Plot Device 
By Michael Marek

     Everyone who has been through Starfleet Academy knows who Boothby is.  Nominally the groundskeeper, Boothby is also a friend and counselor to the midshipmen.  I have also suspected that he is the benevolent power behind the throne of the Academy, or maybe even a supernatural being temporarily residing in a human body.  When he walks into the Commandant’s office, Boothby gets his way with no ifs, ands, or buts. 
      Boothby once claimed that Starfleet’s Fleet Scheduling office uses random selection to determine Starship assignments.  Specifically he claimed that the inner sanctum conference room where decisions are made about starship routing and assignment contains a large holographic roulette wheel.  I never figured out whether Boothby was serious or joking, but it is a fact that nobody outside of the senior Fleet Scheduling staff ever sees that conference room.
      Have you ever wondered how there can be only one ship in an entire quadrant?  Yet this repeatedly turns out to be the justification for sending a particular ship off on a dangerous assignment. 
      These thoughts ran through my mind as I sat in my office on the USS Crazy Horse.  We were skirting the energy barrier at the rim of the galaxy.  New shield technology satisfactorily protected us from the psychological effects of the barrier but the energy field itself was far from fully understood.  I had just received an admiralty briefing and Crazy Horse seemed an unlikely choice for the mission that had just been assigned. 
      Our new assignment, though, lay in the heart of Federation space.  Why did we have to travel from the very edge of the galaxy?  Were there no other ships available?  I knew I would never receive an answer to my questions.  I vowed to myself, though, that someday, a couple of promotions down the road, Admiral Michael Marek would visit that Fleet Scheduling conference room and learn the truth for himself.
      I stepped onto the bridge, nodding to officer of the day, Lieutenant Commander Samantha Neal, to indicate that I was assuming command.  She smoothly rose out of the center seat and moved to her regular science station.  
      “Navigator,” I said.  “Lay in a course for Vulcan.  Stand by to engage.”
      “Aye, Sir,” came the crisp response from the ensign on duty as navigator. 
      “Charlotte,” I said, addressing my wife, ship’s Science Officer.  “We have been pulled off the barrier for a new priority assignment.  How soon will the current series of sensor sweeps be finished?”
      I saw my wife begin to fume (she really hates being interrupted) but she controlled herself and replied, “Grrrr.  Give us another ten minutes.  We’re just about to send a special probe through the barrier and we need that long to track it to the far side of the energy field.”
      “Make it so,” I told her with an apologetic smile.
      In a moment I heard the muted whoosh as the probe launched, followed immediately by a swirl of color on the view screen.  The play of light and texture as the probe passed through the barrier was fascinating, as was the way the energy field disappeared completely when the probe exited the far side.  The probe soon came to a relative stop and deployed a large antenna array.  I knew that it would automatically monitor the barrier at this point for several years, sending back telemetry to the nearest starbase several light years away.
      Soon I was able to give the engage order to put us on course for Vulcan.
      “Why do we have to be the ones to go all the way to Vulcan?”
      That was the question on everyone’s lips as we began our staff meeting.  We were several days from Vulcan but I knew that it was best to get the word out through channels about our mission.  As the saying goes, “The only thing that can travel faster than warp 10 is a rumor.” 
      “Crazy Horse is honored by this mission,” I explained, “for our work during the Dominion War, our breakthrough scientific achievements and our general track record of beating the odds on our missions.”
      “He means ‘we haven’t blown up the ship yet,’” somebody whispered, but I ignored the quip.
      “We will pick up The Commissioner at Starbase 36, then proceed to Vulcan where we will host treaty negotiations between the Acorrinne and the Mehrtonni,” I explained.  This drew positive reactions from several members of the senior staff.  The Commissioner is a frequent and popular guest on our ship. 
      “There will be over 300 diplomats on board during the conference,” I continued.  “Vulcan was chosen as neutral ground.  Crazy Horse was chosen to represent the epitome of the enlightened Federation philosophy of mutual defense and peaceful negotiation to solve problems.”
      “Oh, brother,” groaned Charlotte. 
      “Also because Starfleet Headquarters is still talking about the party we threw for Voyager when it returned from the Delta Quadrant,” I added, with a twinkle in my eye.  “Diplomats need lots of parties so they can conduct back channel negotiations.  It often makes the difference between the success and failure of a summit conference between adversaries.”
      “We’re definitely ready for this assignment,” said helmsman Bill Wilmerdinger with enthusiasm.  The others present agreed.
      “Let’s go around the room on this,” I said.  “Moira, can you brief us on the political situation?”
      “The Acorrinne and the Mehrtonni inhabit two planets in the Zeta 329 system,” said our cybernetic Second Officer.  “They are genetically related and were apparently one species as recently as a few thousand years ago.  Nobody knows how some of them were transplanted.  Both cultures claim to inhabit the home world of the species. 
      “Before they achieved space flight, the two cultures communicated by audio and later video, quite amicably for over a century.  The advent of warp technology and the resulting first contact with the Federation several years ago produced issues of trade and defense that they have not been able to work out on their own,” Moira added.
      “So essentially this is a case of feuding cousins?” asked Charlotte.  Moira shrugged in assent.  The thought stuck in my mind.
      “I’ve seen a dispatch on the situation from Federation Security,” reported Tactical Officer LTC Dolores Scott.  “There are factions in nearby systems that would like to torpedo the talks.  Our security teams will need to be on their toes.”
      “I suppose you’ll want to take over Roddenberry’s,” grumbled LTC Elaine Naiman, who presides over our 10-Forward lounge. 
      “I think it would be best to keep Roddenberry’s on a business as usual basis,” I reflected.  “Our project team can use the holodecks to prepare various venues for receptions.  Maybe a different theme each day...”           
      Moira, her simulacrum that is, remained for a few minutes after the staff meeting and we selected the project team, sometimes casually known on our ship as the “Party Animals.”  They threw themselves into their work and soon were pulling their plans together.  The off-duty crew was called upon to test each of the holodeck party settings, which request they accommodated with fervor.  When The Commissioner came on board at Starbase 36, he could find no fault with our plans.
      “USS Crazy Horse, this is Vulcan Space Traffic Control.  Assume synchronous orbit at 147 degrees west longitude,” said the unruffled voice from Vulcan’s primary spaceport. 
      “This is the Crazy Horse,” I replied.  “Understood and we are ready to receive the Vulcan envoy to the talks.”
      “Acknowledged, Crazy Horse.  The envoy and party will energize in 3.4 minutes.”
      That gave the Crazy Horse senior officers, along with The Commissioner, just enough time to reach Transporter Room Three before the Vulcan delegation beamed in. 
      “Welcome on board the Crazy Horse,” I said when the sparkling was finished.  “L Peace and long life,” I added, holding up my hand in the traditional Vulcan salute.
      “Live long and prosper, Commander,” said the head of the delegation, Sartek, stepping forward and returning the salute. 
      “May I present our senior officers?” I asked formally, introducing each in turn.  “I believe you already know The Commissioner?”
      “Of course,” said Sartek, stepping down from the transporter platform with three other Vulcans following.  “Commissioner, it is agreeable to see you again.  This is my deputy -- T’Prek.”
      “Quarters are ready for both of you,” said The Commissioner, “but if I may, I would first like to show you the council chamber we have arranged.”
      “Most satisfactory,” replied Sartek and The Commissioner led the way out the transporter room door.
      As the morning passed, more and more dignitaries came aboard.  I was there with the senior officers to greet each party.  The conference convened at 1400 hours in a plenary session that consisted mainly of speeches.  That evening we hosted a state dinner in holodeck 12 followed by an after glow reception on the nearby holodeck 42.  The dinner featured gourmet cuisine from both Acorra and Mehrton.  The Commissioner made a well-received toast, using wine, to the peoples of both worlds followed by toasts from each of the delegation leaders.  The toasting went on for some time, making me glad that we had served synthehol.
      The reception was based on a Polynesian theme, although only holodeck characters acting as waiters wore the traditional Polynesian garb.  Dr. Wrii, our delphinic physician, and her husband enthusiastically frolicked in the lagoon, adding an air of authenticity to the scene.  A few of the more daring delegates entered the water with them and more than one standing on the dock got splashed, which the good doctor considers to be wonderfully funny. 
      Charlotte and I wandered from group to group among bamboo huts making pleasant but not particularly meaningful conversation with various guests and dignitaries.  We had both attended the Starfleet advanced training seminar on “What Not to Say at Cocktail Parties.”  The evening was going well. 
      Presently we strolled a short way down the beach to where some rocks pushed out into the lagoon.  The holoprogram was designed to allow an easy walk out onto the rocks for a dramatic view of the sea.  One person was there before us.  It was T’Prek, the deputy ambassador in the Vulcan delegation.
      “It is a beautiful spot, isn’t it?” I asked her, wondering if that was too emotion-laden a concept.
      “There are few places on Vulcan where this much water collects freely,” she replied, with a raised eyebrow.  “It is intriguing to watch the fluid dynamics and varying wave forms.”
      Charlotte bit her lip, disguising the reaction as a smile.  “I like watching the tide roll in, too.”      “What were your thoughts about this afternoon’s session?” T’Prek asked me.
      “I’m not a diplomat,” I answered.  “I don’t see why they don’t skip the preliminaries and jump into discussing the important issues.”
      “There is only one logical resolution to the dispute,” she stated emphatically, for a Vulcan.  “The two worlds must unite in a single government.  Only by eliminating their adversarial relationship will they be able to progress.  They have the potential to become a powerful and positive economic force in this sector, if they can set aside their distrust.”
      “That’s the trick, isn’t it?” I asked, rhetorically.  “Saying we need to trust each other and making that trust reality are two very different things for most people.”
      “’I am pleased to see that we are different,’” quoted Charlotte.
      “Are you a student of Vulcan philosophy, Commander?” T’Prek turned to my wife and asked.
      “Not as such,” replied Charlotte.  “But that line, and the one that follows, ‘may we together be more than we are individually’ was quoted in our wedding ceremony.”
      “A lesson Vulcans and humans learned from each other,” noted T’Prek.
      “Two hundred years ago,” I nodded, remembering the often-stormy early history between the two species.
      “Two hundred twenty five,” corrected T’Prek, “point 4-2.”
      I chatted with The Commissioner during a break the following day.  He remained at his seat at the conference table, watching carefully how the delegates, as he called it, “clumped.”
      “This is when the real negotiating goes on,” he explained to me, pointing out that most of the Acorrinne were on one side of the room while most of the Mehrtonni had gravitated to the other side.  “The going is slow.  They have a lot of distrust to overcome and there’s significant resistance on both sides. 
      “Look just to the left of the beverage table,” The Commissioner directed my attention.  “The third assistant deputies from each side are talking.  They’ve been in conversation for over five minutes, testing ideas on each other for their bosses.  They’re both scowling, meaning that the conversation is not going well.  I won’t end the break until they’re done interacting.”
      I sensed frustration all around the room.  Everyone seemed to realize that both sides could benefit from settling their disputes but the route to agreement remained elusive.
      As I prepared to leave the council hall, T’Prek, approached me. 
      “A moment of your time, Commander?” she requested.  When I agreed she unobtrusively led me away from groups that could overhear our conversation.
      “The conference is not going well,“ she said, with no preliminaries.  “Both sides express willingness to reach agreement but their actions at the negotiating table belie their claims.”
      “Maybe,” I replied.  “These folks are old hands at negotiating.  By being stubborn they think they’re driving as hard bargain.”
      “Have you seen the threat assessments for this conference?”  she asked, lowering her voice and looking around to make sure she wasn’t being overheard.  I nodded.  “If a serious threat were to be identified, logic would require a significant increase in security.  It would emphasize that some parties do not want these talks to succeed.”
      I stared off into space for a moment.  “An interesting idea,” I said slowly.  “If the threat were real, it would certainly hit the delegates over the head with it.”
      “It would underscore the fact that an alliance would make them so powerful together that other forces would do anything to subvert their talks,” T’Prek elaborated.  She shifted on her feet, as if changing the subject.
      “Sartek noted to me this morning, Commander, his…concern for the safety of the delegates,” T’Prek observed.  I waited for her to make her point.  “Given the threat assessments, logic suggests that as the conference continues, danger to the delegates increases.  Sartek hopes your crew is exercising due diligence in its search for security threats.  If you are able to identify such risks, it might be well to allow the delegates to observe your responses.”
      “Well…we’re following the standard protocols,” I ventured, not quite believing the conversation was going where I thought.
      “Security threats can be subtle,” she said, as if musing, “and hard to verify.  The Vulcan diplomatic service is well aware of your service record, Commander, and your ability to devise…innovative solutions to problems.  We hope you will give this matter your undivided attention.”
      I thought for a moment, unsure whether I had received a compliment or an order.
      “My wife said the other day that the Acorrinne and the Mehrtonni are like feuding cousins,” I recalled.  “Cousins tend to pull together when there’s a threat from outside the family.”
      “This can be observed in many sentient species,” T’Prek agreed.  “I believe that one of your human tacticians once said that ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ Even what your mate calls ‘feuding cousins’ will cooperate, If the threat is real.  It is a totally logical response to threats from outside the family unit.”
      “Oh, most certainly,” I responded thoughtfully.  “If the threat is real.”
      T’Prek nodded wordlessly and moved off.
      “You want me to do what?” asked Moira.  I had asked her to join me in my office, off the corridor between the bridge and the briefing room.
      “I want you to identify a credible external threat that can justify putting the ship on alert,” I said.  “Review every database marginally relevant to the Acorrinne and the Mehrtonni, to the Vulcan system, and to Crazy Horse.  Do a level one sensor sweep.  I’m interested in threats to the negotiators, to ships registered to their flags, to Crazy Horse -- it doesn’t have to be probable, just defensible as having a reasonable possibility.”
      “Hum,” said Moira, cocking her head and staring off into space.  “For example, I’ve been monitoring an occasional flutter in the subspace static for the last seven hours.  It’s almost certainly second harmonic interference from the big Vulcan orbital transmitters.”
      “But if it’s not that,” I probed, “what might it be?”
      “Well…” she paused.  “It…might…be a cloaked ship.”
      “A possible unidentified cloaked ship in Vulcan territorial space?”  I asked, keeping myself from smiling.  “Sounds like a threat to me.  What else?”
      “A shipment of Kivas from the Vulcan surface contained a very minor bacterial contamination, which the transporters removed, of course.  If they’d been served at the reception in their contaminated state…”
      “We may already have prevented a serious biological attack on the delegates,” I nodded.  “What else?”
      “This may take time, and lots of extrapolation,” Moira said, standing.  “I’ll prepare a report and get back to you shortly.”
      “Make it so,” I nodded.  “But please don’t dawdle.  I’d like to announce tightened security at the evening banquet.”
      “Ladies and gentlemen,” I said, taking the rostrum as the banquet meal concluded and the toasting was about to begin.  “Forgive me for interrupting your pleasant evening, but duty requires me to brief you on a matter of importance to these proceedings.
      “One of the roles of Starfleet in hosting events such as this is to handle security and to ensure the safety of all participants.  I regret to inform you that we have identified a disturbing trend and have concluded that security must be significantly increased for the duration of this conference.” 
      Exclamations burst from many people in the room and I waited a moment for them to calm down. 
      “For security reasons I cannot discuss the exact nature of the threat in public, but I have briefed Ambassador Sartek and he agrees completely with our precautions.”
      The Ambassador made an exaggerated nodding of his head to confirm my statement.
      “Effective immediately, the USS Crazy Horse will be on yellow alert for the duration of the conference.”  At my cue, the alert klaxon went off, toned down slightly from its regular volume so that it punctuated my remarks, but didn’t overpower them. 
      “While we are under yellow alert, all conference participants must remain on board at all times.  Before leaving this room tonight, I ask you each to submit to a DNA test to confirm your identity.  Security guards will be posted on all decks and in all meeting rooms.“  On cue, a dozen burly security men and women entered the various doors of the dining hall and stood at parade rest, scanning for trouble.
      “I can also advise you that Vulcan Space Central has agreed to a 100,000 kilometer no-fly cushion around the Crazy Horse.  We will shortly be relocating to a point in the outer Vulcan system where we can better detect intruders.”  I gave the delegates a few moments to let the precautions sink in.
      “I apologize for the inconveniences these measures will present.  Please rest assured that nothing will be allowed to interfere with the successful completion of this conference,” I concluded, and stepped away from the rostrum.
      The Commissioner rose to his feet immediately.
      “In the light of these sobering announcements, allow me to propose a toast,” he said, lifting a wine glass.  He spoke at length and wove an artful mood.  I don’t know how he did it, but when he concluded, both sides cheered for unity of their worlds and subsequent toasts made clear that momentum had started to build for a positive resolution of the disputes.
      The toasts that followed took note of how the new security precautions underscored the potential economic boon that would result from an amicable resolution of the talks.  They decried those shadowy parties who hoped to benefit by driving a wedge between their two sister worlds.  The Commissioner gave me a happy smile as he bellowed out his twelfth “Hear, hear!”
      “Commander, may I join you?”  It was the morning after the announcement of the security precautions.  T’Prek approached me at breakfast, which I was eating in Roddenberry’s.  Moira was at the table with me, since her simulacrum enjoys a good omelet as much as anyone.
      “Please be seated,” I said, rising and extending my hand to one of the chairs at my table.  Charlotte had been up late working on a linguistics project and was still in bed. 
     “Sartek was pleased by the impact of the measures you implemented last evening,” she said after we were seated.  “Our own security forces have been on high alert and we have not been able to…detect…the threats you appear to have found.  Sartek was grateful for your efforts and endorsed your request to relocate to the outer system.”
      “We greatly appreciate his support,” I responded, wondering if she had almost used the word “devise” rather than “detect.”  I still wasn’t completely clear whether the Vulcans were using me to manipulate the delegates or whether T’Prek was just making small-talk. 
      “The Vulcan diplomatic service is intrigued at fully understanding the logic that led you to…discover…these threats,” she said.  
      I didn’t really want to talk about my ‘logic.’  If, in fact, T’Prek had actually relayed a request from Sartek to manufacture a security crisis, I was not enthusiastic about documenting if for the record.  I was trying to decide how to reply when Moira spoke up.           
      “Excuse me!”
      The red alert klaxon went off.
      “We’ll have to continue this another time,” I said apologetically as I quickly stood.  “We’d better get to the bridge,” I said to Moira, who also rose and hurried out of the lounge with me.
      “May I assume the red alert is more than a way to get me out of that conversation?” I asked Moira as we dodged running crew members in the corridor.
      “You may,” she answered as we entered the turbolift.  “A ship has penetrated the no-fly zone.”
      “ID?” I asked, then shouted “bridge,” at the turbolift controls.
      “Ferengi,” she said with an expression of distaste on her face.  “We have shields up.  They’ve not responded to hails.  Standing off at 98,000 kilometers.”
      The turbolift opened onto the bridge as she spoke.  I did a quick mental inventory of the officers at their stations.  Moira was commanding this shift.  Her hologram had been on the bridge while her simulacrum dined with me.  Otherwise, the bridge crew was mainly junior officers.  We hadn’t honestly been expecting trouble on the fringe of the Vulcan system.  As the red alert continued, however, more and more of the senior staff arrived on the bridge, slipping into the chairs vacated by the junior officers who, in turn, moved to auxiliary stations around the bridge to be ready if called back into primary service. 
      “Open a channel,” I ordered.  “Ferengi vessel.  You have entered a zone that is restricted by order of the Vulcan High Command.  Retreat to 100,000 kilometers and state your business.”
      In a moment, the main viewscreen lit up with the visage of a Ferengi officer.
      “Hoo-man,” he snarled.  “I am Daimon Rak of the Ferengi Alliance starship Conglomerate.  You are conspiring to limit the exercise of free trade in violation of the rules of interstellar commerce.  Terminate your protectionist efforts.”
      “Daimon,” I replied after a pause during which I rolled my eyes at Moira.  “The Ferengi Alliance is well known for disregarding the rules of interstellar commerce in the quest of windfall profits.  The negotiations we are hosting are not about interstellar commerce but rather about interplanetary, intra-stellar commerce.  They are no concern of yours.”
      “They ARE, Starfleet,” he spat back.  “We have interests on Mehrton and plans to create a sphere of influence on Acorra.  We demand to be represented in the talks.”
      “First you want us to stop the proceedings and now you want to participate,” I observed, deliberately baiting the Daimon.  “Are you sure you know what you want?”   
      I noticed Moira moving closer to me.  As Rak began a sputtering reply, Moira stepped between me and the screen.
      “One moment, please,” she said to Rak, giving her most winning smile.  Then she turned to face me.
      “Michael,” she said, after turning off the audio.  “The harmonic we’ve been watching -- it’s moving.  The vector of the origination point is changing and the signal is getting stronger.  It actually is a cloaked ship, moving at very slow speed toward us.  It is close enough that it has now moved into the no-fly zone.  Ionization readings indicate its weapons are energized.  I’m feeding target information to your PADD.”
      “Good.  Stand by evasive -- on a course past the cloaked ship,” I said briefly, glancing at the data on my PADD.  I signaled for the audio to be reopened.  “Daimon, you‘ll pardon the interruption.”
      He leered at Moira as she stepped out of his field of view.  “The Hoo-man habit of allowing women -- clothed women -- to appear in public is…perverted.”
      “Yes,” I answered in mock seriousness and spreading my hands as if to plead no contest.  “It is our way.” 
      I heard chuckling behind me that I hoped didn’t pick up on the microphone.  I glanced again at my PADD for the updated data from Moira about the projected energy curve of the cloaked ship. 
      “In the meantime, Daimon,“ I continued, “you have not left the restricted zone as instructed.  You have thirty seconds to decide.”  I turned my head to look at the bridge crew and added, “energize weapons.  Close channel.”
      “The cloaked ship is maneuvering at full impulse,” reported Tactical Officer Scott, the instant the inter-ship audio was cut.
      “Evasive!”  I ordered.  “Fire phasers on the cloaked ship as we pass, ten percent  power.  Full sensors.”
      It is not Starfleet procedure to fire first, but this was a special circumstance.  The rules of engagement said that any ship entering the no-fly zone without permission was to be considered hostile unless proven otherwise.  Phasers at 10% should not damage any ship with decent shields.  I was counting on the energy from the phasers to disrupt the cloak field and let us identify the craft.
      Crazy Horse leapt to life as the helm officer kicked in full impulse.  I remember  hoping that the inertial dampers would keep the diplomats from harm.  As we swept past the point in space where sensors reported the cloaked ship, our phasers burst to life.  We were moving fast, but I caught a flash of the intruder ship.  I also noticed in passing that Moira had chosen to make our phaser beam color for this exchange of fire a light mauve.  (I like a royal blue beam better.)
      “It’s Orion,” called out Dolores. 
      The tactical display reported that the Orions had returned fire at full strength, their ship now fully visible.  I couldn’t tell if they had dropped the cloak to fire or if the cloak was still disrupted by our phasers.  Crazy Horse was buffeted by the Orions’ fire, but not damaged, as the distance between us grew.  Conglomerate was sitting, impassive, as if confused by this new turn of events.
      “Bring us around,” I ordered.  “Disable the Orion’s engines.”
      Crazy Horse banked tightly and raced back the way we’d come, phasers firing with pinpoint accuracy.  Explosions followed at several points along the hull of the other ship.
      “The Orion ship is dead in the water,” reported Dolores presently.  “They’re leaking atmosphere, but not too badly.”
      “Good work, everybody,” I complimented the bridge crew.  “Moira, please invite T’Prek to the bridge.  Helm, return us to our previous position.”
      “I’m picking up coded transmissions between the Ferengi and the Orion ship,” reported Charlotte.  “It’s fairly old Ferengi commercial code algorithm that Starfleet intelligence broke over a year ago.  Decoding…”
      In a moment, Rak and an Orion face appeared on the main view screen in split screen mode.  They were obviously annoyed with each other.
      “…all you paid us to do was to distract the Hoo-man ship while you destroyed it,” Rak was saying.  “The transaction did not include Conglomerate firing on a Starfleet ship in the Vulcans’ back yard.”
      The Orion captain snarled an insult that translated as “your pigs smell like chickens,” and cut the circuit.
      “Hail the Ferengi ship,” I said, and soon was face to face with Rak.
      “I believe that your 30 seconds are up,” I told him.  “What’s your decision?  Leave the no-fly zone or fight?”
      Rak hesitated before replying.
      “You obviously have…pressing matters to attend to,” he said is as placating a voice as he could muster.  “We will resume this topic another time, Starfleet.”
      He closed the channel.  Conglomerate banked and fled into warp.
      “Contact Vulcan security and request their assistance to take the Orion ship’s crew into custody,” I told Dolores.  As I turned to look at her, I saw T’Prek, standing near the upper turbolift. 
      “Deputy Ambassador,” I said, extending my hand to indicate that she should come down the ramp.  “We were talking about the threat when we were interrupted.”
      “Indeed,” she replied, lifting one eyebrow.  “It appears that the logic that led you to you to strengthen security measures was valid.  An admirable accomplishment.”
      “Thank you,” I said, smiling at the irony.  “Please present my compliments to Sartek.  Tell him that the Crazy Horse has neutralized the danger presented by the Ferengi and Orion ships.  He may wish to point out to the delegations that this is clear evidence that commercial interests are threatened by the powerful economy that would result from an alliance of the Acorrinne and the Mehrtonni.”
      “I am sure that the point will be well made,” she commented, with a nod of acknowledgement.
      Charlotte was standing nearby as T’Prek returned to the turbolift.  We sat and talked quietly as the bridge returned to normal.
      “I didn’t think you’d pull it off,“ she said, with a smirk.
      “What?” I asked, feigning surprise.  “Defeat the Orions?”
      “No,” she replied.  “Uncover a real threat to go with the one you made up out of whole cloth.”
      “Now I have to write my after action report,” I said, speculatively.  “What do you think I should say?”
      “You write it,” she said.  “I’ll edit it, as usual.”

-30-