[Y162 - ENGINEERING - KZINTI CL MYSTERION]

"Firemane, pass me that vector-scope."

Firemane gives the piece of equipment to the Chief Engineer of the Mysterion along with the connectors and adapters the Chief was about to ask for next.

Chief Engineer Underpaw eyes his assistant thoroughly for at least the tenth time today, wondering how it is this cat can anticipate him so well. As the beige cat with black highlights ponders this question, Firemane answers.

"Well the scope wouldn't be much use without these, would it?"

"No, I guess not." Underpaw responds as he dismisses his curiosity for the logic of Firemane's explanation.

Firemane watches the Chief tinker, while most of his brain remains occupied with computations concerning the magneto-gravitic restrictions of molecular transformation in regards to acceleration and decomposition of antimatter. The total boredom of wandering aimlessly about space has given him time to direct his mind into ways to improve the power output of the Light Cruiser. The recent increase in pirate activity brought about by the Four Powers War has piqued his interest in determining exactly how the Orions manage to double their warp output.

Despite the war, the Mysterion has seen little action, being relegated to convoy escort duty. Firemane has been forced to keep his mind occupied through his own devices. Only now is he beginning to appreciate the warnings made throughout his schooling regarding the long periods of boredom he would experience on a starship -- expecially after the seemingly endless amount of activity he endured during his three years at the Institute.

Though three of his power booster prototypes have all failed, Firemane is convinced he has fixed the flaws in his invention and waits for a good moment to ask the Chief for another chance to test his idea. If not for this diversion, Firemane would be pulling his fur out from boredom.

While most of his mind continues to calculate anti-matter conversion rates, another part of his mind ponders why the Klingons have not been able to really push into Kzinti space. He knows the Kzinti were not prepared for the attack by the humanoid race, but The Fates had been kind during the initial fighting, as a pair of fairly large battles had gone against the Klingons. Though the no-tails continue to snipe and peck at the Kzinti border worlds, the expected major offensive had never come. Of course, Lyran incursions on their opposite border had prevented the Kzinti from making any significant gains as well.

The logisticians may be thankful for the time to more adequately prepare for the hominid fleet, but the results for Firemane are disappointing. Still possessed of the vision that war is an exciting, dangerous and glorious adventure, Firemane longs for combat. As he watches Underpaw monitor the vector-scope, to see if some other piece of monitoring equipment is monitoring the matter-antimatter chamber correctly, Firemane gets his wish.

The ship rocks and the reverberation of something striking the hull is heard clearly throughout the ship. The lights instantly turn red as the battle klaxon sounds. The announcement of general quarters is unnecessary as the feline crew sprint toward their posts as soon as the first chirp from the klaxon sounds. Underpaw is off his back and giving orders in a flash.

"Firemane!" he yells at the back of the red-haired cat, already five meters away.

"Sir?" answers Firemane, pausing beside the door to Engineering, as a stream of crewmen rush through the portal and scatter to their duty stations.

"Stay with me. I may need your ability to anticipate. They can do without your help on damage control."

"Yes, Sir!" Firemane responds, his pride at being asked to assist showing clearly in his tone.

The Chief is reaching for the bridge-comm switch as the speaker comes to life with the Captain's urgent instructions.

"Chief, I need all the speed you can give me, and more. Everything else into deflector reinforcement . . . oh, curse The Fates, there's another one."

The Chief slaps the comm switch without saying anything. The tick of static the Captain hears is confirmation that the engineer has heard him, and is complying.

Underpaw's claws dance across the engineering board like some pianist gone berserk. Firemane uses the secondary engineering board to fine tune the Chief's hurried allocation. This is Standard Operating Procedure for combat situations, except it is normally the Assistant Engineer who operates the second terminal. Firemane knows that the A.E. is in Medical, recovering from an accident in engineering that almost took his left forepaw off during Firemane's most recent experiment.

As the CL accelerates, Firemane wonders who it is that forces them to flee. It is at this moment the ship is rocked by another energy blast. Firemane and Underpaw both watch the systems status panel on the wall to see what systems take damage. They return to their work as soon as they see that the shield has held, though at one third its original strength.

Both must brace themselves the best they can as the ship's gravity control is unable to fully compensate for the wild gyrations the helmsman puts the craft through as he tries to evade their attackers. Both cats are so wrapped up in their duties, the Captain's announcement for guards and boarding parties to prepare for internal defense takes a moment to sink into consciousness. Firemane wonders if it is a cautious preventive measure, or if the enemy has moved into transporter range.

The intercom comes to life again with the Captain's desperate plea, "More speed!! All other power to number three shield. We're going to get hit hard Underpaw. Keep the wheels turning or we're dead!"

Underpaw glances at Firemane as the Captain's tone gives both cats a chill. Firemane says only, "I think it will work now, Chief."

Underpaw knows what Firemane refers to, but does not like the idea at all. "Get it," he says begrudgingly, "but it's only as a last resort."

Firemane leaps five meters across the engineering room, and bounds over a waist high console to reach his locker. He slides the door open and pulls out a white ceramic box before turning and dashing back to the engineering console.

As the ship slowly edges toward the warp three, the engineering deck drops out from under Firemane by at least a meter. For a moment the cat feels weightless, almost like he's levitating. As a console across the room bursts into a shower of sparks the deck comes up to meet Firemane with an instantaneous force of four G's. The red-furred cat collapses on the deck and screams, though still clutching the box in both claws.

Many other cats are injured similarly when the gravity compensator goes out for that one moment. Firemane is lucky enough to only break his right leg.

Underpaw, thrown from his seat, regains his feet and sees Firemane. He points at a relatively unscathed crewman and says, "Get Firemane to Medical."

"No!" Firemane screams, "You don't know how it works!"

The crewman stands, waiting for a clarification.

"See who else needs help," Underpaw directs with a wave of his claw.

Underpaw helps Firemane into a chair beside the E-2 console. The red Ensign does not cry out, but involuntarily bites his tongue.

Underpaw goes back to the diagnostic board to see how bad his ship is injured. He winces in empathy over the Mysterion's condition.

The Captain's voice crackles into life on the alternate comm-channel. "Chief, how bad is it? Can we get more speed?"

The Chief toggles the comm-link. "The impulse drive's a mess, sir. We're operating with one third normal impulse power. The warp engines are roughly two thirds, but half the nuclear fusion reactors are off-line as well."

Underpaw hears the Science Officer's voice over the open channel, "They're closing in, sir! Activating transporters."

"Damn," the Captain curses, "That's not going to be enough 'Paw. We need an extra engine or we're going to spend Shfet K'trraalei (the Kzinti New Year) in a Klingon labor camp -- or dead."

Underpaw glances at Firemane, who is closing the panel he has just inserted his circuit-board into. Firemane winces as a wave of pain wracks his body, and then nods at the Chief.

"One extra engine coming up, sir." responds Underpaw before closing the channel.

On the bridge, the solid black form of the Captain stares at his wrist-comm for a moment, as if some defect in the communicator was responsible for the nonsensicle reply from the Chief.

As Firemane is about to activate his device, the Mysterion shudders. Both he and the Chief know it is the unmistakable vibration of a tractor beam being attached to their ship. No doubt the Klingons have caught the Mysterion and are boarding.

The Captain's voice booms out over the ship's P/A, "All cats prepare to repel boarders. Three groups entering crew quarters, warp drive, and port weapons mount. Commando groups react accordingly."

The Chief nods at Firemane. The red Ensign presses two buttons, while informing Underpaw, "I'm channeling all non-movement power to break the tractor."

With a silent prayer to The Fates, he presses the engage switch.

***

On the IKV Harrasser, Lord Krieze, Captain of the F5, laughs inwardly at his luck. The Malicious had joined her only hours before, along with one of the almost useless E4s. The three Klingon ships had been given a gift on a silver platter. The Malicious's Captain, Kith, had squelched his inclination to destroy the Kzinti ship at Krieze's urging, preferring the greater glory of capturing it.

Now, the D6 Malicious sits nestled tightly beside the helpless Kzinti CL as the Harrasser and the E4 hover out at 30,000kms, remaining in transporter range, while avoiding the possible explosion damage if the Kzin ship manages to self-destruct before the boarding action is completed.

The D6 puts enough of its power into tractor to prevent the possibility of the CL escaping its grasp, and then reinforces its facing shield with everything else to protect against the paltry phaser fire the Kzinti ship might attempt. Kith waits impatiently for his transporters to recycle so he can send the last of his boarding parties onto the Mysterion.

With as much surprise to the crew of the Mysterion as to the enemies beside her, the CL suddenly doubles her warp output, thereby exceeding the power generation the ship originally had. As if by magic, the CL breaks free of the enemy's tractor that only seconds before had been sealing her doom.

The CL launches drones from her three remaining racks, drawing the Malicious's phaser fire away from the ship. By the time the Klingon weapons cycle, the CL has managed to present its fresh #4 shield to the trio of Klingon ships. A barrage of phasers and a couple of battery-powered disruptors slam against the fresh shield, but are unable to breach the screen as the Mysterion disappears at high warp, becoming untraceable to the foes she leaves behind.

***

In Engineering, Firemane works feverishly to try and halt the power generator's expanding imbalance. It takes him only moments to realize his calculations did not sufficiently explain how to control the theoretical power escalation. Firemane sees clearly that the ship's warp drive engines are going to explode and he cannot stop it.

Not having time to relay the message through Underpaw, Firemane flips the comm-switch for the bridge and in an inappropriately calm voice informs the Captain, "The warp drive is going to explode in fifty-seven seconds. Captain, I suggest we detach it."

"Who is this?" the Captain demands as a series of small explosions nearly drowns out his last word.

Underpaw responds, "'Twas Firemane, and he's right," gazing over Firemane's shoulder in well concealed terror at the engineering readout.

Almost instantly the Captain's voice is heard on the ship-wide intercom, "Ship defense plan Wild Snake thirty." Several short, staccato blasts are heard over the intercom as if to punctuate his order.

The enemy boarding parties trying to secure the warp drive are confused when suddenly the return fire from the Kzinti ceases. The enemy squad leaders react identically. They stop to assess the situation, expecting a trap. When they are sure their present position is secure, each leader moves his group forward cautiously. Those unlucky enough to be in the warp drive nacelles hear the bulkheads coming down too late, closing off all routes to the core of the ship. Though trapped, they now have control of the Kzinti engines. However, before they can act on this stroke of good fortune, the nacelles are disengaged from the body of the Light Cruiser. The enemies within are even more confused at this maneuver by the Kzinti commander -- for about ten seconds. This is when the engines explode, vaporizing the enemy boarding parties trapped within them, sending them swiftly on their way to join eternity.

On board the CL, the remaining troops consolidate on both sides, as the battle edges toward main engineering. Because of the Klingon troops lost with the warp drive, the forces are nearly balanced as the Kzinti engineering section is surrounded by the enemy.

As soon as the warp drive is detached, the Mysterion drops back into normal space, in celestial terms, barely a stone's throw from the Klingon vessels who crippled her. Fortunately for the Kzinti, the Klingon warships fly by them before their sensors can adjust to the effects of warp space, so the Mysterion seems to simply vanish, like a sly fox in a hollow log.

When the Mysterion returns to normal space, Underpaw begins repairing the impulse drive, knowing they will need some mobility to have any hope of surviving combat. Firemane, forced to remain seated at the E-2 console, listens to the staccato blasts coming from outside, trying to determine what type of weapon is being employed. "It's getting closer," he informs the Chief.

The Chief ignores the warning, and continues working on the engine control board. Only his legs are visible from under the console.

Firemane feels helpless in his chair, just waiting for the battle to arrive. Once in engineering, the battle should become tooth and claw -- neither side wishing to inadvertently damage a control that could theoretically blow up the ship, or irrevocably damage it. He purrs at this thought, knowing any Kzinti worth his salt can defeat three hominids in unarmed combat. But his tail droops as a twinge of pain in his shattered leg reminds him he is in no shape to fight.

Firemane reviews every bit of knowledge taught to him at the Institute about the Klingons. Though physically smaller and weaker than most Kzinti, he knows the hominids are well versed in many different combat techniques using any number of strange and deadly weapons. It is the weapons that make dueling with the humans a fairly even fight.

The Kzinti have superior ears and noses, though the Klingons' eyesight is better for distance and detail, especially in the higher frequencies. Firemane's ears flick, though, when he recalls that the perception of Klingon eyes is skewed differently from the Kzinti. In the right frequencies, the Kzinti can see, while the Klingons will be in the dark.

Knowing any edge you can create in combat can be a deciding one, Firemane adjusts the lighting controls to produce only the frequencies Kzinti see, which Klingons do not. He hooks the setting into a single switch on his console and prepares for the enemy to arrive. He does not wait long.

The door to engineering slides open, and three cats back in, firing phasers down the corridor at an unseen target. The door closes as soon as their whiskers clear the door sensor. One of the cats immediately enters the lock code on the keypad beside the door. Two of the three immediately enter a simple lock code on their hand weapons, before holsterring them. It is then that Firemane realizes that the third cat is not wearing a security insignia. One of the two security officers grabs the phaser pistol out of the third cat's claw, and keys in the disable code, before shoving it back into the cat's claw.

"Accursed Klingons!" snarls the senior security officer.

"How are you at night fighting?" Firemane asks, his voice trailing off as another wave of pain courses through his leg.

"Why?"

"Klingons can't see in the low light frequencies. I can make it dim for you, and black for them."

"Do it!"

Firemane presses the button and nothing happens.

"Blast it! The lighting controller must have been rerouted somewhere by the computer when we took damage, but it doesn't say where!"

"Any other ideas?" the security officer asks. "This door is not going to hold for long."

Underpaw, suddenly reaching over Firemane's shoulder, presses several keys on the computer to bring up a diagnostic sub-directory. He shakes his head and says, "No good. The only environmental controls we still have here are air and gravity, which will affect both sides equally."

"Unless we had anti-grav belts," the junior security officer states with a tone of resignation.

"The lockers!" Firemane and Underpaw exclaim as Underpaw turns and heads for the locker they know contains a single anti-grav belt. As he grabs the belt and turns around, the door to engineering explodes inward in a cloud of smoke.

Underpaw decides he lacks the time to get the belt to a security officer, so he quickly wraps it around his waist and activates it. A single Klingon leaps through the door, apparently with the idea of doing a shoulder roll and then reversing direction, to take out the expected guards standing to either side of the doorway. This plan, though well conceived, falls apart when Firemane suddenly turns the ship's internal gravity to zero.

Under less stressful conditions, the cats might have purred in laughter at the sight of a Klingon flying out of control into the far bulkhead. Another Klingon floats slowly into the room, fully upright, with both arms flailing violently in the air, like an ice skater about to fall backwards. A third Klingon floats partially through the entrance, but manages to grab the door frame with his left hand. He tries to kick at the Kzinti he sees standing beside the doorway, but misses totally, and is rewarded for his trouble with a vicious slash from the security officer's claws, cutting deeply into his thigh. Firemane then puts the entire ship on maximum gravity.

Firemane slumps forward onto his console, crying out in pain, but makes sure to keep his claw on the compensator dial. Suddenly, everyone on the ship is forced to the deck by the irresistible force Firemane has loosed by his action. Everyone, that is, except Underpaw. Underpaw calmly moves over to one Klingon, makes an adjustment on his belt and kicks the prone enemy into unconsciousness.

"Would you get some more belts?" the senior security officer grumbles as Underpaw continues to knock out the Klingons on the deck.

As the last Klingon is dispatched Firemane feels a lessening in the gravity. "Chief, the power drain is too great to maintain max-G under emergency life support conditions," he squeaks, working hard for each breath as his leg throbs.

"I figured it would be. Bring it up to normal."

Firemane complies and leans back in his chair, taking a deep breath as the burden of the weight is lifted.

Underpaw removes the belt and gives it to the senior security officer. "Take this. I'll get the power up to maintain the gravity-well, while you and Shadow here go round up the Klingons."

The two security officers and their helpful ensign exit engineering, while Underpaw crawls back under his console.

"What in Hell's is going on down there, `Paw?" the Captain's voice screams over the comm-channel.

"The Chief is indisposed at the moment, Captain. This is Ensign Firemane. May I be of assistance?"

"Yes! Answer my question!"

"Engineering is secure. We've captured several Klingons, and are working to restore . . . ," Firemane pauses as his leg moves slightly, sending another wave of pain through his body, " . . . power, sir."

"Firemane. Foxtrot Alpha Kangaroo?"

Firemane tries to remember the proper counter to tell the Captain he has not been captured.

"Beta Omega Elephant." he finally replies.

"Good. What about the grav-comp?"

"We used it to capture the Klingons here and . . . "

Underpaw, who is out from under the fusion reactor control console, interrupts Firemane. "Captain, I've restored twenty percent reactor power. We can repeat the grav maneuver to assist you now, if necessary."

"Thanks for telling me this time," the Captain replies sarcastically. "Stand by."

Firemane turns to Underpaw and asks, "Should we tell him about the security team with the grav belt?"

Before the Chief can answer, the Captain's voice shouts "Zero-G!" over the comm-unit.

Firemane reacts instantly, while the Chief grips the back of the chair Firemane is seated in. The two engineers listen to the confused battle sounds coming from the bridge. The bridge recorders will later pick out quite a few choice Klingon oaths as the prepared Kzinti use the zero-G environment to their advantage.

"Plus five!" the Captain shouts through the din of the fight.

Firemane adjusts the control, and sinks deep into his chair, while the Chief leans heavily on the engineering console.

Whatever the Captain has done, it works. Firemane hears a group of Klingon voices scream, then stop abruptly.

"Normal-G." the Captain orders over the comm-link.

Firemane complies and screams as the last change in gravity pulls his broken leg in a painfully wrong direction. His head lolls backwards as the agony overwhelms him and brings the sweet release of unconsciousness.

***

Firemane opens his eyes slowly, to see if the movement of his eyelids will cause him any pain in his leg. He is happy to discover he feels no pain at all. He figures out where he is quickly, considering all he has been through -- lying on his side, on a bunk in Medical. He shakes his head to try and clear the haze still clouding his thought processes.

Behind him an unfamiliar voice purrs, "Doctor, our hero is waking."

Firemane tries to roll over to see who is talking, but aborts the attempt when he realizes he doesn't have the strength to move.

"Don't be trying to roll around quite yet, young kit. The anesthesia hasn't entirely worn off."

Firemane recognizes the voice of the ship's physician from the physical he took six months ago.

"Doc, how's my leg?"

"Delicious," the physician purrs.

Firemane looks down abruptly to confirm that both his legs are still intact. With a sigh of relief, he says, "Mean sense of humor there, Doc."

"It helps to keep my patients in line," the doctor purrs devilishly.

"I bet," Firemane purrs.

The door behind the Doctor opens, and the jet black figure of the Captain strides into the room along with the beige and black Underpaw. The Captain, Engineer, and Doctor all walk around the bed to face Firemane, while the assistant physician exits the room. Firemane notices the doctor has a slight limp. If it is possible, Firemane comes to attention while still lying on his side.

"I understand you are the cat responsible for sending the warp drive power convertors to critical overload, practically ordering me to drop them, and then playing 'bounce-the-Klingons' with the gravity control system."

"Yes sir," Firemane says beginning to feel like he's about to be chewed out.

"Normally I encourage cats to use initiative . . . "

Now he is sure he's going to be chewed out.

" . . . but there are limits to even my authority!"

There goes my career, thinks Firemane.

"You must have set some kind of record Ensign. You managed to destroy half this vessel, and then with your gravity yo-yo, managed to cripple a third of the crew with broken limbs or sprained joints."

Firemane notices the vibro-cast on the physician's leg at this point. The doctor grins and grimaces, which sinks Firemane deeper into his depression.

"Furthermore . . . " the Captain continues.

Oh Gods, there's more?

" . . . your actions resulted in the capture of more than twenty Klingon soldiers -- prevented the capture or destruction of the Mysterion, or at least the parts that are left -- and saved the lives, if not the limbs, of almost everyone on board." The Captain pauses to let this last part sink in.

Firemane is befuddled.

"For your actions during combat, you are hereby unofficially reprimanded for overstepping your bounds of authority -- damaging fleet materials -- mainly the warp drive -- and failure to report to your assigned combat post during battle."

"But . . . " Firemane starts.

"I'm not finished. You are also hereby officially commended for bravery in combat -- going above and beyond the call of duty as well as showing outstanding creativity and initiative. For these actions I present you with the Nova Star Medal of Achievement."

Firemane is totally surprised when the Captain pulls a medal from his tunic and presents it to the young engineer. He is even more surprised when the Captain steps back and salutes him. Firemane does his best to return the salute while lying down.

"I don't know what to say, sir."

"Don't say anything, I'm not finished. While your quick thinking did save most of the crew and some of the ship, as Captain, I cannot have junior officers blowing up parts of my ship faster than the enemy. Therefore, I am promoting you to lieutenant third, and transferring you into the Science Department, where you will be Charlie shift Sensor operator, and you can continue your research under more theoretical rather than practical conditions." The Captain pauses, watching stoically as the surprise washes over the youngster. When he is certain the reality of his statements has sunk in, he adds, "Personally, I will feel more secure if you are on the bridge, where I can keep an eye on you."

"A bridge position?"

"Yes. And we both know that only once before has a cat managed to gain a bridge position on a CL just six months after graduation. It would seem your uncle taught you well."

"Yes, sir, he did." Firemane beams.

"We shall see how well your curiosity helps you in your new position. You know the saying?"

"Yes sir. Curiosity saved the cat."

"You're living proof of that one now, kit. Get some rest. The doctor will tell you when you can report for duty."

"Yes sir!" the auburn cat beams as he relaxes and eyes his medal, while the trio leaves. As the joy of accomplishment surrounds and warms him, Firemane purrs, wondering what the Klingons' version of his first combat will be like.

***

"Come in, Captain Krieze. Have a seat."

The Captain removes his black, leather gloves as he sits in the high-backed chair of the Commandant's office. Krieze tries to figure out why the room seems to feel both spartan and showy, but his analysis of the tapestries hung about the room is interrupted by the Commandant's impatient bark.

"Captain Kith has given me his report about the incident with the Kzinti ship. Your written report coincides with his, but I want to know what your personal conclusions are -- off the record."

Krieze locks eyes with the Commandant and says nothing until the Commandant averts his eyes. "It is fairly obvious that our Intelligence reports were not. The scans from both of our ships showed almost half of their power generation to be destroyed -- not damaged, mind you, but destroyed. And then, while we were in the process of boarding, they exceeded the supposed maximum power generation of that class vessel by nearly thirty percent. It is clear that they have somehow either copied Orion warp technology, or more likely, have purchased the use of the tech."

Krieze pauses and takes a deep breath before continuing. "Until we know exactly how widespread this tech is within the Kzinti fleet, to continue agressive moves against them would be highly questionable. Their recent deployment of high-warp capable shuttles is more evidence of new technology breakthroughs. And we are seeing more of their upgraded Strike Cruisers every month. In light of this new development, I would think that further attempts to engage them will only invite retaliation from a foe we can no longer assess with any accuracy. We have no choice . . . "

"You have no choice," the Commandant interrupts. "Policy is not your concern. I just wanted your tactical analysis, which you have provided quite admirably. Of course, our logisticians and analysts reached the same conclusions some hours ago," the Commandant sneers. "Dismissed."

The Captain rises, salutes his superior, pivots and exits the office. "Idiot", he mutters as he closes the door behind him.

***

Intelligence Analyst Ringrider storms into his cramped and cluttered office, unable to contain the growl building in his throat. As the door swishes shut behind him, he grabs the lip of his stone desk and flips the table with a ferocious roar. Databooks and assorted personal items fly in all directions as the table rotates 270 degrees before banging to the floor on its side.

"Impressive."

Ringrider leaps four feet, hurtling his desk in the process, spinning to face the source of the unexpected voice. His hand instinctively reaches for his sidearm, but even as it does, his intellect reminds him that weapons are not allowed in the office complex.

"No need for violence, Commander. I've been sent with a message." A barrel chested Lyran stands calmly in the opposite corner from Ringrider, holding a small databook in his right paw.

"A message from who?" Ringrider snarls, his muscles flexing rapidly as he eyes the stranger warily.

"Headhunter is still a go," the stranger responds.

Ringrider blinks. "But the war is . . . "

"There will be other wars, Commander. Keep your pieces in place, and we will use them to prepare for the future. That is the entirety of the message."

"But, wh . . . "

"I cannot answer questions, Commander. I'm just a simple messenger, and truthfully have no concept as to the meaning behind the words I speak."

Ringrider's tiger-striped tail twitches nervously, trying to absorb the import of what this stranger has told him. "You can tell me how you managed to get into my office, though," the Commander says, trying to buy some time.

"Go ask your aide. He'll tell you," the stranger shrugs.

Looking at the mess that was once his desk, Ringrider immediately realizes he cannot page his aide electronically. "Wait here."

Ringrider is around his desk and through the door in a blur. A moment later he returns, his aide close on his heels.

" . . . n't have gotten in, sir. I've been here . . . "

Ringrider waves the aide into silence, perusing his office a third time, unable to reconcile the disappearance of the stranger.

"He did THIS to your office? I'm terribly . . . "

Ringrider waves the aide into silence then pushes him back out of the office. As the door swishes shut, Ringrider moves to his overturned desk, leaning on it, half expecting the stranger to speak again. "Transporter," he says aloud. "Must've been a transporter beam, except of course, site-to-site transport is impossible within the admin offices."

With a sudden push, Ringrider rights the desk. He pauses, his anger finally spent. He shakes his head at his own foolishness. It was he who had originally convinced the Supreme Commander that Headhunter was a long term op. His rage over the Klingons' withdrawing from the war with the Kzin was irrelevant. Headhunter could still move forward. In fact, on a peacetime footing, it might actually be easier to accomplish some goals, as security invariably suffered during these respites as much for the Kzinti as for the Lyrans.

The Commander moves around the desk, beginning the chore of picking up the assorted debris caused by his tantrum. He notes a cracked display screen on one of the databooks and frowns, knowing the stone desk must have landed atop the device to damage it. And he manages to prod me forward while maintaining complete deniability. I am glad the Supreme Commander is on our side.