INVASION I (4/5)

EP1 ACT 3

DOL BATTAKI INTERSTELLAR HOTEL, VEKARIA, 22:30 hours

Lirik sat on the edge of his bed staring into mid-distance waiting for the communication to come in. He glanced at the clock; it had been a full seventy minutes since the Vekarian authorities had gone to look for the missing dignitary, and Lirik was broiling at their shambolic attentiveness.

The hotel suite comm panel housed within the marble side table cheerfully trilled, and Lirik hit the receive button a little too hard. "Yes?"

"Officer La Barami here, Mister Lirik. Your Ambassador Narli is not within the hotel complex or any of the government buildings, I'm afraid," the male voice reported, placidly.

"So...? Do you know where he went?" Lirik dropped his head into his hands.

"Er ... we're not sure, sir. My men have checked passenger logs of ships leaving Vekaria, but he wasn't listed as being aboard any of them, so he must still be within the city limits somewhere." The security officer had decided that the Ambassador was probably out enjoying himself, and didn't understand the Yeoman's over-concern.

"Okay," Lirik resigned himself to getting no further with the police; Narli had slipped away successfully yet again. "Just let me know when he shows up, will you?"

"We will, sir." There was an uncomfortable pause, then: "I wonder, could you confirm his description again?"

Lirik swallowed hard, not bothering to complain that not only had a full description been given hours earlier, but also a full set of picture files. It would be simpler to just repeat the description and get the hell off the line. "He's about one metre ninety, with bright blue skin, white hair and a couple of antennae sticking out of his head."

There was silence at the end of the comm line for a few seconds. "'Antennae'..?" the voice almost whispered.

"Yes, antennae. You do know what antennae means, don't you?" Lirik was bemused; perhaps the universal translator had overlooked some nouns in its programming.

"Yes...yes, I do," The officer said quietly. "We will inform you if he turns up."

Lirik flopped back onto the bed. He was warm, and if it weren't for the atmospheric controls he would feel moist from the turbulent weather beyond the glass wall of his hotel suite. He could feel in his gut the marked change in electromagnetic density of the air outside - there were more storms coming. Wherever Narli was in the city, it was not the sort of night to be outside. That's if he was still on Vekaria, as he could easily have conned his way off- planet bypassing the passenger lists, the Yeoman thought. Eyes closed, Lirik ran through the seemingly endless possibilities of where the Ambassador could have got to on this occasion.

He knew the Ambassador quite well. Before his transfer to the Diplomatic corps, Lirik had worked for Starfleet Intelligence where he had met him on several missions - and not always on the same side. Lirik knew that Andorian agents never really left the Secret Service and that in his new role as Ambassador for Trade, Narli had become better placed to gather more sensitive information than he could as a regular operative.

Narli had become one of those oddities of cold war. Outwardly, the Ambassador was a generous and authoritative figure. Polite, gregarious and warm, he'd charmed his way through many negotiations where other Andorians had let their violent nature interfere and he had become well liked among diplomatic circles. In that respect, Narli was not a typical Andorian. He had certainly become used to the resplendent lifestyle of the upper echelons of society, and the freedom of self expression it brought, though he hadn't gained the weight that most did from the exotic diet of alien banquets.

Still, there was a deep and strong sense of nationalism in his soul, a pride in his people's culture and beliefs. Lirik had seen with his own eyes that Narli would willingly die for his people, and in that respect he was a classic, dangerous example of Andorian socialisation at work. Glimpsing the darker side of his compatriot had made Lirik wary of the older man. His only cure for this reaction was his own strength of will to try and understand. As with most engaged in Starfleet or similar organisations, too often one's own morals and beliefs were challenged, and a strong conviction in self and in the Federation and its principles was often required to get through conflicting situations. Some used their beliefs as a weapon, or even as a shield, but Lirik liked to question himself, so tried to view it merely as a choice.

Since Lirik had been appointed special representative of the Federation Council several years previous, he had assumed the role of personal confident, pilot, cultural aide, security officer and shoulder of support. In the official sense, he could be best described as a kind of chief whip, rounding up stray delegates, keeping them all in line and ensuring that everyone knew what was going on. Most importantly of all, he had to ensure that the Federation Council's interests were not forgotten.

Shortly after arriving in the Outer Zone Narli had disappeared for several hours on three consecutive days, presumably information gathering or making secret negotiations behind closed doors. This latest escapade, on the night before the presentations were due to begin, left Lirik feeling irked. He instantly had a change of heart - Narli knew the score and here he was overstepping the line again. This was one time too many and it was time to make it official.

Lirik hit his Starfleet commbadge. "Yeoman Lirik to Commodore Jackson." It was late, but he didn't doubt she would be available for him. As an aide to the leading body of the Federation and Starfleet, Lirik was granted a good deal of ... understanding.

There was a slight delay as Lirik's voice message was picked up by the local net, forwarded up to Starfleet HQ on Helub, verified by automatic voice authorisation protocols and re-routed to Jackson's location.

"Yeoman Lirik to Commodore Jackson."

Within her plush ebony, fur and smoked glass penthouse quarters atop one of the turrets of the Visitor complex on Helub, Jackson pulled her robe tighter over her still damp, curvaceous body, even though it was only a voice message coming through. The crimson silk enveloped her dark skin seductively, her quaffed hair sparkling like millions of minute stars in a black firmament. There was no doubt that for a woman of her forty-something years, she was still very attractive, though perhaps not quite in the shape Starfleet Academy Fitness Instructors would approve of as a role model of a command veteran.

Jackson ran her hands quickly through her damp hair and detached herself from the passionate escape of the novel she was reading. Her family sized quarters had come fitted with running water, and to have a proper bath instead of a sonic shower in what were essentially field quarters was a luxury she wasn't about to waste.

"Jackson here," swinging her legs off the sofa she scooped her Starfleet issue slippers back on and put her book and her warm drink down on the glass coffee table which was borne on the back of a pewter-like replica of a many-headed Vekarian mythical beast. "If it's about your runabout, Yeoman, I'm afraid I haven't had time to check on its whereabouts. Lt Commander Leonard is a good pilot, I'm sure he'll look after it."

Jackson actually couldn't remember much about Leonard. He had intercepted her earlier that morning and bullied her into using a little known Starfleet regulation to requisition the Starfleet-registered ship on permanent loan to the Diplomatic Corps. Still, as Commodore she allowed herself a certain amount of poetic licence when caught on the hop by this efficient but over- zealous diplomat.

The last few weeks had been crazy for her. Lirik's role as a liaison with the Federation's High Council had set him apart from most of the diplomatic corps members who performed personal assistant functions to individual Federation delegates. Dealing with him had the speedy, efficient, by-the-book procedure she rarely found in these days, yet it was probably his knowledge of Starfleet protocols and how to manipulate procedure to his own end which made dealing with him so easy. It was no wonder that Lirik had been so maddened by Leonard when the engineer played the diplomat at his own game.

Most of the Federation delegates had their own teams of assistants and lackeys to help them. What made Lirik so unique was that he was assigned to the top Ambassadors and Representatives of the Federation to address anything which the High Council deemed important, and as such had the personal ear of the Commodore and her team. Still, at this late hour she couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed by this latest in a long line of hourly interruptions.

Jackson's day had begun in the early hours because of a fight within the Federation complex between civilians and Vekarian police, and right now a misplaced runabout was the least of her concerns. After a head-pounding 18 hour day, this was her statutory 30 minutes of quality time before retiring to bed, and she wasn't prepared to be delayed any longer than necessary.

"N=ccccz=no-o?," the quality of the transmission began to deteriorate and Jackson heard the vague bleeps as automatic compensators cleared up most of the interference, "it's not about that, though I would appreciate its return by morning, Commodore. Do you know where he took it?" Lirik adopted the friendly-formal approach rather than pull rank as a diplomat. He found he stayed on the better side of people that way.

"Not offhand, though I'm sure Vekarian authorities would have logged his flight plan. I'll get onto it first thing. Now, what was your call about?" Jackson turned her head as the elevator doors behind opened and her son stepped out and waved, a little over-enthusiastically, she thought. She returned the wave with a knowing smile while listening to Lirik.

"Andorian Ambassador Narli has gone missing again," Lirik braced himself for the Commodore's reaction.

"Great," the Commodore clutched her hair in frustration. "That's the third thing Vekarian security have screwed up today. I'll inform Starfleet security up here, tell them to keep an eye out for him."

"Thank you, Sir. Will you be coming to the opening ceremony of the trade conference tomorrow?" The static on the channel was getting worse, despite the computer's best efforts.

"Ah... no, I won't have time," Jackson was kissed on the cheek by her son, which was also a little unusual. The Commodore wondered what news he was about to convey after her call. "Inform my office if the Ambassador shows up."

"Aye Sir," Lirik signed off for the night and checked the time again. Not too late for a little R and R of his own, so he granted himself an hour's pleasure and practically leapt into the sonic shower in readiness.

In the darkness of her quarters, the Commodore depressed her commbadge and informed the Duty Officer in HQ Operations to get security straight onto a trace for the Ambassador. When she was finished, Jackson leant back on the sofa, folded her arms and put her feet up on the table, wiggling her toes and watching her son tuck into a bowl of steaming Gagh and Eggplant Stew - since his exchange to a Klingon Outpost months ago, he had developed some nasty food preferences.

"So-" she said in a maternal tone, but was cut off by his too-quick reaction.

"'So'? What do you mean, 'So'?" he scoffed. A gagh dangled out of his mouth, its juices dribbling down his chin.

"Well, you've either had a reprimand ... or you've fallen in love again," Jackson said, smiling. "I bet I know which. Let me guess who..."

The Lieutenant hated his mother's uncanny intuition, and sulkily tucked back into his stew.

"Lieutenant Chappell?" She was fishing, he thought, but it was only a decoy. "No, that redheaded nurse. Lieutenant O'Hara."

"Ha!" he protested, hoping his eating would hide the obvious gulp of guilt.

"Don't try to deny it, son, I've seen the way you look at her," Jackson smiled.

Her son stopped in silent protest, then carried on chewing while dangling a fork at her menacingly. When he finally swallowed, he said; "Have you been following me on security cameras again?"

She laughed at his almost convincing naivety, and decided to head for bed. Cradling her book she walked with her drink over to where her big son sat stuffing his face. She kissed him on the head. "It's okay. She seems like a nice girl to me."

He looked up and smiled at his mother, who was clearly thinking up a negative to go with the positive, but could only manage "A bit of a handful, but I guess you've always liked a challenge. Just promise me you'll take it easy."

The Lieutenant drained his bowl and grinned, saying: "Trust me, she's not that great a challenge."

The Commodore raised her eyebrows and headed for her room, turning back to him as the doors opened. "No doubt I'll be up early again tomorrow, so I won't see you probably. Take care at the docks tomorrow, it's getting a little rough down there with all these panic rumours flying about."

"I will, mom, don't worry," he tried to look relaxed. "Night."

"Night, son. Love you." She disappeared behind the closing doors, and he waited for her traditional reappearance nag. True to form a few seconds later she popped her head out. "And don't forget to write to your brother."

"No, mom, I won't."

She disappeared once more and there was silence. Jackson jnr recycled the bowl and fork through the replicator and slowly passed his mother's door. It seemed quiet enough, so he walked over to the turbolift. Pressing the door button it swished open and he whisper-called up into its roof. "She's gone to bed, you can come down now."

O'Hara dropped silently from the ceiling, despite her height and full figure. She looked at the muscle-bound security guard and smiled. Jackson took her hand, and the two tiptoed toward his room just as the main commlink in the room twilled loudly and said, "Operations to Commodore Jackson."

The Lieutenant's door closed behind them just as the Commodore appeared from her own room, now in her matching two-piece crimson silk bedclothes. Glancing around at the suddenly empty room she marched over to the main screen.

"What is it, Commander?"

The face of a middle-aged Troyian woman appeared, subtle blue-green beads framed her face, only a hint at her people's evocative culture. "Forgive the disturbance, Commodore, but we're receiving a hail for you from Admiral Street."

"A bit late for her, isn't it?" Jackson quipped. "Pipe it through, will you, Inaami?"

"Presently, Commodore," the Troyian looked over her shoulder and moved closer to the viewer. "We've also got a rather disturbed Lieutenant Commander here demanding to speak with you. Leonard, of the Starship Draco."

"Oh, good God," Jackson had had more than enough of this saga today. "Tell him I'll see him in the morning, but get him to make an appointment this time. Oh, and tell him to get the diplomatic assistant's runabout back to Vekaria double-quick."

"Aye, Sir. I'm putting the Admiral through now." The on-screen image cut to that of an elderly, but keen-eyed Admiral sitting in the centre seat of the USS Ajax, in orbit above Vekaria. There were strands of static flashing across the screen - some kind of spacial disturbance, Jackson guessed.

The Admiral, a Bahamian in her eighties, moved her arms and head with the grace of an elegant young woman. In her time, she had been one of the best among the fleet's captains, and her daring deeds aboard the Ajax-B were popular, though not recommended, reading at the Academy. It was clearly in her honour that she had been given the Ajax-D as the temporary Fleet command ship in the Outer Zone.

"Good evening Admiral, forgive my attire," to date, Jackson had not been on the friendliest of terms with Street - they were at opposite ends of the Starfleet spectrum. Street, a spinster, married to her job with a soldier's heart and a captain's soul; Jackson, a family woman with two grown sons, a dedicated worker and skilled administrator.

In an earlier time, the two may have been best pals, but in a crisis-ridden Third Contact situation such as this, they were both strung out and shouldering for their own particular area's needs. Street for the ships of the fleet in the Outer Zone and their activities, Jackson for the Federation citizens, Ambassadors and other representatives in the sector. Jackson's base served as a base for Starfleet's activities in the region, as well as a clearinghouse for all the paperwork and associated activities. Still, the two veterans had to keep the lines off communication open, even if it was only due to strict protocol at their level of work.

"No problem. You should know that I'm ordering the launch of all fleet vessels in dock, Commodore. I don't know if you've heard, but we've got one heck of a magnetic storm brewing up here, and it's just one of many throughout Qovakia." The old lady stood and walked sure-footedly over to the science stations to the rear of the bridge where Captain Ubu was assisting his crew in trying to make their technology work in the increasingly interference-ridden space.

"I wondered what the communications interference was. Does the local storm pose any threat to Vekaria or Helub?" Jackson's priorities were many; not least of which was safety of all Federation and Starfleet people within the spaceport. Already she had been forced to personally deal with a number of criminal proceedings concerning Federation citizens - both victims and perpetrators.

Off-screen, Captain Ubu turned and shrugged at the Admiral.

"No," the Admiral was playing down concern, "but the storms are affecting subspace communications and warp capability. We've already lost contact with nine of our more distant ships, and our Alpha Quadrant neighbours are not faring any better. I want all our ships launched and on yellow alert, just in case."

"Should we go to Yellow Alert down here?" Jackson was no soldier; she admitted that freely and always sought the guidance of those more experienced in such matters. Though as a base commander she was well versed in the rules concerning all states of alert, and she particularly remembered her drills from the time she began her career as an assistant personnel officer aboard the accident-prone USS Clarion.

"I don't think that's necessary at this moment. I hear rumours of a possible K'Tani invasion are causing you enough problems as it is. You wouldn't want a riot on your hands as well," the Admiral smiled, referring to the lost tempers and crowd gatherings around the port departure terminals. They had begun swelling in number as soon as the rumours of a possible invasion were turned into news stories with unconfirmed reports of 'strange goings on' in the depths of space. As yet, however, there was no evidence of this.

Qovakians, Jackson had determined, although shrewd were almost religiously superstitious. Decades of occupation had made them submissive and paranoid - even cowardly some would say - but Jackson saw the strength of character they had when faced with many, some more powerful, races descending upon them.

Her arrival on Helub, some three days after First Contact, was a whirlwind of events that seemed to keep going until just a few days ago. Before the cargo ships and passenger-carrying vessels arrived, the native Vekarians had been overwhelmingly generous and welcoming. It was only when wave after wave of ships carrying thousands of fortune and adventure seekers began to arrive and the administrative nightmare of coping with such a huge, needy influx set in that she and her colleagues saw the other side to their warm personalities.

Getting hold of reliable information had been the worst problem. Jackson had gone for days on end without being able to speak to a single Qovakian in authority when Helub had a growing accommodationless population made up of the opportunists pouring in through the wormhole. One of the last details to be ironed out was provision of adequate medical facilities and access to the Qovakian medical database - the Qovakian government it seemed was cautious about giving even such important data as this.

So a makeshift hospital had been adapted into the upper decks of one of the oldest parts of Helub only a few days ago. Medical staff were working flat out with engineers to make the place sterile and workable, while at the same time dealing with a host of medical ailments from the tens of thousands of civilians from the Alpha Quadrant. The latest problem had been an outbreak of a particularly nasty flu virus among the Visitors.

"In addition to which," the Commodore added, "Doctor Beintz, Starfleet's recently arrived CMO in the Outer Zone, is trying to get on top of an outbreak of Vekarian Flu which we currently have no natural immunity to."

"Excuse me," Street had turned to someone off-viewer. She turned back to Jackson, frowning. "We've lost contact with another two of our ships."

"Magnetic radiation increasing exponentially," the Captain shouted from the rear bridge station, "a cloud is forming in the Vekarian system."

"Got to go, Commodore. We'll keep HQ Operations informed," Street said and cancelled the communication - her face was instantly replaced by Inaami, not surprising Jackson who knew her associate monitored all important calls to the Commodore.

"Sir, I recommend the base goes to Yellow Alert status," the Troyian never held back an opinion from her long-time colleague.

Jackson thought for a moment, biting a finger. "Give me the low-down on today's incidents around the port again."

Inaami recited from memory: "There were 342 reports of near-misses, 53 minor collisions and 4 pretty bad accidents as traffic leaving Helub stepped up a pace. The Port Authority pride themselves in a one fatal crash per decade record, their trafficking system is so reliable, so they ordered a ver limited scheduled- only departure roster at 1300 hours. Unfortunately, this seems to have been understood by the native Qovakians as an unofficial confirmation of an ensuing attack?" Inaami broke off, noticing Jackson's shaking head, "... you know how paranoid they are. Consequently, literally thousands of requests for departure windows poured into Traffic Control, and simultaneously hundreds of thousands of people took to the corridors and transit tubes, most trying to get passage on any departing ship. Docking areas A, B, D, G, S and V are still overrun and Vekarian police officially reported 96 incidents of crowd violence and disorder."

"I think that says enough," Jackson said. "There's no way we could cope if word got out of a Yellow Alert. It'll be difficult keeping the Fleet's alert status quiet as it is."

"And if there is an impending attack?" Inaami was almost Vulcan-like in her analysis.

Jackson didn't buy into it. Not with so many Alpha Quadrant ships in the sector. And with the Qovakian fleet, such that it was, along side them, Jackson reckoned their combined force could even repel the Dominion. Her thoughts turned briefly to Brian, her eldest son, fighting in the skirmishes around Bajoran and Cardassian space that made up the gathering war with the Gamma Quadrant inhabitants.

"Let's just pray there isn't," Jackson said and signed off for the night. She noticed Inaami's slight eyebrow movement before the link was severed, clearly her old friend was not in agreement with her. Jackson had kept her tight-knit administration team together since her first command of an outpost on Ferengi. Inaami, Jackson, Petri and Djanksy had been the top team for assignment to new territories and allies over the last fifteen years.

Jackson knew that Inaami would inform her the moment the situation changed, and rather than be troubled with worrying thoughts, she was able to switch off from responsibility and sleep the moment her head touched the pillow.

STARFLEET H.Q., OPERATIONS CONTROL, HELUB, 22:55 hours

Inaami hovered by the communications console debating in her mind what could follow. A raised German accent caused her to look over at Leonard. He looked exhausted, his uniform dishevelled, but appeared excitedly coherent as he tried to convey his sense of urgency to the security guard assisting him at the reception counter.

"Commander!" Leonard had caught Inaami's look. "I must see the Commodore immediately, or speak to Admiral Street." Inaami didn't immediately respond.

"Sir," Lieutenant Commander Petri called to Inaami from the records interface station, glancing over at Leonard in a disapproving way, "the USS Draco recalled all officers an hour ago." She stared at Leonard who shifted from side to side as he listened. "Mister Leonard did not respond, so they left without him."

"It ... it must have been the interference from the structure I was in," Leonard tried to justify himself to the command officer, half-smiling to himself at the magnitude of the situation he was beginning to find himself in. In a better light, he may have remembered with irony the many old 20th Century movies he had endured with Winston Winston where the main protagonist was disbelieved at every turn, and seemed to do nothing but get himself into deeper trouble until, usually single-handedly, he could turn the plot around to a gratifying denouement.

"Where's the Draco now?" Inaami was distracted by a crowd of off- duty and unbusy officers gathering around the Operations security monitors.

"She left the Vekarian system at 22:30 hours. Current location ... unknown"

"Communications status?" Inaami looked over her shoulder to Djanksy.

"Getting worse. There's interference on all subspace frequencies going off world. Signal range is currently down to within the Vekarian star system only, but according to the data that will also deteriorate." Commander Djansky looked almost white with tiredness. The oldest of the group of friends, she was a systems specialist and invaluable in keeping the communications and information relay systems operational.

Due for retirement several months ago, Djansky had been granted an extension by Starfleet Command at Commodore Jackson's request. As soon as the Outer Zone headquarters were secured she would be going home to her family in Gdansk in Poland. There was just enough time for one more adventure with her old friends.

But pulling a double shift was clearly taking its toll, and she doubted she could last till midnight. "With the Commander's permission..?" Djansky smiled.

"Of course, Sara, you're relieved."

"Excuse me, Commander," The German accent at such close proximity caused Inaami to whirl around. Leonard was standing immediately behind her, frowning urgently. "I realise you're very busy, but I think this is very urgent."

Inaami stepped back a pace. "It's the Commodore you need to see, and that will have to wait until the morning." She was becoming increasingly concerned about the murmuring crowd gathered around the security monitors - must be more trouble in the spaceport, she thought. Leonard was rooted to the spot making Inaami feel a little uncomfortable.

"I was in a disused K'Tani storage facility earlier today, just outside the main port," Leonard held up his tricorder for the Commander's perusal, but she didn't look at it. Instead she looked into his eyes trying to read his emotional state. Leonard continued regardless; "I found many ships there, some Federation, only..."

Leonard was distracted by the security displays barely visible through the Starfleet spectators - there seemed to be throngs of people filling the main transit tubes. "We put down on the hanger deck-"

"We?!" Inaami interrupted.

"I was accompanied by Minister Re Lorken," Leonard couldn't help thinking about where she had disappeared to so quickly once they reached the outskirts of the space port, deep beneath the cityscape above. The journey had been long and arduous gliding along the ridged floor of the transit tube - an endless, too warm and poorly lit conduit that had stretched for many kilometres. "We set down in the main hangar area and left the runabout for a visual reconnaissance, but.. the runabout.. it disappeared."

"'Disappeared'?!" Inaami had read his feelings all wrong - initially she thought he was a logical, reasonable man, but what he was saying... perhaps there was more to his current state of mind than was immediately apparent.

"I scanned for it, hailed it - it had just vanished. The Minister and I had to journey back to the space port through a transport conduit - it's taken us all afternoon and evening to get here." Leonard smelled of an acrid, sweet aroma, Inaami noted.

"Where is the Minister now? Is she alright?" Inaami looked around, just in case, concerned for the older statesperson who had been one of the few accommodating Qovakians they had dealt with.

"She's fine. She was picked up by Vekarian Security and taken away as soon as we reached the outskirts of the port. I was just ... well I was just left there."

"And you came straight here?"

Leonard nodded; "I tried to raise you by communicator but it didn't work. But Commander - that's not all." Leonard frantically stabbed at the unviewed tricorder and called up the image of the spear and flag on its tiny screen, dangling it in Inaami's line of sight. The tiny image did not seem impressive on the tricorder's display. "We found this on the floor of the storage facility. According to the Minister it has a great significance, perhaps one that's relevant to our current situation."

As if on cue, the security officers called over to Inaami. She frowned at Leonard. "Wait here."

The security guard watching over Leonard folded his arms and regarded his charge with renewed contempt - clearly he didn't think much of Leonard's version of events, particularly the "disappeared" runabout bit.

Inaami wasn't about to lose her sense of priority. A missing runabout was a serious matter, of course, but what was happening in the port right now meant that many Federation - and Starfleet - people could get hurt. The Vekarian authorities weren't blessed with the best of crowd control tactics, and the numerous broadcasts on Qovakian entertainment channels throughout the day had fuelled its population into a frenzy of speculation.

A warning alarm sounded around the complex and Lieutenant Commander Corrigan at the Security Monitor board called out: "The Vekarian Port Authority has just ordered its police to a state of emergency."

Inaami walked through the parting crowd to look closer at the monitors and read the directive communications. Corridor after corridor around the now sealed departure gates were packed solid with people. Traffic had come to a standstill in overcrowded transport tunnels. Outside the Federation/Starfleet complex, many of its own citizens were gathering to seek protection or a safe transport off world. One woman even carried a placard that read 'Save Our Souls'. It seemed they were just as gripped by the belief of an invasion as their new Qovakian neighbours.

"Commander, please!" surprisingly, Leonard had followed Inaami again, his breath hot on her sensitive neck, he was so close. This time she would sort him out once and for all. She took a step forward and spun to face him. The gathered crowd of officers and crew flanked him.

"Don't you people have quarters to go to?!" she bellowed to the observers and hangers-on. They immediately dispersed. Leonard's face was almost contorted with frustration, which Inaami mistook for a look of disdain. She lowered her voice and stared hard at the engineer. "Mister, technically speaking you're already AWOL, missing your ship's hail and departure. I can't imagine Captain Stockport would be happy losing his deputy chief engineer at a time like this."

She was right about that, Leonard thought. Stockport wasn't his biggest fan - nor indeed were the rest of the senior officers, which was part of the reason Leonard had taken shore leave so far removed from his shipmates. The discovery of the Alpha Quadrant ships like the liner had at first been a convenient distraction, yet quickly turned into an obsession.

Inaami looked as if she were about to brush past Leonard, but instead took him firmly by the arm and led him toward the exit. In the circular, marble- floored reception area she stopped and whisper-talked to him. "Now you've clearly had an eventful day. Your missing runabout will be reported to the SpacePort authorities. I suggest you go and get some rest and come back at 0800 hours-" Leonard had closed his eyes and shook his head in disagreement.

"You don't understand. It's all true!" Leonard pointed toward the security monitors. "Don't you see, the K'Tani ARE coming!" Inaami didn't react, save for the lids of her eyes which lowered slightly in a look of impatience. Leonard was desperate for the Commander to believe him. "Otherwise, why would my runabout have been taken? And why would the Minister have been so afraid?" Leonard almost cringed at the sound of his own pleading voice. He could see that in the light of the apparently unfounded hysteria gripping the spaceport currently, his story sounded crackpot. "I know this may all sound a bit strange, but I'm a Starfleet officer, Commander, and an engineer. I know the difference between irrational thought and a hypothesis-"

Inaami held a hand up, just inches from Leonard's face causing him to stop. "Don't say any more, Commander, just leave. We're too busy to deal with this now. Prepare your evidence if you want, I'll see someone gives it some thought. But in the morning."

Leonard just nodded in compliance. Already two of her staff were calling for her immediate attention. As the Commander retreated, Leonard walked over to a comm panel in the waiting area.

"I'd like to speak to Minister Re Lorken, it's very urgent," he waited a few long seconds before the reply came.

"The Minister has retired for the evening, please call back in the morning." The polite but empty voice relayed.

"Then let me speak to an assistant, or Qovakian security..." Leonard insisted.

"I'm sorry sir, there is no one available. The port is on a full security alert and no one can assist you right now. However, if you would like to report anything to the automatic message taker-" Leonard was becoming annoyed.

"No! I want to speak to someone in person."

"I'm sorry, sir, there is no one available." The clearly computer controlled interface was becoming tiresome. Leonard saw that Inaami was looking over in his direction from back at her post. "However you can report in person to one of our offices where someone will be happy to assist you."

Leonard suspected that the police offices would just file his report away until the spaceport's current crisis was over. By then it could be too late. He decided the situation needed direct action - that instead he would go to the Commodore's apartment, with or without Inaami's approval.

He walked over to the private elevator which would take him to the top of the complex, and the senior officer's suite. However, the elevator had been locked down for the night. Commander Inaami's voice called to him from the reception desk. "Leave the complex immediately, Commander, or I'll have security take you to the brig."

Leonard blushed. Entering the regular turbocar he requested his own accommodation level, deep below the complex. He was sure he was right about the impending attack, but he needed to be able to convince someone.

He mock-banged his head against the turbolift wall. The fact he'd missed his ship's departure had originally seemed to be unimportant. But now, in light of what Commander Inaami had said, and in the cold, claustrophobic space of the turbocar, he realised he could be in serious trouble.

FIREFLY, ASTEROID FIELD NEAR THE QOVAKIAN WORMHOLE, 23:00 hours

The Firefly dropped out of warp and slowed to a full stop some two thousand kilometres from the Asteroid field. The vessel, one of several new ships jointly designed by Starfleet and Federation member states, was just as unique as its strange-looking counterparts. This one in particular was a fusion of Brakonian and Starfleet technology.

Vancek thought it looked like a squashed-up Intrepid class ship, less like a shoe-tree than that design and more like a bulbous insect - hence the name, she supposed. The shape could be described as having three general features: the top, like a rounded bird's head with the beak tapering to a flat, wedge- like prow; the rear and sides were more conventional, much like a smaller, more rounded interpretation of Starfleet design; Intrepid-like at the rear top where dumpy impulse/warp nacelles protruded horizontally from a tapered engine and hangar deck section; and Excelsior-like underneath, although the curved sides were cut short on its underside where the wedge shape from the prow sliced through its belly in a series of powerful sensor devices which tapered to the aft.

Crewed by only 89, the ship was built for mostly science expeditions - capable of withstanding the worst kind of spacial phenomena, and every available space crammed full of scientific research devices for analysis. The crew was equally specialised - even its command crew had been selected for their science or technological know-how.

Vancek and the rest of the bridge crew stood around the holographic representation of the area of space before them. The lights were dimmed and the pulsing of red light behind the bridge wall fittings indicated alert mode. The main viewscreen denoted the New Tholian border. Just in front of it, a purple-blue whirlpool depicting the wormhole and in front of that, the near-stationary asteroid field, which spanned several thousand cubic kilometres. However, only the peripheral rocks were visible as the rest were obscured within a thick, impenetrable yellow-green cloud.

The Firefly itself was represented by a miniature version hovering directly in front of Vancek at the perimeter of the holographic image, just in front of the helm station.

Sarilev made several calculations on her hand-held padd. "Definitely nothing else in the immediate vicinity," she said. "The electromagnetic radiation appears contained within the cloud for the present."

"Then there's no danger of it reacting with the wormhole?" Braxton chipped in.

"Not for the moment, no." Sarilev stepped over beside Vancek, looking at the amazing amount of detail on the tiny holographic Firefly in front of them. "Although if it does connect, I wouldn't want to be around when it happened."

"It's awfully quiet, isn't it?" Vancek said almost to herself. "I mean, don't magnetic storms usually spark and flare wildly all over the place?"

"Usually," Sarilev said, "until they either stretch themselves too far and dissipate or connect with a greater force."

An ashen-tan skinned woman with a red dot of powder smeared on her forehead slowly walked around the image, as if looking beneath the surface of the cloud formation to see what was within. "You said 'contained'..." she looked Sarilev in the eye in an eerie sort of way, causing the others to feel a little spooked - Krishnamurti had made several divinations for her fellow officers since their arrival in the Outer Zone and was popularly thought to have the 'sight'. "... do you mean there could be a force containing the energy within the cloud?"

"If there is, it's something new to me. The very cloud itself is the magnetic activity, it's just not behaving as it should." Sarilev referred to her padd, still no change to any readings. "It might just be a new kind of spacial phenomenon unknown as yet in our region of space."

"The other storms throughout Qovakia," Vancek said, "they're not behaving like this. Not according to the reports from other ships. They're flailing wildly, just as a regular storm would."

"That's right," Sarilev wondered briefly to herself if she were just trying to make a best guess in the light of not enough data, but quickly decided to trust her gut instincts; she pointed at the cloud, "but this may be how those storms began."

Vancek looked at Krishnamurti, who looked wizened with angst. "Let's go round it. We'll enter the asteroid field at 8 by 13 degrees from point and monitor its activity closest to the wormhole."

Braxton replaced the holographic image with the standard view ahead - despite the previous image of the situation, the cloud seemed immense, even at normal magnification. "Course laid in, arrival time thirty nine seconds."

"Lieutenant Vaughn," Vancek spoke to the Tactical Officer behind her, an enormous hulk of a woman with the thickest neck she had ever seen on a human woman.

"Aye, Sir?" by contrast, Vaughn's voice was the most feminine of all the bridge crew.

"Raise shields," Vancek heard the zoop! of the activating energy fields and turned to Crosby. "Anything on hails yet?"

"Negative, Captain," her fingers did a dance over her console, "too much interference throughout the quadrant. Here .." she took control of the main viewscreen and displayed a drop-down panel containing an array of scientific and communications readings for all to see, "..in fact, the whole spectrum of communications is being affected."

Vancek could see from the data that Qovakia was essentially blacked out - static and wildly inaccurate data was streaming across subspace frequencies. Contact with all ships had been systematically lost.

"Keep on it, Lieutenant," Vancek said.

"Now approaching co-ordinates, Captain," Braxton flipped the viewer's image back to standard ahead. Skilfully, she picked the easiest and safest course for the Firefly to pass into the asteroid field and observe the distance of littered space between the edge of the cloud and the wormhole itself. The image of the cloud at close range brought a gasp to Krishanmurti's lips.

Unexpectedly, many hundreds of thin, needle-like spines began to protrude slowly from the thick yellow cloud. Longer and longer they emerged, black spines which expanded to form the noses of many small ships. Shades of black and sleek in shape, they had hundreds of shorter, spiny protrusions about their hull, the most significant of which became two hollow wings sweeping up and back from what was presumably the cockpit area.

Vancek thought to herself that in a funny way, their ships looked like a more menacing insect design than that of Firefly. A swarm of black wasps come to attack her. They moved slowly, and as one, turning in formation to face their bepricked prows towards the Starfleet vessel.

"Indeterminate readings," Vaughn said, "they seem to be pulling electromagnetic energy from the cloud."

"No response to hails," Crosby had interpreted Vancek's nod an instant before.

"Back us off," Vancek said. From the visual sensor readout panel on Vancek's command chair arm she noted there were 350 of them, and the very facts of their stealthy and silent presence were enough to make the Acting Captain react accordingly, "get us out of the asteroid field. Quickly!"

"I'm reading an energy surge!" Sarilev called out from the science stations, which she had rigged to get a clearer picture of the alien ships.

"I think they might be firing," Vaughn called out as a green-yellow shimmer began to form around each ship. "Reserve power to the forward shields!" she bellowed to Vaughn and added, "Evasive manoeuvres if you will, please, Conn."

It was a tall order, even if Braxton had been a veteran pilot. The bulbous Firefly was retreating at speed, picking a quicker exit through the asteroids, though knocking against a few small ones in the rush to move speedily out of range.

Krishnamurti turned from her science post next to Sarilev and relaxed her body. Pretending to operate controls, she had spent the last minute of her life preparing for the death she knew was inevitable. In her trance-like state, the bridge appeared to glow with intensified colour, radiating light where life pulsed fragile. She saw its crew moving in slow motion, a mixed reaction of astonishment and panic on their slowed-down faces.

On the viewscreen she watched as each enemy ship's needle-pointed prow began to glow white-hot.

The light intensified, and suddenly beams of energy shot from each ship toward the Firefly. Even in this heightened state of awareness where time slowed for Krishnamurti, the attack was swift. As the beams made crackling contact with the shields, the ship lurched violently. Krishnamurti was thrown on to the deck and could only manage to turn her head briefly to see the mixture of light, energy, fire and debris envelop the bridge as the ship was ripped apart.

***

ACT4

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