The Excelsior is en route to Vulcan to take aboard Federation Ambassador Sarek. We are to transport him to the Klingon colony world, Korvat, where he will be meeting with Chancellor Azetbur of the Klingon Star Empire. The mission is not expected to be particularly dangerous, yet I intend to maintain alert status during the transit. Our estimated time of transit to Vulcan is three days.

On a personal note, I am looking forward to Ambassador Sarek’s presence aboard the Excelsior.

Meanwhile, Commander Uhura of the Enterprise-B has sent me a mystery to solve...

"Hi, Hikaru," greeted Doctor Ariel Cord.

Captain Sulu looked up at her from his viewscreen. "Afternoon, Ariel," he responded distractedly and turned his attention back to the image on his screen.

"What’s up?"

"Ariel, two years ago, during the trial of Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy on the Klingon homeworld, we lost a crewman."

"Of course. Dmitri Valtane."

"And you pronounced him dead, yes?"

"Well certainly. He died as a result of a severe electrical shock and plasma burns when his station exploded." Her eyes narrowed. "You know that, of course. Heck, Doctor Noel even brought it up with you several months ago."

Sulu nodded. "Then who is this?" He swung the priviewer around. There was a shot of the bridge of the Excelsior as seen during a CommPic communication. Captain Sulu was in the front, a fond smile on his face. On the left, was Lieutenant Don Harden, who had transferred to the Kongo a year ago. On the right, Lieutenant Commander Boris Lojur, Sulu’s second officer, sat placidly. From the right to the left were Cadets Farley and Rosen, Commander Rand, Cadets Anderson, Ward and Land. A couple of cadets were obscured by the captain’s cheerful visage, then one could easily see the late Kevin Jordan, David Jones and Laurie Morgan, who were cadets themselves at the time. Then there was the Hjjudini, Cadet Thweo, who had been killed last December in an extended battle with the Tholians at Alpha Tucanae IV. But standing next to him was... Dmitri Valtane.

"When was this image recorded?" Cord asked, suspecting she already knew the answer.

"Just as we were about to leave orbit from the Klingon colony world Khitomer. It’s from a transmission I sent to Captain Kirk before his return to Earth on the final cruise of the Enterprise-A, telling him how nice it was to see him in action again. That was weeks after the battle in the Azure Nebula."

"Then how can that be Dmitri Valtane? He was already dead by that time."

Sulu swung the viewer around. "I don’t know how this can be explained."

"How did you find it?"

"I didn’t. Uhura did. She was going through the Enterprise-A log recordings for storage into the Enterprise-B’s data archives. She saw that particular communications file, and opened it. Then she noted who was standing in the right-hand corner."

"Have you checked the Excelsior’s transmission logs?"

Sulu nodded. "He’s there, all right."

"A ghost?"

The captain snorted. "Unlikely, Doctor."

"Almost as unlikely as an immortal medical officer?" she asked, referring to her own uniqueness. Only recently discovering she was the granddaughter of the man currently calling himself "Flint", she had estimated she probably had more than four thousand more years of life.

That gave him a pause. "Well, hopefully more so."

"Then what do you think it is?"

"I’m not sure," answered Sulu, "but I intend to find out." He addressed the open-air intercom mike. "This is the captain speaking. All senior staff officers are to report to the briefing room in five minutes."

"You’re calling a briefing...over this?" Cord asked.

Sulu smiled and remembered something that James T. Kirk had once said. "‘You’re the doctor, Doctor. Can you explain this?’"

"Well, no," she admitted, completely unaware that he was quoting his former commanding officer. "But to call a staff meeting?" Her head tilted. "That’s not like you, Hikaru. Usually, you’re the one who makes the decisions and solves the problems without our input."

He winked at her and smiled broadly. "I’ve been working on that."

Five minutes later, Sulu strode into the briefing room and was pleased to see that his senior officers were all present. He glanced around the room: Executive Officer Janice Rand, Captain of Engineering Deneice Maliszewski, Chief Helm Officer Boris Lojur, Chief Navigator Linda Parker, Security Chief Brai, Chief Tactical Officer Peterson and pro tem Chief Science Officer Tuvok were all at their usual seats.

"Good afternoon," Sulu said as he slid into his seat and Cord slid into hers. "I called this rather impromptu senior staff meeting because of one thing and one thing alone. We have a little mystery here that, well, I want solved." He punched the comlink. "Computer, display transmission image file number 22930827175631."

The image was quickly displayed on the briefing room viewscreen.

Lieutenant Peterson asked the obvious. "Okay, Captain, we see you and a some of the crew. Hey, Ensign Rosen’s a cadet there, so it’s from some time ago. What’s so mysterious about that?"

"Let’s see if someone who’s been on board longer than three months can guess, Mister," Sulu pursed his lips in disapproval. He glanced around the table, and all eyes seemed focused on the image...except for Tuvok’s. He seemed to be staring blankly at the image as if trying to discern some trick, some deception on the captain’s part.

Maliszewski answered, "Well, I’d guess it’s from around three years ago. Cadet Farley there was on bridge rotation at that time. He left Starfleet two and a half years ago when his mother passed away. He was the oldest brother, and he had to take care of his younger siblings."

Sulu nodded. "I remember." He glanced at Tuvok and waited. Still nothing was forthcoming from the Vulcan.

Janice Rand spoke up. "Isn’t that from Khitomer orbit? We had stopped the Klingons from destroying the Enterprise, beamed down and stopped that renegade admiral and some Marine colonel from killing the president of the Federation."

Sulu nodded. "Very good, Janice. It’s hard to perceive something like this because this was not your point of view. Notice anything else? Something unusual?"

"Unusual?" asked Rand.

"Captain, it’s probably out of line but I’d like to ask ‘Unusual in what way?’" said Peterson. "I don’t want to be presumptuous here, being the newest senior officer and all, but I mean, what are you looking at that you want us to see?"

"Someone that’s out of place," explained Sulu. The captain turned to Tuvok. "All right, Ensign. Who’s out of place?"

"Tuvok," interjected Maliszewski. "He would’ve been there."

Sulu blinked in surprise, realizing that she had a valid point. "Tuvok isn’t there because he was stationed at Science Three which is forward of the ship-to-ship imaging system." The captain’s eyes turned to the Vulcan. "Who’s there that shouldn’t be?"

"Dmitri Valtane," answered the acting chief science officer. "I am...at a loss as to how to explain this. He died on Stardate—"

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Rand, startled. "That’s right! He died weeks before the battle above Khitomer!"

"So how is it possible that he’s here in this recording?" asked Sulu. "That’s why I’ve called this impromptu meeting."

"Logically," said Tuvok, "he cannot possibly be there, so it bears to reason that it’s not him. Merely someone who resembles him."

Sulu spoke through the comlink. "Computer, isolate the figure on the left of this image. Zoom in, and sharpen the image."

The image zoomed in on Dmitri Valtane.

"Oh my God," whispered Rand.

Linda Parker leaned forward as if trying to perceive a trick of light. "Perhaps someone has superimposed his image into the recording."

Security Chief Brai now spoke into his comlink. "Computer, is there any evidence that this image has been altered? Microbyte level analysis, please."

There was a brief pause, and then the computer answered, "Negative. Image has not been altered."

Sulu tapped the table pointedly with the end of his stylus. "Lieutenant, I am not incompetent. I’ve already had the image analyzed. It’s genuine. The image from the Enterprise-A’s reception file matches the image from the Excelsior’s transmission files down to the microbyte level. I’m just not sure how this is possible."

"It isn’t," Janice Rand said decisively. "That man is an impostor. We’d just beamed up from Khitomer. Maybe one of those rogue Starfleet officers assumed his identity in order to get beamed aboard and infiltrate the ship."

"And no one notices? Not the transporter chief? Not the ship’s computer? Not you or I or the captain? I think that’s unlikely," disagreed Cord.

Sulu tapped the table again. "Let’s hear everyone out, Doc." He turned to his chief engineer. "Deneice?"

"Temporal anomaly," she suggested. "The plasma rupture which Science One exploded punched a microrift in the space-time continuum, and his image— not Valtane himself—was preserved in that rift through photonic retention," suggested Maliszewski. "Then the explosion of the Klingon bird of prey disrupted the space-time continuum again, and the microrift released the photons, and Valtane appeared on the bridge for the few seconds the message was being transmitted."

Sulu blinked repeatedly, then raised an eyebrow. "Interesting..."

Tuvok’s voice came from across the table. "I must—"

Lieutenant Peterson rolled his eyes. "What a load of tribble shit!" he mumbled under his breath.

The captain tapped the stylus a bit more loudly this time. "The purpose of an investigation like this is to examine all the possibilities. Right now, we’re just listing the possibilities we will examine, Ensign. We’ll weed out the unlikely ones soon enough. Save your argument for that time."

"Yes, Captain."

The captain turned to his security chief. "All right, Lieutenant Brai, your turn."

"A shapeshifter such as an Antosian, Chameloid or a Vendorian. Captain Kirk’s report from his internment on Rura Penthe includes mention of a Chameloid in league with the Klingons running the prison camp. Perhaps she was not alone," answered the big Rigelian Kaylar.

"Good point. Doctor Cord?"

The chief medical officer shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "I’d shoot this one down, too, but it goes along with what Janice was suggesting. It would not be terribly difficult to surgically alter the appearance of an operative and place him aboard the Excelsior. But they made a mistake. They placed him onboard not knowing Dmitri was already dead."

"Not a bad theory, by the way," Rand conceded, putting aside her personal dislike of Cord. "We’d maintained communications silence for a few weeks there, you know. The log report of Valtane’s death hadn’t even been transmitted to Starfleet Command."

"Agreed," Sulu conceded. "All right, Mister Peterson. Now that you know what the problem with the image is, what’s your theory? How is this possible?"

"Two words: Evil Twin," answered the tactical officer.

"‘Evil Twin’?" asked Sulu as eyebrows curled all around the room in disapproval.

"Sure," the lieutenant answered, "everyone’s got an evil twin. This is Dmitri’s. Somehow he’s on board, no doubt to usurp ship operations whenever possible."

Sulu stared at the young, dark-haired man for a few seconds placidly.

Commander Rand, though, was almost beet-red in anger. "Lieutenant, if the captain ever wants a flippant answer, he’ll ask for it. I promise. But if you don’t have anything of value to add to this discussion, you can either keep your mouth shut or you can leave. And you can expect a reprimand added to my log this afternoon."

Peterson said nothing, but the looks he received from the others around the briefing room table told him how they all felt. Castigated, he lowered his eyes, folded his hands on his lap, and said, "My apologies, Captain."

Her reprimand complete, Sulu turned to his chief navigation officer, Linda Parker. "Lieutenant, what’s your theory?"

"Actually, Mister Peterson’s remark, though uncalled for," she shot an angry glare at the tactical officer, "may not be far off the mark. What if this Dmitri Valtane is his counterpart from the mirror universe, or an alternate universe?"

"An interesting notion, but it begs to ask two questions: What would he be doing there? Why would he risk being seen?"

Parker shrugged. "I can’t answer you that, sir. Just brainstorming, as it were."

Sulu nodded. "Ensign Tuvok, your analysis, please?"

"Being a Vulcan, I am uncomfortable about voicing ungrounded theories, but as everyone else has done so, I gather it will be expected of me. However, I must respectfully decline, Captain. There is no evidence other than this visual record on which one could base a conclusion," the young man replied.

"I understand, Ensign. Thank you." The captain turned to his chief helm officer. "Boris, your turn."

The taciturn middle aged man shook his head slightly. "You’re not going to like my answer, Skipper, anymore than I or anyone else here cared for Mister Peterson’s."

Sulu smiled slightly. "And any more than I don’t like the fact that we’ve got a mystery here?" he asked wryly.

Lojur chuckled softly. "Okay, then, I will give you my answer. Understand," he addressed the group of his peers, "that I was raised in Armenia, which is still a rather backwater region of Earth. The people there are a superstitious lot, and my upbringing reflects this."

"So what do you think it is?" asked the captain, extremely curious.

"A ghost."

Sulu leaned back, crossing one arm across his chest while bringing the hand of the other up to his chin, massaging it gently while pondering Lojur’s suggested solution. He sighed deeply, slowing drawing his hand up to the bridge of his nose which he clasped between forefinger and thumb.

"Everyone’s had their say," Janice Rand said. "What do you think, Skipper?"

"I think that you’ve all given me a lot to think about," Sulu decided. "I’d like everyone to see if you can produce any evidence which could back up your theory," he glanced at Lojur, "far-flung or not."

Several eyes blinked in surprise. A few eyebrows raised, a few heads turned. Sulu was rarely the sort of captain who ended a meeting without a conclusion to the problem. Of course, he was rarely the sort of captain who even invited his officers’ input into his command decisions. This was just not like the captain as they were used to him being, and it showed on their faces.

Sulu smiled at the reaction. "Dismissed."

Kang snapped awake with a roar, the memory of his son’s horrific death screams echoing in his mind. There is nothing so devastating to a father than the death of a child, and Kurzon, his only beloved son, had died a terrible death.

The Albino would pay dearly for this ungodly crime against three innocent children! He’d almost paid two months ago, but that interloping Federation scoutship got in the way at the last minute! Damn them!

Kang looked around his quarters. Glancing at the chronometer, he knew that Mara would be on duty by now. It didn’t matter. They had not shared a bed since the death of their only child.

The door to the cabin opened, and Mara entered. Kang lay quietly in his bunk, feigning sleep. What was Mara doing here when she should be on duty?

He watched through slitted eyelids in the darkness as she stared at his form, as if contemplating some dark action. Finally, he saw the spark of a decision being made on her face. She drew her d’k tagh from her breastplate. She clicked it open, and stepped silently toward Kang’s still form.

She drew her arm up, as if to strike the dagger deep into his chest. As her arm came down, he caught her wrist easily mere inches before the blade pierced him. His fury smoldered barely under control, and he swiftly swung his legs around, sitting up. He crushed her wrist, and yet she did not drop the blade.

"So, you have decided to give me an honorable retirement," he concluded. "May I ask why, my wife?"

"I think you know, Kang." She gestured toward the empty crib. Kurzon’s crib. "Is it not enough that my son was killed? Is it not enough that he has not yet been avenged? Is it not enough that you have not been a man with me since? Is it not that you are already dead?"

He struck her with the back of his gauntleted hand, and she was flung against the far wall of their quarters. "I am not dead, wife. But you may soon wish I were."

"Then kill me, husband. I will not be married to a ghost, a mere shadow of the great man who took me as his mate."

"Arghhhh!" he screamed in anger. He withdrew his own d’k tagh and strode menacingly for her.

She stood up straight, proud. "This is the most life I have seen in you since our child was taken from us." She opened her breast plate and bared her bosom for him. "Strike me. Kill me. Send me to the afterlife of Sto-Vo-Kor. At least I will die an honorable death rather than die this lingering death with you."

He clicked the d’k tagh open and pressed the point to her right nipple. "Is that what you truly think, wife? Am I truly dead? Can you not feel my blade?" He pressed it into her, not quite enough to draw blood.

"The blade I want is not made of steel and tempered with water. It is made of flesh and tempered with blood and love and lust." She met his eyes defiantly. "I married a man who is but little more than a shell of what he was. I deserve better, and the man I married would know that."

He withdrew his blade and sighed.

"Stop it!" She struck him with her fist. "Stop it! Stop it!! STOP IT!!!" She pounded her fists on his chest and snarled, "Are you some pathetic Human that you hiss and sigh like a weakling? Where is my husband, for you are not he!"

He struck her, and she returned his blow. He grabbed her by the throat. "You will not address me that way, wife."

"I am not your wife. My husband was Kang, Admiral, mightiest of the Kh’teb warriors, who stood in challenge against the greatest Kh’myr warriors that could be bred. Kang, who survived unbelievable torment in a cell on the prison planet, Kragyr. Kang, who secured peace amongst the Klingon peoples by establishing the D’Har." She spat on his face. "You are not he."

He stepped back and wiped her spittle from his beard. "As always, my wife, you have a way of cutting through the targh dung." He regarded her intently. "I have dwelt on death for far too long." He withdrew his disruptor pistol and took aim at Kurzon’s empty crib. He opened fire and lay waste to the crib and any other remembrances of their child. He holstered his weapon as the alarms blared.

The doors burst open. Two guards entered, weapons drawn. "Admiral! What—"

"We’re just redecorating our quarters. Have a repair detail report in five minutes."

The two guards looked in confusion at their commander—and even longer at his bare-breasted mate—but said nothing other than, "Yes, my lord!" before leaving.

"And now what?" she asked.

"Let us see if we can mete out some vengeance for our loss." He regarded her with interest. "Afterwards..."

He unbuckled his chest plate and stepped toward her, his loins stirring.

Five minutes later when the detail arrived, the couple was still going at it, and it was another hour before they allowed the repair crew inside.

The Albino was not a happy man. Sitting here in his study, at a rock-hewn desk and chair, he was not at ease. And it was not all due to his aching leg either. On the monitors placed against the wall of the dry cave that served as his office, he looked on at his guests as they arrived with raw hatred.

He was being hunted again, and again by his old foes: Kang, Kor and Koloth. His ships were being attacked, and whether or not he hid in Federation space, it did not matter to his pursuers. The Klingon Empire’s three greatest commanders had made his life difficult. Only a few months ago, they had nearly shot out his ship from underneath him. He had managed to escape only by shielding himself behind a hapless Federation scoutship, no doubt thinking he was trying to prevent an unwarranted Klingon attack on his ship. Idiots, he snorted. By maneuvering his ship behind that one, the Klingons’ weapon systems had little chance of targeting him accurately. Still, the damage to his cruiser was extensive, and the injury to his leg was nearly crippling. And they would pay dearly for that.

He looked and saw that the last of his guests had arrived, and he now considered them briefly:

The aging, balding, thin Human with eyes of blue steel was Admiral Yves Gervais, Starfleet Intelligence, and rumored to be leader of something far more sinister. The entire assassination of Gorkon, the attempted assassination of the Federation president had no doubt been orchestrated by Gervais and those loyal to him, including Admiral Cartwright and Colonel West. He chuckled as he wondered if Commander-Starfleet Lystra Davis knew her Intelligence Director was the very person who was the greatest danger Federation had.

The typically heavy-built, knot-headed Kh’myr Klingon was General Kiran, Klingon Ministry of Intelligence, a ruthless man whose enemies had an unfortunate tendency to die of horrible accidents, often involving transporters or air vehicles. He was an accomplice of General Chang who had been killed above Khitomer in a heroically tragic battle against superior Federation forces.

Admiral Nunosan, Head of the Tal Shiar, Romulan Imperial Intelligence Service, whose name was the most feared in the Empire. He had had his own brother, Ambassador Nanclus, extradited, arrested and executed for failing to succeed in his mission to prevent a Federation/Klingon treaty.

T’Lera, Director of V’Shar, the Vulcan Security Agency, a seeming pacifist like all Vulcans, but a bloodthirsty murderess at heart. She was always seeking a means for Vulcan to withdraw from the Federation. Reputedly, her forces were seeking some sort of Vulcan mental weapon, but her efforts were, to date, relatively unsuccessful.

Kryton, Sire of Subterfuge, K’zinti Patriarchy, a sniveling coward, but a clever and dangerous opponent. Nearly three decades ago, it had been his operatives that had briefly obtained but later lost to their own stupidity a Slaver weapon of almost limitless power.

Master Shinas, the rogue leader of the Andorian League of Assassins, an evil man who delighted in the clever ways he could dispatch his foes. According to rumor, he had been working on a new type of energy draining weapon that would absorb the life-force of those struck by its beam.

The Director of the Barrier Alliance Consortium—now calling itself the Orion Syndicate—was historically regarded as the most ruthless villain in the known galaxy. Dressed in a solid black hood and tight-fitting coveralls, he was not the same man who was the ultimate thorn in the Federation’s side nearly forty years ago. He was not the same man who caused the Federation to establish "The Orion Barrier," a permanent blockade of the old Orion Empire. He was a pretender to the throne, and not even a reasonable facsimile. The Broks were dead, both father and daughter. However, he was still a force to be reckoned with. And he had the most funding available with his lucrative income from drug trafficking, sexual slavery and mercenaries.

And lastly, but certainly not the least, Dah!Qa!~on, Overseer of Information and Terror, Breen Confederacy. His presence here was astonishing to The Albino, but he was glad for it. Everyone present kept casting cautious glances toward the Breen whose body was concealed in the environmental suit it had to wear in order to keep its body cool.

Yes, he had a good audience for his presentation today.

He chuckled, gathered his datachits and limped, using the cane his physician had insisted he use, into the adjacent cavern where his guests were waiting.

"Greetings, my fellow scoundrels. Welcome to my humble abode," he called for their attention.

Suspiciously, they moved to face him, casually, cautiously, ever wary of each other and the threats they all posed to each other. Many of those gathered— most of them, actually—were sworn enemies, and all of them detested each other.

"What’ve you got up your sleeve today, Albino?" demanded Kiran.

"Bronk-mennnp-guuuuuuunnnnk," intoned Dah!Qa!~on in typical Breen arrogance. "Gnnnnnnnnniiiiiiiii thopppppppp," it added for good measure.

The Albino chortled. "More than you could possible imagine, Dah!Qa!~on. And more than you could possible afford, Kiran."

Gervais sighed. "I’m not one to be trifled with, Albino. Show your wares, name your price, and let’s get on to business. Otherwise I might have to call in reinforcements and place everyone here under arrest."

"Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!" laughed Shinas. "Yourself included, I’m sure."

He smiled as he watched all of them eye him cautiously as he signaled for his staff and sat down in a large stuffed chair, grateful to take the weight off his still-healing leg. The staff served large goblets of the MinTala Masein. His smiled widened as he watched them sniff the thick golden liquid carefully. Hell, if he had been one of them, he’d be suspicious of anything served to him. Poison was a frequent assassin’s tool after all.

The Andorian tilted his head, relishing the fragrance from the liqueurs that were wafting toward his sensory organs. "How did you manage to obtain Orion draka nut oil syrup? I hear that the folks on Eta Orionis Fourteen regulate it closely."

"Oh, it is. But," the Albino sniffed the heady fragrance then sipped the mixture slowly to appreciate the taste, "as you know, if I want something, I get it."

"That is true," the Director of the Orion Syndicate nodded from under his hood as he savored the drink.

Kryton sniffed, then lapped the golden fluid. His tail curled around appreciatively. "You have not overdone the rum or the brandy as many are wont to do to. Thus all three complement each other."

"I’m glad you approve." The Albino stood, still favoring his injured leg. "I promised the bartender his life if he succeeded."

"And his gonads wrapped in koza leaves and served to him for his last meal if he failed, no doubt," Gervais snorted.

"Of course," the Albino bowed to the admiral.

"You didn’t call us here just to let us enjoy ourselves, did you?" Kiran snapped. He didn’t like the topic of the discussion, preferring to cause the horrible deaths of his luckless foes with his own hands. Arranging "accidents," like torture itself, could be such an enjoyable past time.

"I called you here for dinner," the Albino stated. "A civilized act. I prefer to conduct some businesses in a more—cultured—setting."

And while his enemies often were killed through cleverly arranged catastrophes, Kiran was an old school Klingon: Hack and destroy with one’s bare hands or crude weapons, thinking that the only way to wreak havoc and dread was by brute force. He should visit his three nemeses. He’d see there were other ways to create terror and dread in one’s enemies.

"We will dine, and talk, and then, after dessert, we will discuss business. As civilized people do."

Leading the party into the dining room, he noted that again, they avoided moving too close to each other. He was glad that he had had the larger table installed. Made it easier to seat this motley crew without having to hire mercenaries to stop possible bloodshed.

Sitting at the head of the table he signaled again, and the servants brought in the appetizer to whet their appetite and to help finish off the Masein. Then another signal brought in the main course. Courses. With so many different preferences, he was not about to have one or the other get upset because their tastes were ignored. The discussion stayed on innocuous topics that all could speak about and not cause a near riot. Not that they were really enjoying the conversation, if he was to judge by the way that the knives were hacking apart the meat and the forks were spearing whatever was on the plate. As he had pointed out, they were all gentlemen and ladies. Cutthroats, assassins, thieves, slavers, and worse, but still, gentlemen and ladies.

The Albino lifted a finger and the servants brought in the dessert, a strange concoction of Earth chocolate, Orion coconut and Romulan sweet sauce. With it he served a variation of the Masein. Instead of rum and brandy, it had Orion crème de cacao and Saurian brandy with the draka nut oil syrup. Just the right touch to bring out the various flavors of the dessert.

Once dessert was finished, he stood and marched back to the den where they’d first enjoyed the Masein.

Another finger lifted signaling the staff to bring in the after dinner drink. Another variation of Masein. The Albino sat once again in his easy chair. A look at the group sent them to finding chairs to sit in.

All comfortable. The staff served each as they sat, leaving a tray at their elbow.

"Now," demanded the giant Klingon, "why have you brought us here?"

"It is time," T’Lera nodded. "While I appreciate the delicacies that you have procured and provided, I, too, must insist that business now be conducted. Our absence will soon be noticed."

The Albino nodded his understanding. He savored the drink then looked at the group. "Biogenic weapons."

Nunosan stared at him over his goblet. "You cannot be serious!"

"Quite serious," the Albino leaned back and sipped his drink.

Shinas glared at the Albino, not impressed by the topic. "Doesn’t seem a fair way to dispatch one’s victim."

"It depends," the Albino conceded.

"On what?" Gervais demanded.

"On how clever of a way you choose the method of delivery." The Albino took another sip with a grin.

"Indeed," Shinas agreed.

"I’ve arranged a demonstration for you," the Albino added.

"A demonstration of your cleverness or of the efficacy of the biogenic weapon?" asked T’Lera, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.

The Albino laughed. "Both!"

T’Lera raised a second eyebrow, then stood and walked to a side bar and placed her half-filled goblet on it.

Kiran roared in laughter as he tossed down the last of the drink and put the empty glass on waiting tray. "Vulcan coward," he belched. "He’d be a fool to infect one of us, or any of us, for that matter." He belched again and grinned widely at his host. He didn’t notice the shocked look of the others as he grinned toothily. "And the Albino is..."

Kiran stopped, suddenly feeling lightheaded. And a burning in his belly. And an uncharacteristic weakness in his limbs. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then stared at the streak on the back of his hand. Blood. His blood. He stood and pulled his d’k tagh as he advanced on the white Klingon. He staggered almost drunkenly, then stumbled, landing at the feet of the Albino. "No!" he managed to roar.

The Albino kicked the body of the Klingon away from his chair with his good foot and took another sip from his chalice.

The Director turned his head to face the Albino. "What is the transmission vector?"

"Ingestion, obviously," Kryton stood and advanced forward. "The only question is, which food item did you put it in since...." Then he, too, fell over dead, his body twitching slightly, blood oozing from his nose and mouth.

In alarm, the remaining guests drew their concealed weapons and raised them against the Albino.

"Now, now, my friends," he one hand placatingly. "Just settling two very old scores."

"How many more scores will you settle today?" asked Gervais.

"Just one more, Yves." The Albino put his now-empty goblet on the waiting tray. He laced his fingers together, letting the index fingers steeple. His hands moved slowly. The index fingers pointed at the Human. "You."

"Me?" Gervais suddenly staggered. He tried aiming the phaser and pulling the trigger, but found himself too weak to move. Blood trickled down his face from his nose. There was moisture in his pants. A look at the front of his pants showed it was not urine or semen. Blood. The weapon dropped to the floor as he wiped his face. "You and I have never crossed paths. Why?"

"Because Admiral, I rather liked Sienna Gillette."

Gervais’ eyes were beginning to glass over. "The news bimbo?" With that question, Yves Gervais was dead.

The Albino stood. Stepping over Kiran and Kryton, he limped over to the body. "Yes, that ‘news bimbo’ was one of my key operatives in Federation territory. That mindwipe you did on her lost me my control over Intergalactic News Service mogul Brad Bashaw as well as my in with Starfleet Operations. It’ll take years to replace her." He sneered. "As Sienna always said, Yves, ‘payback’s a bitch.’" The Albino kicked Gervais’ lifeless form. "And she was a great piece of ass, Yves."

The Albino turned and faced the surviving members of his dinner party. "Now, where were we?" He frowned a moment, then smiled. "Oh, yes. Biogenic weapons."

"Tohhhhhhhnnnnnnnnn fffffffffeeeeeeeeeennnnnnnn brap zzzzziiiiin?" asked Dah!Qa!~on in a tone of voice that told the Albino that he was pleased not to be among the dead.

"Why the Romulans, as a matter of fact," the Albino answered truthfully.

Nunosan protested, "We did no such thing! We abandoned all research into biogenics weapons when our key researcher fell victim to it."

"Quite true. The blood catalyst of Sarnac Three developed by Doctor T’oraq was simply mishandled. Using that biogenic weapons technology, my scientific team was able to successfully convert the blood catalyst into a full-fledged plasma plague."

"Then we are all infected," concluded T’Lera. She brandished her weapon dangerously. "I will pull the trigger at the first sign of autonomic distress in my physiology."

"I don’t doubt that you will, my Vulcan vixen, but Kryton was correct. You’d have to ingest it to become infected. Actually you have to ingest both parts: the organism, then the catalyst to activate it. I made sure that only the ones I wanted were given both. Surely you saw that each of you had a specific person serving you. That way only the ones I wanted killed were killed. And this form is not contagious. However, for my next demonstration, we will be using an airborne version of the same plasma catalyst. The results will be most...spectacular, I assure you."

"And who do you intend to die for this particular demonstration?" asked Shinas, an Andorian flabbjellah in his hand.

"Well, perhaps you’re aware of my recent...difficulties with the Klingon Empire."

"We’re aware that you killed the first born sons of Kor, Kang and Koloth, and that they have sworn a blood oath against you."

"Yes, well, I’ve been rather displeased with the Klingon Empire for allowing this to go on. Therefore, I have chosen a Klingon target."

"Qo’noS itself perhaps?" Nunosan asked hopefully.

"Guuuunnnnnn blan torrrrrrr zop jinnnnnn," commented Dah!Qa!~on dryly.

The Albino roared with laughter. "I had no idea that you two were so blood thirsty."

"And if your demonstration works, and you cause mass death, how will it profit us?" the Director asked bluntly.

"Because, dear sir, if each of us has this biogenic weapon at our disposal, just think how much the governments of the galaxy will pay us to spare their worlds!"

"Nnnnnnnn voooooo pop reeeeeeeeen," Dah!Qa!~on joked.

"Quite so!" the Director agreed. "Maybe the price the Federation pays will make up for the decades of lost profit for my operations."

"And if it doesn’t, you can always wipe out Earth," T’Lera added.

"Or take the money and wipe them out anyway," Nunosan quipped.

Laughter resounded throughout the cavern.

Lifting his goblet, the Albino stated, "I would say this requires a toast, don’t you?"

Kang leaned back in his command seat and watched the stars move on the view screen. For the first time in months he felt alive. He let a smile play on his face as he felt the stares on his back. Even his crew could tell the admiral was back from the gates of Sto-vo-kor. His entire demeanor was now animated, alive. Even his gait had a bounce that had long been missing.

Granted, he could partially thank his wife for her assassination attempt that finally broke him from his lethargy and grief. He hated to admit to himself that he had acted more like a Human at the loss of his son than a Klingon, but he had. It had not been an easy pregnancy for his wife. Nearly losing her even as she gave him his son. The midwife and doctor had had to work near miracles to keep her alive. And they both cautioned her against any more pregnancies.

Still, in typical Klingon behavior, she had come to his bed and was planning on giving him another son for the House. And another child for her to cherish.

Kang let his mind wander back to the day that young Kurzon died. In his arms. Struggling to draw in air, turning a dusky hue before shuddering in a death throe and, after a final strangled scream, cease to draw breath.

Kang had stood, the still-warm body in his arms and walked out to the courtyard where he stood and howled in anger and anguish. Then he put the cooling body of his now-dead son on the stone bench and walked into the house, his steps automatic and the blood oath uttered by rote.

Kang let himself remember that pain even as he pushed the other emotions back where they’d been banished. He needed to remember the pain, so that when the time came, he could inflict that, and more, on the assassin of innocent children.

"A message for you, Admiral," the communications officer announced. "From Admiral Kor."

"I’ll take it in my war room," Kang announced.

"Me and my big mouth," muttered Deneice Maliszewski. "Temporal anomaly, my ass." She snorted.

"What’s that, Chief?" asked Lieutenant Ted Krasnyk, one of the three assistant chief engineers in her department. He’d been with her since she had first started work on the transwarp engines that had failed miserably.

"Nothing, Kras, nothing. I just need to learn to stop being a technobabble-spouting bullshit artist."

Krasnyk vigorously nodded in agreement, and Maliszewski burst out laughing. "I didn’t expect you to agree with me so readily, Kras."

The captain of engineering had been reviewing the sensor log data from three years ago to substantiate her rather preposterous theory that a temporal anomaly had somehow resulted in the image of Dmitri Valtane appearing on the bridge of the Excelsior during a communication transmission to the Enterprise-A.

Actually, she rather liked Peterson’s "evil twin" theory, but conceded that this might be one of those weird things that would end up unsolved, that perhaps Lojur’s "ghost" might end up being the unofficial official answer.

"Anything?" she asked Krasnyk. "I don’t see anything. Do you?"

"Nothing temporal, Chief." He pointed to the data readouts from the bridge during the Klingon attack. "Here’s where the blast shook loose the plasma conduit behind Science One. Here’s where the grid shut itself down, and presumably by this time, Valtane had died. There’s no temporal anomaly. There’s a spike in the plasma column from the rupture, but that can’t account for what you showed me. Heck, it was barely enough to kill him."

"So what is, then? How can Valtane be on the bridge during this transmission to the Enterprise-A?"

"You got me, Chief."

Commander Janice Rand sat in the center seat of the starship Excelsior, en route to Vulcan. Another day and they’d arrive. Not that she’d be happy. To be honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she’d never been happy. Not while aboard the Enterprise some thirty or so years ago as a lowly yeoman with a crush on her commanding officer. Not while aboard the up-rated Enterprise some twenty or more years ago as its chief transporter officer. Not while serving as Junior and later Chief Communications Director of Emergency Operations at Starfleet Command in San Francisco a decade ago. And certainly not here and now aboard this ship while serving as Executive Officer/Chief of Communications.

Hikaru Sulu was aloof, cold, distant. Almost Vulcan, she’d long ago decided. He was always accusing junior officers and green ensigns of being "presumptuous," and they honestly probably were, but there were better ways of handling it than to criticize them in front of the senior officers. She thought back to Captain Kirk’s handling of Chekov and.... Damn it, Sulu is not Jim Kirk! she reminded herself. That’s not fair to either of them!

She glanced around the bridge. Sulu had a good crew. Hell, he had a great crew. Lieutenant Commander Boris Lojur was a Terran male, about forty years old. A seasoned space veteran, he was a quiet, shy, unassuming man whose accent was Armenian, from what Rand could guess. He rarely spoke with anyone outside his department, and never socialized except with the flippant chief tactical officer, Lieutenant Peterson. An odder couple, she couldn’t imagine, but they had been rooming together for three months, since Peterson’s coming aboard, in fact.

She knew that Lojur and Valtane had been lovers, but when she had turned to console him following the ensign’s death, she was stunned to see Lojur hadn’t even reacted when Valtane had died on the bridge in Tuvok’s arms. He was a staunch defender of the captain, though, and a solid second officer. And he certainly didn’t have the charisma or the desire for command of his own ship.

Linda Parker was a relatively inexperienced navigator. She’d originally been in Communications, but was more interested in interstellar navigation rather than her initial field. As a result, she had been granted a post on the bridge by Sulu because, as he explained it to Rand, he had recognized a seed of brilliance in her work. Rand suspected it might have been more from the appreciation he obviously held for her attitude: she was absolutely in love with the idea of interstellar exploration. Rand had to admit that a beautiful, fresh young woman in awe of the universe and all its mysteries was a welcome addition to the bridge crew and especially for every male on duty.

Ensign Tuvok was a Vulcan. All Vulcan. More Vulcan than Spock could ever have hoped to be. But whereas Spock always had struggled to be Vulcan, it came naturally to Tuvok. And with that came an almost annoying set of habits that irritated Sulu to no end. The ensign had served nearly three years aboard the Excelsior, and she had hoped he would be made Chief Science Officer following the deaths of the science team on Muselpheim IV. That was not to be the case, she gathered. Sulu had given the position to the young Vulcan on a pro tem basis only, and Rand assumed he must have someone else waiting in the wings to fill the position.

There was a brief flurry of activity at the communications bay. She turned expectantly as her relief, Ensign Jared Behn, acknowledged a message. "Commander Rand, we’ve receiving orders to divert to Beta Eridani Twelve. Admiral Gervais has died in his sleep, and we’re ordered to transport the remains to Starbase Three for transfer to Earth."

"Admiral Gervais? Of Starfleet Intelligence? What’s he doing off-planet? Or rather, so far off planet?" Rand wondered aloud. "Very well, Commander Lojur, set course for Beta Eridani Twelve."

Boris Lojur nodded. "Yes, Commander."

"Lieutenant Parker, Warp Factor Six," Rand ordered.

"Diverting to Beta Eridani will delay us by two hours from our arrival time at Vulcan."

"Increase speed to Warp Seven, Mister Lojur. Ms. Parker doesn’t want us to keep the ambassador waiting."

The bearded man smiled slightly. "Yes, Commander. Increasing speed to Warp Factor Seven."

Yes, it was a good crew, but it hadn’t jelled yet into a great crew. They worked together reasonably well, but they hadn’t established a rapport, even though they’d been together some five years.

And rightly or wrongly, Janice Rand held Hikaru Sulu responsible for that. She turned to Communication Officer Behn. "Ensign, ask Captain Sulu to report to the bridge."

"Let me get this straight," Captain Hikaru Sulu said to the Yridian on the mainviewer. "You’ve got the corpse of Admiral Yves Gervais of Starfleet Command down there with you, and we’re here to transport the body back to Earth for interment, and yet we still have to pay you for funeral expenses?"

"Oh, yes, yes, yes," the mouse-like Yridian nodded eagerly.

"And the reason for this?"

"Well, we’ve already cremated him, of course. In accordance with local customs."

"How convenient," remarked Tuvok from Science One. "Cremation, of course, will have a deleterious affect on any test Starfleet Medical might wish to make in order to attain the cause of the admiral’s death."

Sulu coughed in surprise. "‘Deleterious,’ you say? Hmm. Did you hear that, Mister Ghan? Your preparation of the body has...well, basically eliminated the need for us to pick up the admiral’s remains."

"That is none of my concern. I expect payment in full for the arrangements I have gone to great lengths to prepare!"

"Well, it seems to me that there’s no need for me to retrieve the remains." He shrugged. "If you want to give the admiral a proper funeral, that’s your decision. You can have him, and you can bill his estate for the services, I’m sure...if you can find someone, of course. Admiral Gervais had no family whatsoever. Helm, set us a course for Vulcan. There’s nothing more we can do here..."

"Wait! Wait!" the Yridian was frantically hopping up and down, arms and paws all akimbo.

"No time, Mister Ghan. We’ve got a schedule to keep, an ambassador to pick-up."

"Perhaps...yes, perhaps a counter offer?"

Sulu shook his head, dismissing the notion completely. "Nonsense. I never haggle. Navigator, plot a course for Vulcan."

"Then perhaps a reasonable fee?"

Again, he shook his head. "There’s nothing reasonable about cremating a body before an autopsy can be done. Your actions have rendered the remains... worthless."

"Ah, woe is me! I had not thought it would matter. Perhaps you could at least reimburse me for his receptacle?" He held up the urn.

"How much?"

"Fifteen hundred credits?"

He snorted with contained laughter. "Fifteen hundred for an ash tray?" He shook his head again with finality. "Helm..."

Seeing the captain’s determination, the Yridian blurted, "No, no, Captain! Fifteen credits. A slip of the tongue. I meant to say fifteen credits."

Sulu feigned mild interest. "Fifteen credits? For an ash tray?"

"But it’s an urn modeled after one of your own planet’s Ming the Merciless Mongo Dynasty!"

Lieutenant Commander Boris Lojur almost fell out of his seat. Rand hissed threateningly at him from the communications bay, and chastised, he assumed an indifferent pose at the helm.

"Well, I don’t know..." Sulu looked as though he were skeptical...with good reason of course. Even he was aware of exactly how far from the truth the Yridian’s claims were.

"Twelve credits."

He nodded his assent. "Twelve credits."

"There will be a slight fee for transporting the remains—"

"No, there won’t. Helm, engage—"

"—which we will, of course, waive on your behalf."

"Tell you what. We’ll beam it up for you right now." He nodded at Tuvok who relayed the coordinates to the transporter chief. A few seconds later, the urn dematerialized.

"And my credits?"

"We’re transferring twelve credits into your account now, Mister Ghan. Thank you for doing business with us."

The mouse-like Yridian twitched its nose and shook his head sadly. "I would thank you for not doing business with me again."

"I’ll do my best to accommodate you, Mister Ghan." He cut the transmission. "Bridge to Transporter Room One. Chief Hamilton?"

"The remains are secure, sir. I’ve called for a security honor guard to escort them to Sickbay."

"Very well. Thanks, Chief." He chuckled. "Helm, get us out of here before someone decides to charge us a departure fee."

"Aye, sir."

Sulu thumbed the intercom button. "Bridge to Sickbay."

"Sickbay, Doctor Viger here."

"Doc, the cremated remains of Admiral Gervais are on their way to Sickbay. I’d like as comprehensive of an autopsy as you can do on those remains."

The Bolian’s voice came back with undisguised amusement. "You expect to autopsy a pile of ashes which may or may not be the remains of Admiral Gervais."

"Yes, Doctor, I do. At the very least, you can perform whatever tests you can on it. Starfleet wants a complete report as soon as you’re finished."

"Then I shall do my utmost to comply with your order, Captain."

"Why...thank you, Doctor Viger," he added with a droll expression. Sarcasm was almost always lost on a Bolian.

"You’re most welcome, Captain Sulu. By the way, I’ve been meaning to set up an appointment with you to go over several improvements in policies and procedures I’d like to implement."

Sulu rolled his eyes, grateful that the communications were audio only. The ingratiating nature of Bolians always annoyed him, and he had no doubt that Viger would suggest enough revisions to procedures and policies to such an extent that Ariel Cord would become apoplectic. "Certainly, Doctor Viger, I’m always open to suggestions. Schedule an appointment for next week with my yeoman."

"Of course, Captain, I look forward to it."

"As do I, I’m sure," Sulu said with a straight face. "Bridge out."

As he heard his executive officer laugh, he spun the center seat to face her. "Laugh it up, Janice. So how’s the search for clues to solve our mystery going?"

Rand stopped laughing. "I, uh, haven’t gotten started on it."

"Let’s do it, Janice. I’m not kidding when I say I want this cleared up."

"Yes, Captain."

"I have a suggestion for you, Tuvok and Brai, though."

"And that would be?" asked Brai from Security, walking over to stand next to Rand.

"Indeed?" remarked the Vulcan as he approached.

"Sound General Quarters Four, Intruder Alert. Use the ship’s scanners to identify every individual on board. Are we extra a crewman?"

"Logical," said Tuvok. "I would also suggest that we have all Vulcans on board, myself included, examined by Sickbay personnel to verify that we are, in fact, who we say we are."

"Why Vulcans?" asked Brai.

Tuvok turned and explained, "Four months ago on the Enterprise, a Romulan infiltrator was discovered on the bridge. He had been surgically altered to resemble a Vulcan."

Sulu nodded. "According to a high-level report Starfleet issued to its starship commanders, the Romulan took his own life while in detention rather than face interrogation. The investigation continues."

"As does ours. I suggest we have the unannounced drill at 0300 ship’s time, Captain," said Brai. "If there is an infiltrator aboard the Excelsior, it’ll be easier to flush him out in the middle of the night."

"Let’s do it."

"An ‘evil twin’?" Linda Parker asked again in disbelief.

She was seated at a table in the Forward Rec Deck of the Excelsior. Across from her sat the ship’s tactical officer. They were dining on cheeseburgers, fries and milkshakes from the ship’s dining hall. It wasn’t often that she would treat herself to such a high fat content meal, just often enough to reward herself, in fact. But Peterson seemed to thrive on them, and she couldn’t resist the temptation herself when dining with him.

Ryan Peterson shrugged. "Okay, I’ve got to admit it wasn’t my best moment. All right? I admit it. Let’s just leave it at that, Linda, okay?"

"An ‘evil twin’?" she repeated. She narrowed her eyes then let go with a swift but playful kick to his shin.

"Ouch!" Peterson hollered. "What’d you do that for?"

"It wasn’t me," she replied sweetly. "It was my evil twin."

"All right, all right. I may have deserved that, I admit it. Now, can we change the subject?"

"All right," she agreed. "Let’s figure out this mystery. Maybe that will restore you in the captain’s eyes."

Peterson snorted. "Well, it’s not like I’ve ever been in his favor, now has it? I mean, since I came aboard three months ago, everything I’ve said has not been, well, shall we say ‘well received’...by the captain, now has it? ‘Rather presumptuous for a new member of my crew to suggest this or that, don’t you think, Lieutenant?’" He mimicked the captain remarkably well, she noted. "‘I’ve had enough of Mister Peterson today, Commander Rand. Send for his relief.’"

"That’s not going to wash with me, Ryan," answered the navigator. "You give these protracted, self-demeaning yet utterly flippant answers to any question he asks, and you can’t understand why he gets angry with you." She sighed and reached out her hand, putting it over his. "What ever am I going to do with you?"

He slowly withdrew his hand from hers, much to her dismay. "I have a feeling I know what you want to do with me, but I’m involved. You know that."

She smiled. "Can’t blame a girl for trying. Besides, I just can’t picture you and Boris. Heck, I can’t picture anyone with Boris."

Peterson shrugged. "Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Linda."

"I am trying to try it," she smiled. "Back to the mystery. So, is there anyway you can think of to prove there’s an impostor on board?"

"I’ve been thinking we can check the transporter logs and see if they add up."

"How so?"

"Well, if say an infiltrator came aboard by transporter, it’ll show up that we had more people beam up than we had beamed down. Secondly, both Medical and Security scans the number of crew aboard every two hours. If someone did come aboard, they’d only have about thirty to forty-five minutes to come aboard as Valtane, get caught on the holovid feed to the Enterprise-A, and then eliminate another person before the security and med scans report an incongruity."

"Unless this person has an accomplice already on board," she argued.

"Agreed," Peterson conceded.

"I think we need to bring Tuvok and Brai up to date on this discussion as well as the captain."

"He’s not going to be receptive to anything I might suggest."

"Now who’s being unfair?" she asked, smiling.

He sighed. "Touché."

Chief Medical Officer Ariel Cord ran her feinberger over the powdery, chunky ashes of what was reputed to be the cremated remains of Admiral Yves Gervais. She repressed a shudder of revulsion, but continued with the grisly task.

She spoke into the open comlink. "Computer, analysis, please."

"Working," the computer responded.

"Doctor Cord, you must realize that this is going to be a pointless exercise," Doctor Viger opined.

"This is why you’re not Chief Medical Officer, Dars," she shook the feinberger at him to make her point. "You’re unwilling to attempt the pointless when your commanding officer has ordered it."

The Bolian threw his arms up into the air. "But I already told you the results. The ashes have some hydrogen, carbon, nitrogen and oxygen compounds, but that can be roughly translated to 54% calcium, 29% phosphorus, 6.5% potassium, 4.5% sodium, 4.3% chlorine, 1.1% magnesium and measurable quantities of rubidium, iron, zinc, boron and cobalt. In other words, it’s very likely that our subject was a human born and raised on Earth and had a rubidium transponder."

"And I never had any doubts that our subject here wasn’t Human, Dars. I want to know if we can make any determination about his identity. For example, the likelihood that this is Admiral Gervais is increased by the analysis. Humans raised on other planets have different quantities of metallic salts in their systems. Heck, there’s no Technetium in his system, so we know he’s not native to Xartheb."

"Agreed," conceded Viger.

"Analysis completed," announced the computer.

"Okay, girl, here’s a softball for you," Cord said. "Given the subject was a Human male, at what temperature was the body cremated?"

"Based upon the analysis of the residual organic compounds, the subject was cremated at 600° to 625° Celsius."

"And that’s too high for a DNA strand to withstand!" stated the Bolian doctor authoritatively.

"Computer, scan for bone or teeth fragments."

"Located seventy-three fragments ranging in size from one millimeter to two millimeters. No larger fragments surviving."

"In other words, the cremated body was pulverized."

"Probability greater than ninety percent," the computer commented.

"Isolate the largest surviving fragment," Cord ordered. "Extract from sample and deep scan for DNA."

A probe arm came down from the instrument package overhead, and inserted a small instrument into the ashes. A second later, it retracted and placed the instrument into the biocomp unit next to the lab table. Then the arm withdrew back into the overhead compartment.

"Analysis complete."

"Report," ordered Viger. Cord glanced approvingly at the Bolian who now seemed intrigued.

"Analysis confirms a fragment of Human DNA present."

"Can you do an analysis on the DNA to determine the identity of the individual?" asked Viger.

"Negative. Fragment is incomplete."

"See?" the Bolian said. "A waste of our time."

"Doctor, you are an idiot," Cord said, tired of her assistant. "Computer, report on DNA analysis. What can you tell me about this individual?"

"Analysis of fragment reveals the subject was a Human male. Based on the degree and pattern of gene methylation, subject is estimated as being approximately sixty to seventy years of age. Subject had the male pattern baldness gene, and the subject has a seventy percent probability of having blue eyes. Subject also has a sixty-two percent probability of being less than six feet in height."

Cord raised an eyebrow in triumph. "Computer, display on monitor an image of Admiral Yves Gervais."

The short, thin admiral with blue eyes and thinning hair appeared on the screen.

"Computer, what is the likelihood that the cremated subject was, in fact, Admiral Gervais?" asked Viger.

"A remote possibility. Odds are approximately four million to one against," reported the computer.

"Wrong question, Dars." She sighed deeply. "Computer, does Admiral Gervais fit the characteristics yielded by the DNA analysis?"

"Affirmative."

She turned with a smug smile. "Now, Doctor, we’ve proven it might be him. And that’s a start."

"Now what?"

"Computer, isolate Rubidium components of ashes."

"Isolated."

"Extract and perform isotopic analysis."

"Working," it replied, and the probe arm descended again.

"What are you hoping to do with the Rubidium, Ariel? Again, it won’t prove anything. All flag officers are required to have a transponder implanted in their person. It’s common knowledge, and can easily be fabricated."

"Agreed, but they can’t fabricate the isotopes of the Rubidium. The distribution of stable isotopes of any given element differ from planet to planet. Hell, they different from one geological region to another. Using isotopic analysis, you can examine an ancient Egyptian silver bracelet and determine which silver mine it came from."

"Isotopic analysis complete," the computer reported.

"Report please."

"Rubidium isotopes are from Tharsis region of Mars, at a mine operated by the Starfleet Corps of Engineers."

"And that increases the likelihood," Cord concluded, "that this is an official Starfleet-issued Rubidium transponder."

"And what does this prove?" Viger demanded. "All you have is circumstantial evidence supporting the possibility that these are the remains of a Starfleet admiral."

Cord nodded. "Yes, that’s exactly what I’ve done."

"I...I don’t understand."

"I’ve proven that this may indeed be Admiral Gervais. But more importantly, by proving that, I’ve ruled out the possibility that it isn’t the admiral altogether. Were these the remains of a tall, black, Human female with brown eyes from Xartheb, we’d know beyond a shadow of doubt that it wasn’t the admiral." She smiled. "Sometimes knowing that it isn’t what it could be is more important than knowing that it is what it could be."

And with that she turned and left the Sickbay to a completely befuddled Bolian doctor who was, no doubt, formulating some new report to the captain on her gross incompetence. She snorted at the thought.

As she stepped out into the corridor, she almost ran into Lieutenant Commander Lojur. "Hi, Boris," she said, startled. "What can I do for you?"

"Walk with me, Ariel," the helmsman requested.

She nodded, and they walked down the corridor toward the Engineering section. "What’s on your mind?" she asked.

The taciturn officer sighed. "I cannot believe I suggested there was a ghost on the Excelsior to the captain."

She chuckled softly. "Actually, I suggested the same thing to him about five minutes before the briefing began."

"Really?"

She nodded.

"Well, that makes me feel a lot better," he said sarcastically. "We’re both crazy."

She laughed. "No kidding. So what else did you need? You didn’t come down to Sickbay to make self-deprecating remarks, did you?"

"Is there any medical way to detect an alien shape shifter among the crew?"

"Well, to be honest, if there’s one on board, we should have detected it during the quarterly crew physicals, or at least during the annual comprehensive review I conduct every December. To be honest, that’s one of the reasons we have medical exams every quarter. Starfleet is well aware of the danger coalescent lifeforms present to Federation security."

"Mitri died in August 2293. That’s two comprehensive exams during which an alien impostor would have been detected, right?"

"Wrong. You said a shape shifter. We’d be able to detect an alien masquerading as a Human pretty damn quickly. Coalescent lifeforms just can’t mimic Human physiology that completely. There would be some readings that just couldn’t be explained."

"And I gather there were no abnormal lifeforms detected?"

"None at all."

"So that puts us at square one again, doesn’t it?"

A look of enlightenment crossed her face. "No, it doesn’t. It means we don’t have an alien shape shifter on board." She chortled. "I was just trying to explain this to Dars." She grabbed Lojur’s elbow. "Let’s go see the captain."

In the captain’s ready room, an impromptu meeting of senior officers was developing. Sulu had gone into his office in order to get some work done, and was soon joined by officer after officer. The room was nearing capacity, and Sulu considered moving those assembled to the adjacent briefing room, but he wanted to hear everyone out as soon as possible.

"So let me get this straight, Doctor," the captain concluded, "first of all, it’s not impossible that the remains are from Admiral Gervais."

Cord nodded.

"You and I will get back to that later. But secondly, you’re ruling out an alien shape shifter—a coalescent lifeform, I believe you called it?"

Cord nodded again. "No Vendorians, no Chameloids..."

Sulu turned to Maliszewski. "And you’re ruling out your...interesting theory that a temporal anomaly was involved."

The chief engineer nodded.

The captain turned to his tactical officer. "And you have examined the transporter logs and—?"

"And we have a stowaway, Captain. No doubt about it. There were fourteen of you who beamed down to Khitomer, Captain Sulu. Six of you returned within an hour. Another six an hour later. And lastly, three of you returned ten minutes after that."

Sulu was pleased and displeased simultaneously. "I took two security squads of five men down with me. They returned separately prior to my return to the Excelsior." He then looked at Peterson. "Well done, Lieutenant."

He addressed the assembled senior officers. "Individually, we each had key pieces of the puzzle. By working independently and together, we’ve eliminated several possibilities, leaving us with a single likely possibility, an answer, if you will."

"I think this is serious, Captain," Lojur said. "We have an infiltrator who came aboard with the Khitomer landing party. He then went to the bridge as Dmitri Valtane, was caught on the holovid transmission, then presumably killed someone on board and disposed of the body neatly and efficiently so that sensors didn’t detect it."

"And there can be no doubt that this individual is a danger to the ship," Brai concluded. "He has killed one of this crew, and assumed his identity for what cannot be anything other than nefarious reasons."

"Agreed," Sulu said.

The door buzzed, and Chief Hamilton strolled in. He glanced at the assembled officers. "Oh, sorry, sir. I..."

"Can I help you, Chief?"

The burly chief transporter officer ran his hand over his smooth scalp. "Well, I helped Lieutenant Peterson find a discrepancy with the transporter logs from three years ago. And, well, I’ve found another."

Everyone’s interest was captured. Sulu leaned forward from behind his desk. "And—?"

"And about an hour later, there was an unauthorized test conducted on one of the cargo transporters in the aft cargo decks."

"What was done?"

"The transporter buffers were engaged briefly, then cleared."

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "And that explains how the body was disposed of."

"You mean the victim was beamed into space?" asked Cord.

The Vulcan shook his head. "Negative. The body was converted for transport, and stored in the pattern buffer. Then the pattern buffer was deleted, in essence, permanently disintegrating the body."

"Where does the extra mass and energy go?" asked Parker. "I mean, you can’t just convert mass to energy without it going somewhere, right?"

"Actually, I would presume that the energy was shunted into the warp nacelles where it would never be noticed," the science officer hypothesized.

Maliszewski sat up at that. "Not necessarily, Ensign."

Sulu turned to his captain of engineering. "Something, Mallie?"

"Let me think on it a bit, Skipper," she said. "I may have something for you soon."

"What about tonight’s drill?" Janice Rand asked.

"Completely unnecessary," decided the captain. "But don’t cancel it." He smiled. "Nothing like keeping the crew on its toes." He turned to Parker. "Estimated time of arrival to 40 Eridani?"

"We should arrive at Starbase Three at 0600 tomorrow morning, ship’s time. Transit time from there to Vulcan is six hours at high impulse."

Sulu nodded. "Doctor Cord, go ahead and prepare a report for Starfleet Command. I’d like it on my desk by 0500 tomorrow morning."

"You’ll have it tonight before we hit the sack," she answered.

"Commander Rand," the captain turned to his executive officer, "I’d like you to be responsible for Ambassador Sarek.

"With your permission, Captain, I’d like to assign Ensign Tuvok to serve as his liaison."

Sulu considered it briefly. "Agreed." He looked at the assembled officers. "We have a murderous infiltrator on board. Doctor, I’d like a comprehensive physical exam for the entire crew underway by tomorrow afternoon."

Cord nodded. "Absolutely. Dars and I will get on it today, in fact."

The captain looked at the chronometer over the door. It read 1836. "Not sure we’ll have time this evening, Doc, but if you want to get an early start, I’m all for it."

He stood and regarded his command staff. "Excellent work, people. You’ve done me proud. Now, let’s find the bastard. Dismissed."

"What do you want for dinner, ‘Karu?" asked Cord from the food processing unit. She was standing in the corner next to the dining booth of the captain’s quarters, dressed in her usual T-shirt and shorts.

"I don’t care," Sulu answered, relaxing in his T-shirt and sweat pants as he reviewed a report on his padd. "Whatever you want, Ariel."

"Okay, roast beef sandwiches with horseradish cream sauce. You want hot tea with that?"

"Uh, no. I don’t want that for dinner," he responded.

"Well, then, what do you want?"

"I don’t know. Whatever you’re having." The pillow that thwopped him upside the head surprised him greatly. "Roast beef will be fine," he called, wisely reconsidering it. "Hold the bread, though, and I’d like gravy and mashed potatoes and crowder peas as side dishes."

"Your wish is my command, Captain."

He put the padd down. "I’ve read your report, Ariel. Good work."

"Thank you, Hikaru. I appreciate that."

"I dare say Starfleet Intelligence won’t be able to put together as good a report as yours." He smiled at her.

"And I dare say you’ve made some changes in your methods of command."

Sulu nodded. "And it seems to be working out well, don’t you think?"

Cord pondered it for a moment. "Can I can ask you why you don’t think one of your senior staff is the infiltrator?"

Sulu took a sip of his hot tea. "Actually, Brai voiced that very concern with me before anyone else arrived. He rightly pointed out that the impostor could be any one of us."

"Except for you, Hikaru."

"Why eliminate me from the list of suspects?"

"Because you’d’ve never initiated the investigation if you were an impostor. Besides, I’d know the difference."

He regarded her with a smile. "I’m sure you would. I’d like to think the same could be said of you."

She nodded. "Who else do you trust?"

"No one. No one else at all. Brai said it could be fatal to everyone on this ship if I do."

"He’s right, you know."

"Yes, I know."

"So what’s up for tomorrow, then? We’re just going to beam the remains to Starbase Three and proceed on to Vulcan?"

Sulu nodded as he stood and stepped toward the dining alcove. "I received a communiqué from Kevin Riley that he will come aboard and collect the remains himself."

"That name sounds familiar. Old shipmate of yours?"

The captain again nodded as he sat down. "We served together aboard the Enterprise under Captain Kirk. After the ol’ girl was blown apart above Serenidad, I went to the Cooper. He went into Starfleet Intelligence. During the Kelvan War, most of us were given command of corsairs, but Kevin got the Enterprise. After the war, he returned to Intelligence, and that’s when he virtually disappeared. He was assigned to command various intelligence operations, including a captaincy of a surveillance ship. But when Chekov saw him a few months ago, well, the way he tells it, Riley’d turned cold to him."

"Were they friends?"

"Kevin was there to see him off when Chekov had gotten the captaincy, and seemed pleasant enough. But a few weeks later, after Pavel had captured a Romulan infiltrator on his bridge, Riley was, according to him, outright hostile."

"I wonder why?"

"Well, Pavel was going through a really rough time. He’d just taken command of a troubled ship, had to assemble a new command crew, had to deal with the Tholians. He didn’t do too well on his search for the Jenolen, and when I offered a few suggestions, well, he went quasar on me."

"Uh-huh," Cord responded neutrally. "If I recall correctly, ‘Karu, you went around his back to Admiral Soyen." She wagged a finger at him. "Not the best way to treat a friend, you know."

"Look, Ariel, Pavel’s my friend. A good friend. I can’t help but try to keep an eye out on him."

"Uh-huh," she responded again, bringing the serving dishes to the alcove table.

"Anyway, so I’m sort of looking forward to seeing Kevin tomorrow." He started eating as she slipped into the alcove next to him. "And then it’s on to Vulcan where we’re going to pick up Ambassador Sarek."

"Do you know the ambassador well?"

"Not really, to be honest. But I’d like to. He’s one of the Federation’s greatest diplomats. If anyone can bring the Klingons into the Federation, it will be Sarek."

"Is that what this mission to Korvat is about?"

Sulu regarded her carefully. "In all honesty, yes. But officially, no. The likelihood that Azetbur would bring the Klingon Empire into the Federation just seems completely unlikely. But..." He took a sip of his hot tea. "But stranger things have happened."

The deliveryman made his way into the Khumdo province on Korvat. It had been an unusual assignment, to be certain, but honor demanded that one not only accept unusual assignments but fulfill them to the best of one’s ability. While he might not be a Klingon warrior, he at least took pride in doing that which was his trade: deliveries. He had made hundreds of deliveries into the Khumdo province over the past five years he’d been on Korvat, and they’d all been simple, straightforward assignments. Tonight’s delivery was unusual in that it wasn’t often one was called upon to deliver Terran foodstuffs on a Klingon colony world, let alone one of their chab known as a "pI’SaS."

Tonight, something was wrong in Khumdo, and the delivery man knew it.

Every window in the province was darkened, as if they’d never been turned on for the evening. There were ground vehicles everywhere, as though abandoned. And every once in a while, there was a twisted form of a Klingon in the street, as if they’d died of agony.

Honor demanded he investigate and report this to the proper authorities, of course, but sometimes discretion was the better part of valor. He had not exited his ground vehicle, but used his communicator to notify the authorities and waited for them in the vehicle. As his was the only one in the province with its running lights and headlights operating, he expected the authorities would have no problem locating him.

Unfortunately, he was right.

There was a knock on the door of the vehicle, and Lhocc answered, "Yes?"

"This is the Korvat Colonial Police. Open the door and come out."

"Certainly," the deliveryman replied, and stepped out to see three figures clothed in red hooded vinyl wear, similar to the kind he had worn when he served as a volunteer firefighter. "I’m glad you got here. Something’s terribly wrong. I think everyone in the province is dead."

"Not quite," said one of the figures as he opened fire on the unsuspecting delivery man. As Lhocc died in the agonizing cleansing disruptor beam, another figure walked up. "Sergeant, I’m confirming it. Scanners show the whole population of this province is dead. It appears to be a plasma plague."

"Poor man," remarked another figure. "At least he died a hero."

"So now what?" asked the third.

The fourth answered, "I’ve already called for an orbital disruptor volley. We’ve got thirty tup to get out of the region."

"I think we’ve got less than that," remarked the second figure, as he pointed up at the incoming disruptor volley.

Doctor Susan Nuress sat in her office on Starbase 3 and sighed. She’d just finished ten weeks of grueling (and gruesome) work on Obi VI, working on a heretofore unclassifiable form of plasma plague, and she was just plain tired. Not that it mattered to Starfleet, of course. All they were interested in was results.

There was a chime at her door. "Come," she called.

A handsome man with a beard strolled in, dressed in the black slacks and white tunic worn as a casual uniform by Starfleet officers. "Hello, Doctor Nuress," he spoke, a faint smile on his face. "I hate to bother you, but..."

"Come in, whoever you are," she answered, not getting up from her desk.

"I’m Captain Kevin Riley, Starfleet Intelligence," the man explained. "There’s a situation developing, and I’ve been asked to enlist your help." He took out a communications scrambler and placed it on the table. "This will allow us to speak freely."

"What kind of situation?"

"Plasma plague on a Klingon colony world," he answered; his eyes seemed to be gauging her response.

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as we can be when dealing with Klingon sensors," he said grimly. "Most of their science technology is really inferior to ours. Which is why we had sent a team to work with the Klingon agronomists to counter an agro-blight that was affecting Korvat when this occurred." He withdrew a padd from his belt clip and handed it to her. "As you can see, an entire province on Korvat has been wiped out. They sterilized the area by space-to-ground disruptor volleys shortly after this was taped. The sensor analysis is pretty clear, though. It’s a plasma plague of some kind."

She nodded. "Okay, I see that. What happened to this team?"

"Sterilized," was Riley’s answer, short and clipped.

"Oh.... I see. And what is it you want me to do, Captain?"

"The Federation is about to send Ambassador Sarek to Korvat."

"Well, I wouldn’t advise it, Captain Riley. You’d be sending the man to his death. Unless he took the vaccine. And even then, there’s no guarantee that it will protect him."

"The ambassador is well aware of the risk. He feels that peace is worth such a risk. Don’t you agree, Doctor?"

"No, I don’t. Not with the life of Sarek. He’s probably the greatest diplomat the galaxy has ever known."

"I’m sure he is," Riley commented. "But orders are orders. Here are yours." He handed her a padd.

She reviewed it briefly. "Wait a minute, I’m supposed to leave now? With no preparation? No support team?"

Riley shook his head. "You’ll receive all the support you need from Starfleet, Doctor. We’re not just sticking you there to get rid of you." He smiled. The smile was tight, forced, insincere.

Nuress sighed. "All right. When do I leave?"

He opened his communicator. "Now."

She disappeared in a shower of silver sparkles.

"Message from Admiral Kor for you, sir," the communication officer informed Kang as he strode onto the bridge.

Nodding curtly, Kang marched into the ready room. "What do you want, Kor?" he demanded as he joined the conference.

"I have information, old friend, from Dax. We have wounded the bastard that murdered our children," Kor answered, smiling. Then he shrugged and sighed, "Unfortunately, he is now in hiding."

"The way a coward such as he would do," Kang nodded.

"That raid two months ago did more damage than we had anticipated," Kor continued.

"To the Albino or to the so-called peace agreement with the Federation?" Koloth put in.

"More to the Albino, I am pleased to say," Kor answered.

While he hadn’t minded the skirmish with the Federation vessel, he would have preferred that it had been at a different time. The smaller vessel had only been doing its duty in protecting the strange ship that had called for help. The Albino, coward that he was, had called for assistance instead of facing his attackers. Had the Federation ship not been there, they would have gotten the mutant Klingon then. Instead, they had had to hunt for him while doing their duty to the Empire.

"So, what more do we know?" Koloth leaned forward.

"That the butcher has had a falling out with some of his cronies."

"Oh?" Kang raised an eyebrow.

"Several people who were closely associated with the Albino are now dead. Including," Kor’s eyes narrowed, "Kiran."

The general had been a source of unrelenting trouble for the three admirals, trying to ingratiate himself with Azetbur and the House of Durit. It was an open secret he was planning on wresting control from Azetbur. It was the how that had the rest of the Council betting on the outcome. Would he battle her for the mantle of chancellor or bed her—with or without her consent—to get it?

"That targh dung is dead?" Kang raised an eyebrow.

"And very painfully, I hope," Kor nodded. "Klingon High Command was notified of his death and requested to pick up his remains."

"He was off-planet?" Kang raised an eyebrow. The last he heard the General had been on Qo’noS helping Azetbur plan that stupid conference with the Vulcans and the Romulans. Trying to get the most from whomever to save the Empire without totally prostituting themselves to get it.

"So it would seem." Kor snorted. "Of course," he smirked, "it is hard to tell what killed the bastard since what was offered as his remains was ash."

"We know that Kiran is dead?" Kang raised the question.

"The residue was difficult to analyze," Kor shook his head. "But we are as certain as we can be."

"The Albino does not suffer fools, it seems."

"So it seems," Kor nodded. "It is a warning to us, old friend. We had best not be foolish."

The Albino limped to his office, leaning heavily on the cane, now that he didn’t have to appear strong. His "guests" were back in their respective spheres of influence, each waiting to see how his latest demonstration went. If it went as promised, then they’d meet again and discuss the price for the engineered organism.

He groaned as he sat down in his chair. His injuries had been serious from that attack several months ago. Not life-threatening, but serious. And his so-called doctor at the time had, unfortunately not been up to the task of caring for his wounds with less than state-of-the-art equipment. Needless to say, the doctor had been the first to be served the little organism in the liquid medium. Poor sod had never known what had happened. But he did beg so nicely for life, promising to do better the next time.

His new doctor was slowly repairing the damage that had been done. He’d been one of the few folks in the Albino’s employ that had stood up to the man.

"You were badly injured," the small alien had said. "And my predecessor, while not well equipped, did not use what he had to minimize the damage. Now you will have to suffer through the repair. And it will take time and you will have to be patient, and do as I say. If you cannot, then I cannot be your doctor. And you will never recover."

It was one of the few times that the Albino had been silent in reply.

Still the man had kept his word. The limp was all that was left of the injuries he’d sustained. And if he adhered to the rehab regimen that the doctor had prescribed, not cheating, the doctor had promised the limp would also be a thing of the past. If he cheated, then the limp would be with him forever, and the doctor promised that he would not pay for his patient’s fool-hardly behavior.

The doctor was now letting him leave his retreat, albeit for short jaunts only.

The Albino knew where he wanted to go, and what he wanted to do.

It would be good to get into space again.

"So what did the Trill give us?" Koloth demanded.

"The monster is planning on moving some contraband from the Romulan lands into Federation space," Kor announced, leaning back in his chair. He could care less what the bastard brought from the Romulan Empire into the Federation space. "It is suggested that he is aiding the Director of the Barrier Alliance with moving that contraband." That suggested it might be Romulan ale.

"As long as he avoids Klingon space," Koloth sighed.

"Ah, but due to the trouncing he took two months ago," Kor smiled, "he is limited in vessels. For now. To keep the shipping time to a minimum, he will have to cross through Klingon space."

"An excellent reason to attack him," Koloth grinned back. And perhaps to get some of that Romulan ale for his own private stock.

"He will cross over near the Skingol systems," Kor told them. "All we lack is the name of his vessel and the time he will come."

"So we take a pack and wait for him," Koloth recommended. "It will give the young ones a taste of action."

"Whatever we do, we cannot harm the other Human vessels," Kang cautioned. "That would provoke a war, and lose us any support we have."

"So we won’t," Koloth returned with a grin. "We challenge all who come, and once we are sure that they are not the Albino, we let them pass. After we’ve had a little fun with them."

Kor grinned. The youngest had learned a lot with his numerous scraps with the Human Kirk.

"The Humans will not be pleased to see us," Kang warned the youngest Klingon.

"No, I imagine not," Kor grinned. "Still, as Koloth has said, we can have some fun at their expense. We will stay our weapons until the Albino appears. Then we strike."

"You know the Federation will send at least one starship to stop us." Kang sat back, musing. "We will have to make sure that the young ones don’t do anything foolish when it appears."

"Yes, unfortunately." Kor shook his head. "It was so much simpler before. When we were younger." He sighed and leaned back in his chair. A wistful expression crossed his face. "A pity that Kirk can’t be in the starship that will come to stop us."

"Kirk?" Kang raised an eyebrow.

He knew that Kor was one of the few Klingons who did not celebrate to hear of the man’s death. He had been another. Koloth had been a third.

"You would wish to have Kirk be the one we oppose?" Koloth snorted.

"Yes, I would. Then we could really have some fun."

The computer alerted, "General Quarters, General Quarters. All hands to General Quarters."

Deneice Maliszewski looked around Engineering as Security personnel dressed in combat gear swept through, their phasers drawn, their eyes keenly attempting to discern anything amiss, anything out of place. She nodded in approval. "Where’s Kras?" she asked.

Ensign Fahd answered, "He called. He’s in the simulator running a new warp drive configuration."

The Captain of Engineering shook her head. "He just won’t give it up, will he?"

"Look, Chief, you and he created the transwarp drive and used it twice, and then you couldn’t repeat it. He’s doing his damnedest to find out why."

"Well, now is not a good time." She tapped the communicator. "Mallie to Kras. Get down here now."

"I’m trying, but the turbolifts are locked down, you know."

"Please don’t tell me you didn’t have authorization to use the simulator?"

"Well, Chief, I knew you’d give it to me, so I didn’t see the need to ask."

She sighed. "Kras, all you had to do was hand me a datapadd, and I’d’ve signed off on it. But you didn’t, and you’re going to get us both into trouble. You’re supposed to be here according to the duty roster, and you’re not."

"Sorry, Chief."

Maliszewski shook her head. "I’ll handle it. Get here when you can."

"Yes, ma’am."

She glanced across the Engineering section. The ensign in charge of the security squad was checking a padd, no doubt looking at her duty roster. He glanced at her then stepped toward her. "Captain, I’ve been going over your roster, and you’re missing a crewman."

"Assistant Chief Engineer Krasnyk is in the engineering simulator on Deck Four."

"As you know, sir, that’s not where he’s supposed to be."

"I know, I know," Maliszewski agreed. "Go ahead and mark it okayed by me instead of logging it, and I’ll kick his ass later personally, okay?"

"I’ve already logged it, Captain," the squad leader answered. "Sorry."

She sighed and nodded. "No problem, Ensign."

The squad leader shrugged apologetically and made his way out the Engineering section into the corridor beyond.

"Damn," Maliszewski sighed again, shook her head and pinched the ridge of her nose. "Why me?"

"All decks report secure, Captain, except for Engineering," reported Brai from Security.

Sulu spoke into the comlink. "Bridge to Engineering. This is the captain. Mallie, what’s going on down there?"

"Kras was trying to come up with a reason that the damned transwarp engine wouldn’t work any more, only he decided to do so on his own and was in the simulator when the damned GQ drill was run and of course he didn’t have authorization, hoping to get it from me after the fact, and now he and I have a black mark ‘cause he wasn’t here where he was supposed to be."

All that in one breath. Obviously the chief engineer was upset. And pissed. And ready to do something vicious to someone. Hopefully not him.

"Sorry about that Mallie."

"Just, don’t throw the damned book at either of us," Mallie grunted. "He was, after all, trying to fix this damned problem."

Hikaru Sulu felt his stomach lurch as his office door chimed. Only one person was due to his office: Captain Kevin Riley from Starbase 3. Once a junior officer on the Enterprise, he was now a ranking Intelligence officer. Some said he was Gervais’ protégé.

He was remembering the reports he had received from Pavel Chekov after Riley had taken custody of the Romulan who had been masquerading as a Vulcan on the Enterprise during its first mission. While he and Pavel had had their differences, they had managed to work through them, and remained friends. And if Pavel said that Kevin Riley had changed, and not for the better....

"Enter," he said, and stood behind his desk.

He found himself straightening as the man entered. Then he blinked as he took in the change in the man.

Captain Kevin Riley was still tall with dark eyes and hair. He even had a beard now. But the playful glint that Sulu remembered in Kevin’s eyes was gone. There was nothing there. His face, once so mobile and full of emotion was now bland. Worse than any Vulcan’s emotionless face. At least the Vulcans' faces’ were stoical. Riley’s was just this side of dead.

This man would never sing "Kathleen" until everyone was ready to kill him and could not stand to hear that song for a long, long time. Or order ice cream be served to the crew and command the women to let their hair down and dress more alluringly.

"Captain Sulu," Riley nodded at the captain, a smile suddenly on his face. It was a faked smile. As if he had been taught this is what people did when meeting each other. No true emotion to the smile. Hell, Vulcans did a better job when they smiled.

"Captain Riley," Sulu nodded carefully, trying to temper his trepidation as he indicated the chair in front of his desk.

The Intelligence officer sat down. He seemed uncomfortable in the chair. Perhaps because he was not in the chair he was used to being in. "Captain Sulu." His head jerked in a short nod. "I’m glad that you’re the one transporting Ambassador Sarek to Korvat. You were especially chosen for this assignment."

"I consider it an honor. Ambassador Sarek is one of the Federation’s best diplomats," Sulu answered trying to decipher the tone in Riley’s voice. "But I’m sorry that we are meeting under such conditions."

"The death of Admiral Gervais," Riley nodded. For a brief instant there was real emotion on the man’s face. Was that satisfaction? Relief? Perhaps a bit of regret? It sure didn’t look like grief. At least, not grief as he knew it. "I’m here to take the body back to Starfleet HQ for proper burial."

"The remains are in Sickbay," Sulu told him.

"Yes, of course."

"What is left of him, that is," Sulu added dryly.

"What do you mean?" Riley’s face went through another change of emotions.

"The damn Yridians cremated him," Sulu snorted.

Again a strange change of emotions on Riley’s face. "Cremated?"

"To ashes," Ariel Cord’s voice put in from behind him. "Very fine ashes for the most part. Sorry I’m late. Patient came in suddenly. Fortunately nothing serious."

"I...see." Riley stood to meet her. His face was bland again. "So there is no way to tell what the cause of death was."

"No way to tell if it was even Admiral Gervais," Cord corrected him as she sat down in the chair next to Riley’s. "Though we know the remains were a Human male, probably born on Earth who had a Rubidium transponder. That he was between sixty and seventy at the time of death, probably balding, under six feet and had blue eyes. And that does fit—"

"You examined the remains?" Kevin Riley suddenly stood and stared down at the doctor.

"Of course I examined the remains," Cord retorted, glaring up at him. "Considering who gave us the remains, I wanted to make sure the Federation got back its admiral, not some pile of ashes from a Yridian barbecue that they decided they could make a profit with! You wouldn’t want to take these remains back to Starfleet, give it a hero’s burial, complete with photon casket shot off to the sun and have someone suddenly show up at funeral with a very live Yves Gervais, would you?" She had risen from her chair during her retort, and now stood, glaring angrily at the Intelligence captain. "Well? Would you? Or is that what you were hoping for?"

"Damn you!" Riley snarled. "We know that Gervais is dead!"

"An unimpeachable source, no doubt," Cord snorted.

"Yes!" Riley’s voice almost sounded like it would crack with emotion.

"But what killed him?" Cord shot back. "He was only in his sixties! He had at least another forty or fifty years ahead of him!"

"That is none of your concern, Doctor," Riley ground out. "His death is the concern of Starfleet Intelligence, and no one else!"

"His body, or what is purported to be his body, is in my Sickbay," Cord snarled back. "That makes it my concern!"

"The hell it does!" Riley was turning red with rage.

"Until you take possession of his remains," Cord’s voice dropped to a deadly low tone, "he’s mine, and I will do whatever I feel needs to be done to be sure that this really is Yves Gervais, Admiral, Starfleet Intelligence."

"Fine," Riley snarled as he stormed to the door.

"And where are you going?" Sulu’s voice was level, but still commanding. The man might be his equal in rank, but this was still his ship, and he was still in command.

"To Sickbay, to take possession of Admiral Gervais’ remains," Riley snapped. "Per orders. That will relieve you," he glared at Ariel Cord, "of your... ‘obligation’."

The door slid shut behind him. Cord looked over at Sulu.

"Well, that went well," she quipped. "So tell me, ‘Karu," she walked around the desk and slid into Sulu’s lap, letting her head drop on his shoulder, "has Riley changed as much as Pavel suggested? Or was he sugar-coating it like he usually does?"

Sulu ignored her. "Bridge, this is the captain. Standby to make way for Vulcan. As soon as Captain Riley departs, I want us en route."

"Permission to enter orbit has been received," Parker reported to Sulu. "Vulcan Space Central sends its greetings."

"Assume orbit," Sulu nodded.

"Orbit assumed."

"We are being hailed by the Ambassador," Rand told him. "He’s requesting permission to come aboard at once." She frowned. "Sounds like he’s in a hurry."

"Vulcans do not ‘hurry’," Tuvok corrected. "Vulcans do not dawdle either. They work at the required pace to see that the task is done in a timely manner."

"By shuttle?" Sulu asked Rand, all but ignoring the young Vulcan.<