A creature something like a diplodocus was absently munching on leaves at the edge of the swamp. Further in the water, a stegosaurus-like animal slapped at the mud with its huge, spiked tail. Past the swamp, a flock of almost-struthiomimus sprinted nimbly through the vegetation. None of the creatures took the slightest interest in the seven pillars of shimmer coalescing scant yards away.

“I want this entire area scouted,” Sulu said when the materialization was complete. “Jerel, you and Dylan head toward the Klingon base. Lieutenant Devon, Jer, take the field camp. Note anything unusual, anything at all. Remember, no communications. The Klingons haven’t given us any indication they know we’re here, and I want to keep it that way. Dr. Rendell, Salok, come with me.”

“It’s a scientific research mission, that’s obvious,” Devon murmured to Jeremy.

With a frown, the Security Chief replied, “Just don’t let that certainty blind you to contrary evidence, Lieutenant.”

“The captain’s prejudice may be blinding him.”

“The captain’s ‘prejudice’ is well-founded,” Paget returned, his voice tight. “And if you’re in the habit of second-guessing your commanding officer, I’d see Mr. Courtland about a transfer. Captain Sulu may be young, and his style may be casual, but he’s one of the best men in Fleet, and the D’Artagnan proves it.”

“And you’re a member of the Collection, aren’t you, Mr. Paget?” Devon returned, flushing angrily.

“Lieutenant Devon,” Sulu’s voice said, and the science officer turned abruptly. “Any past relationship is Commander Paget’s business, and mine. He’s here because he’s the best Security officer in Fleet. You’re here because you’re the best geneticist I’ve got. Try to remember that.”

“Yes, sir,” Devin stammered. “I apologize, sir.”

“Noted, Lieutenant. Carry on.”

“And anybody who uses the term ‘Collection’ when not referring to specimens, coins, or church funds is gonna find out what size my boot is,” Paget declared, then gave a fierce grin. “Intimately.”

Lian gave Jeremy a grinning ‘thumbs up,’ and Dylan Paine disguised his snort of amusement with a cough as the three teams went their separate ways. Salok was clearly confused, and Jerel Courtland made a mental note to explain the term to the young Vulcan as soon as they were back on the ship.

Jerel Courtland and Dylan Paine crouched in a thick stand of foliage, taking readings of the Klingon base camp. They watched as specimens of young avianoids were beamed up and others transported back, Jerel taking particularly close readings of the returned animals.

“Anything?” Dylan whispered.

“The genetics have definitely been altered, but I’ll need to run the data though the computer to analyze it,” the First Officer replied, equally quietly.

The lieutenant frowned, then closed his eyes, concentrating. “They think in Klingonese,” he said at last.

“What did you expect, Lieutenant?” Courtland returned.

Dylan’s grin was rueful. “Translation of thought patterns, not words?”

Jerel glanced at him. “Well, what do the thought patterns feel like?”

Paine’s blue eyes lit up. “That’s why you’re the Exec,” he said, and closed his eyes, his hand reaching out towards the encampment. Courtland quickly grabbed his wrist, pulling it back into the cover of the flora.

“Sorry,” Dylan shrugged, and reached out again, this time making sure his hand was still concealed. “Okay, they’re impatient,” he finally murmured. “There’s a sense of – annoyance – irritation – sort of like ‘what the hell are we doing here?’” He lowered his hand and turned to the Equian. “Mr. Courtland, I don’t think they know why they’re here, or even why they’re doing what they’re doing.”

Jerel’s blue eyes met Dylan’s. “A diversion?” he asked.

“Unless Klingons are expected to follow orders even when they don’t make sense,” the lieutenant supplied.

“Not unlike Intelligence officers,” Courtland responded.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Paine protested. “I know the underlying principles of…”

“Shh!” the First Officer cautioned. “We’re heading back to the beam-up point. It’s time we scanned the rest of this system.”

He closed the tricorder and after a quick but careful survey of their surroundings, started to move back through the thick jungle growth.

“Nothing but what we’ve already received,” Alexis Devon said gruffly. “We’re risking a great deal being here.”

“Not if you keep your voice down and follow protocol,” Jeremy Paget returned. He was watching the field camp intently, his quick gaze following the movements of three Klingons at the same time. It was hard to tell, being that they were Klingons, but their body language seemed to indicate irritable aimlessness rather than purposeful endeavor. They checked on the caged animals they’d trapped, looked after the other traps they had set that had yet to yield results, but still, there was something…

One of their communicators signaled, and Jeremy immediately set his tricorder to capture the transmission. He spoke a few words and phrases in Klingonese, mostly the kinds of standard orders he might need in a Security setting; so it was that he recognized the command to beam up. The officer receiving the transmission grunted a heartfelt phrase that was best translated as ‘about fucking time,’ and called to his fellows. The three gathered and in moments, dematerialized – without, Jeremy noted, any of their specimens, cages or equipment.

Alarm bells went off in the back of his head.

“Move it, back to the beam-up point, now!” he ordered Devon.

“Why? I’m still taking…” the woman began.

“They left, without taking any of their equipment!” Paget hissed.

“So? Maybe there’s something important their research has found,” Devon argued. “I’m sure they’ll be back for…”

“No, they won’t,” Jeremy returned fiercely. “We’ve been set up.”

“So what exactly are the genetic changes we’ve noted?” Sulu murmured to Salok as he and the Vulcan made a slow circuit of the jungle and swamp that lay just outside of their beam-down coordinates. Lian Rendell was crouched next to the swamp, taking readings of her own.

“Insignificant, as far as any accepted evolutionary time-frame is concerned,” the Vulcan replied, his voice just as quiet. “In one case, a neural receptor was altered to increase the flow of adrenaline in a crisis situation, giving the animal a less-controllable reaction, which could lead to precipitous action, such as in the animal charging into danger rather than choosing a more survival-oriented course of behavior. In another, metabolism was altered to increase the animal’s need for nourishment, resulting in more frequent feeding, which, in turn, results in greater growth for the organism. In a third, musculature genetics were manipulated to make the subject less agile, and the inner ear was modified to make the creature more susceptible to spatial disorientation.”

“Bigger, clumsier, bad-tempered dinosaurs,” Sulu summed up, frowning. “What am I missing?”

“There is no logical pattern to their alterations,” Salok agreed.

“And they’ve introduced nothing into the planet itself, nothing in the water, or atmosphere?”

Salok checked his tricorder. “No, sir. Nothing.”

“Damn! What are they …”

“Team two returning, Captain,” Salok interrupted. “And at an alarming rate of speed.”

Sulu turned just as Jeremy broke into the clearing that was their beam-up point, Lieutenant Devon several yards behind him.

“We gotta get out of here, now!” Paget said breathlessly.

“You were seen?” Sulu asked, immediately signaling to Lian, who had looked up at the commotion.

“No, but the field team just beamed up, leaving everything behind, all their equipment, their specimens, everything.”

Sulu blinked once, then his expression hardened. “It isn’t here,” he said.

“That’s my thought,” Jeremy returned.

The captain pulled out his communicator. “Emergency beam-up, all party members,” he said.

“Ma’am, we’re picking up an ionization signature,” Geoff Redford reported when Jilla stepped onto the Bridge. “It just came from around Ninoa V, heading toward the outermost planet.”

“Why was this not noted before?” she asked immediately.

“The composition of the gas giant cloaked it,” Zel said from the Helm.

“Verilium obstitrate,” Jilla murmured with Monique as the navigator gave the addition.

“A naturally occurring Valjiir cloak?” Redford said, both alarm and amazement in his voice.

“The scientific mission is a diversion,” Jilla returned. “Can we contact the captain?”

“He ordered communications silence, Commander,” Tristan said.

“That will not matter now,” Jilla assured him. “The Klingons know we are here.”

She reached for the communications panel on the arm of the con, when Sulu’s voice suddenly came from it.

“Emergency beam-up, all party members!”

“Acknowledged,” Jilla said, sent the order to the transporters, following it at a dead run.

At the sudden loud trumpeting behind them, Jerel and Dylan froze, the First Officer quickly opening his tricorder to take readings. His blue eyes widened, and he tossed his head, the pale mane flying back from his face.

“Run!” he ordered, and started off at a racing clip.

Dylan Paine paused only a fraction of a second before taking off after the Equian. After only seconds, it became obvious that there was no way he was going to keep up with the First Officer’s graceful gallop. A half second after that, the crashing noise that was gaining on him made it clear he wasn’t going to outrun whatever huge creature was bearing down on him. He scanned his surroundings, then quickly rushed to a large tree, vaulting himself into the lower branches, climbing frantically. When he thought he was high enough, he stopped, gasping for breath, and glanced below him. The tree limbs shook as several triceratopian creatures thundered beneath him, tossing their heads and snorting and yowling like maddened bulls. All he could think of for several seconds was “attack dinosaurs.”

Then an ear-splitting roar shook not only the tree, but the ground below him and as he peered through the foliage, he realized he was nowhere near high enough. An enormous head pushed through the branches, its tooth-filled jaw agape, the stench of rotting flesh surrounding him as the monster roared again.

Not knowing what else to do, Dylan tried to make himself as small as possible, but the movement as he tucked in his arms and legs seemed to draw the creature’s attention. It made a loud snuffing sound, and as Dylan peeked out from behind his arms, he met a golden-yellow, fierce, and very interested gaze.

Sentience.

Swiftly, the lieutenant took a deep breath, and thought with all his might.

Nasty puny bug! It will taste like dung!

He received no translatable thought in return – I speak as much T-Rex as I do Klingonese, he reminded himself – and tried to sense the pattern of emotion. He got the distinct impression that the creature had indeed tried to eat ‘nasty puny bug’ before, and that they did taste like dung. It turned away and Dylan started to breathe again. Golden shimmer suddenly took him and the last thing he saw was the monster turning a curious gaze back to the sparkle that had suddenly invaded the trees.

He landed on the transporter pad with a thud! to see Lian Rendell bending over Courtland, who was shaking his head, one hooved foot pawing at the transporter disk. The captain and the rest of the landing party stood a few feet away, Paget shouting orders to Security, Sulu snapping them into the comm unit while Jilla Majiir radiated both worry and relief.

“Captain, about those attack dinosaurs…” Dylan began.

“I’ll get your report in a minute, Lieutenant,” the captain interrupted him. “Zel, break orbit and start a scan of the rest of the Ninoan system.”

“They are leaving Ninoa V, heading toward Ninoa VI,” Jilla said.

“You heard that, Zel,” Sulu returned. “Get us there, on the double!”

The helmsman’s “Aye, sir,” was cut off as Sulu closed the comm, turning to his wife. “It was a set-up,” he said to her.

“You were right,” she replied.

“Just wish I’d been right a few minutes earlier.”

“We’re at Red Alert,” Jeremy reported tersely. “Whatever they’ve got waiting for us, we’ll be ready.”

Sulu nodded. “Good.” His attention went to the transporter. “Jerel, are you all right?”

“Fine, Captain,” the Equian replied. “My legs are made for speed, but it’s been a while since I ran all out.”

“Lian?” Sulu questioned.

“He’s fine,” the Haven said. “A little winded, that’s all.”

“Sir,” Alexis Devon broke in timidly, “I’m – I’m sorry, sir. I should have trusted your assessment.”

“Damn right you should have!” Jeremy snapped.

“It’s all right, Lieutenant,” Sulu told her. “Turns out they weren’t doing anything on Ninoa II.”

“Except the attack dinosaurs,” Dylan put in.

Sulu’s gaze finally went to him. “How did you escape them, Mr. Paine?”

The lieutenant shrugged, a grin coming over his features. “I told him I tasted bad. Turns out he must’ve eaten a Klingon or two, because he agreed with me.”

“He agreed…”

“They’re sentient, Captain. At least, the big tyrannosaur was.”

Courtland stared at the lieutenant. “I can’t wait to hear your full report, Mr. Paine,” he said.

“It’ll have to wait,” Sulu said firmly. “We’ve got Klingons to catch.

The Klingon vessel that was approaching the outermost planet of the Ninoa system became visible once it reached orbital range. Sulu damned the Romulans for sharing their cloaking technology with the Klingons, even while being grateful that the Romulan version didn’t mask ion trails.

“All right,” he said from the con, “we know they were interested in Ninoa V because of the verilium-obstitrate combination in that planet’s atmosphere. What’s here that they’d find useful?”

“The Valjiir cloak works on a suspension of a dematerialized form of the mineral combination in a modified transporter field,” Courtland answered. “But the Klingon transporter matrix is sufficiently different from ours that it would present them with quite a challenge to use the same technique.”

“So they’d need… what?” Sulu asked.

Jilla and Geoff Redford conferred together quietly for a moment, then Jilla said, “There are a number of gasses which could stabilize the verilum-obsistrate within the Klingon matrix.”

“And are any of them present in the atmosphere of Ninoa VI?”

“The breakdown on atmospheric readings is on your screen now, Commander,” Ramon Ordona informed the Chief Engineer.

After a few tense moments, Jilla’s head came up suddenly. “Both francium and cesium would be needed, Captain,” she said, “and both are present within Ninoa VI’s atmosphere.”

“Francium is highly unstable,” Courtland put in. “For there to be usable levels, there would need to be a great deal of actinium, since actinium decays into francium. And,” he added, “actinium is extremely rare.”

“There are several isotopes of cesium that are stable for days,” Salok said, turning from his scanner. “CS-133 is completely stable…”

“Unusable for this purpose,” Redford cut in.

“…CS-134 is stable for 2.1 years, CS-137 for 31.2 years…” Salok went on.

“The stable isotopes won’t work for this application,” Jilla returned.

“And just how are they supposed to maintain a cloak if their stabalizing ingredients keep decaying?” Dylan asked.

“That problem is why the Klingons haven’t yet developed a cloak of their own,” Jeremy replied.

“Our own transporter matrix keeps the particles suspended,” Jilla explained. “Since the suspension is already at the sub-atomic level, pattern degradation isn’t a problem. Klingon transporters cannot maintain the dematerialzation field indefinitely, thus their particle field would need to be periodically rematerialized.”

“Which would make their cloak like a giant piece of swiss cheese,” Sulu finished.

“But with the addition of the proper isotopes of cesium and francium,” Redford continued, “the verilium-obstitrate suspension becomes stable – and strengthens the matrix of the transporter.”

“But wouldn’t such a cloak only be usable for a few minutes at a time?” Dylan asked.

“Long enough to reach warp velocity,” Jeremy said grimly.

“So it’s a get-away device?”

“With a stable suspension to study, the Klingons could eventually solve their cloaking problem,” Courtland advised.

“So we’ve got to stop them from harvesting francium and cesium,” Sulu concluded.

“And just how are we going to do that?” Lian Rendell wanted to know. “Just tell them that they can’t because we say so? We need a justification, don’t we?”

“Find me one,” Sulu ordered his Bridge crew. “For now, all we can do is stall until you do.”

Jerel motioned to Ramon, Salok, Jilla and Geoff. “My office,” he ordered. “We’ll find something.” He turned to Sulu. “With your permission, Captain.”

Sulu nodded, waving the officers toward the back of the Bridge. “Okay, Jer,” he rejoined. “How do we stall?”

“Bluster, bluff,” the Security Chief responded immediately, then added with a wry grin. “The Klingons respect that.”

“Yeah,” Sulu returned grimly. “Tristan, open hailing frequencies.”

The captain of the Klingon vessel, identified as the Takshar, was not the oily, obnoxious being Sulu had come to expect from Klingons in positions of command. He was obnoxious, but he was also irritable and easily manipulated into fits of pique. Sulu guessed this was for two reasons; a) the D’Artagnan had reacted so quickly to their change of objective, and b) he’d been forced to play a waiting game while performing useless scientific distractions. Of course, the D’Artagnan’s hail had been designed to irritate.

“This is the Federation starship, U. S. S. D’Artagnan, Captain Takeda Sulu in command. We demand you identify yourself and explain your presence in Federation space.”

Jeremy had grinned at that, but made sure his face was stern and unyielding when the view screen lit up with the image of the Klingon commander.

“Federation space?!” the Klingon demanded. “This is not Federation space!”

“Of course it is,” Sulu countered calmly. “Identify yourself.”

“I am Captain Kurs of the Takshar,” came the snorting reply. “And this area is claimed by the Klingon Empire!”

“Not on our charts it isn’t,” was Sulu’s quick response.

“I have no interest in your charts. We are exploring this system, and have every right to do so!”

“You haven’t explained your presence,” the D’Artagnan’s captain reminded.

“Explain yours!” Kurs shot back.

“We received reports of your attempted interference with the evolution of Ninoa II…”

“Scientific exploration, something you Federates do all the time!” Kurs shouted.

“Klingons aren’t scientists, sir,” Jeremy said to Sulu, with no attempt to disguise either the comment or its implication.

“They haven’t got the wit for it,” Dylan added with a wink. Kurs’ face grew what passed in Klingons for ruddy – sort of a blotchy purple. “I have reams of data to disprove your lies!” he blustered.

“Really?” Sulu said, folding his arms. “Let’s see it then.”

“We do not share information with the Federation,” the Klingon snapped.

“I think this time you’d better make an exception,” Sulu returned.

“Why should I?”

“Because if you don’t, we’ll be forced to take action to retrieve it for ourselves.”

“Ha!” Kurs retorted. “Go back to Ninoa II and retrieve it then! It’s all there…”

“Which only proves it was of no value to you, so it can’t be your mission here.” Sulu let his expression grow hard and menacing. “So I say again, explain your presence in this system.”

“Captain,” Monique said quietly, and Sulu motioned to Tristan to mute the audio feed from the D’Artagnan.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Sensors show the Takshar is readying a plasma beam, aimed at the lower atmosphere of Ninoa VI.”

“That will be their method of collection,” Dylan put in.

“Did you take an advanced degree in physics to figure that one out?” Tristan muttered.

Paget glared at him, and he glowed, but turned back to his board.

“Captain,” Jerel Courtland’s voice called as he emerged from his office, “we can make a case for the francium and cesium being building blocks for a plasma weapon. With the application of…”

“Tell me later, Jerel,” Sulu broke in. “Good work!” He gave Tristan the signal to resume audio.

“You’re readying a plasma weapon?” Sulu demanded of the Klingon, interrupting the tirade that had been continuing the entire time D’Artagnan’s audio feed had been silent. “Do you really want to test the might of this ship?”

Kurs was clearly taken aback. “Readying a… I don’t know what you’re…”

“We won’t allow you to harvest the elements necessary for such a thing, here or anywhere in disputed space,” Sulu broke in.

The Klingon’s eyes narrowed. “You said this was Federation…”

“I lied. But while the Organians won’t care about that, they will care about your attempt to create bigger and better weaponry.”

“We do not fear the Organians!”

Sulu smiled. “Oh good. Then they’ll just shut down your entire fucking Empire.”

Kurs blustered and hmmphed, then turned and barked orders at his crew.

“The plasma energy signature has dissipated,” Jerel reported from the Science Station.

“The Emperor will hear of your interference,” Kurs snarled, and the view screen went dark.

“They’ve broken off communications, Captain,” Tristan confirmed.

“And they’re moving off,” Ramon added as he retook his seat.

“Out of the system?” Sulu asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Sulu took a deep breath, then exhaled and lowered himself into the con. “So how big a phaser blast did we dodge?” he asked.

“As we said, Captain, the elements the Klingons need are rare,” Jerel returned. “It’s fairly certain they couldn’t find them within the confines of the Empire, or they wouldn’t be looking here.”

“But why the big diversion?” Paget asked. “Why didn’t they just cut away some of the atmosphere and run with it before we even got a report of their activity?”

“It is a delicate process,” Jilla answered. “They would have had to take extensive readings, pinpoint exactly the isotopes they needed, prepare containment devices aboard their vessel and modify their transporters so as not to disrupt the elements while beaming.”

“Or send a team with the containment devices outside the ship,” Geoff Redford added.

“Which carries with it a whole ‘nother set of problems,” Jeremy nodded, satisfied.

“We can assume they had solved those problems when they abandoned their ‘work’ on Ninoa II.”

“So they didn’t necessarily know we were here after all,” Sulu mused. “Well, that makes me feel better.” He grinned. “Jerel, prepare a report with your findings and make sure all scanning posts know about this new Klingon project. Zel, Monique, get us back to Ninoa II. I think the Federation Science department will be very interested in the Klingon research.” He paused, then, added to his Science Officer, “Oh, and ask for an immediate communications with the Organians. We want to cement the Federation’s claim to this system.”

“On what basis, Captain?” Jerel asked.

“A sentient Tyrannosaurus Rex,” Sulu replied, and grinned again.

The Genetics Department was delighted with the overwhelming amount of data that was retrieved from the abandoned Klingon outpost, all the more so because they hadn’t had to do any of the work to get it. Dylan Paine was able to get more impressions from the large T-Rexes, determining that all of them were, indeed sentient. He also discovered smaller breeds of carnivore that had an even more developed intelligence; several different types of raptors. It would, of course, be millions of years before the creatures would develop any sort of technology, and the system was put under Prime Directive protection.

“Pretty big assumption,” Jeremy said to Sulu as they sat together in the mess hall. “Like we’ll still be around after another four or five million years.”

“The Organians didn’t think it was an absurd request,” Sulu reminded. The Organians had, as expected, honored the Federation claim. The small detail of where the genetic data had come from had apparently been omitted.

“I’ll bet the Seeders will object, though,” Paget grinned.

The captain frowned. “Let’s not talk about them, okay?”

The Security Chief leaned forward. “Did you forward the report to Admiral Breshnova?”

Sulu took a sip from his coffee, nodding. “Yeah, she said we’d have to renew the contract with the High Stakes.”

“Won’t be easy now that you’re in command of one of the Federation’s finest,” Jeremy mused.

“I imagine she’ll find a way,” was the noncommittal response.

Paget leaned back. “So, all in all, a good first mission.”

“Didn’t have to fire a single shot,” Sulu agreed.

“More’s the pity,” Jeremy chuckled.

“Well, since the only good Klingon is…”

“No argument from me on that, babe.” Paget finished his own coffee, then stretched and rose. “If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I’ve got a date.”

“Oh? With who?” Sulu asked casually, ignoring the small pang of jealousy that whispered through him.

“Cute little Sciences tech,” Jeremy replied. “Nothing serious, but she knows how to show a man a good time.”

“Got her own whips and chains, huh?” Sulu grinned.

“You better know it,” Jeremy returned with a wink. “See ya, Sulu. Tell Lady Jilla good night for me.”

Sulu nodded, then downed his own coffee. There would be another mission in the morning, and his beautiful Indiian wife was waiting.

The End