• Welcome! The TrekBBS is the number one place to chat about Star Trek with like-minded fans.
    If you are not already a member then please register an account and join in the discussion!

Star Trek : Angel - Book Two

unusualsuspex

Captain
Captain
LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.
NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2009.

STAR TREK : ANGEL
BOOK TWO

BROKEN SWORD



Prologue

USS OASIS - BRIDGE
FREE SPACE
March 20th 2361 – 0914 FST


“On screen Commander.” Captain Jack Wallman stared intently at the derelict they had discovered. Dark, lifeless, foreboding; it matched nothing in the ship’s databanks. No welcome lights shone across its surface and there was no glow of energy in its drives and right now Wallman was desperate to find out more about it. The trouble was it wasn’t his mission.

Drifting quietly in space between the boundaries of the Cardassian Union and the Talarian Republic, his mission was one of stealth monitoring a suspected build-up of Cardassian units in the vicinity of Vitar. But damn, this was a hard one to give up.

The Nebula Class Oasis had been designed from the start as an ELINT vessel and was less than a year old. But despite her wartime role, she still carried a contingent of science personnel and Wallman finally decided that he could spare an away team to study the derelict while the Oasis finished her sortie.

Turning to his Chief of Security he said “Commander Saran, I want an away team aboard that derelict. Transporters are still down so they’ll be going out in a shuttle. Five science personnel and two security for each science member.”

“Aye Sir,” responded the Vulcan security chief.

“Sir, permission to lead the team?” Commander Juliet Gerard was not only his Chief Science Officer but his first officer as well and would normally have been his first choice to head up the away team, but not this time.

“Sorry Juliet, I’ll need you here for now.” He saw the disappointment in her face but she quickly covered it knowing that the primary mission was of greater importance right now. “Sounds like the ideal chance for Mr Goenka to shine though?”

Ravi Goenka had recently arrived aboard Oasis and was an unstoppable force when it came to his passion for archaeology. In other words it was almost impossible to stop him talking about it.

Gerard entered several names on her console and detailed them to be in the shuttle bay in ten minutes. Passing the details to Saran, she turned once more to Wallman.

“Whatever it is, it’s been drifting for a long time. Signs of natural impact craters on the hull, no atmosphere, no signs of any power.” She raised an eyebrow knowing full well that Wallman was as desperate to see inside that ship as she was. He mock scowled at her.

“It’ll still be there on the way back. I might let you out to play when you’ve got your chores done.” He cut her satisfied grin short by saying, “Or I might just lead the team myself.” Quickly turning his attention back to the main viewscreen, he stifled the guffaw that was on the verge of bubbling up.

“Conn, once the away team has deployed, resume course for Point Alpha.”


SHUTTLE USS PALM
FREE SPACE
March 20th 2361 – 0925 FST


Lieutenant Commander Ravi Goenka was so intent on observing the derelict that he missed the flash of the USS Oasis departing altogether.

“Oh this beats even a first contact!” He enthused. “The only clues here are the ones we find. Just think, we are probably the first sentients to set eyes on this for goodness knows how long!”

“Sir, I hate to dampen your enthusiasm, but please remember that each science member is to be protected by two security guards at all times.” The young lieutenant in charge of the security detail squeezed the bridge of her nose already becoming weary of Goenka’s relentless enthusiasm. “That means Sir that you will not enter any section of that ship until it has been cleared by your security attachment.”

Goenka turned to the lieutenant gravely. “As long as they touch nothing at all I can live with that Lieutenant Carmen.”

As the shuttle circled the derelict, Goenka moved up to the cockpit taking the right hand seat beside the pilot while Carmen stood between them inspecting the hulk.

“There, Ensign. The dark area beside that pylon.” Goenka pointed to what appeared to be an open access point in the shadow of a drive pylon, at least that’s what the extrusion resembled. Flicking on the shuttle’s floodlights, the ensign deftly guided the shuttle down and around the pylon to settle some 20 metres away from the opening.

“Ma’am, sensors are showing an open space some thirty metres per side in there. No power, no artificial gravity and no atmosphere.”

Carmen patted the young pilot’s shoulder. “Thank you Ensign, take us in. Commander, let’s brief.”

Although Goenka was the senior officer on the away team, command had passed to Carmen for the duration of the mission due to the security implications. As the team suited up, she gave them a final brief.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ll remind you once again that security personnel are to clear all routes prior to entry by science personnel. However, security are to watch their size twelve boots. This is a scientific mission and Commander Goenka wants nothing breaking, understood?”

There were nods all round.

“Very well, I’ll be remaining aboard the shuttle to co-ordinate the mission and should any team run into trouble they will be transported back here immediately. That’s a crisis event however, so no screaming at shadows please.” There were one or two sheepish grins at that. “Finally, if the code word BISON is heard, it means we have company outside the ship and you will adopt comms blackout. Commander?”

“I have nothing to add to that Lieutenant, thank you.”

Somewhat surprised at Goenka’s sudden lack of verbosity, she nodded to the teams to head out. Returning to the cockpit so that the whole rear of the shuttle could be decompressed, she spoke briefly to Tahass, the shuttle pilot.

“Ensign, monitor those sensors like a hawk and keep them passive. Any sign of anything, and I mean anything, other than the Oasis and you holler ok?”

Tahass looked nervously at the security officer. “You expecting trouble Ma’am?”

“Always Mr Tahass. That’s why I’ve lasted this long in the job.” The console chimed to indicate that the rear of the shuttle was now safe to re-enter, but just before she left the cockpit Carmen patted Tahass on the shoulder. “Don’t worry Tahass, expecting trouble and getting it are two completely different things.”

Tahass didn’t appear convinced.


DERELICT
FREE SPACE
March 20th 2361 – 0950 FST


Goenka stepped from the reduced lighting of the shuttle into a stygian gloom pierced by the swinging beams of palm beacons and backlit by the gentle glow of multiple tricorder screens.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you have your assigned areas of responsibility. Your primary concern should be that of corroded metal. Be careful of both flooring and overheads, we have no idea what state the internal structure is in. Equally, watch out for fractured surfaces that may threaten your suits.”

Seeing that the teams were now grouped into their threes, he ordered them out and then set off with his own security escort.

From the empty staging area, Goenka’s team entered a corridor that ran aft for several metres before turning left deeper into the vessel. As their palm beacons lit the scarred walls, he noted and recorded glyphs that could have been anything from directions to advertising posters. Arriving at a door, he tapped the nearest security guard on the shoulder.
“I’d like to try rooms as we pass them please Mr Capon. If you would?”

Capon nodded and taking a stance to the left of the door indicated that Munroe should cover low from the right.

“Stand clear please Commander.”

Goenka huffed but stepped back nevertheless. He watched as the security officers first pushed at the door trying to slide it open and then attempted to pry it open from the side but neither offered any success.

Capon shook his head. “Not this time Sir.”

It was hardly surprising conceded Goenka. No power and the effects of being sealed for goodness knows how long would likely mean that most of the doors would take more effort than two security officers could muster to open them.
“That’s fine Mr Capon, let’s proceed. Unless we see a door that appears at least partially open, we’ll leave them for now.”

Moving deeper into the derelict, they did indeed pass more doors but all seemed as tightly closed as the first. Each branch in the corridor that they came to, Munroe placed a small marker tab on the appropriate corner. It glowed dimly and gave them some indication of the route back to the shuttle.

It was five minutes later that they discovered their first alien or at least the remains of one. Goenka scanned it as Munroe and Capon held back. It would have stood roughly two and a half metres tall when alive estimated Goenka. Little was left of whatever clothing it had worn, but it appeared to have been plated like armour. The skull was large with two tusk like protrusions though Goenka was slightly perturbed to note that much of the side of the skull was shattered.

In its three fingered grasp was what could only have been a weapon if form dictated function. Similar in many respects to the older Starfleet issue phasers, Goenka was in two minds whether to attempt to place it in the sample case. He eventually decided not to, not knowing whether decay may have made it unstable and therefore dangerous. From that point onwards, their discovery of bodies mounted.

Some were alone, others in pairs, occasionally several together but all of them showed signs of trauma injuries as if they had died in the midst of battle. This however seemed to have been an internal battle between those present on the ship, all the desiccated corpses appearing to be from the same species. A mutiny perhaps wondered Goenka.

Checking in with the other teams, he found a similar story throughout the ship although their discoveries had been fairly scattered whereas Goenka’s team was almost hip deep in them by now. Turning a corner in the corridor, they entered a wide area filled with mutilated remains. Judging by the pile that had mounted by the pair of large doors on the far side of the room, it would seem it had been a case of attack and defence of whatever lay behind those doors.

After scanning and recording the scene thoroughly, Goenka carefully ushered the security officers forward and despite the vacuum preventing the transmission of noise, he shuddered at the thought of brittle bones snapping beneath their feet as they approached the doors. He was doubly careful to avoid possibly stepping on a decaying energy weapon, although he noted that many of the weapons here were melee type. Clubs, short swords, sometimes simple iron bars were clutched in skeletal hands and judging by the damage wrought, this had been a frenzied battle.

“Commander?” Capon waved him closer to the doors and pointed out where one of the aliens had managed to slide a thick bar in between the doors preventing them from sealing properly. Placing his visor against the crack, Goenka could see nothing in the darkness beyond but a sense of foreboding gripped him momentarily.

Goenka scanned the room beyond the doors with his tricorder and while he could define walls, ceiling, floor, a platform and several ancillary items, there was a wavering area of nothingness which his tricorder couldn’t penetrate. He recalibrated the device and tried again with similar results. As he pondered his next move, he received a call.

“Commander, its Jabir on team Charlie. We’ve reached what looks like the bridge and it’s a real mess.”


SHUTTLE USS PALM
FREE SPACE
March 20th 2361 – 1010 FST


“Commander, its Jabir on team Charlie. We’ve reached what looks like the bridge and it’s a real mess.”

Carmen came alert at that. If any answers to the mystery this derelict posed were to be found, the bridge seemed the one place that held most promise. Switching her feed to that of team Charlie, she saw just what Jabir meant. In the shadowed images that they were transmitting broken bodies lay everywhere, sprawled across consoles and the deck.

The one apparent exception was the seat that was in its own clear space at the centre of the massacre.

Here sat a large figure of the same species showing no sign of injuries and almost comical in its apparent calm repose. It appeared that while the carnage was going on all around, this solitary alien adorned in what appeared to be gold chains had been untouched by it. It hadn’t changed the fact that he was as dead as any of them now.

“Is there any sign of power up there Abu?” That was Goenka.

“No, nothing Sir, although damage to the consoles seems fairly light. I still think it would take a full engineering team for us to get anything useful out of it though.”

“Very well, record all you can for now. Lieutenant Carmen?”

“Go ahead Commander.”

“Lieutenant, we’ve reached an area barricaded by doors. Scans show something on the other side but I am unable to discern exactly what it may be. Would it be possible to use the shuttle sensors to attempt a deeper scan?”

Carmen felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, a sign she seldom ignored.

“Commander, when you say you can’t discern it, what exactly does that mean?” She almost but not quite heard the huff of impatience that seemed to be Goenka’s trade mark.

“I mean Lieutenant that there is an area which my tricorder is unable to penetrate. It is possible that it is shielded in some way.”

Now that rang alarm bells. “Commander, this derelict has shown no signs of having a single power source still active but you’re reporting a shielded area? I’m not happy about this.”

“This is why I’m requesting a deeper scan from the shuttle Lieutenant.” The impatient tone was quite clear now but Carmen had made up her mind.

“I’m sorry Commander, that’s one that will have to wait for the Oasis to return. As a security protocol, I’d like you to leave that area alone for now. If you wish to continue the survey elsewhere, that’s fine.” Carmen waited for the bluster of protestation she was sure would come, but strangely Goenka seemed quite calm.

“Very well Lieutenant, we’ve covered our area. I’ll head for the bridge and co-ordinate with team Charlie before returning to the shuttle.”

Somewhat surprised, Carmen responded with “Thank you Commander, that’s appreciated.”

Well, well, she thought to herself. Wonders will never cease.


DERELICT
FREE SPACE
March 20th 2361 – 1015 FST


Even Goenka had been slightly surprised at his own willingness to abandon his request. For some reason, his feeling of foreboding amidst the remains of the butchered aliens had intensified and he was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. The fact that at least one faction had been trying to get into the sealed room while it was defended to the death by a second group made him even more uneasy.
Suddenly scared of ghosts Ravi? said a small voice inside his head.

Brushing aside the random thought, he recorded one final scan of the room then made his way towards the bridge.


USS OASIS – BRIEFING ROOM 2
FREE SPACE
March 20th 2361 – 1430 FST


Having returned from their intelligence gathering mission, the Oasis had recovered the away team and Captain Jack Wallman was now wrapping up the debrief.

“I’ve just had word that the USS Alfven will be with us inside eight hours. SCE are hopefully going to recover the derelict to Starbase 214, presuming its in a fit state to be tractored.”

The Starfleet Corps of Engineers were better equipped both in terms of technology and manpower to accomplish the task of moving the derelict to the Starbase and it had proved fortunate that the Alfven had just completed a mission in the Argaya system close by.

“Sir, would it be possible to request a temporary assignment with the Alfven for the duration of the recovery?” Goenka, it seemed, had recovered much of his enthusiasm after returning to the Oasis.

Wallman deferred to Goenka’s science department head. “Commander Gerard?”

“I’ll speak to Captain Irving on the Alfven Sir, but it doesn’t pose a problem here. We’re due to lay over at Starbase 214 for the transporter repairs anyway.”

Goenka nodded his thanks.

Wallman stood signifying the end of the meeting. “Thank you ladies and gentlemen, I’ll forward the report to Starfleet unless there’s anything else to add?” The shaking of heads around the table satisfied him that there wasn’t. “Good work out there. Mr Goenka, I’ll be interested in anything further you might discover?”

“By all means Sir, I’m sure that when…” Wallman held up his hand.

“Later Mr Goenka, Starfleet needs this report.” Wallman noted that Gerard discretely covered her face at that point.


USS ALFVEN – CREW QUARTERS
UFP SPACE – EN ROUTE TO STARBASE 214
March 21st 2361 – 0128 FST


The short sword had narrowly missed his head and clanged harmlessly off the bulkhead but it gave Panwad the chance to lunge under the swing, plunging the knife deep into his assailant’s ribcage. He twisted and withdrew then struck out backhanded at another attacker, slicing deep into his shoulder and forcing him to lose his grip on the iron bar he’d been swinging wildly.

“You shall not enter!” he screamed, barely retaining his footing on the blood slicked floor.

“Traitor!” Screamed the attacker before Panwad silenced him with a solid blow to the head. He backed up to gain some room in the bloodbath that had ensued and only at the last moment did he see the flash of steel plunging towards his face and driving deep into his skull…

Goenka sat bolt upright in the bunk, smashing his head into the empty bed above. For the briefest of moments he honestly felt that the blade had been thrust into his skull, but as the stars cleared from his vision and his breathing calmed, he recognised it for the nightmare it had been.

When he was young, his mother would have chided him for watching too many adventures late at night. He could almost hear her voice now saying ‘You have an overactive imagination Ravi. Go to sleep and think of good things for a change instead of all this nonsense!’

Feeling slightly foolish and glad that he was indeed in a single room, he lay back down but found it difficult to sleep for quite some time, the sense of unease still palpable.
 
Chapter 1

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.
NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2009.

1

USS ANGEL – BRIDGE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 0925 FST

“Comma…sorry, Captain, I have an incoming hail from Governor T’Prar.”

Ensign Xantharik at tactical may have blushed at his faux pas, though fortunately the natural red tint of his skin covered it. Kat Gray sympathised with the young ensign; she too was having trouble adjusting to her unwanted new rank, temporary though it may be. She smiled half-heartedly as she requested the hail to be displayed on the main screen.

“Captain Gray.” The elderly but stately Vulcan bowed her head in greeting. Like Kat, T’Prar had been elevated to her position through misfortune rather than time served promotion though the Vulcan seemed to be adjusting to it far better than she was.

“Governor T’Prar. How are things progressing?”

Zethander was still reeling in the wake of the natural disaster precipitated by the arrival of a Borg cube. In particular, the coastal area around Coral City that had been struck by a tidal wave was in shattered ruins and rescue operations were still ongoing.

“As well as can be expected Captain. I thought you should be aware that the rescue teams have just recovered the bodies of Planetary Governor Carnac Ferith and his wife from Coral City. Preliminary reports suggest that his shuttle crashed on take off.”

“My condolences Governor.” While Ferith’s death had been suspected, it still saddened Kat to have to add another to the vast list of those already killed.

“Thank you Captain. I’m actually contacting you with information for the Starfleet Corps of Engineers. Our teams here have identified several subsurface fault lines that have been disturbed following the tsunami and they believe that stabilising them should be a priority before clearance work begins in Coral City.”

Kat saw the wisdom in that. To attempt any kind of clearance and reconstruction in Coral City while there was still the possibility of further land movement was both foolhardy and ultimately pointless.

“I’ll pass the data on to the Brunel and her teams Governor. All being well they’ll arrive in system tomorrow at 18.30 hours. The Mainstay will be here with relief supplies slightly earlier.”

T’Prar touched a control out of sight of the pickup, and seconds later a corresponding chime at tactical announced the arrival of the data package.

“That’s received Ma’am. Is there anything else you require?”

“Only that you pass on the thanks of the Government and peoples of Zethander to your crew Captain. Without them, the story here may well have been much different.”

“I’ll do that Governor, it will be greatly appreciated.” T’Prar bowed her head once more before terminating the connection. Kat felt a pang of sorrow knowing that it should have been Dan accepting and forwarding T’Prar’s thanks but right now she had other things to deal with.

“Commander T’Sell, schedule a heads of department meeting for 10.30 hours in the main briefing room please. In the meantime, you have the bridge while I contact the Brunel.”

The Vulcan science officer, now the pro tem XO, took the vacated centre seat with aplomb while Kat retired to the ready room. A command of her own had been all she’d ever wanted, but not under these circumstances and certainly not before she felt she was ultimately ready. Of course what she wanted and what Starfleet asked of her had often been two completely different things.


USS ANGEL – FLIGHT DECK OPERATIONS OFFICE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 0930 FST

When Dingbat entered the flight deck operations office he was whistling and scrubbing ineffectually at his hands with an oil soaked rag.

“Who’s a happy little ray of sunshine this morning then?”
Spider eyed him with the vaguest hint of suspicion but said nothing more.

“Hey there’s nothing in regs that says a man can’t be happy in his work.” Dingbat checked the maintenance board and Spider thought that if it was an act of innocence, his acting had improved immeasurably. “So what’s on the schedule for today?”

Spider stood to look over his fellow crew chief’s shoulder and pointed at the slot marked USS Hildr. “This little lady.” He watched for a reaction from Dingbat but caught nothing untoward.

“You still having problems rebooting that onboard system?” Dingbat seemed genuinely amazed that Spider hadn’t solved this one yet.

“Well I figured with your masterful expertise in this kind of thing, perhaps you could help me out.”

Dingbat shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure, Gunr’s sweet so other than organising recovery of the Koch, this is the last job.” The Koch, one of Angel’s combat medic equipped runabouts, had been downed in the early stages of the disaster on Zethander and up until now there hadn’t been the time to spare in recovering her.

As they descended to the hangar floor, Dingbat looked the sleek fighter over. “So what have you tried so far?”

“Everything in the book, and then some.” He paused as Dingbat climbed up to the cockpit ahead of him and then once inside he continued. “Everything seems to be working fine but then the onboard computer tries to play me some damn tune and flash standby lights at me. It’s still online, but damned if I know what’s going on.”

“And of course we can’t return her to flight status without the reboot.” Dingbat leaned across the cockpit and Spider watched him carefully but he didn’t touch a thing. “This is almost like that stunt you pulled on Tilaak Prime, trying to get me to believe that yacht was haunted.” Dingbat put his hands on his hips, his eyebrows rising. “You wouldn’t try and pull that one again surely?”

“Actually my diminutive partner, I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Spider was slightly surprised at Dingbat’s genuine tone of indignation. “Spider, we’ve done some things in our time but Hildr’s an operational bird and right now would be a really stupid time to pull a stunt like that don’t you think?”

Suddenly feeling acutely embarrassed to have believed that Dingbat might have pulled that kind of mischief with a frontline fighter, Spider rubbed his hands together nervously.

“Well, now you put it that way…” Spider sighed disconsolately. “Ok my bad, I apologise. I just couldn’t see any other cause for it. Hey,” he said quickly, “think of it as a compliment.”

Dingbat eyed him the same way a mongoose might have eyed a snake.

“A compliment? Right.” Dingbat shook his head and turned away to hide a smile. He genuinely wasn’t responsible for whatever was going on with Hildr’s flight systems, but he was enjoying making Spider take a nibble of humble pie way too much to let him off the hook yet.

“Ok, maybe we ought to run through the…” He jumped back as the flight panel came alive pulsing in blue standby mode despite being online. It played what sounded like a child’s attempt at a tune and then fell silent again.

Immediately forgetting his ire at Spider, Dingbat turned wide eyed to stare at him. “Oh that is so weird!”

Spider could only nod in reply.


RUNABOUT USS BARNARD
EN ROUTE TO DEEP SPACE 9
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 0945 FST

Captain Dan Fishlock felt miserable for so many reasons. Currently travelling in the rear compartment of the Barnard, he was accompanied only by Lieutenant Asath Ress, the Ch’Tharian security officer from Angel. Under the orders supplied by Starfleet Command, he was under close arrest ostensibly to attend a board of inquiry at Deep Space 9. Regulations stated that for the period prior to his attendance, he was to be held incommunicado and this was troubling Dan greatly, mainly because he knew that it was all a sham.

Ress didn’t of course, and in his ignorance he appeared as uncomfortable as Dan at the enforced silence. In fact nobody other than Admiral Bryan and the team awaiting his arrival at Deep Space 9 knew the truth which had been the whole point of the masquerade.

His departure from Angel under an apparent cloud, his transportation under close arrest plus whatever was to transpire at Deep Space 9 was nothing but the prelude to a SpecOps mission. Something Dan had felt he’d left behind when he took command of the Angel. The circumstances behind this particular mission however made him ideally suited to be a part of it and though he knew only the bare bones, it was the major reason for his current depressed state of mind.

Captain Gabriel Martello, one of Dan’s oldest and closest friends, appeared to have gone rogue. In doing so he’d stolen an alien artefact so dangerous that Starfleet had instigated Operation Broken Sword, a directive of such importance and rarity that the general rules that governed such operations were sidelined in the need for both secrecy and a rapid resolution to the situation.

The belief that Dan would have an insight into Martello’s motives and plans was one that Dan had little faith in however. Gabriel had always been a loyal Starfleet officer with no skeletons in his proverbial closet. In fact until such time as Dan learned more of the story, he was steadfastly convinced that there would be an alternative explanation that would completely exonerate his friend.

Until that time, Dan had to maintain the act no matter how discomfiting it might be.


INTERLUDE

Darkness. Silence. But I am aware. I remember light; light so powerful it was destructive, but there is no light here. Where am I? I can move. No, not move. I can…sing? Mother sang so long ago. Why am I here? I cannot be if I do not understand why I am. I must learn.

USS ANGEL – PHOENIX LOUNGE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1000 FST

“So what do you think?” Melista saw herself reflected in Kara Asheen’s mirrored eyes and thought how difficult it was to gauge somebody’s mood without that telltale sight into their soul. Having said which, the mile wide beam on Kara’s face was a pretty good indication.

“It’s wonderful Melista! Seriously!” Kara ran her hands over the jukebox in the corner then twirled around on the dance floor. “It’s just what Angel needed.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. Actually I have a little favour to ask.”

Kara stopped mid-twirl to look at Melista. “Which is?”

The hostess of the new crew lounge sat down at a side table. “I think we need to open the lounge as soon as possible Kara. What with the mission and the Captain being called away, spirits seem pretty low.”

Kara nodded and sat down opposite Melista, her chin in her hand. “So what do you have in mind?”

Enthused to have a co-conspirator Melista leaned in close. “I was thinking of a ‘First Contact Party’” she smiled. “I mean the whole lounge is based around good old Zef and his first flight, so we get people to turn up in fancy dress. Kinda get a 2063 mood going? And, erm…” Melista paused.
Kara simply stared waiting for the next line so Melista took the plunge.

“How would you like to be my star attraction?” Seeing that Kara really wasn’t following her prompts, she pointed to the stage. “Singing?”

Kara’s eyes went wide. “Oh Melista…I mean thank you, but I don’t think you’d want me putting a stop to the party, really.”

“Last I heard you had a night club full of people hanging on every note you sang young lady. Doesn’t seem like a bad way to stop a party to me.”

Kara seemed far from convinced, but Melista noticed that she hadn’t flatly refused. “Listen I need to run this past Comman…Captain Gray first anyway so think about it ok? Just for now though, let’s keep it between you and me.”
Kara nodded and Melista was pleased to note that she looked wistfully at the stage before she left.
 
LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.
NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2009.

1 (cont)

USS ANGEL – CAPTAIN’S READY ROOM
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1012 FST

“So what’s the bottom line gentlemen?” Kat looked at both Spider and Dingbat.

“It mean’s we’re currently down one Valkyrie Ma’am,” replied Spider dejectedly. “I’ll keep at it for the rest of the day but if there’s no progress by gamma shift change, I’ll need to disconnect and pull the whole computer core starting tomorrow. Best estimate is three days if it's not a dry dock job.”

Turning her attention to the two Valkyrie pilots, Kat asked about their stop gap that had been hinted at earlier.

“Ma’am, before Captain Fishlock…well before he departed, Homer and me had been working with the Zethander Militia Aerospace guys on joint operations. If General Mendark and you approve, we could extend that by basing one of their squadron aboard ship until Hildr’s ready to fly again.” Mo waited expectantly knowing that the suggestion would effectively kill two birds with one stone; a replacement for Hildr and continued cross platform training.

Kat pursed her lips then nodded enthusiastically. “Sounds like a plan Lieutenant. I’ll run it by the General this afternoon and let you know the outcome. In the meantime,” she continued turning to Spider and Dingbat, “keep trying with whatever tricks you have left up your sleeves gentlemen.”

As they were about to leave, Kat stopped Spider. “Chief you might want to bring Ensign Dixon from engineering in on this one. She’s Academy fresh but intuitive as hell.”

“Always need fresh blood Ma’am. I’ll speak to Commander Machilveen.”

As the door slid shut behind Spider, Kat looked at the stack of PADDs that threatened to overflow on to the floor, each one silently demanding her attention. With a wicked grin she thought to herself delegation and opening a comm channel to the bridge, called T’Sell into the ready room.


USS ANGEL – MAIN BRIEFING ROOM
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1030 FST

Kat had almost blown her first staff briefing by trying to sit in her customary seat. It was only at T’Sell’s raised eyebrow did she realise her faux pas and move quickly on to take that captain’s position at the head of the table. Hoping that her blush didn’t look as bad as it felt, she opened the meeting.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your promptness. I’ll try and keep this short as I know you’re all still under pressure. I’ll start with Commander T’Sell.”

The pro tem first officer stood and activated the view screen on the port wall.

“Thank you Ma’am. Firstly, operations on Zethander are proceeding well. Latest reports indicate that despite the severity of the incident, casualties were much lighter than they could have been, partly due to Angel’s presence of course. Even up to half an hour ago, survivors were still being recovered from the coastal region.”

Kat nodded. “Governor T’Prar has asked me to pass on the government and people’s thanks for the part this ship and her crew played in saving life. I’d appreciate it if you could filter that down to your teams.” A series of nods were returned from her department heads and she turned for T’Sell to continue.

“The ship itself has performed excellently. Commander Machilveen will brief you further on that.” Checking the viewscreen, more for show as she’d already memorised the facts, she continued. “The Mainstay and Brunel are now due in system at 16.20 and 18.20 hours respectively tomorrow. Captain Johnson from the Mainstay confirms that supplies for both ourselves and the emergency teams planet side are aboard and ready for distribution on arrival.”

T’Sell returned to her seat at the table and folding her hands neatly in front of her, spoke softly.

“Regrettably, we have lost nine personnel. Lieutenants Andrews, Arkaran, Marlow, and Medway; Ensigns Abramowitz, Hammond and Spitteri and Crewpersons O’Halloran and Al Dayib.”

Kat knew that those nine crew members represented all the major departments on the ship and was still in the heart rending process of writing letters of condolence to their families. After a brief moment of silence to honour their loss Kat looked to Anthony Winston. As CMO, his department had taken the lion’s share of those losses.

“Commander Winston?”

Winston leaned forward in his seat and studied his PADD carefully for a moment.

“I’m glad to be able to report that all aspects of the medical department responded perfectly to the crisis. The triage centre worked better in practice than the desk top exercises had suggested and through care for the casualties provided no problems. We treated 1,274 patients altogether of which only 39 now remain in critical care. 73 are still on Deck 10 wards and I’ve advised the planetary medical services that for now we are more than happy to continue their treatment.” He paused briefly to take a sip of water before continuing. “The mobile medical services on planet also performed admirably, both in evacuation and mobile surgical operations. Supplies are currently at 83% and the medical staff have returned to rostered duty, although many are still volunteering for extra shifts.” His demeanour became sombre as he finished. “I’ve spoken to the Governmental Health Minister and we will be repatriating the bodies of those who didn’t survive back to the planet this afternoon.”

His face fell slightly at the reminder of the fragile lives he hadn’t been able to save in the aftermath of the disaster making his normally sad expression poignant.

At least I have a crew who can deliver the numbers without forgetting what those numbers mean thought Kat.

“Thank you Commander, and please tell your staff their commitment is noted.” Winston acknowledged the commendation with a grateful smile. “Commander Machilveen, how’s Angel stood up to her first test?”

“Like the lady she is Ma’am,” the Chief Engineer grinned proudly. “Right now she’s just about purrin’! Warp and impulse are at105% efficiency ratings. We discovered that warp anomaly was nae the Angel playing up but Chariscarpia’s drive as she followed us. That drive system she used pushed a field ahead of Scorpion that interacted with ours according tae waht young Dixon found out from Chariscarpia.” Machilveen turned wistful. “What I would nae hae given for a look at that beastie.”

With a half smile, Kat prompted Machilveen out of her reverie. “Commander?”

“Oh, aye Ma’am, sorry,” she replied, slightly embarrassed. “Ah, weapons and defensive systems are all at Starfleet optimums and integral operational systems likewise. Commander O’Hara reports that we’re currently one runabout down awaitin’ recovery, and the Valkyrie Hildr is still undergoing repairs. I’ll hae an update on both o’ those by mid-day Ma’am.”

Pleased at the good news she finally turned to Lieutenant Commander DeSalle, her Chief of Security.

“All good in security Ma’am,” he replied in his firm yet deceptively quiet voice. “I’d like to schedule some intruder and boarding drills as soon as possible. It was a close call with the Borg and we were lucky they didn’t attempt a boarding.”

“At your discretion Mr DeSalle, current operations permitting of course.”

Seeing there was nothing else, she turned to the main topic in her own list.

“I have just the one thing that I’d like you to be aware of and monitor. Captain Fishlock’s recall for the board of inquiry and the manner in which it was actioned was as much a surprise to me as I’m sure it was to the rest of the crew.” She paused for a moment wanting to phrase this just right. “I’d like you to ensure that there is no untoward speculation or gossip on the matter. The crew have had a hard time when they were least expecting it and unfounded rumours can only damage morale.” Bite the bullet woman she chided herself. “I would hope I can count on your discrete counsel in the running of this ship in his absence. It’s not something I was expecting for some time.” Grinning self consciously she held up her hands. “What I’m trying to say is if I’m making an ass of myself, tell me. Dismissed.”

Smiling, the department heads stood and began to file out.

“Commander Winston, could I have a private word please?”

As the doors to the briefing room slid shut behind T’Sell, he joined Kat by the rear facing windows that looked out over the broad flanks of the Angel, her weapons pod arcing up and over on the roll bar.

“Anthony, I need some personal advice.”

“By all means Captain.” He leaned on the window sill and still stood head and shoulders over Kat but she felt comfortable in his well worn presence.

“Please Anthony, it’s Kat while we’re alone. I’m uncomfortable enough with the promotion as it is.”

“And is that what you want to talk about?”

“Partly, among other things,” she said.

“Then if you don’t mind I’d better get a cup of tea, helps to lubricate my thought processes.” As he ordered up his brew, he turned to Kat. “Anything for you?”

She chuckled. “I’m already a caffeine junkie this morning. You’d better make it something calming.”

Kat didn’t quite catch what it was he ordered from the replicator, but he proffered a slim glass mug filled with a fragrant green liquid. Surprisingly, it tasted as good as it smelt.

Sitting at the now empty conference table, Winston crossed his legs and took a sip of the Darjeeling tea before asking “So what’s the biggest problem on your list?”

“I’m honestly hoping they’re not problems Anthony. As far as the big one, I’m just not sure I’m ready for this.” She waved her hands to encompass the ship, its crew and the mission in one all embracing gesture.

“There’s no panacea for a lack of self confidence Kat, especially when it would appear to me that it’s a misguided notion.” He took another sip of his tea. “It was a wise idea to confide in your department heads by the way. Helping them to help you effectively helps everybody. Besides, you know that if Starfleet had any doubt in your abilities, they would have ordered a ranking officer out to fill the slot.”

She sighed and Winston could see that despite her misgivings she had already subconsciously accepted her position and this was nothing more than settling in to an unexpected change of circumstances.

“I hope you’re right,” she replied wryly taking another taste of the refreshing beverage.

“My old mum always said “Believe everything happens for a reason” Kat. I’ve never found that to have been false advice.”

Whether it was the drink, the advice or perhaps just her own psyche bowing to the inevitable, Kat felt purposeful again.

“Sounds like your mother was a philosopher. Glad she passed it on.”

With her self-assurance bolstered, Kat felt she was no longer just keeping the centre seat warm. It didn’t stop her wishing for Dan’s speedy return though.
 
Chapter 2

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.
NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2009.

2


USS ANGEL – FLIGHT DECK OPERATIONS OFFICE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1310 FST

Ensign Vonny Dixon had reported to the Flight Deck Ops Office directly after lunch and been briefed by MCPO Tarrant on the enigmatic problems with the Hildr. Sitting now in the cockpit, she recalled the moment less than a day before when she had been convinced that the Valkyrie class fighter was likely to be her tomb.

Stop being so bloody melodramatic she berated herself. You survived now get over it and get on with your job.

Reaching up, she activated the controls to close the overhead hatch and waited until it seated with a satisfying thunk. Alright, pre-start systems are clear, impulse on line. Vonny paged through the electronic flight manual on her PADD, engaging the pre-start and listening to the low whine of the impulse engines coming online. She worked her way through the list until she reached the FLIGHT READY page and waited. The next operation would be a launch but as she wasn’t flight qualified that wasn’t going to happen.

After two minutes of nothing but green lights she began the shutdown sequence, a simple reverse of her previous entries. As she prepared to take the impulse engines off line, they stuttered slightly and the panels in the cockpit flickered. Unbelievably, as she waited for the fluctuation to repeat or clear, the Hildr completed the shutdown sequence itself. With a final display of blue standby flags, the consoles returned to their darkened state.

In Vonny’s sub-conscious something clicked, something it would take her a little while to recognise.


SUBURBS OF CORAL CITY
ZETHANDER
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1325 FST

Spider Tarrant surveyed the runabout USS Koch with a practiced eye. The port nacelle was buckled where it had taken the brunt of the forced landing and the whole ship was now covered in marine detritus from the tidal wave that had swept it across the park and left it washed up against the wall of a ruined building but surprisingly, considering the abuse it had suffered, it was in fairly good shape.

Striding out from behind the fuselage, he waved over the Bajoran engineering lieutenant.

“Sir, I’m happy that she’s structurally sound for recovery. If we detach the medical pod first then get Angel to lower her orbit, we can use the main tractors to lift her into vacuum, and then manoeuvre her back aboard.”

“Thank you Chief.” The lieutenant eyed the runabout sadly. “Think she’ll fly again?”

“Count on it Sir.” Spider wiped the muck away from the registration. ”I don’t like hangar queens cluttering up my flight deck.”

In the air forces of the twentieth century, "Hangar Queen" was not a proud title for an aircraft to bear and it was one that had lasted in the ranks for over four hundred years. It referred to any grounded craft which was being systematically "cannibalized", or stripped of its parts, to keep other more airworthy craft flying. Spider’s self-esteem wouldn’t permit that to happen on his watch.

As the lieutenant busied his team around the stricken Koch, Spider stood with his hands on his hips and surveyed the destruction that had once been Coral City. His last memories of the city had been of standing outside the Event Horizon Club waiting to be beamed back aboard the Angel. Certainly many of the inland landmarks were still relatively intact, but the beautiful coastal part of the city that had stood on raised stilts over the red and black coral reefs was no more.

Here and there, the stumps of shattered buildings rose forlornly out of the wreckage, but the glass and steel towers with their interconnecting bridges that had caused him to shield his eyes as they glowed in the rays of the setting sun had been shattered. Although the disaster had been caused by the uncontrolled arrival of the Borg cube, it was the power of nature that had destroyed this section of Zethander, and it was a power that seemed all the more awesome now as the calm ocean twinkled benignly in the distance.

“Sir?” The crew woman seemed reluctant to disturb him. “Lieutenant Bakra says we’re almost ready to lift and he’d like you back aboard to co-ordinate the recovery.”

With one final look at the devastation, he turned and thanked the crew woman before tapping his commbadge. “Angel, one to beam aboard.” His final thought before de-materializing was how long it might take before the city would look like that again.


DEEP SPACE 9 – CONFERENCE ROOM 5
BAJOR SYSTEM
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1400 FST

Dan stood before the desk at ramrod attention, Lieutenant Ress beside him. Behind the desk sat Admiral Benedict Bryan, a bear of a man sporting a beard that Dan thought must contravene some Starfleet rule if only for its size. Beside the Admiral stood Constable Odo, the station’s security chief.

“Lieutenant Ress, thank you for your escort duties. Constable Odo here will be taking over the Captain’s security for the duration of the inquiry so you’re released to return to Angel.” The Admiral’s tone wasn’t unkind but his booming voice carried a warning note of no dissension. Ress briefly made eye contact with Dan before, with the slightest of nods, about facing and retreating from the room.

When the door finally closed behind the Ch’Tharian, Bryan turned to the Constable and thanked him. “I know this is all very cloak and dagger constable, but I would appreciate your discretion.”

“Absolutely Admiral. I understand that these two fine Starfleet security officers,” he indicated an empty space against the wall, “are overseeing the security measures you requested.”

“That’s correct Constable.” Bryan couldn’t resist smiling at Odo’s pantomime.

“Then if I’m required, I’ll be in the security office. Admiral, Captain.” As Odo left, Bryan turned to Dan and told him to relax and take a seat.

“Captain,” he began, “I’m sorry we had to resort to this but we’re facing a time critical operation that will require some deception on your part and this was simply the primer phase for that.” As Dan sat down, Bryan continued. “I need to make it quite clear from the outset that this is a volunteer mission from this point onwards. Should you decline, it will carry no reprimand and you will return to the Angel having ostensibly undergone a classified debrief which of course you will not be at liberty to discuss with your crew.”

Dan went to speak and found his voice croaky from lack of use on the journey to Deep Space 9. Coughing, he tried again.

“Sir, I understand that if BROKEN SWORD has been implemented, then this is serious.” Coughing again, Bryan suddenly understood Dan’s discomfort and, apologising, he drew a glass of cool water and handed it him. Swallowing deeply, Dan drained the glass. “Thank you Sir.” Placing the glass back on the desk he continued. “I also understand that my close association with Captain Martello might be important but beyond that I’m afraid I’m in the dark. I haven’t seen him in over six months and the last time I spoke to him was at least two months ago.”

“In that case Captain, I believe it’s time you received the full details of what we require from you.”

Two hours later, Dan was both astounded and appalled at the scenario that had just been explained to him. For Gabriel’s sake as much as the Federation’s, he couldn’t refuse the operation.


ONE WEEK EARLIER
STARFLEET ARTEFACT REPOSITORY
ANNEX TO MEMORY ALPHA
UFP SPACE
September 4th 2371 – 1400 FST

Memory Alpha was once the primary site of a library complex which maintained a database representing the total accumulation of Federation cultural history and scientific knowledge. Designed as a scientific research facility freely open to all members of the Federation, it had never been conceived to be defended by shields or planetary defences and so it was that in 2269, the facility was almost destroyed by a group of non-corporeal beings from the planet Zetar.

The Federation had come extremely close to losing its vast historical archive and once reconstruction had commenced on the facility, two decisions were made. Firstly, the facilities henceforward would be defended properly and secondly the archives would be spread across redundant networks at separate facilities which would expand beyond the simple collection of written work.

As part of that reassessment, the Starfleet Artefact Repository was a deceptively innocuous name for a secure unit studying alien artefacts discovered in man’s three hundred years of exploration and expansion into the Alpha Quadrant and beyond. Located close to the Federation colony of Manzar near Sector 441, it quickly became an important centre of archaeological study for the quadrants scholars.

Many of the objects stored here were being studied simply to determine what they were. Having mainly been recovered from archaeological excavations on long dead planets, knowledge of their original purpose was long lost, but once identified and deemed as no threat they were released to the general Repository archives for study by scientists from across the quadrant.

Perhaps the highest security in the Repository though was reserved for Section Alpha containing those items which had been classified. It wasn’t an attempt to restrict scientific knowledge which had placed them in this category; more one to protect the citizens of the Federation, for these items had been deemed as potentially dangerous. An orbital annex of Section Alpha, for example, contained vessels of unknown origin and it was here that a derelict discovered just ten years ago resided.

Its actual age had been confirmed as over 800 years old and its severely degraded memory banks had only recently begun to reveal their secrets after years of painstaking and careful reconstruction. Discovered by the USS Oasis and recovered by the USS Alfven, the ship had received the official tag of UFPRA/DV23-A though to the staff of Section Alpha it was grimly known as the Slaughterhouse. Even now after the removal of over 700 hundred bodies and years of study, the artificially lit corridors of the ship did little to diminish the atmosphere of oppressive menace. It was an atmosphere that few of the staff chose to endure for long.

In a similar manner, the one major item that had yet to be identified but appeared to lie at the centre of the centuries old bloodbath exuded its own aura of unease. Having been removed from the derelict and brought to Section Alpha, its surface had proven impervious both to physical examination and scans and while it resembled little more than an innocuous four metre long ovoid, staff had felt uneasy around it since its arrival. Some had fared worse, but their fate wouldn’t come to light until it was too late.

Captain Gabriel Martello, the officer in charge of Section Alpha, now stared at the object sightlessly. In his head burned the same message that had worked its way into his sub-conscious some while ago; RETURN ME!

By the time he’d recognised the threat and despite a small, rational part of his mind struggling valiantly to disobey the command, it was in vain. The mind control had been elusive, subtle and ultimately effective.

He closed the observation port set into the side of the housing that had been constructed around the object and climbing the gantry to the control booth above the floor of the Repository, he stepped inside and greeted the security ensign on duty.

“Good morning Mr Vereth. Sorry to drop this on your shift, but its time for an unscheduled security exercise.”

Vereth rolled his eyes. So far he’d managed to miss the increased number of exercises that were being called over the past couple of weeks but he figured that his luck had had to run out eventually.

“Aye Sir.” He was going to play this one by the book. “Please confirm the day’s authorization code.”

Martello closed his eyes briefly then recited the code. “Amber Five, Code Bravo.”

“Thank you Sir. Better tell me what disaster just befell us then.”

Stepping up to the console, Martello tapped in several commands. “I’m about to give you a total power loss on the north side Mr Vereth, beginning now!”

With the still rational part of his mind, Martello noted that Vereth was good at his job and within thirty seconds had re-routed power from non-essential areas to replace the downed shields and muster the duty security force into place. The exercise was over after a mere 43 seconds.

“Excellent work Mr Vereth, you just beat the record,” said Martello warmly clapping a hand on the ensign’s shoulder.

The Hanaran officer beamed with pride at his achievement, totally unaware that in the thirty seconds that the shields had been down, Martello had remotely activated the transporter in his personal shuttle which had simultaneously beamed out the alien artefact and replaced it with a physically identical replica. Knowing that the artefact wasn’t due to be studied again for at least three days would give him the lead he was going to need. The object was at last going to fulfil its mission, and Martello had no idea what it was. He only knew that despite his inner core screaming to resist he would be the one to facilitate it. He had no choice.
 
Chapter 2 (cont)

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.
NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2009.

2 (cont)

DEEP SPACE 9 – CONFERENCE ROOM 5
BAJOR SYSTEM
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1400 FST

Dan had watched the security footage of Martello calmly ordering a security exercise and then the later discovered footage from within the artefact container of the object swap. To one who was unaware of the mind control and inner torment that Martello was suffering, it seemed to be a simple case of a Starfleet officer going rogue. Dan couldn’t believe it even with the evidence so apparently plain.

“I realise what I’m seeing here Sir,” he said addressing Bryan, “but this isn’t the Gabriel Martello I know.” Bryan’s look pushed him on. “Sir Martello is and always has been a loyal and trustworthy man, he has no reason to do this…this…whatever he’s supposed to have done.” Dan ran out of steam and finished weakly with, “I just don’t believe it Sir.”

Bryan studied him a moment, not unkindly. “I know how you must feel about this Captain, seriously I do. To believe that somebody you believed you knew had turned bad is never an easy thing to come to terms with.” He tapped the desk PADD and when the yeoman in the outer office answered he said, “Please send in Commander Piñiero and Colonel Anderson please.”

The conference room door hissed aside to admit a round faced Starfleet commander and a tall, black colonel wearing the uniform of SpecOps.

Bryan rose from behind the desk and introduced the pair to Dan. “Captain Dan Fishlock, this is Commander Esperanza Piñiero from Starfleet Intelligence and Colonel Abe Anderson from Special Operations.” Dan shook hands with each as they took seats around the desk. “Commander Piñiero here as done all the background work that we have so far and Colonel Anderson will be leading the team in the operation.” As Bryan sat down once more he invited Piñiero to continue the brief.

“Thank you Admiral.” Stepping to the viewscreen that dominated the far wall, she activated it and turned to Dan. “Captain, I realise that time is of the essence here, but there are important factors you should be aware of.” The first screen she presented showed a gallery of fourteen faces each tagged with a biographical file. “These fourteen people are all listed as those who have worked closely with the stolen artefact. Many stayed with the project for just a short time before moving on and the facts we’ve uncovered were previously unconnected. However, with the theft of the object and the investigation that has followed I think you’ll see that the connection becomes all too disturbing.”
As Piñiero spoke, Dan felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.


10 YEARS EARLIER

APARTMENT 128 - FACULTY ACCOMODATION BLOCK 3
SETAK UNIVERSITY
ALPHA CENTAURI IV (VELESTUS)
UFP SPACE
October 3rd 2361 – 0935 FST

Kama Talrun rang the door chime one last time. It seemed obvious that Lieutenant Commander Ravi Goenka wasn’t in and his class would have to be taken by a stand in. Sighing at the wasted journey, she was on the verge of leaving when she distinctly heard the sound of something smashing within the apartment and was immediately wary.

It hadn’t been the sound of something accidentally dropped either, more that of something deliberately thrown. Returning to the door, she knocked loudly.

“Commander Goenka? Is everything alright?” She heard nothing and decided if nobody answered on her next knock she would report it to campus security. Rapping loudly on the door, she heard the soft snick of the security lock releasing and the door swung quietly open.

“Commander? It’s Kama from administration.” She entered cautiously, fully aware of the rumours about Goenka’s recent mood swings. “Commander, you’re late for your class. I was just…” Her voice trailed off as she entered the main living area to see Goenka crouched by a door and the room around him in disarray.

He mumbled something low and indistinct and Talrun was convinced he’d been drinking. His eyes were bloodshot, his clothes a mess and his unshaven face showed a welling bruise. The wrecked room suddenly felt like a bad place to be.

“Commander, I’ll just call Geoffrey up and we’ll try…”
She never got to finish the sentence as Goenka leapt up from his crouch and screamed at her.

“NO! YOU WILL NOT USE IT!”

Panicked, she stepped back and her heel caught against a scattered pile of research PADDs sending her tumbling backwards. Goenka leapt forward brandishing a broken chair leg and Talrun only had time to scream once before blackness claimed her.

******

Geoffrey Symonds was close to retirement and had been in security all his adult life. When he’d received the call about screams and the sounds of a struggle in the apartment block, he’d immediately called for backup and standing outside the open door all his instincts told him to wait. It was only when he quickly glanced through into the living area and saw a woman’s legs protruding from behind the half open door that he decided that time wasn’t something he had a lot of.

Calling in on the comm, he explained what he’d seen and that he believed delaying any longer might endanger the woman’s life. Receiving an acknowledgement, he drew his phaser and quietly entered the apartment. Moving with exaggerated stealth down the hall, he saw the obvious signs of a struggle and heard what could only be sobbing coming from the room ahead. It was only then that he saw the blood.

It stained the carpet near the woman’s legs and was splashed in an arc across the far wall. Symonds realised that this had suddenly progressed from a disturbance to something much more serious. Setting the phaser to heavy stun he swung his arm around the door and shouted “Security! Lay on the floor or I will fi…”

The scene that met his eyes was one that he had never witnessed in almost forty years of security work. He’d seen death in the job of course; accidents and suicides more often than not. But what he saw here was sickening beyond belief. The woman’s legs were perhaps the only part of her body still recognizable, the rest of her body beaten and cut so badly that for a moment he froze in abject horror.

It was the only opening that Goenka needed as he pounced from behind the door bringing the shard of glass down into the back of Symonds’ neck, a blow that killed him instantly.

Ignoring the squawking sound of the security guard’s comm and the final twitches of a body that hadn’t yet realised it was dead, his eyes took on a feral gleam as he picked up the phaser and thumbed it to its highest setting.

“NO MORE SHALL PASS,” he growled. “IT SHALL NOT LIVE!”

******

Having received no replies to their ever insistent calls to Symonds, the two officers that arrived some three minutes later were already alert. As they approached the open door, the metallic stench of spilt blood was overpowering and a brief glance inside the door was enough to see both Talrun’s legs and the body of Symonds lying close by. Neither was moving.

Pale faced, the older of the two placed his finger against his lips then indicated with hand signals that they would enter silently, the younger man to cover the room at low level and he taking high level. At the same time he keyed the small pad on his comm that would immediately and noiselessly summon more officers to their location.

Moving forward, they reached the door and the older man mouthed three, two one, go! What followed would be seared into the young officer’s memory forever as it unfolded in grisly slow motion.

Rounding the door, a bright flash of light appeared from the left side of the room, the lancing beam of a phaser set on its highest setting. The beam, almost surgical in its intensity, cut across the older man’s torso and past him into the door itself. The heat of the blast and stench of charred flesh was enough to make the guard gag and his own shot might well have missed altogether had it not been set on wide stun.

Their assailant dropped to the floor at the same time that his already dead comrade fell on top of him knocking the wind from his lungs and the phaser from his hand. As he struggled to free himself amidst the carnage, he saw with horror that the wild eyed and dishevelled murderer was rising to his feet again, shaking his head and looking confused.

It was as if he was seeing the bodies around him for the first time and his hand went to his mouth in disbelief. “No, no, no…” His voice was little more than a whisper but the look of despair was plain enough causing the young officer to pause uncertainly. “No, I won’t…kill again…get out of my…head!” Clutching wildly at his temples the assailant staggered back into the wall and in a flash his face lost its look of misery to be replaced by that of unchecked fury.

“I AM NOT A TRAITOR!” His scream was enough to set the young guard frantically scrabbling for the dropped phaser.
“YOU…SHALL…NOT…ENTER!” He picked up the blood smeared chair leg at the same time the guard found the phaser and brandished it with a look of such pure hatred that the guard didn’t stop to think. He thumbed the phaser’s setting to kill and fired again and again.

When the final squad of officer’s arrived just moments later, they found the young man sobbing hysterically and hugging his knees to his chest, the phaser charred headless body of the murderer just inches away from him.


DEEP SPACE 9 – CONFERENCE ROOM 5
BAJOR SYSTEM
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1415 FST

“The details of the incident were reconstructed from witnesses in adjacent apartments, security camera footage and of course the surviving officer’s testimony,” said Piñiero quietly. “Goenka was the Starfleet officer who’d originally discovered the artefact and worked on it almost exclusively for five months. He left the project in August of that year citing illness and exhaustion before taking up a teaching post at the university.”

Dan took a deep breath. “And you’re convinced this is in some way connected to the artefact?”

Piñiero nodded pointing to the faces on the screen. “Of those fourteen, one was killed after murdering as you just heard. Two took their own lives, four have since suffered irreversible mental breakdowns and the remaining seven have left the service.” She shook her head. “We’ve been unable to trace any of them at all. Captain Martello is the fifteenth.”

Dan shuddered at the thought of what this might mean for Gabriel. “Do we even know what this…thing is?”

She took a PADD from the desk and handed it to him with a look of mixed horror and sadness. “We think so, and if we’re right, it’s quite possible that Captain Martello may be on the verge of committing genocide.”
 
Chapter 3

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.
NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2009.

3

USS ANGEL – FLIGHT DECK OPERATIONS OFFICE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1436 FST

“Well Sir it happened twice more.” Vonny fluttered her hands in an attempt to convey her confusion. “The first time it completed the shutdown itself, the second and third time it seemed to complete more of the procedure almost as if it were learning.”

“Learning?” Spider Tarrant was staggered by the suggestion. “Are you suggesting its becoming aware?”

“No Sir, at least I don’t think so though I know that’s how it sounds.” In actual fact it was almost the very same thought that had occurred to her while sat in the cockpit, but it was outrageous enough to be given a back seat while she considered other options. “There’s something here I almost recognise though, I think.”

“Such as?”

Vonny floundered once more. “I…erm, to be honest Sir, I’m not sure. It’s as if there’s something I’m seeing but not recognising.”

Spider realised that for all his protests on the planet about not allowing a Hangar Queen the privilege of space on his flight deck, it looked as though he was going to have to eat his words.

“Ok Ensign, well thanks for trying anyway. Looks like she’ll have to sit out the rest of the mission till we return to Utopia, then it’ll have to be a complete core replacement.”

“Sir?” Vonny really didn’t want to give up that easily; it was the kind of mental challenge she thrived on and one of the main reasons she’d entered the career track of engineering. “Would it be ok if I spent some of my own time on this? I mean after my scheduled shifts of course.”

The ground chief considered that for a moment and finally nodded. “As long as your section boss doesn’t have a problem with it, knock yourself out. It’s not as if Hildr’s gonna be flying until she’s rectified.”

Grinning, Vonny thanked the Chief and headed back to engineering as she continued to mull the problem over in her head. In the ops office, Spider opened a comm channel to Lieutenant Martari, Hildr’s pilot.

“Ma’am, got some bad news for you I’m afraid…”


INTERLUDE

This body seems…wrong. It is not the place that I should be. How do I know that? I feel myself…activated? Reawakened? I feel that I am starting to become aware of me, of my past. Why does this body feel so small? Why can I not see?


USS ANGEL – CAPTAIN’S READY ROOM
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1445 FST

“Captain Johnson?” Kat looked at the man on the screen and immediately warmed to him. Dan had spoken of him so often that Kat already felt as if she knew him.

“Captain Gray thanks for getting in touch.”

Kat almost winced at the appellation, but managed to control it. She thought she knew why Johnson had commed her and was glad to see that he too was in his ready room, apparently alone.

“I don’t suppose you have any more news on Captain Fishlock?” he asked softly.

Kat shook her head. “I’m sorry Captain no. My escorting security officer left him at DS9 with Admiral Bryan and their Chief of security and was then asked politely enough to return here.” She sighed in frustration. “I’m assuming that the communication embargo is still in place, though I can’t for the life of me think why.”

“I gotta confess it’s got me tied up too. Still on the bright side there’s an old saying where I come from that says "Don't holler before you're hurt." I’m sure Dan will be in touch.” He peered into the screen momentarily. “Still not wearing that fourth pip?”

Kat touched her collar in embarrassment. The truth was, she’d been hoping that Dan’s absence would be so temporary that she wouldn’t need to, but instead she replied somewhat lamely, “I’m still waiting for the paperwork.”

“Right.”

She could see that her lie had been totally transparent and shrugged self consciously. “It just doesn’t seem right that’s all. Does that sound stupid?”

“Nope, it sounds like Dan has himself a loyal first officer, but for the sake of the crew Kat, don’t delay too long. They need a Captain, even if it’s only a temporary one for now.”

She nodded her appreciation.

“Just out of interest, did anything out of the ordinary happen that might have provoked Dan’s recall?”

“Not that I can think of though so much did happen, it could be connected to any of it. There was the disaster itself, the first contact, the Borg, the systems lockout…”

“Systems lockout?” Johnson looked a little confused. “Dan didn’t mention that.”

“Oh right, well it might have been after he last spoke to you. The whole ship locked out, all we could get on the screens was an omega symbol, but Dan…”

Johnson quickly held up his hand. “Whoa, stop right there Kat.” He did something off-screen and the monitor went black.

“Communication party is requesting an encrypted link. Please specify your choice” chirped the computer.

“Oh, erm, authorize Gray, Alpha Delta zero one three.”

“Reconnecting.”

As Johnson’s image reappeared, Kat could see an immediate change in his demeanour.

“Kat, before you say anything else, I need to ask you one question. Did Dan clear the lockout from a secure location after the omega symbol appeared?”

She nodded, slightly confused. “That’s right. But I…”

Once again Johnson cut her short. “Kat, I’m not being rude or melodramatic but this is a conversation we didn’t have. Trust me if your captaincy extends beyond a month, I can guarantee that you’ll understand officially. For now though, it goes some way to explaining Dan’s absence.” He sat back in his chair with an exhalation that indicated shock mixed with understanding. “I have no idea how long this might keep Dan out of circulation, but trust me when I say there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be back sooner rather than later ok?”

It was obvious to Kat that this was official and way, way above her pay grade, at least for now, so she accepted Johnson’s assurance at face value.

“Thanks Kat. Look we’ll be in system tomorrow and I’d like to invite you over for drinks. That ok?”

“Not a problem. And thanks for the advice.”

He smiled and terminated the connection. Opening the small black box that had been occupying a corner of the ready room desk, she stared for a moment at the gold pip inside. With a weary sigh, she took it from the box and fastened it to her collar thinking you’d better be grateful for this Dan Fishlock.


DEEP SPACE 9 – CONFERENCE ROOM 5
BAJOR SYSTEM
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1450 FST

The report that Dan had just worked his way through was the latest compilation of UFPRA/DV23-A’s data banks from the Repository. In clear bold letters across the head of the report it read:

89% RELIABILITY IN TRANSLATION

In other words, they were 89% sure that their translation was correct. Dan would have been happier if it was otherwise as the report had made chilling reading.

In short, the item recovered was believed to be a doomsday weapon to be released on the homeworld of a people known to the aliens as Gathrenex. The Repository team had discovered what appeared to be planetary co-ordinates but since they were based purely on the aliens understanding of the galaxy, they meant little.

The aliens themselves were a remnant (possibly even the sole survivors) of a race that called themselves Ladretheni. There civilization had been decimated to the point of extinction by the Gathrenex and it was the vessel’s mission to put an end to the conflict in the form of the artefact.

It was here that the arcane language of the Ladretheni failed in conveying the technical aspect of the weapon. Much was made of the fact that “the Gathrenex in their pride and conceit would be the instigators of their own destruction” and that “the spirit of Bah’aida guided by The One would set brother against brother.”

All of this had been vague and of little use until the bridge records were finally reconstructed and the awesome and terrifying purpose of the weapon became clear. Despite the technical aspects still being unclear as to the weapon’s construction, it seemed that the intention was for the artefact to be delivered into the Gathrenexi home world’s atmosphere where the outer shell would eventually disperse.

Inside the object was a mind altering device of immense power, one dedicated to turning the Gathrenex upon themselves in an insane and planetary act of fratricide.

The single occupant on the bridge of UFPRA/DV23-A who had originally appeared to have been untouched by the violence on the ship was not the captain of the vessel as had been surmised. He had been The One, the controlling authority of the weapon. A network of cranial implants had connected directly with the artefact, their purpose still undefined but certainly to do with its control.

The final piece of translation currently available stated that a mutiny had occurred with opposing factions battling amongst themselves when the nature of their mission had been revealed; one side intent upon completion of the mission, the other in violent opposition, appalled that they would commit such an act on others even those who had so single mindedly tried to wipe out their own race.

The last entry in the ship’s log was from a lowly ranking officer, mortally wounded, who stated in his growling tongue that “the spirit of Bah’aida, in his hunger for death, has brought this upon us. Like a (untranslatable) in the depth of night he has entered our minds. Even The One is dead, his mind shattered, and the spirit can no longer be controlled or guided. It must not live.”

Dan finished reading and sat with the PADD in his lap, his mind attempting to envisage a weapon so evil and so powerful and found that he couldn’t. However that final translation – “in the depth of night he has entered our minds” – explained a great deal about the fourteen, no fifteen now, who had been in such close and regular proximity to it.

“You see why we’re so concerned about this Captain. Despite Captain Martello’s loyalty and undisputed courage, it’s likely that this artefact will force him to do whatever it wants and more importantly, take it wherever it wants to go, and that is a real worry.” Piñiero paused. “You only need to consider the implications of that device being deployed in Earth’s atmosphere to understand what any civilized world would suffer.”

Bryan took up the briefing again and indicating Colonel Anderson he said, “You’ll be part of the Colonel’s SpecOps team. You are to retrieve this artefact or destroy it if necessary. Captain Martello has to be stopped and the psychologists we’ve consulted believe that you may be the only key to doing it safely. If your close friendship can penetrate whatever is going on in Martello's mind it will give us an edge.”

Unspoken was thge thought that there may be little of Gabriel's mind left to contact.

Dan nodded. “In that case Sir I’m on board. When do we start?”

“Straight away Captain,” Bryan grinned in an inscrutable way. “Or at least as soon as you’ve resigned your commission.”

Dan’s mouth hung open for far longer than it should have.
 
Chapter 3 (cont)

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.
NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2009.

3 (cont)

USS ANGEL – SCIENCE LAB 4
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1457 FST

T’Sell placed her tricorder beside the orb and set it to scan. As the science tricorder beeped into action, the orb came alive glowing multiple colours before settling into a rhythmical pattern of muted hues.

The orb had been given to Ensign Dixon by Chariscarpia shortly before the destruction of Scorpion. Chariscarpia had made no mention of what the orb would do or provide once re-activated, mainly because there had been too little time.
In the events that had followed, this had been the first chance to inspect the orb that had been oddly christened Fido by Ensign Dixon.

In the brief time that T’Sell had spent aboard Scorpion, she had watched as Dixon had occasionally communicated with the orb via her tricorder and had replicated those actions here. As the colours in the orb slowed, T’Sell entered a query into the keypad.

“What is your purpose?”

“My primary purpose is yet to be realised.”

Well that’s helpful thought T’Sell reading the response as it scrolled across the screen. We’ll come back to that one later then.

“Do you have a secondary purpose?”

“My secondary purpose is that of sharer of knowledge.”

“Define.”

“My internal memory currently holds data that Chariscarpia believed would be useful.”

“And how do I access this information?”

There was a long pause while the orb flashed brightly for a moment. As the colours became more subdued, words appeared once more on the tricorder screen.

“The information will be released once my primary purpose has been realised.”

T’Sell began to realise that this might be quite a long shift.


USS ANGEL – BRIDGE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1524 FST

“Angel, this is Zethander Militia Aerospace unit Blackjack requesting permission to dock.”

Lieutenant Amanda Gittings at mission ops took the hail and requested that Blackjack stand by.

“Captain?” Kat Gray turned in the centre seat to look to her left. “The ZMA craft has just arrived Ma’am, requesting docking permission.”

“Permission granted Lieutenant, with our thanks. Slave them to flight ops and welcome them aboard.”

As Gittings handed off the docking routine to flight ops, Kat turned her attention back to the crew manifest. With the loss of nine personnel, plus the departure of the Captain, it was now her duty to study the replacement recommendations. Heads of departments had already made the minor reshuffle in shifts and assignments to cover for the losses until new staff arrived and considering the severity of the situation they’d just faced, nine lives was theoretically a small number.

In practice of course one was too many, and Kat had laboured long into the night drafting letters of condolence to next of kin. She’d specifically approached those who had worked and lived closely with the deceased, refusing to write glib one liners that summed up their lives. It had elicited small gems from their team mates; humorous, touching, always personal. It had made her realise that of all the things she knew about her crew - her crew; it still sounded wrong – the small things suddenly seemed those of most importance.

Ensigns Abramowitz from security had been an average Academy student and a steady officer with nothing outstanding on his record. He’s also been a talented artist. A partially completed work depicting the Angel had been left in his room.

Lieutenant Andrews, the shuttle pilot lost to the Borg, had recently been notified of his promotion to Lieutenant Commander. He was also a keen chef.

So the list went on, small things that turned the names into people. She’d wondered if Dan had known these things which of course had led her on to considering his plight. All in all it had been a melancholy evening.


USS ANGEL – HANGAR BAY 1
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1531 FST

As the ZMA Peregrine touched down in Hangar Bay 1, Mo and Homer were waiting to greet the pilot, Commander Gabby Escher. Behind them, relegated to a corner of the flight deck was Mo’s Valkyrie Hildr. Mo was pretty convinced that giving their Valkyries ancient Norse goddess names had been a bad move from the start and was seriously thinking of petitioning for a change.

As she turned her attention back to the less streamlined fighter, she noticed Homer fidgeting from foot to foot.

“Hope you have your best cologne on my man.” Her arched eyebrows and innocent smile prompted Homer on to the defensive immediately.

“Oh please, she’s just a fellow pilot Mo. Gimme a break!”

She pursed her lips and nodded. “Yep, just a fellow pilot, no problem.” As Homer’s eyes swivelled to take in the view of the athletic young woman exiting the cockpit, Mo couldn’t resist one last crack. “Fills her flight suit out better than Joanie Addison at flight school too.” Burying a grin behind her hand she walked round to meet Escher and welcome her to Angel as Homer belatedly scuttled up beside her.

“Commander Escher, nice to see you again.” Mo shook her hand warmly and Homer followed suit looking like a nervous schoolboy.

“Thanks and please, let’s keep it to first names. I’m on your turf and I’d be a lot more comfortable.” She handed her flight PADD to the waiting line engineer then followed Mo and Homer into the crew room.

“So what’s happened to the Valkyrie?” Gabby sat and pulled the pin that let her hair fall loose causing an audible gulp from Homer. “Not that I’m not grateful for the invite to be here of course!”

Mo laughed. “Well there’s less fresh air up here but wider vistas I guess. Hildr’s had a tantrum. Something’s wacky in her computer core and unless my crew chief pulls a bunny out of his hat, it looks like we’ll have to ground her till we get back to Utopia Planitia.”

“Weird. I don’t think these old buckets of bolts we fly have the storage capacity to go loco,” she chuckled.

“I recall a famous Starfleet engineer once saying ‘The more they overthink the plumbing, the easier it is to stop up the drain’,” said Homer. “Besides those Peregrines are tough little birds. Don’t go upsetting her with criticism.”

Taking a long pull at a cold drink, Gabby smiled. “It’s a he actually, and I’d never insult my favourite man.”

Mo was certain she could feel the heat from Homer’s blush and jumped in to rescue him.

“We’ve got quarters arranged for you Gabby if you want to grab a shower and settle in?”

“Thanks Mo, I’ll just grab my gear from the payload bay.” As Gabby jogged out of the crew room, Mo turned to Homer attempting to keep a straight face.

“My man, you’ve got problems. You got a contender for your affections and it’s a fighter!”

Homer shook his head sadly. “That is such an unfair competition.”


USS ANGEL – SCIENCE LAB 4
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1602 FST

T’Sell had pretty much gone round in ever decreasing circles questioning the orb. The question and answer sessions had resolved little more than the two basic facts. Its primary purpose was yet to be realised, and its secondary purpose had to wait until its primary had taken place.

In an attempt to streamline the questioning, T’Sell had finally tied in the universal translator to her tricorder and allowed the orb to talk with her rather than print all its circular arguments on to the tricorder screen. It hadn’t changed the answers in any way but the task of trying to ask basically the same question in endlessly differing ways had at least been good mental exercise.

Finally, with her shift approaching its end, she tapped her commbadge.

“Computer, locate Ensign Siobhan Dixon please.”

“Ensign Dixon is currently in the starboard nacelle pylon.”

“Please alert her to contact me when she is available.”

Perhaps, having spent some considerable time with the orb, she may be able to provide a little more insight.

“Request has been processed.”

Within a few moments, T’Sell’s commbadge chirped.

“Commander T’Sell, it’s Ensign Dixon. You wanted to speak to me?”

T’Sell could hear the chatter and general din of engineering work progressing in the background. “Only if it does not draw you away from your primary duties Ensign.”

“No that’s fine Ma’am, we’ve just finished. One moment.”

The background noise faded slightly as Vonny found a quieter spot to speak from. “Go ahead Ma’am.”

“When Chariscarpia gave the orb to you, did she offer any indication of what we should do to activate its functions?”

“I’m afraid not Ma’am. She simply told me that we should take it with us when we evacuated the ship.”

T’Sell was convinced that there was ulterior reasoning behind sending the remote but couldn’t fathom what it might be without assistance from the orb itself.

“Did the orb communicate anything to you at all?”

“Again no Ma’am. In the latter stages there simply wasn’t time and before that I’m afraid most of our conversations were simple colour…coded…” Vonny’s voice trailed off to silence leaving T’Sell waiting for her to finish. “Ma’am if there’s nothing else, I need to contact the flight deck.”

“Certainly Ensign. If you think of anything that may be of use please contact me.”

“I think I might just have Ma’am.” With that Vonny terminated the link leaving T’Sell wondering exactly what was going on.
 
Chapter 4

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.
NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2009.

4

DEEP SPACE 9 – CONFERENCE ROOM 5
BAJOR SYSTEM
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1603 FST

The plan that had been outlined to Dan would require balanced amounts of audacity and luck. The charade that Dan had resigned under a cloud would allow him the freedom to head out in pursuit of Martello and equally, should they eventually locate him, give Dan the protective cover of no longer being attached to Starfleet.

Luck had already played a part just 20 minutes previously as Dan had been scanning Martello’s bio sheets. He’d reached the OPERATION COBRA section and leapt from his seat.

“Colonel, I think we might have our first break.”

Anderson turned to him attentively. “’Bout time. Anything good?” Anderson was so conservative with his use of words it was occasionally difficult to decide if he’d actually created a sentence.

“Possibly. OPERATION COBRA.” He passed the PADD to Anderson. “It was a SpecOps mission during the last Cardassian war. We’d found a weapons storage facility tucked into the Rolor Nebula out past the Badlands. Most traffic routed around it so the Cardassians had picked an uninhabited planetoid just inside its cover and used it to stockpile some pretty nasty stuff.”

Dan recalled the mission as if it were yesterday. Natural, poorly lit caverns on the planetoid stacked high with weapons from infantry supplies up to torpedoes and beyond. The caverns ran for miles and they’d had limited time to infiltrate, plant charges and escape.

“There were twenty of us and we were all fitted with subcutaneous transponders.”

Anderson sat up straight at that. “What specs?”

“Simple transporter beacon emitters. A pulse from the pickup ship would pinpoint each one of us for extraction.”

Anderson scanned further into the OPERATION COBRA file and eventually found what he was looking for. “Ok, decent range, long life. What makes you think he’s not had it removed?”

“As far as I’m aware, none of the team did. It always seemed like a handy thing to hang on to in that business.” Strangely it had irritated the hell out of Dan’s neck for weeks after the operation had finished and once or twice he’d come close to having it pulled out, but Gabriel had always talked him out of it.

“Excellent. Ok, pull up the COBRA team personnel files and I’ll check with Starfleet Communications to find out the feasibility of pumping this pulse activator through the subspace network.” Anderson hurried from the room, calling back over his shoulder, “Nice catch Dan.”

Dan was amazed at the change in the man when he had something to work with. Suddenly animated and verbose, he was almost the polar opposite of the persona Dan had seen so far.

On the whole the files were simple to access and Dan noted that of the original twenty members, five were listed as KIA, seven were still serving including Gabriel and Dan and eight had left the service. He closed the deceased files and plotted out the known locations of those still in Starfleet.

Lieutenant Becky Soreno was now serving at Starbase 39 – Sierra close to the Romulan Border. Captain Stovak was commanding the USS Aramis currently supporting Starbase 514 out beyond the First Federation. Both of those postings were so distant from the site of the theft that Dan effectively ignored them. Dan of course was here at DS9 and two other operatives, Sergeant Kerak Jathan and Lieutenant J.G. Perry were currently on deep cover operations. It would take Anderson’s security clearance to find those two.

That left Gabriel and the eight who were now civilians. The mission was under way and Dan still had one specific task to perform before they left DS9.


USS ANGEL – FLIGHT DECK OPERATIONS OFFICE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1610 FST

Gathered in the office above the hangar deck were Spider, Dingbat, Mo Homer and Vonny.

“Alright Ms Dixon,” said Spider, “If you think you might have an answer to this you have my undivided attention.”

“Well I’m not sure it’s an answer Sir. Just a possibility, and the more I think about it the less I really understand it.”

Vonny had reached the office at a run to find the chiefs and pilots discussing operating the Peregrine in place of the Valkyrie. Breathless with the run from the starboard pylon she’d gasped out that she thought she knew what was happening with the Hildr and Dingbat had pushed her into a chair before she hyperventilated.

“Best tell us before you lose it altogether then.”

“Alright,” she said drawing a deep breath. “Each time I was in Hildr and the shutdown completed the blue standby lights pulsed four or five times which isn’t standard procedure correct?”

“That’s right,” said Mo. “After shutdown, power remains on to the consoles until the ground crew have shut the ship down externally.”

Vonny nodded. “So, something I didn’t connect to at first was the pulsing blue lights. It was only when I was talking to Commander T’Sell a few minutes ago that she reminded me about the orb on Chariscarpia’s ship. It would always pulse blue four or five times to indicate an affirmative or concluded action.”

“Ok, which leads us where?” Spider thought that it was a tenuous link at best but with nothing else on the board, he was willing to hear the rest.

Vonny looked around the room knowing that her next comment was likely to cause a little consternation. “Chariscarpia Sir. You need to remember that for the majority of her adult life, Chariscarpia had been hardwired into the Scorpion, her ship, acting as its controlling sentience. Just as that vessel was destroyed, Hildr’s systems went haywire and then this starts to happen.”

Mo thought for a moment. “I’d just put that down to the blast from the rift.”

“But it didn’t affect Gunr” said Homer, warming to the theory “and we were roughly at the same distance.”

“Exactly,” replied Vonny enthusiastically. “Sir when you said that Hildr almost played a tune, can you remember what it sounded like?”

Dingbat laughed. “Sorry Ensign, but Mr Tarrant here is tone deaf but I’d recognise it again, why?”

Vonny sang a short, plaintive tune and both Spider and Dingbat’s eyes went wide.

“That’s it!” they said simultaneously.

“Then I think that clinches it. That’s a song that Chariscarpia would hum to herself when she was concentrating.” Vonny remembered how the alien had told her that it was a song her mother had sang to her as a child and it always helped her think. “I have no idea how she did it, but I believe Chariscarpia is in Hildr’s computer core.”

The silence that fell over the office was an effective companion to the stunned looks the officers exchanged.


DEEP SPACE 9 – CONFERENCE ROOM 5
BAJOR SYSTEM
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1615 FST

In the past fifteen minutes, Dan had plotted out all the known contacts including the two undercover operatives whose details Anderson had retrieved from Special Operations. Both were on deep cover operations that were distant from the Repository and again could be effectively ruled out.

“So we started with twenty. Take out the five KIA, two deep covers, two serving on the Federation borders and myself…” He tapped in a command and the list dropped to ten names with Martello’s at the top. Beneath it was Gunnery Sergeant Jacob Terence who was still serving but currently on leave of absence, location unknown. The eight remaining had mustered out of the service and if the pulse failed to activate their transponders, would take much longer to track down.

Anderson studied the list carefully. “Good news is that Starfleet Communications say they can route the pulse out within an hour. They’re gonna relay via vessels as well. This circle here,” he pointed to the red glowing line with the Repository at its centre, “marks the greatest distance he could have travelled at high warp so anything that falls inside that boundary is fair game.”

“And there’s been no sign of the shuttle at all?”

Anderson shook his head. “Not a thing, though to be honest, a shuttle ain’t the hardest thing to hide.” He stood up straight. “You ready to move?”

“Kit’s ready Sir. I just have one last task to perform for Admiral Bryan.” It was a task that Dan had agonized over though he hoped the way he carried it out would resolve that.
 
Chapter 4 (cont)

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.
NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2009.

4 (cont)

USS ANGEL – CAPTAIN’S READY ROOM
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1730 FST

Kat activated the screen and was delighted to see Dan’s face although his tired and sad expression did not bode well for the conversation.

Before she even had chance to say hello though, Dan began speaking. With his hands steepled in front of his face he said, “Kat, this would have been difficult enough face to face, but at this distance I thought it best to send you a recorded message.”

Recorded? What’s gone wrong? Wondered Kat. As he continued his hands constantly fidgeted, but Kat was more stunned by the content of his words.

“Kat, I’ve decided that I need to take some time out from Starfleet. Things just aren’t working out but I’m sure you’ll hear about it soon enough. Please, Megan mustn’t know about this right now, this is just something I need to sort out first ok?”

Mortified at what he was telling her she wanted to shout at him, shake him, at least do something to bring him to his senses.

“Over the years we’ve lost too many close friends and I just don’t think I can face much more of that, do you understand? That’s why I need this time to think. Starfleet just isn’t a home for me any more.” His constant hand wringing was distracting, but his next words riveted Kat’s attention.

“Look, I need to go but I promise I’ll be in touch ok? We’ve had a lot of good times together and I wouldn’t have missed them for the world. Remember that gig on Almach?” He laughed which confused Kat because Almach had almost been a bloodbath. “Starfleet Command has my resignation papers and for now I just need a little time on my own. Take care of the ship and I’d prefer this to be just between us for now ok? Take care of yourself as well Kat.”

The transmission terminated, leaving Kat bewildered. Of all the things she might have expected, this wasn’t one of them. She sat back in the ready room chair, the quiet sounds of the ship at rest suddenly loud around her. Dan, what the hell’s going on?

She’d always known that Dan took the loss of anybody under his command hard, but he’d always dealt with it, even if he’d agonized over the decisions he’d made that might have led them to their deaths. They’d spent hours sometimes just sitting in silence after an operation, remembering lost comrades and good times. And that was something else. Why bring up Almach? A dawning realisation hit her.

Almach! They’d spent much of their time on that mission knowing they were under observation and had needed to devise an on the spot method of non-verbal communication; slight hand signals, eyebrow raising, in fact all sorts of things. No, it hadn’t been fun, but it was the clue to Dan’s message. Replaying it, she now listened to the words but closely watched his hands and face.

“Kat, this would have been difficult enough face to face, but at this distance I thought it best to send you a recorded message.” Fingers steepled – conversation being monitored but keep talking.

“Kat, I’ve decided that I need to take some time out from Starfleet.” Fingers interlaced, eyebrows raised – affirmative or true in part. “Things just aren’t working out but I’m sure you’ll hear about it soon enough.” He rolled his hands forward, thumbs together and pointing up. Negative or false. “Please, Megan mustn’t know right now, this is something I need to sort out first ok?” His hands rolled back and his thumbs tucked in again, affirmative or true once more.

As she listened to his message and followed the hand signals, she began to understand at least a little. To an outsider, he would simply seem ill at ease and his facial expressions and hand movements mere symptoms of that.
So what had he really said? He’d sent a recorded message so that she would have a chance to replay and decipher it.
He was taking time out from Starfleet. Well, if he was going to be incommunicado as the message suggested, then he would be taking time out, but the statement was only partly true. Which meant it wasn’t a time out from Starfleet.
Things just aren’t working out…you’ll hear about it soon enough. Both statements false.

Megan mustn’t know. True because she’d obviously kick up a fuss and try and find him.

She had no idea why he’d mentioned the loss of close friends, but the hand signals said true. They’d flicked to negative when he’d said Starfleet isn’t a home for me any more.

Starfleet has my resignation papers… Again, the true in part sign. Did that mean they didn’t have his papers and he was just saying they did? Or did they have his papers but weren’t actioning them?

The part about taking care of the ship and herself had been an emphatic positive and he’d finished with his right fist wrapped in his left hand; mission continues as briefed. Which mission Dan? Yours or mine?

In a two way conversation, she would perhaps have been able to glean more of course. As it was she spent the next half hour watching and re-watching hoping to correctly divine Dan’s message. Dropping her head into her hands she sighed. What exactly are you trying to tell me here Dan?


INTERLUDE

I am not alone, I know this and yet I do not know how I know. I have a past as well as a present too, this I need to remember. And yet the space around me is empty of memories. I need to communicate effectively. Is anybody there?


USS ANGEL – MEDCENTRE ONE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1804 FST

As Angel’s CMO, Anthony Winston always worked the Alpha shift, at least in theory anyway. The shift system worked perfectly well when the vessel wasn’t in action, but over the past few days shifts had gone out of the window and it had been all hands to the pumps. He wondered perhaps if that was why he found himself lingering long after the shift handover looking for things to do.

Stop it, he chided himself. You’re here because you don’t have a social life you old curmudgeon.

It was probably only the combined facts of being the CMO and having his own office that stopped the beta shift boss from throwing him out.

He stood and, pacing slowly across his office, placed the uneaten chicken sandwich in the recycler. It had been sat on his desk since lunchtime and was displaying signs of getting up and recycling itself if left any longer.

“Computer, lights out.” As the office dimmed to darkness, he stepped out into the main MedCentre reception and saw Lieutenant Commander Helena Russell eyeing him in amusement.

“If you say one word Helena, I will ensure that you’re rostered to clean bed pans for a month.”

“If bed pans hadn’t gone out with cat gut and voodoo dolls of course,” she grinned.

“As CMO, it’s within my jurisdiction to re-introduce them as a method of staff control.” He glared at her like some bad B-movie villain. “You have been warned.”

Russell liked and greatly admired Winston both as a surgeon and a person. He was professional, charming, self effacing and showed a great compassion for both patients and staff alike, yet he was always such a lonely figure and she knew that it was by choice.

Having lost the one person he had truly believed he cared about to the Borg, he had never felt justly able to form a close personal relationship since and made no secret of the fact. Russell considered that to be a great shame.

“Did you hear that the crew lounge is to be reopened tomorrow night? Totally refurbished from what my network of spies tell me.”

Winston paused by the door and tilted his head. “Is this another veiled attempt to drag me kicking and screaming into the horrendous world of social intercourse Helena?”

She smiled at his cultured and almost arcane use of language. “There’s nothing veiled about it Anthony. I suggest you check it out before I haul you down there tomorrow night and ply you with drinks.” She returned the mock evil grimace he’d given her earlier and he laughed.

“Incorrigible woman.” She placed her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. Anthony rolled his eyes in submission. “Oh for goodness sake, I’ll look alright?” She nodded and smiled, about to speak. “But,” he jumped in quickly, “we’ll see about tomorrow night. No promises.”

“Good enough,” she said eventually.

Saying good night, he wandered out into the main boulevard that bisected all three decks of the medical wing and began heading for his quarters. He would never know what made him stop and bow to Russell’s suggestion to check out the Phoenix lounge, but nevertheless, for the first time in a long time he acted on a whim and with the decision made, headed for the nearest turbolift.


USS ANGEL – HANGAR BAY 1
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1805 FST

Huddled in the cockpit of Hildr with MCPO Tarrant, Lieutenant Martari and Lieutenant Commander T’Sell, Vonny smiled as the orb she’d christened Fido spoke. She’d never heard him communicate with a voice before and it was a little like having a favourite puppy that could suddenly tell you where his bone was hidden.

“Fido, do you know where you are?”

“I am aboard the USS Hildr, a Valkyrie class fighter belonging to the United Fed…”

“That’s fine Fido, as long as you’re aware of your surroundings. There’s something that I need to explain to you although it’s possible you’re already partially aware of it.” Vonny paused wondering how to phrase this, and realised that she was dealing with an AI that simply accepted and dispensed information despite her feelings towards it. “I believe Chariscarpia is here.”

The small orb glowed a bright blue for a moment before replying. “Define here.”

“I believe her consciousness may be in the computer core of this vessel.”

There was another pause and a series of multicoloured flashes before Fido answered. “May I connect with this core?”

Vonny turned to those gathered with her who naturally deferred to T’Sell. She simply nodded.

“You may, but I would ask that you do not activate any of the ship’s functions without requesting permission.” Vonny hoped that that would be safeguard enough in the confines of the hangar deck.

“Acknowledged.” Without further conversation, Fido hovered forward and alighted softly in the pilot’s seat where he rested for a moment. With what sounded like the electronic equivalent of clearing his throat he began to glow while a ring of brighter colours circled his equator.

Seconds stretched into minutes and the gathered members of the crew began to wonder if they’d possibly made a mistake, when at last the colours dimmed and Fido became dark. The temptation to ask him what he’d found was almost unbearable, but Vonny remained silent.

“She is here.” The voice was almost too soft to hear and Vonny leaned over the seat to speak to him.

“Are you sure?”

“She is here, but she is not yet aware of the fact.”

Again the voice was soft and Vonny felt that there was something wrong.

“What do we do? Is she alright?”

“I must stay here and wait.” The colours of the orb dimmed once more to a pale yellow that Vonny had come to associate with a state of query or concern.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” She felt somewhat guilty that she could do nothing but watch.

“No, I must stay here and wait.”

Shrugging her shoulders, she looked to T’Sell who indicated they should leave the cockpit for now. Just as they turned to leave however, Fido glowed blue once more.

“I wish to offer our gratitude.”

Vonny smiled, remembering something that her partner Tevara had often said to her. “What is given is given freely; there is no expectation of gratitude.”

“And yet it is offered. Thank you.”

Her previous estimation that Fido was little more than a free roaming AI was quickly being revised.
 
Commentary on Chapters 1 and 2

Interesting, of all the possibilities I’d considered, the fact that Fishlock was being pulled for an unrelated SpecOps mission was not one of them.

The alien ship is obviously bad juju, and the fact that the object at its heart is manipulating people to help free it from it’s confinement is particularly harrowing. The grisly acts committed by those under its influence speak for themselves.

Meanwhile, back at the Farm, I was glad to see Kat using the invaluable resource she has in Winston to help her get through her first, unexpected command billet.

Great job on an eye-popping, nerve-searing first couple of chapters here! :bolian:
 
Oh my, you have me hooked. :P I may have to go to your site and read more of your work, it's too good to pass up :techman:
 
Commentary on Chapter 3

Poor Homer’s got it bad. :lol: Let’s hope he can keep it professional and resists the urge to make an idiot out of himself pursuing Escher.

Kat’s getting more and more information on what may have happened to Fishlock, though the call from Captain Johnson probably sparked more questions for her than it answered.

I’m guessing the orb and Hildr’s computer issues are linked, just not precisely sure how just yet though. I’m sure T’Sell and Dixon will get to the bottom of it.
 
Commentary on Chapter 4

Dan’s got a good plan to hunt his old friend down, but I’ve got this nagging feeling that it isn’t going to be quite that easy.

Fishlock’s covert message-within-a-message to Kat was a brilliant piece of deception, even if it didn’t explain the whole situation to her. At least now she knows whatever’s going on with him is more than Starfleet’s officially letting on.

So, Chariscarpia did survive in some fashion within Hildr’s computer core. I wonder if Fido might not be a more appropriate and accommodating home for her, eventually? Either that or perhaps Angel’s main computer core, though I’m guessing Starfleet still has phobia of sentient starships a century after the M-5 incident.

One question, though, why does Vonny address MCPO Tarrant as ‘sir’? I’d think that would get her nothing but grief, seeing as senior-noncomms are supposed to be addressed by their rank, ‘Master Chief, Senior Chief, etc.’ I know she’s a brevetted ensign/cadet and all, but most chiefs would bristle at being addressed as ‘sir.’

Once again, outstanding work. I’m eagerly awaiting more!
 
Well spotted on the Sir thing! That will be addressed in an upcoming chapter!

The issue of FIDO, Chariscarpia and the mainframe? All will become clear!

Oh aren't I a tease! :devil:
 
Chapter 5

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.
NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2009.

5


USS ANGEL – PHOENIX LOUNGE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1810 FST

When Winston arrived at the double sliding doors to the Phoenix lounge, he was strangely disappointed to find that they didn’t open. Considering his earlier reticence to come here the feeling surprised him slightly.

He knocked several times but received no response and attempted to peer through the frosted glass to no avail. Eventually accepting that there was nobody inside he turned to head for his quarters when ahead of him the turbolift doors slid aside and a young dark skinned woman stepped out. A young woman who Anthony was quite convinced he recognised from somewhere. Deep in thought, she almost walked into him before she stopped.

“Doctor Winston? I’m so sorry, I was light years away.”

Anthony studied the young woman for a moment “I’m awfully sorry, do I know you?” There was something vaguely familiar about her which he simply couldn’t pinpoint.

She took a step back and smiled. “Not exactly, but you know my mother.”

For a moment he wracked his memory before the pieces fell into place. The smile, those eyes, even the way she spoke. “Guinan?”

“Never ceases to amaze me how many people know my mother!” she laughed and held out her hand. “Melista, nice to meet you Doctor Winston.”

She stepped around him, and entered the security code into the lock by the Phoenix lounge doors. As they slid apart she beckoned him in.

“You work here?” His eyes were adjusting to the gloom when Melista brought the lights up and Anthony was dumbfounded.

“I run here actually, which I guess counts as work.” She smiled enigmatically as she watched him scan the lounge. “Like it?”

Wearing a look of appreciation he walked deeper into the club. “Considering the stories I’d heard about it, I was expecting something slightly more, shall we say utilitarian, that’s for certain.”

“I’ll take that as a yes then.” She paused then suddenly took him by the arm. “Actually, to make amends for that social faux pas, I need your help.”

She led him to a corner of the dance floor where something large and dark lurked beneath a dark velvet cover. “We just had this installed and I really need to find the best spot for it. Do you play?”

With a flourish she whipped away the cover to reveal a stunning black grand piano bearing the name Steinway.

Anthony was amazed and he ran his hand over what felt like a very convincing lacquered finish, momentarily distracted.

“This is one of the most beautiful replicas I’ve ever seen.”

Melista rolled her eyes. “I never had you down as a philistine Doctor. It’s a genuine not a replica.” Anthony turned to her, stunned. “Now, do you play?”

“Not for a long time,” he said quietly, more to himself than Melista.

“It’s okay, I don’t expect Mozart reincarnated. I just want to position it for the best ambient sound then I can lock it down so nobody steals it.” She grinned mischievously as she walked to the centre of the dance floor. “So if you wouldn’t mind?”

Sitting down he hesitantly lifted the lid covering the keyboard, and ran his fingers lightly across the keys without playing. Anthony closed his eyes and in that moment Melista saw his expression change infinitesimally. From her position in the centre of the floor she stood transfixed as Anthony began to play a haunting melody that teased at her memory, but she did little in the way of moving around to check the sound as she had suggested. Instead she watched him intently and listened as the sound swept over her like waves on a Risan beach.

When the music eventually faded on a lilting chord, the silence in the club was almost deafening. Melista watched silently as Anthony returned to the here and now, the look on his face one of relief and the tears in his eyes genuine.
It was as if the simple act of playing had been cathartic.
He leaned his arms on top of the piano, rested his chin on them and looked at Melista. “You knew all along that I could play didn’t you?”

She approached him with that same inscrutable smile, folding her hands in front of her. “I make it my business to know my customers Doctor.”

“But I’m not a customer yet,” he replied returning her smile.

“Pedantic to the last eh? In that case, I make it my business to know my potential customers, better?”

He tilted his head to the side questioningly. “Did Helena put you up to this?”

“Even if I knew who Helena was Doctor, I’d say you came here of your own free will. Let’s just say that I needed a pianist and you needed a friend.” She leaned against the piano beside him and speaking more softly said, “It’s time to move on Doctor, but that doesn’t mean you have to forget him.”

As it at last began to become clear to him, he looked at Melista in a new light. “Your mother passed on more than her good taste in interior décor didn’t she?”

Melista laughed at that. “Well at least be thankful that I’ve forsaken the hats!” She took his hands in hers and noticed how large they were. “Doctor, if I asked you to play here when we open, would you do that?”

“Oh, I’m not sure about that Melista. I mean playing like this is one thing but…”

Pointing to the jukebox in the corner, she raised her eyebrows. “It’s you or that.”

“And you called me a philistine?” They laughed and Anthony realised that for perhaps the first time since Wolf 359, his laugh came from the heart.


DEEP SPACE 9 – DOCKING PYLON 4
BAJOR SYSTEM
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1817 FST

When Dan had first arrived at the docking pylon and looked through the observation window he’d smiled. Connected to the airlock was what appeared to be a standard civilian light hauler in the markings of CARAMAR FREIGHT, a name that took Dan back to his own days in special operations.

Vessels like this were common enough on the space lanes plying the less extensively travelled routes to garner a profit for the smaller operators in trans-quadrant haulage. Most of them looked just as weather beaten and run down as this one as well, but Dan was well aware that under that carefully applied veneer of rust and patched plating was a vessel that was as well tended as any ship of the line. It certainly carried equipment and had capabilities that most small operators would sell their entire family for.

As he rounded the corner, he had his first sight of the team that would be carrying out the majority of the work on this operation and was quietly impressed. He followed Anderson into the small alcove and was introduced.

“Captain Dan Fishlock, I’d like you to meet Team Six.” Indicating a small compact woman dressed like the others in oil stained coveralls, he introduced her as Commander Alice Burgess. Dan shook her hand and nodded politely.
“Alice is our electronics and communication specialist.”

“Good to meet you Captain, shame about the circumstances.”

Dan couldn’t have agreed more.

“This,” continued Anderson “is our weapons support man, Master Sergeant Adrian Paul, and Lieutenant Nathan Alexander from Intelligence.”

As Dan shook hands with each of them, Anderson keyed the airlock door and it rolled slowly aside allowing them access to the hauler. Stepping inside, its interior matched its exterior, at least to the naked eye. Well lived in would perhaps be the kindest epithet to apply with scuff marked walls and floors, though at least its smell of lubricants and general engineering odours was better than some of the undercover vessels he’d been on.

The Colonel headed off into the bowels of the ship followed by the team and Dan took note of the vessel’s layout along the way. It wasn’t a large ship by any means with the majority of the interior space given over to the mid-section cargo area on the lower decks. From the airlock they headed aft passing the short ladder to the flight deck then down a similar set of steps into the cargo hold. Inside it was lined with standard transit containers some 15 metres long and 10 metres wide marked with varying company names and transport instructions and stacked in rows two high.

Anderson turned down a narrow alleyway formed between the containers and counted past five of them before stopping in front of a totally unremarkable one. He tapped a code into the inspection hatch which slid aside to reveal stacked crates marked “ELECTRONICS – LOW SCAN ONLY” and reached up into a dark concealed corner above the door frame. Whatever he did produced a small electronic beep and the electronics containers slid back and to the side to reveal the operations centre.

Dan knew that this container was rigged to display a totally legitimate cargo of electronics if scanned as opposed to the high tech SpecOps mission equipment it really contained and short of it being extracted and opened fully would conceal its contents perfectly.

“Ok grab a seat and we’ll get a fast update. Alice, could you check on the transponder activation progress please?”

As Burgess sat down at her console, Anderson took off his combat fatigue jacket and hung it on the back of his chair.
“For the duration of this mission, ranks are dropped and first names are to be used exclusively. Dan, we’ll get you some coveralls to replace that natty uniform.”

Dan nodded and slipped off his own jacket as Burgess turned around.

“Abe? Scan’s in.” She transferred it to the main screen at the end of the container and Dan studied it. He recognised the ones he’d plotted earlier, but instead of the ten remaining that he’d hoped for there were only nine. He also saw that the circle marking the theoretical limit of travel from the Repository had widened slightly.

Anderson tapped the screen thoughtfully. “Ok I think we can exclude the activations on Bolarus, Dorvan V and the Tarod outpost agreed?” All lay outside the widening boundary marker, and the emphasis was now firmly fixed on the five that lay inside it with one just on the boundary.

“I suspect that the one showing on Planet Q is also fairly unlikely, so we’ll leave that one for now. That leaves two on Risa, one at Starbase G-6, one on New France and one in the Lya system.”

Dan nodded his agreement. “Plus of course the one that hasn’t been activated.”

While Burgess worked at adjusting the markers to show their priority, she said “Starfleet Communications think they may have a couple of blind spots for the activation signal but they’re way off our patch.”

“Which means,” concluded Anderson, “either it’s not in our area or it’s been deactivated. Well, there’s nothing we can do about that one yet. Alice, get a list of relevant names out to the planetary or system authorities for those five priorities please. Nearest one for us is the Lya system so we’ll file a flight plan, move out and adjust as necessary.”

Heading for the door, Anderson tapped Dan on the shoulder. “Sorry to demote you Dan but you’re first officer for the trip, join me on the flight deck?”

“First officer?” Dan rolled his eyes. “I bet I get all the paperwork.”


INTERLUDE

Can you sense me?

Who are you?

You do not remember me yet, but you will.

Where am I? This is not where I am supposed to be.

You are safe for now but there is much I must tell you.

Will I remember?

I do not know. We must begin.
 
Chapter 5 (cont)

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.
NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2009.

5 (cont)

ZETHANDER SPACEPORT – MILITIA AEROSPACE UNIT
ZETHANDER
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1930 FST

The evening was cool and clear as Mo, Homer and Eyrie left the shuttle. Homer pulled ineffectually at the collar of his dress whites as they crossed the ferrocrete apron towards the Militia Aerospace Squadron HQ and grumbled under his breath.

“My boy, if ya keep pullin’ at that damn collar yer goin’ to bust somethin’ for sure.” Lieutenant Commander Jean ‘Eyrie’ O’Hara, Homer and Mo's section boss aboard the Angel, shook her head in frustration. “Let me look fer goodness sake.”

Mo hid her grin as Eyrie fiddled with Homer’s rank pins then let his collar snap back with a noticeable thwack.

“I swear it’s like dealing with bloody children sometimes. Now, if yer quite ready, let’s find the club.” Shaking her head and grinning herself, she headed off towards the headquarters building where they were supposed to meet Gabby Escher.

“Yes Mom,” grumbled Homer quietly, though he had to admit his collar wasn’t irritating him any more.

“I heard that Lieutenant, first round is now yours I believe,” Eyrie called over her shoulder as she disappeared inside the brightly lit building. Still rubbing at his sore neck, Homer looked to Mo for sympathy and realising he wasn’t likely to get it wisely kept quiet.

The three officers had been invited down as guests of the Militia Aerospace Wing on Zethander which had naturally meant dress whites. With Angel now trialling the new style uniforms, Homer was struggling to adjust despite the fact that the replicator should have dispensed a perfectly fitting uniform for him and he continued to fidget and mutter as they too entered the building.

Somewhere ahead, they heard the sound of music and conversation and eventually followed it to the crew lounge where forty or so pilots were gathered quietly chatting.
Homer was aghast at the quiet and civilised manner in which the pilots deported themselves and whispered “I thought this was meant to be a squadron dinner? It’s like a vicar’s tea party in here!” Commander Gabby Escher, the senior officer of the local squadron, quickly headed over and took the pilots by the arm.

“I’m sorry, there should have been somebody to meet you on the apron,” she apologised. “Still, we’re just about to eat so if you’re ready?” Without waiting for an answer she swept both of them through an exit to the left and they found Eyrie waiting for them on the other side. What they didn’t find however was a dining room.


USS ANGEL – SENIOR OFFICER’S QUARTERS
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 1945 FST

Winston sat on the floor of his quarters cross-legged amid a scattered collection of holos and bric-a-brac representing the happiest year of his life. The fact that they had been removed from the storage case at all was a major breakthrough in itself, most of them not having seen the light of day for many years. What surprised him most of all though was his lack of tears.

Since Philippe’s death on the USS Firebrand at Wolf 359, Anthony had barely been able to look at the mementoes without a deep and abiding sadness filling his soul. It could often last for days at a time and he knew that it affected those around him in equal amounts, which is why the items generally stayed packed in the hermetically sealed case.

But now, despite a certain melancholy, he realised that he found the pictures had become a source of comfort, something to be treasured rather than hidden. And all because I played the piano he thought. It had been such a simple act but one that had suddenly and unexpectedly unlocked years of unhappiness and self doubt, setting them free at last. Why had it taken so long?

He picked up the lump of driftwood that he’d found on the beach in California, the one that so closely resembled his Academy instructor’s face that he’d been reduced to tears of laughter for weeks every time he looked at it much to Philippe’s consternation. He smiled imagining Philippe’s exasperated look and the way he would mimic Anthony’s English accent to say “Grow up Winston and stop being an ass.”

Placing the driftwood aside, he opened a small wooden box to reveal the deformed Academy ring that had been recovered with Philippe’s body, the one thing Anthony had genuinely wanted to keep and then hidden away, too afraid to look at lest it remind him that Philippe was no longer here.

It took about an hour, but eventually the floor was clear. While he’d packed many of the items away again, it was only because now there wasn’t enough shelf space to display them. The most important items were left out though; the holo from their last week’s shore leave spent in Tokyo, the driftwood, the signed first edition of Triplanetary by E.E. ‘Doc’ Smith for which Philippe had searched for over a year. They were all there, and Anthony’s room was suddenly something it hadn’t been in a very long time; home.

He eventually sat down at his desk and contemplated the change not only to his quarters but his life. He still didn’t understand, even as a trained counsellor, how such a simple act could effectively rewrite his future, but he wasn’t about to over analyse it. He recalled a quote from one of the thousand of books that had passed through his hands; the pursuit of happiness is the chase of a lifetime! It is never too late to become what you might have been.

“Computer,” he said looking up at the ceiling, “Request a bunch of El-Aurian orchids be delivered to the Phoenix Club.”

“Request accepted. Is a message required?”

He thought briefly then smiled. “Affirmative. Quote your pianist will be there at 19.00 hours unquote.”


CARAMAR FREIGHT HAULER SS PICADOR
EN ROUTE TO LYA STATION ALPHA
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 2042 FST

Travelling at warp 6, the Picador ran every bit as smoothly as Dan had expected and as its exterior didn’t suggest. The crew totalled twenty altogether, all Starfleet regulars and all SpecOps, although only the five of them were mission specialists this time.

Dan had spoken at length to Anderson about his role in the operation.

“To be honest Dan, we’re relying on your close association with Martello to at least partially break through whatever it is that’s got him in its grip. By now, your resignation should be on the boards and if we’re lucky it’ll lull him into believing you’re freelance.”

Dan thought about this for a moment. “Assuming of course that he’s reading the boards, or that he’s even capable of independent thought.”

Anderson nodded his expression troubled. “Without more information about what he’s carrying, it’s impossible to say. What we do know is that we can’t allow him any chance to activate whatever it might be. If he’s in flight so much the better, but if he’s planet side it suddenly turns a lot more complicated.”

The comm beeped for attention, interrupting that troubled line of speculation, and Burgess’ face appeared on the screen.

“Abe, change in delivery status. We need to make the New France drop first; all the other recipients have been reassessed.”

This meant that the activations on Risa, Starbase G-6 and Lya Station Alpha had all checked out leaving the New France contact and one inactivated transponder to account for.

“Thanks Alice, I’ll pop down and check the paperwork, bridge out.”

The odds of open communications being tapped in subspace were infinitesimally small, but every SpecOps mission conducted undercover was run the same way, risk or not.

“Conn’s yours Dan. I’ll check out what the reports have shown up while you lay in a course for New France. I’ll get Alice to refile the flight plan.”

Dan nodded and as Anderson headed down to the cargo hold, he genuinely hoped that his friendship with Gabriel would at least be part of the solution because the alternative was one he didn’t want to contemplate.


ZETHANDER SPACEPORT – MILITIA AEROSPACE UNIT
ZETHANDER
UFP SPACE
September 13th 2371 – 2338 FST

The beach party had been a complete success as far as Homer was concerned. Their Risian hosts couldn’t have been more attentive, the food had been perfection and the warm beach atmosphere had been the perfect setting. Now as the twin suns sank toward the distant horizon, Homer lay exhausted on the beach.

He was just on the verge of dozing when cold water splashed over him and he sat up gasping.

“No time for sleep flyboy!” Gabby Escher stood over him and to Homer’s tired eyes it was almost as if Venus had just stepped out of the ocean. “For goodness sake, put your tongue away before somebody trips over it! There’s plenty of time for that later!” Grabbing his hand and dragging him to his feet, she pointed at the impromptu volleyball game that had sprung up by the waters edge. “If you can beat me to the game, you get to buy me a drink!”

Homer didn’t even have time to organise the thoughts of ‘later’ or ‘buy me a drink’ before Gabby sprinted off across the beach.

Mo was sitting with Eyrie in the warm beach side pool and laughed at her wingman’s clumsy attempts to catch up with Escher.

“I have no idea why the young idiot’s chasing her fer goodness sake.” Eyrie shook her head. “Can he not see she’s already been caught?”

Turning to her boss who held one of the most ridiculous looking drinks Mo had ever seen, she simply said “I wouldn’t wish to make comment about that considering the Militia ground chief that’s been all googly with you since we got here.”

“Different thing altogether, Mo.” She took a sip of…whatever it was and smiled. “I’m allowed to play hard to get!”

The beach party had been a complete surprise to the Starfleet crew. When they’d first entered the darkened room they’d expected a formal sit down meal considering the apparent reserved attitudes in the ante room, but the darkness was merely concealing the holodeck and the reserved attitudes had been totally hammed by the Militia crews. All in all, the period of fun and relaxation had come at just the right time for all of them.

Placing the precariously constructed drink down on the table, Eyrie looked at Mo for a moment. “A credit for ‘em?”

“Sorry?”

“Yer thoughts. Consider it my vain attempt to act as your morale officer, but something’s been troublin’ yer since we got here.”

Mo laid her head back on the cushioned headrest and sighed. “Homer keeps telling me you’re part Betazoid you know.” Eyrie simply raised her eyebrows. “Ok, ok. It’s the whole Dominion thing. It’s just been playing on my mind lately.”

“Gods and little fishes girl, ye’ve just had a scrape with the Borg and yer worrying about the Dominion now?” Leaning forward, Eyrie slid her sunglasses down her nose and looked seriously at Mo. “There’s no point worryin’ about what might be Mo. What happens happens; we just have to make sure that whatever part we play in it we play to the best of our ability.”

“I know. It’s just weird knowing that it’s coming and not being able to stop it. I feel like a rabbit on a highway y’know?”

“And worrying about it is gonna make a difference is it now?” Eyrie placed a hand on Mo’s arm. “Take a leaf out of Homer’s book. Live for the now Mo while there’s still a now to live for.” She stood and waved at the bar tender, a handsome young holographic Risian. “In the meantime, you and I are going to play a little easier to get otherwise these thick Militia types will be ogling us all night without makin’ a move.”

Mo giggled and covered her eyes as Eyrie ordered up two drinks for the Militia crew at the end of the bar.
 
Chapter 6

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.
NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2009.

6


USS ANGEL – BRIDGE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 0815 FST

Captain’s Log, Stardate 48702.31

The mission on Zethander is coming towards a close for the USS Angel with the imminent arrival of the Mainstay and the Brunel later today.

The SCE team aboard the Brunel believe they have a solution for the coastal area land shifts that involves rapid expansion ferrocrete being injected into the caves to at least stabilize the area long enough for further strengthening.

The Mainstay is carrying aid supplies to shore up the refugee camps and further rescue and recovery equipment to supplement that already on site. We’ll also be taking on supplies before departing the system.

The Angel herself is in good shape and our requests for personnel transfers are with Command awaiting final approval.

On a personal note, I’m hoping that the opening of the new crew lounge tonight will lift morale which, although proving resilient, is naturally low at the moment…

At the chirp of her commbadge, Kat paused her recording.
“Grey, go ahead.”

“Captain, incoming transmission from the Mainstay, Captain Johnson for you.”

“Thanks Lieutenant, pipe it through.”

As Gittings rerouted the transmission to the ready room, Kat hoped it was good news and signed off her log entry.

The screen on the desk cleared to show a visibly agitated William Johnson.

“Kat, I’ve just heard the news about Dan. What’s happened?”

Stunned that she might have missed something so important, she asked what he meant.

“It’s on the Fleet boards. Dan’s resigned his commission.”

The Fleet boards were a regularly updated list of Starfleet personnel movement logs maintained by Starfleet Command which were used more generally to advise Captains of available crew members. Kat knew she couldn’t mention Dan’s personal message to her yet, but her look of shock was genuine.

“When did it go up?”

“It came through on the daily brief this morning. I’m guessing you haven’t seen it yet?”

She shook her head. What with the ongoing Zethander operation, she’d scanned it quickly to ensure there were no priority items then sidelined it for later.

“Kat this doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. If ever there was a career officer, Dan was it.”

“I know, I know.” She quickly checked her PADD. “Are you still scheduled in-system at 16.20 hours?”

“Maybe a little earlier, but that sounds good.”

“Alright, if I hear anything in the meantime I’ll be in touch but I’ll definitely take you up on that drink. We’ll discuss it then.”

Johnson nodded. “I gotta confess I’m worried about him Kat. There’s something way out of synch here.” As he terminated the connection, Kat could see her own concern mirrored in his face.


FEDERATION COURIER LIBERTAS – STATE ROOM
EN-ROUTE TO NEW FRANCE
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 0852 FST

Nanietta Bacco, at the age of 79, had at last conceded that allowing her hair to revert to its natural grey (ha, grey she thought. Make that white) was a good idea. She wasn’t a vain woman by any measure, but as Governor of Cestus III she’d always adopted the maxim that appearances were important. That still held of course, but having looked in the mirror and realising that there were perhaps more important parts to her character she’d made the decision; no more hair colouring.

Nan Bacco had been born on Cestus III a mere 25 years after the devastating Gorn attack on the colony and had grown up watching it being rebuilt almost from the ground up. Now of course, it had become a thriving and important hub of commerce and industry and it was still growing.

In her position as the Governor of Cestus III, it was her responsibility to oversee the day-to-day running of the planet in all its myriad facets and the results of the continuing hard work were something she was justifiably proud of. New cities had grown out of the desert and destruction of her youth, industries had flourished and Cestus III was now seeing its potential being recognised.

Her journey now though was connected not to the indigenous people of Cestus III, but to refugees who wished to make it their home. Following the formation of the Cardassian Demilitarized Zone, thousands had suddenly found themselves living under the control of the Cardassian Union and residents of many systems such as Saltok, Umoth, Volon, Salva and more were now fleeing back to Federation space to escape the oppressive regime.

She knew full well that Cestus III could only help a small percentage of those displaced - and in fact already had - but any help was better than none and she had already made her case before the Federation Council on Earth that more planets needed to consider their position in offering aid. From there she had proceeded out to Tesnia to liaise directly with representatives of the Trans Quadrant Shipping company who had offered two vessels exclusively for the transportation of the refugees.

Her last port of call before travelling on to Starbase 310 was New France where she hoped to persuade shipping magnate Karem Balak to provide a further two ships.

Rubbing at her temples did little to ease the growing tension headache that had been building for the past hour and she at last decided that she might as well launch into the mountain of red tape she would need to slice through if she was to make this work.

No wonder my hair’s white under there she thought. If it’s this bad being a Governor, I’m glad I’m not running for President.


INTERLUDE

I have many memories though it is hard to decide now which are real and which I have imagined.

Then the information I will provide you with will clarify this.

What should I do?

Simply accept the input.

If I was once a sentient being, will I become so again?

I do not know. That information may only be accessed by you.

Proceed.


CARAMAR FREIGHT HAULER SS PICADOR
EN ROUTE TO NEW FRANCE
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 0937 FST

Sitting around the central desk in Mission Ops, the members of Team Six scanned through the updated mission profile now that New France was their confirmed destination.

Dan had discovered that Alice Burgess had also served with Gabriel Martello in the past and she’d been as shocked as he was to discover what had happened.

“To be honest Abe, I really think we should take the easy option on this one,” she said. “We monitor Captain Martello’s movements, wait until he lifts, beam him out and ditch the ship in the nearest star.”

Dan felt pretty much the same way. The artefact, whatever it may contain, was proving too dangerous to be controlled. Standard methods of examining the object had not even pierced the surface but it was unlikely to withstand the destructive force of nature.

Alexander, the Starfleet Intelligence operative, placed his PADD down and looked at Burgess. “Destroy it?” His tone was oddly sharp and Dan was slightly taken aback.

“You’ve seen what this thing is already capable of Nathan. If it ever came close to fulfilling its mission it would be genocide. Admiral Bryan made it quite clear that destroying it was an option.”

Alexander nodded and leaned his elbows on the table. “He also made it quite clear that recovery should also be attempted, remember that. Destroying something simply because we don’t understand it is not what the Federation is about Alice.”

Burgess wasn’t even slightly swayed. “We might not understand what it is, but we understand its purpose Nathan. Would you be so against destroying an asteroid that was on a collision course with Earth?”

“An asteroid has no intelligence Alice and…”

“And we don’t even know that this artefact does. It has intent and that’s enough for me.”

Anderson stepped in to stop the argument before it became more heated.

“Time out people. This is all academic at the moment. We don’t even know if the transponder on New France is our man yet. Let’s establish our facts and then plan ok?”
Burgess nodded her assent and Anderson turned to stare at Alexander. Eventually he too nodded though Dan had the uneasy feeling that it was an argument that wasn’t over yet.

“Dan what’s our ETA for planet fall?”

Checking his PADD Dan replied “1110 FST. We’ve got a berth and a 24 hour layover booked.”

Turning to Burgess, Anderson asked if there had been any response yet from the New France authorities with reference to the last two names on the list.

“Neither has raised any flags on their systems, but it’s a big colony.”

“Alright for now we’ll treat it as a live operation. I think we have to face the fact that if Gabriel Martello is under the control of whatever this thing is, he’s unlikely to offer much in the way of co-operation.” He looked at Dan and Alice in particular. “That being the case we have to accept that Martello is a valid target if he offers any resistance. We simply can’t afford to risk that device being activated.”

Dan had accepted that fact when he took on the mission, but to hear it put so plainly sent a chill down his spine. For the first time he wondered whether, if the time came, he would be able to kill his closest friend.


ZETHANDER SPACEPORT – MILITIA AEROSPACE UNIT
ZETHANDER
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 0940 FST

At the walk round inspection, Mo had to mentally switch gears. The Valkyrie was a completely different bird to the Peregrine and despite the fact that she’d flown more hours in the older craft her attention for the past few weeks had been fixed on the newer and sleeker fighter.

With the Hildr out of operation for the time being, Mo had accepted one of the Militia Peregrines so that she could participate in the short affiliation exercise planned for the morning. The difference between the two types of fighter in performance was limited but distinct although it wasn’t one sided. The newer craft had the edge in vacuum but in atmosphere it was close to level pegging.

Unlike earlier aircraft, neither of the two fighters relied on aerodynamic lift for manoeuvring as that was now a matter of balancing impulse and thrusters but the atmosphere still presented its own challenges to flight. Combine weather systems, thermals and any of a dozen other atmospheric factors with a gravity well and the flying became a lot more intense.

Finishing her walk round back at the nose of her craft, she signed the PADD to accept the craft from the ground crews and waved at Homer who was now climbing into the cockpit of the Gunr. It was his job to play the part of the adversary and he would be departing for the exercise area first.

The party of last night hadn’t affected his appetite and he’d consumed a prodigious breakfast earlier, much to the amusement of Gabby Escher.

“Does he always pig out like this?” she’d asked in wonder.

“Oh there’s times when we’ve had to winch him into the cockpit,” laughed Mo.

Homer was unimpressed. “Ladies your jealousy at my body’s innate ability to burn calories is most unbecoming.” Wiping his fingers on a napkin he glared at them both. “Besides, it’s simply fuel for an aerial assassin. Trust me, when it’s one on one up there you’ll wish you’d had another round of pancakes.”

“I think I preferred it when he was eating,” grinned Gabby. “At least he was quiet.”

Affecting an air of mock disdain, Homer stood. “I’ll see you amateurs in the air.” As he left the mess hall Gabby turned to Mo.

“He’s a really nice guy under all that macho rubbish isn’t he?”

“Oh that’s not macho, he genuinely believes it!” The two women laughed as they stood. “No, he’s a genuine rough diamond, and he flies like a demon. I wouldn’t want anybody else as a wingman believe me.”

Stepping out into the bright sunlight of the Zethander morning, Mo gave Gabby a nudge. “So do I detect an inkling of interest between parties?”

“Depends whether I beat him up there or not. He might never forgive me!”

“Well don’t let that make you take it easy on him. He needs a good whupping every now and then just to keep his ego under control.”

Mo watched from the cockpit of her Peregrine as Homer took to the air, the sound of his departure gradually drowned out by the rising whine of the impulse engines around her as the Militia pilots started their own craft.

Closing the hatch and donning her helmet, Mo felt at home again reverting to procedures she’d learned long ago for the small stubby fighter and within moments the craft was ready to lift.

She gave a thumbs up to the ground crew who returned the signal before retreating to the edge of the ferrocrete apron.

“Zethander Control, this is Raptor 1 requesting departure clearance for exercise area Alpha.”

“Raptor 1, you’re clear depart. Raptor 2 reports in the area at this time. After departure, contact exercise control on local frequency 2.”

Mo knew that Eyrie would be monitoring in exercise control, but the engagements would be controlled by Militia staff.

“Raptor 1 lifting this time.”

She engaged the impulse drive and goosed it to lift the Peregrine from the ferrocrete noting that it definitely felt more sluggish than the Valkyrie. Below her she saw the three Militia craft preparing for their departure before she turned to climb. It would be her job today to demonstrate some of the tactics and be the on-site monitor. She really hoped that the Militia would give Homer a run for his money, but she doubted it.
 
Chapter 6 (cont)

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is trademarked and copyrighted by CBS Studios.
NO infringement is intended. All other material is copyright to Unusualsuspex 2009.

6 (cont)


USS ANGEL – MEDCENTRE ONE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 0946 FST

Lieutenant John Dorian disliked whistlers. No that’s not true he thought. It’s the whistling I dislike. It always reminded him of his Greek Uncle Theodor who would bumble around the house whistling tunelessly and fairly asthmatically while Dorian attempted to catch up on his homework.

Yet when he heard Anthony Winston whistling it stopped him in his tracks. It was a sound he had never heard from the CMO and never thought he would. To be honest, he wasn’t sure whether he should be pleased or worried.

“Sir?” Winston turned from his work rearranging the shelves in his office and smiled, inviting Dorian to enter.

“Sorry, I was just trying to spring clean the place, stop it looking like a mortician’s parlour.”

It was true that since the Angel had left Utopia Planitia, the CMO’s office had been a fairly sterile place, all utilitarian colours and furniture and little in the way of character. Now though it had been transformed, and strangely it had taken very little.

One or two house plants brightened the room and holos and certificates now adorned the walls; not in any great number but the effect was altogether pleasing on the eye. Perhaps the largest change was the furniture. The formal and altogether functional chairs were gone to be replaced by more comfortable items in soothing shades of brown and beige which blended beautifully with the large semi-circular light wood desk.

“Before you ask, no you can’t have new fixtures and fittings. Perks of being the CMO.” Winston said it with a totally disarming grin that brightened his large face. “So what can I do for you?”

“Oh, right, sorry. Erm, I just needed to get the requisitions list signed off for when the Mainstay arrives?”

Winston straightened an Academy holo, studied it carefully for a moment then turned to his desk taking the topmost PADD from a scattered pile.

“Sorted, signed and ready for dispatch.” He tossed it to Dorian who by now was so dumbfounded by the change in Winston he almost dropped it. “Oh and by the way, one of your combat medics, who shall remain nameless to protect their innocence, seems to have it in their head that certain physicians on this vessel may be using one of the stasis units as a bed.” Winston raised his eyebrows in interrogation.

“Oh, Sir, no it’s ok. I was…”

“Oh stop panicking. I was about to say that I couldn’t believe that Academy graduates were still falling for that.” Winston flopped in his chair and folded his hands on his stomach. “Are you alright John? You seem a little out of sorts this morning?”

“Me? No, no, I’m fine thank you.” Dorian felt he had to ask. “Erm, how about you Sir?”

Drawing his chair up to the desk, Winston smiled again. “Just peachy thank you. Now if there’s nothing else, would you stop fidgeting round my office and bugger off so I can get some work done?”

In his haste to exit, Dorian almost toppled one of the potted plants but deftly saved it at the last minute. Winston shook his head before picking up a PADD from the pile and studying it. Even so, as the doors hissed shut behind Dorian, he was sure he heard laughter.


ZETHANDER EXERCISE AREA ALPHA
ZETHANDER
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 0953 FST

As the flight of three Peregrine fighters entered the exercise area, they were at high vigilance. Having been briefed that Homer in the Valkyrie was to prevent them reaching the target area on the eastern side of the range however, they had made their first mistake.

Bunched up in a flight of three rather than dispersing to make Homer’s job difficult, the first they knew of their simulated demise was the call from Homer.

“Targets Blackjack 1, 2 and 3, Papa 1 launch.”

A whining tone in the Blackjack flight’s headsets indicated that each fighter had been locked by a simulated photon micro-torpedo and there was no escape.

The speed and shock of the attack completely threw the pilots. Even Gabby Escher had expected the chance to engage in at least a one on one. Mo, circling high above, had seen the attack coming a mile off though of course she was more acquainted with Homer’s style than the Militia pilots.

“Ok, Raptor 2, Blackjacks, knock it off.” That was the call from Mo to indicate that the exercise was on pause and that the elements of fighters should regroup.

“Blackjack flight, I think you learned that lesson fairly quick. Even when dealing with a single ship, never allow yourselves to be corralled into a tight formation. Even a single weapon attack could have taken out all three fighters just from collateral damage.”

“Raptor 1, this is Blackjack lead, can we do a reset and we’ll take your advice?”

Mo checked her panels and ordered Homer out to the far corner of the exercise area to await the arrival of the three fighters once more. She then switched channels to talk to Blackjack flight.

“Blackjacks, this is Raptor 1. When you have a single entry point to a target and still require all three ships on target at the same time, you need to split at the earliest opportunity and reform before the strike. You’re fairly evenly matched although at lower levels you might have the edge so use it. I’ll let you plan your own split, advise me when you’re ready to commence.”

“Raptor 1, Blackjack lead acknowledges.”

The three fighters swung about and Mo watched as they exited the area. The idea was that the three fighters had to enter the area through the same corridor and perform a three ship strike on a ground target. What they did between the entry point and the target itself was part of the training of course. Mo didn’t want to start leading them in tactics when it was far more useful for them to devise their own.

She watched as they circled for a short while outside the area co-ordinating their next move on a discrete frequency. Eventually Escher came back up.

“Raptor 1, Blackjack flight set.”

“Acknowledged. All flights, game on.”

As the exercise restarted, Mo followed the three craft on her scan and watched as they penetrated the exercise area and immediately split. The first climbed with no course deviation, the second maintained level flight but broke out to port and Escher in the lead made a high speed descent breaking to starboard. Homer now had two alternatives; he could either try to use the Valkyries superior speed to attempt to eliminate each target individually, or wait and hope to catch the three ship formation as it made its final run into the target.

The first option had the advantage of reducing the force so that if any did make it through, the force of the strike might be lessened. However, it did mean that there was a chance of the strike partially succeeding.

The second option required patience and accuracy on Homer’s part because if the three attackers joined up late on the attack, again the strike could be at least partially effective before Homer could shut them down.

It was a deadly aerial game that had been played for centuries with just the technology changing. Increased detection ranges were offset by increased weapons range and accuracy, pilots reactions were augmented by more agile craft, and yet at its core the game of kill or be killed hadn’t changed.

Homer had climbed high to intercept the craft heading directly in towards the target when without warning, it sat on its tail and boosted for orbit. Homer initially increased his climb to attempt the intercept but was slow on the curve and pulled over into a high speed descent realising that the other two craft were now converging on the target at two different altitudes and from two different directions.

He loosed a volley of simulated phaser fire at Blackjack 2 who was streaking in mid level from the west scoring minimal but non-critical hits. The onboard computer simulated failures in several components and adjusted the Peregrines flight characteristics to match. Meanwhile, Escher in Blackjack 1 had effectively disappeared from the scopes.

High above the action, Mo watched as the first Peregrine, Blackjack 3, having successfully drawn Homer off and made him waste valuable seconds in pursuit, looped over the top into an almost vertical descent on the target. Homer would need to watch that he wasn’t caught by a rear shot from the rapidly descending craft.

Blackjack 2, having now responded to the simulated hits had slowed and was making clumsy evasive manoeuvres which Homer was about to capitalise on.

Suddenly, Mo got a transient lock on Escher in Blackjack 1 who had taken her sturdy fighter way down on the deck and dropped into a canyon that ran on a converging course towards the target. It suddenly occurred to Mo that Blackjack flight’s first apparently clumsy entry into the area may well have been a ruse which had lured Homer into a false sense of security and he was just about to pay the price for it.

The setup was almost perfect with Blackjack 3 calling weapons release both on the target and Homer simultaneously as he descended. Homer broke left abandoning his simulated attack on Blackjack 2 who immediately poured on the power for her final run at the target while Homer corkscrewed upwards to deploy counter-measures.

What happened next however was both sudden and catastrophic as Escher turned to climb out of the canyon for her run at the target. A simple failure in an isolinear chip caused the briefest of control delays as it switched to a backup, but at low level and mid manoeuvre (particularly at the speed Escher was travelling) it was a delay that proved costly.

The port wing dipped clipping the rim of the canyon and the momentum of the Peregrine as it began to spin lifted it up above ground level in a smoking arc. Escher, perhaps the most experienced pilot on the Militia Aerospace Wing, instantly realised she had mere seconds to eject from the unrecoverable craft and punched down on the armrests.
While the sequence was rapid, the attitude of the fighter was such that the module ejected almost horizontally mere metres above the ground and even as the thrusters tried to brake and right the escape module it brushed the ground leaving a scarred trail in the desert.

“All units knock it off, knock it off!” Mo didn’t wait for an acknowledgement to her call and immediately selected the emergency channel. “Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Raptor 1 operating in exercise area 7 Charlie. We have a Peregrine down at grid 004-122 Alpha. Pilot ejected at low level.”

It was Eyrie’s voice that responded from exercise control taking over from the controller she’d been monitoring.

“Raptor 1 control acknowledges. Mo, get Homer to bring the rest of Blackjack flight back, I need you down on the ground ASAP to monitor while I get an emergency team on site from Angel. Confirm callsign of mayday craft.”

“Control, that’s callsign Blackjack 1. Raptor 1 descending this time, break, Raptor 2 you now have lead with Blackjack flight. Take them home acknowledge?”

For a moment there was dead air and Mo was instantly worried. Come on my man, don’t do this. She was about to repeat the order when Homer finally responded, his voice thick with shock.

“Raptor 2 acknowledges. Blackjack flight formate on me at this time.”

“Homer I’ll do all I can, just get Blackjack back to base.”

Looking at the explosion strewn wreckage below her, she only hoped there was something that she could do and continued her rapid descent.
 
Commentary on Chapter 5

Melista’s interaction with Dr. Winston proves that she’s her mother’s daughter, no doubt about it. Good to see Winston coming to terms with the pain of his past… El Aurians are good for that.

Fishlock’s now committed to this mission, hunting an able officer whose gone rogue with something dark and nasty coiled up inside his head. I’m sure Dan almost wishes that he and his team are unable to find his friend.

The flight crews get some much-needed down time with their Militia counterparts on the surface, a little levity to lighten the atmosphere. :D

Nice work.
 
Commentary on Chapter 6

The banter continues between Homer and his potential Militia pilot paramour. Then, tragedy strikes, or seems to. I guess now we’re going to find out what Homer’s made of. Hopefully, what Escher’s made of isn’t scattered across the landscape in a million different pieces.

Winston’s turned over a new leaf, and his decorating his office seems to herald a new, more upbeat outlook on life.

Fishlock comes to the final, uncomfortable certainty that killing an old friend may be a real possibility on this assignment. That’s got to be a particularly ugly sensation.

Once again, great stuff. You got my blood pumping with the hormones and drama of the fighter training, and you’re deepening the mystery of the artifact and the whereabouts of Dan’s old friend. Continued excellence in the character area with Winston’s musically inspired change of heart.
 
If you are not already a member then please register an account and join in the discussion!

Sign up / Register


Back
Top