Topic: Fan Fic Classic: "TGP Forager" by Heath

[FPF-Wanderer]

Unfortunately, it would seem that the Fan Fic forum, for whatever reason, whether technical or a simple oversight, was not ported over from Taldren.  Hopefully, this will be rectified in the near future.  In the meantime...

With no disrespect intended to the other authors who's stories that I have had the pleasure to read over the years, I wanted to repost the following story which I consider one of the best that was ever posted in Fan Fiction.  Enjoy.

TGP Forager

by Heath

PART 1

TGP Forager War Journal
Lyran Imperial Fleet
Far Stars Duchy

The Forager has been tasked by our clan elders to deliver Umbro, nephew of Count Kazan al Mimdaha of Night Roar county, and a cargo pallet loaded with gifts to the wedding of Umbro's sister, Tamla. She will marry a young baron in the Red Claw duchy. Though war rages with the Hated Enemy and their allies, life continues. Young people wed, kits are born, and people die. We venture among the stars to preserve this way of life.

Umbro's cousin, Baron Tivo is accompanying him. Both have brought their PFs and crews. And I am grateful for the added firepower.

Our course takes us near the stars dimmed by the darkness of our Hated Enemy. To avoid detection, we have skirted the edge of a large asteroid field for the last day. Science reports a sporadic sensor ghost that may be a warship or warships among the asteroids. Turning for open space and running risks drawing too much attention from other warships that might be in the area. The cargo pallet has reduced our maneuvering sufficiently that high-speed flight through the asteroids is also not an option.

We remain on course and on time.

Cmdr Halifax
Dark Storm Clan

*****

"Melena, has there been any sign of the ship following us?" Halifax's voice was a low, thick rumble.

"Commander, the ghost has been gone for several hours now."

"All channels have been silent as well." added Rala, the communication officer.

Halifax acknowledged both with a nod without taking his green eyes from the view screen. Thick black claws extended and retracted from his right hand as he thought and the heavy muscles in his arms and neck stood out under his short, thick, tawny fur.

The captain was a pensive Lyran, a phenomena almost unique to the Far Stars duchy. Known as a patient officer, he preferred to advise rather than rebuke, to neutralize rather than destroy. Perhaps it was an artifact of his time spent on Vulcan. The rumor around the lower decks was that Halifax was a Lyrbrun - a member of a pacifist sect of mystics, and that was why (though an excellent captain) he was assigned to a Puma transport tug instead of a fighting ship of the line by the clan elders.

Whatever his philosophical pursuits, the bridge crew could see that their captain did not accept the sensor readings at face value. His left ear twitched; a sure sign that he was irritated.
"Hm. Let us see if we can give this spirit form," Halifax said in a brighter voice. "Tactical, go to yellow alert. Helm, take us in a sweeping arc to port towards that heavier belt of asteroids."

"With that heavy pallet of wedding gifts, a sweeping arc is about all that I can manage sir," replied Yatu, the helm officer.

Halifax laughed a resonant rumble.

"Captain!" shouted Melena, louder than she wanted to. "Two Federation ships in the belt. An NCL and...and a frigate, possibly improved class. Ninety clicks out, arming phasers and closing fast."

Halifax acknowledged with another nod and added, "Sensitive whiskers, Melena. Well done." Turning in his chair his eyes brightened with a feral fire. "Com, open a channel to the cruiser so that we may see what the urgent matter is."

The image on the main view screen made the crew wince.

Humans.

Why did it have to be humans? Though terminally boring, at least Vulcans made sense. Andorans were even fairly reasonable. But humans were incomprehensible. Never truly passionate, never truly in control of their passions. They seemed a tortured race.

"Lyran vessel, this is Captain McDowell of the USS Stalwart. Stand down and prepare to be boarded. You will not be harmed once you surrender."

Captain McDowell was a young woman for the command of a cruiser, even a light cruiser. Physically fit, comely and focused, Halifax thought. And also a little arrogant.

"Captain McDowell, this is Commander Halifax of the Far Stars Tug Forager. We thank the Federation's Star Fleet for their kind offer of unconditional surrender, but pressing business compels us to politely decline."

The statement was delivered with the inscrutable impassiveness of a feline that many simian races find unnerving. Lyran humor was often subtle but McDowell recovered her composure quickly.

"Commander, this is not a joking matter. We both know that you've been caught. And we both know how this is going to end. Why not reach that end without risking your ship and crew?" McDowell knew from her academy days that the Lyrans were a warrior race, like the Klingons. But they were also an extremely polite race, strictly observing protocols and customs that date back to antiquity. She hoped that this captain wasn't bound by some dusty warrior code to fight to the death over, from what their scans indicated was, a pallet full of civilian goods.

"While we are certain that the endless 'educational' sessions on free markets and trade that will follow in your 'rehabilitation' compounds would be fascinating, we are quite happy with our unenlightened, barbaric culture. We wouldn't want to keep TWO of Star Fleets warships from their vital defense of the Mirak filth." Halifax tried to be as casual as possible in his tone to cover up for the rage he was feeling inside. He even used the forbidden name of their Hated Enemy. But even he had limits. 'Prepare to be boarded?' Was this woman damaged in some way?

"Commander," said McDowell in a voice thick with condescension, "be reasonable. You are out gunned by more than two to one and you cannot run. What do you honestly expect a tug to accomplish against a Star Fleet cruiser and frigate? Surrender, while you are still able."

Halifax, his own patients at and end, dug the claws of his right hand into his command console. "Captain, you will find that this is no common freighter. We too take pride in our fleet." Turning, Halifax formally addressed the officer to his right. "Tactical, let Forager roar her defiance. Red Alert!" The image of Stalwart replaced that of her captain. Throughout Forager and over the subspace channels as well, thundered a primal, bestial roar, the ancient Lyran call to battle.

"Damage control teams to stations. Marine teams one through four to transporters. Teams five and six to generators one and two." The orders from Tactical were crisp and practiced and Forager?s crew responded with ordered precision.

"Disruptor crews, stand by, cannons off line." said Halifax pensively.

"Disruptors offline, Commander."

Puma-class tugs only carried two cannons. They could not cause enough damage to a cruiser's shields to justify the energy allocation. They would be held in reserve in the event of close-in fighting.

"Science, countermeasures to four, reinforce shield two by twelve. Helm bring us in on shield two. No evasive maneuvers. Let's see if she is a gambler with those torpedoes.

"Bridge to boat locks. ESG recognition code Graypaw 4."

"We have you locked in, designate Forager as tender. Graypaw 4" Umbro's voice was professional, but still eager. He was an experienced PF commander even at his young age. Lavishly painted, PFs had become the latest status symbol among the young nobles of Lyra. Talented crews were much sought after and many Lyrans of the lower classes found opportunity for advancement serving alongside future barons and marshals.

"Dockmaster, launch the boats."

As the mechanical couplings disengaged, the two Bobcat-Ps lit their engines and banked away from Forager in unison. Umbro and Tivo piloted their crafts with the coordination of two who had flown together since childhood.

"Boats one and two, harass the frigate. Cut her off from the cruiser if possible." ordered Halifax. "There is a blind alley of asteroids about thirty clicks off of port. Try to steer her in there."

"Forager, Bobcats 1 and 2 closing on frigate"

Halifax turned his attention back to the main viewer. By the red glow in their launch tubes Halifax could see that Stalwart and her escort, Pleadies, had begun arming their photon torpedoes. Photon torpedoes made even Federation frigates dangerous. But they required a great deal of power to arm and already Pleadies had dropped back, unable to arm weapons and keep pace with the cruiser. To avoid the cruiser's phaser arcs, Umbro and Tivo had been forced to take a circuitous route through the asteroids to Pleadies. Hitting the frigate before she could bring those torpedoes to bear would be a close thing.

The cruiser was a different matter. It had the energy to close fast and arm all four of its torpedoes. Seeing that Forager had not powered her disruptors, Stalwart threw all of her sensors into cutting through Forager's jamming and fired two torpedoes; not a big gamble, but a gamble none the less at this range. One found its mark, jarring the tug, but failing to cut through the shield reinforcement.

"I don't understand, Commander," said Melena. "That was not a high-percentage shot. Why did she not wait for closer range?"

Unlike Star Fleet, Lyran crews were trained in space on rear-deployed ships. Transport tugs often carried recruit crews and experienced officers. Questions, even during combat, were not discouraged.

"She is trying to land as many torpedoes as possible." Replied Halifax. "Had both weapons scored we would have had a weakened shield. As it is, the two she fired will be rearmed soon after we close."

Stalwart launched a scatterpack to follow her in. The drone shuttle deployed its deadly cargo of drones as soon as it was clear of the cruiser?s warp field.

"Forager, Bobcat1. We are engaging Pleadies."

The PFs had flown a tight formation into the frigate's number two shield. They had planned to streak by at close range and come up on their target from behind, but had been forced out of their asteroid cover by an undetected dust cloud. At high speeds a dust cloud could quickly grind a PF to junk.

At point-blank range Pleadies scored with both torpedoes. Bobcat1 took a normal load in its bow shield, which still held. Bobcat2 's shield was crushed by an overloaded torpedo. Its port bow warp engine was cleanly sheared off and the command capsule was breached. Phaser fire followed, but struck the number two shields of both boats as they turned to protect their wounded bows.

Counter-attacking, the two PFs opened Pleadies?s number three shield with phaser-2 fire. A breach in the frigate's starboard warp nacelle leaked plasma and hits to the saucer section disabled the starboard torpedo tube and the right-side phaser hardpoint.

Banking hard, the PFs sped away from the frigate, keeping to its starboard side and away from the unfired portside phasers. Once behind a medium-sized asteroid they could regroup and rearm.

Meanwhile, Stalwart had closed on Forager, which was surrounded on three side by tumbling masses of iron ore, granite and ice. The tug had slowed and reinforced its number two shield in preparation for the alpha strike that Stalwart was bringing to bear.

"Disruptor crews, energize to standard." Halifax's voice was steady, almost clinical. "Generator crews one and two, radius one; ignite the spheres!"

The Lyran tug thrummed with a sustained bass note as energy poured into space. Interstellar matter was annihilated and the golden ship was surrounded in a sphere of coruscating yellow and white fire.

"Commander, we are too far away. The Federation vessel is powering its tractor beams to hold us at bay!" The young ensign at ops was a little frantic.

"Gently, Ops. To hold us, Stalwart must discard the energy that she had allocated to overload her two armed torpedoes. We will survive her barrage." Halifax spoke in a calm measured way, as if lecturing in a classroom, instead of commanding in mortal combat. "Energize the tractor. Level four."

Stalwart hammered at Forager's shields with two standard torpedoes followed by phaser fire. Phaser fire penetrated the shields, damaging the starboard hull and peppering the cargo pallet. The cruiser had cut its engines back to slow to allow its tractor to come online before hitting the expanding sphere generator or ?ESG? field. This had the double benefit of allowing its drone wave to catch up.

"Helm, increase speed to twenty, hard to starboard. We'll give her a fresh shield to target." The ponderous tug leapt forward with surprising speed as it rotated to bring its own bow to bear.

Forager shuddered as Stalwart's tractor beam engaged, slowing her abruptly. "Commander, Federation tractor, level three." The face of captain McDowell filled the viewscreen. "The Tholians have a saying, commander. Gotcha!" And Stalwart once again dominated the viewscreen.

"Non-violent protocol in effect." said Halifax in his same calm way. Many on the bridge turned to stare at their captain, but quickly returned their attention to their duties.

"Disruptors one and two, fire." Green bolts of destabilizing energy erupted from Forager's bow, splashing across Stalwart's front shield.

"Direct hit, sir. Minimal damage." Melena?s voice betrayed some of her uneasiness. Though she revered her commander, the implacable menace of the approaching cruiser knawed at her nerves.

"Yes, but it looked credible. And desperate" answered Halifax slyly.

"Drone wave approaching. ETA...they will hit the active sphere!"

Finally, a small victory. The six incoming drones were slow, but with the ship held in a tractor beam the drones would hit, and even two warheads would seriously damage the bow shield. The crew breathed a small sigh of relief as the drones were vaporized by the two blazing spheres which then collapsed; their energy spent.

"Commander, the Federation vessel has dropped its tractor and is diverting energy to its torpedo batteries. Sensore show them sixty one percent armed. Where shall we divert our tractor energy?"

"Nowhere Ops. Engage positive tractor. Helm, full speed. We will drive Stalwart into that asteroid. Approach at an oblique angle and prepare an overrun path." For a fraction of a second Ops hesitated as the full impact of what the commander had planned from the beginning fell upon him. 'Of course,' he thought. The commander knew that a transport tug had little chance against a war cruiser in a salvo exchange. And there was no way of knowing if the PFs would return in time to help, or return at all. But a tug had the engines to tow battleships. And there wasn't a race in the galaxy that could match the raw destructive power of an asteroid collision.

Aboard Stalwart, captain McDowell quickly realized the thrust of Forager's strategy and quietly cursed the kittens for their cleverness. She ordered full speed to counter Forager and repulsor power to break the tractor hold. But it was too late. Stalwart couldn't generate negative tractor energy quickly enough to break a level four hold. And Forager's larger engines inexorably drove the frantic cruiser closer to the silent masses of stone. A final phaser salvo by Stalwart, more a gesture of defiance than a sound tactical attack, splashed off of a fresh shield, doing no damage.
Federation NCL Stalwart collided with an asteroid that roughly resembled a three kilometer long terran potato made of iron and silicon. The impact crushed the aft section of the port warp nacelle and bent much of the stardrive section, preventing saucer separation.

"Secure the tractor. Cut speed to four." ordered Halifax. The cruiser stopped
dead in space and the tug swung around to its downed aft shield. Halifax slammed his command console in exultation. "Marines one through four, take her!" Four transporters energized and aboard Stalwart Lyran and Federation marines battled for control of the wounded ship. Two more marine teams followed as soon as the transporters had cycled. Battered and outnumbered, the Federation crew succumbed to the stun phasers and grenades of the 36th Lyran Imperial Marines lancers.

"Forager to Bobcat1. What is your situation? Do you need assistance?"

The com channel crackled and Umbro?s voice was difficult to hear through the static. "Bobcat1. We are inbound with two damaged boats. Pleadies gave us the slip in the asteroids and disengaged into open space. I apologize for that, sir."

"No need, Umbro. You bought us some vital time. And ran off a frigate. Good work." Halifax turned his attention to his command console. The cargo had suffered only minimal damage. That was good. It wouldn't do to show up to a wedding empty handed. Well, almost empty handed. He keyed the com channel to Bobcat1 again. "Oh yes. Be advised of a large navigational hazard of Federation make aft of us during your docking approach."

[FPF-Wanderer]

Part 2

Aboard the USS Stalwart, in the main dining area Karim Nel removed his battle helmet and quickly tasted the air. As commander of the 36th Imperial Lancers he had lead the successful assault to capture the Federation NCL. And through the acrid smell of phaser burns and the sweet/sour of wounds he detected very little fear among the captured humans gathered here in the mess hall. The perspiration of exhaustion and the bile of frustrated rage were the overwhelming scents. Karim knew this to be an honest scent. Humans possessed almost no sense of smell by Lyran standards and thus, had never developed the ability to control what emotions they transmitted through the myriad of chemicals produced by carbon-based life.
To their credit, the humans were battered, but not defeated. Their collision with the asteroid had cost them many casualties. But despite this, Karim?s lancers met determined resistance on every deck.

"Major," It was lieutenant Mur Alir, Karim?s second in command. "All decks report secure. Team three reports disabling a self-destruct sequence in progress, and team two reports two casualties from a plasma leak." Karim?s ears flattened and his gaze became very penetrating. Alir continued her report. "It seems that the chimps rigged a concussion mine into a plasma conduit near the emergency bridge. Sergeant Rashan and Corporal Mulad took the full brunt of the blast. Both are in stable condition and have been evaced back to Forager."

"Thank you, Mur. Sweep the shuttles for suicide loads. Then get a tech team over here. Engineering didn?t look too bad. Maybe we can get this ship under her own power again."

Karim was worried about his soldiers and wanted to beam back to make sure personally that the medics were doing everything possible for his crew. But he had duties here. And he knew that the medics wouldn?t let him down. "Oh yes. Rotate team two back to Forager. I don?t want anyone avenging a friend here."

"Understood, major."

Re-donning her helmet, Mur strode out of the mess hall with two lancers in tow. Karim turned his attention to the Federation prisoners gathered there. He safed his disruptor and stowed it back in its clip on his thigh. As the magnetic locks engaged it made the reassuringly solid-sounding 'click' of one piece of heavy assault equipment on another.

The officers were gathered in front of their crew. Captain McDowell sat upright on the floor while one of her medics treated an ugly gash in her abdomen. She winced as the medic rearranged her floating ribs, but made no other sound. Karim was impressed. This was a soldier, like himself, who knew the value of maintaining a strong presence in front of the crew. Maybe this would go reasonably well.

Karim removed his right gauntlet as he approached the officers of Stalwart and extended his hand in the Terran ritual of greeting. The medic stopped his work and moved out from between his captain and the big Lyran in full power armor. "Captain McDowell," Karim said in formal greeting, "I am Major Nel of the Imperial Lancers." McDowell did not take the proffered hand. Karim dropped it and continued. "Your vessel and crew have been rendered incapable of offensive action. Do you surrender to the forces of the Dark Storm clan and the Lyran Star Empire?"

Janice McDowell gazed intently at this major Nel. He stood two meters tall and was almost as broad as two normal men in his yellow and black power armor. The hand/paw that she had refused was bare, but the other was still sheathed in its armored gauntlet, holding the armor?s helmet. She knew that the sonic claws on that gauntlet could tear through a duranium bulkhead like it was paper. Angry and frustrated as she was, the ?sharp fangs? of the Lyran empire, as the imperial marines were known, brought her current situation into sharp focus. Anger, denial, and grief all went out of her mind. A routine commerce raid had gone horribly wrong; partly due to her carelessness, partly due to the Lyran commander?s cool action, partly due to bad luck. Her crew?s survival was now her single mission. With the help of her XO, Jack Virenko, McDowell stood and turned to her crew. "Stalwart. Attention!" she barked. "As commanding officer of USS Stalwart," she paused, then continued in a stronger voice, "I surrender this vessel."

Karim lifted his head to address the gathered crowd. "As of this moment, this vessel is under the jurisdiction, and protection of the Dark Storm Clan." he said, his voice echoing off of the far bulkheads. Turning back to McDowell and with a more conversational voice, "Stalwart is still space worthy. Your crew will be safe here until we make planetfall. Our captain has asked that you and your officers join him aboard Forager. My men will bring a grav-sled for you." Karim keyed his armor?s com unit. "Alir, this is Nel. I?m taking the officers back to Forager. You?re in command here."

Sitting at the main engineering master control station, Forager?s chief engineer, Hron Khazim, surveyed the diagnostics of Stalwart?s warp engines. He had studied Dilithium-antimatter energy theory and therefore knew basically how this ship should work. Despite all of the blinking red icons on the display, Hron felt optimistic. Most of the red lights were a result of the missing starboard warp nacelle that had been torn off during the asteroid collision.

Once the plasma leak had been locked down and the anti-matter manifold balance recalibrated, most of the power systems had returned to normal. "Thanks be for Federation engineering." Hron whispered. "These chimps can build an engine."

"Hron. What?s the status of the warp engines?" It was the voice of commander Halifax over the comlink to Forager.

"It could be better. You bounced her pretty hard off of that rock, you know. If you can give me a couple of shifts I can have this wreck moving at sublight. With only one engine we have no way steer her in warp. She might worm-hole on us."

"That frigate will be coming back. We need to leave before that happens."

The commander was always understated. But Hron got the picture. "Let?s see." Hron remembered something he?d read in a journal about warp field matching. "We could try taking her in tow and synchronizing both our warp pulses and those of the Fed ship with the tractor beam emitter. That should keep both warp fields in phase and take some of the strain off of our engines."

"Sounds good, chief. Tell us when to engage."

"Give me another half shift. Khazim out."

With Stalwart in tow, Forager left the asteroid belt and made for their destination, the planet Maxender, at high warp. Halifax lied in his bed and vigorously rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day. He wanted to take a quick nap, but knew he should clear his desk of reports while things were still fresh in his mind. Reluctantly, he rose and crossed his stateroom to sit at his desk.

"Forager," he said to the ship?s AI, "room light four, please. And a cup of java." The lights came up slowly and the server tray in the wall of his cabin extended with a warm, fragrant brew in a stoneware cup.

Halifax closed his eyes and slurped the drink, allowing the olfactory centers in the back of his throat to be bathed in the rich, earthy flavor. Java was a simple pleasure. Based upon a terran bean, it had been cross-bred and refined for a smoother flavor and a better adaptability to Lyran soil. Another slurp and Halifax put down the cup and keyed his log screen. He had asked his bridge crew to collectively submit a tactical commentary on the previous battle. Scrolling down, he found it and began to read, curious to see what their analysis was.

?TGP Forager ... blah blah
... intercepted by two Federation warships, FF Pleadies and NCL Stalwart... blah blah ... cruiser closing fast ... reckless ...?

He paused. ?Reckless?? Hm, that must have been Rala?s input. She could very often be somewhat judgmental.

Halifax gazed out of his view port. It faced aft, giving him a commanding view of Stalwart tethered by a pulsing blue beam to the stern of his own warship. The Federation ship?s bow was untouched. But the ragged mass of torn bulkheads and power couplings ending where the starboard warp engine should have been left no doubt that this ship was crippled.

Despite the view, McDowell had acted appropriately in his estimation. It would have been more prudent for her to keep her ships together and concentrate firepower upon the Bobcats. But Forager would certainly have escaped into open space. Such prudence won battles, but lost wars.

Similarly, the Frigate captain, (what was his name?) could have concentrated his fire upon a single PF, but both the frigate and the PFs were close enough that if one or both of the PFs had exploded, the frigate would have been gravely injured. In retrospect, that Federation captain should have tractored one or both PFs. The boats would have had to disengage at high warp to break the tractor lock and in the close quarters of the asteroid field that would have at least disrupted their attack formation.

McDowell?s only serious mistake was approaching too close to Forager. That was a point that Halifax felt needed to be driven home to his crew. Had Stalwart remained just within overload range and volleyed torpedoes at Forager, the tug would have been hard pressed to escape alive.

His thoughts were sharply cut-off by the roar of a red alert. Grabbing his command jacket, Halifax snarled and bolted through the door of his stateroom and charged down the corridor outside. Crew leapt out of the way of their commander. Dismissing the lift as too slow, he half-climbed, half-jumped up the access ladder to the bridge one deck above.

"Commander on the bridge!"

"As you were." Halifax waved them down. Red alert lights flashed and the bridge smelled strongly of aggression and tension. It was time, Halifax thought, to get these kits back to base. Their encounter with the Federation ships had wound them up and now they were eager to try their claws for blood. The main view screen was filled with an image of the object of their lust. A Romulan warship, old series.

"Romulan warship, sir. King Eagle class. She decloaked off of our number six shield." reported Melena at science. "From her warp signature she looks to be RIS Nemesis."
The Romulan ship hung in space, unmoving. It wasn?t a very large ship by Lyran standards. And though the hull was covered with the painting of a large raptor, the image of the ship was dominated by the maw of an enormous tube in the underside of the bow. This was a plasma launch tube, type R. It was one of the most destructive weapons known. The plasma torpedo that it emitted was almost as large as a police ship and that tumbling mass of star-stuff could shatter the forward shield of a heavy cruiser at even medium range. A ship, even a dreadnought was literally built around such a launcher. The Eagle series of ships were the smallest ships capable of carrying these monsters. Most of the empire?s merely threatening War Eagles had been converted to the very capable King Eagles. The addition of two lighter F-plasmas were part of the conversion. In the right hands, these ships could cripple any other cruiser in space.

"Alert status?"

"She?s at yellow, sir. Shields, but no weapons are armed."

"Malena, go to yellow. Rala, open a channel."

The drawback to plasma torpedoes was that they took a long time to arm. A disruptor could fire three times and an ESG could cycle twice in the time it took to charge and launch one plasma. A Romulan ship with ill intent would never uncloak with empty tubes. Halifax?s voice was calm and measured, but his ears were flat and he looked only at the viewscreen. The bridge crew wasn?t quite sure why, but their commander was furious.

"Forager, this is Nemesis." The Romulan commander who appeared on the viewscreen was very attractive and she had a glint in her eye that made the crew of Forager uneasy. Seeing her, however Halifax slowly let out his breath. Thanks be given. It was Synalin rhu?Havrel.

She and Halifax were old friends. Synalin and he had met on Vulcan during his exchange internship there. Intelligent and cunning, she could maneuver herself with people as well as she maneuvered her starship. A pretty face and a biting wit were her weapons. But her honor and sense of duty were what sealed the many friendships that she had. "We are not here to take that lovely prize away from you. But I can see how such a treasure could make a person a little paranoid." Her demeanor was a portrait of innocence and sincerity. It made Halifax laugh the purring rumble of a Lyran deep in his chest.

"Go to green Melena." he said to his first officer and turned to the view screen. "Nemesis, this is Forager. We thank you for appearing suddenly off the bow of an armed training vessel." he said levelly. "Our Romulan allies have given us a rare and valuable experience." His bridge crew was beginning to get over their shock, but they would never forget it.

Synalin smiled a quiet smile that was very becoming, and then her face turned serious. "We intercepted a communication from the frigate that got away from you. A couple Mirak destroyers might be responding." Halifax?s lip curled back from an inch-long fang at the mention of his hated enemies. "For prudence sake, and the sake of the Rigellian crystal in your cargo pallet," she added, looking down at her command console, "would you mind an escort into Maxender?"

"The Pleadies?" Halifax asked. "What was she doing this far in Lyran space?"

"Exploding." Synalin replied flatly. "I?m guessing that the captain was in pursuit of you to delay you long enough for the Mirak to show up. He found us instead and something possessed him to attack."

"Well, you cannot fault the humans for bravery." Halifax said, shaking his head perplexed. "Why don?t we get out of here before more trouble shows up?"

"You have point, we?ll flank. Nemesis out."

Halifax surveyed his bridge crew. Hearts racing, breathing quick, these eager young kittens did not belong out in space, he thought. As he turned to go to his wardroom he motioned to his science officer and second in command. "Melena," he said quietly, "would you join me in the wardroom for a moment?"

Melena followed Halifax into the private office adjacent to the bridge. In the center of the room stood a conference table surrounded by six chairs. Beyond that was an intricately carved wooden desk with plush, overstuffed chairs in front and behind. Halifax took his seat behind his desk and motioned Melena to sit as well.

"I didn?t want to mention this in front of the crew," he began, "but your handling of the appearance of the Romulan ship ... did not meet my expectations of you." The young lieutenant stared into the top of Halifax?s desk. The commander spoke calmly and with a gentle kindness, which made the critique all the more poignant. "You raised shields and locked loaded disruptors on to an allied vessel." He continued. "Had that been most other Romulan commanders, this would have quickly escalated into a diplomatic incident. Had it been a Klingon, we?d be fighting for our lives right now and quite possibly losing." Melena sat motionless with her eyes closed. Only her claws moved rhythmically in and out of their sheaths. "It has been an exciting cruise. And only your third?" Melena nodded sharply, trying to control herself. "I know how it is on the bridge. The sight of a possible enemy makes you want to attack, to let run the wild hunt in your breast." Halifax?s eyes began to burn and his lips curled showing his fangs. For a moment he closed his eyes and savored the bloodlust that coursed through his veins. "We are only Lyran. It is the voices of our ancient ancestors that howl in the vaults of our minds." He let his ears come forward and allowed the fur on his nape to settle. "But the challenge of command is to restrain your own beast, while inflaming those of your crew. They are the fangs and claws that devour. You must be the cunning mind of the hunter."

Melena looked up at her commander with tears in her eyes. "Ancient spirits, sir. It burns! How shall I stand it?" Her breathing was labored and the black tufts on her ears pulsed with every beat of her heart.

"You will, Melena T?al Salantet. For now, channel all that passion that you are feeling deep within yourself," he looked directly into her eyes, "and then take it out on your mate when next you meet."

They both laughed and Melena dried her eyes. After a deep breath she composed herself and sat up straighter. "I am ready to return to my station, if I may, sir."
Halifax studied her for a moment and then nodded. "Dismissed." he replied. With a wry smile he added, "Try to get us to Maxender without aiming at anything else."

[FPF-Wanderer]

Part 3

Maxender.

Translated literally it meant 'Place of delight.' This blue and green sphere with its two small moons was the jewel in the crown of the Red Claw clan. Orbiting the planet was the starbase of the duchy. Tethered to slipways extending out from the base were hundreds of starships.

Sleek transports and luxury yachts competed with huge freighters for docking space. Surrounding these were dozens of warships. The mammoth Lion dreadnoughts of two dukes dominated the scene. Imperial battlecruisers and war destroyers signified the presence of several marshals and barons representing the throne. Manx-class police ships, large shuttles, and fast patrol boats darted in and out of the gathered mass.

As Forager and Nemesis came out of warp, base-traffic approach control hailed them.

"Forager, Maxender approach. We have you at ninety clicks out. Pick up docking vector nine. Maintain impulse twenty. Expect coupling on gate seventeen."

"Nine into seventeen." replied Yatu. Despite the instruction from approach control, the young Lyran helmsman slowed to fifteen. He wanted everyone gathered there to get a good look at the Federation light cruiser that they had in tow.

The massive hangar doors opened as Forager and Stalwart glided into the internal hangar of the base. Tiger cruisers looked like toys hanging on a child's wall inside the base's immense repair bays. A badly damaged Alleycat-class destroyer drew the attention of the bridge crew.

"That DD is the Sandstorm." said Rala. "Communications report that she bumped into a Federation frigate up in the Jeslo nebula." The port hull was breached at the bow and the center command section was all but missing. "Photons took down her minimum shields pretty quickly. I guess phasers took out the bridge." Rala's voice was hollow. "Her engineer got her turned around and out of there while the frigate reloaded." They watched the repair crews cutting away masses of mangled hull, remembering their own mortality for the first time in days.

The Romulan Imperial cruiser Nemesis had been directed to an external docking slip that gave her crew a panoramic view of Maxender. Synalin sipped a glass of fruit juice and gazed out of her cabin's viewport onto the azure Sea of Khemal below. She had finished her light breakfast and the chrono on her desk showed that she wouldn't be needed on the bridge for another quarter shift. Putting her juice down, she leaned almost horizontally back in her chair, undid the fasten on her single braid and ran her fingers through her luxurious mass of midnight hair.

The always protocol-minded Lyrans had given their Romulan allies a position of honor. But the honor was not totally for the allies themselves, but also for their ship. Though extensively refitted, RIS Nemesis was the same ship that had fought the Gorn as a War Eagle in the days before S-type plasma torpedoes had been developed. She had fought off the Klingons before the Tholian Holdfast had buffered the two empires. And this was the same Nemesis, then a Warbird, that had engaged the Federation in the epic pre-warp battles of two generations ago.

Synalin mused that in any other navy this ship would have been mothballed or put on display as a museum piece. And in so many ways Nemesis was a museum piece, thought her commander. The challenge of integrating two-hundred years of technology into a hull that had been originally designed to mount LASERS had made several comfort and aesthetics compromises necessary.

Tiny by modern cruiser standards, Nemesis was referred to as a cruiser more because of her firepower than any role she might fill. She possessed only one transporter, and that had had to be crammed into a space that had previously been used to store bulk foodstuffs. Her twin shuttle bays held only two shuttles each, and they had to be parked one in front of the other. Synalin's cabin viewport was one of very few on the ship. The cabin itself had a protrusion in the ceiling where a primary circuit trunk ran from the bridge to main engineering. The bridge was almost claustrophobic, (though the War Eagle upgrade had provided the bridge crew with chairs, thank the Elements). She turned like a Federation scow. The engineering crew 'hot bunked' and used communal cleaning facilities. And, with the increasing use of Klingon ships by the empire, spare parts were becoming increasingly difficult to find.

"And we wouldn't change a thing." she said lovingly, as her bare foot caressed the sill of her viewport. With the tip of her toe she followed the smooth lines that seamlessly blended into the arch of the ceiling. Rihannsu architecture at its finest, this elegant marriage of forms followed directly from function: sleek, flowing hulls required less energy to cloak.

Synalin thought again of the Klingon ships that the admiralty had been purchasing. She mourned the death of the Rihannsu art of battle brought by these ugly, crude, brutish things, these insect-like ships that would never be anything but Klingon. Tactical cloak was all but impossible in a ship that required fully half of its total power output to mask its ungainly hull. And the killing blow of a type R torpedo had been replaced by the 'flexibility' and 'survivability' of twin type S launchers.

Had honor sunk that far? Would cold results justify the passing of a tradition of battle centuries old? A rueful smile slowly played across Synalin's lips as she quietly said to herself, "Which one of us is the museum piece?" Laying almost on her back with her knees bent above her, she used the spring in her chair to pitch forward and lightly land on her feet. "Let them have their transport interdiction and their boarding engagements." she said, standing on her toes and stretching her arms in a wide arc towards the ceiling. "We will drive the enemies of the empire before us. We will crush their warships and batter their starbases. And when we are through," she added more quietly as she brought her hands down, leaning forward to peer out her viewport at the naked stars, "we will find a way to heal the ancient wounds between our Vulcan cousins and ourselves." Synalin's face brightened with overdone eagerness. "Well, if I'm to save the empire, I'd better get cleaned up. We wouldn't want an unkept hero." She laughed at herself again as she readied her sonic fresher and slipped out of her robe.

She never spent too long in the fresher aboard ship. The waves of sound, while effective at cleansing, always left her skin feeling a little numbed. Stepping back into her bedroom she opened her wardrobe to find her dress blacks, precisely arranged, waiting for her. "Ah, Elion. You will make a wonderful protocol officer some day." she said, smiling appreciatively at the uniform that her purser had left for her.

Today she was to be the ad hoc Rihannsu ambassador to the court of the Duke of Enemy's Blood. As she slipped into her uniform and adjusted the lay of the fabric, she rehearsed in her head the greetings that she had memorized in ecclesiastical Lyran. She reviewed forms of address and rank insignias as she carefully rewound her hair. Protocol and ceremony were necessary to the function of any culture, and she understood that. However, she was a starship captain, not a diplomat. "Oh, where is T'Lan when you need him?" she muttered to herself as she stepped out of her cabin and climbed the gangway to the bridge above.

"Commander on the bridge!" declared a young Antecenturion at the head of the gangway, who snapped to attention so quickly that Synalin winced.

"As you were. Liov, what's our status?"

"The ministry of events on Maxender has asked that we coordinate our arrival with sunset, third meridian local. They report twilight terminator in eighteen minutes, Commander." Liov was Synalin's second in command. A tall, rangy young man with hazel eyes and greenish brown hair, Liov was very serious and always almost formal in everything that he did.

"Maxender approach reports clear skies and calm winds aloft. Spaceport control is standing by."

"Very good." Synalin replied and keyed her command communication unit. "Attention Nemesis, this is the commander. We have been cleared for atmospheric approach to Maxender. We will be executing a maneuver rarely seen anymore. Let's stay sharp and give the cats a show. Synalin out."

The bridge crew smiled as an electric anticipation gripped them all. On the main viewing screen, Maxender slowly rotated under them half in shadow, half in light. Synalin took her seat at the command chair.

"T'van, seal the torpedo tubes and rig for atmospheric flight."

"Atmospheric flight aye, Commander."

T'van, seated at the helm, keyed in the special command sequence and his panel's display changed from schematic displays of navigational headings and bearings, to rows of indicators and meters. A small control stick folded out of the console's side and he slipped his feet into two pedals on the floor. The bridge was filled with the sound of heavy rolling machinery as outside the ship, large doors, sculpted to match the lines of the ship, closed over the plasma torpedo launch tubes.

"Launch tube doors report down and locked. Gust tail deployed."

Shields slid down over the viewports all over the ship and the warp nacelle pylons retracted to bring the tubular engines in tight to the main hull.

"Atmospheric board shows green, green, green."

"Ok helm, bring us into the planet at a glancing angle. Yaw plus twenty, roll port nine. Impulse one."

"Impulse one aye."

T'van's voice was a little shaky as he slowly inched the impulse engines forward and used the control stick to bank the cruiser to port.

Synalin watched the sensor readouts on her command console. "Careful, T'van. Don't let her take too big of a bite of the atmosphere. If she stubs her toe, she'll summersault on you."

The helmsman eased back on the stick and let the cruiser's nose come up just as they hit the outer fringes of the atmosphere. His brows furrowed and his breathing came more rapidly as he fought back his nervousness. A faint buffeting began to rise as the ship accelerated and it's angle of decent increased.

"Ionosphere engaged. External skin temperature nine hundred eighty degrees." reported Liov.

"Keep her nose up, T'van. And give me a nine second burn on the main retros."

The ship shuddered as super heated gas jetted out from its bow, braking its descent. Synalin continued to look from her command console readouts to the main viewscreen.

"Let her drop like a brick until we get into the lower ionosphere. Then you'll have some control authority"

"External skin temperature two thousand degrees." reported Liov. Nemesis plummeted through the thin upper atmosphere of Maxender, slowly rotating to a nose-down dive.

"Watch for your control surfaces to come alive soon now."

"Aye, Commander. I'm starting to feel some control authority already." T'van's control stick began to feel more sluggish and through it he could feel the buffeting of the thin atmosphere on hull of his ship.

"External skin temperature now four thousand two hundred degrees."

"Give her another eight second burn on the main retros." The ship lurched again as her downward fall was momentarily checked by the braking thrusters. "Oh, and may I remind you of our kill on this patrol?" Synalin added with a rueful smile. The bridge turned hopefully towards her, but no one dared ask the question that they all shared.

Finally, Liov spoke up in his normal, gravely serious way. "Commander, may we allow Nemesis to spread her wings in triumph?"

Again the crew held their breath in anticipation as Synalin pretended to consider the request. "Centurion T'van," said Synalin, her eyes merry, "commence phoenix effect. Thirty second burn."

At T'van's command, RIS Nemesis executed the centuries-old Rihannsu rite of victory. Jets of glowing plasma shot out from her impulse ports, surrounding her in crimson fire. Far below on the ground, the gathered spectators watched as the streaking white ship became engulfed in a bright red glow, thousands of meters across, that blossomed into the shape of the wings of a massive bird of prey seemingly gliding on the solar wind. Two hundred thousand Lyrans roared their delight at the arial spectacle. And all one hundred and forty aboard Nemesis shouted in celebration as well.

Nemesis shrugged off her fading cloak of fire as she encountered the lower atmosphere.

"Phoenix effect complete. Control surfaces coming alive, Commander. Skin temperature three thousand degrees."

"Maintain easterly course, helm. She's a flying wing now. Let her soar."

And he did, exhaulting in the sensation of gliding on the wind.
"Give her a ten degree up angle on the bow to dump some more speed. We'll pick up the glide slope soon and I want us under two hundred knots when we get within twenty clicks of the port."

"Ten degree up on the bow, aye. External skin temperature fading below one thousand." T'van could hardly believe how responsive tens of thousands of tons of warship could be in soaring flight. Nemesis had a slight nose-down tendency that T'van couldn't quite trim out. But she rolled like an acrobat and, as he put her through a series of speed-dumping S turns, the gust tail perfectly coordinated the rhythmic slalom.

"Nemesis, this is Gel Mor Tar spaceport approach. We have you at twelve clicks altitude, one hundred nine clicks out. Descend to five hundred meters pattern altitude and make left traffic into three four."

"Nemesis left traffic into three four, port control. We will vertical descend from one hundred."

T'van's hand was slippery on the control stick from sweat, but his voice was stronger and more confident now. He executed several swooping maneuvers to dump more speed, criss crossing the port area. At three thousand meters he pulled back on the stick and took Nemesis into a perfectly balanced hammer-head stall. As the cruiser's vertical speed bled away T'van let her roll off to starboard and banked her into a gentle spiral. At one thousand meters he picked up the spaceport visually. It rimmed the shore of Simbal Bay for miles in either direction. Large black landing pads, hundreds of meters across vied for space with old-style runways from the days of aircraft.

Dipping her port side, the heavy cruiser slipped sideways to a gentle stop on a cushion of super heated air. It hung motionless in the air above the landing pad as thick landing pylons extended from underneath and floodlights and warning beacons lit up the ground below. Nemesis settled and the roar of the vertical thrusters faded and was replaced by the roar of the gathered crowd.

"Congratulations T'van," said Synalin, "as they used to say in the old days: I think that we can walk away from this one." The bridge broke out in laughter and even Liov smiled. She keyed the ship's intercom then. "All hands, this is the Commander. Welcome to Maxender. Security protocol two is in effect. Liberty call. Liberty call. All hands liberty call."

[FPF-Wanderer]

Part 4


The Officers of Stalwart had been given quarters on deck three. Captain McDowell had been released from sickbay and had convened a meeting of her senior staff in her quarters. She got right down to business.

"Hans, why don?t you start?"

A tall, lanky man shifted in his chair to turn towards the majority of the group. "Twenty eight dead in the collision with the asteroid. The main plasma conduit ruptured back into lower engineering. Another in the boarding action; tried to vent a squad of their marines into space in the shuttle bay. Other than that, various broken bones and cuts. Nothing life threatening."

"Anna?"

A slim woman with a dusky complexion and raven-black hair rose and began her report. "Stalwart is a wreck. Her starboard warp nacelle is gone, making warp travel difficult if not impossible. Further, the stardrive yoke is bent, pinching the saucer section and precluding any attempt at saucer separation." She spoke with the finality of an engineer reporting facts, not opinions. Her voice brightened. "On the other hand, the port nacelle is in perfect shape and is currently online. All four torpedo tubes were still in good shape, as were three phaser banks when we were taken off by the Lyrans. If we could get a team over there..."

"I don?t think the kittens are going to allow us to blow up their starbase from the inside." said McDowell. "Now, unless you plan to shimmy down the tractor beam onto Stalwart, we need other options.  Steve, how is security?"

Steve Joergen stood almost two meters tall. A middle-aged man, he had blocky features and a weathered complexion. "Tight." he said in answer to McDowell?s question. "Aside from our ship being unreachable and being surrounded by the biggest kitten navy I?ve ever seen, even if I did have a phaser most of the guards are wearing assault armor and they always work in pairs. I?m sorry captain," he said, shaking his head, "but there just aren?t any opportunities for escape here."

"I think you?re right. For now." McDowell turned to Jack, her second in command. "Well Jack, you?re our resident expert on the Lyrans. Can you give us a briefing on what we can expect next?"

Jack Virenko had just been promoted to commander. And Stalwart was a new ship for him. In fact the reason that he had been assigned to Stalwart was that the cruiser had been transferred from the Klingon front and they needed someone onboard with some background with the Lyrans. He was still the ?new guy? and hadn?t quite found his place with his new crew.
Standing, he said, "First off, do not, under any circumstances, use the word ?Mirak? at any time when dealing with the Lyrans. While their system of ettiquete is highly refined, they are a tremendously passionate people. And one slip up in translation could get you killed.

Second, it will be important to remember that we are not prisoners of the Lyran Empire. We are the prisoners of the Far Stars Clan. Had we been captured by an Imperial warship, we would be taken to one of the planets in the Imperial liberty in the center of Lyran space. However, owing to the complex feudal structure of the Lyrans, we are now the property/responsibility of the Duke of the Far Stars counties, through the Countess of Dark Storm.

We have little information on the Far Stars, as their territory is the furthest into uncharted space. What we do know of them comes from Hydran sources. Like all Lyrans their society is based upon a clan structure. Smaller sub-clans or tribes further muddy the waters of Lyran politics.

Dark Storm sees itself as the explorers of their race. They operate several excellent galactic survey cruisers on the outer frontiers. And due to their remoteness from most of the heavy fighting frontiers, most Lyrans receive at least their initial training with the Far Stars."

"Which explains the crew of Forager" interjected McDowell.

"Correct." Virenko nodded his assent. "This tug is normally a rear deployed vessel. Pirates are their usual adversary."

"Fine." McDowell said, acidly. "I was beaten by a bunch of green kids who have only had to deal with disease ridden scum. What were they doing so close to Mirak space?"

"Not just a bunch of green kids, sir." It was Steve Joergen. "I remembered where I had heard the name ?Halifax? before. I don?t know how common of a name that is, but if it?s the same one as mentioned in several security briefs, he?s one of the more experienced commanders in the Lyran navy. He?s captured several Hydran and Mirak warships."

Several gathered there looked skeptical. Anna leaned forward to ask, "And he?s a tug captain? What was he carrying?"

"And not ?just? a tug captain." answered Jack. "He holds the same position of an Academy senior examiner in Star Fleet. An entire generation of Lyrans has been trained by this guy. My guess is that this is a senior recruit crew. Our scans showed that their cargo pallet was carrying a heavy load of luxury items; rare foodstuffs, metalware, crystal. We are currently in transit to the planet Maxender in the Pelt Hunter county. On our way to a wedding."

"Well," said McDowell, unfolding an intricately decorated but archaic looking note written on paper, "this was delivered to me this morning by a page who spoke Federation standard fairly well." She passed the note to Virenko, who read it with some difficulty.

"Ecclesiastical Lyran. Give me a second." It took several passes, but Jack?s brow eventually relaxed and he looked up to his captain. "Yep, it?s a wedding invitation, addressed to ?Mistress of the Hunt Janice, Daughter of Clan McDowell, defenders of the green seas of Mars..."

Anna interjected, "I didn?t know that you were from Mars."

"I?d like to know how they knew." replied McDowell evenly.

"...and your retinue of mercenaries..."

"Mercenaries?" It was Hans?s turn to be surprised.

"We are not of the same clan nor county. And we have no emperor. So in their eyes we must be mercenaries." Jack continued reading the note. "...are invited to grace the union of the Pelt Hunter clan and the Dark Storm clan with your presence and the spirits of the fallen whom you have gathered...etc, etc." He looked up expectantly at McDowell, who looked incredulous.

"You mean to say that, after my ship was crippled and my crewmen killed and captured, I?m supposed to take my remaining crew down to some primitive joining ceremony to be paraded around like a bunch of war trophies? Tell them to go to hell!"

Hans and Anna voiced their indignant agreement. Jack waited for them to vent and then addressed his captain directly. "Sir, that would not be very wise." McDowell began to protest, but Jack waived her down. "Please. This is not meant as an insult. It carries the ducal seal." he said, indicating a jewel encrusted mark on the back of the note paper. "It is considered a highly noble trait to show generosity to ones foes. It is a way to demonstrate admiration for the courage of the fallen. For you to refuse would be to suggest that you do not recognize the duke?s nobility. And that would be a grave insult to him and his people."

Janice McDowell thought for several minutes about what her XO had said. She surely did not like the idea of socializing with enemies of the Federation. But until an opportunity for escape materialized, she needed to keep her crew safe. And another thought occurred to her, which she shared with those gathered. "When I was commissioned in Star Fleet, I pledged to seek out new civilizations." She paused as the thought continued to form in her head. "We have been given the opportunity to study Lyran culture as no others of our people have. This would be the first direct observation of Lyran society by a Federation team in history. As Steve has indicated, we aren?t going anywhere on our own in the foreseeable future. I don?t like our present situation one bit, but I?m also not going to go back to Star Fleet, and we ARE going back, empty handed." She took a deep breath. "Gentlemen, it?s time to ?boldly go.? Get ready for a ride."

[FPF-Wanderer]

Part 5

An ancient Lyran legend tells of the Winter Witch of Horrok (the mid-winter month on the Lyran calendar) who steals the spirits of lone travelers to serve her in her frozen mansion beneath the sea. On a mountain glacier on the frozen mining world of Goramele IV, a lone figure relentlessly broke his way through the ever-deepening snows, believing every word of the legend was true. A thick overcoat protected him to his knees and a high collar and hood shielded his head. But high above the tree line gale force winds tore his breath out of his lungs and drove the biting cold through the thick fur on his face.

Rannh was a Vanquisher. Often the only civilizing influence in the frontier regions, Vanquishers acted as policemen, judges, firemarshals, midwives, apothecaries and anything else remote communities might need. They were resourceful and self reliant, usually working alone on the wild frontiers. A group of two Vanquishers meant trouble was near. A group of three or more was to be avoided at all costs. Today he was a manhunter. And he had tracked his quarry to a remote cave high in these mountains. And not just a cave, but an Orion pirate base. Only by approaching on foot in a bitter blizzard could he avoid the many sensors searching for intruders to the domain of desperate men.

Deafened by the howling wind and numbed by the snow and cold, he was at least able to see well enough in the lowering twilight to notice the cave entrance before he himself stumbled into the open of the broad valley that descended down from the cave. The mouth of the cave lay in the valley's ridgeline and was partially hidden by a large overhanging finger of rock. Motion sensors, optical pickups and heat seeker heads mounted atop the rock overhang scanned the valley. But these would all be useless in this storm. "Idiots." muttered Rannh.

Hugging the shadows of the ridge, Rannh slowly swam his way through shoulder deep snow to approach the cave mouth from the right side. With his body pressed against the side of the cave opening he could feel the thrum of machinery through the rock wall. He removed his mittens and put on his polymer battle paws. Puncture and crush resistant, battle paws possessed retractable ceramic claws that deployed with the wearer's natural claw. The ceramic claw was almost mono-molecularly sharp, harder than a diamond, and two centimeters long.

With the quickness of a feline in peak physical condition, Rannh spun around the corner of the cave?s mouth and shredded the recognizer sensor at the sealed entrance. Several minutes later an Orion pirate, who had opened the cave's blast door to see what was wrong with the door sensor, lay with his head several meters from his body in the snow. "Careless" Rannh muttered, shaking his head.

Rannh shut the outer door behind him and his eyes adjusted quickly to the dim cave's light. It was warm inside, almost too warm, and damp. He stood at the end of a wide hallway about twenty meters long. Despite the natural look of the cave mouth, it had obviously been hewn with disruptors from solid rock.

The smell of unwashed bodies was strong: humanoid, possibly Orion and Klingon, Lyran, and ... Romulan! "Spirits be thanked, he's here." Rannh whispered to himself. And then he detected another scent. Gorn. No wonder it was warm. He would have to be very careful in these confined spaces. Even an untrained Gorn was dangerous in close quarters. A Gorn trained to fight was deadly.

He made his way silently down the hall and froze when the door auto opened much sooner than he had expected. But no one was in the room beyond. Passing through this he emerged into a long hallway with doors on either side. From the nearest door on the left he heard two humanoids arguing over politics.

"Mortoz, you must be drunk!" one voice, probably a Lyran, was saying, "The LDR is even more idealistic than the Lyran Empire ever was. They'll never cut a deal with pirates."

"Well the Hydrans aren't dealing," replied Mortoz, probably an Orion, "and the Romulans can't be trusted. That leaves only the Fed, the Gorn, the Mirak and the Klingons to keep this war going."

"So? They're enough. Klingons and Gorn love war and the Mirak hate the Lyrans and thus love war with them. And the Feds are such bureaucratic whores that we can always find a few corrupt officials to grease."

"Nurghal, I hope you're right because if the big powers ever decide to stop fighting, they're going to start coming after us with those big battle cruisers and divisions of marines."

Nurghal took a drink of something and laughed. "Don't worry, my friend. We'll surrender to the Feds and get 'rehabilitated.'"

Rannh stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "No," he said to the two shocked pirates, "you will surrender to the Dark Storm clan."

"Vanquisher!" Mortoz shouted and leapt backwards to retrieve his phaser from his holster hanging on the far wall.

Knives flashed into both of Nurghal's hands as he charged Rannh. Launching himself into the air, the Lyran pirate held his right hand low and slashed high with the left. He was skilled and agile, but Rannh had seen skilled opponents before. Crouching low himself, Rannh drove his body up under Nurghal's guard and drove his left claws into the pirate's unprotected abdomen. Nurghal died with a hoarse belch. Casting the fresh corpse aside, Rannh turned to face the Orion who was just bringing his phaser to bear. With mechanical precision Rannh pulled a knife out of Nurghal's limp grasp and sent it speeding to Mortoz's throat, pinning him to the wall.

Mortoz's alarm had reached the occupants of the room at the far end of the hall. From that doorway spilled an Orion, a human and two Klingons wielding betleHs. Rannh threw Nurghal's second knife at the Orion, catching him full in the chest and dropping him from the fight. The human wielded a Klingon pain stick, and wielded it well hitting Rannh hard on the left thigh. Rannh's world exploded in white agony and then again as the human brought the stick around to his head. Rannh could feel his grip on consciousness slip but was still alert enough to see that the human had used a two-handed swipe that had left his flank exposed. Fighting to focus, Rannh lashed out, burying his booted foot in the human's ribs. As the human doubled over, Rannh crushed his wind pipe with a balled fist.

A boot caught him in the jaw and sent him spinning to the floor. Before he could rise the same boot slammed into his chest, pinning him. Over him stood a Klingon woman with her betleH poised over his throat.

"Vanquisher. I applaud your infiltration of our hideout. You must have suffered greatly in the cold to reach here without our sensors noticing you. However, it was all for nothing as you will now die." By Klingon standards she was beautiful. But her voice held a contempt and her expression the sneer of a poor winner. She held her right hand back and said to the young Klingon behind her, "Kidnapper, fetch me that pain stick and let me show you how a true warrior uses it."

She stood over Rannh like a statue to the god of confidence until the point of another betleH erupted from her chest. Looking down in disbelief she tried to protest, indignant at this affront to her wishes, but blood choked her throat and poured from her mouth. As she slid off of the point of the blade the young Klingon stared at Rannh, and then extended his hand to help the dazed Vanquisher to his feet.

Once Rannh was standing the young Klingon wound up and connected a round-house punch squarely on Rannh's jaw sending him sprawling to the ground again. Rannh looked up in bewilderment.

"Do you have any idea how long it has taken me to establish myself as Kormon the Kidnapper in this cartel?" The young Klingon raged. As he yelled he began removing parts of his face.

"I'm sure that others will remember you." Rannh said reasonably.

"You killed everyone who knows Kormon." The Klingon pulled off his hair, which turned out to be a wig. Below were revealed pointed ears.

"I'm sorry, T'Lan, but Halifax needs you urgently." Rannh said calmly as he regained his feet again. He felt his jaw and everything seemed to be in it's proper place.

"Halifax? Why would the Tal Shi'ar be interested in a cargo pod full of wedding gifts?" T'Lan removed more pieces of his face and his Romulan nature began to emerge.

"I don't think anyone truly understands the motives of the Tal Shi'ar," Rannh said dryly and was rewarded with a level look from T'Lan, "but he thought that you might be interested in the Federation NCL and crew that they towed into Maxender Base yesterday."

T'Lan's jaw actually dropped open as he stared at Rannh. "You're joking. No wait, you don't joke." T'Lan's expression became very intense. "A Federation NCL captured with a Cougar tug?"

"A Puma actually." said Rannh modestly.

"A Puma? Hah! No wonder the other clans pee their pants when Halifax walks into a tactics conference." T'Lan laughed again. "Crew intact?"

"Almost." Rannh injected. "There were quite a few casualties when one of the warp nacelles was pushed into an asteroid."

"Still, a non violent capture..." T'Lan looked at Rannh for confirmation. Rannh gave him a withering look. "Of course. Dumb question. This is really what we've been waiting for." He motioned for Rannh to follow him back down the hallway to the entrance. "If we can just..."

"Yes." Rannh said, cutting him off.

"And if they..."

"Yes."

"Then..."

"Yes."

T'Lan thought for a few second more and then, apparently having come to a decision, said brightly, "Hmm. Well our work here is done." Taking a small grenade from his jacket, he casually opened a door and threw it in.

"I meant to commend you on your disguise." Rannh said, eyeing the doorway that T'Lan had just thrown the grenade into. "Very convincing. You even smelled much like a Klingon. I could barely taste the Romulan."

"Thank you. Let's pick up the pace a little." T'Lan said as he broke into a jog down the hall, away from the now-loaded doorway.

Rannh followed, matching T'Lan's pace. "Speaking of which; I sensed a Gorn when I arrived..."

But the rest of his sentence was cut off by the explosion of the grenade. The blast rocked the cavern and threw both men from their feet.

"That was him." replied T'Lan off-handedly. "He's been sleeping off a bender for the last couple of days. That's why the heat and humidity are up so high in here. Gorns have an incredibly slow metabolism. Lucky thing too. He's pretty good with a phaser."

Both men got to their feet and T'Lan finished removing his Klingon disguise. "Bodyguard?" asked Rannh.

"Forger. You should have seen him at work on a data set. He was a twisted sadist and I wanted to kill him several times for what he did to the slaves that this bunch trafficked, but he was a real artist with cryptos. Who would have thought that those massive hands could do such subtle things to a logic cube?" T'Lan looked ahead at nothing, remembering the Gorn's craftsmanship, then shook his head to clear it. "So, do you have a runabout, or do we walk."

"Ship actually." Rannh keyed his communicator. "Patrol Cutter Argent Five, this is Rannh. Two to beam up."

"Constable Rannh, this is Basrala. Acknowledged."

"Good." said T'Lan. "It looked cold out there."

"I am sorry about ruining your cover personality." Rannh said as the first electric tingles of the transporter effect began to run along his fur. "But can't you just start a new one?"
"I can," replied T'Lan, his voice taking on an odd tone as he began to dissolve, "but it is better to do so from within the Klingon Empire and right now it's illegal to be *me* there." Rannh's quickly fading expression looked confused. "It's a long story." And then they dissolved completely in a shower of tiny drops of light.

[FPF-Wanderer]

Part 6

Escorted by Lieutenant Alir and four armored Lyran marines, the crew of Stalwart , now reunited with their officers, marched in double file through the airlocks into Maxender station.

Opulent.

It was the only word that Jack Virenko could think of. The corridors of the docking concourse were over ten meters high, walled by massive black bands of Corellian adamantine and illuminated by sconces placed on the thick bulkheads that protruded from ceiling to floor at regular intervals. The sconces were a platinum skeleton framing panes of amber and emerald, the Lyran royal colors, and worked to look like colorful birds roosting on the walls. Between each bulkhead hung an ornate tapestry, over fifteen meters long, depicting heroic events in Lyran history. The one hanging directly across form their airlock told the story of the first Klingon war and the heavy losses suffered by both sides.

Opposite the tapestries were floor-to-ceiling observation windows that looked down upon the immense internal hangar of the starbase. Repair crews swarmed over badly damaged warships, while others labored at modifications and upgrades to older ships. In one slip Jack was sure that a crew had removed the disruptors from a Tiger heavy cruiser and were fitting in four more ESGs. ?Good grief,? he whispered, thinking of the destruction that such a ship could wreak at close range. ?What a monster.?

As the crew of Stalwart filed along the docking ring they were brought to a halt as Lieutenant Alir conferred with a young Lyran noble looking out into the hangar.

?Lord Umbro, will your boat be repaired?? Mur had a mellow voice that, despite her crisp and correct manner, seemed like honey in the air.

?What? Oh, Mur. Um, Lieutenant Alir, I mean. Forgive me. I was quite lost in thought. Uh, yes. Yes, she will be just uh fine.? Umbro fidgeted slightly and didn?t seem to know what to do with his hands. Though he smiled, it was almost too casual and his ears scanned from front to side: a sign of nervousness in Lyrans.

For her part, Mur Alir looked intently at Umbro, not challenging, but firmly holding him in her soft gaze. ?That is well. The Commander was very pleased with your attack upon the frigate.? Umbro intently studied his boots. ?Will your cousin?s boat fare so well??

Relieved to turn the conversation away from himself, Umbro nodded vigorously. ?Oh yes. The repair crews are working even now,? he said, pointing. Mur moved closer to look to where Umbro indicated, and in so doing brushed the young PF commander with her cheek. From where Jack was standing, he couldn?t quite determine if she had done that on purpose or not. Regardless of her intent, Umbro rapidly apologized and excused himself, noting the late hour (it was 09:00) and an appointment with the dockmaster (he went the wrong way).

As luxurious as the docking ring was, the grand hall in the center of the station was breathtaking. Gold columns, worked to resemble herds of antelope-like animals stampeding towards the ceiling, soared hundreds of meters. The floor was paved with a green marble flecked in gold. The ground floor of the hall was arranged as a garden oasis with palm trees and lush ferns. Fragrant flowers ringed ornate fountains and everywhere was the sound of running water. An opulent mantle crested the arched ceiling of the hall and in the center of it?s ring it supported a clear dome looking out onto the stars. Maxender was the showpiece of the Duke of Red Claw. And his city above the clouds it?s grand entrance.

Lieutenant Alir lead them to the lowest docking level, where launches and yachts moored. Waiting for them was Major Nel, commander of Forager?s lancers. He now wore his dress uniform: a rich green collarless surcoat with large gold buttons down the left side, belted at the waist and worn over a thick white shirt. Black trousers with a gold stripe down the side were tucked into high green boots. At his side hung an exquisite scimitar worked in silver and emeralds. The top of his right boot held a similarly hilted dagger. Around his neck hung a large clear stone in the shape of a single claw on a heavy black chain.

Next to the major stood a slightly smaller Lyran. His uniform was similar, except it replaced the green surcoat with one of black embroidered with white stars. Around his neck he wore a smaller medal designed simply as a broken sword worked in silver and cradled in two paws made of a deep purple stone. The man himself possessed a relaxed calm that bordered on serene. His deep green eyes had a depth to them that was almost hypnotic, and his resonant voice seemed to originate somewhere beneath the floor as he conferred quietly with Major Nel.

?So this is Commander Halifax.? McDowell whispered to Steve Joergen as they approached the pair of Lyran Officers.

From behind McDowell, Jack Virenko said in a low voice, ?Major Nel wears the Order of Fury. It represents the highest achievements in hand to hand combat. Members of the order are dangerous in the extreme and respected even by the Gorn.? Joergen let out a quiet whistle at that. ?The other, whom I agree must be Halifax,? Jack continued, ?wears the Tears of the Fallen. The ?Tears? are an exclusive order, independent even of the emperor. They bestow membership themselves.?

?Are they a religious sect of some kind?? McDowell asked over her shoulder.

?I don?t know, Captain. I do know that they are held in some reverence, at least in traditional Lyran society.?

As the crew of Stalwart reached Halifax and Nel, Lieutenant Alir halted her detachment of marines and reported to her commander in a crisp and precise fashion that Steve appreciated.

?Commander Halifax, The crew of Federation StarFleet vessel Stalwart. May I present Captain Janice McDowell??

McDowell felt that she should take the initiative for a change. ?Commander Halifax, may I offer my hand in thanks for the treatment of my crew??

Halifax took McDowell?s hand and bowed his head. ?We are pleased that destruction did not have to follow trial at arms.?

His paw was huge and it engulfed McDowell?s hand in a rich, soft fur. The sensation wasn?t totally unpleasant. Halifax had a soothing way about him. Possibly a pheromone effect, thought McDowell. Whatever the reason, he seemed quite genuine in his distaste for violence... or as he put it, destruction.

?Her Grace, the Countess of Dark Storm instructs me that it is her pleasure that you and your crew join her at her hunting lodge here on Maxender.? he said, gesturing towards a waiting yacht. ?Captain, ladies and gentlemen, if you would proceed this way we may rendezvous with our launch to the planet?s surface.?

[FPF-Wanderer]

Part 7

As Rahnn, the Lyran Vanquisher and T?lan, the Tal Shi?ar agent solidified on the transporter pad of MP Argent Five the patrol cutter?s red alert roared through her decks. A young Lyran snapped to attention and presented himself to the newly arrived pair.

?Transporter Mate Hrul, sir! You are requested to proceed directly to the bridge. We have company.? Rahnn nodded a response and T?lan parodied a Klingon salute as both hurried into the corridor.

As the turbolift doors opened, Rahnn saw that the bridge was under its dimmer battle lighting. The viewscreen showed a large pirate vessel on an intercept course.

?Probe report in, sir. Light Raider; Daven cartel.? reported Zazar, the science officer.

?What do they have?? asked Basrala. The mistress of this vessel sat on the edge of her command chair peering intently at the viewscreen.

?An F-type plasma, two disruptors and phasers. They?re only burning standard engines, no doubling.?

T?lan went quickly to the science station. Rahnn signaled the marine lancer on the bridge to let him go.

?Welcome aboard, Constable.? said Basrala, still studying the main viewscreen. ?I see that you?ve found your quarry.?

?Thank you, Commander. I see that we are somewhat outmatched.?

?Outgunned, yes. Outmatched? Not this little cutter. We?ll ...?

?It?s Rihannsu!? T?lan interrupted. He had moved the science officer aside and was furiously adjusting sensor controls and studying readouts.

?The pirate?? asked Basrala. ?I thought that only the Federation used pirate auxiliaries.?

?What? No, the plasma launcher. It is of Rihannsu design. You can tell them apart from Gorn launchers by their energy signature. Nothing this quiet ever came out of a Gorn shipyard.?

?Agent T?lan, that is fascinating.? Basrala turned to look at T?lan, irritated. ?But unless the Tal Shi?ar installs a secret off switch in all Rihannsu plasma launchers, that little bit of trivia isn?t all that vital right now.?

?Basha, what a good idea!? T?lan stared into empty space, considering Basrala?s excellent suggestion, then shook his head slightly and continued in a more impatient voice. ?No. It is a standard launcher. But since there is no black market in the Empire,? no one doubted the secret police agent, ?it could only have been scavenged from murdered Rihannsu.? T?lan?s usual erratic manner was gone. His faced was slightly flushed with green and emotion made his voice thick. ?Basha, they must be punished.?

The earnest sincerity on T?lan?s face brought Basrala up short. ?How many ships did this den have?? she asked, her own voice becoming intense.

?That should be the only one. They were mostly smugglers and kidnappers out here.?

Basrala, and the rest of her crew, broke into feral grins and here and there long white fangs showed and claws flexed from their sheaths.

?Zazar, maximum ECM.? She keyed her command panel. ?Shuttle crews, make ready a suicide load in one and a decoy in two.? Basrala turned to the crewmen seated in front of her. ?Jron, standard load on the disruptor. Selyn, commence erratic maneuvers. We want to discourage any long range sniping so long as he has two cannons and we only have one. Dump what ever energy is left into speed. Make for the pirate vessel.?

The small patrol cutter began to tip and dodge as Selyn tried to fool the pirate?s targeting computers. As the distance closed, the pirate vessel picked up speed. ?Commander,? said Selyn, ?He?s going to overrun us!?

?Steady, helm. That?s the point here. Take us down to speed four. Tractor crews, give me a level one beam on that pirate. Standby for my order.?

?Speed four, aye. Distance ten clicks and closing.?

?He?s doubled his engines, sir. Increasing speed and closing fast.? reported Zazar.

?Wait...wait...drop evasives and launch the decoy!? Basrala?s eyes burned into the screen before her. ?All right, parasite. What do you do now??

?Commander, they?re firing on the decoy. Two phaser-1s?the decoy has been destroyed. Explosion phase commenced.? Zazar sounded calm and mechanical as if reciting from an often practiced exercise ? which he was.

During the explosion phase of the wild weasel decoy the expanding cloud of charged particles continued to mimic the small police cutter and lent it electronic jamming. A plasma torpedo would still target the hot ball of charge, and not the cutter.

?Closing to point-blank range.?

?Jron, fire disruptor.?

At Basrala?s command Argent Five?s disruptor hammered the front shield of the pirate vessel. It still held, but it was visibly weakened.

In response, two overloaded disruptor cannons disgorged their tongues of green destruction at the patrol cutter?s number six shield. But Argent Five?s electronic jamming allowed her to dodge one of the disruptor bolts, and only take a glancing blow from the remaining phaser. Still, the disruptor that hit shook the cutter violently.

?Selyn, hard about. Get that weak shield away from him. Tractor crews, get me that pirate. Shuttle bay one, launch the killer.? In that moment Basrala was grateful to the anonymous Lyran engineer that had insisted that all Lyran ships be catamarans with redundant systems on each side ? including shuttle bays. Both vessels shook as a pulsing blue beam linked the two vessels.

?Plasma, plasma, plasma!? Zazar alerted the ship to the green ball of ultra-hot matter that had tumbled from the pirate ship?s bow.

?Ignore it.? ordered Basrala. ?We?ll just have to chance that it?s a fake.?

?Suicide shuttle impact imminent.? reported Zazar. ?In three, two, one,...impact?

Near simultaneously, the green ball of star-stuff destroyed the forward shield of Argent Five and the small shuttle detonated, shattering the remains of the pirate?s own forward shield. The bridge of Argent Five rocked back dramatically, but she took only minor damage to her port hull and warp engine. The pirate vessel faired somewhat worse. Its front shield had already been damaged by disruptor fire. The suicide shuttle?s blast breached the ship?s hull and the phaser-1 hard point. Worse still, the starboard warp nacelle was badly damaged. Combined with the damage incurred by doubling the engines, the pirate was very low on power.

Basrala keyed her command console. ?Transporter crews, get me their stores. I don?t want them fixing a broken door switch. Jron,? she said, looking up, ?phaser-2s, in sequence, on their engines. Lets turn the lights out on the parasites.?

Four heavy phasers tore in to port side of the pirate vessel. Plasma streamed into space, mixing with pieces of the shattered hull.

?The pirate has lost his transporter, phasers, port disruptor, and his sensors are damaged.? reported Zazar. ?His warp engine capability is down to twenty percent and his hull integrity is compromised.?

?Secure the tractor. Selyn, plot a speed course to get us some separation.? Basrala leaned back in her command chair, relaxing a little now that the situation was a little more in hand.

The pirate ship was crippled. It was an easy matter for Argent Five to swing around to her aft shield and finish the job with an overloaded disruptor and a full phaser suite at close range. The pirate ship exploded in an expanding sphere of white light. T?lan watched with satisfaction until the last burning ember died.

?Good fight, Basha.? said Rahnn from the rear of the bridge. ?Daring him with the decoy was...quite a gamble.?

?Thanks. I saw Halifax do it on my senior cruise. Speaking of whom, we have an appointment to keep. Lancer!? the marine standing bridge duty presented himself and saluted. ?Show these two to quarters on the command deck. And tell the galley to load the Rihannsu menus into the food system. Basrala turned back to the mainviewer as the trio boarded the turbolift. ?Helm, plot a course for Maxender. Warp eight.?

[FPF-Wanderer]

Part 8

The Countess?s ?hunting lodge? on Maxender turned out to be a complex of seventeen buildings surrounding a central stone ?cabin? that was four stories tall. The outbuildings were built from logs 1.5 meters in diameter and of an unusual greenish-brown. Four of these buildings housed the crew of Stalwart. Every five crewmen were assigned a suite of rooms. Each room had a Gorn-sized bed, a view of either the center court gardens or nearby Lake Grrhonami (Morning Nap), and an actual water bathtub! Each suite had a large common room with an authentic wood-burning fireplace, eating area and soft cushions for lounging.

Stalwart?s officers were housed in the main house. The rooms were quite similar to those in the out-buildings except that instead of a suite arrangement, each room had its own parlor/receiving room and terrace.

The house Stewardess explained the amenities available as she showed each of the Federation officers to their rooms. After an explanation of the house?s routine (eating schedules, etc.) she extended an invitation from the mistress of the house to afternoon meal some three hours hence. It was to be an informal meeting so civilian clothes were to be provided.

Once alone, Jack Virenko checked his room for surveillance devices. A good StarFleet Intelligence agent always wanted to know who his audience was. After a thorough inspection he found that the white walls and stone floors concealed nothing.

With his routine task completed, he was free to begin assimilating his observations among the Lyrans. And he could think of no better place than the large and inviting bathtub surrounded by fragrant blue flowers and lush green fern-like plants.

After a refreshing soak Jack dried off in the arid field on the way into the bedroom. He found a set of cloths laid out that had not been there when he had first arrived. ?Damn,? he muttered, ?these cats are quiet.? The outfit consisted of durable-looking green pants and a brilliant white shirt with a high collar. A long, loose white robe with gray and green designs embroidered in it and fabric shoes completed the costume. They were, Jack realized, traditional Lyran desert clothing. This was a compliment as the Feds were to be treated like Lyrans. The clothes were very comfortable, no doubt tailored and replicated for each member of the crew. As the midday prayer chime sounded Jack left his room to confer with his captain on their upcoming meeting.

McDowell opened her door and invited him out on to her terrace. She was wearing a similar costume to his, except she had been given a skirt instead of pants and a narrow veil.

?Captain, you look very nice in a Lyran T?bilseh.? he said formally.

McDowell grimaced. ?I hate skirts. They always catch in my knees.?

?Let me fix your robe. You haven?t got it belted tightly enough. The only time a woman wears her belt loosened like that is when she is pregnant.? McDowell blushed slightly but allowed her XO to adjust her costume. ?There,? he said with satisfaction, ?you are the picture of a Lyran matriarch.?

McDowell surveyed herself in a wall mirror and half smiled. ?C?mon, Jack the others are waiting outside.?
Out on the terrace Steve Joergen, Stalwart?s chief of security leaned back against a tall planter with his arms folded. Next to him Hans, the ships chief medical officer did the same. Seated at the round breakfast table was Anna Velasquez, acting chief engineer. Steve and Hans looked somewhat uncomfortable and out of place, though Jack couldn?t tell which was a function of which. Anna, however, looked stunning. The combination of white, green and gray complimented her Argentine complexion and dark brown eyes. He was momentarily at a loss for words, but covered it by pretending to adjust to the bright noon suns.

?Hiya Jack.? said Steve. ?Hey, am I wearing this thing right? I?d hate to go represent the Federation with my pants on backwards.? Jack laughed. Steve always knew how to keep the mood light.

?You look fine, Steve. You too, Hans. And Chief Valasquez,? he said, turning once more to look at the young woman with the brown eyes, ?you wear the T?bilseh like a Lyran duchess.? And he added a bow to complete the effect. Behind him Hans frowned at his dramatics, but Steve smiled at the effect that it had on Anna. He and the chief engineer were good friends and he liked to see her happy.

?Alright you two. That?s enough.? injected McDowell with a rueful smile. ?Don?t get too caught up in playing dress-up here.? She turned to Steve. ?Okay, what is the present situation??

?Well,? Steve began, scratching his chin, ?our escape prospects remain unchanged. While this place looks like some noble?s manor ? which it is ? I?ve spied several Lyran marines patrolling the grounds and the outer areas. Any overt move on our part would be abbreviated at best.?

?They?re not for us.? Jack said, standing at the terrace railing and looking out over Lake Grrhonami. ?They are to defend us from other clans.? The other started in alarm.

?Explain.? Said McDowell, uneasily.

?We are quite a prize, both materially and in terms of prestige. Not to mention the bargaining currency with StarFleet that we represent. It would not be inconceivable for a competing faction to want to rob Dark Storm of their enviable trophy at the upcoming wedding.?

?You mean kidnap?? Asked Hans.

?Or kill.? replied Jack, offhandedly. ?All of the Lyran clans do not get along. In fact, civil war is fairly common here. One reason that the Lyran fleet is so good is that they practice on each other so often.?

?I?ll pass that along to the section heads.? said Steve, somewhat concerned. ?We?ll make sure that everyone is on their toes.?

?That?s a good idea, Steve. We are Dark Storm?s problem, but I?m sure that they wouldn?t object to us avoiding trouble when we can.?

McDowell leaned over the terrace railing slightly and saluted to a group of her crewmen below. ?So, what can we expect from this afternoon meeting? I understand that a Romulan will be there and maybe a Klingon. Do you think that we?ll be handed over to one of the senior partners in their alliance??

Anna chuckled a little. ?Captain, from what I?ve seen, the Lyran are not junior partners to anyone.? McDowell looked surprised and inquisitively at her chief engineer. ?Look around,? Anna said, sweeping the lush grounds with her hand, ?look at the immense wealth that we have seen both here and on the starbase.?

?Well of course,? answered McDowell, ?these are nobles. I?m sure that the common people live pretty poorly so that their lords can afford all of this grandeur.?

?Not really.? said Jack directly. ?Both Hydran and Klingon sources indicate that the average Lyran lives at least as well as the average Federation citizen. And if they were weak, the Klingons would have picked this ripe plumb years ago. Remember, most of our knowledge about the Lyrans comes from Hydrans, who were former slaves, and the Klingons.?

?He?s right about the Klingons, Janice.? said Hans. ?Part of the reason that they subjugated the Hydrans is because they could.?

?Well, if we aren?t to be transferred, are we just trophies? These Lyrans seemed fairly impressed with status.?

?They are more impressed with proper conduct.? replied Jack, slipping into his clinical voice again. ?What constitutes ?proper? can be problematic, as Lyran etiquette is fairly complicated.?

?It might just be that the Countess wants to get impressions from her allies about us. She may be as much at a loss with us as we are with her.? Anna said reasonably.

?She?s got an excellent point, Captain.? offered Steve. ?Their only sources for us have been the Klingons and the Romulans. I?m sure that their picture of us, especially from that pair, is a little...biased.?

While the quintet considered that, a shuttle descended and touched down on the landing pad near the lake. The Federation officers went to the railing. It was hard to tell from this distance, but it looked like it discharged a big Lyran, a Klingon man, and a Romulan man and woman. Just then, the first warning chime for the afternoon meal sounded.

?Ok everyone. Keep your belts in tight,? said McDowell with a wink to Jack, ?and don?t slurp your soup. We?re going to meet the parents.?



Her Grace, Ahnnleh T?cril Mhnn Ehtlif, the Countess of Dark Storm received her Federation guests in her garden solarium. The building was round, almost fifty meters across and constructed almost entirely of crystal. The roof was tall enough to house full grown Jelisi trees and a tall rock outcropping that supported a gossamer waterfall.

The Countess was a comely Lyran woman, upper middle aged, with brown and tan fur and yellow-green eyes. Her T?bilseh was richly embroidered with gold only around the collar and a red stone in the shape of a tear clasping the collar closed ? the mark of a widow in mourning. Her veil was fringed with small opals and around her throat was a simple necklace of larger opals.

Surrounding her were the Klingons and Romulans that they had seen earlier, and the big Lyran. Major Nel and Commander Halifax were also present. As she spoke with them her voice had a musical quality, the words seeming to purr as she spoke them. Her smile was easy and quiet, as was her whole manner. She seemed a gentle woman steered by wisdom and a noble grace.

As the crew of Stalwart approached she turned her attention to them. ?Captain Janice of the McDowell clan. Major Steve of the House of Joergen. Hans of the Ndur tribe. Anna of the house of Velasquez.? The Countess nodded to each in turn as she spoke their names in good Federation Standard. And then she looked probingly at Jack. ?And Jack, called Virenko, of the Dniepro Cossacks. You speak our tongue and know of our ways. It will fall to you to present your people to ours.? Jack nodded solemnly, kissing his left index finger and touching his forehead in the Lyran sign of respect. The Countess nodded approval.

?Welcome,? she continued, ?to my humble retreat. I present to you Ambassador Frekor of the Klingon Empire.? The Klingon stood like a statue and stared at them with the faint sneer that Klingons seemed to Jack to be born with. McDowell?s look was flinty. ?Acting Ambassador Synalin of the Rihannsu.? The young Romulan woman bowed gracefully. She was very pretty and had a laughter in her eyes that none of the StarFleet people had ever seen before in a Romulan. ?And Commander T?lan.? The Romulan man had the same look in his eyes, only more so, but also bowed gracefully and seemed to them ... unthreatening? ?And this,? she said, indicating the big Lyran, ?is Constable Rahnn of the Vanquisher Command.? Steve looked up quickly, but Rahnn?s eye?s merely flickered to life and then back to the relaxed, serene look common to felines everywhere. The Countess caught the exchange, but ignored it completely. ?You, of course, know the Major and Commander.?

?Your Grace,? began McDowell, ?I thank you again for the kind treatment of my crew. Our security briefs did not lead us to expect such...gracious hospitality.?

The Countess looked meaningfully at Ambassador Frekor and laughed. ?Neither did our briefs prepare us for you. You see, we were under the impression that you were completely without manners and devoid of humor. But I see your crewmen,? she gestured to Stalwart personnel strolling in her garden, ?and they present themselves with good bearing and they even laugh. This gathers honor for you, Captain.? McDowell nodded at the compliment.

?But your scent is still wary. Perhaps you know more of Lyran internal matters than we had expected. Be at ease. You are in no danger. Our clan is sufficient to protect you from being used as pawns in the ploys of the ambitious.? She said the last word with a contempt that was unmistakable.

?No, Your Grace.? answered McDowell quickly. ?It is just that...how shall I say this...we are prisoners of war.? McDowell let it hang in the air.

Ambassador Frekor looked impatient and the two Romulans were unsuccessfully trying to cover smirks. The Countess mulled it over in her mind and then threw her head back in laughter. She had a lilting laugh the came from deep within her. Rahnn handed her a small cloth that she used to dab her eyes with. ?Oh my,? she said, ?forgive me. What a delightful people you are.? She leaned forward and took McDowell by the hand. ?Captain, when you surrendered to Major Nel you ceased to be an enemy. Had you still harbored hate for us you would have fought to the death. Is this not correct??

The Countess looked concerned and then a little uneasy when McDowell didn?t answer. The three Lyrans closed around her, crowding even the Romulans and the Klingon aside. Major Nel addressed McDowell in a quiet voice that suddenly carried a great deal of menace. ?Captain, you surrendered. Perhaps that means something different to your people than it does to ours? What are your intentions?? His claws had slowly slid from their sheaths.

The crew of Stalwart felt their hearts race and their breathing come in quick gasps as powerful Lyran aggression-pheromones filled the air. Things were getting out of hand fast, in McDowell?s estimation. She?d better put a lid on this, she thought.

?At ease, sailors.? she said over her shoulder, and then turned to the Countess and addressed her in the most reasonable and serious tone that she could muster. ?Your Grace, Major Nel, the intentions of a StarFleet officer are always peaceful when shown peace. You have my solemn word on that.? At her words the Lyrans relaxed somewhat; except for Major Nel who remained watchful. ?Please understand that we were expecting to be treated like Klingon prisoners.?

The Countess?s eyes flashed in mortal indignation. ?Who spreads this slander to your people? I will have him dismembered for such lies. How dare anyone question...? she broke off her tirade and looked at Ambassador Frekor with a half-smile. ?Oh Frekor, I did not mean to offend...?

?None taken, Countess. Terrans naturally assign Klingon qualities to all great warriors. It is a compliment really.? said Frekor with gruff Klingon humor.

?If I may, Countess?? said T?lan. The Countess nodded assent. ?Federation training teaches StarFleet personnel to surrender to save their crew if the battle cannot be won. This is termed a ?lost cause.? The theory is that the crewmen will then be alive and available to fight again at a later date when the odds of victory are more in their favor.?

The Countess considered what T?lan had said. She did not consider for long, however. ?Captain McDowell, this is a new situation, the meetings of our cultures. And I do not want it to devolve into something unfortunate. We are a people of honor and our word is our bond. May I have your word that your crew will behave with dignity and not try to escape or cause destruction for a period of eight days? I do not wish to order my Lancers to execute your crew. It would bring them no glory to do so. We should take time to sort out our various differences and determine what we are to do with you.?

McDowell caught both the very real and immediate threat, and the sincere offer of constructive dialogue. These cats were psychotic and they were throwing her too many curve balls. StarFleet training demanded escape. To roll over was to quit and StarFleet people never quit. But they also didn?t commit mass suicide in deference to a motivational ideal. And trying to escape right now and right here would be suicide.

?Your Grace, you have my word that my crew will behave as non-aggressive guests for the next eight days. And thank you.?

?Ah, you see, Frekor? They are civilized. Come now. It is time to eat.? The Countess stood and took Frekor and McDowell by the hand and led them to a shaded table heaped with food and drink. ?Ahnnhrul, my chef, is an absolute magician with fowl...?

[FPF-Wanderer]

Part 9

The next day after their meeting with the Countess, McDowell and her crew received an invitation from Commander Halifax to tour the nearby capital of Gel Mor Tar. They met Halifax and Nel on the hunting retreat?s docks next to an antique yacht complete with sails. The ship was single masted, almost twenty meters long, and of lapstrake construction like a terran Viking longboat. The bow did not have a dragon head, but rather a thick spar to belay the flying jib and the name Tle, or Dawn, inlaid in dark wood on the ship?s bow. The aft deck was shaded by a bright blue and white striped canopy.

It was summer in Maxender?s southern hemisphere and the humans were relieved to board the yacht and get out from the warm morning sun. T?lan and Synalin, the Romulans, were waiting for them on the canopied aft deck.
The humans were beginning to become accustomed to Lyran clothing and were even finding it quite comfortable. They were still, however, a little shocked each time that they saw a Romulan; they were their oldest and bitterest foe. The Klingons posed the most immediate threat to the United Federation of Planets. But the Feds hated the Romulans. One hundred years of bloody warfare and political propaganda had infused the Rihannsu with a whole spectrum of demonic qualities in the Federation psyche. Though even these feelings were beginning to fade, either through acclimation or the genuine charm the Romulan pair possessed.

The group settled themselves into cushioned wicker chairs and a young purser asked what refreshments he might bring them. Synalin ordered for the humans. ?The Lyrans have a delightful little drink called Kthal.? she said to Hans Ndur seated to her right. ?It is a subtle blend of juices and spirits. But whatever you do, don?t even sip their beer. It is absolutely dreadful.?

?All hands report ready, Commander.? called Melena from the fore bridge.

?You have the bridge, Melena. Take us to Gel Mor Tar, if you would.? Halifax called back.

?Cast off mooring lines and make ready the sails. Right full rudder. Let fly the jib, we?ll let it pull us around.? Melena warmed to her role and strode the deck purposefully. ?Coil those lines and clean up that jib!? she barked. Halifax and Nel exchanged a look and chuckled softly.

The large white sails boomed to life as they caught the freshening breeze. Tle pulled easily away from the docks and made for Gel Mor Tar some thirty clicks on the other side of lake Grrhonami. The serpentine lake wound its way through rolling mountains carpeted with lush green trees and giant ferns. Flocks of sea birds skimmed the water?s surface and small aquatic animals of some sort leaped from the ship?s bow wave.

After about an hour later they were deep in the forested wilderness. On the bridge, Jack had joined Melena.

?Commander,? he said, still formal, ?with a city the size of Gel Mor Tar so close I would not have expected to see such a wild area as this.?

?Call me Melena, Commander, if I may call you Jack?? Jack inclined his head. ?This area, in fact much of Maxender, is a game preserve. Planets like this are rare in the universe.?

?It is beautiful. Is no one allowed here??

?Oh no. Most of it is a public reserve. But no powered vehicles are allowed, nor energy weapons or tools. It discourages the lazy.? She turned back towards the aft deck and shouted, ?Watch your course, Helm. Two degrees starboard. And give the mains some play.? She turned back to Jack. ?Energy emissions are monitored from Gel Mor Tar. The Vanquishers respond to any infraction.?

Jack?s spine chilled at the mention of the Lyran frontier patrol. ?So a sailing vessel is permitted as well as row-craft.? he said, pointing to three long rowing shells several hundred meters away on the lake.

The shells weren?t manned entirely by Lyrans, which was odd. Odder still was the lazy way in which their courses changed to intercept the Tle. Melena watched for a moment with narrowed eyes and then growled deep in her throat.

?Trouble?? asked Jack.

?Pirates.? Melena spat the word out. She keyed her communicator but could not raise a signal. ?Blood and fur! They?ve got a damping field up. We won?t be able to call for help. Commander!? she called down to the aft deck. ?We have company.? she said, pointing to the rapidly approaching boats. ?And they have a damping field on us.?

Halifax saw their intent immediately: the center boat was coming straight on while the other two moved fore and aft of the sailing ship. No matter which way their ship turned they would run into at least one boat which would delay them long enough for the others to catch up.

?Karim,? Halifax said over his shoulder, ?can we manage this??

Major Karim Nel of the Imperial Lancers smiled a feral grin in return. ?Don?t worry ?Fax. I?ll leave you a few.?

Halifax smiled in return. ?Melena, handle the bridge.? he shouted. ?Stand by to repel boarders. Captain,? he said, turning towards McDowell, ?can your people handle themselves??

?Why? What?s happening?? She asked, wary.

?Life!? interjected Nel with a broad smile.

McDowell looked at Steve Joergen, her security chief, but could see that Nel?s humor was contagious. Steve said nothing, but his eyes were hungry and his fists clenched rhythmically. The rest of her crew was no better. Even the normally ascetic Hans was fixing for a fight. ?What is it about these Lyrans?? she thought to herself. ?My crew is starting to act like a bunch of Klingons.?

Realizing that their was no way to escape the swift rowboats, Melena swung her ship hard to starboard and drove straight for the center boat. The crew of that boat didn?t quite grasp her intent until it was too late. Eight pirates died in a hail of wood splinters and blood.

Grappling hooks bit into the gunwales of Tle as the pirates secured their catch. They came over the sides in a rush, trying to overwhelm the ship?s sailors. Knives and short swords flashed and soon the ship?s deck was filled with a general melee.

A rangy human leapt at Synalin?s unprotected back. As he grabbed her shoulder she bent and twisted under him. Over balanced, the human spun towards the deck. At the last moment the young Rihannsu woman snapped the pirate?s arm, spiking the hapless attacker?s head onto the hard wooden deck; knocking him cold.

To her right, Steve Joergen sparred with a knife wielding Orion. Seeing an opening, the Orion lunged, catching Steve?s robe with a vicious slash. Steve stepped into the Orion?s lunge and caught his shoulder and elbow. With a sickening ?crack? Steve broke the Orion?s shoulder and drove his head into an upraised knee.
Behind Steve, a burly Terran menaced Karim Nel with two daggers. The Lyran marine artfully dodged the stabs and slashes while holding his ground. Then the Terran made the mistake of advancing. In the space between two breaths Nel ducked under a slash and tore out the Terran?s throat with a powerful slash from his claws. The pirate staggered backwards and fell overboard, his head at an odd angle.

?Captain, are you well?? called Halifax to McDowell. A Lyran with an unkempt coat had grabbed her and was squeezing her in a bear-hug.
?I?m...ungh...fine.? grunted McDowell. Loosening an arm, she brought her hands around in a wide arc and boxed the Lyran?s ears. He let go of her, clutching his head in pain. Setting her feet like a prizefighter, she loosed a left-right combination that staggered the Lyran.
Before he could clear his head, T?lan reached around the Lyran from behind and pinched his neck in an odd fashion. The Lyran crumpled to the deck.

?Talshaya!? blurted McDowell in amazement.

?No, of course not.? answered T?lan modestly. ?Only Vulcans know that.? he added with a twinkle in his eye.

McDowell didn?t have time to pursue the matter as she was thrown to the deck by the body of another pirate. Rolling out from under it she saw that half of the head was missing, but was surprised at how she didn?t recoil in horror. Instead, she found it ... inspirational?

?My deepest apologies, Captain.? said Halifax offering the less bloody of his paws. ?I was careless in my attack.?

In moments the fight was over. Bodies lay on the ship?s deck; some moaning, some not.

Karim Nel stepped over the pile of corpses surrounding him and clapped Steve soundly on the shoulder. ?Tailfur!? he swore. ?You fight well, Terran.?

Steve was flushed, but his face wore a wide smile. ?Sonofabitch! Now that is how you fight pirates.? he looked at Nel and laughed. ?Y?know something, Major? You people really know how to live.?

?Of course we do.? Nel said expansively, purring deep in his throat. ?We are Lyrans. We are alive! What is life for rather than living?? he said with perplexed humor.?

The assembles humans looked at a loss for words. Nel made sense. It all made sense, everything. The world was crystal clear and almost painfully in-focus. Jack wondered why he had never seen things so clearly before.

?You are feeling the Lyran ?Call of the Ancients.? said T?lan in a calm voice. ?It can be unnerving the first time.? he said in answer to the doubtful look on the faces of the humans.

?You are experiencing it too?? asked Jack, a little relieved.

?Yes, we all are. We are presently being bathed in Lyran emotion pheromones and our bodies are reacting to them.?

?That seems consistent, Captain.? added Hans. ?Pheromones are incredibly powerful neurochemicals.?

?I am so glad that you see, that you are alive as well.? said Halifax with genuine emotion in his voice. ?It is a sign that we are related.?

Jack started at Halifax?s words. A statement of kinship, no matter how casual, was a fundamental sign of respect in Lyran culture. He decided to probe it further. ?But we did not experience this when you took our ship. Surely the emotions of battle would bring on such a state and Major Nel himself was unhelmeted for extended periods after the battle.?

?Very true.? replied Halifax. ?Such a struggle would have driven us to emotion ? had we hated you.?

?Pardon me?? asked McDowell, unable to believe what she had just heard.

?We do not hate you, Captain.? answered Halifax directly and with a hint of confusion in his voice. ?If we hated you, you would all be dead, either in ship combat or when Nel?s marines stormed your ship.? Deckhands brought pails of water for everyone to wash the blood off of themselves with. ?But we do not hate you. So killing you would have been an evil act. As it is I regret those that you lost in the collision with the asteroid. I merely did what was necessary to preserve my crew and ship. When you surrendered, you indicated to us that you did not hate us either ? otherwise you would have fought on.?

?I think that you now see the depth of the struggle between the Lyrans and their Hated Enemy.? said Synalin. ?There is no deeper hate in the galaxy than that of a Lyran. Fortunately, their is no deeper joy either. Or love.?

The Call faded and the humans regretfully relinquished their new-found sense of being.
?Melena,? Halifax called, ?take us to Gel Mor Tar.? And again the sails of Tle boomed and she once again sliced the waves.

[FPF-Wanderer]

Part 10

The port city of Gel Mor Tar was not the largest on Maxender, but it was one of the most beautiful. Cresting Simbal Bay for several miles, the city's tall, multicolored buildings and wide beaches shone like a rainbow against the deep azure of the bay. In the city, vehicle traffic was limited to several wide boulevards that criss-crossed the city. Outdoor markets and canopied bazaars filled the lanes and alleys that branched off of these main routes. Brightly striped tents and richly clothed merchants and shoppers provided a riot of colors for the eye as bartering vendors and the calls of livestock commanded the ear's attention.

Though they had been traveling the stars for centuries, the Lyrans were still, at heart, a desert people. Their customs, language, attire...even their cuisine was that of a people accustomed to a merciless sun and who cherished water. And on this lush and fertile world the signs of perceived wealth, of fountains and small waterfalls were everywhere. To a desert people, the sound of rushing water was the soundtrack to paradise and the Red Claw clan made their city into a symphony of delight for the senses.

As the sailing yacht Tle slid into the municipal harbor, Jack Virenko's stomach rumbled slightly as he caught the scent of roasting meat rolling down from the market district. Melena, standing next to him on the bridge, heard Jack's stomach.

"It is after midday and we have had neither lunch nor nap. Please excuse our ill manners, Jack." Melena was genuinely embarrassed.

Jack smiled, a little embarrassed himself. "No, it is I who must apologize. It is just that that smell is so...tantalizing."

Melena sniffed the air and looked toward the market district. "Roasted dorseh with fresh golandry and," she paused and sniffed again, "onion? I can't quite place it."

Melena's analysis was interrupted by a deep trumpet fanfare from out in the bay. Jack turned quickly around to see a barge bearing the ducal seal carrying the largest tree that he had ever seen lashed to its deck. The massive craft slowly shouldered its way through the harbor traffic. The base of the tree was over fifteen meters across and judging by the number of rings, it must have been several hundred years old. Ship traffic cleared a path to the large launching ramp. As the barge nosed up to the ramp it heaved itself out of the water on wide caterpillar tracks.

"Is that a Council tree?" asked Jack, eagerly.

"Yes. Red Claw wants any clan disputes settled tonight before the wedding tomorrow."

"Tradition?" asked Jack, interested.

"Public safety." replied Melena, flattening her ears in a sign of gravity. "Especially once the drinking starts after the wedding."

"Will the proceedings be broadcast?"

"Don't worry about that, Commander Virenko." It was Halifax's deep voice. He and McDowell were just joining Melena and Jack on the yacht's bridge.

"Our presence is requested at the council fire." added McDowell with that look of 'oh-no-not-another-curve-ball that she seemed to wear more and more lately.

Melena guided Tle gently into a public slipway. Deckhands sprang lightly to the dock and finished the yacht's mooring. Once all of the passengers had disembarked onto the tar-blackened pier the crew began unloading the pirates that were either wounded or dead. They were not gentle and several of the wounded screamed as they were dropped on the pier.

The small crowd that had gathered at the sound of screams looked curiously at the aliens. Whispers of "Rrhihannsu" and "Tehr-rhans" filtered through to Jack. The Lyrans gathered there did not seem hostile. And most tried to politely mask their curiosity. But the intensity of that curiosity was unmistakable. Though he felt perfectly safe, the silent attention was somewhat unnerving until a general purr rolled forth from the crowd. A sign that Jack took to mean that the locals approved of something. He hoped it was his crew.

"Kharam," said Halifax to Major Nell, "you have kin here. Point the way."

The big Lyran marine scanned the narrow avenues and broad boulevards before them. From the waterfront, the city rose gently on a hill to the south.

"Hm. I was just a cub when I was last here, but...yes." he said, pointing to an open plaza at the end of a tree covered avenue. "That fountain, the one with diving seabirds carved of jade, that is the street we must follow to my aunt's parlor."

"You seem very sure, Major." commented Synalin, the Rihannsu commander.

"I should be. My cousin, Aslan threw me in that fountain enough times when we were cubs." Kharim Nell laughed deeply.

Tables were cleverly arranged in the plaza to take advantage of both the shade from the large trees and the cool mist from the fountain. At one table near a sort of cafe was gathered a group of older Lyrans, both men and women, chatting and sipping from small cups.

"What is it that they are drinking?" asked Hans. "It smells very fragrant."

"Roliu." answered Halifax. "It is a strong drink. The juice of an orclon roast - a meat very much like venison - is brewed with many herbs. The broth is then reduced to a thicker liquid very similar to a dilute syrup."

"Is it alcoholic?" the physician in Hans curious now.

"No, no. One sips it and savors the flavor of the roasted meat. Because the flavor is so strong, even a small cup lasts a long time."

As the group made their way up the narrow avenue they were beckoned by merchants at curbside stalls hawking their wares.

"Good and wise clansman, come see the finest spices in the quadrant!"

"Noble Rihannsu! How can you return to ch'Havran without the latest fashions from Homeworld?"

"Beautiful Rihanna, please let me..." the merchant, a middle-aged Lyran with a pierced ear and a gemstone right fang, looked shrewdly at Anna Velasquez and his eyes lit up as he discerned her race. "Ah! A Terran, no? I am Asral." he said, kissing his finger and touching his forehead. "Welcome to the stars of the mighty clans, comely one. Come into my shop. Come, come." Asral gently but firmly took Anna by the hand, coaxing her relentlessly.
Anna looked to Nel for reassurance and, with a twinkle in his eye, he nodded. As her eyes adjusted to the darker shop she saw rows upon rows of fine lace garments. Gowns, tunics, shawls and veils of a variety of colors were displayed. Miraculously, Anna's Tibilseh had escaped the pirate attack unscathed. Unfortunately her veil was somewhat blood stained. And though she had rinsed out most of the stain, in the right light enough remained.

"Now lovely..." Asral waited expectantly.

"Anna."

"Anna. Now Anna, we must see to that veil." Asral began examining her current veil for size and her Tibilseh to match the style.

"Mr. Asral, really. My veil is fine. I'm sure that it will wash out."

Asral, who was bent forward examining Anna's sleeve, straightened and looked her squarely in her face. "Dear lady, what would the other clothiers say if they saw you come out of my shop with such a blemish? Hm? Do you want me to be ridiculed and held up for public scorn?" Asral warmed to his melodrama, peppering it with exaggerated gestures and expressions of despair. Standing with Halifax, McDowell rolled her eyes and Steve Joergen chuckled under his breath.

Anna smiled shyly and said, "No, good Asral. I am grateful to put myself in your capable hands."

Asral smiled broadly at this and his ears perked forward in genuine pleasure. "Excellent. I have the very one for you." He reached up to a high shelf and brought down a wooden box. In it was an exquisitely delicate lace veil, brilliant white in color. The lace was embroidered with patterns from the night sky and inset with bright gemstones.

Asral gently removed Anna's veil and began to artfully arrange her long black hair. "Ah, you primates do not realize what a treasure your topfur is." he said, twisting and braiding. When he was satisfied with her hair, he lifted the new veil from its box, laid it upon Anna's head and adjusted the fit. As he fit it to her head he whispered, "The ones who attacked you carry the scent of Voril Eol."

The closeness of the Lyran and the seriousness of his tone startled Anna momentarily. Though she didn't move and she kept her expression neutral, she must have given something away as Major Nel's nostril's flared and he looked directly at Asral.

"Son of a belly-crawler!" Nel shouted at Asral. "You think to cheat this outworlder for that rag that you call a veil?"

Asral also became suddenly and incongruously angry. "Murderer of children! It cost me five hundred hrvni to make this fine piece of art. I asked only four hundred of this beautiful creature."

"Two hundred insults the intelligence of all here." Nell retorted, sweeping his huge arm to encompass the shop.

"Three hundred hrvni. And I shall be forced to shave my tail in shame when you leave."

"Done." said Nel with finality. "Halifax, pay him."

Halifax glanced back at Nel with a stony look as he reached for his hrvneleta, or money pouch. "I wasn't aware that the imperial lancers had been reduced to begging in the streets."

"It's that Umbro. Have you ever played Grom cohrahln (dancing bones) with him?" And then in a lowered voice, "I think he's a sorcerer."

Halifax stared at Nel for a moment speechless, and then turned to pay Asral. "Craftsman, you ennoble your trade. And thank you."

Asral touched his forehead with his finger. "It is I who thank you. Your young friend brings beauty to my poor craft." he pointed towards Anna who was admiring the new veil in a mirror, and Jack who was admiring Anna. "And by tonight all of Gel Mor Tar will know of my veils. Even your graceful Countess. Truly, I am stealing your money for all that I gain in return."

Halifax smiled and turned to catch up to the rest of his group.

Major Nel led the mixed group through the city at a leisurely pace. The Terrans and Rihannsu stopped to look at this or ask about that and Nel wanted them to experience a Lyran city fully. Many blocks and several turns from Asral's shop they finally arrived at Nel's aunt's parlor.

'Parlor' is the nearest Federation Standard transliteration of the Lyran word hestovlinshch. It refers to a combination eating establishment, public house, and temporary sleeping quarters.

Traditionally, the ground floor is laid out very much like a Terran restaurant with a large, common eating area and one or several private meeting rooms. The second floor, or perhaps the rear section is devoted to private sleeping chambers where Lyrans may siesta after a large meal.

Lyrans typically eat a large breakfast, take a morning nap, work through midday, eat a large lunch, and take an afternoon nap. Most are regular customers of a one or a few hestovlinshchseh.

Klaleh, Major Nel's aunt, was at the door of her parlor, 'The Sheathed Claw', to meet him. "Son of my sister," she said formally, "my welcome to the battle arm of our line."

"Sister of my mother," replied Nel with equal formality, "the tranquility of our line rests within you as always."

Klaleh's ears rotated forward in pleasure and she embraced her nephew tightly, nuzzling his cheek to hers. "Oh Kharim, you have grown into a fine Lyran. Forgive me." she said, withdrawing. "I don't mean to embarrass one of the empire's finest here in public. Come in. Please, all of you. Be welcome."

Inside, the parlor had a domed ceiling of granite decorated with a bright fresco depicting Lyran children at play. Windows in the vaults of the dome allowed light to splash off of the lower part of the dome without shining directly upon the patrons below. Tables were arranged in the rotunda and small, domed alcoves ringed the periphery. In the center of the rotunda stood a basalt water fall. Its position under the dome filled the room with the sound of trickling water.

"Teli' Klaleh, allow me to introduce my companions. This is Riov T'Lan and Riov Synalin of the Rihannsu navy."

"Jolan tru, Travelers." said Klaleh with her hands open before her in the old-style Rihannsu greeting.

"And this is Captain Janice McDowell, her first officer Commander Jack Virenko, Chief medical officer Hans N'dur, Chief Engineer Anna Velasquez, and Security Chief Steven Joergen." Nel gestured to each in turn. Each of the Federation crew kissed their finger and touched it to their forehead. Klaleh was impressed. "And this is Melena," continued Nel, "first officer aboard Forager."

"And this," said Klaleh, "is Halifax. Welcome, Zarmat-Alan. Thy name is thunder in our ears."

"I am humbled by your kindness, graceful hostess." answered Halifax, pitching his ears and whiskers forward. "But I am simply Mokatar now."

"Not in my house!" answered Klaleh fiercely. "And when Far Stars becomes a tenth the man that your Count was, may his spirit find delight, this travesty will be corrected..." Klaleh realized that she had raised her voice and took a deep breath to let her temper recede. "It will be as it will be. Please be seated here." She motioned them to a small alcove and began arranging glassware.

The alcove had a central table surrounded by cushions. Low side tables held decanters of wine, trays of appetizers, and a water pipe. The back wall surrounded approximately two thirds of the alcove, leaving the front open to a pleasant view of the waterfall.

"Zarmat-Alan?" Jack whispered to Melena.

"Roughly 'senior commodore.'" answered Melena. "The current Duke of Far Stars - whom we refer to simply as 'Far Stars' - was a student in Halifax's command. At the time Far Stars was the son of the count of Blood Star. He felt that that fact entitled him to authority over his superiors in astro-navigation." Melena's voice was thick with scorn. "Halifax refused to bow to a title and assigned him to the laundry detail to teach him some humility."

Jack's eyebrows shot up and he let out a low whistle.

"Indeed," continued Melena, "When Far Stars ascended to the Dukeship he demoted Halifax to Mokatar in revenge. He wanted to have him disgraced and discharged from the navy, but our count rallied the other counts and Far Stars was blocked."

"Those are some powerful political actions for one naval officer." commented Jack.
"Yes. And Far Stars and our Countess still harbor animosity. But Halifax is not just a naval officer." replied Melena, gently but firmly. "He wears the Tears of the Fallen. Not only is he a brilliant commander, he carries the spirit of the Ancients within him. He, oh how do Feds say this? He is a being of role?"

Jack thought for a moment. "Character. He is a being of character."
"Yes. Character." Melena's ear twitched in irritation. "The Lyran people are faced with diverging destinies. One destiny is represented by Halifax. He is a living example of our traditions and our way of life. The other is represented by Far Stars and the Imperialists. They have turned aside from our old ways. They take two-word names to be like the Klingons and your Federation."

"But we are nothing alike. The Federation stands for the highest..."
"Gently, Jack. I do not mean to offend you. You and your enemy are alike in that you both prefer a strong, central authority and, you especially, open markets."

"Well, to a point, yes." Jack admitted, grudgingly. "But you have a strong emperor as well. To us, the Lyrans and the Klingons are very similar."

"Yes. That appearance was by design." Melena took a deep breath. "When we first encountered the Klingons we fought a short war with them. We soon realized that the purpose of the war for the Klingons was to gauge our strength. Our trade lords convinced the Dukes that, if the Klingons learned of our volatile political habits, they would take us one county at a time. In a singular moment of interclan cooperation we created the imperial throne to show a strong, united face to the Klingons."

"But there is a problem."

"The Dukes foolishly agreed to install an agent of the trade lords as the emperor. The trade lords united and almost overnight financed an imperial fleet loyal to the throne."

"And removing the emperor would cause a civil war. A war that the Lyran people cannot afford, with the return of your Hated Enemy." guessed Jack.

"But one that trade lords like Voril Eol can."

Anna, who had been deep in thought spoke up. "Melena, in the shop Asral said to me 'Those men who attacked you carry the scent of Voril Eol.'"


"What?" said Nel sharply.

"Voril Eol. That was the name that he said."
"I thought so, but I didn't want to chance being overheard there. That is why Asral and I staged that argument. It covered your fear-scent."

"I'd like to confer with Her Grace about this." said Halifax.

"After we eat." replied Nel. "There will be time enough before the council tonight."

Servers brought trays heaped with a variety of meats. Roasted, stewed, baked, and raw; herd, fowl, fish, and game. Vegetables, basted in gravies, followed and then loaves of rich dark bread. Jack realized that it was the first time that he had seen bread in the time that he had been among the Lyrans. It smelled hearty and fresh, still warm. After a short benediction from Halifax over the meal, Jack cut a healthy slice of the bread and tried it. Klaleh watched him intently and Jack caught her eye. "Hostess, where did you discover the secret of pumpernickel bread?"

Klaleh purred delightedly. "I came across a recipe years ago when I was young and wild." She laughed at herself and her purring slightly distorted her voice. "Lets just say that I took it in payment from an Andoran who needed a favor. It seemed so exotic, this mix of grain and mold, that I wanted to try it. I've served it as a novelty on occasion for years now."

"Well," said Steve Joergen heartily, "all that practice paid off." Steve had sawed several slices and began piling roast meat on top of one. As he brought his sandwich to his mouth he realized that most of the rotunda was staring at him intently. "Oh boy. What'd I do?"

"What do you call that, Steven?" asked Major Nel, pointing to the sandwich.

"Uh, it's a sandwich. It's named after an earl who liked to play cards so much that he..." Steve's voice trailed off as he looked around and saw a room full of Lyrans happily purring as they piled meat on slices of bread, eating sandwiches as thick as his fist.

Hans N'dur leaned over with an impudent look on his face. "Steve, my boy. I think that you've started a fad. They're going to be eating 'Joergens' for weeks now."

McDowell picked up on the fun. "I wonder what the Prime Directive has to say about this?"

[FPF-Wanderer]

Part 11

The port city of Gel Mor Tar was bounded to the East by Simbal Bay and to the West by the foothills of the Ophir-Let mountain range. The nearest hill stood some fifteen hundred meters above the bay. It would have measured taller, but its top had been sheared flat to form an artificial plateau roughly one-half kilometer in diameter. This plateau and the surrounding peaks formed a natural amphitheater upon which a stone dais, two hundred meters across, had been raised. The amphitheater was reached by climbing several hundred steps along one of several paths hewn from the very rock of the foothill itself. Commander Jack Virenko of Star Fleet Intelligence, and late of the Federation starship Stalwart, mounted the last of these steps with undiluted relief.

The amphitheater was unlit save for the bright starlight. So bright were the stars, however, that even Jack?s human eyes were only marginally taxed by the dimness. Lyrans, descended from nocturnal hunters, moved about as if they were in broad daylight.

The rock floor of the amphitheater had been polished to mirror finish. Carved into the stone was an inscription that ran around the periphery of the plateau. It read: ?Come, ye Ancestors, unto this place of Council. For time is but a stream to ford and dimension but a sleeper?s dream. Your children await thee.?

Surrounding the dais was a wide trench or moat filled with broken wood. The dais itself was accessed by four unpainted wooden bridges. Imperial marines, dressed in full body armor, patrolled the perimeter of the moat. Jack quickly picked out the hulking form of Major Nel and the slim silhouette of Lieutenant Alir, Nel?s second in command among the many marines. Maybe seventy Lyrans roamed the amphitheater grounds, mingling in small groups and conversing in low voices. About twenty Klingons and several Rihannsu mixed with the Lyrans. Jack scanned the crowd for a familiar face but could not find his hosts from Dark Storm clan.

?A good stretch of the legs on a fine evening, eh Jack?? asked Steve Jorgen with a friendly nudge. Steve was a marine, the commanding officer of Stalwart?s boarding parties. His leathery skin spoke of years out of doors. And his rugged good humor and easy gate was a testament to a lifetime of adversity faced and overcome.

?I was starting to think that I was getting out of shape until I saw one of the Klingons stop and catch his breath.?

Steve smiled in return and the two men waited for the remainder of their party to finish the climb. Captain McDowell looked a little winded. But her grim resolve not to appear weak in front of the enemy dispelled any notion that her spirit was also drained. Behind her Anna Valasquez, acting Chief Engineer, made her way next to Hans Ndur, the ship?s Chief Medical Officer. Both Anna and Hans had been raised at high altitudes: she in the Argentine Pampas and he in Kenya.

The crew of Stalwart had been provided Federation dress uniforms and Lyran oversashes with broaches bearing the great seal of the United Federation of Planets. Jack had explained ?These are clan sashes. The UFP broach signifies that we are to be regarded as a clan ? a client of Dark Storm no doubt ? but a clan never the less at this council.?


Halifax spoke with Hron Kazim, his chief engineer as the two strolled through the crowd. The two were dressed in Lyran ceremonial uniforms: deep green kilts that hung past the shin over soft brown boots. Their white sleeveless tunics were overlaid by vests of green, crimson, and cobalt blue. Gold buttons and clasps glinted in the starlight and heavy steel braces set with jewels clasped their wrists.
??Fax, you have to see this thing.? said Hron emphatically. ?They mediate their matter-anitmatter reaction with dilithium.? The engineer refered to the Federation warp engines aboard the captured new-light cruiser USS Stalwart.

?Crystals? The spectral divergence must be a nightmare to cope with.? said Halifax with a skeptical look.

?No, no. They use single crystals. Yeah.? Hron nodded his head to punctuate his point. ?Really, they use single crystals as big as your fist as internal-reflection resonance chambers. I?ve never seen anything like this outside of the lab.?

Halifax wrinkled his nose. ?Sounds expensive. And what if one of those brittle jewels decides to cleave??

?Agreed. An interesting engineering project, but I?d never want to take it into combat.

?Speaking of combat,? Hron continued smoothly, ?we?ve got Forager back to ready status. The cargo pod has been transferred and the phaser burns have been repaired and re-sealed. I also spent a few hours re-shimming the warp steering fields. Stalwart had a little asymmetric tendency in warp that pulled our coils out a few measures.?

?I promise to be more gentle with your engines in the future.? Halifax said with blank sincerity.

?See that you do!? said Hron, taking the bait. ?These things don?t just fall out of trees, y?know. The tractor emitter alone took...? Hron stopped as he caught the glint in Halifax?s eye. Looking up at the stars Hron went on in a dramatic voice. ?Why am I wasting my talents on him, oh Ancients? Is it my path to watch over our valiant hero and make sure that he still has a ship under him for his triumphant return to the cheering masses??

Halifax arched an eyebrow and said with a smile, ?I said that I would be more careful.?

?Yes, dread hunter. So you did, oh Fallen Tear. I will school myself to be as a sponge, soaking up the wisdom that you pour forth.?

The two men chuckled at each other and continued through the crowd.



Synalin, ad hoc Rihannsu ambassador to the Red Claw clan stood talking quietly near the plateau?s periphery with T?Lan, aid de camp, Tal Shi?ar agent and her closest friend. Both wore their black dress uniforms. Synalin?s featured an ambassador?s broach on her collar. A petite woman, Synalin?s dark eyes caught the starlight in such a way as to make T?Lan momentarily loose track of the conversation.

?T?Lan? Is something wrong?? she asked with mild concern. T?Lan was a brilliant analyst and strategist; both talented at the work and a raw genius to boot. He was also a little erratic from time to time.

?Hm?...No. It?s just that you are particularly beautiful in starlight. I had forgotten.?

Synalin smiled almost shyly. ?I?ve missed you too a?hrea. Perhaps Riov Iliash will see fit to post us to the same sector some day.?

?Ah! Thank you for reminding me.? exclaimed T?Lan with a wince. ?I?ve been transferred to Nemesis after we are done here.?

?What?? The news caught Synalin totally off-guard.

?Yes. I?ll be your ?Intelligence Specialist...blah blah something?. Great, huh??

Erratic and chronically forgetful. T?Lan?s memory was a constant source of frustration to Synalin. The man could coordinate deepstrike operations into enemy territory completely from memory. He spoke eight languages and six dialects fluently. And so entranced was he with a new strategic problem that he occasionally forgot to inform fleet command of the results of the last operation.

?How long have you known about this?? Synalin?s tone was becoming icy and her look was hardening. Luckily for him, T?Lan sensed his danger.

?Um...three weeks??

?Three WEEKS? Did it ever occur to you that...that I might...that my command...that...? Synalin was too angry to form a coherent sentence. ?I could strangle you!? A trained diplomat, she had kept her voice low. But the menace in her tone was unmistakable.

?Get in line.? It was the blunt growl of Frekor, the Klingon ambassador who strode up from behind Synalin. ?It is still illegal to be him in the empire.? Umbro and Tivo, the Lyran PF commanders accompanied Frekor. The ambassador wore the ceremonial robes of his empire and a smirk on his face. Past middle age, Frekor was still vigorous and possessed of that hint of bravado that so irritated humans.

?I?ve been meaning to ask about that.? said Umbro. ?We heard about the banishment, but never the reason.? Umbro?s ears and whiskers were forward and his nostrils flared slightly as he sampled the air.

?The reason,? growled Frekor, darkly, ?is NOT important. The results, in this case that T?Lan is to be killed on sight in Klingon territory, is all that matters.?

?He?s right.? said T?Lan reasonably. ?It really is a small matter between Admiral Kirgal and myself...?

?Shut up, T?Lan!? interjected Frekor fiercely.

?Oh, now I have to know.? said Umbro with an impish grin.

?I think it?s inevitable, Frekor.? added Synalin with a slight look of pity.

?All that happened was...?

?NO!? bellowed Frekor, causing a few bystanders to turn to look. ?No. If this has to be told, at least let me put the best face on it ? for the empire?s sake.? Frekor took a deep breath and closed his eyes in resignation. ?Several years ago there appeared in the empire a group, a cult really, claiming that an ancient prophecy had revealed that it was the true path of the empire to risk everything on an all-out assault on Vulcan, Earth, and Andor. That this would break the back of the Alliance and pave the way for ultimate glory.?

?Timing attcks on such widely spread targets in the heart of enemy space would be the wildest stroke of pure luck.? observed Umbro, clinically. ?That is the most asinine thing that I?ve ever heard.?

?Probably. It can?t have much competition.? replied Frekor, ?A direct assault on the Federation home worlds, even should it succeed, would exhaust the resources of the fleet for decades. But it did catch on with the ?intelligencia?, the ?warrior philosophers? that infest the capital. Bunch of parasites. And unfortunately Admiral Kirgal?s wife spent far too much time in those circles.

?Well, through his wife, these seditionists were gaining Kirgal?s ear. He was beginning to sway other admirals in the fleet. And he would hear no criticism of his wife?s ideas.

?And then, suddenly, Kirgal lost interest in the invasion. An exotic young woman had mysteriously appeared who absolutely captivated Kirgal.?

Synalin listened with professional interest. The two Lyrans nodded knowingly. And T?Lan?s expression was quite unreadable.

?She was aloof and distant and that seemed to fascinate Kirgal even more. He lost interest in both the invasion and his wife.? continued Frekor.

?And that is a good thing, right?? asked Umbro.

?Yes.? replied Frekor acidly. ?That is until the fool proposed marriage.?

?Ah,? said Umbro sagely, ?and T?Lan was behind the woman.?
?T?Lan WAS the woman! And to make matters worse, he had to announce that fact in front of Kirgal?s friends and relatives who were there to witness the proposal. Our spy-friend here actually began removing pieces of his disguise,? Frekor indicated several biological zones with his hand, ? standing there explaining the whole thing to Kirgal.?

Umbro?s eyes were as wide as biology would permit. His cousin, Baron Tivo was doubled over in the resonant Lyran laughter that he was desperately trying ? and failing ? to stifle. Even Synalin, who knew the story, couldn?t help surrendering to a delicate chuckle. T?Lan?s expression didn?t really change. ?I didn?t have time to send for, and brief, a female operative and time was growing critical.?
?You could have accepted the dolts offer,? replied Frekor with super-Klingon control, ?privately revealed the truth, taken your broken bones, and Kirgal could have made up a lie about how his bride to be was tragically ? but heroically - taken to the other side in some melodramatic battle. It would have made a great opera!?

T?Lan got that far away look that he got when seriously considering something. ?Hm, you may be right. Let?s discuss this some more when we have a chance.? Frekor was ready to smack the young Rihannsu but was interrupted. ?Oh look,? said T?Lan brightly, ?there?s the Countess.?

[FPF-Wanderer]

Part 12

The countess of Dark Storm stood surrounded by aides and advisors. Her secretary held a holoplate in her upturned hands before the countess. On its viewer pad floated the image of Zarkat (Captain) Entelish M?Non LHruu of the Dark Storm survey cruiser Night?s Eye. The Zarkat was a willowy Lyran with light, almost blonde, fur and pale amber eyes. She spoke in a lyrical soprano that made a poignant counterpoint to her sad mood.

?Your Grace,? said the image, ?early reports indicate two hundred million dead and another one point six billion homeless on Toran Pel.? The Lyran captain spoke precisely and steadily, but her voice was colored with regret and sadness. ?Further, forest fires have added to the particulate matter in the upper atmosphere from the initial planetary strikes. Models indicate an average planetary temperature drop of twelve degrees over the next two months.?

The countess considered the news for a few moments and then spoke with a mixture of anger, sorrow, and conviction. ?Render all possible aid, Entelish and remain on-station to ward off anyone who might try to take advantage of the situation.?

?They?ll be like kits in a den now that we are here.? replied the Zarkat firmly.

?Good. I?m dispatching a freighter convoy with emergency supplies and a destroyer squadron. Semsir will forward an ETA. Coordinate any requests through her. Dark Storm, out.? As the holo-image faded the countess turned to Rhann. ?Constable, perhaps you should dispatch a Vanquisher platoon to Toran Pel. If the social order breaks down, alot of people are going to get hurt.?

?I shall contact Command, your Grace.? The Vanquisher turned and began speaking into his communicator.

?Blood and Ice!? the countess swore. ?Those colonists were depending on us for protection.?

?Long range studies indicate that there is a Sun Eater nursery located in the Hydran Marches.? said one of her aides. ?A small task force could root them out...?

?No!? interjected a young Lyran standing to the countess?s right. He had coffee-colored fur and pale green ? almost gray ? eyes. His voice was a smooth baritone and he wore a Tar?s rank. ?The Hydrans worship many of the great space creatures as gods.? Though professional, his enthusiasm betrayed his youth somewhat.

?Be serious, Heath. They?re just animals, and dangerous ones at that.? added another of the aides.

?Not to the Hydrans.? answered Heath. ?And our peace talks have borne fruit. While I don?t pretend to have an agreement for Hydraxus to sign, we are at least, approaching a common ground; one built upon respect. And we should not be willing to throw that away.

?The point here is not that a Sun Eater attacked our colony, but how it got there.? Heath turned to the countess. ?Allow me to contact the Hydrans and see what they know about the situation.?

?Granted.? said the countess. She held up her hand to quell any further debate. ?My Slayer,? she said, facing Heath, ?after the wedding you will go to Toran Pel and determine how that monster got past the sentry stations on the Hydran border and fix it. However,? she added, sternly, ?I am not willing to trade a billion of my people today for a possible trillion in the future. Is that clear??

?It shall be as you wish, your Grace.? answered Heath. In peacetime he was known as ?Emissary.? But with the coming of war his title changed to ?Slayer.? He was the personal representative of the countess: ambassador, investigator, adjudicator and sometimes executioner. The local will of a remote ruler, he carried discretionary powers
throughout the county.

?Excellent. It is late. We had better be ready to take our places on the Council dais. Semsir,? she said to her secretary, ?gather our contingent and have them join me here.?


The crew of Stalwart stood waiting to mount the dais at one of the wooden bridges with their Rihannsu fellow-guests and their Lyran hosts. At the sounding of a deep drum fanfare the countess moved forward flanked by Rhann, who carried a large ceremonial poleax, and Heath who carried a lit torch.

?Those three represent the Lyran triad: roughly translated as ?Force, Flow, and Forethought?.? Jack Virenko spoke in a whisper to his crewmates. ?The Vanquisher carries a Lyran tuuhlrra that symbolizes victory through active resistance. The Slayer carries flame that symbolizes victory through passively becoming one with the prevailing forces. And the countess represents the sentient mind that balances the other two.?

As the group passed over the wooden bridge, McDowell looked down into the wide pit below and the heaps of broken wood piled there. Assessing the wooden bridge, she thought, ?If they?re planning to light that wood, this bridge isn?t going to last more than a few moments.?

Mounted on the top of the dais was a massive table. As they approached, Jack saw that it was a half-meter thick slice of the immense tree that he had seen in the harbor earlier that day. The surface of the table was smooth, bare wood. Surrounding it were low, cushioned benches made of the same wood.

The countess took her place at the Council table near Kazan al Mimdaha, the Count of Night Roar and his retinue. No one spoke or even acknowledged each other. When both groups were settled a second drum fanfare signaled the arrival of the Duke of Far Stars.

Far Stars mounted the dais with measured purpose. Wearing a blue and black mantle and cape that flowed in the breeze, the duke stalked more than strode to his seat. Jack had never seen a picture of him before and was surprised at his youth. This man wasn?t even middle-aged. His surcoat carried several military medals, but like his rank insignia, A Zarmat, none were very high-ranking. Still, he seemed to posses, if not a raw intelligence, a savy and ambition that partly explained how he came so early to the office.

As Far Stars and his entourage of twenty settled themselves between Dark Storm and Night Roar, both Rahnn and his counterpart in Night Roar saluted the Far Stars Vanquisher. McDowell raised an eyebrow and turned to Jack.

?I don?t know, Captain. As part of their objectivity, Vanquisher command is quite independent of any other government agency. And I?m guessing that the duke?s Vanquisher is the ranking officer here.?

McDowell nodded and turned back thinking, ?There seems to be very little middle ground with the Lyrans; very little gray. They?re almost Vulcan in their ability to separate and compartmentalize things.?

Another drum fanfare signaled the arrival of the Trade Lords. Rulers of powerful merchant empires, these three individuals ?two men and a woman- were not dressed in Lyran ceremonial garb but rather in the height of the latest fashions. Both men wore full-length trousers, short boots and fine overcoats over colorful tunics. The woman wore a high-collared, narrow-waisted plumb jacket over an orange-yellow union suit. The color combination was, to say the least, startling.

?Jack,? whispered Anna urgently, ?It looks as though we?re going to ?guests? in Lyran society for the foreseeable future. I can accept that. But I?m not going to have to dress like that, am I?? She pointed at the Trade Lady with a hint of alarm.

?No.? answered Jack with a smile, guessing the thrust of Anna?s question. ?Lyrans see in a different color spectrum than we do. That particular orange dye on her union suit has an ultraviolet color that we cannot see and a red component that they cannot see. Through their eyes, the jacket actually matches her suit.?

Anna looked skeptical, but nodded her acceptance of Jack?s explanation.

Once the Trade Lords had seated themselves a final drum fanfare announced the arrival of their host.

Red Claw.

Physically non-descript, the man carried a sense, an aura of...power; unrelenting and unquenchable power. Several Lyrans gathered there flinched slightly as they tasted his scent. This man was not the duke of Red Claw duchy. He was the duchy. Historically the most militant and with the return of the Mirak, the most active duchy in the empire, Red Claw duchy had produced many of Lyra?s finest commanders. Savage in combat, resolute in purpose, this was the face that the Federation associated with Lyra. It was a proud face without being smug. But it was also a very dangerous face.

Red Claw paused at the edge of the dais and surveyed the gathering, tasting the air. A deep purr rumbled in his chest as he took in the gathering. Satisfied, he strode deliberately to his place at the Council table; his crimson cloak flowing behind him and his many medals glinting in the firelight. Without preamble he stood with his paws resting on the table and spoke.

?My blood, my kin, my friend and my foe. I welcome you to this place of council.?

?Let us open our hearts to one another and call upon our spirits to attend our deliberations.? answered the gathered Lyrans in unison.

His voice was blunt but not harsh and he spoke with a different accent than that of the Dark Storm Lyrans. At the reply of the gathered Lyrans the torchbearers moved to the edge of the dais and threw their torches into the pit. Satellites orbiting far above recorded the ceremony as the dry, resinous lumber surrounding the dais roared to burning life in flames over eight meters tall. Outside the ring of fire, attendants had filled the letters of the invocation carved into the plateau with oil that leapt into flame as well. A stiff wind blew across the dais accompanied by a low howl and all gathered shielded their dark-adjusted eyes from the brilliant firelight as they intoned what the flaming runes said: ?Come, ye Ancestors, unto this place of Council. For time is but a stream to ford and dimension but a sleeper?s dream. Your children await thee.?

There was no sound, save for the rush of the encircling bonfire that now trapped them all together and the collapse of the burnt wooden bridges. But slowly and sporadically black-tufted ears began to twitch and someone here or there would shiver slightly.

?Commander,? whispered McDowell, ?what are they doing??

?This is the Invitation.? answered Jack. ?Each individual petitions the spirits of his clan to attend him and guide him in the deliberations to come.?

?Necromancy?? asked McDowell, incredulous at first. But then she said, ?Well, I don?t want to offend anyone?s religious sensibilities. How do we get in the spirit of this??

?Very funny.? interjected Steve with a smirk. McDowell gave him a dry look.
?Relax yourselves.? instructed Jack. ?Imagine that you are inviting your dearest relatives and friends into your home.?

The crew of Stalwart sat with their eyes closed and tried to relax and open themselves up to this new and alien experience. Around them Lyrans purred and growled quietly as they began to feel connected to their spirit-kin.

?Oh!? exclaimed Anna in a whisper. ?Madre de Dios, I can smell my mother?s kitchen when we canned pickles. The whole house smelled of dill for a day.?

?Yes,? added Hans, ?and I can hear my grandfather trying to start the radial engine on his antique airplane. I can even feel the hot smoke on my face.?

?I can taste my aunt?s tea. It was always too hot to drink.? whispered Jack with a smile.

?I hear my brother learning to play the trombone.? said McDowell in a sad whisper.

?Why so glum, Janice? Was he that bad?? asked Steve with a good natured smile.

?No.? she said simply, ?I didn?t know that he was dead.? And a single tear welled from her eye.

?Captain,? said Hans in a comforting way, ?this could all be a pheremonal effect, you know; random neurons firing in response to blood chemistry signals.?

?Thank you, Doctor.? she said with a wan smile. ?But something about these cats tells me it may be something more.?

[FPF-Wanderer]

...Part 12 Continued...

And like a wave receding, the gathered Lyrans seemed to come back to themselves. Seating himself, Red Claw spoke more conversationally to the gathering. ?We have convened this council because a Federation starship was taken in my space and is now hanging in my starbase. It would be advisable to determine what we shall next do with it and its crew.?

?My Lord Red Claw,? said the woman tradelord confidently, ?I would think that it would be obvious that the Federation vessel and crew should be transferred to the imperial shipyard at Solesar III. This is, after all, an international matter and therefore under imperial jurisdiction.? The woman spoke calmly and correctly, almost as if she viewed the question as merely procedural.

?The Lady Kivlori overlooks the registry of the capturing vessel.? said the countess of Dark Storm, deftly matching the tradelord?s clinical tone.

?In which case you claim the vessel?? asked Tradelord Zenmni, the elder of the two men from the trade delegation. Zenmni looked at the countess of Dark Storm with thinly disguised humor. ?Ahnnleh T?cril Mhnn Ehtlif,? said Zenmni, annunciating each of the countess?s names with heavy condescension, ?You may own your own warships, but you fight for the empire and at the emperor?s pleasure. You cannot claim anything outside of your little frontier county.? Zenmni?s voice was rising as was his aggression scent. The countess?s nostrils flared and a dangerous glint came into her eye.

Before she could retort, the other tradelord, a quiet, slim, and exquisitely turned out younger Lyran put a restraining hand upon Zenmni?s shoulder and gently guided him to his seat. ?My lady countess,? said Voril Eol in a smooth tenor, ?my colleague is simply trying to prevent you from unknowingly stepping into troubling legal waters.? His condescension was even worse than Zenmni?s, but much more cleverly veiled.

?There is clear legal precedent.? added Kivlori. By speaking in turns the tradelords sought to keep the countess off-balance. But the countess was made of sterner stuff and sat quietly listening to the merchants lecture.

?And we wouldn?t want our fleet captains to devolve into freebooters.? said Voril with an off-handed chuckle.

?I?m sorry, Lord Eol,? injected the countess sweetly, ?I thought that privateers would be more to your liking.? Though in upper middle age, the countess presented a look of absolute maidenly innocence.

An icy silence fell over the council. Voril Eol came into his immense wealth and influence at a very young age and many speculated that he had resorted to nefarious means against his competitors in his rise to power. Eol?s scent was enraged momentarily but he maintained his visible composure. Everyone avoided his gaze except for the countess who looked straight at him with a subtle challenge in her eyes and Red Claw, who purred his approval of the challenge.

Far Stars scowled and said, darkly, ?It is not for Dark Storm to claim the vessel.? Count Mimdaha of Night Roar looked at his duke in disbelief. Everyone knew of the animosity between Far Stars and his stiff-necked Dark Storm county. But to openly abandon her in public ? in Council no less ? signified a further degradation in that relationship. ?Our allies,? continued Far Stars, ?might be very interested, more so than our people and more deservingly so - in their traditional enemy?s ship and crew. Ambassador rhu?Havrel of the Rihannsu??
T?Lan whispered into Synalin?s ear and then she turned to Far Stars. ?Thank you, my lord duke. Generosity of this magnitude is truly noble. But we are far from home and our small cruiser would be greatly taxed by the task of towing the Federation cruiser back to Eisn*?

*Eisn is the Rihannsu home star.

?We would be quite content to share the findings that you or our Klingon allies gather.? Synalin managed to look small and wan as if to mimic her cruiser?s diminutive size. It was a surprisingly effective ploy.

?Ambassador Frekor?? said Far Stars inquiringly.

Frekor lounged casually in his seat. He let out a breath and answered with Klingon decisiveness. ?No. We have sufficient data on the NCL class and her crew was most recently deployed far from the Klingon front.? He sat up. ?The Empire thanks Far Stars for his generosity, but we will also be content to share what information your Shadow Stalker clan may glean.?

?I?m shocked.? taunted Eol. ?I?d think that Klingon warriors would be fascinated with divining their enemies? weaknesses.?

?We know their weaknesses.? answered Frekor with mild irritation. ?And they have nothing to do with their fleet or crews.?

?Hmph.? snorted Eol. ?This ship didn?t seem too dangerous. It was easily bested by a tug!? Eol looked around at those gathered at the table imploringly. ?What further evidence could we need that Star Fleet is a mirage? They are not an effective fighting force. They have only numbers and manufacturing capabilities on their side. We should strike them now! Sweep over them like a thunderstorm in the desert before they can call up reinforcements.? The young tradelord lost some of his dry demeanor as he warmed to his subject. ?A tug full of recruits against a full cruiser. Why they...?

?Enough!? roared Halifax, his deep voice resonating the Council table. ?You insult our guests with your ingenuine musings.? His claws dug deeply into the bare wood of the table and his ruff of fur around his neck stood up. Normally a peaceful man ? a pacifist actually ? Halifax had little use for this overly clever fop and his imperialist sycophants. To ?Fax, life was clan and virtue. No oath or law could bind a true Lyran more securely than these two elements of existence. Money and power bound this obscene little tradelord, this usurer, this sneak. It was all that he could do not to leap across the table and relieve Eol of his chattering head - for the good of the Mighty Clans. ?Captain McDowell acted as I would have.? he said with visible control.

The Federation captain looked up sharply at Halifax. She hadn?t realized it, but she had been repressing her feelings over the loss of her ship, acting on autopilot trying to keep her crew safe in a foreign land. But what of the crew that she had lost? ?Forty people,? she thought, ?and all hands aboard the Pleides. How did it go so wrong?? Command training prepared officers for this worst of duties as best as it could. But there were always dark corners, shadowed recesses of the mind were doubt and self reproach festered. Combined with the unexpected sense of her brother?s demise, McDowell was feeling out of her element. And she had no idea of what to make of Halifax. Fortunately, he continued.
?Forager was in an asteroid field and we had launched two PFs.? Umbro and Tivo, the two PF commanders being described, nodded in unison. ?Stalwart could have bombarded us from a distance with photon torpedoes with little fear of retaliation from a Puma-class tug. That is, except for the asteroids.? Halifax?s voice became dry and impersonal as he analyzed the battle. Stalwart could have simply followed us into the asteroids and taken her best shots at our rear shields as we weaved and bobbed through the giant stones. Given no net electronic warfare influence and intermittent intervening terrain, the Federation cruiser could have expected to land maybe three proximity torpedoes per salvo on our rear shield as we fled. Given reinforcement, we could have withstood many salvos, all the while speeding even deeper in to Lyran space and nearer significant Lyran forces.?

Halifax began to pace as he thought. No one moved to interrupt him. He wore the Eye of the Hunter, an amber and black gem set in gold-wrought fern fronds, signifying that he was in the extreme elite of Lyran tactical minds. ?The addition of Pleides would have accelerated the breaching of our rear shield, but our PFs had cut her off from her cruiser.? Halifax nodded to Umbro and Tivo who swelled with pride. Red Claw also gave an approving nod. ?But had Stalwart turned to help Pleides deal with the PFs, Forager would have surely escaped.?

Halifax stopped behind his countess. ?No. No, Stalwart had no choice but to engage decisively and at close range where Forager had the advantage.?

?Which the results show as either imprudent or incompetent.? said Tradelord Kivlori in summation.

?Or unlucky.? replied Halifax. ?Sometimes there is no good tactic in the fog of battle.?

?And prudence may win battles for the ship captain.? said Red Claw. ?But it loses wars for the empire. Good analysis, Halifax.?

?Yes, well this is all fascinating,? said Eol impatiently, ?but it does not change the central fact that Star Fleet can be beaten. And that Red Claw and Far Stars should divert part of their forces from pursuing the Enemy and exploit the weak link of the Alliance.?

Ambassador Frekor,? Halifax said, turning towards the Klingon, ?if Star Fleet is so weak, why haven?t your people subjugated them long ago? From the early war between our people we know that it is not for lack of ambition.?

Frekor threw his head back and laughed. ?No, Halifax. Nor is it for lack of interest.? Frekor stood and began pacing around the table. ?The Federation is weak, but Star Fleet is not.? He held up a hand to stifle any replies. ?If left to there own devices, I am quite certain that the Federation council could talk on continuously until they all starved to death. They talk and deliberate and consider and talk some more. Luckily, they almost completely ignore the Vulcans who are the only consistently decisive race in the Federation. And this is the weakness that shall be their undoing.

?But Star Fleet is as strong as either of our navies. And in the interim,? the Klingon ambassador looked directly at McDowell, ?there will be glorious battles.?

McDowell smiled a cold smile. ?Don?t worry, Klingon. You?ll get your fill of battle from us.?

Frekor laughed again, a healthy, sincere laugh. ?I hope we will, human. Victory will decide who is deserving then, as it should be.?

As the Klingon ambassador made his way back to his seat Red Claw spoke up with a half smile. ?I still have a starship hanging in my starbase.?

?It belongs to the emperor.? said Kivlori.

?It surrendered to me!? retorted Far Stars.

?It is in my space.? said Red Claw, reasonably.

?Its mine.? said Halifax flatly, shocking everyone gathered there. Amidst exclamations and expletives he went on. ?The crew of Stalwart has been declared a clan for this Council. I have defeated them and their clan is now at my mercy. And by right of combat I now claim them as my personal slaves.? The word ?slave? tripled the earlier shouts of protest and painted looks of alarm on the faces of the humans gathered there.

?Are you insane?? demanded Far Stars. ?No one has enslaved a defeated foe in centuries. You can?t do that. It is barbaric!?

?It is also after the fact.? added Eol. ?They have only just been declared a clan as a formality for this Council. At the time of their capture they were foreigners.?

?Hold it.? said Red Claw sharply. ?Rahshaseh, what is the law concerning this??

Red Claw?s secretary was a very attractive Lyran woman with dark brown, almost black fur and luminous golden eyes. She examined her datapad for a few moments. Reading quickly she shared the text with Zophir, Red Claw?s Vanquisher, who nodded her assent.

?My lord Duke,? her voice was a honey-smooth alto and her accent rolled the syllables with a rhythmic lilt, ?because the Federation crew was declared clan without a formal initiation ceremony, it is implicitly understood that they previously existed as clan and are here by only officially recognized.? She paused to allow her listeners to digest her findings. ?Further, the precedent of ?Claim of den, kit and kin? is still legally valid as applies to all clans but those under ducal rulership.?

?But all clans are under ducal rulership.? replied Far Stars.

?Not Star Fleet.? said McDowell with a smile. For the first time in days she actually felt proactive. ?My crew surrendered to Halifax. And while the fleet as a whole probably won?t do the same,? she said with a smirk, ?we did.? She turned to face Halifax. ?I mourn my lost crew and a part of me hates you for their deaths. But it was fair combat. The photon torpedoes that we launched at Forager were not conciencious objector loads that would turn to daisies once your shields were breached.? McDowell paused and looked at ambassador Frekor frankly. ?Believe it or not, Mr. Ambassador, I?m beginning to understand how your people,? and she turned to Synalin, ?and yours, Madam Ambassador, think. I don?t like it. But I do understand it.?

?Far Stars, my brother duke,? offered Red Claw, ?they?re right. Stalwart and her crew belong to Halifax.?

?And I shall return the crew to Federation space.? said Halifax firmly. An audible gasp went up from the gathered council. ?My Countess, through Heath, has realized positive results in pursuing peace with the Federation. We should be fighting our Hated Enemies, not skirmishing with unknown foreigners. If our allies need us, we will answer. But for the present, we have wasted enough time fighting the Feds and the Hydrans. Let us put aside these diversions and focus the Golden Fleet upon the eradication of the Darkness.?

?You?ll get no argument from me, ?Fax.? said Red Claw.

Far Stars glared for a moment and then nodded as an aid whispered in his ear. ?But what of the vessel??

?Yes, what of the vessel, Halifax. Its monetary value is astronomical. You could retire a richer man than Voril Eol there. Unless I start charging you an exorbitant slip fee for your new personal yacht??

?No, my lord duke.? Halifax smiled a gentle smile and turned to his countess and the Count of Night Roar. ?with the permission of your graces, I would like to give it as a wedding gift to the lady Tamla on behalf of Dark Storm.?

The countess beamed and the count of Night Roar was on the verge of tears, as were many gathered there. As civilians, the imperial fleet would be forced to purchase Stalwart from Tamla and her new husband. The proceeds would considerably raise the social standing of the young couple. Such was the type of act the emotional and sometimes romantic Lyrans lived to see.

?Your spirits attend you.? said the count of Night Roar thickly.

?Excellent!? pronounced Red Claw with gusto. The Ancients purr this night. Zophir.? he ordered, holding out his left hand for her tuuhlrra poleax. The two counts and Far Stars did the same. ?My brothers and sisters, let us end this most satisfying Council cleanly.? At his signal they each raised the massive weapons above their heads and brought them down upon the table in unison. With a thundering CRACK the table split into quarters and the gathered Lyrans gleefully threw the massive chunks into the fire pit. ?This Council is ENDED!? shouted Red Claw with a great grin, his fists high above his head. ?Summon the banquet, that we may be diverted from these weighty thoughts with feasting!?

At Red Claw?s order wide stone slab bridges were slid across the fire pit and crowds of bearers and entertainers poured onto the dais. Four meter square wooden slabs heaped with meats were set before the councilors who now lounged on cushions set on the floor. Servers bearing fine metal dewars and crystalline carafes filled cups while musicians struck up a lusty tune for the sultry dancers.

?Halifax,? said Far Stars discreetly, ?a word please.?

?I am your servant, my lord duke.?

?Hm. You know, I believe that you really are, or at least a servant of the duchy.? Far Stars looked thoughtful. ?You beat me today, as you always have. I demoted you and you became a hero. I command your obedience, and you respond with a greater virtue.? The young duke shook his head ruefully. ?I?m actually beginning to believe that you are actually what you appear to be: a Tear of the Fallen.? Halifax said nothing, letting Far Stars work through this conflict for himself. ?Still, I cannot have you disrupting my duchy when ever you see fit. I am the duke, not you. At least for today.? He reached into his vest for a medal with his ducal symbol worked simply in lapis lazuli and amber. Halifax straightened as he the duke pinned it to his vest. ?I name you Wanderer, Halifax. It shall be your mission to pursue the welfare of Far Stars in foreign lands. I cannot banish you outright without making you a martyr. And I also can?t afford to loose a command asset like you.? He looked directly at Halifax. ?You will go to Federation space and beyond. You will observe and explore, treat and enforce and use the broad authority of a Wanderer to the benefit of our Clans. Are you equal to this task??

Halifax let the duke?s question sink in. A Wanderer was much like a Slayer, only with even broader powers but only in foreign lands. He was being banished for an unknown period of time. After so long on patrol he yearned to go to his small hunting lodge and see his family.

But the duke had assessed him accurately. He could not refuse his clan. He had trained many good commanders. The Golden Fleet was in good hands now. He could do more good by going on the offensive than cruising around the rear eschelons ?polishing the cannon ball? as the Terrans say. Even if that meant traveling all the way across Federation space to unfamiliar stars and few of the delights of home. He had lived on Vulcan for a time in his youth as part of a cultural exchange program. Perhaps it was time for further exchange of culture.

?It shall be as you say, my lord duke.?

[FPF-Wanderer]

Part 13

It was well past midnight when Voril Eol finally arrived at his villa in the western mountains of Maxender?s northern hemisphere. In order to avoid upsetting his host, the duke of Red Claw, Voril had stayed for the obligatory first round of klah ? the savory Lyran meat drink. ? and lingered over it with the rest of the guests for over an hour before bolting the dregs and making a hasty departure. ?That was bad enough.? muttered the progressive imperialist to himself as he stormed into the foyer of his villa. ?But I then had to descend the two mile path from the amphitheater on foot to avoid ?affront to the ancestral blah blah yack yack?...blood and fang!? he swore tossing his cloak negligently on the floor, (that is what servants were for) and making straight for his study. ?I have invested considerable personal assets in dragging my race kicking and screaming into the modern age. Can?t they see what we have to offer? Why do they resist prosperity??

?Because they are happy, my lord.? said a shadowed figure from the opposite end of the study.

?Tell me, Almeth, must ?happy? and ?stupid? always equate?? Voril adopted a pose of realization and said, acidly. ?Oh yes. We are dealing with Lyrans. So of course the two must equate.?

?The council session was not productive?? Almeth had honey-blonde fur and almost reddish-blonde stripes. She was slender and svelte and her alto voice was very quiet. But she spoke steadily and very reasonably.

?No. It was not in any way productive.? Voril?s voice was beginning to rise. ?They dismissed me. ME! Those primitive, feral, half-beasts. ?Ancestor? this and ?virtue? that.? he parodied. ?They behave as if they are actors in some ridiculous pageant. When are they going to wake up and face the cold realities of modern galactic politics??

?My lord, this humor accomplishes nothing.? inserted Almeth humbly, but directly.

Voril looked at her penetratingly, for he was not accustomed to being instructed. But Almeth was too valuable an employee to treat roughly. She stood there facing him, not boldly, but not ingratiatingly either. Her ears were pitched forward and the air around her was thick with calming pheromones. ?Ah Almeth,? thought Voril, ?controlling your scent like that must be exhausting. Do I really pay you that well??

?The Terran from Federal Photomica is on conference view in the drawing room.? she continued. ?The others are linking up now.?

Voril took a deep breath and nodded to his assistant. She straightened his jacket and smoothed the fur on his nape before giving him a satisfactory nod of her own.

As Voril closed the drawing room door behind him he thought, ?I am certainly not paying you that well, dear Almeth. You bear some watching.?

The drawing room?s lights were lowered except over the conference table in the middle of the room. Floating above the table like a ghostly bust to Voril?s right was a partial hologram of a middle-aged Terran woman. Laura Riley, vice president of market development for Federal Photomica, nodded to Voril as he took his seat. ?Good evening, Lord Eol.? she said with a cultivated accent. ?I trust that your council was not too taxing.? Her expression was one of polite inquiry, but something in her tone alerted Voril to danger. He genuinely hated dealing with Terrans over communications. Without benefit of tasting their scent they could be quite unpredictable.

?Thank you, Ms. Riley. No, council was merely...council. Ah, here are the others.?

Two more partial holograms materialized around the table. The first was a Hydran. Auxizzyzal was guildmaster of one of Hydra?s larger transport corporations. The second, a Mirak named Groven-Commander, was a retired navy veteran in charge of colonial expansion permits for the southern sectors of Mirak territory.

?Well?? said Groven-Commander bluntly and without preamble. ?Do we have the Terran crew?? The Mirak looked directly at Voril with an undisguised contempt. Millennia of racial hatred transcended even the most intimate business arrangement.

?No.? said Voril, uncowed. ?And nor are we likely to do so in the near future. Invoking an obscure legal precedent, Halifax of Dark Storm has laid claim to them. Further,? continued Voril crisply, ?once refit of his tug is complete, he will be returning the crew to Federation space ? no interrogation, no quid pro quo.?

He surveyed his trio of ghostly business partners, noting the effect of his words on each. Auxizzyzal looked annoyed at the ill-timed setback. Laura Riley appeared more disappointed ? disappointed in a subordinate ? something that Voril noted for future reference. Groven-Commander was clearly angry. He turned away from Voril in disgust and addressed Laura.

?Dispose of this traitor. Contact me when both the humans and their religious fanatic benefactor have been eliminated.? And with that his image blinked out of existence.

Voril looked inquiringly at Laura and Auxizzyzal. The Hydran spoke first.
?I do not think that he is coming back.? The translator gave him a light Foremost clan accent. ?Further, I believe that he is correct. This opportunity is slipping away and must be salvaged.?

?I agree.? answered Riley. ?Halifax is definitely not the face of Lyra that we want the UFP to see if we are to escalate this war.?

The advent of effective drone technology had been a serious blow to Federal Photomica, the Federation?s main contractor for photon torpedoes. Over the last two years orders had dropped-off sharply as the new dedicated drone cruisers had past their early shakedown trials and had proven in combat to be very effective warships.

It was Laura Riley?s job to ?reclaim? this market share at all costs. Of all of the Federation?s enemies, the Lyrans were the undisputed masters of anti-drone combat. Shifting the focus of the current General War away from the Klingons and toward the Lyrans held several key benefits.

First, younger, more modern factions within the Mirak Star League would welcome Federation assistance in their campaigns against their mortal enemies. Like the Lyrans, they too had an ?old guard? that wanted to face their Nemesis alone. But these were being dealt with by the more ambitious in the Patriarch?s retinue.

Second, many Hydrans still held deep hatred towards their former slavemasters. The addition of Federation pressure would allow the Hydrans to advance into Lyran and maybe even Klingon territory.

Last, since photon torpedoes were much more suited to countering the close-in style of Lyran combat ? and drones were definitely not suitable ? Laura?s market share would be neatly restored.

?We have assets in the area that can be brought to bear on this situation.? continued Laura.
Auxizzyzal nodded with two eyes and gestured to someone out of the field of view. ?I?ll authorize a cash transfer through a third party. Let?s tie this up.? And the Hydran faded from view.
?Laura,? said Voril very quietly, ?what is happening here??

The terran?s face assumed an expression of comforting concern, (which made Voril want to howl). ?This unfortunate turn of events has necessitated some...restructuring of our business relationship. Our board of directors will confer on this important matter and you should receive word of our decision in the next six to eight weeks. Federal Photomica thanks you for your cooperation and we look forward to future business oppurtunities. Good day, Lord Eol.? And with a plastic smile, her image faded.

It was the second time in the same day that Voril Eol, Trade Lord and advisor to the Imperial Exchequer, had been dismissed by individuals that he found at best distasteful. It galled him and made his claws tingle in their sheaths. And that made him even more angry; to think that even he was subject to the base physical reactions of his race.

So focused was he in wrestling with his emotions that he almost leapt out of his skin at the sound of a disruptor bolt from behind him. Incredulously he looked down to see his chest still intact. He spun in his chair in time to see his gardener, (what was the woman?s name?) crumple to the floor, her torso charred and torn and a razor-sharp assasin?s knife in her left hand. Standing behind her, disruptor still leveled was Almeth.

?My Lord Eol,? she said in her liquid alto, ?we have assets to protect. Shall we begin work??

?Yes, Almeth. We do. Have the kitchen send up a late meal while we review our current holdings...?

[FPF-Wanderer]

Part 14

TGP Forager War Journal
Lyran Imperial Fleet
Far Stars Duchy

We have completed the fitting of a troop transport pod at the Maxender docks and are en route to the border of our Hated Enemies. There we will transfer our Federation guests back to their fleet. We expect rendezvous with the Federation Tug USS Copernicus and her escorts in the Djuk Tanju system in the disputed territories.

To avoid possible confrontations our route has not been revealed to our Hated Enemy. Thus far, our PFs on whisker patrol have not detected any foreign warship activity.

On a personal note, I am greatly diminished by the loyalty of my rhurn-til, my ship-clan. To a man, they have chosen to share my banishment and the unknown dangers that we shall face far from our home fires. I ask that my Ancestors steady my mind and fire my heart that I may be worthy of their trust.

Zarmat Halifax
Dark Storm of the Far Stars.

*****

It occurred with neither sound nor sight nor scent. Yet at 19:27 Dark Storm Vessel Forager crossed over the boundary of Red Claw duchy into the disputed territories and, for her crew, exile.

?Well, that is that.? whispered Yatu, Forager?s helmsman. ?Let the prowl begin.?

Around the bridge each crewman paused for a moment to absorb the gravity of their chosen course and to gently mourn what they were leaving behind.

Halifax, Melena, Karim Nel and Umbro were gathered in the Zarmat?s wardroom.

?Zarmat,? said Melena, looking over at the chrono, ?We have crossed the threshold. May I be the first to address you as Wanderer?? At her words, the others turned to him and in unison voiced the ancient greeting:

?Cast down thy eyes, for the hunter roams. Scent not nor stir, for his path is perilous.?

Halifax turned to look at his XO with a mix of bittersweet pride. Standing, he said, ?You ennoble me. A ncients grant that I do so in return.?

Standing next to him Umbro, Forager?s MPF (Mokatar, PF) observed, ?It is a good day to live. Our ship is sturdy, my boats are fast, and there is a whole galaxy out there waiting to learn how to play dancing bones!?

The wardroom broke out in laughter. Umbro was known in most of the Golden Fleet for his uncanny, (and some said unnatural) talents in the popular Lyran gambling game involving three twelve-sided dice and a deck of twenty seven cards.

?Maybe the Gorn haven?t heard about you yet. Let?s go there, ?Fax.? said Karim Nel, Forager?s marine commander. ?Oh and Umbro, wasn?t that Lt. Alir that I saw you with after the wedding??

The young Lyran noble?s ears rotated back in embarrassment. Halifax looked sideways at him. ?She got you, didn?t she?? Umbro?s whiskers slid forward even more.

?You owe me a bottle of Saurian brandy, Zarmat. I told you, never bet against one of my Lancers.?

?You never had a chance, Umbro.? said Melena sagely. ?If I know Mur, you weren?t just an object of affection, you are an objective. And you know what Lancers say...?

? ?There?s no such thing as an outstanding objective to a Lancer. It must be a scheduling error.?? replied Umbro with a mix of resignation and...anticipation. ?Well, I can think of worse conquerors.?

?Zarmat,? interrupted Yatu from the bridge, ?I?m picking up a discontinuity in the star field ahead near that ringed gas giant. It could be a cloaked ship or ships.?

?Romulan?? asked the Zarmat cautiously.

?No, this isn?t a fluctuation. This is a hole in the background noise. Definitely Orion.?
?Yellow alert. Umbro, get to your boats. I want you and Tivo to do a bow sweep. Find out what we have there.?

?It shall be as you say.? replied Umbro as he leapt down the auxiliary gangway.

?Captain McDowell,? said Umbro into his command console, ?this is Halifax. We?ve run across some Orions. Are your people up to a little action??

?Yeah, I think we?ve shaken off the worst of the after effects of the wedding reception.? replied Janice McDowell from the troop transport pod. ?I?ll have Steve coordinate hit and run defense with Karim. Anna and her engineers are on standby for Hron Kazim.

?Good, the extra hands will come in handy. Melena,? he said as they made their way to their bridge stations, ?get me a deep scan of the area. I want to be sure of how many opponents we have. Yatu, go to one quarter battle speed and come about to six zero. We?ll give them our #6.? Amidst acknowledgements, Halifax sat back in his command chair and watched as the first BobTail PF undocked and speed forward.

Several moments later things began to happen very rapidly.

?Three ships uncloaking about forty marks out.? reported Melena sharply. ?Deep scan still charging, but it looks like a Slaver and two light Raiders. Weapon loadout unknown, but I?m getting a power spike off of all three; they?re firing something.?

As the three Orion ships became fully visible photon torpedoes streaked from their launchers, towards the Lyran tug: three each from the light Raiders and two from the Slaver. Five found their mark on Forager?s front shield hammering at it with the primal fires of a matter-antimatter annihilation.

?Proximity fused photon torpedoes.? said Melena. ?Shield 6 is down eighty percent.?

?Helm, come about on a direct intercept course to the center ship. Bobtail 1, this is Forager.?

?Umbro here, Zarmat. We?re just undocking.?

?Good. form up with 2 and keep that starboard Raider busy. Force him under cloak if you can. We?ll handle the...?

?ESG release detected...forming dead ahead, ship coming out of cloak!? yelled Melena, her battle scent coming thick now.

Three marks ahead of Forager and slightly to port an Orion Salvage cruiser had released its ESG. Few ships were large enough to mount a weapon of its size. Fewer still could also cloak. But for those that could, it made a perfect ambush weapon. Virtually invisible with its engines at all-stop, other Orion vessels could bait an enemy ship into unwittingly overrunning the waiting trap. And unlike every other weapon system, the ESG did not need active fire control.

The Orion Salvage cruiser carried two drone racks, four phaser-1s and, in this case, an ESG. A significant number of transporters and boarding parties were also standard.

Halifax keyed the shipwide address. ?Brace for ESG impact. Engineering standby for damage control in the port hull. All sections, prepare to repel borders.?
Forager rocked violently as terrawatts of energy poured into the tattered #6 shield, and then on into the tug?s hull. The port disruptor cannon exploded in a shower of hull fragments and atmosphere and plasma billowed into space from ruptured cabins and energy circuits. Three heavy phasers followed, carving deeply into Forager?s unprotected hull. Defensive phasers protected Forager from two drones.

As the bridge crew regained their seats the thin whine of transporters could be heard. Six pirates: an Andoran, two Mirak, a Gorn, a Rigelian, and a Hydran materialized in a ring around the bridge; weapons drawn.

The Rigelian barely had time to fire a wild phaser blast before he was cut into three pieces by coordinated disruptor fire from the two bridge Lancers.

The Hydran, moving fast, caught Yatu on the left shoulder with a viscious axe blow before Hrel, Forager?s navigator, jumped from her seat and tackled the tripod to the floor.

?Melena, you have the con!? shouted Halifax as he launched himself at a fierce looking Mirak with an angry scar running up his thigh and across his stomach. Half a meter taller than him, the Mirak caught Halifax?s charge fully in the chest. The pair crashed to the deck and tumbled twice before their momentum was spent.

The huge Gorn looked immediately at the biggest Lyran on the bridge: Karim Nel. Both squared off almost formally and approached each other, smiling coldly. Corporal Azir, one of Forager?s bridge security marines, aimed a spinning kick at the Gorn?s flank. But the higher temperature of Lyran ships suited the reptile very well. Faster than seemed possible, the Gorn brought a backhanded strike down on Azir?s ribcage with the force of a piledriver. Though he managed to roll with most of the blow the Lyran fell to his knees, clutching his side and spitting blood.
As this was happening, the Andoran slipped a cruel-looking knife from a forearm sheath and slashed murderously at Karim?s belly. With the agility only a cat could posses Karim leapt over the amazed Andoran. Landing behind the pirate, he reached back over his head, sunk his claws deeply into the blue alien?s flesh, and threw him overhand into the adjacent wall. The hapless projectile made a soft thud and slid to the deck, unmoving.

All around Melena the air was thick with battlescent as her comrades answered the Call of the Ancients; that state of heightened awareness and bloodlust experienced by Lyrans. She wanted to howl in frustration that she was not permitted to enter the fray. But Halifax had given command to her. Seeing that Yatu was on the verge of leaving his post to help Hrel, Melena willed herself to be calm and detached. ?Helmsman,? she said softly, bathing Yatu in her own calming pheromones, ?port standard turn. We need to get a fresh shield in front of us.?
Yatu?s eyes were wild and his breath was ragged. He looked up at Melena with his fangs bared and his fur raised.
?Helmsman,? she said again, ?port standard turn. And then get a level 4 tractor on that heap of scrap. He wants to get close to a Lyran? We?ll give him all that he wants.? The little twinkle in her eye snapped Yatu out of his bloodlust.
?Port turn, aye. Standard.? he answered, dodging another axe swipe from the Hydran. ?Tractor powering to level four. Conduit pressure nominal. Generators one and two report transporter attacks. Minor damage. Repair crews are on it.?

Meanwhile, Halifax struggled with the Mirak pirate. Over two hundred kilos of angry Mirak pinned Halifax to the deck as the invading monster tore at his neck and shoulder with his long fangs. Each bite was a furnace of pain but try as he might Halifax couldn?t get his legs up under the Mirak with enough leverage to throw him off. Smothering the Lyran commander, the Mirak spoke softly. ?Ah yes, yes struggle little kitten. It makes your blood run hot and the taste is sweet.?

?I didn?t think,? said Halifax, gasping for breath, ?that the Patriarch?s bastards <gasp> still ate their prey. What would <gasp> your Federation leash-holders say??

?Silence!? roared the Mirak, kneeing Halifax painfully in the abdomen. Feeling his last breath being squeezed out of him and his neck being shredded Halifax opened his mind and surrendered conscious control of his body to his Ancient spirits. He felt immersed in an all-encompassing peace and watched like an interested spectator as the Ancient beast within took control. Though his arms were pinned, his wrists could move. His claws popped and began methodically, almost mechanicaly attacking the weight crushing his life out. Not slashing or tearing, but digging. Dogedly he dug as his legs locked the now wary Mirak to him. First he dug around the Mirak?s sternum and then around under the floating ribs on his right side. Reaching in, he seized the Mirak?s spleen. The Mirak howled and arched away from Halifax slightly. It gave him the room that he needed to get his feet under the monster. With a titanic push he heaved the Mirak off of him and against the adjacent wall, while still grasping his spleen. The pirate crumpled to the deck in a pool of his own blood and entrails.

Still in the throes of savagery, Halifax retrieved the Mirak?s power blade and staggered over to where Hrel still struggled with the Hydran. The pirate?s third arm was punishing his navigator and in some abstract way, that made Halifax very angry. He sunk the blade deeply into the Hydran?s spine and twisted it until the tripod stopped flailing.

Behind him, Corporal Azir had a safe down-range shot at the remaining Mirak and vaporized him in a green disruptor bolt.

By then, Karim Nel and the Gorn had engaged one another. The Gorn towered above the crouching Karim. The quarters were far too close to use a fighting staff: a fact for which Karim was profoundly grateful. He had fought fighting stick-armed Gorn and had found the experience to be completely unpleasant.

?Stand down, Lancers. I?ve got this one.? At Karim?s words the two marines hesitantly lowered their disruptors. Turning, Karim said, ?You?re on my ship, lizard. Surrender. I won?t ask twice.?

?I have crushed a thousand little men like you. I will crush a thousand more after you are dead, tabby.?

Coming low, the Gorn launched an uppercut swipe with his claws at Karim?s face. Dodging a fraction of a centimeter, Karim came in under the swipe and broke a rib with surgically placed punch. He darted out again as the Gorn kicked. But she caught him with an unexpected backhand that sent him flying into the engineering console. Sparks flew as his head smashed the viewscreen . Leaping out of the way as another crushing blow came down the big marine moved to lure the Gorn away from the control stations. While Karim had his back turned, the Gorn flicked a dart into his right leg which sent him sprawling to the deck. He managed to regain his feet in time to meet the onrushing horror. Pinned against a door, Karim struggled against the brute strength of the Gorn.

Shaking off the Call, Halifax assessed his bridge. Seeing that the Gorn was the last invader standing, Halifax called over, ?Karim, get that thing off of my bridge. Take it into my office.?
Karim shook his head and smiled broadly. ?It shall be as you say, Zarmat!? And with that he slammed the door trigger and both he and the Gorn tumbled into Halifax?s wardroom.

?I have the con, Melena.? said Halifax. Get a medic up here for Hrel. Have the dockmaster warm up a suicide load.?

?I?m on it. Generators one and two report operational in two minutes. And Zarmat, I?m picking up feline life forms in the Salvager?s cargo hold. About ten.?

?Slave pens.? spat Halifax. ?Transporter rooms one and two!? he said, punching his command console. ?We?re going to take down a shield on that cruiser. Lock onto the felines in the cargo hold and get them out of there!?

?Powered and ready, Zarmat. We?ll get them.?

The tension on the bridge grew as the Orion ship slid closer and Forager?s tractor energy built. The tug shook slightly as a pulsing blue beam reached out and tied the two ships together.

?Generator one, range one. Ignite the sphere!?

At the Zarmat?s command Forager released the carrier field into space and began pouring energy into it. As it reached critical energy, it briefly ignited in a sphere of glowing yellow destruction before collapsing on the helpless pirate cruiser.

?Bridge, this is transporter room one. We?ve got ?em. They?re...sir, they?re Mirak!?

?Secure the rooms, secure the rooms! Security to transporter rooms one and two.?

Melena looked dumbfounded at Halifax. ?Zarmat, I know what I saw. My scan showed feline...?

?Stow it! We?ll discuss this later. Generator two, range one,?ignite the sphere. Fire medium phasers that bear.?

The second ESG tore bulkheads loose from the pirate ship and crushed part of the starboard warp nacelle. Phaser fire cut deeply into the hull and sheared off the starboard wing mount and drone launcher. Defensive phasers obliterated a scatter pack that launched. The suicide shuttle left the cruiser a burning wreck. The bridge crew cheered but Halifax?s expression was like a thundercloud.

?We?re not safe in the den yet. Forager to BobTail one. Umbro, what is your status??

?We caught a Light Raider reloading, Forager and only took phaser damage. I?ve got an open #2 and blown starboard phasers but Tivo is mostly unharmed.?

?Understood. Have Tivo harass that Slaver and you get your boat back here on the double.?

?Zarmat, we are still in good fighting trim. Our port phaser battery...? argued Umbro hurriedly.

?On the double means NOW! I?m going to need that port phaser battery here. Now tell Tivo to deal with that Slaver and you firewall your little beast back here!?

The bridge went silent. Their normally serene and calm commander stood next to his command chair, covered in blood and gore, filling the air around him with aggression and menace.

?Twenty marks to the undamaged Raider, Zarmat.? said Melena neutrally, to break the tension. It held for a moment more, then slowly ebbed away as the crew?s routine reasserted rigid discipline. ?Multiple contacts detected at extreme range. Inbound.?

?Yatu,? said Halifax, his deep voice rumbling, ?come about directly at that remaining raider. Speed 10. Transport pod.? he said into his com unit. ?this is the bridge. What is your status??

?McDowell here, Halifax. Two assault teams dropped in uninvited but Steve?s marines and your people handled them with minimal casualties. All systems operational. All crew ready.?

?Very good. Hron,? he said, adding his chief engineer to the com link., ?we?re going to have to run down that raider and the only way I?m going to be able to do that is by surprise.?

??Fax,? said the engineer with caution, ?I?m afraid I know what you have in mind. Is this really our only option??

?Unless you want to take the governors off the warp engines and let me push them to critical, then yes. Without disruptors, I?ve got to rely on the spheres.?

?Understood. I?ll brief Anna on what to expect in her side. Hron out.?

?Janice,? said Halifax, his voice soft, ?get everyone to the cargo hold down there. We?re going to do a warp separation. Bridge out.?

As the Lyran tug came about, the Orion raider unloaded three more photons into her bow shield. Two standard loads found their mark, rocking the heavily laden tug. The nimble raider then turned sharply and headed away from Forager. Matching speed, the clever pirate captain kept himself just outside of ESG and medium phaser range, pulling Forager?s fangs, but well inside the effective range of the pirate?s three heavy phasers. The three phasers peeled back Forager?s bow shield leaving only the barest hint of a defensive screen.

Karim Nel emerged from Halifax?s wardroom.

?Any problems I need to be aware of, Karim??

?None that I can think of.? replied the big marine, shaking his head. ?Oh, I borrowed your desk. Don?t worry,? he added quickly, noting Halifax?s expression, ?Hron can fix it.?

?Zarmat, our number one is all but gone.?

?Understood, Melena. Generators one and two standby to ignite.?

?Capacitors at 90% Zarmat. Standing by.?

...... ?Ignite the spheres! Melena, drop the pod.?

Bulkheads strained and metal screamed as massive duranium couplings relaxed and the immense troop transport pod was torn from Forager?s warp field. Power relays spewed plasma and lightning arced hotly across the twisted docking bay. The transport pod tumbled as it came to rest in space; severe temporal gradients played havok with the pod?s circuitry.

Freed of it?s burden, Forager lunged forward like a crouching leopard. Twin ESGs ignited, blasting the stern of the pirate raider, sending large chunks of hull and the warp engines spinning into space. Phaser fire followed at point-blank range plowing a furrow down the center of the ship and pulverizing its bridge.
?Helm, hard about. Generator and phaser crews, well done. Secure weapons and go to yellow. Tractor crews, get me a level two on the pod.? Halifax ripped orders with a decisiveness that bordered on mathematical. ?Melena, once the pod is tractored and both boats are recovered, go to warp. I?ll be in transporter room one.?

*****

~FIN

[Age]

This isn't like you Wanderer to write about fiction.I never saw any at Taldren board unless it was buried in there somewhere.When I have some time I will read it.

[FPF-SCM_TraceyG_XC]

Wanderer is reposting this since it wasnt ported over, as he states. The author's name is Heath.
Wanderer is not claiming to have written this himself, however, Wanderer is also an avid writer himself as well and often contributes to RP threads in the D2 experiences forum.

[Potemkyn]

Has anyone heard from Heath lately?

Po~

[Sethan]

Not in a couple of years.

[Potemkyn]

Seemed like he dropped in either right before Taldren changed the servers, or just after that.

Bummer.

Po~