My desire here was to write a somewhat more light-hearted work than any of the others planned or posted.

Though I don't normally plot out a story's length when I begin writing, I certainly didn't intend for this to swell to the size of a novelette. However, often characters have something to say of which you are unaware—until they've gone on for 15,000 words, that is.

Hope you get a few chuckles out of it.


"Tribble in Paradise"


by Joseph Manno

 

 

Even as he finished his log entry, Luciano Mantovanni's thoughts turned to the woman he'd assigned that near impossible task: Former captain, until just weeks ago prisoner, and now Lieutenant Commander Erika Benteen.     

If she was encountering any difficulty due to her lack of familiarity with the Sovereign-class, it hadn't yet manifested itself, so far as he could tell. The operational transition had been a smooth one.     

As to other difficulties, well...

"Bridge to Captain Mantovanni."     

He tapped his desk's comm panel. "Go ahead, Commander."     

Mantovanni hadn't quite grown used to the crisp voice of Kate Sheridan in place of Bagheer's rumbling purr; but his acclimation, he decided, was proceeding at a reasonable clip.     

"We're detecting a vessel on our long range sensors, sir. It's also headed for the Arellia System."     

"Configuration?" he asked.     

"Too distant to positively identify, but Commander Benteen speculates that it's almost certainly a Ferengi merchant cruiser, D'Kora-class. They're in quite a hurry—making better than warp nine-point-five."     

In his mind's eye, Mantovanni could see the familiar horseshoe crab silhouette of the Ferengi starship streaking through space. While they were fine vessels from a design standpoint and could withstand quite a bit of heavy duty, they were not often pushed to their limits in everyday use—probably because their commanders were usually their owners as well.     

"What's our ETA?" he queried.     

"Commander Benteen here, sir. At our current speed, we'll reach the outskirts of the Arellia system in 20 hours, nine minutes—about four hours behind the Ferengi. If we wanted to beat them there, we'd have to increase to warp nine-point-seven-five."     

They turned as one when Mantovanni abruptly emerged from the ready room and moved to stand with them at ops.     

Time to begin our working relationship, Erika, Mantovanni thought amusedly. Aloud, he inquired, "Recommendations, ladies?"     

"Let's smoke those little weasels," enthused Parihn from her position at conn.     

"'Little weasels' isn't exactly a professional evaluation... Ensign Speed Demon." Kate Sheridan added the gentle jest at the end of an equally restrained rebuke; the young Orion colored a shade darker green.     

"Yes, ma'am," she acknowledged, and found her navigational readouts to suddenly be of intense interest.     

Kate then turned to Mantovanni, and added, "If both ships were to increase to maximum, sir, the Ferengi could still beat us there by about two hours. Rather than show them how swift a Sovereign-class vessel is, I'd recommend maintaining our speed."     

"I disagree."     

Sheridan, startled, turned back to face the new operations officer.     

"I suggest we increase just enough to guarantee our arrival before them if they maintain their current velocity. This way, we find out if getting to Arellia first is important to them, while still keeping Liberty's maximum speed a secret."     

Having heard their respective opinions, Mantovanni took the center seat and made his decision.     

He ordered, "Increase speed so as to force the Ferengi to decide whether they want to make it a race, Parihn, but no more than that. In addition, when you reach warp nine-point-eight-two-five, begin to fluctuate our warp bubble slightly."     

"Sir?" she half-turned to face him.     

"The captain wants them to think we're pushing our engines to the limit so as to get there first," interjected Lieutenant Sito at tactical. "It's the perfect time to feed them some disinformation as to the capabilities of the Sovereign-class."     

While they were all engaged, Mantovanni glanced around the bridge, gauging expressions: Parihn was attempting to absorb the reasons behind each declaration and incorporate them into her understanding; Sheridan was nodding in agreement; Sito, as was customary when she'd guessed his motivation, was grinning from ear to ear.     

Benteen's face, though, held an odd look—one he recognized.     

With a hidden sense of amusement, Mantovanni acknowledged that he, too, had been evaluated, even while testing her.

Once a captain, always a captain, he thought.

 

***

 

Erika Benteen grinned. On some level, she knew she looked like an idiot, but didn't really care.     

For three minutes now, she'd been standing in front of the replicator in the officers' mess, savoring the opportunity to actually select her meal.     

As opposed to being fed whatever slop they shoveled in front of me on Dalarian Prime.     

"Lamb stew," she finally decided.     

Obligingly, the computer produced her selection—not fast enough, though, to satisfy everyone behind her: She heard an aggravated sigh, and a murmur that sounded something like, "Geez, it's about time."     

She picked up her dinner and turned, intending to apologize. However, the aggrieved party, a young lieutenant from security, rolled his eyes, and stepped past her a bit too... aggressively.     

Erika thought she'd gotten out of the way, but his arm struck just hard enough to send her bowl spinning off the tray and onto the nearest table, where a trio of engineers found that lamb had been added to their dining experience. Two escaped relatively unscathed.     

Lieutenant T'Lann wasn't so fortunate.     

Benteen cringed; she couldn't have placed the stew more effectively had she thrown it at the woman: It was in her clothes, on her hair, and had added a significant amount of protein to what had once been, no doubt, a vegetarian meal.     

The tall Vulcan stood, slowly.     

"I have heard it said that lamb is an 'acquired taste.' I believe, however, that there are better methods of acquisition than osmosis."     

There was scattered laughter; just enough to break the tension of the moment. Erika smiled sheepishly; with just a hint of a raised eyebrow, Irriantia's assistant chief engineer gathered her dignity and withdrew—presumably to change.     

Or before any other food products come her way, she thought, chagrined.     

In relief, Erika turned back to get another helping… and came face-to-face with the lieutenant who'd helped cause the disaster.     

Instead of apologizing, though, he observed snidely, "You should be more careful, Commander," and turned away to search out a table.     

After a moment's consideration, she decided that a private dinner in her quarters was, perhaps, a better idea.

 

***

     

"There they go, ma'am!"     

Ensign Parihn indicated her instruments as Kate Sheridan moved to stand behind her. Her observation was correct; the Ferengi ship had pushed velocity past warp nine-point-six—very near its maximum.     

"With the advantage they already had," the Orion noted, "they'll now be able to reach the Arellia system over five hours ahead of us—unless we increase as well."     

Sheridan concealed a grin. It was obvious that Parihn was, despite the previously espoused wisdom of restraint, still in favor of seeing whether Liberty's warp engines were capable of even greater speeds than they'd previously attained.     

Kate shot a glance at Mantovanni, who gave her no reaction other than to shift slightly in the center seat, and shake his head almost imperceptibly.     

"Negative, Ensign; maintain course and speed," was her only reply.     

"I'm getting some unusual readings now, Captain." Sito seemed somewhat perplexed, even as she relayed what sensor information had been gathered. "They seem to be originating from a few light-minutes astern of the Ferengi vessel. Intermittent signals; I'd almost call them sensor ghosts, but a level four diagnostic indicates that the equipment is in perfect working order."     

Mantovanni nodded in acknowledgment, inquiring, "Did these... 'spiritual occurences'… commence almost immediately after the change in velocity, Lieutenant?"     

"Yes, sir, they did."     

He knew he wouldn't have to say another word.     

"Commander Benteen..." began Sheridan.    

She responded promptly, with, "Tying in the lateral sensor array now... a moment, if you please."     

Mantovanni noted the ease of her response: Benteen was not at all disturbed by the need for additional information under time constraints; on the contrary, she'd anticipated the desire, and simply went about getting answers as quickly as she could—without pressing.     

"The Ferengi are still sneaking up their speed, sir," noted Parihn. "Up to warp nine-point-six-eight-five. I don't think they're going to get much more out of a D'Kora-class ship—not unless their engineers are geniuses..."     

"...or maniacs," Sheridan added, frowning.     

"Those readings have increased in frequency and intensity now, sir," observed Sito.     

Benteen, at that moment, supplied the reason.     

"That's because as the Ferengi have increased speed, the ship following them has been forced to divert power from its cloaking device so as to continue closing."     

"On screen," the captain ordered.     

She activated their visual pickup just in time to see the vessel emerge, all pretense of concealment now abandoned.     

"Klingon attack cruiser, Vor'cha-class," Sito announced. "Its speed is warp nine-point-seven-seven-five. I didn't know they could move that fast!"     

Benteen shook her head in alarm, and turned back to Mantovanni.     

"From these readings," she added, "they can't."

 

***

 

"They are continuing to make up ground, Daimon! And sensors have now detected a Federation starship also closing! It is one of their new Nagus-class vessels."

"That's Sovereign-class, you idiot!"     

Ragk, daimon of the Ferengi, put his tattooed head in his hands, and considered submitting a new Rule of Acquisition for consideration to the Council for Merchantile Literacy.     

How would it go? he thought. Ah, yes ... "Never give a relative a position on your starship... unless it's as your food-taster."     

The relative of whom Ragk was thinking—his brother, Pug—examined the sensor readouts with as much enthusiasm as he would were they declarations of social reform… and with as much understanding, as well.     

"Time until the Klingons intercept us?" the daimon asked.     

When no reply seemed forthcoming, Ragk quietly sidled up behind his brother to listen as the confused Ferengi murmured to himself.     

"Errr... vector seven degrees... carry the cube root of... awkkk!" Pug yelped as Ragk yanked him away from the console and took his place there.     

He did a quick calculation. "Less than ... we won't reach Arellian space at this rate before we are overtaken! Increase our speed!" The daimon's voice wasn't quite panicked—yet—but there was a definite note of hysteria creeping into the fringes of his tone.     

"Daimon, we cannot!" came the reply from his beleaguered engineer. "We shall surely explode if we do so!"     

Ragk hadn't lived this long, become a daimon, and amassed the kind of fortune that included a fleet of five starships by surrendering at the first sign of difficulty—even if that sign were a Klingon attack cruiser full of... well, Klingons.     

He wondered... he wheedled... he whimpered... he brought every shifty neuron to bear on the problem of his impending death.     

After a moment, he smiled.     

One more spin at the tongo wheel, he thought.     

Evade.     

"Prepare to alter course," he announced, grinning.

 

***



"Sensors indicate that the Klingons and Ferengi seem equally matched in... dogged determination, Captain." Benteen's statement was, according to your perspective, diplomatic—or vague.

"Don't keep us in suspense, Commander," Mantovanni prodded dryly.     

A moment later, she clarified.     

"Both vessels have damaged warp coils. Without significant time in a dry-dock, neither will be going anywhere at faster than impulse speed once they cut back."     

"So, whatever we've stumbled upon, it's important enough for both captains to have begun ruining their engines," Sheridan observed.     

"The Ferengi are altering course, sir; coming to 49 mark 33." Parihn shuffled through the revised figures, and then announced, "They're going to lose some of their lead on the Klingons, but..." she hesitated, rechecked, and then turned back.     

"Captain, they're angling for us. At all three current vectors and velocities, we'll now reach the Ferengi before the Klingons do...     

"...by about three minutes."     

"In addition," Benteen added, "we'll be extremely close to the Federation/Arellian border when this... rendezvous... occurs."     

For a few minutes, Mantovanni simply watched the viewer, as the chase played itself out with exaggerated slowness over the incredible distances of interstellar space.     

"Hail the Klingon vessel on a secure channel," he finally instructed.     

"Channel open, and secure," Sito confirmed.     

"This is Captain Luciano Mantovanni of the Federation starship Liberty. Our long range sensors indicate you've suffered damage to your warp engines. Do you require assistance in your pursuit of the Ferengi cruiser?"     

Sito, after a short delay, informed him, "No response, sir."     

Just then, though, her panel beeped; and she appended, "However, I am receiving a hail from the Ferengi ship. A Daimon... Ragk wishes to speak with you."     

The captain gestured, and the Bajoran put the signal through.     

At once, the screen filled with the image of an apoplectic Ferengi. He was practically foaming at the mouth as he screeched, "I protest on behalf of the Ferengi Alliance this... this... collusion between the Federation and the Klingon Empire! We have done nothing to warrant such... such... discrimination!"     

Mantovanni gave the daimon no reaction upon which to feed. He simply sat quietly, and regarded Ragk as he fumed and sputtered.     

"Well, do you have nothing to say, hu-man?!"     

Before the captain could reply, the view returned to that of a star field.     

Mantovanni didn't look amused in the least.     

"Transmission discontinued at the source," Sito informed him hastily; then, a moment later, she added, "While you were conversing with the daimon, the Klingons hailed us, sir. I have Brigadier Koroht, commanding the IKS JaH'qul."     

The captain nodded, and then motioned over his shoulder for her to put it through.     

When Klingons smiled, it was customarily in response to some rather violent stimuli, either combat-related or sexual in nature. When they attempted the expression in other situations, it usually came out as little more than a grimace.     

Koroht was smiling, and it actually seemed sincere.     

That gave Mantovanni pause; this was no 'typical' Klingon—if such an animal even existed.     

"Truly an honor, Captain, to speak with a Starfleet legend."     

This at least seemed normal. Klingon compliments were usually delivered with an edge of contempt; Koroht's, evidently, were no exception.     

"What can we do for you, Brigadier?"     

"You will intercept the Ferengi vessel and hold it until we reach your position, at which point you may either: Withdraw and allow us to settle the matter ourselves; or... render further assistance."     

"Might I inquire as to the nature of the 'assistance' you'd require?"     

Now Mantovanni received what most would consider a 'normal' Klingon smile.     

"The same type the Klingon Empire has been giving the Federation for the last year-and-a-half," he replied curtly.     

At that, the screen returned to a star field.     

"Sorry, sir. They closed the channel at their end... but now Daimon Ragk wishes to speak with you again," Sito finished gingerly.     

The captain sighed, then rumbled, "Put him through."     

Like their last conversation, Mantovanni wasn't even able to change expression, let alone actually say anything, before his Ferengi counterpart launched into a diatribe.     

"Per the Federation/Ferengi Trade Agreement signed in 2366, I demand on behalf of my ship Starfleet protection against Klingon aggression.     

"I have already notified Arellia II of the situation. If you refuse to adhere to the treaty stipulations, rest assured, the Ferengi government will be notified, and the repercussions against the Federation will be... substantial!"     

Once again, the viewer cut back to an image of interstellar space.     

"Er... channel cut at the source, sir."     

"Thanks, Sito," Mantovanni acknowledged sarcastically.     

"We'll arrive at the rendezvous point in nine hours, four minutes. I suggest having alpha shift back on duty then."     

The captain considered Sheridan's recommendation momentarily, then nodded his consent.     

Kate tapped her comm badge. "Sheridan to Gamma Shift... please report to the bridge immediately." To the members of alpha, she then announced, "You're all to get some rest. And just for the sake of argument, 'rest' for the purposes of this directive does not mean either unscheduled battle drills for security or three hours of gymnastics training." As she'd mentioned each activity, the canny X-O had turned first to Sito, and then to Parihn.     

"Got me?"     

They both answered with a subdued, "Yes, ma'am."     

"I'll relieve you in four hours, Kate," interjected Mantovanni. "For now, I'll be in the ready room..." he paused momentarily, rubbing his temples.     

"...attempting to contain your irritation?"     

Sheridan and the captain both turned in surprise. Benteen shrugged slightly, and then gave them a sly grin.     

Mantovanni didn't exactly smile in response.     

However, as he disappeared into his personal refuge, and the door closed behind him, she heard him concede, "Astute analysis, Commander."

 

***

 

"I'm pleased we've finally managed some time to talk, Erika."     

Benteen gave silent thanks her host wasn't a native of Betazed—especially since the first thing she'd thought in response was, Well, that makes one of us.     

The woman in whose office she sat was most definitely not one of that race which had essentially made the position of 'ship's counselor' their exclusive province.     

Well, almost exclusive: Lieutenant Hatshepsut was, surprisingly, from Felis Minor. Her people were felines, related to the rapacious Tzenkethi in a manner similar to the Vulcan/Romulan kinship; however, they were smaller, slighter, and rather more pleasant to be with alone in a room.     

Assuming, of course, you didn't have to be there.     

Felisians were known to be quite fastidious, and Hatshepsut was no exception. She carefully smoothed the fabric of the couch, shifted a pillow just... so, and finally sat, tucking her legs up under her in a graceful motion.     

"So... how are you adjusting to life aboard the Liberty?"     

Erika frowned. The question seemed nonsensical—if Hatshepsut had bothered to read her personnel file, that is.     

"It's not much of an adjustment, Counselor," she replied, somewhat crossly. "I've spent a good part of my adult life on starships; it's second nature to me."     

"It's been five years, though, if I'm not mistaken," countered the Felisian gently. "You were at Starfleet Command for two with Admiral Leyton, then spent three on Dalarian Prime. There's got to be some degree of uncertainty."     

Benteen was appalled at the callous mention of her time as an inmate.     

"I don't really need to be reminded of where I've been for the past few years, Counselor," she snapped. "Dalarian Prime is in the past... I've chosen to treat it as such."     

"Despite what anyone else might think?" came the incisive reply. "Surely you don't imagine that the members of this crew are simply going to give you carte blanche to forget what you've done without some... pointed reminders?"     

"I'll allow my professionalism to speak for itself," Erika asserted stiffly.     

Hatshepsut countered relentlessly, "As opposed to letting your record do the same?"     

"This appointment," Benteen declared angrily, "is over." She rose and turned to leave, but the counselor's next words stopped her.     

"Go if you like, Commander. I'll simply speak to Captain Mantovanni or Commander Sheridan, and you'll be back here in five minutes. They'll give me the benefit of the doubt, even if you won't."     

Benteen considered that. The Felisian didn't seem to be bluffing; her pupils had narrowed to slivers, and she was regarding her patient with a unwavering feline stare.     

With something of a dramatic flourish, she sat down again; then tartly observed, "Pretty confrontational and rude for a counselor, aren't you?"     

"I'm a cat," came the easy reply. "We're simple creatures. Unlike some counselors, I don't need to know what you're feeling at any particular moment. I just want you to eventually feel better."     

Benteen continued to glare at her—hard.     

Hatshepsut was singularly unimpressed.     

"I share lineage with the Tzenkethi, Commander; you'll have to look a lot more threatening than that to intimidate me. As far as I'm concerned," she added, "even Captain Mantovanni has a face like a cute little hairless monkey."     

That caught Erika off guard, and she laughed despite herself.     

It was an opening; and Hatshepsut, ever the predator, took it.

 

 

"Receiving a hail from the Ferengi ship." Sito sounded almost regretful at having to inform them.     

Sheridan exchanged glances with Mantovanni. "No doubt he wants to scream at you again."     

The captain's expression registered not a hint of amusement to the untrained eye. Kate, though, was learning.     

"Fear not, X-O," he replied drolly. "I'm Sicilian; when it's needed, we always get the last word.     

"On screen."     

This time, though, Daimon Ragk was all smiles. Mantovanni found himself, momentarily, comparing the Ferengi's grin to his memory of the Klingon Koroht's.     

"Ahhhh, Captain ... are you prepared to afford us your protection, as per the stipulations of our treaty with your government?"     

Mantovanni motioned with his left hand, a gesture of ambiguity.     

"Normally, I wouldn't hesitate, Daimon. However, in this case, we're on the border of Federation space, and I'm not precisely certain I have jurisdiction here."     

This was obviously not the response for which Ragk had hoped.     

"Surely you do not intend to allow the Klingons to... to..." Ragk's merchantile eloquence seemed to have deserted him.     

Ahhhh, the caveats of the marketplace, Mantovanni thought amusedly. You have something to sell… but I'm not buying.     

To the screen, though, he answered, "I'll consider extending you provisional protection, Daimon. Stand by." He made a quick slashing motion, and the young Bajoran muted the channel.     

"Slow to impulse, Ensign Parihn. Sito, instruct the Ferengi to follow suit."     

The great starship emerged from warp, sliding smoothly out of Cochrane's universe and back into Einstein's. An instant later, the Ferengi vessel followed, a bare 300 kilometers off Liberty's port bow.     

"The Klingons will be on us in less than twenty seconds, Captain," Sheridan observed.     

He nodded. "All right, Parihn. Time to show our skeptical X-O why Arkin Jora is the second-best helmsman in the Fleet. Keep us between the JaH'qul and the Ferengi ship.     

"Yellow alert," he then announced. "All shields to maximum."     

"No phasers, sir?" Sito inquired.     

"They're aggravated enough without their allies charging weapons on them, Lieutenant." That reply came, not so surprisingly, from Benteen at ops.     

She then added, "Here we go."     

The Klingon vessel slashed out of warp a few hundred thousand kilometers ahead of them, then wheeled around smartly. Their own pilot had chosen an excellent approach vector: Parihn's margin for error was non-existent; her time to react, miniscule.     

Without hesitation, and with a master's touch, the young Orion put her great charge directly in harm's way.     

"Their weapons systems are coming to full power!" Sito warned.     

For the first time since they'd all met her, Erika Benteen's voice registered real surprise… and alarm. "Captain! I have vessels de-cloaking to starboard... astern... all around us!"     

On the screen, where the Klingon vessel was seconds away from completing her attack run, two silvery shapes that reminded Mantovanni of nothing so much as a pair of unsheathed blades swept in behind her and took up a perfect position from which to open fire.     

"Arellian warships, Lancer-class." Erika might have been startled, but it affected her efficiency not at all.     

She finished, "Nine of them."     

"Each ship is being hailed privately, sir," Sito told them. "Separate frequencies and scrambled. It's a one-way audio transmission, not a commlink."     

The captain raised an eyebrow. "Let's hear it."     

The man's voice was deep and sonorous; Mantovanni found himself visualizing a tall, kingly presence, and smiled inwardly. No doubt exactly what the Arellians intend, he thought.     

"To the representatives of the United Federation of Planets: I welcome you on behalf of our Monarch and the Council of Governance. We request that you assume a... more congenial operational status, and alter your course so as to reach your destination with alacrity. Please comply immediately."     

"They're giving us coordinates for a course change, sir."     

The captain gestured towards the conn, and Sito fed the newly acquired data through to Parihn's console.     

"Make them happy, Ensign," he instructed.     

Sheridan leaned towards him. "Can you say, 'professional diplomat'?"     

"Points for style, Commander. It's better than..." Mantovanni began.     

"Sorry sir," interrupted Benteen. With growing concern, she added, "I'm getting the feeling that the Klingons don't feel cooperative. One Arellian ship's peeled off from both our escort and the Ferengi's; they're moving towards the JaH'qul and charging their weapons." She turned back in her chair.     

"This is about to get very ugly."     

"Hail the Klingon vessel," Sheridan snapped.     

"Belay that order, Lieutenant," the captain overrode easily. "Nothing any of us can say is going to make a difference to Koroht. Besides, I'm curious as to his response."     

"What if he responds with disruptors, sir?" Sheridan asked.     

"There is that," Mantovanni conceded. Still, he gave no order to contact them.     

A full half-minute passed. Then, miraculously, the JaH'qul turned slowly onto a heading which paralleled their own, and the Arellian ships moved into a less threatening posture.     

"Will you look at that," Parihn murmured in complete surprise.     

"This is bad," the captain commented, rather matter-of-factly.     

The young helmsman inquired, "Sir?"     

"We just watched a Klingon commander swallow his pride, forego a chance at Sto-vo-kor in combat against impossible odds, and meekly allow his ship to be escorted towards an unfamiliar port. That means he considers destroying the Ferengi more important than his personal honor... or that of his ship. We've stumbled onto something that, if I'm not mistaken, must strike at the very core of the Klingon Empire."     

He sighed, and leaned back in his chair.     

"Now if only we knew what it was."

 

***

 

Koroht was still smiling.
     

You may have found a bolt-hole, little Ferengi, but, by Kahless, you will not escape me. I shall feed your entrails to my targ, while you scream and watch.
     

Of course, if while I'm destoying you and your ship our precious Federation allies get in the way, well... even heroes have to perish eventually.
     

And if today wasn't a good day to die… there was always tomorrow.

 

***

 

Though the Arellian Kingdom wasn't what many would consider a significant player in the politics of the Alpha Quadrant, that was far more an indication of their lack of interest in such maneuverings than it was their ability to exert influence, if they so chose.     

Their technology, certainly, was a match for the best their neighbors could offer; the limited scientific exchanges between the Federation and the Arellians had benefited both sides greatly. Their determination and skill in the art of war weren't lacking, either: both the Romulans and Cardassians had learned this, to their chagrin.     

After an ill-conceived incursion into Arellian space ten years ago had met with a stinging defeat, the Romulan Senate, when faced by the prospect of a countermove in force, had asserted that the incident must have been the result of a "misunderstanding"; and they had granted unknown concessions in exchange for avoiding the full-scale campaign the Arellians seemed more than willing to wage. While the Romulans might have won such a war, having the Klingons and Federation eagerly observing their troubles had discouraged them from even making the attempt.     

When the Cardassians had tried three years later, they learned to what precisely those "concessions" had pertained. Their surprise attack had encountered very little resistance, and they'd quickly captured the two systems which had been their objective.     

Even the Obsidian Order had been caught flat-footed, though, when a massive task force had suddenly appeared near Cardassia Prime, courtesy of the cloaking technology the Arellians had either developed… or, more likely, coerced from the Romulans.     

It was an understatement to say the assault hadn't been as much of a surprise as they'd hoped. Central Command hadn't been pleased at having both to return what they'd gained, and relinquish three other strategic systems as well—especially at gunpoint, with the bulk of their fleet dozens of light years away.     

The Arellians were a formidable enemy, both before and after the shooting began.     

Kingston Station was a prominent example of that formidability, both militarily and technologically speaking. More than a match for even the largest starbases in both size and cosmopolitan demography, it glimmered on the edge of the Arellian system as the gateway to the inner worlds of the realm.     

It was also the de facto capital, from where the Monarch could look benevolently out upon the central worlds while maintaining the distance from the commoners that such sublime importance demanded.     

Ships of varied sizes and configurations either orbited the massive station or were berthed at one of the many docking facilities provided. Everything from single snub scouts which barely encompassed their pilots to colossal bulk cargo freighters well over a kilometer long were represented here.     

Idly, Benteen noted from her sensor data the races whose craft she could recognize, even as the Liberty made her way to a docking facility specially prepared to receive her.     

There's an old Antares-class freighter, she thought, and a Miradorn cruiser.     

As she continued her game, a trio of sleek Orion privateers came into view. Traditionally called by their more conservative foes "blockade runners," they were built for speed and maneuverability, though they could pack quite a punch depending on their owner's inclinations.     

Erika spared a glance at Parihn; she'd seen them, too, and was now glaring at the screen in undisguised contempt. Under her breath, the young officer muttered a stream of liquid prose that her universal translator refused to convert.     

"Well, that was imaginative, Ensign, but let's save the profanity for our quarters, shall we?"     

Parihn actually cringed at the captain's warning.     

"Aye, sir," she replied, chagrined.     

It was the first display of negativity Benteen had seen from the girl. She wondered what lay behind it.     

Her next sensor sweep generated an even more unpleasant surprise.     

"Captain, this might be worth a few curses," she announced. Unbidden, she redirected the pickup of the main viewscreen. It shimmered and refocused...     

...on a Dominion battleship, her massive bulk nestled comfortably in one of the Arellian repair pods.     

"Oh, that's just great," Sheridan muttered. "I wonder if we'll be sitting next to them at dinner."     

"If we are, X-O, just remember that your table knife is actually for the food, and not your dining companions," Hatshepsut reminded.     

"Well, despite your future in comedy, ladies," Mantovanni interrupted the banter, "let's remember that Arellia is uninvolved in this conflict, and that the Dominion has just as much right to be here as we do, whether we like it or not. All the traditions of a neutral port apply."     

"Aye, sir," they chorused quickly; Sito's panel beeped a second later. She read the incoming text, and grinned slightly as she addressed the captain.     

"I have a Lord Marekk, Minister of Protocol, who wishes to speak with your—and I quote—‘chatelaine,’ sir."     

Mantovanni raised an eyebrow. "Interesting." He turned to Sheridan. "Perhaps you'd care to handle this, Commander."     

"Yes, milord... uh... aye, sir. Sorry," she hastened to add, when it seemed he wasn't exactly amused.     

Kate saw she was wrong a moment later, when he rose and stated, "I'll be in my ready room..."     

Just before disappearing, he added, "...polishing my tiara."

***



"Vorta, we have detected a Federation starship, Sovereign-class, entering the system!"

Shallar whirled in indignant amazement at her First's announcement. She confirmed his observations by peering through her own eyepiece viewer, and decided on immediate action.

"Battle stations!" she ordered. "Prepare to launch..." her voice trailed off as she glanced again through her visual device—and saw six of the rather impressive Arellian Lancer-class cruisers suddenly appear and surround her own ship.

She knew it wasn't a coincidence their weapons were all trained in her direction.

"... a vehement protest," she concluded.

 

***

 

"Docking complete, Captain," Parihn announced.     

"Very well," Mantovanni acknowledged.     

He'd returned to the bridge after donning his dress uniform, at Sheridan's request. The remainder of the ambassadorial party—Hatshepsut, Benteen, Sito, and Dr. Matsuoka—were already in transporter room two. A security detachment of three men was also waiting there… this was the minimum necessary to escort so important a personage as a starship commander, according to Protocol Master Marekk.     

Sheridan began, quietly, "I still think it would be best if I were to lead the away team, sir. We know practically nothing substantive about the Arellians and I'd be more comfortable scouting the lay of the land before sending you over—especially with a Dominion battleship in the vicinity."     

The captain looked amused. "Well, when your comfort becomes our primary consideration, Commander, that's the way we'll handle it. Until then, protocol takes precedence. I'm about to meet a head-of-state... and despite our concerns, that Dominion battleship doesn't seem to be going anywhere."     

Sheridan nodded reluctantly. "Understood, sir."     

Ensign Müeller, filling in for Sito at tactical, interjected, "Sir, we're receiving a text transmission from the..." and he shook his head, "...the 'Master of Ceremonial'. The away team is expected in precisely two minutes."     

"Thank you, Ensign. Any other concerns, Commander?"     

"Nothing substantive, sir," she replied promptly.     

"Good answer." With that, he left the ship in her hands.

 

***

 

Senior Chief Petty Officer Mav was waiting to waylay Mantovanni as soon as he entered transporter room three. The bulky little Tellarite practically charged the captain, and actually managed to intercept him before he could take his place on the pad.     

"I've been informed that their transporter facilities will handle the beam over. Why?!"     

If anything, Mav was even more adept an engineer—and more belligerent a boar—than the average member of his race. He stood inches away from Mantovanni, glaring intently upward so as to compensate for the endemic myopia which made his people all seem like they were staring rudely even when they weren't.     

Then again, usually they were staring rudely.     

The captain handled Mav in the way he usually did.     

"Probably because I informed them my transporter chief is incompetent," he answered matter-of-factly.     

Mav snorted indignantly, and took a step back. The surprising nature of the response was just enough to allow him a recovery of his military bearing—such as it was.     

"You are joking with me," he accused. He sounded less than impressed with humor as a general concept, let alone when it was directed at him.     

"Yes, I am, Chief. I know how you enjoy it," the captain replied dryly. Before his pugnacious NCO could lengthen the discussion, he added, "You are to monitor the transport; if, in your judgment, an error is made, you can override and pull us back. Understood?"     

This didn't actually please Mav, but it was enough to mollify him.     

"Yes, sir," he grumbled, and retreated back behind the console.     

Mantovanni took his place on the pad, ignoring the broad grin Matsuoka was giving him, as well as those Benteen and Sito were attempting to suppress.     

"Monitoring transport..." the Tellarite sneered just enough to let the gathered officers know he was still irritated. "They're initiating... now."

 

***

 

Though the away team hadn't quite known what to expect, this definitely wasn't it.     

The surroundings, while opulent, also included quite a few... adornments that didn't add at all to the decor.     

Evidently the Jem'Hadar, Klingons and Ferengi—who'd been beamed over simultaneously—were of the same opinion.     

It was a close call as to who reacted most enthusiastically: The Jem'Hadar in their instinctual belligerence; the Klingons in their naked bloodlust; or Daimon Ragk and his aides in their abject terror.     

Each group went first for its sidearms, only to find that they'd evidently not rematerialized along with their owners. Battle cries of "Kahless!" and "Victory is life!" filled the air, as the Klingons hurled themselves at the Jem'Hadar, the Jem'Hadar hurled themselves at everyone else—and the Ferengi hurled themselves behind Mantovanni and his officers.     

"Stand fast! Defensive posture!" the captain ordered, even as he adjusted his stance to meet the charge of the Jem'Hadar First...     

...who never reached him.     

From vantage points along the entire length of the surrounding walls, pulses of lambent red energy struck with unerring precision. The blasts left a hint of ozone in the air—and the entire knot of soldiers, both Klingon and Jem'Hadar, either unconscious or dead on the beautifully carpeted floor.     

Only the away team, the Vorta, and the Ferengi were still standing… or, more correctly in the case of the latter, cowering.     

"I knew you were quick, but I didn't even see you touch him," observed Matsuoka, deadpan, glancing down at the insensate Jem'Hadar First.     

"Smart ass..." muttered Mantovanni in response.     

Sito drew closer. "The tapestries along the wall hide access points through which guards can fire at targets on the ground floor, sir," she informed him quietly. "No doubt they're holograms."     

"Murder holes with a modern twist," Benteen observed.     

At that point, the unconscious warriors shimmered and vanished.     

"An entirely unpleasant happenstance," came a voice from behind them. As one, they turned.     

A trio of Arellians entered through an intricately filigreed double door that closed behind them with but a whisper. Two were clearly soldiers, with well-cut uniforms and side-arms that seemed all the more impressive for having seen them in use just a moment ago. The other was dressed more elaborately, but even his garb wasn't what any of them would consider ostentatious. Tastefully expensive, Benteen thought. Like what my mother used to call old money.    

The Vorta addressed them as they approached.     

She began with surprising pleasantness, "On behalf of the Founders and the Dominion, I... "     

"...thought you would bring your war unbidden into our territory?" her counterpart answered scornfully.     

Behind the Vorta's veil of synthetic obsequiousness, she attempted to regroup.     

"I assure you," she answered, "the Jem'Hadar were merely responding to Klingon aggression—which is well documented. If we gave offense while attempting to defend ourselves, then we apologize."     

He examined the Vorta with as much enthusiasm as a child would a plate of vegetables that they'd been told were "good for you." Blatantly ignoring her reply, he turned to the others.     

"It is I who must apologize—to you, Captain, and to you, Daimon. You were invited here as our guests, and were nearly assaulted upon your arrival. The Monarch will be greatly displeased at this turn of events.     

"I am Josell, Minister of Ceremonial, at your service."     

As Mantovanni was framing a careful response, Daimon Ragk stepped forward and spoke, expansively; behind him, his advisors nodded at every word in fawning agreement.     

"On behalf of the Ferengi Alliance and the Ragk Trading Consortium, we accept your most gracious apology. Are the Klingons... dead?" He wasn't quite able to keep the hopefulness out of his voice.     

"No. They and the Jem'Hadar soldiers will be held in protective stasis until we have concluded our business. I imagine," he continued more loudly, forestalling the Vorta's protest aborning, "that the First of the Jem'Hadar and Brigadier Koroht will rejoin us, however, once they've been revived and... cautioned against further unauthorized displays."     

"I must say, Captain," he continued amiably, "your officers possess an impressive bearing. The way they held their ground in the face of a Jem'Hadar charge would do even Arellian troops proud."     

"High praise, indeed. We're honored at your regard," Mantovanni replied.     

Benteen observed her captain's thoughtful expression... he too had noticed that the entire visit thus far had seemed to be a not-so-subtle military evaluation.     

Josell didn't ignore the Ferengi, either.     

"And your actions, Daimon... your people's ability to avoid violence is... noteworthy."     

As a daimon, Ragk had many gifts: The ability to register subtle contempt when it was directed at him was evidently not one of them.     

He grinned toothily. "We much prefer barter to battle. It is invariably more... profitable for all concerned." Without looking, he reached out and slapped the hand of his aide, who had clumsily reached for an exquisite looking vase. The chastened Ferengi yelped, and clutched the offending—and offended—limb to his mouth, whimpering.     

"Observations of your vessel, Daimon, indicate... difficulties with your faster-than-light drive. Our facilities are at your disposal."     

Ragk nearly leapt for joy… and then, just as suddenly, shook his head grimly.     

"That will be unnecessary at this time. We must first completely... assess the damage before attempting any repairs."     

Josell was kindly insistent. "We have skilled diagnosticians standing by to aid you," he offered again. "Determining a repair strategy... "     

"No! No... thank you," he stammered. "We Ferengi prefer to handle such things ourselves."     

The minister nodded sagely. "Understandable."     

Anything but, Benteen thought in contrast. The Ferengi are some of the laziest beings in the galaxy when it comes to actual work. What would make them refuse the seemingly genuine offer of a technologically advanced people like the Arellians?     

Glancing around, she saw hers wasn't the only such opinion: Matsuoka's brow was furrowed; Sito looked skeptical; and even Hatshepsut's expression, which wasn't casually legible to a "hairless monkey," made her look as if she doubted the Ferengi's reasons.     

Disturbingly, the Vorta also looked as if she'd noticed, as well.     

The minister came to a abrupt halt before a rather ordinary looking door, no different from a hundred or so they'd passed, in the dozen halls through which they'd already walked.     

"Your officers, Captain, along with the Ferengi and Dominion delegations—such as they are—will continue on to the apartments prepared for them," Josell announced. He then turned to Mantovanni and concluded, "The Monarch awaits you within."     

"Why does the Federation representative receive a private audience?" the Vorta demanded.     

For the first time, the trio of silver-skinned Arellians showed a trace of real anger. The guards raised their weapons slightly, and Josell permitted more than a hint of disdain to cross his features.     

"Because the Monarch wills it," he snapped. "And so long as you are in Arellian space, Vorta, our ruler is more a god than your Changelings are."     

Caught between naked fury and astonishment, Shallar nearly answered reflexively... and then remembered that the Jem'Hadar were nowhere around to support the haughtily vicious assertion she'd no doubt been preparing to make.     

Her rigidity dissolved into what passed, to a Vorta, for an ingratiating warmth, as she answered, "The Founders have nothing but the utmost regard for the Arellian Monarch. I was merely concerned that we of the Dominion will have the same opportunity to present our... interests... that the Federation representatives receive."     

Just as quickly, Josell's expression changed as well. He smiled with an affection that seemed every bit as sincere as the Vorta's, and replied, "Then come. The Minister of Interstellar Affairs will discuss your petition with you. No doubt the Dominion's opportunity to meet with the Monarch will arrive... in due time. Gentlemen and ladies, if you please... ?" He gestured for them to follow.     

"Go ahead, Commander." Mantovanni forestalled any discussion by adding, "Now," as Benteen opened her mouth to protest.     

"Yes, sir."     

They'd walked but a few feet when she was overcome by a sudden urge to glance back. Her mind flashed for some reason to Orpheus in the Underworld, but she snuffed the superstitious murmur, and looked anyway.     

Sure enough, the captain was already gone.

 

***

 

"...more than welcome to utilize our facilities, Commander. Kingston Station is known throughout the sector for its... myriad diversions. You are our guests; please avail yourself of our hospitality, if you so choose."     

Katherine Sheridan listened, intrigued... but not overly enthusiastic.     

"A generous offer, Minister," she answered brightly, "but I'd prefer to wait until I've spoken with Captain Mantovanni. I... wouldn't want to authorize something when it wasn't my place to do so."     

The lie was a good one; if there was anything a bureaucrat could understand, it was making certain one didn't ruffle the feathers of your superiors.     

"As you say, Commander. However, the invitation remains in place. Indulge yourself as you will."     

The view on the screen returned to that of the massive docking facility. Here, along with the Ferengi ship, Liberty had come to rest. The Jah'Qul, instead of being received here, had been guided into a distant orbit—still escorted, at last sighting, by four of the seemingly innumerable Lancer-class cruisers.     

"Sensors indicate transporter activity on the Ferengi vessel, Commander. Multiple destinations; all three of the station's designated transport ingress facilities."     

Sheridan acknowledged Müeller's information with a nod.     

"Couldn't resist the opportunities to see what could be exploited here, no doubt." She crossed her legs, and pondered for a moment; then another thought struck her.     

"Ensign Müeller, scan for Klingon life forms on the station. Have they been permitted to leave their ship, too?"     

"Checking, ma'am... in the parts of the station I can actually scan, I detect at least eight Klingons, in groups of four... as a matter of fact, both are on the move now."     

Sheridan sighed and shook her head. "Let me guess... towards one or more of the Ferengi shore parties."     

After a moment, he nodded. "Yes, ma'am."     

At that point, Parihn placed her station on stand-by—not that she had much to do while they were docked—and turned completely around in her chair.     

"Commander, may I speak with you privately?" Her sense of urgency seemed to border on real agitation; she was practically jumping out of her green skin.     

"Of course, Ensign. Let's talk in the Observation Lounge."     

As soon as the door closed behind them, Parihn requested, "Permission to visit Kingston Station, ma'am."     

"I beg your pardon?" Sheridan was rarely dumbfounded, but the Orion had caught her completely off guard.     

The young officer drew a deep breath, and repeated, "Permission to... "     

"That's all right, Ensign. I heard you the first time."     

Almost, almost Sheridan simply refused… but nothing in Parihn's make-up had ever implied that she was frivolous or impulsive. Kate was intrigued.     

"For what purpose?" she asked.     

"Someone needs to find out what's going on over there, and I'm the best person for the job."     

"Oh?" Sheridan answered, with just a trace of tolerant condescension. "And why is that, Ensign?"     

"Well, humans aren't very common around here; and, quite honestly, most other Starfleet officers stick out like a subspace beacon in an empty sector, anyway. They wouldn't learn a thing."     

She walked over to the lounge's viewer and activated it.     

"I took it upon myself to run a few scans of my own. The Klingons aren't the only ones on the station headed straight for the Ferengi.     

"My people are, too."     

"The Orions?" Sheridan queried, surprised. "You think they're involved?"     

Parihn, despite her youth, looked for a moment like a mentor tutoring a wayward moron.     

"Am I green?"     

With difficulty, Kate suppressed a smile; such boldness could only mean Parihn had the courage—if not the courtesy—of her convictions.     

"Permission granted."     

"But ma'am, I'm certain that... " she stopped. "Granted?"     

"Yes. Have a subcutaneous transponder inserted, change into whatever clothes you think are appropriate, and get going. Ensign T'Vaar will meet you in transporter room two in five minutes."     

"Why?" the young Orion asked. "I'd be better off alone, ma'am."     

Sheridan shook her head. "I don't think so. T'Vaar can pose as a Vulcan trader—everyone in the quadrant values kivas and trillium, after all. She's a security specialist, and trains on occasion with the captain. You'd be better protected than if you were alone. No more arguments, Ensign... go see what you can see."     

"Yes, ma'am!" She practically sprinted out of the lounge.     

Good thing you did that, kid, Sheridan thought. If you'd walked, I might have changed my mind.

 

***

 

The "ordinary" door opened onto a room that was anything but.     

Mantovanni's eyes widened at the expanse—a preserve of some sort, judging by the sounds of wildlife and the headiness of the air. Great trees, reminiscent of Californian sequoias on Earth, loomed above him—and extended off as far as he could see.     

He ventured a look back at the doorway, thinking at first the entire expanse might simply be a holodeck. The portal remained, however; a moment later, he felt the vibrance of the place, the sheer life that surrounded him. No hologram invented could simulate that.     

An entire forest biosphere, here on a space station, he thought. The technology, let alone care, needed to do such a thing is... formidable.     

"By your expression, Captain Mantovanni, you approve of the setting chosen. We are pleased."     

He turned to confirm with his eyes what his ears had just told him.     

The Monarch was a woman… she was young… and to say she was beautiful would have been akin to calling a star "a flicker of light."     

Best not to dwell on that, he thought. Instead, he began formally, "Your Majesty, on behalf of the United Federation of Planets, I offer the best wishes of our diverse peoples."     

"Was that rehearsed, Captain, or are you poet as well as warrior?"     

She approached him slowly. Her hair was long, straight, and, if anything, of even more astonishing a hue of silver than her skin. If the simple, elegant robe she wore had been of any color other than the black it fortunately was, she might literally have been too bright for him to look upon.     

"I'm not exactly what many would consider loquacious, Your Majesty," he answered carefully.     

She laughed. Mantovanni had read stories, both good and bad, which had compared a woman's laughter to the sound of bells. He'd always thought it a rather silly literary contrivance.     

Until now.     

"'Not loquacious' and 'lacking eloquence' are two very different things, Captain, I'm sure you'll agree.     

"Walk with us, and we shall test you on both points." She held out her hand.     

Welcome to the Enchanted Forest, Cicero, Mantovanni thought... and then reached out to take it.

 

***

 

As she surveyed the huge room for the fourth or fifth time, Benteen searched for the appropriate phrase. Again she took it all in: The lavish furnishings; the ornate tapestries; and the table laden with drink and delicacies from all over the quadrant.     

She finally decided on, "The accommodations are... sumptuous, Commander."     

There was a momentary silence, followed by Kate Sheridan's leading, "However...?"     

"We were hustled in here... told that anything we'd possibly want would be provided for us... and then left to our own devices. There aren't any bars, Commander… but there aren't any doors, anymore, either. The entry through which we came seems to have disappeared. Our tricorder scans are being reflected back. In some ways, I'm surprised we're being allowed to speak with you."     

Benteen hoped Sheridan caught her meaning—that no doubt their communications were being monitored.     

"Did they give you any indication of how to signal them if you wanted something—like, say, to go for a stroll? A comm panel? A sash? A big brass gong?"     

Despite the uncertainty of the situation, Erika smiled. "No, Commander. For all we know, they evacuated the system and we're the only ones left."     

"Well, I can at least reassure you on that quarter; Liberty's still out here.     

"Sit tight for now, while we try to determine why they'd put you in a cage—gilded though it might be—while inviting other members of the crew down for shore leave. Sheridan out."     

That's just great, Benteen thought. Now I can sit here and watch: Sito and her security guards examine the room's perimeter for the sixteenth or seventeenth time, looking for an exit; Hatshepsut start on her third bowl of Ktarian heavy cream; and the doctor warn her for the third time about how unhealthy dairy products are for felines.     

Oh, joy.

 

***

 

Despite the description of Kingston Station as a veritable jewel in the cosmic crown, T'Vaar thought it was much like many other interstellar port facilities: crowded, noisy and peopled with all sorts of individuals conducting affairs benign, malevolent, and every degree in between.     

She and Parihn had beamed over to the antiquated Antares-class freighter they'd seen in orbit; and, after a bit of none-too-subtle persuasion involving a hundredth-gram of biomimetic gel, had convinced its Andorian captain to transport them over so it would at least seem as if they'd come from his ship.     

During the entire process—from meeting, through negotiation and finally to dematerialization—his hungry eyes had never left Parihn. Even the Arellian transport attendant had nearly abandoned his post to follow them.     

Now, as they moved out of the near empty transit station, T'Vaar, with a typically Vulcan detachment, covertly examined the effect such... attention had had on the young Orion.     

She was already raising the robe's hood to disguise her features. In the moments before her expression was hidden, though, T'Vaar saw a rather unexpected mixture of amusement... and contempt.     

Curious, she thought. However, not my primary concern at the moment.     

Instead, she mentioned, "I am scanning the vicinity in an attempt to locate the eventual rendezvous point of the Ferengi and Orion groups."     

She heard what sounded like a snort from within the hood.     

"Don't bother. Set your tricorder to deflect any life form readings directed at us, then access the layout of the station we were provided and locate the largest bar. That's where they'll be."     

"Indeed?" The Vulcan raised a skeptical eyebrow. "That would seem rather too obvious a meeting place."     

Parihn increased her pace, and despite her nearly seven-inch height advantage, T'Vaar found herself greatly increasing the length of her stride just to keep up.     

"My people, despite their reputations for secrecy, aren't overly imaginative. Neither are the Ferengi. A bar enables them to indulge more than one vice even while conducting their business. Neither race can pass that up."     

At last they arrived outside an establishment that promised, in bold Arellian script, "Libation for every occasion."     

"Stay close," Parihn muttered, and stepped through the doorway.     

From what they could see through the incense-shrouded room, the Orions and Klingons were still nowhere to be found, but the Ferengi had arrived. In a corner, keeping a surprisingly low profile, were a trio of them, stuffing themselves with some sort of viscous green larva and glancing every few seconds at the door.     

"I fail to understand how we could have beaten either the Klingons or the Orions to this location."     

Even as she weaved her way through a veritable myriad of races both familiar and strange, Parihn smiled.     

"The Orions are casing the location before they enter, and the Klingons are waiting for all their enemies to be together, the better to kill them at a single stroke."     

T'Vaar answered wryly, "I find your analysis of the criminal mind's workings to be logical... but no less disturbing for that."     

"Humans have a saying, T'Vaar: It takes a thief to catch a thief. Consider that for what it's worth. Now be quiet."     

She stopped at their table; as they glanced up at her, near panic-stricken, she slipped into the seat next to the nearest one—and, in a single smooth motion, removed her hood.     

The effect on the what looked to be the lead Ferengi was nothing short of amazing. In the span of about two seconds, he transformed from terrified and quaking to swaggering and lusty. T'Vaar took a seat between the other two, and with difficulty, actually managed to smile.     

"Well, this is an added bonus. The Orions are feeling generous."     

Parihn smiled, and licked her lips; the Ferengi to whom she was speaking nearly had an aneurysm.     

"Not yet, they aren't," she pouted. "First, the merchandise. My Romulan friend and I don't have all day—unless, of course, you do."     

The Ferengi laughed like a pre-adolescent schoolboy, and lifted onto the table the carrying container he'd until now held in his lap.     

"I have it right here," he assured her, patting it smugly.    

 "I need to see it," Parihn wheedled. "The sooner I do, the sooner we can move on to oo-max... what did you say your name was?"     

At the mention of that peculiarly Ferengi form of foreplay, whatever little suspicion and resistance the three had offered disintegrated completely.     

"P-Pug," he slobbered eagerly.     

"My," she reached over, and gave him a lingering caress on one ear, "you have the biggest lobes I've ever seen!"     

Trembling, Pug input the combination code into the container; as he finished, Parihn flicked her tongue across his ear. He closed his eyes, the better to enjoy the sensations.     

At the prearranged signal, T'Vaar slid her hands across the shoulders of both other Ferengi… and gave them each a Vulcan neck pinch.     

Pug was so enraptured, he didn't even notice as the heads of his two compatriots slumped onto the table. T'Vaar, noting his distraction, casually reached across and added him to her collection of victims.     

A second later, Parihn replaced her hood and scooped up the container.     

"Nothing like a good long nap after oo-mox, eh, Pug?" she whispered seductively. Then she stood, and, once again in the voice of a Starfleet officer, instructed, "Let's go."     

They made it all the way to the door before their luck changed.     

The knot of incoming patrons was, as fortune would have it, Orions. Observant Orions.     

Avoiding eye contact as they passed, T'Vaar and Parihn managed to get about ten feet away from the entrance before a roar from within told them that at least one had spotted the unconscious Ferengi from across the room. Someone put two and two together, and the next thing they heard was, "Those two that just left… Get them!"     

The Vulcan reacted instantly. She shoved Parihn around a corner, and firmly demanded, "Run. Attempt to reach the transit station."     

A man might have argued. Parihn just did as she'd been told. As the Orions poured out the bar door, she was already lost to sight.     

T'Vaar immediately abandoned any pretense of mercantile pacifism. Stepping forward, she met the first Orion with a sharp punch to the face that sent him to the ground, blood streaming from his broken nose. The second one stepped into the spin kick with which she followed the first attack, and he too joined his fellow on the deck, writhing.     

The next three, learning from the others' mistakes, simply tackled her en masse before she could reset herself to avoid them. She managed to render one unconscious with a nerve pinch on the way down, but by the time she extricated herself from the tangle of limbs, the last Orion was pointing a phaser directly at her head.     

He never got a chance to fire.     

As they yanked her to her feet, a series of disruptor bolts struck each Orion—even the pair flanking her. Caught in the nimbus of two energy discharges, T'Vaar was thrown back, hard, against the wall of the bar.     

Desperately clinging to consciousness, she managed to regain her feet. Her eyes gradually refocused—just in time to see the Klingon smile, and drive his gauntleted fist home.

 

***

 

"I'd always wanted to meet you, Captain."     

They'd walked only a short way before coming to a clearing in which was set two chairs—one a magnificently carved piece, the other somewhat more utilitarian. The queen had motioned him to the smaller one, even as she'd seated herself on what, by virtue of her status, instantly became a throne.     

For long moments afterward, she'd simply gazed at him in silence. If the attention was making him in any way uncomfortable, he refused to show it. He merely returned the regard, if less... boldly.     

"Fortunately, one of the benefits of being a monarch is that you can fulfill your... desires rather easily. Starfleet seemed only all too pleased to send the Liberty here."     

"Starfleet would be overjoyed if Arellia and the Federation could solidify their friendship as a result of this visit." Mantovanni was choosing his words with care. He'd been startled at the prospect of a private audience, and most of the diplomatic niceties with which he'd been plied seemed somehow inappropriate.     

"And you, Captain?" she pressed gently, with a teasing smile. "Have you discovered a more personal reason to be... 'overjoyed'... as a result of this visit'?"     

This is becoming complicated, Mantovanni thought. There were about 15 different things he could say to that, running the gamut from the bashful to the bawdy.     

He decided on the bold, and replied, "From the moment I saw you, Your Majesty."     

She smiled as if both pleased and impressed by the response. "Charming, without being unduly provocative. Very good, Captain." Abruptly, she changed tactics, and her voice seemed suddenly laced with iron.     

"Would Starfleet expect immediate military assistance against the Dominion if we were to solidify ties?"     

Now this type of discussion he understood.

 

***

 

"I have to go back for her."     

Kate Sheridan was as immovable as Vaerth Parihn was irresistable.     

"Absolutely not. Considering what just happened over there, I have no intention of sending you into it again."     

"But T'Vaar..." the young Orion began to repeat her request, but Sheridan's expression caused her to reconsider.     

"I'm not in the habit of repeating myself, Ensign. Whatever happened is long over. Even you wouldn't find anything if you went back. Besides, T'Vaar can take care of herself."     

The younger officer's expression, for a moment, was nearly rebellious, but she managed to refrain from further arguments.     

The two had met in science lab four, where Parihn had taken her presumably valuable, and possibly dangerous, prize and immediately sealed it behind a level ten containment field.     

"I'm assuming you didn't open it on the station?" Sheridan's question was more of a comment.     

"No ... I'm not grotesquely stupid, Commander."     

Kate refused to allow the headstrong Orion's understandable emotional distress to anger her. Instead, she gently murmured, "We're doing everything we can to find T'Vaar, Ensign. We'll get her back." Whatever her attitude, I'm not going to put a reprimand and a commendation in this girl's file simultaneously.     

"Yes, ma'am." Parihn's emotions seemed at last to be under control. She smiled almost gratefully at Sheridan, and announced, "The lab rats think the box is probably OK to open. I volunteer to go in and do it."     

Sheridan thought of saying no, but reconsidered. After all, she's the one who retrieved it.     

"Go ahead, Ensign," she affirmed.     

Lieutenant Pallini, OIC of the aforementioned "lab rats," lowered the force field momentarily, until Parihn was past its perimeter. She approached the box, and with a casualness that impressed everyone in the room, pressed its release clamps and flipped open the lid.     

She stared into its interior for almost thirty seconds.     

"By the dead warlords of Orion..." she swore softly.     

Pallini couldn't stand it anymore.     

"Well? What do you see, Ensign?"     

Parihn reached into the box...     

... and came out with a small, fuzzy spheroid—which immediately commenced to purring.     

"It's a tribble."

 

***

 

"She's regaining consciousness."     

At first, T'Vaar's eyes refused to focus. With what senses were working, she evaluated the situation as best she could: She was hanging, her wrists shackled in some sort of restraints. By the odor, she was in a small room with an assortment of Klingons. The voice she'd just heard had told her at least one was quite close.     

Someone approached her. T'Vaar did a quick calculation, carefully measuring what sensory information she'd gathered, and lashed out with her foot—hard.    

Considering the agonized grunt, subsequent thud and extended gurgling that followed, she surmised her aim had been fortunate.     

An infuriated snarl, and a series of steps toward her from another quarter implied an imminent blow. She steeled herself...     

...but it never fell. A short, commanding phrase in Klingonaase seemed to be an order for restraint. A few more words, and the room was reduced to derisive laughter.     

"Well struck, Romulan," came the voice that had rescued her. "The unwary deserve their fate."     

At last, her vision began to improve... though she could have wished for a more aesthetically appealing image to greet her restored eyesight: A large, angry looking Klingon officer—a brigadier, if she recalled the Imperial rank structure correctly—stood just outside the reach of her legs.     

"Your compatriot managed to elude us somehow," he began. "You will tell us where she is."     

She surprised them all by conceding, "Very well." A single glare from their leader silenced the murmurs.     

He then nodded in approval. "Good. You see that there is no reason to die in agony when it could be quick and painless. Quite logical."     

Despite her control, she noted the irony inherent in his description of her. You do not know the half of it, Brigadier, she thought. However, you will soon enough.     

Quietly, T'Vaar told him who she actually was.     

To his credit, instead of striking her or laughing, he simply motioned to one of his officers, who pointed a scanning device at her. After fiddling with it for over ten seconds, she finally growled, "It is true. She is not a Romulan. She is Vulcan; and the transponder in her arm indicates that she is Starfleet, as well."     

The brigadier's tantrum was impressive. He roared his fury. He pounded, and cracked, the wall with his gauntleted fists. He actually pulled a chair up from its bolted moorings and hurled it into the next room—where a second grunt told her some unlucky Klingon had failed to dodge it.     

Finally, he drew his disruptor, brought it around until it was aimed towards her...     

...and fired.

 

***

 

Erika Benteen wasn't pleased with either the away team's situation, or her own.     

She caught herself casting yet another glare at Lieutenant Aldus' back. She'd come to a gradual realization that there was, within her, a definite resentment of his presence here. Erika had managed not to blanch when he'd entered the transporter room along with the rest of Sito's security team and taken his place on the pad. He hadn't given her so much as a second glance; obviously the incident in the mess had stood out far more in her mind than in his.     

Before, when they'd been focused on the mission, she'd given him nary a second thought. Now that they were just sitting around, Erika found herself replaying the scene in the cafeteria—and what she considered his borderline insubordination—over and over again.     

Another part of her recognized just what was happening.     

And there I was, just yesterday, priding myself on my professionalism to Hatshepsut, she thought.     

Despite her attempts at rationalization, though, the emotion refused to subside.     

A whole department full of security and Sito has to pick him to come along. I wish...     

And, just then, he was gone.     

As if he'd been removed between one frame of existence and another, Aldus had simply disappeared—with nothing, not even a flash of light, to mark his passing. For a split second, Benteen actually wondered if she'd suddenly developed supernatural powers: The mal'occhio, or evil eye, her great-great grandmother had insisted was an actual force.     

Instead of reacting immediately, she stood there, shaking her head and thinking, Wow, I wasn't that angry...     

A second later, when Matsuoka blinked out the same way, she shook herself out of her fugue and snapped, "Security alert! Lieutenant Aldus and Dr. Matsuoka have... "
     

Somebody would have observed that Benteen's disappearance had cut her off in mid-sentence...     

... that is, if anyone had still been there to notice.

 

***

 

"You're doing what?"     

Mantovanni had stood, aghast, in response to the innocuously-toned statement the queen had casually appended to her litany on trading concessions.     

She gazed impassively at him; if anything, her carriage became even more regal, as she answered, "I said, 'Even as we speak, your away team is being pitted against equal numbers of the Jem'Hadar in hand-to-hand combat.'     

"Surely you didn't imagine the Arellian Kingdom would enter into an alliance without being certain of Federation mettle, Captain?"     

Her tone seemed aggravated: He realized he'd lost face with her by raising his voice—despite the provocation.     

At the moment, he really didn't care.     

He began, "Let me fight alongside..."     

She raised a hand to quiet him. "I don't think so. You have a reputation for tactical brilliance in starship engagements, as well as one for unmatched skill in close-quarters battle. Your challenge—when and if it comes—will be more... substantive.     

"That, however, is in the future. For now, we shall continue our discussion." The note of finality was unmistakable. Mantovanni sensed that any further attempt to inquire about his own people was doomed to failure—and, in addition, would damage both their positions, and the Federation's as well.     

He decided on an oblique approach. "A question, Majesty: Are you testing the Klingons as well?"     

She made a face. It was the first girlish expression he'd seen from her. Her subsequent statement, however, reminded him that a startlingly keen mind with unique perspectives hid within that child-woman's body—and unquestionably ruled Arellia.     

"The Klingons are meaningless," she declared flatly. "They're loutish barbarians with energy weapons and starships—nothing more. In addition, they are now a military adjunct of Starfleet, whether or not they realize or acknowledge it—easily manipulated and led down whatever path your government now chooses for them. It is the important races of the Federation—the 'movers and shakers,' I believe your vernacular puts it—with which we are concerned: Terran, Vulcan, and a handful of others. Also, an evaluation of Starfleet, both as a military organization and as the arm of the Federation, seemed in order.     

"My people are, in many ways, a martial race, Captain. We do not trumpet the fact, as do the Klingons.     

"We simply live it."     

Without even acknowledging what she'd revealed, Mantovanni reminded, "You were discussing... trade concessions, Majesty?"     

The queen looked upon him with renewed respect. "Very well, Captain." After a pause, she added, "You are indeed an interesting man."

 

***

 

"Doctor."     

Shiro Matsuoka's eyes refocused, and then settled on a concerned-looking Kate Sheridan. As he struggled to sit up, he could see into the next room—triage—where Doctors Martinez and Setok were issuing instructions and laboring over the still form of Lieutenant Aldus.     

"Matsuoka sama," she drew his attention back with the formal address, "I need your report. What's happening over there?"     

He shook his head, still attempting to clear the last of the lingering fog. "I... was beamed out. When I rematerialized, I was in what looked like a small amphitheater... and there was a Jem'Hadar soldier standing at the opposite end of the room. He attacked me.     

"I got lucky. He was a young one, I think... so eager for the kill he didn't consider that I might be a skilled combatant; didn't even utilize his shroud. I was able to use jujitsu effectively, and render him unconscious by... introducing him to the wall. I don't remember anything after that."     

Sheridan nodded. "I got similar stories from Benteen and Sito... they're OK, and back on the bridge. Hatshepsut, too; she told me she disemboweled a Jem'Hadar when he grabbed her.     

"Ensigns Litar and Majors weren't so lucky; they were beamed into our morgue, already dead. Aldus was touch and go for a while, but they've stabilized him, and expect that he'll pull through.     

"No word from the captain—and the Arellians are ignoring our hails. I don't have any choice... whether or not their monarch is offended, I have to contact him. Considering the behavior of her people, she has little leeway for feeling put out, so far as I'm concerned."     

Matsuoka threw his legs off the edge of the biobed, and came to his feet. When Sheridan looked as if she might protest, he rumbled, "Not only am I CMO, Kate, I outrank you. I hereby certify myself fit for duty."     

"Well, as first officer, I could challenge that, Doctor... but I'll take your word for it. Please coordinate with exobiology and check their progress in examining the tribble. I'll be on the bridge."     

Matsuoka acknowledged her instructions with a slight nod, and a crisply muttered, "Hai."     

Seconds after she'd left, the venerable physician stopped in mid-stride on the way into his office.     

He repeated in confusion, "Tribble?"

 

***

 

Daimon Ragk couldn't believe what he was hearing—and with a Ferengi's ears, that didn't happen often.     

"What do you mean, 'You gave it to the Orions, you think'?"     

"Well, uh, there was an Orion woman," Pug began confidently. "She was beautiful, and she asked for the merchandise... she gave us oo-mox... when we woke up, she was gone, along with her Romulan friend. Haven't the Orions contacted you with an offer, yet?"     

"You idiot! When's the last time you saw an Orion female without an Orion male accompanying her?"     

"Ummmm... never?"     

Ragk tried desperately to calm himself. "Could the 'Romulan' woman have been... a Vulcan?" he inquired, with as even a tone as he could muster.     

The Daimon, if asked in just that moment, would have sworn he could actually hear the servos in Pug's head turning—or, rather, grinding—even through his comm unit.     

"So that's why we all woke up with headaches!" he announced brightly. A second later, he followed that epiphany with, "Whoops."     

We have the same DNA, Ragk thought wonderingly. It doesn't seem possible he could really be that stupid.     

"I shall be returning to the ship shortly," he told them, weary of the discussion—if you could call it that. "Remain at the bar in case the Orions actually make an appearance. You can explain to them that you have the IQ of a grub worm, and that you gave the... demonstration model... to a Vulcan disguised as a Romulan and a woman painted green!"     

"But she seemed so real," Pug replied feebly.     

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, you imbecile!"

 

***

 

"... come in. Liberty to Captain Mantovanni. Please respond."     

The queen seemed undisturbed at the sudden intrusion on their privacy. Mantovanni found that even more unsettling than her intellectual sallies of the past few hours.     

He motioned with his right hand, indicating the communicator, and asked, "With your permission, Majesty?"     

"By all means, Captain. You have your duties even as do I."     

He promptly tapped the badge, and answered, "This is Mantovanni. Go ahead."     

"Captain, we've had quite a few... developments, and for some reason..." Sheridan managed not to stress the words too greatly, "…we've been unable until now to reach you. Can you talk freely?"     

Mantovanni glanced back at the queen, who seemed quite intrigued as to how he'd respond.     

You're not the only one who can give tests, young lady, he thought.     

"Go ahead, Commander. Let's hear it—all of it."     

She gave him an abbreviated version of everything that had occurred since he'd been cloistered with the queen: The Ferengi; the Orions; the Klingons; the Arellians; the Jem'Hadar...     

... and of course, the tribble.     

"...I'd venture to say the Ferengi have figured out we have their little friend, sir. They're just now powering up their engines, in anticipation of departing, no doubt."     

"They've repaired their warp drive already?" he inquired.     

Sheridan's voice seemed perplexed. "Actually sir, no, they haven't. I assume they'd just decided it's too hot for them here."     

An alarm started to sound in the captain's mind.     

"Are they turning in such a manner that their forward weapons array will coincidentally target Liberty for just a few seconds?" His words came a bit faster now.     

"Checking..." There was a brief delay, which seemed all too long to Mantovanni.     

"Sito here, sir... you're right, they'd have us in their sights in about 30 seconds!"     

"Clear all moorings, now! Raise shields as soon as you're able, and secure for combat maneuvers. They're planning on opening fire as they come about. Can you lock onto me?"     

"No... they can't."     

Startled, the captain turned... to see the queen smile, and touch a white jewel at her wrist.     

In that moment, the world reeled.

 

***

 

As some sort of transporter effect deposited a pair of figures on Liberty's bridge, Sheridan snapped off a command, "Security alert!" even as she rolled behind the cover of a console and drew her phaser.     

Ferengi? she speculated. Jem'Hadar? Klingons?     

By the time she—along with practically everyone else—had drawn a bead, she realized that the weapons were unnecessary.     

The captain, as if he had brace of phasers pointed at him every day, declared simply, "As you were," before taking the center seat.     

"Commander Sheridan, see to the safety of our passenger, the Monarch of Arellia."     

All Kate could think while moving to escort the woman off the bridge was, My God, look at the queen. Look at that dress she's not wearing.     

The silver-skinned woman stopped Mantovanni's X-O with an imperious glare, and interrupted firmly, "I shall remain here, Captain. I wished to evaluate you... and now I have that opportunity."     

He nodded curtly when Sheridan looked to him for guidance, but gave no other reaction.     

"The Arellians are hailing us, sir..." Sito noted, concerned. "They're demanding to know why we're in such a hurry."     

"Ignore them," he snapped. "Are we clear?"     

"Yes, sir. And shields are in place... now."     

It wasn't a moment too soon. Mantovanni had been right; despite the dangers inherent in opening fire while ensconced in a dry-dock, the Ferengi cruiser, just a few seconds later, cut loose with her forward weapons. While electro-plasma wave cannons weren't the most formidable choice for a capital starship, they were versatile, easily maintained, and could make a real mess of you—especially if you were unprepared for them.     

Liberty rocked as she absorbed the strike.     

"Shields are holding... no damage," announced Sito a second later. "Phasers ready."     

"I wonder if he's stupid enough to use his energy torpedoes in a space dock," Parihn wondered aloud, even as she brought the great starship about to face her foe.     

"Oh, I think he's grotesquely stupid, Parihn," Kate answered wryly.     

The young Orion glanced back in surprise, and the two exchanged quick grins.     

The captain then ordered, "Target their weapons array, but hold your fire, Sito; hail them."     

The Bajoran complied, even as the Ferengi ship loosed another volley of shots at them.     

"Screens down to 93%; no response."     

"Auxiliary power to the shields," Mantovanni ordered, and then asked quietly, "They're definitely receiving, though?"     

"As... far as I can determine, sir," Sito responded hesitantly.     

"Good. Open a channel."     

With an irony in his tone that could curdle cream, he began, "Ferengi vessel, we've detected what seems to be a minor malfunction in your forward weapons array. Fortunately, the two bursts from your faulty emitters struck our ship after her shields were in place, and caused no damage. It would have been an unspeakable tragedy had you inadvertently injured the Monarch of Arellia… who's aboard on an inspection tour."     

Mantovanni then held up his left hand, all five fingers extended, and counted down: four, three, two, one...     

Daimon Ragk magically appeared on screen.     

"Thank the Lords of Commerce no one was injured, Captain! We've managed to isolate the problem. There will be no further... incidents. The queen is...is... unhurt?" He was practically trembling in terror.     

"'The queen is unhurt,'" the captain echoed with a soothing sarcasm, even in his angered state unwilling to watch the Ferengi squirm too much. "Prepare to receive damage control teams from both the Liberty and Kingston Station, Daimon. In light of what's occurred, I think you'll understand if we feel it necessary to assist your repairs."     

"Captain..." Ragk began a half-hearted protest.     

"Unless you'd like the Klingons to lend a hand, too?" Mantovanni added pointedly.     

"We're ready to receive you now."     

"That's what I thought. Liberty out." The captain stood, then instructed, "Commander Benteen, you'll head the damage control parties aboard the Ferengi ship; Sito, make certain they're accompanied by enough security to keep 'those little weasels'..." and he too, smiled slightly at Parihn, "...in line.     

"You two," and he pointed to Sheridan and the young Orion, "in my ready room when we have the chance.     

"First, though," Mantovanni concluded, as he walked over to stand before the queen, "I believe explanations are in order."

 

 

"You and your officers are welcome to remain here as long as you like, Captain."     

Mantovanni shook his head slowly. "Tempting though that is, Minister, there's a war to fight… and I don't think I'll be this close to a Jem'Hadar battleship again any time soon without fire being exchanged."     

They were making the diplomatic equivalent of small talk even as they waited for the queen to appear. Again she'd chosen her forest refuge as the setting for their encounter; this time, though, her chief ministers, his bridge officers, and a rather subdued collection of Klingons—headed by a glowering Koroht—were also present. In addition, the entire area was decorated for a celebration: Bells and lanterns hung from many a branch, and the tables were again laden with delicacies.     

Then, in a flicker of silvery light, she was present, and the Arellians were kowtowing.     

"All hail, Verenicia: Lady Monarch of Arellia; Shepherdess of the Hundred Worlds; delight to her friends; terror to her foes...!"     

This went on for almost a full minute... as the titles, appellations, and salutary comments piled up, the captain saw her glance at him for just a moment, with a merry twinkle in her eye.     

He was pleased to see she didn't take such things too seriously, either.     

The transporter effect she used for her entrance was beautiful. I suppose being caught up in it causes one to miss such details, Mantovanni noted wryly.     

"The Kingdom of Arellia is pleased to have such friends as the United Federation of Planets and the Klingon Empire," she announced formally, her voice ringing clear throughout the glade.     

Looking first to Brigadier Koroht, she snarled something at him in remarkably unaccented Klingonaase. He blinked... then laughed heartily. His men joined in, seconds later—then, as they'd no doubt been coached, set out immediately in search of food and drink.     

Mantovanni wondered what had been said, but the Arellians had made it clear universal translators were considered gauche at official functions. Thus, he could only speculate.     

Sito, though, was smiling broadly. He made a mental note to ask her later.     

He gestured to Koroht, who nodded and swaggered over; he'd already acquired both a tankard of some rather pungent ale—and the leg of an even more pungent bird.     

"I wanted to thank you for returning my officer," Mantovanni told him.     

At that, Koroht, who was in a surprisingly good mood now, laughed rather wickedly, and smiled that smile that was becoming infamous.     

"T'Vaar? I like her," he declared loudly. "She has courage, for a Vulcan, and she earned her freedom when she kicked my science officer in the groin. That idiot's still in the infirmary."     

His laughter became even more boisterous. Putting the drink down, he threw a comradely arm around the captain, and mentioned, in what was a conversational tone for a Klingon, "You know, I thought I was going to have to kill you; but you actually ended up helping us. And you're not nearly as annoying as most Starfleet officers."     

He leaned forward, yanking them both off balance, and whispered, "Die well, Mantovanni; I'll see you in Sto-vo-kor... if you make it!"     

Roaring laughter at his own cleverness, the Klingon wandered off.     

You know, Koroht? he thought. You're beautiful when you're tipsy.     

Sito cleared her throat, politely.     

Though he wasn't certain how he could have failed to notice, the queen was there at his side.     

"I know you and your officers are departing immediately, Captain," she began. "I could put in a... request to have Liberty, or you in particular, remain."     

He leaned forward, and whispered something in her ear. Sheridan strained to catch it, but it was just too far. Hatshepsut, however, could hear; and her pupils dilated into black disks at what he told her.     

Until now, the rest had never seen Verenicia smile.     

Despite their irritation and anger at what she'd put them through, they found it an expression well worth the wait, and even the trouble; for the queen was a beautiful girl, and, with a few exceptions, they'd never realized it until that very moment.     

Her Majesty actually blushed at the captain's quiet declaration; then she pressed her cheek gently to his, to the scandalized whispers of her ministers.     

"Come back, then, when you have made it so," she decreed softly.     

He took her hand, and kissed it, in a very courtly gesture. If he lingered for perhaps a moment too long, well... there was a fine line between protocol and pleasure. Who could truly say?     

As if remembering his duty from a distant dream, he turned, almost guiltily, and ordered, "Everyone, it's about time we were on our way... prepare us for departure, Commander." He glanced back at the queen.     

"I'll be along in a few minutes."

***

 

As Liberty's command crew walked back to the transit station, Kate Sheridan's expression wasn't too difficult to read.     

She, at first, tried to resist asking, partly because what had passed between the captain and the queen was clearly none of her business, and partly because she wanted to see if Hatshepsut would volunteer the information.     

Kate waited expectantly.     

No such luck; the Felisian glanced primly back, with an expression that clearly meant, 'You'll have to ask… and then, perhaps, I'll consider it.'     

Instead, Sheridan tried to put it out of her mind.     

This worked for all of 15 seconds.     

"Well?" she finally demanded, her curiosity overwhelming her senses of both pride and decorum.     

Matsuoka and Sito looked almost insulted on the captain's behalf—until they saw her expression, and understanding dawned. Benteen coughed, clearly attempting to disguise a chuckle.     

Parihn, of course, had seen it all along.     

Hatshepsut looked reluctant to speak; but, after a moment, relented.     

"He told her, 'I've never wished to be young again—until now.' I didn't know he was such a romantic."     

Sheridan frowned, clearly irritated with the Felisian's interpretation. "I'm sure he was just being gracious," she asserted, with perhaps a bit more certainty than she felt.     

Her companions exchanged knowing glances.     

"Of course," they agreed, heads bobbing in unison. Again, Parihn was the exception.     

Hatshepsut added, all too readily, "That must be it." She trilled gently; it sounded like nothing so much as a uniquely feline attempt to suppress a laugh.     

If the queen's smile had been appreciated, then watching Sheridan do a slow boil all the way back to the transporter site was positively priceless.

 

***

 

 

"So, have you had the opportunity to speak with Lieutenant Aldus?"     

Hatshepsut, despite her lack of telepathic power, seemed to know just what to say in garnering the reaction she wanted. Benteen found that rather disconcerting.     

"Not yet... but I'll handle it, eventually," she answered carefully. "Not by avoiding him," she assured the counselor, when the Felisian gazed at Erika searchingly, "and not by coming down on him. I'll acknowledge it, and attempt to deal with it head on."     

"I'm just glad he's going to be OK... he has a cranial implant that enhances some ocular device of Roman design he often wears. Evidently it didn't jive too well with some of the Arellian holographic technology, and he went into neural shock. Dr. Matsuoka told me it was close, but that he'll definitely be back on duty in about a week." Erika failed to add, And I'm just thrilled at the prospect of working with him again.     

Hatshepsut, of course, caught something of this without Benteen even voicing it—but chose, for now, to let it ride.     

"Good. As far as your issues, dealing with them is all I ask," she avowed. "You've got some awkward times ahead of you, but... I think you'll find your way through them."     

The feline reached behind her couch and came back with a small, furry little sphere, which she tossed gently to a surprised Erika. It immediately commenced a trill that was amazingly soothing. She found herself cooing and petting it, despite her best efforts.     

"I recommend you get a royal dispensation, and keep this one as a pet," the Felisian told her.     

Benteen was perplexed. "Whatever for?" she asked.     

Hatshepsut stretched languorously, then replied, "Well, for one thing, you like them; all humans like them. It's wired into you." What the feline left unsaid was, I like them too, but you Terrans would be outraged if I programmed tribble stew for the replicator.     

"For another, they purr most agreeably... and, while I do as well, I can't be there for you all the time, Commander."     

Erika could only shake her head and smile as the counselor rose and glided away.

 

***

 

"Incoming transmission from the lead Orion ship, Captain."     

Mantovanni raised an eyebrow; he'd been about to begin his debriefing with Parihn and Sheridan; instead, he instructed, "Put it through, Sito."     

"Yes, sir... but you should know, the communiqué is specifically for Ensign Parihn."     

"All right." Wordlessly, the captain rose, and motioned for Parihn to take his place behind the desk in the ready room; he moved to stand with Sheridan, beyond the pickup's range.     

The young Orion's face had become a mask. She sat, stiffly, and punched the comm panel's Active button.     

"Ahhhhh... Vaerth Parihn, sharasta mareth krohl," a smooth male voice began. Once again, the universal translator decided not to render the phrase.     

"Say... what you have to say," she murmured; the hesitation in a girl who often seemed almost insanely bold was nothing short of astonishing. Sheridan, to her credit, managed to hold her expression neutral.     

"Very well," the voice hardened. "Know that to leave your lawful master, as you did years ago, is all well, since your cleverness demonstrated that he was too much a fool to hold you. Besides, the dead cannot own anything.     

"However, to interfere in the... confidential business dealings of the Arak Principality is another matter entirely. You have now come to our attention.     

"We shall remember you… and then we shall forget you."     

The beep told them he'd terminated the transmission.     

Parihn's mouth was moving, but the whispered words were too low to hear.     

"Ensign?" Sheridan inquired softly. "That sounded very formal."     

The young Orion glanced emptily at her.     

"It is. It's a ritual promise, in the tradition of the Orion Warlords, called the sharek.     

"They've just vowed that no matter the cost, no matter the resources they need to expend... I will die at their hands."     

"Kate," Mantovanni directed firmly, "you have the bridge."     

Sheridan took the none-too-subtle hint, and quickly withdrew.     

"I'll never escape them," Parihn whispered. She sank back into his chair, and her expression became almost haunted. "Never..."     

"Parihn! Look at me!" he commanded angrily; she jerked to attention at the compelling power of his voice. He moved around the desk, inexorably.     

"Just like you'd never escape them in the first place?" he reminded her. "Just like you could never be accepted to Starfleet Academy? Just like you'd never be able to pilot one of the Federation's finest vessels?     

"I'd take his threat seriously, Parihn... but I'd take your abilities to prevent it even more seriously.     

"And so should you."     

There are occasions when a person is fortunate enough to say precisely the right thing at just the proper time. Mantovanni thanked the muse which had inspired him, as Parihn's abject despair was replaced by a dogged determination—and a remembrance of just what had gotten her to this point in her life.     

She put her people's threat, for the moment, aside.     

"Permission to speak freely, sir, on an unrelated matter?"     

He was taken aback, albeit pleasantly, at her sudden recovery, but nodded immediately. "Of course, Ensign."     

With a conviction that bordered on steely, she informed him, "Concerning the queen's feelings for you. You're making a mistake."     

If the captain was surprised or insulted, he gave no indication.     

"How so?" was his only response.     

Parihn searched his face, but garnered no clue of his true feelings from her attempt. She sighed slightly, and informed him, "They're far deeper than you might expect. She genuinely cares for you."     

At his raised eyebrow, the young Orion gave him what he'd later think back upon as one of the most bittersweet smiles he'd ever seen.     

"How would I know that? Trust me, sir… who better than a courtesan to determine whether or not love is true?"     

He considered that for a long moment, then spoke a single word.

"Dismissed."

Liberty leapt into warp, and left enchantment behind.