USS
Galaxy:The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 50211.06 - 50211.13 |
Looking back on it, Curtis couldn't help but think that perhaps drinking 27 7-UP's in less than 30 minutes was a bad idea. He had never thought that a non-alcoholic beverage could give you a hang-over, but the past hour, which had pretty much been taken up by frequent regurgitation, had proven him wrong.
"Uhg....why the hell did I do this?" Curtis forced between ducks into the sink.
"Because you're an idiot!" came the reasuring voice of Kiora, who was standing next to him, arms folded.
"S...stop moving around Kiora, it's making me dizzy..." Curtis managed as visions of Brohde and Betty in pink bunny costumes began dancing around in his head.
"I'm not going anywhere, and from the look of it, you'd better not either for the next hour or so. You're such a moron." she concluded.
"Make her STOP!! She's DANCING! And she's all...PINK and stuff....WHY ME?!? Noooooo......"
Curtis was unable to finish his thought, for at that moment the ship went into yellow alert, sounding an alarm and shattering the Lady Deathstrike image.
"Ah! Noise! Headache!" Curtis shouted, whilest simultaniously banging his head against the floor, hoping to stop the satanic blast.
"Yellow alert dear," began Kiora, "It's not going to stop."
"Alert?!?!" Curtis jumped up, swayed a moment, a fell back to the ground. "I...gotta get to my station....the chief....she'll ex..exp..e..expect...mmm..m..m..mmmmmme. Must....have.....coffee.........."
Kiora dragged Curtis to his feet and pushed him toward the door, handing him a cup of coffee on the way.
"Drink it fast! Get going!" she ordered him.
"Right...right...." Curtis said, taking a gulp. Then, without another word he ran down the hall.
"Won't be late......won't...be...late......CAN'T...be late....pink bunnies..." he chanted to himself, moments before he fell face first to the floor.
Picking himself up, he continued, somewhat slowly, to his station.
"So we can now read morse code..."
"Hmm?"
"THis memo from Darkstar, be prepared for rescue ops."
Randall paused watching Dante's focus on a padd.
"Are you listening to me Dante?"
"Yea yea, Darkstar doing something.."
"Now where were we?"
::bip bip::
::bip bip::
::bip bip::
::bip beep::
"YES! Two points for Randall.."
"No way, you cheated."
"Moi cheat?"
Dante stared at him...
::Bipp bip::
::Bip bip::
::bip boop::
"Out." Dante sighed. "didn't we have a tennis game today?"
:;Bip bip::
::bip bip::
::bip bip::
"Cancelled, zero G court is taken for rescue ops training..
::bip bip::
::bip bip::
::bip bip::
::bip beep::
"Eat that..."
¡§Really? The Admiral wanted to see me personally?¡¨
¡§Yes Doctor, he did, and he¡¦s a Captain. . .not an Admiral.¡¨
¡§A Captain?¡¨ Dr. Jebediah Quick rolled the word around in his mouth as if savoring a favorite treat. ¡§Gosh I¡¦m honored.¡¨
¡§Don¡¦t be.¡¨ His redheaded companion leaned wearily against the side of the turbolift as it busily whisked them up towards the Bridge. Why did SHE get all the poopy-headed errands while Lysander got to lounge around on the bridge. ¡§He¡¦s more than likely gonna yell and scream at you so watch the flying spittle. If you have any problems just tell him you were once in the Marines or something. He¡¦s got this little fetish for Jarheads. . . .¡¨ Rebecca had overheard that last bit of rumor somewhere even though she really didn¡¦t know what a ¡¥fetish¡¦ was or how it applied to Marines.
Quick glanced at her curiously, but Rebecca was innocently studying the little lift instruction plaque near the door.
¡§THE captain. . .wants to see ME. . . . Whoa! ¡§Quick continued to ponder the concept. ¡§I should have worn a tie. . .¡¨
The aft bridge turbolift hissed open to disgorge its contents with an electronic belch. Rebecca stepped forward to exit, but was quickly pushed out of the way by an eager Dr. Quick who scurried out like an excited child.
The bridge crew was at yellow alert status, and in full preparations for possible rescue operations. In the foreground the Prime crew was busily scrutinizing their LCARS displays bringing the Galaxy to as close to perfect performance as they possibly could.
Beyond that however the bridge was bathed in a swirling array of soft pastel colors, reflections from the Main View screen where the normal stark blackness of space had been replaced by a dancing display of neon whirlpools. Neon swirls of pink and blue danced about green colored amoeboid blobs of electric light.
¡§Beautiful, beautiful!¡¨ Quick marveled to himself as he took in the mass of swirling color. ¡§Its like being on acid but without all the unwanted calories.¡¨
¡§Impressed Doctor?¡¨ A relaxed Lysander asked from the center chair. The Alpha Centaurian was slouched down and had his leg hanging over one armrest. He looked bored beyond belief ¡§Sorry to say the colors are not real. What you¡¦re seeing now is a computer generated false color overlay of the projected areas of Spatial Interphase ahead of us. It should make it easier for Helm to identify navigation hazards in our path.¡¨
When Quick looked confused, the on duty science officer Lieutenant Kara¡¦nin cleared his throat and explained. ¡§The interphase effect of multiple dimensional overlap Doctor. . . It has a detrimental effect on ships crew and equipment.¡¨ He nodded towards the swirling colors on the main viewer. ¡§If Mr. Savoie were to accidentally collide us with one of those larger eddies out there we could find ourselves torn from our present universe and our atoms scattered across any number of higher dimensional planes never again to return home in one piece.¡¨
¡§Oh. . . .¡¨ Quick furrowed his eyebrows, ¡§Is that bad?¡¨
Behind him Rebecca sighed in exasperation, she didn¡¦t have time for the good Doctor¡¦s antics. She quickly stepped forward to take him by the elbow. ¡§Yes Doctor. . . Bad. Our universe. . .good. Other universes. . .bad.¡¨
She tugged him along down the ramp towards the door to Brhode¡¦s office, causing the others on the bridge to smile slightly. The odd mismatch of the tiny little redhead tugging the towering 6 foot Quick was analogous to a mother with an oddly over-sized child in tow.
¡§But. . .but. . .but I want to stay and look at the pretty colors.¡¨ Quick whined, reluctantly dragging his feet.
¡§Bad universes. . . Remember?¡¨ Rebecca repeated buzzing the door chime. ¡§Bad.¡¨
The door hissed open and Rebecca dragged him inside, his last protest was ¡§ But maybe they¡¦re good universes. . .but only have bad tourist agencies.?¡¨
>>>>>** <<<<<<<<
Inside the slightly darkened office Rebecca released her charges arm and stepped forward to announce herself. ¡§Commander von Ernst Reporting Captain, I have. . . . .Oh! You¡¦re not the Captain!¡¨
In the half-light of the room, Rebecca at first hadn¡¦t recognized the shadowy figure standing silently by the large view portal. Now however as her eyes adjusted she frowned in recognition.
It was a woman perhaps five feet in height clad in the starched rigidity of a crisp Starfleet Captain¡¦s Uniform; the inky black of the fabric blending in perfectly with the darkness of space outside.
(The false color images of course being invisible)
The thin willowy figure turned slowly and gracefully away from its private contemplations of infinity and pierced the Commander and her companion with an intense scrutinizing stare.
Completing the pivot, the woman¡¦s voluminous waves of scarlet red hair fell gently about her tiny form, framing her from head to knee in a sort of strange protective cloak.
Rebecca of course recognized the woman immediately. ¡§Momma. . . ¡§
¡§Inaccurate statement Commander,¡¨ the figure replied in a clean crisp voice. ¡§I am a Mark III Emergency Command Hologram manufactured by Hawklsey Holograms ltd. Any similarities to the Federation citizen Hollance von Ernst is purely unintentional.¡¨
Glaring back at the Hologram, Rebecca had to grit her teeth. ¡§Yeah. . . I bet.¡¨
The Emergency Comamnd Hologram. . . or the ¡¥Holli-gram¡¦ as the crew had taken to referring to it as, was an experimental Starfleet project to expand the original Emergency Doctor program to here-to-fore unheard of applications. Cram packed with an encyclopedia of Command and Tactical knowledge it was designed to literally take command of the entire starship in case of traumatic loss of the entire Command staff. To wit: Brhode, Rebecca and Lysander.
The fact that the programmers (conveniently on the payroll of Lysanders Corporation) chose to model the Hologram off of Rebecca¡¦s mother was a subject of extreme contention for the young redhead.
¡§Dude. . . She¡¦s your Mom?¡¨ Quick asked with an open mouthed stare as he studied the slim woman before him.
Rebecca opened her mouth to reply, but The Holli-gram overrode whatever she was about to say, ¡§Inaccurate statement Dr. Jebediah Quick,¡¨ it breathed in a cool tone, ¡§I am a Mark III Emergency Command Hologram programmed by. . . .¡¨
¡§. . .by Noodlehead Industries yadda yadda yadda.¡¨ Rebecca completed the statement. ¡§Any similarities to my MOMMA are totally and completely unintentional MY BIG TOE!¡¨
¡§A hologram?¡¨ Quick mused scratching his chin. He had played around with his own holo-programs years ago, but ¡¥Trixie the Wonder-Ferengi¡¦ had really been nothing more than a silly college prank. He looked the image over whistling in appreciation. Holli von Ernst was a good-looking forty-ish woman who apparently kept her trim figure in top shape with a mixture of labor intensive farm-work, and a life-long love of Marathon running. He stepped around to admire the lines from all angles. He wouldn¡¦t mind meeting the real deal.
¡§Dude. . ¡§ he mused mostly to himself. ¡§Your mom is like a total hottie.¡¨
¡§DOCTOR!!¡¨
¡§Well she is.¡¨ Quick muttered. Holli seemed to be about his age and since he didn¡¦t currently have a gal-pal maybe they could . . . . . .he let that thought trail off.
Throughout it all the ECH seemed quite undisturbed by the problems it was causing, standing quite prim and proper at the center of the room. ¡§Is there something you required Commander von Ernst.¡¨ It asked. ¡§Has there been a catastrophic loss of life amongst the Command staff? Shall I assume command of the vessel?¡¨
¡§No . . .no,¡¨ Rebecca gestured lamely over at Quick who was off to the side studying the hologram in profile. ¡§I¡¦m here to bring Dr. Quick to the bridge in preparation for the upcoming Rescue Operations. Considering his expertise with spatial anomalies, Captain Brhode thought it would be prudent to have him on hand.¡¨
¡§Captain Brhode is not in at the moment. He is currently reviewing Marine Holodeck simulations. You may either wait quietly for his return, or leave your report with me and I shall see that he gets it.
~~~Great. . .Not only is My mom a hologram, but now Brhode is using her as a personal secretary. Rebecca found herself avoiding looking at the Holli-gram. The image of her beautiful doting mother in a Starfleet uniform somehow sickened her stomach.
She looked so much like her mom , except for the blank emotionless expression and Rebecca had to quash a sudden urge to grab it by the shoulders and tell it to ¡¥snap out of it!!¡¦
¡§Y¡¦know. . .uh . . .Captain.¡¨ Quick began unsure of how to address the image. ¡§I¡¦m an amateur artist by profession. . . .you don¡¦t suppose in your off-duty hours your consider a little . . . er . . . modeling job. . . ¡§
The ECH nodded, ¡§A Public-Domain copy of my image files are easily available through the . . . . .¡¨
¡§NOT !!¡¨ Rebecca nearly choked out the interruption. ¡§My Momma isn¡¦t Public-Domain anything!! ¡§ she addressed the ceiling, ¡§Computer place all visual files associated with the Mark III ECH under Command level security clearances authorization Von Ernst ¡VGamma Bunny Slippers Alpha Wiggles Moo Moo.¡¨
(Rebecca was known for her unusual code-file names)
The Holli-gram image shimmered slightly as the files were locked down, and the ECH glanced at the irate young redhead but didn¡¦t argue. Until Brode, Rebecca, and Lysander were incapacitated, the holo didn¡¦t actually have any real authority.
¡§Furthermore Computer. . .¡¨ Rebecca continued, ¡§Place associate image files under level three encryption protocols with a twelfth dimensional quasi-variable, and a rotating code lock based on sub-imaginary numeral base algorithms.¡¨
(She was also known. . . much to Lysander¡¦s annoyance. . . of creating the most gawd-awful coding algorithms known to man. He¡¦s tried hacking into her personal journal several times without success.)
Quick looked abashed. ¡§Or maybe you should ask your daughter about that first.¡¨ He sighed.
Rebecca rounded upon him, eyes flaring but saying nothing.
¡§Or not.¡¨
Still glaring, and still pointedly not looking at the ECH, Rebecca slid behind Brhode¡¦s desk and activated the swivel-Computer.
¡§Since the captain¡¦s not here Doctor I sugest you make yourself comfortable. Thinks should get pretty exciting in due course. Only stay out of his way. The Captain is not fond of ¡¥mere¡¦ rescue operations and will tend to be in short temper.
She tapped in a few key commands. Hopefully the crew was making preparations for the Rescue. Engineering had to deal with the strange power drains, and ¡VLord help us- they were depending on Malgin to come up with some sort of Theragan derivative to combat the supposed Interphase effects on crew mental functions. Then there was sure to be a war between Security and the Marines over who got priority for providing the ¡¥muscle¡¦ for the Away Team. Rebecca sighed. What a mess that was going to be.
Clearly there was a lot to do.
=/\=
The devastation of physical scarring from within had returned full-force to the Kelvan approximately an hour after the embarrassment of the sequence of events that had so enthralled the others.
Unthinking, he went along with the charade, demonstrating his aptitude for the forward-thinking involved through his strategizing on each movement of his preconceived character. The idea he would be playing an assassin was a graceful nod toward his own misdemeanour, and so he provd it by plying his trade on one of the raiding party.
The problem was, the dice said another story. Crying out his loss of honor at completely failing in his attempt to strangle each person in their sleep, he was told, rather vehemently I might add, that these were his companions and one couldn't go around and kill his comrades.
So, he stood down in the face of the adversity, and waited until he could make use of his skills.
Now, several hours later, he felt he should've curried the anger of his comrades and gotten him killed, so he could separate himself from the group of I-want-to-be-a-super-nice-person-who-kills-no-so-nice-ugly-people. For if he'd been beaten to death in the game, it would account for the return of the aches and pains of the real-life brutality he'd received from Kragg.
He felt eyes on him throughout his stumbling ways, a wholehearted attempt to hurry the trajectory to his quarters. Tey were laughing at him, revelling in their superiority over him. They were painless, ignorant, and blissfully content in bringing the Kelvan to the brink of death.
He could feel their contempt for him. He could see it the lines around their mouths as they laughed at some unheard joke, in the crinkle around their sockets as their feelings carried them away in glee. Soe of them offered to help him to Sickbay, but he knew the real reason they offered. So they could tell jokes about him behind his back, and share secrets amongst themselves at his weakness.
No, he blew them off. Their puzzled looks did not deter him. They were weak; none of their ploys would work on someone of his intellectual stature.
He slipped into his quarters to curious stares, and slammed the bulkhead shut to unwanted visitors.
Immediately, he shuffled across the padded carpet to the replicator, and called up another vial, this time with a glass of Camarian water. He pocketed the vial in his trousers as he lay down on his cot, gasping as his ribcage cried out in reluctance.
As like before, it didn't take long for the pain to subside. Kylar closed his eyes, but could not sleep. His mind was racing.
His commpanel beeped, signifying a message. He pulled himself up and over the cotrails, amazed at the lack of feeling within him. He was a machine. All he had to do was purge the emotions from him, but that could only be achieved by removing the blight called humanity from his existence.
He set himself down in his chair, shifting to find the edge as he couldn't feel it.
Thumbing the reception slider, the attached Liaison report, acquired daily by amassing all cross-referenced computer access modules, whittled itself down to a daily report of the Galaxy activities for the day.
Besides being assigned a Ferengi as an assistant, the only other unit that drew his attention was the plotted path of the Galaxy along Tholian borders and a science report of the sector determining this area to be the sector of Interspace where the Constellation Class Heavy Cruiser Defiant disappeared.
He would deal with this Crom later. The Galaxy's heading concerned him though. With a loose cannon like Brhode commanding the flagship of the fleet, the possibility of sparking a conflict with the Tholians was imminent. This was the area where the first contact with the Tholians was made by the hateful Kirk a century ago. Brhode was just as flamboyant, but lacked the charisma of the gigolo who single-handedly determined the path the Kelvans would take in this new life.
The interspacial effects of the sector could be counteracted by Theragen, of which the base components where Klingon in nature. A subcomponent of the agent, created by the doctor on the Enterprise, was Nardon-h, which had potentially fatal effects on Kelvans due to the interlaced DNA strands of Kelvan and Terran genomes. The altered genes would instead turn on each other and attempt to 'purge' the invaders.
Most cases were treatable on this type of hybrid, but a small percentage died a horrible painful death of mutated genes killing each other off.
Others suffered genetic breakdown in some degree, varying from mutated limbs to degraded mental capacity. The brain tissues had destroyed each other.
It depends on how far the infection had gone. The Kelvan response was to eliminate the Nardon-h compound, and replace the agent with an Nardon-c compound.
He would stop by Sickbay for this treatment after submitting a report to Brhode on the politics of the sector.
Settling in, unable to sleep, he penned the report, co-submitting it to Liaison HQ on Earth.
As usual, the instant something had to get done, something else broke. It was like the time back in the 11th grade, when she'd done a paper for a religion class about world religions, and the campus computer system had obliterated it a few moments after she had written it. Her religion teacher had been understanding, but her friends, whose time had been a little bit wasted by her not being present for an important event, had been a little annoyed.
"Have you tried switching L10378 through L10391 with X-6178 through X-6191, Sostik?" Chase Remur asked. The Tactical Analysis Core was off-line, due to an unexpected resurgence of the "Quick" Virus. Lieutenant Black hadn't been pleased, but had understood. He had merely muttered under his breath about “proper” scientists and gone back to work on the PPC Cannon overhauls, leaving his head computer expert in charge of repairing the computer core.
“No, let me get that.” Warrant Sostik, the romulan tactical analyst said, sitting cross legged in a lotus position on the floor amidst the organized chaos of isolinear chips. He shuffled some chips and inserted them into the panel he had opened. Suddenly the core whirred to life. “There you have it. The wonders of modern technology. Switch a few circuits and it works, just like that.”
“True. Put all the rest of the chips back in their original places, except for O-22 and A-117, which need to be switched because the data-flow is slightly out of whack. Oh, and reroute the energy line through port 77. I’ll be in Donovan’s office, calling him up from PPC Control. He’s down there doing some grunt work with CPO Sholtz. The large german fellow.” Chase said, the disappeared into Black’s office.
Sostik nodded and set to work switching isolinear chips. Technical work was one of Sostik’s strong points. When he had joined Starfleet Intelligence, they had wanted him for his technical skills, and he had a lot of extra technical training that most people in his line of work didn’t have. A few minutes later, he was finished and had switched the chips that needed to be switched. Picking up a tricorder, he walked over to port 77 and began planning the rerouting work. This was basic compared to his specialty, but it was enjoyable for the strong, silent romulan.
Just then, Lieutenant Donovan Black entered the planning room, covered in sweat from crawling around in access halls for the PPC.
“So, what do we have, Sostik?” Black asked, slumping into a chair next to the replicator. “Hot green tea, random variety.” A cup of steaming tea appeared in a piece of asian china that Black had programed. Taking the cup, he sipped at it, breathing deeply as the tea soothed his tired body.
“Well, we just got the core back on-line and Chase is in your office receiving the messages we missed during the core crash.” Sostik said, finishing his work. Sitting down in another of the rolling swivel chairs, he ordered some tea of his own. Chase walked out of the office, looking as annoyed as her youthful girlish features would get.
“What’s wrong, Lieutenant?” Sostik asked.
“Bolivar took an assignment that we were assigned while the computers were down.” Chase said, handing Black a PADD. Glancing over it, Black smiled.
“Ah, intelligence types. We know how that is. Well, we’ll just go over the work that Bolivar did and send our findings up to Bhrode. He appreciates competence, and it never hurts to be over-prepared, even if Major Bolivar has already done the job for us.” Black suggested, as Chase claimed a third seat. “But first, a five minute break. You guys look exhausted.”
“You don’t look so cool yourself.” Chase laughed.
“Hey, we’re tactical. Backbone of the fleet.”
The monitor glowed as the chief Intelligance officer watched
the Tactical
people take the bait.
"Sir, I'm not exactly loving decieving our own people."
"I know but sometimes it is regrettably necessary. And
will teach Mr Black
a thing or two about keeping his nose in his own business."
"I see..."
Picking up the padd with the real translation Saladin had to get a chuckle, "Besides, a good prank can be a blessing to the crew. Though I will make sure to get the proper translation of this message to the captian."
"Yes sir." The senior anaylist examined the padd and handed it over, "translation is authentic."
"Very good." He then tucked the padd under his arm and walked to the captain's ready room...
He was ready....
“Oh my god. Can you believe this?”
“Come one, check this out.”
”What the hell are they doing here?”
That was a small sample of the overall chatter coming about the security officers. They were observing the steady march of marine boots into the holodecks with disdain and disgust. The feelings and looks from the marines were likewise as hostile, but the marines looked down at their ‘lesser’ peers as little children in front of a big and imposing teacher. Dressed up in their mark 1 battle armor, the marines marched two by two, bragging about their performance and comparing themselves to their lesser cousins in security.
As for security, they were powerless to stop the marines.
“I fail to see why they’re presence is required.” Lieutenant jg T’lan coldly stated her opinion (a Vulcan’s way of grumbling).
“Political.” O’Rorke added, “Purely political.”
As a fire team of three marines entered the holodeck with a ‘Hooo-ahhhh’, five officers broke away from the main group of awe stunned security officers.
“Can’t believe this is happening.” O’Rorke led the rest of her friends to an adjoining room, where other security officers and marines were observing the holodeck’s progress. The marines vigorously whoop and cheer their own, as they seem to coast easily through each level in there training exercises, while security officers were made the brunt of their jokes as they seemed to blunder through their exercises in the marines eyes. Likewise, the security officers didn’t appreciate the marine’s boisterous attitude and warlike mentality, and sniped at those qualities at every turn.
O’Rorke led the others to a vacant screen, where a group of marines were doing the exact exercise they practiced a half hour ago.
“What is going on? I thought the marines weren’t called for Rescue Operations.” E’xch asked.
“They’re not supposed to be involved in Rescue Operations, E’xch. They’re marines, combat experts. They have almost no experience in search and rescue.” Lieutenant jg Marsh answered back, as grim as death and gravelly as sand.
“And how do you know so much about them?” E’xch questioned the terran combat veteran.
Marsh turned around to look at the younger Denobulan. “Let’s just say I’ve been around.”
“Yeah… lets.” E’xch replied, unsatisfied with the answer.
“What does it matter?” O’Rorke switched screens. The marines were shown in a different view, tromping through the old Antares class freighter in a triangle formation. They were wide spread, paced at least a couple dozen meters apart from each other. Each had a phaser rifle in their arms, scanning and waving around like spears in the hands of primitive huntsmen. Their comm.-channels cracked with braggart’s voices and snappy orders as they ran rapidly through the ship.
“What do those idiots think they are doing?” O’Rorke nodded her head in shame. “This is a rescue operation, not the storming of Galipoli VI.”
“Their formation is flawed.” T’lan added analytically, “They are spread out in a combat formation. Though it is most logical for a hostile ship boarding, a breach in the hull could kill them in an instant… without any of their teammates in a position to save them.”
E’xch decided it was his time to add into the conversation, “And they are using phaser rifles. That doesn’t leave their hands free to use tricorders, access panels… even grab a bulwark in case they get sucked out of the ship.”
“Mark one battle armor’s no substitute for an EVA suit.” Marsh contributed his experience from the battlefield, “They aren’t as well sealed as the EVA, don’t come with as many features, and if there is a breach, the Mark one’s mag-boots won’t hold them to the ground. Likely they’ll get torn off their boots and launched into space.”
“Whatever the reason… they’re being complete idiots. They have no business being here.” O’Rorke spat in disgust.
“Agreed. It is illogical.” Spoke T’lan.
*Ahem*
Everybody turned to face the silent blue Andorian Ensign named Brin Taro. Rarely did he speak, but when he did, it was a rare event that demanded attention.
“Instead of pointing out their faults, we should examine our own.” Brin Taro suggested, “We are in a war against the marines, and to win, we have to prove we can go toe to toe with them. To do that, we have to find out flaws and eliminate them.”
“The kid’s got a point. He must have some trenchfighter blood in him.” Marsh whistled his respect.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Brin replied, “My father was Captain Suri Taro, leader of the 1st Andorian Rangers Regiment.”
“You don’t say…. that’s a damn good regiment. Heard they’re the fleet’s response to the marines.” Marsh said.
“They are superior to marines. And my father would resurrect from his crematorium if he saw our sad performance today in front of his rivals.” Brin’s voice was as sharp as a knife and as harsh as Malgin’s medical treatment.
“Again, the kid has a point. Observant little bastard, aren’t you? When were you going to tell us about all this?” Marsh asked.
“When I finally got sick of it all.” Taro grimaced.
“Whoa! Everyone cool your plasma vents!” O’Rorke ordered.
Marsh stepped in authoritatively, “What do you mean cool your plasma vents? Who’s arguing? I agree with the Ensign. We were supposed to be the best BUPERS had to offer. And what did we prove? We proved that we are a bunch of sad, sorry excuses of cops who can’t even catch the Lesephian Flu. No offence, but we suck.”
“I resent that. We are the best.” Lieutenant E’xch chirped.
Marsh glared hostily at the Denobulan, “We would have been the group with the highest score in our last drills… if it wasn’t for you knocking out T’lan and the boss.”
“It was an honest mistake!”
“You put your magnetic grappler on a loose panel for f**k sakes!”
“It was very secure, thank you very much!”
“As secure as you getting my foot up your…”
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” O’Rorke boomed at the top of her lungs. Her unruly group (and a few outsiders) took notice, but the outsiders were driven away by her evil glare. She continued in a calmer voice as order was restored, “Sure, we’re a bit… rough, but arguing about it won’t solve a thing. What we need to do is get results.”
“How are we going to do that if the marines make us look bad? At this rate, Brhode will scrub us from every away team and let his pet marines do all the work. And Corgan’s as good as castrata, therefore he won’t lift a finger to stop what’s happening.” Marsh commented.
The group was stumped. They gathered in a small, loose circle, and looked at each other, expecting someone to give an answer. For a minute none came, and hope was just about lost.
But then O’Rorke came up with a solution. “Either we improve… or make the marines look bad.”
Brin Taro’s antennae perked. Everyone else looked at O’Rorke like she was committing treason.
“This human obsession of revenge and status climbing is an illogical course of action. I suggest we allow the marines to continue their exercises. Commander Corgan and Captain Brhode will see the marines flaws, and see that Security is better trained to handle search and rescue operations.” T’lan said.
“Ok, so we allow the marines to screw up slightly, Brhode still praises them, and Corgan shrugs his shoulders and says ‘ok sir’.” Marsh replied.
“In other words, it won’t work.” Lieutenant E’xch added, “But what we can do is make the marines look stupid.”
Everybody in the group stared at E’xch as if he was the biggest moron in the group. “We already said that.” O’Rorke sighed futily, “Marsh is right. I hear Brhode was a former marine. He’ll favor the marines at this point. But to make them look bad, we have to make them look really bad. Suggestions?”
“We could use the main simulation control consoles over there.” T’lan suggested, pointing to a display of holoscreens and LCARS controls. There, like a beacon of light, the controls were waiting to be used. The marines that were once controlling the console left it alone to watch their comrades’ breeze their way through Jem’Hadar strewn levels. “I suggest we hurry, as illogical as our actions will become.”
“You’re sneaky for a Vulcan.” E’xch complimented.
“You would be surprised by our subtlety.” T’lan glanced provocatively.
O’Rorke pointed to E’xch, then the marines, and then her eyes. With a nod of understanding, E’xch made his way to a spot near the marines, and watched them watching the gladiatorial spectacle they created.
Then, O’Rorke pointed to T’lan, Taro, and Marsh to follow her to the console. She directed T’lan and Marsh to watch another cluster of marines as they watched a fireteam pace slowly towards the main cargo bay of a simulated ship.
O’Rorke’s face was forebodingly skeletal as the glow of the consoles lit up her face. She stared down at the main controls. The consoles were unlocked, the marines apparently laxing in attention and security. She couldn’t believe that the marines would be this sloppy! It was almost a godsend, the ubermarines making human mistakes.
“You know… on second thought, this might not be a good idea. We could be court martialled for this…” She mouthed as she tucked her hand into her sleeve and debated manipulating the controls. She glanced behind her shoulder to see if anyone was intruding, but her sentries reported nothing with their quick eye glances.
“We still have to do something… wait! Notice simulation three and four. Something’s about to change their plans.” Brin pointed at the simulations.
One moment, they were staring at a fireteam stalking their way to some survivors inside a cargo bay. The next instant, a fragment of hull slammed the ship from the outside, causing a microfracture to ‘magically’ appear. The fracture grew and grew, until finally a hiss was heard. The marine glanced back at the wound in the hull, and his eyes widened.
=/\=”Oh sh*t, hit the…”=/\=
*FWWOoooooosssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh….*
No more marines. They were too far away from each other to come to each other’s aide. Their phaser rifles used up both hands, and of course, their mag-boots didn’t hold. As a result, three marines became one with the cosmos in a way that was unintentional.
“Wow… there is a God.” Shelly O’Rorke whispered.
“You want better, watch simulation number four.” Brin directed her attention to the screen. Three marines were surrounded in a intersection on a freighter, firing at any target that moved with a whoop and a cheer. Borg drones dropped like flies all around. So methodical and devastating was their attack that the Borg were walking over their dead and wounded to reach the marines. But Borg were coming in everywhere. The drones flooded the halls and were starting to pin the trapped marines. The numbers and position were so obvious even a first year cadet could tell that the marines were as good as dead.
“There’s no way they’ll get out of this one.” O’Rorke tisked.
“They will, if they swallow their pride.” Taro explained, “Keep watching…”
****************
“This is fireteam Corona to USS Galaxy.” Corporal Lance Longstaff barked over his comm..-badge, “We are encountering heavy resistance from Borg intruders. Requesting backup fireteam. Over!”
The crackle of green disruptor blasts from Borg weapon appendages rang in the marine’s ears. He couldn’t peer out of a corner for one second without being answered by a half dozen of the deadly beams. Borg were everywhere. In the ducts, in the halls, in the rooms, everywhere he went there were nothing but Borg.
At least that took care of survivors. Lance hated search and rescue. He would rather fight, where the real glory lay, to be taken.
First, he had to get his team out of an ambush alley. And there was no way with the overwhelming number of Borg.
“Come on boys!” He screamed to his beleaguered friends, “Lock and load. Let’s show these **** sucking vole ****ers what a marine’s made of! Who’s with me?!?!”
“Hooooooo AHHHHHH!!!!!” His friends echoed.
“Alright! Let’s scrap the mother…”
Unmistakable Federation phaser fire cut into the Borg’s din, then the ear shattering boom of a plasma grenade somewhere in the background obliterated an entire section of the Borg’s advance. Then like a lawnmower, straight red beams of phaser energy scythed through the Borg ranks. The drones couldn’t move fast enough to prevent being caught up in the meat grinder. The phasers stopped. Borg bodies floated freely, their scorching burn holes glowing in the dark corridors.
Three EVA suited officers carrying type three phaser rifles stared down the astonished marines.
“Somebody called for an exterminator?” Ensign So’ka communicated to the marines.
The marines looked at each other, astonished. The young and headstrong leader, Corporal Lance, grumbled, “I can’t believe it. Saved by a trio of nerps.”
“You did know we were practicing too, didn’t you?” Lieutenant Hanley laughed.
***************
“You were right.” O’Rorke giggled to her companion, “That was priceless.”
“Yes…” Brin’s features didn’t change. He partook in no enjoyment of watching the marines being saved by their ‘lesser’ cousins. “But it may not be enough. We have to somehow get the boss to get the marines off this mission. We have to try to talk to him… as futile as it may be.”
“You’re right, Brin. Gather the boys. We have some convincing to do…”
Lysander ALMOST made it off the Bridge. Rebecca has just settled her tiny butt on the command chair and was blinking around the Bridge, wondering why the crew wasn't hastening to obey her every whim.
No such Luck.
++Mister REECE! Where is the damn Officer of the Watch? ++ Bhrode's voice snapped over the intercom, calling the tall woman back to the command chair she had vacated mere moments ago.
The willowy brunette allowed an vexed look to cross her face. She rolled her eyes to Curtis Geluf, ensconced in the OPS station and keyed the side station's comm open.
"Reece here." she replied, her voice level and calm.
"Why aren't you at the Conn?" Bhrode barked.
"I have the conn." Rebecca replied, in an icy voice.
"WONDER BOY!" Bhrode bellowed, arresting a smirking Lysander just as the turbolift doors closed on him.
"(smeg!) Yes Captain?" Lysander waffled.
"Jumping Pakleds on Pogo Sticks! What the frag are you doing to my ship?" Bhrode bellowed.
"Commander Von Ernst wanted the Conn..." Lysander began, knowing he was going to pay for THIS one.
"Number One! Did I or did I not tell the PAIR of you to go and get the Departments ready for this Rescue Mission?" Bhrode snapped. On the turbolift, Lysander pictured Rebecca's icy hatred and winced.
"You did, Captain." Rebecca's voice was aloof.
"Relinquish Command to Reece, and You and Wonder Boy go to this Ensign Kurita in Sciences..." Bhrode began.
"Karanin. Lieutenant Cutter Karanin." Rebecca replied. Lysander cut his chortle short, as he redirected the Turbolift back up to the Bridge. Smegging Princess!
"DON'T YOU CONTRADICT ME! If I call him bloody Lieutenant Crow, he's and you will Squawk! " Bhrode thundered.
The Bridge fell silent. Only rarely did the Ice Queen do something to piss off the Old Man. And he usually addressed those rare occasions in private. He must REALLY be pissed to nail her in front of everyone!
The Turbolift doors opened, and Lysander eyed the frozen tableau with dread. Sure enough.. everyone was frantic, trying to look busy elsewhere. Except the tiny, red head at the Comamnd Chair. SHE gripped the armrests with whiteknuckled, furious tiny freckled hands. A faint blush, creeping gently to her pallid cheeks from her tunic neck was the only sign of any reaction.
Bhrode was out of his Ready Room and right in Reece's face.
". . . and THEN you will have Helm lay in a course for this damned signal, that has everyone's Fleet Issue Boxers in a twist!" Bhrode told his Chief of Ops.
"Aye aye sir." the cold and unflappable Electra Reece answered.
"Number Two!" Bhrode barked.
"Sir!" Lysander replied.
"Go down and get Corgan AND the Marines ready for boarding operations. Along the Way, you will get a report from Intelligence about the current state of affairs regarding the Tholians. You will also stop by Doctor Malgin's Sickbay and make sure he and Counseling are drilled and ready for Rescue Operations."
"Aye Aye Sir!" Lysander shouted.
"Number One! You will take Lieutenant Black, and the pair of you WILL get some answers about this siganl, and prepare Tactical Analysis Response of your findings to protect this ship." Bhrode eyed Von Ernst.
"Aye." was her cold reply.
"AND TO RE-ITERATE:" Bhrode bellowed; "THIS IS MY SHIP! MY COMMAND! WHen I leave the Conn to someone, I expect NORMAL rules to apply."
Bhrode glared around trhe silent bridge, daring anyone to contradict him.
"Now.. I'll be on the promenade. Someone had better notify me when we're ten parsecs from whatever is transmitting that signal. Or I'll boil the whole crew alive."
Lysander offered the turbolift car to Bhrode.
No Such Luck.
"No Number Two. You and Me are going to go see how Corgan's boys are doing." Bhrode snarled.
The Galaxy didn’t just fly through the eternal darkness of space. . . . it SOARED.
Like a great duranium bird of prey, Starfleet’s newest addition twisted and turned amongst the eddies and currents of the fragile interphase region like a hawk riding high on the invisible thermals of the mountain skies.
Instead of navigating the winds however, the steady hands of Jeremy Savoie was threading the Galaxy in and amongst the fragile interdimensional regions of interphase that were like unto sheets of fragile tissue paper in the fabric of space and time itself.
Nobody talked about what would happen if the billion ton starship accidentally tore into one of those fragile sheets, but it remained foremost on everybody’s minds. Death. . . Madness. . . .and possible consignment to oblivion as the Galaxy would be forced to wander the endless multiverse of dimensions. . . . like the mythical Flying Dutchman of old.
Needless to say, Rebecca von Ernst’s fingers gripped the back of Savoie’s chair just a little bit too tightly as she hung over his shoulder watching every move he made.
“Come left two point 6 degrees. . . . .ok now z-axis plus 10,000 meters. . . .. roll 20 degrees . . set pitch at . . .”
“Begging the Commander’s pardon.” The Helmsman sighed at last in frustration as his fingers flew over the LCARS console. “But would she like to sit at Helm herself?”
“Oh.” Rebecca straightened a bit and blushed. “Sorry. . .No. . .no need Lieutenant. Carry on, best speed to intercept point.”
Smiling to himself in relief, the young officer refocused his attention fully on the navigational problem at hand. He could still feel the Commander’s hands on the back of his chair, but she was no longer ‘hovering’ over his shoulder.
The Main Viewscreen continued to swirl with a dizzying array of psychedelic colors and patterns : a computer generated false-color image map of the regions of interphase space surrounding the Galaxy. Under Savoie’s gentle guidance the great ship dipped and wove about them with a silent purposeful grace.
Throughout it all, the strange enigmatic energy beacon called out from the darkness ahead. There was, as of yet, absolutely zero sensor contact with any form of vessel or station that might have produced the distress call, but given the Historical record of the area they were traveling through, that was no quite surprising.
100 years before, the Enterprise had only accidentally blundered upon the crippled Defiant in this same area. Then science officer Spock, had documented that the Defiant had produced absolutely no sensor image throughout the entire encounter, registering zero mass, zero Electronic emissions, and zero Lifesigns. Yet nevertheless, the ship existed in its little pocket of Interphase.
100 years later, presumably whatever poor vessel that had blundered into the same region would likewise be invisible to sensors until within visual range, and in that the Galaxy crew was fortunate that the distress signal provided a trail of bread-crumbs so to speak to follow back to its source. Hopefully once there a rescue attempt could be made.
Unfortunately without sensor readings it was difficult to localize an exact range to the signal source, but with the radical bobbing and weaving the ship was forced to adopt, Science Department was able to get a fairly decent Parallax solution for something in the next few light hours.
Which meant that Galaxy would be intercepting in the next few minutes, and it would pay to be prepared.
Leaving Savoie to his maneuvering, Rebecca glanced back over her shoulder at the rest of the bridge. It was slightly more crowded than usual as members of all departments had representatives lining the walls in anticipation of any sort of technical necessity.
Brhode himself sat in the center of his power, glowering over some readout on his armrest display. Rebecca’s own counterpart, Commander Lysander van der Puls Hawsklsey, was behind the great wooden arch hovering over Tactical’s shoulder much as she was doing for Helm. Briefly she wondered if Lt. Black was getting as annoyed as Savoie was.
The only non-crew member present was that of the perpetually jolly Dr. Jebediah Quick. The frequently dazed and confused scientist was sitting in Rebecca’s vacated chair to Brhode’s right hand, and just opposite him, Commander Karyn Dallas awaited patiently in her ever-present hoverchair.
It was times like these that Rebecca often wished she could maintain the level of outer calm and patience so often displayed by the Chief Counselor. Rebecca envied her, her clear head and presence of mind. She wondered briefly what her secret was. . . .
“Time to contact?” Brhode grumbled from his chair. It was the sixth time he asked in as many minutes.
“Refined ETA in five minutes plus or minus 15 minutes based on latest Parallax.” Replied the winged figure of Lt. Kara’nin from the Science Console. The Astrophysics officer had been an invaluable resource in making plans for the current operation, having provided important hazard warnings to all Departments for their consideration.
Rhode however wasn’t in a grateful mood. “You have a 150% margin of error?” he inquired menacingly. “Who do I have for my Science Department, the Mouseketeers?”
Fortunately, Brhode’s sarcasm didn’t ruffle Kara’nin’s feathers. (literally) “Apologies Captain, but the overall degradation in sensor performance coupled with the fact that the ship is on limited power expenditures have constrained more accurate readings.”
Rebecca glanced over at OPS for a reaction, but the steady gaze of Electra Reece betrayed no emotion, she was already compensating for decreased power reserves. It was a documented fact that proximity to the Interphase regions produced a slow but inexorable drain on ship’s energy reserves, and the effect was already being felt by the Galaxy.
A system wide 15% drop in resources had been catalogued, and Brhode had already taken steps to take all extraneous systems offline. It was hoped that with modern 24th century technology the Galaxy would prove more resistant to the effects than Kirk’s Enterprise did long ago, but it never hurt to err on the side of caution.
Current estimates called for Galaxy to get in and out with the rescue in no more than a few hours. Anything longer could prove quite detrimental to both ship and crew.
The crew of course, was at risk from the strange mental effects caused by Interphase. Kirk’s original survey concluded that the crew of the Defiant had been slowly driven mad by the adverse effect of multiple dimensions on brain synaptic functions. It was presumed that the entire ship’s company had slain each other in a bloody mad free-for-all. The fact that such a thing could occur to the Galaxy crew had not been overlooked.
Malgin, the ship’s Doctor (himself reputed to be insane) had already ordered prophylactic administration of the same Theragan-derivative compound developed by Dr. Leonard McCoy to protect the Enterprise crew 100 years before. Rebecca smacked her lips a bit, still tasting the foul concoction that she had washed down only hours before. Idly she wondered if Malgin had soured the taste on purpose.
“Number One. . .Number Two,” Brhode moved on to the next item on his gripe list. “ Are your Away Teams ready and up to snuff?”
“Aye sir,” Rebecca replied automatically, “Lt. Commander Corgan and the Medical team are standing by in Transporter Room One.”
“Yes, sir.” Lysander spoke from behind the arch. “I have Major Log and the Marine assault team ready to go in Transporter Room Two. Just awaiting final Mission specs.”
In lieu of any hard data concerning the exact nature of the ship in distress, Brhode had divided his two XO’s in to approaching the problem from two different tactical considerations.
Rebecca had been assigned to take the angle as if the ship was a true ‘friendly’ vessel suffering from some sort of technical and/or medical problem without the presence of hostile forces.
For this purpose she had chosen James Corgan to lead a team of Security, Medical, and Engineering Personnel over to the vessel in order to effect rescue.
On the other hand, Lysander had been given the tact of assuming the vessel in question was under some sort of hostile assault, and/or if it was some sort of trap. The distress signal after all was a week old, and pirates or what have you could have also intercepted the transmission.
For this he had selected Major Log and his gang of ruffians to make initial contact. Their mission was to break things and kill people in order to secure the area.
All that remained. . . .as Lysander mentioned, was to see whose team was to be sent over. Privately both the XO’s were hoping it would be Rebecca’s team. . . that a peaceful rescue would be the only thing called for.
Brhode of course was itching for an opportunity to lay waste to something, and was tempted to send Lysander’s team in any event.
“Refined ETA,” Kara’nin announced, “Latest Parallax puts us at two minutes and counting.”
“Still no sensor contact,” Black announced from Tactical, “but the beacon is getting damn loud.”
“Team One Stand by. Two Minutes.” Rebecca spoke into her Comm badge.
=/\= Team one acknowledges bridge.=/\= came the calm reply of James Corgan over the intercom.
“Team two get ready.” Lysander announced to his own cadre.
=/\=Locked and Loaded Commander.=/\= The hissing sneer of Major Log sent shivers down Rebecca’s spine. =/\=Give the word and that ship is toast.=/\=
Lysander and Rebecca exchanged glances across the bridge. Hawklsey merely shrugged as if to say –Hey. . .its not my fault the guy loves his job.—
“All decks Red alert.” Brhode announced. “Drop us out of warp as close as you can get, but mind those potholes Mr. Savoie.”
“Aye sir. . . estimate Impulse in 45 seconds.” He grinned slightly at how even Brhode had taken to referring to the interphase regions as ‘potholes in space.’ Quick, apparently had been the one to coin he term which the crew had quickly adopted.
“30 seconds.”
Rebecca tightened her grip on the back of Savoie’s chair again.
“20 seconds”
In transporter room one, Corgan and his team stepped up onto the platform, Medical and Engineering supplies at ready.
Across the hall in Room Two, Log fingered the worn trigger on his phaser rifle in eager anticipation.
“10 seconds.”
“Stand by all decks.” Rebecca announced.
“5”
“Shields up” Lysander added.
“4”
“All Medical personnel stand by”
“3”
“Load tubes one and two”
“2”
“Cutting to sublight engines.”
“1”
With a flash of light and a crackle of energy, the Galaxy dropped back into the Einsteinium Universe from seemingly nowhere.
Her velocity registers rapidly decelerated from near-infinite speeds down to a bare crawl in a manner of half-seconds, as ever sensor port snapped open probing the region with full intensity.
The source of the signal was near. . . . .
“Helm answers at one quarter Impulse speed.” Savoie announced with a smug grin on his face. Not a bad bit of piloting considering the mine-field like nature of the region.
“Very well.” Rebecca relaxed and flexed her aching fingers on the back of his chair. “Maintain heading.”
“Sensors.” Lysander called from behind the arch, “360 Full scan. Lt. Kara’nin what’s the story on our beacon?”
There was a brief pause as the winged officer reconfigured his LCARS for normal space before the now familiar energy patterns appeared again on his board.
“Got it Commander. Bearing zero zero five degrees at elevation zero two zero degrees. Range impossible to tell now, but its LOUD.”
Indeed her to fore subtle bleeping was now quite audible in all parts of the bridge. . . .an eerily lonely signal of some ship’s encounter with disaster.
“Ms. Reece.” Brhode barked, “Reset viewscreen to 005 mark 20. . .show us what we’re dealing with.”
“Aye sir.” A few soft beeps, and the starfield swam before them as the view shifted until it settled on a patch of space a little above and to the right of the Galaxy.
“Angle on viewer established, Captain.” She announced.
As one, almost every one on the bridge leaned forward in the exact same motion in order to get a closer look at the image on the screen.
From her position behind the Helmsman Rebecca was closer than most, but it still didn’t help her brain interpret the impossible sight she was seeing before her.
“Noodles. . . .”
“No way. . . .” Savoie agreed with her.
“Smegging impossible. . . “ Lysander breathed from the rear of the bridge.
“By all the feathered gods. . . . .” swore Lt. Kara’nin.
“ALL STOP!!!” sceamed Brhode! “ERNST. . . HAWKSLEY GET YOUR ASSES OVER HERE!!!”
Almost unwilling to tear their eyes off the view before them, the two Execs rapidly converged on Brhode’s chair in the center of the bridge, forming an impromptu huddle of sorts.
“What the bloody blue blazes is going on here Execs!!??!” Brhode hissed, his eyes boring deep into their own confused expressions. “You said it was a ship in a medical emergency!!” he accused Rebecca.
“A . .a . .a .aye s. .sir. . . I was wrong . . no excuse sir.” She stuttered.
“And you!” Brhode cast his glare on Lysander next. “You said it was some sort of hostile attack, or a trap!!”
“A. .aye sir.” Lysander was stuttering himself, “I could not have been more smegging wrong sir.”
“Damn straight!” Brhode replied to the both of them. “What the hell ARE we dealing with?”
=/\= Transporter Room One to Bridge.=/\= The inquiring voice of James Corgan crackled across the speakers. =/\= We are at ETA plus one minute. . . . are we authorized to begin rescue operations? =/\=
Secure below decks, Corgan’s team could have no idea of what the bridge crew was looking at . . . only that there was a delay of some sort.
“Put a sock in it Corgan!” Brhode snapped “I’ll tell you when I want something.”
=/\=Oops. . .aye sir=/\=
“Now. . .Execs. . . .”Brhode continued, “What are we going to. . . “
=/\=Transporter Room Two to Bridge=/\= Log’s voice cut across whatever Brhode was going to say. =/\=Are we go for Phase one assault?!=/\=
“Dag-nabit Major!!!” Brhode yelled. “No more interruptions!! Stand by!”
=/\= Oops. . . Log out.=/\=
As Brhode and Lysander huddled down together speaking in hissing whispers, Rebecca risked a glance back over her shoulder at the viewscreen. Maybe she hadn’t seen it right. . . .
Like a sparkling Diamond it hung there in the darkness. Smooth contoured lines of pearl colored hull stretched across the sky in long sensuous angles. A great round saucer, at atop a sleek secondary hull, like a regal crown atop an Empress’s refined brow. Twin engine nacelles flanked above and behind like hovering guardians to the queen’s sacred honor.
For that is what she was. . . .An Empress of the stars. . . .vessel of such beauty and grace so as to make all those that followed her line envious of her fame.
She was one of thirteen legendary sisters who set out long ago to tame the dangerous wilderness between the stars, one of a select group of vessels that had grown up in the mythology of Starfleet so as to become almost godlike in their accomplishments.
Rebecca traced her brown eyes across the glowing hull before her.
~~~ A Constitution Class Vessel. . .~~~ she hardly dared utter the thought.
“T. .t. .t . .tactical.” she choked on her own voice. ”Please scan for registry numbers and verify if that. . . .if that. . .” she couldn’t complete the sentence.
“Already done Ma’am.” Black replied equally shocked. He held his breath as everyone on the bridge awaited his reply. “Its her. . . . The DEFIANT I mean. Its really her.”
There was a half-seconds pause before everyone erupted in conversation at once. The Defiant? Here? After 100 Years? How?
“Quiet! Quiet Everyone!” Brhode barked. He would not stand for chaos on his bridge, but even he looked shaken by the possibilities.
“First things first,” he looked at his two XO’s. “Both Away Teams Stand down for now. . . . neither one is configured for. . .for THIS whatever it is.” He gesture uselessly at the ship floating on the screen.
“Secondly. . . Science, What can you tell us about her? Power? Air. . . .Dare I ask Lifesigns?”
“N. . negative Captain. . . That is to say, I cant get any readings at all. Ship is not . .repeat not registering on sensors at all. They say its not there.”
“Just like in the old Enterprise records..” Lysander grimaced. “A ship that was there, but it wasn’t.”
“You said that this couldn’t happen.” Brhode accused.
“Hey, That’s what Kirk’s logs indicated.” The XO protested. “He said the Defiant was pulled into a tertiary Dimension leaving him all alone just prior to his rescue. It SHOULDN’T be here.”
“But it is here.” Rebecca remarked. “The question is. . . .where has it been for the last 100 years.”
“Wrong.” Lysander disagreed. “You’re missing something Princess. . . .The question is WHO set off that distress signal less than a week ago, on a ship that is supposed to be devoid of life?”
There was an eerie silence as everyone pondered the question. The Defiant meanwhile floated innocently on the viewscreen, not making a move.
“Number two. . . “Brhode spoke slowly sop as to be sure to phrase the next question properly. “What are the possibilities that. . . .that someone could have survived? That there is someone still on board?”
Lysander opened his mouth to dispute that immediately, but then reconsidered. “If you asked me an hour ago Captain I would have said no chance at all. Spock’s original report indicated that there were no lifesigns detected onboard the Defiant at all.. . . .that the entire crew killed itself.”
“But. . . .” Rebecca put in, “We have already seen how the interphase effects dampen sensor readings. . . .perhaps his instruments just didn’t pick up anything. Crewmembers hidden below decks and all that?”
Brhode considered that. “Was there ever a physical search of the vessel at that time?” he asked.
Lysander shrugged. “Limited. I have reports on file from one Ensign Chekov who searched Main Engineering, and one Dr. Leonard McCoy who examined the Sickbay. Other than that activities were limited to Defiant’s bridge.”
“Leaving only two people to search a ship designed to hold over 400.” Brhode sighed. “Too many gaps. . . .there had to be survivors somewhere hidden.”
“Survivors who would be 130 some odd years old by now.” Rebecca protested. “No way.”
“Not necessarily,” Lysander scratched his chin. “You may not be aware of this Princess, but humans have this little talent called re-pro-duc-tion. . . .its where a man and a woman get together and. . .”
“Can it number two.” Brhode sighed. Hawklsey always had to needle von Ernst about her apparent lack of any romantic experience. “So assume we have some scattered survivors. . . .crewmen of both genders trapped aboard a floating tomb, with a near endless supply of food. . . .and they start making babies. . . .is that possible?”
Rebecca ran the math. “Theoretically sir. Yes, a ship designed to support 400 people for a five year mission could easily support. . . say a group of ten survivors for over two hundred years.”
“Theoretically.”
“Aye sir. . .Theoretically.”
Brhode considered the possibilities for a moment.
“Okay, here is what we are going to do: Hawksley. . .put together a new Away team involving a mixture of the two already in preparation. We may need a little of both extremes in exploring this. We may have people in need of medical attention, but if we are dealing with descendants of the original crew, they may have no idea who or what Starfleet is, and will surely have never seen another vessel in their life.”
“Engineering assemble a team to evaluate the possibility of restoring power to the Defiant if needed, and also the possibilities of towing her out of here. Kirk let her go 100 years ago, but I’ll be damned if Im gonna let one of the original 13 starships go without a fight.”
“Medical, obviously we need a triage and treatment team to board the Defiant, and also treat here. Stay alert for any possible contamination issues, and also keep an eye out for this Interphase-madness. It’s a sure bet these people wont have figured out the Theragan derivative like McCoy did for treatment.”
“Counseling. . .” Brhode turned to Dallas, “You are going to be having an indeterminate number of survivors in extreme culture shock after 100 years of confinement. Also the effects of Interphase-madness should concern you directly as well. Put together a team for services both aboard the Defiant and back here as well.”
Security. . .Marines. . . .Your job is obvious. These people may not have a clue who we are, and may be hostile. . .BUT they are Federation citizens whether they know it or not. Also. . . be on the look out for any 130 year old members of Starfleet if they are still around. They may still be used to holding authority so treat them with all due respect a fellow officer.”
“Ops. . . .Continue to monitor the power drain effects of this region., and coordinate with the Away Team.
“Helm, Tactical. . . .We are damn close to the Tholian Border, and they don’t like us too much after lanjep. . . .keep a sharp eye. Inteligence. . . .dig up some records on Kirk’s original mission, and get me the access codes to Defiants Computer. They ought to be in the library somewhere.”
Brhode paused andlooked to his right where the patient Dr. Quick was grinning like a loon. “And take the Doctor along with you. . . . .maybe one crazy head can talk to a ship full of others.”
“Now get to it!!!!”
With a sense of renewed excitement and wonder, the Galaxy crew broke into action, while just beyond. . . .the eerily silent hulk of the Defiant sat waiting. .. . and watching.
=/\=
OCC: You heard the man. . . .get to it.
The Tholian Enigma was one that most intelligance officers had been trying to understand and Saladin was no exception.
Right now he had pulled up data fom the original Enterprise meeting with the Tholians. First the Captain's report.
".... The Tholians are not a threat to the United Federation of Planets, but due to their advanced technology and desire to be left alone it is not recommended that we initiate any diplomatic protocols at this time..."
Kirk, the same man who never saw a conflict he couldn't handle or a woman he couldn't bed, the man who singlehandedly rewrote federation regulations, because of his actions, because of him, the rules on sexual relations with new species were put in place.
And he examined the data provided. Now to put this in to words.
Intelligance anaylisis
Tholian threat to rescue operations
The current ongoing operation may run in to complications from the Tholian Assembly and their proximity to the area of the recovery of the USS Defiant NCC-1621 (See attachment A).
Biology:
Tholians have few, if any, recognizable internal organs. Their exterior is composed of a semi-transparent thick layer of crystal which has microscopic pores to absorb the gases naturally found on their planet and artificially created elsewhere and excrete the waste in the form of another gas through special excremental pores. On Tholia, crystals that grow throughout the planet produce this gas. In order to continue growing, the crystals require the waste bi-product that is naturally excreted by Tholians, similar to plants and their relationship with oxygen-breathing animals on Earth. Elsewhere, the gas is replicated through different life-support systems. The emotional condition of a Tholian can be judged via the color their body emits, ranging from red for anger to blue for upset/concerned. Since no Tholian possess external limbs, all Tholians posses a telekinetic ability that ranges from weak to quite strong. The strength is determined by the same method a humanoid's strength is determined. The more a Tholian practices their abilities, the stronger they become. The strongest Tholian mind can lift a small Federation shuttlecraft a very small distance, whereas the weakest Tholian mind (at "birth") cannot even hold its own body above the ground. A bi-product of their strong mental abilities is telepathic communication. Since Tholians have no mouths, they communicate to each other through their minds. In order to operate any of their machinery, telepathic commands have to be sent to computers that have been designed to pick up their form of communication. In effect, Tholian vessels are controlled by a Tholian mind and require far fewer crewmen and respond much quicker than other starships. When a Tholian's voice is heard, you are actually hearing either a computer simulation of their voice or they are communicating directly with the subject's brain. Tholians are not capable of reading the minds of other races, however; they can only broadcast their thoughts.
People:
Originating from their home world of Tholia, Tholians as a race are very prideful and arrogant. They possess advanced techniques in constructing with high-temperature metals, energy storage, and crystalline construction and the average life expectancy is approximately 2,000 to 4,000 human years. Tholians are a hive-mind, capable of communicating with the entire race at one time. They are also known for being extremely punctual and not appreciating tardiness in other races. Tholians are not raised by their creators, but by the government from birth until the Quilahra, "Age of Progression" (similar to the "Age of Ascension" with Klingons). The Quilahra is determined by the career the government has designated for the child and can last from 300 to 50 human years. The only career that cannot be given at birth is that of diplomat. This career has to be earned through serving on the Assembly for at least 25 years. Since most Tholians are xenophobic and few in relation to the entire population serve on the Assembly, few Tholians serve as diplomats. Attempts by the other major Alpha Quadrant powers to either learn more about or actually infiltrate Tholian society have proven less than effective, mainly because of their non-humanoid form and their preferred atmospheric conditions, which are too hostile to humanoids. Another reason that little is known about this race is that Tholians meet all incursions into their space with extreme hostility. Few vessels have survived a trip into Tholian space and all that is known from the long-range probes is that the core area of Tholian space consists of a large nebula in which new stars are forming.
Planetary systems
Have been identified as usually very young with Class C, F, and H planets. The few expeditions that have returned from Tholian space have reported planets rich in mineral resources, but located within a vast region with a massive number of subspace anomalies, making it impossible at best at this time to conquer and control such an area. Tholians are also known for being opportunistic. They will seize small amounts of neighboring territory for no apparent reason and will begin guarding it as greatly as any of their other possessions. The systems that they seize are of no known value and it is not known by the Alpha Quadrant powers why they do this at this time.
Vessels:
Tholian Destroyers are constructed from hyper-lineated crystalline-lattice materials. This allows for extremely durable hull structures. Their main weapons systems consist of phaser-like beam weapons, and Klingon-like heavy disruptors. Their main weapon, the Tholian Web, is constructed of tractor beam-like energy and requires more than one Tholian vessel to create. Once completed, the web can either crush an enemy vessel trapped within, or transport it to wherever the captors so choose. These vessels until recently had a sensory blind spot, which William Riker discovered in his Academy days and has since been eliminated. Since their Destroyer vessels are very resilient, Tholians construct only this class of starship. The firepower of one capital ship would be approximately equivalent to the firepower of a small fleet of Destroyers and the Destroyers are easier to construct, making them the ship of choice for the Tholian Assembly.
Anaylisis:
THe rescue of the crew of the USS Defiant must be brough off with all due speed and alarcity to avoid any and all contact with the Tholian Assembly. If such contact is initated it is recommended that we do not engage the Tholians and instead attempt diplomacy. If that fails it is recommended we break off the rescue operations and exfiltrate the area.
Signed:
Bvt Maj Saladin Bolivar
Intelligence officer
"ALL RIGHT! ALL RIGHT!! SOMEBODY WANNA LEND ME A HAND HERE?!?!?!" Leo yelled as he shuffled into the transporter room, dressed in an ill fitting EVA suit, with the helmet on cockeyed.
The armed members of the away team tensed visibly as the mouthy Security Deputy wandered up to an unmistakable hulking form squeezed into his own EVA suit, this one seeming too small for the man's body mass.
"WHAT? THEY DESIGN THESE THINGS FOR MUTANTS ONLY?! THEY DON'T BUILD THESE THINGS FOR NORMAL GUYS LIKE ME?!?! NO WONDER AWAY TEAMS SEEM TO END UP IN DISASTER! YA KNOW I BET I EVEN WOULD HAVE SAVED THAT YAR CHICK FROM THE SLIMY ARMUS HAD I BEEN THERE. OH MAN, CAN YOU IMAGINE THE THINGS SHE WOULD DO TO REPAY MY AMAZING HEROISM?!?!"
The looming Indian just growled deeply.
"WELL DON'T JUST STAND THERE, CHIEF. HELP ME GET THIS DAMN THING ON, WILL YA?" he ordered as he struggled with the helmet. "HOW'S AM I SUPPOSSED TO SAVE YOU ALL ONCE AGAIN, IF I CAN'T SEE WHAT THE HELL I'M SUPPOSED TO..."
The Indian took his thick, gloved hand off of the forestock of his rifle and in one swift motion, brought it down roughly across the top of Leo's helmet, snapping it into place.
Leo struggled to keep his balance, taking one short step backwards to regain his bearings.
"Jesus!!! Go easy on the head there, eh partner? Head..ya know..not so rough!" he babbled, with exaggerated arm motions. "Ya know, that reminds me. I told a sweet Bajoran counselor that same phrase last week. Poor thing was a touch toothy. Made me feel like..JUMPIN JOCKSTRAPS!! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!!!" Leo said with wide eyed amazement, his gaze fixed upon the assault rifle slung over the Indian's shoulder.
He reached out and to touch the barrel of the rifle only to see the other members
of the away team immediatly train thier rifles upon him. For emphasis, multiple
red dots from the weapons' laser sights appeared on Leo's head and chest area.
"What the hell is wrong with you people? Like Raven cares if I touch his gun! He and I are partners, OK? I can wrap my hands around his gun any time I want, OK? No need to act like a bunch of over protective meat trucks! He and I have something that you goons never will ever be able to explain, all right?" Streely said, waving his hands once again.
"And I know your in one of those helmets, BROKEN HEAD! The big guy finally has a phaser, and I demand one too!"
The little man motioned the Indian over to the corner, away from earshot of the rest of the team.
The big man never moved.
"Listen, I wanna talk to you about your brother Log. I know you and he don't get along and all, but we really have to do something about him. He marches around here like some constipated yak..."
"Constipated Yak was my great uncle's name." the large man growled.
Leo meanwhile had squared his shoulders and begun to walk around in an exaggerated Frankenstein-like manner.
"I DO NOT LIKE YOU. YOU ARE ALL DUST BENEATH MY MOCCASINS. SWEAT UPON MY MIGHTY ARMPITS. TURDS ON THE TRAIL..."
"Turd on the Trail was the village hypnotist. Damn alternative medacine." the Indian rumbled again.
"GAZE UPON ME AND TREMBLE IN AWE OF HOW LARGE THE STICK UP MY ASS IS!!' Leo growled." Jeez, partner..isn't there anythign we can do to get Brhode to transfer ol Horse's log to Breen? That way he could sit and loom over Chris Thomas or something."
Behind the helmet's faceplate, the Indian's face visiblly darkened. He slapped his combadge.
"Transporter Room Two to Bridge. Are we go for Phase one assault?!"
=/\=Dag-nabit Major!!!” Brhode yelled over the open channel. “No more interruptions!! Stand by!” =/\=
"Oops. . . Log out." the Indian Marine said snapping off his helmet and fixing a cold, stoney gaze upon the suddenly nervous Leo. "Looks like you and your big mouth walked into the wrong transporter room."
"Hey, Hey..I didn't really mean that thing about..the stick in the..you know.." Leo said turning to leave, but seeing a Marine blocking the doorway, rifle in hand.
"Oh what, you get the rubber hose out now? You think the big ol Hoss is just gonna wimp out? Lemmie tell ya pal, the bigger they are, the harder they fall! Ask Gul Madred! I still have his testicle imprints on my boots!"
The com crackled to life again.
=/\= “Both Away Teams Stand down for now. . . . neither one is configured for. . .for THIS whatever it is. Security. . .Marines. . . .Your job is obvious. These people may not have a clue who we are, and may be hostile. . .BUT they are Federation citizens whether they know it or not. Also. . . be on the look out for any 130 year old members of Starfleet if they are still around. They may still be used to holding authority so treat them with all due respect a fellow officer.”=/\=
"Looks like we have some time to kill." Log announced ominously.
"Maybe you can try out some online personality classes? Or check and see if the ruskie doctor has any prozac to proscribe you. Or we can just play a rousing game of Leo stomps a mud hole in Log, then walks it dry! Your call, ass clown!" Leo said wide eyed, and somewhat maniacal.
The Indian looked almost amused as the little man began to twitch into various forms of what appeared to be a vague version of old martial arts stances.
"Crouching tiger!" Leo screamed, then switched.
"Hidden Dragon"
"Whooping Crane!" Leo said standing on one leg.
"Spastic Mime!" he yelled, before a rumbling voice called out behind him.
"Spastic mime was the villiage idiot." Lt. Commander Raven Darkstar said shoving his way past the Marine at the door and locking gazes with his twin brother.
Uncertain glances were exchanged around the room.
"Your lucky you came when you did! I was about to mop the deck with your brother here." Leo said from behind Raven.
Log chuckled. "You two deserve each other."
"Perhaps one day we will all get what we deserve." Darkstar said, letting his gaze linger for a long and ncomfortable moment, then he truned and ushered Leo out of the transporter room. Just as he was about to exit the room, Log called out to him.
"Be careful little brother. I understand this away team mission could be dangerous. I would so hate to see anything bad happen to you." the man said with a smirk.
Raven's eyes narrowed dangerously at his twin.
Leo was quick to defuse the situation, suprisingly dragging Raven along the hallway and pestering him about phasers.
OOC: Expect Leo to remain on the ship, rather than
drifting over to the Defiant. Someone has to man security, may as well be the
Big Hoss.
[OOC: Takes place immediately following "Marines Are Such Wanna-Be's"]
****
"Yes, sir," O'Rourke out." Shelley tapped her combadge off and frowned. "Dammit, how are we supposed to talk some sense into him if he won't even see us?"
"Logically," T'Lan proposed, "we should try another avenue of approach. If the Commander will not speak to us at this time, then we need to approach him at another. I will review his schedule and make a list of times when he is away from his office."
"Good plan," E'xch nodded. "Maybe he'll be willing to listen to us if we catch him at dinner, or working out."
"I don't see what else we can do," Shelley nodded. "All right, you do that and we'll get together after we get cleaned up - say in two hours?"
"That will be sufficient," the Vulcan nodded. "I will..."
The Holodeck doors opened, and Hanley slid into the corridor with a whoop, So'ka following more sedately behind him. "We kicked butt!" he crowed, as Marsh gave him an amused thumb's up before slapping the ensign on the back and the others rolled their eyes good-naturedly.
"You did perform well," T'Lan noted dryly. "The introduction of the simulated plasma grenades was an unexpected element. I heard the review team commenting on it."
"Yes, well," Hanley's enthusiasm dampened somewhat. "That was..."
"That was Lt. Krieghoff," So'ka interjected, his voice curt. "He stole them from a passing Marine right before we were beamed into the scenario."
"Stole them?" E'xch asked.
"Stole them," So'ka confirmed. "I watched him. He took them off the Marine's weapons harness, like a Ferengi pickpocket while the guy was gossiping about the Lieutenant and some woman he's supposed to be sleeping with."."
"But that," E'xch protested, "wasn't part of the mission parameters! You people were supposed die because the corporal didn't give proper tactical data!"
"No, it wasn't," Marsh agreed. "And they were - but it worked, given the parameters of the scenario - which," he conceded, "had already gone south from what the review team wanted."
"Indeed," T'Lan interjected. "You three," she indicated Hanley and So'ka, "scored the highest rating for initiative from the review board on a combat response by Security because of it. In that light, Lt. Krieghoff's... appropriation... of the grenades might be considered worthwhile. Although, I think his answer of 'Because he wouldn't have given them to me if I'd asked' was ill-advised when the review team asked why he took them."
"But he *cheated,*" E'xch protested again. "We didn't get grenades!"
"*We,*" T'Lan retorted, "did not think to steal them."
"But..."
"Shut up, E'xch," Marsh and O'Rourke chorused in practiced unison, one smiling and the other frowning.
"But..."
"I must agree, Lieutenant, your protests serve no purpose." T'Lan looked around the corridor. "I have work to do," she announced. "I will see you all in two hours." Turning, she started down the corridor.
"Not a bad idea," Marsh agreed. "Six hours in one of these suits and I'm ready for a shower." He started after the Vulcan lieutenant. "I suggest the rest of you do the same."
With a certain amount of prodding, the others got E'xch moving in the direction of the showers, his protests fading at the thought of being clean again. In a moment or two, O'Rourke and So'ka were the only two left in the hall.
Shelley looked at the ensign for a moment, then asked hesitantly. "How do you do it?"
"Do what?" So'ka answered, confused.
"Work with him - Krieghoff - like that? You three always get assigned together on jobs, how do you stand it? I know he scares Hanley, you can see it in his eyes, but what about you?"
"Ah," he nodded. "I understand." He thought a moment. "I am terrified of Lieutenant Krieghoff," he admitted after a second. "I cannot explain why, because he has never done anything to me, but I am. It is all I can do to not run when I am in close proximity to him - I dread each assignment that we share."
"Then why?" she blinked. "Why don't you ask the Commander to transfer you?"
"Because to do so would mark me as a coward." The ensign's voice thawed slightly as he continued, "I would rather die than have that happen."
"No one would think that," O'Rourke protested.
"I would," So'ka shrugged. "That is all that matters. Besides..."
"Besides what?"
"Besides... no matter how the Lieutenant makes me feel, no matter what I think of him personally, I would rather have him there, watching out for me, than elsewhere. I have never forgotten the sight of him coming out of the darkness to pull those Klingons off me, like a demon of the night made solid and given form - and I never will. Terrifying or not - and he does terrify me - I know that he is still more terrifying to those he shows his inner face too."
Shelley frowned. "So you keep working with him because even though he's a monster, he's...what, *your* monster?"
"If you wish to look at it that way," he confirmed. "That isn't what I am trying to say, but it will suffice." He looked at her for a moment, studying her. "He scares you as well, that much is obvious, but why do you... oh, of course."
"Of course, what?" O'Rourke snapped.
"I understand the reason for your level of antipathy, Lieutenant, that's all." So'ka nodded in comprehension. "I do not know when or why it happened, but I understand how. He showed you his inner face, didn't he?" He shivered slightly. "I do not envy you the experience."
"Have I ever told you that you're weird?" Shelley asked.
"Not before now, no." So'ka nodded and started down the hall. "Have a pleasant evening, Lieutenant."
Shelley watched him go, and then shook her head. "Great. So'ka thinks Krieghoff is his pet monster, the rest of the group is too scared of him to do anything about him, and to top it all off, the Commander is so messed up right now that he might as well be a mannequin. We're so screwed it isn't even funny."
She stiffened suddenly, her eyes going wide as footsteps sounded behind her. "Damn," she whispered, "I knew I should have left."
"I can't help you with most of that, O'Rourke," Victor said quietly, stopping beside her. "But you're right about the last thing - Corgan is going to get someone killed if we go into this mission with him like he is." ~ Maybe I ought to eavesdrop more often, that was enlightening on several levels. ~
"What do you care?" she snapped, her voice trembling and betraying the reaction she hated having every time he was nearby. "At least he's human!"
~ Well, she still has her claws even if she is scared. ~ "Look at it this way if it helps, O'Rourke," Victor offered, turning to look at her. "If Corgan loses it on a mission, then we're going to lose people - maybe everyone. None of you people are going to risk yourselves to save me, and that's okay, I understand that - but that doesn't mean I'm all that anxious to be the one that dies. Simple self-preservation says Corgan needs to get his act together, if nothing else."
"Damn straight I wouldn't risk my life for yours," Shelley snorted.
"Then there you go, basic reasoning tells you why I'm concerned." He sighed, looking down at the PADD in his hand and the uniform he'd just changed into following his early departure from the after-action briefing to shower. ~ Dammit, I didn't want to do this, but if I leave it to them, they'll take forever and not get any results. Looks like I'll have to take care of Corgan myself. ~
He turned and started back the way he'd come with a nod to the shorter woman. "Don't worry about it, O'Rourke - I'll handle it. Probably better this way anyway." He smiled wryly as he rounded the corner, O'Rourke's eyes never leaving him. "Just go on and get a shower - I'll take care of the Commander and his problem for the rest of you." ~ I really hope he wants to do this the hard way. ~
O'Rourke watched him go, shivered, and started after her friends, whispering to herself. "I don't understand how anyone could think that he was sane, let alone that he should..."
She made it halfway to the turn before she stopped and her eyes went wide again, this time in horror. "'I'll take care of the Commander...?' He said that he'd... The Commander... Oh, God, he's going to..." She reached for her combadge and stopped. "He's not taking calls - I can't warn him! I'll have to..."
Without another word she sprinted down the hall, fear lending her a speed that she rarely achieved on the ship's running track.
****
James was already caught up in his own concerns. The security department showed a dismal performance record. Though expected for what was some their first time intensely training in search and rescue operations, it was not helping James mood that they were performing below his expectations. Security was a tenacious lot, he could give them that much credit, but they were prone to miss the smallest mistakes that cost them a few failures in the simulation.
The marines were not making the situation any better. They decided it was time to do their own search and rescue trials, and though they were crude in their methods, their success percentage was ten percent higher than the security officers. The only mistakes on their records was one hull breach that was a totally random event... and an instance where security had to bail out a few overenthusiastic marines in a firefight. Other than that, not much to fault them on.
The harsh reality was, the marines were better than his own staff. He had to give them some respect, outperforming security officers in a task that was not the marine's specialty, but that of security.
~"How is it my fault?"~ He thought to himself. Security was a hodge-podge smattering of leftovers from BUPERS's top list, with only a few months behind them as a cohesive, operating group. Their training with the marines was just in the infant stages, and still, James couldn't shake the fact that their current morale deficiency was his fault.
But what could he do? James felt as if the world wanted to crush him, and that anything he did as a cure would only delay the inevitable.
"Come in." James set the holodeck simulation reports to the side as he heard a chirp at his door.
Victor saluted as he entered, waiting for the door to close behind him before setting the PADD in his hand to the side on one of the office's extra chairs. "Sorry to interrupt you without calling, sir, but this was important." He stepped forward. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
~"Bugger... here it goes."~ James sighed, crossing his arms and frowning like the weight of the universe was slowly crushing him, "This better be important Lieutenant. I'm trying to weed out the best security officers for the upcoming mission, and I requested no interruptions. And the fact that you came in with a sad excuse of a howdy-do, and immediately demanded that you speak your mind hasn't helped either." He rose out of the desk like a brooding poet, "However, before you speak your mind, tell me this. Did O'Rourke put you up to this?"
"No, sir, she didn't. I did overhear her talking to herself about the same issue and told her I'd take care of it, though." Victor smiled pleasantly. "She's only asked me to do one thing since I got on board, and since I don't think she liked the resolution I arrived at to her request, I doubt she'd ask for anything else." He thought a second. "Unless, of course, she arranged deliberately for me to overhear her, knowing I'd act on the information."
James grimly chuckled once, a halfhearted and half assed attempt at joy, "O'Rourke. She's a decent leader for a draft dodger. Might want to watch out for her. Ok, we better get this show over with. Speak your mind. I know it's going to be unpleasant, so don't bother fluffing it up."
"To be honest, I hadn't planned on it." Victor looked up at the ceiling. "Computer, run program Corgan Seven Alpha Seven."
=?= Program running. =?= the calm voice of the ship's computer acknowledged.
"All right then," Victor sighed pleasantly, turning back to Corgan. "Now that's out of the way, we can get down to business."
Livid, the Commander showed the first hint of emotion in quite some time, and it was that of live, unadulterated anger. "Alright Victor, what are you trying to pull? What did you just tell the computer to do? And be quick about it, because I am not in the mood to be f**ked with!"
"That?" Victor shrugged as he started moving around the desk. "It seals the door for the next thirty minutes by reinstalling the locking algorithms and running two back-to-back Level 4 Diagnostics on them, and engages the room's privacy field to defeat scans. It was the best I could do without your access codes - besides, thirty minutes is the maximum the system allows for the privacy blocks to be up without command access, anyway."
James jaw nearly dropped to the floor. "Jesus Christ, Lieutenant! I could have your balls on a silver platter for that stupid stunt!"
"I thought about that, but frankly I decided the risk was worth it because I didn't want to be disturbed," Victor admitted, his slow advance carrying him around the desk. "I thought for some reason that someone might object to what I was going to do." He stopped, just inside James' personal space, crowding him. "Easy or hard?"
"Don't get smart with me, @$$hole. Get one with some answers, such as why we're having this conversation." James churlishly snarled.
"Hard then," Victor decided, still talking in a casual tone as if they were discussing sports scores. "Worse for you, but easier for me."
****
"...telling you he's going to do something - something bad," Shelley O'Rourke insisted as she sprinted through the doors to Security Main. "I know it!"
"There is no logical reason to assume anything of the sort," T'Lan insisted as she followed the shorter woman through the doors, Marsh, E'xch, and Taro on her heels. "You do not even have any proof that he is here, much less that he is engaged in the sort of activity that you irrationally fear."
"Quick," O'Rourke snapped to the petty officer on duty, "did Krieghoff come through here?"
"Lieutenant Krieghoff?" the young man nodded. "Yes, ma'am, he did. He came through and went to Commander Corgan's office just a minute ago."
"There, you see?" Shelley turned back to the others. "I told you!"
"All this proves is that they are in the same room," T'Lan corrected. "Nothing more. There is no reason to suppose that..."
"That's odd," the petty officer frowned.
T'Lan's eyebrow rose. "What is odd?"
"The privacy screen just came on," the young man explained, checking his station. "I haven't seen the Commander use it before."
"You see?" Shelley turned to the others. "You have to see - he's going to kill him!"
"I think you're going overboard this time, Shelley," Marsh suggested. "Just because they don't want anyone listening in to what they're saying doesn't mean that Krieghoff is murdering the Commander."
"I agree," Taro offered. "The Lieutenant is a most difficult and unpleasant man, but that does not make him a murderer. It seems far more reasonable that he is, at worst, simply saying things to the Commander that would be considered embarrassing or offensive. Things," he added, "that I must point out we ourselves were going to say to him."
Before O'Rourke could respond, T'Lan started across the room. "I will settle this issue so that we can all get back to what we were doing," she announced calmly, nearing Corgan's door. "I do not comprehend why you insist on..." she keyed the door and stopped as it made an odd 'bloop' sound and failed to open. "Odd." She tried again, and was rewarded with the same sound. Her fingers moved on the panel. "There appears to be something wrong with the locking mechanism," she stated after a second. "It is not recognizing an override code."
"You see?" Shelley snapped desperately. "You wouldn't believe me, would you? You wouldn't hurry when I tried to get you to, and now it's too late. He's going to kill Commander Corgan and there's nothing we can do about it now!"
****
~ Well, I can guarantee that one of us isn't going to like where this takes us. ~ Victor shook his head once, sadly. "You probably should have taken the easy way, sir."
He moved forward again, one finger rising to poke James in the chest. "Okay, sir, here it is: Get the hell over it!"
James looked at his fellow officer with surprise, "Get your goddamn finger away from my chest, you insolent little f**k, and start explaining 'it'."
"I mean just that: get over it," Victor replied. "Your lover dumped you? That's tough. You think the Captain hates you? That's tough too. The Marines are out to get you? You know what that is? It's tough, as well. None of it means a damn thing, sir, none of it. You're here to do a job, not sit around and feel bad. You have people that depend on you, and right now all they're getting is a look at you walking around like a damn zombie instead of being the thing you're supposed to be - a leader."
He poked James again. "It sucks that your girl dumped you, and it sucks harder that you're stuck on the ship with her after it. But it doesn't matter. Frankly, if what the department is seeing now is what she saw, it's a wonder she didn't dump you before now. Grow the hell up, sir - at least you can say that you had the time together that you did. It's over now. Move on. Be a man. And if you want her back, this sure as hell isn't showing her anything."
"You think the Captain hates you? Bull." Victor continued with a shake of his head. "If he didn't think you could do the job, your ass would be chipping out latrines in the ice on Breen right now. He's cut you a lot of slack, but there's an end to it somewhere and it has to be coming soon. There are always people that don't like you, it's part of life. Move on. If you don't get off your ass, then someone else will be running this department and you'd best be boning up on your ice fishing techniques.
Victor paused a moment, took a breath, and forged on. "Same for the Marines. They can say whatever the hell they want, and it doesn't mean jack. We're not combat troops, they are. They aren't Security personnel, we are. They're two different jobs. Get over this competition crap, stop trying to do their job, and just do ours. If you try to compete on their turf, they win no matter how good you do. This isn't us against them, and making it into that doesn't do anything but hurt both of us."
He leaned forward, deliberately invading James' space further. "You've seen the performance reviews. We suck because you do, sir. You don't care about anything, so we don't. You're going through the motions, so we are. What's it going to take to get you to realize that? Does someone have to die before you get your head out of your ass? Who? O'Rourke? T'Lan? Darkstar? Someone else? If you don't get over this and start caring again, then get ready for the funerals, because they're coming.
Leaning back, Victor waved a hand at James' desk. "Quit hiding behind the damn desk like it was a shield and open your eyes. You *are* the department, sir. You're responsible for it, and you personify it. Until you stop crawling around like a dead man and start acting like one of the living, that's all we are: dead men, waiting to fall over." He reached out and tipped over a small award statuette on the desk, the 'thud' of it landing loud in the sudden silence. "Live or die, sir. You make the call for all of us." He stepped back, waiting.
"Well... that's a lot to swallow." James stepped back a minute, keeping his eyes away from Krieghoff. Like a caged beast, Corgan paced back and forth at the rear of the room, trying to get a handle on what was going on inside him. Or in some moments, he stared at a random item in an attempt to run away from the main problem. Pacing and random concentration were not helping him the slightest. He was stuck, and Krieghoff was right. James was downright miserable.
~"I didn't realize it myself."~ James thought, ~"The last few months have been rough, but I never realized anyone could notice. I didn't think it could affect me or hurt me. Was I really that disillusioned?"~
Emotion started to seep in. Krieghoff started the crack in his ice cold wall, and now he was vainly trying to keep it plugged. The emotions of sadness, hate, bitterness and love were trying to pour out. He could barely keep himself in check. All the pain was overwhelming. Lexa, Bhrode, everyone that vexed him assaulted him anew, without their chastising to back up the massive attack.
Outwardly, all Corgan showed was a grimace and a tightened, shaking fist. "Lieutenant..." He whispered as he leaned on his desk, "It is true. I have not been myself as of late. Recently, we have been under pressure from Bhrode and the marines to perform better, and... I lost hope in the fact that we could reach his expectations. That alone wouldn't be enough to break me... but recently I lost someone dear to me. I'm sure you understand how it is. I tried to perform... but I lost it. I didn't give a damn anymore because I thought... I knew at the time... that any effort I took would end up as nothing. I... we... are damned, no matter what we do. That is how Bhrode treats us, and that on top of my personal problems... let it affect me."
He rose from his desk and walked up to his commander, his eyes always averted but his voice as smooth as glass, "Victor... if you don't mind me calling you by your first name, I'll be blunt with you. Security is a shambles, and Bhrode will keep smashing it until his pet marines take over our positions. All we can do... is not try to reach his expectations, but hope to surpass our own."
He then stared Victor straight in the eye, and cracked a smile. "Victor, I have the security teams assigned. You'll be going with O'Rourke and Taro, with O'Rourke as your fire team's leader. I'll be going with T'Lan and Marsh. We'll have this team ready by the time we reach our target. And marines be damned, we're going to succeed."
"Oh... and one other thing." James mentioned as an afterthought, a very confident afterthought, "The only reason we talked was because I wanted to. Computer... activate program Interceptor, authorization Corgan Gamma Epsilon Black."
=/\= "Program executed." =/\=
"Identify unauthorized programs."
=/\= "Processing... program Corgan Seven Alpha Seven is unauthorized." =/\=
"Restore to original parameters."
=/\= "Program negated." =/\=
"Victor." Corgan sighed, "I wasn't born yesterday. My minor was in tactical, and there I had to get really familiar with the LCARS system. Don't do it to me again. I really don't want you thrown off this ship. You're my reality check, my balance. I need you too much, understand?"
"Yes, sir," Victor nodded. "But I never really expected to keep you in with it; it was more to keep..."
The door behind him abruptly slid open, depositing Shelley O'Rourke, Marsh, and T'Lan on the floor of Corgan's office, the pry bar they'd been levering into the door clattering across the room as they fell. Behind them, E'xch and Taro peered around the doorframe cautiously, phasers in hand.
"...people like them out," Victor finished with an amused glance down at O'Rourke and her friends. "They would have just gotten in the way if we'd had to do this the easy way instead of the hard one."
O'Rourke turned crimson as she lay there on the floor underneath Marsh and T'Lan, as the patient voice of the Vulcan security officer spoke up. "There is, of course, a logical explanation for this interruption, sir."
"I can't wait to hear it, Lieutenant T'Lan. What is it?" Corgan asked.
"Sir, there has been an announcement. The marines have a rescue team ready on Bhrode's command. We may be going in, but not without the marines." O'Rourke announced hastily, her face turning even redder.
~"So here it begins... the power struggle."~ James smirked. But unlike a few minutes ago, where he would have let the news slide off like slime, he relished the idea of a full out competition with the marines. He looked forward to, of all things, sending the marines back where they came. "Looks like you boys and girls have an added incentive to perform. Now go on, get out of here, all of you. We have a mission to set up." James ordered triumphantly.
"Nice to have you back, sir," Victor replied as he stepped over the tangled officers on the floor, something that sounded suspiciously like laughter slipping past the door where E'xch and Taro had retreated upon seeing nothing was wrong.
"Great to be back, Lieutenant," James spoke up as Victor stepped through the door. "I'd like to know - if this was the hard way, what was the easy one?"
Victor turned. "This was the hard way because you had to do all the work yourself, sir. The easy way was harder on me - I was going to knock you around the room until you got mad enough to fight back..." he glanced down at O'Rourke and her friends on the floor,"... or we needed a new Commander. Not so good for me that way, but better for O'Rourke and the others than the way we were going." With a nod, he turned and moved off through security Main, ignoring the still snickering E'xch and the eyes that followed him until the doors closed.
"Damn right it was the easy way..." James muttered as a joke, "I would have kicked your butt."
****
The door buzzed once, signaling someone wanting admission, and Victor looked up from the manual on EVA suits he was re-reading. "Come."
With a 'shwip' the door slid aside, revealing Shelley O'Rourke standing in the hall, her face red with anger. "You did that on purpose, you bastard!"
~ Now *this* is interesting. Did she bring her friends? No... she's alone. Come to show her claws again? ~ "Did what, O'Rourke?" Victor asked without getting up as she stepped forward, clenched fists shaking at her sides with barely restrained anger.
"You set that little scene with the Commander up just to make me look bad in front of him and the others!" she snapped. "You can't stand it that I have friends and you don't, can you? You had to try and make me look like a fool in front of them, too!"
~ Well, she still has them. With a little practice, she might even find someplace to apply them that would hurt. ~ "You're giving yourself too much credit, O'Rourke." Victor smiled an shook his head. "I don't care who you're friends with, that's none of my business - and I didn't set you up to look like a fool - or anything else - you managed that all by yourself."
O'Rourke's face darkened further. "Bastard!" she spat.
"Not by birth, I assure you," Victor corrected, indicating the picture of his parents on the desk in front of him.
"Oooooh!" she hissed, unable to speak.
"No," Victor said, standing, "I'm afraid that I'm a self-made man in that respect." He took a step around the desk, causing O'Rourke to back up, her eyes suddenly wide. "Was there anything you wanted, or was this just a social call?" he asked quietly.
"I.... you...."
"How about this, O'Rourke," he continued, moving forward as he spoke, causing her to back up to maintain the distance between them. "What if I promise you that if I ever feel the need to kill Commander Corgan, I'll tell you first, all right? Would that make you feel better?"
"You..." She struggled to say something, anything, then finally resorted to a hissed, "Bastard!"
"I'll take that for a 'yes,' then." Victor took another step forward, forcing the smaller woman back into the corridor. "I always enjoy these little chats O'Rourke, but I'm a bit busy right now. Maybe you can come by and threaten me some more later?"
Eyes flashing, she glared at him silently from outside the door for a moment, then turned and stomped off down the hall.
~ I think telling her that Corgan put her in my squad for the Away Team mission to the Defiant would've been a bad idea. ~ Victor considered the thought as the door closed and he turned back to his desk. ~ It'll be bad enough when she finds out on her own, no sense making it worse now. ~ He shook his head sadly and glanced through the open door into the bathroom, examining his reflection. ~ I wonder what it would be like to have someone like her *not* hate me? ~
He regarded the image looking back at him for a moment before shrugging and turning away. "No point in worrying over 'what ifs' - I have to deal with the world in front of me, not some fantasy in my head." He laughed once, softly, as he sat down again. "Besides, I wouldn't know what to do if they did."
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