PROLOGUE
T'Ser read the dispatch again. She held the PADD with numb fingers, her eyes brimming with tears. As if in slow motion, she moved to the captain's ready room, entering without pressing the enunciator.
Akinola looked up from his desk, annoyed. "T'Ser, what do you? . . ." Then he saw her face. "T'Ser," he said softly, "What is wrong?"
She looked at him and handed over the PADD. "This just came over the Newsnet - it's about Dr. Baxter."
Akinola took the PADD, a sense of dread coming over him.
Federation Newsnet - Earthdate 20 October 2376, 1400 GMT.
Tulsa, Oklahoma, North America.
Dr. Calvin Henry Baxter, of Tulsa, was found dead at his home today by neighbors after failing to show up for a golf outing. Baxter was the former director of Starfleet Medical in Atlanta and recently served as Chief Medical Officer aboard the Border Service Cutter, USS Bluefin. He served in Starfleet fifty years. Chief Constable Drayton Long issued a statement in which he stated that the cause of death was respiratory arrest due to an overdose of pain medication. Apparently Dr. Baxter deactivated the bio-sensors in his home which prevented medical assistance from arriving in time to revive him. . .
Akinola dropped the PADD on the desk, not reading the parts about next of kin, honors and awards, and the shock expressed by his neighbors. He stood up slowly, walked around his desk and hugged T'Ser tightly, feeling her body shake as she sobbed deeply. Akinola closed his eyes and surrendered to his own pain and grief.
* * *
USS Bluefin (NCC-4458)
Star Station Echo, Berth 14
Captain Joseph B. Akinola stared out the viewport of his ready room. His eyes were not focused on anything in particular. He was vaguely aware of the structural members of the berth in which his cutter was docked. Shadows of workpods and shuttlecraft occasionally flitted across his field of vision, but he did not notice. The PADD on his lap still glowed softly with the awful message of his friend's death.
In the past half-hour he had re-read the message three times, hoping, somehow that the message might read differently, that this was somehow all a mistake. Yet, each time he read it, the words in a soft, sans-serif font, mocked him accusingly. It's your fault, Akinola! he thought, If you hadn't tried to play counselor, Calvin might still be alive. Instead, you gave him some half-assed advice and sent him home to die by his own hand.
Suddenly, in a burst of anger and frustration, he hurled the offending PADD across the small office into a bookcase, smashing a model of a Constitution class starship he had carved long ago. Momentarily, the annunciator to his ready room chimed. For a moment, Akinola considered ignoring it, but his sense of duty prevailed. "Come!" he rasped.
Lt. Commander T'Ser entered the room she had left only thirty minutes earlier. She appeared composed but subdued, a concerned expression on her face. "Captain? . . ." she asked, cautiously.
Akinola stood and straightened the burgundy jacket he wore. "Come in, commander," he said, his voice giving no hint to his internal turmoil.
T'Ser knelt down to retrieve the PADD. She made no mention of the ruined wood carving that lay in pieces on the carpet.
"I've notified the crew about Dr. Baxter's . . . death," hesitating before finishing her sentence. "However, Commander Strauss and Lt. Bane are on the station at the moment, in one of the holo-decks. Did you want me to contact them now, or . . .?"
Akinola shook his head as he re-seated himself. "No, let them enjoy their outing. They'll find out soon enough. We're too far distant from Earth to make it for the funeral anyway, I suppose."
"Ten days at maximum warp," replied T'Ser. She paused a moment, seeming to consider whether to continue. "It's not your fault, you know."
Akinola looked up sharply. "The Hell it isn't! If I hadn't been so concerned about keeping this quiet and turned him over to Starfleet medical for psychiatric evaluation, he might be alive right now."
T'Ser was unfazed. "Alive . . . and broken. Captain, you didn't cause this to happen, the Romulans did. You did your best to help a friend, to give him an opportunity to redeem himself, to seek help on his terms. What he did was his choice, as much as we hate it."
Akinola rubbed his face and gazed up at the Vulcan second officer. "T'Ser, I appreciate it, but . . ."
T'Ser interrupted Akinola. "You've told us many times that ship commanders have to make hard decisions - decisions that might cost the lives of people we care about. You also said that if we begin to second-guess ourselves, we become a danger to our crew, our ship and ourselves."
Akinola gave a slight, bitter smile. "Damn your eidetic memory, anyway." The smile faded and he shook his head in obvious grief. "T'Ser, first it was Dale, now Calvin . . ."
T'Ser was not deterred. "Don't start second-guessing, sir. For all of our sakes."
* * *
Star Station Echo
Level 16, Holodeck 4
Inga Strauss looked at the terrain before her in wonder. "Are you sure this is supposed to be on Earth?" she asked, skeptically.
Nigel Bane grinned, "Oh, yeah. Welcome to the "Never-Never," or, as you probably know it, the Outback."
Inga looked around at the desolate, yet hauntingly beautiful vista. The soil at her feet was a dusty red. Short, scrubby vegatation covered the ground sparslely. Several trees with trunks that twisted in sharp angles swayed slightly in the hot breeze. In the distance were mountains and the terrain appeared somewhat greener. Nigel pointed in that direction. "That's the MacDonnell Range. Where the dessert comes up on the base of the mountains is our destination, Red Stump Creek."
"What's that?" she asked.
"Why, it's home!"
Inga noticed a dust cloud moving across the barren plain ahead of them. She squinted her eyes, trying to discover the source.
"Brumbies," said Bane. "Wild horses. Their ancestors were brought over hundreds of years ago by the early settlers. Now, they run free all over the Red Centre."
Her face lit up in a smile as the horses came in view. "They're magnificent!"
"Yeah, they're beauties, all right."
"Have you ever ridden one?" she asked, cocking her head at him.
"Me? Nah. I'm a fair rider, but those Brumbies would have their way with me, fair dinkum!" These here are more my speed."
Strauss turned and for the first time realized they were not alone. Two rather large horses regarded her with large, calm eyes. They were both saddled and their reins were wrapped around a small bush. Nigel walked over to the first horse, a roan stallion. "'Ello, Edgar!" he said as he gave the steed a neck rub. Edgar's companion, a gray, dappled steed bobbed his head and nickered softly. Nigel went over and rubbed the horse's nose. "Alright, Diablo, I haven't forgotten you. Say, I want you two to meet a friend of mine." He indicated Inga, who felt a bit silly being introduced to horses. "This is Inga, and I want you to take good care of her, you understand? No trouble from you now, got it?"
Diablo flicked his ears and gazed steadily at Inga. Inga swallowed as she looked back. Diablo looked very tall to her.
"Inga, come on over. That's it! Don't be shy. Here now, why don't you give Diablo this carrot? That'll win 'em over." Nigel pulled a carrot from a pocket of his jeans and handed it to Inga, who looked at it as if it were a dead mouse. She directed a pleading look at Bane.
"Nigel, I'm not so sure about this . . ."
"Nonsense! Look, just rub his neck like so, there you go! Now, hold the carrot in your palm and give it to him - there your go!"
Inga stroked the neck of the gray giant and gingerly held the carrot in front of Diablo. The horse lowered his head and quickly took the proffered gift, crunching the treat with his large, flat teeth. Inga wiped the horse slobber on her jeans.
"See? He likes you already. Alright, then. Time to mount up!"
Inga was startled. "What?"
"Time to get on the horse, Inga," Nigel said, patiently.
"Oh, right!" She quickly turned to face the horse so her blushing face wouldn't be seen. "Um, is there a ladder or something? . . ."
To his credit, Nigel did not laugh. Patiently he explained, "No, Inga. Look. Just put this foot in the stirrup - no, that's the stirrup, right! Now, take the reins in this hand and grab the saddle horn and pull yourself up - upsey daisy!"
Inga was slightly startled to feel Nigel's hands pushing up on her rear-end, but she did not protest. She actually settled into the saddle with a fair amount of grace, owing partly to her training as a gymnast and partly to Nigel's boost.
The Australian lieutenant patted Diablo's neck. "Okay, Inga, just hold the reins firmly but don't hold his head back. He know's where we're headin' but you've got to let him know that you're in charge. Just remember, pull the left rein for left, right to go right, and both to stop." He moved to Edgar and mounted in a quick, easy motion.
"What if I fall off?" asked Inga, as she measured the distance to the ground.
"No worries!" Nigel said with a grin as he adjusted his broad-brimmed hat down over his eyes. "The ground will break your fall!"
* * *
USS Bluefin
Star Station Echo, Berth 14
Akinola picked up the pieces of the broken wooden starship model and regarded the wreckage. He thought he might be able to salvage it if he replaced the struts. The saucer section was okay as was the secondary hull. His thought were interrupted by the computer signaling an in-coming message. He set the pieces of wood back on the bookcase, walked around his desk and activated the viewer. Lt. Vashtee's face appeared on the screen.
"Captain, I'm receiving a private message for you, eye's only. It's a Starfleet encrypted signal, authenticated. I've got it in the de-scrambler buffer for you, but I can't tell you the source."
Akinola frowned. Now what? he thought. Aloud he said, "Put it through, lieutenant."
Vashtee's face was replaced momentarily by the face of a striking Andorian woman in a Starfleet uniform. Captain Lhar'Shon of the USS Shadow spoke with a pleasant, alto voice. "Captain Akinola, forgive me for contacting you at this time. I have heard of the death of your chief medical officer and wish to extend my condolences."
Akinola inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Thank you Captain Lhar'Shon, although I have to wonder why you've contacted me over an encrypted channel to tell me this?"
"To be honest, captain, my superiors would be highly displeased if they knew I was speaking to you. During our brief recent encounter, you must know that my mission is of a . . . sensitive nature."
Akinola regarded her with a weary expression and sighed. "Captain, no offense, but I don't give a damn about your mission or its sensitive nature. And I really don't care to know any more about it. As you know, my friend is dead by his own hand. So unless you have anything important to say, I've got things to . . ."
Lhar'Shon interrupted Akinola and fixed him with a penetrating stare. "Captain, your Dr. Baxter did not commit suicide."
Akinola straightened suddenly in his chair. "What did you say?"
* * *
T'Ser read the dispatch again. She held the PADD with numb fingers, her eyes brimming with tears. As if in slow motion, she moved to the captain's ready room, entering without pressing the enunciator.
Akinola looked up from his desk, annoyed. "T'Ser, what do you? . . ." Then he saw her face. "T'Ser," he said softly, "What is wrong?"
She looked at him and handed over the PADD. "This just came over the Newsnet - it's about Dr. Baxter."
Akinola took the PADD, a sense of dread coming over him.
Federation Newsnet - Earthdate 20 October 2376, 1400 GMT.
Tulsa, Oklahoma, North America.
Dr. Calvin Henry Baxter, of Tulsa, was found dead at his home today by neighbors after failing to show up for a golf outing. Baxter was the former director of Starfleet Medical in Atlanta and recently served as Chief Medical Officer aboard the Border Service Cutter, USS Bluefin. He served in Starfleet fifty years. Chief Constable Drayton Long issued a statement in which he stated that the cause of death was respiratory arrest due to an overdose of pain medication. Apparently Dr. Baxter deactivated the bio-sensors in his home which prevented medical assistance from arriving in time to revive him. . .
Akinola dropped the PADD on the desk, not reading the parts about next of kin, honors and awards, and the shock expressed by his neighbors. He stood up slowly, walked around his desk and hugged T'Ser tightly, feeling her body shake as she sobbed deeply. Akinola closed his eyes and surrendered to his own pain and grief.
* * *
USS Bluefin (NCC-4458)
Star Station Echo, Berth 14
Captain Joseph B. Akinola stared out the viewport of his ready room. His eyes were not focused on anything in particular. He was vaguely aware of the structural members of the berth in which his cutter was docked. Shadows of workpods and shuttlecraft occasionally flitted across his field of vision, but he did not notice. The PADD on his lap still glowed softly with the awful message of his friend's death.
In the past half-hour he had re-read the message three times, hoping, somehow that the message might read differently, that this was somehow all a mistake. Yet, each time he read it, the words in a soft, sans-serif font, mocked him accusingly. It's your fault, Akinola! he thought, If you hadn't tried to play counselor, Calvin might still be alive. Instead, you gave him some half-assed advice and sent him home to die by his own hand.
Suddenly, in a burst of anger and frustration, he hurled the offending PADD across the small office into a bookcase, smashing a model of a Constitution class starship he had carved long ago. Momentarily, the annunciator to his ready room chimed. For a moment, Akinola considered ignoring it, but his sense of duty prevailed. "Come!" he rasped.
Lt. Commander T'Ser entered the room she had left only thirty minutes earlier. She appeared composed but subdued, a concerned expression on her face. "Captain? . . ." she asked, cautiously.
Akinola stood and straightened the burgundy jacket he wore. "Come in, commander," he said, his voice giving no hint to his internal turmoil.
T'Ser knelt down to retrieve the PADD. She made no mention of the ruined wood carving that lay in pieces on the carpet.
"I've notified the crew about Dr. Baxter's . . . death," hesitating before finishing her sentence. "However, Commander Strauss and Lt. Bane are on the station at the moment, in one of the holo-decks. Did you want me to contact them now, or . . .?"
Akinola shook his head as he re-seated himself. "No, let them enjoy their outing. They'll find out soon enough. We're too far distant from Earth to make it for the funeral anyway, I suppose."
"Ten days at maximum warp," replied T'Ser. She paused a moment, seeming to consider whether to continue. "It's not your fault, you know."
Akinola looked up sharply. "The Hell it isn't! If I hadn't been so concerned about keeping this quiet and turned him over to Starfleet medical for psychiatric evaluation, he might be alive right now."
T'Ser was unfazed. "Alive . . . and broken. Captain, you didn't cause this to happen, the Romulans did. You did your best to help a friend, to give him an opportunity to redeem himself, to seek help on his terms. What he did was his choice, as much as we hate it."
Akinola rubbed his face and gazed up at the Vulcan second officer. "T'Ser, I appreciate it, but . . ."
T'Ser interrupted Akinola. "You've told us many times that ship commanders have to make hard decisions - decisions that might cost the lives of people we care about. You also said that if we begin to second-guess ourselves, we become a danger to our crew, our ship and ourselves."
Akinola gave a slight, bitter smile. "Damn your eidetic memory, anyway." The smile faded and he shook his head in obvious grief. "T'Ser, first it was Dale, now Calvin . . ."
T'Ser was not deterred. "Don't start second-guessing, sir. For all of our sakes."
* * *
Star Station Echo
Level 16, Holodeck 4
Inga Strauss looked at the terrain before her in wonder. "Are you sure this is supposed to be on Earth?" she asked, skeptically.
Nigel Bane grinned, "Oh, yeah. Welcome to the "Never-Never," or, as you probably know it, the Outback."
Inga looked around at the desolate, yet hauntingly beautiful vista. The soil at her feet was a dusty red. Short, scrubby vegatation covered the ground sparslely. Several trees with trunks that twisted in sharp angles swayed slightly in the hot breeze. In the distance were mountains and the terrain appeared somewhat greener. Nigel pointed in that direction. "That's the MacDonnell Range. Where the dessert comes up on the base of the mountains is our destination, Red Stump Creek."
"What's that?" she asked.
"Why, it's home!"
Inga noticed a dust cloud moving across the barren plain ahead of them. She squinted her eyes, trying to discover the source.
"Brumbies," said Bane. "Wild horses. Their ancestors were brought over hundreds of years ago by the early settlers. Now, they run free all over the Red Centre."
Her face lit up in a smile as the horses came in view. "They're magnificent!"
"Yeah, they're beauties, all right."
"Have you ever ridden one?" she asked, cocking her head at him.
"Me? Nah. I'm a fair rider, but those Brumbies would have their way with me, fair dinkum!" These here are more my speed."
Strauss turned and for the first time realized they were not alone. Two rather large horses regarded her with large, calm eyes. They were both saddled and their reins were wrapped around a small bush. Nigel walked over to the first horse, a roan stallion. "'Ello, Edgar!" he said as he gave the steed a neck rub. Edgar's companion, a gray, dappled steed bobbed his head and nickered softly. Nigel went over and rubbed the horse's nose. "Alright, Diablo, I haven't forgotten you. Say, I want you two to meet a friend of mine." He indicated Inga, who felt a bit silly being introduced to horses. "This is Inga, and I want you to take good care of her, you understand? No trouble from you now, got it?"
Diablo flicked his ears and gazed steadily at Inga. Inga swallowed as she looked back. Diablo looked very tall to her.
"Inga, come on over. That's it! Don't be shy. Here now, why don't you give Diablo this carrot? That'll win 'em over." Nigel pulled a carrot from a pocket of his jeans and handed it to Inga, who looked at it as if it were a dead mouse. She directed a pleading look at Bane.
"Nigel, I'm not so sure about this . . ."
"Nonsense! Look, just rub his neck like so, there you go! Now, hold the carrot in your palm and give it to him - there your go!"
Inga stroked the neck of the gray giant and gingerly held the carrot in front of Diablo. The horse lowered his head and quickly took the proffered gift, crunching the treat with his large, flat teeth. Inga wiped the horse slobber on her jeans.
"See? He likes you already. Alright, then. Time to mount up!"
Inga was startled. "What?"
"Time to get on the horse, Inga," Nigel said, patiently.
"Oh, right!" She quickly turned to face the horse so her blushing face wouldn't be seen. "Um, is there a ladder or something? . . ."
To his credit, Nigel did not laugh. Patiently he explained, "No, Inga. Look. Just put this foot in the stirrup - no, that's the stirrup, right! Now, take the reins in this hand and grab the saddle horn and pull yourself up - upsey daisy!"
Inga was slightly startled to feel Nigel's hands pushing up on her rear-end, but she did not protest. She actually settled into the saddle with a fair amount of grace, owing partly to her training as a gymnast and partly to Nigel's boost.
The Australian lieutenant patted Diablo's neck. "Okay, Inga, just hold the reins firmly but don't hold his head back. He know's where we're headin' but you've got to let him know that you're in charge. Just remember, pull the left rein for left, right to go right, and both to stop." He moved to Edgar and mounted in a quick, easy motion.
"What if I fall off?" asked Inga, as she measured the distance to the ground.
"No worries!" Nigel said with a grin as he adjusted his broad-brimmed hat down over his eyes. "The ground will break your fall!"
* * *
USS Bluefin
Star Station Echo, Berth 14
Akinola picked up the pieces of the broken wooden starship model and regarded the wreckage. He thought he might be able to salvage it if he replaced the struts. The saucer section was okay as was the secondary hull. His thought were interrupted by the computer signaling an in-coming message. He set the pieces of wood back on the bookcase, walked around his desk and activated the viewer. Lt. Vashtee's face appeared on the screen.
"Captain, I'm receiving a private message for you, eye's only. It's a Starfleet encrypted signal, authenticated. I've got it in the de-scrambler buffer for you, but I can't tell you the source."
Akinola frowned. Now what? he thought. Aloud he said, "Put it through, lieutenant."
Vashtee's face was replaced momentarily by the face of a striking Andorian woman in a Starfleet uniform. Captain Lhar'Shon of the USS Shadow spoke with a pleasant, alto voice. "Captain Akinola, forgive me for contacting you at this time. I have heard of the death of your chief medical officer and wish to extend my condolences."
Akinola inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Thank you Captain Lhar'Shon, although I have to wonder why you've contacted me over an encrypted channel to tell me this?"
"To be honest, captain, my superiors would be highly displeased if they knew I was speaking to you. During our brief recent encounter, you must know that my mission is of a . . . sensitive nature."
Akinola regarded her with a weary expression and sighed. "Captain, no offense, but I don't give a damn about your mission or its sensitive nature. And I really don't care to know any more about it. As you know, my friend is dead by his own hand. So unless you have anything important to say, I've got things to . . ."
Lhar'Shon interrupted Akinola and fixed him with a penetrating stare. "Captain, your Dr. Baxter did not commit suicide."
Akinola straightened suddenly in his chair. "What did you say?"
* * *
Simply awesome!
