Declassified

The first officer turned back, her demeanor somber. “Thank you, Doctor.”

As usual, Leone sounded mildly a

Stano called out to McGibbon, “Paul! Let’s go!” As the security team double-timed across the snow to catch up with the rest of the landing party, Stano flipped open her communicator. “Stano to Endeavour.”

Khatami answered, “Endeavour. Go ahead.”

“Request permission to use the Murakamito reco

“Permission denied. The wormhole’s destabilizing. We have to leave in the next twenty minutes, so you and your team need to get back here. As innow.”

“Understood and on our way. Stano out.”

Qui

Around him, people spoke in voices of authority, taking refuge in their command of technology, as if it would defend them from the hand of fate. He had nothing to say to them. What difference would any of it make now?

The hatch was closed, and steady vibrations from thrusters and impulse coils pulsed through the shuttlecraft as it took off. Out of the corner of his eye, Qui

He knew that in the hours, days, and weeks to come, more than one person would pepper him with questions in a futile attempt to make sense of what had happened on this desolate orb in an empty universe that would soon fold in upon itself and vanish forever. All their queries would be for naught. There were no answers to be found here, no wisdom to be gleaned from this catastrophe. In the name of duty, Bridy had given everything, and Qui

The shuttle circled around to Endeavour’s aft quarter and began its approach toward the main shuttlebay, whose doors yawned open ahead of them. Beyond the Constitution-class starship, the nameless orb that Qui

As Endeavourswallowed up its shuttle, Qui

FOUR WEEKS LATER

19

Ming Xiong had never been comfortable as the bearer of bad news, and he had never had to deliver a more heartbreaking message than the one that had brought him back to the U.S.S. Sagittarius. He had thought he might have the luxury of doing this via subspace, or perhaps even in a letter, but as the Endeavourreturned that evening to the main hangar of Starbase 47, Xiong had seen the small Archer-class scout ship berthed in the adjacent bay and realized he would have to fulfill this obligation in person.

On the gangway that led to the Sagittarius,Xiong stopped walking. I really don’t want to do this. He bowed his head and looked at his olive-green utility jumpsuit. It had his name stenciled over the left chest flap, and its right shoulder was adorned by a U.S.S. Sagittariuspatch. It had been given to him by the ship’s Deltan commander, Captain Adelard Nassir, as a token of their friendship. I shouldn’t have worn this,he scolded himself. I don’t deserve it right now.

Ahead of him, Captain Nassir stepped through the ship’s open port-side hatch. “Xiong! You’re here. Good.”

“Yes, sir,” Xiong said as he resumed walking and put aside his regrets about wearing the jumpsuit. Too late to change now.

Nassir beckoned Xiong. “We’re all waiting in the mess.”

Xiong followed the captain inside the Sagittarius. The ship’s narrow main corridor and low overheads gave it a claustrophobic quality. They followed the ring-shaped passageway aft, past the ladder up to the transporter bay and engineering deck, to the mess hall, which served as the ship’s conference room.

Waiting inside, mostly seated at the two long tables, was the crew of the Sagittarius. As a tiny scout ship, her crew consisted of only fourteen perso

At the front of one table sat Commander Clark Terrell, the first officer, a muscular man with brown skin and big hands. Across from him sat the ship’s chief medical officer, Doctor Lisa Babitz, a svelte blond germophobe.

Behind them, sitting opposite each other, were the ship’s petite and kooky red-haired science officer, Lieutenant Vanessa Theriault, and the brawny and bearded chief engineer, Master Chief Petty Officer Mike Ilucci. At the end of the first table sat Lieutenants Celerasayna zh’Firro, the Andorian senior helm officer, and Sorak, the middle-aged Vulcan chief of security and lead recon scout.

At the other table, Senior Chief Petty Officer Razka, a young Saurian who served as a field scout, sat across from medical technician Ensign Nguyen Tan Bao. The engineering petty officers—Salagho Threx, a burly and hirsute Denobulan, and Karen Cahow, a tomboyish young woman with dirty blond hair—sat together opposite engineering crewman Torvin, a gawky young Tiburonian.

At the back of the compartment stood two officers Xiong didn’t recognize, a man with distinctive spots along the sides of his face and neck and a young Orion woman with close-cropped raven hair. As Xiong noticed them, Nassir made the introductions. “Ming, allow me to introduce the newest members of the crew.” He gestured first at the man. “Lieutenant Dastin, our new tactical officer.” Then at the Orion woman: “Ensign Taryl, our new recon scout.”

The two officers nodded at Xiong, who returned the gesture. “Hi.” After a brief pause, he added, “I don’t mean to be rude, but what I’m here to say doesn’t really concern the two of you. But you’re welcome to stay if you like.” No one made any move to leave. Xiong took a deep breath. “It’s been a while since I last saw you all. I’m sure I don’t need to explain why.” The Sagittariuscrew members nodded gravely, needing no reminder of their intimate involvement in Operation Vanguard or their harrowing encounter with the Shedai. “The reason I asked to talk with all of you is that I have to tell you something. . . . Bridy Mac’s dead.”

A pall settled over the room. Grief moved like a wave across the crew’s faces. Theriault turned away and hid her eyes with one hand; Threx bowed his head and let his long hair conceal his face. Cahow and Tan Bao both appeared shaken by the news that their former shipmate and second officer was gone. The only unaffected visage was that of Sorak, leading Xiong to envy the Vulcan for his completion of the emotion-purging Kolinahrritual.

Cahow asked in a small voice, “What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Xiong said. “All the details are classified.”

Babitz cast a teary-eyed stare at Xiong. “Will there be a memorial service?”

“Not in public. The brass doesn’t want to call any attention to her death. Her family on Deneva’s being told it was an accident.” Xiong’s composure began to crumble; tears welled in his eyes, and his voice shook. “But I wanted you all to know it wasn’tan accident. She died bravely. In the line of duty.” His last vestige of control disintegrated, and he bowed his head to hide his tears.

Nassir draped a comforting arm across Xiong’s shoulders. “It’s okay, Ming.”