Storming Heaven

Outside the walls of Manуn’s cabaret, the residents of Stars Landing were falling victim to the station’s spreading contagion of hysteria. Inside the cabaret, Manуn packed a few prized possessions into a compact carryall: a rare bottle of Brunello di Montalcino from Earth, an even rarer bottle of Silgov vasha, and a smattering of tiny knickknacks she had carried with her years earlier, on the fateful night when she’d fled her homeworld on the eve of its invasion.

Her wanderlust had fired her imagination long before her exodus, but the threat of the Vekhal’s arrival in force on Silgos Prime had spurred her into flight. She had forsaken home and noble title for freedom; heritage and the companionship of her own kind for survival. At the time it had seemed an easy bargain. Only after years as an exile did she understand the true cost of her salvation: all her fleeting moments of joy had since been tempered by the bitter loneliness of never again seeing one of her own kind.

She had done her best to fill her days and nights with companions. Ironically, in her opinion, she felt most at home when surrounded by as diverse a population as possible, and nowhere had she encountered a polyglot society on a par with the Federation. Among all the civilizations she had encountered across a span of nearly three thousand light-years, the United Federation of Planets was unique.

Perhaps I would have been happier had I stayed safely within its borders, she speculated. In hindsight, she realized, it was only her emotional need to keep moving, to remain figuratively one step ahead of her memories of the Vekhal, that had driven her to leave her safe haven on Bolarus to open a business aboard a starbase in the perilous no-man’s-land of unclaimed space.

In a very short time she had come to think of this place as home, and of its denizens as her friends. Pausing in the doorway before ru

Everything ends, she reminded herself. But for now, I must go on.

With a light step and a heavy heart, she ran for her ship.

“Get your drink and get out!” Tom Walker stepped briskly down the length of his bar, filling one outstretched shot glass after another in a single, unceasing pour. “One and done! Keep it moving!” He reached the end of the bar and turned back to fill another line of empty glasses being pushed forward. “You’ve all heard of last call! This is the very last call! It’s closing time, people! One free shot per customer! Belly up and drink up!”

Twenty-five-year-old Macallan single malt Scotch whisky flowed in an unbroken stream, splashing over hands as much as into glasses, and as the patrons were served, they stepped back from the bar, downed their measures of liquid courage, and bolted for the door. There were civilians and Starfleet perso

“Drink faster, folks!” Tom shouted. “We gotta go! I didn’t survive cancer just so I could die in space!” The bottle of Macallan 25 ran dry, so he reached for the Macallan 30—the last bottle on the shelf. He pulled off the pour spout, and resumed his free-for-all last call. Less than a minute later, its last drops fell into a waiting glass, and he hurled away the empty bottle. “Party’s over, folks! You don’t have to go home, but you’d better not stay here!” He nodded at Maggie, and she grabbed her shoulder bag from under the bar. Tom picked up his half-filled duffel, and together they slipped out the back door and high-tailed it across Stars Landing on their way to his private ship, the Friday’s Child. He didn’t know where the two of them would end up, but he didn’t really care—as long as they got the hell away from Vanguard and lived to tell about it.

Tim Pe

He forced open the door of Qui

“Qui

Then he turned toward the door, pla

“Gone where? When’s he coming back? We have to get out of here!”

She stepped forward and gently took him by his forearm. “He will not be coming back, Tim. He has already left the station.” She led him toward the door. “It’s time for you to leave, while you still can.”

He pulled his arm free. “You’re sure? That he’s safely away?”

“I give you my word: Mister Qui

“I’m going,” he lied, jogging away from her. He would make it to his transport; he had enough common sense and desire for survival not to screw that up. But before he left Vanguard, there was one last farewell he needed to make.

Captain Nassir poked his head down through the ladderway to survey the cargo hold of the Sagittarius. It was packed from bow to stern and port to starboard with Starfleet perso

Noting the density of their accommodations, Nassir asked, “Everybody tucked in?” There were general murmurs of assent and agreement. Nassir figured this was as good a time as any to break the bad news to his unauthorized passengers. “I think it’s only fair to warn you all that this won’t be a smooth ride home, folks. This ship’s been ordered to help Endeavour hold the line, which means we’ll be taking fire. Conditions down here can get ugly real fast, so if you have second thoughts about choosing my boat as your ride, you’ve got thirty minutes to bail out.”

He left them to think that over while he climbed the ladder up to his ship’s truncated engineering deck and transporter bay. Ilucci and his engineering team were all engaged to one degree or another on repairs to various components of the scout ship’s warp core. Nassir caught Ilucci’s eye and asked, “What’s the word, Master Chief?”