Star Trek; Frank Grayson

[adm_gold]

I wasn't sure how much I would like this one but you've sucked me in! It will be interesting to see/read where you take it. Frank almost seems more like a 1940's or 50's detective.

 

[RobertScorpio]

Thanks Admiral Gold..

This is a strange story, and now more so than ever since my wife is NOW reading one of my Fanfics and has chosen this one. She wants me to keep it in the 'romantic' comedy zone, since, in her opinion, aside from HIS WAY, Star Trek is made for goobers like me (and all my TREK BBS friends!!)...

So..I'm taking one for the team on this one!!! A "CHIC FLIC" story.


Rob

 

[RobertScorpio]

Stu Hammond parked his Cadillac Escalade outside of the apartment complex that the Google map instructions had led him to. There were four adjoined condos, and the address on the note he found in Linda’s office matched the address to the condo that was nearest to the parking lot. The lawn outside the apartment was nicely groomed, which to Stu was proof that it wasn’t a cheap complex to live in. More interesting was the fact that Linda’s SUV was parked in one of the other nearby guest parking slots.

Before leaving the CBS news studio, Stu had done some investigating of his own and had called the San Diego Police Department to find out about Frank Grayson. Stu didn’t normally checkup on his reporters/producers, and their personal lives, but it wasn’t like Linda to just vanish and not attend staff meetings. So, after finding the note in her office, with Frank’s address on it, Stu called an old friend of his at the police department. Stu guesses that Frank was a cop due to the fact the letters “LT” were in front of Frank’s name. He could have been military, but Stu’s hunch that Frank was a cop paid off.

As it turned out, Frank Grayson’s captain, Charles Benton, had been one of Stu’s sources for years, and the two had actually become friends. Charles informed Stu that Frank was one of, if not the best, detectives on the force. He went on to tell Stu that Frank’s wife had been killed in a car crash years earlier, and that Frank had never seemed to get all the way over her death. Benton suggested that Stu go easy because Frank had suffered through a lot of loss in his life.

Stu smiled in an appreciative way as he thought of Frank, and understood why fate, or God, or what ever was beyond the universe, put him together with Linda. For as it turned out, Linda’s own husband, a news reporter, had died while covering the war in Afghanistan. Linda had been unable to move on with her life, just as Frank had found it hard to let go of his wife‘s memories. Perhaps the two would find a way to move on together, and that was a good thing.

But, for whatever reason, Linda was not answering her cell phone, and a frantic call from Linda’s sitter earlier had also worried Stu as well. Linda had not picked up her child on time, and so, for the meanwhile, Stu sent one of the news room interns over to pick the little girl up and take her back to the studio until Stu could figure out where Linda had gone, which led him to Frank’s condo.

Stu pushed a button on the dashboard of his SUV, and then the specially made side door of the vehicle opened and a wheel chair ramp soon stretched out. Stu switched over to his wheel chair and rolled down the ramp. It was nearly 5pm, and on this rare occasion, Stu would not be at the studio to oversee the evening news, which was his job and life’s passion. But that was how important Linda was to him. He needed to know that she was okay, and that was more important than running the news.

As he pushed down on the wheelchair’s wheels, and maneuvered it along the side walk, Stu took a whiff of the air and could smell various scents of food. Stu liked to eat food, perhaps too much, and the smells of the variety of dinners being cooked was very hard to ignore.

After reaching the front door of the condo, Stu rang the doorbell. Moments later a man opened the door.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Stu said, “but could you tell me if this is the residence of Mr. Frank Grayson?”

“You must be Stu Hammond. My name is Jose Cortez, we were expecting you.” Jose replied.

Jose opened the door and let Stu wheel himself in.

Stu looked around at the very cozy condo, which had family pictures on the walls, a nice living room, in essence just and ordinary home with a normal family. A teenaged girl was sitting on one of the couches, and looked upset.

“How is it you know who I am?” Stu asked, as he pivoted the chair around and faced Jose, who had just closed the door.

“I’m Frank’s partner,” Jose came back with. He opened his wallet and flashed a police badge. “I called my Captain to see if Frank had shown up there yet. And Captain Benton told me that he had a friend of his from Channel 8 on his way over, which I guess is you.”

“I take it Frank never showed up?” Stu asked.

Jose shook his head.

“No,” Jose said. “But we’re detectives, Mr. Hammond, so whenever one of us disappears like this, we check in on each other’s families to make sure they’re okay, and that nothing funny is going on.”

“That’s very understandable: Officer Cortez. Captain Benton and I go way back,” Hammond told Jose, “I am the executive producer of Channel 8’s news division and I am here because one of my best reporters, Linda Thomas, hasn’t checked in with me and missed our production meeting. I found this in her office.”

Stu handed the scribbled piece of paper to Jose, and he read it. Jose looked over to Amber.

“Honey,” Jose said, “does your father know a woman named Linda Thomas?”

Amber shook her head, and remained quiet, obviously worried about her missing father and brother. Then Jose looked back to Stu.

“She’s Frank’s daughter. She was preparing dinner for both her father and brother Austin, and when she couldn’t find them, and found Frank’s car keys on the table, she became worried and called me over.”

“Huh, well,” Stu added, “As for Linda, I think they just met recently. In fact, her SUV is parked in one of the guest parking slots out front.”

“So that means she was here,” Jose said as he looked out the small crack in between the two drapes that covered the large window in the living room, “and now all three of them are missing.”

“Maybe they all went for a walk,” Amber suggested. “Dad and Austin do that sometimes.”

Jose considered the possibility, and then noticed a black sedan parked in one of the guest slots as well, but towards the back. Being a cop, Jose always took in his surroundings and hadn’t ever noticed the car being in Frank’s parking lot before. Jose also saw the two SUVs, one belonging to Stu, the other to Linda, but Jose could not account for the black sedan which had ‘look at me, I’m government’ written all over it.

And then, almost on cue, the sedan backed out of its parking slot, and slowly drove away. Jose couldn’t say for sure, but if the car backed away because of Jose’s looking at it, then whoever was in the car was using binoculars or some other magnified means of observation.

“Amber,” Jose said, “Go ahead and pack some clothes and stuff. I’m sure you father and brother are both fine, but until we find out for sure, I want you to come over to my place. You can help Lisa (Jose’s wife) make some cookies tonight.”

Once Amber was out of the living room, Jose knelt down next to Stu’s wheelchair.

“Are you concerned?” Stu asked. “Should I be concerned about Linda?”

“I don’t know,” Jose said. “But I have this sixth sense about these things, and something tells me something’s going on.”

“You can’t expect me to leave under these conditions,” Stu said, “Linda has a daughter who is going to be upset if her mother doesn’t come home.”

Suddenly, and without warning, bullets rained in and shattered the living room window. Acting on reflex, Jose quickly pushed Stu’s chair into the kitchen, safely behind the kitchen wall. Then Jose pulled his own gun out.

The bullets had not only shattered the window, but riddled the drapes with holes to the point that what remained of the drapes fell to the ground. Jose could make out the figure of man hiding behind Stu’s Escalade, holding a gun, and then Jose fired his weapon.

The gunner, barely missed by Jose’s bullet, ran off into the distance, jumped into the black sedan Jose had seen earlier. The car sped off.

“Who were they?” Stu asked.

Jose didn’t respond, and on impulse, he ran down the hallway and into Amber’s room.

“Fuck!” Jose yelled.

Amber’s window had been smashed in as well; and she was gone.


Continued……

 

[RobertScorpio]

Previously; the Enterprise, an exact replica of the famous fictional starship from the television show Star Trek, is orbiting Earth. And it’s being attacked by…RUSSIA!!--

Frank held Linda’s hand, and understood the fear she was experiencing.

“What about my daughter?” Linda asked, as she and Frank headed towards the Bridge.

“I promise you,” Frank told her, “that as soon as we can go down there; we will.”

“Why not now, why do we have to wait?” Linda asked, with a slight tone of anger.

“Haven’t you ever watched Star Trek?” Frank asked.

“Yeah,” Linda said, “the one with the bald black guy?”

“Well, kind of,” Frank told her, as he took her, softly, by the arm and headed down the corridor. “As long as our shields are up, we are okay. But in order to beam back down to the Earth, we would have to lower the shields, which could get us all killed.”

“Why are they trying to shoot us down?” Linda asked. “And who are they?”

“I’ll give you three guesses,” a peeved Frank said as they reached the Turbolift, and headed to the bridge.

--

As the staff at Strategic Command, located deep beneath the Colorado Rockies, stared up at the screen, it was as if they were watching an unaired episode of Star Trek. They had watched as the Russian satellite had fired two blasts at the Enterprise. As of yet, the Enterprise had yet to respond, but the Russians, in firing at the ship, did reveal tactical knowledge for not only the Russians, but the Americans as well.

Because, as the energy weapon fired from the satellite should have hit the ship, instead it was deflected, or absorbed, it was hard to tell, by an energy field that seemed to surround the ship. Technology of that kind, energized barriers, was far beyond that of any science on Earth.

“Shields,” Lt. Colonel Keller, as he stood next to General Morton on the observation stand that over looked the busy work stations below.

“Yes,” Morton said, chomping on a cigar.

“Could you imagine if we got our hands on that kind of technology?” Keller asked.
“Oh, I can,” Morton said, “but I would be more worried if the Russians got their hands on it before we did. An energy shield projected over their vital military assets, or heck, over an the entire country, would open up a Pandora’s box.”

“Well, for now at least, they don’t have access to the ship, and neither do we.” Keller said, with a slight tone of relief in his voice.

“Actually, it makes matter difficult,” Morton said as he headed towards his office.

“Why?” Keller asked. “If neither the Russians or us have access to that ship, what danger is there now?”

General Morton stopped walking, and turned to face his younger subordinate.

“I believe that someone has access to that ship,” Morton said. “And I believe that “someone” is from America. The Russians may conclude that as well.”

“And you think the Russians will try to make a move on that person or persons?” Lt. Colonel Keller ask.

“Our side will do the same thing,” Morton said, “so what’s stopping them?”

Morton continued walking towards his office, as Keller headed back to the Main Operations. But before he got there, Keller detoured to his own office. Once alone in his office, Keller sat down at his desk and pressed a button.

“Report,” a voice said from the speaker.

“I believe General Morton is going to bring the CIA into this.” Keller said. “He believes you’re going to look for the person who has access to the ship here in America.”

“He is right,” Supreme Commander Losif Solovyov said from the Russian Command and Control, deep beneath the Ural Mountains. “I am already putting together a team to come over there. Keep me posted on the CIA teams in the field, and what, if any clues, they discover.”

Keller pressed a button and ended the scrambled communication.

--
Down on Earth, at Frank Grayson’s condo, things had taken a much dire turn of events. Bullets had rained in from the outside, and Frank’s daughter, Amber, had been taken in during the attack.

Stu wheeled his chair down the hallway, over broken shards of glass.

“Detective Cortez, what the hell is going on here?” Stu asked, as he wheeled his chair into Amber’s room.

“I don’t know Mr. Hammond,” Jose said as he gazed out the window. “But they could have killed her just as easily, but instead they took her. Apparently she’s worth more to them alive than dead.”

“And what about Linda?” Stu asked. “They may have her as well.”

Jose nodded in agreement.

“Its possible, but why?” Jose asked.

“You’re both detectives, you and Frank Grayson.” Stu Hammond said. “You must have enemies out there, the both of you, who might be acting out on revenge. And now, Linda is caught up in all of this.”

Jose looked at Hammond.

“I promise you we will get them back,” Jose said. “I need to get back to the station and let Captain Benton know what’s going on. And then,” Jose said, as he looked a picture of a man among the family pictures on the wall, “I’m going to call Mark.” Jose said as he took the picture off the wall.

“Who is Mark?” Stu asked, as he saw Jose looking at the picture.

“Mark,” Jose said, showing the picture to Stu Hammond, “is Frank’s older brother. Trust me, this guy will move hell and Earth to find Amber and the others, and unlike me, he will wont be bound by the law.”

“Well maybe a hot head like this Mark is someone we don’t need help from,” Stu came back with.

“Or,” Jose said, as he put Mark’s picture back on the wall, “, and I’m hope I’m wrong, we will need someone like him.”

With that, the two men headed down the hallway and out the door, toward their vehicles.

“Do you want a ride?” Jose asked, as they passed Hammonds SUV, which now had several bullet holes in the windshield.

“Yeah, If you don’t mind.” Stu replied. “I’d like to tag along with you to the police station if you don’t mind. I haven’t seen Charles in over a month, will be good to see him.”

The two men were soon in Jose’s sedan, making their way to police headquarters, unaware that they were being followed.

--
Amber looked about. She was inside of a van, her wrists tied, and with a gag over her mouth. Dried tears marks were on her face as two captors sat to either side of her. Who were they? She had no idea. But at least she was still alive, and that was all that mattered.

She also knew that her father and Jose would soon be trying to find her. And if that failed, she knew that her dad would call uncle Mark; and these bad guys had no idea the hornet’s nest that would be unleashed if uncle Mark became involved. She smiled at the thought.

--
continued

 

[adm_gold]

Thanks Admiral Gold..

So..I'm taking one for the team on this one!!! A "CHIC FLIC" story.


Rob

Maybe there will be a "chic flick" monthly contest!

 

[RobertScorpio]

Previously;

The Enterprise was fired upon by a Russian military satellite. With the ship’s shields raised, no one would be allowed to beam down to Earth until the confrontation was over; including Linda Thomas. She is a San Diego news reporter who has a five year old daughter who she misses very much. Being trapped aboard the fictional spaceship was not her idea of having fun.

Frank Grayson, trying to deal with the Enterprise being fired upon, is unaware of the fact that his daughter Amber has been kidnapped by unknown forces from his apartment in San Diego.

Our story continues…

--

And so there he was, Frank Grayson. He had watched Star Trek; The Original Series since he had been a kid, and had seen each episode several times. He wasn’t a big time Trek man, which meant he did frequent fan clubs or conventions, and he really detested fanfic stories. But, like most people his age, there wasn’t a time in his life that William Shatner or Leonard Nimoy hadn’t been apart of it, if only in a cultural context. Which meant that there was real life, which meant the hustle and bustle of work and having kids, and then, when the real world seemed too much, there was always time enough to cool down and watch an old episode of Star Trek. Sometimes just getting lost in an old episode was enough to make the real world seem worth while.

And as Frank settled into the captain’s chair on the bridge, he couldn’t help but feel the irony of it all. How many times had a worried Captain Kirk sat down in the same chair? Sure, Shatner was just acting, but at times it seemed as if Kirk was weary having to deal with Klingons, or run away space robots.

Austin, Frank’s son, who sat in what would have been Sulu’s station at the helm, was looking back at his father and smiled. Austin, who was more of a Star Wars fan, could see the strange look on his father’s face. It was like watching one of his father’s dreams come true.

“Isn’t it cool dad?” Austin asked, with awe in his voice. “You know me; I think Star Trek is a dumb show aimed at sexless dweebs, but even I think this is great.”

Stanley, who sat in what would have been Chekov’s station at navigation, blinked his large eyes and tilted his head slightly.

“What is a TV show? What is this thing called Star Trek?” Stanley asked.

Frank cut Austin off before he could reply.

“We don’t have time for this,” Frank said. “What is firing on us?”

Austin gazed into the viewer which had slowly risen out of its slot on consol before him. He had taken about ten minutes to read the SOP earlier, and had a basic understanding of the consol. He was computer hacker, at times, and so it wasn’t hard to pick up on the gist of the equipment. He reached out and pressed a button on the consol and then the view on the main screen magnified to show a satellite in orbit of Earth.

“That one,” Austin said, looking at the screen. “There’s a small space craft that is to the rear of us as well,” Austin adjusted the view on the screen to show a split screen image. One of the satellite, one of the small craft, “and the computer is detecting communications between the two.”

“So,” Frank said, “who is ever in the ship behind us is acting as a spotter.”

“Dad,” Austin added, “I think it’s a Russian spacecraft.”

“What makes you think that?” Frank asked.

“Frank,” Linda began to say as she was sitting in what would have been Uhura’s station on the show, “look at the symbol on that little ship.”

Frank looked closer at the small ship displayed on the screen.

“That’s the old hammer and sickle thing,” Frank said, “Last I checked, they no longer have that on their flag since after the wall came down.”

“Actually,” Linda said, “a friend of mine who is in our Moscow bureau has reported stories from people seeing the symbol from time to time on top-secret military aircraft.”

“Huh,” Frank said. “I guess it makes sense. I remember seeing old news reels of tanks and planes in World War Two that displayed the old Confederacy flag.”

“Mr. Frank Grayson,” Stanley said, “I am not an expert in such fields, however, I would not expect a vessel of that size to have much fuel.”

“Frank,” Linda cut in, “who is that guy?” Linda asked, in reference to Stanley.

“He was on the ship already,” Frank told her. “He, or it, seems to be friendly and probably knows more about this ship than we do.”

“Then he’s an,” Linda’s voice trailed off, “E.T.?”

Frank smiled as he briefly recalled the classic alien visitor movie from the early 1980s. The movie had been a favorite of Frank’s, even if the plot was some what basic. But one could not deny the charm of watching the movie about a boy’s struggle to defend someone who couldn’t defend themselves.

“Yep,” Frank finally replied. “But he’s a good guy. The Klingon in the brig, however, is a totally different story.”

Linda was about to respond to the fact there was a Klingon aboard when suddenly Austin cut in.

“Dad, I think…” Austin began to say as suddenly the satellite fired its weapon again.

The Enterprise shook a little.

“Damn,” Frank said, “we’re like sitting ducks up here.”

“Why don’t we just fire back and destroy it?” Austin asked.

“No, we can’t do that,” Frank said. “If we fire back then they will know that someone is aboard this ship. By maintaining radio silence and not firing back, we can still make it appear as if no one is up here.”

“Frank,” Linda said, as she stood up and came down to the command chair where Frank was sitting, “eventually they’re going to know there’s someone on this thing. Right now, by not letting them know, you’re just baiting them to keep poking and prodding us. I know you’re trying to protect our families and our lives, but this is too big for them,” she said, pointing at the Russian space craft, “to just let go.”

“Dad,” Austin said, “look at it, the Russian ship, I think it’s having some kind of problem.”

Frank pressed a button on the command chair. A button he had seen Kirk press many times before.

“Computer, scan that ship and give us a status report,” Frank commanded.

“Scan completed,” the female sounding voice of the computer replied. “The vessel has over extended its fuel reserves.”

“Can it return safely to Earth?”

“Negative…” the computer came back with.

And sure enough, Frank noticed as he looked at the screen. The much smaller craft was starting head back to Earth, and it seemed to have some kind of over heating problems as its engines began to spew a trail of gassed behind it. Frank stood up and headed for the Turbolift doors.

“Dad,” Austin said, “where are you going?”

“We can’t let the pilot of that ship die,” Frank said.

“You’re going to beam him aboard?” Austin asked. “Do you think that is,” Austin searched for the right word, “logical?”

“Saving a life is always logical,” Stanley replied, before Frank could.

“My exact sentiment,” Frank said.

“I’m coming with you,” Linda said as she followed Frank into the Turbo. “Someone’s got to keep an eye on you.”

“I know why you’re coming, Linda.” Frank said as the doors to the Turbolift closed, and the car began its quick journey. “You’re hoping I can beam you down after I beam him aboard.”

“You’re going to have to lower those shields of yours, Frank.” Linda said. “If you can risk our lives to save the person trying to shoot us down, then certainly you can send me back down.”

Frank smiled down at her as she ended her sentence with her own smile. He held her close and they hugged each other, and then they shared a kiss.

“Alright,” Frank finally said. “I’ll beam you down. But you have to remain silent on what’s happening up here; at least for now.”

“I will,” Linda said. “But eventually this story is going to break, it just has to. And when it does, I’m not going to remain silent; this story could make my career.”

Frank nodded.

“I understand,” Frank told her. “I hope I can see you again.”

“Something tells me; you will.” Linda added with a sexy smile.

--
Great Britain;

Sunderland is a port city that lies in North East England, not far from the mouth of the River Wear. It is there, situated in a small alcove off to the side of the mouth of the river, where several private boats, as well as several medium sized yachts, are tied peacefully among the several docks. One of these yachts belonged to Mark Grayson.

Mark Grayson was Frank Grayson’s older brother. Their father, Jonathan Grayson, was originally from the northern part of England, and had met his wife Janice, Mark and Frank’s mother, while visiting the United States years and years ago. At the young age of sixteen Mark had left the family home in Rhode Island, due to his driven personality, and had eventually taken up his citizenship rights in England. His father had never tried to stop him, wanting Mark to be his own individual.

And, as time when on, and as Mark joined the military, Jonathan and Janice Grayson were proud of their son’s accomplishments. Mark Grayson was certainly far from being a family man, or a saint, and at times it seemed he was never apart of their lives, but his family still loved him very much.

Eventually, due to his successful military career, Mark Grayson was enlisted by MI6. His ability to think on the run, and adapt to challenging field situations, earned him a very distinguished career with MI6. Due to the nature of being a MI6 agent, Mark had had very little contact with his extended family. Mark himself had never married, and never would, but, from a discrete distance, he had kept tabs on his family.

Mark’s parents lived a very small existence in Rhode Island, and his younger brother, Frank, had become a police detective in San Diego. Mark had not seen his little brother for many years. But it didn’t stop Mark from keeping an eye on his brother, from time to time. When Frank’s wife, Sharon, died in a violent car crash, Mark called his brother to express his condolences. And, two years ago, while on a mission, Mark had stopped by Frank’s condo in San Diego where he met his young niece and nephew, Frank’s children.

With his status at MI6 now reduced to contract work, due to the slow down in the cold war, Mark spent most his time wining and dining with various women while enjoying an occasional trip to Morocco, Venice or where ever the was a Baccarat tournament.

When his cellphone rang he was in bed with a beautiful blond woman he had met at the pub the night before.

“Yeah,” Mark said, with a groggily voice, just barely conscience.

As the voice spoke on the other end, Mark’s eyes became more attentive after each word. The voice belonged to Detective Jose Cortez, Frank’s detective partner in San Diego.

“Damn,” Mark said after listening to the details of Amber’s abduction. “I’m on my way.”

An hour later, after dropping the woman off at her home, and finally getting her name, so as to call her again, he aimed his burgundy colored Mercedes-Benz SL-Class for the nearest airport, which was about an hour drive. He made a few calls on his cellphone to book a flight. And as he pulled into the parking lot at the airport, an hour later, he was met by a company man named Jericho who then handed him a wallet with $20,000 inside of it and a travel voucher, as well as a briefcase.

Mark opened the case and found an HK USP Tactical with AAC Evolution-45, and its accompanying accessories.

“Will this get past screening?” Mark asked the courier.

“Yes,” Jericho said. Jericho was an older man with graying hair and had known Mark Grayson for years. “I’ve already accessed their system and cleared the case. Just don’t go getting yourself killed. America has never gotten away from its wild-wild west past.”

“Don’t worry Jericho,” Mark said with a smile, “I’ll be back before you know it. Make sure you feed Alfred and Nancy (Mark’s two pet Iguanas) and water my plants.”

“Sometimes I don’t think you pay me enough,” Jericho said.

Mark chuckled, picked up the briefcase and small carry on luggage Jericho had brought him, and headed for the main entrance of the airport.

--continued..and next time..

 

[RobertScorpio]

Two Klingon battlecruisers make their way through space, surrounded by the light of billions of pricks of light, including that of a nearby star and its four dead worlds.

Kor, unlike some of his peers, was respected by the warriors who served beneath him because not only was he tireless task master, he was also known to enjoy the thrill of a challenge. He had a devious sort of humor, which kept everyone around him off guard, but it also served to keep him connected with his crew.

A Klingon with humor wasn’t the norm, but Kor had another interesting distinction; he loved to drink Klingon blood wine. Stories of his drunken stupors were legendary, but never spoken in front of him, out of the fear that he would kill anyone who had a laugh at his expense.

But, as the hours and days passed, Kor was becoming more and more intense because now his flagship, the IKS Klothos, as well as it’s sister ship, IKS Tor’mach, were becoming deeper and deeper in a mystery that seemed to have no solution. Only days earlier they had been in a protracted battle with the Enterprise, and while both Klingon ships were engaged in combat with Kirk, commanding the legendary USS Enterprise, a strange white area of space swept over the three ships. Gone was the Enterprise, and on top of that, the Klingon ships were apparently thrown into another universe. Kor had hoped the Enterprise had been thrown into the strange universe as well, but there had been no evidence that the Federation ship had befallen the same fate as the Klingons. The galaxy they now found themselves in was strangely enough in the same basic shape as their own, but with notable differences; no Federation and no Romulan Empire, at least it seemed to be so.

But where was the Enterprise?

“Maybe she was destroyed,” Kor’s first officer K’taf had said at one point.

“What a shame,” Kor said, in a soft tone, and with a look of regret on his face. “It would please me to no end to have Kirk’s head stuffed, and hanging on the walls inside my quarters; for now until eternity. And yet knowing he has died by the act of a space anomaly is a hollow victory. Until I find his rotting corpse, I will consider Kirk alive, and I will relish when the day comes when I, Kor, take it from him.”

But the days had passed, and as there was no sign of the Enterprise, there was no sign of sentient life anywhere in this new strange universe. But Kor knew there would be such life, and then they, being the Klingons they were, would take what they needed from them, by force if need be, and slay them if the need came.

With the food supplies recently refurbished, after hunting and slaying many of the large animals on the world they had recently visited (which can be read about by following this link http://adastra.shadowknightonline.com/viewstory.php?sid=743&chapter=13 ), the Klingon ships had traveled back into deep space, with the goal of finding the way back to their own universe, or, failing that, finding the Earth of this strange universe and destroying it. But another issue had arisen; the Dilithium crystals, which powered the two ships, were running down.

Unless new crystals or a new source of energy was found, Kor would be forced to scuttle one of the ships, in the hopes of conserving their energy.

Being that he was not of a good mood; Kor would pace the bridge of the Klothos, his eyes leering at each post as he walked by. The Klingon warriors underneath his command knew that when Kor was pacing, work had better get done. Although Kor was considered legend, and honor befell those who served for him, such legends were known to be demanding. Even K’taf, Kor’s first officer for nearly seven years, wasn’t spared from Kor’s temper.

K’taf actually stood five inches taller than Kor. But what Kor lacked in height he more than made up with it with his sheer presence that defined who and what he was. Kor; Darhar master!

--
In the large staging area where the crew practiced their fighting skills, Kor was practicing with his Bat’leth against a younger warrior, who had been bloodied by several blows Kor had landed. The smell of blood and sweat filled the room, as did nearly fifty or so warriors. When a Klingon wasn’t on duty, he was practicing his skills, or eating; that was the way of the warrior.

“You have good instincts,” Kor told the younger Klingon male, who was struggling to stand as he stood, ready for another volley from Kor. “I have the advantage of age and guile. Do not make the mistake of relying on your youth, and speed; that will get you killed.”

“Yes my lord,” the young warrior said.

Just then, K’taf entered the staging area, and weaved his way past several hand to hand battles that were going on, and came straight over to where Kor was schooling the young crew member.

“Leave us,” K’taf said to the young warrior.

Kor watched his young opponent run off.

“He will be a good warrior,” Kor said, “Now, why have you come and interrupted my training?”

“We’ve just received a signal,” K’taf replied, “from Earth!”

Kor’s eyes suddenly came to life like fire!

--continued

 

[RobertScorpio]

Russian Command and Control, deep beneath the Ural Mountains


Supreme Commander Losif Solovyov stood at the observation platform that was positioned above the main ops center. He, and everyone else, watched the large screen that displayed images being relayed down to Earth from an orbiting satellite. The Volk-2 could be seen descending towards Earth, and it was clear to all that the small space craft was having problems.

“All communications with the Volk-2 are out, sir.” Colonel Leonid Petrev said, as he walked over to Solovyov. “We can not determine if Captain Ivanov is even alive at this point.”

“Why are the engines over heating? I thought they were made from the exact schematics the American’s made their craft with.” Solovyov asked, with coldness to his voice.

“The fact they lasted this long must be considered extraordinary,” Petrev replied. “I doubt the American’s Frog could have lasted as long as the Volk-2 did.”

“What are the American’s doing now?” Solovyov asked.

“They have launched their Frog, and it will be entering space with in the hour, no doubt to investigate the UFO even further.” Petrev replied.

As Petrev made his report to Solovyov, he could tell that the Supreme Commander’s well known temper was rising toward the surface.

Solovyov spoke softer, so that only Petrev could hear him.

“My sources inside the American’s Strategic Command have informed me that their CIA is actively searching for any Americans that may have access to the UFO,” Solovyov.

“Who is to say American’s have access?” Petrev asked his superior officer. “For all we know it could be the Japanese or Chinese. I doubt they could do anything like this, but they are just as capable as the Americans.”

Supreme Commander Solovyov thought for a moment, and then he shook his head.

“No,” Solovyov, “I believe the CIA’s instincts are correct; it’s an American endeavor. To that end, I have authorized a team of our best covert agents to infiltrate the United States, and find the responsible parties before the Americans do.”

“Have you informed our leaders of this strategy?” Petrev asked.

“No, I have not, and neither will you.” Solovyov replied. “On matters such as these I have been given wide latitude in which to operate and to guarantee our national interest. This authority to act in such matter is to ensure plausible deniability for our leaders, should something go wrong.”

Suddenly their conversation was interrupted by a bright flash coming from the main monitor on the tactical wall that took up a large portion of the command center.

“Report!” Colonel Petrev barked.

“Sir,” one of the tactical screeners replied, “the Volk-2 has exploded!”

“How is that possible?!” Petrev barked again.

“The engines gave out, but sir, this is very strange” the data screener, Captain Nikitin, began to explain, “It would seem that for the final five seconds of the mission, we lost all of Captain Artyom Ivanov’s life signs. He must have died before the explosion.”

“Then he died a hero,” Petrev said, in a solemn tone.

At that instant, Solovyov slammed a fist down on podium that he stood at, that looked down upon the main ops center. Solovyov was a strong man, even though he was nearly sixty years old, and the sound of his fist hitting the podium was loud.

“No, I want you all to understand what I am about to say. Captain Ivanov did not die a hero today; his cowardice caused him to die!” Solovyov stated with bitterness in his voice, with spit spraying out as he spoke. “He died a failure! He accomplished nothing but getting the Volk-2 destroyed due to his incompetence! His name will be purged from our records, and his family is to be thrown out of their apartment in Moscow. I want his two little children thrown out of the Moscow academy as well; IMMEDIATELY!”

Petrev disagreed, but could not do so, and expect to live. The Supreme Commander’s will was far too forceful, and his connection to the power elite not to be trifled with.

There was complete silence in the op center as everyone looked up at the visibly angered Supreme Commander. There were rumors that Solovyov’s grandmother had been one of Hitler’s mistresses, before she migrated back to Russia in the late 1920s. When Solovyov let his temper flare, such rumors seemed truer as each year passed. Perhaps he was indeed the grandson of the evil German leader.

--

United States Strategic Command; Deep with in the Colorado Rockies


General Hank Morton was in his office, and was busily talking on the phone. The Strategic Command had just witnessed the destruction of the Volk-2, just as the Russians had moments earlier. Morton was calling the big wigs back in Washington DC to give them an update. And after giving his update, Morton hung the phone up and sat behind his desk.

He opened one of the desk drawers to his left, and took out bottle of Captain Morgan’s original spiced Rum (which Robert Scorpio endorses IF you are of age!). He poured two shots, one for his left hand, one for his right hand. He set the bottle down, and then he downed the shot in his left hand. He closed his eyes and let the burning sensation of the liquid make its way down into his chest.

“Oh yeah,” Morton moaned softly, “come to daddy.”

And then, as the burning sensation began to fade, he downed the shot in his right hand. Once again he closed his eyes. His mind flashed back to a night, years ago, when he shared his bed with two women, and then suddenly there was a knock on his door, and Morton grumbled at being interrupted from his private time and being brought back to reality. He put the bottle and two shot glassed back where he had gotten them, and shut the drawer.

“Come in,” Morton finally said, still enjoying the burning sensation as it made its way down further into his gut.

Captain Kari Donnelly, Morton’s second in command, after Lt. Colonel Keller, and far sexier, entered the office with one of the younger officers, another sexy female named Lt. Miranda Mistral. Where as Captain Donnelly was tall with legs that wouldn’t quit; Lt. Mistral was petite and stood just over 5’3. Her blond hair was kept short, and clung to her neck, which General Hank Morton, like most men who knew her, found to be very sexy indeed. The rum was already having an effect, because Morton was hoping the two women were going to engage in some kind of sexual fantasy that Morton had just been dreaming moments ago. But, unfortunately, that was not to be the case; at least today.

“What can I help you two with?” General Morton asked.

“General Morton,” Captain Donnelly replied, “I think you should hear what Lt. Mistral has to report. I assigned her to the tactical team that has been analyzing every bit of data we are getting from the UFO. And, well, I’ll let her explain it.”

“Alright,” Morton said, “I’ll listen.”

“Sir,” Lt. Mistral said, “I am a big time Star Trek fan, and I mean big time. I can tell you the schematic of every ship, and I could quote most of the main characters. I even write my own Star Trek stories on a website at http://adastra.shadowknightonline.com. ”

“That is all find and dandy,” General Morton said, lighting a cigar as he did, “but for some reason I don’t think Starbuck and Han Solo are up on there that ship.”

“I quite agree,” Lt. Mistral said in a pleasant, feminine voice. “However, sir, while analyzing the beta.…” she continued on using words that had no meaning in Morton’s head. It was just nonsensical technobabble, as Morton called it, and to him it was about as audible as the noise Charlie Brown’s teacher spoke.

Morton just watched her talk, and imagined that she was sitting before him, topless. He would respond with a slight nod of the head, and a “uh huh,” but for the most part, he just gazed at the two shapely breasts he imagined he could see underneath her white button down shirt. The Rum was really having an effect, but he had to maintain control.

After Lt. Mistral was done, Captain Donnelly began to speak. Morton switched his attention to Donnelly, and again, he saw her just as topless as Lt. Mistral. But as he looked at Donnelly’s eyes, he could tell that she was finally saying something important and worthwhile.

“…and so we think we have proof that someone is on that ship.” Donnelly concluded.

“So,” Morton told her, having no idea what she was talking about, “sum it all up for me.”

Captain Kari Donnelly looked at Lt. Miranda Mistral, and then back to the General.

“We have come to the conclusion that the Enterprise lowered its shields just moments before the Russian’s Volk-2 exploded.” Donnelly said.

“And the only reason I believe they would do such a thing,” Lt. Mistral added, “was to save the Russian pilot’s life.”

The ‘alert’ signs when off inside of Morton’s brain.

“You’re telling me,” Morton said, chomping on his cigar all the while, “that there is a trained Russian military officer aboard that thing?”

“Yes sir,” Mistral said with a slight look of worry on her face.

“Did you gals like the movie Wild Thing?” Morton asked, from out of the blue.

--
Frank Grayson, with much help from the ship’s computer, had managed to succeed. He had managed to beam Linda back down to his apartment, and beam-up the cosmonaut from his failing space craft. He was proud of himself, but now he found himself aiming a phaser at their new visitor.

“Hello,” Frank said with a pleasant smile, “and welcome aboard,” he paused for effect, “the USS Enterprise.”

And the look on the cosmonaut’s face said everything; he knew exactly where he seemed to be.

Continued…

 

[RobertScorpio]

Linda Thomas shimmered into existence inside the smashed up living room inside of Frank Grayson’s apartment. She put her hands to her mouth and gasped at the destruction she saw, and the splattered glass that littered the entire scene. Even though it was night, and it was dark in the room, she could still see the very chaotic state of the room. The small holes on the wall looked like they had been caused by bullets. During her time as a reporter she had filed many reports at the scene of several crimes, involving guns, and Frank’s apartment had obviously been riddled with bullets.

"Freeze!" came from a voice behind her. "This is the San Diego Police; put your hands on your head!"

Linda did as she was instructed, her hands trembling as she did, all the while wondering what had happened.

--
Several Hours Later.
--
Linda Thomas, who had fallen asleep after being put inside of a police car, opened her eyes several hours later. She was no longer in the patrol car but on a couch inside what appeared to be a police headquarters office. She had a blanket pulled up over her, and a soft pillow beneath her head. Next to the couch were she laid was a small table that had a small bottle of Tylenol, and a glass of water on it. Apparently someone had gone through the trouble of carrying her into the office and giving her the medicine to calm her nerves.

She sat up on the couch just as the door opened and Stu Hammond wheeled himself in, as two other men walked in behind him.

"Linda," Stu said with a wide smile at seeing her awake, "are you alright?"

Linda was still a bit groggy as she sat back against the couch and watched as Stu came over and held her hand. The two other men, plane clothes detectives obviously, came over and sat in chairs near the couch as well.

"What’s going on Stu?" Linda asked. "Where am I?" Linda asked Stu.

"It’s alright Linda, you’re at police headquarters," Stu answered, rubbing her hand softly as he spoke. "The police found you inside of Frank Grayson’s apartment and brought you here. You fell asleep on the way and it was decided to let you get some sleep before you were asked questions."

"What questions?" Linda asked. “What happened at Franks? I saw,” she closed her eyes to try and will the memory away, but it didn’t work, “all that glass, bullet holes on the wall.”

“Its okay,” Stu told her in a reassuring way, “you’re safe. They just need to ask you some questions.”

"Like for starters," Lt. Jose Cortez said finally, "where is Frank? And where is his daughter?"

Linda knew she couldn’t tell them the truth as to where Frank was. Frank had promised her not to tell anyone anything about the USS Enterprise. But with the news about Frank’s daughter missing, she knew she couldn’t stay quiet for long. Maybe Frank’s worries about bad people trying to gain access to the ship were coming true. In any event, Linda would try to skirt the issue as to where Frank was. As for where Amber was, Linda would just tell them the truth.

"I’m not sure where they are," Linda said.

"Ms. Thomas," the other detective said, he being an African male in his early 50s, "My name is Captain Charles Benton, this is Lt. Jose Cortez, Frank‘s partner." Benton said, pointing to the man who had asked her where Linda where Frank and Amber were, "Frank is one of my finest men, and he is missing, as is his daughter. You showed up out of nowhere inside a crime scene, at Frank’s house, where Amber was kidnapped. Can you tell us where you’ve been all day, and how and why you ended up at Frank’s?"

"Linda," Stu said, before she could answer, "I found the note you wrote. It had Frank’s address written on it, and we found your SUV at his apartment." Stu continued. "What’s going on honey? Are you in some kind of trouble? If you are, I‘ll get my lawyer over here right away."

"She is not in any trouble, Stu," Benton said.

Suddenly the phone rang and Jose Cortez answered it. After listening for a moment, he hung it up.

"Captain, I think we have a problem; and it’s my fault." Jose told Benton.

"What is it?" Captain Benton asked.

A look of guilt came over Jose’s face, and then he explained.

"Frank once told me that if anything ever happened to him, and his children, that I should call his brother; and I did." Jose said.

"What’s the problem with that?" Stu Hammond asked.

Benton already had a worried look on his face, as he looked to his good friend Stu Hammond.

"What’s the problem, Charles?" Stu asked, with a little anger in his voice. "Why is Frank’s brother someone to worry about?"

"Frank’s brother," Charles Benton explained to Linda and Stu, "is an agent; a covert agent, who works for the British Government and who has a problem following the rule of law. He will kill anyone who…"

The door to Benton’s office swung opened, and an officer wearing a uniform backed into the room, with his hands over his head. And as he backed in, another man came into the room holding two guns. One was now aimed at the uniformed officer, as the other was now aimed at Linda Thomas.

"What the hell is going on here?" Stu Hammond demanded.

"My name is Mark," Mark said, with a cold stone look on his face, "Mark Grayson. And right now I want to talk to that woman," he said, staring blankly at Linda Thomas, and with his hand on the trigger of the gun.

--
Somewhere else…

Amber Grayson was sitting at a table eating some food that had been prepared for her. It wasn't the greatest food in the world, and in fact, it was a frozen dinner entrée. But she was..(to continue our story, please follow this link...and thanks!)

 

[RobertScorpio]

Two Klingon battle cruisers made their way through space, surrounded by billions and millions pricks of starlight. Conserving energy, they travel at sub-light speeds. Their chief sources of power, Dilithium crystals, are also running low. And unless replacements can be found, the Klingons would be forced to ditch their two ships and find a planet to call their own.

But recent events had given their plight new hope. A strange phenomenon, just beyond their sensors, had been detected. It was a strange blue field of energy, no larger than an average sized atmospheric disturbance, and it had made sudden course changes to remain out side of the Klingon’s sensor range; most of the time. But it was there, shadowing them, which meant it, was artificial; and perhaps intelligent.

Another interesting development was the detection of signals that originated from Earth’s past. They were signals from a long phased out form of entertainment called television. Normally this kind of discovery wouldn’t have been important. But with Earth’s location not correlating with any of the star charts in the Klingon ship’s memory banks, it was hoped that Earth’s whereabouts would be gleaned from the signals.

That had been Kor’s hope. But he was about to learn of a startling finding by his science department that would shake up entire status quo, and the meaning of the universe as well.

--

Kor, Dahar master, sat in his command chair on the bridge of his flagship, the Klothos. He, and the rest of the bridge crew, had their eyes glued on the main screen. They watched as a human leader named Adolph Hitler stood before thousands, his body nearly obscured by the podium before him, screeching at the top of his lungs. The Klingons listened intently to what Hitler was saying.

"Democracy," Hitler said to the crowd, "is the canal through which bolshevism lets its poisons flow into the separate countries and lets them work there long enough for these infections to lead to a crippling of intelligence and of the force of resistance. I regard it as possible that then - in order to avoid something still worse - coalition governments, masked as Popular Fronts or the like, will be formed and that these will endeavor to destroy - and perhaps will successfully destroy - in these peoples the last forces which remain, either in organization or in mental outlook, which could offer opposition to bolshevism."

Kor smiled at the words Hitler was spewing. Whoever the human was, or had been, Kor shared the same belief; dictatorships. Whenever the Klingons came upon a world so ruled, by Democracy, or a form of commune government, the first act taken was the ruthless slaughter of its leaders. A new world government was formed, under the leadership of a Klingon overlord. Any ounce of resistance, or call for democratic elections, would be met with the iron fist, or a Bat’leth, or even bombardment from space. Kor listened as Hitler continued.

"The brutal mass-slaughters of National Socialist fighters," Hitler continued, "the burning of the wives of National Socialist officers after petrol had been poured over them, the massacre of children and of babies of National Socialist parents, e.g. in Spain, are intended to serve as a warning to forces in other lands which represent views akin to those of National Socialism: such forces are to be intimidated so that in a similar position they offer no resistance. If these methods are successful: if the modern Girondins are succeeded by Jacobins, if Kerensky's Popular Front gives place to the Bolshevists, then Europe will sink into a sea of blood and mourning."

The gathered throng of humans were shown cheering loudly as Hitler concluded his speech in a place called Nuremberg.

Kor looked to his first officer, K’taf, who was standing by his side during the entirety Hitler’s speech.

"K’taf." Kor said, "What do we know of this human?" Kor asked.

"My Lord," K’taf reported, "according to our own computer library history of Earth, this man, Adolph Hitler, lived and died three hundred Earth ears ago. His country had made war against the rest of Earth’s nations twice in the span of thirty years."

"He failed?" Kor asked.

"Our best military minds concluded that his own inept management of the second war led to his eventual downfall, and his nation state was never again in a position to rule Earth." K’taf replied.

"Such a shame," Kor said, with regret in his voice, as he watched Hitler give the fisted salute to his human followers. "His words were glorious and true. Democracy is a vile system. It is most unfortunate he did not succeed. Perhaps, if he had, Kirk and I would be comrades instead of enemies."

"Yes," K’taf agreed.

"K’taf,” Kor continued, “why did you deem it important that I see this sequence of images?" Kor asked.

“This man, Hitler, as I reported, is mentioned in our history database, so we know he existed.” K’taf repeated. “It is the next sequence of images and sounds that are most interesting.”

“Then proceed,” Kor said.

The main screen lit up again with images. But the images Kor saw were those of a human male, as well as a Vulcan male, beaming into the village square of a planet Kor had visited before; Organia. And then the images went on to show Kor discussing matters with the Organian council. Kor watched himself on the screen, and the eventual explosion, and eventual capture of Kirk. Kor didn’t say a word until the images on the screen were ended.

And then a scroll of letters appeared on the screen, Kor looked over to K’taf.

“What is this?” Kor finally asked. “Is this some sort of Organian trick? Where did these detailed images come from?!”

K’taf motioned for Kor to look at the screen.

After the credits were over, an animated tiger came on the screen, and humans were shown eating some kind of grain like substance from bowls. Kor watched the tiger, and the happy child humans eating their food, and felt repulsed. What was he watching?

K’taf had had the same reaction when he had first seen the images earlier.

“Turn this silliness off,” Kor told K’taf, “or I shall have your head.”

K’taf nodded toward a Klingon warrior at a near by post, who was running the screen, and then the images stopped.

“Now,” Kor finally continued, “what have my eyes just watched?”

“My Lord,” K’taf began to explain. “What I am about to say will no doubt sound like the ramblings of an old foolish mind; but it is the judgment of the science lab, and my judgment as well, that these images are indeed from Earth.”

“K’taf,” Kor said, “How did the Earthlings obtain such images? Does the Federation have such an ability we are not aware of?”

K’taf pressed on.

“The science lab has concluded that those images of you, on Organia, and Kirk as well, were not real. They were the result of performers.”

Kor had heard what K’taf had said, but he didn’t believe what he had heard.

“Like a Klingon opera? DO YOU TAKE ME FOR A FOOL!?” Kor demanded.

“No, my Lord, I do not,” K’taf said. “However, it could explain why our star maps detect a galaxy that is roughly the size we know it to be, but without the recognizable political borders.”

Kor thought for a moment, letting K’taf’s outlandish statement ferment in his mind for a moment.

“Those events on Organia happened,” Kor stated, “I know because I was there, as was Kirk. How can you account for that?”

“It is illogical,” K’taf said.

“You are starting to sound more and more like a Vulcan,” Kor said, with disdain in his voice.

“I have watched the entire sequence of events with Kirk, which I just showed you the more important elements of.” K’taf explained. “Nowhere in images am I shown, nor is this ship, nor is the interior of this ship. Several times the images are interrupted, for reasons outside of the Organian incident, like the one with the animated animal, and then the events on Organia continue. In fact, I can show you…”

“How can you account for this? I know what you are inferring.” Kor asked. “You stand there trying to convince me that we exist in a universe where our own universe is a fictional creation, and we are no more than,” Kor struggled for the right analogy, “mere puppets! And yet, if that is so, and you are a puppet as well, then why are you not depicted in those images?”

“I do not know,” K’taf replied. “The only thing I can suggest is that there is more material than we have yet seen thus far, and this universe, from which our universe is created, is struggling with making it all fit into some logical orderly fashion.”

“K’taf,” Kor said, with anger in his voice. “Once again, you are sounding too much like a Vulcan for my liking. I will not warn you again. If you continue in such a matter, I will gut you myself.”

K’taf nodded at the younger Klingon warrior who was operating the screen, and then he motioned to Kor to see the new images.

Then the screen came to life again. It depicted two men, two human men, having a conversation. Kor did not recognize one of the humans, but the other human looked strangely enough like him; as if Kor had a human brother.

“What is this?” Kor asked.

“These are more images we have intercepted,” K’taf stated. “The human on the left is referred to as Steve McGarrett, a human our history tapes have no references to. The human on the right,” K’taf looked at Kor, “the human that resembles you, is referred to as Lorenzo Corman, who has no history data either. Now, my Lord, this next sequence will not make any sense, at all, but you must see it.”

K’taf and Kor watched as the sequence of images switched to a series of words, credits that were layered over several humans in some sort of water craft, using ores to power it through the water. The moving images froze on one of the credits.

“The text we are now seeing,” K’taf went on to say, “Translates to state that another human named John Colicos was playing the role of Lorezno Corman.” Suddenly the image switched to show Kor, with a credit next to his name as well. “This one states that this same human, John Colicos, was playing the role of…” K’taf let his words trail off.

“Me,” Kor finished for him.

Kor stood up from his command chair. The questions his mind was coming up with were to numerous to all be asked.

“And yet,” Kor reiterated, “none of these images depict you, or this ship? Are you also suggesting that what we are doing now, this instant, you and I, is being mirrored somewhere in this universe?”

“I do not know,” K’taf said. “However, if what we have just seen is true, then somewhere out there, and nearby, is the Earth from which these images have originated from. If we find this Earth, then we will know for sure.” Then K’taf looked up at the screen.

“And if we find this Earth,” Kor said, looking up at his image on the screen, “we could possibly find this human,” he paused for a moment, “John Colicos.”

(I want to dedicate this chapter to John Colicos (1928-2000), who I think was one of the greatest character actors of all time. I had the chance to meet him at comic-con, briefly, years ago (I think it was in 1991 or 1992) and he was very cool.

He actually asked me what my favorite role of his was and no, I didn’t say it was Kor. I told him it was the character of Mikkos Cassadine on “General Hospital”. He got a laugh out of that because he said that more people seemed to remember him for that role than as Baltar, which I found it hard to believe but he insisted it was true.

And as for the character Baltar? In my opinion, John Colicos is the superior Baltar!!!)

 

[RobertScorpio]

Mark Grayson arrived back Frank’s house in San Diego. He had come to look around the crime scene where his niece had been abducted with the hope of finding more clues. According to the woman reporter who he had spoken with earlier, Linda Thomas, his brother Frank, and his brother’s son, were up in space on the USS Enterprise. That part of her story made absolutely no sense, but Mark believed that Linda believed what she was saying. Linda would only tell Mark where Frank and Austin were is he promised him not to tell anyone else.

As Mark arrived at the apartment complex he could tell there were no cops at the crime scene, just yellow crime scene tape as a warning to all to stay out until the investigation was complete. Although he hoped to find more information, the only piece of evidence Mark really needed he had already found back at police headquarters. One of the bullets found imbedded in the wall had two linier marks near the tip. It was the calling card of a very reclusive hit squad that originated from South America. They called themselves the Twice-Dragon.

On the surface one would associate such a name with an oriental gang, but not so. The leader of the hit squad had been born to Chinese parents, and immigrated to Columbia decades earlier. Mark Grayson, an MI6 agent, had tangled with them before. In fact, during one of his covert missions only two years earlier, he had seemingly brought down the reclusive hit squad, but it was now obvious that he hadn’t. Mark was more than certain that his niece, Amber, had been kidnapped to flush him out into the open; and it had worked.

After stepping past the crime scene tape, Mark made his way to Amber’s room. Her window had been shot, and glass covered the ground. He studied the room with his keen eyes, and remembered a previous entanglement with the hit squad and immediately went over to Amber’s desk.

A laptop computer and school books were on the desk, as well as a school notebook. Mark looked for and found a pencil/pen collector. It was where Amber put her pens and pencils and was in the shape of Shrek’s head. Mark had gotten it for her years ago, and he was happy to see she still used it. He had only met Amber and Austin one time, and now, as Amber faced an uncertain future, he wished he had spent more time with her and Austin. He reconciled to do so if and when everything was back to normal.

Mark looked at the assortment of pens and pencils and then found exactly what he had hoped to fine. It was a special pen left by her abductors. It was a clue the police would not have known to look for. It was a Type-7 Neon/Flux pen that, when used to write would leave marks that were invisible to normal light. Mark reached into his pocket and took out his MI6 issued cellphone. He opened up the phone and pressed a few buttons and then a purple light was emitted. He aimed it around the room and then he saw what had been hidden with invisible writing; it was a message to him.

AGENT GRAYSON, WE HAVE YOUR NIECE. PROCEED TO THE PAY PHONE AT 3476 MOUNTAIN VIEW ROAD. TURN TO PAGE 221 OF THE PHONEBOOK. YOU FIND INSTRUCTIONS AS TO HOW YOU CAN GET HER BACK ALIVE. DO NOT ALERT THE POLICE; WE WILL KNOW.

Mark turned off the phone, and put the pen in his pocket, and headed out of Amber’s room. Just as he stepped through the doorway, he heard a strange sound coming from the living room. On instinct Mark whipped out his HK USP Tactical Weapon, tricked out with AAC Evolution-45 spin action, and aimed it ahead of him self. He had to use care due to the possibility that the sound came from a patrolling police office. Sounds started to come from another bedroom; Austin’s room! Mark had only been to the house once before, three years earlier, but he remembered the rooms quite well. He recalled quite fondly the very sexy poster of Megan Fox on his nephew’s wall.

Then, suddenly, the door to the bedroom opened and Austin came out of the room holding a duffle bag that was haphazardly stuffed with clothes.

“Austin,” Mark said.

Austin, startled at hearing another voice, turned to face where the voice had come from.

“Uncle Mark, is that you,” Austin asked.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Mark said.

Austin came over and hugged his uncle.

“What are you doing here?” Austin asked. “I should let my dad know.”

“Austin, listen to me,” Mark said. “Amber’s been kidnapped.”

“Holy shit,” Austin said as he started to look around the smashed living room. “What the hell happened here?”

“Like I said,” Mark told him, “your sister was kidnapped. Your dad’s friend, Jose Cortez, got a hold of me and I got over here as fast as I could.”

“Oh my God,” Mark said. “Why was she kidnapped?”

“I don’t know yet. Look, a lady I met at police headquarters told me your dad,” Mark paused for a moment, “is up in space aboard the Starship Enterprise. What did she mean by that?”

“That must have been Linda,” Austin said. “She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.”

“Yeah, well, I have my ways. What is going on?” Mark asked.

“I’m not sure my self,” Austin said, “but my dad found one of those communicator things in his car and the next thing you know? We’re up there, with a Klingon, and another alien, and being shot at by the Russians.”

Suddenly there was another strange sound and out of nowhere Frank Grayson shimmered into existence on the other side of the living room. Mark just stared at his brother.

“Mark!” Frank said, with total surprise in his voice. “Wow,” Frank continued, “what are you doing here?”

Mark just blinked his eyes, shook his head, and went on as if he hadn’t seen what he had just scene. And for the next several minutes Mark and Frank updated each other on their situation.

Frank became distraught after hearing about Amber’s abduction.

“When I saw that there was another set of life signs in the house after I beamed Austin down, I thought they were Amber’s.” Frank said, to Mark and Austin, “I came down to see if Amber wanted to come up to the ship. But those life signs were yours,” Frank said to Mark. “When did this happen?”

“Your friend Linda,” Mark told Frank, “wanted to contact you but didn’t know how. Frank, don’t worry, we’ll find her.”

“How can you be so sure,” Frank said, with a look of defeat on his face.

“Dad,” Austin said, “Uncle Mark is going to that phone booth to see what is on that phonebook page. I think you and I should beam up to the ship, track where Mark goes, and see where this leads. If Uncle Mark finds Amber, then we can beam her up!”

Frank thought it over, but it was clear he was still worried about Amber.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Mark said. “Your dad told me in an email you wanted to be a FBI or CIA agent. I’m impressed.”

“Here,” Austin said, as he handed Mark a communicator. “We can track this.”

Mark took the communicator, and then put his left hand on Frank’s back, trying to comfort his younger brother.

“Frank,” Mark said to him softly, “you have to keep it together. I promise you Amber is fine. If they had wanted her dead then they would have just killed her, and been done with it. Now, if you really do have that ship up there, then get up there with Austin and get ready to do this.”

Frank slowly nodded his head, and then he quickened the pace. Then he looked at his brother with a cold stone look on his face.

“After we rescue her, I want justice to meet her abductors,” Frank said with anger in his voice.

“What kind of justice do you want?” Mark asked. “Do you want your kind of justice or mine?”

“Yours,” Frank said.

Suddenly they saw a vehicle pull up outside the apartment complex. Being that it was 2Am, they were suspicious.

“That’s Linda’s SUV,” Frank said. “What is she doing here?”

Moments later Linda entered the apartment. She was happy to see Frank again, and told him she was sorry about Amber’s kidnapping.

“Why did you come here?” Frank asked her.

“I pretty much knew he’d be here,” Linda said, looking at Mark, “and I wanted him to see this. And now that you’re here too, you should see this too.”

Linda took a magazine out of her purse! It was the front page of the SUN magazine. It was one of those gossip papers, and wasn’t taken seriously; but the picture on the cover spoke volumes. It showed a blurry image of a UFO that bore a striking resemblance to the USS ENTERPRISE with the tagline; is Star Trek Real?

Continued…