Chapter 1

April, 2250

Stardate: 3801.15

Incoming subspace communication….

FROM: Commodore Victor Basta, Commanding Officer, Starfleet Intelligence, Klingon Sector, Starbase Twenty-Three.

TO: All Commanding Officers, Galaxy Exploration Command.

VIA: Admiral John Murdock, Commanding Officer, Starfleet Command, San Francisco, Earth

SUBJ: STARFLEET INTELLIGENCE OBSERVATIONS REGARDING KLINGON EMPIRE

1. It has come to the attention of Starfleet Intelligence that an increasing number of concerning reports have been transmitted to them from stations and starships near the Federation-Klingon border, in regards to Klingon ship movements in the area, which Intelligence now feels will requires their specific observance. While the nature of these movements continues to remain unclear, be assured that—at this time—there is no concrete threat facing us from the Klingon Empire.

2. In recent months Starfleet Command has made a high priority of strictly monitoring the status of any ship, be they friendly or not, along the Klingon neutral zone. At this time there is insufficient evidence to produce observable patterns to the regularity of any threat forces inside this zone.

3. Under no circumstances should any starship Commander bring his vessel into the neutral zone, nor should they travel too close to it, lest they provoke the Klingons into further actions or hostilities.

4. Starfleet Command, working in close co-operation with Starfleet Intelligence, is continuing to monitor the Federation borders and is investigating anything that may be considered out of the ordinary for this zone of space.

5. Starbase commanding officers, as well as starship Captains, are henceforth ordered to investigate any such irregularities or occurrences—as long as such investigations are performed within the guidelines as set forth by the Federation Council.

6. The results of any such investigation made by any starbase or starship operating in regard to threat forces—or perceived threat forces—near the neutral zone should be transmitted to Starfleet Intelligence once any initial debriefing has occurred within their respective chains of command.

7. More detailed instructions for the transmission of this data to Starfleet Intelligence will be provided shortly.

June, 2250

Stardate 3806.05

"Having fun watching the paint dry?" The voice was soft, but there was more than a hint of amusement in the tone.

"Yes, actually, I am"

Dr. Jeff Richards never once looked up from his microscope to formally acknowledge the voice asking the question. He didn't need to. He could pick out the melodious sounds of his wife, Juliee, in a room filled with jabbering scientists having a dozen different conversations at once.

It was her voice that had initially attracted him to her. She had been speaking at a science conference on the topic of algae—or more specifically—the molecular composition of several different species of it and how they all worked in unison to help form breathable air. It wasn't the topic that had piqued his interest in her. He had simply been walking by the auditorium that sunny day at Starfleet Academy, quietly on his way to his quantum physics class, when 'the voice' had mesmerized him, stopping him dead in his tracks. Of course, it also helped that the voice was attached to such a beautiful and intelligent woman.

After the initial rituals associated with any new dating couple they had quickly fallen deeply in love with one another. When Jeff had received orders to Arcanis IV three years to the day of their first date, Juliee was delighted. She'd been aching to leave her instructor post at the academy and get back into the field, back out into some real research. It was their drive to find something new, something that had never before been seen, something that could help countless worlds and millions of people that had driven the two scientists. A chance to get off of the Earth and onto the virgin soil of a new world was a dream come true for them both.

That had been four years ago.

Arcanis IV had been a choice location for them both. Jeff was assigned the task of developing a new form of Thermocoat—the type of heat resistant paint that adorned all Starfleet's vessels. Juliee was given the assignment of studying how various plants and algae's are affected in zero and near-zero gravity conditions. The pressure domes that encircled the small research outpost were quite comfortable, and the interior climate of the habitat models could easily be changed to allow Jeff to study the effects on his various thermocoat compounds, while other domes could just as easily be adapted for Juliee's work.

"This new form of thermocoat is just about ready." Jeff said, not bothering to look up from his microscope. "It's almost at the point of total cohesion with the Duranium."

"You know, I love it when you talk all technical" came the voice.

Jeff couldn't help but smile. He turned away from the microscope to see his wife standing in the open doorway. She was grinning from ear to ear. Jeff couldn't help but offer a sheepish smile in return. Juliee had the uncanny ability to turn the brilliant Dr Jeffery Richards into a warm pile of, well, thermocoat.

"What's on your mind, hon?" he inquired. "Or did you just come down here to ask me what I want for dinner? If that's the case, I'd like your famous beef stew with an extra helping of carrots."

Juliee entered into the room as the door silently swished shut behind her. She strode softly over to her husband, rubbing the palms of her hands together, as if she was nervous. Jeff could tell something was on her mind.

"What's wrong?" he asked her.

Juliee seemed to hesitate for a few moments, looking down to her feet and shuffling a bit. "What do you think about becoming parents?"

Jeff blinked once, then twice, then a few more times. He was shocked. Well, not entirely shocked. They just hadn't talked about children for some time. "Wow. Are you….pregnant?" It was all he could muster. He was thankful he was still sitting. He seemed to need a very glass large glass of water that—to his recollection—was nowhere in sight.

"No, silly. Not yet, at least." she said as she walked to him. She ran her fingers through his slightly graying hair. It amazed him that, in the short amount of time between her entering the room until the moment where she was at his side, that she could have become twice as beautiful as before.

"So, you want me to be the father of your children?" He asked, staring at her ever widening smile. He broke out in laughter as he got up from his chair. He grabbed his wife, the love of his life, and whisked her off of her feet, spinning her around several times before letting her down.

"Well," she started. "I don't know about children in the plural, but I think at least one new Doctor in the family would be nice."

"You think he or she will take after their boring scientist parents? What if they decided to become rebellious and do something like join Starfleet and become the Captain of some great interplanetary vessel?" He asked, ending his question by bringing his hand to his forehead in a grandiose salute.

"I'm sure we'd still be proud either way." she laughed, her arms around his neck, her lips inches from his. He kissed her softly, not with a kiss of passion, but with one of unrelenting love for this wonderful woman who captivated him so. "Don't forget about your paint, dear." Juliee said, her eyes darting past her husband to his microscope and then back to him.

"It will dry on its own whether I'm watching or not. Maybe we can start working on that family plan right now?"

"That's precisely what I had in mind, mister." She said with an impish grin.

July, 2250

Stardate 3807.26

The U.S.S. Bohr, a Hermes-Class scout vessel, glided along effortlessly through the vastness of space. She was not an aggressor—like her big sisters the cruiser, or even her close cousin the destroyer. Her shields were not as strong as a combatant, but she had never been designed to be a heavy hitter. She was, however, purposely built and she served that purpose with distinction.

Like most vessels in Starfleet's inventory, she was adorned with the distinctive saucer shaped section as her primary hull. Atop her saucer, raised slightly—as if it were a small bubble dome on top of the disk—sat her bridge. Directly below her bridge, on the ventral side of the saucer module, was her active scanning and particle deflection system. Looking every bit like the satellite dishes of two-hundred years ago, it was attached to the lower portion of the saucer section by a movable armature that allowed the scanner to rotate freely in almost every direction—save for directly up.

Rear of the particle deflector was the horizontal neck that extended down and aft of the vessel. At the bottom of this neck was the tried and true FWC-1 warp engine nacelle. Cylindrical in shape and slightly longer than the primary hull, it was capped at one end with the softly glowing red dome of its Bussard collector, and the aft end of the nacelle was capped by the space matrix restoration coils.

With no torpedo bays and only two phaser banks she was, by no means, a serious threat. She was, after all, only a scout vessel that could—at times—be called upon for light exploration duties. Those duties could take the little vessel into uncharted territories, possibly leading to first contact with an advanced civilization and—if the cards were just right—put her name in the history books for all of time.

Unfortunately, this was not to be the case for the Bohr on this particular voyage. In fact, the routine of this patrol seemed to be getting on the nerves of just about every crewman onboard. What had they done to deserve this? Was it something the Captain had said or done that had upset some Admiral on some starbase in such-and-such a quadrant? Why were they out in the hind-end of space, nowhere near anything remotely exciting, running up and down along a border that never seemed to have action in the right place at the Bohr's time? The ship had received the regular communications from Starfleet Intelligence just like everyone else, but it just never panned out for the little Hermes class scout. The Bohr was never where she wanted to be, only where the brass told her to go. Such is life in Starfleet sometimes.

"Captain on the bridge."

The doors to the turbolift hissed shut behind Captain Northon as he entered the command area of the ship. He glided slowly to the command chair, which was not an easy feat for him considering the journey was only a few meters and he had quite long legs. Upon reaching the chair he had a second thought about sitting in it. He gave it a good looking over—as if he had never seen it before, and wasn't sure of his trust in its stability. He swiveled it slightly on its base, and then ran his hand along the oak armrest of the thing. He tried to imagine the chairs armrest not ending in a series of blinking lights and switches, each of those toggles of technology in turn leading to more work for the tired skipper of a small vessel with nothing better to do in the backwoods of Federation space. At last he steadied the chair and sat down, but he took his time in doing so…as if the cushions themselves were covered in hot coals.

While only a few moments had passed since Northon had entered the bridge, the Captain knew that his crew expected him to say something. Not that he had anything important to say—or anything to say at all, really. Protocol did, however, demand that something be said. He had entered the bridge, and his crew was trained to give him updates when he did so, whether he wanted to hear them or not. He had duties to perform and, regardless of the pointlessness of it all sometimes, he did feel a need to keep the traditions alive. 'For the crew's sake', he would tell himself. '…to keep morale up.'

Captain Edward Northon of Earth, Commanding Officer of one of the most powerful scout vessels in the vast region of nothing he found himself in. Mighty king of a sand dune in the middle of a desert with no oasis's for three sectors.

'Fantastic.', he thought to himself.

"Status report, Mr. Sanders."

Lieutenant Junior Grade Mike Sanders, never even glancing up from the blinking lights of the helm station before him, took in a deep breath before answering his esteemed skipper. "On course for waypoint three, sir. Estimating arrival in one-point-five hours at present speed."

There were a series of waypoints that the Bohr had to patrol. Once a particular point was reached, they set course for the next point and continued on. Normally a picket patrol was organized around a box structure. There were four waypoints total, with the two points nearest the Klingon boarder being overlapped by other Federation scouts on either side of the Bohr. The Bohr had been running up and down the border of Federation space, just outside of the Klingon Empire, for two months now. To the Captain, however, it felt as if they had been out here for three times that amount. Some crewmembers would even occasionally grumble to one another that they felt as if they'd been out there for a year.

Unfortunately, unless Northon or the other scout Commanders changed their schedules, it could be anyone's guess as to whether the Bohr and the other scout vessels would visually see each other when they reached the same patrol point in space. Captain Northon thought of it as Christmas when this happened. 'At least we have something to look at now'.

"Mr. Retnold, what are the sensors telling us this fine morning" the Captain tried to keep the overwhelming excitement out his voice.

Bob Retnold, Lieutenant, Science Officer…and slightly overweight. 'Might want the doc to check up on this one. If we get into close hand-to-hand combat at some point, this guy is going to be more of an anchor than an asset.'

"Nothing out of the ordinary, Captain."

"Well, give me all the details of what you would consider 'ordinary'. While I'm sure we've all heard this song before, I also know it's been quite some time since we've heard it, so let's go over all the numbers and—for heaven's sake—let's pretend this is exciting, people."

The red shirted Chief Engineer, leaning on the Communications Officers switchboard behind the Captain, let out a muffled laugh. Lieutenant Commander Burrows was a good engineer, but would have made a far better boxer. Tall, bulky, with a haircut so high-and-tight that one could cut their hands trying to comb through it, and with fists that could strangle the life out of a tree trunk, the Captain often thought that Burrows had missed his true calling in life. None the less, the laugh was what the Captain was aiming for, '…to keep morale up.'

Retnold exchanged glances with Burrows, the two sharing a faint smile, and he turned back to his instruments. "Short range scanners show nothing out of place, skipper. There are fifteen particles of space dust per cubic meter. There are no abnormal gravitation fluctuations. There are also no vessels in the immediate area. Long range sensors show…wait a minute? What the hell?"

"What is it?" The Captain asked, his curiosity slightly piqued.

Retnold was moving his hands over his station, just as a skilled chef would work a deli counter. He might be a bit overweight, but he certainly knew his equipment. Now Northon was really intrigued.

"Well, Lieutenant? Report."

"Sir, we have three ships heading towards us— possibly on an intercept course. Sensors show that they are traveling at warp three. Assuming we stay on our present course, time to intercept should be approximately forty-five minutes. And sir, they are heading out from within Klingon space."

The Captain looked to large view screen ahead. While it only showed the vastness of space and the occasional star streaking by at low speed, he knew better what the viewer really said. There was something out there looking for the Bohr.

"Can you get a positive scan of the vessels?"

"Not yet, sir," Retnold said, working his console. "They are still too far away. Sensors do report, however, that there are three vessels, design and hull types are unknown, and they are definitely on a direct course from outside of Federation space."

Captain Retnold began stroking his chin. It wasn't something he did very often. He was nervous, and this is how his body reacted to it, but the last thing he wanted to do was to let the crew know what was going on inside his stomach. He had to remain in control. This is what all of his years of command training came down too. This was the moment that the Bohr had been waiting for. This was their moment to shine and to impress.

"People, I'm not about to become a sitting duck for some trigger happy Klingons looking for an easy kill, so let's not wait for them to intercept us. Plot a direct course to intercept the intruders at the location where they will cross into Federation space. Communications Officer, send a coded message to Starfleet Command. Give them our precise location and inform them that we are heading off of our assigned patrol area to investigate a possible Klingon intrusion into Federation space. Helmsman, plot a course to the neutral zone and engage at warp four. Mr. Burrows, I'll need you down in engineering. If things get tight we may need to get out of this situation quickly."

"Aye, sir!" came the chorus of replies from the bridge officers. They went to their tasks like skilled bees hovering around a beehive, each with his own purpose and mission. They knew their jobs and knew them well. 'Good people,' Retnold thought to himself as he surveyed the bridge. 'Now, let's just see what these Klingons are looking for."