With Calder pinned down on the map, it took only another few moments to locate the Romulan fleets other frequently mentioned objective: Seichi.

His stomach abruptly went into freefall. Alpha Centauri. Only a bit more than four light‑years from Earth.

A proximity alarm interrupted Trips grim musings, forcing his attention back up to the forward windows. The space in front of them was quickly growing very crowded, and not merely because the Drolaewas fast approaching Romulus.

A flat, horseshoe‑crab‑shaped Romulan bird‑of‑prey had just dropped out of warp directly between him and the looming planet. The rapidly approaching vessel was oriented so that the glare of Eisn, the bright yellow sun around which Romulus and Remus orbited, provided garish illumination to its ventral hull, which displayed the bright red plumage of a predatory bird.

Without warning, a disruptor beam lashed out from the warbird, scoring a direct hit that rocked the little scoutship and rang her hull like a colossal clapper striking an outsize cathedral bell. Fortunately, Trips flight harness kept him from being flung from the pilots seat.

He engaged the throttle, and wasnt a bit surprised when the warp drive failed to engage.

Swell. Terix, you sadistic bastard. You really did plan this all along, didnt you?Trip felt physically pinned down, as though hed just been literally caught in the steel jaws of a bear trap.

But he knew that even a trapped animal was anything but helpless. Few creatures were more dangerous than a wounded bear, after all, and Trip understood that he wasnt entirely out of options, trapped or not. He began entering commands into his partially disabled engineering console, beginning by punching up the fuel‑containment subsystem.

His com console light flashed, signaling an incoming hail. A harsh male voice came over the speaker. “Scout vesselDrolae. You will heave to and deactivate your weapons. Prepare to be boarded, or vaporized.

Trip shut off the speaker, then extended his left arm toward the forward window in order to make a decidedly un‑Romulan hand gesture. Though he seriously doubted that anyone aboard the other vessel could see it, it still felt damned good. Lets see how many of you I can vaporize right along with me,he thought as he returned his attention to the console before him and entered a new string of commands.

A moment later, a small screen before him began displaying the Romulan numerals that denoted the beginning of a final, brief countdown to oblivion.

Next, he began frantically working the com console, trying to open a channel to somebody, anybody,in either Starfleet or the United Earth government. He estimated he had only a few seconds at best before he was blown out of the sky, and he was determined to put his last moments to the best possible use.

Your plan all along was to let mealmost get away with this, wasnt it, Terix? Youwanted me to see what Valdore was about to do to the Coalition planets. Just as long as I couldnt actually do a damned thing about it.

Nothing. No subspace connections. And nothing evidently wrong with the Drolaes transmitter. The receiver, on the other hand, was suddenly awash in an oceanic wave of pure static.

He looked up at the approaching ship. Hes jamming me,he thought, despair at last beginning to zero in on him with all the force of a plummeting asteroid. Looks like Im not getting any warnings out to anybody.

It occurred to him then that he had parted company with his friends back on Taugus without disabusing them of the idea that the Klingon Empire now constituted the gravest threat to peace in the galactic neighborhood. Nowhe knew better. The most serious danger the Coalition now faced emanated from Romulus, rather than the Klingon homeworld. And he was the only one who knew thisand the location of the Romulans targetsto a bedrock certainty, other than the Romulans themselves. And the forward weapons tubes of the approaching bird‑of‑prey argued eloquently that the Romulan Empire would soon have the exclusive franchise on that knowledge, no matter what might happen to Charles Anthony Tucker III in the next few moments.

At least,Trip thought, until after its way too late for anybody in the Coalition to do anything about it.

THIRTY‑SEVEN

Tuesday, July 22, 2155 Columbia NX‑02, near Alpha Centauri

A DMIRAL G ARDNERS NEW ORDERShad arrived only about six hours after Columbias repairs were completed; alone in her ready room, Captain Erika Hernandez received them with a heavy sense of fatigue. She knew she wasnt the only one who was feeling worn out at the moment, either. Like all of Columbias alpha‑shift bridge personnel, Lieutenant Russell Hexter and his beta‑watch crew and Lieutenant Charles Zeilfelder and his gamma‑shifters had been working far past their standard shifts for the duration of the repair operations. The double‑teaming had put quite a strain on just about everyone.

Prior to returning to her command chair on the bridge, Hernandez had put in an order with the galley to prep some caffeinated drinks for the alpha‑shift bridge crew. Before Ensign Valerian, the com officer, had managed to take her first sip, however, she received a partially garbled distress call from a line of cargo vessels reporting that they had come under attack in the Alpha Centauri system. Coffee and tea were put aside, forgotten and cold, as Columbias bridge crew shifted immediately into rescue mode.

“Any ID yet on the attackers, Sidra? Hernandez said, turning her command chair toward the communications console. She hoped that another batch of Romulan‑commandeered Klingon vessels wouldnt prove to be the culprits here; that might push a touchy Coalition Council right over the brink of launching a misbegotten war against the Klingon Empire. Give me plain vanilla, garden‑variety pirates anyday,she thought.

“Still no luck on that, Captain, said Ensign Valerian. “And all Im getting right now is static. Maybe the attackers are jamming the cargo ships at the source.

If they havent destroyed them outright already,Hernandez thought, immediately kicking herself for her pessimism.

Facing front and leaning forward toward the helm, she said, “Whats our ETA at Alpha Centauri? She knew she probably sounded like a child asking “Are we there yet? But given her current lack of sleep, as well as her preoccupation with Jonathan Archers long‑shot attempt to avert a seemingly inevitable war with the Klingons and/or the Romulans, she regarded it as a minor miracle that she sounded even halfway coherent.

Lieutenant Akagi turned from her station, a slight smile on her lips. “Just a hair under twenty minutes, Captain. Five minutes less than the last time you asked. Would you like me to put a counter on the screen, sir? she teased, her almond‑shaped eyes crinkling at the edges.

Hernandez gave her a mock scolding look. “No, that wont be necessary. Ill try to restrain my enthusiasm until we get there. She looked over to the front left of the bridge, where Valerians hands were a blur at her communications console, while her face showed unhappy concentration.

“Any luck restoring communications with the convoy, Sidra? Hernandez asked.

Valerian shook her head. “No, Captain. Im picking up snatches and pieces of subspace messages, but nothing I can lock onto for any length of time. The signals are all tremendously fragmented. Its as if the main ship transceivers are either jammed or destroyed, and the message fragments Im receiving are being transmitted by private, low‑power communication devices carried by shipboard personnel. Most of them appear to be personal messages. Theyre trying to say their good‑byes.