Star Trek: Intrepid - The Double Edge

[Galen4]

Chapter 5 continued

***​

The human was terrified. He thrashed around; unable to understand why his movements were inhibited. Something was holding him down, he knew that much, but he had no idea how to disentangle itself.

And oh, how he tried. He pulled as hard as it could at the restraints, first tugging one way, then another. But anyway the human yanked, the slimy tethers would not loosen, would not budge or break.

The human gave passing consideration to untying himself rather than using brute strength, but the problem was hopelessly complex.

He soon grew weary of applying his limited intellect to escaping and began to howl instead----a much more satisfying pastime.

Surrounding the human was a black sea of emptiness, broken by the only other visible object: a large thing just barely visible by a green luminescence. The shape had an odd geometry about it, and was perhaps a polished white boulder, as best the human could tell.

It somersaulted before him in slow motion, a movement the human didn’t overly care for. The constant spinning made him dizzy and he looked away, chattering to sooth his frayed nerves.

Despite his primitive state, the human was painfully aware that he was trapped, and stuck with just two choices: boredom or dizziness.

How long he considered his plight was unknown. He had no conception of real time, after all. But at some point, he began to notice a difference in his perceptions. He experienced a fluidity to his thoughts that was now obvious only because it had thus far been absent.

The process began to accelerate. The primitive began to gain greater awareness. Its mind evolved at breathtaking speed, leapfrogging over generations of evolutionary markers.

Lucidity spread like wildfire, and a network of higher brain functions glittered into place within minutes.

Power swelled within him, the power of human intellect and mental sophistication. It all surged forward like an unstoppable locomotive.

Next in line were memory fragments that fell into the empty places in his head. This caused some measure of confusion because they were jumbled and out of order, with no context in which to frame the experiences. But this began to pass, and the gaps filled in, oozing into the holes and crevices within his psyche and granting him a complete identity.

When the progression finally ran its course, he was exhilarated at feeling whole. The bewilderment and panic was now a bad dream from which he had gradually awoken. It occurred to him that he might have suffered a head wound.

Except….

Some deep part of his mind, a place where humans locked up unsightly thoughts, knew the truth:

His personality had not been returned to him because his brain had overcome a trauma. Rather, his mental faculties were being given back with controlled deliberation.

Because someone or something had taken them out.

Lt. Douglas Pal squirmed, swinging his head in every direction at once.

"Where the hell am I?" His voice had a dull, hollow sound, as if he were speaking within a small cave, kilometers under the surface of a planet.

Quite the opposite. Despite the empty blackness around him, he could tell that he was in a cavernous chamber. Then there was the unpleasant fact that he was snared within a giant trawl, which stretched off in all directions, fading into the void beyond. His arms and legs were swaddled tightly as if he were wrapped in a mushy sleeping bag.

Pal strained against the binds experimentally, making him yaw and jiggle within the net. The wet, sticky ropes stretched slightly, but held. The ties felt disturbingly organic to the touch, a fact he tried to ignore.

Pal hated the image of being caught within a spider’s web, but the analogy was inescapable. Starfleet training or no, he decided that if an abomination began crawling at him, he would probably die of fright.

He needed a diversion, so he began to piece together his last memories before the imprisonment. He recalled the Cardassian gun ships, he remembered launching Genesis…

The vortex. That creepy space tornado, it had chased after them. Pal had tried to evade the thing, but…yes, it had hit them and then----

Well, and then here he was, just that simple. But only him. Adol was nowhere in sight.

Since Pal couldn’t reach his combadge, he set about communicating the old fashioned way. He yelled Adol’s name, but only a few times. He didn’t need unwanted attention just yet.

Movement----a flash of white----made him jump.

Something was spinning in the emptiness ahead of him, illuminated by a ghostly green light. The sickly pallor was just enough to identify the outline clearly.

“You’re kidding me!” He exclaimed.

Hanging before him was the runabout Chin Ho. It turned end over end, completing graceful pinwheels.

What's this all about? He mused with apprehension. What took us out of----?

The tremulous clamor of rending metal aborted the thought. The sound was unmistakable; a metallic structure was being pushed beyond its design threshold.

Pal’s jaw dropped open, even as he tried to reject what his eyes were telling him.

The Chin Ho was imploding. The small ship was being compressed, its hull pulling inward as though a gravitational singularity was located within the ship's cockpit.

Incredulous, he watched the ship turn in on itself, becoming a metallic accordion. It soon resembled a crumpled wad of paper, scaling down to half its former size. The compression went on, until eventually the Chin Ho disappeared completely.

Pal gaped at the vacant space left behind by the runabout, unable to process the random act of destruction he had just witnessed.

Jesus…please tell me Adol wasn’t in there, he prayed silently.

That was when someone asked him a question. It wasn’t an audible voice. Nor was it telepathy, as Pal understood it. It was more like a powerful daydream in which he was acting out both sides of the conversation.

He had been asked “why?”.

"I-----I don't know what you mean..." He stammered.

The daydream became more vibrant. In his mind’s eye, dark contaminant spread through a clear pool of water. He saw old-fashioned machinery grinding to halt as a foreign object jammed the gears…

Interference, Pal mouthed to himself.

 

[Galen4]

Chapter 5 continued​

“Interference? What I have I done to interfere?” All tied up and talking to myself, he observed with grim humor. It was the ancient symbol of a crazy man.

More images flickered by, culled from Pal’s memories and knowledge. He pictured a caterpillar rising from its cocoon, a dead butterfly drifting on the wind.

He dared a question. “Where am I?” He demanded with phony bravado. “Why have you imprisoned me? And where is my companion?”

“Inside,” he answered himself.

In his mind’s eye, the caterpillar’s cocoon splayed open.

Inside? He was inside----the nebula? Then so were his captors!

His heart dropped into his stomach. Oh, no…Genesis!

"Please listen." He began, "We didn't know you were here. We're at war. I mean, we didn’t start it, but-----"

He stopped once we realized he wasn’t broadcasting. Or rather, his captors were only listening for specific information.

Pal chose to be assertive again, reasoning that direct questions had got their attention the first time. “Who are you?” He demanded.

To his surprise, the inquiry was immediately satisfied. Afterward, Pal would have given his left arm to take the question back.

A picture show flipped wildly behind his eyes, branding an overlay of horrific depictions into his mind…

He gasped, and then cried out. He crunched his eyes shut, but that only made the scenes more vivid. He was being force-fed knowledge of such magnitude that it threatened to overload all five senses. Pal feared madness for the first time in his life.

The sights and sounds flashed by at increasing speed, granting more detail.

He bore witness to genocide on a scale beyond imagination. He saw empires of stunning beauty that had once spanned the galaxy. So many----! All snuffed out and long forgotten…their futures robbed. He tasted blood and the dust of crumbling cities.

He was an insect, squinting up at leviathans as they thundered across the landscape of history, crushing a thousand civilizations under their heels.

They had left their footprints in plain sight, these creatures, for any who knew where to look. Their imprint was woven into the mythology of every Alpha Quadrant species----their passing marked by dead patches in the galactic biosphere.

A single word came to him…something from interstellar folklore, a name synonymous with nebulous terror.

When the spell broke, he was left pale and dazed, sharing company with a terrible revelation.

It was likely that every space faring world within a hundred light years would live or die based upon what he said next.

“This was an accident!” He blurted out. “A mistake. We’re an institution of peace.”

There was no reply, but he could tell a connection persisted.

He pushed on. “Just listen to me, okay? You’ve been inside my mind. You’re there now. You know I’m telling the truth.”

His puppet masters took control of his lips for a final response. “Again,” He heard himself say.

Pal’s connection suddenly became a live wire. Telepathic hooks dug deep into his very core, jolting him violently.

Those hooks began to pull him apart slowly, dismembering his core identity. He felt his intellect sink, taking his awareness into a bottomless well.

“Wait. Just wait.” He slurred drunkenly. “You don’t have to do this. We meant you no harm…”

He kept trying, groping for every diplomatic phrase and peace offering that he could summon, even as his intelligence drained away like a tapped-out power cell.

But it became obvious that his captors had stopped listening some time ago.

Douglas Pal began to scream.

 

[Mistral]

Wow, was that ever powerful! A great battle scene, too, very vivid and laid out to make one bite their nails. I hope you have more soon!

 

[Gibraltar]

The combat scenes here are just phenomenal, Tom Clancy meets Star Trek! You've captured the desperation, destruction, and collective anguish of the Dominion War in stark detail.

And Pal's incarceration in the hands of... what or whomever, is laced with dark menace. As bad as the Dominion/Cardassian alliance is, I have a bad feeling that whatever has Pal and Adol in their clutches may be much, much worse.

Excellent stuff here, Galen4!

 

[Galen4]

Thanks to both of you for the comments!

Took me a while to put this chapter to bed.

But now that this monkey is off my back, I can get caught up reading other people's work!

 

[CeJay]

I liked the battle, it was intense and felt layered, just like you'd imagine a massive space battle in which anything can happen at any given moment.

I probably liked Pal's unusual encounter even more. It had an odd, surreal feel to it even while at the same time it was bone-chillingly clear that it's all too real.

If whatever has captured Pal gets loose - and I'm getting the feeling that it will - if it ever gets loose on the crew of Intrepid, on the task force, Starfleet, the galaxy ... God help us all ...

 

[Galen4]

Thanks CeJay,
I'm glad you're enjoying the reworked version.
I'm having fun giving this old story a long overdue makeover.

 

[Count Zero]

Great story so far. I really wonder what this mysterious insect race is. It looks rather bleak for Pal and Adol, though. And a lot of other characters in your tale. But you managed to balance the bleakness with humour and good characterisation.

By the way, what happened to your Mankat story?

 

[Galen4]

Great story so far. I really wonder what this mysterious insect race is. It looks rather bleak for Pal and Adol, though. And a lot of other characters in your tale. But you managed to balance the bleakness with humour and good characterisation.

By the way, what happened to your Mankat story?

Thanks, Count. True, there's turmoil to be had for just about everyone in the cast, with more on the way.

Mankat is actually a rough draft of an original novel I'm writing. I've continued working on it, but so far, I've only sent chapters to my editor. Next year, the final version will be published. (Self-published or maybe picked up if all goes well.)

I was just toying with the idea of resuming it at Trekbbs, sort of as an "Alpha Read".
Look for it to reappear within the next few weeks.

And thanks for asking. Nice to know it hasn't been forgotten!

 

[Galen4]

Great story so far. I really wonder what this mysterious insect race is. It looks rather bleak for Pal and Adol, though. And a lot of other characters in your tale. But you managed to balance the bleakness with humour and good characterisation.

By the way, what happened to your Mankat story?

Thanks, Count. True, there's turmoil to be had for just about everyone in the cast, with more on the way.

Mankat is actually a rough draft of an original novel I'm writing. I've continued working on it, but so far, I've only sent chapters to my editor. Next year, the final version will be published. (Self-published or maybe picked up if all goes well.)

I was just toying with the idea of resuming it at Trekbbs, sort of as an "Alpha Read".
Look for it to reappear within the next few weeks.

And thanks for asking. Nice to know it hasn't been forgotten!

 

[Galen4]

Chapter 6​

Cardassian Warship “Punisher”
Near Kokala Nebula
Pursuing Enemy Vessel


Gul Katorn, loyal officer of the Cardassian Union and former member of the Obsidian Order, leaned forward in his throne-like command chair, eyeing the main view screen ardently. The three Lamphett class fighters that comprised his attack wing had just closed on the Starfleet vessel and a kill was expected within minutes.

The Federation captain was driving for the Kokala Nebula, no doubt hoping to hide there to lick his wounds. Of course, Katorn’s squadron would overtake him long before he reached the cloud’s outer perimeter----and what the fighters didn’t finish, Punisher would.

It was all so predictable. The Federation’s surprise interception had been wildly intoxicating at first. The enemy fleet had dropped out of nowhere, taking them all by surprise in a storm of phaser fire. It had been a turn of events that held the promise of an extended competition, a tooth and nail battle that would make Betazed’s acquisition all the sweeter. No longer were they skulking in to steal Betazed like a pack of thieves. Now the planet would be earned with bravery and shrewd tactics on the battlefield, feats that could be recounted with pride to one’s grandchildren.

Alas, It had been a one sided battle right from the onset, and Katorn found no cunning opponents with whom he could match wits. The Federation was merely desperate, lunging forward with the ragged determination of a cornered animal.

In fact, not an hour ago, Punisher had cut apart a ship very much like the one they now hunted.

“Gul Katorn! Enemy ship is launching shuttles.” Data Officer Menta sounded more annoyed than concerned. Unlike Katorn, the seventy-nine year old didn’t like surprises. His last surprise involved a reactivation order and a return to the stolid trappings of a warship.

Menta’s report was peculiar enough to make Katorn stir from his musings. He sat straighter in his chair, peering studiously at the oval-shaped viewer. Sure enough, he could plainly see three shuttles slip out of the Excelsior’s underbelly.

“Are they abandoning ship?” Pondered the first officer.

Katorn was as flummoxed as his crew by the new development. It was obviously a distraction of some kind, but what could be gained by----

The answer came to him just as all three shuttles smeared into streaks of light.

There was no time to pull back his wing. Stunned, Katorn watched the three projectiles strike his fighters at warp speed, turning them all into balls of white light.

Katorn’s mouth hung open, his orders dead before ever having passed his lips.

His subordinates kept a wary silence. Their commanding officer’s moods were harder to plot than the weather. They had learned some time ago to tread carefully, for the weather was wont to change without warning.

Gul Katorn knew he should be outraged---embarrassed even---that a crippled ship had just obliterated his wing without firing a shot.

And perhaps a decade ago he would have been. But Katorn had moved beyond the cares of youthful vanity during his time in the Obsidian Order. As far as he was now concerned, those few things that truly mattered in the galaxy could be counted on one hand, with fingers to spare.

He beamed, thinking of this last challenge as an unexpected gift.

Katorn dispensed his orders quickly, trying to exorcise the giddiness that threatened to bubble out of him. “Helm, increase speed by one quarter. Gunnery officer, divert secondary generators to forward batteries.”

First Officer Timett was the anchor to Katorn’s rising spirits. “Sir, I recommend we accelerate and close the gap at once. A full salvo at close range will dismantle their shields and end this quickly.”

Katorn grimaced. Timett’s raw, unbridled stupidity was nearly a force of nature. He sneered at his underling. “Yes, by all means!” He clapped his hands together in a parody of excitement. “Bring us close enough to our enemy for them to destroy us!”

“Sir? The Federation ship is crippled and their phasers are at less than fifty percent. I don’t see how…?”

“That you don’t see is quite obvious. But you may thank the Gods that I do see, and quite well.”

The Gul turned his back on the man, addressing his next remarks to the view screen. “That commander out there has but one option left to him: suicide. If we don’t keep our distance, he will either ram us or detonate his ship at close range.” He shrugged dismissively. “An obvious assessment to anyone who doesn’t think with their neck bones.”

Katorn didn’t suffer his first officer lightly. Yet, pragmatism had to temper his indignity on this particular subject. The Obsidian Order no longer owned him, but neither did it shield him. The most formidable intelligence agency in the quadrant had died with a whimper, leaving Katorn and others to fend alone in a government that now demonized them.

In Katorn’s case, however, fastidious preparation had saved the day. Over the years, he had constructed a network of people and agencies that depended upon him for a variety of reasons. To that end he had murdered, bought, blackmailed, dined and even bedded the most influential Cardassians in the Union. His foolish contemporaries, in the meanwhile, had used the Order to bully their way into fleeting positions of authority and wealth, while turning a blind eye to their growing list of enemies. In the end, none of them had been left standing.

So it was that Katorn had laid the groundwork for a new life in advance. When the moment came, he called in numerous favors to reclaim his former commission as a Gul and conceal his past.

But some favors were weightier than others. It was part of the price he had paid for a new life. So Katorn had swallowed his pride and made the nephew of a high-ranking government official---now propped up by the Dominion---his second in command. Timett’s lofty qualifications included military school drop out and freighter captain. This was a man who wouldn’t recognize his own ass if introduced itself to him.

Data officer Menta distracted him from his self-pity. “Sir, the closer we get to the Kokala Nebula, the harder it is to get sensor returns. Subspace interference is increasing exponentially. I’m losing contact with the Starfleet ship.”

“Increase sensor output to high bandwidths and narrow confinement.” Katorn responded. “Helm officer, increase speed by another ten percent. Keep them on visual.” Katorn stepped down from his chair and stalked over to the weapons control board. He patted the gunnery officer on the shoulder to relieve him. The man jumped out of his chair obediently and Katorn took his place. He cracked his knuckles over the firing controls. “This one deserves my personal touch.”

Timett appeared at his side like a trailing dog. “Sir, we have a flash communiqué on the battle!” His scales were flushed with excitement, a state that in and of itself meant nothing. Timett was known for similar reactions over his favorite dessert.

Still, an update on the battle certainly qualified as important, Katorn decided, no matter that the news would be unsurprising. “Let’s have it.”

“The Dominion battleship has been destroyed by enemy forces. But,” he added quickly, “The Federation fleet is cut in half. Their front line has collapsed. Remaining ships have been isolated and are under heavy fire. More importantly,” Timett couldn’t contain his insipid smile. “Our ships have broken through the first defense perimeter of Betazed. Planet fall is expected within just a few hours.”

“’Our ships’?” Katorn repeated coldly. He snatched the data pad from a surprised Timett and glowered at it in silence.

In fact, it was Jem’Hadar vessels that had breached Betazed’s defenses, while Cardassian ships were left to mop up the Federation fleet. They would succeed of course, but take unnecessary losses without Dominion support.

 

[Galen4]

Chapter 6 continued​

Katorn squinted at the data pad, reading his new orders through tight lips. “We are to remain in the Kalandra Sector and guard the Federation COMM array.”

So. Even the flagship of Cardassia would not be participating in Betazed’s occupation.

It was Cardassians who had made the heaviest sacrifices to take Betazed, and now, those few of them that remained would not even enjoy the spoils of their bloodletting. They had become the slovenly underclass, barred from a lush dinner party.

Timett saw fury within Katorn’s eyes, a hatred that was far and above anything that had ever been directed at him-----and that it wasn’t directed at him made it all the more dangerous. One could navigate a minefield only if one knew where the mines lay.

Katorn’s anger peaked, and then sputtered out to a dull ember. “Hardly unexpected.” He murmured caustically.

“Sir, one minute to firing range.” Timett offered, hoping the news might work as a pressure valve.

Katorn forced his mouth into a lusty grin. At the same time, he brought his formidable willpower to bear, shutting out Timett and the rest of the galaxy with its grim baggage. He resolved to relish this moment and any more like it that may be in the offering. He was a Cardassian soldier and a faithful servant of the Union, and he was on the winning side of a historic battle. He could still enjoy small victories. He could still bask in the moment.

No one could take that away from him, at least.

The weapons lock failed to operate. Their growing proximity to the nebula was degrading the sensor returns with each passing moment.

All the more fun. Switching the targeting controls to manual, Katorn took aim and hammered the Federation ship with full disruptors. He was rewarded with the appearance of black flower blossoms along the enemy’s secondary hull.

“Report!” He demanded after several minutes of sustained fire.

“Enemy vessel has gained significant damage to their superstructure and engines.” Timett supplied. He looked up and swallowed thickly before continuing. “But, eh…their shields have already replenished to seventy-eight percent. I’m not sure how…”

“Regenerative shields,” The elderly Menta supplied without looking up from his scope.

True enough, Katorn thought amicably. But now they were expending their last reserves. The next time his enemy lost shields would be the final time.

“Sir,” His data officer spoke in alarm, “Target is decelerating! They’re stopping dead, bearing zero-zero-zero, mark zero!”

Katorn stiffened with unease. Space between the vessels had now shrunk dramatically as Punisher bore down on the now stationary target at close to full impulse. The Starfleet battleship that Katorn had been so careful to keep a distance from was now close enough that he could have leaned over and kicked its hull.

“Incoming fire, photon warheads!” Timett yelped.

The enemy spit three torpedoes from her aft tubes. Punisher was close enough to take one or two hits, but damage would be minimal.

But the weapons never hit their target. Instead, they exploded directly off the destroyer’s starboard bow.

There were overlapping cries from the bridge officers.

“My detector network is going down!”

“I have no data, sir!”

“Sensors are off line!”

The main view screen became a jittery curtain of static.

“Evasive to port!” Katorn slapped desperately at the firing controls, activating every one of Punisher’s batteries. But without sensors, he couldn’t tell definitively if he was hitting anything. There was some feedback variance on a few beams, but…

“Clear that sensor jam, you idiots!” Katorn bellowed, “Full countermeasures!”

“Visual noise from the torpedoes is already dissipating.” Menta reassured him.

“Sensors are back!” Timett announced, eager to drop more good news into the kitty.

The Kokala Nebula spread into view on the main screen.

“I want a full sweep of----“

Proximity alarms blared. The viewer swept away the nebula to show a large saucer bearing down on them so fast it was an elliptical blur.

Gul Katorn’s prior warning to Timett about suicide runs had been made to illustrate a point. Truthfully, he had considered it an unlikely event. But the unlikely had now become nightmarish reality.

The path to either life or death would be decided in the blink of an eye.

The helm officer didn’t wait for orders; he knew they would come too late. He swung the destroyer into a hard turn, even as the computer automatically shunted reserve power into the shields. It was a maneuver so unlikely to succeed it qualified as a formality.

The collision caused every right side panel and duty station to explode. Electrical arcs spun filaments across chairs and interface terminals. Clouds of acidic smoke mushroomed to the ceiling. Cracks and pops fired from random pieces of equipment.

And then, amazingly, it was over.

“Shield impact only!” Yelled the helmsman. “I repeat, no hull damage!”

Menta looked up from his scope at Katorn. A savage grin was parting his wrinkled face. “Starfleet vessel destroyed their own shields in the collision! They’re defenseless now!”

Timett’s eyes were sparkling. “Confirmed, Gul Katorn! Our own shields have been reinstated through auxiliary! Primaries were down for less than two seconds!”

Gul Katorn collected himself from the deck to which he’d fallen. Providence had spared them. Either the Starfleet crew had suffered a bout of incompetence or Punisher’s helmsman was a genius.

In either event, his opponent had just gambled and lost.

“Rip them in half.” Katorn’s tone reflected a hint of disappointment. He was almost sad that the contest had ended so quickly.

A new alarm blatted through the control room, but it was a non sequitur as far as anyone could tell. How could there be a security breach when----?

 

[Galen4]

Chapter 6 continued​

An exigent cry erupted over the PA system: “Intruder alert! We’ve been boarded! Location: engineering!”

Thankfully, Timett was suffering a rare episode of moxie. “Transporter control,” He shouted at the intercom, “lock onto those boarding parties and send them into space!”

Time stood still for Gul Katorn, as he became aware of two inescapable facts:

The first was that Punisher had not been invaded by anything organic.

The second was that any course would come too late.

Timett’s words came back to haunt him. The primaries were down for less than two seconds, he had said.

Two seconds that had made all the difference.

Evidentially, someone else came to the same conclusion. He could feel arms encircle his own from behind, dragging him in the general direction of an escape pod.

Thrashing against his would be savior, Gul Katorn yelled defiantly, giving what would turn out to be the very last order aboard his ship. “Seal engineering and trap everything aft of junction fifty-four!”

The explosion happened a moment later, as if the photon torpedo had been waiting for Katorn to finish his sentence before igniting. The roaring shockwave tore through Punisher’s guts, vaporizing all that lay before it.

***​

When Lt. Commander Adol came to his senses, he found himself plodding along a winding dark path. Startled, and feeling utterly disoriented, he brought his legs to a halt.

He wondered if the helpless sensation that now gripped him was what sleepwalkers experienced----that awful knowledge that one has been engaged in activities with no conscious direction.

The Andorian prided himself on discipline. Sleepwalking or no, he would get his orientation at once. He forced his eyes closed, slowing his heart rate and breathing.

Over the next few minutes, he pieced together his last memories. There was the runabout mission, the Genesis launch and a queer anomaly that had reached out from the Kokala Nebula to grab their ship.

His recollection stopped right before the moment of impact. In his mind’s eye, he had a frozen picture of a luminescent tornado poised to swallow the runabout.

That memory jumped to the present, as if the two events had been stitched together seamlessly, omitting anything in-between.

Methodically, and with the wary scrutiny that comes to a soldier, Adol began to catalog his surroundings.

He stood upon a pathway no more than two meters across, and whose edges were jagged and irregular. The surface was a mosaic of dark spots and pink blotches. Parts of it were soft, while other areas were firmer. The firmer areas looked decidedly like exposed bone or cartilage, although he was unsure why he thought so.

The pathway stretched off into the gloom, where he could just make out highlighted edges of other pathways, a whole network of them, meeting and separating with his own.

Far in the distance and above him, he saw an illuminated green sphere. It hung out there like a bloated emerald eye; staring down at a point that Adol guessed would be where all the pathways eventually joined. A sliver of white was turning inside the globe, as though it were an ancient compass needle in the throes of magnetic disarray.

The sphere’s radiance was dull, but he noticed the pathways exhibited a pallid glow, like phosphorescent mold. Between the two light sources, there was just enough vision to navigate.

The paths were floating sidewalks in a black void. It was impossible to tell how high he was or if any kind of wall or barrier was close by.

He knew, somehow, that something was alive in the darkness around him. In fact, a great many things were alive, he just couldn’t see them. But he could feel their presence. A restless activity was occurring…he sensed a heightened level of urgency that was escalating with each minute. A vast, unseen engine had started into motion.

His eyes jumped around the blackness that surrounded him and his antennas twitched with anxiety. He tried his combadge, only to find it was dead. He checked for the phaser he had been wearing in the runabout, but it was absent. Even the small type-one phaser he usually concealed under his left sleeve was missing.

On impulse, he crouched and ran his hand along the outside of his right thigh. He grunted with pleasure upon feeling the sleek bulge of his combat knife through his trousers. The knife was a Kull Shredder, manufactured by the Nausicans. Adol “won” it in a bar fight two years ago. At first he had kept it only as a trophy, but soon fell in love with its craftsmanship and deadly functionality.

As he stood and resumed his cautious journey towards the sphere, it occurred to him that he retained the weapon because his captors obviously hadn’t considered it a threat. He was glad of its company nonetheless.

Adol moved on through the surreal landscape, casting glances at the emerald globe in the distance. It was much further away than he initially thought, judging by how little it grew during his journey. He was mindful of his footing. He had no idea what rustled beneath him in the dark, but he had no intention of engaging it headfirst in a fall. An impromptu meeting worried him more than a lethal plunge at this point.

The air was humid and stale. There was an overpowering blend of organic aromas wafting over him; wet fur and fish underscored by rotting meat. He would have gagged if his constitution had belonged to a less hearty species.

He knew something had made brief contact with him, even if he had no direct memory of the experience. Impressions had been left behind; a jumble of indistinct ideas and emotions, wispy and intangible, they danced like specters just beyond the boundary of conscious thought.

Adol continued to check his progress with the only fixed reference point available; the green sphere. As he gradually drew closer, the metallic shard within it took on sharper clarity. As the familiar shape resolved into focus, he felt disbelief. From there he made the journey to apprehension.

He began to sprint over the bizarre surface, his boots slapping the fleshy ground with moist thumps.

Sharper, more distinct now, the fuzzy gray and silver shard was meshing into a familiar outline…unmistakable, even through the shimmering blister…

The Andorian came to a halt and stared upward, his breath hissing in and out through clenched teeth. He was still some kilometers away, but even still, there was no longer room for doubt.

“It can’t be!” He blurted.

 

[Galen4]

Chapter 6 continued​

A Starfleet ship somersaulted within the bubble as though it were a toy caught within a giant’s snow globe. The nacelles and saucer were distinguishable, even if he couldn’t make out the exact class of ship.

He was so mesmerized by the sight; he nearly tripped over the obstacle at his feet. He cried out, jumping into a martial arts pose.

He hadn’t been attacked; he simply had kicked the unmoving body in front of him.

Damn place is setting my antennas on edge! He thought crossly.

Adol knelt to examine the facedown figure. It was a male humanoid in a Starfleet uniform. He felt the man’s neck for a pulse, and found it weak but steady.

Gently, he rolled over the disheveled body of Lt. Douglas Pal.

“Doug!”

Pal’s face was ashen, and coated with fine perspiration. “So sorry,” He groaned to some unseen phantom. He shuddered violently.

Adol did a superficial examination of his friend and found no physical injuries. But he could see the man was in a state of shock. He removed his outer tunic and draped it around Pal while supporting his head.

Pal’s eyes fluttered open and then narrowed. “Adol?” He inquired groggily.

“Easy, Doug. You’re doing just fine.” Adol was buoyed by the reaction. If the damage was only psychological, then he might stand a chance of getting Pal on his feet and moving. If there were any hope it all, communication with whomever was holding them was essential. They would need to follow the pathways to where they converged just under the captured starship. If there were answers to this madness, they would lie there.

All roads lead to Andoria, he quipped silently.

“Adol.” Pal croaked again.

“Yes, it’s me. Doug, I need for you to get up. We need to walk out of here. Do you understand me?”

“No point,” Pal slurred. “They’ve come back. They were finally gone, you see. We were safe. But now…”

Adol leaned over, his tone hardening with urgency. “Who’s come back? Who’s holding us?”

Pal looked stricken with grief. His face trembled on the brink of tears. “I tried to stop it. I really tried, Adol! I told them we meant no harm, that it was all an accident. They wouldn’t listen. They just…dissected me.”

“All right, try to stay calm. It’s all over----“

“NO! Jesus, Adol…they’re so angry!”

The Andorian became aware of pressure against his mind. His thoughts were now like a tuning fork, vibrating in response to the alien stimuli around him. That restless activity had just elevated again. It was the build up to a violent storm, ready to break upon them at any moment…

“Adol, you know you’re a pain in the ass? You never clean up after yourself. How can I bring a girl back to our dorm room?” Pal had slipped back into shock, this time seeking shelter in the bygone days of Academy life.

Adol clamped onto his friend’s shoulders and gave him a firm shake. “Lieutenant Pal!” He snapped, “I’m giving you a direct Order! Report! WHO is holding us captive?”

Pal started at the officious, commanding tone as though he’d been slapped. His gaze reflected lucidity.

And then his eyes became white circles. He yelled into the dark above him in a scratchy outburst that was laden with misery and terror.

“The Inth!” He wailed, “The INTH!”

 

[CeJay]

Good to see this back in the works.

You offer us a nice change of perspective in this chapter in order to teach the Cardassians a painful lesson on overconfidence. Clearly Katorn wasn't quite expecting to face off against a captain of the caliber of Aubrey who doesn't seem to accept the meaning of the word defeated. And if the good Gul survives the fate of his ship, methinks he will have plenty of time to reflect on his own failings.

But it seems the Battle of Betazed (which unfortunately is already a forgone conclusion) is only the setup for something much more sinister and dangerous. And that of course is saying a lot. But we all remember the terrifying prologue to this story. And the INTH (should probably always be capitalized) do not sound like the kind of things (?) you want around in your galaxy.

Good luck to the Adol, Pal and whoever else will get the misfortune of getting to know them. Good luck to us all ...

 

[Galen4]

Good to see this back in the works.

You offer us a nice change of perspective in this chapter in order to teach the Cardassians a painful lesson on overconfidence. Clearly Katorn wasn't quite expecting to face off against a captain of the caliber of Aubrey who doesn't seem to accept the meaning of the word defeated. And if the good Gul survives the fate of his ship, methinks he will have plenty of time to reflect on his own failings.

But it seems the Battle of Betazed (which unfortunately is already a forgone conclusion) is only the setup for something much more sinister and dangerous. And that of course is saying a lot. But we all remember the terrifying prologue to this story. And the INTH (should probably always be capitalized) do not sound like the kind of things (?) you want around in your galaxy.

Good luck to the Adol, Pal and whoever else will get the misfortune of getting to know them. Good luck to us all ...

Thanks, CeJay. True, the Battle of Betazed is just a backdrop for a bigger story. Now, hopefully I can get the next chapters up a little sooner.

Glad to know a few people are still following this!

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

I enjoyed the battle sequence from the Cardassian P.O.V. It's amazing that Aubrey was able to turn the tables so completely and with devastating results. Great writing!

As to Adol and Pal - from the frying pan into the proverbial fire.

 

[Galen4]

Okay, in the spirit of more timely postings, I've decided to put up sections of each new chapter as I go, rather than waiting for the whole chapter to complete, first.

I'll continue this way unless there are strident objections.

 

[Galen4]

Chapter 7
-Part 1-​

USS Intrepid
Deck 4


Lieutenant Perboda cringed while the ship quaked and bucked under his feet. The Orion wished desperately that a duty station could have been assigned him, but unfortunately he was both a new transfer and a counselor, so his acclimation had been moved down the priority list in favor of specialized combat officers. So here he was, with no office, no damage control station and no orders to follow. He was little more than a spectator to the destruction of his new home.

It didn’t help that he was dying in the company of strangers. When he had served aboard Legacy, his courage had been fortified by the knowledge that he had to set an example for the crew, who would look to him for comfort.

Here, no one knew him. No one would take strength from his composure. No one would seek his counsel with their silent looks of desperation as they ran by him in the corridors. Here, it was he who needed comfort.

Through the windows he made out barely glimpsed objects streaking by his field of vision and eruptions of violet and orange light, testimony to the horrendous battle unfolding around him. Scientific wizardry kept his feet on the deck, but his view was an unhappy reminder that if the inertial dampers failed at these speeds, he would get smeared across a bulkhead.

For a moment he wished that he had remained aboard Legacy. No doubt the larger, state of the art cruiser was faring better than this old bucket at the moment.

As if to prove him wrong, the thrumming deck came to an abrupt standstill and all indications of battle ceased. Somewhere beyond his room he heard muted thumps and the groan of rending metal. He cocked his head, listening to the shouts and running footsteps in the outside corridor.

Two minutes crawled by in relative silence. Tentatively, Perboda looked out the rectangular windows, and then eyed the bulkheads around him suspiciously, half expecting the walls to burst open.

A bosun’s whistle came over the PA system, making him flinch violently.

“Now hear this: Condition Red is still in affect throughout the ship. Damage Control Proper, stand by for new assignments.”

“Bridge, Damage Control. Copy.”


Perboda aligned his back into a vertical line and squared his massive shoulders. He reminded himself that not everyone aboard was a stranger, and if he wanted to be of use, the answer was obvious. What he had to do…

What he had to do was march into the bridge and shake the captain’s hand, that’s what he had to do.

There was a confused gap in the Orion’s thinking at that point, as his mind stuttered over its own data like a damaged computer.

Shake the captain’s hand? At a time like this? And yet, he could see himself doing it, walking up to Aubrey, stretching forth his hand to engulf the captain’s smaller one…

The desire became so strong that his feet began moving him towards the door.

When the powerful urge snapped off, Perboda was left in a befuddled state. He scowled in confusion, staring accusingly at his cabin doors, as though they had enchanted him.

It was embarrassing, really. He had always prided himself on his mental acuity and concise reasoning. He was mortified to lose his bearings this way.

Sheepishly, he backpedaled towards the center of his room.

That was when he felt every hair on the nape of his neck bristle under an unseen, but imminent danger. His heart joined in on the act, thumping away with urgency.

He wasn’t alone.

Slowly, he unlimbered his phaser and set it to kill. Taking carefully measured steps, Perboda walked forward into the living room, training his weapon on every dark crevice and empty space.

Somehow, someone or something had boarded the ship and made its way into his quarters. It stood less than a meter away! He could feel the sinister presence watching him, leering at his carelessness!

He spun around, crouching into a firing position. He expected to find a Jem’Hadar soldier or some other fiend preparing to strike.

Instead, he found himself facing down a sofa and two easy chairs. The room was empty, of course, just as it always had been.

The overhead speakers barked to life again.

“Deck Six and Deck Nine, OPS. I need damage reports on the double! On the double!”

The intercom voice had carried no magic. Yet, the insistent timbre had just broken the spell Perboda was under, allowing him to collect his scattered wits. Just like that, the Orion was himself again.

At this point, he would have been first to admit that he was unfit for duty and have himself relieved. He knew better than anyone the delicacy of the humanoid brain. He was a responsible officer who had always put his patients and his shipmate’s welfare before his own. He might even have taken the time to laugh at the irony of an unbalanced psychologist.

But Counselor Perboda never got the chance to ponder the matter further, because an instant later, he lost all memories of the experience. The paranoia, fear and odd compulsion had vanished from his mind. In their wake was nothing but a dim echo----a vague feeling that he had been worried about something so trivial he had now forgotten it.

Without these maladies, his famous optimism reemerged. He and the ship were still in one piece after all. And the CO was a gifted combat officer, right?

Right you are.

Now then, where had he been going?

Ah, yes. The time had come to pay his new friend a visit.

***​

Dr. Kella Lisern regarded him across an empty biobed. As the doors closed behind Perboda, she threw a wane smile in his direction. “Am I glad to see you.” She said hoarsely. The Bajoran CMO looked even more exhausted then when he last saw her, but her diffidence was long gone.

Perboda watched an injured crewman shimmer onto the bed a moment later. He had barely materialized before his burnt body began thrashing from a seizure.

Three medics converged on the injured man from different points of the room while Kella ran a tricorder over him. “More coolant poisoning!” She reported grimly. “Twenty CCs of Droxi-Polin!” A hypo was slapped into her hand and she pressed it against her patient’s neck. His spasms became weak shudders.

 

[Galen4]

Chapter 7
-part 1 continued-​

“No, no!” She snapped at a nurse, who froze in place with a dermal regenerator. “Leave the burns for secondary care! Finish getting his vitals stabilized, and move him out!” Kella gestured towards a far corner of the room. “There’s another critical on the way!”

The Orion started forward, intending to help in whatever way his meager first aid training would allow. Despite the crowded room, he easily maintained a line of sight with Kella by towering over the heads of his smaller shipmates. But she gave him the “stop” signal with an index finger. She then pointed towards a crewmember that was draped across a chair to Perboda’s right.

“She needs your help!” Kella called over the rising clamor of her overtaxed sickbay. Then she merged into the thick of paramedics and nurses, projecting orders through her combadge. Perboda heard her speaking to someone in the enlisted mess, which was one of three converted medical bays now treating the increasing flow of injuries.

The crewmember Kella had pointed out was a young woman, wearing a splint on her left leg, which was set across the chair’s armrest. Her torn trouser was crusted with dried blood. Her face sported a terrible bruise.

“How are you holding up, Ensign?” He said in greeting. “I’m Lieutenant Perboda, the ship’s new counselor.”

She was young-----early twenties and blonde. She tore her gaze from another part of the ward to acknowledge him. She looked up at him, through him.

“My leg’s broke.” She rejoined mechanically. “I’m waiting on a mend so I can get back to duty.” She returned her eyes to a set of closed doors just a few meters away.

Perboda followed her look. The room that had her attention was the main ICU.

“Someone you know?” He offered gently.

She blinked, and her numbness began to crack, spreading out veins of raw emotion that burned with new life.

“My husband.” She replied tightly. “Plasma burns. I’m not sure…see, I’m not sure if…”

He saw that even at this fresh young age, even under these conditions, she was a proud woman. There was no doubt that tears seldom touched her cheeks.

But regardless, a renegade drop now stole away from her, tracing the purple, swollen contours of her right eye.

Counselor Perboda knew he represented an extra pair of hands, which were needed for the physically wounded----and he would soon put them to use for that very task.

But not just this moment. For now, he would spare one of those hands here.

He gently swallowed the ensign’s palm with his own.