Star Trek: Tales Of The Wanderer Episode 2 - The More Things Change

[Callum MacLeod]

February 21, 2376
FCS Wanderer
Interstellar Space, Sector 04340

The hum of the Wanderer’s engines was a familiar lullaby, a low thrum against the vast black canvas of space. Captain G'roth Cortez, his Klingon brow ridges a stark contrast to his human features, leaned back in his command chair, his gaze sweeping over the bridge. Lerah, her antennae twitching with focused concentration, manipulated the controls, the sleek Andorian woman’s movements fluid and precise. Torvin, his chelon carapace gleaming under the console lights, muttered technical jargon as he monitored the ship’s systems, while K’tara, her amber eyes scanning her medical station, tapped at a datapad. Kaal, in his flowing Bajoran robes, sat quietly in a corner, his gaze fixed on an unseen point, his devotion to the Prophets an unwavering presence on the bridge.

“Anything on the long-range scans, Lerah?” G’roth rumbled, his voice carrying the slight guttural edge of his mixed heritage.

“Nothing of interest, Captain,” Lerah replied, her antenna dipping slightly. “Just the usual cosmic flotsam and jetsam. Wait…” Her antennae vibrated sharply. “I’m picking up a faint distress beacon. Looks like a single escape pod, drifting in the Zylos expanse”

G’roth’s eyes narrowed. “Zylos? That’s Orion Syndicate territory. Set a course, Lerah. Let’s see what trouble we’ve stumbled across.”

The Wanderer shifted its course, its powerful engines accelerating the ship towards the faint distress signal. Torvin, his curiosity piqued, began running diagnostics on the escape pod's transponder, while K’tara prepared a medical bay for a possible injured occupant. Kaal, however, remained impassive, his fingers moving along his meditation beads, a silent prayer for whoever was in peril.

As they approached, the escape pod looked battered, its hull scorched and dented, a testament to a recent, violent encounter. G'roth coordinated the rescue operation ready for any potential surprises. Once the pod was hard docked at the starboard airlock G'roth and K'tara headed to the airlock where they met Torvin. The docking port hissed as the escape pod docked, and the crew waited, weapons drawn, as the inner hatch finally peeled open.

A figure slumped against the wall of the small pod, his breath ragged. He was a slender man, seemingly human, his clothes dark and tattered. He was clutching at a nasty gash on his shoulder, his skin pale and bloodstained. He looked up at the assembled crew, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and relief.

“I… I need help,” he gasped, his voice hoarse. “They’re after me.”

K'tara was immediately at his side, her Caitian agility allowing her to quickly assess his injuries. “He’s lost a fair amount of blood. We need to get him to the med bay.”

“Who’s after you?” G’roth demanded, his grip tightening on the phaser at his side.

The man, who introduced himself as Elian Castellanos, managed a weak smile.

“Thank you for your help. I was on a merchant vessel. The Syndicate… they boarded us, killed everyone, except me. I barely made it out alive in this pod. I have something they want. Something important. You have to protect it. Protect me.” He handed over a small, metal case, the edges scuffed and dingy.

G'roth took the case, his curiosity piqued. "What's so valuable in here?"

Elian's eyes darted around the bridge. "It's... sensitive. I'd rather not say until we're safe. But you can't let them get their hands on it."

G'roth nodded, a flicker of respect in his gaze. The man was either brave or stupid, and he hoped it was the former and not the latter.

"Alright, we'll keep you safe, but we need to move fast. The Syndicate won't be far behind." He gestured to K'tara.

"Get him to the med bay and patch him up.” G’roth ordered.

K’tara nodded, gently lifting Elian and supporting him as they hurried down the corridor. As G'roth pressed the controls by the airlock to close the hatch and release the escape pod.

“Lerah, get us out of here and back on course for Draylax." G'roth said into his wrist-comm, "Best possible speed. I want to put as much distance between us and the Zylos expanse as we can and as quick as we can. I wanna get this cargo delivered and pick up a case od Draylaxian whiskey."

The ship lurched as it jumped into warp, the stars stretching into streaks of light as they made their escape. G'roth took the metal case and turned it over in his hands, feeling the weight of the unknown.

“Lerah, get us out of here and back on course for Draylax.” G’roth said into his wrist-comm, “Best possible speed. I want to put as much distance between us and the Zylos expanse as we can and as quick as we can.”

Lerah acknowledged with a nod, her antennae swiveling as she worked. The ship’s thrusters kicked in, sending the Wanderer hurtling away from the escape pod. As they sped away, G’roth couldn’t shake the feeling that they had just walked into a minefield. The escape pod and its mysterious occupant had brought a tangible sense of danger into their midst. He made a mental note to be more cautious in the future.

Once in the med bay, K’tara worked swiftly, her nimble fingers applying pressure to Elian’s wound before administering a hypospray to numb the pain and using a dermal regenerator seal the gashes. Elian’s eyes fluttered shut in relief, his breathing evening out as she worked.

Meanwhile, G’roth’s thoughts were racing. He strode back to the bridge, the metal case feeling heavy in his hand. Lerah looked up as he approached, her antennae tilting in question.

“We’re clear of the Zylos expanse, Par’Mach’kai.” Lerah said using the Klingon term of endearment for a lover.

G’roth nodded, his thoughts still on the escape pod. “Good. Keep us on that trajectory. We don’t know how long it will take for the Syndicate to realize he’s not with the debris.”

Torvin swiveled in his chair, his gaze flicking to the metal case. “Should we open it?”

G’roth’s hand hovered over the lock. “Not until we’re certain it won’t blow up in our faces.”

The bridge remained silent, the air thick with anticipation. Elian’s words echoed in G’roth’s mind: ‘You can’t let them get their hands on it’. The gravity of the situation settled heavily upon him. This could be the key to their survival or their destruction.

He made his decision, tucking the case under his arm. “We need to find out what’s so important about this. But first, we need to find out more about our passenger.”

 

[Callum MacLeod]

The Orion Syndicate cruiser Troshmaran, a sleek and menacing shadow against the stars, drifted through the debris of what was once the merchant vessel Elian had called home. Supreme Lortho Elix, a cunning and ruthless Orion, surveyed the wreckage, his eyes narrowing when the sensor operator reported an escape pod. His instincts, honed by years of treachery, immediately knew the pod was empty.

“Someone survived and took what is rightfully ours!” he snarled.

The sensor operator’s hands danced over his console, the sweat beading on his brow.

“Sir, the pod is empty, but there is an unidentified warp signature in the area likely from a ship that responded to the pod’s signal.”

Lortho’s rage was palpable. “Track it! Find out where it’s going!”

***​

In the Wanderer’s engineering bay, G’roth studied the metal case. It was a simple device, but the way Elian had guarded it suggested something vital lay within. With a nod to Torvin, they set to work, Torvin scanned the case to make sure it wasn’t rigged to explode before he began working on unlocking the case.

The Chelon’s thick fingers flew over the console as he bypassed the locking mechanism, and the case clicked open. Inside, a small, encrypted data chip glinted in the soft light.

“It’s data,” Elian’s weak voice said from the doorway “They’ll do anything to get it back.”

G’roth and Torvin looked up as the injured man leaned heavily against the frame, his face drawn with pain but his eyes intense.

“What kind of data?” G’roth asked.

Elian took a deep breath. “It’s intel on a new Syndicate operation. They’re planning to destabilize the whole sector, start a war to cover their tracks for something much bigger. And I stole it from them. That’s why they’re after me.”

G’roth’s expression grew grim. The gravity of the situation settled like a boulder in his stomach. The Orion Syndicate was notorious for their ruthless tactics and their reach extended further than anyone cared to admit. Having the data made the Wanderer a prime target, and now they had the attention of one of the most dangerous entities in the galaxy. But as he looked at Elian, something didn’t quite add up. The man’s demeanor, his calmness under pressure, the way he had handled the escape pod—it was all too… rehearsed. His gut told him there was more to this story.

“Elian,” G’roth began, his tone measured, “who exactly are you?”

The man’s eyes flicked to the data chip before meeting the captain’s gaze.

“My name is Elian Castellanos, I told you that already. I was a merchant, just a… courier, really.” His voice trailed off, the lie hanging thick in the air.

G’roth stepped closer, his hand still on handle of his disruptor. “Elian, or whoever you are, you’re on my ship now, and you’re in my care. We’ve risked a lot for you, and we need to know the truth.”

Elian took a moment to gather his strength, then nodded.

“I’m Elian Castellanos, but that’s not all of it,” he confessed. “I’m also a deep-cover operative for Section Thirty-One.”

“What’s Section Thirty-One?” G’roth asked.

“A black-ops intelligence agency that deals with threats the Federation can’t officially acknowledge,” Elian replied, his eyes unwavering. “The data chip contains intel on the Syndicate’s latest scheme. If they start a war here, it’ll be the perfect distraction for their true objective—staging a coup within the Federation Council.”

G’roth’s jaw clenched, his mind racing. The stakes had just been raised to an alarming level. An unexpected alliance with a Federation spy was the last thing he’d anticipated when he decided to help a man in a distress pod. But he knew that the safety of millions was at risk. He made a swift decision.

“If what you say is true, then we’re in this together. We’ll help you stop the Syndicate’s plan, but only if you level with us. No more secrets, Castellanos.”

Elian nodded solemnly. “You have my word, Captain. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

G’roth gestured to the data chip. “Let’s get this information to Starfleet Command as soon as possible. Lerah, set a new course for Star Station Echo. We need to get this to Starfleet before it’s too late.”

Elian’s eyes widened as he took in the captain’s words. For a moment, a look of panic flashed across his face, his hand reaching reflexively for the chip. “Wait, that’s not the plan. I was supposed to take it back to Section Thirty-One.”

But as G’roth’s gaze bore into him, something shifted within Elian. The years of subterfuge and manipulation weighed heavy on his soul. His hand hovered over the data chip, then slowly fell to his side.

“You’re right, Captain,” he conceded, his voice low. “The data belongs with Starfleet. It’s the only way to ensure it’s used to protect the people, not just further Section Thirty-One’s own goals.”

“What are you saying?” G’roth asked.

“I’ve been a pawn for too long. I want out.” Elien said, “But I can’t get out unless I’m dead.”

G’roth studied him for a moment, his mind racing. He understood the need for loyalty, but this was bigger than any one person or secret. “We’ll make it look like you didn’t survive the Syndicate’s attack. They’ll think you sacrificed yourself to get the data out.”

“But what about me?” Elian asked.

“We’ll take you to the station, and I’ll explain the situation to the admiral.” G’roth said, his voice firm. “We’ll say we found your pod but no sign of you. By the time they realize you’re not dead, we’ll be long gone. With a new identity and a fresh start.”

“We?” Elian asks.

“It occurs to me that you’d need to lay low and stay on the move. We don’t stop moving and another pair of hands onboard wouldn’t be a bad thing.” G’roth explained.

Elian took a moment to process the offer, his eyes searching the captain’s face for any hint of deceit. Finding none, he nodded slowly. “Alright. But you’re risking your necks for me. Why?”

G’roth’s grip tightened on the data chip. “Because if we don’t do this, it’ll be more than just our necks on the line. It’ll be the whole damn sector.”

With that, he gestured for Elian to follow him. The two men made their way through the corridors of the Wanderer, passing the occasional crew member, their footsteps echoing through the ship. G’roth led Elian to the crew quarters to settle in.

Once they’d walked into the Elien’s cabin he saw was small but functional, with a bunk, a desk with a computer terminal, and a tiny bathroom. It was clear that G’roth’s crew operated on the principle of necessity over luxury. Elian took a seat on the edge of the bed, his body still weak from loss of blood and the adrenaline crash.

G’roth leaned against the bulkhead, his arms crossed. “Get some rest. We’re going to need you at full strength for what’s coming. If what I think is going to happen is right.”

Elian nodded, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Thank you, Captain.”

G’roth didn’t move. “Two things, Castellanos. One: We're not a Starfleet ship, call me G'roth not Captain. And Two: If we’re going to pull this off, I need to know everything. No half-truths, no omissions. Understood?”

Elian nodded, his eyes meeting G’roth’s with a newfound respect. “Understood. I’ll tell you everything. But right now I need sleep. I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

G’roth nodded, his expression softening.

“Rest well. We’ll talk later.” With that G’roth turned and left the cabin, the door hissing shut behind him.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Meanwhile, on the other side of the sector, in a cloaked Section Thirty-One stealth ship Vasily Ziestev sat in a dimly lit room, his face bathed in the soft glow of the communication console. His sharp, calculating eyes stared into the screen as he listened intently to the Orion’s words.

“Lortho, I understand your frustration, but the situation has changed,” Ziestev said, his voice a smooth blend of confidence and urgency.

Lortho’s image on the comms screen was a mask of fury. “You sent Castellanos to us, and now he’s gone with the data! What kind of deal is this?”

Ziestev remained unflappable, his features a study in calm. “A necessary one, Lortho. You see, the data is just a piece of the puzzle. Castellanos’s disappearance serves our mutual interests. The chaos it will cause within the Syndicate’s ranks will be… beneficial for my employers and, I suspect, for your ambitions as well.”

Lortho’s rage didn’t abate, but a glint of greed entered his eyes. “What kind of chaos? And what do you expect in return?”

Vasily allowed himself a small, knowing smile. “The kind that will leave a power vacuum, ripe for the taking. And in return, my organization will ensure that any… repercussions from your little coup are contained. Think of it as a gesture of goodwill between potential allies.”

Lortho’s expression grew contemplative. “What makes you think I’d trust a Federation spy?”

Ziestev leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Because, Lortho, we both know that power is a fickle creature. It thrives on chaos, and it’s time for a change in the status quo. Think of this as an… investment in your future success. We both want to see a change in the status quo, don’t we?”

Lortho’s eyes narrowed, his expression contemplative. “What kind of investment are we talking about, Ziestev?”

Vasily’s smile grew wider. “The kind that ensures your rise to power remains unimpeded. We can provide intel, resources, and, if needed, a certain level of deniability. In exchange, we expect to be kept informed of any… developments that might affect our interests in the region.”

Lortho’s gaze sharpened, his cunning mind racing. “And what makes you think I’d be willing to share what’s mine?”

“Because, my dear Lortho, in this vast universe, nothing is truly yours,” Ziestev replied, “Everything is borrowed, and everything comes with a price. In this instance, the price of power is a little… cooperation. Besides, think of the potential for growth. With my organization’s backing, the Syndicate’s influence could extend much further than you ever dreamed. We can guide you through the shadows, ensuring your every step is calculated and swift. Together, we could reshape the sector to our liking.”

 

[Callum MacLeod]

February 22, 2376
FCS Wanderer on route to Star Station Echo
Interstellar Space, Sector 04340

Back on the Wanderer, G’roth and Torvin found themselves in a heated debate in the engine room, surrounded by the steady hum of the ship’s warp core.

“We should just hand Castellanos over to Lortho. He’s a liability now,” Torvin argued, his deep voice echoing off the metal walls. His reptilian eyes focused intently on G’roth.

G’roth’s expression was a mix of skepticism and annoyance. “And what makes you think that would work? Lortho isn’t the type to forgive and forget, especially not after the spiral wave canon debacle.”

Torvin’s scaled neck rippled as he swiveled to face G’roth. “It’s worth a shot, G'roth. We’re playing with fire here. If we don’t give him what he wants, he’ll come after us. And if he finds out we have that data... we’ll be hunted by everyone from here to the Cardassian border! And one of 'em will be successful in blowing this old girl to pieces! I've been tending to her for too long to allow that to happen!”

"I know, I know. You came onboard with grandpa when he bought the Wanderer." G'roth said.

Torvin's eyes flashed at the mention of his age, but he didn't rise to the bait. "It's not about that. It's about survival, G'roth. We can't outgun the Syndicate, and we can't outrun them forever. We need to cut our losses."

G’roth rubbed his chin, the rumble of the engines a comforting backdrop to their tense conversation. "And what makes you think they'd let us go, even if we did hand him over?"

Torvin's gaze was unwavering. "They're practical, G’roth. They want the data. If we give them Castellanos, we might just be able to negotiate our way out of this."

"They can't risk that he didn't tell us everything he knows." G'roth countered.

Torvin's sigh was deep and resonant, his frustration palpable. "We're one ship, G'roth. One ship against the might of the Orion Syndicate."

"We've been in tight spots before, Torvin," G'roth said, his voice steady. "We've always come out ahead."

Torvin's eyes narrowed. "But not like this. This is different. The spiral wave cannon was a minor inconvience for them, but this is personal. You know Lortho. He doesn't forgive. He'll want blood for that."

G’roth’s gaze drifted to the pulsing heart of the Wanderer, the warp core. "I know his type," he said thoughtfully. "But we can't just throw a man to the wolves, not even for the sake of this ship."

"You're just like your grandfather and father." Torvin said, "A stubborn frass."

G’roth’s eyes didn’t leave the warp core. “Stubbornness kept them both alive. It’ll keep us alive too.”

Seeing that he couldn't convince G'roth to change his mind Torvin said, "Fine. Have it your way. Now get out of my engine room or else i'll put you to work like i did when you were young!"

G’roth couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory of his younger, more rebellious days, but the humor was quickly overshadowed by the gravity of their situation. He knew Torvin was right—handing Elian over would be the safest play. But something about the spy’s story had stuck with him. Perhaps it was the desperation in his eyes or the way he’d held onto that data like it was his last hope. Whatever it was, G’roth felt a responsibility to help him, even if it meant risking everything.

"Don't think that I've forgotten what you taught me, Torqua." G'roth said fondly using his childhood nickname for the old Chelon, "You're as responsible for me being a stubborn frass as they were, if not more."

“Don’t try to sweet talk me, youngin’.” The old Chelon groused good naturedly, “I tried to make an engineer of you and look how well that worked.”

“Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam” G’roth said in Klingoneese with a chuckle in his voice.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Torvin grumbled.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

February 22, 2376
Klingon Imperial Intelligence Agency Headquarters
Kronos, Klingon Empire

Meanwhile on Kronos, the homeworld and capital of the Klingon Empire, a rubenesque Klingon woman, K’Ela, known unflatteringly as the ‘Ice Queen’ stood in the dimly lit office of the Klingon Imperial Intelligence headquarters. Her face was a mask of determination as she spoke, her voice a mix of command and concern.

“Has there been any word on G’roth?” she asked in Klingoneese.

The young Klingon officer before her, his head slightly bowed in respect, replied, “I’m afraid not, Lady K’Ela. The last any of our operatives heard was about their being rescued by the Bluefin. They seem to be keeping a low profile since.”

K’Ela’s eyes narrowed. “And Castellanos? Have we had any reports on his status?”

The officer hesitated, his throat bobbing as he swallowed his nerves. “Our sources indicate that the extraction did not go as planned. Starfleet Intelligence was involved in a... disagreement with the Syndicate. The details are sketchy, but it’s believed that Castellanos was not recovered.”

Her hand tightened around the hilt of her bat’leth, the ceremonial blade a silent testament to her family’s warrior lineage. “Failure is not an option. He must be found. This data he carries is critical to the safety of both our empires. I want all available resources diverted to finding him and that starship he’s on. Understood?”

The officer nodded, his eyes reflecting the gravity of her words. “Yes, Lady K’Ela. We are already on it. But there is some concern abut you, my lady."

K’Ela’s gaze was icy. “What do you mean?"

The young Klingon officer looked up at her, his expression a mix of fear and respect. "Some people are concerned about your... Preoccupation with what THEY call the 'mongrel child you were right to abandon'."

K'Ela's eyes flashed with anger. "Do not speak of my son in that way!"

The officer quickly stepped back. "I do not think of him like that, my lady. I wouldn't have been able to be as strong as you were when you mad the sacrifice to leave him and his father for their protection, Lady K'Ela. But there are those on the council that have not forgotten your... indiscretion and resent your sullying the such an important bloodline with Human DNA."

Her jaw set, K'Ela stared him down. "Leave me."

The officer nodded quickly, his fingers flying over his console. "As you wish, Lady K'Ela."

As the room cleared, K'Ela remained, her thoughts racing. She knew G'roth was capable, but the thought of her son and missing him growing up clouded her decisions at times. The door opened again, and she turned to face the newcomer. It was her old friend and mentor, General T'Kon. His face was etched with lines of age and wisdom, his eyes sharp despite his years.

"I have uncovered your plan," he said, his voice a low rumble that filled the space. "You wish to set up a scenario for G'roth to come into possession a cloaking device."

K'Ela's eyes narrowed, but she didn't deny it. "It's for the greater good, T'Kon. He's the only one who can move freely through the sector without suspicion. And with this device, he could become one of our agents and turn the tide against the Syndicate."

"Spare me the practiced response., K'Ela." T'Kon replied, "You have no plans to recruit him, at least not officially. It is just to protect him. You're his mother and you are doing the best you can to protect your child. There is no dishonour in that. Just be careful. I may not always be able to protect you."

K’Ela’s expression softened, the warmth of the general’s understanding bringing a glimmer of emotion to her eyes. “Thank you, T’Kon. I appreciate your loyalty.”

He grunted in acknowledgment. “But know that this path you walk is a fine line. The Council’s gaze is ever watchful. ” He let the warning hang in the air, unspoken but clear.

K’Ela nodded solemnly. "I am aware of the risks. I will do what I must when it comes to my son."

 

[Callum MacLeod]

On the Wanderer, the tension in the air grew thick as the ship's sensors beeped insistently. Lerah, her antennae quivering with unease, called out from the bridge, "G'roth, we're detecting a ship approaching at high warp from aft. It's the Troshmaran!"

G’roth’s heart skipped a beat as he pressed the comm-system control on the arm of his command chair. "All hands, brace for evasive maneuvers. Elian, stay put and stay hidden. This is about to get interesting. Torvin, prep the engines for evasive maneuvers. We’ve got company.”

On the bridge, the crew leaped into action. Lerah’s fingers danced over the navigation console, her antennae rigid with urgency.

“How far are we from Star Station Echo?” G’roth barked, his gaze locked on the viewscreen on the forward bulkhead.

“Two hours at maximum warp.” Lerah called out, her voice tight with tension.

​

***

On the bridge of the Klingon Bird of Prey K’mpec the weapons officer’s voice was a tense growl as he reported to his captain. “The Troshmaran is charging weapons and closing the distance, Captain.”

Captain K’Vok’s gaze remained fixed on the viewscreen, the unmistakable form of the Federation Antares class freighter FCS Wanderer growing larger as they approached.

Despite the tension in the air, his voice remained calm and measured. “Our orders are clear. We are to protect the Wanderer, but we are not to destroy any Syndicate vessels without authorization. Helm, take us in. Weapons officer prepare to drop cloak and prepare to drive off the Troshmaran."

The weapons officer nodded, his hand hovering over the disruptor controls.

***​

On the Wanderer, the bridge crew held their collective breath as the Troshmaran grew larger on the viewscreen. G’roth’s knuckles turned white on the armrests of his chair.

Suddenly, the tension was broken by a flash of light from behind the Syndicate vessel, and the tell-tale shimmer of a cloaking device dropping. The Klingon Bird of Prey K’mpec emerged from the inky blackness, its disruptors blazing a path of energy towards the Troshmaran. The Orion ship jerked violently, its weapons array going dark as the surprise attack took effect.

G’roth watched the unfolding scene with a mix of shock and relief. “Torvin, full power to the shields! Helm, evasive maneuvers—stay just out of their firing arc!”

***​

The Bird of Prey’s captain, K’Vok, nodded curtly as his crew responded swiftly. The ship’s powerful engines surged, and the vessel shot forward. The weapons officer barked out a string of Klingon, his eyes never leaving the targeting display.

"Troshmaran has locked weapons on us!"

The weapons officer's bellow echoed through the bridge of the Bird of Prey, shaking G'roth from his thoughts. On the viewscreen, the Troshmaran grew larger, its weapon ports aglow with a sinister light.

"They're charging their disruptors!" The young Klingon called out, his knuckles white on the console.

Captain K’Vok’s gaze remained unwavering on the Troshmaran. "Choose your targets carefully, Lieutenant. We're not here to destroy them, just to send a message."

The weapons officer nodded, his eyes narrowing as he targeted the Syndicate ship’s engines. "Aye, Captain. Disruptors locked on their weapons ports.... Firing!"

***​

On the Wanderer’s bridge, the crew watched the display in amazement as the Klingon ship intercepted their pursuer. The Bird of Prey's powerful disruptors lanced out, slicing through the Troshmaran's shields like a bat'leth through flesh. The Orion ship staggered, its engines flaring as it listed to one side, unable to maintain its pursuit of the Wanderer.

"What the?!" Lerah exclaimed from the helm of the Wanderer watching the bird of prey engage the Troshmaran.

"Who says there's never a Klingon around when you need one." Kaal said wryly from the operations station.

"The Troshmaran is breaking off." Kaal annouced.

"The Klingons?" G'roth asked.

"They're letting them go... They've powered down their weapons and are hailing us."

"Maintain course for Star Station Echo, Lerah." G'roth ordered, "On screen, Kaal."

The viewscreen flickered and revealed the stoic face of Captain K'Vok. The Klingon's eyes bore into G’roth’s. "Captain Cortez, your mother wishes you a... safe journey. We are sending a present from her directly to your engine room."

Before G’roth could respond, the image on the screen wavered and was replaced by the cold vacuum of space.

“Torvin, what’s happening?” G’roth called out over the comm.

The old Chelon’s voice was a mix of astonishment and excitement. “You’re not going to believe this, Captain. The Klingons just beamed over a cloaking device!”

G’roth’s mind raced with the implications of having such a powerful piece of technology at their disposal. It would be a game-changer in their dance with the Syndicate.

“Torvin, get that device installed as soon as possible. We need to be ready to move when the time comes,” he said, his voice tinged with excitement.

In the engine room, Torvin stared at the gleaming Klingon technology. “This is... this is incredible, Captain!” His voice was filled with awe as he touched the device with reverent hands.

“We need to install it and test its integration with our systems before we reach the station,” G’roth said firmly through the comm-link. “We can’t be caught with our pants down again. And make sure it’s secure. The last thing we need is for it to fall into the wrong hands.”

The old engineer nodded, his excitement tempered by the gravity of the situation. “Understood, Captain. I’ll get on it right away. This could give us the edge we need to stay one step ahead of the Syndicate.”

***​

Hours later, G'roth had found himself in the confines of Admiral Bateson's office, his shoulders tense and his mind racing. He'd given the data chip over without a second glance, recounting the harrowing tale of the Wanderer's discovering the data chip in an empty escape pod attached to a hand written note that said to get it to Starfleet no matter the cost.

Bateson had listened with his usual poker face, his piercing gaze never leaving G'roth's, as if he could peel back the layers of the captain's thoughts and see the truth beneath.

"Is there anything else, Captain?" he had asked, his voice like the crack of a whip.

G'roth had felt the weight of the question, his heart pounding in his chest. He had met the admiral's gaze steadily, his own eyes giving away nothing. "No, that's everything."

Bateson's eyes bore into G’roth’s, searching for any hint of deceit. Despite his insistence on maintaining a stoic facade, the admiral had a knack for reading people, a trait that had served him well in his long and storied career. He knew there was more to the story, something that the young freighter captain wasn’t telling him. As G’roth exited the office, the weight of the admiral’s gaze lingered like a ghost. He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling of being scrutinized. He knew the admiral wasn’t entirely convinced by his account, but he had no choice but to trust that the old man would keep his suspicions to himself.

Making his way back to the Wanderer’s docking bay, G’roth’s thoughts swirled around the implications of what they had just done. The intel was in Starfleet’s hands now, but the danger wasn’t over. They had to keep moving, stay one step ahead of the Syndicate. He could feel their eyes on him, their invisible grip tightening with every passing moment.

As he approached the ship, a figure emerged from the shadows—Elian. Dressed in a simple civilian jumpsuit, his features were unmistakable, yet somehow altered. The spy looked up, his eyes meeting G’roth’s with a mix of relief and uncertainty.

“What’s the word?” he asked, his voice tight.

G’roth’s expression was grim. “The admiral’s got the data. We need to lay low. Not to mention we're majorly behind schedule on our run to Draylax."

Elian nodded, his eyes never leaving G’roth’s. “In that case we better get underway. Assuming that your offer to stay onboard the Wanderer is still open."

G’roth looked at him for a long moment before replying, "Why are we standing around talking when we got freight to haul, Crewman Smith?"

Elian, now known as 'Crewman Jacob Smith' on the ship's manifest, gave a tight smile. "Right behind you."

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

The first rule of Section 31 is there is no such thing as Section 31...

Thanks!! rbs