KELL PERIM PRACTICED a series of high-impulse maneuvers as she acclimated her fingers to the helm controls of the I.K.S. Taj. The Klingon ship had sustained serious damage during the Tezwan sneak attack, but the Enterprise engineering staff, using Klingon starship-repair schematics from the Dominion War, had quickly restored the cruiser’s impulse power and warp engines and outfitted the Taj with hardware that let Perim remote-pilot the ghost ship from the safety of the Enterprise bridge.

With Riker, Data, and Vale all absent from the ship, the young Trill lieutenant was the acting first officer. She could have assigned the beta-shift conn officer to pilot the Taj on this, its final mission; after all, Lieutenant Magner was a good starship pilot—very good, in fact. But from the moment Perim had piloted the Klingon warship through a simple evasive pattern, just to test the remote-command system, she’d found herself unwilling to relinquish the controls.

Perim had never piloted a Klingon vessel before. Even though the sensation was dulled by the long-distance nature of the experience, she could tell, even from the cold telemetry readouts, that the dark starship had a deadly grace unlike anything else she’d ever flown. True to the destiny of violence it had borne since the moment its keel had been laid, the Taj cut through space like a warrior’s blade. It responded like a lover to Perim’s touch, turning and yawing and accelerating at her slightest whim. It was, in a word, magnificent.

Her orders were to pilot the Taj into orbit over Tezwa, and, at the last moment before the planet-based artillery destroyed the Klingon cruiser, adjust its heading and velocity so that its debris would scatter across the widest possible area of the upper atmosphere. At the same time, Ensign Le Roy at ops would beam the strike teams off of the Taj and into orbit. The general idea was that the ship’s debris, as it fell into the atmosphere, would mask the strike teams’ descent. However, if Perim’s controlled sacrifice of the Taj was off by even a tenth of a degree, she might kill all six strike teams instantly.

Adding to her anxiety was the fact that one of the teams was being led by Deputy Chief of Security Jim Peart, with whom she had, only two nights ago, shared a romantic dinner that had promised to lead to more dates, and more dinners, and who knew what else—assuming he didn’t go and get himself killed pulling another of his trademark crazy-brave stunts. And also assuming she didn’t accidentally leave him trapped in a lethal maelstrom of burning starship wreckage.

“Strike teams standing by,” Riker said over the com. “Routing the Taj’s transporter controls to the ops station.”

“Acknowledged,” Picard said.

“Transporter control verified,” Le Roy said. “Coordinates preset for low-orbit destinations.”

“Thank you, Ensign,” Picard said. “Helm. Ready?”

“Aye, Captain,” Perim said, even though her hands had begun to tremble.

“Lieutenant Wriede?” the captain said.

The willowy, dark-haired tactical officer looked dissatisfied. “The Taj’s weapons are offline,” he said. “Shields at sixteen percent.”

“Do the best you can,” Picard said, then turned his attention back to the main viewer. “Ensign Le Roy, patch in the Taj’s viewscreen. Let’s see what she sees.”

“Aye, sir,” Le Roy said as she keyed in the command. The only change was a barely noticeable shift in the starfield.

“Helm, take her in,” Picard said, pointing at the screen.

Perim activated the Taj’s warp engines. The stars on the main viewer stretched away from Tezwa, presently a single point at screen-center that rapidly grew larger and brighter.

“Ensign Le Roy,” Picard said. “Energize transporters on my mark.”

Perim watched the rapidly changing data on her console. A bitter pang of regret began to take hold of her heart as she realized the proud Klingon vessel was only moments away from destruction. “Ten seconds to orbit,” she said. The shimmering orb of Tezwa enlarged to dominate the viewscreen.

“Prepare to engage impulse engines,” Picard said. He walked forward and stopped between Le Roy and Perim at the front of the bridge. Behind him, officers at noncritical stations stopped what they were doing and turned to watch the end of the Taj.

Perim’s index finger hovered above the warp-power cutoff. “Dropping to impulse in three…two…one.” She pressed the key. The stars retreated to static points, and the curving horizon of the planet rolled until it stretched across the bottom edge of the screen frame.

“Evasive pattern Sierra-two,” Picard said. “Half-impulse.” Perim had finished the maneuver before the captain had finished giving the order. The warship was grace incarnate as it raced toward oblivion.

“The planet’s artillery is locking on,” Wriede said without looking up from his tactical display. “All guns charging.”

“All power to shields,” Picard said. Perim could almost sense the heat from atmospheric friction as thermal effects flared across the main viewer. Anguish tightened her throat.

“They’ve got a lock!” Wriede shouted.

“Helm,” Picard said, “ten degrees yaw, give them a good target.” He glanced at Le Roy. “Energize!”

“They’re firing!” Wriede said as Le Roy started the transport sequence.

“Steady,” Picard said.

Perim saw the barrage of artillery blasts converge toward the viewscreen. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Le Roy finish the transport sequence with a deft slide of her hands across the ops console.

The artillery blasts hit home. The main viewer whited out with static, then blinked back to a serene starfield.

“The Taj has been destroyed,” Wriede confirmed.

Perim blinked back her tears as she and Le Roy rose and stood at attention next to their consoles. I was its pilot for less than an hour, and it’s like losing an old friend, she brooded. I always fall too hard, too far, too fast. She thought of Jim Peart and the danger he now faced as he led his strike team toward Tezwa. One date and I was thinking about us having a future, she reflected. Now he’ll probably come home in pieces. Some future. She sighed. Better just not to get involved.

After a moment of quiet mourning for the ship they’d sacrificed, Picard broke the silence. “The strike teams?” he said, looking at Le Roy.

“Transport went perfectly,” the short-coiffed blonde replied. “They should be entering the atmosphere now.”

“Debris scatter?” Picard asked.

“Ninety-eight percent of optimal,” Wriede said.

Picard nodded, his jaw tight. “Well done, everyone,” he said. He moved back to his chair and sat down. “Lieutenant Perim,” he said. She turned to face him. “I believe you’re in the wrong seat.”

After a moment of confusion, she realized what he was saying and stood up. She felt terribly self-conscious for a few seconds, then walked to what she couldn’t help but think of as Riker’s chair. As Lieutenant Magner took over for her at the helm, she sat down next to Picard. “Sorry, sir,” she said.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Just get us ready to face the Klingon fleet.”

For a few minutes she busied herself requesting damage reports, ordering battle drills, and shifting the damage-control teams’ repair priorities. She was about to ask Dr. Crusher for an update on which personnel had been cleared to return to duty when Picard leaned over and spoke to her in a low voice.

“Are you all right, Lieutenant?”

The question caught her off guard. “Yes, sir.”

“You’ve seemed upset since the strike teams deployed.”

She stared at her feet for a moment before she looked up and answered him. “It’s the Taj, sir,” she said. “It’s just that…she was a fine ship.”

“Yes, she was,” Picard said. “But if her sacrifice serves a greater good, her loss won’t have been in vain.”

Perim had nothing else to say, so she just nodded. She knew the captain was right, and that the Klingon cruiser’s seemingly senseless end had made possible their one hope of stopping an invasion that would cost many millions of innocent lives. But even knowing why it had been necessary, she couldn’t deny her sorrow, or her guilt for being the one whose hands sent a ship so noble and beautiful to its lonely demise.