Stardate 32318.5, Earth Year 2355

Aldo Corsi had never harbored much use for uniforms. To him they implied a willful adherence to rules and regulations and subordination to a larger entity that the individual had no part in creating or controlling, regardless of whether those directives were ethical, legal, or even sane. He viewed them as the embodiment of a sense of order and rigid discipline that, while admittedly necessary to a degree in his own line of work, was at odds more often than not with the lifestyle he had chosen to pursue.

Therefore, as he sat behind his cluttered desk amidst the disaster area that was the kindest way to describe his office, Aldo Corsi regarded the man who now stood before him wearing a Starfleet uniform with an expression of unmitigated contempt.

The man looked as though he could have stepped straight out of a recruiting advertisement. His dark hair was short-cropped, and the black-and-gold uniform, which Aldo thought was unforgivably form fitting, hugged his broad chest and wide shoulders. Three pips along the right side of the neckline, two gold and one black, and a Starfleet symbol on the man’s left breast, which Aldo knew also doubled for a communicator device, were all that adorned the uniform. The boots he wore reflected the office lighting better than the dirty mirror hanging next to the door.

Where his uniform personified the cold, rigid world of which Aldo wanted no part, the man’s cobalt blue eyes and seemingly genuine yet still reserved smile appeared to offer warmth and friendship, even as Aldo snorted in derision and offered two simple words.

“Absolutely not.”

As Aldo expected, though, Lieutenant Commander William Ross did not waver one iota from the composed, relaxed persona he had presented since entering the office. Instead, the man nodded slowly once, twice, and finally a third time before responding.

“I understand your reluctance, Mr. Corsi, and believe me when I tell you that Starfleet would not be making this request if there was another way that offered the same or greater chance of success.”

Rolling his eyes, Aldo turned and cast an irritated look in his brother’s direction. Giancarlo Corsi sat behind a desk that complemented his own right down to a matching clutter of padds and other such detritus as was wont to accumulate in the manager’s office of a busy interstellar freight transport service. Like him, Giancarlo was a man of imposing size and physique, with muscled arms and a barrel chest. The thick mop of unruly black hair and the square jaw were near mirrors of Aldo’s own, and more than one person had made the mistaken conclusion that the brothers must be twins.

“What?” Aldo asked, noticing his brother’s look of disapproval.

Giancarlo leaned forward in his chair, the springs of which squeaked in protest beneath his muscular frame. “Try to be reasonable, Aldo. The man’s come a long way to ask our help. Shouldn’t we at least hear him out?”

As always, Aldo realized, his younger brother was trying to be the voice of reason, acting as a counterbalance to his own tendency to react first and consider the consequences of his actions later. It was one of only a few ways in which their personalities differed. Both men, just two years apart in age, had been inseparable in their youth and had carried their relationship into adulthood, and though Aldo was unlikely to admit as much in public, Giancarlo’s cooler head was one of the qualities he valued most about his brother.

That did not mean that his younger sibling could not frustrate the hell out of him at times. Now, for instance.

“We leave for Juhraya in less than two days, Gi, and we’re behind schedule as it is. Have you seen the size of the shipment? We’ll have to use the shuttlebay to fit it all aboard.” Turning back to Ross, he added, “We’re freight haulers, Commander, not soldiers. Let the military handle that sort of silliness.” With that, he grabbed one of the padds from his desk and rose from his chair. “I’ll be in Cargo Bay 4,” he said, not even bothering to give Ross another look as he moved past the Starfleet officer toward the doorway.

The hallway outside the office, like all of the corridors on Ulrika’s Hope, was narrow and utilitarian. Metal grating clanked beneath the soles of his boots as he walked. Similar plates covered most of the ship’s corridors and overhead maintenance conduits, offering easy access to the networks of pipes and optical cabling running throughout the ship.

Outside the soundproofed walls of his office, the thrum of the Hope’s engines was palpable even though they had been cycled down to minimal power as the ship orbited Madellin Prime. All of the metal surfaces vibrated in concert with the faint droning sound that had long ago become a comforting friend to him. So attuned was Aldo to the tone of his ship’s beating heart that he could perceive even the slightest variation in the engines’ operation by hearing alone. Having witnessed this for himself on many occasions, the vessel’s chief engineer had told him many times that Aldo had missed his calling and had wasted his life as a shipmaster.

Sorry, Colv, Aldo mused as he thought of the Tellarite overseeing the engines two decks below as though he were an overworked mother hen, you’re on your own there, my friend.

Reviewing the details of their latest shipment on the padd’s display screen, Aldo did not even look up as he walked. The layout of the Hope had long ago been burned into his memory, so much so that he could walk from the bow of the ship to its stern with his eyes closed. He diverted his attention from the padd only to exchange greetings with one of the seven other men and women who served aboard ship not as a member of his crew but rather as a part of the extended Corsi family.

“Still on for tomorrow night, Aldo?” asked Gret, the ship’s Bolian navigator, as he walked past.

Aldo smiled as he nodded in response. “Nineteen-thirty hours. Don’t be late or you’ll go hungry.” He too was already looking forward to the following evening when he and the crew would beam down to the Corsi home for his wife’s traditional predeparture supper. The festivities would be repeated on the first night after they returned from their trip.

It would be bad luck to leave without some of Ulrika’s Kaferian apple strudel, after all, he mused with a small private smile. Even the gods would not tempt Fate so.

As he continued to walk, Aldo heard the measured footsteps of Commander Ross keeping pace behind him.

“Mr. Corsi,” the Starfleet officer said, “I can appreciate that you’re a busy man, and I assure you that I have no desire to disrupt your schedule, but sending one of our ships near the Topin system will almost certainly attract the Cardassians’ attention. You, however, travel through that sector often enough that they’re comfortable with your presence there.”

Stopping in his tracks, Aldo turned to face the officer, for the first time deciding to use his larger and more muscular frame to his advantage. Leaning closer to Ross, he spoke in a low yet forceful voice. “We have been able to travel freely in that part of space, Commander, because we do not bother anyone. In fact, we’ve even traveled in Cardassian space on occasion, and always with their blessing, precisely because of the trust we have earned from them. The Cardassians have larger concerns than a single small freighter, and I prefer to keep it that way.”

“Aldo,” Giancarlo began, his tone one of caution. “Please.”

If Ross was intimidated by Aldo’s proximity, he did not show it. Instead, he responded with an equally stern tone. “Mr. Corsi, though Madellin Prime and the bulk of the area covered by your regular routes might not concern the Cardassians today, you can be sure that won’t last forever. Our intelligence reports show that they’re working to expand their territory, including into the Juhrayan system. It’s critical for us to know how far they’ve progressed if we’re to have any chance of defending against any action they might be planning.”

“We’d be helping to possibly protect our families and friends, Aldo,” Giancarlo added. “That seems worth a little inconvenience, don’t you think?”

Aldo regarded his brother with disappointment and shook his head. For whatever reason, Giancarlo Corsi had always been enamored of Starfleet. Though attending the Academy and serving on a starship in deep space had been a dream of his since childhood, Gi had not passed the entrance examinations. Still, that had not deterred his admiration for the service and his support for other family members who had chosen Starfleet as a way of life.

He had also noticed in recent months that his brother’s infatuation was beginning to rub off on his daughter, Domenica. More than once she had mentioned wanting to join Starfleet when she grew up. At first it was easy to dismiss such statements as those of a precocious child who knew nothing of what she might want five minutes from now, much less fifteen years hence. Like her mother, however, Domenica was very much aware of the world and indeed the universe around her. Aldo suspected that this topic would be revisited often as his daughter grew older, especially if Gi continued to be an influence in her life.

Once this trip is over, he decided , I’ll have to make my feelings on this known once and for all.

However, Aldo found himself thinking with no small amount of reluctance that Gi, damn him, had a valid point. So did Ross, for that matter. The Federation and the Cardassian Union had been at odds for years. Conflicts between the two powers were frequent, and it was not a question of if, he knew, but of when and where such a skirmish occurred in this part of space. When that happened, people like him, his brother, and the thousands of other merchants who traveled this area of space undoubtedly would be placed in harm’s way.

He could not help the sigh of exasperation that escaped his lips. “How would this work?”

“My people will install the sensor equipment,” Ross said, “and I and a small team will travel with you on the run. The plan is to conduct a brief series of covert scans of the Topin system as we pass nearby on our way to Juhraya. We’ll have the equipment calibrated so that it will function without a change to your established route through the area. You won’t have to deviate a bit from your normal routine.”

“The Cardassians don’t look too kindly on spies,” Aldo countered. “They’ll make no distinctions between Starfleet and simple freight haulers if we’re caught.”

“Come on, Aldo,” Gi said. “They wouldn’t be asking us to do this if they thought there’d be any real danger, would they?” He looked to Ross for confirmation, but the commander shrugged as a small frown creased his features.

“I’d be lying to you if I said that there was no risk,” Ross said, “but we feel that it’s minimal. The whole idea is to get the scans as fast as possible, and when we pass out of range, that’s it. No stops, no hanging around the area. We want it to be just another run as far as you and the Cardassians are concerned. In addition, Starfleet will underwrite the cost to you for the entire trip.”

At any other time, Aldo might have accepted such an offer. This far out from the Federation’s center of influence, the time-honored practice of buying and selling goods and services was still the driving mode of economics, especially when dealing with merchants and customers who were not aligned with the Federation. Maintaining the Hope in good working order, keeping it stocked with supplies, to say nothing of paying the crew enough to carry on with their own lives was all done through buying, selling, or trading as appropriate. Gold-pressed latinum, for example, would be most useful when dealing with his Ferengi clients.

There was every reason to believe that this would be a low-risk undertaking, just as Ross and Giancarlo were asserting. It was rare for the Hope to be stopped by patrol ships even when the freighter traveled in Cardassian space, let alone boarded. This run would take them near Cardassian territory, though they would not actually cross the border.

Why, then, was his gut warning him that getting involved with this Starfleet officer was a huge mistake?