The photonic whirlwind faded as Captain Adam Wolf materialized on the pristine grounds of Starfleet Command. God, how he’d missed California. The wind blew in like a greeting, its temperature so perfect – refreshing, but not chilling. It ruffled his civilian clothes, a pleasant reminder of their relative looseness, and tugged at his beard, a nagging reminder of how long it had grown.

            But showing up in the middle of the grounds in civvies was weird enough. If he stood there enjoying the weather too long, people would start to stare. In fact, he was certain he’d already gotten a few funny looks from passing officers. He started walking, but not toward the Command building. He had a detour to make first.

            It didn’t take long to find the tree. It was right where it was supposed to be, but it was the wrong tree. The proud willow was gone, and there was a spindly little thing, probably just a few years old, where it had once stood.

            “Are you lost?”

            Wolf spun around. A woman had approached him, a trill who looked thirty or forty years old, with a science-green collar and a mane of thick black hair.

            “I’m sorry?”

            “You look a little lost, that’s all. One doesn’t see so many civilians around here, you know.”

            He scratched his beard. “You’re not seeing one now. I’m on shore leave.”

            “Ah. So what brings you to Command?”

            “Some Excelsior-class piece of crap running errands for our glorious admiralty. Practically beamed me right off Ferenginar without even asking.”

            “Ferenginar,” she said, her voice dripping with disbelief. “What were you doing on Ferenginar?”

            “Gambling,” he said, “rambling, shambling. You know, the entire Ferengi tourism industry.”

            She laughed. “And that’s how you spent your leave?”

            “Just the last couple of weeks,” he said. “I’ve spent it moving around quite a bit.”

            She moved a bit closer. He turned away from the tree to look her in the eye again.

            “What is it?” she said.

            “This tree’s new. There was another one on this spot last time I was here.”

            “What’s in a tree? Pair of initials inside a heart carved into the bark?”

            “You’re joking,” he said, “but you’re right. Happy memories from my academy days wiped clean from the face of the planet.”

            “We lost a lot of nice trees when the Breen attacked.”

            They stood there in solemn silence for a moment. Wolf felt his mind drifting back to the place he knew he shouldn’t let it. He had to stifle a futile reflex to reach for a bottle at the mention of the war. Before the faces could start flashing before his eyes, he turned to the woman and made her the center of his focus.

            “Are you joined?” he said, his voice nearly cracking with the strain.

            “What?”

            “You’re a Trill. Are you joined?”

            She looked a bit taken aback. “Uh, no. No, I’m not.”

            “I’m sorry if that’s a personal question. It’s just that I’ve heard joined Trills make very interesting conversationalists.”

            “Oh, it’s not that it’s personal. I just find it a bit odd that that’s the first question you’ve asked me. Most people would start with—”

            “I started with that because that’s the only thing I want to know about you that I don’t already.”

            She blinked quizzically. “And what exactly is it that you know about me already?”

            “Well, your spots told me you’re a Trill. Your uniform says you’re in Starfleet and your rank pips say lieutenant commander. And something between the colour of your collar and the fact that you’re the only person on these grounds without anything better to do than be interested in me, tells me that you’re a counselor.”

            She smiled and extended a hand cordially. “Demordna Xom, at your service.”

            “Captain Adam Wolf,” he said, taking the hand. “But you already know that. So please, Counselor, just which admiral is it that sent you to check up on me, and why?”

            “All right. I’m here on behalf of Admiral Alynna Nechayev. You know her, I believe.”

            “Yes. She fought to have me thrown in prison five years ago. You know all about that, I assume.”

            “Well, yes,” she said with light nod sideways. “I have been made aware of … everything, more or less.”

            “Then you’ll understand the urgency with which I’d like to be told what I’m doing here, so I can stop wondering if I’m about to be court-marshaled. Again.”

            “I understand perfectly, yes. And I can set your mind at ease, Captain: you’re not in any trouble. However, I can’t say anything more out here in the courtyard. You’ve been recalled on grounds that are severely classified.”

            “I assume the office to which I was directed is Nechayev’s then, and that that’s where I’ll get the whole story?”

            “That’s correct,” she said cheerily.

            “And will you be accompanying me there?”

            “Uh, no, Captain. I’m not required at your meeting.”

            He turned, then, back to the command building. He understood that she was just following orders, but there was something despicably unethical in a counselor analyzing a man like that without his consent, which negated the necessity of niceties like saying goodbye.

            “Captain Wolf!” she called after him.

            He pivoted, stone-faced.

             “Can I ask you just one thing before you go?”

            He spread his arms, open.

            “What were the initials on that tree? The pair that weren’t yours, I mean.”

            “All right,” he said. “X.L.”

            “X.L.?” said Xom. “You don’t mean …”

            “Xantara Lee.”

            “Captain of the Juno when it rescued you.”

            Then he turned again, and didn’t look back. He suddenly wasn’t angry anymore. In fact, he was a little bit touched by her interest. But now looking back would be painful. Looking back at the Trill woman would be looking into the face of everything she knew.

#

Robert Sparrow set his coffee mug down on the low transparent aluminum tabletop.

            “Again, Ensign, I’d like to thank you again for coming down here.”

            “Uh, anything I can do to contribute, Admiral.” He picked the coffee up again, if only to occupy his mouth before he blurted out, which is really nothing at all, so I really appreciate the chance to at least help spread the word of the problem I can’t solve.

            Nechayev sat behind her wide desk facing the door. Sparrow was on a couch against the wall to her right, out of the way until he was needed.

            “I feel I should probably tell you that you’re not just here to help me explain what’s going on.”

            “I’m not? I’m sorry, Admiral, but I can’t promise that I’m prepared to do much else.”

            “Of course you can, Ensign. What I mean to say is that, if necessary, I could inform Captain Wolf myself – not as thoroughly as you, perhaps, but as much as he needs. But the captain and I have some … history, which might lead him to harsh and irrational judgment. Hearing everything from someone else, an impartial expert, will, I suspect, help him come around to the right decision more smoothly.”

            “Permission to speak freely, Admiral?”

            She smiled, a little patronizingly. “All right.”

             “I know it’s not my place to question the admiralty’s decisions, but why do we want someone like that for this mission?”

            “Someone like what?” she said, amused.

            “Someone prone to … irrational judgment. I’ve read the files on the Roborean incident, and when you consider how long he’s been out of the field …”

            Nechayev sighed and leaned back. “Ensign, I suggest you just say it. He’ll be here soon, so let’s clear the air.”

            “He sounds like he might not be quite … adjusted.”

            “Of course,” she said. “It certainly sounds that way. But there’s more to his case than meets the eye. Before the incident he led a fairly remarkable career. He distinguished himself in combat scenarios planetside as well as in space, and proved himself a surprisingly adequate diplomat. Most of that was over the course of a series of long-term deep space exploration missions which led to his captaincy. Understand?”

            “I understand that he was qualified once, Admiral, but after what he’s been through—”

            “He’s a capable commander, Ensign. It is the opinion of the Admiralty that he will be able to regain command of himself. And … despite my own past actions, I have every confidence in him.” She glanced at the screen inlaid in her desk. “And Lieutenant Commander Xom paged me a minute ago. She concurs.”

            The door to the office slid aside to admit Captain Adam Wolf. Sparrow couldn’t really sense what he’d have called a strong, commanding presence. Captain Wolf wasn’t particularly tall, he was surprisingly thin, and his thick beard had the look of at least a month’s growth and a bit too much grey for a man his age. He looked strangely calm, though, totally at ease. The fact that his baggy sweatclothes and beard were so at odds with his surroundings didn’t even seem to compute for him.

            He took the seat in front of Nechayev’s desk, affording Sparrow only a brief curious glance on his way there. He filled it out like it was a captain’s chair, and everyone around him was an officer on his bridge. You can take the captain out of the bridge, but …

            “Hello, Admiral,” he said. His voice was strikingly jovial, imbued with a kind of eminently likeable irreverence. “Long time no see.”

            Nechayev seemed to perceive some hostility. “Let’s try to be cordial, shall we?”

            “Let’s cut the crap, shall we? Why am I here?”

            “You didn’t think we’d let a man of your ability squander his time in the sleaziest corners of the quadrant forever, did you?”

            “The sleaziest corners of three quadrants, actually. Please get to the point. What’s going on that’s so classified, and where do I fit in?”

            She looked at him strangely for a moment, sizing him up, Sparrow assumed.

            “As you’re obviously aware, relations with the Dominion have relaxed enough that we can now send ships through the Bajoran wormhole again. The scout ship Gel-Mann was one of those ships. Its mission, specifically, was to investigate Dominion reports of Borg activity in sectors spinward of the Idran system.”

            “The Borg?” said Wolf. “Didn’t I hear something about them being completely wiped out? Twice?”

            “Yes. The neurolytic pathogen employed in the so-called Janeway Purge decimated the Collective, and yes, their remnants, gathered for a strike at Earth, were terminated in this very system. But we’re still interested in monitoring areas they were known to frequent. You might say we’re making absolutely sure their activity has stopped, and every Borg derelict we can find and dismantle helps set Starfleet’s mind at ease.”

            “So this Gel-Mann. It found something of interest?”

            Nechayev nodded to Sparrow. “This is Ensign Robert Sparrow, former science officer of the Gel-Mann. I believe he can answer that question.”

            “Yes,” Sparrow said, stifling his nervousness as best he could. He placed his holopadd on the table next to his coffee and tapped the project button. Photons filed into place, assembling the deceptively solid-looking image of the glimmering dark sphere he’d seen inside the asteroid. “We found this.”

            Wolf scrutinized it for a moment. “That doesn’t exactly look Borg.”

            “It’s not,” Sparrow said. “It’s much more advanced than they were. Neutronium-based alloys in the hull tell us that. And it was found inside an asteroid. The only conceivable way it could have gotten to where it was is by beaming a multi-tonne sphere of solid rock out of the asteroid’s interior, then beaming itself inside. Assuming it didn’t have a companion beam it in there, of course, but we haven’t seen any sign of—”

            “It appeared the Borg were studying this object,” Nechayev interjected. “Probably trying to assimilate it. The asteroid was riddled with Borg technology.” She paused, thinking. Sparrow realized what had to come next. “I was presiding over our main base of operations in the Gamma quadrant at the time. When the Gel-Mann’s captain contacted me with this discovery, I ordered that the asteroid be destroyed and the alien object brought back to base for study. Mister Sparrow, I suggest you tell the next part of the story. You were there, after all.”

            He swallowed hard. “Yes, Admiral.” He looked from one superior officer to the other, and then to the slowly spinning hologram. “After we broke apart the asteroid, we put a tractor beam on the artifact to haul it back to base.”

            He took another sip from his coffee, just to stall for time. He realized that he’d never had to put the whole thing into words before. No one had ever asked him to report on it. That had been Captain Normandy’s burden.

            “When the tractor beam was in place, the artifact came to life.” He tapped another key on the holopadd, triggering the activation animation. The angular grooves along the spherical hull lit up, glowing in dull blues, greens and purples.

            “And by ‘came to life’ you mean what, exactly?”

            “First it just lit up like this. Then after our captain gave the order to kill the tractor beam, it moved away from us, toward the star it was orbiting. It held position for a few minutes inside the star’s corona, and then it left the system at warp two.”

            “I assume you pursued.”

            “Yes. We tracked it to the nearest system, the one we’d been surveying initially when we found the asteroid on long-range sensors. It … scanned the system, one planet at a time. We had no idea what it was doing—we were too busy arguing over whether it was a probe or a ship.” He was once again overcome by the absurd triviality of the conversation. He hung his head. “We were debating what it meant that it had no windows.”

            Admiral Nechayev cleared her throat. “What happened next?”

            “Its poles began to glow,” he said. “Some kind of energy surge. I couldn’t explain it. But then we detected … unusual subspace activity. Somehow, that thing ruptured spacetime. It created a surge so powerful that deep subspace radiation pushed through into normal space. An entire planet was reduced to subatomic particles in a matter of seconds. The only planet in that system with any kind of life.”

            He paused for a minute.

            “Sentient life?” asked Wolf.

            “No. Not that time, thankfully.”

            “You mean this thing didn’t stop?”

            “It’s roving along spinward of where we found it. It’s slow – never above warp four, but it’s already entered two more systems, one of which had two m-class planets which no longer exist.”

            “My God,” Wolf said. “And neutronium … there’s really no chance of stopping this thing, is there?”

            “Not available to us,” Nechayev said. “Every weapon, every demolition device, every physical process we can produce would be useless against its armor. In fact, not a single race in all of Starfleet’s records—short of noncorporeal beings—is  believed to capable of penetrating it. And why would virtual superbeings help us?”

            “It’s not about us,” Sparrow blurted. But he didn’t regret it. “According to its projected course, that thing won’t even get close to Federation space for centuries. But a pre-industrial civilization in the Gamma quadrant is going to be wiped out in two weeks.”

            Wolf addressed Nechayev without looking away from the ensign.

            “Is that true?”

            “Yes. If the object maintains its course and speed, it will claim its first populated world in twelve days.”

            “And what have we done about that?”

            “The Council has voted to suspend the prime directive. We’re coordinating an evacuation task force using Dominion resources, but the natives are hesitant to run from a threat that’s outside the sphere of their beliefs.”

            “Jesus Christ,” Wolf spat. “It’s hopeless. I get it. Can you please get to the part where I fit in? I’m still wondering why I’m here.”

            “Ensign,” Nechayev prompted.

            “For a while we tried to determine where the object might be from. It doesn’t match anything in our databases or the Dominion’s, and none of the nearby spacefaring species recognize it. But quantum dating places its manufacture at well over two billion years ago. We ran subspace scans of that whole sector through an algorithm that compensates for natural subspace drift and topological degradation. We thought if we could reconstruct how local subspace looked two billion years ago, we might be able to make out a warp signature that would at least indicate what direction the artifact came from.”

            “Did you find one?”

            “No. We found something much bigger. Something we’d only ever seen in some obscure intelligence scans of Cardassian space near the badlands. And something recorded by the Starship Voyager.”

            “Voyager? You mean Janeway’s ship? The one that was lost in the Delta Quadrant?”

            Sparrow nodded rapidly. “Exactly. We saw what we believe to be the subspace echo of a displacement wave, not unlike the phenomenon used by the extragalactic entity known as the Caretaker to bring Voyager from the badlands to the Delta Quadrant.”

            “Are you suggesting that the Caretaker’s people might have built this thing?”

            “The Nacene? It’s possible, but we’re not really entertaining the theory. None of the Nacene technology Voyager saw suggested the technical expertise behind the artifact’s hull or its weapon, but they did have this displacement technology, and they were extragalactic.”

            Wolf blinked. “There’s evidence that this planet-buster came from outside the galaxy?”

            “We’ve reconstructed the path of the displacement wave for 400 light years in the direction of its origin. It leads right out of the galactic plane.”

            “That’s great, but since I’ve never left the galaxy myself, I’m still not really seeing why you called me.”

            “Please, Captain,” Nechayev said, “bear with us a moment longer. It’s a very complicated case and you need to have all the facts.”

            Wolf sighed noncommittally and reclined farther in his chair. He made a sweeping gesture at Sparrow as if to say keep going.

            “We widened the area of our subspace scans. Thought maybe we could reconstruct more warp signatures, get more information on the artifact’s activities back when it first came here. We couldn’t see much about that, but we found something even more significant. We found evidence of more displacement waves from the same source.”

            “Not more spheres?” Wolf guessed.

            Sparrow let out a sigh of relief as he relived yet again the discovery of what those waves had brought.

            “No,” he said. “This.” He tapped the padd again, switching the image to the dark, bizarre, mechanical-looking apparatus he had helped retrieve piecemeal from inside a gas giant.

            Wolf looked interested again. He leaned in to examine the hologram, his intense, dark eyes narrow with focus.

            “What is it?”

            “We’ve tentatively called it the Gun.”

            The captain scoffed. “The Gun? I’d think the big thing that blows up planets would be the Gun. What does this one do? Shoot stars at other stars?”

            Sparrow failed to suppress a grin. He couldn’t help taking pride in having deciphered this next mystery before anyone else.

            “No, Captain. It shoots starships. At other galaxies.”

            “Starships …” he looked Sparrow in the eye. “This thing generates displacement waves?”

            “Exactly. We believe someone sent the artifact here with some kind of mission—presumably it’s a probe or a ship. But maybe the device they used to send it is incapable of bringing it home across intergalactic distances. That makes sense because, as we understand the technology, it should be much easier to push than to pull. Then they sent the Gun so the artifact could send itself home when its mission was completed.”

            “What could that thing’s mission possibly have been?”

            “It doesn’t matter,” said Nechayev. “What matters now is your mission, Captain.”

            Wolf glanced at her, then at the Gun again. “This thing—this Gun is operational?”

            She nodded. A bit prematurely, Sparrow thought.

            “Actually, Admiral, it’s almost operational. It was sent over in three pieces which were never properly assembled, and there’s been some environmental damage to their exposed internal machinery. But the SCE is close to having it up and running.”

            “Thank you, Ensign,” Nechayev said, her gratitude dubious. “Captain Wolf, I assume you’ve guessed what your part in this is.”

            Wolf sighed. “Nothing in this galaxy seems able to stop this thing, but maybe something in its home galaxy can. You’re going to send one of our ships to where it came from to investigate. And you want me on board.”

            “Basically. But it’s bigger than that. The very planets of our galaxy are potentially at stake here. One ship isn’t enough. We’ve told the Klingons and the Romulans about this, and soon we’ll tell other neighbouring parties. We’re building an armada, Captain. A fleet representing the Federation, its allies, and the Milky Way. And you’re going to be in command.”

            Wolf brought a hand to his face as if trying to temper his exasperation.

            “Command the fleet on a mission to save the galaxy?”

            “Someone’s got to do it.”

            “Yes, but me? Honestly, Admiral, I think this is the single most ill-conceived, failure-destined, incomprehensibly illogically idiotic right-man-in-the-wrong-place ass pull that the admiralty has generated to date. And that’s saying something.”

            At last Nechayev seemed visibly taken aback. Sparrow wondered when he’d begun subconsciously rooting for Wolf in his little private conflict against the admiral.

            She took a moment to regain her calm and sort out her reply before speaking.

            “Despite what you may think, Captain, and despite what I myself said five years ago, you are an exceedingly capable commander. You can command a fleet in battle, negotiate with an implacable enemy, and handle the stresses of long-term deep space operations with remarkable skill, and even—”

            “That was before,” Wolf snapped, a quake in his voice. “Don’t you think my capabilities might have changed after what happened?”

            “Your attitude hasn’t changed. You’re still a charmingly irreverent cynic.”

            “And you’re still a passive aggressive bitch.”

            Her eyes narrowed. “Watch it, Captain. There’s a limit.”

            Sparrow felt a strong urge to leave this room before the tension tore a hole in spacetime. He knew the history. He knew what Wolf had done. He knew that Nechayev was the one who mentioned alcohol, and ignited his guilt during a brutal court marshal.

            “Captain Wolf,” he said, almost despite himself. Both heads swivelled to look at him. “I know about what happened. I … I know I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, but—but I was there when the artifact lit up. I was part of the crew that turned it on. And ever since then, all I can think when I lie awake at night is that I could have told my captain we should be more careful, but I just—”

He broke off to drink some more coffee. And it seemed to clear his mind.

“Nothing can ever stop me from feeling at least a little bit responsible for all the destruction that thing causes, and all the people it’s going to kill. Nothing. No matter what logic anyone throws at me, I can never stop feeling the blood on my hands …

“But it would really make me feel better knowing that I was doing my part to end it all. And it’s not just about fixing my own mistake. It’s about making amends. Like … maybe if I can help shut this thing down, the lives I save will make up for what I’ve done. And maybe … if I have to suffer, to struggle, to put my life in danger to do it … maybe I’ll finally have paid my dues. Maybe I’ll finally feel like I’ve gotten the punishment I deserve.”

He suddenly felt out of breath, and desperately needed more coffee. When he looked up from the beverage, unconsciously licking his lips, he realized Admiral Nechayev was staring at him strangely.

Wolf looked down, contemplative. “Quite a speech, Ensign. Not exactly Picard calibre, but not bad.”

He looked up at Nechayev, and something very powerful passed between them silently when their eyes met. There was a kind of deadly, grudging hatred on his side, and something far more incomprehensible on hers. She spoke first:

“Each government sending ships for the armada has chosen a flagship. The captains of those flagships will form a fleet council, collectively governing the fleet and its efforts. Since the Federation is organizing the whole endeavour, our fleet captain will be first among equals on this council.”

“And that’s me.”

She nodded.

Sparrow blinked, astonished. Had he really just successfully delivered a rousing speech to recruit a disgraced captain to the office of galactic saviour?

            Nechayev handed Wolf a padd. “This is your itinerary for the foreseeable future. Your ship has been designed specifically for this mission, which means it’s being built from the ground up. It’ll be ready for your initial inspection in two weeks. You’ll live here in the city until then.”

            “Jesus,” he said, scanning the padd. “Daily briefings, medical exams, psych exams—”

            “Precautions. You’ll need to spend a bit more time with Counsellor Xom before she can report to the rest of the admiralty that you’re in working order.”

            He smirked, seemed to weigh options in his head, then thought better of saying anything. He stood up and walked to the door. No dismissal, no permission to leave. He just headed out. But he paused in the open doorway and looked back over his shoulder.

            “Admiral Nechayev,” he said. “What’s my new ship called?”

            A smile crossed her lips.

            “Requiem.”