Terrell stroked his beard. “So we need to find some common ground uniting those five systems specifically. Something we can use to predict the next potential target. Either to get there ahead of time, or just to disprove this hypothesis. Chekov, can you think of anything the Enterprise’s visits to those systems share that the others don’t?”

Chekov gave a feeble grin. “The only connection I can think of is that I took shore leave on the last two. But I had leave on Starbase 12 too.”

“At least,” Azem-Os said, “the Enterprise’s itinerary narrows the list of candidates down to a finite number that we can monitor.”

“Possibly.” Chekov consulted the list, reading the brief notations of the ship’s activities at its ports of call, since they were all from before his time now. “Maybe the Benecia colony, or Alpha Proxima II…”

“Compile a list,” Terrell instructed, “and we’ll forward it to Starfleet. It’s thin, but at least it’s a possibility.”

“Aye, sir.”

Terrell dismissed the briefing, and the crew began filing out of the room. Beach caught up with Chekov on the way out. “What is it with you Enterprise guys? You always have to be at the center of everything, don’t you?”

Chekov took the teasing in good humor, as it was intended. “Just when I thought I was out.”

Chapter Four

Starfleet Academy

Zirani Kayros had a hard time looking away from the Warborn Arcturians as she and the other first-year cadets filed out from the assembly hall. From the chatter her large Tiburonian ears picked up, she wasn’t the only one. Admiral Kirk and Commander Rakatheema had introduced the twelve parthenogenetically bred cadets during the opening assembly that had just ended, explaining their unusual situation to the student body and encouraging the other cadets to welcome and bear with them as they adjusted to Academy life. So far, the process seemed to be off to a slow start.

Some of the cadets looked as though they wanted to approach the Arcturians and say hello; but the twelve of them stayed clustered together as they strode from the hall with military precision, their gaze straight ahead. It was hard to see an opening for an approach.

Maybe they’re just nervous, Kayros thought. You’d be too if everyone was staring at you. Give them time.

Michael Ashrafi’s thoughts as he strolled alongside her were less generous and rather more audible. “No wonder people mistake them for clones,” the shaggy-haired, tan-skinned human remarked. “I don’t want to sound like… you know… but aside from the big muscley one, I can hardly tell them apart.”