Peter David's unforgettable novels of Captain Mackenzie Calhoun and the crew of the Starship Excalibur remain one of Star Trek's most popular book series among fans. Now, David continues the thrilling new direction for the New Frontier universe begun in After the Fall with a novel that will shock and delight longtime and brand-new readers of this acclaimed series. Following the dramatic events of After the Fall, Captain Mackenzie Calhoun and the crew of the U.S.S. Excalibur find themselves catapulted headlong into another universe, far from the New Thallonian Protectorate and Sector 221-G. . . a place where an ancient war rages between two powerful alien races. But Calhoun has no intention of staying here for very long and, adopting the time-honored philosophy of "the enemy of my enemy is my friend," takes it upon himself to somehow (and by any means necessary) persuade one side or the other to help him and his crew get back home. Meanwhile, the shadow of war has fallen over the New Thallonian Protectorate, and an embattled Si Cwan faces growing treachery as he attempts to maintain his tenuous hold on power. With Starfleet and the Federation declaring Sector 221-G temporarily off-limits, Admiral Elizabeth Shelby and Captain Kat Mueller decide to take matters into their own hands, ignoring orders by trying to find some way of getting to the Excalibur, presuming there is any Excalibur to get to. But they never count on the most unexpected of allies -- an old friend whose shifting loyalties are about to be put to the ultimate test even as a growing cataclysm looms. . . . The Spectre i. Commander Soleta, late of the Federation, dedicated agent in the service of the Romulan Praetor, sat in her quarters aboard her stealth vessel and thoughtfully studied the data chip that she held delicately between her fingers. "I wonder who died for it?" she said aloud. She knew that someone had. Xyon, the cheery spacegoing pirate who had obtained it for them, had as much as said he'd had to kill someone to obtain it. She wondered who it might have been. She wasn't concerned about the morality of it. She had been given a specific assignment: to get information on the new weapon the Orions were developing. She, in turn, had made use of Xyon's unique talents, and he had gotten the job done. So here it was in her hand, and Xyon had needed to get it over someone's dead body. Had it been an innocent? Had it been someone of no real consequence? Was it, perhaps, an Orion spy who had tried to get in Xyon's way? And what of that spy? Knowing Xyon, he had probably left no traces of the body, or bodies, so it would remain a permanent mystery. Weapons systems. Sometimes she felt as if the universe was a massive chess game being played, where one side would come up with a weapon that another would put into check, and the other side would simply develop a new weapon to overcome the previous one. And so on and so on, greater and greater weapons, more and more impressive means of annihilating races, planets, star systems. She had to wonder if someday, someone would develop a weapon so powerful that there would be no such thing as a "check" for it. Instead it would be check, mate, and game over. "Who died," she said again, staring at the chip, continuing to turn it over in her hand, "to try and keep this information from us? So that we can use it, build the weaponry ourselves, or figure out how to thwart whatever it is the Orions make . . . until, of course, they overcome us in turn. Perhaps . . ." She set it down carefully upon her desk. "Perhaps we should try and cease the endless cycle for once." A small model of a Borg cube sat upon her desk, a gift once given her by Elizabeth Shelby -- something of a Borg expert -- and her only possession from her previous "life." She picked it up, hefted it. It had satisfactory weight to it. She brought it up and held it over the chip. It would take such little effort to bring it smashing down upon the chip, crunching it into uselessness. Then the nameless Orion, who perished in an attempt to keep a secret, would not have done so in vain. Her hand did not tremble in the slightest, not betraying in the least the indecision within her. Then, very slowly and carefully, so as not to risk damaging the chip, she lowered the Borg-ship model and placed it gently next to it. A useless impulse left over from a time when I had a conscience. There was a buzz at her door. She called out, "Come." Her tribune -- the Romulan equivalent of a first officer in Starfleet -- stood in the doorway. His name was Lucius and for as long as he had served under her, Soleta hadn't the faintest idea where he stood in terms of his loyalty to her. He maintained a resolute poker face in all dealings with her, remaining always stiff and formal. He never appeared to relax or let down his guard with her. Then again, as near as she could determine, he never let down his guard with anyone. It was possible she was overanalyzi