Starbase 66 – Welcome to the Deep Black
Author’s Note:
While the Starbase 66 stories can stand alone, they are closely related to the Elvis Upp adventures and will also align with the yet unwritten Sunstorm tales. Characters from each will often appear in the others. You may wish to check out What’s Upp – The Implausible Adventures of Elvis Upp, also posted on the Fan-fic section of the TrekBBS.
Introduction
The Coal Sack Nebula lies approximately 600 light years from Earth. Viewed from Earth, it covers the constellations Centaurus and Musca, and touches Crux, commonly known as the Southern Cross. It is the darkest nebula in the Milky Way galaxy.
It was first observed from the southern hemisphere during prehistoric times and became an integral part of Australian Aboriginal lore. They called it the “Emu in the Sky.” It had special significance for the Wardaman tribe – they believed it to be the head and shoulders of a “law-man” which they called Utdjungon who watched and judged their people. According to Wardaman legend, only adherence to the tribal laws by the surviving members would prevent Utdjungon from bringing down judgement in the form of a fiery star – destroying the world.
But of course, that is only legend.
As humanity reached for the stars and encountered other races, the ancient stories were forgotten. Even the name of the nebula changed. In the mid-21st century, astronomers on Earth changed the designation to “Deep Black,” opining that “Coal Sack” was anachronistic.
By the late 22nd century, the United Earth Space Probe Agency established a small, manned station in the Deep Black as a refueling point and observation platform. This was replaced in the mid-23rd century with a K-type space station, designated Starbase K-6. Finally, in the 24th century, a new Immense-class station was built along with a new designation:
Starbase 66.
But to ask anyone involved in the decision making process, “Why build such a massive station in a relatively obscure and strategically unimportant part of the quadrant?” you would be met with shrugs and looks of vague puzzlement. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” is the usual answer. Yet, from admirals to senators to bean-counters, no one seems to understand why Starbase 66 exists.
And no one really wants to ponder the question.
You see, strange things happen in the Deep Black. Stations have occupied a space in the dark nebula for nearly two centuries. During that span of time:
• 26 people vanished without a trace.
• 19 committed suicide.
• 25 others died due to “mysterious circumstances”
• Two of the base commanders died – both inexplicably.
There have been other strange events ranging from the merely odd to bizarre beyond belief. A few classified incidents venture into the realm of impossibility.
Yet, Starbase 66 continues to serve as a starship repair and support base, a haven along a major shipping route, and home for thousands of beings. Most are blissfully unaware of the sinister undercurrent of 66.
A few are familiar with this hidden side of the base. There are stories to tell – some beyond belief. You may choose to scoff – that is your right. But if you ever should travel to the Deep Black and think of visiting Star Base 66, please do so and enjoy your stay.
But don’t visit alone.
* * *
Chapter One – The Deep Black
Stardate 54834.4 (1 November 2377)
Federation Runabout USS Thames
En route to Starbase 66
Lt. Tess Edwards rubbed her eyes and yawned. She glanced up at the chronometer on the runabout’s bulkhead and sighed. So much for arriving at Starbase 66 fresh and well-rested. She had foregone sleep to pour over the records pertaining to Starbase 66. Those records read like horror tales from some old 21st century novels she had read by, what was the author’s name? Stephen King? Something like that.
Edwards was en route to Starbase 66 at the behest of Rear-Admiral Spencer Torrington of Starfleet Security. Torrington was relatively young for an admiral and ambitious. In her estimation, Admiral Torrington saw clearing up the mysteries surrounding the Deep Black starbase as another step up the ladder. In like fashion, he had gone so far as to promise Edwards a promotion to Lieutenant Commander and a posh billet on a “significant ship of the line,” as he put it, once she had cleared up the mystery in a satisfactory matter.
Personally, Edwards did not care for the Admiral or his carrot. She was, after all, a Starfleet officer and would follow orders without bribes. It was a matter of personal and professional pride to do her duty to the best of her ability.
Officially, she was being assigned to the starbase as Deputy Chief of Security. Her real job was trouble-shooter. And she was a damned good one. She could be charming or obstinate as the occasion called, and she had a sixth-sense when it came to rooting out corruption. Hers was a highly developed bullshit detector.
Not to mention, she was as intrigued as hell with Starbase 66. Nestled in the Deep Black Nebula (once known as the “Coal Sack”) the starbase had existed in three different incarnations over 150 years. The current base was a state-of-the-art Immense-class station, capable of supporting over twenty thousand beings.
And it was situated in the ass-end of the quadrant, hundreds of light-years from any sectors of strategic importance. Sure, it was located near well-traveled space lanes, but the need of a full blown starbase of such magnitude was, well, dubious at best. Hell, even a Regula-class station would be overkill.
Still, the existence of such a massive starbase in an odd location could be explained by other, more mundane considerations. It would not be the first time that political influence had trumped strategic or financial sense within Starfleet.
No, the real mysteries were much deeper, and far more sinister.
Edwards reviewed her PADD with the compiled data, which she guessed was probably just the tip of the iceberg . . .
Over the life of the Deep Black stations, 26 people had vanished without a trace, 19 had committed suicide, and two base commanders had died of mysterious causes. The most recent was the predecessor to the current base commander. In early 2368, Rear Admiral (lower half) Cherek Th’Shaadi had been found dead in his office. The official records listed “natural causes,” but Edwards had probed deeper and discovered that the medical examiners could not find any cause for his death. Admiral Th’Shaadi had simply ceased living.
There were other mysteries also – most not in official records, but easy enough to track down on the Federation Net. These ranged from the odd to the outright preposterous. Still, Edwards knew there were probably nuggets of truth to be gleaned from the generally sensational bilge in these accounts. She found a few common threads related to deck 470 and turbo-lift 13. Probably urban legends, but they all fed into a general sense that things were terribly amiss at Starbase 66.
And I’m going to find out why and who is responsible, she mused as she glanced out the viewport at the dark nebula.
Looking back at her PADD, she scrolled through the menu and called up the file on Captain Vigo Gilead, the current station commander. Though technically the “interim” caretaker, Gilead had now served nine years in a post normally reserved for rear-admirals. Through judicious digging, Edwards had learned that no one else wanted the job.
That surprised her. Commanding a major starbase was considered a plum billet. True, it lacked the prestige of commanding a ship of the line, but it trumped a staff job in San Francisco or Paris.
Why had the command slot for Starbase 66 become a pariah post?
She gazed down at the image of Captain Gilead. Pale blue eyes stared back, set into a chiseled face that hinted at intelligence and determination. No fear in those eyes, she thought. His hair was silver, though he was only 45. That could simply be a genetic trait – or something else - surviving the encounter with the Borg at Wolf 359, for example.
For which you spent nearly six months in hospital and having several vital organs and three limbs replaced. I wish I could get a peek at the counselors’ file on you, Captain.
In fact, she had attempted to do so, but was firmly blocked from every angle. His psychological profile would remain one more mystery – for now.
Tess Edwards firmly believed every mystery had a tangible, rational explanation. There was a cause behind the disappearances and deaths at Starbase 66. She had no doubt the cause had a face and a name, perhaps something related to the Orion Syndicate or other person or persons with vendettas. She had neither the time nor patience to consider supernatural flights of fancy. Tess was a trained investigator. With time, observation and a little luck, she would get the answers that Admiral Torrington sought.
But deep down, she knew she wasn’t doing it for the Admiral. She saw this as the biggest challenge of her career.
And she would be damned if she would fail.
* * *
The runabout Thames began to slow for its final approach to Starbase 66. Edwards glanced briefly out the port at the massive starbase but saw nothing extraordinary, save for the dearth of starlight. Starbase 66 appeared to hang against a drapery of black velvet, the only starlight came from the Crux system, and that illumination was scant.
The Thames passed through the atmospheric shields of a large landing bay before executing a graceful pirouette and settling lightly on a landing pad between two other runabouts.
Lt. Edwards gathered her few belongings, thanked the flight crew, and stepped out of the runabout onto the hangar deck.
It was a cavernous space, designed to handle dozens of small craft, yet aside from the runabout, Thames, there were only a handful of shuttle craft and a couple of yellow work bees. Lighting was somewhat subdued and her boots made an echo each time she took a step. No other personnel were evident. All in all it was somewhat . . . spooky.
Having visited numerous starbases, she was well-versed in finding her own way. Still, she had somewhat expected someone to meet her as the newest staff officer for the base.
A sense of vague unease filled her heart as she continued toward a bank of turbo-lifts. She had looked forward to stretching her legs after the long flight on the runabout. It seemed she was getting her wish.
Edwards nearly jumped when she heard someone call out her name.
“Lt. Edwards.”
She whirled around, surprised to see a man standing where she had passed only a moment ago.
Where did you come from? she wondered as the Starfleet officer stepped forward. He wore commander’s pips on his collar and his black uniform bore the burgundy trim of command. She was drawn to his eyes, a fascinating shade of gold. His warm smile put her at ease at once.
“I’m Trevor Harney; welcome to the Deep Black.” Harney smiled broadly, his white teeth provided a dazzling contrast to his deep brown skin and wavy black hair. He spoke with a heavy, Australian accent. There were traces of wrinkles near his eyes but otherwise his age was indeterminate . . . except for the eyes themselves. Something about them hinted at great age. He extended a hand.
“Lt. Tess Edwards, sir. Thank you for meeting me.” She was somewhat surprised by the casual nature of his greeting. As they clasped hands, she was aware that his was quite warm and dry – almost feverish by Human standards.
“I trust your journey was uneventful,” he said.
“Yes sir, a nice, boring trip. I managed to catch up on some reading.”
“Indeed. I hope you found your reading enlightening.”
She managed to keep her face neutral as his response caught her off-guard.
“Uh, yes sir.” The sense of unease was beginning to return. “Commander, I really should check in with the Captain and get logged in to the station.”
“Of course. But I believe the Captain is tied up at the moment. Perhaps you could make better use of your time and check into your quarters or get some grub.”
She frowned, momentarily puzzled. “Grub?”
He chuckled. “Food, Lieutenant.”
She smiled in spite of herself. “Oh, right. Sorry – it’s been a long flight and I don’t sleep well on runabouts. I guess I’m suffering from star-lag.”
“No worries,” he replied. “Shall we?” He gestured across the expansive deck toward the station entrance.
She followed Harney through the massive hangar bay, pausing momentarily for a taxiing small-craft that thrummed slowly past. As they came to a concourse entrance and turbo-lift bank, her eyes were drawn to an electronic sign.
She halted so suddenly she nearly stumbled. Blinking, she stared at the sign, sure she must have misread it.
The sign read, “Welcome to Starbase 666.”
Startled she turned back to Lt. Commander Harney who continued to walk toward the turbo-lifts.”
“Commander?” she called out.
Harney stopped and turned. “Yes?”
“Did you . . . ?” she began, then her voice trailed off.
The sign now cheerfully stated, “Welcome to Starbase 66.”
“Did I what, Lieutenant?”
“The sign . . . just now it . . .” She paused and forced a rueful smile. “Sorry, sir. My mistake. I must be more tired than I thought.”
Harney cocked his head. “Ah – it spoke to you.”
Edwards blinked. “Sorry? Who spoke to me?”
The indigenous Australian simply shook his head. “Not to worry. Like you said, you’re probably just fatigued. Come along, now; we’ve a ways to go yet.”
For a second, Edwards stared blankly at the retreating form of Harney before hurrying to catch up.
* * *
“Alright Vigo, you can sit up now,” announced Dr. Visha An’Taal.
Captain Vigo Gilead swung his legs off the diagnostic table and stood. “So?” he asked.
“So,” replied the Andorian CMO, “everything appears to be functioning within normal parameters. All of your enzyme levels are normal, blood gases normal, and the valves are synchronized properly. Your heart pump is fine, Vigo.”
He nodded, his expression impassive, though An’Taal could spot several telling signs of frustration.
“But you’re still experiencing episodes of dizziness,” she continued.
“Yes. They don’t last long, but the bouts are becoming more frequent. I thought perhaps I needed a tune-up.”
Gilead’s meager attempt at humor fell flat. But then, humor was never his strong point.
Dr. An’Taal folded her arms. “Your heart pump is working fine. But it’s also older technology. You’ve had it for nearly ten years, Vigo. I wish you would consider an upgrade to a bio-synthetic heart.”
“If I did, can you guarantee that the dizziness would go away?”
She frowned. “I don’t make guarantees. You’re not under warranty, you know.”
He breathed out heavily and rubbed his face. “No, I suppose not.”
She gently placed her hand on his arm. “Vigo, as your physician, I can tell you that physically you are fine. As your friend, I know there’s something else troubling you. Want to tell me?”
A small smile flickered momentarily. “I though Dr. T’Ril was the station Counselor.”
“And a damned good one . . . as if you would know.”
Gilead held up his hands in mock surrender. “Yes, she’s a fine counselor. It’s just . . . she’s so damned logical about everything.”
“I’m shocked. Imagine – a Vulcan Counselor steeped in logic.”
“You know what I mean.” His voice grew quiet. “There’s nothing logical about this place, Visha. My on-going presence here as Base Commander is not logical. Yet . . . here I remain.”
“Vigo, how many times have we had this discussion?” she asked, gently.
“Sorry.” He paused and decided to change the subject. “I better get moving. We have a new Deputy Chief of Security arriving today. I suppose I need to give my usual welcome and pep-talk.”
The beautiful Andorian looked skeptical. “You mean another ‘trouble-shooter,’ don’t you?”
He nodded. “What else? This is the third one that Admiral Torrington has sent our way. The man is nothing if not persistent.”
“That’s what’s troubling you, isn’t it? Especially after what happened to Lt. Salnok.”
Gilead grimaced. The memory of the young Vulcan officer strapped to a bio-bed, screaming “Not possible! Not possible!” at the top of his lungs still gave him chills.
“Yeah. It troubles me a great deal.” He stepped away from the diagnostic table and turned. “See if there are any software upgrades for my heart, will you? Maybe that will do the trick.” He turned and hurried out before he could hear her reply.
“I already have,” she sighed.
* * *
