Chapter 1

The closet door slip open, and there they were. Lined up nice and neat, eight grey and black uniforms, the first in line already bearing the four stars at the collar, signifying his new rank. Captain. Somewhere along the Cardassian border, his ship was waiting for him to take command. Command of what, he could not say.

Hunter Drake had never dreamed of making it this far. His twenty years of service to Starfleet had never included the remote possibility of making starship Captain, or even moving into the fleet itself. He had been Intelligence from day one, marked by his superiors as the type you could send into dangerous, unclassified and not necessarily legal situations and debug them. He had become the best operative Starfleet could not admit to, fearlessly leading missions the Federation Council would frown upon, and probably invoke sanctions against. He had led revolutions, quelled others, crossed political boundaries proscribed by law. He had even eliminated a couple of inconvenient persons, even worked for Section 34 a couple of times. There was nothing nice about what he had done, but it was, as his superiors always told him, necessary.

But somewhere down the road, things had gone wrong for Starfleet, so wrong that a hundred operatives could not undo the damage done. The Dominion was here, in the Alpha Quadrant, and lives were being lost to protect the freedom once more. Ten years ago, Hunter might find himself sneaking across the border, looking for weaknesses in communications lines, troop movement, or to cause trouble with native star systems. Not so. Now, Hunter Drake had been promoted to the rank of Captain, and given command of one of Starfleets' most overhauled vessels, one that could barely be described as space-worthy. His orders had not been transmitted yet, but the crew was almost complete, and the overhauls that mattered the most were done. Several minor systems would be fixed on the fly, very un-Starfleet.

Hunter could only guess that he was placed on this mission for one purpose: he was not supposed to come back.

That would make several forces in Starfleet Intelligence a lot more comfortable. Far from the open-minded, peace loving Federation Council, Starfleet Intelligence had long ago assumed the position that they were here to protect the freedom at any cost. They had become no better than the Tal'Shiar, or the Cardassian Obsidian Order. Perhaps not to the extremes employed by those two bodies, but truly no better, or more moral. Things could go back, Hunter believed, but not until this war was over. And hopefully, when it was, the Federation and Starfleet would still be standing.

He closed the closet door. A blinking light indicated that the computer wanted to know if it should activate the lights. Hunter ignored it. He sat on the edge of his bed, trying to enter the total relaxed, trance-ike state his mother had tried to teach him so many times. But Hunter was not raised on Vulcan, nor was he raised to be like his mother. He worked at it a few minutes more, trying to find the logical center of his being, but it fluttered around and evaded him, always just outside his grasp. A waft of air from the purifiers would cross his nose, or a fiber on the bed would shift position, and his concentration broke. It's not that Hunter can not concentrate: his field work in infiltration, computer infiltration particularly, had taught him great concentration. But this, this was different, and he could only blame his half-breed parentage for it.

That, and his parents' deaths.

The door chimed. Hunter tried to ignore it, falling under the assumption that the person on the other side would go away eventually. But it chimmed again, and Hunter knew who was waiting for him on the other side.

It chimmed a third time, and this time the voice he least wanted to hear accompanied it.

"Permission to enter, Captain Drake?"

He paused a moment. "Your ship Commander, what choice do I have?"

The door slid open, and the large silhouette of Commander Riker was framed by the brightness of the corridor lights behind him.

"The Captain is not accustomed to having to send me to greet new visitors in their quarters and not at the transporter pad where he was waiting."

"And I am accustomed to gaining access to starships without protocol anytime I wish it. Just a bad habit I guess."

Riker paused now. "Captains like protocol, Captain Drake. It is something you had better get used to if you want to command your own starship. By the way, may I come in?"

"By all means, I would not refuse simple courtesy to a former ship mate."

Riker walked in and stood ramrod strait, right in front of Hunter.

"Drake, you and I may not see eye to eye on many things, but there are a lot of things you don't know about being a starship Captain, and observing protocol is only the first of them."

Now Hunter stood up. "That's funny advice, considering I am the only one with that rank in this room now."

Riker bristled, but said nothing.

"You and I serve Starfleet in different ways, Commander. We come from different paths, and I will always follow the path I see clearest. You should remember that from the Pegasus."

"The Pegasus is an assignment I will never forget, Captain Drake. I would hope that you had not forgotten the lessons we were supposed to learn from it."

"I learned to make the big decisions, Will. Not all of them are pleasant, and I didn't always have a luxury liner like the Enterprise to back me up. But I made them, and I survived and I completed my missions. Perhaps that is why I have this bar on my collar, and you have turned down, what? Five commissions now? Or has Starfleet pulled out any more chairs for you since the Melbourne?"

There was an eerie silence. Finally, Riker spoke.

"The Captain asked me to welcome you aboard, and to make sure you had all that you need. But I see as usual, Hunter, you answer all your own questions. The Captain has also asked me to invite you to dinner with him, on the Captains' Yacht. That is very big of him, considering your rude, unorthodox method of entry. I'd advise you to attend. Dress is uniform, not formal. Good day, Captain."

With that, Riker turned on a heel and stalked out of the room, and down the hallway. Hunter Drake watched his retreating back closely, and stared even after the door had slid shut.

Commander Tuvek was close to showing emotion. And not a particularly nice one either. Nine minor systems had crashed this morning, causing all manner of chaos on board this rapidly deteriorating ship. Most of them had to do with replication and holographic programming, but an occasional lapse in environmental controls or life support was extremely distressing, almost as much as the ever present core glitches that seemed to have only the disruption of power to computers as it's purpose. Add to that the fact that her new chief of Engineering, a Lieutenant Meagan Kelly, was the most insubordinate, annoying person she had ever met, and the constant attentions of KopreK, the commander of the Klingon honor guard and his insufferable food, made Commander Tuvek feel close to losing the cool veneer of Vulcan composure she had for 45 years strived to maintain.

It had not always been easy. Life in Starfleet, among so many humans, had its way of taxing the Vulcan soul. Their emotionality, their incompetence, tried her severely. It was like her teacher Tossek had said, "Humans are like our children, we should try to understand and help them to grow." But then, she had started associating with the Classicist Movement, and Simek, who told her "Humans are no better than Romulans. Similar to us, in many ways, but in difference, as far apart as the Quadrants." Tuvek had listened to him, as carefully as her old teacher Tossek, and had believed.

Someone always had to tell her what to believe. She had never been strong enough to make her own decisions; somehow, the urge to be an individual had never been strong with Tuvek. Then, her parents introduced her to an old friend of the family, an Ambassador in the Federation, who had told her "Humans are our distant relatives. We may not like them when we first meet them, but continued association will reveal their strengths to us, and as likely, our own weaknesses. Do not take everything you have been taught as cannon: life does not always adhere to a set of arbitrary rules."

Ambassador Spock's words had stung her, lightly, and offended the revolutionary thinking she had learned from Simek, and challenged the fundamental words of old Tossek. But she listened, and tried to believe, because that is what her parents told her to do. On Spock's insistence, she had joined Starfleet, choosing to believe him when he said that she had talents best used for the greater good of the Federation, not wasting away in academia.

And that had led her here. A number of bases and colonies behind her, she now stood in the main Engineering rotunda of her first starship assignment, watching the damnable thing fall apart around her. And the crew with it.

"Commander, if you don't want to help, why don't you go stand and look miserable somewhere else?"

That was Meagan Kelly, a Lieutenant newly promoted, and the youngest Chief Engineer in Starfleet. Tuvek hoped she had the patience and willpower to deal with this woman without resorting to physical violence. But she was beginning to doubt.

"Lieutenant Kelly, when I choose to go somewhere else, it will be by my choice, not dictated to me by a subordinate. Is that clear?"

The Earthling seemed hardly to notice the tone of Tuveks' voice.

"Then grab a tricorder and help me find this damned power drain before our life support systems crash for the tenth time." The woman looked up from her prone position and fixed Tuvek with a serious stare. "You know how to use an Engineering tricorder, don't you? I mean, I didn't mean to assume something you might not have been trained with, you can't help being in Command Division and all…"

"Lieutenant Kelly, I am quite versed in Engineering tricorders, but your concerns are appreciated. Move over."

With that, Tuvek sprawled herself on the ground next to Kelly, underneath an Engineering access panel, and together they scanned for energy leaks or redirects. Quickly, they had found the faulty redirect couplet together. Kelly smiled as she easily popped the old one out and rummaged around in her bag for a new one, and replaced it.

"Commander Tuvek, you and I might just make a good team after all."

Tuvek doubted that, but said "Indeed, your prediction may be valid."

As both women were standing up, the small, energetic figure of Lieutenant Commander Bryce Rolen strode in and snapped to attention.

"Reporting sir!" he almost shouted. The man had lived a full life, and had more than served the Federation adequately. But he refused to retire, and Starfleet refused to promote him. So he was here, Chief of Security and the most unintimidating one there was.

"What is it now, Lieutenant Commander?"

"My calculations show the foreward phasers are operating at 87% optimum, and the torpedo launch tubes are showing signs of distress to the magnetic guidance fields. I request an Engineering team to bring the weapon systems up to full optimal performance levels immediately."

Tuvek looked at him a moment. "Do the foreward phasers fire?"

"Yes sir."

"And do the torpedo tubes launch?"

He looked at her puzzled. "Yes sir."

"Then there will be no engineering crew. I have too many other systems to get online before the captain arrives."

"But sir, if we are entering enemy space, shouldn't the weapons be at full capacity?"

"Lieutenant, if we need to fight our way out of Cardassian space, we won't need the weapons, we will need divine intervention. So long as we have weapons, it will be sufficient."

He started to protest, but Commander Tuvek waved her hand and said "That is all, Lieutenant. And I promise if we have some free time later, after we embark, we will bring those weapon systems up to your specifications. Make a full report for me and file it. That will be all."

Just as the disgruntled Chief of Security was turning to leave, another figure Tuvek didn't want to deal with strode in.

"Ah, there you are, mon ami! You almost missed out on my sautéed escargot con bloodworms with linguine! Fortunately, I have saved you a bowl, it is right here!"

The tall Klingon removed a dome from the silver service platter, revealing his latest French/Klingon/Italian fusion dish.

Tuvek simply looked at him for a few heartbeats, then looked down at the dish. Then she looked back up at him again, and looked down at the plate of worms and snails and linguine. Then she looked up at his face again.

"The sauce is bordelaise, cheri."

"That is arguably the most revolting sight I have ever seen."

"More parsley?"

"No, no more parsley, no more anything! I am not interested in your cooking, Lieutenant KopreK! I am only interested in the combat readiness of your troop!"

Everyone stopped working and looked at the sudden outburst by Tuvek.

His face, like his voice, dropped. "We are sufficiently ready to fight our way into a hopeless situation, Commander, and prepared for the inevitability of our failures there. What my troop needs is good food, good wine, and good spirits. That I have given them. Perhaps the Commander needs something similar?"

Her tone softened, just a bit. "What I need is to get this ship ready for the Captains inspection tomorrow. Since your people are so ready, why don't you take them down to the forward phaser array and see if you can help Lieutenant Rolen?"

"Bah! Phasers I can fix with my eyes closed. Fine cuisine, there is a challenge! Let's go, Chief."

Tuvek looked over at Lieutenant Kelly, who was by now devouring the plate of food.

"It's good," she said with her mouth stuffed full.

Captain Drake sat opposite Captain Picard, at a small table onboard the Captains' Yacht. It was unorthodox to have such a dinner there, but then the Captain had his prerogatives, and was free to choose whatever place he wanted. The table was set in simple form, no outlandish candles or other niceties. This was a dinner at the Captains table, a forum for Captains to talk about their jobs and their lives. Both were dressed in their duty uniforms.

So far, Captain Picard had been nothing but cordial and engaging. His life was fascinating, and he never tired of relating it to another, newly promoted Captain. He had shown no aggravation at the transporter snub Hunter was guilty of. If it bothered him, Captain Picard didn't let it show.

"You know, Captain Drake, the most touching moment of my life almost killed me. And at the hands of my first officer, I might add."

Hunter was aware, of course, of the battle at Wolf 359, and the following conflicts between the Enterprise, Picard, and Riker. But he didn't know the human side of it.

"Commander Riker tried once to kill me, and all my Borg associates, and then hours later risked every crewman on the Enterprise-D to rescue me. Loyalty, friendship: these things serve Captains more readily and profusely than skills in arms or diplomacy. Those, and a good bartender."

Both laughed, although Hunter laughed not knowing what the other man was talking about. Hunter decided to tip his hand.

"Captain, I had assumed I would get a dressing down for boarding the ship as I did."

Picard continued to sip his wine slowly, looking up at Hunter only a moment. Then he put his wine flute down and spoke.

"Nonsense! Equals cannot dress one another down. I might not approve of your unorthodox ways, Captain Drake, but then again I have not your experiences. You are the man that you are, and sink or swim, you are Captain of the Rachel Garret now."

"I just wish I knew why." Hunter let slip.

"Simple. Someone in Starfleet thinks you are up to the task. There is no other criteria."

"Well, as you said, you have not had my experience with Intelligence."

Picard considered his wine flute, and his words.

"Hunter, I know a little about what it is like in IO. The rest, I can guess. I have considerable knowledge of the Tal'Shiar and I hope our intelligence isn't too much like theirs."

"Like everyone else, you hope we're nice operatives, but you really don't want to know. So long as we get our jobs done, no one else want to know what those jobs are."

Picard was a little fluttered by this, but nodded his assent.

"What you say may be true, but at least you are not one of those operatives anymore. Relish in this chance to make a difference here. Be the best Captain Starfleet has ever seen, and make them keep you here. You have the skills, that is for certain."

Hunter took a moment to peer into his wine.

"I might, but then it might not matter what my skills are, only what I know about the past which puts me here, now."

"Choose not to believe that, and you can make your own destiny. My gods, Intelligence can't be that heavy handed. It is still part of Starfleet."

"Some inside seem to think they are above Starfleet, and the Council. I know it is hard to believe, but it is true, and if I could prove what I know to be true, lots of people would find themselves in the stockades or worse, and no one wants to risk that when they think they are the most important people in the Quadrant."

Picard thought long and hard about his reply, and stared at Hunter hard.

"If you ever have such proof, you may consider me an ally. I will help you bring that proof to the proper authorities, and I have access to some of the highest authorities in Starfleet. Hunter, this is my vow: if you can prove wrongdoing in Starfleet, I will help you fix it. I believe passionately in what we do here, and I will not tolerate those who abuse it. Are we understood, Captain Drake?"

"Sure, Captain Picard, yes."

"Good. Then we had better get you to your ship. I have enjoyed this conversation Hunter. I always value meeting new Captains."

"Thank you Captain Picard. It's good to know I have a friend somewhere."