"Black Sheep"

[Atoz 77]

BLACK SHEEP

Captain's log, Stardate 53504.3: The Odysseus is in the second day of our survey of planet Pisces Australis 712-III.. So far all the landing parties are reporting a lush, pleasant, class-M planet with no signs of indigenous civilization. Assuming there are no problems, it may prove to be an ideal spot for short leave.

Dr. Pierce stepped off the turbolift and onto the bridge almost dancing with glee, wearing the grin of a life sciences specialist just returned from landing party duty on a new and exotic planet. "Good morning to you, ladies and germs. I hope somebody else had a productive morning, as well."

Captain Atoz, sitting in the command chair with his data padd on his knee while he struggled through a report from Engineering on recursive multitronic computer node efficiency ratings, had once been a science officer himself, and he recognized the symptoms at once. "Good morning, Hawkeye," he said, glad to be distracted from the dull report. "You look like a man who's happy in his work."

"Why shouldn't I be?" the doctor enthused. "For a change, I get to do something besides make sure everyone's innoculations are up-to-date and patch together the occasional injury. Three -- count them -- three new species of therapsids never before seen by the eye of man!" He paused to punch a command into his tricorder, and showed the instrument to Atoz. "And look at this, Seven! We found a bird-like biped that shows astonishing intelligence."

Atoz smiled as he looked into the screen of the doctor's tricorder, showing images of a gaudy-looking avian approximately a foot tall, with a slightly curved beak. The other officers on the bridge -- Amelia Penner at Communications, De Jager at Sciences, T'Pana at Ops, Brooke Yarwood at the Helm -- watched enviously. Only Lt. Rosh at Tactical kept his eyes on his station.

"I was squatting down examining this one's nest," Pierce was saying, "and danged if it didn't come up and jump right on my shoulder! Sat there for a solid five minutes, studying me as if I was the most amazing thing it had ever seen!

"I thought you said they were intelligent," Atoz said dryly.

"Hey, what is this, Judgement Day?" the doctor said, still grinning. "You really ought to get down there, Seven. You have to see it to believe it."

Atoz shrugged. "I'll try to beam down later this afternoon. If there are no problems I may even authorize shore leave. Did Diane come back with you?"

"Nah, she's still down there. She found--"

"Excuse me, doctor," said Ensign Penner, tugging at her ear-pod. "Captain, we're getting a Priority One message from Starfleet. Admiral Ross." She paused for half a second. "It's encrypted, sir. Captain's Eyes Only."

Atoz frowned. That was highly unusual. "Send it to my padd."

Pierce tactfully stepped away from the command chair to let him read the message in peace. "Let's hope it's good news," he said to the other bridge officers. "Orders to stay here for two weeks, nay three weeks. Do nothing but lie around and enjoy the warm sunshine on our weary bodies. It's a dirty job, ******, but someone's got to do it!"

The officers looked toward Atoz expectantly as he finished reading the message. His expression was grim. He gazed up at the ceiling of the bridge for a moment, then read the message a second time.

"Seven?" said Pierce, the smile leaving his face. "What's the matter? Don't tell me it's bad news!"

Atoz ignored him. "Ensign Penner, recall the landing parties. Tell them to pack up everything immediately and return to the ship. No arguments."

"Yes, sir," she said briskly, as a feeling of disappointment rippled through the other officers on the bridge.

"Ensign Yarwood," Atoz said, "plot a course for subsector L-21." He turned slightly to face the Tactical station. "Mr. Rosh, once we're there, open up long range sensors. We'll be searching for the class seven courier vessel Canopus."

"Aye-aye, Captain," the Eminian replied.

"What is it, Seven?" Dr. Pierce asked. "Is it a distress call? Are they in trouble?"

"We've been ordered to go to their assistance. That's what the ship's log with reflect."

"What do you mean by that? What kind of assistance? Seven?"

"Mr. Yarwood," Atoz said, leaning forward slightly, "at warp factor nine, what will our travel time be?"

The ensign did a quick calculation. "About twenty hours, sir," she said.

"Very well," said the Captain, sitting back in his command chair and taking up his data padd.

"Seven?" Pierce persisted. "What's the deal?"

"I can't tell you anything right now Hawkeye. You'll find out soon enough." Then he grimly resumed reading that dull computer efficiency report.

[Atoz 77]

Captain Atoz sat down in the Deck five mess hall and took a moment to savor the aroma wafting up from his dinner plate. It was all replicated of course, which meant that in spite of their appearance and taste, the steak had not come from a live animal, and the mushrooms, peas and carrots had never seen soil. The meal was actually better for him, nutritionally, containing all the vitamins, carbohydrates, and proteins his body required, with none of unsaturated fats, free radicals or trace pesticides that could be found in agriculturally grown foods. As a boy back home on Indra II, he remembered eating fish and other seafoods that he had caught with his own hands, enjoying fruits and vegetables plucked straight from the tree or the vine. But for the past thirty years, serving on starships, he had mostly lived off replicated food. It was something you hardly gave a second thought anymore. Atoz realized that he was concentrating on it now in order to avoid thinking about more unpleasant topics.

He picked up his knife and fork and cut iinto his steak. The texture was perfect, the oozing of juices was perfect. And when he closed his eyes and put a forkfull into his mouth, the taste was sublime.

"Captain? Do you mind if I join you, sir?" said a pleasant female voice.

Atoz opened his eyes and smiled at the sight of Science Officer Diane Weir, her short brunette hair and her blue and black uniform.

"Oh, please do," he said, even though she was already setting down her tray. After the last two years, they had a tacit understanding that her question had been a mere formality.. As she sorted out her cutlery, he glanced back and forth, slowly chewing his steak. "Where's Iara?" he asked. Iara was a Cardassian orphan, only fourteen, whom Weir had petitioned to adopt. It was unusual to see Weir at dinner without her.

"She's with Amelia on the holodeck," Weir said, pensively digging a fork into her pasta salad. In a falsely cheerful tone of voice, she added, "It's good that she's learning to socialize with other humanoids, and not being so dependent upon me. I realize that..."

"But you miss it," Atoz said, in a sudden flash of insight.

"Yes, sir," the Science Officer sighed. "I guess I do." Trying to change the subject, she picked up her ever-present data padd. "I've been looking over the reports of the landing parties on P/A 712-III," she said. "Team 2 reported some interesting avifaunal life forms. And Team 3's geophysical survey found some anomalous tectonic activity which will take hours to unravel without more data. It's frustrating to be pulled off in the middle of a survey like this."

"Yes it is," Atoz agreed, concentrating on his food and trying not to meet her eyes. "But don't worry. We'll get back to it once this mission is completed."

"Have you any idea how long that will be, sir?" Weir asked absently. Then she looked up from her data padd and frowned. "I don't believe you told me what the nature of Canopus' emergency was."

Atoz hesitated. "Ah well.. It's not so much an emergency..."

"Amelia said that you had an encrypted message from Starfleet. Is that what--?"

Mercifully, at that point Atoz' commbadge chirped. "Bridge to Captain," said the First Officer's voice.

"Excuse me, Diane," Atoz said, tapping his badge. "What is it, Mr. Fawkes?"

"Captain, we just made visual contact with the Canopus. I've ordered an intercept course. We'll be within transporter range within fifteen minutes."

"Very good, Charles," Atoz replied. "They'll be transfering four passengers. Give them accommodations on deck 12."

"Deck 12. I'll take care of it, sir."

"Then set course for the Lectorax system, warp factor 7."

Fawkes' voice paused just for a moment. "The Lectorax system, warp 7. Aye-aye, Captain."

"And inform the department heads there'll be a staff meeting in thirty minutes."

"Will do, sir."

Atoz tapped off his commbadge and addressed himself to his dinner again. He found that he had lost some of his appetite, but he ate anyway.

"Lectorax?" said Weir, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. "Isn't that in the Gorn Hegemony? What kind of passengers would we be taking to Gorn territory? Diplomats?"

"Not... exactly," Atoz said, keeping his eyes on his dinner. "Or you could say that they practice a different kind of diplomacy..."

***


While the Odysseus held a parallel course a hundred meters abeam of the Canopus, Lieutenant Moira Blackadar, the B shift Security officer, reported to the Transporter Room with Petty Officer Frank Caputo to take charge of the guests and escort them to their quarters. Ensign Fisher, the technician at the transporter controls, gave her a brisk nod. "They're signalling ready to transport, sir."

"Energize," Blackadar said, resting one hand casually on the butt of her phaser.

Fisher ran through the procedure under Blackadar's watchful eyes: engaging interlocks, synchronizing pattern buffers, phase coils whining as they went into standby... "Uh-oh..." the ensign said as his fingers ran down the sliders. "Something's amiss..." He re-synchronized and tried again. "I've lost their pattern, lieutenant."

Blackadar slid into position beside him. Frowning, she tapped the controls with slender fingers. "It looks like a field enclosure sim," she pronounced. "They were never on the pad at all."

Just then her comm badge chirped. "Bridge to Security," said Fawkes' voice. "Lieutenant, we're reading an open hatch in Shuttlebay One. Someone's trying to board."

"I'm on it, Mr. Fawkes," Blackadar said, as she tapped her badge a second time to bring up her direct departmental line. "Security Team 2, head them off. Deck 7, section H." She was already out the door at a run, with Caputo right beside her.

The next corridor over, the two of them swarmed down a gangway and turned right into the Engineering section. As they hurried down the corridor leading to the main entrance to the shuttlebay, Blackadar's badge chirped again. This time it was Fusco, the Ops officer: "There are definitely intruders on board, lieutenant. Internal sensors on Deck 7 are down. Proceed with caution."

Just then she spotted an intruder down a side-corridor, fiddling with an open access panel. He was male, with curly dark hair and beard, dressed exactly like you'd expect a stowaway to dress, in scruffy black leather trousers and a teeshirt, over all a baggy jacket full of bulging pockets.

"Stop you!" called Caputo, rushing ahead with his phaser drawn.

The intruder actually grinned. "Aha the venerable swabbies finally arrive," he said, in a Middle-Eastern accent. "What kept you?" Moving like lightning, he spun around, catching Caputo off-guard and kicking his phaser away. Before the security man could recover, the intruder completed the spin and drove him backward with a flurry of elegantly well-placed punches and kicks. By the time Blackadder got there, Caputo was down on the deck semi-conscious, and without even pausing for breath the intruder had jumped the Scot as well.

Blackadar had time to think that someone had invested quite a lot of martial arts training on this guy, as he caught her wrist and disarmed her. She let the phaser fall, flipping around and slamming her elbow into the back of his head. She heard him grunt, then he let go of her, pivoting again to bring his booted foot up. She evaded it by the skin of her teeth, ducking and bringing her own foot up into the vulnerable underside of his thigh. In the next second she had reversed his hold and dropped him flat on his back.

"Stay down!" she ordered, thrusting her instep into his throat to keep him there.

Two seconds later, a four-man security team arrived, two of them leveling phasers at the fallen intruder while Blackadar scooped up her weapon and took a step back, motioning the other two to stand opposite the main shuttlebay hatchway.

The door hissed open. Three other intruders stood there -- a man with unkept sandy brown hair, a bald, very dark-skinned African, and a woman with bobbed brown hair -- all shabbily dressed in civilian clothes, carrying rucksacks slung over their shoulders and hand weapons leveled. Behind them inside the bay was parked a gleaming black shuttlecraft. Blackadar frowned as she recognized the distinctive shape of a stealth assault shuttle.

"Well and good," said the leader of the group, holstering his gun. "And here I was afraid we wouldn't be given a warm welcome. Stand down, El Sadr. We're among friends here."

This last address was evidently meant for the curly haired man on the floor. He grinned and spread his hands, signalling his surrender. The guards were letting him stand up when Commander Fawkes arrived, with two more security guards. "What's going on here?" the First Officer demanded.

"You must be the Head Swabby," the leader of the intruders said, running a quick eye over the three rank pips on Fawkes' collar. He offered an isolinear card. "We're your passengers. Major Alex Bozeman, 292nd Starfleet Marines. Team Indigo 9." He indicated the others. "Lieutenants El Sadr, N'Krumath, Pflock with a P." The three of them grinned broadly.

Fawkes accepted the card with a sour look. "That was quite an unconventional way to come on board, major," he said. "You could have informed us you had a shuttlecraft. And is it too much trouble to report for duty in uniform?"

"That's us," Bozeman said. "Unconventional to the bone."

Fawkes raised one eyebrow, giving him the chance to correct his oversight in not saying "sir". He didn't.. "Let's get you settled into your quarters, then," the First Officer said. "The Captain wants a briefing in fifteen minutes."

"Good for him," Bozemen said indifferently, as he and his gang slouched past. "Me, I'm going to sleep for about three hours and then get something to eat. Let me know how that briefing turns out, swabby."

[Atoz 77]

"It's hard for me to believe," said Fawkes, "that they're really Starfleet officers."

"Special Forces," Atoz said, with a small shrug. "The best, according to Admiral Ross." He took a sip of tranya and frowned.

They were sitting at a table in The Leading Edge, the lounge at the extreme prow of the Odysseus, watching stars streak past the huge glass-steel portholes. Diane Weir sat to the Captain's right, nursing a tall Canadian sunrise, occasionally glancing at Iara, her Cardassian ward, who was at another table with Amelia Penner and some other female ensigns. On the Captain's other side sat Dr. Pierce with a martini.

The First Officer took a gulp of ale. "I asked Major Bozeman why they had to come aboard the way they did. He said they didn't feel comfortable using the front door. They were used to coming in the back way."

"But why are they here?" Weir asked. "And what does it have to do with the Gorn?"

"I don't know all the details myself," Atoz replied. "It's a covert operation aimed at the naval base at Lectorax. We're supposed to deliver them close enough, and leave the rest to them."

"But the Gorn trust you, sir," the Science Officer protested, "because of the way we helped with Galinga's coronation."

"I think that's the reason the Odysseus was chosen. The Gorn may hesitate to suspect us of anything shady."

"That won't make any difference if they're caught," Weir hissed quietly. "If they slip up, you'll take the blame, not only from the Gorn, but from Starfleet, too. This is so bogus!" She took a deep slug of her drink. Once her composure was restored, she looked across at Pierce. "Why aren't you saying anything, Ben?"

The doctor shrugged. "What do you want me to say? I know these people." Atoz, Fawkes and Weir gave him a look.

"I don't mean I know them personally," he corrected, as he stirred his drink, gathering his thoughts. "I once served a couple of years on an assault ship. There was a large contingent of Marines, including a Special Forces detachment. Everybody hated them, even the other Marines. They were arrogant because their unique skills were irreplaceable and they knew it. If you brought them up on charges for insubordination, they got back at you in a thousand little ways. And the punishments they drew were a slap on the wrist. They loved being locked in the brig because it gave them a chance to practice escaping. And what good is putting a reprimand in someone's personnel file when their files are classified?"

Fawkes, who was sitting facing the starboard entrance to the lounge, inclined his head. "Speak of the devil."

The others glanced that way. Two of Bozeman's team -- the dark-haired man and the African -- had entered the lounge and stood for a moment taking stock. They were still dressed in their scruffy dark clothes. After a moment, they slouched toward the bar.

"What do they want here?" asked Weir rhetorically, watching the two warily as if they were predators at a watering hole.

"Looking for synthehol I expect," said Pierce. "The food slots in the Mess Hall aren't programmed to dispense anything stronger than wine."

"I don't think that would stop them, doctor," scoffed Fawkes. "Judging from how easily they got on board, they could probably reprogram the food slots if they felt like it. I expect they're looking for trouble." He made as if to stand up. "Should I give them the boot, sir? I don't care who they are..."

In addition to several crew and officer's lounges, most starships traditionally had one, like The Leading Edge, which was theoretically a private club, membership by invitation. It was a mere formality; every new crewman and temporary passenger was typically invited as part of his or her orientation. Fawkes had refrained from inviting Bozeman's team because of their unorthodox means of arrival.

"Don't bother, Charles," said Atoz, turning to face the porthole again. "From what Hawkeye says, it will do little good to antagonize them. I doubt if they respect our traditions anyway. Let's just put up with them as best we can until their mission is done."

Behind him, he could hear the curly-haired lieutenant at the bar, talking a little too loudly and belligerently to some unoffending crewman who was only trying to place an order. All eyes in the lounge turned to look at the two of them. Atoz took another sip of tranya.

***

Meanwhile, the female member of the team, Clarice Pflock (with a P), was crawling up inside one of the Jeffries tubes on Deck 7 wearing a skin tight black bodysuit, her fingers delicately picking their way through isolinear circuits. Here it was, the intruder response system. Controlled by voiceprint directly through the ship's computer. Aw, that was just too bad, she thought, as she quickly disabled the computer oversight systems.

Bozeman had told them how Commander Fawkes had omitted to invite them to the private lounge, then retired to his bunk confident that they could find a way to thank him personally. Sure thing, boss. While El Sadr and N'Krumath roamed the lounge, doing their best to pick a fight, Pflock had worked her way through the secure intruder system. The plan was to flood their Ten Forward or whatever they called it with anestheon 14, mixed with kapustene fire suppression mist, which combined together produced a highly effective laughing gas which also dyed the skin bright pink! El Sadr and N'Krumath of course had nose filters to keep them from being affected. Pflock smiled. Those stuck-up swabbies would certainly remember the day they had snubbed Team Indigo 9!

Pflock followed the conduit to a junction, where she could stand up. Opening an access panel, she pulled out a hand unit and scanned the circuit blocks. Deftly she reached into the panel..

"What are you doing?" asked a pleasant female voice suddenly.

Pflock jerked around, taken completely by surprise. Standing next to her in the narrow space was a young woman dressed like a Greek goddess. "Where the hell did you come from?" she said. "Who the hell are you?"

"I am Arachne," the woman said. "You appear to be attempting to bypass the ship's computer security system. I strongly advise against it. I am sure the Captain would not approve."

"It's just a practical joke," Pflock said, smiling disarmingly. Whoever this chick was, she had to be silenced. "Here, let me show you..." Striking like a cobra, she brought her hand around for a sleeper hold on the woman's slender neck. She was surprised when her hand closed on nothing at all.

"You seem to be laboring under a misapprehension," Arachne said, her holographic image flickering ever so slightly as she turned. "I am the ship's computer interface. I have already bypassed your tampering and alerted Security."

Suddenly the narrow Jeffries tube seemed alive with the sound of sirens. Pflock dove back into the narrow crawlspace, trying to retrace her steps. Somewhere she took a wrong turn and came out onto a deck she didn't recognize, with an armed security guard in a gold and black uniform right in front of her.

"Stop..." the man said, but Pflock unhesitatingly brought her knee up into his groin. As he doubled over, she flipped herself across his back and kept running. It was part of the game, to evade security as long as possible before they inevitably caught her.

"There's no where to run, lass." It was Blackadar, blocking her path.

"We'll see," Pflock smirked, darting down a side passage. Too late, she found it was a cul-de-sac, with only a turbolift door at the end. Security had evidently already locked it down, because it wouldn't open for her. Frantically she punched commands into her hand unit, hoping to overrider the lockout. That Security bimbo was right on her tail. The door hissed open, and without a thought, she leaped through.

There was no car; just an empty turbolift shaft! Behind her she heard Blackadar shout a warning. She felt the Security officer reach out desperately and grab a handful of her black body suit. Unfortunately the suit was especially designed to resist being snagged in this way, and the fabric slipped through her fingers. In mid air, Pflock fumbled out a magnetic piton from her belt, but hit the opposite wall of the shaft at a bad angle. The clamp pulled loose, letting her tumble downward and slam hard into the deck three stories below.

***

Major Bozeman slouched into the conference room, still wearing his unkempt clothes, still unshaven, and he was a little surprised to see, in addition to Atoz, Fawkes and Lt. Rosh, Science Officer Weir, Dr. Pierce, and the Chief Engineer, the Andorian Lt. Commander Vespis.

"I usually just brief the senior staff -- Captain, First Officer, and Tactical," he sniffed. "The rest of these people don't have any need to know."

"On a mission like this," Atoz said, "I decide who among my crew has a need to know. Get on with it."

Bozeman shrugged and slouched into a seat. "To begin with--"

"Stand up, Mr. Bozeman," Atoz said, feeling as if he had been pushed pretty much to the end of his rope by these people. "When you give a briefing to senior officers, you stand up."

The Marine stood up resentfully and plugged an isolinear chip into the wall slot. The screen behind him began to display tactical maps of the area. "To begin with, we know that the Gorn are currently constructing a warship at the Lectorax shipyard. According to dockyard reports, the ship masses some two hundred thousand tonnes, the size of a very large cruiser or a very small battleship. So far, so good."

He touched a button and the screen displayed a scematic diagram. "This is not so good. We have credible intelligence, pieced together from multiple sources, that the Gorn may be experimenting with isolytic weapons, in violation of treaty. We do not know--"

"Just a minute," interrupted Vespis, studying the diagram. "That could just as easily be soliton wave array, from what I can see. The Federation has experimented with those, too. If this is your proof--"

"We don't have proof, okay?" Bozeman said. "That's the reason my team is going in. It's a possibility we want to either confirm or rule out, one way or the other, and take appropriate action."

"Using us to get you there," Weir snorted. "Trading upon our good relationship with the Gorn, which could easily--"

"Using anything and everything that makes our job easier, honeybunch," Bozeman said. "Like it or not, that's what we do in Black Ops."

"Lieutenant Commander Weir," Atoz said, laying stress upon her rank, "was merely expressing her concerns about the backlash from this mission if you get caught."

"Then it's very simple, Captain," the major retorted. "Make sure we don't get caught." He paused to let that statement sink in. "And in that regard, we have a small problem. Your so-called doctor won't allow me..."

"Lieutenant Pflock fractured both arms in that fall down the turbolift shaft," Pierce said. "I knit the bones back together satisfactorily enough, but I don't like her neuro-lymphatic response. I don't want her doing anything strenuous for a couple of days."

"Which means my team is one man short," said Bozeman. "...sir," he added grudgingly.

Atoz turned to his Tactical Officer. "Mr. Rosh, who do you recommend as a replacement?"

The Eminian frowned slightly. "Lt. Blackadar is the most qualified."

"Hold on a minute," Bozeman objected. "I'm not going to risk my team on some swabby--"

"You may not have any choice in the matter," said Atoz.

***

Fifteen minutes later, Atoz, Pierce, Rosh and Blackadar were in the ship's gymnasium, watching as Major Bozeman's team, dressed in their black skin suits, ran a simple training exercise. Four rappellng lines dangled from the ceilting overhead,.while the team members jogged around the perimeter of the room, jumping over hurdles and diving through tunnels, them swarmed up them the lines like trained acrobats.

All except one. Pflock was clearly struggling. They had already been at this for twenty minutes with no sign of distress, but the strain of climbing was too much. She had barely cleared three meters off the floor before her arm spasmed and she lost her grip.

"What did I tell you?" said Pierce quietly, as Rosh and Blackadar darted forward to catch her as she slid down the rope.

"I'm all right!" Pflock snapped, irritably shaking them off her. "Let me alone!"

Major Bozeman was there in seconds. "All right, doctor," he conceded. "You've made your point."

"But Boze, I can do this!" Pflock insisted.

"Pipe down, P," he said. "In the middle of a situation I don't need to be worrying if you're in place." He turned to Blackadar and looked her over. "She seems fit enough."

"Thank ye, I'm sure," the Scot said dryly.

"Let's get her a suit. That uniform has to go. Especially that comm badge. Random frequencies could activate it at the wrong moment. We'll give her a hands-off earbud." He shook his head, turning to Atoz.

"She doesn't know our procedures, though..."

"You have three hours to train her, Mr. Bozeman. I suggest you get busy."

[Atoz 77]

Captain's log, Stardate 53507.5: ...While enroute to Federation science outpost 307 in the Galatea Alpha sector, the Odysseus has strayed by error into the outskirts of the Lectorax system, part of the Gorn Hegemony.


Atoz switched off the log recorder, hoping that the uncertainty he felt in his gut hadn't been too evident in his voice. It went completely against the grain to falsify a log entry -- a lie of omission was still a lie as far as he was concerned -- but Adrmiral Ross' instructions had been crystal clear -- no mention of the covert mission was to be made in the ship's log, not even picking up the passengers. He had been instructed to make a separate report on the entire incident, which would be classified Secret.

He stood up from the command chair, leaning over Ensign Yarwood's shoulder to get a good look at the navigation plot. The ship was traveling at Warp Factor 7, cutting right across the orbits of the outer planets and barely skimming the inner asteroid belt. This alone was enough to unnerve and alarm the ensign at the helm. Once they had crossed into Gorn territory, Arachne had warned them of the fact in no uncertain terms. It was Starfleet policy to plot a wide detour around non-allied systems, especially Gorn.

"Steady, Mr. Yarwood," Atoz said, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Another glance at the navigation plot told him that they would pass over a hundred million kilometers from the third planet, where the shipyard was. He wanted to cut it as close as he dared, to give Bozeman's shuttle a decent chance. "Come three degrees starboard."

Yarwood licked her lips nervously. After all, it was the Captain's responsibility, not hers. "Three degrees aye, sir."

Atoz had considered the option of reducing velocity to say Warp 2 or 3. The less noticable warp shell would be less likely to draw attention, and it was possible they could slip in completely unseen. On the other hand, if the ship was spotted moving that slowly, creeping in by stealth as it were, the Gorn would certainly want to know why. In Atoz' experience, the best way to get away with something was to act as if you didn't realize you were doing anything wrong. At high velocity, he could always claim that...

"Gorn destroyer leaving orbit around Lectorax III, Captain," said Rosh at the Tactical station, "and assuming a course to intercept us. Thirty-five light-minutes distant."

"Very well." Atoz waited a few moments more, then, "Reduce speed to Warp factor 1, Mr. Yarwood. Let them catch us."

"The Gorn is hailing us, Captain," reported Penner at Communications, a moment or two later.

Atoz returned to his chair and forced himself to sit down. "On screen."

"Federation vessel," came a deep, hissing voice from the speakers, as the face of the Gorn captain, looking like a green-skinned, short-snouted crocodile, appeared on the viewing screen. "What do you mean by trespassing in the space of the Gorn? Be quick!"

"Health and long life to Macha-Malingu," Atoz said, figuring it wouldn't hurt to drop the name of the Gorn Queen, if only to show that he was familiar with it. "It was quite involuntary on my part, captain." (That much was true.) "My name is Atoz, captain of the starship Odysseus."

"Odysseus?" the Gorn captain repeated, impressed.

"We were on our way to the Federation space telescope in the Kulaggada See sector," Atoz explained, using the Gorn name for Galatea Alpha, "and running a little behind schedule. I'm afraid I tried to cut a corner across your backyard, so to speak. I must have miscalculated my angle of approach." There. The velocity at which he had been going added a certain plausibility to that explanation.

The Gorn grinned at the idea that even Starfleet officers could make mistakes. "Well... no harm has been done, clearly." After all, they were still over fifty million kilometers from the planet. "I am Skeggeggek. In the interest of friendly interstellar relations, allow me to escort you toward your destination, so that there will be no further miscalculations."

"I appreciate your courtesy, Captain," Atoz said, not daring to try and pronounce his name lest he make a dreadful hash of it. He leaned forward slightly to address the helmsman. "Increase to Warp 6, Mr. Yarwood. Just as we talked about."

"Aye-aye, sir," the ensign said. As she punched in the commands, she allowed the T-R ratio of their slipstream insertion to fall off a couple of points, so that when the ship jumped to Warp 6, it did so with a massive tachyon burst and a shudder which shook the entire hull. It was such a horribly rookie thing to do, she couldn't help wincing. "Sorry, sir," she said, glancing over her shoulder with a sheepish grin.

"On the contrary; that was perfect, ensign," Atoz said. He knew that the Gorn ship would have taken up a position directly behind him, so that burst would have momentarily overwhelmed his sensors. Just as long as he didn't notice that the Odysseus had left a little package behind, something which had been hidden under the ventral surface of the hull, snugged up against the port nacelle...

"Bridge to Engineering," Atoz said, sitting back in his chair. "Vespis, how are you coming with that little science project?"

The Andorian Chief Engineer's voice sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. "Ummm... well... how soon do think you'll need it, Captain? Does next month sound good to you?"

"We just cast off Major Bozeman's shuttle. I figure it may take them as long as twenty minutes to reach the shipyard, another twenty to accomplish their mission. But if they have to leave, they'll have to leave fast..."

Weir's voice interrupted impatiently. "We understand, sir. We're working on it. Engineering out."

***

The sleek, jet-black stealth assault boat knifed silently through space, all but invisible. Its hull was coated with sensor-reflecting materials, making it that much more difficult get a sensor lock on, at least by a cursory scan. It wasn't true "cloaking" -- the craft could be still be detected in several different ways, by its ultraviolet signature if nothing else, provided the Gorn were given any reason to suspect it was there. But spotting it and locking onto it were two different things. The key at this point was stealth.

The interior was also dark, lit only by the instrument panels. The couches were not built for comfort. In fact, on a boat where space was a premium, only the barest minimum of safety devices had been used. Blackadar grimaced from the g-forces every time the craft had to maneuver. And the suit she was wearing fitted tightly in unaccustomed places. She found herself fidgeting. Before very long, it seemed to her that she had been trapped here, rattling back and forth in this dark little tin can forever.

"Remember not to overexert," Bozeman was saying, fussing over her suit's fastenings. "Your suit insulates your body heat so you won't show up on infrared. Nanotubes keep you cool, convert the excess into electrical energy and store it in merculite batteries that run your suit's systems. That's the bulge in the small of your back."

"Merculite?" said Blackadar, alarmed.

"Yeah. So if someone starts shooting at you, whatever you do don't let them let them hit you in the back. Unless you want your bodily fluids to end up spread all over the nearest wall." A moment passed by in silence. "You'll do okay, Blackie. When I read the file on your Captain, I was worried... he's kind of a by-the-book kind of guy."

"Aye, that he is," said Blackadar. "But I've known him once or twice to ignore the book when it was morally the right thing to do."


"Good. In Special Ops we sometimes have to do things that are questionable, as far as the book goes, when the good of the Federation is at stake. Things our superiors don't necessarily need to know about. Follow me?"

"Aye. I've always felt that the first duty of every Starfleet officer was to the good of the Federation."

Bozeman nodded. "That's just what I wanted to hear."

"Heads up, chief," said El Sadr, who was in the pilot seat. "Proximity warning."

Bozeman struggled his way to the front of the craft, while Blackadar pulled the close fitting hood of her suit into place. After a whispered conference, the shuttle changed course yet again, slamming the Scot against her couch harness, but this time it was because they were decelerating. She tried to guess where they were and what they were doing, but failed. Soon enough, the boat came to a halt, bumping gently against something solid.

"Get ready," Bozeman warned. Blackadar cast off her harness and slid out of her seat, making sure her equipment was all in place, lowering the clear plastic visor down over her eyes.. She had barely assumed a squatting position on the deck before an oscillating whine filled the air of the small cockpit and they were all four dematerializing. The short-range transport re-formed them in a shadowy corner of an empty corridor. It was much wider than the corridors on the Odysseus, the decks bare metal. Here and there were open gaps in the bulkheads, showing bare piping and wiring. Obviously the ship was still under construction.

Bozeman gave the hand signal for them to move out. Blackadar stood, taking a few steps to get a feel of the artificial gravity, and was relieved to find it only slightly below Earth normal. As she took up her position, she checked her sidearm. Not a standard Federation-issue phaser -- Team Indigo 9 turned up their noses at phasers, saying they were too noisy and the spotting beam gave away your position -- instead it was a Kelvarian disruptor, silent and deadly.

Blackadar tapped the side of her clear plastic visor and a display appeared, showing a schematic diagram of the Gorn ship's layout -- or its presumed layout based on other ships of the same class. Tiny dots marked the positions of the four team members, updated by random microsecond transmissions using a rotating frequency system. The plan they had rehearsed in the Odysseus' holodeck called for the team to split up at this point, Blackadar and El Sadr going up one deck to examine the fire control systems, while Bozeman and N'krumath went down toward Engineering Substation.

Silently the two groups separated. Blackadar led the way, keeping flat to the walls as she and the Egyptian moved swiftly along the corridor toward the gangway marked on their map. Suddenly they heard gutteral voices ahead. The Scot tapped off her map and risked a quick peek around the corner, sidearm at the ready. She spotted a Gorn working party of five, running tests on the wiring, and for a second she froze from sheer fright. The Security officer had met Gorn before, but not five at once. These were merely unarmed construction workers, not soldiers, but they were just BIG!

And there was no getting past them without firing. Under the circumstances, she signalled a retreat, and they backtracked to a Gorn version of a turbolift. Pulling out a hand unit, El Sadr jimmied the heavy door open, revealing a vertical shaft as black as pitch. Holstering their weapons, they broke out magnetic pitons and began to carefully climb.

***

"Fare you well, Odysseus," said Captain Skeggeggek, taking his leave at the edge of the star system. "May you not meet with any undue calamities in the course of your journey."

"Thank you again, captain," said Atoz, with a forced smile. "Screen off," he muttered to Ensign Penner, the smile leaving his face abruptly as he studied the tactical readout on the main viewing screen, watching the Gorn destroyer sheer off and make an about turn, back toward the planet. "Mr. Yarwood, come to course 122 mark 45, directly away from him. Very good. Now... dead stop, but keep a passive warp shell going. With any luck he won't think to check that we're warping space but not really going anywhere."

"Dead stop, sir."

"Mr. Rosh?"

The Eminian glanced over his tactical console. "The Gorn is continuing on course, Captain. He does not appear to suspect anything."

Atoz breathed a sign of relief. "Reverse course, Mr. Yarwood. Stay directly on his tail. I want him to think we're his shadow. Bridge to Engineering! Time is running out. Any progress?"

[Atoz 77]

Blackadar climbed down into the maintenance tunnel and flipped open her tricorder. It proved to be the same as the last three weapon turrets she had examined... all of them had standard megawatt firing coils, standard superconducting capacitor banks. They were, in short, standard Gorn disrupters, perhaps more powerful than normal, but certainly had none of the hardware necessary for launching isolytic weapons. The Scot tapped the spot on the base of her throat that activated her comm line, said, "Four green regroup," and clicked off again. In shorthand fashion, this message, as brief as possible to minimize chances of being picked up, said that she had completed her investigation of the fourth target assigned to her, it had come up negative, so she was returning to the point of entry. She hoped the others were also getting negative results.

El Sadr was waiting for her at the top of the shaft, where he had been attempting to tap into the Gorn's fire control computers. "No joy," he said. "Gorn computers operate on a heptadecimal parallel processing system, almost totally unreadable without translation."

"Too bad," Blackadar said, tapping on her map again. As she began moving back toward the spot where they had left the assault shuttle, she noticed that the dots which represented Bozeman and N'krumath weren't it the correct places. Rather than the Engineering substation they were supposed to be investigating, they were in Main Engineering. The Scot was about to shrug it off as a case of the map not matching reality when her comm line pinged. "Bugout," said Bozeman's voice in her earpod. "Bugout."

That was the shorthand for, "Retreating while under fire."

"Come on," said Blackadar, racing for the nearest lift shaft. Plunging straight in, she slapped a magnetic piton against the metal bulkhead and felt it click into place. There was a brief, heart-stopping moment of free-fall in the dark, before she heard the nano-filament line unreeling, pulling her body up short. As she hit bottom, El Sadr caught up with her, and together they dashed back to the rendezvous point and took up positions behind a stack of cargo pods. On her visor, she could see Bozeman's and N'krumath's dots taking the long way around, coming by way of the starboard side main corridor. But they were moving much too slowly.

"What's taking them so long?" she hissed.

"Couldn't say," said the Egyptian, holding his disruptor at ready. "Let's just wait here and--"

Although it wasn't accepted procedure, Blackadar left her cover and ran down the main corridor. A section door opened in front of her, revealing a Gorn soldier, armed with a disruptor! She fired on reflex, without thinking, her own disruptor stunning the guard before he even saw her.

Then she saw Bozeman and N'krumath limping toward her down the corridor, and saw why they were moving slowly. Between them they were carrying a big piece of equipment -- a fat cylinder over a meter tall, with a pulsating translucent globe at the top. The way they were handling it, the device must be either very heavy or very delicate, or both.

Blackadar had never seen an object like it before, but nevertheless she recognized the design from diagrams. "That's a Romulan cloaking device," she said, an accusing tone in her voice. "That whole story about isolytic weapons was just a cover, wasn't it? To keep your true intentions from the Captain?"

"Wasn't sure... if he'd go for it," Bozeman panted, as they set the thing down. His face was red and slick with sweat from the exertion. "The Gorn captured a damaged Romulan bird... tried to backward... engineer their own version."

"But the Treaty of Algeron specifically prohibits the Federation from developing a cloaking device."

"But it doesn't say... we can't acquire one... by other means. Listen... can we talk about this later? I don't feel..."

Abruptly Bozeman collapsed, sagging to the deck unconscious.

N'krumath knelt beside him, feeling his hot face with his hand. "Mala have mercy!" He immediately began unfastening Bozeman's black suit. "There was an energy discharge when we disconnected the device," he explained as together he and Blackadar peeled off the top half of the unconscious man's suit. "It must have damaged his heat-exchange system."

They heard the low warbling sound of a Gorn alert siren, and immediately afterward their comm lines pinged. "Bogies at 12 and 10 high," said El Sadr's voice. "You guys coming?"

Blackadar touched her throat mike. "On our way," she said. "Get to the boat and be ready to beam us aboard."

Together she and N'krumath picked up Major Bozeman and slung his unconscious body across the African's broad shoulders.

"What about the unit?" he said, meaning the cloaking device. Down the main corrider, they could hear the heavy tread of many Gorn, converging on their position from two directions.

"It takes two people to carry it," the Scot said, whipping off the hood of her suit. "Which would ye rather leave behind, the unit or Bozeman?" While she spoke, she was reaching around behind her, detaching the merculite battery pack from the small of her back. Deftly she attached it to the cloaking unit and dragged the whole thing into an open panel in the ship's bulkhead, where a power conduit lay exposed. Without power, her suit's cooling system shut off. She was already beginning to sweat.

"What are you doing?" said N'krumath.

"Improvising," she said tersely. Unzipping her suit, she peeled it off her upper body, revealing the sleeveless undershirt underneath, her exposed skin slick with perspiration.

As they began moving back toward the rendezvous point, a squad of four Gorn raced down the corridor behind them, moving amazingly quickly for such large creatures. They stopped uncertainly at the junction of the corridor, giving Blackadar and N'krumath the opportunity to slip through the doorway to the next section. The Scot turned back, bracing her disruptor pistol on the edge of the door as she took careful aim and fired at the merculite power pack.

It went off with a satisfying explosion, sending the Gorn ducking for cover. In the confusion, Blackadar and N'krumath, carrying Bozeman, made their escape. A few moments later, El Sadr beamed them aboard the assault boat and immediately cast off, maneuvering away from the Gorn ship. The second they were all strapped in, he hit the main engines at full speed, which for a stealth boat was about .8 c. The g forces slammed them all into their seats as the jet-black craft zipped through the darkness into deep space.

And there they crossed paths with the returning Gorn destroyer. Already warned that something was afoot, Captain Skeggeggek was carefully scanning the space ahead of him, and he spotted the ion stream from the boat's engines.

"Crumb!" said El Sadr. "He's targeting his weapons..."

"Cut the engines! NOW!" said Blackadar.

The pilot obeyed her without questioning. The boat immediately became nothing but a ballistic missile doing eighty percent of the speed of light, but without its ion wake, it was a much harder target to track. The Gorn disruptor beam shot out, even its near miss blowing out the small craft's power systems, sending it tumbling end over end, its crew rattling around like peas inside a tin can.

And then they were past it, streaking toward deep space. But dead, with no power to maneuver or even to decelerate.

***

Twenty minutes later, Bozeman came around. N'krumath and El Sadr quickly sketched out their situation for him. "So we may not have the cloaking device, but the Gorn don't have it either," he sighed. "Not bad for your first and last mission, Blackie."

"What do you mean, last mission?" said Blackadar. "I can't speak for others, but I plan to live long enough to bounce my great-grandchildren on my knee."

"We've barely got life support for another ten minutes, swabby," he scoffed. "Even if Odysseus was still out there, she couldn't lock onto us for a rescue. We're a stealth craft, remember? Not even an ion trail to track now. Space is too big for them to find us." He shook his head. "It's impossible."

Blackadar shrugged, sitting back in her couch.

Exactly nine minutes later, their dead life support systems came back to life, rejuvenated by an outside power transfer beam. The comm system came on. "Odysseus to Blackadar," came the welcome sound of Ensign Penner's voice. "Hang on a few minutes more, lieutenant. We're locked onto you. We just have to reduce some of your kinetic energy before we can beam you aboard."

The Scot reached past El Sadr's elbow to touch the comm system controls. "Acknowledged, Amelia. Blackadar standing by." She looked at the three men crowded into the cockpit. "Starfleet specializes in the impossible, major."

***

"Kinetic energy equalized, sir," reported Rosh from the tactical station. "Ready to beam the assault boat into the shuttlebay."

"Carry on, Mr. Rosh," said Atoz. "Mr. Yarwood, resume course for Galatea Alpha sector."

He turned to the bridge Sciences station, where Weir and Vespis were still working side by side. "But tell me something, Diane. How did you manage to lock onto the assault boat when it's virtually impervious to sensor beams?"

"Well, sir," the Science Officer began a little sheepishly. "...I got the idea from a holonovel Iara made me view with her. You know I don't normally like fantasy, but she begged and pleaded. I won't bore you with the details, sir, but there is a character named Frodo who has a magic ring that makes him invisible. But the Ringwraiths could see him anyway because they were attuned to the same kind of magic. Well..."

"To make a long story short, Captain," interrupted Vespis, "we deep-scanned the assault boat to the quantum level while it was in our shuttlebay. Once it had launched, we set up a quantum-resonance entanglement with one of our empty cargo pods. From then on, we could always keep track of it, as long as we knew where our cargo pod was."

"Of course, that's terribly over-simplified..." said Weir.

"As long as it worked, I'm satisfied, commander," said Atoz. "Thank you. And thank Iara for me." He leaned back in his command chair, gazing at the stars slipping past on the main viewing screen. Magic? he thought. What will they think of next?

>>>>THE END