Chapter
1

Commander Sonya Gomez rolled the small, egg-shaped alien artifact in her fingers. It was copper-colored, about the size of a hen's egg, and she had only the vaguest idea what it was.

It was a puzzle, the sort she enjoyed. Alone in the hololab of the S.C.E. ship da Vinci—currently set up as a straightforward engineering isolation lab of the type you'd find at the Utopia Planitia Yards on Mars—she could immerse herself in the search for an explanation. So far, she hadn't found one.

Okay, they weren't really her fingers. They were plastic, mechanical digits moved with artificial muscles, and covered with tactile sensors. The sensations were so realistic, the movements so natural, sometimes she forgot.

"It's a communicator," she said to the empty lab, "or maybe a smart identity tag." Or not.

The computer's voice interrupted her thoughts, making her start. "Incoming subspace communication for Commander Gomez from freighter Vulpecula."

She sighed. "Oh, Wayne, give it a rest."

"Command not understood," said the computer.

"Take a message."

Satisfied, the computer responded, "Recording message."

She turned her attention back to the object. Two minutes passed. She tried to focus, but her concentration wouldn't return.

"Computer, replay message."

A viewing window appeared on her console, with the image of an angular male face, handsome in an unconventional way. Most notable was the color of his skin: pistachio ice-cream green.

A shock of black hair hung casually over his forehead, and his eyes were the color of emeralds. Though it was not communicated by subspace, and though the thought made her uneasy, she also knew the man smelled good.

He was Wayne "Pappy" Omthon, former first officer, now owner and captain, of the private freighter Vulpecula. Mostly human, his grandmother had been a green Orion. Other humanoids found the pheromones of green Orions to be pleasant, even intoxicating, a characteristic that had caused them to be victimized by slavers for centuries.

Unconsciously, she straightened her jacket and tucked a strand of her wavy hair behind her ear. It was very hard for her to think straight when Wayne was around. But why was she still having trouble thinking straight when he was light-years away?

"Sonya," he said, "I've been trying to contact you for weeks." He smiled a little. "I'm beginning to think you're avoiding me, and that is exactly not my intent. I've been waiting to ask you in person, but since I just keep talking to da Vinci's computer and time is short, I'll ask now. You must have some leave coming, and there's a traveling exhibit of ancient Bajoran technology making the rounds. It's going to be on Galor IV for the next month. It's a long way, but I know a guy," he grinned and waggled his heavy eyebrows playfully, "with a ship." The smile faded, his expression puppy-dog hopeful. "Seriously, I've got some cargo to drop off there. I'd enjoy the company, and somebody to talk shop with. Uh, let me know."

The screen blanked.

Talking shop? Is that really what this is about? No, I think not.

"Too soon," she said to the empty room.

She looked at the alien artifact and sighed. It was late, she was getting nowhere with this, and the faint trace of ozone in the filtered air was giving her a headache. "Computer, secure and store artifact, containment level six." A shower and a soft bunk sounded good.

She stepped into the corridor, then grabbed the doorway as a wave of dizziness made her stumble. Then she spotted a tiny windmill, a replica of the kind once common on pre-twentieth-century Earth, hanging upside down from the corridor ceiling. The sight was made stranger by the gaudy tracery of tiny lights around its spinning blades, undoubtedly an anachronism.

She turned and saw Cade Bennett, one of Nancy Conlon's engineers, at the far end of the corridor with a golf club in his hand. He took three rapid steps, like a gymnast starting his routine, flipped forward into a somersault, and landed firmly on the ceiling. From his perch, he spotted Gomez and smiled sheepishly. "Evening, Commander. Working late, I see."

She nodded. "And you're standing on the ceiling, I see."

Copyright © 2004 by Paramount Pictures