Security Officer Marco Palmieri shone his palm light down the long, dimly lit corridor, one of a multitude of corridors he had patrolled since his arrival at Starbase 88.

Palmieri didn't see anyone attempting to break into one of the cargo bays. He didn't see anyone sabotaging any of the internal sensor nodes. He didn't see anyone, period.

No surprise, he thought. There was never anyone there to see.

Palmieri had shipped out from Earth several months earlier, propelled by an academy graduate's dreams of excitement and adventure. After all, these were dangerous times, with the Dominion an ever-present threat and the Cardassians again at odds with the Federation.

But somehow, none of those dangers seemed to materialize on Starbase 88. Instead of finding excitement and adventure, Palmieri had managed to draw the most routine assignment he could imagine, in one of the least inspiring places in the galaxy.

Naturally, he had mentioned his problem to Security Chief Clark, his superior. But she had been less than sympathetic.

After all, Clark had reminded him, Starbase 88 received just as many potential troublemakers as any other Federation space station. If it didn't experience the turmoil other stations did, that was a good thing -- a sign that Palmieri and his colleagues were doing their jobs.

At the time, Palmieri had found it difficult to argue with the woman's logic -- and it was no easier now. But that didn't make his inactivity any easier to take.

Coming to the end of the corridor, he turned right and illuminated another walkway with his palm light. Like all the others, the passage was orderly and unpopulated, devoid of anything that might make a security officer's heart beat faster.

Palmieri sighed. Maybe it was time to ask for a transfer. He knew that berths on starships were hard to come by, but there had to be some starbase somewhere in need of an eager if untested security officer.

Suddenly, his tricorder began to beep. Taking it out of its loop on his tunic, he checked its tiny screen to see why. What he saw made him wonder if the tricorder was on the fritz.

It was indicating a temporal flux artifact in Cargo Bay Six. But that didn't make sense. The base's security station routinely scanned for such phenomena. If they had...

"Clark to Palmieri," came a voice, shattering his thought.

Dutifully, he tapped the communications badge he wore on his chest. "Palmieri here, Chief."

"Are you getting a temporal-flux reading down there?"

"As a matter of fact," said Palmieri, "it just registered on my tricorder. You don't know anything about it?"

"No more than you do," Clark told him. "Go check it out, but be careful. If there's anything at all to be concerned about, let me know immediately."

"Will do," he said. "Palmieri out."

Obviously, he thought, the chief wasn't seriously worried about the temporal-flux reading, or she would have insisted on checking it out herself. Frowning, he put his tricorder away and headed for Cargo Bay Six.

It wasn't far. Palmieri took a left at the end of the corridor and found the entrance a few meters down on the left.

Laying his hand against the security pad on the bulkhead, he watched the door slide aside. It was dark in the bay, but he had his palm light. Palmieri took a few steps inside and played the light over the uneven terrain of stacked cargo containers.

Nothing to see. But when was there ever?

Taking out his tricorder, the security officer scanned the bay from one side to the other. There was evidence of flux, all right -- not a lot, but enough to make him wary. He looked around again with the help of his light, seeking the exact location of the phenomenon.

Abruptly, without warning, the cargo bay blazed with a brilliant blue-white light. Instinctively, Palmieri threw a hand up to protect his eyes. Losing his balance, he staggered backward a step.

By the time he righted himself, the source of the illumination was gone. The bay was dark again -- the neon afterimage on his retina the only evidence the flareup had happened at all.

Then he glanced at his tricorder, and he realized the afterimage wasn't the only evidence. For a moment, apparently, the temporal-flux reading had gone off the scale. Now it was back to a trace level again.

Strange, Palmieri thought. I'd better let the chief know about it.

But before he could tap his communicator, he heard a sound. Something muttered. A curse, he thought.

Whirling, he saw he was no longer alone in the cargo bay. There were shadowy figures at the far end among the largest containers, where before there had been nothing and no one. From what he could tell, they hadn't noticed him yet.

"Where are we?" one of them asked the others.

"Weren't we just standing in the woods outside the mansion?" someone else asked.

"I've got a better question," said a third voice. "Where are our wee timehook devices?"

A fourth one spoke up gruffly. "Gone, it looks like. And don't that take the flamin' cake."

Putting away his tricorder and drawing his phaser, the security officer took a breath. Then he played his palm light on the figures.

"Hey!" one of them rasped at him. "Whaddaya tryin' ta do, blind us with that thing?"

Counting quickly, Palmieri saw there were seven of the intruders. Five males and two females, one of the latter rather young-looking. All humanoid, he decided quickly, though at least two of them looked like no species he'd ever seen before.

One had light-blue skin, but no Bolian, Andorian, Benzite, or Pandrilite ever had such yellow hair to go with it. And the great, white wings he wore looked like they had sprouted right out of his back.

Another one sported golden eyes and a dark-blue complexion -- or was it some kind of fur? Also, the being had only three toes on each foot and three fingers on each hand -- in itself, not so unusual, maybe. But he had a tail as well, which seemed fully maneuverable and ended in a sort of arrowhead shape, and that part was unusual.

There was also a short, stocky specimen, in yellow and blue garb and an elaborate, yellow and black mask. Though Palmieri knew of races whose people went hooded for cultural or religious reasons, he had a feeling this was something else -- some kind of disguise.

A strange group indeed. But it wasn't just the strangers' appearances that made him wary. It was where and how they had shown up -- in an obscure part of the starbase, without any kind of warning or prior notice.

Clearly, their appearance was linked with the blinding flash that had taken place a moment earlier -- and the flux build-up that had accompanied it. It was too much of a coincidence for Palmieri to believe otherwise.

But what was the connection? Who were these people?

"Stay right where you are," he barked.

He trained his phaser on the intruders. They didn't seem to have any weapons in hand, but that didn't mean they weren't armed -- or dangerous in some other way.

"Careful," said the one with the wings on his back. "That looks like a weapon he's holding."

"I believe Archangel's right," the one with the tail chimed in.

With the hand that held the palm light, the security officer tapped his communicator. "Palmieri to Chief Clark. Trouble on level ten, section four -- request backup."

Help would be on its way in a matter of seconds. All he had to do was hold these people until then.

The man in the mask took a couple of steps toward Palmieri. "How about ya put that toy away, Sparky, and tell the ol' Canucklehead what kinda fryin' pan we landed in?"

Frying pan? thought the security officer.

He remained calm and aimed his weapon directly at the stocky stranger. "I told you to stay where you are!"

"Or what?" asked the masked man. "You'll slap my wrist? Lemme tell ya, bub, I been slapped by bigger and better."

I warned him, thought Palmieri. Pressing a stud on his phaser, he hit the stranger square in the chest with a ruby-red beam, sending him flying backward into the arms of his companions.

What happened next turned the security officer's knees to jelly. The biggest of the strangers, who had looked perfectly normal to that point, suddenly grew even larger, produced a skin of shiny armor plating, and interposed himself between Palmieri and the others.

The security officer could think only one thought: shapeshifter!

That would mean the strangers were Dominion agents -- all of them. And they'd had the gall to materialize right in the middle of the station, as if they somehow owned the place.

Palmieri grated his teeth as he tried to remember what he'd learned about changelings. Did phaser beams even have an effect on them? And if they did, at what setting?

"Stop," said the shapeshifter. "We have done nothing wrong."

Suddenly, the security officer heard a pop, and realized one of the strangers had disappeared. As the scent of sulfur reached him, he realized it was the one with the dark-blue skin.

But where had he gone? Back to whatever vessel they had come from -- even without the benefit of a temporal-flux incident? And why hadn't the others gone with him?

Before Palmieri could come up with an answer, he felt something grab him from behind and spin him around. Before he knew it, that same something had ripped his phaser from his grasp.

Only when it was over did he realize it was the stranger with the tail who had disarmed him. Instinctively, Palmieri took a swing at him, but the stranger did a backflip and avoided it.

"Drop it!" came a shout from Palmieri's right.

Turning, he saw that it was Chief Clark who had voiced the warning. Phaser in hand, she was entering the cargo bay with a half-dozen armed security officers right behind her.

Reinforcements, Palmieri thought. And none too soon.

"Lights," said Clark.

Instantly, the cargo bay was illuminated. Palmieri could see the intruders better than ever -- but it didn't prepare him for what came next.

One of the strangers -- the younger of the two females -- began to sink right through the floor. One of the other security officers fired at her, but the phaser beam stabbed right through her and left a char mark on the bulkhead beyond. A moment later, she was gone.

"That does it," growled the masked man, who seemed to have recovered already from the blast he'd taken earlier. "Ya want a fight that bad, I'll be glad ta oblige!"

"No!" cried the remaining female, a tall, dark beauty with hair that looked like spun platinum.

Her comrades stopped dead in their tracks -- even the man in the mask, though he grumbled about it. Obviously, they were accustomed to taking orders from the woman.

She turned to Chief Clark. "This is unnecessary," she said.

"I'll go along with that," the chief agreed. She glanced at the stranger with the tail, her dark eyes blazing. "Of course, you'll have to return that phaser if you want to keep this cordial. And I want your friend -- the girl -- back where I can see her."

The woman with the silvery hair nodded to the one with the tail. "Give it back, Nightcrawler."

"Your wish is my command," he replied. And with a casual air, he tossed Palmieri's phaser to him.

The man with the wings then turned to the floor. "It's all right, Shadowcat. You can come out now."

Before Palmieri's wondering eyes, the younger woman's head floated up out of the deck surface. Then, when she was satisfied there wasn't any danger, she ascended the rest of the way.

Palmieri shook his head. Who are these people?

"Wait a minute," said another of the strangers -- a fellow with closely cropped red hair, decked out in yellow and green. He took a couple of steps toward Clark.

"That's far enough," she told him.

Suddenly, the red-haired man grinned. Then he turned back to the woman with the silver hair and indicated Clark with a gesture.

"D'ye not see it?" he asked, in what Palmieri was beginning to recognize as an Irish brogue.

The woman's eyes narrowed, then widened again. "Yes," she answered at last. "It's the same uniform, isn't it? And the same insignia."

"Exactly th' same," the redhead confirmed. He turned to Clark again and spread his hands in a gesture of peace. "Tell me, Lass... would ye happen t' know a lad by th' name of Picard?"

The name sounded familiar to Palmieri. Then he realized where he had heard it before.

Jean-Luc Picard was the captain of the Enterprise, the flagship of the fleet. If the stories about the man were true, he had saved the Federation from destruction more than once.

"What do you want with him?" Clark asked the man with the brogue.

The redhead smiled. "Believe it or not, he's a friend o' ours."