The small shuttlecraft eased its way into the docking bay at Starbase 375 and settled into its berth. A soft hissing told Bart the walkway was attached and they’d be disembarking in a little bit. Ill at ease, he pulled at the collar of his uniform and waited with as much patience as he could before the airlock cycled open. When he heard the familiar sound of the door opening, he finally relaxed and started his trek through the starbase.

He wasn’t quite certain why he was being transferred. Then again, the way the war was going, this sudden temporary reassignment didn’t surprise him. The unexpected orders had only given him four days to report to this starbase. That was barely enough time to wrap up what he’d been doing with the latest batch of translations and pass the keys for the Cardassian Fifth Fleet’s encryption system to the analytic section before he had to pack and catch a ride on the U.S.S. Sutherland.

SI’s linguistics department was already shorthanded and getting shorter by the battle. According to scuttlebutt, one of their scout ships either had been destroyed or captured by the Cardassians during a scouting mission near the Badlands. As guilty as it made him feel, Bart sincerely hoped for the former. The last thing anyone in intel wanted to do was meet a Cardassian interrogator on his terms.

“Excuse me, are you Petty Officer Bart Faulwell?” a gruff voice asked, shaking him out of his reverie. Bart turned and saw two burly security officers standing there. The shorter of the two was staring at Bart over the padd he held in his hand. The other security officer was scanning everyone else coming off the shuttle.

“Guilty as charged,” he quipped, and then sobered up when the officer’s lack of a humor gene became painfully obvious. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m Ensign Thomas. You’ll need to come with us,” the one holding the padd said in a tone of voice Bart recognized. There was no questioning the implied “or else.” Bart simply gave him a nod and fell into step, with Thomas leading the way and the quiet one following close behind.

By the time they reached their destination, Bart was glad for the escort, humor gene notwithstanding. They’d changed directions, gone up and down different turbolifts, and doubled back more than once. At this point, he had no idea where he was. Finally, they stopped in front of a door in a fairly deserted hallway.

Using a special passkey, Ensign Thomas motioned Bart through the door. Curious, Bart looked inside and saw a standard briefing room. Sighing, he stepped in, jumping as the door suddenly closed behind him. Looking at it, he noted it required the same type of key to exit also.

“Welcome to the party,” a warm voice called out to him. Bart turned around to see a human sitting in the corner. He’d been so quiet and still, Bart had missed him when he first walked in. The man exuded confidence as he rose from his chair and strode across the room to shake hands. He was older than Faulwell, with a shock of white hair darkened only by a few flecks of brown, but his grip was sure and firm. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Chief Warrant Officer Cruz.”

“Bart Faulwell, Petty Officer First Class, and it’s a pleasure to meet you too, sir. Any ideas what’s going on here?”

“Not a clue,” the warrant officer said, sitting down at the conference table, putting his elbows on it and resting his chin in his hands. “I’ve been teaching an advanced course in communications analysis at the Academy the past couple of years. I finally got to take some leave at home on Alpha Centauri and then next thing I know, my leave gets cancelled and I’m on the first starship heading this way,” Cruz said, giving a huge mock sigh, before grinning up at Bart. “All I know is, if someone’s going to all this trouble it must be good.”

The door slid open again, cutting off Bart’s sardonic reply as a Vulcan entered and quietly took a seat near them. He carefully rested his arms on the table, relaxed but alert.

Faulwell paused for a bit, but the Vulcan seemed content to simply sit there. Finally, Cruz broke the silence and introduced Bart and himself to the newcomer. The Vulcan looked at the two men and nodded slightly to each in turn, his piercing dark eyes taking in the situation. “I am Chief Petty Officer Sabran, most recently assigned to the U.S.S. T’Kumbra. And to answer the question you’re about to ask, no, I have not been informed of the nature of our summons either.”

“The T’Kumbra? Isn’t that an all-Vulcan ship?” Cruz asked, curiosity evident in his voice.

“You are correct, sir.”

Bart ran a hand through his scraggly brown beard and piped up, “So what other ships have you served on?”

“I am completing my second tour on the T’Kumbra. In between tours, I was detailed to the Vulcan Science Academy for a research-and-development project.”

“Well, damn, it just seems strange they’d snag the three of us for whatever they’ve got planned. So, what did you do on that ship of yours, Chief?” Cruz asked, leaning back in his chair, staring at the door.

“I am a technician, specializing in computer languages. I was testing a new piece of communications security protocol when I was ordered to report to this starbase. Unfortunately, the test was about to finish in another week.”

“Well, we’ll have to see if we can make it up to you, Chief Sabran,” a voice sounded from the door, almost drowning out the “Attention on deck,” Thomas sounded out with. The three men inside the room immediately jumped to their feet as a human rear admiral entered, closely trailed by a human commander, and a Bajoran in one of their militia uniforms. Curiouser and curiouser, Bart thought.

As quickly as they cleared the door, a dour-looking Andorian lieutenant wearing a security uniform shouldered his way past the two security guards. A quick motion from the admiral sent the guards out of the room. They gave the Andorian dirty looks behind his back as they left. As the door slid shut, the admiral sat down, motioning for everyone else to take a seat.

“I’m glad you all were able to get here so quickly. I’m Admiral Hazlitt,” the senior officer began, his deep bass voice carrying through the room. After the requisite greetings were exchanged, he continued, “This is Commander Jonathan Mwakwere. He’s here to assist me with the briefing, and this is Lieutenant Priya Chantrea from the Bajoran Militia. She’s been assigned to work with the three of you on the upcoming mission. Also, this is Lieutenant Zarinth, who’ll be in charge of the security team that will be accompanying you. Commander Mwakwere, if you please.”

Bart watched as the large, dark-skinned man stood and pushed a series of buttons on the computer console, calling up a holographic map. Faulwell’s quick glance confirmed it was the current Dominion/ Federation front lines.

“Thank you, Admiral Hazlitt,” he said, then turned to the rest of the people in the room, his dark eyes fierce and intimidating. Bart found himself shrinking back into his chair as the commander sized up the assembled group. Taking a deep breath, he began, “I’m required to inform you this briefing is classified top secret. You’ve been chosen based on your records and skills for a special temporary duty and have been assigned to this Starfleet Intelligence project.” Listening to him speak, Bart placed the commander’s birthplace somewhere near the Great Lakes region of the United States of Africa.

“Roger that, sir, but what exactly is this project?” Cruz asked, leaning forward in his seat and staring at the map that was slowly rotating in front of him.

“Ahem…yes, I was just getting to that.” Commander Mwakwere refocused the map to highlight a specific section. Raising the magnification, it was easy to see the outlines of Cardassian, Breen, and Federation space. “This is the current situation as of four hours ago. This sector has been relatively quiet.” He made some adjustments and a small planet began to glow. “We’d like to keep it that way.”

Looking closer, Bart noted that it was just beyond the Rolor Nebula. “Excuse me, sir, but that’s definitely outside of Federation space.”

“Yes, we know, which is why this mission is so sensitive. We’ve taken advantage of that fact by establishing a listening post here.” He enlarged the map again, showing a rather nondescript planet with an ice-covered moon circling it. “Right now, the Cardassians have not made any moves in this direction and by keeping our footprint in this system as small as possible, we’re hoping to keep their eyes turned to a different direction. There is occasional traffic through the system en route to the Bajoran colony of Dreon, which is how we’ll insert you.”

“Insert us?” Cruz asked, drawing out the last word to encourage Commander Mwakwere to expound on that thought.

“Yes. You’re going to be assigned to Project Mungin. We’ve managed to deploy a number of listening devices into Cardassian space as well as in between the Cardassians, the Tzenkethi, and the Breen Confederacy. They periodically dump their information to the listening post we established here.”

He pushed another button on the console. The moon began to expand, showing a cutaway schematic of a post buried beneath the surface. “The actual listening post is designed to allow a small team to process and analyze everything they pick up without drawing attention to themselves. If the team discovers anything of interest, they’ll review the intercepted subspace messages or other anomalies, decipher and interpret them, and periodically report their findings here or to Starbase 621 as an alternate.”

The admiral broke in. “We have it on good authority that the Dominion is trying to bring the Breen into the war. I know the Breen are currently neutral and the Diplomatic Corps swears up and down that there’s no reason to suspect they’ll change their stance. However, you know and I know, Starfleet Intelligence cannot take that chance. If the Breen were to enter the war on the Dominion’s side, an already ugly situation could quickly become untenable.” He ran his hand through his close-cropped white hair and refocused on the holographic projection. “Mungin’s purpose is to ensure we don’t get caught off guard.”

“Begging the admiral’s pardon,” Bart said, as the admiral paused, “but there must be some mistake. I am a linguist, but I’m barely familiar with Cardassian.”

“No, Mr. Faulwell, there’s no mistake. We’re well aware of your scholastic achievements before you joined Starfleet, but your skills as a cryptanalyst are why you were chosen for this mission. You’ll have plenty of time to brush up on your Cardassian, but that’s why Lieutenant Priya is going to be joining you on this mission. She’s an expert on the Cardassian language as well as a number of the Gamma Quadrant races that are serving in the Dominion’s forces.”

Commander Mwakwere added, “The lieutenant has been fully vetted and cleared. Even though Bajor’s signed a nonaggression pact with the Dominion, the Bajoran Militia has been quietly working with Starfleet Intelligence since the start of the war. Mr. Cruz, you’ll be in command of the cryptography mission. Lieutenant Priya will be your second in command, and Lieutenant Zarinth will be in charge of security.”

“Folks, I don’t have to tell you how important this mission is,” Admiral Hazlitt said as Commander Mwakwere powered down the computer console. “You’ll be given full documentation on the mission once you leave the base. Your mission is scheduled for six months, with a possible extension of another six months. The base has been equipped with the finest state-of-the-art technology and highly classified systems. In case of discovery, the base cannot, I repeat, cannot fall into the hands of the Dominion. Do I make myself clear?”

Lieutenant Zarinth spoke up for the first time. “Perfectly, sir. You do not have to worry about that. My people fully understand their duty.”

Somehow, I’m not really comfortable with how well his people understand their duty, Bart thought. If we get into trouble, are they likely to shoot the enemy…or us?

Admiral Hazlitt and Commander Mwakwere headed for the door. “You’ll remain here until an escort comes to retrieve you. You should be leaving for Mungin in approximately two hours.” The admiral paused at the door and raised an imaginary glass to toast the room, “Here’s hoping you have a very uneventful six months.”