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Somewhere inside the swirling stellar masses of the Badlands, sitting 10 light years from the Lylat system, was a rather large shipyard that churned out new ships every day for the Republic of Independent Star Emirates. It resembled an apple core, and its hull was composed of a shiny black material that stood out amongst the orange, red, yellows and browns of the swirling interstellar clouds. Daily it made upgraded versions of old Cornerian designs: fighters, escorts, destroyers, frigates, mecha…whatever had been placed in an order.

A lone figure sat in the central control room, floating amongst several computer monitors that were displaying the various goings-on in the station. She was female; that much was apparent from the supple lines of her curves that were seen through the strange, skin tight garment that covered every inch of her. Her face was literally a mask–or a visor, if you will–that displayed blue-colored indicators where her eyes were looking, with a matching blue mouth that manifested basic movements. These indicators wouldn't move when she spoke through a speaker in the helmet, only leaving this strange visual representation of what she was conveying. From the back of her head, six tentacle-like manipulators resembling spines extended from this helmet. These seemed to be used to help her maneuver and manipulate the displays around her. The antigrav harness built into her suit was what allowed her to float in the air.

Her gaze fell upon a single vessel approaching the station. She knew whose ship it was. It was Theodore Holtz's ship, and it was returning alone…without the Raptor. The visor blinked into a frowny expression. It was obvious they had been bested and he had bested them.

Of course he did, she thought to herself, of course he would.

She had told Holtz to not underestimate Martinez, but obviously he hadn't listened. With a wave of her hand, she moved all the monitors aside and floated over the viewport to watch Holtz's ship dock. She chuckled darkly, anticipating the excuses that were about to assail her ears.

After a few moments, Holtz barged into her control room, looking rather humiliated as she floated a few meters above him with her back to him, pretending to be working on something.

“Ladema Hex!" Holtz barked.

“Mmmyess?" She purred, spinning around and looking down at him, her digital face showing an amicable grin.

“Why didn't you warn me about the lockouts on starships?" Holtz demanded.

Hex's mask took on a shocked little expression. “Why! I thought you, the grand exalted leader of the Republic, would know of such things! You never asked if there were any protocols that could cause you problems. You just asked me how to hack into the systems."

“Well, we didn't know, and it cost us the Raptor and our hostages!" Holtz snapped back. “I lost one of my best people to that damn Martinez! How dare you not give me all the relevant intel?!"

“My dear little doggie, when the Technocracy of Ix agreed to help you, we didn't agree to hold your hand and solve all your problems for you." Hex's digital face switched to a harsh image, teeth bared. “You are expected to solve some of your own problems!"

Holtz gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. “Part of an alliance is a mutual sharing of information and not withholding mission-critical details!"

Hex chuckled and spread her arms wide in a dramatic shrug, her visor flicking to an exaggerated yawning face. “It was just an omission! Perhaps it just slipped my mind?"

“I thought you said you requested to join this operation because you have a beef against the Confederation? I would think it was that important to you." Holtz sighed. “You might have taken it a bit more seriously and given me everything I needed to get the Raptor."

“The Raptor is inconsequential," Hex chuckled. “I was more interested in its Captain. So, it seems we both lose. Oh well. Perhaps I misplaced my faith in you."

“Not entirely," Hotlz smirked as he held up an isolinear chip.

Hex's face showed pure joy. “Is that the schematics?"

“Mmmhmm," Holtz replied with a nod.

She floated down to his level. “Let me see!" she ordered, trying to snatch it from him.

“Ah ah ah! Not yet," Holtz said, pulling it out of reach. “I'm changing our deal."

A frown returned to the visor. “Very well…what do you want?"

“Since you have some beef with Martinez, and I do as well, if you want this I want complete disclosure from now on. No more games. No more things slipping your mind. Is that understood?" Hotlz grinned. “Otherwise, there might not be much left of the Raptor or its captain when I'm done."

Hex's face showed placid boredom, an image that usually meant she was mulling something over. Soon, it flicked over to a smile.

“Very well," she said. “I agree to your terms."

He held the chip out to her and she plucked it from his grasp, giggling to herself as she floated up and her work terminals followed.

“You may go now," she said, quickly going to work and loading the Raptor's schematics onto the monitors, studying them intently. “Oh! Before you go?"

“Yes?" Holtz asked, pausing in the doorway.

“We have a meeting with a new ally that wants to help your cause." she said, not looking at him.

“Who's that?"

“It's a surprise!" Hex giggled, not even turning to acknowledge him. “If I tell you then it wouldn't be a surprise now would it? Be at the main docking ring at 0700 tomorrow."

“I thought we agreed to no more secrets?" Holtz protested, glaring at Hex's back.

“Don't be droll and ruin my little surprise for you!" Hex chided, looking over her shoulder. “Now shoo! I have work to do."

Holtz sneered, then departed, leaving Hex to her work

==========================

In the Blackest of Nights

IDP 2022

Episode 22A, Special 16

By Vakash Darkbane

Edited: Saurex Conoway

==========================

The Next Morning

An Urthean battle cruiser approached the station and requested permission to dock. Holtz was immediately on edge as he joined Hex at the airlock, along with a contingent of heavily armored Technocracy guards, clad in battle armor. This was, at least, somewhat reassuring. He had no love for Urtheans and he wasn't thrilled that Hex had invited them to the party. Urtheans couldn't be trusted, but perhaps Hex had some angle Holtz wasn't aware of.

As the door parted, a tall, red-furred Urthean with menacing, glowing red eyes, wearing a Commandant's uniform, stepped out of the airlock with a junior officer in tow.

“Ah! Commandant Xox! It is a pleasure to meet you in person at last!" Hex said politely.

“Yess…I'm willing to hear your proposal," Xox said with grim amusement.

“A man who likes to get to business!" Hex said gleefully. “I can respect that. Commandant, this is Theodore Holtz, leader of R.I.S.E. I think you two have something in common."

“And what, exactly, would that be?" Xox sneered.

“A bothersome Termian who goes by the name of Martinez," Holtz said.

Xox's glare deepened and the leather of his gloves crackled as he clenched his fists.

“I see we have much to discuss. Follow me, gentlemen!" Hex said, leading the way.

The three of them sat around a round conference table in a small meeting room that Hex led them to. Once everyone was settled, Hex cleared her throat.

“The Comendant is currently in charge of our dilithium extraction project with another team," Hex explained to Holtz. “I take it that it is proceeding as planned."

“It's proceeding, yes," Xox glared. “But, we have had…problems…supplies being the main issue. Mostly due to some annoying rebellions within our own borders with separatists, but the issue is being dealt with…yes."

“I am sure it will be taken care of," Hex said, making a note on a datapad on the table. “I'm hoping you are making use of the upgrades we provided to your ships?"

“The subspace wake scrambler has proven…useful. It is not a full cloaking device…no…and we are still…fine tuning it." Xox said as he adjusted his uniform. “The rest…I'm saving for a special occasion."

“Excellent! Now, I have a request of you, Commandant," Hex added. “Holtz is in need of some more firepower for his endeavors."

“Hmm…that depends on one thing," Xox rumbled, leaning forward in his chair. “What's in it for the Empire?"

“Commandant," Holtz said unmovingly, “if you provide just a little bit of military support, R.I.S.E. could conquer the Lylat system and we'd be more than happy to provide the manufacturing power of the planet factory of Macbeth. It can produce ships at a much greater rate than this station. Titania is a world filled with an abundance of materials for starship fuels and construction, all things that your empire could use. If we succeed, I'd be willing to just let you have Venom. They pose a possible threat in the event we invade, however, we're not interested in it, so you could just strip it to the core for all we care."

Xox chuckled. “What makes you think we won't just take it anyway?"

“Because if you do," Hex said, her face changing over to a stern glare, “the Technocracy will be sure that you pay for it! We do not tolerate hostilities between allies." Hex leaned back, her visage changing to a smirk. “Do I need to remind you of the disastrous war that put your empire in the position it is in currently from your initial contact with us?"

Xox gritted his teeth. Disastrous war was an understatement. Massacre was more fitting.

“No," he growled, “no you do not."

“No reason we can't all get along then isn't there?" Hex asked, her smirk shifting to a smile.

“No," Xox said, “I suppose we could find those terms agreeable."

“Excellent." Holtz said. “Let me know what you can provide and we'll draw up the terms when you are ready."

Xox nodded.

Holtz inwardly shuddered. If the Technocracy could intimidate the Urtheans, that was some juicy information. He would have to reevaluate how he dealt with Hex for now. He pondered if that was why she chose to have this little meeting, perhaps to establish with him where he actually stood in their little alliance. However, they promised to help them conquer the Lylat system and he wanted to see the Cornerian Government fall to cinders, no matter what it took. The problem was his forces consisted of undisciplined–if not dedicated–colonists, separatists, mercenaries, and outlaws. Alone, it would be well past his lifetime before they could even stand a chance to pull this off. He needed an edge. The Technocracy of Ix offered a fast track to that edge.

"So tell me, Commandant, what is your grievance with Captain Martinez?" Holtz asked.

The officer with Xox cringed away at the crunch of Xox's gloves around his clenching hands. D'jonn–Xox's first officer–seemed to be anticipating something, but whatever it was, it never came.

"That…vermin…has caused me way more trouble than he is worth, yes, much trouble," Xox said coldly. “He is a thorn in my side…one I cannot seem to get rid of."

“Heh! Well, I'll give you that! He is very slippery," Holtz agreed.

“Yes…indeed," Xox rumbled with a slight smirk “I take it he has bested you as well?"

“Regretfully. He proved to be more viscous and cunning than I ever anticipated." Holtz groused.

Xox let out a rarely heard sound: an amused laugh. “Yes! Yes…that he is! He has vexed me more times than I care to admit. However…he had decided to distance himself from our little game and I tire of waiting for him…yes I do."

“Ooooh! Isn't this delightful?" Hex gushed, entangling her fingers and leaning her head on her hands with a whimsical smile on her visor. “I knew you boys would find something to bond over!"

Holtz and Xox just glared at her.

Shrugging, still smiling, she continued. “So, Commandant, how is our little project going on your end?"

“Construction is slow…most slow indeed, yes…but it is progressing." Xox replied. “The extractor should be completed in the next several months."

“I will send additional crews to assist," Hex said. “What's causing the delays?"

"I've had to divert resources to mine Corzomium from a nearby system," said Xox.

“What do you need Corzomium for?" Holtz asked. "I thought it was just junk material?"

"Yes…yes it is," Xox rumbled. "However, our contact in the Confederation is more than willing to pay handsomely for it…yes. They have some use for it, I'm sure."

"Hmmm…what use is there for a useless metallic mineral?" Hex mused. “They've been so scared since they encountered the Borg; that's why they've been cranking out little surprises here and there, the Raptor being one of them."

“Do you have any idea what it could be used for?" Holtz asked.

“Not a clue," Hex shrugged brightly. “As you said, it's a junk material. Perhaps I should have some of our spies look into the matter."

“I don't care, no…I don't," Xox chuckled. “If one of their own is willing to fill my coffers, I will happily oblige them if they wish to waste their resources on garbage."

“So, tell me about this dilithium extraction project," Holtz demanded. “I haven't heard of this."

“Well, if you want to make war, you need fuel for your war machines, right?" Hex asked as though prompting a child to find the answer themselves. “Sure, reactors are great, but come now Theodore! The engines that power your ships are primitive and unreliable! One stray shot and poof!" Her tentacles flared out, along with her hands, to emphasize the theoretical explosion.

“Fair enough," Holtz growled.

Hex keyed something on the table and a hologram of an orange and green world with dark blue oceans appeared, hovering in the air.

“This is the Protectorate colony of Illaria," Hex explained amid the readouts. “It's not a full member of the Confederation and the closest Starbase is several days away at high warp. It's located within the Badlands."

“Alright, so it's a planet that has dilithium? Big deal," Holtz snorted. “There are lots of those."

Hex's visor expression flickered to an amused smirk. “It's a planet that's made up of at least 60% dilithium. It's also stable, so we'd have more than enough dilithium to power several fleets!"

“And…what? You're just going to take it and hope it goes unanswered?" Holtz asked.

“Well of course!" Hex's visor blinked into a malicious grin.

Xox chuckled darkly. “By the time they realize anything has happened, all that will remain will be a depopulated world…yes…stripped-out husk."

Holtz raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You can accomplish that in a matter of days?"

Hex nodded with an amused smirk on her visor.

Holtz whistled and leaned back in his chair.

“A little bit pleased, are we?" Hex asked.

“Impressed," Holtz corrected. “Being kept in the dark as long as you've had me, I was starting to wonder what exactly was going on."

“The Technocracy likes to keep things on a need-to-know basis. You didn't need to know until now." Hex shrugged.

“I will consider your proposal," Xox said to Holtz as he stood. “Venom is a wealthy world, yes it is. There is a great deal of trade and they can't possibly have anything that would stand up to an assault…no. Breaking it would be…a pleasure…when you make your move."

“I have no love for it. Emperor Bowman is more concerned with his own affairs in the system than doing anything to relieve the ongoing situation on Cornearia. I have spoken to him many times and he refuses to get involved." Holtz hissed. “He told me that the future of the Lylat System is no longer determined by Corneria, until they learn to stand on their own. As far as I am concerned, you can raise his little private zoo."

"Then I think, yes, in the interest of cooperation, I will take your offer into consideration." Xox said coolly. "What concerns me is this: what is your stake in all this, Lady Hex?"

"The Technocracy wants to take what's theirs and bring all our wayward children back into the fold…by force if necessary." Hex said, her giddy visor face a contrast to her dark tone.

"Pardon my interruption," Holtz interjected, "but it's always seemed to me your part in all this seems a bit personal."

"Oh, it is." Hex assured him with a malicious grin. "It is totally personal. Let me put it this way, I have seen the light and I wish to only bring my former comrades to it as well."

Holtz put on his best poker face. Hex's tone indicated dark pretenses intermixed with madness of a level he could only barely imagine.

She continued. "We will provide a few ships and additional enhancements to your fleet when you are ready to make your move, Theodore. Don't worry about that."

Holtz simply nodded.

"Commandant," Hex said airly, turning back to him. "Theodore has provided us with schematics to the Raptor." One of her strange manipulator spines rose into view with a data chip. "I am sure you will find these of the utmost interest."

"Yesssss!" Xox hissed, practically drooling as he snatched the chip, clutching it to his chest. "Is there anything else we need to go over?"

"Nope! That's all for now," Hex said with a nod.

Xox looked over to Holtz. "We will be in touch."

"Indeed," Holtz replied.

Xox departed with D'jonn.

Holtz waited a few moments before speaking again. "Are you certain that giving them those schematics will yield any results?"

"The only certainty is that one day Martinez or little Xox are going to get killed by the other." Hex cackled, her visor displaying malice once again as her tentacles writhed.

***

Corneria

Reginald Phoenix stood on the shuttle pad, clad in a jacket as the persistent summer weather drenched him with persistent mist that was rapidly developing into a mid-summer rain. He watched as a shuttlecraft emerged from the low hanging clouds and landed on the pad. The hatchway doors parted and a black furred echidna and green feathered avian exited with their equipment cases in hand.

“Ah! Gentlemen! Welcome back to Corneria." said Reginald.

“Thanks Mr. Phoenix, how are you holding up?" Doctor Kord responded as he exited the shuttle with Doctor Orlan in tow.

“Never better!" the fox said with a wry grin. “I feel like a young vulpine in his prime all over again!"

“That's good! I was worried the new body or the transference would have had some unknown side effects," Kord said as they walked down the gangway heading for the interior of the mansion.

“Balderdash!" Reginald chuckled. “Doctor Aki has been keeping a close eye on me."

They entered the mansion and headed for the study, talking as they went.

“Well, the equipment has been highly experimental, we're still not even sure that the prototype will continue to maintain stability." Kord mused.

“It's not like I had a lot of choice in going forward with it," Reginald smirked. “I wasn't planning on having a goddamn fatal stroke when it happened!"

“I know, I know. It's just the technology is…well it's genius. Genius constructed by a madman, but genius nevertheless." Kord said. “Plus we had so many failures before and now we finally had success. Honestly, I doubted it would continue to function."

“Doctor, if I may? We'll be famous if we can perfect it. The fact that Mr. Phoenix is still among us is proof that its fabrication matrix is stable!" Orlan said excitedly.

“Yes, yes," Kord said with a nod. “Of course it does. I just like to dream of what could be accomplished with it."

They approached the study and Reginald pulled back a book, revealing a keypad. He quickly keyed in a code and part of the bookshelves slid back, revealing a brightly lit stairway leading into the depths of the cloaked Starfleet installation that was attached to the remains of the Phoenix mansion.

They walked into a white-walled, sterile lab containing several canister-like chambers surrounding the main lab. At the center of this room stood an archaic, aged canister glass canister with strange tubes and machinery attached to it, leading into a device in the ceiling. It looked so out of place surrounded by the gleaming whites and silvers of the Confederation technology, severely aged, well used, clearly not Cornerian in design, rickety-looking but somehow still functioning.

Doctor Aki–a blonde-haired fennec fox–greeted them as they arrived.

“Doctor. How is our patient doing?" Reginald asked.

“So far she seems stable. It will be some time for the memory engrams and the maturation chamber to complete the process." Aki said, smiling up at him from a scope scanner. “Doctor Kord, Orlan. Welcome back."

“Thank you Doctor Aki," said Kord.

“How did your experiments go with the Polywater Virus?" she asked.

“Unfortunately, terribly. It's not viable to be used for any purpose whatsoever," Kord said disappointedly. “It's just highly contagious and a nuisance, nothing more."

“That's unfortunate. You put a lot of time into getting access to those samples," Doctor Aki said, brushing blonde hair out of her face.

“Yes, well, that's the nature of research. Not all roads lead to revelations." He sighed, admiring the device in the center of the lab and setting his equipment case down before he logged into a terminal to do a general diagnostic. “I will say, I wish I met the inventor of this wonderful machine."

“Trust me Doctor, it wouldn't have been worth it," Reginald said grimly, walking over to a cylinder that had a readout on it. He patted it affectionately, tuning out the idle chat of the scientists as they discussed the status of the equipment.

Soon everything would be right again. Soon his family would be whole.

The hardest part would be getting Fara to come home. She was avoiding him. He'd tried communicating with her since the incident when she'd come home unexpectedly and discovered the existence of this place. They'd erased the memory, but as she left with Commander Martinez, she had looked at him with a gaze that shook his heart. She hadn't looked at him like he was her father. Instead, she had given him the same look one shares with a dangerous creature that is behind the flimsiest of bars, like she knew his plans. There was no way she could know that he had used this stolen technology from the generations past Lylat Wars to destroy and rebuild his body, making him young again…the same technology that returned her to him as well.

She would come home. He would make her come home when the time was right.

The Phoenixs' would rise again and they would lead Corneria, and the rest of the Lylat System, into a bold new future.

As it was always meant to be.

***

Elsewhere

The Akira was racing through space, heading back to the Kistoran system. It had just finished a two week layover at Starbase 175 to repair the damage from the recent battle with the Borg. With the threat once again pushed back into the darkness, it was back to business. If it hadn't been for the massive amount of aid needing to be sent to Kistor, they might have had more ships for the battle. However, they still won. Admiral Leyton thought “won" might be too bold of a word though. He had since settled on “persevered."

Admiral Leyton liked the Kistoran people. They were resilient, headstrong, and very intelligent. He was sure it would be no time before their world would be restored to its former glory. Of course, Martinez made first contact, recorded the existence of the space moth and the alarming notion that the moon was actually an egg, and he was now a big hero on the planet.

Martinez had also encountered the entity he and his crew had referred to as “Coyote" in their reports. Whoever this seemingly omnipotent being was, they had their own agenda with Martinez and his crew. The whole Fleet was alerted to his presence, but he hadn't deinged to make himself appear before anyone else.

The whole idea made Leyton want to vomit and he felt a burning sensation in the back of his throat. He grabbed a glass of water on his desk and took a drink and molted a few feathers out of frustration. That damn echidna was like a bad coin: he kept turning up no matter how much he tried to get rid of him.

With the recent refit of the Raptor at the Altairian shipyards, the ship had every faulty component removed. He was sure Martinez was already on the hunt to find out who had so carefully sabotaged his vessel. Leyton was confident that he had covered his tracks well enough that Martinez could suspect all he wanted, but he didn't have any definite proof to pin on him. Although, they had discovered the credit transfer chips. A talented enough hacker could possibly decode them, but apparently, the priority of that investigation was co-opted by everything else that had happened.

At least one thorn in his side–Captain Jayna De'sol–was gone. He smiled. She'd caused him a lot of headaches, even had a small hand in promoting Martinez. She had undone some of the disorder he'd caused along the border to cause that bastard to fail. Leyton smiled beceause now she was gone! If only Harry and his damnable ship would have gotten sucked into that singularity with her and the Borg cube. Oh, how sweet that would have been!

Harry and the Raptor, however, had lived to fight another day, much to his annoyance. That ship always seemed to persevere, despite the setbacks he had engineeried. Starfleet went through with the Pathfinder project and new Predator Class ships were being constructed every month, much to his own ire. It angered him that, even now, wherever Kramer was, he was still besting him.

“I hope you choke on your own saliva you bastard," Leyton muttered. He knew Kramer was sick, probably rotting away somewhere as the cancer gradually consumed his body.

They had been friends once, Jon and him. Until Jill fell for Jon.

Why she chose an echidna over her own kind, he would never understand. It was a taboo subject for Avians to choose mates outside their race, and it angered him. He'd courted her for ages, made arrangements with her parents, done the whole song and dance–literally–only to have that insult thrown in his face.

To be rejected, refused for an echidna?

Since then, he'd made it his goal to ruin Jon. He tried everything he could, but Jon always seemed to work his way around it. Everything that happened only endeared him more in Jill's eyes as he easily overcame adversity.

Then she was gone, because of her insane devotion to him.

Leyton's memories flashed to the last time he had seen Kramer. He was at Starfleet Headquarters on Termia, in Logopolis, and had came to his office one day to see Jon's pale, emaciated form sitting at his desk, his black and red overcoat draped over the back of his chair and Kramer himself holding a phaser pistol pointed at him.

Leyton had tried to leave, but the doors had sealed shut. He tried to call for help with his communicator, but it refused to work. He was trapped Jon had found a way to lockdown the room and jam his own communicator! He stood frozen in the door not sure what his next move should be.

"Felix, how nice to see you again." Admiral Kramer rasped, his aim unwavering. "Have a seat. We need to talk."

Leyton put his hands up. "Jon! You can't do this! It's kidnapping! You could ruin your career–"

"Sit! Down!" Jon roared, making Leyton jump. His phaser hand remained steady, despite the tremors racking his body, and Jon's gaze was still piercing and analytical. "You are hardly one to preach to me about what is right or wrong." He twitched the phaser, motioning to the seat across from him. Leyton reluctantly sat.

"I am dying of an untreatable mutagenic cancer, Felix. There's not a lot more that can be done to punish me," Jon said, pulling a handkerchief to his face, coughing a few times and then putting it away. His sights never left Leyton. "If you assume I know nothing about your involvement in the attack that killed the Homeward Bound colonists, and my beloved wife, then you are sorely mistaken."

"I honestly have no idea what you are talking about," Leyton lied.

Jon humphed with amusement. "I knew you would say that." He tapped on a datapad on the desk and leaned back in the chair.

"I want to play a game. I am going to ask you three questions," he rasped. "The rules are simple. I know the truth of what happened, yet you don't know what details I have. If I catch you in a lie, well…." He gave the phaser a little jiggle. "I pull the trigger and all that will remain is a pile of ash and the stench of burning feathers. As long as you tell the truth, the game continues…until my questions are answered."

"Then what?"

Jon shrugged. "I take your confession and leave you be."

"That's insane!" Leyton spat

"It's a chance. It's more than you gave those colonists…much more than you gave her!" Jon took a sharp, pained breath. “We were friends once," Kramer said, his voice wavering. "That's the only reason I am even considering a small mercy." He took another pained breath. "Noncompliance will result in the same outcome. Live or die, Felix…the choice is yours."

Leyton sat stunned. Kramer couldn't be serious. Was he bluffing? This thought was quickly squelched by the dawning horror that he'd never known the echidna to ever bluff. Kramer grinned and chuckled, although no mirth was in that grin. It was more akin to the face of death fixing its gaze upon you.

Without any objection, Kramer began the game. "Question one: did you or did you not contact the Urthreans, committing treason against citizens of the Confederation by revealing the location of the Homeward Bound colony?"

Leyton swallowed hard, eyes darting to the phaser pistol.

"ANSWER ME!" Kramer bellowed.

"I did," Leyton squeaked.

"Louder!"

"I did! Damn you!"

"Question two: did or did you not take extraordinary pains to undermine any project I have undertaken over the last decade and try to slander and defame my characters in the process, out of petty self-interest?"

Leyton's beak clacked agitatedly as he clenched his talons and molted more feathers. "I did."

Jon smiled. "See how much better it is to get things off your chest, Felix?"

"Fuck you!"

Kramer grinned again, amused…madness perhaps?

"I believe you are sorely mistaken Felix," he said softly. “The only one fucked here, is you."

Leyton glared. He could make a grab for the pistol, but he was sure Jon had planned for that. He could possibly beat him to death, or strangle him. In his weakened state it would be possible. The man was threatening him with a deadly weapon. He could always claim self-defense. Yet, his mind raced. That was shaky at best. There would be a hell of a lot to answer for if one of the Fleet's most respected admirals was found slain in his office.

"Question three: do you or do you not attest that you, Admiral Felix Leyton, swear the whole truth in your answers to the previous questions?"

"Now that's just bullshit!!"

"Ah ah ah," Kramer warned, giving the phaser a little shake again. "Remember the rules?"

"Yes! I swear to my answers, damn you!" Leyton shrieked.

Jon hit a button on the datapad. Painfully and slowly, he stood up, keeping the weapon trained on Leyton. He stuffed the datapad in his pocket, slung his overcoat over his shoulders, and then leaned haggardly on his cane.

"Now what?" Leyton demanded, exhausted.

"Now?" Kramer said, clearing his throat. "That remains to be seen."

"What are you going to do with that recording? Turn me in?"

"No," Kramer said. "It is not the living that will hold judgment over you, Felix. It is the dead, and I will speak for them." He tapped his combadge. "Kramer to Gideon, energize."

He tossed his phaser to Leyton as he began to dematerialize, a contemptuous smile crossing his muzzle.

Leyton caught the phaser and tried to fire it into the particle stream, but nothing happened. He quickly checked the phaser. It didn't even have a charge pack, just a jury-rigged power cell that would make the weapon appear to be armed and active. Leyton screamed and threw the pistol at the ground.

He had been played into confessing, and now Kramer had that on his person.

That had been years ago, but the memory was bitter and made his head hurt. He decided focusing on the present was a better use of his time. Nothing had come of it yet. For all he knew that confession was hopefully buried in whatever hole Jon's corpse had been tossed into.

He had to be dead by now, right?

Leyton shook his head, gathered his thoughts, opened up his daily reports, and began to cycle through them, certain doom avoided, back to the daily monotony. His eyes were suddenly drawn to priority messages on his screen and he quickly opened them.

Most of it was simple to do's from the council, however the priority had been extended due to his redeployment. He flipped through them, making notes as he went. He responded to any he hadn't addressed during the layover.

He saw he had a message from his man, Braddock, on Starbase 186. It reported that the slip and surrounding workspaces he required had been inspected and secured and they were now only awaiting the arrival of his project. This pleased Leyton immensely. He flipped through his messages and saw that the Zimmermann Class vessel he had requested finally rolled off the line and would soon be en route to its skip in Starbase 186. It would be bare bone's construction, as he requested, but contain a state-of-the-art warp core.

His thoughts were interrupted as his ship shuddered and rattled. It had seemed to do that a lot now, ever since the Epsilon Three tests. He grumbled. They had just had a refit and still these little “hiccups" persisted. He could berate his Chief Engineer again, but the Cabaran was at the point where just the mere mention of shipboard maintenance pushed him dangerously close to a homicidal rage. It wasn't even worth discussing it with him anymore. He'd eventually find it and fix it or he wouldn't. Until then, he'd have to tolerate his barely year-old ship creaking and rattling like it was ready to go to be put to the scrap yard.

Right now, Leyton was more concerned with getting his projects completed. His first effort, the Epsilon Three battle computer had failed, going berserk and destroying several ships and crippling his own in the process. His other project, the Multiphasic Torpedo Weapon Platform, was still months out from its deployment phase. However, a core element needed for its function was damn near impossible to obtain.

He scrolled further down his messages until he saw one from Commodore Striker.

It simply read: Shipment will arrive on location on agreed upon date.

That was a small relief. Perhaps for once, things were finally going his way. If he could get the Multiphasic Torpedos up and running, they'd definitely have something to fight the Borg with the next time they bothered to poke around in Confederation space. However, there was a small setback. The functional prototype warheads had been lost en route. Striker was currently working on tracking the shipment down, but hadn't had any luck yet. If the warheads could be located and they got the Corzomium shipment, they should be ready to complete installation within the next few months.

Leyton took a deep breath and slogged his way through the rest of his messages. For the most part, things were looking up for him. Jon and Jayna were both gone. Martinez was quickly running out of friends and support. The Raptor had not proved nearly as effective as Starfleet had hoped and they'd be looking for alternatives.

Didn't quite deliver that haymaker you wanted, did it? Leyton thought to himself, chuckling as his feelings of nervousness subsided.

There are worse things out there in the deeper darkness than ghosts.

***

Altairia

Doctor Oona had been back on Altaria for a few months. She had been called away from her duties on the Neosho on the behest of Starfleet Medical. She was known as one of the foremost experts in exo-mamilian/marsupial neurophysiology. She was actually surprised when she had been called upon. Until recently, she only applied her specialist training a few times while in service to the crew of the Neosho. She was intrigued when she'd been called back to Altairia to treat a VIP status patient.

She was horrified when she saw Jack Land's unconscious, withered, pale form being kept alive by life support.

Personal feelings aside, his life needed saving, and she was the only one between him and oblivion at the moment.

Oona rubbed her eyes, yawning and looking at the countless brain scans in front of her. She was trying to find something, anything, to try to bring him back. She'd done nothing but repeatedly check each reading meticulously, over and over again, since she got there, consulting everything even remotely similar to his condition in the medical database. She had tried every treatment she knew of, and all of them had proved ineffective so far. Still, she was the best there was and she refused to give up on him.

His body was alive, his brain activity was…barely there. There was a small, weak pulse of alpha waves that would register from time to time, but it wasn't anything even remotely near where it should be. It was consistent though.

This case was unlike anything she had seen before, even the effects of the brief exposure of the creature and the reports Doctor Okan had filed about the effects of it on the Raptor's crew were strange; how it would just snuff out and absorb all energy of living beings. As far as she could tell, Land hadn't suffered any brain damage from the brief time he wasn't on life support and the Raptor had gotten to him in the nick of time. His synaptic activity was inexplicably weak, despite the lack of damage, and the activity outside of the regular alpha wave pulse was completely erratic.

There was, of course, the strange bleaching of his fur and the atrophy that was slowly eating away his muscles, but other than that he was physically fine.

Oona heard a door open in the lab she was in and saw Nova Ivanova enter the room.

“Coming to check on me again?" Onna asked, smiling.

Nova nodded. “Ambassador Kolnoz insists on knowing if any progress has been made on Ensign Land's condition."

“I apologize, but I have nothing…yet." Oona said sadly. “Give me enough time and I'll have a solution." Oona frowned as a few points of data connected across the back of her mind. This young Altairian woman had arrived the day before and briefly introduced herself as an aide to Ambassador Kolnoz. “Forgive me, but your name was Ivanova wasn't it?"

“Yes." she said evenly.

“Isn't there a Commander Ivanova?" asked Oona.

“She's my older sister, Inessa," Nova replied with a touch of pride.

“Ah. I thought so." Oona smiled. “Your parents must be very proud."

“They are," Nova beamed.

“Excuse me for a moment." Oona said, getting up, going to a replicator and making some hot tea to refresh her senses and get her eyes away from the raw data she'd been pounding into her brain.

“Might I ask you something?" Nova asked.

“Sure," Oona said, stirring the tea waiting for it to cool a bit as she paced about the lab.

“Do you know what the space creature did to him?"

Oona paused in her pacing, taking a deep breath before answering. “If I had to hazard a guess based on what I understand, it somehow drained his life force including whatever makes us tick up here." Oona said, tapping the side of her head. “I don't really understand how though. I don't even know if he'll be the same person he was if I can bring him back."

“Oh…I see," Nova muttered.

Oona looked over Nova, noting that her sorrow was deeper, something more than just general concern. “Did you know him?" she asked.

“Briefly," Nova replied. “He was very sweet to me…and kind." She took a breath. “I liked him a lot in the brief time I knew him."

“Were you lovers?"

Nova nodded. “We were, but I think he was still in love with someone else. He'd mentioned he'd recently broken it off with someone."

Oona looked through the window at Land and smiled. Well apparently you got over your dumb little phobia, she thought.

She “hmmed" and took a sip of tea. “I take it you requested to be here?"

Nova nodded. “I'm worried about him."

“I am too. I knew him as well, although not in the manner you did." Oona chuckled. “I will do everything within my power to help him. I just need to figure out how."

“What is his condition?" Nova asked.

“You don't have a degree in neurophysiology, do you?" Oona politely asked.

“No…I don't."

“Simple answer it is then: the lights are on and nobody's home. Funny thing is though, someone keeps slamming one of the damn doors." Oona frowned, taking another sip as she glared through the window at Land's inert body. “His brain is not damaged in any way, but it's not working properly either."

“That…doesn't sound very encouraging," Nova said, a frown creasing her brow.

“It's a start. That's all I have so far," Oona said reassuringly. “I need to make some modifications to a set of neurostimulators to try something tomorrow, but I am so tired I don't think I will be able to work on it till tomorrow, after some rest."

“Do you have a schematic?" Nova asked excitedly.

“I do…why?"

“I'm authorized by the Ambassador to assist you by any means possible to bring Mr. Land back to us," Nova explained. “I can take the schematics to the best engineers we have available and have it ready for you when you wake up!"

Oona almost dropped her tea, causing it to spill it down the front of her uniform. She cursed and set the cup down, feeling the tea sear her scales every so slightly. She quickly grabbed a rag and tried to wipe it off.

“Are you ok?" Nova asked, concerned.

“I'm fine. I just need some rest. Thank you, that's amazing," Oona said with a weary smile. “I just had no idea. I just assumed this was going to be my show, but I will gratefully take the help!"

“He's a hero. He dealt the killing blow to the creature that almost devoured our homeworld. We owe it to him for saving so many lives," Nova said, smiling.

“Yeah, we do," Nova agreed, dabbing off the dampness from the front of her uniform. “So, any means you say?"

Nova nodded emphatically. “Yes!"

Still dabbing at her uniform, Oona walked over to her terminal and ejected a datachip and handed it to nova. “Take these schematics and get them made. I'll have more for you in the morning. I am going to turn in. I just need some privacy to knock this out real quick."

“Of course, Doctor," Nova said excitedly, excusing herself and leaving.

Oona smiled, but the expression soured into a frown. She finished damping up the tea as much as she could and then held the glass, drumming her fingers on it. She had a method she could use that might work. Since there were no signs of damage, she could try that method. The last time she had, it had been desperate. She used it on someone suffering extreme PTSD and it had worked. With some modifications, she could use the same technique to possibly bring Ensign Land back.

She set the cup down. The last time she had used this particular procedure, the patient had consented, even begged her to do it. Ethically, the procedure was questionable. It involved disconnecting certain synapses that the trauma was located on, creating biochemical blocks and rewiring parts of their brain so the patient became disconnected from the trauma.

The treatment had been successful, but she'd felt dirty doing it, even though it was her idea. She hoped she'd never have to use it again, but now she was placed in the same position. It could possibly save another life, but did she really want to use it again? Right now, as it stood, she could never fully reveal what she had done because she feared it could be used for nefarious reasons. The ramifications made her sick to her stomach. Now she was handed a grand opportunity to do something with it, something to be proud of, but she would always have that first use nagging her conscience.

She sighed, logged back onto her terminal and started building the list. Even this late into the night, there was no way she was going to sleep, not with the storm of inner turmoil raging in her mind.

***

The Badlands

Ladema Hex watched as Holtz's ship departed, moved through the shipyard, and disappeared into the morass that was the Badlands. She turned away from the observation port and floated back to her control station where she checked her readouts. After a few moments, she waved her monitors away and floated in a poised position, deep in thought.

She hadn't lied when she had told Holtz what she was doing was personal. She had a deep, seething hatred for Harry Martinez, something that had never left her, even after she had joined the ranks of the Technocracy of Ix.

The process had been painful, yes, but she had become more than what she had been. Her senses had been expanded and enhanced. Willingly, she had left behind what she had been: all except that burning memory of hatred and betrayal.

“Your time will come, my pretty," she hissed to herself as she held onto the delicious image of Harry's impending doom. “Yes it will…yes indeed! All in due time." She cackled and her voice echoed all around the room. “All in due time!"

***

Urthrean Space, Executor

The Executor passed through warp space on the return trip from the Badlands.

Xox was in his quarters, pouring over the schematics of the Raptor. He was incensed, grinding his teeth harder the longer he read. The weapons that ship used were not something they had come up with, but stolen from this race called the “Borg." He had heard these creatures mentioned in passing, but they had never been encountered according to his own people's accumulated knowledge over many millennia. He looked over the schematics, his eyes glowing a deep red. The ship had weaknesses. If he was able to strike before they could get their shields up, it always seemed to take some of the fight out of it.

He pulled up the list of the standard shield frequencies and noted them, which would be handy for the next time. He also made note of where the warp core and shield generators were located. What he needed was information on the alien components in the Raptor. The details were marked as classified. Apparently Holtz's people weren't able to crack the data file completely open. A grin crossed Xox's muzzle. The thought of victory over that rodent made him tingle with excitement.

He hit a com switch on his table. "D'jonn! Can you patch me through to the Assassin's Guild?"

"At once, Commandant," D'jonn answered.

After a beat, a white furred male Urthean appeared on his screen, with cold blue, glowing cybernetic eyes. “Comendant Xox," he hissed, “you have requested our services?"

“Yes…yes I have," Xox grinned. “What would it cost to send an agent into enemy territory?"

The white Urthean raised an eyebrow. “For what purpose?"

“Infiltration and recon," said Xox. “They also need to be good at cracking."

“Understood," the Guild representative said, typing on a terminal offscreen. “We have someone available who meets your standards. I trust this will be billed to the central government?"

“Yes! Of course," Xox snapped impatiently.

“We'll have an agent dispatched in four days," the Guild representative replied. “They'll come to you for details. Is there anything else?"

Xox shook his head. “No…no there is not."

The channel closed.

White Urtheans were one of the few that weren't wiped out during the Great Purge. They were good at what they did, making a name for themselves as spies and assassins. They were literally bred for it after all, and trained to do it from day one. Xox had always admired their directness. He wished his fellow reds were as reliable as the whites.

***

Holtz's Command Ship, the Firebat

Holtz was tired. He had finished all he needed to take care of once he got back to his ship and he was looking forward to some downtime. He entered his quarters and smiled when he saw his mate, Seska, sit up from her settee. She was a Cornerian jackal as well, with red head fur and dark orange body fur.

"Theodore! How did it go?" She smiled, sauntering up to him and putting her arms around his neck and giving him a deep kiss.

"About how it always does," Holtz said evasively. "We'll get our ships and then some."

“Excellent! Well, while you were out, I was able to talk the Egnomia system into finally joining us," she grinned.

“Finally!" Holtz cheered, grabbing her by the waist, lifting her and spinning her about. “I thought we were going to have to pound them into submission!"

“Nope! I just had to sweet talk their Prime Minister," Seska said with a wicked grin. “Mentioned that unless they wanted to be completely cut off from our trade network, they may as well get on board with the Republic."

Holtz laughed. “Well then! We'll have all the manpower, weapons, and ships we could possibly need!"

He knew that Seska was part of the Sibiru Trade Guild. They managed all transactions of goods across the Republic of Independent Star Emirates. If you needed something, you went to them. That wasn't why they were together though. It was more of a fringe benefit. She hadn't told him until long after he had decided to make moves on the Lylat System and bring all the colonies together to bring the Lylat back into the fold.

Now, with that little piece sliding into place, the alliance with the Technocracy of Ix, and not having to worry about keeping the Urtheans off their backs, everything seemed like it was starting to finally moving along nicely.

“So, now what my love?" Seska asked, her tail swishing back and forth.

“We celebrate tonight and tomorrow we get everyone together so I can explain my next move," Hotlz grinned wickedly.

“Ooo! Exciting! Care to let me in?" Seska cooed at him.

“I don't want to ruin the surprise," Hotlz smirked.

“I could probably coax it out of you," Seska grinned.

“You are always welcome to try," Hotlz laughed.

Later, as they ate and discussed various matters, Holtz dwelled on the situation at hand. Finally, after a few short years, things were moving in the direction he wanted. In a few short years he had worked to unify the Cornerian Colonies under one banner and be duly elected as their supreme military commander. A generation before, his forebearers and Seska's had left Lylat to start over, away from the chaos and the unending cycle of violence in their home system. Heads of Guilds, Magnates, Corporations, anyone who could afford and had survived, packed up what they had and left for greener pastures. They had found those pastures and quickly established fast growing colonies. They began building their own little civilization out among the stars. In time, more followed when they could, bringing with them news of more wars and invasions. All of these new immigrants and refugees were given homes, purpose, and jobs within the Republic.

The sentiment of reclaiming the Lylat system wasn't his alone. They had found a way to coexist. War had been replaced by business. Bombs and blasters were disappearing, traded in for sanctions and lobbyists. Retaking the Lylat wasn't just their birthright. It could lead to even further growth and power. All they had to do was remove the decaying Cornerian Administratum and its few remaining philanthropic old bloods. It wouldn't be that hard. Once the move was made, Corneria would be shown that it can't deal with its own internal affairs and the Confederation would be forced to revoke its membership until it was resolved.

Holtz smiled as he talked to Seska over a well-earned glass of wine. No, the Confederation may be a bigger fish, but they had enough other bigger fishes to deal with. Losing hold of one of their allied worlds wouldn't hurt them too badly. It wasn't theirs anyway, as far as he was concerned. Perhaps, in time, they may agree to trade, but he wasn't interested in allying himself with them. With the alliances he'd formed, the only hostile border he had was a civilization that didn't wish to invade.

The Technocracy, or Ixians as they were more commonly known, had been long standing allies of the Republic, since its founding days. They were highly advanced, shrewd, a bit eccentric, and he often pondered what they looked like under those strange outfits. Ladema Hex was probably the strangest one he had ever met, but she had been assigned to assist his war effort, so it wasn't like he could just tell her to get lost. To him, she seemed as apart from them as she was from Cornerians, but the Republic had a good trade relationship with the Technocracy. Resources and information were traded for equipment and intel. It was a good set up, one that the Republic relied on.

Holtz wondered if Ladema would be able to fabricate him a fleet of Predator class vessels. Ships like that would certainly be useful and the thought of several such ships at his beck and call made the tips of his ears tingle in excitement!

***

????

A door opened into a room containing various displays and a large holographic display table. A lone figure entered, shrouded in dim light from the corridor behind them. They moved slowly and laboriously up to the holographic table and activated it. Once this is done, they sat heavily in a chair, breathing heavily as a map of the Urthean/Confederation border, stretching clear up the Lylat System and through the Badlands, was projected, along with the major players operating out of them.

Holtz was a newcomer to the region, but he wasn't unaccounted for. The Lylat situation was becoming more and more unstable as time dragged on and the Confederation Council demonstrated their ignorance magnificently on the matter. It was only a matter of time before sedition reared its ugly head. Eventually, it would erupt in a conflagration of violence and he feared that there would be serious, lasting repercussions throughout the quadrant.

For once, things were becoming direly uncertain. There were too many rumors and portents looming on the horizon. There were unknown players entering the scene, and his sources were spread far and wide across the Confederation. The only thing that could be done was to wait, to let the pieces in play make their moves, and then go from there.

The figure triggered some illumination in the room, revealing a tattered, well-worn black long coat with a hood drawn up. With gnarled hands, the figure reached up and drug the hood back, revealing the scared visage of Admiral Kramer. His piercing gaze looked over the readings and he frowned.

When he had come here a few years ago, he had come to die. The cancer was reaching its final stage. However, after he had come to this world to die, his symptoms had abated. With some surgeries and convalescence, he learned he couldn't ever leave this place. Something about it kept him alive. The damage done to his body, however, had warped and contorted him. He had one of the best physicians in the quadrant tending to him though, so he wasn't concerned.

He couldn't do the work he wanted to do, confined by the rules of Starfleet. However, he could do it working from the shadows, thought to be dead, sitting in the middle of his web of contacts, former students and colleagues, controlling things through them and their actions, almost like a spider in the old fables from home.

He smirked at that thought. He had many eyes, many ears to bring him news, many hearts to see his task through without question, and plenty of legs for his schemes to walk on. He had indeed become quite spider-like.

A chime came at the door.

“Come in Amy," he croaked.

Captain Yun entered. “I have the casualty report from the battle," she whispered.

Jon held up his hand for the device. Captain Yun frowned and then walked up and handed it to him. She stepped back and waited pensively as he read.

“That is all Amy…you may go," Kramer rasped.

“Are…you sure? I think you should take a closer look, sir." Yun said, her face showing distress.

Kramer looked at it and scrolled through the list:

Vessel:Vessel Status:

Aether, U.S.S.:Destroyed

Akira, U.S.S.:Heavily Damaged

Eagle, U.S.S.:Moderate Damage

Fortuna, U.S.S.:Moderate Damage

Intrepid, U.S.S.:Destroyed

Monitor, U.S.S:Heavily Damaged

Osprey, U.S.S.:Moderate Damage

Raptor, U.S.S.:Heavily Damaged

The datapad clattered to the table.

“Father!" Captain Yun yelped, taking in a sharp breath and stepping towards him.

He waved her off. “I…will be…fine. This is…terrible. What happened?"

“Her ship was caught in some sort of artificial singularity the Prell used to destroy the Borg vessel," Captain Yun replied haltingly. “Her vessel…didn't have enough power to escape from it." Captain Yun swallowed and quickly wiped a tear out of her eye. “She told Martinez to…to not try to save her. His ship was too badly damaged."

Jon sat, his eyes watering in spite of his effort to maintain his composure.

His memory went back to when he'd found that young girl wandering the beach, picking among the wreckage. How happy she'd been when he'd taken her in to live with his family and his adopted daughter, Amy, and she had become friends and more than that siblings. How happy Jill had been when Jayna had called her mother for the first time. So many happy years, past and gone, like breath on a mirror.

In recent years, things had grown difficult between them. Jayna was her own person and had her own goals in life. They'd grown distant, but that was just part of life. She didn't want anything to do with his schemes to bring retribution for her adopted mother and the other colonists to the ones who'd caused their deaths.

They'd had this discussion on the Gideon, just before he'd disappeared.

“Are you crazy?!" Jayna had hissed, thumping his desk. “You just threatened him?"

“Jayna…I am going to see this through, whether you want me too or not." he'd rasped calmly.

“You are endangering your career doing this! I don't understand why you just don't take this to the Council."

“What Leyton deserves is beyond what they could do to him," Kramer coughed.

Jayna looked at him and ground her teeth. It was a look of unfamiliarity. “Jon…there's got to be another way."

“If the fate of the colony is revealed, it will do more damage to the Confederation than anyone is prepared to deal with." Jon locked his gaze with hers and shook his head. “Going through official channels will only cause a panic. All an investigation will do is cause further disruption within our borders. That could be costly in the long run."

“Then I want no part of this scheme or plan or game or whatever you're calling this." Jayna snapped, turning on her heel. “It's bad enough I lost one family. I don't want to lose another!" She spoke with her back to him.

“You are free to leave," Jon rasped

Jayna stood rigidly, clenching her fists, and then stormed out of his ready room. That was the last he had seen of her.

Perhaps she was right? No matter now. It was too late for second guesses.

Jon closed his eyes and tried to still his mind. He would grieve on his own terms, when less was at stake.

“I suggest, for now, you take some time and process this." he said, his voice cracking slightly.

“I already have," Amy replied, sobbing. “I wanted to be with you."

He waved her to come closer. “If you wish. I know my appearance bothers you."

“I don't care," Amy said, moving up and grabbing his hand, kneeling beside his chair and pressing his hand to her face as the tears streamed down her cheeks. “You are the only family I have left!"

Jon smiled. Amy hadn't done anything like this since she was a small child. Then his hands had been unblemished and her face so small. Now his hands were gnarled and scarred as the rest of him, and she was no longer a small, innocent creature scared of imaginary threats. He stared, wondering what his broken hands or shattered voice could do to make this moment more bearable for both of them.

“We will get through this." he croaked reassuringly. “As long as I'm here, we'll succeed…and I will be around for a long time."

Amy nodded, choking back her tears as she stood up to embrace him. He returned the embrace. It had been something he wasn't used to doing lately and it felt awkward. Just feeling that familial bond again, albeit briefly, felt wonderful.

“Thank you." she murmured in his ear before kissing the side of his face.

Jon nodded. “I suggest you go back to the Gideon and rest. We have much to discuss in the morning…and we have a lot of work ahead of us."

Amy nodded. “I know father," she said, trying to regain her composure. “I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Kramer nodded and she started to leave.

“Amy?" he rasped as she approached the door.

“Yes?"

“Do not let your emotions cloud your judgment, we know who our true enemies are. What happened to Jayna was an accident. Holding hate for the Prell will not serve us." He took a breath after a sharp cough. “Hating the Borg is like hating a hurricane. You can hate them all you want, but it won't stop them from reaping the destruction they will. You can't hate a force of nature. If we are to complete our goals, the heart cannot be involved."

“I know. Goodnight, father," Amy said before leaving the room.

“Goodnight." Kramer said to the now empty room.

Kramer slumped in his chair and, after a moment, he stood up and walked over to another desk where he pulled out an envelope. He took out paper and a pen and quickly scrawled a note. After looking it over he took a data chip from the desk and dropped it into the envelope. He then walked over to the nearby drafting table, took a brush and some paint, and with slow deliberate strokes he wrote his message with perfect penmanship. After he finished writing a name on the front, he flipped it over and added:

I know your sins.

With a grin lacking any mirth, he picked it back up and walked over to a small subspace parcel transporter. He entered the delivery address and sent the envelope. It disappeared in a swirl of energy. It would bounce around the subspace transponders a bit before it got to where it needed to go, but it would get there soon enough. He had rigged the device to make tracing an impossibility.

“Vina…." he rasped.

A tall, sleek, white feathered Avian with dark eyes and dark head plumage stepped out from a shadowed alcove in the room.

“We have things," he said, “things that we need to do."

The woman said nothing, she only grinned and nodded.

Jon grabbed a small isolinear chip from his desk and handed it to her. She took it and he nodded at her approvingly.

“Be careful," he cautioned. “Signal me when you are on your way back here."

Vina nodded, turned, and left the room through another door. Jon returned to his seat, pondering recent events. Despite the loss of Jayna, things could proceed as planned.

He steepled his gnarled fingers in front of his muzzle, drifting away into his own thoughts, retreating into his ever-growing web.

The End