Chapter 2
[<<] [<] [>] [>>] [Table of Contents]

CHAPTER Two:

The Emperor's throne room was abuzz with activity. Advisors and high-ranking military personnel stood in tight clusters, speaking softly with one another as they danced to the tune of politics. All had at least one eye trained on their diminutive ruler and the tall, dark-furred feline who stood close by his side. Dignitaries to whom billions gave their allegiance knelt before their Emperor to bring forth their issues, the topics of their supplications as varied and wide-ranging as the galaxy itself. With all the power and influence concentrated in just one room, it was rare for any Imperial guest to cause all conversation to cease, to command the attention of all eyes.

Sher Khal'Saad was such a guest.

The grand admiral swept into the room's cathedral-like antechamber with a confident, measured pace, flanked by four of the crimson-robed Royal Guard. All in the room knew him by sight, knew of the vast restructuring that had rocked the Imperial military since his ascension as its supreme commander, and not all greeted his arrival with pleasure. Many powerful factions had found themselves succinctly shorn of their prestige in his short tenure, and the tiger had quickly garnered a reputation as a commander whose interests in politics were absolutely subordinate to his interests in the workings of the military machine. He had made many enemies - and Khal'Saad was acutely aware that most of them were present at this summons. The rich and powerful made way for him nonetheless as he approached the dais where the living head of the Empire sat waiting, and if he took notice of their hooded, venomous stares, he made no outward sign. His four escorts returned to their positions at the cardinal points of the throne, and the Emperor spoke to the assembly with a voice that carried clearly as the tiger knelt and awaited his pronouncement.

"All that will be, my friends. Leave us."

Khal'Saad waited patiently on bended knee as the dignitaries responded to the spoken command, and in moments the throne room had emptied with the soft booms of closing doors. Only the Guard and the sardonically smiling figure of Darth Korriban remained in attendance in this audience.

"Command me, my Master," the tiger rumbled, his dark purr echoing softly among the vaults of the now-silent chamber.

The Emperor waited a moment more, then lifted a thick, wizened finger as he spoke. "Rise, Lord Khal'Saad. Speak with you concerning your plans for invasion, I would. Modified, they must be."

The admiral stood, fur bristling slightly at these words. "Modifications, my Master? The plans which I have submitted to you are complete, and leave no room for doubt concerning the outcome. This United Federation of Planets is pitifully weak, and ripe for a killing blow. How would they be modified?"

A smile crossed the Emperor's face, the smile of an elder explaining something quite elementary to a small child. "Complete they are, Lord Khal'Saad. A masterpiece of planning and execution." He paused for a moment to let his next words sink in. "Meet My vision, however, they do not."

Sher carefully contained his urge to vent his anger at this revelation, and dared to continue. "I have only done as you commanded, Master. You required of me an operational plan for the invasion and conquest of the Alpha and Beta quadrants of this new territory, and so I have done. Even as we speak its wheels are turning throughout the Empire. Forgive my ignorance, Master, but I do not see how I have failed you in this."

Korriban shifted slightly, scowling at the implied rebuke in Khal'Saad's words, but the Emperor stilled him with a slight gesture.

"You have not failed Me, Lord Khal'Saad. If failed Me you had, this conversation would be unfolding quite differently, assure you, I do." This last was fairly spat between his lips, and Khal'Saad did not miss the warning contained in them, remaining silent. "My vision is not for the Federation to fall before they have even had a chance to truly comprehend their doom, Lord Khal'Saad. Your plan would deliver them to our will in days, weeks at the most. Their citizens, not even aware of the stroke of our might will be. Unacceptable, this is. Know that their destiny is at hand, they must. Time, this will take. Necessary, a more measured approach will be."

Khal'Saad's mind worked quickly, digesting the Emperor's words as he continued.

"A new plan you will devise, Lord Khal'Saad. A plan which will bring our forces across the length and breadth of their territory. Bring their worlds to heel one at a time , we shall - and when fall at last their homeworld does, there to accept its surrender personally, I will be."

Khal'saad's eyes burned at the thought of the waste, the needless destruction of men and material such an effort would create, so inelegant, so crude. A hammer used where a swift blade at the precise moment would suffice. Still, he said nothing, and the Emperor watched the rage play across his features with cruel amusement.

"I trust my wishes in this matter are clear to you, Lord Khal'Saad. Sufficient, a pure victory is not. Crushed, forever shattered their will and spirit must be."

Sher returned himself to the here and now, kneeling once again before the throne, choking back his emotions. "As you command, my Master."

The Emperor gestured to Korriban, who stepped forward at the unspoken bidding.

"Accompany you on your expedition, Lord Korriban will. Ensure that my vision is realized, he will."

The tiger contained himself only with a herculean effort, the pronouncement hitting him like a hard slap. His voice was a low growl, chilling and dangerous. "Is . . . my Master removing me from overall command of our armed forces in this?"

The Emperor's laughter was shrill, and echoed wickedly in the vaulted risers of the tomblike chamber.

"Do not think me so foolish as to remove my greatest commander from his post at the eve of battle, Lord Khal'Saad. An advisor, Korriban shall be. Removed from the chain of command, he will be. Interfere with your operations he will not." This last was directed sharply at Korriban, whose twisted smile at seeing the mighty Sher Khal'Saad so humbled faded in a moment at the reminder of the Emperor's attention. The Emperor continued after a moment. "To see my vision realized, to serve as my eyes and ears, his task shall be. Nothing more, nothing less. Understand this clearly, do you both?"

Their reply came in unison. "Clearly, Master."

"Then go, you must. See to your tasks. Do what must be done, in My name."

**********************************************************************

Cloaked and doubly hidden by the electromagnetic disturbance surrounding the Rift, other observers watched the struggle from a safe distance. The Sirex class Romulan vessel named the MEE'RA - from its lines, obviously a warship - hovered just within transporter range of the wounded JAVELIN.

Ambassador Rovan tapped his claws lightly on the arm of his chair, his yellow gaze fixed on the sleek hull of the rescue vessel. "A Starknight . . ."

"Ambassador."

The lemat'ya flicked his ears and turned to the commander of his vessel. "Is there news, commander, to warrant this interruption?"

The commander bowed low before the ambassador of the Romulan senate. "There is. We received a transmission before that . . ." the Romulan sneered at the wreckage of the refugee vessel that floated on their viewscreen, "that . . . ship was damaged. An important transmission."

Rovan gave a smile that was altogether unpleasant. "Indeed? I hope we have taken adequate measures to respond to that transmission."

"We have, sir. The creatures responsible for it have been beamed into a secure holding area. They have not been interviewed, but we have determined that several are in need of medical care. Would you care to meet our . . . guests?"

The ambassador's smile revealed a hint of his deadly fangs. "I would indeed, commander. Summon adequate security personnel. We must give our guests all due respect."

The commander gave a crisp bow and led the ambassador from the bridge.

**********************************************************************

Oblivious to everything but the tragedy unfolding on the viewscreen, Captain Xavier sat numbly in his command chair on the bridge of the FELIX. In his mind's eye, he could still see the fireball that had torn through the gut of the JAVELIN, leaving a gaping hole in the otherwise intact ship. "I want a full status report and a search for survivors," he ordered, his voice shaking. "Priority one. And I want to speak with the captain of that vessel as of yesterday, Lt. Haith."

"Yessir," the snow leopard replied, quickly keying in the captain's orders on his terminal. "The connection's faint, sir." An exhausted feline appeared on the viewscreen in varying shades of blue, his image flickering every few seconds.

Marc leaned forward in his chair, his fingers gripping the arms tightly. "This is Captain Marc Xavier of the USS FELIX. At the time of the explosion, members of my crew were aboard your vessel attempting to repair your disabled engines."

"Captain Skat--Felisar," the image replied, the audio cutting briefly. "Can't get down to the--"

"I suggest you try harder," Marc growled, his ears flattening. "Much harder, Captain Felisar."

"My crew--"

"My daughter was on that team, captain. If you want refuge in the United Federation of Planets, I suggest you find my team alive." Marc gave a snarl of disgust. "Cut the transmission, Lt. Haith. I will not negotiate with them if they're responsible for the murder of our people."

The bridge was deathly silent as the image of the refugees' captain disappeared from the viewscreen.

Lt. Steve Raymond cleared his throat uneasily. "Captain--"

"I don't want to hear it, Raymond," Marc spat, standing and moving toward the door of his ready room. "Lt. Haith, you have the bridge. I don't want to be disturbed, is that clear?" The captain didn't wait for a response before stalking into his ready room, the door sliding shut behind him.

As the shaken snow leopard moved to the captain's seat, the velociraptor quietly keyed in a command to summon the ship's counselor to the bridge. This was no time for the captain to lose his cool.

**********************************************************************

The hem of Ambassador Rovan's rich senatorial robes slid over the smooth metal plating as he descended into the bowels of the MEE'RA, flanked by a pair of guards who were armed to the teeth. The ship's commander bowed as the ambassador approached the sealed and guarded door to their cargo bay. "The prisoners have been secured inside, sir."

Rovan gave a slight nod. "Open it."

The commander turned to the panel and activated the controls, the door sliding open with a soft mechanical hiss. Members of the MEE'RA's security team had already separated the prisoners and bound their arms behind their backs, and their confiscated weapons and equipment were piled out of reach in the center of the room.

The crew members assigned to secure the prisoners nodded respectfully to their high-ranking passenger, but did not bow. Three had their disruptors drawn and pointed at the only prisoner who had been gagged, a white tigress with the distinctive forehead ridges of a Klingon. If looks could kill, the woman would have felled him where he stood, and appeared to have tried the same thing on the MEE'RA's crew--her guards were bruised and bleeding. The others flanked the remaining prisoners in other areas of the room.

"A Klingon, commander? A pity that one survived," Rovan purred, taking in the insignia on each of the captive Starfleet officers. "An away team, I take it."

"As far as we can determine, ambassador," the ship's commander agreed. "We haven't been able to determine the identities of these." He indicated the four prisoners on the opposite side of the room.

The ambassador frowned slightly as he looked at the four. Two, both females, were unconscious. The third younger female was struggling almost as furiously as the Klingon. Only the fourth, a male wolf in a worn gray jumpsuit, met his gaze calmly. Rovan indicated the wolf and one of the captive ensigns. "Take these two first. I want you to question them thoroughly, commander. The severely wounded prisoners may be taken to medbay before you interrogate them."

"As you wish it, sir." The commander relayed the orders to the security personnel, who lifted Perdia and Zannah. "Sir--what of the Klingon?"

Rovan glanced briefly at Lanna, whose struggles had doubled. "Keep her calm, or sedate her. I don't care which. Just don't damage her until I tell you to."

"As you wish, ambassador."

**********************************************************************

Marc turned toward the door of his ready room with a growl as it slid open to admit the ship's counselor, Elizabeth, his wife of two years. Lizzy returned his surly scowl as she walked into the room and closed the door behind her. "Did I miss something? Did we pass through a temporal rift that turned you into our son? Because the bridge crew is convinced you're acting like you're an infant now, too."

The fur on the back of Marc's neck rose as he stood and glowered at his wife. "I told them I didn't want to be disturbed--"

"Too bad. You're acting like a Neanderthal, and that makes you my problem." Lizzy crossed her arms, refusing to back down from her husband. "What has gotten into you? Have you forgotten everything you've learned?"

"Obviously they didn't tell you what happened!" Marc snapped, turning his glare toward the door that led to the bridge.

"They did," his wife corrected. "And I happen to agree with them. You're overreacting, Marc. Lanna, Zannah, Perdia--you've known them all for some time, and you know they would never put themselves in needless danger. They would have taken every step possible to protect themselves and those around them--and they wouldn't accuse innocents seeking refuge from tyranny of your murder unless they had proof of it."

The captain shifted uneasily. "But--"

"No buts, Marc. You're a captain in Starfleet. Before that thing formed I wouldn't have had to remind you of that!" Lizzy gestured toward the Rift visible in the ready room window. "It was your dream to be a captain. Do you want to give that all up because you're scared?"

Marc dropped into his chair and rubbed his eyes, staring at the family picture he kept on the corner of his desk. It had been taken shortly after their twins were born and featured the Xaviers' adopted daughter Perdia as prominently as it did the newborns. "Lizzy, I . . ."

"You're scared," his wife told him in a more gentle voice. "I know. I'm scared too."

"Jedi--"

"Bullshit," Lizzy growled. "You aren't a Jedi, and even if you were, nobody can completely free themselves of emotion. Do you know how many times I've seen Perdia frightened? Even Zannah sometimes. Don't use that--that creed, that code as an excuse to be a giant ass." The peach-furred feline walked to her husband's side and squeezed his shoulder lightly. "We all survived that DEATH STAR monstrosity of theirs, Marc. They'll survive this, too."

Marc sighed and leaned against Lizzy's hand. "I don't want to lose any of you, Lizzy."

"That isn't going to happen, Marc. It's an unreasonable fear." Lizzy gave him a concerned look. "When this is over, you're going to start scheduling regular appointments with me."

Marc smirked. "What, you want to go on dates--"

Lizzy gave his shoulder a light smack. "No, Marc. Professionally. And if you don't come, I'll make Deano force you down to counseling, do you understand? If he has your spouse's permission, I don't see any reason he wouldn't comply."

The captain scowled, then rubbed his face again and looked to the wounded ship outside. "Fine. I'll think about it--after we have them back."

Lizzy gave a faint smile and kissed Marc's forehead. "Good. Now go out there and show them what you're really made of."

"Lizzy . . ."

"You're not going to make it any better by avoiding the situation," she told him firmly.

He sighed. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right." Lizzy smirked. "I'm your wife. Now go." She gave him a gentle push in the direction of the door. Marc managed a faint chuckle and paused to straighten his uniform. When he stepped out onto the bridge, it was a far cooler headed Captain Xavier that faced his crew.

**********************************************************************

After the purple furred ensign had been hauled off to a secure compartment for questioning, and the two females sent to the medbay, the ambassador turned back to the two security officers holding the wolf.

"Release him."

The hunter waited patiently, a faintly amused expression on his face, as they unlocked the shackles on his wrists and stepped back.

"Your timely retrieval was appreciated."

Rovan scowled. "Your bringing back an entire Starfleet away team was not. Did you--"

"I found what I sought, yes," the wolf replied coolly. "The rest is your problem."

The Romulan grunted. "Are we to learn what that is? How are we ever to work in concert if we cannot trust each other?"

The wolf smirked. "I trust you no more than you trust me. However, there is no reason I should not tell you. I was hunting criminals."

The look Rovan gave him was filled with disbelief. "All the secrecy, the security required to arrange this . . . And you expect me to believe you are a bounty hunter?"

"Hardly. Criminals, rebels, insurgents," the wolf shrugged. "Call them what you will. My Emperor has decided they pose a danger to our relations with the peoples of this galaxy. They creep past our borders and try to worm their way into the Federation, turning our allies against us with poisoned words. Is it any wonder we want them stopped?" His tone was dry. "As such, they must be hunted down, dealt with. It is what I was trained for."

"Ah." Rovan was not entirely convinced, but willing to accept the wolf's explanation for the time being, at least until his own sources could uncover more. "And now?"

"The two you ordered taken to your medbay are my prisoners. I will stand guard over them until such time when I can transfer them to one of our transports."

The hunter's arrogant bearing ruffled the fur on the lemat'ya's neck. He swallowed his rising temper behind a façade of diplomatic graciousness. "As you wish. I warn you, though, sooner or later, we will have to return the Starfleet officers to their ship. They will ask about their companions."

The hunter shrugged. "Inform them that the prisoners died of their wounds and apologize. I do not care." He turned and strode away, heading for the medbay. Left behind in the corridor, Rovan carefully tamped down his anger. There was a great deal more to this than it seemed. It would take time and patience, but sooner or later he would discover it. Of that, he was certain.

**********************************************************************

"Lt. Raymond, give me a status report." A much calmer Marc Xavier took his seat from Lt. Haith. Though he got some odd looks, the crew continued as though his earlier outburst had never happened.

"Of course, sir." The raptor turned back to his console and pulled up the basic refugee flow. He had set up cargo bays as temporary quarters and the like, scanning information as it came in. "Sickbay reports a handful of minor wounds, some cases of smoke inhalation and the occasional sprained or broken limb, but nothing serious among the refugees. Cargo bays two and three are being converted into temporary quarters. Security reports some disorientation and confusion, but no trouble. There'll be a more detailed report on your desk within the hour."

"Very good, lieutenant."

Satisfied, Raymond slid the refugee-management portion of his console display into the background and pulled up the sensor allocation grid. Glancing over the display, he put a priority override on all scans pointed in the general direction of the refugee ship. "Sensors show an increased background radiation count around the aft of the vessel, enough to interfere with the transporters until they're recalibrated -- Engineering says it'll take about two hours. Several ruptured compartments in the refugee ship, most surrounding the remains of the engine core. No bodies that the sensors can detect, though . . ." The raptor squinted at his display, trailing off as his fingers stalked across the Ops console, trying to confirm a hunch.

**********************************************************************

"Oooogh . . ." Zannah groaned and squinted against the brightness of the overhead lights. "I must be alive . . ." she mumbled, staring vaguely at the ceiling. "Death couldn't possibly hurt this much. Stupid, stupid . . . What the frag did I hit?" She tried to move, only to discover her wrists and ankles had been chained down. Adrenaline cleared much of the confusion and pain that fogged her mind as she struggled against the bonds. "What in Lady's . . ."

"Finally awake, little Jedi?"

The vixen's attention snapped back to the foot of the bed she had been shackled to. The Jedi Hunter leaned indolently against the far wall of what was obviously a medical center, though there were no doctors readily apparent. For a moment her heart leapt into her throat, fearing she had been taken back to Imperial space. Some vaguely familiar script by a door caught her eye, however, and Zannah forced herself to calm down. Though she still had difficulty with some of the characters, she had learned a great deal about the native languages of the Federation's galaxy over the past two years, and the letters by the door were most certainly not Aurebesh. They reminded her most of the Vulcan writings Perdia had shown her as a comparison to the letters used for Terran standard. The letters were similar, but not the same. The Sith didn't have her, not yet. She glowered at the hunter and asked thickly, "What do you want with me?"

He smirked at her. "You? You're nothing to me. Less than worthless. The only reason you're not already dead is that my Masters may have some use for you."

Zannah licked her lips, refusing to let him intimidate her. "What have you done with Perdia?"

"Oh, the kid?" He gestured lazily. "She's over there, tucked in nice and cozy for her trip back to meet the Emperor. I've got special orders on dealing with her. You, though, no such luck." A wicked grin lit up his face. "I wonder," he said as he laid a heavy hand on her broken leg and watched her grimace, "how much pain does it take to make a Jedi scream?"

Zannah's gaze flicked in the direction the Jedi Hunter had indicated, her grimace vanishing behind an unreadable mask. The chains on the bed the Hunter had pointed out were rising into the air. That a girl, Perdi. "It would take more pain than you'll ever manage."

The wolf snarled and gripped her leg tightly, twisting the shattered bones and enjoying the pained keen that escaped her clenched teeth. "We'll see about that."

"You're right," Perdia growled from behind him. "We will."

The hunter dropped Zannah's leg and twisted to face her apprentice. "The Emperor--"

"The Emperor can go to hell," Perdia snarled, thumbing the switch of the laser scalpel she had palmed at the same moment as the hunter lunged for her throat. She stumbled backward under his weight, driving her weapon up toward his face. The wolf gave a gurgling death howl as the laser severed his throat, the two Force users falling to the floor in a heap of limbs and blood.

"FRAG that hurts!" Zannah growled, feeling less inhibited now that the hunter was out of the picture. She pulled on the Force and pushed the pain aside so she could think clearly again. "Perdi?" The Lemorian tugged at her wrist bonds. "Don't pass out on me now, kid . . ." When there was no response, she realized she was on her own. Grumbling under her breath, she set to work.

Zannah managed to unlock the last of her restraints just as the Romulan ambassador glided through the medbay doors followed by a pair of security officers. He stopped short, gaping at the two unbound women and the very bloody mess on the deck.

"What on--!" Rovan bit off his comment, fighting for composure, watching as the vixen carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed so she could face him. The younger feline female, who was covered in blood, sat propped up against the older woman's bed, staring into the middle distance and appearing to see nothing. The wolf lay in a spreading pool of his own blood, his corpse lending the medbay a distinctive slaughterhouse smell with a faint whiff of sewer. They had cleared the medbay at the hunter's request. Now Rovan wondered if the man might still be alive had they ignored that order.

The security officers trained their weapons on the pair, but the vixen just shook her head tiredly. "Save it boys. If he couldn't stop us, do you really think you can?"

Rovan surveyed the scene. It was possible they were bluffing, though the fact that both of them had somehow managed to free themselves and kill the highly skilled operative who was supposed to be guarding them spoke otherwise. He gestured for the guards to lower their disruptors.

"My apologies . . . We had not expected you to wake so soon, nor this . . ." he gestured vaguely in the wolf's direction.

"Yeah, well we weren't expecting to wake up shackled to beds."

"Indeed." Rovan paused for a moment, considering his options. Obviously the pair was far more dangerous than they had first seemed. They appeared to have had escape artist and assassin training at the very least, and his ship was not equipped to hold such beings. Without more personnel, high security holding cells, and a proper guide to dealing with dangerous people from the Empire (preferably one who was still alive), he dared not try to hold them. "How can I be of service?"

Zannah scowled at him. "Give our equipment back. All of it, and return us and our friends to the FELIX."

"It may take some time, but I will do my best. On that, you have my word." Rovan half-bowed, turned, and left the room, leaving his guards stationed by the door. At least, he thought, with the assassins sent back to the Federation, they were no longer his problem. He dared not think what might have happened if they had broken loose during the journey to his next rendezvous with the Imperials.

**********************************************************************

Khal'Saad's rage knew no bounds as he stormed off the access ramp of his personal shuttle. The troopers arrayed in the landing bay snapped sharply to attention -- they had seen their commander in this sort of humor before, and knew that while the grand admiral did not often kill for petty errors as some of his peers were known to, his eyes were sharp and his memory quite long. Captain Ferris read his superior's mood as well, and kept his greeting as he met Khal'Saad near the turbolift door short and to the point.

"Welcome back, my lord. Your orders, sir?"

Khal'Saad paused, turning to the shorter ferret and fixing him with a glare that made his blood run cold -- and then settled, his face a mask, eyes still burning with fury, voice calm, precise.

"Signal the fleet commanders that I will require a full operational deployment and readiness report within the hour. All commands should make ready to redeploy, immediately, no exceptions. The Emperor has spoken, and our plan of action is changing."

Captain Ferris blinked with disbelief, but to his credit did not allow his surprise to enter his voice beyond a miniscule degree.

"At once, my lord -- but our operations are already in motion, our commanders may find it . . . challenging to alter their deployment schedules on so little notice."

Khal'Saad allowed a humorless grin to creep across his features, and nodded. "I understand this, captain. A new deployment schedule is going to be drafted. All commands must make ready to move, without delay. I want those reports within the hour, and you may inform the fleet that they will have twenty-three additional hours to prepare for their new assignments and orders. By command of His Imperial Majesty."

Ferris allowed his heels to click together and bowed his head in acceptance. As the tiger turned and stormed into the turbolift. "As you command, my lord. It shall be done."

The door to Khal'Saad's chambers slid shut behind him with a hiss, and the tiger allowed himself a moment of pure rage, letting it fill him, flow through him, culminating in a moment of pure, murderous hate -- Vision. VISION. The fool wouldn't know vision if it stalked and ate him. My plan was flawless. He knew it. A swift strike at the Federation's very heart, force their surrender from pure shock. Annihilate their homeworld and let the others beat down our door in their eagerness to surrender, to avoid more death in the face of such power.

The tiger stalked back and forth along the deck, moving nearer to his desk, looking down at the carefully orchestrated attack, now useless.

Korriban. He is at the heart of this. He has always wanted to see me brought low, and now he gambles that if the war can be prolonged enough, I will manufacture that very downfall through circumstance. Blast him to eternal fire, and blast that . . . thing I call "Master" with him.

The tiger stopped pacing, paused, surprised at this train of thought within himself.

Of course. How blind I am. Korriban would never have gained the Emperor's ear to such a degree if he did not share his sentiments, and have his own plans. This is not about Korriban or his petty politics. The Emperor fears me. He has foreseen something -- something which makes him wish to hobble me, to move me far from the seats of power and keep me there.

The tiger stalked to his command chair, seated himself, and steepled his fingers in thought.

Because win or lose, when the endgame of this war is played, I will be no more -- Should we achieve swift victory, I will be killed, and Korriban himself will strike the blow. I will be a hero, but a dead one. Should we be defeated, or worse, the Emperor suspects a coup--again Korriban will be my executioner, and I will be a convenient scapegoat for our collective failure.

The tiger's eyes narrowed, and he smiled to himself, a toothy smile, a predator's smile. He reached out to his desk control panel, opening a direct line of communication between himself and his aide-de-camp. "Captain." He spoke, his voice low and smooth.

The holographic image of the ferret turned and nodded. "My lord. Action Ready confirmations have already arrived from approximately sixty percent of all commands, and more are arriving as we speak. The fleet is at your command."

"Very well, captain. I neglected to mention that we will have a guest on board during our deployment. Lord Korriban is outside of our chain of command, and will be here as the Emperor's personal representative on board this ship. He should be arriving shortly, and he is to be extended every courtesy for his stay. Also, I want hourly reports from Com/Scan sent to my desk concerning all EM or hyperwave traffic received or transmitted from this vessel, beginning on the hour. Our guest's security is of utmost importance, and we cannot be too careful. Understood?"

The ferret snapped a crisp affirmative, and Admiral Khal'Saad shut off the connection.

If nothing else, "Lord" Korriban . . . you won't be talking to anyone on or off this vessel without my knowing about it. His Majesty may have done me more of a favor than he realizes in placing you so close to my domain . . . and both of you have fatally underestimated me. It's a mistake you may not live to regret.

**********************************************************************

"Captain?" Raymond turned to look over his shoulder at Marc after his scans were complete. "Sensors aren't showing any residue associated with destroyed Federation equipment. I think th--" Right then, his attention was diverted by an alert on the Ops console. "Sir! Romulan vessel decloaking, 24 mark 16, and . . ." The raptor blinked. "They're hailing us?"

"Take us to yellow alert and raise the shields, then put them on screen," the captain ordered.

Ambassador Rovan's striped, smiling face appeared on the viewscreen. "Ah, captain, so good of you to answer my hail. I am Ambassador Rovan of the Romulan Star Empire." The lemat'ya's smile turned faintly sour. "I believe we have found something that belongs to you."

Xavier gave the Romulan a hard look. "What do you mean?"

"My ship was in the area and intercepted a distress beacon. We arrived in time to rescue some people of yours." The ambassador gave a wide grin. "It seems your equipment was . . . insufficient for you to provide the same service, or we would not have interfered. Of course, if you'd prefer, we can let them stay here and enjoy our . . . hospitality . . ."

The Romulan ambassador did not miss the look of wild relief that flashed across the Federation captain's features. "While we're grateful for your assistance, we would like to have our people returned to us. Immediately. Intact," he added pointedly.

"Of course." Rovan smiled. "It was necessary to administer medical attention to some of your crew. I do hope you will not lay their injuries at our doorstep." He began to turn, then paused. "You know, captain, relations between our great civilizations need not be so strained. There is much potential in yours, and I am not the only one of my people who is sad to see it destroyed through your alliance with uncivilized animals." The ambassador gave another smile, though it did not reach his eyes. "You can imagine the shock to my crew when they discovered you are allowing them to join your Starfleet now. Truly, captain, it is a shame." The Romulan gestured, and his image disappeared from the screen.

Marc scowled and turned from the screen. "Get a medical team into the transporter room. I want security on hand. We're not taking any chances."

"Aye, captain."

**********************************************************************

Lanna Tigris materialized in the center of the transporter pad in a hail of muffled Klingon curses, glaring daggers at the gaping security and medical teams. "Don't just stand there. Untie me!"

Commander Fuhrer lowered his phaser with a grin and moved toward the irritable engineer. "So what happened, Lanna?" he quipped. "Bad date?" The commander slid out of the way just before Lanna's claws swiped through the air where he had been standing.

The lieutenant commander snarled. "Five rounds on the holodeck once I know that fracking garbage scow didn't damage my ship, Fuhrer. You don't want to know what I'll do if you don't show up."

"Ouch." Deano held his hand over his heart. "I'm wounded." Grinning, the commander helped Lanna and Ensign Wilier off the transporter pad before turning his attention to Kim Amethyst. The security chief's grin faded somewhat as he recalled his last, less than pleasant encounter with a teenaged Rifter. "Uh--who's this?"

Lanna's brows snapped together as she turned her attention to the disheveled lion cub. "You, come here."

"My name isn't you. It's Kim and I ain't going anywhere with you. You can't make me." Kim propped her hands on her hips and glared at the Klingon tigress.

Commander Tigris snorted and hauled the child to her side by the arm. "She's a Rifter. We found her in their engine compartment. There was definitely sabotage involved." Lanna gave the child a hard look. "And she saw some things she should not have seen. I want her in my custody until we get to the bottom of this."

"Uh--your custody? Lanna, you keep weapons on your walls, I don't know that you should really have a kid--" Fuhrer shut up at the look the tigress gave him. "Fine, have it your way." The chief of security moved over to Dute, who was fumbling with an armful of extra equipment. "Where are the others?"

The lieutenant commander's expression turned glacial. "They're being beamed directly to medical. I don't know what happened on that--that--" whatever she said, the universal translators didn't share "--ship, but I intend to find out if it's the last thing I do."

Commander Fuhrer frowned, lifting Zannah and Perdia's lightsabers from Dute's arms. "I want Pierce to examine your prisoner before we put her in your quarters." When Lanna moved to protest, the commander shook his head. "Remember what happened with the last harmless girl we brought on board? I want a full physical for her before we put her near your things. Maybe while we're up there we can learn something useful."

**********************************************************************

"I'm fine."

Dr. Pierce cast an exasperated look towards the ceiling panels. "With all due respect, Ms. Lyles, you are not."

Zannah scowled up at the Akita. "Look, you've used your osteo-whatsit on me--"

"Regenerator," Pierce grumbled, half wishing he had not.

"Whatever. And there's nothing wrong with my head."

"You came in with several compound fractures in your left leg, three cracked ribs, and a concussion. We have no medical record of your species in our databanks, so I would prefer to keep you over night for observation purposes," he explained as calmly as possible. The vixen's insistence was wearing his already stretched patience painfully thin.

She frowned. "I don't see why--"

"That is why I am the doctor, and you are the patient."

Zannah had the grace to look bemused, but could not resist one last parting shot. "Are you always this grouchy?"

"Yes. Are you always this thick headed?"

The Jedi shut up as the doors slid open to admit Commander Fuhrer, Lt. Commander Tigris, and their prisoner. Dr. Pierce's scowl deepened as he took in the sheer volume of dirt that covered Kim's fur and clothing. "Why do you people always bring me dirty teenagers? Do I need to post a sign on the door requesting only clean patients?" he groused as he pushed the protesting lioness into the hands of one of his assistants.

Deano gave the doctor a blank stare.

Pierce sighed. "Ms. Detami came in covered from head to toe in blood. It wasn't even hers."

"You almost sound disappointed," Lt. Commander Tigris said dryly, looking to the bed where the striped kitten lay with her back to them all. "Is she going to be all right?"

"She's fine, Lanna." Zannah sat up in her bed, ignoring Pierce's snort of disapproval. "Or at least, she will be." The vixen's expression was somewhat troubled. "It was the Hunter. He was going to take her . . . somewhere. The Romulans were helping him."

Lanna snarled something that made the doctor's face turn red.

"He said something about the Emperor," Perdia said in a dead voice, keeping her back to them. "And he was using something on me."

Zannah frowned as a tingling sensation slid down her spine. "Using something?"

The kitten didn't move. "A . . . device. He used it on the cut on my arm. It isn't important . . ."

"A device? The Romulans gave us some sort of alien gadget when they returned our equipment. I saw them hand it to Wilier," she added disdainfully. "I can have it sent up here for you to look at it."

"Please do." Zannah flicked her ears uneasily. "I have a bad feeling about this."

Lanna raised a brow. The last time Zannah had told her she had a bad feeling about something, they had gotten into an extremely invigorating brawl that involved all of the patrons of a rather seedy bar while they had been visiting. "Tigris to Wilier. Find the alien device from our equipment and bring it to medbay. It may be important."

Dute walked into the medbay a few minutes later with a palm-sized device held in his outstretched hand. "Here it is, ma'am. I scanned it on the way up, but the databases have never seen anything like this before--"

"It's a scanner," Zannah interrupted quietly, "A scanner to let them know if they'd found a Jedi."

Lanna frowned. "They're hunting you?"

"Not me." The vixen swallowed. "The wolf said he didn't have a use for me. He was after . . ." Her gaze flicked to her apprentice. "Dute, may I see that please?"

The ensign blinked and brought the device over to Zannah, who turned the palm-sized device over in her hands, studying the Aurebesh script it displayed. She felt her blood run cold. "Sithspawn, of all the times to be right."

Deano frowned. Two years spent with the pair of Jedi had convinced him of their ability to predict trouble ranging from personnel issues to stray Romulan, Cardassian, and Imperial vessels. Through it all, he had never seen the vixen act this disturbed. "What is it?"

"I've seen these before. Master Kain had one. It detects midichlorian levels in the blood--detects the organisms that give us our connection to the Force." Zannah took a closer look and snapped off a small attachment on the side with a muffled curse. "And this one had a built in holonet transmitter."

The lieutenant commander sat down in the chair beside Zannah's bed. "Can you tell if it transmitted anything?"

Zannah checked the scanner's controls and managed to access its transmission log. Her heart sank. "Yes. It has. It looks like it was programmed to transmit automatically when it records a scan of a certain concentration of midichlorians." She checked another setting and frowned. "But this reading is impossible. It's off the chart."

Dr. Pierce snorted. "Impossible? We know of beings that all have the same one-letter name and godlike powers."

"We're from two different universes," Lanna agreed. "Not probable, sure. But not possible?" The engineer grew serious. "So what exactly is making your fur stand on end?"

"To say that this reading is high is an understatement." Zannah shook her head, trying to find a way to explain. "The scanner's over its limit, and as far as I can tell, it's working fine." She checked to make sure the transmitting circuitry was completely disabled, and then jabbed it into her arm.

"What are you doing?" Pierce chided. "That thing can't be sanitary--"

Zannah glanced at him, then at the device when it gave a quiet beep. She studied the small readout thoughtfully, nodded to herself, and tossed it toward Perdia. It hovered in midair above her head before floating gracefully into the kitten's hand. "Look at that, Perdi. That's me. Now flip back to the record before it."

"Any idea where the transmission was sent?" Lanna asked as the girl caught the device. Unlike Deano and Pierce, who were staring at Perdia, she had gotten used to the odd display of powers every now and then.

"There isn't any way to tell specifically. This isn't a sophisticated unit. My guess is that it sends out a broadcast to the nearest holonet beacon it can locate, and special coding embedded in the message routes it to whatever Sith the Hunter carrying this reported to."

On the other bed, Perdia gave a little cry and dropped the scanner into her lap. "That's not possible," she said in a shaky voice. "Zannah, tell me that's not possible."

Pierce shot the vixen a dark look and hurried to check on his young patient. "I think this has gone on long enough. I'm calling Dr. Xavier--"

"What Lanna said is right, Perdia," Zannah answered wearily, running a hand through her disheveled hair. "It may not be probable, but it can still happen. Try it again."

"So . . . what is it?" Commander Fuhrer asked uneasily as Perdi scooped the device from her lap and jabbed it carelessly into her arm.

"If that reading is correct, then Perdia's sample registered more raw potential than the Emperor," Zannah answered in an undertone.

Perdia's hands shook as she scooped the scanner into her hands and hurled it at the opposite wall, where it shattered. Pierce scowled and beckoned to a nurse. "Sedatives, now."

"No." Zannah struggled to swing her legs out of the bed. "Perdia, listen to me. Listen to me."

The girl fixed her master with a wild-eyed stare. "Zannah, they match. The results match."

Chapter 2 [<<] [<] [>] [>>] [Table of Contents]