Star Trek : Angel - Book IV - Saving History III

[unusualsuspex]

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.

NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2010.
​

AUTHORS FOREWORD

Well silly old me!

I started this series with the best of intentions that it would be a trilogy. Indeed until I reached the middle portion of Book II I was convinced that was how it was going to work but by the time I approached the end of that story I knew that it wasn’t.

Naturally had I been approached by a publisher for this series and told to condense it then things might have been slightly different but as a fanfic writer I have the freedom to do what I want! (Unless anybody at a certain publishing house is reading this in which case…meh fat chance!)

The story I want to tell is too rich to be compressed into three volumes without sacrificing something of its nature, and because of my reasoning above I was unwilling to make that sacrifice. So the trilogy now becomes a quadrilogy with the addition of Book III. This story has stolen the title of Book II which has now earned the title The Year of Co-operation.

Confused? Sorry ?

STAR TREK: ANGEL – BOOK THREE

SAVING HISTORY – PART III

THE YEAR WE DODGED THE BULLET


“Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.”
Seneca (Roman philosopher, mid-1st century AD).

“The dinosaurs became extinct because they didn't have a space program, and if we become extinct because we don't have a space program, it’ll serve us right!”
Larry Niven (Science fiction author)





PROLOGUE
​

JUPITER
SOL SYSTEM
4th February 2026 – (1532 UTC)

Despite being a highly advanced AI, the Sentinel that had hidden for so long in Jupiter’s turbulent atmosphere was not sentient. Its mission of protection was nothing more than hardcoded sub-routines in an admittedly advanced shell. It would never, for instance, feel joy or sadness at the outcome of its decisions that were simply the product of pre-programmed branches in logic.

Instead, for millennia it had emotionlessly sat and monitored the vast oceans of space surrounding its defined territorial boundaries, searching the skies for natural threats to the nascent civilization it guarded. It had not been in existence when the Cretaceous-Tertiary mass extinction event took place around 65 million years ago, and since its arrival there had been no other threat on such a scale.

During its tenure, it had seen humanity drive out towards the planets from its cradle and remained just out of reach of their ever more complex probes. From time to time, it had even had to switch to minimal power in order to avoid the more technologically advanced races that had approached the system. It had merely labelled these visitors with the alien equivalent of alpha-numeric tags rather than understanding that they were Vulcans, Tellarites or any of a dozen other curious races.

Its seemingly eternal vigil however had at last proven to be one of necessity when it discovered, through its quadrant wide network of hidden peers, that a huge asteroid had been driven by fickle chance on a direct course towards its sector. In co-ordination with its similarly tasked brethren it had first monitored then given instructions to attempt to adjust the trajectory of the inbound juggernaut. All but one of the Sentinels was out of effective reach, however, and only limited success had been achieved by the nearest Sentinel.

It now seemed that the full onus of protecting the glittering blue and white planet would fall squarely on the Jupiter Sentinel.

At least if it survived long enough to complete its mission.

 

[unusualsuspex]

Chapter 1

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.

NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2010.
​

Chapter 1


TANGO CONTROL
KARNI BORDER CROSSING
SOUTH EAST OF GAZA CITY
GAZA
EARTH
4th February 2026 – 1803 IST (1603 UTC)

Askwith had only had two hours to prepare for the arrival of the day’s final convoy of refugees. Travelling out from the camps at Shati, Jabilaya, Nuseirat and Bureij, the eight buses and four trucks would rendezvous on the main Salah el Din highway that ran north-east to south-west through the region and neatly bisected Gaza City. Once a decent two-lane highway that could carry a vehicle from one end of the Strip to the other inside an hour, it was now a road pitted with potholes and in places often flooded.

From that point they would then turn south-east along minor roads to head towards the distribution centre at the Karni border crossing. Askwith hoped that the extended journey time due to the poor conditions would allow them to instigate the plan he had put into motion to prevent the possible murder of dozens by a suspected suicide bomber.

They had received the information, sketchy as it was, via a scribbled note from an old woman who had been on the previous convoy of refugees. There had been no way to substantiate the information but Askwith was damned if he was going to ignore it.

Now, as the buses drew into the outer walled compound that was essentially meant as protection for the refugees and the UN workers from external threats, Askwith prayed that it wouldn’t prove to be a killing ground from within.

Ten at a time, the refugees were decanted from the buses and marshalled towards booths where their identification was registered and their tokens for aid issued. It was a slow and dispiriting process for all involved but with the artificial light of the compound dispelling the dusk’s cloak, the usual procedure had hastily been modified, unknown to the refugees.

As each refugee stepped from the bus, they passed by one of the small remote control Eyedrive devices that electronically ‘sniffed’ the air. Because of the crude explosives carried by the suicide bombers, the Eyedrive’s sensitive apparatus could detect it and silently forewarn the troop at the next checkpoint.

All went well until the fifth batch of refugees and the small remote immediately sensed the chemical trace of explosives. The man who had triggered the silent alert appeared little different to the refugees who had preceded him; tired, dishevelled and resigned. However with the warning now silently given, he was specifically guided to the end booth in the line for his registration.

Once inside he sat quietly at the small desk and was faced by a UN soldier in civilian clothing who took the details of one Ayman Al-Nazer, father of six and grandfather to eight more. Askwith had gambled that any attempt to detonate a device would come in the distribution compound to cause maximum bloodshed and destruction and had therefore reinforced this particular booth with two sheets of ablative armour hastily removed from an APC.

The incognito soldier completed the man’s paperwork before rifling through drawers and apologising.

“Excuse me for a moment, I’ve run out of authorization sheets.”

Al-Nazer nodded and waited as the man exited the booth, closing the door behind him. Within seconds, a voice emerged from a small speaker set in the ceiling of the booth speaking fluent Arabic.

“Mr Al-Nazer, I would ask that you remain seated and keep your hands on the table.”

Al-Nazer jumped at the sound and Askwith, who was monitoring the man via hidden camera, was convinced he was about to detonate the package he carried.

“You must remain calm and follow my instructions Mr Al-Nazer. We are aware that you are carrying explosives and you will not be allowed to exit the armoured booth in which you are sitting until I am satisfied that you pose no threat. Do you understand?”

The man looked desperately around the booth, fear now apparent on his face, but quickly came to the realisation that the unseen speaker was telling the truth. There was no escape and if he detonated the package now, his was the only life that would be sacrificed.

He began to wail in Arabic, tears streaming down his face, and Askwith had to call his name several times to attract his attention.

“Mr Al-Nazer!” Still sobbing, the man had kept his hands in plain sight offering Askwith a glimmer of hope. “Remove the explosives and place them carefully on the table.”

“I cannot do this.” There was no defiance in the man’s voice; fear perhaps, or resignation, but none of the manic bravado Askwith had expected.

“You must Mr Al-Nazer.”

An angry expression replaced that of fear as the man suddenly stood. Askwith tensed for the explosion he was certain was about to happen, but instead the man had drawn open the jacket he had been wearing to show a ‘waistcoat’ of explosives secured to his body with padlocks. “Then tell me how!” he screamed.

Suddenly it all fell into place for Askwith. This was no martyr to the cause. It was another innocent who, unless they acted quickly, would be added to the list of deaths caused by fanatics without a conscience.


EASTERN MEDITERRANEAN
SOUTH OF CYPRUS
EARTH
4th February 2026 – 1617 ZULU (1617 UTC)

The scene was one of controlled chaos around the Harry S Truman as rescue operations continued. With the carrier’s list to starboard seemingly halted, they were launching the rotary wing craft as rapidly as possible from the main flight deck. It was essential that the injured be removed to locations where they could be treated, but on a secondary level the aircraft had to be removed from danger as well.

Launching the fast jets wouldn’t be an option right now however. Although all four of its catapults were still serviceable, which would normally have allowed the Nimitz class carrier to launch an aircraft every 20 seconds, the angle of the flight deck simply wouldn’t allow safe operation. Dozens of ‘blue’ shirts had hurriedly chained down the aircraft to their tie down points on deck . At least if they couldn’t launch, they wouldn’t slide off the deck either.

The vessel was being reduced to a skeleton staff in the event of a worst case scenario with the amphibious assault ship USS Makin Island now taking over the duty as flagship. With the source of the attack still unknown, the carrier strike group were now at war readiness.

Seahawk helicopters had now laid a screen of sonar buoys at increasing ranges around the fleet and the anti-submarine warfare vessels were conducting sweeps at regular intervals. The single mistake they made was too quickly placing the blame on a submarine attack and ignoring other possibilities. By the time they realised that the damage had not been caused by a torpedo, the divers aboard the fishing vessel were long gone.

At least the five who were still alive.


TANGO CONTROL
KARNI BORDER CROSSING
SOUTH EAST OF GAZA CITY
GAZA
EARTH
4th February 2026 – 1820 IST (1620 UTC)

“Remain calm Mr Al-Nazer. I have somebody coming to help you but you must remain calm alright? Trust me.”

Askwith watched nervously as the man crumpled into the plastic seat like a puppet with its strings cut.

“They have my family.” The words were spoken so quietly that Askwith barely heard them.

He switched radio channels quickly. “Zeus, this is Tango. Are you out there yet?”

“Affirmative Tango, Zeus on scene this time.”

Flicking back to the channel that connected to the booth, he saw that the man hadn’t moved.

“Mr Al-Nazer, listen carefully to me. I have a soldier about to enter the booth to help you. Please, sit quietly, do not make any sudden moves and we’ll do our best to help you.”

The man looked up towards the ceiling, his face streaked with the trails of dried tears. “Help me? What of my family? You will help them?” He shook his head. “You cannot.”

“Mr Al-Nazer, just stay calm and we will do all we can. Tell me about the explosives. Are they on a timer or were you meant to detonate them yourself?”

Al-Nazer laughed out loud startling Askwith. “You think that they would trust me not to be a coward, even when they hold my family?” He opened his jacket again and pointed to a silver device near his left shoulder, the body of a digital watch. “According to this you have another eight minutes.”

Cutting back to the discrete channel that the EOD soldier was on he transmitted a warning. “Zeus, you’ll need to move now. Timed charge, unknown amount but estimating around 8kg and it’s locked to his body.”

“Zeus acknowledges, going offline.”

Askwith heard the subtle click of the EOD officer’s link being disconnected. On the screen, he entered the booth from the compound side, effectively hidden from prying eyes.

Al-Nazer’s eyes widened at the sight of the soldier dressed in the protective gear common to bomb disposal technicians.

“Remain calm Mr Al-Nazer; this man is there to help you.”

Askwith fell silent as the EOD expert took over, speaking calmly and authoritively to the distraught man. “Tango, give me a call when we reach five minutes, then every minute to one,” he said as he set to work tracing the network of wires. “I’ll need to disarm this, we don’t have time to remove the vest.”

“Understood Zeus. You are currently at seven minutes thirty five.”

The EOD man didn’t respond but set quietly and resolutely to work. The countdown had reached two minutes and seven seconds when the heavily padded soldier sat back on his haunches and placed aside the small tool kit he’d been working from.

“Complete Tango. IED is safe.”

Askwith released a pent up breath realising that once again they had beaten the odds though it didn’t always end this way.

“Thank you Zeus,” he replied with feeling through the direct link to the booth. “Can you remove the vest?”

Holding up a compact set of bolt croppers to the camera, the EOD man laughed. “Happy to now Sir.”

He had taken the time while the explosive device was being disarmed to formulate a plan that would hopefully see the safe release of the man’s family but it had to be timed properly. Checking the second camera, Askwith saw that the internal compound was clear of people.

“Mr Al-Nazer?” The man looked up at the ceiling, still not aware of where the camera was located. “When the soldier leaves the booth, I want you to leave with him and you’ll be met outside, do you understand?”

Al-Nazer nodded seemingly without the strength left to answer.

“Zeus, take the vest to the weapons discharge point and arrange for a controlled detonation. I’d like it bright but not dangerous, can we do that?”

“A pyro display?” The EOD man nodded. “I’ll sort it Sir. Leaving now.”

Let’s give the bad guys what they expect he thought, picking up the phone to the improvised medical centre. When it answered, he spoke quickly to the medical officer on duty explaining that there would be a controlled explosion in the compound but that he wanted them to react as if it were a real incident.

The medical officer sounded slightly confused but said they would respond as per normal protocol and Askwith dashed outside to meet Al-Nazer.

The EOD officer hurried past with the jacket of explosives giving Askwith the time to guide a thoroughly confused Al-Nazer into the safety of the UN bunker as he began to explain.

 

[unusualsuspex]

Chapter 1 (cont)

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.

NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2010.
​

Chapter 1 (cont)

THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON DC, USA
EARTH
4th February 2026 – 1130 EST (1630 UTC)

The news of the strike against the Harry S Truman had been piped directly from the National Military Command Centre to the Situation Room below the West Wing. Maddy had received the report initially with shock which quickly metamorphosed into anger.

As the toll of deaths and injuries began to stabilise, she met with Admiral James Packard and her National Security Adviser Robert Carmel in one of the many discrete annexes off the main floor.

“Damn it to hell! I’ve just told the nation that I won’t accept terrorism as a political tool and then this happens!” She turned furiously to Packard though he knew well that her anger was not directed at him personally. “Do we have any idea what transpired out there?”

In reply, he brought up a side view of the immense carrier on the screen.

“Investigations are still under way Madam President, but I can tell you that we have eliminated some causes from the list.” He pointed out the five red circles on the schematic. “The fact that there were five explosions would rule out the possibility of this being the accidental detonation of an old mine and we’re already aware that it wasn’t an accident aboard ship.”

He sat down at the table, his eyes still focussed on the screen.

“It’s a negligible chance of it being a submarine attack for two reasons. Firstly, there would have likely been two strikes maximum creating much greater damage than we witnessed here. Plus the detonations were at crucial systems junctures or weak points. That kind of finesse doesn’t come packed in a torpedo.”

“Which leaves what Admiral?” asked Carmel.

Packard scrutinised the screen carefully before answering, a pensive expression on his face.

“My initial guess would be divers. It’s possible they came in on a miniature sub but unlikely. This was designed as a stealth attack and even a miniature makes noise that they would have tried to avoid.” He rubbed his chin as he brought up a map of the coastal area surrounding the strike group. “Here’s the problem. There’s a mixture of potential enemy states in that area from where an attack may have been launched.”

“I’m assuming we can rule out Israel, Turkey and Egypt?”

Packard nodded but didn’t seem totally convinced. “I’d say they were less likely suspects than Libya or Syria, although to be honest it could have been launched from any remote coastal area.”

Maddy rolled her wheelchair up to the screen as if being closer may help her divine the identity of the attack’s perpetrators.

“Is it possible this was a reaction to my speech? It would be a hell of a blow for somebody to claim.”

“Not likely Ma’am,” replied Carmel intently. “The attack occurred just an hour after your speech concluded. Whoever did this would never have had enough time to get the resources and plan into place based on the content of your speech, is that correct Admiral?”

Packard nodded. “Absolutely Sir, Ma’am. This is an operation that would have taken some time to pull together. There’s no doubt that somebody will claim exactly what you’ve suggested though Ma’am, and that in itself is a danger.”

“President Moustafa has already sent aid I understand?”

Maddy had developed and improved political ties with the Egyptians through its moderate President, Farouk Moustafa, who had proven on several occasions that an Arab country could embrace western culture and ideas without surrendering its own unique history.

“That’s correct Ma’am. The Egyptian Navy has a recovery vessel and divers already on scene.”

Wheeling her chair back to the table, she studied the map one last time before turning her attention back to Carmel and Packard.

“Recommendations gentlemen?”

Packard gave the floor to Carmel. “The Admiral and I have discussed this briefly Ma’am and suggest that we maintain a high level of military readiness in the area but avoid any possible knee jerk reaction until the investigation can be concluded.” He shrugged eloquently. “Circumstances mean that we need to carry on the relief effort to Israel, but it sends out a message that the attack achieved nothing other than a temporary slowing of the operation.”

“Not discounting the deaths and injuries of course.” Maddy held her hands up to halt Carmel’s apology. “I know, you were speaking politically Robert, don’t worry.”

But looking at the map once more, she felt a cold sensation that this wasn’t merely an opportunistic terrorist attack.


USS ANGEL
EN-ROUTE TO ARGOLIS SECTOR
UFP SPACE
September 17th 2371 – 1600 FST

“Code Blue for MedCentre One, I repeat Code Blue for MedCentre One. Crash Team One to respond.”

The computer’s slightly amplified warning cut through Anthony Winston’s concentration as it was designed to do, bringing him swiftly to his feet and sending him hurrying through the connecting doors to the trauma room. A Code Blue indicated a case involving severe respiratory issues.

“What do we have Karasi?”

Senior Nurse Karasi Otieno was supervising the staff around the prostrate from of Shathrissia sh'Loran, the Andorian security officer, as she was hurriedly laid on the biobed.

“Lieutenant sh’Loran collapsed in the security office, pulmonary arrest on scene. Triox administered by Lieutenant Ress and currently receiving auto-pulmonary stimulation.”

As the arch closed over the Andorian, Winston stepped in quickly to read the diagnostic screens. Otieno, meanwhile, tapped in a series of commands that allowed the more sophisticated arch to take over from the portable breathing stimulator.

Winston studied the Andorian and wondered just how long she might have felt ill. It was a defining factor of Andorians that when an illness first developed, their sense of pride often made them deny that they were ill, and so refuse to report for medical treatment in a timely fashion. Not a problem with the average Andorian sniffle but more serious medical issues could thwart treatment simply because it was too late to instigate a cure.

Similarly, at the other end of the medical process, he’d seen their predilection for attempting to re-enter society long before a medical officer reported them fit for duty.

“Karasi, check for known medical indicators please. Nurse Durrant, speak to whoever was with the Lieutenant when she collapsed, I need to know of any possible external causes.”

As the two nurses attended to their tasks, Anthony noted the arrival of Lieutenant Commander Michael Gethynn who had transported aboard as a replacement medical officer with their arrival back in the Argolis sector. Tall and slim, he was almost the same age as Anthony though his speciality lay in orthopaedics.

“You don’t mind if I observe do you Sir?”

Anthony chuckled as he held his hand out to welcome the new doctor. “Well it’s not the usual way I greet new staff, but feel free. Good to have you aboard.”

As Anthony pecked at the diagnostic screen, Gethynn moved around to observe.

“Our Andorian Lieutenant here collapsed while on duty with pulmonary arrest and we’re just doing a work up.”

Otieno reappeared at the biobed and passed a PADD to Anthony. “There’s nothing in Lieutenant sh’Loran’s medical records to indicate previous respiratory trauma Doctor. In fact she has a remarkably clean sheet.”

“Alright Karasi, thank you. I’m administering an infusion of the Andorian hemocyanin analogue and sedation to remain in place while we sort out what’s caused this.”

Where human blood utilised haemoglobin to transport oxygen, Andorian blood employed an analogue of the oxygen transport protein hemocyanin. It was similar in most respects to that employed by Terran invertebrates that dwelled in Arctic conditions. Normally blue in colour when oxygenated, it became colourless when oxygen was depleted giving an Andorian a deathly pale hue.

Otieno carefully followed and checked Anthony’s administration of the drug then signed up the PADD with sh’Loran’s medical records.

“Let’s see what we have then…” Anthony tapped once more at the arch’s screen bringing up the blood and oxygen diagnostics that the computer had been running. “No sign of pulmonary embolisms, hemocyanin levels rising, BP normal, still no autonomic lung functions…” He switched screens. “…and yet other organs are unaffected, brain activity depressed but not dramatically…hmm.”

Anthony set the arch to perform a deep tissue scan and a further neural scan, feeling slightly disturbed that there still seemed no evident cause or symptom other than the obvious.

“Karasi, I’m just taking Commander Gethynn through to my office if you could monitor Lieutenant sh’Loran please?”

**********
​

“I’m sorry there’s been no further news about Captain Fishlock.”

Governor Nan Bacco gently placed the delicate cup in its saucer.

“To be honest Ma’am, we’re taking it a day at a time right now.” Kat managed to resist the wince that almost came out at her unintended temporal pun. “We’re dealing with an artefact that seems to know exactly what it’s doing despite our inadvertent intrusions. For now at least, that’s where our hopes lie.”

Nan stood and approached the ready room’s ceiling to floor port. In the distance, beyond the group of Federation ships, she could see the twinkle of the still open temporal anomaly that had swallowed the Blackwell and her small crew.

“Strange, isn’t it?” She pointed into the expanse of vacuum. “How often we end up trusting in something we don’t understand.”

“Quite often Ma’am, that something is all we have.” Kat joined her to watch the activity of transfers and crew reassignments taking place among the gathered ships close by. “We seem to muddle through somehow.”

“We do don’t we?” Nan turned and smiled at Kat. “Well, I suppose if we’re ever to get our little convoy to Cestus III we’d better make a move.”

Kat took one last, lingering look through the port at the temporal anomaly and nodded wistfully.

“At your discretion Governor.”

 

[unusualsuspex]

Hiatus

Well it's time to apologise profusely again.

RW issues have once again stolen my muse (health problems) and although I know where I'm going with this story, to write now would not do it the service it deserves.

The project is on (very) temporary hold while I recover but it will be back!

Thanks for your patience!

 

[unusualsuspex]

Good grief!

Well the temporary hold extended to a much longer period than I'd expected so I apologise again good readers!

I'm hoping that now this transitional period in my life seems to be coming to an end I can return to doing something I love, i.e. writing.

For anybody who has missed out on the adventures so far, search 'STAR TREK - ANGEL' and catch up before the adventure recommences. Coming to a BBS near you SOON!

Thanks all

 

[Gibraltar]

Glad to hear you're coming back!

 

[unusualsuspex]

Hehe! Thanks mate, I appreciate it!

 

[6079SmithW]

Good to see you back! I thought you croaked . Nah, just kidding. I am looking forward to reading more Saving History stories.