So, for the moment, I am satisfied to witness her spiritual growth . . . and to hear the echo of a lilting voice that long ago drew me out of my pain and self‑pity in the Bamarren training area.

I have expanded my shed in the never‑ending quest to find my place. I feel that I’m getting closer, Doctor, especially as I continue to refine the structures. One, which began as a memorial to Tolan, has a crude but effective representation of the winged creature from the Hebitian sun disc–turned toward the radiating sun, reaching, striving, while the sun‑fed filaments stream down from the body and connect with the bodies of people standing on a globe and looking up to the creature for this divine connection . . . . I’ve attached the recitation mask he gave me to the creature’s face, and somehow it has become my personal totem. I hope that someday you’ll have the opportunity to see it. Nothing would please me more. You’re always welcome, Doctor.

Prologue quote from “The Wire.” Written by Robert Hewitt Wolfe.

Part I quote from “In Purgatory’s Shadow.” Written by Robert Hewitt Wolfe & Ira Steven Behr.

Part II quote from “Cardassians.” Story by Gene Wolande & John Wright. Teleplay by James Crocker.

Part III quote from “In the Pale Moonlight.” Story by Peter Allan Fields. Teleplay by Michael Taylor.

Epilogue quote from “Past Prologue.” Written by Kathryn Powers.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Gratitude begins with Rick Berman and Ira Steven Behr, who hired the actor who didn’t know a Cardassian from the man in the moon: Thank you for your trust and support.

Thanks also to Peter Allan Fields, who created the character, and to the writing staff (especially Robert Hewitt Wolfe) who nurtured and guided Garak’s progress, under Ira’s sharp and unerring eye. If it ain’t on the page. . . .

Thanks to Denise and Michael Okuda, whose Star Trek Encyclopediawas my constant companion; to Matthew Lesher, my hard‑working and enthusiastic manager; to Lolita Fatjo and the Stillwells, Eric and Debra, for Trekguidance and wisdom; to Armin Shimerman and David George not only for encouraging me but for leading the way; to John Ordover of Pocket Books, who first said yes; to Gayle Stever for her Herculean efforts on behalf of fandom and our chosen charity, Save the Children; to the amazing cast, crew, and staff of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine,a show that dared to walk on the wild side; and to the fans, without whom there would be no Trek.

Thanks, finally, to Margaret Clark, my intrepid and thoroughly informed editor who not only gave me the kind of creative guidance that helped me find the book’s spine, but who knew that hasperatwas a Bajoran not a Cardassian dish–thereby saving me from eternal Trekinfamy.

OUR FIRST SERIAL NOVEL!

Presenting, one chapter per month . . .

The very beginning of the Starfleet Adventure . . .

STAR TREK ^®

STARFLEET: YEAR ONE

A novel in Twelve Parts ^®

by

Michael Jan Friedman

Chapter Ten

Hiro Matsura had retrieved his pod and was about to break orbit when his navigator notified him that the Maverickwas in the vicinity.

Matsura hadn’t expected any company at Oreias Seven. “On screen,” he said, settling back into his center seat.

A moment later, Connor Dane’s face filled the forward viewscreen. He didn’t seem pleased.

“Tell me you had better luck than we did,” said Dane.

Matsura shook his head. “My team didn’t find anything of significance.”

Dane scowled. “Maybe we’ll figure something out when we compare notes with Shumar and Cobaryn.”

Matsura couldn’t keep from smiling a little. “You really think so?”

Dane looked at him. “Don’t you?”

“With all due respect,” Matsura told him, “I think we can sit and compare notes until the last days of the universe, and we’ll still just be groping in the dark.”

Dane’s eyes narrowed. “And you’ve got a better way to dope out what happened?”

“I think Captain Stiles had the right idea,” said Matsura. “The only way we’re going to find the aliens is by going out and looking for them.”

“It’s not that big a system,” Dane responded. “We don’t allhave to be looking for them.”

“It would speed things up,” Matsura noted.

“Or slow them down,” said Dane, “by putting all our eggs in the wrong basket. Depends on how you look at it.”

Matsura was surprised at the man’s attitude. “I didn’t know you had such deep respect for research scientists.”

Dane’s mouth twisted at the other man’s tone. “You mean butterfly catchers, don’t you?”

Matsura found himself turning red. “I don’t use that terminology.”

“But your buddies do,” the other man observed. “And don’t insult my intelligence by claiming otherwise.”

“All right,” said Matsura, “I won’t.”

That seemed to pacify Dane a bit. “At least you’re honest,” he conceded.

“Thanks. Now, I’m sorry you took the trouble to fly all the way over here, but I’m leaving to try to hook up with Stiles and Hagedorn. You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

Dane snorted. “I’ll put my money on Shumar and Cobaryn.”

“Suit yourself,” said Matsura. “I’ll–”

Suddenly, his navigator interrupted him. “Sir,” said Williams, her face drawn with concern as she consulted her monitor, “we’re picking up a number of unidentified vessels.”

The captain saw Dane turn away from the viewscreen and spit a command at one of his officers. He didn’t look happy.

For that matter, Matsura wasn’t very happy either. “Give me visual,” he told Williams.

A moment later, Dane’s image vanished from the viewscreen, to be replaced by that of three small, triangular vessels. They were gleaming in the glare of Oreias as they approached.

The aggressors, Matsura thought. It had to be.

“Raise shields,” he announced. “Power to all batteries.”

“Raising shields,” Williams confirmed.

“Power to lasers and launchers,” said his weapons officer.

“You still there?” asked Matsura over their comm link.

“Yeah, I’m here,” came Dane’s response. “But I’ve got to tell you, I’m not much of a team player.”

No big surprise there, Matsura told himself. “I’ll try to work with you anyway. Leave your comm link open. If I see an alien on your tail, I can give you a holler.”

“Acknowledged,” said Dane.

Then the enemy was on top of them. Or rather, the triangular vessels were plunging past them–so intent on the colony, it seemed, that they were ignoring the Christophersabove it.

Matsura took the slight personally. “Lock lasers on the nearest ship,” he told his weapons officer.

“Targeting,” said Wickersham, a fair‑haired man with a narrow face and deep‑set eyes.

“Fire!” the captain commanded.

Their electric‑blue beams reached out and skewered the enemy vessel–failing to disable it, but getting its attention. It came about like an angry bee and returned fire, sending out a string of scarlet fireballs.

“Evade!” Matsura called out.

But they weren’t fast enough. The energy clusters plowed into the Yellowjacket,sending a bone‑rattling jolt through the deckplates.

The aliens packed a punch, the captain realized. He had made the mistake of judging their firepower by their size.

“Another one on our port beam!” said Williams.

“Split the difference!” Matsura ordered.

At the helm console, McCallum worked feverishly. What’s more, his efforts paid off. The Yellowjacketsliced between the two triangular ships, preventing them from firing for the moment.

Suddenly, the third vessel loomed on Matsura’s viewscreen, its underbelly exposed, filling the entire frame with its unexpected proximity. He had never had such an easy target and he might never have one again.