The sun rose bright in the east early that Friday. It was a clear, crisp morning, but a fleet engineer was already busy hosing down the "redeye" shuttle, which arrived just after 3 AM. The "spaceport" in San Leandro was barely half the size of a football field. But, it was big enough to park and service a half-dozen short-range shuttles. Starfleet used them for regular personnel runs between Earth, Luna and any one of the various orbital platforms. 

Shuttle Six, nicknamed Fort Bowie, was getting its final flight check when McGovern showed up on the tarmac. The pilot looked up from his preflight list as the general approached the shuttle. 

"‘Morning, lieutenant," McGovern said. "Got room for another passenger?" 

The pilot smiled. "Just barely, general. See if you can squeeze in back there." 

Squeeze in? Wondered McGovern. McGovern poked his head through the hatch. Two Starfleet officers, a lieutenant and an ensign, sat close to each other against the far wall, their packs on the deck between their legs. Several large, black suitcases were pressed up against them. As McGovern climbed in, he saw the entire rear end of the shuttle was filled to the ceiling with bags and cases. Out from between the piles of luggage poked the faces of Harper and Strickland. 

"Well, hello there!" said Harper. "Fancy meeting you here!" 

McGovern was speechless. They were supposed to pack light, he told himself. He recovered only when the pilot jostled past him to close the hatch. "Liftoff in one minute, folks," he said. McGovern wedged himself into a bench seat across from the officers. With hardly a nudge, the shuttle lifted off from San Leandro. It sped across the Bay, pulled up over Hunters Point, and started a steep climb as soon as it was over the ocean. Within minutes, they were in orbit high over the Pacific. Inside, it was no more bumpy than an turbo lift ride. 

The Fort Bowie's first stop was Defense Platform 8, the latest of twelve such platforms installed in Earth orbit since the Breen attack of 2375. That was where the ensign got off and a petty officer got onboard, no luggage. No one spoke on the shuttle as it left the platform. It was another 35 minutes to Lunar orbit. McGovern was still fuming, Strickland was working on something on his PADD, and Harper was silently watching the view out the forward viewports. 

Harper was also watching the pilot's performance. Ever since her first assignment at the helm of the USS Baden, she watched how others flew ships, first to get pointers, and later to critique. The toughest part of getting her own command was trusting someone else to do the driving. 

The day before, Strickland had spent the day at the San Francisco offices of M-B Galactic Shipping, his former employer. It was good to see some familiar faces again. It also gave him time to examine agendas and work on their itinerary. He had received a new PADD for his last birthday, and decided to put it to the test. He copied down shipping schedules and routes for over twenty "Emby" ships, as well as information on various Ferengi and Rigelian merchant vessels. This gave him plenty of ideas about their immediate course of action. Most of all, the exercise put his knowledge of space travel to good use; it made him feel useful again. 

A bright crescent suddenly appeared in the forward viewports: Luna. They were on their final approach to New Berlin. The pilot started humming a tune, but McGovern couldn't make out what it was. His little apartment overlooking San Pablo Bay had few items of musical interest, although a corporal shipping off to the Cardassian sector once gave him a harmonica as a going-away present. McGovern passed the lad going through Deep Space Four two years later, promoted to sergeant. He wondered where ... Hastings, that was his name... he wondered where Hastings was those days. 

"New Berlin in two minutes, folks," announced the pilot. Harper was impressed with the way the lieutenant took the shuttle into the hangar deck and set it down so gently. Strickland listened closely for the atmosphere repressurizing signal. McGovern wondered if they could get something to eat soon. 

With a hiss and a thunk, the shuttle door opened. "New Berlin Station, folks. Everybody out," said the pilot. McGovern was through the hatch first, pulling his pack over his shoulder. He rolled his head, popping the muscles in his neck. 

"That wasn't so bad," said Harper, walking up beside him. 

"They've put a new coat of paint on the observation deck since last time I was here," said Strickland. McGovern stared at his companions. Strickland carried a small black duffel bag slung off one shoulder, while Harper had a simple grey backpack. That was all they carried. 

"Wait a minute," McGovern said. "I thought –-" Just then, the lieutenant that had traveled with them lumbered past the group, carrying two refrigerator-sized packs on either shoulder. 

"Pardon me, sirs," he squeaked out. "And ma'am." The three stood and watched him waddle across the hangar deck. 

"What were you going to say?" Harper asked. 

"Never mind," McGovern sighed. "Let's find us some breakfast." 

From the hangar deck, it was a quick escalator ride to the famous New Berlin Gallery, renowned for its shops and restaurants. The high, arched ceiling and stately balconies were inspired by designs for the 1851 Crystal Palace Exposition in London. Traffic was light in the gallery that morning. It was a short walk to Munday's, a popular establishment overlooking the skyline of New Berlin. They picked a corner of the café that gave them the most privacy. The three ordered a big breakfast, starting off with generous cups of hot coffee. 

"Well," said Strickland, "so far, so good." 

"The first leg is always the toughest," said McGovern. "Let's see what you've got." Strickland reached into his pack for his PADD unit. Instinctively, McGovern looked around to be sure they were not being observed. 

Harper shook her head. "Doesn't it seem strange that we're embarking on such an ambitious journey with only a change of clothes?" 

"That's the best way to travel," said McGovern. "Light! An army travels faster that way." 

The portable screen of the unit flickered on. Strickland's voice was low and serious. "Okay, here's the plan. Starfleet has ships running between Earth and Vulcan all the time. I figure between the three of us, we can talk our way onto some passing ship. Once we get to Vulcan, we can catch a transport to Tellar Prime." There was a grid pattern on the small screen, with pinpoints of light to signify the various star systems. "There are regular cargo carriers that run from there to the Gerata system. That's a distribution center for eight different systems. From Gerata, we can catch a ride to Toren II, inside Romulan space." 

"Romulan space?" asked Harper. 

"It'll be perfectly safe," assured Strickland. "Everyone trades at Toren II–- it's the shopping mall of the Beta Quadrant. Whatever we don't have by then we can pick up there. Emby ships make regular runs between Toren II and the Nothera system." 

McGovern pointed to the screen. "That still puts us a long way from Concordia VI." 

Strickland nodded. "I know. I found out from some old friends Emby has a little mining colony on a moon called Kartikay III, in the Outremer." He pointed to a spot on the screen, which obliged by blinking a comforting green color. "The outpost is run by an old friend of mine. It's standard for an operation like that to have supply ships standing by. I'm going to contact my friend and see if we can borrow a ship for the final run to Concordia." 

"Even if your friend can loan us a ship," McGovern pointed out, "We should still be prepared to buy our own. It's always a good idea to have a backup." 

Harper pulled her tricorder our of her backpack. "I've been going over the scans of V761. I think I've found the best routes to the summit. We can approach from either the west or the south, but either way we're looking at an 18-kilometer hike from the base to the top." 

McGovern finished off the last of his coffee. "Well then, I guess we'll have to pack a lunch." He signaled the waitress for another cup. 

"Speaking of supplies," Harper interjected, looking straight at the general. "Have you given any thought to what we'll be needing for this little venture?" 

A tiny tricorder appeared in McGovern's hand. "Got a shopping list right here." The general put the tricorder down on the table and pulled a pair of glasses out of a pocket. Once perched on his nose, he started to read off the tricorder screen. "Okay, we need oxygen –-" 

McGovern looked up, and realized the others were staring at him. "What? What, you never saw a guy with nearsightedness before?" 

"I'm nearsighted," said Strickland. "My doctor gives me Retnox 5." 

"I'm allergic to Retnox," said McGovern. "You wanna hear this or not?" 

"Please continue, David," Harper said. 

"Okay," he continued. "We'll need oxygen, food and water, enough to last us a week at least... For the planet, we'll need some kind of environmental suit, something that'll protect us from the radiation and the atmosphere. Pressurized suits should also compensate for any altitude sickness." 

"I had some ideas about that," said Strickland. 

"For the climb," continued McGovern, "on top of the suits, we'll need all the basics: boots, gloves, carabiners, harnesses, about 200 meters of rope –-" 

"That much rope?" asked Harper. "I didn't think this would be a technical climb. The scans don't indicate any harsh grades." 

"Those are orbital scans," McGovern pointed out. "Who knows what the terrain will be like once we get down there?" 

"Dave's right," said Strickland. "It's better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it." 

"The Tellarites make the best rope in the galaxy –-you knew that, right?" asked McGovern. "We need to stock up when we pass through." 

"I doubt the Tellarites will have much in the boot department," said Harper, with a wry smile. 

"Don't be racist," said Strickland, pointing an accusing finger. But Harper wasn't listening; she was looking at the shopping list on McGovern's tricorder, frowning in concentration. 

"This is a lot of stuff," she commented. "We won't be traveling so light by the time we get to Concordia VI." 

"So," asked McGovern, "what would you suggest?" 

The waitress approached them with a tray of food and more coffee. "Obviously," said Harper, whispering, "that lieutenant on the shuttle had the right idea: we need to shop for more luggage." 

*** 

Far across the city, in a box under a line on a screen in a room under the hall with the window that overlooked the Golden Gate Bridge, a light flashed red. 

A Starfleet ensign looked up and said, "Huh." 

The ensign noted it in his log which was turned in at the end of his shift to his supervisor who filed it away for his commanding officer who happened to catch it the next day while reading several other reports. 

The commanding officer saw the notation and said, "Huh." 

The ensign was called to the commanding officer's office. "What does this mean?" the CO asked. 

"Somebody logged into the database and accessed the uncoordinated telemetry data," the ensign explained. 

The commanding officer said, "Is that bad?" 

"It was unusual, sir," the ensign explained. "The password was good, but since the data hasn't been analyzed yet it's unclear if any classified material was downloaded. I figured I should mention it in my report, sir." 

"Do we know who did it?" 

"I mentioned it in my report, sir." 

The CO looked at the report again. "Ah. Very good. Carry on, ensign." The ensign was dismissed, and the CO included the report with the file of daily bulletins he routinely sent to his commanding officer, which happened to be Admiral Beck. 

"God dammit," Beck said after reading the report, "what's that old fart up to now?" He pressed a button on his desk. "Snider! Call the Navigator's Club and find out what the hell Brigadier General McGovern was doing poking around in the Starfleet database!" 
 

*** 
"Are you going to poke at those eggs all day?" asked McGovern. He and Harper were almost finished with their meal, but Strickland had hardly touched his scrambled eggs. 

"They're kinda bland," he replied. "I should've brought my bag of spices. I used to be a pretty decent chef. If this is anything like the food on Starfleet ships, I'm gonna need some emergency condiments." 

Harper hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "Milly's down the Gallery should have everything you need," she said. "All home-grown, no imitation foods." 

"We'll need to stock up on all the essentials before we leave the system," McGovern advised. "Only pick up stuff you know we'll need the whole trip –- stuff we can't get away from Earth. That's our mission for today." 

Strickland wiped a napkin across his mouth. "Plus get a ride out of town. Starfleet has supply ships make daily runs to Jupiter Station. Next one is scheduled to take off in... two hours," he said, checking his watch. "We need to see if we can catch a ride." 

"The stationmaster's office will have a list of ships," said Harper. "I'll take a look." 

McGovern stood from his seat. "And we'll go shopping. Meet us at the Buzz Aldrin statue in one hour." 

"Got it." 

*** 

"Have you got it, Snider?" bellowed Admiral Beck. 

The thin, mousy man with lt. commander's pips on his collar scurried into Beck's office. "Yes, sir," he said breathlessly. "I contacted the Navigator's Club." 

"And?" 

"The general wasn't there, sir. But it was definitely him that accessed the data from one of the terminals in the club." 

"What else was he working on?" 

"No telling, sir," Snider reported. "Everything in that terminal's memory had been erased." 

"Is that something they routinely do?" 

"Um, I don't know, sir," Snider squirmed. 

"Where's McGovern now?" 

"He left for the Moon early this morning, sir," Snider reported. 

Beck eyed the officer carefully. "What the hell is he doing on the Moon?" 

"I don't know, sir." 

"You don't know much, do you Snider?" said Beck. "All right. I want you on the next flight to Luna. I don't like mysteries. Take a doctor with you, in case the old coot's gone crazy or something." 

"Right away, sir," said Snider, hurrying out of Beck's office. At his desk, Snider checked the shuttle schedules and was surprised to find the USS Prescott was in geosynchronous orbit over California. But not for long. It was scheduled to do a circuit of the Moon within the hour for an impulse engine test. Perfect, thought Snider. 

Snider contacted Starfleet Medical and talked to the dispatch supervisor. "Admiral Beck needs a medic to beam up to the Prescott and meet me on board ship." 

"Is this an emergency situation?" the dispatcher asked. 

"No," Snider said. "I'm going to talk to someone on the Moon, and the admiral wants a doctor along just in case." 

"We'll send someone up right away," the supervisor said. Snider hung up and grabbed his jacket. What a waste of time he thought as he headed for the transporter room. 

The dispatch supervisor thought for a minute. Who could they spare? Who did they not need? One name came to mind. She keyed the intercom. "Dr. Gordon, this is Dispatch; report to transporter room one immediately." 

*** 

"Excuse me," said the tall Starfleet officer, "but aren't you Admiral Harper?" 

"Yes, I am," she replied. Harper was just outside the stationmaster's office. The handsome, dark-haired officer stepped out of the passing crowds to address her. 

"I thought so! I don't know if you remember me," he started, "but I served on board the USS Nicholas Cooke when you were in command. I —" 

"Greene," said Harper, the name suddenly popping into her head. "Greene, from Facilities Maintenance, right? How are you?" 

The man beamed a wide smile. "Yes! Yes, that's right, ma'am. I'm doing well, thank you. I'm a commander now, serving on board the Prescott." 

"Good for you," said Harper. "The Prescott is a fine ship." 

"Yes, ma'am, thank you," said Greene. "Well, I have to be going. But I wanted to stop and say hello." 

"I'm glad you did, Commander," nodded Harper. "My best regards to your captain." Green smiled and waved as he walked back into the passing crowds. 

Harper's waving hand fell limp at her side. Good holy God. That was Henry Greene?!? She thought. He was just a child when he served under me! The intervening years added up disturbingly high. She shook her head, took a deep breath, then wandered into the stationmaster's office. 

A box of fiery-red petunias grew at the feet of the Buzz Aldrin statue, just off the Gallery in New Berlin. There were memorials all over the Moon to the first explorers, and local residents took pride in trying to make each one more embellished than the others. The Aldrin site was no exception. Flower boxes lined the walls, and a collection of crystal dreamcatchers framed the western window, constantly filling the room with prisms of light and color. 

McGovern shook his head at the decorations. From all he'd ever read about Aldrin, the man would've been embarrassed at all the fuss. He was just another astronaut doing his job. McGovern and Strickland were standing next to two large blue duffel bags when Harper joined them in the glittering room. 

"Sorry if I'm late," Harper said. "I stopped to download some books into my tricorder." 

"We just got here," said Strickland. "What did you find?" 

"The Egyptian Crow is making the next trip to Jupiter Station," she said, putting down her pack. "The captain is a woman named Carla Arnold. I talked to her over in one of the hangars, and she's agreed to let us tag along for the ride. Launch is in one hour, Pad 14-A." 

"Fourteen-A. Great," said McGovern. "I'm itching to get back on the road again." 

"General!" came a voice from the far side of the room. "General McGovern! I want a word with you!" Two men were approaching from one of the side entrances. There was a trim, officious lieutenant commander ... and Dr. Gordon. Strickland was surprised to see the young man he met just that week. Gordon nodded to the captain, and he silently nodded back. Harper carefully watched the two officers walk up to the general. McGovern calmly stood waiting, and gave no indication he had ever seen Gordon before in his life. 

The obtrusive officer stopped in front of McGovern. "General, I'm Lieutenant Commander Snider. Admiral Beck sent me to find out why you were accessing undocumented information on the Starfleet database." 

McGovern shrugged his shoulders. "I was bored." 

"What? You were... what?" 

"Well, you know how it is, after a few drinks," McGovern said, wandering off to the left. "You get to playing around on the computer, browsing the database... I got curious. What's the big deal?" 

"Sir," said Snider, "the ‘big deal,' as you so glibly put it, is unauthorized access to Starfleet materials from a non-secure location. That is precisely the kind of situation enemies of the Federation look for and exploit." 

Harper's eyes darted off to her right. Strickland was gone. She forced herself to casually look over her right shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Strickland's back as he dragged their blue duffel bags out the far entrance. 

As she turned back, her eyes locked with Gordon's... and suddenly Harper found it very hard to breathe. Her heart did a little jump inside her chest as she looked has his soft, auburn hair, his deep brown eyes, the strong line of his jaw–- 

"I assure you, commander," McGovern was saying, his hands in the air, "I meant no harm, I apologize for any problems, and I solemnly swear on my sweet mother's grave I will never, ever do it again." 

Snider blinked at the old man, surprised, then raised his chin in defiance. "Well... all right, then," he said finally. "So long as it never happens again!" 

McGovern put his hand on his chest, and bent over in a short, respectful bow. "You have my word. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to my little weekend excursion." He turned to walk away, and got five steps before Snider spoke again. 

"May I ask, sir, what exactly your business is here on the Moon?" 

McGovern turned, but before he could speak he felt a hand reaching around his waist. 

"His reasons -- our reasons -- are purely personal, commander," Harper said, snuggling close to McGovern's side. Snider was clearly stunned, and opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. McGovern shrugged again, and the two of them turned to leave. As they stepped away, though, Harper got another quick glimpse of Gordon's face, and she felt her own cheeks flush. 

"Good thinking, Frannie," he whispered. 

"I thought your mother was still alive," she responded. 

"Shhhh!"  

Out through the doorway, the two found themselves in one of the access corridors parallel to the Gallery itself. Scattered tourists passed them going in various directions. McGovern breathed a sigh of relief once they were out of sight. "That was my fault," Harper said suddenly. 

"What? What do you mean?" 

"When we hacked into the Starfleet database. I should've been more careful. I should've known it would set off internal alarms. I must be getting senile..." 

McGovern put his hands on her shoulders. "You did great, old girl! Now come on, we need to find Warren –- he's got all our stuff." The two headed north, towards the junction to Pad 14-A. 

The two Starfleet officers watched the grey-haired pair leave. Fists on his hips, Snider huffed a frustrated grunt. "I knew this was going to be a waste of time," he said. He looked at Gordon. "I still don't know why the old man wanted a doctor along." 

"Because he wanted you to be prepared?" Gordon offered. 

Snider shook his head and tapped his communicator. "Snider to Prescott, two to beam up... Prescott, come in..." 

"They're probably pulled out of orbit by now, headed back towards Earth," Gordon said. 

"Come on," Snider ordered, walking towards an exit. "Let's find a com booth and report back to the old man. Maybe we can get back for a late lunch." 

Just short of the junction, Harper and McGovern heard a familiar voice. "Hey, anybody need a lift?" It was Strickland, casually sitting on a motorized luggage cart parked against a wall. 

"There you are!" McGovern said. "I never even saw you leave. Where'd you learn to be so sneaky?" Their duffels were in a pile in the back seat. 

"Must be the company I keep," Strickland replied, looking at the general. "Who were those guys?" 

"From Admiral Beck's office," Harper replied, her tone guilty. "It seems looking up that planetary data stepped on some toes." 

"Hey, what good is information if nobody reads it?" McGovern asked. "They won't bother us any more." 

"Get on," Strickland said. "We've just got time to make our flight." 

"Shotgun!" said Harper, raising her hand. McGovern's craggy face clearly pouted. 

Two levels above them, Snider and Gordon found a com booth and hailed Admiral Beck's office. The admiral's face lit up the tiny screen. "Snider! What have you found?" 

"False alarm, admiral," Snider reported. "I spoke to the general, and his intrusion was clearly innocent. He said he was bored and was just looking around." 

"He–?" Beck started, then blew the frustration from his mouth. "Doesn't he know what a dangerous breach of protocol that was?" 

"He knows, sir, and he's promised he'll never do it again," Snider reported. 

Beck shook his head. "So, what's he doing on the Moon, anyway?" 

"He–" Snider started, then cleared his throat. "He said he was here for a weekend ‘jaunt," sir. Um, he seems to be having a rendezvous with some old biddy." 

"Old biddy!" said Gordon, suddenly speaking up. "Admiral Harper is not an old biddy!" Gordon was appalled anyone could speak so disrespectfully of a woman with such piercingly beautiful blue eyes... 

"Harper?" Beck was saying. "You don't mean Admiral Francine Harper? That's who McGovern was with?" Snider was speechless, but Gordon nodded his head. 

"It looked like they were traveling with Captain Strickland," he added. 

"Who?" demanded Snider, his face turning red. 

"That other fellow that was there with them, next to the statue," explained Gordon. "Captain Warren Strickland, retired." 

Beck's face was red, too. "Captain–! Snider, don't you think it was odd for three old members of the Navigator's Club to be in the same place at the same time? Just a little odd?" Snider had no answer. 

"I—" he started, "sir, I..." 

"Never mind!" Beck growled. He rubbed his hand over his face. "All right. Snider, I want you to stay on the Moon and find out what they're doing there. Maybe it is just a little vacation... or maybe they've accidently downloaded something no one outside of Starfleet Command is supposed to see. Gordon, I want you to stick close to those three. Make sure those old dinosaurs don't kill themselves by falling down off a step ladder or some other stupid thing. Old people forget things and walk into walls and such –-you keep them healthy. Keep them alive. That's an order!" 

"Yes, sir!" Gordon replied. The admiral abruptly cut the transmission, leaving the two officers staring at a blank screen. Snider looked up, his face flushed with quiet rage. He was clearly unhappy with Gordon. "I'm going to the security office," he said through clenched teeth. "See if I can retrace their steps. You see if you can find them." Snider stomped off without looking back. 

Gordon walked over to the balcony rail and leaned on it. When he got up that morning, he was expecting a quiet day of doing inventory in one of the research labs at Starfleet Medical. Suddenly, there he was, thousands of kilometers off the Earth, looking for three retired people in a city the size of –- 

And there they were. Three levels below him on the promenade deck, riding on a service cart. Two sat in front, one steering, with the third in the back sitting on what looked like drawstring duffel bags. They were casually cutting through a pack of shoppers and disappearing into a maintenance exit. 

Gordon's head whipped up and down the balcony. He had to get down there. He pulled the shoulder strap of his medikit over his head. Spotting a stairwell, he bolted for the steps and hurried downwards two steps at a time, his medical kit slapping against his side. 

In the maintenance corridor, McGovern leaned over Strickland's shoulder and said, "Are we there yet?" 

Strickland frowned, partly in frustration, partly in hopes McGovern would shut up. "I'm sure it was around here somewhere..." 

A flower shop caught McGovern's eye. "Didn't that used to be a boot store?" 

"You're right," Harper said, following the general's gaze. "Before that, it was a Klingon biscuit shop." 

"Klingons make biscuits?" Strickland asked. 

"Actually," said McGovern, "it's more like a scone." 

"There!" pointed Harper. "Pad Fourteen-A, right around that corner!" Under a green arch and past some barrels, Strickland brought the cart to a halt in front of a pair of blast doors. Beyond the doors was a huge room. They could just make out a landing strut far inside. Two men in short sleeves were carrying some small boxes through the blast doors. A third man with a stripe on his sleeve waved to the trio. 

"Hello!" he cried. "I'm Ike. Admiral Harper and company, I presume?" 

"Present and accounted for," Harper said, stepping down from the cart. "Sorry if we're late." Strickland and McGovern were already down and pulling the bags from the cart. 

"Liftoff is in five minutes," the one called Ike said. Shouldering their packs, the three walked through the blast doors. Above them towered the supply ship Egyptian Crow, five stories high and painted green all over, in mostly the same shades. 

Strickland had been on board that class of ship before. He led the way as they climbed the cargo hatch door, which lowered into an access ramp. Inside, he turned left and then right to a flight of narrow steps leading up. One deck up, they found themselves in a small lounge, small but cozy, colored in yellows. They could hear the hatch closing below them. 

Harper took a window seat. Out on the pad, personnel were clearing out quickly. The blast doors closed, and she could hear the air being removed from the bay. She craned her neck to look up, but the angle of the ship prevented her from seeing the overhead doors open. 

"Mmmmmmm," she heard Strickland say. "Fresh coffee."