Plomeek soup,he thought, a sneer curling his upper lip. Figures.

Trading his spoon for his sandwich, Leone raised it to his mouth and took a bite, savoring the taste of roast beef cooked almost to perfection—until his tongue registered a spicy burning sensation at the same instant a piquant odor assailed his nostrils.

“Gah,” Leone exclaimed, grimacing around his wad of chewed sandwich. Horseradish.He drew a sharp breath through sinuses now opened at the mercy of the pungent root. When in the hell will we be able to just tell those damned things what we want to eat?

“I’m telling you,” said one of the officers at the next table, just loud enough for Leone to hear, “if things don’t change soon, we’re going to be in big trouble.”

The doctor cocked his head at that, interested in where the conversation might be going while at the same time dreading that he already knew the destination. Taking his sandwich apart, Leone grabbed up his spoon to scrape the offending condiment from his roast beef while trying to listen to the discussion at the next table without appearing too obvious.

“C’mon, Muller,” said another man, who Leone saw in his peripheral vision wore a blue jumpsuit. “You can’t be serious.”

Without turning his head, the doctor was able to see the first man, who wore a gold uniform tunic, lean closer to his two comrades. “It was her indecision that got Captain Zhao killed, and now we’re heading back to the scene of the crime. What are we looking for? Another fight? You ask me, this ship isn’t safe with Khatami in charge.”

Leone dropped his spoon onto his tray, his appetite having disappeared now. Rising from his seat, he took his tray and made his way toward the row of recycling slots, walking slower than usual in order to continue listening to the conversation which went on as the three officers at the next table also concluded their meals and rose from their seats.

“What,” said the third man, dressed in a red tunic and whom Leone recognized as a member of the Endeavour’s security force, “because she’s a woman?”

“Oh, give me some credit, please,” Muller said as he fell in line behind Leone. “Species, gender, age, whatever. Incompetence knows no boundaries. She may have been fine making duty rosters and supervising landing parties, but Khatami doesn’t belong in the center seat. Period.”

Tossing his tray into the nearest recycler slot, Leone pivoted on his heel until he was facing Muller, who had to come to an abrupt stop to avoid running into the doctor. “Excuse me, Lieutenant,” he said, his eyes locking with those of the younger man. “I’d like a word with you out in the corridor.”

To his credit, Muller said nothing until both men exited the dining hall. Once in the passageway, Leone folded his arms across his chest as he glared at the other man.

“As an officer, Mr. Muller,” he said, “you have an obligation to lead by example. That means presenting a professional demeanor when in the presence of subordinates, and keeping to yourself any unfavorable opinions you might have regarding this ship’s chain of command.”

“I’m not saying anything that other people haven’t said,” Muller replied, his tone growing more defensive with each word. “She could have gotten us all killed during that attack. You know that.”

Feeling his ire rising even as he regarded Muller through narrowing eyes, Leone snapped, “The fact that you’re alive to run your mouth about what happened obviously means she did something right. Now tell me, Lieutenant, do I look like the type of person who enjoys quoting rules and regulations? All they do is piss me off. Therefore, I suggestyou reevaluate your comments, particularly when you’re in a public setting among the rest of the crew.”

His own expression growing cold, Muller leaned forward, and when he replied his voice took on what Leone imagined the other man thought to be menace. “Frankly, Doctor,” he said, his chest puffing out a bit, “until I see a reason to believe differently, I’m going to hold to my opinion, and I’ll share it with whom I please. CaptainKhatami is a disaster waiting to happen.”

Leone sighed as he noted the arrival of Muller’s dining companions, both of whom were taking an interest in the conversation. “That’s where you and I have a problem, Lieutenant. You see, as the ship’s doctor, it’s part of my job to ensure that the crew’s morale remains high at all times. Your bad-mouthing Captain Khatami erodes that morale. That’s a problem for me.”

“You don’t say?” asked Muller.

“In fact,” Leone said, his voice raising in volume, “it looks like it might be a problem for you, too.” He made a show of squinting as he stared down the other man. “Come to think of it, you’re looking a bit worn right now. Maybe you ought to excuse yourself to your quarters. You know, relax, get some rest.”

“Forget it, Doctor,” Muller said, offering a smug grin. “I feel just fi—”

The rest of his sentence was lost, shoved back into his mouth as Leone’s fist impacted with the lieutenant’s jaw. Muller’s head snapped back and he fell like a limp doll, unconscious even before he hit the deck.

Leone turned, fire in his eyes, to stare at Muller’s two friends, who still stood nearby. “Mr. Muller’s condition looks contagious,” he said. “How do you gentlemen feel?”

“Uh, I feel great, sir,” the ensign in security red replied, his head nodding so fast Leone thought it might break loose from his neck. Looking to his companion, he asked, “You okay, Brad?”

The crewman in the jumpsuit simply nodded.

“I’m thrilled to hear it,” Leone said, nodding to each of them. He indicated the insensate Muller with a wave of his hand. “I suggest the two of you help spread the word about this…disease I’ve just treated. Mr. Muller here just might be Patient Zero if we’re not careful. You think?”

The two men mumbled something which to Leone’s ears sounded like acquiescence. Offering a curt nod, the doctor turned and marched up the corridor toward the turbolift, ignoring the stares of baffled onlookers. No doubt word would make its way with undue haste to Captain Khatami, who was sure to address the issue with a rich, verbose dressing-down.

He ignored that thought for now, though. Waiting until he was well around a bend in the passageway and out of sight of the milling of officers near the mess hall, he lifted his aching right hand and flexed his fingers, already noting the discolorations on his knuckles, which appeared to be well on their way to becoming full-blown bruises.

Damn, that hurts worse than the horseradish.

30

He knew it was his imagination, of course, but the longer Reyes studied the star chart as displayed on the viewscreen in his office, the more he believed that he could see the hole in the galaxy where the planet Palgrenax once had been.

“What do we know?” he asked, his attention remaining focused on the computer-generated representation of the Taurus Reach. The map had been redrawn several times during the past months, regularly updated with new territorial borders, lines representing patrol routes, points of interest, and potential hazards in accordance with the increased presence not only of Federation colonies and ships but also those of the Klingon Empire.

Standing to the left of the screen, her hands clasped behind her back, T’Prynn replied, “According to telemetry received from long-range sensors, the planet exploded at 2247 hours, station time.”

Reyes turned from the viewer and crossed the office to his desk. Dropping into his chair, he reached for his cup of coffee, his second since being roused from a fitful sleep less than thirty minutes previously. As he drank generously from the warm brew and despite every fiber of his being telling him to look elsewhere, the commodore could not help but glance at the chronometer situated at the base of his desktop computer terminal: 0342 hours.