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“Very well—but I expect a complete sharing of intelligence on the Maquis. I am determined to make sure this ragtag group of terrorists are wiped from the face of the galaxy once and for all!”

Evek punctuated his outburst by cutting off the communication at his end.

“Very dramatic.”

Nechayev actually chuckled. “I’m surprised. Evek doesn’t usually go for those kinds of histrionics. But this is a difficult situation.”

“True. If that’s all, Admiral, we need to get the lead out.” DeSoto moved as if to cut the connection.

“One thing, Captain.” DeSoto’s finger hovered over the control. “The most important thing right now is retrieving the artifact. We can’t afford to let it fall into Maquis or Cardassian hands. It’s far too dangerous.”

“We’ll get it back for you, Admiral. Hood out.”

As he walked out to the bridge, he shook his head. Gee, Admiral, thanks so much for explaining to me what I already knew.

“Dina,” he said to Voyskunsky as she vacated the command chair for him, “if I ever turn into a hidebound desk-jockey type, please don’t hesitate to shoot me in the head.”

“Noted and logged, sir.”

“Anyhow, we’ve got our free pass in the DMZ. Baifang, set course for the Slaybis system, warp nine. Jose, keep an eye on those readings. If the artifact changes course even a micrometer, I want to know about it. Manolet, arm phasers and load torpedo bays.” He gave Voyskunsky a small smile. “We’re the lone white piece in a sea of black pieces.”

A chorus of “Aye, sir’s” flew about the bridge.

Hsu added, “Course plotted and laid in, sir.”

“Hit it.”

When the Liberator came out of warp, Cal Hudson was surprised to see an intact hull.

“Pull in to forty thousand kilometers,” he told Mastroeni, and then did a full scan. The sensors explained the seeming discrepancy between the hull-buckling sounds in Chakotay’s distress call and the image on the viewscreen: Hudson was reading severe damage to the inner hull, and also extreme temperature variations throughout the small vessel. “Looks like Tuvok’s weather controller got loose inside the ship.”

“The emissions are still in motion, about two light-years ahead and traveling at warp three.” She looked over at Hudson. “Their course takes them right to the Slaybis system.”

“Slaybis?” Hudson racked his brain, and then came up with a match. “There’s a human colony on the fourth planet and a bunch of Cardassian farmers on the second. Neither of them’s much of a target. Why would whoever has the artifact be heading there?”

“You can ask Chakotay himself,” Mastroeni said, looking down at her console. “He’s hailing us.”

A dark face appeared on the tiny viewscreen. The captain of the Geronimo had determined features, accented by a featherlike tattoo over his left eye, and close-cropped black hair. “This is Captain Chakotay of the Geronimo. You must be Captain Hudson.”

“Cal is fine,” Hudson said. He’d left ranks behind when he quit Starfleet, and being referred to as a captain—particularly given that he was “only” a lieutenant commander when he resigned—just brought back bad memories.

Chakotay smiled grimly. “Normally, I’d be wary of the two of us talking like this.” Maquis cell leaders deliberately avoided contact with each other as a security measure.

Returning the smile, Hudson said, “Hey, if you want us to turn around…”

“That’s quite all right. We’ve got thirty-eight people here and a ship that’s buckling at the seams. My engineer tells me we’ll implode inside of fifteen minutes.”

“You can give me the details once we get you settled over here. Hudson out.” He then instructed the transporter room to start beaming Chakotay’s people over, as well as whatever cargo the Liberator had room for. There turned out to be very little of that; most of Chakotay’s people’s personal belongings were in a safe place that Hudson didn’t want to know the location of.

It only took ten minutes to complete the transfer. From the transporter room, Chakotay said, “If you’ve got the weapons to spare, Hudson, I’d like you to destroy the ship. I’d rather a stray Cardassian didn