Everyone on board, the cargo truck sped off across the dusty plain. McGovern and Gordon sat in the front seat, with the driver, with Harper and Strickland behind them. Harper stared intently out the windows at the distant ship, still spitting water out the sides. Strickland leaned closer.

"What's wrong, Frannie?" Strickland asked. 

"The crew, Warren," Harper whispered. "What did they do with the crew?" She sat back in her seat, and rubbed her hand across her face. "I'm going to have to contact Starfleet Command. Let them know the Peach is here. But... My God, did he kill them?"

"We don't know that, Frannie," Strickland offered. 

The truck's driver was a Trill. He looked tired. Even the spots on his face looked tired. "So how's your day going?" McGovern asked. 

"Long day," the driver replied. "Glad my shift is almost over." 

McGovern could not help but glance at the driver's waist, the place where a symbiot would reside. The driver caught the look out of the corner of his eye. He sighed and rolled his eyes, shifting in his seat. "No, I don't have one," he said. "Most Trill's don't."

"Sorry," said McGovern, suddenly embarrassed. 

"Don't have what?" Strickland asked, not catching the conversation.

"Nothing, nothing," said McGovern, waving him away. 

The sun was low in the west as the truck pulled up underneath the Griffnock. Where the other ship had looked like a big-mouth bass, the Griffnock resembled a line of six-story shoeboxes glued together. Panels in the sides of the "boxes" were open, lit from inside. Crews were moving crates and containers in and out of the ship. The Trill driver drove up close to the ship, then pulled away and stopped before backing up to the nearest opening. 

The driver set the brakes. "Safe journeys to you," he said. 

Harper smiled. "Fair travels to you, too," she said, patting him on the shoulder. The Trill smiled back, appreciating the gesture. 

The four travelers climbed out of the truck just as mechanical arms lifted the shipping container from the flatbed. Gears crunching, the container rose a meter, then retreated into the belly of the ship. "Looks like passengers embark over here," Gordon said, pointing. The four took off walking towards a gangplank that had been set up closer to the bow of the ship. As they walked, Strickland noted the number of the cargo bay: Number fifteen. He wanted to be able to locate their container again. 

McGovern walked alongside Harper. "Fair travels?" he asked. 

"It's a traditional Trill farewell," Harper explained. "He probably doesn't get too much contact with his culture this far from the Trill homeworld."

"Lots of them actually try to get away from their culture," Strickland added. "So much of Trill culture revolves around the Symbiots, and so few of the citizens actually get one, it must cause all kinds of conflicts."

"We had some Trill residents at Starfleet Medical," Gordon said. "Xenobiologists, mostly. They never talked about their homeworld. Everybody asked them if they had Symbiots, too."

They approached the gangplank. An official in a blue uniform was checking names on a hand-held device. The travelers got in line with four other creatures, and presently were walking up the ramp into the ship. McGovern pulled out a slip of paper he'd received at the station. "We're gonna be in staterooms D5 through D8, it says." Faded signs on the walls pointed the way, in six different languages. Climbing up one level and working their way forward, they found the passenger section. 

The Griffnock smelled like olive oil. A bald Bolian crewman in a blue uniform met them in the hallway. "General McGovern and company?"

"That's us," McGovern said. 

"Splendid. These are your cabins. The dining room is down this corridor," he pointed over his shoulder, "and to the right. The next meal is in two hours."

Harper found herself yawning. "I may have to miss that," she said. "When's the next meal after that?"

"Meals are served every four hours, ma'am," the crewman said. McGovern stared at the crewman's belly and thought, That explains a lot. "Now, as for your passage fees..."

McGovern stepped up, digging deep into his pockets. "Will this cover the bill?" He held out both hands, which were filled with Romulan renays. The officer smiled broadly. 

"Oh, that should do nicely," he said. Carefully, he picked out about half of McGovern's stash and transferred the coins to his pockets. "I will be right back with your receipt." 

Strickland opened the door to his cabin, then turned to the departing crewman. 

"What's our ETA at Anabelska?" Strickland asked. 

"Two days, sir," the crewman replied. "We will be arriving at the spaceport day after tomorrow about noon, local time." 

"We'll be needing access to the cargo area, to check our goods," Strickland explained. 

"That can be arranged, sir." The crewman blinked, and then looked closely at Harper. "Excuse me, are you Admiral Harper?"

"Why, yes I am," she replied. 

"I believe you have a message waiting for you in the communications room, back the way you came and to your left, the red door."

"Oh, really?" she said, surprised. "Thank you." When the crewman left, the others all turned and looked at Harper. "What?" She asked. 

"Who would be sending you a message all the way out here?" McGovern asked. 

Harper shrugged her shoulders. "I guess I'll find out." She looked at McGovern. "And where did you get all that money, David?"

McGovern smirked and wiggled his fingers. "Five-finger discount!"

The passenger cabins were narrow but with high ceilings, each painted a pale beige. They were just big enough for a shallow bed, a writing desk, and a closet at the rear;  they found it contained a small toilet and sink. McGovern and Strickland both disappeared into their cabins and closed the doors. Harper took off her backpack and jacket, then found Gordon's cabin. Poking her head into the open door, she saw he was just hanging up his Nogura coat on a hook. 

"Charlie," she said, "I may need you."

"Sure," he replied, running his fingers through his wind-blown hair. He still had on his Starfleet uniform. "What's up?" 

"I need to call Starfleet Command," she explained, "but this far outside Federation space I may need a serving officer to get through for me."

Gordon nodded. "Let's go," he said. Taking a step, he stopped. "Hold on." From a pile of clothes on the bed, he pulled out the vest and slipped it over his shoulders, hiding his badge. "Okay, I'm ready now." 

Back down the corridor and to the left, past one junction, they found the communications room. A stout Bolian crewman sat in a swivel chair at a wall of monitors. He looked almost exactly like the crewman they'd met in the hallway. Harper knocked on the open door frame. "Excuse me," she said. "My name is Harper. I was told you had a message for me?"

The communications officer nodded, and handed her a PADD from a stack beside his console. "It is text only," he explained. 

"Thank you," Harper said. She pressed a key at the bottom right of the unit. The screen lit up, and a paragraph of text scrolled down. 

"Who's it from?" Gordon asked. Over her shoulder, he read:

XXXBXXXBXBXBXBXBXXBXBXB
XXXYXYXYXYXWWWXXX
FROM000MIRIAMFIE0000000LDS00
TOADM IR ALFRAN CINEHAR PER
1111110000111111110FORWARDFORWARD

Harper tried to read down the screen. "It's ... I think it's from my niece Miriam. Back on Earth. A lot of this is garbled; I can't make out what it says."

The officer shook his head. "The message came through several stations before we received it. It might have become corrupted at some point." She scanned the paragraph. All the words were jumbled or overwritten, but one sentence stood out clearly:

DON'T DO IT.

Harper read it again, then looked up at Gordon. "She worries," Harper explained. "She thinks I can't take care of myself anymore. She must have figured out what we were doing, that's all."

A chiming sound came over the loudspeakers above them. "Attention," came a voice. "Departure in one minute. Repeat, departure in one minute."

Harper put the unit aside. "I need to send a message to Starfleet," she told the officer. "In the United Federation of Planets. It's very important."

The officer pointed to a narrow door across the hallway. "You can use one of the booths over there," he said. "But we will be going to warp as soon as we clear the atmosphere. I do not think I will have time to connect you."

"Is there a Federation consulate on this planet?" Gordon asked. 

"Yes. There is an office in the next city."

"Send the message to them, Frannie," Gordon suggested. "They can relay it to Starfleet." Harper looked at the officer, and he nodded his understanding. Harper crossed the hallway to the narrow door. The ship lurched as she closed it behind her, telling her they had lifted off. She turned on the com screen. 

"Recording," the computer said. Harper sat down to give the message. She hoped her hair looked all right. Outside, the ship rose into the upper atmosphere, passing through a line of cumulus clouds. Sunlight reflected off its grey hull as it cleared the clouds. Thrusters pushed the ship beyond the gravitational pull of Klendar. On the bridge, the crew made preparations for the jump to light speed. 

"...Harper out." She pushed the button ending the recording. Stepping out of the booth, Gordon turned to the officer.

"Send that message to the Federation consulate immediately." The officer's fingers darted across his console, pressing the final key with a flick of his wrist. 

"Message sent," he announced proudly. Harper and Gordon both breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Thank you so much, sir," she said as they left. The officer gave them a friendly wave, and then went back to his duties. The two walked back to the passenger section. 

"That should get the ball rolling in the right places," Gordon said. 

"Indeed," said Harper. "Starfleet can handle the investigation from here on."  Above them, little green lights flicked on down every corridor. The deck plates below them vibrated slightly. 

"We must have just gone into warp," Gordon concluded with a smile. "You got that message off just in time." 

"Timing is everything," Harper said cheerfully Her mouth suddenly stretched into a loud yawn. Covering her mouth with her hand, she blinked in surprise. "Oh my! Excuse me," she said with a little laugh. 

"Well," said Gordon, as they returned to their cabins, "this has been a long day." As they passed McGovern's cabin, they could hear him loudly snoring inside. The two stood in the corridor facing each other. 

"Yes," she said, looking up into his deep brown eyes. "Quite a day." Just as Gordon was about to say something, a line of blue-faced crewmen came down the corridor. The first one passed between Gordon and Harper, the next behind Gordon, with several more behind them. Each one bowed his head in respect as they passed. Another group appeared coming from the other direction, and in moments the corridor became very crowded. 

"Um," said Gordon over the footsteps, "maybe we should get some rest."

"Good idea," said Harper, peering over the head of a passing crewman. "I'll see you in a few hours."

"Right." He turned and opened his cabin door, and Harper did the same. They caught a glimpse of each other's faces between marching crew members just before closing the doors. 

***

On the fringe of Federation space, near the Romulan Neutral Zone, the starship USS Independence cruised on its normal patrol. All ship sensors were on full sweep, which served a dual purpose. It gave the ship a clear view of everything within several light years. It also told anything within several light years that they were being watched. It had been over a week since anything bigger than a basketball had shown up on scanners. 

The Captain smoothed out a wrinkle on her uniform and headed for the bridge. She was just leaving her quarters when her com badge chirped. "Bridge to Captain."

She tapped the badge. "Go ahead."

"Incoming message from Deep Space Twelve, ma'am. Encoded your eyes only."

"On my way." 

When she arrived on the bridge, she spoke only to the communications officer. "I'll take that message in my ready room," she said. Inside her office, seated at her desk, the captain called up the message. 

The blue and white Federation flag appeared, which was followed by the image of a familiar face: the commander of DS Twelve. "Captain," said Admiral Floyd. "As you know, the Federation freighter Evacado Peach has been missing in the Beta Quadrant for the past week." The Captain nodded to herself. They had received word about the Peach as soon as it went missing. The ship had been scanning for any ships in the area, but had been specifically looking for the Peach with no luck. 

"What you do not know," the admiral continued, "and what has not been made public, is that the Peach was carrying a special committee of diplomats to meet with a delegation sent specifically by the new Romulan Praetor." That came as a surprise to the captain. The Romulans had announced they were going to send a delegation to meet with the UFP, but no one knew they had already left. 

The admiral continued: "Two hours ago, the UFP consulate on Klendar received this message, which was relayed to them from a ship leaving orbit. Play message." The image changed to a blurred picture of an older woman in civilian clothing. There was static in the transmission, and it looked like there had been a hair on the lens when the recording was made. The woman spoke: 

"This is Admiral Francine Harper, Starfleet retired. The missing Federation ship Evacado Peach is currently sitting disabled at the Rawlin spaceport on Klendar. It was captured by a pirate named Rokar Meg and his brother Salpen Meg. I have no information on the missing crew. Rokar Meg is an escaped prisoner from Kestralyn, and both Meg brothers have extensive criminal records. Local authorities need to be notified. The ship needs to be seized and the pirates arrested immediately. Please forward this message to Starfleet Headquarters through the nearest starbase. Harper out." 

The picture disappeared and the crisp image of Admiral Floyd returned. "Please note that Captain Best of the USS Jennings is of the opinion that Admiral Harper and her party may be trying to defect to the Romulan Empire, but that has not been confirmed. Klendar space central, however, does confirm a ship resembling the Peach passing through their sector. The Independence is the closest ship in the region. By order of Starfleet Headquarters, you are ordered to the Klendar system. Retrieve the Evacado Peach, and find out what happened to its crew and our delegation. Report back when you have any information. Floyd out."

The captain switched off the screen and tapped her com badge again. "Captain to bridge–prepare to alter course." 

***

Strickland woke in his cot. He rolled over and sat up. Looking down, he realized he was still dressed. I must have been tired, he thought. He checked his timepiece. He'd been asleep for almost six hours. Swinging his bare feet over onto the floor, he stood up and stretched. Muscles popped in his shoulders and neck. Inhaling the recirculated air, feeling the vibrations in the bulkheads, hearing the distant hum of the engines, he smiled. It felt like home. 

In the tiny toilet, he splashed water on his face and through his thinning, grey hair. As he dried himself off with the hand towel, his bare feet on the cold, metal floor, he looked at the bed. It looked extremely inviting. But no– he wanted to get into that container and check out their gear. They still had a mission to do. Climbing through cargo holds, getting things fixed and organizing equipment; it was something he was good at, something he'd done for years. Something he missed terribly. Strickland couldn't wait to get started. 

In the corridor, he knocked on the others' doors, but got no answer. Fine, he though impatiently, I'll get a bite to eat and get started by myself. He followed the sounds of conversation to the dining room. It was a long, narrow room extending down the length of the port side. Diffused, blueish lights ran down the low ceiling. Square windows lined one wall, giving a view of passing stars. Facing the windows was a cafeteria line in front of the kitchens on the opposite wall. In between were a line of tables. Sitting at the first table were Harper, Gordon and McGovern. They waved him over. 

"About time, sleepyhead," Harper said, handing him a plate of square biscuits. Strickland approached the table and took a biscuit. 

"Don't mind her," McGovern said. "We just got up, too." The air was thick with the yeasty smell of baking bread. 

Strickland took a bite of his biscuit. It was hot, flaky and very tasty. "Is there coffee?" 

Harper hooked a thumb towards the back of the dining room. "There's hot tea in the back. And chicken soup, for some reason." The dining room was about half full. Strickland worked his way to the back and poured himself a hot mug of tea. There was a stack of trays next to the pot, so he took one and worked his way down the cafeteria line. The Bolian cooks cheerfully made him a huge omelette, with cornbread and sausages. He did not realize how hungry he was until he sat down at the table. The four dug into their meal with such enthusiasm. It was minutes before anyone even spoke. 

"It's been a while since we ate, hasn't it?" McGovern said between bites. "I was hungry."

"The Bolians certainly do enjoy their food," Harper commented. 

"I don't know what this is," Gordon said, spearing another sausage, "but it's really good." A friendly Bolian at the next table pointed to Gordon's plate. 

"Laktok," he said with a grin. "It is good in sandwiches, too."

"Really?" Gordon replied. When the Bolian went back to his meal, Gordon leaned over to Strickland. "What's a laktok?"

Strickland swallowed his bite before replying. "It's kind of a big crab. A tree-dwelling crab." 

"I've had laktok before," Harper said, looking at Gordon's plate. "It was at a state dinner, years ago on the Bolian homeworld. I thought it was beef, at first."

McGovern looked at the laktok on his own plate. "I wonder how this would be with hash browns?" 

Harper took another sip of her tea. Gordon folded a napkin and put it down for her to use as a coaster. She smiled in response. "We have two days until we reach Anabelska. That may be the last chance we have to pick up supplies." 

"We never got a camera," McGovern pointed out. 

"I know some places we can pick up last-minute stuff," Strickland said. "It's hard to believe we're actually this close." 

"I can get clearance for us to get to the container," Gordon said. "I'll talk to the officers as soon as I'm done." 

"That would be great, Charlie," Harper said. 

"We need to double-check our gear," McGovern said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "To see if we really do need anything." 

"Just what I was thinking," Strickland said. Gordon finished the last of his tea, then took his tray and empty plates to a shelf near the entrance. Hands appeared, and the dirty dishes were taken away. The others waited for Strickland to finish his meal, then they returned to the passenger section. 

Harper had time to wash up before Gordon appeared at the door to her cabin. He was followed by a Bolian officer with two stripes on his sleeve. "This is Lieutenant Vin. He's going to guide us back through the cargo holds." McGovern was just putting on his boots when they knocked on his door, and Strickland appeared at his door as soon as he heard them in the hallway. 

"Let's go," he said. 

Lt. Vin led then back towards the stern of the ship. Soon, they were in a section they'd never seen before. The corridors got darker, the lights in the walls spread further apart. They walked in single file, with the Bolian leading the way. The air got colder. McGovern was starting to regret wearing short-sleeves. Up and down metal stairways, they found themselves hunched-over, walking down a pyramid-shaped corridor. Harper's height gave her an advantage here, but soon her back started to bother her. Strickland had a smile on his face. The group walked on, lights mounted flat into the floor panels. Gordon kept scraping his head on the peaked ceiling. Presently, the Bolian stopped. 

"Here we are," he said proudly. "Cargo hold 15." Along one slanted side of the corridor, he unlocked a latch and pulled aside a sliding metal door. He climbed through first, pulling himself into the cargo hold by some rings mounted just inside the door. It took him just a moment to find the light switch. Harper climbed through the hatch, followed by McGovern, Strickland and Gordon. 

The hold was the size of large apartment. The shipping container took up half the space to the right of the hatchway. "There is your container for inspection," Lt. Vin said. "I will return in one hour to escort you back to the passenger section. Please confine yourselves to this area until I return." 

"Thank you so much," Harper said. The Bolian gave a little bow, then climbed back through the hatch, sliding the door shut behind him. 

"Well," said McGovern, "let's get started." The container had doors on one side and one end. They unlocked the side door, and Gordon climbed inside. One by one, he started handing boxes and bundles out of the door. Once there was room, Gordon also unpacked the storage trunk, which was also inside the container. The others took everything as it was handed out and lined it up on the floor of the hold. 

Strickland set aside the boots, gloves, bedrolls, blankets and pinions. Harper laid out the oxygen canisters, the pod packs, and the sets of tools. At her side, McGovern set down some flashlights, harnesses and a long coil of rope. "Looks like we're set for rope. Is that it?" he called into the container. 

"All that's left are the suits," Gordon called back. 

"Let's have them out, too, Charlie," McGovern said. The bundles, each as big as a man, were cocooned in green plastic. Gordon pushed them out of the doorway "head first." The bundles were stood up against the bulkhead facing the container. McGovern produced a small knife and sliced open the closest one. Peeling away the plastic, the helmet and chest of the suit emerged. 

He stood back. "What the hell? Warren, what the hell?"

Strickland looked up from the other side of the hold. "What's up?"

McGovern pointed to the open bundle. "What is this?"

"What do you mean?" he said, standing. "It's our suits. For the climb."

"Warren," said McGoven slowly, "these are mining suits. For carving up asteroids."

Harper stepped forward and looked at the exposed helmet. "You didn't get us space suits?"

"We don't need space suits," Strickland explained. "We're not gonna be in space. We're gonna be on a planet." 

Gordon poked his head out of the container, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "Anything wrong?" 

"I thought we agreed on space suits," Harper repeated. She paced to the side, and Gordon saw the three suits lined up against the wall. 

"These will do the job we want them to do," Strickland insisted. "They have everything we need."

"But how do we know, Warren?" McGovern said, his voice raising. He stepped up to face Strickland. "They're not Starfleet regulation. How do we know these are gonna cut it?"  

"Because they're built to cut it," Strickland said, not backing down. The two old men stood toe-to-toe in the cargo hold. "Starfleet ships register every space suit in their inventories. They were unavailable. These were!"Both men were shouting now. 

"So you expect us to climb a mountain on the other side of the universe in second-hand suits?"

Strickland pointed to the bundles. "These are Kirosian mining suits. They're insulated against nucleonic radiation, gamma radiation, theta radiation, and hyperonic radiation. They're rated to withstand half a million millirem of cosmic radiation. They're self-contained, durable, rugged and independent. You can make sand castles on Mercury in these things– heck, put a thruster pack on one and it counts as a lifeboat!" 

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Harper said, stepping between the two men and pushing them apart. "Now, David, Warren has years of experience in planetary operations–"

"Oh, and I don't?" McGovern said. "I've blown up stuff on more planets than he's ever seen!" 

Harper's voice was stern. "David, that is not what I meant."

"Not all of us are famous, Mr. War Hero!" Strickland shot back, closing distance with McGovern.

"I'll settle for some of us being professionals!"

"If that's what you call being Starfleet's lapdog!"

Harper pushed her way between them again. "Stop it! Stop it, both of you!"she yelled. 

"Charlie, you're Starfleet--what do you think?" McGovern said. It took a couple moments of silence for the three of them to realize Gordon had not said anything. They turned their heads. Gordon was sitting in the open doorway of the container. His lips were pursed tight. His hands hung limp in his lap, and his eyes seemed to be looking far away.

Strickland blinked. "Charlie?"

Harper squeezed out from between the two men. "Charlie?" she said, her voice soft and quiet. She'd never seen him so upset. "Charlie? What's wrong?"

Gordon took a deep breath before he spoke. "You... there's... you only brought three suits?"

It took a moment for his words to sink in. Strickland cleared his throat uncomfortably. McGovern managed to whisper an almost inaudible "Oh, bugger..." and look away. For Harper, years of diplomatic negotiations and countless poker games had trained her to mask the horror she felt in that moment. Instead, she stepped forward, her eyebrows raised slightly. 

"Well, Charlie," she began, "when we first planned this expedition, it was just us three climbing the mountain. We'd already made plans when you..."

"When I showed up," he finished. He looked at the bulkhead, avoiding eye contact with her. He sighed deeply. "That's all right. I guess I was just wanting to be part of a team, to know what that really felt like..."

"But you are part of a team, Charlie," Harper insisted. "You're a part of our team."

Strickland stepped forward. "A...very important part."

"Yeah," said McGovern, who added: "You know, it's really my fault, not bringing you up to speed on all the, um, plans..."

"Right, the whole plan," Strickland said. "For the operation." 

Gordon turned to face them. "The whole plan?"

"Of course!" Harper insisted. "We ...won't be able to accomplish our mission without you."

Gordon blinked. "Really?"

"Charlie," said McGovern, "you're... you're our backup!" 

"That's absolutely right!" Harper said, following the general's lead. 

"Backup?" Gordon asked.

Strickland eyes, darting around for something to help him, suddenly found the control pad on the wrist of the opened mining suit. "The suits! You see, when we land on the planet, we'll need to have a base camp when we get started climbing. And the suits have internal sensors to monitor heart rates, respiration... stuff like that..."

"Which I'd be able to monitor," Gordon finished. He sat up, his face brighter. "From the base camp. In case something went wrong."

"Exactly!" McGovern said. "And if something goes wrong, we'll be counting on you to save our butts." 

Gordon stood, his face considerably less stressed. "I could also monitor your progress, weather conditions, landslides..."

"That's absolutely right!" Strickland said. "You see, you're an essential part of this team."

"Come on," Harper said, hooking his arm in hers. "Let's go back to the dining room and have a nice cup of tea. I haven't had nearly enough tea today, have you?"

"Un, no, I guess not," Gordon said. Harper and the young doctor disappeared through the hatchway and into the tiny corridor beyond. Strickland and McGovern stood alone in the cargo hold for a few moments. 

"He's a good kid," Strickland said finally.

"Yeah," admitted McGovern. "I'd hate to hurt his feelings." He shuffled his feet. 

Strickland adjusted the collar of his shirt. "Yeah." The two looked around. 

"Kirosian mining suits," the general finally said, clearing his throat. "That was a good idea. Those'll work just fine. Good call."

Strickland just nodded his head. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry about that ‘lapdog' thing."

McGovern waved it off. He coughed. "We oughta pack all this stuff away again."

"Good idea," said Strickland. "Yeah."

The two were just closing up the container when Lt. Vin returned.