UT:TFV – Part III – Infinities Unbound (Chapter 7)
Chapter Seven
<cont'd>
USS Europa
Deck 2 - Executive Officer’s Office
The door to Iris Wu’s office chimed. Without looking up from her sundry datawork, she intoned, “Enter.”
Georgia Kirk stepped across the threshold, data padd in hand, bearing a curious expression as she came to attention in front of the XO’s desk.
Wu glanced up from her task. “At ease. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”
Kirk relaxed slightly. “Sir, I’ve stumbled across something that’s got me concerned. I’m—I’m unsure whether it’s genuine, or a cataloguing error, or somebody’s idea of a sick joke.”
Her curiosity piqued, Wu sat back in her chair. “Explain.”
“The automated system we use to track all Alpha Weapons usage… well, while I was double-checking the reports, I found that we registered not one, but two Alpha-Weapon deployments against the Amon. The… uh, 'Oddfellow?'"
The XO gave no indication or outward sign of confusion or distress at the news. She held her typical stoic expression and informed Kirk, "That’s probably because Oddfellow was something of a dual entity.”
Kirk bobbed her head. “That was my first thought as well. However, the second Alpha Weapon has its own designation in the system report.” The Ops Manager set the padd down in front of Wu, so that it’s text was legible: “Weapon Alpha-Three.”
Wu barely glanced down at the remainder of the entry to verify the evidence before she lifted her dark brown eyes back to Kirk. She said nothing and the silence grew awkward within her office.
“This has to be a joke,” Kirk insisted.
“No,” Wu breathed. “I believe this is someone’s rational, dispassionate tactical assessment.” Wu continued to fix her glare upon Kirk. “Truth be told, I’d be hard pressed to argue their point. Can you?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Kirk allowed. “No, sir. I can’t.”
“Until I've had a chance to investigate this further, it doesn’t go beyond the two of us, Lieutenant. Are we clear?”
Kirk nodded wordlessly.
“Dismissed,” Wu ordered curtly. She returned her attention to the small display on the padd for nearly thirty seconds after Kirk had left the cabin. Finally, Wu picked up the device, gave it one last look, and deleted the entry.
It read,
“Weapon Alpha-Three: Lar’ragos, Pava, No Middle Initial. Category: Biological, WMD.”
* * *
Wu stood patiently at the airlock as Lar’ragos and the diplomatic team returned to
Europa from their intensive negotiations with the Amon.
The exhaustion was clearly evident in their expressions, with the notable exception of Dr. Reskos, who bore the bland mien he’d adopted as his default countenance. They’d been away from the ship for twenty-seven hours, precious little of which had been given over to sleep.
Pell seemed the most out of sorts, Wu observed. Given her personal history with Sandhurst, that was to be expected, Wu thought sadly.
Wu gave Lar’ragos an expectant look. “So, Mister Oddfellow worked out for us, then?”
Lar’ragos responded with a tired smile. “Perfect timing, Commander. My thanks.”
She fell into step with the captain as he trudged down the corridor towards the turbolift.
“Any idea what he… or
they were, sir? Interacting with Oddfellow was damned surreal.”
“In fact I have no idea,” Lar’ragos responded. “I think it’s something we’ll have to chalk up to Starfleet having encountered a lot of weird shit in the past two centuries.”
Wu actually chuckled at that. “Copy that. Where are we with the Amon, sir, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Better than we have any right to hope,” Lar’ragos answered. “They’re onboard with our plan to stop the Skorrah.”
“Skorrah, sir?”
“Oh, sorry,” he shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs of sleep debt. “A new designation for the predatory Amon tribe.” Lar’ragos shot Wu a rueful glance as he continued. “However, things regarding our mutual enemy are a lot more complicated and dangerous than we’d guessed.”
They reached the turbolift and awaited the arrival of a car.
“How so, sir?” she asked.
“It turns out that in order to confront the Skorrah, we’re going to have to take a little extra-galactic jaunt to the tune of around two-hundred thousand light years.”
The turbocar arrived and Lar’ragos stepped through parting doors. He turned to find Wu still standing where she’d been, her faced pinched in an unaccustomed expression of shock. “I thought twenty-thousand light years from home was sufficient,” she uttered softly.
“Going up,” Lar’ragos announced sardonically. “Next floor, phasers, razors, Tellarite lingerie, and Vulcan sundries.”
Now Wu looked downright baffled.
“Old-timey elevator humor, Commander…” he sighed. “Never mind. Please arrange quarters for former Captain Sandhurst and Lieutenant Verrik. Zeischt will be coming aboard to assist us with our transwarp engine modifications. I’ll want Verrik reactivated, so note his official status changed from AWOL to Repatriated Prisoner of War.”
Wu made mental notes on both. “Aye, sir. I’d advise we establish Level-One computer safety lockouts on Zeischt’s cabin, sir.”
Lar’ragos’ resulting smirk was muted. “Of course, for all the good that’ll do. He was able to program rings around us before while covering his tracks almost perfectly.”
“I can have engineering sever the ODN trunks leading to his quarters and establish a Level-Three containment field that would prevent wireless data transfer?”
A brief nod and a genuine smile emerged from her commanding officer. “Good thinking, make it happen.”
“And Lieutenant Verrik, sir? In what capacity should I assign him? I’d think Mister Leone would be rather put out to be seconded to Verrik after holding the department head post.”
“No, Leone stays in place, he’s more than earned it. List Verrik as a tactical adviser for the time being, until we can find a more permanent assignment for him. His knowledge of the Amon should prove especially valuable.” He glanced at his wrist chronometer. “I’ve got to go clean up. Meet me on the bridge in twenty minutes. We’re going to undock from the cube, and I need to get close enough to Galaxy Station to confer with Admiral T’Cirya in real-time.”
* * *
Lar’ragos stepped into his quarters and promptly sank to his knees, a soft groan escaping his lips as the wave of agony he’d been holding at bay for hours was finally released. He unzipped his uniform jumpsuit, and collapsed onto the deck on his back as he struggled out of the top and the command red shirt underneath.
His breath came in great gasps as another searing wave of torment caused him to writhe across the carpet, his hands clawing at the air as he sought some kind of purchase to propel him away from the mind-rending torture.
After a moment that seemed an eternity, it had abated sufficiently that Lar’ragos was able to roll over and rise shakily to his hands and knees. He crawled with careful deliberation into the sleeping cabin of his quarters, reaching up with a tremulous hand to clumsily retrieve a hypospray from a drawer of his bedside nightstand.
Another paroxysm seized him, and Lar’ragos collapsed onto his back again. He cried out wordlessly as his chest and abdomen began to glow a dull red, as though he was being lit from within. The hypospray had fallen from his convulsing hand and lay there, just out of reach as Lar’ragos managed to gasp, “No -- Not yet!”
It took every iota of strength he had remaining to hold the terrible mechanism in check, and as he felt that last portion of control slipping, the pain eased just enough for him to grab up the hypospray and touch it to his neck. He felt himself begin to cool, the blistering agony that had suffused his entire being was easing, becoming once again a more tolerable level of persistent discomfort.
Once he had composed himself enough to speak coherently, Lar’ragos activated the comms to the bridge. “Commander Wu, I may have… underestimated my level of exhaustion. Please oversee our departure from the Amon ship, and set course for Galaxy Station, best speed.”
After Wu had acknowledged the order, Lar’ragos rolled onto his side and curled into a fetal position, working on regulating his breathing as his Vulcan
kolinahr teachers had instructed him. He reflected that it had been a very near thing, far too close to completely upsetting what was likely their final contingency.
* * *
USS Europa
Deck 7 - The Monico
The stars streaking past the forward-facing viewports of the ship’s lounge held no interest for Dominic Leone, who’d become inured to such sights growing up aboard starships and Starfleet outposts.
Leone stared instead at his glass of synthale held in both hands atop the table. He’d managed to get seven hours uninterrupted sleep after returning from the Amon ship, and was now spending his first free time since
Europa had arrived in the Alanthal system.
He had come down from the incredible adrenaline high of the confrontation aboard the Amon ship, and was now feeling drained and lethargic, despite having slept like the dead. It was, Leone thought, not unlike the post-exam let-down after finals at the academy. His arm was mended, though it still ached, and Leone had steadfastly refused to take any of Dr. Reskos’ prescribed painkillers for the discomfort. The pain, he told himself, was a reminder of how dangerous a situation he’d got himself into.
An unused padd sat idly atop the table, discarded by Leone after several fitful starts on a letter to Teelis Tei. He wanted to write her to explain to his best friend all that had transpired since reporting aboard
Europa. Leone had fought tooth and nail to earn a spot on the task force, even going toe-to-toe with his own fearsome grandmother, a high-ranking Starfleet admiral who’d wanted him to remain on Earth.
“Is this the legacy table?” Georgia Kirk’s voice startled Dom from his reverie with a sharp intake of breath.
“The what?” He blinked, then pushed back slightly in his chair gesturing to the seat across from him. “Oh, yes… please, by all means.”
Kirk settled into the offered chair. “Sure I’m not intruding?”
The corner of Leone’s mouth quirked in a hint of a smile. “It’s just me and my thoughts tonight, and an interruption right now would be welcome.”
Kirk took a sip of something that swirled electric blue in her glass. “Sounds like things got pretty intense aboard the Amon ship.”
Leone’s laugh was sharp, suggesting her assessment was a gross understatement. “I’m still not entirely sure what happened over there. I do know that we’re all lucky to be alive.” He raised his now lukewarm drink to his lips, taking a mouthful of the vaguely peaty synthale. “What did you call this… the ‘legacy’ table?”
She nodded, grinning. “Well, sure. A Leone and a Kirk? All we’d need is a Paris, Aspinall or Stiles to round out the set.”
Leone chuckled in reply. “Amen to that, Lieutenant.”
“Call me Georgia,” she offered. “Unless you’re one of those annoying-as-hell sticklers for protocol and tradition?”
“No, no,” he demured, raising his glass in a mock salute to his guest. “Please, call me Dominic, or Dom.”
“You must have had a similar academy experience to mine,” Kirk noted. “I swear that having a famous name is curse there. I actually considered changing my name prior to starting my plebe year.”
“Right?” Leone agreed wholeheartedly. “At least you didn’t have your mother and grandmother breathing down your neck the entire time, checking in with your instructors, even the damn academy commandant.”
“Fair enough,” Kirk countered. “But how many buildings on campus carry your family name? I had a dormitory, a lecture hall, and the whole damned Tactical Studies wing!”
Leone took another draught in response before he offered a slight grin. "None, actually. I may be a legacy, but the Leone name isn't anywhere close to elevated as Kirk. I don't honestly think it ever will be." Off of her look, he raised a hand, "Don't get me wrong, I like it that way."
She nodded agreeably. “Suffice to say we both bore heavy burdens during our academy years.”
Dom continued to smirk and then inexplicably began laughing aloud, setting down his glass to wipe at his eyes.
“What?” Kirk inquired, clearly at a loss.
Leone tapped his combadge. “Leone to Lieutenant Shanthi.”
After a moment’s pause, Shanthi’s voice responded.
“Shanthi here, go ahead.”
Kirk’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth to stifle her own fit of laughter.
“If you’re not too busy, Lieutenant, why don’t you join Kirk and I at the Legacy Table in The Monico. We’re exchanging tales of woe about our respective academy experiences.”
There was a discernible chuckle over the comm-link, followed by,
“Sounds like something I’d know a bit about. I’ll be right there.”
Kirk took another drink after managing to catch her breath. “I can’t believe we forgot about the guy…”
“...whose mother is a Fleet Admiral,” Leone finished for her, prompting another round of mirth from the both of them.
* * *
From: Lieutenant Dominic Leone, USS
Europa, Delta Quadrant
To: Lieutenant Teelis Tei, Utopia Planitia Yards, Sol System, Alpha Quadrant
I put those replicator patterns you gave me to very good use here in the Delta Quadrant. They might have had the opposite effect, though, because every time I get homesick and I want to have a little taste of San Francisco, the meal seems to remind me of how far away I am from you and everyone else. I hope that you're taking advantage of being so close to the source because sometimes it takes a situation like this to make you appreciate all the little things you took for granted.
And in that, I mean that I wasn't fully prepared to not have you around for a real time conversation via subspace. It's difficult, sometimes, to really go through the day without having that contact. I've tried my best to get back with my shipmates, but they're a poor substitute. I'm sure by now, your family's probably already moved in to their new home on Beta Zeta VI. When I left, they'd just completed the negotiations, so I'm left to wonder what the Tei family home looks like now.
As for me, things in the Delta Quadrant have been very busy. Thankfully so, because if they weren't, I'd be left with my own thoughts all the time. I've been reassigned to a new ship as the chief tactical officer and being thrust into the senior staff has had one of the steepest learning curves of my career. Definitely the most action I've ever seen in my life, and I'm including the three years aboard
Farragut. I'd be more specific, but I'm not sure how much I can get away with on a personal message... even though you have the proper clearances, I'm going to err on the side of caution. Suffice to say that there's never a dull moment on this ship and with this crew. The missions we go on will make for some very interesting reading, I promise you.
Sincerely, Dominic.
* * *
The holographic environment in
Europa’s holodeck was a perfect representation of Vice-Admiral T’Cirya’s office aboard Galaxy Station, and Lar’ragos’ image stood at attention in front of her desk.
“Commander Lar’ragos reporting in, sir. I’ve concluded preliminary negotiations with the Amon. The information garnered from this contact was in the brief I submitted to you via subspace yesterday, Admiral.”
She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement of his presence. "Please stand easy, Captain. Firstly, what is your current status?"
Lar’ragos assumed a parade-rest stance. “
Europa is fully operational, and crew status is optimal sir. Former Captain Sandhurst is presently aboard, advising my chief engineer on how to reinstate our transwarp capabilities, and Lieutenant Verrik has been repatriated from the Amon.”
"It appears that you exceeded expectations, Captain. I am gratified that this mission did not result in the worst case scenario presented by Admiral Brotman," she tilted her head toward the mentioned admiral, seated in the corner of her office. "It is my hope that he comes to count on your success, as I do."
Lar’ragos glanced towards the other flag officer present before replying. “With respect to Admiral Brotman, it was a very near thing, sir. The Amon are at a delicate, very critical juncture in their species’ evolution. If we hadn’t deployed the rather… unorthodox Alpha Weapon you’d provided us, I likely wouldn’t be here speaking with you now.”
Brotman cleared his throat and turned his head away from the both of them, finding the bulkhead more interesting. T'Cirya's eyes shifted over toward Brotman before returning to Pava. "The admiral also felt that was a mistake, but you vindicated that decision very well. What is your current course?"
“I’ve brought
Europa within real-time comms range to report in, but I’d rather not leave the Amon cube alone with Brigadier Gan’Louk and his expeditionary force any longer than necessary, sir.”
"Understood," T'Cirya replied. "Admiral Brotman has some questions for you regarding Commodore Sandhurst." She turned her attention toward the rear admiral, "Admiral?"
Brotman rose and gave Pava a clear inspection of his uniform and stance. "Yes, sir.
Captain Lar'ragos, your brief mentioned that the… uh,
Commodore is maintaining his status with the Amon, is that still the case?"
Lar’ragos’ expression grew taut. “I regret to report that Sandhurst has gone completely ‘native’, sirs. He appears inseparable from the Amon, and has even taken a wife, their BattleLeader Nestrala. If Dr. Reskos’ findings are accurate, separating Sandhurst from the life-essence energy that the Amon ingest would kill him.” He let out a short breath, seeming to hold his emotions in check before adding, “In my opinion, he’s been completely compromised.”
Rear Admiral Brotman shot a concerned glare at T'Cirya. "Sir, this is completely unacceptable. Sandhurst should be transferred to Galaxy Station and put under armed guard. Lar'ragos should alter course to arrive here immediately." He dropped the use of rank completely, showing his disdain outwardly now.
"I fail to see the logic in that request, Admiral," she replied evenly. "Were I to put that order to Captain Lar'ragos, he would most certainly disobey it. And I would agree with his reasoning."
Lar’ragos looked between the two senior officers, confusion and consternation evident on his features.
T'Cirya continued, "As Captain Lar'ragos has stated, Commodore Sandhurst is fully integrated into Amon society at a level that would require a response should we move to incarcerate him here. I see no outcome in direct confrontation with the Amon by provoking them with such a drastic measure. Given that he is willingly cooperating with
Europa at the present time, I believe that it would be prudent to allow the captain to operate at his own discretion."
Brotman nearly sputtered. "Sandhurst is a danger to
Europa, sir!"
"We require his assistance, Admiral," T'Cirya's tone chilled the room considerably. "I trust Captain Lar'ragos to ensure that his first duty is upheld."
Brotman frowned, but acquiesced with a muttered acknowledgement. He returned to his seat and seemingly lost interest in the rest of the conversation.
"Captain," she said, "what are your next steps?"
Lar’ragos paused a moment to consider his next words. “Sir, even with our highly unreliable transwarp drive functioning perfectly, it would be a twenty-six year round trip to the Large Magellanic Cloud at the cost of several times our storage capacity of fuel and replicatable matter stores. Sandhurst… or Zeischt as he prefers to be called, believes we may be able to goad the Skorrah into opening a transit portal at a place and time of our choosing that a battle group could then use to enter the LMC and engage their forces.”
T'Cirya tapped her desktop terminal to activate the display. "Have you determined the size of the force you require for such an engagement?"
“The larger the better, sir. The Skorrah have an installation of enormous size and power, plus a number of other warships besides that monstrous probe of theirs they used to destroy Ferenginar. The Klingon Expeditionary Force numbers some thirty ships, but we’d also need whatever Starfleet can scrape together from the closest Vanguard assets.”
"I may not be able to allocate appropriate resources and assets at your disposal, Captain," T'Cirya admitted as her fingers touched the control panel before her. "Starfleet transferred a mere twenty vessels with the second wave, and we have already distributed them as reinforcements to the intercept groups that formed under Admiral Jellico's command of the task force." She offered, "I can provide no more than a dozen starships."
Lar’ragos nodded soberly. “Then that will have to do, sir. Also… it needs to be said that this may well be a one-way trip. If we can avoid
Voyager’s fate at the array that stranded them in the Delta Quadrant, we will, but I have no idea if we’d be able to decipher the technology aboard
Shul’Nazhar in order to make a return trip possible. And that’s if we’re not forced to simply destroy the installation outright.”
T'Cirya lifted her eyes and stared into Pava's deeply. "The first duty, Captain. You know what is at stake, here." She waited patiently for his acknowledgement.
“Understood, sir. We’ll make it happen,” Lar’ragos offered without hesitation.
"Furthermore, you're authorized to ensure your victory under any means necessary," she said pointedly. "I'll leave the details of such up to you. In order for you to maintain command of this new task group, I'm noting in my log that you're to receive a battlefield promotion to the rank of Captain. For the duration."
Brotman's head turned on a swivel. He nearly jumped out of his seat, his jaw dropped wide open. "Sir! I must protest-"
T'Cirya's raised hand silenced him. "Admiral Brotman, one more word from you and I'll assign you as his subordinate. I will not tolerate any further interruptions. Do you understand?"
His response indicated he had no interest in going anywhere with Pava, and Brotman closed his open mouth and nodded. "Aye, sir," he said, then began to clench his teeth visibly.
"Captain Lar'ragos, do you require anything further from me?" asked T'Cirya, as though Brotman had said nothing.
Lar’ragos appeared almost startled when T’Cirya addressed him again, so surprised was he at the awesome responsibility that had just been thrust upon him. He’d genuinely believed another more senior commanding officer would lead the attack against the Skorrah.
“No… no, thank you, Admiral. I’ll hash out the logistical details with the appropriate personnel and have a preliminary action plan to you by fifteen-hundred hours tomorrow.”
T'Cirya rose from her desk and approached him. "I empathize with the burden I'm asking you to take on, Captain, but I feel… I
believe that you will see the mission to its success, at all costs. Should you find yourself without the cooperation you need, please do not hesitate to use my name."
“Thank you, Admiral.” A small, troubling smile graced Lar’ragos’ lips for the briefest moment. “I shall return with my shield, or upon it.”
She drew her hand up into the Vulcan gesture. "I prefer with your shield, Captain. Live long, and prosper. T'Cirya, out."
The office surrounding Lar’ragos vanished to reveal the naked grid of a holodeck. He reached up to brush the three rank pips adorning his collar, fingering the spot that would soon hold a fourth. He uttered a long string of profanity in his native language, followed by a heavy sigh.
“I hate you so much right now, Donald,” he whispered as he walked towards the exit.
* * *
