Chapter Four
Stardate 54655.8 (5 September 2377)
USS Bluefin
Approaching the planet Hri’on
“How are you coming along with that last one?” asked Lt. Commander Delta Simms. She and Lt. Shelton had spent several hours reconfiguring half a dozen two-meter long navigational buoys into early warning sensors.
“This one wants to be obstinate,” replied Shelton as he grimaced with effort and tugged on a recalcitrant power cable. “Why is it always the last . . .”
There was a loud snap and the sharp smell of ozone. Shelton stepped back, shaking his hand furiously. A tendril of gray smoke rose from the open access port on the buoy.
“Ow! Damn, that hurt!” he hissed.
“Let me see.” Simms hurried over and took Shelton’s injured hand. She winced when she saw the bright red mark that covered his rapidly swelling palm. “Plasma burn – I bet that hurts like the dickens.”
She carefully turned his hand to see just how badly he had been burned. Shelton was taken by her gentle touch and the soft, southern lilt of her voice. He could just detect the subtle fragrance of her perfume as a tress of auburn hair cascaded down the side of her cheek.
Delta looked up at Shelton, her hazel eyes full of sympathy. “You better let O.C. look at this. I’ll finish prepping the buoys."
She is one beautiful woman, he thought before it dawned on him that she had spoken again. “Um, O.C.?”
She smiled. “Sorry – I keep forgetting you’re new here. O.C. – Dr. Octavius Castille, is our CMO. Head down to sickbay and get this treated. Do you know the way?”
“Yes, I can find it.” He was only vaguely aware of the stinging pain in his hand as Delta moved to pick up the access cover that had dropped to the deck from the buoy. She gracefully knelt and picked up the metal plate. As she stood, she cocked her head and favored him with a puzzled smile.
“Frank? Are you okay?”
Shelton realized he had been gawking. Good Lord, Frank – you’re acting like a high-school kid with a crush. Get a grip. “Yes, thanks. I guess that plasma charge must have fried some neurons in my brain, too.”
She laughed. It had a pleasant, melodic sound. “I could call a corpsman with a stretcher if you want a ride to sickbay.”
He smiled, his face turning a subtle shade or red. “No need. I’m going.” He made his way toward the corridor and hesitated.
“Commander?”
“Call me Delta – I don’t stand on ceremony with the officers.”
“Sure, uh, Delta . . . thanks for all your help. I appreciate it.”
The brilliant smile reappeared. “Not a problem. Good work on the modifications, Frank. I think the Skipper will be pleased.”
Shelton made his way to sickbay, barely noticing the throbbing pain in his hand. He tried but failed to get her delicate scent and those hazel eyes out of his mind.
* * *
The Bluefin dropped out of warp as it approached the NGC33981 star system, home of the planet Hri’on. The red-orange star blazed brightly in the center of the main viewscreen, providing a welcoming glow for the cutter and her crew.
Captain Akinola sat in his ready room, engrossed with the content on his computer screen when the enunciator chimed.
“Come!” he barked.
Commander Inga Strauss stepped into the room and paused before Akinola’s desk. His eyes were drawn to her new haircut – gone was the long hair usually carried in a single braid. Now her hair barely touched her shoulders. Inga no longer looked like the young, perky gymnast who just missed her chance at the Olympics. She appeared more mature and confident – every bit the professional officer. Though every bit as lovely, there was perhaps a bit more hardness to her eyes. The deer-caught-in-the-lights look was long gone.
Inexplicably, that saddened Akinola. To think you made it through the Dominion War with that youthful naivety and wonder intact – only to have it stripped away by one year on an old cutter.
Akinola’s expression remained neutral and revealed none of his thoughts. “Yes, Commander?”
“We’ve entered the system boundary of NGC33981 and are proceeding to Hri’on at one-quarter impulse per your orders. Ensign Vashtee is conducting a full sensor sweep of the system, but it appears we are the only ship in the vicinity.”
“No Klingon battle fleet to welcome us?” Akinola asked, dryly.
She smirked. “Hardly, sir. I think this entire exercise is a waste of time.”
The Captain leaned back in his chair and gestured for Strauss to sit. She did so, crossing her legs and folding her arms across her chest. A delicate eyebrow arched upward slightly and a small smile formed on her lips.
Akinola allowed a smile as well. It had taken a while, but Inga had learned to play the part of devil’s advocate well – an important role for an Executive Officer. The Captain counted on her to challenge his presuppositions, forcing him to carefully examine his plans from every angle before implementation. Of course, they did not always have such luxury – during a pitched battle, for instance – but the current situation was an ideal time to “butt heads” as Inga liked to put it.
“So you think we’re burning Deuterium for nothing? What makes you think that, Commander?”
“Outside of the obvious lack of strategic importance for Hri’on, the Klingons and Orions have not been at war for almost 500 years. What mineral wealth might have existed on the planet was stripped away by both occupying forces before it was bombed nearly to oblivion. All that’s left is a mixed-race population that neither the Klingons nor Orions want to acknowledge and a cloister of dogmatic women who dress funny. What’s the point of risking another conflict, particularly when the Klingons know we would intervene?”
“That didn’t stop the Klingons from moving on Fo’Puk.”
“Fo’Puk had strategic value and a wealth of resources. And that did not end well, as you know.”
“For either side,” replied Akinola, quietly, remembering the losses of Starfleet personnel and a capital ship.
“My point exactly,” continued Strauss. “The Klingons may still have expansionist desires, but they aren’t stupid. There’s nothing here worth going to war over.”
Akinola pursed his lips and tapped his fingertips together in thought. “Nothing we know of,” he corrected.
Inga nodded slightly, conceding the point.
He regarded her quietly for a moment. “What do you have against the nuns of Hri’on?”
She blinked, caught off-guard by the question, but recovered quickly. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for them to impose their beliefs on an alien population, especially one that’s been brutalized like the Klinorions.”
There was an edge of bitterness to her voice that surprised Akinola. “Have you ever been to Hri’on, XO?”
“No sir,” she admitted.
“I have - on several occasions. The Sisters of Mercy offer help to the locals without forcing their beliefs on them – no strings attached. From what I’ve seen, the nuns have been adopted into the culture and are well regarded by the Klinorions. They are very careful not to interfere in local affairs beyond providing medical and agricultural assistance.”
Strauss still looked doubtful. “That may be. But they’re still bringing an outside influence into this culture that at best can create confusion and at worst, resentment. The Klinorions should be allowed to determine their own belief sytem. I’m sure the Sisters have been helpful in many ways, but any relief agency could do that.”
“A century ago, no other relief agency was willing to go to Hri’on, Commander. The four-years war had only recently ended and the threat level from the Klingons was extremely high. The Sisters of Mercy risked their lives to go there and provide assistance. The Klinorions likely would have died of disease and malnourishment if it weren’t for those nuns.
He paused, sensing there was something more that Strauss wasn’t sharing. She was no longer making direct eye-contact. In fact, she looked decidedly distressed.
“Something else is bothering you, Inga. What is it?”
A sad smile formed on her face, though her gaze was still directed away from Akinola. “I’m that easy to read, huh?”
“Sometimes,” he replied.
She sighed. “Do you remember the mass murder/suicide on Haanon IV?”
“That was eight years ago, as I recall.”
Strauss nodded. “I had just been assigned to the Thunderchild. We were the first ship to arrive once the distress calls were sent out.”
Akinola did not reply, but allowed Strauss to gather her thoughts. A decade earlier, the leader of the Free Mind movement left Earth along with nearly a thousand followers and set up a compound on Haanon IV. The Haan’i had just joined the Federation, having achieved warp capability about two decades earlier. They were a people of diverse religious beliefs who had nonetheless enjoyed many decades of peace, free from the sectarian warfare that had marred Earth’s history.
Andomar Kesla, the leader of the Free Minders, found a population that, though technologically advanced, was without guile. The Haan’i welcomed Kesla and his followers – allowing them to set up their "church" just a few kilometers outside the third largest city. The charismatic Kesla found that his message of expanded consciousness was readily embraced, especially among the young. He exhorted his followers to “embrace your mind by freeing your body.” Most thought he was merely speaking metaphorically, until the day that over a thousand of his followers – many native Haan’i, went on a killing spree that massacred hundreds and only ended when the blood-soaked killers returned to Kesla’s compound. As one, they drew their blades across their throats and lay on the ground staring up at the stars, waiting for their minds to be set free.
Inga continued. “I was part of an away team that beamed directly into the compound. I won’t describe the smell – suffice it to say it was horrible. The bodies were arranged in a large circle – apparently they lay down that way, even as their blood was spurting from their necks. The first corpse I saw was a little Haan’i girl – probably no more than seven or eight standard years old. Her eyes were still open and her mouth was open, like something had surprised her.”
She paused a moment, remarkably composed. “Ensign Reghrut, a two meter tall Brikar, lost it – he started keening so loud I thought my ears would burst. Lt. Duquesne had to send him back to the ship. We found Andomar Kesla – still alive and untouched – sitting in a chair in the midst of the circle of bodies. He was quite pleased with himself. I honestly thought that Duquesne was going to vaporize him on the spot – his hand was fast on his phaser. But instead, he yanked Kesla out of the chair and drug him toward the bodies, forcing him to look at his handiwork and asked, ‘Why?’ Kesla merely smiled and said ‘They needed to be free.’ We beamed the bastard directly into the brig. That was the last I saw of him. It took us ten days to discover all the bodies and help the locals with I.D. and disposition.”
Akinola and Strauss sat in silence for several minutes, each alone in their own thoughts.
Finally, Akinola broke the silence. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Inga. That must have been a horrible experience for you. But you can’t judge all religions based on one deranged cult leader.”
She returned her gaze to him. Her eyes flashed when she spoke. “Forgive me, sir, but I’m not sure where the line is drawn between cult and religion.”
He shook his head slightly. “Then I feel sorry for you, Commander. Regardless of your feelings on the matter, we’re going to visit the Sisters on Hri’on. If you’re not up to it . . .”
“I won’t allow my personal feelings to affect my duty, sir.”
He returned her gaze with equal intensity. “Very well. Let me know the results of the sensor sweep and inform the Klinorions we will gladly accept their invitation to share a meal with them.”
Strauss stood. “Aye sir.” She turned to leave.
“Inga?”
She stopped but did not turn around. “Yes?”
“Thanks for telling me.”
Strauss nodded and returned to the bridge.
* * *
