The Intelligence Transport, painted in a jet black that blended seamlessly into the starry abyss of space abound, plunged toward the large cylindrical building which rested in the shadow of a crater toward the north pole of Earth's sole moon. A glimmer of silver metal, slightly discolored and rusted from years of abuse and wear, the building's tight foundation revealed it's origin as one of the final outposts established on the chalky landscape before the rise of the Federation. After years of abandonment and scattered visits from university anthropologists and curious adventurers, Federation Intelligence had chosen the building as an outpost for the bulk of classified coordination regarding the Earth System. The choice had been an excellent one; except for the rare search by the occasional history buff or treasure seeker, the monolith of an earlier age slept in silence and obscurity.
         Such a thought brought a smile to the lips of Vice Admiral Paula Morgan as she regarded the approaching transport through her view screen in the main interrogation room. Ever since the days of childhood, the romance of a secluded outpost, top secret and obscure yet essential for the survival of a civilization, had captured the dreams of a regularly outgoing woman. Her trips to Luna Base Valley Delta rekindled the imaginings of her adolescence and a continual penchant for mysterious adventure.
         As the walls shook with a series of scraping jerks, indications of a less-than-smooth docking, Morgan turned to Lieutenant Terry Darsay, who stood at regulation attention. "What have the communications with the shuttle told us?" she asked softly. "Has everything gone as planned? Have the Yuuzhan Vong been transported safety and without any trouble?"
         "Yes, ma'am," responded Darsay quickly, his voice a monotone whisper. "Shall I order our detention officers to send the defectors in at once?"
         "Not quite yet..." Morgan paused, running a hand through her long brown hair as she opened her PADD and rescanned her briefing. "We should set our plans in concrete first... How do our Earth locations look?"
         Darsay closed his eyes, not even considering consulting the PADD strapped to his belt. "Very well, ma'am. I have managed to arrange a location for all six, most of them in areas we'd be able to keep a close watch on them and protect them from frequent exposure. Our locations cover the span of the world, but we do have two each in the former United States and New Zealand territories. As we had discussed before, while it would be possible to send two of our refugees to one location, it might not be prudent given the uncertainty of the situation."
         "Agreed," stated Morgan thoughtfully, further tapping her PADD to refer to Darsay's reports. "I have never dealt with a situation as this before... In the past, we always had record and histories... Are the preparations ready?"
         "Of course, ma'am."
         "Good... Send in the first. I think it would be wise to talk to their leader... The one who contacted us first. We can take our cues from him and plan accordingly." "Tea. Earl Grey. Hot."
         The replicator beeped in response and a steaming hot cup of tea materialized on the replicator's main surface. Lifting it gently, Picard took a gentle sip and closed his eyes in thought.
         The Enterprise jolted slightly, and Picard set down his tea and took a step toward the bridge. His ready room door hissed softly open as he passed onto the bridge. "What's going on?"
         Commander Riker stood up from the command chair, yielding it to the captain, and met Picard at center bridge. "We've been recalled back to Earth. Captain Correy relayed the message... Apparently Starfleet Command is tied up. We'll receive orders en route."
         Picard turned back to his ready room. "Commander Troi, you're in command. Will, may I have a word with you?"
         Riker followed Picard back to the ready room and took a seat while Picard lifted his tea again. "Have you asker her yet?"
         "No," Riker replied, shaking his head. "I've been waiting to find the right time, and I didn't feel that during a war was that point."
         "The war is over now," Picard said, sitting back in his chair.
         Riker nodded. "It is. And now that we're going back to Earth for engine refits, I think I might take her down to Alaska and do it on the top of Mt. McKinley."
         "That sounds amazing, she'll love it." Picard took another drink of his tea and set it back on the desk. "Have you decided on a date yet?"
         Laughing, Riker shifted in his chair. "I'm not doing anything like that without consulting Deanna first."
         Picard smiled, murmuring, "Good choice." Suddenly, the console on his desk beeped. Picard did not need to turn around to surmise who it was. "Yes, Admiral Hayes?"
         "Captain Picard," Admiral Hayes sat at his desk, or so the image seemed to show him. "I'm sorry about not getting a chance to talk to you earlier. We've had some ... interesting developments around here, one of whom you'll meet when you join up with Captain Janeway."
         Picard met Riker's gaze before looking back down at the screen, "I'm looking forward to that. How long will it take to upgrade the Enterprise to slipstream capabilities?"
         "Probably about a week." Hayes caught the eye of someone off screen and nodded. "Captain Janeway has also requested your help in dealing with the advance ships from the Yuuzhan Vong."
         Picard made a mental note to look up anything pertaining to 'Yuuzhan Vong,' "I thought the Federation was ready to defend against them."
         "Partially. Don't forget that we're picking up from our second year in just a few years."
         "Believe me, Admiral, I'll never forget."
         Hayes continued, "We need time to wipe up the remaining resistance and reorganize ourselves before preparing a full offense or defense. I'm sorry Jean-Luc, I have other things to deal with. Hayes out."
         Picard grasped for his cup of tea and took a drink as the small viewscreen slid back into the desk. Tapping his console, he frowned. "Well, isn't this an interesting development."
         "What is?" Riker stood and helped himself to Picard's replicator.
         "These Yuuzhan Vong. There's nothing in the computer banks about them."
         Riker took his glass of water and returned to the chair. "And how many times has Voyager run into them?"
         "Twice, according to the information I've been sent. Both times were on the other side of the Klingon Empire."
         "What makes us think that they're going to attack us?" Riker shook his head.
         Picard shrugged. "I honestly don't know. The Federation Council must have some information that we don't. If any of the crew has a problem with this, let me know. Especially since we don't know what is going on, there might be some moral issues. It's not like we're wiping a race from the galaxy, but it seems as if we're proceeding without getting the whole story."
         Riker stood slowly. "That will all depend on what we find out in a few hours."

Yuuzhan Vong Chuun M'arh-class Frigate Pleasure of Torture

Yuuzhan Vong officers used private mess halls that were commonly nicknamed the High Chew's aboard their ships. Lower ranked warriors, however, had to eat in a huge hall in the ship's heart. They were, at best, cramped and uncomfortable. But Yuuzhan Vong warriors lived for pain, and a little discomfort was simply beneath their notice, even as they sat shoulder to shoulder across the living beast they used for tables.
         "Did you hear?" a lightly scarred Yuuzhan Vong asked his companions as he used his fingers to rip apart the yanskac he was eating.
         The warrior across from him, equally lightly scarred, but somewhat more assured than his companion, raised his scarred forehead in a gesture of slight curiosity.
         "Hear what?" he asked, as he dipped his hand and his coufee in the vat of venogel.
         "The Warmaster," the eager young warrior continued. "Rumor has it that he will soon be announcing the full-scale attack on the infidels."
         The warrior across from him remained silent, concentrating on cleansing his coufee, but the other warriors sat with them drew in closer.
         "Really?" one asked. "I thought we were waiting for the infidels to destroy themselves first."
         "I heard it from a subaltern serving directly under the commander," the young warrior said, whispering so no one else heard what was supposed to be a secret. "When his speech is made, we will launch into a full scale attack and cleanse these worlds of their infidels and abominations."
         Around him, his fellow warriors grinned, stretching their hideous faces. "Do'rik vong pratte," one of the warriors exclaimed, curling his fist. "And woe to the infidels!"
        "You wanted to speak with me, Captain?" Tom Paris entered from the side door of Captain Janeway's ready room.
         "Yes I did, Tom. Sit down, before you leap through the ceiling."
         He grinned as she noticed how eager he was to be here. "Captain, I'm pretty sure I know what I'm here."
         "That's nice, Tom." Janeway stood. "Now sit down."
         Reluctantly, he sat down and stared directly at his Captain. She stared straight back: it was the least she could do to make him sit in his own excitement for a while longer. "All right, I can't keep this up any longer."
         "Good."
         "I can still change my mind," Janeway grinned.
         Tom frowned and looked at his feet uncomfortably, or at least that's how he made it look. "Sorry, ma'am."
         Janeway smiled. "Good. After our experience with those small fighters that the Yuuzhan Vong used, I think we're going to need your fighters to try and loose the smaller ships while Voyager takes on the big ones. Is that acceptable to you?"
         It was obvious that Tom resisted the urge to leap out of the chair. "Of course it is, Captain."
         "I'll need to approve a fighter design and crew roster!"
         Tom stepped forward and pushed a PADD toward Janeway. "It's all done."
         Shaking her head, Janeway took the PADD and skimmed over it. "Mirlene Attack Fighter?"
         "I didn't know what to name it, and the Miral started crying." Tom shrugged. "it seemed like a sign."
         "You don't think B'Elanna will be upset at you?" Janeway laughed.
         "No, I gave her something, too." Tom grinned. "Keep reading."
         Janeway's face was stolid for a moment as she read over the PADD. Suddenly, a laugh burst through her stoic facade. "And that's supposed to make her feel better?"
         Tom shrugged, "I don't care."
         "Your wife," said Janeway as she scrolled down the PADD further. "But I don't think she'll like Ensign Tomor in the squad."
         "He's a new transfer, Captain, and he's a very capable pilot," said Tom sincerely. "B'Elanna doesn't have a say whether there is a Cardassian in the squad or not. There are those of them that want to help the Federation."
         "I can't guarantee that the crew will like this either. You remember the stink they threw up when we used just a hologram Cardassian to save B'Elanna's life. You remember the arguments that she herself gave."
         "I remember well," said Tom, pausing slightly, "but the rest of the members of the squad are fine with it."
         Janeway continued reading. "I don't see Icheb on this list. He won't like that."
         "I thought about including him, but I decided that I needed him elsewhere."
         "I didn't realize you were delegating crew now," Janeway said with a smile.
         Tom leaned forward to rest on the forward edge of Janeway's desk. "You're going to need a helmsman when I go lead the squad ... "
         "I think that's a wise choice. Why don't you sign him up for some training... that is, if you can find free time while building and then training your squadron."
         "Of course." Tom rose. "Thank you, again Captain."
         Janeway nodded, her eyes already returning to her PADD. Years of practice and training allowed Morgan to hide her surprise as she caught a glimpse at the towering creature who Darsay patiently led into the room. The footage Kahaney had intercepted at this station had made the leader of the refugees, the one who called himself Galin'song Y'Nak, look stouter and thinner than he really was. The man was no doubt a warrior, one with a high rank given the many tattooed patterns and piercings on his skin.
         "Welcome, Galin'song Y'Nak." Morgan's voice flowed pleasantly yet neutrally, the standard tone for interrogating an unknown species. "I beg your pardon for the terseness of these conditions and the rigidity of our procedures here in the Federation. Surely you understand."
         Hesitating, Galin'song's forehead wrinkled. "No... I have not seen rigiditai... Only surprise has been little feeling."
         "Indeed?" asked Morgan. "Do your people thrive on feeling? On passion and romance and artistic expression."
         The Yuuzhan Vong exhaled sharply, his lips rising in what would pass for a sneer in a human being. "These things... virtues of the conquered. Only worthwhile feeling is pain. Only in pain can one feel, really."
         "It must have been painful for you to journey here. To risk oppression by your people."
         "No. Little pain," insisted Galin'song. "Lack of pain was well worth the success."
         Noting Darsay's position and making sure he was analyzing the conversation, Morgan leaned further toward Galin'song, staring into his deep crimson eyes and shifting her eyebrows intently. "And what is the success you seek? Why did you risk everything to come here? It is clear your people have different ideals than we do... The people of the Federation think of pain as a challenge to overcome... Something that can be minimized with common effort. Are you certain you want to go through with this?"
         Pausing, Galin'song sighed heavily, squeezing his fist as his eyes darted around the room. It was as if he had just noticed his surroundings, as if he were sizing up the scene to ensure his safety. Taking a deep breath, he murmured, "Well worth it, think me."
         "All we have believed... looks... wrong. It as if we... deceived... all years... Doubts we have. Doubts... about?... the gods. And the mission. And why we were sent here."
         "And why exactly were you sent here, Mr. Y'Nak?" asked Morgan gently.
         His face blank, Galin'song replied, "Glory of the Yuuzhan Vong. Me for the family of Y'Nak, which I betrayed. Please... do not... call me by N'Yak. Our clans likely reject us and our memories now... only to hunt and destroy."
         "Understandable. I apologize for the misunderstanding... But you didn't answer my question. Why are your people here, and why have we never heard from them before?"
         "We come..." Galin'song's long nails impaled his shredded cheek. "To destroy all infidel machines... that that... in... which-we-came. We come to find home for world ships and people. To bend galaxy to our wills."
         "But you do not wish to follow that path, the direction of your people?"
         "I am devoted to protecting life... And what we shall do is far from what our... identity... rests on. It is possible... in while... my people sweep yours, destroy all, and proclaim their victory over your crumbling villages and enslaved people. They come for death. They come for blood." "Jean-Luc Picard," Kathryn Janeway took a step into Picard's ready room as the door swished closed behind her. "It's an honor to meet you."
         Picard stood and shook Janeway's hand. "The honor is mine. Welcome back to the Alpha Quadrant."
         "It's great to be back, although I didn't have to deal with a full invasion of the Federation while in the Delta Quadrant."
         "There are times," Picard softened his voice as he returned to his desk, "when I would have been more than pleased to exchange roles with you."
         "Not for a minute would I have asked for anything else." Frowning, Janeway reflected than nobody outside of her crew could fully understand how she felt... as though everything had finally come full circle.
         "How is your crew reacting to being back?"
         "Pretty well, I would guess. We haven't had that much time to sit around and reflect as we've been getting the quantum slipstream drive working, running into the Yuuzhan Vong, and now more recently dealing with El'liske."
         The cup on Picard's desk shook ever so slightly as a tractor beam grabbed hold of the Enterprise, slowly pulling her into space dock. "I heard about her. Sounds like an interesting paradox, given her beliefs and yet still wanting to help us out."
         "It certainly gives me a headache trying to speak to her." Janeway shrugged. "And I have a meeting with her in a few hours, so you may be dealing with Commander Chakotay tomorrow."
         Picard laughed as Commander LaForge entered the ready room. "Good morning, Commander."
         Janeway stood gracefully. "Captain Kathryn Janeway."
         "Geordi LaForge, chief engineer. A pleasure." LaForge accepted Janeway's handshake and turned back to his Captain. "The schedule for our refit just came through."
         "Perhaps we'll have to have you and Lieutenant Torres meet up for dinner and discuss the basics of quantum slipstream." Janeway looked up at LaForge over her shoulder, inquiring, "have you ever experimented with slipstream before, Commander?"
         LaForge shook his head. "We've never had a real need to."
         "Of course," Janeway nodded. "B'Elanna's a great teacher, although don't try and mess up her engine room or you might find yourself at the receiving end of a Klingon death yell."
         Picard set down the cup of tea after taking a quick drink. "We're used to it, especially since Commander Worf's resignation from diplomatic duties and reposting here."
         "It must be different with a full Klingon onboard," Janeway agreed. "But have you ever tried commanding a ship of one hundred fifty Starfleet members as well as some two hundred Klingons?"
         "I'm sorry to interrupt, Captains, but I need to head down to Engineering and start on these refits," LaForge interrupted politely. "Is there anything else?"
         "No, Geordi," Picard dismissed the engineer with a friendly nod.
         Janeway stood. "I had better get back to Voyager as well, get a few cups of coffee down before meeting with El'liske."
         "Don't have too much fun," Picard shouted after her. El'liske sighed softly as the villip before her reverted to its normal state. The gods are not without a sense of irony, she thought to herself, then considered a moment longer before adding, or vengeance.

It had finally been determined who would be overseeing the galactic battle. The choice was a good sign for her people as the delegate was known to be favored in battle by the gods, and yet for El'liske herself ...

I suppose I deserve this. Gods.
         It would not be fitting to show any sign of weakness, especially not before the infidels, and yet ...
         Pain ... the gift of the gods. The sharp points of thousands of tiny needles in her back, each releasing the mild poison that would dye the skin to form a tattoo ... the last of the needles sliding into place ...
         "You do well, my little dragon ... you have a warrior's spirit. You are wasted as a priestess."
         "The gods need their defenders as well as their attackers." She felt the smile of the one behind her.
         "Well put ... still though, you are a fighter."
         "And you are a priest at heart," she said back, "With all the inherent crypticism."
         "You wish to know what I intend for you?"
         She considered, then answered, "I trust your judgment for future matters."
         "And present ones?"
         She turned around, looking up into glowing red eyes, a small smile playing across her lips, her own eyes sparkling.
         El'liske shook off the memory, banishing it to its proper place. The future would be interesting indeed.

Yuuzhan Vong Sh'rip Sh'pa-class Priestship

A lowly attendant paced through the corridors of the gleaming ebony priestship. Outside the yorik coral walls, the ship was like a shining gem, a true beauty among the beauty of Yuuzhan Vong ships. The reason for his speedy pace throughout the spawn ship was not an errand for the ship's honored passenger, the High Priest Doman, one of the most influential priests of the deception sect. He was to relay the news to his companions, other attendants and acolytes and villip tenders. The Warmaster was to address his subordinates, the warrior caste, and those of the higher castes, that the invasion was soon to begin. Soon, the blood of the infidels would be shed, and the priests of the Yuuzhan Vong could finally begin the sacrifices they eagerly awaited. Icheb sprinted down the hall until he had caught up to Lieutenant Paris. Paris stopped and turned to look at the boy, but Icheb couldn't speak yet; he'd been chasing Paris since he had left the turbolift, and it didn't help that an Engineering team from the Enterprise had temporarily separated them and forced Icheb to not only wait, but run harder through the corridor.
         "Careful there, Icheb." Paris patted the boy on the back.
         "I am sorry," Icheb paused to take another large breath, "for running up on you like this," another breath. "I heard rumors and needed to speak with you right away."
         Paris laughed. "What has you so worked up?"
         "I heard that you were forming a fighter squadron, sir, and wished to apply to be part of it."
         Paris stopped and lost his usual boyish smile. "Perhaps we had better talk about this in my quarters."
         The walk down the hall to the turbolift, the ride in the lift, and the walk to Paris' quarters were all shrouded in silence. Upon arriving at his quarters, Paris stepped aside and let Icheb enter first. "Have a seat at the table," he told the boy.
         "What's wrong, sir?" Icheb still retained a look of innocence in his eyes, even after being assimilated and removed from the Borg.
         "I am forming a new squadron, Icheb."
         "And?" Icheb wasn't going to be fooled by anything Paris had to say.
         Paris sighed. "We're full already, I hand-picked all the members myself."
         Icheb sat in silence for a moment, staring at his knees before looking back up and into Paris' eyes. "If I may ask sir, why did you not pick me? You yourself have expressed how much of an impressive pilot I am, using your exact words."
         "Exactly... which is why I have recommended to Captain Janeway that when I need to go fly with the squad you come up and take my place at the helm."
         Icheb became silent again, and for the first time since Tom Paris had known Icheb: he was speechless. "I would be honored; most definitely, sir!"
         Tom stood and smiled. "Excellent. Now, we need to get you in the holodeck so you can learn how to handle Voyager ... she's a touchy ship. And of course I'll need to sit down with the helm and do some sweet talking so that she doesn't bite you when you sit down to try and pilot the ship."
         Icheb wasn't phased at all by the joke.

M-class planet LV-458

Adept Mezhan Yim stood in the shaper damutek placed aboard this nameless world that the glorious Yuuzhan Vong had taken over. It had provided no test for the warrior caste, much to the annoyance of the commander, who itched to sacrifice his warriors in glorious battle. Once the world had been secured, the commander had let the shapers land their damuteks and had withdrawn on the orders on the Warmaster to a position closer to infidel occupied space, leaving a medium sized grashal of warriors to protect the shapers in their holy work.
         Her headdress tentacles thrashing wildly, Adept Yim turned back to her master, Yaal Kwaad. He was an old shaper, his maa-it implants in his eye sockets allowing him to view the spectrums of the universe his normal eyes would not have allowed him to. The same implants allowed the shapers to shape with great perfection.
         "Adept Yim," the master shaper said to his subordinate as she stared out of the damutek into the wild world before her.
         Tentacles genuflecting in deference, Mezhan Yim bowed her head to the wise ancient.
         "Yes Master," she answered, not looking up.
         "Have you heard the latest news from the warriors?"
         "No Master," she replied. "It is not my place to concern myself with the warriors, unless it falls into my duties to provide them with the tools that Yun-Ne'Shel has given us."
         The ancient shaper studied her for a moment, and then sighed.
         "The Warmaster is to order the full-scale attack against one of the infidel species in this concentration of space."
         Mezhan Yim did not answer; she was not required to.
         "If this is so, our shaping will begin in earnest," the ancient master shaper said. "We will require more shaper compounds to be set up on conquered planets. Already, a young master shaper has been sent to set up the first of these compounds. You have heard of Kae Kwaad, yes?"
         Adept Yim nodded, Kae Kwaad was young, very young. He had been promoted to master shaper due to his perfection of the grutchins the Yuuzhan Vong used for weapons. The Warmaster was said to be very impressed with his work.
         "This brings us great honor," Yaal Kwaad said, "both for our caste and our domain. Soon, this galaxy will be cleansed of its infidels."
         Mezhan Yim simply nodded again. The moment of truth was at hand, for Janeway decided that if she could survive this conversation with El'liske, then perhaps having the weird alien creature onboard was actually workable. What was it El'liske had said? They're convinced that it is the will of the gods that our people shall rule over all universes, and that all other peoples are fit only to serve as sacrifices or slaves.
         Well, isn't that reassuring, Janeway thought to herself. What assurances did she have that El'liske wasn't a traitor? Of course the woman was a traitor, but to whom was the question. El'liske had promised to help the Federation, and Voyager in particular, defeat and learn tactics to help them against the Yuuzhan Vong, but who was to say that El'liske wouldn't just give them tactics to deliver Voyager into Yuuzhan Vong hands to be turned into slaves?
         To compound Janeway's concerns, El'liske had so powerfully demanded to remain on Voyager. Sure, Janeway's devil's advocate of a mind decided, it could just be that Janeway and Voyager had made an impression on El'liske of welcoming spirits. Janeway didn't even buy that. Something about this whole thing just didn't fit together, but she couldn't put a finger on it ... yet.
         Two security guards slowly entered Janeway's ready room, with El'liske standing between them. They had tried to explain to her that even though El'liske was accepted as a quasi-member of the crew, there were those that still didn't quite trust her and felt the guards were necessary until she had proved herself. El'liske hadn't liked that very well.
         "Good morning, Captain." El'liske glided around the ready room before finding her way to the chair in front of the desk. "If one may refer to it as such."
         "How are you fitting in?"
         "Your technology abhors me."
         She's certainly down and to the point. "For that, I am sorry, but there is little we can do about that. By seeking asylum with us, you must learn to deal with that technology."
         "If you feel that that is the only way, then very well, I will learn your technology. But that does not mean I have to like it."
         Janeway suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "I see that you are at least wearing your comm badge."
         "I was informed that it was required."
         "I could easily sit here and tell you that the use of the rest of our technology is required. Would you actually use them then?" Janeway folded her arms across the top of her desk.
         "No. The gods may tolerate slight infractions, but there are some things that I would not risk."
         Janeway was tiring and decided to jump into the point that she had put aside earlier. "Why isn't this a good day? What is troubling you?"
         El'liske simply shrugged.
         "No," Janeway put her fist gently on the desk, "I won't take a shrug for an answer, not this time."
         "The day is only beginning. One may not decide its productivity until it has ended. Your greeting is merely an unfounded prediction ... and it does not seem that it will be an accurate one in this case."
         "And why is that?"
         "Because. He is coming here."
         "Who?" Every answer has to be worked out of her ... She never volunteers any other information.
         "The Warmaster," was all she said, then lapsed into an uneasy silence. "Easier than I thought," commented Morgan as Jone, the former Yuuzhan Vong priest, left the room after an in depth discussion on the theology of his civilization. "Their personalities are distinct... It shouldn't be hard placing them."
         "Not at all, ma'am," agreed her assistant confidently, gesturing toward Cadet Brown, the location coordinator, to stand at his side.
         Morgan squinted her eyes, tapping her PADD several times as she reread her notes from the interviews. Flipping to the beginning and recalling Galin'song's chilling revelations, she commented, "Galin'song... He is the leader. He doubts the ways of his leaders, yet is firmly rooted in his beliefs. He is the leader and the most secure to the 'old ways' as Timoor Jone mentioned. Therefore, he is the biggest threat. We need him somewhere that is already heavy with surveillance... Europe looks like the best bet. Let's send him to that monastery in the Vatican."
         "Are you sure, ma'am, with all due respect," started Darsay with a frown, "that we should send him there, with such obvious reasons? The Vatican doesn't know we're got them wired. The Federation is on shaky ground with the old Earth religions as it is, and we don't want them to let them know we're watching them."
         "Wait!" stammered a new voice, the youthful cadences of Cadet Brown's tone. "I mean... Sorry to interrupt, Admiral Morgan, but... May I make a suggestion?"
         "Permission granted... Go ahead."
         Brown stood up as confidently as he could, his leg shaking slightly as he averted his eyes to avoid a direct stare at Admiral Morgan. "Well... If we are concerned about them finding out about the wiretaps, let's just lift it on them. We shouldn't be spying on religious groups anyway. There's really no reason to."
         "You display very little knowledge of how we work, Cadet," said Morgan forcefully. "The 'oppression and discrimination' of the past has been eradicated. It simply does not exist. The days of Intelligence abusing its power, the days of the United States FBI harassing Civil Rights leaders hundreds of years ago, are over. We are simply a more civilized people now.
         "Lifting the wiretaps is out of the question. We have eliminated all governmental units outside of the Federation structure... All national figures are simply symbolic, relics of an older, dying, and mostly forgotten age. Business and corporations have been absorbed by our new economy, and there is no longer a need for interest groups... we live in virtual utopia, an age of consensus.
         "Despite these many changes, two main groups that we could consider sub-governmental, groups which would divert allegiance from the values of the Federation Ð freedom, quality, and progress for a society of individuals working for the betterment of the Federation Ð exist. First, we have social societies. We tap them, but bother very little with them. The second group," Morgan swallowed, having made this very speech many a time to new recruits horrified at the policies of Intelligence, "is organized religion. To those who subscribe to them, allegiance is divided. We cannot let making another structure more important than the common good and the betterment of the Federation a possibility for our citizens."
         "That," said Cadet Brown darkly, "is wrong."
         "I will expect you to hold your tongue, Cadet," Darsay's voice whispered threateningly.
         Turning back to Morgan, he smiled slightly, saying, "My apologies, Admiral. The Vatican would surely be overjoyed at this opportunity. They will take good care of Galin'song, and our surveillance of their properties will allow us to keep an eye on him."
         Nodding, Morgan tapped her PADD again. "Good... Now, Augin Lah... Shy, I daresay. I could foresee him having the most trouble adapting to civilization. After we teach him some decent English, let's send him to that nature preserve in New Zealand. The cottages there are comfortable enough, the wardens will take good care of him, and he will be isolated."
         "Good choice, Admiral Morgan... Likewise, I believe we should send T'lak Fan to New Zealand, to the Medical College," suggested Darsay. "He agreed to undergo tests for our... studies. And I find it hard to believe that he and Augin would conspire against us, or even make contact."
         "I agree," said Morgan. "Now... Tabla..."
         Darsay frowned, tapping his fingers against the desk. "We have very little to go on... Let's just assign them in order as they appear on the lists. Tabla goes to Milwaukee, Fan goes to San Francisco, and Jone goes to Moscow."
         "Milwaukee?" chuckled Morgan, raising a thin eyebrow. "Are you sure that's wise?"
         "Well, ma'am, granted there has been relative unrest in Milwaukee... the entire Midwest region, actually. But that is nothing new; from the beginning of the Federation, the Midwest was the most resistant to giving up national and state sovereignty."
         Morgan shook her head. "History is one thing. A rally two years ago asking for succession from the Federation is another. Milwaukee is the only city in the hemisphere where a public figure has expressed discontent about the Federation. In any other city, our Starfleet celebrities visit met with smiles and thanks, and their culture has fully embraced the causes of the Federation. Milwaukee... is different. It's almost as if everyone who hated change moved there and passed on their bitterness from generation to generation. Milwaukee is the only city we're finding a hint of dangerous ideas... And a city with dangerous ideas is not an ideal home for an unknown."
         "On the contrary, Admiral," said Lieutenant Darsay, "it would be better for us. Bank Tabla, other than Galin'song, struck me as the one who will give us the most concern, if only because of his slight regrets at having left his old ship. We need to watch him. And, out of all of the cities on Earth, the one most watched is Milwaukee. The radical dissidents there are a minority, anyway. Most citizens resent them and their ideas, and their presence is often hardly noticeable."
         "Perhaps, Lieutenant," said Morgan, still frowning. "I see no other choice now... But be ready, at moment's notice, to move him elsewhere."
         "Yes, ma'am."
         "Who knows... With a new race, a new civilization, one with malicious intent... This 'Vong on Earth' project may be on of the most important of our careers," commented Morgan as Cadet Brown held the door for Lieutenant Darsay.
         Darsay simply smiled and nodded. "I have a feeling, Admiral, that you are correct." Cardassian Gul Yuton entered proudly into the room illuminated solely by the single communication panel resting next to an inactive screen. He moved without a sound around a table toward the access panel. "Seal the door," he said gruffly.
         One final step brought him directly in front of the panel, which immediately flared to life, broadcasting the image of a person shrouded in darkness. The woman stood using a white wall as a backdrop, which only helped to create the illusion of the shadow that covered her figure.
         "You lied to me." Yuton imagined that he also showed up as darkness to her, given that there was little light in the room to define the bumps and rises of his face. It made no difference: he knew who he was, and she knew of him. Perhaps it was better this way; should someone tap into the comm channel, the identities of the two speaking would be hidden.
         "How so?"
         Yuton reconsidered his thoughts. She knew that he was a Cardassian Gul in charge of fleet movements, although he doubted that she had the ability or the access to the intelligence to learn his real name. On the other hand, he knew that she was a human, a member of the Federation who had access to their ships and technology, but also wanted to see the Federation defeated. A number of possibilities for her identity: a disgruntled starship captain or chief engineer, a starship builder at the great Utopia Planetia, the options were endless. "You said that the Federation would not be able to adapt to the weapon modifications that you provided us with!"
         "There is nothing I can do about that," the woman stared straight at the view camera, never moving, never giving Yuton a chance to try and determine some of her facial features. "The Federation captains are much too resourceful for their own good."
         "No!" Yuton pounded his fist into the console. "I will not accept that for an answer."
         "It is the only answer I can give you."
         A soft beep interrupted the silence that had drifted into the conversation and Yuton was drawn to the access console where a message had appeared from his communications department. He grinned to himself as he read the message, confirming that the comm channel had been traced. This game was over.
         "I think you can give me more information." Yuton grinned, although he decided she couldn't see it.
         "I have nothing else that can help you; you have tried war and it has failed. Fall back to your territories and build up your forces. The Federation will not press their advantage and they have other things to deal with now."
         "I don't think so. I am tired of this. You are becoming a worthless source." Another beeped signaled that they had traced the comm channel even tighter. "You and I are both using sophisticated technology to encrypt our messages back and forth to each other; however, you continue using the same technology. I have ascertained your location, dear friend. You are transmitting from Starfleet Headquarters, from the offices of an Admiral!"
         "No!" Farris shouted and deactivated the message console before the Cardassian could finish his sentence. She backed away from the computer screen and crossed her arms while staring through her window to look at San Francisco below. Another plan ruined, she thought to herself, a feeling that wasn't helped by learning that Voyager was going to be transmitting the Warmaster's speech. Oh, well, she decided, more opportunities would soon present themselves for her to undermine the fabric of the Federation.

Yuuzhan Vong Kor Chokk-class Grand Cruiser Shim'lione

Subaltern Joak Vootuh trembled slightly as he entered the Glory Room to report to his dreaded Warmaster on the news of the outside galaxy.
         Off to the side, a blaze bug recording continually displayed the infidel ship Voyager. The huge cognition throne of the Warmaster faced it, as if a cold calculating predator. No doubt the Warmaster was studying the abomination thoroughly. It had caused no amount of trouble to the advance scouts the Warmaster had sent. And now the messenger had even worse news to relay.
         Standing at attention behind the Warmaster's throne, Joak Vootuh snapped his fists across opposite shoulders.
         "Belek tiu, Warmaster!"
         "What is it?" the deep basso voice of the Warmaster rumbled.
         "I bring updates from our infiltrator," the subaltern reported.
         "The one impersonating Admiral Farris?"
         "Yes Warmaster," Joak Vootuh nodded to emphasize his reply, not that the Warmaster had turned around to look at him. Had it been a warrior of equal or inferior rank ignoring him this way, Joak Vootuh would have been required to challenge him to a blood duel.
         "I am most displeased with her," the Warmaster continued. "I set her the simple task of keeping away this Voyager abomination from our advance scouts, and she failed miserably. Were she here I would kill her with my bare hands."
         Joak Vootuh gulped. With the Warmaster already in a bad mood with Farris, the news he brought could set him off into a murderous rage.
         "And now," the Warmaster continued, "the infidels are aware of us. Let us hope, for Farris' sake, that the war we have started between this Federation and these Cardassian infidels keeps them too distracted to attend to us."
         "That is why I am here, Potent One," Joak Vootuh said. "The war between the Federation and these Cardassians is already over."
         "What?"
         "The Cardassians are being steadily pushed back, and have been for some time."
         "Why didn't she report this to me via villip?" the Warmaster thundered.
         "She felt that informing you straight away would be unwise since she was already trying to amend the damage done."
         "So," the Warmaster turned his huge bulk to finally face Joak Vootuh. "Basically she was too scared to inform me of her failure, so she sent you?"
         "Yes Warmaster," Joak Vootuh bowed his head. "My life in payment."
         The hideously scarred visage smiled. "Yes, it shall be your life in payment," he snarled, and then turned to the two guards in the Glory Room.
         "Throw him to the carrion eaters."
         The two warriors grabbed Joak Vootuh and dragged him away to his dishonorable death.
         As the death screams of Joak Vootuh reverberated throughout the huge living ship, the Warmaster's smile grew wider and wider. "Oh, Will," Deanna Troi fell back into Will Riker's arms. "The view from up here is beautiful."
         Will kissed her cheek gently. "Aside from being a bit cold?"
         Deanna smiled, her eyes adoringly set on Will . "With you, I don't even notice the cold."
         Will grinned and wrapped his arms around Deanna as a light snow began to fall around them. They stood at the highest point on Mt. McKinley in his home state of Alaska, just taking advantage of their shore leave to admire the view. At least that's what he told Deanna.
         "Deanna I need to ask you something," he said softly.
         Deanna shook her head and let her hair play with Will's face. "Not today, Will ... I don't want to deal with shipboard issues unless we're aboard the ship."
         "It's not about the ship." Will pushed her out to arm's length and took his right hand to pull out a small ring from his pocket. "Marry me, Deanna Troi."
         She was speechless and ran a quick hand to straighten her long hair. "Oh, Will." She hugged him and kissed him. "Of course."
         They stood together in a firm embracing, for a long while, reveling in the moment as the sun poked itself out from behind the clouds.
         "Jean-Luc wants to know as soon as we decide a date," Riker broke the silence, but not the embrace.
         Deanna nodded. "Of course ... " She paused and closed her eyes before backing away and looking up into Will's eyes. She bit her lip before hitting Will softly, playfully, on the arm. "You told Captain Picard about this before you told me?" Tired and exhausted, Tom Paris was more than happy to walk into his quarters, expecting to just drop onto the couch and take a nap, get up and then head to bed to sleep. But when he walked into his quarters he nearly fell on top of B'Elanna.
         "Waiting up on me?" Tom tried to take a step past his wife, but she moved to block him. "What's the deal?"
         B'Elanna patted Miral's back and grunted. "I hear you're forming a fighter squadron."
         "Yeah?" Tom shrugged and pushed past B'Elanna while her concentration was distracted by an outburst by Miral. He moved to the replicator, called up some food, and took it to the table.
         "That's all you have to say?" B'Elanna followed Tom across their quarters.
         Tom took a bite of his supper, swallowed, and looked up at his wife. "This is about the name, isn't it?"
         "What else do you think it's about?" B'Elanna gently placed Miral down in her crib before returning to Tom. "How do you get off naming a fighter after our daughter?"
         Tom gulped, but grinned. "Oh, that name?"
         "Of course that name!" B'Elanna sat across from Tom at the table and stared at him. "There's another name?"
         With another bite of his food, Tom shook his head briskly, "Uh, no, not at all. One name, yup, only one name."
         B'Elanna grabbed the collar of his uniform half-playfully, half-with a Klingon forcefulness. "What other name, unless you really want to see Sto'Vo'Kor."
         "Oh, I'm so scared to go to Klingon heaven."
         B'Elanna tightened her grip. "The saying goes that one man's garbage is another man's treasure. A Klingon's treasure, is not pleasing for a human."
         Tom shrugged. "All right, I'll tell you."
         "Good." B'Elanna reached in, kissed his cheek, and then let go of his uniform.
         "Ok, it's just that ... that ... " Tom stumbled over his words, but started up again as B'Elanna started to lean forward to grab him again, "I named the squadron 'B'Elanna's Fire.' "
         "Oh? Is that all?" B'Elanna half grinned for a moment before lunching across the table. "How could you?"
         "Well, I actually thought you'd be flattered."
         B'Elanna stood. "Oh, I see. I'm supposed to be pleased to have a squad flying under my name. You know, Tom, I'm even willing to accept the fact that you have a Cardassian on your squad, but this ... no. This I'll take up with Captain Janeway."
         "Too late." Tom stood and placed his dishes in the replicator where they disappeared. "She approved it."
         B'Elanna fake pouted, "Then I'll just have to learn to like it." She grabbed her husband's arm and kissed him softly. "Don't you ever do something like this again without running it by me, first."

Yuuzhan Vong Grand Cruiser Shim'lione

In front of a crowd of thousands, the Warmaster stood alone on a high dais, facing his warriors. Around him, villip recorders broadcasted his image to every Yuuzhan Vong in the galaxy. Around him, mon duuls amplified his every word as he gave his rousing speech.
         "Warriors of the Yuuzhan Vong," he roared, "the gods test our resolve as warriors by allowing the greatest test in our history. We have found a galaxy populated by despicable infidels. They utilize mechanical abominations to aid them in their everyday lives. This is an affront to our great god, Yun-Yuuzhan the Creator, who sacrificed parts of himself to create the universe, the lesser gods and the Yuuzhan Vong. By fighting and defeating this enemy, the gods will reward us all. Those who live on in victory, and those who fall in glorious battle, will all be rewarded by the gods. All glory to you, warriors. Do'rik vong pratte!"
         The crowd of warriors roared their battle cry at him.
         "Priests of the Yuuzhan Vong, your holy work servicing our gods with sacrifices will be invaluable. With the death of the infidels in your sacrifices, the gods will grant us success in the form of conquest. For this to work, let warrior and priest unite together under the gods!"
         Approval resonated around the room. Hopefully all around the Yuuzhan Vong fleet the priests and warriors felt the same brotherhood.
         "Shapers," he yelled. "Closest to the gods, you shape weapons and beasts and ships for us! Your caste is instrumental in transporting our loyal warriors across the stars. The beasts you shape will crush the heads of the infidels beneath their mighty jaws. Because of you, our conquest of the infidels will be a great success!"
         All around him, the Yuuzhan Vong roared even louder.
         "I am Shimrra," the Warmaster roared. "I am the servant of Yun-Yammka, and through him the gods of the Yuuzhan Vong. The gods have commanded us to conquer this galaxy, cleanse it of infidels, and make it purer for others of our glorious race to come and inhabit it. Let us spill the blood of the infidels!"
         "For the Glory of the gods!" Admiral Paris stared at the screen projecting from the villip onboard Voyager and was speechless. He struggled to move his head to face Admirals Hayes and Ross, who were both sitting in silence as well.
        Paris finally worked up the strength to speak. "You had better get the other Admirals on comm channels. I think we have a problem."