As brilliantly twisted as the rest of this story!
Starbase 66: A Deeper Shade of Night
- Thread starter TheLoneRedshirt
- Start date
Not ended, just on extended hiatus.
To borrow a quote from a different universe and storyline . . .
"The sleeper has awakened."
More Starbase 66 coming soon.
"The sleeper has awakened."
More Starbase 66 coming soon.
(After an extended hiatus, Starbase 66 returns . . .)
Chapter 15 – Waking Dream
Stardate 54838.2 (5 November 2377)
Location – Unknown
“There is a way out of every box, a solution to every puzzle. It's just a matter of finding it." -Captain Jean Luc Picard
Darkness. Utter darkness.
Tess slept the deep sleep of the dead. She unconsciously curled around the boy who was also asleep. The snow fall continued, and the gray light faded.
Yet in the stygian darkness of her slumber, a light began to appear. Her exhausted brain did not register the glow at first, but slowly the depths of her unconsciousness began to wane.
She slowly became aware of a place. Perhaps it was only a dream, the random firing of synapses, but the place began to take on substance.
Tess found herself standing on a stark gray plain. The snow and the forest were gone. So was the biting cold. There was a soft, hazy light but from no visible source. She glanced around and saw Malan still curled up and sleeping. The shallow rise and fall of his chest assured her that he was alive . . . at least for now.
The pain in her knee was gone, as were the rips in her uniform and the scratches on her face and hands.
“I must be dreaming . . . or maybe I’ve died? . . . If so, the afterlife sucks.”
But somehow she knew she wasn’t dead. Nor was this a dream in the normal sense. She and the boy were in some other (between) place, though whether physically present or not, she did not know.
“Tess Edwards.”
The sound was faint, hardly above a whisper. Nevertheless, she whirled upon hearing her name, ready to defend herself and the boy.
A figure approached, shrouded in gray and indistinct. At first, she could not determine what or who came near, but it did not seem to be the clown. Still, she kept her guard up, prepared for an attack.
As it neared, the gray figure came into focus. The face resolved into a human male, probably in his 60’s. His hair was silver and he wore a Starfleet uniform from several decades ago. The rank flash of a commodore adorned the burgundy jacket. Yet there was a lack of substance to the figure, like an out of phase hologram.
“Commodore Stillman?” She asked, not sure if she believed her eyes. “Is it really you?”
The figure’s brow furrowed slightly, as if he were pondering her question.
“I . . . was . . . am,” he replied, hesitantly. “That is, I am what is left of Robert Stillman.” His voice had a hollow quality, as if he were speaking from a great distance, yet he stood only a few meters away.
“You came to me in my apartment,” said Tess. “Why? Were you trying to scare me or warn me of something?”
“To warn you . . . You are different . . . unique. I knew the thing . . . the evil . . . one would seek you out . . . to devour you . . .”
“Yeah, we’ve met the clown. But I think it’s gone. Commander Harney put some sort of chant in my mind and . . .”
Commodore Stillman, or at least his ghost, shook his head. “Never gone completely . . . I don’t think it can die. You must get back to your realm . . . I will try to help, but I am limited . . . I will only be able to maintain this form for a short time . . . Now, we must hurry . . .”
“Hurry? I don’t even know where we . . .”
Tess gasped as the cold and pain returned. Snow had buried her and the boy. She clawed at the icy covering with numb fingers, moving aside the snow and . . .
Commodore Stillman stood there appearing much more solid than in her dream(?).
“Get up, Tess!” he ordered, his voice much stronger. “We have little time. I will guide you to the boundary of this realm.”
Edwards tried to stand, her knee nearly buckling as a shard of pain caused her to cry out. Gritting her teeth, she reached down and pulled up the limp form of Malan. Once more, she placed him over her shoulder and, struggling to maintain her balance in the deepening snow, turned toward the Commodore.
“How much farther?” she gasped.
“Just follow,” he said, avoiding her question. Tess noted that, while he seemed more “real,” he left no trail through the snow.
“Would’ve been nice if you offered to carry the kid for a while,” she muttered.
* * *
Todd Stillman was growing anxious and impatient. “How much longer, Harney? This storm is turning into a frelling blizzard!”
In truth, the skies had turned a strange purplish gray. The once gentle snowfall intensified into stinging gale of snow and ice. Stillman found it difficult to stand against the howling wind.
His aboriginal guide stood still, seemingly unaffected by the snowy tempest despite the fact he wore only a loincloth. Trevor Harney’s eyes were closed, but his lips were moving.
“Harney! Answer me, dammit!”
For a moment, Stillman thought the ancient Wardaman was ignoring him, but finally Harney opened his eyes. By his expression, he was deeply concerned.
“They approach, but slowly. Tess Edwards is exhausted and weak, her injuries slowing her down . . . worse still, the child is fading.”
“What about the other help you promised?” demanded Stillman.
The indigenous Australian closed his eyes again. “The help is there . . . but it is limited in what it can do.”
Over the howling wind came another sound . . . a roar of anger and outrage.
“That is not good,” observed Harney.
Chapter 15 – Waking Dream
Stardate 54838.2 (5 November 2377)
Location – Unknown
“There is a way out of every box, a solution to every puzzle. It's just a matter of finding it." -Captain Jean Luc Picard
Darkness. Utter darkness.
Tess slept the deep sleep of the dead. She unconsciously curled around the boy who was also asleep. The snow fall continued, and the gray light faded.
Yet in the stygian darkness of her slumber, a light began to appear. Her exhausted brain did not register the glow at first, but slowly the depths of her unconsciousness began to wane.
She slowly became aware of a place. Perhaps it was only a dream, the random firing of synapses, but the place began to take on substance.
Tess found herself standing on a stark gray plain. The snow and the forest were gone. So was the biting cold. There was a soft, hazy light but from no visible source. She glanced around and saw Malan still curled up and sleeping. The shallow rise and fall of his chest assured her that he was alive . . . at least for now.
The pain in her knee was gone, as were the rips in her uniform and the scratches on her face and hands.
“I must be dreaming . . . or maybe I’ve died? . . . If so, the afterlife sucks.”
But somehow she knew she wasn’t dead. Nor was this a dream in the normal sense. She and the boy were in some other (between) place, though whether physically present or not, she did not know.
“Tess Edwards.”
The sound was faint, hardly above a whisper. Nevertheless, she whirled upon hearing her name, ready to defend herself and the boy.
A figure approached, shrouded in gray and indistinct. At first, she could not determine what or who came near, but it did not seem to be the clown. Still, she kept her guard up, prepared for an attack.
As it neared, the gray figure came into focus. The face resolved into a human male, probably in his 60’s. His hair was silver and he wore a Starfleet uniform from several decades ago. The rank flash of a commodore adorned the burgundy jacket. Yet there was a lack of substance to the figure, like an out of phase hologram.
“Commodore Stillman?” She asked, not sure if she believed her eyes. “Is it really you?”
The figure’s brow furrowed slightly, as if he were pondering her question.
“I . . . was . . . am,” he replied, hesitantly. “That is, I am what is left of Robert Stillman.” His voice had a hollow quality, as if he were speaking from a great distance, yet he stood only a few meters away.
“You came to me in my apartment,” said Tess. “Why? Were you trying to scare me or warn me of something?”
“To warn you . . . You are different . . . unique. I knew the thing . . . the evil . . . one would seek you out . . . to devour you . . .”
“Yeah, we’ve met the clown. But I think it’s gone. Commander Harney put some sort of chant in my mind and . . .”
Commodore Stillman, or at least his ghost, shook his head. “Never gone completely . . . I don’t think it can die. You must get back to your realm . . . I will try to help, but I am limited . . . I will only be able to maintain this form for a short time . . . Now, we must hurry . . .”
“Hurry? I don’t even know where we . . .”
Tess gasped as the cold and pain returned. Snow had buried her and the boy. She clawed at the icy covering with numb fingers, moving aside the snow and . . .
Commodore Stillman stood there appearing much more solid than in her dream(?).
“Get up, Tess!” he ordered, his voice much stronger. “We have little time. I will guide you to the boundary of this realm.”
Edwards tried to stand, her knee nearly buckling as a shard of pain caused her to cry out. Gritting her teeth, she reached down and pulled up the limp form of Malan. Once more, she placed him over her shoulder and, struggling to maintain her balance in the deepening snow, turned toward the Commodore.
“How much farther?” she gasped.
“Just follow,” he said, avoiding her question. Tess noted that, while he seemed more “real,” he left no trail through the snow.
“Would’ve been nice if you offered to carry the kid for a while,” she muttered.
* * *
Todd Stillman was growing anxious and impatient. “How much longer, Harney? This storm is turning into a frelling blizzard!”
In truth, the skies had turned a strange purplish gray. The once gentle snowfall intensified into stinging gale of snow and ice. Stillman found it difficult to stand against the howling wind.
His aboriginal guide stood still, seemingly unaffected by the snowy tempest despite the fact he wore only a loincloth. Trevor Harney’s eyes were closed, but his lips were moving.
“Harney! Answer me, dammit!”
For a moment, Stillman thought the ancient Wardaman was ignoring him, but finally Harney opened his eyes. By his expression, he was deeply concerned.
“They approach, but slowly. Tess Edwards is exhausted and weak, her injuries slowing her down . . . worse still, the child is fading.”
“What about the other help you promised?” demanded Stillman.
The indigenous Australian closed his eyes again. “The help is there . . . but it is limited in what it can do.”
Over the howling wind came another sound . . . a roar of anger and outrage.
“That is not good,” observed Harney.
Chapter 16 – The Crossing
Stardate 54838.3 (5 November 2377)
Location – Unknown
“Never leave a friend behind. Friends are all we have to get us through this life--and they are the only things from this world that we could hope to see in the next.”
― Dean Koontz, Fear Nothing
The snow fall increased from a major hindrance to a dangerous obstacle, then to a raging apocalypse. Edwards felt like she was being flayed alive by the snow and ice crystals, driven by gale force winds.
It became increasingly difficult to see as her eyelashes began to freeze. Keeping her eyes open was nearly impossible, yet she managed to squint enough to keep track of the Commodore, his burgundy tunic standing out in the blizzard like a beacon.
The sound of the storm was nearly deafening - a horrific cacophony of sound. Yet even with the screaming wind, there arose a background roar that chilled her more than the sub-freezing temperatures.
The lichthu'ud was back, or nearly so.
Even the ethereal Robert Stillman paused a moment and glanced back beyond Tess and the little boy she carried. Without a word, he resumed his seemingly endless march toward (hopefully) the river and the bridge that should take them to safety. If anything, he actually increased the pace.
Somehow, Tess found a reserve of strength she never expected. Part of it was born of fear of the thing that had recovered and now pursued them. But part of it was an internal rage against the murderous evil the creature represented. It offended her sensibilities and all that she held dear as a Human being and a Starfleet Officer.
And she would be damned if she would give up.
So she trudged on, her face and extremities numb, her ragged exhalations an icy fog. She wanted to check on Malan, but knew they could not risk stopping.
Suddenly, the Commodore disappeared over a rise in the path. Summoning what little strength she had left, Tess hurried forward, not wanting to lose sight of Edwards.
Topping the crest, she saw the river.
And the bridge.
The Commodore was nowhere to be seen, but she heard her name being called.
This time however, it wasn’t Robert Edwards.
It was Todd.
She nearly stumbled and fell as she tried to run through the deep snow, but quickly slowed as she saw the condition of the bridge.
It was now twisted with several planks missing. The brutal winds caused the wooden structure to twist and creak, causing another cross piece to dislodge and fall into the raging torrent below.
But the bridge was the only way to get back to their universe . . . and away from the evil thing that was regrouping and certain to attack at first opportunity.
Todd made his way toward the bridge but Harney stopped him by grabbing his arm. The Wardaman might be old but his grip was like a vice. Stillman tried to pull free without success.
“You must not cross the bridge, Todd Stillman!” Harney shouted above the wind. “You would die!”
“Tess and the kid are going to die if we don’t help them get across!” Retorted Stillman. “And whatever is approaching sounds pissed off!”
* * *
Tess shifted the limp form of Malan Wright to drape him over her left shoulder. That would allow her a bit more use of her hands in trying to navigate across the rapidly disintegrating bridge.
She saw Todd make a move toward the other side of the bridge, but Harney stopped him. Tess recalled that the Australian warned against such an attempt. Still, she really wished she had some help right now.
Taking a shuddering breath, Tess took a tentative step onto the bridge, just as another bellow sounded from behind . . . much closer.
* * *
Feeling helpless, Stillman looked about for something, anything that might help rescue Tess and Malan. His eyes fell on the remains of the canopy tent. Though damaged, much of the heavy canvas was still intact.
“Harney, I’ve got an idea.”
* * *
The i’ilchthu'ud had not expected the woman to resist, much less cause it harm. It had been caught off guard when the song of the Wardaman tore into its essence, leaving it scattered for a time. In those moments, it felt something it had not experienced in centuries.
Fear.
But it was stronger than those long-ago battles. It could not, would not die. As it struggled to regain and reform itself, only one mindless emotion broke through its scattered esence.
Murderous rage.
With every moment, the thing began to coalesce, its power building. There was no rational thought, only a hunger that would not die. It existed to destroy and devour.
And it had unfinished business.
* * *
Tess focused on the bridge, looking for the best path forward that would not pitch her and the child into the river and their deaths. Even if they survived the fall, she had no strength left to fight the churning current. Likely they both would freeze to death quickly in the icy water.
She took a tentative step onto the bridge. An ominous creaking noise made her hesitate, but she reached of the railing to her right as she balanced the child on her left shoulder.
Another step, and she nearly slipped, only managing to stay upright by her grip on the railing. A sheen of ice covered the boards, making this crossing all the more hazardous.
Her heart hammered as she tried to quell the rising panic. She glanced across the river, puzzled by what she saw. Stillman and Harney were near the broken tent. She couldn’t tell what they . . .
The board beneath her cracked, and plunged toward the torrent below. With a cry of desperation, Tess wrapped her free arm around the railing, which creaked ominously under her and Malan’s combined weight. Her shoulder muscles burned as she strained to hold herself and the boy from certain death.
“Tess! Hang on!” cried Stillman, who appeared at the other end of the bridge.
“What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” she croaked.
* * *
Stillman turned to Harney. “You said I couldn’t survive on the other side. But what about going halfway across the bridge?”
Harney frowned. “I . . . am not sure. There is a dividing line between realms, but as to exactly where . . .”
“We’re about to find out,” said Stillman, his tone broaching no argument. He handed Harney the end of the makeshift rope, tied together from canvas strips removed from the broken tent.
“Anchor this,” he directed. Looping the rest of the rope around himself, Stillman stepped out onto the bridge.
"Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down," he whispered to himself.
Stardate 54838.3 (5 November 2377)
Location – Unknown
“Never leave a friend behind. Friends are all we have to get us through this life--and they are the only things from this world that we could hope to see in the next.”
― Dean Koontz, Fear Nothing
The snow fall increased from a major hindrance to a dangerous obstacle, then to a raging apocalypse. Edwards felt like she was being flayed alive by the snow and ice crystals, driven by gale force winds.
It became increasingly difficult to see as her eyelashes began to freeze. Keeping her eyes open was nearly impossible, yet she managed to squint enough to keep track of the Commodore, his burgundy tunic standing out in the blizzard like a beacon.
The sound of the storm was nearly deafening - a horrific cacophony of sound. Yet even with the screaming wind, there arose a background roar that chilled her more than the sub-freezing temperatures.
The lichthu'ud was back, or nearly so.
Even the ethereal Robert Stillman paused a moment and glanced back beyond Tess and the little boy she carried. Without a word, he resumed his seemingly endless march toward (hopefully) the river and the bridge that should take them to safety. If anything, he actually increased the pace.
Somehow, Tess found a reserve of strength she never expected. Part of it was born of fear of the thing that had recovered and now pursued them. But part of it was an internal rage against the murderous evil the creature represented. It offended her sensibilities and all that she held dear as a Human being and a Starfleet Officer.
And she would be damned if she would give up.
So she trudged on, her face and extremities numb, her ragged exhalations an icy fog. She wanted to check on Malan, but knew they could not risk stopping.
Suddenly, the Commodore disappeared over a rise in the path. Summoning what little strength she had left, Tess hurried forward, not wanting to lose sight of Edwards.
Topping the crest, she saw the river.
And the bridge.
The Commodore was nowhere to be seen, but she heard her name being called.
This time however, it wasn’t Robert Edwards.
It was Todd.
She nearly stumbled and fell as she tried to run through the deep snow, but quickly slowed as she saw the condition of the bridge.
It was now twisted with several planks missing. The brutal winds caused the wooden structure to twist and creak, causing another cross piece to dislodge and fall into the raging torrent below.
But the bridge was the only way to get back to their universe . . . and away from the evil thing that was regrouping and certain to attack at first opportunity.
Todd made his way toward the bridge but Harney stopped him by grabbing his arm. The Wardaman might be old but his grip was like a vice. Stillman tried to pull free without success.
“You must not cross the bridge, Todd Stillman!” Harney shouted above the wind. “You would die!”
“Tess and the kid are going to die if we don’t help them get across!” Retorted Stillman. “And whatever is approaching sounds pissed off!”
* * *
Tess shifted the limp form of Malan Wright to drape him over her left shoulder. That would allow her a bit more use of her hands in trying to navigate across the rapidly disintegrating bridge.
She saw Todd make a move toward the other side of the bridge, but Harney stopped him. Tess recalled that the Australian warned against such an attempt. Still, she really wished she had some help right now.
Taking a shuddering breath, Tess took a tentative step onto the bridge, just as another bellow sounded from behind . . . much closer.
* * *
Feeling helpless, Stillman looked about for something, anything that might help rescue Tess and Malan. His eyes fell on the remains of the canopy tent. Though damaged, much of the heavy canvas was still intact.
“Harney, I’ve got an idea.”
* * *
The i’ilchthu'ud had not expected the woman to resist, much less cause it harm. It had been caught off guard when the song of the Wardaman tore into its essence, leaving it scattered for a time. In those moments, it felt something it had not experienced in centuries.
Fear.
But it was stronger than those long-ago battles. It could not, would not die. As it struggled to regain and reform itself, only one mindless emotion broke through its scattered esence.
Murderous rage.
With every moment, the thing began to coalesce, its power building. There was no rational thought, only a hunger that would not die. It existed to destroy and devour.
And it had unfinished business.
* * *
Tess focused on the bridge, looking for the best path forward that would not pitch her and the child into the river and their deaths. Even if they survived the fall, she had no strength left to fight the churning current. Likely they both would freeze to death quickly in the icy water.
She took a tentative step onto the bridge. An ominous creaking noise made her hesitate, but she reached of the railing to her right as she balanced the child on her left shoulder.
Another step, and she nearly slipped, only managing to stay upright by her grip on the railing. A sheen of ice covered the boards, making this crossing all the more hazardous.
Her heart hammered as she tried to quell the rising panic. She glanced across the river, puzzled by what she saw. Stillman and Harney were near the broken tent. She couldn’t tell what they . . .
The board beneath her cracked, and plunged toward the torrent below. With a cry of desperation, Tess wrapped her free arm around the railing, which creaked ominously under her and Malan’s combined weight. Her shoulder muscles burned as she strained to hold herself and the boy from certain death.
“Tess! Hang on!” cried Stillman, who appeared at the other end of the bridge.
“What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” she croaked.
* * *
Stillman turned to Harney. “You said I couldn’t survive on the other side. But what about going halfway across the bridge?”
Harney frowned. “I . . . am not sure. There is a dividing line between realms, but as to exactly where . . .”
“We’re about to find out,” said Stillman, his tone broaching no argument. He handed Harney the end of the makeshift rope, tied together from canvas strips removed from the broken tent.
“Anchor this,” he directed. Looping the rest of the rope around himself, Stillman stepped out onto the bridge.
"Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down," he whispered to himself.
Didn't think I'd ever see a continuation of this one, but we're not home yet.
I'm looking forward to see the resolution.
I'm looking forward to see the resolution.
I'm trying to finish some of my orphaned stories. Proably won't get them all done, but I hope to complete a few.
I thought about that too. It was why I did the Cygnus Reach story to sort of tie up the loose ends from the Task Force Vanguard/ Refugee Crisis crossover. Didn't seem as well received as I'd hoped, so I let it go.
The Taurus Reach series I'm working on is non-UT, prime universe, set after the attack on Mars, and I'm making sure that I have enough stories to post for a while. So far, I think I have enough to post twice a week for six months. I have another couple of stories to write before I start typing them up so I can post them.
I hope to start paying them in June or July, but we'll see.
The Taurus Reach series I'm working on is non-UT, prime universe, set after the attack on Mars, and I'm making sure that I have enough stories to post for a while. So far, I think I have enough to post twice a week for six months. I have another couple of stories to write before I start typing them up so I can post them.
I hope to start paying them in June or July, but we'll see.
Chapter 16 – The Stand
Stardate 54838.3 (5 November 2377)
Location – Unknown
“The line must be drawn HERE!” - Captain Jean Luc Picard
The bridge bounced and swayed under Stillman’s added weight. His intrinsic fear of heights did not help matters. Gritting his teeth against the wind, cold, and his own terror, he moved slowly forward, shifting his eyes from his treacherous footing to Tess and the boy, just meters away.
Todd originally thought to toss the makeshift rope to Tess, but it was apparent that it was she could do to hang onto Malan and hold onto the railing. Thankfully, she had regained her footing but he could tell she was nearly done physically.
TIme had lost meaning to Stillman. He had no real way of knowing if they had been in this strange “in-between” space for hours or days. None of that mattered now; his focus, his purpose was to rescue Tess and the little boy.
Gritting his teeth against the icy wind and his own fears, he took a tentative step across the deteriorating bridge.
* * *
Tess’ shoulder began to cramp as she hung on for dear life while holding the boy’s limp form in her other arm. A part of her knew that she had exceeded the limits of her strength and what little reserves were about gone.
As Stillman slowly made his way toward her, the bridge shook ominously, sending more wooden slats into the river below. Tess felt the railing which held her weight as well as Malan’s creak and shift slightly. If it failed . . .
She was so tired . . . maybe if she just closed her eyes for a minute . . .
“Tess!” Stillman’s shout roused her. “Stay with me! Just a little more and I’ll be there to get you.”
She lacked the strength to reply, merely shaking her head.
* * *
A plank fell as Stillman placed his foot on it. Fortunately, he kept most of his weight on his back foot. Still, it caused his heart to hammer in his chest. Time was running out, and he had to close the gap between Tess and himself.
An ear-splitting shriek overwhelmed his senses, far louder than the howling wind. The darkness in the snow covered forest behind Tess deepened into an inky void. In the darkness, two red orbs formed, burning with malevolence.
* * *
With each passing moment, the i’ilchthu’ud regained more strength and sense of being. Impure instinct drove it now, the need to devour the one who had hurt it.
The Human woman and the child were still within reach, but nearly to the boundary beyond which its own power was limited. But it could sense they were weak. Their life force nearly gone.
That would not do.
The manifestation of evil personified began to coalesce into another form, one it had favored on the woman’s home planet half a millennia ago.
A cloud of darkness shifted and formed into a tall, Humanoid figure. It wore a stovepipe hat and was mostly concealed in a long, black cloak. It was well-dressed for its long-ago era, Victorian London, donned in evening clothes fit for a trip to the opera.
Or murder in a dark alley.
From the folds of its cloak, it produced a knife with a long, sharp blade.
Eyes glittering with the fire of madness, Jack the Ripper smiled.
* * *
Trevor Harney felt the shift in the atmosphere, sensing the approach of pure evil.
“Todd Stillman, you must hurry! The i’ilchthu’ud is coming.”
With a curse of frustration, Stillman began to move with greater alacrity, knowing that one wrong step could bring down the whole bridge and Tess, Malan, and himself with it.
Boards creaked and split but the bridge held together. He could clearly see Tess now, her face was tight with concentration and pain. Even as he suppressed his own terror, he was amazed at her strength and perseverance.
He thought to toss her the makeshift rope, but realized there was no way for her to grab it.
The shrieking had ended, thank God, but now the howling wind began to wane, finally ceasing altogether , , ,
. . . replaced by a slow, guttural laugh that chilled him more than the snow and ice.
And that’s when Tess lost her grip and began to slip down toward the freezing water below.
* * *
Todd watched in horror as Lt. Edwards lost her handhold and she and the boy began the long fall toward death. He tried to leap toward her in a desperate attempt to grab her and save them, but the icy footboards betrayed him and he fell short, nearly crashing through to his own doom. In his futile effort he pulled away a piece of jagged wood from the railing.
Time seemed to slow down as an apparition appeared on the bridge. It coalesced into a Human male with silver hair and an older Starfleet uniform. The figure caught Tess who, miraculously, still clutched the little boy.
Stillman gaped as the figure strode toward him, cradling Tess. He appeared to be solid, yet the weakened boards did not flex or creak under him. The figure did not speak, but inclined his head to Todd as he passed the unconscious woman and the child over to him.
Realization dawned on Stillman. “Granddad?” He asked, amazed by what he saw.
The entity that was once Commodore Robert Stillman smiled.
Suddenly a long blade pierced through the Commodore’s chest. No blood appeared; instead the elder Stillman wore an expression of surprise as he faded into a gray mist, his essence scattered in the wind . . .
. . . and revealing a leering Jack the Ripper. He grinned broadly, revealing sharp, yellow teeth.
“Hi kids! MISS ME?”
* * *
Todd froze at the sudden appearance of the i’ilchthu’ud. Its eyes took on a silvery pulsating glow, mesmerizing Stillman much like a deer caught in headlights. A strange calm overtook him. He felt drawn to the lights from the strange being's eyes and took a step toward . . .
Stillman was yanked violently away from the thing, breaking the trance and nearly causing him to fall. Trevor Harney had pulled the rope that still encircled Stillman's waist. Somehow, he still held Tess and the boy.
"RUN!" shouted Harney. "Do not look in its eyes!"
Needing no further encouragement, Stillman moved with alacrity toward the safe(?) side of the bridge, expecting to feel the blade penetrate between his shoulder blades.
Somehow, he made it to solid ground, collapsing on the rough ground and dead grass, wondering why he wasn't dead. Tess and the boy were sprawled by him, unresponsive. He didn't know whether or not they were still alive.
He looked up to see that Harney's own eyes were glowing, a vivid white light shown forth quickly enveloping the ancient Aboriginie. As the glow brightened, a low sound began to increase in volume. Harney was humming at such a low frequency that Stillman felt it before he heard it.
The thing on the bridge hesitated. It's form shifted from Jack the Ripper to a clown to a woman holding a hatchet to . . .
Stillman couldn't fathom the last manifestation of the i’ilchthu’ud. He quickly squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, his brain unable to process the brief glimpse of the abomination that writhed and squirmed mere meters away.
Turning to gaze at Harney, the Australian spread his arms wide apart as the humming sound became increasingly painful.
Trevor Harney brought his hands together in a powerful clap, creating a deafening crack of thunder. The damaged bridge collapsed under the violent shock wave, plunging the i’ilchthu’ud down toward the raging torrent. There was a horrendous roar of rage from the chasm, then only the sound of rushing water.
With a groan of exhaustion, Trevor Harney collapsed onto the dusty ground and vanished.
* * *
Stardate 54838.3 (5 November 2377)
Location – Unknown
“The line must be drawn HERE!” - Captain Jean Luc Picard
The bridge bounced and swayed under Stillman’s added weight. His intrinsic fear of heights did not help matters. Gritting his teeth against the wind, cold, and his own terror, he moved slowly forward, shifting his eyes from his treacherous footing to Tess and the boy, just meters away.
Todd originally thought to toss the makeshift rope to Tess, but it was apparent that it was she could do to hang onto Malan and hold onto the railing. Thankfully, she had regained her footing but he could tell she was nearly done physically.
TIme had lost meaning to Stillman. He had no real way of knowing if they had been in this strange “in-between” space for hours or days. None of that mattered now; his focus, his purpose was to rescue Tess and the little boy.
Gritting his teeth against the icy wind and his own fears, he took a tentative step across the deteriorating bridge.
* * *
Tess’ shoulder began to cramp as she hung on for dear life while holding the boy’s limp form in her other arm. A part of her knew that she had exceeded the limits of her strength and what little reserves were about gone.
As Stillman slowly made his way toward her, the bridge shook ominously, sending more wooden slats into the river below. Tess felt the railing which held her weight as well as Malan’s creak and shift slightly. If it failed . . .
She was so tired . . . maybe if she just closed her eyes for a minute . . .
“Tess!” Stillman’s shout roused her. “Stay with me! Just a little more and I’ll be there to get you.”
She lacked the strength to reply, merely shaking her head.
* * *
A plank fell as Stillman placed his foot on it. Fortunately, he kept most of his weight on his back foot. Still, it caused his heart to hammer in his chest. Time was running out, and he had to close the gap between Tess and himself.
An ear-splitting shriek overwhelmed his senses, far louder than the howling wind. The darkness in the snow covered forest behind Tess deepened into an inky void. In the darkness, two red orbs formed, burning with malevolence.
* * *
With each passing moment, the i’ilchthu’ud regained more strength and sense of being. Impure instinct drove it now, the need to devour the one who had hurt it.
The Human woman and the child were still within reach, but nearly to the boundary beyond which its own power was limited. But it could sense they were weak. Their life force nearly gone.
That would not do.
The manifestation of evil personified began to coalesce into another form, one it had favored on the woman’s home planet half a millennia ago.
A cloud of darkness shifted and formed into a tall, Humanoid figure. It wore a stovepipe hat and was mostly concealed in a long, black cloak. It was well-dressed for its long-ago era, Victorian London, donned in evening clothes fit for a trip to the opera.
Or murder in a dark alley.
From the folds of its cloak, it produced a knife with a long, sharp blade.
Eyes glittering with the fire of madness, Jack the Ripper smiled.
* * *
Trevor Harney felt the shift in the atmosphere, sensing the approach of pure evil.
“Todd Stillman, you must hurry! The i’ilchthu’ud is coming.”
With a curse of frustration, Stillman began to move with greater alacrity, knowing that one wrong step could bring down the whole bridge and Tess, Malan, and himself with it.
Boards creaked and split but the bridge held together. He could clearly see Tess now, her face was tight with concentration and pain. Even as he suppressed his own terror, he was amazed at her strength and perseverance.
He thought to toss her the makeshift rope, but realized there was no way for her to grab it.
The shrieking had ended, thank God, but now the howling wind began to wane, finally ceasing altogether , , ,
. . . replaced by a slow, guttural laugh that chilled him more than the snow and ice.
And that’s when Tess lost her grip and began to slip down toward the freezing water below.
* * *
Todd watched in horror as Lt. Edwards lost her handhold and she and the boy began the long fall toward death. He tried to leap toward her in a desperate attempt to grab her and save them, but the icy footboards betrayed him and he fell short, nearly crashing through to his own doom. In his futile effort he pulled away a piece of jagged wood from the railing.
Time seemed to slow down as an apparition appeared on the bridge. It coalesced into a Human male with silver hair and an older Starfleet uniform. The figure caught Tess who, miraculously, still clutched the little boy.
Stillman gaped as the figure strode toward him, cradling Tess. He appeared to be solid, yet the weakened boards did not flex or creak under him. The figure did not speak, but inclined his head to Todd as he passed the unconscious woman and the child over to him.
Realization dawned on Stillman. “Granddad?” He asked, amazed by what he saw.
The entity that was once Commodore Robert Stillman smiled.
Suddenly a long blade pierced through the Commodore’s chest. No blood appeared; instead the elder Stillman wore an expression of surprise as he faded into a gray mist, his essence scattered in the wind . . .
. . . and revealing a leering Jack the Ripper. He grinned broadly, revealing sharp, yellow teeth.
“Hi kids! MISS ME?”
* * *
Todd froze at the sudden appearance of the i’ilchthu’ud. Its eyes took on a silvery pulsating glow, mesmerizing Stillman much like a deer caught in headlights. A strange calm overtook him. He felt drawn to the lights from the strange being's eyes and took a step toward . . .
Stillman was yanked violently away from the thing, breaking the trance and nearly causing him to fall. Trevor Harney had pulled the rope that still encircled Stillman's waist. Somehow, he still held Tess and the boy.
"RUN!" shouted Harney. "Do not look in its eyes!"
Needing no further encouragement, Stillman moved with alacrity toward the safe(?) side of the bridge, expecting to feel the blade penetrate between his shoulder blades.
Somehow, he made it to solid ground, collapsing on the rough ground and dead grass, wondering why he wasn't dead. Tess and the boy were sprawled by him, unresponsive. He didn't know whether or not they were still alive.
He looked up to see that Harney's own eyes were glowing, a vivid white light shown forth quickly enveloping the ancient Aboriginie. As the glow brightened, a low sound began to increase in volume. Harney was humming at such a low frequency that Stillman felt it before he heard it.
The thing on the bridge hesitated. It's form shifted from Jack the Ripper to a clown to a woman holding a hatchet to . . .
Stillman couldn't fathom the last manifestation of the i’ilchthu’ud. He quickly squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, his brain unable to process the brief glimpse of the abomination that writhed and squirmed mere meters away.
Turning to gaze at Harney, the Australian spread his arms wide apart as the humming sound became increasingly painful.
Trevor Harney brought his hands together in a powerful clap, creating a deafening crack of thunder. The damaged bridge collapsed under the violent shock wave, plunging the i’ilchthu’ud down toward the raging torrent. There was a horrendous roar of rage from the chasm, then only the sound of rushing water.
With a groan of exhaustion, Trevor Harney collapsed onto the dusty ground and vanished.
* * *
Chapter 17 – The Return
Stardate 54838.4 (5 November 2377)
Location – Unknown
"Once you have traveled, the voyage never ends, but is played out over and over again in the quietest chambers. The mind can never break off from the journey." ~ Pat Conroy
Stunned, Todd Stillman gazed around in a stupor, his ears ringing and his mind reeling from the seismic clap from Harney. His eyes settled on the prone forms of Tess Edwards and the child and something vital reset in his brain.
He stumbled towards them, still dizzy as his inner ears were not quite right. Still he managed to reach their still bodies.
Stillman checked the carotid pulse of Edwards. A flood of relief washed over him as he felt her heartbeat, steady though weak. Quickly turning, he checked on the boy.
No pulse, and he wasn’t breathing.
His Starfleet first aid training kicked in and Stillman began CPR on the child. After a minute of chest compressions, he was rewarded with a slight gasp and he could feel Malan’s pulse, though it was weak and thready.
Stillman shucked off his jacket and wrapped the boy as best he could. It was still very cold, but at least the snow had stopped and the wind had died down. He glanced toward the chasm where the river still roared. No sign of the multiple-personality devil incarnate. Still, he was loathe to hang around in case it returned.
Turning back to Tess, he patted her face gently. “Edwards? Hey, wake up. This is no time to take a nap. Come on, we need to get you and the boy out of here!”
But there was no response. He checked her pulse again. Still there, but it seemed irregular. Worse still, her lips and eyelids were turning blue, a sure sign of cyanosis. Her blood oxygen count was too low. Her fingers were also a dark purple. Probably frost bite on top of the deep lacerations across her face, neck and arms.
They needed immediate medical care; death seemed to be hovering close by, like a vulture biding its time. And time was rapidly running out.
He glanced around, trying to get his bearings. The snow covered everything, including the path on which Harney led Stillman and Edwards to this place. At least he knew they came from the opposite direction of the river.
With some effort and a couple of awkward moments, he was able to hoist Edwards over his right shoulder. Kneeling down carefully so as not to drop her, he managed to scoop up the boy who, thankfully, was small and light weight.
Stillman turned and faced the forest from which he and Harney emerged . . . What? Was it hours? Days? He’d lost track of time . . . assuming time meant anything in this place.
Harney, where are you? He wondered. That crazy Aborigine had guided him to this strange place. To try to return without his help was more than daunting. Harney had hinted that he might lose his mind if he tried it on his own. From what he had witnessed, he wasn't sure how much sanity he had left.
The stories of those who had tried on their own and came to terrible ends was at the forefront of his mind. Yet, he had no choice if Tess and the boy were to survive.
A soft, low moan raised the hackles on his neck. Maybe it was the wind, and maybe it was time for him to suck it up and start moving!
* * *
By dumb luck or by some other guiding force, Stillman found a clear path through the woods. Remembering Harney’s warning, he knew there would come a point where he would have to close his eyes.
Fun times. At least Tess and Malan were unconscious for whatever funhouse craziness they would have to pass through to get back to Section Lambda and the blast doors that would open to their own reality. Or so he hoped.
Yet even as those thoughts crossed his mind, the forest ended and he came to a stop. Before them the air shimmered, like luminescent fog. Though he was still some distance from the strange point of transition, he felt a wave of dizziness that threatened to drive him to his knees. He dared not rest, even though his heart was hammering in his chest and he gasped for breath from the exertion. He feared if he put down Tess and Malan, he might not be able to pick them up again.
The soft moaning behind them had increased in volume and there was definitely a menacing quality to it.
Needing no further motivation, he staggered forward. Approaching the fog/shimmer/barrier, something unpleasant began to settle in his brain . . . not a sound, more of a vibration that set his teeth on edge.
Close your eyes, idiot! Remember what Harney told you.
Crossing the barrier seemed to take longer than when they first entered the in-between. Like before, his stomach twisted and, for a moment, he feared he had taken the wrong path.
Then his feet left the undulating, dusty ground and he stood on solid metal grating. . .
. . . And double blast doors trundled open, revealing the dim, foreboding corridor of Level 42.
At that moment, it was an absolutely beautiful sight.
He stumbled in, managing to gently lower Tess and the boy to the deck before collapsing on the dusty anechoic tiles. The doors closed behind him, but he thought he heard a snarl just before they shut completely with a subdued thud.
Stillman checked both Tess and Malan . . . still alive but fading. He activated his wrist communicator.
“This is SCIS Agent Stillman to OPs, I need an emergency beam out direct to Sick Bay for three, two are in critical condition . . . please hurry!”
His own strength exhausted he simply turned his head to gaze at Edwards, just as the transporter effect engulfed them.
* * *
Stardate 54838.4 (5 November 2377)
Location – Unknown
"Once you have traveled, the voyage never ends, but is played out over and over again in the quietest chambers. The mind can never break off from the journey." ~ Pat Conroy
Stunned, Todd Stillman gazed around in a stupor, his ears ringing and his mind reeling from the seismic clap from Harney. His eyes settled on the prone forms of Tess Edwards and the child and something vital reset in his brain.
He stumbled towards them, still dizzy as his inner ears were not quite right. Still he managed to reach their still bodies.
Stillman checked the carotid pulse of Edwards. A flood of relief washed over him as he felt her heartbeat, steady though weak. Quickly turning, he checked on the boy.
No pulse, and he wasn’t breathing.
His Starfleet first aid training kicked in and Stillman began CPR on the child. After a minute of chest compressions, he was rewarded with a slight gasp and he could feel Malan’s pulse, though it was weak and thready.
Stillman shucked off his jacket and wrapped the boy as best he could. It was still very cold, but at least the snow had stopped and the wind had died down. He glanced toward the chasm where the river still roared. No sign of the multiple-personality devil incarnate. Still, he was loathe to hang around in case it returned.
Turning back to Tess, he patted her face gently. “Edwards? Hey, wake up. This is no time to take a nap. Come on, we need to get you and the boy out of here!”
But there was no response. He checked her pulse again. Still there, but it seemed irregular. Worse still, her lips and eyelids were turning blue, a sure sign of cyanosis. Her blood oxygen count was too low. Her fingers were also a dark purple. Probably frost bite on top of the deep lacerations across her face, neck and arms.
They needed immediate medical care; death seemed to be hovering close by, like a vulture biding its time. And time was rapidly running out.
He glanced around, trying to get his bearings. The snow covered everything, including the path on which Harney led Stillman and Edwards to this place. At least he knew they came from the opposite direction of the river.
With some effort and a couple of awkward moments, he was able to hoist Edwards over his right shoulder. Kneeling down carefully so as not to drop her, he managed to scoop up the boy who, thankfully, was small and light weight.
Stillman turned and faced the forest from which he and Harney emerged . . . What? Was it hours? Days? He’d lost track of time . . . assuming time meant anything in this place.
Harney, where are you? He wondered. That crazy Aborigine had guided him to this strange place. To try to return without his help was more than daunting. Harney had hinted that he might lose his mind if he tried it on his own. From what he had witnessed, he wasn't sure how much sanity he had left.
The stories of those who had tried on their own and came to terrible ends was at the forefront of his mind. Yet, he had no choice if Tess and the boy were to survive.
A soft, low moan raised the hackles on his neck. Maybe it was the wind, and maybe it was time for him to suck it up and start moving!
* * *
By dumb luck or by some other guiding force, Stillman found a clear path through the woods. Remembering Harney’s warning, he knew there would come a point where he would have to close his eyes.
Fun times. At least Tess and Malan were unconscious for whatever funhouse craziness they would have to pass through to get back to Section Lambda and the blast doors that would open to their own reality. Or so he hoped.
Yet even as those thoughts crossed his mind, the forest ended and he came to a stop. Before them the air shimmered, like luminescent fog. Though he was still some distance from the strange point of transition, he felt a wave of dizziness that threatened to drive him to his knees. He dared not rest, even though his heart was hammering in his chest and he gasped for breath from the exertion. He feared if he put down Tess and Malan, he might not be able to pick them up again.
The soft moaning behind them had increased in volume and there was definitely a menacing quality to it.
Needing no further motivation, he staggered forward. Approaching the fog/shimmer/barrier, something unpleasant began to settle in his brain . . . not a sound, more of a vibration that set his teeth on edge.
Close your eyes, idiot! Remember what Harney told you.
Crossing the barrier seemed to take longer than when they first entered the in-between. Like before, his stomach twisted and, for a moment, he feared he had taken the wrong path.
Then his feet left the undulating, dusty ground and he stood on solid metal grating. . .
. . . And double blast doors trundled open, revealing the dim, foreboding corridor of Level 42.
At that moment, it was an absolutely beautiful sight.
He stumbled in, managing to gently lower Tess and the boy to the deck before collapsing on the dusty anechoic tiles. The doors closed behind him, but he thought he heard a snarl just before they shut completely with a subdued thud.
Stillman checked both Tess and Malan . . . still alive but fading. He activated his wrist communicator.
“This is SCIS Agent Stillman to OPs, I need an emergency beam out direct to Sick Bay for three, two are in critical condition . . . please hurry!”
His own strength exhausted he simply turned his head to gaze at Edwards, just as the transporter effect engulfed them.
* * *
oh, man, this is getting better and better. Loving the Aboriginal mythology mixed into it, and Jack... frak, never saw him coming.
Chapter 18 – Aftermath
Stardate 54838.5 (5 November 2377)
Starbase 66 - Medical Center, ICU
“Some nightmares don’t end when we open our eyes.” — Unknown
One hour later.
Stillman sat slumped in the ICU waiting area of the Starbase Medical Center, a blanket thrown over his shoulders. After beaming in to Sick Bay and initial triage, the attending physician transferred both Lt. Edwards and Malan Wright up two levels to the Medical Center and the Intensive Care Unit.
Initially, they wanted to admit Stillman as well, but he flashed his SCIS credentials and blustered about an ongoing investigation. It was technically the truth as he was investigating although his work was far from official.
While that subterfuge kept him off of a bio bed, it did not gain him access to either Stillman or the boy. A nurse went as far as to threaten to sedate it in a way that would definitely hurt.
Wisely, he beat a tactical retreat to the ICU waiting area, where another nurse thoughtfully provided him a blanket. However, that same nurse confiscated his rubber ball when he began to bounce it off the opposite walls.
Thusly he sat, sans rubber ball, as the stress and fatigue began to catch up with him. His legs, back, shoulders, and neck hurt like a son-of-a-basket case. He was afraid to doze off, intuiting that one of the scary nurses would, in fact, sedate him and strap him to a bio-bed,
Nurses. Truth be told, Stillman feared them nearly as much as heights.
Or clowns.
A cup of coffee suddenly appeared in his field of vision, the steaming aroma rousing him. Said coffee was held by a hand. Above the hand was the sleeve of a Starfleet uniform.
Stillman glanced up to see Captain Vigo Gilead looking down with an expression of amusement mixed with concern.
“Agent Stillman, you look like hell,” remarked the Station Commander.
* * *
Stillman sipped his coffee, savoring the warmth flowing into his body. Even with the blanket he was still cold. He absently wondered if he would ever truly be warm again.
He also wondered how he would explain to Captain Gilead what happened.
As if reading Stillman’s mind, Gilead asked, “Feel up to talking about what happened?”
The SCIS agent sighed. “Sir, I don’t really know where to begin. And even if I did, you would probably have me locked away in the psychiatric ward.”
This elicited a small smile on the part of Gilead. “I think you would find me quite open-minded about anything you might tell me, Agent Stillman. I’ve been on this station for nearly a decade and strange is the rule, not the exception.”
The Captain paused, taking a sip of his own coffee. “Regardless, we need a plausible explanation for what happened to Malan Wright when he disappeared. Right now, his parents are just grateful he was found alive, but soon they will want answers.”
Stillman nodded, thinking of the ordeal that little boy suffered through. “I’ve given it some thought . . . the most plausible explanation would be a transporter malfunction that sent the boy down from the holodeck to Level 42. Sensors don’t work there and cold-induced injuries would be explained by faulty environmental systems in Section Lamda.” He paused. “Yes, it’s lame, but . . . “ He shrugged.
GIlead regarded him with an appraising gaze. “Plausible . . . yes, I suppose so. It might satisfy the Wright family. It certainly would help our Chief of Security complete his report for the security files.”
“You mean the chummy but clueless Lt. Commander Mark Blake? I’d like to tell him the whole, unaltered tale just to watch his head explode.”
“Cut him some slack, Agent. Granted, Lt. Commander Blake isn’t one to stretch his imagination, but he takes his job seriously.”
“If you say so,” replied Stillman doubtfully. He didn’t add that without Lt. Edwards, Malan Wright would be dead. Or worse.
Dr. An’Taal entered the waiting room and approached Edwards and Captain Gilead. Both men began to stand but the CMO motioned for them to remain seated.
‘You should be in bed, Mr. Stillman, preferably one of our available beds here in the Medical Center’” she began. “I’ve seen cadavers that looked in better condition than you do.”
Stillman turned to Captain Gilead. “Does Starfleet remove the bedside manner from CMOs before or after they finish medical school?”
The lovely Andorian xeno-surgeon ignored the jibe, flipping open a medical tricorder and scanning Stillman.
“Hey!” protested Stillman, “I didn’t consent to . . .”
“Quiet,” she ordered, her voice calm but authoritative. “Torn deltoid muscle, strained latissimus dorsi, elevated white blood count, and your oxygen level is below normal.”
She snapped it closed with a flip of her wrist. “There’s probably more, but I need to do a bio-scan for a complete physical analysis.”
Todd stared her down. “First, you tell us how Edwards and the little boy are doing. No one has told us anything.”
An’Taal gazed at the two men, considering. “They both are being treated for frostbite and hypothermia. The child is also dehydrated. Lt. Edwards has numerous bruises and multiple lacerations, plus a torn ligament in her right knee. All of those are things we can easily treat.”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming,” remarked the Captain.
“But,” the CMO continued, “They both are in deep comas and exhibiting very low brain activity. Much lower than I would anticipate, even with their level of exposure to cold and other injuries.
“Meaning . . .?” pressed Stillman.
She frowned. “Meaning, we don’t know why. In a sense, it’s almost as if they don’t want to regain consciousness.”
Stillman acted as if to speak, hesitated, and glanced at Captain Gilead.
Gilead nodded. “Dr. An’Taal is aware of the strange occurrences on the station. More aware than most.”
Stillman sighed. “Okay.” Doc? Promise you won’t lock me in the psych ward after I tell you both what happened.”
She looked doubtful, but after a nod from the Captain, she pulled up a chair and sat, her antennae directed toward him.
“Alright, Agent Stillman, I’m listening.”
So he told her.
* * *
Stardate 54838.5 (5 November 2377)
Starbase 66 - Medical Center, ICU
“Some nightmares don’t end when we open our eyes.” — Unknown
One hour later.
Stillman sat slumped in the ICU waiting area of the Starbase Medical Center, a blanket thrown over his shoulders. After beaming in to Sick Bay and initial triage, the attending physician transferred both Lt. Edwards and Malan Wright up two levels to the Medical Center and the Intensive Care Unit.
Initially, they wanted to admit Stillman as well, but he flashed his SCIS credentials and blustered about an ongoing investigation. It was technically the truth as he was investigating although his work was far from official.
While that subterfuge kept him off of a bio bed, it did not gain him access to either Stillman or the boy. A nurse went as far as to threaten to sedate it in a way that would definitely hurt.
Wisely, he beat a tactical retreat to the ICU waiting area, where another nurse thoughtfully provided him a blanket. However, that same nurse confiscated his rubber ball when he began to bounce it off the opposite walls.
Thusly he sat, sans rubber ball, as the stress and fatigue began to catch up with him. His legs, back, shoulders, and neck hurt like a son-of-a-basket case. He was afraid to doze off, intuiting that one of the scary nurses would, in fact, sedate him and strap him to a bio-bed,
Nurses. Truth be told, Stillman feared them nearly as much as heights.
Or clowns.
A cup of coffee suddenly appeared in his field of vision, the steaming aroma rousing him. Said coffee was held by a hand. Above the hand was the sleeve of a Starfleet uniform.
Stillman glanced up to see Captain Vigo Gilead looking down with an expression of amusement mixed with concern.
“Agent Stillman, you look like hell,” remarked the Station Commander.
* * *
Stillman sipped his coffee, savoring the warmth flowing into his body. Even with the blanket he was still cold. He absently wondered if he would ever truly be warm again.
He also wondered how he would explain to Captain Gilead what happened.
As if reading Stillman’s mind, Gilead asked, “Feel up to talking about what happened?”
The SCIS agent sighed. “Sir, I don’t really know where to begin. And even if I did, you would probably have me locked away in the psychiatric ward.”
This elicited a small smile on the part of Gilead. “I think you would find me quite open-minded about anything you might tell me, Agent Stillman. I’ve been on this station for nearly a decade and strange is the rule, not the exception.”
The Captain paused, taking a sip of his own coffee. “Regardless, we need a plausible explanation for what happened to Malan Wright when he disappeared. Right now, his parents are just grateful he was found alive, but soon they will want answers.”
Stillman nodded, thinking of the ordeal that little boy suffered through. “I’ve given it some thought . . . the most plausible explanation would be a transporter malfunction that sent the boy down from the holodeck to Level 42. Sensors don’t work there and cold-induced injuries would be explained by faulty environmental systems in Section Lamda.” He paused. “Yes, it’s lame, but . . . “ He shrugged.
GIlead regarded him with an appraising gaze. “Plausible . . . yes, I suppose so. It might satisfy the Wright family. It certainly would help our Chief of Security complete his report for the security files.”
“You mean the chummy but clueless Lt. Commander Mark Blake? I’d like to tell him the whole, unaltered tale just to watch his head explode.”
“Cut him some slack, Agent. Granted, Lt. Commander Blake isn’t one to stretch his imagination, but he takes his job seriously.”
“If you say so,” replied Stillman doubtfully. He didn’t add that without Lt. Edwards, Malan Wright would be dead. Or worse.
Dr. An’Taal entered the waiting room and approached Edwards and Captain Gilead. Both men began to stand but the CMO motioned for them to remain seated.
‘You should be in bed, Mr. Stillman, preferably one of our available beds here in the Medical Center’” she began. “I’ve seen cadavers that looked in better condition than you do.”
Stillman turned to Captain Gilead. “Does Starfleet remove the bedside manner from CMOs before or after they finish medical school?”
The lovely Andorian xeno-surgeon ignored the jibe, flipping open a medical tricorder and scanning Stillman.
“Hey!” protested Stillman, “I didn’t consent to . . .”
“Quiet,” she ordered, her voice calm but authoritative. “Torn deltoid muscle, strained latissimus dorsi, elevated white blood count, and your oxygen level is below normal.”
She snapped it closed with a flip of her wrist. “There’s probably more, but I need to do a bio-scan for a complete physical analysis.”
Todd stared her down. “First, you tell us how Edwards and the little boy are doing. No one has told us anything.”
An’Taal gazed at the two men, considering. “They both are being treated for frostbite and hypothermia. The child is also dehydrated. Lt. Edwards has numerous bruises and multiple lacerations, plus a torn ligament in her right knee. All of those are things we can easily treat.”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming,” remarked the Captain.
“But,” the CMO continued, “They both are in deep comas and exhibiting very low brain activity. Much lower than I would anticipate, even with their level of exposure to cold and other injuries.
“Meaning . . .?” pressed Stillman.
She frowned. “Meaning, we don’t know why. In a sense, it’s almost as if they don’t want to regain consciousness.”
Stillman acted as if to speak, hesitated, and glanced at Captain Gilead.
Gilead nodded. “Dr. An’Taal is aware of the strange occurrences on the station. More aware than most.”
Stillman sighed. “Okay.” Doc? Promise you won’t lock me in the psych ward after I tell you both what happened.”
She looked doubtful, but after a nod from the Captain, she pulled up a chair and sat, her antennae directed toward him.
“Alright, Agent Stillman, I’m listening.”
So he told her.
* * *
The wait is worse than one of those Agonizers... keep it coming I need my 66 fix.
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