A Simple Task

[Sgt_G]

This is actually the third segment in a long series of stories I'm working on. The first two are done, but I'm not ready to start posting them just yet. I end the second segment in a cliffhanger; this segment follows immediately after that. I'm not done with this segment, but I thought I'd give you a sneak-peek.


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A Simple Task


Ensign Sarah Wiseman reported to the main bridge as ordered. She wasn't scheduled to work there today, but rather she was listed for shuttle pilot duty. Being a pilot was her primary job, but all officers were expected to work many jobs on a police cutter, including bridge watch. The ship's captain, Lieutenant Commander Marcus Maxwell, had the center seat today. When she entered the bridge, he was speaking with Chief Petty Officer Ethan Springer, the senior communications technician. She waited at a respectful distance until Maxwell was ready for her.

"Good morning, Ensign," Maxwell greeted her cheerfully. "How was the flight?"

"It went fine, sir. Down and back, no problems." Wiseman spent the morning flying down to the surface of the planet, to Cygnus Station, to drop off seven Star Fleet personnel who had hitched a ride from Star Base Thirteen, where Wiseman herself transferred to the police cutter James McShane. Originally, she was assigned to the cutter Gendarme, but that ship was sent to space-dock for a systems refresh. So, just three short months out of Academy, Ensign Wiseman was already transferred on her second ship. "We picked up a load of fresh fruits and vegetables, as you requested, sir. The mess mates are taking care of it now."

"Great. All according to plan."

"Sir?"

"I have a simple task for you, Ensign." He stood up and moved out of the way, and gestured for her to take the seat. She hesitated and then sat down. "Today is my birthday. I'm not supposed to know this, but the Exec has a surprise party planned. I'm sorry, but you're going to miss it."

"That's okay, sir," she replied, still confused. "Ah, happy birthday."

"Thank you," he smiled. "So, I am going to go to my office where I will pretend to work. Jonathan will call me down to the mess deck to see ‘a problem with the produce', which of course will be a ruse to get me down there. As soon as I walk in, all the officers will yell ‘Surprise!' And I will pretend that I am." He handed her a PADD. "You have the conn, Ensign Wiseman."

"I have the conn, sir." It was more of a question than a confirmation. "Sir, I haven't finished my bridge watch training. I'm not certified."

Maxwell nodded. "Yes, I know. That's why I'm leaving you with Chief Springer. Also, Gunderson is our most experienced helmsman. You'll be in good hands. It's only for a few hours." He tapped the PADD, "That's the check list of what needs to be done. As soon as the service tender tops off the water and air, undock and break orbit. Set course for the Mantor system, warp factor five once we're clear of the system."

"Aye aye, sir," Wiseman responded with a bit more confidence. Maxwell turned and walked out of the bridge. "Chief Springer, please note in the ship's log: I have the conn."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And Chief?"

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Please don't let me screw up too badly."

"Of course, Ma'am." A hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

The tender finished servicing the cutter. It was the same servicing the ship had received less than a week prior, at Star Base Thirteen, but as one never knows when you'll make port-call again, you took every chance you could to top off air, food, and water. Just like combat soldiers grabbing sleep every chance they can.

Ensign Wiseman ran through the pre-departure checklist: Service ports and hatches closed and locked, check. Shuttlecraft tied down, check. Shuttle-bay space doors closed and sealed, check. Cargo transfer complete, check. Cargo hold secured, check. Cargo transporters off-line, check. Ship's weight-and-balance within specifications, check. There were twenty or more items to verify. She called main engineering and asked Ensign Qian to perform a standard engine run-up to test the output of each reactor. All sensors and scanners were crosschecked and calibrated. The main deflector dish was brought online. Chief Springer tested long-range communications by pinging Star Base Thirteen. So far, so good. Everything checked out perfectly.

Wiseman had Springer open a channel. "Cygnus Station, Cutter McShane. We're heading out soon."

Ensign Peter Schultz's voice responded, "McShane, Cygnus Station, copy."

"Thanks for your help this morning. I couldn't've found fresh oranges without your suggestion."

"No problem. Have a safe trip. Cygnus Station, out."

Wiseman sighed. She knew Peter from Academy; it would have been nice to catch up with him. Alas, there was no time. She had Springer switch channels. "Cygnus Control, Police Cutter James McShane. We are free and clear, checklists completed. Ready for departure, outbound for Mantor system, warp factor five."

A deep voice responded. "Cutter McShane, Control. Departure approved. Remain sub-light to point TAMBOR, then warp one to point MILTZY, then warp two. Expect warp three at five minutes after." Wiseman repeated the instructions. "Read-back correct, McShane. Once past Cygnus Seven, contact Sector Control for approval to warp five. Have a safe flight."

She ordered Petty Officer Gunderson to set course and break orbit. The ship crawled at sub-light speed in what seemed like forever to point TAMBOR. She reported in, and Control ordered them to warp factor two. She looked at Springer and Gunderson, who both shrugged, before confirming the order. They weren't even halfway to point MILTZY when they received new orders. "McShane, Control, take it up to warp three. At your discretion, contact Sector and go to warp five."

Wiseman was confused by the order. "Control, McShane, please confirm: warp three now, warp five approved while still in the system?"

"Confirmed, McShane. Frequency change approved." He was handing her off early.

She frowned and tucked a stray lock of hair over her ear. "Take us up to warp three," she instructed Gunderson. She looked at the Chief, "Is it just me, or are they in a hurry to get rid of us?"

Springer just shrugged it off; Wiseman half expected him to roll his eyes as soon as she looked away. “It does seem a little unusual, Ma’am,” Gunderson volunteered.

They passed point MILTZY well ahead of schedule. She had them hold at warp factor three for several minutes. A call came in. "McShane, Control." She didn't reply. "McShane, Control." Springer looked at her questioningly. "Police Cutter James McShane, this is Cygnus Control, are you still on this frequency?"

"Control, McShane, sorry ‘bout that," Wiseman finally responded.

"McShane, just wondering, ah, when are you going to jump up to warp five?" The controller sounded annoyed.

"You did say ‘at our discretion', Control." There was a long pause, so she continued with an excuse. "I want to give the engines time to warm up. Once these readings settle down, I'll give Sector a call."

"McShane, Control. Understood." Now the controller sounded agitated. "Please expedite if possible. You're clear ahead, but I have traffic departing behind you." Wiseman checked the plotter; yes, there were two trading vessels leaving orbit, already at warp speed well before point TAMBOR, in a non-standard departure.

"Understood. We'll do what we can. McShane out." She tucked the lock of hair back into place and glanced over at Springer, who was watching her with interest. She was sure he was going to give Maxwell a candid assessment of her performance. "Helm, ease us up to warp factor four, maintain heading."

"Aye, Ma'am. Up to four, same heading."

She rubbed her lower lip in thought. "Chief, do you think I'm being paranoid?" Another lock of hair fell out of place.

"Perhaps a little, Ma'am." He waited a beat. "Being paranoid is what keeps cops alive." Their eyes met in understanding. "Still, I wouldn't want to interrupt the commander's birthday party just yet."

Several minutes passed. Sarah Wiseman let her long brown hair down, shook it out, and rolled it back up into a regulation bun. She considered stepping down the hall to the ladies' room, and decided it probably wasn't the best idea to leave the bridge right now. She sat back, closed her eyes, and tried to relax. A simple task, Maxwell told her. Relax. It's just a simple task.

Chief Springer broke her meditative state. "Ma'am, Cygnus Station just went on lock down. Two suspects have escaped."

"Helm, drop to warp three. Plot a course back to the planet. Maintain heading for now. Chief, contact the station."

"Aye, Ma'am," both enlisted chimed.

Ensign Wiseman still wasn't ready to interrupt either the commander or the Exec. She tried to call Lieutenant Harris, the Ops officer, but she didn't answer. She called Lieutenant Grossman, the Intel officer. When Wiseman informed her superior of the developing situation, the answer was, "The station has twice the manpower we have. I'm sure they have it under control."

The chief indicated he had the station on the line. She told him to put it on the screen. Peter Shultz's face appeared. "Sarah, the situation is a bit fluid. Here's what we know: we rescued twenty female human-trafficking victims, but two high-value targets are on the loose, with at least five associates. One of our troops is missing and presume kidnapped. We think they may have taken a Star Fleet officer, too. Two ships and six shuttles launched since they disappeared."

"On our way. Send us the data." She closed the link. "Helm, hard about, back to the planet, warp five. Warm up the phasers." She pressed a button on the arm of the command chair. "Tac-Teams, stand by for possible boarding action."

She checked the plotter for the two trading ships. Strange. They had dropped out of warp and were circling, as if looking for something. She had the helm adjust to intercept course. The target ships jumped back to warp speed.

"I have a distress beacon!" Springer announced. "Dead ahead, where they were circling." One of the civilian ships double-backed and fired phasers on the source of the distress signal, an un-powered shuttlecraft.

"Go to warp seven," Wiseman ordered. She put her finger on the button to call either Lieutenants Harris or Grossman. Screw it. She pressed the red button instead. "Red Alert! All hands to battle stations! All hands to battle stations!"

"Bridge, Harris here. Is this some kind of a joke, Ensign?" the Operations Officer, third in command of the ship, demanded over the intercom. She sounded less than pleased, as per her usual state.

Wiseman didn't have time to respond to that. "Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!" a young female voice announced on the emergency frequency. "This is Crewman Mantri of Cygnus Station, on board a shuttlecraft. Primary suspects are on the trading vessel calling itself the ‘Mohamad al Eazim'. Many human-trafficking victims are being held captive on the vessel called ‘Tranquility'. I escaped from that ship with six victims."

"Mantri, this is the cutter McShane. We're less than two minutes out, stand by." Wiseman pressed a button, "Transporter, stand by for emergency beam out, seven personnel on the shuttle."

"Aye, Ma'am." A pause. "No go, Ma'am. The shuttle's fuel lines are leaking; we can't get a lock through the radiation."

Wiseman sighed. Of course, it couldn't be that easy. "Mantri, we need to bring you in via tractor. Stand by." She had Gunderson kick it up to warp eight.

"McShane, leave us," Mantri countered. "Go after the al Eazim. We need to stop the suspects; they're very dangerous."

"Your hull is breached, Crewman. Your air won't last long. We'll bring you onboard first."

"There's no time, Ma'am! Stop them before they get away again!"

"I appreciate that, Crewman. We're here now, stand by for tractor in three ... two ... one."

The police ship shuddered as it dropped from high-warp speed to sub-light. As soon as the shuttlecraft was safely tractored on-board, Wiseman had Gunderson bring the ship back around and take it to warp. The two trading ships were heading in opposite directions. Which one? Suspects or victims? Victims or suspects? She picked one, and let the other go. "Pursuit mode, intercept the Tranquility," Ensign Wiseman ordered just as the doors opened to reveal Lieutenant Commander Maxwell.


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(to be continued....once I write more)

 

[Sgt_G]

Picking up where I left off.....

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The ship's captain marched in, followed by Lieutenants Jonathan Wu, Cynthia Harris, and Edith Grossman, the Exec, Ops, and Intel officers, respectively. Wiseman stood up to relinquish the center seat and snapped to attention. Before the captain could ask for the report, she announced, "Sir, we pulled a shuttle with seven survivors into the bay. We are in pursuit of a civilian trader, the Tranquility, which we were told has many human-trafficking victims on board. Another trader, the Mohamad al Eazim, just warped out. Allegedly, two most-wanted criminals are on that ship."

"I have the conn," Maxwell said as he sat down and absorbed the information. "How long until intercept?"

"About ten minutes, sir," Petty Officer Gunderson supplied.

Lieutenant Harris stepped up to Wiseman, nose to nose. "Why didn't you notify us, Ensign?"

"There wasn't time, Ma'am," Chief Springer injected to defend the young officer. "It was a very dynamic situation."

"She called me, apparently before things got ... dynamic," Grossman admitted. "I blew it off."

Harris looked at Grossman. "Well, you shouldn't have given her the conn."

"I gave her the conn, Lieutenant," Maxwell snapped. "Got a problem with that?" Rebuffed, Harris shook her head. "Ensign Wiseman, go up to the shuttle bay and check on our guests," Maxwell ordered.

"Aye, aye, sir." She sprinted the seventy-five meters and up two flights of stairs to the shuttle bay; it was faster than taking the turbolift. Medics were already on the scene, and the deck crew pried the doors of the battered shuttlecraft to extract the seven people within. Two young women, Cygnan civilians in dirty mechanic's coveralls, crawled out and helped the others down. Wiseman recognized first two as fifteen-year-old high school girls listed as missing, presumed run-aways, from the Pondarosa colony. The next two were children, a girl just at the start of adolescent development and a pre-teen boy, siblings, based on their similar features. Obviously, they had all been through one a heck of an ordeal. The last one out was a young woman in a police uniform and tactical gear.

"Crewman Mantri, I presume. I'm Ensign Wiseman, Sarah Wiseman."

She snapped to attention and saluted, "Crewman Ravenna Mantri, apprentice armorer, Cygnan Station, request permission to come aboard, Ma'am," she said formally. Mantri was young, very young, and fairly short at perhaps a hundred and fifty centimeters, or just barely five-foot tall. If it weren't for the uniform, you'd never suspect she was a cop. Indeed, she looked more like a kid on dress-up day.

The officer returned the salute. "Permission granted. Welcome aboard the cutter James McShane. Is everyone okay?"

"Yes, Ma'am, thank you," Mantri replied. "I felt the ship go to warp; how close are we to catching the al Eazim?"

Wiseman shook her head. "We're going after the other ship, to rescue the rest of them," she waved her hand at the liberated civilians.

"No!" Mantri protected. "I put a tracking device on the Tranquility, Ma'am. We need to get the suspects first!"

Wiseman was taken aback by the outburst. "Well, it's too late now." She turned to the deck boss, "Chief Lopez, please move this wreck out of the way, and get both shuttles ready to launch."

Mantri climbed back into the shuttle and retrieved a backpack and a helmet. "They took my weapons, Ma'am. Which way to the armory?" She snapped a belt made of several little pouches around her waist.

"Stand down, Crewman. You're not going. We've got this."

"No, Ma'am, you don't," Mantri retorted. "That ship is a maze. It's nothing like anything we trained on at school, nothing like any I've seen land at Cygnus Station. You'll need a guide."

Ensign Wiseman considered this. "It's not up to me, but come on." She led Mantri down one deck to the gymnasium where they found the Tac-Teams gearing up for boarding action. They walked over to a pair of men who were looking at a display on a portable stand. "Lieutenant Duncan, this is Crewman Mantri. She has some information for you."

The man turned around. Mantri found herself looking up at a Norse God. He was beyond handsome; he was beautiful. "Make it quick, Crewman; we're beaming over in three minutes." His accent confirmed he was from Alpha Centauri.

"You can't, sir," she exclaimed. "That ship is a maze, and they have jammers up. You could beam over into a bulkhead."

He entered some commands into the terminal. "These are scans of the ship. Looks normal to me."

The second man, a Rigelian even taller than the Norse God, wearing Chief Petty Officer insignia and a Master-At-Arms badge, studied the display. "It's a looped recording, sir. See here," Chief Wills pointed. Several of the 'people' would move a little, then jump back to the starting point and move the same exact way, over and over every ten seconds or so. "Also, we were told there may be prisoners. Where are they?"

"Most are in cells on the bottom deck, but some are on the second deck in cages, like a dog kennel." Mantri said. "They made two mistakes: they put me in a cell, and they left my backpack loose." She walked to the other side of the gym, put her pack down and walked back. When she pressed a hidden button on her wristband, wheels popped out of the backpack, and it rolled itself to her. She removed two body cameras, small two-centimeter cubes, from the sides of the backpack, and another from her helmet, and gave them to the comm tech. "They took the one off my vest," she apologized. "They took all my weapons, too. May I pull some from your armory, please, sir?"

Ensign Wiseman said, "She has it in her head she's going with you, sir."

Lieutenant Duncan considered this for a moment. "What else do you have in your bag of tricks?"

"Magic, sir," Ravenna Mantri smiled brightly.

Duncan tilted his head for a second, looked at Wills and nodded. The chief called out, "Calhoun, set Mantri here up with whatever she needs."

"Aye, Chief," a female Master-At-Arms Second Class answered with a distinctive Scottish brogue. She led the crewman to a rollaway cabinet. "Don't lock that up yet, Lisa," she told a female of African descent.

"No problem, Rose. What do you need?" Lisa Kingsman asked in a very British accent. She opened the doors. The two women were not prepared for what they were about to witness.

Mantri stepped up and helped herself to all the toys inside. First, she took a hand-phaser and put it in an ankle hoister, and then put a second one in a hidden hoister at the small of her back. Next, she put a standard phaser-pistol in the hip hoister, along with a spare power pack. A combat knife went into a sheath on her left hip, and another on her right leg below the knee.

Mantri picked up an oxygen bottle about twenty-five centimeters long. "Give me a hand with this, please." She pointed to the bottle on her back by her left shoulder blade.

Calhoun unsnapped the bottle from its brace. "Is that an exoskeleton?" She snapped the new bottle on the bracket and fitted the hose onto the nozzle. Mantri tested it and then put the mask in its pouch under her chin.

"Yep. It's only a prototype. You didn't actually think I could carry all this by myself, did you?" Mantri pulled the power pack off the back of her helmet and replaced it with a fully charged unit. She also replaced the missing cameras with new ones. She opened her bag of tricks, took several small items out and placed them in various pouches on her belt.

"What's that?" Kingsman asked.

"Ever read comic books?" Both women shook their heads. "Ah, well, that's where I got the idea." She picked up a phaser rifle, removed the power pack, and disassembled the weapon to its component parts. Just as quickly, she reassembled them, but in a slightly different arraignment. She checked the power pack's charge and snapped it into the weapon.

"May I see that?" Petty Officer Calhoun asked. Mantri handed it over. Calhoun lifted it to firing position. "The balance is all wrong."

Mantri retrieved the rifle. "For you, maybe. Your arms are longer than mine. Why does nobody seem to know these were designed to be adjustable?" She placed a spare power pack in a pouch on the shoulder strap supporting her equipment belt, the standard-issue one, not her 'Batgirl belt'. She hefted her backpack on the table, turned around and slipped her arms through the straps. There was a click as it snapped onto her exoskeleton. She put her helmet on and picked up the rifle.

Chief Wills looked her up and down. "Are you sure you have enough, Crewman?"

Mantri gave him a blank look. "For what we're up against?" She took a mental inventory. "You're right, Chief." She picked up another spare power pack for the phaser rifle and put it in a pouch on the other shoulder strap, and then med packs in cargo pockets on each leg.

The others looked at each other, and then Calhoun and Kingsman started passing out spare power packs to every Tac-Team member.

Crewman Mantri turned to Ensign Wiseman. "Will you be flying us over, Ma'am?"

"Yes, I suppose I will," she replied. Mantri looked her up and down, turned and retrieved a set of body armor from the cabinet, and handed it to her. Wiseman attempted to refuse. "I'm staying on the shuttle."

"All the same, Ma'am, I think you should wear it," Mantri stated flatly as she handed her an equipment belt with a phaser pistol and two spare power packs. She turned to Lieutenant Duncan, "One more thing, sir. Down on the planet, one of the suspects tried to hide amongst the prisoners. We need to be ready for anything and everything."

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I'm hitting writer's block with the next part, the combat scenes to board and capture the ship and resuce the trafficking victims. How banged up will our people be when this is over? Will they call come back in one piece?? I don't know yet.....

 

[Sgt_G]

Okay, this thing has taken on a life of its own. It has almost nothing to do with Commander Weatherford and his new ship & crew. I have decided that two people in this story will transfer to his ship, but it's not the two you're probably thinking of.

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TO THE RESCUE

Ensign Sarah Wiseman piloted the shuttlecraft; the co-pilot by her side was flight engineer Petty Officer First Class Thomas Browning, known as ‘Tommy Gun’ to his friends. He muttered under his breath about how badly it ‘wallowed like a pig’. This wasn’t one of McShane’s own shuttles, but rather the one that Crewman Ravenna Mantri had ‘borrowed’ from the trading vessel Tranquility. It was only fair that they return it. In point of fact, there were a couple good reasons for using it. First, it got the dang thing out of the shuttle bay, where it was taking up room. Of course, they could have simply dumped it overboard, but why waste the resource? Second, it allowed the McShane to send even more troops over in the two ready shuttles. The third, and most important reason, was this shuttle had the access codes to open the Tranquility’s shuttle hatch, assuming nobody thought to change the codes.

Lieutenant Grossman had reviewed the video from Mantri’s body cameras and discovered that they would not be able to forcibly dock to the trader’s airlock, for these were rigged with explosives. Any attempt to break in from the outside would be suicide. The video also confirmed what Mantri had said; there was no good location to beam the entire strike force over. Ergo, the plan was for Wiseman to take a team in to clear a path for the rest to follow.

Chief Master-At-Arms Hogan Wills led the team. His riflemen were Petty Officer Second Class Rose Calhoun and Petty Officers Third Class Lisa Kingsman, Sakuri’Nahl, and Moto’Bard; the last two being Cygnans who until a few hours ago were enjoying shore leave on their home planet. Corpsman Second Class Paul Harrington was their combat medic, and Petty Officer Second Class Karda Wray, a Rigelian woman as tall as Chief Wills, was the explosives expert. Crewman Galen Saul would handle the tactical scanners, and of course, Mantri brought her bag of magic tricks.

“Easy does it,” Wiseman said to herself, “let’s not jostle it too much.” The deck boss, Chief Angela Lopez, and her crew patched the shuttle’s battered hull and fuel tank in record time, but they didn’t promise it would hold. The other two shuttles held back, waiting for word it was safe to dock. A pair of security skiffs approached, sent from the planet’s civilian orbital base, with additional troops. They would be needed, for Grossman estimated there would be at least forty, perhaps fifty, bad guys to deal with.

The McShane held the trader in a tractor beam, not that it could go anywhere because Commander Maxwell, he himself at the controls, used the cutter’s phasers to strip the vessel of its shields, engines, and weapons. Wiseman prayed they could get on board the ship before the crew decided to kill the prisoners. Or blow up the ship.

Crewman Mantri took a bag out of her backpack; it held two dozen dark-grey disks about ten centimeters in diameter by one centimeter thick. She removed one and handed it to Crewman Saul. Once she explained what they were, the handsome redhead synchronized the devices to his tricorder. She admitted that while they worked in testing under controlled conditions, they had never been used in a combat setting.

The pilot brought the shuttle down to hover over the hatch on the topside of the civilian trading vessel. “Here goes nothing.” She pressed the button and held her breath. By some miracle, the hatch opened. The access code worked! She landed the shuttle and entered the command to close the hatch and pressurize the bay. Once the bay was at eighty percent normal pressure, Wiseman vented the shuttle to equalize the air pressure and allow the shuttle’s hatch to open. Everyone yawned to allow their ears to pop.

Kingsman and Calhoun were the first out of the shuttle, sprinting over to a second shuttlecraft to take cover. Chief Wills and Sakuri’Nahl took up positions behind their own craft. Mantri poured the bag of disks onto the shuttle bay deck; eight legs unfolded on each disk, and they scattering in all different directions, even climbing up walls. Some moved to the doors and waited (the door wouldn’t open until the bay was at full pressure) while others found access panels and ventilation grills, which they pried open with their legs, and disappeared into the depths of the ship. Saul checked his tricorder. “I’m getting good readings,” he said in his thick Alpha Centauri accent. “Uh-oh. Company.” The display showed ten, no, twelve enemy shooters gathered in the corridor.

Mantri place another device, a round-topped oval with wheels on the bottom, onto the deck. She flipped a cover on her left forearm to reveal a small display screen. Using one finger on the screen, she remotely drove the device to the door. “Flash-bang,” she told the others. The door opened and several angry men flooded in; several robot spiders scurried out unseen.

Mantri tapped the screen. There was a muffled POP and a cloud of blue smoke. “Well, flip me,” she muttered. Her magic toys weren’t perfect after all.

“This is how it’s done,” Moto’Bard said as he fired three stun grenades out of the launch tube attached to the bottom of his phaser rifle. BANG! BANG! BANG! Kingsman and Calhoun opened fire on the stunned assailants. Chief Wills and Sakuri’Nahl added their firepower to the mix. It was over in seconds; eight men lie motionless on the floor.

Moto’Bard exited the shuttle, followed by Harrington and Wray, with Saul and Mantri bringing up the rear. The pilots stayed on board. Harrington began checking the unconscious men with his medical tricorder while the others kicked their weapons away and handcuffed them. Saul looked at his tricorder, pointed to the door and held up three fingers.

Mantri sent another flash-bang device to the door. Chief Wills nodded, but after the first one, he didn’t seem convinced. She drove the device closer, and once the door opened, she sent it into the corridor. One of the men reached down to pick it up just as she set it off. This one worked perfectly. Maybe too well, for she saw the man’s arm was missing at the elbow. Sakuri’Nahl grabbed the man and hauled him in for Harrington to treat. It was too late. The man’s arm bone was embedded through his neck and out the back of his skull. He was definitely dead.

Mantri spared a few seconds to look at the corpse. Some part of her mind told her that she should feel remorse, for a man died due to their actions, due to her actions. She would, perhaps, regret it later, once she had time to process it. For now, when she looked at the body, all she saw was the evil man who had done unspeakable things to the young boy she had rescued, a boy the same age as her own brother. She turned away, vowing to not give the dead man another thought.

 

[Sgt_G]

One of the other stunned men was down but not out; he had enough strength left to throw a fragmentation grenade into the shuttle bay. Without hesitation, Mantri flipped another of her toys at it -- some sort of cloth with weights in the corners. It somehow changed direction in mid-air and wrapped itself around the grenade, containing the explosion. It was still loud yet not deadly. Calhoun casually shot the man again with a phaser set to stun. They secured the criminals in the shuttle to be transported back to the McShane.

The two Cygnan petty officers took point as the group moved into the corridor. They didn’t go five meters when a hidden panel opened. Another man, probably the unaccounted for twelfth man, charged at them. He was wearing a suicide vest. Mantri pulled a short tube from her belt and pointed it down the corridor. It launched something like a bolas with eight balls, which spun out and magnetically attached to the walls, floor, and ceiling to create a web. The man bounced off the net, screamed, and reached for the detonator. Chief Wills dropped him with a single shot between the eyes. Dead.

The team moved further down the corridor and encountered another ambush just around the corner. It resulted in six more criminals down, one of whom fell backwards hard and broke his neck. Moto’Bard was hit by a disruptor bolt, and even though his armor absorbed most of the impact, he was still pretty dazed. Harrington checked him out and gave him a hypospray of stimulants to counteract the disruptor’s effects. Saul checked the tricorder, still being feed data by Mantri’s spiders, and grabbed his communicator. “Ensign, you have five hostiles coming up the back stairwell.”

“On it,” Wiseman replied. “We have a problem; the space doors won’t open. I think they changed the access code on us.” The plan was for the first team to secure a foothold, and then another shuttle would replace Wiseman’s shuttle to bring in reinforcements. “Mantri, did you leave any of your toys behind?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Enough to buy you time, unless they blow the door.”

As if on cue, there was a loud explosion followed by the sound of weapons fire. Saul started to move back up the corridor towards the shuttle bay. Mantri seized him by the collar. “The mission’s this way.” Saul whirled and took a swing at her, trying to break free. She pushed him against the wall. “You don’t think I want to go back? She saved my life today. But if we don’t get a docking port open, we’re all dead. We need to keep moving.”

Chief Wills checked the map on his PADD. “The first hatch is just down this corridor, on the other side of that door,” he pointed to a door about ten meters away. “Anything on the other side?” The technician didn’t answer at first. “Saul, snap out of it! Anything on the other side of that door?”

Crewman Saul pushed Mantri away and checked his tricorder. “No, Chief. Looks clear.”

The sounds of the firefight grew louder. “Kingsman, Calhoun, go help the pilots,” Wills ordered. The two women sprinted back the way they came. “M.B., hang back with these two,” he told Moto’Bard as he pointed to Mantri and Saul. “Okay, let’s get that hatch open. Sacks, take point,” he told Sakuri’Nahl, “Go.”

Sakuri’Nahl was the first through the door, followed by Chief Wills. They cleared the hallway beyond and found nothing. They stood guard while Petty Officer Wray moved up and began examining the docking port hatch. There was a piece of heavy bulkhead plate bolted to the door, with a small green box by each corner. Several wires ran from each box in behind the plate. One box had a covered toggle switch on it. “Saul, get up here!” Wray had the crewman scan the hatch. She studied the tricorder readings, and then casually reached up and flipped the toggle switch.

“What if that had been the trigger?” Harrington asked with alarm.

“I knew it wasn’t,” Wray replied as she began removed bolts on the plate.

“What if you were wrong?” he exclaimed.

“They pay me extra to never be wrong,” she replied calmly. She removed the plate to expose what looked like a large block of modeling clay with about a dozen small silver tubes connected to the boxes with wires. She whistled, “That’s a lot of bang, Chief. Low-tech chemical stuff.” She took out two wire cutters and handed one to Harrington. She cut the wires that ran from the box with the switch to the other three boxes. Then she began cutting wires to the detonators. “Cut the wires on that side. One wire at a time, don’t try to bundle them.”

Once all the wires were cut, Wray started pulling the detonators out one by one and placing them in a small container filled with a soft gelatin. “These can still go off if they’re dropped hard enough,” she explained. After removing the last detonator, she used both arms to peel back the block of explosives to reveal a window. A motion-detector sensor faced outward such that if anyone tried to enter the airlock from the outside ... boom. She had Saul scan the door again, and then she opened it to inspect the airlock. She placed a flashing red/blue light on the outer door’s window. “All clear, Chief,” she announced as she secured the inner door.

Chief Wills told the two Cygnan petty officers to bring the prisoners up to the hatch. Wills pulled out his communicator. “Shuttle one, breach team, airlock on the starboard side is clear.” No response. “Shuttle one, shuttle one, breach team leader, do you copy?” Still no reply. “Shuttle two, breach team leader, do you copy?”

“Breach team, shuttle two, good copy,” they heard Chief Lopez’s voice. “I see the beacon, moving to dock now.”

The firefight was getting closer. Ensign Wiseman was the first to turn the corner with a limp Thomas Browning in a fireman’s carry. Kingsman and Calhoun followed, moving backwards as they returned fire up the corridor. Three of the trader’s crew rounded the corner, firing blindly at the police. Wiseman stumbled and fell; there was a fresh scorch mark on the center of her back. She got up and began to drag Browning. Crewman Mantri grabbed Moto’Bard’s weapon and launched a pair of stun grenades over their heads. She followed up by throwing a handful of marble-size teargas pellets. Kingman grabbed Browning’s legs and helped pull him through the doorway. Calhoun slammed the door shut, and Mantri ran a tube of gel along the door’s edge. In a matter of seconds, the gel foamed up and hardened, sealing the door shut.

Harrington began working on Browning. “It’s bad, Chief. We need to get him back to the McShane.” He applied a hypospray with the maximum dosage of stimulates a field medic was allowed to give. Browning stirred and moaned in pain. “I can’t do much more for him here. He needs a doctor, the sooner the better.”

 

[Sgt_G]

The shuttle docked with a solid thud. The control panel lights indicated the outer door was opened with a good seal and no loss of pressure. Petty Officer Wray opened the inner door. Petty Officer Alfredo ‘Freddie’ Newhouse was the first one through the airlock. “Howdy, y’all. Is this where the party’s at?” Freddie quipped in his southern accent.

“Man down!” Harrington exclaimed. “Help get him on the shuttle.” With Newhouse’s help, Harrington moved Browning onto the shuttle. “You need to fly him back, Chief,” he told Lopez, “he’s in no condition to beam over. He won’t survive the transporter.”

They forced the five captured prisoners onto the shuttle and secured them. Harrington, Newhouse, and seven other police personnel exited the shuttlecraft. They left one person behind to guard the prisoners. Chief Wills entered the shuttle, “Angela, do you have comms with shuttle one?” he asked Lopez.

“I should.” She pressed a button. “Shuttle one, shuttle one, this is shuttle two. Do you copy?”

After a long moment, Ensign Grey replied, “Shuttle two, shuttle one standing by, waiting for the shuttle bay hatch to open.”

The two chiefs looked at each other and shook their heads. “God save us from ensigns,” Lopez lamented. She keyed the mike, “Change of plans. Move over to the starboard side. Dock as soon as I’m clear.”

Lieutenant Duncan’s voice came on the line, “I just told Ensign Grey that if we’re not docked within twenty seconds of you leaving, you’re going to make him scrub the McShane’s shuttle bay with a toothbrush!”

“Affirm, Sir,” Lopez replied with a laugh. Her co-pilot did his best to hide his snickering.

“I thought Lieutenant Harris was supposed to be flying this mission,” Wills said as he moved to the doorway.

“Pfff, that poor thing might break a fingernail!”

“Roger that,” Wills laughed as he closed the doors. He watched Lopez’s shuttle detach and fly away. He counted to eighteen before shuttle one docked. Grey was safe for now. Wills opened the door to allow seven more police personnel to board the trading ship. Duncan used the comms to signal the security skiffs and told them to dock as soon as possible. He exited the shuttle and Wills closed the doors.

The two moved into the ship. Petty Officer Calhoun was already briefing the new teams of the situation, and Crewman Saul was showing the other technicians how to link their tricorders up with Mantri’s sensor spiders. Suddenly, Saul yelled, “Incoming!” and not a moment later, the sealed door blew in. One of the sensor techs, an Andorian, took the brunt of the impact. She was thrown into Saul and both went down in a heap. There was a man kneeled up the corridor with a spent rocket-propelled grenade launcher in his shoulder; he was cut down by no less than four phaser-rifles before he could escape around the corner.

The Andorian rolled off Crewman Saul; her helmet was shattered. She screamed in agony, holding one of her antenna in her hands as blue blood gushed from a severe head wound. Harrington knocked her out with a shot from a hypospray, a different one than he used before. He applied a clotting agent and a dressing to the wound. He assessed her condition with a quick tricorder scan. “It looks worse than it is, sir,” he told Lieutenant Duncan, “but we need to get her back to the ship right away if there’s any hope of re-attaching her antenna.” He looked down at Galen Saul, “Are you okay? You hurt anywhere?”

“I think so,” Saul answered as he tried to prop himself up on his elbow. “I can’t feel my legs,” he declared. “I can’t feel my legs! I can’t feel my legs!” he repeated in a panic. “I can’t feel my legs!” Harrington administered a hypospray. “I can’t feel my legs. I can’t ... I can’t ....” Saul mercifully drifted into unconsciousness. Harrington scanned him with the tricorder and confirmed he had a lumbar spinal injury. Another combat medic help Harrington stabilize Crewman Saul. Duncan called Ensign Grey and had him re-dock the shuttle to transport the two injured crewmen back to the McShane.

Duncan conferred with Chief Wills over his PADD display of the map of the trading vessel. “She wasn’t kidding,” he said referring to Mantri. “It looks like this boat was designed by a drunken fool.” The ship was over sixty years old and had been modified so many times in its lifespan it now looked nothing like it did when it rolled out of the factory. It had been cut in half and stretched, both in length twice and in width, and had even been extended to make it another deck thicker. “Okay, the bridge is that way,” he pointed to another door down the corridor opposite the way they came. “We need to get there before they can override the computer lockout.” One of Mantri’s parting gifts was to install a computer virus that scrambled the command codes, to include the self-destruct. “My team will take the bridge. You can take the engine room. It looks like the fastest way from here is back through the shuttle bay.”

There was a muffled noise from an explosion somewhere in the lower decks. “NO!” Ravenna Mantri shouted as she looked at the tricorder. Someone was trying to break into the area where the human-trafficking victims were being held. “No, no, no!” She spun and charged down the corridor. Kingsman and Calhoun chased after her. Mantri kicked the panel to the hidden door and ducked through. She found herself on a catwalk above the cargo bay. She used a snap-hook and a line to lower herself to the floor. She was gone before the other two women repelled down. Calhoun called her superiors with a situation report.

“Blast it!” Duncan roared. “I can’t spare anyone else. Go after her, and watch your backs.” He looked at the group. “Okay, let’s move out.” He and his team pushed forward towards the bridge while Will’s team headed for the engine room, leaving Wiseman and Moto’Bard behind to secure the docking port.

~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

I'll pick this up in an after-actions debrief. As I said, that was 3382 words that sidetracked from the main story line.

 

[Sgt_G]

There are some reference in this segment to events that occurred on the planet just prior to Wiseman taking the conn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~

INTERVIEWS

Commander Miguel Hernandez walked into the Cygnus police station, followed closely by Lieutenant Commander Atta Jamar and Lieutenant (j.g.) Douglas Costello, and headed directly to the Watch Desk. “Status report,” he demanded.

Ensign Peter Schultz responded in quick, concise statements. “Sir, the Cutter McShane boarded and captured the Tranquility, the ship with the trafficking victims. There are casualties on both sides. The Cutter Schumacher intercepted the other trading vessel, the al’Eazim, but the suspects were not on-board. We have teams out sweeping all ships still on the parking ramp. We sent a BOLO to all ships in the district, and all local agencies are on full alert.”

“What about that diplomatic shuttle?” Jamar asked.

“It’s still on the ground, sir. They’ll allow a search, but only by the Cygnan police. They won’t let our people or Star Fleet inside. Colonel Matu’Brin said he’ll see to it personally and asked us to have a team standing by. One of the missing mechanics is his niece, so he’s very ... unhappy about the whole situation.”

Jamar nodded. “He’s motivated, that’s good. We won’t have to worry about someone paying off his people. What about our people? Everyone report in okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Schultz confirmed. “The last seven are on their way in now. Four are Cygnans who were off base visiting family; they had permission. Two claimed they were ‘sight-seeing’, and I choose not to ask for details.” Hernandez and Jamar exchanged a knowing look. Well, Hernandez thought, if it’s who I think it is, at least neither of them is married. “We had to send a runner to find the last one,” Ensign Schultz finished. “I told her to report to Chief Baumann.”

“Let me guess: Sandra Bell.” Schultz nodded. Hernandez’s face turned red with anger. “Okay, so what was her excuse this time?”

“Sir, I was informed that Petty Officer Bell was sitting on her bed in the dark and didn’t answer the door at first. Petty Officer Kennedy reported that Petty Officer Bell told her she was waiting for someone to tell her what to do. Also, sir, we had trouble finding her. She wasn’t getting along with her dorm mates and moved to a different building, but never updated her locator card.”

The commander let out a long, slow breath. “Please ask Chief Baumann to escort Crewman Bell to my office. I’ll deal with it from there.” The Exec Officer opened his mouth to speak. “No, A.J., I’m done with her. She’s had more second-chances than anyone I know. At the very least, I’m pulling her stripe. She’s only frocked as it is,” meaning that she was allowed to wear the new rank before her official promotion date.

“All I was going to say, sir,” Jamar replied, “is that Marcus Maxwell asked for both of us to beam up to the McShane.”

Hernandez gave him a hard look. “If Crewman Bell wants to wait for someone to tell her what to do, she can wait in my office until I get back.” After a moment, Jamar nodded. The commander turned to Schultz, “She waits in my office. If she needs to use the head, she’ll have an escort. She can take a meal in the break room. That’s it. Nobody talks to her.”

“Aye, sir. Understood,” Ensign Schultz acknowledged. There was a beep; he looked down at the display screen. “Sir, the McShane is in orbit. They’re ready for you to beam up.”

“Okay, thanks. Doug, you’re in charge here,” Hernandez ordered. “If Lieutenant Christensen calls, tell her she’s supposed to be resting.” He and Jamar departed, heading for the nearest Star Fleet transporter.

As they walked, Jamar broached a delicate subject. “You know, Sandra Bell is coming up on six years. If you red-line her promotion, she won’t be allowed to re-enlist.”

“Too easy. If I’m going to put her out, I’ll kick her out. I’ll make that decision tomorrow. Lesson for you A.J., never make a career-altering decision while you’re still peeved off.”

“Whose career? Hers or yours?” Jamar asked. “You do know that she’s a Norwood brat.”

“Yes, I know exactly who her mother is,” Hernandez snapped. “I’m going to have a long talk with Margret Norwood-Bell later tonight. It’s going to be a Come-to-Jesus moment for one of us, that’s for sure.”

Jamar wisely dropped the subject, and the pair walked in silence the rest of the way to the transporter room. A few minutes later, they met up with Senior Chief Thrace, and the three were beamed up to the Police Cutter James McShane. They were quickly escorted to the captain’s office. Lieutenant Commander Marcus Maxwell, his Executive Officer, Lieutenant Jonathan Wu, and the Chief of the Boat, Senior Chief Lucille Cohen, greeted them.

“Long time, Miguel. I wish it could have been under better circumstances,” Maxwell said as they shook hands.

“Yes, it has been a long time, Marcus. I’d say ‘happy birthday’, but I guess that’s not going to happen. So, what can we do for you?”

Maxwell sighed. “Orders from District. They want an impartial review of our ... my command decisions in this incident. I told them we're not done mopping up yet, but they insisted you get started. Sorry, I thought they told you.”

Hernandez grumbled. “I’ve been a little busy, so I must have missed the memo,” if it was even sent, he didn’t add. “Well, okay, let me get a few more people up here,” he turned to Jamar. “Call down and have Chief Baumann and Chief Sandoval beam up. Also, get the forensic teams up here, with both Peacock and Kennedy. If Lieutenant Devon feels up to it, ask her to come up, too. If Christensen asks, the answer’s no, she’s on bed rest.” He looked at the Andorian, “Senior Chief Thrace, please lead the interviews of the enlisted personnel.”

“Yes, sir, I shall,” Thrace said, placing his left hand to his chest with a slight bow. “If she’s well enough, I’d like Petty Officer Azuki'Rohr to come up, too, please.” Seeing no objections, he turned to Cohen, “Please, lead the way.” The two left the room.

Maxwell asked, “Shall we take this to the conference room?”

Hernandez shook his head. “No, here’s fine, Marcus. Lieutenant, if you’ll excuse us, please. And do pass the word to your crew: nobody talks to anyone except to us.”

“Already done, sir,” Wu reported before exiting the room.

There were overstuff chairs and a matching couch on side of the captain’s office; the three men sat down. Hernandez ordered the computer to begin an audio/video recording, and then provided his full name, rank, and duty title. The other two men gave their names, rank and duty titles as well. “So, Marcus,” Hernandez began, “Tell me about your day,” he asked in a friendly conversational tone.

Jamar interjected, “Sir, I thought we’d start by reviewing the ship’s logs and communication transcripts.”

Hernandez frowned and gave a little nod. “I suppose we could do that, A.J. We probably should do that, if this was a criminal interrogation.” For centuries, police officers found it useful to know the answers to questions before they asked the suspects. It helped trip up even the best criminal minds to catch them in a lie. “Right now, I’d like to get his thoughts while they’re still fresh. Marcus, if you please.”

Maxwell rubbed his chin, “Well, it started as just a routine day. We left Starbase Thirteen eight days ago, making the loop around our patrol zone. We dropped off some passengers and picked up some medical supplies to run out to Mantor. They had a bad run of insulin, so we’re taking them four crates to get them by; otherwise I would have stayed in orbit for a couple days. As you know, it’s my birthday, and a little bird told me about a surprise party Jonathan had planned. I knew all the senior officers would want to attend, so I turned the conn over to Ensign Wiseman.”

Jamar looked up from his PADD. “I see that she’s not certified as a watch officer yet. Why didn’t you give the conn to someone else, Ensign Grey perhaps? He’s certified, isn’t he?”

Maxwell snorted, “Certified, yes. Capable, maybe. I had high hopes for him at first, but I fear he’s not cut out for the job. No, if I had left him in charge, he’d have punched it to warp five as soon as traffic control told him to. Your crewman would be dead and both ships would have been long gone before we knew anything about it. Wiseman had the instinct to know something was up.”

“We’ll want to talk to her, of course,” Jamar replied and went back to his reading.

“She should be on her way back from the trader by now,” Maxwell commented. He continued narrating the events of the one-sided battle. The trading vessel fired a pair of point-defense phasers at the McShane before Maxwell stripped it of its weapons. When asked, he explained that he took controls personally because if they should do excess damage and kill some of the hostages, he didn’t want any of his crew to suffer the guilt. Besides, Maxwell was a weapons instructor at the Academy for two years.

“It was Wiseman’s idea to use the Tranquility’s shuttle for the breach team,” Maxwell noted with a hint of pride. The original plan was to simply use the McShane’s own shuttles with docking collars and cut their way in. Maxwell detailed his boarding plan; it was textbook-perfect. The plan’s execution had a few hiccups, but nothing that boarding team couldn’t overcome. Hernandez could find no fault with anything the cutter’s captain had done. Still, he felt something was being left unsaid.

They called Lieutenant Wu in for his interview. The ship’s executive officer confirmed Maxwell’s version of events but otherwise had little in the way of new information to offer. They dismissed him and called for the operations officer to come in, but Lieutenant Harris was strangely too busy to talk to the investigators.

A chime sounded, and Lieutenant Tara Devon asked for permission to enter. The three men stood up, and Hernandez made the introductions. “Marcus, this is Lieutenant Devon of the Inspector General’s office. Tara, please meet Lieutenant Commander Maxwell.” Devon’s arm was still in a sling and wasn’t completely steady on her feet yet. “Tara had a bit of excitement of her own this morning.”

“So I heard,” Maxwell said. “Please, have a seat. You look like you’re going to fall over. What can we do for you?”

“Thank you, sir,” she said as she lowered herself carefully into the nearest chair. “I was just escorted off your bridge, sir.” Maxwell said nothing but the look on his face suggested he was less surprised than the others expected. “I was speaking with your intelligence officer, Lieutenant Grossman, about the current situation when an updated report came in. Lieutenant Harris was busy on the other side of the bridge and didn’t hear it. When Grossman told her, she took offence that I heard the report before she did. She accused me of interfering with a rescue operation and ordered me off the bridge.”

Maxwell sighed and tried to defend his officer. “Lieutenant Harris might seem a little high-strung,” he began.

Devon shook her head, “No, sir,” she interrupted him. “I know Cynthia Harris from our days as Academy instructors. She was a bully then, and she still is now. She doesn’t ask nicely, she doesn’t give orders; she demands. She yells and screams at the enlisted troops. I just witnessed her call Chief Petty Officer Springer ‘stupid’ to his face. I can’t repeat the things she said to Lieutenant Grossman, in front of the troops no less.” She inhaled deeply and let out a frustrated breath. “I thought maybe I’m letting my personal bias cloud my judgement, but the person who escorted me down here just told me that half the crew are ready to transfer out because of her.”

Hernandez looked at his friend sympathetically. “Maybe you should think about finding a new ops officer, Marcus.”

“I would if I could, Miguel. I looked into it already. She needs a year of space duty, and nobody else will take her. I’m stuck with her for the next eight months.”

The chime sounded again, and this time it was Petty Officer Second Class Azuki'Rohr requesting to speak with the commander. “Sir, I need to go to the Tranquility, and Lieutenant Harris refused me permission,” the computer technician explained. “Will you authorize me to beam over, sir?”

“Why do you need to go over, Az?” Devon asked her IG team member.

“I was just informed that Crewman Mantri installed some sort of computer virus that locked out the trading vessel’s command systems. I need to retrieve that code as soon as possible,” Azuki’Rohr explained.

“How did it do that?” Hernandez asked. “Even on a civilian ship, those systems should have level-five security.”

“Is there a risk of it infecting the McShane’s computers?” Maxwell asked concerned.

“Where would she get her hands on code like that?” Jamar asked. “I doubt she knows how to write computer viruses.”

“All questions I need to find the answers to, sir.”

Maxwell reached over to the comm unit and pressed a button. “Bridge, Maxwell. Please have Huffman report to the transporter in tac-gear. He’ll be escorting the computer tech from Cygnus Station.” He released the button. “Huffman is, as you may have guessed, our computer tech. He’s also our reigning chess champion, and he’s very good at puzzles.”

“I want you to gear up, Az, and please be careful,” Devon said as she flexed her hand. The numbness was wearing off, so she removed the sling to exercise her arm, per the doctor’s instructions.said.

“Yes, Ma’am. I was shot once today. I’d like to avoid doing that again.” She saluted and departed the room, sidestepping to allow Ensign Sarah Wiseman to enter the room.

Maxwell barely recognized the young officer whom he had given the conn to the morning. Still wearing her flight suit and body armor, she was covered with dirt and grim, and splattered with blood -- blue, green, and two shades of red. Her one-piece jump suit was ripped and torn in several places, and her body armor bore the marks that she had been shot multiple times. Her hair had come partially undone, leaving several tangled strands hanging down her back. She walked with a pronounced limp, favoring her left leg.

“Sir,” she began, looking off to a far-distant nothing. She raised her shaking hands in shock. “Sir, I...” She looked at her hands as if seeing them for the first time. She turned them over to study them, and then wiped her palms on her thighs. “Sir, I just came from Sick Bay. Doctor Tamm said he needs more medical personnel sent up from the planet.” Doctor Tamm was a little Korean man the crew affectionately called ‘Doctor Me-Fix’ for his favorite saying, “You hurt, me fix.” English wasn't his strong suit.

“Sit down, Sarah,” Maxwell said gently. Wiseman gimped over and sat on the edge of the chair, looking out at the nothingness again. “You look like you’ve been through Hell, Ensign.”

She turned and gazed at him as if she could see into his soul. “I’ve seen what Hell looks like, sir.”

~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

(still to be continued)

 

[Sgt_G]

Okay, I think I've wrapped up the side story with Ensign Sarah Wiseman.

~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

“I think you should go back to sick bay,” Maxwell suggested.

“They’re busy, sir, and I’m not hurt that bad,” Wiseman said has she stood up. She put her hands on the back of her head and started pacing back and forth, looking up at the ceiling. “Moto’Bard is dead, sir.”

“Yes, I know,” Maxwell said gently.

“We lost T’Ver on the way back. Chief Wills was wounded and may lose his arm.”

“Yes, I know,” Maxwell repeated. “I’ve seen the initial reports.” The count was five dead thus far, two of his crew, three from the security skiffs, and nine seriously wounded.

Devon stood up and faced Wiseman. “Hi, Sarah. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Tara Devon. Why don’t we get this off you?” She started unfastening the ensign’s body armor. It was Level-3 armor with half-sleeves and chaps to protect the upper arms and thighs. It was marked with four or five direct hits and was peppered with shrapnel. Wiseman winced as Devon undid the left arm. One of the scorch marks was right on the attachment point of the sleeve. Her flight suit was burned in the same spot. “Let’s get you sat down here,” she said as she guided the young woman to the couch.

Maxwell went to a cabinet to retrieve an emergency med-pack. “I hope you have something on underneath this,” Devon said as she started to unzip Wiseman’s flight suit. She was relieved to see she had a moisture-wicking tee shirt on. She gently pulled the sleeve up to reveal a minor disruptor burn. “That doesn’t look too bad. I know it hurts though,” she said from first-hand experience. Maxwell handed her an anesthetic / antibiotic spray to apply to the wound.

Wiseman stopped Devon from unzipping the jumpsuit farther. “I don’t have shorts on,” she blushed. “I was in a bit of a hurry when I changed back out of uniform.” She rolled the suit down to the small of her back and tied the sleeves together around her waist.

“That’s okay,” Devon smiled. “Why don’t we start at the beginning? How long have you served on the McShane?”

“Ten days; I’m temporarily assigned while the Gendarme is in space dock for refresh.” The commander handed her a packet of wet-wipes to clean her hands and face. That reopened cuts on her face; Devon applied the medical spray and dabs of liquid bandage to stop the bleeding.

“How do you like it here?” Devon asked as she tended to Wiseman’s injuries.

“I like it fine. Everyone has been so nice.” She paused and bit her lip. “Almost everyone.”

“Uh-huh,” Devon nodded and glanced as Maxwell. “So, tell me about this morning.” She cut Wiseman’s pant leg open just above the left knee. There was a jagged piece of metal embedded in the skins. Devon applied the spray, and then used a tube to surround the object with a gel that foamed up and solidified to stabilize the shrapnel in place. The doctor could remove it later in sickbay.

Ensign Wiseman recounted her morning; she flew a shuttle down to the planet Cygnus to drop off seven Star Fleet personnel and pick up three Policemen returning from leave, along with a load of fresh produce. She had no more than returned to the ship when she was told to report to the bridge, where Maxwell placed her on bridge watch.

“You’re not certified,” Jamar pointed out.

“No, sir, not technically,” she admitted, “and did I inform Commander Maxwell of that.” She glanced over at Maxwell, “I’m sure he knows that I did log a lot of bridge time on the Gendarme.” She continued telling of the departure. She said it seemed Control wanted to get rid of the McShane.

“I’m curious,” Maxwell asked, “what tipped you off?”

Wiseman crinkled her brow. “I’m not sure, sir. May I see the transcript, please?” Jamar handed her his PADD. She scanned down through the text. “There,” she pointed. “They said, ‘once past Cygnus Seven, contact Sector Control’. The locals don’t call it Cygnus Seven; they call it Cebrinus.” She handed the PADD back to Jamar. “Officially, the call should have said ‘once past the DEW-line’. I just knew something didn’t sound right, even if I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time. We should probably question that controller, sir.”

Maxwell shook his head. “We’d love to, but he’s gone missing. Please, continue.”

Wiseman spoke of rapid sequence of events that followed: the alert from the police station, the ship’s return to the planet, the rescue of the shuttlecraft, and the pursuit the trading vessel. Jamar question why she chose the Tranquility over the Mohamad al Eazim. Wiseman opened her mouth and hesitated. “I wish I hadn’t! Moto’Bard and T-Ver are dead because of me!”

“Hey!” Devon said sharply. She took Wiseman’s chin in her hand and turned her. Looking the young woman in the eye, “Do not allow yourself to think that. It wasn’t your fault. Sometimes, bad things just happen. You can do everything right and still get a bad result.”

Wiseman tried to pull away. “Lieutenant Harris already took me to task for it. She said I should have waited for a senior officer to take the conn.”

“Why didn’t you wait?” Jamar asked. “You had to know they were on their way.”

“There wasn’t time,” she answered with a little shake of her head. “I knew if we didn’t go right then, both ships would get away.” She paused in thought. “I had a possible sighting of Most Wanted suspects and a confirmed report of hostages. I know that Most Wanted have priority, but I figured it’d be better to go for the sure thing. I mean, isn’t saving lives the core of our mission?” She reached down and picked up the body armor. “At the time, I didn’t know that Crewman Mantri left a tracking signal on the Tranquility. She wanted us to go after the al Eazim.” She examined the damage to the armor. She ran a finger around the hole in the back plate and smiled a lop-sided grin. “You know, she insisted I wear this. She saved my life.”

“Where is Crewman Mantri anyway?” Hernandez asked. “We have some questions about a computer virus she allegedly used to infect the ship’s computer systems.”

“She’s still on the Tranquility, sir,” Wiseman answered. She looked up from the body armor. “Oh, she’s alive, as far as I know. The virus, yes. I heard her telling Crewman Saul about it. Let me think, what did she say it did? It was loaded on a data card that installed it into volatile memory. She told him how to clear it from the system, in case she couldn’t do it. She told him to find the card and remove it from the reader, and then power cycle the entire system. Um, what else? It couldn’t affect the command and control systems directly due to security lockouts, but rather it attacks the input subroutines. Yeah, that was it, something about a vulnerability in the duplex settings.”

“How so?” Jamar asked.

“Let’s say your access code is ABC123, so you type in ABC123, but the computer will see AABBCC112233.”

“Ingenious,” Devon commented as she used her PADD to send a text message to Petty Officer Azuki’Rohr. Her arm was getting sore, so she slipped it back in the sling.

Hernandez was annoyed. “That doesn’t explain what Mantri’s doing over on that ship.”

“She went over on the breach team, sir. We were lucky to have her and her ‘magic toys’ with us.” Wiseman explained the many devices Mantri carried in her backpack. The most useful seemed to be the sensor spiders that linked to the tricorders. The boarding teams would have been blind without them.

Jamar acknowledged, “Yes, she demonstrated them to me a few months ago. I didn’t see the point.”

Wiseman continued to narrate the boarding action and subsequent capture of the ship. Duncan took his team to the bridge and sent Chief Wills to engineering. Mantri, Kingsman, and Calhoun had gone to protect the hostages. When the first skiff docked, Wiseman took a team to back Mantri up. “When we got to the holding cells, Kingsman and Calhoun had taken up positions at the door and were in a firefight with five suspects. Mantri was at the other end of the cargo hold, keeping more suspects from coming in that way. My team arrived and we subdued the first five. I went to help Mantri. By the time I got to her, she had burned through every power pack she had and used up all her flash-bangs and teargas. She was fighting hand-to-hand with combat knives. It was like ... stuff you only see in movies.”

Hernandez and Jamar looked at each other in disbelief. “We’ll need your body camera.”

“Of course, sir; it’s already tagged and bagged.” Wiseman took a deep breath. “The pirates ... Mantri stopped them ... they were throwing grenades into holding cells, killing the hostages.” She paused, trying to erase the horror from her mind. “We counted at least thirty dead, sir,” she said quietly. “Some of them threw themselves on the grenades trying to save the rest.”

The five police officers sat in silence for a long moment. “Crewman Mantri saved a lot of lives today, sir,” Wiseman declared. “I’d estimate there were over four hundred hostages in that hold.”

“And Mantri, where is she now?” Hernandez asked.

“On the ship, sir.” She took another long breath and let it out. “She warned us. She told us the suspects might try to blend in with the hostages. There was a boy, maybe sixteen years old, part of the crew. He pulled a knife and stabbed Moto’Bard in the neck. He was dead before he hit the floor. The boy grabbed Moto’Bard’s weapon. I killed him. I shot him right in the face.”

Devon laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Sometimes you have no choice.”

“Yes, I know; he didn’t give me a choice,” Wiseman agreed. “It doesn’t make it any easier.” She sighed. “There was a young woman with a suicide vest. Mantri noticed her and pushed her into another compartment. The bomb went off. I don’t know how Mantri survived, but she did. We couldn’t open the door due to a hull breach. Mantri signaled that she had an oxygen bottle and used her backpack to plug the hole. We tried to pump air in, but she said to stop because it was going to blow her backpack out. Chief Lopez is trying to use a docking collar to extricate her.”

Maxwell rubbed his hands together. “Anything to add, Ensign?” She shook her head. “Okay, let’s get you down to sickbay. We’ll schedule you time with the counselors. And don’t argue. I’ve used them myself; they can help you get through this. Just know, you did a good job today. A very good job.”

~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

There. That's a good stopping point.

 

[Sgt_G]

Continuing the story.

~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Doctor Tamm moved from one patient to another, running his hand scanner over them and giving instructions to medical staff. Even though a police cutter carried a crew of just a hundred personnel, its sickbay rivaled that of Star Fleet’s Texas-class light cruiser and Republic-class heavy cruiser. It boasted a total of fourteen exam / recover beds and two trauma-surgical rooms; only the Constitution-class starship had more capacity. It might seem extravagant for such a small ship until one remembers that the police cutter was designed to be a first response ship.

Normally, Doctor Tamm would have had one nurse and two corpsman to assist him. With the Gendarme in space dock for maintenance, he had the luxury of a second nurse and three more combat-rated medics temporarily assigned to the McShane. Additionally, two doctors and three nurses had beamed up from the Star Fleet medical facility on Cygnus. He’d need all the help he could get; word was, there were over four hundred rescued human-trafficking victims and fifty-some-odd captured criminals that all needed to be examined, not to mention treating several injured police personnel. It was going to be a long night.

Two women entered the sick bay; a corpsman directed them to a recovery bed. Tamm recognized the brunette as Ensign Sarah Wiseman, but he didn’t know the attractive tall blonde who helped support Wiseman. He walked over and berated the ensign, “Told you stay. You left. Why you leave?” His Korean accent was strong and he tended to speak in broken-English.

She shrugged and immediately regretted moving her sore shoulder. “Others were in more need of help.”

“For me to decide, not you,” Tamm said sternly. He turned to the other woman. “I don’t know you,” he stated matter-of-factly as he ran his scanner over her.

“Lieutenant Devon. Tara Devon. I’m from the IG team.” She tried to push his hand away; he scanned her anyway. “That’s from earlier today; I was already treated.”

“Yes, I see. You’re Centauri. They gave you wrong meds. Dexocam for humans, not strong enough for Centauri.” He snapped his fingers twice and a corpsman responded. “Five of triaxalol, right here,” he pointed to a spot just below Devon’s collar bone, “and a script for twenty of napriadin, fifty milligram. You take one, four times a day with food,” he told Devon.

The medic administered the hypo-spray as directed. Tamm scanned Wiseman. “Dexocam,” he ordered. The medic gave him another hypo-spray, and Tamm pressed it near the disruptor burn. Wiseman sucked in through clinched teeth. “Sorry, no other way,” Tamm said as he gave her several more shots, all around the tender wound. She was in tears before he was done. Next, the doctor examined the shrapnel embedded in her leg. “Medic did good job,” he noted.

“You mean the stabilizing foam, Doc? I did that,” Devon explained.

Tamm nodded. “Saved her leg. Maybe saved her life.” He ordered Wiseman to lie back on the table, and then he pulled a swing-arm with a larger scanner over her leg. “This is bad,” he announced. “You go down, see Doctor Thorp; she can fix this. No walking until then.” He had the corpsman fetch a folding wheelchair.

Chief Angela Lopez and Corpsman Paul Harrington entered Sickbay with two other combat troops, Petty Officers Rose Calhoun and Lisa Kingsman, pushing an anti-grav stretcher carrying Crewman Ravenna Mantri. It was hard to tell whether she was just unconscious or dead. Devon and Wiseman were horrified. Devon walked over and looked down at the young woman. “Is she ...?”

“She’s alive,” Harrington reassured her, “but not by much. Concussion, collapsed lung, internal bleeding. The blast wave should have killed her instantly.”

Calhoun gently brushed Mantri’s hair off her face. “She used a desk as a shield. That and her exoskeleton probably saved her life.” She stroked the crewman’s cheek. “Brave girl. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Lopez asked the doctor, “How’s Hogan? I mean, Chief Wills?”

“In there,” Tamm pointed to one of the trauma rooms. “Maybe lose arm, maybe we save it. He goes down to planet soon.” He ran his scanner over Mantri’s body. “She goes down now. How she’s alive, I do not know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

One of the planet’s four security skiffs docked to the McShane to transfer the wounded. Tables and chairs in the common area had been folded and stowed away, converting the skiff into an ambulance able of transporting a dozen litter-borne patients plus medical personnel. The skiff was the smallest true starship capable of interstellar travel. With a nominal crew of twelve plus combat troops, it was used as a courier and for short-range patrol sweeps, but its primary function was in-system security and customs inspections. It was severely lacking in creature comforts.

Lieutenant Devon pushed Ensign Wiseman’s wheelchair into the room. Wiseman saw her shuttle co-pilot, Petty Officer Browning, lying on a gurney and had Devon move her closer. “Hey, Tommy, you had me worried.”

He reached out and took her hand and smiled. “Did I ever tell you you’re the cutest pilot I’ve ever flown with?”

Wiseman blushed. “They must have you on some good pain killers. Why don’t you get some rest?” After a long moment, he released her hand, allowing her to move over to speak to Chief Wills. “What’s the word, Chief?”

“Doctor Me-Fix says I get to keep my arm,” the Rigelian said, pointing to the limb encased in a regeneration unit, “but none of the tattoos. I’ll probably be flying a desk for a while, but I’ll be back on the job before you know it, Ma’am.”

“I’ll be going back to the Gendarme in ten days,” she informed him. “It was good serving with you, Chief.”

“You too, Ma’am. You kicked butt today.” He paused. “You know, I’ll bet Commander Maxwell will fight to keep you.”

“Yes, I know,” she chuckled. “He already told me.”

“Maybe we can trade Ensign Grey for you,” Wills quipped.

“Nah, don’t underestimate him, Chief. He just needs a good mentor. Besides, I have a feeling the commander would rather give them a certain lieutenant instead.” She laughed out loud when he ran his hand across his mouth and motioned as if throwing away the key. “I’d love to stay, but I can’t. I have ... someone waiting for me.”

Petty Officer Sakuri’Nahl entered the room wearing a service dress uniform, colloquially called a Class-A uniform, and walked over the Chief Wills. “I thought you’d like to know, Chief, I’m escorting Moto’Bard home.”

“I’d like to be there,” Ensign Wiseman interjected.

Sakuri’Nahl opened her mouth and then closed it. After a moment’s thought, she replied, “I will ask, Ma’am, but his family might not allowed it. They did not accept Moto’Bard being in the service of Earthers. Nothing personal.”

“It is for them,” Wiseman replied.

The room grew quieter as Harrington, Kingsman, and Calhoun entered with Ravenna Mantri on the anti-grav stretcher. She was hooked up to every piece of portable medical equipment imaginable, including an automatic cardiac stimulator and one of the new cortical stimulators, and a tube inserted down her throat to help her breath. She opened her eyes and looked around; upon seeing Devon and Wiseman, she raised her hand with a thumbs-up. Devon walked over, leaned down and whispered in her ear, and then kissed her on the forehead.

Senior Chief Thrace and Petty Officer Azuki'Rohr entered just before the announcement the skiff was undocking. Both carried small metallic brief cases; the computer tech had hers chained to her wrist. “A word, please Ma’am.” She led Devon to the lavatory.

After checking to make sure the stalls were empty, Azuki’Rohr announced in a low voice, “Ma’am, I won’t be coming back to HQ with you, not right away. I need to stay on Cygnus. I already told the Senior Chief.”

Lieutenant Devon was visibly surprised by that. “Why, Az? What’s with all the hush-hush? And what’s in the case?”

“This,” she held up the case, “is all the data cards that Crewman Mantri had on her person, in her backpack, and the one I recovered from a card reader onboard the Tranquility. Presumably they contain malicious software.”

“You mean you have the computer virus? Did you figure out how it works?”

“Technically, it’s not a virus because of how it's introduced to the system. Beyond that, it’s classified, Ma’am.”

Devon cocked her head to one side. “I do have a level six clearance.”

“Yes, Ma’am, but you don’t have ...”

“A need to know,” both women finished. “Right,” Devon continued. “What was I thinking? So, you still haven’t said why you need to stay on Cygnus.”

Azuki’Rohr hesitated and looked away. “I think I know where this came from. In fact, I’m pretty sure I know who wrote it.” She looked her superior officer in the eye. “My record before joining the police is not exactly spotless, Ma’am. You’ll just have to trust me.”

Devon studied the petty officer for a long while. “Of course, I do trust you, Az.”

The two women exited the lavatory just in time to hear Senior Chief Thrace asking Petty Officers Lisa Kingman and Rose Calhoun, “... and you’re sure of that? Crewman Mantri was not under orders to stay with the group, correct? She went to the cargo hold on her own volition? She was neither told to go nor not to go, correct?”

The two looked at each other and nodded in agreement. “That is correct, Senior Chief,” Calhoun answered. “Does that matter?”

“Yes, it does. First, it means she can’t be brought up on charges for abandoning her post.”

“Nobody said she did,” Calhoun retorted.

“Lieutenant Harris suggested that,” Thrace replied. His tone spoke volumes.

“That woman,” Kingsman hissed, “I swear, I am so done with her!” She looked at her crewmate. “First chance I get, I’m out of here.”

“The fact that her actions were voluntary and not under direct orders of an officer does open other possibilities. Commander Jamar purposed submitting Crewman Mantri for a Commendation Medal with a combat ‘V’ for her actions on the planet and for a Bronze Star for her actions on the Tranquility. Commander Maxwell suggested combining them into the Silver Star. These,” he opened the metal brief case to reveal about fifty data cards, “are copies of all the body cam recordings and interview statements.” After a dramatic pause, Trace declared, “I think they make a case for Crewman Mantri to receive the Police Cross medal.”

“Indeed, Senior Chief,” Devon agreed, “but that’s not our call. Write up a letter of recommendation to Commander Hernandez, and I’ll endorse it.” She sat down in one of the few chairs available. “Shifting gears for a moment, I sent that name you gave me to Commander Weatherford. I just want to make sure I spelled it correctly: S-T-O-A-N. Yes?”

“I know Senior Chief Stoan,” Rose Calhoun supplied. “He’s the one who helped me get my head screwed on right. What brings his name up, Ma’am?”

Lieutenant Devon weighed her options. “This hasn’t been made public yet, but Commander Weatherford is building a crew for a refurbished cutter. He asked me to be his Ops Officer. He may ... maybe ... ask Senior Chief Stoan to be the Chief of the Boat.”

“Oh, count me in,” Calhoun responded. Kingsman added her, “Me, too.” Devon told them to watch for the announcement on Monday and then send in their applications.

“At the risk of overstepping, Ma’am,” Thrace began, “Do you perhaps remember my wife’s niece? She graduated Academy about a year ago.”

Devon thought for a moment. “Shaalin, right? Wouldn’t she be your niece, too?”

“Sheelan,” he corrected her. “Not in Andorian custom, no. She’s attached to Star Fleet at Space Station R-2. She wants ship-duty, and I would prefer to know she has a commanding officer I can trust.” He left the request unspoken.

Devon nodded, “Yes, of course. Not my call, so no promises, but do tell her to send her package to Commander Weatherford.” She thought for a moment. “You have another relative who was asking about ship-duty, yes? The young man who came to see you a few weeks ago, who was that?”

“Yes, my nephew, my sister’s son, Thane. He’s a Star Fleet science officer; something of ... what is that word? A geek.”

Devon smiled at that. She looked across the room and raised her chin. “What do you think of her?”

“Ensign Wiseman?” Thrace asked. “You can’t have all the good ones, Ma’am. Leave some for the rest of the fleet.”

~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

 

[Sgt_G]

~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Commander Miguel Hernandez entered the Star Fleet medical center and walked to the front desk. “Where might I find Doctor Thorp?” he inquired.

“One moment, sir,” the receptionist replied as she accessed the computer terminal. “I just set her a message.” She read the reply, “She’ll be here in a moment. There’s a waiting area over there, if you’d like to take a seat, sir.”

He walked over and stood watching the display screen. The local news was on with wall-to-wall coverage, of course, of the previous day’s rescue of nearly four hundred women. He gritted his teeth. So much speculation without having all the facts. Normally, he would have had Lieutenant Christensen release a press statement. She was injured during the events, so he relied on Star Fleet’s public affairs officer, who completely botched the job.

“I see you came back for your stress test, Miguel,” Doctor Thorp said as she walked up behind him. He nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Not on your life, Mildred,” he retorted. “I think I’ve had enough stress yesterday to last the rest of the year.” He took his eyes off the screen and turned to her. “I came to see how my people are doing.”

She nodded. “Yvonne Christensen is in recovery; she had surgery this morning. I foresee no complications.” He raised his eyebrows at that; he was told her injuries weren’t severe. “It was touch and go at first, but Ravenna Mantri is out of the woods. We should have her up and walking tomorrow.”

“Can I see her?”

“Later. There’s already a waiting list for visitors. I put you at the top. I’m keeping the press hounds away.”

“Oh, yes, thank you for that!” he exclaimed.

“I just released Nichole Swanson and Megan Graham. I want them off duty today and tomorrow, and then light duty for a few days. And I told them ‘no fun with the boyfriends’, not that I think that’s a problem with them.”

Hernandez blushed, “Yeah, I agree. They seem like the wait-until-married type. Or maybe I’m just an old fogey who doesn’t want to know any different.”

“I sent Tara Devon back to her quarters last night. I want to see her again before she leaves tomorrow. I’d like to keep Sarah Wiseman another night, but I think she’ll be in good hands with ‘Doctor Me-Fix’. She can go up by shuttle this afternoon, not by transporter beam.”

“Doctor Me-Fix?” he crinkled his brow.

Thorp laughed. “That’s what they call Doctor Tamm, the McShane’s chief medical officer. His favorite saying is ‘you hurt, me fix’. Sarah’s up, if you’d like to see her. Ensign Schultz is in with her now.”

She led the way to the elevator. As they stepped out on the third floor, they met Lieutenant Commander Marcus Maxwell and Petty Officer Third Class Sakuri’Nahl, both from the police cutter James McShane; they were escorting a middle-ages Cygnan couple. Maxwell said, “We came to see Ensign Wiseman, if that’s alright.”

“Yes, of course,” Thorp said. She entered the room first. Wiseman was sitting on the bed with her feet dangling off the floor. Peter Schultz was sitting, relaxed, in a chair. “Sarah, your commander is here with some people to see you.” Schultz jumped to his feet.

“Ah, yeah, sure,” Wiseman responded. “Give me a second, please.” Her hair was undone and hanging loose. She pulled it back into a pony tail and looked for something to tie it with. Thorp opened a drawer and found a strap used to fasten intravenous lines in place. A moment later, Wiseman had her hair secured. She stood up unsteadily and used a cane to support herself. “Do I look okay?”

“You’re fine,” Thorp smiled. She ushered the group into the room. Wiseman

Sakuri’Nahl spoke first, “Ensign Wiseman, these are Moto’Bard’s parents. They asked to meet you.”

“I understand you were with my son when he died,” the man stated flatly.

“Yes, sir, I was,” Wiseman confirmed.

“And the person who did this to him, will he be punished?”

“That person is also dead.”

The couple looked at each other. “That is not our way,” the woman said.

“It is not our way, either,” Wiseman replied. “He left us no choice.” She paused. “I had no choice.”

“You killed him?” the father asked.

“Yes, sir. I presume they told you that your son was stabbed.” They nodded. “The man, he was still a boy, really, stabbed Moto’Bard and then grabbed his phaser rifle. It was on the stun setting. He shot two of my people and then switched it to the kill setting. I shot him with stun setting, but he had a personal force field. I had to put my phaser pistol on kill to get through that force field.”

“I see this distresses you,” the man observed. “This tells me you are a good person. Sakuri’Nahl told us everyone she and our son served with are good people.” He looked down at the ground and shook his head. “My son and I disagreed with his service off-world. He said he was doing it to help our people, too.”

“He was,” Commander Maxwell said. “I’m sure you heard about the women we rescued. What you may not have heard is approximately sixty of them are Cygnan. Young women and girls, some of whom have been missing for over a year. If it wasn’t for people like your son, those women would not be returning home to their families.”

Sakuri’Nahl said something in her native language. The three Cygnan conversed for a minute or two. Finally, the man turned to Wiseman. “We will leave you to rest.” He started to turn to leave and stopped. “My father died unexpectedly. They last thing we said to each other was ... unkind. My son and I also said unkind things to each other on many occasions. I would always forbid him to leave until we had a civil talk. We may have disagreed on many things. At least our last exchange was not unkind.” He shook his head sadly. “I do not know why our men, fathers and sons, must always fight so much.”

“It’s often like that with Human fathers and sons, too,” Maxwell told him. “My father and I have made our amends. My son and I are still working on it.”

After the Cygnans left, Hernandez asked Maxwell, “Marcus, I thought you to run some medical supplies to Mantor.”

Maxwell laughed. “I borrowed a skiff from planetary security. I took your suggestion, Sarah, and put Ensign Grey in command of the mission. Chief Lopez went along to keep him out of trouble.”

She smiled. “I’ll bet he comes back as a better officer, sir.” She turned to Doctor Thorp. “Any word on Crewman Mantri? I’d like to see her before I leave.”

“Sure, she was asking for you. I’ll let you have five minutes with her,” Thorp said. “She had us worried for a while. That exoskeleton may have saved her life, but it took two hours to figure out to remove it. Why don’t you put some instruction labels on that thing?”

Commander Hernandez was confused. “I didn’t know anything about it.”

“She said it was a prototype,” Wiseman supplied. “I’d like to know where she got all her magic toys.”

Ensign Schultz had the answer. “From her brothers. She’s the youngest and the only girl. Her family owns several factories in Bangalore, with their own research and development center. They make everything from kids’ educational toys to high-end security systems. Crewman Mantri has been sending them ideas, and they send her things to test.”

“And you knew about this,” Hernandez demanded.

“Yes, sir. So did Chief Sandoval and Commander Jamar. She ran all her ideas through her supervisor, Petty Officer Chong, before sending them home.” He laughed. “She likes antique comic books and pulls most of her ideas from them. We had to talk her out of things like exploding arrows.”

“Those would have been nice to have,” Wiseman quipped. She looked at their shocked expressions. “What?”

~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~


This whole thing was kind of a side story that took me away from the main Commander Weatherford story line. Sorry, but I'm writing Mantri and Wiseman out of the story soon. Gone but not forgotten, as they say. Mantri will at least be mentioned. Not sure when or how, but I suspect Wiseman will make a return. She's just too good of a character to let go easily.

 

[Bry_Sinclair]

This is a great story and some amazing characters, it would be a shame to leave them all benched indefinitely.

 

[Sgt_G]

Fear not, for I have decided to "give" Sarah Wiseman a story that I had intended for a different character. This one involves Klingons and a runaway teen-aged girl. Haven't put fingers to keyboard yet, still mapping it out in my head.