Star Trek : Angel - Book Two

[unusualsuspex]

Chapter 7

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

7


CARAMAR FREIGHT HAULER SS PICADOR
EN ROUTE TO NEW FRANCE
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1011 FST

The Section 31 agent aboard the Picador sat in their cabin and tapped quickly at the keypad that normally stayed hidden behind the panel below the replicator.

DESTINATION NOW NEW FRANCE.
TARGET BELIEVED PLANET SIDE.
WILL UPDATE SOONEST.

Pressing the transmit key sent the encrypted message out in a microburst that was designed to be indistinguishable from the background electronic emissions of the ship. The Section 31 vessel that was trailing them wouldn’t respond to maintain its stealth profile but the agent knew that it would stand off from New France until they were updated with a confirmed target.

At that point, if all went well, the shadowy agency would have a new weapon to examine. In light of the inevitable conflict that lay ahead with the Dominion, it was one they fully intended to capitalise on.


USS ANGEL – MEDCENTRE ONE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1012 FST

“Emergency, emergency. On call staff to MedCentre One immediately. Incoming critical injury from Zethander. Be advised this is a direct site to site transport. I say again emergency…”

As the computer repeated the emergency broadcast, Winston leapt from his seat and ran immediately through into the scrub room to don surgical reds, then passed through the ER scrubber that effectively removed contaminants from his outer wear. As he entered the operating area, he saw that standby med techs were already wheeling equipment into place around the biobed that had been designated for the site to site transport.

Within seconds, the sparkle of the transporter faded to release the burnt and badly injured body of Gabby Escher and moving in swiftly, Winston hit the controls which brought up the clamshell diagnostic frame over the battered figure.

Quickly tapping in a diagnostic routine, he followed as it reported the horrific extent of the injuries he was about to have to deal with. 40% body burns, fractured spine in three locations, cranial injuries, internal bleeding. Anthony was stunned that the young woman had survived this far and resolved that her fight for life would not be unaided.

“Computer, steri-field and spinal stasis control lumbar, thoracic and cervical, all vertebrae.”

“Acknowledged. Steri-field activated. Stasis control activated.”

As he drew a hypospray ready to administer an analgesic compound he turned to the young medtech at the head of the biobed.

“Nurse Ch’man, I need to find out the circumstances of the accident and the ID of the patient as soon as possible with any medical contraindication records.”

With a quick “yes doctor” she hurried off to contact the bridge.

Contraindications were situations when a drug, procedure or surgery should not be used due to a pre-existing condition with the patient or an allergy to a specific medication. Winston knew if he administered a contraindicated drug, it could be as fatal as not treating the patient at all.

“Nurse Cheng, cortical stimulator please, multiphase setting and keep a tricordrazine application to hand.”

He continued to dispense instructions to the team for a few moments as he worked at stabilising the young woman on the bio-bed. By the time her medical records flashed up on the readout and showed that her only allergy was to metorapan, he’d already prepared a list of medications and simply substituted bicaridine for the redundant drug.

Winston glanced up at Dorian who was supporting him on the emergency shift.

“Let’s see if we can’t work a miracle or two shall we?”

Dorian nodded and as Winston requested that the computer play Chopin’s Nocturne in D-flat Major, the hard work began.


FEDERATION COURIER LIBERTAS – STATE ROOM
INBOUND TO PAUL PAINLEVE SPACEPORT
NEW FRANCE
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1023 FST

“Governor Bacco, there’s an incoming communication from Councillor Charlton at the UFP Resettlement Office.”

Nan Bacco jerked awake from her light doze at the call from the bridge of the courier and rubbed at her eyes. It seemed that she’d spent forever on board the craft and every moment had been immersed in studying the requirements of her mission. That’s still no excuse for nodding off though she chided herself.

She turned to the screen as the image of Councillor Robert Charlton faded in and she smiled, hoping that the tiredness she felt wasn’t obvious.

“Robert, good to hear from you. I’m hoping its good news?”

His pinched face and slightly myopic stare would have branded him as a typical pen pusher to those who didn’t know him, but Nan was well aware that without the hard work of Charlton her job to resettle many of the refugees would have been close to impossible.

“I think you’ll approve,” he smiled. “Not only has Karem Balak approved the two ships you requested, but the DMZ Refugee Council has received permission to process all the paperwork on board while you’re travelling back out to Cestus III.”

Nan’s eyes went wide. “How did they get that through? No, no, don’t bother. It’s enough that they did.” A great weight lifted off her shoulders at the news as it meant that the refugees could transport directly aboard the ships without processing through the already beleaguered systems of Starbases 211 and 310. Not only would it save vast amounts of time, but the refugees themselves wouldn’t have to be herded like cattle through the resettlement process.

“Whoever managed it though, tell them that I owe them a favour.”

He grinned and said “It was me actually, so we’ll call it part of a favour repaid.”

Nan hadn’t particularly considered it a favour when she’d sponsored the slight man on to the UFP Resettlement Council, more a case of the right man for the job, but he’d thrived there and often thanked her for her part in his position.

“Oh please, it got you out my hair. That’s payment enough,” she laughed. Checking the chrono she noticed they were on schedule to land at the Paul Painleve Spaceport. “Robert, we’re about 15 minutes out from New France. I’m scheduled for a lunch meeting with the generous Mr Balak at 12.00 so I’ll let you know when we’re departing.” She smiled fondly at him. “Thanks for the hard work on this one Robert. I don’t know whose closet you raided for skeletons but it was worth it.”

“I’d say that it looks like you’ve been working harder than me Governor. Think about a little R&R when you get back to Cestus III. Oh and by the way, the hair colour? Very distinguished.” He nodded and signed off.

Well if it’s enough to impress you Robert, I think I’ll stick with it she thought. Distinguished is always a good look.


INTERLUDE

Chariscarpia knew who she was. She knew from where she had come and marvelled at what had happened to her. The download of information through the Valkyrie’s ODN had at first overwhelmed her, but as more of her memories were reawakened by the flood of information she revelled in it. It was almost akin to waking groggily from sleep and taking a warm invigorating shower.
She now knew that what she had been, a flesh and blood being, was beyond her grasp, but she also knew with a sense of great relief that she need not be trapped in the confines of a space craft’s memory core forever. At least she hoped not for it would depend in great part on the skills of those around her who had already saved her life once.
Now she would need to rely on their kindness again.


ZETHANDER SPACEPORT – MILITIA AEROSPACE UNIT HQ
ZETHANDER
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1027 FST

As Mo stepped into the air conditioned headquarters building she immediately saw Homer. He sat in the crew lounge, his head in his hands and an untouched cup of coffee on the table.

“He’s taking it really hard Ma’am. We thought it best not to disturb him until you got here.”

She turned to see the young pilot of Blackjack 3 behind her, still wearing her flightsuit.

“Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“Ma’am?” Mo heard the slight catch in the young woman’s voice. “Is Commander Escher…I mean, we hadn’t heard anything that’s all.”

Taking the young woman aside, Mo spoke quietly. “She’s alive, but I have to tell you it’s serious. Right now she’s aboard the Angel but as soon as I get an update I’ll let you know alright?” She could see that the young woman was bravely holding it together but only just. “Could you give Lieutenant Richmond and me a few minutes alone please?”

She nodded, obviously unable to trust her voice and retreated back into the ops room.

Mo closed the crew lounge door behind her as she entered and Homer looked at her with red rimmed eyes.

“How could it all turn to crap in less than an hour Mo?”

She sat on the edge of the seat beside him, honestly not knowing what to say. Placing a gentle arm around his shoulders she simply said “I don’t know, I really don’t.”

For some minutes, she allowed him to expend his grief in bitter tears and slowly the sobs subsided.

“I heard you call for an emergency beam out while we were heading back.”

She nodded and took his hands in hers. “She’s alive Homer, but its touch and go. They’re operating now but we won’t know anything for some while. Listen, the flight surgeon wants to see us all before we debrief. You ok with that?”

He sighed deeply and Mo didn’t think she’d ever seen him so shaken in all the time they’d flown together.

“Might as well get it over with I guess.”

Mo knew by the haunted look in Homer’s eyes that it wouldn’t be over for him for a long time yet.

 

[unusualsuspex]

Chapter 7 (cont)

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

7 (cont)

CARAMAR FREIGHT HAULER SS PICADOR
PAUL PAINLEVE SPACEPORT – BERTH 14
NOUVEAU MARSEILLE
NEW FRANCE
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1117 FST

With the Picador safely berthed at the spaceport, Team Six were holding a site mission brief in the cargo hold while the regular crew saw to resupplying and unloading the faux cargo.

“Alright, listen up.” Abe Anderson’s voice rose above the external noise on the ship to attract the team’s attention. “Just before we go ashore, Alice just received an update from the Repository. They believe they’ve translated more from the derelicts databanks.”

“Though I have to say,” chipped in Burgess, “they give it a low accuracy rating because it comes from a totally different language base.”

“Does it relate directly to the artefact?” Alexander had been relatively subdued since his previous outburst seemingly embarrassed by the heat of his argument.

“It does, at least if the translation is accurate enough to be believed.” Burgess brought up the data on her PADD and began to read. “Starfleet Date Time Group blah blah blah…ok, 43% reliability in translation and its origin is believed to be some four millennia prior to the derelict’s discovery. And I quote:

The spirit is within, its children held bound. Its prison shall remain inviolable for all time and is consigned to (untranslatable). Our loss must not be in vain, so our duty is to prevent (untranslatable) forever.

The prison shall be taken forth, though its contents rail and (untranslatable) our minds. Never again shall the spirit emerge and the nature of the prison will ensure that those held prisoner shall suffer their own madness into infinity.

(untranslatable) (untranslatable) in death, to begin again our lives, (untranslatable) be blessed.

That’s it. Make of it what you will but I know how it sounds to me.”

Dan whistled softly. “So if the translation is some four thousand years older than the vessel, I assume we’re hearing from the original creators of this thing?”

“That’s how I read it.”

Anderson pursed his lips in thought. “So this was never designed as a weapon at all, it’s a prison for this so called spirit and its children. How the hell are those …whatever they are in there, being kept alive?”

Alexander spoke again, this time in a quiet voice. “If their technology was such that they could create a shell even we can’t penetrate, I’m guessing there are surprises in there that would make a Federation scientist’s eyes water.”

“Ok,” said Dan, “I can see all that even if I find it a little hard to believe, but if this prison is so inviolable, how the hell does this thing inside believe its going to get out?”

The question caused a heavy silence to fall over the five team members, only broken when Anderson eventually stood.

“Seems like the more we find out, the more questions we get to ask about this thing. I get the feeling that Gabe Martello may be the only person who’s gonna come close to having an answer.” Grabbing his jacket festooned with space mission patches, he turned to the team.

“Alice I want you to stay here and monitor the mission. Dan, you and I will triangulate this transponder and move in nice and slow. Adrian, we’ll need holdout phasers and you’ll be backup. Nathan…”

Alexander stood quickly. “Abe if you don’t need me on the tracking, I’d like to scout around the berths, see if I can pick up on any gossip from the dockers.”

Anderson shrugged. “If you think you can get something great, but hold back and that applies to all aspects of this while we’re planetside.” He looked around at the team to make sure they were all compliant. “If it’s really Martello down here, we’ll follow him out, then extract but we do not act while that things within reach of a planet. Understood?”

The four members nodded solemnly, each one more than aware of the consequences should the artefact activate.

“Let’s move out.”


USS ANGEL – MEDCENTRE ONE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1123 FST

They’d been working on the shattered body of Escher for an hour now, and only within the last few minutes had they managed to stabilize her. The internal bleeding had been stemmed and the ruptured organs repaired. The bio-bed and its surgical support frame had constantly monitored the application of drugs and Escher’s vital signs as the emergency work progressed. The next task was more delicate.

“Alright now…with a traumatic brain injury we have to first ascertain…several things. See here…” he pointed at the scan displayed on the side of the support frame. “Intra-axial lesion and because we’re probably dealing with both diffuse and focal injuries, we need to just…confirm whether we have cerebral laceration or…no I think its contusion.”

Adjusting the support frames scan, he continued as Dorian carefully followed. “Now, we need to monitor the intracranial pressure until we can ease it, if that rises significantly we lose her. Alright John, earn your credits, Cushing's triad is?”

Caught slightly unawares, Dorian had to take a deep breath before answering. “Erm, a classic manifestation of significantly raised ICP with symptoms being a slow heart rate with high blood pressure and respiratory depression.”

“Which the support frame is now set to warn us about. Good job, alright, because this is a blunt or non-penetrating trauma we’ll first try to repair the internal damage without an external incision. Nurse, a sub-dermal scalpel please.”

As Winston calmly checked the settings on the scalpel which would cut tissue below the skin without cutting the skin itself, he smiled at Dorian.

“Keeping up?”

“I think so though this is the first time I’ve assisted in a case involving so many different injuries.” He looked to the ceiling. “Like the music by the way.”

“Pearls before swine in most cases,” he grinned, “but it helps steady the hands. Now…” he placed the scalpel against Escher’s skull making delicate movements and following his progress on the scanner. “Tell me about coup and contrecoup injury.”

This time Dorian answered without hesitation as he watched the scalpel make tiny incisions to relieve the pressure on the brain and repair the damage.

“Coup injuries are more typical when a moving object impacts the stationary head. In that case the injury is usually under the impact site. Contrecoup injuries are more likely when the moving head strikes a stationary object and the injury usually occurs on the side opposite the impact.”

“Lords be praised, I do believe Starfleet Medical are starting to turn out doctors again. Well done.” Winston handed the sub-dermal scalpel back to the nurse and stood up, arching his back. “You’re right about the injuries by the way; we’ve got the full gamut here which means I want to be extra careful with the medication. She’s already received morphenolog for the pain, kelotane for the burns and hyronalin for the radiation exposure so we have to monitor very carefully how she reacts to them.”

He stepped back from the bio-bed with a last look at his handy work and nodded. “That means we get to take a break now while we wait for her system to register the drugs and surgery and the support frame takes over for a while. We’ll give it ten minutes or so then you can perform the motor cortex reconstruction.”

Seeing Dorian’s slightly stunned look, Winston slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t fade on me now John, you’ve just started to impress me.”


USS ANGEL – HANGAR BAY 1
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1125 FST

Once again gathered in the close confines of Hildr’s cockpit Spider, Dingbat, T’Sell and Vonny watched as Fido floated back into the pilot’s position.

Half an hour ago, the little globe had almost caused a medical emergency when it had floated up silently behind Spider as he supervised work on the recovered runabout Koch. Sensing somebody behind him, he’d turned expecting to find an engineer or technician waiting to speak to him. Instead, the unexpected sight of the small orb had almost given him a coronary.

“You are requested to return to the craft. My primary function is now complete.”

Without waiting for a reply, Fido floated off and disappeared back inside the disabled Valkyrie.

He was tempted to shout after the globe that he was the one that made requests around the fighter – his fighter - and then stopped short feeling slightly foolish. Instead he’d quickly returned to the flight deck operations office and commed T’Sell and Dixon to report the latest odd turn of events before gathering up Dingbat.

Now as they waited and watched, the orb flashed blue and settled into the seat. For a moment, nothing else happened until without warning the fighter’s panels lit up. Even T’Sell’s normally stoic calm was disturbed by the unexpected event and more was to come. The overhead speakers hissed briefly and then a voice emerged that both T’Sell and Vonny instantly recognised.

“I wish to thank you, all of you, for what you have done.”

“Chariscarpia?” Vonny turned to T’Sell beaming. “It’s really you?” She could barely contain her excitement. T’Sell preferred to think of it more as scientific curiosity, but she too seemed caught up in the moment.

“It is, Vonny Dixon.”

A thousand questions crowded her mind but the only one that could force its way out was “How are you?”

“For the moment I am well, but there is something I urgently need to ask of you and your Captain Fishlock.”

Vonny turned to T’Sell and raised her eyebrows. She had no idea what had prompted Captain Fishlock’s departure or whether it would even be relevant to Chariscarpia, but fortunately T’Sell stepped in.

“Chariscarpia, there has been a temporary change of command but I am sure that Captain Gray will be amenable to your request if it is within her powers.”

There was a slight pause as Chariscarpia digested this latest information, but as she finally revealed her request and the nature of its urgency, the huddled crew members lapsed into silence.


USS ANGEL – CAPTAIN’S READY ROOM
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1141 FST

Kat wasn’t sure that she’d heard right.

“Chariscarpia is definitely in there? And she’s whole?”

T’Sell nodded. “Metaphorically speaking. Her personality is certainly whole, but therein lays the problem. Now that her personality has been reactivated if you will, she has discovered that the computer core of the Hildr is not of sufficient capacity to retain it for long.”

“Can we not transfer her to spare storage in the main core of Angel?”

T’Sell’s shoulders slumped slightly. “That indeed was my first suggestion. We have various sectors of unused storage that would be more than adequate. Unfortunately the situation is more complicated than that. It would seem that Chariscarpia’s essence transfer, as she terms it, was meant to be a one time only emergency use. There was a specified lifecraft aboard her vessel containing a pre-prepared receptacle for her essence for use in the event of a catastrophic emergency. Its design was such that it would launch and loiter within reach of the main ship until Chariscarpia could perform the transfer.”

T’Sell stood and activated the screen on the ready room wall.

“The problem was,” she continued, “that the Borg tractor beam that so effectively captured the main vessel also enveloped the emergency craft as you can see.”

T’Sell magnified the image on the screen showing Chariscarpia’s vessel already inside the spatial rift and the meagre speck of light that had been her hope of survival. All were enveloped in the sickly green aura of the Borg tractor beam.

“It was a last ditch attempt that threw her essence into the computer core of the Hildr effectively overwhelming it, but the Hildr’s core was neither prepared for the transfer nor was it of sufficient capacity.” Switching off the screen, she returned to her position in front of Kat’s desk. “The upshot of which is that she now faces two problems. Firstly, she cannot remain in the fighter’s computer core for much longer before degradation of her essence begins, and to complicate matters she can only make one final transfer for the same reason; pattern degradation.”

“Meaning that should we transfer her to the main core to save her essence from degrading, she’s stuck there for good?”

“Precisely Ma’am. If we are to save her life, then we would need to work quickly to prepare a receptacle for her.” T’Sell paused and for the first time since Kat had known her seemed uncertain. “Captain, I’m not certain that our technology is sufficiently prepared to do so in time.”

 

[Gibraltar]

Wow, tense chapter. Winston and Dorian labor to save Escher’s life as T’Sell and Vonny try to save Chariscarpia’s. Lots of great character moments here, especially between the older doctor and his protégé. I wouldn’t have thought a tough-as-nails fighter jock like Homer would be reduced to tears by the tragic injuries of someone he barely knew, but he was apparently far more attached than even he let on.

I hope both the people in jeopardy here pull through.

 

[unusualsuspex]

Chapter 8

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

8


USS ANGEL – MEDCENTRE ONE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1141 FST

Anthony Winston often found that performing surgery, especially when as complicated and extensive as this, was akin to travelling a well known and oft travelled road. The vast majority of the journey would be uneventful and routine; his body performing the required actions almost automatically while the mind multi-tasked with other matters. But to carry the metaphor one step further, occasionally around a blind bend one would come upon a something unexpected in the road and the routine would suddenly be shattered.

Anthony knew that the young woman laying on the bio-bed was a fighter whose grip on life was tight, but even so the odds were not in her favour. No matter how good his work as a surgeon was it would take all her innate tenacity and then some to pull her through.

“Alright, what I intend to do now that the neuro-surgery is mostly complete is to retain the spine in stasis and treat her other conditions first leaving the spinal work until last.”

Dorian, who was following and assisting in the surgery nodded. “Will you be trying CPK enzymatic therapy?”

Nodding, Anthony flicked his attention between the screens showing his sub-dermal work and the vital signs repeater beside it. “I’ll need to take a good look at the extent of the damage beyond what we’ve so far seen on initial scans. However she’s not a Klingon and the injuries look compatible with the treatment so that would be my favoured route.”

Certain species and differing injuries were often unresponsive to the therapy but even should that prove the case with Escher, there were still options available. If Anthony and his team could pull her through this first critical phase, she stood a good chance of recovery, albeit a slow one initially.

He sighed as he looked at the small form of the young woman on the bio-bed, remembering a conversation he’d had not so long ago with Doctor Katherine Pulaski at Starbase 621. She’d confided in Anthony that she was tired of seeing young men and women cut short in their prime because politicians and military brass decreed that their cause require it so. Anthony eventually persuaded her to reconsider her resignation saying that without physicians like herself to pick up the pieces, even more young lives were at risk.

To witness firsthand the hard evidence of the mortal risk that these young people faced in defence of freedom was heart breaking even to him.

Checking the chrono on the surgical frame, he stood up and tapped several controls.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen, round one to us I believe. Phase one surgery procedures completed at 1143 FST, the patient is currently stable and comfortable.” He nodded his appreciation to the team around him. “Thank you everybody, let’s give the young lady a chance to catch her breath. Nurse Crowley, I’d like the patient to remain here for now so if you could roster a constant watch that would be appreciated.”

Heading back into the ER scrub room to remove their surgical garb, Dorian found himself humming one of the piano pieces that had become lodged in his mind, and Anthony grinned at him.

“You know we might make a surgeon out of you yet young Dorian.”

“I do believe," said Dorian, mimicking Anthony’s perfect English diction, "that is a profound possibility.”


PAUL PAINLEVE SPACEPORT
NOUVEAU MARSEILLE
NEW FRANCE
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1157 FST

Dan, Anderson and Paul passed through customs control at the spaceport without incident and as they strolled through the edifice that was Nouveau Marseille’s Terminal One, Dan marvelled at the busy comings and goings of what had once been a minor Federation colony.

Sitting at the edge of the Arachnid Nebula it had, over the past few years, become a major commercial hub for routes out to Betazed and the further southern reaches of Federation space and sat at a major crossroads for interstellar traffic. Consequently, the spaceport facilities had burgeoned and the colony had benefited from mass commercial and civilian trade.

Nouveau Marseille itself had grown outwards from the spaceport’s northern perimeter and was now the jewel in the crown of the New France colony. Much like the French port on Earth after which it was named, the city was a melting pot of races and cultures and having been recently crowned a tourist must visit location was expected to become even more so.

The three members of Team Six stopped on the sidewalk outside Terminal One and studied a glowing map of the local area, not because they didn’t know where to go, more to deflect the entrepreneurial locals offering their services as tourist guides.

“Ok I’ll head out to the safe apartment and set up a scan from there,” Anderson said quietly. “Alice says the signal is within five kilometres of the spaceport but because it’s an omni-directional beacon she’s having trouble narrowing it down.” He tapped on the map. “Dan if you head out to here, and Adrian here, we’ll triangulate the transponder and then meet up again. Alice will advise us if there’s any movement.”

Dan noted that he’d been allocated a position in the centre of the entertainment sector while the big Gunnery Sergeant had ended up with a prime location in the banking and business district. Better luck next time Gunny he thought.

“Stay in touch and softly, softly gents.”

With a brief handshake, they split up in the hope that they were still in time to find their quarry.


BALAK PAN-QUADRANT TRANSPORTATION HQ - EXECUTIVE LEVEL
NOUVEAU MARSEILLE
NEW FRANCE
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1205 FST

Nan Bacco had arrived on planet at almost the same time as Dan’s party, but her status as a representative of the Federation had expedited her clearance through the spaceport and she had been met by one of Karem Balak’s personal drivers for the brief hovercar journey to his office complex.

The limo had been almost as luxurious as her diplomatic shuttle and with its blacked out windows she’d somewhat giddily entertained the notion of being a coddled holo-star.
Arriving at the executive entrance to the offices, she had been whisked up to the penthouse level and straight into a sumptuously decorated room with the kind of view only the truly successful enjoyed.

Kalem Barak himself was the kind of man whose age was difficult to determine. In appearance he could have been in his mid to late thirties yet Nan knew that was illusory. His bio (the official one as opposed to the one generally sent out by the PR execs) stated that he’d been CEO of the company since his father’s untimely death forty years ago meaning that he was at least into his sixties.

Elegantly attired and quietly spoken as he was, Nan whimsically wished she’d been thirty years younger.

“Governor Bacco, it is a pleasure to meet you at last,” he said taking her hand and brushing it lightly with his lips in a very old fashioned way. “Please, take a seat.”

He drew out a softly padded conform chair at a preset dinner table and carefully tucked it in beneath her.

“May I get you a drink at all?”

“If you have something fruity, non-alcoholic and ice cold that would be lovely thank you.”

“I was hoping to ply you with one of our better vintages. I understand you have a most discerning palate Madame Governor?” His smile and easy conversation were complete opposites of what Nan had expected from a business tycoon of Balak’s stature. Most of the one’s she’d dealt with before had been far from self effacing.

“Please, it’s Nan, and normally you’d have to keep me away from the wine vaults at phaser point,” she laughed. “I’m feeling the pressure of the journey a little though. You wouldn’t want me to fall face first into my lunch I’m sure.”

“In that case, you must call me Kal.” He brought a frosted pitcher of something deep red along with a simple glass that was obviously expensive crystal. “I think you’ll like this, a local fruit known as Hiverberry. It only grows in the winter months as the name suggests, but it has a summer taste.”

Nan took a sip and the taste explosion on her tongue was like nothing she had experienced in a long while.

“Good non?” Balak smiled warmly. He tapped his nose and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I believe it will be our next major export so I’ve craftily stashed away my own supply.”

As they chatted amiably, a team of quiet and efficient serving staff delivered steaming bowls of food to the table, some of which Nan couldn’t immediately identify but the smell was gorgeous. Eventually, when Nan thought the table might be fast approaching breaking point, the staff disappeared and Balak turned to business as they ate.

“Are you sure that two vessels will be adequate for your needs? The standard capacity per ship is two thousand passengers but naturally that is in their normal cruise fitting. If cabins are further partitioned and so on, that figure will almost treble.”

Savouring the exquisite, and obviously hand prepared meal, Nan nodded. “Your generosity in this matter has already been overwhelming Kal and I greatly appreciate the implications of taking two starliners out of regular business.”

Balak shrugged, though it wasn’t nonchalance. “In times of need Nan, business takes a back seat. It is simply fortunate that these vessels are currently available before their overhaul, and there is a third if required though to be honest it is less starliner than transport.”

Nan was momentarily stunned. The offer of two ships had been generous to the extreme, but to be offered a third was amazing.

“Kal, I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

He waved his hand. “Really, I’m doing this for slightly selfish reasons Nan.” Seeing her somewhat confused expression, he raised his hands. “That sounds like a confession of wrong doing, excuse me, I should explain.” He sat back and sighed. “Until my father died I had spent much of my life living in a manner that most would call over-privileged. I didn’t see it that way of course, but in retrospect the description fits.” His face clouded slightly at his reminiscence. “It was only when my father was taken ill that we really began to talk as adults. He explained that philanthropy cost nothing to the soul and I discovered that he had secretly sponsored many great charitable works, something I had never had an inkling of.” He looked up at Nan briefly. “By the way that is between the two of us.”

“Of course Kal.”

“The time following his death was a period of learning and great change in my life. It occurred to me that I hadn’t earned this wealth, merely inherited it and I felt tremendously guilty about that. I was fortunate enough, however, to have also inherited a competent advisory board whose guidance during those early years was invaluable. So you see, I am merely continuing work that my father had begun long ago, though it is no less a privilege to do so.”

Nan suddenly realised how little she knew about this man and was deeply moved.

“I suspect Kal that there would have been just as many who may not have followed that path. Your father would be very proud of you.”

“I hope so; he set a fine example that I can only try to emulate.” Pulling himself back to the now, he looked at their half eaten meal. “And here I am interrupting lunch. I think we had best eat this before it turns cold. The chef is notoriously bad tempered when his boss causes food to be wasted.”

With that, the moment of introspection was broken and the mood lightened as they continued the meal. You Mr Balak are a fine example of what the Federation means, she contemplated. It’s a shame you hide your light under a bushel.

Nevertheless, it was a confidence she would not betray.

 

[unusualsuspex]

Chapter 8 (cont)

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

8 (cont)

USS ANGEL – FLIGHT DECK OPERATIONS OFFICE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1216 FST

Kat had spent a short while quietly chatting with Chariscarpia – and hadn’t that been a weird experience she thought – and was now discussing the options available to them with the two Chiefs, T’Sell and Ensign Dixon.

“I’ll obviously have to report this to Starfleet Command, but we need to start making plans immediately or I feel we could fast run out of time.” Looking around the small team, she held her hands out. “I’m open to suggestions.”
Vonny timidly raised her hand. “Don’t be shy Ms Dixon, suggestions were invited.”

“Ma’am, I’d suggest we contact Lieutenant Commander Data from the Enterprise.” She stopped and rephrased. “Sorry, ex of the Enterprise. I believe he’s currently at the Academy.”

After the loss of the USS Enterprise-D at Veridian III, the surviving crew had taken temporary posts until a replacement vessel left the slipways. Data himself had taken a position as an instructor at the Academy and in Vonny’s opinion was the prime candidate to help them.

Kat tugged at her bottom lip for a moment. “T’Sell, I’ve explained to Chariscarpia that we may be in a bind technologically with this but she seems to think if we can at least try then the effort will be worth it. I’m in total agreement with her. Bottom line, we have nothing to lose and everything to gain.” She pointed at Vonny. “I think Ensign Dixon is right, Commander Data is the first person we should be talking to here.”

“Agreed Ma’am.”

With her mind made up, Kat stood. “I’ll contact Commander Data and outline the problem and then ask him to co-ordinate with you. T’Sell, you’ll head this project; Ensign Dixon, I’ll request that Commander Machilveen detaches you from engineering duty for the duration as you’ve probably had closer contact with Chariscarpia than anybody else. Let’s see if we can make this work.” She was about to head back up to her ready room when she turned back around. “By the way until I’ve had chance to brief Starfleet on this, let’s keep it low key.”

Because I get the feeling, she thought as she headed for the turbolift, that there may be some at Headquarters who might just want to capitalize on this.

It was a thought she didn’t very much like.


CAFE CORDIALE – PLACE DU MARCHE CENTRAL
NOUVEAU MARSEILLE
NEW FRANCE
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1217 FST

Dan sat in the bright sunlight of the open air bistro and relaxed for possibly the first time since they’d left Deep Space 9. This whole mission was still a mental minefield for him and he was fully aware that the end game could boil down to a deadly choice between friendship and duty.

Chilling as that prospect was, right now he felt that should that choice arise he would make the right decision. The Vulcan phrase about the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few was perfectly apt in this case.

“Another coffee sir?” The Bolian waiter indicated his empty cup, but Dan declined.

“No, but thank you.” Standing and revelling in the feel of warm sunlight on his face, Dan paid his bill and left the café to stroll deeper into the tourist quarter while he waited for contact from Anderson.

It was very much an area of two different times. In the centre was a bustling open air market that wouldn’t have been out of place in Earth’s nineteenth century while around it were high-tech entertainment centres offering everything a tourist might want though not necessarily need.

He listened as individual traders in the market loudly extolled the virtues of their wares, good naturedly barracking their neighbours. One stall in particular caught his eye selling an array of beautiful oil paintings that appeared to his amateur eye at least to be genuinely hand painted rather than replicated. With his wife’s love of art, he was sorely tempted to investigate further but his personal comm chose that moment to vibrate.

“Dan, its Abe. How’s things?”

Realising they were almost ready to scan Dan moved to a quiet corner and carried on with what would appear to an eavesdropper as an innocent conversation.

“Fine thanks. The market here is something else.” That would have pinpointed his location for Anderson. “I’m just going to take one or two holos for Alice then I’ll meet up with you.” As he raised his tricorder and swung it around, ostensibly looking for a good shot but in reality scanning for the transponder signal, he continued chatting. “How’s Adrian doing?”

“Totally lost,” laughed Anderson. “He ended up down in the business sector, so he’s decided to head back here rather than try and find his way around town.”

That would mean that that Paul had already completed his scan and was heading for the apartment. The tricorder in his hand beeped once and Dan saw it had locked on to the signal.

“Well I’m finished down here so I’ll see you shortly.”

He closed the tricorder, terminated the call, and wondered what Anderson would say if he turned up with an oil painting under his arm. Hmm, maybe not he decided and raised his hand to flag down one of the ubiquitous city cabs. Don’t see him as much of an art lover somehow.


USS ANGEL – FLIGHT DECK CREW ROOM
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1218 FST

As Kat had left the Ops Office to head for the turbolift she’d passed the pilot’s crew lounge and noticed both of the Valkyrie pilots inside. Her original intention was merely to pop her head in to ask how things were going. It was only when she noted the distraught condition of Homer that she walked all the way inside, ensuring the door was closed behind her.

“What’s happened?”

“There was a training accident on Zethander Ma’am,” Mo answered quietly. “We’ve just got back from the debrief but Commander Escher, the Militia squadron commander, is still in surgery at the moment.” Mo indicated the MedCentre that lay beyond the hangar doors to the triage annexe.

Kat could see from the looks on both their faces that whatever had happened had not been good.

“Any indications as to what may have caused the accident?”

Mo nodded, her attention constantly wandering back to her distressed wingman. “Range control says they monitored an uncommanded control input while she was low-level and high speed. There wasn’t time to recover so she ejected.”

Taking a seat beside Homer, Kat placed a hand on his shoulder. It was obvious to her that this was much more than the concern of one flyer for another.

“Lieutenant, have you been checked out yet?”

Homer looked at her with weary, red rimmed eyes. “The flight surgeon from the Militia Wing checked me over Ma’am,” he said quietly.

“And?”

“I’m fine Ma’am. He recommended rest but…”

“But nothing,” Kat interrupted him. She’d seen this too many times before and wasn’t about to let it slip. “I’d like you to head to sickbay and get another check and you will accept their recommendations ok?”

The tone of authority in her voice momentarily snapped Homer out of his despair as Kat had meant it too. More softly, she continued, “You can’t do anything to help Commander Escher while you’re in this state Homer.”

He sighed deeply. “I know Ma’am, thank you.”

Kat stood and turning to Mo said quietly, “You’d better take Gunr for now Mo. They’re working on sorting out Hildr right now so we should hopefully have her back online soon, but until that time I need at least one Valkyrie up and crewed. Are you up to it?”

“Yes Ma’am, and don’t worry about Lieutenant Richmond,” she said nodding to Homer. “I’ll make sure he’s ok.”

“I’d appreciate that Lieutenant.” She seemed to be about to say more, but simply nodded and squeezing Homer’s shoulder, left the crew room.

“Ok my man, you heard the lady. Let’s get you to sickbay.” She stowed his helmet in his locker and guided him out of the ready room, inwardly more concerned about him than she’d been in a long time.


USS ANGEL – CAPTAIN’S READY ROOM
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1245 FST

After checking in with Gittings on the bridge, Kat had retired to her ready room. She looked at the pile of PADDs stacked to one side of her desk and sighed. It seemed that Starfleet would grind to a halt without the never-ending stream of red tape that passed back and forth between ships and headquarters.

Still, the reports could wait a little while longer. She wanted to start the ball rolling with Commander Data and placed a comm request with Starfleet Academy before studying the first PADD.

She was halfway through authorizing a components request sheet when the comm chirped. It was Ensign Xantharik at tactical.

“Ma’am, Commander Data from Starfleet Academy for you.”

“Pipe it through please Ensign.” Kat had marvelled at how well the brevet ensigns were coping with not only their first extended shipboard assignment, but the pressures that the current mission had placed on them. It seemed to fully vindicate Dan's trust in their abilities. Her thoughts were interrupted as the screen briefly flashed the Academy logo before clearing to show the pale face and golden eyes of Lieutenant Commander Data.

“Captain Gray.”

“Commander Data, thank you for responding so quickly.”

He inclined his head slightly. “I understood the nature of your request to be somewhat urgent and fortunately I am between courses right now. How may I help you?”

“I’m hoping that your expertise in the positronics field may help save a life actually,” she said and noted that fractional inclination of the head again.

“Save a life Captain?”

“That’s right Commander,” she smiled, “and I hope you’re sitting comfortably. This might take a little while to explain.”

 

[SilentP]

Glad to see O'Hara helping to pick up the pieces with Hammond, seems he's taken the accident quite to heart, though I'm wondering what the 'uncommanded control input' was. Sounds fairly suspicous.

It'll be interesting to see what Data thinks of the situation.

Keep it up

 

[Gibraltar]

Well, Homer’s keeping it together better than I’d expected, but Kat’s recommendation to get checked out is obviously the wisest course. The poor kid’s running on adrenaline and guilt at this point.

Bacco’s meeting with Kal went well, and on the surface at least he appears a very genuine philanthropist. I wonder, however, if perhaps he has some darker agenda, though if he does I can’t fathom what it might be.

It looks as though Chariscarpia’s racing against the clock, and wherever they end up putting her consciousness will amount to her final disposition. Data’s a great resource to call, and I’m left wondering if they’ve got time to try and produce a stable positronic net, or if they’ll have to cobble together something more along the lines of Dr. Grave’s storage device where Data’s ‘mind’ was housed briefly.

 

[unusualsuspex]

Chapter 9

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

9


PORT D'ESCALE APARTMENTS – SUITE 35
NOUVEAU MARSEILLE
NEW FRANCE
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1248 FST

When Dan arrived at the apartment, Anderson and Paul were already at work co-ordinating their scans and he quickly handed them his tricorder.

“Dan,” nodded Anderson. “Looks like we’ve got our location if your scan checks and ties in. Drink?” He pointed to the pot of coffee bubbling in a carafe on the side.

“No, thanks. I just had a pot on the company tab in the market place,” he grinned.

The apartment itself was a comfortably appointed residence in the Old Port District of Nouveau Marseille kept as a safe house for both Starfleet Intelligence and SpecOps operatives. Dan had used similar apartments in the past once or twice and knew that just like the ship they had arrived in, the standard appearance of the smart apartment hid a wealth of equipment.

Interrupting his train of thought, the tricorders beeped to indicate they had finished co-ordinating the scans and he leaned over the table to see the results.

“Bingo,” smiled Paul pointing to a spot on the map. “Confirms as the Sainte Etienne Hospital, rue de la Fédération.”

“Think this thing might have hospitalized him?” Anderson asked Dan.

He shrugged. “Who knows? If we knew what it was and more than just the fact that it can turn normal people psychotic, we’d be in a better position to guess.”

“Only one way to find out,” chipped in Paul. “Now we have a location, what’s the game plan?”

Anderson looked towards Dan. “Seems to me if he is in there, you should be the one that approaches him, which makes you point man. Adrian and I will take cover positions.” He took a wallet out of the holdall by the table. “You’ll have to play this one for real Dan, no assumed ID.” He passed over Dan’s ID card.

Dan took it and noted with a slight shiver that it was now marked ‘Starfleet-Resigned’. Tucking the card quickly into his wallet, he wondered just whether his resolve, which had so far remained strong, was about to be put to the test.


BALAK PAN-QUADRANT TRANSPORTATION ORBITAL OFFICES
ORBITAL DOCK
NEW FRANCE
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1259 FST

Following lunch Nan Bacco had transported up to New France’s orbital passenger liner dock with Balak. With Balak Pan-Quadrant Transportation being one of the major players in Federation vessel operations, they maintained an office on most orbital or planetary docks that their lines served.
Like his offices in Nouveau Marseille, this one was furnished elegantly but remained understated.

Nan now stood watching the continuous comings and goings of transports and liners from across the quadrant. Small, battered free traders weaved between huge gleaming star liners as they performed an intricate ballet of arrivals and departures beyond the vast transparisteel window that made up almost an entire wall of the office.

“You know it never ceases to amaze me when I watch this.” She waved her hands to encompass the bee hive of activity. “People and cargo travelling who knows where, doing who knows what. Kind of puts things into perspective doesn’t it?”

Balak chuckled. “I never thought I would hear a planetary governor admit to feeling small,” he said. “In fact, if I am to be totally honest I don’t believe I’ve ever met a politician quite like you Nan.”

She eyed him curiously. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

“Mais oui! I do not wish to tar all politicians and diplomats with the same brush of course, but I’m afraid I seem to have spent most of my career interacting with the more self-centred ones before now.” Balak showed Nan to a comfortable seat by the window. “Always more interested in how their actions will reflect upon themselves than how much real good they can do for those they represent.”

Nan could deeply sympathise with that. How often had she had to argue the refugee case with those who “fully sympathised” but were nevertheless reluctant to open up areas of their own worlds for the displaced? Too often for her liking.

Standing by the big bay window, his brow furrowed, he said “I am beginning to believe that it is the complacency of peace.”

“How do you mean?”

He waved his hand out towards the stars. “Here we are Nan, a mere galactic stone’s throw from the de-militarized zone where so many have recently suffered, and yet how many of those on New France or Betazed or Aldebaran or any of a hundred civilized worlds have felt the despair of real hunger or homelessness in the past century of relative stability?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Peace, it seems, leads many to believe that need and desperation need no longer concern the average citizen.”

“The problem is of course,” she replied, “that, on the whole, it’s true.”

“Possibly,” he conceded. “Imagine though, if tomorrow or next week or next year, that peace were to be shattered. What if the Borg were to return or an enemy even more intent not just on war, but on destruction?” He turned to Nan, a look of true concern on his face. “We have enjoyed our stable existence for so long Nan, how would the average citizen react then?”

It was a rhetorical question of course, yet Nan knew that with the burgeoning threat of the Dominion, it would be a question that might soon demand an answer.


SAINTE ETIENNE HOSPITAL - RECEPTION
NOUVEAU MARSEILLE
NEW FRANCE
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1312 FST

Built in the ever expanding modern quarters of Nouveau Marseille, the Saint-Etienne Hospital was a 40 floor edifice of chrome, ferrocrete and transparisteel rising above the surrounding city. When they’d entered the reception area Dan had stared up and up at the hollow atrium that rose above him, hemmed in all sides by the inner walls of offices and wards. Light from above streamed down reflected by the faceted glass windows and offset by greenery that appeared to grow out of the very walls themselves.

Anderson took a seat by the main doors to the hospital reception, picking up a magazine to study while Paul positioned himself by the comm booths. Both men carefully yet unobtrusively watched as Dan approached the wide desk.

“Good afternoon, I’m hoping you might be able to help me?”

“We can try sir,” smiled the young receptionist.

“I understand my friend may have been admitted to hospital in the past couple of days? I’m afraid I’ve only just arrived on planet and the people I spoke to were fairly sure it was the Sainte Etienne.” He tried to look as ingenuous as possible as he handed over Gabriel’s details.

The young woman took them but after several moments of tapping at her computer, she shook her head. “I’m sorry sir, I can find no record of an admission under that name at all.”

"Oh." Dan placed his hands behind his back, one holding the other; a sign to Anderson and Paul that the name wasn’t registered. Noting the signal, both men moved around opposite ends of the reception desk to meet on the far side and wait for Dan.

“Perhaps it was the Sainte Sebastian Hospital? They’re less than two kilometres from here and I suppose the name is similar.” The receptionist was obviously trying to be helpful and Dan nodded his thanks.

“I’ll try there then.” He smiled and added “Thank you for checking,” before heading towards the public freshers on the far side of the reception hall. Halfway across the wide atrium he glanced behind him and, seeing that the receptionist was already dealing with another enquiry, he turned and followed the curving inner wall around to the left. When he eventually joined up with Anderson and Paul, he saw that the Colonel had his tricorder out and was unobtrusively scanning.

“Definitely here,” he whispered.

“Though it might not be Gabriel,” cautioned Dan. It was the one thing that worried them; the fact that there was one transponder still unaccounted for and if Gabriel had deactivated his, then this was a wild goose chase.

“Let’s go find out.”

There first hope had been to find that Martello had been admitted as a patient for whatever reason. The front desk would have had his details and Dan, as a worried close friend, would have asked if it was possible to visit. With that option closed, they now rode upwards in the turbolift with Anderson scanning as they ascended.

As they passed the fourteenth floor, Anderson called out “Whoa, just passed it.”

Ordering the ‘lift to halt and return to the fourteenth level, they cautiously stepped out into a quiet and fortunately deserted hallway. Doors lined each side to the end, each marked with the name of a physician or department head. While Paul maintained a guard position by the ‘lift, Dan and Anderson proceeded down the hall scanning each office in turn.

At last, just two from the end, Anderson stopped. Switching to a short range scan, he nodded to Dan holding up one finger and pointing toward the door to indicate that there was just the single occupant in the room. Dan took a deep breath and as Anderson stepped out of sight of the door, he pressed the call panel and heard the melodic chime inside.


PAUL PAINLEVE SPACEPORT
NOUVEAU MARSEILLE
NEW FRANCE
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1315 FST

Nathan Alexander had worked undercover many times during his career as a Starfleet Intelligence field operative. Blending in had become second nature to him and as he trawled the berths of Paul Painleve Spaceport for information, he went generally unnoticed by the dockers and freighter crews.

Occasionally, he would stop and talk to a ground crew member and playing the part of a bored spacer he’d chat for a while saying that he was looking up old contacts while he was in port.

The conversation would generally work around to the fact that Alexander had a friend who should have been working his way through Nouveau Marseille and he would then show them Martello’s picture. So far though, he’d struck out with nobody recognising the man in the holo.

So he’d bid each one of them a friendly farewell and moved further along the dock to start the charade all over again. He was now at the point of turning and heading back to the Picador but realised with only three berths left to cover, he may as well continue to the end.

As he’d worked his way further out from the central hub of the spaceport, the berths had become increasingly spartan and utilitarian. One or two were actually closed with grass growing through the cracked ferrocrete of the blast pit floor. The subsequent number of staff out this far had decreased as well. Alexander decided that his next interrogation would be his last and approached a man dressed in fluorescent orange coveralls manfully struggling to move a jammed hoist brace.

Alexander leaned in to help and within seconds the brace was free.

“Thanks fella. Coulda been here half my shift with that damn thing.” The dark skinned man wiped his face and hands with a damp cloth before sticking out one of his huge paws with a broad grin.

“Tom LeMar, shift supervisor.”

LeMar’s grip was calloused and firm and his smile was genuine as Alexander introduced himself as Maxwell Skerrit.

“So what brings you way out to the dead end of the port Max?” With the hoist brace free, LeMar had gone back to dextrously moving the cargo palettes in the pit as he talked.

“Ah, you know what it’s like. Not enough time on the ground to visit the better parts of the city but too much time to stay cooped up in the ship. Thought I’d head out here and reminisce.”

On his wanderings through the port, Alexander had gleaned a little local history which he weaved into his fictitious characters background now. How he’d been here back in ’64 when a lot of the pits were like this and how he’d just entered orbit when the Mare Librium had been hijacked in ’68 as well as other snippets he’d picked up. As always, Alexander steered the conversation around to transient comrades and he dutifully spun the Martello story again.
It was only when he handed over the holo of Martello that LeMar’s whole demeanour changed.

“You say this is a friend of yours right?” He’d stopped his cargo shifting and now fixed Alexander with a belligerent stare.

“Well I haven’t seen him for a while, but yeah. Problem?” Alexander tensed himself as LeMar stepped down from the cab of the palette shifter. He had little doubt that he could take the man down despite his size but that wasn’t the problem. “Whoa look Tom, I ain’t sure what’s wrong but I don’t want any trouble here.” He backed up slightly giving himself room to manoeuvre.

“Shame your friend here didn’t think the same,” LeMar snarled and threw the holo back at Alexander. “Oh I’ve seen him alright. Two days ago when he almost killed one of my team ‘cos his ship was blocked off on the ramp by a tramp trader.”

“Look, I’m not sure what went wrong Tom, but you gotta believe that’s not like the guy I knew, honest.” He held his hands up, palm out trying to calm the docker down.

LeMar leaned in close. “Well you can tell him if you find him that the guy he almost killed in berth 42 is now in a mechanized frame for 6 months. If he ever, and I mean ever, sets foot on one of my berths again, I’ll personally take him down.” Without another word he climbed back up into the cab and angrily slammed the hoist into motion.

Alexander quickly retreated but he had what he needed. Martello had been here but left two days ago from berth 42. As he hurried back to the Picador he knew it was just a case of checking port records for a ship type and name and they’d have him.

 

[unusualsuspex]

Chapter 9 (cont)

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

9 (cont)

SAINTE ETIENNE HOSPITAL – LEVEL 14
NOUVEAU MARSEILLE
NEW FRANCE
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1315 FST

“Enter.”

The voice certainly wasn’t Martello’s thought Dan as the door slid aside, and the man sat behind the desk definitely wasn’t Martello either. A bald man at least in his late seventies, it was obviously the Doctor Albert Canard named on the door plaque and he peered somewhat myopically at Dan.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh, erm, yes. I’m sorry Doctor, you’re not with a patient are you?”

Canard held out his hands to indicate the otherwise empty office and smiled. “It would appear not.”

Dan had entered the office expecting to either face Gabriel or possibly the other name on their list, a woman by the name of Maz Ekkather. To find neither here where the transponder signal indicated at least one of them should be had thrown him entirely.

“Doctor, I realise you don’t know me but we seriously need to talk.”

Canard stood, an act which didn’t add greatly to his height, and fixed Dan with a baleful glare. “That is what appointment systems are for young man. Now if you wouldn’t mind leaving, I’m expecting a patient shortly. Or perhaps you’d like a security escort? Hmm?”

Dan was about to answer when Anderson’s voice interjected from behind him.

“That won’t be necessary Doctor, but my colleague here is quite correct. We do need to talk and I’m afraid the only appointment we have open is right now.” He stepped around Dan and pointed at the flustered physician. “I wouldn’t press that button either Doctor. At least let me identify myself?”

Canard flopped back into his chair his hands now in plain view on his desk as Anderson proffered a fake ID.

“Office of Federal Investigations?” The look on Canard’s face would have been comical had the circumstances not been so dire.

“Don’t look so worried Doctor,” smiled Anderson, although the smile carried an edge of warning. “We’re not here to investigate you.” He placed the holo of Martello in front of the plainly terrified doctor. “We simply need a little information on this man. For instance have you seen him at all?”

“Yes officer, yes! I, oh wait a minute…” Canard rummaged around in his desk drawer for a moment before withdrawing a file. “He was here the day before yesterday, a Starfleet officer…” He scanned quickly through the file. “Ah here it is. Captain Hans Grettel from the USS Trail? He was here on leave and asked if I could remove this.” He took the transponder from a small box and held it aloft in his fingers. “Apparently a redundant sub-cutaneous transponder that was now irritating him. A very simple procedure, but somewhat delicate.”

Anderson stood and looked at Dan before returning his attention to Canard. “I don’t suppose Captain…Grettel left something helpful like an address did he doctor?”

Canard shook his head quickly. “No, no I’m afraid not. There was just his ship assignment and instructions that the transponder should be returned to Starfleet.” He glanced worriedly between Anderson and Dan. “I haven’t done something wrong in removing this have I? I mean we’ve had such requests before and…”

Anderson held up his hands to stem the flow of protestations from Canard. “No doctor that’s fine, but I needn’t tell you that this conversation is strictly confidential.”

The evident relief that he’d apparently not committed a crime set Canard to bobbing his head. “Absolutely officer, you can rely on my confidence.”

“In that case we’ll leave you to your work doctor. Hopefully we shouldn’t need to revisit you. If you’ll excuse us?”

As Anderson and Dan left the office, Canard wiped a thin sheen of sweat from his brow. Why is it he thought, that no matter how innocent one is, one always panics when questioned by security types?

He looked briefly at the transponder on his desk before hurriedly replacing it in the small case and vowing to return it to Starfleet post haste.

******

Outside the office they saw Paul at the lift waving and gesturing at the hand held communicator.

“It’s Alice. Nathan’s just got back with information that Martello’s already left. He’s following it up now.”

Anderson took the communicator and spoke quickly. “Alice, get the ship ready to lift. We’ll be back inside thirty minutes.” Turning to Dan he raised his eyebrows. “What the hell is this Captain Hans Grettel business?”

Dan smiled. “You obviously didn’t read enough fairy tales when you were younger did you?” At Anderson’s puzzled look, Dan’s smile grew wider. “I don’t know how he’s doing it if he’s under mind control Abe, but Gabriel’s leaving us a breadcrumb trail.”


USS ANGEL – SCIENCE LAB 4
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1318 FST

For all her love of science, T’Sell was well aware that positronics was not her field of speciality and had found that following the conversation between Data and Chariscarpia had become increasingly more confusing as they’d progressed from Federation based knowledge and practice into esoteric fields of theoretical work. Excusing herself, she told Data that she would be working at a neighbouring workstation if he wished to speak to her.

“Thank you Commander T’Sell, I will call you if I require anything.”

The problem was that between Data and Chariscarpia, they had to devise a positronic net that was some way removed from what Federation science was currently working on if Chariscarpia was to survive.

The transference of a sentient essence into a positronic interface was at least theoretically possible but fraught with complications and had essentially bogged down when moral implications raised their head.

“You do realise that the level of work required to achieve this transfer may well be beyond our current capabilities Chariscarpia?” Data was determined not to hold out false hope to the intriguing alien. “I should warn you that when I previously attempted to create my own offspring, the results were…distressing.”

It had been five years ago tha Data had created Lal; she had been a Soong-type android, constructed by Data in 2366 utilising a newly developed submicron matrix transfer technology. Using his own positronic brain as a template, Data had created Lal with two imperatives – to attempt to re-create the work of his "father", Noonien Soong; and to experience the act of procreation, and of having a family.
Initially, it appeared that he had succeeded but when Starfleet Admiral Anthony Haftel ordered Data to transfer Lal to the Daystrom Institute annex on Galor IV for study, the emotional trauma caused a cascade failure in her neural net. When it proved irreparable, Lal’s neural net shutdown, her “death” affecting Data deeply.

“I have had access to the files you published Commander, and I am sorry for your loss. The simple fact is that without an attempt at the work, my life is also forfeit. I would prefer to at least make the attempt, but if this violates either your own personal code of ethics or the regulations imposed by the Federation, then I would not wish to indict you.”

There was a moments silence as Data absorbed this before he replied.

“Chariscarpia, I feel it would be a greater crime against my moral standards and those of the Federation not to attempt this.”

While Data had no visual contact with Chariscarpia, he almost imagined he could detect a silent bowing of her head in thanks.

“You have my gratitude Commander. Your father and daughter would be proud of you.”

“It is only very recently that I have discovered the true meaning of emotions Chariscarpia, but your words are comforting. Perhaps it is best that we begin work as soon as possible.”

And so, aboard the ship that had been designed to save many, the operation to save just one began.

 

[Gibraltar]

The hunt for the alien artifact and for Dan’s friend grows increasingly interesting as the bread crumb trail continues.

And now Data and Chariscarpia must endeavor to re-create Dr. Soong’s work in order to save her existence. The good news is that we know it’s been done before at least once, in the case of Juliana Tainer, Dr. Soong’s ex-wife.

Wonderful stuff!

 

[unusualsuspex]

Chapter 10

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

10

USS ANGEL – MEDCENTRE ONE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1333 FST

“Well, I can honestly say Lieutenant Richmond that all you really need right now is some rest and perhaps a little good news.” Winston closed his tricorder and sat on the end of the biobed where he’d been examining Homer. “I’m afraid the former is your responsibility, but the latter I may be able to help with.”

He pointed to the adjoining door leading through into the critical care ward.

“It’s still early days of course but the prognosis for Commander Escher is looking better by the minute.”

It was the news Homer had been praying for and he closed his eyes, the tension at last beginning to evaporate with Winston’s news. He nodded gratefully before asking “Doctor, will she fly again?”

Winston paused momentarily before answering. “You have to understand Lieutenant, after an accident of this severity I wouldn’t wish to promise anything. Much depends on the Commander herself and her spirit to return to flying.” He smiled then. “However if it’s anything like her tenacity to survive, then I suspect that it would take more than major surgery to keep her out of the cockpit.”

Winston stood and placed the tricorder on his desk before turning back to Homer and placing a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Now, if you really want to help Commander Escher, I’d suggest you get some rest. She’ll want all the support she can get and seeing you looking like the inside of a rat’s bum isn’t going to help.”

Homer couldn’t help but chuckle to hear the articulate Winston deliver a line like that.

“Thank you Doctor, advice taken.” As he started for the door, he stopped and turned back. “Thank you on behalf of Gabby as well. She’s in good hands.”

Smiling as the doors to MedCentre One closed behind the departing pilot, Winston sighed recalling a Chinese proverb he’d once read. “If you want happiness for a lifetime - help the next generation.”

I’ll need to tell Katherine that one he mused before tapping the key to reception.

“Nurse Arand, could you send in the next patient please?”


CARAMAR FREIGHT HAULER SS PICADOR
PAUL PAINLEVE SPACEPORT – BERTH 14
NOUVEAU MARSEILLE
NEW FRANCE
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1342 FST

Arriving back at berth 14 Dan, Anderson and Paul were met at the lock by Alice.

“Nathan’s just checking with Port Control about Martello’s ship then heading back here. The duty crew are just prepping the ship and we should be ready to lift within the next 20 minutes or so.”

Anderson rubbed his hands together realising that suddenly they were one step closer to achieving their goals. Strangely, that might now be due in part to Martello though how he was fighting the mind control to leave a trail was still a mystery to him.

If something was controlling his mind, his thoughts and his actions as it clearly seemed to be, how could it not be aware of him leaving clues and pointers for the team he was obviously aware was following him? There was an element still missing from the story although right now he would accept all the help he could get, however unlikely the source.

As they stepped into Mission Ops Alice sat down at her console. “While you boys were enjoying the fresh air, I’ve been checking up on known instances of mind control, although,” - she brought up a screen that scrolled continuously as they watched - “as you can see, there’s enough and more to fill Memory Alpha.”

Paul tapped Anderson on the shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt Abe. I’ll just store the weapons then head back up to wait for Nathan.”

Anderson nodded then turned back to Alice. “Any chance of narrowing it down?”

“I’ve got a request out to the Repository for any more data from the derelict that might give us a clue as to where to start looking, but without more information we’re stumped.”

Anderson nodded as he pointed to Dan, saying “Dan here thinks it’s possible that Martello may have been able to bypass total mind control for some reason. Right now, it seems as if he might be attempting to leave us a trail of some kind, but I’m damned if I can see how he’s managing it.” He indicated the still scrolling screen and smiled. “I know you have a load on already, but it might be worth checking on his psychiatric background to see if there’s anything that might suggest he could do that?”

“I’ll run it up now.” She tapped in requests at her console then sat back to await replies. “With any luck it might even give us a clue to the nature of whatever’s in that artefact.”

They all turned as Alexander entered Mission Ops on the run and smiling. “Got it!” he exclaimed. “A pilot answering Martello’s description shipped out day before yesterday in a class four civilian shuttle, the SS Leech, flight planned out to Kressari.”

Alice quickly typed in the information and watched as details flickered up on her console.

“Yep, here it is. According to the registry database, the vessel’s name was changed by deed eight hours prior to departure when it was purchased from a Tellarite trader named Gov gal Breth. Formerly the T.T.V. Dispute.”

“There’s something else you’ll like,” grinned Alexander. “Records state that he apologised to control for his slow dock clearance, but his plasma manifolds were in need of an overhaul.”

“So not only is he slowed down, but if we’re lucky he’ll be leaving a decent trail despite all the traffic?” Anderson looked at Dan once more, his grin feral. “Damned if you might not just be right about him Dan. It looks like he’s leaving us a breadcrumb trail a mile wide!”

As the Picador lifted, hopes were high that the trail wouldn’t be cold and their superior speed would at least give them a chance to overhaul him. Of course only one person aboard the ship knew that a small thermolytic charge attached to the starboard nacelle was about to give Section 31 a head start in the chase.


BALAK PAN-QUADRANT TRANSPORTATION ORBITAL OFFICES
ORBITAL DOCK
NEW FRANCE
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1357 FST

Nan had watched the ISCS Olympic and the ISCS Majestic arrive at the orbital dock together and they hung now like gleaming jewels in orbit above New France resplendent in the royal blue markings of the Balak fleet. Beside them sat the SS Hercules, a cargo vessel that was no less pristine in appearance than the two much larger starliners.

As she and Balak walked to the main transporter hub, he explained that teams had already started working on putting in temporary partitions to provide more personal spaces for the refugees.

“It won’t be the kind of accommodation we normally advertise for our liners, but I suspect that won’t be a major cause for complaint,” he smiled.

“Kal, I know I’ve said this before and it still seems more than inadequate, but you have not only my thanks but those of the refugees. This is truly a magnanimous gesture.” She held his hands and her thanks were more than evident in her eyes.

“Thanks are really not necessary, but I would ask two things of you.”

“Certainly, what are they?” Nan couldn’t think of a single thing that she would be able to do to repay this kind of debt. Balak was not the type of man who would ask for political favours and he certainly didn’t require financial remuneration.

“Firstly, should it become public knowledge that my vessels were used for this mission, simply refer the questioner to my PR people. I do not wish to capitalise on this Nan and they will be able to deflect the majority of the story.”

She nodded at the simple request, still astounded that somebody with Balak’s business acumen and standing would wish for such a philanthropic act to remain secret.

“And secondly?”

“Secondly I ask a personal favour. I want you to think long and hard about running for the presidency.” Nan was about to interrupt but Balak held up his hands. “I’m serious. I know that it is perhaps the furthest thought from your mind, but the Federation needs a leader who understands the moral imperatives of their position. Jaresh Inyo is a fine peace time president Nan, but I fell that it will not be a peace time Federation for much longer.” Taking her gently by the elbow, he led her to the transporter pads. “Peace and freedom are worth fighting for, figuratively and literally, and you understand that. At least promise me that you will consider it.”

Balak made a good case for a change in presidency, especially in these unsettled times, but her?

“I promise Kal, I’ll give it serious thought.” What surprised Nan somewhat was the fact that she honestly meant it. But for now, she had other tasks that required her attention.

Balak kissed her on both cheeks in the traditional manner of the French and bid her farewell as she stepped on to the transporter pads for her transfer to the Olympic. Her last sight of him as the sparkle of the transporter began to momentarily obscure her vision was the image of a man on a crusade. It was an image she liked.


USS ANGEL – SCIENCE LAB 4
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1416 FST

Data had decided that it would prove beneficial to conduct his discussion with Chariscarpia via a direct neural net link. It would enable the accurate sending and translation of scientific theorems and concepts unambiguously. For over an hour now, Data and Chariscarpia had exchanged information at a speed that humans would never have been able to follow and the basic premise of what they needed to achieve had been laid down.

Creating a body for Chariscarpia was the easy part of course. Data had achieved this before in the form of Lal and the results had been beyond even his desires, at least in that respect. Tripolymer composites, molybdenum-cobalt alloys and bioplast sheeting were both easily replicated and easy to form into the body that Chariscarpia would require.

This was a task that he had immediately delegated to Ensign Dixon, the most junior member of the Angel team that had been assembled to work on the problem. The young woman had surprised him with her swift understanding of the requirements and her no nonsense approach to engineering.

The difficulty now lay in the creation of a neural net sufficiently advanced to accommodate Chariscarpia’s essence, and there arose Data’s greatest concern. After the cascade failure in Lal’s neural net that led to her ‘death’, Data had realised that it was the emotional stress of a threatened separation from him that had been the catalyst. Of course until very recently, emotions had been a mystery to him and it was only now that he had begun to understand fully what had happened.

In the mission that had resulted in the destruction of the Enterprise-D, he had installed the emotion chip that had been a gift from his ‘father’ Dr Noonien Soong. Within a short period of time, he too had suffered a neural net failure but had recovered to find that the newly installed chip was now permanently fused into his positronic brain. Of course, his recovery was an encouraging sign if they were to help Chariscarpia.

“Perhaps,” suggested Chariscarpia, “you were able to cope with the influx of emotions because you had more life experience than Lal. It cannot have been easy for her to understand the depths of emotions so suddenly thrust upon her.”

Data had also considered this. “It may also be of help to you,” he told her, “that you are arriving at this point with a full understanding of emotions and their resultant cumulative effect.” He paused. “It does seem strange that we should be polar opposites on converging courses in our existence does it not?”

“In what way Commander?” Chariscarpia had found Data to have a depth of understanding and concern for others that even some flesh and blood people she had known seemed to lack. At times it was almost a childlike quality.

“I, born an android, have always aimed to become human believing it would be the pinnacle of my existence. You, on the other hand, are approaching from the opposite direction having been born a sentient being and now, through circumstances not of your making, requiring to become an artificial sentience.”

Even though she had no physical form to convey it, the smile in her voice was evident. “Let us hope then that the point where our courses converge is the one where we both wish to be.”

“Indeed.” He checked his net to confirm that the data she had sent him containing theoretical work by her own people was intact and legible. “I will evaluate the information you have sent before commencing a final construction of the neural net and contact you as soon as possible.” He recalled the words of Commander Will Riker when they had once talked about his desire to become human and repeated them now to Chariscarpia. “It will not be an easy task, but I have it on good advice that nothing worthwhile ever is.”

“Thank you Commander.”

Data bid her farewell and then switched channels to speak to Commander T’Sell, explaining that he would now be studying information provided by Chariscarpia that may possibly contain the answers they needed if they were to solve the problem.

T’Sell hoped that it was so, because the clock was ticking and none of them knew exactly how much time they had left.

 

[unusualsuspex]

Chapter 10 (cont)

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

10 (cont)


THIRTEEN DAYS EARLIER
STARFLEET ARTEFACT REPOSITORY – SECTION ALPHA
ANNEX TO MEMORY ALPHA
UFP SPACE
September 1st 2371 – 1700 FST

When Gabriel Martello had first started studying the artefact at the Repository, he’d found that he’d begun to have strange dreams. In truth, they were only strange to him because he rarely, if ever, recalled his dreams yet these were so vivid. They invariably contained recurring images of flight through space, a distinct feeling without statement that there was a destination to be reached and an odd sense of dread.

Several times when he’d inspected the artefact up close as he often did, he’d found that he’d drifted into a trance like state, simply staring at it. Not for long and certainly it hadn’t been noticed by anybody else but it had surprised, if not overly concerned him. In the absence of ill effects afterwards, he’d dismissed any concern convincing himself that it was nothing but overwork. It was the occurrence during the final inspection he’d made of the artefact almost two weeks ago, though, which was to set in motion the chain of events that led him to the here and now.

It had been late in the afternoon, just after the shift change when he’d been studying the device and had once again fallen into the trance like state. What he hadn’t known at the time, and what he wouldn’t become aware of until it was too late, was that the stupor-like state was a symptom of the telepathic control being exerted by the queen parasite within the artefact.

Completely beyond his volition, he’d tapped his commbadge and contacted the security officer on duty in the control booth. “Martello to Alpha Control.” The voice was his, completely relaxed and free of duress, and yet he wasn’t in control of it.

“Alpha Control, go ahead Sir.”

“Mr Jackson, I’m just down at station 42. Could you possibly run a surveillance switch please?”

The surveillance switch was a routine system of switching from external power to the internal backup for Section Alpha. While it dropped the monitors for three to four seconds, all the shields remained in place and the short blank spot was deemed non-critical as far as intruders were concerned. Of course, as facility commander it was well within his capacity to request such routine tests.

“Will do Sir. Is there a problem?”

His mind screamed “Yes”! but the words that emerged betrayed his thoughts. “No, I just want to check the discontinuity period that’s all.”

“Standby Sir.” Gabriel heard the sound of Jackson entering the commands on his console before he said, “On my mark Sir - three, two, one, mark.”

Unable to move or react in any way as the surveillance monitors powered down, he watched in horror as a glowing patch appeared on the artefact and a small, purplish creature oozed free. Six small legs carried it rapidly towards the open door of the artefact enclosure where it leapt directly towards his face. With a feeling of revulsion, he’d felt it enter his mouth and slip down his throat before a searing pain had almost made him black out entirely.

“Sir?”

His mind cleared slowly and as it did so he heard the concern in Jackson’s voice. Once again, the words he replied with were calm and unhurried but not the ones formed by his mind. This time however he knew without a doubt that the controlling authority wasn’t from inside the artefact but within himself.

“Sorry Mr Jackson.” He closed the door, stepped back and waved up at the control booth where Jackson had stood to look over his console. “I was just checking the readings here. What did you get?”

“Ah, 3.7 seconds Sir.”

And in that brief space of time, Gabriel Martello’s fate was no longer his own to control. He’d stepped up to the booth and thanked Jackson, telling him he could switch back and made a show of monitoring the procedure though the parasite now controlling him was uncaring of the results.

In fact, in the part of Gabriel’s mind that the parasite was unaware of, he could sense the overpowering emotions it exuded.

ESCAPE – VENGEANCE

He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was to become instrumental in both of those actions and despite that tiny corner of his mind remaining free, he also knew there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to prevent it.


CARAMAR FREIGHT HAULER SS PICADOR – CREW QUARTERS
EN ROUTE TO KRESSARI
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1437 FST

Once again, the Section 31 infiltrator had dispatched a one way message to his backup team in the stealth shuttle that had been shadowing them in their search for Martello.

TARGET HEADING TO KRESSARI.
SHUTTLE SS LEECH.
PLASMA CONDUIT LEAK, TRAIL SHOULD BE DETECTABLE.
WILL ACTION THIS END.

He terminated the compressed transmission quickly and replaced the small keypad in its hiding place. He finally checked the remote detonation device he carried and set it for five minutes before dropping it into the recycler, its mission complete as the transmission to the tiny thermolytic charge began its countdown to detonation.


CARAMAR FREIGHT HAULER SS PICADOR – MISSION OPS
EN ROUTE TO KRESSARI
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1441 FST

Having cleared the orbital control of New France and free to manoeuvre, Alice had set to work on initiating a scan for the plasma trail they hoped Martello’s ship had left. However, at two days old and in a heavily trafficked area such as this, the trail was not yet obvious.

Setting the scan to automatic, she turned her attention to the file she’d just received on Martello containing both psych and operational evaluations. For some time she quietly scanned it, occasionally checking back to refer to previous entries. Nothing immediately leapt out at Alice that might go towards explaining his ability to at least partially evade the mind control that was so obviously being exerted upon him. It was then that she reached the section classified as SPECOPS DENY and as she read on, the answer began to become clear.

In 2361, Martello had been one of a group of special operations officers who had volunteered to take part in an anti-interrogation trial designed to aid in concealing information from the Cardassians in the event of capture. The undercover missions they were now undertaking required them to carry knowledge that, should it fall into the hands of the Cardassians, could prove fatal to the war effort.

Of course all special operations units were trained in anti-interrogation techniques, but the Cardassians had of late become increasingly inhuman in their treatment of prisoners and despite their best efforts, officers were breaking.
SPECOPS DENY was as much a surgical procedure as a taught technique with a small section of the individual’s brain effectively isolated and taken out of the normal autonomic loop yet accessible on command by the individual. In the event of interrogation, the individual could completely isolate this section so that they could in effect retreat to it as a refuge, unreachable by pain, drugs or threats.

Alice hit the comm to the bridge.

“Abe, I think I have that information you requested.”

“Is that the prospective client information or the cargo…”

His words were cut off as the ship lurched sideways and the lights dimmed to backup levels. All of Alice’s screens died and remained resolutely blank as the thrum of the ship’s warp drive died.

After a moments disconcerting silence, the impulse drive kicked in and there was a second lurch as the ship’s inertial damping fields caught up. One by one, the screens in Mission Ops flickered back to life and Alice initiated an immediate scan around the vessel. For the briefest moment, there was the ghost of a return which she couldn’t lock on to but immediately swung all sensors to the grid it had registered in.

Alexander dashed into Mission Ops, his hair wet and his t-shirt not a great deal less so.

“What the hell happened?”

“Hang on Nathan; I’m just resetting the system.”

He watched as Burgess’ fingers flew across her consoles, bringing the full arrays back online. Finally she turned to him, a look of mild shock on her face.

“Look at this!” She pointed at a screen that showed the dim outline of something against the background glow of stars.

“Did they fire on us?”

“Not according to sensors, but hell I don’t even know who or what they are.”

The comm chirped and Anderson’s face appeared on the screen.

“Alice, warp’s out and the hull’s compromised back beyond bulkhead 85. Any idea what hit us?”

She shook her head and transferred the sensor information to the bridge.

“I don’t know what this is, but its stealthed big time and shows a Federation warp signature. Can’t be a coincidence that the two things happen at the same time Abe.”

He squinted at the faint image and nodded his head.

“Agreed. Alice work on cleaning that up. We’ve got a planetoid off to starboard, I’ll get us down there and we’ll check out the damage. Nathan, Adrian; get down to the airlock and move out when we hit dirt.”

 

[Gibraltar]

Looks like S-31 just took the Picador out of the pursuit. Those guys just don’t play fair, man.

And now we know it’s the creepy little purple mind-control bugs from TNG’s first season. Looks like they had made it out to this quadrant previously.

Things just went from bad to worse at warp speed.

 

[SilentP]

Frakking little body horrors

Nice comeback for them though, let's see how they end up playing with our poor Starfleeters.

 

[unusualsuspex]

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

11

USS ANGEL – SCIENCE LAB 1
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1454 FST

“This is so…well I don’t know how to put it.” Vonny Dixon looked at the articulation frame that had descended from the ceiling. She would never have imagined in a thousand years that this would be one of her tasks when she took her extended assignment aboard the Angel. The holographic image within the articulation frame showed the internal structure of a Soong type android and it would be her task to bring it to life.

T’Sell placed a hand over her mouth to cover her slight smile at Dixon’s enthusiasm.

“I feel like Dr Frankenstein.” She turned to T’Sell, a slight blush on her face. “That’s not to say I’m creating a monster Ma’am, obviously. I mean I know that we’re not doing…that is, we are creating a…”

With a raised eyebrow, T’Sell looked at Dixon until her tumble of words eventually faded. “Ensign, I understand what you are trying to say, although your efforts would be better concentrated on the schematics than defending your statement.”

“Sorry Ma’am.” Dixon ducked under the railing at the back of the articulation frame and tapped in several commands at the console. Within the frame many of the components turned green in the holographic image, a few were amber and the minority were highlighted in red.

Dixon pointed at the image explaining the colour coding to T’Sell. “I’ve broken it down so that off the shelf components are in green, those that can be adjusted are amber and the ones that we need to replicate and refine are red.”

“Very well Ensign. I’ve spoken to Commander Machilveen and until further notice you are reassigned solely to this project.”

The majority of the engineering staff were down on Zethander offering aid in reclamation and repair projects with a skeleton staff tending to the Angel. As the ship was currently operating at what Machilveen described as “tip top condition”, sparing Dixon hadn’t been a problem.

T’Sell nodded as Dixon thanked her, and then left to update the Captain on their progress so far.

At her console, Vonny patched in a line to the Hildr to speak to Chariscarpia.

“Vonny, it is good to speak with you again.”

“You too Chariscarpia. Erm, I’m not sure if Commander T’Sell told you but I’m responsible for creating your…body?”

There was a hint of amusement in Chariscarpia’s reply. “Actually, Commander Data advised me that you were heading that particular part of the project.”

“Oh ok.” Vonny paused slightly before saying “I actually need to ask you a question.”

“By all means Vonny.”

“Well, it’s just that I wasn’t sure what you wanted to look like. I mean not that there was anything wrong with how you looked when you were…” Vonny had been about to say alive but bit back the word just in time. “I’m sorry, I tend to talk faster than I think when I’m nervous or excited.”

“Do not apologise Vonny. Actually I too have been considering the question of my appearance. I believe that I would like to change it slightly.” Following her conversation with Data, she had her reasons for her decision but for now kept them to herself.

“So, any thoughts on how much you wanted to change or, well, what race or whatever?” Vonny thought it was perhaps the most bizarre conversation she’d had in quite some time. Certainly since she’d left the Academy anyway.

“I simply wish to appear human Vonny.”

“Now that,” said Vonny with conviction, “is something I believe I can manage!”

With a shared laugh, they set to work on the new Chariscarpia.


SS LEECH
IN FLIGHT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1502 FST

Gabriel watched his hands and fingers tremble as they performed the routine task of flying the shuttle, feeling detached and almost as if he were undergoing an out of body experience. Of course the parasite had no idea that this small section of his mind was still aware of what was happening, even if he could do nothing to control his own physical actions.

One thing he had been able to do was vaguely influence minor events which had surprised him. In the cordoned off section of his mind, he had insinuated thoughts into his consciousness that the parasite appeared to take for memories or standard procedures. Thus he’d been able to invent the pseudonym of Captain Hans Gretel and the fictional vessel USS Trail. The parasite had detected the transponder quite easily and realised it needed to be removed before it could give away his location. It also accepted that he would require an alias for the simple procedure of removing it and had raised no objection to the subtle suggestion he had fed back.

Similarly, the faulty plasma conduit had been relegated to a minor matter requiring no immediate repair because he had registered the thought that it would take time that he knew the parasite didn’t want to waste.

So while still a prisoner to the creature’s commands and wishes, he had found some slight niche in its defences that he now hoped would enable the team that he was certain would be on his trail to exploit.

A short while ago, long range sensors had detected an explosion behind them and since that point he had been continually scanning to ascertain whether it had anything to do with their flight from New France. Of course it had been the parasite that had instigated the heightened scans but Gabriel was as anxious as the parasite to find out if there was anything in their wake.

So far, the answer was no. What he really wanted to find out was their eventual destination, because Kressari wasn’t it. That had merely been a simple entry on the flight plan for their departure from New France, but he knew that their real destination was beyond that, even if he didn’t know how he knew.

As his thoughts drifted back to New France, the vicious and unwarranted attack on the helpless docker still haunted him having been beyond his control entirely. He’d simply asked him how long the Rigellian tramp freighter would be blocking their ramp as he’d scheduled out within 20 minutes.

“Look buddy, I haul cargo and run palettes. Ask control.”

He’d turned away to continue his work and completely out of the blue, Gabriel found that he’d grabbed the man by the arm and screamed in his face “DO NOT TREAT ME LIKE A FOOL!”

The power with which he’d thrown him against the gantry had sickened the secluded part of his mind that was still Gabriel Martello, and yet the parasite seemed to revel in the violent attack and seemed ready to finish the hapless docker. Gabriel had quickly insinuated the thought that they should leave quickly before anybody found the docker and questions were asked. Their eventual departure had preceded the discovery of the badly injured man by just half an hour, by which time of course they were in free space.

Now he hoped that the change of vessel name to Leech would give the clue to whoever was deciphering his trail that a parasite was involved. Until such time as somebody eventually caught up, he could ponder other ways of making the trail more obvious without raising the suspicions of the parasite.


IMPERIAL LINES STARLINER I.S.C.S.OLYMPIC
EN-ROUTE TO STARBASE 310 (CARDASSIAN BORDER REGION)
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1538 FST

Nan had wandered the corridors and decks of the Olympic watching as its temporary transformation from luxury liner to refugee ship took place. She’d eventually decided that she may as well travel aboard the vessel and dock the diplomatic shuttle on board, giving her time to inspect one of the ships that would bring to fruition her months of painstaking organisation.

Normally she would have travelled on the Palombo, the yacht that Governors of Cestus III had used for...well, quite some time. With the Palombo laid up in dry dock however, the diplomatic shuttle had been provided by Starfleet.

When she’d arrived at her assigned quarters close to the bridge, she’d been surprised to find a small gift wrapped package lying on her dressing table. The label had read, “I hope this gift meets with your satisfaction, from a friend who has no idea what it’s all about.” The tag was signed with a flourish by Kal Balak and when she opened it, she discovered an honest to goodness hard copy book. On checking inside the cover, she was even more astonished to see it was a first issue.

On the royal blue cloth cover, lettered in gilt, was the title ‘Babe Ruth's Own Book of Baseball’ and the author’s name, George Herman Ruth. Published in 1928 it carried the great player’s autograph across one of the front pages. A small note slipped from the wrapping paper and Nan placed the book on her bedside cabinet as she picked it up to read.

Written in Kal’s neat script, it said:

“Nan,
I’m afraid the world of baseball is a complete mystery to me though I know how much you love it. In deciding on a gift for you, I was advised that Babe Ruth was one of the all time star players and was lucky enough to find this book.”

Nan was fairly certain that there had been no luck involved in it. A man as well connected as Kal Balak would be able to find what he wanted wherever it may be. She only hoped that the gift, precious as it was to her, hadn’t cost what she was guessing it might have.

“I could not resist reading a little, even if the game itself remains totally perplexing to me! However I discovered that a year before he died he established and endowed the Babe Ruth Foundation to aid underprivileged youth. It would appear that the desire to aid those less fortunate is a binding concept in our relationship!

I hope your journey is smooth and successful and that you will think about my request to consider your future career.
Your friend

Kal”

The obvious thought that Kal had given to this gift made her smile and she felt that a long lasting friendship had formed based on something more constant than temporary political needs.

She did wonder though what her daughter Annabella would make of her friendship, platonic as it may be, with such a handsome and influential man. The notion that she would probably shudder to think that her mother was still happily contemplating male companionship made her chuckle.

Picking up the book again, she ran her fingers across the surprisingly pristine cover and sat down to read.


USS ANGEL – BRIDGE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1618 FST

It was just as the Angel’s day shifted gear from the Alpha shift to the Beta that the USS Mainstay arrived in-system. Kat found it strange to watch the Angel’s sister ship make orbit just off her port quarter, though to be technically accurate the Mainstay was more Angel’s step sister.

Externally they were almost identical, only the hull registration differentiating the two ships, but it was inside where the major differences occurred.

The huge cargo and support areas that allowed the Franklin class Mainstay to perform her essential duties had disappeared during Angel’s refit. The expanded flight deck, the triage centre and the medical complex now occupied those decks on the Angel though Captain William Johnson still jokingly protested that they’d ripped the heart out of the ship.

“The Mainstay’s hailing us Ma’am.” The Arabian Ensign Abbas el-Akouri had just relieved Commander DeSalle at tactical, working his first bridge shift since Kat took temporary command.

“On screen please Ensign.”

The image of the Mainstay was replaced by the smiling face of William Johnson.

“Kat, you’ve managed not to dent her yet then?”

“Depends how good your conn officer is,” she replied with her tongue equally in her cheek. “Naturally Angel got the pick of the best.” She noted with amusement that Pharana and her Beta shift replacement Tara Courtney swapped a quite obvious high five at the compliment and William Johnson rolled his eyes.

“Indeed. Well as soon as you’re ready to come and see how a real ship operates I’ll have the boarding plank polished, say thirty minutes?”

Kat laughed. “I’ll make sure to wear my cleanest shoes! Angel out.”

Her Beta shift replacement, Commander Sendok, stepped up to the centre seat after his brief tour of the bridge, one eyebrow elegantly raised.

“It might be worth pointing out just how quickly a boarding plank can be turned into a gang plank Ma’am,” he said dryly.

“Your vote of confidence is noted thank you Commander.”

She liked the Vulcan immensely, his wry observations always verging on the edge of humour without breaking into slapstick. She handed him the briefing PADD containing all the pertinent information he would require for his shift and he scanned it quickly, then nodded.

“I relieve you Ma’am.”

“Thank you Mr Sendok, I stand relieved.” She attempted to raise her own eyebrow in what she believed would be a sardonic rejoinder and failed miserably. “I’ll be aboard the Mainstay dodging metaphorical sharks if I’m required.”

“Then I shall advise security to prepare the metaphorical shark harpoons Ma’am,” he replied.

She leaned in close and whispered, “I understand that there may be a gamma shift position opening up Mr Sendok. Interested?” At his momentarily stunned expression, Kat couldn’t keep a straight face. “Need to work on that humour appraisal Mr Sendok,” and left the bridge before he had a chance to formulate a reply.

 

[unusualsuspex]

Chapter 11 (cont)

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

11 (cont)

USS ANGEL – MEDCENTRE ONE
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1706 FST

Anthony Winston was pottering around his office, generally tidying things that didn’t require tidying when Helena Russell popped her head around his door.

“So is it to be an armed security escort to the Phoenix Lounge tonight or will you be making your way there of your own volition?”

Anthony had wickedly kept quiet about his forthcoming part in the opening bash and looked up in feigned surprise.

“Is that tonight?” His eyes went wide and Russell sighed.

“You’re going to tell me that you forgot all about it and have something else already planned aren’t you?” Standing with her hands on her hips she eyed him in what he thought might be annoyance, or possibly a cold blood rage. He decided that perhaps he shouldn’t overplay it.

“Not at all, Helena. Are you sure it’s my sort of thing though?”

“Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal. If you’re not enjoying yourself before the mystery entertainment comes on I’ll personally walk you back to your quarters. Deal?”

He made a slight show of considering his options, and then nodded. “Just don’t leave me propped up against the bar on my own though.”

Rolling her eyes in exasperation she promised she wouldn’t. “I’ll see you down there at 19.30 ok?” She was about to leave when she suddenly remembered the main reason she’d stopped by. “You did see the message about the fancy dress part being cancelled didn’t you?”

In fact Melista had told him herself when it had been decided that they’d save that for a later date. Tonight was about relaxation she’d said, and besides she wasn’t sure how many poor imitations of Zefram Cochrane she could stand.

“Yes I saw it; it’ll be my best dinner suit don’t worry.” He saw Russell’s mental gears grind to a halt as she pictured herself at the bar beside a six foot four penguin before she shook the image and decided that as long as she could get him there, then persuading him to unwind enough to remove his dickey bow would be a small price to pay.

“19.30 Doctor Winston! Do not be late!”

Anthony barely kept it together long enough for the door to slide shut before bursting into laughter.


USS MAINSTAY – CAPTAIN’S READY ROOM
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1712 FST

Considering that the Angel was the same basic class as the Mainstay, Kat was surprised at the difference in the two ship’s appearance as she was escorted to the ready room.

Naturally, the Mainstay had a much more lived in appearance having been in service for longer, but there was something more to it that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. The Angel had a vibrancy about her where the Mainstay exuded business and a workaday air.

Both vessels had vital if differing roles within the fleet of course and Kat thought that maybe that was what affected her perceptions. Or maybe you’re just proud of your ship she thought.

Stepping from the ‘lift, she was shown to the ready room and escorted inside.

“Sir? Captain Gray from the Angel.” The young crewperson was dismissed and Captain William Johnson stood to greet Kat.

“Good to see you lifesize rather than squashed up on the screen there Kat. Welcome aboard.” He shook her hand and showed her to the comfortable lounger by the replicator. “Sorry I wasn’t able to meet you, I’ve just been supervising the first transfers of aid to the planet. Drink?”

“Nice to meet you too William, despite the circumstances. Could I have a coffee please?”

“You get a coffee when you start calling me Bill. Nice fourth pip by the way.”

Kat grinned rather sheepishly as the half Cherokee Native stepped up to the replicator. Around the room were small items tucked into niches that were part family, part Starfleet officer.

A framed Academy photograph shared the same shelf as a family group holo, a trophy shaped like a hand holding a dilithium crystal nudged up alongside a beautifully carved pipe; the room was a statement about the man and his attempt to combine the disparate facets of service and family.

Kat was nudged from her observations as Bill passed her a steaming hot mug of coffee. She noticed, with some astonishment, that it was her favourite blend of Java and she looked at him in surprise.

“It’s ok, I’m not psychic. Just an old trick that you’ll pick up on; get your exec to contact a visitor’s exec and bingo, instant magic.”

His smile was contagious and Kat filed the snippet away for future reference.

“One custom I did pick up on,” she said “was bringing a gift.” She passed him the neatly wrapped wooden carving of a troll that she’d bought on her last home leave to Tromsø. “Ugly as sin, but he’ll bring you good luck apparently.”

“Luck is something you can never get too much of,” he smiled and placed the troll on his desk. “Thought you might appreciate these.”

He handed her a small bag containing a pair of beaded moccasins, the image of a small angel on each one.

“They’re beautiful, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. At least they’re going to somebody who appreciates them. Dan would just have given me one of those looks and asked why he couldn’t have a dream catcher. The man’s a philistine, seriously.” He turned and picked up a PADD from the corner of his desk. “Speaking of which, this might interest you.”

She took the proffered PADD and curiously read the page displayed on it.

“Bill
Not much info I can offer re your inquiry other than to take it with a pinch of salt. There’s a game on right now so you should hear something soon.
Regards
Spike.”

Seeing her look of total confusion, he grinned. “I managed to track down an old friend from way back who’s currently in Starfleet HQ and still owed me a favour. What you see there is his eloquent way of saying Dan’s not resigned and he’s involved in something classified.”

“So that’s what he meant” she whispered.

“I’m sorry, what who meant?” It was Bill’s turn to look quizzically at Kat as she passed him her own PADD with Dan’s recorded message.

“I really didn’t want to send it over open channels, especially as I wasn’t entirely sure what he was getting at but your message clears things up nicely.” She explained the covert hand signals and their slightly obscure translations and Bill nodded picking up the trail.

“Looks like all we can do is sit and wait then?” he mused. “Shoulda known the crafty son…oops, sorry. I tend not to have many refined visitors these days.”

She discretely checked the chrono on the wall and realising that she still had paperwork to complete said “Bill, I need to get back to the Angel to finish some work but you and your command staff are invited over for the opening of our new crew lounge if you’re free? I think we have a little something to celebrate now.”

“I for one never turn down an invitation from an attractive lady,” he laughed, “and if any of my sterling command crew decline the invitation they’ll be on latrine duty for a week!”

“I can’t believe how similar your staff incentive style is to Dan’s. 19.30 in the Phoenix Lounge and its relaxed dress.” She paused before making her way back to the transporter room. “Thanks Bill, its helped having somebody to share this with.”

“Hey that’s what Captains do, and for the record I think Dan will be proud of how you’ve coped in his absence.”

She gave him a warm embrace and her step was much lighter as she headed back to Angel.


USS ANGEL – JUNIOR OFFICER’S QUARTERS
ZETHANDER – GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT
UFP SPACE
September 14th 2371 – 1729 FST

“So what do you think?” Kara Asheen stood and twirled in front of her cabin mate. “Will it do?”

Misaki smiled and waved her hands. “It is stunning, now will you please calm down or you will be in no fit state to sing tonight.”

Kara perched on the edge of her bed, obviously a bundle of nerves and Misaki sat down beside her. “I do not understand why you are so nervous about singing tonight. You were wonderful when you sang on Zethander.”

“I know, but that wasn’t pre-planned, and I didn’t really know anybody there. This is just…different that’s all.” Kara looked at Misaki with her silvered eyes gleaming brightly. “Does that make any sense?”

Her friend smiled and took her hands. “No it does not make sense,” she smiled, “but neither does it matter. You will look beautiful and sound beautiful, which is what really matters.” Squeezing her hands she looked at Kara for a moment. “You must have the same faith in yourself that Melista and I have in you.”

Kara’s expression turned melancholy. “You know I remember my mother saying when I was little that one day, my singing would make more people happy than I ever could believe possible.” She looked at her closest friend and said, “Misaki do you miss your family?”

“All the time Kara, but missing them means you have not forgotten them.”

The wistful moment evaporated as Kara grinned at Misaki. “I don’t know how you manage to seem so wise and calm about everything. I go to pieces if my boiled egg is runny.”

“It is an ancient Japanese art Kara,” Misaki said seriously. She held the moment as Kara’s eyes went wide. “We call it bluffing. Now will you take that dress off before you ruin it!”

Completely suckered by Misaki’s perfectly straight faced delivery, Kara threw a cushion at her and laughed.

“I’ll get my own back, you wait.”

 

[Gibraltar]

I’m glad to see that Captain Martello is fighting back in some fashion against the parasite that’s controlling him. That little piece of Intel noggin-ware ended up being pretty handy under these unexpected circumstances. Here’s hoping Dan’s able to get back on the trail of crumbs he’s leaving behind.

Kat’s brief meeting with Captain Johnson was a sweet moment, and doubtless a godsend for her. Since she’s been promoted to acting-captain, Kat’s been very much alone and isolated, most especially concerning Dan’s presumed secret mission. Knowing there’s someone else she can talk to and share that burden with makes all the difference in the world.

Wonderful character moments abound between Dr. Winston and Russell, Nan and Kal, Vonny and Chariscarpia, and Kara and Misaki. These encounters, however brief, help to flesh out the terrific cast of characters that you’ve sprinkled throughout your series.

 

[unusualsuspex]

Bon jour oh fanfic afficianados.

Profuse apologies for lack of updates, but having recently recovered from a relapse of the porcine influenza I then lost both drives in my desktop and subsequently all my notes etc etc.

Things are slowly recovering (both personally and digitally) so hopefully the interruption will be short lived!

Thanks for the continuing support and wonderful messages!

Nigel
(Unusualsuspex)

 

[aventinelover]

Whew!! Given how prolific your posts and chapters have been, I assumed that you were either busy with work or something else. I am VERY GLAD you are doing better and survived the Pig Flu!! And then the double whammy of crashing computers!! To still want to go on says a lot of your fortitude and determination (not unlike some of your characters!) In any case, please take care and take your time getting back on your feet! Anticipating something excellent (like your next chapter) is often as good as actually getting it!

Welcome back!!

 

[TrekkieMonster]

I'm just starting to get caught up on my very important Trek Fanfic so am a little behind here. My best wishes on a speedy recovery for both you and your electronics.

And it might ..., just might give me a chance to get caught up to you. Though I doubt it.