As he studied his surroundings, Ensign Tobias Donovan had to ask himself, and not for the first time during the past three days, where precisely he had gone wrong.

“This is definitely not what I had in mind when Starfleet Intelligence came looking for me.”

Looking up from a compact control console that mirrored the one Donovan was operating, Lieutenant Hu’Ghrovlatrei regarded her companion with an amused expression. “Feeling a bit misled, are we?”

Donovan indicated the interior of their makeshift operations center. “You have to admit that this isn’t the most exciting way to spend our day. Sitting around hunched over computer consoles, waiting for something interesting to come along? This isn’t what I joined Starfleet for, you know.”

An Efrosian, Ghrovlatrei had a long mane of bright white hair that seemed to glow in the tiny room’s reduced lighting, contrasting sharply with her dull orange-hued skin and the muted gray of the standard one-piece jumpsuit she wore, identical to those favored by many of the Hope’s crew. Her piercing cobalt blue eyes, however, twinkled in the dim illumination cast off from the status monitors arrayed before both officers. “Part of the adventure of serving in Starfleet is waiting for the unexpected to occur. It is also part of the frustration. Patience, my young friend. Everything cannot always be exciting, even in our line of work.”

“Now there’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one,” Donovan replied, though he knew his friend was right. That did not make it any easier to accept the fact that, for the moment at least, he was bored out of his skull.

A third-generation Starfleet officer, Donovan had grown up listening to the stories told to him by his father, mother, and grandmother of their experiences serving aboard starships and exploring far-off worlds. While his mother had commanded both a science vessel and a patrol ship monitoring the Neutral Zone near Romulan space before retiring, both his father and grandmother had served in the Starfleet Security Division. He had not inherited his taste for adventure from his mother, and it was almost a given from an early age that Tobias Donovan would follow in his father’s footsteps.

One afternoon during his final year at the Academy, however, a woman with three pips on the collar of her Starfleet uniform came to visit him. She told Donovan how she had reviewed his record and about how impressed she was with the test scores he had accumulated during his years of study.

“You have a bright future,” she had said. The natural talents he appeared to possess, if properly cultivated and allowed to mature with the appropriate level of supervision and mentoring, could become powerful assets to Starfleet.

Must have been a standard recruiting lecture, Donovan decided.

It was impressive, however, as was the additional training he had received following graduation from the Academy and receiving his commission. Uncounted hours of classroom and field instruction in intelligence gathering and covert operations had been only the tip of the iceberg, with the promise of even more excitement waiting for him as soon as he undertook his first mission.

What he had not expected was for that assignment to stuff him inside a packing crate.

Along with Commander Ross, he and Ghrovlatrei had installed their sensor equipment inside a large Type XII storage module, a model often used by colonists when first establishing a presence on a new world. Once emptied of its contents, the interior of the Type XIIs could be converted into a temporary shelter until more permanent dwellings were built. Ulrika’s Hope was already carrying five such containers in the bowels of this mammoth cargo bay, making it that much easier for theirs to blend in. Should the module be scanned, a masking field projected from within would show the cargo container to be filled with agricultural equipment as described in the ship’s manifest.

“I think you will agree,” Ghrovlatrei said as she turned back to her sensor console, “that this is one assignment where a lack of activity is not necessarily a bad thing. Besides, it seems that the less Mr. Corsi has to hear from us, the happier he will be.”

Donovan chuckled at the remark. While the Hope’s master had not been the most cordial of people when the Starfleet officers had first boarded, his brother had been very welcoming. A few of the freighter’s crew also were Starfleet veterans and had been enthusiastic about being able to serve once more, even if only in a small capacity. Aldo Corsi, however, had made it clear to Commander Ross that he would tolerate nothing that might distract the crew from their jobs during the run.

“So far it’s a safe bet that he’ll never see us,” he replied. “For a region of space that’s supposed to be heavily patrolled by the Cardassians, they certainly don’t show themselves very much.” In fact, they had encountered only one patrol ship since leaving Madellin Prime, and it had been an uneventful meeting to say the least. The Cardassians had not even bothered to board the ship, and Donovan had detected only a passive sensor sweep as he and Ghrovlatrei secreted themselves inside the modified cargo module and waited to see whether or not their ruse would survive its first test. It had, with the patrol ship leaving the Hope to continue on its way; just another freighter on its scheduled run. The rapport Corsi and his crew had formed with the ships in this sector had worked in their favor, at least on that occasion.

Sighing as he leaned back in his chair, Donovan looked to the ceiling and was just noticing that it had not changed much in the three minutes since he had last looked at it when a telltale beep sang out from behind him. Turning in his seat, he bent forward to examine the sensor control console, ensuring as he did so that the unit’s recording functions had been activated. Given the need for the team to maintain absolute stealth, data obtained by the sensors would be retained in the unit’s computer memory storage until it could be transmitted to Starfleet Intelligence. Attempting contact while the Hope was still so close to Cardassian territory had been deemed too risky by Commander Ross.

Designed for use by ground troops in rugged environments and enhanced for the specific uses of intelligence gathering by field agents, the compact array of display monitors and computer interfaces was housed within a portable container that was only slightly smaller than a standard Mark V photon torpedo tube. One person armed with an antigravity carrier could move the equipment in its case with little effort. Despite its size, however, the sensor control unit possessed functionality nearly equal to that found on the bridges of most Federation starships, and right now that functionality was calling out to Donovan.

“What is it?” Ghrovlatrei asked as she leaned toward his console.

Donovan shook his head. “Automatic alert signal. We’re within scanning range of the Saltok system.” He knew from the briefing that Ross had provided prior to the Hope’s departure that the ship’s route to Juhraya would take them past this solar system. Even as he made the statement, however, he knew that something was not right. The alarm should not have sounded simply because they were nearing the system.

As if reading his thoughts, Ghrovlatrei consulted the array of status displays until she found what she was looking for and pointed to it. “Sensors are picking up ship activity.”

“Yeah, but just barely,” Donovan replied. “Looks like either a small vessel or a larger one running on minimal power. Judging by these readings, I’d bet the Hope’s own sensors aren’t strong enough to pick it up from this distance.” Even set for low-power passive scanning, the Starfleet equipment they had installed in the cargo module was several times more effective than even the freighter’s primary navigational sensors.

Frowning, Donovan reached for his padd and scrolled through the information he had downloaded to it in preparation for the mission until he found what he wanted. “According to our files, this system’s uninhabited.” He reached to the console and adjusted several controls, watching as two of the status monitors shifted their displays in response to his commands. “That ship has a Cardassian power signature.” That was surprising, as the Saltok system was outside Cardassian territorial boundaries.

So what are they doing there?

“Look,” Ghrovlatrei said as the Efrosian indicated another display where three more readings were registering. “Just like the first. Perhaps they’re escape pods.” She shook her head after only a moment, though. “No, if that were the case then we would be picking up a distress signal. Besides, I don’t see any signs of wreckage or anything that might be a disabled ship.”

“I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this,” Donovan said as he tapped one screen with a finger. “All of the readings are pretty close to the moon orbiting the fifth planet.”

Consulting her own padd, Ghrovlatrei said, “The moon is Class-D according to our information, possessing few useful natural resources, especially for the Cardassians.”

“Well, something about it’s got their attention,” Donovan countered. Of course, their current situation prevented him from really getting a detailed look at the moon or the ships. It would be so easy to bring the vague readings into sharp focus, but that would require increasing the power to the sensors and abandoning the passive scanning mode in favor of more invasive procedures, something they were forbidden from doing, at least for the moment. Donovan was sure, however, that Commander Ross would want to be informed about this.

His hand froze midway to his communicator badge, though, as the sensor console told him that none of their caution mattered any longer.

*   *   *

Aldo was bringing the first bite of his dinner to his mouth when from across the table he shared with Giancarlo and Commander Ross he heard the sound of the Starfleet officer’s communicator badge saying, “Donovan to Ross.”

Removing the communicator from a pocket of the gray coveralls he wore, Ross tapped it and said, “Ross here. What is it, Ensign?”

“Our sensors have detected four ships in proximity to the moon orbiting Saltok V. They’re on an intercept course and they appear to be Cardassian, but there’s no way to be sure from this distance without increasing power to the sensors.”

The agitation in the young man’s voice was obvious, Aldo thought as he shot a troubled look at both Ross and Giancarlo. Much to Aldo’s relief, however, Ross shook his head at the ensign’s suggestion. “Negative, maintain passive scanning mode. How much time until they get here?”

“Less than three minutes, sir.”

Aldo did not bother listening to the rest of the exchange. He was up from his seat and heading for the Hope’s bridge even before Ross finished giving orders to prepare for possible boarding. Ross had explained to him how that would work, with his people sealing up the cargo module containing their sensor equipment and blending in with the rest of the crew. The Starfleet officers had exchanged their uniforms for the gray jumpsuits his own people wore aboard ship, and Ross and Donovan had taken the extra step of trimming their regulation sideburns in an attempt to look more like civilian freight haulers.

As he raced into the corridor with Giancarlo and Ross following close behind him, he cast an accusatory look at the Starfleet officer. “What’s happened?”

“Apparently somebody’s interested in the solar system we’re passing,” Ross replied.

“Did they detect your sensor scans?” Giancarlo asked.

Ross shook his head. “I don’t see how. If Donovan and Ghrovlatrei are right, those are short-range Cardassian patrol ships. They don’t have the kind of equipment to detect our gear operating in minimal power mode.”

Snorting in derision, Aldo saw no reason to continue the conversation. They would know soon enough just who and what it was that had taken such a sudden interest in his ship.

It took only moments to reach the bridge, and the first thing Aldo noticed was the harried expressions on the faces of his two crewmates there. The look on the face of his helmsman, Michael Dillone, spoke volumes.

“A squadron of fast-attack ships, Boss. Two-seaters, all engine. No way we’re going to outrun them.” Aldo noted how his friend had reverted into the clipped tones that belied his normally laid-back nature. The former Starfleet security officer had slipped back into combat mode, already steeling himself for the confrontation he felt certain was coming.

Leaning over the shoulder of the ship’s navigator, Gret, Aldo studied the status displays beneath the Bolian’s hands and updated himself on their current position. “We’re still three days away from where you wanted to take your sensor readings, Commander,” he said to Ross. “I’ve never heard of Cardassian ships in the Saltok system before.”

“That’s because they’re not supposed to be there,” Ross replied. “Have the Cardassians ever intercepted your ship and demanded an inspection when you weren’t traveling through their space?”

Aldo shook his head. “No, never.”

“Then it looks like things have changed in the Saltok system.” Looking over at Dillone, Ross asked, “Are their weapons systems charged?”

The question was answered as the ship lurched violently to starboard, pushing Ross into the bulkhead even as Aldo grabbed on to the back of Gret’s chair for support. In the corner of his eye Aldo saw Giancarlo and the others flailing about in desperate attempts to keep from being thrown about the bridge.

“I’m guessing they are,” Gret said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he held on to his console to retain his balance. To Aldo he said, “They’re moving to surround us.”

Another impact rocked the ship and Aldo felt the deck buck beneath his feet. He steadied himself against the navigation console as inertial dampers struggled to compensate for the disruption to the ship’s flight path. As well constructed as he knew the Hope to be, Aldo held no illusions that the freighter stood any chance of survival if the Cardassians continued their assault. Gripping the edge of the console, he braced himself and waited silently for the next strike.

Only when it did not come after nearly a minute did Aldo realize he was holding his breath. “Now what?”

A beeping sound erupted from the forward bridge console at which Giancarlo had seated himself. Swiveling around in his chair to check it out, he looked up in Aldo’s direction. “We’re being hailed.”

Aldo allowed himself to relax, but only slightly. If the Cardassians had not blown them to space dust already, then chances were good that they might not do so at all, provided any questions or concerns could be addressed to their satisfaction. Would he know whoever it was who was hailing them, either by face or reputation? How much of the rapport that he and his crew had formed with other Cardassian patrol ships over the past few years of running freight through this sector would he be able to draw on?

There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?

Pausing only long enough to cast another irritated look at Ross, Aldo nodded to his brother. “On screen.”

The image on the viewer shifted from the patrol ship that had taken up station off the Hope’s bow to that of a Cardassian military officer. His dark penetrating eyes seemed to bore straight through Aldo, adding to the alien’s already sinister expression. Still, Aldo was at least pleased to see that it was a face that he knew well.

“Gul Mogad,” he said to the commander of Cardassian ships in this sector, “why are you firing at us?” While Aldo would never consider himself and Mogad to be friends, they had formed a mutually respectful association in the years that Ulrika’s Hope had operated in this area. It was a relationship Aldo had used to every advantage in order to keep his deliveries on schedule and with the fewest possible disruptions.

None of that familiarity seemed to be present now, however, as the Cardassian responded with a formal nod and leaned so close to his own visual pickup that his face nearly filled the viewer.

“Bring your ship to a full stop, human,” Mogad said, “and prepare to be boarded. If you do not comply, I will destroy you here and now.”