Declassified

“No, it’s not,” Xiong said, choking on the words. “It’s my fault. I sent her there.” He palmed his cheeks dry. “I’m sorry.”

Terrell stood and clamped a hand on Xiong’s shoulder. “No one here blames you, Ming. Nobody except yourself.”

Babitz joined Terrell and Nassir. She cupped Xiong’s face in her hands and lifted it to force him to make eye contact with her. “You know she loved you like the little brother she never had?” Xiong nodded, and Babitz gave him a sad smile. “And you know we think of you as one of us, right? And we always will.”

Despite their assurances, Xiong’s face burned with shame. “How can you forgive me for this?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Nassir said. “It’s called being in command.”

Sheltered in the embrace of his friends and peers, Xiong felt as if he had no right to their consolation, no place accepting their comfort when he was the one most directly responsible for their shared loss. And, for the first time, he believed that no matter how valuable Operation Vanguard’s discoveries might be, they would never be worth the price Bridy’s family and friends had just paid.

20

Qui

Now the ship was back at its home port, and Qui

He drifted across the manicured lawn of the starbase’s terrestrial enclosure. Despite being surrounded by thousands of people, he felt utterly alone. His friend Tim Pe

Ahead of Qui

I guess this is home for now. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. In one was a credit chip good for a few months’ living expenses and, if he was willing to travel like a piece of luggage, maybe even passage back to the core systems of the Federation. Aside from that, he had nothing but the clothes on his back.

The report from the Endeavourhad said no part of the Dulcineahad been salvageable, and his rescuers had found no sign of the treasures he had amassed in his cargo hold. For the first time in his adult life, he had no job, no ship, and no prospects. He thought about trying to find a poker game with an open seat. A few lucky hands and I could go home first-class instead of in steerage. The idea almost took root, and then he chortled ruefully. A few lucky hands? Who’m I kidding? Lady Luck might be smilin’ on someone right now, but it sure as shit ain’t me.

He felt aimless as he wandered the narrow lanes of Stars Landing, passing familiar storefronts without bothering to look at any of them. I thought I’d had it all figured out,he brooded. My life had purpose. Meaning. Hope. He looked up at the holographic simulation of a dusk sky projected on the ceiling of the terrestrial enclosure. I thought my karmic debt was paid. Didn’t I suffer enough? Or do enough good deeds?Qui

Then he stopped. There was no point taking another step. Where was he going? What would he do when he got there? Why did he care anymore?

He looked up and realized he was standing in front of his old watering hole, Tom Walker’s place. Inside, the atmosphere was muted—quiet conversation mixed with low music, subdued lighting, and no vidscreens or other distractions. Just ordinary folks minding their own business and letting others do the same.

All my paths lead here. They always have.

Qui

Behind the bar, Tom Walker looked over his shoulder at Qui

“I’ll be staying awhile,” Qui

Tom set the tequila on the counter. “ Sláinte.”

Qui

Twenty-five years a drunk, two years sober—what’s the difference?

He knew the drink wasn’t the answer to his problems, but his latest ordeal had granted him an epiphany: there were no answers to his problems.

Or to anyone’s problems,he decided. There are no answers at all, and never have been. Just pain, and then oblivion. It only hurts when you care . . . and I don’t want to care anymore.

He lifted the glass to his lips.

And stopped caring.

The saga of

STAR TREK ®: VANGUARD

will continue in

WHAT JUDGMENTS COME

Fall 2011

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

DAYTON WARD. Author. Trekkie. Writing his goofy little stories and searching for a way to tap into the hidden nerdity that all humans have. Then, an accidental overdose of Mountain Dew altered his body chemistry. Now, when Dayton Ward grows excited or just downright geeky, a startling metamorphosis occurs.

Driven by outlandish ideas and a pronounced lack of sleep, he is pursued by fans and editors as well as fu

Dayton is believed to be working on his next novel, and he must let the world think that he is working on it, until he can find a way to earn back the advance check he blew on strippers and booze. Though he currently lives in Kansas City with his wife and daughters, Dayton is a Florida native and maintains a torrid long-distance romance with his beloved Tampa Bay Buccaneers. Visit him on the web at http://www.daytonward.com.