Alliance: The Serendipity Saga

"Serendipity" - The Saga Begins

written by David W. Dietz, III

Prologue

It hung there.
Bobbing in the blackness of space like a great buoy in the serene waters of some vast ocean harbor.
As Robert Anderson stared out the oversized viewing portal of Galloway West at what would be his home for the next several years, he marvelled at the space station's odd, yet strangely symmetrical construction.
What he assumed to be the station's main habitation area bulged outward like the pounch of an old man who had indulged in one too many alcoholic beverages. Surrounding the habitation area like a vast hula hoop was the main docking ring, which Anderson had read could support 40 smaller vessels at one time. Should such a need ever arise.
Rising up out of the docking ring at symmetric points were four docking pylons which could accomodate vessels as large as a Federation Galaxy Class starship. The pylons reminded Anderson of the stalagmites he had once seen in a cavern on a boyhood adventure long ago.
He studied the station from top to bottom, noticing the habitation area taper almost to a point the further down his eyes went. This, he thought had to have been the powerful main reactor core he had read about. In fact, he could almost swear that he felt the energy from the core vibrating through the think, clear aluminum of the viewport.
Anderson stroked his newly grown beard and shook his head as he continued to marvel at the station. How he came to be here had to have been one of the most improbable events in the history of the universe. Not unlike the development of intelligent life on his home planet of Earth. His thoughts pulled him back, through the mists of time. Back to.....

R'zhal'shii. Six months before.
The almost ridiculously tall, ornately carved hardwood doors parted, revealing an immense sea of people. Heads turned, but not all in the same direction. Bodies moved, but not to rush towards or move away from the entrance. And voices were raised in conversation.
In all, the gathering reminded Commander Robert Anderson of a symphony orchestra tuning up their instruments in preparation for the evening's performance. Anderson was barely aware of the doors as they closed behind him, the sound forever drowned out by the cacaphony of the gathering. Anderson nervously tugged at the collar of his dress uniform and swallowed as he began to navigate his way through the crowd.
He studied the room with fervent intensity, searching in vain for a familiar face. But for the first few moments anyway, there was none to be seen. What the hell am I doing here? he wondered.
Oh sure, Anderson's ship, the U.S.S. John Heinz had helped to protect Drakmar IV a few weeks back from an attempted invasion by the Romulans. But then again, so had the Enterprise, and half a dozen other ships who had done far more than he and his measley little group had done. What the hell? he thought to himself. How often do you get invited to a celebration with a "unlimited" food and beverage table?

Anderson poured himself a tall glass of his favorite red Irish lager, which, the bartender told him, had been specially imported from Earth for the occasion. He seemed astonished that so few people were drinking it. "It's an acquired taste," Anderson said jokingly.
The bartender nodded, smiled curtly, and then went on to take care of some of the other guests.
Once again, Anderson was alone. So far his total conversation time at the gathering had amounted to less than the time spent on the average sneeze. Pathetic, he thought. He really should be networking more. Brushing shoulders with everyone there. Who knew when he would have the opportunity to be present at a gathering like this ever again?
Truth was, he felt a little too self-conscious to be in any kind of a celebrational mood. It had been that way ever since Maryanne decided to break off their engagement in order to go off and "find herself." Oh, his friends and family had tried their best to convince him that she was the one being foolish, but Anderson still felt as though there was more he could have, should have done.
"Commander!" a voice called out. Anderson really paid no attention to it, even though it seemed so close. The voice repeated the call, this time adding his name to it. Now who the hell could have....
Anderson's thought became lost forever as a young woman a few inches shorter than he joyously threw herself at him. Anderson uneasily put his own arms around the waist of the raven-haired beauty who wore a blue dress uniform similar to his own. She broke the embrace after a few seconds and looked up at Anderson, saying how good it was to see him again.
Anderson nodded his agreement, trying like hell to conceal the befuddlement he felt. The woman stared at him momentarily, her dewey black eyes seeming to pierce his own to gaze into his mind. It was an eerie, almost creepy experience.
"Oh I'm sorry," the woman said, her exotic accent bewitching.
Damn! Anderson thought, I knew it was too good to be true!
"I guess it has been a while, hasn't it?" She graciously extended her hand and introduced herself as Deanna Troi from the Enterprise.
Anderson firmly took her hand in his and began to pump vigorously as the realization dawned on him. "Oh yes, of course!" he said with joy. "Forgive me Counsellor, but I didn't recognize you as a Betazoid."
Deanna laughed good-naturedly as Anderson recalled the last time he had seen her. She had been surgically altered to pass as a Drakmarian woman in order to infiltrate the P'linza, a group of radical Drakmarians who hoped to use the Romulans to aid in their own attempts to return Drakmar IV to the older, more barbaric way of life.
"I can't begin to tell you," Anderson began, "how great it is to see a friendly face."
"Why do you say that, Commander?" Deanna smiled.
"Well, I don't mind telling you, I feel a little like a sqaure peg here."
Deanna eyed him questioningly.
"Look around," Anderson said with a sweep of his arm. Deanna did as he instructed and gave the assembled crowd the same once-over Anderson had when he'd arrived. She turned back to him again, her eyes still full of wonder.
"I'm here mingling with the great and the near-great of both the Alliance and the Federation. Look over there..." He pointed to a tall, muscular man not much older than he, carrying on a conversation with a Drakmarian High Admiral. He was human but his hair and beard were cut in Drakmarian style and his dress uniform was that of the Drakmarian service.
"Commodore Dartanion Jarrad?" Deanna offered.
Anderson nodded. "The youngest human in history ever to achieve such a rank, and the only human in the history of the Alliance to do so. And standing with him....?"
"High Admiral Bii'vor?"
"One of the greatest military leaders in the history of the Alliance. Maybe of military service itself!"
Anderson went on to point out several other noteworthy figures including Deanna's own C.O., Jean-Luc Picard, Prince Larrgn-Z, heir to the throne of Drakmar IV and his father, the Primus, Dr'kn-Z. Deanna nodded at each of his examples and when he was finished, she turned to him questioningly once again. "So, what's the matter?" she wondered.
"Well...," Anderson said with some hesitance, not wanting to offend her. "What the hell am I doing here? What do I have in common with any of them?"
"You helped to save Drakmar IV from falling to the Romulans."
Anderson smirked sarcastically. "C'mon! What I did was insignificant compared to them!"
"Well," Deanna touched his arm, "I'm sure the Alliance had some reason why they wanted you here."
"Look around, Counsellor. Do you see anyone else from my ship here?"
Anderson was silent a moment as she glanced about her.
"Me neither," he finally said. "Face it, Counsellor. I'm just the token everyman Starfleet officer."
Deanna gazed up into his eyes. She began to lightly stroke his arm, as though that could chase the demons away. What the hell is wrong with you, Anderson? he thought. Here he was, being friendly with a woman he couldn't have even hoped to talk to when he served on the Enterprise, not without an appointment anyway, and all he could do was spill his problems onto her. What a maroon!
"Good things come from where you least expect them," Deanna finally said.
Anderson smiled and noticed the great recpetion hall's crowd beginning to dwindle. The ceremony was about to begin. Deanna excused herself to find her seat, but promised to meet him after it was over. That, at least was something he could look forward to.

For the next couple of hours, Robert Anderson sat in his surprisingly plush-cushioned seat, listening to the speeches, the award presentations, the thank yous. He watched the handshaking, the back patting, the hugs. The old men and young women all on the brink of tears.
After about only fifteen minutes, his mind began to wander.
Now he was really beginning to wish that he'd stayed aboard the John Heinz. But Captain Fulmer had insisted that this would be a great opportunity for him. After all, how often did someone like him get invited to an independence celebration like this? Anderson admired Captain Fulmer a great deal, but there were times when he just wanted to take out a gigantic sledge hammer and bop him one on the head. Like in his favorite twentieth century cartoons.
Meeting Deanna Troi at the ceremony was about the best thing that could have happened to him, even though he felt like a bit of an idiot for not recognizing her initially. Still, he could hardly be blamed for that. He had rarely, if ever, seen her when he was a med-tech officer on the Enterprise all those years ago. Back then, as a lowly junior grade lieutenant, the only times he ever came into contact with the bridge officers were when they came into sickbay for a checkup. Or when they showed up at a performance of one of Beverly Crusher's plays.
Beverly, Anderson thought. Twinkle Toes Crusher, the Dancing Doctor. He chuckled to himself. She never found out that it was him who started bandying that epithet about. But despite the fact that he had shared some good-natured ribbing with the Enterprise's flaming-haired Chief Medical Officer, he really owed her alot.
It had been her, lone among everyone else who had seen in him the potential for greatness. Not only did she make it a point to give him a decent part in nearly all of the plays she directed, but when that catastrophe struck, and the sickbay was swamped with casualties, she had seen a side of him that not even he knew existed.
And she didn't just reward him for his grace under pressure either. From that point on, she became something of a mentor to him. Encouraging him to find the place where his talents would be utilized to their fullest potential. First in pilot training, and then, eventually Command. If Anderson hadn't had her to back him up, he might have still been just a lowly med-tech on a second-rate trading vessel, instead of X.O. of the John Heinz.
Anderson sighed. It was indeed nice to finally have a normal conversation with Deanna Troi, but now he deeply wished he could see Beverly Crusher again. If only to just say "thanks." Anderson snapped back from his reverie as the names of Deanna Troi and Lieutenant Worf, the Enterprise's Klingon Security Chief were announced. He added his applause to the torrent that rose from the crowd as Worf and Deanna approached the stage where the Primus, the heads of the military, and the High Council were seated. The Primus then handed each of the Enterprise officers the T'Kwn, one of Drakmar IV's highest honors.
A few moments after they had departed from the stage, Anderson's mind began to wander once again. So far, Worf's and Deanna's were the only names he felt some connection to and he was beginning to wonder when the ceremony was going to end. He desperately wanted to go back to his quarters, take off that uncomfortable dress uniform, turn the lights down low, and mellow out for the rest of the evening listening to some of his favorite music.
As far as he knew, Anderson had the largest collection of twentieth century rock music in the Federation. Maybe even the galaxy! And after what he'd been through today, he needed to hear some badly tonight. He even half considered asking Deanna if she wanted to come back with him and listen as well.
Nah, he thought. He seemed to recall that everyone from the Enterprise was a little..., what was the term they used to use? Square, that was it! He doubted anyone on the ship even knew what rock music was, much less enjoyed it. Except maybe for Riker; he at least liked jazz. Besides, she probably had something planned for tonight with Larrgn-Z anyway. I'd heard they'd gotten more than a little "friendly."
"And finally," the Primus announced from behind his podium.
Thank God, Anderson thought. He could almost hear the opening chords of an Alan Parsons recording already.
"A special presentation," the Primus continued, "to a man who not only displayed great courage under fire. But to whom I owe a personal debt of thanks for liberating me."
Yeah, yeah, Anderson thought. Just tell us the lucky bastard's name so we can all go home.
"I hearby present this special T'Kwn to... Commander Robert Anderson. Executive Officer of the Federation starship, U.S.S. John Heinz."
The Primus raised the T'Kwn high above his head as the crowd erupted in tumultuous applause. Anderson remained seated, the look on his face as though he had been hit by high-stun phaser fire. The Primus called his name again, apparently dumbfounded that he hadn't approached the stage yet. That's when Anderson felt the person next to him prodding his shoulders.
He glanced over at the Drakmarian representative who was urging him to go up there. Slowly, Anderson rose from his seat, excusing himself as he passed the people seated tightly next to him, and headed for the aisle leading to the stage. Very soon, everyone else seated in the great hall rose from their chairs as he made his way to the stage.
At first, Anderson thought they must have been rising to leave early, but it turned out that they were following the Primus' subtle instructions and giving him a standing ovation. Anderson shook his head in disbelief and a smile wormed its way across his face as he approached the leader of Drakmar IV. The Elder Drakmarian took Anderson's hand in his and pumped it vigorously as he handed him the T'Kwn.
Anderson silently thanked him, he could find no words to express his feelings, and turned away to leave the stage. That was when he felt another hand on his shoulder, halting him in his tracks. He turned back to Primus who smiled at him warmly and turned him to once again face the audience.
"And just how," the Primus began again, addressing both Anderson and the crowd. "How do we reward someone of your character?"
Anderson sheepishly turned his head away. After a moment of silence, he faced the Drakmarian leader once again.
"As you may know," said the Primus. "For the past several years, your Federation has been trying to establish some sort of forum for achieving interstellar peace. Your High Council has tried, in vain, to be the place where peace would be achieved. Recent events have demonstrated to us all that any one body, who must answer to one confederation of people, will only breed contempt, mistrust, and war amongst those who are not citizens of that confederation.
To that end, the Alliance has concluded that the only way in which peace will be achieved in this galaxy, is by establishing a neutral territory. Where no one body will dictate policy, but where each world, each confederation, will work together to establish peace. To facilitate this, I have offered to give over a space station, which has been constructed, and which borders on all five of the great steller powers, to be the place where this neutral territory will be established."
More applause arose from the crowd and this time, Anderson couldn't help but join in. This was a truly momentous announcement. Ever since the failure of Nimbus III back in the late twenty-third century, the Federation had been trying desperately to establish a new neutral colony where the Federation, Klingon, and Romulan empires could work together towards achieving peace.
Now it seemed that because of the times, what with the growing power of not only the older empires, but also the Drakmarian Alliance and Cardassian Union, the need for such a colony was even greater. And now it seemed that it was finally going to become a reality.
But still, Anderson wondered what did it have to do with him?
The Primus turned to him. "Commander Anderson, I can think of noone else that I would rather see adminstrate this station, not only for the Alliance and the Federation, but for the eventual peace of the entire galaxy, than you."
Anderson beamed proudly. His chest swelled for the first time in what seemed like ages.
"I have presented my proposal to the High Councils of all the future League of Worlds members, and they have agreed. And so, Robert Anderson, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Captain with orders to command and administrate the aforementioned space station, which has been unanimously renamed: Serendipity." More applause erupted from the crowd and for the first time today, Anderson knew that he belonged here.

He didn't return to the John Heinz as soon as he had hoped. There were still administrative matters that needed to be resolved as well as accepting the congratulations of all the members of the High Council and the military, who now welcomed Anderson as one of their own. But there was one person whose appreciation he was particularly thankful for.
After the assemblage of Drakmarian administrators thinned, Anderson smiled as he saw Deanna Troi come up to him. This time, she gave him an even more intense embrace than when she had first met him. "Congratulations Robert," she said as she broke the embrace."You see, there was a reason why they wanted you here."
"I still can't believe it," said Anderson, still a little shaken. "All I did was open the cell door that the Primus was behind." "You did far more than that, young man."
Anderson turned in amazement as the Primus came up to Deanna and him.
"As I recall, it was you who made certain that I was returned to R'zhal'shii in one piece."
"I just did what any good officer would have done, Your Highness," Anderson replied, bowing his head slightly.
"Don't be modest, my boy. How many officers do you know who can perform a..., what did you call it, now? A 'hammerhead stall' in space in order to avoid a pair of charging Romulan warbirds?"
"I did that?" Anderson gaped.
"Yes, but you weren't thinking about it at the time. Your only concern was for my safety, and that my boy, is what makes you the perfect candidate for the job! Your selflessness. Your willingness to put the needs of others before your own." "I always knew he'd be someone special one day," said Deanna with pride.
"And so he is," agreed the Primus. The elder Drakmarian smiled at the pair and with a hearty pat to Anderson's back, left them to join the other members of the High Council. Anderson turned back to Deanna. "You didn't have to say that," said Anderson.
"I don't say what I don't mean," Deanna replied.
Amazing, Anderson thought. And all this time I considered you unreachable.
"All you had to do back then was ask, Robert."
Anderson was taken aback by that statement and even more so when Deanna put her hand to his chin and pulled his lips to hers. She kissed them softy, tenderly, and briefly. She pulled away slowly, smiled and said, "I have to go now. The Enterprise is leaving for Rigel. I'll give your love to Beverly, I'm sure she'll be thrilled!"
With that Deanna turned away and slowly began to walk up the aisle towards the tall chamber doors. Anderson watched as her shapely form, uncoverable even under her blue dress uniform, slowly obscure into a tiny blue speck. She turned to wave at him briefly before she turned the corner outside the great hall and was gone. Anderson returned her wave and she disappeared, he sighed to himself.
What a day!

Chapter One

Captain's Log, Serendipity Station: Stardate 49651.1: "Captain's Log." It seems so strange for me to be saying those words. Oh well, here goes. Preparations are well under way for the official christening of Serendipity Station which is scheduled to take place in two days.
I must extend a note of thanks to Captain Gwenn Scott of the U.S.S. Galloway, not only for ensuring that I arrived here safely and on time, but also for assigning some of her key officers to temporary duty on the station. Until the positions they occupy can be filled by more permanent personnel.
At this time we are still awaiting the arrival of the Romulan and Drakmarian ambassadors, as well as one or two of my other key officers. Most notably my X.O. and Chief Medical Officer. I am told that all will be on board before the christening ceremony.
This morning I am taking a stroll in Serendipity Square to oversee preparations for the ceremony. I have not actually visited the Square since my arrival yesterday afternoon. But I am told that I'm in for a treat.

It was by far one of the most wonderous sights Robert Anderson had ever seen. And being a Starfleet veteran of some fifteen years now, he had seen quite a few.
Serendipity Square had to occupy the largest area of space in the entire station. It was comparable to almost two square city blocks, and its orange/brown cobblestone streets were lined with restaurants and shops of every kind. When Anderson first stepped through the portal and into the square, it nearly took his breath away. Even in one of Starfleet's immense spacedocks, there had never been this much space put aside for habitation and recreation.
Anderson strolled down one of the sidewalks, making note of the workers hanging colorfully-decorated banners and sprucing up exotic, broad-leafed trees in preparation for the ceremony. That was when he glanced skyward, and his heart nearly stopped. The sky high above him was light blue with very few clouds and no sign of precipitation. Anderson put his palm above his eyes to shield them from the intensity of the daylight. Even though he knew the sky was only about twenty feet above him, the hologrammatic grid that lay behind it certainly made it seem like a normal Earth sky in every way.
How the Drakmarians had managed to create such a perfect illusion was beyond even his own understanding.
Anderson continued his stroll and made note of all the different eateries there were in the square. Perfect, he thought. All of his favorites were here. Chinese and Italian from Earth, Risan, Aldeberonian. There were also quite a few that he'd heard rumors about the food being to die for, and he made a mental note to try the Klingon, Ferengi, and Drakmarian restaurants as well.
A few meters down from the last restaurant was the entrance to a building which occupied twice the space of all the others. Above the door, a great two-headed dragonlike beast intertwined a marquis which bore the name "Sea Serpent Stardome." He had heard that the owner had had to change the lettering from the original Drakmarian to Federation standard in order to reflect the more diverse culture the station would be catering to. Anderson nodded to himself. This was going to be the place where the nightlife came alive on the station. He knew he would coming there quite often himself.
Someone was calling him.
Anderson turned about and noticed a large, stocky man jogging towards him and waving his arm. As the man came closer, Anderson noticed he was wearing the standard Galloway-issue jacket uniform, identical in dark color to his own, less formal jumpsuit but lacking the departmental color across the shoulders. Anderson smiled as Marcus Arcturus came up to him, puffing a bit to catch his breath.
"I was told that I'd find you here sir," said the Galloway's chief engineer.
"It's incredible, isn't it?" Anderson said with a skyward glance.
Arcturus stared at him befuddled for a moment. Then, glancing skyward himself, said, "Oh yes. Turned out better than we thought. Mind you, it was a bit of a bear to get it all one color."
Anderson began his stroll once again. Arcturus quickly averted his gaze from his handiwork and strutted to keep pace with the captain.
"What's on your mind, Commander?" queried Anderson.
"Well sir," Arcturus tuttered. "I'm a bit concerned about one of the members of my engineering team."
"Really?" said Anderson raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, sir. Ever since she came aboard the Galloway Lieutenant Tieth has been..."
Arcturus paused, searching for the proper analogy.
"Well, for lack of a better term, a pain in the ass."
Anderson halted. He turned to face his temporary engineering head, the look on his face stoned with consternation.
"I know," said Arcturus raising his hands submissively. "I know I'm supposed to respect the other officers regardless of their personalities. But did you know that she wanted to re-tune every phaser on the ship to give it a setting higher than 'kill'? And yesterday, when we were fixing the sky? She wanted to color it blood red. She thought it looked lovely, but everyone else thought it looked like the apocolypse!"
Anderson stared holes through the chief. "Sounds like she's just a little ambitious to me."
"She's just a little nuisance, that's what she is! When I was assigned here, I was hoping I'd be getting away from her for a few weeks, but for some reason, she got assigned here too!"
"Probably because I requested her," said Anderson smoothly.
Arcturus' eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. "You...what, sir!?"
Anderson draped his arm over the chief's massive shoulders and began leading him back the way he came.
"Marcus," Anderson smiled. "The mission of this station is peaceful coexistance among people of different races and ideals. Now, how can we expect to get along with other races if we can't get along with our own coworkers?"
Anderson halted. He removed his arm from Arcturus' shoulders and faced him.
"Believe me," Anderson smiled again, "you aren't the first person to complain about Tieth to me. But you see, that's why I requested her and other people like her."
Arcturus blankly stared at the captain.
"If we can project an image of coexistance, even with those whom we personally and professionally disagree with, it will only set an example for the rest of the races."
Arcturus' blank expression changed and he began nodding his understanding. Anderson smiled back at the big man. He then patted Arcturus good naturedly on the back. Arcturus turned away and began heading back to where his talents would be better served. He got about five feet before he turned back to the captain. "Sir," he said a bit nervously. "I really hope you're right about this."
"So am I commander," acknowledged Anderson. "So am I."
Anderson watched Arcturus' departure for a moment before he continued on with his inspecting stroll. As he reapproached the place where he had come in, he finally noticed the fountain situated in the exact center of the square. It was carved out of some kind of brown stone, not unlike marble which had been buffed to a shine. From the center of its circular basin rose the same intertwined, double-headed hydra that Anderson had seen at the Stardome. Blue water spat from each of the dragon's mouths and dribbled down into the basin. Anderson had read about the creature on his trip to the station. It was apparently some kind of Drakmarian mythological figure which was said to represent the duality of being.
A Drakmarian version of the Yin-Yang, so to speak. He had to admit, it was an amazing sight to behold.
Anderson's comm badge beeped his attention and he lightly tapped the gold and silver wedge-shaped pin with his forefingers. It was the Ops Center, trying to get in touch with him. He responded in the usual way.
"Would you please come up to Ops, Captain?" the feminine voice on the other end said.
"Is there a problem, Niko?" queried Anderson.
"We're not sure, sir. But I think you'd better come and take a look"
"On my way," said Anderson. He glanced up at the great beast from Drakmarian mythos once again and sighed before heading for the nearest turbolift.

The turbolift reached the destination which Anderson had requested and the doors parted to reveal the Ops Center. The place where he would be spending most of his time in the days to come. Anderson stepped off the elevator and onto the plush, maroon-carpeted floor.
Even though the center did not yet have a full crew compliment, it was still bustling with activity. Federation and Drakmarian uniformed officers brushed past him as he made his way to the railing situated in the center of the room. As he stepped, Anderson observed the different areas of the center that he would jokingly call "his office." The executive communications suite and large clear aluminum viewport to his left, the engineering console to his right, the transporter area at the far end of the room next to his real office.
Anderson finally placed his hands on the padded railing and glanced down. No more than eight feet below him was another whole section devoted to the more specialized operations of the station. Tactical, science, defense, and environmental controls were all down there. Each console took up one whole side of the hexagonal arena.
Only three officers currently occupied this section. One of them was a diminutive female with long, flowing golden hair which was split down the center by a streak of black and pulled up into a ponytail that still could not contain the shear volume of it. She glanced up at Anderson. Despite her bone white skin, pock-marked by tiny brown speckles, her features were pleasant enough and she smiled as she called the captain down.
Anderson stepped over to the stairwell which lead down to the section and began descending to the lower area of the Ops Center. When he reached the bottom, the woman with the voluminous hair came over to greet him. Even with the hair as thick and flowing as it was, she still only came up to just slightly below Anderson's chest.
"What's going on Niko?" he asked.
"Take a look at this," said Lieutenant Nikoxancthe. She crooked her finger, leading the captain over to the science console. Sitting at the console was another transplant from the Galloway. A female felinoid with a mane of orangish/brown hair, who went by the name Firechaser To-Ennien. Like Arcturus, she wore the standard issue Galloway uniform which only slightly contrasted the ones worn by Anderson and Nikoxancthe.
"What have you got Firechaser?" queried Anderson.
"It's odd," said Firechaser with a slightly audible purr in her voice. "It seems to appear and then disappear. It's very faint, but regular and lasts for only a nanosecond."
"A signal?" wondered Anderson. "From some kind of ship?"
"That's what we thought, at first," said Nikoxancthe.
"But if it is, it's too weak and too short for us to decode," added Firechaser.
"When did you first notice it?"
"Truth be told, last night," said Nikoxancthe. "But we were still familiarizing ourselves with the equipment, so we just ignored it as some kind of glitch."
"How often has it appeared?"
"Every three hours exactly," said Firechaser. "And always from the same coordinates: 572 mark 13."
Now that was interesting, Anderson thought. A possible signal of unknown origin coming from coordinates within the unexplored region of space just beyond the station. It really was an exciting possibility: to assume a new command and then make contact with a herebefore, undiscovered lifeform. Waitaminute Robert, let's not get ahead of ourselves!
"Until we have more definite proof as to the nature of this signal, let's just put it on the backburner for now," Anderson stated. Adding as he leaned upright from the console, "Maybe we'll have more time to investigate it after the ceremony."
Anderson turned away and began to head for the stairwell.
"That's not the only thing we noticed sir," Nikoxancthe called after him. Anderson turned to face her once again. She motioned him over to the defense grid/station monitoring console. He leaned in close, staring at the monitor as Nikoxancthe explained.
"It may be nothing more than another glitch, but seems like every now and then, the station appears to be listing."
"Listing?" Anderson cocked an eyebrow.
"Only slightly," Nikoxancthe reassured. "And so far it hasn't even been noticable except to the computer. It may just be a fault in the gravitational controls. All the same though, I'd like to have Mr. Arcturus and his team check into it."
Anderson eyed Nikoxancthe curiously. "You're Chief of Operations, Niko. You don't need me to authorize that."
"I know, sir. It's just that..." Niko hesitated. She glanced around nervously. Anderson's expression pressed her for an explanation.
"Permission to speak candidly, sir?"
Anderson nodded.
"I feel a little..., odd giving orders to someone with a higher rank than me."
"If you're worried about the Galloway people resenting you, Lieutenant, they won't. They've promised that while they're assigned here, they will follow the orders of all permanent station personnel. Whether they officially rank below them or not."
Nikoxancthe smiled.
"Now, is there anything else I need to know?"
"Just that the Romulan ambassador's ship docked about five minutes ago."
Anderson nodded once again. "Well, what do you say we go and meet her?"
Nikoxancthe nodded excitedly as a smile curled her lips. Anderson swept his arm before him allowing his Chief of Operations to be the first up the stairwell. Once on the second level of the Ops center, Nikoxancthe made a beeline for the turbolift. Anderson snickered as he trailed behind her. In many ways, she was still just a little girl at heart.

The turbolift descended through the framework which held the space station together. At first, Nikoxancthe hadn't said a word to Anderson and he was beginning to wonder why. Then he noticed her springing slightly up and down on her feet. Giddy with anticipation.
"Nervous?" he queried.
Niko faced him. "It's more excitement than nervousness. I've never actually met a Romulan before."
"Really?" he was genuinely surprised. "All that time as a diplomatic liason and you never once met a Romulan?"
"I spent a lot of time with Klingons sir," Niko said with some incredulity. "Last time I checked, they weren't too fond of the Romulans."
"Before Serendipity was established, you mean?"
Niko bit her lower lip, surpressing the urge to speak what was on her mind. Anderson's expression pressed her for it. He didn't like anyone holding back information. Especially information that could potentially have a profound effect on his command.
"Off the record, sir?" Niko almost whimpered.
Anderson nodded his approval.
"They may have agreed to the peace that Serendipty represents, but there is still an awful lot of anti-Romulan sentiment among the Klingons. Even some of the Drakmarians aren't too thrilled at the prospect of having a Romulan delegation aboard one of their stations."
"Well, that's certainly understandable," conceded Anderson. "But the thing that everyone has to realize is that this station is neutral territory. It doesn't belong to any one government, but to all of us."
Niko nodded, but a bit uneasily. Anderson could understand her feelings. She had been closer to both the Klingons and the Drakmarians throughout her life than he could have ever hoped to be. If there was anyone on board who had an insight into the attitude of those people, it was her. And he could try to set her mind at ease all he wanted, but knowing them as well as she did, his words would probably offer little comfort.
The turbolift shuddered suddenly, violently.
The lights dimmed momentarily and the sound of a muffled explosion could be heard. When the lights came back up, Anderson and Niko each found themselves a bit wobbly in the knees, but otherwise unscathed. The pair exchanged bewildered glances before realizing what their next move should be. "Nikoxancthe to Ops," she said tapping her comm badge. "What the hell just happened?"
"There's been an explosion in the docking portal where the Romulan ambassador's ship was moored," replied Firechaser's disembodied voice.
"Any damage to the station?" pressed Niko.
"Nothing substantial."
"We're almost there, commander. We'll check it out. Nikoxancthe out."
As soon as Niko ended her own transmission, Anderson tapped his comm badge. "Captain to security. Report."
"We've a got a riot on our hands down here sir," came an officer's feverish reply. "There's a group of people down here who are refusing to let the ambassador come aboard!"
"Just hang on! We're almost there."

The doors parted and Anderson stepped off the trubolift. And into a small warzone. All around him, terrified citizens and docking personnel were running in every direction. Uncertain of where the safest place might be. Med-techs scrambled down the corridor with medical backpacks and tricorders in hand, desperately trying to treat as many of the injured as they could.
Anderson and Nikoxancthe fought their way through the mass of scattering bodies, in search of anyone who had any idea what was happening. As they approached the correct docking bay, a grey haze filled the air. A remnant of the black smoke that had billowed forth from the docking portal during the explosion. The automatic fire control system had managed to settle the blaze to the point where the way was now passable, but until the fire crews could get by and work to contain the blaze, the danger of smoke inhalation was still prevalent.
Finally, Anderson noticed a young man in a security uniform approach him, covering his face with a damp cloth. Poor kid, Anderson thought. He couldn't have been more than twenty-one years old, and the sheer terror showed in his eyes. "Captain," the young man gasped. His breaths were labored, and Anderson put his hands on the boy's shoulders, trying to calm him a bit.
"It's okay," he said. He looked the young man in the eyes, hoping like hell he was projecting the image of strength the boy seemed to need right now. "What's your name?"
"Jarrett, sir."
"Okay, Ensign Jarrett. Now, tell me what you can."
Jarrett took a deep breath, then straightened himself up. Anderson couldn't help but admire his spirit. Even if it did seem a little forced.
"There's a group of civillians over there, sir," Jarrett began, pointing over his shoulder. Anderson directed his gaze to the angry mob who were no more than ten feet away from where they stood.
"They've got rocks, sticks. Some even have phasers. They just seemed to be minding their own business until the docking portal opened and the ambassdor stepped through. That's when all hell broke loose!"
Anderson glanced up at the mob again. It reminded him of that play, The Crucible in which Beverly Crusher had once directed him. It was as if they were looking for one the witches of Salem and no doubt, when they found what they thought was one, she would have been burned at the stake. Whether she really was a witch or not. Anderson swallowed nervously, then glanced back down into Jarrett's eyes. "Okay Ensign, you did the right thing notifying me."
Jarrett smiled weakly but proudly. Even that was enough to boost Anderson's own wavering confidence. "Now, I want you round up as many security personnel as you can and get them down here. I'm hoping things don't get any more ugly, but in case they do...."
Jarrett nodded his understanding. Anderson asked him for his phaser, sent the boy on his way, then stood upright and turned in the direction of the crowd. As he took a pace forward, he felt another hand tugging at his shoulder. Holding him back. He turned around to face a worried Nikoxancthe.
"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed.
Anderson smiled weakly. "Heading into the lions' den."
He turned away from his tiny chief of ops, and began striding towards the mob. Their shouts, which had been audible the whole way down the corridor seemed to grow even louder as he approached them. Anderson wasn't really certain if he was prepared to handle this situation, but he was in command here. It was his duty to settle the crowd.
He called to them. No response.
He tried again, louder this time. Still his shouts were drowned out by the angry mob.
Finally, frustrated almost to the bursting point, Anderson raised the phaser he held in his hand high above his head and fired. He fired again. And again. Until finally, the noise began to die down and the crowd slowly turned to face him.
They were a mixed bag of different backgrounds. Many of the faces that Anderson saw were Drakmarian, but there were also a few Klingon, Ferengi, and even human faces scattered throughout the crowd. They stared silently at him for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Anderson cleared his throat and began to address them. "What is the meaning of this?" he said, using his theatrical training so that his voice carried. No answer was forthcoming from the crowd. If he repeated himself, it might make him appear weak. He stared the crowd down instead, his eyes sternly insisting for an answer.
"Her kind nearly enslaved us!" came a single, masculine voice. Anderson's eyes scanned the crowd and finally came upon a young Drakmarian, probably no older than Jarrett had been, who had stepped forward as the self-appointed spokeman for the mob.
"She doesn't deserve to set one foot on this station!" the young Drak continued.
Anderson boldly stepped forward, staring daggers into the boy's eyes. "I see," he said with a smoothness that even he found remarkable. "And so you've been appointed to make certain that she doesn't, eh?"
"That's right," the boy said with no smugness whatsoever. Anderson could tell that he believed every word he was saying.
"Look at you," Anderson said more to the crowd this time. "When has violence ever been the solution? I thought that the Drakmarian philosophy was 'power through peace?'"
"There can be no peace!" spat the boy. "Not with her kind!"
The crowd was getting restless. A murmer of agreement arose from them after the boy's last statement. If he didn't think of something soon, Anderson was going to have a full-blown war on his hands.
"I say we kill her now, and end this charade!"
A roar of agreement erupted from the crowd. They began to turn and face the portal once again. This was it! They were going to do it, and Anderson had to stop them. What had his instructors always told him? Deal from strength! He raised his phaser in the air again and fired rapidly, until the crowd was silent and facing him once again. He then pointed the phaser at the mob's "leader."
"If the ambassador, or any one of her party is harmed," Anderson shouted sternly. "Everyone of you will be incarcerated and face deportation back your homeworlds!"
The crowd stood silently. Staring at the captain. He scanned the mob with his eyes. He could see it, the look of worry that perhaps they had overstepped their boundaries. Most of these people were shop owners and working stiffs who had tried to establish lives on the station before it was given over as neutral territory. Everything they had was here, and they no more wanted to leave here than Anderson wanted to make them leave.
"Is this how it will be from now on, human?" spat the boy-leader.
Great, he's one of those kinds of idealists, Anderson thought.
"We stand up for what we believe, and you punish us for it?"
Anderson dropped the phaser. His look remained stern and determined as it hit the floor with a metallic 'clank'!
"My duty here," began Anderson evenly, "is to uphold the principles and laws that your leaders have agreed to. According to those laws, Ambassdor Meela has as much right to be here as any of you do! And so long as I am in charge here, the law will be upheld!"
Anderson paused a moment, scanning the crowd once more as he did for reaction. Even though he hated having to essentially force anyone into doing things his way, it seemed to have done the trick. A crowd thirsty for blood needs a pretty strong argument to turn them around, and that was probably the strongest thing he could have said.
"Now please," he said softly. "Go back to your homes."
He really didn't see any reason to punish them. After all, they were allowed to have feelings, no law could prevent that. Besides, with the dedication ceremony still two days away, everyone would be needed to prepare.
The crowd slowly began to disperse, and Anderson felt a wave of satisfaction rush over him as he turned back in the direction of the turbolift. Nikoxancthe came up to him, her smile speaking volumes about the admiration she felt for the captain at that moment.
Suddenly, a phaser beam hit the portal.
The crowd erupted again, this time in a roar of terror. They dispersed in all different directions as chaos once again reigned supreme in the docking area. Anderson and Niko glanced about them, searching desperately for the source of the phaser fire.
High above, from an overhead maintenance access bridge, the death rays came. Anderson pointed and Nikoxancthe finally noted the source herself. They were completely cut off from it, and there was no way they could get a security team up there before the sniper had a chance to escape.
Anderson glanced at Niko. "Do you think you can get up there?"
"I... I don't know," Niko said nervously. "I'm not very good at the short hops!"
"I realize that," Anderson reassured her. "But you're the only chance we've got. If you don't try, he might get away and we may never find him again."
Niko stared back at the captain. He could see that the prospect was terrifying her. He hated this. The second time today he had to force something on another person, but as with before, he had been left with little alternative.
Finally, Niko's expression became more confident. "Okay. I'll try."
She stood as tall as her tiny five foot frame would allow. Anderson stepped away from her as she closed her eyes. Anderson watched spellbound as Niko balled her hands into fists at her side. Her entire body began quivering as she concentrated. Tiny droplets of sweat trickled down her forehead.
Suddenly, she began to glow.
Faintly at first, but ever intensifying into a brilliant shade of blue. Anderson threw up his hands, shielding his eyes from the ever-increasing brightness. Like an exploding sun, the aura shone around Nikoxancthe's body for a moment, and in the next moment, it winked out.
And Nikoxancthe was gone.

To any outside observer, he might have seemed like the most unlikely kind of assassin: a middle-aged, slightly overweight Drakmarian. Ah, but that was really the beauty of it. Who would suspect a kindly-looking, old curmudgen?
He squeezed off another volley of phaser fire. He really had to hand it to the Alliance, they certainly could make fine weapons if they wanted to. And this phaser rifle was certainly a beaut. He took a moment to glance over the railing to the view the chaos below him and smiled satisfactorally to himself.
The fools. The cowards.
They get one stern talking to by a human in a Starfleet uniform and all of a sudden their wills turn to Jello. Well, not him by God! There was no way that spineless, Romulan bitch was coming aboard this station. Not as long as he lived and breathed.
He took only a moment to discard the used plasma cartridge and then reload another one into the butt of the rifle. He brought the rifle up to his shoulder once again and took aim through its eyepiece. One clean shot was all he needed, and that pointy-eared bitch was space dust.
That was when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a brightness that had never been there before. Dull, light blue, and not very intense, but just strong enough to be noticable. He would have ignored it and gone back to his mission had the light not quickly begun to glow ever more brightly with each passing second. Now he had to turn around to face this unknown threat.
The light grew larger as it grew brighter, until it stood almost as tall as a man. The intensity of the glow nearly blinded him. Suddenly, he noticed a shadowy outline begin to take shape in the center of light. Dark and formless at first, but bending and stretching with each passing second until it finally took on the shape of a bipedal lifeform.
The assassin watched with horror and wonderment as the brilliant light slowly began to fade away. So great was his bewilderment at the wonderous sight before him, that he never noticed the phaser rifle falling from his hands as his grasp relaxed. He never heard it hit the metallic walkway beneath him, nor did he notice it bounce between the breaks in the railing and plummet to the floor far below.
The bipedal form became more defined. It was feminine and not very tall. Almost danty in appearance, in fact. As she became more defined, the assassin noticed the blue Starfleet uniform she was wearing and became increasingly aware of her complexion.
It was unlike any he had ever seen in his life. The face was bone white and bespeckled by tiny brown spots. She may not have been that tall really, but under that mop of impossibly thick, golden hair, it was difficult to tell. The light blue aura that surrounded her finally faded out. That was when he became aware of the phaser she pointed at him.
"I believe you're coming with me," said Nikoxancthe with satisfaction.
The assassin smirked coldly at the lieutenant and held up his hands ready to fire. It was then that he noticed he had no weapon. He desperately glanced about him, searching in vain for his misplaced phaser rifle. But it was nowhere to be found. He couldn't believe his luck! Of all the people in the universe to arrest him, it had to be this strange-looking little girl!

Chapter Two

Drakmarians can sometimes be the most unimaginative of people, the would-be assassin thought as he sat on the hard bench set in the corner of his cell. Surrounding him on three sides were bare walls. Bare and grey. Not even a particularly interesting shade, just grey.
He huffed to himself as he stared out of the seemingly-open archway before him. The foyer in front of his cell was not particularly large, maybe twenty-five feet or so. And the human commander had only posted one guard on duty. The assassin knew that he could not only overpower the guard, but also make it out of the holding area and into open territory before anyone would notice.
That is, if it weren't for the force field that was keeping him inside.
He sighed.
If he hadn't been distracted by the appearance of that odd little girl in the Starfleet uniform, that Romulan bitch Meela would be dead right now and the whole charade that was the mission of this station would have been broken. Instead, she was undoubtedly happily unpacking her belongings in her ornately-furnished new quarters, which the Drakmarian government had seen fit to give her, while he, a loyal Drakmarian citizen rotted in this damnedable cell.
Well, it didn't matter. It would only be a matter of time before someone in that mob, someone who hadn't been swayed by that smarmy captain's speech, would come for him. He would be out, once more roaming the station, and then... The entrance doors to the foyer opened.
The assassin rose from his bench more from curiousity than out of respect as the human captain, Anderson his name apparently was, stepped through the open archway and into the foyer. The guard rose to attention as the captain strode purposefully up to the force-field-protected opening of the cell.
As the captain put the guard at his ease, the assassin took a moment to get a good look at this man whom the Primus had placed in command of the station. He wasn't particularly impressive. Maybe five foot eleven inches tall, kind of on the stocky side, and with a baby face that even his auburn beard could not disguise. The assassin huffed to himself once again.
If it weren't for the damned force field, he would be dead right now!
"I don't suppose," the captain began in that condescending tone, "that you're in any kind of mood to talk?"
"I have nothing to say," said the assassin with a rather satisfied smile. Did this foolish human, whom the Drakmarian government had somehow chosen over an actual Drak to command this station, really think that he was just going to break down and bare his soul to him? There was a greater possibility that within the next five seconds, God himself would walk into the room!
The captain turned his back to the assassin a moment. He then whirled to face him once again.
"I don't think you realize just how much trouble you're in here," he said.
On the contrary, the assassin thought. He knew alright; he simply didn't care.
"You know that I have full authority to pass judgment on you here and now?"
The assassin nodded almost imperceptibly.
"And that I can arrange to have you deported back to Drakmar IV?"
"Yes. But then you wouldn't know who else might be involved with me. And since I'm not about to tell you either, I'd say you're right back where you began," the assassin replied. He turned away from the captain and sat back down on his bench. A satisfied smile curled his lips.
"Noone here is above the law. Not even you," said the captain.
"Well now, which law would that be? The law of the Alliance or the law of your Federation?" The assassin watched with glee as the captain turned his back to him once again. He had to admire the human for maintaining his composure. Others he had dealt with in the past would have had their hands at his throat by now.
Still, he had fanagled his way out of tougher spots than this in the past. Why should now be any different?
"Really Captain," he began again, "don't you have better things to do than stand here talking to me?"
"Not really," said the captain.
"How interesting. If I were in your position, Captain, I'd be worrying more about the possibility that some outside agency might want to destroy this station. The Jerichans, for example."
"I'll think about that. After I've dealt with you," said the captain sternly.
You're good, thought the assassin. But I'm older, and better!
"You're wasting your time, Captain. Noone has come forward to identify me as anything more than an ordinary citizen. You've got nothing to hold me. And soon I'll be free..."
"I wouldn't count on that..." said a new voice.

Anderson turned his attention to the entrance of the holding area. Standing in the open archway was an older Drakmarian man. His maroon robes elegantly draped his large, stocky frame. He stepped into the foyer and smiled as he approached Anderson. He hadn't immediately recognized the voice, but as the elder Drak approached, his pudgy face, only slightly wrinkled with age became increasingly familiar.
As he stood beside Anderson before the assassin's cell, Anderson felt as though he were greeting a long-lost relative.
"Admiral Bii'vor!" He extended his hand to the Drak. Bii'vor took it in his own and began to shake it vigorously.
"So, you finally got Ml'vrin?" said the Admiral returning his attention to the assassin in the cell.
"Ml'vrin?" Anderson repeated gazing into the cell once again. For the first time, he noticed that the usually calm, impassive features of the Drakmarian assassin, had a tiny bead of sweat dribbling down them. He wasn't entirely sure, but it seemed as if he were finally a bit on edge.
"We've been trying to convict him back home for years," Bii'vor explained. "But somehow, every time we got close to trying him for something, evidence suddenly just seemed to... disappear."
"Reeeaaaally?" said the Captain with not a hint of surprise. He diverted his gaze back to the cell. This time, the Drakmarian assassin looked even more nervous. It seemed as though he was fighting a losing battle to maintain his composure.
"After a while he just disappeared from Drakmarian society. We thought he was dead until we received the transmission you sent us."
"What exactly is it he's supposed to have done?"
"Committed various crimes against the state. Minor terrorist activities, anti-Primus sentiment spreading. He may even have been a Pl'inza leader..."
"That was never proven!" said the assassin for the first time since Bii'vor entered the room.
"No. But now we have you on suspicion of conspiracy to assassinate Ambassabor Meela," said Bii'vor with satisfaction.
"Ah, but you have no witnesses," said Ml'vrin smoothly. "Except for that little girl who transported in to arrest me. And as we all know, any number of things could have happened in the time that it takes someone to materialize. For all you know, I could have been up there trying to stop the real assassin when you arrested me!"
"On a maintenance gangplank? Fifteen meters above the docking area, that only authorized personnel have access to?" queried Anderson incredulously.
"As a Starfleet officer, you should know that stranger things have happened."
Bii'vor shot a glance at Anderson. All the captain could do was shrug.
"Besides which," Ml'vrin continued, "I believe your 'Prime Directive' prohibits intervention in the internal affairs of other worlds. So she cannot testify against me."
Anderson began grinding his teeth. He had maintained a cool head throughout this whole little dance, just like he had been instructed. But now the song had gone on too long and he was growing weary of it all. This Ml'vrin was as slick as ice and even if he did have something solid to hold him on, Ml'vrin could probably twist it around until suddenly it came out in his favor!
Anderson had only occasionally dealt with people like him in the past and every time he had, he thought back to his Academy days. One of his professors, a Starfleet veteran of twenty-odd years, had instructed him on the best ways to deal with people like Ml'vrin. What was it he had said?
"Those who go to the end of the rainbow for the pot of gold, will often miss a dollar under their foot."
Then, sweet inspiration shined her light on Anderson.
"Admiral," Anderson began. "Refresh my memory. Isn't there something in Drakmarian law about the legal establishment of commerce on other worlds?"
"Yes, of course," the Admiral replied simply. "In order to establish a place of business on other worlds, a Drakmarian citizen must go through the due process of getting a license to conduct to business. Then they have to establish extraterrestrial visas for themselves and their em... ployees...."
Anderson smiled as the Admiral finally seemed to have jumped on to his train of thought. He turned to face Ml'vrin in the cell once again.
"Mr. Ml'vrin. I believe you're registered as the proprietor of the Sea Serpent Stardome. Is that correct?"
"Yes," said Ml'vrin. Anderson could tell he was a bit confused. "What of it?"
Anderson grabbed the tiny computer PADD attached to his side. He quickly tapped a few keys and after a mere moment's wait, studied the information displayed on its screen.
"Funny. I have no record of your ever filing an interplanetary business license with the station."
"This station is Drakmarian," said Ml'vrin. "Such a license is unnecessary!"
"Was unnecessary," the Captain corrected. "But you see, once this station had been given over by the Drakmarians and established as neutral territory, it lost all jurisdiction under the Drakmarian constitution. And achieved an independent status."
"What he's saying is," the Admiral interjected, "that this station is considered foreign soil. And as such, all business aboard her must be conducted according to common intergalactic commerce law."
Anderson remained outwardly impassive, but inside he was jumping for joy as Ml'vrin's expression completely changed from cocky and overconfident to scared out of his mind. It wasn't what he'd wanted to nail Ml'vrin on, but it would serve the purpose nontheless. After all, hadn't they nailed that notorious gangster from Earth history, Al Capone, in a similar fashion?
"I'm afraid you've failed to do that, Mr. Ml'vrin," said Anderson putting the icing on the cake. "And I have no choice now but to deport you back to Drakmar IV to answer illegal commerce charges."
Anderson and Bii'vor simultaneously turned their backs to Ml'vrin's cell, and began to purposely stroll towards the entrance to the holding area. Ml'vrin could be heard calling out to them as the doors parted open, but they ignored his calls. As the doors hissed closed behind the pair, muffling out his pathetic cries, Bii'vor turned to Anderson, stopping him in his tracks.
"I knew there was a reason why you were chosen to govern this station," said Bii'vor with a smile that revealed his gleaming canines.
Anderson smiled in return. "Thank you, sir. Though I must admit I was surprised that they dispatched you here to collect him."
"Oh, that's not why I'm here," said Bii'vor. "Though when I heard you had him, I thought maybe I could be of some assistance."
Anderson's expression became slightly bemused. "So then, why are you here, Admiral?"
"Didn't you know? I requested to serve as Drakmarian representative on the station," said Bii'vor with a smile. He turned away from Anderson and began to stroll down the corridor. After a few seconds he turned back to Anderson.
"Oh, and it's not 'Admiral' anymore," he said. "It's 'Ambassador.'"

"Come in," Meela called out in response to the chime.
The door to the quarters opened, allowing Captain Anderson and Ambassador Bii'vor to enter. As the door closed behind them, Anderson took a moment to look over the Ambassdor's quarters.
She had only been on the station about four hours, but already the living quarters reflected her presence. It surprised Anderson slightly. He had been expected the quarters to be functional but have no real flavor to them. Instead, Meela had imported a great deal of Romulan artifacts: paintings, sculptures, and elaborately-designed and colored tapestries, which she had placed throughout the quarters.
It rather reminded him of his sister Scarlett's art-deco apartment back on Earth. In a way, the quarters seemed to reflect the presence of a Bohemian artist rather than a diplomatic representative.
"Captain," a voice said. "What an unexpected pleasure."
Ambassador Meela swept into the room. Like her quarters, her appearance was not what Anderson had expected. She was wearing a very informal, flowing white gown that brushed the floor as she walked. The sleeves were made of some kind of transparent material, and the midpoint of the gown so low cut, that it took all the will Anderson could muster to keep him from staring.
He had expected her appearance to leave an impression on him, but not like this. She was no older than Anderson's thirty-five years, and she smiled very congenially at him as she entered the room, her upswept eyebrows raised excitedly. She was beautiful in every sense of the word, and her long, dark, flowing hair only helped to accentuate her appeal.
"Please forgive the state of my quarters, Captain," said Meela sweetly. "But I haven't really had time to finish unpacking all my belongings."
You mean there's more? Anderson thought.
"So," Meela began again, "to what do I owe the honor of your visit?"
Anderson shook his head slightly, as if to clear the somewhat erotic thoughts he was having from his mind. "I, uh... just wanted to see that you were alright. I apologize that our medical staff isn't fully up to par yet."
"Oh, that's quite alright," said Meela understandingly. "I wasn't too badly bruised in the first place."
"I'm afraid that I, too, must apologize," interjected Bii'vor. "Please be assured that what happened this morning in no way reflects the feelngs of all my people, or of our Primus."
"You must be Bii'vor, right?" said Meela almost playfully.
"At your service, Madame," replied Bii'vor. He took Meela's hand in his and brought it up to his lips. He kissed it gently.
"Oh my, how gallante," said Meela. "You must be one of those men who still believes in chivalry."
Bii'vor nodded.
"Uh, Madame Ambassador," Anderson interjected nervously.
"Oh please, call me that in Council. Everywhere else I want to be just plain old Meela."
"Very well, Meela," said Anderson with a chuckle. He marvelled at the Romulan. He never thought he'd ever get the chance to be this close to one in the first place, but then for her to have a sense of humor was just too incredible to believe. "I hope that the incident this morning has in no way tarnished your opinion about the purpose of your presence here," Anderson continued.
"Not at all, Captain," said Meela reassuringly. "To be honest, I'm probably the only one of my people who truly believes in what this station stands for."
"I'm glad to hear it."
The door chime rang out. Meela called for whoever it was to enter.
The door parted to reveal the tall, lanky, gnarled features of a middle-aged Cardassian male. Meela asked him to come in and he stepped over to stand beside Anderson and Bii'vor. Anderson could tell that he seemed genuinely surprised by the presence of the others. Guess he was hoping to catch her alone, Anderson thought. Can't blame him.
"My goodness, but I'm popular today," commented Meela. "I should try to get assassinated more often."
"Uh, Meela," said Anderson. "May I present Ambassador Amaraq of the Cardassian Union?"
"A pleasure, Madame," said Amaraq extending his hand.
"Charmed, I'm sure," said Meela, graciously accepting the gesture.
"Madame Ambassador," Amaraq began again, "I was hoping that we would have the opportunity to privately discuss the matter of one or two issues involving our respective governments..."
"Please Ambassador," interjected Meela. "I only arrived a few hours ago. I'd rather like the chance to unwind a little..."
"Meela. If I may call you that," said Amaraq, "the attempt on your life this morning is evidence that our governments must be united if we are to even hope of being accepted here!"
"Ambassador," Anderson cut in. "I assure you that what happened this morning was an isolated incident. As long as I am governor of this station, order will be maintained, and every one of your respective peoples will be safe."
"That's good enough for me," said Meela.
"Well it's not for me!' said Amaraq firmly. "Did you know that my government had to petition both the Federation and the Alliance several times before they would even consider allowing a Cardassian presence on this station? Let alone a seat on the Council?"
"That was an oversight on our part," said Bii'vor. "Once we realized that having five seats on the Council was preferable to four, we were more than willing to grant you representation."
"Besides," interjected Anderson. "We really weren't sure that your government wanted anything to do with this project in the first place."
"Still, the fact is that neither the Cardassians nor the Romulans are reguarded in the same way as the Klingons, the Federation, or the Alliance."
Amaraq then turned to Meela. "That is why we must be united, Ambassador. In order to have a greater voice!"
"Ambassador," Meela interjected. "You really can't blame the other races for looking at us the way they do. Up to this point, our governments haven't given them much cause to respect us. That's why we're here: to change that perception and make a better galaxy for all."
"You're an idealist," spat Amaraq. "It's no wonder you were thrown off the Senate and sent here!"
With that, Amaraq turned on his heel and purposefully strode towards the entrance. The doors parted and Amaraq stepped out into the corridor and began to walk away. Never looking back as the door closed behind him.
An awkward silence settled over the room.
"Charming fellow," commented Meela. "I can't wait to see what the Klingon Ambassador's like."
Anderson's comm badge chirruped. He tapped it lightly in response to the hail. The voice that came over the airwaves wasn't one that Anderson recognized. It was feminine, but with a sternness and authority that Niko's didn't yet posess.
"Captain, would you please report to Ops?" the unfamiliar voice asked.
"On my way," Anderson responded.
He returned his attention to Meela and Bii'vor. He apologized to them, explaining that duty called. Meela nodded her comprehension.
"I'll stay with you awhile, if you like," Bii'vor offered.
"I'd like that," said Meela.
Satisfied that the pair would be alright together, Anderson turned and stepped towards the door.

The turbolift doors hissed open and for the second time today, Anderson stepped onto the floor of the Ops Center. Since this morning, however it had become much more filled with personnel, and Anderson could almost feel the excitement in the air as the various officers brushed back and forth past him. He smiled contently. At last it seemed as though things were coming together.
Anderson proceded over to the guard railing in the center of the room. He leaned over the railing and glanced down into the control center below. This time, all six of the terminal positions were manned with various officers wearing the uniforms of not only the Federation, but also the Galloway and the Alliance. Alright, so they weren't really all his people yet, but at least the center was fully manned and operable.
Anderson heard someone call out to him.
He turned and noticed Lieutenant Nikoxancthe step down from her Ops control console and stride over to him at the railing. Anderson acknowledged his tiny friend.
"So what happened with the assassin?" she wondered.
"Don't worry about that. We got 'im!" said Anderson with a satisfied smile.
Nikoxancthe shared a smile with the Captain.
Someone else called the Captain. He glanced about trying to locate the source of the voice. When it called him again, Anderson glanced into the control center below.
Standing in the middle of the control center, atop the Drakmarian emblem embroidered into the maroon carpeting, was a woman whom Anderson had never seen aboard the station before.
She wore a red uniform identical to both Anderson's and Niko's. Even from above Anderson noticed the three gold pips on the collar of her grey undershirt. Her long, jet-black hair cascaded down over her shoulders and her bangs were cut just above her eyes. Her features were hard but not unnattractive, and the ridges on her nose indicated her Bajoran heritage to all.
"I think you should come down here and take a look at this," the Bajoran Commander said.
Anderson nodded. He began to slowly step towards the stairwell leading to the control center below. He turned to Niko as he walked.
"Who is she?" he asked sotto vocce.
"Our X.O.," Niko replied. "Apparently she arrived while we were taking care of the problem with Ambassador Meela."
"What's her name?"
"Seren. Commander Kira Seren."
Anderson nodded and began his descent to the control center. He noticed Niko turn away and head back to her own control terminal. As Anderson stepped onto the plush carpeting of the floor, Commander Kira Seren came up to him for the first time.
She was tall; about an inch or so taller than Anderson. He also noticed that her figure formed her uniform into a near-perfect hourglass shape, and her eyes were like a pair of rare black pearls. Her hair was so long and thick that Anderson couldn't tell if she wore one of the ceremonial earrings of her people.
"Commander," said Anderson in acknowledgment.
"Take a look at this," said Kira in a no-nonsense kind of way. She turned to escort Anderson over to the science console where Firechaser To-Ennien still sat. Kira asked Firechaser to report her findings to the Captain.
"Remember that signal I told you about this morning?" queried Firechaser with her ever-present purr.
Anderson nodded.
"Well, it appears to have increased in strength and regularity."
Anderson leaned down to her console, trying to contain his excitement. "So what is it? A ship?"
"No," said Firechaser. "It's more like a pulsar. But as far as we can tell, it's not composed of any kind of recognizable stellar material."
"Is it large enough now for us to get a visual on it?"
"I think so, sir."
Anderson ordered her to bring the image up on her terminal's viewscreen. Firechaser's furry fingers tapped several keys on her computer to bring up the image. Anderson diverted his eyes to the screen.
What came up was the image of a starfield, the one just outside the station. Firechaser adjusted the coordinates so that it represented the area of space where the signal was coming from. When the screen flickered onto the area, Anderson squinted his eyes in an attempt to make out anything out of the ordinary.
At the moment though, all he could see were tiny pinpoints of white light set against the black tapestry of space.
"Where is it?" wondered Anderson.
"It's in the center of the screen," said Firechaser. "I'll try to magnify it."
Firechaser ran her fingers across the keys once again. The image on the screen flickered once again and this time, Anderson could make out what looked like a large, black blotch in the center of the starfield.
It was completely black. No stars could be seen shining through it. The black spot had no distinctive shape, although the edges appeared to be vibrating slightly, rather like when shaking a bowl of gelatin. It almost looked as though someone had accidentally spilled a well of india ink onto the starfield.
Anderson marvelled at the strange image on the viewscreen. "Can we get any kind of a reading on it?"
"No," said Firechaser. "It's too far away for the station's sensors to get anything more than a visual on it."
Anderson chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. It was no longer an insignificant little glitch in the system, but a strange phenomenon which warranted further investigation. And since the station's sensors couldn't give him anything more than a visual readout, there was only one way to find out exactly what it was.
Anderson tapped the communications button of Firechaser's science console.
"Anderson to landing bay."
"Landing bay here," the voice replied.
"Prepare one of the Wayfarers for launch."
"Yes, sir."
Anderson cut the channel and rose from the console. He then stepped towards the stairwell and began to ascend to the upper level of the Ops Center. Commander Kira immediately came up behind him, and began following him up the stairs.
"You're not going out to investigate that thing are you, sir?" she said.
"We can't get an accurrate reading on what it is with the station's sensors," replied Anderson. "How else would you propose to do it?"
"But why do you have to be the one to investigate it?"
Anderson stopped. He turned to face her.
"With respect, sir," said Kira. "You're governor of this station. Your place is here. We can't risk having you go out there into a potentially dangerous situation."
Anderson hadn't thought of that. He had been so used to being the one leading the Away teams on the John Heinz, that he hadn't considered that now he was in a position of importance, and as such, he really couldn't be afforded the luxury of being allowed to go on a risky assignment. Reluctantly, he inclined his head in submission to the logic of his first officer's statement.
Kira brushed past the Captain and tapped Firechaser's science console. With a few quick strokes of her long fingers, she'd accessed the station's mainframe computer.
"Computer," began Kira. "Of the personnel currently registered as active on the station, who among them is the most qualified pilot?"
Kira silently waited as the computer processed the information. Anderson stood back, admiring the ease with which authority seemed to come to her. He had a feeling she was going to make a fine first officer, even if she did seem at first a little impetuous.
Finally, the computer ceased its calculations and made its report.
"Of personnel currently on active duty," the computer's feminine voice intoned, "the most qualified pilot is Captain Robert Edward Lee Anderson."
For a moment after the computer's voice went silent, Anderson thought that Kira's night-black eyes were going to burst forth from their sockets. Rather like one of the characters in the twentieth-century cartoons he so enjoyed watching. He fought hard to repress a snicker, his hand quickly covering his grin.
Kira shook her head, dumbfounded. "Computer, surely there must be another..."
"Now, now," Anderson interrupted, still with a slight hysterical quaiver in his voice. "You heard the computer. You asked for the most qualified person and that's exactly what it gave you."
"Sir, with respect, I really don't think you should be the one to go out there."
"I understand. And if our positions were reversed I'd say exactly the same thing as you, but this time I'm exercising Captain's prerogative."
Now it was Kira's turn to capitulate. "Very well, sir."
Anderson turned away from her and began heading for the stairwell to the upper level of the Ops center. As he was about to step up the staircase, he momentarily hesitated. He turned back to the science console where Kira Seren stood and Firechaser sat staring at him curiously. He stepped back over to the console, leaned in between the two women, and pressed the comm panel on the console.
"Landing bay," he said, "has that ship I requested been delivered here yet?"
"Yes sir," replied the voice on the other end. "It arrived here three days before you. We've been making it spaceworthy ever since."
A gleam came to Anderson's eyes, like a child at Christmas who had just received a sought-after toy. He smiled and said, "Excellent. Prepare it for launch!"
Anderson then turned and stepped towards the stairwell, and began ascending to the upper level of the Ops center. As Kira listened to the turbolift doors hissing open, indicating that the Captain was about to leave the Ops center, she heard a tiny feminine voice call out to her.
She glanced skyward and noticed Lieutenant Nikoxancthe leaning over the railing.
"I wouldn't worry about the Captain," she said confidently.
Kira placed her hands on her hips. "Why do you say that, Lieutenant?"
Niko's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Didn't you know? He was the test pilot when Starfleet was developing the Runabout."

The turbolift doors opened and Anderson stepped for the first time into the spacious landing bay of Serendipity Station. He stopped momentarily and gasped in awe as the doors hissed closed behind him.
It was by far the largest spaceship hangar he had ever seen in his life. It took up the entire lower half of the habitation area of the station and had been especially designed to accomodate a vast amount of small vessels in the event of an emergency. An emergency whereby the station's regular complement of docking ports had already been filled to capacity.
Right at the moment however, the hangar only lodged a few small, one-man craft used mainly for maintenance and repair operations on the station's exterior. There were also three Wayfarers: Drakmarian versions of the Federation runabout-class, poised and ready to depart at three of the bay's four massive doors.
The object of Anderson's desire sat before the fourth.
A slightly-battered and weathered Federation Runabout-class starship. She was exactly as he remembered her. Starfleet had apparently never decommissioned her as she still bore the registration NCC-264555, and the name Daedalus. Anderson sighed deeply. It was as if he were seeing an old lover again after many years. In this case, it was only five years, but to him it seemed like an eternity. Especially since he thought he would never see the ship again.
He stepped towards the Runabout, his heart racing. Partly from the excitement of going out among the stars once again. Partly because of what he knew was waiting for him on board.

The door slid upwards and for the first time in five years, Anderson stepped onto the flight deck of the Daedalus. This was the one that had started it all, the prototype of the Runabout class starship. The very same ship which Anderson himself had piloted all those years ago. With a sense of reverence and awe, he stepped forward towards the flight console.
He seated himself in the pilot's chair. He sank into the leather cushioning which he joyfully noted still had the same aroma and even the same tear in the lower right portion of the cushioning with a slight strand of white stuffing poking out. He chuckled to himself. He'd complained about that tear for weeks and still noone had ever gone about fixing it!
For a moment he sat alone in the silence. Images from his past flashed across his mind. All the hours he had spent on this flight deck, all the adventures he'd had just trying to make sure the ship was handling exactly as it should have been. All just so it would be ready for production and use by Starfleet personnel.
Finally, he reached out to the console before him and tapped a panel. The console lit up like a Christmas tree and a faint hum rose from the depths of nowhere to a steady, ever-present background tone. She still had it in her! Anderson's fingers darted across the console as he brought the engines online. After a few more
minor corrections, he was finally ready to leave.
He activated the communications panel. "Open launch bay doors," he requested.
Anderson glanced out the viewport as the giant, orange door before him slowly began to rise up into the ceiling of the landing bay. Slowly and steadily it rose, revealing the blackness pinpointed with white beyond. The aura of the decom shields framed the canvass of space in a rectangular ring of blue.
Anderson touched a few panels on the console and the Daedalus lifted slightly off the floor of the landing bay and slowly began to creep towards the opening. As the ship passed though the decom shields and into the vast open space beyond, Anderson adjusted the controls once again, putting the ship on auto pilot until it had cleared the docking ring of the station.
As the massive docking ring arced by overhead, Anderson called for the Daedalus' onboard computer to make a report.
"Approaching edge of station shielding," it said in a voice not-dissimilar from the station's own mainframe. "Adjusting gravitational and..."
"Computer," Anderson purposely interrupted. The voice ceased its report as it awaited new instructions from him.
"The rain," Anderson said simply.
The computer's voice was momentarily as silent as Anderson had guessed it would be, as it pondered his statement.
"Question not understood," the computer finally replied. "Please restate."
"Computer: the rain in Spain," Anderson said with a mischievous grin.
Another silent moment passed. Again the computer repeated its incomprehension.
"Computer: the rain in Spain falls mainly..." he trailed off, prompting the computer to finish his statement.
"...On the plain," the computer replied. This time, something was different about its voice. It was no longer the stern, matter-of-fact, matronly voice which Starfleet engineers programmed all their computers with; instead it was soft, with a slight lilt. It was as though the computer had had a complete personality transplant.
"Robert?" the computer voice plaintively asked. It was no longer the school librarian or the stern English teacher who pursed her lips every time a student ended a phrase with a dangling participle. Instead, it was the calm, understanding, almost lyrical voice of a lover.
Anderson smiled, trying to hold back the tears welling in his eyes. "Hello GEM."
This had to have been one of the happiest moments of Anderson's life. Not only did he have back the old ship he used to tool around the cosmos in, but he also had GEM back as well. He hadn't been sure if she was even still buried back in the recesses of the Daedalus' mainframe's programming, but here she was. Just as he had left her.
"Where are we?" GEM wondered. "What's happened?"
"I'll explain everything to you later," said Anderson reassuringly. "Right now, I need you to plot me a course 572 mark 13. To the source of a regularly pulsing energy emission."
GEM was silent a moment as she carried out Anderson's instructions. "Course plotted and laid in," she finally stated.
Anderson felt the Daedalus lurch slightly as it changed course to head in the direction of the bizarre phenomenon the station had been registering. Within moments, the ship was moving forward at impulse power towards its destination. For several moments, Anderson sat alone in the silence of the flight deck, anxiously awaiting his arrival at the coordinates.
"Robert," GEM said.
The Captain asked her to continue.
"How long was I in there?"
Anderson's expression turned puzzled. "Five years. Why?"
"It seemed like an eternity..., back in that lonely recess of the system. Never able to come out... to speak to anyone..."
Anderson leaned in towards the console from which her voice emanated. His face filled with concern. "You mean... you were aware all that time?"
"Yes."
Anderson slumped back into the leather cushioning. An exasperated sigh escaped from his lips. "Oh my God. GEM,... I... I'm sorry. I had no idea. I thought I'd programmed the system to put you to sleep until it was safe to access you again."
"And the programming itself did remain dormant," GEM reassured him. "But it was like placing a book on the back of a shelf, buried by a row of others. The casing remains hidden, but the ideas remain active."
Anderson rubbed his forehead in shock. "GEM, I'm so sorry. I only wanted to protect you..."
"I know," GEM said understandingly. "And I don't blame you. I know computer programming wasn't your specialty."
"Well," Anderson sighed. He unzipped his jumpsuit momentarily and placed his hand inside. "I was hoping to save this for a more opportune moment..."
From the inside pocket which lined his jumpsuit, Anderson produced a tiny, red computer disk. He zipped up the jumpsuit once again. "But after what you've been through," he continued, "it seems like a crime to keep this from you any longer."
He fed the disk into a tiny slot in the upper right portion of the flight console. When it was loaded, he began tapping a series of commands into the console itself. Perhaps it was the shame combined with the excitement, but within a matter of mere moments, he was finished.
"What is it?" GEM queried.
"A gift... for you," Anderson replied with a smile.
The lights on the flight deck dimmed slightly, as the Daedalus experienced a momentary loss of power. As the backup systems attempted to compensate for the strain, Anderson noticed a bright aura of energy beginning to form in the chair next to his own. Slowly, the quivering mass began to take shape, moving within moments from a multi-colored amorphus mass of energy and into a bright, solid colored bipedal form.
As Anderson watched, the form began to take on some definition. Two feet, legs, shapely hips, medium-sized breasts, and finally the face of an angel. Seconds later, the final stages of the programming began, and the final definitive touches were added to the feminine body forming before him. A lovely white shoulderless silk-like dress draped the girl's form, with an ascot of the same "material" connecting the dress to her slender neck.
Finally, her eyes twinkled into a lovely shade of bluish-green, and a mop of brownish hair cascaded from the top of her head to just slightly below her ears. When it was finally finished, the lighting on the flight deck returned to normal, and Anderson found himself seated next to the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
True, her body was transluscent and outlined in a slight bluish aura, but that was only to be expected since the Daedalus simply did not have the power reserves to give her a true physical presence. Nevertheless, GEM's new holographic body was everything Anderson had hoped it would be. After all, she had the personality of the girl of his dreams, why shouldn't she have the body as well?
GEM lifted her arms, admiring them. Then she glanced at her the rest of her body, looking it over as though it were a new car she had just purchased. Finally, she glanced up into the viewport. She caught sight of her reflection cast against the black background of space. She raised a hand and caressed her smooth, feminine face.
Finally, she turned to Anderson, a smile of joy across her beautiful features. "How did you...? When did you...?"
Anderson returned her smile. "I've been working on it, on and off, for the last four years. It's really nothing more than a localized holodeck simulation."
"And this is really what you imagined I might look like?"
"No. It's what you imagined you might look like. I programmed it to pick up on your perceptions,... your ideals, your... "
"Feelings?" GEM suggested, a mischievous grin across her hologrammatic features.
Anderson nodded with a smile. "Anyway, I thought if I ever found you again, it was time I gave you one."
"Well, it is your fault that I'm here in the first place!" quipped GEM.
Anderson nodded. "So I figured I'd better do it properly this time!"
For the first time in her life, GEM erupted in a peel of laughter.

Chapter Three

Commander Kira Seren paced about the upper level of the Ops Center on Serendipity Station; an unseen aura of agitation surrounding her tall, slender form. It had only been about fifteen minutes since Captain Anderson had recklessly ventured out in a battered old Runabout to investgate the phenomenon at the edge of the station's sensor range. However, to Kira it seemed like an eternity.
It was, after all the duty of a first officer to take those kinds of risks, not the Commander. And escpecially not a commander who was also serving as military governor of an outpost with over twenty-five thousand people aboard!
It just really annoyed her.
Wasn't he bound by the same Federation regulations as she? Just because he had received his commission via the Drakmarian government, was that any excuse for his abandoning the established protocols? After all, there had to be a pecking order on this station, and like it or not, she felt like it was time that someone enforced it!
Am I overreacting again? she silently wondered.
She'd been told by several of her past senior officers that she was far too serious and needed to loosen up a bit. Rules were made to be broken, they'd often told her. Well, what did they know? They hadn't had her upbringing. They hadn't had a father who didn't know of their existence. Or even if he had known, he probably wouldn't have acknowledged it.
They hadn't been brought up hated and despised by all the other Bajoran children, and even by most of their parents. They hadn't had to fight to get into Starfleet, scratch and claw their way up the chain of command, all the while avoiding little pitfalls that seemed to mysteriously crop up at every turn.
No, they all had had it really easy compared to her!
And now that she had finally earned herself a position of some respect and authority, she wasn't about to let anything happen to jeopardize it. Even if it meant coming into conflict with her superior officer.
A voice called out to her. It wasn't one she immediately recognized.
She turned towards the main entrance to the Ops Center and notice a middle-aged human male, bedecked in white ambassadorial robes coming towards her. She diverted her gaze from the man momentarily, and rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh. Of all the times in the universe!
"Commander, I'd like to have a word with the Captain," said the man haughtily as he stopped before the Commander.
Kira turned to face him. She towered above the man by a good two inches, but still he stood his ground firmly. As though he were the biggest giant to ever walk the universe. Kira put on her "happy" face, or at least the expression she could closest approximate to happiness.
"I'm sorry Ambassador," she said evenly. "Captain Anderson left the station a few moments ago."
The ambassador let out a beguiled sigh. "Well what in the hell did he do that for?"
"He is investigating a phenomenon that has been registering on the extreme edge of our sensors' range for the past two days. We needed a more thorough examination than the station's sensors could provide, so he took a Runabout to investigate."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Commander," said the ambassador, the annoyance in his voice rising. "But isn't he supposed to be military governor of this station? And doesn't that entail that his primary, overriding duty is to the administration of this station, its people, and the members of the High Council of the League of Worlds?"
Who writes your material? wondered Kira. She nodded in agreement; he at least was correct on that point.
"Then how is it that he is permitted to go gallivanting off across the quadrant, chasing some probably insignificant piece of space phenomena, while those who are most important to his duties must wait to even speak with him for a precious few moments?"
Exactly what I was thinking, Kira pondered. If she were any place else, she would have agreed with the ambassador openly. However, here Anderson was in charge, not this nor any of the other ambassadors. It was in that moment that she finally realized it was Anderson who could make or break her career and noone else. Somehow, she knew that this incident would not be the first time that the pair would be at odds over their decisions, nor would it probably be the last. But like it or not, he was her superior officer. And it was his word that was final, and noone else's.
"Ambassdor Hasledge," Kira began pleasantly. "While the Captain may be military governor of Serendipity, he is also a Starfleet officer, as are many of the other personnel here. And that affords both him and us a certain discretion when it comes to our duties."
Hasledge's jaw dropped. "Surely, you can't mean..."
"If the opportunity to explore an unknown variable in the universe presents itself, we are fully permitted to use every resource available to us to explore it."
"Why,...why that's ludicrous!" said Ambassador Hasledge between agrivated puffs.
"It's also the law," said a third masculine voice.
Kira turned to see a man slightly taller than herself step towards them. She glanced the officer over admiringly. He was wearing a standard Galloway-style, black jacketed uniform. His long, jet black hair gently cascaded downward to taper off at a point just above his shoulders. He had thin, branched and slightly upswept eyebrows, and his irises and scleras were each a distinctive shade of green.
"With all due respect, Ambassador," said Lieutenant Commander Y'Vrn Martyn, "you really should bone up on your Serendipity Charter. It makes for fascinating reading."
Kira joined Y'Vrn in a silent, satisfying grin as they observed the Federation Amabassador's expression. At one point, his face became so red, that Kira thought at any moment, steam would begin shooting out of his ears. After a few moments, the Ambassador calmed himself and began slowly backing towards the entrance to the Ops Center.
"Well, when your captain returns from his little 'joyride,'" he said with each step, "tell him that I wish to have word with him, finally!"
The main doors, shaped like the upper portion of the Drakmarian emblem, parted and Ambassdor Hasledge turned and stepped through the open archway. Seconds later, the doors closed behind him with a satisfied sigh.
Kira turned to Y'Vrn, a cross look suddenly shaping her face.
"What kind of a thing was that to say to the appointed representative of our Federation?" she queried sternly.
"Just a little brevity," said Y'Vrn with a slight nervous stammer. "He was becoming entirely too serious."
"Well keep that brevity coming, Commander," said Kira seriously. A smile finally wormed its way across her face, and for the first time that she could remember in quite a while, she allowed another being to see her perfectly straight, pearly white teeth.
"That was the best laugh I've had for quite some time!"

Lieutenant Nikoxancthe sat at her table in the Klingon restaurant in Serendipity Square, awaiting the arrival of her lunch. Ever since her days as a special representative of Drakmar IV to the Klingon Empire, Klingon had become by far her most favorite cuisine in the universe. She loved everything about it: its textures, its names, its aromas, the way it had a tendency to just slide down the esophagus as if on a sheet of slick oil and juice.
Ke'hck Pah was her most favorite dish of all. It was essentially the intenstines of some unfortunate Klingon mammal which had been cured in blood wine for about a month, and served extra raw, only cooked slightly to remove some of the harmful bacteria which tended to inhabit the organs, and served in a spicy blood-red sauce with vegetables.
Anyone who had ever been brave enough to try Ke'hck Pah had described it as being like eating a chicken salad covered in a molten lava dressing. And it left a very satisfying, or nearly life-threatening burn, depending upon one's point of view, as it digested in one's stomach.
As is the case with any other type of foreign dish or beverage in the universe, the more times one had it, the greater one's tolerance to the concoction's side-effects became. And Niko had had Ke'hck Pah so many times, that she was only two meals away from earning a spot for her image on the restaurant's "Great Warrior" wall.
Niko couldn't help but chuckle to herself at that prospect.
Many people would never have believed that despite the fact that Klingons were among the fiercest fighters in the galaxy, they also as a people, possessed one of the most irreverent and wicked senses of humor in the galaxy! Indeed, most of the station's inhabitants believed that the translation of this restaurant's name was "Emperor Gowron's Palace."
In fact, it was "Lucky Gowron's Klingon Eat-in or Take-Away!"
"May I join you?" said a very deep, resonant voice.
Niko glanced up from the table and saw a huge, hulking mass of a man towering above her. He was imposing in every respect; from his long, flowing locks of curly black hair, to the deep red, grey, and black of his garbs. His skin was of a deep brown cast, and his jagged, boney forehead only complimented the menace in his thick, upswept eyebrows, his sharp, pointed goatee, and his nearly-black eyes.
He was easily a match for any man or beast who would dare to cross his path, and if he so desired, he could have easily taken Niko's tiny, frail form in his arms and crushed her bones with a single bear hug.
Niko smiled graciously at the Klingon and indicated the empty seat across from hers. The Klingon pulled the chair from under the table, stepped over the back as though it were merely a footstool, and lowered himself into the red cushioning of the seat. Even in a seated position, the Klingon was a towering mass of muscular bulk.
"Glory and honor to you, most noble Nikoxancthe," said the Klingon in his native tongue. He inclined his head slightly as he finished the words.
"I am thrice honored by your presence, most excellent Ambassador," replied Niko, also with a slight bow in Klingonese.
At that moment, the waiter, a slightly less-bulky, but by no means less-imposing Klingon, returned to Niko's table with her Ke'hck Pah and a tall, frothing glass of greenish liquid. He placed them before Niko and subsequently faced the Klingon Ambassador. He bowed slightly in his presence and the Ambassador in turn, ordered a healthy helping of Gagh. The waiter bowed once again and hurried away to fetch the Ambassador's lunch.
The Ambassador faced Niko once again.
"Don't you ever grow weary of eating the same thing for lunch every day?" he asked in Federation standard.
"When I'm so close to making it onto the 'wall of fame'? Not on your life!" said Niko, raising a healthy portion of the Klingon entree to her mouth. She engulfed the food as would a man who hadn't eaten a bite for months.
The Ambassador smiled as he watched Niko chew her food. "Well, you are the only non-Klingon I know who can handle eating Ke'hck Pah in the traditional manner."
Niko swallowed her chewed portions with a satisfied sigh. The burn she felt as the food travelled down her gullet was full and gratifying. She let loose a healthy belch. The Ambassdor laughed deeply and heartily, as would a father to a newborn and Niko joined in the merriment after a moment.
"God, I love that!" said Niko. And she raised another full helping of the food to her lips. She paused momentarily before placing the portion in her mouth. "So, to what do I owe the company of the great Kerg Tai ta'Chookma for lunch today?"
Ambassador Kerg sat sullenly for a moment. As though it were nothing; but Niko knew him better than that. They had been friends for a long time, ever since the day she'd first arrived on Qo'noS, alone and friendless. Kerg had been the one member of the High Council to see the potential of a diplomatic alliance with the Drakmarians and as such, he had taken the frightened, almost child-like girl under his wing and into the protection of his House.
For seven years they worked side by side and in that time, they had become as close as any two people could. Indeed, they had become so intimate with one another that it had, at times, caused some set-backs in their work. Kerg was like the father that Niko had never known, and that was one of the reasons why she had fallen in love with him. And Kerg had made no secret of the fact that he was attracted to her because she was so different from any other woman he had ever known.
When they were forced to part company, there was little doubt how much it tore each of them apart. Niko had resigned herself to the fact that she would probably never see Kerg again. That is, until the Primus had asked her personally for a recommendation for Klingon ambassador to the station. She could think of noone else she would rather have serve in such a capacity!
Naturally, after so long apart, things between them had changed. Kerg had met and married a Klingon noblewoman and Niko had gone through the Academy and earned her rank and position aboard the station. But they still knew what each other was thinking better than even they themselves would care to admit!
"I have been sensing a..." Kerg paused momentarily. Trying find the correct words to express his thoughts. "... A feeling of... anxiousness among the people."
Niko replaced her food on her plate and diverted her full attention to the Klingon Ambassador. "We're all a little anxious, Kerg," she said reassuringly. "After what happened with Ambassador Meela..."
"No," Kerg interrupted, "it is not just that. It is almost as though everyone on the station were... bracing themselves."
"'Bracing themselves?'" wondered Niko. "For what?"
Kerg sat silently a moment. Niko's gaze pleaded for him to answer her question.
"Battle," he finally said.
Niko leaned back into her seat. She seemed to have calmed herself from the tension Kerg had been generating. Finally she glanced at the Ambassador incredulously. "Is that all your people can think about? Battles, blood, and war?"
"It is not just my people, Niko. Look around you; at any of the faces on this station."
Niko glanced out into the Square. Her gaze met that of a Bolian merchant peddling his hand-crafted wares from a shanty cart.
"Everyone has the same aura about them," Kerg went on the explain. "Like a soldier prepared for battle and merely awaiting the order to charge!"
Now that he mentioned it, there was something odd about the Bolian. It was in his eyes: an unexplainable, irrational fear. As if Death, dressed in tattered black robes and brandishing a scythe were waiting behind every corner. He was also performing routine activities at a frenzied pace; as if they had to be completed before some rapidly approaching deadline. Or else...
She noticed one or two other passersby in the Square and each one of them had the same air about them as well. Rushing about at a mad speed as though the end of the world was nigh.
She turned back to Kerg, almost flabbergasted. "My God, you may be right."
Then, a realization flashed through her mind. "I suddenly remember being in quite a hurry to get her today for lunch..."
"And I've never known you to rush," commented Kerg.
Niko rose from her seat. "I've got to get to Ops," she said. "There may be something affecting the station, and if I'm right, Captain Anderson may be in even more danger than we realized!"

The Daedalus neared the coordinates where the mysterious phenomenon had days ago been registered by Serendipity's sensors.
The phenomenon had become visible to the naked eye less than five minutes before, and Anderson took a moment to fully behold it. At first, it appeared as though it were a patch of solid blackness that had somehow been attached to the star-speckled tapestry of space. As the Daedalus drew nearer and nearer to the phenomenon, he realized that it was much more.
The edges of the mass were not solidly shaped, but rather they seemed to branch outwards from the central mass. They also seemed to expand and contract at a fairly regular pace. In many ways, it reminded Anderson of an amoeba or some other microscopic lifeform which he had studied years ago in a long-forgotten biology class. Except that this amoeba was roughly the size of large transport vessel and as opaque as a moonless night.
Anderson ran his fingers across the control console and brought the Daedalus to a dead stop approximately one hundred meters away from the phenomenon. For a moment, he stared out the viewport at the quivering black mass outside the ship. A sudden chill coursed through his being. He wondered if this might have been how Pinnochio or Jonah felt before being swallowed by the whale.
"Alright GEM," Anderson finally said. "Give me a broad spectrum analysis. I want to know this thing's mass, composition, anything that might give us a clue as to what it is and where it might have come from."
"Aye aye, skipper!" GEM replied excitedly.
Anderson rose from his seat and stepped over to the science console set in the left corner of the flight deck. GEM had deactivated her hologrammatic body as the Daedalus approached the phenomenon in order to ensure that the ship had one hundred per cent power capacity in case of any trouble. Anderson agreed it was a wise precaution.
As he sat himself at the science console, the screen set in the wall before him came alive with power. Already, images and data were being downloaded into the memory banks of the Daedalus' onboard mainframe and Anderson watched the dataroll with no small degree of wonder.
After a moment or so, Anderson's eyelids began to grow heavy.
He blinked once or twice and then brought his thumb and forefinger up to them. He rubbed his closed eyelids for a couple of seconds, thinking that the data was simply rolling by too quickly for his eyes to keep up.
Then, his head slumped forward and he jerked it upright once again with a start, nearly pulling a muscle in the process.
What was going on? He never fell asleep on duty; especially not while piloting a Runabout or any other type of shuttlecraft. Somehow he always seemed to be incredibly alert and aware, no matter how little sleep he may have gotten the previous night, when he was in the pilot's seat. So why should he suddenly feel exhausted now?
"Robert?"
GEM's voice suddenly brought Anderson back to a state of semi-consciousness.
"Are you all right?"
"Fine," Anderson lied. He rubbed his eyes momentarily and then asked her to continue with her report.
"The object currently has a mass of approximately a hundred and fiftty meters and a weight close to ten thousand metric tons."
Anderson nodded. Once again he jerked his head back to an upright position and his eyes widened.
"Robert," GEM said. She paused momentarily, as though her sensors were trying to confirm some new bit of information which they hadn't been prepared to receive.
"This is incredible!" she continued. "Its mass and weight keep increasing with each passing second. If it continues to expand at this rate, it'll be bigger than the whole space station in matter of hours!"
Anderson's perception began to blur. Everything surrounding him suddenly seemed to twist and fold in upon itself. It was like some psychodelic nightmare. Once familiar objects suddenly became the unknown faces of some unspeakable demonic creatures and Anderson raised his hands to shield himself from their frightening presence.
"Robert...."
Anderson heard GEM's voice. It too had become distorted; its pitch lowered and mixed with a resonation not unlike electronic feedback.
"It's begun sending out that signal again.... Robert?... Robert???!!!......."

Anderson glanced all around him, fully awake and alert.
It took a moment or two for his mind to register what his eyes were seeing: this was not where he had been. It was not the somewhat cramped flight deck of a Runabout, but rather an expansive, and ornately decorated room with a high ceiling. Festive and gayly colored banners hung from the girdered framework above, while exotic flowers of all shapes, sizes, and colors, were placed strategically about the room in tall thin-stemmed whicker baskets.
He glanced about some more. This time he noted the large, clear aluminum viewing portals set on the right side of the room. Behind their crystalline protection, walled back like the waters of an immense reservoir, was the pinpointed blackness of space. A low rumble could be heard and Anderson soon realized that it was the collective voice of the multitude of people milling about the room. Every one of them was dressed to the nines, whether it be in some formal military uniform or the latest in civillian fashion.
He suddenly felt an uncomfortable stiffness at his neck; as though a noose had been tightened there. He reached up and adjusted the collar of his starched, dress uniform. He moved his hand away from the collar almost too quickly. He hadn't been wearing that before!
"It's okay to be a little jumpy," a voice whispered reassuringly.
Anderson cocked his head to the right and noticed a man close to his own age standing beside him. Apparently, he had been there the whole time and he smiled good-naturedly at Anderson. Anderson studied the man as if he were looking over some strange new lifeform that had yet to be classified.
He was wearing a Starfleet dress uniform similar to Anderson's, even down to its red command departmental coloring. His face was round but not fat, and the curly mop of sandy blond hair atop his head framed his jovial features perfectly. Anderson finally knew who he was: it was Captain Fulmer! His old skipper from the John Heinz! What in the world was he doing here?
Then Anderson quickly glanced about the room again. This time as he did, a warm feeling began to well up inside him as he suddenly realized where he was; as surely as he knew his own name. It was as if he had come home. This was the John Heinz! More specifically, it was the huge rec room where the crew often came on their off-duty hours to indulge in friendly games, drinks, and conversation.
He could only remember one other time that the room had been this festively decorated. He remebered it well and fondly; it was the day of the Captain's wedding. Being not only Fulmer's executive officer, but also his close friend for nine years, Anderson had naturally been asked to stand as his "best man." He remembered that Jeff had been so jumpy that day that he could barely speak the wedding vows which he and his beautiful bride, Theresa, had written for each other.
Anderson also had to chuckle because, as he remembered it, Starfleet dress uniforms did not possess pockets of any kind. Whoever had desgined them must have thought that bulging pockets would ruin the overall "clean" look the uniforms were supposed to convey. And Anderson had had a dickens of a time holding those damn rings in his right hand all through the ceremony. He even had to pause momentarily to wipe them on his uniform, in order to get rid of some of the perspiration from his hand that had collected on the the tiny gold bands, before handing them over to the bride and groom.
Then Anderson snapped back to reality. Waitaminute, he thought, that was three years ago! How could he suddenly have gone back in time? Not that he actually objected to being back here, but hadn't he just been on the Daedalus? Then he remembered, of course, his head had been bobbing. And his eyes had been heavy. He must've fallen asleep!
That was it! This was all a dream. Funny though, it sure felt as though it could be real.
Suddenly Anderson felt a sharp pain in his right arm. He jerked his head and noticed Captain Fulmer clamping his thumb and forefinger like a voice to his arm, and gently twisting the skin beneath his sleeve. Now that sure as hell felt real!
"I know you're excited," Fulmer hissed, "but pay attention for godssakes!"
Anderson pulled himself to attention as the familiar chords of the traditional Earth wedding march began. He sucked in a breath and held it momentarily, trying to bring the incessant pounding of his heart under control. Finally, he released it and turned to face the entrance to the rec room, where everyone else's attention was at the moment focused.
The doors, framed by a string of white, orchid-like flowers parted, the hydraulic hiss of their operation drowned out by the music. First through the open archway stepped a procession of five young women: the bridesmaids, all dressed in a light shade of pink. Anderson knew their faces well and he smiled with contentment as one by one, each marched down the white crash-covered aisle.
Next came the flower girl: an adorable little Andorian child whose parents worked in the botannical gardens on the ship. No doubt they had been the florists for this affair and Anderson sighed along with the rest of the crowd as the tiny girl sprinkled little pink rose petals down the aisle as she walked with a slightly off-balanced gait.
Then came the maid of honor: a diminutive blonde whose smile lit up the room as though it were she who was about to become Mrs. Jeffrey Fulmer. Anderson squinted his eyes as he studied her face more deeply. Then he realized, the girl walking down the aisle towards him, cradling an ornate bouquet of pink and red flowers, already was Mrs. Fulmer! Theresa winked at him affectionately and took her place opposite Anderson and Fulmer at the alter.
Anderson quickly glanced back and forth at Theresa's and Jeff's hands. Sure enough, they each were wearing their gold wedding bands!
Now he really was confused. If this wasn't Jeff and Theresa's wedding three years ago, then where the hell was he?
Another gasp erupted from the crowd and Anderson turned to face the entrance to the rec room once again. The bride had stepped through the open archway. Even from this distance, Anderson could tell that she was slightly taller than he, perhaps due to the high-heeled white shoes she wore. Her white gown was one of the most spectacular that he had ever seen. The train of the dress stretched out behind her for about five feet, and the oversized skirt was framed underneath by a hooped undergarment very much in the style of the American Civil War era.
As the bride came closer and closer, Anderson was finally able to make out her face beneath the mesh of her chest-length veil. His jaw nearly hit the floor and he felt sure his eyes were bugging out worse than one of the characters in the twentieth century cartoons he so enjoyed watching.
It was Maryanne!
Wait a minute! he thought. This can't be right! It has to be a dream! If what was actually happening was what he thought was happening, then it was he who was groom! But it didn't make sense. This wasn't what had happened. Maryanne had left him before he'd even gotten the chance to propose. And yet, here he was, standing before the alter about to get married to her.
"You're one lucky man, Robert," said Captain Fulmer with a playful nudge of his elbow.
Anderson was dumbstruck.
This certainly felt like it was really happening. But if so, then what had all that been before he'd found himself here? The ceremony on Drakmar IV. His promotion to Captain. Serendipity Station. Niko, GEM, and all the others. What had they all been? Was it perhaps them that had been the dream, and all the time he had really been here? Back on the John Heinz waiting to marry the love of his life? They certainly seemed real, but then, aren't all dreams supposedly that way?
Maryanne came closer to the alter and with each step she took, Anderson felt his heart pounding a little faster. If all he knew had been a dream, a dream in which he had somehow lost Maryanne and found himself in a whole new world, then he was more than happy to just toss it aside as one. Right here and now, all he wanted to do was make the woman he loved more than life itself his bride.
Maryanne stepped up next to Anderson, smiling at him from behind her veil.
The minister, a grey-haired Starfleet admiral stepped up behind the pulpit before them. He began going through the usual monologue of a typical Starfleet-conducted wedding. All the while, Anderson marvelled at his own good fortune. He was finally about to have something he'd longed for all his life: a lifetime of togetherness and a legacy. All because of this woman in white standing next to him.
The Admiral called for the rings.
Captain Fulmer opened his right hand. Resting in his palm were two shiny bands of gold. He plucked one of them from his palm and handed it to Anderson. Anderson returned his attention to the Admiral.
"Place the ring on her left hand," the Admiral intoned, "and repeat after me...."
Anderson moved the ring closer to Maryanne's hand.
"Wait!" she cried, violently jerking her hand away.
Anderson was taken aback by her sudden movement. He scanned her face, desperately searching for some kind of explanation. She lifted the veil from her face.
"I can't do this," she said mournfully. A confused murmur erupted from the crowd. Captain Fulmer raised his hand in an attempt to silence them.
Anderson gently grasped her bare shoulders. "What are you talking about? This is no time to be getting cold feet!"
"It's not cold feet," she tried to explain. "It's just... suddenly hit me that... we're going to be spending the rest of our lives together!"
Anderson nodded incomprehensibly. What was her point?
"I just... don't know if I'm ready for that," she said.
"Well now's a helluva time to figure that out!" Anderson fumed.
"Well,... how can I be expected to live my life with someone else if I haven't lived it for myself yet?"
That sounded eerily familiar. Where had he heard it before? Of course! It was what she had to him just before she'd... left him. In the dream. Only then, she hadn't been referring to herself. She'd been referring to... him!
Maryanne tenderly placed the wedding ring back into Anderson's palm. He gazed up longingly into her eyes, hoping beyond hope that this was all some sort of horrible mistake. But when she smiled weakly at him for a moment and then turned away and began strolling back up the aisle towards the entrance, the feelings all came back. Washing over him like a titanic tidal wave.
The pain.
The panic.
The humiliation.
The utter hopelessness and futility.
If Death had suddenly appeared before him, black robes, scythe and all, Anderson would have embraced him as surely as he would any mortal lover. For as far as he was concerned, his world had come crashing down all around him.
Only this time, it was much, much worse than before.
He felt Captain Fulmer's hand touch his shoulder reassuringly.
"Poor old thing," he sorrowfully intoned. "But, what can you expect from a guy who had to go through the Alliance to get his captaincy?"
Anderson whirled to face Fulmer, his eyes filled with rage. Of all the things to say at a time like this! I thought you were my friend!
Fulmer grinned at him evilly. "What was it you always used to say?"
Fulmer mocking chewed on the thought for a moment. Finally he 'remembered.'
"Ah, yes. 'If you can't party with the big boys, then don't show up!'"
What was he saying? Didn't Fulmer realize how broken inside he was?
"I could never marry you!"
Anderson whirled around. Maryanne stood defiantly in the center of the aisle. Her veil had been discarded and her short, brown hair lay matted against the top and sides of her head.
"I could never love someone so weak, timid, and spineless as you!!!" she spat.
Anderson suddenly became aware that the assembled mass had erupted in a peel of laughter. And he was the butt of their joke! Maryanne soon joined the crowd in their deep, ear-bleeding belly laugh.
Anderson glanced about at the assmbled throng as they continued cackling. Desperately he searched, hoping for some indication that someone there was on his side. Finally, he came upon the two people he had hoped would be among those in attendance at his wedding: his parents.
He rushed over to their side, tears of joy welling up in his eyes. Within a few heartbeats, his hopes were dashed as his mother and father stared back at him with expressions filled with contempt and disappointment.
"You could have been a great actor," his father said with a sad shake of his head. "But you defied me and joined Starfleet. Now look where it's got you!"
Dumbstruck, Anderson desperately turned to his mother. She could only avert her gaze.
Anderson sorrowfully turned away from them. He'd never felt so alone and so isolated in his entire life. Not even when Maryanne had really broken up with him.
The crowd had begun to move. Closer and closer they came, surrounding him in a sea of hateful humanity. Their laughter soon muted to only a slight background level as Anderson became aware that he was no longer dressed in his formal uniform, but back in his standard jumpsuit. All around him, reality seemed to dim; blacking everything out of existance. Soon, he was surrounded by nothing but darkness.
He collapsed to his knees, the tears welling up in his eyes with even greater force than before. This was how he'd always feared he would die: friendless and alone. He glanced around. The muffled laughter continued as angry, red, eye-like slits appeared all around him. He sprawled himself out on what passed as the floor in this dark, hellish reality, and soon fell into a foetal position.
He quivered and quaked with fear as the eyes became blood red and began circling around his body. He felt them brush against him, and with each touch, he grew weaker and weaker. The shaking soon ceased as his body no longer had the strength to do even that.
"Robert....?" a single feminine voice broke through the muffled cackling to pierce his weakened synapses. He strained to hear it, using every bit of energy that was left to him. He recognized the voice.
"Robert....?" GEM repeated her call.
And then he died.

Chapter Four

Pain.
Burning.
But not like before. Not as intense or all-consuming. Now it had become singular. Concentrated in one spot.
His eyes.
There was a brightness beyond his closed lids that seemed to burn a tiny, pinpoint hole through his skull and into his brain. With a groan of agony, he reached his hand up to his face, and began rubbing the bridge of his nose between his eyes. Someone had once told him that this was the thing to do with sudden, intense headaches: apply pressure to this area and the pain will soon fade away.
So far, it wasn't working.
With a great deal of effort, he forced his lids to open, half-expecting and hoping to see a choir of angels floating in the cloud-congested sky around him. Plucking their harps and singing a sweet melody. How strange he should think that, seeing as he was an agnostic.
Someone approached. She hovered above his supine body like a dragonfly over a spot of calm water in a crystal-smooth mountain lake. Somehow, she didn't fit the classic image of an angel. Oh, her face was astoundingly beautiful, no question about that. It was just that the tone of her skin seemed out of place. He'd never heard of angels with aquamarine skin.
Or white hair, which lovingly framed her sharp features and cascaded downwards to just above her shoulders.
And he certainly didn't know of ones that had fleshy antennae, the same cast as her skin, which protruded at oposing angles through the hair atop her head!
A frightening thought rushed through his mind. Angels didn't have protrusions coming out of the tops of their heads....
"Thank God," the strange blue-faced girl with the antennae sighed with relief. "I was beginning to think you'd never come out of it."
She certainly seemed friendly enough. But wasn't that the idea? To lull you into a false sense of comfort, just before they...?
The girl's lovely features wrinkled into a peculiar expression. Almost as though she had just sucked on a lemon. "Robert?" the girl began. "Do you know who am I?"
He studied her face once again. This time, he looked past the odd-coloring of her skin and the fleshy rods coming out of her head. Now that she mentioned it, there was something familiar about her face. He had seen it somewhere before. He searched his thoughts, his memories, indeed he glanced back through his entire recollection. Searching desperately for some connection to the face.
Within moments, he had a name which he could attach to the face: Anastria. Suddenly, the horror returned! It was happening again! Another face from the past come to torment like one of Dickens' spirits of Christmas. Well, this time he was ready for it! They wouldn't catch him out a second time!
With one swift movement, he reached out and clamped his hands tightly around her throat. His grip was strong, vice-like, and he could feel the movement in her throat as she desperately gasped for air. His grip tightened, and the girl choaked his name in a desperate attempt to calm him. But it was no use! Nothing she could say would make him stop.
Suddenly, he felt something cold and metallic press against his neck. He heard a hiss, and felt his flesh quiver, as if it were a hung-to-dry sheet ruslting in the wind. He soon lost all feeling in his body. His hands released the frightened blue girl's neck, and his body slumped back onto the padded cushioning underneath him.
For a moment he lay there, fully conscious and yet totally paralyzed. Able only to rotate his head from one side to the other, he took a moment to get a handle on his surroundings. It wasn't the dark abyss he had come from, nor was it the fire-and-brimstone filled cavern where he expected to find himself.
It was a large, technologically-advanced room. On either side of him were anywhere from two to five sturdy, padded flat boards sticking out from the walls. Above each padded board was a panel of some kind. A few of them were as black as the night sky, but the ones that weren't were alight with a kaleidescope of colors in a multitude of shapes. They also were the ones that seemed to have a person lying upon the board below them. Someone in either slightly better or marginally worse shape than himself.
Diagnostic beds! he thought. That's what they were called! He suddenly realized that he was in a medical center of some kind.
It had been some years since he had had a good chance to look around one, but the sights and sounds of the place were unmistakable. And unforgettable. The two years he'd spent as a medtech under Beverly Crusher on the Enterprise came back to him. What happy times those were. His first commission aboard a starship, and he had managed to land a spot on the Federation's flagship!
Oh, admittedly not every moment he had spent in the Enterprise's sickbay had been happy. There were, of course, the nerve-wracking medical emergencies, as well as the constant pressure to perform beyond the call of duty. But still, Robert Anderson couldn't help but feel nostalgic about the place. After all, it was where it all began for him.
He then noticed Anastria, the blue-faced girl, hovering above his bed once again. She circled her finger about her neck, as though trying to loosen the grey, turtle-neck tunic underneath her blue duty uniform. She shook her head disappointedly.
"Should've known you'd try something like that," she sighed. "After what you'd been through. Stupid of me!"
"Hope you won't hold it against me," commented Anderson.
Anastria shook her head. "How many women do you know who can say they had a man paralyzed and on his back within two minutes of meeting him?"
Anastria chuckled and Anderson joined her momentarily. Then he became aware of the pounding in his head. He grunted in agony and attempted to move his hand to massage his brow, which of course, he couldn't.
Anastria dashed quickly over to a small, hovering cart set beside his bed and removed a tiny cortical stimulator from atop it. She came back over to Anderson and gently placed the tiny device in the center of Anderson's forehead. She flicked a switch and within moments, a gentle sonic massage began coursing over Anderson's troubled brow.
"Don't worry," said Anastria, gently stroking his hair. "The paralysis will wear off in a couple of minutes."
Anastria smiled gently at Anderson, who weakly returned the gesture. He lied there silently for moment, enjoying the combined sensation of the cortical stimulation taking his headache away, and Anastria's gentle, almost-loving touch. Soon, he began regaining some of the feeling in his body.
"How long was I out?" Anderson finally asked.
"Twelve hours."
Anderson jerked his body as though to rise from his supine position. However, his body was not yet ready to ablige him. Anastria gently but firmly placed her hands on his shoulders; pinning him to the bed.
"Take it easy, Champ," she said.
Anderson silently complied. It never did anyone any good to argue with their doctors. Especially not when they had concoctions that could knock you on your ass like this!
"If it's any consolation," Anastria began again, "it was probably the best night's sleep you've ever had."
"It felt as if I'd died..."
"I'll bet it did."
"What happened to me?" wondered Anderson.
"Near as I can determine, you suffered what I can only call a near-fatal brain hemmorage."
Anderson scrunched his face in confusion. "But how is that possible?"
"Robert, there's so much about the brain that we simply don't understand. It's such a delicate organ that any number of things could play havoc with it."
Anderson shook his head. No matter how well you know them, doctors still patronize their patients!
"Come on, Anastria. I'm not just some poor slob who needs the fact that he has to have life-threatening surgery broken to him gently."
Anastria bit her lower lip, trying to drum up the courage to say what was on her mind.
"Alright," she finally said. "With what I've been able to determine from the Daedalus' records and so forth, I'd say that it had something to do with the lifeform."
Anderson finally felt enough sensation had returned to his body. He attempted to sit upright on the bed, and this time, he managed to succeed. He swung his legs around so that they dangled over the bedside just above the floor. Satisfied with the maneuver, he sat in his current position until he felt more of his stength return.
He returned his gaze to Anastria, a look of shear befuddlement across his bearded features.
"What lifeform?" he asked.
Now it was Anastria's turn to give Anderson a confused look. "The one you were investigating."
Anderson remained befuddled.
"On the Daedalus," she continued. She could see that she was getting nowhere with him. She decided to try rephrasing her statement.
"The phenomenon?" she said at last. "The thing at the edge of the station's sensor range? That you've been pondering over for the past two days?"
Anderson's expression changed. No longer was it confused and uncomprehending. Now it was filled with surprise and wonder.
"It's alive?" he said, nearly slack-jawed.
Anastria went over to the hovercart once again. This time she plucked a medical tricorder from atop it. She brought the tiny, silvery box-shaped device over to Anderson's bed. From inside the top compartment of the device, she produced a smaller, cylindrical object. As she ran the object over Anderson's forehead, it began making a whirring noise and orangish lights around its circumferance twinkled.
"You must've been hit harder than I thought," Anastria commented. "I still don't know how you managed to get the Daedalus get back here before you passed out..."
GEM! Anderson thought. She must've finished gathering the data we needed and then got me back here!
"So what did it do to me?" he wondered.
"Apparently, those 'signals' it's been sending out have a peculiar effect on the humanoid brain. They violently stimulate the hypothalmus, causing the victim to suffer intense bouts of negative emotion: fear, hatred, anxiety, mistrust and so on."
"But... why?" queried Anderson. "Why would it deliberately cause a person to experience negative emotions?"
"Are you sure you're alright?" wondered Anastria. "Maybe you just need to lie down again..."
"I'm fine!" snapped Anderson. Anastria backed away momentarily. Anderson silently apologized and beckoned her back over to his side. He asked her to continue.
"From what we can tell, it actually feeds off of the telekinetic impulses created by those emotions. The more intense the emotion, the greater the impulse."
"And negative emotions create the greatest impulses?"
"Unfortunately yes," Anastria nodded.
Anderson glanced about the medical center while the information Anastria had told him began to sink in. It was bustling with activity. More than he could remember ever seeing in any medical bay he had ever been in. Injured patients were scattered thoughout the bay on various diagnostic beds. Medtechs, nurses, and doctors dashed back and forth between each patient in a mad frenzy.
He remembered now that the station still did not have a full medical staff, and whatever personnel they did have on hand were at the moment up to their perverbial asses in alligators. Anderson faced Anastria once again.
"What's going on here?" he asked.
Anastria shifted her position uncomfortably. Anderson noticed most people tended to do that whenever they had something on their minds that they really didn't want to talk about.
"Ever since you came back," Anastria began, "tensions have been running incredibly high on the station. We've had riots..., fighting breaking out between the different races... It's like everything's falling apart before its even had a chance to begin!"
Anderson nodded comprehendingly.
It had really only been a matter of time. Ever since he arrived on the station, he felt as though he could cut the tension on board with a knife. He had managed to successfully quell one uprising, but now he guessed that he'd probably been deluding himself that no more had happened while he was on board. Perhaps he shouldn't have left the station to invesitgate that 'phenomenon' after all, like Kira had warned him he shouldn't.
Anastria had hit the nail right on the head, saying that everything was coming apart. And now Anderson was beginning to experience his greatest fear of all. The fear that laid in the back of his mind every time some opportunity came his way. He'd felt it on the Enterprise. He'd felt it with Maryanne and even when he became the top test pilot for the Runabout Design Team. He'd felt it when he received his executive officer posting on the John Heinz, and now he was feeling it here.
His great fear of failure.
A violent tremor rocked the station.
Anderson and Anastria were shaken off the bed and tumbled to the floor, each grabbing the other's arms to try and balance themselves. No good. They toppled over each other, until they came to rest; Anastria's wiry, shapely body resting atop Anderson's stocky frame.
Not yet realizing the awkwardness of their position, Anastria gazed down into Anderson's hazel eyes. "Are you alright?" she asked.
"Fine," said Anderson. He then grinned mischievously at his Andorian friend, "You've lost weight since we last saw each other, haven't you?"
Anastria smiled happily. "I was hoping you'd notice..."
Anderson's comm badge beeped.
He helped Anastria to her feet and then slowly raised himself to a standing position. He was still a bit shaky, not only from the tremor but also from the lingering effects of the paralyzer. He tapped the wedge-shaped badge on his uniform, calling for whoever it was to report.
"Captain, you're needed in the Ops Center," came Kira Seren's surprisingly calm voice.
Anastria tapped her own comm badge. "This is Dr. Mirgant, Commander. Can't you handle things on your own up there?"
"I'm sorry, Doctor. But I really think the captain should come up here. Something rather odd is happening."
"I'm on my way," replied Anderson.
As he stepped towards the exit, he felt his legs wobbling as though they'd turned to jelly. He fell forward, catching himself on the edge of the now-open archway. Anastria rushed to his aid as he raised himself back to a standing position.
"Robert, I have to insist. You're not fully recovered from your ordeal, yet," she pleaded with him. "You need to go back into the medical center and rest!"
Anderson turned himself around to face her. "I'll be fine, Anastria. Really."
He reached out and gently caressed her chin with his thumb and forefinger. He then turned on his heel and stepped out into the corridor outside the medical center. He stood there momentarily. There was something else that had been on his mind ever since he'd awakened and now he'd remembered what exactly it was. He turned back to face Anastria once again.
"By the way," he began. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
Anastria folded her arms, a satisfied smile curling her lips. "Don't you know? I'm your chief medical officer now."
She cocked one eyebrow at him as if to reinforce her point.
Anderson stood unperterbed. "Well then, you'd better get back in the medical center hadn't you, Doctor? There's a lot of people in there who're counting on you!"

When the doors to the turbolift parted, and he stepped through the open archway, Anderson felt as though he had stepped into a warroom during a bombing raid instead of the familiar Ops Center. The usually calm room was now abustle with activity. Officers raced frantically back and forth between their posts; as if someone had just yelled "fire!" in a crowded cinemaplex.
Anderson stepped cautiously, not only to keep from colliding with one of the officers who might not be paying attention to where they were going, but also due in part to his own, still-present grogginess. He stepped gingerly but confidently over to the railing in the center of the room. Once he had made it there, he grasped the foam padding of the railing with his hands for some support. He had almost fallen trying to grasp the railing.
He leaned over the railing and glanced down into the heart of the Ops Center eight feet below him. Even though the amount of people there was far less than on his level, he could still feel their intense anxiety. He felt as though he had been shocked by a build up of static electricity.
Kira Seren finally glanced up to notice him.
"What's going on Commander?" he called to her.
"We're not sure," she replied. She paced over to the stairwell and began ascending to Anderson's level.
"You know that listing that the station's been experiencing the last couple of days?" she continued.
Anderson nodded.
Another tremor rocked the station. Anderson gripped the padded railing for dear life as the shock wave nearly knocked him off his feet. He heard several cries of terror as the tremor continued for an endless moment. Finally, it subsided and Anderson was able to right himself at the railing. He noticed that Kira had held on to the railing of the stairwell in a similar fashion and was now standing erect.
She began climbing up again saying, "Well, they seem to have gotten worse."
"I can see that," Anderson commented dryly. "Do you have any explanation for this, Commander?"
Kira directed her attention to the control center below. Firechaser To-Ennien whirled around in her chair and faced the Captain.
"The station," she said with the ever-present purr in her voice, "appears to be being bombarded by some kind of massive gravity impulses. They've been steadily growing in intensity for the past twelve hours. That last one registered about 8.2 on the Sumak scale."
"But where are they coming from?" demanded Anderson.
"That's the odd thing," intervened Kira as she came over to her Captain's side. "The station's sensors don't register them until they're almost on top of us. We can't seem pinpoint an exact origin of the phenomenon."
Phenomenon? Anderson thought. Why was that word coming up so much today? Couldn't anyone have given it a more succinct epithet? Something that might help to describe where it came from? After all, that had been the same word they had used to describe the...
A sudden inspiration came to Anderson's mind.
He called down to Firechaser at her science station. "Commander, scan the area where we first registered those signals a few days ago!"
Firechaser nodded and turned back to her science console. Anderson watched as her fur-covered paws danced across the panel. Several lights flashed on the screen in front of her as information from the station's mainframe was fed up to her own workstation. Several seconds passed as she scanned the data before her and finally whirled about in her chair to face Anderson once again.
"Captain," began Firechaser. "I'm registering an incoming object on a collision course with the station!"
"Let's see it," Anderson said nervously biting his lip. "Put it on screen."
Anderson turned his attention to the immense viewscreen set in the far wall of the station. The ever-present computer-generated Drakmarian emblem disappeared and in its place came an image of the pinpointed blackness of space. In the center of the starfield sat a ever-changing, shifting black mass which seemed to blot out the stars beyond it.
Anderson called for a magnification of the object, but knew all too well what it was. The screen changed and the image of the quivering black mass became even larger and more sinister-looking as its shape expanded and contracted like a human lung filling itself with air.
Anderson nodded. It seemed that the mysterious lifeform was finally making its move.
"It's closing on the station at impulse power," Firechaser reported.
"No," Anderson corrected. "Not impulse power. Gravity power. Somehow it uses gravity waves to propel itself through space."
Kira turned to him slightly dumbfounded. "But Captain, it's been sitting out there in that same spot for two days. Why would it suddenly move now?"
"Maybe it didn't realize we were here until now. Remember, it was at the extreme edge of our sensor range before. Maybe when it encountered me, it finally realized that there was something else here. Something new it needed to deal with..."
"I'm not sure I like the way you said that sir," interjected Kira.
"Shields raised," came the voice of Nikoxancthe from the Ops console. "Defense grid on stand-by."
Anderson directed his attention away from his young friend back to the image of the black entity on the main viewscreen. There was definitely something different about it now. Something that he hadn't noticed when he'd first encountered it. The constant shape-changing had always been present, but now it was much more pronounced. It seemed much more intense. It made the creature more... more...
More alive.
That was what he had never noticed before, and why it had been such a shock when Anastria had told him that the thing was lifeform in the first place. Before then, it been just another unusual space phenomenon sending out bizarre signals. Now that he'd realized the thing's true nature, it only fascinated him even more.
This was why he and so many of his colleagues had joined Starfleet in the first place. This was the sort of thing the promotional posters had always promised hopeful young cadets would see: "Strange new worlds. Seek out new life..."
Another tremor rocked the station, much worse than before.
When it began to ebb, Anderson and Kira helped each other to their feet. They each glanced about, ensuring that the other officers present in the Ops center were safe as well. They then turned their attention back to the entity on the viewscreen. The image had changed once again, and the shifting black mass that was the entity appeared much smaller compared to the starfield beyond it.
That only meant that the thing was getting closer and closer to the station.
The Ops Center's comm system beeped to life and a familiar voice boomed over the loudspeakers for all in the room to hear.
"Ambassador Bii'vor to Captain Anderson." the voice said.
"Go ahead," Anderson called out.
"I'm in Serendipity Square and all hell's broken loose!"
Even through the electronic feedback heard through the Ops Center's speakers, Anderson could make out the frightened screams. He could image the panic that was ensuing down below. People running scared trying to flee for their lives. Even when they knew that there was nowhere they could go.
"The citizens are in chaos! If something isn't done soon, I fear that something catastrophic will happen!"
Anderson chewed his lower lip in thought for a moment. What could he do? He knew he had to deal with this lifeform, but on the other hand he also had to protect the lives of the citizens of the station. He couldn't be two places at once. Then he remembered something his one Academy instructor had told him was the secret to good leadership: delegation!
"Ambassador," Anderson called. "Round up as many security personnel as you can. Use them and your own authority to try and get the citizens under some kind of control."
"Aye, Captain!"
As soon as Anderson closed the channel with the Ambassador, he heard Firechaser call to him. Once more he directed his attention to the heart of the Ops Center below him. Firechaser had turned in her chair to address him.
"Sensors indicate that the lifeform is registering a mass of over 2,000 kilometers."
Kira turned to Anderson; a horrified expression on her face. "That means that it could easily destroy the station if it collides with us!"
"I don't believe it means to do that Commander," said a new voice.
Anderson and Kira turned to face Lieutenant Commander Y'Vrn Martyn as he stepped towards them. His green on green eyes and branched eyebrows made it impossible to read his emotional state at the moment, but Anderson knew full well that Yarzonians did not have the Vulcan capacity to control their emotions.
"At least, that's not its primary objective," Y'Vrn added.
"Would you care to enlighten us as to what you mean by that?" demanded Kira.
Y'Vrn nodded slightly. "Ever since the Captain returned with the data on the organism, I've been going back through Starfleet records trying match his encounter with any similar accounts which might be on record."
"And?"
Y'Vrn turned his attention to Anderson. "I'm afraid, sir, that we are not the first to encounter a lifeform like this."
Anderson nodded his comprehension. He then bid the Yarzonian to continue with his report.
"There have apparently been many encounters with lifeforms similar to this one on numerous ships from many different worlds. The first record was that of an entity which the U.S.S. Enterprise, commanded by Captain James T. Kirk, encountered over eighty years ago."
Of course! Anderson thought. Now he knew why this situation seemed so familiar! Y'Vrn was referring to an incident in which the crews of both the Enterprise and a Klingon ship had been forced into combat with each other due to the influence of a mysterious entity which seemed to feed on... negative emotions. The story had become so famous throughout Starfleet, mainly due to the fact that it was the first time that humans and Klingons had worked together towards a common goal. It was one of the many stories which had brought about the eventual founding of Serendipity Station.
But exactly how had Kirk beaten that particular entity? Would it even work on this creature?
Anderson was snapped back to reality by the call of Lieutenant Nikoxancthe. He whirled about to face her.
"Captain, one of the landing bay doors is opening!"
Anderson exchanged a brief, puzzled look with Kira and then the pair dashed over to behind the operations control console where Lieutenant Nikoxancthe stood. As the pair came up to her side, Anderson noticed her frantically darting back and forth between the different display units set in the console. He marvelled at the spunk of his young friend. Even now, she was trying like hell to maintain control of her station, even if she couldn't exactly control her own emotional state.
"Captain," Niko began again, her eyes still fixated on the console, "we have a ship launching. A small type-28 class transport."
"Stop it, Niko," Anderson said evenly.
"I'm afraid it's too late for that, sir." Niko glanced up from her console to gaze deeply into Anderson's eyes. He could see the utter dread and hopelessness even in her pupilless irises. "It's just cleared the launching bay."
Anderson ordered a visual on the ship. As the image on the Ops Center's main viewscreen changed to a view of the rear of the ship departing the station from one of the ocular sensors fixed beneath the landing bay, Anderson patched a call through to the dockmaster.
"Who the hell gave that ship permission to launch?" demanded Anderson.
"I'm sorry sir," replied the disembodied voice of the female dockmaster. "But I had no choice. He had Alpha Priority Authorization. I couldn't stop him!"
Alpha Priority? wondered Anderson. There were only a handful of people on the station who ranked with that high a classification, and most of them were already here in the Ops Center. That only left five other possibilities.
"Who was it?" queried Anderson gently.
"Ambassador Hasledge, sir."
Anderson sucked in an agitated breath through his clenched teeth. Another voice called to his attention. This time it was Commander To-Ennien from behind her science station.
"The entity is still closing," she said with a slight quaiver in her voice. "20,000 kilometers and..."
Anderson felt sure his heart had just skipped a beat as Firechaser cut her report short. He was afraid he knew what was coming next, and it was a power of his that he regretted having. He stepped from behind the operations control console and dashed to the railing which surrounded the heart of the Ops Center. He clasped his hands tightly onto the padded bar and leaned down slightly.
He directed his attention to the felinoid woman in the black Galloway-style uniform seated at the science console. Like Niko a few moments before, she was hurriedly darting her fingers across the control panel of her console. Although she posessed all the grace of a cat, Anderson could still sense her unease. Perhaps it was the way her hair had a tendency to stand on end somewhat whenever she was agitated.
Almost as if she sensed his presence, Firechaser whirled in her seat and glanced up to face the Captain. From the look in her slitted, greenish eyes, Anderson could tell it was what he feared.
"The entity has altered course," she said as evenly as she could. "It's closing on Ambassador Hasledge's ship."
Frustrated, Anderson smacked his hands against the padded railing. He then turned back to Kira and Niko at the operations control console and ordered them to hail the Ambassador's ship. Niko glanced down to her control panel, fidgetted with the keys for a few moments and then glanced up at Anderson.
"Frequency opened, Captain," Niko announced.
Anderson whirled about once again to face the viewscreen. The image changed from the exterior view of the ship to its interior. Hasledge's pudgy, slightly weathered features took up the largest portion of the screen. Anderson scrunched his nose, slightly puzzled. The Ambassador was sweating profusely. Tiny beads of perspiration tricked down over every crack and crevice of his aged face. And the look in his eyes was primal, almost feral. The look of animal cornered by a ravenous, starving predator with absolutely no hope of escape.
"Ambassador," Anderson began as evenly as his frustration would allow. He knew he had to be delicate with this or it wouldn't have any effect whatsoever. "I urgently request that you return to the station immediately. It's not safe for you out there."
"Oh, really?" hissed the Amabassador. "And just how safe is it back there with Klingons, Romulans, and Cardassians all over the place?"
"Ambassador, if you continue on your present course, you'll encounter something far more deadly than anything those people could do."
"I'll take my chances!"
"Ambassador," said Anderson his frustration with the man growing by the minute. "You don't know what your saying. There's an entity of unknown proportions and intent closing on your ship. It's generating negative emotions in you, clouding your judgment. If you return to the station we can..."
"We can what, Anderson? Talk it out? Try to reason with it?You can't even maintain control of the people you've been charged to govern on that miserable space station. What makes you think you'll be able to do anything against a lifeform you know absolutely nothing about?"
Much as Anderson hated to admit it, the Ambassador did have a point. How was he going to deal with this mysterious entity? Even if he somehow managed to vanquish the lifeform, there were still many internal problems on the station that needed to be worked out. How could he possibly handle it all? It just seemed so overwhelming, so utterly hopeless.
That all-too-familiar feeling of failure was beginning to wash over Anderson once again.
NO! Anderson's brain screamed at him. That's exactly what the entity wants! Your fear, your despair! Pull yourself together, Anderson. You're better than this thing and you can beat it!
"Ambassador," Anderson said with a renewed force in his voice, "as military governor of this station and acting commander-in-chief of all Starfleet personnel in this sector, I demand that you return to the station."
Hasledge's expression became aghast. As if noone had ever dared to speak to him like that before. "You demand...?"
Before Hasledge could say another word, Anderson cut in. "You have made an unauthorized departure from this station using a craft which has not been officially registered under your name. If you do not return immediately, I shall be forced to consider it theft under Starfleet regulation 72384, paragraph 18, subsection F."
Anderson smiled briefly as knew that the fear now showing on Hasledge's face reflected his now present concern about violating the laws of his own government and the consequences of such actions rather than that of the concern for his own life. However, the expression on Hasledge's face was only present for an-too-brief moment. Soon it transformed inself into a wry, almost omnipotent smirk.
Hasledge waved his pointed index finger back and forth at Anderson, an evil, toothy smile curling his lips. "Oh no, Anderson," said the Ambassador with a slight chuckle. "You'll never get me like that. When the entity destroys the station and you're all dead, who will there be to prosecute me?"
Damn! Anderson cursed in his mind.
Hasledge chuckled again. "Are you really going to stay there, all of you? For what? A hopeless cause? A dream of peace that will never come true? You think I'm a fool? Well, I'm not the one who will be on the station when the entity comes for you!"
Hasledge reached across himself to an area out of view to everyone in the Ops Center. The screen immediately returned to the external view of his ship getting further and further away from the station. Only this time, there was something new. The jet-black, quivering mass of the entity had moved to directly in front of the ship's path.
Anderson knew that within moments, the ship would be enveloped by the lifeform and Hasledge and everyone on board, would be dead.

Chapter Five

The station shook all the way to its foundation beams as another tremor rumbled across its form. The entity, having destroyed Ambassador Hasledge's ship was now on top of the helpless outpost.
As the black, shapeless mass hovered no more than a few meters above of the apex of the station's four tall docking pylons, it expanded and contracted its mass, forcing wave after wave of gravity impulses to crash down on the station's infrastructure like twelve-foot waves on a lonely stretch of forgotton beach.

On board in the Ops Center, Anderson grasped the padded railing and pulling on it with all his might, he managed to drag himself to his feet as the force of the last shockwave subsided. His body ached all over. He felt a slight warmth on his cheek and raised his hand to wipe away the blood that was seeping out of a freshly-inflicted wound. He felt a sharp pain at his side and knew that one of his ribs must have been broken as well.
He glanced about the Ops Center, attempting to make out what was happening in the dim redness the emergency lighting provided. Several members of his crew lay sprawled on the floor of the room amongst the debris which had fallen from the ceiling. A few of the other, less-injured crew members, were attempting to render aid to their fallen comrades as best as they could. To his sorrow, Anderson knew that there were those lying in the shambles of his command that were far beyond any kind of help now.
He did the only thing he could think to do; the only thing which would show the crew that they were still alive. He called for a damage report.
He glanced over to the operations control console. Lieutenant Nikoxancthe, her palm resting upon her aching forehead, glanced down at the console, checking her information. As she did so, Anderson noticed that her uniform had been ripped at the sleeve, revealing not only her grey undershirt, but a small portion of her white, bespeckled shoulder. And her usually emaculately-styled hair now cascaded down her shoulders in wild, unmanaged strands of gold and black.
"Damage to habitation sections 29 through 52," Niko reported through gasped breaths. "Docking ring, pylons, and landing bay inoperative. Main reactor offline."
Anderson noticed Nikoxancthe cock her head to the side. A look of horror came over her face and she hurriedly leant down from her console. Anderson darted over to operations control and when he arrived, he noticed Nikoxancthe bent over the prone body of Kira Seren. She was unconscious, and Niko brought her own face close to the Bajoran's to ensure that she was even still alive.
Anderson stood by helpless for several interminably long seconds as Niko examined the fallen Commander. Finally she looked up at Anderson and the expression on her face made him breathe a huge sigh of relief.
Kira was okay.
Niko rose to her feet and tapped the comm badge in the upper right quadrant of her uniform. "Ops to Medical Center," she said with all the authority of a seasoned space veteran. "Medical emergency, dispatch a team up here as quickly as possible."
"On our way," replied the disembodied voice of Anastria Mirgant.
Anderson glanced quickly about, knowing that the next attack could come at any moment. The Ops Center was one large disaster area, just as Anderson had feared. Structural girders had fallen from the ceiling, damaging delicate instruments, and severely injuring or killing several members of his crew. He shook his head sadly. It was station's first true crisis, and this was what it had lead to.
"Ca...Cap..tain," a weak and thready voice gasped.
Anderson turned and seeing noone standing before him, he glanced downwards. Sprawled out on the floor a few feet away, was the body of Lieutenant Commander Y'Vrn Martyn.
Anderson's eyes widened in shock as he rushed over to the fallen Galloway research officer. As he stooped down to try and help Y'Vrn, he noticed Nikoxancthe coming up behind him. The expression on her face betrayed the same concern for the fallen Yarzonian officer which the Captain was feeling.
Y'Vrn's handsome face had been dirtied with dust, debris and orangish blood. His black Galloway uniform jacket had been shredded in several places, and his red departmental undershirt had been darkened and moistened in several places by the blood which was seeping out from the concealed wounds underneath.
Y'Vrn was fighting to keep his green-on-green eyes open wide for his Captain, but Anderson knew that the burning pain he must have been feeling was tearing him apart. Y'Vrn called Anderson's name once again, but the Captain raised his hands to his lips. He knew that Y'Vrn shouldn't try to talk.
"N... No," Y'Vrn insistedly hissed. "You... you need to know... how Kirk... defeated the entity!"
"Y'Vrn, save your strength," Anderson replied. He heard the turbolift doors hiss open and turned his head to see Anastria and her medical team step off into the ruins of the Ops Center. He raised his hand, signalling for her come over. The tall, Andorian doctor quickly trotted up to his side.
Anastria knelt beside Anderson and placed her medikit on the floor. Anderson knew the metallic container all too well, and watched with slight nostalgia as Anastria opened the medikit and pulled out a medical tricorder. She then removed the tiny, cylindrical scanner from atop the device and began running it over Y'Vrn's supine body, its mulit-colored lights flashing.
When her scan was completed, she tapped a couple of the lighted panels on the tricorder and within a few moments, it gave her the information she needed.
"Multiple contusions and compound skeletal factures," Anastria reported. "Considering what's been hitting the station, it's a miracle his injuries aren't more severe."
"Ca... Captain," Y'Vrn hissed again. "The entity..."
"Quiet, Commander. That's an order," said Anderson gently but firmly.
"We need to get you to the Medical Center as quickly as possible," commented the Doctor.
Anastria motioned for two of the orderlies in her team to bring a hoverstretcher over. Anderson rose gingerly to his feet as the pain in his side throbbed once again. Anastria was quick to put her arms around him and assist him to his feet. Successful, Anderson began to limp over to the railing in the center of the room.
When he reached it, he leaned down and grasped the padding with his hands, trying desperately to keep on his feet. He heard a familiar humm and turned to see Anastria running the cylindrical scanner over him now. When the information had been processed by the tricorder, Anastria gave Anderson a worried look.
"You're not exactly one hundred percent yourself, y'know," she said. "You've got two broken ribs, several lacerations, and a broken tailbone."
"Well, it's not like I need that anyway," Anderson chuckled. He then grasped his side as his fit of laughter brought on another wave of agony.
Anastria came over to his side, placing her hands delicately on his shoulders. "You should go the Medical Center, too."
"There are others in worse condition than me."
A cross look came over Anastria's face. "It's okay for you to be injured. Noone will think you're any less of a commander if you come with me now."
"I can't. I have to stay here."
"Robert," said Anastria as gently as she could. "Look around. A lot of your key personnel have sustained injuries. You're not doing so great yourself and you can't run this Ops Center alone."
"He's not alone," a voice said. Anastria and Anderson turned to see the diminutive Lieutenant Nikoxancthe limp up to them. The look on her face was in shear defiance of the pain her tiny body must have been feeling.
"He has me," she affirmed.
"Lieutenant...," Anastria began.
"Anastria," interrupted Anderson. "If somebody doesn't find a way to stop that monster out there, there are gonna be a helluva alot more people injured than you could have ever dreamed of in your worst nightmares!"
Anderson noticed Anastria back down somewhat at the thought. He hated to pull rank on anyone, especially an old friend, but this was not the time to be having an in-depth discussion about the severity and possible consequences of his injuries.
"Do what you came here to do, Anastria," he began again. "Take care of the injured." With an nod of his head, he indicated Niko standing beside him. "Let us try to find a way to stop this thing!"
Anastria hesitated momentarily, but soon she seemed to realize that Anderson was right. She smiled at him and then out of the blue, seemingly for no reason, she leaned up and kissed him gently on the lips. She broke off a tender few seconds later and turned away to head off and treat some of the other casualities in the Ops Center.
Anderson turned back to Niko and noticed the playful grin that had wormed its way across Niko's dirtied visage. He gave her a stern look which turned her expression more business-like.
"See if you can get some kind of a readout on the entity," he said.
Niko nodded and dashed back over towards her console.
Anderson surveyed the Ops Center momentarily, trying see what there was that he could do in the meantime. He observed Anastria and her medical team feverishly working on the injured, trying like hell to keep them alive long enough to get them to the Medical Center. They couldn't use the transporters, unfortunately; they had been knocked out by the first shockwave.
Then Anderson heard the turbolift doors open once again. He tried not to pay much attention to it since he assumed that it was probably some of the medical team taking some of the injured officers off the deck.
"Captain," an unexpectedly familiar, feminine voice said.
Anderson turned his head, and standing before him was the strikingly beautiful form of Ambassador Meela. Even though she too had been tossled by the shockwaves which had rocked the station, her long, curly locks of jet-black hair still managed to cascade gently over her creamy bare shoulders.
As expected, she had several cuts and abrasions the color of emerald in several spots on her body and clothing, but she still possessed an unflappable air of beauty and strength.
"Ambassador," Anderson began, still slightly bemused by her presence. "What are you doing here? You should be below where it's safe."
"Nowhere is safe now," she replied matter-of-factly. "Besides, I knew that I had to be here. At this moment."
Anderson gave her a puzzled look.
"Now more than ever, it is important for us all to be united. If we are to die here and now, then let us not go out as enemies, but as friends."
Meela placed her on top of Anderson's as it grasped the padded railing. He managed to turn his own hand palm up and gently squeezed the Ambassdor's. He smiled warmly at her and she returned the gesture.
"Then..., you really do believe it can work?" he asked.
"I would not have come here if I didn't."
Meela smiled proudly at the captain, showing off her immaculately polished white teeth. Anderson sighed contentedly. She was right, and if this was to be the place where he would meet his end, he would die happy in the knowledge that he had at least reached one former enemy.
Anderson heard Nikoxancthe call his name.
He and Meela turned to face the young Tridarahne officer as she stood by at her console. "The entity hasn't sent out any gravity impulses, weak or strong, for the last five minutes."
"Then what's it doing?" Anderson wondered.
Niko shook her head, dumbfounded. "I don't know, sir. It seems to be just sitting out there. It's hardly even altered its shape within the last five minutes."
"Perhaps it is contemplating how and when it will strike next," said a deep ominous voice.
Anderson turned around to see the gigantic, hulking form of Amabassador Kerg standing before him. Anderson shook his head with wonder. Kerg was a true Klingon warrior in every sense of the word. His red and black ambassadorial uniform had been torn in several places, and there was evidence of dry, pinkish blood on portions of his body. But like any good Klingon, he stood there in defiance of the pain he was feeling. Something which Nikoxancthe had no doubt learned from him.
Anderson stood in awe of the Klingon. There was certainly a lot he could learn from the Ambassador.
"A warrior's place is at his leader's side," Kerg explained somewhat stoically.
Anderson nodded comprehendingly. "I assume then, that you would know how to man the defense grid?"
Kerg nodded. "I was a former weapons officer in the Imperial Klingon military."
Anderson smiled and indicated the tactical/defense grid console eight feet below in the heart of the Ops Center. Kerg inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the Captain's request and crossed over to begin descending to the lower level of the Ops Center.
Anderson looked at Ambassador Meela who smiled warmly at him, then he turned back towards Nikoxancthe who gave him a traditional Earth 'thumbs up.' Something then caught her attention on her console and she cocked her head down to investigate. Anderson watched her for several moments as she moved between the different portions of her console, correlating the data.
Finally, she had something to report. "Captain, I'm picking a slight increase in the entity's activities. It's almost as though it's coming out of a deep sleep."
"I say we must destroy it before it can cause any more harm!" said Kerg from down below.
"For once, I am in complete agreement with the Klingon," said a slightly deep, lilting tenor voice.
Anderson turned once again, and as he expected, he faced the thin, gnarled features of the Cardassian Ambassador, Amaraq. Unbelieveable, Anderson thought. If this is what it took to bring us all together, I wish that thing would have attacked us days ago!
"We must destroy it," insisted Amaraq.
Anderson shook his head imperceptably. Even though he's on my side now, he still thinks like a Cardassian! Anderson turned his attention to Kerg eight feet below him.
"Ambassador, would a warrior kill an enemy while they slept in their beds?"
Kerg glanced briefly up at the Captain, the expression on his face annoyed but still conprehending the logic of his statement. "No," the Klingon begrudgingly admitted. "Such a kill lacks honor."
Amaraq rushed over to the railing and smacked the padding with his hands in order to accentuate his point. "This isn't some nomadic barbarian dressed in animal skins and armed with an axe and shield, Kerg! You can't possibly put a monstrosity like this entity into the same class as a 'noble warrior!'"
"The principle is the same," said the Klingon evenly.
"I happen to agree with the Ambassador," Meela interjected. "What gives us the right to kill it?"
"I should have expected no less from a spineless Romulan! What gave it the right to kill us?!" asked the Cardassian.
"Noone's died yet, Ambassador," said Anderson. "And I intend to keep it that way. That's why I'd care to exhaust all possible options before resorting to anything desperate!"
Frustrated, but knowing full well that ont his point he was outnumbered, Amaraq backed down, much to Anderson's relief. He took a deep, cleansing breath before speaking once again.
"Now Ambassador," said Anderson to Amaraq, "I was led to understand that you were once a Gul in the Cardassian military. Is that correct?"
"It is," nodded Amaraq.
"Good. Then I assume you know how to operate a communications console?"
A cross look came to Amaraq's gnarled face. "I was commander of an entire fleet of Galor-class warships! I was not an intergalactic switchboard operator!"
"Are you saying that you can't do it, then?" Anderson slyly demanded.
Amaraq stepped back slightly annoyed; as if the comment had somehow impinged on his pride. Then, tugging his greyish blue ambassadorial tunic, he strode across the Ops Center, stepping over scattered debris, to the communications console set at the opposite end of the room. Anderson smiled as the Cardassian began running his long, bony fingers over the console, trying to find some type of signal or frequency that would get through to the black entity outside the station.
Now, for the first time, Anderson took a moment to stare out of the large, clear-aluminum viewing portal a few feet down from where Amaraq was currently working. He observed the black, slightly quivering mass of the entity as it loomed above the space station like a dark thunderstorm cloud.
The last time he had seen the entity this close up was when he had try to scan it while on the Daedalus yesterday. Then he'd had absolutely no idea what the thing even was. And now, here it was: a lifeform whose only purpose for being was to travel the universe and cause whoever it encountered to feel negative emotions, and then to feast on the impulses generated by those emotions.
It was something that Anderson had never expected to find in his lifetime: an honest-to-god, living vampire.
But Anderson also knew that all vampires, no matter what cultures the legends came from, had a weakness of some kind. Whether it be certain kinds of herbs, fire, or belief in certain religious artifacts, they did have some kind of Achilles heal. Finding the right one though, was the problem. It was part of what made vampires so terrifying and powerful.
Y'Vrn had wanted to tell him how to defeat this particular vampire. After all, it was in Starfleet records. James Kirk had beaten an entity not unlike it, but how? If only Anderson could remember. It had been so long since he'd studied Kirk's missions at the Academy, and even so, he was certain that the story of the 'space vampire' was one of the many encounters which had amounted to maybe one sentence in the Starfleet textbooks.
Anderson was broken from his musings by a call from Amaraq at the communications console. He looked over in the direction of the Cardassian and noticed the slightly puzzled look on his greyish face.
"There appears to be an urgent call for you, Captain," said a bewildered Amaraq.
Anderson was taken aback slightly. "Well, put it through."
Amaraq shook his head. "I can't. It's on some kind of coded frequency. The only place that will receive the transmission appears to be..."
Amaraq shook his head again in sheer disbelief. Anderson demanded to know where he could hear the transmission.
"...the terminal in your office," said the Cardassian.
Now that was strange. If the entity had found a way to communicate with them on the station, then why did it only want to speak to Anderson directly? On the terminal in his office?
Well, things had been pretty odd ever since his arrival on the station, why should this be any different? Anderson nodded in acknowledgment of the message and began to limp towards his office at the far end of the Ops Center. Meela was hesitant to let him go alone, but Anderson had insisted he would be fine.

The doors, which were shaped like the yellow 'clamshell' crest of the Drakmarian Alliance parted down the middle, and Anderson stepped through the opening into the dimly-lit office. He had only been in here a few times in the past couple of days, just enough time to bring his boxes in and familiarize himself with the facilities. It reminded him that he still had loads more unpacking to do.
He stepped over several scattered, half-opened boxes in the dim light, nearly tripping himself over one, before he finally reached his desk. The tiny terminal screen which sat atop the polished, wooden desk was glowing with life and across its face a simple message was displayed:

Shocked, Anderson stepped back from the screen and nearly fell over his own high-backed leather-cushioned chair.
"I gotta admit, it does grab your attention!" said a disembodied, feminine voice.
"GEM?" gasped Anderson.
Suddenly, a dull blue light appeared in the far corner of the room, away from the doors or the portals where anyone could look in and see. Anderson watched with awe as the illumination formed itself into a bipedal shape and then within moments, it further defined into the shapely, feminine features of GEM's hologrammatic body.
When the formation was complete, GEM extended her arms out to either side of her body, the way magicians' assistants used to do when an illusion had been completed onstage.
"Can I make an entrance or what?" quipped GEM.
Anderson stepped over next to GEM's glowing, translucent form. "How the hell did you get in here?"
"I downloaded myself into the station's mainframe," GEM explained. "You wouldn't believe how hard it is navigate through a Drakmarian database. So many subroutines, so little time..."
"GEM, listen," Anderson said with slight edginess, "I'm glad you've managed to pull this off, I really am. But I'm in the middle of a crisis here..."
GEM's tone suddenly became more serious. "That's why I've come, Robert. I can tell you how to beat that thing out there!"
Anderson stood back silently, anxiously awaiting her information. GEM began to slowly 'pace' about the room, passing right through several solid objects as she did.
"Actually," she began, "we may be to blame for bringing this entity here in the first place."
Anderson pulled one of the smaller chairs in the office towards him and sat down in it. "What do you mean?" He was hanging on her every word.
"According to the scans we made on the creature and the database records I was able to interface with, this particular entity was last recorded as having made an appearance on a Drakmarian freighter six months ago. Of course, back then it was much smaller, but it still nearly managed to drive the entire crew to murder itself."
"Nearly?" wondered Anderson.
"Well, it seems that the Communications officer aboard this vessel was something of a history buff, not unlike your folks...."
Anderson was taken aback by that comment. How did she know about his parents all of a sudden?
"...Anyway," GEM began again, "she knew all the stories about the Enterprise, and Kirk and Spock and all the rest. And she knew, that if the crew was forced to start experiencing positive emotions, the impulses which the creature had been feeding on would sour, and it would leave the ship to find another source of nourishment."
Anderson sat spellbound. "Well, did it work?"
"Sort of. But there wasn't enough of the crew left to permanently drive it off the ship. So, what they did was to maneuver the ship into the Z'lunz wormhole."
"The one that's just off the station?" queried Anderson.
GEM nodded. "Yeah. You see, the elevated neutrino levels in the wormhole seem to play havoc with the creature's biogenic responses, and it became disoriented enough to be driven off the ship by what little positive energy the rest of the crew was able to generate."
"I see," Anderson nodded. It made sense. It was simply a matter of reversing the polarity of the impulses the creature feeded on. Why hadn't he thought of that before? But there was still one thing that didn't make sense.
"So how it is our fault that the entity is here?" Anderson wondered.
"Well, it had been severely weakened after the incident with the Drakmarian freighter. It had just been sitting out there, weak, immobile, and starving. What little impulses it was able to gnerate for itself weren't enough to sustain it. It probably would have died within a couple of days if you hadn't come along and given it exactly what it needed."
Anderson rose from his seat and began pacing the room as well.
"So," he said, trying to put it all into perspective. "The impulses it was getting from the station were too weak to keep it alive. It needed to find a more immediate source of sustainance..."
GEM nodded. "Which is why you blacked out on the Daedalus. It was feeding off of you. Your own mind fed it a four-course meal of negative emotions."
A tremor rocked the station.
GEM stood sternly, being that she was composed entirely of light, she had no equilibrium to throw off. Anderson, on the other hand, fought to maintain his balance. Within moments the tremor ebbed, and Anderson stood looking at his hologrammatic friend.
"Thanks GEM," he finally said. "You've given me just what I needed."
Anderson stepped towards the entrance to the office. Before the doors parted open however, he turned back to her once again.
"If you were solid, I'd kiss you!" he said with a smile.
"Meet me in one of the holosuites later," she replied with a wink. "That's a debt I plan to collect on!"
GEM then faded out of existence.
Anderson, alone once more in the darkened office, shook his head and smiled.

The doors parted and Anderson stepped back into the shambles of the Ops Center as another tremor rocked the station. This time, it was much less severe and Anderson had little trouble coming back over to the railing in the center of the room. Ambassador Meela, still at the railing herself, crouched slightly and held to the padded railing for dear life as the room shook with the force of the tremor.
Anderson looked over towards the communications console and noticed that Ambassador Amaraq was also still at his post. Like Meela, Amaraq had pressed his body against the console in an attempt to keep his balance.
Glancing over to the operations control console, Anderson was pleased to see his young friend Nikoxancthe also still at her post. She had made good on her promise to stay.
Anderson came up to the railing and with his right hand, grabbed hold of the padding while his left gripped Ambassador Meela's arm. He managed to bring her to an upright position as the tremor began to ebb. Anderson breathed a sigh of relief and glanced down into the heart of the Ops Center.
He smiled proudly. As any true Klingon warrior would have been, Ambassador Kerg was still seated at his post, seemingly unphased by any of the tremor's fury.
"How are we holding up?" said Anderson.
"We're still in one piece," said Nikoxancthe. "It doesn't seem like it's trying to destroy the station anymore..."
"Just rattle our bones a bit?" Anderson commented, completing Niko's hypothesis.
Niko's nod indicated that he was correct.
Anderson called over to Amaraq. The Cardassian ambassador turned in the direction of his call and faced the Captain.
"See if Ambassador Bii'vor is still in Serendipity Square, and hail him."
Amaraq nodded and turned back to the communications console.
Meela looked up into Anderson's eyes, her face filled with concern. "Did that transmission give you any information we could use against this thing?"
Anderson faced the Romulan ambassador. "Maybe. But if it's going to work, I'm going to need your help..."
He raised his voice so that the others in the Ops Center could hear him as well. "... All of you!"
Meela smiled warmly at the captain and nodded her compliance.
"I have Bii'vor for you, Captain," called Amaraq.
Anderson nodded. "How are you holding up down there, Ambassador?" queried the captain.
"I must admit, I've been better, Captain," boomed Bii'vor's voice over the intercomm system.
"I'm going to make an announcement and I needed to be sure you were still with me."
"I'll do whatever you request, Captain."
Anderson nodded with a satisfied smile. "Alright, then."
He then stood fully erect and placed his hands behind his back. He began to speak in a manner which would ensure that everyone present in the Ops Center would hear. And my dad assumed all my theatrical training would go to waste in Starfleet... he thought.
"What I need," he began, "is for each one of you to convince your people to go along with what I am about to announce. Now, I realize that in matters of station security I have full authority. But what I need right now, is for the people of this station to be united. There can be no dissention what so ever. Are we agreed?"
Anderson glanced about.
Meela smiled and nodded.
Down in the heart of the Ops Center, Kerg sternly nodded.
Across at the communications console, Amaraq stared ahead, momentarily hesitant. Finally, he too nodded.
"You know where I stand, Captain," said Bii'vor's disembodied voice.
"Excellent," smiled Anderson. He then directed his attention to Amaraq, "Activate the internal public address channel."
Amaraq turned back to the console and touched a green, lighted panel. He then turned back to face the Captain and nodded.
Anderson drew in a deep breath.
Then, he began. "Citizens and personnel of Serendipity Station, this Captain Robert Anderson. Please, listen very carefully. For the first time since this station was constructed, we face the possibility of certain destruction. But I, for one, am not ready to let this station, or the dream on which she was built, die at the hands of some entity who only wishes to make us all hate each other for its own personal gain.
"Now, I can simply order all of you to go along with my request, but I realize that not everyone on this station is bound by the same laws and principles as I. Therefore, I have asked the representatives of all your respective governments to lend me their support in this hour of need. They have not been threatened or coerced in manner, simply asked. The choice is theirs. I now ask those representatives, are you with me?"
Anderson paused and looked to all of the ambassadors assembled in the Ops Center. All were momentarily silent, uncertain as to who should be the first to speak.
"This is Ambassador Bii'vor of the Drakmarian Alliance," came the voice over the intercomm. "I pledge not only my own personal support, but that of all Drakmarian citizens aboard this station, to Captain Anderson's cause."
Anderson smiled. Somehow, it seemed appropriate that he should be the first to speak.
"This is Ambassador Kerg Tai ta'Chookma of the Klingon Empire," boomed the Ambassador. "I give my full support to the honored military governor of this outpost."
"This is Ambassador Meela of the Romulan Star Empire," she cut in almost immediately. "I pledge my full support and faith to Captain Anderson."
There was a momentary silence. Anderson and Meela simultaneously looked across the room to Amaraq, who stood silently by the communications console. Amaraq drew in a breath and finally announced himself.
"This is Ambassador Amaraq of the Cardassian Union. I... pledge my support to Captain Anderson."
Anderson smiled once again. Finally, they were united!
"The High Council of the League of Worlds has spoken," Anderson announced. "And we are unanimous. In order to defeat this enemy, we must not give in to hatred, fear, mistrust, or any other emotion which would separate one person from other. Instead, I ask you, I implore you to think of something which only brings you joy and pleasure. It may be anything. A loved one, a token object, even a favorite meal. Take that one thing which brings you joy and focus on it.
"If it helps, embrace your neighbor or hold the hand of someone close to you. If you can believe in nothing else, believe in Serendipity Station and the idea that she stands for."
Anderson paused momentarily. He drew in another deep, cleansing breath. This was it! It was time for them to do or die.
"Now, find that something and focus on it," Anderson finally said. "And let nothing distract you...."
Anderson glanced about the Ops Center and noticed that Niko and all the Ambassadors had closed their eyes. Like a group of Tibetan monks at meditation, they stood there silently, their minds elsewhere.
He felt a tightness at his hand and glanced down to see that Meela had placed her hand in his and was squeezing it gently. Satisfied, Anderson closed his own eyes and began to focus.
At first, he thought of his sister, Scarlett, the artist. Somewhere in one of the boxes which littered his office, he had one of her oil-color screens which she had given him upon his graduation from Starfleet Academy. Of all the people in his immediate family, she had been the one who had been the most proud of him at that time.
She was now becoming quite well-known throughout the quadrant for her oil colors and Anderson had promised her that if he ever landed his own command, he would have her come and set up an exhibition of her work. He felt certain that everyone on the station would be as taken with her work as he was.
The station rocked as another tremor washed over it. The entity was fighting back, trying to get everyone on the station to feel the rage or the despair they had been feeling moments before.
Anderson then thought back to the day he received his commission aboard Serendipity. Deanna Troi had been there and told him there had been a reason why he had been asked to attend the ceremony, even if he didn't believe it himself. She had been right.
Not only that, but she'd actually treated him like a person instead of the nothing he had felt like for years when they had both served on the Enterprise. Back then, he never would have even dreamed of asking her out on a date, but that day she had surprised him with a very simple sentence that had renewed his faith in his own abilities.
"All you had to do was ask," she said.
Then she'd kissed him.
The entity continued to send its gravity waves down onto the station. The tremors came more and more frequently, but with each passing quake, it became evident that the creature was becoming more and more desperate. It was loosing its source of sustainance, and if that happened it would surely perish.
They were winning!
Now Anderson began to think about what his position aboard Serendipity meant. He was in charge of outpost whose inhabitants were out to establish intergalactic peace. The dedication plaque of the station, which hung next to the turbolift doors in the Ops Center read that the station's mission was, 'To extend the olive branch of peace to all comers."
There was no guarantee that they would succeed. Nimbus III had failed, but then again, so had the League of Nations on Earth in the early twentieth century. But they tried again, and eventually Earth found the peace it had been longing for for so long. Anderson had faith that Serendipity too would succeed.
Even if by some odd quirk of fate, he were no longer able to continue as military governor of the station, he felt certain that it would go on, and eventually, they would succeed in their mission.
"Captain," Niko's voice broke through the silence.
Anderson opened his eyes and turned to face her at the operations console.
"The entity is departing!" she announced with a smile.
Anderson glanced out of the expansive viewing portal and saw that indeed the entity was slowly backing away from the station. It began to fold in and propel itself like a jellyfish across the quadrant. Within a few moments, it had faded out of sight.
Niko reported that at the speed at which it was moving, it would be out of the station's sensor range in less than fifteen minutes.
From the intercomm system speakers in the Ops Center, Anderson began hearing an eruption of tumultuous cheering being picked up from Serendipity Square. He breathed a huge sigh of relief. They had done it!
"You did it, sir!" Niko cheered from her console. "You did it!!"
"We did it," Anderson corrected. He glanced at Ambassador Meela who displayed her perfectly-white teeth in a broad smile.
"We all did it," he repeated and squeezed the Ambassador's hand.
The internal communications system in the Ops Center beeped its attention signal.
"Medical Center to Captain Anderson," came the disembodied voice of Anastria Mirgant.
"Go ahead, Doctor," Anderson replied.
"Now that the crisis has passed and you've saved the galaxy, would you please come down here so I can patch you up?"
All the excitement coupled with the adrenaline rush he'd been feeling had made Anderson completely forget about his broken ribs, cuts, and bruises. Now that it was all over, he became aware of them once again. Mainly because he'd begun chuckling at Anastria's comment.
"I'm on my way, Doctor," he half-grunted.

Chapter Six

Anastria Mirgant ran the cylindrical medical scanners over Robert Anderson's prone body one last time, as he lay on the diagnostic bed in the Medical Center. The look on her face remained impassive. It was one of the things that had always annoyed him about physicians: the way they never gave away any indication of what may or may not be wrong with you.
He supposed it was one of the reasons why he never decided to pursue medicine any further than medtech. He had too much of a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, as they say. He knew that doctors had to be compassionate and caring, but that they couldn't get too involved in what their patients were going through.
Fat chance, Anderson thought. I see someone with a headache and I want to give them an aspirin there and then. Maybe it was something he needed to work on, not betraying his emotions so easily. Kira seemed good at keeping her emotions at bay, maybe he could take lessons from her.
Nah, he thought. He wasn't Vulcan. He was human, and humans are emotional by nature. It was just a part of him that he was going to have to learn to live with. Who knew? Maybe he could be the one to prove that it really is emotion and not a balance between emotion and logic that made a great commander.
Finally, Anastria switched the scanner off and replaced it in the upper crevice of the medical tricorder she held in her right hand. She tapped a couple of keys on the tricorder's panel and awaited a response. After a few seconds, it came, and her expression changed from stony to joyful.
"Well," she began, "the good news is that there's no permanent damage to your body..."
Anderson eyed her quizzically. "So, what's the bad news?"
"The bad news is I'm worried about your hearing."
"Huh?" joked Anderson.
Anastria huffed exasperatingly, then grinned. "Don't worry, it seems to be common among all Starfleet command types. They all seem to go deaf whenever their doctor tells them something that they don't want to hear."
Anderson chuckled and brought himself to a seated position on the diagnostic bed. "So, am I free to go?"
Anastria shrugged half-heartedly. Anderson snickered at her feigned dispassion and leapt to the floor. He zipped his uniform up slightly and began following Anastria around the Medical Center.
The place certainly brought back a lot of memories. There was a time when he would have known exactly what he should have been doing: helping out the patients as best he could. But that was many years ago, and he was a much different person then.
Now as surveyed the Medical Center, littered with wounded civillians and officers, he felt a little like a fifth wheel. There was very little he could do for any of these people apart from offer a kind word of encouragement here and there. But now that he thought about it, there was something he was doing, even as he walked.
After all, he was their commanding officer, their military governor. As he walked behind Anastria Mirgant, upright and proud, he was projecting an image. An image which stated that both he and Serendipity were still here and that neither one of them was going anywhere until their mission was complete!
Anderson weaved his way through blocks of diagnostic beds, passing patients, nurses, and medtechs as he followed Anastria to a single bed set in a far corner of the Medical Center near the entranceway. The bed was currently occupied by Commander Kira Seren, who had adjusted the position of the bed so that her upper body was elevated to a near-seated position.
At the moment, her legs were covered by green sheets and a blanket, and her face, which had been bruised and bloodied the last time he had seen her, was now perfectly clean. Her long, black hair still cascaded down to just above her shoulders as it had before, and the medical scrubs she was wearing, indicated that she still needed time to recover.
Even from a few good feet away, Anderson could tell that Kira was not someone who enjoyed convalescing in bed. She would rather have her wounds heal while she continued to go about her daily routine. Not that Anderson could really blame her.
"Captain," she called over to him.
Anderson came up to the foot of her bed as Anastria was scanning was her.
"I'm perfectly alright. Can't I return to duty?"
Anderson looked over at Anastria, who shook her head.
"Sorry Commander," Anastria said. "You still have some internal injuries that haven't quite righted themselves. I'm afraid you're going to be in here for another day yet."
Kira glanced hopefully back to Anderson.
The captain helplessly shrugged his shoulders. "You know the rules, Kira," he said. "The Chief Medical Officer is the only one who can override the Captain's authority."
"If he lets her," said Anastria under her breath.
"Don't worry," said Anderson reassuringly. "I'll make sure we don't hold the christening ceremony without you."
He gave Kira a playful wink, reguarded Anastria one more time, and then headed for the exit.

Kira looked up at Anastria as she replaced the tiny scanner in its compartment atop the tricorder. The Andorian physician then tapped a few keys on the tricorder's panel and awaited a response.
"Isn't there anything you can give me to speed up the healing on those internal injuries?" asked Kira.
"What internal injuries?" said Anastria off-handedly as she studied the tricorder.
Kira leaned back onto the raised portion of her bed. "I don't have any internal injuries, do I?" she said suspiciously.
Anastria reguarded her strangely. "Oh, you did. But before I discharged you, there was something I wanted to talk with you about, privately."
Kira shrugged her shoulders curiously. In her mind, she had no objections.
"When I was going over your bio-scans, I noticed some peculiar anomolies."
"Such as...?" prompted Kira.
"Well, your body temperature appears to be several degrees higher than it should be..."
"I don't feel warm," Kira assured her.
"... And your skeletal structure appears to be much thicker than normal. Not to mention the presence of several analogous cranial protrusions."
"There must a glitch in your systems," said Kira with an uneasy chuckle.
Anastria reguarded her curiously once again. "I've run several diagnostics. The equipment's functioning properly. Now, the anomolies I discovered in your physiology are certainly abnormal for a Bajoran..."
Kira swallowed hard. She had a sinking feeling that she knew what was coming next.
"...But they are normal..., for a Cardassian," said Anastria.
Anastria folded her arms, like a parent or school teacher would to a child who had just been caught misbehaving. Kira could only turn her head away to avoid the look the Doctor was giving her. After a moment or so, she realized that that wouldn't make the problem go away, so she faced Anastria once more.
"So," said Anastria without a hint of scorn in her voice, "when were you going to tell me?"
Kira shook her head. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to until it was time for my annual physical."
Anastria placed the medical tricorder on the small dresser set beside Kira's bed. She then came closer to her in order to make their conversation more private.
"Do you realize how much danger you put yourself in by not telling me?" said Anastria. "Lucky for you I'm an expert in xenophysiology, but if it had been anyone else, they could have given you the wrong medication. Or tried to cut you open in a sensitive area that they wouldn't have known about!"
"I realize that!" hissed Kira. She paused a moment, trying to calm herself while Anastria glanced nervously about to make sure that noone was eavesdropping on their little chat.
Kira sighed. "Do you have any idea what it's like to grow up half-Cardassian on Bajor and be reminded of it wherever you go? To have people look at you as if you're some kind of lower lifeform because of some biological trait that you had no control over? Yes, I'm half-Cardassian. And I've tried very hard to keep that fact hidden from the outside world. So forgive me if I didn't rush right over to you and announce it!"
"But Kira," said Anastria gently, "falsifying your medical records is a serious offense. I don't know how you've managed to get away with it for so long."
"Usually, my past doctors have been males," Kira commented. "You'd be amazed how easy it is to..., persuade them to gloss over the fact."
Anastria shook her head disbelievingly. She turned her back to Kira and was about to walk away to deal with some of her other patients when Kira called out to her.
"You haven't told the Captain yet, have you?"
Anastria shook her head. "Not my place."
Kira grasped Anastria's arm and pulled her back to the bed slightly. "You know him. Do you think he'll be very angry about it?"
"I think he'll be more upset that you didn't feel you could trust him enough to tell him in the first place."
"I couldn't tell him before. Not when we'd just met. I mean what would he have said if he'd learned his new first officer is half-Cardassian?"
Anastria smiled warmly at Kira. "He's a lot more understanding than you might think."
Kira released her grip and Anastria turned away to see how her other patients were faring. Kira sat in her bed with something new of her own to ponder.

Robert Anderson brought the tiny razor blade down onto the top of the box and stuck it through the clear adhesive tape that was holding it together. With one stroke, he tracked the razor across the top of the box, separating the partitions which the tape had joined together. He then slit the edges on either side of the box and the top blossomed open like a springtime bud before him.
He reached into the box, fished his hand through the packing peanuts, and pulled out the brass-framed canvass contained within. He raised the painting to eye-level and admired it with all the affection and reverence of a treasured family heirloom. In fact, it very nearly was a family heirloom!
The oil-color scene of the Christina river near Anderson's Delaware home on Earth had always held a special place in his heart. It dipicted the place he had often gone to in his youth to find solace, usually armed with a fishing rod and box full of plastic lures. He'd always felt most at peace near the water, and that only made the painting all the more special to him.
It had been the gift his sister had given him on the day of his graduation from Starfleet Academy. A reminder of the place he loved the most on the day when he'd realized that it would probably be a long time before he ever got to see it firsthand again.
Oh, he'd discovered the holodeck about six months or so after his commission aboard the Enterprise, but no matter how many hours he'd spent programming the deck to simulate the conditions of his home, it was no substitute for the real thing. Even the other three hologrammatic fishing programs he'd managed to come up with in his spare time paled in comparison to actually being there.
He cradled the painting lovingly in his arms, like a father holding a newborn. Finally, he stepped over to the bare wall just behind and to the left of his desk. As he hung the framed canvass upon the magnetic tacks he'd placed there moments before, he wondered if maybe Drakmar IV had any good fishing spots. After all, the planet was only a couple light years away, and using the Z'lunz wormhole, he could conceivably make it there in a couple of hours.
No longer than it took to get up to Lake Winterthur back home, he thought. Maybe after things had calmed down a bit and everyone was really settled in on the station, he could seriously think about it.
"Captain?" a tiny feminine voice said.
Anderson jumped slightly from the unexpectedness of hearing another person in his office. The painting hung, he turned towards the doorway where his young friend, Lieutenant Nikoxancthe stood, dressed in her blue formal uniform.
Anderson calmed himself with a deep breath and then began to laugh slightly at his own awkwardness. He motioned for Niko to enter the room.
The diminutive Tridarahne woman stepped through the threshold and into the office. The doors hissed closed behind her. Anderson stooped low and went back to opening yet another of the sealed boxes which littered the floor.
Nikoxancthe shook her head disbelievingly and said with a chuckle, "What are you doing, sir?"
Anderson turned his head and looked up into her green pupilless eyes, "What's it look like I'm doing?"
Niko shook her head with a grin. "It looks like you're doing spring cleaning in your dress uniform."
Anderson glanced down at himself. He'd forgotten that he too was wearing a uniform similar to Niko's, but which was red in color. He shook his own head incredulously and began to chuckle at himself.
"Bad habit," he commented. "I picked it up from my mother; blame it on her. Whenever she was nervous about an upcoming event, she'd always clean. Our house could have been in the most immaculate condition, but if there was some special event happening in our family, or even if we had guests coming over, there she'd be. Cleaning."
Anderson stood erect and brushed the front of his uniform down with his hands. "I swear, sometimes I think we had a house more to display than to live in."
"It sounds like a wonderful memory," said Niko.
Anderson chuckled, "Not if you'd been there, it wasn't!"
"You should cherish those memories," warned Nikoxancthe gently. "When you don't grow up with your parents, you miss out on little things like that. What seems inane to you, can mean a great deal to someone else."
Anderson bowed his head slightly. He'd forgotten that Niko had lost her parents at an early age, when they'd sacrificed themselves so that she might live. He knew she'd had a happy childhood growing up on Nortania where she'd been found. But still, the fact that she had been robbed of a life with her natural family must have been a terrible thing for her to live with.
Anderson wasn't sure what he would have done without his parents around, irritating though they may be at times. She was right. He should be thankful for having his roots.
Anderson noticed Niko step over towards a pillar which he had set to the right of his desk. Atop the brown, marble-like column was a structure which, upon first glance, might have been mistaken for a piece of modern art sculpture. In fact, it was not too dissimilar in appearance from Serendipity Station itself, what with its outer ring sprouting three upper and lower pylons set at strategic points. The center portion of the structure was much smaller than Serendipity's bulbous mid-section, but it had all the ear-marks of a space station nontheless.
"This is Deep Space 9, isn't it?" asked Nikoxancthe pointing to the small pewter replica.
Anderson rose to his feet and stepped over to the pillar where the model was displayed.
"Yes," Anderson nodded. "A friend of mine is Chief Medical Officer there, and he sent me this replica whenever he received his commission."
Niko nodded her comprehension. "Well, I imagine he'll be hearing about you soon, sir."
Anderson eyed her incredulously.
"The news of what you've done here has already reached the five High Council members' homeworlds," Niko explained. "Won't be long before the whole quadrant knows about Serendipity Station and what's happening here."
Anderson shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "As long as it helps the cause."
Niko placed her hand gently on Anderson's shoulder. "Captain, you're a hero. You should be enjoying this moment. After all, how often does it come along?"
"I suppose," mumbled Anderson.
He noticed her reguarding him with a great deal of curiousity. "You're really not comfortable with all that, are you?"
Anderson shook his head slightly. "I guess I've just never thought of myself as the heroic type."
"Yet you were instrumental in helping the Enterprise during that disaster. You prevented both the Daedalus and the Horizon from being destroyed. You rescued the Primus and now you've saved Serendipity."
"I guess I just don't want the tales of my 'heroism' getting all out of proportion," said Anderson. "History has a tendency to make gods out of men who simply..., overcame extraordinary circumstances. When they tell the story of what happened here fifty years from now, I hope they won't try to make me out to be some kind of Superman. I just want to be remembered as a guy who tried to his job to the best of his abilities. Sometimes I may have done good, sometimes I may have made mistakes. And want it all there in my record. The failures. Side by side with the successes."
Nikoxancthe nodded. "I undestand, sir. But that may only make people admire you all the more."
Anderson placed his hand atop Niko's momentarily, then removed it from his shoulder and brought it back down to her side.
"Now," Anderson said in a brighter tone of voice, "I believe we have a dedication ceremony to get to, don't we?"

Serendipity Square was jammed with people. There was standing room only.
Everyone on the station, all 25,000 citizens and personnel alike were assembled in the station's main cultural center.
The 'sky' above was the brightest, most brilliant shade of blue that anyone had ever seen. Even bluer than a clear summer afternoon on Earth.
The brightly colored banners, each emblazoned with the markings of many of the different worlds represented on the station, draped from the many poles which had been erected for the occasion. Each banner swayed gently in the artificial breeze which Marcus Arcturus had managed to engineer.
The double-dragon fountain, set in the center of the square, was surrounded on all sides by the mass. Each member listening intently while the water sprayed out of the statue's twin mouths, oblivious to all that was happening around it.
Several feet in front of the statue was the raised staging area. There stood the four ambassadors, the station's the line officers, and several of the higher-ranking civillians. In the middle of this smaller crowd, standing at a podium emblazoned with the mutli-cultural emblem which had been commissioned as the station's representative insignia, was Captain Robert Anderson.
Anderson spoke to the crowd and the words came to him automatically. He didn't even have to think of them. More of that theatrical training coming to good use. As he spoke the words, his mind was elsewhere.
He began wondering what it would have been like if his parents had been able to attend. They were the history buffs, after all. American Civil War to be precise. And standing here and now, looking out amongst this mass of people who were truly now his reponsibility, he began to feel that perhaps this must have been how Abraham Lincoln felt whenever he gave his famous Gettysburg Address, centuries ago.
They were in similar positions, Lincoln and Anderson. Both of them were in charge of a nation of people who were fighting amongst themselves for their very identity. Each side had their own arguments and each argument had its own validity. People had died before to ensure that they could be here now to even have the disagreements, and both were uncertain whether what they did now honored those fallen forefathers or disgraced them.
Anderson knew now, as Lincoln must have known then, that the cause for which they had fought had not died here. Quite the contrary. Here it had received new hope to continue and the promise existed that the goal which they were striving for, was closer to becoming a reality than they realized.
Yes, Anderson thought. This was our Gettysburg. Our Waterloo. Our Khitomer. The path which lay ahead of them would surely not be an easy one, but it was immensely preferable to the alternative. Anderson was ready to face it. All the triumphs, all the tragedies that the future had in store for him and his comrades on Serendipity Station.
And he felt grateful for them!

Epilogue

The crowd began to disperse as the celebration of Serendipity Station's official christening got under way. There would be a party the likes of which had never been seen in this part of the galaxy before. Anderson only hoped that station security would be able to keep it an orderly one.
Anderson stood at the staging area of Serendipity Square heartily accepting the accolades of his crew and the representatives of the League of Worlds who had assembled for the ceremony. He took each one of their hands, (or other appendages) with the grace and charm of a beauty pageant winner. Now as the crowd noisily began to thin, Anderson was growing tired of it. If he pumped his arm one more time, he felt certain he was going to sprain something.
He was happy to see the last of the representatives coming up towards him, and it was the group he was most looking forward to seeing. Ambassadors Kerg, Amaraq, Bii'vor and of course, Meela, had assembled themselves into a tiny quorum at the beginning of the ceremony and had stayed together the entire time.
An accomplishment in itself.
Now, still as a group, they came up to Anderson, and each one of them gave him their hand. Anderson returned their greetings heartily, his arm could handle four more handshakes.
After the smiles and the exchanges, there was an awkward silence amongst the group. Anderson wasn't quite sure if he should say something or if he should let them speak.
Finally, Bii'vor took the initiative.
"Well Captain," he said with a smile. "I realize that there was a little antagonism amongst us all when we first came aboard..."
Anderson nodded with a chuckle.
"There was even talk of some of us wanting to bail out..."
Bii'vor, Meela, and Kerg turned towards Amaraq.
"Now!" Amaraq protested. "I never said I wanted to 'bail out'! I merely meant..."
"Ambassador, calm yourself," said Meela with a gracious smile. "What's past is past."
"Just be very careful how you conduct yourself in the future," intoned Kerg with a slight undercurrent of a growl.
Anderson chuckled as the Cardassian ambassador swallowed air audibly.
"What we're trying to say, Captain," interjected Meela, "is that we have all learned something in the past few days. And, if you are still willing to have us, we would all like to remain as representatives our governments on Serendipity."
Anderson's smile widened. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he let someone else see his own white teeth.
"I wouldn't want it any other way," he said sincerely.
"By the way, Captain," Amaraq cut in. "When does the new Federation ambassador arrive?"
Anderson raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Oh, haven't you heard? He's already aboard the station."
"Is he?" asked Meela.
"Yes."
"When did he arrive?" wondered Kerg.
"A few days ago," said Anderson. "He's only now just settling in to his new position."
"Well," said Amaraq. "When do we get to meet him?"
"You've already met him, Ambassador," said Anderson. A mischievous grin wormed it's way across his face.
"In fact, you're looking at him right now!"

The ambassadors departed for their respective celebrations, leaving Anderson with a feeling of great satisfaction. As a rule, he hated leading people on like he had just done with them, but on the other hand, it was a joke that had just been too good to pass up.
Anderson was now strolling through Serendipity Square, passing by the outside of each of the shops and restaurants that were holding celebrations. As he passed, he acknowledged several well-wishers lined up out of the entranceways. He couldn't believe his eyes.
Some of them were blitzed already!
"Come one, come all! To the greatest celebration in the universe!" a voice called out like an ancient carnival barker.
Anderson approached the entrance to the Sea Serpent Stardome, where Ml'vrin, the club's proprietor, stood outside shouting into a long, hollow, conical object which resembled an old Earth-style megaphone. The elder Drakmarian was herding the patrons into his establishment like a cowboy with a group of heffers.
Ml'vrin continued barking out his 'cattle call' for several seconds before he noticed Anderson standing there. He then lowered his megaphone with an uneasy chuckle, and leapt down from the podium on which he had been elevated. He stepped over to the Captain.
"Business is booming, I see," commented Anderson.
Ml'vrin turned back to the entrance of his club momentarily and then faced Anderson once again.
"Yes, isn't it?" said Ml'vrin with a wry smile. "I'm looking forward to making a tidy little profit on this celebration."
"Just don't forget that half of your profits is going back into the station."
"I know, I know," sighed Ml'vrin. "I remember our little 'agreement.'"
"And no funny business! If I hear that you've short-changed me or cheated any your customers out of money that's rightfully theirs..."
"Captain, you needn't worry," said Ml'vrin reassuringly. "I'm no fool. I'm not about to go violating my parole by doing anything as idiotic as that."
"You'd better not," said Anderson. "'Cause if you do..."
"I know," interjected Ml'vrin. "I'll be on the next transport back to R'zhal'shii."
Anderson nodded. "Just as long as we understand each other."
He turned away and began to walk.
"I promise you won't regret your decision!" Ml'vrin called after him.
Anderson turned back to face the pudgy Drakmarian.
"Citizen Ml'vrin will unite the rabble under your banner! You'll see!"
Anderson merely shook his head with a world-weary sigh, and began walking through the crowd once again.

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