Prelude

The woman certainly was striking. Jelor Pelaine carefully considered the beautiful young woman approaching his security booth and immediately had her pegged. The expensive clothes were the first indication of her elevated social status. Then there was the refined air, the way she passed by “lesser” persons without a second thought, gliding by with an alluring, yet confident, stride through the corridor of the orbital spaceport as if she owned it, that everyone there was a brief command away from serving her slightest desire.

Not that Pelaine would have minded serving her in any way. The security guard would never move among the elite circles that this woman obviously called home, but he could fantasize about being called to her side for some special task. He might be a plain-looking, middle-aged loner, but Pelaine still held onto the hope that some beautiful woman would see past his exterior and find the goldmine he still believed was inside him. Hey, millions of people played the Bolian lottery every day even though the odds were against them, but they all knew that someone had to win. What made his hope any more futile?

Pelaine’s heart beat faster as he realized the woman was approaching his security booth.

“Excuse me, officer,” she began. Her sparkling, lively blue eyes looked directly into Pelaine’s, making a connection with him, something few people did. She had his immediate and complete attention. She tilted her head to the side and a long, braided ponytail of dark hair fell past her shoulder. “I’ve forgotten the security code to my friend’s ship and he asked me to meet him on board. Can you help me? It’s the yacht in Slip 19A.”

As she asked for his help, the woman tilted her head slightly forward and smiled, so that she was looking at him through her eyelashes, a coquettish gesture obviously designed to convince him to grant her wish. Pelaine was helpless to resist.

“Of, of course,” he stammered. “Could I see some identification?”

Wordlessly but with her full lips upturned in a come-hither grin, she produced an identification card and passed it to him. Slipping it into a computer slot, the guard called up her data. For most people, Pelaine would have just glanced at the name and photo and checked them against a list of approved visitors, and that would be that. Not for this woman who had crashed into his drab life; he wanted to know everything.

“Um, uh, I don’t see your name on the visitor list, Miss Carter.” Pelaine quickly read the information that came up. Melissa Carter, resident of Auckland, New Zealand, Earth. Arrived on Trejillis four days ago via the luxury liner SS Arcadia. Staying at the Mokmnis resort hotel while on the planet. Security alerts: None.

“Yes,” she replied smoothly. “My friend hasn’t had time to add me to the list. We only met in the casino a few hours ago, but he promised to show me the auroral lights that your moon is famous for. He said he would be here after taking care of some business.”

“I don’t know,” Pelaine said. “The regulations are very clear. Unless you’re on the list….”

Melissa, as he had already begun to think of her, leaned across the desk, moving into his personal space. “Oh, please can’t you make one exception for me?” She pouted a little. “It would be much more comfortable than sitting in the terminal. He told me that he has a fully stocked bar on board.” She pulled a credit chip out of her pocket and slid it across the desk. “I’d be happy to compensate you for any inconvenience.”

Pelaine’s eyes widened at seeing the chip. It was worth almost half his monthly pay. What could it hurt, he thought. I’ll just keep an eye on her and the ship while she’s there. He knew he certainly wouldn’t mind that extra duty. What’s the worst that could happen? “Well, okay,” he said, pocketing the chip. “But please be discrete.”

“Oh, you can be sure that I am always very discrete,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper and giving him a leer. With a sweaty hand, he tapped a command that opened the security door and he watched her pass through along with the small, unobtrusive man Pelaine just noticed had been standing behind her. Seeing him looking at her companion, Melissa added, “This is my personal assistant. Daddy sends him along with me everywhere to keep me out of trouble.” From her tone, Pelaine got the idea that she got into all kinds of interesting trouble.

“Okay. Go down to the third corridor on the left and it’s the slip at the end,” he finished. She waved at him in thanks and walked away with that same alluring movement that had caught his attention in the first place.

After they had passed beyond the guard’s sight, the small man said to the woman, “Anna, sometimes I think you could charm your way into the Bank of Bolius and walk away with half the vault.” She just smiled and laughed a throaty, sexy laugh. “Don’t worry, Nils,” she said in her cultured, accented voice. “I’d make sure you were there with me to carry the other half.”

He just grinned and muttered to himself, “You wouldn’t need me; you’d get the bank’s officers to carry it for you.”

Arriving at the designated airlock, Nils pressed the hatch controls and the door slid open. The pair slipped inside and closed the door behind them. Anna walked purposefully through the main cabin, no longer gliding in her risqué way, but still alluring nonetheless. “Very nice, very nice,” she said to herself as she took in the appointments of the very expensive ship. “It looks like we made a good choice. We’ll fetch a nice credit for this one.”

They entered the bridge of the small ship and sat at the controls. The private yacht was medium sized, the kind that would carry a crew of three or four with a servant or two to care for the needs of the passengers. It was fairly speedy for a private vessel, possibly making up to Warp 5 or 6.

Anna had indeed learned about it in the casino earlier in the day. She and Nils had carefully watched the new arrivals in the orbital spaceport over the past four days, watching for the perfect mark. The owner of this ship had arrived with a group of friends the previous day, a typical young playboy who evidently had more money than common sense.

Rather than approach him herself, Anna had let him notice her and make the first move. Anna Amoroso was very good at getting men to notice her. At first feigning disinterest, she had strung the man along, letting him brag about himself and his possessions until he began to try to impress her with his descriptions of his very expensive yacht. Leaving him with a promise to meet for dinner—where he should be sitting waiting right now, she thought—Anna had collected Nils and made her way to the spaceport.

Nils pulled a small electronic device from his pocket and placed it on the helm, interfacing it with the ship’s computer. “Can you break it?” Anna asked. Nils turned to her with a surprised grin. “Have you ever seen a computer system I couldn’t break?” Turning back to the device, he continued, “It’s an Antares-Brunkell Model 459A Security System. It was introduced into the civilian market in 2368 and was a standard installation in all yachts produced by the Marshall Shipyards, including this one. And it takes me less than 30 seconds to crack it.” As he finished, the control panel lit up while the security system shut down.

“You’re a genius,” Anna laughed as she began powering up the systems. By now the security guard would be seeing the strange activity on the yacht, so she locked the outer hatch to keep the poor man out. He was probably going to lose his job. She then released the docking clamps and began maneuvering the ship out of its berth.

Just then the communications system began beeping insistently. “That would be Flight Control wondering why we’re underway without authorization,” Nils said.

“I’m sorry, but they’ll have to wait,” Anna replied. “I’m quite busy at the moment.” She continued activating the yacht’s systems, including the main engines. “Course laid in for rendezvous. Let’s see what this beauty can do.” She hit the impulse engage button and roared out of the spaceport, well above the speed limit imposed on all traffic and rocking the vessels left behind in her exhaust wash.

“Let the chase begin!” she exulted, throwing her ponytail over her shoulder.

Chapter One

Captain’s Personal Log
Stardate 55000.1

A new star year, a new beginning for me and my new ship. Having assumed command of the USS Timberwolf, an Akira Class battlecruiser, I have reached perhaps the pinnacle of my career. Some officers aspire to the admiralty, but most want to sit in the center chair. And not just on a fleet tug, but on a ship of the line. Some want the frontier-pushers, the exploration cruisers pushing back the limits of what we know. With the Dominion War over and the rebuilding well underway, that’s now possible. But others are happy patrolling familiar space, finding excitement in the unexpected events of interacting everyday with a multitude of species. That’s my life now.

The Timberwolf has been assigned to the Romulan border for now, keeping an eye on our new “allies.” At least they were allies during the war. What they will do now is anyone’s guess. But even before that, I have been ordered to give the ship and her crew a full shakedown. The newly upgraded components need to be tested for fit and finish and I guess the new captain does too. I’m impressed by the crew that Alice Dunne is leaving me.

This should be a nice change of pace from the past year, escorting relief convoys into Cardassia. Apart from the odd Maquis-remnant raid, pirates, or resentful, rogue Cardassians, the missions were long and emotionally exhausting. The devastation was awful, seeing how they spent so many years fighting first the Klingons, then the Federation, Klingons, and Romulans, and finally and briefly the Dominion. I wonder if their civilization will ever recover from this blow.

Captain Cesar Maxwell turned off his computer station and leaned back in his chair in his new ready room. A few steps from the bridge of his powerful, new ship, the ready room held a desk, a couch, a bed, and a bathroom, evidently designed by Starfleet so its captains could spend even more time near the bridges of their ships. Maybe they should just get rid of the captain’s quarters altogether, Maxwell thought. And they could wire us directly into the ship’s computer and we could become like the Borg, he added wryly.

Shaking off such gloomy, pessimistic thoughts, Maxwell reminded himself that he should be reveling in his new opportunity, the new “toy” that Starfleet had given him. He had to stop mulling over the depressing Cardassian situation, he told himself.

Realizing that he had been off the bridge for most of his present duty shift, Maxwell pushed away the padds on his desk with a disgusted grunt. He headed for the door, determined that he would spend every day of his command relishing this time, not taking it for granted.

The doors swished open before him as entered the bridge. “Captain on the bridge,” came the announcement in the Irish brogue of Maxwell’s first officer, Commander D.J. Devlin. As he headed for the center seat, Maxwell looked around with appreciation at the new bridge module that the Timberwolf had been refitted with. The design had been first installed on the new Sovereign Class heavy cruisers and was now being backfitted into the ships of the line.

“Anything to report, XO?” he asked Devlin.

“A few civilian vessels on long-range sensors, routine communications traffic from Starfleet Command, and my lunch is giving me wicked gas,” Devlin replied with a grimace as he rubbed his stomach.

Letting a slight grin show on his face, the captain said, “Warn me of any … unexpected side effects of your condition, will you Commander?” Several crewmembers choked back surprised guffaws, some not so successfully.

Maxwell liked to keep a relaxed atmosphere on his bridge, which he felt aided efficiency and kept up morale, at least in moderation and at the right time. He knew some captains frowned on any type of personal interaction, but that always chafed Maxwell’s naturally effusive personality.

“Commander Markides, do you have the training schedule ready for when we arrive at Starbase 9?” Maxwell’s second officer, Lt. Commander Alexis Markides, seated at the ops console to the left of the helm, turned slightly in her seat to address the captain.

“Yes, sir. A full schedule of drills have been prepared for all departments. A complete list has been sent to you and Mr. Devlin ….” She never finished her sentence as the Andorian tactical officer interrupted from his post behind and to the left of Maxwell.

“Captain, incoming signal from Trejillus addressed to any Starfleet vessel in the vicinity,” the blue-skinned Lt. Breel’tzin said.

“On screen,” Maxwell ordered.

The viewscreen lit up with the picture of an official-looking humanoid, wearing a uniform. “This is Colonel Brel Dmokris of the Trejillis Police Patrol, requesting assistance from any Starfleet or law enforcement vessel in the vicinity.”

“Col. Dmokris, this is Captain Cesar Maxwell of the Federation starship Timberwolf. How may I be of assistance?”

“Captain, we are in pursuit of a gang of criminals who have just stolen a very expensive starship from a guest to my planet. Unfortunately our ships are not as fast and we are going to lose them if we do not receive assistance. Can you help?” the policeman asked.

Maxwell considered the request only briefly, weighing his current orders to go through an artificial training exercise against the possibility of using a real-life situation to evaluate the readiness of his crew and his ship. And Trejillis was a member of the Federation and entitled to such assistance. Besides, it sounded like such a simple task. “How far are they from our current position?”

Markides jumped in. “Six light years, sir, but heading our way.”

He turned back to the man on the viewer. “Of course we’ll help, Colonel. Please transmit the coordinates and we’ll proceed immediately,” he said.

Breel’tzin at tactical said, “Coordinates received, Captain. Transferring to the helm.”

The helmsman, Lt. Wei Chen, added, “Coordinates entered, sir.” The bridge crew waited for his command.

“Set velocity at Warp 8 and engage.” The ship leapt forward on her new course, like a hunting dog unleashed to chase down a wily fox.

Several uneventful hours later, the Timberwolf neared the spot where the Trejillian policeman’s data had estimated the stolen yacht would be.

“We’re here, Captain,” Chen announced cheerily.

“Wherever here is,” Devlin muttered loud enough for the rest of the bridge to hear. Scattered chuckles littered the bridge.

“All stop, Mr. Chen,” Maxwell said, rising from his seat and stepping forward next to Markides at the ops station. Devlin rose from his seat at the captain’s right hand and went to the tactical station. “Miss Markides, anything on sensors?” the captain asked.

“Yes sir, I have a contact at the outer edge of sensor range. Wait, make that three contacts—the stolen yacht with the two police ships trailing far behind. They will cross in front of and below us in 10 minutes,” she said. Maxwell was already impressed by this efficient young woman who was both his operations officer and Second Officer.

“Helm, plot a looping intercept course. Bring us around and behind the prey and match speed,” he said to Chen.

“Aye, sir,” the eager lieutenant said.

The graceful starship leapt again from her standing stop and accelerated quickly toward the fleeing yacht. As the Timberwolf moved into position, Devlin ordered the image of the yacht put onto the viewscreen.

The red-haired Irishman whistled and said, “She’s a beauty, Captain. Look at those lines. Somebody paid a pretty penny for her.”

“That same somebody is probably mad enough right now to chew duranium,” Breel’tzin observed. “It would be a shame to mar those lines with phasers.”

“Let’s hope it won’t come to that,” Maxwell said, still standing between ops and helm. “Running from two little police ships is one thing, but staring down a starship that has nine photon torpedo tubes pointed at you is another.” Turning slightly, he said, “Hail them, Mr. Breel’tzin.”

To Maxwell’s mild surprise, the hijackers answered immediately. One of the most beautiful women he had ever seen appeared on the viewer. He estimated she was young, under 30, with dark hair in a long, braided ponytail, bee-stung lips, and intense blue eyes under arched eyebrows. He also realized he was staring like a schoolboy on his first unsupervised holodeck visit. “This is Melissa Carter,” the vision said in a cultured accent, a wistful smile playing across her lips. “To whom am I speaking?”

The first noise from his mouth was a slight croak because his throat had gone dry. Come on, man. Get it together. You’re not a first-year cadet. Stalling for time, he looked around him. All of the human males sat gazing at the screen, most of them flushed, all with distinct interest. The women looked uncomfortable, antagonized. Breel’tzin, the Andorian, look confused at his crewmates’ reactions.

“This is Captain Cesar Maxwell, commanding the starship Timberwolf. The policemen in the two vessels falling behind us tell me that this fine ship doesn’t belong to you, Miss Carter.”

One eyebrow arched up on the flawless face. “Really? Is that why they’ve been following us? I didn’t realize.”

Devlin jumped in at that moment. “You didn’t understand their communications telling you to stop?”

“Melissa” waved her hand dismissively. “To be honest, I didn’t bother answering them. We are in interstellar space and well outside their jurisdiction. You know how some of these provincial low-level bureaucrats can be, trying to hustle honest folk.”

Maxwell rejoined the conversation. “Well, let’s clear all that up right now. If you’ll just shut down your engines ….”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Captain. As much as I’d love to spend time with you”—she gave him such an obvious appraising glance up and down that Maxwell blushed to his bones—“but I have a very tight schedule to keep. Perhaps you can clear this up with the constables for me.”

The captain was experienced enough to know when he was being played and decided to end the game right now. “Miss Carter, you will shut down your engines now or I will be forced to take action.”

Markides made a subtle motion for the captain’s attention, so he said, “Excuse me a moment.” He waved at Breel’tzin to mute the channel. “What it is it, Commander?”

“There’s a another vessel approaching at very high warp speed,” she said.

“How fast?”

“At least Warp 9, sir.” That surprised Maxwell. He didn’t realize that any military starships were in this sector.

“Starfleet, Romulan, or Klingon?” he asked.

Markides just shook her head as she scanned her console. “That’s just it, sir. It’s none of those. Sensors say it’s civilian.”

Chen chimed in, astonished. “Civilian! There aren’t any civilian ships that can go that fast!”

“There’s at least one and it’s heading right for us,” Markides said.

“That’s it,” Maxwell said, in a low dangerous tone. Things were rapidly slipping through his fingers and getting confused, and Maxwell didn’t like confusion. “Markides, prepare a tractor beam. Lt. Breel’tzin, target phasers at low level; just enough to knock them out of warp. As soon as they’re sublight, get them in the tractor. On my order.”

He then motioned again for communication to resume. “I’m sorry for the interruption, Miss Carter.”

“Please, Captain. Call me Melissa,” she almost purred.

Crossing his arms in front of him in what he hoped looked brusque and intimidating rather than embarrassed and uncomfortable, he repeated with emphasis, “Miss Carter. If you will not shut down your engines willingly, I will use force.”

“If you insist, Captain,” she said as the transmission abruptly cut off.

“Captain, she’s slowing,” Markides said. “But not stopping. She’s slowing down gradually and will drop out of warp in six minutes.”

“Match course and speed,” Devlin ordered Chen, who was already doing so.

What the hell is she doing now? Maxwell asked himself.

Chapter Two

“What the hell are you doing, Anna?” Nils demanded of the beautiful woman. “You’re taunting the captain of a very big, very powerful starship. This isn’t some backwater security guard.”

“Calm down, Nils,” Anna replied. “I know what I’m doing. The Silk Dragon will be here in a couple of minutes. If I can stall them a little longer we’ll be sitting pretty on Yared by tomorrow.”

“Stall them?” he demanded as he kept an eye on the scanners. “This is the big time. We’ve never gone up against Starfleet before. These guys aren’t exactly like most cops. They’ve just gotten through fighting not one, but two wars. They won’t think twice about swatting us.”

“They’re not Klingons,” Anna snapped, starting to get disgusted with Nils’ whining. He was a talented systems expert and usually fun to have around, but when he got nervous he quickly became annoying. “They’re not going to just start blasting away. There are laws and we have rights and they’re going to abide by them as long as required. If we don’t give them a very obvious reason to suspend those rules, we’ll be okay.”

She began adjusting the engines and Nils leaned over in the cramped cockpit to see what she was doing. Noticing his attentions, Anna said, “I have an idea for a distraction. We’re going to need a couple of seconds to drop the shields and beam onto the Silk Dragon, avoiding the Starfleet transporters and their tractor beams. Here’s what I want you to do.” And as she explained the details to Nils all the while his eyes grew larger in his head.

“This is crazy,” he just kept muttering even as he went to work on the ship’s controls. Pulling off her plan would require overriding every safety protocol on the civilian ship, including some that were hardwired. While military and paramilitary starships were built in such a way as to allow an infinite level of control and customization, civilian ships were built to maximize safety and convenience, preventing their owners from accidentally doing what they had just deliberately planned. “Just give me two minutes,” he said as he dropped underneath the console carrying his bag of tools by the strap in his mouth.

Meanwhile, Maxwell paced his bridge, frustrated and infuriated. And, if truth be told, intrigued by the strange woman who had apparently stolen the yacht. Which infuriated him even more. He was a Starfleet captain and he had traveled to dozens or hundreds of worlds. When he was younger, he’d dazzled his share of stunning ladies in bars across the quadrant, so he was no stranger to the company of beautiful women. So what was it about this woman that had him so flustered?

“It’s the self-confidence,” Devlin said in a quiet brogue, interrupting Maxwell’s thoughts.

“What?” the captain asked, confused. Had his first officer suddenly acquired telepathy? Or perhaps he was just thinking along the same lines.

“The woman—why she’s so … captivating,” Devlin replied, struggling for the right word. “In some people, such open bravado and self-confidence would be arrogant and abrasive. But for her, it’s like a velvet cloak.”

“Interesting,” Alexis Markides said archly. “And what do you think Annie would say about your intense examination of this woman?”

D.J., who never seemed to get flustered by anything, smilingly said, “My wife and I have an understanding. I window-shop all I want, but no touching the merchandise. Besides, I’m only explaining it for the captain’s benefit. I find her completely uninteresting. And you can tell my wife that.”

“Since she knows you better than any of us, I’m sure she wouldn’t believe me,” Alexis said with a smile as she returned her attention to her station. “The second ship will be in transporter range in two minutes, just about the same time as the yacht drops out of warp.”

“Tactical,” Maxwell said, “signal the second ship. Warn them off; tell them there is a police action going on here and that they should not interfere. And see if you can get an identity on it.”

Seconds later, Breel’tzin said, “No reply to hails, Captain. And she’s still coming.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Maxwell said, his frustration finally boiling over. It was time to take control of the situation. “Go to red alert. Contact flight control and have two fighters launch and intercept the second ship. Have the rest of the first squadron prepare for launch and put second squadron on alert-five status.”

With a chorus of “Aye sir,” the bridge’s lighting changed to battle red, the klaxon starting ringing, and crewmembers began arriving on the bridge to take up station at consoles that were only manned during general quarters.

“Tigers One and Two are away, sir,” Breel’tzin said as Maxwell saw the two fighters launch from the forward-facing shuttlebay and peel away on the viewscreen. They took up position on both sides of the still-silent second starship. It was a wicked-looking thing, with oversized warp nacelles that looked as if they had been scavenged from a Klingon Vor’cha battlecruiser and bolted onto the sleek, lozenge-shaped hull.

“Anything on that ship?” Maxwell asked.

“No sir. There are no records of any vessel fitting that description in the Federation database,” the Andorian tactical officer said. “Scans show that those are indeed Klingon warp nacelles and there’s a very powerful warp core on board.”

“That would be why they can go warp 9,” Chen said dryly from the helm.

“How does one go about getting Vor’cha class warp nacelles?” Markides asked. “You don’t exactly get them at the local shipyard.”

“We’ll ask them ourselves once they’re on board. Since they’re not responding to hails, I’ll assume they’re part of this little gathering,” Maxwell said.

“You should know, sir, that I’m detecting what may be concealed weapons installed on it. Very subtly designed, but the power usage is all over the place,” Breel’tzin warned.

“First things first, Mr. Breel’tzin. Hail the first vessel again,” Maxwell said. Without waiting for Melissa Carter to appear on the screen again and say something else to get him off track, he said, “Heave to your vessel or we will disable your ship. Right now.”

“Second vessel entering transporter range,” Markides said in a low voice from the side. There was no answering communication.

“Fire a warning across her bow, Mr. Breel’tzin,” Maxwell ordered, even as Markides began to warn him of a power build up on the yacht and a transport signature from the second vessel. It all happened so fast that afterwards Maxwell would have to review the sensor logs at a fraction of real-time speed just to see the sequence of events.

As the Timberwolf fired her phasers a few meters from the yacht’s bow, the smaller ship’s warp core breached. Had the Timberwolf been any closer or the small ship’s core any bigger, the larger ship would have sustained massive damage. As it was, she was thrown about seriously, knocking out several systems including the warp engines, sensors, and transporters. Meanwhile, just before the explosion, the second vessel, the Silk Dragon, had beamed the two hijackers aboard and quickly went to warp.

On the Timberwolf’s bridge, Captain Maxwell was picking himself up off the deck. “Damage report,” he called out.

Devlin levered himself off the deck and into his chair where he began accessing the requested data that the computer and officers all over the ship immediately began sending him. “Warp drive is offline, short- and long-range sensors are out, other systems too. Minor casualties.”

“What about the two fighters?” the captain demanded.

Breel’tzin chimed in, “They report no damage—they were far enough away from the blast—and they are now in pursuit of the second ship. Tiger One also says that the stolen yacht was completely destroyed.”

“At the speeds we saw that ship making, I don’t think those fighters will be able to keep up,” Markides said to Maxwell.

Almost growling with anger, Maxwell ordered, “Get the warp drive and sensors back online as soon as possible and have the fighters track that ship as long as they can.” Turning to Breel’tzin, he asked, “What about the two police ships?”

“They’ll catch up to our position in about three minutes.”

Maxwell thought for a moment. He didn’t want to make this a personal vendetta. He needed to remain professional and follow the book. Taking a few deep breaths, he said, “Well, tell them that they’re welcome to follow as best they can, but when we get the engines back online, we’re going to maximum warp. I am not letting that woman get away now.”

An agonizing twenty minutes later, Chief Engineer Grady Compton reported to the bridge. “Sir, we’ve got the warp engines and sensors back online, but it’s a quick patch. I’ll need a few hours to really get it back in one piece. I’d recommend no more than Warp 6.”

“Sorry, chief, but I’ll need more than that,” Maxwell replied. The engineer just sighed and acknowledged the request. To the helmsman, he said, “Follow that ship, Mr. Chen. Go to Warp 7 and then more as soon as Mr. Compton gives you the okay.”

Markides, who was reviewing the data from her now functioning sensors, said, “Captain, I’ve plotted a likely destination for the fugitives. It looks like they’re heading for the Yared system. That’s a non-Federation planet without an extradition treaty and an attitude about Starfleet. It’s a safe haven for them.”

Maxwell cursed. “Can we catch them before they reach the system’s borders?”

“No sir,” she said ruefully.

“Throttle back to Warp 6, Mr. Chen,” he said. “We’ll try to talk to the Yared authorities and ask them if they’ll make an exception to their sanctuary rules. Otherwise, we’ll wait outside the system as long as we can. They won’t stay there forever.”

Turning to Devlin, he said, “XO, notify Starbase 9 that we’re going to be delayed a couple of days.”