Well, well. chapter Nine is too big to fit, so we now have chapter nine and chapter 10.
Here is Chapter nine, enjoy!
Chapter Nine.
Next stop for Mack was the gym on the starbase. Unlike starships, where exercise facilities were an afterthought, the starbase had a fully equipped gym, with lots of workout space, and multiple rooms to simulate different planet gravity levels. With full locker facilities, and with some Security training gear, it had everything a Starfleet officer or enlisted man could use. It was Mack King’s personal amusement park.
After check-in, Mack first stretched out for 20 minutes slowly working the kinks out of his body. After “forms and exercises” taught at the Academy to refresh the mind on basic self-defense movements, it was time for the lifting room.
Mack loved weights. When he could adjust the gravity to a “heavy planet” level, it was as close as he would ever get to home. So he relished every effort, and all the sweat. First, the old ancient moves of hundreds of years ago; the bench and incline press, power cleans, squats, rows, and some hamstring and quad series. Next, he attacked the core, both with and without weight, to strengthen the trunk of the body.
Then it was “churn and burn time.” “Churn and Burn” was Mack’s favorite time of all. Slowly going through every exercise he could, he would “max out” his weight and do as much as he could in one repetition. He chose “earth normal” gravity this day, and as he worked through “Churn and Burn”, he did very well. The advantage he had this day was his mind. As he prepared for each rep, he filled his mind with every image he could to raise the level of natural chemical stimulation his body could muster. He got angry; at Klingons and Slavers, the Pus, and those who hurt him so. He thought about Lisa, and the future, the matches he lost, and anything else to get him fired up to lift. Usually the work cleared his head, and the cares of today would disappear, to be replaced with success with the weights, and hope for a better workout for tomorrow.
But as he finished “Churn and Burn”, his thoughts were still troubled. There was a lot of anger, and emotion, maybe some passion and lust for some companionship. Whatever it was, when he finished, the emotions were still churning. The crowd that was working out on the other side of the room had totally escaped his notice, during “Churn and Burn” Mack King only saw the world of his weights, and that was enough.
He started for the door, and the running area, when he heard: “Hey, Federatshun.”
Surprise on his face, Mack saw a group of Sersuitians in workout gear looking at him. “Yes?”
“Will you spar with us?”
“Sure!” Mack thought to himself: “I hit the jackpot. No running for me, and I get to crush some guys, life is good.”
Sersuitians were small people, very few ever got over 1.5 meters in height. But these people were not small of size. Obviously, they were well-trained people, with strong arms and upper bodies. The first one who spoke to Mack offered his hand strangely to him. Palm facing away from Mack, he said: “Lothmar, Captain, Sersuitan Security.”
After turning his palm to match: “Lieutenant Mack King, USS Enterprise, sir.”
“We saw your workout, you hard try?”
Mack swore that if he ever saw the guy who makes universal translators, he would shoot him, or make him fix the logic on the device so Sersuitians would be translated normally.
“Yes, Captain, as I learned as a boy: ‘He who conquers is strong, He who conquers himself is mighty.’”
“So true, Lieutenant. Let us see who mighty is.” They lined up against each other, and the exercise began.
One thing Mack noticed about his workrout “partners” was their pigmentation. They had a rather unique “two-tone” type body, with some surfaces (like the inside of their forearms) having a lightly colored texture. The outside of the forearms and inside of the palms had a darker texture. In the midst of physical combat, there was not time to figure out why; he just decided to contact the lighter colored parts of their body as much as possible.
The other thing Mack noticed was how hard the “workout” was. There was hard physical combat, bruises, cuts, and scrapes included. The program consisted of different types of defense “schools” or practices, some like Martial arts in Federation worlds, but all emphasized hard, physical contact, and constant attack instead of defense. In the free-for-all periods, Mack was amazed at how the Sersuitians would be willing to take punishment to give punishment. With his size advantage, Mack gave out lots of punishment; but the Sersuitians were able to use their small size to get under Mack, and get leverage on him. As a wrestler, Mack knew how to handle situations like that.
What he didn’t know was that the pigment of the Sersuitians did matter.
Suddenly, Mack was noticing his movements slowing down considerably. He had to work harder for the same results, and it took more and more effort to stay focused on his attacker. They were tired too, everyone was working hard. But Mack felt like his feet were in cement.
Captain Lothmar was working out with a monitor in his ear, being available for any needs or issues for the President’s party. Getting a call, he headed to the center of the gym. Looking down on the group working in the gym just happened to be a small party of Starfleet officers and Sersuitian senior military leaders on a tour of the starbase.
Commander Frantz was in a state of panic: The tour was running behind, the officers were bored, and she was trying to keep them on some kind of orderly schedule. Now she was watching in horror as a Starfleet officer beat on a bunch of Sersuitians in “drills”. Much to her chagrin, she also found out how inadequate the translators were. When the staff officers saw the “workout” below, the explosion of quick-paced discussions between the officers overwhelmed the programming. She could not understand a word they were saying, and they didn’t care about it. Then General Rommar of the Sersuitian General Staff called down to Captain Lothmar.
“Lothmar, how long has this been going on?”
“37 tines” (about 42 Earth minutes).
“End it.”
“Sir!”
The Sersuitians working out quieted as Lothmar ended the current combat drill, and called out Mack to single “combat”. In about a minute, Mack put up his hands and said: “I yield.” Then his shoulders slumped, and his hands fell to his knees in total exhaustion.
“Commander Frantz,” turning his attention to their flustered guide, “this has been a great revelation to us.” The rest of the Sersuitians murmured in agreement. “In our society, we have a special, ah, race (the translator took a while to find a correct word), who has the job of protecting the rest of our people. These people secrete a special fluid under stressful situations meant to incapacitate attackers, or opponents. Most beings think of our protectors as “pushovers”, but every touch slows them down until they cannot continue to attack or resist. Even Klingons found us, ah, distasteful in physical combat. Your officer has lasted longer than anyone I have ever seen against some of our best protectors. If this is an example of who you have in Starfleet, then we be proud to march and fight by your side.”
This was something Commodore Iveco needed to hear for himself. Jenny Frantz was speechless; she hoped the translator picked up the quote. Her mind raced along: What would the Commodore do here?
“Then let us go and celebrate a new friendship.”
It was then Frantz noticed two new people in the group, two very familiar faces. “Commander, the Commodore is free and wishes to meet your party at the earliest possible moment.”
“Captain Louis, thank you, and we will head to his office immediately.”
The moment the party left the gym area and turned towards the lifts, Louis looked at his companion and first officer Katsuo Mamoru. “Who is that guy?”
“Who else would it be sir? It’s Mack King, or at least someone who looks like him with a massive hangover.”
Captain Lothmar faced Mack. In a uniquely Sersuitian gesture, he held out his fists to Mack, bowed his head, and said: “Lieutenant, in our culture this is a gesture of friendship and respect. I honor you for your friendship with us.”
Mack repeated Lothmar’s movements, and as they touched fists and foreheads, he said “Thank you, sir. But now I need to rest.”
“You do surely.”
Mack turned and walked out to the lift, and just barely made it in. He could care less where his uniform was. Dragging himself through the lift doors he whispered “Level 24.”He got out of the lift, made it to the door of his suite, and everything but his feet got inside before Mack King headed off to the land of two toned friends and pleasant dreams. A short time later, two starbase security officers, with haz-mat gloves on, picked up Mack, put him on his bed, and laid his uniform on the table by the bed.
Where he stayed for the next 19 hours.
The next day started bright and early for the treaty negotiators of the Federation and Sersuitis. The President had to leave in the next day or so; his visit to Starbase 62 had already gone for almost two weeks, counting in travel time at high warp speed. Such issues as regional security and trade relations were delicate to talk about, and always took time.
But, the political calculus was equally important. Heads-of-state go to meetings to sign on to a finished deal, not dirty up their hands with the sausage-making. The other planets in the sector needed to see this deal done so they could see that the Federation was not the next group of exploiters or conquerors, but rather peoples of peace and liberty. That is why the President was on Starbase 62 instead of on some subspace monitor. So time was running out, and the issues were big.
The largest remaining issue was trade, or better put; how was the Federation going to make the commitments necessary to ensure security so trade could safely expand? The Sersuitians wanted Starfleet to commit significant resources to anti-piracy measures and economic development, including accelerated exploration and control of the space lanes. Starfleet and the Federation negotiators saw Starfleet’s first job as keeping Klingons and Orions out of this part of space. The other things, i.e. what the locals wanted, should be taken care of by local military and commercial organizations. Starship numbers were limited, the Galaxy was a big place, and the next D7 is only a short distance away. Somehow, the Federation had to show their commitment to economic security and free trade, and not commit large amounts of scarce military and “human” capital to the project.
“… Your position is no different than it was yesterday, or the last week. You talk in flowing terms about being allied with you, but there are no commitments.”
The State Overseer for Sersuitis (equal to the Secretary of External Relations of the Federation) hammered the point again. “Talk without action is useless, at least Klingons do something to back up their statements.”
Commodore Iveco and the Federation Ambassador’s staff waited for those words, and sprung the trap they spent all night to create.
“Overseer, such is not the case, as we have explained to you already. But, if you want proof, here it is.” On screen came the face of Captain Alain Louis of USS Valiant, and the Commodore spoke up: “We just received this report yesterday, and wanted to bring it to your attention. Your military advisors might be familiar with this ship.”
The cut and paste job of Mack and Captain Louis reports into a 10 minute “after-action” report detailing how the Hesperus went up in flames changed the whole field of play in the room. Federation Ambassador Lou Schmidt jumped on the report.
“We can’t tie Starfleet hands on the Klingon border in this sector, but you have seen what we have done here at Starbase 62. Here is what we can do near Sersuitis …” The plan, including a smaller Starbase, readjustment of cutter and destroyer asset allocations, and a commitment to bring in another Exploration Office branch to Starbase 62 was the last offer the Federation could make. It also angered the Commodore; here was a bureaucrat doing exactly what he just said he could not do, tie Starfleet’s hands in the sector. But tying him with a rope instead of a chain was something he could live with. For now.
The President of Sersuitis suddenly adjourned the session, taking even his own delegation by surprise. The deal was done two hours later.
Bullford, what is that buzzing in my ear? “COMPUTER OFF!” shouted Mack. Looking around, he realized he was in bed, but how he got there was a complete mystery. The even bigger mystery rolling around his mind was why he felt like every muscle in his body had been turned into hamburger. Instead of the buzz in his brain, there was an irritating light flashing in his bedroom, and since he had nothing to throw at the light, he decided to kill it at the source.
“Computer lights at 20%, play message.” The computer silently obeyed.
“Lieutenant King, this is Commander Frantz, adjutant to Commodore Iveco. There is a glass of liquid next to the terminal in your stateroom. You are to drink it immediately, then go down to the Officer’s Mess on level 12 and eat a meal. This will relieve the symptoms of fatigue you are experiencing. Frantz out.”
The drink was easy to consume; the old adage about the “cure being worse than the disease” applied after it hit his empty stomach. After a shower, he donned his uniform and somehow made the trip down to the Officer’s Mess in one piece. The mess’ chief cook met him at the door.
“You Lt. King.”
“Yes I am. Why do you ask?”
“I got told to make your dinner for 1100.”
“What time is it?”
“1633.”
“Ah, I’m sorry. I seem to have overslept.”
“Yeah, well, don’t make that a habit. Have a seat, and I will bring your food to your table.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“The Commodore’s office thinks otherwise, so sit down.”
“Who am I to argue?”
Sitting down at a table near a viewing port, Mack alternated between sightseeing and the arrival and departure schedules flashing on a board in the mess. No runs to Starbase 13 were on the board yet, and the way the last 36 hours were going he had an urge to see if he could rent a private ship to get there. The chef rolled an old tray carrier over to Mack’s table.
“Nice view.” the chef said, as he started laying out plates of food, three of them.
“Who is eating with me?”
“Nobody that I know about.”
“So why three plates of food?”
“’Cause you are under orders to eat all this stuff on the table. Leave the dishes, demolish the rest. Looks like you need to consume some calories, at least that is what the orders said.”
“Orders?”
“From the Starbase Medical Department. Don’t ask me why, just do or die.”
“Thanks chef, I may die doing.”
“Take it up with the doctors, and don’t die in my mess. Bad for business.”
Plate #1 was very good, and Mack had just started on the earth-style spaghetti on plate #2, when he heard a voice: “Got some room Lieutenant?”
“Mummn, sore, slurp.” Points to a seat.
“Are Enterprise’s food processors that bad, or is this your last meal before execution?” Commander Katsuo Mamoru deadpanned to Mack as his immediate boss sat down across the table.
Captain Louis threw in: “He probably ate at Mickey D’s earlier today.”
“Sorry sirs, but doctor’s orders I’m told. I still don’t know why, but if all the orders I got were this easy, I’d reenlist today!”
Captain Louis spoke next. “Nice work if you can find it, but I think Starfleet wants a little more back from its investment in you than experience in taste testing and pub crawls Mack. By the way, you don’t mind if I call you Mack?”
“No sir, don’t mind at all. Wasn’t Valiant supposed to be on the way home?”
“We were Mack, but the reports you delivered to Commodore Iveco from Jim Kirk revealed a problem with the anti-intruder system on Valiant as well as Enterprise. The fix is mostly completed so we will be shoving off late tomorrow.”
“Sorry to hear it, sirs. I hope you find out whatever Talisman is messing up the machinery in your ship, it must be driving you crazy with all the problems you’ve had.”
Mamoru leaned over: “And how did you find out about our problems?”
“Had to talk about something with your people between Enterprise and our run in with the slavers, Commander, and it came up as soon as I asked about their ship. If I may Captain, the people I talked to on Le Bourget are good people. They sure did great work on Enterprise, and you know what I think of them since you read my reports of our trip. But they are really down about Valiant. A couple of them were talking about transfers, and I’d hate to see it.”
The conversation started getting long and heavy after that. It moved from the ship, to tactics, to organizational structures, to their shared experiences on other Starfleet ships.
“So that’s why you have so much leave time, Mack.” Then Commander Mamoru’s face sank, the cat was out of the bag.
“Yes sir, Commander, I have been on four lost Starfleet ships. That is one reason why I got on Enterprise in the first place; I think someone in BurPers figured Captain Kirk’s good luck might be stronger than my bad karma. But sir, why did you read my personnel file?”
“Well Mack, I read it first. And it is a damn fine record for a young man like you.” Alain Louis’ eyes locked with Mack’s, just like they did on Valiant’s bridge a few days before. “Your only problem is that you have never settled into a crew long enough to move up the pecking order to a position that fits your abilities and skill set. Jim Kirk saw it too, that’s why you got access to command codes on Enterprise. Don’t think for a moment he gives those things out to every bridge officer he has. He saw in you what Katsuo and I see; and that’s one reason we picked a new dinner companion tonight. Not that the rest of the evening was a waste of time.”
Here is Chapter nine, enjoy!
Chapter Nine.
Next stop for Mack was the gym on the starbase. Unlike starships, where exercise facilities were an afterthought, the starbase had a fully equipped gym, with lots of workout space, and multiple rooms to simulate different planet gravity levels. With full locker facilities, and with some Security training gear, it had everything a Starfleet officer or enlisted man could use. It was Mack King’s personal amusement park.
After check-in, Mack first stretched out for 20 minutes slowly working the kinks out of his body. After “forms and exercises” taught at the Academy to refresh the mind on basic self-defense movements, it was time for the lifting room.
Mack loved weights. When he could adjust the gravity to a “heavy planet” level, it was as close as he would ever get to home. So he relished every effort, and all the sweat. First, the old ancient moves of hundreds of years ago; the bench and incline press, power cleans, squats, rows, and some hamstring and quad series. Next, he attacked the core, both with and without weight, to strengthen the trunk of the body.
Then it was “churn and burn time.” “Churn and Burn” was Mack’s favorite time of all. Slowly going through every exercise he could, he would “max out” his weight and do as much as he could in one repetition. He chose “earth normal” gravity this day, and as he worked through “Churn and Burn”, he did very well. The advantage he had this day was his mind. As he prepared for each rep, he filled his mind with every image he could to raise the level of natural chemical stimulation his body could muster. He got angry; at Klingons and Slavers, the Pus, and those who hurt him so. He thought about Lisa, and the future, the matches he lost, and anything else to get him fired up to lift. Usually the work cleared his head, and the cares of today would disappear, to be replaced with success with the weights, and hope for a better workout for tomorrow.
But as he finished “Churn and Burn”, his thoughts were still troubled. There was a lot of anger, and emotion, maybe some passion and lust for some companionship. Whatever it was, when he finished, the emotions were still churning. The crowd that was working out on the other side of the room had totally escaped his notice, during “Churn and Burn” Mack King only saw the world of his weights, and that was enough.
He started for the door, and the running area, when he heard: “Hey, Federatshun.”
Surprise on his face, Mack saw a group of Sersuitians in workout gear looking at him. “Yes?”
“Will you spar with us?”
“Sure!” Mack thought to himself: “I hit the jackpot. No running for me, and I get to crush some guys, life is good.”
Sersuitians were small people, very few ever got over 1.5 meters in height. But these people were not small of size. Obviously, they were well-trained people, with strong arms and upper bodies. The first one who spoke to Mack offered his hand strangely to him. Palm facing away from Mack, he said: “Lothmar, Captain, Sersuitan Security.”
After turning his palm to match: “Lieutenant Mack King, USS Enterprise, sir.”
“We saw your workout, you hard try?”
Mack swore that if he ever saw the guy who makes universal translators, he would shoot him, or make him fix the logic on the device so Sersuitians would be translated normally.
“Yes, Captain, as I learned as a boy: ‘He who conquers is strong, He who conquers himself is mighty.’”
“So true, Lieutenant. Let us see who mighty is.” They lined up against each other, and the exercise began.
One thing Mack noticed about his workrout “partners” was their pigmentation. They had a rather unique “two-tone” type body, with some surfaces (like the inside of their forearms) having a lightly colored texture. The outside of the forearms and inside of the palms had a darker texture. In the midst of physical combat, there was not time to figure out why; he just decided to contact the lighter colored parts of their body as much as possible.
The other thing Mack noticed was how hard the “workout” was. There was hard physical combat, bruises, cuts, and scrapes included. The program consisted of different types of defense “schools” or practices, some like Martial arts in Federation worlds, but all emphasized hard, physical contact, and constant attack instead of defense. In the free-for-all periods, Mack was amazed at how the Sersuitians would be willing to take punishment to give punishment. With his size advantage, Mack gave out lots of punishment; but the Sersuitians were able to use their small size to get under Mack, and get leverage on him. As a wrestler, Mack knew how to handle situations like that.
What he didn’t know was that the pigment of the Sersuitians did matter.
Suddenly, Mack was noticing his movements slowing down considerably. He had to work harder for the same results, and it took more and more effort to stay focused on his attacker. They were tired too, everyone was working hard. But Mack felt like his feet were in cement.
Captain Lothmar was working out with a monitor in his ear, being available for any needs or issues for the President’s party. Getting a call, he headed to the center of the gym. Looking down on the group working in the gym just happened to be a small party of Starfleet officers and Sersuitian senior military leaders on a tour of the starbase.
Commander Frantz was in a state of panic: The tour was running behind, the officers were bored, and she was trying to keep them on some kind of orderly schedule. Now she was watching in horror as a Starfleet officer beat on a bunch of Sersuitians in “drills”. Much to her chagrin, she also found out how inadequate the translators were. When the staff officers saw the “workout” below, the explosion of quick-paced discussions between the officers overwhelmed the programming. She could not understand a word they were saying, and they didn’t care about it. Then General Rommar of the Sersuitian General Staff called down to Captain Lothmar.
“Lothmar, how long has this been going on?”
“37 tines” (about 42 Earth minutes).
“End it.”
“Sir!”
The Sersuitians working out quieted as Lothmar ended the current combat drill, and called out Mack to single “combat”. In about a minute, Mack put up his hands and said: “I yield.” Then his shoulders slumped, and his hands fell to his knees in total exhaustion.
“Commander Frantz,” turning his attention to their flustered guide, “this has been a great revelation to us.” The rest of the Sersuitians murmured in agreement. “In our society, we have a special, ah, race (the translator took a while to find a correct word), who has the job of protecting the rest of our people. These people secrete a special fluid under stressful situations meant to incapacitate attackers, or opponents. Most beings think of our protectors as “pushovers”, but every touch slows them down until they cannot continue to attack or resist. Even Klingons found us, ah, distasteful in physical combat. Your officer has lasted longer than anyone I have ever seen against some of our best protectors. If this is an example of who you have in Starfleet, then we be proud to march and fight by your side.”
This was something Commodore Iveco needed to hear for himself. Jenny Frantz was speechless; she hoped the translator picked up the quote. Her mind raced along: What would the Commodore do here?
“Then let us go and celebrate a new friendship.”
It was then Frantz noticed two new people in the group, two very familiar faces. “Commander, the Commodore is free and wishes to meet your party at the earliest possible moment.”
“Captain Louis, thank you, and we will head to his office immediately.”
The moment the party left the gym area and turned towards the lifts, Louis looked at his companion and first officer Katsuo Mamoru. “Who is that guy?”
“Who else would it be sir? It’s Mack King, or at least someone who looks like him with a massive hangover.”
Captain Lothmar faced Mack. In a uniquely Sersuitian gesture, he held out his fists to Mack, bowed his head, and said: “Lieutenant, in our culture this is a gesture of friendship and respect. I honor you for your friendship with us.”
Mack repeated Lothmar’s movements, and as they touched fists and foreheads, he said “Thank you, sir. But now I need to rest.”
“You do surely.”
Mack turned and walked out to the lift, and just barely made it in. He could care less where his uniform was. Dragging himself through the lift doors he whispered “Level 24.”He got out of the lift, made it to the door of his suite, and everything but his feet got inside before Mack King headed off to the land of two toned friends and pleasant dreams. A short time later, two starbase security officers, with haz-mat gloves on, picked up Mack, put him on his bed, and laid his uniform on the table by the bed.
Where he stayed for the next 19 hours.
The next day started bright and early for the treaty negotiators of the Federation and Sersuitis. The President had to leave in the next day or so; his visit to Starbase 62 had already gone for almost two weeks, counting in travel time at high warp speed. Such issues as regional security and trade relations were delicate to talk about, and always took time.
But, the political calculus was equally important. Heads-of-state go to meetings to sign on to a finished deal, not dirty up their hands with the sausage-making. The other planets in the sector needed to see this deal done so they could see that the Federation was not the next group of exploiters or conquerors, but rather peoples of peace and liberty. That is why the President was on Starbase 62 instead of on some subspace monitor. So time was running out, and the issues were big.
The largest remaining issue was trade, or better put; how was the Federation going to make the commitments necessary to ensure security so trade could safely expand? The Sersuitians wanted Starfleet to commit significant resources to anti-piracy measures and economic development, including accelerated exploration and control of the space lanes. Starfleet and the Federation negotiators saw Starfleet’s first job as keeping Klingons and Orions out of this part of space. The other things, i.e. what the locals wanted, should be taken care of by local military and commercial organizations. Starship numbers were limited, the Galaxy was a big place, and the next D7 is only a short distance away. Somehow, the Federation had to show their commitment to economic security and free trade, and not commit large amounts of scarce military and “human” capital to the project.
“… Your position is no different than it was yesterday, or the last week. You talk in flowing terms about being allied with you, but there are no commitments.”
The State Overseer for Sersuitis (equal to the Secretary of External Relations of the Federation) hammered the point again. “Talk without action is useless, at least Klingons do something to back up their statements.”
Commodore Iveco and the Federation Ambassador’s staff waited for those words, and sprung the trap they spent all night to create.
“Overseer, such is not the case, as we have explained to you already. But, if you want proof, here it is.” On screen came the face of Captain Alain Louis of USS Valiant, and the Commodore spoke up: “We just received this report yesterday, and wanted to bring it to your attention. Your military advisors might be familiar with this ship.”
The cut and paste job of Mack and Captain Louis reports into a 10 minute “after-action” report detailing how the Hesperus went up in flames changed the whole field of play in the room. Federation Ambassador Lou Schmidt jumped on the report.
“We can’t tie Starfleet hands on the Klingon border in this sector, but you have seen what we have done here at Starbase 62. Here is what we can do near Sersuitis …” The plan, including a smaller Starbase, readjustment of cutter and destroyer asset allocations, and a commitment to bring in another Exploration Office branch to Starbase 62 was the last offer the Federation could make. It also angered the Commodore; here was a bureaucrat doing exactly what he just said he could not do, tie Starfleet’s hands in the sector. But tying him with a rope instead of a chain was something he could live with. For now.
The President of Sersuitis suddenly adjourned the session, taking even his own delegation by surprise. The deal was done two hours later.
Bullford, what is that buzzing in my ear? “COMPUTER OFF!” shouted Mack. Looking around, he realized he was in bed, but how he got there was a complete mystery. The even bigger mystery rolling around his mind was why he felt like every muscle in his body had been turned into hamburger. Instead of the buzz in his brain, there was an irritating light flashing in his bedroom, and since he had nothing to throw at the light, he decided to kill it at the source.
“Computer lights at 20%, play message.” The computer silently obeyed.
“Lieutenant King, this is Commander Frantz, adjutant to Commodore Iveco. There is a glass of liquid next to the terminal in your stateroom. You are to drink it immediately, then go down to the Officer’s Mess on level 12 and eat a meal. This will relieve the symptoms of fatigue you are experiencing. Frantz out.”
The drink was easy to consume; the old adage about the “cure being worse than the disease” applied after it hit his empty stomach. After a shower, he donned his uniform and somehow made the trip down to the Officer’s Mess in one piece. The mess’ chief cook met him at the door.
“You Lt. King.”
“Yes I am. Why do you ask?”
“I got told to make your dinner for 1100.”
“What time is it?”
“1633.”
“Ah, I’m sorry. I seem to have overslept.”
“Yeah, well, don’t make that a habit. Have a seat, and I will bring your food to your table.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“The Commodore’s office thinks otherwise, so sit down.”
“Who am I to argue?”
Sitting down at a table near a viewing port, Mack alternated between sightseeing and the arrival and departure schedules flashing on a board in the mess. No runs to Starbase 13 were on the board yet, and the way the last 36 hours were going he had an urge to see if he could rent a private ship to get there. The chef rolled an old tray carrier over to Mack’s table.
“Nice view.” the chef said, as he started laying out plates of food, three of them.
“Who is eating with me?”
“Nobody that I know about.”
“So why three plates of food?”
“’Cause you are under orders to eat all this stuff on the table. Leave the dishes, demolish the rest. Looks like you need to consume some calories, at least that is what the orders said.”
“Orders?”
“From the Starbase Medical Department. Don’t ask me why, just do or die.”
“Thanks chef, I may die doing.”
“Take it up with the doctors, and don’t die in my mess. Bad for business.”
Plate #1 was very good, and Mack had just started on the earth-style spaghetti on plate #2, when he heard a voice: “Got some room Lieutenant?”
“Mummn, sore, slurp.” Points to a seat.
“Are Enterprise’s food processors that bad, or is this your last meal before execution?” Commander Katsuo Mamoru deadpanned to Mack as his immediate boss sat down across the table.
Captain Louis threw in: “He probably ate at Mickey D’s earlier today.”
“Sorry sirs, but doctor’s orders I’m told. I still don’t know why, but if all the orders I got were this easy, I’d reenlist today!”
Captain Louis spoke next. “Nice work if you can find it, but I think Starfleet wants a little more back from its investment in you than experience in taste testing and pub crawls Mack. By the way, you don’t mind if I call you Mack?”
“No sir, don’t mind at all. Wasn’t Valiant supposed to be on the way home?”
“We were Mack, but the reports you delivered to Commodore Iveco from Jim Kirk revealed a problem with the anti-intruder system on Valiant as well as Enterprise. The fix is mostly completed so we will be shoving off late tomorrow.”
“Sorry to hear it, sirs. I hope you find out whatever Talisman is messing up the machinery in your ship, it must be driving you crazy with all the problems you’ve had.”
Mamoru leaned over: “And how did you find out about our problems?”
“Had to talk about something with your people between Enterprise and our run in with the slavers, Commander, and it came up as soon as I asked about their ship. If I may Captain, the people I talked to on Le Bourget are good people. They sure did great work on Enterprise, and you know what I think of them since you read my reports of our trip. But they are really down about Valiant. A couple of them were talking about transfers, and I’d hate to see it.”
The conversation started getting long and heavy after that. It moved from the ship, to tactics, to organizational structures, to their shared experiences on other Starfleet ships.
“So that’s why you have so much leave time, Mack.” Then Commander Mamoru’s face sank, the cat was out of the bag.
“Yes sir, Commander, I have been on four lost Starfleet ships. That is one reason why I got on Enterprise in the first place; I think someone in BurPers figured Captain Kirk’s good luck might be stronger than my bad karma. But sir, why did you read my personnel file?”
“Well Mack, I read it first. And it is a damn fine record for a young man like you.” Alain Louis’ eyes locked with Mack’s, just like they did on Valiant’s bridge a few days before. “Your only problem is that you have never settled into a crew long enough to move up the pecking order to a position that fits your abilities and skill set. Jim Kirk saw it too, that’s why you got access to command codes on Enterprise. Don’t think for a moment he gives those things out to every bridge officer he has. He saw in you what Katsuo and I see; and that’s one reason we picked a new dinner companion tonight. Not that the rest of the evening was a waste of time.”
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