Star Trek: Mariner
Episode 012:
Carpe Diem
by Bodie A. Ashton
(mariner01@gmail.com)
Episode 012: Carpe Diem
PROLOGUE
"Anything, Ensign?", Captain Ian d'Jemba asked hopefully. He had asked the same question of his operations officer at least a dozen times in the last three hours, and always with the same answer. Even before the ensign replied, d'Jemba's face creased in disappointment, pre-empting the report.
"Negative, sir", Ensign Reml replied with a shake of his Andorian head. "Our communications are still going unanswered by all Starfleet vessels and installations."
D'Jemba sat back in his chair on the bridge of the Steamrunner-class destroyer USS Appalachia, contemplating the situation. Some five hours ago, Appalachia had sent Starfleet a copy of the report sent to d'Jemba by Simon Anthony on the Mariner, detailing the Mariner's success in the Kosparan Nebula; in accordance with orders received from Admiral Kos Narton, however, the captain had not acknowledged Anthony's transmission, and instead was flying towards sector 001. Starfleet had not responded. D'Jemba had suspected a fault in the subspace communications grid, but that was working perfectly. Starfleet's silence made little sense.
The turbolift door at the rear of the bridge swished open, and an Antarean in an engineering uniform strode into the command centre. Ian d'Jemba noticed the entrance of the lieutenant with the trademark shock of white hair, and he smiled.
"Mr Retarax, how is my engine room looking now?"
Lieutenant Uys Retarax smiled thinly.
"Not too bad, Captain", he replied. "The impulse reactors were pretty fried, but Lieutenant Luksac and myself have bypassed the damaged systems, and I can guarantee that the impulse drive will work when we drop out of warp. It may run a little warm and rough, but a week at McKinlay should fix that up."
D'Jemba nodded.
"Most excellent, Mr Retarax. Thank you again for lending a hand in Engineering."
Retarax shrugged.
"Engineers don't like sitting on their hands, sir", he explained simply.
"I can imagine", the captain replied. "It's a shame you've been seconded to the Mariner. I'm sure Lieutenant Luksac would enjoy having someone like you as our second engineer."
Retarax frowned as he looked to the viewscreen, watching the stars streak by at faster than light speeds. He shifted from foot to foot idly. D'Jemba looked at him queerly.
"Lieutenant, is there something on your mind?"
Retarax sighed.
"Permission to speak freely, Captain?"
D'Jemba nodded.
"Captain, I don't like these orders you received from Starfleet", he said. "Why wasn't the Appalachia permitted to contact Captain Anthony after we left the nebula? It doesn't make sense."
Captain d'Jemba stood from his chair, leaning forward, his eyes glued to the viewer, as if he was searching for something among the pinprick points of light flashing by.
After a few moments, the Ivory Coast native turned back to the new second engineer of the starship Mariner, and wearily exhaled.
"No, it doesn't, Lieutenant. It doesn't at all. Neither does the fact that we can't contact Starfleet at the moment. In fact, this entire situation stinks to high heaven."
He paused, regaining himself.
"It really is a voyage into the unknown", Retarax remarked. D'Jemba smiled weakly.
"We're explorers", he muttered sardonically. "That's what we do best."
Four sectors from the position of the USS Appalachia, the Akyazi-class destroyer Vak'nahal cut through space at a speed of warp 4.5, her sleek and simple hull glittering in the glow from her twin nacelles. On the small, utilitarian bridge atop the semi-circular saucer, Captain Percel Q'antan idly tapped his scaly fingers against his knee nervously. Five hours ago, he had received a priority message from Starfleet Command, ordering his vessel from their original mission of conducting planetary surveys in the I-54 system, in order to intercept an enemy vessel-a Starfleet vessel, at that-which was warping out of Romulan space. Aside from that, he had no information.
"Captain!"
That could be about to change, he realised with unease.
"Yes, Ensign?", he asked the tactical officer as nonchalantly as possible.
Rule Number One of starship command: Be an example to your crew.
"Captain, I am reading a starship directly ahead, on course for sector zero-zero-one, velocity warp factor seven. Interception time is ten minutes."
The Deltan ensign sounded slightly jumpy as she read out her data. Q'antan flashed a reassuring smile.
"Any idea of the type of ship?"
"Yes, Captain", she answered. "Her transponder code identifies her as the USS Appalachia, a Steamrunner-class destroyer."
Captain Q'antan's grin slipped ever so slightly. The Steamrunner was a far more modern vessel than his turn-of-the-century-era Akyazi. In addition, he knew very well that the newer ship packed quite a punch.
"Ensign Iymadra", he commanded after a second. "You have less than ten minutes to study all the tactical data available on the Steamrunner-class. Find her strengths and weaknesses, or we're in deep trouble."
"Captain, I'm detecting a Starfleet vessel on our course and heading towards us at warp speed", Ensign Reml reported to Ian d'Jemba on the bridge of the Appalachia. D'Jemba grinned.
"Now we'll get some answers. Hail them, Ensign."
Reml tapped at his console, only to be answered by a flat tone of failure.
"They're not responding, sir. They are, however, dropping to impulse just ahead, inside the J-Fourteen system. We'll be there in exactly thirty-four seconds."
D'Jemba stood from his chair. He walked around the helm station until he was just in front of the viewscreen. He turned to the helmsman.
"Neymel, take us to impulse power. Set us a course to intercept that ship."
"Sir, she is identified as the USS Vak'nahal, one of those old destroyers they turned into survey ships a few years back", Reml clarified for d'Jemba's benefit.
"Still not answering hails?"
"No, sir."
D'Jemba rubbed his dark chin thoughtfully.
"This is very strange", he remarked to no one in particular. He was reminded of a time past when another starship captain had met another Starfleet vessel that had not answered hails. James T. Kirk would also have found this situation peculiar.
"Captain!", the tactical officer shouted spontaneously. "She's charging weapons!"
"Raise shields!", d'Jemba ordered, just before a photon torpedo detonated in the first attack on his vessel.
As the ship rocked from the assault against her shields, d'Jemba scrambled back to his seat.
"What the hell is going on?", he demanded. His only answer was another blast against the Appalachia's defences.
CHAPTER ONE
USS Excelsior
Captain's Log, Stardate 56856I'd like to say it's good to be back in command of my ship, but in truth I never wasn't, despite the fact I wasn't in charge of all my faculties. It's been a very difficult few days, especially over the last few hours, as I have realised my actions against Captain Anthony and the rest of the fleet.
It's probably a good thing that Mariner will be leading the diplomatic initiative with the Buna, and that the Excelsior is withdrawing. I'm not sure if I could remain cordial towards a race that enslaved my crew and I and made us engage our compatriots.
We are being escorted back to Earth by the Eximius and the Jaguar; the former has deactivated her transceiver, thus rendering her more or less invisible to sensors. Frankly, I hope the fears of both Aurelito and Captain Anthony are unfounded. Unfortunately, the two of them have a knack for being right...
Captain Jakob Christian Ramelow's quarters were a mess.
There was no other way to describe the bedlam he witnessed when he strode through the automatic doors, observing the smashed remains of some nondescript sculptures, the shattered wine glasses strewn across the carpet, the shredded remnants of the sheets of his bed-although what had torn them was not apparent-and the scattered old books he had kept in the shelves that had been in the captain's quarters since the commands of Test Captain Styles and Captain Sulu.
He stooped to pick up a bound volume from the floor. It was open to a creased page, which he gently smoothed with his fingers, before closing the book, and replacing it on a shelf above his desk.
The door chimed, and Ramelow looked up.
"Come in."
Lieutenant-Commander Tom Paris, the First Officer of the USS Excelsior, walked into Ramelow's living space, pausing as he surveyed the chaos.
Ramelow smiled slightly.
"My quarters seem to have had a disagreement with a quantum torpedo", he explained.
Paris nodded.
"By the look of it, the torpedo won."
"Indeed."
The captain shook his head.
"You know, Tom", he sighed, "I've always wanted to command a starship. I looked at people like Captain Anthony, and I've envied them painfully. It seemed like the dream job: sit in the big chair on the bridge and make the tough decisions, coming away from it all knowing that this is your ship, and no one can take that feeling away.
"There were a couple of missions on Mariner when I took command, and sure, they weren't easy, but I always felt confident that, when the time came, I'd be ready."
He trod carefully through what was left of a Rigellian palm that had stood by the door; its lilac fronds were now broken and littered among the rest of the debris.
"Well, Mr Paris, what do you think of my first command?" He picked up a shard of the pot that had held the palm, and he threw it violently against the wall, pulverising it into hundreds of little pieces. "Damn brilliant, huh?'
Paris watched as the tiny specks of porcelain settled on to the carpet. The pure white glittered against the dark floor, reminding Paris, incongruously, of the starscape outside. He stared for a moment, picturing the stars he had flown to, the worlds he had visited, the people he had encountered, the experiences he had had.
"I seem to recall another captain", he said slowly. "Her first mission was a disaster; she got her crew stuck in the Delta Quadrant for seven years. She lost people, her ship was almost destroyed more than once, and generally it was a pretty dangerous voyage.
"She's now an admiral at Starfleet Command, and her exploits are the stuff of legend throughout the Federation."
Ramelow shook his head.
"Thanks, Tom, but that captain-cum-admiral is in a holding cell somewhere at the moment."
Paris shrugged.
"Even the best have a bad day."
Ramelow pondered the point for a moment. Yes, that was true. Janeway had been stuck on the other side of the Milky Way, Picard almost had the Enterprise-E assimilated, Sisko almost started a war with Cardassia...hell, and Simon Anthony had almost seen the Mariner blasted out from underneath him on her maiden voyage.
With the beginnings of a sardonic smile germinating on his face, the captain of the USS Excelsior turned to his XO.
"Then let's go and make that bad day a bit better", he affirmed as he brushed past Tom Paris, heading for the turbolift. Paris took one last look at the shattered plant vessel. Then, he too turned, following his commanding officer to the bridge.
As the Jaguar, Excelsior and Eximius warped at ultimate speed towards the Sol system, Captain Simon Anthony was, at that moment, spread across his bed in the captain's quarters of the USS Mariner, listening to Twentieth and Twenty-First Century music while sipping a bottle of beer from his private stash. The Pale Ale was one of the last hand-brewed beverages from Earth, still made by the Coopers family of South Australia, as it had been back in the 1900s. Patrick Coleman had introduced him to the liquor on their short trip to Adelaide, before their run-in with Section 31, and Anthony had immediately become a convert.
According to Robbie Williams, the human male-long dead-who was singing through the speakers in Anthony's cabin, he was singing for the lonely, which suited Anthony just fine. He certainly felt lonely at this point in time; he was sitting, stationary, in a nebula hundreds of parsecs from Earth, while his girlfriend, Kathryn Janeway, was undoubtedly in the custody of the duplicitous Kos Narton. In the meantime, several of his friends were streaking towards an uncertain fate, had Admiral Narton scrambled starships to intercept the returning Excelsior.
But, for now...the beer was cold, the music was good, and the bed was comfortable, and he, Captain Simon James Anthony, could well be on the cusp of sealing one of the most important diplomatic treaties between two powers of the last decade. His ship was running well, his crew was primed...altogether, things could be worse.
But could they be worse for Kathryn?, he worried as the music track ended.
Things could not be better, Lieutenant Alexandra Lane thought silently to herself as she and Counsellor Rebecca Gregory locked lips in Lane's quarters. She could definitely taste strawberries on the lips of the counsellor.
Maybe it's her natural flavour, she decided with a mischievous smile and a muted giggle. Their relationship was in its very early stages; they hadn't even realised that they were attracted to each other until less than a week ago. Even so, they had been making up for lost time, spending as much time as possible with each other. Captain Anthony's order for all senior staff to have extended relaxation while the Mariner was waiting for the arrival of the USS Graf Spee most definitely afforded them with some of that well-earned time.
Rebecca Gregory softly drew herself away from her girlfriend, biting her lip as she smiled. Lane felt a shiver down her spine.
She is so cute when she bites her lip like that.
Then, the counsellor said the last thing Alex Lane expected.
"We're going to have to talk about this, you know."
Alex's eyes grew wide as she blushed hotly.
"You're having second thoughts", she surmised simply, more as a statement than a question. Gregory hastily shook her head.
"No, no, that's not what I'm saying at all", she corrected quickly. "What I meant was, this is a big thing in both of our lives, I think. I don't know about you, Alex, but I've only ever had boyfriends."
"Me too", Lane concurred. Gregory laughed.
"And I know that Lon has a thing for you..."
Lane gave her a sharp look.
"Really?"
Gregory nodded.
"He had a word with me this morning. Says he's always liked you, and he just wants me to take care of you, which is kind of sweet, don't you think?"
"I suppose so", the ops officer mumbled. She looked up. "Should you have told me that?"
Gregory laughed.
"It wasn't in a counselling session, so it's a normal conversation, and surely Starfleet Medical doesn't expect doctor-patient confidentiality to extend that far."
Lane still looked uncomfortable. Gregory raised an eyebrow and clasped a gentle hand on her lover's shoulder.
"Hey", she said softly. "Is there something wrong?"
Lane thought for a moment.
"It's just..." She hesitated. Using her other hand, Gregory angled the young lieutenant's head up, until they were looking into each other's eyes.
"Alex, I've been a counsellor long enough to know when something's wrong. Come on. Out with it."
A single tear streaked from Lane's deep eyes, wetting her reddened cheek, feeling to her as if it was searing her skin.
"My parents will eventually have to know", she whispered at last. "They're...set in their ways."
"How so?"
Lane shifted uneasily.
"My dad is Reverend Thomas Lane, the first primate of the New Catholic Church on Luna", she sighed after a pause. "He's one of those old-style churchy people who think that the cardinal sins are abortion, masturbation, contraception and homosexuality.
"I really don't want to think about what his reaction's going to be."
Despite her characteristically calm nature, Alex began sobbing, burying her head in her lover's bosom as she allowed tears to stream unabated from her eyes.
Rebecca Gregory lightly stroked the operations officer's soft, flowing, acorn hair, speaking to her soothingly.
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, Alex", she murmured calmingly. "No matter what, I'm here for you, and if it doesn't go well with your folks, I'm sure my parents would be overjoyed to meet you."
Alex looked up into Rebecca's face, her own visage lined with the marks of tears.
"I...I love you", she stuttered. Rebecca raised her hand, lightly wiping away the salt water with her thumbs.
"And I love you."
Less than an hour later, Simon Anthony was fast asleep in his cabin as the last refrains of The Road to Mandalay echoed through the speakers, three empty Coopers Pale Ale bottled propped up on his nightstand.
On the same deck, but four corridors away, Alex Lane and Rebecca Gregory also lay in bed, cradling each other in a warm embrace. Alex had stopped crying, and instead, she hugged Rebecca tightly, as if she never wished to let her go.
And maybe, just maybe, she didn't.
CHAPTER TWO
The comm. in the guest quarters on the Istanbul-class transport Polaris chirped shrilly, forcing a very asleep Admiral Jonathan Jason Harriman II to screw up his face in annoyance. He had only been asleep for...how long, he thought as he checked his chronometer, three hours?
He slapped the panel.
"What is it, Nick?", he grunted, only vaguely supposing his words were in any way discernable.
Apparently, they were to Commander Nick Squire, Starfleet Intelligence, and captain of the Polaris.
"Sorry to wake you, Admiral, but you and Ms. Lebel might want to come up to the bridge. We've got something here you'll both want to see."
Harriman grunted again, this time using his other arm to slap the light switch. The lights blinked on in the small cabin, and in the next bunk over, Ensign Amarante Lebel stirred from her slumber.
"Come on, Ensign", Harriman groaned as he swung his legs around, his feet scraping against the metallic decking. "Duty calls."
Less than two minutes later, both Harriman and Lebel entered the surprisingly well-spaced and open bridge of the Polaris. Even though he was not wearing his uniform, Harrman strode into the command centre as if he could order the bulkheads themselves to move.
"What have you got, Nick?", he boomed. Squire pivoted in his chair in the middle of the bridge. He smiled and pointed to the open space in front of him.
"Here, I'll show you", he said, thumbing a switch on the arm of his seat. Immediately, a holographic projection materialised, hovering in the air between twin emitters. Amarante Lebel raised an eyebrow.
Definitely not standard freighter-issue, she thought wryly.
The scene before them was of two starships, one identified as the USS Appalachia, Steamrunner-class; the other was the USS Vak'nahal, one of the old but venerable Akyazi-class destroyers. Both were dead in space, and it was clear that both were suffering significant damage. Before their eyes, the Vak'nahal fired a withering blast of phaser fire, which was replied by an equally weak shot from the Appalachia.
"From the level of quantum interference in that area, they've been slugging it out for at least ten hours, probably more", Squire said. "That old Akyazi must have got a few good first shots in to be holding its own against a Steamrunner."
"How far away are they?", Harriman inquired.
"They're adrift in the J-Fourteen system, which is two light years away. We can be there in about an hour and a half at warp nine."
Lebel's jaw dropped open in incredulity. The mere idea that a holoimager could receive and interpret telemetry from so far away was, frankly, astonishing.
Harriman ignored the young, fresh-faced ensign.
"Let's go, then", he said simply. "I'd better get changed back into my uniform."
The Polaris dropped out of warp approximately a thousand kilometres off the stern of the Appalachia. On the bridge of the SI vessel, Admiral John Harriman, now wearing his Starfleet uniform, sat in Nick Squire's command chair. He turned to one of the bridge crew, an Andorian who had temporarily taken to the uniform of a lieutenant.
"Hail the Appalachia and the Vak'nahal", he ordered. The Andorian complied.
"Admiral, the Vak'nahal is ignoring us", he responded after a moment. "Captain d'Jemba of the Appalachia is responding."
Harriman nodded.
"Patch him through."
The viewscreen-as opposed to the holoimager-activated, displaying a screen full of static. Gradually, as the Andorian crewman tweaked the comm. system, the discernable, albeit fuzzy, image of Captain Ian d'Jemba appeared.
"Captain, this is Admiral Harriman of Starfleet Intelligence, aboard the starship Polaris."
D'Jemba's features twisted into a smile.
"Admiral! Thank God! We were attacked by the Vak'nahal almost fourteen hours ago. Our shields are down and weapons are on minimal power."
Harriman nodded.
"Understood, Appalachia. We'll see what we can do. Polaris, out."
The screen went blank. Harriman turned again to the man at the comm.
"Hail the Vak'nahal again."
He did so, but with no better result. Harriman thought for a moment.
"Nick", he said at last to Squire. "What is this ship equipped with in terms of weaponry?"
Squire smiled.
"When Admiral Uhura wrote up the plans for converting the Phoenicia into the Polaris, almost twenty years ago, she made provisions for Type IX phasers and standard photon torpedoes. When Admiral Nechayev took over, and oversaw the actual fitting of the weapons, she instead gave us Type Xs and microtorpedoes."
Harriman raised his eyebrow.
"That's quite a wallop."
Squire nodded.
"Phasers on minimum, directed at the weapons array of the Vak'nahal?"
Harriman smiled.
"You must have read my mind, Commander", he said. "Fire when ready."
The Polaris' phaser arrays let fly with beams of burning energy, searing through space before smashing against the hull of the Vak'nahal. Almost immediately, the Andorian comm. officer looked up.
"Sir, we're being hailed by Captain Q'antan of the Vak'nahal", he grinned.
"Typical", murmured Harriman. "Very well, let's have a word with the good captain."
"Captain, we are approaching the Umerion system", Tom Paris reported from the helm station of the Excelsior.
Ramelow nodded. He wanted to be informed of any intersections of their course with known star systems, nebulae or asteroid fields. The risk of ambush was high, and they still had a long way to go before arriving in Earth orbit.
He turned slightly to the ops officer, Lieutenant Reshir, who was on temporary secondment to the NCC-2000 from Mariner while the former was still understaffed.
"Lieutenant, what do we know of the Umerion system?"
Reshir checked his ops console.
"Type G-Two star, with four planets", the lieutenant replied. "Umerion III is Class M, and supports a pre-industrial population or approximately one billion. The other three planets haven't been charted, but they're all Class L and uninhabited."
"Any tactical dangers?"
Reshir frowned.
"The corona of the Umerion star is a good deal larger than most", he answered after a moment of study. "It extends far enough that a starship crew can enter without fear of radiation poisoning, but they're still deep enough to render sensors useless."
Ramelow inched out of his chair.
"What you're saying is, someone could be hiding in the corona, and we wouldn't detect them", he surmised.
"Aye, sir", Reshir responded, "but they wouldn't be able to detect us, either."
"With all due respect to the lieutenant, Captain, that's not quite true."
Ramelow turned to tactical, to look at the man who had interrupted. Ensign Benezia Kal had been assigned to the Excelsior as her helmsman, but Tom Paris had taken care of that department, leaving Kal to be the tactical officer, a position for which he also had Academy training.
"I am detecting a Class Nine communications probe; we passed it about twenty seconds ago. If it detected us passing, and transmitted a high bandwidth comm. pulse, it could feasibly penetrate the radiation."
Ramelow moaned. Starfleet weren't going to make this easy.
"Yellow alert", he said, now himself fully alert.
Captain Simon Anthony did not like being woken up at the best of times. When the comm. sounded in his quarters, he attempted to ignore it.
The whine of the communications panel persisted, though, and finally, with a titanic effort, he acknowledged.
"Captain", Tasek's flat voice called over the speakers. "The USS Graf Spee is closing on our position, and Grand Admiral Jah is hailing us from the Bunara."
Anthony bolted up in his bed, his arm brushing an empty ale bottle, sending it crashing to the floor. He cringed.
"The Graf Spee isn't supposed to be here for almost two days, Tasek."
"Nevertheless, Captain, we are detecting the Graf Spee approaching at a range of ninety thousand kilometres", the First Officer responded.
Anthony rubbed his chin, where a stubble was forming.
"Sir", the Vulcan pressed. "The grand admiral is waiting for your response."
Anthony sighed.
"I hope Jah doesn't mind me being out of uniform, Tasek", he muttered, throwing on a t-shirt. "I'm on my way."
When Anthony entered the bridge, he was wearing blue jeans, a white t-shirt and bare feet. Tasek stood from the big chair, calling the obligatory "captain on the bridge", but he raised an eyebrow at the attire of his CO.
Anthony smiled wanly.
"Open a channel to the Bunara", he ordered as he took to his seat.
The screen flashed, and the swirling gas of the Kosparan Nebula was replaced by the hulking form of Grand Admiral Jah, the commander-in-chief of the Buna fleet.
"Captain", Jah began, but noticed Anthony's peculiar appearance, and showed a quaint smile.
Anthony noticed.
"Grand Admiral. Sorry for the unconventional uniform. I'm off-duty."
"A space vessel captain is never off-duty, Anthony", Jah replied good-naturedly. Anthony sighed.
"They are when nothing interesting is happening. What can I do for you, sir?"
Jah rubbed his hands together.
"Captain, your ship has no doubt detected the approach of your Starfleet vessel."
Anthony nodded.
"Yes, sir. I thought the Graf Spee wasn't due for another couple of days."
"Climates change, Captain", Jah muttered darkly. "Climates change."
Anthony nodded again, grimly.
"I know it, Grand Admiral."
"There are people in my government, Captain, who would order me to fire on you", Jah said with a nervous smile. Anthony leaned forward, and a quick glance to Tasek indicated that the Vulcan was standing at the ready, poised to heighten the ship's alert status to battle-stations at a mere sign of aggression from the Buna.
Anthony turned back to the screen, his expression blank.
"You know you wouldn't stand a chance, Jah", he growled threateningly.
"I know that, Captain, and you know that", Jah conceded. "There are grand protectors on Bunara Prime, however, who do not know that. The Buna fleet has never been defeated in battle, and regardless of whether my ship is on the verge of falling apart, the Buna people would believe that I cannot lose. You may have torpedoes and energy weapons pointed at my warp reactor and bridge, and I may have no shielding, but this ship is supposedly invincible. If I am ordered to fire, I must fire."
Anthony rubbed his chin for the umpteenth time since he had been awakened.
"You don't want that to happen."
Jah shook his head.
"No, Captain, I do not. I have no desire to die a meaningless death, and in any event, to fire on you after we had arranged an armistice would be an act of war, and I do not wish to plunge the Buna into war. But there are certain people in the government who want war now, to halt what they say is obviously the aggressive nature of your Federation and the Romulans. Those voices are gaining strength with each passing day.
"In order to honour my agreement with you, I have moved the Graf Spee away from locations where it could be captured and retained by those factions. I have speeded up the reversal process for the crew of the ship, and they should be fully able to rejoin your Starfleet in a matter of hours."
Anthony smiled.
"I thank you, Grand Admiral. I appreciate the show of good faith. Unfortunately, it appears even the Federation has similar strife."
Anthony then proceeded to outline what little he knew of the situation back in sector 001. When he was finished, Jah was silent, his head bowed.
"It appears both of our powers are jaded giants, Captain", he lamented. "Let us hope that we conclude our ambassadorial settlements here before either of our governments decides to circumvent us both."
CHAPTER THREE
"That's the fourth communications probe we have passed today", Captain Jakob Ramelow grunted as the starship Excelsior winged speedily past rogue planet Delta-505. Lieutenant Reshir had noticed with no great surprise that there had been a Class Nine Starfleet comm. probe orbiting lazily around the equator of the planetoid. Since the first encounter in the Umerion system, three more probes had appeared at various points in their journey. Chakotay, Sevaro and Ramelow had not yet been bounced by a squadron of Narton's starships, though; the new C-in-C had not utilised the natural ambush points along the route back to Earth, which surprised Ramelow. Why was he being allowed so close to Earth? Surely Narton knew they were coming.
Something is not right.
Many parsecs away, floating above the sapphire sphere of the third planet of the Sol system, Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise looked over his PADD again, with a growing sense of dread. The Enterprise was being rebuilt at Earth Station McKinlay after her destructive encounter with Praetor Shinzon and his warbird Scimitar in the Bazen Rift several months beforehand, but Picard remained with his ship.
He had talked to Admiral Narton, had even conversed with President Jaresh Inyo himself, but the recent shake-up at Starfleet Command tested the limits of credulity. Picard knew Kathryn Janeway, knew Owen Paris, knew Demora Sulu, and he counted Jonathan Harriman as a close friend. The charges of conspiracy to commit treason that had been levelled against them were absurd to say the least. Also worrying was the fact that his niece, Ensign Amarante Lebel, a control officer at Spacedock, had disappeared over the last couple of days. Kos Narton, still in charge of Security, had declared her AWOL, but Picard knew the girl better than that. Damn it, she was, by extension, part of the Picard line, and no Picard would abandon their post.
Finally, the situation in the Kosparan Sector concerned the veteran captain even further. He had heard nothing about Captain Anthony's expedition, and it appeared all comm. channels in that direction had been blocked.
Something is not right, Picard thought, accompanied by the unfortunate realisation that, when his instincts told him something was amiss, it usually was.
He clicked his commbadge.
"Picard to Madden."
The reply was quick.
"Madden here, Captain", Commander Martin Madden, the First Officer of the Enterprise responded. Picard shook his head with a wan smile. Madden reminded him-somewhat irreverently-of an overexcited puppy, eager to please his master. Picard was still getting used to Madden being his XO, and not Will Riker, now the captain of the USS Titan. That transition process would doubtlessly take further time.
Picard tugged on the jacket of his uniform.
"Commander, please recall our security personnel from all shore leave on Earth", he ordered.
There was a pause.
"Sir?"
"Trust me, Number One", the veteran captain sighed. "I have a hunch."
Madden didn't argue. Presumably, Commander Worf had briefed him on Picard's famous hunches.
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Forgive me if I don't believe you, Admiral", Captain Percel Q'antan sneered, "but you did fire on my vessel."
Admiral Harriman pinched the bridge of his nose, sitting across from Q'antan in the conference room of the USS Vak'nahal. Next to him sat Ensign Lebel, whom he had introduced as his personal attach‚. On his other side sat Captain Ian d'Jemba, whose face had carried a deep frown since boarding the Akyazi-class destroyer.
"I could have destroyed your ship if I wanted to, Captain", the admiral reminded his subordinate calmly. He waved his hands in the air for emphasis. "The fact that we're still here suggests I only wanted to disable the Vak'nahal, for the reason of this conference."
Q'antan snickered.
"For the purpose of recruiting me to your little conspiracy, maybe."
Even Harriman was having a hard time maintaining his calm. But it was Amarante Lebel who next spoke, as she turned to Harriman and smiled. For a moment, she seemed no older than a high school student, sweet and beguiling.
"Admiral, may I speak?"
Harriman, more than happy to let someone else take the heat for the moment, assented. Lebel's expression changed suddenly and seamlessly; no longer was she a teenage girl, but an officer of the Federation Starfleet, Academy-trained and highly intelligent.
"Captain", she said, addressing Q'antan. "My uncle always maintained that diplomacy is the better part of valour."
"Your uncle?", he asked, with the hints of the previous sneer. Lebel kept her face absolutely still.
"Yes, sir. Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Enterprise."
The Ralkerian's smirk slipped completely from his face. Dealing with a precocious, fresh-out-of-the-Academy junior officer was one thing, but dealing with the wisdom of the premier starship captain of the fleet, with twenty-seven first contacts, as well as countless honours to his name, was something completely different.
"In the spirit of diplomacy", Lebel continued, "I think we can offer a trade of some sort. The Appalachia and the Polaris will stand down, on condition that you listen to what Admiral Harriman has to say, without your prejudices, sir."
Q'antan now appeared suitably chastened, exacerbated all the more by the fact that he had just been browbeaten by an ensign. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"Okay, you've got a deal", he breathed.
Harriman nodded, and clicked his commbadge.
"Harriman to Squire. Power down the weapons systems and go to condition green."
D'Jemba eyed Q'antan sceptically for a few moments, before following Harriman's lead and ordering what little power remaining on the Appalachia to be shunted away from the defence systems.
Q'antan listened, expecting at any moment a subterfuge to be revealed, and a torpedo to barrel into his ship. When it did not happen, he relaxed somewhat into his leather chair.
"Right, Admiral. I'm all ears."
"Actually, sir", Lebel interjected again. "May I say something?"
Harriman grinned.
"I suspect that even if I said no, Ensign, you would still make a point of it. Go ahead."
Lebel rubbed her hands gently.
"Captain Q'antan, what do you know of the so-called 'conspiracy' on Earth?"
Q'antan smiled.
"That's easy. Here."
He passed Amarante a PADD which had been laid out before him.
"On that PADD are our orders from Admiral Narton, complete with the list of traitors in Headquarters."
Amarante Lebel studied the text on the handheld computer for several moments, and Q'antan and Harriman both noticed her face cloud in puzzlement and, finally, understanding.
After almost three minutes, she placed the PADD on the table.
"There is a name missing on that list, sir", she announced. Q'antan raised one of his hairless brow ridges.
"Admiral Narton has placed arrest warrants on the heads of five of the top brass at Starfleet", Lebel continued. "This only names four."
Q'antan tapped his fingers on the table top.
"Then who is the other traitor, Ensign?"
Lebel bit her lip.
"If Admiral Narton is to be believed", she said slowly, "then Admiral Demora Sulu, your sponsor at the Academy, is also guilty."
Q'antan looked as though he had been slapped across the face. For a second, he teetered in his chair, as though he were about to fall off. He managed to recover his balance.
"Demora...Demora would never betray the Federation", he whispered, his hand raised to his chin in contemplation. "Are you positive she has been arrested?"
John Harriman spoke up, as he removed a PADD from his waistband and slid it across the table.
"Complete and unabridged", he stated. "The warrant is there for the arrest of Demora and I, as well as the others."
"The question", put in Lebel, "is not whether you trust Admiral Harriman or Admiral Narton, but whether you trust Admiral Sulu."
Percel Q'antan's head felt as though it was going to explode. He had accepted the orders of Admiral Kos Narton without question, because a Starfleet officer does not question a superior. Narton had, however, kept information from him, because had Q'antan known that his good friend and Academy sponsor was also implicated, he would not have believed the Security commander; obviously, Narton knew that too.
He had done what he was trained to do, but it was only because of Demora Sulu, who had permitted asylum for his family when she had just taken command of the Enterprise-B, that he had any training at all. His first year as a commissioned officer had been on Fleet Captain Sulu's starship Archer, before she had retired to the Academy, and he had gone on to the T-Plana-Hath.
Demora Sulu was not a traitor. Captain Percel Q'antan was certain of that. The issue was what he would do with the information.
"Bridge to Captain Q'antan", came the voice of his First Officer over the comm.
"Yes, Commander?"
"Sir, the starship Exeter has sent us a subspace message, asking if we successfully intercepted the Appalachia. Admiral Narton has mobilised a small fleet in sector 005 to stop the Excelsior and the Jaguar, which have been detected on long-range sensors."
Q'antan looked to Harriman. The older man grimaced.
"They're as innocent in this as you are, Captain", the admiral said. "Come on. Make a difference."
Q'antan thought for several seconds. Then, he sighed.
"Commander Lomar, do not answer that signal."
"Sir?"
"Don't question me, Commander", the Ralkerian growled. "I'll explain later. Tell Engineering I need us back at warp capability and battle readiness within the hour."
He turned to Harriman.
"I don't suppose SI has any good engineers they could spare", he said lightly, though his face indicated his seriousness.
Harriman flashed a disarming smile.
"The Polaris has a full staff of engineers; I'll beam some over to the Vak'nahal, and the rest to the Appalachia, if Captain d'Jemba wishes to accompany us."
D'Jemba, who had been frowning for the whole meeting, now returned the smile.
"Admiral, we've been used, and if you're planning what I think you're planning, then there is no way my crew are going to stand by the wayside for this one."
"You wanted us to make a difference", Q'antan murmured. "It seems like the Starfleet buzz phrase these days. But whatever happens, Admiral, we will make that difference."
Later, as Harriman and Lebel returned to the Polaris, the admiral turned to the ensign.
"There's one thing I don't understand", he puzzled aloud. "How did you know that Demora was Q'antan's sponsor at the Academy?"
Amarante smiled.
"Uncle Jean-Luc taught me many important lessons", she replied. "One of them was never to go into negotiations without the maximum amount of information at your fingertips.
"When I discovered the name of the captain of the Vak'nahal, I immediately checked his Starfleet record on the Polaris computers. When I saw that Admiral Sulu recommended him for Starfleet Academy, it occurred to me that Captain Q'antan may not have been told the whole story. I just needed to confirm that, and luckily the captain had his exact orders on hand."
An expression of respect crept across Harriman's face. He slapped Lebel across the back friendlily.
"Ensign, you're suited for two fields in Starfleet."
Lebel looked up at him.
"What are they, sir?"
Harriman laughed.
"The Diplomatic Corp and Starfleet Intelligence."
CHAPTER FOUR
It had been a quiet evening on the bridge, reflected Alex Lane as she checked the unchanging status reports at her ops station. Lieutenant Tanier had offered to take her spot of night shift duty-Rebecca Gregory, who would usually be in charge, was in a counselling session with one of the returned Graf Spee officers, and was not to be disturbed-but Lane had opted to fulfil her duties in command.
At this point, she was beginning to wish she hadn't; the tedium was getting to her, and there was only so much she could do while the ship was at a dead stop. She had sat in the Big Chair, but somehow it hadn't felt right, so she had taken her place at the operations console instead.
Patrick Coleman had been able to get a full text transmission as far as Starfleet Command today, but it had then been discovered-unsurprisingly-that all Starfleet transmissions from the Mariner were being blocked at the receiving end.
Lane decided she had to do something to stop her mind going numb, and she had an idea, but whether it could be done was a different story.
"Lane to Coleman."
There was a silence, before a groggy voice replied.
"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"
Lane suddenly realised her gaffe.
"I'm so sorry, sir! I totally forgot the time! I didn't realise you would be asleep."
She could almost hear Coleman's tired smile.
"Don't mention it, Lieutenant. What's on your mind?"
"I'd like to send a personal text transmission to Luna."
"The Starfleet comm. channels are jammed", Patrick reminded her. She nodded, though quite aware he could not see her do so.
"I know, but I want to get to a civilian receiver. Is it possible?"
Coleman turned the idea over in his phenomenal mind.
"It should be very easy, actually", he answered at last. "Are you at ops?"
"Yes, sir."
"Access the main transmitter array, and set your wavelength band to an alternating covariance frequency. Then simply input the destination of the signal, and it should all work."
Lane smiled.
"You're a gem, Doctor Coleman."
"Don't mention it. I'd considered broadcasting to civilian transmitters to get our message out into the Federation, but I decided against it; it could easily be intercepted by the Romulan Tal'Shiar at this close proximity to the Empire."
"That shouldn't be a problem", Lane assured him. "Goodnight, sir."
"Night, Lieutenant."
Lane's fingers blazed over her panels, securing a frequency to utilise for her transmission, before stepping out from behind her console and calling to the helmsman, Ensign Elemsi.
"I'm stepping into the briefing room for a minute", she said. "You have command until I get back."
The Deltan nodded her understanding as Lane crossed the bridge and entered the vacant and darkened briefing room. She ordered the lights to switch on, and as the room came to standard illumination, she sat down at a desktop computer on the main conference table. She punched a panel, and the computer activated.
"Computer, open channel Lane Alpha-Three, direct to the Office of the First Primate, New Catholic Church, New Berlin."
The computer beeped its acknowledgement. Lane took a deep breath, cleared her mind, and began typing.
Dear dad...
Lieutenant Lane had only just returned to the bridge when the call came through on the comm. system: Grand Admiral Jah demanded to speak to Captain Anthony urgently.
Captain Simon Anthony and the rest of his senior officers arrived in the command centre exactly two minutes after Alex Lane called them to duty. Anthony was still doing up his uniform jacket.
"Captain, I have Grand Admiral Jah awaiting your call", Lane informed him as he stepped off the turbolift. He nodded his thanks.
"Open a channel."
The screen blinked, and the hulking pockmarked skull of Jah materialised on the screen. He did not appear pleased.
"Captain, the Graf Spee crew is cleared to leave", he reported. "That is well; you may be detecting two Buna vessels approaching at one-oh-six mark three."
Anthony turned to Lane.
"Confirmed, sir", she answered his unspoken question. "Two ships, approximately one and a half light years away."
"They are members of the K'kan and Opiann factions of the Buna government. Their spokesmen have been the loudest in speaking out against the truce with your people. I believe this is an attempt to coerce me into allying myself with these factions. It would give them a greater legitimacy."
Anthony winced.
"How influential are these factions?"
Jah smiled wryly.
"As yet, they are merely whispers in the government. Soon, however, our political projections estimate they will be joined by the Progressive Eviran, Hasgart and Vahn factions. They hold the power in the Policy Council. At most, I can stave off the pressure for another few days, and then..."
He looked away.
"Then, Captain, no matter whether you are still in the nebula, there will be war."
Anthony's blood chilled. It had been a promising start to diplomatic relations with the Buna, but it seemed at last that nothing he could do to avert the inevitable war.
A speaker chirped at the ops station, and Lane looked up.
"Captain, I am receiving a text message from the USS Firebrand."
Anthony turned back to Jah.
"Excuse me one moment, please."
He walked around the command pit, back up to the operations station, peering at the monitor displaying the text message from Captain Mendoza. When he had finished perusing, he had paled considerably.
"Grand Admiral", he said, shakily, to Jah. "It seems our timing is way out; the universe is conspiring against both of us.
"I've just received news that indicates my other ships are about to be intercepted by a hostile force under the command of the admiral who launched a coup against Starfleet Command. The Bellerophon and Firebrand are moving away at high warp to assist the Excelsior group, but they won't be there for some time.
"It seems we're on the brink of civil war."
Jah looked grim.
"I shall contact you momentarily", he informed Anthony, before closing the connection.
Anthony turned to Tasek at tactical.
"I wonder what that's all about", he murmured. Tasek raised an eyebrow.
"Indeed. However, I would suggest that internal Buna politics are none of our concern."
Anthony shook his head.
"We're already concerned in their politics, Tasek", he reminded his First Officer. "This problem they're facing is as much our doing as theirs."
"In that case, we should leave and let them follow events to their logical conclusion", the Vulcan maintained.
The captain sighed.
"Commander", he muttered. "Those internal politics may become external in a big way very soon. If those opposition factions gain voice as easily and as quickly as Jah believes, the Federation will be at war again, and so soon after the Dominion War, I don't know if we can hold the line this time."
Tasek was about to rebut the statement, when Jah appeared on screen again.
"Captain, I hereby declare my intention to invade the Federation", he decreed solemnly.
"The Bunara is charging weapons", Tasek warned sharply.
"Shields!", Anthony shouted, as an energy burst leapt from the Buna flagship and impacted the Mariner's shields. The ship rocked slightly, but instead of continuing his assault, Jah spun his ship around and went to warp, in the direction of the Federation.
"Pursuit course, all ahead emergency. Engage!", the captain roared. As his Sovereign-class starship wheeled around, sprinting in hot pursuit of the Buna ship, Anthony wondered aloud, the fury evident in his voice, just what Jah was doing.
"These actions seem irrational", concurred Tasek. "I can divine no reason for this turn of events."
There was a short stammer from the left of Anthony. He turned, focusing on Ensign Tolian Brenkar.
"Yes, Ensign?", he prompted.
Brenkar appeared stunned for a moment, as if he had been phasered. Slowly he recovered.
"I wouldn't like to argue with Commander Tasek, sir", the El Aurian mumbled, "but from a political point of view it makes perfect sense."
Anthony grinned.
"Politics was never very logical", he quipped. "Explain yourself, Mr Brenkar."
"Well, sir, I think the grand admiral is trying to solve two problems with one solution: ours and his. He said that the factions wanting war are so far isolated. Thus we can assume that the Buna government would not support a war at this time.
"We know the Bunara won't stand up to much punishment. When she gets intercepted by either Starfleet or us, she'll be destroyed. Given that she was contacted by those two K'kan and Opiann vessels, the conclusion would be drawn in the Buna government that Jah joined these factions, and the fact that this will result in the destruction of the flagship of the fleet will further marginalise these factions, and quash any chance for war.
"At the same time, if Mariner destroys her, it should convince Starfleet that we are not siding with the Buna, and thus will uncover Admiral Narton and the president's deception."
Tasek appraised the young man.
"An excellent deduction, Ensign", he observed. Brenkar nodded shyly.
Anthony shook his head.
"We can't let him do that."
Tasek bobbed his eyebrows.
"Captain", his flat voice intoned, "if Jah succeeds, it will solve all our problems."
Anthony sighed.
"Yes, Commander, but there are three hundred Buna still on that ship, not to mention one very brave flag officer. We can't let them die."
Tasek remained nonplussed.
"Captain, if they do not die, many thousands, maybe millions, will."
Anthony sat back in his chair, realising that whatever decision he made could result in civil or interstellar war. The old Vulcan proverb of the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few certainly applied in this case, but what about morality? Could he allow 300 Buna to be killed, simply because it suited political agendas?
Then his mind turned to Kathryn Janeway in a holding cell on Earth, and to Jakob Ramelow, soon to be engaged by Starfleet. Before him was a very big ship, standing between saving his friends, and signing their death warrants.
"Battle stations", he commanded wearily, knowing full well that Grand Admiral Jah's fate was now sealed.
Whether it would seal the fates of Jaresh Inyo and Kos Narton remained to be seen.
* * * * *
Sector 005 was an empty area of space usually; now, it more closely resembled the main street of an old Wild Western town. On one side, at a full stop, floated some eight battle-ready starships, headed by the Akira-class starship Exeter. On the other, the USS Excelsior was partnered with the Ambassador-class USS Jaguar, which had been joined by an old Istanbul-class freighter, a battered and bruised Appalachia, and the equally damaged Akyazi-class destroyer Vak'nahal, as well as the just-arrived USS Firebrand and Bellerophon. Prowling somewhere in the midst, unsighted by even the most tightly-tuned sensor arrays, was the jet black hull of the USS Eximius.
The bridge of the Exeter was running efficiently in the crimson glow of the battle lights. In her chair in the centre of the bridge, Captain Stephanie Jarrett leaned forward, observing each minuscule movement of the opposition in their Mexican Standoff. Both fleets had been this way for forty-five minutes, since the arrival of the Firebrand and her Intrepid-class ally. Jarrett was surprised to see the Vak'nahal had sided against her.
Maybe those Buna got to Captain Q'antan as well, she thought.
"Captain Jarrett", the lieutenant operations officer called. Jarrett turned, her mocha skin momentarily shining red in the glare.
"What is it, Mr Murphy?"
Murphy furrowed his brow.
"Sir, long-range sensors are detecting twin warp displacement waves approaching; one has been identified as the warp signature of the USS Mariner."
Jarrett frowned. According to Admiral Narton, Mariner had been commandeered by the Buna; presumably, Captain Anthony was dead, a prospect not endearing to Jarrett. She had been an Academy classmate and short-lived girlfriend of Simon Anthony. They had parted amicably, and though they had only sporadically kept in contact, there was still a bond of close friendship.
"Sir, there is also an all-bands hail from the Mariner", Murphy reported, surprised. Jarrett was dragged out of her disturbed reverie.
"I didn't think that was possible", she said. "All Starfleet channels from the Kosparan fleet have been jammed."
"She's calling on a diplomatic bandwidth", Lieutenant Murphy explained. "Should we ignore it?"
Jarrett was about to order the signal to be disregarded, as orders stipulated, but something, some instinct within her, compelled her to do otherwise.
"No", she answered. "Put it on the screen."
Murphy hesitated for a moment, before reluctantly complying. Immediately, the enemy fleet on the screen dissolved, shimmering from sight as a familiar, albeit older and more weather-beaten visage loomed over the Exeter bridge.
Captain Simon James Anthony.
"This is a transmission to the Federation fleet massed in sector zero-zero-five from Captain Anthony of the USS Mariner.
"The Buna have broken the ceasefire with Starfleet. The flagship Bunara has fired on us, and has entered Federation space. We are in pursuit, but we request assistance."
The non-interactive comm. traffic halted at that point.
Jarrett rubbed her chin. It could be a trap. Then again, that was definitely Simon Anthony...
"Signal the fleet", she decided. "We're going for that Buna ship."
The Bunara dropped out of warp as she met a line of Federation starships. Seconds later, the Sovereign-class battleship USS Mariner slipped to impulse a few thousand kilometres behind the vessel.
Anthony took advantage of the quiet moment, as the fleet stared down the Buna ship, to hail Grand Admiral Jah. The huge Buna replied immediately.
"Ah, Captain Anthony", he smiled. "The last time we meet, I fear."
"It doesn't have to be", Anthony countered with vigour. "We can work something out."
Jah grimaced and shook his large head.
"Not to satisfy both out needs, Captain."
"There are three hundred of your men on your ship, Grand Admiral! We can't just murder you in cold blood!"
The Buna turned away, looking tired for the first time.
"You won't be, Anthony", he assured the Starfleet captain. "It will be justified self-defence."
The channel disconnected, and immediately an energy beam slashed across space, blasting against the Mariner's defences. Anthony swore.
"I don't suppose we have a choice. Tasek, arm quantum torpedoes and lock phasers on target."
The Bunara manoeuvred to port, firing a withering assault again. Anthony shook his head.
"Fire at will."
Crippled from her engagement with Starfleet in the Kosparan Nebula, the Bunara's shields didn't stand up to much punishment from Mariner's quantum torpedoes and advanced phasers. Even so, her hull had been built to be rugged, and it took a pounding from not only Mariner, but also the sixteen other Federation warships, before succumbing to the punishment. The ship did not explode. Instead, she collapsed on to herself, her hull plating blasted away, as finally the Bunara perished.
* * * * *
Captain Jean Luc Picard was, sadly, not surprised when the reports came in from the USS Exeter regarding the state of affairs in the Federation. Starfleet had been lied to by Admiral Narton and President Jaresh Inyo; Simon Anthony's task force had not been taken over by the Buna, and the 'conspiracy' of the Starfleet Command Admiralty had been exposed for what it was: nothing more than a fabrication. The Exeter was returning to Earth with the rest of the ships, but by then, Narton and Jaresh Inyo would surely be long gone.
Picard was not going to let that happen.
He was standing in Transporter Room Two on the Enterprise, standing at the operating console. Before him, Commander Worf and his security team waited the word to go, standing at the ready on the transporter stage.
"I need not remind you what is at stake", Picard was saying. "Your orders are to bring the president and Admiral Narton back to the Enterprise. Team Two, under the command of Commander Madden, is simultaneously being beamed to Starfleet Security to rescue the Command staff. Both these missions demand absolute success."
Worf gruffly nodded.
"You can count on us, sir."
Picard smiled.
"I know I can, Commander. Oh, and Commander?"
The Klingon looked to his captain as Picard activated the transporter.
"Sir?"
"Q'apla, Commander", the Enterprise captain grinned as he sent his security team beaming down to Starfleet Command.
The interior of Starfleet Command Headquarters in San Francisco was usually bustling with activity, but given that the majority of the high-ranking admirals had been arrested and their staff dismissed or reassigned, the huge building was virtually deserted, save for the office of the C-in-C, which was guarded by two Security men holding phase compression rifles.
Commander Worf's security team rounded the corridor towards the entrance of the office, all wearing personal phasers clipped to their belts. They were immediately spotted by the two guards, who levelled their rifles at the oncoming party.
"Halt!", one of them shouted. Surprisingly, Worf held up his hand, bringing his band to a stop. All the while he glared at the security guards.
"Lower your weapons", he ordered in his rumbling, authoritative voice. The first guard, who had spoken, shook his head.
"I can't do that, sir", he said. "The C-in-C and the president gave strict orders that they were not to be disturbed."
"No doubt", muttered Worf.
While the two guards were being distracted by Worf's security team, Lieutenant Daniels and Ensign Kelly of the NCC-1701E were materialising in the private bathroom attached to the office of the Commander-in-Chief of Starfleet.
Daniels whispered to Kelly.
"On my mark, key that door, and I'll lay down fire", he ordered as he knelt before the bathtub, his rifle set to stun. Kelly shuffled over to the door controls, hand hovering above the activation panel.
"Now!", Daniels called. The door slid open, and the moment he had an open portal before him, Daniels opened fire, not bothering to sight a target.
The two guards outside the office heard the phaser fire beyond the door, and they both turned, ready to burst in and defend their superiors.
Two guards were clearly not sufficient to safeguard the president and C-in-C, Worf thought as he removed his phaser from his holster. He would make suggestions to Starfleet Security once this was over... ...but for now, as he shot one of the men and another member of his security team disposed of the other, the arrangement suited him perfectly. The sentries slumped to the floor, and immediately the Enterprise crewmen were past their prostrate forms, bursting through the office entrance, phasers raised.
Jaresh Inyo was lying on the carpet, unconscious, a victim of Daniels and his rifle barrage. Kos Narton was by the window, extracting a phaser from his holster.
"Drop it!", Worf yelled, but Narton seemed not to hear him as he raised the energy weapon, pointing it at the security officers. Worf did not waste another moment. A beam from his weapon lanced into Admiral Narton, dropping him to the floor instantly.
Worf clicked his commbadge.
"Worf to Enterprise", he hailed triumphantly. "Mission accomplished. Eight to beam up."
EPILOGUE
Captain's Log, Stardate 56856.2
Thanks to the intervention of the crew of the USS Enterprise, still undergoing repairs at McKinlay Station, the threat of civil war has been defused. Narton and Jaresh Inyo are in custody, awaiting a trial by the Federation High Council, on charges of high treason. The Graf Spee left the Kosparan Nebula soon after we did, and should arrive in sector 001 within five hours. The Admiralty has been liberated from their prison at Starfleet Security; maybe things are finally returning to normal.
It seems we only ever fight Starfleet these days, something I hope changes very soon. Kathryn has arranged to meet me at Spacedock when we dock there. First, though, I've received a request from Reverend Thomas Lane, the father of our operations officer, asking if he could board the ship to visit his daughter. Luna is very much on our way to Spacedock, so it was a request I was happy to grant.
"Are you sure you want to do this?", Rebecca Gregory asked, concerned.
Alexandra Lane nodded.
"I told him about us", she admitted.
Gregory stared aghast at her lover, her usual calm slipping from her persona.
"You what!"
"In a text transmission while we were in the nebula", Alex explained. "I told him everything. When he got in touch with me after the battle, he didn't seem angry or disappointed."
The lieutenant smiled.
"It was great, Bec. I thought he was going to flip, but he didn't!"
Gregory raised an eyebrow.
"And he asked me to be with you when you meet him in the transporter room?"
Lane was almost bouncing with excitement.
"Yeah! I know it's probably going to be a little awkward, but he seems like he may already have accepted it, you know?"
Rebecca nodded.
"It sounds good, Alex", she agreed, grinning reassuringly. "Don't worry, I won't push things. I've been a counsellor long enough to know that pressuring someone who is in an unfamiliar and uncomfortable environment is not good policy. I'll probably just stand there, say hello, smile and nod."
The two officers turned a corner, arriving outside Transporter Room One. Lane hesitated at the threshold; to Counsellor Gregory, a trained psychologist, this hesitation was natural. She was about to introduce her conservative and, from all accounts, homophobic father to her lesbian girlfriend. Undoubtedly there would be some tension. She placed a steadying hand on Alex's shoulder. The younger woman looked back, over her shoulder, and in reply, Gregory kissed her lightly on the cheek.
Bobbing her head slightly, Lane cautiously stepped inside.
The petty officer at the transporter controls stood to attention as the two superior officers entered.
"Sir, Reverend Lane is standing by to beam aboard", he informed Lane.
She nodded.
"Very good, Mr Valey."
She took a deep breath.
"Energise."
The transporter stage glistened blue as a figure coalesced on the pad. In a matter of moments, a tall, bearded man with salt-and-pepper hair had materialised, wearing a casual grey suit and black and white dog collar of a Catholic priest.
He turned to the two female officers at the foot of the stage.
Alexandra Lane stepped forward with a small smile.
"Hi, dad", she began, but he interrupted her with a pointed finger at Rebecca Gregory.
"Is that her?", he growled in a monotone.
Gregory moved forward.
"I'm Counsellor Rebecca Gregory, Reverend Lane", she introduced herself quietly. "Pleased to meet you."
She held out her hand, which Thomas Lane stared at for a moment. Then, he grabbed it forcefully, tugging against the counsellor and flinging her across the stage. Gregory cried out as she smashed against the bulkhead. Before a horrified Lieutenant Lane or Petty Officer Valey could move, the priest was already heading to where the counsellor had fallen. He pulled her to her feet by her hair, making her howl again involuntarily in pain.
"Put it down", he yelled to Petty Officer Valey, who had removed a phaser from under the console and was pointing it in his direction. He held Gregory, tears streaming down her cheeks, in front of him.
"If you fire, son, you'll hit her first."
Valey hesitated, but Lieutenant Lane, her lip wavering, turned her attention to the NCO.
"Do as he says", she ordered, mustering as much of an even tone as she could. Valey looked at her, then slowly laid his weapon on the console.
Alex turned to her father, her head shaking subtly in disbelief.
"What are you doing?", she breathed in shock.
Reverend Lane smiled, no warmth in the expression.
"I'm waiting for the captain", he deadpanned.
Captain Simon Anthony exited the turbolift on deck ten, walking briskly to the transporter room. He had intended to meet Reverend Lane the moment he beamed aboard; he certainly had some wonderful reports to tell Thomas Lane about his daughter, who, Anthony had reflected recently, was definitely one of his most treasured officers. Alex Lane had matured quickly since those days of the Dominion War, when a wide-eyed, green Academy kid had taken to the ops station of the USS Ankara during the Battle for Deep Space Nine. Instead, she was a battle-hardened lieutenant, junior grade, no doubt soon to earn her full stripes as lieutenant. She had performed admirably in all her duties. More so, Anthony felt he could definitely count Alexandra as a friend.
The door to Transporter Room One swished open, and Anthony strode in-and froze. In front of him, he could see Alex Lane, standing stock-still, next to a young petty officer. On the transporter stage, Rebecca Gregory was being held viciously by her hair, her assailant none other than Thomas Lane.
"Ah, Captain", the reverend greeted him in forced cordiality. "Come in, come in."
"What the bloody hell is going on here?", demanded Anthony as he stepped closer.
Thomas Lane grimaced.
"Captain, I want this officer"-shaking Gregory by the hair, making her cry out again-"removed from this ship immediately."
Anthony's face contorted into an incredulous cringe.
"Counsellor Gregory is one of my most trusted officers", he retorted. "Besides, you have no jurisdiction on my ship, Thomas."
"I have jurisdiction over my daughter!", Lane snarled in reply. "This counsellor has corrupted her."
"Dad, please!", Alex pleaded. Anthony held out her hands.
"Let her go, Thomas, and we can discuss this like civilised adults."
Lane shook his head, tugging Gregory closer.
"This filth is not civilised. She does not deserve to be let go."
"What on Earth are you talking about?"
Lane jabbed his free hand against Gregory's face, forcing more tears, but this time, the counsellor stifled a yelp.
"She has turned my daughter into a lesbian", he divulged, as if delivering the climactic line in a fire-and-brimstone sermon. Alex Lane screwed her eyes closed and sobbed.
If Simon Anthony was surprised by the revelation, his face did not betray it. He turned to Petty Officer Valey.
"Crewman, get to the bridge and inform Commander Tasek to send down a security detail", he ordered. The NCO nodded nervously, before stumbling with haste out of the room.
Anthony turned his attention back to the situation at hand.
"It seems the Catholic Church has trouble moving with the times, despite the appellation of 'New'", he declared. "You are holding one of my crew hostage, Thomas. I don't care if she's a lesbian or a Klingon, but you have crossed the line in a very big way.
"You have two options: one, you can let Counsellor Gregory go, and I shall beam you back to Luna, but you will never step foot on this ship again. Two, in about ninety seconds a security team will bust through that door and fire on you. You will then be locked in the brig, whereupon I shall file criminal charges against you, and before you say otherwise, yes I do have a right to do that; the members of a Starfleet captain's crew are regarded by the law to be under his guardianship, so I have legal rights here. You'll be stripped of your office and you will spend several years on New Zealand if you're lucky, although I would officially recommend an off-world prison.
"Which is it going to be?"
Lane pondered.
"You're not in a position to dictate terms to me", he sneered superiorly. "If they come in here and fire, they'd have to shoot her first."
"True", conceded Anthony, "but their phasers will be set on stun, and Rebecca wouldn't end up under arrest."
Lane took another few moments, before shoving Gregory violently off the stage.
"Then beam me back", he muttered.
As his daughter looked on darkly, Reverend Thomas Lane turned to her.
"There is still time, Alexandra", he pleaded. "Become pure again, and leave that sinful relationship behind. You can be saved!"
"Save yourself", spat Anthony as he keyed the transporter. A second later, Reverend Lane was gone.
Anthony and Lane both rushed to Gregory's side. The counsellor was huddled on the floor by the console, breathing heavily.
"Bec, are you okay?", Anthony asked, worried, but was reassured when the bruised officer looked up at him and smiled.
"I'll be fine", she whispered, though her breathing came in forced wheezes. He clicked his commbadge.
"Anthony to Tasek. Cancel security alert, but inform the doctor that Counsellor Gregory is injured, and will be beamed directly to sickbay", he called as he returned to the console and keyed the coordinates of the Mariner sickbay. Rebecca Gregory glowed in the blue haze of a directed annular confinement beam, and then she was gone, leaving Anthony standing behind the transporter controls, and Alex Lane, who had stepped up to be next to her captain.
Anthony noticed that his operations officer's cheeks appeared to be wet.
"I suppose we'd better get to sickbay too", he suggested, taking a moment to brush away her tears. She nodded weakly, and they both stood, walking slowly as they exited into the corridor. There was silence between them as they entered the turbolift and Anthony set the destination as deck five.
After a moment, though, Lane turned to her captain.
"Captain", she breathed. "You never asked."
He looked at her queerly.
"Never asked what, Lieutenant?"
She shifted uncomfortably on her feet.
"Whether it was true", she replied. "Whether Rebecca and I are...involved."
Anthony allowed himself a ghost of a smile.
"You didn't deny it when your father claimed you were", he said, "but that doesn't mean that you are. In truth, it doesn't matter to me whether you are or not. If you want me to know, you'll tell me."
Lieutenant Lane bit her lip.
"We are, sir."
His smile grew.
"Thank you for telling me, Alex", he answered softly. "I'm happy for you."
Her eyes grew wide.
"You mean, it isn't a problem?"
Anthony shook his head as the doors parted and the two bridge staff stepped on to deck five. As they walked he kept talking.
"Unlike your father, Alex, I don't have a problem with same-sex relationships. This isn't the Twenty-First Century, after all; our ethics have evolved, and with them, our understanding and acceptance. Your father claims that it's a sin, but if the Christian God exists, one of His enduring lessons was one of love. I don't think He would be bothered with that love being shared between two women any more than he would if it were between a woman and a man, and if He is, then He isn't any god I want to know."
Alex's lips parted in a tiny smile.
"I bet the religious types love you", she quipped.
"Oh, they do", he answered with a laugh. "I'm on the Catholic Church's Christmas card list every year."
She tugged his sleeve, stopping him on the threshold of sickbay.
"Captain, I...um...I want to thank you", she stuttered. "I want to thank you for what you did in the transporter room, and also for caring."
He shrugged.
"What are friends for?", he murmured, before motioning to the door. "Come on. We should really see how she's doing."
"Aye, sir", Lane answered as the two officers stepped inside the ship's infirmary.
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