In the wake of the catastrophic events of Wildfire, Domenica Corsi and Fabian Stevens take a much-needed vacation, visiting Corsi's family on Fahleena III. Corsi is not happy about the trip, as she and her father, the head of a cargo-running company, haven't spoken in over six years.
An engine failure during a routine cargo run leads Corsi to confront her father, who reveals the deadly secret of the death of Corsi's uncle in a shocking tale from the Cardassian War that will change how Corsi views her family -- and her relationship with Stevens -- forever!
There are no customer reviews available at this time. Would you like to write a review?
Pocket Books/Star Trek
February 18, 2003
Number of Print Pages*
Adobe DRM EPUB
* Number of eBook pages may differ. Click here for more information.
Excerpt from Star Trek: Home Fires by Dayton Ward
Stardate 53904.8, Earth Year 2376
Domenica Corsi hated landings.
How many times had a rough approach or a bad setdown offered reasons for her never to set foot on the deck of a spacecraft again? Corsi had lost count, though she recalled a few instances with clarity. The entry into the steel-gray atmosphere of Svoboda II, a buffeted drop through a storm of howling wind and dangerous coatings of ice, almost ended her first command of a security detail before it even started.
Getting that beat-up two-seater settled on Pemberton's Point all those years ago had been a chore, too; a landing she would have aborted had it not been for Dar's insistence. Then there was the time that her father allowed her to pilot and land that transport, and a rented transport at that. Her attempts to dazzle him on touchdown almost cost them the vessel as well as its shipment of Bolian spice nectar, a cargo precious enough that its spoilage would have ruined the family business.
Despite the animosity she held for those experiences, separately or together, they and many others had failed to shake her resolve for duty and responsibility to her family, friends, and career. Time after time, the security officer picked herself up from the deck, brushed off the front of her Starfleet uniform, and leapt back aboard whatever passage she needed to press onward.
That was the way it had always been, at least until Galvan VI.
Corsi's memories of that roiling gas giant were more vivid than they had any right to be for her. Visions of being tossed and bobbled within the planet's turbulent and electrically charged clouds of liquid-metal hydrogen should not be putting her so ill at ease. She should not be able to recall most of it. At her ship's time of greatest need, a time when nearly two dozen of her friends and crewmates were sacrificing their lives aboard the U.S.S. da Vinci, the ship's security chief was down for the count.
I was unconscious, comatose, useless to the people who depended on me, she thought as her right hand clenched the armrest of her seat. I didn't go through the hell they did, not really. So why is this even an issue? Damn, for as many times as I've done this and walked, you'd think...
The shuttle pitched as it altered course, and Corsi felt her stomach lurch and the blood drain from her face. She pinched her eyes shut, trying to turn away mental flashes of white-hot lightning against boiling gas. Relaxing and letting her eyelids open, she turned to look out the port window with the hope that its view might calm her a bit. As expected, her destination lay below, and she studied the rooflines and landscaping of the well-maintained residence that appealed to her as oddly familiar even though she had never set foot within it.
Corsi felt the touch of a hand on her left forearm, followed by a voice. "You okay?"
"Don't hover over me," she snapped, not even turning from the window. The pressure on her arm disappeared and she missed it immediately, more so than she would have dared admit just a few days ago. Turning to face Fabian Stevens, the shuttle's only other occupant, she saw him offer a slight smile that seemed to work better at calming her stomach than did her view of the ground. "Sorry." She managed a weak smile of her own in return but knew it had to appear forced, especially to someone with whom she had shared so much.
Including, well, my bed.