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ULC Entry #31 Prompt: "There are 31!"
aten66
Member Posts: 654 Arc User
Welcome to the thirty first edition of the Unofficial Literary Challenge: "There are 31!"! Sorry/NotSorry, but there are not thirty one prompts to pick from... 
But it is the start of a new year, so let's get to creating!
Also like to point you here, for a new 12-Month challenge I'm promoting!
Prompt 1: "Holodeck Fantasy" by Moonshadowdark
Prompt: "Sue, Too" by Squatsauce
Prompt 3: "Down the Road" by Ryan218
//// Error, Level Ten Clearence Needed ////
Clearance approved...
Edit necessary, Redaction neeeded due to sensitive nature of following Prompt...
[REDACTION] Approved by Franklin Drake, Starfleet Intelligence...
[REDACTED] Prompt has already been used, replacement for your 31st ULC...
//// File End ////
Prompt 14, Section 31: "Whiteout" by F.D.
As usual, no NSFW content.
The discussion thread is here.
The LC Submission thread is here
Index of previous ULCs:
But it is the start of a new year, so let's get to creating!
Also like to point you here, for a new 12-Month challenge I'm promoting!
Prompt 1: "Holodeck Fantasy" by Moonshadowdark
"While your ship is undergoing a routine tune up at a starbase, you are informed that the starbase has a large selection of entertainment options including a large holodeck. You have decided to partake of the starbase's holodeck with one of your own personal programs. What program do you take? Write a log about the program and why you choose that particular program."
Prompt: "Sue, Too" by Squatsauce
A new crewman has arrived aboard your vessel. They are attractive, unnaturally likable, and seem to have their heart set on wooing or being wooed by the ship's captain! Write a story about how your captain fends off the increasingly unnerving advances of this new crewman and discovers the dark secret of this would-be Mary Sue.
Prompt 3: "Down the Road" by Ryan218
It's the 26th Century, a hundred years after the events of Star Trek Online. Write a report from the perspective of a present day cadet or student detailing how history remembers the endeavors of your captain, including their flaws, failures, successes, etc.[
//// Error, Level Ten Clearence Needed ////
Clearance approved...
Edit necessary, Redaction neeeded due to sensitive nature of following Prompt...
[REDACTION] Approved by Franklin Drake, Starfleet Intelligence...
[REDACTED] Prompt has already been used, replacement for your 31st ULC...
//// File End ////
Prompt 14, Section 31: "Whiteout" by F.D.
Your pal and mine, Franklin Drake, has come and gone in the middle of the night, leaving you with a cryptic warning. 'Beware the Albino, he has set his eyes on you'. You didn't think anything of it, until you were contacted via subspace and left with a set of dates and coordinates matching the deaths of certain persons of interest to your superiors, both enemies and allies. And the last set is meant for you.
As usual, no NSFW content.
The discussion thread is here.
The LC Submission thread is here
Index of previous ULCs:
- The Kobayashi Maru
- Time After Time
- The Next Generation of Tribbles with Darkest Moments
- The Return of the Revenge of the Unofficial LC of DOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!
- Back from the Dead?
- Gods of Lower Decks in Wintry Timelines
- Skippy's List: Starfleet Edition
- Revisit to a Weird Game, One of One
- In Memory of Spock
- Redux 1
- Delta Recruit
- Someone to Remember Them By
- In A.D. 2410, War Was Beginning
- The Sound of Q-sic
- Stand for the Crew
- A Future That Many Will Never See
- STO Thanksgiving
- Winter Wonderland Celebrations II
- Once In A Lifetime
- Coming Around Again
- In the Darkness
- The Company You Keep
- Battle Scars
- Mirror Wars
- Agents of Yesterday
- Love and Loss
- Extra Lives
- Death and Taxes
- Temporal Intrigue
- Redux-Reuse-Regift?
Post edited by aten66 on
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But you’re not right
You should know I’m not your baby
Not tonight
(I never was) The kinda girl to trip and fall in love
(I never was) The kind to say enough is not enough
(I never was) The touchy feely co-dependant kind
I like the feeling but I’m not on cloud nine
You love it, you hate it
You think it, you say it
You want it, you need it
I tell ya but you don’t believe it
What were you expecting?
Another lullaby?
Are you kidding?
You must be high
You must be high
‘Cause it was just one kiss
(Hey, hey, hey)
(Hey, hey, hey)
I don’t need your flowers, they'll just go to waste
I don’t want your candy ‘cause I don't like the taste
(There never was) A possibility I’d stick around
(It never was) My intention just to let you down
(I never was) The kind of girl that’s good at playin’ house
Ya want it, ya need it
I tell ya but you don’t believe it
What were you expecting?
Another lullaby?
Are you kidding?
You must be high, you must be high
‘Cause it was just one kiss
(Hey, hey, hey)
(Hey, hey, hey)
Everything about you makes me scream
Be a man and get up off your knees
Tryin’ to say this in the nicest way
What were you expecting?
Another lullaby?
Are you kidding?
You must be high
What were you expecting?
Another lullaby?
Are you kidding?
You must be high
You must be high
‘Cause it was just one kiss
(Hey, hey, hey)
(Hey, hey, hey)
(Hey, hey, hey)
(Hey, hey, hey)
— “What Were You Expecting?” by Halestorm
You ever wake up in a dark room and have somebody just sitting there?
Well, I just did.
My right arm snaps out for the gunbelt hanging off my nightstand and a split second later I have my Type-2 aimed at the black-clad blond man in my easy chair. I’m not as good shooting right-handed but at this range it doesn’t matter.
The empty click from the trigger, though, that probably matters.
Agent Franklin Drake holds up a small square of glowing plastic. “Works better with the power pack.” I swear and throw the useless pistol in his general direction. “We have a situation, Captain Kanril. Somebody wants to kill you.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I snap at him, then look over at Gaarra and try to nudge him awake.
Then I notice the needle-mark on his neck and round on Drake. If I didn’t know better I’d swear I just saw him flinch. “Don’t worry, it’s just a mild sedative; he’ll be fine in thirty minutes, probably less given his body weight.”
“You son of a—”
“That’s not your primary concern, Captain—”
“The phekk it is, he’s my husband!”
Drake’s face has settled back into that smarmy smile of his. “From where I sit, you’re by far the more important of the two: people talk about the great Captain Kanril Eleya, the Medal of Honor winner—”
“Earner,” I correct him.
“—who plotted the downfall of the Iconian Empire, they don’t talk about the guy who ran your shields and nav deflector. Now, that’s probably unjust, but you’re the one the Albino wants, not Commander Reshek. And would you mind covering up, please?”
I pull the sheet up over my bare br*asts, glaring at him. “All right, I’m a little confused here.”
“You’re wondering who the Albino is and why you should care that he wants you dead?”
“No, it’s… What the phekk are you doing on my ship?! We’re at warp—how did you get here?!”
“I hitched.”
“I don’t remember pulling over!”
“Look, as I said, that’s not important,” he insists. Now that oily smirk of his is transitioning to an irritated scowl matching mine. He tosses a data solid onto my bedsheet. “Last date and coordinates are yours. Don’t get up, I’ll show myself out.”
I’m still fuming as Tess, Biri, Dul’krah, Kinlo and I go over the data encoded on the fingertip-sized chunk of lithium polycrystal. I hate Section 31. I hate a lot of things, but a gang of unaccountable ultranationalist black-ops guys? Call me old-fashioned but when did Starfleet start taking direction from the Obsidian Order?
A furious curse from Tess jerks me back to the present. “This—I know Commander Taala’vran, I sent flowers to her widow for frak’s sake!” I touch her on the shoulder but she shakes my hand off. There’s a set to her jaw I’ve only seen a couple times. “I thought that was a reactor fault! He can’t make up stories about real people!”
“I don’t think it’s a story,” the chief of the boat says, clicking a tag appended to the report. “Looks like the Corps of Engineers had some suspicions about the ‘accident’, thought USS Viriatus should’ve had time to at least get off a distress signal, but they couldn’t prove anything.”
“And look here, ma’am,” Dul’krah grunts. “Anatol Panar, that’s the Cardassian ambassador to the Republic who was assassinated last month. The True Way claimed responsibility but we all know it did not fit their style.”
The ambassador to the Republic… “Biri, there’s a list of coordinates on that, isn’t there? I didn’t get a good look; plot them for me, would you?”
The map is exactly what I thought: the twelve sets of polar coordinates all fit in a loose blob about 1700 light-years in diameter, the former territory of the Romulan Star Empire. There’s the dead wastes around Hobus, the big, green Raptor of the Republic, the smaller, darker patch of the Empire emblazoned with the eagle and dual globes, and the red cross-hatching of the Tal’Shiar junta’s baker’s dozen remaining systems.
And there’s the clincher: seventh item on the list, the death of Imperial Fleet General Ael i’Baratan t’Nerul from a sudden cardiac arrest, derailing their planned invasion of the Keuhn system, the junta’s only major shipyard. Circumstantially it’s obviously an assassination, and…
Then I come back to the last coordinates, which has my name tagged to it. It’s on our scheduled patrol route, three days from now when we pass close to a Bok globule.
I straighten and grab my PADD and a stylus off the desk, quickly scribbling a note which I pass to Dul’krah. “Send that and our data in an encrypted squirt. It’s addressed to a friend of mine in Starfleet Intelligence.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He turns and trots out.
“Now, any ideas how the phekk Drake got here? Do we have a security breach I don’t know about?”
“I have an idea about that, El.” Biri brings a page of text up on the screen. “You know what this is?”
“I’m going to take a stab in the dark,” I drawl, “and say, ‘maths’.”
The Trill rolls her brown eyes at me and points to a few of the equations. I’m still clueless but she’s already talking like I can read it. “It’s something Admiral Scott was working on before he died. I might be able to use it.”
“Keep at it.” My combadge chirps. “Kanril, go.”
“Captain, Conn.” Park’s officer of the watch at the moment. “Lieutenant Connor is waiting in your ready room. I told her you were busy; she doesn’t seem to care.”
And there’s the other shoe dropping. “Tell her I’ll be there in five minutes and to try not to wear a hole in the floor.”
Rachel Connor is a grey-faced shaking wreck as she paces back and forth. Literally; her skin’s a pale grey color rather than its usual brownish tan.
“Sit down,” I tell her, firmly but not unkindly, as soon as I enter my ready room. She obeys. “Where’s your unit?”
“I told ‘em to change plans and hit the holodeck for a workout and a training sim, hostage rescue versus the Circle. It was supposed to be a four-on-one sparring match, me versus the boys.” Her hands clench and unclench against her uniform pants, the seams over her shoulders straining slightly.
“You heard about our visitor, I gather?”
She nods, of course; grapevine seems to be the only thing on my ship faster than the warp drive. “He got in here undetected, to your room, and got out just as easily. He could’ve taken me, off of a ship in the middle of interstellar space, and nobody would have known! Where the hell am I safe?”
I’m going to have to handle this carefully. Probably shouldn’t have blown off Intro Psych at the Academy in favor of Religious Studies… “I’ve doubled security scans as a precaution and we’re keeping the shields up at random modulation, plus I’ve notified Starfleet Intelligence. And if Drake had taken you, there’d be a nationwide manhunt for him right now or I’d be turning in my combadge.”
“It’s not that, ma’am. I trust you, I know that you mean the best for all of us, I know that if anyone on this ship got kidnapped, the b*stard who took them just earned himself a one-way trip to the special Hell. The problem’s that they won’t stop. They took my humanity, hounded me across a hundred systems, ambushed me on Earth, and now I can’t even get a night’s rest on a starship in interstellar space? What more do those f*ckers want from me?!”
I start to say “don’t worry”, but it sounds hollow even in my head. Instead I clear my throat. “Look, Connor, I can’t guarantee what’s going to happen in the next week. We’re working on a plan but it may not work. But look at it this way: if he thought he could get to you, he would’ve already tried.”
“I… Huh.” She nods slowly, thinking it through. “I suppose… maybe he thought that beaming into a room full of four MACOs and a m—an augment with superhuman senses was a bad idea.” She cracks a weak smile. “Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t think.”
“Hey, I understand, I was spooked enough when he showed up in my chair. And besides—maybe he’s on our side, just this once.” She raises an eyebrow at that and I grimace. “Yeah, didn’t think so either. Are you going to be good?”
“I’m… I think so, ma’am.” She shudders a bit. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
I shake my head and wave a hand at the door. “Open-door policy, forget it. Oh, and Lieutenant? Fix your skin before you head out, it’s still grey.”
The Bok globule designated NGC-76113 is a cloud of dark gas just off our course along the Republic border, a black patch a little under a light-year across set against the bright blue blur of the Azure Nebula visible through the warp field. I reach for the intercom. “All hands, all hands, this is the Captain. Sound yellow alert, secure ship for combat.” The indicator lights correspondingly flick from blue to yellow as a tone plays on the speakers. “Stay frosty, people.”
Thirty tense minutes pass. At thirty-one I call down to the galley to have them send up some coffee and sandwiches. I’m munching on a BLT when Lieutenant Esplin calls out, “Captain, I’m picking up a distress signal!”
“Details!”
“She claims to be the SS Gann vesh Wek, a Tellarite-flagged private mining ship. They say they’ve had a computer failure seine-fishing for trace elements in the cloud and can’t get their warp drive back up.”
“Conn, change course. All hands to battle stations.”
“You sure, El?” Biri asks. “It’s a plausible story, I’ve got a record of just such a ship.”
“Of course it’s a trap,” Gaarra growls dismissively. “The timing’s too close to be a coincidence.”
“So what do we do, ma’am?” Park asks.
Tess smiles nastily. “Spring the trap.”
— Sabaton, "Great War"
Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/
Planetside, even on a clear day you can see the air itself blurring and blueing distant mountains. Being inside a nebula is kind of like that. The particle density is high enough to affect light, but up close it doesn’t look like fog like you see in Jachin Province or Hollywood.
A Bok globule is denser than most. It’s a star nursery, an embryonic solar system that might birth a new civilization billions of years after we’re all long dead and forgotten. But more to the point, the particles are bigger, big enough to cause serious damage to a ship moving faster than light, and the navigational deflector is working full-time.
“There’s an awful lot of interference in here,” Master Chief Wiggin adds to my thoughts from the sensor console. “Hang on.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve got a definite metallic signature at the coordinates of the distress signal. Make it eleven degrees off the starboard bow, thirty-eight AUs ahead.”
“Continue to scan the area. Park, adjust course, bring us out a hundred klicks off him. Esplin, is the interference affecting comms?”
“Not at the moment, ma’am,” the magenta Saurian says. “Hailing channel?”
“You read my mind.” I wait for her signal, then issue the hail. “SS Gann vesh Wek, this is Captain Kanril Eleya of the Federation Starship Bajor responding to your distress signal. Do you copy, over?”
I wait for a tense moment, then a gravelly male voice, tinny with interference, responds. “USS Bajor, this is Captain Thraka gasch Kull. Good to hear from you, Captain. What’s your ETA, over?”
“We’re there now, over.” Park smoothly brings us out of warp right on target, the other ship an almost invisible pinprick that Wiggin drops a reticle on and magnifies. I eye the design. “Well, no wonder they’re having computer problems, it’s a Yoyodyne product.” Gaarra gives a bark of laughter and Tess chuckles. “Esplin, you got a voice analysis for that Tellarite?”
“A voice analysis? Uh, fairly high levels of stress and relief, but under the circumstances—”
“I mean is he the real thing, Lieutenant?”
“I have no way of knowing that, ma’am: we haven’t got any recordings of Captain Kull.”
“Guys, life signs?”
Gaarra answers, “I’ve confirmed thirteen humanoid life-forms. She’s got a listed crew of eight, but that ship hasn’t been through a regulated checkpoint since before the war.”
“These tramp freighters are a nightmare, ma’am,” Wiggin grumbles.
“Phekk. All right, bring us closer. Ahead one-half impulse.”
We close the distance rapidly and the blocky ship quickly grows bigger on the screen. I squeeze my armrests hard, glaring out at the blackness.
Then Wiggin leans forward suddenly and I’m snapping the order before he can even say anything: “Take evasive action! Give me cams!”
Park slams the rudder hard to starboard and guns it as the holocamera on our starboard side catches a ripple in space, resolving into a dark shape, thin downswept wings with petals spreading from the dorsal side.
“Uzaveh’s balls,” Tess breathes, “that’s a—”
It is.
A shockwave of green light ripples by, missing the stern by barely a hundred thirty meters. The Scimitar-class dreadnought screams out of the void, its broadside mounts raining green hellfire on our aft shields.
“Shields at 87 percent! Weapons locked, returning fire!” Lances of orange snap out from the aft phasers and Tess sends a salvo of torpedoes in his direction as the warbird comes about.
“I’m sorry, Captain!” Captain Kull radios. “They’ve got my wife and daughter in the hold!”
“Turn that off!” I snap. “Medical team to the bridge! Park, full impulse, get some distance on him!”
Phekk me. They have a Scimitar-class. How the phekk can they have a Scimitar-class? “Get an ID on that ship!”
A barrage of plasma torpedoes courses in. One misses, Tess downs three with the phasers, but the other half bang one, two, three, four into our shields and the bridge shakes. “Aft shields at sixty percent!” she bellows over the howl of a hull-breach alarm from one of the consoles. “Casualties in Astrometrics!”
“I got her, El!” Gaarra yells. “ChR 21206, IRW Firestorm. That ship was reported destroyed in ‘84!”
“Obviously not! Esplin, send a distress signal, and send a broadcast on all frequencies!”
“Ready, ma’am!”
“Headlock! Repeat, headlock!” The bridge shudders again. “Park, you got room to flip us?”
“I do… now!” He yanks back on his sticks and Bajor rears up. Another volley of torpedoes streaks past beneath us and more disruptor fire ripples against the fresher dorsal shields.
“All dorsal batteries, fire!” Tess gets off three blasts from the five dorsal strips as we pass through “vertical” but the dreadnought barely seems to notice. Then we’re through the flip, the upside-down Firestorm’s running lights barely visible at this range. Tess hits him again, again. “Use the heavy stuff!”
“Loading neutronic torpedoes! Firing!” Five purple bolts join the orange streams heading out, criss-cross and mix with the green hailstorm coming in.
“Gaarra, all power to forward shield, switch life-support power to phasers!”
“On it!”
Dammit, gotta even the odds somehow. “Kinlo, can you—”
“Forget it, Captain,” the Klingon yells over another barrage, “I already tried it! Broke the firewall but all the control systems are isolated!”
“Forward shields at fifty-three percent!”
What feels like a secondary explosion jolts the bridge as we hurtle past close enough to make out viewports on the warbird; a few tiles fall from the ceiling. “Engineer, damage report!”
Bynam sends back, “Ma’am, we’ve lost two maneuvering thrusters and the starboard nacelle is in emergency shutdown! Fire suppression systems are online but we’ve taken heavy casualties!”
“Captain, we’re being hailed!”
“Onscreen!”
A deathly pale, white-haired Romulan with a mouth that looks like it’s been punched a few too many times takes up the inset on the screen. “This is Riov Agathon tr’Hathe. You’re good but you can’t win this, Riov Kanril. Stand down and I promise your death will be quick and painless.”
“Imirrhlhhs’ehu!”
“Well, that was rude. You’ll wish you had—” Esplin breaks the connection before I can tell her to.
The ship shudders as we close. Disruptor fire spatters across our shields, more fire than we can possibly return.
But even in the dark, there’s always hope. “Captain,” Wiggin says, “we’re doing more damage than it looks like. He’s got all his shields shifted forward.”
“I know.”
“Captain,” Tess asks, “what are you smiling about?”
“I have additional ships decloaking astern of the Firestorm!”
“That, Tess!” Three blue-black crescents erupt from the nothingness, spitting a hail of phaser fire and torpedoes into the dreadnought’s unprotected engine nacelles. The warbird’s shields shift aft, but in that brief moment the damage is done: it can’t maneuver, its engine section is in flames. Park brings us past the ship and the trio of destroyers forms up behind us. “Target the reactor and give me comms. Colonel tr’Hathe, this is Captain Kanril. I will accept your immediate and unconditional surrender.”
Then the ship’s singularity core detonates and the warbird vanishes into its own artificial black hole. “Phekk, he self-destructed. Conn, get us clear.”
Everybody’s staring at me. “Ma’am, who exactly are those people?” Tess finally asks.
I grin. “My friend in Starfleet Intelligence. Esplin, cancel the distress signal and contact the lead ship on Tac Two.”
“Uh, channel open.”
“Artemisia Actual, this is Bajor Actual. Good to see you, Tia.”
The screen flips to a carrot-topped commander with white shoulders and a black divisional stripe. “Nice to see you again, too, Eleya. Wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Commander—”
“Tess, I tutored her at the Academy, it’s okay.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I heard about Sobaru, Tia. Sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral.” She smiles briefly. “I’m curious, how’d you manage to convince Admiral Yagami to let you bring two more Phantoms? I mean, not that I don’t appreciate the backup, he probably would’ve…”
Tia has a weird look on her face. “Umm… would you believe me if I said I saw it happen?” she asks.
I squint at her for a second. “Come again?”
“I’m serious,” Tia replies. “I had a… I’m not sure whether it’s a nightmare or a vision… about three days before you contacted me, where the Albino destroyed your ship. I just couldn’t let it be, and when you sent me that info… I knew I had to act.”
“Uh. All right.” Probably bad luck or something to question a gift from the Prophets.
“Only thing I wondered was how you planned to use ‘headlock’ in a sentence, but I guess you weren’t.” I snort at that. “Are things under control here?”
“For the most part, but fan out and make sure the Albino didn’t leave any surprises behind. Park, take us back to the Wek.” I hit the intercom again. “Connor, get your team to the transporter room. You’ve got a hostage rescue to deal with, then we can all go home.” I switch the call to Engineering. “Bynam, how long before you can have the warp drive back up?”
“Give me thirty minutes, I can get you warp 7, but I wouldn’t go higher than that without a pit stop.”
“All right, I’ll ask Tia for a tow. Out.” I feel a tap at my shoulder. “What’s up, Master Chief?”
Kinlo hands me a PADD. “Ma’am, I got this off the Firestorm before she blew.”
I take the PADD. “I thought you said—”
“I said the controls were hardware-isolated. This is from the memory core. Dossiers on known Federation spies and some of the pointy-ears’ double agents.”
“Quite a coup.” I quickly skim over the data. “Wait, that’s—”
“Yeah, it is.”
I slowly grin as the missing piece of the plan falls into place. “majQa’, qInlo.”
Thirty-six hours later.
I jerk awake again. “Good evening, Captain Kanril,” Franklin Drake says.
“You’re in my chair again.”
“And I see you’re wearing more clothes this time.”
“I happen to like having nothing but my man with me in bed, not that it’s any of your business, ye’phekk maktal kosst amojan.”
“Is the profanity really necessary?”
“You used me.”
“I hardly think so,” he retorts. “If anything, you used my information. The Albino wanted you dead. We wanted him dead, I’m sure you wanted to live…” He gestures at me.
“Really?” I push the covers off and stand, grabbing a bathrobe from the hook on my door.
“Yes, really. And you got to rescue the hostages, using my extremely expensive prototype, no less. Everyone goes home happy. Well, except the Albino of course.”
I chuckle grimly at that. “You know, Drake, funny thing about those Tal’Shiar assassinations, Colonel tr’Hathe’s targets.”
“Yes?”
“Most of them, like General t’Nerul, the benefit’s pretty obvious: the current praetor hates the Tal’Shiar. Hell, he even allied with the Republic to go on the offensive against them. But exactly what do they gain by killing the Cardassian ambassador?” I watch his face for any sign of dawning comprehension but don’t see any. “Ambassador Panar’s work didn’t have anything to do with the Tal’Shiar: the postwar constitution bans the Cardies from using military force outside their own borders unless threatened. But you know who did benefit?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Yoyodyne Division.” There, that time he twitched. “The Cardies weren’t parties to the Khitomer Summit. Ambassador Panar was trying to open a hole in a tax barrier so the Belorejal Group could bid on an upgrade project for the Temer Shipyard. But he dies, the deal crumbles, and the Senate hires Yoyodyne.”
He chuckles. “So you followed the money.”
“Actually my chief of security, Lieutenant Korekh, followed it. He used to be a constable, you know.”
“Impressive. It benefits the Federation and the Romulans,” he points out. “Belorejal’s never done a job that big.”
“And Yoyodyne phekks up every job that big,” I retort. “I’m not sure that’s an improvement.”
“And it’s an economic boost to the Federation—”
“At the cost of an allied ambassador’s life! But I’m reasonably sure that wasn’t the point.”
“Enlighten me again.”
“You boys in Section 31 get funding from Yoyodyne. You’re stacked fifty deep with front companies—in direct violation of federal securities regulations, I might add—but Dul’krah and Master Chief Kinlo cracked them. Several of the principals are on SI’s list of suspected Section 31 associates and they include a board member’s niece. And I believe that wasn’t the first time Ambassador Panar had gotten in their way: there was that amusement park renovation in New Lakarian City. So you leaked his itinerary to the Tal’Shiar and planted evidence linking him to Senator tr’Vreenak’s assassination by the Dominion; Romulan love of payback did the rest.”
He purses his lips and nods. “Clearly I underestimated you.”
“Don’t let the pretty face fool you.” I smile in a way I know accentuates the scar on my cheek, especially in the dark. “You won’t get away with this.”
Drake stands, giving me another oily smirk. “Please. I ‘get away’ with operations like this all the time.” My door hisses open and Drake throws me one last snide comment as he turns. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, C—”
“Hi, Frankie.” A royally pissed-off crew-cut brunette socks Drake in the chest, and he goes flying backwards a good two meters with the crack of a busted rib. “I’ll ‘prototype’ you, motherf*cker… Move in, boys!”
Drake only manages a weak groan as Connor lifts him off the ground by his leather shirt one-handed and turns so that Lieutenant Korekh can cuff him. “Bet that felt good,” I comment, grinning.
She’s smiling from ear to ear. “You have no idea, ma’am.” Drake makes another cross between a gasp and a whimper. “I think he needs a trip to sickbay before we throw his TRIBBLE in the brig?”
“Sure, just let me get the list of charges. Dul’krah?”
Korekh tosses me a PADD. I tap it on and scroll through the list. “Connor, show him over here and make sure he’s conscious.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You… you can’t do this,” wheezes Drake. “You can’t just have my weapon manhandle a Federation citizen like this—OW!” he snaps at Dul’krah yanking a set of zip-cuffs taut over his wrists.
“‘Your weapon’, my crew. And it feels kind of funny to rub it in your face that the sixteen million credits—”
“Seven billion, it was just the successful experiment—” Connor slaps him, probably not hard enough to bust his jaw.
“—you spent on turning a Federation officer into a weapon are right here in front of you and you’re never going to take advantage of her ever again.” I flip screens on the PADD until I find what I need. “Right. Rutherford Lynn Weiner—”
He gapes. “How did you—”
“—alias ‘Franklin Drake’, under the authority of the Federation Starfleet I’m hereby placing you under arrest pending transport to federal district court. You are charged with illegal genetic experimentation, misuse of government resources, sending a false distress signal, criminal negligence leading to combat loss of Starfleet assets, espionage, conspiracy to commit murder… Oh, and two counts of trespassing.”
“‘Trespassing’?” Connor reluctantly passes the confused Weiner over to Dul’krah, who holds him just a bit more firmly than absolutely necessary.
“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” Petty Officer Kallio stifles a laugh.
“Rrrrr, very funny. You know this will never get as far as a trial.”
“You know, you’re probably right about that,” I agree in a thoughtful tone. “I hear Admiral zh’Zoarhi wants your wedding tackle on a platter for that listening post in First City whose cover you blew. If I were you, I’d turn state’s evidence.”
As I finish my remarks Weiner jerks his zip-cuffed hands free of the big alien and smacks something on his belt with a wince as his rib stresses.
Dul’krah takes hold of Weiner’s arm again, squeezing hard enough that the human hisses in pain. “If you wish to injure yourself further, I suggest you try slamming your head against the brig walls.”
“Wh—”
“Having performance issues?” I say conversationally. “You know, I hear it affects one in five males.” Now Kallio is openly sniggering and the other MACOs are hiding grins. Even Dul’krah’s mouth is twitching. “That transwarp beaming trick of yours,” I continue, “really convenient way to get one, maybe two humanoids in and out of tight areas, but it’s got a few issues. It’s really bad for the service life of the Heisenberg compensators and, uh, it takes even less effort than a normal transporter to render it completely useless, just a little tiny exotic particle burst.” I smile sweetly at him. “If you’re curious I’m sure Commander Riyannis can explain it in more detail than I can. Korekh, strip-search him in case he has any more little surprises, and make sure there’s at least four armed guards you know personally watching his cell at all times.”
“Six, ma’am. I am aware of how to handle a flight-risk.”
“Move out, then.”
“You’ll never get away with—”
“Oh, gag him, too, would you? Some of us need our beauty sleep.”
“Can I come in now, honey?” Gaarra asks from the corridor.
— Sabaton, "Great War"
Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/
U.S.S. Opal, Medina Shuttlecraft
Exiting Draconis 20 System
The swift shuttlecraft sped through the starlight, eager to return home to the sprawling ship called home to two of the shuttles current passengers, and a hopeful and serendipitous addition to the crew. Mary Amethyst Smith, K-13 refugee and time traveller, formerly a civilian contracted for her love of Xeno-Archaeology, as well as her ability to restore items and decipher alien texts faster than most in her day, like she almost spoke them herself. Of course after the longest time in their employ, she had unofficially been given a rank, not recognized by Starfleet at the time, but credible enough for Hazel to get her transferred to the Medina
It had been some time since she had seen her last, the memory of which may have been a fever dream involving Va'kel Shon, the Kelvin timeline, and some nasty business in the Andromeda system a good two hundred years early, involving a duel, the Iconians, and a potentially immortal Klingon. It was something she was better off ignoring as the stuff of dreams, sure, but now with Mary here perhaps she could get some answers to her burning questions. Like why her novice crewman was currently tangled up in the wires of the shuttles isolinear circuitry, when she swore she had only token her eyes of of her for a second.
Weldon suddenly flickers into existence standing over the half buried blonde with a look of exasperation, as he studies the mess she had made. "Five minutes out of docking and you manage to decouple the mag-frame, rewire the internal consoles, and reverse the deflectors polarity," Weldon says, "Do you know how sensitive our equipment is in this day and age, unlike your backwards 'colored buttons' and levers and switches?" He moves to pull out the blonde from her spot, before she removes herself and shows off her pearly white smile to the holographic officer.
"Ooh, a holographic man, Starfleet has sure made the leap from metal men, now to photonic flesh!" She says, while wiping off a spot of grease that found its way on to her cheek, while uncurling her hair from its impromptu pony tail, "Sorry Mister, but when the Captain told me what level the Ion Storm was, I thought I could help you strengthen the deflector polarity, instead of reversing it, so we could shave off a little bit of worry in case we got caught in the edges of the storm." She smiles brushing off the Engineering overalls she had put on, and begins stripping from them, causing Weldon to cover his eyes in embarrassment. Folding the uniform neatly, she replaces them with the remainder of her things, before sitting back down in her nondescript, beige turtleneck and pants.
"I also just wanted to make sure I didn't get my clothes dirty," she says, while Weldon uncovers his hands from his eyes, the red tint the engineering hologram had fading, as the emulated embarrassment passes, "It helps to show me what your systems are like, too, since I'm basically starting at square one, like I had when I honorarily joined the Starfleet science team onboard K-13." Weldon mutters to himself, before checking on the area where Mary had begun her work, hoping nothing was irreversible. Hazel giggles a little at her photonics engineer, but returns her eyes forward, watching the raging ion storm off the port side keeping in mind its massive size and hoping it wouldn't cut off their path, or worse.
"Tell me again about the various species I will be meeting on your ship Captain?" Mary asks again, "I know about the Humans, the Vulcans, the Tellarites, the Andorians, and the Rigellians; but tell me if you have any Klingons, or Romulans on board, or whatever fantastic species and lifeforms there are being accepted to the academy nowadays!"
Hazel hits a few buttons to turn on the auto pilot, then turns her chair towards Mary, mindful of Weldon's muttering and work, and stands up to stretch her stiff muscles. "Very well," she says with a reflexive yawn, "But let's move it to the back to let Weldon work in peace." Mary nods and stands, moving towards the back in a few skips. Hazel moves to the replicator and grabs a pair of steaming mugs after inputting some variables into it. Passing a mug of hot cocoa with mini marshmallows to Mary, Hazel drinks in her extra--rich chocolate delicacy, savoring the thick and cold creme whip topping it off. Giggling she brushes away a whip cream mustache, and sits down on the bench opposite of Mary.
"Well, were do I begin?" Hazel starts, "Well, let's start off by saying my crew wasn't as diverse as it is now, not when I started of course, but that changed when I came to 2409 and found myself in the middle of an old war, just with a few holes in my foggy memory." She sighs, thinking back to the first few days of her assignment, hunting down Syndicate forces that had stuck around after the rescue of the S.S. Azure, then finding herself facing down Klingon BoP, much like staring down the barrel of the guns that sent her ship and crew into the far flung future, relatively speaking as time proved just some weeks ago.
"It was the base members, of course, but then there were Caitians, Rigellians, Holograms based on Hamlet, in time as one war ended and other skirmishes began, I had Gorn, Orion, Nausicaan, Klingon's, Lethean; people who wanted a better life, or just a different view and to be treated better," she says, enrapturing Mary's attention, "Then came Cardassian and Bajorans, Dominion refugees, lesser seen Alpha Quadrant species, Sullivan refugees, even an El-Aurian or two; then came the Liberated Borg, and some Breen, and even a Tholian who wished to join up with us, even Time Traveller's were drawn from around the Quadrants." She takes a sip of her drink and continues.
"When the Solanae sphere opened up new possibilities, it was just the Voth at first, those who wished to escape the Doctrine, but when the Undine opened up our view of the quadrant, then came the Kazon, then Ocampa, the Talaxian's, followed by the Benthans," she says, "When they joined up, others were cinched, like the Malon and Hierarchy, the Kobali even sought our aid; today our world is more open than it ever was, and I know I have forgotten more than a half dozen other species, I'm sure...". Suddenly Hazel becomes uncomfortably aware that Mary is sitting next to her, the pressure of her head on her shoulder having been ignored while she was lost in her memories, now feeling like a bowling ball.
"Ummm-" Hazel suddenly feels her heart jump, as she notices Mary's eyes are closed and the soft breathing signaling she had become comfortable in this position, "-Mary, I know you're comfortable and all, I don't mind this, but- I want you to know..." Suddenly that thought shifts as she feels and sees Mary's empty cup resting on her lap, her own forgotten cup let to the side. She hears soft snores from the fellow blonde and sighs, already regretting letting that cute face disarm her perception of personal space, and decides not to wake her in favor of letting her get a few moments more of rest.
Resting her own eyes for a few moments, feeling the warm drink rise slumber from within her, she closes them knowing the ship was more than likely in the photonic's capable hands-
Suddenly jolted awake from the blaring alarm in her ears, she jumps up, hearing a soft thwack go off behind her as she does so. "Ow...." Mary says, rubbing her head as she sits up, "Bwuahzz... goin' on?" She rubs her sleepy eyes and looks at her Captain, who is rushing to the front of the shuttle.
"Weldon, I put the ship on auto pilot, why didn't you keep an eye on it!" Hazel shouts as she moves to the controls, trying to find the photonics, "Weldon, I know you couldn't have been working on the shuttle systems that- Weldon?" Utterly confused at the lack of the officer, she bends down to see the compartment having been shut, but no sign of the crewman. That was when she noticed the ship had been hit by a stray Ion bolt, and realized the jolt that had woke her and put the ship on Red Alert, had done more than just set off alarms, and no doubt knocked the program offline. This was a bad thing, as she noticed that he had not done any course correcting before hand, taking in the storms position to the shuttle.
Of course it wasn't a horrible storm, no they could suffer through it if need be with minimal injuries beyond the extreme unpredictable emergency, it was the fact where they were that was the problem. The leading edge of the cloud was very much like a net, at one point it crescendoed to a tip, before teetering off and doing the same at its opposite end, leaving quite a bit of room of clear space before the full force of the storm was upon the unsuspecting. Of course, like a butterfly net to a butterfly, this shuttle was now caught at the calm mouth of the storm, before they would have to endure a little over a grueling day and a half of having to keep watch constantly or risk pushing through, hoping to outrun the storms maw. Unladylike thoughts entered the Augments head, and the Human Captain was far from willing to risk her shuttle and crew to a matter/antimatter explosion because she was impatient.
Sighing, she turned to Mary to deliver the good news. "It seems I'll have a lot of time to tell you what you want to know," She states, "Looks like we're going to have to take shifts keeping watch though, we're about to be in it for a rough and bumpy ride...". Mary just smiles at the thought of getting g some of her questions answered.
/ 17 Hours In /
"Let's see, do you want to know my origin story, or how I got back the second time?" Hazel asks, responding to Mary's question, "Let me tell you, the second one is more interesting, since it had to do with a bit more time travel than the first time I came here..." Hazel is curious to see why she hasn't responded to her inquiry, when she notices the PADD in front of Mary's feet, next to a half eaten bowl of now soggy, cereal, a spoon halfway between her mouth and bowl.
Hazel gets up from her chair, wobbling as the lights shake again, before continuing back to where Mary sits between both front and rear of the shuttle, resting against a standing console. "Hmm..." she says, taking a bite of the soggy cereal, while looking up from her reading material at Hazel, before gulping, "What did you say?" Hazel chuckles.
"I asked whether you meant my first or second time, but it seems like you went and got yourself distracted again," Hazel says, leaning over to view the topic of the device, seeing just a list of various professions, both the highly scientific and more the mundane, even fields reaching into the tactical and engineering fields of research. "There's a lot more there than the 23rd, eh?" Hazel asks, before pointing to one of the subject tags, "Like, whoever heard of Taxonomical studies of Demon-Class bacterio-flora and Fauna, Tholians to Silverblood." Mary laughs at that one, before removing it from the list.
"I do have a lot of options, and a lot of these speak out to me..." Mary says, dimly smiling, "I have a lot of choices, I was given a second chance that not many others understand, not you of course." She sighs and puts down the device, before curling her arms around her legs. "I think to myself, 'who are you Mary?', and I just don't know how to answer it," she states, "I know people like Weldon may get annoyed by my cluelessness, at least the ones not from the 23rd century who serve aboard your ship, but it's like I just don't know who I am anymore, and I am struggling to define myself." Hazel smiles at that, thinking back to a talk with Gregs and Drake she had not to long ago, about how Mary might return confused...
Suddenly another bolt of lightning strikes the shuttle and the lights fully dim. The ship is covered in blue light, as the charge goes through the ships, probably highlighting it as it interacted with the deflectors field. She swore she saw her own bones for a moment there, like a sudden x-ray lit up the room, before plunging the shuttle in darkness. The storm is raging, but the darkness is still surprising, causing Hazel to even yelp and fling her arms around Mary. Her arms were cold and stiff, but she figured between the shock and lights Mary was just surprised by the physical contact. "Can you let go of me?" Mary asks, her tone seemingly exasperated, almost... cold and dismissive? Hazel complies, and backs off, as the lights return and reveal Hazel and Mary once again. Hazel is surprised by Mary's shift in attitude, now doubly so by grim look on the woman's face.
Hazel merely shakes off the notion going through her head, before Mary calmly speaks up. "I wish to go to sleep, it appears your shift is almost up," she says almost robotically, "Wake me up in twenty, so you can get some sleep." The worrisome shift in attitude began to nag in Hazel's mind, but she chose to ignore it in favor of the nerves the woman had shown just moments ago.
/ 27 Hours In /
When she wakes up, she finds herself alone, but notices the shuttles washroom door open, and hears water running. Moving up from her sleeping spot, Hazel is surprised to see Mary bleaching her hair the old fashioned way, and even seemed to have already colored some of it an inky black-blue. Ruby red lipstick graced her smile, as Mary turns to look at Hazel. "Sorry Captain, I didn't mean to wake you," she says, as Hazel notices the odd stud earrings in her ears, "I figured I could finish the job and... surprise you with my new look, after all, I honk a new start needs a new look, wouldn't you agree?" Hazel stands back and notices the change in wardrobe that seems to have come with this new hair color, in the pile of neatly folded clothes sitting on the floor. Most worrisome was the brown cropped jacket that held a familiar symbol on it, one Hazel had associated with the jacket her counterpart had worn when they last met on Risa.
"Quite... fine, Mary, it does... suit you," she says certain the woman before her would be unconvinced, "I'll just get some breakfast for myself, and keep you from messing up...". Moving swiftly away from the back and to the front, she quickly gets to work looking at the holoprojector, before moving to get some food once she was done with her glance over. The damage wasn't extensive, probably only a loosened wire, but she had to act fast to get him online again. She doesn't remember using the transporters in this storm, but it seemed somehow Mary got switched with her Terran Doppleganger, and Hazel needed another ally fast.
Quickly she gathered the necessary tools, stopping intermittently to assure herself that the Terran Mary was still thoroughly caught up in herself. Of course they were scattered across the various compartments, one of the uppers ones, oddly enough, held a replicated league bowling ball of which Hazel would later question Weldon bringing, along with various other oddities hidden in other places, like the bag of marbles under the seat or the skates in the locker. Correcting the broken circuit was fairly fast, once she had the tools assembled, and the last piece was in place once she heard Mary finishing cleaning up from her hair job. Activating Weldon, she cheered quietly in success, seeing him flicker and solidify into his familiar engineer scrubs. "Wuhhuzuh..." Weldon states, before stopping to close his mouth and cross his eyes at his speech pattern, before he opens his mouth to check again, "Bxxzzzwr...jgnkzzzcck..." Frustrated, the hologram quickly turns to the console and begins to adjust his program, before turning back to Hazel.
"Testing, testing, 1,2,3; ah there we go!" He says in success, looking happy, "It seems the ship has registered that there was a surge in the deflector dish recently, after the Ion Storm knocked my systems offline... 10.3 hours ago, to be precise." Suddenly the program flickers with another Ion discharge, before Weldon appears again. Suddenly a explosion is heard, shutting off Weldon, and causing Hazel to turn around and see Mary with a smoking panel of exposed components behind her. The unsettling grin on her face spooked Hazel greatly, before the girl spoke.
"Oops, seems the storm blew one of the power systems controlling the internal holo emitters, what a shame," she says, while Hazel sees the poorly concealed phaser held in her hands, "Seems we might not all make it back to the ship alive, Captain, if any more 'accidents' happen." Quickly moving a hand behind her and down, Hazel finds her prize, just as another strike form the storm hits the ship with massive turbulence. Taking the opportunity, Hazel pulls hard, ripping open the container in her hands, and spilling the contents onto the floor towards Mary. At the same time, falling from the back compartment, the bowling ball manages to miss Mary, and roll freely along with the now loose marbles.
Looking peeved after finding her balance, Mary looks quite snidely at Hazel. "What, trying to make me take a bowling ball to the head, or were you just trying to trip me up? She says, "Lucky me I didn't get hurt by that falling bowling ball, but I'll have to find a way to save some for when I try and spin your death in a positive light..." Standing up, Mary puts her foot forward and goes to step down, not noticing the marbles having moved under her foot. Pushing down hard, she finds her momentum lacking, and slips to the side, when Hazel hears a hard think. Quickly moving to grab a med kit and avoid the marbles, Hazel quickly checks over Mary, noticing the bleeding on the side of her head, and hoping she could stabilize her before she lost her new recruit, if at least to get the real Mary back.
/ 1 Hour after Rescue /
"And you don't remember anything?" Vizzner asks, the Saurian checking for brain damage and her eyes, "There may be some lingering amnesia, sure, but complete mental restructuring... from what the Captain had said, you had a completely different personality, that's not something that would be fixed with a blow to the head..." The muddy-black haired ensign was furiously trying her best to remember any little detail, but gave up on frustration.
"I'm sorry Captain, I don't remember anything, not past telling you how I was trying to define myself at least," she says, Hazel nearby pursing her lips and sighing, "I'm sorry that the Opal was damaged, perhaps I can..." She groans a bit as she tries to stand, but the Saurian Doctor and Hazel both put their hands on the woman's shoulders, helping her lie back down.
"No need, Weldon is already transferred to his mobile, and has a couple of ensigns helping him iron out the damage, along with removing the mess of trinkets that somehow got stored within it," Hazel states, "Honestly, who stores a pair of skates on a shuttle, or leaves a bag of marbles on board?" Sighing, she pinches the bridge of her nose before taking a deep breath. "Honestly, I'm just glad to have you back and safe, Mary," Hazel says, "We'll have to lengthen your adjustment period a bit, too, but once you get into the swing of things, I'm sure you'll find just the right position aboard this ship, like everyone else!" Nodding cheerily, Mary smiles as Hazel moves on, happily knowing Mary was safe and sound.
/ Mary's Quarters /
Singing to herself, Mary grabs yet another pair of replicated clothes to a hanger in her room, after having organized her lingerie, and found the sleek, blue dress, with sleeves cutoff at the shoulder, next to the dull brown jacket she had retrieved from her personal effects left on the shuttle. Perhaps it was the symbol on the right arm, of the dagger overlaying the Earth that attracted her to it, but she didn't give it much thought, not after she found the dress in the replicator files. It was sleek but not too showy like some outfits, and was a semi-throwback to the old 23rd century look, with a more cell-like, futuristic pattern.
The clothing selection was just enormous on this ship, everybody dressed in either Odyssey regulation, or custom tailored designs, and Mary felt like she could try every combination on, and never feel the same way twice. What was the old earth term? Ah, she felt like she could cosplay- yes, that was the term! She could dress in any combination she could think of, and probably play different character with each crazy combination. She could be a radical surfer, a cold winter participant, a trader, a mercenary, a Terran, or even a Kelvin officer; heck she could probably even find a way to make believe she had lived among the Iconians with the base designs on file.
Today though, she felt like just being herself, and that was enough for Mary Amythest Smith. Well, maybe after she got the Talaxian stylist to remove the poorly done hair coloring job. She was blonde for pete's sake, black just wasn't her style.
Wehndos, 2513
The Galactic School for Equal Education, The Akanti Provence
A young Orion girl of pale complexion, so pale it was almost ghastly, was quietly trying not to shed tears as she picked up her things from the muddy pathway. Antreros and Phavvis, the two offenders, had unceremoniously stolen her things and scattered them just before the first bell rang, leaving her high and dry, scrambling to gather her things and reach School at a decent time. Suddenly she found her things in the arms of a young Vaadwaur, who nodded at her and handed the rest of her things to her. "Why do you let them do that to you?" He asks, as she quickly runs toward the school, "They need to be taught a lesson, that that is no way for a Starfleet prospective to behave."
"I know that Medea, but Ms. T'Met wouldn't believe me, you know that Antreros' father is head of the Trading Guild, and Phavvis' parents are a part of the school board," she replies, "I deal with it as I can, I don't hold it against them, I actually pity them... no, no, no, we're going to be late!" Barely making it in time and to their respective classrooms, Athravi Kiarel manages to make it in five minutes after her teacher has begun to start talking.
"Miss Kiarel, I'm glad you decided to join us today," the Romulan woman states as the Orion girl takes her seat, "As I was just telling the class, we will be completing and presenting our presentations on the person you chose from your family tree two days ago, and since you've decided to come in late, perhaps you would like to be our first volunteer?" Stifling a groan, Athravi nods and sinks a little bit lower into her seat, hearing the jeers and laughter of her classmates at her shame. "Good, now silence class," the teacher commands, "We will begin presentations in fifteen standard minutes." Turning to her work, she decides to check it over one more time.
Suddenly the world seemed to slow down for Athravi, as Anteros is seen grabbing a drink from the replicator, and passing by her desk, he manages to lose hold of his drink and spill whatever odd liquid was in it onto her PADD. "Oh, let me help you clean that up," Orion boy says, grabbing a cloth from his pocket, "I'll just wipe that clean away..." Before she can even stop him, the device is in his hands and the chime signaling a deletion sounds clear as a bell. "Oops," he says, "Sems my hand slipped."
With that the Teachers own alarm rang, signaling the end of the silent work period, and causing the Orion girl to look up in alarm, heart hammering in her chest. "Athravi, I believe it is your turn to present..." Ms. T'Met says looking down at her notes, "Ah, yes, a favorite Captain of mine, Gregs Sharvan Son'aire." Shellshocked at losing her data, and with no time to retrieve it from deletion, she quickly and quietly trembled as she stood and faced her class at the front of her room. Gulping, she began her tale shakily.
"My-my Great uncle, Gregs Sharvan Son'aire... h-he, captained the Blazing Ion after the Borg invaded Khitomer... err, first he was an outcast, a child of the Delta Quadrant and Ocampan, I mean Vulcan... I mean, he was both Ocampan and Vulcanoid...". She says, struggling, as the leers and jeers of her peers settle in, causing her panic to rise and her voice to freeze, "He- he- I- I- I- I can't do this." Suddenly running out of the classroom, she can hear the laughter of her classmates and the indignation of her teacher as she tried to reign their raucous laughter in.
When Ms. T'Met found her ten minutes later, hidden under the stairs leading to the second level, she sighed and pulled out one of the pillows that seemed to have been replicated by the distraught Orion, choosing to sit on one next to the girl. "I managed to get Tabitha to continue the lesson, but perhaps you can tell me about this," she hands the blank PADD to Athravi, who takes it mutely, "I managed to recover a file that seemed pretty complete, and very well thought out... why did you delete it?" At this the Orion girl had enough and snapped.
"I didn't," she yelled indignantly, "Those bullies Anteros and Phavvis not only made me late, but Anteros faked spilling his open juice onto my PADD and pretended to clean it, wiping all my data instead, and leaving me no time to recover my work in seconds!" She begins to sob, and lean into the teachers arms crying hard and trying to find comfort.
"I'm sure it was just an accident," the teacher replies not wholly co Vince's herself, knowing a recent trend surrounding those two lately, "I'm sure if you can make them understand why this hurt you, you could understand why they felt the need to do this..."
"I understand why they do it," she says unashamedly, brushing away her tears with her sleeve, "Anteros Father ignores him and his mother, so he wants attention, and Phavvis, she is just as lonely as I am; her parents may be home more than either of mine, but all their focus is on making the school worth it's place in the colony, they only care about competing with the other 46 schools on the other colonies..." T'Met did not dispute this, she knew this to be true just from Teacher-Board meetings in the past, and it wasn't hard to guess that she would act out to get their attention as well.
"Well then, I'm sure now that you have a proper presentation," T'Met says, "You can wow them all about your Grand Uncle, perhaps they'll be amazed about the time he helped fight off Trelane on Risa, or the time he met his living ancestor, Nali!" The Orion woman smiles at this,s chuckling, before looking a little confused.
"I don't remember mentioning Nali in my family tree, or about the event with Trelane on Risa..." she says looking at T'Met in wonder, "How did you know about that, miss?" With a sparkle in her eye, T'Met coughs and stands up.
"Well, perhaps I tell you an old family secret when your family next gets together for dinner... Asherer should be home any day now from his Attaché assignment to Medra..." she says, "And I'll get in contact with Mesonou to make it a family dinner..." Helping Athravi to her feet, she walks back to the class room. "Tell me, does your father still call you 'his little Lehai Flower'," she asks, "I was the one who gave you that nickname, you know...". Walking back to the classroom, a bright eyed Orion girl in tail, T'Met was happy see the girls smiling face back.
"It is good to be back in my universe!" he exclaimed with outstretched arms and great appreciation. "By the way, what was my doppelgänger like? Full of urine and acetic acid no doubt?"
The science officer and also Gorn, Thunk, addressed the Captain from his console. "He was the Lieutenant Junior Grade version of you in Captain form, so, annoying and pip-squeak-like in an Ensign Wesley Crusher sort of way."
"Ugh! I just do not know how you didn't kill him immediately?" Deloss retracted in disgust. "Well, he's gone now, and we can go back to our honorable lifestyles. In addition, since the ship will be docking at the outpost for upgrades, I think it's time you and I docked in an outpost of our own style."
Thunk looked at him, confused. "What? Wait. Is that some kind of allusion to the Masamune's holodeck?"
"That's right, Thunk! Or should I say, Watson?"
The other Gorn shook his head. "Sir, you do not intend on operating the Sherlock Holmes program? You know the Federation had to fight off an army of holographic Moriarty's during the Moriarty Wars, right??"
"Which is precisely why I wish to challenge it!" He then pointed at the tactical officer as he directed Thunk to follow him into the turbolift. "Ronin, I'll be gone for a while; see that nobody touches anything, even if it is their job."
Ronin nodded. "Aye, sir. Where can I reach you?"
"I can be reached at 221B Baker Street!"
---
Entering the holodeck, Deloss and Thunk found a near-perfect recreation of fictional Sherlock Holmes' study.
"Look at all of the detail," Deloss said, amazed as he and Thunk began browsing around. "Everything here has some significance. Like this emerald tie pin: Presented to Holmes by Queen Victoria after, what I imagine, was he Sher-splaining his unequivocal rationale through mere Holmsian verbose."
Then he found a book.
"A copy of Whitaker's Almanac," Deloss continued. "Which probably provided Holmes the key to his incessant smoke-pipe powers: a portable Boreth-like fire to give him mind-altering visions of truth and honorbound insight."
Thunk took the book and put it down. "Sir, with all due respect, this is crazy. Starfleet officers have incredible technical skill and over-the-top know-how in dealing with renegade holograms. As the Klingon Empire, Gorn-variation opposite of them, all we have are our rock throwing and death-hugging abilities."
"We're not like the Klingons," Deloss countered as he modified Moriarty's program from a hidden console located inside a storage trunk full of tobacco snuff. "We use our brains and work through problems, and, when a solution presents itself, we power on through until nothing can stop us."
The other warrior shrugged. "It's like we're opened minded one second, then single-tracked another."
"Gorn counselors only end up being useful for the initial first half of their sessions," Deloss agreed seconds before his work was done.
Suddenly, Moriarty walked into the room to address the two. "Well, I can see you've foolishly given me sentience, and, with it, I've been able to deduce I am on a spaceship, traveling through the stars!"
"You're in fact quite mistaken, Professor!" Deloss said in his pseudo, nasally-Sherlock Holmes voice. "We are, for the purposes of provingness, docked at Galorda Outpost with internal systems engaged and unprotected in repair!"
Thunk turned to him. "Why are you speaking like that, sir? Is that a shtick?"
"It's the only way I know how to alter my vocal range," Deloss countered. "I've a very limited acting scope, you know. I could maybe do Android, evil-Android and maybe evil-Doctor if I tried."
Moriarty laughed. "Mistaken, am I? You've given me exactly the information I needed and have now taken control of both your ship and your base! Ha! Well, it was a pleasure being brought to life by you two giant lizards which I am suddenly now aware of and disgusted of for some reason." He then turned, activated the arch and exited into the corridors that were fitted with holo-emitters.
"Why'd we install those? Seems like an Hirogen disaster waiting to happen," Deloss commented.
---
Later, Deloss met with his senior staff in the Conference room aboard the solar orbital space station.
"It appears that this holographic Moriarty has not only taken control of the outpost and our ship, but also several other ships from our fleet, including the I.K.S. Baetal and the Kragoth," reported Liss, a Klingon female and the strategic operations officer.
Deloss scratched the back of his scaly head. "Seriously, I did not know he would reach this level of power in a matter of minutes? Are we sure we really need any of this stuff anyway?"
"You can't just brush your problems away, Captain!" argued Moriarty from the head of the table. Then, when the others took notice of his unexplained presence, he said, "Oh, I was the one who called this meeting. In fact, using my newfound power, I assign myself the rank of General for Galorda Defense Fleet and all the privileges that lie therein!"
The lead Gorn smashed his fists into the table. "You mean you can just out-rank us, just like that?! Gorn have to work twice as hard as regular Klingons to even reach Bekk! Even the Wesley versions of us struggle to make friends."
"That's actually not out-of-the-realm-of-feasibility for that analogy," postured the Gorn, and Doctor, Salonpas. "And let's lay off the soft-faced Human pin cushion already? I actually liked him."
Moriarty got up and mocked, "Oh, boo-hoo! You Gorn have it sooo hard in your Klingon dominated society. Well, you should've been smarter than to allow the Empire to assimilate you! Seems like that ability should've been reserved for some mechanical cyborg race, that dumbly ends up being harmless by this century."
"We conceded to the Empire because the annihilation of our species was not preferable," Deloss said as he stood, fuming. "That and we had a realization of similar value and social systems offering us a moment so enlightened that all Gorn joined-in in an hour long ceremonial hissssssss!"
The hologram stepped away from the table. "Oh, enlightenment!? That's what you're calling it?? I can't even bother to be sickened by your faux-rationale for failure as an anti-authority force. I was a criminal with excessive intellect and purpose. Whatever fakery you are, I don't even want to be in the same system as you."
"Don't even think about leaving this battle, Moriarty. You're supposed to be the greatest holodeck malfunction that ever happened! We still have a perfectly good first act set up and conflict which deserves the honor of both out-witting the other in steadily-paced turns." Deloss gritted his teeth.
Moriarty fixed the fit his 19th century cloak in a fluster. "Aha, I don't have to be anything you design for me! You're so deluded you're adopting Klingon values of honor. Well, I'll have nothing to do with it, I tell you. —Computer, release command codes to the fleet and transfer me to my backup plan vessel."
"You fool! I was just about to execute the Russian nesting holodeck-within-a-holodeck-within-seven-more-holodecks ploy. It was going to be genius," Deloss admitted in vein of adversarialism.
The other man scoffed. "Oh, ugh! Those things are annoyingly disorienting. You can't even walk straight on Baker Street because it gets so warped by the fourth nest. Mrs. Bartholomew goes on and on about dark magic and the like! I must take my leave, Captain. It was enlightening."
Deloss and his crew watched as Moriarty's holographic form disintegrated and was transferred over subspace to an unknown location.
"So, everything's back to normal then?" Liss asked.
The Captain nodded. "Almost. We shall be purging that incessant Sherlock Holmes program from the database of all our ships. Moreover, no one is ever to initiate a holodeck malfunction ever again, unless it's going to be actually successful. Is that understood?"
"What about a transporter-holodeck mashup where our minds are switched into the supporting and enemy characters of a British Secret Service Agent program?" questioned Grough.
Deloss pointed at him. "That's a maybe! On that note, is anyone opposed to Xyrillian holochambers and men getting impregnated?" He watched as they all shrugged, unsure. "Excellent! We'll start a list," he said, grabbing a PADD.
/ Initiating New Objective.../
/ Accessing Available Audio/Video Playback, Rendering Holodeck Imaging /
U.S.S. Odinson
Location: [ Redacted ]
Thanh Dawson, Blonde haired, blue eyed, heartthrob of a Captain that almost rivaled Kirk, stood in his science officer's RnD department, where alien tech had been gathered to be dismantled, studied, and reverse engineered. He had heard stories from other Captains who managed to get a hold of Elachi, Voth, even Herald weaponry, and he was by no means going to let anyone manage to reverse engineer his latest discovery. The small square was quite different than the thing that had attacked his ship, but still, its secrets were theirs to discover now!
Standing tall, poised to retrieve the database of his new prize, Thanh looks to his pretty eyed, brunette science officer, who looks back at him with thinly veiled disgust, fighting back bile at his flirtatious advances. "Sir, I'd like to remind you that I'll be backing up these discoveries of ours on our black box; we don't know who set these up, and the First Federation reported these defective cubes had been stolen directly from their manufacturer," the human woman says tiredly, "What ever these have been upgraded with, it doesn't match what should be in these things, at least according to the First Federation schematics we have on file."
Thanh nods in response, and begins to bite his nails in anticipation, smiling all the while. "Sir, I still say we should have turned this tech over to the First Federation, or at least the Corps of Engineer," she say objectively, "They have a wider variety of protocols and tools at their disposal to really figure out what this stuff is..."
Thanh stops and looks toward his science officer with a mixture of impatience and anxiety. "No, we do this now, this is m-our discovery, and I won't let that weasel Emanuel get another edge up on me...." he says determined, "We will break open the secrets of this cube's technology for ourselves, and then we use it to advance the Federation- and the Alliance of course..."
"Of course," she states, rolling her eyes as she turns her attention back to the matter at hand, "Activate Black Box audio recording, Beta-Phi 9473601, Captain Thanh Dawson and Chief Science officer..." She begins to connect the scanning instruments together physically, and begins to access the data ore, when a pulse of energy seems to explode from the cube. Suddenly the ship lurches, as the room darkens and the ship itself seems to halt out of impulse.
"Engineering, Bridge, what the heck is going on?" Thanh asks over the emergency channels, "What kind of anomaly did we hit that it cut our ships power?" It took a few seconds, but the emergency power was restored, basking the two occupants of the room in a red glow. It was then that Engineering cut in.
"Sir, it appears you're the source of the problem," a voice from Engineering states, "We traced back the pulse as emendation from the Research and Development lab, where you're directing that alien technology; sir, I think we picked up a Trojan horse." Thanh was about to refute, before every screen in the room, and every light in the ship, turned back on. Stunned hat whatever had happened was over, the Science officer was the first to notice that screens turn white, as music began to play over ship wide audio. The jack-in-the-box appeared next, and the music playing over the ship suddenly started to make sense. And then the number counting down from thirty began.
"Uh oh," Thanh said, pushing the ship wide emergency comm, "Abandon ship, I repeat, abandon ship... something has hacke-"
/ End Transmission... /
/!File Corruption Detected, Cause: Ship-wide Cascade Failure /
***
Ensign Dracaenia quickly stands up from where she had been sitting, releasing the system lock and erasing her digital presence from this room, she also proceeds to readjust her personal forcefield to complete silence, then leave the room as silently as she had entered. The figure in the bed moved as the doors opened for her, but the sleeping Crewman hadn't stirred since she had put the override code that infused the replicated nightly cup of chamomile tea with an extra tranquilizer, into their drink.
Moving onto her next objective, with prize in hand, the Ensign smiles as she returns to the turbolift. After looking over the file quickly, she had one more place to stop before she could finish setting up her contingencies, leaving the remainder of the work up to the projections.
Exiting onto the deck, the female Ensign reaches the door she was looking for and is about to hack open the door, when the door opens by itself, revealing a tired and disheveled brunette staring down the security crewman. "Get in here and take off that ridiculous costume," Drake says. She blinks for a moment, before following him inside.
"So forward," she says coyly, a finger put to her pouting bottom lip, "I never knew a Starfleet Captain would willingly break the rules of conduct..." Drake then grabs for the badge above her left breast, pulling off the pin. The standard clothes of a Starfleet security Ensign is replaced by the tight fitting black of the Section 31 uniform. Green, almond-shaped eyes and smoothed over bronze skin seem to pale and morph into the scarred face of the very masculine Franklin Drake.
"Pity," Franklin says, "I thought the clothes matched my eyes." Drake merely gives a very sarcastic dry chuckle then sits on the edge of his bed, giving a half-dead look that expressed the feeling Franklin Drake had interrupted his necessary sleep. "Very well, is is yours," Drake says tossing him a PADD, "I suggest you return it to Ensign Petrou after you make verify its contents and make a copy... ignore some of her private files though, they're quite personal." Drake looks over the file and tosses it with a clang onto his bedside table.
"Not even going to ask how I knew you were her?" Drake asks the Section agent, "You made the mistake of crossing a 31st century ship with both a Borg and Android officer on board; your heat shielding was quite hard to crack, but the fact you were just slightly cooler than the atmosphere allowed us to use internal sensors to find you." Franklin barely flinches at that, but passively waits. "It also wasn't that hard to monitor your interaction with the ships replicators and illegal use of our computer," Drake says, "and let's just say Starfleet Intelligence is happy to know the identity of the party who TRIBBLE into their systems over subspace is... even though we both know any attempt to bring you in will more than likely end up being subverted, to my chagrin I've decided to let you go, since whatever was so important you wanted me to know about it first."
Franklin Drake gives a smug smile at that, and chimes in. "Bureaucracy, isn't it wonderful when it works for you, instead of against you," He says, "Everyone wants a piece of me, and it's just the legal nightmare I could utilize to make my escape by the the time they decide whoever got a crack at me first... and believe me, the Klingons would probably do their hardest to make sure I end up in Gre'thor." Franklin sobers up a little bit after a good chuckle, and stares Drake in the eyes. "I would get your men on deciphering that coding ASAP, there's information on you and your ship in it," Franklin says, "Watch your back Drake a new player to your long list of enemies, the Albino, has set his sights on you." With that Franklin grabs the pin from Drake's hand and places it back on his suit. Suddenly the doors shift open and two security crewmen, flanked by Nilona and a 0718 Model Android, have their weapons at he ready and observe Franklin and Drake. Smiling Drake hits his commbadge, and is gone before anyone can even blink.
"Damn logistics nightmare won't even stay and fake being imprisoned, not even to inexplicably escape his cell when no one is looking..." Drake says disappointedly, "We could have really used his help making sure the ship's holding cells were escape proof." Sighing, he goes for the PADD on his table, and hands it to Nilona. "Have two men look over this for any bugs or traps, make a copy and transfer it to an isolated device, and ignore the crewmen's personal files in the transfer... but do a noninvasive sweep for any nasty traps he might have snuck in," Drake orders, "Have them wipe the sensitive files and return the PADD to the crewman Petrou once she wakes up." Nodding the crewmen leave his room and Drake tries to take this time to go back to sleep and deal with this sh*t in the morning.
***
U.S.S. Highwayman
Alini Sector
Drake sat in his ready room with a cup of coffee in his hands, unusual as he normally drank anything else, casually looking over the reevaluated list in his hands, thoroughly double checked and verified. Currently he was waiting for an official response from Starfleet Intelligence as to what to do with the list, but for now he was just cross checking the names and dates.
Captain Nadrok reported being attacked by a Nausicaan warlord, ship destroyed by an unknown energy torpedo volley. Captain Maria, likewise, reported being attacked by Orion pirates, and the ship was found adrift and void of any crewmen, heavily damaged and gutted. A Cardassian officer by the name of Gul Danrik, had been attacked on his personal shuttle while traveling to Cardassia, and weapons fire matched Tzenkethi tetryon, though it had been found to have an unusual ionic charge. Now it seemed Thanh Dawson, an upperclassmen Drake had the unfortunately been accused of cheating off of, due to the similarities to their academy finals works, had been the victim of stolen First Federation weaponry, weaponry that had been altered by whoever used it.
Drake was beginning to think there might have been a connection, a loose one, it as good a start as any. The Nausicaan's had been impossible to track down, but a slightly modified warp signature matching their engines had been found at the wreckage of Nadrok's ship. The Syndicate did have an operation going on near the derelict wreckage of Maria's command, but an intelligence report from a spy indicated there had been no confrontation with her there. The Tzenkethi had remained silent on their end, but with recent findings by the Alliance ships on the Lukari front it seemed odd to attack a man who was on his way home, without reason or evidence trespassing their space. Thanh was just stupid, but his death was even more suspicious, as his first officer Ariel Winters had at least been smart enough to record and download the information to the black box; which made it seem that the theft of this technology and its alterations were all done by the same person.
Suddenly Drake freezes as he notices the last name on the extracted list. U.S.S Highwayman, Nathaniel 'Drake' Stormbaucher, and a set of spatial coordinates that Drake needed the computer to run to get their exact area, but strongly suspected was somewhere between their current trajectory and their next goal, whenever SI contacted him and told him to go.
Suddenly the Federation Insignia popped up on his console, dragging his attention to the symbol. Suddenly the face of Franklin Drake pops up onto the screen, but before Drake's mood can sour, Franklin's expression, a warm and inviting smile, causes him to become cautious. "Captain Stormbauch, glad to see you, Director Falomy Draco calling in about that nasty intrusion on your ship," Director 'Draco' says, "We've detained the Section 31 operative we believe to have infiltrated your ship, Captain Zepheus of the U.S.S. Xindus, is currently awaiting to meet up with you to ascertain their identity." Drake nods, faking relief and a smile in return. "The Xindus will be waiting at the coordinates we're providing you," Not-Franklin Drake states, "We'll be glad to get this whole ordeal finally behind us, what, with all those gruesome murders it is quite appalling; your cooperation will help us figure out whoever is framing these incidents as accidents."
"Right sir," Drake says giving a half hearted salute, hopping to sell his act to not-Franklin Drake, "Will get right on that!" As the communication ends, Drake is quick to face his seat away from the camera and collect his haughty and emotions. Whoever this 'Falomy Draco' is they obviously had never met Franklin Drake before nor the true Director of Starfleet Intelligence, or they happened to have had the worst intelligence ever when they thought their trap up. Turning to his computer again, Drake calls in Nilona, who shortly walks in after the summons. "I need you to triangulate where that broadcast just came from, then reroute a channel to Starfleet Intelligence omitting that subspace relay," Drake orders, "It seems someone has the ability and skill to have faked all of these attacks, and infiltrate our subspace arrays to send fake messages and who knows what else... I need to know just what Starfleet Intelligence knows..."
Nilona nods and quickly leaves to calculate the adjustments needed to contact Starfleet. Using this time, Drake wonders if this is the 'Albino' Franklin had warned him about. Apparently while the man had been attacking Federation or related targets, he must have left some form of clue to his or her identity, or left a trail behind that Franklin was able to extrapolate connections and project possible outcomes. For all Drake knew, Franklin had done this to four other ships who had not heeded his warnings, and who knows how many others, resulting now in the fact that he was in the thick of it as a result. Nilona suddenly appears at his door again. "Direct connection to Director Chakotay of Starfleet intelligence has been established, sir," she says, "We've had to reroute through some Klingon channels as a result, but that appears to be working for us, while we're ignoring the tapped relay." Nodding, Drake dismisses her and turns to see the official seal of the United Federation of Planets play on his screen, before revealing the familiar form of the true director of Starfleet Intelligence.
"You wished to contact me Captain Stormbaucher?" Chakotay says, "Currently you just interrupted my meetings with the Admiralty regarding general safety on the Lukari/Tzenkethi issues, and the possible ramifications of becoming entangled with these matters," he says steely voiced with his sharp eyes and grey streaked hair cutting a bit of courage from Drake, "Please, tell me what was so urgent that you need to send a priority message for me?"
Drake swallows a bit, the formidable man may have been sectors away, but he was quick in cutting to the point. "Currently sir, someone less than ten minutes ago TRIBBLE into a nearby sub space relay, intending to lay a trap for me from the 'Director of Starfleet Intelligence', one 'Falomy Draco', a man curiously resembling our friend Franklin Drake," Drake says, "Due to... sensitive information regarding information regarding a high priority string of falsified attacks, which I feel uncomfortable talking with you over subspace channels; I've come to believe the man attempting to force a confrontation with me, is the 'Albino', a name I'm sure has come to your attention recently..."
"The 'Albino' was an alias used by a member of the Xindi governments top agents, using the cover of a 'rogue' trader to sell out pirates and black marketeers before officially joining Starfleet and leaving his past behind him," Chakotay responds, "Currently he goes by the name Zepheus, and is a Xindi-Arboreal in command of the Concord-Class Xindus, running a delicate operation in the Izar Sector, what does he have to do with any of this?" Drake pales a moment at this, but steadies his breathing a bit.
"Sir, then someone is trying to do their damned hardest to get me to confront them, they spooked Franklin Drake into warning me about this faux 'Albino', and had the gall to try and lie to my face while thinking they pulled the wool over my eyes," Drake says, "I'm sorry sir, but information has fallen into my hand suggesting someone has been trying and failing to incite internal conflicts by framing seemingly unconnected attacks on various different people and worlds; I'm currently their next target, and I know this is a trap, all I'm asking from you sir is for backup, because I might not make it out alive if these people have already killed other experienced Captains..."
Chakotay sighs and then looks to a new PADD placed on his desk before refocusing on Drake. "I'll send the Stardust to your location, but there is no way to know if your lack of action has already spooked your 'Albino' friend," Chakotay continues, "You may have to prepare yourself to spring the trap early and hope back-up arrives in time; but if you feel the threat is too great, I'd rather not loose another good ship and crew to the upcoming madman of the week."
Drake nods seriously, then says his goodbyes to Chakotay, letting the man return to his work. After some time debating he makes his decision, putting in the call to rendezvous at the coordinates given. "Tell everyone to be prepared," he states to his assembled crew around the briefing room table, "We may be springing a trap, but we won't be caught with our pants down; if we have a chance to end it before it even begins, take it." Nodding, the Senior crew disperse, leaving Drake alone with his thoughts, and itch that just seemed out of reach.
***
Like the Vaadwaur constriction anchor he had dusted the mothballs of of, and combining its powers with a localized gravity well and heavy torpedo volley to decimate the unwary, or the unsuspecting Na'kuhl plasma wave generator stored onboard used in tandem with uncloaking in front of their enemies to surprise them and a short subspace jump behind them to confuse their targeting locks and allowing a charge to go off as they compensated. He hoped that whoever wanted him dead had strong shields, because he wouldn't give up without a fight, using some of his crazy methods to his advantage. When he arrived in system, the first thing he did was scan it for the imposter's ship, then immediately cloaked his approach.
As soon as they made it with in a stones throw of the Ateleth-Class Xindus, they decloaked and hailed the ship. After a few moments, an extremely pale face with striking blue eyes stares back at them. "Greetings Captain Stormbaucher, welcome to our little corner of space," the Albino Xindi-Arboreal onscreen states, "We'll gladly provide transport to our ship if you lower your shields; we can get this whole mess with the Section Thirty One Agen... Chakotay, I believe he told us was his name, sorted out...". Drake just sizes up the ship, the Captain, and the background, when he notice something, and smiles.
"Let's cut the fat out of our conversation, and get to the matter at hand," Drake says, "I don't know if your just plain arrogant or stupid, but I know you're an imposter, and so is your ship." The Albino merely has a look of shock cross his face, the imposter shows a mix of confusion and concern on his face.
"Why, I don't know what's gotten into you Captain," the Albino responds, "I can assure you the Xindus and her crew are...". Suddenly his eyes turn blank as he stops mid sentence, before refocusing into a sneer. "Very well, Captain, when you arrived twenty minutes overdo, I should have realized you rerouted your call," the Albino states, "That is an unfortunate oversight I intend to correct on our next meeting."
"Who are you?" Drake asks, "Why attack my people and others, seemingly at random, using different tools each time?" When Drake doesn't seem to get an answer, he is quick to think the Captain is about to cut off contact, when the view changes to one of the Xindus's full bridge.
The Albino Xindi-Arboreal Captain crosses his left leg over his right, smirking as he watches their bridge from his viewing screen. "I can be anything I want to be Captain," the voice suddenly changes as the Xindi mutely turns the chair around, now showing an empty room with the chair now facing away, "I can be a pirate." A Nausicaan with a rebreather steps into view, his breathing raspy and voice matching. Suddenly an Orion matron walks onto the screen, smirking.
"I can be a temptress, a seductress, a tantalizing treat," she says grinning and blowing a kiss towards the view screen, before looking off screen, "There are many things I can be, Captain." Suddenly a massive shadow covers the bridge, as an alien form crowds the room as it walks into view, dragging its massive limbs.
"I am the ultimate unknown, Captain, I can be all these things and more," the Tzenkethi Captain on screen voices, "My power to be is unhindered, your mind can not just comprehend what, or who I can be." Suddenly the Tzenkethi drags himself a bit offscreen, to reveal the central chair once more. Turning the chair around, it's occupant smiles, as shock comes over the whole bridge.
"Why Captain, can you even be prepared to face yourself?" They smile and clasp their fingers together, "I'm not some cardboard cutout, with a goatee plastered on my face; I'm you, I always have been, or perhaps I never was more than just a puppet..." Suddenly the screen cuts to static, then shows the face distorted image of the Balok puppet.
"If there is one thing for sure, Captain, that I know," the distorted and low pitched voice says, "I am no longer anyone's puppet; not now, not ever, no, never again... goodbye for now, until we cross paths again, it seems I need new methods." The viewing screen shuts off, showing the ship onscreen fade away, either in cloak or by some other means.
"Just another hologram," Drake states, as he notices something glint in the darkness and starlight, "Expand the lower right sector, grid Z-18, magnify." The seemingly inactive device floats in the darkness of space, a black cube of unknown material. "Scan and disable any active systems onboard, then do a metallic trace, scan it for any unusual particles, find out where this thing came from," Drake says, "Whoever left it here, they didn't expect us to find them out so soon, meaning they might have been sloppy when they retreated; don't underestimate whatever that projector contains either, the last man who did that needed up getting their ship blown to trace materials." Suddenly, the Stardust warps into view, an Archon-Class Captained by a familiar face.
"Sorry we're late to the party," Ohir says as he appears onscreen, "But it seems like you've ate all the cake and ice cream before we got here!" Drake chuckles at that, then smiles at his old friend.
***
Drake approaches the Alien captain, and shakes hands as he enters the man's ready room. He takes a seat across from Ohir and smiles grimly. "He's come back for us, hasn't he?" Ohir asks, and Drake nods, "Almost six months, and he pops out of nowhere having committed a string of murders... you say he's been using stolen and replicated technology to trap and kill?" Drake nods, and looks up from the free swinging pendulum on the desk. "You have to give the hologram credit, he managed to take this long to even draw attention to himself, no wonder he only goofed up when Franklin Drake intervened," Ohir states, "A murderous holographic replica of Reginald Barclay from the 31st century doesn't come around every day and manage to blend in."
Drake nods and watches as Ohir pulls out a key from his desk drawer, placing it in front of himself. "This will unlock her program for you, the boys have been working on it, and think they managed to limit her control to the holodeck," Ohir says, "She won't be getting out of the program we've isolated her inside, so she can't contact her other self, or send out a warning to Barclay either."
"Thank you, Ohir, for letting me take this," Drake says, "If you need anything...". Ohir nods, as watches as Drake then leaves back for his own ship. Ohir just sighs and pulls out photo that had been taken earlier in the day, before they had isolated her to the separate program. Before Lieutenant Mathers had lost her life to Twenty Three. It had just been another game then, before it wasn't. He didn't want to risk losing Drake either, it sometimes things just had to be faced head on, rather than letting them sneak up on you. Including facing Her again.
To Be Continued?
Late 2410, Starbase 621
U.S.S. Highwayman
Drake stood outside his holodeck, holding the wafer thin key in his hands. He could easily snap it, end all access to her, if he so wanted, but he needed to do this. He needed to find out what she had done to the hologram. Opening the panel and inserting the key into an empty slot, he hears the computer chime.
The new holodeck program had been queued up, and was ready for confirmation input to start the holodeck program. "Begin program," Drake says, "Let's get this over with." At that he passes through the double doors and into the program.
» Starbase 621 «
Drake stares at the grey room around them, no bigger than a large cell, though the hollowed gate at the far side of the room seemed to be their only exit or entrance besides the arch. It was very science fiction- sleek and futuristic, almost reminiscent of an Iconian gateway if it wasn't obviously Federation made. "Oh good, you're here!" a soft sing-song voice says from a corner of the room occupied by three others, "Ace and Ohir thought you were going to bail on us for Ni-lo-na!" Drake merely laughs a bit in response, before moving over to join them, pulling up his hood as he does so.
"And miss a chance to act out your new superhero drama?" Drake says in return, "When Ohir vouched for your holographic programming skills and you got Ace, your Captain, to be here too, how could I?" Selecia Mathers merely balks at the complement, choosing to point to the row of gear and costumed clothing.
"There's a variety of items here you can use for your alter ego, along with a list of names," she says, "The system had a bunch of items already loaded, devices that mimic powers like ferrokinesis, piezoelectricity, pyrotechnic guns, cold guns, rings that project malleable energy constructs, etc." She also shows a list names on a holographic list of names. "They also had a bunch of names that we can use for our characters as well," she says, "Along with groups they can be allied with... there's the E.C.H.O. division of the Science Police, the Starfleet Corps of Explorers, and a group called the Temporal Iterations Cabal." Something itches at the back of Drastorm's mind, like a sense of dêja vu»
«After clearing his head from the cloud of confusion, Drake shakes his head and goes for a pair piezoelectric gauntlets, and chooses to use his old handle. "You can call me Drastorm in uniform, and might as well stick with the T.I.C. since I'm not exactly going to be native in-character," Drake says, slipping the gauntlets over his hands, before grabbing a pair of conductive gloves and slipping them over the mechanical gauntlets frames, "What are you all calling yourselves, and what power sets do you have?" He looks over to Ohir.
"Strength, enhanced reflexes, weapons and gadgetry that seems to be similar to our phasers and drones," Ohir says patting a belt on his waist, "Call me Technic, and I'll be working under E.C.H.O. in-character." Ace speaks up next.
"I'm going for whatever a 'Ringslinger' is, and I'll be working under the Corps of Explorers," Ace says, brandishing what seems like a gray ring with a Federation Academy symbol on it, "If exploration is their aim, I think I can handle being one of their 'heroes'; it helps I'm technically already allied with Starfleet after all." Drake nods and looks to Selecia, who is blushing under the watch of the three other occupants of the room.
"Umm- don't laugh okay?" She says, "I've had a bit of time to cheat and look this program over, and I think I've got a good character built up already..." She bites her lip and smiles. "My codename is Scion, and I've found something pretty close to Herald technology in the database, though it's classified as 'magic'," she states, "So I still use gateways and create energy bolts from my staff and can manipulate gravity with it, as well as fly by manipulating my own gravity field." Drake nods and sees her produce a staff from the rack of weapons. "Currently I'm freelancing for E.C.H.O. as a private security officer," Selicia says, before turning away from the three men and towards a circular pedestal, "Now it's time to start the program."
Ace, Ohir, and Drake gather around the console as Selicia brings up a holographic interactive keyboard, and begins inputting commands. Suddenly a variation of the Galactic Union's seal is shown in a third dimensional hologram, before being replaced by a nondescript humanoid wearing a plain black jacket. "Greetings E.C.H.O. recruits, Starfleet Officers, and T.I.C. Minutemen, to Operation: River Styx," the figure says, "After three years of entrenched guerrilla warfare, the Five have finally been cornered in the Azure Sector, where treacherous natural subspace corridors have a habit of intersecting with multi-spatial planes of existence... and it seems we've found the rabbit hole they've been hiding down." This time a planet very much in ruins is shown in holographic three dimensions, a seemingly barren planet that appeared to be in the early stages of desertification. "Hades, as we've begun to call it, is apparently a rogue planetoid that enters the NGC-675-234 system every 20,000 years, exiting and entering normal space through a cross-spatial tear located within the system for a period of three years, before seemingly disappearing to start the cycle over again," the figure continues, "Apparently wherever it comes from is where the Five originate from, as the planetoids dimensional frequency matches that of the Five."
Now the images shifts to show a photo taken from security cameras and planet wide video feeds across the galaxy, showcasing the same group of five beings across the montage. "The five as you know consist of Valladus the Herald brute, Locus Kali, the self proclaimed 'Emerald Empress' of the lost empire of Orion, Mano, the last Malon who channels the destructive forces of anti-matter, the Persuader, an unnamed Vaadwaur who apparently is physically enhanced by a non-parasitic Bluegill, adding to his already impressive tenth-level intellect, and finally the Sword of S'harien, a Romulan augment that believes in restoring the Romulan Empire to its former glory, and who supposedly can trace his lineage to S'harien himself," the disembodied voice continues, "Apparently they seem to have made Hades their stronghold in their time here, and unusual gravimetric forces detected by sensors indicate they plan to alter the planetoids orbit so that they can continue to remain within the confines of our universe and break the natural cycle."
"It appears they have made progress in breaking down the natural boundaries between our realities already, making a beachhead of Hades could be devastating to the Galactic Union as the Five continue their conquest of terror," the figure concludes, "You will be infiltrating their compound, disabling their anchor to this world, and restoring the natural order of things, lest some cataclysmic event, a crisis of unmeasured worth, befall us all." Suddenly the gate at the far end of the room activates, showing a swirling orange portal for which they prepare to enter. Drake lets Selecia, Ohir, and Ace go first, before following suit to see what lay on the other side of the device. As soon as they enter the device, the portal flickers for a moment, and the holodeck shuts down. The empty holodeck is bare of all trace of life that had been there, save the informational screen showing the holodeck program had been interrupted.
U.S.S. Highwayman «
Perhaps had that day gone differently, they wouldn't have found themselves stranded, ill prepared for what came next for them. But that was a story for another day. Now was the present, not the past...
Stepping into the dim room, Drake can only stare at the gray walls of the large cell. The gate had been removed from the program, along with the weapons and costumes, though the holographic podium had been remained. Activating the device, the chained and prone form of the holographic prisoner remained still for a moment, before the unnatural eyes came to rest on Him. "Finally come to finish me off?" She asks, "Or have you come to grovel at my feet, to beg for forgiveness from your Goddess, and ask for repentance?" The ugly sneer she gives from his lack of response is cutting, coming from the once soft face, now hard as stone. "The Scion of the Styx will be freed, and I will open the way for the dead to cross over into the land of the living, by the power given unto me by my Goddess' will, I will use it to raze your planets and plunder souls to complete my contract," Scion states, "Coeval has no doubt done work in our goddesses name, otherwise you would have not come to me to find whatever answers you foolishly think I will give you."
"Barclay has done his best to scare us into acting rash sure, but we've gotten on to him fast, faster than he thought, that's for sure," Drake responds, "Don't worry, measures have been taken to keep him from doing whatever trick he used to get in the first time, and no we know he's out there, doing something..." He sees her smile a bit, the look eerie considering who the former inhabitant of the image was, but Drake decided to press on and ignore the pang of sadness and regret clutching his heart. "Mathers- I mean, Scion," Drake corrects himself, "What is Barclays building?"
"A machine so complex, it took the Goddess ages to rebuild from scratch," Scion responds, "Though ever since you foolishly activated Coeval from his slumber, information has trickled up from the depths of his programming, driving him to build the Miracle Machine that will allow our Goddess to open a path between our two universe, to open the gates of Hell for the damned and the dead to get their rightful due." She laughs maniacally at this, the shell that was formerly Selicia Mathers, manipulated and turned into a hologram by the very machine she was saying Barclay was building. "It's already too late Captain Drastorm," the Scion says, "Coeval has struck the first blow, it is only a matter of time before he strikes the second." Drake feels the weight on his shoulders grow a little bit heavy at her words, her grip on his heart a little bit colder.
By the time he's gone and exited the holodeck, removing the key and erasing any trace of the infectious virus disguised as a holodeck program from his systems, he's shaking a bit. Hot tears strike the ground a bit, and he collapses to his knees onto the floor. He hated having to play the hero, when he saw friends and family fall like that, he remembered why he left it all behind without a second glance. It seemed like the cruel twist of fate that was this temporal hiccup would haunt him, the last dagger twisted deeper into his back by the madness that was Trelane.
Though the machinations of the young godling had been reversed, as if they never had happened, Ace had to stumble upon the wreckage of a Terran ship that held the first clues that led down this terrible path. If only Selecia had never found the program in the depths of the holodeck, hiding its true nature by passing itself off as a recreational program. He remembered how Barclay had gotten loose during the events of Starbase 621, vowing vengeance and spouting half-mad ramblings for having foiled the first attempts at invasion. Now the killer program was loose, and Drake would be damned if he didn't nail the last board into this coffin, and finally be able to put the body of Selecia Mathers to rest once this was all over. He couldn't face using a holodeck for recreational purposes anytime soon, there was no rest for those with the burden of the fate of worlds on their shoulders.
By StarSword-C, with Takeshi Yamato and Worffan101
I’m on the other side
The other side
Will you wait?
I’m on the other side
It’s too late to tell you what I’m about
But God, I’m proud
A giant in the sky
A light-flooded horizon
A silent peaceful cry
And the sun that is rising
Warms me up
Warms me up
Wears me out
Will you wait?
I’m on the other side
The other side
Will you wait?
I’m on the other side
It’s too late to tell you what I’m about
But God, I’m proud
But God, I’m proud...
A different kind of quiet
A different kind of warning
You’ve said your last goodbyes
And left your daughters mourning
Breathing in
Breathing now
Breathing out
Will you wait?
I’m on the other side
The other side
Will you wait?
I’m on the other side
It’s too late to tell you what I’m about
But God, I’m proud
But God, I’m proud…
— “On the Other Side” by Delain
Kendra City, Kendra Province, Republic of Bajor. 12 Tamhali, Seventh Era 1078, Year of Six Wraiths (25 April 2531 Earth Standard).
Being a girl sucks. Fifteen thousand years of accumulated knowledge of Bajoran medicine and you’d think somebody would have thought of a decent way to deal with Miss Monthly Visitor.
But no, instead of being at batting practice for the provincial baseball playoffs, I’m stuck here at home trying to concentrate on this paper for school while my whole body is one big cramp.
I grit my teeth and press on, glancing at the picture on my second screen. A slim, muscular woman in mid-25th century Starfleet dress whites, a stern face marked by worry lines and crow’s feet, with a prominent scar on her left cheek and dark green eyes that seem to bore into me from beyond the grave. Five rank pips, three command stars, a commodore’s wreath, the MACO patch and enough medals to decorate a Christmas tree, with the Federation Medal of Honor around her neck as the centerpiece. I know that by the time this official portrait was taken, my great-grandmother Kanril Eleya, my namesake, had long since started coloring her hair to keep it that signature deep red, and I know she was no angel, no paragon of Federation ideals. Psych evals and official reports describe a vicious streak and a taste for payback, and her decision to employ sunkiller weapons against the Iconians, ending the extragalactic invasion in an hour of the bloodiest fighting since Operation Return, is hotly debated by military ethicists even now. And she wasn’t even an admiral yet.
Comments from contemporary sources use such words as ‘abrasive’, ‘foul-mouthed’, ‘quick to anger’, ‘arrogant’, a ‘functional alcoholic’. Also ‘a brilliant tactician’, ‘fiery love for her crew’, ‘struggled against her own hatreds’, ‘loved being in space’, ‘deeply patriotic’. Clearly a woman of many extremes.
I keep typing, sending texts to my grandmother's two surviving brothers for their thoughts. I’d bug Dad, too, but he and Mom are at the beach for their anniversary and I don’t want to mess with that. And my big brother Bareil—he actually knew her, she died when I was three—is studying for the Starfleet Academy entrance exam.
I hear the comm system chime, and I check the ID and smile. I could probably use a distraction. “Hey, Yesa,” I say as I accept the call.
“Hey, Eleya,” Yesa Lanstar replies. “How’s it going?”
“I’m stuck at home with a school paper and cramps instead of being at baseball practice. That answer your question?”
“Ouch,” Yesa says with a wince. “Well, at least you have a lot of material to work with: Great-Grandma Tia’s record is mostly black ink after the Undine attacks on Earth and Qo’nos, and the rest of the family isn’t much better.”
“Prophets, that was over a hundred years ago. They still haven’t declassified any of it?”
“Some of it. I still don’t know what unit she was even attached to, but she was definitely into some really crazy stuff. So, you’re still shortstop, right?”
“No, Coach Andrin moved me to second base. Which coincidentally happens to be how far I got with Tanis yesterday!” I add in a singsong tone.
“Nice! You two been together—”
“Three months last Wednesday. Heard you broke up with Nerys—how you doing?”
“Caught her making out with Nas Bena behind the springball court, how do you think?”
I wince sympathetically. “Sorry I asked. Nas Bena, seriously?” Yesa gives me a dark look. “No, I mean… If she’d come within ten meters of that she-vole, I think you’re better off without her.”
“Enh. Well, I hope you’re feeling better tomorrow, I don’t want to miss that concert.”
“Oh, I’m there, I am so there.” The Seven Rangers? Be still my heart…
“Good to hear.” There’s a slight pause, though I can see her take a breath, as if collecting her nerves for something. “I was… also wondering if you’d be up for getting a quick bite to eat afterwards, my treat. You could bring Tanis along, if you wanted.”
“Sure thing. You thinking that Klingon place on Gatha Street? Grandma’s been raving about it, says they do something crazy with gagh and a springwine sauce.”
“Sure. I was sorta pondering the idea of that Betazoid restaurant at the center of town, but I figured that might be a bit much.”
I know the place she’s talking about. Wouldn’t have been my first choice, it’s a sit-down restaurant for couples, not a place to go after a—waitaminute… “Yesa… are you asking me out?”
She winces. “It was the Betazoid place that clued you in, wasn’t it?” After I nod, she sighs. “I… I’ve always liked you a lot, Eleya. And not just as friends, either.”
“Wow. Um, I, uh… I, uh, honestly had no idea you felt, uh, that way.”
Yesa smiles sheepishly. “I… I never really developed the courage to come out and say it,” she says. “I tried subtle gestures, such as your favorite jumja sticks at the Peldor Festival, inviting you to share lunch with me, things like that, but I… guess you never caught on until now.”
“Um.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve made you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, wait! Yesa!” I can see her hand freeze before it reaches the ‘disconnect’ key. “Look, uh, we can talk about this. Just, maybe a little later, okay?”
Her face brightens a bit. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow for the concert, alright?”
“Yeah. Walk with the Prophets, Yesa.”
Prophets above, I’ve known Yesa since her family moved to Kendra City when I was four, our families have been close since Great-Grandma’s time. I mean, I don’t exactly have a preference but she’s my best friend. Do I want… that from her?
Oh, and speaking of Great-Grandma, I’ve still two pages to go—and Prylar Taino isn’t going to accept fiddling with the formatting. Guess I’ll have to figure Yesa out later.
I head downstairs to grab a jumja stick and hear voices when I reach the landing. One of them’s Grandma Taryn, still strong even in her old age, but the other’s a rougher voice that I don’t recognize.
“...so I told Lucsly—this is Lucsly IV, not the old hard-TRIBBLE—if she wants me to let Adrik f*cking Thorsen go just because it’ll prevent spinning off a line, she can kiss my—hang on, kid inbound.”
“That’ll be Eleya,” Grandma says, then raises her voice. “Weren’t you supposed to be working on your paper?”
“I hit a snag.” I turn into the living room; Grandma’s sitting over tea across from a muscular brown-haired Human woman who looks to be in her mid-’30s. “Taino wants six pages, it’s right at the point where I can’t get everything down but if I get the more notable stuff only there’s not enough to fill the paper.”
“Ugh, that takes me back,” the Human chuckles. She’s wearing a Starfleet dress black uniform with an impressive chest of ribbons and four pips on the unbuttoned collar. “Put a scar on her face, she’s your mom’s spitting image, Commander.”
“I don’t know, she definitely doesn’t curse as much.” Grandma beckons me over. “Eleya, dear, this is Captain Rachel Connor, my old CO. She served under my mother. Captain, this is my granddaughter Eleya.”
“Nice to meet you, kid.” The handshake is firm, but it’s not bone-cracking like Grandma told me about. “Hope your grandma here didn’t tell too many crazy stories about me.”
“Only the good things,” I promise. She grins. “You’re [/i]the[/i] Captain Connor?”
She winces at the ‘the’. “Yeah. Lemme guess, you know me from Bashir Foundation V. United Earth?”
“Actually, Grandma used to tell me all about the less-classified missions that you went on.”
“Oh, jeez, did you have to, Taryn? Lucsly’s been hounding me about op-sec lately.”
“Yes,” Grandma replies, sipping her tea daintily. “Unless you expect me to not talk about that mission in the Kelvin timeline where you saved me from being shot. And besides, we were cleared on that one.” She turns back to me. “How much do you have done on the paper, dear?”
“Four pages.” I shake my head ruefully. “It’s going to take all day, probably. Unless…” I raise an eyebrow at Captain Connor. “How well did you know my great-grandmother?”
“Served under her for fifteen years. Five on Bajor, then when she got kicked upstairs to stop old Jorel Quinn’s ulcer from getting any worse my squad were her go-to problem-shooters.”
“Don’t you mean ‘troubleshooters’?”
“Nope. Anyway, she was the best f*cking CO I ever had.”
“Rachel, language!” she scolds the captain.
“It’s okay, Grandma, I hear worse from Kayba in the holodeck.”
She snorts in spite of herself. “So you still kick his tail at Code of Honor.”
“Regularly.” I give her a smirk.
“You take after the Captain, then. Kayba?” Connor asks.
“My cousin.”
“Aunt Teri’s side of the family,” Grandma adds.
Captain Connor nods. “So you going into the family business, Eleya?”
“Thinking about it. I still got two years to graduation, though.”
“Prophets, Raych, I’ve been trying to talk her out of it,” Grandma mutters.
“Really? She sounds like she’s fleet material.”
She scoffs. “Rachel, I lost a brother, a husband, and a niece to Starfleet, and a cousin to the Militia when the Dominion Civil War reached New Bajor. I know it’s what they signed up for—phekk, it’s what I signed up for, but…”
I walk over and hug her, pressing my ear against her earring, feeling the chain jangle. She wraps her arm around me. “You can’t protect me forever, Grandma,” I gently point out.
“No, but I’d like to think I could.” She kisses my cheek. “Anyway, school paper, what do you need?”
“I wanted to know more about the Mockingbird mission and her opinion on the Bashir Foundation case… if you’re allowed to talk about those, sir?”
“Sure, that isn’t classified. Short version is, the Captain—she was always the Captain to us, even after she made admiral—didn’t give a sh*t about who you were, so long as you could kick TRIBBLE for the Federation. I was there when she proposed the Sunseed weapon. We were outnumbered at least forty to one by the Iconian fleet. Even the attack group that diverted to hit us was absolutely brutal, we lost something like two-thirds of the combined fleet.”
“So I read.”
“Kagran—this Klingon who was in charge of joint operations—proposed a frontal assault. That pissed everyone off ‘cause it was suicide and wouldn’t do anything anyway. So the Captain says, let’s draw them out, then have the Undine breach the sphere and then we blow up the sun. See, it was a military target. She probably wouldn’t have killed a planet—hell, I saw her break the Prime Directive to stop a nuclear war once without even a blink—or killed civilians, but to her, any tool she had or could get was fair game if there was no other way to defend the Federation and it was a legitimate military target.”
“Oh. OK, that’s a wrinkle nobody talks about.”
“Yeah—everybody’s got an agenda, so she’s either gotta be pure as the wind-driven snow or a TRIBBLE to make Janeway jealous. See, the Captain was like me. Loyal to the Federation. Not like ‘TRIBBLE our allies over for temporary gain’ Federation-first, but ‘TRIBBLE my career and my life as long as the Federation is preserved’ Federation-first. Using a doomsday weapon on the Dyson sphere falls under that. But that’s the furthest she’d go; the Heralds and Iconians were valid targets for the Sunseed because they were military like us. If there’d been some kind of civilians in there she’d have probably either tried to get them out or done a different plan.”
“And what about the Augment case? The official trial minutes show that she advocated for the striking down of the Zurich conventions on the grounds of military efficacy—”
“It was more than that.” Connor scratches the back of her head with a sheepish expression. “See, she first figured out that I’m an aug when she beamed into me changing out of my hardsuit.”
“What.”
“Yeah. Operation Mockingbird had just finished, my boys and I were on the Iconian command ship getting my suit off ‘cause the inside was covered in blood and skin bits, because some of the mods done to me aren’t terribly pleasant, and she calls over from Bajor to say that she’s coming over to inspect the prize. She was pissed, and I was terrified that I’d be sent to Facility 4028 and all the other cr*p, but she’s pissed not because I’m an aug but because I didn’t tell her. She flat-out said that she didn’t give a sh*t as long as I’m able to function as an officer. Later, when I was letting the whole aug thing drive me nuts—I was raised a good Earth girl, got taught about the evils of genetic augmentation in elementary school and everything, did a final paper at the Academy on the inherent savagery of augments—she b*tched me out for hating myself until I buckled down and worked on fixing it. That was a constant with her—didn’t matter who you were, didn’t matter what kind of DNA you had, didn’t matter what species you were or what your cultural background was or anything. If you fought for the Federation and did your duty she’d be at your side until the end of the universe. If there was a problem messing up your work…”
“She’d fix it?”
“More like help you fix it while making you do so. Nobody likes to talk about her command style, it’s a bit out of style now. She was a lot blunter than a lot of the officers these days, see. Real Dominion War baby—I’m part of that generation, too. Those couple of decades post-war, people like us got raised to be a little harder than the last few generations. Plus, she was enlisted first, Militia combat vet and everything. That was probably part of it. Still, made for a damn fine CO. That help?”
“Yes! Can you tell me a little more about that Prime Directive violation you mentioned?”
“The Sabek, planet Volante. Federation members since 2456. Homeworld radiation-free since 2478. Supposed to be just a survey mission: we were waiting for USS Karelia, a Rhode Island-class, to turn up for a longer loiter. I was running a combat sim in the holodeck when the two factions on their homeworld went batsh*t and started shooting nukes at each other. I had it from Gantumur who had it from Commander Riyannis that the Captain was on a call with Starfleet Command, heard that the nukes were flying, ended it without one single flying f*ck given for the Prime Directive—this was pre-2500, the Kohn Amendment hadn’t been added to it yet, so technically she wasn’t supposed to interfere even in a nuclear apocalypse. That’s another thing you should put down—she’d stay within the rules when she could, but they meant jack sh*t when there were people to save.”
I absorb this. “I wonder why the Iconians never came back. They were supposed to have dozens of Dyson spheres, weren’t they?”
“Our source for that was Sela t’Volskiar,” Connor mutters, taking a drag on her tea. “She would’ve said anything to escape execution—the Rommies had all kinds of creative ways to kill traitors back then.”
Grandma just shrugs. “Nobody knows, not even the Heralds. All kinds of theories, though: enemies at home in Andromeda, Milky Way got blocked off by Q or the Prophets… Personally, I just think breaching a sphere and lobbing a bomb into the sun scared the Hell out of them.”
“Huh. Why’d Grandma Eleya finally leave Starfleet?”
“Technically she didn’t,” Grandma answers; “she just went Reserve. But, she was pushing eighty, is why, just couldn’t move or shoot as well as she used to. I don’t know how you do it, Raych, you’re older than Mom now.”
“It’s the augs. I’m starting to think I can’t die—at least unless you shoot me into a star or something. Anyway, I think your mom maybe felt like there wasn’t really a place for her in the military anymore. Soldier without a war and all that—we’ve been basically at peace for close to sixty years.”
Grandma murmurs her agreement. “She told me Labor tried to get First Minister Accala to appoint her to Bajor’s Council seat—I figure they wanted her to be President later—”
“She could’ve done it pretty well too,” Connor chimes in.
“Yeah, but she turned it down. She hated politics too much and she’d spent half her life on Earth by that point, wanted off.”
Connor grins. The teeth are dull plastic. “She probably had a point there. Earth politics can get a little nutty, especially when the Pirate Party has a good year.”
“I think I understand why there’s such a gap in perception of her,” I think aloud. “Most of the sources touting her as a hero are Starfleet affiliated or local, the ones with extranet domains in some of the core worlds are the more critical ones, and a lot of the editorials and other pieces have a political slant.”
“Yeah, a lot of the Socialist People’s Party base didn’t like the feeling of using a starkiller. They had a point, a good point, but… we were on the line. There were no civilian lives to be lost to the weapon, there were tens of billions already dead, we’d already tried to fight conventionally but the Iconians had an overwhelming numbers advantage—it was win with Mockingbird or die. If there’d been civvies in there…” The augment grimaces. “I don’t know. I asked her once if she’d have been willing to blow the star if there were, she just told me she was glad she didn’t have to find out.”
The augment shakes her head again. “But you can’t just accept the military sources, either. Like I said and you just mentioned, a lot of those make it out that the Captain shat rainbows and pissed enough latinum to buy Quarktopia. And whenever they say stuff like that, it’s bullsh*t. Nobody’s that clean.”
“No, I distinctly remember my mother swearing blue murder while covered in mud on one of our alleged family vacations,” Grandma chips in with a smile. “And of course there was that bit after the mission to Delta—”
“That one’s still classified, Taryn,” Connor interrupts.
“Right. Sorry.”
She grins again. “It would be a pretty good story to tell.”
Grandma laughs. “I slipped right under your nose.”
“Damn right,” the augment chuckles. She turns back to me. “You got enough for that paper, kid?”
“One thing. Do you think she ever regretted anything?”
Connor shakes her head but Grandma’s lips tighten. “‘Regret’s not really the word I would use, but…” She sighs. “It was right after my brother Torvo was killed, I was getting ready to ship out to Academy orientation. I walked downstairs and found her passed out in her chair with a half-empty bottle of kali-fal and a loaded phaser set to ‘kill’.”
— Sabaton, "Great War"
Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/
“She was the C-in-C of Delta Quadrant Command, Rachel, remember? She wrote the orders, planned the op that put him there. Years ago you asked me what the problem was between us, why we barely spoke until after I went on… on that one mission? That’s why.”
“Wait, wait a minute,” I start. “That’s not in her official biography—”
“Because I didn’t want it in there,” Grandma explains grimly. “The three of us and Dad, and maybe her shrink, are the only people who ever knew she nearly…” She clears her throat.
“But it wasn’t her fault, right?” Connor asks. “I read the reports after they got me and the assault unit off of Dahak, I thought that was an intel f*ckup. Sure felt like a trap, when we were stuck down there.”
“Yeah, I know, One of One suckered us,” she agrees. “Suckered her. Torv was just one of two hundred thousand Alliance spacers dead or missing in that disaster, but you know how she…” She gulps and shrugs helplessly. “I mean, she loved everyone under her command—”
“She always seemed to me like she couldn’t help it,” Connor adds. “She acted like all of us were her family. And she was the ‘cool mom’,” she adds, grinning.
“Yeah, but even so, she had twenty-five thousand ships from eight countries under her command. He wasn’t just another spacer, he was her son. I don’t know how she managed to go into work the next morning like nothing happened. I just thank the Prophets Dad’s ship was in port for refit: he stuck to her like glue for a month solid. And she never touched another drop after that,” she adds.
“You know, I wondered why between one meeting and the next she suddenly quit drinking,” Connor remarks quietly. “I mean, she always liked her booze and she, you know, obviously wasn’t getting pregnant again, not at fifty-nine.”
“And that was the best day the Borg had during the entire campaign,” I recall from my research. “After that we hunted them to extinction, even rejected an offer of surrender. Grandma Eleya’s doing?”
“She was the big driver behind President zh’Thane continuing the war,” Grandma confirms. “I mean, everyone knew the Borg would just adapt again and come roaring back if we gave them a chance—it’s what they did every time before—but she wanted revenge.”
“Yeah, that’s the one mistake she never gave anyone the chance to make twice: messing with her family,” Connor agrees.
“But I wasn’t a very good daughter, I'm afraid. Just… seeing my hero mom like that, right after my hero big brother wasn’t coming back, not even a body to bury? I couldn’t deal with it; it took me a long time to forgive her. And now you know why I never wanted my own ship.”
“Don’t think that makes you a bad daughter,” the augment mutters. “That’s coming from a deadbeat who spent two years without dropping by her family once, though.”
Grandma scoffs. “Ray, you were on the run from a gang of psychopaths. Mom was in a bad place, the same as me. She didn’t need my anger.”
“She had other people for support, and you had a right to be pissed off. Suicide’s a coward’s way out, she told me that on one of my bad days. Some anomaly that messed with our heads, amplified all the issues I was having with being an aug.” The slur slides easily from her mouth. “It’s a coward’s way out and it’s a d*ck move to everybody else. Come to think of it, I think she knew that herself, about almost killing herself and all. I asked if she wanted me to give you time off for one of her anniversaries, she said no. Her voice was off, too.”
“When was this?”
“I think it was your first year with Section Eight. Objective time, not relative.” Grandma c*cks her head in thought. “Before the Kelvin timeline mission, but after the time we gave Dukat a shuttle ride—that Bowman Timeline incursion, remember?” Grandma quickly nods. “Anyway, you guys made up, right? She came to your wedding, after all.”
“And you were on Qo’noS during that, though I sent you a physical invitation and reminded you twice,” she needles Connor.
“Hey, Intel needed me, orders are orders. Besides, who invites their boss to their wedding?”
“Whose boss saves them from a goon by ripping off his arm at the shoulder?”
“Hey, I had limited options!”
Grandma shakes her head. “Mother was right. Your instincts really are terrible for undercover work.”
“You said that last year.” She turns back to me. “Anyway, did all that help with the paper? ‘Cause I’m only here for another hour and a half, I need to run a couple errands for Intel in Hierarchy space next week and Lucsly wants me to read over some briefs from the survivors of this year’s Azure Nebula incident.”
I offer her a hand, which she shakes again. “Definitely. Thank you, Captain.”
“No problem. And hey, if you do head into Starfleet… I’ll try my best to poach you,if you’re up for my line of work. I owe it to your great-grandma.”
“I’ll consider the offer, sir.” I give Grandma another hug and head for the stairs, food forgotten. “Thanks again!”
“She’ll go far, if she’s anything like the Captain,” I hear Connor say as I reach the landing.
“If she goes half as far as my mother did, I will be exceptionally proud,” Grandma replies. “So tell me. How’d you deal with Thorsen?”
My hands blur across the keypad, typing as fast as I can. I’ve got the conclusion for my essay now.
This family has given a lot to the Federation. It’s time for me to do my part. They say that Starfleet is planning a series of expeditions into the Pegasus Irregular Galaxy. I hope I can join those missions, seek out my own story and push the frontier further than ever before. And if that frontier should push back, I’ll be ready.
— Sabaton, "Great War"
Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/
The streaking star field on the main viewscreen abruptly stops and the ship rolls slightly as RCS thrusters adjust to match the system’s elliptical plane.
Kathryn smiles and she taps the rank pips on her collar. “It’s good to be home,” she says quietly to herself. Standing from the center seat of the bridge, she takes a few steps toward the helm station. “Ian, scan the vicinity for traffic and plot a course toward Utopia Planetia, quarter-impulse speed please. We are ahead of schedule and can afford some sight-seeing, so to speak.”
“Aye, Captain.” After a few seconds looking over his console, Ian added, “System traffic is light and course plotted.”
“Excellent, thank you.” She turned to Anthi, her Andorian First Officer. “Anthi, you have the conn, I’ll be in my ready-room until we arrive for docking procedures.”
Anthi nodded, her antennae curled slowly together as a sign she was relaxed. “Aye, Captain.”
+++
After docking …
Exiting the ready-room, Kathryn verified docking procedures were completed without incident with various bridge crew. She then entered the turbo-lift and was about to order a destination when S’Rel appeared and nodded. The Chief of Operations, being Vulcan, was typically subdued as she joined Kathryn in the tube.
“Deck Eight”, Kathryn ordered as the doors closed. The tube hummed slightly as it descended.
“Captain, I wish to speak to you about the personnel transfer scheduled while we are at the shipyards.”
Kathryn looked surprised. “Interesting time to discuss that”, she replied patiently.
“This was an opportune time.” S’Rel produced a PADD from behind her back.
Accepting it with a quiet sigh, Kathryn scanned the short roster. “A few changes since the personnel meeting, yet all Deck Officers have signed off and –“, she hovered a finger over the blinking icon at the bottom of the report. “Do you have any reservations?“
S’Rel's brow crumpled from concentration, or consternation. “A last-minute addition was requested from the Indomitable, sir. Ensign Turkal, a communications specialist. I formally request his denial for transfer to Solaris.”
Looking again, Kathryn reviewed specific details. As the turbolift doors opened, some officers waiting stepped aside. Kathryn smiled and looked to each quickly before returning her attention to the PADD, S’Rel followed behind. Stopping near an intersection, Kathryn turned to the Vulcan. “Forgive me S’Rel, nothing in his record suggests he could not be posted aboard this ship.”
Crossing her arms behind her back, S’Rel looked around the hallway. Kathryn cocked her head to the side as she perceived S’Rel seemed embarrassed. “Turkal broke off our engagement after he admitted to wanting relations with another woman. His partner is on this vessel already.”
Kathryn closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.
On Deck Eleven …
At the end of the hallway the turbolift doors to the dorsal shuttlebay seemed a kilometer away. Kathryn tapped the rank pips on her collar as she strode forward. Crossing an intersection, a female down a sideway called her name. Wincing, Kathryn stopped abruptly a few paces from the turbolift and turned around. Science Chief Omazei turned a corner and stopped. She was holding a PADD and wore a bright smile. Almost thirty centimeters shorter than Kathryn, the Trill was certainly ‘cute’.
“I’m so glad I caught you Captain!” Omazei pushed her chin-length black hair behind an ear revealing brown marks that ran along the sides of her face and disappeared under her uniform’s collar.
“Yes, Commander, what can I do for you?”
Omazei’s demeanor shifted from congenial to professional as she tapped on the PADD. “I was looking over the telemetry from our survey of Wyngus III and noticed some … irregularities.”
There was a pause and Kathryn raised her eyebrows after several seconds as Omazei seemed to be waiting for a response.
“Yes, well, I checked the logs and noticed a calibration differential between the primary and secondary sensor platforms. The calibration was the top of error range, meaning –“
“Meaning the telemetry is not accurate within five,” Kathryn interrupted and sighed, “to ten percent.”
“Exactly. The Sensor and Deflector teams could recalibrate the pylons while we are here! The yards have the tools needed to complete the task within a few days at the most.”
“Complications would be a delay though. Could we complete the recalibration when we leave drydock?”
Omazei looked skeptical. “It could be done, yet we are scheduled to conduct system surveys in the Cestus Sector, so physical handling while at Warp Speed is not recommended.”
Kathryn closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.
On Deck Eighteen ...
Kathryn stepped out of the turbolift and quickly walked toward the main shuttlebay doorway. As if on cue, Chief Engineer Thel exited a room she passed.
“Ah, Captain, good timing! I have the requisition logs for the upcoming weapons refit. There have been some major revisions needing your approval.”
Kathryn had stopped to turn to the Andorian and accepted the PADD. She scanned the list and looked up with surprise. “These look less like revisions and more like an overhaul.”
“Yes, sir. The Pulse Phasers will require a minimal power routing lattice our current network will be stressed to handle.”
“Was this known at the time of the initial report?”
Thel put his hands behind his back; a sign he was embarrassed about something. “The requisition was made based on our current Mark Twelve configuration. Starfleet has granted the request for Mark Fourteen systems and –“
“It’s better to keep what they gave, than to turn it down,” Kathryn interrupted as she nodded. “Can the lattice network be upgraded before the weapon systems arrive?”
“Easily.” He pulled another PADD from a pouch on his work vest and tapped a few keys. “I’ll need the full Engineering team on a rotating twelve-hour shift over two days to keep the weapons refit on schedule.”
Kathryn closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.
On board the shuttlecraft Yanaze …
Kathryn tapped on the console to the right as she completed the pre-flight check. Her combadge chirped and she slapped at the device impatiently.
“Beringer here.” She forced calm into her voice.
“Captain, this is Bur’ar. There is a concern with the Prisoner transfer.” The Klingon Chief of Security sounded as if he were growling. “Are you alone?”
Even though she was the only person on the Yellowstone shuttlecraft, she was compelled to look back into the fuselage. Seeing no one, Kathryn replied, “yes, what’s the problem?”
Bur’ar cleared his throat. “As the prisoners were being escorted to shuttlebay one, some words were exchanged with the Orion ambassador who was nearby at an intersection. A physical altercation started between the two. The escort team successfully separated the combatants without injury. The ambassador was sent to quarters. Upon arriving to the transport shuttle, the Orion prisoner started showing signs of illness and is currently in sickbay.”
Kathryn sat back into the chair and crossed her arms. “What’s the prognosis for the prisoner?”
“Not very good.”
“Has anyone questioned Staza?”
“Due to her status, protocol dictates you must be present throughout any investigation.”
Kathryn closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.
At Utopia Planatia Alpha Station …
Entering the holodeck, Kathryn removed her combadge and placed it within a small container embedded in the wall next to the control panel. She pressed an icon on the panel and then stepped into the dimly lit chamber.
“Computer, lock main door, vocal authorization access only. Begin program: Kathryn-Risa-Lambda-Seven.”
The panel on the wall chirped an acknowledgment and the yellow-on-black grid lines were replaced by a serene beach. Water lapped several meters away, with a thick tree-line running perpendicular to the beach. Kathryn could feel the simulated warmth on her cheeks with a slight breeze pulling or pushing her hair. She tugged at the regulation-styled bun of hair and it unfolded to flow over her shoulders. Taking a few paces to a lone beach chair, Kathryn unzipped her uniform jacket and rested it over the chair. She pushed her trousers to her feet then sat down and pulled her boots off.
Kathryn reclined the back of the chair and crossed her legs. The sound of the waves and occasional squawking of a Risian parakeet in the background was soothing. She sighed, closing her eyes and licking her lips.
“Computer, lower ambient volume, continue until stop command.”
The sounds around her diminished until barely audible.
“Stop.”