“D5?” McLellan repeated. “Wow. I didn’t think I’d ever see one of those.”

Terrell shrugged. “The Klingons have always been big on getting the most out of proven ship designs. I guess that goes double for the ships themselves.” So far as he knew, the D5 class of battle cruiser had been all but replaced by the Klingon Empire more than a decade ago in favor of the larger, faster, and more powerful D6 and D7 designs. That such older ships were still in service— or had been returned to service—might itself be an interesting clue to the present status of the Klingon military apparatus.

Doesn’t make them any less nasty when the shooting starts.

“Any sign they’ve spotted us?” Nassir asked.

Theriault shook her head. “Not that I can tell, sir.”

“Okay, then,” the captain said. “Let’s not press our luck. Take us back down, Sayna.” As zh’Firro set about returning the Sagittariusto its makeshift refuge, Nassir turned to regard Terrell. “It seems the Klingons are serious about planting their flag here.”

“It’s a sure bet they like it for the same reasons we do,” Terrell replied. “They need dilithium to feed their ships, too.”

Frowning, Nassir shook his head. “Still, it’s a long way from the Klingon border, and it’s not as though there aren’t plenty of resource-rich planets a lot closer to home. And so close to Tholian space? It’s like they’re hoping to provoke a reaction.”

“I’ve never known a Klingon to turn away from a good fight,” Terrell said, “but even they usually have a plan. If they’re here, they’ve got a reason.” Whether that reason had anything to do with the Taurus Meta-Genome, he could not say, though the notion of the Klingons attempting to acquire knowledge of the mysterious alien DNA and all it represented was not one that provided him comfort.

The sound of the ship’s engines changing pitch made both men turn toward the viewscreen, and they were treated to another exhibition of zh’Firro’s piloting skills as the Sagittariussettled once more on the surface of Traelus II. Dust from the ship’s maneuvering thrusters billowed up from the ground, obscuring the view depicted on the screen by the vessel’s array of imaging sensors. A moment later zh’Firro cut the engine power and the hum of the impulse drive faded.

“Nice driving, Sayna,” Nassir said before turning back to Terrell. “We need to call home and tell them what’s going on.”

Terrell released a small, humorless chuckle. “Well, until our friends out there decide to go looking somewhere else for something to do, or Ilucci gets the warp drive back on line, we’re not talking to anyone. Any ideas?”

Moving to sit in the command chair, Nassir replied, “Unless someone has a warp-capable carrier pigeon handy, for now we wait.”

“What about when it’s time to leave?” zh’Firro asked, turning from her console. “We can’t sit on top of a thallium deposit forever, after all. Sooner or later, they will find us.”

Terrell started to reply, but stopped when he noted Theriault sitting quietly at her station, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then, her expression changed, and a mischievous grin graced her delicate features.

“What?” Terrell asked, confused.

Without responding, the ensign turned back to her station and began to key instructions on the array of controls before her. As a pair of the console’s display screens began to scroll data in response to her queries, her smile only broadened.

“I think I’ve got an idea.”

8

Though Starbase 47’s officers’ club had been open and available for use by the station’s crew for several weeks, it was only the second time T’Prynn had seen fit to visit the facility. Unlike her human colleagues, she did not find the club—with music broadcast over the intercom system to accompany the numerous conversations taking place around the room—conducive to any form of real rest or relaxation. She instead preferred the tranquillity and solitude of her quarters. Failing that, there was the station’s gymnasium, which often was largely unoccupied during gamma shift, midnight to 0800 hours.

The club’s atmosphere two hours prior to the start of gamma shift was anything but quiet. The overhead lighting had been extinguished in favor of rows of recessed track lighting along the walls near the ceiling, and small lamps on each of the tables as well as various points along the bar. A quick visual inspection told T’Prynn that most of the seats at the bar as well as the tables and booths scattered around the room were occupied, either by off-duty Starfleet personnel or members of the station’s civilian contingent, who had been provided with club access privileges by Commodore Reyes until such time as the various restaurants and taverns located in Stars Landing were open for business. Moving around several tables and their patrons, T’Prynn looked for the commodore but did not see him, nor did she see any other member of the starbase’s senior staff. Ambassador Jetanien was present, seated alone at a secluded booth in the room’s far corner, his attention focused on whatever meal he had ordered as well as one of three data slates arrayed on the table before him. She was thankful for the ambassador’s choice to dine alone rather than sharing the company of his subordinates—and one subordinate in particular: Anna Sandesjo.

None of the other chairs at the young woman’s table were occupied, and T’Prynn watched Sandesjo for several moments as first a Starfleet lieutenant and then a civilian—both males—approached her table and inquired about joining her or perhaps asking her if she wanted a drink. A data slate sat on the table near Sandesjo’s right hand, along with a glass filled to the halfway mark with a clear liquid. She did not drink from it during the few minutes T’Prynn observed her interactions with her would-be suitors, both of whom she rebuffed with what appeared to be practiced ease and poise. T’Prynn surmised that this was the sort of situation the ambassador’s aide encountered on all too frequent occasions. It therefore prompted the question why Sandesjo would come to a place like this, knowing she would encounter unwanted attention from prospective companions.

Perhaps she simply awaits someone who conforms to specific criteria.It seemed to T’Prynn a logical notion, and she decided it was a theory worth testing.

Moving from her vantage point at the front of the room, T’Prynn maneuvered around tables and patrons, offering or returning greetings as she made eye contact with a fellow officer or a civilian she recognized, until she stood before Sandesjo’s table. The other woman’s attention was on the data slate before her, and from watching her expression and body language T’Prynn realized that the young human knew someone had approached her. Sandesjo was pretending to have taken no notice, and it was another five seconds before she released a small sigh and looked up from the table. When her eyes met T’Prynn’s, Sandesjo’s widened in surprise.

“Commander,” she said, a slight stutter accompanying the first syllable.

T’Prynn nodded. “Ms. Sandesjo. It is . . . agreeable to see you again.”

Smiling, Sandesjo replied, “It’s good to see you, too.” She gestured to the chair closest to T’Prynn. “Please, sit down.”

“You’re not expecting someone?” T’Prynn asked, placing her hand on the back of the chair.

Sandesjo shook her head. “I’m afraid not, though several people have tried to get me to change my mind.” As T’Prynn settled into the proffered chair, the human woman asked, “May I get you something to drink?”

“You may,” T’Prynn replied, sitting up straight in the chair.

A few seconds passed with the two women eyeing each other before Sandesjo’s brow knit in apparent confusion and she released a small chuckle. “Well?”

Maintaining her impassive expression, T’Prynn asked, “Yes?”

“I asked if you wanted something to drink,” Sandesjo said, her eyes beginning to glance past T’Prynn.