Governor Nicholas Ryder mashed the accelerator to his replica 1958 Chevrolet Corvette, its eight cylinders roaring to life. With the white canvas top down, wind spilled over the windshield and tugged at Nick’s hair, bringing the faint tang of oil, gasoline, and exhaust fumes mixed with fresh sea air. Bon Jovi blared on the car’s speakers, playing “It’s My Life.”

“The Five” was rarely busy, and in midday, when everyone was supposed to be working, it was like a ghost town. Most of Terra Alpha’s citizens took the train or paid the exorbitant costs for a transporter credit. But, the colony had a vibrant car culture, and one could see replicas of antique sports cars and trucks mixed with the more practical and more modern anti-grav vehicles.

Of course, there would always be the naysayers. The detractors said these highways were too dangerous and their construction was a waste of colonial taxes. Nick hated those meetings. The highways were funded by tariffs on the Ferengi, Romulans, Klingons, and all the other non-Federation races that would come to trade with the planet. And, of course, the weather control stations and environmental filters could remove the air contamination. “Stupid crybabies,” Nick muttered under his breath.

Dropping another gear, he zipped around a truck trundling down the highway. Roaring past at 176 kilometers an hour, he whooped in pure joy, waving to the trucker, hauling a massive prefab structure, likely bound for Hag Harbor or even Portland. The freeway bent around a curve, revealing a panoramic ocean view. Waves crashed over the rocky shore, spraying foam meters into the air.

The comm buzzed, and he backed out of the throttle, slowing to one hundred, changing the wind’s roar to a softer whistle. He reached over the gear shifter and pressed the accept button on the LCARS panel embedded into the dashboard. “Yeah, Bella.”

“Sir, the Regional Administrator for the Central Mountain district wants to talk to you about winter tourism.” His assistant, Bella Thurgood, was a severe-looking woman in her sixties. She didn’t wear glasses, but when annoyed with you, she peered over the bridge of her nose like she did. It reminded Nick of a librarian from one of the countless 20th and 21st-century motion pictures sometimes shown in theaters in Capital City’s downtown.

“Why is he asking me? Does he want me to support a council bill to fund this? Tell Jerry that if he wants a ski resort, he can fund it himself. It’s not Eastern Coastal’s or New Kanto’s responsibility to help his economy, and the rest of Terra Alpha sure as hell shouldn’t be footing the bill. You don’t hear the New Scottish king asking for money, do you? No, because he knows better. Any bill that comes across my desk that does this is an instant veto. I don’t care what else is in it.”

“Yeah, that’s what I told him. Oh, your wife called.”

Nick’s heart skipped a beat, and he clenched his teeth as he white-knuckled his fingers around the wooden steering wheel. His foot pressed the accelerator imperceptibly as the car rolled past 115. “Which one? Alice or Julie?”

“Alice.”

He signed and relaxed, blowing air through his teeth. His ex-wife Julie always wanted something from him, and let’s face it, calling her a money-grubbing succubus was being polite. Nick had used way worse.

“- she wanted to know what you want for dinner,” Bella continued.

“I’m good with whatever Gale wants. I expect it’s chicken nuggets again. Tell her I should be home on time today.”

The comm buzzed again with another incoming call. “Hold on, Bella, I’m getting another call.” He muted Bella and accepted the second call. The image of his assistant was replaced by General Thaddius Grey standing over the camera with his arms crossed in front of his black and gray uniform.

General Grey was the commander of planetary defense, if one could call it that. It wasn’t like Terra Alpha had much more than antiquated planetary phaser platforms and a few phasers tucked under mattresses by the local militias. Theoretically, a squadron of Valkayre fighters was acquired as surplus from Dominion War inventories, but there was no telling what condition those twenty-five-year-old fighters were in.

“Governor.”

“General.”

Grey hesitated, and then, as if reading from a prepared speech, he glanced down. “The Mount is detecting some unusual subspace activity.”

Nick frowned and let out a guttural growl, “Stranger than what has cut us off from the rest of the Federation?”

“We’re not sure what to make of it at the moment, sir.” There was a long pause, and then his face fell. “Sir, we are detecting new readings. It’s an intense gravimetric distortion. The scientists are calling it an aperture.”

Someone called him, and he turned his back on the governor. An excited but unintelligible voice reported to Grey. “That’s impossible… No, your readings are wrong. What do you mean it matches? Ships? How many?” Grey turned back to the comm station, his eyes wide in fear. “Sir, Vuadwaur ships are emerging from an under-space aperture.”

Nick’s right foot switched to the brake as he dropped three gears as the drive train, and his tires whined in protest. “Sorry baby,” he said to the car as he steered into the median, the rear tires kicking up mud and grass as the tires churned in the soft earth. The Corvette bounced onto the southbound side with a squeal and skittering of tires. Nick pressed the accelerator to the carpet, the speedometer crawling past 220 kilometers per hour.

It took him thirty minutes at a high rate of speed to arrive at The Mount. Officially, the Mount was a bunker for the Governor and the Planetary Counsel. It was buried deep into a mountain near Capital City. While its existence wasn’t a secret per se, you would not find it in any government database unless you had top-level clearance. And even if you did, it was “need to know,” if you didn’t need to know, knowledge of its existence was as far as you got.

But, the Mount was more than just a bunker. It was also an intelligence skiff inspired by NORAD. After getting elected to his first term, this had been his pet project, once an intelligence operative, always an intelligence operative. With the latest technology packed into it, he used the Mount to keep an eye on their less-than-friendly neighbors and sealed the design with a hidden entrance.  He had taken the fall once to protect the Federation and would do so again, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t put his talents to use on Terra Alpha.

Nick pulled up to a dirt lot in the middle of a park that led up to the side of a mountain. Pines and cottonwoods stood tall, bathing the area in shadow. A trashcan with a green dog clean-up station stood beside a split rail fence separating the grassy park from the parking area. He jumped out of the Corvette without opening the door and approached a rock wall at the end of the parking lot.

He glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one was watching and pressed a button on a wristband. A holographic rock wall shimmered out of existence to reveal a set of parting doors. He stepped into the cool, dark interior as the doors slid closed behind him and the holo projectors hummed back to life.

The hall was a simple concrete rectangle with exposed conduits hanging from the ceiling and lights spaced every two meters apart. It was silent as a tomb—there was no hum of engines or whine of environmental systems. The heels of his polished dress shoes clicked on the hard floor, echoing off the walls.

The corridor bent sharply to the left and opened into a 30 by 30-meter room with an open heavy blast door. When he entered the room, a pair of bored security guards were sitting around a table playing cards. One of the guards gave him a disinterested glance, did a double-take, and snapped to attention, sending his chair toppling over.

“Governor, I didn’t know you were coming.”

His friend froze for a second, set his cards down, and slowly rose to face Nick, his eyes wide.”

Nick chuckled, “Relax, gentlemen.”

They did… a bit.

Extending his wrist, Nick swiped the wristband at the security terminal, and it buzzed. “Welcome to The Mount Governor Ryder. Entry granted.”

“Welcome back, sir,” the second guard said, entering data into a PADD.

“Who’s doing escorts today?” Nick asked.

“Korrok and Terrell,” the first guard replied, making entries into his computer.

“Well, at least they know their stuff,” Nick said, laughing. The guards didn’t react.

His escorts arrived just in time. The two Klingon mercenaries wore their standard warrior armor, but on their sashes were TA badges. The two Klingons towered over him, never saying a word, escorting him through multiple checkpoints as they worked their way deeper and deeper into the facility.

Commander Angelica Ryder looked up as the turbolift doors parted. She removed her black-rimmed glasses, tucking a dark strand of hair behind her ear as she approached Nick as he stepped off the turbolift. Her red Starfleet uniform was perfectly tailored to fit her athletic build. Soft hazel eyes were complimented with perfectly contoured makeup.

“Hey, pumpkin,” Nick greeted and squeezed Angel’s shoulder.

“Hey, Dad.”

Stopping at the center of the room, Nick stared at the hanging monitors, taking in the video and data sensor scans streaming past without commentary. Angel stood beside her father, giving him a curt professional nod. Nick noted the clenching of her jaw and an expression of curiosity playing on her face. She was nothing like him at that age. He smirked. Angel was more like Becca. Despite some scurrilous rumors, she was not Angel’s mother; that was Julie, and she was nothing like her mother either. Thank God.

“Vuaadwaur,” Angel said, her expression twisted in concern. She glanced at her father, trying to read his expression, and got nothing. “I checked the sensor data myself. Twice. At least a dozen ships.”

“You’re going to have to remind me who they are,” Nick said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and drawing his daughter closer, never taking his eyes off the monitor.

“A threat,” she said. “Ancient, territorial, and I doubt Captain Janeway endeared the Federation to them.”