He had to reach it. His very existence depended on it. He had to get to it. It felt so far away. So hot. He knew he was running out of time. Must hurry. Everything in the room was so far away. Sweat covered his body. Hot. He felt his forehead, felt the heat. Knew he had to reach it. He had to hit it.

He slowly sat up. Pain struck his head like needles as he fell to the floor. Everything was so far away. So hot. Had to hit his target. He slowly crawled across the floor, each movement sending more pain throughout his body. Suddenly it got cold. Very cold. He shivered as he crawled, inching closer to the table. Had to reach it. Had to touch it. Almost there.

He noticed how cold he was, and yet sweat still glued his uniform to his body. Just a little further. So cold. He reached up, grabbing it into his sweaty hands as he leaned up against his goal, an end table next to the couch. Their couch.

He tapped it, it's familiar click booming in his head along with his voice, "Foreman t-to Bridge."

A voice from it replied, "Bateson here, son, do you have it, too?"

He replied, out of breath from his journey, "Yes, s-sir, I-I think I do. Request-requesting permission to remain-remain in my quarters s-sir."

His Captain replied, "Of course, Mr. Foreman, I'll inform you when we arrive at Starbase 31. Bateson out."

It didn't matter to Foreman at that moment that Starbase 31 held the daughter of The United Federation of Planets' President, Kayla Cromer, or that she was Honorary Admiral of that base. It also didn't matter to Foreman that Federation intelligence confirmed that the Volshins were preparing to cross the border with a small task force the Federation deemed as a precursor to a larger invasion. All that mattered to Foreman at that moment was finding the strength to crawl back across his quarters to his bed.

* * *

"Let me get this straight. I have a viral infection that acts exactly like the flu, but the only cure for it is on a Starbase halfway across the Quadrant?"

Dr. Karl Hayter replied to the man sitting on his Sick Bay diagnostic bed, "Yes, Derek, but actually the cure is on the planet Starbase 31 orbits."

Kestner sighed. "How bad does it get?"

Hayter recalled the information like a computer. "You're just starting to feel the effects: runny nose, sore throat, coughing. In a day or two, you'll develop a temperature, and your body will become weak and sore. Now this is where it diverges from the flu: we can't seem to find anything that will make it stop. Poor Michael’s had it for two months now.

"The good news is, it's not deadly or anything, but it won't go away. The only thing that works as far as we can tell is the root of a chorg tree on Churchill III. If the root is ground into powder and ate, it drives out the virus as it travels through the digestive system. It only takes about twelve hours to recover after receiving the root, the recovery time is remarkable."

Kestner asked, "How many other people have been infected?"

"On the Bozeman? About two-thirds of the ship's population. I'm lucky it hasn't got to me yet. It's popping up throughout the Federation, that's why the Bozeman is being sent to Churchill III, to set up replication of the root for distribution throughout the Federation. You wouldn't believe what a disturbance this virus has caused. Luckily, Starfleet feels we can have the virus under control within a month after we get the root."

Kestner looked puzzled. "Why wasn't I informed about all this?"

Hayter replied, shrugging, "Most of it happened while you were re-stationed on BeLarga II."

Kestner nodded. He had just returned from a pre-first contact mission to that planet, where it's inhabitants had only recently discovered warp drive, and were currently preparing to launch their first deep-space exploration craft. All instruments showed the probe would be fitted with warp drive and would be aimed at Volshin space.

Starfleet didn't need the Volshins destroying another primitive race, so the Council voted to move up first contact with this species to stop them from launching the probe, eventually saving them from distruction. The Council determined that it didn't violate the Prime Directive in that the result would prevent the Galaxy from falling into war. For whatever reason, the general public accepted the Council's decision; no one wanted war with the Volshin Empire.

Hayter brought Kestner out of his flashback by saying, "You should just go back to your quarters, Derek. All you can do is let the virus take its course; I can't do anything more for you. Ask the replicator for some pain killers if you need them."

Kestner stood, saying, "Thanks, Doc, I'll keep in touch." He then walked out of Sick Bay.

* * *

"E.T.A. to Churchill?" Morgan Bateson was used to getting a response when he asked for it.

He heard no reply.

"Ensign?," Bateson asked impatiently.

Nothing.

Bateson walked down the slope of his bridge to the Conn. He said, "Ensign Gatés, I am accustomed to hearing a reply when an order is given, is there a problem?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't hear you. With this virus I can't hardly think anymore," Gatés replied nasally.

Bateson smiled down at him. "You've been at it enough, son. I'll take over here, get some rest."

Gatés graciously stood, thanking his Captain as he left the Bridge. Down to me and Andy, Bateson thought. I'd better set this thing for automatic running. He began immediately on his task.

Welch smiled at him from Ops. "Sir, I was wondering, who's gonna collect the root samples and set up replicators if all the Bozeman's crew is under the weather?"

Bateson replied, "Andy, you're forgetting, there's a whole Starbase waiting for us that has been given specific orders not to receive cargo shipments or be in any physical contact with anyone else in the Galaxy, so our one hope at stopping the virus isn’t lost.

“We have the one thing they need to replicate the root: power. The base's main power producer shut down right after Starfleet ordered the "reverse quarantine". Starbase 31's been runnin' on batteries for four months now. They couldn't use any of their batteries' energy for anything else other than life support or they wouldn't've been able to survive as long as they have."

Welch nodded, returning to his work.

Bateson turned back to his own, then looked at Andy again. "By the way, E.T.A. to Churchill?"

Welch smiled, "Two-point-twelve hours, present speed."

Bateson nodded.

* * *

"Whitney?" He was awake.

She heard his voice immediately. "Yes, Brad?"

He called again from his bed, "Where are you?"

She came over to him and said, "I'm right here, Brad, what do you need?"

He looked up at her with sad eyes. "I need you."

Surprised by this, she replied, "Brad, you already have me."

He looked away from her then, and said, "Why do you hate me?"

Her eyes got big, and she answered, "Brad, you know I don't hate you! I love you more than anything in this universe. Why do you think I hate you?"

His eyes filled up with tears as he said, "I've known it for a while now. No love, only hate. No touch, only loneliness. No light, only darkness."

She touched his cheek, feeling the scorching heat it emanated. She sat on the bed beside him, cradling his head in her arms. "Oh, Brad, your fever hasn't gone down yet. I wish I could get rid of this awful virus that's hurting you. We're almost to Churchill, maybe then I can help you."

He was soon asleep again in her arms.

* * *

"Coming up on Starbase 31, sir."

"Very good, Andy, I'll take us out of warp," Bateson said to the lone man on the Bridge other than himself.

Welch reported seconds later, "Secure from warp. Starbase in visual range."

"Putting 'er on," Bateson said. The Viewscreen came to life, centered on Starbase 31.

Welch said to his Captain, "Sir, I've been wondering something. The U.S.S. Sloane is Starbase 31's command ship, is it not?"

Bateson thought for a moment, then replied, "I believe it is, yes."

Welch continued, "Then why couldn't the Sloane perform the replication? She is fully functional, isn't she?"

Bateson shook his head. "Nope. She's undergoing refit at the Starbase. When Starbase 31 shut down, so did the refit of the Sloane. She's sittin over there with only half an outer hull."

Welch nodded. He glanced at his board, then said, "Sir, receiving transmission from the Starbase."

"Onscreen." Starbase 31 flicked to the face and shoulders of a woman about Foreman and Kestner's age. She had long, curly brown hair and vivid brown eyes. Bateson thought to himself, Admirals keep getting younger and prettier. He smiled at her, saying, "Admiral Cromer, it's an honor to meet you, ma'am."

She returned his smile. "The honor is all mine, Captain Bateson. I have heard of your accomplishments as a Starfleet Captain. You have a fine crew."

Bateson sighed. "Well, at the moment they're a bit under the weather."

Cromer nodded. "Is Brad Foreman among those sick?"

"You know Foreman?," Bateson asked, puzzled.

Admiral Cromer replied, "Uh, we...ran into each other during leave right before he entered Starfleet Academy. I must say, he's a remarkable officer."

Bateson nodded. "I agree. However he was one of the first members of my crew to become infected. But, hopefully, we can all put this thing behind us."

Cromer replied, "I hope so, too, Captain. Let's not waste anymore time. We have the coordinates of a forest of chorg trees if you can spare anyone to beam down."

Bateson shook his head. "No, ma'am, I'm afraid nearly all of our crew is infected. Andy here and I are the only two commanding officers left standing."

The Admiral replied, "In that case, we have plenty of crewman to spare. Can you arrange to beam down my Science Officer, Sorak?"

Bateson smiled. "Of course. Just give me a minute to get to the transporter room."

Cromer's eyebrows rose. "Is it that bad over there?"

Bateson replied, standing, "Everyone who's not infected is taking care of the sick. Is your Science Officer ready now?"

Cromer answered, "Yes, Captain, he has everything he needs except for the power to beam dowm."

"By the way, do you want to begin repairs on your power generator?," Bateson asked.

Cromer replied, smiling, "That would be wonderful, Captain."

Bateson said, "Good. After I beam down your science officer, I'll beam over the necessary supplies. Anything further?"

Admiral Cromer replied, "Nothing I can think of, Captain, Cromer out."

Bateson turned to Welch. "Andy, you have the Conn. I'll be in the transporter room."

Welch replied as his Captain turned to leave, "Aye, sir."

* * *

"Bateson to Admiral Cromer."

She replied seconds later, "Cromer here, Captain, are you ready?"

Bateson said, "I'm in the transporter room now with the supplies, ready for transport."

"Energize," Cromer ordered. The various tools, conduits, and supplies dematerialized off the Bozeman's transporter pad. At the same time, the Starbase's Science Officer beamed down to the surface of Churchill III.

Bateson reported, "Transport complete, Admiral. how long will your Science Officer be in collecting the sample?"

Admiral Cromer replied, "He should be done in a few moments." After a short pause, she continued, "He has signaled his retrieval of the sample, he's ready for beam-up to the Bozeman."

Bateson said, "Aye, ma'am, locking on to him." A tall Vulcan man materialized on the transporter pad.

The Vulcan spoke. "Greetings, I am Commander Sorak. Are you Captain Bateson?"

Bateson replied, "I am. Did you retrieve the sample?"

Sorak replied, "Yes, sir. We must take it to the ship's Chief Medical Officer immediately."

Bateson extended his hand. "This way." The Vulcan walked down off the pad and out of the room, with Bateson at his side.

* * *

"We shouldn't have a problem replicating it," the hazel-eyed Hayter said. He was staring at a microscopic projection on his tricorder.

Bateson asked, "Then why haven't we begun manufacture?"

Hayter replied, "I see no reason why we can't."

Bateson was about to respond, when his communicator cut in, "Admiral Cromer to Captain Bateson."

Bateson tapped his communicator, and said, "Bateson here, Admiral, we are just about ready to begin replication of the anti-virogen."

Cromer replied, "Good, Captain. My Chief Engineer told me we're ready to jump start our engines."

Bateson nodded to himself. "Very well, Admiral, we'll move into position. Bateson out."

Hayter asked, "Jump start?"

The Vulcan, Sorak, answered, "Our Starbase has an unusual power production facility that requires an outside source of power to provide a burst of energy for the reactor to begin production. “This 'jump start' is only required if our reactor is completely shut down. The principle is similar to the starting method of the fossil fuel combustion engines used by your species centuries ago."

Hayter nodded. "Well, Captain, with your permission, I will begin replication immediately."

Bateson said, "Approved. Have Sorak here assist you. Help has been awful scarce around here lately."

"Aye, sir," Hayter said as he and the Vulcan left Sick Bay.

Bateson tapped his communicator on his way out, saying, "Bateson to Bridge. Andy, take us in to around fifteen-hundred meters of the Starbase. Prepare for the jump start."

Andy replied, "Aye, sir, Welch out."

* * *

He was still asleep in her arms when she heard the blip of her communicator. She tapped it, and said, "Foreman here."

"This is Dr. Hayter. How is Brad?," the experienced Doctor questioned.

Whitney replied, "He's asleep right now, but there's been no change. He's still running a fever and he's starting to get delusions. Is there anything more I can do for him?"

Hayter answered, "Yes, Ms. Foreman, I believe there is. If you can get away from him, come down to the Cargo Bay, I have a little surprise for you."

Whitney gasped. "Do you have the anti-virogen?"

She could hear Dr. Hayter's laugh. "How did you guess? I'll have it ready for you by the time you get down here. Brad will be the first one to receive the antidote."

Whitney smiled broadly. "Oh, thank you so much, Doctor, I'll be right down, Foreman out."

She heard moans from the head she still held close to her body. "Was tha-was that Karl?," he moaned, almost forcing the words out.

She smiled, kissing the top of his head. "Yes, but I need to go. He has something to help you with your sickness."

He replied drowsily, "Good. You go, I'll keep things together here. She'll never fly apart as long as I'm at the helm."

She chuckled. She stroked his hair as she said, "I'll be back before you know it."

He smiled slightly. "You have my permission to leave the Bridge."

She rose, laying his head on a pillow. "You have the Conn," she joked to him as she left their quarters.

He said groggily after she left, "Warp speed."

* * *

My Starbase is slowly returning to life, Admiral Cromer thought to herself. But it'll take time to restart all those subsystems. She was sitting in her office, located just outside the Command Deck of her Starbase. Starfleet, or rather her Daddy, had posted her the head of Starbase 31 two years ago. Her Daddy had also pulled a few strings and got his "little angel" the Admiralty.

True, she was a bit young for an Admiral. The youngest Admiral before her had been James Kirk. Turned out she was a fine Starfleet Officer, and she would've been pushing Kirk's record for the Admiralty even if her Daddy hadn’t have gotten her the rank. She graduated from Starfleet Academy fair and square. One year ahead of Brad Foreman to be exact.

I wonder how Brad is?, she thought. I haven't seen him since that night several years ago. It doesn't seem like it's been that long. She sighed. I look forward to every chance I get to see him. She shrugged. I don't know why; he's glued to that Gallimore girl. I guess what we shared didn't last like I’d hoped it would.

She was interrupted by her comm link. "Admiral Cromer, this is Captain Bateson. I'm glad to see your Starbase is up and running."

Kayla blinked once, then said, "Uh, yes, Captain Bateson. I'm looking forward to completing the refit of my ship, the Sloane."

Bateson smiled. "I hear she's quite a force to be reckoned with."

Cromer returned the smile. "Yes, Captain, that she is."

"But I'll bet her Commanding Officer has a lot to do with that," Bateson said in his usual charming manner.

Cromer blushed. "Thank you, Captain Bateson, I'm flattered. Would you care to join my crew and I for dinner?"

Bateson replied, rubbing his forehead, "No, ma'am, I think I'll pass. I think I'm getting this damn virus, I haven't felt well all day."

Kayla frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry. I hope you get to felling better, Captain, Cromer out."

* * *

He opened his eyes. "Whitney?," he called for her.

She came over to him. "Yes, Brad?"

He looked into her soft brown eyes. "When did I get the antidote?"

She replied, smiling, "About eleven hours ago. How do you feel?"

He rubbed his eyes. "I feel better, much better."

Her smile widened. “I’m so glad. Captain Bateson told me a few hours ago to tell you that he needs you on the Bridge as soon as you were well enough. Apparently, he’s been getting more and more sick over the past shift, and Andy got sick yesterday. The Captain’s alone up there and he can hardly stand up, do you think you can help him?”

Brad sat up. “I think so.” He turned his body in bed, landing his feet on the deck. “Can you help me?”

She looked at him, puzzled. “Help you do what?”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he stood. “C’mon, I need you on the Bridge.”

* * *

The U.S.S. Sloane, being a Sovereign-class starship, was fairly new. Normally such a Starship wouldn’t need a refit so short into it’s life, but the Sloane had patrolled a region of space known as the Swamp. The Swamp is a particularly dense nebula near the Churchill system that has been known to hold piracy cells. The Sloane’s primary reason for the patrol of this area was to maintain peace in the sector, but also to show the Federation still had a hand in this part of space.

What makes the Swamp unique is that the nebular gases are extremely dense. In fact, if the Swamp were any denser, it would be considered a solid. As well as being dense, the gases in the nebula have a remarkable property: standard Federation shields offer no protection against them; the shields do not drop, but the particles pass right through the shields. Some Federation scientists have speculated that this nebula is the source of the Volshin’s TON torpedo technology.

The solidity of the nebula, in addition to the particles hitting the hull directly, acts like sand paper, slowly grinding away the outer hull of any ship. The Sloane, with Admiral Cromer commanding, patrolled the Swamp for six months, taking out several piracy cells and managing to grind away most of her outer hull.

After six months of repairs, four of them spent in the dark, the Sloane pulled out of her dock at Starbase 31 to take her place in orbit with the Bozeman.

* * *

Meanwhile, on the Bozeman, Foreman had came to the Bridge to find his Captain doubled over the helm. Dr. Hayter speculated the Captain’s fever had risen too high, knocking him unconscious. There were now three officers on the Bridge: Foreman at the Helm, Whitney at Tactical, and Derek had recovered and was now at Ops. Foreman, being higher in rank than Whitney and having seniority over Kestner, was now in command of the Bozeman.

Whitney suddenly gasped from her station. “Sir, sensors show five Volshin ships entering the system. They will be here in less than a minute!”

“Red Alert. Open a channel to the Sloane and Starbase 31,” Foreman ordered.

Whitney replied, “Channel open, sir.”

Foreman cleared his throat. “Admiral Cromer, as the superior officer, you are in command.”

Cromer replied over the comm, “No, Brad, the Volshins are your specialty, I give command to you.”

Foreman shrugged. “Very well. Admiral, assume attack formation around Starbase 31. We’ll use the base’s weapons to our advantage.” Both powerful ships came into position around the Starbase, awaiting their enemies.

Foreman ordered, “Prepare to fire, raise shields.” It took the Volshins only seconds to close the gap between them and Churchill III.

Foreman said, “Fire as soon as they are within weapon’s range.”

Whitney replied several seconds later, “Firing torpedo barrage.” The pulsing blue spheres shot out toward the enemy even as all five of them targeted the Starbase. The Quantum torpedoes slammed into the front ship’s shields, inflicting little damage.

Kestner looked up from his console. “Sir, sensors say the Volshin ships’ shield emitters are operating at a different frequency than in past run-ins.”

Foreman replied, “How different?”

Kestner spat out, “I’d say it nearly matches our own shields.”

Whitney cut in, “Sir, they’re firing the TON on the Starbase!” Foreman watched helplessly as the golden spheres of unknown technology slammed into the Starbase’s shields, neutralizing them immediately. Whitney’s eyes became melons. “Sir, the Volshins are beaming personnel off the Starbase!”

Foreman gritted his teeth. “Initiate attack Picard One!” The Bozeman’s computer took over navigation, warping her forward until she was within a meter of the first Volshin ship. The computer simultaneously fired a full photon barrage, then reversed warp until she was back in her original position. The result was supposed to inflict the severe damage of close range photon torpedo hits.

Whitney gasped from Tactical. “The torpedoes had no effect! The ships are turning on us.”

Foreman shook his head. “Evasive maneuvers, pattern Delta.”

Five TON torpedoes left the Volshin fleet, in search of their target. The Bozeman entered a complex corkscrew-loop maneuver, attempting to avoid the TONs. She failed. The torpedoes slammed into her shields, causing them to collapse.

Foreman turned to Tactical. “Whitney, prepare to-”he was cut off by her violent scream. She disappeared in a Volshin transporter beam seconds later. Foreman stood. “No, dammit! Derek, take over the helm, I need to man Tactical.” He ran up the deck to stand where his beloved had only seconds ago. The enemy had hostages and Foreman knew it.

Kestner said from his station, “Sir, the Volshin ship is hailing us.”

Foreman sighed. “Onscreen.” The frightful sight of five Volshin ships deep within Federation face disappeared, revealing an even more frightful sight: the Bridge of a Volshin ship, and who appeared to be the Captain of that ship holding Whitney by the arm! Foreman grew hot. He saw her arms were bound behind her by some form of rope. He yelled, “You’ll release her if you know what’s good for you!”

The Volshin Commander replied calmly, “Now, now, Mr. Foreman. We both know that outrageous outbursts get us nowhere. I am Gamrók, Captain of this vessel. We realize the role females play in your society, how much they mean to you, especially if they are your mate. We have intelligence information that proves this one is indeed your mate.” Foreman grew even hotter. The cursed Volshin continued, “We propose a deal: you get back your mate and the rest of the Federation hostages, and we are guaranteed free passage to the star system you call BeLarga.”

Foreman muted the sound. “Derek, I thought you said first contact with them would stop the launch of that probe?”

Kestner replied, “They must’ve launched it anyway.”

Foreman reestablished audio. “We cannot allow you to enter the BeLarga system.”

The Volshin Commander replied, “How unfortunate, Human. If I were any other Commander, I would kill you all right now. But I also understand your species’ tendency to resist in these situations. I will leave for an hour to allow you ample time to reconsider, then I will return. If you have not stood down by that time, you will never see your mate again, and we will still proceed to BeLarga. One of your hours, Human, do not attempt a rescue.”

Kestner said, “Sir, sensors show they are warping.”

Brad replied, “Damn. What is their heading?”

Derek scanned his board. “The Swamp, sir.”

Foreman’s eyebrows ridged, as if he were in thought. He said several seconds later, “Mr. Kestner, are there not several theories out there that speculate the Swamp’s nebular gases are the source of the TON torpedo’s properties?”

Derek replied, “There are such theories, what are you suggesting?”

Foreman continued, “And the ramscoops can collect these gases, right?”

Kestner said, “There should be no problem, sir. May I ask what you are thinking?”

Brad smiled slightly, “Prepare for the Picard maneuver!”

Kestner’s eyebrows ridged. “Sir, we’ve already seen the results of-” Kestner smiled as well. “Ah, I see, sir, preparing maneuver.”

Brad said, “Foreman to Sloane. Admiral Cromer, set course for the Swamp.”

Cromer replied, “Lt. Foreman, may I ask why? There’s a fleet of Volshins in there waiting to make space dust out of us!”

Foreman answered calmly, “I know that, Admiral, but I have a way to disable those ships.”

She sighed. “Mind telling me how?”

Foreman smiled again. “Prepare the ramscoops and be ready for the Picard maneuver.”

Foreman could almost see her confusion. “But what do the ramscoops have to do with the Picard ma-” She chuckled. “Brad, I gotta hand it to you. Helm, set course for the Swamp. Cromer out.”

Brad ordered, “Derek, same for you, engage. They won’t keep Whitney for long.” I’m coming, love, he thought as the Bozeman entered warp.

* * *

Whitney looked around. There were about seven Volshins around her, each performing a separate function on this ship’s Bridge. The Captain, who called himself Gamrók, stood next to her. He said to her, “For a human female, you’re quite attractive. A bit short, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll soon have my way with you, once I rid myself of those puny Federation ships and their primitive Starbase. You’ll learn to love the Volshin Mating Ritual. It is quite...fulfilling.”

She spat in his face. “I’ll never give in to you!,” she shouted.

He grabbed her by her hair. “You’ll do as I say you human vlach! The Volshin punishment for a slavemate’s misbehavior is extremely painful.”

She winced in pain as he gave her hair a final pull. He released her hair, pushing her to the floor. She laid there for a while, thinking of how much she’d pay him back when Brad came for her.

* * *

“Entering the Swamp, sir.”

Foreman smiled. “Derek, we’ll give those damn Volshins something to complain about.”

Kestner smiled also. “Yes, sir. Sloane now entering.”

Foreman asked, “Where are the Volshins?”

Kestner replied, “Bearing: oh-oh-six-mark-oh-three-seven. Distance: three million kilometers.”

“Intercept course, engage. E.T.A.?,” Foreman asked.

Kestner answered, “Approximately four minutes, sir.”

Foreman stared at the Viewscreen. “Open the ramscoop,” he ordered.

“Aye, sir,” Kestner replied. The chambers designed to hold various gases for scientific study opened, letting in the unusual nebular gas surrounding the Bozeman. On the Viewscreen, Foreman saw the Sloane’s ramscoops filling up. Kestner reported moments later, “Ramscoops are full, sir.”

Foreman said, “Good, close ramscoops.”

Kestner replied, “Aye, sir, done. In firing range of the Volshin ships in two minutes. We can’t risk warp speed until we are within firing range; the deflector won’t be able to disperse that much nebular gas for that long a time.”

Foreman nodded. “Very well, Foreman to Sloane.”

The Admiral replied, “Yes, Captain?”

Brad continued, “Prepare for the Picard maneuver at my command. Program the computer to blow out the ramscoops just before you leave warp in front of the Volshin ship.”

Cromer replied, “Yes, Captain, I will be ready on your command.”

Kestner cut in, “Sir, the Volshins are hailing us, audio only.”

Foreman replied, “Put the dogs on.”

The Volshin Captain’s voice boomed over the intercom, “What is the meaning of this, Foreman?”

Brad answered, “We have reached a decision. Once we are within range, we will power down our shields and surrender our ships. But only under one condition: no Federation member looses their life today.”

The Volshin Commander replied, “Human, in space there are no promises, only guarantees. There are no certains, only absolutes. You will surrender or be destroyed, that is the guarantee. The destruction of the BeLarga culture is the absolute. Space is a constant, Foreman, no change. No one will ever learn of the Volshin culture, and you will be no exception. There will be human bloodshed today, Captain, and it will be on your hands!” The Volshin cut the connection.

Kestner said, “Sir, we are now within weapon’s range.”

Foreman smiled. “That bastard thinks he has the upper hand, but that’s about to change. Sloane and Bozeman, blow out the ramscoops!” Both powerful ships stretched out and entered warp. They released the ramscoops and fell out of warp meters in front of the Volshin ships. After full reversing, they came to rest in the spot they were in originally.

Kestner shouted, “Sir, it worked! The Volshin’s shields are neutralized!”

Foreman replied, “Quickly, begin beaming over all Starfleet Personnel.”

Kestner answered, “Transport beginning.”

* * *

Gamrók stood in shock at what he saw. Both of the Federation ships seemed to suddenly jump to be only a few dwochs in front of him, then zip back to where they were. Seconds after that, his commander shouted, “They’ve neutralized our shields. They are beaming back the hostages!”

He grabbed Whitney by the arm. “You worthless behgloch! I will have my way with you after all! It wasn’t what I expected, but I will be served even if I die today!”

Her eyes widened as he drew his blade.

* * *

“Transporter room reports locked onto Whitney.”

“Yank her back!,” Foreman spat. Time seemed to slow as the seconds crawled by. Foreman could feel his heartbeat; sweat had long ago covered his body. He blinked, taking what had to be ten seconds.

Kestner’s eyes flickered for a split second. Foreman saw it, and inquired, “What is it, Derek?”

He sighed heavily. Foreman awaited a reply. “Okay, Derek, did we get her?”

Kestner slowly took a breath. He said slowly, almost at a whisper, “The transporter room reports negative lifesigns at her position.”

Foreman stood. “Get her out of there, dammit!”

Derek replied, again at a whisper. “Transporter room reports they have a body. It is...” His voice trailed off. “It is identified as Whitney’s.”

Foreman stood there, breathless. He tried to sit, but he missed his chair, landing on the carpeted deck. Derek saw Brad’s inability to command, and he said, “Sloane, all Starfleet personnel are returned. Open fire on the Volshins.”

Foreman whispered, “Patch me through to the Volshins.”

Kestner protested, “But sir, I don’t think-”

“I said let me talk to the bastards!,” Foreman yelled.

Derek replied, “Aye, sir, on audio.”

Foreman slipped into his chair, his voice filled with rage. “You bastards listen or I’ll kill each one of you slowly! That was a mistake killing a Starfleet Officer, and it will not go without punishment! I will make sure you will never kill again!” Foreman motioned to cut the connection.

“Blow them out of space!,” he ordered to Kestner, his eyes red with fury.

Kestner replied, “With pleasure, sir.” The Bozeman opened up on the ships, and, along with the Sloane, made them easily into debris.

* * *

Darkness. An endless void. Emptiness. Part of him was missing, he had to find it. She’s gone, he told himself. She’s not coming back this time. Not coming back. His quarters seemed so empty. No more quiet evenings with her in his arms. No more nights with her by his side. He’d never again hear her unique laughter that would melt him no matter how mad he was. He’d never again feel her soft touch that would electrify him no matter how sad he was. I’ll never again taste her kiss. Never again smell her sweet perfume. Never again feel her heartbeat against my chest. She’s gone forever, and there’s nothing in the Universe that can bring her back.

* * *

“We’re gathered here today, in the left torpedo bay of the U.S.S. Bozeman, to pay our final tribute and respects to an honored individual who meant a lot to me.” Foreman paused, looking around at those in attendance of his Beloved. Captain Bateson, Andy, Dr. Hayter, Derek, Ashley, Michael, Scotty, Dennis, Admiral Cromer and her party, as well as Whitney’s Grandparents and his own mother. He breathed and continued, “In fact, no one in this room will ever know how much Whitney meant to me, or what I am going through right now. But I will say that she was the most wonderful and loving individual I have ever met, and she will be remembered as dying in the most honorable line of duty possible. May God rest her soul.”

As Scotty began to play “Amazing Grace” on his set of bagpipes, and Whitney’s burial torpedo slowly began it’s journey toward the launching bay, Foreman stood there, stiff as a rock, for her. He couldn’t break down, he would remain in control for her.

She would’ve wanted it this way, He thought as he watched her torpedo shoot out of the bay into open space. She loved space travel so much. The funeral party dispersed slowly, and Foreman returned to their quarters. Alone once again.