by Edward H. Bart IV

*=Contains Coarse Language, equivalent to R-Rating=*

Chapter 1

        “Ten!”
        “Nine!”
        “Eight!”
        “Seven!”
        “Six!”
        “Five!”
        “Four!”
        “Three!”
        “TWO!”
        “ONE!”
        Whistles and cheers resounded throughout the crowded ship’s lounge, Eleven-Forward. A multitude of voices, alien and human, mixed in a singular whoop of cheer and joy. It was an cathartic shout, a shrugging off of the collective weight of hardship and loss the crew of the U.S.S. Courageous experienced in the last six months.
        Barely audible over the party chatter and the cheers was the deep voice of Chief Leo Bogarde, announcing via the shipwide comm, “We are now officially 36 million kilometers past the demarcation coordinates of the Borderlands!”
        That announcement brought more cheers from the partygoers in the crew lounge. Glasses were raised and syntheol and genuine champagne splashed out of these glasses.
        Captain Thomas R. Johnson, Jr. held one of those glasses, smiling broadly. The smile was less so because of their arrival into the Borderlands, and more so because of the excitement and gladness he saw in the crew around him. As the noise level lowered, he stepped up to a pedestal that was placed next to the end of the bar. “Allright everybody! Settle down for a bit!”
        He waved his arms, taking care not to spill his champagne in his hand. “Settle down!”
        The crew turned to face Johnson, stifling their conversations just enough for Johnson to make his voice heard. “Thank you. First of all, thank you, Mister Bogarde, for keeping us posted.”
        “You’re welcome, Captain,” Bogarde’s voice replied.
        “You’re missing a hell of a party here, though,” Johnson said back.
        The crowd shouted, making themselves heard.
        “Yeah, but at least I’m getting overtime pay and y’all ain’t!” Bogarde shot back, much to the amusement of the partygoers.
        Johnson chuckled. “Now, I’d like to say a few words,” he spoke to the crowd. “Finally, we’re in the Borderlands. It’s been a long journey, but we made it. Sure, we got sidetracked one or two times, but now we can get to the heart of our mission, the exploration of the Borderlands. I know you all are expecting a speech from me, but I have someone else in mind.”
        The crowd quieted at the captain’s vague remark. Johnson took the opportunity to tap his combadge. “Mister Bogarde, is our guest speaker online?”
        “Yes, sir. She’s standing by.”
        “Very good. Pipe her through to Eleven-Forward and the rest of the ship,” Johnson ordered, turning slightly to look at the large painting hanging in the back of the lounge. The painting of a DY-500 ship dissolved, transforming into a view of the Starfleet logo of a starfield and laurels.
        The logo disappeared, showing a new view of an middle-aged woman with brown hair tied back into a bun. Streaks of grey ran throughout the brown hair. The woman looked at a person offscreen. “Now?”
        The offscreen person murmured something inaudibly, and the woman turned to face the crowd, smiling a thin smile. Her crows’ feet wrinkled as she smiled. “Oh, hi. This is the Courageous Eleven-Forward I’m seeing, right?”
        The crew shouted back to the woman they all immediately recognized. “Yes, Captain!”
        The woman smiled. “I’m no longer a captain, so that’s not necessary. I’m just Ms. Janeway now.” She sighed. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to do this, but Admiral Nechayev twisted my arm, and along with Captain Johnson’s request, I decided to go ahead. It feels odd to be on the other end of the Midas Array, speaking to you from the Alpha Quadrant.
        “Congratulations. You are now the second Federation starship to voyage through the Borderlands. Each and every one of you should consider yourselves very fortunate. You will be alone out there in that part of unexplored space, but all of you are well prepared for this mission. There is one thing I want to remind you of.
        That is the fact that though you are more than 40 thousand light years away from home, you are not alone. You have each other to depend on. And you may remain confident in your journeys, because you are being guided by one of Starfleet’s finest captains. As you carry out your mission, you will no doubt face uncertainty and seemingly insurmountable challenges. If you remain resolute and courageous, you shall succeed.
        Janeway paused, collecting her thoughts. She licked her lips and began speaking again, to a silent crowd. “When the Voyager passed through the Borderlands seven years ago, we only had the barest glimpse of what you may find. Our singleminded goal prevented us from the luxury of exploring a rich area of space further. You all have that honor. As the former captain of the starship Voyager, I suppose there is no one other more qualified than me to pass on the torch of exploration to the crew of the U.S.S. Courageous. Good luck and godspeed.”
        Johnson smiled at Janeway. “Thank you very much Ms. Janeway. I’m sure we all appreciate your taking the time to give us a few words of encouragement.”
        The crowd in the lounge broke out in spontaneous applause, causing the former captain to smile awkwardly. “Thank you,” she replied. “Good bye.” Her visage disappeared from the viewscreen, replaced by the painting of the ancient DY-500 explorer starship.
        Johnson turned to face the crowd. “I can’t say it much better than her. However, there is one other woman I’d like to speak to us tonight. Her name is Anne Hunninghake, a writer and philosopher who lived centuries ago on Earth. If her name sounds familiar to you, it may be because you’ve seen it everytime you pass the ship’s dedication plaque on the Bridge. Most of you probably haven’t taken the time to stop and read her contribution to the ship.
        “Her contribution is an unique definition of courage, one that seems particularly apt in light of our recent hard journey.” Johnson cleared his throat. “She said, Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes Courage is that little voice at the end of the day that says ‘I’ll try again tomorrow.’ ”
        Johnson looked out through the large bay windows of the lounge, to the stars that dotted the blackness. He raised his champagne. “Here’s to tomorrow!”
        “To tomorrow!” the crew echoed back to him. Johnson took a swig from the fizzy beverage, smiling at his crew. “And here’s to tonight! Enjoy yourselves! That’s an order!” the captain chuckled, raising his glass again, stepping down off the pedestal.
        A chorus of cheers rose from the crowd as the captain returned to the crowd. “That was a good speech, sir,” someone leaned in to Johnson’s ear.
        He turned to see Doctor Michelanos smiling. “Oh thank you, doctor. Glad you liked it.”
        Michelanos stood next to a short man, with his arm draped across the shorter alien’s shoulders. Johnson glanced at the mottled grey face of the alien with Michelanos. Johnson extended his hand to the shorter man. “Hello Lieutenant...”
        “Xallar,” the alien said in a guttural accent. “I know you of course, sir.”
        “You two are here together?” Johnson asked them.
        Michelanos nodded, brushing back his black hair. “Yeah, he’s my date tonight.”
        “Good, I hope you two are having a good time.”
        “We are,” Xallar said. “The music is very good.”
        “It is,” Michelanos agreed.
        Johnson glanced at the varied faces in the lounge as he nodded. He turned back to Michelanos. “You know, I haven’t seen Doctor Hartman. Is he on duty tonight?”
        Michelanos frowned. “I don’t believe so, but of course there might’ve been a last minute rotation change. Last I heard, he was feeling unwell, though.”
        “Ah,” Johnson nodded. “Well, I suppose I better mingle. I guess I’m the defacto host. Have a good evening, doctor. Lieutenant.” The captain nodded to the two men, taking his leave of them. He made his way through the crowd, noticing Doctor Joh Emmeril, the Bajoran Science Officer, near the buffet table.
        “Hello, doctor. Glad to see you here,” the captain asked. “I wasn’t sure if you would be coming or not.
        “Hello, Captain,” Joh replied. “I hadn’t intended to come, but Raven invited me to accompany him.”
        “Oh really?” Johnson raised his eyebrows. “Where is he?”
        Joh looked past Johnson. “He is approaching us.” The captain turned to see the tall half-Bajoran holding two flutes of champagne.
        “Hello, Thomas,” Raven smiled as he handed Joh a flute, keeping one for himself.
        “Raven,” Johnson nodded back. “You look very nice tonight. Is that the clasp Lisa and I gave you last year?” He indicated to the clasp holding Raven’s long white hair into a braided ponytail.
        “Yes, it is. Since tonight was to be a special occasion, I thought I should wear it.”
        “It looks good,” Johnson said. “So are you and Doctor Joh having a good time?”
        Raven nodded. “I am. Are you, Emmeril?” he asked, looking at Joh.
        The doctor sipped at her champagne and nodded. “It’s more pleasant than I expected it to be.”
        Johnson smiled. “Well, don’t let me interrupt anything. I’ll just be on my way.”
        He turned around and looked at the faces in the crowd. They became stretched and distorted. His knees wobbled as the deck seemed to give away under him.

        A loud crash reverberated through the dim light of the crew quarters. Hartman leaned over in his seat to see the shattered remains of a green bottle scattered on the grey carpeting. “Shit,” he muttered to himself as he leaned over clumsily the side, looking at the mess. As his arm slid across desk, he knocked off another empty bottle, along with a small holographic projector.
        The projector turned on, showing a picture of Hartman with his arms around a redhead, who was smiling brightly. Hartman looked at the hologram and sighed deeply, gritting his teeth. “Oh, Jaime,” he sighed. With an angry grunt, the doctor picked up the hologram projector and tossed it aside.
        He sat back up, propping his bare feet up on his desk, looking at the wall monitor. The speech by Janeway had just ended, and now the Starfleet logo shone in the darkness.
        “Oh, it’s over already?” Hartman asked himself. “Oh well. Beautiful speech, Miss, Captain Janeway,” Hartman spoke to the screen. He clapped his hands loudly and theatrically. “Marvelous!” he slurred.
        The doctor leaned over, grabbing a large crimson bottle with a foil label wrapped around the trunk. He twisted the cap off, tossing it onto the desk, only to watch it bounce off the burnished wood, onto the deck. Without a second thought, he put his mouth to the bottle and gulped loudly. Small rivulets of violet liquid poured out from the corners of his mouth as he swallowed.
        “Ahhh!” Hartman exhaled, wiping the excess fluid from his mouth and chin, then wiping his wet hand on his black uniform. He shuddered momentarily as the aftertaste hit him. “Ugh, whoa!” he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. “Oh, yeah,” he sighed as the shudder passed. “Computer!”
        “Yes?”
        “Display current medical status of Private Siah Neh Tahbe.”
        The wall monitor’s image shifted, now showing several graphs and a three-dimensional rendering of a humanoid body. Most of the condition codes were shown in green, indicating that Siah Neh was in good shape.

        “He’s not in good shape!” one of the Marines shouted, propping up Private Siah Neh, supporting his weight.
        “Yes, I see,” Chief Nurse Thrusk barked sharply. “Come, put him on here,” the Benzite gestured to a bloodstained biobed, standing ready to help the other Marine lay the injured Marine down.
        Together, the nurse and tall Marine laid the bleeding Marine atop the biobed. Thrusk grabbed a tricorder, popping out the external sensor with practiced ease, moving the small sensor up and down the length of Siah Neh’s body. The frosty gases that flowed out of the Benzite’s breathing apparatus swirled around Thrusk’s chin.
        “How is he?” the Marine asked.
        “Critical,” Thrusk replied. He turned to look at Michelanos who was with another wounded Marine one biobed away. “Doctor Michelanos! This person needs immediate surgery! He is hemorrhaging internally. His perital sac has been torn.”
        “Perital sac?” Michelanos frowned. “He’s a Kwiardi, right?”
        “Yeah,” the tall Marine nodded anxiously. “Siah Neh Tahbe is from Kwiar. Iapena Lake, I think he said. Does that help?”
        Michelanos handed his tricorder to another nurse and walked over to the other side of Siah Neh’s biobed, looking at the monitors above Siah Neh’s head. “No, that’s not really necessary. Look, uh, whatever rank you are, thank you for bringing him in. But we need the space in here, so unless you have any injuries of your own, please leave.”
        “Will he be okay,” the Marine asked.
        “Yes, he will be, we’ll make sure of it,” Michelanos smiled. “Please, let us do our work.”
        Hartman blinked several times, walking over to Michelanos, bumping into the departing Marine. “Sorry, excuse me.”
        “My fault, doctor,” the Marine mumbled as he hurried to the doors.
        Hartman stepped to Michelanos’s side. “I saw him come in. What’s the situation?”
        “Ruptured perital sac, assorted fractures of the legs, and internal bleeding,” Thrusk recited from the tricorder.
        Michelanos glanced at Hartman. “The perital sac has to be sealed and the bleeding has to be stopped or he’ll die right here in minutes. Thrusk, prep the surgical bed for immediate surgery!”
        “Why not here?” Thrusk asked.
        “Because Kwiardi internal organs can’t be exposed to contaminated air, there has to be a forcefield before any surgery. Now go!”
        “Yes, doctor,” Thrusk nodded, rushing to one of the two circular enclaves that housed a surgical biobed.
        “The fractures can wait,” Michelanos said to Hartman. “But I’ve never operated on a Kwiardi before.”
        “I have, a few times,” Hartman nodded, sniffing.
        “Great, you can go and do it.”
        Hartman shook his head. “No, I’m not... I’ve got a headache.”
        “This man is dying right here, get over it,” Michelanos shouted.
        Thrusk reappeared by the biobed. “We’re ready for surgery.”
        Michelanos nodded his acknowledgement, tapping on a small monitor on the biobed. The medical platform detached from the wall, hovering in place. Thrusk and Michelanos pushed the biobed over to the surgical biobed, with Hartman following closely. Another nurse shoved a red gown in Hartman’s face.
        “What?”
        “Your surgical gown,” the nurse said.
        “Oh, okay,” Hartman nodded. He stretched his arms out, so the nurse could help put the red gown on. Once he got his arms in the sleeves, he turned so the nurse could cinch the back closure. “Thanks.”
        Hartman turned back to the surgical biobed. Thrusk and Michelanos, with the help of another nurse, transferred Siah Neh’s body onto the surgical bed. Thrusk quickly pulled the biobed away, out of the enclosure. Hartman stepped to the surgical biobed. A clamshell monitor rotated shut over Siah Neh’s body, performing a pre-surgical scan.
        Michelanos looked at Hartman. “You want me to assist?”
        “Uh, no, there’s plenty others for you to look over,” Hartman looked back at the rest of the sickbay. Several of the biobeds that lined the walls were laden with Marines, groaning or clutching wounded arms or legs. “I’ll be fine.”
        “Okay, Ed,” Michelanos nodded, rushing to the side of another biobed.
        Hartman stepped up to the surgical biobed, glancing at the clamshell monitor readout. “Okay,” he said to himself and to the other nurse, who also dressed in a red gown. “Nurse Damita, is it?”
        “Yes, doctor.”
        “First, we have to seal the perital sac,” Hartman looked at Damita. “Scalpel, please.” The nurse retrieved the thin handheld instrument off an equipment tray. Hartman tapped on the clamshell’s release control. The cylindrical monitor retracted into the side of the biobed.
        “Damita, help me get this armor off him,” Hartman said, tugging at the chestplate.
        “Wait, doctor,” Damita said. She tapped on a small monitor on the chestplate, and several clicks sounded out.
        “What did you do?”
        “I entered the disengage code for the Marine’s armor. You know, in case they have to get out of their suits fast, or if we have to do surgery fast.” Damita wrinkled her face at Hartman.
        “Right, yeah. I just forgot that for a minute. Good job.” Now with the armor disengaged, they both were able to strip Siah Neh of his armor, exposing his distended torso.
        Hartman raised his scalpel, activating it. When the familiar hiss of an laser wouldn’t come out, he looked at the scalpel, thumbing the power button.
        “Wait!”
        “What?” Hartman asked Damita.
        “Aren’t we supposed to put up an forcefield? This is a Kwiardi, isn’t it? I could be wrong...” Damita asked.
        “Oh, right,” Hartman slapped his forehead. “Computer, erect a microbiological forcefield around Surgical Suite One.” He nodded to Damita. “You’re right. The Kwiardi have a high susceptibility to external microorganisms. I don’t know why, it just slipped my mind.”
        The flash and shimmer of a forcefield appeared between the enclave and the rest of the Sickbay. “Doctor, are you allright? You don’t look well,” the nurse asked.
        “I’m, I’m okay,” Hartman said, thumbing the scalpel on. Now a small red arc of laser energy appeared at the emitter. “I’m just feeling a little under the weather, Damita.”
        Hartman looked down at the chitinous covering of Siah Neh’s torso. He brought the scalpel down, cutting through the irregularly segmented skin, exposing a milky white internal cavity. White fluid, tinged with brown, spurted through the newly made opening.
        To Damita’s credit, she didn’t make any disgusted noises, although Hartman spied a slight frown of distaste.
        “Retractor, soft tips,” Hartman gestured with an open hand.
        The nurse slapped the retractor handles into Hartman’s waiting hand. The doctor slid the metallic prongs into the opening, pushing back several tan coils that pulsed with fluid.
        Suddenly, Siah Neh’s body started shaking.
        “What? What’s going on?” Hartman looked up.
        Damita was reading the biobed’s readout. “Blood pressure bottoming out, another hemorrhage sprouted.”
        “Damn! Hypospray of Budenprine, stat!”
        Damita handed the doctor a hypospray, and Hartman pressed it against Siah Neh’s thick corded neck.
        The convulsions subsided, and Hartman, holding Siah Neh’s internal organs to the side with retractors in one hand, pressed the scalpel in close. He slowly moved the scalpel over to a large black bladder, which was spurting milky fluid.
        Hartman activated the scalpel, and the laser cut the bladder’s opening even wider. More milky fluid spurted out.
        “Oh fuck! Fuck!” Hartman muttered, deactivating the scalpel.
        “What’s wrong, doctor?” Damita asked, as the biobed’s sensor started chirping alarms.
        “I did it wrong. I made it worse,” Hartman moaned.
        “Lifesigns dropping and fast!” Damita shouted, her eyes back on the biobed’s monitor.
        “Fuck,” Hartman ran his hands through his hair. “Fuck. Uh, activate Emergency Medical Hologram now!”
        A twin version of Hartman appeared next to the doctor. “Hello, how may I help you?” Hartman’s own face and voice asked.
        “Kwiardi patient, ruptured perital sac, seal it! Internal hemorrhages, stop them!” Hartman shouted. “Take over for me,” he said, handing the scalpel to the hologram.
        The holographic version of Hartman stepped to the biobed with assured ease, taking the scalpel. Hartman walked to the yellow curved wall, crossing his arms, pacing. He watched Damita and his holographic twin work on Siah Neh. He looked out and saw Michelanos looking at him oddly.
        “I’m sorry, I’ve got to get out of here,” he said, stepping through the forcefield. The energy bent and swept over his body, sealing behind him, preventing any microscopic organisms from entering the surgical enclave.
        Michelanos stepped up to him. “Ed, what’s wrong? Why is the EMH doing it for you?”
        “I screwed up! Is that what you want me to say?” Hartman shouted in Michelanos’s face.
        The other doctor sniffed. “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you? You’re not drunk, are you?”
        Hartman closed his mouth in a tight frown. Finally he replied, “I was supposed to be off duty.”
        Michelanos raised his eyebrows in confusion. “You just got off duty less than an hour ago before the casualties from the Galaxy started coming in!”
        “I told you, I’m not feeling well. I’m going to my quarters.”
        “Yeah, I think that’d be best,” Michelanos said, stepping aside to let Hartman continue on his way out of the Sickbay. “You’re not in good shape.”

        Hartman took another swig from the red bottle, swallowing quickly. “Yeah,” he sighed. He slammed the bottle back down on the desktop, then settled back in his seat, wiggling his toes. He reached out to the desktop monitor, tilting the monitor to face him. An isolinear rod rested on top of the keypad. Hartman grabbed it and thrust it into the data receptacle.
        “Computer, replay McCoy message,” he said aloud, slightly slurring his words.
        The screen momentarily flickered, then an image of a elderly, wrinkled and white-haired man appeared on the screen. He appeared to be resting on a large pillow.
        “Hello, Edward,” the man said.
        “Hello, Leonard H. McCoy,” Hartman replied to the screen.
        “I know my time’s almost up, so I figured I oughta record a little something to you,” McCoy said.
        “Nooooo,” Hartman frowned. “Say it ain’t so!”
        “Yes, all things have to end eventually,” the legendary doctor sighed. “Quite frankly, I was getting a bit bored these past few years. But I digress...” The old man started coughing.
        “No, that’s not a digression, that’s a cough,” Hartman corrected the screen.
        “By now, you ought to be gallivanting around in the Borderlands doing god knows what, and finding god knows what. I’m almost jealous.”
        “Tough! You can’t come ’cuz you’re dead!” Hartman pointed at the screen.
        McCoy sighed. “I know there’s been a little bad blood between us, a little friction.”
        “Damn right, cranky old coot.”
        “Allright, a lot of friction,” McCoy admitted, as the recording continued. “Still, I’d hate it if I went without telling you how proud I am of you. I always knew you had potential, from the very first time we met, when you interviewed for the internship. I still remember your answer from when I asked why you wanted to be a doctor.
        “You said, ‘Because I’d rather work on living people, than on dead people like my father does.’ Heh. That’s always a good reason to do something different, breaking tradition.”
        McCoy stared offscreen for a moment. He heaved another raspy sigh. “As for what happened during your tour of duty on the Avalon... well I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree on your choices. You know, I had hoped you wouldn’t... but you did.”
        Hartman clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, frowning.
        “I tried to warn you. I told you to remember what kind of animals were on the caduceus. If you deal with them, they’ll bite you.”
        “Yeah,” Hartman sighed, taking another big gulp from the red liquor bottle. “Thanks a lot, Lenny.”
        McCoy sighed, and his wrinkles deepened as he frowned sadly. He shook his head slowly. “I don’t want to end this with an ‘I told you so.’ You deserve better than that.”
        “No, I don’t,” Hartman retorted. “I don’t deserve anything better.”
        “I’ve always been keeping track of your doings, your comings and goings. You’ve done some very nice things, and made a good solid career for yourself. I... I just wanted to let you know that. Good job, Doctor Hartman.” McCoy frowned. “I guess that’s it. Good-bye, Ed.”
        “Bye-Bye, Len,” Hartman waved at the monitor as it went black. He tilted the crimson bottle back, slurping the last of the liquor. He sighed, looking at the black screen, resting the bottle in his lap.
        With an angry frown, Hartman threw the bottle against the clear window. The bottle exploded into a shower of red glass fragments, and the window dripped with faint violet liquid.
        “Fuck you!” Hartman shouted at the blank monitor. “I know what you were thinking. ‘How could I be so stupid as to fall in with these people?’ Well I was young! I was idealistic! They lied to me. I thought I was doing the right thing. And then I turned into one of them. Fuck you!” Hartman sat up, hitting the desktop monitor. The monitor skidded to the edge of the desk, nearly falling.
        “Fuck me!” Hartman growled through gritted teeth, slamming his fists on the desktop. “Damn! Damn, damn damn damn. Dammit it all to hell!”
        Hartman looked up at the collection of empty liquor bottles on the desk. He grabbed another one and flung it across the room, hearing the satisfying tinkle of shattered glass. “Every single thing has been going wrong! What is wrong with me? What is wrong with my stupid life? Why won’t anything ever go my way?” He grabbed another one and threw it again, hearing it break against the bathroom mirror.
        A chime sounded, followed by insistent thumping.
        “Oh crap! What? What?” Hartman looked around, shaken out of his reverie.
        Another chime sounded, and Hartman recognized it as the door sensor. “Ok. Who’s there?”
        “It’s Nathan.” Ambassador Favor’s voice sounded through the comm system.
        Hartman groaned, putting his forehead in his hand. “Why are you here?”
        “Heard you weren’t feeling well. Thought I’d drop by before hitting the after-party.”
        “After-party?”
        “Yeah,” Favor’s voice replied. “After the party in Eleven-Forward, some of us are getting together in Holodeck 2 for another party. Hence the term, ‘after-party.’ Want to come?”
        “No,” Hartman said.
        “Okay. Uh, can I come in? I feel kind of silly talking to your door.”
        “Oh you’ve done stupider things than that,” Hartman muttered. “Fine. Come in.”
        The door opened upon receipt of Hartman’s vocal command.
        Favor stepped in, pausing. “Whoa, dark in here. Something wrong?”
        “No,” Hartman said, sitting at the desk. “Just turned the lights low, is all. Well, you’re in here. What do you want?”
        Favor stepped over to the desk, keeping his Vulcan style robes close to his body. “Smells like... brandy. Whiskey. Alcohol.”
        “Been drinking a little.”
        “Oh, celebrating by yourself? That’s a little sad.”
        “Fuck you.”
        Favor bristled. “Hey, I was just joking, don’t get so bent out of shape. What’s wrong?”
        “Nothing.”
        “Come on, I know something’s up. I’m your buddy. Tell me.” Favor leaned against the desk, moving the desktop monitor away from the edge.
        “Nothing’s wrong!”
        “Hey, I’m your friend, Ed. You can tell me.”
        “Fine! You want to know? You really want to know? I’ll tell you something that’s wrong. She’s married!” Hartman slammed a hand on the desk.
        “Who is?”
        “Her. The gal we were talking about last month. Jaime. The redhead from the Pacific.”
        “Oh yes,” Favor nodded. “Really?”
        “Yeah. Got married like six years ago. They have a little five year old boy, and now another baby on the way. Commander Weston Bradman. What a stupid name, Weston Bradman.”
        “When did you find out?”
        Hartman sighed. “Don’t know. I guess one night I got bored and looked up her records after we talked about it in Eleven Forward at breakfast.”
        “Well... I’m sorry to hear that. Still... there’s plenty of other fish in the universe.”
        Hartman looked up at Favor. “You don’t get it. You’ve always had so much better luck in that than me. Do you know how many women I’ve met that I’ve liked a lot and they actually like me back, just as much? Probably just around three or four. And now I have zero chance with one of them.”
        “Ed, I almost can’t understand you,” Favor said. “You’re slurring so much. Just how much have you had to drink?”
        “Not enough,” he said.
        “Okay, look, I can understand a broken heart, but there’s more bothering you than you’re telling me. Come on, tell me,” Favor placed a hand on Hartman’s shoulder.
        The doctor shrugged it off, slapping Favor’s hand away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
        “Is it also partly about Doctor McCoy’s death?”
        “I said, I don’t want to talk about it!” Hartman stood up, leaning against the desk for support, nearly toppling over. “You have a party to go to, don’t you? Go! Go, leave me the hell alone!” He pointed to the door, his arm wavering slightly. “Get out!”
        Favor stood up, sighing. “Look, I’m here for you to talk to anytime. You can tell me what’s wrong.”
        “This is just why you rub Tommy the wrong way sometimes, you just get into people’s faces and don’t give people space!” Hartman shouted at Favor. “You’re totally ignorant of what people are saying! That’s why that girl, I forget her name, dumped you at the Starblast Dance at the Academy. You’re too fucking overbearing! You breathe down people’s necks! Just leave me alone! Get out!”
        Favor gritted his teeth, frowning. “Fine. Have it your way, Ed. I’m going to go now.” He walked to the door. “I think you’ve had quite enough to drink for tonight. You better get to bed and sleep it off.”
        “Get off my back! I don’t need to hear your nagging! I don’t need to hear your advice, I don’t need to hear any of the crap you have to say!” Hartman grabbed another empty bottle and hefted it, about to fling it at Favor.
        “Goddamn, calm down, I’m leaving!” Favor yelled. “Put that down!”
        “Get out! Get out! Get out!”
        Favor hurried through the door. As the door closed, a blue bottle crashed into the wall next to the door.
        Hartman walked back to his desk. However his legs gave out and a wave of nausea swept through him. He crumpled to the floor, which seemed to move further away from him as he fell down.

        Bogarde stood behind the tactical station, looking at the viewscreen. Lieutenant Kyle walked onto the bridge, surprising the chief. She walked past the tactical station towards the center trio of seats.
        Ensign Fehr stood up, deferring to the new ranking officer on the bridge.
        “Didn’t know you were going to be on bridge duty tonight, Lieutenant,” Bogarde said.
        “I decided to leave the party early. Really, I was only there for the sake of appearances,” Kyle said. “I’d rather be up here, so the captain excused me, granting me permission to relieve Ensign Fehr.” She smiled at the dusky skinned ensign.
        “Thanks, Lieutenant,” Fehr nodded. “You have the bridge, sir.”
        Kyle sat down, assuming command. “Mahmoud, the party’s still going on, if you want to check it out.”
        Fehr smiled. “I think I’ll do that. Good night, sir.” The ensign circled the tactical station, heading to the turbolift. As he passed Bogarde, Fehr said, “Good night, Chief.”
        “Night, sir,” Bogarde nodded, in reply. He smiled as Fehr entered the turbolift. “Hey, have a good time.”
        The turbolift closed, and Bogarde turned back to look at the blonde lieutenant.
        “Status report,” Kyle asked.
        “Aye, sir.” Bogarde bent his shaved head to work the tactical station, calling up various reports. “All systems nominal,” he told Kyle. “All station reports are logged in.”
        “Update on damage control?” Kyle asked, looking at the monitor facing her next to the command seat.
        “Cosmetic damage has been repaired. We’re back to a hundred percent,” the chief smiled. “We’re looking good.”
        The turbolift doors opened and a brown haired man, dressed in a black uniform with a dark green undertunic, stepped onto the bridge.
        “Lieutenant Dawson,” Bogarde nodded. “What brings you here?”
        Dawson walked to one of the many unoccupied stations at the rear of the bridge. He raised a tan PADD. “Have to upload some reports, and add some forms to the MIDAS queue.”
        He pulled a stool out from a cabinet and sat on it, slapping the PADD onto the auxiliary station loudly.
        The loud noise drew the attention of Bogarde, Kyle and the two other crewmen on duty. Bogarde smirked. “You don’t look too happy to be here.”
        “Got that right, Leo,” Dawson said. “I’d rather be in Eleven-Forward or in the barracks at the parties. Instead, I drew the short straw, and got stuck with this shift. You too, huh?”
        “Nah,” Bogarde shook his head. “Volunteered. I’ve got some extra expenses this month.”
        Dawson swiveled around to look at Bogarde. “Yeah, I heard about that. If you’re having such a bad slump at cards, maybe you shouldn’t play at all.”
        “Yeah, that’s good advice,” Bogarde nodded. “Too bad the guys were too busy taking my money to offer me that tip.” Bogarde forced a grin. “Oh well.”
        Dawson turned to look at Kyle. “I didn’t know you were on duty, Lieutenant.”
        Kyle looked up from the monitor she was reading. “Oh, I wasn’t. But now I am.”
        “She left the party to come up here,” Bogarde explained.
        Dawson frowned in puzzlement. “Why?”
        “More command experience will look good on my personnel record,” Kyle answered.
        “What, are you in a hurry to get promoted?” Dawson asked.
        “I--” Kyle began, but then closed her mouth. “Look, you have your career plan, and I have mine. I don’t need to explain anything to you, Lieutenant. Just leave me to my work, and I’ll leave you to yours.” Kyle turned away, looking at the monitor next to her.
        Dawson turned and caught Bogarde’s eyes. Both men shrugged in mute acceptance, and Dawson turned back to the station. After a moment, he tapped on his PADD and stood up. He walked up next to Bogarde, looking at the main viewscreen.
        “So, this is the Borderlands,” Dawson said. An array of unremarkable stars were spread out on a field of black. He sniffed. “Not much to it.”
        Bogarde leaned against the railing that housed the tactical station. “Come on, James. We’re only a couple of parsecs into the Borderlands. Give it a few minutes.” A small flash of light caught the chief’s attention. He looked down at it. “Or not.”
        Dawson narrowed his eyes. “What?”
        “Grab onto something,” Bogarde shouted. “Brace for impact!”
        Suddenly, the entire bridge lurched, as if the ship were on a storm-tossed ocean. Dawson toppled backwards, but he managed to grab the edge of the tactical station.
        Lights seemed to dance before Bogarde’s eyes as he held tightly to the black burnished wood that framed the tactical station. His field of vision seemed to stretch and shrink, while his stomach did a flip-flop. He felt as if he took a breath and exhaled at the same time. His skin crawled and tightened as the sensation passed through him.
        The bridge righted itself, or rather, that was how it felt when the incident was over. Bogarde remained frozen for a few seconds, along with the rest of the bridge crew. When nothing unusual happened again, the crewmen let out a collective sigh. And then the comm system began chiming.

Chapter 2

        “Johnson to Bridge, what the hell was that?”
        Bogarde blinked and looked at his console. “Sir, I have no idea. It came out of nowhere. Sensors are trying to piece together information.”
        “Any damage?” Johnson’s voice asked.
        Bogarde looked at the right side of the tactical station, but Dawson stepped to the adjacent station. “I’m on it.” The lieutenant ran his hands over the tactical workspace. “No damage.”
        Bogarde spoke aloud again. “No damage, Captain.”
        “Are anymore of those things headed for us?”
        Bogarde looked at his sensors. “No, I don’t think so. It seems we just passed through a massive spatial displacement wave. Sensors didn’t detect it because the default settings can’t see the displacement wave. I’ve recalibrated sensors, and I don’t see anymore coming.”
        “Doctor Joh is on her way to Astrometrics to assist in sensors,” Johnson told them. “I’m on my way up to the bridge.”
        “That’s not necessary, sir,” Kyle said.
        “Oh, Lieutenant Kyle,” Johnson said. “You’re there. Good, I wasn’t sure if you had made it before we were hit. What’s your next course of action?”
        “Well, I’d put the ship on Yellow Alert,” Kyle replied.
        “I see.”
        “Unless-”
        “That’s fine, implement that,” Johnson told her. “Keep me apprised of any further developments.”

        Johnson saw the yellow alert signal flash on the monitors near both exits of Eleven-Forward, and heard the groans immediately.
        “Allright! That’s it, bar’s closed,” Seamus called out from his post behind the bar. “Party’s over!”
        More groans arose from the crowd. He felt badly that what was to be a long night’s celebration now was cut short. Personnel filed out of the lounge to their designated ready stations. Only a small handful of off-duty personnel remained in the lounge, carrying on conversations. Johnson spied the Chief Engineer at the other end of the lounge. He walked over to her, seeing that she was speaking into her combadge.
        Lieutenant Commander Fonda looked up to see Johnson approaching her. She gave him a terse smile, before continuing her questions. “Ensign, did you check the magnetic containment fields? I want you to check for any bleed through of antimatter.”
        “Yes, sir,” a voice said from the combadge’s miniature speaker.
        “I’ll be on my way in five minutes,” Fonda said, ending with “Fonda out.”
        “No damage was reported,” Johnson said. “I contacted the Bridge just a minute ago.”
        “That’s good, but sometimes things are overlooked at first glance.” Fonda glanced at the yellow alert signal. “Are we expecting more of what just happened?”
        “No, just being cautious. Chief Bogarde reported that sensors showed nothing else.”
        “I see.”
        “I didn’t think I’d see you here,” Johnson said. “You didn’t answer my emessage that I sent. Have you been here long?”
        “I just came in at the tail end of your speech,” Fonda said. “I would’ve been here earlier to hear it all, but I was delayed. It sounded good, Thomas.”
        “Thank you, Janelle,” Johnson smiled.
        “I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your emessage,” Fonda said. “I just didn’t get around to it. Thanks for asking me to come.”
        “No problem. I just thought that it might be nice to have a good time together. To get a chance to talk and have a nice night.”
        “That would’ve been nice.”
        Johnson glanced at the still dwindling number of crewmen in the lounge. “I guess another time.” He looked back at her and shrugged.
        “Still keeping it short?”
        “Huh?”
        Fonda tilted her chin to Johnson’s hair.
        Johnson reflexively put his hand on his head, touching the short-trimmed brown hair. “Oh, this? Yeah, I suppose I just got used to it. At first it was just to relieve the itching while my skin healed up from the burns I got in the lifeboat. But now... a-heh...” Johnson grinned sheepishly.
        “What?” Fonda smirked lightly. “What’s so funny?”
        “Well, it sounds ridiculous, but I like the way it feels when I rub my head.” Johnson demonstrated as he rubbed his scalp. “You don’t like it?”
        “You just look different, that’s all.” Fonda smiled briefly, then looked away. “Well, I need to be heading to Engineering. Good night, Thomas.”
        “Good night.” Johnson turned, watching as she departed from the lounge. He twisted his mouth into a tight frown and sighed, clasping his hands behind his back. The captain turned and headed for the other exit.

        “We haven’t determined the origin of the spatial displacement wave that struck us last night. Doctor Joh and her team has been working through the night in Astrometrics, hoping to localize it. I’m expecting results any minute now.
        “Their work has produced one interesting bit of information. Apparently, the spatial wave carried a broadcast signal within it. We’ve been unable to decipher the signal, though. The consensus is that it probably is too degraded to translate. However, now we know that the spatial phenomenon isn’t wholly natural. I’ve adjusted course to the general heading where the spatial wave might have originated from. Hopefully we’re on the right track. End log entry.”
        Johnson stroked his chin, looking at the viewscreen. He pressed a panel on his armrest. “Bridge to Astrometrics. Any progress, Doctor Joh?”
        “I was about to report to you, Captain,” Joh’s voice replied. “We have narrowed the coordinates where the spatial displacement wave may have originated from. I am transmitting it to the Bridge.”
        Johnson glanced at the monitor that stood between his seat and the adjacent command seats. “Looks like we’re headed in the right direction. I’m going to adjust our course accordingly.”
        “I shall be joining the team that is currently analyzing the sensor readings now,” Joh said.
        “Good, I’d like to be prepared in case we encounter it again. I’d like a briefing of your current progress in ten minutes.”
        “Yes, sir.”
        “Bridge out.” Johnson looked up at the helm station. It felt odd to see only one person seated at the helm, instead of two. What made it more unusual was that the helm officer wasn’t Lieutenant Ruiz, but the nightshift officer.
        “Computer,” Johnson spoke, “locate Lieutenant Amanda Ruiz.”
        “Lieutenant Ruiz is in her quarters,” the ship’s computer replied.
        “Alert her that she is late for bridge duty this morning,” Johnson said, frowning. He looked at Major Ironsides, his first officer.
        The Marine soldier remained silent at his post in the OPS cubicle.
        Johnson looked at the helm officer. “Ensign, plot a new course according to Doctor Joh’s recommendation, and engage, warp 7.”
        “Aye, sir,” the ensign answered.
        Johnson stood and walked to his ready room door, which was near the OPS cubicle. “Major, may I see you for a moment in my ready room?”
        Johnson entered his ready room and Ironsides followed suit. Johnson turned around and sat on the front edge of his desk, crossing his arms.
        “This is the third time Lieutenant Ruiz has been late to report for duty,” Johnson said.
        “I’m aware of that.”
        “She used to be under your command when she was a Starfleet Marine. You know her better than I do. What do you think of this behavior?”
        Ironsides stood in the middle of the ready room, facing Johnson. His hands were clasped behind his back as he replied to the captain. “Admittedly, this is unusual behavior for her. Not just this, but her behavior ever since Ensign LeAnn Walker was killed in action. I have to say, I’m surprised that she seemed to have a deep emotional attachment to the late ensign.”
        “Well, they were inseparable for nearly a month and half after we left Romulan space,” Johnson said. “Do you think that’s why her performance has dropped off?”
        “It might be,” Ironsides answered. “It’s been many years since I was her CO, but in the time I knew her, she resisted any emotional relationships.”
        “I can understand why, since you were often sent out on high-risk assignments.”
        “Exactly, sir.”
        “Could you have a discreet talk with her? I’m not going to stand for her lax behavior very much longer. I understand she’s in mourning, but she needs to keep it from bleeding over into her duties.”
        “I’ll speak with her, sir,” Ironsides nodded.
        Johnson glanced at his desktop, seeing several PADDs stacked neatly to one side. He turned back to the major. “By the way, I read your proposal about increased integration.”
        “What did you think, sir?” Ironsides asked.
        “It’s an interesting idea. I’ll be thinking it over. What made you suggest it?”
        “Well, I’ve been watching how the Marines have been utilized on this ship. I’ve noticed an increase in morale when we put more squads to work, especially during combat situations, like when we faced the Black Romulan fleet. Using them as part of the ship’s damage control teams helped out very much, both in terms of technical efficiency and personnel efficiency.
        “I realize that the Marines aren’t trained for extended starship operations as regular Starfleet personnel are, but the Marines do have a basic training, so they can be used, to a limited degree, in various departments such as Maintenance, Engineering, Sensors, and the others that I’ve outlined in my proposal.
        “I think the way things are, we aren’t taking advantage of the personnel resources we have here properly. With an increased integration of the Marines into the ship’s operations, we’ll be able to help out better in serious situations, and perhaps the rivalry between regular Starfleet and the Marines will lessen, and a smoother working relationship will come out of this.”
        “Do you really think the rivalry is that bad?”
        Ironsides shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t really term it a rivalry. I suppose I might call it a sentiment between the two factions.”
        “Mmhmm,” Johnson nodded. “A few weeks ago, I had occasion to speak with your XO, Lieutenant Dawson. What you’re saying kind of echoes what he told me. The action against the Vendoth, while resulting in the loss of dozens of Marines, served as a shot in the arm to the rest of the Marines. They felt more useful then. That’s why I’m leaning towards implementing your proposal.”
        “That’s good to hear, sir.”
        “We’ll hammer policy out later. Thanks for taking the first step, Max.”
        “No problem, sir.”
        “But right now, I’m due to speak with Doctor Joh.”
        “I know,” Ironsides nodded.
        Johnson stood up, tucking his uniform down, and followed Ironsides out of the ready room. As Johnson crossed the bridge, he saw Ruiz emerge from the turbolift. She had on the same sullen expression she had yesterday, and the day before. Joh also stepped out from the turbolift as well.
        Johnson turned to look meaningfully at Ironsides as Ruiz took her post at the helm.
        Johnson crossed to the other side of the bridge, to the conference room, and Joh followed him.
        Bogarde’s voice stopped them from entering.
        “Sir, I’m picking up communications on sensors.”
        Johnson turned to look at the dark security chief. “Directed at us, Bogarde?”
        “No, sir. I don’t know why I didn’t pick them up on long range sensors, but now I’m detecting an M-class planet near the origin of the spatial phenomenon. Ten planet solar system, fourth planet. That’s where the communications are coming from, planetary- based communications.”
        “Ruiz, change course to the planet,” Johnson said, walking back to his command seat.
        Ruiz ran her slender brown fingers over the helm station. Johnson stared at her for a moment, waiting for confirmation. Finally, she said, “Aye, sir,” albeit in a monotone. “Course change plotted and laid in.”
        “Warp 8, engage,” Johnson ordered. He looked at Joh. “Please, take a seat. Fill me in while we’re on our way there.” Johnson glanced at his side monitor. “We should be in their system in just under six hours.”
        Joh sat down, resting a PADD on her lap. Johnson turned to Ironsides. “Oversee standard first contact protocols. See if you can tap into their communications to learn more about them.”
        “Aye, sir,” Ironsides replied, setting to work at OPS.
        
        Ambassador Favor stepped out of the turbolift, walking around the Tactical Station, down to the center seats. Johnson looked up from his PADD. “Oh, hello, Ambassador.”
        “Captain,” Favor said by way of greeting, sitting down in the seat to Johnson’s left. He adjusted his brown Vulcan-style robe and tucked in the folds. “How’s everything going?”
        “Going fine,” Johnson said. “You’re a little bit early. We’re not due to enter the system for another ten minutes.”
        “Oh, I know. I just wanted to be here beforehand. Have you learned anything new?”
        Johnson shook his head. “We haven’t. Our communications officers haven’t been able to make heads or tails out of the planetary communications we recorded from them. And for some reason, they ceased soon after we began picking them up.”
        “Yeah,” Favor nodded. “I thought that was odd. They couldn’t have known we were listening, could they?”
        “We were using passive sensors.”
        “Hmm,” Favor pressed his lips into a firm line. He shook his head, waggling his black ponytail. “Well, by now, they should know we’re on a course towards their planet, and they haven’t done anything to stop us.”
        “That’s another thing. We haven’t detected any signs of space travel as we’ve been approaching their system. No ion trails, no warp trails, et cetera.”
        “Pre-space travel civilization?”
        “Doesn’t look like it,” Johnson shook his head, turning to look at the white streaks of starlight on the viewscreen. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
        “What’s that?” Favor asked.
        “What’s what?”
        “That. You were about to smile.”
        “Was I?” Johnson looked back at Favor. “I guess I am feeling a little good about this.” He smiled broadly and cocked his head towards the viewscreen. “This is it. The Borderlands.”
        Favor turned to look at the viewscreen, nodding.
        “We’re the second Federation ship to be here,” Johnson said, “and the first to really explore this area. We’re really getting into our primary mission here, exploration. You know, I kind of feel like Jonathan Archer.”
        “Who?”
        “One of Earth’s first interstellar explorers.”
        “I’m not sure I know who...”
        “Come on, he was the first captain of the Enterprise.”
        “I don’t remember that name. Robert April, that I remember...”
        Johnson shook his head. “No, not the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701. The first starship Enterprise... you know, it was of Earth’s first starships?”
        “Oh!” Favor nodded in understanding. “The Space Shuttle Enterprise?”
        “No, the one after that.”
        “The S.S. Enterprise?”
        “No, the one before that.”
        Favor shrugged helplessly. “Sorry. I don’t know. I’ll take your word for it.”
        “It’s allright,” Johnson waved his hand. “A lot happened between his time and April’s time. Pre-Federation times, you know. Only recently have scholars have been researching him. New information about him and his missions is coming out all the time.”
        “Really? I’ll look into it sometime. Archer, right?”
        “Right. Captain Jonathan Archer. There’s not much information in the ship’s database right now, but I get updates every week with each communications upload we have with Starfleet Headquarters. He’s worth looking into. He made a quantum leap in space exploration for Earth.”
        “Sounds good.”
        “Sir?” Ironsides’s voice interrupted them.
        Johnson looked past Favor to his first officer, who stood in the OPS cubicle. “What is it, Major?”
        “We’re about to enter the system now.”
        “Lieutenant Ruiz, drop speed to Warp Factor Four.”
        Ruiz looked at her console, making the adjustments.
        Johnson looked at her. A look at his side monitor showed the adjustment. Yet, Ruiz hadn’t announced it.
        “Acknowledge, Lieutenant,” he told her.
        “Yes, sir. Speed change from Warp Factor Eight to Four, aye sir,” she said after a pause.
        Johnson frowned and looked over at Ironsides. The major had been looking at him. Johnson glared at the major and tilted his head at Ruiz.
        Ironsides nodded silently.
        Favor leaned in close to Johnson and whispered, “What was that all about?”
        “Not your concern,” Johnson said softly. Raising his voice back to normal levels, Johnson spoke again. “Chief Bogarde, any communications from the planet?”
        “None, sir, either towards us or amongst themselves. It’s all quiet.”
        “Lifesigns?”
        “Typical of M-Class planets. There seems to be a population of two billion humanoids. Reading at least four humanoid species.”
        Favor glanced at Johnson. “May I?” he gestured to the monitor that stood between his seat and Johnson’s command seat.
        “Go ahead,” Johnson nodded.
        Favor twisted the screen so that the display faced him, and tapped a series of commands. “Only one distinct humanoid species on the planet. That lends credence to the idea that they aren’t a space-faring society. Earth, on the average, has several hundred different humanoid species on the planet everyday. And a few non-humanoid species, as well.”
        “What’s the technological index?” Johnson asked.
        Bogarde paused for a moment before answering. “The computer’s having a hard time calculating the Weibrand index. Possibly more than 30.”
        “That’s more advanced than us,” Favor said.
        Ironsides said, “I’m detecting a system of satellites around their planet.”
        “But no base for ships?” Johnson asked.
        “No, sir.”
        “Interesting,” Favor said.
        “This M-Class planet shows signs of terraforming.” Bogarde looked at the captain and ambassador.
        “Terraforming?” Favor repeated. “Most M-Class planets don’t need terraforming.”
        “All I said was that the scans show signs, but nothing conclusive,” Bogarde told Favor.
        “Well,” Johnson shifted in his seat, “Hopefully we’ll find out what’s what when we make contact. Ambassador, is it in your opinion that this civilization is advanced enough to initiate first contact?”
        “Yes, they obviously are,” Favor said. “Go right ahead.”
        Johnson nodded in acknowledgment. “Bogarde, open all hailing frequencies and send standard Federation greeting.”
        “Transmitting now, sir,” Bogarde replied. A moment passed, then Bogarde announced, “No response, sir.”
        “Major,” Johnson looked over at Ironsides, “do sensors show any change in planetary activity?”
        “No apparent change,” Ironsides replied, reading his OPS consoles.
        Johnson frowned, looking at the viewscreen. “Lieutenant, I want you to drop out of warp by the fifth planet. Bogarde, passive sensor scans of that planet for Planetary Survey. Ruiz, proceed at full impulse then enter as high a geostationary orbit as you can. I don’t want to make any potentially threatening moves.”
        “Yes, sir,” Ruiz said, setting to work at the helm.
        “Bogarde, I want to send another greeting to supplement the standard greeting.”
        “Frequencies open, sir,” Bogarde said.
        Johnson sat up straight in his seat and cleared his throat. “This is Captain Thomas Johnson of the Federation starship huh?”
        The viewscreen, which had been showing a tan planet mottled with green and blue, suddenly changed to show a severely pixilated view of an alien. The alien seemed to be hairless, with leathery orange skin and yellowish eyes. Dark brown and black veins blotched the alien’s face.
        The alien spoke, but the sound that came through the ship’s speakers was indecipherable with varying levels of pitch.
        “Their signal just broke into our comm system,” Bogarde said. “I didn’t know it was coming.”
        “What’s wrong with the universal translator?” Johnson asked, squinting his eyes at the assault of the alien’s language.
        “It’s online and operating,” Bogarde answered back. “I don’t know why it’s not translating. Wait sir! The ship’s database is being accessed by the aliens! They’re breaking through all our firewalls!”
        Johnson stood up, looking backwards at Bogarde. “Lock them down!”
        “Can’t, they’re already in!”
        Johnson turned back to the viewscreen. “I have to ask you to halt your computer activities. This is a violation of our ship, and we shall respond!”
        The signal on the viewscreen smoothed out, providing Johnson with a sharper view of the alien. The brown and black veins Johnson had seen were actually small cybernetic implants. They seemed almost natural to the alien’s leathery hide.
        The alien’s lipless mouth opened again. This time, his speech was understandable. “We regret it, but it seemed to be the most efficient method to facilitate communications. We only accessed your cultural database and language database.”
        Johnson looked back at Bogarde. The tall security chief nodded. “They’ve downloaded all the data from only those databases.”
        “Again, we apologize,” the alien said. “My name is Galnt, and we are called the Danosm.”
        Johnson looked at the alien. He seemed to catch a flicker of movement on Galnt’s eyes, as if he had blinked, but didn’t blink.
        “Apology accepted,” Johnson said. “My name is Captain Thomas Johnson, commanding officer of the Federation starship Courageous. And this is our diplomatic envoy, Ambassador Nathan Favor.” Johnson gestured to Favor.
        Favor stood up. “Greetings, Galnt.”
        “Greetings, Nathan Favor,” Galnt said. “I am what you might also call a diplomatic envoy, as well. I am of the Cultural and Linguistic Technologists. It is my assignment to make an determination on you before furthering contact.”
        “Am I correct in assuming you are isolationists?” Favor asked.
        Galnt paused for a moment. “That is not a fully accurate statement. We do not wish to fraternize with civilizations that have nothing to offer us.”
        “Knowledge?” Favor smiled. “We have kiloquads upon kiloquads of knowledge.”
        “Yes, we already know, but we seek that which we do not know already. Such as your propulsion. Based on the information we learned on the other Federation starship Voyager, we determined the distance between your Federation and our system. We calculated your ships to be unable to return to this area of the galaxy for no less than 40 years. This of course, is in your time measurement.” Galnt’s eyes flickered again.
        “Yes, that is due to a new propulsion system that our ship is currently the testbed for,” Favor said. “I’m sure we have more to share with you, in an equal exchange of knowledge.”
        Galnt remained still for nearly a moment. “I have passed along my recommendation for limited contact with your people. We wish to send a survey team to your starship.”
        Favor looked at Johnson. “Well as you may have learned, we are sensitive about our security. We will be glad to transport a small number of your people, for a limited tour of the ship. However, we can’t allow for full disclosure at this point.”
        “That protocol is understood. We will wait at these planetary coordinates for you to use your molecular transport technology to bring our survey team aboard. We are interested in that too as well.”
        “You don’t have transporters?” Johnson asked.
        “We have transport technology but your method is one we had not pursued,” Galnt explained.
        “Oh,” said Johnson.
        “When do you wish to set this meeting?” Favor asked.
        “The survey team will assemble for transport in ten minutes.”
        “We shall be ready for you, then,” Favor said.
        “One more thing,” Johnson said. “We tracked a spatial anomaly to this location. We were concerned that, since the phenomenon was in close proximity, your planet may have needed assistance.”
        “No,” Galnt replied. “We are fine. We shall speak again in 9.4 of your minutes.”
        Galnt’s face disappeared from the viewscreen, replaced by the Danosm’s tan planet.
        “Sir?” Ironsides called out.
        Johnson turned to look at the Marine. “What is it, Max?”
        “While you were talking, I ran some scans on their planet”
        “You shouldn’t have done that,” Favor said. “Who knows how these beings would have taken it if they had detected it. For all we know, they might have!”
        “I’m sorry, Ambassador. I was just curious about their planet and wanted to gather some data to compare with the fifth planet.”
        “Allright, Major,” Johnson said. “I suggest you review first contact protocols so a misstep like this won’t happen again. Why did you want to bring it to my attention?”
        “I think you’d better come and have a look,” Ironsides said, stepping slightly out of the OPS cubicle to let Johnson in.
        Johnson walked over to the OPS station, and looked at the screen Ironsides gestured at. Favor stepped up to the side, leaning over to look at it.
        Johnson took one look then sighed deeply, looking up at Ironsides. “Do you know what this means?”
        “I have a very high level of security clearance,” Ironsides replied, nodding.
        Favor glanced at the screen. “What’s so important about the Omega symbol?”

SECTION ONE | SECTION TWO | SECTION THREE | SECTION FOUR

 MISSIONS | PERSONNEL | SHIP SPECS | COMMENTS | CREDITS | MAIN