Harper and Gordon were sipping hot tea when Strickland and McGovern caught up with them in the dining room. "So," Harper said as they sat down, "we dock at Anabelska tomorrow?" 

"That's the plan," Strickland said. "I have our passage booked on the Amonak Ra, a freighter that does contract work for Emby Shipping. We should ride it all the way across the Outremer." 

Gordon set his cup aside. "I was telling Frannie we should run diagnostics on the suit systems," Gordon suggested. "Before the actual climb, to synchronize the channels."

Strickland nodded in agreement. "We should have time for that once we're on board the Amonak."

"We should try them on, too," McGovern said. "Make sure they fit."

"They'll fit," Strickland replied. "They're standard suits. One size fits all." 

"Or none," McGovern countered. "Let's just try them on and see. What's for supper?"

One of the Bolian cooks grinned and held up the next meal's main course: "Klingon us'cha!" 

"Wow," said Gordon. "It's been... days since I've had us'cha." 

"Admiral Harper?" came a voice. The four looked up to see a rotund Bolian standing at the foot of the table.

"Yes?" Harper recognized him as the communications officer. He handed her a black-rimmed PADD. 

"Another message, ma'am," the officer said. "I am sorry, but it seems to be as garbled as the first one." Harper scrolled down the text, but nothing on the screen was legible. 

Harper sighed and handed back the screen. "It's not your fault. If you get a chance, could you reply with a note to re-send the messages?"

"Right away, ma'am," the officer replied. He turned and left. 

"Who's trying to get hold of you, Frannie?" McGovern asked. 

"I think it's my niece, Miriam," Harper said. "I think she's trying to talk me out of going on this mission."

"How would she know?" Strickland asked. "Did you tell her?"

"No, of course not," Harper said. "We were keeping it all a secret, remember? I didn't say anything to anybody." 

"Me, neither," McGovern said when Strickland looked at him. "I mean, I got ready for a long trip, but that's all." 

"Me, too. She's a worrier," Harper explained. "When I was commanding a starship, she'd send letters all the time, worried about me getting blown up or something. She'll be fine."

Gordon thought of the pirates back on Klendar. "While we have a chance," he said, "we should rest up before changing ships tomorrow. No telling what the next leg is going to be like."

The others agreed. After a light meal, the four travelers went back to their cabins for a long nap. Before turning in, Harper ran a check on her tricorder. She recovered the scans Gordon did on board the Peach and saved them to long-term memory. Strickland looked up shipping schedules. After what happened at Klendar, he wanted to change ships as quickly as possible. Gordon double-checked the stock of medicines in his medical kit. Some of the little vessels had been jostled loose by all the activity. And McGovern got out two extra blankets before going to bed. He was feeling very cold, for some reason. 

***

Low-lying clouds to the west shrouded the sharp peaks beyond the Rawlin spaceport on Klendar. Thunder boomed in the distance, and an icy breeze heralded rain on its way. The glow of oncoming dawn lit the eastern sky. The Klendaran administrator huddled just inside the station doors, watching carefully out the windows. He was human, well over a meter tall, with unwashed hair and a suit that look like he had slept in it. Just then, outside the station, the air shimmered and glowed for a moment before taking form. Three people in Starfleet uniforms appeared from the glittering light and looked around. The administrator decided that was his cue. 

"Hello!" he called as he stepped out into the sharp morning air. "My name is Duffy. I am the administrator of this spaceport."

"I'm Captain Rachel Kofmel," said the one with the most insignia. "Where's my missing ship?"

"Well," Duffy fumbled, "as I said before you beamed down, it is not here."

"Starfleet received word the Evacado Peach was stranded here," Kofmel said, her eyes examining the bureaucrat closely. "We sent word asking you to hold it until we arrived."

"Yes, yes, it was here," Duffy fumbled. "Under a different name and registration, I may note. We had no idea it was stolen. It had to make some repairs. But the ship left port before we received word to confiscate it." 

Kofmel leaned closer. "Do your instruments show where it was headed?"

"Oh, no, no," Duffy stuttered. "Our scanners tracked it only until it left orbit. And it left without clearance, without flight plan–-very dangerous! Not our fault!" 

"Right," said Kofmel. "I presume you've been informed by your government the gravity of this situation, and that your full cooperation is expected?"

"Oh, yes, yes, ma'am," Duffy groveled. "My staff is standing by to assist you in any way possible."

"Good," said the captain. She motioned the other two officers to come forward, one wearing science colors, the other wearing engineering colors. "These officers will need access to your tracking scanners and monitoring computers. Maybe you can't tell which way the ship went, but perhaps they can."

"Oh, I do not think–-I mean, this is highly, um..." Duffy stumbled, then finally exhaled in resignation. "This way," he said, waving the officers to follow him. 

The captain's com badge chirped. "Let me know the moment you find anything," she said to the officers before tapping her badge. "Kofmel, go ahead." 

"Captain, we're getting a relayed message from Starfleet Command," came the voice of her XO. "You might want to see this."

"On my way. One to beam up."

Once back on board the Independence, Kofmel went straight for the transporter's console. "Kofmel to bridge–send that message down to Transporter Room II." To the right of the console, the screen on the bulkhead wall lit up. 

The image of a thin, pale man in a Starfleet uniform emerged on the screen. "Captain Kofmel. My name is Lt. Commander Snider, of Admiral Beck's staff. Several days ago, retired Admiral Francine Harper left Earth with some friends, presumably on some sort of vacation to Vulcan. Once on Vulcan, however, they left again, immediately heading for the Romulan Neutral Zone. At first, I thought they were defecting, but I was wrong-- something much more serious has come to light." 

Kofmel turned to see her XO come into the transporter room. He stood by her as the image of Snider continued. "Today, I was contacted by a woman named Miriam Stiles, who is Admiral Harper's niece. She says that before Admiral Harper left Earth, she canceled a doctor's appointment and called on neighbors to take care of her pets. Two of Harper's companions made similar arrangements before they left. None of them left any indication where they was heading, or how long they would be gone. Ms Stiles fears, and I concur, that Admiral Harper and her party are not trying to defect to the Romulan Empire... Rather, they are traveling to some distant planet... where they can commit suicide." 

Kofmel found herself astounded at that deduction. She exchanged a glance with her XO, who was speechless. Snider concluded, "On behalf of Admiral Beck's office, please find Admiral Harper and her party, before it's too late!" The screen went black. 

"My God," the XO said. "I served under Admiral Harper when I was just a cadet. I can't believe... If she was going to commit suicide, why come all the way out here?"

"Who knows?" Kofmel said. "Maybe she wants to make it look like an accident. Maybe she's got some private score to settle..."

The console beeped. "Bridge to captain. Mr. MacEwen reporting from the planet surface."

"Pipe it down here," Kofmel ordered. The transporter room screen lit up again with the image of the science officer. "Report," Kofmel ordered. 

"Captain," MacEwen said, "I don't know they keep anything straight down here."

"Was the Peach here?"

"Yes, ma'am. Came here straight from Q'onos, and then left several hours later–-an unscheduled departure. Thing is, the station got the specs for the Peach before it landed and still managed to let it get away. Security scans verify Rokar Meg as the pilot."

"Any idea where it went?"

MacEwen pointed to a spot off-camera. "Mr. Dean's examining the sensor logs. He's found five possible trajectories for the ship. We'll know more once we fully examine the data."

Kofmel nodded. "Good work. Get back to the ship as soon as you can. Kofmel out." She terminated the connection and the screen turned black again. 

"Be ready to leave orbit as soon as we have some coordinates to go on," Kofmel said to her XO as they left the transporter room. "We'll take the most likely trajectory and work our way down the list until we find that ship. Meanwhile, contact all spaceports in the region to be on the lookout."

"What about Admiral Harper and her party?"

Kofmel shook her head. "We have our orders: find the Evacado Peach. Until then, Admiral Harper's on her own." 

***

Something woke Gordon up. The lights were muted in his cabin. His timepiece said he'd been asleep for almost eight hours. He heard it again: a groaning, exhausted cough. He stood, and went to the cabin door, dressed in only his loose-fitting sleepwear. In the hallway, the only sound was the hum of the engines, and the muted whoosh of the air compressors. Then he heard it again. It was coming from McGovern's room. 

Gordon knocked on the door. "General? Are you okay?" When there was no answer, he opened the door. He saw McGovern on his knees on the floor, bent over the toilet in the corner. The scent of vomit was thick in the air. "General!" said Gordon as he went to McGovern's side. 

The general looked up from the toilet, his eyes red and watery. "I don't think those Klingon corn dogs agreed with me," he said weakly. Gordon flushed the toilet. Reaching under one armpit, he pulled McGovern to his feet and then walked him back to the bed. He felt feverish.

There was a small trash can in the corner. Gordon put it next to the bed near McGovern's head. "Hold on," he said. "I'll be right back." Gordon hurried back to his cabin and got his medical bag. McGovern was pulling the covers up to his chest when Gordon returned. He was shivering. Gordon was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the medical scanner over the general when Harper appeared at the door. She was dressed in her casual beige outfit. 

"Oh, my goodness!" she said. "What's the matter? Is it his acid reflux again?"

"Come in, and close the door," Gordon said. He examined the scanner's readout. "Looks like a light case of food poisoning."

"Doesn't feel so light to me..." McGovern groaned. 

"But," Harper said, "he ate the same things we did last night. We all sat a the same table."

"I know," Gordon said. He leaned over McGovern. "General, did you eat anything else last night? Anything different?"

"No," he said, his eyes closed. "But, wait, I did go back for seconds..."

Gordon looked at Harper. "That may have been all it took. Too much of a good thing, maybe. Whatever it was seems to have worked it's way out of his system."

Harper nodded. "The hard way." Gordon removed the hypospray from his kit and snapped a cartridge into the tube. 

"General, I'm going to give you something for the nausea, all right?" McGovern said nothing as Gordon applied the hypospray to his arm. He closed his eyes. Gordon pulled the blankets up over McGovern's shoulders, then stood. 

"He'll be all right," Gordon decided. "He just needs to rest up and get rehydrated. Next time we're on a starship, I can give him a complete physical."

Harper checked her timepiece. "It's only four hours until we arrive at Anabelska. Will he be all right by then?"

"Should be," Gordon said. "How much of a layover will we have?"

"I don't know," she replied. 

"I suggest we be ready to move as soon as we get there," Gordon said, packing up his medical kit. "And skip breakfast."

"I agree."

Strickland woke up about an hour later. They met up in the dining room. When Gordon told him what happened, he got very concerned. "Is he gonna be all right?"

Gordon nodded. "He'll be fine. My scanners didn't find anything else floating around inside him."

Harper spoke in low tones. "Customs won't quarantine him, will they?" Strickland shook his head. 

"Not if he doesn't leave the spaceport. We're not even going to be landing on the planet. Since we're just transferring from one ship to another at the orbital station, we should be fine. What I want to know," he said, looking at Gordon, "is if he's gonna be up to climbing the mountain after this."

"I would think so," Gordon said. "So long as he gets plenty of rest the next couple of days. He should be fine."

"And if not," said Harper, "we'll just wait until he's better. That mountain isn't going anywhere." A few minutes later, the ship dropped out of warp for the final approach to Anabelska. 

The three returned to their cabins to pack. Gordon kept checking in on McGovern, who slept soundly through the whole approach to the spaceport. Harper packed McGovern's things for him, and Gordon and Strickland got him cleaned-up and dressed. By the time the Griffnock docked at Anabelska Station, McGovern was standing upright and conscious. Through the dining room windows, they could see the huge structure ahead as the ship maneuvered into position. Harper stared out the windows. Ships with designs she had never even seen before sailed gracefully around the station. There was a slight shudder in the deck plates when the ship docked at the station.

The ship's officers led them up a deck to the airlocks. McGovern was upright and walking, if a little wobbly. The short airlock tube led to a long corridor of grey metal, lined on either side with many tubes, pipes and conduits. It was crowded with travelers of many races, predominately Romulans and humans. Harper spotted a Tellarite trying to read a map mounted on one wall. Strickland pointed down the corridor. "This leads to the main terminal. We'll go through that to where the Amonak Ra is docked."

Gordon kept an eye on McGovern as they walked. He seemed pale, but stable. Harper noticed several individuals looked at them as they passed with emotionless interest. The end of the corridor opened up onto the terminal, which reminded Gordon of the spaceport on Alpha Centauri. But wetter. For some reason, there were small puddles of water everywhere they stepped. 

"Did the cleaning crew just come through here?" Harper wondered out loud. The terminal was a large, round area the size of two basketball courts, with corridors branching outward like the spokes of a wheel, each leading towards a loading dock. A dozen steel pillars supported the open area. The outside of the wheel was compartmentalized into offices. Several of the pillars were surrounded with small kiosks selling various goods. The station smelled of sweat and fried food. 

"Make way! Make way!" came shouts from one of the corridors. Two guards in dark helmets took position on either side of the opening. Each wore Romulan uniforms. They carried long, black weapons, hung by straps off their shoulders. Two more guards emerged, leading a group of people wearing black hoods. Everyone in the station stopped to watch the parade. 

"What's going on?" Gordon asked a Romulan vendor. 

"Prisoner transfer," the vendor explained. "They're taking them to the dilithium mines, poor devils."  The prisoners were dressed in ragged green pajamas, and bound at the wrists with one length of cord. They shuffled along single-file, unable to see because of the hoods. The guards led them from one corridor across to one covered in a blue arch. The whole group soon disappeared. 

"What did they do?" Harper asked. "What was their crime?"

"It does not matter," the vendor said in a weary voice. "The sentence is the same." 

Strickland spotted the Emby Shipping office across the stations. He cleared his throat. "I'm gonna go confirm our cargo got transferred. Wait here." 

"Is there some place to sit?" McGovern asked as Strickland left. Gordon pointed to a nearby bench, and the general took a welcome seat. Even if the bench was slightly damp. 

"So, this is the Outremer," Gordon said. 

"What did he mean, the sentence is the same?" Harper asked. 

"They were probably headed for the mines of Gasko," said McGovern in a weak voice. "The sentence is the same: life in prison, because nobody ever comes out of there alive." 

"We're in!" Strickland said, returning. "The Amonak Ra departs in one hour, dock eight. Our cargo is already being loaded on board." Gordon still wore his vest over his Starfleet uniform. He was grateful for all handy pockets in the vest. It was easier to carry the more vital items in the pockets than to open up his medikit. Gordon pulled his scanner from one pocket and ran it over McGovern's chest. Everything looked normal. 

"How soon may we embark?" Harper asked. Strickland was about to reply when shouts erupted across the station. From under the blue arch one of the prisoners burst out of the corridor and tore across the space, ragged pieces of his shirt flapping behind him. Everyone in his path stopped what they were doing and dropped to the floor. Harper and the others stood frozen as a guard appeared under the arch, leveled his weapon, and fired. A ball of fire erupted across the prisoner's back, throwing him five meters off to the side. The heat could be felt twenty meters away. The prisoner bounced off a pillar and crumpled lifeless to the floor, the odor of burned flesh quickly filling the area. 

Gordon took one wobbly step forward to check the man out, then froze. One by one, travelers all around them looked up and then rose from the floor. Two guards appeared. Grabbing the prisoner's arms, they dragged his body away towards a side entrance. 

Someone touched Gordon's arm. "Come on," Strickland said quietly. "Let's get to the ship." He helped McGovern to his feet, then led the travelers around the grisly scene. He pointed them towards a corridor with a green arch. Harper looked over her shoulder as they turned down the corridor. One of the vendors had pulled a water hose from behind his kiosk. He was hosing down the area the prisoner fell. Harper looked around. There were many other wet areas all over the station. 

Harper saw Gordon was looking back, too. "Charlie," she said. "There wasn't anything you could have done." The corridor stretched out ahead of them. The floor plates alternated between solid metal and thick grills, lit from below. They passed an observation window, but the view was obscured by the dark hull of a ship. McGovern's arm shot out to the window frame, like he was taking a close look out the port, stopping their progress. 

"Before he make any more ports," he said under his breath, "we need to arm ourselves." 

Strickland started to say something, but McGovern shot him a fierce look. "No arguments! This is the wild west out here. We should've packed some phasers, or picked up some blasters back on the Klingon homeworld." 

"David," Harper said quietly, "I already am armed."

McGovern shook his head. "What do you mean?" Glancing around to make sure nobody was looking, Harper opened up her jacket. Under her left armpit, hanging by a leather strap in a black scabbard, was a Bowie knife. 

"What–?" McGovern started. "Where did you get that?"

She closed her jacket again. "A going-away gift from Major Newton. And yes, I know how to use it." For the first time, Gordon noticed the tip of the scabbard hanging out from under the bottom of her jacket. 

"Good idea," McGovern answered. "Knives don't show up on energy scans like blasters." He poked Strickland in the chest with one finger. "You know who to ask. The rest of us need to be armed, too. Go shopping." McGovern's hard gaze focused on Gordon. "And you–-ditch that uniform."

The four continued down the corridor without another word. Harper and Gordon exchanged an concerned look just as they approached the airlock. "Ditch the uniform?" he asked. 

"He's worried it might attract attention," Harper explained. "The wrong kind of attention." 

"Frannie," he confided, "I can't be out of uniform."

"Technically, if you've still got your com badge on you, you're in uniform," Harper said. "It'll be all right."

An Andorian with a faded red jacket stood at the entrance to the ship. "Hello," Strickland said to the Andorian. "We should have reservations for passage to the Idalya System."

"Identification?" he asked. 

The four pulled out their ID's. The Andorian checked each one against his passenger list. His antenna twitched as he read the names to himself. Harper noticed a patch on one shoulder of his jacket: a red rectangle, lined in yellow. A Romulan female wandered past the open hatch, dressed in blue and khaki but sporting the same patch on her shoulder. 

"Everything is in order," the Andorian finally said. "Follow me to your quarters. Stay close." The blue-skinned alien led the way through the hatch and down a narrow corridor. The travelers walked in single-file, Strickland at the lead and McGovern bringing up the rear. Harper put one hand on a pipe to catch her balance, and was surprised at how hot the pipe was. Gordon was thankful he did not have to navigate the storage trunk down that passage. The Andorian led them up a confined metal stairway; very warm air blew up from the decks below.  

"So, what's your name?" Strickland asked. 

"I am Kysoria," the Andorian replied. "Second Mate."

Ducking under an airtight hatchway, they found themselves in a windowless cabin the size of a small bedroom. The color was a pale yellow, with many pipes and conduits cris-crossing the ceiling. There were orange doorways along the wall facing them, with couches at either end. Opposite the doorways, to their right, was a small kitchen area. There was a stove, a sink and a small refrigerator. "This is where you will be staying during your passage," the Andorian said. He pointed to the small kitchen. "There are food stocks in the cabinets over the sink."

"So, we will be cooking our own meals?" Harper asked. 

Kysoria nodded. "Do not eat it all." Gordon opened one of the orange doors and found a tiny cabin with two bunk beds. McGovern found one of the couches at the end of the room. 

"We'll do our best," Harper said diplomatically. "Are we free to move about the ship?"

"Not without an escort. Confine your movements to this deck," Kysoria ordered. "There is an observation lounge down the corridor. The captain will be making regular announcements concerning departures and arrivals." 

There did not seem to be anything more to say. "Thank you," Gordon offered. Kysoria bowed his head, and left the cabin. 

"They run a tight ship here," observed McGovern, getting up from the couch. "Is there anything to eat?"

Strickland opened one of the cabinets. Inside were metal canisters with plastic lids. He pried one open. "Looks like cornmeal," he said. He examined the other containers one by one. "Flour, sugar... we ought to be able to make something out of all this." 

Gordon opened the door to the tiny refrigerator. It was empty, except for three clear bottles filled with a pale blue liquid. "I wonder what this is?" he said, picking one up. Strickland took it from his hand, twisted off the lid and sniffed at the opening. 

"I think it's lithit milk," he said. "Very common in Ferengi space. Not bad."

"What's a lithit?" Gordon asked. 

"You don't want to know!" McGovern answered quickly.  

Strickland opened another cabinet and found several pots and pans. One canister rattled when he picked it up. He looked inside. "Pasta," he declared with a smile. "I'll get started on supper."

The deck shuddered, telling them the ship was moving out of dock. "I'm going to find that observation lounge," Harper said, leaving the room. Strickland started to fill a pot with water from the sink. 

The "lounge" was a wide spot in the corridor with windows along the port hull. A long, metal bench faced the windows. Beyond the transparent aluminum windows, gantries, frames and other metal structures glided past at a modest rate. One last spherical tank flashed past the windows, and the ship was free of the dock. Harper could get a good view of the station from there. Multiple docking frameworks grew out of a central core about a dozen decks thick. Ships of all sizes buzzed around the station like hungry insects. 

The ship continued to retreat on a straight line until it reached about a thousand meters from the station. That was when the nose of the ship turned, and the station fell away from sight. A bright crescent appeared high above, and Harper had to lean over to see up through the windows at the planet Anabelska. The image lasted only for a moment until the ship finally leveled out, pointed off to a bright starfield. Over the loudspeakers, a bell chimed three times. Harper took a seat on the metal bench as she felt the ship accelerate. She guessed the bridge was one or two levels above her. Impulse engines were still employed, so the scene outside the windows remained static. Harper sat back and closed her eyes, thinking about the first time she traveled faster than light. She was on vacation with her parents, and could not have been more than ten. She remembered the excitement of watching the stars blur and streak under the Doppler shift, and what a thrill it was. Now, warp speed was just another form of transportation, so bland, so mundane. 

She opened her eyes, and realized they'd already jumped to warp. The stars outside were streaking past towards the stern of the Amonak Ra. The bell must have been the signal they were going to warp speed. 

Back in the cabin, the other three were busy preparing supper. Strickland had the pasta boiling on the stove, and was mixing up some sauce in a pan.

"No forks?" McGovern was saying as he looked through some of the cabinets. "How do you eat without forks?"

"Here they are," Gordon reported. He held up a metal instrument with two pointed prongs, one twice as long as the other. "I think." 

"That'll do," McGovern decided, taking the forkish-thing from Gordon's hand. He looked over Strickland's shoulder. "Is it done yet?"

"Soon," Strickland replied, stirring the mixture. "Find me something to strain the pasta with." The spice collection he got way back at the beginning of their trip was on the small counter. Harper could smell oregano in the air. She was starting to get hungry. 

McGovern and Gordon resumed exploring the cabinets. Harper looked around the counter. "Plates?" she asked. 

"No plates," Strickland reported. "Only bowls." 

"That'll do," McGovern repeated. He held up what looked like a large tea strainer. "How's this?"

"Perfect," Strickland said. He poured the boiling mixture through the implement, separating the water from the pasta. "Give me your bowls."

The meal was simple but filling. The pasta came out as a thick fettuccine. Strickland's sauce tasted like a creamy pesto, with a hint of black olives. Gordon found some dried fruit that tasted like peaches, and Harper prepared a pitcher of green tea. 

"What's our next destination?" McGovern asked as he went back for seconds. 

"Pixitar," Strickland reported. "The system is run by a monarch, with military backing from the Romulans. According to the schedule, it's about a nine hour trip. We'll be stopping there for a few hours, and then head on to the next port." He looked at McGovern. "Should be time for us to go ‘shopping.'" 

McGovern was scooping pasta in his bowl when Gordon said, "You might want to go easy on the sauce, general." He patted his belly for emphasis, reminding McGovern of his recent sickness. 

"Oh," McGovern said, putting the scooping spoon down. "Yeah." 

"After Pixitar," Strickland continued, "we'll make one more stop at Cappitsula before moving on. This is the next to last leg of our trip. We'll stay on this ship until our last stop at the Emby Station on Kartikay III, a moon in the Idalya System. That's where we'll pick up a ship for Concordia." 

Harper sniffed the air. "Is that bread I smell?"

Strickland pointed to the small oven in the kitchen area. "I've got some unleavened bread cooking for later." 

"Frannie," said McGovern, wiping his face with a napkin, "you need to download your mountain climbing maps into Warren's notebook. I think we should go over some possible routes."

"All right," she replied. "I still think it's looking like a non-technical climb."

"And it might be," admitted McGovern. "But if those orbital scans were even only a couple of meters off, we might be looking at some tough pitches ahead." 

They heard footsteps in the corridor, and moments later Second Mate Kysoria appeared in the hatch. "I see you found the food stocks," he said dryly. 

Harper pointed at the pot in the kitchen. "Would you like some?"

The Andorian blinked, and his antenna rose in surprise. "Thank you, no," he said. "I have come to tell you the ship will be switching to night shift in a few minutes. Corridor lights will be at half-strength for six hours."

Harper nodded her head. "We understand."

Kysoria turned to leave. "We will arrive at Pixitar in approximately ten hours. Goodnight."