"Phread and I had been undergoing some surgical procedures at the October base on Pubar III," Stev began as he put his own skewer on the table.

"Pubar III?" T’Aiya asked suppressing a shudder. "Isn’t that the planet where you ‘died’ when the Essex blew up?"

Stev nodded his head and continued, "That shuttle accident was a cover story for getting me to one of October’s bases. Frankenstein contacted me at the base and sent me on my first mission…"

Stev eyed the sleek lines of his new ship. The new Flemming-class shuttle was the latest thing to come out of the Utopia Planetia Yards. Fleet R&D was experimenting with a sleeker more-streamlined hull geometry. The freshly painted hull gave no indication as to the ship’s identity. The Vulcan palmed open the hatch and stepped inside. Involuntarily, he sniffed the odor of a freshly built ship. Stopping to wonder at why humanoids sniffed at the interior of a new vehicle, he almost missed the text scrolling across one of the computer monitors.

"Stev, I can communicate. Stev, I can communicate. Stev, I can communicate. Stev, I can communicate. Stev, I can communicate."

"Great," he thought to himself, "a thinking shuttlecraft. Just what I need."

Stev made his way to the cockpit of his new craft. Each monitor he passed continued to scroll the message. When he got to the cockpit he spotted a familiar pile of brown fur.

"Phread?" the Vulcan asked. Seeing the tribble wiggle his direction, he continued, "Oh good you survived the enhancements those scientists insisted on."

Stev was completely shocked by what happened next, as he had always talked to his pet. It was a quaint custom shared by many humanoid species, not just humans. The scrolling text changed.

"Yes, I survived. And the scientists gave me the ability to communicate via computer," scrolled across the monitor as the tribble purred excitedly.

Stev raised his eyebrow. He walked over to his pet, retrieved it from the console where it was sitting and began to stroke its fur and said, "Is this some sort of interactive software the scientists placed in your concealed computer circuitry?"

"Nope, tribbles are sentient and communicate with each other. I’ve never been able to communicate with anyone else before."

Stev stopped the stroking and read the screen closely. His gaze shifted from Phread to the monitor and back again. The tribble began to squirm in his hands, "Please don’t stop petting me. I enjoy the soft gentle stroking of my fur."

"Sorry, my friend," Stev replied as his hands resumed their former task. "If you are indeed capable of talking, then perhaps you can help me find the mission orders I was told would be onboard."

"Sure, Frankenstein left them on the computer where I could access them. Let me run the file."

"Scarecrow, You’ve found your crow or you wouldn’t be seeing this message." Stev recognized the new codenames for himself and his pet coming from the distorted image on the monitor.

The recording continued, "Flight plans have been downloaded to your crow. You are to provide clandestine cover support for the IKS Mor’oQ. The Mor’oQ is transporting Ambassador Edwards from Federation Space to a meeting with Chancellor Azetbur on Qo’noS. Fleet Intelligence has a credible threat that the Klingons will be attacked enroute. Unfortunately they cannot confirm this threat. The Klingons spouted some drivel about ‘honor’ when Starfleet recommended a joint mission with one of our ships providing escort duty. Your job is to provide escort duty without the Klingons knowing. Frankenstein out."

"How am I supposed to escort a Klingon Bird of Prey without the Klingons knowing?" Stev asked out loud.

"The Ghost Rider is equipped with a cloaking device." Phread replied.

Stev’s eyebrow notched up of its own accord as a smile spread across his face, "Well that’s different. Is she ready to go?"

"Yes."

"Well then let’s test those new capabilities that I knew you were getting. Lay in a course for the coordinates provided."

The tribble purred in excitement, "Aye."

T’Aiya’s communicator beeped interrupting the story, "Lieutenant Llire, please report."

Stev stopped his narrative while she answered the call, "Llire here."

Commander QaS’ voice clearly answered, "Lieutenant, I need the maintenance logs for last night’s shift."

T’Aiya raised an eyebrow, "Aye, sir."

Sensing a minor conflict in emotions across the bond, Stev asked, "Is there anything wrong?"

Starting to shake her head ‘no’, T’Aiya paused and then answered, "Commander QaS’ vocal inflections indicate a higher than normal stress level than would be expected while in space dock."

"Ah," her companion replied, "then perhaps it would be better to continue my tale at lunch tomorrow."

Allowing herself to be more true to her emotions due to the deepening nature of their relationship, T’Aiya allowed a slight downcast expression to briefly manifest itself in her features. The slight downturn was immediately followed by a slight smile, "That is a most logical course of action."

Placing his hand affectionately under her jaw, Stev nodded, "I believe that tomorrow it will be your turn to pick lunch."

Covering his hand in her own, she nodded. Silently the two companions stood and left the Phoenix’s main gathering spot.

LT McDonald, PHOENIX’s ship psychologist sat in a chair with her hand hovering above a PADD to make notes. For the past thirteen minutes she had made none, because the crewmember sitting in a chair opposite her, LCDR QaS, had said nothing.

"You know, commander," she broke the air, "Engineering isn't going anywhere if that is what you are thinking about."

"I am merely going through my duty roster in my mind," QaS offered up, his baritone voice finally rumbling in the compartment.

"I see," McDonald smiled, "you take your rank as Chief Engineer very seriously."

A stupid observation, QaS thought, looking at her.

His disdain must have registered in his features. "There aren't too many chief engineers in Starfleet who personally supervise or participate in minor repairs in all areas of a starship."

"There is no job too small for a Starfleet Chief Engineer," QaS observed. "I do not assign any of my crew duties I myself would not perform."

"Is that why you spent a week making repairs yourself to that cell in the brig?" McDonald pointed out, gazing steadily at the Klingon.

Crafty human female, QaS thought, amused. She thinks I need to "talk" about that whole incident during the investigation into Ensign Wells' murder. He looked equally as steadily back at the Ship's Psychologist. "We all experience humbling events during military service, doctor."

""Humbling,"" she repeated quietly. "Interesting choice of words, commander. Care to elaborate?"

"No."

Smiling almost to herself, LT McDonald set the PADD down on her lap. Making notes in it irritated QaS. When she finished she looked up at him. "You may go, commander. I will see you tomorrow morning at 0700 hours."

QaS nodded respectfully and left the cabin. As he walked down the passageway towards the turbolift, relieved to be going to Engineering, he mused, Most Starfleet crew have no idea the true meaning of a "humbling experience…"

The mess hall of the Klingon Bird of Prey Mor’oQ was boisterous with prideful boasting. The officers were indulging in tankards of blood wine, heady with the fact that Chancellor Azetbur of the High Council on Qo’noS had chosen the Mor’oQ to transport a Federation envoy to Qo’noS from Terra.

Crewman QaS sat at the end of one of the benches quietly eating his bowl of targSomraw’chab. He missed the homeworld terribly, and could not wait to get back on Qo’noS, if only for shore leave. He only half heard the posturing of the other crew members.

A female tactical officer chimed in, "Did you see the way the tera’ngan (Terran) stays in his quarters? The Federation may negotiate with the High Council but they still fear Klingons!"

QaS was painfully aware that the rest of the crew regarded humans with disdain. Earth was openly called juHpujwI’ (cradle of weaklings) by many of his fellow crew. It made QaS acutely sensitive to his human half, something, that in Klingon society, was considered a liability. Although he experienced little of his human sensibilities, he had slowly come to realize that he was not the same as the other Klingons. There was something not definable in his being that caused him to feel separate from the remainder of the crew, though separate from humans as well. Unfortunately, word of his human mother had gone through the ship early in his first cruise, six DIS (Klingon year) before. It made for many unpleasant confrontations with other crew members.

QaS rose and jammed his empty bowl into the matter reclamator. He had heard enough posturing for one shift. He intended to return to the engine room and continue some maintenance he was doing on the engine manifolds. As he passed the other bench, Sub-Commander RoQ held his tankard out, "You, bID Sep, fetch me some more bloodwine."

The half-Klingon never failed to wince at being referred to as a "bID Sep". Indeed, it was the excuse for much of the abuse QaS suffered at the hands of the other members of the crew. He had found few on the ship that had a jovial word for him in his six years of service on the Mor’oQ. No matter how diligently he preformed his duties, he found that he could not garner the respect of his senior officers or his fellow crewmembers. As a young adult, the focus of his entire being had been honorable service to the Empire among the stars. His service on the Mor’oQ, however, had shown him over the years that his human-half was an impediment to that goal. Six years in service and he still held crewman’s rank, hardly something his father, Torg likely bragged about.

QaS emitted an almost imperceptible sigh as he took RoQ’s tankard. Surely there were other ways than this that he could bring honor to House of Grek. RoQ erupted angrily as QaS accepted his tankard with resignation. He butted the young crewman up against the bulkhead, dazing him. "What?! The QIv does not like my request! He sighs like a buD be’Hom (a lazy young girl)!"

Despite the fact that QaS had no desire to enter into a challenge to the death, his Klingon blood was inflamed by the insult. In a heartbeat he had drawn his knife from its scabbard on his hip, his chest heaving up and down in anger. RoQ laughed derisively as he slowly withdrew his own blade; more than ready to teach the bID Sep a lesson.

As the two warriors circled each other, blades drawn, looking for an advantage, the hatch swished open. The first officer, Commander Drup, entered. He pushed the two warriors roughly apart, "Su qoHpu!" he exclaimed. "Have you nothing better to do when we carry out such an honored mission? Sheathe your weapons! You can settle this when the future of the Empire is no longer in question!" He looked archly at QaS, "You, crewman, return to your post. I believe there are manifolds for you to clean."

The rest of the crewmembers in the mess laughed derisively at Drup’s insulting orders to Qas. The half-Klingon’s breathing slowly returned to normal. "Yes, commander," he responded.

As QaS passed RoQ, their eyes locked, and the sub-commander muttered under his breath, "tIchvam jIHqaw (this isn't finished, I’ll remember you), bID Sep."

"Ah, my favorite Vulcan couple," Lieutenant Chubb enthused as Stev and T’Aiya entered the Nest. The rotund officer escorted the pair to a preset table. Stev could see the condensation forming on the sides of the bowls placed neatly in front of the two chairs.

"Andorian Aysgr’b?" Stev asked as he pulled her chair out from the table for her.

"Yes," T’Aiya said, "I will enjoy cold vegetable soup while you continue your tale."

Stev stoically ignored the uncomfortable feeling of the brand new control seat. The seat was molded to fit his frame; however the new leather had yet to be broken in. He monitored the displays, simultaneously keeping tabs on the lifesigns of Ambassador Edwards, power levels on the Klingon ship, and scans of space parsecs out in each direction.

Stev silently wished that he could let the Klingons know he was providing cover for them on their journey. However he knew that Klingon honor as well as his orders from Frankenstein precluded that choice. The Vulcan expertly shadowed the Klingon Bird-of-Prey, knowing that his piloting skills were one of the reasons that October had recruited him. He was close enough to the primary hull that he could read the name painted on the hull in Klingon script. "Mor’oQ, named for a flesh-eating avian species native to Qo'noS", he thought.

"Are we sure the Klingons can’t see us?" Phread asked interrupting Stev’s reverie.

"Pretty certain, though the adaptive polymer exterior is very experimental."

"Stev, there is possible activity at the edge of scanner range," Phread alerted his friend via a text scroll.

"I noticed that as well," Stev replied with a quick involuntary glance to the appropriate monitor. "Are you sure it isn’t galactic background noise?"

"It might be, Stev," the tribble conceded. "I’m still getting used to reading computer data straight across my impants."

"Keep track of the anomaly. We’re both getting used to new capabilities," the Vulcan replied as he consciously suppressed the urge to scratch at his own surgical modifications.

"Got it," a pause occurred while the tribble wiggled, apparently in thought. "You know, Stev, this is a really nice development."

"What is?" the Vulcan asked.

"Being able to do more than ‘coo’ and purr."

Stev chuckled out loud. He then reached over and stroked his pet’s fur, "If I’m going to be a solo operative for this section of the Federation, it will be an advantage to have someone to talk to."

"Promise me one thing, Stev?"

"What little buddy?"

"Don’t start telling me any of your ‘Rap-rap’ jokes. I’ve heard them all before."

"I had wondered why you hadn’t been telling a constant stream of those Terran puns since you returned," T’Aiya interrupted.

"I’ve gotten out of the habit over the years," Stev conceded.

"One thing hasn’t changed," T’Aiya said allowing a small upturn to her lips.

"And that is?" Stev asked.

"You still know how to tell a good story. We’ve managed to while away another lunch break."

"It is my turn to pick lunch tomorrow." Seeing her nose wrinkle slightly, he grinned, "I promise, no meat."

T’Aiya glanced furtively around the room. Seeing that no one was watching she leaned over and quickly kissed her adunbreish on the cheek, "I appreciate that Aishamano."

LCDR QaS read the Engineering duty log from LT Brannon's watch in Shuttle Operations. Everything seemed to have been routine in the shuttle engineer's diagnostics of the Ghost Rider's propulsion systems. The Chief Engineer thought he would take a last look at the Ghost Rider before he went off duty. As he approached it in the secondary shuttle bay, he activated a quick scan with his tricorder. His brow furrowed as he read the results. These changes were not enumerated in the lieutenant's report.

"QaS to Commander Stryker," he said activating a nearby comm. panel.

"Stryker here, Mister QaS, go ahead," the First Officer responded.

"I wish to see you about the Ghost Rider, sir," QaS said crisply.

Was that another sigh from the First Officer QaS detected over the comm.?

"Very well," Stryker said after a considerable pause.

Shortly, QaS stood before the First Officer, regarding the readouts on his tricorder.

"What's on your mind, commander?" Stryker said, getting right to the point.

"My examination of the Ghost Rider indicates that there are structural alterations to the hull of the vessel," QaS said, half-expecting the First Officer to register a surprised look. He did not get one.

"Yes, and….?" Stryker said impatiently.

Facing a cool reaction, as it were, QaS hesitated, "Well, sir, Starfleet shuttle regulations do not allow for removable parts, or moveable bulkheads," he said, "as it clearly states in Fleet Shuttle Regulations, paragraph 5 subsection (c)."

He would have quoted it to the First Officer, but Stryker's wagging head stopped him, "The captain approved those modifications, commander, in fact, she insisted on them when Lieutenant Stev came aboard."

"I do not understand," QaS admitted. "If my engineers are to competently service Ghost Rider, then they need to understand the reasons for the modifications."

"No, they don't, Mister QaS," Stryker said rising, "and neither do you. Technically that shuttle belongs to Starfleet Intelligence, and is under the purview of Mister Stev and Commander Seabrook. As long as your engineers can keep her running, Lieutenant Stev will oversee structural issues…and weapons."

As QaS left the First Officer's office and headed for the turbolift, his natural impatience with Vulcans surfaced in his thinking. His mind was actually a knot of confusion about the status of LT Stev and Ghost Rider in relation to PHOENIX. He needed to shove it to the back of his mind, however. Today was Wednesday, his usual day for sparring bet'leH with LCDR Soen Mon'Teith. Since the death of her paramour, her battles in the gymnasium with him had taken on a decidedly fierce nature.

"….and so, commander, I'd like to understand the Klingon perception of honor, if you wouldn't mind explaining it to me," LT Sally McDonald said, trying to initiate a conversation with her burly subject.

LCDR QaS sat cross-armed in his chair, easily, regarding the PHOENIX psychologist. How could she not comprehend "honor?" "I believe you humans have the word in your language."

"Yes, but, I'm sure you'll agree that every culture has a different perception of what constitutes it," McDonald persisted. "I'd be interested in hearing your definition of batiH."

QaS was mildly surprised that the ship's psychologist knew the Klingon word for honor, but, it did not really impress him. "To have honor," he said in a measured tone, "is to competently do one's duty to the ship, instead of sitting around talking about doing it."

Well, he got me there. But McDonald was not about to cede the point. "Surely in Klingon service "honor" is more tied to battle and the rewards of victory."

"Yes," QaS said slowly, "just as the Phoenix has distinguished itself in battle many times."

"But, Starfleet is only para-military, Mister QaS," McDonald pointed out irritatingly, "our goal is one of exploration."

"Our duty is also to protect the honor of the Federation against any threat," QaS said. "In my ten years of service on this vessel, we have fought the Jirzzaque three times, the Romulans, and faced hostile Orions I do not recall how many times. I have written communiqués to the kin of fallen Starfleet officers under my command explaining how they died with honor while doing their duty. It is not right to diminish that with the word ‘para-military." Soen Mon'Teith would agree with me on that.

He's got me again, McDonald smiled to herself. "Not at all, commander," she said quietly making notes.

Again with the notes, thought QaS. What of any possible value could she be finding to write down?

McDonald leaned forward, holding her PADD against her chest, cross-legged. "Before we meet tomorrow, commander, I'd like you to take just a little time to think what else "honor" might mean about your service in Starfleet."

QaS snorted slightly as the hatch swished closed behind him as he entered the passageway from the psychologist's office. There really was nothing to think about -- Klingons learned the true ways of honor, there was only one way to look at it. Although, he had to admit to himself, it is not always an easy road…..

QaS did not choose to respond to the remark. News of his humiliation in the mess hall had gotten around the ship quickly. His mind wandered as he preformed his perfunctory duties. How fortunate it was that his father was not aware of the menial tasks assigned to QaS. Six years in service and he had seen no glories, won no honors. This was despite the fact that QaS knew more about the engine systems than the ship’s engineer. QaS had vowed quite some time earlier never to shame his father or his tutor Drek with details of his dishonorable position on the Mor’oQ.

Commander Vol snapped his attention in QaS’ direction, pushing him roughly into the bulkhead, "Must I endure your tIhIv (insubordinate) attitude aside from your ineptitude? Do as you’re ordered!"

T’Aiya stood outside the Nest waiting for her adunbreish. Stev had not yet arrived. Neither was she sensing him nearby via the bond they now shared. T’Aiya was not alarmed as she was certain there was a logical reason for his tardiness. She waited another sixty seconds.

<"Aishamano?">, she thought across the bond. She could sense Stev was deeply engrossed in his current task.

<"Yes?">, the reply was quick.

<"Had you forgotten our lunch date?">, she asked.

<"No, why?">, a pause filled with slight embarrassment flowed across the bond. <"Aishamano, I apologize. Commander Seabrook informed me that we would be leaving Flying Cloud in forty-two hours.">

A knowing look passed across T’Aiya’s face as she realized that Stev was working on the GHOST RIDER, <"Will you be able to finish the modifications in time?">

<"It would go faster with some assistance,"> Stev conceded.

<"I thought Lieutenant Brannon was assisting you.">

<"He was, but Commander QaS insisted that every shuttle needed a complete systems check.">

<"I will bring you some lunch and then ask Commander QaS if I may assist you.">

<"That is certainly a logical course of action. Thank you.">

T’Aiya walked into the Nest. The subdued chatter of the personnel having their mid-day meal washed over her. The smells of the various dishes being consumed melded together in a pleasing aroma. LT Chubb noticed her arrival immediately. The stout officer headed her way.

"Where is your dining companion, Lieutenant?" Chubb asked as soon as he met up with her.

"Stev is working very hard on finishing the renovations to the Ghost Rider before we leave spacedock," she answered.

"I suspected as much," Chubb replied. He held a covered tray, "I took the liberty of preparing your Dutara Root to go."

"Thank you Lieutenant, efficient as ever," she replied with clipped professionalism.

"High praise from one with Vulcan ancestry," Chubb said with a slight incline of his head towards her.

T’Aiya took the covered tray and inclined her head in return. Balancing the tray in one hand she activated her communicator with the other, "Lieutenant Llire to Commander QaS."

"QaS here. Go ahead Lieutenant," the deep baritone voice of the Phoenix’s Chief Engineer answered.

"I am requesting permission to help Lieutenant Stev finish his project before we depart spacedock,"

What sounded like a pause to anyone else who happened to catch the conversation, was in fact the Klingon muttering under his breath. T’Aiya’s sensitive ears caught the softly spoken words, "That shuttle is going to cause problems." QaS’ voice then enunciated clearly, "Have you finished the warp core diagnostic?"

Detecting the exasperation in his voice, T’Aiya answered simply, "Yes."

"Have the plasma injectors been cleaned?"

Understanding that Commander QaS would run through every last thing that could be done in engineering, T’Aiya logically answered, "I have finished everything on my duty roster. Engineering is ready for our next mission."

"I will judge that, lieutenant," QaS growled, although not critically. However, for now you have my permission to help Lieutenant Stev."

"Acknowledged. T’Aiya out," she replied as she closed the comm.

She then contacted Stev via the bond, <"Aishamano.">

<"Yes?">

<"I have our lunch and you’ll have my assistance for at least the rest of the day.">

<"You’re getting close to the shuttle bay,"> Stev stated telepathically.

<"Your telepathy is keying in on my presence once more?">

<"Actually, Aishamano, I’ve been able to key in your presence for some time now. The range has been slowly increasing over time.">

"Well that is nice to know," T’Aiya stated out loud as she walked up next to the GHOST RIDER.

The Intelligence shuttle was on supports and raised off the floor. A pair of maroon covered legs jutted out from underneath the small craft. T’Aiya went over to the legs and sat the tray down on the deck. Straddling the legs she pulled her adunbreish out from underneath the ship he had called home for ten years. She was rewarded for her efforts when Stev’s grinning face appeared. He propped himself up on his elbows and gave her a quick kiss.

Still uncomfortable with such public displays of affection, T’Aiya playfully pushed him back, "Stev, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you had some human blood."

"I’ll take that as a compliment," he replied with a grin. Lifting the cover off of the tray he took a deep inhale, "Lieutenant Chubb has outdone himself. If this Dutara Root is half as good as it smells, he could pass for a chef on Xyrillia itself," he concluded as he took a bite.

T’Aiya inhaled as well, "At least there’s no meat in this dish."

Swallowing his first bite, Stev asked, "Shall I continue my story while we eat?"

"Please do," she replied before taking a bite of her own.

"Stev, that anomaly I’ve been tracking has been keeping pace with us," Phread alerted his friend.

"So it’s definitely not galactic background noise?" Stev asked.

"Pretty sure," the tribble replied. "The computer estimates a 76% chance that it’s a cloaked vessel."

"A Klingon escort?"

"Possibly. Though, if it is a cloaked vessel it does not match Klingon cloaking frequencies."

"Computer indicates an 84% match to Romulan frequencies."

"Romulan?" Stev asked the surprise evident in his voice. "Let me know as soon as either you or the computer can positively identify it as a cloaked Romulan vessel."

"Why?"

"Orders or not, we’ll break radio silence and warn the Klingons if we positively identify that anomaly as Romulans."

"Got it,"

Stardate 2321.09.IX

Wiping her mouth with a napkin, T’Aiya waited for Stev to pause. When he did she indicated the scarred surface of the GHOST RIDER and asked, "This shuttle has seen lots of action; exactly what are we doing to it?"

"The adaptive polymer exterior was damaged during our last mission. Commander Seabrook has authorized a retro-fitting of the Ghost Rider for physical camouflage."

"I can see the hard point attachments that you’ve added," she said. "What were you doing underneath?"

"Attaching a device that will mask the actual warp signature and will allow the pilot to fake the warp signature of whatever class ship we’re using as a disguise."

"Well then if we’re going to have this craft ready to go in less than forty hours we had better get working."

As QaS slowly made his way to LT McDonald's office for his last psych eval session, he actually did ponder her suggestions from the previous day's session. Could it be that the simple Klingon obsession with "honor" eluded the understanding of humans? In his mind, the differences between what he had experienced on the Mor'oQ and now on PHOENIX were planetary systems apart in his personal road to honor. How could he ever forget his last hour of degradation on the Klingon bird-of-prey………….

"nuq ra’, bID Sep (what are you doing, half-breed)?" RoQ demanded.

"jIH Say’ DuS wa’ pu’ (I'm cleaning torpedo tube 1)," QaS responded, looking him in the eyes.

RoQ’s face reflected haughty amusement at QaS’ menial task, "cho lo’laHbe (you are useless to us)," he said with a sneer. Not surprisingly, the sub-commander withdrew his knife from his hip scabbard. He obviously intended to finish what he had incited in the mess hall. "cho HoHvIp (you are afraid to kill me)," he said further in his most derisive tone.

The menial and degrading duties given him over the past six years, and the constant insults by other crewmembers finally pushed QaS beyond the bounds of his human half’s self-control. He withdrew his own knife and spouted angrily, "jIH Qay yap (I've had enough)!"

RoQ was surprised by the initial ferocity of QaS’ attack, "Ho, bID Sep, maybe you do have some Klingon fire in you after all."

"Prepare to enter Stova’Kor, bID Sep," RoQ leered as he raised his blade, ready to make the death thrust.

Suddenly, the Mor’oQ lurched and then plunged so violently, that the two warriors were thrown apart on either side of the deck. It was as if the ship were suddenly taking evasive maneuvers.

"Duj qaS nuq (what is happening to the ship)?" QaS exclaimed.

The primary hull wreckage was beginning to lose attitude. The illumination failed and hatches were blowing with explosive force. It was only a matter of moments before the auxiliary power would fail and the containment field would drop. QaS was only dimly aware of the disintegrating ship around him. He maintained his grip on the coupling as if holding on to life itself. If this were indeed his hour of death, he would surrender with dignity. His mind raced with a million incomplete thoughts. In his mind's eye he saw his father Torg, and tutor Drek and happy targh hunts on Qo’noS. QaS hoped that the end would be swift. He closed his eyes, hoping to awaken in Stova’Kor, to be reunited with his mother.

"…I believe many take their duty to one another for granted," QaS heard himself saying to the PHOENIX psychologist. "Either that or they confuse "honor" with vainglory."

"Why do you say that, Mister QaS?" LT McDonald asked earnestly, leaning forward.

"Simply because I believe many are never tested to their limits," QaS stated flatly. "If they were, they would cherish every moment of reward."

"And you see your career in Starfleet as a reward?" McDonald went on.

"I have been granted the privilege of the rank of Chief Engineer of a starship, lieutenant," QaS said, his tone slightly elevated. "I have seen this ship successfully through battles, many of them on vital missions for the Federation. I would be a fool not to see every day of my posting as a reward." His eyes glazed slightly as he thought of subordinates whom he had lost over the years in service. "And the crew I serve with is equally a reward. Few Klingon crews have ever equaled them in honor."

McDonald sat mute for a space, staring at the Chief Engineer. She had had no pre-conceived notions about counseling a Klingon when she had first met QaS. She had to admit to herself that she had learned a lot about them.

Almost as if QaS was reading her mind, he completed her thought. "Life is one big learning experience, is it not, doctor? That is what I have found since joining Starfleet." With that, he rose, nodded respectfully to her, and exited her office.

Stardate 2321.10.IX, 0711 hours. Session III with Lieutenant Commander QaS complete, McDonald noted on QaS' personnel file on her PADD. Officer cleared to continue active duty. Involuntarily, she smiled.

As QaS entered Engineering, he was surprised to find LT Llire busily working at the command station near the warp core. She was obviously putting the finishing touches to testing the firing sequences in the reaction chamber. It pleased the Chief Engineer that his Beta Watch officer was so efficient.

"You are early for your watch, lieutenant," he observed, attempting dry human humor.

"Yes," T'Aiya answered simply, not looking up as her eyes darted over the readouts from the plasma injector test firing. After several more seconds, she faced her superior. "We have successfully altered the lag in the starboard nacelle field emitters," she said with satisfaction.

"Commendable," QaS muttered as he worked a PADD with duty assignments.

After LT Llire had logged out of the command station, she took a few steps back from QaS. She eyed him for a second or so. "Sir, I would like to request permission to switch watches with Lieutenant Novreski today."

QaS looked up from his PADD. "Hmmmm," his voice rumbled. "Purpose?"

"I would like to help Lieutenant Stev finish his repairs to the Ghost Rider." She looked at him steadily.

"Again that shuttle!" he thought, not liking it. The Chief Engineer did not quite understand why LT Llire cared to help LT Stev in the shuttle bay, but they were both, after all, Vulcans, and QaS certainly valued her expertise in all things ‘Engineering’. After a lengthy pause, he acquiesced. "Permission granted, lieutenant, but I do not care for this to become a regular occurrence," he said, although not at all gruffly. "I value your service as senior engineer on Beta Watch."

"Understood, commander," she responded, "Thank you."

T’Aiya sat on the couch in the common room of LT Stev and LT DeHart’s quarters. Music was playing quietly and her adunbreish was lying on the same couch, his head on her lap. Idly she ran her fingertips through his hair. Stev looked up at her face.

"Thank you for your assistance. Aside from fabricating bolt-on pieces, the Ghost Rider is ready to go," he said softly.

She bent down and kissed him on the forehead, "It was my pleasure. Though, it was only because Commander QaS allowed me to switch duty shifts that I was able to take the time."

"Whatever the reason, I’m glad it’s done. It will allow me to concentrate on SMIDGEN tomorrow morning."

"We have plenty of time before either of us is scheduled to go back on duty. Will you finish the story?" she asked.

A sudden fireball erupted in the primary hull of the bird of prey. Stev was so intent on studying the anomaly that he didn’t immediately register what had happened. Looking up from the monitor and out the window his keen intellect instantly grasped what had happened.

"Stev, a Romulan Warbird has just decloaked and fired at the Mor’oQ," Phread needlessly appraised his companion.

Stev did not acknowledge the little tribble. Instead the Vulcan deftly piloted his craft around the exploding hull of the bird of prey. The GHOST RIDER rocked as Stev piloted the craft around the debris. The tiny ship shuddered as another explosion thrust pieces of the Klingon ship into his flight path.

"We’ve lost our cloak," Phread scrolled his alert across the main screen.

"Krysl’r," Stev replied under his breath. "Phasers aren’t locking onto the warbird."

"It’s cloaking."

Stev fired the phasers at where he estimated the warbird to be. Rewarded with a small explosion he fired two photon torpedoes at the explosion. The torpedoes streaked off into the black expanse.

"Did we get it?"

"Don’t think so little buddy. It’s downright difficult to shoot at a cloaked ship even under the best of conditions. The best we can hope for is that we damaged them sufficiently that they won’t come back and finish us off."

"Stev, I’m picking up something on Federation frequencies."

"On speakers."

"skrtch… tain Moretti of the Federation Starship Merrimac. Attention unidentified Klingon veskrrtch… sssxthc… attempting to transport survivors…," came over the speakers.

"Is the Merrimac in transporter range?"

"No."

"Boost their confinement beam with our own transporters that should keep them from accidentally beaming us out as well."

"Got it."

"Phread, is there any trace of the ambassador?"

"No, there are no human lifesigns. Nor am I picking up any human DNA in the debris."

"Klingon lifesigns?"

"Faint, but the Merrimac’s transporters now have a lock."

"As soon as the Merrimac has beamed out the survivors, I want you to shut down all systems except passive sensors and the main computer."

"OK, but why?"

"I want the Merrimac out of sensor range before we power up and get out of here."

"Shouldn’t we alert the Merrimac to the possible Romulan threat?"

"You hadn’t read our standard orders?"

"Not yet."

"We are expressly forbidden from contacting anyone unless authorized in our mission orders."

"Stev?"

"Yes, little buddy?"

"You seemed willing to violate orders before. Why do you suddenly feel the need to follow our orders to the letter?" the tribble asked.

Stev thought for a moment. He turned and looked at the starscape and wreckage visible just outside window, "Because now the only lives at stake are our own," he replied softly.

Phread cooed in understanding and his monitor cleared itself of the previous conversation.

The lanky Vulcan stood from his command seat and walked back to the engineering portion of the craft. Pulling open an access panel he began to attempt repairs to his craft’s exterior camouflage. Fifteen minutes later the computer began to issue a shrill beep. Stev looked up from his work and towards the nearest monitor.

"Stev, Stev, Stev," scrolled across the monitor.

"Yes Phread," Stev called up to the front.

"Is the cloak fixed?"

"Just. Why?"

"Two Klingon K’Tinga class cruisers have just dropped out of warp at the edge of scanner range."

"Have we been detected?"

"I don’t think so."

"Power up the engines and cloak. Set course for October base Sigma."

"Did you ever find out if any of the Klingons survived?" T’Aiya asked.

"No, as soon as the Merrimac was out of sensor range, I piloted to the nearest October base. Frankenstein pulled a ‘need-to-know’ and I never did find out if any of the Klingons even survived."

"It is highly unlikely that you’ll ever find out now that October has cut you loose."

"That is a logical conclusion," Stev conceded.

"What about the ambassador?"

Stev paused and thought. Carefully he chose his next words, "Officially Ambassador Edwards died enroute to a summit with Chancellor Azetbur."

T’Aiya cocked her head to the side as if listening to some unheard conversation, "And unofficially?"

"Aishamano," Stev smiled, "you are beginning to understand how to ask me questions about my past."

"Thank you for the compliment. But you did not answer my question."

"Unofficially, I never found any trace of the Ambassador. If he had been killed in the attack, I should have been able to find his body. Frankenstein insisted that the body was vaporized."

T’Aiya closed her eyes, "You do not believe Frankenstein."

"No I don’t. His capture by the Romulans would explain much of their precision incursions into Federation space. However, after more than ten years it probably doesn’t matter anymore."

"No it probably does not. However, I am thankful for one thing."

"What is that Aishamano?"

"I lost you once. You were brought back to me. I do not intend to let you go quite so easily again."

Stev sat up on the couch. Taking her right hand in his left and placing his right hand in a gentle caress of her face, he said, "T’Aiya, I don’t intend to leave you again." With that he leaned in close to her and kissed her deeply.

The tankard of bloodwine in his hands long forgotten, LCDR QaS stared out the viewport at the interior of Starbase FLYING CLOUD. He had just been assured by the First Officer that PHOENIX would depart starbase at 0600 hours. QaS was relieved. Like most starship officers, he felt the most comfortable in space.

"You look a million kilometers away, QaS," he heard over his shoulder. LCDR Mon'Teith stood behind him. She had obviously had a long day; her uniform was open at the shoulder.

QaS indicated the chair across from him. "In a way I am, commander."

As Soen ordered an Andorian flame wine from the petty officer working The Nest, QaS looked at Soen and leaned forward on the table. "Did I ever tell you how I got into Starfleet?" he asked.

The question threw Soen for a loop. She was unaccustomed to QaS ever broaching a personal subject with her. But she had to admit to herself, her interest was piqued. "No," she said, a sly smile playing on her lips. "But, then, I'm sure it was the day that altered the course of Federation history as we know it."

QaS ignored the sassy remark, and continued aloud his reverie of the last moments of the Mor'oQ……..

Amazingly, the emergency containment field held for several minutes…an indeterminate amount of time in QaS’ shaken mind. Suddenly, a brilliant light filled QaS’ racing thoughts. It felt to him as if his body was disintegrating. He opened his eyes to experience what he thought was his entrance into Stova’Kor. However a cool artificial atmosphere suddenly washed over him. As his vision cleared, he realized that he was on the deck of a Federation starship sickbay. He jerked to a sitting position, instinctively ready to defend himself. He looked right and left, noticing Starfleet security personnel with phaser rifles posted at the hatches. Next to him on the deck lay four other Mor’oQ crewmembers. QaS was the only one conscious.

As medical personnel cautiously moved towards the Klingons, QaS spoke from a parched throat, "nuq Daq…(where)?"

A redheaded female, who seemed to be of some authority, approached him, holding up a calming hand. "It’s all right," she said smiling. The universal translator enabled QaS to understand her Federation Standard, "You are aboard the Federation Starship Merrimac. We were able to beam you aboard from about a parsec distant."

"Dujvam (this vessel)?" QaS asked, looking around.

QaS finally understood, "QaS torgh puqIoD (QaS, son of Torg)," he said dully.

QaS had all but forgotten the knife wound from RoQ’s blade. The fight with the sub-commander in the passageway of the Mor’oQ seemed like a lifetime ago. When he looked down, the doctor had already healed the gash with a dermal regenerator.

QaS had no perception of time for the next several days. When he again opened his eyes, he was on a biobed in the isolation bay of Sickbay on the Merrimac. Beside him were his four fellow crewmembers.

Soen's chin was resting in her hand cradled on the table. She remarked quietly, "I never realized what a thin line you tread in your earlier service to Qo'noS." Truly, QaS had only alluded to it once or twice in the many years they had been in service together.

"I can honestly say, commander, that my Klingon service is what made me who I am today," QaS said in a tone that sounded like more of his human half than Soen had ever heard.

She leaned away from the table and stretched. "I guess during your Klingon service you never had to deal with subordinates bonding?"

QaS' brow furrowed in total confusion at the remark, "‘Bonding’ while serving on a ship?" QaS said incredulously. "That would hardly ever be a subject for consideration on a bird-of-prey. Just staying alive and serving the Empire took all of one's mental energy." He snorted derisively. Truly, the idea of romance and relationships was at the bottom of QaS' ‘to do’ list.

The further look of confusion in QaS' features urged elaboration on Soen's part. She waved a hand dismissively, "Well, you know, it's just that I was sort of wondering how you felt about Lieutenant Llire and Lieutenant Stev?"

"Lieutenant Llire and Lieutenant Stev?" QaS voice trailed off and ended abruptly. The head ridges furrowed again, but this time not in confusion.

"Well, yes…" Soen went on, immediately alert to the change in her friend's mood, "Ensign VanderSchnap in my department told me they're….engaged….."

The fire of an ion storm flitted across QaS' eyes as he downed the last of the bloodwine in his tankard. "No, I had not heard such a thing." To say that such news immediately lessened QaS' view of LT Llire's warrior stature would be an understatement.

PHOENIX had departed starbase at 0600 hours that morning. LCDR QaS busily regarded readouts from all EPS systems as the ship prepared to jump to warp to proceed on a new mission to Manohar IX. He wanted to be assured that all his attention to details was satisfied. For some reason, he was especially keen on making sure that everything was ship-shape before Beta Watch. He verified injector rates, plasma stream variants, and field inducer times, all vital to successful emission of the warp field.

As he locked down all the settings in preparation for the shift change, he opened a channel to the bridge on the control station comm. "Engineering to Bridge."

　"Yes, commander?"

"Phoenix is good to go, captain," QaS responded.

"Acknowledged, commander," Lawrence said.

As QaS busied himself with duty rosters and shift assignments, LT Llire entered Engineering at 1635 hours. Ever-efficient, she preferred having plenty of time to acquaint herself with anything unexpected that might have arisen during Alpha Watch.

"Commander," she said evenly as she logged into the command station.

"Lieutenant," QaS said, looking at her a moment, then turning back to his PADD.

"Are there….?" T'Aiya began.

Without looking up, QaS held out the PADD with her watch orders. "There are no shift anomalies, lieutenant," he said. Half-turning to her, he added, "Phoenix is going into warp 4.5 at 1700 hours."

Normally, such a pronouncement would be followed by the Chief Engineer's laundry list of the minutiae of diagnostics. T'Aiya waited for it, but it did not come. Instead, QaS continued examining statistics on the nacelle systems. One of T'Aiya's eyebrows raised in curiosity. Perhaps QaS had finally come to realize he did not need to repeat himself every shift. She proceeded temporarily to the impulse control station. She found the Chief Engineer's silence curious.

"Engineering is yours, lieutenant," QaS said, and without another word, he left Engineering at 1711 hours.

After consuming an evening meal of Terran sushi and Andorian nettle salad, QaS retired to his quarters. Sushi was the closest Terran food item to anything still alive. The poisonous nettle salad from Andor was lethal to all sentients except Andorians and Klingons. QaS intended to end his day formulating the quarterly Engineering crew shift rotation, taking into account new personnel who had joined PHOENIX recently at Starbase Flying Cloud.

QaS emitted a barely noticeable burp from the nettle salad. What a pleasing stinging sensation, he mused as he settled at the desk in his quarters. Just then, from the comm.. on his computer monitor, the voice of LT Leroux issued.

"Lieutenant Commander QaS?"

"Yes, lieutenant?"

"I'm patching through to your quarters a subspace communication from Qo'noS," Leroux said. "It's your father."

QaS brightened. "Thank you, lieutenant."

After seconds, General Torg's surly countenance appeared on QaS' monitor.

"Qapla', father," QaS said. A genuine smile greeted the general.

"Qapla', puqwIj (my son)," Torg said, returning the Klingon smile. "nu jatIhtlhIngan (let's speak Klingon)."

Puzzled, QaS nodded. Torg had never been suspicious of Starfleet comm. channels before.

"Did Chancellor Azetbur read my….?" QaS began.

His father cut him off, nodding. "Yes, the High Council has received your latest report." He eyed the image of his son with, what for QaS, seemed like genuine affection. "Your deeds in Starfleet have truly brought honor to the House of Grek." There was a measurable silence, as if Torg were trying to decide whether to go on. Finally, he continued. "However, we have another matter to discuss -- of vital importance to the Empire, the Federation, and our family's house."

QaS was a bit taken aback by such ominous pronouncements. "Father, what…?"

Continuing in Klingon, Torg leaned towards the monitor as if fearing he might be overheard. He sighed. "Ah, son, you of all people know the enemies an illustrious house on Qo'noS can acquire over time. There is a certain B'lzor, from the House of Duros…."

QaS growled at the name. "That house has long been suspected of ties to Romulus to help them gain control of the High Council," he said, grinding his teeth.

Torg waved his hand. "This B'lzor has ascended to the High Council through certain trickeries." He sighed again, and again gazed straight into hi son's eyes. "Do you remember the aftermath of the Mor'oQ's destruction?"

"How could I not?" QaS replied. "After five days in the isolation ward of Starfleet Medical, we Klingons who had survived understood what "isolation" means. We had not seen a sentient being except for the orderly bringing meals…..

Lotoq continued in a low voice. "These Starfleet fools questioned me about the attack on the Mor'oQ -- they actually believe another Klingon ship destroyed her."

QaS started. His memories of the attack on the Mor'oQ returned to him with a jolt. "It was Romulans!" he blurted out.

"But, why would they do such a thing -- kill a Federation ambassador?" spoke up another Mor'oQ crewmember.

CDR Lotoq, the operations officer of the Mor'oQ, was thoughtful. "Is it not obvious? To cause a rift between the Empire and the Federation. That would stop any possibility of the Federation aiding the Empire to rebuild since the destruction of Praxis." He rubbed his chin. "But, how do we convince Starfleet?"

QaS interrupted his own reminiscence. "Father, could the Duros have had something to do with the attack on the Mor'oQ?"

Torg was grave, more so than usual. "I do not see how, unless the Duros allied with Romulan forces ready to strike and install them as head of the Empire as pawns." His eyes narrowed. "What did Starfleet subsequently find out?"

"We found out the following day," QaS went on…..

The Klingon ambassador to the Federation Council -- QaS' grandfather Grek -- two Federation representatives, and a Starfleet captain entered the isolation ward of Starfleet Medical in Paris. QaS and the other Mor'oQ crew were already walking about, itching to leave the hospital.

QaS glanced at CDR Lotoq with surprise. The commander too was surprised. "Romulans?" he managed. The look he shot at QaS engendered respect the likes of which the half-Klingon had never experienced on the Mor'oQ.

"Yes," chimed in one of the Federation representatives. "We have made discoveries since you were interred here, but I'll let Captain Moretti of the Merrimac explain."

Merrimac, pondered QaS, the ship that saved us.

CAPT Moretti stood respectfully before the Klingons, his hand clasped behind his back, holding a PADD. "After Crewman QaS mentioned seeing a Romulan ship, Starfleet was skeptical, to say the least. But, I remembered something my tactical officer had said about anomalous sensor readings just before we picked up indications of the attack on the Mor'oQ. Yesterday, I had him run a diagnostic of our sensor logs at the precise moment of the attack, and we found it."

"An excessive ion and verteron particle trail off the starboard bow of the Mor'oQ," Moretti said. "It indicates a cloaked ship running at impulse. What baffles us is the size of the emission if it were a single warbird."

*****
Stardate 2323.11.IX

As QaS ended his recollection, his father's face became more grave. The dark look on Torg's features prompted QaS to suspect that his father was holding back from him. "What do you know, father? And why do you bring up the subject of the Mor'oQ now?"

Torg's silence lasted a space longer. "B'lzor has come into possession of certain sensor logs from the Mor'oQ. Your memory of the events tends to support his hypothesis."

"How is that possible? And what hypothesis?"

"Apparently, your captain on the Mor'oQ -- after the first Romulan torpedo struck, did a sensor sweep, the data from which was immediately transmitted to the High Command on Qo'noS," Torg said.

"Was Starfleet aware of this sensor data?" QaS asked.

"I do not know that," Torg growled, "but, if they did, then it was Starfleet that prevailed upon the High Council to bury the evidence."

"Evidence of what?"

"Of another ship present at the time of the infamy perpetrated on the Mor'oQ," his father replied.

"A second Romulan vessel?"

Torg shook his head, tapping controls below the frame of QaS' monitor. "I am sending you an encrypted image of the second ship for you to download to a PADD to view."

In seconds, QaS had downloaded the image from his father onto his personal duty PADD. The shocked look on his face confirmed Torg's thoughts. "It is a Starfleet vessel, a shuttle, is it not?"

QaS nodded, a wave of uncomprehending shock washing over him.

"And does it not appear to be firing in tandem with the warbird?" Torg added bitterly.

QaS was speechless. If this image was authentic -- and the Klingon chronology stamp on it tended to support that -- why would Starfleet have initially suspected Klingons of destroying their own ship?

"Son, I can see your consternation," Torg said quietly. "If this is true, then it suggests a conspiracy at the highest levels of Starfleet and the High Command. Also, it is all B'lzor will need to squash the Klingon-Federation truce." He looked right and left. "I wish for you to investigate this matter as you are able. This subspace channel will not be secure for much longer. I will be in touch. Qapla'!"

QaS held up a hand to prevent his father from severing the comm. link just yet, all the while shaking his head. "No, father, you do not understand. I have seen this shuttle, and not at the time of the attack on the Mor'oQ. It has just recently been brought aboard Phoenix!"

However, Torg had already severed the communication. His surprised face was replaced by the UFP logo. Many things were starting to fall into place in QaS' mind now, and a mounting Klingon-sized anger was rising within him. He placed the PADD down, and keyed it to delete the image of the shuttle Torg had sent him -- an image of the GHOST RIDER.

Historian’s Note: The Mor’oQ backstory takes place approximately 12 years ago.

Lexicon:

Songham Sok Bong – Songham Tae Kwon Do form for 4^th degree black belt.

Falik’an – engagement

adunbreish – proposed life partner (ie fiancée), adunabreish (f)

Krysl’r – lit. garbage Colloquially used by Vulcans as an invective