them—and raised them as Klingons. Apparently, the training took, if Asmund’s exercise session was any indication.
Twice a survivor, Kuznetsov had mused upon finishing her file. First Alpha Zion, and then the Stargazer. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised.
But something was still gnawing at him—still bothering him. What? For lack of any other options, he called up her sister’ s file—and realized where he had heard the name Asmund before.
How could he have forgotten? The incident had brought the Federation this close to losing the Daa’Vit as allies—maybe even starting a war.
Idun had never been linked with what her sister did. Her slate was clean.
But they were twins. Was it possible that she hadn’t known about her sister’s plan? Hadn’t even suspected?
That question had kept Kuznetsov up late the last few nights. And given him another reason to be scared by her—though in some ways it was even less rational than the first.
Up ahead, Simenon and Greyhorse turned and entered the transporter room. A moment later he and Commander Asmund followed them in.
The transporter technician was waiting patiently for them. She smiled cordially at Kuznetsov; he smiled back.
He wondered if his relief was evident in his expression—though at this point, he hardly cared. The important thing was that he was getting rid of them— all of them.
Beverly Crusher had managed to keep to herself up until now, leaving little opportunity for her to run into the Stargazer people. But she was forced to abandon that policy when they reached Starbase 81.
After all, she had worked closely with Carter Greyhorse for most of the year she’d spent at Starfleet Medical. They’d become more than colleagues; they’d become friends. And he’d been sensitive enough not to bring up more than a passing reference to her late husband, once he realized she didn’t want to talk about him.
So how could she snub him now by not attending his arrival? It would have been worse than bad manners. It would have been a breach of professional etiquette.
And if there was one thing of which she would not be found guilty, it was a lack of professionalism.
The doctor repeated that to herself as she stood beside Captain Picard and watched the last of their guests materialize. Under O’Brien’s expert touch, the shafts of shimmering light coalesced into flesh and blood.
Greyhorse wasn’t difficult to discern from the other two. His towering height, black eyes, and blunt Amerind features set him apart right away. And as if that weren’t enough, the medical blue of his uniform stood out in stark contrast to the garb of his companions.
Crusher stepped forward. “Carter,” she said, her smile coming naturally.
He clambered down from the platform and took her hand. She felt tiny beside him—she’d forgotten about that.
“Beverly. So good to see you.” Greyhorse’s voice was as dry as ever, but she knew him better than to be offended. Deep down, he was a warm, even affectionate person.
“Good to see you,” she told him.
The captain was exchanging pleasantries with the others. After a moment or two, he turned to Crusher and touched her arm.
“Dr. Beverly Crusher, my chief medical officer…this is Commander Idun Asmund of the Charleston.”
The blond woman had a small Starfleet-issue pack slung over one shoulder—a little unusual; ship’s stores could reproduce any personal effect a passenger desired. But then, some effects were more personal than others.
Asmund extended her hand and they shook. She had quite a grip.
“And this,” said Picard, indicating the third member of the party, “is Lieutenant Commander Phigus Simenon, once my chief engineer and currently an instructor at Starfleet Academy.”
“And not dead yet,” said the Gnalish, “contrary to popular belief—and the fervent hopes of my students.” He smiled, his bright-red serpentine eyes slitting even more than usual as he extended his hands palms downward. His
Twice a survivor, Kuznetsov had mused upon finishing her file. First Alpha Zion, and then the Stargazer. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised.
But something was still gnawing at him—still bothering him. What? For lack of any other options, he called up her sister’ s file—and realized where he had heard the name Asmund before.
How could he have forgotten? The incident had brought the Federation this close to losing the Daa’Vit as allies—maybe even starting a war.
Idun had never been linked with what her sister did. Her slate was clean.
But they were twins. Was it possible that she hadn’t known about her sister’s plan? Hadn’t even suspected?
That question had kept Kuznetsov up late the last few nights. And given him another reason to be scared by her—though in some ways it was even less rational than the first.
Up ahead, Simenon and Greyhorse turned and entered the transporter room. A moment later he and Commander Asmund followed them in.
The transporter technician was waiting patiently for them. She smiled cordially at Kuznetsov; he smiled back.
He wondered if his relief was evident in his expression—though at this point, he hardly cared. The important thing was that he was getting rid of them— all of them.
Beverly Crusher had managed to keep to herself up until now, leaving little opportunity for her to run into the Stargazer people. But she was forced to abandon that policy when they reached Starbase 81.
After all, she had worked closely with Carter Greyhorse for most of the year she’d spent at Starfleet Medical. They’d become more than colleagues; they’d become friends. And he’d been sensitive enough not to bring up more than a passing reference to her late husband, once he realized she didn’t want to talk about him.
So how could she snub him now by not attending his arrival? It would have been worse than bad manners. It would have been a breach of professional etiquette.
And if there was one thing of which she would not be found guilty, it was a lack of professionalism.
The doctor repeated that to herself as she stood beside Captain Picard and watched the last of their guests materialize. Under O’Brien’s expert touch, the shafts of shimmering light coalesced into flesh and blood.
Greyhorse wasn’t difficult to discern from the other two. His towering height, black eyes, and blunt Amerind features set him apart right away. And as if that weren’t enough, the medical blue of his uniform stood out in stark contrast to the garb of his companions.
Crusher stepped forward. “Carter,” she said, her smile coming naturally.
He clambered down from the platform and took her hand. She felt tiny beside him—she’d forgotten about that.
“Beverly. So good to see you.” Greyhorse’s voice was as dry as ever, but she knew him better than to be offended. Deep down, he was a warm, even affectionate person.
“Good to see you,” she told him.
The captain was exchanging pleasantries with the others. After a moment or two, he turned to Crusher and touched her arm.
“Dr. Beverly Crusher, my chief medical officer…this is Commander Idun Asmund of the Charleston.”
The blond woman had a small Starfleet-issue pack slung over one shoulder—a little unusual; ship’s stores could reproduce any personal effect a passenger desired. But then, some effects were more personal than others.
Asmund extended her hand and they shook. She had quite a grip.
“And this,” said Picard, indicating the third member of the party, “is Lieutenant Commander Phigus Simenon, once my chief engineer and currently an instructor at Starfleet Academy.”
“And not dead yet,” said the Gnalish, “contrary to popular belief—and the fervent hopes of my students.” He smiled, his bright-red serpentine eyes slitting even more than usual as he extended his hands palms downward. His
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