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“Shit,” McEvoy hissed, allowing his breathing to resume as he continued to listen and hope.

“Draken IV is located in the Taugan sector. It lies somewhat closer to the Kaleb sector boundary than Calder does, but it’s still close enough to Earth to pose a credible strategic threat should it fall under Romulan control the way Calder II did.

“For the past decade, the Draken system’s fourth planet has been home to dozens of human scientists, researchers, and engineers. During that time, the outpost they built there and expanded steadily has prospered, despite the perils of Draken IV’s harsh climate and the occasional pirate raid.

“But all that has just changed, suddenly and completely, amid fire and screams and whistling projectiles launched from orbit. The Romulans came in the dead of night, and took Draken IV as she slept. So far there appear to have been no survivors. The dreams and futures of seventy-three men, women, and children appear to have been snuffed out in a callous bombardment, with a single rag-tag merchant vessel serving as the sole living witness to the slaughter. Starfleet has yet to tender an official comment.

“Of course, whatever Starfleet might have to say about the Draken IV massacre is neither here nor there. Words of sympathy or outrage won’t bring back the people who died, after all. What really counts is action— stopping the Romulans cold the next time they attempt such a cowardly sneak attack. But can we really rely on Starfleet to take that kind of action? Their record so far, and their persistent silence, does not inspire confidence with this reporter.

“This is Gannet Brooks, for Newstime.”

She vanished from the screen, leaving a lingering afterimage of her hollow, deadened gaze. Finally that, too, faded, leaving McEvoy alone with his dour thoughts and gnawing fears.

Perhaps Gannet Brooks was absolutely right to continue playing the maverick, despite his pleas for moderation. She was out in field, after all, free of the blinkered perspective of an Earthbound office. He had to concede that she just might understand what was going on a whole hell of a lot better than he did.

But there was that damned haunted look in her eyes. What horrors must she have witnessed out there? She may have seen terrors that he could scarcely even imagine.

Maybe Admiral Black is right, he thought. Maybe she really isn’t looking at things objectively anymore.

Maybe she no longer can.

Something occurred to him then that surprised him greatly: Even though he had always taken Gannet’s toughness for granted, he found that he was suddenly worried about her.

He decided then and there to recall her to Earth. If that made him appear to be knuckling under to Starfleet pressure, then that was fine with him. It was true enough that he didn’t want to tempt Admiral Black to follow through on his threat to tie up Newstime indefinitely in planetary security red tape. But it was equally true that he no longer cared about appearances. He had to bring Gannet home.

Wait a minute, he thought. This is Gannet Brooks you’re talking about here.

He knew that reeling her all the way back to the home office might turn out to be a lot easier said than done. She was more than likely to dig in her heels. He would have to exert some leverage if he wanted to short-circuit that.

McEvoy touched a button on his desktop computer, activating the unit’s audio note-recorder.

“Note to self,” he said. “Remember to revoke Gannet Brooks’s credit chit... tomorrow.”

SIXTY

Aeihk’aeleir Shipyard

TRIP FELT A FAMILIAR VIBRATION coming through the floor of the Vulcan vessel’s turbolift.

“The lift is moving again,” Tevik said. Ych’a nodded but added nothing.

Trip’s nervous system made a nuanced but emphatic counterobservation. “It’s not the lift,” he said. “The ship is moving.” His years serving as Enterprise’s chief engineer had made him intimately familiar with the sensation of forward motion coming slightly ahead of a ship’s inertial