyes seemed to focus on all the judges at once. "This trial that should never have been convened."

The prosecutor looked as if he wanted to object, but found himself rather confused by her trail of logic, and couldn't think of proper grounds.

"This circumstance would never have been prosecuted to this extent, were it not for the persistence of an admiralty with the desire to poignantly send a message. Commander Brower is not on trial here today solely because of his own actions. If we were to judge him on his record and performance alone, his actions in the line of duty would far outweigh the one infringement he has heretofore made.

"He is here today, we are all here today, because someone wants to send a message. A message that independence, ambition, commitment, and loyalty are not as valuable to Starfleet as blind obedience to the bureaucratic letter of the law," she was powerful in her conviction. "What message will you allow to be sent?" she ended, leaving the responsibility squarely on the shoulders of the judges.

Lanei lay motionless for what seemed like forever. She didn't dare open her eyes to see where she was for risk of catching the attention of the second man on guard with her brother. But she did keep her mind open to Lath's thoughts. Through him she had a good sense of where she was and what he was feeling. Mostly he was worried. But there was also an underlying gladness that they were together.

She had searched for so long that it was hard to believe that he was here with her. But before they could reunite, she had to learn if he was guilty of being lured into piracy. There was none. In fact she could feel a firm resolve, like a steady core within him, of honor and duty. He was no traitor. Relief flooded through her, and she fought not to allow it to spill into her connection with Lath. She was ashamed that she had doubted him.

Acting as an intelligence agent was dangerous work. She wasn't surprised really that he had taken it on. Lath had always been one to revel in adventure. But still, she wished he had contacted her. When they were finally out of this predicament, she would accept nothing less from him than a full explanation.

"Wonder how hard they hit her?" the other man was saying, the one that Lath called Freenight. "She's been out of it for quite a while."

"Just makes it that much easier to watch her," Lath casually responded.

"Yeah, guess so."

The captain had left the warehouse shortly after the departure of the Klingon, and the two of them were standing guard on the Deltan woman, waiting for the return of the Old Man. He had given orders that on his return they would be moving all the stores to the ships. Apparently the sector was now too hot for their operation. They would try to use the Federation woman as a hostage to guarantee safe passage out of the system if they ran into the starship again, but they would try to slip passed unnoticed, if possible.

"Blood to Freenight," a voice crackled through a comm panel on the wall.

Daren got up and went over to it, toggling a switch, "Freenight here, Blood."

"We're not going to waste any time. Boss wants us to transport the goods here to the space port and then load them," came the reply.

Normally, on the surface, goods and beings were not transported from sight to sight. The required transporter power was extensive, and thrift-minded merchants rarely were willing to pay the cost. Ground labor was much cheaper. But in this case, the captain apparently wanted to save time above money. It was likely he would skip out without paying the transit authorities anyway. "Right, no problem. We'll get clear," Freenight told the other.

The shrill comm panel crackled on, "May as well bring the girl and our pilot on foot. My orders are to get the goods moved, not to worry about you," the voice instructed.

"On our way." Freenight closed the link and helped Lath lift Lanei.

"C'mon Batai, you're finally going to get back in a ship," Freenight said, enthused about the idea.

"Bout time," he answered. Lath was already working on the details of an escape plan, knowing that Lanei would be following his every thought. Get ready, he sent. Appear to wake up as we begin to leave.

The two men carried the prisoner between them as they left the warehouse. Slowly she began to stir, and a moan escaped her lips.

"She's coming to," Lath said with false alarm.

"Good, I wasn't looking forward to carrying her all the way to the space port." Freenight lowered her to the ground for a moment. "Hey, wake up. C'mon, wake up and walk." He tapped her in the face.

Lanei opened her eyes as if still groggy. Her dazed expression would have fooled Lath had he not already known she had been conscious for quite a while.

"Don't try anything. Just do as you're told and you won't get hurt," Lath ordered as he motioned his phaser at her.

She struggled to her feet, saying nothing. She began walking, following Freenight in the direction he was indicating with his rifle.

The men walked with her between them. Once they neared the port, they tucked their weapons discretely out of sight, but she was well aware that Freenight kept his ready just in case she tried to run. There were dozens of hangers at the bustling space port. Freenight walked with confidence and familiarity between them.

Lath visually searched the area as they passed. He knew that once they were aboard the pirate's ship they had little chance of escape. He waited for an opportunity.

"Let's cut through here," Freenight indicated a narrow passage between two hangers.

They stepped into the shadows and Lath took advantage of the change in vision as they passed from bright sunlight into shadow. He slipped his phaser out and set it on stun.

Lanei sensed his intentions and pretended to stumble against the other man, knocking him off balance for the split second Lath needed to target him.

His phaser caught Freenight in the chest and the man jerked backward, sliding down the metal wall of the hanger behind him.

"Let's go!" Lath shouted as he grabbed Lanei by the wrist, rushing back the way they had come. A small Hapstead Hopper, the size of a two man shuttle was idle just outside of a hanger. No one was around. "That's what we need!"

He looked around and they dashed to its hatch. A security lock held the entrance frozen against them. "Stand back," he said raising his phaser to slice the lock off.

"Wait!" Lanei looked at the lock closer. An alarm was built in. At the slightest heat from the phaser, the alarm would sound, likely bringing the craft's owner. "I thought you security types were taught to be more subtle than that," she teased, as she searched the ground for a bit of metal to short the alarm.

In a few moments the hatch was open and they were inside. Lanei took the co-pilot's seat as Lath powered up the hopper. She found the communications system. "I'm going to call Avenger for help," she told him.

Wham! The craft shook violently knocking Lanei nearly out of her seat.

"What the...!" Lath looked out the forward view port. There stood Daren Freenight, phaser rifle slung against his shoulder, aimed at their ship.

"He's hit the communications relay. It's off-line." Lanei said as she slapped the useless comm panel in frustration.

"Best come out on your own, Batai!" Freenight shouted.

"You had best get out of the way!" Lath shouted back. He was hoping against hope that the other man wouldn't fire again. The small craft had no shields. At point blank range that phase rifle could slice right through the hull.

"Can't do that." Freenight actually sounded like he regretted not being able to let them go.

Lath throttled the ship forward slightly. Suddenly the front view port was washed in energy. Lath powered back down, knowing that it had been a warning shot, and that his friend was not likely to give him another chance. There was nothing else they could do but give up.

Freenight opened the hatch and motioned for them to get out. Lanei looked at Lath and he nodded. She climbed out and he followed. For now, they were back where they had started.

"Captain!" Lieutenant Rataan said in surprise, "our sensors have just picked up erratic energy fluctuations in the exact location we have under surveillance."

"Could it be a cloaked ship powering up?" the captain asked, hoping for more detail.

"It's more like the energy of a transporter. But something large is being moved, or large quantities," Kale answered.

Sutherland could feel something, deep inside. He knew this is what they had been waiting for. "I think we have our marauders, gentlemen," he said with satisfaction. "Begin sending down armed security teams," he instructed Rataan to start the predetermined operation.

"Captain, sensor readings are changing," Rutledge interjected. "Whatever form of screen they were using to cover their ships, it's coming down."

"On screen."

On the viewscreen they watched as the sensors showed the area of the space port that only moments before had seemed to be empty. Now it showed six small ships and a tug freighter.

"Got 'em," Rataan muttered with excitement.

"Captain, they are lifting off," the Ops officer informed.

"Plot a course for intercept, Mr. Jansen. Mr. Rutledge, red alert."

Lath sat beside Freenight in the cockpit of one of the attack ships. For reasons unknown to him, Daren had not told the captain about he and Lanei's attempted escape. His sister had been taken aboard the Blood, the captain's tug-freighter, and Lath had to watch helplessly as she went.

Don't worry, I'll be all right, she thought as she was led away. Remember, I'm a Starfleet officer too.

I'll get us out of this yet, he promised.

"Why didn't you tell the Ol' man?" Lath asked of Freenight as the other powered the ship up for launch.

Freenight didn't look away from his panel. "Everybody makes a mistake now and then."

Lath wondered if Freenight was referring to himself for not informing the captain of the attempted escape, or to Lath for attempting escape in the first place.

The small attack craft powered into the sky, holding a rough formation pattern behind the other ships.

The thrust pushed Lath back in his seat for a moment before the inertial dampers could compensate. His mind raced, still searching for a solution to their situation.

"All ships," a voice came over the closed frequency the fleet was using, "Federation vessel closing from one-seven, mark five! All ships acknowledge."

"Roger, Blood. This is Freenight, I have them on sensors. Setting scramble now." he said with a touch of nervous tension in his voice. He looked over the console carefully, making certain everything was in order.

Lath considered his options, and what he was about to do. And there was no other way. "I can get you out of this," he offered cautiously.

Freenight cast him a grin, "You want me to let you pilot?" he misunderstood.

"No, that's not what I mean. I'm a Starfleet Intelligence agent," he confessed.

For a brief moment, the other man sat in silence, reliving the past days. Then he cursed, "I should have known there was something not right about your story. You're too decent to be one of the bad guys." A wry smile slanted his mouth.

"I can offer you a deal, if you help me."

Freenight thought the offer over for a moment. "Sorry, I guess I made my bed a long tome ago," he refused.

The Avenger was closing on the small fleet. The ships scattered from their loose formation and began to swarm around the larger ship, trying to slow it down to give the slower tug-freighter a chance to escape with their bounty. Beams of energy stabbed out into the darkness chasing the quicker crafts. Shorter bursts of light knifed back, scouring the shields of the Federation ship. Displayed against the blackness of space, lit in a halo of battle glory, the Avenger bore down on them like an avenging angel.

Freenight's teeth shown in a grimace of concentration as he swung the ship in a roll over the nacelles of the larger Starfleet ship. He was skimming along the actual shields of the other ship, like a boxer that chose to move so close to his opponent that he could no longer land blows. He couldn't fire effectively at this proximity either, but he served as a distraction as another ship landed a shot across a weaker section of the ship's defensive shields.

One of the other small attack craft dodged a phaser shot from the Avenger and was caught in the crossfire from one of his own comrades. There was a silent explosion that dissipated quickly.

"Damn!" Freenight gasped. Jake was in that ship.

"We could be next," Lath persisted.

"Shut up!"

The small ships seemed to quiver with anger at the loss of one of their own. They darted in and shot their weapons with reckless abandon, then sped out of range to turn and dart in again. They were fast and maneuverable. Their pilots were hardened and used to battle. They seemed to be able to dance in and out of fire with impunity. A noticeable hole began to form in the forward shields of the starship. There were too many of them, and they were too quick, for the other ship to fend off indefinitely. They stayed too close for photon torpedoes. Like a pack of hyenas, they were wearing their opponent down.

A shot from a daring pilot went through the hole and damaged the targeting deflector. Now the bigger ship was sensor blind in several critical areas. They could hold it off easily and allow the Blood to escape.

"All ships," the Old Man said over their comm, "set course for Cardassia."

Shock radiated through Freenight. He faltered for a moment at the controls and a glancing shot hit their shields. "Say again, Blood."

"We will rendezvous at Cardassia. A buyer is waiting for us there." The captain's voice was cold and brooked no disobedience.

Lath was suddenly desperate. Lanei was on board that ship. Once they were safely away, the Old Man would decide he had no further use for her. He would kill her without a second thought.

Lanei! he called out with all his heart and mind. She was so far away, he couldn't be sure that she would hear him. He had to try. Moments passed and he doubted he had reached her.

Northryte, she sent back.

Her mind felt distant. He wasn't sure he was hearing her correctly. He wasn't sure what she wanted of him. I don't understand.

Tell him about the Northryte. The pirates will sell it to the Cardassians. They'll kill hundreds of millions!

Some of the other ships were beginning to break off from the conflict, ready to jump into warp at the Old Man's signal. A couple lingered to inflict a few more stings on their prey.

"Yeah, Cardassia," Lath said, trying to get Freenight's attention. "You heard him, he has a buyer. He'll sell the Northryte you stole to them because they'll be the highest bidders!" he shouted.

"Shut up!"

"They'll use that Northryte as a weapon, the kind that destroyed Edsin." Freenight was refusing to look at him, but he could feel the other man's conflict. "Just like Edsin, they'll win again," he persisted. The blood lust in Freenight's eyes as he turned on Lath was enough to freeze anything else he was about to say in his throat.

"Not while I'm alive!"

"Sir, we are receiving a hail from one of the attack-craft!" Rataan exclaimed with surprise.

Sutherland blinked in surprise. "Open a channel," he ordered quickly.

On the forward screen, the face of a Deltan man appeared. "Sir, I don't have time to explain, but I am agent Batai." He felt the captain's hesitancy and knew of his predicament. "Captain, please, there is not time to explain!"

"I'm listening." Sutherland replied.

"The Blood is about to go to warp! We must stop them!" He paused, "Lanei is aboard that ship as a prisoner."

He claimed to be the mysterious Agent Batai. There was no way the Captain could be certain of it, but he was certain the other ship was going to get away. He had no choice but to accept this man at his word and take a chance. "Understood," Sutherland replied turning to Rataan.

Kale looked skeptical. "The targeting deflector has been damaged. A photon strike at this distance will not be accurate enough to merely disable the raider's ship. That ship will be destroyed. And Lieutenant Lanei..." He trailed off.

Lath listened to the Security Chief, searching for an alternate solution. "Sir, I can patch the targeting computer of this ship into the Avenger's. Using our readings, can you stop them?" Lath asked. Rataan was again skeptical

"It will be a risk," Sutherland said, "But I don't think there is any alternative. Make it so."

Lieutenant Rataan studied the telemetry coming over his control panel. He was being asked to target a ship with photon torpedoes so precisely the ship would only be damaged, not destroyed. It was a challenge under the best circumstances, but with the added problem of having to target using another ship's readings taken from a separate perception of angle and distance, it was almost impossible.

"Target acquired," he said with as much certainty as he could muster.

"Fire!"

A ball of sparkling death reached across space, striking the tug in its aft section. It listed off to starboard as its engines struggled vainly to compensate. White gasses leaked into space surrounding sections of damaged hull.

"I am reading a minor hull breach. All on board power systems appear to be failing," Rataan reported with satisfaction, and not a little relief.

"Life signs?" Captain Sutherland wanted to know.

"Aye, sir, ten life signs. At this range I can't be sure if any are Deltan," he replied.

"Jansen, close to transporter range," Sutherland ordered as he tapped his comm badge, "Transporter room, lock onto all life signs on board that ship and beam them aboard, security protocol alpha-one!"

Lieutenant Rataan didn't wait for the order. He motioned a replacement to take his place at tactical and headed for the transporter room as quickly as he could, calling for security details to meet him there.

With the obvious capture of their leader, the remaining attack-crafts scrambled in disorder to escape. It was every being for himself and they weren't wasting any time to get away.

"Captain, the attack craft are escaping. Shall we pursue?" Rutledge asked from Ops.

"Tractor any that you can get in range, Mr. Rutledge. There's no way to catch them all. But we have the leader, and the missing cargoes," Sutherland answered.

Within a few minutes, Avenger had managed to tractor in and disable two more of the tiny ships before they could escape. With the leader of the marauders in custody, the missing Northryte retrieved, and the rest of the fleet disbanded, their mission was a conditional success. Some of the fighters had escaped, and the fate of his officer was yet to be determined. He just prayed Lanei and Starfleet's agent were all right. "Bridge to Sickbay," Sutherland said, "Is Lieutenant Lanei all right?"

"She will be," Chris Logan's voice came back. "After she gets a little medical attention and a lot of rest."

"Make certain she follows your regimen to the letter, doctor." He knew that she was in capable hands. "Open a hailing frequency to Commander Batai," Sutherland directed.

"Captain, is Lieutenant Lanei all right?" the intelligence agent asked with a worried frown.

"She is shaken up, but will be fine." He assured the other man, "I have asked the Doctor to sedate her and make sure that she gets the rest she needs."

Relief passed across his face. "I will be returning to Earth with the Avenger, Captain. My colleague," he indicated a man just out of range of the view screen, "will be staying in the area here to finish some business of his own."

Sutherland was uncertain, but he had been assured that Agent Batai had complete discretion from Starfleet in carrying out the undercover portion of this operation. "Understood," the captain agreed. "Would you like us to beam you over now. I look forward to meeting you in person to hear that explanation you spoke of."

"I need a few minutes, captain. But I look forward to our meeting also. Batai out." The channel was severed.

"You're letting me go?" Freenight asked in surprise.

"I promised you a deal for your help."

"That's not why I helped," Daren assured the other.

Lath nodded, "I know, all the better reason to let you go." He clapped Freenight on the shoulder. "You're too decent to be one of the bad guys," he said with a smile.

"And you're too decent to be a Fed," Daren laughed in return.

The mood suddenly turned serious. There were no words to relate the sum of their experiences together these last days. Lath held out his hand and the two clasped wrists in an eloquent gesture of friendship.

"Batai to Avenger," he said into the comm, "one to beam over." A cocky salute was the last thing he saw of Freenight as he dissolved, reappearing in the transporter room.

"I was so determined to make it on my own," Lath said, his eyes pleading with Lanei to understand the emotions of a young man who had run away from his family in a fit of passion.

They sat in her quarters talking. And in spite of the soothing greens and blues of the room, he was uncomfortably aware of the tension between them. Now that they were out of danger, Lanei was not going to be put off any longer. He could feel her anger, and hurt, as he felt his own and he was determined to make her understand.

"I couldn't contact you, or anyone I had known, at first. I needed to prove to myself that they were wrong, that I was an adult." He was quiet for a moment, letting his memories of his months struggling on his own flood through his mind and into their link.

She saw his memories as freshly as if they were happening now, in front of her. She felt his independent spirit gradually erode, a victim of hunger and depression. And yet the stubbornness not to give in, not to admit defeat, to one day return home increased.

"At first I couldn't return home because I believed in myself, in my ability to follow my own path--not the one they had laid out for me. Later, I couldn't return because it would mean humiliation. I couldn't bear for them, and you, to see how horribly I had failed," he explained. "And maybe a small part of me did want to punish them." He had to be brutally honest with Lanei. She was too much a part of himself to hide anything from her. "But it's been years." she said, wanting to understand, to forgive.

"I eventually learned how to get along on my own, developed a lot of street sense, but I wasn't going anywhere. Then I joined Starfleet, under an assumed name with false credentials, as an enlisted man." A smile of self mockery lifted the corner of his mouth. "Of course my fraud was discovered. But instead of discharging me with dishonor, they decided that I had a talent that could be used. I was offered the chance to transfer to the intelligence gathering branch of service. They trained me, and I discovered it was something I loved doing. I'm useful, and I'm good at it."

She could feel his pride. Reaching a little further she began to understand the foundations of the core of her brother's personality. Honor, duty, service, all mixed with adventure and danger. He was a natural for the intelligence service.

"I didn't contact you then because I knew the kind of dangerous missions I would take on. Having people you love worry about you can become a liability."

"You were wrong," she stated simply. "You were selfish, and you were wrong." There was no condemnation in her voice. She was just being as honest as he had been.

"I know."

Sitting beside him on the couch, Lanei reached out and gently settled her palms on either side of his head. She leaned forward, touching forehead to forehead, letting her mind fill his with all the years of memories that he had missed, accepting his in return. The moments and years blurred together, erasing the loss they had each felt. They wouldn't lose each other again, no matter how much time would pass.

"All rise for the Honorable Judges of this court-martial hearing," the bailiff called.

It was time for the verdict.

Commander Brower stood and found that his knees were slightly wobbly. Lieutenant Becca Raull stood beside him, her face unreadable.

"Whatever happens," he whispered to her, "I want to thank you for what you tried to do."

Commodore Chi Lang stood between his two counterparts. "Commander Andrew Brower, on this day 49602.15, we do find you guilty of the stated charges of willful disobedience of a direct order."

The blood drained from Andrew's face. A steadying hand from Becca stayed his balance. He listened as the judge continued with his judgment.

"However, in view of your past performance and record of service to Starfleet, we recommend that these charges be dropped. In accord with that finding, you are to be allowed to return to duty. You will continue to serve in the capacity you have shown yourself qualified for, as Commander and First Officer of a starship."

His knees did give out then and he sank back into the comfortable chair beneath him. Relief and disbelief fought for dominance in his awareness.

The chimes sounded and the court was dismissed, but Brower missed most of the official goings on. His mind was spinning. Soon the courtroom began to thin and observers and participants alike began exiting the room.

Quietly he sat receiving congratulations from a few observers in the courtroom and even from S'Toris.

Becca turned and gave him a smile filled with cocky assurance. "I told you... I hate to lose."

"Remind me never to bet against you," he said, giving her a hug of sheer gratitude.

As they were leaving the courtroom, a woman in an admiral's uniform stopped them. Brower had noticed her periodically attending the trial, but he didn't recognize her.

"My congratulations on winning your first case, Lieutenant Raull," she said to Becca.

"Thank you, Admiral Hewlett."

"And congratulations to you too, Commander Brower. You were very lucky."

He smiled back at her politely, but her expression said she didn't necessarily believe his luck would continue. "Thank you."

"The Avenger, will be returning any time now, Commander. We received word of their arrival in system an hour ago. I am sure they'll be very happy for you." She nodded politely and left.

In spite of the admiral's cool demeanor, Brower was more than ready to celebrate. He pushed it out of his mind. "Let's get out of here," he said to Becca, "and I'll buy you a bottle of the most expensive Champaign we can find. We'll toast your first victory!"

Andrew stepped from the turbolift onto the bridge of the Intrepid-class starship filled with a renewed sense of purpose. The nerve center of the ship was filled with activity as fingers danced across lighted panels, computer stations chirped, crewmen darted efficiently about their duties taking care of ship's business. Everything was exactly as he remembered it, except...

"Commander Brower, Captain Sutherland is expecting you," Schoen Rutledge said indicating the captain's ready room.

Andrew felt a moment of dejavu, remembering his first moments on this bridge. It had been Rutledge then who had directed him to the captain's presence too. But on that occasion, Schoen's was less than glad to see him. He still couldn't read Rutledge well, but perhaps things weren't exactly as before after all.

Lieutenant Lanei was leaving the captain's sanctuary as he approached the doors. She looked stiff and controlled. "I will, sir," she was saying to Sutherland, "and thank you for giving me another chance." She hesitated in the door way, then turned back to say, "Sir, I am sorry I disappointed you." She brushed past Brower, hurrying quickly off the bridge. He was left with the impression that he had witnessed the tale end of a dramatic story. Perhaps he would find out later what he had missed while he was away on Earth.

"Mr. Brower," Captain Sutherland said as the First Officer entered. "My congratulations." He shook the younger man's hand. "And welcome back." There was something unspoken in the captain's expression.

"Thank you, sir. Its good to be back." And he meant it.