1

Star Trek: The Elite

Unofficial Series

Season One
Episode 1
Saviors, Part 1

Time. It is the fabric that depicts our lives. We are but a single thread in that fabric. And if even one of
us, a thread, is moved from one part of the fabric to another, the fabric of time will be altered forever.
This simple epiphany has plagued the scientists of the United Federation of Planets for as long as they
have existed. It has been the single reason that time-traveling devices have not been developed. At least
that’s what they told the majority of the population. In truth, in a top-secret research program under the
command of a man known only as Sloan, a time-traveling device was being developed.
Sloan was senior operative in a secret division of Starfleet Intelligence called Section 31. Technically,
according to Starfleet command, Section 31 did not exist. It was a name kept so secret for the past two
centuries that it no longer was mentioned. A smirk found its way onto Sloan’s face; there was a whole
galaxy out there for him to exploit, and no one knew he even existed.
He owed that to a hard decision he had had to make fifteen years ago. After he and his fellow
operatives had inflicted a deadly disease on the shape-shifting life forms known as the Founders, he
knew Starfleet would be after a cure. Sloan also had a good idea of exactly who would be after the cure;
Deep Space Nine’s Dr. Julian Bashir. He figured that Bashir would try to lure him to DS9 and carry out his
plans there. So when he got the attempted lure from Bashir, he decided that he should not take the bait,
but a clone but of himself.
The cloning process did not take long. And once it was finished, the clone was given orders to proceed
to DS9 and commit suicide there before information about a cure for the Founders’ disease could be
obtained. Everything went according to plan, except that when the clone tried to commit suicide, Bashir
was able to keep him alive long enough to extract the cure.
But the cloning process had come with a price tag, a very large price tag. An accident in the midst of
the procedure had released a viral agent into Sloan’s body. The physician there had told him he would
have no more than twenty years to live. This caused him to become obsessed with finding an heir to the
leadership of Section 31. None of his agents or officers could even hope to fill the position adequately. So
he decided to look somewhere else.
He then remembered a man of the 21 st Century that had had a rather large impact on the direction of
the third world war. The man was an agent much like himself, who carried out especially dangerous
undercover missions for the North American forces. They included many sabotage and infiltration
assignments, as well as reconnaissance and intelligence work. He was the perfect man for the position.
So here Sloan was, standing in the Science Lab aboard a Section 31’s flagship, the Darren. In front of
him stood a prototype machine developed by his scientists. It was a nearly seven foot tall cylindrical
object with multiple viewports looking into a stasis chamber. One of his men stood at the controls, ready
to engage the contraption. Three security guards with Type-4 Phaser Rifles stood alert beside him.
The scientist at the controls turned to Sloan and nodded. This was it; everything Sloan had worked for
in his life depended on the success of this operation.
“Do It.” he commanded.
The scientist pressed the control.
A blinding light shot of the viewports of the mechanism. It lit up the Lab for nearly ten long seconds,
and then vanished. In its place, a man stood.
“Status!” Sloan yelled as his colleagues opened their eyes again.
The scientist checked the controls and could not believe his eyes, “We’ve done it! He’s in perfect
temporal stasis! Lifesigns: stable! The temporal field has a slight fluctuation but it’s correcting.” He turned
to an amazed Sloan, “Congratulations, Sir. It worked!”
2

Sloan stepped over the guardrail around the chamber and peered in. Without looking he spoke to his
scientist, “Disengage the temporal field.”
The scientist hesitated, “Sir, we need to run some tests before we can determine if it’s safe to let him
out.”
“We don’t have time for any more tests! The Enterprise will be here in less than 6 minutes!” he
approached the scientist, “And if we don’t have something to show for our efforts, Section 31 will become-
shall we say-a thing of the…past. So we need to…ah…” his voice faded as he started to hyperventilate.
The scientist bent over and helped a coughing Sloan up off the floor. “We’d better get you to sickbay,”
he looked up. “Ensign Mannon, see that he that he gets there safely.”
The ensign replied with a simple “Yes, Commander” and escorted his dying leader out of the lab. Once
he had left, Commander Jovan, the scientist, ordered the two other guards to leave and wait outside. He
then turned to the chamber, and with a tap of a button disengaged the temporal field.
The man inside the chamber opened his eyes abruptly as the door in front of him slid open. He
stumbled out and then propped himself up on the guardrail. He moaned for a few seconds and then
spoke, “Where…” he looked around, “what is…oh, my head!”
The commander walked forward and put his hand on the man’s shoulder, “You’re on the U.S.S Darren,
and my name is Jovan Rehn. I brought you here.”
“Field Commander Abram T. Smith, Fifth Infantry Division.” He looked up, “Am I your prisoner, Rehn?”
“No, you’re not. And you’re also not in the 21 st Century anymore. You’re in the late 24th, and you’ve just
made history.”
Abram gave him a skeptical look and then laughed out loud, “Are you crazy? Oh, wait, did that new
Lieutenant put you up to this? He is gonna be dead if I ever get my hands on him!”
Commander Jovan was getting impatient. But just as he was about to speak, the all too familiar crash
of a photon torpedo impacting on the shields rocked the ship. Rehn quickly hauled an unconscious Abram
on to his shoulders and headed out the sliding doors to the turbolift down the corridor.
Stepping into the turbolift, he gave the command to proceed to the bridge. Only a few seconds later,
the turbolift doors hissed open to reveal the bridge. Lieutenant Carry got up out of the captain’s chair in
the center of the large room and approached the Commander.
“Our shields are down to 34%, sir,” he began, “The Enterprise is firing type-7 photon torpedoes; we
can’t survive much longer.”
Rehn settled down into the chair as the Darren took another blast from a photon torpedo.
The communications officer looked up from his station and informed the commander that the
Enterprise was hailing.
They want Sloan, Rehn thought to himself, “Put them through,” he replied.
The large view screen ahead of him changed from an image of the attacking ship to one of the
Enterprise Bridge. Captain Jean-Luc Picard sat in the center chair. To his right sat Comdr. William Riker.
And to his left, the Betazoid Counselor Deanna Troi sat passively.
“Commander Jovan,” Picard began, “your ship is carrying a fugitive of the Federation. We also
understand that you have already violated the Temporal Prime Directive. Can you confirm this?”
Rehn hesitated as he checked the status readout on his chair, then looked up and spoke, “Yes, we
can. And we can also confirm the fact that you are firing on a Federation starship. I hope you have
authorization.”
“As a matter of fact we do!” Riker blurted, “We’re acting under direct orders from the Federation
Council. So I hope you have an excuse for protecting a wanted man.”
“You forget, Commander, that Sloan is my superior. And that I am loyal to him until his death!”
Picard looked sternly at Rehn, “I’m sorry you feel that way, but I’m sure we will be hearing that
statement again very soon. When you make your speech to the Council. End Transmission.”
As the viewscreen switched again another blast rocked the ship. “That one took out impulse and
thrusters, Sir.” The status officer announced, “We’re dead in the water.”
Rehn was just about to call for options when he noticed that their guest had become conscious again
and was staring dumbstruck at the view screen. “So…you were telling the truth. I am in the 24th Century.”
“I’m glad you’re finally seeing things, but right now we have to find some way of getting out of here. We
need options.”
For a moment, Abram felt something click inside his head. Then he remembered. The memory was
faint, but there. Years ago, almost fifteen (or by now almost three hundred), he had heard the same words
spoken to him…by his commanding officer. They had been…
3

“…In a ditch.” He finished his thought aloud.

Rehn turned to him; “I beg your pardon?” he sounded annoyed.
“We were pinned-down…in a ditch.” Abram continued. “Our vehicle was badly damaged, and we had
lost all engine power. Just like now.”
Abram had gotten Rehn’s undivided attention. He knew very well of the extreme differences in
technology over three hundred years, but somehow he was inclined to go with whatever course of action
Abram suggested next. “What did you do?” he asked expectantly.
Abram looked far away for a few seconds, than his head jolted up. “Delay!” he looked at Rehn, “The
enemy battery that was firing on us was only equipped with 160mm guided heavy shells. They packed a
mean punch, but they were slow as a turtle, and they had almost no maneuverability.” He looked up at the
tactical station as he finished, “We were able to shoot them out of sky long enough to get away.”
The Lieutenant at tactical started quickly tapping the controls in front of him. An astonished smile
started to form on his face. He finally stopped and looked up from the board. “Commander, I think we can
do it.”
“Elaborate,” Rehn replied, casting a quick glance at the satisfied look on Abram’s face.
“The Type-7 photon torpedo is built for a high yield, but it was never designed for maneuverability,” he
continued, “We can destroy them with a low-power Phaser blast just as they cleared the Enterprise shield
perimeter.”
Rehn’s eyes locked onto the viewscreen before him, “Do it.”
As the words left his mouth, the torpedo tubes of the U.S.S. Enterprise flared for a millisecond. And a
blaze of light like a small sun began its hunt for the target it was sent to destroy. In that same fraction of
time, two more blazes of light, though much dimmer, raced across the hull of the Darren. Faster and
faster they accelerated, never slowing, until they finally collided with each other directly at the bow of the
ship. And when they did, they sent a brilliant beam of light hurling towards the torpedo. And in one more
flash of light, the weapon was reduced to unidentifiable scraps of metal, burning with plasma.
The ensuing explosion impacted on the shields of the Enterprise, giving the Darren just enough time to
launch a full spread of torpedoes at the ship. The crews on both sides of the battle knew the tide had
been turned.
The ships continued to exchange fire, but it was clear now that the Enterprise was damaged.
Meanwhile, inside the Darren, the crew was all preparing for an evacuation of the ship. Rehn, Smith, and
a few others of the bridge crew dashed down the curving corridors, down a few turbolifts, until finally
arriving at the shuttle bay.
Rehn gave out quick instructions to the others as they boarded the small, compact shuttles that rested
in the bay. “As soon as you get out of the shield perimeter, use the cloaking devices in your craft. Then go
scatter into high-warp and put as much distance between you and the Enterprise as possible. We’ll
reunite at Utopia Planitia in three days. Good luck, my friends.” He gave them all a warm smile before
ducking under the hatch door at the back of the shuttle.
When he got inside, Abram was already sitting in the copilot’s chair in the front of the shuttle. Rehn
quickly took a seat beside him and started tapping the controls in front of him. He glanced over at the
perplexed look on Smith’s face.
He turned back to board, “I’m initiating launch sequence, opening shuttle bay doors, disengaging
environmental forcefield.” He paused as the whooshing sound of the bay depressurizing engulfed the
ship.
The ship then started to lift off of the deck, hovering not only because of the maneuvering thrusters,
but also from the loss of gravity. It then started to turn ever so slowly around; Smith saw for the first time
what he had waited so long to see as a child.
He saw the stars, thousands of them, with no end.
As the shuttle eased out of the cargo bay, he continued to seem fixed in a trance. His face was a
perfect picture of awe. Rehn couldn’t help noticing how strongly he was feeling about all of this.
Space truly was the Final Frontier, in any century.
The shuttle continued on a sloping upward course from the shuttle bay and between the large warp
nacelles of the old Excelsior-class starship. It then accelerated into impulse as it cleared the perimeter of
the vessel. Once the craft was a few kilometers from the Darren, Rehn brought the shuttle around to take
one last look at the two ships.
4

The Darren was badly damaged; sections of the hull had been ripped away, exposing the fiery decks
on the inside of the ship. Plasma was beginning to leak out of the port warp nacelle, if it were ignited by
one of the Enterprise’s phaser blasts, it would most certainly destroy the ship.
Then Smith noticed something. Not all of the phaser bursts were coming from the Enterprise; some of
them were still coming from the Darren!
He decided to tell Rehn, though he figured that he already knew, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t
we just evacuate your ship?”
Rehn didn’t look up from his console as he answered, “Yes, I didn’t believe we had a choice.”
Abram nodded as he turned back the fighting ships, “So, why is it still firing back at the Enterprise?”
That got his attention, Rehn’s head jolted up to look at the ships. His expression was that of
bewilderment for a second, but it changed to one of annoyance.
“Sloan.” He spoke through his clenched teeth.
“Who?”
Rehn’s fingers played across the control board as he spoke, “No time to explain right now. Let’s just
say he’s not the kind of man to go down without a fight.”
“But then why didn’t he join us when we evacuated the ship?” Smith was finding this Sloan hard to
understand.
“He also doesn’t like to run from a fight.”
Sound’s like he doesn’t know when to quit. Abram thought to himself.
Thoughts raced through Rehn’s mind like insects. Questions were asked and answered in no more the
a few milliseconds. But he knew that he had to act fast if he were to rescue Sloan. Although at the same
time he risked that Enterprise might see them if they attempted a rescue. It was a common fact that the
cloaking device would have to be deactivated if they wanted to transport Sloan out. Unless…
He engaged the impulse engines and steered the cloaked shuttle towards the Darren.

“Take that you, Starfleet dogs! How about a taste of your own medicine!”
In a mad fury on the bridge of the Darren, Sloan fired everything possible from ship’s weapons. And at
the same time cursed the fact they couldn’t get a more battle-worthy starship. A flashing red light on the
tactical readout caught his attention for a moment, but it only fueled the fire raging inside of him. Another
phaser bank had burned-out, leaving him with only one option to keep his pride alive.
In one leap, Sloan moved to the desk reading OPERATIONS and activated the voice interface system.
“Computer, initiate self-destruct program,” he choked out.
The computer’s voice responded to the command, “Please enter authorization code for self-destruct
program.”
“Computer, self-destruct program authorization Sloan-Seven-Seven-Omega–Four, confirm.”
Two words were all that the computer needed to respond with, “Code confirmed.”
Sloan sat back in the chair as the display counted down from five minutes. This had to be the best
course of action, for what else could he do? He would not be such a fool as to try to escape, nor would he
do the unthinkable and surrender to the Federation. Yes, this was the best choice: end it all now with the
destruction of the ship.
He swiveled the chair around to look at the viewscreen one last time. And he saw not just the
Enterprise out on the stars, but another ship too, a new one. He knew it wasn’t like anything he’d ever
encountered before, but he seemed to get the feeling it was going to be helpful to him.
For it was attacking the Enterprise.

Rehn’s mind raced faster than it ever had before. His problem had just become a whole lot more
complicated. He couldn’t understand why Sloan had started the self-destruct sequence. But he now had
to work faster at timing the de-cloaking and transport before the Darren exploded.
He hadn’t bothered to look up very often to check what was going on outside, the display readouts had
been telling him everything. But he did look up, through the cockpit window and out into space.
He saw it, the largest ship he had seen in his life. Its dark, smooth, sloping hull was almost
indistinguishable from the starscape. But it was there; even the sensors now proved that.
As he frantically went over the readings scrolling before him, he checked the time left on the self-
destruct countdown.
3:34…3:33…3:32…
5

The clock seemed ominous to him, like it was counting down the moments till his death. He shook it
off, though, and kept working. The ship he saw before him was generating a huge bioelectric field around
itself. All of the systems in the ship appeared to be biological, very similar to…
His face suddenly went pale; could this be what Starfleet had feared? That one day the aliens known
as Species 8472 would try once again to invade the Federation? But the ship’s configuration was so
different from what he had seen of the “bioships”. He began running a comparison between the two
schematics, but his search was interrupted by the computer’s voice.
“Warning, proximity to U.S.S. Darren is not recommended due to its self-destruct program activation.
Set escape course immediately.”
Rehn was fully aware of the risk, but he held the shuttle steady. “Computer, are we within transporter
range?”
“Affirmative.”
He swung around in the chair to the transporter control console. A few more seconds and he had
established a lock on Sloan. He looked at the clock.
23 seconds…22…21…
Rehn reached for the console and tapped the control. He and Smith both looked towards the back of
the shuttle as Sloan slowly materialized in a sparkling of light. At first Sloan appeared dazed and
disorientated. He rocked over and propped himself up on a near by panel.
When he came through, he just gazed at Rehn with a glassy stare, and then grinned. Rehn swung
around back to the helm console, setting a course away from the Darren at maximum warp.
5…4…3…
Outside, time seemed to slow to almost a complete stop, the last two seconds before the destruction
of the starship felt like an eternity. The Enterprise and the alien vessel circled each other in deadly
combat. Some would describe it as being similar to some Klingon ritual symbolizing the clash between
two honorable warriors, fighting to the death for immortal glory.
But however it could be described, it didn’t matter. For the burning carcass of the Darren there was to
be no memorial, no salute, not even an honorable decommissioning. Only one moment, one fraction of a
second, and it flew apart in a blaze of hull fragments and fire. Perhaps, if some great philosopher had
witnessed that moment, he would still describe it as a glorious end, for a glorious ship.
Not the Darren, that was only a nickname.
Not Darren…
U.S.S…Excelsior…

Three Days Later…

The red sphere of Mars glowed brightly in contrast with the black starscape. The canyons of rivers
long dry snaked across the surface of the planet. Twisting around mountains and dropping into valleys.
And finally meeting with plains that were once great oceans. But these oceans were not empty. Flickering
lights shined up into the night sky from hundreds of Martian Cities, built by humans brave enough to
endure harsh life on a new world.
This was the sight that greeted Truman Smith as he gazed out the wide viewport of the Starbase. The
chatter of the voices behind him seemed non-existent.
He didn’t want to hear them. He didn’t even want to look at them.
Over the three days he and Rehn had traveled to these “shipyards”, Smith had been given a summary
of history for the past 300 years. Not only that, but he had gotten to know the Starfleet control interface,
learned how to pilot a shuttle, and been briefed in the many protocols of the United Federation of Planets.
They had even decided on a new name. Truman was Smith’s middle name, so it didn’t seem awkward to
be called that. Every night he had spent almost sleepless, just taking in the information thrust at him that
day. But when they finally arrived at Utopia Planitia, he went first to this window, not to his quarters.
He figured he didn’t want to interact with anyone right now. All this turmoil was a little too much for his
mind to take. He was the only man from his time to know that soon, a man named Cochran would invent
the most incredible technology mankind would see; warp drive. And only fifty years after that, they’d
establish a huge federation. They’d transform and become explorers instead of warriors. And all that he
had fought for, all that he was still fighting for, it would all be considered a dark spot by history. “The
tragedy of World War III”, that’s what Rehn had called it. That’s what history had called it.
6

Smith came out of his thoughts as he noticed Rehn’s reflection in the glass, seemingly walking
towards him from the planet’s surface. “You’ve been here for quite awhile,” he mused, “Sure you aren’t
hungry?”
But Smith just shook his head; he didn’t feel like talking right now, much less eating. After a few
minutes, Rehn finally left. He seemed disappointed. I’m not what he thought I was, Smith thought, how
could I be what he thought I was? How? I have to; I have to be the man he expected. I must become the
strong-willed, determined man he wants. But that would be denial. I couldn’t survive here; this world is too
different. But he needs me. He needs me to resurrect a dying organization. I won’t disappoint him, ever.
And with his thoughts gathered, and his head held high, Smith made his way through the corridors of the
station; searching for Rehn, and his new life.

Commander Reginald Barclay adjusted his position in his chair anxiously. As he looked around, new
faces were all that greeted his eyes. He knew no one here, which made him a little uneasy. The chair was
too uncomfortable; he stood up, and tipped the table next to him. Reginald frantically scrambled to catch
the falling object. Unfortunately, he missed, and it toppled to ground with a resounding “thud”.
Barclay’s face turned bright red with embarrassment. Half the guests in the large mess hall room were
just staring at him, but eventually they caught themselves and rejoined their groups in conversation.
Barclay let out a sigh and lifted the heavy table back up to its normal position.
As he did, the invitees in the room turned towards the sliding double doors and started a rather
invigorated applause. Reginald strained his neck to see over the bodies of the crowd. He saw a pair of
men, one tall and robust, and the other slightly shorter and with the obvious markings of a Bajoran. They
both wore Starfleet uniforms, and the tall one seemed to be wearing four rank pips on his neck; the
symbol of a captain.
These were undoubtedly his new commanding officers.
Across the room, Rehn guided Smith through the sea of spectators, here for the christening of Smith’s
Starship. Rehn had explained it to him yesterday, the only way we can carry on Section 31 is if we have
some kind of a ship, the U.S.S. Valor is perfect.
So here they were, at the christening ceremony of the new ship. Smith approached the large window
opposite of the one facing Mars. It was open now, giving a clear view of the ship resting in the dock. His
lips parted in sheer amazement. It was so unlike anything he had ever imagined: sleek, flowing; though it
held an inner strength. The curving saucer section flowed down into a lower engineering hull, and back up
into the supports and nacelles of the warp engines.
Brilliant…
That was the only thought that came to mind.
Just brilliant.
He spun around to Rehn, a light in his eyes and an invigoration on his features. “I’ll need a crew.” He
looked over his shoulder at the ship as he spoke, “That ship deserves the best crew in history.” He
whispered to no one.
Rehn smiled, “They’re all here, waiting to meet you. I have confidence that you can mold them into the
best crew in history.”
Smith had never been so anxious in his life. This was his dream! To become a leader of a ship, yes,
that satisfied every ambition he had ever sought. He knew in his heart, deep down, this was the life he
had been intended to lead. The pursuit of knowledge: the driving power in Starfleet. The protection of that
ability: the purpose of Section 31. He would fulfill both tasks, and excel at them. He was now Captain
Truman A. Smith; commander of Starfleet’s most advanced ship, and the redeemer of Section 31.
Rehn took him around the room. A collage of smiling faces greeted his eyes: Humans, Andorians,
Bolians, Bajorans, and Trills…they all greeted him with happiness. This was his new staff…Chief
Engineer Vorik of Vulcan, Tactical officer Jules Raymond of Earth, Operations officer Reginald Barclay of
Earth, Helms Officer Jila Brayton of Endaru, Chief Medical officer Donald Hodgeson of Earth, and of
course, First officer Jovan Rehn of Bajor. These were the people that he would mold into the best crew in
history; his new family.

After a tour of the ship, Smith went off to his quarters for some much-needed rest. Tomorrow he would
start his new life. Life has many roads, but it seems someone else is always driving the car. You can’t
map life, so just hang on for the ride. That was what his father had told him. It helped him overcome a
7

harsh childhood in the changing world he occupied. But this road, he never would have guessed he’d be
traveling down it. …Just hang on for the ride. Yes, this was going to be a wild ride. And he would enjoy it.

As the turbolift door slid open onto the bridge, Smith rubbed whatever sleep was left out of his eyes
and blinked a few times. All of his staff stood waiting for him. It was time. He walked out of the turbolift
and looked around. Everyone stood at attention as he took the chair. It was comfortable, and had a
majesty about it he couldn’t quite describe.
“Helm,” he hesitated for emphasis, “Take us out!”
All over the ship, systems came alive. The impulse engines slowly accelerated the vessel. Like a bear
coming out of its cave, the ship emerged from the dock. As it cleared the last portion of the station, the
crowd assembled on the bridge and on the station let out a great cheer. The U.S.S. Valor had embarked.
Brayton at the helm station gave out her report, “We’ve cleared the docking bay, sir.”
“Accelerate to three-fourths impulse.”
“Aye, sir.” She worked the controls at her station. On the large viewscreen, the numerous construction
bays of Utopia Planitia flew by in a blur of motion. In a few seconds, Brayton spoke again, “We have
cleared the fleet yards, sir.”
Smith rose from the captain’s chair and walked over beside the helms officer, “Jila, set course for the
Neutral Zone, maximum warp.”
She hesitated for a moment. In her mind she wanted to protest, but it was not her place. Still, she
wondered why her captain was ordering a course for the Neutral Zone. Unless…no, it couldn’t be
possible. Could this have something to do with the Romulans?
“Course plotted and laid in.”
Smith waited for a tense second, drawing the stress of the crowd there on the bridge even higher.
“Engage.”
On the screen in front of him, the stars accelerated for an instant, disappearing in a kaleidoscope of
color and blur. The screen flashed a brilliant white, and then subsided into a view of space, flowing past
them like a river. Smith caught his breath. It was so magnificent!

“Captain’s Log, supplemental. The maiden voyage of the U.S.S. Valor has gotten off to a smooth start.
Our first mission is to rendezvous with the Enterprise and help them with repairs. In addition, Captain
Picard and his staff have agreed to a meeting with my officers to discuss the recent attack on their
vessel.”
In the large briefing room, Smith tapped a button on the small console in front of him, saving the log
entry into the ship’s database. He looked around the empty room. Though he was the only one there, it
still felt like a fine place. As his gaze took him out the window, he marveled at the large vessel floating a
few kilometers outside. Huge gashes in the hull and numerous plasma trails led off from it. He had been
told that the pieces that had been broken off were still capable of supporting life. Meaning there still could
be crewmembers trapped inside.
His thoughts were interrupted as the doors of the room slid open and the two ships’ staffs walked in.
Picard took a seat at the right of him, and Rehn took the one to the left. The rest of Picard’s staff sat on
his side, and the rest of Smith’s sat on Rehn’s side.
“Captain Picard,” Smith began, “I would be open to any discussion you and your crew might have
about your recent encounter.”
Picard straightened in his chair, “Yes, well. When they first appeared we tried hailing them, but they
didn’t reply. None of our weapons seemed to have any affect on them. It was quite odd the way they
attacked us. From our visual analyses they appeared to have far superior weapons, yet they did not use
them to their full capacity. Presumably because they may not have wanted to destroy us.” He paused,
“I’m sure mister Data could explain it in more detail.” Picard turned to the android.
Data was apparently caught off guard, but he gathered himself and spoke. “The ship generated a
bioelectric field that acted as a kind of shield. The field blocked mostly all forms of scanning, and, as
Captain Picard mentioned, they were capable of absorbing all of our weapons. It appears their only
armament is a focused antimatter stream. Our shields were unable to counter it. Yet, as he explained,
they did not use the antimatter weapon to its fullest capacity.”
Rehn decided to interrupt, “Could this be in any way related to the technology…” he paused, “…
biology used by Species 8472?”
8

“No,” beside Data, Troi looked up. “No, I could sense thoughts coming from the beings on that ship
that were much more sophisticated than those of Species 8472. Obviously the bioelectric field was not
strong enough to block my telepathic abilities.”
“And we identified a distinct power network in their ship that was definitely not biological.” Geordi La
Forge spoke up.
Across the table from him, Hodgeson turned to Doctor Beverly Crusher, “I’d like to analyze any data
you might have regarding that ship. It sounds to me as if these people are using a mix of biological and
technological components to run their vessel.”
Rehn glanced over at Smith and nodded. Truman knew what that meant, he looked up, “Computer,
seal all access to this room and erect a level ten force field around it. Cut off all communications after the
following.”
Picard rose quickly from his chair, a look of utter confusion and anger on his face. “I demand to know
the meaning of this!” he bellowed.
On the wall behind him, the tapestry of Starfleet’s insignia changed to a holographic screen. A logo
that only Rehn would recognize appeared on the display, only to be promptly replaced by the image of a
man.
Riker whispered hatefully under his breath, “Sloan.”
“Very good, Mr. Riker,” He replied in a mock congratulating tone, “I applaud your intelligence.” The
image on the screen turned to Picard, “I suggest you sit down, captain. We have a lot to talk about.”
“Talk!” the captain huffed, “With you, Sloan?” Picard’s anger and disapproval was obvious on his
features, “Just how did you do it, Sloan? How did you fake your own death? How? A hologram? A clone?
Or some other gruesome method I don’t know about?”
A look of resentment crossed Sloan’s face, but he kept it in check, “Very perceptive, captain. Yes, it
was a clone. I sent him in my place to Deep Space Nine. But I paid dearly for that action; I was infected
with a virus. I have no more than five years to live.” That sentence seemed to catch the attention of Riker,
who appeared to brighten at the words, “The man on this ship, Captain Smith, he is the second-in-
command of Section 31. And he will carry on the organization when I am dead.”
Every soul in the room froze, especially the staff of the Valor. Looks of disbelief and confusion spread
across their faces. Only Riker noticed how Rehn did not act as surprised as the others. He found that to
be a little more than a coincidence.
Smith felt rather awkward. He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat.
Sloan saved him further uneasiness by continuing. “Section 31 has made some startling discoveries.
You were not the only ones to be attacked by these aliens. The Cardassians, Klingons, and Romulans
have reported similar attacks. In addition, they have reported multiple ship sightings. More specifically, the
Klingons have encountered eight distinct alien vessels with the same configuration. The Cardassians
have reported three ships. And the Romulans have reported five. The Federation has only seen one: the
vessel that attacked you. Moreover, all these attacks seemed to start at around the same time: four days
ago. Mister Data, have you been able to track the ship that attacked you?”
The android replied with ease, “No, the bioelectric field generated by the ship prevents long range
sensors from detecting them.”
Sloan smiled, “What if I told you, your skills are out of date?”
Data looked surprised, “I do not believe that assumption would be correct, my skills improve as
technology improves. I can never become ‘out of date’.”
“You mean as known technology improves. Before the late starship Darren was destroyed, I launched
a micro tracking probe into the alien ship’s hull. Currently they are on a direct course for Starbase 173.” A
proud smile grew onto his features.
“Commander Riker,” Will turned around as Sloan addressed him, “I want you to temporarily transfer to
the Valor for the rest of this mission.”
“And what mission would that be?” Riker struck back.
Sloan was becoming impatient. “The mission to find out what is going here. This region of the Alpha
Quadrant is in a lot of danger.”
Riker glanced at Picard, who gave him a nod. “Alright, Sloan, I’ll go along with your little plan.”
“Good,” Sloan smiled, “I expect your full cooperation in these matters.”
The Commander nodded.
“Excellent,” Sloan clapped his hands together, “Now I suggest you get moving. The aliens won’t wait.”
9

As the screen went blank, Smith, who had been sitting rather quietly through the entire meeting, spoke
to the officers in the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, Sloan has spoken,” he expressed with mock
reverence. “Dismissed.”
As the officers left the room, Captain Picard was the last one to leave. As he approached the doorway,
the captain turned to Smith.
“Any questions, captain?” Smith inquired.
Picard hesitated for a moment, obviously contemplating his answer, “I…no. Just…watch your back.”
Smith was confused for a moment as Picard continued through the door. Watch your back. What did
the captain mean by that? Was he referring to Sloan? But he let the subject go; after all, what could he be
worried about? Sloan was his commanding officer.
And for some reason, that frightened him.

On the bridge of the Valor, Rehn had taken his seat in the first-officer’s chair. During the meeting, he
had noticed more than anything the look that Riker had given him. Rehn understood the reason for the
commander’s hate. Rehn had served as an ensign aboard the Enterprise-E, and quickly caught the eye of
Captain Picard.
However, Riker hadn’t trusted Rehn from the beginning, and the fact that Rehn was always making
secret communications with Sloan didn’t make matters any easier. Riker once even had Commander
Worf do a thorough search of Rehn’s quarters. The results hadn’t turned up anything bad for Rehn, but
Riker still didn’t trust him. One time he may have even heard Riker remark to Picard that Rehn was “Too
good” at his job.
Still, those minor set backs hadn’t done anything to reveal Rehn’s connection with Section 31. Until
one morning, Rehn found himself lying on the hard floor of the brig. Riker had told him everything that
day, from the secret communications with Sloan, to their plan to bring a successor from the past to inherit
Section 31. From that day on, Rehn and Riker had a personal rivalry going that just wouldn’t be settled.
Rehn had never found out how Riker knew about his involvement with Sloan and Section 31. Soon
after the incident, Rehn had been brought before a court marshal and stripped of his Starfleet rank. Sloan
had not deserted him though, and Rehn was soon back aboard a starship. Only this time, it was the
flagship of Section 31. There he had continued his work on the time-transporter with Sloan. And the rest
was history.
Riker probably wondered how Rehn was reinstated into Starfleet. Sloan had contacted some of his
friends at Starfleet Command, and Rehn was cleared of the records about his contact with Section 31.
Now Rehn was back aboard a Federation Starship, and he had completed his mission to bring Abram
Smith to the captaincy. Things were looking up again, and Rehn hoped they would stay that way for a
long time.

In the captain’s ready room, Smith sat quietly behind his desk. In his hand he held a standard Starfleet
“PADD”, the general computer access device used in most Federation facilities. Smith found it easier than
he expected to operate the tool. In his time similar devices were in mass use. But still it was an awkward
feeling to him. After the briefing with Sloan and the Enterprise staff, he had felt a strong sense of
uneasiness. Why was he here in the future when his place was clearly in the past?
In a simpler way he just felt like he was not in the right place. Scientists had speculated for years in the
21st Century that time-travel was not so impossible after all. But the cruel ways of the changing world had
shut their mouths in the pretense that “such idealistic views would never have any ground in the ‘big
picture’”. Society had closed its ears to visionaries such as those scientists, and in turn they paid dearly
for that action.
Only years after that, World War III had begun, and the drug-controlled soldiers that fought on the
battlefields of the world had permanently put an end to the decades of work on the scientists’ part. That
was one of the primary reasons Smith had joined the North American forces; to protect the rights of those
men and women still living who had the good sense to oppose the ‘New Man’s Order’.
But even the ideals Smith had begun to fight for diminished, and the North American generals ordered
that their troops too would convert to the more ‘modern and efficient’ way of the drug-controlled soldiers.
Of course there was much opposition to this radical change in strategy. But those voices faded away as
10

well, and division-by-division, army-by-army, the forces of the North Americans converted into the drug-
infested maniacs the European Coalition fought with.
Smith and his division had been outraged by the decision made by the North American leaders. They
had even openly opposed the path that the people of the world were taking. Smith’s small forces fled the
North American continent into an atmospheric transport. They hoped to reach Antarctica, were they would
take a shuttle off of the Earth, and with any luck take refuge on the Moon. But halfway through the
atmospheric flight, their ship had lost its navigational systems and crashed on the central area of Europe,
in the southern part of France.
That was where they had been. That was where they were when Smith had been transported away.
Away through time, away into a time when he was powerless to help them. Smith thought of them, of
what had happened to them. He also thought of what he could have done to save them. The day before
he had been transported away, one of his scouts had reported that a full force of Europeans was
advancing on their position; they were due to attack Smith and his group the next morning.
Smith remembered how one of his soldiers had put it, “It’s really a shame. We might be the only ones
left in the whole world who know that what they’re doing to people is wrong. And here we are about to die
because of that”. Those words had stirred the emotions of every soldier in the camp that night. A few men
had spoken in feigned optimism that that man was wrong, that they did have a chance to prevail, and that
death would not come by morning. But even they knew that they spoke empty words.
Maybe the timing of the transport was not so bad after all. Perhaps Smith had done all he could, said
all he could say. These men from the future had given him a second chance at life. Rehn and Sloan were
the only reasons Smith was alive and well. He was so much in debt to them. Life was not as harsh as
Smith had first perceived, for it was life that gave every being purpose. And now, it was giving him
purpose that would have otherwise died a meaningless death.
With the conclusion of his thoughts, Smith looked up as the door chime rung. He hesitated for a
moment as he remembered what Rehn had told him about that.
“Come,” he spoke hesitantly.
The door parted down the middle as Jila Brayton walked in. Her soft brown hair hung loosely down her
back, framing Jila’s face, and her bright blue eyes. Two ridges on her skin draped down from above her
temples and met above her nose, forming a kind of crown above her face. She walked in with a sturdy
step towards Smith’s desk at the end of the room. In a different scenario, Smith could almost see Brayton
as his superior.
“Lieutenant Brayton,” Smith addressed her, “I’m guessing this probably isn’t a formal visit.”
Jila wavered for a second as she processed the meaning of the human term, “No, Captain,” she
replied, “I didn’t plan on giving any kind of report.”
Smith leaned back in his chair, placing the PADD on the table in front of him. He made a gesture with
his other hand towards the chair in front of his desk.
Jila hesitated a few seconds before reluctantly sitting down. She sat back and crossed her arms, “I see
no reason in going through customary formalities so I’ll get right to the point. If a may be blunt, sir, what
in the name of good sense were you thinking?”
Smith was expecting this kind of question, “Look, Jila…”
But she cut him off, “I’ve heard rumors about Section 31, everyone has. But not one of us has ever
tried to get involved directly with them. They are notorious for using methods of conduct that no sane
Starfleet officer would ever dare attempt. And yet you, a man of fine stature in Starfleet and the
Federation, have gone over to their side. Why did you do it?”
Behind the desk, Smith sighed and sat back in his chair. “They gave me a chance no one else could
offer.”
“And you welcomed it with open arms?” Jila looked skeptical, “Sir, I’ve done some research into your
personnel files. It says you graduated from the Academy first in your class. You were posted as an Ensign
on the Sutherland, and quickly rose to the position of First Officer. Before you were even ten years out of
the Academy, you were offered your own command.” She paused as she noticed the uneasy expression
on Smith’s face, “I had my doubts about your faster-than-normal clime to the top. So I checked with some
of my friends on the Sutherland. Turns out they’ve never heard of you. They tell me the First Officer on
the Sutherland has been Commander Jacob Richardson for the last seven years.”
Smith hated what he had to do now, but it was the only choice. If he told Jila the truth, he risked her
telling someone about his situation. If he did not tell her, he risked that she still might inform someone of
11

her findings and start a mutiny on the grounds that Smith was an imposter. It was an extremely difficult
choice.
He reached across his chest and removed his combadge, placing it reverently on the desk in front of
him. “The rest of this conversation is off the record,” He looked up at Jila, “I trust you will respect my
request that none of what you hear or see in this room will pass outside those doors,” He gestured toward
the airlock at the other end of the room.
Brayton nodded, “Fair enough,” She removed her combadge in the same way and placed it on the
desk, “you tell me what I want to know and I leave you alone. So, let’s hear it.”
Smith took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, “My real name is Abram T. Smith. I was the
commander of the Fifth Infantry Division of the North American Alliance army during the Third World War.
Sloan and Section 31 are responsible for my presence here in the 24th Century. They brought me here to
one day become the director of Section 31.”
Jila looked shocked as she sat frozen in her chair, after a long few seconds, she spoke, “You’re…not
from this century?” Smith shook his head, “And, you were brought here by Section 31?” This time, Smith
nodded. Jila finally sat back and chuckled, “My captain is a man from the 21st Century?”
“Your taking this well,” Smith mused.
“Believe me, sir, I’m sorry I can’t take this story beyond these walls. It’d make a great article for the
Federation News Bureau.”
Smith was pretty confident at this moment that he had dealt with the situation correctly. But he just
wanted to make sure, “Jila, remember your promise,” he nodded at the combadges on the desk, “your
bound by your oath to Starfleet to uphold it.”
“Don’t worry, sir,” Jila seemed more relaxed now than she had been a minute ago, “I have no will or
motive to tell your story to anyone else. “Besides,“ she paused and leaned back in the chair, “Endarans
take an oath when we’re just kids never to tell falsehood or break a promise. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Smith was about to say something but never got the chance, for the shrill sound of the Red Alert
warning signal filled the room. It was followed shortly by the voice of Rehn, “All hands to battle stations.”
Jila and Smith exchanged a short glance before rising from their chairs and heading out the door.

On the main viewscreen at the front of the bridge, space studded with stars was all that could be seen.
As Smith took his seat in the center chair, Rehn informed of why Red Alert had been called for.
“Starbase 173 is gone, sir.”
Smith turned to Rehn in disbelief, “An entire Starbase just…vanished?”
“Well, not completely,“ behind him, Commander Barclay added to Rehn’s statement, “I’m picking up
traces of recent weapons fire. One of the signatures is Federation, but the other is completely unfamiliar.”
A chill ran down Smith’s spine. A ship that could destroy an entire Starbase without a trace must be
more powerful than anything the Federation had encountered. Unless disappearances like this were not
uncommon.
Rehn looked skeptical as he scrolled through the sensor logs on his console. “But according to long
range sensors, the alien ship is still three hours away, holding a steady speed of warp three. There’s no
way they could have destroyed the station.”
At the helm, Jila jumped in her seat. “S-Sir, another ship just appeared out of nowhere.”
“Configuration?” Rehn prompted.
“It matches the layout described by the Enterprise.”
“I’m receiving a transmission from the alien vessel,” Barclay announced as his console chimed.
Smith rose from his seat and approached the viewscreen. The vessel before him looked almost
exactly like the one he and Rehn had seen as they left the Darren. “Let’s hear what they have to say.”
Everyone on the bridge listened after Barclay pressed the key on his console to activate the bridge
speakers. But a voice was not heard at first, just a humming and the faint noise of subspace static. Once
the humming stopped and the static reduced, the bridge crew held their breath.
I am Guide of the Aldrym Preserver ship Quena.
Smith heard the echoing voice in his mind, not his ears. It chilled him even more. The voice sounded
calm, serene, yet haunting. It sounded as if it belonged to a dark thing; a being, whose name was only
whispered in the darkness of night. It frightened him.
Your ship has been chosen to preserve the Aldrym race. The alloys of your vessel are crucial to that
task. Resist…and your death will come painfully. Do not resist…and your death will come quickly.
12

Smith tried to calm his shaking figure. A deep breath filled his lungs, and it left his chest slowly. “You
sound confident that we will die. Have you even scanned our vessel to know its capabilities?”
The voice did not sound intimidated, We are not interested in the capabilities of your ship, but we are
interested in the capabilities of you as a people. We will now evaluate you as a race.
As soon as the voice was finished speaking the Bridge filled with a swirling green mist. But as soon as
it came, the mist was gone. “What was that?” Rehn asked hesitantly.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Barclay replied quickly, “But I’m picking up reports of phaser skirmishes all
over the ship. It appears we’re being boarded.”
Everyone on the bridge froze in his or her place. If there were ever a time when fear was the most
paramount emotion, that had to be one of them. The Aldrym had arrived.

To Be Continued…

Episode 1
Saviors, Part 2

On the Bridge of the Valor, a silence filled the air. Every soul in the room did not dare to speak a word.
Barclay had just informed Captain Smith that the ship was in process of being boarded by an alien race
known as the Aldrym.
“How many life forms?” Smith broke the stillness.
Barclay answered, though hesitantly, “I…can’t tell, sir.”
On his chest, Smith heard his combadge chirp, and a voice emanate from it, “I believe a have news
that might be of interest, Captain,” The voice was Hodgeson’s.
The captain reached down and tapped the badge, “This better be good, Doc. We’ve got a big problem
up here.”
But Hodgeson assured him, “This is well worth it, sir. But I’m afraid it won’t be easy for you to get here
to see it.”
Smith was suddenly perplexed, “Elaborate, doctor.”
The muffled sound of a man yelling and a phaser firing filtered over the combadge. In a few moments,
Hodgeson’s voice could be heard shouting orders to his medical staff, “Someone get that door sealed!
Ensign, get to the weapons locker and for heaven’s sake find some better weapons!”
“Sound’s like they’re in need of some assistance,” Jules remarked from the tactical station.
“I’m sorry,” Hodgeson’s tired voice could be heard on the bridge speakers now. Barclay had switched
them over. “Bridge, are you still there?” static began to fill the speakers, the doctor’s voice could barely by
heard, “We…require…help…Aldrym…taking over…sickbay…can’t…bridge…please respond!”
Smith could almost hear the screams of the officers dying in the background. When Hodgeson’s voice
was heard no more, the captain signaled for Barclay to close the comlink.
“They need my help,” Jules Raymond said from his station, “I’m getting a security team down there
ASAP.” And before Rehn could say anything to the contrary, the tactical officer had already begun to
descend behind the closed doors of the turbolift.

As the turbolift doors opened before Jules into the long corridor, he couldn’t help but wonder what the
Aldrym leader had meant with the thoughts, “We will now evaluate you as a race”. It was perplexing, even
for him. Jules ordinarily found the answers to difficult questions much quicker than anyone he was
contending with did. That quick thinking led him to make fast and accurate decisions, and in turn gave him
decisiveness unmatched by most officers in Starfleet. If Jules Raymond made a decision, it was almost
always the correct one. And if he truly believed in that decision, Jules would act on it without fail.
However, this situation with the Aldrym was far more than he had ever dealt with. He in a way looked
forward to pitting his wits against theirs.
The tactical officer stopped dead in his tracks as a sharp beam of energy shot past and blew a large
hole in the corridor wall beside him. Jules looked up to see where the blast had come from. Two dark
13

figures ducked behind a wall at the far end of the hallway. Instinct and intuition guided Raymond’s
movements as he too ducked behind a nearby corner.
Another white streak of energy shot past him and impacted on the turbolift door, ripping a huge gap in
the gray metal. Jules drew the hand phaser from his belt and quickly gauged the distance between him
and the two beings. In a quick motion Raymond rolled out from behind the wall and fired towards the spot
where his enemies had been. And hit them.
But the two figures seemed to disregard the phaser blast, which Jules had set to maximum. One just
raised the large weapon from its waist and leveled it at the helpless tactical officer.

The bridge of the Valor was in a state of turmoil. Every display readout in the room reinforced the fact
that the ship was under serious attack. Every deck reported it was in danger. And as if that weren’t
enough, Vorik had just reported that the Warp Core was in danger if the Aldrym reached Engineering.
“Options.” Smith called.
Beside him, Rehn looked up in thought. He brought his hand from the console to his right ear, and
played subconsciously with his traditional Bajoran ear ornament. After a few moments, he turned to Smith
and stated plainly, “We don’t have many.”
Barclay spoke up rather slowly from his console, “I believe I can offer a suggestion.”
“By all means,” Smith encouraged him.
“Well,” Reginald continued, “If we could reach one of the Transporter Rooms, we could use it to
beam…” But Jila cut him off.
“Beam the Aldrym off the ship? But their bioelectric field could…”
Rehn silently motioned for Jila to cease her statement. And she did so, though quite reluctantly.
Barclay continued his sentence, “…to beam our personnel to safety. I remind you, we still have
crewmembers trapped all over the ship. If we could get them to safety and then organize them into
groups, we could better combat the Aldrym threat.”
Smith turned to the Operations officer in amazement. “Astonishing, Mr. Barclay,” he began, “I had no
idea you were a strategist.”
“I’m not…normally.” Barclay replied somewhat sheepishly.
“Well, it seems like an excellent plan to me,” Smith continued as he rose from his chair. “I’m going to
try to get to the transporter room. Rehn, stay here and coordinate your security efforts with Mr. Raymond.”
“Aye, sir,” Rehn spoke from his chair. Then he added, “Before you go, may I speak with you alone?”
Smith was puzzled, but he complied, “In my ready room.”
The two walked silently off the noisy bridge into the captain’s private room. Once the doors had slid
shut behind them, Rehn wasted not a second with formalities. He got right to the point.
“Truman, I have regrets about telling you this, but I believe it’s necessary in this situation.” He paused
and heaved a large sigh, “Sloan is aboard this ship.”

Jules’ thoughts were those of panic. His mind completely halted as he stared at the glowing white
barrel of the Aldrym cannon. It pointed right at his chest. For the first time in his entire life, Jules Raymond
felt truly mortal. It came as a pity to him that he had only now learned to become humble. Even in the last
moments of life, he felt as though he still had a chance to survive.
But the thought left him as the split second passed when the streaking energy beam struck his body.
Jules’ breathed his last breath as the world dissolved around him in a black haze.
A strange feeling filled him, and a thought to match.
Every square inch of his body spoke to him in that instant before death.
This isn’t right. This isn’t real. It’s just an illusion…

Doctor Donald Hodgeson had never felt so crowded in his life. The hard deck plates below him felt
rough and abrasive to his hands and knees. With every movement his back nearly hit the low roof that
covered his head.
The doctor had made a promise to himself never to go clamoring around in one of these conduits.
Starfleet called them Jeffrey’s Tubes, but Hodgeson had invented a personal title for them: Prison
14

Tunnels. The very thought of being closed inside a never-ending hallway no wider or higher than a cargo
crate simply abhorred him. Now he crawled inside one these claustrophobia-inducing crawlways.
Behind him, Ensign Lee politely informed the doctor he was holding up the officers behind him. It took
a few moments for Donald to realize that he had been at a complete stop while he had been loathing. The
CMO began crawling again; still thinking of how he hated these dreaded Prison Tunnels.
A minute later they had reached the next conduit junction. Hodgeson stepped out of the tunnel and
stood straight up in the small room, stretching his arms above his head at the same time.
“Computer,” he prompted, “Where are we?”
The computer responded in its normal, even tone, “Deck 17, Section 23 Beta, Engineering.”
“Look’s like we’re here,” Ensign Lee remarked as he cleared the conduit, “It’s about time.”
With a steady stride, Doctor Hodgeson walked towards the doors at the opposite end of the room.
Once there, he reached over and pressed the control beside the doors. They immediately parted to reveal
the control base for the entire ship, Main Engineering.
He walked forward with an eager stride and motioned for his team to come after him. The colossal
glowing tower in the center of the room shone brightly, lighting even the fringes of the multi-level
chamber. It was the driving power for the entire ship.
The Warp Core was the name of this tower. It operated on a matter/antimatter reaction regulated by
Dilithium crystals. The reaction produced enough power to drive the entire ship. It also was responsible
for creating and maintaining the warp bubble needed to achieve faster-than-light travel aboard a starship.
The concept of warp physics was one of the most difficult areas of expertise to master. For that reason,
Hodgeson had a great deal of respect for the engineers of Starfleet.
The Chief Engineer of the Valor happened to be approaching the doctor at that very moment. Vorik’s
posture was perfectly fitting for a Vulcan, and even in the virtual chaos of the scene, he maintained a
serene and ‘logical’ expression.
“Doctor Hodgeson,” he addressed Donald, “We were informed you were…”
“Dead?” the doctor cut him off, “No, just a few scrapes and bruises, but we’re fine.”
Vorik straightened up, “We are grateful for your survival. But we have wounded.”
Hodgeson looked around the room and noticed several crewmen lined up on the floor. He was
shocked at the degree of injury they had suffered. His legs instinctively brought him to walk over the
victims and kneel down beside the closest one. The man, a young ensign, had a huge spot of blood on
his side. From memory, Donald could tell that the man had been hit by a severe blast of energy. It worried
him to think just how severe a blast could create a wound like it.
“Good Lord,” he exclaimed, “What happened to these people?”
Vorik calmly stepped over to the doctor and explained, “An Aldrym group breached our security
forcefield and proceeded to attack our personnel.”
One of the other engineering crewmen walking by added a statement, “They’re impervious to phasers.
We had to rip out the EPS power nodes and set them for a timed detonation.” He nodded towards the
injured crewmen, “They volunteered to attach the nodes to the Aldrym soldiers. We all owe them our
lives.”
“Ensign Hanson,” Vorik scolded, “Please continue your repairs of the EPS distribution network.”
“Aye, sir,” Hanson replied.
“So,” Hodgeson continued, “How are things going on a technical note?”
Vorik turned back to the doctor, “The EPS power grid is non-functional, life-support is barely
functioning, and we are a few minutes away from loosing all propulsion. I estimate repair time at nearly
three days.”
Donald sighed heavily, “I truly wonder if this could get any worse.” He leaned back onto the cold floor,
“But with our luck, it probably will get a whole lot worse.”
The doctor couldn’t have been more correct. Every person in that large room was thinking nearly the
same thought. The ship would never survive long enough for the repairs to be completed. Aldrym or not,
the Valor was falling apart.

The bridge was in the process of being flooded with damage reports from across the ship. The
crewmembers present scrambled to repair the systems they had access to. Rehn sat quietly in the
command chair, assessing the information poring in.
15

Behind him, Commander Riker burst out of the turbolift onto the bridge. He walked down the few steps
to the lower level of the room and came to stand in front of Rehn.
“What is going here?” he asked Rehn.
The Bajoran glanced up from his console momentarily. At that moment, he did not particularly want a
confrontation between him and the commander. Riker and he hadn’t spoken since the meeting with Sloan
and he didn’t feel like doing it now.
But Rehn didn’t want to give Riker another reason to doubt him. He complied, “An alien species, who
identified themselves as the Aldrym, have been boarding our vessel. They are deliberately causing
damage to every possible system. And we have suffered approximately sixty-three percent casualties,
half of those fatalities.”
Riker lowered his head in grief. Thirty-one percent of the crew was dead, and another thirty-two
percent had been severely injured. “So much for the maiden voyage,” he whispered under his breath.
“I could use an extra hand,” Rehn told him, “We can use help we can get.”
For the first time since the Valor’s First Officer could remember, Riker smiled at something Rehn said.
Perhaps the wall separating the two was beginning to crumble. Commander Riker took a seat in the First
Officer’s chair and began looking over the display readouts.
He shook his head, “We’ve got seventy-three percent overall systems damage. That’s way below even
minimal operating capabilities.”
But Rehn needed some kind of diversion from the knowledge that the ship wouldn’t last long. “What
were you up to before you got here?” he asked.
Riker kept his gaze on the console screen while he spoke, “I was resting in my quarters when I heard
the Red Alert signal. It took me a few minutes to get my uniform on and head out into the corridor. The
next thing I knew I was blocked on every side by fallen conduits and bulkheads. I had to get inside one of
the Jeffrey’s Tubes and crawl all the way to deck four. It took me a little while to repair the turbolift there,
but as you can see, I made it.”
“Impressive,” Rehn mumbled, “Jila, what is the status of the Aldrym vessel?”
From her station the helms officer replied, “They’re holding position three kilometers from us. It
appears their antimatter weapon is offline, if they even have one.”
“What’s our tactical status?”
Behind Rehn, Ensign Bailey spoke, “Phasers and Photon Torpedoes are offline. Propulsion is gone,
and I can only give you thrusters at seventy-eight percent power.”
“I’ll take it,” Jovan said, “Jila, set a course away from the Aldrym. We’re leaving the party early.”
With inertial dampers gone, the Valor lurched beneath the crew’s feet. The image on the viewscreen
slowly turned, rotating away from the Aldrym ship. After the turn ceased, Rehn felt the ship start to move
forward. However, the Aldrym had other plans than to let their victims escape.
“Sir!” Bailey announced, “The Aldrym antimatter weapon is powering up!”
“They’re firing!” Jila shouted.
The round hull of the Aldrym ship lit up with streams of antimatter as it flowed towards the bow of the
vessel. Once all had met, the streams combined into a beam that shot out towards the Valor. When it hit,
the port warp nacelle was ripped clean off its support strut. Another beam came hurtling from Aldrym ship,
piercing the lower engineering hull of the Valor and sending pieces of debris spinning out into space.
Inside the bridge, display consoles exploded all around. The upper bulkheads of the ceiling came
crashing down on the helpless crewmembers. One bulkhead hit the helm station.
Even though the ship swayed and shook beneath him, Rehn tried to get up and help Jila Brayton. But
Riker pushed him back down with a stern hand. For the first time in his life, Rehn felt truly guilty. He had
ordered Jila to move the ship away from the Aldrym, but it appeared to have cost the lives of hundreds of
innocent people. Now he knew the feeling officers eventually encountered: the feeling of losing a
crewmember under their command.
It was the most horrible thing he had ever felt.

A few moments earlier, Smith walked down the dimly lit corridor towards Transporter room three. He
was still trying to make peace with the knowledge that his direct superior was aboard endangering himself
by being aboard the Valor. It made no sense to him. Sloan knew the danger this mission presented. Why
then did he choose to make it harder on all of them by personally staying with them?
16

A security team blocked the corridor beyond Smith. When he arrived, the captain noticed the officers
were fighting an Aldrym soldier.
One Aldrym soldier.
“Lieutenant,” Smith prompted the team leader, “I see you could use some help.”
The officer paused as he realized who was speaking to him. “That Aldrym soldier is impervious to
energy weapons, sir. We’ve got a few men going to the weapons locker for a micro-torpedo launcher now.
All we need to do is hold the Aldrym off until they get here.”
The lieutenant handed Smith a phaser. From his limited knowledge, Smith realized it was set for
maximum power. As Rehn had told him, that was enough to vaporized most materials.
But the captain had no more time to think, for a streak of white energy shot out from the spot where
the Aldrym was holding position. It barely missed Smith, but the beam did hit the Lieutenant. In a few
milliseconds, the officer’s body was nothing more than a torn heap of flesh, bloody and burnt.
Smith was horrified at the sight, he felt like crying for the man, but his mind was too filled with anger to
do so. It that instant, Smith truly felt like he was obligated to help these people. Though he was a man out
of time, this was his time now.
The men had arrived with the micro-torpedo launcher. It was a bulky thing, with a long, thick barrel. It
reminded Smith of some of the 21st Century hand-held missile launchers. The two officers carrying the
gun opened a tripod and set up the weapon on it.
As the rest of the security officers retreated back behind the launcher, Smith directed the team to wait
for his signal to fire. Down the left-curving corridor, the captain could see the shadow of the Aldrym troop
advancing toward his position. He waited in silence for the instant when the soldier walked into the line-of-
sight of the gun.
Smith estimated five seconds until the Aldrym soldier appeared.
Four…three…two…one…
A dark figure emerged before him. Smith guessed the soldier didn’t even suspect anyone to be there.
“Fire!” the captain yelled.
Beside Smith, the micro-torpedo launcher hummed for a tenth of a second. Barely three tenths of a
second after Truman gave the command, the small sun-bright torpedo had rocketed away from the barrel
of the launcher. In the blink of eye, the torpedo flew straight through the dark corridor to collide with the
unsuspecting Aldrym soldier. A fiery blast filled the corridor where the Aldrym had stood, accompanied by
a burst of thunder that made Smith fall back to the floor. When the smoke cleared, the Aldrym soldier was
gone.
“We did it!” the excited voice of one of the officers exclaimed. But as soon as the words had left his
mouth, the entire ship lurched and the warning alarms consistent with a hull breach echoed all around.
Beneath Smith’s feet, the hull of the Valor buckled and creaked. The ceiling lights that lit the corridor
flickered on and off, and again the ship lurched and swayed all around. Smith figured that the inertial
dampers had been knocked offline.
Smith looked up quickly to see a ceiling bulkhead come crashing down, but he did not react quickly
enough to save the crewmen it struck. The man cried for help for one brief instant, then lay motionless
under the crushing weight of the duranium mass.
The captain and the other two officers looked at each other over the beam. “He was a good man,” one
of the officers remarked, “He didn’t deserve to die like this.”
“No one does,” Smith whispered.

Engineering was in ruins.

Consoles and deck plates everywhere were in shambles. And the warp core had taken the worst of it.
“Someone get me power to the ejection system!” Even in his currently filthy uniform, Vorik maintained
his Vulcan serenity, at least on the outside. Inside, he was nearly frantic in his actions.
Atop the upper-level catwalk, one of the engineering officers replied, “We’re barely able to keep life-
support running, sir! It would mean diverting power from every available system just to activate one of the
consoles!”
Vorik sighed to himself and pointed his wrist beacon up towards the warp core. Aside from the few
emergency lights still functioning, the officer’s wrist-mounted lights were the only things making work
possible. Half the engineering crew was dead or wounded, so even work was a miracle. But it wouldn’t
matter in a few minutes whether Vorik had a staff of two men or twenty, for the warp core was leaking
17

antimatter out into space. Under normal circumstances, the emergency forcefield system would have
contained the leak by then. But the only functioning system left aboard ship was life-support, which was at
that time draining every bit of reserve power left.
Vorik knew he had to eject the core before the leaking antimatter came in contact with any vital areas
of the ship. But with the ejection system fried and the vessel with little or no power, their best choice at
that moment was to abandon ship. Unfortunately, the ship-wide COM system was also damaged, so Vorik
had no way of telling the captain what had happened.
But the Academy had taught Vorik never to despair, and his Vulcan mind had nearly twice the
intellectual capacity of humans. The Chief Engineer knew he could find a way to solve this problem.
A logical way.
“Ensign Taros,” he called up to the catwalk, “Reroute power from life-support to the warp core ejection
system. Activate the ejection sequence manually, and bypass any security lockouts still in place.” Vorik
figured the crew could last at least an hour without the ship’s constant life-support systems online. He
knew his Vulcan physiology would last him three times that long. The default length of a warp core
ejection countdown was five minutes. In that time span, Vorik would intentionally drain the remaining
antimatter from the core, leaving it empty once ejected. That way, if the aliens kept up their attack, the
ship would not be at risk of them detonating the warp core—at that point a full antimatter explosive.
The plan would be tight, but Vorik predicted a ninety-four point five percent probability of success.
Vorik then walked over to one of nearby consoles, and activated it by attaching his tricorder to the
surface and feeding it power. The display brought up a schematic of the deck, and the location of any life
readings. If the man were human, he would have gasped in terror.
Seventy-five Aldrym soldiers were ten seconds from arriving.

On the bridge, Riker was unsure of himself. A feeling he not often experienced. The Aldrym vessels
had ceased their assault following the Valor’s complete loss of power. At that point, the only lighting on
the bridge was a fire at the helm station and the few consoles the crew fed with emergency power cells.
Now, he looked with extreme puzzlement at his power-fed screen.
The screen seemed to pulsate an image of white light in an almost random pattern. The commander
tried to fix it, but it appeared the display was not malfunctioning. Then he remembered; it was something
his father had taught him as a child.
Morse code.
Riker struggled to conjure up the memory of how to decipher the ancient code. It had to do with a
series of noises or pulses representing letters and spaces. From what Riker could tell, the message was
repeating the same sequence over and over. He figured someone was probably using the ship’s interface
to send a massage without the use of the COM system or typed text.
Finally, the commander remembered, and began deciphering the message.
G-O T-O S-H-U-T-T-L-E B-A-Y T-W-O. And then the sequence repeated.
Go to Shuttle Bay two. That was the message.
“Rehn,” he said hurriedly, “I think someone’s trying to tell us to go somewhere.”
The Bajoran first-officer turned to Riker eagerly; any information was welcomed at that point.
Riker continued, “Someone has programmed this console remotely to flash in a certain repeating
sequence, I believe it’s the centuries-old Earth language known as Morse code.”
“Rehn looked intrigued, “Can you decipher it?” he asked.
“I already have,” Riker smiled, “It’s saying: ‘go to shuttle bay two’ over and over.”
Rehn wasted no time authenticating the message; he trusted Riker’s judgement and interpretation of
the pulses. After all, Jovan had never even heard of this “Morse code” in his life. Rehn got up and
instructed the bridge crew to follow him as he entered a Jeffrey’s Tube in the floor.
As the commander began his crawl through the cramped tunnel, he couldn’t help but think of who had
sent the message. But he guessed he would find out soon enough.

Smith angled his wrist beacon upward ahead of him. He didn’t like what he saw.
A fallen bulkhead blocked the Jeffrey’s Tube. As Smith lowered his beacon, he looked back at the two
security officer’s following him. “Looks like this one’s blocked too,” he informed them.
18

The officer closest to Smith sighed. This was the fourth tube the threesome had tried, but it seemed a
structural collapse had resulted in one long break in the ship’s inner hull down through several decks. The
team would have to crawl back through a long winding tube to the other side of the saucer section, and
then try to cross to the engineering hull. But the atmosphere inside the Jeffrey’s Tube was becoming hot
and the air thin. Smith guessed that the life-support systems were offline. That made the situation even
worse.
The captain’s beacon caught a sign on the wall as he retreated through the tunnel. It read DECK TEN,
OUTER HULL and had an arrow pointing to the next junction reading AIRLOCK. Suddenly, an idea struck Smith
like a club. He looked forward to the security officers ahead of him. “I think I may have an idea,” he told
them.
As the captain and his team reached the airlock, Smith explained, “Could we use the airlock to get out
into space and walk to the shuttle bay on the hull?”
The nearest officer smiled and nodded, “The Environmental Suits have magnetic boots. We can walk
along the hull whichever way is fit.”
“Wonderful,” Smith walked over to the panel on the wall by the airlock door. He pressed in his access
code and the doors parted open to reveal the airlock room. Smith opened one of the supply closets and
pulled out a suit. It fit him quite nicely, considering he was taller than most of the crew.
In a few moments, the rest of his team had their suits on and their helmets locked in place. Before he
opened the outer door, though, the captain grabbed a Phaser Rifle from the rack and attached it to his
back. The security officers did the same and signaled that they were ready.
Smith punched in his code to start the decompression sequence and held on tightly to the bars beside
the airlock door. He felt a whoosh and a pull as the air escaped out of the opening door. Once the cycle
was complete, the captain activated his magnetic boots and stepped out onto the hull of the Valor. As he
looked up, the stars seemed to spin around him. But Smith realized it was only his body adjusting to the
sight.
It was a disorientating feeling looking at the ship’s hull from the underside as it appearing the vessel
was upside-down. He looked again to the blanket of stars above. Wooziness built up inside the captain’s
belly, and he figured looking at the stars was not the best idea at the moment. Again fixing his eyes to the
hull, Smith motioned for his companions to follow him and proceeded on down the curving hull.
From what little knowledge he had about the layout of the Valor, Smith remembered that the ship had
two shuttle bays. One was situated at the junction between the engineering hull and saucer section. The
other hung on the ventral side of the engineering hull. The Captain figured the ventral bay was the closest
considering they were on the underside of the ship. He just hoped the message that had been sent on the
Jeffrey’s tube work panel by Morse code meant to proceed to the ventral shuttle bay.
A sparkle of light in Smith’s peripheral vision caught his attention. He turned just in time to see the
security officer on his left vaporize in a stream of white light. The captain looked back to see where the
stream had originated. On the opposite side of saucer section’s hull, a group of figures seemed to be
approaching his position.
And from what Smith could tell, they were Aldrym.

Main Engineering was a living inferno.

Every console, every bulkhead, and every crew member in that bloody room burned with plasma fire.
Needless to say, the Aldrym had been thorough. One of the murdering aliens came walking over to the
burning carcass of Vorik. He touched the bare neck of flaming body without even feeling the heat, or the
pain, of the raging plasma.
He felt a pulse.
Weak, it was, but still there.
In a silent gesture of disgust, the Aldrym lifted his Ion Disruptor and stood back from Vorik’s dwindling
figure. And just before the alien’s weapon consumed the dying body, the Vulcan opened his eyes. And
through those eyes Vorik saw not the Aldrym about to kill him, but the reflective surface of what appeared
to be glass.
And he was inside that glass.
Even though the Vulcan repressed emotions, he still had them. And at that split second before death,
Vorik felt only confusion.
19

Smith quickly ducked as another Aldrym shot hurled its way across the hull. He then heard the
remaining security officer over his helmet’s COM speaker and turned. His partner was crouching in one of
the indentations for windows in the area. It was the perfect hiding spot. As fast as the magnetic boots
would allow, the captain ran towards the makeshift barricade.
He carefully made his way behind the low wall. Then, peering over the edge, he asked the officer, “Is
there any way we can erect a forcefield on the hull?”
“Even if we could, it wouldn’t matter,” he conceded, “Before you arrived on site with us, we had tried
remotely setting up a forcefield to block the Aldrym. He just walked right through it.”
“Probably that accursed bioelectric field they’ve got,” Smith muttered. He then noticed something on
his weapon: a sniper scope. An idea flashed into his mind, and he lifted the rifle to his helmet. Tying the
sniper mode into his helmet’s internal display, he zoomed into the Aldrym group and analyzed them.
“If you’re thinking of sniping them, sir, forget it,” he heard the security officer say, “When the Aldrym
weapon passed so close to our rifles, it must have depleted the energy supply. We’ll each get one shot
out of each rifle at best.”
But Smith already knew, and he was far ahead of the young man. Adjusting his view slightly, he aimed
downward, at an exposed spot on the hull where the plating had been ripped away. “You see that?” he
asked the officer, “I bet one of those exposed conduits is holding some kind of fuel or coolant.”
The man beside him flipped open his tricorder and scanned the area. A grin formed on his face as he
read the results. Looking up from the device, he told his commanding officer, “The fourth one from the
right is a plasma line for the impulse drive. And, sir, it’s leaking.”
Smith looked closer at the conduit, but didn’t see the leak. “What are talking about, crewman?”
“There’s a microfracture in the duranium casing around the conduit, and somewhere farther down the
line, the plasma flow in being blocked. A very thin stream of the plasma is leaking out into space. Particle
density is…zero point zero zero eight five particles of plasma per square centimeter. It’s not that dense,
but it’s dense enough.”
The captain saw where this was going, “Dense enough to cause a pretty big ka-boom if ignited?”
“It’s just right.”
“Well then,” Smith continued, “Target the plasma cloud and prepare to fire on my mark, crewman.”
Once the officer acknowledged him, Smith commanded the Computer, “Estimate time until the Aldrym
group enters the plasma field, and begin a countdown.”
“Estimated time is fourteen seconds,” it replied, “Twelve seconds, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four,
three, two, one…”
“Fire!”
As soon as Smith gave the command, he and the security officer fired their shots. The two streaks of
energy bolted forward and continued, unhindered, into the invisible plasma cloud…
…And passed right through it.
Smith’s mind raced. Why hadn’t the shot ignited the plasma cloud? A thousand possibilities existed,
but he could only think of one; they had both missed. Then, as if some unknown force had heard his silent
plea, the plasma conduit suddenly ruptured under the pressure of the compressed fuel, spewing super-
heated plasma gas into space and igniting the cloud.
The ensuing explosion cascaded in a rapidly expanding green flame. It engulfed the Aldrym and
continued to explode towards the two officers. Smith pushed the crewman down behind the wall and
ducked himself as the flames shot overhead in a thunder of fury.
When the captain ventured a look over the safety of the ledge, all his eyes were met with was the bare
hull, and the plasma stream flowing out into space. As he looked up the stream, he saw an even more
satisfactory sight; the Aldrym group spinning away into the oblivion of the stars, with no hope of return.
He allowed himself a content smile. Cherish every victory, he remembered being told once. Well, that
was certainly the case here. For now, he had survived.

Rehn felt the sweat beading up on his brow; the temperature had risen another ten degrees. In an
attempt to cool himself, he ripped the front of his tunic open and fanned his chest, still covered by his
undercoat. It didn’t help.
20

So he crawled on through the cramped tunnel of the Jeffrey’s Tube, trying to ignore the stale, heated
air. He tried to keep a cool head, knowing that by some twist of fate, he and the rest of the officers with
him would make it off the ship in time. Unfortunately, “cool” was a word in the very back of his mind.
Up ahead, he saw another conduit door. As he approached it, he read the labeling on the hatch. In a
sigh of relief, he called back to his companions, “We’ve made it!”
After opening the hatch, Rehn looked out and saw one of the best things he had in a while; the
shuttlebay. Once all of his friends had exited the tunnel, he walked over to the two shuttles resting on the
hull. From behind one of them, a man walked out.
“Glad you made it,” Sloan greeted him.
One of the junior officers behind Rehn spoke, “Who is that?”
“A friend,” the commander replied, “Just a friend.” He eyed Sloan disapprovingly, but the Section 31
Director simply smiled back.
From the airlock at the far side of the bay, Rehn heard footsteps. Drawing the phaser from his belt, he
ducked behind one of the shuttles. The rest of the officers followed suit. Waiting tensely, the commander
expected an Aldrym to come around the edge of the small ship, but instead, his fears were proved wrong.
“We come in peace,” Captain Smith said as he and a crewman walked out from behind the shuttle.
Rehn couldn’t believe his eyes; he hadn’t seen the captain since their discussion in his ready room.
Simultaneously, he and Truman said, “I thought you were dead.”
The captain looked around the area, at all the faces. But his brow furrowed. Where was his crew?
He looked back at Rehn, “Where are the rest of my officers?”
The commander’s face looked apologetic. “Sir,” he cleared his throat, “We…we can’t save them. We
have to get off the ship and escape the Aldrym. There’s no time.”
There was never enough time, Smith thought. “Alright,” he said finally, “Let’s go.”
In a few minutes, the two shuttles were speeding away from the Valor at maximum impulse. The
captain had taken one shuttle and Rehn the other. They now flew side by side on an escape course from
the dying starship.
Smith sat at the controls of his shuttle, and watched the Valor until it cleared the viewport.
“Disappointed?” Sloan asked.
“Yeah,” the captain replied. He didn’t care to say any more.
At that moment, every alarm in the shuttle suddenly sounded. In front of the shuttle, only a few
kilometers away, an Aldrym ship wavered into view, weapons already charging. Smith couldn’t believe it;
he read two signatures on his sensor.
Two Aldrym ships.
Then it hit him; this ship was the one that had attacked the Enterprise. It had finally arrived.
The end would come swiftly for him and his comrades. He braced himself on the console and waited
for the energy to claim him life. It writhed from the Aldrym ship in a torrent of power, brushing the shuttles
away like sand in a windstorm.
The only thing Truman regretted was never being able to thank Jovan Rehn.

“Wake up, captain.”

The voice emanated from somewhere far away, a place too distant to touch. But it drew closer, and
louder. It filled Smith’s mind until it was all he could think of, all he could comprehend. Then, he awoke—
—And found himself in a room. All around him the walls pulsated with energy, their glow lighting the
long hallway ahead of him. He stood up and began to walk toward them. Farther down the hallway he
started to run, some inward force compelling him to do so. After running for what seemed like hours, he
came to the end of his journey, to the only place he knew to go: the brain.
The expanse around him was so great and majestic; he doubted he’d ever been anywhere more awe-
inspiring. Cords of energy twisted through themselves, defying all form and reason. They somehow spoke
to him; in a way nothing he had encountered ever had—ever could.
“Where are you?” he shouted.
From somewhere above him—no—around him, a voice spoke, “I am here, Abram Smith.”
The energy cords began to move. They coiled around a spot a few meters ahead of the captain. They
glowed even brighter than before, and pulsated with a deep sound. The cords parted, revealing their
work; a human.
“Who…?” Smith started, but then corrected himself as realization flooded in, “Guide.”
21

The figure nodded. “Yes, quite right,” he told the captain, “I speak for the Aldrym Quena, the entity who
inhabits this vessel.”
“Wait a minute,” the captain interrupted, “inhabits?”
The man cocked his head slightly, “Yes. Quena is a non-corporeal being, one of two hundred survivors
of The Great Disaster. You see, nearly five thousand of your years ago, the Aldrym race was wiped out in
a catastrophic subspace explosion. But somehow, beyond all odds, a few of us survived.
“After centuries of calculation, we realized that we had not simply survived, but had been saved. This
deed had to have been done by a being more powerful than even us. We are a proud race, Captain; the
beings that saved us should be found and rewarded. Therefore, we are searching the galaxies to find that
savior. We must test every race, every being, and every miniscule life form we come across to know if
they are the ones that saved us from annihilation.
“All that you experienced since we first communicated with you was no more than a neural stimulation
of your cerebral cortex.”
“A what?”
The man looked confused for a moment, and then answered, “It was a dream, an illusion, a facsimile.
It only happened in your mind and the minds of all the beings on your vessel.”
The Captain was appalled. “You experimented with us?”
“In a sense, yes,” the Aldrym replied calmly, “We needed to see if you had the mental and physical
capabilities to save yourselves from total destruction at our hands. If you were truly a more advanced race
to the point where you could have saved us, than you surely would have had no trouble defeating one of
our weakest attacks.”
To Smith, this was getting more and more unbelievable by the minute. “Wait a minute, ‘weakest
attacks’? You’ve got to be joking.”
“Hardly,” the Guide said with another quizzical look. “We never employed the use of our Trans-
dimensional weaponry, and did not attack from varying phases of energy distortion, or—“
“Okay, okay,” Smith interrupted, “I get it. Just tell me one thing; are my ship and crew safe?”
“Quite, they have only undergone remote neural evaluation. If you wish, you can return to your ship
now. The only purpose of bringing you aboard was to give you an explanation of why we came to this
galaxy and caused what we did.”
But Smith wasn’t finished yet. “What about the Starbase, or Captain Picard and the Enterprise?”
“Both will be returned to their former states. They were simply put in a form of subspace suspension,
so the attack on your vessel would be more realistic in the simulation.”
“Okay,” Smith sighed. “I guess I could wish you good luck, but you seem to have everything you need
for finding your savior.”
The Aldrym wavered a bit, obviously wondering what the expression meant. “We may have the
resources, yes. But no force in this universe is powerful enough to grant us what we seek in an instant.
Ours will be a long and arduous journey. But some day, we will find that one being, and when we do, all
will be set right with my people. We will all have what really need; fulfillment.”
“Well in that case, good luck, Quena.”
The being simply nodded, and the next thing Smith knew he was watching the Aldrym ships waver out
of view—from the bridge of the Valor.

As the crew around him began to wake up, Smith checked the readouts on the consoles around him.
Everything was as it was before the simulation had begun. And, to the Captain’s relief, the Starbase that
had mysteriously been destroyed was back in its place, just as the Aldrym had said.
“What in the name of…?” The voice was Raymond’s.
Smith turned to see him standing at his console, a bit dazed, but in perfect shape. “Something wrong,
Commander?”
“I was…dead,” he replied slowly.
Truman smiled. “I’ll explain it all later.”

That evening, the captain invited his entire senior staff to dinner in his quarters, where he explained
the entire incident aboard the Aldrym ship. In addition, he admitted to being brought to the future by
22

Section 31 from the past. After a few moments of silence, Hodgeson said simply, “Well, I doubt we could
be in better hands.”
Everyone smiled at that, and briefly after, Smith raised his glass and proposed a toast.
After a long pause, he smiled. Looking at all the faces around him distinctly he said, “To saviors.”

Episode 2
The Stone is Cast

Space looked beautiful at warp. Or at least Smith thought it did. He hadn’t gotten a chance to really
look at it this way since he started his captaincy on the Valor. The stars blurred by in long streams of light,
seeming to blend together in an everlasting river. Rehn had explained the concept of the warp bubble and
how it affected the way space was comprehended from inside it to the captain more than once. And by
now Smith understood the concept for the most part. Still, he enjoyed just watching the sight out the
window of his ready room and not thinking about why it was perceived so.
I’ll have to make that window bigger, Smith noted to himself.
Tearing himself away from the spectacle outside, he returned his attention to the PADD in his hand. It
had been two weeks now since the incident with the Aldrym. The Valor had been assigned a few small
jobs within Federation space; the most exciting of which was transporting a herd of Klingon targs to a
feast for the Klingon Ambassador on Vulcan.
It was as if Starfleet Command didn’t take his ship seriously for one reason or another. Smith knew
that wasn’t true, though, Rehn had told him something about the ship needing to go through “shake down”
time. His XO had agreed it was an old and somewhat useless tradition these days since the modern
shipbuilders ironed out any kinks in the design or functionality of a vessel before allowing it to even leave
the shipyard. However, they were still required to go at least four months of shake down time before they
would be assigned missions that involved a high probability of combat.
Smith scowled as he scrolled through the latest orders from Starfleet. They had been assigned to
“attend” a diplomatic conference at Starbase 17 between the Federation and the Dominion. It sounded
less interesting than the targ mission. After all, the captain knew he wasn’t alone in his loathe of diplomats
and their aristocratic attitude towards those not of their own kind. He expected this would be another
boring, dull, and utterly tiresome duty.
And so with a weary sigh, Smith set down the PADD on his desk and returned to his stargazing.

Lezvyun hated space travel.

Although he wouldn’t admit it to any of his comrades, he was absolutely terrified of it. The only reason
he could think of for this defect in his personality was an unexpected mutation during his cloning process.
He was what many would call a “young” Vorta, for he was only a second generation Lezvyun. The first
had died in a skirmish near the end of the Dominion War.
Strangely, it didn’t bother him much that he was only series of clones, employed by the Founders to
serve them. He considered it a privilege that he was designed specifically to become a diplomat. Now he
sped at warp eight through Federation space to a conference he hoped would end on a favorable note.
Somewhere, though, deep down, he felt something odd. It was only a feeling, but for a Vorta that
meant a lot. So-called “gut” instincts were a privilege. To Lezvyun’s knowledge only four Vorta had ever
been granted them by the Founders. He considered himself honored to be the fifth.
But this feeling was different, unpleasant. It was a nagging sense that something was going to go
wrong during the conference. And because of that, for the first time he could remember, Lezvyun was
truly and honestly afraid.

Down a dark alleyway in 1930’s America, Jules Raymond walked silently behind his prey. It was a
businessman, tall and thin. But it was the business this man did that had Raymond stalking him. Jules
had gotten a tip from a street bum that this man was secretly meeting with members of an organized
23

crime ring. Jules, a private investigator for the local police department, had eaten this tip up like fresh
steak hot off the grill. If he could find out what “business” this guy was up to, he might bust the case wide
open.
Raymond ducked behind a garbage can as he saw two other men approach his subject. They were
wearing long coats with high collars, typical of gangsters. The businessman exchanged a few words with
them and then produced a black briefcase from his coat, no doubt loaded with money.
Jules drew his thirty-eight revolver and tensed for action. It was a good bet the two gangsters were
armed, but he was unsure about his subject. Could he take on three of them even with the element of
surprise? It was pretty risky, but it wouldn’t be the first time. Tensing once again, Jules made his move…
“Bridge to Commander Raymond.”
The sudden message threw Jules off-guard. He stumbled out onto the cold, wet stones, dropping his
gun in the process. Unfortunately, the gangsters heard him and drew their weapons faster than a man
could blink. The Security Chief then managed to blurt out, “Computer, freeze program!”
As he started to get up, he noticed something beside his head. Not five inches from his face, a bullet
from one of the gangster’s guns was hovering in midair. Jules let out a long sigh and noted to himself,
Next time, Jules Andrew Raymond, turn on the safety protocols.
After saving and shutting down the program, Raymond exited the holodeck and tapped his combadge.
“Raymond to bridge, go ahead.”
“Barclay here, what kept you, commander?”
Jules chuckled, “Holodeck program.”
“Well, sorry to disturb you, sir. The captain said to notify the senior staff that we are approaching
Starbase 17. He wants us all on the bridge.”
“Tell him I’m on my way, Reg. Raymond out.”

Once he arrived on the bridge, Jules took his post at Tactical, relieving the ensign who had been
manning it. They sure do bring in the young ones these days, the thirty-two year old Raymond mused. It
was all Starfleet could do, though, to replenish their numbers after the Dominion War. Even though the
conflict was over, the repercussions would last well beyond his lifetime. And now they were going to
attend one of those repercussions, the first in a long line of diplomatic conferences between the
Federation and the Dominion. The Federation Council claimed the conferences would help to keep
relations positive and solid with the Founders and their Dominion. But to Raymond, who had served
aboard the Defiant during the battle where she was lost, the conferences would only be a reminder of the
great loss all Starfleet had suffered.
On the viewscreen at the front of the bridge, the stars slowed to a halt as the ship dropped out of warp.
After a few seconds, the mushroom-like Starbase 17 loomed in the center. It had been refitted
substantially since the first days of the Federation, and was one of the few facilities with a docking cavern.
This marvel of Starfleet ingenuity allowed vessels to actually dock inside the Starbase.
As the Valor approached the facility, the impact of just how huge it was started to sink in. Jules had
never really visited one of these models of Starbases, just studied them at the Academy. With an air of
awe in his speech, he asked to no one in particular, “How many people can that thing hold?”
Barclay answered him, “The Starbase has a crew compliment of ten thousand personnel. At maximum
capacity, it can accommodate almost three times that many. Its docking cavern can hold up to twenty-five
vessels the size of a Galaxy-class starship.”
“Whoa.”
The bridge crew stopped momentarily after the Captain’s remark and some looked at him
questioningly. When he noticed them, he quickly cleared his throat and corrected, “I mean, ah, very
interesting, Mr. Barclay.”
I forgot about the junior officers present, Smith thought. I’ll have to be a bit more careful.
“I have conformation from the Starbase, sir,” Jila said from the helm, “We are cleared to dock.”
“Take us in.”
The great doors of the Starbase’s docking cave began opening slowly. They parted down the middle
and then glided apart. The Valor accelerated a bit as she approached the doors, gracefully sliding through
the massive gateway into the inner hull of Starbase 17.
24

Once inside, Smith surveyed the ships docked inside. There was a Dominion Warship, a smaller
Dominion Diplomatic Transport, a few alien cargo carriers, and an Excelsior-class starship. It was the last
one that confused Smith a bit.
He leaned over to Rehn and began to speak, but was cut off by Barclay announcing, “We’re being
hailed, sir.”
You’re timing is horrendous, Reg, Smith wanted to say. But he opted for, “Put it through,” instead.
The viewscreen changed from an image of the docking cave to one of a Vulcan in a Starfleet uniform.
“Greetings,” she began, “I am Captain T’Pral of the starship Leviathan.”
“Pleased to meet you, I am Captain Smith. I…was not aware that any other Starships would present at
this conference.”
“Neither was I,” the Vulcan captain replied with a stony expression. “It seems one of us is mistaken.”
Smith was beginning to become irritated. “Are you implying I’m wrong in being here, T’Pral?”
The Vulcan raised a curious eyebrow and replied, “Why would I be, captain? Logically, I would not be
solving anything by placing you in the wrong. Indeed?”
“Indeed. Now if you’ll excuse me, captain, I think it would be in both our best interests if we ended this
little debate before it goes any further. Agreed?”
T’Pral eyed him with an unrevealing stare before simply nodding. Shortly after that the viewscreen
switched back to a view of the docking cave.
“Vulcans,” Raymond muttered, “you can’t live with them, but you probably could live without them.”
That got a wry chuckle out of some of the bridge crew.

A few hours later, most of the crew had left the Valor to explore the vast Starbase. Smith and Rehn,
however, decided it was a better use of the time before the first conference gathering to meet the
Starbase commander and get acquainted.
As the two of them walked through the seemingly endless corridors, Smith got a much better idea of
just how utterly huge the facility really was. He doubted if anyone could walk everywhere on the station in
less than several months.
Upon reaching the Starbase commander’s office, Rehn touched the door chime and both of them
waited. After only a couple of seconds, a gruff voice said, “Come on in.”
Once the doors opened, Smith and Rehn walked in. The room was medium-sized, about as large as
Smith’s ready room. On the two sides of the room were long windows looking out into the docking cavern.
Towards the back of the room was a desk with several chairs situated in front and one behind. The
commander occupied the desk chair, while four others sat in the outside seats.
That’s strange, the captain thought, I thought the commander wanted to meet us privately.
The host, Smith guessed, was most probably in his fifties. His eyes showed the signs that he had been
through a lot in his life. The captain was surprised the man had not become an admiral yet. Still, even
though Smith outranked him technically, this man was the senior officer for the station.
Once he recognized Smith and Rehn, he stood up from the desk and introduced himself. “Greetings,
gentlemen. I’m Commander Ivan Paxton, Starbase 17. Allow me to introduce my staff…” he motioned to a
young man to his right. “This is my Exec, Lieutenant Commander Kowry, my science officer, Catherine
Harris, my security chief, Horvang, and my engineer, Jonathan Brooks.” As he mentioned each of their
names, the officers rose and nodded to the captain. When Paxton finished, he sat down and gestured for
Smith and Rehn to do likewise.
The captain spoke first, “Commander Paxton, I’m not one to waste time on diplomatic small talk, so I’ll
get right to my point. Why are we here?”
The abruptness of the question caught the Starbase staff off guard. Paxton hesitated a moment, then
answered, “I assume it was to ensure the overall safety of the conference.”
Wrong answer. “I don’t think so, commander,” Smith countered. “I noticed your security people have
already got this placed locked down tighter than a prison. I also know that this station houses over four
hundred phaser banks with more than two hundred photon torpedo launchers. If that’s not enough safety,
then I think either you’re paranoid, or Starfleet is. My point is, you don’t need us or the Leviathan.”
“That’s absurdity, captain!” Paxton blurted. “I could have you court martialed for that kind of talk!”
Rehn stepped in, “Commander, the captain has a very valid point. If the services of our ship aren’t
needed, why were we ordered here by Starfleet?”
“That is a question you should ask them,” an angry Paxton replied menacingly.
25

Tensions could not have been any higher. One more word from either Smith or Paxton and the
conversation could have come to blows, if it had not been for a very well-timed call from Starbase 17’s
bridge…
“Commander Paxton, this is bridge. Come in please.”
Without removing his eyes from Smith, Ivan tapped his combadge. “What is it bridge?”
“Sir, there’s an Admiral Sergei Veshkev requesting to beam to your ready room from a shuttle outside
the station. What should I tell him?”
Paxton appeared puzzled for a moment, and then replied, “Tell him to go ahead.”
Everyone turned to the back of the room as a transporter column formed there. The bright swirling
energies subsided after a few seconds to reveal a man. He was tall and aged, about sixty, Smith
guessed. His face bore a weathered look to it, but even the wrinkles that defined his long face could not
hide his dark complexion. As soon as he fully materialized, though, his expression changed to become
brighter and more cheerful. Yet to the captain, the face appeared only as a mask. It was a face that one
could study for centuries, but not fully understand, so intriguing and captivating, and yet so deceptive.
Veshkev looked at every person in the room individually before he ended at the captain. Veshkev
appeared extremely interested in Smith for some reason. As Smith looked into the man’s eyes, they
looked for a moment as if they were completely dark, devoid of pupils, like two black pearls.
But then Veshkev turned away, looking at Commander Paxton. “This day shall be quite interesting.
Don’t you agree?”
Paxton then noticed his voice had become hoarse. “Ah…yes, yes it will,” he managed to choke out.
“Good. Indeed the conference will be quite interesting, especially now that I will be leading it.”
It took the commander a few moments for the admiral’s words to sink in. But when they did, Paxton
immediately protested. “Now just wait just a minute, admiral,” he said as he found his voice. “I never
heard anything about you taking over this command! Come to think of it, I’ve never even heard of you!”
“How…unfortunate,” Veshkev replied evenly. “Perhaps you should stay more informed. But whether
or not you believe I’m an admiral or not is irrelevant. All you need to believe is that it is best for you and
this conference if I command it. Trust me.”
“Like heck we will.”
Veshkev turned to Smith after he made the remark. “You will regret that, captain.”
Smith looked up at him defiantly and the two stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity.
Finally, Rehn once again stepped in. “Gentlemen, I’m sure we all find this power shift a bit sudden,” he
started. “Now I think for the moment we should trust the admiral and give him our full cooperation in this
matter. But only until we have reason to believe we should do otherwise. Agreed?”
The officers gathered in the room all nodded, but some more hesitantly than others. Shortly after that
Admiral Veshkev left the room, followed by Paxton’s staff, and then finally Smith and Rehn. After
everyone was gone, the commander looked at his desk and muttered, “I need a drink…”

On their return walk from Paxton’s office, Smith and Rehn kept relatively quiet. Neither of them
wanted to dwell on the incident, although it was clear to anyone passing them that they were hiding an
inner struggle. Smith especially felt he had not handled himself correctly. The overall suddenness of the
Admiral’s appearance certainly had something to do with. From the moment Veshkev beamed in, the
captain had felt a strange sensation that seemed to emanate from him. And those eyes…they were like
something out of a bad dream, a memory of some dark moment that had suddenly resurfaced.
My God, I remember now!
Smith had met a man very long ago in the days of his military training. He had gotten separated from
his team as they were conducting survival tests in the Black Forest of Europe. It was before the War,
when relations with the Europeans were still intact. Smith remembered having miscalculated the route
they would need to take back to camp, and in a desperate effort to save his team, had offered to scout
ahead of them and get a fix on their position. The tall trees had obscured the light of the sun, making the
trip through the woods even more difficult.
Then he had come to a clearing, a small one, but nonetheless distinguishable. And in that clearing he
had found a skeleton. When Smith looked closer at the skull, he saw in its eye sockets two perfectly
round, black spheres. He remembered the bewilderment he had felt at discovering the skeleton, and the
eyes. But the mystery didn’t stop there. A few seconds later, Smith had heard rustling in the low branches
26

at the edge of the clearing. A man had then emerged from the shadows, old and frail, but still tall with a
strong demeanor about him.
“You see that man?” he had said immediately, pointing to the skeleton. “His name was Hans
Veskrieg. Do you know how he died?”
Smith shook his head, strangely mesmerized by the man.
“The Pearls killed him.”
Smith’s intrigue and curiosity was growing by the minute. “How, why?” he asked the stranger.
“They swallowed his soul. Piece by piece they devoured it untilwell, until there was nothing left of
him but evil. I found him here, many years ago, when I was still a boy. His body glowed with a light not of
this world, and it twisted in an agony so intense, I could even feel it myself. I stood there, watching, too
fascinated to leave, yet too afraid to help. After twisting and writhing for what seemed like hours, his body
gave up, and he crumpled to the ground.
“Then, the light left his body, hovering above it for a few moments. It seemed to seek something,
someone. It found him…it found me.”
Smith then had looked closer at the eyes of this stranger, and saw it. They were solid, black orbs. He
looked back at the skeleton, and gasped. Where the weathered bones of a long-dead man had lain, there
was now a fresh body. Smith had been never more horrified in his life, as he looked back at the stranger,
he realized he was gone.
Something grabbed his legthe body! Its eyes were open now, staring back at him with solid black
gaze. Smith had felt the hair on the back his neck rise. The body released him, and sat up. With one
sweeping motion, it rose to its feet and looked at Smith again.
This can’t be happening, he thought, this is a dream, a nightmare!
But it was real. As much he hated to admit it, it was real. Smith had stumbled back a few steps, not
even aware of the world around him. The body started to walk toward him, slowly at first, but gradually
increasing its speed.
The only word in Smith’s mind was run. And oh, how he had done so! He had run madly through the
woods, never looking back, never slowing down. He ran until his legs could carry him no further, until his
body fell limp to the ground, overcome by fatigue. And against all odds, he was alive. But even more
miraculously, he was back at the military base camp, not ten feet from the perimeter.
After that Smith had been taken back to the medical tent and treated for minor scrapes and bruises.
His team would later be found and recovered safely. However, he had never been able to find that
clearing again, for soon his team and their equipment were shipped back to North America, never to
return.
And now, after almost two hundred years, could he be facing that strange power again? Was there
some force at work that had made him destined to confront the host of those Black Pearls again? He felt
those questions could only be answered in time. But he hoped that time would come sooner than later.

Reg had turned down the captain’s invitation to join him and Commander Jovan to meet the station
commander. Even though he had made great progress controlling his anxiety around people, he still
became agitated upon meeting new ones.
So here he was, alone again on the bridge, save for a couple of noncoms manning the tactical and
science stations. He tried to make a show of tapping his control panel, anything to look his rank. But the
truth was he wasn’t much better now emotionally than he had been on the Enterprise. Though he tried not
to show it outwardly, he was constantly terrified of what others would think of him.
Just then, something caught Reg’s eye on his console. But as soon as it came, it was gone.
That was strange, he thought, it looked liked…there it is again!
Indeed, the sensor reading was back, a pulsating white dot on the grid. And it was moving.
The reading disappeared again. Reg’s heart thumped loudly in his chest. Keeping his eye on the
console, Reg turned to another panel and brought up the sensor logs. At first he had hoped the reading
was just a random anomaly, but now his doubts were silenced. The object, whatever it was, had
dimensions, and appeared to have been moving.
Reg was very uneasy now; he tapped his combadge and contacted the captain to report back to the
bridge. Immediately after, he ordered the computer to initiate yellow alert. A short time later, the bridge
turbolift opened and several officers walked out to relieve the noncoms. Reg went through standard
27

procedure in his mind, and gave out orders accordingly. Secure all stations, put weapons and shields on
standby, warm up the impulse drive…
The turbolift opened again, and Rehn and Smith walked out onto the bridge.
“Well, Reg,” the captain started, “this better be good.”
Barclay nodded. “Yes, sir, it is.” He then overlaid his sensor logs onto the main viewscreen. It showed
a star grid, with a representation of the Starbase in the center. To the left of the Starbase, a pulsating
white dot appeared for a few seconds and then vanished.
The captain turned to Reg with a bewildered look on his face. “You initiated yellow alert for that?”
“That’s not all, sir,” Barclay sputtered quickly. While tapping some more controls, he explained, “The
object was moving when I detected it. Even though it wasn’t on the sensors very long, I was able to
extrapolate its course.”
A line then appeared on the grid, starting at the object, then tracing all the way around the Starbase
and finally ending back at object.
Rehn stated the obvious, “It’s in orbit around the station.”

Smith could hardly believe his eyes.

Shortly after hearing Lieutenant Barclay’s words, he was in action. “I want a full analysis on the
readings for that object,” he began, “Try to find out exactly what it is, and”
“Captain,” Barclay interrupted, “We’re getting an incoming transmission from the Starbase, it’s
Commander Paxton.”
“Onscreen,” Smith commanded.
The viewscreen changed from the grid to a picture of the Starbase’s bridge. Paxton turned his chair to
face them and spoke, “Captain, we just detected some kind of object orbiting the station. It disappeared
shortly after.”
Smith nodded. “We got the same reading,” he offered, “Have your Ops officer coordinate with mine,
and maybe we can get it back.”
Paxton nodded and issued some orders to an officer off-screen. Turning back to the captain, he
continued, “So far I see no reason to let this interfere with conference.”
“Neither do I, “ Smith agreed, “We’ll be sure to let you know if we discover anything.”
Paxton nodded and the viewscreen blanked. After issuing a few more orders to the bridge crew, he
left Rehn in charge and headed for the turbolift. On the way down to his quarters, Smith couldn’t help his
mind from wandering back to Veshkev. Again and again he tried to find reason away his fears, but was
unsuccessful.
The doors to his cabin slid softly apart and he walked in. Outside his window was a clear view of the
Dominion Warship docked inside the cavern. Smith admired the sleek but powerful design of the vessel. It
was hard for him to believe that the sight of one of these ships was once a promise of death for many
Starfleet officers.
“It’s like a tiger, beautiful but deadly.”
Smith was slightly startled by the voice, but he knew without turning who it was…
“Sloan.”
The aged Section 31 Director stepped out from the shadows and stood beside Smith. “You’re getting
good,” he said passively.
“So, what brings you here?” Smith asked with a hint of sarcasm.
“Business,” Sloan replied, apparent unflustered. “Although I don’t think you’ll be very happy.”
Smith smiled slightly, “Try me.”
Sloan went on, still gazing out the window. “The admiral you met a little while ago, Veshkev, we think
he may be more than he appears.
Inside Smith wanted to laugh, but he suppressed it and said, “I noticed.”
“Good, then you may understand our view a little better. We think he may be planning to do
something during the conference, so keep your eye on him.”
“Just where did you get this information, Sloan?” Smith asked, a little interested now.
The director smiled to himself and turned to the captain. “One thing you’ll have to learn about us,
captain, is that we never give out the names of out contacts. You’ll just have to trust me on this one.”
Captain Picard’s words from two weeks before came to Smith’s mind. Just…watch your back. Smith
hated the feeling of having to trust someone he barely knew who was linked to an organization the
28

captain didn’t particularly like. But he felt strangely reluctant to turn Sloan down and go ahead on his own.
Sloan had been here a lot longer than he had, and maybe, just maybe, he was worth the captain’s trust.
“Alright,” he said finally, “What else do you have on him?”
“Not much, “ Sloan said truthfully, “A few weak leads and some sketchy evidence, but nothing more
conclusive than a gut feeling. We’re counting on you to change that.”
Smith considered mentioning his experience in the Black Forest, and the remarkable similarity
between the man there and Veshkev. But his gut told him otherwise, probably because he felt that the
director wasn’t telling him the whole truth.
He turned back to Sloan, but when he did, the room was empty.
The captain shook his head. He wasn’t quite sure if he liked this spy game.
But then again, it wasn’t as if he had a choice…

The Starfleet officer that assisted him was very kind, offering to help him get acquainted with the room
before to his duties. When the ambassador refused, the young human nodded politely and left.
Lezvyun walked over to the window of his quarters, thinking about the impression he’d gotten from the
officer. The man had been kind, but only on the surface. Below his façade of diplomatic politeness, there
had been a feeling of hate, and resentment. It was understandable; the officer had probably served during
the War, and knew how much destruction the Dominion had caused.
They will be reluctant to trust you at first, the Founder named Odo had said, But if you show them you
can be trusted and are open with them, they will eventually learn to treat you the same as anyone else.
The words comforted Lezvyun somewhat, but inside he wondered just how long “eventually” was.
Behind him, the door chime sounded. The Vorta turned and beckoned the visitor in. It was his
Jem’Hadar First, Rintana’Klan.
“What do you think of your accommodations, my friend?” Lezvyun asked.
The Jem’Hadar huffed, “They have too many useless items piled on the floor.”
Lezvyun smiled inwardly. “That’s what they call ‘furniture’, my First. I know it is troublesome to you but
they find it quite comfortable.”
Rintana’Klan considered going on further about how Jem’Hadar didn’t need human luxuries like sitting
or eating. But his better judgement told him now was not the time to bicker. He had come to the Vorta for
a reason.
“I came to ask you about the security arrangements.”
Lezvyun looked puzzled. “I thought we discussed that already,” he replied.
Rintana’Klan nodded. “We did begin to, but you told me you would work out the details with the
Federation Commander. I want to be sure it will be me and my Second escorting you throughout the
Conference, rather than some human guard.”
“Your prejudice runs very deep, Rintana’Klan,” Lezvyun chided, “I wish you’d have learned by now
that the future of the Dominion is with Starfleet, or at least in a sustained peace with them. If you are
unhappy with that, you can return to Dominion space with orders to be released. Is that clear?”
The Jem’Hadar stood stoutly before Lezvyun, not wavering under the Vorta’s gaze. “My loyalty is to
the Founders,” he recited the words of his people, “Obedience brings victory, and victory is life.”
Lezvyun nodded. “Good, I’m glad I can still count on you. Are there any others among your men who
feel the same as you did?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
The Vorta was thankful for that. He could handle one discontent Jem’Hadar, but a whole legion…that
was another story entirely. Loyalty could only go so far. If the soldiers under his command began getting
ideas about how things should be run, the situation could deteriorate very quickly.
It was understandable, though. The Jem’Hadar were not used to peace. Dealing with the Cardassians
had been bad enough, but the Federation was much larger and more powerful than any of the Dominion’s
former allies. His soldiers would be the first to work with Federation officers in peacetime. It had been four
years now since the War, and he hoped his troops weren’t so starved for combat that they would turn on
Starfleet just for the sake of fighting.
“Is there anything else, Rintana’Klan?” he asked.
“No, sir,” the Jem’Hadar replied strongly. Lezvyun did not have to ask him to leave.
29

After the doors closed, the Vorta turned back to the window. Tomorrow would be either a great day for
the Dominion, or a total failure that would be heaped on his shoulders. Fate was a tricky thing, and when
fate faced you, it was not something to take lightly.
I have the future of the Dominion in my hands, he thought, I cannot fail them now…

The next morning was full of final preparations for the Conference. Crewmen and personnel bustled
about all over the Starbase, securing stations and working to beautify the place. Commander Paxton had
made it clear they would need to make a good impression on the Dominion visitors.
Now the commander walked down the corridors of his base, watching his people work busily all
around him. He was on his way to the main room where the Conference would take place. For some
reason, he always liked to get to a meeting long before the rest of the group. It seemed to give him some
sense of relaxation. Stress was the worst thing he could have right now.
It had just started to sink in. He was going to represent Starfleet in the first peacetime conference
between the Dominion and the Federation. And it would be taking place on his station. I guess that
diplomatic course I took at the Academy has finally paid off, he thought.
Farther down the hall he spotted Horvang, his Klingon chief of security, directing a few of his men
around the door to the Conference room. As Paxton approached, he noticed that Horvang had assigned
six men just as guards for the door.
“Isn’t this a little overkill, Lieutenant?”
Horvang turned to him. “You mean the guards? In my experience, sir, you can never have too much
security. Especially for something as important as this.”
Paxton nodded. “I like your reasoning, Horvang. If this all turns out okay, maybe I can persuade
Starfleet to get you that promotion you’ve been after for all this time.”
“That would be…very generous,” The Klingon thanked him. “I will do my best.”
Without another word, Paxton walked through the parting doors into the Conference room. He liked
Horvang, not just for his experience on the outside, but also for his deep sense of loyalty. It was
something only the Klingons could possess and express. The commander hoped he would have the
chance to learn more about him.
As he entered the large room, Paxton couldn’t help but notice the décor was enormously Federation.
Flags, banners, and emblems hung on all four walls; brightly lit by the floor lights. In the center of the
room, surrounded by chairs, was the U-shaped conference table. The Federation officers would sit on the
right, and the Dominion personnel on the left. In the center, Paxton and Lezvyun would sit beside each
other, with Captain T’Pral in the middle.
The commander walked around to the other end of the table and took his seat. It was exactly one
hour until the Conference was scheduled to begin. He would have a while to think of his first words to
Lezvyun. He figured they would have to be something inspirational, something…
Someone grabbed him on his shoulder and spun him around in his chair. Paxton’s heart raced as he
saw who it was…Veshkev, the admiral who had come aboard so mysteriously the day before. But he was
different; his eyes were solid black, staring back at him with an intensity that could never come from a
human. The admiral brought up his hand in a graceful gesture, like a cat preparing to strike.
“Mijanti ovar tukara, Paxton,” He said, “I’m sorry I have to do this.”
Then, in less time then a man could blink, Paxton was dead. There were no fanfares, no good-byes,
and no last moments of consciousness. He was just dead, in the coldness and blackness that would last
forever, the image of Veshkev’s face etched in his mind for eternity…

An hour later, Captain Smith and Commander Rehn walked towards the Conference room. The air
was buzzing with expectation. Though they kept it to themselves, all the men there were very excited. It
wasn’t every day they got to be a part of history. The feeling was contagious, and even though Smith
hadn’t experienced what these men had, he still felt a certain thrill just the same.
As they approached the door to the Conference room, the group noticed that Lezvyun and his
Jem’Hadar escorts had already arrived and were waiting outside. Smith happened to glance at Raymond,
who had also decided to attend the Conference along with the captain. He noticed Jules had become
apprehensive upon seeing the Dominion group. The captain considered asking him if he wanted to back
30

out, but decided against it. His security chief had been through a lot of fighting during the War, and Smith
could understand if he was still uncomfortable around the former-enemy.
Heck, I would probably feel the same way in his shoes, Smith thought wryly.
Behind them, Captain T’Pral, who was assigned to mediate the Conference, addressed the Klingon
security officer standing in front of the door. “Lieutenant Horvang, it seems we are all present and ready to
begin the Conference. Although I fail to see your Commander here.”
The Klingon seemed agitated by T’Pral’s accusative tone. But he replied evenly, “He went into the
room an hour ago. I haven’t heard from him since.”
“He probably just wanted to avoid the rush,” Smith said lightheartedly. But the tension between the
different parties remained, so finally the Captain added, “Let’s not keep him waiting.”
Truman led the way through the doors, followed by Rehn, Raymond, and the Dominion group.
Captain T’Pral was the last to enter, keeping her eyes on Horvang until the last moment.
But as soon as Smith turned to look at Paxton, who still appeared to be sitting in his chair at the far
end of the table, he knew something was wrong. The Commander’s eyes were wide open, and his mouth
gaped hideously. Smith ran around the table, Jules and Lezvyun catching up as he approached Paxton’s
limp form.
Feeling the side of the Commander’s neck, Smith swallowed hard and said simply, “He’s dead.”
What happened next was a blur. Out of the corner of the Captain’s eye, he saw a flicker of light. It
wavered into the form of a man wearing a mask and a strange uniform. A split second later, the man
raised some kind of weapon and pointed it directly at Lezvyun. Smith leapt forward at shoved the Vorta
out of the way of the energy blast that followed.
The two men dropped to the ground as Raymond drew his weapon and fired on the would-be killer.
Shortly after, three more intruders materialized around the room, and this time, they hit a target. Captain
T’Pral had the misfortune of being caught by one of the intruders’ weapons. She fell to the ground in a
lifeless hump.
Jules Raymond and the Jem’Hadar soldiers got the Captain and Lezvyun into cover. Meanwhile, they
did their best to fight off the attackers. Phaser and polaron blasts were exchanged with other phaser shots
across the room. One of the intruders caught a shot from Rehn in arm, and dropped his weapon; he was
shortly after finished off by one of Rintana’Klan’s men.
Smith, still ducking behind one side of the table, tapped his communicator and called, “Smith to Valor,
we’re under attack by a group of intruders. They materialized in the Conference room and apparently
killed Commander Paxton. Contact the Starbase’s security team and tell them to get us some backup!”
On the other end of the line, Jila replied, “Captain, I don’t think they can help you.”
“What?” Smith asked, the confusion in his voice evident.
“Sir, three starships have just decloaked inside the Starbase’s docking cavern. They’re beaming
personnel onto all areas of the station, and also aboard the Leviathan. The troops are massacring the
station’s crew and taking over all systems. We were able to get our shields up in time but the Leviathan
and the smaller Dominion vessel weren’t so lucky.”
It took a few moments for the helmswoman’s words to sink in. My God, he though, we’ve lost the
battle before we even knew there was one.
“Lieutenant,” he said after a few moments, “How long would you have to drop the shields to beam my
team and the Jem’Hadar onto the Valor?”
After a few seconds, Brayton replied, “Seventeen seconds if we use both transporter rooms.”
Too long, they’d have an entire squad of troops on my ship in that time. Then he tried something else
in his mind. “What about the docking tether?” he asked, “How far away is it?”
“Three decks up, nine sections away. Sir, I doubt you’d make it there before they got you.”
Smith smiled inwardly. “Have faith, Jila,” He comforted her, and cut the transmission.

It was going perfectly.

His troops had been deployed successfully, and were eliminating the Federation from the Starbase.
Alone, he walked forward through the corridors of what would be his palace. All around him, Starfleet
officers tried helplessly to stop him with their phasers and, in some cases, their hands. But they all fell
before him, his eyes burning away their lives and leaving them crumpled and twisted on the floor.
31

I’ve waited four thousand years for this day, this moment. Finally I am ascending to the throne I’ve
struggled towards all these years. My subjugation and enslavement is over, and I will rule those around
me as I have been destined to.
I am the master now.
I am their Emperor.
I am Masara…

After Smith cut the transmission with Lieutenant Brayton, he crawled over to Rehn, Jules, and
Lezvyun. They were equally shocked after he informed them of what was happening. But all agreed that
they should try to get to their respective ships. Jules handed his captain a phaser, and soon afterwards,
Smith gave the command to head for the door.
The Jem’Hadar leapt to their feet and opened fire with a barrage of shots. The Federation officers
followed suit, and the group raced toward the pair of double doors. All three of the intruders were killed,
leaving the team with a little respite upon exiting the Conference room.
Outside, the scene was quite different. All across the floor, the bodies of the security guards, including
Horvang, lay in pools of crimson and purple—in the case of the Klingon. They paused only for a few
seconds before another group of intruders opened fire on them from farther down the hall.
A few shots were exchanged before the group began running towards the nearest turbolift. Once
there, the Jem’Hadar guards formed a tight, outward-facing circle around the entrance, keeping Lezvyun
and the others safe as they worked the door panel.
“We’re locked out,” Rehn said without a hint of surprise. “We’ll have to take the Jeffrey’s tubes.”
The circle moved as a unit to the other side of the hall, firing as two more intruders approached. As
soon as it was clear, Smith bent down and ripped off the hatch. He first shoved Lezvyun into the tunnel,
then Rehn, and finally Jules. Shortly after they were through, the captain ducked in after them. The
Jem’Hadar brought up the rear, and the last of them pulled the hatch closed. Unable to find an obvious
locking mechanism, the soldier simply destroyed the control panel with his fist and joined the others.
Coming to the first junction, the team proceeded up the ladder with two of the Jem’Hadar leading the
way. It was a slow and tense climb until they finally got to the right deck. The group then made another
crawl through the tubes until they reached a hallway door. At the lead, Rintana’Klan wasted no time. He
leaned back and kicked the hatch open, then stepped out into the hallway, weapon at ready.
Once the team had all exited the tunnel, they set out towards the docking arm airlock. No more than
four seconds had passed before they were under fire from another threesome of intruders. One of the
lead Jem’Hadar went down, a burning hole in his chest. Smith fired a few shots at the attackers before
ducking behind a bulkhead. The rest of the team did the same, one of the Jem’Hadar staying low and
providing cover fire.
Smith ventured a glance around the corner. Dead Starfleet officers littered the floor everywhere. The
intruders were holding position, and behind them, it appeared that they were getting reinforcements.
Turning to Rehn beside him, he said, “We have to find another way to the docking point.”
The commander nodded and passed the word to the others. Rintana’Klan stepped out with a few of
his soldiers and began firing on the intruders down the hall. The team made a dash behind them, Smith
and Jules firing a few shots as they ran.
Down the hall, the group encountered more resistance. They fought madly, eliminating all of the
attackers. But as they continued down the curving hallway, they came under fire once again from a group
of pursuers behind them. Another one of the Jem’Hadar soldiers went down in a barrage of fire. Smith
rolled as a shot streamed past him. Getting into a crouch, he fired a short burst, catching his would-be
killer right in the chest. Blood spilled from the charred hole in the intruder’s torso as he fell.
Well, at least we know they’re human. Smith thought grimly.
The captain got to his feet quickly, firing a few shots behind him as he ran to join the team. A few
seconds later, Smith eyed the door to the docking arm. They were almost there! Just then another bolt of
energy shot from behind them. It hit Rehn in the leg, taking him straight to the ground. Smith fired back,
killing the intruder who had fired the shot.
Looking over the wound, Smith grimaced. Whatever weapons the intruders were using, they were
more than deadly. The energy was slowly eating away at Rehn’s skin. Hoisting the man up over his
shoulder, the captain trudged on towards the docking arm door.
32

In front of him the Jem’Hadar continued to let loose an almost constant stream of cover fire for the
captain. Once Smith had gotten passed the line, he turned to Lezvyun and said, “I guess you’ll be going
to your ship now.”
The Vorta nodded. “My men will get me there safely, I’m sure. I will contact you once we’ve both
made it out.”
Without another word, the Jem’Hadar set out down the hall, headed for their own vessel. They moved
with such precision and skill, it reminded Smith of a late twentieth century SWAT team. He couldn’t even
begin to imagine what it had been like for Jules and the other veterans, fighting such powerful creatures.
Following his chief of security, Smith ducked though the docking arm door as it swished open. It was
roughly twenty yards to the Valor, and after about ten, the captain started to feel the weight of his
unconscious first officer on his shoulders. Finally, the three of them made it through, the airlock doors
sealing them out from the intruders now gathered at the other end.
Once through the hull door of the Valor, Smith was greeted by a trio of security guards. One of them
watched the other end of the docking arm to make sure the intruders weren’t in pursuit. The other two
helped Commander Rehn, one of them tapping his combadge and calling for a transport directly to
sickbay. They shimmered out of view a moment later.
For the first time in the last fifteen minutes, Smith allowed himself to relax. The situation was far from
over, but at least he wasn’t running anymore from an enemy that could have easily picked him off. With
Raymond keeping pace beside him, the captain headed for the Bridge.

A phaser blast rocked the ship as the captain stepped through the door onto the Bridge. The view
screen showed a large vessel, painted in night black, firing on the Valor.
“Report,“ Smith called as he reclaimed the center chair from Jila.
“We’ve managed to disable two of the three ships that decloaked inside the cavern. The third is still
hanging on.”
Smith relaxed a little more; the odds were with them.
Jules, who had resumed the tactical station, reported, “Their shields are down to twenty-three percent.
I’m targeting their weapons and impulse drive.”
“Fire at will,” the captain instructed.
Smith watched the view screen as a pair of phaser beams from the Valor laced across the enemy
ship’s hull. The first created on explosion on the vessel’s saucer section, the second destroyed a small
node at the back of the “neck” area of the ship.
“Got them, sir,” Raymond said with a tinge of pride. “They’ve been disabled.”
“Release docking clamps, go to full thrusters,” Smith commanded.
At the conn, Lieutenant Brayton glided her hands across the console with practiced ease. The ship
slid away from the docking tether, turning slightly and heading towards the large docking cavern door. In
the corner of the screen, Smith noticed the drifting form of the Leviathan. He remembered the twisted
expression on Captain T’Pral’s face as she was hit by the energy blast. He made a silent player that she
would find peace wherever she was.
Barclay’s agitated voice spoke up from the ops station, “Sir, I’ve been trying to get the Starbase’s
computer to open the cavern doors, but haven’t been getting a response. The intruders must have
captured the bridge and locked us out,” then he added grimly, “We’re trapped.”
But Smith was already far ahead of Reg. Rising to his feet, he walked forward to the helm station and
said to no one in particular, “Then we’ll just have to get out the old-fashioned way. Lieutenant Brayton, set
a course for the doors and engage at ramming speed!”
Though it was unusual, the helmswoman complied, albeit with a little reluctance. The might of the
Valor lurched forward, accelerating to full impulse speed in seconds. On the screen, the docking cavern
doors were fast approaching. Smith held his breath as the ship pounded into the solid duranium…
…And burst out of the Starbase amidst a plum of fire.
Cheers exploded from the bridge crew, but were quickly silenced when they noticed a group of five
black-painted vessels hanging in space before them. Smith muttered a curse under his breath and turned
to Raymond.
“Can we take them?” The captain asked.
Jules examined his readouts and replied bewilderedly, “Three Akira-class ships, one Intrepid, and one
Galaxy. Sir, these are Federation vessels.”
33

“I realize that, Lieutenant,” Smith asked him again, “But can we take them?”
Jules regained his composure. “Not alone, the most we can do right now is run, sir.”
The awful truth always comes out eventually, Smith thought. “Alright, set an escape course and—”
“Sir,” Barclay interrupted, “I’m detecting another ship emerging from the Starbase. They’re hailing.”
“Onscreen.”
A few seconds later, Lezvyun appeared on the viewer. “We’ll stay here a few minutes and draw their
fire, Captain. Just make sure you get out of here safely.”
“Thanks, Ambassador,” Smith said with a smile.
“It’s not nearly enough, after you’ve saved my life. I will be sure to tell the Founders what has
transpired here, and that you did all you could to help us. Also, I will do all I can to persuade them to offer
any military assistance we can if you may need it.”
“That’s more than generous of you, Ambassador,” Smith thanked him again.
The Vorta nodded and cut the transmission.
“Well, I think I should reevaluate that course, Jila,” Smith said to the helm, “We’re going to Earth.”
A few seconds afterward, Jila replied, “Course plotted and laid in, sir.”
With a sigh, Smith raised his hand and pointed to the stars. “Engage.”

Four hours later, with the Valor on a course for Earth, Smith sat alone in the ship’s mess hall. Before
him sat a half-drunk cup of coffee and a padd. On the padd was his formal report to Starfleet. It
summarized the events surrounding the loss of Starbase 17 and the Leviathan, and the massacre of over
ten thousand Starfleet personnel.
The captain had been finished with the report for almost hour now, but he was still contemplating
whether or not to mention his feelings about Admiral Veshkev. That man had given him such a chill…
“Mind if I sit here?”
Smith looked up to see his security chief. “Sure, Jules, have a seat,” he motioned towards the chair.
After sitting down, Raymond took a sip of his own coffee. “Doc says Commander Jovan is going to be
okay, but he’ll be in bed for a few more hours. I’m still a bit shaken up about this whole thing, myself. It all
happened so fast…” He trailed off.
“Well, I think we owe our lives to those Dominion soldiers.” Raymond shook his head slightly and
mused, “Never thought I’d see the day when I’d be fighting alongside Jem’Hadar. You know, I had my
doubts about them at first. For a few minutes there I half expected them to turn on us and save
themselves,” he chuckled. “You know, captain…they’re on okay bunch of guys.
“Oh, we got a reply back from Starfleet to our initial message. They agree with your decision to return
to Earth. Plus, they said they’re going to hold an emergency session of the Federation Council to assess
just how much of a threat Admiral Veshkev is. They claim they’ll have the matter settled in no time.
The captain nodded, encouraging Raymond to continue. “But the thing I came here to tell you was,
while I was going over the sensor logs for the mission, I found a message that was transmitted to us
shortly before we warped out.” He handed Smith a padd. “It was sent to you, from the Starbase.”
Truman read through the scrolling text. After a few moments he looked up and asked, “Is it encoded?
It’s all garbled.”
“If it is a code, it’s unlike any I’ve ever seen. The computer’s running a check, but I’m pretty sure it’s a
language, actually.”
Smith nodded and handed the padd back to his security chief. “Be sure to keep me informed, Mr.
Raymond. Is that all?”
“That’s about it,” Jules confirmed as he rose from his chair. He walked a few steps away and then
paused. Turning to the captain he said, “Sir, there was one odd thing about the message. It had the
name, ‘Masara’ attached. Ring any bells?”
Smith shook his head. “No,” he replied honestly.
Raymond nodded. “It was probably nothing. Good night, sir.”
But the captain didn’t reply. He was rolling the name over in his head.
Masara.
What could it mean? Smith decided to forget about it for the time being. The past day and a half had
been taxing for him physically and emotionally. Many thoughts still crowded his mind, thoughts about
Lezvyun, Commander Paxton, and of course, Admiral Veshkev. Though Smith wanted to believe the
whole situation would come to nothing, and that Veshkev and the rest of his accomplices would be behind
34

bars very soon, he had to look at the realistic side. If someone could massacre an entire Starbase crew in
minutes without any evidence beforehand, who knows what else he could be capable of?
Taking a sip of his now cold coffee, Smith went back to writing his report. Starfleet had to know his
take on Veshkev. The man was a brutal killer, and one with possibly supernatural powers. It sounded like
a cliché, but he doubted they’d seen the last of Sergei Veshkev…

Coming Episodes

----
Of Gone Tomorrows

The Valor returns to Earth to take on a new member of the crew.

Meanwhile, Smith is having trouble accepting many of the losses
he endured when he was brought to the 24th Century. However,
Hodgeson may have an explanation for Smith’s abnormal behavior
other than a simple case of homesickness.
----
Hive

Rehn is captured during a Borg attack on the Valor away team.

In a last ditch effort to save his friend, Smith must attempt a risky use
of the Quantum Slipstream drive. But Smith’s haste to save his partially-
assimilated friend may have fatal consequences for the Valor crew.
----
The Focal Point

A rip in time and space is tearing through a Federation star system.

The Valor is sent to investigate, but they discover that the rip may have been
caused by an entity more powerful than the crew can deal with. Racing against
time the crew must attempt some means of stopping the entity,
before it destroys an entire race of innocent lives.
----
River of Their Tears

Smith uses the holodeck to reconstruct his last hours before he was
transported to the 24th Century. But a malfunction in the system causes him
to become trapped in the program, forced to find some way of surviving,
even though history shows he has no chance.
----
Encounter at the Edge of Forever

When the Valor comes to the planet where an ancient time-traveling

gateway is still resting, they find a being there that says he is a survivor
from the civilization that build the gateway. Smith is skeptical, and he
decides to find out for himself if the man is telling the truth or not.
----
Black Pearl Station

Section 31 calls on Smith to lead a commando attack against a suspected

Black Fleet outpost. But it turns out the mission has been compromised
by a double agent, and the team finds themselves in a losing situation.