The commander let out an audible sigh. “Good. That means he really is alive and kicking.” To the comm, he added, “Stand by, Ensign.”

All at once, it seemed to Tuvok that again, the captain was about to triumph in spite of having gone about his [337] mission in a highly unorthodox, utterly illogical manner. While he was gratified that the captain was evidently doing as well as he was in an extraordinarily unfavorable situation, Tuvok simultaneously found himself experiencing an uncomfortable sensation akin to frustration. He wondered why the captain bothered to consult him when he routinely refused to avail himself of his advice.

I simply have a fundamentally different approach to problem-solving than do most of the humans in Starfleet,he realized with the clarity of an epiphany. Mother and Father were wrong after all. I do not belong in Starfleet.

The moment was manifest. He had not experienced such hyperlucidity since the tal’othritual he had undertaken at the age often.

I do not belong here.

It was not an emotional thought born of fear or nerves or pride. Nor was it some residual shadow of the memories the Tholian ambassador had passed to him. Somehow, he knew that he responding to the cold, clear voice of logic itself.

I do not belong here.

Sulu lunged again. Then, as Yilskene attempted to parry, Sulu brought his blade around in a semicircle, redoubling his attack. His blade grazed Yilskene’s body, chipping off a swatch of crystalline hide. A viscous, turquoise liquid seeped from the wound.

Sulu was winded now, but even as his body became more tired and his muscles fairly screamed for rest, he felt a state of calm enveloping him. The blade had become almost an extension of himself, its movements as natural as those of his arms and legs.

Yilskene had landed several more blows on Sulu’s shield, but Sulu had matched his opponent strike for strike. The Tholian’s shield had to run out of energy soon.

Still, Sulu remained wary. In fencing tournaments, he [338] had sometimes allowed pride to lull him into a false sense of security, and that had been his downfall. More than once he had been defeated by overcommitting to his attack, or by allowing his opponent’s retreat to force him into chase and overextension, leaving him off-balance and vulnerable.

Here he could afford to make no such mistakes. Luckily, even as he became cooler and more controlled in his attacks, Yilskene seemed to become steadily more frenetic, even vicious.

Another thrust from Yilskene. Sulu parried and riposted. The admiral counterparried, then lunged again. Sulu again ignored the fact that a giant crystalline scorpion was angrily charging him, and met the blade with his own. Sparks skittered across the whisker-thin blades as they struck each other. Sulu used Yilskene’s momentum to trap the Tholian’s blade, forcing Yilskene to disengage.

Sulu pressed forward, and Yilskene brought his shield to bear yet again. Sulu slashed at it, prompting Yilskene to retreat shouting a Tholian curse.

Sulu advanced and feinted, then feinted a second time. As Yilskene attempted to block the initial false thrust, Sulu swung his blade around, knocking the Tholian’s weapon from his grasp.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Yilskene’s blade skittered onto the floor near him, slicing a long trench in the hard black floor before it came to rest. The Tholian stooped in an effort to regain his weapon.

“Admiral Yilskene, it appears that I have disarmed you,” Sulu said, watching Yilskene stop in his tracks. “Though it is my right in this ritual to kill you, I choose notto exercise that right. It does not serve my needs to do so, nor does it serve the good of either the Tholian Assembly or the United Federation—”

As Sulu spoke, a familiar shimmering light began to envelop Yilskene.

[339] Dropping his weapon, Sulu leapt toward the admiral, even as his foe began to dematerialize.

“Where have they gone?” Taskene asked, running to the room’s empty center.

Crellene, Yilskene’s weaponskeeperlooked back at Taskene, her eyespots glowing a distressed purplish hue. “They’ve been taken!”

Taskene passed a claw over the crystal outcropping on a nearby bulkhead. She knew that sounding an alarm was likely unnecessary—the truthcombathad been broadcast, via the Lattice, to every ship in the fleet—but she knew that it was her duty to sound an alarm just the same.

A moment later her consciousness entered the SubLink of the Lattice. It was a cacophony of bright noise, with many minds conversing at once.

The consensus was rage at the perfidious Federation starship, whose transporter beam was the only possible culprit. In its reflexive, collective anger, the Lattice very nearly directed a devastating attack on Excelsior.

But Taskene and many others realized that such an attack would have killed Admiral Yilskene.

The Lattice’s consensus quickly shifted from rage colors to hues of patient, vigilant waiting.

But Taskene knew that the colors could easily shift again should the waiting last too long.

Yilskene’s memories will survive within the Lattice, should the admiral die aboardExcelsior, rang the rapidly darkening thoughts of Benrene [The Gray]. Taskene saw/heard other voices, members of various castes, flashing colors of agreement.

Suddenly, an alien gleam entered into the SubLink unbidden, and another bedlam of bright sounds and stentorian light assaulted the Lattice. When it receded, the SubLink’s contact with Mosrene’s mind had become strangely muted [340] and misdirected, just as had occurred with Admiral Yilskene moments earlier.

Reacting to this new violation, the Lattice’s colors shifted yet again toward passion and wrath.

Chekov saw Akaar looking up from his monitors. Alarm not only showed on the Capellan’s face, but was clearly audible in his voice as well. “Captain Sulu and Admiral Yilskene have just been beamed off of Yilskene’s flagship!”

Chekov swiveled in his chair. “By whom?” He directed his voice to the comm. “Transporter Room, have you beamed back the captain?”

“No, sir.”Ensign Prager sounded surprised.

His mind racing, Chekov turned back toward his science officer. “Where did that transporter beam originate, Mr. Tuvok?”

The Vulcan tapped his fingers nimbly over his console, his eyebrows knotted in deep concentration. “I am still attempting to determine that, sir. Scans show that the beam did not come from any of the Tholian vessels.”

“What about Oghen’s Flame?”Chekov asked.

“Negative,” Tuvok said. “The Neyel vessel possesses no such technology. And the pattern of the beam is consistent with those of Starfleet transporters.”

“Contact Yilskene’s ship,” Chekov said to Rand.

Rand turned, a hand on her earpiece. “They’re hailing us,sir.”

“On screen.”

The image on the main viewer shifted again, displaying a Tholian whom Chekov didn’t recognize. “Your actions have violated thetruthcombat,” the creature said. “You will be destroyed.”

Before Chekov could respond, the screen went blank.

“Shields to maximum! Red Alert!” Chekov said. “Hail the Neyel ship.”

The angry image of Oratok, Joh’jym’s visor, appeared on [341] the viewer. “Commander Chekov, where has Drech’tor Joh’jym been taken?”

Chekov barely had time to register surprise when Tuvok spoke up again. “Commander, I have located the source of the transporter signal. It is coming from one of our own shuttlecraft. And I am detecting the captain’s transponder there as well.”

Great,Chekov thought, putting aside his initial shock that somebody could take a shuttlecraft without, being noticed. And with the shields raised I can’t just beam everyone off the shuttle.