Chief Petty Officer Voght saw a vessel on the scanner moving toward the planet at high warp. It had no transponder signal and it made no attempt to communicate with the planet or the Kestrel. She hit the Red Alert icon on the tactical console then linked to Communications and triggered the Emergency: Crew Recall switch.
Something in orbit with the Kestrel began to jam the communications frequencies.
Lieutenant Mirra made it to the bridge ahead of Mister Chuss, whose back-brace appeared to be an encumbrance.
"Incoming vessel, high warp, no transponder, no registry. Something in orbit is jamming comms," Voght said as Mirra jumped into the Conn and brought up the scanner displays on her boards.
"Helm, be ready to move," Mirra said.
Chief Voght was moving toward the exit, intending to go to her duty station in Weapons Local Control when the Lieutenant said, "Voght, I need you at Tactical. Let Crewman Ben handle Weapons."
"Yes sir," she said.
Sibley and Tanaka tied for last place in the race to the bridge, both landing in their chairs almost simultaneously.
"Warp power in fifteen seconds," Sibley said. "Chief's running up the plasma pressure now. You have auxiliary power and impulse. Shields at full."
"I can't cut through the jamming, sir," Tanaka said. "I have a sensor lock on the source: orbital device."
"I'd bet a Ferengi's fortune the Skipper's in trouble down there, but leave it; it's got to be TRIBBLE with their comms too. Is this an Orion vessel?"
"Affirmative. Lightning class. A relic from over a century ago," Voght replied. "ETA forty seconds."
"Get us out of the planet's gravity well, Mister Chuss. I want room to maneuver."
"Full impulse now," Chuss said. "Where do you want to go?"
"Not too far. Just far enough to get room to fight."
"Sir, is that a good idea? They're bound to have looked at our schematics..." Sibley began, then paused when the Lieutenant laughed.
"I hope they did," she said, "I hope they did!"
"We have legroom, Lieutenant," Chuss said. "They dropped out of warp aft of us and are headed our way at fast impulse."
"Chuss, can you do a Picard Maneuver? Put us on their aft shield?"
"Aye," the Caitian growled. "Sibley, drop shields on my mark...Mark!"
The long, angular vessel identified as a Lightning Class Blockade Runner in the Starfleet database was built for speed. The Lightning and her sisters were pirate ships from an era when Starfleet was much smaller and each vessel had to patrol a much larger sphere of Federation space. The blockade runners were more than a match for any commercial vessel and a serious challenge to the dedicated patrol vessels of their day. They had even been known to confront the Constitution Class heavy cruisers, though they had to rely on cunning and their speed and agility rather than brute force in those situations.
They were built tough, but their true purpose was smuggling. They were, like the Kestrel, designed to survive long enough to run away. Unlike the Kestrel, their shields were little more than token defenses intended to deal with small debris when moving at high speeds. Their protection came from armor and a reinforced frame. And because they were built with over-sized warp engines intended to enable the vessels of the class to sustain warp eight or higher for extended periods of time, they had power to spare at impulse speeds. The excess power was usually put to use powering any of a variety of weapons systems procured by their crews and typically upgraded at every opportunity.
When the Orion Pirate vessel charged the Kestrel she opened up with disruptor cannons which had been salvaged from a Klingon Bird of Prey. Just as her weapons fired at the scout ship a second Federation scout vessel appeared on her aft quarter and began firing a pair of Type II phaser beams into her aft shields while the image upon which the pirate Ship was firing streaked away at warp speed.
"A warp mirage!" Savaria screamed. "They used that trick with their warp engines! If they drop shields to try that again get a tractor beam on them!"
"Yes, Mistress," a middle-aged Orion male said.
She had boarding parties standing by: she wanted that ruddy Orion halfbreed who called herself Lesedi captured alive. The rest? She didn't care about them. If they could be sold for profit, so much the better. If they turned out to be troublesome they were better off dead as far as she was concerned, but she wanted that ruddy TRIBBLE in chains! Her revenge would last a good long time!
The Wildfire pivoted, bringing her main disruptors to bear as another vessel separated from the image. The same trick twice? How dumb was she? "Fire at the forward one!" she ordered as it tried to get past her and onto her aft quarter again.
As they pivoted to follow the target the warp shadow sat in place, and then opened fire on her aft quarter! The forward image, finally struck by the disruptors, exploded with a very low yield.
Wildfire's aft shields went down and the ruddy's phasers began to impact the cowling of Wildfire's impulse engines. The ruddy's ship fired a torpedo but Savaria's males were on the job and its targeting sensors were overloaded causing the torpedo to lose track of the Wildfire.
The Wildfire's main weapons finally got the Federation vessel in their firing arc and opened up.
"Shield Number Four down to forty percent," Sibley said. Recharging..."
"Anticipate where they will shoot next," Mirra said, "And overcharge that shield. Those are some powerful disruptors."
"Sir," Tanaka said, "I can try to jam their sensors."
"Wait until they fire a torpedo," the Lieutenant said. "As soon as they fire one use every trick you can to make it lose its target lock."
"Yes sir," Tanaka said.
It became a game of tag as the two vessels, each designed for evasion, tried to inflict damage on the other. Both vessels were relying upon their agility and the skill of their pilots to evade, causing the majority of attempts to strike their opponent to simply miss the target. Several times the Kestrel penetrated the Wildfire's shields only to come up against her armor, while every time the Wildfire managed to inflict damage on a shield the little scout turned away to present an undamaged facing. While the Wildfire's main weapons were more powerful the Kestrel had to be within an arc from just forward of one hundred twenty degrees from the nose of the vessel to be hit by one of the pair of disruptor cannons, and within a thirty degree cone forward of the nose to be hit by both simultaneously. Meanwhile the Kestrel's weaker phaser beams could fire in any direction, and did so virtually constantly making it difficult for the Wildfire to maintain any shielding against her.
Like a prize fight between two evenly matched lightweight boxers, the match became one of scoring points while dodging the other's attacks. Unlike a prize fight, there was no referee to keep score and there was no bell to give the combatants a chance to catch their breath. It was a fight with a single goal, but it began to appear as if neither could achieve it.
"How many more decoys do we have?" Mirra asked as they came around yet again to fire another torpedo at the engineering section of the blockade runner. The blockade runner targeted the projectile with its countermeasures and once again the torpedo's guidance burned out. Chief Voght tried to detonate it as it made its nearest approach to the Orion vessel but its control system was scrambled and the torpedo flew onward.
"One," answered Voght. "Queue it up?"
"Not yet," Mirra said as Chuss pitched the Kestrel into a sharp roll to avoid disruptor fire. "I'm thinking we need to get her on our stern for about fifteen seconds without letting her blow out our shields. Mister Sibley, how good are you at simulating battle damage with our external holoprojectors?"
"I'll need some help from Masha," he said.
Savaria considered her source and deduced that she had been sold bad information. The USS Kestrel was almost twice as powerful as the data file suggested, and its maneuverability was on par with or maybe even a little bit better than that of the Wildfire. Although its phasers couldn't do much damage against Wildfire's armor, in a long, drawn out battle of attrition the little damages they did inflict would start to add up. Meanwhile, Wildfire's own weapons were scoring significant damage to the scout ship's shields but by the time she maneuvered to get a second shot on a damaged shield facing the shield was restored. She thought of the Azhati, still in its hidden cache, waiting. She had considered taking the old lady out of mothballs for this job but dismissed it as unnecessary after she read the specifications her informant had passed to her. She had calculated that Wildfire was more than a match for the tiny scout ship. The deciding factor had been that Wildfire needed only one-third the crew of the larger vessel, and she had a temporary shortage of skilled personnel. Another important factor was the Warp Six maximum speed of the Azhati, which made it less than desirable as an aggressor inside Federation space unless it was on a one-way mission.
While she reflected on ways she might break the stalemate she saw a plasma conduit blow out on Kestrel's dorsal heat exchanger. "What happened?" she asked, trying to keep her excitement in check.
"EPS failure. Their Number Five shield is slow to recover, Mistress," her navigator said.
"Focus on the Number Five shield!" she said, though it was obvious they were trying to do just that as the Federation ship maneuvered to avoid allowing it. It took them a while to get back on the target, and the fountain of electroplasma had been reduced to a trickle by the time they got a clear shot on the damaged shield facing.
"Target hit: the shield facing is down." The navigator said it as though he was announcing that dinner had been served. Savaria was on the edge of her seat with excitement.
A sudden, piercing, shriek played over the communications system and the viewscreen pixellated to a noise pattern. It took a second for the operator to shut it off as he yelled, "They're jamming all bands! Sensors, comms..."
"I know what that means, idiot! Find the nexus of the signal and target it now!"
"I have it!" the navigator said as the static on the main viewer faded somewhat. Ahead was the ruddy's vessel with another fountain of plasma spewing from the now failed number five shield emitter.
"They're still jamming, but I'm cutting through... Their impulse engine is offline!"
"Check fire!" Savaria shouted. "I have the TRIBBLE now! Send the boarding parties!"
"Boarding parties away," said the communications operator.
"Mistress, I'm getting a strange energy buildup midships," the engineer said.
"Battle damage?" she asked.
"None registers, Mistress. I'll go look."
Before he could get up from his seat the ship groaned and began to vibrate.
"A second vessel just decloaked!" said the navigator.
"Decloaked?" she asked, and then the Wildfire shook and its grav-plating failed.
"Structural integrity failure amidships," said the engineer. "We've lost pressure from Bulkhead 60 aft, and we've lost aft subsystems controls."
"How is the TRIBBLE doing this?" she demanded.
"Graviton buildup amidships. A microsingularity formed."
The navigator said, "The other ship was a holographic decoy. We beamed sixteen soldiers into vacuum!"
"Do we still control our engines?" Savaria demanded.
The computer began a countdown: "Ossissepnass, devnasepnass, sistsepnass, vuldasepnass, acstisepnass, voulssepnass,..."
"We have engine controls, if the engineering crew can contain the warp core breach which will happen in just under two minutes."
"To Hell with that! Ram that ship!"
"They are hailing," the communications operator said. He put it on screen before Savaria could refuse.
"Savaria," the ruddy TRIBBLE in her viewer said. "Your ship is in danger of a warp core breach. We're going to begin transporting you and your crew to the Kestrel. Don't try to fight us or we won't have time to get everyone to safety."
"You!" Savaria said. "I will kill you even though it's the last thing I will ever do!"
"You're wasting time. Give the order and lower what remains of your shields. We have just enough time to get this done."
Savaria screamed. "Turn off that TRIBBLE and fire something at her now!" she commanded.
For forty years Savaria had been princess of an ancient, wealthy house. She had viewed life as a game, and everyone in it was her pawn to play with as she desired. Even her mother, who was a dangerous pawn but a pawn nevertheless, was nothing to Savaria but a means to an end. And this ruddy halfbreed runt had come along and ruined everything. Her house was destroyed, its slaves scattered to the winds. The remnants of her vast fortune existed now only in hidden caches of relics too old to be of service but too valuable to be simply discarded. She could spend a lifetime rebuilding and never achieve what she had once taken for granted. And it was all...her...fault!
She flung herself over to the helm control and shoved the male seated there out of her way. She plotted a ramming course. She set the ship's autodestruct, and now a second countdown began, this one from thirty seconds. She...
"NO!" she shrieked as she began to dematerialize. She was being transported!
Mirra watched the scene on Kestrel's main viewer. She was the only one who could understand what was being said on the Orion bridge, with the possible exception of Chuss, whose latent telepathic ability might aid him in comprehending a language he had never learned.
"Mason, can you get a lock on any of them?" she asked, leaning toward the communication panel.
"Their shields are up. I can't get a clean lock, and if I force it..."
"Keep trying. There are twenty lives over there."
"Aye, sir!" he answered.
They watched Savaria shove the male Orion. Without grav-plating he was hurled across the bridge to collide with a console. She manipulated the helm console and a second countdown began.
"Oh no..." Mirra said.
"What?" asked Voght.
"Self destruct," Chuss said.
Then Savaria screamed as she began to dematerialize.
"Mason! You got her!" Mirra said. Then she heard the familiar sound of materialization, on Kestrel's bridge!
Savaria materialized forward of the helm and navigation consoles facing the viewscreen but she pivoted while drawing a knife from a concealed sheath. She saw Mirra, screamed, and charged.
"Shields up!" Mirra yelled as she tumbled sideways over the port conn console which sagged when her weight proved too much for its supporting pivot-arm, turning what was intended to be a graceful roll across the console into a clumsy spill. When she hit the deck Savaria was over her and the knife came down.
Mirra rolled, then kicked Savaria's knee. Savaria saw the kick coming and twisted so that Mirra's foot hit the back of her thigh, and as Savaria continued to spin she kicked with the same leg into Mirra's midriff. She tried to bring the knife down again but Mirra was quicker. With one heel she slammed the top of Savaria's foot and felt something crunch. Then as she rolled away she hooked the other leg with her foot and pulled it sideways at the knee. Savaria dropped to the knee with her face in the ship's defense display just forward of the Engineering station. As Mirra bounced to her feet she noticed Chuss' chair at the helm spinning, empty. But Chuss wasn't helping with the fight; he had simply moved over to the navigation station.
Chief Voght also moved when Savaria beamed in: to the Bridge Armory Locker. It contained two Type III phaser rifles and four Type II phaser pistols. Mason had keyed the locker to voice authorization, but hers was not one of the authorized voices. She began to try to guess the password, which she entered manually. It was something Mason wouldn't forget. "Maizel." Not his mother's name. "Cerberus." Not his first ship. "Guiness." Not that human ale he drank. The password could be anything! Damn him, what was it? What would he never forget, even in an emergency? He's a human, think like a human!
The display blinked and "WAIT!" appeared. Then, "Thalys," came up.
The panel fell down exposing two rifles on racks within the compartment and four pistols in slots in the door. She said, "Thanks, Friday," grabbed a pistol and turned around...
The Type I hand phaser was small, easily concealed, and very powerful within a limited range and with a limited number of charges. On advice from Dr. S'lott Sean had begun to carry one, set to stun, in a belt-holster under his uniform blouse. He had been having trouble dealing with the lethality of Chuss when their ship had been boarded and the doctor suggested it might give him an alternative in case it ever came up again. Just knowing it was there had helped with his anxiety. And of course he practiced with it. He was really quite good for a novice, or so Mason said. When the Orion woman beamed in he froze for a moment. She screamed and charged the Lieutenant. The Lieutenant rolled away, took a kick in her side, rolled again and pulled the Orion woman from her feet. Chuss moved. Sean thought that Chuss was about to disembowel the woman. Without realizing it Sean had drawn his little phaser and fired.
Then Mason was there. "Good job, sir!" he said in passing, and he pressed the Ensign's arm down before he passed in front of the phaser.
"Lieutenant, you've been hit," Mason said as he put restraits on the unconscious Orion.
Mirra looked down to her red uniform tunic and saw a brown stain spreading from a small puncture in her uniform blouse. She touched it and her fingertips came away with green on them.
On the viewer there was a brilliant white flash and the Kestrel shook violently.
***
Waiting was difficult, as it always was. Lee stood by the door to the kitchenette, which was also adjacent to the door to the corridor. They had not turned on any lights, and in the semi-dark, illuminated only by the city lights which penetrated the heavy draperies on the window-wall, it was easy to imagine all sorts of bad things happening in the building, in the city, in space. But right now the only thing that mattered was the safety of the judge.
He had his comm badge turned down to its lowest setting and still he could hear the warbling whine of the signal jammer. It must be playing havoc with the planetary communications network which relied upon a series of satellites in synchronous orbits above the planet's equator to link the distant cities. Within the cities, however, due to the way radio and other EM radiation bounced around inside domes and around angular skyscrapers, the local communications grid was an integral part of the electroplasma power distribution system, and was very likely unaffected by the jamming device. If he dared to use it he might be able to summon help. If it was tapped he could alert the enemy to his location and they could potentially get to him quicker than local law enforcement.
Fortune had played him two wild cards and he intended to get the best use of them that he could. The first was that Dr. Sar was still in the service elevator when the Red Alert went off. Had he stepped out of it the car would have been stuck in the basement, locked until a bell-hop could be found to unlock it. Dr. Sar immediately returned to the twentieth floor with the judge's clerk. The second wildcard was that room number 2108, a floor above the room being used by the judge, was unoccupied. There was no one to panic and cause a disturbance when they arrived. Lee quickly sent the elevator car to the basement level where its automatic controls would lock it against unauthorized use, and incidentally lead anyone who looked to conclude that he had taken the judge down to the basement level. There was no way to know if his ploy was a success, except to have the attackers arrive or to wait for the jamming signal to cease.
The suite was clear, though the beds had been ransacked for their sheets. Those were now in the elevator shaft with the unconscious attackers. Lucky returned to the comm panel and keyed it for the receptionist.
"Hi, it's me again," Lucky said. "I'll stay on the line this time until the police arrive. I want to talk to the first officer you can get to the comm, okay?"
"Is this some kind of crazy joke?" the receptionist asked. "Are you hoaxing like on that pranking show?"
"No, I'm not pranking you. You did call the police, right? This is very serious, and I have three people in need of medical care who also need to be arrested for murder. Look, I know this sounds crazy, but someone was trying to assassinate a Federation judge, and I'm a member of the service that protects them."
"So, what, you go around shooting people? I mean, this is crazy!"
"No, we don't go around shooting people. This is rare. This is the first time anything like this has ever happened that I know of. Usually someone makes a threat or something, like when the judge sentences them to rehab, but they don't ever carry it out."
"I still can't believe this!" she said. "You seemed like a nice guy, and then you call me and say you went and killed five people?"
"I didn't kill anybody," Lucky said. "Well, the one guy who fell into the elevator shaft. But that was an accident..." Lucky realized how foolish he sounded and stopped. "I agree, this is crazy. But I need to speak to the officers when they arrive, and we need medical teams on the twentieth floor."
"They're here," she said. "Officer! Hey! I have someone who needs to talk to you!" Then she remembered to mute her pickup.
Lucky could just imagine the conversation. It would be a miracle if the police didn't charge up and arrest him as the perpetrator of the murders!
"Sergeant Milhouse here," said a businesslike woman.
"Deputy Marshal David Star, Sergeant. I have, so far as I can tell, secured Room twenty-oh-eight and the corridor from the elevator to the room, but I have not checked any of the other rooms. The four members of your security detail are dead. Focused disruptor beam. One of the four attackers is most likely dead from a fall into the service elevator shaft which serves the oh-six and oh-eight rooms. There are also two unconscious attackers in that same shaft so do not use it until the people have been secured and removed. My marshal, another deputy, and the judge with her staff are not in the room, and I presume they are still in the hostel because it appeared the attackers were still looking for them when I arrived. I, the Marshal, and the other deputy are in uniform with badges displayed... your team is arriving via the elevator now?"
"Just stay where you are, Mister Star, and we'll take care of this."
"There may be other attackers in the building, but I can't be certain. The squad is coming down the corridor now," Deputy Star said.
"In here!" Lucky said in a voice intended to carry. "I'm Deputy Marshal David Star! My hands are empty!"
"Step out into the corridor," a masculine voice said.
The squad was an eight-man assault team, complete with armor and combat rifles, (hopefully set to stun!)
David stepped into the corridor with his empty hands showing. Four red aiming lasers focused on him.
"Get medical teams here, there is one unconscious attacker there on the floor and two more in the elevator shaft."
"Secure the subject," said one of the armored officers. As the officers moved to allow the pair tasked with 'securing' him to pass the four dots remained steady.
***
Dr. Sar sat with the judge and her associates in the largest of the three rooms. On his lap he cradled a phaser, and his chair faced both the door and large window over which the draperies had been drawn when he first entered. They had not been opened. In the dim illumination that leaked through them he listened to the whispers of the judge and her staff. It gave them the sound of conspirators hatching a plot, or of children at a slumber party. Both ideas were somehow amusing to him, especially considering that the whispers were wholly unnecessary. There had been an explosion earlier which he had reognized only by the vibrations in the floor of the building. They could have an argument and not be overheard in the adjacent suite.
When he had said, "Charges," Lee had nodded and said, "Your Honor, I want you and your staff in the back, away from the door if anyone tries to come in. Doctor Sar will guard you."
That had been just under half an hour ago, and he could discern the impatience in the whispers of the judge and her people who were huddled on the bed.
On cue, the Judge raised her whisper and asked, "How long will we be here?"
"I do not know. I conjecture that we may be safe now: professional criminals tend to act quickly and move on, especially when they fail to obtain their goal as planned. Staying longer only increases the chance they will be apprehended."
He didn't whisper, which seemed to shock the judge's clerk of court. One whispered while hiding! He gave her a little smile, uncertain if she could see it in the twilight.
"If we're safe now we could go back to my room and I can get back to work. I detest being idle."
"Conjecture is not certainty, Your Honor. We will remain here until the Marshal determines that another course of action is wise."
"And how long will that be?" she demanded. He could tell that she was anxious, frustrated, and needed an outlet. She was using him as the focus of that frustration and her mild sarcasm was her way of relieving her tension. To insist that he remain obedient to the Marshal's instructions would only heighten her anxiety and frustration. Instead, he would allow her to achieve the desired emotional release by acceeding to her command.
"I shall ask Marshal Lee," he said.
As he rose to step over to the door he felt a familiar tingle.
"It appears I am wanted elsewhere," he said as he dematerialized in a transporter beam.
***
The police van outside the hostel was spacious, considering he was its only occupant. The two benches along its outer walls would have had knees banging had there been others seated in the van with him, and eight men would have made the space cramped.
The back door opened and an armored officer who had doffed her helmet entered.
"Sergeant Milhouse, I presume?" he asked.
"Yes, and you are David Star, Deputy Federation Marshal. Turn around please."
He turned and she released the cuffs that bound his wrists. when he turned back she handed him his badge, which he pinned on. She then held his weapon out in the way those familiar with firearms do: overhand by the barrel with the handgrip facing his right side and the muzzle pointing down.
"Interesting weapon," she said as he checked the load and returned it to its holster.
"It has its disadvantages. If I'm right in my assumption of who those attackers were, the three men I shot with it will have taken a slow-acting toxin. Your medical staff needs to neutalize it."
"Is that what's making them turn funny colors?"
"No," said David with a grin, "My weapon uses melenex crystals. It's a harmless temporary side effect."
"You said you think you know where the judge and your marshal are hiding?"
"I think they are in the hostel, but I would advise against hunting for them. The Marshal is extrmely dangerous."
"Says the young man who took out four would-be assassins by himself. What would you advise?"
"To wait for our crew to deal with that signal jammer. Then I can simply call him on his communicator. Meanwhile, I presume you've cordoned off the building. Anyone who tries to enter or leave should be scanned for medical gear and possibly the agent that neutralizes the poison."
"All of that has been done, except for the antidote bit. Your crew. The ship in orbit?"
He nodded.
"I'm told it broke orbit some time ago, and that there was a flash consistent with a warp core breach just before I came in."
"Then I don't know what to tell you. I have a high degree of confidence in our crew. I do know that if armored men unknown to the Marshal kick in the door of his hiding spot, there are likely to be dead armored men."
"You seem to have a high degree of confidence in your marshal too."
"Ma'am, he does his morning workouts with a two hundred kilo Caitian."
"Alright, we'll play this your way." She slapped the door twice and it opened. To the officer who opened it she said, "Search teams are restricted to public spaces and corridors. Only enter rooms which ask for escort. Have Aerel make public announcements in the building that this is an Emergency Response Training Exercise, and if a guest wishes to exit his room to call the front desk and ask for an escort. For purposes of training, all guests discovered outside their rooms without escort will be detained. Thank the guests for their cooperation."
"Yes sir," said the armored policeman.
"You're with me," she said to David as she exited the van.
Other vehicles had arrived since his being placed into the van. The officer who had opened its door was trotting toward the hostel and they followed at a normal pace. Another armored policeman shoved her helmet and a P.A.D.D. into the sergeant's hands. She said a profane word and quickened her step.
"Lieutenant!" she shouted as she entred the lobby of the hostel. "Lieutenant!"
"About time you got here," the uniformed, but unarmored and rather pudgy officer said. "This is shaping up to be a..."
The fair-skinned sergeant was three shades of red darker than usual as she said, "You do NOT show up at MY crime scene and begin countermanding my orders, SIR!"
Sergeant Milhouse turned to the armored, three-armed, three legged officer on the comm panel at the registration desk and said, "Aerel, disregard the Lieutenant's instructions. My orders stand."
"Now look here," said the Lieutenant, "As senior officer present I'm..."
"Not the senior officer," said Star, interrupting the Lieutenant a second time. "Deputy Federation Marshal David Star. This case involves the security of a Federation Judge and her staff, which places it in my jurisdiction. Sergeant, you have your orders."
"Yes sir," she said.
"Lieutenant, if you would, let's step over here and talk while the Sergeant does her thing. Better yet, do you have a command vehicle?"
***
Lee heard the panic in the bedroom and just as he moved a voice made an announcement over the room's telecom system. He ignored the telecom and entered the bedroom where the judge and her associates sat on the bed. Dr. Sar was missing.
"He just transported!" the judge said.
That's when Lee realized the static was no longer keening from his communicator. He tapped it and said, "Volume to five, Lee to Kestrel."
Almost immediately he got another call, "Deputy Star to Marshal Lee."
"Lee here," he answered.
"Kestrel here, Skipper," said Chief Voght's voice as simultaneously Star said, "The local police have the building cordoned off and they are anxious to find you and the judge."
"Hold on, you're talking over one another. Voght, put us on the same channel."
"Aye, sir... Done."
"Good, do you know where Doctor Sar is?"
"Hopefully in sickbay, sir," said Ensign Tanaka. "Lieutenant Mirra was injured. It's a superficial wound, but poison is involved and Crewman Brock can't identify it. She was having breathing difficulty and paralysis. Brock put her on a respirator but he couldn't stop the progress of the poison. We needed Doctor Sar. Sir, Brock says it may not matter. The poison..."
"You've done what you could, Ensign. What's the status of the ship?"
"The Kestrel is intact, undamaged. We have Savaria and one of her officers in the brig, but their ship is a cloud of radioactive vapor now. They did it themselves, or she did. Self destruct."
"I'll review the logs later. Are there any other vessels in orbit or in the system?"
"Ah, let's..."
"Sir," interrupted Chief Voght, "There are two system service shuttlecraft in operation between the planet and its orbital cargo transfer station, and several mining vessels in the outer system, all Warp 2 class or lower. Currently there are no starships in the system."
"Thank you Chief," Lee said. "Ensign, there are three lifesigns within three meters of my communicator. Have Crewman Mason go to Transporter Room 1 and beam them aboard. It is the judge and her party. They are to be given access to the guest quarters and to the Briefing Room, and Cadet Friday is to assist the Judge with whatever materials and data she requires."
"Understood, sir," Tanaka said.
"Okay, David," Lee said, "Go ahead."
"Marshal, the police have cordoned off the building and are searching anyone who wants to leave for weapons, medical gear, or antitoxin compounds. I've strongly discouraged them from performing a room to room search for you, but they are anxious to begin doing just that for any surviving attackers."
"Did you mention our observer on the balcony to them?"
"TRIBBLE! Sir, I forgot about that. Lieutenant, inform the sergeant that we want to question the occupant or ocupants of room, ah..."
"Three-oh-two," Lee prompted.
"Three-oh-two," Lucky repeated. "Sorry, sir, if he was smart he's already moved and I've cost us a suspect."
"If he was smart he'd have moved before the attack began. He is likely either one of the attackers or an innocent guest who was enjoying the view. Deputy, I..."
He paused as the judge and her staff dematerialized.
"You're in room twenty-one-oh-eight," Lucky said.
"Very good, Deputy. The judge has been transported to safety now. The police may search the building."
***
This was her third time in this cell. The first time was after she was captured by that customs officer on a backwater world that segregated their population by sex. They put her into this cell during her transport to the Federation Court on Savin's Planet. She should have been able to free herself from that mess, but Mother had to interfere and send a halfbreed ruddy mercenary to 'rescue' her. Only, the ruddy turned out to be a Starfleet officer working for some kind of Federation policeman. She had never even heard of a marshal before the fake rescue resulted not only in the loss of her actual rescuers, but of her family's empire. And now, her revenge failed, her last assets used up in the attempt, she was once again in this same damned prison cell on this same damned ship. Her advocate wouldn't be able to help her this time as she had heard he had been arrested.
At least the Good Masters had given her the opportunity to make one last gesture: that ruddy TRIBBLE was dead now, or would be soon! Just the thought was delicious. She laughed.
"What's so funny, Mistress?" asked a male from the adjoining cell. She had been unconscious when they brought her in, and was unaware until that moment that she had company.
"Valeem?" she asked. "What are you doing here?"
"I was transported at the same time you were."
"They captured you alive?" she said in shock.
"There were two of them when I transported in, they both had phasers. Set to stun, I presume. I attacked anyway, and woke here."
"How did I end up on the bridge and you in the transporter room if they transported us together?"
"They transported only me. Faezal transported you."
"What? Why?" she shouted, "That TRIBBLE had no right..."
"He did it to save your life, Mistress. We are expendable, you are not. With you goes Kmt'aa Cartel, house Ghovasse, and five thousand years of history."
"And I've lived to see that five thousand years come to an end! Better I should have died!"
"No, mistress, no. Better you should live to rebuild what was. In five thousand years the name Ghovasse will still be spoken with reverence, and slaves will count themselves fortunate to serve in your name. The dynasty dies only if you die."
"I have a daughter," Savaria said.
"A child, untrained, untested. Without an heir of the lineage to tutor her in her place in history. She may one day be fit to rule, but that day will be many years from now."
"A great house brought so low as to have one slave, one heir, and one matron, and she in prison, at that!"
"One slave?" he asked.
"You."
"I'm sorry, Mistress, but I've broken my tooth."
"Ah," she said. He had been fitted with a prosthetic tooth which contained a lethal substance. As a safety precaution a waxy resin surrounded the substance and it could be spit out if the tooth was broken accidentally, but once the coating dissolved or was bitten there was no antitoxin which could stop the progress of the poison.
"You were a good and loyal slave, Valeem. May the Good Masters reward you for your years of service."
"Thank you Mistress. I will do my best to die quietly."
Five thousand years, she thought. Five thousand years from now she could be known as the matron who saved a defeated house and returned it to greatness, or she would be forgotten. Five thousand year ago her ancestress had less than she had now and built a fortune that lasted and grew over many generations. With her wit, her knowledge, and her name, Savaria could not fail, but it would require patience and planning. She would work on gaining the first while she did the second.
The debriefing with the local constabulary was exhausting. By comparison, the debriefing with Starfleet was short and concise. Lee hoped the trend would continue when he got back to the Kestrel and made his report to the Senior Marshal. But there was one more task to be done first.
"Madam Minister," he called to the Triexian Minister of Security, and waved to gain her attention as he moved through the crowded office in her direction.
About twenty percent of the local population was Triexian, and they stood out not only for their height, which averaged slightly above that of humans, but for their strangely smooth three-legged stride. They appeared, at a distance, to float among the pedestrians.
When she approached he said, "Madam Minister, if you have time, I'm on my way back to my ship and I'd like to introduce you to the cause of all of this recent trouble."
"I am Aerinx. Madam Minister sounds so pretentious, don't you think? How long will it take to make this introduction? I have meetings which cannot be delayed."
"I would be happy to wait until your schedule allows enough time, Minister. As you know, we're ordered to stay here until a board of inquiry can convene. There's no hurry on my part, but my ship is equipped with transporters. We can be there in just a few minutes, and you can meet the prisoners, examine our ship's logs, or ask questions of my crew. If you prefer, one of your deputies could go in your place."
"I would like to see these prisoners, and the mighty warship that saved our world from a pirate ship."
She turned and waved to her aide who appeared to slide through the crowd toward her. "Aemox, let Deputy Minister Fellows know that I will be delayed in getting to the Carpathia Cantonment Summit. He is to convene and chair the meeting."
"Yes, Minister," he said. He looked down at Lee, then turned and glided away, his three legs quick-stepping in the strange Triexian gait.
"I now have about two hours, Marshal."
"I'm Lee," he said. "It's a pleasure to make your aquaintence, though I would have preferred a less serious occasion to do so." He took the Starfleet combadge from his pocket and said, "Lee to Kestrel."
"Kestrel here," said Chief Voght.
"Have Crewman Mason report to Transporter Room One to receive myself and the Minister of Security."
"Aye, sir."
"It shouldn't take long..." Lee began when Mason's voice came over the combadge.
"Skipper, is the Minister the alien standing beside you?"
"The Minister is Triexian."
"Yes sir. Two beings locked in and ready to transport on your order."
"We are ready."
A few heads turned as they began to dematerialize, and a moment later they were aboard the Kestrel.
Mason played his Bosun's Call, the signal for visiting dignitaries, and announced, "Attention all hands, Minister of Security is aboard the ship!"
He reached over and tapped the door control panel and the hatch to the quarterdeck opened. In the quarterdeck Chief Voght and crewmen Ben, Aktay, Ladner, and Sibley were standing in line at attention.
Lee smiled. "We have so few opportunities for ceremony, Minister. Please come this way." He lead the minister out of the transporter room, past the Honor Guard on the quarterdeck, and into the Cargo Bay.
"My apologies," Lee said as he ducked beneath the power conduit that divided the compartment, "It's a bit low here."
"Do not worry," the Minister replied. "I am Limbo champion of the security department. We Triexians are far more limber than humans, and our center of weight is considerably lower." She demonstrated her flexibility as she flowed beneath the obstacle.
When Lee opened the hatch to the Starboard Quarterdeck they had to pause as Dr. Sar and Crewman Brock manipulated a stretcher with a lage male Orion on it.
"What's this?" Lee asked.
"A corpse," Dr. Sar replied as he backed through the hatch.
"I can see that. As of my last report this person was alive."
"Indeed," said Sar as he backed across the Cago Bay. "I suspect poison, and I suspect it was self-inflicted. I am curious as to how it was gotten past our sensors; that flaw should be corrected. It should have been picked up in the transport buffer or by the Brig Security Screen."
He was short enough to walk upright beneath the power conduit, though Brock had to stoop as he passed.
"Let me know what you find," Lee said.
"I always do," the Doctor replied as he entered the hatch to the Port Quarterdeck.
"This way, Min... ah, Aerinx," said Lee as he lead the way into the Starboard Quarterdeck. "I'm not surprised that an Orion male would suicide in the face of defeat, but I am surprised that our safeguards didn't catch the poison and eliminate it. We'll have to upgrade our security screening process once we find out how it was gotten past our filters."
"What will you do with the body now?" she asked.
"I had intended to have the Orion charged with piracy in a Federation court. Now, I suppose I'll turn him over to your government for processing in whatever manner your world finds suitable."
"And if we don't want him?"
"Starfleet disposes of corpses in the nearest star. 'From stardust we were made, and to the stars we return,' I believe, is the line in the standard funeral service."
"It would seem a convenient way to dispose of evidence of mistreatment of prisoners," the Minister speculated.
"Which is why, before we do anything else, the Doctor will take three-dee full-body scans for the record. Of course, if you wish, we can have the body transported to your forensics laboratories for full anylisis. I would request that Doctor Sar be present for the autopsy so that I can insure we learn what killed the man and find a way to prevent its happening again."
"Oh, no, I'm not accusing you. I have a naturally suspicious mind honed by years of police work."
"As do I. It's an unfortunate byproduct of our craft. If you will follow me," Lee said and he opened the hatch to the brig.
A blue light flashed and scanned each of them as they entered. The first two cells were empty, though the center one still had its holographic furnishings. The last contained Savaria, who stood by the force field.
"Where did you take Valeem?" she demanded. "You're going to kill him, aren't you? You murderers!"
"Minister Aerinx," Lee said, "Meet Savaria Ghovasse, former matron of the Kmt'aa Cartel, escaped Federation Convict, achitect of the assassination attempt on the judge, the murder of four of your peace officers, and the person responsible for the recent blackout of your world's communications network."
"I didn't do any of those things!" shouted Savaria. "I'm innocent! I want to see my advocate!"
"She has a point," the Minister said. "She is entitled to an advocate."
"And the courts will appoint one to her in due time. For now she is an escaped felon, and I require no writs or warrants to hold her until such time as she can be returned to the custody of the Bureau of Penology."
"They have the wrong girl, Minister!" said Savaria in a pleading tone. "Do I look like I could kill anyone?"
Lee said, "Of course, your world will want to prosecute her for the crimes she committed in your space. I've arranged for the recordings of the battle with the pirate vessel to be submitted to your prosecutor's office, and we'll coordinate with your world's court system in arranging for her trial."
"I realize this is a multi-jurisdiction case," said the minister. "But that will be a matter for our legalists to work out. I'm in law enforcement."
"Is there anything else you'd like to see before we head up to the Bridge? I'm due to speak to my supervisor, and she will no doubt wish to speak to you as well."
"Look at me," Savaria begged. "I'm innocent! I couldn't do any of those things! They're going to kill me like they killed Valeem! Don't let them do this, Minister! Take me with you!"
"I think I've seen enough here," the Minister said.
Lee lead the Triexian back to the hatch and said, "Exit." Once again the blue light flashed and scanned both of them before the hatch opened.
"I'm INNOCENT!" Savaria screamed. "LET ME OUT!"
The hatch closed on her, leaving her alone again. This time without even the company of her dead slave.
Chuss entered the Sickbay where Mirra lay on the biobed he had so recently occupied, though she, at least, was able to lie on her back.
"I am glad to see the Doctor was able to treat the poison," he said.
"Thanks for coming," the Lieutenant said. "I wanted to ask you something."
He stepped over to the bed and waited as she looked at him with her strange green eyes. Eyes like those of a hero out of the Honor Tales of his childhood.
Finally she said, "Mister Chuss, you like fighting hand-to-hand. You're good at it."
"Thank you," he said, and waited again.
"So why didn't you?" she asked. "You just got up and moved out of the way."
"I would never interfere in an honor duel between rivals," he said.
"Honor duel?" Mirra asked. "She used a poisoned knife! Where's the honor in that?"
"Orion and Caitian standards differ," he said simply.
"I wasn't fighting for honor! I was fighting for my life!"
"At least one of you thought the fight was personal," he said. "I'm betting both of you did. So long as the duel was conducted ship-to-ship there was no doubt but that I should act in my capacity as a member of its crew to help you defeat your rival. When the battle became personal there was no question but that I should not interfere. It is a matter of honor."
"Ensign Tanaka interfered," she challenged. "Does that mean I'm dishonored?"
"No. It means your fight is not yet over. You were moments away from defeating her in a manner she could not help but recognize as defeat. Now? She has an excuse, and she will continue the fight. Your duel is not finished."
"She's in the brig. It's over."
"Is it?" Chuss asked. "Perhaps I am mistaken. Ask Savaria."
***
Sibley stood behind the bar polishing glasses and putting them away as he told his tale to Aktay. Chief Voght and Ensign Tanaka flanked the computer technician, and Chief Garadda sat on the stool at the end of the bar facing back toward the entrance of The Briefing Room.
"The Lieutenant was starting to tremble," he said, and she stumbled on her way to the Conn. Chief Voght had to catch her and help her sit. Mason was telling Mister Friday to tell Brock to come to the bridge, and Mister Tanaka just stood there holding his little phaser."
"I was thinking!" the Ensign said.
"Finally Chief Voght said, 'Mister Tanaka, you're in command!' By this time the Lieutenant was starting to tremble hard, and it must have been pretty painful because she had her jaw clamped and her breathing was short and hard. By then Mason had Savaria shackled and he flipped her onto his shoulder and headed for the brig.
"Brock came in just as Mason was leaving, only he had a phaser rifle instead of a medkit. 'Give me a hand,' he said to me, and he started helping the Lieutenant to her feet.
"The Ensign finally said, 'Chief Voght, your advice?' and she said, 'We need Doctor Sar!'"
"Crewman Brock said that," the Ensign said.
"Chief said it too," Sibley insisted. "But by that time the Ensign was in control. He jumped into the Conn and got busy while I helped Brock get the Lieutenant to Sick Bay. The last I heard was Mister Tanaka saying, 'Mister Chuss! Back to the planet!'"
"So what happened after that?" Aktay asked.
Chief Voght said, "The Ensign called up the Comms controls on the unbroken Conn console and worked his magic."
"I just paralleled the jamming signal and fed it into a noise cancellation subroutine," the Ensign said.
"I didn't know you could do that," said Voght.
"Well, not against active jamming, but a programmed jammer? Sure."
"Anyway, it worked. I was finally able to penetrate the noise with the sensors, though Comms were still jammed. When we got close enough to the planet I managed to get a sensor lock on the Doctor's combadge, so I sent the coordinates and the link to the Transporter Room and told Ra... Crewman Mason to get the Doctor.
"The Ensign was still having trouble with the jammer, and we needed comms. When I asked he said, 'I can't shut it off!' so I said, 'I can!'"
"She blew it up!" the Ensign said. "It was evidence! We needed that jammer intact!"
"I only meant to disable it," Chief Voght insisted. "I used a low-power burst from a single secondary capacitor. That thing had a self-destruct charge on it."
"I could have shut it down," the Ensign protested. "I just needed more time."
"It would have blown up anyway," the Chief said.
"We'll never know for sure now," Aktay said, heading off a potential argument. "Mister Tanaka's finest hour, and I missed it!"
When the door slid open they turned to see Ben and Bennie coming in. Bennie had something in her hand. It was about twenty centimeters tall and half that in width and depth, and it was draped with a cloth. She set it on the bar between Aktay and the Ensign and stood back, her head tilted slightly back.
"It is for you," Ben said, looking at the Ensign.
"Well, thank you," he said. "What is it?"
Aktay reached over and pulled away the cloth. It was a tiny replica of the Kestrel's Conn with the port console broken at the pivot and tilted to the deck. Seated at the Conn was a very realistic miniature Ensign Sean Tanaka with the starboard console turned across his lap. His face was a study in concentration and he leaned forward, his right hand on the console, his left on the armrest of the chair as he gazed forward toward some distant view.
"It's perfect!" said Aktay. The Ensign just stared.
Chief Voght turned and put her hand on Bennie's arm with her head tilted back in the Pakled gesture for amusement.
Sibley asked, "Why is there a snake on the floor?"
Carved into the deck beneath the Conn was a snake, its head pointed to the Ensign's left foot and its body forming the sinuous posture a snake assumes before it strikes.
***
The Vulcan captain tapped the bell on the table before him and said, "The room will come to order."
There was an immediate hush followed by the sounds of the assembly taking seats. The conference room was on the USS Sharin, an older Excelsior-class vessel which was still in service as a second-line patrol vessel. The room had been set up for a board of inquiry, with three chairs behind a long table on one end of the room flanked by flags of the Federation, a central seat facing the three board members with a court recorder to one side, and beyond that several rows of chairs, enough for about fifty observers and witnesses, also facing the board.
The Vulcan gave the bell three double-taps and said, "This Board of Inquiry is now in session. The purpose of this inquiry is to establish the facts of the recent incident involving the USS Kestrel and an unidentified vessel which resulted in the destruction of the unidentified vessel and its crew, with the exception of one survivor, who is currently held in custody by the Federation Marshal Service as an escaped convicted felon. Arrangements are currently being made to convene this board to hear the testimony of this survivor, with respect to the Marshal Service's safety and security requirements. All relvant logs and recordings have been submitted to this board and are made a part of the official inquiry. Have the members of the board had sufficient time to examine these records?"
The human captains flanking him both nodded affirmatively.
"Very well, we shall move on to the testimony of the crew of the USS Kestrel. With the consent of the members of the board, I would like to call the Kestrel's acting commanding officer during the incident, Lieutenant Mirra."
The two captains nodded agreement and the Vulcan JAG officer who was acting as recorder for the inquiry called out, "Lieutenant Mirra, please take the stand."
Before she took her seat the Vulcan JAG Lieutenant swore her in, then stepped over to the recording computer terminal.
"As you are aware," the Vulcan captain said, "This is not a trial. You do not have the right to remain silent, and must answer any and all questions put to you as thoroughly and as accurately as possible. The computer will monitor your testimony for veracity. Is this understood?"
"Yes sir," Mirra said, shifting to get comfortable in the hard-backed chair.
"Lieutenant, this is the second occasion of our meeting," the Vulcan said. "Do you recall the circumstances of the first?"
"Yes, I do," Mirra answered.
"Please describe those circumstances."
"I was in temporary command of the USS Kestrel and in pursuit of Doctor Aguilar, an escaped convicted felon who is still at large at this time."
"You were aggressively seeking a foe with the intent to become involved in ship-to-ship combat?"
"I was pursuing a dangerous murderer with the intent to bring him to justice."
"Could you have captured this criminal without combat?"
"Sir, I... No. I couldn't have. But I wasn't going to catch him. His ship was faster than mine; I could only keep him in my sensors and guide other ships..."
"And now," the captain interrupted, "we have yet another situation in which you, as acting captain, chose to engage in combat. The pattern is quite disturbing."
"It's not a pattern, sir," Mirra said. "I didn't seek out combat: Savaria attacked my ship. I moved the Kestrel away from her apparent destination and she chased us down."
"Regarding your movement away from the planet: when asked where you wanted the ship to go you replied, and I quote from the Bridge Recording: 'Not too far. Just far enough to get room to fight.' This and other comments made by you would appear to indicate that not only were you anticipating combat, but that you did nothing to mitigate the possibility. You made no serious attempt to avoid combat."
"You are right, sir," Mirra said with a sigh. "I could have taken the Kestrel to warp and abandoned the Marshal to whatever fate Savaria of the Kmt'aa Cartel had in mind for him. I chose to not abandon my Skipper, and I did not attack until she made it clear that combat was her intent."
"How did you know it was this Savaria?" the Vulcan asked.
"I didn't. But it was a good bet that an unregistered Orion-built vessel headed toward my ship at high warp, blocking all attempts to communicate and activating a wide-band jamming device wasn't just dropping by for tea. At the time the only living Orion who held a grudge against me and my ship was Savaria."
"You made no attempt to call for assistance or to report this hostile vessel, but instead prepared to engage it in combat based on a 'good bet'?"
"I didn't take the time to calculate a probability curve, no sir. I trusted my intuition and my knowledge of Orion culture, then gave the other vessel the opportunity to prove me wrong. As for calling for help, there was none which could reach us in time to be of any assistance."
"And what was your emotional reaction when the unidentified vessel confirmed your intuition?"
"Confidence in my ship and crew, anxiety that Savaia had something more than straightforward combat in mind, concern for my Skipper and his deputies on the planet. I suppose one could say my emotional reaction was multi-faceted."
"There was no pleasure or anticipation for the upcoming fight?"
"Captain, I like to train to fight. I'm not bad at it, and the challenge of putting myself in situations which call upon my very best performance is exhilirating. But I don't like to actually fight. It's dangerous, people get hurt or killed, and any positive feeling is overshadowed by terror that I might do something wrong and it will cost the life of someone I love."
"Then could you please explain the reply you made in response to Crewman Sibley informing you that the enemy may have read the specifications of your ship and be prepared for the fight. You said, and I quote, 'I hope so.'"
Mirra smiled. "Sir, people have been reading the Kestrel's specifications and underestimating her for a long time. She fights well above her listed performance parameters. If Savaria based her decision to fight the Kestrel on the publicly available data on the Falcon class scouts, then she had made a severe strategic error. An error I intended to fully exploit."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," the Vulcan said. "I may have you return to answer further questions if any arise in the subsequent investigations."
"Yes sir."
The Vulcan Captain turned to his left and said, "Captain Syrell, your witness."
"We've met as well, briefly, over Savin's Planet."
"Yes sir. How's your ship?"
"Better now, thank you," the captain said. "That was one Hell of a bit of piloting you did that day: disabled three interceptors in what, forty seconds?"
"I had help, sir, not the least of which was that they were all shooting at you at the time."
"An advantage, to be sure. But your aggression and decisiveness in battle were also key components in the outcome that day. And this time as well. My concern is that your aggression may be obscuring other possibilities than combat. What other alternatives did you consider before committing to a fight?"
"Sir, have you ever dealt with Orions? Not the ones like me who grew up in the Federation, but the old-fashioned kind? For them there is but one law: dominate or submit. There is no middle ground, no room for negotiation, no accommodation for differences of opinions, no respect for the personhood of others. To such Orions, one is either a slave or a master, and Savaria clearly sees herself as a master. In her mind I challenged her, and her choices were simple: to dominate me or to submit and become my slave.
"The best, the very best I could have hoped for in that situation, if I managed to avoid combat, would be to have that combat later at a time and place of Savaria's choosing, and very likely without the strategic and tactical advantages I held at that moment. In other words, there was nothing to gain and a considerable amount to lose by delaying the inevitable fight. And yes, Starfleet might have stopped her elsewhere, but they hadn't caught her in the previous ninety days and she is an experienced smuggler who has spent a lifetime eluding Starfleet. And even if a Starfleet vessel caught up to her, she was never going to submit without a fight."
"I see. Thank you. Captain Husband?"
"We've met before as well," he said. "Twice. You're a bit greener now than the last time we met. And your captain, Skipper? Was in command at the latest event. But both times your little ship got my ship involved in combat. I know of front-line units which see less action. Can you explain how everywhere you go you seem to end up in armed conflict?"
"If you recall, sir," Mirra said, "The first time you and Captain Syrell were involved was to aid in bringing down the Kmt'aa Cartel base, which was a major cross-border smuggling operation that was feeding Klingon weaponry into Federation space in exchange for Federation drugs and technology which they sold to the Klingons. Every subsequent combat action was the direct result of attacks by Kmt'aa Cartel operatives or by bounty hunters paid by Kmt'aa remnants. We didn't seek out conflict, sir, they sought us out with the motive of revenge for destroying their once great house.
"Thanks to Starfleet and the Klingon Defense Force, a once powerful criminal cartel is now broken and its last matron sits in the Kestrel's brig awaiting transport to a maximum security rehabilitation facility. If there are any remnants of the Kmt'aa Cartel out there still, they aren't looking for a fight. With any luck, the Kestrel's seen her last battle."
Mirra sat in the big chair on the Kestrel's empty bridge once again. It was the midwatch and Crewman Aktay had just wandered out on her rounds after bringing her a berry tart Bennie had made for tomorrow's breakfast. The Pakled woman was a marvel, to have so quickly adapted to a culture and technology so alien to that of her homeworld. She even knew what humans would like to eat and was turning out to be a wonderful chef.
Mira glanced at the delicious half-eaten tart sitting on the starboard Conn console, then at her slimmer, more toned abs and sighed. She would regain her subcutaneous fat layer once the Doctor's hormone inhibitors began their work, but she would work very hard to retain the muscle tone her Orion genes had given her.
She had a call to make, which was why she was on the bridge instead of in her quarters napping. Grandfather's morning tea was taken at eight o'clock, Cape-Town time. Before and after he was very busy, and she hated to interrupt him during business hours, but he would always set aside what he was doing when she called.
"Computer, what time is it in Cape Town, South Africa, Earth?"
"It is now zero seven fifty-two."
"Place the call," she said, and waited while the computer routed her com-signal through various subspace relays to Earth.
The Beryl Cruise Line logo, a green tiger's eye, appeared on the screen and a voice said, "Please state the party to whom you wish to speak and the purpose of your call."
She smiled. Grandfather was screening his calls today. "Code Princess," she said, and the logo vanished to be replaced by the familiar wrinkled green face of Umkhulu.
"Princess! What have you done?" He asked as he saw her in his monitor.
She stood and turned about. "You like?" she asked.
"Princess," he said with a stern expression on his face, "On the day you were born I saw the most beautiful sight I shall ever see. You were perfect then, and as you have grown you only became more so."
He paused to look up toward someone behind his desktop pickup, then said, "You handle it; it's just a simple negotiation. Reach an accord we can live with and still make a profit, or threaten to pull out and let someone else have the concession."
After a moment he nodded, said, "That will work. Cabo, I'm ready for my morning tea."
"Unkhulu, you work far too hard," she chided.
"Shush, child. If I stopped working I would shrivel up. So, I hope this new look is cosmetic. Does it have to do with the topic of our last conversation?"
"Yes, Umkhulu. That's why I'm calling. We have the Kmt'aa matron in the brig now and will be transferring her to a rehab facility as soon as we're cleared by the board of inquiry in the destruction of her ship. The look isn't exactly cosmetic. It's a hormone treatment that activates my natural latent tendencies. Doctor Sar has inhibited the hormones now and within a few weeks I'll be back to my plain old self again. I'm going to miss being skinny."
"I'm glad it is temporary. You look so much like your grandmother did at your age, that to see you is like traveling back in time to a younger part of my life. You keep me young."
"Umkhulu, why did you never mention that we are noble caste?" she asked as she raked her dark red hair with her fingers.
"Because in choosing to live among humans I set aside castes and prejudices. When my mother sent me away for my protection she was engaged in trying to bring about that very change on our homeworld, but when the Dian matron challenged we had civil war instead. There were strongly entrenched forces within our society who benefited from the old ways and who weren't prepared to give up their advantages. Happily, most of them went with Dian to the Empire, and those who remain in the Federation must at least pay lip service to the Federation Bill Of Rights."
"Your mother... She was Alesade of House Shafir? Then you would be..."
"The Dauphin, yes. But legends say the Dauphin is dead, and the matrons all believe it to be so. I am happy to let it remain so, so I can live my life without a bunch of power-hungry females trying to use me to advance their agenda."
"So you don't call me Princess because of my mother?"
"Dorcas was justly proud of her heritage, but about eighty percent of South Africa can claim direct descent from Shaka Zulu. You are royalty on both sides of the family. Your father is my firstborn and you are his, so you would be in line to assume the Jade Throne if it hadn't been broken and sold as jewelry when I was still very young."
"But Aunt Mavin is female..."
"And might have killed your father for his place had she been able, or perhaps his suitors would have killed her. It is a life I am altogether too happy to have left behind. It was a bloody mess, but my mother did the right thing when she tried to break the caste system and institutionalized slavery. It cost her her life, but half of our people now live as she dreamed they could. As for the other half, they too in time will be free. But these memories are best kept in the family and never spoken of, Princess. They are of a time that is past and will never come again."
"And if the secret were to get out..."
"I am too old and from a time to long gone to be of any importance, and your father is half-human. Our line has no claim to power among those who still practice the old ways. Yet some matron might try to strengthen her hand with ties to the old regime, or demonstrate her power by assassinating the last members of a defeated house. It is best as it is: fogotten."
"I will keep the secret, though I reserve the right to tell my children one day," she smiled. "Not that I have any such plans in the near future. I still have to earn my starship command."
"Ah, it's a shame. That nice young man I spoke with some time back seemed like a capable fellow."
"He's my captain. Also, I'm not his type."
"A shame. Still, there's hope I will have great-grandchildren soon enough to spoil them. I understand your cousin is enjoying the attention of a young astronomer."
"Katha?" Mirra asked. "She never went for the brainy types. Are you sure he's a scientist and not a football player on a team named 'Astronomers?'"
"You should know by now that I do my best to remain well informed," he said. "I can't have just anyone trying to usurp control of my empire through the affections of my grandchildren."
"I'll keep that in mind when I decide on a partner," Mirra said. "So, tell me about this guy. What's he like, and why is Katha interested in him?"
***
Mirra entered the brig in dress uniform, waited for the obligatory scan, then stepped over to stand in front of Savaria's cell.
After a moment of shock the Orion woman screeched, "YOU! YOU'RE DEAD!"
"Not even a little bit," Mirra replied. "What? You thought you could use poison on a Noble Caste? The Good Masters gave our kind immunity to any poison you could dream up."
"I swear, when I get out of here I'm going to devote my life to making sure you die and stay dead!" Savaia hissed.
"What a waste of a life. You could have been so much more than a petty criminal and a schemer. You're smart, brilliant, I'd say. You're not hard to look at, you were given an education and held position in society. And you wasted it all for what? Money? Status? Because you were bored? I don't understand you at all, I think. You could turn your life around, but here you stand promising what you can never deliver, and for such a petty reason as revenge. You could be so much more.
"I don't care what it takes, you halfbreed runt! You are dead, and it will be my hand that kills you!"
"So sad," Mirra said. "Anyway, I'm not here to reform you. I have a message to send, and you're a part of it. Feel free to say whatever you like. I'm sure my friend will enjoy hearing it."
"I won't cooperate!" Savaria said.
"As you wish," Mirra said. "Computer, create a monitor opposite the arch to Cell One and record video and audio from that point of view. Display the image on the monitor as it is recorded."
A rectangular blue border formed on the inboard bulkhead and displayed Mirra and Savaria. Mirra turned her back to Savaria and faced the monitor.
"Hi, it's me again," she said. "I just want to let you know that I've taken care of that little business transaction we recently negotiated. Say hi, Savaria."
Mirra turned and saw the angry face of Savaria turn away from the monitor.
"She's in a mood, isn't she?" Mirra asked. "Anyway, I'm sure by now you know who I am, so there's no question of me dropping by to collect the bounty. And you can keep the thirty-six bricks of latinum; they were hers anyway."
"Thirty-six bricks?" Savaria screeched, turning around to look at Mirra.
"As of now the Kmt'aa Cartel is no more. Anyone claiming to be a member of that failed family is a masterless pretender..."
"Whoever you are, I'll pay seventy-two bricks for this TRIBBLE's head! House Ghovasse still has assets and power! I'll be free of this Federation cage soon, and whoever hands me the head of this ruddy halfbreed will earn my undying gratitude!"
"As you can see," Mirra continued as if Savaria had never spoken, "I have the last matron of the Kmt'aa Cartel in my custody, and I also have her heir, who will soon forget she was ever a part of it."
"Kill her! I can pay! I have assets, slaves, and a name that goes back five thousand years! I'm Savaria Ghovasse! Kill the ruddy TRIBBLE and earn my favor, and my latinum!"
"For my part, our business is concluded. If your matrons should think there is still some matter between us,"
Mirra tapped the force field with a tip of one finger, placed to obscure Savaria's face when the screen pulsed in response.
"Remind them of the fate of House Ghovasse," Mirra said. "Computer, end recording. I'll edit it later."
The computer chirped as Mirra turned back to face Savaria.
"Don't worry, I'll leave in every word you said. Enjoy your hate, because it's all you will ever have of me. I think this will be the last time we see one another. As I said, for my part, our business is concluded. Goodbye, Savaria."
Mirra turned and headed to the hatch as Savaria screamed a long, inarticulate scream of hate and frustration. "Exit," she said, and the blue light scanned her before the hatch opened.
"I'll kill you! You're dead! You'll see! I'll kill you!" Savaria screamed as the hatch closed behind Mirra.
The troops of MACO 3rd Light Infantry Battalion, D Company were in formation facing the closed bay door. 256 troops in eight columns, all in zero-g combat armor with a red chess piece on their right pauldron and the UFP pennant on the left.
To the right of the formation was a platoon of Combat Engineers tethered to their heavy equipment sleds, and behind them a platoon of Heavy Weapons Infantry in powered suits built to field the tetryon-based Breaching Rifles, which could disrupt a small starship's shields, given enough time.
Specialist Sergeant Brock was near the door with the Company Command cadre, watching Major Goft. He listened to the command channel as the major issued a final briefing to his lieutenants.
He had been here before, he realized.
The ship shook.
The lights went red, and the lieutenants double-timed back to their platoons.
"Don't open the door!" he wanted to scream. He knew what came next.
He couldn't scream. He couldn't move. It was happening again, just like last time.
The outer, armored door began to roll up, and air molecules pressing against it highlighted the atmospheric shield against the bright stars beyond.
The monster in the night, a massive black lion-fish, visible only by the stars it occluded, slid into view.
"Cover!" he tried to shout, but just as he had done the first time, he stood mesmerized by the silent killer closing in.
An orange beam, then another, played out from the monster's snout. The ship shook violently, lights went out, and the grav plating failed.
A moment of disorientation was the only effect on troops trained in orbital assault, but in his head Brock was screaming, "No! No! No!"
The third beam lanced across the ship, across the open bay door, through the atmospheric shield as if it was not there.
Brock missed instant vaporization by a meter. The Major was not so lucky. About a third of the Red Knights Battalion, Dog Company were not as lucky either, and when the shield went down the air pressure shoved everyone toward the open door, including the heavy weapons troops who became entangled with the engineers.
As he flew out into space Brock saw numbers scrolling across his faceplate HUD. The identification numbers of the soldiers who were wounded. Or dead.
The first time this had happened the numbers went by so fast he couldn't see them as discrete numbers. Just red numbers for wounded and black for dead. There was nothing he could do for any of them as he fought to gain control of his trajectory and attitude. This time he could see them. Names. People he had known.
As the black lion-fish passed silently nearby more names flashed across his HUD. Bright orange beams played from the nose of the vessel and a noise, finally, as of a great slap to his entire body, illuminated with an intensity beyond the ability of his polarizing faceplate to block.
"Radiation warning," his suit's voice said. Another list of IDs, all black, scrolled by. The warp core of the USS Falklands exploded.
Brock knew the entire crew of the troop transport was gone, though at the time he had no way to know, and far more important things to worry about.
After the black ship faded into the night, comms came back. On the command channel the surviving lieutenants were issuing contradictory, in some cases impossible orders. Brock called up his company status display, toggled to wounded, and cried.
He had not done that the first time. Eight wounded. He had sighed with relief, then. His suit's computer calculated their location. He could get to the nearest by using up most of his suit's propellant mass. He couldn't get to any of the others.
First Lieutenant Gaddok called for order. "We're going to land on that sphere, no matter what," the Telarite said. "We have a mission. We can die scattered across the sphere, or we can die doing what we came here to do. Form up on your best course to our LZ and get your troops organized. Don't worry about platoons, grab anyone close to your vector. The sooner we form up the better chance we have to accomplish something."
Brock knew what was down there, on the surface of the Iconian Sphere. He knew because he had been there. This wasn't real.
He could stop it.
He could wake up.
Wake up.
Wake.
Up.
He sat up in his bed. Cold, wet sheets clung to him. He wasn't on the hospital ship. He remembered the throbbing pain in his leg. His leg was fine. Healed physically, anyway.
Memory was another thing, and it took an act of will to avoid her cruel tug. He didn't want to remember the sphere.
He got out of bed and toweled off before tapping his console.
"Jan, if you're up, I could use a friend. The dreams again. I managed to wake up this time. I hope that's a good sign. I'm not really sure I'm making progress, sometimes. I..."
The comm glowed with an image of a human with a close haircut that did little to conceal her feminine face. "Em," she said. "I wasn't sleeping. I'm on night shift this month. Are you okay now?"
He sighed and sat in the desk chair. "Yeah. It's just easier to deal with the memories when I'm talking to you."
"I guess you got the news about Toby yesterday?"
"In the Gamma Quadrant. Is it strange that I feel like I abandoned him?"
"I know. There weren't that many of us after The Sphere. I take it personally every time we lose another one."
"Come in, David," Lee said, standing up from his wall-desk and stretching. "Grab something from the replicator if you like."
"Coffee, black," he said. "Want something, Skipper?"
"No thanks. I'm nursing my tea." Lee stepped over to the couch and sat down.
"Croaker tells me you are ready to return to full duty."
"So I'm told. I've been ready for a while now."
Lucky took the seat opposite Lee, sipped his coffee, and set it down.
"Ready, yes. You've been trained for combat. Your father? I'd like to meet him some day. Most new deputies aren't.
"But there is another reason I wanted you working with the doctor. I spent two years as his assistant, and almost everything I know about crime scene forensics I learned from him. I was hoping you'd have an opportunity to get a solid grounding in our work. More than any other skill, the ability to recreate the crime from what is left behind should be cultivated. I know it's taught at the academy, but there's no better teacher than our Doctor Sar."
"He's had me reviewing old cases, and of course, we did it at Tantalus."
"I have another task for you, along those lines. Marshal Seifer has some leads she needs help with. We have information about some medical equipment that has gone missing, but it hasn't been reported as stolen. It appears that a salesman with the manufacturer provided biostasis equipment to a client, and when he reached out to the client, the client claimed to have never ordered or received the tubes.
"The modules are similar to those used by Dr. Aguilar in his cloning lab, so naturally we want to find out what happened to them.
"Your job for now is to go through the available data to see if the equipment can be traced to the point it fell off of the books, then develop a plan to discover where it went afterward. The data file Vargent Industries has what we know so far.
"While Friday and the rest of the crew can be called upon to help in their areas of expertise, but it's your investigation. Don't monopolize the crew's time or let your problems interfere with their work."
"Understood. Sir, I noticed that you said nothing about yourself, Dr. Sar, or Mr. Chuss."
"We're part of the Service. If you need our help ask. But think of this as a test. We want to see what you can do."
Mr. Chuss pulled the starboard Conn control board across his lap. "Helm, two points positive, Navigator, plot the target's reaction."
"Two degrees dorsal, aye," Sibley said from the Helm station.
"Target compensated. One point eight second delay, overcompensated and corrected by two point six. Target one-eight-oh by one-eight-oh."
"Okay, helm. We're going to perform an Immelman on my mark, while the target is correcting from our preliminary maneuver. Navigator, maintain target lock."
"Aye," they said in succession.
"Two points positive," Chuss said.
"Two points, aye," Sibley said.
"Target compensating," Mason said.
"Mark!" Chess said.
The starfield rolled down rapidly, and as it stabilized an upside down Falcon class ship flew straight toward them.
"Roll away from its evasion and make a hard ventral turn to get on its tail," Chess said.
As the enemy vessel veered to port to avoid a collision, the Kestrel rolled to starboard and down until the enemy Falcon appeared in the lower starboard of the viewscrene. As the enemy vessel tried to dodge, Sibley did his best to keep it centered in the main viewer.
"Navigator, anticipate its corrections. You must predict its future position for Helm and Weapons."
"Closing in on target, sir!" Sibley said.
"Too close, Helm. Two kilometers is optimum."
"Its shields went down," Mason said.
The warp nacelles of the scoutship on the viewer began to glow, then the vessel went to warp. Instead of a clean warp trail, a pillar of fire lanced out. The view screen ploughed into it, then flashed red.
"That is the first time I've seen that happen," Chuss said.
"What happened?" Mason asked.
"Your number one shield intersected with the enemy vessel's warp shell. When the ship went to warp its warp shell collapsed. Matter cannot achieve superluminal velocities in Einsteinian space."
"We lost?" Sibley asked.
"It was a maneuver scenario, not a combat scenario," Chuss said. "You didn't lose, you failed. But you did well otherwise."
"Let's run it again," Mason said.
"It is never the same twice," Chuss said. "Next time Sibley will be on Navigation.
"Deputies to the Marshall's office," Friday announced.
"It looks like you'll have two days to practice," Chuss said. "I'll see you then."
As he left the bridge he heard the two discussing the exercise. They were begining to realize the difference between being minimally qualified to man a bridge station and being rated as a combat pilot.
He was learning as well. Humans learned, but they learned differently from Caitians. His training had not been in simulations.
Lee and David were seated as Chuss entered. Behind him was the doctor.
"Are you feeling discomfort without the brace?" He asked.
"Stiffness more than discomfort. I want to stretch."
"Not without the brace, for a few more days. And don't sleep without it."
"I will not disrespect you, Doctor." Chuss said.
"I know you won't," Dr.Sar said. "I apologize; I am used to dealing with human patients, who tend to be less considerate."
"Why do I get the feeling he's talking about me?" Lee asked as the Chief Engineer entered.
"Because you are a keen observer of human behavior," Lucky said.
"Never to young to suck up to the boss, kid," Chief Garadda said. "Anybody want something?"
The Chief stepped up to the replicator and ordered coffee.
"Shreem for me," said the Caitian.
Lee "All right, everyone get comfortable. I've given David an assignment, and he's gotten some preliminary results. He also has a plan for the next steps in the investigation, and this is where you all come in.
"We need to review the plan, see if there are any missing elements or improvements we can add.
"A Mr. Mors Akhim of Vargent Industries Ag. is a customer service representative. In a routine follow-up call to a client, Dagmar Biomedical Research Laboratories, which had placed an order for twenty-four biomedical stasis chambers, he was informed by Ms. Tana D'Sil, Senior Vice Administrator of Procurement for Dagmar Biomed, that no such order had been placed.
"Mr. Akhim was understandably curious, because the factory was delivering the fourth unit, and the previous ones had been signed as received in good condition, with credit rendered to Vargent Industries, apparently by Dagmar.
"Vargent was responsible for delivery to an intermodal facility on Faradi 3, where agents of Dagmar were to receive the units, along with other materials destined for Dagmar Labs. Apparently, Dagmar has had no interruption of the other materiels they did order.
"I have asked both Mr. Mors and Ms. D'Sil to keep this investigation as confidential as possible without violating their ethical responsibilities to their respective companies, and I have asked Mr. Mors to continue the delivery of the stasis tubes until notified.
"There are three primary leads to investigate: the buyer's money-trail, the personnel at the intermodal facility where the units are last known to have been, and the transportation network that utilizes the intermodal facility.
"The first is a little above my skill level. If I was to start tracking the credit transfer records, I'm certain whoever falsified them would be alerted. I recommend Mr. Chuss for that job.
"The second is in line with the Marshall's expertise. He is less likely to accidentally expose himself and his purpose in investigating the personnel of the facility to determine who is redirecting the merchandise.
"The third,"
"Why do you presume that someone on the station is responsible for redirecting the merchandise?" Dr. Sat asked.
"That ties in with my third lead," Lucky said. ""I have searched public databases for known traffic to and from Faradi 3, with emphasis on the intermodal facility.
"Vargent used a freight service for transport, which subcontracted merchant vessels that happened to be going that way. No two vessels on the scheduled deliveries were the same, so our being responsible for redirection would have had to be on or suborn individuals on or connected with each vessel. It is more logical that the redirector is in one of the two places each delivery has in common: the starting and ending points. Since none of the transports involved indicate anomalies, the terminal point appears to be most likely where the redirection occurs."
"Thank you," Dr. Sar said. "Please continue."
"Which leads me to consider the next leg of the journey. Of all the traffic around the Faradi 3 facility, most is local, to and from the planet, or to the various orbital and planetary facilities. While I do not rule them out, I do not see any pattern of interstellar traffic in the system, except what goes through the hub.
"And there is a coincidental timing issue with the route liner Morning Glory. It appears to have a regular schedule to six systems, which brings it back to Faradi every six weeks. The route is marginally profitable, with subsidies from the world's served; her crew isn't likely to strike it rich or retire wealthy. But it is the only vessel that has visited the station within a week of the delivery of every shipment of the merchandise, including the second delivery in which Morning Glory spent an unscheduled extra day at the station. It left on the same day that the second delivery arrived.
"You have a task for me," Chuss said, "And you have a task for Lee. Why do I get the feeling you have already selected a task for yourself?"
"Because you are a keen observer of human behavior," Lee said. "David?"
"I propose that my skills are best suited to the legwork portion of this investigation. I've instructed Mr. Akhim to deliver unit five on schedule. We will verify that it arrives on Faradi, and that it is loaded onto Morning Glory. If my suspicions prove out, I will board Morning Glory as a passenger and keep watch on the cargo with the intention of discovering where it is unloaded."
"Dangerous," the Chief said. "You can't take on a shipload of smugglers by yourself."
"I don't intend to. In fact, I don't intend to let anyone know I'm anything but a corporate data courier. My plan is to board at Faradi and disembark when the ship returns. My destination is Govall, a relatively unpopulated world that is visited by Morning Glory every six weeks, and otherwise almost never visited by a starship. If one wants to get to Govall, one goes aboard Morning Glory.
"I will carry a compact subspace communicator with me and alert Kestrel when the cargo is delivered. Otherwise, I'll wait for you at Govall."
Lucky boarded the Morning Glory through it's passenger airlock. He noticed that its quarterdeck was clean and smelled of perfume, presumably provided by the deep blue flowers on the plants arranged on the trellis around the airlock hatch. He noticed their pale cream-colored centers around a small yellow ovary, and then Karen walked in, and he failed to notice anything else until he was standing in front of a cabin door with Karen holding his palm to the door lock.
"Dinner is at eighteen- hundred. First night is formal. Don't be late!"
He watched her walk away, his wrist still tingling from her touch. She turned left at the passageway's end and vanished. Her spell was broken.
He entered the cabin. It was not as big as his quarters on the Kestrel, but it looked comfortable. Flowers like those in the quarterdeck were painted along the top of the wall, green foliage and all, drooping down the wall in random-seeming strands. The chairs and small couch were plush and soft brown, and the bed, framed by a pair of curtains, appeared comfortable. He dropped his clothes bag on a stand by a door that he presumed to be a water closet and carried his valise as he went to the bed and sat on its end.
Her eyes were gold. Almost yellow in the center, with pale brown and green radial flecks merging into a hazel ring.
Jaguar eyes. They captured his attention, compelled him to gaze into them. Muted his other senses until his only awareness was of their depths.
He was a trained observer, and sitting on the edge of his bed he began to recall details. Her hair was chocolate brown with auburn highlights, with long, lazy curls that fell just past her shoulders. Her face was pale, but reddish pink on her cheeks, nose, and brow accentuated the contours of her almost triangular face. Her tiny chin and mouth somehow made her eyes larger.
She was as tall as he was, in the platform shoes she wore. Her blue slacks and cream-colored tunic reminded him of the quarterdeck flowers, which were present as the border of her name tag, on the ruffles at the ends of her sleeves, and on the ruffled collar of her tunic.
Her perfume rivaled that of the flowers, and did nothing to help him regain control of his senses. He smelled his wrist, where her hand had held his to the door lock.
Karen.
Eighteen hundred. He had two hours to get ready. He vowed to himself that he wouldn't just stand there like an idiot when he met her again.
"This is your captain speaking," a masculine voice said over the ship's announcing system. "We will be departing the station in thirty minutes. I'd like to welcome our passengers for this leg of our voyage; feel free to move about the passenger areas. We will conduct a series of drills tomorrow so that you know what to do in the unlikely event of an emergency, but for tonight, relax and familiarize yourself with the ship and your fellow passengers. "All crew prepare for departure."
Chuss ducked through the door to Lee's quarters, his normally fluid movement hampered by the back brace he wore.
"The kid was right," he said as he stepped over to Lee's replicator.
"Shreem," he said. He took what appeared to be a metal flagon from it and stepped beyond the desk to the lounge area where the higher ceiling gave his ears more room.
"You really ought to let Sibley modify your quarters. This wood panel makes it look like you live in a box."
Swiveling his desk chair to face his Caitian deputy he said, "It's a comfortable box. What were you saying about David?"
"He was right. The Biotech Prosthetics Corporation is not involved, even as an unknowing victim. The payments were made through Biotech Research Department using an account linked to a shell corporation of that name. There is no affiliation with the legitimate company, but the names of the listed shell corporation officers are very similar to the names of many officers of the real company.
"Someone deliberately set up a copycat corporation, forged credentials for non-existent people who are very similar, but not quite similar enough to officers of the real company, and created a maze of crocc-connected computer links so that anyone investigating the shell corporation would find themselves viewing the records of the real one. Short of a forensics audit, or a determined investigator,"
"Such as you," Lee said.
"Such as me," Chuss said, "An average background check of 'Biotech Research Department' would lead one to conclude that it is a branch of Biotech Prosthetics.
"Given what I have found, I could not get a warrant to audit Biotech Prosthetics, but I recommend that when it is no longer sensitive for our case we inform them and offer technical assistance to support their own audit."
"Experts, so we know for certain no one at Biotech, the real one, is involved?"
Chuss slurped his drink, but said nothing.
"Reasonable suspicion not being evident, we can't use any information they might find. But I will send your recommendation to the senior marshal in my next report."
Lee tapped the corner of his desk, then asked, "So, where is the financing coming from?"
"The shell corporation has a legitimate account with Arcanis Sector Development Financial Services. It was funded by a substantial latinum deposit, delivered by courrier, four months ago. I had no warrant, so could not be granted access to the account information. I presume a warrant will have to wait at least until Lucky is back aboard."
"I'm sure you would only confirm that your fictitious copies of the Biotech staff would be listed. I'm far more interested in what these courriers know. Look into that when you've completed your current investigations."
"I've already started. Any word from Lucky?"
"Not yet. I don't expect to hear from him until the cargo leaves the Morning Glory, unless he does something stupid."
"He won't," Chuss said, then took a long slurp of his shreem.
It was easy to fall into shipboard routine. Workout then breakfast, time to study the sensor training guides the Lieutenant had given him, then lunch. An afternoon playing games in the lounge or reading in his room followed by a semi-formal dinner.
Karen had shown him the gym the first day out, and coincidentally they both liked to work out first thing in the morning. It was nothing like the Kestrel's morning workouts. For one thing, the Morning Glory's gym was fully equipped. Also, there was no fighting.
Which was a good thing because Simon, the ship's Master At Arms, looked like a brick. A well-muscled brick. He was a centimeter shorter than David, but at least fifty kilos heavier. He was also Cargo Master of the Morning Glory, which made him a prime suspect. David thought about it, trying to decide whether to try to buddy up to him, hoping he might drop hints. He also worried that he might accidentally drop hints to Simon instead.
Simon solved the issue by being, well, Simon. He was curt to the point of being rude, and he glared at David, or any of the other passengers, when they flirted with Karen.
He tried to get to know other members of the crew, but the captain was too busy, the engineer's conversation tended to be technical, and the pilot apparently lived on the bridge. The two roustabouts were friendly, but seldom came into the passenger areas. It was a brief conversation with Gial, one of the roustabouts, that lead to his afternoon routine.
He had been looking for an excuse to explore the cargo bays; he wanted to see the crate his team had tagged. Its subspace repeater pinged after their first stop, indicating that the shipping container was still on board, but it could have been opened and its contents removed.
Gial had been restocking a snack dispenser when the subject of running came up. When David complained about the monotony of running on the treadmill, she told him that the cargo bays maintained aisles for access, which might serve as a running track.
So David began to run every afternoon, alternating between the port and starboard bays. He chose meandering paths, different each day, in his attempt to convert his .3 km oval path into a daily 5k. It was a long run for him, but he wasn't timing himself. He sometimes walked part of the route.
On his second run through the port cargo bay he found it. A polymer case with rounded corners, about two meters tall, and a meter and a half on each side, clearly marked as medical equipment, and marked with the correct routing and tracking identification code, was sandwiched between other crates of similar size. The security seal appeared intact.
He did his best to ignore it. Fearing he had given himself away to any observers on security monitors, he began to show some limited curiosity about the other crates which were in any way unusual. There were, for example, hexagonal cases which appeared to waste a lot of storage space when stacked. It appeared to him that cubes would stack more efficiently, until he saw the roustabout called Marre use an antigrav lift to move one. Its long, round forks slid into the open spaces that the shape of the container created, and cradled the container as it lifted it. David realized that the lift would work on any container small enough to slide the forks around, but large enough to not fall through when it lifted.
With that small mystery solved, David showed less curiosity as he constantly altered his route through the cargo stacks. The cargo was easier to ignore on the occasions that Karen joined him. She was busy in the middle of the day and couldn't run with him for more than fifteen minutes at a time, but he enjoyed every minute she could spend alone with him.
She was a good host, and in their evening entertainments she spent as equal amounts of time with each passenger as possible. Casino Night, Bridge Night, even Night at the Races, where they tossed oversized cubes and moved themselves around a race track laid onto the floor of the dining room, were fun. Karen gave each customer her cheerful, enthusiastic attention. David would find himself gazing at her and, occasionally, she would catch him. Their eyes would lock for a moment, her golden-green eyes holding him enthralled, then she would wink or smile or wrinkle her nose and go back to her work while he released his held breath and felt the heat of his skin begin to cool.
Alone in his room he worried that she was, perhaps, an Orion or Deltan, or that she was using some kind of chemical to induce the mind-numbing reaction she evoked in him. Then he would force himself to focus on his work. Until the next time he saw her, or heard her voice on the public address, or accidentally touched her hand while she gave him something, or she playfully bumped shoulders with him during the evening social activities.
So, day after day the Morning Glory continued on its course. Three, four, five stops, and each time the cargo pod remained in its place in the cargo bay. And day after day he fell deeper into Karen's spell. He was no helpless victim, he sought her out, made excuses to be with her, tried to get her to laugh, to smile, to look at him so that he could lose himself in her gold-green eyes.
"There's one more port of call before Morning Glory reaches the end of its route," Lee said to the image of his Senior Marshal in his wall. "If it hasn't dropped the cargo by then we'll have an uncoded message sent to David under the letterhead of his employer saying that funding for their data system has been withdrawn, and that he is to return to the home office. Because interstellar travel options are limited, the most expedient option is to remain on Morning Glory if accomodations are available. Otherwise, the plan is to retrieve him at the terminus of the freighter's route where he is currently scheduled to disembark."
"Your plan is logical. The need to keep the crew of the cargo vessel ignorant of Deputy Star's true mission is important on several levels, the primary one being the safety of the deputy."
"It has been my primary consideration since agreeing to the assignment, Senior Marshal."
"I am curious that you allowed him such independence. Vulcan operatives would have had years of training and supervised operations before being given a solo assignment."
"And a Beta Lyran Caitian would have been on his own from the moment his training was completed," Chuss said from the windows of Lee's stateroom.
"David is neither Vulcan nor Caitian," Lee said. "However, I judged the risk of discovery to be low, and the danger presented by a Federation merchant vessel crew to be minimal if he should be caught. "And so far, all of the evidence uncovered by Chuss corroborates David's hypothesis that the Morning Glory crew is ignorant of the nature of their client or the purpose of the equipment they are smuggling. They are not ruthless criminals exploiting innocents, they are dupes who think they are providing medical equipment to struggling miners and farmers in the Neutral Zone."
"I am familiar with the data and with the steps you have taken to mitigate dangers to the young deputy while simultaneously encouraging him to expand his experience. However, it is my duty to consider all potential ramifications of the errors of judgement of my Marshals. In any case, I have already given my approval of the plan. We shall follow it to its logical conclusion."
"I worry about him too, Senior Marshal. It seems that since I accepted this command all I have done is worry."
"I seem to recall that you fought for it tooth and claw," Chuss said.
Senior Marshal T'Esset smiled.
Lee was shocked by the Vulcan's display of emotion and almost missed her signing off.
"Lee out," he said as the image on the wall vanished.
"Chuss, did you see that?"
"What?"
"Senior Marshal smiled!"
"I was looking out of the viewport," he said.
"You saw it, Friday!"
"I'm sorry, sir, but I do not monitor subspace communications unless invited to do so."
"Well, she did," Lee said.
***
Dr. Sar entered sickbay and caught a momentary glimpse of Crewman Brock leaning on the medical equipment locker. He appeared to be doing routine maintenance and calibration checks on the replacement organ resequencer, a device which utilized a tissue sample and a computerized map of any of several dozen internal organs to fast-grow emergency replacements. While resequenced organs were in many ways inferior to cloned replacement organs, they could allow a patient to survive until a better alternative could be grown, and they had used the unit not so long ago during the minefield disaster. It did require routine maintenance and recalibration to insure it was ready if needed, but Crewman Brock's attention was not on the device.
By the time he had completed that thought, Brock was back at work. He had not even looked up as the doctor entered. Dr. Sar entered his office, meticulously turned off all of the various scanning and recording devices in sick bay, and sat in his chair behind his desk. The young man on the other side of the transparent aluminum appeared to be busy at his task.
"Medic, if you would attend me, please," he said, just loud enough to be heard in the examination room.
Brock set down his tools and stepped into the office. "Yes sir?"
"Please, have a seat. I would like to speak to you, and unless I am mistaken, it is unlikely that you will welcome the conversation."
"Sir?"
"I'm not doing this as your superior, Emmanuel. You are free to get up and leave the moment you have had enough. I hope you will stay to hear me out."
"Dr. Sar, what is it that you are trying so hard to not say?"
"The human mind, any mind really, is a miraculous thing. It is a voyager housed in its vessel, the brain, but in so many ways it is so completely independent of the organ. One of the mysteries of our profession is how the physical brain and the non-physical mind interact during and after injury.
"The injured brain may scar and shrink away from or swell into the injured portion of the brain. With medical intervention, the brain can be healed. The injured mind, however, is more difficult to analyze and to treat.
"The mind cheats: it acts like that resequencer you were working on. It creates a quick fix, a patch, usually vastly inferior to a real healing, and then refuses the treatment that could heal it. Unfortunately, the mind is aware that there are injuries which cannot be healed, and removing the patch, excising the resequenced organ, is more pain than the limited relief the treatment can offer, such as may be the result of the limited treatments available for post-traumatic stress issues."
"You sound like you are trying to discourage me from undergoing therapy."
"No. I am all too aware that some treatments are less than effective, and some are even more uncomfortable in the short term than living with the trauma. But I would not discourage you from seeking advice from competent counsellors and following that advice, because being trapped in a memory prevents you from living this day.
"I recognize the symptoms of and the difficulty of dealing with post traumatic stress because I have my own share of it. I will not pretend to share your pain, or any of that nonsense, and my only medical advice is that I am here to listen if you need someone to hear you."
"Doc, I... wouldn't know where to start."
"Then if you would indulge me: I have dreams. Memories, really, masquerading as dreams. Distortions of the actual memory. Not always, but often enough that it makes going to sleep difficult out of fear that tonight there will be another dream. Nightmare."
"How do you deal with it?"
"I cope. It might be more important to ask what I do not do. I don't use sleep inducers. I don't self medicate. On occasion I call on a friend who might understand. Usually I don't have to talk about the dream itself; just knowing that there is someone who understands is enough."
"Like the Skipper?"
"Oh my, no. He has never been in war. His traumas are immediate and personal. He's never had to witness hundreds of lives snuffed out at random, only to be pulled out of that and plugged into another situation like a replaceable I/O chip until one side or the other runs out of chips."
"I heard that he has trouble sleeping, and he did serve during the Dominion War."
"His trouble with sleep stems from another source: he has an eidetic memory."
"Perfect recall causes sleep disorders?"
"Observably so, though we do not know why. Eidetic memory is much more than perfect recall. Though we cannot identify any differences in the construction of the brain, the mind of an eidetic human is very different. During waking times they absorb data, presumably much as we do, but when external stimuli are reduced below a certain threshold, the eidetic mind goes to work, presumably filing every memory, no matter how trivial, into long term memory.
"Non-eidetics have a ranking system their subconscious uses which discards memories it does not find important. For example, if I told you a random sequence of numbers of no use or importance, by tomorrow you would likely have forgotten them. If you knew I was going to ask you to repeat them tomorrow, you have a better chance of remembering, and if you used some exercise such as repeating the sequence multiple times, it is very likely you would remember. Your mind places a different degree of importance on them, and so stores them in accordance with that scale while you sleep.
"For eidetics, there is only one degree of importance. And so as the eidetic mind prepares for sleep, each and every detail, no matter how trivial, is stored in long term memory, usually as the eidetic person is consciously aware of the process. In most cases this causes insomnia."
"As I understand it, in normal humans every memory is permanently recorded, but recall is limited. Vulcan mind melds have been used to unlock forgotten memories, for example."
"True, to a degree. However, controlled testing demonstrates the tendency of non-eidetics to reconstruct memories from fragments as opposed to recovering whole memories. And it turns out that there are many variables which make a unified theory on human eidetic memory difficult to formulate. Vulcans and Cardassians tend to have more predictable patterns with fewer issues, while an eidetic Bolean may eventually suffer a condition in which the mind refuses to absorb any new data and the sufferer lives out the remainder of his life trapped in memory."
"That would be a special kind of Hell..."
"Indeed, it is. Like the tragic Greek punishments of Tantalus and Sisyphus who are forever trapped in that one moment."
"What moment are you trapped in?"
"A long time ago I interned under Doctor Tymsa, Chief Medical Officer of the U.S.S. Rutledge. We responded to a distress call from a place no one has ever heard of called Setlik III. I was a naive Lieutenant JG, a very young doctor just out of med school, and I had taken an oath not to take a life. I violated that oath. Many times."
"I raise twelve quatloos!" he said in a gloating tone.
David only had twelve, and a weak hand, but Karen was grinning, watching him. Fold and he might not have enough to buy into the next hand. If he won this hand he was back in the game. Was Garsin frowning in his eyes?
"All in," he said.
"I'm out," Renata said.
"Lose it all now, lose it later," grumped Hra'at as he tossed twelve purple chips into the pot.
Karen said, "That's why it's called Fizbin! I'm out too."
"Okay," Delvin said, "Here's The Bridge. A red king."
Garsin dramatically flipped his three hole cards, which, combined with The Stream and The Bridge, gave him a five card hand. "Three sevens, counting The Stream!"
Hra'at laughed as he tossed his cards to Delvin.
David smiled, and said, "I have a queen." He flipped a queen of clubs, "Which entitles me to steal a card from any hand because a King is The Bridge and it is Saturday. Queens rule on Saturday! So I steal your seven."
"Hey!" Garsin said. "That's cold blooded!"
"It gets worse," David said with a grin." He flipped over a pair of eights.
"Shenanigans!" Karen claimed.
"What?" David asked.
"Your king and queen are red and black, so you can steal a card on Saturday, but it is August, and in the month of August, a hand with only four cards beats a hand with five or more if both hands contain the same set. You both have a pair, so the winning hand is the hand with four cards!"
"What? That's not fair!" David exclaimed with mock indignation.
"Check the rules, but check them from the sidelines," she said as she scooped the pile.
"Shouldn't I win?" Garsin asked.
"She called Shenanigans," Delvin said. "Her pot!"
"I'm out of the game, then," David said as he began to stand up.
"Your deal, loser," Delvin said. "You don't need quatloos to deal, and I'm feeling like it's my hand!"
"I might agree to loan you a few quatloos to get back in the game," Karen said, "If you are willing to put up a little collateral."
"What kind of collateral?" he asked as he shuffled the cards.
"Oh, how about you serve and clean up for tomorrow's breakfast?"
"How much are you willing to front if I only serve? "
"Less than if you only clean up," she said with a grin.
"Watch out, Lucky," said Garsin. "She looks like a razorbeast bargaining with a squill to me!"
Garsin had to buy in again a few hands later, but when Delvin went all in on a jack-high muggin' Lucky rolled it into a lesser Fizbin. Renata couldn't cover the double and was busted. Garsin decided to call it a night, and Hra'at smirked, saying, "The game is not as fun with three. Anyway, good evening, all."
The three players exited the lounge leaving Lucky and Karen at the table strewn with cards, chips, and a few empty glasses. David shoved the cards into a stack and asked, "Know any two player games?"
"Ever play Slapjack?"
Within moments they were laughing as the overly simple game brought out their competitive natures. Later it was other games: David taught her Cribbage, she taught him Tonk. She gave him a late night tour of the ship and they talked about hundreds of things only young people find interesting, until her morning alarm went off.
"I have to get breakfast ready," she said. "Come on, you still owe me!"
"I had enough to pay you back!"
"But you didn't!" she said as she hurried down the passageway.
"A technicality!"
"A formality," she shot back.
He followed, and found himself preparing a Bolean Souffle for Hra'at and toasted Rigelian Tea Biscuits for Delvin. The galley was not small, but somehow they often bumped into one another as they worked, laughing when they did. Their banter was lighthearted and laced with innuendo, with occasional instruction from Karen on the next step in the process. While he prepared breakfast for two, she completed the meal for everyone else. She even found time to jam some tasty bites into his mouth, asking him to "Taste this."
With the dining room set up, the passengers began to arrive. Delvin's mouth plates approximated a smile when Lucky served her tea and biscuits, and Garsin baldly alluded to 'whetted appetites' when Lucky loaded his plate from the buffet. Once the guests had been accommodated they loaded a pushcart and delivered meals to engineering and the bridge watchstanders.
"Captain, I didn't realize you'd be here," Karen said as she handed the last plate to the navigator. "I can get a plate for you. Would you care for anything special? Otherwise, there is huevos rancheros and yeast strips."
"No thank you. I replicated nutri-cubes in my quarters for breakfast. Who is your new apprentice?"
"Lucky, I mean, David Star. He's due to leave us at our next layover."
"I lost a bet, sir," David said.
"Never gamble with Karen. You gamble, she wins."
"Yes, sir. But it doesn't feel like I lost."
"We'd best be getting back to the galley," Karen said, pushing the cart back to the lift.
Standing side by side in the lift, David couldn't help but compare their physiques. With her lift soles she was eye to eye with him. Her hair was thick, long, and curled, while his was thin, short, and straight. Her shoulders were narrower than his, but her hips, almost the same width as her shoulders, were wider than his. Her thighs were almost as thick as his, but where his were corded with muscular definition, hers were smooth, only revealing their underlying strength when she worked out. Her arms...
She was looking at him, and her eyes said they knew what he had been doing.
"I'm sorry, I..."
The lift door opened and she smirked. Her hip bashed into his as he stepped to the doorway causing him to impact the doorframe, and she pushed the cart at a run down the corridor, laughing and looking back over her shoulder.
Brock sat in the port-side forward booth of The Skylight Lounge reading a nursing text on the psychological impact of nursing on the trauma patient. It wasn't an easy text to absorb, and his mind wasn't focused on the task, but it was a part of his continuing education requirement.
He leaned back and sighed, looking up as Bennie, wearing a tropical flower themed loose blouse, set a tray on the table: a bowl of creamy white soup, dark brown bread, and a stein of dark beer. There was a smaller bowl with crumbled chunks of a medium-hard cheese, possibly cheddar.
"What?" he started to ask, but Bennie was already headed to the ramp which lead to the galley wall.
He tasted the soup: potato. It had been a long time since he had had potato soup. His mother made it... the day he told Gina he was enlisting in Starfleet. Nine years ago.
He tested the cheese. It was cheddar. He crumbled some onto his soup and stirred it in. The bread, pumpernickel, was made for dipping in the soup, and it's rich flavor complimented the subtle flavors of the soup.
Gina Alissyon Ghatt. They were a pair. Voted Cutest Couple at their Junior Prom, they had been together since eighth year. With Nan Banks, Trin Ngo, Phillip Han, Trish Huang, and Billy Rajmoorthy, they were the cool kids. The time Trin stole the Fallview mascot before Homecoming, then confessed that he had no idea how to feed a gwill, or Nan's perfect dive to win the swim meet against Vail, or Trish and Phil getting caught climbing the water tower that could be seen from Satee High's football stadium, and then not confessing that they were going up to remove the Hornet he had painted on it just an hour before so he wouldn't get in trouble.
He took another spoonful, then another. Each bite evoked a memory.
A figure approached and he looked up, about to ask Bennie how she had known, but it was only Masha.
"What was that look, Doc? Disappointed to see me?"
"No, I thought you were Bennie."
Masha's laugh was infectious, and Brock smiled.
"I didn't mean it that way. I meant, she made soup for me. I haven't had potato soup since Gina... since my high school sweetheart dumped me."
"Ouch!"
"No, it's okay. That was a long time ago. She had plans: administration and colonial law. She wanted to have a statue on some successful new colony. I told her that I was joining Starfleet. She decided our goals weren't compatible."
"Ouch again."
"It's okay. Really. She was right. Imagine me, a colonial nurse, assisting births, vaccinating rural villages, lancing boils and curing acne."
"It wouldn't have been that bad, I'm sure."
Bennie returned with a second tray nearly identical to Brock's, and set it in front of Masha.
"Bennie, how did you know?" Brock asked.
"You like it. Good," was her reply as she walked away.
"She brought me shallots!" Masha said as she dumped the crumbled cheese into her bowl. The green onions followed, and she stirred.
"It's amazing how she knows so much but can hardly speak."
"Not really," Masha said. "She notices everything, even things we wouldn't. Don't play poker with her; she would smell your bluff a mile away."
"So, she knew I'd like potato soup, even though I have not eaten it in nine years?"
"Maybe. Maybe she saw you enjoying potatoes, cheese, black bread, and beer, on different occasions and made a meal that combined those."
"That's a lot of maybe," Brock said.
"Or maybe it's coincidence."
Ben came up the ramp and sat in a chair at one of the three tables under the skylight. Bennie followed him with a large flower-print handbag and sat beside him. She pulled a grey blanket from the bag and laid it on Ben's belly as he slouched in the chair.
Leaning back in her own chair, Bennie extracted her twins, one in each hand, and laid them belly-down on the blanket. Ben folded the bottom edge of the blanket over their stumpy legs and plump bottoms as Bennie arranged the pale feeding umbilicals which connected her to her children.
As Ben stroked the backs of the twins, Bennie used a sonic cleaner on the interior of her natal pouch.
"They are so cute!" Masha said.
"I think it's the eyes. They are proportionally large..."
"Oh, hush," Masha teased. "I don't want to know why, I just want to enjoy it!"
"Masha," Bennie said. "Help?"
Brock laughed at Masha's dash across the lounge. Tiny in the hands of Ben and Bennie, one of the twins was all Masha could handle.
"He's so heavy!" she said, and Ben's head rolled back in his version of a laugh.
"But you're so cute! Yes you are!"
The infant, his mouth fastened on Bennie's nipple, made a vocalization through his nose. Ben and Bennie looked at each other.
"Oh, you want to talk to me?" Masha asked. "You're a chatty little guy, aren't you?" She rubbed the tip of her nose on the button nose of the Pakled infant and he emitted another vocal sound.
When his sister, still lying on Ben's belly, said, "Nnnn!" both adult Pakleds' heads swiveled to her. Brock had a hard time deciding if it was surprise or worry he saw in their expressions.
***
It had been twenty-six hours since David slept, but he wasn't tired. In fact, he felt energized. He lay on the bed in his cabin for a few minutes, but he kept seeing gold-green eyes. He kept hearing laughter. He felt the warmth of her hand on his.
He couldn't sleep.
After rolling over one too many times he got out of bed and put on his running shorts, certain that a few laps of the cargo bay would burn off the excess energy.
Yawning, and thinking that his plan was working already, he almost walked into the cargo bay hatch. The door didn't automatically open.
He glanced at the door control panel. It had been set to manual entry mode, but it had not been locked. He pressed the button and the hatch opened.
"Hey!" shouted one of the roustabouts. "Manual cargo transfer! You'll have to run on the treadmill today!"
David stood in the hatch pretending to be confused as he mentally scanned the room. The cargo bay outer hatch was closed, but his crate, the crate containing Dr. Aguilar's cloning tube, had been moved in front of it, along with half-a-dozen other crates.
"Sorry," he said. As he backed out.
Simon came around the corner of a stack of cargo with a P.A.D.D. in hand and glared at David. The hatch closed automatically when he was no longer in the way, but not before he heard Simon say, "Lock the hatch to crew access only! We don't..."
Lucky wanted a window so he could get the registry number of the ship that took the module. His quarters were on the wrong side, as were the galley and the passenger lounge. There was one corridor down the center of the main deck from the bridge to engineering, but it had no windows, and the compartments on either side were either passenger quarters or workspaces. The lower two decks were devoted to cargo, transporters, and auxiliary ships'systems. The deck above was the crew deck, and off limits to passengers.
Except at the shuttle dock.
The Morning Glory carried two cargo shuttles and a much smaller executive shuttle. Surely there would be alarms if he tried to enter the bay or operations control room, but there was a receiving lounge at the forward end of the area, with a connecting hatch to the crew deck main passageway and a ramp to the passenger deck. Surely there would be viewports there.
As he headed aft he thought about alarms and locks. Chief Garadda would know how to bypass them. Crewman Sibley would make them work for him! But he didn't know how to do those things. Without the skills of an engineer he decided that his best option was simply to avoid touching anything that might be locked.
The lounge was dim, with no more light than was needed to safely walk through the space. And there they were: on opposite sides of the compartment were large view ports. They were currently shuttered.
He hesitated, then decided that the chances of an alarm on the port were small. It would be easier, if the crew wished to secure them, to simply power them down. He toggled the control, and the hull plate covering the window slid down.
At a distance, a white cylinder with a pair of small nacelles could be seen. It slowly grew larger. Between and above the nacelles there was a tiny saucer, it's edge intersecting the top of the long cylinder. His mental image flipped when what he had been imagining as the stern of the ship turned out to be the forward end. Mounted on the forward end of the cylinder was a bronze deflector dish, like the Kestrel's aft secondary deflector. The wings on which the warp nacelles were mounted jutted below the cylinder and had large bulges at their midpoint. Impulse drives. The cylinder was segmented, with a very short segment just aft of the deflector, then four segments connected end to end, each of which was eight times the length of the segment mated to the saucer.
There was writing on the lower face of the hull, and on the outboard surfaces of the nacelles, but the distance and the angle made it difficult to decipher. It was Federation Standard. MV were the first two letters. The vessel slowly rotated to display its dorsal surface, and there it was in an arc centered in the forward side of the hull: MV Zeng Hi, NCC 436491. He wished then that he had thought to bring a recorder.
"What are you doing?"
He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Karen's voice. He was aware enough to stop himself from assuming the defensive stance his training had programmed into his muscles, which turned his pivot into a clumsy stumble.
Karen smiled, then said, "This isn't a passenger area."
"Sorry," David said. "I couldn't sleep, so I wanted to do some running."
"Here? That would be some very short laps."
"No, in the cargo bay. But they were working, and kicked me out."
"So you came here?"
"I wanted to see the reason I couldn't run."
"Why didn't you just view the external camera feeds on the monitor in your quarters?"
"That..." He felt a flush of embarrassment as he said, "That would have been smart."
"Yeah," she said.
After a moment of them standing and looking at each other, Karen said, "I have to get to work. Enjoy the view."
"I am... Karen, thank you. For last night. I feel..." He spread his arms as if he was trying to lift a large, impossibly heavy object.
She stepped up to him, her eyes locked to his, and they kissed. He wrapped his arms around her and they kissed again. Then she smiled and pushed his chest.
"Lunch in one hour; I have to go. We'll talk more later."
He watched her walk to the ramp and look back at him with a smile as she turned to go down. And he stood staring at the point into which she'd vanished for a few more minutes savoring the lingering aroma of her perfume.
His heart eventually settled down into its normal rhythms and the blood returned to his brain. He still had a job to do.
Chuss preferred to stand his watches at the navigation console rather than at the conn. This afternoon he was paying very little attention to his console. Instead, he was reviewing several years worth of transport manifests, analyzing patterns of materiels shipments in an attempt to recreate the web of procurements and deliveries.
That there were patterns was undeniable. That they connected to the tiny group of procurements he had positively associated with the cloning tubes was doubtful. There was a lot of cargo moving on the front between the Federation and the Empire, and there were many entities interested in concealing their portions.
Most of this would have been flagged and monitored by the appropriate authorities. The rest was innocuous, or even beneficial if one discounted who profited by the transactions. The small portion that was difficult to assign to any of the above categories was his focus.
And it was likely to be unrelated to the Aguilar case. These medical supplies were going to a suspicious mining operation. The other files were related to a startup colony of religious hermits. That one...
"Sir," Crewman Sibley said, "I'm getting a signal on the assigned frequency."
Chuss' ears swiveled faster than his head.
"A ship's designation. Cargo transfered to another ship in space. Repeating, MV 436491 has the cargo. Umm, I don't think I should be listening to this part."
"Transfer it to my earpiece," Chuss said.
Sibley toggled the comm channel, and Chuss understood in a few seconds why Sibley felt uncomfortable. Still, the signal continued, and it was being recorded.
"Lucky, no!" Chuss said. A moment later he said, "Red Alert! All hands prepare for VG drive!"
***
Karen touched the door control pad to announce her presence, but the door was unlocked. As it opened she saw Lucky flip his valise closed on the foot of his bed and turn quickly to face her. He looked so much like a little boy caught stealing treats that she had to smile.
"I was going to chime, but the door wasn't locked. I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."
"No, I was, um, I was about to go to bed."
"I won't keep you. I just wanted to say how much fun I've been having this last week."
"Me too," he said. "You make everything fun."
"Just part of the service we offer on the Morning Glory."
Lucky's face exposed the difficulty he was having deciding how to reply. She smiled again and in two steps she was beside him. She kissed him.
For a long moment there was only the kiss. When they finally separated she realized that her body was pressed against his, and that their arms had wrapped around each other.
Lucky finally caught his breath and smiled. Amazed at the effect she had on him, she smiled back.
"Is this part of the service too?"
Shocked to her core, she could not believe what she heard! Service? Service? She pulled away, and when his arms did not release her fast enough she swung an open-handed slap on his face.
He could have ducked. He could have turned away. Instead, he said, "I'm sorry..."
"Sorry? Sorry? I'll say! What do you think I am? What kind... You pig!"
She couldn't think straight. She had come here to... and he had... "Service?" she screamed.
She saw regret in his face, but that only made her more angry. She backed into the bulkhead and turned the wrong way to exit. She spun the other direction and was reaching for the door control panel when it slid open on its own.
On the other side was the Captain holding a tricorder and Simon holding a phaser.
"There, on the bed," the Captain said as he entered.
Karen looked back to the valise, and saw David's eyes also on it. He [I]knew[/I] what they were talking about.
"Looks like lover-boy's been playing you, Karen," Simon said.
"What?"
David's eyes were jerked away from his valise to lock on to Simon's.
"You're with Starfleet Security, aren't you, Lover Boy?"
"What? No! Not Star... I'm not with Starfleet!"
"Whoever he is, his transmitter is still broadcasting," the Captain said. "Who are you trying to talk to?"
Simon said, "Looks like Lover Boy came here to lock us all up on some penal colony, Karen. He knew everything he needed to know to sweep you off your feet so he could get what he wanted. Did you get what you wanted, Lover Boy? Ready to pack us all off to New Zealand?"
"Karen, no! I never did that! I didn't know... when I came here. It's not like he says."
"Step away from the case," the Captain said. "We need to shut that down."
Karen saw Lucky tense. He leaned slightly, as if he was going to jump toward the Captain, or the valise.
Simon's phaser discharged, and the valise disintegrated, along with the corner of the bed. As Karen screamed, Simon fired again.
Chuss and Crewman Brock transported to Govall before the Kestrel warped away chasing the errant commercial liner. Their task was to find the passengers who had disembarked there and interview them. It wasn't difficult.
Renata Ste Marie, human female from New Paris Station in the Deshotel System, on twenty-four month assignment as logistics clerk for Rhodite Minerals, a mining operation specializing in rare crystals.
Garsin Temur, male human from Far Hasir, surgical equipment maintenance and repair technician newly hired by Govall Health Lic. on a permanent contract.
Hra'at, Bolean male from Dannar Colony, financial advisor en route to Mercredi, a world that was supposed to be the next stop of the Morning Glory.
Dr. Delvin Travias, Rigelian female from Rigel V, soil engineer and terraforming specialist newly hired by the Govall Agricultural Cooperative to help increase their food production capacity.
All of them spoke highly of David. Dr. Travais seemed aware that there had been a falling-out between the young couple, but the rest only commented on the budding romance. None of them knew where David was. They assumed that he had transported directly to his destination, or that he had taken an earlier shuttle than the rest.
Hra'at asked about passage to Mercredi. Until another ship was assigned to the route there was going to be a transportation bottleneck; ore freighters didn't have passenger accommodations.
Sixteen hours later Kestrel returned with the news that David was not aboard the Morning Glory.
***
"The USS Goddard intercepted Morning Glory," Lee said. "They searched and scanned. David is not aboard, and there are no records in the computer to indicate where he went. There is a phaser burn in his compartment from a Type II set to 10. Until the crew has been granted access to competent counsel there will be no interviews."
"The he could be..." Mirra said.
"I don't believe that of the Morning Glory's crew," Lee interrupted. "The transceiver is missing too. My bet is that it was vaporized. We have an intercept and detain order on the Zeng Hi. I hate to ruin the Gambit David was running, but I don't want him being turned over to Aguilar.
"Meanwhile, he could be virtually anywhere right now. Chuss, assume they didn't kill him. Where do we look?"
"We know a few places he's not," the Caitian growled. "Planetary Transport, local Star Port, local public hostles. We checked. There are two mining facilities, one in orbit, one in the inner asteroid belt. The second was never on range of the Morning Glory's transporters. An there is the whole rest of the world.
"Govall has an almost toxic concentration of atmospheric CO2. Prolonged exposure causes unconsciousnes, which can lead to death by starvation or exposure.
There were data systems of such complexity that Friday explored them with what she presumed humans would feel as 'a sense of wonder.' The data network of Govall was not such a system. It was so constricted, in fact, that Friday could not function within it. There was ample memory to contain her program, but the data transfer network was constricted, slow, and burdened by the communications traffic of the young colony world. If she had been installed on such a system she would have been unable to think.
Instead, she created small sub-programs with the parts of herself which were necessary to seek out the information she wanted and set them to work on the world-wide data network.
It required time, but she found a match. She sent the data string to Crewman Brock's P.A.D.D. While her shipmates worked to corroberate her data, she kept looking. By the time they confirmed her data, she had created two million sub-programs, who had discovered several trillion anomalies within the trinary code which regulated the data network. She recalled the million sub-programs and reintegrated them into her processes as she sent a million more back into the data stream. These tiny fragments of copied code went to work, excising malicious code, freeing jammed processes, filling in the gaps of duplication errors, incomplete processes, and improperly reintegrated parallel programming. Govall's simple trinary computer network doubled in efficiency.
And her information was found to be useful by her crewmates.
Brock's eyes were burning after a very long day on the planetary net. He had reported David as a missing person, but the local police and security offices would not begin investigations for forty-eight hours. He had spoken to over one hundred station officials, but none admitted to knowing about any suspicious activities. He had scanned local transportation logs for David's I.D.
The problem was, undeveloped colony worlds were far less dependent on centralized computer networks. Indeed, the colonists of Govall appeared to cherish their independence. Many segments of the globe operated on independent computer systems, and many more operated without computer control at all. Even the limited transporter network was a series of locally controlled operations which were linked only by the orbital satellites which relayed subspace communications.
Brock realized that he hadn't checked the transporter logs in the last few hours. The kidnappers might have tried to move him.
Chuss walked through, saying, "Kestrel is back; they didn't find him. I'm heading to the transport terminal to meet the marshal. We'll be coming back here to help you search for a lead."
"Aye, sir," Brock said.
As the deputy ducked under the lintel, Brock stood and stretched. "I need to wake up," he said, and headed to the water closet to wash his face.
Deputy Star could be anywhere. Or nowhere. Beam him into a pattern buffer then erase the pattern buffer...
He had to assume that David was alive and being prevented from communicating. Nothing else made sense. A smuggler might kill to avoid being caught, but these guys must have known they had been caught; they had tried to flee to Klingon space. Killing the deputy, at that point, would only increase their time in prison if they were caught before they made it to the border. The answer was to put their prisoner in a place where he would be unable to communicate for long enough to make good on their escape.
There were just under three thousand registered mine sites which had been abandoned. All of them probably had emergency survival provisions left behind; colonists on Class K worlds tended to be survivalists.
He had estimated the number of those known locations which would have been within range of the merchant ship's transporters. That left just over 800 locations to check. He would send the list to Kestrel so they could check for life-signs. Hopefully that would limit the number of times they would have to use the transporter.
He was toweling off when his notebook chimed. Had one of his many contacts found something? He dropped the towel and stepped across the room to the table.
He had been looking through transporter logs, but a news story was blinking for his attention with the word 'transporter' highlighted in red. He clicked it.
"Yin-Hi Medical Center reports the unexpected arrival by transporter of a comatose human," the reporter said. "The Emergency Room triage team found a male human John Doe..."
The image was distorted by medical equipment and staff, but from what could be seen of his face, it was Deputy Star.
He tapped his com badge. "Brock to Kestrel!"
"Go Ahead," Lieutenant Tanaka said.
"I think we found him. Yin-He Medical Center. They have a John Doe! It looks like David. Lucky. Deputy Star!"
"The Skipper just beamed to the surface. I'm contacting him now."
"I'm sending the file now, but I want to get to that hospital as quickly as possible. Can you transport me there?"
"We're working on that now. Give us a minute."
It was more like three minutes before Mason called. "Prepare for transport," he said.
"Ready," he replied.
When he materialized, Dr. Sar was in the transporter room with his medical bag.
"Stay there, I'm coming with you."
The doctor joined him on the platform and Race beamed him back down.
***
David was in a mental fog. There was something he was supposed to do, but he couldn't remember what it was. There was a vague brightness everywhere, but he couldn't see anything. Indistinct sounds played meaningless tunes with no melody.
Karen. He had to protect Karen from... What? Who?
A long brown face with a white halo appeared. He couldn't remember the doctor's name. Sounds intruded on his awareness, as meaningless as the surf.
He almost knew the answer to a very important question. He couldn't remember the question. He realized that he had been floating when he felt the weight pressing up against his back.
The sounds became voices. The light divided and the shadows became people. Though his mind remained fuzzy, he began to think again.
"Good morning, David," said the brown face of Dr. Sar.
He tried to reply and discovered that his tongue wouldn't work.
"Just relax. It will take some time for the drugs to wear off, but I think the worst is over now. You have been intubated to ensure that your breathing was unobstructed. As soon as your body recovers a bit more, we'll remove that. But it will take some time to get things settled down, so relax. Sleep if you can. We are here for you."
A medic was doing something to the medical analytics device arched over his chest, then a much taller person came into view.
"I don't know if Lucky is such a good name for you," Marshal Lee said. "But we are lucky enough to have you back. Get well, we need you on your feet."
***
Season 1, Episode 18
Lee looked around the bridge. Chuss on helm, Mason on navigation, Sibley on engineering, Tanaka on tactical, and Mirra on comm. Everything looked normal. Everything felt wrong.
He knew what it was: first Voght, then Chuss, and now David. When it was only himself, danger was just a part of the job. But he was responsible for them, and he had allowed them to get hurt. He had to come to terms with that.
"Number One, which watch section is on once we get underway?"
"Beta watch, sir."
"That's me," Chuss said.
"Okay. I need to meet with you after we set the underway watch. "Mister Tanaka, status?"
"All stations manned and ready, sir."
"Comms?"
"Govall Orbital Control has cleared us for departure."
"Navigation?"
"Course to Savin's World laid in."
"Engineering?"
"Green on all boards, impulse under helm control. warp ready at your command."
"Helm, take us out. Warp 6 at your discretion."
"One-quarter impulse, go to warp when we clear Govall orbit, aye."
Lieutenant Mirra followed her Skipper into his stateroom.
"Have a seat," he said as he stepped over to the replicator. "Double bock. What would you like?"
"Working or social?"
"Both, I guess."
"I.P.A., chilled."
"I.P.A., chilled," he repeated. "Friday, please join us."
"Good afternoon, Lieutenant. How can I help you, sir?"
"I want to talk through a few ideas. Begining with S.W.Q.s. Sibley was back on Engineering, so I'm assuming he's met his bridge quals?"
Mirra answered, "Yes. Enlisted Space Warfare quals are more task-oriented while Officer quals are more theoretical and require more time-on-station. Sibley is a beast when he's learning new things."
"And his academic credits?"
"On track to test out by the end of the month. He will have year fourteen, university prep equivalence."
"What does he have left for SW qualification?"
"Medical Systems and Procedures."
"That's it?"
"Yes sir."
"You may as well begin inquiries into how we recommend him for LDO."
"I have an application package prepared," Friday said. "It will require finalization and your recommendations. My research leads me to believe Master Chief Garradda's recommendation would have a greater influence on the selection board than either of yours."
"I'll let Sparky know," Lee said.
"No, sir," Mirra said. "It's a personal favor. Crewman Sibley should be the one to ask for it. Besides, if he's going to be an officer, he needs to learn how to handle chiefs."
"Okay. But he gets his credits first." Lee sipped his beer and asked, "How's Mason coming along?"
"I don't think he'll make it. He still needs weapons, comm, engineering and power systems, auxiliary systems, and shuttle operations. He's completed the officer-level helm and navigation qualifications, and only needs time on watch for completion.
"Actually, Crewman Aktay is closer. She's working on weapons now, and needs helm, nav, and sensors to complete her quals."
"Not a bad showing," Lee said. "Almost 30 percent of the enlisted crew Space Warfare qualified, with 100 percent damage control and first aid qualified.
"What about Tanaka?"
"He needs time on Tactical, Helm, and Navigation, and is ready to test out in Engineering."
Can he be ready by the time Sibley is? I'd hate to hold an award ceremony for just him."
Mirra smiled. "It just might go to his head. He can be a bit immature at times."
"I hope he never grows out of it, but he does come through for us when we need him. Like the time we sent him out alone to perform an officer's job on the nacelle."
"Don't bring that up to Chief Sparky. He's still mad that we wouldn't let him do it."
"Yes, well."
After a moment of silence, Friday asked, "Sir, I am somewhat confused. The tone and implication of your expression leads me to believe that you find immaturity to be an admirable quality, yet in common usage it typically carries a negative connotation when used in reference to adults."
"Yes, it does. But people are individuals. We all blend qualities and characteristics in our own unique way, with unpredictable results. For example, people who are described as antisocial tend to be isolated, but some of the most celebrated artists in history could be labeled as antisocial. Sometimes traits with negative connotations are exactly what a person needs to make them exceptional.
"In Crewman Sibley's case, the trait of immaturity has resulted in a degree of curiosity and inventiveness usually associated with children, which Sibley has retained into adulthood. He doesn't study tech manuals and design schematics because they are assigned tasks; he does it because he, like a child, is genuinely curious about how the machines work."
Mirra said, "Within days of his arrival on the ship he had learned enough about holography to turn his stateroom into a holodeck. Just a few weeks later he turned that knowledge toward creating the exterior hologenerators that we have used in battle on several occasions."
"Exactly. We want to encourage his curiosity and creativity, but the jokes and irreverent attitude go with the rest. If we curb the latter we might lose the former."
"So you gave him a goal which would utilize those assets," Friday said, "While minimizing the time he would have to act out in otherwise negative ways?"
"Hmm. I never thought of it that way. What I intended was to present him with opportunities to continue learning, and if he did, and if he performed well, further opportunities would open for him."
"You baited a trap and let him walk in!" the Lieutenant said.
"Well, I wouldn't put it that way."
"Like you did with Lieutenant Mirra," Friday said. "You offered her what she wanted so she would do what you wanted her to do."
"Okay. okay! Guilty. Which only goes to show that what often connotes as a negative personality trait can, in the right circumstances, be a positive."
"Point taken, sir," Friday said as she winked at Mirra.
"And speaking of negatives being turned into positives, Lieutenant, what are your plans for the next week?"
"Sir? We'll be in orbit of Savin's World. I suppose we could use some additional damage control drills."
"Friday, do we have any incomplete crew training requirements?"
"No sir," she replied. "Battle, damage control, and injury response are above Fleet requirements."
"Then I have another idea in mind. How would you like a vacation?"
"Sir?"
"Friday, that vacation planet I looked at last night, please."
"Alpha Copernicus is a yellow subgiant currently on a billion-year track to becoming a red giant. Its eighth world was once an outer planet or moon beyond the star's habitable zone, but as the sun expanded, possibly quite violently, it stripped the innermost Jovian worlds of their atmospheres, leaving several astronomical oddities. The first planet is now in an orbit which is interacting with the star's corona, and is expected to fall into the star in about eight thousand years.The second and third worlds were once terrestrial worlds in the star's habitable zone, but the variable luminosity of the star creates conditions hostile to life while stripping the worlds of any accumulation of an atmosphere. Planets four and five are the remnant cores of gas giants, and are almost completely composed of carbon, with tiny metallic cores and trace hydrogen/helium atmospheres. Planet six is a small gas giant with a hydrogen and methane atmosphere. Planet 7 is a metallic captured rogue, possibly the core of a super-Jovian, currently in an elliptical orbit sixty degrees out of the orbital plane. It is expected that in the next billion years its orbit will eventually become hyperbolic if it does not collide with something first, and the rogue will continue on its way.
"Which brings us to the last world, Copernicus 8. Once an ice world in distant orbit of a typical dwarf star, when its star began to heat up and expand it found itself in the habitable zone. The violent event which stripped the inner Jovians of their atmosphere very likely only polished the surface of the frozen sphere, which began to warm up. With six carbonaceous moonlets in its orbit, most likely captured asteroids, the world's core was very likely molten from tidal kneading before the frozen crust thawed, but the thawing gave the world an ocean which covers over ninety percent of the world's surface and a nitrogen/carbon dioxide atmosphere.
"Speculation exists on whether life evolved on the world or was transported there from one of the inner worlds. Two and Three are often postulated as probable sources, but no definitive evidence supports any hypothesis above the others. Whatever the origin, a coral analogue evolved alongside an algae analogue, which fixed carbon in the form of carbon shells."
The images of the tiny black shells on the wall behind Friday showed iridescent qualities typically associated with pearls from Earth.
"While calcium and other metals are in high concentration in the seawater, they are well below toxic levels. The native creatures have not developed a means of metabolizing them, though they do show up as impurities in the shell materials. However, the creatures are so good at fixing carbon that the result is an atmosphere composition of sixty-seven percent nitrogen, twenty-four percent oxygen, six percent helium, one percent methane, one percent neon, and one percent a combination of the known gasses. This excludes the variable and unevenly distributed content of water vapor.
"As a result, while completely lacking terrestrial life, the oceans have developed sufficiently diverse bioforms to create a world habitable by most of the people of the federation."
Holographic images of black-sand beaches, stark mountains with white snowcaps on the tallest, and vast deserts through which broad brown rivers meandered played behind Friday.
"The local colony grew from scientific and mining operations, but has recently begun to terraform some locations with the intention of drawing vacationers. One such location, Starfleet Island, is just off the coast of a much larger island, Freeport Island, which has invested in an amusement park and entertainment district. While much of their development is in the aspirational phase, the world has earned the local nickname of Little Risa.
Images of palm trees swaying along a black sand beach, clusters of three to five tiny huts, and trails through a garden-like forest accompanied her descriptions, followed by a montage of amusement park rides, dance and musical revues, and dining and social venues.
"I have booked a five day landing permit on Starfleet Island, which has sixty cabins in proximity to the beach and a transporter pad connected to the Crystal Spheres Amusement Park."
Before Mirra could say anything, Lee said, "Do you think the crew would mind a little diversion while David and I spend the week being deposed in the case against the crew of the Morning Glory?"
Mirra sat for a moment as if in thought, then said, "The only problem I anticipate is being able to get them to leave after five days."
*** I might have to revisit the end of the last episode. I had multiple potential endings, and great difficulty determining which would be the one I used. As a result, I'm not happy with the result.
A Starfleet vessel captured the Morning Glory and took the crew into custody. The Kestrel showed up with a warrant and searched for Lucky, and the crew was questioned with a Starfleet JAG supervising, but I left that part out intending to insert bits into conversation later, then skipped the conversations.
In my defense, I don't enjoy writing about Lee's failures. On the other hand, not doing so makes him appear to be more perfect than he is. I intended the chapter to be an introspective of his character on a really bad day. I guess I chickened out. Anyway, I'll probably never rewrite this unless Paramount gives me a contract, so there it is.
On a less important note, I probably should have trimmed Friday's stellar cartography lesson to talk about only the planet they are going to see, but I overwrite when doing trivial worldbuilding so, yeah. Or, go the other way and talk about the dwarf ice-worlds in the cometary halo...
Lieutenant Mirra walked along the top of the Kestrel's bridge, supposedly performing an inspection of the sensor array panels and hologenerators. Instead, she was taking in the view. From the shuttle landing pad of Starfleet Island, the gardened forest swept down to the green sea. Here and there brown and red boulders protruded through the canopy, but the maze of trails she had run every morning for the last week, and the little overnight huts by the beach that the crew had commandeered were invisible.
Every seventeen days A Copernicus brightened rapidly, doubling in intensity in just a few minutes, then faded back to normal over the next six hours. It had something to do with the star's core of degenerate helium trying to ignite but blowing itself out. The result was a predictable flare which induced powerful aurora effects in the magnetosphere of A Copernicus 8.
The intense flare of light, said to cause eye and skin conditions among the local population's outdoor workers, was harmless so close to sunset.
Sibley came up the ladder from the EVA airlock which had been used primarily as their wine cellar since the bar had been installed back on Mars.
"Am I intruding, Lieutenant?" The distance and the calls of the imported bird population made it necessary for him to shout.
She waved him up, then slowly turned through the panorama. The backbone of the island, a short segment of a volcano's rim, shielded the view to the North, though its jagged, almost vertical peaks were awe inspiring. Nothing grew on its striated brown, red, and gray face, and every vein, chimney, and protrusion could be read from this vantage. There was the spot she and Mason and Voght had scaled the crumbling cliff face. Certainly no awards would be given for its conquest, but it had been a technical challenge of skill and determination. And it had been fun to observe the new couple learning about each other. Behind the trees to the East was a cove with a waterfall that had offered a fifteen meter dive into a crystal clear lagoon. Ladner proved to be their champion of the high dive, both in his variety of dive styles and his surprising grace. At 1G he was gangly and awkward, but in free fall he was a danseur.
To the South, the edges of the black sand beaches could be seen here and there where daytime barbecues and nighttime firelit dances had occurred almost daily. Beyond the beach the green waves rolled to the horizon where, in the haze of the interface between air and water, the grey peaks of Freeport Island stood.
Turning back to the West, where the ocean's swells were shoved up from the deep by the shoulder of the broken volcano, long curling waves rolled in booming thunder up long stone and shell-sand beaches. The surfing had been glorious out there.
Shadowed by the horizontal sunlight, Crewman Aktay popped up from the hatch, then reached back in for a basket. Ladner followed the basket.
"I'm going to miss this place," Sibley said.
"I assumed you'd be spending your last night here at the amusement park," Mirra said.
"The rides are only fun the first time. Besides, I wouldn't miss another chance to see you doing the fire dance."
"Enjoy," Ladner drawled. "I'm going to watch the coronal mass ejection interact with the magnetosphere."
"Aww, listen to you using big words," Aktay said. "We brought champagne."
While Aktay was rolling out a chequered blanket Chief Voght popped up through the hatch, followed by Bennie, Ben, and Mason.
"Looks like the party is up here tonight," Ladner said. Then he tapped his combadge. "Brock, party on the TRIBBLE deck. Bring a couple more bottles of champagne and some flutes."
"What is a TRIBBLE deck?" came the reply.
"So much for my quiet sunset," Mirra said. She tapped her combadge. "All hands, there is a solar flare party on the dorsal hull exterior. The hatch is open in the EVA airlock. Come on up and join us. The flare is scheduled to begin in less than three minutes."
"Oh," she added, "Friday, that means you too. Use the ship's external sensors to watch with us, and you can use our com-badges when you want to say something."
"Thank you, sir," said a voice from behind her. Mirra turned to see an Asian human six centimeters shorter and probably twelve kilos lighter, wearing a pale blue cheongsam over black slacks.
"Friday!" Mirra said. "The external holoemitters?"
"Yes sir. Thank you for inviting me."
"Join the fun," Aktay said as she poured champagne into the flutes she had available.
"I've secured the quarterdeck," Tanaka said from the hatch as he passed up a large box. Behind him came Brock.
Someone started a countdown from sixty, and the doctor and chief engineer made it in time to join in the last ten seconds.
Nothing happened.
A thump was heard on the port winglet, and then the shadow of a monster leapt up onto the roof of the Briefing Room.
"Did I miss it?" Chuss asked.
"It didn't happen," Sibley said. "No flare! It's a dud!"
The orange-red ball which had been just above the horizon, under-lighting the clouds with a rosy glow, suddenly brightened as it rapidly dove toward the horizon, growing brighter until it was burning with an intense yellow glow that was painful to the eyes. The clouds turned gold with stark black shadows that divided the rays of the setting sun like an accordion-pleated fan. From her vantage Mirra saw the crew as shadows standing on a hull of liquid gold, outlined with beaming golden halos. Everywhere she looked was intense radiance and intense blackness, as if light and dark were at war.
"Woo-hoo!" shouted Aktay, holding her champagne high.
After the sun set but before the final afterglow of dusk on the horizon faded, ethereal curtains of green, blue, and magenta light began to dance across the sky in ever shifting waves and swirls. With no predatory insect-analogues to disturb them, the crew found comfortable places to sit or lay to enjoy Nature's display. Though it was much more subdued than the previous nights, the party went on past midnight. Quiet conversations and friendly laughter contrasted with the rowdiness of evening gatherings over the last few days.
One by one or in pairs the gathering began to break up until only Mirra and Aktay and Ladner were left. Finally, after drifting off momentarily, Mirra quietly got up and went to bed.
Her last sight as she stepped down the ladder was of Ladner drawing the chequered blanket around Aktay. She began to wonder if there was something going on there, then said to herself, "None of my business."
***
"Did you enjoy your vacation?" Lee asked when he materialized with Lucky.
"We did. It was a beautiful place. I think Chuss was bored, but Chief Sparky found a Tellarite club and spent the week, 'Teaching the rubes how to play,' that card game he likes."
"How was the surfing?"
"Perfect for the long-board. Long ocean swells and a smooth incline to the beach. Not a lot of interference to break up the waves, but lots of long curlers.
"Let me take your bag, Skipper."
She picked up the small duffel bag beside Lee, and said, "Welcome back David."
"Thank you, Lieutenant."
"Do we have any assignments?" Mirra asked as she lead the way out of the transporter room.
"Just the transport of a parolee who failed to obey the conditions of her release. We don't have to pick her up from Da'lia for another twenty-six hours.
"There is another issue I'd like to discuss. I've spoken to Admiral Franklin about your future."
He placed his finger on the door's pad and entered his stateroom as the door slid open. "Come in," he said as he took the duffel from her and tossed it on the bed.
"Yours is the only cabin that hasn't been upgraded," Mirra said."
"Upgraded?"
"With halogenerators."
"Surely not," Lee said. "Crewman Aktay's quarters looked fairly standard. I can't say that I've been in most of the other crew's quarters."
"You'd be surprised," she said. "Even The master chief has one. I think he argues with his."
"Debate is a blood-sport for Tellarites." He sat in one of the upholstered chairs and said, "But that's another subject. Grab a drink if you want one."
"I'm good," she said as she sat in the matching chair. "My future?"
"When you took this job you were promised a Department Head assignment on a capital ship. With less than two months to go before this little demonstration ends, I spoke to Admiral Franklin about the next assignments for the crew. She was rather vague and non-specific."
"To be honest, Skipper, I'm happy right here, right now. If it was possible. I'd sign on to crew this little ship for the rest of my career."
"Unfortunately, Kestrel is going back to Mars, but we have a crew to find billets for, and you should get what was promised. My question is, is that still what you want? I mean, the fast track to command."
"I think I do. I know I have a lot to learn, but I like the center seat. Wherever I go, I'd want to be working toward that."
"Okay. I'll start looking around. You might want to update your profile in case any captains want to do a background check."
Mirra smiled, "Maybe I should use my Orion Matron holo. That'll get their attention!"
"It would scare the hell out of them. I know it did me."
"You?"
"Chuss said, 'She does not yet know her limits. Push her into a corner and she will come out fighting. I would like to be there on that day.' "
"He was there when I fought Savaria."
"Yes, well, he has opinions about that, too. Which is another subject. Today I want to get a better idea of what kind of assignments the crew would like. I have an idea that Ben would be welcomed at the Daystrom Institute on Memory Alpha, but I worry about Chief Voght's reaction to their separation."
"Wherever I go, I want Voght with me. I think I'd have a harder time separating her from Crewman Mason, though. Since Bennie's come aboard, Ben hasn't needed her so much."
"Counting on Sibley going to Engineering school, that's four down. What about Ladner?"
"I wonder if the boneyard on Utopia Planetia has replaced the Masterchief yet?"
"Tha's jus' mah thang," Lee drawled in imitation of the crewman. "The question is, would he choose that?"
"I don't really know," Mirra said. "In some ways he's the most difficult to pin down. He's agreeable to just about anything, but he's not very assertive. I guess I'll have to ask him."
"Okay. Crewman Aktay?"
"I've gotten a bit more from her: she wants to travel, meet non-humans, and see new sights. I gather that this has been her favorite assignment so far. So, perhaps get her a billet on an exploration or survey vessel?"
"Science vessels generally have need of computer techs," Lee said, "But Kestrel's trionic-optical computers were a generation behind the state-of-the-art twelve years ago. She was built to be tough and to be easy to maintain far from a starbase. Science vessels have the latest in computer technology. I wonder if tech school would be a better choice?"
"I don't know. Crewman Aktay is good at performing assignments and creative when problem solving, but I don't think she really likes study the way Sibley or Star do."
"Okay, then that leaves Lieutenant Tanaka."
"He's Command Track, which usually requires at least two years in Communication and two years in Engineering. Of course, junior officers get assigned where they are needed, and I wasn't Command Track until the Decker incident."
"Neither was I, until the crew of Merlin started getting reassigned. And here I am, getting ready to disperse Kestrel's crew and mothball her. I feel like I'm betraying my ship."
"There's a member of the crew that you haven't mentioned," Mirra said.
"Sparky has already said that he's retiring. He wants to go home, perhaps open a mechanics shop for mine-ships, if I can believe what he says."
"I can see that being good for him," Mirra said, "But I was talking about Friday."
"I thought Admiral Franklin wanted her back when our assignment was completed? To be honest, I want to take her with me. I can't imagine what my life will be like after she's gone, knowing how before and now worked out."
"Ah, I hadn't thought about that. Of course the Admiral will want her back. She's been a great asset, and a better friend. I'm going to miss her too."
"Okay. We still have two months to go. I'll start looking in to what's available, and if you think of anything, let me know. For now, set a course for Da'lia 4, warp 6."
Comments
Something in orbit with the Kestrel began to jam the communications frequencies.
Lieutenant Mirra made it to the bridge ahead of Mister Chuss, whose back-brace appeared to be an encumbrance.
"Incoming vessel, high warp, no transponder, no registry. Something in orbit is jamming comms," Voght said as Mirra jumped into the Conn and brought up the scanner displays on her boards.
"Helm, be ready to move," Mirra said.
Chief Voght was moving toward the exit, intending to go to her duty station in Weapons Local Control when the Lieutenant said, "Voght, I need you at Tactical. Let Crewman Ben handle Weapons."
"Yes sir," she said.
Sibley and Tanaka tied for last place in the race to the bridge, both landing in their chairs almost simultaneously.
"Warp power in fifteen seconds," Sibley said. "Chief's running up the plasma pressure now. You have auxiliary power and impulse. Shields at full."
"I can't cut through the jamming, sir," Tanaka said. "I have a sensor lock on the source: orbital device."
"I'd bet a Ferengi's fortune the Skipper's in trouble down there, but leave it; it's got to be TRIBBLE with their comms too. Is this an Orion vessel?"
"Affirmative. Lightning class. A relic from over a century ago," Voght replied. "ETA forty seconds."
"Get us out of the planet's gravity well, Mister Chuss. I want room to maneuver."
"Full impulse now," Chuss said. "Where do you want to go?"
"Not too far. Just far enough to get room to fight."
"Sir, is that a good idea? They're bound to have looked at our schematics..." Sibley began, then paused when the Lieutenant laughed.
"I hope they did," she said, "I hope they did!"
"We have legroom, Lieutenant," Chuss said. "They dropped out of warp aft of us and are headed our way at fast impulse."
"Chuss, can you do a Picard Maneuver? Put us on their aft shield?"
"Aye," the Caitian growled. "Sibley, drop shields on my mark...Mark!"
The long, angular vessel identified as a Lightning Class Blockade Runner in the Starfleet database was built for speed. The Lightning and her sisters were pirate ships from an era when Starfleet was much smaller and each vessel had to patrol a much larger sphere of Federation space. The blockade runners were more than a match for any commercial vessel and a serious challenge to the dedicated patrol vessels of their day. They had even been known to confront the Constitution Class heavy cruisers, though they had to rely on cunning and their speed and agility rather than brute force in those situations.
They were built tough, but their true purpose was smuggling. They were, like the Kestrel, designed to survive long enough to run away. Unlike the Kestrel, their shields were little more than token defenses intended to deal with small debris when moving at high speeds. Their protection came from armor and a reinforced frame. And because they were built with over-sized warp engines intended to enable the vessels of the class to sustain warp eight or higher for extended periods of time, they had power to spare at impulse speeds. The excess power was usually put to use powering any of a variety of weapons systems procured by their crews and typically upgraded at every opportunity.
When the Orion Pirate vessel charged the Kestrel she opened up with disruptor cannons which had been salvaged from a Klingon Bird of Prey. Just as her weapons fired at the scout ship a second Federation scout vessel appeared on her aft quarter and began firing a pair of Type II phaser beams into her aft shields while the image upon which the pirate Ship was firing streaked away at warp speed.
"A warp mirage!" Savaria screamed. "They used that trick with their warp engines! If they drop shields to try that again get a tractor beam on them!"
"Yes, Mistress," a middle-aged Orion male said.
She had boarding parties standing by: she wanted that ruddy Orion halfbreed who called herself Lesedi captured alive. The rest? She didn't care about them. If they could be sold for profit, so much the better. If they turned out to be troublesome they were better off dead as far as she was concerned, but she wanted that ruddy TRIBBLE in chains! Her revenge would last a good long time!
The Wildfire pivoted, bringing her main disruptors to bear as another vessel separated from the image. The same trick twice? How dumb was she? "Fire at the forward one!" she ordered as it tried to get past her and onto her aft quarter again.
As they pivoted to follow the target the warp shadow sat in place, and then opened fire on her aft quarter! The forward image, finally struck by the disruptors, exploded with a very low yield.
Wildfire's aft shields went down and the ruddy's phasers began to impact the cowling of Wildfire's impulse engines. The ruddy's ship fired a torpedo but Savaria's males were on the job and its targeting sensors were overloaded causing the torpedo to lose track of the Wildfire.
The Wildfire's main weapons finally got the Federation vessel in their firing arc and opened up.
"Shield Number Four down to forty percent," Sibley said. Recharging..."
"Anticipate where they will shoot next," Mirra said, "And overcharge that shield. Those are some powerful disruptors."
"Sir," Tanaka said, "I can try to jam their sensors."
"Wait until they fire a torpedo," the Lieutenant said. "As soon as they fire one use every trick you can to make it lose its target lock."
"Yes sir," Tanaka said.
It became a game of tag as the two vessels, each designed for evasion, tried to inflict damage on the other. Both vessels were relying upon their agility and the skill of their pilots to evade, causing the majority of attempts to strike their opponent to simply miss the target. Several times the Kestrel penetrated the Wildfire's shields only to come up against her armor, while every time the Wildfire managed to inflict damage on a shield the little scout turned away to present an undamaged facing. While the Wildfire's main weapons were more powerful the Kestrel had to be within an arc from just forward of one hundred twenty degrees from the nose of the vessel to be hit by one of the pair of disruptor cannons, and within a thirty degree cone forward of the nose to be hit by both simultaneously. Meanwhile the Kestrel's weaker phaser beams could fire in any direction, and did so virtually constantly making it difficult for the Wildfire to maintain any shielding against her.
Like a prize fight between two evenly matched lightweight boxers, the match became one of scoring points while dodging the other's attacks. Unlike a prize fight, there was no referee to keep score and there was no bell to give the combatants a chance to catch their breath. It was a fight with a single goal, but it began to appear as if neither could achieve it.
"How many more decoys do we have?" Mirra asked as they came around yet again to fire another torpedo at the engineering section of the blockade runner. The blockade runner targeted the projectile with its countermeasures and once again the torpedo's guidance burned out. Chief Voght tried to detonate it as it made its nearest approach to the Orion vessel but its control system was scrambled and the torpedo flew onward.
"One," answered Voght. "Queue it up?"
"Not yet," Mirra said as Chuss pitched the Kestrel into a sharp roll to avoid disruptor fire. "I'm thinking we need to get her on our stern for about fifteen seconds without letting her blow out our shields. Mister Sibley, how good are you at simulating battle damage with our external holoprojectors?"
"I'll need some help from Masha," he said.
Savaria considered her source and deduced that she had been sold bad information. The USS Kestrel was almost twice as powerful as the data file suggested, and its maneuverability was on par with or maybe even a little bit better than that of the Wildfire. Although its phasers couldn't do much damage against Wildfire's armor, in a long, drawn out battle of attrition the little damages they did inflict would start to add up. Meanwhile, Wildfire's own weapons were scoring significant damage to the scout ship's shields but by the time she maneuvered to get a second shot on a damaged shield facing the shield was restored. She thought of the Azhati, still in its hidden cache, waiting. She had considered taking the old lady out of mothballs for this job but dismissed it as unnecessary after she read the specifications her informant had passed to her. She had calculated that Wildfire was more than a match for the tiny scout ship. The deciding factor had been that Wildfire needed only one-third the crew of the larger vessel, and she had a temporary shortage of skilled personnel. Another important factor was the Warp Six maximum speed of the Azhati, which made it less than desirable as an aggressor inside Federation space unless it was on a one-way mission.
While she reflected on ways she might break the stalemate she saw a plasma conduit blow out on Kestrel's dorsal heat exchanger. "What happened?" she asked, trying to keep her excitement in check.
"EPS failure. Their Number Five shield is slow to recover, Mistress," her navigator said.
"Focus on the Number Five shield!" she said, though it was obvious they were trying to do just that as the Federation ship maneuvered to avoid allowing it. It took them a while to get back on the target, and the fountain of electroplasma had been reduced to a trickle by the time they got a clear shot on the damaged shield facing.
"Target hit: the shield facing is down." The navigator said it as though he was announcing that dinner had been served. Savaria was on the edge of her seat with excitement.
A sudden, piercing, shriek played over the communications system and the viewscreen pixellated to a noise pattern. It took a second for the operator to shut it off as he yelled, "They're jamming all bands! Sensors, comms..."
"I know what that means, idiot! Find the nexus of the signal and target it now!"
"I have it!" the navigator said as the static on the main viewer faded somewhat. Ahead was the ruddy's vessel with another fountain of plasma spewing from the now failed number five shield emitter.
"They're still jamming, but I'm cutting through... Their impulse engine is offline!"
"Check fire!" Savaria shouted. "I have the TRIBBLE now! Send the boarding parties!"
"Boarding parties away," said the communications operator.
"Mistress, I'm getting a strange energy buildup midships," the engineer said.
"Battle damage?" she asked.
"None registers, Mistress. I'll go look."
Before he could get up from his seat the ship groaned and began to vibrate.
"A second vessel just decloaked!" said the navigator.
"Decloaked?" she asked, and then the Wildfire shook and its grav-plating failed.
"Structural integrity failure amidships," said the engineer. "We've lost pressure from Bulkhead 60 aft, and we've lost aft subsystems controls."
"How is the TRIBBLE doing this?" she demanded.
"Graviton buildup amidships. A microsingularity formed."
The navigator said, "The other ship was a holographic decoy. We beamed sixteen soldiers into vacuum!"
"Do we still control our engines?" Savaria demanded.
The computer began a countdown: "Ossissepnass, devnasepnass, sistsepnass, vuldasepnass, acstisepnass, voulssepnass,..."
"We have engine controls, if the engineering crew can contain the warp core breach which will happen in just under two minutes."
"To Hell with that! Ram that ship!"
"They are hailing," the communications operator said. He put it on screen before Savaria could refuse.
"Savaria," the ruddy TRIBBLE in her viewer said. "Your ship is in danger of a warp core breach. We're going to begin transporting you and your crew to the Kestrel. Don't try to fight us or we won't have time to get everyone to safety."
"You!" Savaria said. "I will kill you even though it's the last thing I will ever do!"
"You're wasting time. Give the order and lower what remains of your shields. We have just enough time to get this done."
Savaria screamed. "Turn off that TRIBBLE and fire something at her now!" she commanded.
For forty years Savaria had been princess of an ancient, wealthy house. She had viewed life as a game, and everyone in it was her pawn to play with as she desired. Even her mother, who was a dangerous pawn but a pawn nevertheless, was nothing to Savaria but a means to an end. And this ruddy halfbreed runt had come along and ruined everything. Her house was destroyed, its slaves scattered to the winds. The remnants of her vast fortune existed now only in hidden caches of relics too old to be of service but too valuable to be simply discarded. She could spend a lifetime rebuilding and never achieve what she had once taken for granted. And it was all...her...fault!
She flung herself over to the helm control and shoved the male seated there out of her way. She plotted a ramming course. She set the ship's autodestruct, and now a second countdown began, this one from thirty seconds. She...
"NO!" she shrieked as she began to dematerialize. She was being transported!
Mirra watched the scene on Kestrel's main viewer. She was the only one who could understand what was being said on the Orion bridge, with the possible exception of Chuss, whose latent telepathic ability might aid him in comprehending a language he had never learned.
"Mason, can you get a lock on any of them?" she asked, leaning toward the communication panel.
"Their shields are up. I can't get a clean lock, and if I force it..."
"Keep trying. There are twenty lives over there."
"Aye, sir!" he answered.
They watched Savaria shove the male Orion. Without grav-plating he was hurled across the bridge to collide with a console. She manipulated the helm console and a second countdown began.
"Oh no..." Mirra said.
"What?" asked Voght.
"Self destruct," Chuss said.
Then Savaria screamed as she began to dematerialize.
"Mason! You got her!" Mirra said. Then she heard the familiar sound of materialization, on Kestrel's bridge!
Savaria materialized forward of the helm and navigation consoles facing the viewscreen but she pivoted while drawing a knife from a concealed sheath. She saw Mirra, screamed, and charged.
"Shields up!" Mirra yelled as she tumbled sideways over the port conn console which sagged when her weight proved too much for its supporting pivot-arm, turning what was intended to be a graceful roll across the console into a clumsy spill. When she hit the deck Savaria was over her and the knife came down.
Mirra rolled, then kicked Savaria's knee. Savaria saw the kick coming and twisted so that Mirra's foot hit the back of her thigh, and as Savaria continued to spin she kicked with the same leg into Mirra's midriff. She tried to bring the knife down again but Mirra was quicker. With one heel she slammed the top of Savaria's foot and felt something crunch. Then as she rolled away she hooked the other leg with her foot and pulled it sideways at the knee. Savaria dropped to the knee with her face in the ship's defense display just forward of the Engineering station. As Mirra bounced to her feet she noticed Chuss' chair at the helm spinning, empty. But Chuss wasn't helping with the fight; he had simply moved over to the navigation station.
Chief Voght also moved when Savaria beamed in: to the Bridge Armory Locker. It contained two Type III phaser rifles and four Type II phaser pistols. Mason had keyed the locker to voice authorization, but hers was not one of the authorized voices. She began to try to guess the password, which she entered manually. It was something Mason wouldn't forget. "Maizel." Not his mother's name. "Cerberus." Not his first ship. "Guiness." Not that human ale he drank. The password could be anything! Damn him, what was it? What would he never forget, even in an emergency? He's a human, think like a human!
The display blinked and "WAIT!" appeared. Then, "Thalys," came up.
The panel fell down exposing two rifles on racks within the compartment and four pistols in slots in the door. She said, "Thanks, Friday," grabbed a pistol and turned around...
The Type I hand phaser was small, easily concealed, and very powerful within a limited range and with a limited number of charges. On advice from Dr. S'lott Sean had begun to carry one, set to stun, in a belt-holster under his uniform blouse. He had been having trouble dealing with the lethality of Chuss when their ship had been boarded and the doctor suggested it might give him an alternative in case it ever came up again. Just knowing it was there had helped with his anxiety. And of course he practiced with it. He was really quite good for a novice, or so Mason said. When the Orion woman beamed in he froze for a moment. She screamed and charged the Lieutenant. The Lieutenant rolled away, took a kick in her side, rolled again and pulled the Orion woman from her feet. Chuss moved. Sean thought that Chuss was about to disembowel the woman. Without realizing it Sean had drawn his little phaser and fired.
Then Mason was there. "Good job, sir!" he said in passing, and he pressed the Ensign's arm down before he passed in front of the phaser.
"Lieutenant, you've been hit," Mason said as he put restraits on the unconscious Orion.
Mirra looked down to her red uniform tunic and saw a brown stain spreading from a small puncture in her uniform blouse. She touched it and her fingertips came away with green on them.
On the viewer there was a brilliant white flash and the Kestrel shook violently.
***
Waiting was difficult, as it always was. Lee stood by the door to the kitchenette, which was also adjacent to the door to the corridor. They had not turned on any lights, and in the semi-dark, illuminated only by the city lights which penetrated the heavy draperies on the window-wall, it was easy to imagine all sorts of bad things happening in the building, in the city, in space. But right now the only thing that mattered was the safety of the judge.
He had his comm badge turned down to its lowest setting and still he could hear the warbling whine of the signal jammer. It must be playing havoc with the planetary communications network which relied upon a series of satellites in synchronous orbits above the planet's equator to link the distant cities. Within the cities, however, due to the way radio and other EM radiation bounced around inside domes and around angular skyscrapers, the local communications grid was an integral part of the electroplasma power distribution system, and was very likely unaffected by the jamming device. If he dared to use it he might be able to summon help. If it was tapped he could alert the enemy to his location and they could potentially get to him quicker than local law enforcement.
Fortune had played him two wild cards and he intended to get the best use of them that he could. The first was that Dr. Sar was still in the service elevator when the Red Alert went off. Had he stepped out of it the car would have been stuck in the basement, locked until a bell-hop could be found to unlock it. Dr. Sar immediately returned to the twentieth floor with the judge's clerk. The second wildcard was that room number 2108, a floor above the room being used by the judge, was unoccupied. There was no one to panic and cause a disturbance when they arrived. Lee quickly sent the elevator car to the basement level where its automatic controls would lock it against unauthorized use, and incidentally lead anyone who looked to conclude that he had taken the judge down to the basement level. There was no way to know if his ploy was a success, except to have the attackers arrive or to wait for the jamming signal to cease.
But waiting was difficult.
***
"Hi, it's me again," Lucky said. "I'll stay on the line this time until the police arrive. I want to talk to the first officer you can get to the comm, okay?"
"Is this some kind of crazy joke?" the receptionist asked. "Are you hoaxing like on that pranking show?"
"No, I'm not pranking you. You did call the police, right? This is very serious, and I have three people in need of medical care who also need to be arrested for murder. Look, I know this sounds crazy, but someone was trying to assassinate a Federation judge, and I'm a member of the service that protects them."
"So, what, you go around shooting people? I mean, this is crazy!"
"No, we don't go around shooting people. This is rare. This is the first time anything like this has ever happened that I know of. Usually someone makes a threat or something, like when the judge sentences them to rehab, but they don't ever carry it out."
"I still can't believe this!" she said. "You seemed like a nice guy, and then you call me and say you went and killed five people?"
"I didn't kill anybody," Lucky said. "Well, the one guy who fell into the elevator shaft. But that was an accident..." Lucky realized how foolish he sounded and stopped. "I agree, this is crazy. But I need to speak to the officers when they arrive, and we need medical teams on the twentieth floor."
"They're here," she said. "Officer! Hey! I have someone who needs to talk to you!" Then she remembered to mute her pickup.
Lucky could just imagine the conversation. It would be a miracle if the police didn't charge up and arrest him as the perpetrator of the murders!
"Sergeant Milhouse here," said a businesslike woman.
"Deputy Marshal David Star, Sergeant. I have, so far as I can tell, secured Room twenty-oh-eight and the corridor from the elevator to the room, but I have not checked any of the other rooms. The four members of your security detail are dead. Focused disruptor beam. One of the four attackers is most likely dead from a fall into the service elevator shaft which serves the oh-six and oh-eight rooms. There are also two unconscious attackers in that same shaft so do not use it until the people have been secured and removed. My marshal, another deputy, and the judge with her staff are not in the room, and I presume they are still in the hostel because it appeared the attackers were still looking for them when I arrived. I, the Marshal, and the other deputy are in uniform with badges displayed... your team is arriving via the elevator now?"
"Just stay where you are, Mister Star, and we'll take care of this."
"There may be other attackers in the building, but I can't be certain. The squad is coming down the corridor now," Deputy Star said.
"In here!" Lucky said in a voice intended to carry. "I'm Deputy Marshal David Star! My hands are empty!"
"Step out into the corridor," a masculine voice said.
The squad was an eight-man assault team, complete with armor and combat rifles, (hopefully set to stun!)
David stepped into the corridor with his empty hands showing. Four red aiming lasers focused on him.
"Get medical teams here, there is one unconscious attacker there on the floor and two more in the elevator shaft."
"Secure the subject," said one of the armored officers. As the officers moved to allow the pair tasked with 'securing' him to pass the four dots remained steady.
***
Dr. Sar sat with the judge and her associates in the largest of the three rooms. On his lap he cradled a phaser, and his chair faced both the door and large window over which the draperies had been drawn when he first entered. They had not been opened. In the dim illumination that leaked through them he listened to the whispers of the judge and her staff. It gave them the sound of conspirators hatching a plot, or of children at a slumber party. Both ideas were somehow amusing to him, especially considering that the whispers were wholly unnecessary. There had been an explosion earlier which he had reognized only by the vibrations in the floor of the building. They could have an argument and not be overheard in the adjacent suite.
When he had said, "Charges," Lee had nodded and said, "Your Honor, I want you and your staff in the back, away from the door if anyone tries to come in. Doctor Sar will guard you."
That had been just under half an hour ago, and he could discern the impatience in the whispers of the judge and her people who were huddled on the bed.
On cue, the Judge raised her whisper and asked, "How long will we be here?"
"I do not know. I conjecture that we may be safe now: professional criminals tend to act quickly and move on, especially when they fail to obtain their goal as planned. Staying longer only increases the chance they will be apprehended."
He didn't whisper, which seemed to shock the judge's clerk of court. One whispered while hiding! He gave her a little smile, uncertain if she could see it in the twilight.
"If we're safe now we could go back to my room and I can get back to work. I detest being idle."
"Conjecture is not certainty, Your Honor. We will remain here until the Marshal determines that another course of action is wise."
"And how long will that be?" she demanded. He could tell that she was anxious, frustrated, and needed an outlet. She was using him as the focus of that frustration and her mild sarcasm was her way of relieving her tension. To insist that he remain obedient to the Marshal's instructions would only heighten her anxiety and frustration. Instead, he would allow her to achieve the desired emotional release by acceeding to her command.
"I shall ask Marshal Lee," he said.
As he rose to step over to the door he felt a familiar tingle.
"It appears I am wanted elsewhere," he said as he dematerialized in a transporter beam.
***
The police van outside the hostel was spacious, considering he was its only occupant. The two benches along its outer walls would have had knees banging had there been others seated in the van with him, and eight men would have made the space cramped.
The back door opened and an armored officer who had doffed her helmet entered.
"Sergeant Milhouse, I presume?" he asked.
"Yes, and you are David Star, Deputy Federation Marshal. Turn around please."
He turned and she released the cuffs that bound his wrists. when he turned back she handed him his badge, which he pinned on. She then held his weapon out in the way those familiar with firearms do: overhand by the barrel with the handgrip facing his right side and the muzzle pointing down.
"Interesting weapon," she said as he checked the load and returned it to its holster.
"It has its disadvantages. If I'm right in my assumption of who those attackers were, the three men I shot with it will have taken a slow-acting toxin. Your medical staff needs to neutalize it."
"Is that what's making them turn funny colors?"
"No," said David with a grin, "My weapon uses melenex crystals. It's a harmless temporary side effect."
"You said you think you know where the judge and your marshal are hiding?"
"I think they are in the hostel, but I would advise against hunting for them. The Marshal is extrmely dangerous."
"Says the young man who took out four would-be assassins by himself. What would you advise?"
"To wait for our crew to deal with that signal jammer. Then I can simply call him on his communicator. Meanwhile, I presume you've cordoned off the building. Anyone who tries to enter or leave should be scanned for medical gear and possibly the agent that neutralizes the poison."
"All of that has been done, except for the antidote bit. Your crew. The ship in orbit?"
He nodded.
"I'm told it broke orbit some time ago, and that there was a flash consistent with a warp core breach just before I came in."
"Then I don't know what to tell you. I have a high degree of confidence in our crew. I do know that if armored men unknown to the Marshal kick in the door of his hiding spot, there are likely to be dead armored men."
"You seem to have a high degree of confidence in your marshal too."
"Ma'am, he does his morning workouts with a two hundred kilo Caitian."
"Alright, we'll play this your way." She slapped the door twice and it opened. To the officer who opened it she said, "Search teams are restricted to public spaces and corridors. Only enter rooms which ask for escort. Have Aerel make public announcements in the building that this is an Emergency Response Training Exercise, and if a guest wishes to exit his room to call the front desk and ask for an escort. For purposes of training, all guests discovered outside their rooms without escort will be detained. Thank the guests for their cooperation."
"Yes sir," said the armored policeman.
"You're with me," she said to David as she exited the van.
Other vehicles had arrived since his being placed into the van. The officer who had opened its door was trotting toward the hostel and they followed at a normal pace. Another armored policeman shoved her helmet and a P.A.D.D. into the sergeant's hands. She said a profane word and quickened her step.
"Lieutenant!" she shouted as she entred the lobby of the hostel. "Lieutenant!"
"About time you got here," the uniformed, but unarmored and rather pudgy officer said. "This is shaping up to be a..."
The fair-skinned sergeant was three shades of red darker than usual as she said, "You do NOT show up at MY crime scene and begin countermanding my orders, SIR!"
Sergeant Milhouse turned to the armored, three-armed, three legged officer on the comm panel at the registration desk and said, "Aerel, disregard the Lieutenant's instructions. My orders stand."
"Now look here," said the Lieutenant, "As senior officer present I'm..."
"Not the senior officer," said Star, interrupting the Lieutenant a second time. "Deputy Federation Marshal David Star. This case involves the security of a Federation Judge and her staff, which places it in my jurisdiction. Sergeant, you have your orders."
"Yes sir," she said.
"Lieutenant, if you would, let's step over here and talk while the Sergeant does her thing. Better yet, do you have a command vehicle?"
***
Lee heard the panic in the bedroom and just as he moved a voice made an announcement over the room's telecom system. He ignored the telecom and entered the bedroom where the judge and her associates sat on the bed. Dr. Sar was missing.
"He just transported!" the judge said.
That's when Lee realized the static was no longer keening from his communicator. He tapped it and said, "Volume to five, Lee to Kestrel."
Almost immediately he got another call, "Deputy Star to Marshal Lee."
"Lee here," he answered.
"Kestrel here, Skipper," said Chief Voght's voice as simultaneously Star said, "The local police have the building cordoned off and they are anxious to find you and the judge."
"Hold on, you're talking over one another. Voght, put us on the same channel."
"Aye, sir... Done."
"Good, do you know where Doctor Sar is?"
"Hopefully in sickbay, sir," said Ensign Tanaka. "Lieutenant Mirra was injured. It's a superficial wound, but poison is involved and Crewman Brock can't identify it. She was having breathing difficulty and paralysis. Brock put her on a respirator but he couldn't stop the progress of the poison. We needed Doctor Sar. Sir, Brock says it may not matter. The poison..."
"You've done what you could, Ensign. What's the status of the ship?"
"The Kestrel is intact, undamaged. We have Savaria and one of her officers in the brig, but their ship is a cloud of radioactive vapor now. They did it themselves, or she did. Self destruct."
"I'll review the logs later. Are there any other vessels in orbit or in the system?"
"Ah, let's..."
"Sir," interrupted Chief Voght, "There are two system service shuttlecraft in operation between the planet and its orbital cargo transfer station, and several mining vessels in the outer system, all Warp 2 class or lower. Currently there are no starships in the system."
"Thank you Chief," Lee said. "Ensign, there are three lifesigns within three meters of my communicator. Have Crewman Mason go to Transporter Room 1 and beam them aboard. It is the judge and her party. They are to be given access to the guest quarters and to the Briefing Room, and Cadet Friday is to assist the Judge with whatever materials and data she requires."
"Understood, sir," Tanaka said.
"Okay, David," Lee said, "Go ahead."
"Marshal, the police have cordoned off the building and are searching anyone who wants to leave for weapons, medical gear, or antitoxin compounds. I've strongly discouraged them from performing a room to room search for you, but they are anxious to begin doing just that for any surviving attackers."
"Did you mention our observer on the balcony to them?"
"TRIBBLE! Sir, I forgot about that. Lieutenant, inform the sergeant that we want to question the occupant or ocupants of room, ah..."
"Three-oh-two," Lee prompted.
"Three-oh-two," Lucky repeated. "Sorry, sir, if he was smart he's already moved and I've cost us a suspect."
"If he was smart he'd have moved before the attack began. He is likely either one of the attackers or an innocent guest who was enjoying the view. Deputy, I..."
He paused as the judge and her staff dematerialized.
"You're in room twenty-one-oh-eight," Lucky said.
"Very good, Deputy. The judge has been transported to safety now. The police may search the building."
***
This was her third time in this cell. The first time was after she was captured by that customs officer on a backwater world that segregated their population by sex. They put her into this cell during her transport to the Federation Court on Savin's Planet. She should have been able to free herself from that mess, but Mother had to interfere and send a halfbreed ruddy mercenary to 'rescue' her. Only, the ruddy turned out to be a Starfleet officer working for some kind of Federation policeman. She had never even heard of a marshal before the fake rescue resulted not only in the loss of her actual rescuers, but of her family's empire. And now, her revenge failed, her last assets used up in the attempt, she was once again in this same damned prison cell on this same damned ship. Her advocate wouldn't be able to help her this time as she had heard he had been arrested.
At least the Good Masters had given her the opportunity to make one last gesture: that ruddy TRIBBLE was dead now, or would be soon! Just the thought was delicious. She laughed.
"What's so funny, Mistress?" asked a male from the adjoining cell. She had been unconscious when they brought her in, and was unaware until that moment that she had company.
"Valeem?" she asked. "What are you doing here?"
"I was transported at the same time you were."
"They captured you alive?" she said in shock.
"There were two of them when I transported in, they both had phasers. Set to stun, I presume. I attacked anyway, and woke here."
"How did I end up on the bridge and you in the transporter room if they transported us together?"
"They transported only me. Faezal transported you."
"What? Why?" she shouted, "That TRIBBLE had no right..."
"He did it to save your life, Mistress. We are expendable, you are not. With you goes Kmt'aa Cartel, house Ghovasse, and five thousand years of history."
"And I've lived to see that five thousand years come to an end! Better I should have died!"
"No, mistress, no. Better you should live to rebuild what was. In five thousand years the name Ghovasse will still be spoken with reverence, and slaves will count themselves fortunate to serve in your name. The dynasty dies only if you die."
"I have a daughter," Savaria said.
"A child, untrained, untested. Without an heir of the lineage to tutor her in her place in history. She may one day be fit to rule, but that day will be many years from now."
"A great house brought so low as to have one slave, one heir, and one matron, and she in prison, at that!"
"One slave?" he asked.
"You."
"I'm sorry, Mistress, but I've broken my tooth."
"Ah," she said. He had been fitted with a prosthetic tooth which contained a lethal substance. As a safety precaution a waxy resin surrounded the substance and it could be spit out if the tooth was broken accidentally, but once the coating dissolved or was bitten there was no antitoxin which could stop the progress of the poison.
"You were a good and loyal slave, Valeem. May the Good Masters reward you for your years of service."
"Thank you Mistress. I will do my best to die quietly."
Five thousand years, she thought. Five thousand years from now she could be known as the matron who saved a defeated house and returned it to greatness, or she would be forgotten. Five thousand year ago her ancestress had less than she had now and built a fortune that lasted and grew over many generations. With her wit, her knowledge, and her name, Savaria could not fail, but it would require patience and planning. She would work on gaining the first while she did the second.
***
"Madam Minister," he called to the Triexian Minister of Security, and waved to gain her attention as he moved through the crowded office in her direction.
About twenty percent of the local population was Triexian, and they stood out not only for their height, which averaged slightly above that of humans, but for their strangely smooth three-legged stride. They appeared, at a distance, to float among the pedestrians.
When she approached he said, "Madam Minister, if you have time, I'm on my way back to my ship and I'd like to introduce you to the cause of all of this recent trouble."
"I am Aerinx. Madam Minister sounds so pretentious, don't you think? How long will it take to make this introduction? I have meetings which cannot be delayed."
"I would be happy to wait until your schedule allows enough time, Minister. As you know, we're ordered to stay here until a board of inquiry can convene. There's no hurry on my part, but my ship is equipped with transporters. We can be there in just a few minutes, and you can meet the prisoners, examine our ship's logs, or ask questions of my crew. If you prefer, one of your deputies could go in your place."
"I would like to see these prisoners, and the mighty warship that saved our world from a pirate ship."
She turned and waved to her aide who appeared to slide through the crowd toward her. "Aemox, let Deputy Minister Fellows know that I will be delayed in getting to the Carpathia Cantonment Summit. He is to convene and chair the meeting."
"Yes, Minister," he said. He looked down at Lee, then turned and glided away, his three legs quick-stepping in the strange Triexian gait.
"I now have about two hours, Marshal."
"I'm Lee," he said. "It's a pleasure to make your aquaintence, though I would have preferred a less serious occasion to do so." He took the Starfleet combadge from his pocket and said, "Lee to Kestrel."
"Kestrel here," said Chief Voght.
"Have Crewman Mason report to Transporter Room One to receive myself and the Minister of Security."
"Aye, sir."
"It shouldn't take long..." Lee began when Mason's voice came over the combadge.
"Skipper, is the Minister the alien standing beside you?"
"The Minister is Triexian."
"Yes sir. Two beings locked in and ready to transport on your order."
"We are ready."
A few heads turned as they began to dematerialize, and a moment later they were aboard the Kestrel.
Mason played his Bosun's Call, the signal for visiting dignitaries, and announced, "Attention all hands, Minister of Security is aboard the ship!"
He reached over and tapped the door control panel and the hatch to the quarterdeck opened. In the quarterdeck Chief Voght and crewmen Ben, Aktay, Ladner, and Sibley were standing in line at attention.
Lee smiled. "We have so few opportunities for ceremony, Minister. Please come this way." He lead the minister out of the transporter room, past the Honor Guard on the quarterdeck, and into the Cargo Bay.
"My apologies," Lee said as he ducked beneath the power conduit that divided the compartment, "It's a bit low here."
"Do not worry," the Minister replied. "I am Limbo champion of the security department. We Triexians are far more limber than humans, and our center of weight is considerably lower." She demonstrated her flexibility as she flowed beneath the obstacle.
When Lee opened the hatch to the Starboard Quarterdeck they had to pause as Dr. Sar and Crewman Brock manipulated a stretcher with a lage male Orion on it.
"What's this?" Lee asked.
"A corpse," Dr. Sar replied as he backed through the hatch.
"I can see that. As of my last report this person was alive."
"Indeed," said Sar as he backed across the Cago Bay. "I suspect poison, and I suspect it was self-inflicted. I am curious as to how it was gotten past our sensors; that flaw should be corrected. It should have been picked up in the transport buffer or by the Brig Security Screen."
He was short enough to walk upright beneath the power conduit, though Brock had to stoop as he passed.
"Let me know what you find," Lee said.
"I always do," the Doctor replied as he entered the hatch to the Port Quarterdeck.
"This way, Min... ah, Aerinx," said Lee as he lead the way into the Starboard Quarterdeck. "I'm not surprised that an Orion male would suicide in the face of defeat, but I am surprised that our safeguards didn't catch the poison and eliminate it. We'll have to upgrade our security screening process once we find out how it was gotten past our filters."
"What will you do with the body now?" she asked.
"I had intended to have the Orion charged with piracy in a Federation court. Now, I suppose I'll turn him over to your government for processing in whatever manner your world finds suitable."
"And if we don't want him?"
"Starfleet disposes of corpses in the nearest star. 'From stardust we were made, and to the stars we return,' I believe, is the line in the standard funeral service."
"It would seem a convenient way to dispose of evidence of mistreatment of prisoners," the Minister speculated.
"Which is why, before we do anything else, the Doctor will take three-dee full-body scans for the record. Of course, if you wish, we can have the body transported to your forensics laboratories for full anylisis. I would request that Doctor Sar be present for the autopsy so that I can insure we learn what killed the man and find a way to prevent its happening again."
"Oh, no, I'm not accusing you. I have a naturally suspicious mind honed by years of police work."
"As do I. It's an unfortunate byproduct of our craft. If you will follow me," Lee said and he opened the hatch to the brig.
A blue light flashed and scanned each of them as they entered. The first two cells were empty, though the center one still had its holographic furnishings. The last contained Savaria, who stood by the force field.
"Where did you take Valeem?" she demanded. "You're going to kill him, aren't you? You murderers!"
"Minister Aerinx," Lee said, "Meet Savaria Ghovasse, former matron of the Kmt'aa Cartel, escaped Federation Convict, achitect of the assassination attempt on the judge, the murder of four of your peace officers, and the person responsible for the recent blackout of your world's communications network."
"I didn't do any of those things!" shouted Savaria. "I'm innocent! I want to see my advocate!"
"She has a point," the Minister said. "She is entitled to an advocate."
"And the courts will appoint one to her in due time. For now she is an escaped felon, and I require no writs or warrants to hold her until such time as she can be returned to the custody of the Bureau of Penology."
"They have the wrong girl, Minister!" said Savaria in a pleading tone. "Do I look like I could kill anyone?"
Lee said, "Of course, your world will want to prosecute her for the crimes she committed in your space. I've arranged for the recordings of the battle with the pirate vessel to be submitted to your prosecutor's office, and we'll coordinate with your world's court system in arranging for her trial."
"I realize this is a multi-jurisdiction case," said the minister. "But that will be a matter for our legalists to work out. I'm in law enforcement."
"Is there anything else you'd like to see before we head up to the Bridge? I'm due to speak to my supervisor, and she will no doubt wish to speak to you as well."
"Look at me," Savaria begged. "I'm innocent! I couldn't do any of those things! They're going to kill me like they killed Valeem! Don't let them do this, Minister! Take me with you!"
"I think I've seen enough here," the Minister said.
Lee lead the Triexian back to the hatch and said, "Exit." Once again the blue light flashed and scanned both of them before the hatch opened.
"I'm INNOCENT!" Savaria screamed. "LET ME OUT!"
The hatch closed on her, leaving her alone again. This time without even the company of her dead slave.
***
"I am glad to see the Doctor was able to treat the poison," he said.
"Thanks for coming," the Lieutenant said. "I wanted to ask you something."
He stepped over to the bed and waited as she looked at him with her strange green eyes. Eyes like those of a hero out of the Honor Tales of his childhood.
Finally she said, "Mister Chuss, you like fighting hand-to-hand. You're good at it."
"Thank you," he said, and waited again.
"So why didn't you?" she asked. "You just got up and moved out of the way."
"I would never interfere in an honor duel between rivals," he said.
"Honor duel?" Mirra asked. "She used a poisoned knife! Where's the honor in that?"
"Orion and Caitian standards differ," he said simply.
"I wasn't fighting for honor! I was fighting for my life!"
"At least one of you thought the fight was personal," he said. "I'm betting both of you did. So long as the duel was conducted ship-to-ship there was no doubt but that I should act in my capacity as a member of its crew to help you defeat your rival. When the battle became personal there was no question but that I should not interfere. It is a matter of honor."
"Ensign Tanaka interfered," she challenged. "Does that mean I'm dishonored?"
"No. It means your fight is not yet over. You were moments away from defeating her in a manner she could not help but recognize as defeat. Now? She has an excuse, and she will continue the fight. Your duel is not finished."
"She's in the brig. It's over."
"Is it?" Chuss asked. "Perhaps I am mistaken. Ask Savaria."
***
Sibley stood behind the bar polishing glasses and putting them away as he told his tale to Aktay. Chief Voght and Ensign Tanaka flanked the computer technician, and Chief Garadda sat on the stool at the end of the bar facing back toward the entrance of The Briefing Room.
"The Lieutenant was starting to tremble," he said, and she stumbled on her way to the Conn. Chief Voght had to catch her and help her sit. Mason was telling Mister Friday to tell Brock to come to the bridge, and Mister Tanaka just stood there holding his little phaser."
"I was thinking!" the Ensign said.
"Finally Chief Voght said, 'Mister Tanaka, you're in command!' By this time the Lieutenant was starting to tremble hard, and it must have been pretty painful because she had her jaw clamped and her breathing was short and hard. By then Mason had Savaria shackled and he flipped her onto his shoulder and headed for the brig.
"Brock came in just as Mason was leaving, only he had a phaser rifle instead of a medkit. 'Give me a hand,' he said to me, and he started helping the Lieutenant to her feet.
"The Ensign finally said, 'Chief Voght, your advice?' and she said, 'We need Doctor Sar!'"
"Crewman Brock said that," the Ensign said.
"Chief said it too," Sibley insisted. "But by that time the Ensign was in control. He jumped into the Conn and got busy while I helped Brock get the Lieutenant to Sick Bay. The last I heard was Mister Tanaka saying, 'Mister Chuss! Back to the planet!'"
"So what happened after that?" Aktay asked.
Chief Voght said, "The Ensign called up the Comms controls on the unbroken Conn console and worked his magic."
"I just paralleled the jamming signal and fed it into a noise cancellation subroutine," the Ensign said.
"I didn't know you could do that," said Voght.
"Well, not against active jamming, but a programmed jammer? Sure."
"Anyway, it worked. I was finally able to penetrate the noise with the sensors, though Comms were still jammed. When we got close enough to the planet I managed to get a sensor lock on the Doctor's combadge, so I sent the coordinates and the link to the Transporter Room and told Ra... Crewman Mason to get the Doctor.
"The Ensign was still having trouble with the jammer, and we needed comms. When I asked he said, 'I can't shut it off!' so I said, 'I can!'"
"She blew it up!" the Ensign said. "It was evidence! We needed that jammer intact!"
"I only meant to disable it," Chief Voght insisted. "I used a low-power burst from a single secondary capacitor. That thing had a self-destruct charge on it."
"I could have shut it down," the Ensign protested. "I just needed more time."
"It would have blown up anyway," the Chief said.
"We'll never know for sure now," Aktay said, heading off a potential argument. "Mister Tanaka's finest hour, and I missed it!"
When the door slid open they turned to see Ben and Bennie coming in. Bennie had something in her hand. It was about twenty centimeters tall and half that in width and depth, and it was draped with a cloth. She set it on the bar between Aktay and the Ensign and stood back, her head tilted slightly back.
"It is for you," Ben said, looking at the Ensign.
"Well, thank you," he said. "What is it?"
Aktay reached over and pulled away the cloth. It was a tiny replica of the Kestrel's Conn with the port console broken at the pivot and tilted to the deck. Seated at the Conn was a very realistic miniature Ensign Sean Tanaka with the starboard console turned across his lap. His face was a study in concentration and he leaned forward, his right hand on the console, his left on the armrest of the chair as he gazed forward toward some distant view.
"It's perfect!" said Aktay. The Ensign just stared.
Chief Voght turned and put her hand on Bennie's arm with her head tilted back in the Pakled gesture for amusement.
Sibley asked, "Why is there a snake on the floor?"
Carved into the deck beneath the Conn was a snake, its head pointed to the Ensign's left foot and its body forming the sinuous posture a snake assumes before it strikes.
***
The Vulcan captain tapped the bell on the table before him and said, "The room will come to order."
There was an immediate hush followed by the sounds of the assembly taking seats. The conference room was on the USS Sharin, an older Excelsior-class vessel which was still in service as a second-line patrol vessel. The room had been set up for a board of inquiry, with three chairs behind a long table on one end of the room flanked by flags of the Federation, a central seat facing the three board members with a court recorder to one side, and beyond that several rows of chairs, enough for about fifty observers and witnesses, also facing the board.
The Vulcan gave the bell three double-taps and said, "This Board of Inquiry is now in session. The purpose of this inquiry is to establish the facts of the recent incident involving the USS Kestrel and an unidentified vessel which resulted in the destruction of the unidentified vessel and its crew, with the exception of one survivor, who is currently held in custody by the Federation Marshal Service as an escaped convicted felon. Arrangements are currently being made to convene this board to hear the testimony of this survivor, with respect to the Marshal Service's safety and security requirements. All relvant logs and recordings have been submitted to this board and are made a part of the official inquiry. Have the members of the board had sufficient time to examine these records?"
The human captains flanking him both nodded affirmatively.
"Very well, we shall move on to the testimony of the crew of the USS Kestrel. With the consent of the members of the board, I would like to call the Kestrel's acting commanding officer during the incident, Lieutenant Mirra."
The two captains nodded agreement and the Vulcan JAG officer who was acting as recorder for the inquiry called out, "Lieutenant Mirra, please take the stand."
Before she took her seat the Vulcan JAG Lieutenant swore her in, then stepped over to the recording computer terminal.
"As you are aware," the Vulcan captain said, "This is not a trial. You do not have the right to remain silent, and must answer any and all questions put to you as thoroughly and as accurately as possible. The computer will monitor your testimony for veracity. Is this understood?"
"Yes sir," Mirra said, shifting to get comfortable in the hard-backed chair.
"Lieutenant, this is the second occasion of our meeting," the Vulcan said. "Do you recall the circumstances of the first?"
"Yes, I do," Mirra answered.
"Please describe those circumstances."
"I was in temporary command of the USS Kestrel and in pursuit of Doctor Aguilar, an escaped convicted felon who is still at large at this time."
"You were aggressively seeking a foe with the intent to become involved in ship-to-ship combat?"
"I was pursuing a dangerous murderer with the intent to bring him to justice."
"Could you have captured this criminal without combat?"
"Sir, I... No. I couldn't have. But I wasn't going to catch him. His ship was faster than mine; I could only keep him in my sensors and guide other ships..."
"And now," the captain interrupted, "we have yet another situation in which you, as acting captain, chose to engage in combat. The pattern is quite disturbing."
"It's not a pattern, sir," Mirra said. "I didn't seek out combat: Savaria attacked my ship. I moved the Kestrel away from her apparent destination and she chased us down."
"Regarding your movement away from the planet: when asked where you wanted the ship to go you replied, and I quote from the Bridge Recording: 'Not too far. Just far enough to get room to fight.' This and other comments made by you would appear to indicate that not only were you anticipating combat, but that you did nothing to mitigate the possibility. You made no serious attempt to avoid combat."
"You are right, sir," Mirra said with a sigh. "I could have taken the Kestrel to warp and abandoned the Marshal to whatever fate Savaria of the Kmt'aa Cartel had in mind for him. I chose to not abandon my Skipper, and I did not attack until she made it clear that combat was her intent."
"How did you know it was this Savaria?" the Vulcan asked.
"I didn't. But it was a good bet that an unregistered Orion-built vessel headed toward my ship at high warp, blocking all attempts to communicate and activating a wide-band jamming device wasn't just dropping by for tea. At the time the only living Orion who held a grudge against me and my ship was Savaria."
"You made no attempt to call for assistance or to report this hostile vessel, but instead prepared to engage it in combat based on a 'good bet'?"
"I didn't take the time to calculate a probability curve, no sir. I trusted my intuition and my knowledge of Orion culture, then gave the other vessel the opportunity to prove me wrong. As for calling for help, there was none which could reach us in time to be of any assistance."
"And what was your emotional reaction when the unidentified vessel confirmed your intuition?"
"Confidence in my ship and crew, anxiety that Savaia had something more than straightforward combat in mind, concern for my Skipper and his deputies on the planet. I suppose one could say my emotional reaction was multi-faceted."
"There was no pleasure or anticipation for the upcoming fight?"
"Captain, I like to train to fight. I'm not bad at it, and the challenge of putting myself in situations which call upon my very best performance is exhilirating. But I don't like to actually fight. It's dangerous, people get hurt or killed, and any positive feeling is overshadowed by terror that I might do something wrong and it will cost the life of someone I love."
"Then could you please explain the reply you made in response to Crewman Sibley informing you that the enemy may have read the specifications of your ship and be prepared for the fight. You said, and I quote, 'I hope so.'"
Mirra smiled. "Sir, people have been reading the Kestrel's specifications and underestimating her for a long time. She fights well above her listed performance parameters. If Savaria based her decision to fight the Kestrel on the publicly available data on the Falcon class scouts, then she had made a severe strategic error. An error I intended to fully exploit."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," the Vulcan said. "I may have you return to answer further questions if any arise in the subsequent investigations."
"Yes sir."
The Vulcan Captain turned to his left and said, "Captain Syrell, your witness."
"We've met as well, briefly, over Savin's Planet."
"Yes sir. How's your ship?"
"Better now, thank you," the captain said. "That was one Hell of a bit of piloting you did that day: disabled three interceptors in what, forty seconds?"
"I had help, sir, not the least of which was that they were all shooting at you at the time."
"An advantage, to be sure. But your aggression and decisiveness in battle were also key components in the outcome that day. And this time as well. My concern is that your aggression may be obscuring other possibilities than combat. What other alternatives did you consider before committing to a fight?"
"Sir, have you ever dealt with Orions? Not the ones like me who grew up in the Federation, but the old-fashioned kind? For them there is but one law: dominate or submit. There is no middle ground, no room for negotiation, no accommodation for differences of opinions, no respect for the personhood of others. To such Orions, one is either a slave or a master, and Savaria clearly sees herself as a master. In her mind I challenged her, and her choices were simple: to dominate me or to submit and become my slave.
"The best, the very best I could have hoped for in that situation, if I managed to avoid combat, would be to have that combat later at a time and place of Savaria's choosing, and very likely without the strategic and tactical advantages I held at that moment. In other words, there was nothing to gain and a considerable amount to lose by delaying the inevitable fight. And yes, Starfleet might have stopped her elsewhere, but they hadn't caught her in the previous ninety days and she is an experienced smuggler who has spent a lifetime eluding Starfleet. And even if a Starfleet vessel caught up to her, she was never going to submit without a fight."
"I see. Thank you. Captain Husband?"
"We've met before as well," he said. "Twice. You're a bit greener now than the last time we met. And your captain, Skipper? Was in command at the latest event. But both times your little ship got my ship involved in combat. I know of front-line units which see less action. Can you explain how everywhere you go you seem to end up in armed conflict?"
"If you recall, sir," Mirra said, "The first time you and Captain Syrell were involved was to aid in bringing down the Kmt'aa Cartel base, which was a major cross-border smuggling operation that was feeding Klingon weaponry into Federation space in exchange for Federation drugs and technology which they sold to the Klingons. Every subsequent combat action was the direct result of attacks by Kmt'aa Cartel operatives or by bounty hunters paid by Kmt'aa remnants. We didn't seek out conflict, sir, they sought us out with the motive of revenge for destroying their once great house.
"Thanks to Starfleet and the Klingon Defense Force, a once powerful criminal cartel is now broken and its last matron sits in the Kestrel's brig awaiting transport to a maximum security rehabilitation facility. If there are any remnants of the Kmt'aa Cartel out there still, they aren't looking for a fight. With any luck, the Kestrel's seen her last battle."
***
Mirra sat in the big chair on the Kestrel's empty bridge once again. It was the midwatch and Crewman Aktay had just wandered out on her rounds after bringing her a berry tart Bennie had made for tomorrow's breakfast. The Pakled woman was a marvel, to have so quickly adapted to a culture and technology so alien to that of her homeworld. She even knew what humans would like to eat and was turning out to be a wonderful chef.
Mira glanced at the delicious half-eaten tart sitting on the starboard Conn console, then at her slimmer, more toned abs and sighed. She would regain her subcutaneous fat layer once the Doctor's hormone inhibitors began their work, but she would work very hard to retain the muscle tone her Orion genes had given her.
She had a call to make, which was why she was on the bridge instead of in her quarters napping. Grandfather's morning tea was taken at eight o'clock, Cape-Town time. Before and after he was very busy, and she hated to interrupt him during business hours, but he would always set aside what he was doing when she called.
"Computer, what time is it in Cape Town, South Africa, Earth?"
"It is now zero seven fifty-two."
"Place the call," she said, and waited while the computer routed her com-signal through various subspace relays to Earth.
The Beryl Cruise Line logo, a green tiger's eye, appeared on the screen and a voice said, "Please state the party to whom you wish to speak and the purpose of your call."
She smiled. Grandfather was screening his calls today. "Code Princess," she said, and the logo vanished to be replaced by the familiar wrinkled green face of Umkhulu.
"Princess! What have you done?" He asked as he saw her in his monitor.
She stood and turned about. "You like?" she asked.
"Princess," he said with a stern expression on his face, "On the day you were born I saw the most beautiful sight I shall ever see. You were perfect then, and as you have grown you only became more so."
He paused to look up toward someone behind his desktop pickup, then said, "You handle it; it's just a simple negotiation. Reach an accord we can live with and still make a profit, or threaten to pull out and let someone else have the concession."
After a moment he nodded, said, "That will work. Cabo, I'm ready for my morning tea."
"Unkhulu, you work far too hard," she chided.
"Shush, child. If I stopped working I would shrivel up. So, I hope this new look is cosmetic. Does it have to do with the topic of our last conversation?"
"Yes, Umkhulu. That's why I'm calling. We have the Kmt'aa matron in the brig now and will be transferring her to a rehab facility as soon as we're cleared by the board of inquiry in the destruction of her ship. The look isn't exactly cosmetic. It's a hormone treatment that activates my natural latent tendencies. Doctor Sar has inhibited the hormones now and within a few weeks I'll be back to my plain old self again. I'm going to miss being skinny."
"I'm glad it is temporary. You look so much like your grandmother did at your age, that to see you is like traveling back in time to a younger part of my life. You keep me young."
"Umkhulu, why did you never mention that we are noble caste?" she asked as she raked her dark red hair with her fingers.
"Because in choosing to live among humans I set aside castes and prejudices. When my mother sent me away for my protection she was engaged in trying to bring about that very change on our homeworld, but when the Dian matron challenged we had civil war instead. There were strongly entrenched forces within our society who benefited from the old ways and who weren't prepared to give up their advantages. Happily, most of them went with Dian to the Empire, and those who remain in the Federation must at least pay lip service to the Federation Bill Of Rights."
"Your mother... She was Alesade of House Shafir? Then you would be..."
"The Dauphin, yes. But legends say the Dauphin is dead, and the matrons all believe it to be so. I am happy to let it remain so, so I can live my life without a bunch of power-hungry females trying to use me to advance their agenda."
"So you don't call me Princess because of my mother?"
"Dorcas was justly proud of her heritage, but about eighty percent of South Africa can claim direct descent from Shaka Zulu. You are royalty on both sides of the family. Your father is my firstborn and you are his, so you would be in line to assume the Jade Throne if it hadn't been broken and sold as jewelry when I was still very young."
"But Aunt Mavin is female..."
"And might have killed your father for his place had she been able, or perhaps his suitors would have killed her. It is a life I am altogether too happy to have left behind. It was a bloody mess, but my mother did the right thing when she tried to break the caste system and institutionalized slavery. It cost her her life, but half of our people now live as she dreamed they could. As for the other half, they too in time will be free. But these memories are best kept in the family and never spoken of, Princess. They are of a time that is past and will never come again."
"And if the secret were to get out..."
"I am too old and from a time to long gone to be of any importance, and your father is half-human. Our line has no claim to power among those who still practice the old ways. Yet some matron might try to strengthen her hand with ties to the old regime, or demonstrate her power by assassinating the last members of a defeated house. It is best as it is: fogotten."
"I will keep the secret, though I reserve the right to tell my children one day," she smiled. "Not that I have any such plans in the near future. I still have to earn my starship command."
"Ah, it's a shame. That nice young man I spoke with some time back seemed like a capable fellow."
"He's my captain. Also, I'm not his type."
"A shame. Still, there's hope I will have great-grandchildren soon enough to spoil them. I understand your cousin is enjoying the attention of a young astronomer."
"Katha?" Mirra asked. "She never went for the brainy types. Are you sure he's a scientist and not a football player on a team named 'Astronomers?'"
"You should know by now that I do my best to remain well informed," he said. "I can't have just anyone trying to usurp control of my empire through the affections of my grandchildren."
"I'll keep that in mind when I decide on a partner," Mirra said. "So, tell me about this guy. What's he like, and why is Katha interested in him?"
***
Mirra entered the brig in dress uniform, waited for the obligatory scan, then stepped over to stand in front of Savaria's cell.
After a moment of shock the Orion woman screeched, "YOU! YOU'RE DEAD!"
"Not even a little bit," Mirra replied. "What? You thought you could use poison on a Noble Caste? The Good Masters gave our kind immunity to any poison you could dream up."
"I swear, when I get out of here I'm going to devote my life to making sure you die and stay dead!" Savaia hissed.
"What a waste of a life. You could have been so much more than a petty criminal and a schemer. You're smart, brilliant, I'd say. You're not hard to look at, you were given an education and held position in society. And you wasted it all for what? Money? Status? Because you were bored? I don't understand you at all, I think. You could turn your life around, but here you stand promising what you can never deliver, and for such a petty reason as revenge. You could be so much more.
"I don't care what it takes, you halfbreed runt! You are dead, and it will be my hand that kills you!"
"So sad," Mirra said. "Anyway, I'm not here to reform you. I have a message to send, and you're a part of it. Feel free to say whatever you like. I'm sure my friend will enjoy hearing it."
"I won't cooperate!" Savaria said.
"As you wish," Mirra said. "Computer, create a monitor opposite the arch to Cell One and record video and audio from that point of view. Display the image on the monitor as it is recorded."
A rectangular blue border formed on the inboard bulkhead and displayed Mirra and Savaria. Mirra turned her back to Savaria and faced the monitor.
"Hi, it's me again," she said. "I just want to let you know that I've taken care of that little business transaction we recently negotiated. Say hi, Savaria."
Mirra turned and saw the angry face of Savaria turn away from the monitor.
"She's in a mood, isn't she?" Mirra asked. "Anyway, I'm sure by now you know who I am, so there's no question of me dropping by to collect the bounty. And you can keep the thirty-six bricks of latinum; they were hers anyway."
"Thirty-six bricks?" Savaria screeched, turning around to look at Mirra.
"As of now the Kmt'aa Cartel is no more. Anyone claiming to be a member of that failed family is a masterless pretender..."
"Whoever you are, I'll pay seventy-two bricks for this TRIBBLE's head! House Ghovasse still has assets and power! I'll be free of this Federation cage soon, and whoever hands me the head of this ruddy halfbreed will earn my undying gratitude!"
"As you can see," Mirra continued as if Savaria had never spoken, "I have the last matron of the Kmt'aa Cartel in my custody, and I also have her heir, who will soon forget she was ever a part of it."
"Kill her! I can pay! I have assets, slaves, and a name that goes back five thousand years! I'm Savaria Ghovasse! Kill the ruddy TRIBBLE and earn my favor, and my latinum!"
"For my part, our business is concluded. If your matrons should think there is still some matter between us,"
Mirra tapped the force field with a tip of one finger, placed to obscure Savaria's face when the screen pulsed in response.
"Remind them of the fate of House Ghovasse," Mirra said. "Computer, end recording. I'll edit it later."
The computer chirped as Mirra turned back to face Savaria.
"Don't worry, I'll leave in every word you said. Enjoy your hate, because it's all you will ever have of me. I think this will be the last time we see one another. As I said, for my part, our business is concluded. Goodbye, Savaria."
Mirra turned and headed to the hatch as Savaria screamed a long, inarticulate scream of hate and frustration. "Exit," she said, and the blue light scanned her before the hatch opened.
"I'll kill you! You're dead! You'll see! I'll kill you!" Savaria screamed as the hatch closed behind Mirra.
***
The troops of MACO 3rd Light Infantry Battalion, D Company were in formation facing the closed bay door. 256 troops in eight columns, all in zero-g combat armor with a red chess piece on their right pauldron and the UFP pennant on the left.
To the right of the formation was a platoon of Combat Engineers tethered to their heavy equipment sleds, and behind them a platoon of Heavy Weapons Infantry in powered suits built to field the tetryon-based Breaching Rifles, which could disrupt a small starship's shields, given enough time.
Specialist Sergeant Brock was near the door with the Company Command cadre, watching Major Goft. He listened to the command channel as the major issued a final briefing to his lieutenants.
He had been here before, he realized.
The ship shook.
The lights went red, and the lieutenants double-timed back to their platoons.
"Don't open the door!" he wanted to scream. He knew what came next.
He couldn't scream. He couldn't move. It was happening again, just like last time.
The outer, armored door began to roll up, and air molecules pressing against it highlighted the atmospheric shield against the bright stars beyond.
The monster in the night, a massive black lion-fish, visible only by the stars it occluded, slid into view.
"Cover!" he tried to shout, but just as he had done the first time, he stood mesmerized by the silent killer closing in.
An orange beam, then another, played out from the monster's snout. The ship shook violently, lights went out, and the grav plating failed.
A moment of disorientation was the only effect on troops trained in orbital assault, but in his head Brock was screaming, "No! No! No!"
The third beam lanced across the ship, across the open bay door, through the atmospheric shield as if it was not there.
Brock missed instant vaporization by a meter. The Major was not so lucky. About a third of the Red Knights Battalion, Dog Company were not as lucky either, and when the shield went down the air pressure shoved everyone toward the open door, including the heavy weapons troops who became entangled with the engineers.
As he flew out into space Brock saw numbers scrolling across his faceplate HUD. The identification numbers of the soldiers who were wounded. Or dead.
The first time this had happened the numbers went by so fast he couldn't see them as discrete numbers. Just red numbers for wounded and black for dead. There was nothing he could do for any of them as he fought to gain control of his trajectory and attitude. This time he could see them. Names. People he had known.
As the black lion-fish passed silently nearby more names flashed across his HUD. Bright orange beams played from the nose of the vessel and a noise, finally, as of a great slap to his entire body, illuminated with an intensity beyond the ability of his polarizing faceplate to block.
"Radiation warning," his suit's voice said. Another list of IDs, all black, scrolled by. The warp core of the USS Falklands exploded.
Brock knew the entire crew of the troop transport was gone, though at the time he had no way to know, and far more important things to worry about.
After the black ship faded into the night, comms came back. On the command channel the surviving lieutenants were issuing contradictory, in some cases impossible orders. Brock called up his company status display, toggled to wounded, and cried.
He had not done that the first time. Eight wounded. He had sighed with relief, then. His suit's computer calculated their location. He could get to the nearest by using up most of his suit's propellant mass. He couldn't get to any of the others.
First Lieutenant Gaddok called for order. "We're going to land on that sphere, no matter what," the Telarite said. "We have a mission. We can die scattered across the sphere, or we can die doing what we came here to do. Form up on your best course to our LZ and get your troops organized. Don't worry about platoons, grab anyone close to your vector. The sooner we form up the better chance we have to accomplish something."
Brock knew what was down there, on the surface of the Iconian Sphere. He knew because he had been there. This wasn't real.
He could stop it.
He could wake up.
Wake up.
Wake.
Up.
He sat up in his bed. Cold, wet sheets clung to him. He wasn't on the hospital ship. He remembered the throbbing pain in his leg. His leg was fine. Healed physically, anyway.
Memory was another thing, and it took an act of will to avoid her cruel tug. He didn't want to remember the sphere.
He got out of bed and toweled off before tapping his console.
"Jan, if you're up, I could use a friend. The dreams again. I managed to wake up this time. I hope that's a good sign. I'm not really sure I'm making progress, sometimes. I..."
The comm glowed with an image of a human with a close haircut that did little to conceal her feminine face. "Em," she said. "I wasn't sleeping. I'm on night shift this month. Are you okay now?"
He sighed and sat in the desk chair. "Yeah. It's just easier to deal with the memories when I'm talking to you."
"I guess you got the news about Toby yesterday?"
"In the Gamma Quadrant. Is it strange that I feel like I abandoned him?"
"I know. There weren't that many of us after The Sphere. I take it personally every time we lose another one."
"Me too..."
...
"Coffee, black," he said. "Want something, Skipper?"
"No thanks. I'm nursing my tea." Lee stepped over to the couch and sat down.
"Croaker tells me you are ready to return to full duty."
"So I'm told. I've been ready for a while now."
Lucky took the seat opposite Lee, sipped his coffee, and set it down.
"Ready, yes. You've been trained for combat. Your father? I'd like to meet him some day. Most new deputies aren't.
"But there is another reason I wanted you working with the doctor. I spent two years as his assistant, and almost everything I know about crime scene forensics I learned from him. I was hoping you'd have an opportunity to get a solid grounding in our work. More than any other skill, the ability to recreate the crime from what is left behind should be cultivated. I know it's taught at the academy, but there's no better teacher than our Doctor Sar."
"He's had me reviewing old cases, and of course, we did it at Tantalus."
"I have another task for you, along those lines. Marshal Seifer has some leads she needs help with. We have information about some medical equipment that has gone missing, but it hasn't been reported as stolen. It appears that a salesman with the manufacturer provided biostasis equipment to a client, and when he reached out to the client, the client claimed to have never ordered or received the tubes.
"The modules are similar to those used by Dr. Aguilar in his cloning lab, so naturally we want to find out what happened to them.
"Your job for now is to go through the available data to see if the equipment can be traced to the point it fell off of the books, then develop a plan to discover where it went afterward. The data file Vargent Industries has what we know so far.
"While Friday and the rest of the crew can be called upon to help in their areas of expertise, but it's your investigation. Don't monopolize the crew's time or let your problems interfere with their work."
"Understood. Sir, I noticed that you said nothing about yourself, Dr. Sar, or Mr. Chuss."
"We're part of the Service. If you need our help ask. But think of this as a test. We want to see what you can do."
"Aye, Skipper."
...
"Two degrees dorsal, aye," Sibley said from the Helm station.
"Target compensated. One point eight second delay, overcompensated and corrected by two point six. Target one-eight-oh by one-eight-oh."
"Okay, helm. We're going to perform an Immelman on my mark, while the target is correcting from our preliminary maneuver. Navigator, maintain target lock."
"Aye," they said in succession.
"Two points positive," Chuss said.
"Two points, aye," Sibley said.
"Target compensating," Mason said.
"Mark!" Chess said.
The starfield rolled down rapidly, and as it stabilized an upside down Falcon class ship flew straight toward them.
"Roll away from its evasion and make a hard ventral turn to get on its tail," Chess said.
As the enemy vessel veered to port to avoid a collision, the Kestrel rolled to starboard and down until the enemy Falcon appeared in the lower starboard of the viewscrene. As the enemy vessel tried to dodge, Sibley did his best to keep it centered in the main viewer.
"Navigator, anticipate its corrections. You must predict its future position for Helm and Weapons."
"Closing in on target, sir!" Sibley said.
"Too close, Helm. Two kilometers is optimum."
"Its shields went down," Mason said.
The warp nacelles of the scoutship on the viewer began to glow, then the vessel went to warp. Instead of a clean warp trail, a pillar of fire lanced out. The view screen ploughed into it, then flashed red.
"That is the first time I've seen that happen," Chuss said.
"What happened?" Mason asked.
"Your number one shield intersected with the enemy vessel's warp shell. When the ship went to warp its warp shell collapsed. Matter cannot achieve superluminal velocities in Einsteinian space."
"We lost?" Sibley asked.
"It was a maneuver scenario, not a combat scenario," Chuss said. "You didn't lose, you failed. But you did well otherwise."
"Let's run it again," Mason said.
"It is never the same twice," Chuss said. "Next time Sibley will be on Navigation.
"Deputies to the Marshall's office," Friday announced.
"It looks like you'll have two days to practice," Chuss said. "I'll see you then."
As he left the bridge he heard the two discussing the exercise. They were begining to realize the difference between being minimally qualified to man a bridge station and being rated as a combat pilot.
He was learning as well. Humans learned, but they learned differently from Caitians. His training had not been in simulations.
"Are you feeling discomfort without the brace?" He asked.
"Stiffness more than discomfort. I want to stretch."
"Not without the brace, for a few more days. And don't sleep without it."
"I will not disrespect you, Doctor." Chuss said.
"I know you won't," Dr.Sar said. "I apologize; I am used to dealing with human patients, who tend to be less considerate."
"Why do I get the feeling he's talking about me?" Lee asked as the Chief Engineer entered.
"Because you are a keen observer of human behavior," Lucky said.
"Never to young to suck up to the boss, kid," Chief Garadda said. "Anybody want something?"
The Chief stepped up to the replicator and ordered coffee.
"Shreem for me," said the Caitian.
Lee "All right, everyone get comfortable. I've given David an assignment, and he's gotten some preliminary results. He also has a plan for the next steps in the investigation, and this is where you all come in.
"We need to review the plan, see if there are any missing elements or improvements we can add.
"David, what do you have?"
"Mr. Akhim was understandably curious, because the factory was delivering the fourth unit, and the previous ones had been signed as received in good condition, with credit rendered to Vargent Industries, apparently by Dagmar.
"Vargent was responsible for delivery to an intermodal facility on Faradi 3, where agents of Dagmar were to receive the units, along with other materials destined for Dagmar Labs. Apparently, Dagmar has had no interruption of the other materiels they did order.
"I have asked both Mr. Mors and Ms. D'Sil to keep this investigation as confidential as possible without violating their ethical responsibilities to their respective companies, and I have asked Mr. Mors to continue the delivery of the stasis tubes until notified.
"There are three primary leads to investigate: the buyer's money-trail, the personnel at the intermodal facility where the units are last known to have been, and the transportation network that utilizes the intermodal facility.
"The first is a little above my skill level. If I was to start tracking the credit transfer records, I'm certain whoever falsified them would be alerted. I recommend Mr. Chuss for that job.
"The second is in line with the Marshall's expertise. He is less likely to accidentally expose himself and his purpose in investigating the personnel of the facility to determine who is redirecting the merchandise.
"The third,"
"Why do you presume that someone on the station is responsible for redirecting the merchandise?" Dr. Sat asked.
"That ties in with my third lead," Lucky said. ""I have searched public databases for known traffic to and from Faradi 3, with emphasis on the intermodal facility.
"Vargent used a freight service for transport, which subcontracted merchant vessels that happened to be going that way. No two vessels on the scheduled deliveries were the same, so our being responsible for redirection would have had to be on or suborn individuals on or connected with each vessel. It is more logical that the redirector is in one of the two places each delivery has in common: the starting and ending points. Since none of the transports involved indicate anomalies, the terminal point appears to be most likely where the redirection occurs."
"Thank you," Dr. Sar said. "Please continue."
"Which leads me to consider the next leg of the journey. Of all the traffic around the Faradi 3 facility, most is local, to and from the planet, or to the various orbital and planetary facilities. While I do not rule them out, I do not see any pattern of interstellar traffic in the system, except what goes through the hub.
"And there is a coincidental timing issue with the route liner Morning Glory. It appears to have a regular schedule to six systems, which brings it back to Faradi every six weeks. The route is marginally profitable, with subsidies from the world's served; her crew isn't likely to strike it rich or retire wealthy. But it is the only vessel that has visited the station within a week of the delivery of every shipment of the merchandise, including the second delivery in which Morning Glory spent an unscheduled extra day at the station. It left on the same day that the second delivery arrived.
"I don't like coincidences."
"Because you are a keen observer of human behavior," Lee said. "David?"
"I propose that my skills are best suited to the legwork portion of this investigation. I've instructed Mr. Akhim to deliver unit five on schedule. We will verify that it arrives on Faradi, and that it is loaded onto Morning Glory. If my suspicions prove out, I will board Morning Glory as a passenger and keep watch on the cargo with the intention of discovering where it is unloaded."
"Dangerous," the Chief said. "You can't take on a shipload of smugglers by yourself."
"I don't intend to. In fact, I don't intend to let anyone know I'm anything but a corporate data courier. My plan is to board at Faradi and disembark when the ship returns. My destination is Govall, a relatively unpopulated world that is visited by Morning Glory every six weeks, and otherwise almost never visited by a starship. If one wants to get to Govall, one goes aboard Morning Glory.
"I will carry a compact subspace communicator with me and alert Kestrel when the cargo is delivered. Otherwise, I'll wait for you at Govall."
"Dinner is at eighteen- hundred. First night is formal. Don't be late!"
He watched her walk away, his wrist still tingling from her touch. She turned left at the passageway's end and vanished. Her spell was broken.
He entered the cabin. It was not as big as his quarters on the Kestrel, but it looked comfortable. Flowers like those in the quarterdeck were painted along the top of the wall, green foliage and all, drooping down the wall in random-seeming strands. The chairs and small couch were plush and soft brown, and the bed, framed by a pair of curtains, appeared comfortable. He dropped his clothes bag on a stand by a door that he presumed to be a water closet and carried his valise as he went to the bed and sat on its end.
Karen.
Jaguar eyes. They captured his attention, compelled him to gaze into them. Muted his other senses until his only awareness was of their depths.
He was a trained observer, and sitting on the edge of his bed he began to recall details. Her hair was chocolate brown with auburn highlights, with long, lazy curls that fell just past her shoulders. Her face was pale, but reddish pink on her cheeks, nose, and brow accentuated the contours of her almost triangular face. Her tiny chin and mouth somehow made her eyes larger.
She was as tall as he was, in the platform shoes she wore. Her blue slacks and cream-colored tunic reminded him of the quarterdeck flowers, which were present as the border of her name tag, on the ruffles at the ends of her sleeves, and on the ruffled collar of her tunic.
Her perfume rivaled that of the flowers, and did nothing to help him regain control of his senses. He smelled his wrist, where her hand had held his to the door lock.
Karen.
Eighteen hundred. He had two hours to get ready. He vowed to himself that he wouldn't just stand there like an idiot when he met her again.
"This is your captain speaking," a masculine voice said over the ship's announcing system. "We will be departing the station in thirty minutes. I'd like to welcome our passengers for this leg of our voyage; feel free to move about the passenger areas. We will conduct a series of drills tomorrow so that you know what to do in the unlikely event of an emergency, but for tonight, relax and familiarize yourself with the ship and your fellow passengers.
"All crew prepare for departure."
"The kid was right," he said as he stepped over to Lee's replicator.
"Shreem," he said. He took what appeared to be a metal flagon from it and stepped beyond the desk to the lounge area where the higher ceiling gave his ears more room.
"You really ought to let Sibley modify your quarters. This wood panel makes it look like you live in a box."
Swiveling his desk chair to face his Caitian deputy he said, "It's a comfortable box. What were you saying about David?"
"He was right. The Biotech Prosthetics Corporation is not involved, even as an unknowing victim. The payments were made through Biotech Research Department using an account linked to a shell corporation of that name. There is no affiliation with the legitimate company, but the names of the listed shell corporation officers are very similar to the names of many officers of the real company.
"Someone deliberately set up a copycat corporation, forged credentials for non-existent people who are very similar, but not quite similar enough to officers of the real company, and created a maze of crocc-connected computer links so that anyone investigating the shell corporation would find themselves viewing the records of the real one. Short of a forensics audit, or a determined investigator,"
"Such as you," Lee said.
"Such as me," Chuss said, "An average background check of 'Biotech Research Department' would lead one to conclude that it is a branch of Biotech Prosthetics.
"Given what I have found, I could not get a warrant to audit Biotech Prosthetics, but I recommend that when it is no longer sensitive for our case we inform them and offer technical assistance to support their own audit."
"Experts, so we know for certain no one at Biotech, the real one, is involved?"
Chuss slurped his drink, but said nothing.
"Reasonable suspicion not being evident, we can't use any information they might find. But I will send your recommendation to the senior marshal in my next report."
Lee tapped the corner of his desk, then asked, "So, where is the financing coming from?"
"The shell corporation has a legitimate account with Arcanis Sector Development Financial Services. It was funded by a substantial latinum deposit, delivered by courrier, four months ago. I had no warrant, so could not be granted access to the account information. I presume a warrant will have to wait at least until Lucky is back aboard."
"I'm sure you would only confirm that your fictitious copies of the Biotech staff would be listed. I'm far more interested in what these courriers know. Look into that when you've completed your current investigations."
"I've already started. Any word from Lucky?"
"Not yet. I don't expect to hear from him until the cargo leaves the Morning Glory, unless he does something stupid."
"He won't," Chuss said, then took a long slurp of his shreem.
Karen had shown him the gym the first day out, and coincidentally they both liked to work out first thing in the morning. It was nothing like the Kestrel's morning workouts. For one thing, the Morning Glory's gym was fully equipped. Also, there was no fighting.
Which was a good thing because Simon, the ship's Master At Arms, looked like a brick. A well-muscled brick. He was a centimeter shorter than David, but at least fifty kilos heavier. He was also Cargo Master of the Morning Glory, which made him a prime suspect. David thought about it, trying to decide whether to try to buddy up to him, hoping he might drop hints. He also worried that he might accidentally drop hints to Simon instead.
Simon solved the issue by being, well, Simon. He was curt to the point of being rude, and he glared at David, or any of the other passengers, when they flirted with Karen.
He tried to get to know other members of the crew, but the captain was too busy, the engineer's conversation tended to be technical, and the pilot apparently lived on the bridge. The two roustabouts were friendly, but seldom came into the passenger areas. It was a brief conversation with Gial, one of the roustabouts, that lead to his afternoon routine.
He had been looking for an excuse to explore the cargo bays; he wanted to see the crate his team had tagged. Its subspace repeater pinged after their first stop, indicating that the shipping container was still on board, but it could have been opened and its contents removed.
Gial had been restocking a snack dispenser when the subject of running came up. When David complained about the monotony of running on the treadmill, she told him that the cargo bays maintained aisles for access, which might serve as a running track.
So David began to run every afternoon, alternating between the port and starboard bays. He chose meandering paths, different each day, in his attempt to convert his .3 km oval path into a daily 5k. It was a long run for him, but he wasn't timing himself. He sometimes walked part of the route.
On his second run through the port cargo bay he found it. A polymer case with rounded corners, about two meters tall, and a meter and a half on each side, clearly marked as medical equipment, and marked with the correct routing and tracking identification code, was sandwiched between other crates of similar size. The security seal appeared intact.
He did his best to ignore it. Fearing he had given himself away to any observers on security monitors, he began to show some limited curiosity about the other crates which were in any way unusual. There were, for example, hexagonal cases which appeared to waste a lot of storage space when stacked. It appeared to him that cubes would stack more efficiently, until he saw the roustabout called Marre use an antigrav lift to move one. Its long, round forks slid into the open spaces that the shape of the container created, and cradled the container as it lifted it. David realized that the lift would work on any container small enough to slide the forks around, but large enough to not fall through when it lifted.
With that small mystery solved, David showed less curiosity as he constantly altered his route through the cargo stacks. The cargo was easier to ignore on the occasions that Karen joined him. She was busy in the middle of the day and couldn't run with him for more than fifteen minutes at a time, but he enjoyed every minute she could spend alone with him.
She was a good host, and in their evening entertainments she spent as equal amounts of time with each passenger as possible. Casino Night, Bridge Night, even Night at the Races, where they tossed oversized cubes and moved themselves around a race track laid onto the floor of the dining room, were fun. Karen gave each customer her cheerful, enthusiastic attention. David would find himself gazing at her and, occasionally, she would catch him. Their eyes would lock for a moment, her golden-green eyes holding him enthralled, then she would wink or smile or wrinkle her nose and go back to her work while he released his held breath and felt the heat of his skin begin to cool.
Alone in his room he worried that she was, perhaps, an Orion or Deltan, or that she was using some kind of chemical to induce the mind-numbing reaction she evoked in him. Then he would force himself to focus on his work. Until the next time he saw her, or heard her voice on the public address, or accidentally touched her hand while she gave him something, or she playfully bumped shoulders with him during the evening social activities.
So, day after day the Morning Glory continued on its course. Three, four, five stops, and each time the cargo pod remained in its place in the cargo bay. And day after day he fell deeper into Karen's spell. He was no helpless victim, he sought her out, made excuses to be with her, tried to get her to laugh, to smile, to look at him so that he could lose himself in her gold-green eyes.
"Your plan is logical. The need to keep the crew of the cargo vessel ignorant of Deputy Star's true mission is important on several levels, the primary one being the safety of the deputy."
"It has been my primary consideration since agreeing to the assignment, Senior Marshal."
"I am curious that you allowed him such independence. Vulcan operatives would have had years of training and supervised operations before being given a solo assignment."
"And a Beta Lyran Caitian would have been on his own from the moment his training was completed," Chuss said from the windows of Lee's stateroom.
"David is neither Vulcan nor Caitian," Lee said. "However, I judged the risk of discovery to be low, and the danger presented by a Federation merchant vessel crew to be minimal if he should be caught.
"And so far, all of the evidence uncovered by Chuss corroborates David's hypothesis that the Morning Glory crew is ignorant of the nature of their client or the purpose of the equipment they are smuggling. They are not ruthless criminals exploiting innocents, they are dupes who think they are providing medical equipment to struggling miners and farmers in the Neutral Zone."
"I am familiar with the data and with the steps you have taken to mitigate dangers to the young deputy while simultaneously encouraging him to expand his experience. However, it is my duty to consider all potential ramifications of the errors of judgement of my Marshals. In any case, I have already given my approval of the plan. We shall follow it to its logical conclusion."
"I worry about him too, Senior Marshal. It seems that since I accepted this command all I have done is worry."
"I seem to recall that you fought for it tooth and claw," Chuss said.
Senior Marshal T'Esset smiled.
Lee was shocked by the Vulcan's display of emotion and almost missed her signing off.
"Lee out," he said as the image on the wall vanished.
"Chuss, did you see that?"
"What?"
"Senior Marshal smiled!"
"I was looking out of the viewport," he said.
"You saw it, Friday!"
"I'm sorry, sir, but I do not monitor subspace communications unless invited to do so."
"Well, she did," Lee said.
***
Dr. Sar entered sickbay and caught a momentary glimpse of Crewman Brock leaning on the medical equipment locker. He appeared to be doing routine maintenance and calibration checks on the replacement organ resequencer, a device which utilized a tissue sample and a computerized map of any of several dozen internal organs to fast-grow emergency replacements. While resequenced organs were in many ways inferior to cloned replacement organs, they could allow a patient to survive until a better alternative could be grown, and they had used the unit not so long ago during the minefield disaster. It did require routine maintenance and recalibration to insure it was ready if needed, but Crewman Brock's attention was not on the device.
By the time he had completed that thought, Brock was back at work. He had not even looked up as the doctor entered. Dr. Sar entered his office, meticulously turned off all of the various scanning and recording devices in sick bay, and sat in his chair behind his desk. The young man on the other side of the transparent aluminum appeared to be busy at his task.
"Medic, if you would attend me, please," he said, just loud enough to be heard in the examination room.
Brock set down his tools and stepped into the office. "Yes sir?"
"Please, have a seat. I would like to speak to you, and unless I am mistaken, it is unlikely that you will welcome the conversation."
"Sir?"
"I'm not doing this as your superior, Emmanuel. You are free to get up and leave the moment you have had enough. I hope you will stay to hear me out."
"Dr. Sar, what is it that you are trying so hard to not say?"
"The human mind, any mind really, is a miraculous thing. It is a voyager housed in its vessel, the brain, but in so many ways it is so completely independent of the organ. One of the mysteries of our profession is how the physical brain and the non-physical mind interact during and after injury.
"The injured brain may scar and shrink away from or swell into the injured portion of the brain. With medical intervention, the brain can be healed. The injured mind, however, is more difficult to analyze and to treat.
"The mind cheats: it acts like that resequencer you were working on. It creates a quick fix, a patch, usually vastly inferior to a real healing, and then refuses the treatment that could heal it. Unfortunately, the mind is aware that there are injuries which cannot be healed, and removing the patch, excising the resequenced organ, is more pain than the limited relief the treatment can offer, such as may be the result of the limited treatments available for post-traumatic stress issues."
"You sound like you are trying to discourage me from undergoing therapy."
"No. I am all too aware that some treatments are less than effective, and some are even more uncomfortable in the short term than living with the trauma. But I would not discourage you from seeking advice from competent counsellors and following that advice, because being trapped in a memory prevents you from living this day.
"I recognize the symptoms of and the difficulty of dealing with post traumatic stress because I have my own share of it. I will not pretend to share your pain, or any of that nonsense, and my only medical advice is that I am here to listen if you need someone to hear you."
"Doc, I... wouldn't know where to start."
"Then if you would indulge me: I have dreams. Memories, really, masquerading as dreams. Distortions of the actual memory. Not always, but often enough that it makes going to sleep difficult out of fear that tonight there will be another dream. Nightmare."
"How do you deal with it?"
"I cope. It might be more important to ask what I do not do. I don't use sleep inducers. I don't self medicate. On occasion I call on a friend who might understand. Usually I don't have to talk about the dream itself; just knowing that there is someone who understands is enough."
"Like the Skipper?"
"Oh my, no. He has never been in war. His traumas are immediate and personal. He's never had to witness hundreds of lives snuffed out at random, only to be pulled out of that and plugged into another situation like a replaceable I/O chip until one side or the other runs out of chips."
"I heard that he has trouble sleeping, and he did serve during the Dominion War."
"His trouble with sleep stems from another source: he has an eidetic memory."
"Perfect recall causes sleep disorders?"
"Observably so, though we do not know why. Eidetic memory is much more than perfect recall. Though we cannot identify any differences in the construction of the brain, the mind of an eidetic human is very different. During waking times they absorb data, presumably much as we do, but when external stimuli are reduced below a certain threshold, the eidetic mind goes to work, presumably filing every memory, no matter how trivial, into long term memory.
"Non-eidetics have a ranking system their subconscious uses which discards memories it does not find important. For example, if I told you a random sequence of numbers of no use or importance, by tomorrow you would likely have forgotten them. If you knew I was going to ask you to repeat them tomorrow, you have a better chance of remembering, and if you used some exercise such as repeating the sequence multiple times, it is very likely you would remember. Your mind places a different degree of importance on them, and so stores them in accordance with that scale while you sleep.
"For eidetics, there is only one degree of importance. And so as the eidetic mind prepares for sleep, each and every detail, no matter how trivial, is stored in long term memory, usually as the eidetic person is consciously aware of the process. In most cases this causes insomnia."
"As I understand it, in normal humans every memory is permanently recorded, but recall is limited. Vulcan mind melds have been used to unlock forgotten memories, for example."
"True, to a degree. However, controlled testing demonstrates the tendency of non-eidetics to reconstruct memories from fragments as opposed to recovering whole memories. And it turns out that there are many variables which make a unified theory on human eidetic memory difficult to formulate. Vulcans and Cardassians tend to have more predictable patterns with fewer issues, while an eidetic Bolean may eventually suffer a condition in which the mind refuses to absorb any new data and the sufferer lives out the remainder of his life trapped in memory."
"That would be a special kind of Hell..."
"Indeed, it is. Like the tragic Greek punishments of Tantalus and Sisyphus who are forever trapped in that one moment."
"What moment are you trapped in?"
"A long time ago I interned under Doctor Tymsa, Chief Medical Officer of the U.S.S. Rutledge. We responded to a distress call from a place no one has ever heard of called Setlik III. I was a naive Lieutenant JG, a very young doctor just out of med school, and I had taken an oath not to take a life. I violated that oath. Many times."
***
"I raise twelve quatloos!" he said in a gloating tone.
David only had twelve, and a weak hand, but Karen was grinning, watching him. Fold and he might not have enough to buy into the next hand. If he won this hand he was back in the game. Was Garsin frowning in his eyes?
"All in," he said.
"I'm out," Renata said.
"Lose it all now, lose it later," grumped Hra'at as he tossed twelve purple chips into the pot.
Karen said, "That's why it's called Fizbin! I'm out too."
"Okay," Delvin said, "Here's The Bridge. A red king."
Garsin dramatically flipped his three hole cards, which, combined with The Stream and The Bridge, gave him a five card hand. "Three sevens, counting The Stream!"
Hra'at laughed as he tossed his cards to Delvin.
David smiled, and said, "I have a queen." He flipped a queen of clubs, "Which entitles me to steal a card from any hand because a King is The Bridge and it is Saturday. Queens rule on Saturday! So I steal your seven."
"Hey!" Garsin said. "That's cold blooded!"
"It gets worse," David said with a grin." He flipped over a pair of eights.
"Shenanigans!" Karen claimed.
"What?" David asked.
"Your king and queen are red and black, so you can steal a card on Saturday, but it is August, and in the month of August, a hand with only four cards beats a hand with five or more if both hands contain the same set. You both have a pair, so the winning hand is the hand with four cards!"
"What? That's not fair!" David exclaimed with mock indignation.
"Check the rules, but check them from the sidelines," she said as she scooped the pile.
"Shouldn't I win?" Garsin asked.
"She called Shenanigans," Delvin said. "Her pot!"
"I'm out of the game, then," David said as he began to stand up.
"Your deal, loser," Delvin said. "You don't need quatloos to deal, and I'm feeling like it's my hand!"
"I might agree to loan you a few quatloos to get back in the game," Karen said, "If you are willing to put up a little collateral."
"What kind of collateral?" he asked as he shuffled the cards.
"Oh, how about you serve and clean up for tomorrow's breakfast?"
"How much are you willing to front if I only serve? "
"Less than if you only clean up," she said with a grin.
"Watch out, Lucky," said Garsin. "She looks like a razorbeast bargaining with a squill to me!"
Garsin had to buy in again a few hands later, but when Delvin went all in on a jack-high muggin' Lucky rolled it into a lesser Fizbin. Renata couldn't cover the double and was busted. Garsin decided to call it a night, and Hra'at smirked, saying, "The game is not as fun with three. Anyway, good evening, all."
The three players exited the lounge leaving Lucky and Karen at the table strewn with cards, chips, and a few empty glasses. David shoved the cards into a stack and asked, "Know any two player games?"
"Ever play Slapjack?"
Within moments they were laughing as the overly simple game brought out their competitive natures. Later it was other games: David taught her Cribbage, she taught him Tonk. She gave him a late night tour of the ship and they talked about hundreds of things only young people find interesting, until her morning alarm went off.
"I have to get breakfast ready," she said. "Come on, you still owe me!"
"I had enough to pay you back!"
"But you didn't!" she said as she hurried down the passageway.
"A technicality!"
"A formality," she shot back.
He followed, and found himself preparing a Bolean Souffle for Hra'at and toasted Rigelian Tea Biscuits for Delvin. The galley was not small, but somehow they often bumped into one another as they worked, laughing when they did. Their banter was lighthearted and laced with innuendo, with occasional instruction from Karen on the next step in the process. While he prepared breakfast for two, she completed the meal for everyone else. She even found time to jam some tasty bites into his mouth, asking him to "Taste this."
With the dining room set up, the passengers began to arrive. Delvin's mouth plates approximated a smile when Lucky served her tea and biscuits, and Garsin baldly alluded to 'whetted appetites' when Lucky loaded his plate from the buffet. Once the guests had been accommodated they loaded a pushcart and delivered meals to engineering and the bridge watchstanders.
"Captain, I didn't realize you'd be here," Karen said as she handed the last plate to the navigator. "I can get a plate for you. Would you care for anything special? Otherwise, there is huevos rancheros and yeast strips."
"No thank you. I replicated nutri-cubes in my quarters for breakfast. Who is your new apprentice?"
"Lucky, I mean, David Star. He's due to leave us at our next layover."
"I lost a bet, sir," David said.
"Never gamble with Karen. You gamble, she wins."
"Yes, sir. But it doesn't feel like I lost."
"We'd best be getting back to the galley," Karen said, pushing the cart back to the lift.
Standing side by side in the lift, David couldn't help but compare their physiques. With her lift soles she was eye to eye with him. Her hair was thick, long, and curled, while his was thin, short, and straight. Her shoulders were narrower than his, but her hips, almost the same width as her shoulders, were wider than his. Her thighs were almost as thick as his, but where his were corded with muscular definition, hers were smooth, only revealing their underlying strength when she worked out. Her arms...
She was looking at him, and her eyes said they knew what he had been doing.
"I'm sorry, I..."
The lift door opened and she smirked. Her hip bashed into his as he stepped to the doorway causing him to impact the doorframe, and she pushed the cart at a run down the corridor, laughing and looking back over her shoulder.
"You!" he shouted as he dashed after her.
He leaned back and sighed, looking up as Bennie, wearing a tropical flower themed loose blouse, set a tray on the table: a bowl of creamy white soup, dark brown bread, and a stein of dark beer. There was a smaller bowl with crumbled chunks of a medium-hard cheese, possibly cheddar.
"What?" he started to ask, but Bennie was already headed to the ramp which lead to the galley wall.
He tasted the soup: potato. It had been a long time since he had had potato soup. His mother made it... the day he told Gina he was enlisting in Starfleet. Nine years ago.
He tested the cheese. It was cheddar. He crumbled some onto his soup and stirred it in. The bread, pumpernickel, was made for dipping in the soup, and it's rich flavor complimented the subtle flavors of the soup.
Gina Alissyon Ghatt. They were a pair. Voted Cutest Couple at their Junior Prom, they had been together since eighth year. With Nan Banks, Trin Ngo, Phillip Han, Trish Huang, and Billy Rajmoorthy, they were the cool kids. The time Trin stole the Fallview mascot before Homecoming, then confessed that he had no idea how to feed a gwill, or Nan's perfect dive to win the swim meet against Vail, or Trish and Phil getting caught climbing the water tower that could be seen from Satee High's football stadium, and then not confessing that they were going up to remove the Hornet he had painted on it just an hour before so he wouldn't get in trouble.
He took another spoonful, then another. Each bite evoked a memory.
A figure approached and he looked up, about to ask Bennie how she had known, but it was only Masha.
"What was that look, Doc? Disappointed to see me?"
"No, I thought you were Bennie."
Masha's laugh was infectious, and Brock smiled.
"I didn't mean it that way. I meant, she made soup for me. I haven't had potato soup since Gina... since my high school sweetheart dumped me."
"Ouch!"
"No, it's okay. That was a long time ago. She had plans: administration and colonial law. She wanted to have a statue on some successful new colony. I told her that I was joining Starfleet. She decided our goals weren't compatible."
"Ouch again."
"It's okay. Really. She was right. Imagine me, a colonial nurse, assisting births, vaccinating rural villages, lancing boils and curing acne."
"It wouldn't have been that bad, I'm sure."
Bennie returned with a second tray nearly identical to Brock's, and set it in front of Masha.
"Bennie, how did you know?" Brock asked.
"You like it. Good," was her reply as she walked away.
"She brought me shallots!" Masha said as she dumped the crumbled cheese into her bowl. The green onions followed, and she stirred.
"It's amazing how she knows so much but can hardly speak."
"Not really," Masha said. "She notices everything, even things we wouldn't. Don't play poker with her; she would smell your bluff a mile away."
"So, she knew I'd like potato soup, even though I have not eaten it in nine years?"
"Maybe. Maybe she saw you enjoying potatoes, cheese, black bread, and beer, on different occasions and made a meal that combined those."
"That's a lot of maybe," Brock said.
"Or maybe it's coincidence."
Ben came up the ramp and sat in a chair at one of the three tables under the skylight. Bennie followed him with a large flower-print handbag and sat beside him. She pulled a grey blanket from the bag and laid it on Ben's belly as he slouched in the chair.
Leaning back in her own chair, Bennie extracted her twins, one in each hand, and laid them belly-down on the blanket. Ben folded the bottom edge of the blanket over their stumpy legs and plump bottoms as Bennie arranged the pale feeding umbilicals which connected her to her children.
As Ben stroked the backs of the twins, Bennie used a sonic cleaner on the interior of her natal pouch.
"They are so cute!" Masha said.
"I think it's the eyes. They are proportionally large..."
"Oh, hush," Masha teased. "I don't want to know why, I just want to enjoy it!"
"Masha," Bennie said. "Help?"
Brock laughed at Masha's dash across the lounge. Tiny in the hands of Ben and Bennie, one of the twins was all Masha could handle.
"He's so heavy!" she said, and Ben's head rolled back in his version of a laugh.
"But you're so cute! Yes you are!"
The infant, his mouth fastened on Bennie's nipple, made a vocalization through his nose. Ben and Bennie looked at each other.
"Oh, you want to talk to me?" Masha asked. "You're a chatty little guy, aren't you?" She rubbed the tip of her nose on the button nose of the Pakled infant and he emitted another vocal sound.
When his sister, still lying on Ben's belly, said, "Nnnn!" both adult Pakleds' heads swiveled to her. Brock had a hard time deciding if it was surprise or worry he saw in their expressions.
***
It had been twenty-six hours since David slept, but he wasn't tired. In fact, he felt energized. He lay on the bed in his cabin for a few minutes, but he kept seeing gold-green eyes. He kept hearing laughter. He felt the warmth of her hand on his.
He couldn't sleep.
After rolling over one too many times he got out of bed and put on his running shorts, certain that a few laps of the cargo bay would burn off the excess energy.
Yawning, and thinking that his plan was working already, he almost walked into the cargo bay hatch. The door didn't automatically open.
He glanced at the door control panel. It had been set to manual entry mode, but it had not been locked. He pressed the button and the hatch opened.
"Hey!" shouted one of the roustabouts. "Manual cargo transfer! You'll have to run on the treadmill today!"
David stood in the hatch pretending to be confused as he mentally scanned the room. The cargo bay outer hatch was closed, but his crate, the crate containing Dr. Aguilar's cloning tube, had been moved in front of it, along with half-a-dozen other crates.
"Sorry," he said. As he backed out.
Simon came around the corner of a stack of cargo with a P.A.D.D. in hand and glared at David. The hatch closed automatically when he was no longer in the way, but not before he heard Simon say, "Lock the hatch to crew access only! We don't..."
Lucky wanted a window so he could get the registry number of the ship that took the module. His quarters were on the wrong side, as were the galley and the passenger lounge. There was one corridor down the center of the main deck from the bridge to engineering, but it had no windows, and the compartments on either side were either passenger quarters or workspaces. The lower two decks were devoted to cargo, transporters, and auxiliary ships'systems. The deck above was the crew deck, and off limits to passengers.
Except at the shuttle dock.
The Morning Glory carried two cargo shuttles and a much smaller executive shuttle. Surely there would be alarms if he tried to enter the bay or operations control room, but there was a receiving lounge at the forward end of the area, with a connecting hatch to the crew deck main passageway and a ramp to the passenger deck. Surely there would be viewports there.
As he headed aft he thought about alarms and locks. Chief Garadda would know how to bypass them. Crewman Sibley would make them work for him! But he didn't know how to do those things. Without the skills of an engineer he decided that his best option was simply to avoid touching anything that might be locked.
The lounge was dim, with no more light than was needed to safely walk through the space. And there they were: on opposite sides of the compartment were large view ports. They were currently shuttered.
He hesitated, then decided that the chances of an alarm on the port were small. It would be easier, if the crew wished to secure them, to simply power them down. He toggled the control, and the hull plate covering the window slid down.
At a distance, a white cylinder with a pair of small nacelles could be seen. It slowly grew larger. Between and above the nacelles there was a tiny saucer, it's edge intersecting the top of the long cylinder. His mental image flipped when what he had been imagining as the stern of the ship turned out to be the forward end. Mounted on the forward end of the cylinder was a bronze deflector dish, like the Kestrel's aft secondary deflector. The wings on which the warp nacelles were mounted jutted below the cylinder and had large bulges at their midpoint. Impulse drives. The cylinder was segmented, with a very short segment just aft of the deflector, then four segments connected end to end, each of which was eight times the length of the segment mated to the saucer.
There was writing on the lower face of the hull, and on the outboard surfaces of the nacelles, but the distance and the angle made it difficult to decipher. It was Federation Standard. MV were the first two letters. The vessel slowly rotated to display its dorsal surface, and there it was in an arc centered in the forward side of the hull: MV Zeng Hi, NCC 436491. He wished then that he had thought to bring a recorder.
"What are you doing?"
He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Karen's voice. He was aware enough to stop himself from assuming the defensive stance his training had programmed into his muscles, which turned his pivot into a clumsy stumble.
Karen smiled, then said, "This isn't a passenger area."
"Sorry," David said. "I couldn't sleep, so I wanted to do some running."
"Here? That would be some very short laps."
"No, in the cargo bay. But they were working, and kicked me out."
"So you came here?"
"I wanted to see the reason I couldn't run."
"Why didn't you just view the external camera feeds on the monitor in your quarters?"
"That..." He felt a flush of embarrassment as he said, "That would have been smart."
"Yeah," she said.
After a moment of them standing and looking at each other, Karen said, "I have to get to work. Enjoy the view."
"I am... Karen, thank you. For last night. I feel..." He spread his arms as if he was trying to lift a large, impossibly heavy object.
She stepped up to him, her eyes locked to his, and they kissed. He wrapped his arms around her and they kissed again. Then she smiled and pushed his chest.
"Lunch in one hour; I have to go. We'll talk more later."
He watched her walk to the ramp and look back at him with a smile as she turned to go down. And he stood staring at the point into which she'd vanished for a few more minutes savoring the lingering aroma of her perfume.
His heart eventually settled down into its normal rhythms and the blood returned to his brain. He still had a job to do.
Zeng Hi, 436491
Zeng Hi, 436491
Zeng Hi, 436491
***
That there were patterns was undeniable. That they connected to the tiny group of procurements he had positively associated with the cloning tubes was doubtful. There was a lot of cargo moving on the front between the Federation and the Empire, and there were many entities interested in concealing their portions.
Most of this would have been flagged and monitored by the appropriate authorities. The rest was innocuous, or even beneficial if one discounted who profited by the transactions. The small portion that was difficult to assign to any of the above categories was his focus.
And it was likely to be unrelated to the Aguilar case. These medical supplies were going to a suspicious mining operation. The other files were related to a startup colony of religious hermits. That one...
"Sir," Crewman Sibley said, "I'm getting a signal on the assigned frequency."
Chuss' ears swiveled faster than his head.
"A ship's designation. Cargo transfered to another ship in space. Repeating, MV 436491 has the cargo. Umm, I don't think I should be listening to this part."
"Transfer it to my earpiece," Chuss said.
Sibley toggled the comm channel, and Chuss understood in a few seconds why Sibley felt uncomfortable. Still, the signal continued, and it was being recorded.
"Lucky, no!" Chuss said. A moment later he said, "Red Alert! All hands prepare for VG drive!"
***
Karen touched the door control pad to announce her presence, but the door was unlocked. As it opened she saw Lucky flip his valise closed on the foot of his bed and turn quickly to face her. He looked so much like a little boy caught stealing treats that she had to smile.
"I was going to chime, but the door wasn't locked. I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."
"No, I was, um, I was about to go to bed."
"I won't keep you. I just wanted to say how much fun I've been having this last week."
"Me too," he said. "You make everything fun."
"Just part of the service we offer on the Morning Glory."
Lucky's face exposed the difficulty he was having deciding how to reply. She smiled again and in two steps she was beside him. She kissed him.
For a long moment there was only the kiss. When they finally separated she realized that her body was pressed against his, and that their arms had wrapped around each other.
Lucky finally caught his breath and smiled. Amazed at the effect she had on him, she smiled back.
"Is this part of the service too?"
Shocked to her core, she could not believe what she heard! Service? Service? She pulled away, and when his arms did not release her fast enough she swung an open-handed slap on his face.
He could have ducked. He could have turned away. Instead, he said, "I'm sorry..."
"Sorry? Sorry? I'll say! What do you think I am? What kind... You pig!"
She couldn't think straight. She had come here to... and he had... "Service?" she screamed.
She saw regret in his face, but that only made her more angry. She backed into the bulkhead and turned the wrong way to exit. She spun the other direction and was reaching for the door control panel when it slid open on its own.
On the other side was the Captain holding a tricorder and Simon holding a phaser.
"There, on the bed," the Captain said as he entered.
Karen looked back to the valise, and saw David's eyes also on it. He [I]knew[/I] what they were talking about.
"Looks like lover-boy's been playing you, Karen," Simon said.
"What?"
David's eyes were jerked away from his valise to lock on to Simon's.
"You're with Starfleet Security, aren't you, Lover Boy?"
"What? No! Not Star... I'm not with Starfleet!"
"Whoever he is, his transmitter is still broadcasting," the Captain said. "Who are you trying to talk to?"
Simon said, "Looks like Lover Boy came here to lock us all up on some penal colony, Karen. He knew everything he needed to know to sweep you off your feet so he could get what he wanted. Did you get what you wanted, Lover Boy? Ready to pack us all off to New Zealand?"
"Karen, no! I never did that! I didn't know... when I came here. It's not like he says."
"Step away from the case," the Captain said. "We need to shut that down."
Karen saw Lucky tense. He leaned slightly, as if he was going to jump toward the Captain, or the valise.
Simon's phaser discharged, and the valise disintegrated, along with the corner of the bed. As Karen screamed, Simon fired again.
***
Renata Ste Marie, human female from New Paris Station in the Deshotel System, on twenty-four month assignment as logistics clerk for Rhodite Minerals, a mining operation specializing in rare crystals.
Garsin Temur, male human from Far Hasir, surgical equipment maintenance and repair technician newly hired by Govall Health Lic. on a permanent contract.
Hra'at, Bolean male from Dannar Colony, financial advisor en route to Mercredi, a world that was supposed to be the next stop of the Morning Glory.
Dr. Delvin Travias, Rigelian female from Rigel V, soil engineer and terraforming specialist newly hired by the Govall Agricultural Cooperative to help increase their food production capacity.
All of them spoke highly of David. Dr. Travais seemed aware that there had been a falling-out between the young couple, but the rest only commented on the budding romance. None of them knew where David was. They assumed that he had transported directly to his destination, or that he had taken an earlier shuttle than the rest.
Hra'at asked about passage to Mercredi. Until another ship was assigned to the route there was going to be a transportation bottleneck; ore freighters didn't have passenger accommodations.
Sixteen hours later Kestrel returned with the news that David was not aboard the Morning Glory.
***
"The USS Goddard intercepted Morning Glory," Lee said. "They searched and scanned. David is not aboard, and there are no records in the computer to indicate where he went. There is a phaser burn in his compartment from a Type II set to 10. Until the crew has been granted access to competent counsel there will be no interviews."
"The he could be..." Mirra said.
"I don't believe that of the Morning Glory's crew," Lee interrupted. "The transceiver is missing too. My bet is that it was vaporized. We have an intercept and detain order on the Zeng Hi. I hate to ruin the Gambit David was running, but I don't want him being turned over to Aguilar.
"Meanwhile, he could be virtually anywhere right now. Chuss, assume they didn't kill him. Where do we look?"
"We know a few places he's not," the Caitian growled. "Planetary Transport, local Star Port, local public hostles. We checked. There are two mining facilities, one in orbit, one in the inner asteroid belt. The second was never on range of the Morning Glory's transporters. An there is the whole rest of the world.
"Govall has an almost toxic concentration of atmospheric CO2. Prolonged exposure causes unconsciousnes, which can lead to death by starvation or exposure.
Instead, she created small sub-programs with the parts of herself which were necessary to seek out the information she wanted and set them to work on the world-wide data network.
It required time, but she found a match. She sent the data string to Crewman Brock's P.A.D.D. While her shipmates worked to corroberate her data, she kept looking. By the time they confirmed her data, she had created two million sub-programs, who had discovered several trillion anomalies within the trinary code which regulated the data network. She recalled the million sub-programs and reintegrated them into her processes as she sent a million more back into the data stream. These tiny fragments of copied code went to work, excising malicious code, freeing jammed processes, filling in the gaps of duplication errors, incomplete processes, and improperly reintegrated parallel programming. Govall's simple trinary computer network doubled in efficiency.
And her information was found to be useful by her crewmates.
All in all, it turned out to be a good day.
The problem was, undeveloped colony worlds were far less dependent on centralized computer networks. Indeed, the colonists of Govall appeared to cherish their independence. Many segments of the globe operated on independent computer systems, and many more operated without computer control at all. Even the limited transporter network was a series of locally controlled operations which were linked only by the orbital satellites which relayed subspace communications.
Brock realized that he hadn't checked the transporter logs in the last few hours. The kidnappers might have tried to move him.
Chuss walked through, saying, "Kestrel is back; they didn't find him. I'm heading to the transport terminal to meet the marshal. We'll be coming back here to help you search for a lead."
"Aye, sir," Brock said.
As the deputy ducked under the lintel, Brock stood and stretched. "I need to wake up," he said, and headed to the water closet to wash his face.
Deputy Star could be anywhere. Or nowhere. Beam him into a pattern buffer then erase the pattern buffer...
He had to assume that David was alive and being prevented from communicating. Nothing else made sense. A smuggler might kill to avoid being caught, but these guys must have known they had been caught; they had tried to flee to Klingon space. Killing the deputy, at that point, would only increase their time in prison if they were caught before they made it to the border. The answer was to put their prisoner in a place where he would be unable to communicate for long enough to make good on their escape.
There were just under three thousand registered mine sites which had been abandoned. All of them probably had emergency survival provisions left behind; colonists on Class K worlds tended to be survivalists.
He had estimated the number of those known locations which would have been within range of the merchant ship's transporters. That left just over 800 locations to check. He would send the list to Kestrel so they could check for life-signs. Hopefully that would limit the number of times they would have to use the transporter.
He was toweling off when his notebook chimed. Had one of his many contacts found something? He dropped the towel and stepped across the room to the table.
He had been looking through transporter logs, but a news story was blinking for his attention with the word 'transporter' highlighted in red. He clicked it.
"Yin-Hi Medical Center reports the unexpected arrival by transporter of a comatose human," the reporter said. "The Emergency Room triage team found a male human John Doe..."
The image was distorted by medical equipment and staff, but from what could be seen of his face, it was Deputy Star.
He tapped his com badge. "Brock to Kestrel!"
"Go Ahead," Lieutenant Tanaka said.
"I think we found him. Yin-He Medical Center. They have a John Doe! It looks like David. Lucky. Deputy Star!"
"The Skipper just beamed to the surface. I'm contacting him now."
"I'm sending the file now, but I want to get to that hospital as quickly as possible. Can you transport me there?"
"We're working on that now. Give us a minute."
It was more like three minutes before Mason called. "Prepare for transport," he said.
"Ready," he replied.
When he materialized, Dr. Sar was in the transporter room with his medical bag.
"Stay there, I'm coming with you."
The doctor joined him on the platform and Race beamed him back down.
***
David was in a mental fog. There was something he was supposed to do, but he couldn't remember what it was. There was a vague brightness everywhere, but he couldn't see anything. Indistinct sounds played meaningless tunes with no melody.
Karen. He had to protect Karen from... What? Who?
A long brown face with a white halo appeared. He couldn't remember the doctor's name. Sounds intruded on his awareness, as meaningless as the surf.
He almost knew the answer to a very important question. He couldn't remember the question. He realized that he had been floating when he felt the weight pressing up against his back.
The sounds became voices. The light divided and the shadows became people. Though his mind remained fuzzy, he began to think again.
"Good morning, David," said the brown face of Dr. Sar.
He tried to reply and discovered that his tongue wouldn't work.
"Just relax. It will take some time for the drugs to wear off, but I think the worst is over now. You have been intubated to ensure that your breathing was unobstructed. As soon as your body recovers a bit more, we'll remove that. But it will take some time to get things settled down, so relax. Sleep if you can. We are here for you."
A medic was doing something to the medical analytics device arched over his chest, then a much taller person came into view.
"I don't know if Lucky is such a good name for you," Marshal Lee said. "But we are lucky enough to have you back. Get well, we need you on your feet."
***
Season 1, Episode 18
Lee looked around the bridge. Chuss on helm, Mason on navigation, Sibley on engineering, Tanaka on tactical, and Mirra on comm. Everything looked normal. Everything felt wrong.
He knew what it was: first Voght, then Chuss, and now David. When it was only himself, danger was just a part of the job. But he was responsible for them, and he had allowed them to get hurt. He had to come to terms with that.
"Number One, which watch section is on once we get underway?"
"Beta watch, sir."
"That's me," Chuss said.
"Okay. I need to meet with you after we set the underway watch.
"Mister Tanaka, status?"
"All stations manned and ready, sir."
"Comms?"
"Govall Orbital Control has cleared us for departure."
"Navigation?"
"Course to Savin's World laid in."
"Engineering?"
"Green on all boards, impulse under helm control. warp ready at your command."
"Helm, take us out. Warp 6 at your discretion."
"One-quarter impulse, go to warp when we clear Govall orbit, aye."
***
"Have a seat," he said as he stepped over to the replicator. "Double bock. What would you like?"
"Working or social?"
"Both, I guess."
"I.P.A., chilled."
"I.P.A., chilled," he repeated. "Friday, please join us."
"Good afternoon, Lieutenant. How can I help you, sir?"
"I want to talk through a few ideas. Begining with S.W.Q.s. Sibley was back on Engineering, so I'm assuming he's met his bridge quals?"
Mirra answered, "Yes. Enlisted Space Warfare quals are more task-oriented while Officer quals are more theoretical and require more time-on-station. Sibley is a beast when he's learning new things."
"And his academic credits?"
"On track to test out by the end of the month. He will have year fourteen, university prep equivalence."
"What does he have left for SW qualification?"
"Medical Systems and Procedures."
"That's it?"
"Yes sir."
"You may as well begin inquiries into how we recommend him for LDO."
"I have an application package prepared," Friday said. "It will require finalization and your recommendations. My research leads me to believe Master Chief Garradda's recommendation would have a greater influence on the selection board than either of yours."
"I'll let Sparky know," Lee said.
"No, sir," Mirra said. "It's a personal favor. Crewman Sibley should be the one to ask for it. Besides, if he's going to be an officer, he needs to learn how to handle chiefs."
"Okay. But he gets his credits first." Lee sipped his beer and asked, "How's Mason coming along?"
"I don't think he'll make it. He still needs weapons, comm, engineering and power systems, auxiliary systems, and shuttle operations. He's completed the officer-level helm and navigation qualifications, and only needs time on watch for completion.
"Actually, Crewman Aktay is closer. She's working on weapons now, and needs helm, nav, and sensors to complete her quals."
"Not a bad showing," Lee said. "Almost 30 percent of the enlisted crew Space Warfare qualified, with 100 percent damage control and first aid qualified.
"What about Tanaka?"
"He needs time on Tactical, Helm, and Navigation, and is ready to test out in Engineering."
Can he be ready by the time Sibley is? I'd hate to hold an award ceremony for just him."
Mirra smiled. "It just might go to his head. He can be a bit immature at times."
"I hope he never grows out of it, but he does come through for us when we need him. Like the time we sent him out alone to perform an officer's job on the nacelle."
"Don't bring that up to Chief Sparky. He's still mad that we wouldn't let him do it."
"Yes, well."
After a moment of silence, Friday asked, "Sir, I am somewhat confused. The tone and implication of your expression leads me to believe that you find immaturity to be an admirable quality, yet in common usage it typically carries a negative connotation when used in reference to adults."
"Yes, it does. But people are individuals. We all blend qualities and characteristics in our own unique way, with unpredictable results. For example, people who are described as antisocial tend to be isolated, but some of the most celebrated artists in history could be labeled as antisocial. Sometimes traits with negative connotations are exactly what a person needs to make them exceptional.
"In Crewman Sibley's case, the trait of immaturity has resulted in a degree of curiosity and inventiveness usually associated with children, which Sibley has retained into adulthood. He doesn't study tech manuals and design schematics because they are assigned tasks; he does it because he, like a child, is genuinely curious about how the machines work."
Mirra said, "Within days of his arrival on the ship he had learned enough about holography to turn his stateroom into a holodeck. Just a few weeks later he turned that knowledge toward creating the exterior hologenerators that we have used in battle on several occasions."
"Exactly. We want to encourage his curiosity and creativity, but the jokes and irreverent attitude go with the rest. If we curb the latter we might lose the former."
"So you gave him a goal which would utilize those assets," Friday said, "While minimizing the time he would have to act out in otherwise negative ways?"
"Hmm. I never thought of it that way. What I intended was to present him with opportunities to continue learning, and if he did, and if he performed well, further opportunities would open for him."
"You baited a trap and let him walk in!" the Lieutenant said.
"Well, I wouldn't put it that way."
"Like you did with Lieutenant Mirra," Friday said. "You offered her what she wanted so she would do what you wanted her to do."
"Okay. okay! Guilty. Which only goes to show that what often connotes as a negative personality trait can, in the right circumstances, be a positive."
"Point taken, sir," Friday said as she winked at Mirra.
"And speaking of negatives being turned into positives, Lieutenant, what are your plans for the next week?"
"Sir? We'll be in orbit of Savin's World. I suppose we could use some additional damage control drills."
"Friday, do we have any incomplete crew training requirements?"
"No sir," she replied. "Battle, damage control, and injury response are above Fleet requirements."
"Then I have another idea in mind. How would you like a vacation?"
"Sir?"
"Friday, that vacation planet I looked at last night, please."
"Alpha Copernicus is a yellow subgiant currently on a billion-year track to becoming a red giant. Its eighth world was once an outer planet or moon beyond the star's habitable zone, but as the sun expanded, possibly quite violently, it stripped the innermost Jovian worlds of their atmospheres, leaving several astronomical oddities. The first planet is now in an orbit which is interacting with the star's corona, and is expected to fall into the star in about eight thousand years.The second and third worlds were once terrestrial worlds in the star's habitable zone, but the variable luminosity of the star creates conditions hostile to life while stripping the worlds of any accumulation of an atmosphere. Planets four and five are the remnant cores of gas giants, and are almost completely composed of carbon, with tiny metallic cores and trace hydrogen/helium atmospheres. Planet six is a small gas giant with a hydrogen and methane atmosphere. Planet 7 is a metallic captured rogue, possibly the core of a super-Jovian, currently in an elliptical orbit sixty degrees out of the orbital plane. It is expected that in the next billion years its orbit will eventually become hyperbolic if it does not collide with something first, and the rogue will continue on its way.
"Which brings us to the last world, Copernicus 8. Once an ice world in distant orbit of a typical dwarf star, when its star began to heat up and expand it found itself in the habitable zone. The violent event which stripped the inner Jovians of their atmosphere very likely only polished the surface of the frozen sphere, which began to warm up. With six carbonaceous moonlets in its orbit, most likely captured asteroids, the world's core was very likely molten from tidal kneading before the frozen crust thawed, but the thawing gave the world an ocean which covers over ninety percent of the world's surface and a nitrogen/carbon dioxide atmosphere.
"Speculation exists on whether life evolved on the world or was transported there from one of the inner worlds. Two and Three are often postulated as probable sources, but no definitive evidence supports any hypothesis above the others. Whatever the origin, a coral analogue evolved alongside an algae analogue, which fixed carbon in the form of carbon shells."
The images of the tiny black shells on the wall behind Friday showed iridescent qualities typically associated with pearls from Earth.
"While calcium and other metals are in high concentration in the seawater, they are well below toxic levels. The native creatures have not developed a means of metabolizing them, though they do show up as impurities in the shell materials. However, the creatures are so good at fixing carbon that the result is an atmosphere composition of sixty-seven percent nitrogen, twenty-four percent oxygen, six percent helium, one percent methane, one percent neon, and one percent a combination of the known gasses. This excludes the variable and unevenly distributed content of water vapor.
"As a result, while completely lacking terrestrial life, the oceans have developed sufficiently diverse bioforms to create a world habitable by most of the people of the federation."
Holographic images of black-sand beaches, stark mountains with white snowcaps on the tallest, and vast deserts through which broad brown rivers meandered played behind Friday.
"The local colony grew from scientific and mining operations, but has recently begun to terraform some locations with the intention of drawing vacationers. One such location, Starfleet Island, is just off the coast of a much larger island, Freeport Island, which has invested in an amusement park and entertainment district. While much of their development is in the aspirational phase, the world has earned the local nickname of Little Risa.
Images of palm trees swaying along a black sand beach, clusters of three to five tiny huts, and trails through a garden-like forest accompanied her descriptions, followed by a montage of amusement park rides, dance and musical revues, and dining and social venues.
"I have booked a five day landing permit on Starfleet Island, which has sixty cabins in proximity to the beach and a transporter pad connected to the Crystal Spheres Amusement Park."
Before Mirra could say anything, Lee said, "Do you think the crew would mind a little diversion while David and I spend the week being deposed in the case against the crew of the Morning Glory?"
Mirra sat for a moment as if in thought, then said, "The only problem I anticipate is being able to get them to leave after five days."
***
I might have to revisit the end of the last episode. I had multiple potential endings, and great difficulty determining which would be the one I used. As a result, I'm not happy with the result.
A Starfleet vessel captured the Morning Glory and took the crew into custody. The Kestrel showed up with a warrant and searched for Lucky, and the crew was questioned with a Starfleet JAG supervising, but I left that part out intending to insert bits into conversation later, then skipped the conversations.
In my defense, I don't enjoy writing about Lee's failures. On the other hand, not doing so makes him appear to be more perfect than he is. I intended the chapter to be an introspective of his character on a really bad day. I guess I chickened out. Anyway, I'll probably never rewrite this unless Paramount gives me a contract, so there it is.
On a less important note, I probably should have trimmed Friday's stellar cartography lesson to talk about only the planet they are going to see, but I overwrite when doing trivial worldbuilding so, yeah. Or, go the other way and talk about the dwarf ice-worlds in the cometary halo...
Or not.
As always, critiques and comments are welcome.
***
Every seventeen days A Copernicus brightened rapidly, doubling in intensity in just a few minutes, then faded back to normal over the next six hours. It had something to do with the star's core of degenerate helium trying to ignite but blowing itself out. The result was a predictable flare which induced powerful aurora effects in the magnetosphere of A Copernicus 8.
The intense flare of light, said to cause eye and skin conditions among the local population's outdoor workers, was harmless so close to sunset.
Sibley came up the ladder from the EVA airlock which had been used primarily as their wine cellar since the bar had been installed back on Mars.
"Am I intruding, Lieutenant?" The distance and the calls of the imported bird population made it necessary for him to shout.
She waved him up, then slowly turned through the panorama. The backbone of the island, a short segment of a volcano's rim, shielded the view to the North, though its jagged, almost vertical peaks were awe inspiring. Nothing grew on its striated brown, red, and gray face, and every vein, chimney, and protrusion could be read from this vantage. There was the spot she and Mason and Voght had scaled the crumbling cliff face. Certainly no awards would be given for its conquest, but it had been a technical challenge of skill and determination. And it had been fun to observe the new couple learning about each other. Behind the trees to the East was a cove with a waterfall that had offered a fifteen meter dive into a crystal clear lagoon. Ladner proved to be their champion of the high dive, both in his variety of dive styles and his surprising grace. At 1G he was gangly and awkward, but in free fall he was a danseur.
To the South, the edges of the black sand beaches could be seen here and there where daytime barbecues and nighttime firelit dances had occurred almost daily. Beyond the beach the green waves rolled to the horizon where, in the haze of the interface between air and water, the grey peaks of Freeport Island stood.
Turning back to the West, where the ocean's swells were shoved up from the deep by the shoulder of the broken volcano, long curling waves rolled in booming thunder up long stone and shell-sand beaches. The surfing had been glorious out there.
Shadowed by the horizontal sunlight, Crewman Aktay popped up from the hatch, then reached back in for a basket. Ladner followed the basket.
"I'm going to miss this place," Sibley said.
"I assumed you'd be spending your last night here at the amusement park," Mirra said.
"The rides are only fun the first time. Besides, I wouldn't miss another chance to see you doing the fire dance."
"Enjoy," Ladner drawled. "I'm going to watch the coronal mass ejection interact with the magnetosphere."
"Aww, listen to you using big words," Aktay said. "We brought champagne."
While Aktay was rolling out a chequered blanket Chief Voght popped up through the hatch, followed by Bennie, Ben, and Mason.
"Looks like the party is up here tonight," Ladner said. Then he tapped his combadge. "Brock, party on the TRIBBLE deck. Bring a couple more bottles of champagne and some flutes."
"What is a TRIBBLE deck?" came the reply.
"So much for my quiet sunset," Mirra said. She tapped her combadge. "All hands, there is a solar flare party on the dorsal hull exterior. The hatch is open in the EVA airlock. Come on up and join us. The flare is scheduled to begin in less than three minutes."
"Oh," she added, "Friday, that means you too. Use the ship's external sensors to watch with us, and you can use our com-badges when you want to say something."
"Thank you, sir," said a voice from behind her. Mirra turned to see an Asian human six centimeters shorter and probably twelve kilos lighter, wearing a pale blue cheongsam over black slacks.
"Friday!" Mirra said. "The external holoemitters?"
"Yes sir. Thank you for inviting me."
"Join the fun," Aktay said as she poured champagne into the flutes she had available.
"I've secured the quarterdeck," Tanaka said from the hatch as he passed up a large box. Behind him came Brock.
Someone started a countdown from sixty, and the doctor and chief engineer made it in time to join in the last ten seconds.
Nothing happened.
A thump was heard on the port winglet, and then the shadow of a monster leapt up onto the roof of the Briefing Room.
"Did I miss it?" Chuss asked.
"It didn't happen," Sibley said. "No flare! It's a dud!"
The orange-red ball which had been just above the horizon, under-lighting the clouds with a rosy glow, suddenly brightened as it rapidly dove toward the horizon, growing brighter until it was burning with an intense yellow glow that was painful to the eyes. The clouds turned gold with stark black shadows that divided the rays of the setting sun like an accordion-pleated fan. From her vantage Mirra saw the crew as shadows standing on a hull of liquid gold, outlined with beaming golden halos. Everywhere she looked was intense radiance and intense blackness, as if light and dark were at war.
"Woo-hoo!" shouted Aktay, holding her champagne high.
After the sun set but before the final afterglow of dusk on the horizon faded, ethereal curtains of green, blue, and magenta light began to dance across the sky in ever shifting waves and swirls. With no predatory insect-analogues to disturb them, the crew found comfortable places to sit or lay to enjoy Nature's display. Though it was much more subdued than the previous nights, the party went on past midnight. Quiet conversations and friendly laughter contrasted with the rowdiness of evening gatherings over the last few days.
One by one or in pairs the gathering began to break up until only Mirra and Aktay and Ladner were left. Finally, after drifting off momentarily, Mirra quietly got up and went to bed.
Her last sight as she stepped down the ladder was of Ladner drawing the chequered blanket around Aktay. She began to wonder if there was something going on there, then said to herself, "None of my business."
***
"Did you enjoy your vacation?" Lee asked when he materialized with Lucky.
"We did. It was a beautiful place. I think Chuss was bored, but Chief Sparky found a Tellarite club and spent the week, 'Teaching the rubes how to play,' that card game he likes."
"How was the surfing?"
"Perfect for the long-board. Long ocean swells and a smooth incline to the beach. Not a lot of interference to break up the waves, but lots of long curlers.
"Let me take your bag, Skipper."
She picked up the small duffel bag beside Lee, and said, "Welcome back David."
"Thank you, Lieutenant."
"Do we have any assignments?" Mirra asked as she lead the way out of the transporter room.
"Just the transport of a parolee who failed to obey the conditions of her release. We don't have to pick her up from Da'lia for another twenty-six hours.
"There is another issue I'd like to discuss. I've spoken to Admiral Franklin about your future."
He placed his finger on the door's pad and entered his stateroom as the door slid open. "Come in," he said as he took the duffel from her and tossed it on the bed.
"Yours is the only cabin that hasn't been upgraded," Mirra said."
"Upgraded?"
"With halogenerators."
"Surely not," Lee said. "Crewman Aktay's quarters looked fairly standard. I can't say that I've been in most of the other crew's quarters."
"You'd be surprised," she said. "Even The master chief has one. I think he argues with his."
"Debate is a blood-sport for Tellarites." He sat in one of the upholstered chairs and said, "But that's another subject. Grab a drink if you want one."
"I'm good," she said as she sat in the matching chair. "My future?"
"When you took this job you were promised a Department Head assignment on a capital ship. With less than two months to go before this little demonstration ends, I spoke to Admiral Franklin about the next assignments for the crew. She was rather vague and non-specific."
"To be honest, Skipper, I'm happy right here, right now. If it was possible. I'd sign on to crew this little ship for the rest of my career."
"Unfortunately, Kestrel is going back to Mars, but we have a crew to find billets for, and you should get what was promised. My question is, is that still what you want? I mean, the fast track to command."
"I think I do. I know I have a lot to learn, but I like the center seat. Wherever I go, I'd want to be working toward that."
"Okay. I'll start looking around. You might want to update your profile in case any captains want to do a background check."
Mirra smiled, "Maybe I should use my Orion Matron holo. That'll get their attention!"
"It would scare the hell out of them. I know it did me."
"You?"
"Chuss said, 'She does not yet know her limits. Push her into a corner and she will come out fighting. I would like to be there on that day.' "
"He was there when I fought Savaria."
"Yes, well, he has opinions about that, too. Which is another subject. Today I want to get a better idea of what kind of assignments the crew would like. I have an idea that Ben would be welcomed at the Daystrom Institute on Memory Alpha, but I worry about Chief Voght's reaction to their separation."
"Wherever I go, I want Voght with me. I think I'd have a harder time separating her from Crewman Mason, though. Since Bennie's come aboard, Ben hasn't needed her so much."
"Counting on Sibley going to Engineering school, that's four down. What about Ladner?"
"I wonder if the boneyard on Utopia Planetia has replaced the Masterchief yet?"
"Tha's jus' mah thang," Lee drawled in imitation of the crewman. "The question is, would he choose that?"
"I don't really know," Mirra said. "In some ways he's the most difficult to pin down. He's agreeable to just about anything, but he's not very assertive. I guess I'll have to ask him."
"Okay. Crewman Aktay?"
"I've gotten a bit more from her: she wants to travel, meet non-humans, and see new sights. I gather that this has been her favorite assignment so far. So, perhaps get her a billet on an exploration or survey vessel?"
"Science vessels generally have need of computer techs," Lee said, "But Kestrel's trionic-optical computers were a generation behind the state-of-the-art twelve years ago. She was built to be tough and to be easy to maintain far from a starbase. Science vessels have the latest in computer technology. I wonder if tech school would be a better choice?"
"I don't know. Crewman Aktay is good at performing assignments and creative when problem solving, but I don't think she really likes study the way Sibley or Star do."
"Okay, then that leaves Lieutenant Tanaka."
"He's Command Track, which usually requires at least two years in Communication and two years in Engineering. Of course, junior officers get assigned where they are needed, and I wasn't Command Track until the Decker incident."
"Neither was I, until the crew of Merlin started getting reassigned. And here I am, getting ready to disperse Kestrel's crew and mothball her. I feel like I'm betraying my ship."
"There's a member of the crew that you haven't mentioned," Mirra said.
"Sparky has already said that he's retiring. He wants to go home, perhaps open a mechanics shop for mine-ships, if I can believe what he says."
"I can see that being good for him," Mirra said, "But I was talking about Friday."
"I thought Admiral Franklin wanted her back when our assignment was completed? To be honest, I want to take her with me. I can't imagine what my life will be like after she's gone, knowing how before and now worked out."
"Ah, I hadn't thought about that. Of course the Admiral will want her back. She's been a great asset, and a better friend. I'm going to miss her too."
"Okay. We still have two months to go. I'll start looking in to what's available, and if you think of anything, let me know. For now, set a course for Da'lia 4, warp 6."
"Aye, Skipper."
***