The four figures shimmered into existence on the transporter pads. "Welcome aboard," said a stout commander with salt-and-pepper hair. "I'm Commander Washington, Executive Officer." 

Harper stepped off the pad. "Pleased to meet you, commander," she said. She introduced the others in the party. "I do hope we aren't being a bother."

"None at all, ma'am," Washington said. He tapped his comm badge. "Washington to bridge, we're ready to make way." He gestured towards an ensign standing by the door. "I have to return to my duties. If you will just follow Ensign Monroe, he's show you to your quarters."

"Thanks," said McGovern. "All the best to your captain."

The group made their way into the corridor, with Gordon following up the rear, navigating the hover disk. The air on board the starship was clean and chill-- antiseptic, even. "Where are you headed, admiral?" Monroe asked. 

"Vulcan," Harper said. "Little vacation, see the sights..."

"Try the food," McGovern interjected. 

"Test the waters," Strickland added.

"But, there's hardly any water on Vulcan," Monroe said. 

"Uh oh," said McGovern, enjoying his little joke, "We've been misinformed." 

Ensign Monroe took them down a long, curving corridor and stood in front of a doorway. "This will be your quarters," he said. 

"For all of us?" Harper said. 

"No, just you, ma'am," he replied. "If you follow me, sirs, your suites are down this side of the hall. The suites all connect." 

McGovern blinked. "We're moving," he said. "I can tell. The ship's left orbit."

"All right," said Gordon, pushing the hover disk into Harper's room, "I'm putting all the bags in here. We can work it out later." 

"Good idea," said Strickland as the luggage-laden disk floated past him. 

"I think we can take it from here, ensign," Harper said.

Monroe nodded. "If you need anything, just call the service line." He started to leave. 

"What's our ETA for Vulcan?" Strickland asked. 

"Should be fifteen hours, sir."

The suite doors closed behind them. The room was decorated in standard, bland Starfleet. A green plant was next to the window, which slanted outward at the top. 

Gordon directed the hover disc to make a landing on the floor. He knelt down and started sorting out the various bags of luggage. "Um, Charlie," McGovern said, hands behind his back, "Once we get to Vulcan, we'll be in good hands. You won't need to tag along with us anymore." 

Gordon looked up. "Are you sure?"

"Oh, yeah," the general said. "We'll be fine. They've probably got more important things for you to do back on Earth."

"Well, I hope so," Gordon said. "It's always been my dream to serve on a starship someday."

"You'll make a fine ship's doctor," Harper said. "I'll be sure to send a letter of recommendation to Admiral Beck."

"We all will," Strickland said. 

"Thank you," said Gordon. He stood, pulling his bag strap up over his shoulder. "This has been an adventure. Thank you all."

"Thank you, doc," McGovern said, shaking Gordon's hand. 

"Well," said Gordon, flushing a big across his cheeks, "I'm gonna go find my room. I'll be seeing you when we get to Vulcan."

"See you later, doc," Strickland said. Gordon left, and the suite doors hissed shut behind him. The three looked at each other. 

"Well," said McGovern, "that went better than I thought it would."

"Charlie's a good guy," Strickland said. "He'll go far in Starfleet."

"I was afraid we might hurt his feelings," Harper said, sitting down. "I'm glad he's all right about us going our own ways."

"He'll be good," McGovern said. "Once we take off from Vulcan, we'll go to the planet, complete the mission, come back, send our letters of recommendation, everybody lives happily after." 

"Sounds like a plan," Strickland said. He looked at the computer desk in the suite. "Speaking of which, I'd better get started planning our next leg. We'll need transport to Tellar Prime–"

There was a tone at Harper's door. She sat up. "Come," she ordered. The door hissed open, and Gordon stepped inside. He still had the bag slung over his shoulder, and he carried something in his hand. 

"Um, sirs? I was wondering... Why do you have a bag full of dashiki shirts?"

McGovern's eyes darted to the luggage on the floor. Gordon had picked up the wrong bag. 

"Uh, oh."  

"You've got belts and bags and all sorts of stuff. What is all this?"

The three looked at each other. Harper sighed. "Come in and shut the door, Charlie."

The door hissed shut. "All right. We are going to Vulcan," Harper said.

"That's the truth," Strickland said. "That wasn't a lie."

"And we are on a vacation," McGovern added. "Sort of."

Gordon looked from one to the other. "What are you talking about?" Strickland stepped up and showed Gordon his PADD. 

"This is where we're going." The PADD screen showed a computer-generated image of a mountain. Dotted lines marked "possible route" led up the sides of the peak. 

"A mountain?" Gordon said. "You're, what, going to climb a mountain? What's the big deal about that?"

Strickland touched a key on the screen and a star map filled the screen. "That's where the mountain is," he pointed. 
          
Gordon looked at the map, and slowly the realization crawled across his face. "Oh, my God," he said finally. "But, that's ... why so far?"

"Because it's never been climbed," McGovern said. 
            
"But, that's way out beyond Romulan space!" Gordon said.

"Right," said Strickland. "We're going to be traveling through some uncharted territory. That's what all that stuff is for: barter." 

"So, why all the secrecy? Why aren't you telling anybody?"

"Because someone would try to stop us," McGovern said. "Or slow us down. Like Beck tried to do."

"We just want to climb a mountain," Harper said.

Gordon looked hard at the map. When he looked up, his eyes were clear and determined. "What can I do to help?" 

Commander Washington made it to the bridge just as the Haskell accelerated to warp two. Captain Best turned as Washington sat down. "Our guests all squared away, Number One?"

Washington nodded. "Brigadier General McGovern sends his regards." 

"He's a tough old bird," Best said. 

The first officer sat at his station and started focusing on a report. "He and his friends certainly brought enough clothes," Washington said.

"What?"

"Excuse me?"

"Clothes?"

"What about clothes?"

"Clothes!" the captain said. "They brought enough clothes, you said."

"Oh," Washington said, understanding. "The transporter registered Admiral Harper and company brought luggage packed with an inordinate amount of clothes."

"Why didn't you just say so?"

"Captain," said a young lieutenant, "Incoming messages from Starfleet Headquarters. Weekly situation report."

The captain stood. "I'll take it in my office."

In Harper's suite, the four were sitting at a long table. "All right, it's settled," Harper was saying. "Charlie will come along with us, at least as long as he can."

The others nodded. "I just want to help," Gordon said. 

"It'll be easier if we send some of our stuff ahead of us," Strickland said. "So we don't have to be carrying it around with us all the time."

"Send ahead where?" McGovern asked. "We'll still have to pick it up sometime."

"Some place where we can get our own ship," Harper said. "We should get hold of our own shuttle when we get to Toren II."

"If we want to," said Strickland. "There are several dealers where we can pick up a used ship. Keep in mind the further from our destination, the more fuel we'll have to get for the trip."

"Not for the price of some shirts," Gordon interjected, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "You're going to be needing a lot of cash for a purchase like that."

"I've got a couple of ideas about that," McGovern said. "And we don't have to worry about buying a ship. Warren has a friend on some mining colony he thinks he will let borrow a ship, for a while."

"Take one for a test drive?" Harper asked. "And, no offense, but I make it a practice to always worry when someone tells me to not worry."

"One thing's for sure," Strickland said, drawing attention back to the map. "Nobody's gonna want to take us into unknown space. But you make a good point, Dave. We will be needing our own ship."

Just then, the door chimed. "Come," Harper said. The doors opened, and Ensign Monroe stepped in. 

"Ah, good, you're all here," he said. "The captain has asked me to invite you four to dinner at the captain's table."

"That's very nice of him," Harper said. "We accept. When and where..?"

"I will come to escort you, ma'am. Dinner will be served at nineteen hundred hours."

"We'll be ready," McGovern said. Monroe did a little bow, and then left. 

"Does that happen a lot?" Strickland asked. 

"It's customary," Harper replied, picking up her tricorder. "Showing respect for visiting officers."

"And it's impolite to turn down free food," McGovern noted. He turned in his chair to look at the blue duffel bags on one of the couches. "We really need to consolidate our equipment."

"Let me talk to someone in engineering," Gordon said, standing. "Maybe I can get hold of a travel container."

"It's thirteen twenty hours now," Harper said, checking the time. "We should make it to Vulcan by tomorrow morning." McGovern stood and stretched his arms over his head. 

"That gives me time for a little nap," he said. 

Harper looked at Strickland. "Have we got a place to stay when we get to Vulcan?"

Strickland nodded. He pulled up an image on his PADD and slid it over to the admiral. "There's a traveler's inn called Floyd's House just outside the city of Rasness. Run by an old boomer captain. It's got a view of Mount Seleya."

The image on the PADD screen looked like a traditional Japanese house on the side of a rocky hill. "Charming," said Harper.

"It's also a stone's throw from Spaceport Five," I notice," McGovern said, looking over Harper's shoulder. Strickland nodded his head.

"Exactly. Lots of passing ship's crews pass through there. It won't be hard to find passage to Tellar Prime."

"That's your next stop?" Gordon asked. 

"Our next stop," corrected Harper. Gordon smiled. 

"In fact," said Strickland, "I should start researching routes right away..."

"Not on this ship!" McGovern said. "We don't want to leave any clues about where we're going." He turned to the door.

"So, where are you going?" Strickland asked. 

"Back to my room for a nap. I need my beauty sleep."

Harper smiled. "Nobody could sleep that long!"

"Ha ha."

Gordon followed McGovern out, but turned the opposite way down the corridor. He took the turbolift five levels down to the engineering section. A short search found the supply chief, who was able to give him a travel container. It was white, rectangular, with rounded-off corners, sturdy but lightweight. Gordon tapped it on the top. He thought it would make a good "steamer trunk."

***

"Come in! Do come in!" beckoned the captain. The four passengers filed into the special dining room, a curved cabin on the far port side of the ship. The captain's table made a short crescent in the middle of the room. It looked big enough to seat about eight or ten people. 

Gordon wore the new uniform he got on Luna. The others wore civilian clothes. Harper wore a red dress with a matching shawl. Strickland wore khaki trousers and a tan shirt. McGovern wore black with a charcoal jacket. He and Gordon sat with their backs to the curved window. Harper and Strickland sat opposite them, with the captain and the first officer at either end of the table. There was a small centerpiece of violets and snapdragons. "Everything looks very nice," Harper commented. 

Orderlies brought in the first course: steaming bowls of Vulcan ptoink soup. "Smells good," McGovern said. 

Harper was once again asked to tell the story of the uprising on Inger V. She never seemed to get tired of telling it. Gordon liked the way she described the fortress, the waterfall, and the thunderstorm. Strickland noticed McGovern kept an eye on the doorways at either end of the room. He guessed it was an old habit. 

The main course arrived, which was Altaran springhawk steak, with baked potatoes and corn on the side. Orderlies pulled the hot plates out of the replicator in the corner and distributed them across the table. An orderly poured everyone glasses of dark wine. Two baskets of dinner rolls flanked the centerpiece. 

"So," said the captain, cutting his steak, "what do you plan on seeing while you're on Vulcan?"

"The first time I visited Vulcan," said McGovern, "I hiked down the Farside Trail in Everent Canyon. I think I'd like to see that again."

"I've got some friends in Billik City I haven't seen in ages," Strickland said. 

"I want to visit the Lily Sloane Gardens," said Harper, picking a roll out from the little basket. "The mosslings should be in bloom by now."

The captain cut himself another bite. "I couldn't help but notice the lack of winter clothes in you luggage."

Harper frowned. "Our luggage?"

"Yes," Captain Best replied. "When you beamed aboard, the transporter automatically did an inventory of your belongings. It's winter in Billik City right now, Captain," he pointed at Strickland, "but none of you packed any winter clothes."

"Well," replied Strickland, "winter on Vulcan is still pretty warm..." Gordon and Harper shared a nervous glance. 

"We're traveling the Phileas Fogg way," McGovern suddenly interjected.

"The who?"

"Phileas Fogg, the main character in ‘Around the World in 80 Days,'" the general explained. "You never read it? Story about a man who traveled all the way around the Earth back in the 19th century. He liked to pack light, and then pick up what he needed along the way. We figured we'd get whatever we needed on Vulcan when we got there."

Captain Best mulled that over. "That sounds... logical."

‘That's the word," Harper said, smiling. 

"Still," continued Captain Best, "that's quite a bit of luggage you've brought on board to be packing ‘light.'"

"That's my fault," said Strickland, holding up one hand. "Mis-communication while we were packing. I figured we'd straighten it all out once we got to Vulcan." 

"How often do you go to Vulcan, captain?" Harper asked. The captain was engaged to tell the story of his first visit to the planet, and the conversation eventually worked it's way away from their trip.

Back in Harper's cabin, the four were anything but relaxed. "He knows," Strickland said.

"He doesn't know," McGovern corrected. "He suspects, but he doesn't know." 

"There's nothing to know," Harper said. "Nothing that's any of his business."

"I don't understand," Gordon was saying. "You aren't doing anything illegal."

McGovern looked off. "Well, not yet, anyway..."

Gordon looked confused. "Vulcan is when we go off the radar," Strickland explained. "We will be heading out of Federation laws and jurisdiction."

"And Federation protection," Gordon pointed out. 

"We can take care of ourselves," Harper returned. 

"Well," said Gordon, "I'm still coming along. As insurance. I'm still a Starfleet officer, and even if we're not in Federation space, that will still carry some weight."

"We'll be fine, Doc," McGovern said. "We're not children that have to have their noses wiped for them."

"On the other hand, Dave," Strickland interjected, "weren't you the one saying it's always good to have a backup?" McGovern remembered, and walked away, grumbling to himself. 

"Look," said Harper, "it's been a long day. Let's all get some rest and be ready for planetfall tomorrow morning." 

The next morning came early. Gordon instructed the computer to awaken him at 0600, two hours before their scheduled arrival at Vulcan. He showered and dressed, then went to check on the others. McGovern was already up, and watching the latest news reports. 

"Anything new?" Gordon asked. McGovern pointed to the screen. 

"A retired Romulan senator named Hu'kli has taken control of the senate. He says it's temporary and promises elections within six months. He seems to have the support of the military. The Continuing Committee is meeting in a couple of days to debate about making him as the new Praetor." McGovern stood to get another cup of coffee. "I actually met him once, at some conference. I forget when. Strong, calculating, devious... he should fit right in."

A light came from outside the window. Gordon turned to look, and a large land mass came into view: splashes of reds, oranges and yellows filled the window frame.

"Vulcan," said McGovern. "We're here." There was a tone at the door. "Come," he ordered.

Strickland and Harper walked into the suite. "We've just gone into standard orbit over Vulcan."

"So I see," McGovern said, pointing out the window. 

Gordon looked at the time. "We're early," he said. 

"It happens," Strickland explained. "We'd better get packed. We'll need to be ready to move when –" 

There was another tone at McGovern's door. "Come," he said. The door hissed open, and Ensign Monroe stepped in. 

"Ah, you're all here," he said. "The captain has asked me to tell you there may be a short delay until you can beam down to the surface."

The four exchanged glances. "Any particular reason?" Harper asked. 

"Personnel transfers," Monroe said. "The captain says you should be able to depart in about an hour from Transport Room Two."

"We'll be there," McGovern said. Monroe left. McGovern paced away, his hand on his chin. "I don't like it," he said. 

"What do you mean?" Harper said.

"This ship must have five or six transporter rooms, not to mention the cargo transporters in the holds," McGovern explained. "They couldn't all be busy at the same time. How many personnel could they be transferring?"

"It's just a story," Harper concluded. "To make sure we're in our rooms for the next hour." 

Strickland nodded. "It's the captain–he's stalling us." 

"But, why?" Gordon said. 

"To give him time to check us out," Harper said. Captain Best is very thorough. He doesn't like mysteries."

"I think we should pack up and head for Transporter Room Two as soon as possible," Strickland said. 

"Agreed," said Harper. "See you all in the hallway." Everyone returned to their rooms. Within five minutes, the four of them were in the hallway. Gordon had the white transport case with all their luggage floating on the hover disc. With a nod from Harper, they started making their way down the empty hallway. Within sight of Transporter Room Two, Captain Best appeared from around the corner. 

"Good morning, captain," Harper beamed before Best could say anything. "Looks like it's going to be a beautiful day."

"Good morning, admiral, gentlemen," Best said, nodding to the others. "I can't help but notice you seem to be all packed and ready to go."

"Just anxious to get moving again," Strickland said. 

"Did Ensign Monroe not speak to you earlier?" Best said. "Did he not tell you the transporters would be busy for an hour?"

"We saw Monroe," McGovern said. "Nice guy. But, you know what I can't help but notice, captain? If the transporters were gonna be busy with personnel transfers," he looked up and down the corridor, "how come I don't see any personnel transferring?" 

Best stepped up to McGovern, and looked him straight in the eye. "We contacted Floyd's House, outside the city of Rasness. The owner said he never heard of you. Any of you."

McGovern's face widened into a parody of shock and surprise. He turned to Strickland. "Didn't you make the reservations?"

"I thought you made the reservations!" Strickland replied. McGovern turned back with a big smile on his face.

"Little mix-up. We'll fix it when we get to the surface."

Captain Best blinked. "With all due respect, I get the feeling you four are up to something." 

Harper patted Best on the shoulder. "We certainly appreciate your hospitality, captain, but we really should be moving on. Come along, gentlemen." Harper led the way into the transporter room, but Captain Best blocked Gordon's path.

"Not so fast, lieutenant," he said. "Where are these people going?" The other three stopped in the doorway and watched. 

"To Vulcan, sir," Gordon replied. "On vacation."

"Lieutenant," said Best, "I don't want to have to order you –"

"Sorry, sir," said Gordon, edging past Best, "but I have orders to make sure nothing bad happens to Admiral Harper or her friends. Orders from Admiral Beck himself." Best watched as the four filed into the transporter room. Just before the doors closed, McGovern turned and gave a little wave. 

Still smiling, McGovern turned to Strickland. "What a dick," he said. 

Harper was chatting with the transporter tech, a petty officer named Quinn. "Yes, ma'am," he was saying, checking his instruments. "We'll be over Rasness in about four minutes."

"Hey," said McGovern to Gordon. "Not bad out there, standing up to the captain. Felt good, didn't it?"

Gordon let out a breath. "Yeah... Yeah, it did!" he whispered, smiling.  

"All aboard, folks," Strickland said as he stepped up on the transporter pad. "Next stop, Vulcan." 

***

The heat hit them like opening an oven. The four stood on the transporter pad, an elevated circle of stone surrounded by pillars of red rock. One entrance led to a hard, paved street, where clouds of red dust blew past by the hot wind. Above, a large, hot sun glared down from a blank, green sky. 

"This is winter on Vulcan!?!" McGovern said, squinting at the blown dust. 

"Well," explained Strickland, adjusting his collar, "it's noon." 

"Let's get out of the sun," Harper said, heading for the entrance. The others followed, with Gordon guiding the "steamer trunk" as it floated along. Out along the street, thick slabs of red stone paved the sidewalk. Short buildings lined the street. A block away, an overpass marked a monorail station. 

"We can arrange for a ride at the station," Strickland pointed. Once inside, there was at least shade from the overbearing sun. A Vulcan male with an emotionless face sat behind a counter. 

"May I help you?" he asked.

"Hello there," Gordon said. "We need a ride out to a place called Floyd's House. It's up on—"

"No," interrupted Harper, stepping up to the counter. "When is the next coach to the spaceport?"

"The next monorail arrives in twenty-one minutes," the Vulcan replied. 

"Thank you, young man," Harper replied. 

"We're not going to the inn?" Strickland asked. Harper shook her head. 

"We need to get on with our mission," she replied. "There's no point in going to the inn to talk with ship captains when we can talk to them directly at the port."

"I'm with Frannie," McGovern said. "We've wasted enough time. We need to get a move-on." The monorail arrived exactly twenty-one minutes later, just like the Vulcan had said. The four filed through the open doors into the monorail coach. 

"You know," McGovern said, looking back at the Vulcan, "that ‘young man' back there was probably fifty or sixty years old." 

"I know," Harper said, finding a seat. The coach was sleek and clean, with chrome and steel fixtures. "That still makes him younger than me." 

The train took them out of Rasness and across a wide, crimson plain. Lumpy hills lurked on the horizon. The efficient Vulcan monorail was completely silent, except for the high-pitched sound of sharpening knives whenever they went around a curve. Tall, jagged rocks stood as sentinels as the coach swept down a narrow gorge. The monorail suddenly plunged into a tunnel. When it emerged from darkness, the spaceport blossomed all around them. 

"Wow," said Gordon, leaning over for a better look. Parked space ships sped past the windows as the coach zoomed through the port. Above them, a purple ship with wide wings was making an approach to a landing pad. Land vehicles with blinking lights were guiding it in. Tidy, well-marked roadways cris-crossed the landscape. 

"That is one clean spaceport," McGovern commented. 

"It's Vulcan," Strickland said. "Anything less would be–"

"Don't say it!"

The monorail approached a series of buildings and slowly came to a stop. When the doors opened, the interior of the station was blissfully cool. "They must keep the environment here human-friendly," Strickland commented. 

"Where's the station commissary?" McGovern asked. "I could use a snack." 

"Good idea," said Strickland. "When you find it, see if you can stock up on pod packs."

"Pod packs? Those awful things we had on the Liberty?" Harper asked. "Why would you want any of those?"

"Hey, they may not be fancy, but they're portable, hot meals. They'll keep a person alive, and they're good for years."

"‘Good' being a relative term," Gordon offered.

"Never mind," Strickland insisted. "If you find some, get some. We'll meet up in the observation lounge." McGovern wandered off. 

"We need to find a ship," said Harper. "Charlie and I will check the schedule. You see if you can talk to some crews." Strickland nodded and headed up a stairway. 

Gordon was looking at a sign on the wall, a message printed in eight different languages. "The main terminal is this way," he pointed. The two headed down the corridor, the trunk floating silently along beside them, controlled by a hand-held unit Gordon carried. 

The corridor led them to a series of offices. Through windows, Vulcans could be seen at various tasks: working at desktop terminals, fixing circuitry, moving conduits. The walls, floor and ceiling were all a uniform grey color. Around a corner, they found a room with several exits. Screens on one wall listed ships and times, with separate screens for hemispheric weather patterns and orbital scans. A handful of Vulcans and humans were inspecting the information on the screens. Gordon watched as humans sauntered into the room, joked and talked with each other, watched the screens, and then eventually wander away. The Vulcans, on the other hand, walked straight into the room, checked the screens, then walked straight out. Gordon looked up, frowning.

"What's wrong?" Harper asked.

"It's the ceiling," Gordon said. "Everything is much lower than the other spaceports we've visited. There's no room, no space. It gives a different feel to the place."

"I think having no ‘feel' at all was what the designers had in mind," Harper said. "Vulcans don't design like humans do. Vulcans don't need the same things out of a spaceport. That's why the spaceports on Luna and elsewhere have high ceilings and wide, open areas: to provide an emotional release from being cooped-up in spaceships for months on end. To Vulcans, spaceships, houses, offices, it's all the same; just another room."

"A room with small windows," he noted. Windows lined the wall facing the landing pads. But, unlike other ports he'd visited, the observation windows on Vulcan were little more than portholes. "I used to love watching the ships coming and going through the big windows at Starfleet Headquarters. You can't see anything through those." 

"No point in having big windows if you know what's out there," Harper commented. "Let's see if we can find some ships bound for Tellar Prime." 

"There," Gordon pointed at one of the screens. "There's a ship heading for Tellar Prime. A cruiser called the Zar Duran."

"There's two more," Harper noted. "They all start with the name Zar. Looks like they're all part of the same shipping fleet, running on different schedules." 

"I'll bet one of them would have room for passengers," Gordon said. 

A stack of pod packs was the first thing McGovern saw when he entered the commissary. He squinted at the packages, not wanting to get out his glasses in public, and held them at arm's length to read the labels. 

"May I help you?" McGovern turned to find a lovely young girl standing patiently next to the counter. 

"Yes," said McGovern, holding up a package. "I need some emergency rations, just some entrees, nothing too disgusting."

The girl smiled. "I think we can accommodate you. How does beef stroganoff sound?" 

"I didn't know they came in that. Is it really beef? Like, from a cow?"

"Well, it's beef-ish," she replied. "The animal itself looks like a big beaver, but it tastes just like beef. These pod packs come with cornbread on the side. We also have lasagna with French bread."

"Sounds good," McGovern decided. "I'll take six of each. Now, what have you got in the way of water canteens..?" 

One level up, Strickland walked through a dark doorway. As his eyes adjusted, he could see individuals sitting and talking in small groups all around him. He walked up to the bar, where a large Trill male was cleaning some glasses. 

"Aldeberan whiskey," Strickland ordered. The Trill produced a bottle and poured a shot glass full of green liquid. 

"Say," Strickland said, "You know anybody that makes regular runs to the Tellar system?"

The Trill nodded over towards his right. "Try those guys." At the end of the bar stood three Tellarites, drinking. Each wore different clothes under matching teal vests. Some sort of corporate logo was stitched on the back. One of the Tellarites was laughing. 

"Thanks," Strickland said to the Trill. "Say, um, do you have one of those...?" He pointed to the Trill's belly.

"No, I don't!" said the bartender, who angrily scooped up the bottle and stomped away. 

Two of the Tellarites walked away, their hooves clomping on the hard floor. Strickland took his drink over to the remaining one. "Groomba," he said, in the traditional Tellarite greeting. 

The Tellarite eyed Strickland suspiciously. "Groomba," he snorted. "Do I know you?"

"Maybe. Ever do business with any Emby ships? I used to captain a couple."

"I trade with them all the time," the Tellarite replied, his beady eyes giving Strickland a tight inspection. "I am Vic Mukdirkadirk, captain of the Zar Madill."

"Warren Strickland, Emby Galactic Shipping, retired. I used to captain the SS Gina Faye." 

"I know that ship," the Tellarite captain said. "It made runs between Cardassia and Bajor. It got commandeered by Starfleet during the Dominion War, did it not?"

Strickland nodded. "It did. Took some hits, too, but it's still in one piece, still flying." 

"And are you still flying?"

"Only a tourist these days. In fact, some friends and I are looking for passage to Tellar Prime. Know anybody looking to take on some passengers, Captain Mukdirkadirk?"

"The Zar Madill has room," he said. "And call me Vic. Everyone calls me Vic."

Strickland smiled. "All right, Vic." 

McGovern was relaxing in a big, comfy chair when Harper and Gordon arrived in the observation lounge. Here, wide, tall windows gave a panoramic view of the spaceport. The lounge had been built specifically for humans passing through, an illogical necessity in Vulcan eyes but nevertheless much appreciated.

"There we go," said Gordon, staring out the windows. "This is more like it." He stood close to the panels of transparent aluminum and watched wide-eyed as an Andorian ship took off from a launch pad.

"And what have you been doing all this time?" Harper asked the sleepy general.

"Shopping," he said, and pointed to a sack of items on the next seat. "Camping equipment, bedrolls, emergency rations, stuff like that. Think there'll be room in the trunk for all this?" he asked Gordon, who was still enthralled with the spaceport vista. 

"Hum? Oh, yeah, sure." With his controller, Gordon set the trunk down on the floor, then popped open the top. Strickland appeared in the entrance. 

"I've got us a ride," he announced. "Tellarite ship, the Zar Madill. We'll be leaving port in two hours."

"The Zar Madill was one of the ones we were looking at," Gordon said to Harper. "We found several named Zar."

"It's the Zar family fleet," Strickland explained. "Rich old family on Tellar. They've been around since the boomer days." Gordon was struggling with McGovern's package, pushing it down into the trunk. McGovern joined in, putting his weight behind the effort. 

"C'mon, get in there!" he grumbled.

"You know," Strickland muttered to himself, "Those trunks are insulated and built for hard use. We could probably send a bunch of our supplies on ahead. Pick it up as we get closer to our target." 

Gordon was leaning on the lid of the trunk, his feet dangling along the side. "That's a good idea!" he grunted. 

"Anything perishable in there?" Both Gordon and McGovern sighed with relief as the lid finally clicked into place. 

"Just the pod packs I found," McGovern said. "And they last forever." 

"Okay then," Strickland said. "It's too late to arrange shipment now, but as soon as we get to Tellar Prime I'll have this sent on to the rendezvous point at Kartikay III. That's our last stop."

"We still need suits," McGovern pointed out. "To survive on the surface."

Strickland waved his hand. "Already taken care of. I had them sent ahead, too."

"All right, then," said Harper. "I'll need to calculate arrival times on my tricorder. It's in my backpack..."

Gordon got a sinking feeling. "Which we packed ...at the bottom of the trunk. We'll have to re-pack everything to get it."

"Aw, bugger," McGovern said, opening the trunk back up. 

Unlike the grimy walls of Alpha Centauri, Vulcan Spaceport Number Five was exceedingly clean. The immaculate floors echoed their steps as they made their way to Bay 112. Gordon was starting to find the monotonous grey walls almost comforting. Every thirty meters or so they passed a message board on the wall, with announcements in various languages scrolling as they passed. 

There was no seedy bus with questionable passengers taking them out across the bare landing pads. Here, Bay 112 had a spotless, retractable gantry that connected to the Zar Madill. Their footsteps echoed louder as they walked on the thinner metal floor of the gantry. A Tellarite in a teal vest appeared at the ship's hatch.

"Gentlemen, and lady," said Strickland, "may I introduce our host, Captain Vic Mukdirkadirk." The Tellarite started to say something, until Strickland added, "Everyone calls him Vic."

"Welcome aboard," Captain Vic said in a rough, gravelly voice. Inside the hatch, two space suits hung from the wall in sealed, plastic bags. Gordon brought the white trunk in for a landing inside the hatch. Captain Vic handed him some straps to secure it to the deck. A narrow metal stairway led to a closet-sized space with lockers set into the walls. 

"Keep going!" Captain Vic ordered. His hooves clanged on the steps as he climbed behind them. The only other door led to a small lounge similar to the one on the Egyptian Crow. The floors were all metal plates. It was a cabin the size of a living room, with pale green couches lining one wall. A round table sat secured to the deck in the middle of the cabin. The lighting in the room was dim, and there was a faint odor of baked plastic in the air. A line of metal girders divided the cabin in two. 

"I must see to launch sequence," Captain Vic said. "Make yourself at home. There is a water dispenser in the back of the lounge. If you get hungry, there is food in the black cabinet." He clomped up a separate flight of narrow steps next to the downward doorway. 

"Well," said Gordon, "this isn't so bad."

"How long until we get to Tellar Prime?" McGovern asked. 

"Twenty hours," replied Strickland. Gordon took a seat next to one of the portholes. He watched as the ship lifted off from Spaceport Five and rose into the Vulcan sky. The spaceport spread out beneath them in a gigantic checkboard of activity. 

Harper sat down next to Gordon and watched as the ship rose above the clouds in the upper atmosphere. "Never gets old, does it?" she asked. Gordon smiled, and Harper found the smile easy to return. 

McGovern went exploring the stern of the ship. He found there were only three passenger cabins available on board the Zar Madill. Each held one bunk, a clothes closet and a small sink. The toilet was in the same little closet as the shower. So, Harper, Gordon and Strickland each took one cabin, while McGovern volunteered to sleep on one of the lounge couches. It was a long time before any of them felt sleepy, though. Strickland and McGovern started playing a hand of cards. Harper busied herself checking data on her tricorder. Gordon caught up on the news. The new Romulan Praetor announced he was sending a diplomatic delegation to Federation Headquarters on Earth. Scientists on Bajor were close to a cure for Vellis Grip, and archaeologists in the Kodo Belt discovered what they believed was the remains of a Slaver Weapon. 

Four hours into the journey, Strickland's stomach growled. He put down his cards. "I think I'll check what's in the pantry," he said as he got up. He opened the door to the black cabinet. Inside were shelves of sealed packages, each the size of a dinner plate. Each package had the same unreadable symbols on the top. McGovern came up behind him to see what was inside. "This is new to me," Strickland said, handing a package to McGovern. 

"Tellarite food," McGovern said. "Probably pevine." McGovern took the package back to the table and ripped open a corner. From inside the package, he pulled out what looked like a wide, flat, orange cookie. "Yup, pevine," he said. He broke a corner off the cookie and took a bite. 

"What's it taste like?" Strickland said. 

"Kind of like... watermelon," McGovern answered, crunching as he chewed. "I had some years ago when I was on maneuvers in the Ovicrim System. There's different types, but they all pretty much taste the same." In turn, each of the travelers broke off pieces of the pevine and ate it. Gordon even went back for seconds. 

An hour later, they watched Captain Vic's hoofed feet come down the steps for his dinner. "Helped yourself, I see." 

"I've never had pevine before," Gordon said, breaking off another bite. 

"It is pronounced PEE-vine," Captain Vic corrected. "Heavy on the pee. I apologize we do not carry the variety of foods you are probably used to."

"It's fine, captain," said Harper. "Thank you very much." Captain Vic got himself a pevine packet from the cabinet and opened it up. Gordon put his bite down.

"You know, I didn't realize it until now," he said, "but of all the places we've been so far, only Starfleet ships and facilities have had replicators. All the private ships we've been on have had their own food."

Captain Vic sat down in a comfy chair, his hoofed legs sticking straight out in front of him. "That is because Federation only civilization with replicators. Oh, Klingons and Cardassians have machines that can replicate spare parts, but nothing like the Federation."

"The Dominion has replicator technology, too," said McGovern. 

Captain Vic nodded as he chewed. "So I hear. Replicators are why the Federation economy is so different from the rest of the quadrant." 

"How so?" asked Gordon. 

"What good is money in a place where you can replicate all the money you need? That is why the Federation has no money– no need to save money to buy goods that can just be replicated when you want them. No need for banks to store that money. All you need is enough energy to run the replicators, and you can have whatever you want, anytime you want, all for free."

"It can be tricky," Strickland added, "going in and out of Federation space, keeping track of the various economies."

"Those other economies very jealous of Federation, and its replicators," Captain Vic pointed out. "Everyone else works on the laws of supply and demand. In the Federation, there is no demand because the supply is unlimited." He stood to get a cup of water. "You need food, you get it from a replicator. You want clothes, you get it from a replicator. Why have money at all? Forget transporters. Forget warp drive. Forget phasers. It is the replicator technology that makes the Federation the envy of the quadrant."

"And," added McGovern, "why it has so many enemies." Captain Vic nodded in agreement.  

"I was wondering why people like the Ferengi don't just replicate rooms of latimum," Gordon thought out loud. "One person with a replicator could be the richest man on the planet."

"Don't think it hasn't been tried," Strickland said. "For one thing, it takes a lot of energy to replicate precious metals like latinum– it wouldn't be cost-effective."

"Unless you steal it," McGovern mentioned. "And then there's the molecular tags."

Captain Vic retook his seat. "How do those work?"

"Replicators use transporter technology to recreate things from raw matter and energy," McGovern explained. "Every replicator puts its mark on everything that comes out of it. You can't tell because the marks are stamped on the molecular level. A simple tricorder can pick them up. That's how you can always tell real stuff from replicated stuff." 

"And why counterfeiting would never work," Gordon said, understanding. "I get it now." 

"You men and your shop talk," Harper said, shaking her head. "Is there any pevine left?"