USS
Galaxy:The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 50211.30 - 50212.07 |
Rose and Peter Townsend, an young human male from her department walked into the empty mess hall on the old ship. Rose still wearing her helmet flash the flashlight all around the room. “Well it looks like this part of the ship haven’t been used, look ma’am it all clear..no dust.” Peter told the older officer while looking at some half-played chess board set up, he was about to touch it when she placed her hand on his making him stop.
“No touch we still don’t know what going on here yet, come with me.” the young woman told him as both of the walked into the kitchen area of the mess hall and the sight wasn’t pretty. Half -washed dishes, molded food, this sight was making Rose’s stomach feel sick but she didn’t let it show but Peter on the other hand was another story. “Come Ensign pull yourself together, lets do the scans and get the hell out of here!”
After an few minutes the scans was complete then the two officers turned to go when Rose felt this chill coming over her, she grab onto the old chair almost passing out.
“Ma’am are you alright?” Peter said helping her get back onto her feet again then he gentle smiles at her.
“Yes, Ensign it just feels like somebody is stepping on somebody grave.” the Betaziod said while both of the walked out the door. As they walked out the same feeling came over Rose, then she looked back along with Peter who was about shaking though his space boot.
“Did you see something ma’am? Peter asked while shining his flashlight over in an dark area leading towards the crewmen apartment. “I though I did...but I get there nothing there.” Rose told him while questioning herself about what she just said to Peter..was something really there? And what the hell is going on..on this ship?
10 kilometers away, hunched over a LCARS display, Commander Lysander van der Puls Hawksley frowned at the semi-garbled reports coming in from the Defiant.
“Sorry Princess, lost that last bit. Smeggin' staic and what-not” he said, “Mind repeating it for me?” he asked, idly cleaning one fingernail with a isolinear chip.
=/\= . . .ont’t call me . . .rincess first of all.=/\= Rebecca’s irritation came through the static loud and clear, =/\= I said. . . got some sort of power. . . .diverting. . . . .lights flicker. .. ing. . . .ossibly some sort of machinery rumbling the whole bay.=/\=
Bhrode frowned and looked around the bridge for someone slacking off. "Mister Reece!" He snapped... only to remember the willowy Chief Ops officer had been detailed to the DEFIANT exploration crew." Belay that, NUMBER TWO Remind Miss Von Ernst that **I** and waiting for her report, and if she wants to irritate me, there's gonna be hell to play! WHEN IS THAT SHIP GOING TO BE READY? " Bhrode ordered the Alpha Centaurian.
Lysander furrowed his brows. The Away Team Engineers were supposed to be restoring ship’s systems, but he thought it would be a little too early for them to have come up with anything so soon. Machinery on a Starship wasn’t supposed to vibrate the deck either unless it was smegging huge.
=/\=Weird vibration. . . .sort of like . . .dunno. . .. srt . .st. . .to . .. . grinding metal or something. =/\=
“Copy that, “ Lysander replied, “Stand by while we ... smeg... I mean I...check up on something.”
Technically Lysander should have been worrying about the incoming Tholians, but something in Rebecca’s voice worried him a bit so he quickly pulled up some schematics from the library archives. Ancient bluprint schematics played across the screen and he quickly scrolled through them.
Bhrode, for his part eyed the Tholians with a furrowed brow. "Tactical! I have decided which Tholian Destroyer I want to blow up first. THAT one!" Bhrode indicated the blue-green shimmering craft.
Lysander's head popped out of the LCARS he was studying and babbling over.
"Errr.... are they destroyers or cruisers? The database was unclear..." Lys babbled.
"Who cares! Blue Boy dies first... then the red one... I always hated red... then the yellow orange one that towed the asteroid in,. THEN I'll blow up the asteroid, just for shits and giggles." Bhrode tugged his tunic lower and glared around the bridge.
"errr..." Lys ventured, seeing the Andorian at Tactical seeming ready to faint.
The mood, usually tense with JQB aboard and the possiblity of combat in the air... was VERY tense. Smeggin weird..that. Lys mused to himself.
"Erm.. they really haven't done anything yet... and..." Lysander gabbled.
"Number Two, you want to be an Ensign again?"
"Errr.. smeg no!"
"Then stow it."
Lys shrugged and returned to Rebecca.. who was visibly drumming EVA suited fingers on the Enhancer Video pickup. “Okay Princess...errr ... Shhhhhtyrrrup! Damn Static! Okay, listen up for some possibilities. . . . .What about Landing Tractor beams?”
=/\=. . .dnt. . .ink so. Wouldn’t cause the floor to vibrate.=/\=
“Smeg. Okay. . . .Port or starboard Cargo Hatch servomotors??”
A brief pause.
=/\=No. . .uh. . .. those actually seem to be firmly latched shut. . . .now . I hear some hissing. . .odd=/\=
“Copy that. . you hear hissing. What about the Shuttle elevator to the Maintenance bays?”
=/\= No. . .I’m standing on that with my suit plugged into the . . .trns. . . .pattern ..hancers. hissing getting real loud. . .=/\=
“Roger that.” Lysander idly tapped the switch to scroll down to the next item of heavy Machinery on the list.
He wondered what could be making the rumbling and the hissing like that. He glanced at the next display and his blood froze.
~~~Did she say hissing? In the Hangar? . . . .THE HANGAR DOORS !!??!!~~~
"Hangar Doors. Got to be. Engineers are idiots whatever time you're in. " Bhrode confirmed over Lys's shoulder, causing beads of sweat to pop out of the Alpha Centaurian's forehead. The Old Man seemed positively gleeful.
“Holy Smeg!!” he slammed his fist down on the Comm switch, “The Hangar doors are opening!!! That’s escaping air that’s hissing!!! Get out of there Rebecca!!! Get out right now!!!”
=/\= What the . . . OH MY GOD. . . . NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! . . . .=/\=
A terrified shriek echoed across the Galaxy bridge buzzing with static, and was suddenly cut short. Every workstation on the Bridge wheeled to watch the Auxilliary screen on the Port bulkhead, mouths agape and eyes wide.
“Transporter Room One!!! “ Lysander cried out switching channels faster than he had ever done in his life, “Lock onto the Pattern enhancers and pull her out of there before. . . . “
“Too late!” the Duty OPS officer interrupted from his forward bridge station. “The Decompression has already emptied the bay, I’m zooming in the viewscreen on the Defiant’s aft portion. Commander . . . look!”
With a chill of horror Lysander stared at the screen that rapidly expanded to reveal a tight view of the Defiant’s Cigar-shaped secondary hull. The great clamshell hangar doors were already half open, and a hazy puff of atmosphere could barely be seen jetting from its rear. Various cartons of tools and equipment tumbled out into the void spinning crazily, as well as several unmistakable rod-like shapes that could only be the Pattern Enhancers.
=/\=Transporter Room One reporting=/\= The ship’s intercom crackled. =/\=I don’t have a lock on anything sir. . . .I lost a focus on the pattern enhancers, and cant seem to zoom .=/\=
"Gaddamn Anamoly... I wish I could blow that up too." Bhrode murmered.
Lysander didn’t reply. The Enhancers were gone, and as he watched in stunned silence, a solitary space-suited figure went spinning out of the hangar bay, arms and legs kicking wildly in a vain attempt to grab onto the nothingness of space.
~~Princess. . .no!!~~
The figure rapidly receded from view being pulled further into the interphase rift, until finally with a last spasm of limbs it simply vanished over the dimensional Event Horizon disappearing into the multiverse forever.
“Dear god.” Breathed the Ops officer. . . .”She’s. . .she’s.”
“Gone.” Lysander finished the sentence with a wheeze, collapsing like a lump into the chair beneath him.
“She’s gone. . . . .”
"Tactical! Lock and Load on the Tholians. Get that Blue sucker first. Fire when I come back. Helm, maintain station ten Kilos from Defiant. Number Two... condolences to Number One's family etc etc etc." Bhrode shouted.
Bhrode's eyes swept the bridge. Lysander was in shock, staring at the computer as he brought up and discarded various flight plans at a rate faster than the eye could follow. His eyes were popping out and he mumbled to himself as he tried to force reality to his personal desire.
"Captain... the PPC won't come on-line..." The Andorian reported from the polished wood Tac Arch.
"Screw it. Someone find Dr Quick and lash him to a torpedo. Shoot him at the red Tholian." Bhrode commanded.
Appalled silence reigned on the bridge. Except for Lysander's feverish muttering, not a sound was heard.
"You can't.... you... you'll get us all KILLED!" the Andorian sobbed.
"Damn women.... I bet you wish your little lovebunny was here now. Well, kiss your blue ass goodbye tootsie." Bhrode shouted, the vein in his forehead popping out from his bellicose tirade.
"I'll need a shuttle craft, ten Engineers and..." Lys shouted, coming to his feet, his eyes feverish.
"Denied." Bhrode commanded.
"Oh... smeg her then. I never liked her anyways. " Lys replied, wiping out the 'rescue' plans and bringing up the Tactical plot.
Bhrode's eyes swept the bridge again.
"Legate, you have the conn. Don't start shooting before I come back. Don't scratch my ship either, or I'll flay you alive" Bhrode commanded.
As Kyler settled in the Comamnd Chair, Bhrode eyed his Bridge crew again.
~~ Surely one of the little bastards will do something to let me shoot them?~~ he mused silently.
"Where will you be, Oh Captain-My Captain?" sneered the Kelvan Liasion Officer.
"Counseling, getting Group Huggies." Bhrode snapped.
Tbc
ooc: El JQB Jeffe in COUNSELING? With Aliens to blow up? Rebecca DEAD? That pesky Kelvan in COMMAND? He's not even a fleet officer! WTF is going ON around here?
James looked at his comm.-badge unit in disgust. He felt like throwing the useless piece of technology halfway across the ship; the more damage, the better. He tried multiple time to reach Commander Von Ernst on the comm. channels, trying desperately to get in touch. The commander slammed his badge, multiple times, and each communication was a sputter of static and squealing interference.
“Oh for f**k sakes….” Corgan snarled in frustration. Interspatial interference was making communications with any away team next to impossible. James was tactically cut off from support, and from his main away team. In essence, Corgan and his assistant, the quite capable Andorian Brin Taro, had no backup, support, or luck whatsoever. They were all alone, unless squealing interference was considered good company. James addressed his sub-ordinate in hopes of any progress. “Can you reach anyone? O’Rourke’s team? Von Ernst? Heaven forbid… the marines?”
Brin Taro responded coldly, “My results have been the same as yours, sir. Communications are down throughout the ship. Intereference is too powerful. We can’t communicate, sir.”
“I was afraid that you’ll say that. Damn… T’lan would have been handy about now… if I could reach her.” James pitied not taking security’s electronics expert with him. Whatever problem they had, Corgan knew T’lan could fix it. But the same problem arose. No communications, no support. No support, no communications. The current problem accumulated into one response. A heartfelt and bitter, “F**k.”
“Sir, what should we do?” Brin Taro asked, his antennae twitching out of the battle armor helmet. The young officer, by trade a hand to hand combat expert, felt out of place inside the Defiant’s abandoned and retro setting. He had nothing to do except guard, and against what? Brin didn’t know how to fight boredom, and though the crew talked about ghost ships, the Andorian security officer didn’t put much stock in their wild legends.
James replied, unslinging the Type 3 phaser rifle from his shoulders, “Well… we have to get this security log repaired… and find out what happened to the crew. We keep going until we find some replacement parts. Check your tricorder, tell me where the nearest storage shed is.”
Brin Taro unclipped the boxlike, gray device from his belt, and upon activating it, he switched to a visor screen on his battle helmet. The display shone on his face, driving out some of the darkness in the dimly lit hall, but still projecting a gaunt, skeletal face over Ensign Taro.
”This way.” Brin pointed towards the turbolift, “We take the turbolift down to deck seven, and an storage shed should be nearby. We can find the proper supplies there.”
“Good.” James somberly congratulated his subordinate, “We’ll try to reach T’lan and Reece one last time, tell them where we’re going… try to get their status.” The commander fiddled with his communications device. He tapped again, and found static. “Commander Corgan to Commander Reece. Come in. Over.”
The static squealed and popped, but no discernable human voice could punch through it. As they entered the turbolift and entered in the level, James tried again, and received an earful of spatial flux.
“Dammit. I’m not starting to like this.” James muttered to his sub-ordinate and they exited the sliding pod of doom and walked through the halls, with Brin Taro in the lead. James tried again to communicate to the outside world, “Corgan to Galaxy. Come in… DAMMIT!” He nearly threw the badge off in a fit, “Someone… anyone! Please answer! Corgan to T’lan. Come in, over!”
The static grinded inside Corgan and Taro’s ears, but somewhere inside, there was a discernable female Vulcan’s voice. “*’lan to C000rgan. Do you read me?”
“I read you, T’lan. What’s your status?” James asked.
***ommuni@&tions down. Inter!$@al interfe*r)ce. Searched two out of @& offices. She announced.
“Good work… fraggin’ communicator!” James rapped his badge once more, “Good work, T‘lan. How how many offices are left?” He spoke slowly, and waited for T’lan voice to squeal and pop.
=/\=“Si*…r, there is o@$ off(*& rem*ini*g, a$@ the $rig. Lie^#*&ant C…….. Reece has exprrrr*(#essed interest in explo^*#@ the Bri*.” She replied.
”Oh for f**k sakes… I hate this communicator.” James groaned in futility, and then yelled, “Come again?!? What did you say?!?”
T’lan voice was more static than ever, and it squealched away, “I am >>>>>> the last office. Co*#@an**r R^&ce is search…%#$ the Br*g.”
James’ frustration was starting to mount, ”Can’t hear you! Too much goddamn Interference! What’s going on?!?”
“I …m se&#ch@!( the final office. R*@^ is s**rch&ing the %!rig. Do you copy?” T’lan spoke. The final message, more legible than the last, was enough for James and Brin to understand.
Breathing a sigh of relief, James thought it was better not to communicate until the interference was lifted. He spoke, for his final message, “Copy that, Lieutenant. We’ll meet at the Brig. Can’t talk over the Communication Channels. Corgan out.”
James muttered to the heavens, “What a fix we got ourselves into now. We’re stuck on an ancient rustheap, with no help, no communications, and no chance in hell of getting out in case the Tholians have a thing or two to say about it. Makes you feel alive, doesn’t it ensign?”
The Andorian officer was nigh amused. He barely reacted, much less laughed. The blue skinned alien was at his tricorder again, scanning the area for the much sought after supply depot, located somewhere in the ship’s center. “What was that, sir?” Brin Taro spoke, uneasily, as if he wasn’t sure how to address the superior officer.
“A joke, Ensign. A terrible joke. Nevermind.” James waved it off, but then asked the young ensign, “You’re pretty straight laced and serious for a kid fresh out of the academy. What’s your deal?”
Brin Taro’s eyes returned to his tricorder, but his antennae twitched in irritation. The two appendages made jumping motions, like cramming a spring to be as compact as possible, then letting go to watch the springs pop out. Though James sensed that a nerve was more than hit, Brin spoke coldly and politely, despite his irritation. “Sir… my father was Captain Runi Taro.”
“Runi Taro… You mean the Battalion leader for the 1st Andorian Rangers Ground Combat Battalion?” James asked to confirm.
Brin Taro replied sorrowfully, letting loose the visage of being kind and being more true to his emotions, “Yes, sir. My father is the Battalion Captain of one of the most decorated Starfleet Ground Combat forces outside the marines. He led the Blue Fleet before that… patrolling the Neutral Zone mostly. Between those two assignments… he never had much time for the Family. My other father disappeared on a deep space mission, so he was the only father who raised me.”
“Oh…” Corgan sympathized, as the memories of his past were stirred, “I can relate. My father and mother were at the Odyssey massacre.”
“Then you were fortunate!” Brin Taro shot back like an angry wind, “My father was a disciplinarian! Whenever he did have time, it was ‘be Starfleet this’ or ‘try to do better than that’! Nothing was good enough for him! If I wanted to talk to him, he ordered me to shut up, and yes, I meant order, because if I didn’t I was disciplined! He breathed military and expected me to do the same… and it still wasn’t enough. The martial arts trophies, the physical contest ribbons… everything that should have proved that I was good enough for his standard… were worth nothing to him!”
James listened carefully to Brin Taro’s words, seeing them as an open window rather than a rant, “He was never satisfied. Never happy. It was never enough for him! Some days, I hate the fact that he didn’t die on Chin’toka, or Cardassia, or wherever they threw him!”
Brin Taro’s gloved fist slammed into the nearest door, his arm shooting out faster than an elastic, and rattling the door with all the force his body could throw in front of his fist. James jumped back, surprised, his rifle quickly sent to heavy stun and aimed level at Brin’s chest. The Andorian didn’t care about the weapon pointed at him, but continued to express his feelings frighteningly, “But he’s still alive…” He almost gibbered, “Still alive, calling me every week, always telling me what to do! SON! Stand up straight! SON! Don’t let the chief see how you’re feeling! SON!!! Stop talking to those stupid friends of yours, they know too much about you! SON!!! If you were in the trenches, YOU WOULD BE DEAD BY NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Brin’s fist and arm stiffened and held up against the door, his fist partially covering a label stating “Maintenance Storage 093”. The Andorian’s arms then quivered, and the spasm seemed to travel up and down his body. His knees weakened and his feet gave way. Taro fell to his knees, as a bluish stain fell from his eye, down to his cheek.
James dropped his rifle down, and helped the young ensign back to his feet. “Ensign… this may sound f**ked up, but I deal with that every day. His name is Captain Brhode. And before that, I had a father who tried too hard to shape me. Hate to say it kid, but we’re alike.”
Brin looked at his commanding officer, eye to eye. James smiled one to reassure his comrade, and then said, “Relax, Brin. We can talk about it later over a decanteur of Absinthe. Got a rare bottle of Herbsainte that’ll waste otherwise. How does that sound?”
”Sounds good… sir.” Brin, wracked with negative emotions, managed to croak.
“Good.” James smiled again, and let go of his sub-ordinate, “Until then, I need you to hold together. By the way… thanks for finding it.”
“Finding what, sir?” The Andorian looked around.
“Ummm… that.” James pointed to the door of the Maintenance storeroom, “We should be able to find some parts here.”
“Oh. Umm… sorry sir.”
“Relax, kid. You read the reports. Interspace f**ks with your head. But thankfully, we shouldn’t be long on this ship.”
The Commander pushed the final door to the maintenance shed, opening another world of wonder to be explored. In childlike reverence, James felt overwhelmed by the presence of yet more artifacts, revealing a window to the past mostly unseen by many officers of his generation. Inside the small room, barely closet size, was racks, shelves, and cases filled with various replacement parts and supplies. Engineering suits, more than a hundred years behind in fashion, rested on hooks in the far corner of the room, right beside a dozen box shelves full of duotronic electronics parts. To James left, he saw shelves of old tricorders, which was reminiscent of a large box with what appeared to be a picture tube style-viewing screen. In one of the shelves, James found himself a stack of PADDS that were similar to the PADD used in the security log.
“Brin… the security log. Crack it open, but be careful not to damage the data storage unit.” James ordered as he commandeered a PADD and a small electromagnetic decoupler. The chief of security pressed a small button, and a bright blue light waved over the joints on the PADD. It sprung open in two parts. Each side of the PADD had thick, white, cobweb-on-snow like circuits with bright Christmas tree lights. On the corner of the PADD, a thick storage module, metallic and large enough to fit in his palm, was attached to a cartridge slot.
Behind him, James heard cracking and tearing, followed by the satisfying click of a data storage device being removed from it’s housing. James turned to receive the storage device from Brin Taro, and found the Andorian handling a mess of wires, circuits, and busted plastic.
“You didn’t have to literally break it open. That’s what decouplers are for.” James chuckled lightheartedly.
“Oh… sorry sir.” Brin Taro bowed in shame, hanging his head down.
James grabbed the storage device from Brin and replaced the storage device on the new PADD, “Relax, Brin. It was busted anyways.” The storage device snapped into place. James then joined the two sides of the PADD together and reset the decoupler, “But I learned the hard way… not everything can be solved with a fist and a phaser.” He snapped the PADD together, and waved his magic wand to seal it back up, “You gotta use your head, know when either your fists or your brains apply, then go from there…”
The commander paused. The PADD lit up to life, it’s ancient screen showing retro teletype in front of his eyes.
*********
Security Log: Stardate 2/0208
Lieutenant Commander Robert St.Mark, Chief of Security, USS Defiant
The Defiant has been halted for the time being. We don’t know yet what the problem is, but the engineering and science departments are investigating. Because of this, security has been put on high alert. Guess I spoke too soon about not having enough action. If there were wood on this ship, I would have knocked.
Currently, we are still on high alert. I will update the Security Logs as soon as anything else happens.
***********
Security Log:Supplimental
Lieutenant Commander Robert St.Mark, Chief of Security, USS Defiant
There has been a disturbance in Engineering. Engineer Ensign Mitch Voica, after going out on a spacewalk to check for external abnormalities in the warp nacelles, attacked Chief Willoughby. If the Engineers didn’t restrain him and buy my security staff time to get to Engineering, Ensign Voica would have seriously injured the chief. We have him currently locked in our brig.
Ensign Voica is a good kid. He wouldn’t harm a Denebian fireant if he had the choice. But today was different. I don’t like it. A kid like that doesn’t randomly attack his chief. Neither does he sit in my brig and test the forcefields with his body. Something’s not quite right. I’m going to ask that the Chief Medical Officer comes and visits.
***********
Security Log: Supplimental
Lieutenant Commander Robert St.Mark, Chief of Security, USS Defiant
The Chief Medical Officer came down to check on Ensign Voica. However, as soon as the CMO arrived, we had more reports of attacks. We finished suppressing a riot in one of the recreation rooms. Stun grenades were distributed and used. There is not enough room in our brig, so we were forced to remove objects that could be used as weapons in the recreation room, and we locked the people inside. Security guards have been posted to ensure their containment.
Meanwhile, sporatic reports of more violence have broken out. Our security forces can barely respond. Some of my department has been affected as well. If my staff is falling ill to this madness… this random violence… what will stop the ship from slipping into total anarchy?
*************
“Sir…” Brin stuttered.
“I know, kid.” James deactivated the PADD, “This is not good. We better get back to Reece.”
Sendi stopped sobbing as Captain Bhrode left the command deck. ~Son of a bitch...~ she thought coldly to herself. ~That man makes me feel dirty, if only for the belittling manner that he, and everyone else on this godforsaken ship looks upon Donovan and I. If they’d only give us half a chance to prove our worth, then maybe they’d realize how useful we can be.~
Glancing up from the calculations that she was making through clenched teeth, she watched the stern of the federation starship USS Defiant NCC-1764, hangar bay doors open and all. The loss of a good, loyal officer, just because Captain Bhrode didn’t feel like trying to save her. It made her red with anger, a hard thing to do for so blue a person. ~Gross negligence while in the presence of the enemy...~ she thought. And poor Lysander looked like he was stabbed through the heart, though he was trying to be calm about the whole thing.
Looking back down, she watched the Tholian ships move back and forth across the screen, weaving their deadly web. She wished she could open fire, or at least have somebody do something to get them out of this mess. She couldn’t stand the waiting. It was something in her Andorian blood, the desire to keep moving, and to feel emotions more powerfully than others.
She hated waiting.
“Lieutenant, we’ve got a problem down here, copy?” CPO Dorningham called over the tactical arch’s com-inset. Sendi’s shoulders tensed with irritation. She knew she had a problem. The PPC was working again. Yet another thing she didn’t approve of: Doctor Quick’s work on the USS Galaxy had proven time and again to be faulty, and yet starfleet let it, and him, continue.
“Continue, Chief.” she said, with some restraint.
“Sorry, ma’am, but the bloody PPC’s down again. It’s a bleeding mess. Piece of crap never bloody works. Doctor Quick ought...” Dorningham started into a diatribe of all the crap that fell on his oh so overburdened shoulders.
“Pipe down, Alex. There will be plenty of time for that later. Where’s Sholtz? I though he was in charge down there?” Sendi said, finally regaining control of her temper.
“Got pinned to a wall by shrapnel from a small explosion in the PPC chamber. Couple more inches and it would’ve taken his ‘ead off. He’ll be fine, or at least that’s what Malgin’s saying, though the good doctor is also mentioning how lucky he is to get his ‘ands on a german, what with WW2 and all. Strange fellow.”
“Great. Have Sostik schedule his funeral.” Sendi joked, “Now then, what’s going on down there? Patch the readouts up to the arch.” Sendi ordered. It was time to get serious about doing something to move the situation forward. Readouts began to flow across her terminal, displaying Doctor Quick’s blueprints. On it were notations of damage and other important information. Giving it a quick scan, Sendi immediately noticed the place that Sholtz had nearly blown his head off. He’d patched the wrong cable and blown out a nice meter wide chunk of the weapons cooling fan housing. She also noticed the other problem...
“Here it is, Alex. First have technical repair the cooling fans, then I need you to take a crew and rewire sector zero-thirteen by one. I don’t like the looks of the connections or the isolinear chips. Double check before you start though. I don’t want to have to send another crewmember into the clutches of “Red” Malgin.” Sendi said.
“Yes ma’am, I’ll get back to you in a moment.” Alexander Dorningham said, logging off.
Returning to her work, she kept an eye on the PPC, as over the next fifteen minutes it was brought back “on-line”. Dorningham called again when he was finished.
“That ought to do ‘er, mum.” he said through his thick british accent.
“Good. Be on the lookout for any other problems and don’t hesitate to call me.” she said, “Soleri-Black, out.” she said, and cut the link. Then she waited, wondering what the Kelvan would do.
"Dear God....." was all Curtis could muster.
Standing at the Ops station, Lt. Geluf could only stare at the horror on the view-screen. The air on the bridge was thick, there was a certain madness about it. Bhrode seemed to be going insane, Lysander was distraught, everyone was in a kind of panic. But Curtis felt none of it, his eyes stayed glued to the screen as he watched the space suit move slowly into the rift.
It wasn't that he felt some kind of remorse over Commander Von Ernst, he didn't really know her. It was the chaos her death was symbolizing. The Captain was a raving lunatic, the XO was an emotional mess, the whole crew was going down a giant spiral. Curtis was uneffected, or was he? Thoughts entered his mind, from the past, and others he had no memory of. He could see his whole life, the trail of death and destruction he had escaped. His family, cruelly tortured, murdered. He saw his wife, Kiora...but she was different somehow, she was afraid, dark, incoherant. She was in pain....
'I have to go to her....' he said to his mind.
...but he could take no steps forward. His eyes glazed as he stared ahead...
'I must go...I must.....'
And there he stood at his console, the perfect example of a lifeless statue.....
Strange things were definitely afoot when Crom rolled off of his table in his quarters. His head was pounding and the insides of his nose smelled like vomit. He warily glanced down at the apocalypse of a mess his quarters had become. He brushed some roach souflee off of his tunic and wiped his hand across the wall on his way to the bathroom.
Something was coming. It sure wasn't going to be pretty. His stomache churned as he entered the doorway, and already knew there was no way he could make it. So he cocked his head o the left and let fly the spoils of the previous nights' party.
A half an hour later, Crom came crawling out of the bathroom using a streak of vomit like a slug. He looked a little green for a Ferengi. He grasped at the edge of a nearly clean table and tried to right himself. He put a hand to his head and cringed. "Oh...Oh my.... Thats the last time......I....EVER...get into the Bloodwine with Garthak.."
He shock his head and slipped on something gooey and deftly brained himself on the edge of a chair. Swearing profusely, he managed to find his way to the door of his quarters and lunged out into the world, Beetle snuff grasped firmly in hand, leaving behind the anarchy of the previous night.
A chill was settling in her lower spine, somewhere between the nausea and anger.
From what Ella had been able to decipher out of a jumble of broken words coming over the comm, their Captain had essentially decided to let Commander Von Ernst do a free float in space, seemingly without any interest or any plans to rescue her.
In other words, the bastard had just let her die out there.
Not that Ella had known the commander. Von Ernst was reputed to be an ex-introvert-turned-ice-cold-bitch but also some kind of mathmatical whiz and one of Bhrode's favorites, or at least one he didn't threaten to ship off to Breen.
It unnerved her. Von Ernst shouldn't have been sacrificed like that; it didn't make sense.
It just didn't make sense, damn it.
Ella saw the anger and frustration she felt echoed in the other officer's eyes. From the Defiant, there was little that they could do, only hope that the next body sucked out into space wasn't their own. If Brhode wouldn't lift a finger to save Rebecca Von Ernst, then he sure as hell wasn't going to stop them from suffering the same fate.
The other two looked at Ella, questions written on their faces, as if she had the answers. One was rubbing at an invisible spot of grease on his sleeve and the other danced from foot to foot anxiously. Ah, the drawbacks of being slightly superior, Ella thought. She readjusted her helmet (sadly, she had been informed of the dangers of being without one for too long) and put on her most nurturing-yet-still-prepared- to-lead-them-into-the-thick-of-it face. There was really nothing more to do than to get back to work. Hiding behind work was always easier than dealing with the other problems life threw at you.
Ella's eyes narrowed as she took in their number. She shook a gloved finger and then held up three fingers. The other two looked at her blankly. Ella sighed to herself and pulled out the computer PADD.
*WHERE'S MIKE? * she typed to the others.
Meanwhile...
Mike Sternbach wandered down the corridor, tricorder in hand. The instrument had detected a strange energy reading and, by god, he was going to find its source. It mattered not that the hall was quickly getting darker as he moved away from Engineering. Or that every now and then he thought he heard noises or movements slithering and slipping around him.
He was a man on a mission.
Oh yeah.
So the fact that the shadow looming behind him didn't phase him. Neither did the strange breaking up of the shadow, that would appear, even to the most common mind, like an arm raising up some kind of instument in hand, most likely a knife.
He was surprised as hell though by the first sharp pain he felt in his upper back. Mike reached behind and, with a sick feeling, pulled his hand back to find it covered with blood. He turned around, his protest dying as he saw the person before him.
"YOU!" Mike exclaimed even as the sharp pain blazed into a fiery fury on his back. "B..but you're DEAD!"
His attacker made no comment, only watched him as he staggered slightly forward.
"I...I saw you die." Mike babbled. " I never meant to...but it happened...I'm so sorry...didn't mean to...please forgive-"
He was cut off as his attacker grew tired of him and swiped the knife quickly in a motion almost too fast to detect. Mike's eyes widened as he clutched at his throat and fell to the floor.
"S..ssoor" He gurgled and then died.
off: I had permission to kill of Kelly's NPC, just to let y'all know :)
(Note, the author condemns the listening and idolizing of Marilyn Manson (subnote: Opinion of the author does not reflect the opinion of the sim). Songs used for horror purpose.
There was a solitary figure in the darkness, a world without light, sight, and symbols to guide. In the seemingly endless void, the central figure was literally the center of the universe. They were the center, the middle, the focus, an object that took all the attention because there was nothing else.
“Hello?”
A voice cut through the void, rippling and reverberating, slamming itself against invisible barriers. The noise came back at the central figure, and was the person’s only comfort. There was an edge somewhere, waiting to be felt out and exploited. Somewhere at that edge were hope and a means of escape.
“Hello?!?”
But the darkness was all encompassing. How could such a pitch black void have a beginning and an end? It was so cold and desolate, giving the center of that dark universe a feeling that there was nothing else but the pitch black. Beginning? End? What was that but a dream?
”Hello?!? Someone? Hello?!?”
The center of the void recoiled back like a frightened child. She was too scared to use her equipment, too paralyzed by fear to escape. Past experience taught that there was no escape. The darkness was all encompassing and infinite in its distance. How could anyone escape? She wanted to wake up as the animal like sense of fear hurled her back. Darkness had no escape. Not in this nightmare.
Waking up was the only escape. The last time she was in the darkness, the light helped her escape the bad dream. She waited for the light to come take her away.
“Heeeellllpppp meeeeeeee!!!!” Lexa screeched in frustration in the darkness, waiting for the light to come.
~”Hi there… having fun?”~ Chided the voice of James Corgan’s conscience.
On the way back to security, James was as surprised as anyone that a creature born only in the inner depths of his mind could manifest itself so clearly into reality. In the past, James could clearly see the avatar of his conscience, strolling beside him as casually as if the Defiant was experiencing a sunny day on Risa.
Conscience was a conglomeration of James’s dark side and morbid sense of humor. It was the only mental link to Corgan’s questionable psychological health problems of the past. Veiled in a robe of dark cloth, Conscience’s gaunt, skeletal body rose up from the ground like a statue of Death. The scythe in his hand, resting casually on his shoulder as he marched like a mockery of a marine sergeant, glimmered in the dim light as it swayed from side to side. Dark, feathery angel wings laid folded on his back. The dark angel’s hood was pull on and covering his pale, ghostly face.
“What the hell are you doing here?” James acted surprised. Not expecting a figment of his I`magination to appear, the Commander stared at Death’s hollow eyes for an answer to his question. Was he reality or not?
Brin Taro, his Ensign assistant, tapped James on the shoulder. “Sir? Whom are you talking to?”
“You don’t see it?” James asked.
Brin responded, “See what, sir?”
“Huh? Wha…?” James looked again. Death wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Brin Taro was still staring at his commander, and nowhere near where James conscience avatar once stood. “Nothing, kid. Interspace and whatnot. Doctors warned us about it. Here… we’ll keep our focus by playing a game.”
“Sir?” Brin looked at his superior officer, dumbfounded.
Conscience could barely contain his laughter. ~”Yeah, and while we’re at it, why don’t we all get in circle and skip and dance like a bunch of F**KING FAIRIES!!!!!!!!!”~ The rest of Death’s sentence was incomprehensible, as fits of laughter overwhelmed the figment of James’s imagination.
“Shut up, @$$face.” James shot back at his Conscience.
Brin looked around again, confused. “Sir? Were you referring to me?”
“Humm… wha?” James spun around again, getting quite annoyed. Death reappeared, and his hand rested on Brin Taro’s shoulder, “But Brin…” Corgan pointed at Brin’s shoulder. Death gave a leery grin, and patted Brin’s shoulder three times before letting go, “He’s right there!”
“Who, sir?” Brin asked in alarm.
“There! Don’t you see him?!?” James pointed directly at his Conscience. The grim reaper like avatar waved once comically at Brin, but the Andorian Ensign failed to notice. Death waved his hand in front of Brin Taro’s face three times. Brin’s helmeted head didn’t see or feel a thing, though James couldn’t deny who was in front of his assistant.
~”Hey, MORON! Blue boy! Right here! Hello?!?!?! Hellohellohellohellohello….’~ Death’s arms waved frantically in front of Taro’s face.
Cluelessly, the Ensign asked, “What am I looking for, sir?”
Both Death and James slapped themselves on the forehead and groaned in frustration. ~”Brin you f**king twit! I’m right here! You know what James? I’m sick of this! I should be noticed by people. Dammit, I was the strongest voice inside that f**ked up brain of yours. Where’s my recognition? Where’s the product endorsements? Where are all the girls that should be flocking to me like groupies towards an oversexed rockstar? Really, where’s my DUES?!?!”
“Brin…” James calmly reassured, “I’m just seeing things. Let’s keep going.”
~“HEY! You’re not going to dismiss me that easily!”~ Death objected.
James shoved the annoying, nattering voice of his Conscience away from him, as he heard something else in the far distances of the hallway. It was a metallic sound, of metal being struck by the rhythmic clank of heavy battlesuited boots.
“Brin… that better not be a figment of my imagination.” James whispered as the clanking boots came closer. Brin Taro shot a glance that confirmed the same thing James heard. They were both hearing the sound of footfall, and it was coming right for them. Quickly, Corgan signaled for Brin to hide. Brin and James went in separate directions, running into intersections in the corridors, and stepping through the sliding doors of unknown rooms.
The clanking boots came closer. Next, there were voices, hushed, tinny little voices that made an effort to be quiet. The voices and the footfalls were coming closer. James peered his head out slightly to see what was passing by.
Another team! James heart welled up in joy. Brin and James were no longer alone. They would be able to band together with the other group in this god forsaken ghost ship! Finally!
However, as the first person passed by, James hope fell into a pit of disappointment. The first figure was wearing Mark 1 battle armor, and was rapping a tricorder with his fist. The battle armor had the symbols of the Starfleet Marine Corp, and the person he saw was a scout on a fireteam.
“Bloody nerps and their bleedin’ equipment. F**king wankers can go to ‘ell with their crap.” Complained the whispering scout in a Welsh accent, “Tricorder’s not workin’, sir. Can’t read a Tarkalian Mastadon if I wanted.”
The scout passed through the intersection, as the other person in the fireteam slinked slowly by. On his battle armor was the unofficial Marine slogan for the Alert base in Canada, written in Latin, saying boldly to ‘Kiss my ass’.
(Note: ‘Kiss my ass’, translated to Latin, is the unofficial slogan of the Canadian Air Force.)
“Keep it down.” The Canadian marine hissed as he passed the intersection, “Someone will hear us. We have to secure the security office before the nerps take it over.”
~”Excuse me?”~ James asked himself, confused, ~”They’re taking our objective?!? What the f**k?”~
“Who will ‘ear us, mate? Nothing’s here…” The Briton whined.
“Both of you, cut the chatter.” Ordered the squad leader, as he clanked through the intersection. His posture was boisterous, his stance proud, and he stopped right at the corridor. His voice was as loud as a trumpet as he spoke. “As squad leader, I suggest you all be quiet.”
The Welsh Marine drolly commented, “Easy for you to say, you dumb sh…”
“What was that?!?!?!” Screamed the lead marine, “What did you just say to me?”
Welshy then yelled back, “I said you were a stupid wanker, @$$bait! Shut the bloody ‘ell up!”
“I’m going to charge you with insubordination!” Screamed back the squad leader.
“Oh geez… that’s what I get for working with an Yankee and a Brit…” Sighed the hopeless Canadian.
James laughed at the marine fireteam’s current predicament. They too were suffering from the interspace madness, and were affected even worse than Brin and James.
~”Pretentious, aren’t you?”~ Death leaned up against the wall of the room James currently occupied, ~”You think you can avoid the madness better than they can? Hello? I’m here?!?! Doesn’t that tell you something?”~
~”It tells me you should shut up.”~ James thought as he watched the squad leader walk out of the intersection. James peeped his head out more, and waited as Brin Taro’s head emerged from its hiding spot. Meanwhile, the marines were still arguing, one stubborn American versus a surly Brit, with the calm Canadian playing as a referee. Brin nodded to confirm contact. James nodded as well, as soon as he came up with an idea.
Death, already knowing what James planned, readied his scythe for some action. His tone was more forceful than before as he spoke, ~“James, I’m going to make you an ultimatum. You stop ignoring me. You stop trying to send me away. Let me be free to roam… or I will forcefully take over.”~
“Whatever…” James groaned. He send hand signals to Brin, communicating a message, “I will contact the marines. Ready rifles. Heavy stun. Ambush from behind.” As soon as the message was sent, Brin nodded in acknowledgement.
~”James, I’m sick of you pushing me back. I mean, look at you. Pathetic, isn’t it?”~ James saw Death’s skeletal hand pointing at his nose, ~”You could have had the universe within your reach. All the women you could possibly want. Riches that would have you set for life. Notoriety surpassing that troglodyte Brhode or that cute little pixie called Rebecca. You could have had Lexa over and over again, and Rebecca, and Rose, and whatever woman you meet on the side, whenever you wanted! And you could have been famous with that guitar of yours, but you decided to do things your way! Be all nice and kind, never hurt anyone’s feelings, never fight, never kill, only defend, act pious, be behind the scenes… whatever gave you that sense of usefulness and purpose without satisfying your hungry ego.”~
“Shhh… gotta surprise the marines.” James whispered to Death.
~“My point is, James, you’re a f**king p*ssy! Your ego craves fame, fortune, and flesh! You’re a twentieth century man, looking for a quick slip of latinum, a quick fix, and a quick f**k. More importantly, I crave all these things, and you’re too damn scared to go out and get it!”~
“Shut up…” James set his rifle to stun and walked into the corridor. Brin was on the other side, and he to emerged with rifle in the ready. The hallway still erupted with arguing Brit, Yankee, and an overwhelmed Canadian.
~”You could have it all, James. Your friend Rebecca has a command and a reputation. Lexa has three university degrees. Lysander has a command, and he’s just a f**king @$$hole. But you know why he has it? Because @$$holes have ambition! They step on people to get what they want. You were never willing to hurt people to get what you want, and now you’re Brhode’s whipping boy because of it!!!!!!!! Let me take over! I’ll give you everything you want. The command, the notoriety, and all the sexual stimulation with pixie like redheads… tall, half baked amazons, psychic psycho’s and half bred hotheads you could possibly handle… its yours. Just let me take it.”~
James, perhaps delirious from madness, and tempted by Death’s offer, thought his proposal over. Brin was puzzled as he saw James freeze up, but couldn’t come to help without the marines spotting him.
Corgan was oblivious to all else, but Death’s temptation. “Wait… you mean it?”
~”Yes.”~ Death stated in anticipation.
“I could have what I want?”
“Yes.”
“Respect, a reputation worth working for?”
“Yes.”
“Fame and fortune?”
“Yes…”
“I could have Lexa back, in any way I wanted?”
“Yes… sign already!”
“And I could have Rebecca’s affection too, if I wanted? And Rose? And anyone else?”
“FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST… YES!!!!!!”
James stared sadly at the floor, “I’ve been denied for so long. All my work, my accomplishments, and for what? Nobody respects me on board. I have barely a penny to my name that I can use yet, and I’ve been without a real physical relationship since the Academy.”
“Yeah yeah… you’re bored, lonely, unfulfilled and extremely horny. I know… Just sign on the dotted line, already!” Death produced a sheet of paper with a skeletal finger like quill pen, and thrust it in his face.
James looked up, and with a childish, mocking smile, he stared temptation straight in the eye and said, “No.”
The ‘no’ seemed to echo in the halls and stun James’ Conscience like a stab in the heart.
“I’m treated like sh*t by everyone except my department. I’ve lost everything that made my life enjoyable. The one person I thought I could grow old and die with doesn’t trust me. I suffer a penance by staying on board the Galaxy, and I will continue to do so until someone puts an end to my miserable life.” James said boldly to Death’s face, “But that’s what I’m willing to pay, because eventually, fairness and humanity will win over gutless selfishness, ambition and politics. All these things you promise will come in their own ways. I will have a good reputation, not a fearful one. I will have success, not overabundance and greed. And I will find my love again someday and now allow lust to take me over!”
“So…” James swiped the parchment from Death’s hands, and with a happy grin on his face, he tore the document up, “Take this deal… devil…” The paper turned into small bits. James threw them up in the air, spinning and waving his arms in the air as he was showered by paper confetti, ”…and shove it up your @$$!” James, still crazed and smiling, pointed his finger and prodded Death in the chest, “So, what do you think of that?!?! HAH!”
Death disappeared, and James’s finger was stuffed down the barrel of a Starfleet Marine officer’s phaser rifle.
“What the f**k?” Corgan, deeply embarrassed, drew his finger out of the rifle barrel. He found that there were two rifles aimed at him, held by two seriously angry riflemen. The third officer covered Brin Taro. “Ummm… Brin? What happened?”
“You were hallucinating. The marines stopped arguing and decided to ambush US.” Brin replied.
“Ohhh… sorry.” James sheepishly laughed. Death, getting a good chuckle, was behind the Canadian ‘Kiss my ass’ marine, who held Brin Taro at gunpoint. Death waved ‘hi’, and has his scythe drawn. “Ummm… Private? Could you check behind you?”
“Shut up nerp!” The squad leader shoved the rifle barrel into Corgan’s face plate, “You nerps thought you were going to jump us again? Well you’re wrong, b*tch! Nobody jumps a marine and gets away with it.”
“’ow do ya fancy that, space bait?” The Welsh officer bragged.
James replied smartly, “I’d fancy my foot up your ass, but…” Corgan shrugged, “…what can you do? Now would you please check behind you?”
~”That would be me.”~ Death waved hi to the marines.
“I told you to shut up nerp!” The squad leader barked.
“HEY! I’m telling you, there’s a big guy in black holding a huge assed weapon, and he’s ready to cut your asses down! Geez, are you guys thick or something?!?” James objected, exasperated.
~”Wow… this is fun!”~ Death chided needlessly, ~”James, accept what I have to offer. You know, I can save both you and your newfound friends here….”~
”Go to hell, demon.” James spat.
“Great… just what we need… another ‘nerp going crazy.” The Squad leader groaned.
~”Oh… so that’s it? I offer you the universe on a silver platter. Not only you refuse… you throw the platter and all its goods in my face! Fine, you wanna play hardball… let’s see how willing you are when your friends drop!”~
The Canadian added mournfully, “We’re going to have to frag the poor bastard, just like the other ones.”
“You got a point… don’t wanna get attacked like that one crazy we found on deck 9.” The leader grimly spoke, “He though we were Jem’Hadar. Started firing all over the place. We had to frag him, or he would have got up and killed us.”
“You sick son of a…” Brin angrily tried to walk forth, but found the marine’s phaser rifle dangerously pointed at his throat.
“You’re not moving anywhere, Blue Boy…” The Canadian pressed a few buttons on his phaser, cranking up the killing capacity, “We can’t allow crazies to wander the decks.”
“Sorry…” The leader looked at Corgan’s pip collar, and jokingly said, “…Commander… heh heh… you’ve been hit with interspace madness.”
“Which… thankfully… hasn’t hit us yet.” Welshy bragged.
~”Hold on…”~ Death took a more keen interest in the situation, and stood up beside the squadron leader, ~”Are you trying to kill MY property? James… tell these stupid mundanes to back off, and accept my offer. If you don’t… I’ll kill them.”~
“You don’t have the power.” James challenged.
“Oh… I don’t, don’t I?” The squad leader slapped the power setting on his rifle, then swiftly moved the barrel in front of Corgan’s face. “This here rifle says I do have the power!”
~”You? Have the power!”~ Death laughed heartily, ~”If you only realized just how insignificant you are… I’m gonna kill him James. I’m gonna kill him! Accept my offer. Let me take over! I’ll spare your life and the lives of your comrades. If not… I will kill everyone… then I’ll come for you!”~ Death’s scythe raised up in the air, aiming for the small of the squad leader’s back.
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” James pleaded desperately, “Please… you must believe me. There is someone behind you. Death… the devil. If you don’t turn around, he’ll kill you. Please… you have to believe me. IT’S YOUR GODDAMN LIFE AT RISK!”
The marine looked at James one last time. Steeling his resolve, he aimed the rifle, and gave these final last words.
“Don’t forget to say hi to the ‘devil’ for me when you go to hell.” Spoke the marine.
~”You know what… f**k it. I’ve wanted to do this for awhile…”~
The wet sound of something piercing through a layer of battle armor, flesh, then more battle armor struch through the marine leader. His gaze went from stone cold killer to frightened animal and he looked down and saw a gaping wound through his stomach.
James saw, in cold horror, Death’s scythe blade punching through the marine’s body. The blood ran down in rivulets, then rivers, all over the curved, shining blade and over the oaken shaft. Then, the blade withdrew and a spurt of crimson red sprayed on Corgan’s body armor and helmet. The marine sank down to his knees, clutching the grievous wound, mewling, begging for mercy.
“Help… me…” The marine’s hand reached out for Corgan’s, as James and everyone else in the corridor was paralyzed by fear. Death, looming overhead like an avenging dark angel, raised his bloody weapon and brought it down in one swift fluid swoop, sweeping the air and loping off the squad leader’s head like a stalk of grain.
“Hhh.hhh….hhh… ‘oly sh*t…. what…. did that?!?!” Welshy whimpered, seeing a head fly to the side, blood showering like a geyser, but no assailant.
James snapped out of his fugue. With the marine’s blood all over his suit, James snapped his rifle into his hands and set the setting for ‘kill’. “GET DOWN!!!!!!!!” James ordered, and the marines and Brin hit the deck.
Corgan’s rifle shots were dead on, striking the avatar of Death in the chest and head. It stumbled back with each shot, James coldly shooting as if he was in a firing drill, but each shot dragging him closer to the brink of insanity. The anger, sadness, and adrenaline flowed. Now he was taken over by the urge for vengeance. Death laughed mightily, and dropped the pretense of vulnerability. Shots passed through a translucent body. A not so translucent sweep of his long, skeletal arms hurled James into a wall with a thick, overwhelming crunch. He felt his battle armor come to the breaking point of crushing his chest.
Death turned his attention to Brin and the marines, as they all were trying to find the assailant on their rifle sensors. Being blind to James’ imagination, they couldn’t find the source of the attack, but could easily see the result.
The next marine, Welshy, was sweeping the hallways, searching for the target, when all the sudden a sharp pain sliced through his stomach. He looked down as he felt his innards sliding out of his body. In a shriek of pain, he dropped his rifle and tried to scoop his disemboweled parts back into his body. Death loomed over the panicking marine who tried to keep himself together. Welshy cried and whimpered, and Death leered and smiled as he brought the blade down vertically, punching sickly and deeply into Welshy’s skull.
“Brin! Get out of here! RUN! Get to the checkpoint!” James staggered up, leaning on his rifle
Brin didn’t need any more convincing. The usually brave Andorian warrior couldn’t see the target, but could see the carnage still around. Brin picked up his rifle and sprinted towards James in an attempt to help him out. He passed Death dangerously close, and the avatar was tempted to end Brin’s life in one simple sweep of his instrument of destruction, but glanced as the Canadian marine’s stray shot narrowly missed the hood of his robe.
“Brin! You are disobeying an order! I’m fine! Get out of here!” James screamed in desperation.
“Sir, I’m not leaving you behind!” Brin insisted.
“Fine! Start running to the checkpoint!”
James last sight of the battle was when he and Brin sprinted away. The Canadian marine, stepping back and firing scattered shots into the hallway (and barely hitting, if that did any good), screamed a battle cry and sliced phaser beams into the hallway. Death was unaffected. A small metal point at the end of his scythe snapped out, and running headlong into the marine, he charged the spear like attachment through the marine’s battle armor, ribcage, and finally, his heart. The Marine spat blood in his helmet as Death’s skeletal hand wrapped around his neck.
“Corgan… I’m coming for you.”
James turned around and fled, not looking back, as he heard a crunch. Death twisted the marine’s neck, and discarded the body like garbage.
“Corgan… you can’t run. I’m coming for you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
With a barely audible ‘pop’ the containment field in Defiant’s shuttlebay dropped and a hurricane was born.
The 1.12 Atmospheres of pressure built up in the cavernous bay was suddenly transformed into a powder-keg of energy as anything that was not nailed down was suddenly picked up by invisible hands and jetted into space.
Commander Rebecca von Ernst had been in mid conversation with her personal ‘thorn-in-the-side’ Commander van der Puls Hawksley when the whirlwind claimed her. With a sudden yelp of surprise the tiny redhead found herself twisting crazily across the bay amidst a blizzard of various cargo containers, tool boxes, and assorted small items all spinning madly.
She barely had time to register the gaping maw of the shuttlebay’s open clamshell doors before she was beyond them, the icy needles of the void prickling her skin in a thousand places.
~~~I’m dead.~~ she bemoaned as she flew past the doors, ~~~ I’m dead and. .ERK!!!~~~
An involuntary squawk escaped her lips as a sudden violent jerk at her waist brought her to a jarring halt. Her head snapped forward in her helmet causing her fragile chin to crunch painfully into the delicate helmet mounted COMM system. Sparks and a wisp of floating blood danced before her eyes.
~~~Ow!. . . .I’m not dead?~~~ Half dazed by the sudden stop and with her head still rattled from the blow, she realized she was still flapping ‘in the breeze’ from the escaping air, but was not moving any further out into space. On top of that she still felt the odd tugging at her waist.
Spinning rapidly in place, she struggled to glance down and found the reason for her predicament.
“The Pattern. . ugh. . . Enhancers!” she gasped aloud spitting out a glob of blood.
Moments before, in order to speak more clearly with Lysander, Rebecca had attached a small cable from her belt into a receptacle in the side of one of the rod-like Transporter Pattern Enhancers that the away team had set up. The boosting power had been necessary to override the interference of this region of space.
Now when Rebecca had been swept from the bay, the small ring of Enhancers had gone along with her, but it just so happened that the rod she was attached too had somehow lodged in the massive door frame of the bay, and now she spun and jerked like a kite on the end of a string. All that kept Rebecca from spinning off into eternity was a fragile ½ inch cable that might give way at any moment.
Even as she realized this, a similarly suited figure came cart-wheeling out of the bay behind her. Devoid of any restraints, the figure kicked and spun in desperation as it passed away into eternity, disappearing forever over the Interphase Dimensional Boundary.
“Ensign Red!” Rebecca realized with a chill. The young officer had been in the bay with her and was in the midst of aligning the aforementioned Pattern Enhancers. Now he was . . . .gone.
As suddenly as it begun, the hurricane ended, the shuttlebay now devoid of air. Still spinning slightly on the end of the long cable, Rebecca struggled to look back towards the Defiant. Her vision was obscured by the misting zero-g blood from her injured chin, and a quick test of the Comm gear revealed it was likewise ruined.
Now examining her fragile tether, the tiny redhead realized what a one in a million chance saved her in the first place. The Enhancer rod was precariously wedged in one corner of the bay doors, and any sudden movement could easily dislodge it.
~~~No matter,~~~ she reassured herself, ~~~Major Log and that creepy little girl are still in the bay and they would. . . .~~~
=/\= . . .. Anyone see that Commander Lady?. . . .. =/\= The subtle crackle of suit intercoms hissed in her helmet speakers.
=/\=. . . Nope. . .=/\= Came the reply. Apparently Rebecca’s chin had demolished the transmitter for her suit, but she could still receive. That meant she could. . . .
=/\=. . . . Good. . . .Bitch!. . . .=/\= The hissing comment cut off Rebecca’s thoughts and wounded her to the core. She caught her breath in sudden pain and blinked back involuntary tears. She didn’t know what hurt worse. Her bleeding chin or the sudden chill in her stomach of not being wanted.
=/\=. . . Better get you five somewhere else. . . =/\= Came the final call They were going to LEAVE HER!!
Her space suited figure spun lazily in the void on the end of the cable her mind and body frozen in mental and physical shock.
She didn’t recognize the voice, but someone was GLAD she was dead. . . .supposedly. Who had it been? Major Log. . . .James? That Creepy kid?
Swallowing a lump Rebecca allowed herself to drift unsure of what to do.
Moments passed in eternal silence where the only sound was the echo of her sobbing in her helmet. What did she ever do to deserve this? What was she out here risking her life for anyways? Starfleet didn’t give a noodle about her apparently, so why the heck should she. . . .
KA-THUNK!!!
The sudden jerk at her waist startled Rebecca out of her pout, and quickly twisting about her was horrified to see the great Hangar doors closing up again.
Holy Noodles!!
Not only was she hated, but now she was going to be trapped outside as well!
~~~And those doors are gonna cut your lifeline too noodle-head~~~ another part of her brain put in mildly, and the sudden threat of eternity ion the void spurred Rebecca into action.
Slowly and carefully in an hand-over-hand fashion the EVA suited officer made her way back along the thin Comm cable. She moved carefully lest the Enhancer Rod became dislodged, or the cable itself decided to rip free.
Halfway there she could already tell she wasn’t going to make it She was moving too slow, and the doors were closing too fast. For a moment she considered giving up from despair, but something inside her kept her shaking hands moving along the line.
Long long ago Brhode once told her that the reason he wanted her as XO had nothing to do with her Tactical skills, but rather the fact that in spite of being surrounded by terrifying situations and beset by an assortment of phobias, Rebecca never gave up. He said that she somehow operated in a constant state of fear that would have paralyzed others.
She didn’t know too much about that, but sure enough just as the hangar doors snapped shut again, severing her life-line with a ‘snip’ her magnetic boots touched down at last on the pearl-gray hull of the USS DEFIANT.
She was back, but on the wrong side of the doors.
Briefly she considered trying to re-open the doors, but decided instead that it would be better to use an actual airlock. If Log had re-pressurized the bay, she would just get blown off the hull again as soon as the doors cracked.
Pausing for a moment, Rebecca dredged up the blueprints for a Constitution class starship that she had glanced at before leaving the Galaxy. Not for the first time her memory was gonna save her noodles.
~~Primary Airlock 150 meters forward on the Secondary Hull.~~~ she recalled. ~~~Should be a manual override latch as well.~~~
Sighing and wishing she could scratch her injured chin, Rebecca clomped her boots along the hull, keeping her eyes carefully off the stars around her.
Vertigo was not her friend.
The hatch fortunately was in the expected spot, and a second blessing was the fact that emergency override procedures had not changed much for Starfleet in the last 100 years. A careful review of the instruction plaque , and even the accident-prone Minnesotan farm girl was able to cycle the airlock.
~~~Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou. . . .~~~~ She repeated the mantra as the stars were sealed off behind her, and she once again felt the friendly pull of gravity beneath her boots.
She didn’t know what she was going to do when she saw one of those traitors that wanted her dead, but at least she was safe again.
With a slight hiss, the inner hatch opened revealing the soft colors of Defiant’s passageways. Rebecca stepped forward in relief, but unfortunately her boot caught the lip of the inner hatch , and with a startled yelp she went sprawling forward to the deck.
~~~Of all the clumsy!!!~~~ she berated herself, as she picked herself up off the ground spitting out a mouthful of snow in the process!
~~~ I ought to be. . . .WAIT A MINUTE!!!~~~
She spat out snow!?!
Standing up right, Rebeca gazed out onto the rolling hills of Minnesota, lushly vegetated under a crisp blue sky. Wispy Cirrus clouds were visible far above, and a chill fall’s breeze brushed her long red hair back form her freckled cheeks.
Her Eva helmet was gone. . . .
Her suit was gone. . .
The cut on her chin was healed. . . .
Heck. . .the whole Defiant was gone!!!
HERE THE HECK. . . . .
And then she recognized it.
Turning sharply to the left she saw the impossible.
“I’m back on the farm!” she gasped.
Crom barreled into the Hallway outside of his quarters, expecting the usual havoc and bustle of the ship to assult him, but instead stepped into a vast moment of silence in the bleak empty corridor. He blinked twice and scratched his ear in confusion. Through the haze of a traumatic hangover, he began to stagger down the hallway to the turbolift. His right hand fumbled with the edge of his Beetlesnuff container for a moment before it popped open and took a quick sniff.
He started walking down the corridor towards the nearest turbolift looking for someone...anyone to be there. Alas, he was alone. All alone. God knows where. Crom sure didn't.
Something scuttled across the deckplating. Crom looked down at the carpeted floor in confusion. It definitely sounded like a bug scuttling across something, anyways. Crom stood stark still and listened carefully with his sensitive hearing, trying to find the sound again. Seconds ticked by like hours for Crom as his nerves wound tighter than a Vulcan's butthole.
After a few minutes passed by, Crom could hear nothing. Then it dawned on him. The silence. The absolute silence of everything. There were no vibrations of any type, no sound except for his own ever panicking breath.
A sudden clatter broke the void from behind Crom, near his quarters, and Crom bolted for the other direction without a moment's thought. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. When he heard no noises but his own pounding feet, the Ferengi stopped and dropped to his knees, panting. His gasping echoed through the still corridors seemingly forever.
His nose was assulted by the foul stench of his tunic, which was covered in vomit and soaked in sweat now. Rapidly, he discarded the garment by a bulkhead. He was just down to his sleeping trousers and slippers. He stood to walk on, but halted for a moment as he remembered his Beetlesnuff container hidden in the folds of his tunic, which he retrieved lovingly through the smears of puke. He needed a hit. Now more than ever. He SO needed to relax.
He raised the box to his face and popped the lid open with his thumb. Three Hyperion Beetles leapt from the box, attacking the Ferengi's face, biting at his nose and lips. One claped its small but powerful jaws into the flesh of his thumb, biting to the bone. Crom screamed a pitch high enough to deafen a dog as one beetle bit into his left earlobe. He staggered backwards and began running for the turbolift he had left behind moments before. He smashed his hand and the beetle against a bulkhead with an audible crunchsquish. He dislodged the one in his ear next with a flurry of woman swipes at the side of his own head and shrill shreiking.
The one still on his face perched on the Ferengi's nose, gave Crom the finger, and dove at his eyes. Crom spilled to the ground and began flailing about in pain as he dug at his face with his fingernails. He grabbed the beetle and flung it down the corridor as hard as he possibly could. The turbolift door finally opened and Crom dove head first into the lift, flailing a hand at the controls. The lift began moving up at its usual rate.
He tried to catch his breath as the sweat poured off of him and onto the floor of the lift. Something stung his knee. Another in his thigh. He suddenly felt enough beetle feet to count for about 50 beetles scuttling through his trousers. Screaming loudly, he ripped his pants from his legs and began slamming himself against the walls of the lift in a vain attempt to kill the beetles.
The doors opened and he staggered out of the lift, wearing nothing but slippers, and shrieking. He turned suddenly, and not even caring that he was naked, bolted straight across the bridge in a panic and right into the Captain's ready room. Moment's later, he came bursting back out of the ready room weilding a piece of the Captain's char, fending off a 12 foot Hyperion beetle. He backed away and controlled it like a liontamer swinging a chair like an idiot and backed himself into the turbolift again. Swinging madly, he hit the controls and the door shut and the lift began to move down.
****
"It stopped." Shelley O'Rourke drew up and halted, halfway down the hall to the main turbolift exit, the other three members of the Security team gathering around her. "I didn't hear anyone get off, did you?"
"No." Victor went on and ran a tricorder scan anyway, knowing that his results were likely to be inconclusive at best. "But the lift did open and close and run somewhere. Maybe it was the Commander and his crew going somewhere, or one of the other groups making certain all the lift stops are open and working?"
"If it was the Commander, why didn't he say something?" she frowned.
"Maybe he was busy, O'Rourke?' Victor offered pointedly. "If he needed us, he would have called - he knows we're here. We're done here, and no one got off the lift - let's just go on and check the Recreation Decks like we planned." ~ And before you make us walk all the way back to Security Main to check on what the Commanders want us to do. ~
"Still..." she started, and then stopped as the turbolift rumbled faintly, and the doors opened again. "There it is again!"
"All right, let's try this again," Victor waved So'ka and Hanley back into position and started forward again, taking point and placing O'Rourke in the center of the triangular formation as they moved forward. "Eyes open, people - let's try and keep the Lieutenant from having to fill out any paperwork, all right?"
****
Lt. Marsh led the way through the Sickbay doors to the nearest bed. He laid Ens. Manley's torso down, forcing Cutter to do the same with his legs. Cutter stood there, unsure of what to do as Marsh removed his glove and began searching what was left of Manley's neck for a pulse. He had very little training in medicine, only the most basic material every cadet is forced to learn. He was certainly inexperienced in dealing with any injury on the level of Manley's, all he could do was stare at the gruesome body before him through the faceplate of his helmet, unable to do anything to help.
"Lieutenant, try finding a blood oxygenator or something," Marsh called out, giving up on the neck and moving down to the wrist. Cutter didn't move. Marsh's request barely registered in his mind. There was no way Manley could survive, if he was still alive. Even if he could get past the fact that he didn't have a mouth or throat to breath with, all the lung tissue had surely been burned away by the ozone. Cutter's switched onto a less gory track - how did the ozone canister bust? Had Manley tampered with it? If so, he would have had to have bashed it pretty hard for it to crack and shatter the way it had, drilling shrapnel through Manley's EVA suit into his chest.
Eventually, Marsh gave up, "Never mind, Lt. He's dead," he said, not looking away.
"I ... I ... He ... Ka, he couldn't have been saved, Marsh. Alert Commander Von Ernst and I'll find something to cover the body," Cutter said, finally able to force himself into action. He turned to search the cabinets for a sheet while Marsh tried to hail the commander.
"Lt. Marsh to Commander Von Ernst," the security officer called out, his gruff voice slow and quiet in mourning.
"Lt. Marsh to Commander Von Ernst," he repeated when no response came. "Theta team to Hanger, please respond.... Sir, there's no response."
But, there was a response. A knock suddenly manifested itself, resonating out from the door. It opened, an a suited figure stepped in, "Marsh, Lieutenant? You folks all right?"
****
Moving as quickly as the EVA suit would let him, Victor reached the turbolift - and stopped, frowning. ~ Something's not right - what? ~ He looked around slowly, realization striking him as he saw the pattern of crimson droplets on the floor outside the turbolift. "We've got a problem," he announced to O'Rourke over the private channel.
"What kind of problem?" She started to move up, Hanley and So'ka swiveling to cover the corridor behind them.
"Looks like someone had a casualty - there's blood and other fluids all over the floor in front of the lift." He knelt down, touched a gloved fingertip to one of the small pools, and lifted it to examine the stain left on the glove. "There are bits of tissue in this." ~ I wonder who it was? ~ He stood up, flicking the blood back to the floor. "No need to rush."
O'Rourke frowned. "What do you mean, 'no need to rush'? There's a wounded crewman who needs help! How the hell can you be so damned casual? This is someone's life we're talking about!"
Victor looked back at the floor and the trail of blood and fluids leading around the corner. "No," he said quietly with a single shake of his head. "Not any more."
"How can you possibly know that?"
"O'Rourke," he sighed, "trust me on this: they're dead. There's too much blood and too many other fluids on the deck for them to be alive even if you discounted the bits of tissue mixed in."
"You can't be sure, you're not a doctor!" Her face was turning red again.
"No, I'm not." He turned to look at her calmly. "What I am is a killer, O'Rourke, someone who knows death personally - and if I tell you that whoever left this," he waved at the deck, "here is dead, you can believe me - they're dead."
"You... you..." she stammered in mixed fear and anger, eyes wide. "You're..."
~Great, here we go again. I wonder if this is how things fell apart for the Defiant's crew? No - the odds on their having anyone like me on the crew is almost nonexistent. This issue, at least, is relatively normal - at least for me. ~ "If I agreed, would it help speed things up, O'Rourke?"
Her face grew redder. "Damn you," she hissed. "What are you talking about?"
"Think about something besides how much you dislike me for a moment, O'Rourke: whoever left all this on the deck is dead - but they didn't get here under their own power. Someone brought them - and they're still here, both of them."
"Both? How the hell do you know that?"
"Footprints." Victor knelt back down. "Look here," he continued, calmly, pointing. "Standard EVA boot sole, size ten. See where the left half of it is outlined here in droplets? That means they were carrying the bleeder, because the drops had to fall from above."
"And the 'other' person?" O'Rourke asked reluctantly.
"There," Victor shifted position and pointed a few feet away. "That's a size twelve - too big to be this one. Same patterning issues. They were at the front, the smaller foot at the back."
O'Rourke looked, made an angry sighing sound, and straightened up. "So where are they now?"
"Operating Theatres are that way - they'd get to OR 2 first. Smart money says they went there to try and save the third man's life."
"Then we go there - just in case you're wrong." She made it clear that she didn't want to believe him.
Victor nodded once, stood, and started off down the corridor, the others falling in behind him. ~ At least she's smart enough to see when she's wrong, even if she doesn't want to admit it. ~
The trip to the Operating Theatre took only a minute, the trail never in doubt. Victor paused, ran a scan, and then checked the window to be certain. "Two survivors, one dead on the table," he reported. "Looks like your buddy Marsh and the winged Lieutenant out of Sciences. Can't tell who the third was."
"Marsh?" O'Rourke looked relieved that her friend was alive. "He's all right?"
"As much as anyone here is, anyway," Victor observed, knocking on the door to alert the occupants before hitting the manual release to open it. He stepped around slowly, so as to not alarm the two. "Marsh, Lieutenant," he nodded. "You folks all right?"
****
Three other figures in EVA suits followed behind the first. They were all armed. Not many of the non-security/marine personnel were armed, and none of the group was wearing Marine configured EVA's so it was a fairly safe assumption to assume the four were a group of security officers. Cutter peered at the faces hidden underneath the helmets; he recognized two of them, the first to enter and the third, but he couldn't associate a name with the faces.
Marsh could, though, "Shelley! Fellows, we're fine," he said, relieved at the sight of his friends and colleagues, momentarily forgetting the loss of Ensign Manley.
A woman, Shelley, Cutter assumed, stepped forward to the front of the pack, a smile shining through the transparent faceplate of her helmet. She stepped over to Marsh and hugged him, a bulky hug, hindered by the EVA suits. The good feelings were temporary, however, as the lifeless presence of Ensign Manley seeped back into thought.
"What happened?" she asked, "Who is .... who was that?"
"Ensign Manley, from Medical," Marsh said, turning back to the body on the operating table, "There was an accident."
"A canister of pressurized gas ruptured in the physics labs on Deck 3," Cutter explained, returning with a sheet in his hands, "I'm not certain, but I believe it was ozone. It, uh ...., the amount he must have been exposed to, it, uh ...., it disintegrates organic matter, essentially -- anything with a double carbon bond."
"Did you see it happen?" Victor asked, giving the body a visual scan and making notes about the time of death to accompany the image.
"No. We were trying to ascertain the purpose of an experimental setup in the lab. I wanted to perform some experiments in order to determine the dimensional properties of the universe were in interphase with. Then, Marsh and I heard the explosion and saw the cloud," Cutter said, there was no emotion in his voice. He stated the events of Manley's death as if it was an expected result of a routine experiment. "I'm sorry, my name is Lieutenant Cutter Kara'nin, I don't know your names."
"I'm sorry - I'm Lt. Shelley O'Rourke from Security. That's Ensign Hanley by the door, Ensign So'ka here to the left," she pointed to make the distinction clear," and that's... Lieutenant Krieghoff... with the tricorder there."
"Lieutenant," Victor nodded, looking up. "Was there anyone else traveling with you that might have been cut off by the gas when you sealed the room? We'll need to round them up if so." ~ I thought the standard EVA suit was bad - that extra material for his wings must double the weight of the thing, and overbalance it to boot. Does he use an inertial neutralizer to make it manageable? ~
"No, Marsh, Manley and I were the only three. And, the room isn't sealed. Uh ... there wasn't much time to think, Marsh acted, and I followed. If it is ozone, then it's diffused throughout the deck by now. It shouldn't be harmful through the EVA suits," Cutter said, draping the sheet over the gruesome body. He paused a moment, allowing the humans in the room to honor their cultural moment of silence after burial before continuing, "I'd like to go back. The more we learn about this alternate universe, the more we'll learn about the Defiant and how its changed over the past one hundred years, but I need more than myself. Do any of you have any scientific or technical background?"
Victor glanced at the others. "Sorry, sciences aren't exactly my field. O'Rourke, you've worked with everyone longer than I have."
After an odd glance at Victor, she looked around the room. "T'Lan's really the best person we've got sciences-wise, and she's with Commander Reece's team. So'ka's not bad with computers, and I'm okay with forensics investigation and analysis, but that's about it." Her eyes returned to Victor. "That tricorder modification you came up with during the hunt for the killer was more technical than anything I've ever done," she observed pointedly.
Cutter glanced around at the gathered security officers, deciding who would be best to take. He was hoping that they would decide and volunteer, but O'Rourke implied that he would have to decide based on the work he intended to do. Forensics would not be useful to him, so he decided on the two more technically apt officers, "Then, it seems So'ka and Lieutenant Krieghoff would be of most use to me. Is it all right if recruit them?"
O'Rourke looked back at So'ka, then at Marsh, and only then at Victor before nodding slowly. "I guess that would be all right," she consented - perhaps a trifle eagerly to Cutter's ears.
"Take Marsh with you then," Victor advised. "That'll keep you a three-man team - we don't want to split up any smaller than that if we can help it."
Bristling, O'Rourke looked for a moment like she was going to protest the suggestion before suddenly nodding after another glance towards Marsh. "All right... that was a good idea," she managed o say without sounding insincerely relieved.
"Now that that's settled, have you four been having trouble contacting anyone, too? I tried getting a hold of Commander Von Ernst several times just now, and there was no response," Marsh asked.
"Outside of Commander Reece, no, no one at any distance - and that contact was almost impossible to understand," Victor volunteered. "Communications seem to be restricted to very short range - maybe twenty meters tops, less if there are intervening bulkheads. As long as you maintain line-of-sight, you're okay, but after that it's a crapshoot."
"Then why don't we make our way down to the Hangar Deck and make contact with Commander Von Ernst?" Marsh suggested, looking towards O'Rourke.
She nodded. "That's a good idea. We need to update her on what's happened and pass on the information we've gathered, and if the Lieutenant going back up to the Physics Lab, we can do that." She glanced at Cutter. "Does that sound good to you, sir?"
Cutter shrugged, the motion almost unnoticeable in the EVA suit. He was staring around the room, detached from the conversation now that the topic immediately concerning him and his job was settled.
"Before we get split up," Victor interjected, "there are some bodies I'd like the Lieutenant to look at."
"Bodies?" Marsh asked, frowning a glance back at Manley. "Ours or theirs?"
"Theirs - I think," Victor assured him. "Most are about what you'd expect, but there are a handful that are... odd. I'd like someone to tell me how they got into the condition they're in if possible - in case we run into who or whatever did it to them."
Marsh looked at O'Rourke, who nodded once. "Ahhh... okay." He turned to Cutter. "Is that okay with you, sir?"
Again, the Fruna'lin shrugged. "I can look at them, but I don't know how much I'll be able to tell you. I'm a physicist, not a medical examiner," he said, stepping forward slightly and then pausing, waiting for someone to show him where.
~ A physicist might be what we need. ~ "They're this way, sir," Victor motioned, leading the way to the Obstetrics Ward/Morgue as O'Rourke filled Cutter and Marsh in on what they'd found in the CMO's logs about the discovery of the theragen treatment, the subsequent recovery, the few initial casualties - and the sudden lapse in log entries. She had just finished pointing out that the Captain and the XO were among the first inoculated and the inconsistency of that information and Kirk's discovery of their corpses at each other's throats when they arrived.
"Just so you'll know, some of them aren't pretty," Victor warned at the door before opening it and making a visual check before stepping inside. ~ At least the shadows aren't moving around right now. ~
****
Cutter followed Victor inside and gazed at the bodies before him. The three closest were skeletons, with only bits of tissue still clinging to the bones. Sheets partially covered their bodies, sheets like the one that now covered Ensign Manley; they had decomposed, as well, into yellowed, tattered strips. There were nine other bodies in the room, each of their sheets had been removed, probably by Victor during his first investigation. The nine only experienced minor decomposition, some paling and deformation of the skin and underlying tissue, but very little else.
Victor walked over to the fourth body away from the door, and Cutter quickly followed. He turned back and noticed that none of the other four security officers had entered with them. They were all standing on the other side of the open frame, trying desperately not to look inside. Cutter turned back to face Victor and suddenly had to urge to flee, to fly away, except his wings were tightly and uncomfortably bound behind him. His head shook slightly, dislodging the thought and assuaging his unexpected fear by the fact that he was surrounded by five security officers, even if four of them were afraid to enter the room.
"This was the one that actually gave me the idea of having you look at them," Victor observed dispassionately. "I was guessing either a plasma burn or acid of some kind, but there were enough similarities to the ozone damage to Ensign Manley that I wondered if it might have been something like that."
Cutter flinched when he glanced at the body. It looked like Manley, except with more charring. Most of the skin and superficial tissue had melted away, leaving the remaining flesh drowned in blood and puss. Most of the fluid had dried up, but some still existed, frozen but still gooey, like thick molasses, indicating cells in the body were still trying to repair the damage after the body had died and been stored away.
"I ... ka, no I don't think so. There is more actual burning, blackening. Whatever hit him was hot. I, uh," Cutter said, lifting his arms in a shrug, "I suppose it could have been high temperature ozone gas, but that's not likely. You were probably right with the plasma."
"Worth a try anyway," Victor nodded. "The next one's not really a physics issue - looks like some kind of animal attacked him." He moved down to the Tellarite male. "I've never seen bite marks like these though - and I thought I was familiar with most of the predatory species in the Federation and surrounding territories. It's also the only duplicated injury," he indicated the second corpse with the same types of injuries. "That's obviously significant, but I don't know why - yet."
Pyramid shaped holes covered the body, but they didn't look like bite marks to Cutter. That would be a very unique mouth. But, the wounds weren't so clean, and upon closer inspection, Cutter could see grooves along the edges of the wound, which could be argued to be teeth marks. And, they certainly could be, what did Cutter know? "I think it looks like someone took a flat triangular blade and stabbed three times to cut a pyramid shaped wedge. It would have to be a sharp blade, though, and the lines may have to be smoother to conform to that theory, I don't know. There are a lot of false starts on the body, cuts and such, some straight and some forming angles. If it was a knife, then why are there so many mess ups? And, I've never seen a weapon or tool that could be used to do this, so I suppose that idea is incorrect. They don't strike me as bite marks, though."
"That was the longest shot," Victor admitted, checking over his shoulder. Marsh and O'Rourke were standing in the doorway, O'Rourke's eyes wide in horror as she looked in at the bodies and an uncomfortable, pre-nausea look occupying Marsh's face. ~ You should have stayed in the hall, O'Rourke. ~ "This girl here was one of the ones I really hoped you could help me with - I thought maybe a force field activating could have done something like this?"
Cutter kneeled down staring at the carved female, both curious and disgusted. This is why he was a physicist, a very clean science. The flesh didn't look cauterized, it looked as if it had just been cut and the blood didn't have the time to react and flow out of the body. He had never experienced Victor's suggestion that that she was dissected by an energizing force field, but it seemed to him that there would be some bleeding. Federation force fields were not lethal, and there were safeguards against them forming from within someone. "I don't know. I don't have a better guess. Are you sure this injury is consistent with, uh... your theory?"
Victor shook his head. "No, but it was the best I could come up with. As near as I could tell, the wound was a clean cut down to almost the molecular level, and a force field was all I could think of that would do that." He nodded towards the Andorian and moved to stand next to him. "This guy, on the other hand, I've got *nothing* on, not even a guess." He reached out and duplicated his earlier gesture, causing the Andorian to separate on the axes of the two cuts.
In the doorway, O'Rourke made a choking sound, and Marsh grunted, but Victor refused to turn around. ~ You mad e the call, you need to live with it. ~
The Andorian wasn't as disturbing as the others. The injury, if one could call it an injury, caused the body to look fake, like someone manufactured a hollow, plastic Andorian statue. "Ka! Ka, what could have done this? The body would have had to have been frozen before ... before it was cleaned out. Or, transported out? That would take some special reconfiguring and reprogramming of the transporter, though. This looks very precise, like an artist on his masterpiece."
"I'm no expert on art, but I think I'd recall something like a 'hollow Andorian' art movement," Victor observed. "And look here," he pointed, "the ice crystals are all whole along the interior surface; there aren't any that are broken. If this was done *after* he died, you'd expect to see that." He shrugged and blinked once, looking up at Cutter. "I think that this happened to him while he was alive, and *then* he was frozen."
Victor's blue eyes shined, they looked misplaced in his dark complexion with his black hair. Something about them prevented Cutter from looking directly at them, and so he diverted his gaze to the man's nose instead, "I'm sorry I couldn't provide you with any new information."
"The transporter idea's better than anything I had. Maybe we can check transporter logs as we go, and see it that's what happened," Victor suggested, making a few notes on his tricorder. "Thanks for the effort, Lieutenant. Knowing what *didn't* do this is a step on the way to knowing what *did,*" he added as the two stepped back out into the hall and the door closed behind them.
Glancing at O'Rourke, who was leaning against the wall, her visor closed to get some clean air, he asked over the private channel, "You going to be okay, O'Rourke?"
Rather than her usual biting commentary, she just nodded.
~ She *must* be feeling bad. ~ "We're going to head back up to Deck Three with the Lieutenant then." He brought up his tricorder and beamed the updated material to hers, and the others in the group simultaneously. "We've all got a copy of the data from both teams now, that'll maximize the chances someone gets out with it." He turned, nodded to Marsh and Hanley, and started out after Cutter and So'ka. "We'll catch up with you at the Hangar Control Deck." ~ Assuming that one or the other of us doesn't get sectioned, hollowed out, eaten, or some other kind of dead before then.... ~
**************
A shadow flitted in the lit security office. It was a void creature, with no substance, but an overwhelming presence that couldn’t be denied its due attention. The creature was pure shadow, a body build with dark nothingness. The shade of darkness was like octopus ink suspended in water, a form that billowed and moved, with cloudy limbs and a snakelike torso. The head was spiked and translucent, but the glowing eyes were hard to ignore. The creature’s movements were swift and deft, hard to track and even harder to explain. It moved with such a quickness and stealth that it was impossible to imagine any living creature moving in such a fashion. It was as if it didn’t walk, but slid from shadow to shadow.
T’lan couldn’t ignore those golden eye that penetrated her soul and broke down her Vulcan discipline. It was as if she knew the stare, knew of the futility of fighting the fright, and knew how useless it was to maintain her cool Vulcan emotional distance. She was staring at something more powerful than the Vulcan mind, or more importantly, her Vulcan mind.
The creature knew, just knew, how weak T’lan was.
“My child… why are you so frightened?” The voice of the shadow cooed. Its arms outstretched, a spindly, fingerlike projection from the greater whole of his shadowy body. Its cold finger brushed over T’lan’s blushing cheek. Her face recoiled and snapped away from the touch.
It was cold. Surprisingly cold. And wet. Her cheek was wet! The creature’s foul ichor! T’lan emotional outburst, foreign yet familiar, was filled with disgust. Her hand raked at her cheek wildly, feeling the wet stain but barely managing to fend it off. When she thought she wiped off the spidery like fluid trail, she came to the realization that the creature couldn’t have done this to her. It defied logic! There was no way… until she felt around her face again.
The wetness was not the creature’s essence, but that of her own tears.
“Unraveled by tears, aren’t you?” The shadowy creature mocked, its voice growing deeper and more resonant.
T’lan, stooped over in disgrace and shock, wiped frantically at the tears, but realized that to stop them was impossible. Whatever it was breached her emotional control. “What are you?” She stuttered like a beaten victim.
“You know me, T’lan.” Wheedled the voice, grating like nails on glass, “You know what I am. You know what I bring.”
T’lan quivered like a frightened child under the gaze of a strict disciplinarian, “You… are supposed to be gone.”
”I can never die, my child.” The voice whispered to her ear. She felt the shadowy body pressing closer, its hot breath whisking over her pointed ears. Her heart fell to the bottom of her bowels as it spoke, “Lord Vlad was a release, my child. Then you though it was deviant, so you suppressed it. However, here, in this place, the strongest, most stubborn mind crumbles.”
“Who are you?” T’lan faced the creature, so up close that she could feel it’s body trying to press against hers, “What are you?”
“Shhhhhhh….” The shadow creature gingerly stroked her hair, combing his weedy fingers through her scalp. The sensation was deliciously cool, her short, boyish hair waving through the chilly fingers. She felt heated, then cooled as the creature forced itself closer. It presence, once frightening, filled her with delight. A taste of delight she once felt, and could not understand. “Shhhh… my child. I will tell you who I am soon enough.”
T’lan recognized the feeling. The heat in her body was gathering, until she felt like she was plunged in the center of a volcano. The heat was a warning, a signal that she remembered long ago. The discipline she had left finally left her, and she struggled to leave the creatures arms. But the shadowy arms and its cool, fluidic body was holding her firm. She had to leave. Like a trapped animal, she struggled with all her strength, knowing that to stay was inviting something even worse.
But no matter how much she fought the creature’s restraints, it couldn’t let her go. The creatures hand ran completely through her hair. Tears welled up in her eyes as she felt the unbearable heat overwhelm her mind. She encountered it before. This creature, like the creature she met two years ago, was tapping into her mind and controlling her impulses.
The creature fingers settled on her temples like sticks of straw, and then her mind exploded with an overload of emotion and pain. And then… she was let go, her body feeling like it was burning up as it left the creature’s cool aura.
Her mind sorted out one statement from the creature, as ecstasy and pain was brought dangerously close to the edge, but never satisfied enough to dissipate. It rasped, like a wraith….
“I am… violation.” It whispered.
T’lan longed to be near its coolness, and crawled like a beggar in the desert searching for water. But the creature slinked back. She asked as the heat and pain became almost unbearable, “Why?”
“Because you could not resist me anymore.” The creature disappeared into shadow, “Because violation feeds off suffering, not death. Otherwise, you would be dead with the rest. I strike you when you are at your weakest, and I strike you in the way that violates you the most. How do you like it? Being violated with the blood fever? Remember how it felt before, being forced on you by an invading mind? Does it feel like rape to you?!!?”
T’lan said nothing, her quivering lips shuttering gasps of short breathed pain. The sweat beaded off her brow. She crawled, but couldn’t find the coolness around.
“A rapist doesn’t care about the victim, T’lan. I am violation, the ultimate rape, and you will have become my victim… like so long ago…”
The shadows completely disappeared, voice and all, leaving T’lan to writhe in agony on the floor. Her tears flowed freely, like hot lava coursing down her cheek. The pain and heat was enough to keep her crippled in fear. She didn’t want it. She didn’t ask for it. And it was most definitely not her time. Yet nonetheless, like a rape, it was forced on. And the violation, and the vulnerability and hurt that came with it, was all she thought about.
T’lan, alone and groaning in pain, tried to yell for help, but came out in moans.
**************
“JESUS CHRIST! MOVE IT!” James panicked his distress. Running full force, a rifle in his arm and broken battle armor shifting and prodding his chest, he ran away from what was in Brin Taro’s eyes an unseen force.
Nevertheless, to James the threat was all too real.
Towering over him like a dark, hooded avenging angel, the once figment of Corgan’s twisted imagination was now stalking him and Ensign Taro all over the halls of the USS Defiant. Conscience, identifying itself as an avatar of death and change, wasted no time in dispatching an entire team of elite Starfleet Marines in the task of convincing James to allow the more confident, less empathetic alter ego to take over. An offer James couldn’t refuse was refused, and for that Death was willing to go the distance, even mass slaughter, to get what he wanted.
~”Get back here James…”~ Death, the towering figure of black robes, black wings, and a dreaded scythe glistening with the blood of the freshly slain, spoke as sweet as sugar, ~”I promised you the world, James. Everything your heart desired. Isn’t it worth signing a deal with the devil to get what has been due to you all along?”~
“BRIN! DUCK!” James screamed.
The Andorian Ensign heeded James’ advice, and ducked down in time for Death to swoop his scythe down in a screaming horizontal arc. The scythe narrowly missed the Andorian officer’s head, and as if struck by superhuman strength, the nearby wall shredded from the impact of the slashing blow. The screech of metal walls meeting metal blade was deafening. Brin witnessed the wall parting out a jagged cut, and could not deny that something was after them.
“SIR! We’re almost there!” Brin pointed, his breath panting as exhaustion was taking over.
James looked back to see where the Death avatar was, but found that his dark alter ego’s weapon of destruction was stuck in the walls. It grumbled and cursed like a spacedock worker, his foot planted on the wall and his arms trying to wretch the scythe free.
~”You have to accept my offer! Everything dear to you will die unless you accept!!!!!!”~ Death shrieked his protests, his arms still twisting the blade loose from the wall.
“Now’s our chance! Let’s go!” James ordered, throwing Brin into the security office, then giving Death one last glance as he was twisting the blade half way out of the wall. He then ducked in after seeing Death’s cold, serious eyes. Corgan could think of nothing more than survival. His conscience couldn’t be killed. James witnessed it himself. Phaser fire could not hurt him. He was the only one that could see Death. In addition, Death could kill anyone on a whim.
As Corgan went into the ramshackle security office, he barked, “Barricade! Push the barricade back! T’lan! Reece! We need your help! Quick!”
His fist hammered the automatic door latch, and the two doors slid and ground slowly into action. As it closed, James and Brin pushed the old barricade, consisting of security office furniture and sturdy crates, back into position. Another secured the improvised barrier, and by then, the doors were a fraction away from being closed. It was then the scythe’s handle, and a peep of Death’s hooded head could be seen at the door. The scythe twisted and turned, trying to pry the door open, but then it was forced out, the doors closed and Death couldn’t be seen.
James and Brin heard a whistling, then a powerful hammerblow of the scythe striking the door. A small dent appeared in the door, the size of the point in the blade. Another whistling blow, and another, larger dent appeared, as well as the sound of a great strike. The whistling noise came a third time, and after a loud crash, a third, smaller dent poked out of the door.
However, there was nothing else. Silence overtook the room and the outside hallway. It was broken up by a sliding screech of metal on metal. Death was dragging his blade across the door and on the walls beside the office, outside in the halls.
“I have to hand it to you, Commander.” Death mocked jokingly, “You sure handled yourself well. Running away, allowing a gaggle of jarheads to have their asses handed to them on a silver platter. Nearly getting your Ensign killed… you’re having quite a day. No wonder Brhode doesn’t trust you with anything deadlier than a butter knife!”
“I said no! Take a hint, f**knut! T’LAN! REECE! Where are you?!?!” James yelled.
“Fine!” Death stopped dragging his scythe over the wall. His footprints stalked off in the distance, but his voice still boomed like thunder, “Do what you want. Dammit… whatever that accursed place is, you’re safe in it. But sometime, you’ll have to get out. Food, medical attention… a rescue… you’ll need to escape from here, and when you get out, I’ll be waiting to kill you and your friend… unless you accept my offer. And just to convince you that I’m serious, I’ll..… awww shoot. Don’t wanna ruin the surprise.”
“What is it? HUH? What is it? What’s your big f**king surprise?” James demanded, much to Brin Taro’s surprise.
“Oh… you mean you forgot about your friends?” James’ eyes widened in fear as Death’s footsteps and his voice grew lighter and quieter, “Bye bye James. Accept my offer, because you know you cannot stay in here forever. We made sure of that.”
“Who’s we… what have you done? What the f**k are you talking about!?!?!” James screamed in vain, but heard Death disappear. His mind popped up an alarming revelation. ~”T’lan… Reece… OH MY GOD!”~
“Brin! Find T’lan! She’s in the offices! I’ll check on Reece! GO! MOVE!” He urged his comrade to run. Brin sprinted out of the main security room as James made a divergent path towards the Brig.
The doors parted easily from James, and he was sent back into a pitch black room, where nothing could be seen except for a shaft of light shining from the door. The small light illuminated one corridor, and there stood Electra Reece.
Her face was as placid as snow, her eyes as vacant as ice blocks. She stood in solitary silence, not moving, barely breathing, and just standing paralyzed in the middle of the Brig. She made no sound or movement but that of her breathing.
“Lex…” James spoke, his voice echoing in the brig, “Lex… hello?” He tried to get her attention, but found Lexa to be frozen like an ice statue. Then, Lexa’s eyelids moved. She blinked once, and then shivered. Her arms were holding a log, the Brig’s manifest, but in her hands it appeared to be parchment. Like a porcelain doll. Lexa moved one step, then another, a stiff, macabre dance of a puppet on a string.
“James…” She rasped as she stepped into the light. The parchment in her hands was a simple PADD, similar the one James carried on his hip belt. For a second, as he looked down at the security log, he thought he saw an ancient tome bound in iron. A second look, and he saw a twenty third century PADD.
“Lex…” James whispered, “You’re ok. I’m here.”
“James…” She dropped the PADD in a clatter and fell into his arms, weeping softly, “James… you came… for me. Get me… out… of here. I don’t want to go back… please… I don’t want to go back.”
“Shhhhhhh…” Corgan reassured, her warmth uncomfortably close to his body, “It’s ok. You’re safe with me. We’ll get off this ship somehow.”
“I don’t want to go back… it was so lonely there… in the darkness.”
“SIR! Come quick!” Brin hollered from the office, as James started to understand what was going on. Death, the darkness, and everyone else’s nightmares. Interspace, playing on fears, feeding off desires, finding the best way to drive a person to madness. There was no spacial phenomenon playing a single role, but a supporting role in a plan that took more than dumb spacial magic. The madness, and everything else, had a taste of sentience.
But Brin called a second time. James could not ignore it. “Come on, Lex. We have to go now.”
“Away from the darkness?” Commander Reece hopelessly sobbed.
“Yes, Lex. Away from the darkness.”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
“You don’t have to be alone, Lex. You’re never alone. Don’t let them tell you any different.”
“SIR!” T’lan’s voice screamed, a maddening howl that was spiked with jolts of pain.
James and Lexa exited the brig, and found Brin Taro and T’lan walking together, the Andorian officer supporting his Vulcan teammate on his shoulder. T’lan, the usually cool and bright officer in the group, was bathed in sweat. Her battle armor was taken off, and even her overshirt was open, her gray undershirt stained in sweat from her neck down to her abdomen. Her face was a bright, shining red, like a lethal fever.
“Jesus…” James backed away in shock, “I’ve seen this done to her before.”
”Sir…” T’lan managed to mutter, “Sir… it’s the blood… fever. Like Lord Vlad… violated my mind… forced the Pon’farr on me…”
And it was there that James realized how deep the madness had become, how it sniffed out fears and weaknesses, and bent people to their wills until they broke. James was staring at something more, and he couldn’t understand exactly what.
But one thing was for sure. There had to be an escape.
Land of 10,000 Lakes. . . . . .
Jewel of the North and home of the famed Twin Cities of St. Paul and Minneapolis. Minnesota was many things, not the least of which was the childhood home of one of Starfleet’s most unlikely prodigy. Rebecca von Ernst, a shy, freckle-faced farm girl from rural Minnesota had risen from the frozen fields of her youth to take on a convoluted destiny in one of the fastest series of promotions in Starfleet History.
Two years ago a stuttering, panicky, girl afraid of her own shadow stepped aboard the USS Galaxy as a lowly Ensign. Two years later she was second in Command of that very same vessel having garnered along the way a mis-matched reputation as a cold-hearted.
Two minutes ago she stepped through a what she thought was a simple airlock aboard the derelict USS Defiant and suddenly found herself back where it all began.
“Minnesota!” she gasped in spite of herself.
And so it was.
The cool crisp bite of a clear winter’s day was too real to be illusion, and the muddied tire tracks in the very familiar front driveway were too precise to have been a trick. Even the old rubber-tire swing hanging from a tree in the side yard was as perfect as she remembered.
She should be looking at bare corridors on the Defiant. . . . but she wasn’t.
Against all logic. She was home again. . . .on the farm where she spent most of her life.
And yet. . . .it wasn’t.
“Oh dear Lord what happened. . . . .” The shock whispered out of her thin lips as she looked closer at what was home.
The cozy old wooden farmhouse was still there, but somehow more run-down and dilapidated. Random patched of wild brush grew here and there from what should have been a well-manicured front walkway, and a rotting old window shudder hung lazily on a rusty iron hinge.
The glass window-panes were shattered in many places, and old yellowing curtain fabric hung out of the openings in long frayed tatters.
The place was a wreck, and suddenly the chill that entered Rebecca’s bones had nothing to do with the cold of the air.
“Momma!! Momma!!” she cried breaking into a sprint, her long skinny legs carrying her quickly down the snow-covered path, and up towards the old wooden porch.
The movement caused the wind to bite deep into her skin, and in the back of her mind Rebecca noted for the first time that she was no longer wearing her Starfleet issue EVA suit, but instead was clad in a simple pair of thin cotton shorts and a gray short-sleeved T-shirt. Her oddly enough were bare, the frost covered ground stinging her toes slightly.
The sky above her was a strange color as well. . . .the deep blue replaced by a strange glowing haze. What the noodles was going on!!??!!
Goosebumps prickled her white skin as she bounded up onto the porch, the rotting wooden boards protesting even under her negligible weight.
“Momma are you okay!??!” she gasped, the warmth of her breath misting the air around her. What had happened to this place?
The cold brass of the doorknob stung her hand as she twisted it, the metal squealing in protest.
When the old wooden door refused to budge she threw a tiny shoulder into it, causing several splinters to stab through the t-shirt’s thin material.
Acting with desperation rather than actual strength, Rebecca finally shoved the door open with a crash, her momentum sending her stumbling into what had once been the living room.
No longer.
A thick layer of dust and grime covered every surface, and what had once been a handsome set of old cloth-covered couches and chairs were now a tattered nest of tattered fabric and yellowed stuffing.
The polished hardwood floors were now dull and scratched, and the family heirloom dinner plates that had lined the mantelpiece were either shattered or missing.
The old-style two-dimensional photograph of a 14 year old Rebecca that had adorned the south wall was barely visible, but with a horrid red stain obscuring the freckled teen age face.
“. . . .Momma. . .?” Rebecca’s tone was more mournful that desperate now. None of this made sense.
She wasn’t in Minnesota. She was 1,000 light-years away on the Defiant. This couldn’t be her home. She had visited her mother only two months ago, and whatever happened here looked like it had happened years ago.
~~~What the noodles. . . .~~~
The sudden unexpected sound of a footstep on the creaking boards behind her caused her to yelp, her heart jumping into her throat.
Whirling about in shock she was amazed to see the figures of two Starfleet officers standing behind her with phasers drawn. The faces were unfriendly, and now that she thought about it, the uniforms were not quite familiar either. It was Starfleet, but. . . .then again it wasn’t.
“There she is,” said one officer to the other, “Just like the Admiral said she would be.”
The other nodded with narrowed eyes, “Like you ever doubted anything the Admiral said?”
“Who. . . .?” began Rebecca taking a step forward only to be halted by the raised Phasers.
“Take it easy Miss. . .” warned the first man, “ We can do this the easy way. . . . .”
“WHERE IS MY MOMMA!!!!!” Rebecca shrieked, baring her fangs.
The blue stun bolt slammed her into floor with surprising violence, her arms and limbs splaying wildly.
“. . . . .or we can do it the REAL easy way.” The man sighed, holstering his smoking weapon. “The Admiral isn’t going to be happy about this.”
“Take it easy Foley.” The other man said, stooping over Rebecca’s tiny unconscious form. For a moment he considered the long pale thighs openly exposed by the inadequate shorts. “It’ll be more fun to carry her this way. She may not have tits, but I always thought she had great legs.”
“Hands off the merchandise.” Foley snapped. “You know how the Admiral feels about that kinda stuff. . . . . .”
Muttering to himself, the second man tapped his comm-badge and hailed their ship. “Unit Two to PROMETHEUS. . . . . we have her. . . .beam us aboard.
Head pounding and eyes still refusing to focus correctly, Rebecca swam back into consciousness. At first she thought the ground beneath her was heaving but soon she realized it was just her brain that was still addled.
“She’s coming around now Admiral. . . .” a voice said in the distance, “ Want me to give her another stim shot?”
“Belay that Doctor.” A strangely familiar voice replied. “Our little lost lady here never handled phaser stuns very well. Just prop her in the chair there and she’ll be fine.”
Dimly Rebecca could make out the sounds of shipboard operations, and could feel firm hands helping her into a chair.
“Re-supply complete Admiral. . . .cource setting?”
“Maintain orbit.” The soft voice said again (where had she heard it before?) Maintain sensor scans, that stinking Aussie wont give up this easily. .”
Forcing her eyes to focus, Rebecca turned her head towards the sound of the voice. The image congealed into a modern Starship bridge that also looked familiar somehow.
The figure in the center seat however was what caused her to really doubt her sanity.
“No,” she whispered, “. . . . . . .its impossible. . . .it cant be. . . . .”
“. . . Me.” The Admiral smiled, “Yes my dear Rebecca I assure you it most certainly is!”
=/\=
*Backpost, before away mission*
After her conversation with Bhrode, Karyn thought it best to stop for a drink and a quick bite in Ten-Forward before returning to work. She had learned it was best to always face the perpetually ranting captain on a full stomach to ensure she wouldn't say something foolish out of hunger and general impatience.
If she hated it here, she wouldn't have cared about offending JQB's sensibilities (if indeed he had any) or in ruining her own career in the process, but to her chagrin, she found herself happier here than she ever thought she would be. Granted, this ship and captain were nothing like her predecessor, and things were a great deal more infuriating on the 'A' than she ever remembered on the old ship, but at the one on one level, not much had changed. Souls still needed healing and children still needed to learn, and as long as that was true, Karyn believed at her core there was nothing Bhrode or anyone else could do or say that would make her stop doing what she loved.
In her own mind, that was all well and good most days, but even the best intentions fell on deaf ears when something as simple as going to work was challenged every day. She sighed and took a sip of her raktajino. Why couldn't he order a damn ramp? What was so difficult about getting one built? Why was she so unwilling to work around it?
The last question hit her like a slap in the face. At the Academy she had been so determined to succeed at any cost, that ramp or no ramp, she made things happen for herself. Had she lost that spirit? Catching a lone figure out of the corner of her eye, Karyn stopped mid-sip. There sat Ensign Ella Grey quietly observing the comings and goings in the lounge.
*Now there's an independent spirit.* thought Karyn. As a counselor, she couldn't help but want to get at the root of why she chose not to speak. She knew Ella's history and was aware she was fully capable of speech, but had not done so after what was presumed to be a kidnapping several years earlier. In her uncharacteristically intra-personal musings, however, her interest in the young woman wasn't soley academic. Ella Grey had made a choice in her life, and had developed ways to work with that choice. While Karyn would never endorse such an action as long as she believed it was motivated by psychological trauma, she had to admire the Ensign's courage. Why couldn't Karyn adapt to her environment like Ensign Grey? Why couldn't she make a choice to deal with her predicament as she had done at the Academy?
*Because not talking because you don't want to is one thing, and not talking because you're in pain is quite another. Get off your ass and meet the woman.* commanded the intellectual part of her. Throwing away her lunch and downing her drink, Karyn decided with a sigh that whatever her personal opinion, the counselor in her was going to get the best of her until she dealt with it.
She wasn't going to force psychobabble down Grey's throat, but just see where the conversation went. A part of her was fully prepared to be evaded as was always the case with crew-counselor relationships. Making her way to Grey's table, she cleared her throat. "Hello, may I join you?"
Ella looked up, forced a pleasent smile, and nodded. She had seen the counselor earlier but had hoped that she wouldn't be spotted.
The trouble with being a walking, non-talking, mystery was that eventually most people, or most in the counseling department anyway, tried to solve you. It seemed she had spent all her life dodging these would-be saviours of her psyche, soul, and vocal cords. Most of them meant well while a scarce few, Mavis came to mind, were personally offended by her loss of speech. But Karyn Dallas did not seem like one of these types of therapists.
Too bad, Ella thought. They were more fun to play with.
Ella typed a quick note on her computer PADD and passed it over to the counselor. *HELLO. HOW ARE YOU THIS AFTERNOON?*
Karyn smiled. "I'm doing well, thank you, Ella. How are you?"
*GOOD, THANK YOU*
"How do you like the Galaxy thus far? Is your roomate trying your patience?" Indigo was one of the Galaxy's more colorful officers.
Ella gave a genuine smile *WE'RE ACTUALLY GETTING ALONG PRETTY WELL, EVEN WITH OUR DIFFERENCES. INDIGO IS QUITE THE FREE SPIRIT.*
Karyn smiled. "Something I'm sure we can all appreciate on some level."
*SO, I'M CURIOUS TO HEAR YOUR PITCH, COUNSELOR DALLAS*
Karyn blinked when she saw the message on the padd. "I'm sorry, I don't follow you? My pitch?"
Ella grinned, typed her message, and then passed it back to Karyn. *I WANT TO HEAR YOUR PROPOSAL FOR WHATEVER COUNSELLING YOU THINK I MIGHT NEED*
Karyn flushed, somewhat embarrassed and amazed at the young woman's directness, though she supposed she had it coming. She couldn't deny she had a healthy concern and curiosity with regard to the woman's psyche, but upon reflection, she realized how clinical that sounded. Karyn knew better. "I'm sorry, Ella, I don't mean to make you feel like a lab rat, but I can't deny my feelings. The decision is totally up to you, but you asked for a pitch, so here it goes."
Dallas took a deep breath, composing herself and taking a moment to meet Ella's gaze. "I think your choice not to speak isn't a choice at all. I think you're afraid to speak because if you do, you won't be able to stop yourself from dealing with whatever or whoever took you away from your life so many years ago. I think those people really made the choice for you, but it's easier for you to think otherwise. I think if you let someone in, they just might help you take back your life and really start to make your own choices. I think I could be that person. What have you got to lose? Your voice?" She knew Ella would see the sincerity of her words.
Ella blanched at her words. Those people. How the hell could Karyn Dallas know there had been more than one? At least she had enough anger in her to shield most of the shock she felt. *YOUR FIRST MISTAKE IS ASSUMING THAT ANYONE HOLDS THAT KIND OF POWER OVER ME, COUNSELOR.*
"They don't?" replied Karyn, in a tone that was neither condescending nor convinced.
*I CHOOSE NOT TO SPEAK JUST AS I CHOOSE TO END THIS CONVERSATION*
Karyn knew not to be surprised at her reaction, and while she probably could have softened the approach for this first meeting, an opportunity had presented itself that she could not ignore. Karyn tried never to let an opportunity pass her by, and in this case, she wasn't going to pretend she wasn't interested in and concerned for Ella all in one. What counselor wouldn't at least wonder?
Ella spun back around, jabbed a short note on her PADD, tossed it to Karyn. * "THOSE PEOPLE", AS YOU CALL THEM, CAN'T HURT ME ANYMORE*
"They already have." was her even reply as her eyes met Grey's, "More than you'd care to admit."
Ella shook her head, not believing she had 'said' so much, turned on her heel and left. She fumed as she walked down the corridor, not caring who saw her. Her hands clenched tightly. Damn you, Dallas, she thought darkly. It doesn't matter if they did. The point is they never will again.
She'd seen to that.
Hadn't she?
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