Dark Horse Season 4 comes to a close with an old enemy's return and the chief engineer taking center stage.

Okay! Season 4 is, after a brief (*cough*) hiatus, finally done! But on the other hand, it wound up being a full five-episode season, unlike the last one? Bl... blame a writer's strike, I guess. This chapter gives Shannon Hazelton, the chief engineer who is very much not B'elanna Torres, some time in the sun. It is also clean, although worry not! Episodes 1 and 3 of the fifth season will not be, so we'll get back into smut quite soon :3 Appreciate you sticking with me, and happy New Year! Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and stuff, and the encyclopedia should now reflect this.

(Non-Patreon subscribers: I've created a Star Patrol encyclopedia with 140 entries and about 20,000 words, spoiler-tagged by episode to help you get caught up or provide more details on the universe. I will create a simplified version of this and post it here on SoFurry as an intro to the setting when I get a chance, but I reckon most of you do not actually want 20,000 words of worldbuilding :P)

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute--as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

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Tales of the Dark Horse, by Rob Baird
S4E5, “Agendas"
Stardate 67321

“Nothing exciting?"

Lieutenant Commander Bradley held up the computer in his right paw. “Sensor logs from the last four hours. There are about a dozen anomalies, ma'am. Perhaps an uncharted pulsar, even—but which type of minor radiation variance are you most concerned with?"

The Akita grinned, knowingly, and waved her paw until Bradley lowered the computer out of her sight. Captain May was not the type to be bothered by mere radiation, and the faint hint of a new pulsar failed to rise to the level of exciting. “And the ship?"

“Maintenance on the secondary power grid finished three hours ago. Nothing's scheduled for the next shift. We're steady on course and speed."

“Sounds good. I relieve you, commander. Get some rest."

Back in his stateroom, though, Bradley switched the coffee machine on and projected the sensor logs against the wall. The data, indeed, looked to be unremarkable. But who knows? Maybe we'll find something?

He felt a touch on his shoulder, gentle and warm. “Like what?"

Ayenni was, technically, the ship's doctor. And, technically, she had a room of her own. But she spent much of her downtime in the commander's quarters—they had a good rapport. Good enough, at least, that Dave didn't begrudge her a bit of telepathy. “Something new to explore. It's been a quiet few weeks."

“True. Is the captain growing restless?"

The retriever reached his paw over, resting it over Ayenni's fingers and savoring the moment of soothing, fuzzy calm the contact brought. “If we don't find something interesting, she's going to have to finish writing that summary of what happened on Earth."

Ayenni smiled. With her eyes closed, she could feel around the contours of Dave's own emotions: his good nature, and the affection he felt for her. It always had a way of relaxing the telepath. “She does hate time travel," Ayenni recalled. “Not just for the paperwork?"

“No. But she hates that, too." He grinned, and let the alien's paw go to call up the next page of data. “Like these logs. I wind up processing most of them for her. It's fine, really. Helps me sleep."

“And this?" Ayenni pointed to the mug of coffee. “Does that help you sleep, too?"

“I'll bring you 'round to it one of these days," he promised, and took a sip. Caffeine in such minor quantities had lost its stimulating effect years ago, anyway. Now it was just part of his evening ritual.

Like most on the Dark Horse, he got his stimulation elsewhere.

In this case, 'stimulation' arrived in the form of a soft chime. Someone was outside, requesting entry into his quarters. The retriever didn't yet know what he was getting himself into—his mood was still light. “Come."

It was possible to tell a lot from the way a hatch spun. Whoever was on the other side, they opened the door quickly and precisely. Leon Bader would've been Dave's first guess.

He was close: Petty Officer Smith, their junior tactical officer, shared many of the German Shepherd's habits. In this case, she was slightly nervous: decisively manipulating the hatch was a way of whistling past the graveyard.

The conversation wasn't one she looked forward to having with Bradley—who, the painted dog abruptly saw, wasn't alone. “Ah. Sorry, sir. I didn't know you were busy."

“Just finishing up my work. Ayenni, would you…"

“Of course." Smith's troubled state of mind was plain even without telepathy. Ayenni slipped past her, careful not to touch the dog, and closed the door quietly.

“Is everything alright, Ms. Smith?"

Her muzzle worked a few times. “I… do not know how to say this diplomatically, sir."

“Try it bluntly, first. We'll put a nicer version on the record."

Valerie nodded, and stared at the far bulkhead. “Spaceman Wallace has been behaving… erratically, sir. I think he might be up to something."

“Spaceman Wallace often behaves erratically," Dave pointed out: the otter had been a misfit even before joining the Star Patrol, but his idiosyncrasies paid dividends on a crew of similar outcasts. “Something in particular?"

“Someone accessed the secondary armory and removed two rounds of rifle ammunition. On checking the logs, I found that Lieutenant Hazelton's signature was used to sign the cartridges out. But the security footage is clearly that of Spaceman Wallace."

Dave blinked, feeling his ears lower. He switched his computer off. “Did you ask him directly?"

“No, sir. The logs had been tampered with, so I wanted to come to you first. I didn't feel comfortable making any… assumptions." Wallace's lackadaisical attitude and sloppy adherence to protocol put Smith on edge, that was to say—but she understood him to be a valuable member of the crew.

So did Bradley, who was at a loss to explain what might've transpired. “I appreciate you letting me know. To be honest, Ms. Smith, I'm not sure what to make of that. But I'll do some investigating. Thank you for bringing it to my attention."

“Yes, sir." Reassured that he hadn't blown her off, back in the ship's corridor Smith let out a sigh of relief.

The retriever, meanwhile, frowned heavily. He's unconventional, Dave thought. But stealing weapons? Why would he be doing a thing like that? It might've been entirely innocent, but Wallace had joined the Star Patrol to get out of a lengthy prison sentence…

And that sentence, Dave recalled on reviewing the otter's personnel file, had also been for theft. Before he talked to Captain May, though, he wanted to know what was going on—the cohesion of the crew was one of the Akita's paramount concerns.

And before you talk to May, you should talk to Hazelton. His sigh, short and sharp, was far less relieved than Smith's had been. He didn't get on well with the raccoon, who seemed to think the inscrutability of her engineering department was something to be proud of.

So instead, seeing that TJ Wallace was on shift, he called the otter to his stateroom directly. And, rather than entertaining wild hypotheses about what might be going on, he went back to the sensor logs while he waited.

It didn't take long. TJ knocked on the door rather than using the buzzer, and he opened the hatch far less crisply than Smith had. “Hey, dude. You wanted to talk to me?"

“Yeah. How's work going, spaceman?"

Wallace shrugged. Mineral dust from a console he'd had to saw open glittered in his dense fur. “It's alright. The LT has us pulling a bunch of old boards, like… we don't use 'em, or we don't have to, so they're just a parasitic drain on the reactor. And a fire hazard, if they overload."

“There's equipment we're not using?"

“Sure, yeah. Basically any time we do an upgrade, we're bypassing legacy hardware. Then, uh, like Bell and me do an audit and if we're 100% compatible we pull the old stuff. Just the audit's a mess, 'cause—dude, you don't even know. Trust me. The AG interlink to the nav system has a backup, obviously, right? But like, they swapped the dissipators out before this ship was mothballed. We're replacing the Grant stuff, and the dissipators are still installed. Gotta pull all that."

“I see," Bradley said, half-truthfully.

“So the LT has us taking advantage of the downtime to catch up."

“But it's progressing well. Nothing unusual?"

Everything 'unusual' was really just 'amusing,' in the fashion of anachronistic technology and the ways engineers had of adapting to it. Mitch Alexander, TJ's friend and a fellow geek, might care about the absurdity of some of the hacks they'd found. Travis understood that Dave Bradley would not: “Nah, dude."

“You need anything requisitioned? Anything from the armory?"

“Like guns?" Wallace shook his head. “Nah."

“I was looking at an audit, and I guess engineering borrowed a couple of rifle rounds." Dave saw TJ stiffen while the otter tried to guess where the question was going. “And, you know. Honestly, I'm never sure what you're up to in engineering."

“Oh. Uh. I mean. Yeah. Some cartridges. Two."

“Can I ask why?"

TJ's mind raced for a suitable explanation. “Uh. Just. Something the LT wanted? Could ask her? Or—no, wait. Not her. Bell, though."

“That's… Spaceman Kyle Eddie, right?"

“Uh huh. We call him 'Tinkerbell.' Don't know why, uh—something from the LT, I think. Like they go way back; engineering school or something. He's real friendly and stuff."

Hearing the full name, Dave guessed 'Tinkerbell' was meant ironically, given the bear's hulking form. But he had other things to pursue. “Eddie would know why you're using ammunition?"

“Sure. I guess."

“He got it out of the armory?"

“I dunno. Maybe? Maybe I did, actually. Busy, y'know."

“With maintenance."

“Uh huh. Yeah. Catching up. Like you." Wallace gestured at the sensor logs on the wall. He hadn't investigated them in detail, but some of the telltales were obvious.

“Me?"

“Yeah. Wow, you're almost more behind than us, dude," the otter said.

“What do you mean?"

“Reviewing the old Wanesh stuff? With that big planetbuster and all?" The signals were ones he'd committed to memory in the long shifts spent with Hazelton pushing her team nearly to the brink. “But I've been meaning to do that, actually. Like, I got high with Barry last time we had—uh. Barry and I hung out on Nuzztur. On shore leave. Maybe if we looked for a subcarrier in—"

“Spaceman, hold on."

“'Get high' was like a euphe… nasia. Thing. Dude. Sir. One of those things where you mean something else? I was joking."

“Euphemism. But no—what's this about the Hano superweapon?"

The conversation's wild swings had both of them confused, but TJ moreso for the moment. “You've got the sensor data up. That triple-pulse with the Atias distortion, the one right here? Barry and I were brainstorming ways we could, like… filter that, maybe?"

Dave looked at where TJ was pointing. His muzzle hung briefly open, and while he managed to get that under control the retriever's fuzzy ears stayed completely flat. “Oh, fuck."

“Dude?"

He tapped his communicator hard to make up for his shaking paw. “Captain. We need to drop out of hyperspace and go to emergency tactical alert."

Nothing—then the thrum of the ship's hyperdrive powering down, and Mitch Alexander's voice on the intercom. “Action stations, action stations! All crew, all consoles, go to State Red. Make tactical reports to the bridge. This is not a drill."

And then the Akita. “What's going on?"

“I'm on my way."

***

“Are we sure?" Captain May looked around the room, waiting to see which of her staff would be the first to speak up. Silence greeted her. The Akita wrote DEGREE OF CERTAINTY on the board, then turned expectantly.

Dr. Schatz, the science officer, chose to fall on his sword—they all knew he'd be asked eventually, anyway. “The signature is a 100% match, within the accuracy of our sensors. And it isn't something we've ever seen, anywhere else in our records. There is one possibility: it could be artifacts from a singularity, creating a sort of… mirage."

'Singularities' were mysterious things to the Akita, who wrote MIRAGE? on the board. “Explain."

“If a rocky planet orbiting a black hole had a sufficiently elliptical orbit with its apogee within the event horizon and it disintegrated at relativistic speeds and a spinning fragment of the planet's core just barely escaped, and we were positioned exactly on a vector drawn along the line of apsides and the mass of the planet's core was a harmonic multiple of the—"

“How many more conditions do you have, Dr. Schatz?" Bradley asked, since the Border Collie's point had already been made.

“Several."

May crossed out MIRAGE? “Could it be a sensor glitch? Shannon?"

Lieutenant Hazelton shook her head. “We went through the hardware component by component, Mads. It all checks out. Spaceman Wallace had an outside hypothesis that a memory cache might've somehow been loaded into the live logs, but, uh. Doc?"

“One of the modules does have a cache," Barry explained. “By analyzing the decay in the storage media, we were able to confirm that the records date from seven hours ago. The sensors are functioning correctly."

Maddy shook her head and, reluctantly, added HIGH to the end of DEGREE OF CERTAINTY. “What can anyone tell me about it?"

“Extrapolating from our previous encounter, the signature is consistent with the activation of a jumpdrive displacing about eight thousand tons—much smaller than the one on Esoth-hån Paghuk." Dr. Schatz pronounced the name of the massive—and annihilated—superweapon with practiced accuracy. “It originated within a star system, but our charts don't have much more information about that… the signatures imply that it might be suitable for habitation, but we're still processing the imagery and we're eighty light-years away so the resolution isn't optimal."

“We're trying," Hazelton added. “Mitch and TJ are working on some options."

“Ensign Bader? Tactical report?"

“I've reconfigured the point-defense system and the deflector shields to buy us some time if they try boarding us again. The early-warning systems are on full alert. We should be safe."

May wrote that on the board, too. “Good. I like you being optimistic, ensign. If we're safe for the moment, and we don't have enough information to proceed, I'd suggest we address the second problem. What about investigating the system?"

“We don't even know if they're still there, captain," Dave pointed out. “And if they are, we could be flying into an ambush. I'd like to raise a different point: we haven't heard anything from our allies. Wanesh raiding activity has been constant or even declining in the last few months, according to the Ardzula mining guilds and the debrief we had from the Dominion at our last station call."

“So we're the first? We caught them early."

“And we should consider warning them. I know we don't have much to go on now, but if the Wanesh could become a resurgent threat…"

“Agreed. But I'd still like more information. If not the Dark Horse, what about the Tempest? Captain Ford—is the ship ready for a mission?"

The coyote gave her a thumbs-up. “Ready as ever, captain. Just say the word."

***

“I know you'd rather be in the pilot's seat, captain. I hope you understand why I'm asking you to take charge of the mission from a planning point of view."

“You need somebody who can react quickly. And, uh. You trust me. I hope."

The Akita nodded. “I do. But I also need someone with command authority. If the Wanesh are up to something, and you think it's tactically sound, do what you need to do."

“Up to and including…" Jack trailed off, hoping to prompt some clarification, but May stayed quiet. He got the message. “I understand. I won't let you down, captain."

That wasn't really on her mind—she did trust him, after all. They shook paws, and Jack made his way up the gangplank. Ciara Munro, who also trusted the coyote, waved when she caught sight of him. “Captain. All systems are go. We can depart whenever you're ready."

“Do it." He took an open seat and powered on the computer console while Munro finished the last steps of starting their reactor. Up to and including. “Lieutenant Hazelton, can we be ready to troubleshoot any problems with the cloaking device ahead of time?"

“I hope so. I have spares for almost everything that could go wrong." And the raccoon hadn't been given the chance to really see the spy ship's cloaking technology up close and personal. It was a good part of why she'd volunteered for the mission. Gadgets always fascinated her, and they proved a useful distraction for the trip to their destination.

“Dropping out of hyperspace now." The Tempest settled back among the stars and, half a second later, a barrage of new signals. “The system's inhabited. I'm detecting massive energy readings from an asteroid, two hundred and thirty million kilometers away."

“How's the cloak?" It looked fine, but Jack didn't trust his own interpretations of the system display. “Do they see us?"

“I don't think so, sir. At least, we're not being scanned, and there hasn't been any change since we arrived. The tactical computer says the scanner modulation is Waneshan, though."

“Any ships?"

“Possibly. But nothing stands out."

Ford considered his options, clicked his tongue, and rolled the pair of dice in any coyote's reckless skull. “Take us closer to the asteroid. Don't exceed ten percent impulse. Lieutenant Hazelton, you and me are on sensor duty. You see anything out of place, holler."

Shannon rolled up the sleeves of her uniform jacket. “Aye-aye, sir." It took all of two minutes. “Contact, bearing 4-7 mark 0-6. Moving towards us."

Ciara Munro tagged the vessel on the Tempest's forward viewscreen. “I see it. Thirty kilometers per second closure. It's not on an intercept course. They'll pass by with a hundred thousand kilometers to spare."

“A raiding ship." Jack had encountered them plenty of times before: corvette-sized vessels, packed to the gills with fast, nimble missiles. This one had most of its systems powered down, and its engine pulsed intermittently. “In stealth mode. Why?"

“Your guess is as good as mine, sir." But, now that Munro knew what to look for, she picked up seven more ships, lurking in orbit around the asteroid they were approaching. “Perhaps it—where did it go?"

Ford growled, leaning closer to the screen as if that would help him see where the corvette had disappeared to. “No idea. Suddenly…"

“Jumped," Hazelton finished, when he trailed off. “Signature matches one of their jumpdrives having been fired. They've managed to get them working on their raiding ships."

“It was probably only going to be a matter of time." Jack sighed. “Keep approaching that asteroid, Munro. Lieutenant Hazelton, is there anything we can do to identify which of those other corvettes have jump tech? Anything conspicuous?"

She spent the next half-hour working before coming back with an answer. “I think we might have a clue. The logs picked up some faint omicron radiation from the corvette that jumped. I'm pretty sure one of the other seven ships has the same signature. Can we get closer?"

Ciara flexed her fingers to cover up any nervousness. “We're now at sixty thousand kilometers. How close do you want?"

“I still don't think we've been detected…"

“No, sir. Wanesh electronics are… rather primitive, by our standards." She'd been a lot nearer to their ships before. Jack wouldn't let her out of it, so she tried to let the experience translate into confidence instead. The asteroid, and the ships drifting around it, filled the screen.

A burst of electromagnetic activity pointed to the ship Hazelton had flagged. “I think it's starting its engines?" Movement, slow at first, confirmed Jack's suspicions. “Yeah. They're powering up."

Ciara's eyes drifted to a different readout. “And they're communicating with the asteroid. I'm pretty sure we can decrypt it, sir. If you want."

“We can justify a bit of eavesdropping. Do it. And put it on the intercom."

“Yes, sir." Munro let the translation protocol lock on, and turned the volume up.

“—come back with a sign. But we can't wait that long. The latest report put the ship at Neshasdar, which should be close enough to detect us. But we have no sign of them, so intelligence conjectures they might be investigating Cel Kull, instead. That would mask our signatures." “Two jumps, in the direction of Cel Kull?" “Yes, prefect. Don't risk a third. Collect a full astrometric survey at each point." “And if we encounter them?" “The protocol is the same, prefect."

The channel closed, and the corvette drifted further away from the asteroid. It was moving with the same characteristics as the earlier ship: quietly and deliberately. Jack Ford frowned. “Keep an eye on them. We don't know those places, do we?"

“Cel Kull isn't our maps. Not Neshasdar, either."

Ciara had already come to the same conclusion, but Hazelton beat her to the punch of explaining it. And the vixen's ears perked. “Wait. Say that again?"

“Check your maps, fox. No Neshasdar."

Shannon came from spacer stock; she'd grown up with their pidgin and it came out in her accent. In this case, the mumbling had caught Munro's attention. “Nuzztur. That's what we called it. When we docked there for shore leave."

“Two weeks ago." Jack's stomach tightened. “They're after us."

“And they just jumped," Hazelton reported. “Wherever they're going. Maybe there's a clue: the station's transmitting again, in the direction of a rocky planet, fourth from its star."

“Are they getting a response? Put it on the speakers again, Munro."

“Prefect Vettin has taken the Pakal-Sjentash towards Cel Kull. We might find the vessel there." “A mote of dust in an empty temple." “An empty temple in an abandoned city," a third voice added: “and we must consider that they wouldn't answer anyway, general." “I've been considering nothing but that. Think of how it looks to them, Hanish." “Mysterious signals?"

“To us? How it looks to us?" Jack asked, rhetorically.

'The general' sounded irate. “An ambush. If they can track our engines, as I do believe they can, and they've found this system, they'll expect it to be an ambush. The Terrans have no reason to trust us. This project is foolhardy, Hanish." “Vettin and Shural both understand the diplomatic protocol. We can get them to listen." “Another day. You have one more day. Make the most of it."

Ciara, Jack, and Shannon looked at one another blankly. “Trust them?" Munro finally managed. “Why?"

“An ambush," Shannon suggested. “Like he said. All one big act."

Jack Ford thought back over the conversation. How would I have talked, if I thought I was being listened in on? What would I do to entrap the Star Patrol? And if I did… “But again: why?"

“Blow us up. You're a pilot, right? You know that."

“Yeah. But we're just one ship. Destroying the Dark Horse wouldn't change the tactical situation any. Sure, we share intel with the Dominion and the Parixians and a few other navies, but… they can do that on their own."

“You don't think we're that important?"

Jack laughed gently. “Sorry to disappoint you, lieutenant."

The raccoon had other things to be disappointed by, if she wanted to dwell on them. She shrugged, instead. “Fine. But then, what would they want?"

“I'm not certain. Let's keep our ears to the ground and see what happens when that ship comes back."

“When?"

But that was the advantage of having a jumpdrive, apparently. Three hours later, a new contact appeared on their sensors. It wasn't until Munro patched in the audio that they realized they were looking at a different corvette, captained by someone who identified themselves as 'Prefect Kanra Voth.'

“Tell me you found something, prefect." “Nothing at all. The Terran warship is elusive. I found no record of their passage. Perhaps if we—" “We're out of time. The general says we can't risk staying here. Once Vettin returns—if Vettin returns—we'll begin evacuation procedures." “Are there signs we've been found?" “Not yet. But we can't wait."

The three Star Patrol crew could, however. It just didn't make anything clearer. What were the Wanesh after? They were an aggressive species: the bane of the sector, predatory and piratical. The odds they wanted peace seemed, at best, extremely remote.

Time and again, though, Jack returned to the objection he'd given Hazelton. Valuable as the Dark Horse was—they called the cruiser home, after all—its loss would be marginal to the greater politics of the sector. “And," he added, the sixth time they went around, “we haven't been fighting them. We're not an active threat to the Wanesh."

“If they were planning an offensive, this could be a… what do you call it? A decapitation strike."

He still thought Shannon gave them too much credit. And, eventually, the raccoon decided military affairs could be left up to the coyote. What they'd found from the jumpdrive-equipped raiding ships interested her more. There was a definite omicron radiation source, somewhere.

Omicron particles strongly implied a temporal component to the Wanesh jumpdrive technology. And if that proved to be true, everything the Confederation's scientists currently thought about temporal physics might be upended.

Their adventure on earth meant time travel was possible. A propulsion system that leveraged it could confirm the Naik Hypothesis, and neatly tie up the old Horner conjectures along with it. You sound like Barry, the raccoon thought, and then chuckled grimly. Good a time for that as any, I suppose.

Her career in the Star Patrol had produced a breakthrough or two, honestly, but nothing so consequential. Improvements to existing equipment, and a few new ideas on high explosives… but time travel? Proving the Naik Hypothesis could be her ticket to making a name, finally. At last. She thought, again: good a time for that as…

Ciara's voice interrupted her thoughts. “Captain. We're picking up a distress call. It's close. Coming from in-system: a Wanesh starship, maybe one of those corvettes."

“Let's hear it."

“Freighter Raltevi to any vessels within range. Our engines are disabled and we need assistance. There are forty souls aboard. Our location is—"

Munro muted the transmission. “Another broadcast towards the planet. They're reporting to the general that 'the decoy' has been activated, but they don't think it'll get a response. They're requesting orders for what to do next."

“And that is?"

She tilted her head at the transcript. “The general says they should 'hope.'"

Captain Ford's ears splayed. Obviously there was no problem aboard the Raltevi—perhaps there wasn't even a freighter by that name to begin with. At the same time, what little added up suggested that the Wanesh might have been sincere.

“And, sir? What if they are? They're pirates." And Hazelton had been aboard the Dark Horse for every encounter May had with them—none peaceful. “What would it change things if they were 'sincere'?"

“Well. Maybe we should answer them. Captain May might think of doing something like that, right? At least hearing 'em out."

Neither Munro nor Hazelton could argue with Ford's logic: May, despite her intense dislike of the pirates, might very well have taken a chance on answering them. Ciara looked over the cockpit. “For now, they haven't been able to detect us. I guess if we could stay hidden…"

“Good point. Deploy a hypersonde and reroute our comms through it. When we hail them, I want it to be as difficult as possible to track the origin of the signal."

Hazelton scratched behind one of her ears. “Can do a bit of scrambling on the transmission, too, if you want. Take me a few minutes. Half an hour?"

“Work fast."

Shannon had long since learned that a key to engineering success was overestimating the time required for a task. Sure enough, when she returned in twenty minutes with the filters ready, Jack nodded his appreciation.

With the hypersonde deployed, he crossed his fingers and opened a channel. “This is Captain Jack Ford, of the Terran Confederation cruiser Dark Horse. We're responding to your distress call, but we've detected some unusual activity in this system."

He paused; Ciara Munro muted the line. “Link is open. And they're trying to track it, judging by the radios that just went active in the direction of the hypersonde."

“We're willing to engage in dialogue. But, based on everything that's come before, you can understand why we might be suspicious. Cease your attempts to localize the source of this transmission. If you try again, I'm cutting the channel."

A rasping voice, only coarsened by the complicated signal path, answered. “My apologies. We understand your suspicions, and we will comply."

“That's better. Who am I speaking to?"

“Hanish. I'm a legate of the Voth pack. We fought over Esoth-hån Paghuk. And, Star Patrol, I assure that we will fight again—but not for now. For now, we need to talk."

***

Ayenni's ears lowered, and her white fur shifted to contemplative orange. “Would you… mind? It might make it easier." The retriever held out both his paws, palms up. He trusted her, of course. And, steeling herself, the alien threaded her fingers through his own.

It only took a few seconds, between her natural empathic abilities and the bond the pair had developed since their first meeting. She understood promptly. Travis Wallace had always been a wildcard to Bradley, but his laissez-faire attitude was joined to a good heart, and his contributions to the crew were invaluable.

Stealing things—weapons, no less—was out of character. Dave didn't want to believe it, Ayenni knew, but he also trusted Petty Officer Smith. And, with the Wanesh back, the crew needed to be able to count on one another. His suspicious behavior came at the worst possible time.

Ayenni pulled back, and turned over what she knew in her head. What she knew of Dave, and of Valerie Smith, and of TJ—quick with a grin, devil-may-care, always-friendly Travis Wallace. It was mysterious, indeed.

“I've never been given any reason to doubt him," she began. “But I see why you're concerned. I'll help."

The otter was off-duty, relaxing in the mess hall with one of Mitch Alexander's holocomics. He set it down when Ayenni walked over. “Hey, dude."

“Good afternoon. I figured I would investigate the menu for today…"

“It's supposed to be guacamole." Neither scent nor taste had confirmed this to TJ's satisfaction, and the color was closer to lime than avocado. “But I guess it's still nutritious or something."

“I guess." She got a bowl and sat down opposite the otter. “How are you doing?"

They hadn't interacted much, so to Travis their doctor was simply a quiet, soft-spoken alien. And, he was more than aware, a telepath. He grinned. “You can't tell?"

“It's impolite to pry."

“Oh. Makes sense." Her head tilted, wondering if what she saw in his smile was relief: TJ, friendly by nature, hadn't thought it through nearly so methodically. “I'm good. You?"

“The same. I admit, I'm a little worried about the possibility of running into the Wanesh again."

He shrugged. “It'll be okay. We've beat 'em before. What is this, like… round five or six? They don't learn."

The smile was still there, and now Ayenni found herself wondering if it was hiding something. Carefully, cautiously, she felt around the edges of the otter's mind. The edges were consumed by comics. And his work. And something about if she finds out—

TJ blinked at the alien's sudden, odd expression. His head cocked.

And the smile widened. The comics vanished. The work vanished. What remained was reciting an old nursery rhyme: turning each letter into a number, multiplying them together, and summing the value of each word. 2,598,195. 3420 plus 27,000 plus 437 plus…

Ayenni drew back, and the otter laughed. “I thought you said it wasn't polite?"

“My curiosity got the better of me. I'm very sorry."

“S'okay, dude." He didn't really mind, either. It amused him more than anything else. “Learned that from a friend, in case, like, the cops ever figured out how to read minds or something. I thought they'd use machines for that, but, hey. If you want to practice or something…"

She shook her head. “No. It was more of an accident, anyway."

“If you say so. I bet if you tried harder it wouldn't be tough to, like, get around or whatever. How's the guacamole, though? It's kind of shitty, right, like it isn't just me? Mitch was definitely unhappy."

Ayenni couldn't focus on the guacamole. What was she going to tell Dave? She stalled on answering TJ, and the ship's intercom intervened. “Command staff to the captain's room immediately. Security protocols are now in effect."

Wallace looked up, head tilting. “Sounds like she's still unhappy. Wonder what's up, huh?"

***

“Allow me to introduce Hanish Voth. Do you mind, Hanish?" The Wanesh turned its paws upwards placidly; glints of light ran down its arms from the machines coursing through its bloodstream. “The Voth pack used to be a powerful one, with thousands of ships under their command. Apparently, we've fought Vothan ships before."

Madison, and most of her senior staff, remained skeptical. “'Used to be'—what changed?"

“Calmer, clearer eyes saw what would happen after the scourging of Vallanax. The Voth were among them," Hanish explained. “Afterwards, our pack's leaders spoke up to the Laughing Prince. We cautioned that he was turning the sector against us—and we could not fight all of you at once. In consequence, we were assigned the vanguard at the Battle of Esoth-hån Paghuk. Only twenty percent of our fleet escaped."

Hanish said it so matter-of-factly that Dave was surprised: there was no sign of regret, nor expectation of any apology. But, like May, the retriever remained curious about his motives. “And now, what's left of you wants our help? With what?"

Jack Ford turned his computer on, and brought the stored hologram up for the others to see. A crystalline structure, dark and richly faceted, hung suspended above the table. “This is the 'Voice of the New Sun.'"

“Ekath Sjal-Manosh," Hanish added. “Manosh, the New Sun, is one of our deities. Or, rather, he will be." It spoke slowly; deliberately. “Sovat'sa denal ekath sjal-Manosh åt'sin hosh-uwanos. Sovat'sa denal ekath of Manosh will call hosh-uwanos. Sovat'sa the roads ekath of Manosh will call hosh-uwanos. At the end of all roads, the voice of Manosh will call uwanos to him. When the journey of the universe is completed, the voice of Manosh will call all his children home to him."

May looked across the table at Felicia Beltran. “Taking notes for cultural purposes, right, doc?" The leopardess nodded. “Good. What do you mean, 'will be'? Time travel?"

“We've been scattered to the stars for millennia. At some point, it must end. Some great event—perhaps cataclysmic—will result in the birth of Manosh, a hero whose body will become the star of our new home. His voice will summon the Wanesh to join him."

Dave gestured at the hologram. “This is that?"

When Hanish clicked its claws together, the universal translator shared its interpretation of the gesture—a firm headshake. “This is a space station being constructed by the Laughing Prince. His followers are continuing to make progress in the gravitic core that would let them replicate the Great Dark Shield of the fallen Hano Empire."

“Or, Mads, they get far enough in their research that they learn something that would let them find where the superweapon was transported to." According to the Star Patrol's classified files, which Hazelton had been required to read, the core powering the weapon was discovered, not invented.

The Hano hadn't been able to create a replacement before their empire collapsed, and there was no reason to believe their descendents would be more successful without the benefit of such an empire. May recognized the danger in giving them a shortcut. “Where do we enter into it?"

“Other packs are also worried. Some of them remain close to the Prince. Some of them are involved in the construction of the station. There are rumors of a vulnerability in its main reactor. An attack exploiting it would cripple the Laughing Prince's ambitions—perhaps force him out of power completely."

“You want our help attacking it?"

“No." Hanish rattled its claws again. “Your assistance would compromise the legitimacy of our pack. We need to get the data, so that we can develop a battle plan of our own."

“What, in that case, would we get out of this deal?"

Hanish pressed its claws together so they formed clean arcs. It was smirking, according to the translator. “Riches beyond your wildest imagination, Captain May. You are the first outside our pack to know the legend of Manosh. You are the first to hear the old tongue. We have seven genders: male, female, rising, falling, arced, straight, and illuminated. Without our technological augments, we cannot see colors with longer wavelengths than what you call 'orange.' Shall I continue?"

“This is not a cease-fire," May said.

“No," Hanish agreed. “There will be no cease-fire. The relationship of predator and prey can't be written out of existence by mere naïveté. But this arrangement is mutually beneficial. You must understand that. Few can say that they have negotiated as equals with the Wanesh."

“No, so they can't. The Wanesh don't offer many opportunities to do so."

“Then consider this: I've reached out to you, Captain May. The consequences for my pack have already been dire. There's dissent within the pack already: we agreed to break with the Prince, but looking to the infamous Dark Horse for aid was… unpopular."

“You were desperate," the Akita replied, flatly. “It's not much of a gesture."

“And you might yet prove the skeptics prescient. It was a risk I had to take. Too many lives are at stake."

May looked at her officers. As they met her gaze, each understood what she was about to do, and none of them objected. “Dr. Schatz and Dr. Beltran, you're dismissed. Sabel Thorsen, Ensign Bader: report to the ready room at once." She watched the two leave, and turned back to Hanish. “We'll get what we need from you for any operation we conduct. Right?"

“You want the jumpdrive," it said flatly. “If that is required, we will find a way to accomodate your request. For the duration of the mission. And I will accompany it—I'm not entrusting you with that technology on your own."

“If you want our help, a bit less paranoia might be useful."

“It's not paranoia. Call it… earned respect. We stay clear of the Dark Horse for a reason, you know? And we'd rather not give you the means of coming directly to us."

That was, to May's thinking, definitely paranoia. But as long as Hanish would work with them, and they could thwart the ambitions of the Prince, she was willing to view the Vothan pack in 'the enemy of my enemy' terms.

So, she hoped, would her tacticians, who arrived together. “Allow me to introduce Hanish Voth. A Waneshan. We're going to help them." May examined their expressions, and was satisfied that—whatever misgivings they had—Leon and Sabel would go along with her. “They intend to destroy a space station being constructed by the Laughing Prince."

Leon carefully took his seat. “And what will we help them with?"

“The blueprints of the station point to a vulnerability that might be used to disable it. Trust me, I understand that we're being asked to make unlikely allies of the Wanesh. And the Voth, in particular. But they're taking a risk in coming to us, and I think that should be understood."

“A risk?"

“We know the Prince is rearming, and pursuing the gravitic weapon used on Paghuk-Hån, and its successor, Esoth-hån Paghuk, that we destroyed along with the alliance. Hanish's pack has fallen out of favor for challenging the Prince's excesses. Seeking outside assistance will only compromise them more. But they've done so anyway. Many Vothans suffered great inconvenience to bring us this information."

That didn't satisfy Leon, and it didn't really satisfy Sabel. But Leon wanted to keep an open mind, and Sabel was honor-bound to follow May wherever she led the spitz. They listened quietly as Hanish Voth explained the basic problem.

“The station's technical specifications are stored in the archives on level 530. Approximately here." Hanish tapped its claw through the hologram. “Our spies have the current information on the guard rotations, including which ones can be compromised. We'll have a forty-minute window to get into the archives, retrieve the data crystal, and escape."

“The nav scanners on the Tempest are good enough that we can jump with minimal error," Jack offered—the rough sketch of an idea had come together on the journey back. “And the cloaking device will keep the ship hidden. That still leaves avoiding detection by internal security."

Hanish manipulated the holographic map, drawing their attention to a landing bay. “Here is the closest means of access. The maintenance tunnels will allow us travel unimpeded. My contact aboard the station will send us a message when the security systems are down."

The act of zooming in drew May's attention to just how large the station was; the Akita found herself slightly disconcerted. “And if we're detected?"

“They won't expect commandos aboard. Their attention will already be diverted preparing for the first test of their long-range transmitter: it is the voice of Manosh, after all. They won't find us. And if they do, their first assumption will be a rival pack looting valuable resources. We'll have a short period of chaos before the pack leaders can organize their response."

“A very small team of commandos," May pointed out. “Ensign Bader?"

“That's really more Sabel's job," the shepherd replied, staring at Sabel expectantly. He just knew that Sabel Thorsen would shrug, and say the mission presented no real difficulties. And then he'll wind up pinned down, and shot, and I'll have to explain to him that he can't solve every problem by—

“The proposal is tactically unsound. Presuming I understand correctly: you want to steal a data chip containing information about a vulnerability of the station you're infiltrating."

“Yes."

“For this, the data we have are completely insufficient. What's the composition of the hull? The frequency of the internal scanning mechanisms? There's a Terran saying that comes to mind: look before you leap."

“What does it mean?"

“It's intended as a caution," Dave explained. “Making rash decisions without knowing what you're getting yourself into—wherever you're jumping."

“I have a different interpretation: if you look carefully, Commander Bradley, you might not have to leap at all. We don't want the data crystal. Stealing it is a tactical liability: it lets the Laughing Prince know that someone is interested in the schematics."

“They're our only chance of stopping him."

“But not the crystal," Sabel repeated. “All we need is the data on the crystal. Hanish said there's a contact aboard the station—someone who, apparently, can disable the security controls. With that level of access, they'd be able to transmit the data to a listening ship."

“Transmissions from the station would be scrupulously monitored. The Laughing Prince will detect that, too, I assure you."

“Not necessarily." All eyes in the room turned to Shannon Hazelton. “They're testing a transmitter for the first time. If we're careful, any anomalies will look like experimental noise."

“Would it be possible to get a signal out, Hanish?"

“Perhaps. Perhaps a very low-power one, to a ship in close proximity."

“A jumpdrive, then. The Tempest has very sensitive scanning equipment, if we can integrate the drive with—"

“Hold on, Mads. That fuck-off big ship we fought before—Esoth-hån Paghuk. It used a singularity as a power source. Is this station the same?"

“Yes. The energy requirements of the transmitter are… substantial."

“Perfect. Use that, then. Introduce a deliberate temporal modulation to the signal and encode the datastream that way. We'll recover it by looking at the omicron patterns of a jumpdrive on a ship receiving the transmission."

“You don't think the Prince would notice?"

The raccoon shook her head at Hanish. “No. It would be all but undetectable. And you could create the signal just by adjusting the stabilizers on the power core. I'm betting those are less-guarded than most other systems. If your contact can do that…"

“I believe so…"

“Then I can make the modifications myself. On the Tempest. And with your permission, Mads, I'd like to be there."

***

Chief engineer's personal log, stardate 67324.4

I hope this works. This better work. I was going to ask Barry, but I ran out of time and maybe he wouldn't have any better ideas. I know it's going to produce some kind of result, though. The main components of the jumpdrive have to be temporally sensitive. There's no way any of this makes sense, otherwise.

“What is that… noise?"

Jack Ford looked over. Gustav Holst's Planets suite had been playing softly for some time, by that point. He put 'Jupiter' on pause. “Music. A millennium old."

The answer didn't seem to satisfy Hanish. “Your race hasn't invented better music since?"

“I prefer the classics."

“I confess, I don't understand how you reached the stars in a state like this." It winced when Ford turned the speakers back on. “Positively horrifying."

“I guess all races have their moments of weakness." Hanish looked at the coyote sharply. “Is it true that the Vothans were involved in destroying Vallanax? The Parixian moon?"

“Yes. Our technology proved to be instrumental."

They hadn't known what it was to be used for, Hanish explained. Voth propulsion technology was superlative: capable of delivering the impulse required to shift the orbit of asteroids. Capable of aiming them precisely enough to drive them into the moon. Capable of doing so without asking questions.

“At first. By the time the operation was completed, it was too late to object. The Laughing Prince overplayed his hand. Rather than crippling the Parixian rebels supporting you, he drove the two factions together in an alliance against us. Even though we had only helped the Parixian government."

“To murder tens of millions of people."

“Yes. It was the Prince's will."

Jack couldn't wrap his head around it—he could still recall the sight of the burning moon at a moment's notice. “Why did you follow him?"

“He offered us a home. It cannot escape your notice, Captain Ford, that the Wanesh are widely considered to be the scourge of this region. A vicious cycle is the consequence: if we were to settle down, we would be discovered and destroyed. The Laughing Prince promised an end to that. An end to our wandering."

“Something changed?"

“Yes. His words were seductive… at first. But then we saw what the consequences would be. We saw that we had been mistaken."

Lieutenant Munro stirred from her seat in the cockpit. “About what, though? Did you decide that genocide was wrong, or that wanting a home was wrong?"

Hanish leveled its stare on the vixen. One claw at a time extended as it counted. “Three, if I am not mistaken? Three ranks separate you and Captain Ford. I myself am two grades above what you would call a 'captain.' You speak with impetuousness. Is it earned?"

She held the Vothan's gaze. “With due respect—however much you'd like to assume that is—it doesn't take much to earn the right to ask a question like that. Sir."

The universal translator rendered Hanish's chuckle with the intended dark undercurrent. “So it does not. We were not meant for a home, Lieutenant Munro. Our way has been contentious, and destructive—but it is our way. The Laughing Prince upsets that balance for his own ends, not ours."

“Do you regret your role in destroying that moon?"

“The Parixians are weak. They are like us: a culture riven by internal conflict. But in the struggle between our packs, our knowledge of the universe is expanded. Our engineering is improved. Our tactics are honed. We become better."

Jack Ford arched an eyebrow. “Survival of the fittest? It's not for everyone. Terra moved beyond that need centuries ago. We've done pretty well, I think."

“Perhaps. But that's not what the lieutenant asked. The Parixians don't tell anyone stories of how they've 'moved beyond' conflict. They embrace it—but badly. If we hadn't destroyed Vallanax in one decisive stroke, its fate would be gradual extinction in the wars to follow."

“They've negotiated a peace treaty with the Outland Front," Ford countered. “Brought the rebels back into the fold."

“For now. To answer your question, Lieutenant Munro: no, I do not. You are a sentimental people. You lament the loss of those lives, and the future they could've had. We do not. Competition is a matter of biological law. The intertwining of creation and destruction is the nature of a universe littered with dead races and cold planets. Billions of years of history disappear with every supernova, but new stars are born as a result."

“From what I've gleaned of them, the Hano Empire—"

“Yes." Hanish cut Jack Ford off. “Their self-immolation paved the way for a dozen new civilizations to rise and fall in deep space before yours was piling rocks in grandiose cairns beside the River Nile."

“You know of the Egyptians?"

“And the Mongols. The Aztec. The Khmer. From what I've gleaned of your kind, if the Terran Confederation is truly harmonious, it's a blip in your history. May you keep it."

“Somehow," Jack said, “I doubt your sincerity."

“Likewise. But here we are."

Shannon Hazelton, who'd been listening for a few seconds, figured it was as good a time as any to intervene. “We're at about two minutes before they make their transmission."

Jack pushed his doubts away, and swiveled his chair back to face his console. “System check? Lieutenant Munro, how are we?"

“All good, sir. We should be ready. The first sign should be a standard J-wave burst, carrying a handshake signal."

“At that point, we'll start monitoring the jumpdrive core." Hazelton glanced over the readouts. “I have a good background to compare it to."

Lights flashed in the cockpit. Ciara double-checked them; took a deep breath. “There it is. Get ready."

Shannon hopped back to the equipment she'd set up around the jumpdrive. Any moment now. At any moment the drive would start detecting the infinitesimal modulation in the transmission. “Well?"

“We're receiving data," Ciara called back. “Basic stuff. Diagnostic codes, I gather. Random text."

Nothing showed on any of Shannon's sensors. “That's not possible. There's zero reaction from the engine. Passeka. Confirm that transmission!"

“Confirmed!"

“Wha' t'ey faire," the raccoon muttered. She tried turning the gain up on the sensors. Tried resetting the data integrator. Tried thumping the side of the display with her paw. “Suka. It's not working!"

The signal stopped altogether. There was nothing else on Munro's scope. “Transmission ended."

Jack got up, walking back to the raccoon staring incomprehensibly at the computers. “Nothing?"

She blinked. “Nothing. It didn't work. I don't understand it. The jumpdrive has to react to an omicron gradient. If Naik was right, there has to be a sympathetic—maybe the filter was misconfigured? Are we sure that passeka idiota did their job and encoded the message with the parameters we used?"

“I have no idea. Is our equipment working?"

Shannon slammed her paw hard against one of the sensors. Pain shot down her arm, but the computer took the worst of it—the display sizzled and went dark. “Yes! Our equipment's working!"

“Then what can we do?"

She whirled as she rose to her feet, teeth bared at the coyote. “How should I know? Apparently I was wrong—wrong about—mon, tooss—fuck! Ancroy. I don't… I…"

“Calm down." Jack put out a paw to steady her. “We need to figure out a new plan."

“How?" Every assumption she'd made had, apparently, been mistaken. The Naik hypothesis wasn't accurate, or Naik had made his own mistakes, and… “I don't know where to start."

And Jack Ford, of course, knew nothing of temporal mechanics or any of the hypotheses Hazelton was looking to confirm. He started with what he understood. “How would we figure out if there was a message to decode at all? Maybe everything did work fine on our end."

“I don't…"

“Later. We can do that part later. Right now, pull yourself together. Is there a message?"

“It's undetectable, captain. That's the point. If we could do it again, then…"

“Why can't we?"

“Huh?" He really has no idea how time travel works, Shannon thought. Then, bitterly: of course, neither do I.

“The message is traveling at a particular speed, right? Maybe it's fast, but... we have a jumpdrive. Don't we?"

Shannon sighed quickly, her shoulders hitching. But, as she inhaled to protest, she realized he had a point. “Yes. We do. If we put ourselves in a position to get a new version of the transmission, we could… what could we do?"

“Compare the two signals," Ciara suggested, calling back over her shoulder. The Tempest was a small ship: Hazelton's outburst had carried, and the raccoon wasn't exactly given to quiet.

“Right. A temporal component would probably change the propagation characteristics of the signal… but we'd have to act quickly. It'll be below our resolution in a few minutes."

“Preparing to jump now." Munro ran the calculations as quickly as she could. “We're ready."

Ford gestured to the broken computer. “You need that?" Hazelton shook her head. “Do it, lieutenant. Let's go!"

She triggered the jumpdrive; the Tempest shuddered and, just like that, the stars beyond the viewscreen had changed. “In position. There's the first signal now."

“Right. And…" Hazelton watched, holding her breath. “Downloading the transmission. If we compare it to the first one… I've got anomalies."

The word, in Jack's experience, was fraught. “Is that good or bad?"

Hazelton held her paw up to quiet the coyote. “Munro. One more jump."

“Our astrometric charts are a bit… spotty. If we jump, I'm not quite sure…"

“We'll figure it out," Jack said.

“Yes, sir. Jumping." Another shudder, and a field of stars the computer puzzled over with a series of perplexed chimes. Maybe we'll be okay? Maybe…

Yes. Hazelton shut her eyes as the tension began to fade. “We've recovered an encoded transmission hidden in that broadcast. Voth, what does this look like to you?"

She turned as a hologram assembled itself in the middle of the cockpit. Hanish Voth examined it—and the details, in ultraviolet, that was beyond their ability to see. “A schematic of the station's power distribution network."

“What you wanted?"

“Notes. Equations. The power regulator is susceptible to a…" Hanish stopped. “It is what we needed. This is the right data."

“Good work, Lieutenant Hazelton. Now we just have to get home. Munro?"

“We're in uncharted space, sir."

Hanish shuffled back, moving past Jack to the jumpdrive itself. “For you. Not for us. I will set a course for our forward operating base, if that is amenable to you, Captain Ford."

It took ten minutes between the time they arrived back in the system, and the time Ciara guided the Tempest onto one of the docking pads. Hazelton set about disconnecting the jumpdrive from the ship's reactor, and gathering the sensors she'd affixed around the engine.

“Here you go. Good luck."

Hanish nudged the drive, whose enclosure glided smoothly over the floor and towards the lowered docking hatch. Waiting Waneshan technicians caught it, whisking the device away. Hanish began to follow, then turned. “I'm… surprised."

“By?"

“You kept your end of the bargain, Captain Ford. You could've had the drive. Or kept me as a valuable prisoner. Or attacked the Voth here, at our most vulnerable. But you did not."

“There is a value to altruism," Ciara suggested. “It's not all scheming. Not everything is a competition—a zero-sum game."

“It is not all scheming," Hanish echoed. “Indeed. Paranoia can be… tactically maladaptive. I said that I doubted your sincerity. Believe me, just this once, when I say that I was wrong."

“I do."

“So do I," Ford added. “And believe me when I say that I know we're unlikely to meet again as friends. But perhaps you'll consider whether there might be a different path for you."

“Perhaps. When the Laughing Prince is defeated. Then, we'll see."

***

“If someone was hiding something on the ship, how would they do it?"

Barry Schatz's head cocked. “You think we might've been sabotaged, commander? I would review the security logs, I think—see everywhere Hanish went—if anything is out of the ordinary, it might show up."

“What if I was more paranoid? What if someone wanted to transmit something in secret from the Dark Horse? How would we find it? Could we check the power grid?"

The Border Collie thought on it for a spell. “I don't think so. I believe the ship's adaptive power distribution would hide anything as low-power as a well-designed transmitter. But that's more of an engineering question, sir. You could ask one of them. Or… hm."

“You have an idea?"

“Something I was asked for help with." He pulled up the file, and beamed it onto the main display in the science lab. “A heat map of the ship. Lieutenant Hazelton wanted data on the efficiency of some new equipment they've been installing. We can make it pretty granular. See?"

As Dave watched, Barry played back two weeks' worth of temperature logs—they could both see whole sections of the grid suddenly grow colder when they were updated, and the waste heat dropped. “Pretty impressive."

“Yeah. But she also wanted me to look for temperature anomalies. See, if we stack a few million scans, I have a normal baseline. If somebody had a transmitter, it might change the heat signature from what we expect. Like… this. This is a secure space, but the average temperature is slightly elevated."

“Periodic," Dave noted, pointing to the report. “Like, say, if a couple crew hung out there for half an hour every few days."

“True. It's not constant. But this is." Barry had found another anomaly, in one of the storage closets forward of main engineering. “A consistent elevated temperature, starting about two weeks ago. I don't know what it is, of course. Probably a prototype."

“Engineering owns the space?" The retriever leaned forward, calling up the ship's records. “Yeah, I guess so. It's secured with Spaceman Wallace's credentials. I wonder what he's doing there?"

“Here. Look at the volatiles." Barry was quite proud of himself for this, and for the deduction that immediately followed. “It has some kind of filtration setup. You can see the levels of these compounds stay steady, then start to rise… then there's a brief heat gain, and they drop again. Probably when the filter's changed."

“Want to put your sensors to the test? Let's go see what they've got going on… come up with a working hypothesis while we're walking over there."

“Of course, sir."

As ship's XO, Lieutenant Commander Bradley's security code unlocked the space easily. He cocked his head at the equipment inside. The metal tubing, and the scent in the air, combined to create the same impression. “What was your hypothesis?"

“I assumed synthesizing some kind of… compound."

“But this is a still, right?"

“It appears that way, sir." Which, in fairness, did involve synthesizing certain compounds. In the short time he had to look over it, the Border Collie wasn't able to come to any conclusions about what they might have been making.

Dave shook his head and paged Travis Wallace. The otter was on shift in main engineering, and it only took him a minute to join the two. “Hey dudes. Can I help?"

“Start by explaining what's going on here. Because this looks like a still."

“That's right, yeah. Mike helped. Something he picked up on his last tour, I guess. Pretty handy, really. If you want to know how it works in detail, you should ask him."

Petty Officer Mike Cooper, when he arrived, confirmed his participation in the project. “We needed some Moody-class solvents. What we had in stock wasn't really suitable."

“For what?"

“Cleaning some spare parts, sir. The TC/MS-801 we normally use reacts badly with some kinds of electronics. But it's fairly simple to synthesize a Moody solvent with other chemicals we had on hand."

“Like low explosives?" Bradley asked. “That's why you snuck rifle ammunition from the weapons locker?"

“Yep. I mean, we didn't really sneak it." Not that Travis cared for his reputation, per se, but he wanted to set the record straight. “I filed the requisition and stuff."

“By forging Lieutenant Hazelton's signature."

This was news to Mike Cooper, who'd been told none of the sordid details. “TJ… you said you could handle it on your own."

“Things got tricky, dude. Anyway." The otter had misjudged the nature of Bradley's presence, and the nature of the XO's questioning. “It's all safety compliant. Got a filter and all. Nothing to worry about."

Dave was beginning to suspect, correctly, that TJ's evasiveness was not deliberate. He was nowhere near suspecting the true reason. “But what's the chief engineer's involvement?"

“Well…"

“Action stations. All crew, all consoles, go to State Gold. Prepare to recover the Tempest."

Saved by the announcement, TJ cleared his throat. “Speaking of the LT. We should meet 'em, right?"

Cooper nodded. “I'll be there in a minute."

“I really have no idea what's going on. Spaceman Wallace—fine, let's go to the shuttlebay. And you'll explain why you and Hazelton have been keeping this project hidden from me?"

The otter shook his head. “Nah, dude. Not the LT. Mostly Mike and me and, uh… and Bell, and Mitch kinda. She helped a bit."

“Spaceman Alexander is involved?"

“A little." The idea hadn't been hers, but the Abyssinian's help was always welcome when it came to technical matters. And, Wallace was smart enough not to say for once, to slightly illicit ones. “Here and there."

The Tempest settled to a gentle landing, and the entryway dropped to the floor of the deck. Captain Ford was first to disembark. The coyote looked curiously at the welcoming party—Cooper had joined them, slightly out of breath, as had Spaceman Eddie. “Everything alright, commander?"

“Yes, sir," Dave answered; he, too, was a bit perplexed by the new arrivals. “Your mission?"

“Completed successfully. I'll review the full details when Captain May schedules the debrief." He stepped aside for Shannon to make her way down. “Hopefully after a good night's sleep."

Travis stepped forward, ignoring trivial details like the mission outcome. “Hey, LT. Good job. How'd the experiment go? Gonna show Naik up? I bet you already have plans for the prize money."

“No, and no. And I'd… rather not talk about it."

“Focusing on other kinds of time travel?" Hazelton's widening expression told Wallace everything he needed to know. The otter grinned. “Mike?"

The panther joined them, holding out a hastily wrapped box. “Happy birthday, lieutenant."

“How did you…" She took the box, staring at it to avoid noticing the sudden, surprised looks from Captain Ford and Lieutenant Commander Bradley. “Thank you, but—how did…"

“We were looking in the archives for some datasheets and found an article from your school about a project you did with some PC-701s. Offhand note about 'just turned 11 last Tuesday.' Neat project, dude."

“And today you're turning…" Jack prompted.

Shannon slid her claw along the box to open it, pointedly ignoring the coyote. Mike took the box when she lifted its contents out: a heavy, dense machine the size of her fist. She pressed the single button on its side, and two gold jaws sprung from the front, with a crisp holographic display floating in the space between them. “Is this a N/F scope?"

“Yep. Or some alien's equivalent," TJ confirmed. “We found it at a bazaar. Probably could be a museum piece, but the merchant thought it was just an ordinary survey scanner."

Her mood lifting by the second, she waved the scope in the otter's direction, watching colors dance and interlace in the hologram. “Did you check the resolution?"

“We didn't have a chance to calibrate it," Mike Cooper said apologetically. “Travis and I needed to replace a few parts—think of it like an upgrade—and we didn't get them cleaned up until earlier today."

“It'll be useful in your research, right?" TJ asked.

She laughed, and turned the scope off. “Yes, I suppose. You didn't have to do this. You really shouldn't have done this…" By that she meant, at least equally, prying into the archives to learn her birthday.

“You deserved it," TJ said, meaning the same thing. “You're a great boss, though. We're all looking forward to seeing what you come up with. Happy birthday, LT."

“What birthday is it?"

The failed experiment no longer seemed as much of a weight around her neck—nor as much of a condemnation at what she'd failed to accomplish before any given milestone. She was not, however, about to tell Jack Ford anything so indiscreet as the big 4-0. Instead she grinned. “It's Tuesday, right? Just turned 12."