USS
Galaxy:The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 50212.08 - 50212.15 |
Ella paused and tilted her head in the direction of the sound.
She didn't like stopping in the dark corridor but found it easier to listen when she wasn't hearing her own footsteps. She frowned slightly as she tried to focus her hearing, attempting to pin-point the source of the strange sound. So far, Ella hadn't been able to distinguish it, other than it was low, high pitched, and becomming clearer as she moved further away from Engineering and into the dark. Once again, she checked the flashlight attached to her arm to make sure it hadn't gone out.
The noise had begun shortly after she had left Engineering in search of Mike. The other two engineers had tried to hail him but without success. Likewise, when they had tried to alert the other members of the away team the only response had been static. In the end, Ella had decided to look for him herself while the other two finished the job.
Probably not the smartest choice on my part, Ella thought as she began walking again. But Mike was her responsibility and so she had gone to track him down, swearing to rip him a new one, although wondering how she would be able to do that via a computer PADD, if she found him doing anything other than being in severe distress. She was worried about her engineer but, more importantly, she really didn't like this hall. There weren't just pockets but great pools of shadows all around her and the strange, yet somehow familiar, sound seemed to ooze out of them. She flashed her light in and around them, knowing that nothing was hiding in them except her own paranoia but needing to check just in case. A cliché chill kept running up and down her spine, her mind associating this darkened hall with several other places and things she wanted to forget about.
Ella snorted in the dark. That was Dallas, and every other counselor she had ever known, talking. Why she had even been tempted to listen to that woman was beyond her. Therapists, she scoffed internally. Always thought they knew everything. It wasn't that she wanted to forget, it was more like she didn't need to remember. She didn't need to remember that when she was a child she had had terrible stage fright before every single performance. What good did that do her now? She didn't need to remember that she used to be terrified of the dark. And that was scared of the dark in the literal sense and not in some kind of stupid psychological metaphor. That especially didn't help her much now.
Just like she didn't need to remember about the men who had grabbed her or the pain of that first strike across her face or even her parents response to the whole mess when she had woken up in the hospital days later.
It was that damned noise, Ella decided angrily, her temper and stride picking up. That was the reason she was being so stupid. Nothing was going to come out of the shadows and grab her again. There were no monsters here, she told herself sternly. There was no one, in fact, just an old ship that was quickly losing it's appeal. And, as she had told herself many many times already, no one could hurt her anymore. She was just overly tired and the singing was playing upon her emotions.
Ella stopped in mid stride.
Singing?
She listened again and, sure enough, the muted sounds were coming together to form notes. The notes were becoming words she could almost hear. It IS someone singing, Ella thought astounded. But it was absurd. Who would be singing on the Defiant? No one she could think of except that little Widdlestein girl whose eyes had glowered at the late Commander Von Ernst every time she had seen her. The little rug rat was probably ecstatic but Ella doubted the girl had the ability that this woman had.
Ella considered. Yes, it was a woman's voice she heard now. A mezzo-soprano to be more correct.
She frowned. Even in the Federation, mezzo-soprano's weren't all that common and the fact that Ella used to be one and that this unknown singer was also one bothered her. It wasn't jealousy but suspicion she felt beginning to gather. Still, the puzzle had been mostly solved and she let out a sigh of relief...
...which died on her lips as the song began to intensify and the words came into being.
"...And I stayed by his side till that evening, yet he loved me the rest of my life..."
Ella stopped cold, her face draining of all it's color.
It had really been such a badly written opera but her agent had said that Ella could make anything sound good. Her mother had agreed, the pair of them once again side stepping any wishes she might have had. She supposed she could have appealed to her father but he usually sided with Mother in these affairs. So once again she had gone on stage, on the colony of Copernicus, and had sung her little heart out. The audience hadn't cared that the words were the equivalent of a five year old finding a box of magnetic poetry, for she had sung it like her heart would break if you ignored it. Most of the audience had been in tears by intermission and the final song, Evening on Copernicus, had brought the house down.
When she was seventeen.
But it was impossible, she tried to reason with herself, even as she felt her stomach twisting like it used to before a performance. The crew of the Defiant certainly predated the opera and surely no one from the Galaxy, at least on this away team, was educated enough to know of it. And it had to be said again that it really was a crappy song.
So how could 'Evening' be ringing throughout the hall, seemingly shaking the very walls.
Ella began to back away, slowly because she didn't trust her feet not to run back to Engineering. Still, when the first round of applause sounded, it shook her so bad that she missteped. She went down without a word, although several flew through her head as her butt made contact with the wood floor.
Polished wood.
She ran her hand along the floor in puzzlement. Surely, it had not been there before. Ella looked up and felt her heart stop.
The Defiant was gone.
The stage she sat upon gleamed in the lights, those lights mostly blinding her from being able to see the audience. But they were applauding her, as she continued to stare in horror at them, as if to prove they were still there. In fact, they were giving her a standing ovation. It hadn't been her first, of course, but it had been a nice treat after taking a wreck like the Opera of Seasons, a silly assed name Ella had thought, and cranking out what was sure to be a new record seller.
Ella scrambled to her feet. She was on Copernicus. SHE had been the one singing. She turned her head in disbelief and, sure enough, saw her mother standing in the wings, just as she had all those years ago, urging her to take a bow. But for once, while on stage, Ella found herself unable to respect her mother's wishes. She remained rooted to the spot, eyes wide and searching for any opportunity to escape.
But every way was blocked, except for stage left and Ella remembered too well what had happened the last time she had gone that way.
One of the higher-ups of the colony walked on stage then, with flowers and tears, thanking her for such a dazzling performance. Her eyes pleaded with him for help but he seemed to make no notice, only continued blubbering about how terrific she had been. Ella looked to the audience for help, wondering if she could spot Laura in the crowd. Her parent's had made their maid pay her own way in but she had come anyway for Ella. But, like before, her only true friend in the world couldn't be spotted beyond the brilliance of the lights.
Ella began to cry softly, not knowing if she would be able to go through this again. She knew that it was time for her to make her exit but thought that maybe if she didn't move the nightmare wouldn't continue. It had to be a nightmare, didn't it. She must have been dreaming somewhere onboard the Defiant. She had breathed in too much of the air when she hadn't worn her helmet.
Please let me wake up, she thought.
Please let this be a dream.
I can't go through this again.
Copernicus, it seemed, had other plans. She had barely blinked before she found herself alone backstage, her mother several feet away and the red curtains almost completely closed, the lights dimming. The audience still cheered but it sounded ominous now, like they were cheering on what was about to happen, and Ella felt her heart suddenly kick back to life and absolute terror pump through her veins.
"N.nnn" She began before the hand clamped over her mouth, pulling her into the dark.
tbc
off: my appologies for any incorrect use of any technical terms concerning singing and stagecraft etc. I was in both drama and chorus for a semester but that was a while ago and I don't think what I sang could even be labled as soprano, alto, etc. Had fun singing Whitney's 'Moments in Time though' ;)
Master Gunnery Sergant Goldstein gave the de-pressurized cargo bay one last scan, before she waved the 'All Clear' to Private East.
~~god, it'd suck to go like those two Fleetie Nerps~~ she mused, giving the gaping clamshell doors one last look. "Death by Depressurization" was a Marine phobia.
In the Flight Gallery, Major Log grunted at the nervous Engineers, who staffed the archaic control panals. The Yellow suited engineers didn't miss the fact that the Marines, in their Black EVA/BAttlearmour rigs kept a weapon nonchantly trained in their general direction at all times.
~~Trust no one but the Corps.~~ Betty wryly mused to herself, as she made her way back to the ships interior , bringing the pickets with her. Behind her, the hatches recycled atmosphere sealing the Bay from teh rest of the ship and the huge clamshell doors began to close .
"Why the hell do we gotta screw with this crap?" grunted Pvt. East to Rifleman Dahlquist.
"That's an original, Model Five Shuttlecraft! Do you know what it's worth?" Dahlquist babbled, in happy thought of all things technical.
"No, how many strippers can I buy with it?" East demanded.
Dahlquist scrunched up his eyes in thought.
"I dunno, I never been to those bars you guys go to..." he finally admitted.
"What? Joe's Ammo Locker Louge? you NEVER been?" demanded an unbelieving East.
"Nope. My Mom won't let me." admitted Dahlquist.
"I still don't see why we gotta secure them shuttles and screw around with this Bay. Blow it up and let that Runty Redhead rest in Pieces." Muttered East.
"Always secure your retreat. And never mess around with your plan." Betty cut in on their comlinks chatter.
"Ok Gunny." they chorused, grinning at each other. Betty may be a pain in the ass to work under, but she brought her people home alive.
"Hey Dahlquist... would ya?" demanded East in a whisper.
"Would I what?" asked Dahlquist, the Marine Who Should have Been an Engineer.
"you know....." and here East made a pumping motion and nodded at Betty's form leading their column down the abandoned corridor.
"Huh?" hissed Dahlquist.
"YOU KNOW! With the Gunny?" hissed East.
"No.. I don't know. OH! You mean..." Dahlquist trailed off, peering into the cargo bay they had just passed.
"Sarge..... got movement here" Dahlquist called out, before he snapped on the torch attached to his weapon and slipped into the blackened Hold.
"NO! Dammit...." Betty cursed, seeing her Rear Guard go in alone.
"Dahlquist. Get out here..
Silence.
"DAHLQUIST!" she snapped, her exasperation showing.
Silence.
She motioned to East, who activated his torch and stepped to the hatch, flooding the Cargo Hold with light.
Empty.
Four more marines joined East at the hold door.
Still empty. The huge room was bare from bulkhead to bulkhead.
"Dammit... the next one of you guys wanders off liek that, I'm gonna string up int he barracks and..." Betty began, turning to the rest of her fireteam.
They were gone.
BRAAAAAAAAPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The sound of an Assault Rifle cutting loose on Full Auto-Microflechette Mode behind her, sent Betty and all the remaining Marines plummeting to the decks.
Only, it wasn't a deck anymore. It was a blood soaked, sea of mud.
"WHAT THE FRAG? WHERE... WHAT? I SAW A BORG!" Screamed East, as he wheeled with his Assault Weapon spewing live ammo around him in an arc.
Betty took one look and knew where the hell she was.
Again.
The damn dustball the USS ODYSSEY had dumped her survivors on. The one where one Sgt. Elizabeth Goldstein had held off wave after wave after wave of Jem Hadar troopers, in a distaction manuever, allowing several dozen Fleet survivors to escape. The damn rock where her beloved Corps had given her the Medal of Honor for living through, and screwed up her whole life.
Betty flipped her sealed helmets faceplate open. Yep. Even smelled the same. Shithole.
She used a leg sweep to take East down. Three of her fireteam helped wrest the Assault weapon from his gauntleted hands.
"You, you and you, set up a perimiter on the rockpile to the left." she snapped at the confused Marines. Funny... she'd thought that was East shooting at boogity-boos on Defiant. It was Sgt Reuters, she held down in the tuape mud, streaked with runnels of scarlet human blood. SHe hadn't seen him since...
Since....
The last time she'd been on this dustball. When he'd died a silent death at Jem'Hadar hands.
"I'm ok Gunny...it's Dahlquist..." Reuters coughed, scarlet blood flowing out of his mouth in a torrent.
How the hell had she gotten here? Why was she here? What happened to East? How could Reuters know Dahlquist?
~~No time to think.. Jem'Hadar coming in a wave assault!~~ her mind screamed.
Reuters/East was dead. Again. Just like last time.
Betty scrabbeled up the face of the rockpile, cursing and swearing to herself.
Just like the last time, her pitiful Marine volunteers were shot to hell.
This was a suicide stand, they'd all known it. God, she loved every one of these bastards. Some of these guys, knowing they'd never survive without a Class One Medical Facility, had asked for ammo and this one chance.
They'd gotten that chance. The JEm'HAdar had attacked and attacked and attacked the handfull of Marines, allowing the Fleeties and their wounded to escape. Letting the Dominion forces think THESE were the sole survivors of USS Oddyssey, this 24th century version of Roarke's Drift.
Just like last time, the Marines went about their business, taking as many of the enemy with them, before their turn to die came up.
Just like last time, the Jem'HAdar came flitting down the mouth of the arryo, silent ghosts of death.
Just like last time, her Assault Weapon felt heavy in her hands, as she hefted it up and switched to Pulsed Phaser Mode. Settling the stock against her armoured shoulder, she eyed the nearest target.
Just like last time, her heart swelled as she considered the human wreckage that shared this slit trench with her, behind the hastily set up rock barricade.
Just like last time, she checked her power levels and went with single, aimed shots.
Just like last time, she sighted in on one slow and bold Jem HAdar and began to depress teh firing stud.
Just like last time, she screamed with a horse voice 'FIRE AT WILL!'
Unlike the last time, not a single Marine weapon fired, to throw back yet another Jem'Hadar charge of the beleagured position.
"Sarge?" came the scared and blood flecked cry from more than one set of lips, down the Marine firing line.
Betty tried her weapon's firing stud again. Nothing. With a curse, she depressed the stud that let the bayonet snicker out of its hiding place.
"Fix bayonets, prepare to repel a charge by hand!" she ordered.
Betty stared in horror at the useless lump of metal and ceramic-plastic in her hands. She looked up at more Jem HAdar troopers than she remembered. More than her handfull of Marines could handle.
"SARGE! DO SOMEHTING!!!" her dying men were screaming at her, the Jem'Hadar were brazen in their clustering. Knowing the Marines couldn;t shoot, ready to make their charge at their leisure.
"Awwwwwwwwwwwwww..... MAN do I hate this job! Fricking Dahlquist..." Betty grumped, giving up counting her enemies.
****
Victor watched the car containing O'Rourke and her team depart, and hit the button to summon another. ~ How many of the old cars are still working? They had four or five running at any given time if I recall the briefing correctly - it'd be too damn bad if we wanted to go someplace that had a jammed car in the shaft ahead of us and the sensors were out... ~ he glanced at So'ka and Cutter. ~ I think I'll keep that thought to myself; we've got enough weighing on people's minds. ~
A quick check showed So'ka covering the approached to the turbolift, and Cutter standing silently. ~ Is he always this quiet? ~ "Can you give me a quick run-down on what you've found out so far, Lieutenant?" he asked politely.
Cutter stood a moment recollecting his experiences aboard the Defiant before responding, "We first checked Deck 4, the captain's and executive officer's quarters," he began, "We found no crewmen, dead or otherwise. The air had too high a percentage of carbon dioxide, it was toxic.
"The captain's quarters showed signs of recent occupancy. There was a bagel with cheese and coffee on the table, which looked fresh. The coffee appeared to be steaming. The rest of the apartment was clean, except for the bedroom, which had an unmade bed and some dirty laundry on the floor. We found potters and soil, but none held plants," he described. Cutter became uncomfortable and paused a minute before continuing, "The lights were behaving oddly, as well. They energized very slowly, instead of switching on like normal.
"Upon exiting the captain's quarters, Ensign Manley noticed that the hall carpeting was wet. Marsh noted that the deck held fresh water storage tanks between the living areas and the outer hull, and hypothesized that they had sprung a leak. The tank should have drained within one hundred years, but the water was only about a centimeter deep." Again, the scientist paused, contemplating on how to explain the next event. He was very uncomfortable describing something which he did not understand and couldn't explain, "The leak apparently had opened into the executive officer's quarters," he said finally, "The exterior door was wet, and water was visibly seeping out from between the door and the frame. When the door was opened, the water didn't drain out, but rather it.... it stood there."
The arrival of the turbolift car interrupted Victor's response, and he waited until the three were in the car and it was starting to move before asking, "You mean longer than just the moment before gravity took over, right? The water just stood there for several minutes after the door opened like a force field was holding it in place?" He frowned. "It was still liquid, right?"
Cutter's mouth opened and closed several times, inaudibly voicing his thoughts before he replied, "Sem. Yes, it stayed in place, like a solid. It didn't flow, but it was clearly in a liquid state. Ripples were observable and I was able to insert my finger without resistance. That broke the equilibrium, however, and the water rushed out, knocking me against a wall, and carrying Marsh and Manley down the hall. Deck 4 is currently flooded to about waist level."
"Guess we won't be stopping there, then." Victor thought for a moment. "That's not going to get into the turbolift shafts through the door seals, is it?" ~ I guess we're going to talk about this sort of thing after all. ~ "I wouldn't like to have a car hit it and flash it over to steam - the pressure change would be pretty fierce, maybe enough to stop the car dead... and I'd like to put as little stress on the safety interlocks on these antiques as possible."
"Theoretically, the turbolift doors should be airtight," Cutter abated.
As he spoke, the car shifted direction and began to move horizontally with a barely perceptible lurch. "Looks like something's leaking through - enough to trip the sensors that are still working anyway," Victor noted. "I just wish there was a way to warn everyone else about it." He tried a transmission to O'Rourke's team, and another to Commander Reece's, but got no response.
The turbolift opened then, depositing the group onto Deck 3. Victor held out his tricorder, taking measurements of the atmosphere. "Looks normal." He adjusted the gain and took another set of reading. "Didn't you say the ozone had distributed out through the deck? I'm not getting good readings, on a lot of things, but that should still be okay."
"That's odd," Cutter said, his left eyebrow arched up. He turned the tricorder in Victor's hand and looked for himself. After his curiosity was satisfied, Cutter realized that he was holding Victor's arm. His hand lurched back, like he had touched a hot coal. "Oukwa, err, sorry," he said, without looking at Victor.
"No problem." ~ I don't know enough about Fruna'lin to know if they're all like this, if it's the interphasic radiation, or if it's me. ~ Victor glanced at Cutter. ~ Using Occam's razor to judge things by - it's me. ~ "So what happened on Deck Three here? Anything else?"
"You know most of what happened here. The air was breathable, like it is now, and so we took off our helmets. We found the physics lab and searched for life. Marsh was convinced he saw something, but there was nothing there," Cutter commented, waving off the event as unimportant and wondered why he bothered to mention it. "I began reading through the information about the experiment and some of the results when Manley ... when Manley was injured. You'll be able to confirm this when we reach the lab. My tricorder is still there, as is Marsh's weapon."
"Shadows?" Victor asked. "Most of us have seen shadows moving around in ways that didn't seem right since we got here. There's never anything there when we checked, so I wrote it off as some effect the interphasic radiation was having on the way we perceived light." He nodded towards So'ka. "So'ka here hasn't seen anything so far, so we were thinking that maybe the radiation only affected humans that way."
"I haven't seen any shadows," Cutter replied, his brow arched. "Um, the lab is that way," he pointed.
Victor moved off down the hall, and So'ka waited for Cutter before moving, so he could stay in the rear. The setup was routine for security officers, but it made Cutter feel locked in, trapped. And the urge to fly away was still with him, it didn't remain in the morgue like he expected it would. He began to step forward but something stopped him.
Thonk! Thonk! Ting!
The noise resonated from the wall paneling beside him. Cutter turned and examined the origin of the noise. There was nothing there, and the panel looked solid, it didn't hide a compartment. There would be wiring and power shunts and things of that nature in the wall, but whatever made that noise was loose. And big.
"Sir?" So'ka asked, looking from Cutter to the wall and back again.
He hadn't heard it. "Uh .... nothing," Cutter said, and quickly walked away down the corridor.
Victor glanced back at the delay, but seeing Cutter in motion, didn't say anything before turning back around.
"Here," Cutter called out to Victor as he stepped up to the lab. The Fruna'lin quickly caught up and tried stepping through the door, but he was knocked back. The door hadn't opened.
Victor caught Cutter, steadying him until he'd gotten his feet back under him after the back-heavy suit almost took him to the floor. "Hold on a minute and let me check that," he offered.
Turning, he checked the door's lockplate, which was still showing green lights, then waved his hand in front of the actuator, receiving the same results that Cutter's attempt at entry. ~ That's odd. Shorted out maybe? ~ He scanned the door, with the expected results - nothing. ~ Okay, the old fashioned way then. ~ Victor swapped the tricorder for a small multitool and removed the lockplate by the side of the door, the powered driver whining like an insect at it withdrew the screws. ~ And there's the issue... ~ "It's locked - but the indicator light is out."
"I ... we ... wha? We didn't lock it," Cutter said staring at the door. It was a statement, but the tone of voice Cutter used suggested it was a question.
"Doors don't lock themselves," Victor observed, holding up a pair of obviously cut wires. "And they don't cut wires either. Someone was here after you." He glanced at the door. "Why this, though?"
Cutter looked at So'ka, and the alien gave a slight shrug. "I don't know. I need to get in there though!" he said, looking at Victor momentarily before dropping his gaze to the floor.
"So we get you in." Victor made the statement and then turned to look at the exposed locking mechanism. ~ Reconnect the wires? ~ He looked closer. ~ That might work... ~ He reached in and carefully worked the two wires free, then started to reconnect them - and jumped back as there was a spark from a nearby circuit that cascaded across the locking mechanism like a thing alive, leaping from place to place and leaving fused and melted connections and circuits in its wake before throwing off a final, almost petulant, arc to Victor's hand and vanishing.
"Well, that wasn't a success," Victor observed mildly, shaking his tingling hand. He frowned and looked back at the mechanism. "I have no idea what I touched to start that, but whatever it was, it's a wash now." ~ The charge looked like it was alive the way it ran around in there... Okay, you need to get a grip - electricity is just ions moving in the same direction, nothing more. ~ He looked up at Cutter. "Looks like we'll have to do it the hard way."
"Break the door down? All right. I suppose if you can't get the square peg in the hole by hand, you use a mallet."
"I'm told the same principle holds true in Engineering, sir - if it won't work, then you try again with a bigger hammer." Victor turned to the third member of their group. "So'ka, we're going to have to cut the lock's restraining bar - these old-style doors have an actual metal brace that locks them in place." He shifted position and indicated a point on the wall right at the juncture where the door met it. "Should be right... here." He stepped back and looked up. "Keep the power low, dial it down to about 6, and narrow the beam focus down. At that power level it ought to take three or four seconds, and give you enough time to shut it down without overpenetrating and hitting the outer hull. Remember to keep the beam level - we don't know where Marsh's rifle wound up in there and you don't want to find the one spot on the floor it landed in when you burn through."
The ensign nodded, made the adjustments, and knelt down, aiming carefully before triggering the rifle and starting to cut into the metal of the door and wall.
Both Victor and Cutter stepped out of the way to allow Ensign So'ka access to the stubborn door. He slowly began slicing the door lock in two with the thin phaser beam, sparks and drips of molten metal alloy shooting out around the particle ray. Deja vu washed over Cutter as he realized he had done this before today, when Lt. Marsh opened the Executive Officer's quarters on Deck 4. If So'ka cut through the door, the ozone that was locked inside would ignite and explode, burning them in a sea of flames rather than a flood of water.
He reached over, without thinking and jerked So'ka away. The ensign's phaser beam cascaded across the hall and ceiling plates, leaving a blackened trail behind it, and lanced dangerously close to Lt. Krieghoff. But the saving act was too late, So'ka had already cut through. A jet of flame blasted out of the hole in the door shooting out straight and thin, like a ray of light, doing as much damage to the opposite wall paneling as the phaser had done to the door. A millisecond that lasted several minutes later, the door exploded out, ripped from its frame by the expanding air inside, bombarding and smashing through the scarred paneling into the next room. Fire poured out afterwards, rolling out across the floor and up the walls and flowing out through the air, gobbling up all the escaping ozone and the normal oxygen that existed out in the hall.
It was Victor's turn to act as he jerked on Cutter who still held tightly onto So'ka, and the three ran back to the turbolift.
~ Damn it, why didn't I think of that? No, don't think - run! ~ Victor dragged Cutter along by main force, the Fruna'lin's feet stumbling as he tried to keep his grip on So'ka, who's feet in turn were scrabbling for purchase as they ran. ~ Run! ~
Risking a glance over his shoulder, knowing that they couldn't beat the flames the short distance to the turbolift that stood invitingly open in front of them, Victor almost stumbled himself. ~ What the hell? That's a... face.... ~
Sculpted from the living, twisting flames at the leading edge of the wall of fire, the face of a man became a woman and then another man, roaring after them open-mouthed. The flames writhed and twisted into a succession of faces, one after another, sometimes too fast to see the shifts. ~ Who are those people, the Defiant's crew? What the hell is happening? ~
Cutter could hear the hiss, snaps and pops of the fire that was chasing them through the thick EVA suit. He turned and looked behind him, a quick glance giving all the information he needed to know. The flames seemed intelligent, darting after the group directly down the hall, avoiding the turnoffs, but it was moving slower than it should. It was giving the group time to run away, like that intelligence was toying with them. And it wasn't just hissing Cutter was hearing, the noise sounded coherent.
"Yhhoooooooo cannnn't haaaavvvvveeee iiit, heeeeheeeee, Cutttttterrrrrrr!" the voice hissed in his ear, an airy, whispering voice. Was that the fire? There was no time to confirm, though, because the group had reached the still open turbolift, its open doors like arms, welcoming them into safety. Cutter dashed in and So'ka followed unable to stop, banging Cutter against the wall. The doors shut before the fire reached inside, and Victor quickly made the lift move to a safer location.
"Did you see that?" Victor panted, hanging onto the actuator lever for support. He looked up at Cutter and So'ka. "In the flames? Did you see it? Those faces?"
Neither Cutter nor So'ka replied for several seconds, leaving the hum of the turbolift as the only sound but their breathing. "I... saw them," So'ka offered first, reluctantly. "Many faces, changing from one to the other in the flames. They were in pain, terrified." He considered the statement for a split-second, and then added, "I think they were the crewmen that died here."
"I didn't see any faces, but..." Cutter said, struggling to explain, "I... I thought I... heard something. A voice."
"A voice?" Victor looked up. "I didn't hear anything. What did it say?"
"It called my name. It said I couldn't have it."
~ It said he couldn't have it? Hell, why not? Explosions talk to me about as often as they have faces.... ~ "Couldn't have what, sir?" Victor asked, straightening up but never letting go of the actuator.
"The lab, I assume," Cutter said, sitting on the floor of the turbolift, trying to sort the events out in his head. Alerts were ringing in his head, fighting to be heard. Something was wrong, something more than a different dimensional structure taking its toll on the ship. First the water, and now the fire. But, Cutter pushed all those thoughts away. He could solve this, he could figure this out, if only he could get his hands on a decent tool. It was like the Defiant was trying to stop him from performing his job, trying to make him fail. First, Manley's death, then the complete destruction of the physics labs. Where could he go to study the properties of the new dimension now?
"Who didn't want you to have the lab," Victor frowned He paused, the tingling between his shoulder blades manifesting again. ~ Dammit, what is up with that? ~ He looked over his shoulder, but nothing was there except his reflection, distorted in the polished metal of the lift car's interior. ~ Someone's watching me. Oh get a grip, there's no one in the car but the three of us. I'll be shooting at shadows in a minute. ~ He looked back at Cutter. "And why? What was there that someone wouldn't want you to get?"
"Information! Ka! That lab was our best chance at figuring out what was going on. Who would want to prevent us from doing that?"
"Probably the same guy that booby-trapped that ozone and killed Manley - and the one that tried to kill us with that set-up back there. ~ And the guy that talked to him from the flames? The one that made those faces? ~ "I think we need to try the Recreation Decks," Victor offered. "If there's someone here, they'll be signs there." ~ And if there is someone here, after us, there's space to see them coming.... ~
Cutter gave no response, and no objection. So'ka, too, remained silent, leaning against the turbolift wall, like Victor. "Deck Eight," Victor ordered, changing the cars random wandering through the system to one with a purpose. He ignored the tingle at his back when it suddenly reappeared, concentrating on the men in front of him. ~ Shadows, it's just shadows.... ~
It was lonely in a room full of despairing, struggling people.
James could attest to that theory ever since the Second Borg Invasion. He recalled too well a situation similar to the one he was stuck in. It was after the Enterprise rallied the last of the Federation fleet, and the Thunderchild took orbit around Earth. James was beamed to Starfleet Medical. Being slightly injured, James sat in rapt terror as other officers were rushed through triage. Men and women screamed in agony as they were treated for hours on end. He remembered the difference between the wounded and the freshly assimilated. The screams were different. One was of pure pain, the other a technological violation of the mind and body.
The room was the same in James’ eyes. The poor lighting and the noise was all too real. The patients were in smaller numbers, but the sights and sounds were all too real.
“Guys… I think the thorogen is starting to wear off…” James said as he peeled off the rest of his ruined armor. The chest plate crumbled where he was struck by his own Conscience. The battle armor became redundant without the chestplate, so James stripped it off, and slipped the communication badge, the phaser pistol and the tricorder on his uniform.
“Is it… that time?” Lexa asked, very shaky.
“I’m afraid so, Lex.” Corgan tried to speak as casually as he could, checking over his assault rifle and trying his best to shut out the memory of Starfleet Medical. He felt like his chest was on fire from the hit, and no doubt his ribs ached at each breath.
“We are… in trouble… again…” She spoke forlornly.
“Yeah… trouble. Lots of trouble, I’m afraid.” James then broke down the situation, “Our mission has taken casualties. I just saw an unknown entity slaughter an entire Marine fireteam. The thorogen shots are wearing off and I’m hearing things. Worse yet, I don’t know how to get out of here without getting the whole lot of you killed in the process.”
Lexa interjected, “It can’t… be real… can it?”
”You saw what I saw, didn’t you? The dents on the door? The blood? The injuries? Lex, what makes you think otherwise? It looks pretty real to me!” James objected testily.
“The… interspacial… madness… we could all be… seeing the same thing.” She argued.
“Lex, we can’t be seeing the same thing. Brin couldn’t see what I saw. I couldn’t see what attacked T’lan, or what trapped you in the brig.” James pointed out, Lexa flinching at the mention of that recent event, “We’re being affected by something. But… what I don’t get is why everything is so unique? Each attack… different. Mine was… Death.”
Curiously, Lexa asked, “Death?”
James shrugged, sliding out the power pack on his rifle, then slamming the slim battery back into place, “Voice in my head. Tries to push me, drive me over the edge. Had him under control for the last couple of years, but with this going on… he’s come back with a vengeance, so to speak.”
Not unfamiliar with psychology, Lexa felt offended and surprised. “You had a major psychological affliction, and you never told me? Just like you to keep secrets from me. What else haven’t you told me?”
“I haven’t told you about the time I flew a shuttlecraft into the Dean’s office, didn’t I?”
Blankly, Lexa looked at James. Corgan cracked a mischievous smile that set Lexa’s mood to an even deeper shade of sour.
“James! That’s not funny!” She scolded, “That’s the problem with you. You either take things too seriously, and scare us all, or you don’t take them seriously enough, and… we worry… about your competence.”
“Oh come on Lex! Joking’s the only thing that’s stopping me from screaming my ass off! This mission’s gone critical! We gotta get out of here…” James looked forbodingly at the dented security entrance, “If we can get out of here.”
“We have to go… quickly…” Lexa urged, “I can’t… stay here…”
“I can’t either. The only thing restraining myself from ripping off the f**king deckplates is the whole goddamn emergency.” James gritted his teeth as a stab of pain lanced through his chest, “Lets face it, our mission failed. We retrieved the security logs… but we can’t secure security and the armory… not in the condition we’re in. Can’t reach Neal, O’Rourke… Darkstar… heaven forbid, the marines. Normally, we could hold out against the… thing attacking us, but we have wounded, and its getting worse.”
“Sir… I am undamaged. I will be fit… for duty, for another few hours.” T’lan struggled through strained teeth. Her face and arms were flush red over a pale peach skin. Her hair was wildly scattered, an affront to Vulcan fashion and order. Sweat soaked and partially delirious from the heat of her body, T’lan soldiered through the throes of the Blood Fever bravely, despite the violation of having her body forcefully pulled into the Blood Fever by some unknown entity.
Brin rummaged a bucket earlier and managed to run the primitive replicator with the power supply in Corgan’s ruined battle armor. Using a strip from his uniform shirt, he dipped the makeshift cloth in water, wrung it out, and pressed it on T’lan feverish forehead. She shivered and calmed down, but her chest rose and fell like a rabbit.
“Sir, please lay down. You are in no condition to perform your duties.” Brin Taro wiped the sweat off T’lan’s brow as she squirmed, “You are stubborn… like my father. Listens to nobody with a lower rank.”
“You have mentioned your father on numerous occasions during this mission, and yet during our group’s dinner conversations, you barely speak.” T’lan struggled with the words under the oppression of the Blood Fever, “It seems highly illogical that you would mention him at this time.”
Brin thoughtfully apologized, though his face was stone, “Sorry sir. He’s been on my mind lately. Seems like he’s waiting on this ship, waiting for me to fail so that he can punish me again. Sorry… thorogen is wearing off.”
“You know what Brin?” James cut in, sliding the Security Log off his hand, “I don’t think it’s the thorogen that’s to blame.”
The sudden revelation was liberating for James. It was an answer, an unfounded answer, but one he could work on. It was so surprising, and at the time, so intelligent that he thought it was ingenious.
Everyone else thought he was low on thorogen. It was Lexa who first gave the hint, asking cautiously, “What… are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about sentience.” James spoke with a glint of confidence in his sly, icy eyes, “I noticed that the first logs were recording incidents of madness. Just random stuff. People going crazy. Acts of violence. Totally random stuff caused by shifting into interspace. But… they had the thorogen shots. We had the thorogen shots.”
“And there are still… images… feeling… fear.” Lexa argued, “The thorogen isn’t working well.”
“Maybe… but I think there may be another answer.” James flipped open the security log. For one second, he felt leather, and paper. Actual, rare, hard to find paper! All from a security log built of replicated plastics and metals! But the PADD was just a PADD, not a dusty old book. But for that second, it seemed so real, until he activated its lit screen and accessed the next log.
*********************
Security Log: Stardate 2/0209
Lieutenant Commander Robert St.Mark, Chief of Security, USS Defiant
Security office was attacked at 09:00 hours. They’re all over the ship. Crewmembers everywhere, turned mad somehow. A mob of them retaliated after hearing of Ensign Voica’s incarceration. They came for us, dozens of them in each swarm. We set our phasers to heavy stun and stopped the crowd before they overran the offices. Security is a mess. They were unable to reach the armory. We have narrowly averted a crisis.
Meanwhile, sickbay is overrun with patients. The CMO may not hold out for much longer, either by the madness or by the mobs. I have posted additional guard to sickbay, just in case.
My own staffs, those that haven’t joined the mobs, are increasingly experiencing anxiety and delusions. We can’t hold out for long. Something must be done, and quickly.
**********************
“This is not proving your point.” Brin Taro observed.
“Hold on… we haven’t seen the rest of the logs.” James countered.
**********************
Security Log: Supplimental
Lieutenant Commander Robert St. Mark, Chief of Security, USS Defiant
The Chief Medical Officer found a solution! He discovered that thorogen can stop the effects of the interspacial radiation that affects our minds. We have begun the process of injecting thorogen into the security staff and the command staff. With any luck, we will be back to our old selves in no time. For now, our staff is working overtime. We are stunning those who do not co-operate so that the injections can be administered. The task should be completed by 08:00 hours tomorrow.
************************
Security Log: Stardate 2/0210
Lieutenant Commander Robert St.Mark, Chief of Security, USS Defiant
It was a long and exhausting night, but we managed, with the help of the medical department, to administer the thorogen to all members of the crew. It is noted that the interspacial madness has dissipated, and that the crew has returned to normal.
We are still stuck interspace, and until we have escaped, we will have to continue taking the thorogen treatments. But the damage has already been done. Fifty seven dead, one hundred twenty eight injured, including thirty five of my department staff. The blood in these halls is thick. For now, we can only await further instruction as the engineering department tries to find a way out.
************************
James flipped through the reports rapidly, seeing everything else as reports of arrests, suppressions, and repairs that were being caught up during the time of madness. It wasn’t until he found another log that it caught his interest.
************************
Security Log: Stardate 2/0211
Lieutenant Commander Robert St.Mark, Chief of Security, USS Defiant
A rash of violent events have occurred on board the ship today, with no explanation to its occurrence. Of the more disturbing, a murder was commited on deck 10, section 5B. It is a relatively quiet section of the ship, the murder sight being a small storage closet. Ensign Skree Ya’lish’s body was found. The cause of death was suffocation. Unexplainable, since the storage closet was ventilated, there were no markings of strangulation, no oxygen deprivation drugs, nothing to indicate the cause of suffocation. As soon as we shipped her to the morgue, another body was found on deck 6, section 8H. Lieutenant Hanson was torn up by a creature, but no residual DNA of the creature was found. For that matter, we were not transporting dangerous creatures, nor could one the indicated size of the creature that attacked Hanson could be smuggled on this ship.
After all that happened before, this had to occur. My work here is never done.
************************
Security Log: Supplimental
Lieutenant Commander Robert St.Mark, Chief of Security, USS Defiant
There have been reports of sightings during the last eight hours. Each story is different. Flitting shadows, people from other people’s pasts, frightening images from childhood, I heard them all in an eight hour period.
The doctor cannot explain what is going on. Thorogen treatments have not changed, therefore we should be immune to the madness. The doctor may have messed up our treatments, or they may no longer work, I don’t know. But this is different than before. No longer spontaneous madness like before. Whatever it is… it’s very specific. All I can do is keep the peace and find out what is going on.
I must admit, I have been on edge lately. I haven’t slept in days. I can’t sleep, not after all this. I’ve also seen things. Closets get me on edge. Ridiculous, isn’t it? I haven’t feared closets since I was a boy going through my bogeyman phase. But that doesn’t matter now. I have to keep the peace. Old childhood nightmares can wait.
************************
“You see!” James pointed out, “Right there! The USS Defiant found the thorogen cure, and then they started to level off, become normal… until suddenly, something else occurred.”
“What… is your point?” Lexa asked.
“My point is, even though we have had the thorogen injections, it’s not just the thorogen that affected the crew.” Lieutenant Commander Corgan argued passionately, “Interspacial madness was chaotic. People became irrational, paranoid, insane. But the thorogen cured all that. But to get what I’m trying to say… I need an example. Lexa, what happened when you went into the brig.”
Lexa recalled uncomfortably, “I was locked in. I was back in the darkness.”
“Exactly! And when I went to the brig, the door was closed. I had to open it to let you out. That’s not a hallucination. That’s a fact. And Brin…. when the marines were attacked, what did you see?”
Brin answered reluctantly, “I saw the entire fireteam get killed, sir. They were slashed up… don’t know what did it. Couldn’t see it.”
“Exactly! I saw it too, but I saw Death… I saw Death come after them. I saw an illusion, and I also saw the deaths of those marines. Brin saw it too. The illusion was Death. The reality was someone or something slaughtered those marines!”
“So… you are saying… we are not seeing illusions?” Lexa pondered.
“Hard to say, Lex. We’re seeing things that will affect us all separately. T’lan spoke of Vlad Tepes. I recall that mission. T’lan was brought into sickbay from a forced arousal. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the worse thing that happened to her. And Lexa… you were attacked too, but in a way that would harm you the most. And as for me, they attacked me using a problem that I had on my mind.”
Lexa interjected, and resembled her intellectual former self, “You are suggesting this phenomenom is sentient. For it to attack us in specific ways, it must know us and our fears, and for that, it need intelligence.”
“Right… what I was going to say.” James agreed, “I know it seems a bit south of sanity, but what we experienced wasn’t a random act of madness or a hallucination. Something’s out to get us. We have to leave now.”
“Sir…” T’lan rasped through a dry throat. Her boiling lips were quivering as the Blood Fever took hold, “I have three hours, twenty seven minutes, eighteen second before I succumb. I have to be treated on the ship. Respectfully, sir… your conclusion is logical, but the time for deduction is slowly running out. We need to weigh our options of escape.”
“Every door and Jeffries tube is sealed, except for our entrance. Sealed with phasers and plasma torches. We’re not getting out quickly unless its out the main door. And no matter what escape is used, we’ll be confronted… I’m sure of it.” Corgan grumbled, worried of the lack of safe passage. He looked at his team mates, thinking it could be the last time. He saw Lexa, still as pale as milk after her encounter in the darkness, at Brin, who’s agitation was growing slowly, and T’lan, who was wracked with Blood Fever and slowly dying. Their lives were in his hands, and it was a responsibility he did not want.
To decide how they were going to die. It was all the decision seemed to be. Die in an office, or die trying to fight their way out?
For James, it wasn’t a tough choice. He said confidently, “If I had my way, I’d get the f**k out of here by any means necessary. But then again, its not my choice. Lex… what do you think?”
Unsure, the Chief of Operations stuttered, “Me?”
“Yeah, you Lexa.” James reassured his ex-girlfriend, “You’re more than capable of making the right choice. Should we stay… or should we go? Either way, I know you’ll make the right choice.”
Lexa agonized over the choice, and was surprised to find how willing James was able to trust her. It was a hard responsibility that she didn’t take lightly. It scared her to be responsible. James was the leader. He was the one who knew what to do in an emergency. Why was she thrown in the leadership role and forced to come up with the decisions herself?
She replied hastily, looking over her shoulder at the brig, “I don’t want to go back there. I want to leave, now.” She then walked over to the security control center, and tapped a broken console showing the layout of the ship, “We have to go to the shuttlebay. Commander Von Ernst’s team has set up base there. We may be able to receive medical attention.”
“What about sickbay?” Brin Taro asked.
“Haven’t received word from O’Rourke’s team yet.” Lexa answered, “They may have gone to.… deck 7. They may be in sickbay, they may… be somewhere else. We do not know. We have no time to alert O’Rourke’s team, and no means. They won’t be any more safe without us here. If we do pass them by, I will order them to follow us to the shuttlebay. Sickbay… will be… our last resort. Besides, I can’t treat T’lan. Not without help.”
“Then is it final? Are we moving out?” James asked with the expectations of the entire team summed up in one sentence. T’lan, Brin, and James were looking at Reece for the answers. While T’lan and Brin watched for orders, James was waiting not to fill them out, but to support them. James was different with Lexa, always was. He encouraged her efforts, calmed her fears and belayed her instances of timidness. It could all happen with a smile or a kind word, anything to lift her spirits and cause Lexa to believe in herself.
James had such a way with her, and it scared her to admit she needed him, especially now. It took one sympathetic, exhausted smile to waylay her fears.
“We don't have much time... before T'lan's condition get worse..., or when the thorogen wears out. When that happens, we won't be able to... distinguish... the madness... from the real danger. So yes…” Lexa decided, and willed herself not to go back, “We’re moving out...”
TBC…
Nothing....nothing at all....an empty, endless void unfolding forever across the plain of existence...
This was all one could see looking into the eyes of Lt. Geluf, standing at the OPS station, not moving, scarcely even breathing. But although nothing was happening on the outside, on the INSIDE the Lieutenant was having 100 thoughts a minute. Things he knew, things he had never seen, and things he had always wanted to see. He wasn't aware of his fellow officers on the bridge, nor that they even existed. He could not remember why he was there, but that did not concern him. He felt...different.
Suddenly, an overpowering urge set upon him. He couldn't fight it, but then again, he didn't want to, nor did he care to try.
"I.....I....." came a few terse words from his mouth. Then, all at once, he became very animated. He jumped up on his console and let loose a barrage of vocal talent.
"IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIyyyyyyam the very model of a modern Major-General, I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral, I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical!"
Startled by the sudden outburst, several crew members turned to watch.
"I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical, I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical, About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news, With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse!"
At this, a few crewmembers, familiar with the tune, joined in for the chorus:
"With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse! With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse! With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse!"
Curtis began to jump around, forming his own primitive coreography as he continued.
"I'm very good at integral and differential calculus; I know the scientific names of beings animalculous: In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, I am the very model of a modern Major-General."
Again, as if on cue, the makeshift chorus chimed in:
"In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, He is the very model of a modern Major-General!"
At this point Curtis was bounding all over the bridge. Occasionally knocking over standing crewmen. But he didn't notice, and continued.
"In fact, when I know what is meant by "mamelon" and "ravelin", When I can tell at sight a Mauser rifle from a javelin, When such affairs as sorties and surprises I'm more wary at, And when I know precisely what is meant by "commissariat", When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern gunnery, When I know more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery--In short, when I've a smattering of elemental strategy, You'll say a better Major-General has never sat a gee."
By this time, the whole of the Junior bridge officers had joined up.
"You'll say a better Major-General has never sat a gee. You'll say a better Major-General has never sat a gee.
You'll say a better Major-General has never sat a gee."
And Curtis concluded, as he bounced back to his post:
"For my military knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury, Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century; But still, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, I am the very model of a modern Major-General."
And with that, he stopped, turned to face his console and continued starring into space....a model indeed.
"That's the last of your people." the engineer named Sousa told Log. Everyone in the Flight Control Gallery craned their necks to see through the gantry windows into the Shuttle bay.
Log just grunted.
"How come those three never do any work? My Mummy says that everyone should take their turn, unless Uncle Doctor Malgin keeps them in Sickbay. Your MArines worked securing the bay. The other Engineers worked on the shuttles, until that Mean lady broke something and got sucked out into space. But those three guys just stand there. And why'd they bring that box?" Samantha told the Universe at large, pointing at the three Engineers Sousa had brought with him.
Log just grunted again, and watched MGSM Goldstein eel her way through the Hanger doors, battening them down behind her. The tell-tale indicators glowed green, that the airlock there was working. That was it, the death-trap of the depressurized Shuttle bay was clear. His people were on their way back up here, the better to watch these Fleet geeks putter around.
"Yes, I could use a hand here, closing the doors and repressurizing the Hanger." Lt. Sousa told Corina, the new transfer, glaring at the man huddled with his 'team' in a corner of the Gallery.
The Engineer in question, glared coldly through his EVA suit's faceplate. "Those controls are too old. The doors opened once, they'll do it again. You'd be better to find out WHY they opened and...." he stated, in a manner that could be described as 'snotty' by anyone.
His Yellow EVA suit suddenly seemed to sprout an enormous Marine Black appendage, fastened right on his chest towing handle. It shut him right up, as he and his EVA suit were lifted right off the deckplates, onehandedly by Log.
"Make it work, so no one else dies like those two officers did." Log growled, his Battelarmour's helmet right up against the faceplate of Corina's suit.
Behind Corina, the strange box the other two burly engineers carried threw off strange and arcane waves of energy, that no one ever really commented on.
Corina looked through the Marine's faceplate and saw a scowling face he had been looking for a LONG time.
'YOU!' he breathed, almost in a sexual way.
Major Log was used to utilizing his size, reputation and bad attitude to get his way. He didn't recognize this obstinate Fleetie, who seemed to be short of trying to kiss him on the lips. Didn't really matter though.. he had a job to do, and he was going to do it. Even if it meant burying this goober under the job.
"Yeah. Me, twinkletoes. Get to work or get ready to be tied up and shoved in a closet. MAYBE we'll remember to pick you up when we leave." Log grated out, in a voice that sounded like seventy tons of gravel going down a rusty chute.
"You really don't remember me? Oh.... right..... Of course... hehehehe" giggled Corina.
~~I CANNOT SHIELD EVERYONE FOREVER IN THIS LOCATION. SOMETHING IS ODD. THERE ARE OTHERS, FAR AWAY WHO SHOUT. IT IS MOST DISTRACTING. SOMETHING ELSE CLOSER IS SHOUTING TOO...LIKE VOICES CRYING OUT....~~ screamed a voice into Corina/Wilson's mind.
~~You must protect us, and this one. I would kill Raven Darkstar slowly...the others mean nothing to me. You, I and this one...the others can die~~ thought Corina/Wilson slowly, unused to speakign with his former fellow prisoner, the insane Medusean in the box carried by the Naucissian mercinaries. The odd quartet had escaped from a prison asteroid penal colony, using Victor's diabolic willingness (and joy) to kill and the Medusan's psionic ability to control the minds of otehrs. The Naucissians were mere stooges, pawns in Victor and the MEdusan's plot to gain their freedom and revenge themselves on several people.
By a strange quirk, several of those people were on USS GALAXY, so Wilson killed and assumed the idenity of Rashid Ibn Corina, husband to Lt. Rose Corina. Unfortunatlly, the four had no sooner reported aboard, than they had been assigned to this away team.
Major Log, not knowing that he was about to pay a debt rightfully belonging to his brother Raven Darkstar, turned to his other non-working charge.
Only to discover Samantha Widdlestein(Aged 10) and along for some sort of 'extra credit' that no one really seemed able to explain to his satisfaction....
was gone.
"Goldstein, you see that kid?" Log demanded in his helmet, shielded from the universe by the Battlearmour.
Silence.
"Corgan." he demanded, on the Away Team channel.
Silence.
"Anyone. Report." Major Log insisted, into the cackling and hissing channel.
"Oh dear...everything seems to be all broken." nattered Corina, in a voice that made Log grind his teeth.
"We need to be somewhere else." Sousa declared, eyes on the exceedingly old computer in front of him.
"Where?" demanded Log, half-knowing the answer and hating it already.
"The Bridge." Sousa told him.
"Where ARE your people?" asked Corina.
Log checked his chronometer. GOldstein was overdue to be back here. It was ten meters to the turbolift, and up a deck to the Shuttle Bay Control Gallery. He looked out the empty corridor.
Nothing.
He looked back. The three lazy Engineers were still staring at him. Sousa and his assitant were gone now.
~~Wait.. who is Sousa?~~ he thought to himself... not even noticing that the thought wasn't like his usual thoughts.
"Are we going to the Main Bridge?" demanded Corina.
"Of course we are." Log growled. Inside, he was hoping someone was dumb enough to try and stop him.
"My Rose deserves her own starship. Let's give her this one." Corina said, as he and his stooges followed the enormous Indian Marine down the empty corridor to the Turbolift shaft.
Inside an empty EVA suit Locker, Sam Widdlesteain shuddered and clenched her Hirogen Stiletto in a hand that was clammy inside her White EVA suit.
"Mummy... Arel... Lysander? " she whined into the darkness...
At the Flight Control Stations, the bodies of Lt. Sammsy Sousa and his assistant stood, eyes wide but minds clinically dead already. The assistants' Faceplate was smeared with blood from the inside.
If Sam had come out of the closet, she'd have seen the bodies sink into the deckplates, like insubstansial wisps of smoke. Sousa tried to scream the entire time, but could only force out muted whimpers.
=/\=
“Brin!” Barked a voice from beside the pushing, grunting Andorian. The young man, stripping off his helmet and pushing the barrier that blocked the security entrance, twitched his antennae in annoyance.
The youngest member of the away team, barely old enough to graduate from the academy, prided himself for being the most prepared out of all his classmates. It was this kind of drive that brought him top honors in the martial arts tournaments he participated. His militaristic attitude always gave him the advantage in the security department. While others bettered themselves in engineering and science in an attempt to become well balanced, Brin concentrated on being a pure fighter. It was the well balanced that died, and the prepared that always won.
At least, that was what his father always said.
It baffled him that now, out of all those times, that Captain Taro of the 1st Andorian Rangers (considered one of the most elite fighting units outside the Starfleet Marines), decided that now was a great time to come in and disrupt the young ensign’s duties. Such was his father’s way. Pushy, loud, always ready with a snappy retort or a forceful order. Brin hated to admit it, but Captain Taro made him what he was.
“Brin, increase your effort. It is not good enough!” Captain Taro barked like a drill sergeant. That was what Brin hated the most. His father couldn’t settle down, lighten up, or even crack a smile. Every word coming out of his mouth was in the form of an order, demand, or ‘request’ (which turned out to be a demand in disguise).
Brin’s muscles strained and tightened as he pushed the barrier. James Corgan, his superior officer (Brin didn’t mind James, despite his angst), came by and helped, adding his muscle power to Brin’s. “Keep going, Brin. We’re just about there. You’re doing all right kid.” James spoke approvingly, trying his best to keep the young ensign’s spirits up, “You’re holding up better than the rest of us. That’s something to be proud of, kid.”
“That’s something to be proud of? Kid? Your superior officer is soft, Brin. I would have shot him out of the nearest photon torpedo tube when I had the chance. Now get to work!” Captain Taro yelled, standing over the straining ensign like a foreboding marine trainer, his tone of voice turning more harsh by the minute, “Come on, goddammit! You call that effort!?! One of these days, your lack of effort is going to get people killed! It will be your fault! YOUR FAULT!”
The barrier shifted like the grinding of a stone block on a stone floor. And as James and Brin pushed, Lexa swabbed T’lan’s feverish forehead with a damp cloth. Brin pushed and out of the corner of his eye he saw his squad mate suffering through blood fever. Captain Taro glanced uncaringly at T’lan, and refocused on Brin, “See that over there? That pathetic mess of a Vulcan? You knew it would be your fault if she was hurt. You let your friend get hurt, just like you let Ensign Brenton get killed by that Klingon murderer!”
But the last sentence sparked off Brin, the sentence that his father would use whenever he didn’t meet up to his father’s high standards.
“At this rate, my son, I wouldn’t trust you beside me on the battlefield.”
With a final scream of defiance and anger, Brin Taro shoved the makeshift barrier to the side. It tumbled over the floor like a stack of bricks, and the speed of the barrier’s movement caused James to stumble. Brin howled once more, his anger at how his father treated him too much for his shattered heart to handle.
“Son, what have I told you? Never show what you are feeling! I can’t believe you are so weak! Go grovel somewhere!” Captain Taro cruelly chastised, unforgiving.
“LEAVE ME ALONE FATHER!” Brin Taro grabbed the nearest object, a chair piled on the ruins of the barricade, and flung the office furniture at his father’s image. The image disappeared from his view in a whirl of smoke. His vision was clouded by anger, his thoughts thinking nothing but how he wanted to kill the old man. And he was going to do it, on the Defiant, the legendary Captain Taro was going to die.
Hands grabbed for him and pinned him down on the floor, in time for Brin to snap out of his anger. He found himself secured to the floor, with Lieutenant Commander James Corgan on top of him, pulling his arms behind his back, while Lieutenant Commander Electra Reece held firm his legs.
“Jesus Christ, kid… what the hell is going on with you? You nearly nailed Reece and T’lan with that chair!” Corgan spoke in his ear.
“Sir…” Taro grunted, feeling the muscles pull in Corgan’s arm lock, “It’s gone… I’m ok… let me go…”
“Alright. Lexa, on three.” James said, with Lexa nodding in acknowledgement. James counted down, 1… 2… 3… and simultaneously, both officers let go of Brin. Brin dusted himself off, as calm and placid as usual despite his emotional outburst. Finally, James ventured to ask, “What happened?”
Brin spoke very little, but said, “My father…”
“’Nuff said, huh kid?” James sympathized, remembering clearly Brin Taro’s opinion about his famous father during their trip to repair the PADD. “Relax, it’s cool. We’re all a bit on edge here. We’ll have to get out, and soon. Are you ok enough to handle a weapon?”
Brin nodded coldly, then picked up his phaser rifle. “Ready sir.”
“Everyone else ready?” James asked.
Lexa, though still pale and frozen like a china doll, shakily strapped her rifle to her back, and said, “Ready... to go.”
T’lan, wracked by waves of heat, pain, and delirium, managed to get to her feet. Her footing was shaky as she tried to get up, but through willpower and Vulcan stubbornness, she managed to rise. Her face, flushed with fever and coated with sweat, was determined. “Sir, I am ready.” She rasped, and then fell down to one knee, with both hands supporting her on the floor. She panted and caught her breath, as Lexa lifted her up and helped the beleaguered Vulcan walk.
“T’lan, Lexa, stay in the middle. Go only as fast as you can walk. Brin, you’ll act as rear guard. Watch our backs. I’ll take point, and we don’t stop until we reach the shuttlebay. Everyone prepared?”
“Ready.” Each officer said in their own time.
“Alright then…” James breathed one last breath in the office. He subconsciously looked down at the security log, the only object that made the trip to the security office worthwhile. The log was his charge, and it was going to return if he had a say in it, otherwise the mission was in itself a waste of time. But to return it safely, he had to contend with a mentally unsound away team and unknown dangers outside.
James was willing to take that chance. “Let’s move.”
The away team moved out of security, cautiously, and frightened like church mice. They moved in single file. Corgan was at the point, his rifle sweeping the halls, as if scanning for an enemy to come out and destroy. Though armor less, Corgan was a frightening sight. He removed his glasses and tucked them into his shirt, losing the last vestige of weakness. He was now as cold as Brin Taro, switching from a humanitarian to a soulless slayer as easily as a Jem’Hadar slipped in and out of shroud. The dim light showed his pinkish knife scar on his face in a menacing light, and the gleam of his slate gray eyes was wary and alert.
In contrast, white skinned Lexa Reece and the flush red T’lan were in the middle, the larger of the two women helping the other walk along. T’lan and Lexa each had their phaser pistols to free up the use of their other arm, and were walking slowly, struggling to catch up with the rest of the group. T’lan stumbled at every fourth step, her panting loud in everyone’s ears, her body heat cooking Lexa’s skin.
In the rear was Brin Taro, unnerved by his past, and twitching like a bug landed on his antennae. The young andorian felt dread as he watched the rear. His feelings of doubt and fear were stronger than ever, and even his father’s chiding wasn’t enough for him to deny what he was feeling.
Deck 5 was as deserted as the ship was supposed to be, before the nightmarish attacks started to occur. The halls were poorly lit. The lights that did activate flickered, each flicker setting Lexa on edge, giving her the fear of having the lights deactivate at any moment. James felt nothing. Brin felt more, and in a way, expressed less. They all kept to their route, watching warily, trusting little, fearing more.
The turbolift was reached safely, and it started without a flaw. The trip was going successfully, and that disappointed James. He expected something better (or worse) from the nightmares that attacked them before. At any time, they could have been dead. Lexa could have been killed. T’lan could have perish. Taro, dead like anyone else. What was it waiting for? They were out in the open, James reasoned, ready to destroy on a moment’s notice.
“Where are they?” Corgan growled uneasily.
The away team left the turbolift, and were now close to main deflector control. James knew that on the other side of the ship’s engineering section, the shuttlebay, and safety, would be there. The hallway they entered was neat and methodically clean, like nothing changed from the day the Defiant was taken over. It lacked the hellish overtones of Deck 5, which were now as clear to notice compared to the lower deck as if night was from day.
“We… have… a long way… to walk.” Lexa gasped.
“That we do, sir.” James spoke impassionately, “Another five minutes and we’ll be home free… if anyone is left.”
“It is a logical possibility… if the rest of the crew have been affected like us.” T’lan added feverishly.
“Then we’ll keep going! We can’t stop now!” Brin hollered, very agitated. His rifle shook, his antennae swung like vines, his brows knitted in determination.
“Whoa, Brin. Cool your heels. Let’s stay frosty until we… wait a second. Shhhhh…” James crouched down, waving his hand for everyone else to do the same. James heard a small, sliding noise, like a wet sack being dragged across the floor. “I’m going to investigate.” He whispered, inching closer to the noise. It was slight, sounded like it was close but quiet, and James cared more about what the source was then what it was doing. He hugged his back against the wall, his rifle close to his chest, and he inched closer to the noise. It was around a corner. Dangerously close. James smelled blood; it was so thick in the air it made him choke. He looked down as he tried to regain his breath, and he saw a sickening sight.
A trail of blood, thin and spread out, like a wound being dragged on the ground.
“Brin…” James pointed to the Andorian, then beckoned him to take position behind him. He indicated with his pointing finger that Corgan planned on rounding the corner, and catching the noise by surprise.
But then, the noise stopped. The wet, heavy slapping was gone. He heard another noise, rope and metal, something being strung up.
James put up three fingers. Three… one finger came down. Two… another finger came down. One… and he closed his hand into a fist.
Brin and James dashed out of the corner, their rifles on the ready, aimed at the corner of the noise source. In one second, James and Brin looked more than ready for the threat, their rifles trained to frag anything they found as a threat. But in the next moment, their eyes were agape in fear, and their rifles lowered.
“Jesus… bleeding Christ.” Corgan uttered.
The blood trail led to the hanging figure of a marine, his body strung up by cable cord, tying his tightly bound feet to a beam in the roof. He sported a spear sized puncture in his lower abdomen, and it dribbled small amounts of blood from the coagulated wound. The blood from the wound covered his legs, his feet, his chest and all over and inside his battle helmet, which was cracked partially open. The neck of the fallen marine was twisted in an unnatural fashion, and his eyes and mouth were as wide open as a fish. The marine’s blood stained face was frozen in terror, stained in blood
The marine was familiar, one of the fire team marines from Deck 5. James recognized the marine’s boyish face and look of fear when Death dispatched the marine during their first encounter. The face was a giveaway. The latin on his chest armor was also blatantly obvious, but now the words were changed into something else.
Acta est fibula
“All of you…” James backed away, his rifle aimed at the corpse, his voice filling with fear, “Go to the shuttlebay. Don’t turn back. Run as fast as you can. If you don’t, you will all die.”
Lexa was adamant, though fearful as she took a first look at the gruesome corpse. “We don’t separate. I am… in charge. We go together. My orders…”
“LEX! Don’t argue!” James urgently and aggressively pleaded, taking his stand and watching the halls like a paranoid, “You’re going to die if you stay! GET OUT!”
The halls filled with inky darkness, and it creeped closer. Though the lights were shutting off, it felt more as if shadowy tendrils of darkness were flooding in like water throughout the halls. On recognition, Lexa’s panicked, whimpering fearfully as the darkness came to overwhelm her position. She feared for her life, feared the darkness swallowing again. She feared her friends coming with her to this dangerous realm. T’lan reacted, but in a positive light. The Vulcan hungered for the darkness, felt relieved to he caught in its cool aura.
Brin Taro’s hand rested on Lexa’s shoulder, rousing her out of her trance. “Sir, he speaks the truth. He is the only one that can see it. I was there, I know. If he says we have to go, we have to go.”
“I don’t want to leave you, James. You’ll be trapped… like before.” Lexa sobbed, the memories of the darkness too fresh to ignore.
“Lexa…” He felt wind in his face, and the howling of a thousand voices of the damned filling his ears. He saw more than the corpse of the marine. More were materializing out of the walls, filling the halls with thousands of corpses of various races. Starfleet, friends and people he briefly met, were littering the halls with their bodies. Jem’Hadar and Borg corpses were among the ruined, pale faces contrasting with rotting flesh. All the corpses were hanging, laying, propped up, and piled wherever there was room. “Don’t worry about me. GO! I’ll hold him off!”
“Come on, ma’am! We have to go!” Brin yanked Lexa away. Hesitantly, she and Brin walked off, with T’lan supported on their shoulders. Through the miles of death, they ran off, oblivious to the carnage but sensitive to their own fears.
For Lexa, it was the Darkness.
For T’lan, it was the chill.
For Brin, it was pure chaos.
And for James, it was the accumulation of a thousand battlefield, signifying his failures and shortcomings.
He saw Lexa, Brin and T’lan disappear as the wailing grew louder and louder. Corpses melted away until the floors and walls, pillars and bulwarks became a macabre architecture of flesh and blood. Floors were muscle and flesh, coverings were skin tacked on like animal hides. Putrid blood thickened and oozed everywhere.
James was back in his nightmare of the dead, with the master of the domain standing tall above him. It was the creature in black, the dark angel of destruction. He was face to face with his own personal demon, a demon with a scythe in hand and an urge to kill.
Death.
“I knew you would come back.” His Conscience leered overhead, tasting James Corgan’s cold fear.
TBC….
Ella awoke, not surprised to find herself enclosed in total darkness. Again.
She shuddered but otherwise remained still. The concrete floor was cold and she moved from her back on to her side and into a half-fetal position to provide more warmth. Ella blew upon her hands, felt her icy lips and chattering jaw, and clamped her hands over her mouth to stop the scream she felt building. Both the cold and the pressure felt real, as did the feel of her teeth biting down lightly on her lower lip. She could almost smell and taste the chloroform.
Real, part of her mind shrieked at her. Real, real, real, real.... She wrapped her arms around herself, in an attempt to comfort and stop the hysterical fit already in progress, but it only seemed to remind her of how alone she was.
It was impossible to see in the dark. She knew that the only source of light came when the door opened from the first floor above. When she had awoken the first time, Ella had screamed in terror. She had been an imaginative kid and her mind had instantly dreamed up all manner of nasty things possibly waiting in the dark with her, from mountains of bugs crawling over dead bodies to her captors themselves waiting in corners with blood knives and sharp axes. Ella had begged with them, she had pleaded, even called out for help, but no one had answered. Finally, exhausted, she slumped to the floor defeated, her body curling up into a position much like the one she was in now. She had cried and cried.
Ella did not cry now. She knew that being locked in the basement had been the least of her problems, that at the end of all this there would just be another alley and this time she might not make it out alive. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on breathing, tried to ignore this place and everything about it. It had not worked before but she had nothing to lose by trying.
She had no doubt that she would crack. There was just no way that she could have prepared to find herself in this situation again. Just goes to show you that you can never cover all the bases, Ella cackled to herself. Just goes to show that you can't escape, or erase, your own personal hell.
When the door finally did open and the ghost of the man who had grabbed her years ago came trudging down the stairs, she knew she would do whatever they commanded. It sickened her but she knew it was what she would do. Not so strong afterall...
She only hoped no one else would be around to see it.
OOC Disclaimer : These do not reflect on the real Admiral J. P. Hanson, nor are they the real events of Wolf 359. They are merely what Donovan wants to believe, so the current effects are throwing him into his own dreams. (you'll not i didn;t spoil the plot there for Ian)
"Black to Galaxy." There was no response. Black swore under his breath. ~Not good.~ he thought to himself, turning back to Lieutenant JG Remur. He was about to issue orders, when he found himself on the bridge of a starship, an Ambassador-Class Starship. The bridge officers wore Starfleet’s previous uniform, a one piece jumpsuit. Lieutenant Remur stood at tactical, with warrants Metz and Applebaum at tactical backup and fleet direction terminals beside her. This was a flagship. Turning around to look past the empty command chair, he read the dedication plaque.
USS Liberator. Admiral J. P. Hanson’s Ambassador-Class Flagship. It had been his command ship up until... The Battle Of Wolf 359. He had died, and the Liberator had bourn him into battle that day. ~But why am I here,~ Donovan wondered.
When he stopped examining the dedication plaque, a figure that had not been there previously had appeared in the flag command chair, slightly off to the side of the captain’s chair.
Admiral J. P. Hanson stood and walked toward Donovan Black. “Somehow, I knew you’d come. Irene has told me about you. The young Scotsman, Black, isn’t it?” the old man asked. Donovan glanced down, examining his reflection in the shine of a random surface. He looked like he was in his twenties again, right after S’Tarleya’s death on the Icarus. “You can look me in the eye, Lieutenant.” Hanson said, with a smile, misinterpreting Donovan’s confused glance.
“Yes, sir? May I ask what you require from me, sir?” Black asked, trying to ascertain what was happening to him. One minute on the Defiant and the next on the bridge of a doomed ship.
“Help me defeat the Borg, of course. If you’re as good as Irene says you are, then you should work out just fine.” He smiled sincerely, and indicated the command chair to Black. “How does Acting Captain Black sound to you?”
“That should do just fine, sir.” Donovan said, and seated himself in the command chair, trying desperately to take in the events about to unfold around him. Wolf 359. An event he’d come to identify with the loss of much that he had come to respect and rely on in the fleet’s tactical command structure.
“Very well then, Captain, take us in, and may god have mercy on our souls.” Admiral Hanson said, adopting a grim, cold demeanor. Donovan nodded, and to his surprise, he began issuing orders.
It was grim, almost surreal, as he watched each attack wave move in. He did his best, using as much knowledge of tactics as he could, but it didn’t do any good. It was as the USS Melbourne detonated that the USS Liberator took its first hit. The beam pierced a compartment close to the bridge, sends shrapnel flying so fast that it cut Warrant Metz in half, the proceeded to cut off Warrant Applebaum at the knees. She cried out in Yiddish as she went down, clutching at the stumps where her knees had been.
Turning to Admiral Hanson for support, he found the Admiral on his feat. “Now do you understand, Donovan?” he asked? Donovan stood still as the ship hurtled toward the Borg cube. ~I’ve never faced the Borg before.~ Donovan thought, his mind racing for a solution. He couldn’t watch Liberator go down again.
Then, for a brief second, he was back on the Defiant. Metz and Applebaum lay in the exact positions that they had occupied on the Liberator, relative to him.
And they were dead, with the same wounds as they had experienced on Liberator. Remur stood in front of him, her hands flying over an invisible tactical arch. Adrian shuddered, it was as if a dream, or rather, a nightmare.
And then he was drawn back into it. “See what, sir?” he asked Admiral Hanson. Bodies now littered the bridge, and the Liberator was disengaging it’s escape pods. He found himself alone with Remur and Hanson. “Where are they?”
“The crew? Gone, hopefully. I want you to understand why I died. Back in 2366, I rammed the USS Liberator into the Borg cube, and it did nothing. I tried, I did everything that could have been asked of a man. And that makes Von Ernst wrong. Her Excelsior-bomb wouldn’t have touched the Borg. Now, go, and let the two of you live.” Hanson pointed to an empty escape pod.
And then it made sense to Donovan. His visions had always been this way. His screwed up head. This was probably all imagined. But the emotion of watching the proud old man’s final moments was too present, and he grabbed Remur and headed for the command escape pod.
As he floated away, he watched Liberator charge the Borg vessel, which swung to face it, and then an explosion filled the screen. And Hanson was gone. The Borg loomed imminently.
And then Donovan was back. Tactical planning was covering blood, and Remur lay on the ground, holding her head. “Something’s wrong here.” She said, “I just watched Admiral Hanson kamikaze against a Borg cube. And Metz..... And Applebaum!”
Donovan looked grim for a moment, looked over at her EVA-suited form. He closed her visor. “I experienced the same vision.” He said to her. “This is incomprehensible. It looks like a massive battle took place here.”
“I know. We need to get out of here.” Remur replied, trying to stand. It was then that she noticed that her left leg was broken, and Donovan remembered landing on it in the escape pod. Helping her to her feat, he grabbed his phaser rifle. She reached out and began throwing important documents into a case that Metz had carried up.
“We don’t have time, come on!” Black ordered. Throwing the last PADD into the case, she snapped it shut.
“I won’t let us come back empty handed. Not with two dead crewers.” She said, and he helped her toward the doorway.
"Nightmare? We doan need no steenkeeen Nightmares...Leo --Is-- A Nightmare"
Starring...
The Man, the Myth, the Legend, the Ladiesman, the Lovemonkey.... Special Chief Deputy Investigative Chief Deputy Investigator... that sonnva Q and the 'Big Hoss' himself.....
**************** Leo Streely! *************************
OOC: HEY! That Steaming-Pile-of-Monkey-Poop 'Toothpick' guy tried to keep ME! LEO! From YOU! my fans! My adoring horde of fans! Let's face it, this whole storyline is diddlypoop without ME! Can you believe the nerve of the Pickey guy? Sheeeeesh! Well, I'm BACK! Special! Here! For YOU! Even that Mark guy never tried to keep ME down! Sure he'd SAY he hated me more than ANY other NPC... and he'd threaten Joe with all kids of stuff if Joe dared to write me into his Raven stories... Mark even offered to neuter Liam when he cloned me, that goober! But you know... it was all for show! Me and Mark were like THIS! NO! not like THAT! I ain't like THAT, though I wonder about that Mark guy! Joe and Liam know better, now that I got them trained and all. Not like THAT! Get that stuff OUT of your head! It's not like they're my Gimps or anything,. I saw Pulp Fiction! But this 'ToothPick' guy? Banning LEO STREELY from his lil story? Someone hold me back, before I go upside his head. Really.. someone... hold me? someone? Helloooooo! This is ME! Leo! Awwwwwww...fuggitaboutit! Just read the post!
* * * * * * * *
USS Galaxy was a madhouse.
Crew ran thither and yon, indulging in whatever fancies grabbed their imagination at any given moment. Bbrode himself strolled off the Bridge in the middle of Red Alert. Musical numbers came over the loudspeakers with no warning. The ship itself was running on 'autopilot' as her crew succumbed to delusional paranoia.
Ensign Jikkalyre stripped off her uniform and joined George and Gracie, the ship's humbacked whales in their tank for a water ballet.
A Kellerian Marine was tapdancing in the sickbay with a smile on his face and pretty bows on his shoes.
Dr. Malgin actually SMILED. We don't know at what, or why... but he SMILED.
Lieutenant Hunter had an delightful discussion with his Replimat for over two hours, regarding the exact chemical composition of Cheezy Poofs.
Dr. Quick sat down and did his Federation tax returns, going back to 2365. In the process, he discovered he was a multi-millionaire and could actually STOP re-cycling his chewing gum. Before he could go get a haircut, he came back to his usual non-lucidity and he donated his new fortune to his landlady's cat, 'Mistah Woogums.' "That was like.. close dude! I almost voted!" he was heard to say.
And on deck Seventeen....
A nude and tubby figure sprints (okay waddles!) at naked breakneck speed around the nude curve of the naked corridor screaming "JII JII JII JII JII JII JII JII JIIIIIiiiiii!" at the top of his naked lungs.
Leo came to a naked halt and looked around. Three shocked looking Sciences Officers stared at him, in ALL his nude glory.
"What? I do that every day around this time! Why are you guys looking at me like I'm under the spell of some paranoid delusional thingey? I just like runing around naked yelling 'JII JII JII' sometimes. Is that a crime? Sue me!" Leo told them, angling so they could admire his better profile.
The male turned green and clamped a hand over his mouth... running for the nearest unisex public restroom. The two females with him eyed Leo with a look that he was hard pressed to identify. It was a look that Leo, despite his loud and oft-repeated claims, did not have a lot of familiarity with, coming from women.
Then, he placed it.
Desire.
Raw Sexual Desire.
"Hey hey HEY! This is ME! Leo!" he shrieked. "Don't squeeze the Charmin! Take a NUMBER! There's enough Lovemonkey Leo to go around!" as the women advanced on him.
"Leo! We love you!" the women chorused, hands reaching out to grab, to embrace, to carress...
"Yeah well.. who doesn't? It's not like you're some gay, repressed silly Texan or anything! It's not like your'e on some meglomaniacal power trip and out to repress the studliest stud in the cosmos! Down with the MAN! Off the Picks! " Leo countered with his usual logic, waving a fist in a 'Solidarity' salute as he slipped their clutches.
"We want you Leo!"
"What? Want me to do what? Shut up? Leave? Cover up my "THE KING LIVES!" tattoo? Stop stealing your panties? Stop peeping in the Pool Locker room? Stop peeing in the pool? I'm running out of stuff I did this morning, here, tootsies..."
"We LOVE you Leo..."
"You said that.... why do you keep saying that? Am I on camera? Comeon, where is it?"
"We want you to work your mojo on us!"
"No seriously.... come on... did Raven put you two up to this? That big Lug! He's hiding and going to pop out any minute, isn't he?...where IS he?"
"Leo..."
"Stop saying my name! Hey! Do I get a gun? Errr..." Leo eyed the women, who were beginning to disrobe.
Leo turns to the readers. "Now THIS is my kinda alternate-reality post! Badda BING." he states, eyebrow waggling.
OOC: LEO! STICK TO THE SCRIPT!
" Every one is a critic! err.. where was I.. oh yeah...HOLY SMAMOLEY! Everyone is nutts! It must be some kinda alternate Dimensional Rift thing making everyone act all weird and affecting our minds! Or my Cologne!" screamed Leo, turning and running for the one place he felt safe to hang around naked in.
Ten Forward.
(Yes, it is sad, but true. When Leo was but a lowly bartender on Price's Galaxy.. he was prone to wearing his 'Leo's Love Lounge' Staff Polo shirt, his bar apron, and a smile. Under that apron.. Leo was nekkid most of the time. Pantless. Free and easy. Dangling in the breeze. Think about THAT as you look back and re-read all the Ten Forward posts you slobs wrote!)
(ten minutes later)
A nude Leo rounded the Ten Forwards doors, pausing only to leer at the nude nymphs' carved bottoms, on the wood panels covering the doors. The two half-naked women pursuing him had swelled (not like THAT!) into dozens.
"IF I HAD A GUN, YOU WOULDN'T BE READING THIS!" shreiked Leo coming to a skidding halt in the middle of the lounge.
"Leeeeoooooooo..." came the cry of the pack behind him.
"Why am I the only person acting normal, running around naked screaming 'JII JII JII' today?" Leo asked the empty room.
Oddly enough, the Lounge was empty. Except for the rhinestone covered white Piano hovering in mid air, being played by the guy in the white rhinestone jumpsuit.
Leo looked back, the horde of almost-nude women were frozen in the doorway. Leo eyes one luscious blonde, clad in her bikini.
"Boy, YOU have lousy timing.. they were right up my butt!" Leo squeaks in indignant rage, hands on his hips. He studies the piano-playing stranger for a second, then his eyes grow large.
"You! I know you...I think....is it really YOU?" he breathes out...
*IT IS ME. HELLO SON* Q replies, doing the tinkly bit of Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 2
"Son? Whasswit that son stuff? You saying something about my Mother? You ain't the King, He'd never talk bad about Mommas! He loved his Momma! What did you say about my momma?" Leo demands, pudgy fists coming up.
*DRAT YOU PESKY HUMANS AND YOUR LINEAR TIMELINES! DID I ALREADY APPEAR TO YOU IN THE HIROGEN EPISODE, OR IS THAT AFTER THIS ONE?* Q demands, moving the the second part of the Mozart piece.
"Knock off playing 'Tiny Bubbles' there... and why are you dressed like the King in his Vegas Glory Days?" Leo retorted.
*LEO, WE KEEP SAYING THIS..ELVIS IS...* Q starts to reply.
"What Elvis? Liberace is 'The King!' and you better have a good reason why you're dressed up like him and calling me 'son' there, tootsie!" Leo snorted.
* I SEE THE HIROGEN INCIDENT IS BEHIND YOU, YOU DON'T EVEN REMEMBER ME STOPPING YOUR POWERS ON LANJEP, DO YOU?*
"I remember someone dressed like you, telling me Liberace was... you know...and THAT was a lie!" Leo replied.
With a 'snap' of his fingers, Q made the piano and jumpsuit disappear. Now Q was as naked as Leo. Crossing his leg modestly, Q invotes Leo to sit in the other of the pair of easy chairs he had replaced the piano with. Leo, of course, sits legs apart, tightly gripping the arms of the leather chair. A rumbling, wet noise sounds from his chair the moment his bottom touches it.
"That was the leather! Not me! The leather!" Leo screeches.
*LEO, WE NEED TO HAVE "THE TALK" *
"Look, you're about fifty years too late. I already got the Talk about Binars and Betazed Bees. One Time, at Band camp...? when I was ten? Me and Suzy Sniggleblurp..."
*LEO, I AM Q. I KNOW ALL, I SEE ALL.*
"Getouddahere. You're shitting me."
*LEO, I AM Q, I ASSURE YOU, I DO NOT SHIT.*
"How do you... you know....?"
*LEO...YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE TO KNOW ABOUT HOW WE... YOU KNOW... IN THE CONTINIUM. YOU CHOSE TO BE HUMAN, LIKE YOUR MOTHER.*
"Why don't I remember any of this?"
*BECAUSE I ALTERED YOUR MEMORIES. ANY Q CAN DO THAT. YOU TRADED YOUR POWERS FOR THE LIFE OF A FRIEND. IT IS ONE OF THE EASIEST THIGNS FOR US Q, TO ALTER YOUR MINDS, THE SAME AS I PROTECT YOU FROM THE EFFECTS OF THIS DIMENSIONAL RIFT, THAT AFFECTS YOUR FELLOW CREW*
Leo shoots a look over his shoulder, at the horde of half-naked and naked women who'd been in pursuit of him.
"Soooo... they're NOT really chasing me, because I'm me, but rather they're seeing something or someone else?" Leo asks, in a small voice.
*EXACTLY. I AM GLAD YOU HAVE MATURED ENOUGH TO SEE THE DIFFERENCE. WE IN THE CONTINIUM HAD HOPES YOU WOULD MATURE AND WANT TO OFFER YOU A SECOND CHANCE TO CLAIM YOU POWERS AND YOUR PLACE WITH US. I THINK YOUR MATURITY WOULD...*
"Works for me! I still get nookie, AND they can't point a finger or baby at me afterwards? Sign me up!" Leo chortled.
*LEO, WHAT ABOUT THE REST OF YOUR CREW AND FRIENDS?*
"Screw them, let them get their own Fan Club. Can you, you know, fix that lil problem I had on Fritan Three? I'd hate for that blonde to go home disappointed..."
*LEO, I TOLD YOU, WE SEE ALL, WE KNOW ALL. I KNOW WHAT HAPPENED ON FRITAN THREE. WHAT -REALLY- HAPPENED*
"WHAT? How can you know? I never told ANYONE!" Leo screeched.
*LEO, YOU WERE YOUNG AND CAREFREE, EVERYONE WAS EXPERIMENTING THEN...*
"Bad bad bad! This is bad...those guys said they'd never tell anyone..." Leo moaned, head in hands
*THIS BORES ME. YOU DISAPPOINT ME, SON. I AM GOING, AND I'M TAKING MORE OF YOUR MEMORIES WITH ME.*
With a "snap" Q was gone, with his chairs. Leo was left alone, nude in the middle of Ten Forward.
"Omnipotent, my sweet patootie! I remember everything! HAHA! Get ready to make sweet, sweet love, ladies...." Leo shouted, before turning to the women...
. . . who were gone.
In their place, a dozen replicas of Raven Darkstar, Heather Sanchez and Laughing Horse Log were frozen in mid-pursuit, glittering obsidian knives and tomahawks were in great profusion, with the oiled and rippling muscles.
A phaser II dropps out of thin air, into Leo's hands.
*YOU MIGHT NEED THIS* the voice echoes in Leo's head.
"ARRGH! Where are my clothes? Ohhhh... nooo... Where are YOUR Guys Clothes? Geeeezzzeeeeee.... HEEEEEllllllllp! Raven! Put some pants on Buddy!" Leo screamed, running for the safety of the supply closet, pausing only to shoot over his shoulder at the horde.
He almost made it.
TBC...
“No,” she whispered, “. . . . . . .its impossible. . . .it cant be. . . . .”
“. . . Me.” The Admiral smiled, “Yes my dear Rebecca I assure you it most certainly is!”
==--==
Things were certainly going from weird to weirder for the confused young XO of the USS Galaxy. What had started out as a mildly interesting mission involving the exploration of a long lost Starfleet vessel had quick transformed into a journey through the surreal.
First, without warning, Rebecca von Ernst had found herself blown out of the Main Shuttlebay by explosive decompression when the Hangar doors had opened seemingly of their own volition.
Saved form an icy death by a stroke of sheer luck, the space-sick girl had crawled along the Defiant’s outer hull until she chanced upon an airlock.
Regaining entry proved easy enough, but instead of finding herself in the drab corridors of a long-dead Starship, the confused officer had stepped out into what could only be described as a post-apocalyptic version of her girl-hood home in rural Minnesota.
Her standard EVA suit was gone, only to be replaced by a flimsy set of shorts and t-shirt, which did little to protect her from the frigid winter air.
The horrifying tableau before Rebecca however was far more chilling than any mere drop in temperature. The quaint farmhouse that had once been home had been transformed into a shattered ruin, and the blue skies above were an eerie yellow haze.
Unfortunately before poor Rebecca could sort out all these confusing details, she was promptly accosted by two men in rather unusual looking Starfleet Uniforms, who promptly stunned her and transported her up to . . . . . .well ‘here’. . .wherever that was.
Ever since she stepped through a door and into a snowy field, “Here” was a decidedly ambiguous term at best.
It was like something out of a nightmare. . . .
Rebecca found herself propped up into a small swivel chair at one end of a Starship Bridge. It was not like any bridge she had ever seen before. It seemed like everything she looked at was like through a haze. Objects blurred in and out at the edges of her vision, and the bridge, despite being formed from pearly white bulkheads seemed dark somehow, as if an invisible shadow hung over everything.
The seat she sat in while sturdy and plush at first glance, seemed to slowly age and rot before her eyes The metal frame taking on pits of rust and flaking paint, while the cusion sagged and split, emitting noxious odor of mildew.
With a yelp Rebecca jumped to her feet casting a suspicious glance at the vacated chair. . .which now seemed 100% normal again.
The crewmembers around her were worse. All clad in that strange futuristic Starfleet uniform, Rebecca got the eerie feeling that no matter how hard she stared at them , she as never quite able to focus in on their faces. . . instead their features swam about in a hazy, dreamlike blur, like distorted afterimages.
They crew took no notice of her instead running through ship routines in a strange trance-like manner. Their voices muffled and indistinct, despite the fact that Rebecca stood only a few yards away.
They seemed at once both young, and old. . .their skin seeming to grow wrinkled and mottled with age right before her eyes. . the foul odor of rotting flesh assaulted her nostrils. Out of the corner of her eyes she could barely sense the feeling of invisible hands reaching out to grab her, but when she turned her head there were only the half-blurred crewmen going about their zombie-like tasks.
The starship. . .whatever it was, was in the midst of combat. Muffled tactical commands echoed from all around her followed by equally obscure acknowledgements, but for the life of her Rebecca could not determine the location of the speakers.
It was like screaming underwater.
Rebecca ignored it all, her eyes locked on the Center chair. Out of everything in the bridge, only the Chair and its occupant was in focus.
The Chair was a tactical aficionado’s dream come true. Dozens of tiny holographic repeater screens hovered in mid-air defining a neat half-circle in front of the chair. Display screens and status reports from all over the ship were thus neatly summarized and literally at the Captain’s fingertips.
Likewise, an impressive array of override switches, and complete tactical controls were imbedded into the two oversized armrests giving that Captain instant control of ever ship function.
This bridge. . . . stark as it was designed to allow one person literally operate the entire starship.
As impressive as that was, again Rebecca ignored it all, instead more focussed on the figure at the center of the bridge, snuggled pertly on the very edge of the impressive Command Chair.
“You. . . .” she repeated.
“Yup me. . . .” came the smiling reply, The voice clear and precise unlike the muffled speech of the blurred crew. “Or should I say. . . .US ?”
It was like Rebecca was looking across the bridge into a strangely distorting funhouse mirror. The voice, face, and figure was familiar, and yet . . . . .ever so slightly altered.
It suddenly hit her why the Starfleet uniforms also looked odd. They were FUTURISTIC.
“Welcome aboard Noodle-head!” the Admiral smiled scrunching a pert freckled nose slightly. “What’s the matter. . . .gonna go stuttering on me?”
Rebecca worked her jaw noiselessly. A stutter would have been an improvement at the moment. What she was looking at was impossible.
The person the strange officers were calling ‘Admiral’ slid off the end of the command chair, and stretched wearily, easing cramping muscles in her thin frail limbs. Her features were pale and without makeup, a healthy dose of freckles adding natural color to her nose and cheeks. Flashing brown eyes considered Rebecca with mirth, and a voluminous cloak of long red hair spilled gently over thin shoulders and a thin flat-chested figure.
There were some crinkles around the eyes, and some early grey mixed in with the red, but the rest was the very image of the person that Rebecca saw in the mirror every morning.
“Y. . .y. . you’re m . .. m . . .me!!” Commander von Ernst gasped at last.
“Bingo Noodle-head.” Admiral von Ernst replied with a chuckle. She strode up to look her younger counterpart straight in the eye. “Whats the matter. . . .don’t like what I did with our hair? Its how Momma always wore it.”
Rebecca opened her mouth to counter that she was darn-noodling aware of how her Momma wore her hair, but snapped it shut again over the insanity of the situation. She’d argued with herself on many occasions, but never quite like this.
“How. . . . .” she said simply.
“Why the Defiant of course.” Admiral Rebecca replied, “If memory serves. . . . and you know it always does. . . . you were blown out of the USS Defiant’s shuttlebay not a half hour ago, and quite suddenly found yourself here talking to me. . . .er. . . .to you. . .to us. . . .whatever.”
Young Rebecca nodded numbly, mind still reeling. This had to be a dream. . . . The rest of the bridge and crew were lost in a fog of blurry color, and only this horrifying image of herself was sharply outlines and detailed. Some weird detached part of her mind noted how her elder counterpart was wearing her uniform a bit too tightly, and had a decidedly slutty wiggle to her hips as she moved about the bridge.
~~~Eeek. . . .have I actually lost weight in my old age?~~~ she wondered as well. Older Rebecca’s cheeks were a bit more sunken, and figure a bit more frail.
“. . . . .the interphasic nature of the rift the Defiant is stuck in allows for a complex overlay of dimensional possibilities. . . . . .” the Admiral was saying. “You don’t know it yet, but thanks to the Defiant, in the next few hours you’re in for one total ‘mind fuck’ as Corgan used to say way back when.”
Young Rebecca gasped, her cheeks flushing. She didn’t know what was more horrifying. . . .hearing such vulgarity being spoken in HER voice, or the way elder Rebecca mentioned James in the past tense.
A muffled animal-like grunt issued from one of the featureless zombie-crew, the voice bringing chill to Rebecca’s spine. The speaker had NO FACE!
“Acknowledged, ” The Admiral replied, apparently understanding the mournful grunting. Crinkling her nose, she inspected one of the repeater screens hovering in front of her chair. “Keep us in standard orbit above Earth, “ she said finally, “but be ready to get out Warp 13 if Starfleet shows up. Meanwhile Princess phaserbanks and I are going for a little walk. . . .You have the bridge.”
“Starfleet?” Young Rebecca glanced about in confusion. . .”Aren’t. . . you. . . .?”
She snapped off her own words as the Admiral stepped off the Command dais and took her arm in a surprisingly strong grip. The long delicate fingers dug painfully into her arm.
“Ow!. . .what. . “
“Walk with me Rebecca.” Said Rebecca. . . . her tone brooking no argument, and so in a confused daze she allowed herself to be lead to the aft Turbolift, her eyes never leaving the strange long-haired doppelganger that gripped her so tightly.
The doors hissed shut leaving Rebecca trapped with this creature who glared at her with a horrible fire blazing in her brown eyes.
“Starfleet is dead.” Admiral Ernst said without preamble, leaning in uncomfortably close to Rebecca., “Earth is in ruins as you saw, the Federation disbanded, and not an hour ago we left the remains of Enterprise burning in space.”
“Enterprise? You left?” Rebecca gasped.
“But of course my dear.” The admiral soothed, reaching up to push an errant strand of red hair back from young Rebecca’s trembling face, “Who else could have pulled off such a tactical feat except me . . .who else had better reason to destroy Starfleet except you?”
Rebecca cringes as the pale hand of her twin caressed her forehead. . . .the touch cold and unwelcome. “We’re fighting the fleet?” she breathed, “Why. . .how.”
“Oh my dear Rebecca,” Rebecca smiled, still gently brushing back the hair, and sliding up closer to her younger self. “You know why. . .. you’ve always known why but you haven’t the courage to accept it yet. It took the shock of encountering the Defiant to look deep within your soul and admit the truth.”
Cringing back from the admiral’s touch, Rebecca bumped against the back wall of the turbo lift unable to escape. “I don’t know. . . .” she protested before the admiral shushed her by putting a soft finger to her lips.
“Tsk tsk. . . .noodlehead.” her voice oozed. “You have said it yourself. . .we are one of Hoth’s tools. . .one of his weapons of war. Recruited and forged for the purposes of destruction.”
“But. . .”
“And what happens when a tool does not function the way you expect?” The elder Rebecca’s eyes flashed, “What happens when your tactical genius acts like a scared little girl all the time and cant perform?” Her touch trailed down from Rebecca’s forehead to gently stroke her freckled cheek.
“Me?” Rebecca gulped shrinking back form the touch. “I. . . I’m doing better now. . . .I. . .s. . .swear.”
“Yes. I remember.” The admiral said, exploring her own younger self’s features with her eyes. “You’re the Ice-Queen now.”
Rebecca averted her gaze but nodded. How long was this turbolift ride gonna take?
“Ever wonder why?” Elder Rebecca asked.
“Huh?” Younger Rebecca’ s eyes snapped back to meet her counterparts. “Wonder why what?”
“Oh silly girl. . . .” Rebecca chuckled, “Have you ever wondered how we went from silly stuttering farm girl to instant Ice bitch Tactical Genius? Ever wonder how it was Hoth finally got the tool he wanted?”
“I. . .I. . I got better?” Rebecca squeaked.
“No my dear. . . .” the admiral’s voice lowered ominously, “You got altered.”
For a bried horrible second young Rebecca considered laughing in her (own) face. However the deadly serious gaze in her (own) brown eyes silenced her.
“H. . . h. . .how.”
The admiral ignored the question however, opting instead to continue to gaze deep into Rebecca’s features. “Oh Rebecca my dear. . “ she breathed huskily, “how I miss being you. . . how I miss the innocence and naivete. If you only knew the deeds you will have to do to exact revenge.”
The admirals breath was warm and sweet on Rebecca’s neck, and the incongruity of it all was making it difficult to concentrate. ~~~Altered. . .me. . . .how. . . . ~~~
“I. . . I. . .” she mouthed silently as Rebecca moved closer.
“Rebecca. . . . I loved who I was. . . I love you.” With a brush of hot breath, Rebecca’s lips fell squarely on Rebecca’s mouth. The heat from her kiss sending rivers of fire tingling down her spine.
Shocked at first the young Rebecca froze as the slim long-haired woman pressed her own elfin body back into the corner of the Turbolift.
~~~ I. . .I . . .I. . .~~ her brain stuttered for several seconds. Elder Rebecca continued to kiss her younger self deeply and passionately, with a seeming hunger and loneliness that felt strangely familiar. Her tiny tongue darted out to meet Rebecca’s own, and for a moment they tangled awkwardly.
It was only when she reached her pale hand up the front of Rebecca’s thin gray T shirt, and finally cupped her small breast did the younger woman react.
A growl of horror rose in young Rebecca’s throat and with an anguished “NO!!!” she shoved the woman away with inhuman strength.
“Get AWAY FROM ME!!!” she shrieked, still tasting the other’s lips in her mouth, and still feeling the fiery handprint on her never-before-touched breast.
The cry died out in shock however as the woman she shoved away was NOT her elder persona.
40 year pixie-like Admiral von Ernst was gone, and stumbling back instead was the tall voluptuous goddess of Nilani Kahn!
The long dead Starfleet Engineer was attired in her typical tight-leather corset, and hungrily licked her full lip-stick stained lips.
“Whats the matter little princess. . . .?” Nilani said seductively. “Did you want to make out for old time’s sake?”
Rebecca cried out in terror as with a sudden wet snap, Nilani’s head sprang sideways into an impossible angle. A glistening sliver of bone protruded from the woman’s obviously broken neck, and yet her lopsided head still ran its eyes lustily down Rebecca’s slim form.
“Hey if you don’t want to go all the way with a dead woman, maybe we can just NECK.” Nilani teased, her head flopping horribly on its shattered base. “After all you did kill me.”
“No!”
The Nilni ghoul licked her lips. “Yummy. . . .just like I remember.”
In disgust Rebecca attempted to wipe the lipstick stains off her own lips, gasping in horror, she stared at her hands as they came away with bright red blood on them.
“YOU did this to us!!!” a new voice accused, and looking up Rebecca found herself no longer in the turbolift, but rather in a vast shadow filled room, literally overflowing with more of the blurry-faced zombie crewmen from earlier.
“You killed us. . .. you wrote us off in one of your accursed math formula’s as expendable, and now we burn for it!”
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, burning more into her mind rather than her ears.
~~~Oh dear God there must be thousands of them.~~~ her mind reeled as she gazed out upon the vast crowds of moving dead. ~~~I killed so many. . .~~~
“It’s we had to pay!” a familiar voice called, and Rebecca looked across to once again see the long-haired vision of her future self standing in a small opening amidst the dead.
The futrure Rebecca was quite naked, her pale freckled skin cloaked in a living cloak of her voluminous red hair. Her ribs and hips standing out prominently in her thinness, “We had to do it Rebecca.” The woman called. “You cant let them get away with what they did to us. . . .with what they did to Momma.”
“Momma!!” Rebecca straightened. “What are they gonna do to Momma?”
The naked Rebecca ignored her, “We had no choice. . . .” All about the admiral, the blurred zombie began shambling inwards, reaching out for her with their horrible featureless limbs.
“You did this. . . .you killed us.”
“What are they gonna do to MOMMA?!!?” Rebecca shrieked again, but her other self could no longer be seen. She disappeared amidst the crush of bodies, her white skin vanishing into the arms of the dead.
“NO!!” Rebecca shrieked seeing herself being torn apart by these demons.
“C’mon. . .just one little kiss.” Floppy-headed Nilani was beside her again, waggling her tongue at her.
“No. . . .” Rebecca’s cry was more mournful now. . .weaker.
“If she doesn’t, I will!” a male voice now. . . .Lysander. . . .or some horrible doppelganger version of him appeared, diamond ring in hand. “Since she wont marry me, I’ll smegging well kiss you!”
“Great.. . .Just what I needed.” Nilani replied, only it wasn’t Nilani anymore. . . .In her place stood a 40-ish long haired red-headed woman that Rebecca at first mistook for the admiral again, only to blink and realize it was really. . . .
“Momma!!!”
“Hello sweetness.” Holli von Ernst greeted her daughter. “If you’re not gonna take advantage of this young stud, I’m sure you wont mind if I take him off your hands would you?” Eagerly Lysander strode forward to take the slender Holli into his strong arms.
Rebecca ignored the question “Momma!!! What gonna happen. . .what did they do to you!!!??”
“Do to me. . . .?” Holli answered half distractedly as the young Lysander blazed a trail of hot kissed down her long throat, “Why nothing I. . . . oh that feels good. . . . .I just put my entire life on hold to raise a cold-hearted murdering little girl. I sacrificd everything for. . . .no don’t stop. . . . .sacrificed everything for you, only to end up tossed aside.”
Tears welled up in Rebecca’s eyes, she wanted to say more, but had to tear her gaze away as Lysander kissed her Momma passionately, reaching around to grab her hard runner’s ass.
The croon of pleasure coming from her mother’s throat was too much to bear.
“No. . . .”
“No what?” James Corgan asked, his eyes filled with shocked surprise. . . “I thought we talked about this Rebecca. . .I. . I thought you said you wanted to.”
Blinking in confusion, Rebecca glanced around. The blurred zombies. . .her mother. . .and Lysander were all gone. . . .she was back in her private cabin aboard the USS Galaxy, and James Corgan was kneeling in front of her holding up a diamond ring.
“Huh?. . .uh. . . what. . .no. . .I was talking to someone else. . . what did you say?” She stammered in confusion.
Grinning good-naturedly James chuckled, “I said. . .would you marry me silly, and you just said ‘no’.”
“Oh. . .marry? . . .what?” Rebecca recoiled slightly. “What . . . .what about Lexa?” it wasn’t a bright statement but the only thing she could think of under the bewildering circumstances.
James frowned looking hurt. “I. . .we. . .talked about this honey. . . . .Lexa was very imnportant to me, but she died almost 3 years ago, and you’re the one I want. What’s the matter I thought you said you wanted to get married?”
~~~Lexa. . .dead? Three years?? What the noodles?~~~ Casting about desperately, Rebecca’s eyes caught her reflection in a mirror and gasped.
~~~My Hair!!~~~
It was long. Not yet down to her knees as in the case of the weird Admiral von Ernst, but well down her back. . . .perfect for three years of growth.
Something else caught her eye. Her uniform. She wore four golden pips at her throat. The symbol of Starfleet Captain.
“I’m Captain of the Galaxy. . .” she murmured.
James shrugged still holding the ring aloft, “Well . . . .yes. . .. but Captain’s can marry too. . . .we talked about all this.” There was evident pain in his voice of a man hurt byhis love.
“This cant be. . . “ Rebecca said softly, refering about his whole crazy vision, but James took it as a refusal.
“No? NO!! “ he cried out, “Oh geez Rebecca, don’t go wishy-washy on me now! We’ve been together for two years now, what the f*ck do you want from me!!??!!”
He go up from his knees and threw the ring down. “Lysander was right about you all along. . . . I should have listened to him when I visited Alpha Centauri. You haven’t changed!!!”
Rebecca shook her head not knowing how to explain, “James wait, I . . . .”
“No YOU wait Captain!!” James Thundered. “I’m tired of waiting for you. If you don’t want to marry me that’s fine!!! If you want to raise our child on your own, that’s fine too!! Just don’t come complaining to me if she ends up as psycho as you are!!”
With that he stormed out of the room leaving an open mouthed Rebecca standing quite shocked in the middle of the room.
Not daring to believe, she slowly looked down at herself.
A small pooch of a belly on her lower abdomen said it all.
“Baby. . . . ?” she gasped.
Three years and a million miles away, Commander Rebecca von Ernst, XO of the USS Galaxy opened her eyes on the bridge of the USS Defiant. Her scared breathing fogging up the glass on her firmly clamped EVA suit.
“Oh dear God. . .” she whispered collapsing to the floor, “H. . .h. . h .help me. . . . “
****
"Okay, all clear." Victor announced, waving So'ka and Cutter forward out of the car. Behind them, the door slid closed and the car rumbled off as if someone else had summoned it. ~ At least that tells me someone else is still alive here. Always nice to know you aren't alone. ~ He shivered. ~ What were those faces, really? I didn't imagine them, but how did...? No, Stop. Concentrate on the job, ignore the rest. Concentrate on the job. ~
The tingle at his back worsened for a moment, and, against his will, Victor turned around to make certain that no one was there. ~ Nothing... again. Well, my reflection over there, but that doesn't count. ~ Absurdly, he moved a hand, watching as the slightly warped mirror image in the polished metal mimicked his move. ~ Nice to know, *something's* doing what it's supposed to be. ~
Turning back to the other two, who had finished their own look about the area, Victor spoke up, "This was the old-style holographic suite - the best they could do was project pictures and holofilms back then, the equipment wasn't good enough to qualify as lifelike, and anything like fine microtractor control and holomatter was right out." He nodded towards the right. "The gymnasium's that way, along with one of the evacuation transporters. There's another to the left before the park and a third forward by the dining area. Might be worthwhile to check those before we leave and see if they were used."
"The arboretum, if there are human inhabitants aboard, could be farmed to supplement the food supply," Cutter said, looking off to the left of the group.
"Okay." Victor pointed to the left. "Park's to the left. The schematics say it covers about a third of this deck, so it's fairly large. If there are survivors using it to grow crops, it shouldn't take long to spot. I'm not expecting trouble, but keep your eyes open anyway. Someone set that trap for us back at the Physics Lab, and they're still around here, somewhere."
"Yes, sir," So'ka nodded and dropped back to cover the rear as the three moved around past the evacuation transporter and into... a jungle.
Plants from a hundred different worlds rose up from the dirt-covered floor to brush the ceiling in places, vines, leaves, fronds, and more twining about each other and spreading out to form an impenetrable green wall interspersed with spots of flowering color. Some traditional Terran shrubs growing next to Cappellan Fire Flowers, threadlike vines from one of Risa's forests working their way up both of them, blocked the immediate path, and victor drew up short, frowning. "Okay, I was not expecting... this." He looked to each side, took a step to the left, and then nodded. "Looks like someone is here occasionally," he announced, lifting an elephantine leaf out of the way to reveal a narrow path, "I missed this the first time, and just about missed it the second."
Victor moved more of the plant aside and eyed the path for a second before looking back at Cutter. ~ Are his wings going to fit in there? Maybe... but it'll be tight. ~ "Are you going to be okay with this path, sir?" he asked, hoping that Cutter wouldn't be a claustrophobe.
Cutter stepped over, and looked. The path was narrow, and darted through the trees and shrubbery like it was made by a child. The urge to flee began to return as he stood next to Victor and stared down the path. "Sem. I suppose so," he would have to stoop over for most of the trail, though.
~That didn't sound too encouraging. ~ "The deck's not that big, and this only covers a third of it, sir," Victor reassured him. "We ought to be through it in a few minutes at most. If it starts to be a problem for you, though, just let me know." He hefted his phaser rifle. "I can always make a clearing if you need some room to breathe."
With So'ka bringing up the rear behind Cutter, Victor moved some branches aside and stepped onto the trail, starting down it. ~ I suppose this isn't that unusual for a century with no controls. It doesn't look good for the crops idea, though - this is too thick for anything like that to be going on in a large scale. Looks more like a game trail in the deep jungle on one of the protected ranges in India back on Earth, or the southern continent of Altair Five. Minus the tigers and hellbeasts of course. ~
Ten minutes, and close to a mile of jungle later he stopped. ~ No way. There is no way that this trail is that long. The whole ship isn't that long. We're not going in circles either - the path keeps changing. ~ He glanced down at a small puddle next to his feet. ~ Like that puddle - there are always different things marking wherever it is that we are as someplace that we haven't been before. ~ The now-familiar tingle at his back started up again as he looked down at his reflection, and he snapped his head up.
"What's wrong, sir?" So'ka whispered, shifting his grip on the phaser rifle.
~ I'm not imagining this dammit - something's watching us ~ "We're not alone," Victor answered, starting to shift his own grip on his weapon. "Something's here."
Snap!
The noise caught Cutter's attention. He turned, but could only see the foliage of the home grown jungle. He was about to shrug the disturbance off, attributing it to either So'ka or Krieghoff, when another noise erupted from the tree, a noise distinctly inhuman.
Gggrrrooowwwll!!!
Victor's head snapped towards the direction the sound had come from. ~ What the hell? That was a... ~
"What, uh .... What was that?" Cutter asked, but Victor didn't have time to respond. The bushes in front of them began to shift, and Cutter stepped backwards in caution. A giant tiger leaped from the shrubs and landed on the trail in front of the three officers, its paws sliding slightly in the loose dirt. It stopped there and stared, its green eyes glowing from within the burnt orange fur. It stood there, waiting, prepping its back legs for a pounce, waiting for the group to act, waiting for Cutter, Victor and So'ka to react.
~ What the hell is a tiger doing here? An escaped lab animal? No, that'd be on the manifest... Later, deal with the whys and the hows later. The animal's here now. Live in the now. ~ "Back up slowly," Victor ordered, glad that he'd finally found a reason to be happy the trail was so narrow. "No sudden moves. Just back away. They don't normally attack from this position, so..."
The tiger leapt at that moment, landing right on Victor. The two beings, man and beast, fell backwards, pushing Cutter and So'ka to the side and off the path. As they fell to the jungle floor, the snarls that sounded as the two fought were so nearly identical that it was impossible to discern which sound came from which combatant.
****
Cutter landed in a thorn bush, which grabbed at his EVA suit as he tried to roll out and run. The jungle was crawling with thorns, sticking out and scratching away, ripping little gashes in the EVA suit. Nothing stopped him, he ran hard and fast, without thinking. Finally, the urge to flee had an escape, and it took full advantage of it.
Fruna'lin didn't run, they flew, they soared, but Cutter's wings were bound. His EVA suit was heavy and bulky and weighing him down. He tired quickly and stopped at an out of place wall, the hull of the Defiant, the border for the jungle; the infinite monolith halting him in his tracks. The scientist bent over, breathing heavily. There was something in his air, increased humidity, the smell of a forest, and Cutter realized that his EVA suit had been compromised. Cutter stopped, momentarily holding his breath, and listened, and could hear no sound; he stood up straight and looked and could not see Victor or So'ka. He was alone.
****
So'ka staggered back into the jungle a strop, then another... and then he was lost, alone, the jungle falling away just like the ground beneath him. He tumbled down a barren hillside and plowed through some vegetation that bruised him through the EVA suit before coming to rest on the edge of a sandy clearing under a hot, dry sun. The jungle was gone, replaced by a stand of tough, sturdy trees that were twisted by the wind into gnarled forms reminiscent of scrawny, misshapen dwarves.
"Where am I...?" So'ka looked up, frowned, and stood. "Not the Defiant - I'm on a planet, not..." He stopped, an atavistic shiver slipping up his spine. "No... I know this place..." He looked around again, his pulse starting to race. "I was here... This is where I..." he suddenly looked down at his feet, eyes widening as he saw the ground crumbling beneath them, the thin crust of dry earth he stood on giving way to something that was neither.
~ What? No - not again! Not the Drowning Sands! ~ He lurched backwards, trying to fall into the trees and secure a handhold to free himself before he was ensnared by the quicksand.
His phaser rifle was struck by a tree branch that almost seemed to move on its own and spun away to sink beneath the nearly liquid sandy surface as he floundered for a handhold, trying to keep from following it. The branches in front of him, solid as he tumbled through them an instant before, melted away like mist under his hands and he followed the rifle into the morass, the thick fluid pouring in his open faceplate as he thrashed in a panic.
Then, and only then, did his composure finally crack. Then and only then, as he realized that this was indeed happening to him as it had so many years before, did he let himself scream in fear.
****
The tiger's forepaws slammed into the ground on either side of his head, as Victor snarled back into the animal's face defiantly. Jamming one arm under the creature's jaw, he forced it up and away from his face, the deadly teeth closing on the far more durable material of his EVA suit's helmet, sliding along it with a nails-on-chalkboard scraping sound that reverberated inside the helmet deafeningly before stopping as they found purchase. Arching upward awkwardly, he wrapped his legs around the animal's belly as best he could to prevent the tiger's rear feet from raking him to death, snarling again as the bulky suit made a firm grip impossible, threatening to cause them to slip free at any moment.
The tiger jerked its head side-to-side, trying to worry through the helmet, and new sound began to fill Victor's ears inside it: the creak of impending structural failure. ~ Helmet's not going to last much longer and then it's all over... Need to do something fast! ~ His free hand scrabbled at the suit's exterior, trying to reach his hand phaser, but found nothing where it should have been. ~ Dammit! ~ His questing fingers found something, grabbed at it and pulled it free.
Victor shifter his grip and bared his teeth in frustration as the first cracking sounds resounded inside the helmet. ~ Great, the multitool. What am I supposed to do, screw it to death? ~ His teeth suddenly bared in an different way, more like the one the tiger's had just before it leaped. ~ Why not? ~
Reaching around, he groped for the back of the tiger's neck, found what he was looking for, and jammed the multitool against it. His legs slipped free, and there was a single moment of flailing as he tried to regain their hold before he tripped the switch and felt the vibration of the tool in operation through the suit's gauntlet, any sound it made lost in the mingled sounds of both of their growls and the failing helmet.
Nothing happened for a moment, and then the tiger jerked suddenly, almost losing its grip on Victor's helmet. He pressed down harder, the tool's vibration suddenly changing as it found more durable material and changed gears. The tiger jerked again, releasing the helmet and voicing a scream of rage - then collapsed suddenly, its entire weight falling on Victor.
A minute passed before Victor wormed out from under the animal and stood looking down at it. The tiger's eyes were still bright, its breathing labored, and it snapped at him, unable to do more after the drill bit had severed parts of its spine. The multitool, still lodged in the animal's neck, stood straight out like some bizarre dart thrown there.
"Well," Victor sighed, removing his damaged helmet and discarding it before looking around. "That was... What the hell?"
Instead of the path he'd encountered the tiger on, he was standing in the middle of a clearing, the jungle canopy overhead open to show a bright blue sky - and no less than two moons reflected in it besides the sun. Even the vegetation was different, more ferns than trees and shrubs, and a small watering hole nearby most definitely wasn't part of the Defiant's design.
"Where the hell am I?"
A group of three, running like frightened animals, rounded the corner into the last lane of freedom, the final stretch between the deflector control center and the shuttlebay of the USS Defiant.
The trio, an young Andorian who stroke like a warrior during wargames, slowed to keep pace with his compatriots, a Vulcan female who stumbled and tripped at each step, and a Terran female who aided in her flight. The Vulcan was aflow with a deadly fever, the final legacy of a brutal violation inside her mind. It made her delirious, panting, sweating, uttering words nobody else could understand. Her glazed over eyes could still see their path through a milky haze, and she walked with the strength her fever wracked body could muster.
And it worried Commander Reece more than anything else. T’lan was slowing them down, and the darkness was getting closer. It crept like a watery shadow, flowing over walls, halls and bulkheads in its attempt to swallow them whole. The shadows was a relentless, noiseless void, and she knew it wanted her back, willing to swallow her friends up in exchange for their one, missing prize.
Lexa Reece toyed with the idea of leaving T’lan to be sucked inside. T’lan was slowing the group down with her fever, and she couldn’t keep pace. T’lan became a liability. Needs of the many outweighting the needs of the few, it was only logical, as the Vulcan would say, if she was left behind.
But that kind of decision didn’t weigh well on Lexa’s conscience. ~”What do I do? What do I do?”~ She kept repeating over and over, ~”I don’t want to go back. I have to leave her. Let them take her! NO! I don’t want her to feel what I felt. She can’t see what I saw. Its wrong! I can’t leave her! How could I be so inhuman?!?!”
“T’lan… keep… going…” She encouraged the injured Vulcan to go faster. T’lan kept up, still slow, but faster than her body should have allowed.
The darkness was too dangerously close. It licked at the away team’s heels, savoring their delicious escape, feeding on their fear. Inky darkness tore at their legs, stuck to their shoes and threatened to keep them in place.
Ensign Brin Taro couldn’t explain what he was feeling, but when Lexa warned, “Brin! Move!”, he saw the same darkness as Lexa for the first time.
There, his legs were fastened in place. He found the darkness pouring over his legs and wrapping around like a vicious vine. The vine then tightened, consuming his body. The Andorian felt frightened as the cold chill of the darkness slithered up his chest, slapped the rifle out of his hand, and bound his arms in place. And then, the tendril darkness struck, pulling Brin Taro upwards, then slamming him back down on the floor, where the darkness was free to bind itself to his head and shoulders.
“Get out!” Brin begged his companions as the darkness tried to flood into his mouth, “GO! MOVE!”
“NO! BRIN!” Lexa, inches close to dropping T’lan and making a grab for the beleaguered security officer, watched horribly Brin’s body was forcibly dragged the opposite way of their escape, faster than being shot out of a railgun, the horrid sliding of Brin’s body on the floor ringing in her ears.
The darkness was halted for a brief moment, busy consuming Ensign Taro. Lexa turned around, gathered T’lan up, and ran before the Darkness decided to come back.
*****************
Approximately a half length of the ship away, James Corgan was frozen, unsure of what to do.
Slowly, the white on orange backdrop of the USS Defiant was being transformed. It was once a retro technological look, of simple form and function that held an old world charm. But underneath, James knew that the ship was something different. It hid its true nature behind a seemingly benign setting, an old ship waiting to be reclaimed and put in a museum for all those to admire. The ship hid a dark soul, and James was slowly starting to see its true nature.
The halls were being turned into a living corpse, a flesh based, rotted hell where the stench of death and decay was as thick as the fleshy layer under his boots. He stepped experimentally on the bleeding, muscle like floor, and heard the squelch of pulpy, diseased flesh and the shuffling and crackling of bone.
“Pile the bodies higher, dear James.” The voice of Death urged. It’s angels wings were stained with a blasphemous black, its robe a sinister dark like a starless night. Everything about the creature he faced was dark and evil, from the leering, skull like face that was wan and sallow from years of torture, to the gleaming scythe Death wielded so expertly, making a simple resting on his weapon easily turn into a decapitating blow in a matter of seconds.
“So, you like what I did to the place?” Death surveyed his new realm, looking at walls with melded bodies and flesh, leering sightlessly into the open, blood red ceiling that looked suspiciously like a sky, “Its your path, James. This is what you’ve made for yourself.”
“What… what is this?” James stuttered, aiming the rifle at Death’s leering skull, “What do you want from me?”
But Death ignored his question, and carried on, “You know, all your life you knew that in order to succeed, you had to walk all over people. You had to surpass your father as a musician by the time you were twelve. That hurt his pride, you know, but you had to do it. During the war, you had to kill to survive, but that was a goal, and to do that, others had to die around you as you killed. And even now, you realize that in order for peace and happiness, you have to leave some people in your life to rot.”
“What do you want!” James insisted demandedly.
“What do I want? I told you before! I want to take over! But that can wait… because I’m trying to make a point.” Death then walked up closer, and turned away toyingly as we went to an empty space in the wall, which housed a skin like cover, but not the infrastructure of a rotted body, “Death and change, you can’t tell the difference. You mentioned it before, correct?”
“Yes.” James shivered, “What about it?”
“To change is to kill your old self, and bring in the new. Lexa went through it. Rebecca went through it. Now there is only one person that has to go through it. That person… is you.”
“No way!” Corgan stepped back. He found his rifle relaxed. Catching himself on that error, he retrained the rifle, more determined to shoot his alter ego.
“Sorry, but you had to adapt and survive. You are mostly dead of your old self, ever since the Advanced Tactical And Security Course. You had to stop being such a little douchbag and grow up a little! You went to the academy again, trained your ass off, and went to being from a mediocre officer to the top of your class! But did you make any use of your new self? NO! You didn’t die to your old self. Once you came back on the Galaxy, once you let Brhode drag you down, once you let Lexa destroy you, you became that old self all over again! DAMMIT, you’re such a loser!” Death went off on his tirade, his scythe sweeping sickly on the fleshy walls, parting the mess in one clean swipe. It bleed and dripped coagulated blood as dark as pitch, and the ship itself seemed to moan in pain, “F**k, why am I associated with you? You take a good thing, and you f**k it up!”
“No… I didn’t f**k it up. Others f**ked it for me!” Corgan’s finger rested on the trigger. He was going to end that voice in his head, and his will said he could do it. He did it before, murdered parts of himself he didn’t like. Death would be no different.
“Ahhhh ahhh ahhhh…” Death waved a scolding finger, knowing everything he felt and thought, “I’m a part of you, remember? I know what you’re up to. Don’t even try it, ok? All I have to do is kill you, and then I take over. But hear me out for a second, will you?” Death begged mockingly, “Good. Listen, you’re supposed to be dead, Broken Head. The very model of a modern major Corgan’s supposed to be alive. He’s supposed to slay the ladies, impress the gents, and be the best next thing to sliced bread. You did the first thing, which was break up with Lexa, and that’s good because the Lexa you loved before was dead and replaced by a sociopath. But you, dear Corgan, have not changed. You pine away, thinking your life is not complete without her. That’s keeping the old you alive, while the new you, the one that begs to be something more, has been left behind.
Death stepped forward, his scythe close to Corgan’s face, close enough to smell the dried blood of the marines, “Look, if you won’t do it on your own, I will. I’m just offering you a chance to do it the easy way. Respect, skills, love, all that you want can be yours. All you have to do it grab for it. And since you won’t, because the old you is still distraught, I’ll do it for you. I’ll take over, and you can finally rest and let the rest of your life take place… the way it was meant to be. What do you say?”
James dropped his rifle, then unholstered his phaser pistol. He set the device to maximum kill, and pressed it dangerously against his skull.
“No.” Commander Corgan slyly grinned, “I won’t accept your offer. You’re right about one thing. My life sucks. I’m hated on my ship. The woman I loved is gone, and I can’t love her again. Everyone I want to be my friend is instead my enemy. But you know what? I’ll do it myself in my own time, and if you don’t back off and force things… I’ll end it right here… right now. Is that a more palatable deal?”
Looking down the barrel of a phaser, James Corgan couldn’t help but smile. Here he was, doing what he was destined to do. He was going to die for the people he cared for, assuring his comrades escape, making a worthless life more worthwhile. Death knew his dreams, and did not stop him, but at the same time he couldn’t stop James. Corgan’s crazed look in his eyes spoke what he was going to do if Death tried the slightest action.
Insanely, Corgan cackled as loud as a symphony, “OH WOW! YOU’RE CLUSTER F**KED, AREN’T YOU?!?!?!?!?” James mocked, laughing sadistically, enjoying the power he had over himself. Death could do many things, but the idea dawned on him to give suicide a try, “Without me, you’re dead. You can kill me and take over because your killing is different. You can kill marines, but you can’t kill me because you need me! That’s why you tempt me, threaten me, torture me, and do it to my friends. All you can do is persuade me to accept your offer, but I’ve decided that I don’t want it. F**ked your plans good, didn’t it?!? I die, you die, we all die!!!!!! GOD I LOVE IT!!!!!!!”
“But you don’t want to do that…” Death plucked the phaser pistol out of Corgan’s hands. Like a bubble, James snapped out of his insanity and felt a great disappointment, “You would be denying yourself of so many things. Face it… if you weren’t the least bit tempted by my offer, you would blow your brains out right here and now.”
~”Death is right…”~ Corgan pitifully whined, ~”I am tempted. I want all those things, and I’ve waited so long. I’ve been denied again and again. I want it. I’m sick of waiting. I want it.”~
”I can’t have it. Sorry.” He apologized.
Death struck Corgan in the face, flinging the Security Chief into the fleshy walls. The blackened, rotted skin squelched on impact, and James felt sticky blood pour over his uniform. He felt his jaw, nothing broken, but the sting really smarted. “YOU FOOL!” Death cried out, frustrated, “You don’t understand! While I’m on this ship, I have the power to manifest. I can do what I want, when I want, and if I wasn’t saddled to you, I would have you killed in an instant! But… that’s the way you want it…”
”Then fine… kill me.” James pleaded, “I can’t have love, life, or respect. I might as well be dead!”
”Fine… then you accept my offer?”
“No! I want to die!”
”Haven’t you been listening! Death and change! I can’t kill you, only change you! You don’t want change, then kill yourself because I can’t!”
“I thought you didn’t want that!”
“I DON’T!”
James heard from the corner of his ears the sound of buzzing and whirring. The flesh and blood of the hallways in the realm of the dead were a sickening black and gray, as if a graybrush washed over the area in one stroke. It painted everything, and took Death and James by surprise. The walls then sprouted, popping open modules and pieces of shining metal like bursting sores. The sound of sickening metal on skin was familiar, threatening to lose control on the grip of James’ sanity.
“No…” Death screamed in objection, “NO! He’s mine!”
“No… not again…” James panicked, scrambling for his rifle, picking it up and watching for targets.
“James…” Death said with concern, “Trust me when I say run.”
“What!” James asked in astonishment, “You’re concerned about my safety?”
“Dammit James… you’re surrounded. Remember, I’m not the only one in your head.”
When James realized what was going on, he found himself, and Death, surrounded by more of the nightmares.
*******************
Brin Taro didn’t know how long it had been since he was out. Could have been minutes, could have been seconds. Or maybe he wasn’t knocked out at all. He couldn’t be certain.
But what he was confident about was that he was hanging from the ceiling, caught up in an area that had no walls, no features, but everlasting night. The darkness, as Lexa called it, surrounded him.
He heard the echo of footsteps, and the young Andorian officer tried to squirm from his bonds. The tendrils didn’t let go. There was no escape for him. The footsteps came closer. He could discern a silhouette, even in darkness, through antennae sense. There was a floor. There was a wall. Where it was he couldn’t tell, only his equilibrium giving him a hint that he was hanging upside down.
The silhouette came closer, until he could sense out a body. It was tall, lean and muscular, a trait of the Taro family for generations. Brin saw what looked like him, but much different.
This silhouette came out of the darkness, lighted up though no light was in place, like a holophoto being transposed on a black background. It was an Andorian looking back at him, older, and dressed in command red. He had four pips to signify his rank. The face looked like family, but older.
“Son…” Captain Taro of the Andorian Rangers hung his head down in shame, holding in his hands a phaser pistol, “… you disappointed, you shamed me, for the last time.”
Brin Taro didn’t have enough time to react to the beam that flooded his mind with light and pain...
TBC…..
Sergeant Charles Avery had some pretty dull assignments back in his day. During his long foray as a Marine, he had been on peacekeeping missions, battlefields, and ships of the line, and still in all his time… he was never more bored than this.
Except for that time when he had to pull garrison duty on Deneb VI.
Or that time when he was the supply sergeant for the Chin’toka barracks.
Or maybe that fluff assignment on Earth after the war was over….
~”Close to Earth.”~ Sergeant Avery nodded, yawning lazily and leaning up against the wall next to the shuttle bay entrance. The environmental controls were set on high for some reason, and it felt like a warm summer day in his battle armor. The heat was soothing, urging him to rest.
Meanwhile, his companion, Rifleman Retu, at first didn’t mind his first away mission outside of his Bajor garrison, was high strung like a Ferengi on sambuca. He couldn’t understand what the rifle fire was all about, why some of the marines were acting kind of crazy, and why Sergeant Avery was being more of a lazy ass than usual.
“Avery! Wake up!” Retu unwrapped a square of his combat rations and chewed at it miserably. How he missed replicated food, but made due with the chalky squares anyways. After sawing through the equivalent of deck plating with his teeth, Richards looked to see Sergeant Avery looking up at the sky, as if it was a sunny day.
”Hmmm hmmm… hmm hmm… Sweet Adeline… Sweeet Ad..el..line…” Avery caterwauled.
Sighing in futility, Retu crumpled up the ration wrapping in his fist and threw it at Avery’s head. The harmless wrapper bounced off the Sergeant’s battle helmet “YO! Sarge! Snap out of it!”
The sergeant ignored Retu’s pleads, and attempted to switch on his communicator. Through static, the sergeant still had range enough for the local area to hear his off key singing. “My… Adeline…. My Ad..el…line…” He squealed through annoying static.
“Hey sarge! Sarge!” Retu complained, “Can you please shut up before everyone else starts to b*tch?!”
“At night… dear heart… at night dear heart….”
“Sarge!”
“For…”
”Will you please…”
“You…”
“Shut the…”
“Dear heart…”
“f**k UP?!?!?!”
“For you dear heart….”
*WHACK!* Retu’s palm jarred Avery’s helmet, rattling around the old private’s head like a pinball. Avery was roused out of his stupor, and he looked around in bewilderment.
“Damn, kid. Why did ya stop me? I was on a roll.” Avery acted hurt, and then continued to whistle.
Rifleman Retu gave up entirely on stopping the Sergeant from singing, until he saw somebody running towards their position. Cautions of the rumors of all manners of things coming out, Richards aimed at the shapes. Two shapes, both humanoid, were running for their lives, and stumbling like they ran for quite some time. They came closer, and Richards recognized their markings. They were both Starfleet officers, one in command red, the other in security gold. Both were on the brink of total exhaustion, and one officer, a female Vulcan, was sweating profusely like a large, red steamstack.
“Jesus… Sarge! Sarge! We got some arrivals! Fleeties, and they’re in bad shape!” Richards reported to his superior.
As a reward for his alertness, Sergeant Avery sang, “Sweet Adeline… Sweeeeeet Ad..el..line…”
“Oh for prophet’s sakes, I’ll go get it!” Retu sighed, his Bajoran patience giving in to the futility of rousing his incompetent companion. Retu slung his rifle to his shoulder, gave the unnoticing Sergeant Avery another whack upside the battle helmet to vent his frustration, and impatiently ran over to the two approaching Fleeties while Avery gave his rendition of a Barbershop Quartet’s torture. It only took a few seconds to meet up with the fleeties.
And boy, were they in bad shape! The Vulcan female could barely hold her phaser pistol, much less walk, and the human that bore her weight was as flinch and frightened as a jackrabbit on speed. The commanding officer threw the weight of the Vulcan on the Bajoran’s shoulders. By the pah’wraiths, she was as hot as the firecaves! Fever was all over her body, and it was cooking her and him alive!
“Help us…” The lady in the red uniform, a Lieutenant Commander, gasped between breaths.
“Oh… jeez… Avery! We need a medic!” The young marine panicked.
“For you… dear heart…”
“Oh fine, I’ll do it myself… dumbass…”
***********************
On the other side of the engineering section…
“How many of them can you take?” Corgan asked Death, counting the shadowy figures on his side of the flesh covered corridors. He had a hard time concentrating, losing count whenever one of the shadows seemed to gain his attention. There were too many to take with his rifle alone.
Death, who stood defensively behind James, had his scythe on the ready. The creatures, beyond what James consciousness alter ego controlled, were on his side too, and the Avatar with black wings and a black robe was having trouble keeping them all on tabs.
“Please… if marines couldn’t stop me… what makes you think they will?” Death cockily answered.
“Because if they kill me, you die as well.” James hissed back as he flipped open his rifle sights, “By the way, what is going on? I thought you were trying to kill me. Hell, you wanted to take me over, you came alive when I came on board… shouldn’t you be in league with whatever… THAT is out there!”
“Trust me when I say I am not.” Death confessed with a leer of chill, “Your unstable mental condition brings me to life, such as your doubts and fears. However, I could only affect you and not anyone else… until I came here.”
“And what makes this any different?” James asked.
“They gave me life, James. Whatever is out there, wants us either dead or enslaved. I was given life… by whatever it is out there… to get what it wants. The madness, even with Thorogen keeping it in check, eroded your control that you learned over the past year. Everything else… this sentience you theorized, must have given me a more caporal form. They did it... for the future... whatever that means. They... it... wants to ensure it... or destroy it... don't know which.”
James discounted Death's ramblings as the wild thoughts of a madman, and tried to make sense of it himself. “So that’s how you killed those marines… just like how Lexa was trapped and how T’lan was violated. Our fears and weaknesses are given life here.”
“Bingo, El Corgano. But guess what else you fear?”
~”No… not that?”~ James shook like a palm leaf in the wind. There was only one fear that could hurt him worse than his own self. It was a fear that stalked him since the incident, tearing at his soul, once turning him into a cold blooded slayer for years. It tore up his personality, leaving a void that wasn’t filled until much later in his life. It was also considered the most dangerous enemy alive.
The whirring and clicking of servo joints preceded the monotonous stomps of metal feet on the floor. Like stars appearing out of nowhere in a clear dusk sky, red laser beams popped out of cloud cover and raked the halls for signs of life. More lights, chaos green and blinding white, came from various electronic appendages, wrapped by looping cables and wires that seemed to leap out of a hardened metal exoskeleton like worms shooting out of their burrows.
“No…” James sweat turned cold and his stomach turned to bile, “Not again.”
“Cool your jets, Broken Head. They’re just drones. You killed a sh*tload of them before, remember?” Death growled, his scythe making practice swipes at the drones.
“Yeah…” James whispered in dread, “I remember… they hurt me bad, man. I killed them… they’re not supposed to be here.”
”James, this may be because I need you to survive right now… but LISTEN UP! You killed many of them! They’re fearsome, but you conquered that fear! You killed them, but it was in defense! JAMES! Don’t let them take you! That’s what they’re expecting! They expect you to freeze up! Don’t let them have it! You hear me?!?”
James steeled his resolve, aiming his sight at the nearest drone, “On three….. I attack the group on my side, you attack the group on your side. Ready?”
Death replied, “It’s the role I was born to play, baby.”
“Ok… one…”
The drones were mere meters away from Death and James. Tensely standing off, Corgan readjusted his sights, looking at the sickly visage of the drones.
“Two…”
Their milky white faces, coursed with black, nanoprobe choked veins, were coming closer, leering like hungry phantoms, personifying the all consuming, always hungry collective. For a second, James thought they were going to finish the job they started all those years ago, coming back to finish him, a promise made to the collective since the second invasion.
“THREE!!!!!!!”
James rifle spit red pulse fire into the ensuing mob of drones, striking down three of the mindless automatons in a flurry of sparks, blasts, and heated metal. The drones spasmed, their cybernetic appendages grasping invisible hands but failing to keep hold, their eyes vacantly looking up to the heavens. Long after death, their instruments would still show signs of sporatic life, flickering lights and sickened twists of servos. James cut into more of the drones, felling another three in the chest, extinguishing the last of their life spark as biological and technological functions failed to stand up to pure phased energy.
A seventh Borg adapted to the signal, the phaser pulse shimmering in a green field. Like clockwork, Corgan readjusted his frequency and fired as if he was on the rifle range, keeping a brave face as his phaser fire hewed through endless ranks that didn’t seem to stop.
Death was more of a whirling dervish, his scythe slashing through the drone ranks like a glittering silver arch that separated metal and flesh from each other in its sawlike range. The drones spilled their brackish blood all over the floor, feeding the decaying flesh surroundings with more death. Conscience swung his blade, loping off three heads in a single swipe. But the drones inched closer, grabbing Death by his arms and legs and he flung the drone bodies off him with superhuman strength, tossing them into walls, hearing the crunch of bone and armored plating and the sparks of exploding electronics.
James found the drones too close to his liking. He searched out for a gap in their seemingly endless lines, and then asked his counterpart, “Death! There!” He pointed towards one gap on his side, with only a few drones to guard it. “We can’t fight them all, work on the area I’m pointing to. We can escape through there!”
“You pick now as a good time to book it?!?” Death objected as he kicked a drone square in the chest.
“YES! Do it!”
Bellowing out a warcry that could raise the neckhairs of a demon, James charged and fired rapidly into the ranks. Death leaped over him, barreling himself in the gap, his blade almost invisible as it cut down the drones They were working as one, Death wholesale killing in melee, James supporting the offensive with his accurate shots. The drones fell, cut open by the scythe and pounded my merciless phaser pulses.
One drone, one of the last in the gap, caught Death by surprise. It’s crablike arm closed in on Death’s midsection. Cutting off his mobility, the other arm then tried to punch at the alter ego’s neck…
But then lost all function as a phaser beam blazed off a section of its head!
“Come on! Stop f**king around!” Death demanded, keeping the drones at bay as Corgan ran to escape from the mob….
TBC…
OOC: Ok, so I'm not Stephen King, but I was inspired by TP to write this, and it was enjoyable character development. Part Two coming soon. ~Lori
"They're starting again."
The voice was meek, tinged with fear and embarrassment. And yet, the listener sensed some relief in the voice as well, as if saying the words no matter how crazy they sounded, brought their own kind of relief, however temporary.
"The nightmares?" asked the listener of the young officer who was nervously running her fingers through her short blonde hair.
Katherine Hays nodded. "I know how crazy it sounds, Karyn, but there are times when I feel his presence, see him even. He's never going to let me go, I know that and so does Amanda." Her voice caught on a sob at the mention of her fifteen year old daughter.
"You were married to him for seventeen years, Kat, it's natural for you to fear him, especially now. Today you're remembering the anniversary of the day you left the life you knew, the marriage that nearly killed you and your daughter." Karyn pointed out.
Her assertion was met with more silence.
"Do you regret leaving Jack, Kat?"
The internal struggle was obvious in her eyes. She shook her head as tears traveled down her cheeks, her head saying one thing, her heart saying another. "If you could have seen him before the felicium... He loved me, and he loved his daughter. When I left for the Achilles for training, I thought he would care for her, I thought...I thought we would be...ok."
"But he wasn't." reminded Karyn, "Taking felicium was his choice. He chose to deal with your departure in a way that was wrong. He broke his vows to you, Kat, he's the one who changed the rules."
"From the very beginning, he had to be in control. I used to think it was sexy, manly and all that." She grew wistful, "I wanted to be perfect for him in the beginning, so when I wasn't, I tried harder. Until he grew impatient with me."
"You mean when he started hitting you." Dallas corrected, trying to keep the edge of her voice. Some stories were too close to home.
Her eyes widened. "I never thought he would hurt her, but I couldn't refuse him, not when a promotion for me meant a better assignment for us. It was what he wanted, and he had never hit Amanda, not ever. I called every chance I could. After Jack's accident, when he lost his commission in security, I wanted to come home, but...I was afraid. I knew he was angry and depressed."
Karyn could not keep the disgust from her voice, and though she knew it was wrong, the stress of responding to so many appontments of people reporting feelings of anxiety. "Did you know he was addicted to his painkillers? That not having you to take it out on led him to turn to Amanda?"
Hays was oblivious to her accusing tone. "Not until I came home and saw....what a monster he'd become, what he was doing to her. We left that night. I've felt guilty ever since."
Unconsciously Karyn crossed her arms. "For leaving her with him or leaving him after you discovered he was abusing your daughter?"
Katherine looked up sharply. "I love my daughter, Counselor, whatever feelings I have for my ex-husband will never overshadow the anger I feel when I think of what he did..." Karyn swallowed hard and blinked...
"...to you." finished a tall red head with green eyes in a creme colored nightgown. There was blood on it, Karyn realized...afterbirth.
A loud snap brought her back to the present. When she blinked and opened her eyes again, she was back in the moment, staring at a perplexed Lieutenant Hays. "Counselor? Are you all right?" She was snapping her fingers in front of Dallas' face.
Karyn felt weak. "I'm not feeling very well today, do you think we could reschedule?"
"Sure." replied Hays, sounding all too happy to be free to go. Karyn was somewhere else today.
***
An hour later she was in front of her observation window, staring. What was with her today? She had never halucinated before, and yet, in that moment of disorientation, she was sure that the woman staring back at her was her own mother....exactly as she had looked over twenty-five years ago...the night she had died giving birth to Karyn.
Rubbing her eyes, she could damn well see the parallels between how she felt toward her own mother deep down and Katherine Hays...
"If you're pissed at me, don't take it out on her, sweetheart." replied an all too familiar, but long forgotten voice. Karyn whirled and confronted the woman in white, trying to find her voice.
The spirit smiled "Happy birthday, honey. I've missed you."
Dallas, who longed to meet the mother she never knew, greeted her in the only way possible. She screamed.
****
****
“Where the hell am I?”
Victor repeated the statement, looking around him for some clue, some hint that would explain where he was and how he’d gotten there. Aside from the paralyzed tiger struggling to breathe at his feet, the only other sign of life was the tiny silhouette of an unidentifiable avian high in the sky. ~ This is *not* the Defiant… and it damn sure isn’t Kansas either. ~ He looked down at the tiger. “And you are most definitely *not* Toto.”
The animal tried to snap at him again, a low sound of mixed frustration and fear escaping its throat when its body failed to respond again.
“I can do something about that, anyway,” Victor sighed, looking around. “No reason to leave you like that, helpless and waiting to die.” He located his Phaser 2, but the rifle he’d been holding when the tiger jumped him was nowhere to be seen. ~ Must have left it back on the Defiant when I came here – wherever ‘here’ is. ~
He checked the power cell, and, satisfied that it wasn’t damaged, moved back to crouch next to the paralyzed tiger. “You’re a long way from home,” he said softly as the animal looked up at him with confused eyes, not comprehending why it couldn’t move, couldn’t leap upon the man in front of it. “I don’t know how or why we got wherever we are, but I’m not leaving you like this. You don’t deserve it, not for just being what we were both born to be.”
Victor reached down and covered the animal’s eyes with his hand as he brought the phaser up and thumbed it to the correct setting. “Run free,” he whispered. The phaser whined once and the clearing was suddenly silent except for his own breaths.
He stayed there, crouched by the silent, motionless form for a minute before he stood, looking around. ~ Okay, this isn’t the Defiant, that’s for sure. What then? And where? A planet? Some kind of simulation? A holodeck program gone bad, perhaps? I don’t recall doing it but… Hmmm… maybe the whole Defiant mission wasn’t real from the beamout on? Maybe we’re really in a holodeck, running through some kind of sick-ass stress analysis test? A Kobyashi Maru without the ships? ~ He snorted. ~ Considering what I did on the real Kobyashi Maru simulation back in the Academy, I imagine they’re looking for another show here. Too bad for them if that’s the case. ~
“Computer, end program.”
He waited expectantly. ~ Nothing. All right, fair enough. ~
“Computer, display arch.”
Again he waited. ~ Okay, either it’s not a holodeck scenario, or they’ve overridden the protocols. Probably means that none o `f my codes will work either, but…. ~
For another minute he tried different access codes, including one he’d overheard Commander Corgan use the day he’d brought up the combat training program for the Klingons. When those didn’t work, he tried forcing a reaction by switching programs or starting a new one.
~ All right, nothing there. Now what? ~ He looked around the clearing. “Better to assume that this is real, then. Something Q or one of the other omnipotents coked up then.” He frowned. “But they always seem to show up and gloat from the records, and there’s none of that this time…” he looked around. “Forget it. Survival first, anything else can wait.”
One look at the EVA suit told him that after the fight with the tiger it was useless for its designed purpose. “Good thing I stopped him when I did,” he murmured, examining a series of rents that cut all the way through the fabric of the suit just above the waist. “I never even felt these being made.”
Stripping out of the suit, he gathered up all of the equipment he could find and examined the pitifully small pile. “Might be nice if Starfleet remembered occasionally that its people can get stranded without a replicator,” he sighed. “One tricorder,” he examined it as he listed it off, nodding in satisfaction at its condition. “Check. One Phaser 2 with virtually full charge, check. One new model Phaser 1 with full charge, check. One old model Phaser 1 with no charge, check. One fleet-issue multitool with slightly bent driver bit, check. One combadge, check.” He shook his head. “Well, people have made it a long time with less.”
Pocketing everything that he could, he used some spare cabling to make a wrist loop for the Phaser 2 and looked around. “No sign of civilization, so one direction’s as good as another.” He reached down and gathered up some grass, tossed it into the air, and noted the direction it drifted. “Upwind’s better if there are predator’s about, so upwind it is.” He took a last look at the clearing, bent down to smooth a bit of fur on the tiger’s head, and started off.
A minute passed after he left, and then another, everything still and calm. Then, abruptly, the tiger’s eyes snapped open and a cruel, almost human smile crossed its face. “Well,” it whispered in a buzzing voice composed of a hundred threadlike screams. “This is going to be more fun than I thought.”
****
“Okay,” Victor sighed three hours later, looking into the same clearing he’d left the tiger’s corpse in. “That is just not right. I checked the distance, marked the trail – there’s no way I made a circle and came back here.” He stopped at the edge of the clearing and looked around. ~ Yep, same place. Same tiger, same ruined EVA suit, same mirror… wait – that’s new. ~
He walked forward, phaser ready, and studied the new addition to the clearing: a full-length mirror set in an old fashioned revolving wooden frame. ~ Okay, what the hell is this doing here, and why do I think… damn. ~
Victor spun around as the tingle between his shoulder blades returned, phaser sweeping the edge of the jungle. ~ I’m getting just a little tired of this. ~ “Well,” he called out. “You went to all this trouble to get me here, the least you can do is show yourself!”
The clearing was silent for a moment – and then the tingle at his back intensified, and an oddly familiar voice spoke up from behind him, the words distorted slightly as if through a faulty speaker. “Turn around.”
Whirling, Victor brought the phaser up, aiming it at… himself.
Or rather the reflection of himself that stood in the full-length mirror, regarding him with an air of calm amusement.
“What the hell?” he breathed, checking his finger as it reflexively started to depress the trigger.
“Oh very good,” the reflection mocked him, the voice clearer now. “Unintentional of course, but more accurate than most of your companions managed. While,” the image added as an afterthought, “they could still do anything at all, of course.”
Frowning, Victor stepped closer. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
“Me?” The image smiled back at him. “Why I’m you, of course. At least right now I am. A second ago I was an Andorian shooting his failure of a son in the head, and in just a moment I think I’m going to be a swarm of spiders crawling out of a bite on someone’s arm. But right now, right here – I’m you.”
“The hell you are,” Victor growled, stepping to the side to check behind the mirror. Bizarrely, the opposite side showed the rear of the reflection, as if the faces of the mirror were two windows on either side of the figure and not reflective panes of glass.
‘That’s it exactly, you know,” his reflection observed. “Such a simple deduction really, but so many failed to make it in time – or at all. But then, we always did have excellent instincts didn’t we? Must be that predatory nature lurking just beneath the surface.”
“What are you talking about?” Victor circled the mirror completely, stopping back at the side that displayed his reflection’s front.
His reflection looked back at him for a moment without responding. “Oh,” it finally said, disappointed. “I really had hoped you’d worked it out – especially after I told you that you were correct.” With a shake of its head, the reflection spread its arms, and in a voice composed of a hundred dying screams of pain and fear, answered, “I’m Hell.”
Victor stepped back, a stab of fear running through him as the sound of that hideous voice resonated on some level within him, triggering an almost overpowering need to flee, to run even though he somehow knew that running would do no good. “You’re,” he forced out past gritted teeth, refusing to surrender, “not hell. If it exists at all, it’s a place, not a person.”
The waves of fear beating down on him slackened, and his reflection smiled, a cruel slash of a grin that transformed Victor’s features into something evil. “Oh, yes it is – if that’s what you’re afraid of. Hell is fear. The Andorian feared his father’s disapproval, and it killed him. The marine is – was – afraid of spiders and they killed him. You…” the reflection’s smile grew wider and broader than any human’s could without tearing their face open. “You’re a marvelous find. All the little fears simply aren’t there. Death, loneliness, disapproval… you just accept them and move on. I looked and I looked, and just when I thought I was going to have to simply kill you, there it was.”
“There what was,” Victor growled, stepping forward to examine the mirror. ~ Keep him talking, got to keep him talking. If I can figure out where he is, then I can shut this bastard down. ~
“Why your fear, of course.” The reflection laughed, hints of the horrid voice it had used earlier echoing in the sound. “The only one, all alone and lost inside you, looking for a friend. So I offered to be its friend… and it told me all about you, because friends share things with each other.” It laughed again. “But you wouldn’t know that, would you? You’d have to have had a friend to know that.”
“I’ve got people lined up from here to Breen wanting to give me advice on how to fix what they think’s wrong with my head,” Victor replied. “Find a new tune.”
“Defiant to the end, just as advertised.” The reflection leaned closer to the inside of the mirror. “Would you like to know what it told me? Would you?”
~ Okay, this isn’t getting me anywhere. The mirror is just a mirror – or it’s something else. Either way, I’ve had enough of this guy. ~ Victor took a step closer. “What I’d really like, is for you to shut up and go back to wherever it is that you came from.” He drew back a hand and swung at the mirror.
His fist rushed out, reached the surface of the mirror… and the reflection inside reached out to meet it, wrapping a hand around his and pulling with a terrible force, dragging him closer, drawing him inside the mirror whose surface had suddenly gone liquid.
“No,” his reflection said with a smile. “Why don’t you come here instead?”
~ God, what? No! ~ Victor brought up the phaser and triggered it, but the beam glanced off the liquid reflective surface and ricocheted away, as did the second and the third pulses he triggered.
‘Careful with that,” his reflection cautioned, Victor’s entire arm inside the mirror now, and his shoulder vanishing. “Never know who might be downrange, you know. Father taught us better than that.”
Victor dropped the phaser, letting it swing free on the loop he’d mad for it, and braced his free hand and one foot on the frame of the mirror, only half-surprised when the wooden frame didn’t tip over from the pressure. “Let… go… of… me…” he ground out as he struggled to pull his arm free.
“Let go of you? Oh, I think not – I did go to all this trouble to get you here, after all.” The reflection increased the pull on Victor’s arm. “I have such marvelous plans for us, I just couldn’t give them up. I couldn’t.”
~ No good, it’s no good. He’s too strong. I can’t get my arm free and… my arm. ~ Victor smiled suddenly, the expression different from his reflection’s and only a little less disturbing. “You want that arm so badly,” he panted, dropping his hand and catching at the phaser swinging there before bringing it up to his shoulder in a fast motion. “Why don’t you take it then?” His teeth bared, he pressed the firing stud.
****
“There, you see?” Victor’s reflection smiled happily. “That’s just what I mean about our instincts being so close to the surface.” He regarded Victor for a second before asking, “Do you know how many people would have thought of that at all? And, having thought of it, would have been able to actually *do* it, much less do it with the speed you just displayed?” He shook his head, answering his own question. “Damn few I would assume, since you were the first I’ve seen. Marvelous, just marvelous.”
He leaned closer to the surface of the mirror. “Pity it didn’t work, isn’t it?”
Victor snarled wordlessly, depressed the trigger on his phaser again, and once more got no result.
“Amusing as it might be to watch you burn your own arm off for no reason whatsoever,” his reflection continued pleasantly,” it really wouldn’t accomplish anything that I want to do here. That’s just a physical pain – I want something deeper, something more… special.”
Abandoning the phaser, Victor braced himself against the mirror again as his reflection began to pull again, irresistible drawing him into the mirror inch by inch. “I’ve got something special for you,” he growled in a low voice. “Why don’t you step out here so I can give it to you?”
His reflection blinked. “Why, I thought you’d never ask!” With a sudden heave that tore Victor’s hold on the mirror frame free, he pulled him into the mirror.
As the liquid surface passed over his head, Victor struggled one last time to resist, failed, and vanished beneath the mirror’s surface. A moment passed while the mirror’s face roiled and rippled, waves rolling from side to side like a small pond that a large rock had been dropped into, obscuring the figures inside it.
A minute passed, and then another, the mirror slowly smoothing its surface out again – until a hand thrust out of it, the surface of the mirror flowing off of it like water. An arm followed, and then a shoulder and a leg emerged, and then, seemingly all at once, the rest of Victor flowed out of the mirror and stepped into the clearing.
He took a step away from the mirror, almost stumbled, then caught himself and shook like a dog, several droplets of sliver mirror-stuff flying free. The droplets struck the ground, quivered, and then slithered back towards the mirror like things alive, climbing the wooden base and crossing the frame to reach their goal and be reabsorbed into the disturbed surface.
He watched them go, looked around, and laughed once, spreading his arms wide and turning in a circle. “Oh we’re going to have so much fun!” he sighed, turning back to the mirror. “Aren’t we?”
Looking back at him, Victor snarled, fists pounding on the inner surface of the mirror, each impact making a tiny circle of ripples but failing to penetrate the surface tension. “Let me out of here!”
“Oh no,” I don’t think so.” The former reflection smiled again. “That’s the whole point to this, you see – that’s what your fear told me when we became friends. It’s all about control for you, that’s the secret. Well now *I’m* in control, and you can’t stop me.” He smiled in that impossibly wide, evil way again. “I’m what you’ve always been afraid of… yourself.”
~ My… self. ~ A slowly dawning understanding crept through Victor. ~ Oh God, it’s going to… ~ He pounded on the inner surface of the mirror again. ~ No, I can’t let it~ ~
“Ahhh…” his reflection smiled. “There we go, that’s what I’m looking for…” he smacked his lips obscenely. “Delicious. I *knew* you’d figure it out.”
“Dammit, let me out of here! ~ Victor yelled, pounding on the inner surface harder with no more discernable results. ~ It’s going to… ~
“Why yes, I am.” The pleasant tone of the reflection’s voice belied the sudden unholy light in its eyes. “And we’re going to have such fun. I’m you after all, and you’re me – you’re just in there, unable to do anything but watch as we do all the things that we’d do if we didn’t have all those silly ethics, morals, and personal codes that Mother and Father drummed into us cluttering up the place. Just watch and feel… Oh,” he paused. “Did I mention that?”
“Mention what?” Victor asked, surrendering on his attempt to breach the mirror wall by physical force. He looked around, trying to find the limits of his prison as he drew out his tricorder to take some readings.
The two surfaces of the mirror were like windows floating in a grey mist, with no floor or ceiling and no walls visible. Dimly, in the distance, Victor got the impression of various points of light, faintly glowing, but couldn’t tell what they were, or even how far away they were with the utter lack of reference points.
“Why,” his reflection kept speaking, ignoring what Victor was doing, “that you’ll feel all of this too?”
‘”Feel?” Victor asked absently, trying to make sense out of the gibberish his tricorder was displaying. ~ What the hell? This thing says that I’m nowhere, that all of this doesn’t exist. ~
“Of course feel.” His reflection smiled. “What would be the point to all of this is you had any vestige of control at all? You’ll see what I do, know what’s coming – and you’ll feel it too. Every delicious instant, all of them. Won’t that be perfect?” He frowned. “You’re not listening to me, are you?”
‘Sure I am,” Victor nodded, looking up from the useless tricorder. “I... aarrrgghhhh!!”
“No, you weren’t.” His reflection smiled coldly, and pulled the four-inch blade of the skinning knife back out of his left palm, twisting it from side to side as he did. “Oh come now, get up off of our knees there – that was nothing.” He tossed the bloody knife away casually, the wound in his hand sealing in seconds. “Just a little pain, we’ve felt worse lots of times. That’s not what you’re afraid of, anyway.” He tapped his forehead. “I know, remember?”
Inside the mirror, Victor looked down at his bleeding hand as the injury slowly closed and vanished. ~ Oh God… it’s going to keep me trapped in here and… ~
“…and do all of the things that we keep locked away,” the reflection finished for him. “Every impulse, every suppressed thought – even the ones so deeply buried that we don’t even know that they’re there. All of them… and you’re going feel them as we do them.” The evil smile returned. “How long will it take I wonder?”
~ Oh God, oh God, oh God… ~ Victor shuddered, realizing what the image meant.
“Oh do stop that,” the reflections chastised. “He’s certainly not going to answer you, you know. Not here. This is my place, not His, and there’s no room for mercy and saviors here. Just pain, and fear, and everything bad that makes existence worth enduring”
“What the hell are you?” Victor rasped, getting to his feet. “Why are you doing this?”
“That’s exactly right – like I said before, I *am* Hell.” The reflection paused. “Well, maybe not exactly the one that you’re thinking of, but I’ll certainly do for our purposes. Or at least this part of me will, since I’m our personal Hell.” He waved a hand. “The others all seemed to think I was close enough, anyway, and that’s really what counts, isn’t it? It’s all in what we believe.”
Victor struggled to wrap his thoughts around the situation, to grasp what was happening to him and form a plan. “Why? Why do this?”
“Because I can?” his reflection mused thoughtfully. “No, that’s not quite it. You know no one’s asked that in a very long time, not since that little Ensign from the first group, the one who was afraid of those things with the tentacles. Usually the screaming starts before they can ask anything. Now what was it I told her…? Because…” he brightened. “Because I *like* it! That’s it!”
~ Great, just great. Picard and his crew get Q the cosmic weenie, and we to wind up with this sick bastard. ~ “Why here then?” Victor snapped. “You’re not from here, you’re from one of those other universes that intersect here. Why come over in the Defiant?”
“Come over in… Oh no, that’s not it at all.” The reflection shook his head. “I’m from one of those other places, yes – but I’m not *in* the Defiant.” His smile grew wider, almost reaching his ears. “I *am* the Defiant!” His smile faded and his features returned to normal. “And I had to come here,” he added pleasantly. “I killed everyone else in my universe already and it was just so boring there.”
~ Killed everyone else… ~ Victor shivered at the casual way the statement had been made; somehow knowing that it was the truth. ~ And now it’s here, and… ~
“You’re getting it now,” the reflection nodded. “Now I’m here and I’m going to kill all of you too. Besides, you have so much more variety here, all these different races with their own little fears and terrors. The Vulcans - a whole race that suppress their emotions. Just imagine what fears lurk inside their heads! Even the Borg – they have fears too, I’m sure, and it will be such fun finding out what they are.” He clapped his hands like a child. “But first things first, and all that. Live in the now, isn’t that what we were thinking a little while ago?”
Victor stared at him, speechless.
“Come now, surely you have something to say before we get started? I can’t believe that we’d just let this happen without something being said first! No threats? No insults? No attempts to provoke me into anger so I’ll make a mistake?” The reflection pouted.
“You want something? All right, how about this, then,” Victor whispered, leaning as close to the mirror as possible. “I’m going to get out of here. Sooner or later, no matter what you do, I’ll get out. Once I do, then I’m going to kill you. No silly ass speeches, no threats, no posturing. I’m going to just kill you.”
“Wonderful! Just wonderful!” The reflection beamed. “That’s the me that we know! That’s the spirit!” He laughed the laugh threaded with a hundred screams again. “This is going to be so much fun. I’ve never found someone with only one fear before – I never dreamed it would be so refreshing to talk to someone that wasn’t afraid of me! Why do you know how long it’s been since someone actually *threatened* me?” he paused. “Why… never! I just realized that – you’re the first, the very first. They plead and they beg and they scream – there always scream – but they never threaten.” He leaned forward. “Do it again!”
Victor’s smile was colder than the space outside the hull. “No need. You understood me the first time.”
The reflection shivered in delight. “Oh we’re so intimidating when we do that! And the look in our eyes… just perfect!”
‘Lean a little closer and you can get a better view,” Victor invited. ~ C’mon, just a little closer… ~
“Really?” the reflection asked eagerly, starting to lean forward. “What will I… ohhhh… Naughty, naughty.” He straightened up, shaking a disapproving finger at Victor. “That was very bad of us, thinking we were going to pull me inside the mirror like that. Very bad, indeed. I’m afraid that we’re going to have to punish ourselves for that.”
“You first,” Victor suggested.
“Oh very well, since you insist,” the reflection agreed amiably. “Now what shall we do?” He thought for a moment, and then snapped his fingers. “Oh! I know! Let’s got torture one of our friends. Won’t that be fun?”
“We... *I* don’t have any friends, remember?” Victor corrected. ~ There has to be a way, there has to – I just need to find it. ~
“Oh well, yes,” the reflection nodded. “That *is* true – but I think that we can make do with the people we were traveling with in a pinch. We feel responsible for them, and that’s close enough, don’t you think? Besides, you’re forgetting something: they’ll think that *we* are *you* and that will make all the difference. Especially since they’re all afraid of us, deep down inside.”
“Let me out of here you sick bastard,” Victor growled, hammering at the interior of the mirror again, and failing to break the surface tension once more. “I’ll show what fear really is.”
The reflection’s laughter was light and airy, almost girlish. “Silly me, we already know.” He leaned forward. “We always know,” he confided conspiratorially. “It’s what we do.”
Victor growled deep in his throat and forced one hand into the inner surface of the mirror, reaching for the throat of his reflection. This time the surface distended slowly, the outer surface deforming and starting to push outward as he focused all his will on pushing the one hand through. Beads of sweat appeared on his face and his growl deepened as he threw everything he had into the one motion, feet scrabbling on nothingness for the purchase needed to brace himself.
His reflection stopped speaking and stared, watching the mirror distend with the expression of a child seeing something for the first time. “Ooooooh,” he sighed. “Such focused anger… and all for nothing.”
With a single motion he reached out, tapped the distended bulge with his forefinger – and sent Victor flying back on the inside of the mirror to slam into the opposite side’s interior surface, sliding down it, stunned, to lie in a heap on what passed for the floor in the misty interior of nowhere.
“Now that we have that out of the way,” het continued, don’t we thing that we ought to get started? Who shall we visit first?” he made a show of thinking until Victor was struggling to his feet. “I think… I think Ensign So’ka. So serious, so worried about being thought a coward – and he hasn’t drowned I that quicksand yet. After that, maybe the Fruna’lin…” He smiled, the now familiar evil expression taking on a new, leering meaning as he added, “And after that… I think we’ll pay a little visit to Shelley O’Rourke. We’ll enjoy that – both of us.” He looked up. “Won’t we?”
~ Keep his attention on me, got to keep his attention on me…. ~ Victor groaned, slowly struggling to his feet. “Leave them alone you bastard, I’m the one you want to torture, remember?”
“Why yes,” his reflection agreed. “And that’s why I’m going to do such marvelous things to the people that you came over with, the ones you feel responsible for – and make you feel every second of it. I asked once before you know – how long will it take? How long before you’re no longer revulsed by what we do? How long, do you think, before you start to enjoy it on more than just the purely physical level? A day? A week? We have all the time in the world between this instant and the next you know.”
“Bastard,” Victor hissed. “You’re dead when I get out of here.”
‘Another threat – and just as fierce as the first one.” His reflection shivered again, smiling. “I’m so glad you came to play, we’re going to have such fun… again, and again, and again….” Still smiling, he turned and started to walk off, stopping when he was perhaps a hundred yards away. “Well? Aren’t you coming?” he crooked a finger and Victor felt an irresistible pull, dragging him towards the animate reflection. “You can’t enjoy it all if you can’t see you know.”
The reflection laughed as Victor tried to cling to the mirror, failed, and was pulled off into the mists. “Oh don’t worry, I’ll make certain there’s a nice reflective surface nearby before I do anything. You *are* my reflection after all… or we’re yours – something like that. “I wonder if we’ll die from madness, or embrace it? It’s going to be such fun finding out. Why, we might even decide to stay around and be our own little helper. That would be special, we’ve never had a helper before.” He smiled, spun about again, and was gone, leaving the clearing to fade to nothingness.
It screamed its siren song to Lysander as he huddled over his bridge console. He'd all but pushed the Andorian woman to the side, from the Tactical arch.
The Math!
In place of the usual LCARS displays, Lysander had window after window of the customized datastreams that Rebecca had designed, open. Scads of numbers and mathematical oprations scrolled past, some at speeds Mr. Data would have been hard pressed to follow. Their flickering glows lit Lysander's face as he stared at them in open jawed fascination.
THE MATH!
It pulled him in, like a moth to a candle. There was no escaping it's pristine and stark beauty. It filled his mind like a tree built of shimmering crystal.
~~This must be what the smegging Princess sees in it!~~ exulted Lysander to himself. Watching teh interplay of numerical operators on teh screens in rapt fascination.
The Math!
Lys had always seen Math differently before. Where Rebeca relied on her photographic memory and unerring recall, her formuleaic grasp of tactics... Lys had viewed Math as one big IF/THEN statement and approached Tactics the same way. His grasp of differnt being's internal thought processes and his instinctive, empathic ability to 'second guess' opponents had always left him in the "No.2" spot behind Rebecca and her Tactical Flair.
Starfleet, from Adm. Jurgen Hoth on down, had wondered if it would at all be possible to combine the two officer's gifts somehow, someday. But the Fleet doesn't need a battle commander ten years from now, it needs one tomorrow.
Now, with Rebecca's tiny form spiralling out of DEFIANT'S shuttlebay and off into the nether regions of space... Lys had suddenly felt like he could "SEE" the mathematical solutions like Rebecca could.
~~ If the nasty little smegger is dead...maybe her talents passed on to me!~~ he exultued... feeling every nerve singing like they were on fire.
THE MATH!
It continued to scroll past him, every possible piece of data regarding USS GALAXY and her Tactical Situation, reduced to numerical form. The DEFIANT, the Tholians, the upgraded Weapons abaord, the InterDimensional Rift... it was ALL THERE!
"Commander?" the Andorian tactical officer asked him.
Lysander turned slack, unseeing eyes to her.
"We still can't arm the PPC...Captain Bhrode... before he left.. ordered us to arm it and lock on the Tholians. Chief Mirapoints said he'd armed the PPC, but it still is offline. Stupid piece of crap." she announced.
"It's all there..." he breatehd at her.
"The PPC?" she urged,running a caressing hand over the small portion of the Tactical COntrols' he'd left her.
"You didn't say the magic words. Dr Quick likes the magic words, you have to say the Magic Words first." Lysander giggled.
"Magic words?" her blue forehead creased in perplexion.
"Mother, may I arm the PPC?" Lysander demanded of the Tactical Arch.
++IDENTITY CONFIRMED. EXECUTIVE OFFICER, USS GALAXY. PULSED PHASER CANNON ACCELERATOR NOW ONLINE. CANNON READY TO FIRE. ++ the computer announced, as Rebecca's Numerical Displays disappeared and the Working LCARS for the TActical Arch replaced them across the span of the wooden Arch.
"Lieutenant, target those Tholian destroyers." Lysander indicated the crystaline ships on the viewscreen.
"Why?" the Andorian demanded.
"The Math is telling me to!" Lysander said, rubbing a hand across his forehead.
TBC. =/\=
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