Star Trek - TNG - A Time To Harvest

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The Skiff Turned to Face in Their Direction.

“Damn,” La Forge hissed through gritted teeth, freezing in place as the tiny craft angled toward him.

There was still a possibility that the pilot had not yet seen any movement or other indications of the away

team’s presence, but the chief engineer realized that as nothing more than wishful thinking as the skiff

moved to within twenty meters. Its nose dipped toward the asteroid’s surface, allowing the Dokaalan

seated inside the ship’s cockpit an unfettered examination of the rocky ground below him.

Even from twenty meters away, the pilot locked eyes with La Forge.

And he smiled.

“He’s got us!” La Forge shouted, no longer making any effort to remain hidden as the skiff accelerated

toward them. Bringing the phase pistol up, he moved the weapon’s selector switch to Kill, its maximum

power setting, sighted along the pistol’s short barrel, and fired….

Current books in this series:

A Time to Be Bornby John Vornholt

A Time to Dieby John Vornholt

A Time to Sowby Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

A Time to Harvestby Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

Forthcoming books in this series:

A Time to Loveby Robert Greenberger

A Time to Hateby Robert Greenberger

A Time to Killby David Mack

A Time to Healby David Mack

A Time for War, A Time for Peaceby Keith R.A. DeCandido

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s

imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or

dead, is entirely coincidental.

AnOriginalPublication of POCKET BOOKS

POCKET BOOKS, a division of

Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas,

New York, NY 10020

STAR TREK is a Registered

Trademark of Paramount

Pictures.

This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license

from Paramount Pictures.

For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN: 0-7434-8895-4

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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http://www.startrek.com

Acknowledgments

Hmmmm.

It seems we thanked a whole bunch of people on the acknowledgments page ofA Time to Sow.

However, once that book was laid to rest, it dawned on us that we had committed a most critical error

the first time around.

Yep, you guessed it. We forgot to mention our wives.

Whoops.

You’re probably saying to yourself, “Yeah, but their wives are, like, adults. They probably couldn’t care

less if their names aren’t mentioned in aStar Trekbook. I think Dayton and Kevin are making a big deal

out of nothing.”

Think again, Naïve Reader.

So, without any further delay, we’d like to take this opportunity to thankMICHIandMICHELLE,both of

whom display endless patience as their goofball husbands continue in their quest to be the oldest students

never to graduate from Romper Room.

And in our own best interests, we’re not thanking anyone else. Ever.

Except—and here’s where you should picture that poor guy at the award shows who has to talk over

the music because his colleague sucked up all the allotted air time—Kevin gives his sincere thanks to

Rosy King and the staff of the Paola (Kansas) Free Library and to Gloria and Chuck Gray and the staff

of the Paola McDonald’s franchise for allowing him to use their respective establishments as satellite

office space for the writing of portions of this novel.

Okay, that’s it.

No, we really mean it this time.

Really.

Push the button, Frank.

Prologue

Translated from the personal journal of Hjatyn:

ASIWRITE THIS,I wonder whether generations to come will read what I have recorded here and think

they have somehow mistaken one old man’s journal for a work of fiction.

On many nights while sitting alone in my library and reviewing what I have written in these pages, I

marvel at the events I chronicled along with the thoughts and feelings I experienced as those

extraordinary events unfolded. The fact that all of it is true, free from embellishment and requiring no such

aggrandizement on my part, is what makes our story all the more astonishing.

There can be no doubting that our journey has been a remarkable one. Watching the destruction of our

homeworld, Dokaal, and struggling for generations to forge an existence out here, within the artificial

environs of the various mining outposts among the asteroid field, it seemed impossible that we would ever

be able to achieve anything beyond simple survival. Still, we are here, having thrived splendidly despite

the challenges facing us and in fact having become dissatisfied with simply living. Despite all we have

accomplished, one vital thing keeps our lives from being complete: We still lack a genuine home. But in

true Dokaalan fashion we have set out to make one.

The remaking of the planet Ijuuka in Dokaal’s image can be described only as the singular technological

feat in our history. Transforming its poisonous atmosphere into one capable of sustaining our people has

required the employment of scientific and engineering principles never before imagined, not to mention the

invention of the technologies, equipment, and skills necessary to complete the task. It is a project of

mammoth complexity and duration, and watching our brightest minds devise and implement each stage of

the project has been awe-inspiring. Though I never shared the deep spirituality of my late wife, Beeliq, I

have found myself thanking Dokaa on more than one occasion for the blessings she seems to have given

this mammoth effort. My only regret, one I have harbored since the transformation project began, was

that I would not live long enough to see it completed.

That belief changed with the arrival of the magnificent alien vessel, theEnterprise,its crew representing a

vast community of people from hundreds of planets not at all dissimilar to ours. Incredibly, they have

come in response to a call for help issued generations ago.

As one of a shrinking number of Dokaalan alive at the time disaster struck our home planet, I remember

the speech First Minister Zahanzei gave to the people where he outlined a plan to dispatch unmanned

craft into space, each carrying an appeal for help. Everyone I talked to at the time considered it an

outlandish scheme born of desperation and panic, with no actual chance of success. While I had always

been of a mind to believe that there could be life on other planets far beyond the confines of Dokaal, I

held no illusions that three tiny vessels would be able to cross the immense void of space and be found by

such people, or that those same people would have the ability to help us. Still, a small part of me prayed

for the first minister’s plan to be successful, right up until the moment I watched my homeworld

disintegrate before my eyes.

And yet, here we are, long after Zahanzei’s death, with the answer to everything he prayed for all but

handed to us. I wonder what he would say today if he could be here to meet those who have traveled so

far in answer to his plea. My appreciation for the true size of our universe only grew as I listened to the

Enterprisecaptain’s account of how long it took to travel here from his home planet, despite his ship’s

ability to travel many times faster than the speed of light. It also goes a long way toward explaining why

such a large gap of time passed between the launching of our three unmanned ships and the discovery of

the first one, to say nothing of the interval that lapsed before the second probe was encountered.

Several members of the council expressed natural suspicion as to the aliens’ true motives. It is apparent

even from a cursory inspection of their vessel that they possess the technology and weaponry to conquer

us with minimal effort, and I will admit that I had my own reservations about our guests at first. Their dark

uniforms are intimidating, reminiscent of those worn by the military forces of a rival nation on Dokaal.

It is there that the similarities begin and end, however. That much was evident from the moment the ship

arrived here and its crew set to work attempting to rescue mining workers and their families from a

damaged outpost. Even though some people were lost in the effort, it was evident that theEnterprise

crew’s actions saved countless others. Their medical staff worked tirelessly to treat the wounded while

others provided all manner of support to displaced victims until our own ships could arrive from the

central habitat. In short, they are an extraordinary group of people.

Captain Picard in particular is an impressive man. While he is somewhat diminutive in stature compared

with the average Dokaalan, watching him during his interactions both with me and my staff and with

members of his own crew, there is no denying that he is a confident leader. His crew follows him of their

own free will, not simply because they are bound by an oath or contract. Even from my two brief

meetings with him I am drawn by a desire to trust this man.

It is also evident that the captain is a practiced diplomat. He has offered to help my people in a number

of ways, most notably to move us to a planet where we might make a new home for ourselves. Instead of

being offended at my polite refusal of his most generous offer, Picard expressed admiration at our desire

to complete our formidable task of remaking Ijuuka ourselves. Honoring the millions lost with the

destruction of Dokaal by completing the reformation ourselves and using the materials, tools, and skills at

our disposal is a pledge our people have taken very seriously, after all.

Still wishing to help, Captain Picard already has directed specialists aboard his ship to examine our

techniques and look for areas where we might improve what we are doing. He has posed the idea that

his crew might be able to provide suggestions for accelerating the project’s completion while still leaving

the work to us. It is a notion I find most agreeable, especially since, if it is successful, I will actually get

the opportunity to walk beneath a real sky and with real soil and grass under my feet, alongside nearly

everyone currently laboring to make our people’s collective dream a reality.

Beyond that, I am also intrigued and excited at the idea of learning more about Picard’s interstellar

community, his United Federation of Planets. It sounds like a wondrous ideal, with each member world

adding its individual technological and artistic gifts to the greater cooperative. Perhaps one day, after we

have established our new world, we will be invited to join that Federation.

The very possibility warms my heart, for I truly believe that accomplishing such a goal would be an even

greater testament to Dokaalan society and the legacy we seek to honor each day.

Chapter One

ALONE IN HER OFFICE,Fleet Admiral Alynna Nechayev relaxed in her favorite overstuffed chair

and held her mug of coffee close to her nose, allowing its aroma to warm and tickle her nostrils. The chair

was positioned so that she could look out over San Francisco Bay, watching as the first feeble rays of

sunlight began to highlight the Golden Gate Bridge through the dense morning fog.

The coffee, along with the splendid view, was her private pleasure, one of few she allowed herself while

ensconced in the surroundings of Starfleet Headquarters. The combination of Colombian beans and

Klingonraktajinowas a blend introduced to her by friend and colleague William Ross, and it had quickly

become a favored component of her morning ritual. After all, reading status reports and intelligence

briefings before sunrise went a lot easier over a good cup of coffee.

On this day, however, Nechayev was also able to take satisfaction from another quarter. The padd

resting in her lap and containing the latest status report from Jean-Luc Picard, sent from the Dokaalan

sector and the site of theEnterprise’s current mission, had already proven to be the highlight of the scores

of reports she was required to review. She had no doubt the report would cause much discussion during

the various meetings she would be required to attend today.

The sound of her door chime interrupted her reverie. “Come,” she called out, spinning her chair around

in time to see her office doors parting to allow Admiral Ross himself to enter.

“Good morning, Alynna,” Ross said as he stepped into the room. With his immaculately tailored Starfleet

uniform, close-cut dark black hair liberally peppered with gray, and blue eyes that seemed powerful

enough to bore through tritanium, the admiral presented the epitome of a Starfleet flag officer. That

description went far beyond simple appearances, of course, as Nechayev knew all too well. Ross had

overseen much of Starfleet’s operations during the Dominion War, establishing himself as a dynamic

leader and imaginative tactical commander. It could be well argued that a significant portion of the

Federation’s success during the war was directly attributable to William Ross.

“Hello, Bill,” Nechayev replied as she rose from her chair. Crossing the room toward the replicator set

into the wall to the left of her desk, she asked, “Coffee?”

Ross nodded. “Absolutely,” he said as he took a chair opposite hers by the window. Holding up the

padd he had brought with him, he added, “The morning briefs make for interesting reading, don’t they?”

“You could say that,” she replied as she moved back across the room, offering to Ross one of the two

coffee mugs she carried. Settling into her own seat, she looked through the window and saw that the hills

surrounding the bay were becoming visible as sunlight began to peek over the eastern horizon, signaling

the start of a new day. “I’m sure the day’s meetings will be just as enjoyable.” She took a sip from her

second mug of the morning, savoring the rich brew and knowing that her private time to truly enjoy the

enticing beverage had passed. It was no more than fuel now, providing what she hoped would be enough

energy to push through the numerous reports, briefings, and meetings that were part and parcel of the

day-to-day life of a high-ranking Starfleet staff officer.

“Some of these new directives are a little troubling,” Ross said, glancing down at his padd. “Can you

believe all this? Proposals for augmenting security patrols along the Klingon and Romulan borders as well

as the Bajoran sector, long-term plans for retrofitting all Starfleet vessels with heavier armaments

regardless of their current mission, permanent assignment of ground-combat units to line ships.” Looking

up, he shook his head. “I’ve even heard rumors of some new kind of elite classified unit being developed

to test starship and starbase security using the tactics of known enemies. That’s a bit extreme, don’t you

think?”

“I hadn’t heard that one yet,” Nechayev replied, thinking to herself as she spoke the words that, on the

surface, the idea did indeed seem a bit over the top. Upon further reflection, however, the admiral

realized there might well be some merit in the concept worth pursuing.

Shrugging after a moment, she added, “Still, we’ve learned some hard lessons over the years. Mr.

Azernal seems hell-bent to see that we learn from them and that we don’t get caught with our pants down

ever again.”

In addition to his notable political skills, Koll Azernal, chief of staff to the Federation President, had

garnered like many of his fellow Zakdorn a reputation as a renowned and cunning military strategist.

More so than people like Ross, Benjamin Sisko, and even Nechayev herself, Azernal’s tactical prowess

had contributed significantly to the Federation’s winning of the Dominion War. Now, in the wake of that

success, Azernal was using his formidable talents along with his newfound popularity to push forward

policies designed to ensure the Federation’s continued protection.

His speech to the Federation Council a month previously had left no doubt as to his feelings on the

matter. Citing the invasions by the Borg and the Dominion in recent years as well as other interstellar

emergencies along the way, Azernal had shown no mercy in recounting how these incidents had exposed

and exploited numerous weaknesses in Starfleet’s ability to defend the borders and people of the

Federation. In his view, drastic changes were required, and it was an opinion that appeared to be gaining

support.

“You have to admit he has a point,” Nechayev continued. “Maybe itistime we reexamined our approach

to defense. We’ve been taking it on the chin for a long time, Bill. Some of what Azernal is proposing

makes sense, when you think about it.”

Sipping his coffee, Ross replied, “I’m not going to argue that we can always do better when it comes to

defense.” He held up his padd for emphasis. “But some of this smacks of ‘too much too fast.’ Even

Starfleet Academy’s having to jump through hoops. Admiral Brand’s staff worked two nights straight

putting together a proposal for expanding the Academy’s combat strategies and tactics curriculum, and

introducing it earlier in the cadets’ training cycle. Azernal wants to increase class sizes at Command

School, too, so we can put more junior officers through before they take their first assignment.”

Her attention partly focused on the world beyond her window, Nechayev said, “None of that is out of

line. In fact, some of it’s been on the table for discussion for quite a while now.” Light flickered beyond

the window that formed the back wall of the office and a crack of thunder reverberated through its thick

glass. She turned to see that the approaching dawn had revealed a distant squall line of gray clouds

converging on the bay. Rain was about to christen the new day, it seemed. She hoped the imminent storm

was not an omen that might signal a change in her mood.

Nechayev knew that getting Admiral Brand to recommend changes to the Academy’s military training

curriculum would not have been difficult. The Academy superintendent had proposed greater emphasis

on such subjects almost from the first day she had assumed that posting and soon after the initial

discovery of the Borg and the awesome threat they represented.

“There may be such a thing as going too far,” Ross countered, rising from his chair and crossing to the

replicator. “Azernal’s paying a lot of attention to military initiatives, but what about other areas? We still

have a lot of problems to solve, after all.”

He had a point, Nechayev conceded. More than a year after the end of the Dominion War, rebuilding

efforts were still under way on many member worlds and would require much in the way of time and

resources to complete. If those concerns were ignored, the Federation risked alienating valuable allies at

a time they were most needed. While Nechayev appreciated the need for a strong defense and had

always advocated what she believed to be reasonable measures to assure that security, she had not

joined Starfleet merely to wage war. Were the policy changes proposed by Koll Azernal too drastic?

“I imagine the Federation Council will make sure he doesn’t go too far,” she said. “President Zife has

assured the Federation that his first priority is rebuilding and reconstruction efforts. I’m sure that when he

submits his plan to the council, all the issues, civilian and military, will be addressed accordingly.”

“I hope you’re right,” Ross said as he retrieved another cup of coffee from the replicator and moved

back toward his chair. “For the first time in a while, we’re at a point where we can concentrate on

something besides war. I joined Starfleet to explore, after all.”

As he passed her, Nechayev caught the scent of his coffee, its pleasing aroma touching off a grumbling in

her stomach and reminding her that she had not yet eaten breakfast. A glance to the wall chronometer

told her that she had fifteen minutes to see to that particular issue before the demands of her daily

schedule began in earnest.

Ignoring her stomach for the moment, she instead said, “I take it you’ve reviewed Picard’s report?”

Ross nodded as he sipped his coffee. “First thing.” Shrugging, he added, “I needed a pick-me-up after

the stuff I’ve been going over the last few days. His report is remarkable, to say the least.”

“That there are survivors is what’s remarkable,” Nechayev replied, “but considering their predicament,

that they’re thriving the way they are is incredible.”

Rather than finding the decimated remnants of a planet that had once been home to a prosperous

civilization, Jean-Luc Picard and theEnterprisehad instead found survivors of the catastrophe that had

destroyed the home planet of the Dokaalan more than two centuries earlier. Having accomplished

rudimentary spaceflight, the Dokaalan had established a network of mining colonies in the immense

asteroid field that drifted in orbit between the fifth and sixth planets of their solar system. The colonies

had provided a rich source of minerals and raw materials, extracted from the asteroids and transferred

back to the homeworld.

It was that technological achievement which had also allowed thousands of Dokaalan to seek shelter

among the mining colonies as their world fell victim to months of increasing tectonic stresses,

uncontrollable forces that ultimately tore the planet apart. Millions of Dokaalan were lost in the disaster,

leaving behind a scant fraction of the population to fend for themselves in the brutal environs of space and

the asteroid field. Those people and their descendants had gone on to fashion a new way of life, one

based at first on sheer survival and later augmented by fierce determination and the desire to honor those

who had lost their lives so long ago.

“Their level of technology is on a par with Earth’s at the time of our first permanent settlements on the

moon,” Ross said. “Their space vessels possess a rough equivalent to impulse drive, which at least make

interplanetary journeys possible within reasonable amounts of time, but their warp-drive efforts have been

almost nonexistent save for the rudimentary engines used to power the trio of unmanned probes they sent

with their call for help.”

Still, it was enough,she conceded. Primitive though the Dokaalan’s efforts at faster-than-light travel might

have been, they were still sufficient to circumvent any dissenting opinions voiced by some members of

Starfleet and the Federation Council that interacting with these people was a violation of the Prime

Directive. Per that very strict principle, such contact was reserved for those species who demonstrated

the ability to travel at warp speeds and had therefore unlocked the potential to hurl themselves into the

midst of an interstellar community they were in all likelihood ill prepared to face. So far as Nechayev was

concerned, the Dokaalan certainly qualified in that regard, having met the directive’s criteria in their own

unique way.

“I’d like to go back two hundred years,” she said, “and tell our predecessors what a mistake they made

by not sending a ship out to investigate when they found that first probe.”

Ross chuckled at that. “I wouldn’t be too hard on them, Alynna. Times were different back then, after

all.”

“True enough,” Nechayev conceded. “What did they have? One or two long-range ships that could

travel at warp five? That, and the Vulcans second-guessing everything Starfleet did.” Shaking her head,

she added, “It was definitely a different time.”But an exciting one,she amended silently.

“As for the Dokaalan, this terraforming project of theirs has a lot of people talking,” Ross continued,

retrieving his padd and scrolling to that portion of Picard’s report. “Terraform Command is already

jumping all over themselves to get a ship out there just from the information in theEnterprisechief

engineer’s preliminary report.” Shaking his head, he added, “I wonder if they’re excited about the

possibility of learning about a new terraforming method, or just scared that someone else out there has

the know-how to try it.”

A rhythmic tapping sound from the window caught Nechayev’s ear and she looked up to see the first

raindrops smacking against the glass. The storm was definitely on the move, she decided.

“I don’t think we have anything to worry about in that regard,” she said. “According to Picard’s report,

the Dokaalan are motivated solely by survival and a desire to make a real home for themselves. Besides,

it’ll take generations before that planet of theirs is ready.”

The rain smacking against the window was growing more insistent now, and even from her vantage point

high above the ground she could see trees far below swaying as the wind picked up, and idly wondered if

the weather-modification network would be required to make adjustments for the coming storm’s

intensity.

Interesting thought,she mused,considering the topic of conversation.

Placing his coffee cup on a table positioned between their chairs, Ross said, “He also said that they’ve

declined offers not only to be relocated to another suitable planet, but even for us to assist them in their

current efforts. Still, I’ve already spoken to Captain Scott and he tells me that as soon as we give the

word he can send theMusgraveand its S.C.E. detachment to the Dokaalan system. They’ll act as an

advance team until a full contingent from Terraform Command can get out there.”

Nechayev nodded at that. The Starfleet Corps of Engineers might not be the best long-term solution if

the Dokaalan changed their minds and accepted the offer of Federation assistance, but she knew that

Captain Montgomery Scott’s department of versatile engineering and technical specialists was more than

capable of filling in until a properly trained group of terraforming experts could be dispatched to the

Dokaalan sector. In addition to providing assistance as quickly as possible, the presence of theMusgrave

would be able to showcase Starfleet’s vast array of talents and proficiency.

“The tough part will be convincing the Dokaalan to accept our help,” she said.

“From everything Picard’s included in his reports,” Ross replied, “the Dokaalan are a proud and

peaceful people.” Nodding in approval, he added, “Still, if anyone can convince them of our desire to

help them in any way we can, it’s him. I trust his judgment.”

It was refreshing to hear someone else say that, Nechayev realized, especially when that someone was

Ross. In the weeks since the incident with the Ontailians, it almost seemed as though no one in the halls of

power at Starfleet Command was willing to voice their support of Jean-Luc Picard. This despite the fact

that at least a few of those same people knew the truth behind the incident and why he had taken the

blame for it. Even Ross himself had offered the notion in the aftermath of that incident that perhaps the

time had come for Picard to retire. He had later retracted that statement, and his comment now further

illustrated his restored faith in theEnterprisecaptain.

In the admiral’s defense, he originally had good reason for his original thinking. Indeed, at the outset of

the affair she too had been among those with strong feelings that Picard had finally reached the point in

his distinguished career where it was time to step down, at least from active starship command. Her

thinking had changed after learning the details of the incident, of course, and in the days afterward she

had found herself in the unfamiliar position of being Picard’s ally, even his protector.

Her relationship with the renowned captain had been a strained one at times, though as the years passed

she had come to appreciate the man’s talents, experience, and wisdom. To this day she remembered

their exchange over Picard’s decision not to deploy an invasive computer program into the Borg

Collective that might have destroyed the Federation’s most feared enemy in one bold maneuver. To him,

the attack would have been one of genocide, killing uncounted millions of individuals who were in fact

helpless victims forcibly assimilated by the Borg. It was an unconscionable action in his eyes, one he had

steadfastly refused to undertake.

While Nechayev still fervently believed that Picard had acted incorrectly from a military standpoint, she

had come to respect what had motivated him to make that decision. For Picard, the Federation’s laws

and guiding principles were more than mere words. He lived his life and carried out his duties in strict

adherence to those ideals. It was a position that had run him afoul of his superiors on numerous

occasions, including the situation with the Ontailians and the demon ship.

Of course, none of that had prevented Picard from being caught up in the larger machinations of

interstellar politics. The proverbial powder keg that was the Ontailian governmental situation was still so

delicate that their secession from the Federation was a constant threat. In order to prevent Ontailian

leaders from losing the trust of their people in the aftermath of the embarrassing demon-ship incident and

perhaps causing enough internal strife that they were forced to renounce their Federation membership,

Picard had instead taken responsibility for the affair. His willingness, in Nechayev’s eyes at least, had

done much to prove not only his loyalty to the Federation but also his absolute competence to command.

I’m sorry to be counted among those who doubted you, Captain,she thought, hoping one day that

circumstances would allow her to offer that apology in person.

Listening to the melodic rhythm of the raindrops pelting her office window for a few moments, she said,

“I trust him, too, though I wonder what some of his detractors will make of his report.” She held up her

own padd. “The trouble he ran into during that rescue mission is going to raise some eyebrows.

Twenty-seven deaths, including two of his own crew.” Shaking her head, she added, “It has to be

weighing on him pretty heavily, I’d think, and while I know it wasn’t his fault, somebody might use that as

just another reason to second-guess Starfleet’s decision to give him back command of theEnterprise.”

Ross shook his head. “They’d be picking at nits. He saved nearly four hundred victims during that rescue

operation. While it’s tragic that anyone was lost, it wasn’t because Picard was negligent and I’d be

happy to take on anyone who said otherwise.”

“Something tells me that when push came to shove, you’d have plenty of company,” Nechayev replied,

smiling at the image their comments evoked. Rising to her feet, she added, “And with that in mind, I

suppose we should be heading to the morning briefings.”

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TheSkiffTurnedtoFaceinTheirDirection.“Damn,”LaForgehissedthroughgrittedteeth,freezinginplaceasthetinycraftangledtowardhim.Therewasstillapossibilitythatthepilothadnotyetseenanymovementorotherindicationsoftheawayteam’spresence,butthechiefengineerrealizedthatasnothingmorethanwishfulthinkingastheskiffmo...

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