Chapter 15 (cont)
LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.
NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2010.
Chapter 15 (cont)
THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON DC, USA
EARTH
23rd January 2026 – 1910 EST (24th January 2026 – 0010 UTC)
In the Oval Office, Stephen Stearman was in conference with Robert Carmel and Robert Hollander, and the atmosphere was both informal yet intense. Stearman had taken a brief video call from Madeline Everett a short while ago stating that while she would not be back in office for a while, she most certainly would be back whatever happened.
Stearman had been visibly relieved when Maddy had promised to make daily calls to give advice and receive updates on current events realising that while his short term was definitely proving to be enlightening, he would have the support of the country’s real leader to see him through.
Carmel was gratified when Stearman had publicly acknowledged the aid he had received from all the staff around him. It was the sort of statement he couldn’t have possibly imagined coming from the man even a short while ago. It seemed that events were reshaping the previously shallow and sanctimonious man.
Eventually the briefing had turned to the asteroid threatening Earth, now unofficially named Mjölnir after the Nordic god Thor’s hammer. Maddy spoke to them of her plan to initiate a world network of specialists to work on just such an eventuality which was one of the reasons she had been flying to London.
“While it looks like events have slightly overtaken us, it simply makes the need to get this into the scientific domain as soon as possible even more important.”
Carmel felt obliged to play devil’s advocate and said, “What about public panic? This news will be in the scientific domain for seconds before it hits the net.”
Maddy sighed having obviously had this argument with herself. “I honestly don’t see any other option Robert. This is a world crisis and it will take a world effort to avert it. To be honest, I’d prefer panic sooner rather than later.”
Maddy provided Stearman with access to the file she had been working on with NASA Administrator Abigail March on that ill fated flight. In it were the necessary contacts and protocols for the international community and even pre-scripted speeches that Maddy would have delivered in London.
“We need to act as soon as possible on this and I’m sorry I can’t be there to support you, not in body just yet anyway.”
There was a small beep from Maddy’s terminal and she grimaced. “Well, that’s the sedatives kicking in. I’ll check back in tomorrow, but let’s not linger with this. Good night.”
A chorus of “Good night Madam President” heralded the end of the briefing, but just the start of their work. It would last late into the night, but by morning they were determined to have something that the President would approve of.
EASTERN MEDITERRANEAN
SOUTH WEST OF CYPRUS
EARTH
24th January 2026 – 0030 ZULU (0030 UTC)
Admiral Packard had been as good as his word in mobilising the Harry S Truman Carrier Strike Group consisting of twelve combat ships. Originally en route to the Arabian Sea via the Suez Canal to relieve the George Washington Carrier Strike Group, they had been retasked and assigned, or ‘chopped’ in naval parlance, to the Sixth Fleet Area of Operations that covered the Mediterranean.
In overall command of the Carrier Strike Group was Rear Admiral Harold Ericson, a man who had seen extensive service in the Middle Eastern theatre during his forty years of service and knew the waters, and perhaps more importantly the sometimes delicate process of operating in them, very well. It had been his decision to approach the Israeli coast with full deck lighting on every vessel before dropping anchor in International waters south south west of Cyprus. His hope was that any Israeli military unit would see and identify the vessels, including the three cargo vessels carrying relief supplies that had joined them, before deciding they were a threat.
Ericson looked around the quiet, dimly lit Combat Information Centre or CIC. This was the heart of the combat group’s operations and yet, where closed doors kept the room in semi-darkness, calm and professionalism were the order of the day. Everyone’s lips seemed to be moving, talking to unseen personnel. It could have been a lookout topside, visually assessing what CIC personnel “saw” electronically in the small compartment in the bowels of the carrier; it might have been the Captain or gunnery officer or the CIC officer in a destroyer off the port bow, or it might have been a pilot seventy miles away, ten thousand feet up.
CIC was the nerve centre of the modern warship, where all available sources of combat intelligence were gathered and quickly disseminated to the flag and commanding officers, and to other control stations. From its humble beginnings the CIC had now become the focal point for all naval operation tactics. And here in the fleet’s nerve centre, a quiet aura of expectation hung over the assembled officers.
“Has there been any response at all to our communications?” queried Ericson.
“Nothing in the electronic range at all Sir,” replied the communications officer from his station. “We’ve fallen back on the signal lamp hoping that somebody from shore can spot it and respond.”
Ericson nodded and for the next ten minutes silently circled the room, trying not to interfere with the operation and feeling impotent at his inability to affect its outcome right now. His silent perambulations were interrupted by an excited shout from the comms officer.
“Sir!”
Ericson hurried to the officer’s console, silently praying that the mission wasn’t about to fall apart.
“Sir we’ve had a response from shore! They’re answering the signal lamp.”
The officer clamped a hand to his ear and began writing as Ericson waited impatiently. Eventually, with a brief “standby”, he turned to Ericson with a grin.
“We’ve made contact with an air defence unit. They say they have no power at all but are working with wind up torches. The message was slightly garbled, but we’ve confirmed permission to go ashore with a light craft and meet with the commander of the installation.”
The relief in the CIC was palpable and smiles returned.
“Excellent!” Ericson was on his feet and pacing. “Signal back that we will arrive at daybreak, under whatever security arrangements they require.”
“Aye Sir.” The comms officer returned to his link with the flight deck as Ericson began planning the arrangements for the dawn landing.
“Flight, I need an Osprey ready with a Humvee, a generator and comms equipment. Once we get clearance I don’t want to be holding any longer than we need.” As the flight deck officer made to leave for his assignment, Ericson stopped him. “Make sure they prepare a second load-out but with encrypted gear. If this works out, the next flight will be direct to Jerusalem.”
YANGLIUQING SECURITY BUNKER
XIQING DISTRICT
TIANJIN
CHINA
EARTH
24th January 2026 – 0848 China Standard Time (0648 UTC)
Chimera stood silently in the spotlessly clean observation room, the tang of antiseptic reminding him that he was in a medical facility even if the activity taking place on the wall screen had left him in any doubt.
In high definition, he observed the painstaking operation to remove the device from Wong Mei-Li’s spine. Burke had explained that while the device itself was little problem to remove, the filaments that snaked and twined into the young woman’s spinal cord were a different matter altogether.
It had now been several hours and Chimera had been there throughout, awake and concerned. They had no idea if removing the device would harm or possibly even kill the unfortunate woman; neither were eventualities that Chimera desired. Even if, however, it left her unharmed the state of her mind was something they would likely not be able to alter and a wave of anger washed through him once more.
That any person or group could so abuse people incensed him. He had, in his past, killed but it was not something he was proud of even though at the time it had seemed to be for a cause whose ends justified its means. Even the killing of Huo had not been a murder incited by revenge; it had been the euthanizing of an animal to Chimera’s mind and more importantly it had served justice.
He recalled in his darker moments, a quote from Nietzsche. He who fights monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. It had become almost a mantra to him in these days of monstrous acts wondering whether he would truly be aware if he crossed the line and became that which he so despised. He hoped so but knew that the insane rarely recognised their own madness.
Song, his Korean chief of security, had been true to his word when thirty minutes ago he had returned to the secure base with the seven sedated occupants of the SUV from Shanghai. They were now being held in a transmission proof secure area and their sedation was being maintained. Nobody knew whether the link to the mind control device was two way and Song had strongly suggested that they not take the risk of finding out.
Chimera was intensely proud and protective of the staff that surrounded him, not because of their mindless willingness to obey his orders, because that was the staff of a dictator. It was their capacity to question those orders if they were counter-productive or dangerous and he rarely ignored advice of that magnitude.
“Chimera? It’s done.”
The soft sound of Burke’s voice was soon accompanied by her image on screen looking tired and concerned.
“I need to remind you again that we’re flying blind here. I recommend that we allow Ms Wong to recover in her own time and take it from there.”
He nodded despite the fact that he was aware Burke couldn’t see him.
“If we have an expert Charlotte, then you are it. I bow to your recommendation.”
He watched as Wong was wheeled from the theatre wondering just what they would truly discover when she awoke.
“Then your expert also recommends that you now get some sleep before reporting to my office for a long overdue medical check.” She grinned, her long relationship with this gentle man allowing perhaps slightly more leeway than others. “Actually, make that a doctor’s order.”
For the first time in some while he laughed out loud in the quiet room. “It is a very long time since I received such a polite order Charlotte. I’ll ensure that I see you this afternoon.”
“Just remember that’s been recorded,” she smiled before switching off the camera.
LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.
NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2010.
Chapter 15 (cont)
THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON DC, USA
EARTH
23rd January 2026 – 1910 EST (24th January 2026 – 0010 UTC)
In the Oval Office, Stephen Stearman was in conference with Robert Carmel and Robert Hollander, and the atmosphere was both informal yet intense. Stearman had taken a brief video call from Madeline Everett a short while ago stating that while she would not be back in office for a while, she most certainly would be back whatever happened.
Stearman had been visibly relieved when Maddy had promised to make daily calls to give advice and receive updates on current events realising that while his short term was definitely proving to be enlightening, he would have the support of the country’s real leader to see him through.
Carmel was gratified when Stearman had publicly acknowledged the aid he had received from all the staff around him. It was the sort of statement he couldn’t have possibly imagined coming from the man even a short while ago. It seemed that events were reshaping the previously shallow and sanctimonious man.
Eventually the briefing had turned to the asteroid threatening Earth, now unofficially named Mjölnir after the Nordic god Thor’s hammer. Maddy spoke to them of her plan to initiate a world network of specialists to work on just such an eventuality which was one of the reasons she had been flying to London.
“While it looks like events have slightly overtaken us, it simply makes the need to get this into the scientific domain as soon as possible even more important.”
Carmel felt obliged to play devil’s advocate and said, “What about public panic? This news will be in the scientific domain for seconds before it hits the net.”
Maddy sighed having obviously had this argument with herself. “I honestly don’t see any other option Robert. This is a world crisis and it will take a world effort to avert it. To be honest, I’d prefer panic sooner rather than later.”
Maddy provided Stearman with access to the file she had been working on with NASA Administrator Abigail March on that ill fated flight. In it were the necessary contacts and protocols for the international community and even pre-scripted speeches that Maddy would have delivered in London.
“We need to act as soon as possible on this and I’m sorry I can’t be there to support you, not in body just yet anyway.”
There was a small beep from Maddy’s terminal and she grimaced. “Well, that’s the sedatives kicking in. I’ll check back in tomorrow, but let’s not linger with this. Good night.”
A chorus of “Good night Madam President” heralded the end of the briefing, but just the start of their work. It would last late into the night, but by morning they were determined to have something that the President would approve of.
EASTERN MEDITERRANEAN
SOUTH WEST OF CYPRUS
EARTH
24th January 2026 – 0030 ZULU (0030 UTC)
Admiral Packard had been as good as his word in mobilising the Harry S Truman Carrier Strike Group consisting of twelve combat ships. Originally en route to the Arabian Sea via the Suez Canal to relieve the George Washington Carrier Strike Group, they had been retasked and assigned, or ‘chopped’ in naval parlance, to the Sixth Fleet Area of Operations that covered the Mediterranean.
In overall command of the Carrier Strike Group was Rear Admiral Harold Ericson, a man who had seen extensive service in the Middle Eastern theatre during his forty years of service and knew the waters, and perhaps more importantly the sometimes delicate process of operating in them, very well. It had been his decision to approach the Israeli coast with full deck lighting on every vessel before dropping anchor in International waters south south west of Cyprus. His hope was that any Israeli military unit would see and identify the vessels, including the three cargo vessels carrying relief supplies that had joined them, before deciding they were a threat.
Ericson looked around the quiet, dimly lit Combat Information Centre or CIC. This was the heart of the combat group’s operations and yet, where closed doors kept the room in semi-darkness, calm and professionalism were the order of the day. Everyone’s lips seemed to be moving, talking to unseen personnel. It could have been a lookout topside, visually assessing what CIC personnel “saw” electronically in the small compartment in the bowels of the carrier; it might have been the Captain or gunnery officer or the CIC officer in a destroyer off the port bow, or it might have been a pilot seventy miles away, ten thousand feet up.
CIC was the nerve centre of the modern warship, where all available sources of combat intelligence were gathered and quickly disseminated to the flag and commanding officers, and to other control stations. From its humble beginnings the CIC had now become the focal point for all naval operation tactics. And here in the fleet’s nerve centre, a quiet aura of expectation hung over the assembled officers.
“Has there been any response at all to our communications?” queried Ericson.
“Nothing in the electronic range at all Sir,” replied the communications officer from his station. “We’ve fallen back on the signal lamp hoping that somebody from shore can spot it and respond.”
Ericson nodded and for the next ten minutes silently circled the room, trying not to interfere with the operation and feeling impotent at his inability to affect its outcome right now. His silent perambulations were interrupted by an excited shout from the comms officer.
“Sir!”
Ericson hurried to the officer’s console, silently praying that the mission wasn’t about to fall apart.
“Sir we’ve had a response from shore! They’re answering the signal lamp.”
The officer clamped a hand to his ear and began writing as Ericson waited impatiently. Eventually, with a brief “standby”, he turned to Ericson with a grin.
“We’ve made contact with an air defence unit. They say they have no power at all but are working with wind up torches. The message was slightly garbled, but we’ve confirmed permission to go ashore with a light craft and meet with the commander of the installation.”
The relief in the CIC was palpable and smiles returned.
“Excellent!” Ericson was on his feet and pacing. “Signal back that we will arrive at daybreak, under whatever security arrangements they require.”
“Aye Sir.” The comms officer returned to his link with the flight deck as Ericson began planning the arrangements for the dawn landing.
“Flight, I need an Osprey ready with a Humvee, a generator and comms equipment. Once we get clearance I don’t want to be holding any longer than we need.” As the flight deck officer made to leave for his assignment, Ericson stopped him. “Make sure they prepare a second load-out but with encrypted gear. If this works out, the next flight will be direct to Jerusalem.”
YANGLIUQING SECURITY BUNKER
XIQING DISTRICT
TIANJIN
CHINA
EARTH
24th January 2026 – 0848 China Standard Time (0648 UTC)
Chimera stood silently in the spotlessly clean observation room, the tang of antiseptic reminding him that he was in a medical facility even if the activity taking place on the wall screen had left him in any doubt.
In high definition, he observed the painstaking operation to remove the device from Wong Mei-Li’s spine. Burke had explained that while the device itself was little problem to remove, the filaments that snaked and twined into the young woman’s spinal cord were a different matter altogether.
It had now been several hours and Chimera had been there throughout, awake and concerned. They had no idea if removing the device would harm or possibly even kill the unfortunate woman; neither were eventualities that Chimera desired. Even if, however, it left her unharmed the state of her mind was something they would likely not be able to alter and a wave of anger washed through him once more.
That any person or group could so abuse people incensed him. He had, in his past, killed but it was not something he was proud of even though at the time it had seemed to be for a cause whose ends justified its means. Even the killing of Huo had not been a murder incited by revenge; it had been the euthanizing of an animal to Chimera’s mind and more importantly it had served justice.
He recalled in his darker moments, a quote from Nietzsche. He who fights monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. It had become almost a mantra to him in these days of monstrous acts wondering whether he would truly be aware if he crossed the line and became that which he so despised. He hoped so but knew that the insane rarely recognised their own madness.
Song, his Korean chief of security, had been true to his word when thirty minutes ago he had returned to the secure base with the seven sedated occupants of the SUV from Shanghai. They were now being held in a transmission proof secure area and their sedation was being maintained. Nobody knew whether the link to the mind control device was two way and Song had strongly suggested that they not take the risk of finding out.
Chimera was intensely proud and protective of the staff that surrounded him, not because of their mindless willingness to obey his orders, because that was the staff of a dictator. It was their capacity to question those orders if they were counter-productive or dangerous and he rarely ignored advice of that magnitude.
“Chimera? It’s done.”
The soft sound of Burke’s voice was soon accompanied by her image on screen looking tired and concerned.
“I need to remind you again that we’re flying blind here. I recommend that we allow Ms Wong to recover in her own time and take it from there.”
He nodded despite the fact that he was aware Burke couldn’t see him.
“If we have an expert Charlotte, then you are it. I bow to your recommendation.”
He watched as Wong was wheeled from the theatre wondering just what they would truly discover when she awoke.
“Then your expert also recommends that you now get some sleep before reporting to my office for a long overdue medical check.” She grinned, her long relationship with this gentle man allowing perhaps slightly more leeway than others. “Actually, make that a doctor’s order.”
For the first time in some while he laughed out loud in the quiet room. “It is a very long time since I received such a polite order Charlotte. I’ll ensure that I see you this afternoon.”
“Just remember that’s been recorded,” she smiled before switching off the camera.
