STAR TREK: KHITOMER
- Thread starter 47
- Start date
I'd be willing to pay you ten thousand dollars to find out.
What, no Paypal?
Wait, no, forget about Paypal, all I've got is ten bricks of gold-pressed latinum and a picture of Pierce Brosnan autographed by Timothy Dalton.
Shorter than usual, but for now it will have to do.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
June 16, 2400
For ten days now, the Avenger had explored all around, protected by her interphase cloak.
The Bajoran Sector was clear. So was the Cardassian Sector. That second expedition had only confirmed what they already knew.
So they had decided to go forward, to Breen space. There they had found the same kind of desolation they had found on Cardassia: their huge subterranean cities replaced by external complexes, completely isolated from the external atmosphere … and nobody left.
"Damn, they were thorough."
"Obviously, the drones were more important to them than the technology they left here."
"Strange. The Queen is known for being quite callous about the life of her drones."
"Not this time though."
The Avenger had kept going around before cautiously entering Federation space. And there they had found …
***
Taleria Cretak was the late, very late daughter of the ex-Senator Kimara Cretak, who had almost lost her life trying to help Julian Bashir find out additional facts about the Koval conspiracy, years ago on Romulus. As small as Catherine, as cute too, she had promptly attracted her attention.
Catherine had been the first to make a move, extending her right hand just a little too abruptly. Taleria had stepped backward, surprised. She had stared at her for a second, then remembered her good manners and taken Catherine's hand by the tip of her fingers.
"I salute you. I am Sub-Centurion Cretak."
"I am Catherine. I understand that our ranks are about the same?"
"Yes, Lieutenant. An erie'Arrain, or Sub-Centurion, holds the equivalent of your rank. But we have been instructed to follow your instructions in all things."
"It's Catherine, Taleria."
"Catherine it is then."
As Catherine had taken command of the Gamma shift, in charge of analyzing the Deletham's primary systems, she had insisted on Taleria being affected to her group and had selected her as her assistant. Now, a hundred days later, the two were trying to prepare their progress report for Yirina to deliver to Beta Command in the following days.
"Navigation, weapons, life support: essentially, the facts we have use about half a screen on this PADD", Catherine started.
"That's because you still look at the facts with a human mind, hevam. The Deletham may come from elsewhere, she has still been given a Romulan soul, and you must consider things in a Romulan way."
"Okay, Rommie, show me then. Try to educate my poor, primitive human brain with the Grandiose Wisdom of your little green head."
The two had been teasing each other like that since the first night they had spent together, talking and eating and laughing and generally getting better acquainted. They were bosom buddies.
"The answers we have are few because we have not asked the right questions yet. All this time, we have tried to figure out how those systems worked, how they related to each other, what started and stopped them — especially propulsion and weapons. It may be time to stop asking how and what, and start asking why."
"Why what?"
Taleria looked at Catherine and smiled. That was the typical humor of her human friend.
"Well, for instance, why didn't the Deletham go to that special 'battle mode' before the Khitomer Battle? Why did she suddenly turn her attention to Khitomer and 'decide' to intervene?"
"'Decide'? Ships can't make decisions, Taleria."
"Are you familiar with the events leading to the alliance which gave ultimately birth to the Federation?"
"Are you referring to the attempt made with Raptors to destabilize the potential political alliances the Enterprise was trying to build in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants?"
"Yes. As you know, Valdore's ships were controlled by an Aenar pilot, from an operations tower in the Romulan capital. They were highly maneuverable, capable of dodging photonic torpedoes with deft barrel rolls."
"Yeah, I'm familiar with … Are you insinuating that the Deletham could be remotely controlled?"
"I am only suggesting that you need to start thinking out of the container, like a Starfleet engineer. In fact I'm suggesting much more than that, but first I wanted to remind you that not all battleships need a crew. Now, I have here the transcripts of T'Rul report to Wilkins, Catherine. Read this part."
Commander T'Rul: "We were monitoring the subspace transmissions as we always do when we received news of the attack against Khitomer, Admiral. We decided to come back as quickly as we could, but we had calculated that it would take at least two days to arrive, so we were very pessimistic. Then the Deletham just … accelerated, Sir. She went from high warp to transwarp, just like that, before we could do anything to stop her. When we realized what was happening, I instructed my Chief Engineer to try to find out what was happening, but to let her go until I gave orders to stop. After all, we wanted to go faster."
Admiral Wilkins: "I applaud your initiative, Commander. Now, how were you able to fight all those ships at the same time?"
Commander T'Rul:"I just let the Deletham do her thing, Sir."
Admiral Wilkins: "Meaning?"
Commander T'Rul: "The Deletham returned to normal space when she arrived to Khitomer, and then started firing on the Dominion fleet, Admiral."
Admiral Karov: "Are you trying to make us believe that your ship simply decided to fight the Jem'Hadars?"
Commander T'Rul: "That would be one way to describe what happened, Admiral."
Catherine raised her head and looked at her friend, right in her eyes.
"Damn!"
"You shouldn't be surprised, hevam. Commander Data was a machine, yet he was able to take decisions, sometimes very controversial ones."
"It would be easier to believe that the Deletham is remotely controlled."
"By whom, Catherine? Who would be that mysterious ally who controls the ship which decimates Borg, Dominion and Reman ships like if they were mere sindaram? And if it exists, why wouldn't it intervene in a more direct way?"
***
Akeen and Akoval Shran had just arrived on Bajor and undertaken the Kalian Monastery investigation. They had been greeted by Vedek Monas.
"I believe I have told my story about a hundred times already to various Starfleet and Militia officers, young people. Will I have to tell it until I'm blue in the face, just like you?"
"We have read the reports, Vedek. We know everything which has been included in them. We are here for a few details which seem to be missing."
"Like that Kara Grem, for instance."
Monas looked at them sadly.
"Kara Grem died in the fire."
"That is what we believed at first, Vedek, until we examined her past and found out a few … discrepancies."
"Like what?
Monas was suddenly listening, a rare occurrence, as Akoval showed him the relevant portions of Grem's story.
Kara Grem, born from unknown parents in 2375 in a work camp on Cardassia Prime, freed by a Starfleet investigation in 2383, when it was found out that the Cardassians had forgotten to mention that they had "volunteered" them to the task of providing supplies to rebuild their homeworld after the Dominion War.
She was brought back to Bajor and adopted by the Kara family. She showed to be a difficult child. In 2391, she left Bajor for Starfleet Academy.
She left in 2393 and reappeared on Bajor only in 2399, working as an assistant to a notary public in the capital.
Monas looked at the detectives again.
"And what do you infer from that?"
"This person must be a hard worker. She probably likes Cardassians even less than the average Bajoran, although most Bajorans of her age are much more open to them."
"That's true. I have never seen a worker as selfless, disciplined and hard working as her."
"Then something happened to her between the time she left Starfleet Academy for indiscipline and laziness and the time she reappeared in that notary public's office six years later."
"Young people change, you know."
"This one dropped from Starfleet Academy to reappear in 2395 in a secretarial school, then a judicial school, both on Vulcan, where she was praised by her teachers for her, quote, relentless dedication to studies and impeccable work ethics, end quote. After a three-year advanced course, she disappeared again and finally arrived on Bajor, where she took a job well under her abilities. Then she left it to come to the Monastery and maintain gardens."
"Young people can be so versatile."
"And finally, ten hours after the fire started, she climbed aboard a Lissepian transporter for an unknown destination."
"WHAT?"
"I knew that one would surprise you."
***
Annie and Sabrina had sweated a lot in the gym. Now they were getting ready to take a sonic shower.
"At least there's no risk that we'll be caught by your mother or mine."
Sabrina laughed heartily. The tale of B'Elanna catching her daughter naked with Annie was a good one indeed, which Annie had told all around her friends, to Miral's despair.
"There will be even less risk the day after tomorrow."
"Yup."
Both had been informed two days earlier that now that their courses were over — Advanced Command for both, Advanced Tactical for Sabrina, Advanced Security for Annie — they would be affected together to the USS Chameleon-A, which would have a mission slightly different from her illustrious predecessor, namely nothing more than exploring the Alpha and Beta quadrants, looking for the Borg, replacing in this mission the Avenger, needed on Deep Space Nine.
But first, the Chameleon-A would reunite the O'Briens, father and daughter. As soon as the old man had learned his daughter was alive, he had started scheming a way to go to Deep Space Nine. The Chameleon-A, a much smaller, technology-dense starship, was the result of his cogitations. Equipped with the Yirina-modified Mark XXI drive, filled to the rim with cloaking and stealth technology, the Chameleon-A was a lean and mean machine, which would NOT need to withdraw hastily from a fight. But she was not a luxury liner either. More Spartan than the original Defiant, more Spartan even than a Klingon ship, she was built for one purpose only: intelligence. And that's what she would gather.
"Ensign Fox reporting for duty, Sir!"
Sabrina turned around. She knew that voice. Annie didn't and as a reflex, put her hand in front of her sex.
"Hi, Nic. It's still Sabrina for you."
"They gave you command of this ship, Sir. That makes you the Captain, even without the four pips."
"The mission is quite simple, Nic. If Starfleet Command had thought that a fight was possible, they would have provided the ship with a more seasoned captain. But all we're doing here is snoop. So you're my yeoman?"
"Yes, Sir."
"At least this time, you shouldn't have to support me every step of the way and suffer my whimpers, huh?"
"You needed me, Sabrina, and we all needed you."
"I don't feel ready for command, Nic. The situation was special then. I had to do it. Starfleet may have only a handful of captains left, this mission … I don't feel ready."
"I guess that's why they tried to take the best of the original Chameleon's crew to staff this one, Sabrina. We all trust you with our lives, yet we know that experience is lacking. But we all have seen your commitment at work."
"Commitment is good, so is training, but experience is best."
"That's why they gave you Sub-Commander Varel. She's very experienced, and she's there to advise you."
"She intimidates me."
"You're the Captain."
***
The Avenger was coming back home. What they had seen was enough to invite days of debriefing by Admiral Fox, and yet, there was not much to see.
They were gone.
The Borg were gone.
The Borg had left Federation space, as far as the Avenger had gone in before they received news that the Chameleon-A would replace her. Behind them were huge, bizarre buildings full of technological marvels — and no one left.
"Those planets had populations! What happened with them?"
"People on a planet, the Borg come, no more people. Sounds clear to me."
"They assimilated tens of billions of people?"
"And they took them when they left."
"At an average of 50,000 drones a Cube, that would mean …"
"Yeah."
"Damn."
***
"Damn."
Wilkins shared Ro's opinion on the current Borg situation. Of course, their departure was a good thing, but the fact that they had assimilated such a population could only suggest that …
"Admiral!"
"Yes, Samantha?"
"A huge convoy is heading right for Khitomer, Sir."
Wilkins felt uneasy. Could it be …
"Who?"
"Klingons, Sir. Forty heavy freighters escorted by six Negh'Vars and the Chancellor's personal ship."
"Put them on screen."
The spectacle was impressive. The freighters were not the usual type, but the new FX-Class freighters, two kilometers long, two hundred meters wide, cities in space. The Negh'Vars were … Well, they were Negh'Vars, impressive on their own and from reputation. As for the leading ship, black, looking more or less like a Negh'Var but much bigger and incredibly meaner-looking, it was a Rogh'Var, the last jewel of Klingon warfare technology.
"What the hell are they doing here?" Wilkins asked.
"Admiral, Chancellor Worf is hailing you."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
June 16, 2400
For ten days now, the Avenger had explored all around, protected by her interphase cloak.
The Bajoran Sector was clear. So was the Cardassian Sector. That second expedition had only confirmed what they already knew.
So they had decided to go forward, to Breen space. There they had found the same kind of desolation they had found on Cardassia: their huge subterranean cities replaced by external complexes, completely isolated from the external atmosphere … and nobody left.
"Damn, they were thorough."
"Obviously, the drones were more important to them than the technology they left here."
"Strange. The Queen is known for being quite callous about the life of her drones."
"Not this time though."
The Avenger had kept going around before cautiously entering Federation space. And there they had found …
***
Taleria Cretak was the late, very late daughter of the ex-Senator Kimara Cretak, who had almost lost her life trying to help Julian Bashir find out additional facts about the Koval conspiracy, years ago on Romulus. As small as Catherine, as cute too, she had promptly attracted her attention.
Catherine had been the first to make a move, extending her right hand just a little too abruptly. Taleria had stepped backward, surprised. She had stared at her for a second, then remembered her good manners and taken Catherine's hand by the tip of her fingers.
"I salute you. I am Sub-Centurion Cretak."
"I am Catherine. I understand that our ranks are about the same?"
"Yes, Lieutenant. An erie'Arrain, or Sub-Centurion, holds the equivalent of your rank. But we have been instructed to follow your instructions in all things."
"It's Catherine, Taleria."
"Catherine it is then."
As Catherine had taken command of the Gamma shift, in charge of analyzing the Deletham's primary systems, she had insisted on Taleria being affected to her group and had selected her as her assistant. Now, a hundred days later, the two were trying to prepare their progress report for Yirina to deliver to Beta Command in the following days.
"Navigation, weapons, life support: essentially, the facts we have use about half a screen on this PADD", Catherine started.
"That's because you still look at the facts with a human mind, hevam. The Deletham may come from elsewhere, she has still been given a Romulan soul, and you must consider things in a Romulan way."
"Okay, Rommie, show me then. Try to educate my poor, primitive human brain with the Grandiose Wisdom of your little green head."
The two had been teasing each other like that since the first night they had spent together, talking and eating and laughing and generally getting better acquainted. They were bosom buddies.
"The answers we have are few because we have not asked the right questions yet. All this time, we have tried to figure out how those systems worked, how they related to each other, what started and stopped them — especially propulsion and weapons. It may be time to stop asking how and what, and start asking why."
"Why what?"
Taleria looked at Catherine and smiled. That was the typical humor of her human friend.
"Well, for instance, why didn't the Deletham go to that special 'battle mode' before the Khitomer Battle? Why did she suddenly turn her attention to Khitomer and 'decide' to intervene?"
"'Decide'? Ships can't make decisions, Taleria."
"Are you familiar with the events leading to the alliance which gave ultimately birth to the Federation?"
"Are you referring to the attempt made with Raptors to destabilize the potential political alliances the Enterprise was trying to build in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants?"
"Yes. As you know, Valdore's ships were controlled by an Aenar pilot, from an operations tower in the Romulan capital. They were highly maneuverable, capable of dodging photonic torpedoes with deft barrel rolls."
"Yeah, I'm familiar with … Are you insinuating that the Deletham could be remotely controlled?"
"I am only suggesting that you need to start thinking out of the container, like a Starfleet engineer. In fact I'm suggesting much more than that, but first I wanted to remind you that not all battleships need a crew. Now, I have here the transcripts of T'Rul report to Wilkins, Catherine. Read this part."
Commander T'Rul: "We were monitoring the subspace transmissions as we always do when we received news of the attack against Khitomer, Admiral. We decided to come back as quickly as we could, but we had calculated that it would take at least two days to arrive, so we were very pessimistic. Then the Deletham just … accelerated, Sir. She went from high warp to transwarp, just like that, before we could do anything to stop her. When we realized what was happening, I instructed my Chief Engineer to try to find out what was happening, but to let her go until I gave orders to stop. After all, we wanted to go faster."
Admiral Wilkins: "I applaud your initiative, Commander. Now, how were you able to fight all those ships at the same time?"
Commander T'Rul:"I just let the Deletham do her thing, Sir."
Admiral Wilkins: "Meaning?"
Commander T'Rul: "The Deletham returned to normal space when she arrived to Khitomer, and then started firing on the Dominion fleet, Admiral."
Admiral Karov: "Are you trying to make us believe that your ship simply decided to fight the Jem'Hadars?"
Commander T'Rul: "That would be one way to describe what happened, Admiral."
Catherine raised her head and looked at her friend, right in her eyes.
"Damn!"
"You shouldn't be surprised, hevam. Commander Data was a machine, yet he was able to take decisions, sometimes very controversial ones."
"It would be easier to believe that the Deletham is remotely controlled."
"By whom, Catherine? Who would be that mysterious ally who controls the ship which decimates Borg, Dominion and Reman ships like if they were mere sindaram? And if it exists, why wouldn't it intervene in a more direct way?"
***
Akeen and Akoval Shran had just arrived on Bajor and undertaken the Kalian Monastery investigation. They had been greeted by Vedek Monas.
"I believe I have told my story about a hundred times already to various Starfleet and Militia officers, young people. Will I have to tell it until I'm blue in the face, just like you?"
"We have read the reports, Vedek. We know everything which has been included in them. We are here for a few details which seem to be missing."
"Like that Kara Grem, for instance."
Monas looked at them sadly.
"Kara Grem died in the fire."
"That is what we believed at first, Vedek, until we examined her past and found out a few … discrepancies."
"Like what?
Monas was suddenly listening, a rare occurrence, as Akoval showed him the relevant portions of Grem's story.
Kara Grem, born from unknown parents in 2375 in a work camp on Cardassia Prime, freed by a Starfleet investigation in 2383, when it was found out that the Cardassians had forgotten to mention that they had "volunteered" them to the task of providing supplies to rebuild their homeworld after the Dominion War.
She was brought back to Bajor and adopted by the Kara family. She showed to be a difficult child. In 2391, she left Bajor for Starfleet Academy.
She left in 2393 and reappeared on Bajor only in 2399, working as an assistant to a notary public in the capital.
Monas looked at the detectives again.
"And what do you infer from that?"
"This person must be a hard worker. She probably likes Cardassians even less than the average Bajoran, although most Bajorans of her age are much more open to them."
"That's true. I have never seen a worker as selfless, disciplined and hard working as her."
"Then something happened to her between the time she left Starfleet Academy for indiscipline and laziness and the time she reappeared in that notary public's office six years later."
"Young people change, you know."
"This one dropped from Starfleet Academy to reappear in 2395 in a secretarial school, then a judicial school, both on Vulcan, where she was praised by her teachers for her, quote, relentless dedication to studies and impeccable work ethics, end quote. After a three-year advanced course, she disappeared again and finally arrived on Bajor, where she took a job well under her abilities. Then she left it to come to the Monastery and maintain gardens."
"Young people can be so versatile."
"And finally, ten hours after the fire started, she climbed aboard a Lissepian transporter for an unknown destination."
"WHAT?"
"I knew that one would surprise you."
***
Annie and Sabrina had sweated a lot in the gym. Now they were getting ready to take a sonic shower.
"At least there's no risk that we'll be caught by your mother or mine."
Sabrina laughed heartily. The tale of B'Elanna catching her daughter naked with Annie was a good one indeed, which Annie had told all around her friends, to Miral's despair.
"There will be even less risk the day after tomorrow."
"Yup."
Both had been informed two days earlier that now that their courses were over — Advanced Command for both, Advanced Tactical for Sabrina, Advanced Security for Annie — they would be affected together to the USS Chameleon-A, which would have a mission slightly different from her illustrious predecessor, namely nothing more than exploring the Alpha and Beta quadrants, looking for the Borg, replacing in this mission the Avenger, needed on Deep Space Nine.
But first, the Chameleon-A would reunite the O'Briens, father and daughter. As soon as the old man had learned his daughter was alive, he had started scheming a way to go to Deep Space Nine. The Chameleon-A, a much smaller, technology-dense starship, was the result of his cogitations. Equipped with the Yirina-modified Mark XXI drive, filled to the rim with cloaking and stealth technology, the Chameleon-A was a lean and mean machine, which would NOT need to withdraw hastily from a fight. But she was not a luxury liner either. More Spartan than the original Defiant, more Spartan even than a Klingon ship, she was built for one purpose only: intelligence. And that's what she would gather.
"Ensign Fox reporting for duty, Sir!"
Sabrina turned around. She knew that voice. Annie didn't and as a reflex, put her hand in front of her sex.
"Hi, Nic. It's still Sabrina for you."
"They gave you command of this ship, Sir. That makes you the Captain, even without the four pips."
"The mission is quite simple, Nic. If Starfleet Command had thought that a fight was possible, they would have provided the ship with a more seasoned captain. But all we're doing here is snoop. So you're my yeoman?"
"Yes, Sir."
"At least this time, you shouldn't have to support me every step of the way and suffer my whimpers, huh?"
"You needed me, Sabrina, and we all needed you."
"I don't feel ready for command, Nic. The situation was special then. I had to do it. Starfleet may have only a handful of captains left, this mission … I don't feel ready."
"I guess that's why they tried to take the best of the original Chameleon's crew to staff this one, Sabrina. We all trust you with our lives, yet we know that experience is lacking. But we all have seen your commitment at work."
"Commitment is good, so is training, but experience is best."
"That's why they gave you Sub-Commander Varel. She's very experienced, and she's there to advise you."
"She intimidates me."
"You're the Captain."
***
The Avenger was coming back home. What they had seen was enough to invite days of debriefing by Admiral Fox, and yet, there was not much to see.
They were gone.
The Borg were gone.
The Borg had left Federation space, as far as the Avenger had gone in before they received news that the Chameleon-A would replace her. Behind them were huge, bizarre buildings full of technological marvels — and no one left.
"Those planets had populations! What happened with them?"
"People on a planet, the Borg come, no more people. Sounds clear to me."
"They assimilated tens of billions of people?"
"And they took them when they left."
"At an average of 50,000 drones a Cube, that would mean …"
"Yeah."
"Damn."
***
"Damn."
Wilkins shared Ro's opinion on the current Borg situation. Of course, their departure was a good thing, but the fact that they had assimilated such a population could only suggest that …
"Admiral!"
"Yes, Samantha?"
"A huge convoy is heading right for Khitomer, Sir."
Wilkins felt uneasy. Could it be …
"Who?"
"Klingons, Sir. Forty heavy freighters escorted by six Negh'Vars and the Chancellor's personal ship."
"Put them on screen."
The spectacle was impressive. The freighters were not the usual type, but the new FX-Class freighters, two kilometers long, two hundred meters wide, cities in space. The Negh'Vars were … Well, they were Negh'Vars, impressive on their own and from reputation. As for the leading ship, black, looking more or less like a Negh'Var but much bigger and incredibly meaner-looking, it was a Rogh'Var, the last jewel of Klingon warfare technology.
"What the hell are they doing here?" Wilkins asked.
"Admiral, Chancellor Worf is hailing you."
Don't know what you're talking about, that's a pretty good-sized chapter. And talk about the plot thickening, this is getting really suspenseful, and now that Worfs joined in this is threatening to go ballistic. Um, hey, is it just me, 47, or does each of your chapters contain at least one reference to young women taking showers, usually in pairs (to conserve sonic energy I assume, good for them). Of course, not that I would ever discourage such a thing...
They were not taking a shower, they were getting ready to take a shower. Sometimes they're just exercising, and since they sweat a lot ...
Anyway, yes, the Klingon Empire is about to act on a decision which may change things radically. Clue: after all, they're Klingons ...
Well, since ET complained, this chapter contains no nudity at all. 
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
June 18, 2400
The battle had lasted sixteen hours.
It had started around what had been the Vaadwaur Star System and had readily expanded to the neighboring systems. It was in no way a small battle. It was on the most monstrous scale the Milky Way could support.
It was a Borg battle.
In the left corner, weighing 30,456 Cubes, the Reigning Heavyweight Champion, the Bane of the Delta Quadrant, the Big Bully of the Galaxy … THE BORG!
And in the right corner, weighing 44,603 Dreadnoughts, the Challenger.
Only the corners had not lasted very long. Soon any distinction had blurred in a giant storm which had illuminated all the area, thousands, millions of kilometers away.
And the Challenger had won.
Exactly 41,031 ships were now drifting in space. Of those, 27,025 were Borg. The other fleet had lost about a third of its effectives, but had quite succeeded in running the Borg out of that area of space.
Aboard the Mogai, they were all stunned. Even the young T'Shiya, who ordinarily would have made comments on the situation, to keep Teroth abreast of what was happening, was just looking at the spectacle, silent, her mouth open as big as …
"No drooling on the bridge, Lieutenant", Teroth told her, half joking, half damn serious.
"Sorry, Sir."
"So, how many?"
"27,025 Cubes, Sir."
"I'll take your word for it."
***
There they were. Yirina, Miral, Catherine, the three team leaders. Had been invited Taleria.
"Cathy, I've read your report, and … it's hard to believe."
"Don't worry, Yirina, I'm not sure I believe it myself. But right now, it's the best we have."
"Thanks to Green Head Number Two", Miral joked.
"Yes, Mimi", Catherine answered in the same register.
"Mimi?"
"You're prompt at finding nicknames, you shouldn't be surprised, dear."
"Meow! OK, Miss Kitty, as you wish. Now, one quick question: are you mad?"
Catherine looked at Miral, smiled and answered:
"It probably would help, and I'm sure I will be soon, thanks to you, but for now I'm handicapped that way: I'm afraid I'm not — yet."
"And you, Qa'Hom? Are you mad, or just an ordinary Rommie?" Miral threw at Taleria.
The little Romulan didn't like jousting. She was in fact quite intimidated, even if she had now been for more than three months the target of Miral's teasing. But she was quite shy, and had really opened up only with Catherine and Yirina, although much more with Catherine. Still …
"The day I get mad, you will be the first to know."
"Whoa! Is that a threat? Have I finally awaken the beast? Will the Jolly Green Twerp finally make room for the Big Green Meanie?"
"This is a most unproductive use of our time, Miral. Could we just get to the report, please?"
"Huh. Seems today's not a good day either. So how did the two of you come to that conclusion?"
"Well, as the Great Detective himself stated, 'We must fall back upon the old axiom that when all other contingencies fail, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' How else would you explain the Deletham's behavior during the Khitomer battle?"
"We have seen automated weapon systems before. The Cardassian orbital weapon platforms, the Minosian weapon system …"
"Both controlled and powered by a sophisticated computer system. Where is the Deletham's?"
"We haven't found it yet."
"Agreed. And why did we not find it after looking in every possible corner of the ship, except the places which for some reason refuse access to their insides? Could it be because we're looking for something that may not be designed to be accessed?"
"Like what?"
"When we find that out, we'll understand what makes the Deletham tick."
***
"Starbases?"
"Yes, Chancellor. We would first build a huge starbase in the Khitomer System, which would among other things serve as an experimental shipyard to build a warship quite different from the most advanced warships we presently own."
"Like the Defiant-II."
"Yes, Chancellor. But it wouldn't be just a Defiant-III."
"This starbase would be used by Starfleet, and would be in Klingon space. Already many members of the High Council disagreed with my decision to welcome you in the Khitomer System. They won't like a starbase at all."
"We could make it the same kind of deal we have on Deep Space Nine. The station is and remains Klingon property, with a Starfleet-Klingon staff. But the Commanding Officer would be Starfleet."
"Starfleet would be — what, leasing the place?"
"We would build it, maintain it, everything, and the Klingon Empire would own it."
"Very well. I will propose this arrangement to the Council."
"How long do you think …?"
"Start building it as soon as you can. I'll make them approve it, if I have to make a few heads roll on the floor."
That conversation had happened between Worf and Wilkins five months earlier, January 16th. Since then, Starfleet had tried to assemble the materials needed. The construction was supposed to begin March 1st, but the attack on Khitomer had happened a few days before and destroyed everything.
"So what do you think, Admiral?"
Wilkins was looking through the window. The freighters were still unloading the materials on the planet, where the pre-assembly had already begun. Everyone was working together: Federation citizens, Klingons and Romulans, and they seemed to work in perfect harmony under the instructions of the Starfleet engineers assigned to the monumental task. Once the first huge sections would be assembled, ships would carry them with tractor beams if needed to the location selected for what would become Outpost Khitomer … One.
He turned to Worf and answered:
"My engineers tell me that it is about 99% Federation, with just a Klingon touch here and there. Also that it's a monster of an installation, much bigger than anything we ever had."
"Do not forget that it has to serve as a shipyard and a war base, Admiral. As for the Federation affinity, remember that I too was in Starfleet, long ago."
"Yes, I do remember that. Quite a promotion, from Lieutenant Commander to Chancellor of the Klingon High Council, from Starfleet Officer to Leader of his People."
"Just like you, Admiral."
"Me?"
"Is there any higher ranking official in the Federation right now?"
"No, but it's temporary. When the war is won …"
"Right now, Admiral, you lead the Federation. Later, we'll see. And you lead it with honor. My jaw still remembers."
"That was quite a fight."
"Where did you learn to fight that way?"
"You know what they say about me: Klingon blood and Romulan mind, plus Ferengi sense of negotiation. Well, the first part is not entirely false."
"You have Warrior blood in your veins?"
"I'll have to tell you one of these days."
"And I'll have to commission a song about you."
***
The door opened. The ensign stepped forward, then aside. The metallic boatswain's pipe three-note call announced the arrival of the new Commanding Officer — and made Sabrina jump, at least in her heart.
"Captain on the Bridge!" the ensign announced.
She came in. The door closed behind her. Her crew looked at her. She looked back, briefly, then looked at her feet, briefly.
After a few seconds, a Romulan woman in a red Starfleet uniform with three pips to her collar came to her, and made a sign inviting her to get to the center.
She came in front of the chair, contemplated it for a moment. It looked so big, so … official, and yet so … comfortable, so … inviting. The fabric looked like dark gray Corinthian leather. No other seat looked like that one. She kept staring at it for several seconds, then slowly, very slowly, almost in awe of the moment, turned around and sat down.
That was the signal for yet another tradition. The Romulan made a hand gesture. Everybody left the bridge.
***
They were gone. She was alone now. Had there been a fly anywhere on the ship, she swore she could have heard it.
Sabrina had been on many bridges before, but this one was … very austere. Obviously built for maximum efficiency, although reasonably spacious. Almost circular, about ten meters in diameter, in beautiful tones of dark gray and silver, it was very … classy. The blueprints she had studied on the Samurai were now breathing, taking life, right there in front of her.
The forward bulkhead was all taken by the main viewscreen, bigger than anything she had ever seen on any ship, even the Samurai. Of course, the Chameleon-A was an observation ship. Directly in front of it were the Operations and Navigation positions. At the center of the room was the Command Area: the Captain's Chair at the center, the First Officer's Chair to the right, and a third one to the left. On each side, one smaller seat boarded the Command Area.
The Tactical Console, directly behind the Captain's Chair, was located in the handrail surrounding the rear half of the Central Command Area. The aft bulkhead carried several additional consoles: on starboard, Science, Security, Mission Ops, Environment, and Engineering. The port side of the Bridge had three communication stations.
Doors led to turbolifts, the Observation Lounge and the Captain's Ready Room.
Sabrina was literally breathless. She was trying to absorb the seriousness of her situation. To think of what that Bridge would look like when the crew would be abuzz with activity, while she would circulate among all those people and take a look, give a smile here, a tap on the shoulder there … Only it would be for real, not just a dream anymore …
For almost an hour she looked at everything, touched everything, caressed everything. She looked at the helm, at the science console, the communications, Engineering … She sat on every seat, tried all the doors.
She finally tore herself out of her daydreaming. Reality was stupendous enough. A few months ago, Assistant Chief of Security, with half of her body charred and hurting like hell, the other half just hurting like hell, having to hop along all around to check what was happening and encourage everyone because communications were dead, and now …
She was a Starfleet Captain. Oh, not with the four pips, of course, but still …
She was the Captain.
And her first officer had a higher rank than her.
"Watson to the Bridge crew. You may come back."
The door opened and, without a word, the crew went back to their duties.
"Your orders, Captain?" the Romulan woman asked her.
***
"What's that little ship, Admiral? The one looking like some kind of a cross between a giant tulip and a javelin?"
"Oh, you noticed? It's the Chameleon-A. Looks very convoluted and quite — let's say unusual, but it's the new version of the observation ship we want to develop."
"A battleship, a spy ship — you are getting ready for a counterattack."
"As soon as we understand what makes the Deletham tick, and I will have a report soon about it, we'll start designing the battleship around what the Chameleon-A will teach us."
"I heard that you put that little girl, the one who brought back the original, in command."
"I have big plans for her. She's much better than she thinks, all her teachers agree on that."
"Still promoting your youth? Good plan. This war could last decades."
"It won't."
"It will. Not continuously of course, but even after we win this one, there will be others. We won't defeat the Dominion and the Borg easily. Our young will though, and we must shape them now!"
***
"Captain, may we talk?"
Varel was standing in front of Sabrina, in her Ready Room.
"Of course."
"Captain, is there something I can do to help you?"
Sabrina looked at Varel. The woman was 66. That was young for a Romulan, but still older than her own 25. She seemed willing to help. Worse, she seemed to know exactly what the problem was.
"Captain, may I remind you that the minute you walk through that door we are your crew. You do not have to prove anything to us. You have the authority."
"You have a higher rank."
"I have never commanded a ship. I probably never will. All your training, all your experience have prepared you to this moment."
"But how do I give orders to somebody older and more experienced than me?"
"Captain, authority and responsibility go hand in hand. We all know you are responsible. You have proven that above and beyond the call of duty on the first Chameleon. Now you have to learn to handle authority. You have been put in command so you can do just that. That will establish a pattern of success and build your self-confidence. But if you do not trust your own judgment, you do not belong in the command chair."
"But what if I'm wrong?"
"Then you are wrong and I will tell you in private, and together we will try to correct the mistake. It would be very arrogant to think you will never make a mistake."
"But what if it's something really important — what if someone ends up dead because of my mistake?"
"It will happen, Captain. We all know that. Just ask yourself — which Starfleet Captain, dead or alive, do you admire most?"
"It would have to be Captain Picard."
"Very well. Then, what did he do when faced with a difficult decision?"
"He listened to all the opinions, then make the decision. But he was Picard."
"It does not matter. Would anyone argue with Captain Picard once his decision was made?"
"No way."
"Why not?"
"I'm not sure."
"When you figure that out, you will understand command, and you will know it."
***
The Alpha shift was in place. Sabrina was on her chair, Varel on hers. Annie was at the Security console.
It was time to go. Sabrina would direct the operations herself.
With emotion in her voice she began:
"Aft thrusters, Miss Halliwell."
"Aft thrusters, Captain."
The silver ship started gliding majestically.
"Ahead one quarter impulse power."
"Ahead one quarter impulse power."
The Chameleon-A cleared the dock.
"We are clear and free to navigate."
"Go to half impulse, Miss Halliwell. We're in no hurry. Take the best heading to leave the system, then let's enjoy the view."
"Heading computed and set, Captain."
Sabrina paused. She looked at the screen, her face filled with wonder, her beautiful hazelnut eyes wide open, a radiant smile on her face. She would have wanted that moment to last forever. But it had to go. Her next word would be the first of the new mission aboard her ship. HER ship. So, in the softest voice, still in awe of the moment, she said slowly, enjoying each syllable:
"Engage."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
June 18, 2400
The battle had lasted sixteen hours.
It had started around what had been the Vaadwaur Star System and had readily expanded to the neighboring systems. It was in no way a small battle. It was on the most monstrous scale the Milky Way could support.
It was a Borg battle.
In the left corner, weighing 30,456 Cubes, the Reigning Heavyweight Champion, the Bane of the Delta Quadrant, the Big Bully of the Galaxy … THE BORG!
And in the right corner, weighing 44,603 Dreadnoughts, the Challenger.
Only the corners had not lasted very long. Soon any distinction had blurred in a giant storm which had illuminated all the area, thousands, millions of kilometers away.
And the Challenger had won.
Exactly 41,031 ships were now drifting in space. Of those, 27,025 were Borg. The other fleet had lost about a third of its effectives, but had quite succeeded in running the Borg out of that area of space.
Aboard the Mogai, they were all stunned. Even the young T'Shiya, who ordinarily would have made comments on the situation, to keep Teroth abreast of what was happening, was just looking at the spectacle, silent, her mouth open as big as …
"No drooling on the bridge, Lieutenant", Teroth told her, half joking, half damn serious.
"Sorry, Sir."
"So, how many?"
"27,025 Cubes, Sir."
"I'll take your word for it."
***
There they were. Yirina, Miral, Catherine, the three team leaders. Had been invited Taleria.
"Cathy, I've read your report, and … it's hard to believe."
"Don't worry, Yirina, I'm not sure I believe it myself. But right now, it's the best we have."
"Thanks to Green Head Number Two", Miral joked.
"Yes, Mimi", Catherine answered in the same register.
"Mimi?"
"You're prompt at finding nicknames, you shouldn't be surprised, dear."
"Meow! OK, Miss Kitty, as you wish. Now, one quick question: are you mad?"
Catherine looked at Miral, smiled and answered:
"It probably would help, and I'm sure I will be soon, thanks to you, but for now I'm handicapped that way: I'm afraid I'm not — yet."
"And you, Qa'Hom? Are you mad, or just an ordinary Rommie?" Miral threw at Taleria.
The little Romulan didn't like jousting. She was in fact quite intimidated, even if she had now been for more than three months the target of Miral's teasing. But she was quite shy, and had really opened up only with Catherine and Yirina, although much more with Catherine. Still …
"The day I get mad, you will be the first to know."
"Whoa! Is that a threat? Have I finally awaken the beast? Will the Jolly Green Twerp finally make room for the Big Green Meanie?"
"This is a most unproductive use of our time, Miral. Could we just get to the report, please?"
"Huh. Seems today's not a good day either. So how did the two of you come to that conclusion?"
"Well, as the Great Detective himself stated, 'We must fall back upon the old axiom that when all other contingencies fail, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' How else would you explain the Deletham's behavior during the Khitomer battle?"
"We have seen automated weapon systems before. The Cardassian orbital weapon platforms, the Minosian weapon system …"
"Both controlled and powered by a sophisticated computer system. Where is the Deletham's?"
"We haven't found it yet."
"Agreed. And why did we not find it after looking in every possible corner of the ship, except the places which for some reason refuse access to their insides? Could it be because we're looking for something that may not be designed to be accessed?"
"Like what?"
"When we find that out, we'll understand what makes the Deletham tick."
***
"Starbases?"
"Yes, Chancellor. We would first build a huge starbase in the Khitomer System, which would among other things serve as an experimental shipyard to build a warship quite different from the most advanced warships we presently own."
"Like the Defiant-II."
"Yes, Chancellor. But it wouldn't be just a Defiant-III."
"This starbase would be used by Starfleet, and would be in Klingon space. Already many members of the High Council disagreed with my decision to welcome you in the Khitomer System. They won't like a starbase at all."
"We could make it the same kind of deal we have on Deep Space Nine. The station is and remains Klingon property, with a Starfleet-Klingon staff. But the Commanding Officer would be Starfleet."
"Starfleet would be — what, leasing the place?"
"We would build it, maintain it, everything, and the Klingon Empire would own it."
"Very well. I will propose this arrangement to the Council."
"How long do you think …?"
"Start building it as soon as you can. I'll make them approve it, if I have to make a few heads roll on the floor."
That conversation had happened between Worf and Wilkins five months earlier, January 16th. Since then, Starfleet had tried to assemble the materials needed. The construction was supposed to begin March 1st, but the attack on Khitomer had happened a few days before and destroyed everything.
"So what do you think, Admiral?"
Wilkins was looking through the window. The freighters were still unloading the materials on the planet, where the pre-assembly had already begun. Everyone was working together: Federation citizens, Klingons and Romulans, and they seemed to work in perfect harmony under the instructions of the Starfleet engineers assigned to the monumental task. Once the first huge sections would be assembled, ships would carry them with tractor beams if needed to the location selected for what would become Outpost Khitomer … One.
He turned to Worf and answered:
"My engineers tell me that it is about 99% Federation, with just a Klingon touch here and there. Also that it's a monster of an installation, much bigger than anything we ever had."
"Do not forget that it has to serve as a shipyard and a war base, Admiral. As for the Federation affinity, remember that I too was in Starfleet, long ago."
"Yes, I do remember that. Quite a promotion, from Lieutenant Commander to Chancellor of the Klingon High Council, from Starfleet Officer to Leader of his People."
"Just like you, Admiral."
"Me?"
"Is there any higher ranking official in the Federation right now?"
"No, but it's temporary. When the war is won …"
"Right now, Admiral, you lead the Federation. Later, we'll see. And you lead it with honor. My jaw still remembers."
"That was quite a fight."
"Where did you learn to fight that way?"
"You know what they say about me: Klingon blood and Romulan mind, plus Ferengi sense of negotiation. Well, the first part is not entirely false."
"You have Warrior blood in your veins?"
"I'll have to tell you one of these days."
"And I'll have to commission a song about you."
***
The door opened. The ensign stepped forward, then aside. The metallic boatswain's pipe three-note call announced the arrival of the new Commanding Officer — and made Sabrina jump, at least in her heart.
"Captain on the Bridge!" the ensign announced.
She came in. The door closed behind her. Her crew looked at her. She looked back, briefly, then looked at her feet, briefly.
After a few seconds, a Romulan woman in a red Starfleet uniform with three pips to her collar came to her, and made a sign inviting her to get to the center.
She came in front of the chair, contemplated it for a moment. It looked so big, so … official, and yet so … comfortable, so … inviting. The fabric looked like dark gray Corinthian leather. No other seat looked like that one. She kept staring at it for several seconds, then slowly, very slowly, almost in awe of the moment, turned around and sat down.
That was the signal for yet another tradition. The Romulan made a hand gesture. Everybody left the bridge.
***
They were gone. She was alone now. Had there been a fly anywhere on the ship, she swore she could have heard it.
Sabrina had been on many bridges before, but this one was … very austere. Obviously built for maximum efficiency, although reasonably spacious. Almost circular, about ten meters in diameter, in beautiful tones of dark gray and silver, it was very … classy. The blueprints she had studied on the Samurai were now breathing, taking life, right there in front of her.
The forward bulkhead was all taken by the main viewscreen, bigger than anything she had ever seen on any ship, even the Samurai. Of course, the Chameleon-A was an observation ship. Directly in front of it were the Operations and Navigation positions. At the center of the room was the Command Area: the Captain's Chair at the center, the First Officer's Chair to the right, and a third one to the left. On each side, one smaller seat boarded the Command Area.
The Tactical Console, directly behind the Captain's Chair, was located in the handrail surrounding the rear half of the Central Command Area. The aft bulkhead carried several additional consoles: on starboard, Science, Security, Mission Ops, Environment, and Engineering. The port side of the Bridge had three communication stations.
Doors led to turbolifts, the Observation Lounge and the Captain's Ready Room.
Sabrina was literally breathless. She was trying to absorb the seriousness of her situation. To think of what that Bridge would look like when the crew would be abuzz with activity, while she would circulate among all those people and take a look, give a smile here, a tap on the shoulder there … Only it would be for real, not just a dream anymore …
For almost an hour she looked at everything, touched everything, caressed everything. She looked at the helm, at the science console, the communications, Engineering … She sat on every seat, tried all the doors.
She finally tore herself out of her daydreaming. Reality was stupendous enough. A few months ago, Assistant Chief of Security, with half of her body charred and hurting like hell, the other half just hurting like hell, having to hop along all around to check what was happening and encourage everyone because communications were dead, and now …
She was a Starfleet Captain. Oh, not with the four pips, of course, but still …
She was the Captain.
And her first officer had a higher rank than her.
"Watson to the Bridge crew. You may come back."
The door opened and, without a word, the crew went back to their duties.
"Your orders, Captain?" the Romulan woman asked her.
***
"What's that little ship, Admiral? The one looking like some kind of a cross between a giant tulip and a javelin?"
"Oh, you noticed? It's the Chameleon-A. Looks very convoluted and quite — let's say unusual, but it's the new version of the observation ship we want to develop."
"A battleship, a spy ship — you are getting ready for a counterattack."
"As soon as we understand what makes the Deletham tick, and I will have a report soon about it, we'll start designing the battleship around what the Chameleon-A will teach us."
"I heard that you put that little girl, the one who brought back the original, in command."
"I have big plans for her. She's much better than she thinks, all her teachers agree on that."
"Still promoting your youth? Good plan. This war could last decades."
"It won't."
"It will. Not continuously of course, but even after we win this one, there will be others. We won't defeat the Dominion and the Borg easily. Our young will though, and we must shape them now!"
***
"Captain, may we talk?"
Varel was standing in front of Sabrina, in her Ready Room.
"Of course."
"Captain, is there something I can do to help you?"
Sabrina looked at Varel. The woman was 66. That was young for a Romulan, but still older than her own 25. She seemed willing to help. Worse, she seemed to know exactly what the problem was.
"Captain, may I remind you that the minute you walk through that door we are your crew. You do not have to prove anything to us. You have the authority."
"You have a higher rank."
"I have never commanded a ship. I probably never will. All your training, all your experience have prepared you to this moment."
"But how do I give orders to somebody older and more experienced than me?"
"Captain, authority and responsibility go hand in hand. We all know you are responsible. You have proven that above and beyond the call of duty on the first Chameleon. Now you have to learn to handle authority. You have been put in command so you can do just that. That will establish a pattern of success and build your self-confidence. But if you do not trust your own judgment, you do not belong in the command chair."
"But what if I'm wrong?"
"Then you are wrong and I will tell you in private, and together we will try to correct the mistake. It would be very arrogant to think you will never make a mistake."
"But what if it's something really important — what if someone ends up dead because of my mistake?"
"It will happen, Captain. We all know that. Just ask yourself — which Starfleet Captain, dead or alive, do you admire most?"
"It would have to be Captain Picard."
"Very well. Then, what did he do when faced with a difficult decision?"
"He listened to all the opinions, then make the decision. But he was Picard."
"It does not matter. Would anyone argue with Captain Picard once his decision was made?"
"No way."
"Why not?"
"I'm not sure."
"When you figure that out, you will understand command, and you will know it."
***
The Alpha shift was in place. Sabrina was on her chair, Varel on hers. Annie was at the Security console.
It was time to go. Sabrina would direct the operations herself.
With emotion in her voice she began:
"Aft thrusters, Miss Halliwell."
"Aft thrusters, Captain."
The silver ship started gliding majestically.
"Ahead one quarter impulse power."
"Ahead one quarter impulse power."
The Chameleon-A cleared the dock.
"We are clear and free to navigate."
"Go to half impulse, Miss Halliwell. We're in no hurry. Take the best heading to leave the system, then let's enjoy the view."
"Heading computed and set, Captain."
Sabrina paused. She looked at the screen, her face filled with wonder, her beautiful hazelnut eyes wide open, a radiant smile on her face. She would have wanted that moment to last forever. But it had to go. Her next word would be the first of the new mission aboard her ship. HER ship. So, in the softest voice, still in awe of the moment, she said slowly, enjoying each syllable:
"Engage."
No nudity? What the heck did I say to be punished like that?!! I was encouraging it, not protesting it. Darn, now I've done it...
Nice moment at the end of the chapter there with Sabrina, I'm getting a warm feeling for what's coming.
Nice moment at the end of the chapter there with Sabrina, I'm getting a warm feeling for what's coming.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
June 20, 2400
"Red Alert!"
Rashid came out of the office and inquired:
"What's happening again? Are they coming back?"
"No, Sir! It's a very bizarre ship which just uncloaked at three hundred meters from the station! It's hailing us!"
"On screen!"
"Deep Space Nine, this is Captain Watson from the USS Chameleon-A requesting docking."
"Captain Watson? Welcome to Deep Space Nine. I'll let our people clear you."
"We are carrying Admiral O'Brien with us, Sir. He came to reunite with his daughter."
"I'll make sure Lieutenant O'Brien is informed."
***
Rose McCoy was not a happy doctor. She had too many things to do on the Samurai and on Khitomer and around to play the tourist. But as soon as Miles had learned that Molly was alive, there was no way in hell anyone could stop him from going to her, not even the flamboyant daughter of Martin, son of Ezekiel, son of Henry, son of Joanna, daughter of Leonard "Bones" McCoy, the sixth generation of Starfleet Medical Officers.
So she had "solicited" — that is, threatened to quit everything after synthesizing a few viruses and releasing them in the Samurai unless Wilkins let her go — a leave, which she was spending taking care of her illustrious patient.
And now the old man was almost running in the corridors of Deep Space Nine, which he of course still knew better than everyone else, looking for her …
"MOLLY!"
"DADDY!"
The two had run to each other, and started a long, very long hug, which seemingly would never end.
"Hmm. The Admiral is not very prudent."
That was Varel, who had accompanied the two, along with a couple of security officers.
"At least it goes right to your heart to see those two reunited."
"My heart, Doctor? My heart is nothing but a muscle pumping my blood in my veins and arteries, as you should know."
"That's not what I mean."
"Say what you mean, then, Doctor, so that I can understand you."
"You understand me perfectly, you are not a Vulcan, Varel, you have emotions and you show them — well, not that I ever saw you show them, but it's known that Romulans …"
"Few Romulans have spent nine years following and completing the Kolinahr ritual, Doctor."
"What?"
"I feel more Vulcan than Romulan when I am on duty, Doctor. Off duty, I may be more humorous, but for now I am on duty."
"Thank God for small favors."
***
"There it goes again. That's the seventh time in the last two hours."
"Still no idea what's causing it?"
"So far it seems to be opening and closing completely at random. No unusual readings ... no ships coming through ..."
"For all we know, the Bajorans are right. Maybe it is a message from the Prophets."
"If it is, they haven't told me."
"Maybe the Prophets don't recognize you with the new beard."
"There has to be a scientific explanation for this."
Neema was smiling as she remembered that conversation Jadzia and Benjamin had had so long ago. Of course it had ultimately been found out that it was all a Dominion trick. But this time …
"Have you ever seen anything like that, Counselor?"
"Do we know each other … Captain?"
"I don't think so. Sabrina Watson, of the Chameleon."
"Neema Dax, from … here."
The two shook hands.
"What do you think, Neema?"
"I was just reminiscing the time when it just started opening and closing, and we thought the Dominion had developed a cloaking device."
"That's true, you've been here for a long time. Was that Ezri?"
"Jadzia, the one before Ezri. You seem well informed on Dax's life."
"You are a celebrity, Counselor. Now answer the question."
Neema looked at Sabrina. Unsure of herself, but trying to assert her authority — but the smile betrayed her. It was too contrived, almost begging, not demanding an answer. How old could she be? Too young to command a starship, that was for sure. Was Starfleet in such a sorry shape that they had to put in command two-pip Captains who should be aspiring to a commission of Lieutenant Junior Grade? Maybe she should ask for a promotion …
"The only time I ever saw the Wormhole emit any kind of red-orange glow is when the Orb of the Emissary expelled the Pah-Wraiths from it."
"The Orb that mysteriously disappeared in the Kalian Monastery fire?"
"Yes, Captain."
They both turned around. Behind them was a young Prylar, about their age.
"Forgive me, I answered your question before introducing myself. I am Furel Aroya."
"You are the observer."
"Yes, Captain."
"You are welcome aboard the Chameleon, Miss Furel — how do I address a Prylar?"
"Aroya will be fine, Captain. I am but a servant of the Prophets."
The Bajoran turned around and left quietly.
Neema asked:
"Observer?"
"We have been asked to examine the Wormhole, with our sensors and everything, much more advanced than anything on the station. She is representing the Vedek Assembly. She has scientific training. We're just going in and out, then dropping her back here."
Neema looked at Sabrina:
"I have scientific training too, and experience with the Wormhole."
"Why do you think I started talking with you?"
***
The young people had finished their report. Wilkins and B'Elanna were now assessing the damage.
"So they have nothing, except that cockamamie theory about some giant remote control floating in space and commanding the Deletham."
"It's the best theory right now, at least fitting the facts, Admiral."
"Well, at least they're trying. You told me before that you had a project of your own? I'd love some good news."
"Well, Sir, it came to me while we were working on the smart torpedoes. These very small devices can destroy a starship, and yet they are almost impossible to hit. We installed them on the Chameleon-A, and I'm sure they'll be efficient. What if our fleet was based on the same principle: very small ships with a highly concentrated weapon system?"
"I'm listening, B'Elanna."
"Think of the Delta Flyer. I know exactly how to build it, I participated to the design. It was equipped with Borg-inspired shields and weapons, it was very fast, it used conventional power sources, and four people were enough to maneuver it. We could build thousands of those, we could staff them, and it would take no more than a year to have … maybe three thousands of them."
"Would that be enough?"
"Remember, Sir, that the original Delta Flyer was an all purpose ship. This one would have one function only: battle. It could be much more specialized. With a stealth device, the advanced shields and phasers, the photonic missiles and smart torpedoes, each of those ships would be much more efficient than about anything Starfleet ever had … except the Deletham of course."
"But would that be enough?"
B’Elanna came closer, much closer, letting her breasts brush Wilkins' chest. She knew that Wilkins liked being with her. She knew that he had been smelling her hair, and he certainly made no effort to avoid the increasingly less accidental body contacts between them. But she also knew that Wilkins would not make an improper move on her, because he was a decent man, and he did not want to ruin a very friendly relationship. So she had decided to encourage him, and that’s why she brushed her back — and occasionally her chest, like now — against him much more than was really required in his office, like right now …
"Think three thousands Defiant-II Class starships, Admiral. We are talking major whooping power!"
"Hmmm … That would be a good start, I agree."
"Let me show you the blueprints."
***
"Miss Stanley, advise the station that we are ready to go."
"Yes, Captain."
Sabrina was perplexed. She started with a crew of 32, in a ship designed for 70, but that was not a problem, since she was supposed to "pick up some people" on the station. She had figured that she would receive the rest of her crew there.
But not quite. Oh, they were all Starfleet, all right, except now the Chameleon-A was carrying 325 people. She would have preferred to check on the Wormhole first, then come back and embark everyone then, but Admiral Fox, who was stuck with overpopulation since the Bajor Exodus, which had happened just before the Jaro Blockade, had "insisted" with all the weight of his stars.
Besides the Bridge crew, O'Brien, McCoy, Neema and Furel were on the bridge, watching the screen.
"Captain, we're clear."
"Thank you, Miss Stanley. Well, stand by to get underway."
"Tactical and Communications ready, Sir."
"Navigation and Operations ready."
"Weapons ready."
"Impulse engines on line, warp power available at your command."
"Very well. Seal the airlock, release docking clamps, aft thrusters at one quarter, port and starboard at station keeping."
"Aye, sir."
"We've cleared the station."
"Lay in a course to the wormhole. I want to cloak as soon as we reach the Gamma Quadrant."
"Understood."
"Course laid in, sir."
"Engage."
The Chameleon entered the Wormhole. For a minute, everything went fine. Two minutes. Three minutes.
"I don't remember crossing the Wormhole ever took that long", Neema noticed.
"Miss Halliwell?"
Pamela checked her console again.
"Something's wrong, Captain."
"And you choose now to mention it?" Varel asked.
"Sorry, Commander, the variation was well within safe limits, but … it seems we just jumped … WHOA!"
The Chameleon suddenly seemed to be sucked through the Wormhole, toward a blinding white light, and then …
***
"I really must congratulate you, B'Elanna. You have done a splendid job. It will be good to finally start building something."
"Thank you, Sir. But I was not alone in this. You participated a lot in the design of that ship. Remember the first time you saw Tom's console design?"
"Oh yes, and I love the way he did it. You know, B'Elanna, there was a time, long ago, when you could fly an individual aircraft using a throttle and switches. It must have felt wonderful to guide such a device with something … really in your hands, instead of under it. I would have loved to get that feeling at least once."
"Well … If you want, I could loan you the programs Tom made. You could experience what it was to pilot the original Delta Flyer."
"You would? Really? You wouldn’t mind?"
B'Elanna got up and came to Wilkins, making a very conscious effort to make it quite obvious that her chest touching his was deliberate.
"I would love to help you enjoy yourself," she whispered softly in his ear. "Until now, I have let no man play with Tom's favorite toys, but I would be delighted to share all of them with you …"
***
After more than three months sharing the same quarters, Segura Boran, the Cardassian, and Kelly Ripa, the Bajoran, had stopped hating each other, and were just at the fine line between despising and ignoring each other, with once in a while a gesture of good will.
But that was not important for Ripa right now, as she was savoring a long sonic shower, after a difficult day spent creeping along what the Deletham used as Jefferies tubes.
As she closed her eyes, she thought she noticed a flash, but she didn't give it a second thought, as a few seconds later …
"What are you doing?"
Segura had entered the bathroom, as naked as she was, and was now joining her in the sonic shower.
"Don't … don't come here! Are you crazy?"
The Cardassian girl started hugging her very closely, then kissing her very passionately. Ripa tried to resist, but she couldn't make a move. She felt completely powerless in the arms of her roommate.
And then she noticed the man.
He was in his forties certainly, in his fifties maybe. He was black, bald, with a beard, and completely naked just like Segura and her. He was human.
Ripa promptly recognized …
"Emissary?"
The man took Segura by her hair, threw her on the floor, then slowly, methodically and with an extreme violence, started kicking her all over with his fists until she didn't move at all. Ripa was horrified. Then the man turned toward her and …
"Ripa?"
"HA!"
That was Segura, dressed as before, a genuinely concerned expression on her face.
"What happened? You were screaming like a female Vole in labor in here!"
June 20, 2400
"Red Alert!"
Rashid came out of the office and inquired:
"What's happening again? Are they coming back?"
"No, Sir! It's a very bizarre ship which just uncloaked at three hundred meters from the station! It's hailing us!"
"On screen!"
"Deep Space Nine, this is Captain Watson from the USS Chameleon-A requesting docking."
"Captain Watson? Welcome to Deep Space Nine. I'll let our people clear you."
"We are carrying Admiral O'Brien with us, Sir. He came to reunite with his daughter."
"I'll make sure Lieutenant O'Brien is informed."
***
Rose McCoy was not a happy doctor. She had too many things to do on the Samurai and on Khitomer and around to play the tourist. But as soon as Miles had learned that Molly was alive, there was no way in hell anyone could stop him from going to her, not even the flamboyant daughter of Martin, son of Ezekiel, son of Henry, son of Joanna, daughter of Leonard "Bones" McCoy, the sixth generation of Starfleet Medical Officers.
So she had "solicited" — that is, threatened to quit everything after synthesizing a few viruses and releasing them in the Samurai unless Wilkins let her go — a leave, which she was spending taking care of her illustrious patient.
And now the old man was almost running in the corridors of Deep Space Nine, which he of course still knew better than everyone else, looking for her …
"MOLLY!"
"DADDY!"
The two had run to each other, and started a long, very long hug, which seemingly would never end.
"Hmm. The Admiral is not very prudent."
That was Varel, who had accompanied the two, along with a couple of security officers.
"At least it goes right to your heart to see those two reunited."
"My heart, Doctor? My heart is nothing but a muscle pumping my blood in my veins and arteries, as you should know."
"That's not what I mean."
"Say what you mean, then, Doctor, so that I can understand you."
"You understand me perfectly, you are not a Vulcan, Varel, you have emotions and you show them — well, not that I ever saw you show them, but it's known that Romulans …"
"Few Romulans have spent nine years following and completing the Kolinahr ritual, Doctor."
"What?"
"I feel more Vulcan than Romulan when I am on duty, Doctor. Off duty, I may be more humorous, but for now I am on duty."
"Thank God for small favors."
***
"There it goes again. That's the seventh time in the last two hours."
"Still no idea what's causing it?"
"So far it seems to be opening and closing completely at random. No unusual readings ... no ships coming through ..."
"For all we know, the Bajorans are right. Maybe it is a message from the Prophets."
"If it is, they haven't told me."
"Maybe the Prophets don't recognize you with the new beard."
"There has to be a scientific explanation for this."
Neema was smiling as she remembered that conversation Jadzia and Benjamin had had so long ago. Of course it had ultimately been found out that it was all a Dominion trick. But this time …
"Have you ever seen anything like that, Counselor?"
"Do we know each other … Captain?"
"I don't think so. Sabrina Watson, of the Chameleon."
"Neema Dax, from … here."
The two shook hands.
"What do you think, Neema?"
"I was just reminiscing the time when it just started opening and closing, and we thought the Dominion had developed a cloaking device."
"That's true, you've been here for a long time. Was that Ezri?"
"Jadzia, the one before Ezri. You seem well informed on Dax's life."
"You are a celebrity, Counselor. Now answer the question."
Neema looked at Sabrina. Unsure of herself, but trying to assert her authority — but the smile betrayed her. It was too contrived, almost begging, not demanding an answer. How old could she be? Too young to command a starship, that was for sure. Was Starfleet in such a sorry shape that they had to put in command two-pip Captains who should be aspiring to a commission of Lieutenant Junior Grade? Maybe she should ask for a promotion …
"The only time I ever saw the Wormhole emit any kind of red-orange glow is when the Orb of the Emissary expelled the Pah-Wraiths from it."
"The Orb that mysteriously disappeared in the Kalian Monastery fire?"
"Yes, Captain."
They both turned around. Behind them was a young Prylar, about their age.
"Forgive me, I answered your question before introducing myself. I am Furel Aroya."
"You are the observer."
"Yes, Captain."
"You are welcome aboard the Chameleon, Miss Furel — how do I address a Prylar?"
"Aroya will be fine, Captain. I am but a servant of the Prophets."
The Bajoran turned around and left quietly.
Neema asked:
"Observer?"
"We have been asked to examine the Wormhole, with our sensors and everything, much more advanced than anything on the station. She is representing the Vedek Assembly. She has scientific training. We're just going in and out, then dropping her back here."
Neema looked at Sabrina:
"I have scientific training too, and experience with the Wormhole."
"Why do you think I started talking with you?"
***
The young people had finished their report. Wilkins and B'Elanna were now assessing the damage.
"So they have nothing, except that cockamamie theory about some giant remote control floating in space and commanding the Deletham."
"It's the best theory right now, at least fitting the facts, Admiral."
"Well, at least they're trying. You told me before that you had a project of your own? I'd love some good news."
"Well, Sir, it came to me while we were working on the smart torpedoes. These very small devices can destroy a starship, and yet they are almost impossible to hit. We installed them on the Chameleon-A, and I'm sure they'll be efficient. What if our fleet was based on the same principle: very small ships with a highly concentrated weapon system?"
"I'm listening, B'Elanna."
"Think of the Delta Flyer. I know exactly how to build it, I participated to the design. It was equipped with Borg-inspired shields and weapons, it was very fast, it used conventional power sources, and four people were enough to maneuver it. We could build thousands of those, we could staff them, and it would take no more than a year to have … maybe three thousands of them."
"Would that be enough?"
"Remember, Sir, that the original Delta Flyer was an all purpose ship. This one would have one function only: battle. It could be much more specialized. With a stealth device, the advanced shields and phasers, the photonic missiles and smart torpedoes, each of those ships would be much more efficient than about anything Starfleet ever had … except the Deletham of course."
"But would that be enough?"
B’Elanna came closer, much closer, letting her breasts brush Wilkins' chest. She knew that Wilkins liked being with her. She knew that he had been smelling her hair, and he certainly made no effort to avoid the increasingly less accidental body contacts between them. But she also knew that Wilkins would not make an improper move on her, because he was a decent man, and he did not want to ruin a very friendly relationship. So she had decided to encourage him, and that’s why she brushed her back — and occasionally her chest, like now — against him much more than was really required in his office, like right now …
"Think three thousands Defiant-II Class starships, Admiral. We are talking major whooping power!"
"Hmmm … That would be a good start, I agree."
"Let me show you the blueprints."
***
"Miss Stanley, advise the station that we are ready to go."
"Yes, Captain."
Sabrina was perplexed. She started with a crew of 32, in a ship designed for 70, but that was not a problem, since she was supposed to "pick up some people" on the station. She had figured that she would receive the rest of her crew there.
But not quite. Oh, they were all Starfleet, all right, except now the Chameleon-A was carrying 325 people. She would have preferred to check on the Wormhole first, then come back and embark everyone then, but Admiral Fox, who was stuck with overpopulation since the Bajor Exodus, which had happened just before the Jaro Blockade, had "insisted" with all the weight of his stars.
Besides the Bridge crew, O'Brien, McCoy, Neema and Furel were on the bridge, watching the screen.
"Captain, we're clear."
"Thank you, Miss Stanley. Well, stand by to get underway."
"Tactical and Communications ready, Sir."
"Navigation and Operations ready."
"Weapons ready."
"Impulse engines on line, warp power available at your command."
"Very well. Seal the airlock, release docking clamps, aft thrusters at one quarter, port and starboard at station keeping."
"Aye, sir."
"We've cleared the station."
"Lay in a course to the wormhole. I want to cloak as soon as we reach the Gamma Quadrant."
"Understood."
"Course laid in, sir."
"Engage."
The Chameleon entered the Wormhole. For a minute, everything went fine. Two minutes. Three minutes.
"I don't remember crossing the Wormhole ever took that long", Neema noticed.
"Miss Halliwell?"
Pamela checked her console again.
"Something's wrong, Captain."
"And you choose now to mention it?" Varel asked.
"Sorry, Commander, the variation was well within safe limits, but … it seems we just jumped … WHOA!"
The Chameleon suddenly seemed to be sucked through the Wormhole, toward a blinding white light, and then …
***
"I really must congratulate you, B'Elanna. You have done a splendid job. It will be good to finally start building something."
"Thank you, Sir. But I was not alone in this. You participated a lot in the design of that ship. Remember the first time you saw Tom's console design?"
"Oh yes, and I love the way he did it. You know, B'Elanna, there was a time, long ago, when you could fly an individual aircraft using a throttle and switches. It must have felt wonderful to guide such a device with something … really in your hands, instead of under it. I would have loved to get that feeling at least once."
"Well … If you want, I could loan you the programs Tom made. You could experience what it was to pilot the original Delta Flyer."
"You would? Really? You wouldn’t mind?"
B'Elanna got up and came to Wilkins, making a very conscious effort to make it quite obvious that her chest touching his was deliberate.
"I would love to help you enjoy yourself," she whispered softly in his ear. "Until now, I have let no man play with Tom's favorite toys, but I would be delighted to share all of them with you …"
***
After more than three months sharing the same quarters, Segura Boran, the Cardassian, and Kelly Ripa, the Bajoran, had stopped hating each other, and were just at the fine line between despising and ignoring each other, with once in a while a gesture of good will.
But that was not important for Ripa right now, as she was savoring a long sonic shower, after a difficult day spent creeping along what the Deletham used as Jefferies tubes.
As she closed her eyes, she thought she noticed a flash, but she didn't give it a second thought, as a few seconds later …
"What are you doing?"
Segura had entered the bathroom, as naked as she was, and was now joining her in the sonic shower.
"Don't … don't come here! Are you crazy?"
The Cardassian girl started hugging her very closely, then kissing her very passionately. Ripa tried to resist, but she couldn't make a move. She felt completely powerless in the arms of her roommate.
And then she noticed the man.
He was in his forties certainly, in his fifties maybe. He was black, bald, with a beard, and completely naked just like Segura and her. He was human.
Ripa promptly recognized …
"Emissary?"
The man took Segura by her hair, threw her on the floor, then slowly, methodically and with an extreme violence, started kicking her all over with his fists until she didn't move at all. Ripa was horrified. Then the man turned toward her and …
"Ripa?"
"HA!"
That was Segura, dressed as before, a genuinely concerned expression on her face.
"What happened? You were screaming like a female Vole in labor in here!"
STAR TREK: KHITOMER
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
June 20, 2400
The flash coming out of the Wormhole had taken everyone by surprise, from Deep Space Nine to Bajor. For a moment, they had thought the Wormhole had simply exploded. However, after a few seconds of anguish, it just appeared again, exactly the same as it had been before the red-orange glow had started.
"What the hell …"
"Nerys …"
"Forgive me, Eminence. I probably should choose my words better. But you see, we sent the Chameleon in the Wormhole to try to find out what was happening, and … I hope they were not in it when it happened."
"The Prophets will take care of that ship, my child. Well, I suppose it will give me a second chance to meet that young Captain."
"Captain Watson?"
"Yes. There is something I wanted to talk about with her."
"You should have asked for her, instead of sending her the Prylar directly."
"Yes, I … Who are you talking about?"
"Prylar Furel. The observer sent by you to represent the Vedek Assembly in the Celestial Temple."
"I assure you, Nerys, that I did no such thing. Had I wished for an observer, I would have gone myself! Who is this Furel?"
"She had your written authorization!"
"Not from me!"
"I … I saw your name and your signature, Your Eminence."
"I believe you, my child, but I assure you that I signed no request or authorization of the sort."
The two women looked at each other, then Kira asked:
"But then, who is it who boarded the Chameleon?"
"Even more important, my child: why?"
***
"Damn, what was that?"
Everyone on the bridge of the Chameleon had been thrown to the floor. Annie had caught O'Brien before he fell, and had used her own body to avoid him a bad fall. McCoy, who had tried the same, had missed a step and was now on the floor, with a bad wound at the head. Neema was taking care of her. The others were picking themselves up.
"No idea, Captain", Pamela answered. "But I don't think this is the Gamma Quadrant."
"Miss Stanley, get me a damage report!"
"I can't raise Engineering, Captain. Sick Bay doesn't answer either. But I'm receiving damage reports, and there seem to be wounded all over."
"Get me an engineer here. What's the problem with that viewscreen?"
"It's working correctly, Sir."
"Then what the heck is that picture?"
Miles O'Brien took a good look.
"Damn, that's not a viewscreen problem. There is no way that effect could happen. It's the real thing."
"Sabrina … Captain?" Annie said.
"Yeah?"
"Permission to leave the Bridge. I'll assemble Security and we'll make a complete tour of the ship to find out what happened."
"Granted."
"Try to contact Sick Bay and Engineering first, Lieutenant", Varel told her.
"Understood."
***
After one hour, the reports were complete. Varel would summarize what Sabrina and she had found out, thanks to Annie's efficiency.
"The ship is basically in good shape, although major repairs will have to be made as quickly as possible to navigation, propulsion and weapons. Other systems are affected too, but fortunately life support and power are not among them."
"How long does Morton think it will take?" O'Brien asked.
"That's a bigger problem. We have no engineers left. A plasma explosion in Engineering killed all three of them."
"Damn!"
"Do we have engineers among our passengers?"
"A few, Captain, but none qualified to serve on a starship this advanced."
"Besides, a lot of our passengers are dead. Currently, we can count on 145 people, plus a few wounded, but …"
Varel stopped and looked at everyone.
"What?" McCoy asked.
"Our doctor is dead, and the EMH doesn't respond."
"That's not a problem!" McCoy answered. "All I need is a nurse. Miss Dax, you took care of me competently enough, that's you. Come! With your permission, Captain!"
"Yes, Doctor, do your best. You are my Medical Officer until we come back from wherever we are."
McCoy left, practically abducting Neema, who had to run behind her.
"We need an engineer, Captain."
"Admiral?"
"I'm too old to crawl, Captain, and your Chief Engineer will have to crawl a lot. It's another O'Brien you need, and I assure you she can do it."
"We have a Chief Engineer then. Next question: where the hell are we? Miss Halliwell?"
All turned to the little pilot.
"I … have no idea, Captain. Astrometrics could answer that question, unfortunately it's one of the systems that need repairs."
"See to it with Lieutenant O'Brien."
"Captain?"
"What? You need another pip to take charge of Navigation? Sorry, I don't even have enough for my own use."
"No, Captain, it's just …"
"If she has questions, send her to me. Dismissed."
"Yes, Captain."
***
Aboard the Mogai, the atmosphere was very tense now.
"Well, Commander, we would never have had a chance to cross if the Admiral hadn't given us that tip."
"Yes, Lovok, who would have thought that the Great Cordon could only be entered from the Delta Quadrant?"
"We're not in yet, Commander."
"I know, old friend. But at least now we know how to say hello to the Qalans, and who to contact. That Be'Jar should open the doors for us."
"The question is, the door to where?"
"According to Picard, a huge space inhabited by two races who fear, hate and despise each other, yet won't start any kind of fight because they're afraid it might cause the total extinction of both their races."
"The ultimate deterrent to war", T'Shiya added. "Commander, I have here the sensor analysis of the Great Cordon."
"I'm listening, Lieutenant."
"We knew until now that the area was plagued with an unusual density of quantum filaments. I can now tell you that it is about triple of what we previously thought. But there is more."
"More good news?"
T'Shiya looked at Teroth, then understood. Another witticism, no doubt.
"Yes, Captain. There are incredibly strong EM disturbances, and thermobaric clouds enclose it completely. I estimate it will take at least several hours, maybe several days, to cross them at impulse."
"And at Warp 9?"
T'Shiya looked at Teroth, completely dumbstruck by the question.
"At Warp, Captain? Impossible! There is no way to engage at warp in a thermobaric environment. Besides, we would probably be crushed by the reaction."
Teroth smiled. T'Shiya understood. She had been had — again.
"Is there any way you can refine your estimate, Lieutenant?"
"No, Captain. I am sorry, but our instruments cannot make a precise evaluation."
"What do your guts tell you?"
"My … guts, Captain?"
T'Shiya was wondering, but her instinct told her this one was not a joke.
"Your experience, Lieutenant, your instinct, your intuition. How long do you personally think the crossing will last?"
T'Shiya thought a few seconds, then answered:
"I believe we should make sure that we are ready for days rather than hours, Captain."
Teroth looked at her young, so young Science Officer. Well, at least the Vulcans were good at one thing, and that was science.
"Mister Lovok, tell Engineering to make a complete check-up of every system on this ship, and make sure the hull is completely sealed. Tell them to take the time they need, and then be ready for disaster."
"Yes, Commander."
"Lieutenant" she said to T'Shiya, "I want you on the Bridge for as long as the crossing will take. Rest now, that is an order. Dismissed."
"Yes, Captain."
***
The news had just reached the Samurai, and Wilkins was not, but really not in a good mood.
"OK, note to myself: We never name a ship 'Chameleon' again. Now, what is Fox doing about that, Samantha?"
"From what I understand, the Avenger went after them, reached the Gamma Quadrant, and then lost their track."
"You can't lose track of a ship that quickly! Is the interphase cloak that good, B'Elanna?"
"Not if the Avenger has the required sensors, L… Admiral. They should at least detect some traces of her passage. But it seems that at some place inside the Wormhole, it just … stops."
"So the Chameleon just disappeared? Has she been disintegrated or something?"
"I'm afraid it's not that simple. There is a very unusual type of both tachyons and gravitons at that place when the track of the Chameleon disappears, and their interaction with the verteron subfield is …"
"In English, please?"
"Nothing just happened to the Chameleon, Admiral. Something was done to her, and logic suggests that she was not simply destroyed." Samantha answered in her usual matter-of-fact tone.
"Thank you, Miss Vulcan. Leave me alone, please."
"I'll keep you informed, Sir."
Samantha Dvorak left. B'Elanna didn't.
"B'Elanna, I'd rather be alone now."
"No, you wouldn't."
He looked at her. She continued:
"You worry about her."
"Who?"
"Who else? Don't you think I know that you have adopted her in your heart? At 25, she's commanding a starship, after almost losing her life to bring back the original Chameleon. I know you, Leo. You never had children, and you so desperately want one that you adopted this one and are considering her as your own daughter. Don't even try to deny it!"
Wilkins sighed.
"Is that a problem?"
"It's part of what attracted me to you. Do you trust her?"
"Of course, but …"
"Has she failed you yet?"
"No."
"I share Samantha's opinion. There is no reason for the Prophets to destroy the Chameleon, so the Chameleon is somewhere else. When she returns, we'll know why they were taken. In the meantime, you still have a war to lead, Leo, and your people expect you to lead them, not to grieve for the loss of your daughter. You saw what happened to O'Brien when he thought he had lost Molly."
"If I didn't know you better, I'd say you have no heart."
"You have felt my heart, Torok. You know how strong it beats for you. Trust your instincts: that little lady will find her way home, wherever she is, and she'll bring the ship with her, on her back if she has to."
***
"So, Varel, what's new?"
The Romulan looked at Sabrina, a little surprised.
"Nothing special, Captain. Doctor McCoy is complaining about, quote, the sorry state of that hellhole you dare to call a Sickbay, unquote, Lieutenant O'Brien is busy trying to access the navigation computers, besides making the urgent repairs we'll need to make before moving anywhere, Ensign Halliwell is sweating blood trying to figure out where we are with only a PADD to help her make the computations, and the rest is — I guess an appropriate humorous use of a word would be shipshape."
"You're learning fast."
"Ensign — I mean Nurse Dax has taken upon herself the personal challenge of making me laugh, Captain."
"Does she have a chance?"
"I do not believe so."
"I bet she can. She has more than three centuries of experience, you know."
At that moment, the chime sounded.
"Come in!"
That was Pamela Halliwell, white as a ghost.
"Captain, I … I think I know where we are. Would you please … come to the viewscreen?"
"Sure."
Once on the Bridge, she punched a couple of keys and a large star chart appeared.
"What is that?"
"This is a star chart of Abell cluster #1963, Captain, in the Bootes Supercluster."
"Abell cluster?" Annie asked.
"Abell clusters", Varel answered in a lecturing tone, "are the most conspicuous groupings of galaxies identified by the human astronomer George Abell on the plates of the first photographic survey made with the SCHMIDT TELESCOPE at Mount Palomar, on Earth, in the 1950s. Sometimes, the term Abell clusters is used as a synonym of nearby, optically selected galaxy clusters … but not in this case."
"And … how far is that from home, Miss Halliwell?"
"Approximately 2.797 billion light years, Captain."
Everyone looked at the little ensign, who felt very uneasy all of a sudden. Sabrina made a step forward, and Pamela, a little relieved, looked at her only.
"So you're telling me we won't be back for supper? How long will it take to go back?"
"Huh …"
"21775 years, 127 days, 9 hours and 24 minutes … approximately", Varel answered.
"What, no seconds?"
"We may find a shortcut, Captain."
They all looked at each other, slowly realizing the scope of their predicament. Annie was the first to talk, after a few seconds:
"Damn, someone pulled a voyager on us."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
June 20, 2400
The flash coming out of the Wormhole had taken everyone by surprise, from Deep Space Nine to Bajor. For a moment, they had thought the Wormhole had simply exploded. However, after a few seconds of anguish, it just appeared again, exactly the same as it had been before the red-orange glow had started.
"What the hell …"
"Nerys …"
"Forgive me, Eminence. I probably should choose my words better. But you see, we sent the Chameleon in the Wormhole to try to find out what was happening, and … I hope they were not in it when it happened."
"The Prophets will take care of that ship, my child. Well, I suppose it will give me a second chance to meet that young Captain."
"Captain Watson?"
"Yes. There is something I wanted to talk about with her."
"You should have asked for her, instead of sending her the Prylar directly."
"Yes, I … Who are you talking about?"
"Prylar Furel. The observer sent by you to represent the Vedek Assembly in the Celestial Temple."
"I assure you, Nerys, that I did no such thing. Had I wished for an observer, I would have gone myself! Who is this Furel?"
"She had your written authorization!"
"Not from me!"
"I … I saw your name and your signature, Your Eminence."
"I believe you, my child, but I assure you that I signed no request or authorization of the sort."
The two women looked at each other, then Kira asked:
"But then, who is it who boarded the Chameleon?"
"Even more important, my child: why?"
***
"Damn, what was that?"
Everyone on the bridge of the Chameleon had been thrown to the floor. Annie had caught O'Brien before he fell, and had used her own body to avoid him a bad fall. McCoy, who had tried the same, had missed a step and was now on the floor, with a bad wound at the head. Neema was taking care of her. The others were picking themselves up.
"No idea, Captain", Pamela answered. "But I don't think this is the Gamma Quadrant."
"Miss Stanley, get me a damage report!"
"I can't raise Engineering, Captain. Sick Bay doesn't answer either. But I'm receiving damage reports, and there seem to be wounded all over."
"Get me an engineer here. What's the problem with that viewscreen?"
"It's working correctly, Sir."
"Then what the heck is that picture?"
Miles O'Brien took a good look.
"Damn, that's not a viewscreen problem. There is no way that effect could happen. It's the real thing."
"Sabrina … Captain?" Annie said.
"Yeah?"
"Permission to leave the Bridge. I'll assemble Security and we'll make a complete tour of the ship to find out what happened."
"Granted."
"Try to contact Sick Bay and Engineering first, Lieutenant", Varel told her.
"Understood."
***
After one hour, the reports were complete. Varel would summarize what Sabrina and she had found out, thanks to Annie's efficiency.
"The ship is basically in good shape, although major repairs will have to be made as quickly as possible to navigation, propulsion and weapons. Other systems are affected too, but fortunately life support and power are not among them."
"How long does Morton think it will take?" O'Brien asked.
"That's a bigger problem. We have no engineers left. A plasma explosion in Engineering killed all three of them."
"Damn!"
"Do we have engineers among our passengers?"
"A few, Captain, but none qualified to serve on a starship this advanced."
"Besides, a lot of our passengers are dead. Currently, we can count on 145 people, plus a few wounded, but …"
Varel stopped and looked at everyone.
"What?" McCoy asked.
"Our doctor is dead, and the EMH doesn't respond."
"That's not a problem!" McCoy answered. "All I need is a nurse. Miss Dax, you took care of me competently enough, that's you. Come! With your permission, Captain!"
"Yes, Doctor, do your best. You are my Medical Officer until we come back from wherever we are."
McCoy left, practically abducting Neema, who had to run behind her.
"We need an engineer, Captain."
"Admiral?"
"I'm too old to crawl, Captain, and your Chief Engineer will have to crawl a lot. It's another O'Brien you need, and I assure you she can do it."
"We have a Chief Engineer then. Next question: where the hell are we? Miss Halliwell?"
All turned to the little pilot.
"I … have no idea, Captain. Astrometrics could answer that question, unfortunately it's one of the systems that need repairs."
"See to it with Lieutenant O'Brien."
"Captain?"
"What? You need another pip to take charge of Navigation? Sorry, I don't even have enough for my own use."
"No, Captain, it's just …"
"If she has questions, send her to me. Dismissed."
"Yes, Captain."
***
Aboard the Mogai, the atmosphere was very tense now.
"Well, Commander, we would never have had a chance to cross if the Admiral hadn't given us that tip."
"Yes, Lovok, who would have thought that the Great Cordon could only be entered from the Delta Quadrant?"
"We're not in yet, Commander."
"I know, old friend. But at least now we know how to say hello to the Qalans, and who to contact. That Be'Jar should open the doors for us."
"The question is, the door to where?"
"According to Picard, a huge space inhabited by two races who fear, hate and despise each other, yet won't start any kind of fight because they're afraid it might cause the total extinction of both their races."
"The ultimate deterrent to war", T'Shiya added. "Commander, I have here the sensor analysis of the Great Cordon."
"I'm listening, Lieutenant."
"We knew until now that the area was plagued with an unusual density of quantum filaments. I can now tell you that it is about triple of what we previously thought. But there is more."
"More good news?"
T'Shiya looked at Teroth, then understood. Another witticism, no doubt.
"Yes, Captain. There are incredibly strong EM disturbances, and thermobaric clouds enclose it completely. I estimate it will take at least several hours, maybe several days, to cross them at impulse."
"And at Warp 9?"
T'Shiya looked at Teroth, completely dumbstruck by the question.
"At Warp, Captain? Impossible! There is no way to engage at warp in a thermobaric environment. Besides, we would probably be crushed by the reaction."
Teroth smiled. T'Shiya understood. She had been had — again.
"Is there any way you can refine your estimate, Lieutenant?"
"No, Captain. I am sorry, but our instruments cannot make a precise evaluation."
"What do your guts tell you?"
"My … guts, Captain?"
T'Shiya was wondering, but her instinct told her this one was not a joke.
"Your experience, Lieutenant, your instinct, your intuition. How long do you personally think the crossing will last?"
T'Shiya thought a few seconds, then answered:
"I believe we should make sure that we are ready for days rather than hours, Captain."
Teroth looked at her young, so young Science Officer. Well, at least the Vulcans were good at one thing, and that was science.
"Mister Lovok, tell Engineering to make a complete check-up of every system on this ship, and make sure the hull is completely sealed. Tell them to take the time they need, and then be ready for disaster."
"Yes, Commander."
"Lieutenant" she said to T'Shiya, "I want you on the Bridge for as long as the crossing will take. Rest now, that is an order. Dismissed."
"Yes, Captain."
***
The news had just reached the Samurai, and Wilkins was not, but really not in a good mood.
"OK, note to myself: We never name a ship 'Chameleon' again. Now, what is Fox doing about that, Samantha?"
"From what I understand, the Avenger went after them, reached the Gamma Quadrant, and then lost their track."
"You can't lose track of a ship that quickly! Is the interphase cloak that good, B'Elanna?"
"Not if the Avenger has the required sensors, L… Admiral. They should at least detect some traces of her passage. But it seems that at some place inside the Wormhole, it just … stops."
"So the Chameleon just disappeared? Has she been disintegrated or something?"
"I'm afraid it's not that simple. There is a very unusual type of both tachyons and gravitons at that place when the track of the Chameleon disappears, and their interaction with the verteron subfield is …"
"In English, please?"
"Nothing just happened to the Chameleon, Admiral. Something was done to her, and logic suggests that she was not simply destroyed." Samantha answered in her usual matter-of-fact tone.
"Thank you, Miss Vulcan. Leave me alone, please."
"I'll keep you informed, Sir."
Samantha Dvorak left. B'Elanna didn't.
"B'Elanna, I'd rather be alone now."
"No, you wouldn't."
He looked at her. She continued:
"You worry about her."
"Who?"
"Who else? Don't you think I know that you have adopted her in your heart? At 25, she's commanding a starship, after almost losing her life to bring back the original Chameleon. I know you, Leo. You never had children, and you so desperately want one that you adopted this one and are considering her as your own daughter. Don't even try to deny it!"
Wilkins sighed.
"Is that a problem?"
"It's part of what attracted me to you. Do you trust her?"
"Of course, but …"
"Has she failed you yet?"
"No."
"I share Samantha's opinion. There is no reason for the Prophets to destroy the Chameleon, so the Chameleon is somewhere else. When she returns, we'll know why they were taken. In the meantime, you still have a war to lead, Leo, and your people expect you to lead them, not to grieve for the loss of your daughter. You saw what happened to O'Brien when he thought he had lost Molly."
"If I didn't know you better, I'd say you have no heart."
"You have felt my heart, Torok. You know how strong it beats for you. Trust your instincts: that little lady will find her way home, wherever she is, and she'll bring the ship with her, on her back if she has to."
***
"So, Varel, what's new?"
The Romulan looked at Sabrina, a little surprised.
"Nothing special, Captain. Doctor McCoy is complaining about, quote, the sorry state of that hellhole you dare to call a Sickbay, unquote, Lieutenant O'Brien is busy trying to access the navigation computers, besides making the urgent repairs we'll need to make before moving anywhere, Ensign Halliwell is sweating blood trying to figure out where we are with only a PADD to help her make the computations, and the rest is — I guess an appropriate humorous use of a word would be shipshape."
"You're learning fast."
"Ensign — I mean Nurse Dax has taken upon herself the personal challenge of making me laugh, Captain."
"Does she have a chance?"
"I do not believe so."
"I bet she can. She has more than three centuries of experience, you know."
At that moment, the chime sounded.
"Come in!"
That was Pamela Halliwell, white as a ghost.
"Captain, I … I think I know where we are. Would you please … come to the viewscreen?"
"Sure."
Once on the Bridge, she punched a couple of keys and a large star chart appeared.
"What is that?"
"This is a star chart of Abell cluster #1963, Captain, in the Bootes Supercluster."
"Abell cluster?" Annie asked.
"Abell clusters", Varel answered in a lecturing tone, "are the most conspicuous groupings of galaxies identified by the human astronomer George Abell on the plates of the first photographic survey made with the SCHMIDT TELESCOPE at Mount Palomar, on Earth, in the 1950s. Sometimes, the term Abell clusters is used as a synonym of nearby, optically selected galaxy clusters … but not in this case."
"And … how far is that from home, Miss Halliwell?"
"Approximately 2.797 billion light years, Captain."
Everyone looked at the little ensign, who felt very uneasy all of a sudden. Sabrina made a step forward, and Pamela, a little relieved, looked at her only.
"So you're telling me we won't be back for supper? How long will it take to go back?"
"Huh …"
"21775 years, 127 days, 9 hours and 24 minutes … approximately", Varel answered.
"What, no seconds?"
"We may find a shortcut, Captain."
They all looked at each other, slowly realizing the scope of their predicament. Annie was the first to talk, after a few seconds:
"Damn, someone pulled a voyager on us."
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