Outer Zone by Peter Wildash TEASER EPISODE THREE "THE HIDDEN" TEASER CAPTION: CHRISTMAS DAY, 0600 hours Commodore Jackson sat hunched on the floor, her back to the wall in the far corner of an empty office just off the port bridge/observation lounge corridor. In the comfort of darkness, she cradled her legs, chin on knees, and continued to sob. It was the first private moment she'd had since leaving her quarters above the Starfleet HQ on Helub - just over a day ago. Wiping salty tears from tired eyes she tried to swallow away the hard lump in her throat - someone could find her in this emotional mess, and as senior most officer on board, that wouldn't be good for the credibility of Starfleet or for moral. In Jackson's mind's eye, the image of the devastation on Helub and so many destroyed and broken ships in the space above it as seen from the observation lounge had maintained its presence. She felt useless and weak. "Oh, God, please let my son be alive," Jackson murmured through clenched teeth. Some years previous, she had buried her husband too soon, and felt sick at the thought of a son having been taken in his prime as well. What of her staff: Petri, Inaami and Djansky? Jackson had not been with them at her post during the attack - and by all accounts, if she had she wouldn't have survived. In addition to these personal losses, she felt the cold, deeply sickening guilt at losing so many people under her command. Jackson blinked in the coolness of the bare room and used a discretely hidden tissue to blow her nose. Her current associates would be wondering where she was. Their ship, the passenger liner Fantasy, had only been travelling for a few hours, and so far they had been lucky enough to pass out of Vekarian space at impulse speed undetected. Christian assumed the K'Tani were in the process of rounding up stragglers and picking off any military vessels that had escaped, but without long range sensors they couldn't be sure what was happening in the space around them. Jackson pulled herself to her feet and stepped into the dim light of the corridor. Chin still quivering, she glanced down at the rectangular gold braid and pips on her torn and dirty uniform cuffs, the symbolism feeling inconsequential for the first time in her career. Now, out here, she felt as if she were just plain Sarah-Louise, an ageing fragile human among other tortured souls. Her rank and Starfleet meant nothing here. Composing herself she moved slowly forward, reminding herself that there were still many civilians on board who would be counting on her; and her son and the others back on Helub, if they had survived. Jackson was about to enter the bridge when the ship suddenly lurched violently, slamming her heavy frame into the floor. Gravity momentarily fluctuated then returned to normal as lights around her dimmed and died. She crawled forward toward the bridge, but her eyes were filled with nothing but darkness. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out vague profiles under the starlight twinkling through the segmented overhead skylights that she only now noticed. Captain Christian and the others on the bridge shouted questions and fumbling suppositions to each other, then parts of the wood panelled bridge walls became illuminated - a rich, crimson hue that bathed the entire deck and the people present in its devilish glow. The blood red bridge suddenly seemed a lot smaller than it had before, the people contained there monochrome and insignificant. "Emergency lights," Christian observed. "Rebbik?" As Jackson scrambled awkwardly to her feet, she saw the nearby half-Ferengi turn in his chair to respond, his hands palm up in defeat. "No helm control, no power," he guessed. Jackson finally stood, puffing, knee joints clicking in protest. She saw nothing but reflected red light on the lifeless blank helm station. The main viewscreen before it was equally dead. "We're still moving," Yeoman Lirik said from the rear of the bridge. Jackson turned to see him looking up through the viewports, though if there was movement from the stars outside, it was negligible to her more Human eyes. Christian proceeded to walk around the mostly lifeless bridge stations, looking for a clue as to what happened. The Commodore rubbed her sore eyes - focussing was beginning to be a problem. Behind her, civilians had poured onto the bridge, asking what was going on. Jackson turned toward the sound and herded them back into the observation lounge with gentle (but unfounded) reassurances. When Jackson returned, a figure stirred from the shadows. "Commodore," Vostaline, the young-looking alien humanoid stepped forward, "perhaps your people would be more comfortable below. We know where there are rooms with many beds." Jackson suddenly thought for the first time since the attack of emergency priorities. "Do you have any food or water on board?" Christian was immediately distracted from his survey. Survival was indeed the first order, and in his rush to resolve engineering problems, get the people on board and the ship the hell away from the carnage, he'd forgotten all about the sheer number of survivors and their most basic needs. Vostaline shrugged, "We eat little. Most of the food we did have we obtained from the spaceport. But we do have a few pet Cratek for milk and Krep." "Okay," Jackson hesitated, wondering to herself what the hell Krep was - and a Cratek, for that matter. She almost smiled remembering Djansky's curious but notorious collection of miniature ceramic bovine from all quadrants of the Galaxy, and then felt saddened that this alien Cratek was not to be a shared experience with her old friend. She missed her greatly. "I'd better get to engineering," Christian was addressing her, she suddenly realised. "Without power we're a sitting duck." "We were a sitting duck even with power," Rebbik jibed, but was ignored. Christian nodded a hand-over signal to the Commodore and bolted for the Jeffreys tube, only to be accosted by Lirik en route. "Sir, I have a proposal," Lirik suggested. Christian instinctively winced away from him and climbed onto the ladder. "Talk as we go, Yeoman," he said, disappearing beneath the deck. "It's a bit unconventional," Lirik had to raise his voice for the rapidly vanishing Captain to hear, "The Hudson, the runabout we have - if it's still in full working order, given our free momentum, couldn't we use her as a tug?" "The runabout," Christian repeated, pausing on the rungs. He chastised himself for the second time in as many minutes then continued to descend. Though the sheer size of the runabout would have difficulties in hooking up to and manoeuvring such a large vessel as the Fantasy, given that they were indeed in the vacuum of space it was theoretically possible, if not an engineering challenge. He weighed the benefits against the problems as he continued to descend, leaving the worried Yeoman following behind wondering if he'd suggested the wrong thing. Catching up on Deck 9, Lirik faced Christian who stood stiffly with hands on his hips - almost defensive, Lirik thought. "Interesting," Christian almost complimented the Yeoman, but somehow the ruby sheen of his environmental shield in the emergency lights caused Christian to hold back once more, "I tell you what, if you can solve the communications system so we can keep in touch, we'll send her out for a recon. I for one would love to know what's going on out there." Lirik removed his communicator badge and held it up, as if signifying something, "I'll get right on it, Captain." He turned and disappeared up the ladder. Christian made the double bend toward the small engineering area, then noticed wisps of smoke and slowed his pace. There was a heavy burning smell. "No fire suppression systems," he muttered, suddenly fearful for the lives of the makeshift engineering crew. As Christian turned the final corner the smoke got a little thicker. More pronounced than the smoke in his eyes and lungs, though, he was knocked over by the rancid smell of burning plastic and another, sickly sweet aroma he had experienced only once before. It was an odd smell, but had an instant, horrific, memory-driven effect. Reeling, Christian stumbled back out of the room, falling awkwardly into a corridor wall as he panted wildly, hyperventilating with the uncontrollable emotions rushing through his mind and numbing his body. Doubling over, smell still stinging his nostrils he threw up over his boots and passed out. * * * 2354 Kedrafin Prime. Simeon Lucien Inigo Christian ran laughing through the canopied narrow passages of Melallee, the spiritual focus of Kedrafin Prime. He giggled as the chox birds scampered out of his way and took to the air on their double wings. His feet bounded carelessly along in the point zero zero zero zero one differential gravity, older locals and tourists tutted and ahemed at his over- zealous activity. A sizeable herd of overweight Bolian females - merchant wives on an afternoon excursion, no doubt - caused him to slow and stop as they fussed around a boutique selling a variety of colorful textiles which resonated when caressed. They blocked his way forward. Crouching, he squeezed his small frame through their bulbous legs much to their twittering annoyance, though he ignored their protests as he found himself at the edge of a vast piazza. It must have been over a kilometre square, edged with many old buildings and towers, most constructed of the traditional yellow-green brick of the city's historical past. "Custard Square," he mused to himself, and consulted a pocket guide. Sure enough, the Terran colloquialism for the Piazza of the Star Flame God confirmed his supposition. He could see why - each of the paving stones were a rich yellow hue - caused by an organic material the pigment of which never faded, according to the guide. The colour contrasted wonderfully with the over-blueness of the sky - the planet's orbiting shield generators protecting the atmosphere from the harshness of the ageing sun high above reacted with the natural light, the guide further informed. Across the sun soaked vista there were many tourists - some walking but most making use of the horse-like-beast-pulled carriages to ferry them from one historical place of interest (or souvenir emporium) to another. A larger crowd had gathered to his right. Christian was curious. Using his boyish charm and practised dextrous moves, he pushed to the front of the crowd and saw, some ten metres away, a group of about 500 or so men, all clad in grey-brown hooded robes moving slowly from side to side and backwards and forwards in tightly-knit formation. He was listening to the people around him commenting on the strange 'monks'. Some boldly grinning tourists stepped into the expanse between the monks and the crowd to have their image recorded against the odd background. Christian laughed at the faces and poses they performed for the camera: tourists were so embarrassing, he thought. No-one present seemed to know who the men were exactly or what they were doing, but they appeared harmless enough. Suddenly, from within the crowd of men a loud shriek caused some tourists to jump with a start, then titter nervously. On the fringes of the group, some monks began to chuckle along with them - or was it muttering? Christian couldn't tell. As he continued to watch, a single, high plume of flame shot up from the middle of the moving formation. The crowd around him 'oohd' and 'aahd' and some even clapped or stamped their feet in generous approval at the circus-like act. Then, as if in slow motion, Christian watched as the monks began to shimmer - as if his vision was clouded. A rush of heat washed over him - it seemed to emanate from the army of monks. Then, an orange glow began to move slowly outward from within the ranks. Some of the monks on the outer edge of the formation instinctively stepped forward, only to be hauled back into line by other, better devotees. The heat became intense, and the horrified Christian watched as a wall of flame swept steadily towards him, consuming all the monks in its path. Tourists were now screaming and running away all about him, but Christian couldn't move. As the firewall reached the edge, the flames turned upward, licking high into the air forming thick, blue-black billowing smoke. The blood-curdling howls of the monks was deafening for several moments, then faded into silence, their slow moving smudged black faces and bodies numbed as nerve endings died and oxygen sucked from their lungs. In minutes the mass of men had all but crumpled to the ground. The young Christian sat slumped on the yellow pavings, warmed by the nearby ferocious heat. His mouth wide and drooling, eyes half-staring, tears streaming down his cheeks, his entire person filled with the sickly acrid- sweet smell of burning flesh and the terror of the vision before him. * * * PRESENT In the stillness of the smoky corridor, Christian lay unconscious, a single tear crawling down his cheek. * * EPISODE THREE ACT I "Captain, can you hear me?" Lieutenant O'Hara was crouching over Captain Christian as his eyes fluttered in response. "Is he okay?" Jackson asked, stooping behind. Christian became fully conscious as O'Hara's medical sensor passed over his head. She checked her tricorder saying "Physically he's fine, perhaps a little elevated neural activity - I'd say it was a mild shock of some kind-" "I'm fine, Nurse," Christian smacked his lips as he spoke - the taste of vomit rasped his throat. "I just passed out in the smoke. The others?" "We just got here," Jackson said, looking at the heap of sick on the deck as O'Hara hoisted the Captain to his feet. "Lirik left you nearly thirty minutes ago, so when we heard nothing, we assumed something had happened." 'Thirty minutes?' Christian felt dizzy. The memory was a powerful flashback, he'd never reacted this way before, despite numerous nightmares and panic attacks over the years since the mass suicide. It was as if he had been impelled to totally re-live the situation. He wasn't prepared to share the experience with his colleagues at this stage. There certainly wasn't time for further analysis on his part. The smoke, he noticed, had all but dissipated, leaving the mildest of grey-white fogs. Crossing the threshold into the small engineering control room, Jackson gasped as she saw the unidentifiable body in their immediate path, limbs akimbo and rigid - burned black and stiff, no distinguishable features. The wall to the right was a twisted, gaping maw of smouldering black, clearly the focus of a confined explosion. "Hello!" O'Hara shouted in proper first aid etiquette, causing Christian to jump. "Is anyone in here?" Spotting something in the distant, dim glow, Christian pointed "Over there." On the other side of the room, huddled against the bulkhead door that presumably led to the small warp core anti-room for the command yacht Leonard had described, Cally Warnerburg was slumped over the equally unconscious Leonard, his head cradled in her lap. Her leg was bleeding and she held a small oxygen mask in her bloody hand - it was empty. O'Hara studied the emergency item. "Oxygen," she said immediately, pointing over to one of the room's support struts. Jackson complied, reaching for two more emergency respirators in a strut recess. Christian located the ventilation control panel and manually tripped the extractors. In seconds the remaining smoke had gone. Looking around at the consoles, there was nothing but blank surfaces, same as on the bridge. 'What had happened here?' he wondered. 'And where's-' in fact, Christian wasn't sure who was missing, the Romulan or the business chap. "Can you wake him?" Christian asked, crouching next to the red headed nurse who was busy strapping fresh masks to Warnerburg and Leonard. O'Hara barely turned and looked at the Captain in contempt, but noticing his urgent eyes looking back at her, she ran the sensor over her two patients, checking the tricorder. "The Commander has inhaled smoke and has a mild concussion, you can't talk to him. But she's relatively okay. I'd rather not wake her, though - I don't have any pain killers to spare, not for this level of wound," O'Hara nodded at the oozing gash in her leg; painful but not dangerous. It was against Starfleet Medical protocol to decline a patient drugs, but out here in this situation, she'd decided to call upon her Marine training instead, conserving the limited drugs she still had for the worst cases. In the warm dim room, Jackson wondered what the Captain's call would be, then pre-empted him without waiting. "I don't think we have a choice, Lieutenant." She felt the need to be in control of the situation more than Christian might assume to be. Even if she wasn't trained to command a starship, she thought, she could still fall back on her 30+ years of service. She outranked him, and hoped he could still work as ship's commanding officer with her present. O'Hara opened the small medkit bag, noticeably sparse, Jackson noted, and gave the unconscious woman a half shot. The effect took a few seconds, but the pain in the woman's face was then instant. Christian carefully took the woman's wrist comfortingly in his left hand, guiding her chin up to face him with his right. "What happened here?" Her expression was vague, and O'Hara wondered if she'd missed something in her analysis. Warnerburg suddenly shoved the mask off her face and breathed the 'real' air deeply. "Shortly after you made a course correction, we began to read exhaust fluctuations in the driver coil assembly of one of the port impulse engines. With no clear sensor readings we guessed it was being caused by one of the flow regulators. So we marginally increased flow to smooth the fluctuation. But it was a mechanical failure that got us - the engine's exhaust directors must have sheered hard to starboard and locked out." "That would explain what caused the ship to lurch so violently," O'Hara commented. "Exactly," Cally brought her hand up to her bruised head, "We shut the engines down, but the emergency systems had failed - deuterium was still pouring into the failed engine's chambers and we were looking at a possible overload. Mister Leonard dispatched the Romulan to shut the valves off manually while we tried to control EPS feedback. Only, while we were dealing with that, we failed to notice an EPS build up behind our own wall." Cally looked over at the burnt crewmate and winced. "Go on," Chistian prompted. "Captain, much of the engineering systems aboard that are not bolted down have been stripped out. There are sparse monitoring sensors and no emergency warning devices of any kind where the EPS grid is concerned. Much of the safety buffers that you may take for granted are no longer in place on this damned vessel. So the main power relays behind the wall went way beyond normal capacity and exploded. Well, to be more accurate the energy arced causing the explosion, hitting Jaz at point blank range before shorting out." She looked down at Leonard's angelic face. "The Lieutenant Commander was thrown against the wall. I was lacerated by shrapnel and couldn't move. He managed to put most of the fires out manually before he fainted." "Okay, that's enough for now," O'Hara moved forward, physically cutting Christian off from her patient. The Captain, complying with her desisting move, rose and stood next to Jackson, arms folded. The Commodore it seemed had drifted into another world, staring at the body of the civilian who had volunteered to help, but seemingly looking beyond him. She appeared bewildered and sickened at one and the same time, Christian thought. He caught Jackson's eye and half smiled. "Poor guy." Jackson frowned, biting her lip and looked at the young Captain standing before her. Raising her hand to her mouth, she turned and ran quickly out of engineering. O'Hara noticed the scene and rose to her feet, guessing what had caused Jackson to lose composure. She stopped Christian from following the Commodore with a firm grip on his shoulder. "The Commodore's son is a Starfleet security officer. He was stationed in one of the main docking areas when the attack occurred. It's unlikely he survived." Christian turned to face the Nurse, surprised to see her eyes welling up with tears as well. She must have known Jackson's son also, he assumed. Christian was about to comfort her, but the Lieutenant stiffened, sniffing loudly and cocking her head with a force smile. Half laughing in tragic humour, she said: "Happy Holidays, huh?" * * * MAIN SHUTTLE BAY 1100 HOURS The runabout Hudson sat quietly unassuming in the large standby hangar off the main shuttle bay. Its smooth, clean, off-white hull broken only by functional spaces for outboard equipment and thick, smoky glass viewports that reflected the overhead emergency lights - an amber/white in this part of the ship. Yeoman Lirik walked around the vessel's perimeter for a third time. He was no engineer by a long chalk, but that didn't concern him. He was only intent upon looking to see if something was out of place, if his vessel had been tampered with at all. Crouching low, and waddling on his haunches, he checked the nacelles and part of the vessel's underside, occasionally running his hand along the cold surfaces to check for the slightest indication of damage or tampering. The silence of his inspection was shattered by Rebbik's arrival. He gave the Yeoman a look of distain and climbed onto the starboard nacelle to observe the older man. "I don't get it," Rebbik said, his voice rippling with antagonism, "why would the Captain and the Commodore put a lowly Yeoman in charge of such an important operation? I mean, just what kind of Starfleet crewman are you, anyway?" Lirik fixed eyes on the renegade - was he chewing gum? - and ignored the incorrect detail of his insult. He opened the runabout's door. "The kind that doesn't suffer fools gladly," Lirik said, climbing aboard, "so don't give me any crap, okay?" Disappearing inside, Rebbik was left, brows raised, to chortle to himself in defiance. "Wouldn't dream of it," he smiled. Jumping off the nacelle he slouched and followed the Yeoman inside. * * * In the still crimson light on the bridge Christian glanced up from his padd when he heard O'Hara approach. "I have the medical report you requested, Captain," O'Hara spoke almost with respect in her voice, he noted. "We have eighteen people in bad to critical condition, I'm not sure what I can do for them. We've got over a hundred with lesser injuries, most are uncomfortable rather than life-threatening, but without proper medical treatment some could be compounded and get worse. The rest of the walking wounded - just about all of the rest of us - are doing fine under the circumstances, but I really need to examine each and every person individually." "Our engineers?" Christian asked, looking down at his padd again. "Ms Warnerburg and the Romulan should be able to return to duty in the next few hours," O'Hara felt hurt by the Captain's divided attention. Christian realised O'Hara had said the latter with only the vaguest hint of compassion. He guessed that Hyppocratic Oath or not, as an ex-marine she and her colleagues had been conditioned to hate the enemy, and that included Romulans. The young man, in fact, had been found unconscious with minor burns in one of the crawlways leading back from the engine assembly, having successfully saved the ship from a potentially lethal explosion, but somehow that didn't matter to O'Hara - she decided he'd acted only to save his own neck. The Lieutenant continued. "Mister Leonard is already back on duty against my recommendation, Captain." "Noted," Christian muttered - he'd already had this argument with the woman and he wasn't going to stand for another one, his position had been made quite clear. "Vostaline's people were correct," O'Hara glanced around at the people on the bridge, "the sick bay has been totally stripped to its bare bones, but there's something else." "Oh?" Christian almost detected enthusiasm - or was it curiosity in her voice? "The sick bay is too small for a ship of this size - it was designed for just the crew, I imagine. It doesn't say so in Leonard's guide to the ship, but I think there would be another, larger medical facility in the main passenger section. It may be prudent to make it a priority to find out." Christian nodded, "It might take a while. The bulkheads between the command section and the passenger section are in excess of fifty centimetres thick on both sides, and with no hope of drydock we can't risk damaging them trying to get through. Anything else?" O'Hara seemed more annoyed than dejected - clearly her personality was more than a little highly strung, Christian thought. "I've managed to retrieve some emergency medical items from the runabout enabling me to treat more injuries, but without drugs and a proper surgeon's kit it's going to be touch and go for some patients. I'm starting an intelligence network, trying to see if any of the people we have on board have healing techniques unknown to Starfleet." "Very good, sounds to me like you have things well in hand," Christian said, hearing the almost patronising tone of his own voice and kicking himself for not controlling it more. O'Hara moved a little closer to the Captain, lowering her voice slightly. "I'd also like to arrange immediate psychological examinations. Aside from minor injuries, most people are in shock - some may not even know it. We've got a lot of people here who lost their families, their partners and their children. I can't begin to imagine the levels of mental harm it's done-" "Yes, Lieutenant," Christian cut her off, "I understand what you're saying, but right now we've got more pressing concerns. As soon as we've restored power and are underway I'll consider it." O'Hara stepped even closer to challenge him again, raising her voice a little. "I don't think you do understand, Cap-" "Lieutenant!" Christian spoke firmly, but without anger. The others on the bridge stopped what they were doing and turned to face the confrontation. "You mustn't keep challenging me at every step. No one is denying that our situation is dire, least of all me. It's imperative we all pull together, work as a Starfleet crew is meant to - no matter how hard the decision. Right now, our priority is to get this ship underway." O'Hara furrowed her brow to try one last time: "We're hardly a Starfleet crew! Surely you must see-" The Captain thrust his chin forward in exaggerated emphasis. "No, Lieutenant. No more discussion. I've given you my answer. You have your duties, I suggest you get on with them." Souveson stepped cautiously forward, breaking the tension and handing Christian a fist-sized box with a wire attached to the communications station. Christian snatched it, stared at it, then placed it on the armrest of the centre seat. He noted that O'Hara hadn't moved, she was just standing staring at him, mouth tightly closed. Christian stood to speak but O'Hara finally backed down, though her heart was pounding. O'Hara felt she would never make this young Captain understand her needs, and his brash disregard for her medical opinion was beginning to wear thin. As she stiffly made her way off the bridge noticing the others staring at her, she vowed that, if he embarrassed her in company like that again, she would handle the situation somewhat differently. In the rear of the bridge, Hedrik smiled to herself with glee. The young security ensign broke the atmosphere further. "I've tested the links. The bridge is wired up to engineering and the external transmitter." Under Lirik's instruction, Souveson had knitted together the connections with the help of Ambassador Narli, running a micro-filament wire from the bridge all the way down to engineering. The desk on the bridge patched the three locations together, although without internal systems on line they would not be able to communicate with the runabout until it was clear of the ship. Jackson emerged from the forward port side corridor with an empty expression. She almost tripped up the steps approaching Christian. "Are you all right, Commodore?" Christian asked, guiding Jackson into the seat next to his. "I have a bad eye condition that normally is treated with Retinox 6. I forgot to take my dose yesterday and the effects are beginning to wear off," she rubbed her eyes again. "Without a supply of the drug, I'm going to need glasses to see clearly in the next couple of days." Christian shook his head again, glanced toward the Jeffreys tube. "You're not the only one to be cut off from regular medication," the Captain said. "It's already taking its toll. How are the people faring below?" Jackson smoothed her tunic and pants, she'd become quite dishevelled over the last 24 hours and was feeling a bit smelly. "A lot of people are suffering from shock," (Christian swallowed at this), "including me." "I'm sorry about your son," Christian said, and waited for the Commodore to continue. "Twenty seven years old, a Security Lieutenant. He was ordered to the local docking area before the attack and I have no idea what became of him." "There may be many survivors on Helub," Christian offered. Jackson waved the problem back, fighting back emotion. "It's okay, I've been here before. And besides, our immediate priority is to get this ship and its people to safety." Christian glanced around at the helpers on the bridge, trying to resuscitate their consoles. Jackson continued to talk about the people she had encountered. "You know, we've got over thirty children, all of whom have been separated from their families. They're probably orphans." She sucked her teeth in disgust. "Orphaned on Christmas Day." The Commodore slid down in the high backed seat and looked up at the stars through the overhead portholes, trying to maintain composure. All Christian could do was swallow. Jackson took Christian's hand and shook it vigorously so that he turned to look at her. She seemed almost maternal to him now. Not a Commodore, a higher ranking Starfleet officer, but a woman, not much younger than his own mother had been. Tears welled in her eyes. She smiled, pointing at them, "Damn Retinox 6 withdrawal." Tears rolled quickly down the sides of her face. "What a shit situation to be in, eh Christian?" Christian felt a little embarrassed, though glancing round he saw no-one on the bridge was interested. Jackson was clearly not the type of military- hardened Starfleet officer he usually came across. He even wondered if the shock of the whole situation had affected her - then reminded himself of how he had reacted to the death of his own mother. "Like I said before. We have each other," Christian felt he was fumbling for the right words, but it was coming out a little melodramatic, "so far that's been a pretty good combination. And we have our Starfleet training - that hasn't failed me yet." At that moment, a number of civilians poured back onto the bridge - adults and children alike. They approached Christian and Jackson - who immediately composed herself. A well dressed, handsome man stepped forward with a beautiful, sophisticated woman on his arm. "Commodore, we want to help. We might not be specially trained, but we can't just sit around while you few do all the work," the man said. "We know we can be of use." Jackson looked at Christian, who smiled and rose to speak to them. "Thank you. All of you. We especially need help in engineering - anyone with any technical or mechanical experience." "We also need look-outs, as well as people to run messages," Jackson said, addressing the group of children and teenagers. "Anyone not going to engineering, come with me." Jackson led one party into the observation lounge and another group, on Christian's instruction, followed one of the Helan men down the Jeffreys tube. * * * EPISODE 3 "THE VANISHING" ACT II "It's time," Lirik said. Rebbik winced at the over-dramatics. The sinewy half-Ferengi man rose from his seat and peered out of the side window toward the observation booth. Several metres across the hangar deck, behind the thick glass, the voluptuous Orion woman Hedrik held up a finger in response and activated the depressurisation sequence. Rebbik stuck his tongue out in return, but Hedrik would not respond to that. The atmosphere was imperceptibly sucked out of the large shuttle bay, the runabout's cockpit bleeped and chirped as automatic controls kicked in. Lirik resisted double-checking the flight controls, concentrating on recalibrating sensors for a speedy analysis of their location and surroundings once they were clear of the shuttlebay. Rebbik manoeuvred the small craft toward the doors he had opened while leering at Hedrik just a short while ago, and guided them gently out into the star- strewn blackness of open space. The communication speakers immediately relayed background hiss, presumably from the Fantasy's external sensor rigged up as the commlink between the runabout, engineering and the bridge. The computer simultaneously gave a negative trill. "What is it?" Rebbik's hands trembled in anticipation. The space around him looked black and oppressive, but thankfully empty. The thought of enemy ships flying around the sector paled him nonetheless. "Amazing," Lirik said, "I can't verify the originator of the communication signal." He turned to Rebbik for dramatic effect. "Sensors are saying she isn't there. Captain, do you hear us?" Rebbik, showing off, half somersaulted the runabout in a speedy two-second right half back flip to bring them into position facing the rear of the Fantasy. He was hoping to make Lirik feel queezy in the process, but the Yeoman didn't even flinch, as he seemed to enjoy the twisting vista. The Fantasy looked bigger than ever from this position at its rear. "Loud and clear," Christian said eventually. Lirik glanced at the flight controls. "We're positioned behind you. Mister Rebbik has matched course and speed, which is coasting at about 300kph. Heading - about 40 degrees mark 1." Rebbik balked, "How could you possibly know the location of the centre of the galaxy without making a long range scan?!" "I just do," Lirik stated. "Copy that," on the Bridge Christian took a mental note of their speed and also of Lirik's ability to sense Starfleet's navigational reference, clearly a Medusan orientation skill. He wondered if the reputable navigational expertise of the Medusans was inbred in him, and if Lirik would therefore come in useful at the helm. No soon as he had spoken, another voice bellowed through the small speaker device, a strong German accent. "We hear you, too," Leonard chipped in. "Thank you engineering," Christian drummed his fingers, "let's keep chatter to minimum." Although the communications frequency was only local, so not detectable for a long time for several light years around them, Christian had no idea what K'Tani sensor technology was capable of. A few heartbeats later, the Hudson's long-range sensors gave multiple warning warbles. "Oh no," Lirik brought his hand up to his mouth. Rebbik watched as the computer called up a grid reference indicating the location of the sensor readings. Multiple dots appeared all over the screen. Rebbik swallowed. "That doesn't look good." Lirik swooned, but kept his voice steady. "Captain, I'm detecting over one hundred and thirty seven ships on long range sensors." On the bridge of the Fantasy, Christian bolted out of his seat. "One hundred?" "And thirty seven," Jackson was equally sickened and instinctively covered her mouth. "Affirmative," Lirik's voice spoke crisp and calm through the small box on the armrest, "though I can't identify them. They don't match Federation technology and appear to be travelling in groups, possibly following a standard search pattern." With death-knell like timing, the runabout computer gave a further warning that was audible across the commlink. "Four ships are breaking formation," Lirik informed them, watching the grid representation as four of the green dots flashed brighter then bore left and headed toward the centre of the screen. "They may have detected us." Rebbik shifted in his seat, buttocks sweating, hands flexing over the controls, ready to take the ship back inside the Fantasy. "Get back aboard," the Captain's voice was urgent. Lirik paused for a moment, conscious of Rebbik about to carry out Christian's orders. Instinct told the Yeoman to think twice. "Sir, given my earlier sensor readings, I doubt they've detected the Fantasy," he said. Without warning, Lirik's hand flashed across to the central command console mounted in the middle of the cockpit and his index finder stabbed at the pink square. "I have control," Lirik relayed to Rebbik, whose jaw dropped as he watched his own flight console dull off line. Lirik turned the runabout hard to starboard and nosed down, accelerating away from the Fantasy at half impulse. "Captain, if we come back aboard, we'll disappear from their screens. They might search the area for the runabout and discover the Fantasy in the process." "Yeoman, I gave you an order, turn back to the shuttle bay immediately," on the bridge Christian exchanged a sharp look with Jackson. He turned and stared hard at the silent voice box on his chair, willing it to comply. He wasn't about to lose the only piece of Starfleet technology worth having that actually worked. A moment later, Lirik spoke again, quieter this time. "I know what I'm doing, Captain. If we can lead them away, they probably won't find you. No further transmission." "Dammit, you have no means of finding us again," Christian yelled, but the feedback through the speaker seemed quieter. Narli turned from the communications console, matter of fact. "He's broken transmission." "Damn him!" Christian yelled. * * * On the runabout, Lirik turned to face his compatriot, blinking slowly. "If you swear at me like that again, I'll put you on report." It was a subtle joke, but Rebbik was in no mood for humour. "You can go to hell." Lirik checked the sensor grid. "I was right, the alien ships are pursuing us. We've got about ten minutes' head start. They don't appear to have detected the Fantasy." Rebbik gritted his teeth. "What, am I supposed to pat you on the back?" Lirik adjusted long range sensors again, re-setting search parameters. "Our action may have just saved the lives of everyone aboard the ship, not that that probably means anything to the likes of you. Or the Captain, it would seem." "Our action? I had no part in it!" despite his anger, Rebbik suddenly felt compelled to know what was happening. "What are you doing?" "Looking for somewhere to lose them," he said. Rebbik watched the duplicate screen on his side of the cockpit as the Yeoman searched for the right place. With almost inhuman speed, images flashed across the displays. "What about that nebula?" Rebbik suggested. Lirik shook his head. "Too small and too dangerous, but this," he had stopped scanning. "This looks more promising." Rebbik balked at the outline of a globe twirling on screen - the runabout wasn't close enough for a clear visual - supplemental data streamed under the image. "It's a planet. Are you mad?" "An M class world, in fact. The star system's only a few minutes away at maximum warp," Lirik entered navigational commands onto his flight console and the runabout quivered as it jumped to full speed. Lirik got goosebumps and shivered in response. Rebbik was fluttering. "But if we land on the surface, surely we're an open target just waiting to be captured." Lirik was busy recording the runabout's flight path to increase chances of tracing their path back to the Fantasy. "I'm reading unusually high levels of EM activity emanating from the planet. It should play havoc with their sensors and give us a chance to find somewhere to hide." "Er," Rebbik laughed, "in case you weren't paying attention back there, those ships of theirs withstood both fierce EM storms and a wormhole's explosive shockwave with less than a fender scratch. So I hardly think this puny planet's going to stop them." "It's also slap bang in the middle of a large, active asteroid field, so they'll have a rough ride if they decide to follow us," Lirik flexed his hands and fingers. "We've got to get through that as well, you know," Rebbik shook his head, he was beginning to think the Yeoman really didn't know what he was doing. "I'm glad you understand your challenge," Lirik smiled, flipping the pilot controls back to Rebbik. Rebbik folded his arms in protest. "How do you know they won't just wait for us in orbit?" Lirik had thought of that, but banked on the K'Tani not being interested in exerting themselves over one small ship. "Bloody hell, you are so negative, aren't you?" "I'm part Ferengi!" Rebbik squeaked, then tightened up. There was a moment's silence in which Lirik both held back a snigger and appreciated the gravity of the situation from Rebbik's less experienced point of view. "Look, I don't have a better plan. Do you?" Rebbik whirled round to face Lirik, but instead of responding, he just gritted his teeth and hissed. * * * 1400 hours In the observation lounge, now only occupied by a few remaining survivors, Christian stood looking out of the starboard viewports with his special binoculars. He then handed the device to a young Bajoran male. "It's a comet, son. But it just as easily might not have been. Keep up the good work." Jackson, beside him, gave a weary supportive smile and led Christian to one side. "I have a question. If Starfleet Command thought you were ready to take the big chair, why do I sense that you're quaking in your boots?" Christian laughed a little. "I was hoping it didn't show." "Only to me, probably. Can't be helped. Not every day one finds oneself in the middle of a bloody coupe fighting for one's life, now, is it?" She swallowed hard. "You're doing fine, Mister Christian. Better than me, anyway," Jackson was welling up again. He was about to say something consoling, but she silenced him with a tight-lipped shake of the head. "No. I'm your commanding officer. Crying in front of you won't do at all. And won't bring back my son." She inhaled hard then blew a long controlled breath and blinked her eyes hard. Christian decided to be candid with the veteran. "Commodore, once we do manage to get this ship moving again, what the hell is our next move? Find Lirik and the runabout, I suppose," Christian said. Jackson crouched beside him, her knees clicking again. She opted to sit with her legs sideways instead. "I disagree. Going after them is not an option in our condition. And even if we could it would simply put the ship and our people in more danger. Our priority must be to remain hidden." "Hidden, yes, but not in hiding," Christian brushed some dust from his sleeves. "We need help." "A message could take decades to reach Federation space," Jackson studied the Captain's hands, watched as his fingers caressed each thumb. "Perhaps we could convince the Tholians to convey a message to Starfleet?" Christian suggested. "They don't generally do favours for people in distress," Jackson almost laughed at the proposal. The Captain flushed. "Then our only option is to turn to the Qovakians. They would all surely help us." Jackson recalled several overheard conversations. "Actually, not all. During the last K'Tani occupation there were quite a number of Qovakian sympathisers, worlds that either co-operated willingly or negotiated a neutrality." Christian bit his lip. "That poses a security issue - we may have Qovakians from those collaborating worlds on board. Then of course we've got that Romulan and other non-Federation citizens." "Here's something else to consider. Most Qovakian worlds that did resist the K'Tani were either quickly decimated or gradually infiltrated and the leaders overthrown. Even the most persistently rebellious were treated with such ferocity that some populations were halved in the process. Such worlds may decide not to resist this time around," the Commodore eased herself back onto her elbow, watching Christian shake his head in defiance. "There must be other races who weren't affected by the K'Tani?" "At its peak, the K'Tani's control spanned fifteen thousand light years. There are even rumours that certain pockets of Qovakia remained under K'Tani rule throughout this recent peacetime. But that's not all. The K'Tani broke every Prime Directive rule in the book, bringing many protected, pre-warp races into the modern age hundreds of years too soon." "I would imagine a lot of people on those worlds would be grateful to the K'Tani," the two then fell into silence, just staring at the floor. Jackson took a different tack. "Talking of violations of the prime directive, my personal view is that we're already in it up to our necks ourselves. There's no question the K'Tani invasion was an act of war against the Federation and all other civilisations present around Vekaria, so I feel our independent actions so far have been lawful," Jackson was slightly concerned that Christian being a 'fresher' might be over zealous in such Captainly matters. Thankfully he was not. "I agree," Christian then wondered if they were indeed going to come up against first contact situations. "If there are races that have managed to remain isolated, they should be allowed to remain so." Jackson nodded - it was possible that such people existed. And the Fantasy would have to get its supplies from somewhere, and that could include pre-warp cultures. A quick glance around the observation lounge told Jackson that that situation was a long way off. Christian looked over at a Vekarian woman who stood and stretched her limbs. "We should find out as much as we can from the Qovakians about this area of space. We need to determine who to trust and what to avoid." Jackson pressed on with her original conversational intent. "So we've established we're going to have to tread carefully and gather intelligence. But to what end? What exactly is the mission?" Christian wasn't sure he understood fully. "One thing seems certain, we're well and truly stuck here - unless we concentrate on finding another way back to Federation space." The Commodore slapped her knees, exasperated. "It would still mean travelling through hostile, occupied territory, possibly for many months. And what about our people back on Helub and Vekaria? What of all the Starfleet personnel?" "What can we possibly do?" Christian scoffed. "I mean, just look around." Jackson licked her lips. "Okay, let me ask you this. If you hadn't escaped; if you had been stranded on Helub to face the mercy of the K'Tani, what would you have done?" Christian clasped his hands. "Get together with other survivors and fight, I suppose. Maybe find a ship. Or a place to hide - it looked like the spaceport would be an easy place to hide." "And if you had been captured? What then?" "Try and escape. Hinder the K'Tani any way I could." "Exactly. Right now, our fellow officers are probably doing just that." "I still don't see what we can do if we stick around." "I don't have the answers, Captain. But I do know this. Doing nothing won't help any of those people back there." Christian nodded. It was all true. He was well and truly in over his head. "Then the only alternative is to stay in Qovakia. To find others and form a resistance," he said, turning to face Jackson. "A rebellion," a voice said from behind, startling them both. The Starfleet officers rose and turned to face a figure in the shadows. It was Ganhedra, the whites of his eyes seeming to glow in the darkness around the electric blue of his irises. The rest of his face and body seemed almost invisible in the shadows. "Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear. You were discussing what our next actions should be." Christian stepped forward, his face firm. "Sir, this is a Starfleet matter. And this is a Starfleet ship under my command. Whatever decisions are to be made, the Commodore and myself will be the ones to make them." "Of course, of course," Ganhedra approached, stepping into the starlight his features became more solid, more human. "Though you must accept this is not only a matter which concerns you. Billions of other lives are also affected." "We realise that, sir. But the Federation has very strict rules about what it can and cannot do in foreign states - Starfleet even moreso," Jackson said. "Surely your experience of the events of the past couple of days tells you exactly what must be done," Ganhedra insisted. "My people are seasoned travellers in what you call the Outer Zone. We know many parts of Qovakia well and can advise you who to trust in Qovakia." "Your race is not part of Qovakia?" Jackson asked, slightly taken aback. "Our planet lies beyond the borders of Qovakia on the fringe of intergalactic space. Though we have so much contact with Qovakians we consider ourselves to be a part of them, we are actually an independent nation," Ganhedra had fallen into drone tone mode, Christian thought. There were times when this man spoke that he found himself switching off or thinking of something else and missing the last sentence. "A century ago we-" "Captain," Jackson interjected the saving line, "you'd best attend to the engines." Christian nodded and aimed for the door. Ganhedra called to him. "One last thing, if I please, Captain?" Christian stopped and shook his wrists in frustration. The old man chuffed a little. "In this part of space, it is different to the Federation. Its people are different. So are its cultures." Ganhedra moved toward him, his face transforming into a dark look of foreboding. "Many worlds here have been conquered and peoples oppressed. Things may appear very straightforward to you, but in fact are more complicated than at first appearance." Christian frowned at the babble. "Are you trying to tell me something?" Suddenly the man's face changed to a beaming smile. "Speaking for my people, I just wanted to let you know that we're, er, right behind you." "We haven't made any final deci-" "Whatever you decide to do," Ganhedra whirled on his toes and vanished into the shadows of the lounge once more. "Thanks," Christian glanced at an equally bemused Jackson and departed. * * * The Hudson darted between tumbling asteroids above the night-dark side of the alien world, its pitch surface displaying no evidence of night-dwelling civilisation. Crossing the terminator into daytime, Yeoman Lirik sighed. Planet colourings always excited Lirik - each one more special than the last. This particular world was tinted yellow and ochre, its upper atmosphere carrying dust from the many asteroids in orbit. Finally the vessel accelerated through an opening and into clear space, just above the atmosphere envelope. The pilot deftly flipped the ship over (twisting half-inverse pike) so that it hung below the asteroid field high above the planet, the cockpit bathed in the yellowy pink light of dawn. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Lirik observed "Quite Earth like." The sensor console bleeped and chirped observations that Lirik translated out loud. "It seems the planet has technology which emits an intense sphere of electromagnetic energy that is at opposite polarity to that of the main elements contained in the asteroids. Thus they are mostly held at bay in orbit, only the smallest falling through and burning up in the atmosphere." The runabout shuddered slightly. "What was that?" Rebbik immediately thought the motion felt like the vessel had hit something in mid air. Lirik peered at the sensor readings, then had a thought. He ran an analysis on the composition of the asteroids. "Elements contained in the runabout's hull are the same as those found in the asteroids. The energy from the planet is affecting us, destabilising our trajectory." Rebbik fought to control the bucking runabout, narrowly avoiding collision with an orbiting asteroid travelling at great speed inches overhead. "Is there a weakness in the energy field coming from the planet?" Lirik was wondering that as well and scanned the atmosphere below. "Over a large desert, the field is weakest there - presumably uninhabited." Rebbik captured the scanned co-ordinates and banked the runabout hard into the upper atmosphere toward the general area. As they approached, the flight path stabilised slightly and the Hudson lowered through the occasional fluffy clouds. Several seconds later, the runabout dropped beneath cloud level. Below, a vast, sunstreaked landscape of desert and plain stretched to every horizon point. The terrain was mostly flat, but occasionally there were layered buttresses and an enormous labyrinth of wide, deep crevasses giving way to waterfalls and more lush vegetation crammed into huge ravines many miles below. From their high vantagepoint, they could see varying sized dimples in the landscape - evidence of asteroid impact. Clearly at some point the planet had not been so well protected. As Lirik looked through the viewports at the surface far below, he realised what made the spectacle even more wondrous. Hundreds and hundreds of small shadows cast from the asteroid field in orbit speckled Dalmatian patches of shade across the land, intermingling with those of the clouds. The pattern was wild, and moving quickly across the ground in varying directions. Lirik wondered what it must be like to live amid such a vividly animated landscape all the time. Without prompting, Rebbik took the runabout down toward one of the largest crevasses. As they dropped below 1500 metres, the polaric energy eased off to a negligible level and the flight became perfectly smooth. "There are caverns beneath the planet's surface," Lirik scanned further, "Crikey, it's like a Swiss cheese under there, stretches for many kilometres." Rebbik smirked. "You don't even have to tell me that's where we're heading." "Good," Lirik said matter of factly and stretched in his chair. Yawning, he slapped his chops several times then said. "How about a nice cup of tea?" Rebbik was appalled as Lirik's brevity, watching the Yeoman humming his way over to the replicator. * * * "Chow Down!" Jackson bellowed in Starfleet tradition. Christian and the others in the main engineering area stopped working and gathered around the Commodore and her three helpers. Each carried slithers of bulkhead panelling which served as trays to convey a variety of drinking receptacles, jugs of milky green liquid and piles of small gold paper-wrapped items." "What's this, Commodore?" Christian opened a gold wrapper to find an opaque bar of hard, sweet smelling stuff. Jackson winced slightly at the eagerly grabbing hands relieving her of provisions. "Someone on Deck 22 found three cases of Risan Sunshine Sticks - they're a nutritious confection apparently." Christian tried a cautious bite but the substance was rock hard. Resorting to sucking it, he smacked at the odd taste. Checking the label he said, "This is five years out of date." Jackson nodded. "I know, but O'Hara says they're still okay to eat." "And this?" Jackson poured the liquid into out-held, mix-matched cups. "You know, I've never seen an animal quite like it. It's kind of like a cross between a chicken and a pig, with a bit of fish thrown in." "Sounds gross. Is this its milk?" Christian tasted it and was amazed to find the taste very similar to cow's milk. "Not bad." "How are things going?" Jackson asked when her jugs were finally spent. Around her people took the opportunity to relax a little and chat softly. Leonard was dunking his Sunshine bar into the milk in an attempt to defy the musty taste. "In this situation I'd recommend a dry dock for about three months. Given that we haven't even got replicators or all the necessary tools and materials, I can't even begin to guess how long it will take us to complete repairs. It certainly won't ever be up to Starfleet specs." Christian drained his cup and handed his own bar to a nearby, grateful Qovakian. The Captain paused for a moment to look hard into the man's face, almost as if trying to see if he were a potential threat, but quickly turned away. Paranoia was not an appropriate course of action, he knew. "We can't even move?" Jackson asked. "Oh, we can have impulse engines back on line in a few hours," Christian said. "Only trouble is, there are no safeties. Systems could blow out again, just like the last time." Jackson looked at the Captain then at Leonard. "That hardly matters, does it?" Christian and Leonard then exchanged looks with each other. "I beg your pardon?" Christian tried to speak as politely as possible. Jackson became aware of Cally Warnerburg, leg bandaged, intently listening nearby. The atmosphere felt tense. "Look, gentlemen. You've said yourselves you can't make repairs beyond your limited means. So we therefore must accept that this ship won't be safe to move in at ANY time until we can get it into a proper repair facility. Surely you see that it's more prudent to keep moving away from the K'Tani search possies?" Leonard piped up, "We don't actually know that they are K'Tani ships." Christian stood and walked over to Jackson, lowering his voice. "This ship isn't all we have. There's also the runabout to consider." "I've already told you, that's not an option," Jackson didn't want to get annoyed, but she did want Christian to see her point, if not agree with her. "Well I think it is," Christian replied defiantly. "It can help us enormously." Jackson looked a little taken aback. "Look, Commodore, you said that I was in charge of the ship-" A long-nailed finger flashed in front of Christian's face, silencing him. "Of the ship and the ship alone. I still have seniority. For the safety of the people on board, we must get underway," Jackson could hardly believe her own words, but felt sure her keeping the ship from capture was more important than the risk of a few unsafe power conduits. Christian bit his lip deciding this wasn't something to back down on. "We're as safe right here as we are moving through open space, Commodore." Jackson shook her head, "Uh uh, they could be looking for us. The longer they look, the more chance they have of discovering us." "Sorry, but just why would they be looking for us specifically, Commodore? And besides, unless they come close to our position, they cannot detect us. At least if we stay here continuing with repairs we give Rebbik a chance to get back with the runabout while also giving us more chances of continuing the journey in one piece. Internal power is already being restored in some of the occupied areas, and other repair projects are already well underway. " Christian looked Jackson hard in the eye. "Please, give us time to complete necessary repairs." Jackson looked at Warnerburg and around at the crew who had all been eavesdropping until she looked up. The idea of capture, of letting all these people down and possibly losing the chance to rescue those captured on Vekaria was unthinkable. "I'm sorry, I still say it's unwise." She paused - command was her department, but not of a ship; and she knew Christian knew she accepted that. "How about a compromise. We wait six hours, and if they haven't returned by then we get the engines back on line." "Twelve would be acceptable," Christian said firmly. Jackson was about to argue but then saw the man smile and couldn't help herself. "You have a lot of cheek, Captain," Jackson said. "Twelve hours, then, but not a minute more." With that she turned and departed. Warnerburg stepped closer. "She can't mean that, surely? If we don't finish repairs properly what happened to Jaz could happen to any of the rest of us," she hoped Christian would change things. "We have our orders, Ms Warnerburg," Christian said, closing the woman down. He turned to Leonard and spoke quieter. "But she is correct in one respect, we mustn't sacrifice ourselves just for two people and a runabout. Many more people here are depending on us." A flash of light from one of the dilithium chambers below the deck and a short scream heralded another in a long line of minor accidents. It was the Romulan - for the second time - he appeared to have a wounded hand. "Get that seen to," Christian shouted as the wincingly controlled young Romulan emerged from the warp core. * * * The Hudson skimmed the reeds bordering a narrow stream at the bottom of a massive crevasse. The shady creek was only ten metres or so wide, but inside the small craft Rebbik handled the controls with ease. Their destination was a series of pock holes in a distant rock face which gave way to the intricate underground maze beyond. As Rebbik was about to lean back and relax, Lirik spotted something in the sky way above. "Oh, no." In the shafts of occasional sunshine pouring from the cloud and asteroid peppered sky above, the K'Tani vessel's hull exterior shone an almost silky sheen, a two-tone enamelled shell with small bumps dotted across its surface - presumably K'Tani ships could retract the needle-like devices they displayed around Vekaria, Lirik thought. Its path seemed slow and considered, almost as if it hadn't seen them. "Oh, shit," Rebbik felt their location didn't give them any room to manoeuvre. "I don't think they see us yet," Lirik guessed. "We can still make it." Ribbik didn't argue this time, Lirik noted. The cavern's interior reminded him of an endoscopic view of muscle tissue or like the structure of a sponge. Thousands of long, twisted strands and pillars knitted together and splaying themselves in a subterranean, horizon-clutching, insane geological jungle gym. The lime-white, almost vertebral structures were lit by many small pock holes in the planet's surface high above. The runabout's path ahead looked like a forest of giant's bones. Leaving Rebbik to concentrate on navigating the complex structure, Lirik continued his scans. "The electromagnetic energy the planet exudes is definitely not naturally occurring. I'm detecting definite focus points of origin around the meridian. And man-made structures. The nearest one is about 200 kilometres from here." Rebbik nodded at his display. "Got it. Are they following us?" "Not that I can see," Lirik said with omen-like timing as the runabout trilled a weapon lock. Rebbik instinctively reached for the shield controls, but Lirik had been a split second faster. The Hudson shook. "We're being fired upon from above! They're dropping some kind of explosive charges through the holes in the canopy above. Wait, not us, they're trying to destroy the structure instead." Although shards of rock and falls of sand tumbled down from above, remarkably, the almost delicate looking structure was taking quite a pounding and managing to hold itself together. Dust billowed from strike points. "The mineral composition of the rocks are virtually impervious to the K'Tani charges. We're safe for now." The firing stopped only to be replaced by a beam of red light that lanced down from above and began seeking them out. As the beam passed across the shields, the lights flickered slightly. "Shields down ten percent. This really isn't fair, take us deeper," Lirik said, reaching for the teacup and sipping at the now tepid fluid. Rebbik was working hard manoeuvring the ship through the complex structures, trying to take the runabout deep enough to shelter from the destructive light. The only way of doing that was to enter the darkest spaces that crept into seeming infinity below them. Rebbik remarked to himself about the ambiguity of contrast between the oppressive feeling of open space and that of closed spaces deep beneath the ground. They hadn't even travelled one of the 200 kilometres yet. * * * Hedrik popped her head out of the pit beneath the communication station's bridge post, nail file in her mouth. She was standing amid a nest of wiring and control boards, balancing on the balls of her feet upon two support struts. "Try it now, Commodore," she motioned over her shoulder. Jackson, sweat-stained and dirty, sat in the Captain's chair. She and Souveson were still chuckling at the noises of hunger coming from Professor Karnak's stomach. Despite the physical need for food, the candy and milk offered to her earlier she described as unpalatable - her face and demeanour had remained impassive throughout. The Vulcan-trained human had unwittingly compounded the situation when she stated that she would not be offended at their fun, that she understood their emotional needs for amusement in a frightening situation and explained that controlling such primal automatic responses as hunger was virtually impossible for human students of Vulcan teaching to achieve. The statement had been followed by the longest and loudest of belly groans which had fair split the bridge team in half. It was a welcome respite to the tension and sense of doom about their situation. "Bridge to Sick Bay," Jackson said. Immediately, a clear response rang out from the bridge speakers around and above them. "This isn't Sick Bay. We're in what appears to have once been a beauty spa." Decks below, O'Hara, sleeves rolled up, hair re-tied in a tighter bun, stood hands on hips, impatiently diverted from her medical duties. Her uniform was disgracefully bloodstained, but with no other clothes there was little she could do. Vostaline, the Helan, had offered her a spare dress, but O'Hara somehow couldn't bring herself to agree to wear such a rustic looking amalgam of materials - or a dress, for that matter. Jackson almost enjoyed her sarcasm, but didn't verbalise. "Bridge to Engineering." "Engineering here," Christian called over from the piece of wall he was carefully reassembling. Engineering and SickBay completed their tests successfully and Christian called back to the Bridge. "Commodore, Mister Leonard and I would like to know how Miss Hedrik managed to get the voice interface back on line so quickly?" Hedrik removed the nail file from her lips and unconsciously filed down a nail without looking at it. "Once I realised that the comms network which had been removed was actually a newer, replacement system for the original, I looked a little deeper and found that the original network still remains - dormant, and integrated into the ship's structure itself." She glanced over at Souveson whose face was a twisted scowl of contempt for the woman. She swept her flowing hair back over her shoulders to further wind the Ensign up. "The wiring is about as old as the Andorian Ambassador here, but it still works just fine. It was then a simple matter of linking up the existing interfaces with the old network at the selected locations and then isolating a part of the stand alone bridge computer core to run a simple communications voice interface program." Hedrik was beaming, Jackson noticed, it was almost like watching the enjoyment of a child. Jackson wondered briefly about Souveson's arrest of the young lady earlier. Jackson had only had dealings with two Orions in her life, one of whom she had lived to regret meeting ever since. From what she knew about Orion females, however, Hedrik must have been abused at some points in her life, and it was curious that such a femme fatal type would be so familiar with computers, holographic interfaces and communications systems. Although prejudice against Orions in the Federation had improved, (the Commodore had even heard of some Orions from the more privileged and civilised parts of the Orion Empire joining Starfleet), to the majority of Federation citizens simply being green-skinned meant an association with illicit or immoral businesses of some kind. Christian's ears had pricked up at her talk of the bridge's computer core. It could help them to reduce repair time enormously. "What kind of shape is the computer core in?" Jackson spoke for Hedrik, to the younger woman's obvious annoyance. "What's there is mostly remnants of old deleted files. There's nothing there of use, apart from the vacant memory space, of course." "No link to the ship's main core?" Christian felt himself grasping at straws. Hedrik managed to jump in on cue this time. "None, Captain." After a pause, Christian gave his own report. "We devised a similar solution for repairing the essential parts of the EPS network. It seems the entire power grid for life support runs as a separate entity. Because it's still intact, we're converting just under half of the LS network to act as the power grid for command controls and drive systems. Where we can't, were attempting to extract the LS devices and relocate them in engineering. It may get a little cold and clammy in some of the lower decks as a result." Jackson sat forward, perching on the edge of her seat. She checked her tiny antique clock locket that had remained safely around her neck beneath her tunic. "Only seven hours to go, Mister Christian." In engineering, a few looks were exchanged between the repair volunteers. "Message received, Commodore." Christian said, knowing full well that the ship would only move on his say so, no matter what Jackson's opinion. * * * ACT III "The Vanishing" "Did you say life signs?" Rebbik hadn't thought of running into any aliens, for some strange reason. "Approximately two thousand, going about their business in and around the power emitter station," Lirik slumped back into his seat. "I hadn't detected them before because of the magnetic interference." Having found a further network of larger conduits deep beneath the surface of the planet, the Hudson had covered a great distance in good time, homing in on the nearest source of magnetic emissions. The Hudson's course took them up the inside of a large mountain range through the twisting network of lava pipes to come to rest in the darkness on a number of horizontal struts where they had spent the best part of an hour seeing what would happen. Positioned some one hundred metres inside and thirty metres below the mouth of an opening in the mountain's side, the exit itself was perched at the edge of a vast ravine that dropped down the side of the mountain to sea level and beyond, deep into the planet's surface. On the other side of the crevasse was the castle-like structure containing one of the planet's energy emitters and presumably housed the alien life forms. The span was about twenty five metres wide from the edge of the cave mouth to the bottom of the structure's sheer escarpment on the opposite side. The only means of getting across was by way of a 'bridge' composed of a lattice of lava struts, no more than a foot space wide in places. Inside the warmth and relative safety of the runabout, Rebbik could only think of one course of action. "The K'Tani must have given us up for dead, we should just lie low in here then fly out under the cover of darkness." Lirik stood and stretched, then found himself a pad and began making a few notes with an old fashioned scribing pen. "Nice sentiment, but I've detected the K'Tani ships twice in the last hour. They're still up there, and scanning the surface for us, it seems." Rebbik stood for the first time since they'd left the Fantasy, his leg muscles shuddering in surprise. He felt an urge for the bathroom. "I gotta go take a leak. I hope you've got a plan worked out." "I have," Lirik said, almost smugly. "Don't press the reclaim handle when you're done in there, okay?" Reclamation of waste was a field priority for Starfleet personnel, but given their circumstances, so was conservation of energy. * * * Hedrik almost pulled too hard on Christian's sleeve as he approached the command platform of the bridge. "You've got to see this," she said. Christian noticed Hedrik had unbuttoned her blouse slightly and had released her hair in waves about her head. "She's been asking to see you for some time," Jackson half smiled, much to Souveson's ire. Taking him by the shoulders, Hedrik stood Christian facing the Bridge turbolift doors to the left of the command seats. "I've been working with a few mining technicians on the system's mechanics, and we think we've got the turbolift system licked," she said excitedly. Christian remained impassive. "Not a priority, Miss Hedrik, but they would be very useful," he said. His legs were behaving as jelly following his last climb from Engineering, it was true. Hedrik flipped the turbolift interface panel and inserted a couple of old isolinear chips she had found after a lot of searching. "Now it's not a fully functional system, it will be just one car for the moment. One more second and I'll have it open." Hedrik replaced the panel and stood with her back to the door, facing Christian and the others. "Ta Da!" She cooed as the doors slid apart behind her. The immediate reaction of the people in front of her was not what she expected. Instead of smiles, they recoiled gasping and wide eyed. Two volunteers even screamed in the split second that Hedrik began to realise there was something horrific in the opening behind her. Before she could turn, the ragged corpses teetered and fell forward on top of her. She barely screamed herself, collapsing under their decaying weight, and smelling the vile air that had been trapped in their lungs as they exhaled on impact. Face and neck covered in slimy stench and still gibbering and kicking helplessly, Christian and Souveson pulled Hedrik free of the knotted limbs and let her fall sobbing into the still shocked Jackson's arms. Christian winced at the smell, but Souveson ignored it to study the bodies up close. It seemed she was suddenly in her element. She rolled one corpse over and first studied the grizzly face hard, then the clothes as she searched their empty pockets. "They're in uniform," she said. "Anyone recognise it?" Ambassador Narli, who had witnessed the spectacle unmoving, stepped forward. "I think they are the uniforms of the Qovakian senate guard," he observed. "I wonder what they were doing in there?" Souveson scanned the inside of the turbolift and turned back to the gruesome heap. "No apparent wounds. Judging from their decay, they've been in there for some time." Someone at the back of the bridge finally got the view of the little scene they wanted and promptly barfed. "Get those civilians away," Christian ordered Jackson who palely nodded and began to usher everyone into the rear of Deck 1, corralling Hedrik along with them. Christian hit the command chair armrest panel. "Lieutenant O'Hara, please report to the bridge." He swallowed several times to free his mouth of saliva, feeling slightly in awe of the Ensign's control. * * * Lirik tried the command sequence a second time, but the computer denied. He ran a diagnostic, then turned to face Rebbik. "We can't transport in, there's too much interference from the concentration of energy." Rebbik slouched. Transporting was preferable to walking at the best of times, but given the thin piece of rock lace they would have to traverse in the cold, high winds between each precipice made Rebbik feel even weaker in the fingers and legs. He would rather have stayed in the runabout, but Lirik was insisting he accompany him into the emitter structure. He didn't understand why, as the diplomatic aide seemed to be covered in all the tools and sensor devices he could possibly need. Conversely, Rebbik carried nothing and felt under-equipped. Almost telepathically, Lirik opened the supply locker next to the transporter grid and reached for a commbadge. Pinning it as like a medal to Rebbik he told him "Wear this in case we get separated." Rebbik wondered if he meant 'if you plunge into the ravine'. "Okay." He looked down at Lirik's holstered weapon. "Can't I have one of those?" Rebbik was sure he was going to be refused. Instead, the Yeoman responded instantly. "Sure," Lirik handed him both a phaser and a tricorder; "we're in this together, after all. Just don't fire it unless I say so." Rebbik frowned. "How do we know these people aren't K'Tani soldiers?" "There's been no communication between ground and air, and scans show the people aren't living within the structures over there, but rather around them in more primitive dwellings," Lirik was giving the runabout's onboard log sensor a verbal report, serving as much to reassure himself as to inform Rebbik. "Apart from the emitters, there are no other signs of civilisation on the planet. Not least of which, there is no other technology in use within or around the structure apart from the emitter itself." "They could be K'Tani sympathisers, though," Rebbik suggested. "You're being negative again, Mister Rebbik," Lirik observed and, phaser in one hand, tricorder in the other, opened the runabout's hatch. * * * "Nice," O'Hara commented on the four corpses. "They're definitely Qovakian. I'd say they have been there for about four to five years, although not always in a vacuum, otherwise they would have been almost perfectly preserved." Souveson nodded. "That would concur with the estimated time of arrival of the vessel to Helub and also corroborates the Helan story of when they came aboard." "So who killed them?" Christian asked. "If you're asking how did they die, I'd have to carry out a full autopsy. But I don't relish the thought given the lack of a proper lab," O'Hara said. "If you ask my opinion, you'd start with why would the corpses have been put into the turbolift in the first place?" Souveson frowned. "If someone was trying to cover up their murder?" "Then why not vaporise them, or eject them into space?" O'Hara questioned. "Maybe it was just a convenient place to dispose of them at the time," Christian mused. "Nurse, I know it will be hard, but I would appreciate your greatest effort in determining the cause of death." "Of course," O'Hara said more out of duty than curiosity. "For now, we've more important things to attend to," Christian turned to Souveson. "Find some unsqueemish people to carry the bodies to - where?" "Better be somewhere out of the way, it could be rather messy," O'Hara said. "Ask Ganhedra's people, they should know somewhere," Christian said. "I think I know just the Klingons for the job, Captain," Souveson spun on her heel and headed for the Jeffreys tube. "You should be able to use the turbolift now. It'll be a lot quicker," Christian offered. Souveson nodded and disappeared inside. Ignoring the stain on the floor, and the heavy smell that lingered, she saw that it was an ornate elevator car with wood and silver panels and fine glass light fittings in the ceiling. "Deck 8," she ordered, inhaling the death smell after she spoke, and the car gave an unusual light gong sound in acknowledgement, closing the doors on the bridge. * * * Before Lirik and Rebbik had reached the lip of the cave at the edge of the now deeper looking crevasse, a group of humanoid people had deftly crossed the narrow beams from the castle beyond and waited for them. They were dressed in similar coloured clothing - a mixture of purples and yellowy oranges - and carried what looked like three metre long thin metal rods. "What now?" Rebbik asked, caressing his phaser. "We just talk," Lirik hoped. "Greetings. I am Lirik, this is Rebbik. We are travellers from far away and wish to rest for a while." "Shappa! Shappa hini maela a nin," the tallest of the posse shouted in urgency. The sounds were more rasping than identifiable speech. "I'm sorry, we don't understand. We would like to go across there," Lirik pointed to the castle structure, and sounding like a pompous tourist, much to Rebbik's embarrassment. "Imshali! Na shappa hini elanon forbidden," the man replied. "The universal translator's kicking in," Lirik commented to Rebbik. "Did you build this place?" The posse looked over their shoulder at the castle, then back to the two men indifferently. "Aw, this is stupid," Rebbik balked, "by the time we start communicating the K'Tani might be right on us." "K'Tani!!" the man repeated, a lot louder and with great gusto. He turned to his friends, babbling in their alien tongue. Lirik almost pushed his left breast forward for the translator to hear better as the others joined in. Rebbik huffed and stepped forward toward the lattice struts that perched across the abyss, but several of the aliens barred his way, holding their metal spears aloft. "Rebbik, don't be foolish!" Lirik ordered, though it wasn't something he could help, he assumed. "Please, we have travelled all day and we need somewhere to rest. Can you give us food?" He hoped a plea for help would aid in their journey. "Your cross, the way, the feeling long ago," a younger man spoke and stepped out of the posse toward them. "You understand?" "Not quite," Lirik smiled. "Ever thought you'd be in a first contact situation, Mister Rebbik?" The half-Ferengi merely snorted and folded his arms. "Our people have lived here for a long time," the man said suddenly in clear English. "It provides shelter and warmth and some light in the darkness of the heavy shadow." "May we go across?" Lirik asked again, aware he was sounding desperate. "It is forbidden. Only those of our people may cross, but we can bring you food and water if you'll wait," the man and his people were clearly kind- hearted and hopefully with no violent intentions. Lirik put his hands on his hips, wondering if they would have to just find another emitter for their plan to work - he decided there wasn't time. "Is there no way I can come across and see inside?" The tall, aggressive man from behind shouted over-enthusiastically, "Eshaleka, the shadow dance!" And the others in the team cheered and roared, waving their spears in the air. "Eshaleka?" Lirik asked. The young man appeared less happy than his friends did, it seemed. "Eshaleka is the test of manhood among our people. It was also the ancient challenge to messengers from other warring tribes before they could enter our home and speak their piece." "Oh really?" Lirik brightened, smiling across to Rebbik and back to his new friend. "I like a good challenge." * * * Christian strained his head forward into the dark tunnel and shone a light down the way. About twenty metres distant, a large black object blocked the passage. "It's the same here as everywhere," he retracted and turned to face Leonard, "the bulkheads between the passenger section and this part of the ship are firmly sealed. There's no way through there it seems." "Should we keep looking for a way through, Captain?" Leonard asked. Before Christian could reply, Jackson appeared. He had a sinking feeling. "Less than two hours to go, Captain," Jackson informed him. Christian, as much in defiance as anything else, began to update her on their progress. "We've got over fifty volunteers all helping us now, which is making things happen a lot quicker. We've been unable to get through to the passenger section, all bulkheads are firmly sealed." "Can't we cut through?" Jackson asked, feeling the chill caused by the rerouting of power from life support. Leonard cleared his throat. "Being a passenger ship, the bulkheads have features which err on the side of safety, blocking our path. We could disable them and eventually cut through the plating, but without Federation supplies I doubt we would be able to repair them to their full capacity - which would mean we couldn't separate the ship if we needed to later." Christian nodded. "There is clearly a way they can be opened by computer. Once we have repaired the power systems and found a way to access the main computers, it will simply be a programming challenge." Jackson rolled her tongue around her teeth. "But this will all take time." "Of course," Christian almost laughed. "Commodore, this isn't a Starfleet ship. Hell, it's not even a regular ship of any design. It's old, it has integrated technologies from various sources and much of its guts are missing. We can't pull any rabbits out of hats here." "Captain," Jackson straightened, "don't give me sarcastic analogies. I'll say this only one more time to you. The lives of the people on board this ship come before any heroic Starfleet activity you may have in mind. You're in command of this ship, but I give you your orders, clear?" "Oh, yesSir!" Christian snapped, though his body language said something else. Jackson ignored his machismo. "We're in no position to protect ourselves, and are only lucky to have got this far alive. Is that all?" Leonard shook involuntarily from the dressing down, hoping for Christian to answer, but he was either too angry or lost for words to respond. The German flicked his hair back and responded. "Er, we have a team cleaning out as much of the impulse drive plant as we can get to without rad suits. We could really do with an eva to service the vent plates, but there don't appear to be any space suits. It's a shame we do not have the runabout." "Cut to the chase, Engineer, are we in shape to get moving?" Jackson seemed to be growing sterner by the minute. "Not right away, Commodore, no," Christian squared off to her. "In fact, we've run into a difficult problem, which is why we're down here trying to get through the bulkheads. As you know, the ship can break into three segments. Each of those segments has an engine room that can both work as an independent unit, or operate in conjunction with or without the others to support the rest of the ship. Now that the power system has blown and we've rerouted power from life support, we've unbalanced the power flow, not to mention the structural integrity field that secures the whole ship." Jackson didn't look as if she understood completely, so Leonard translated. "It's like the passenger section has just become a dead weight around our necks." Jackson frowned, and rubbed her reddened eyes. "Then it's clear, you ditch the passenger section." Christian shook his head. "That's just it, we can't." "There's no emergency override?" Jackson flushed. Leonard stepped forward. "No, Commodore. Would you believe, the explosive packs have been removed and the fifty or so bulkheads between the two parts of the ship are acting like pins, making us inseparable." Jackson clenched her fists. "Then you have to find another way. Go back to the original power system to get us moving again." "It's not that simple-" Leonard began, but Christian butted in. "Commodore, you just have to accept our limited options in the circumstances," he paused and motioned Leonard to leave them alone. When he had gone, Christian led Jackson by the arm further down the corridor to the large, heavy bulkhead that crossed it. "Do you really think I want anyone on board to be harmed?" Jackson deflated slightly. "No, of course I don't. But I am responsible for those people up there, and I can see that drifting in space is scaring the hell out of them. It scares the hell out of me, I can tell you. The quicker we get moving, the quicker we can get away from the K'Tani." Christian grasped her shoulders. "You may be my superior in rank, but we are both Starfleet officers trained in the same way. I know my limitations so surely, you must too? You have got to let me do my job, and that includes deciding when this ship can move and when it can't. I would trust Leonard to make that call as an engineer, and you must accept that of me as a captain." Jackson was still shaking her head. "Right now, we aren't going anywhere." * * * Rebbik sat on a large boulder with a handful of pebbles tossing them over the precipice as Lirik wriggled out of the harness carrying most of his equipment. "I knew you were a bit off the wall when I met you," Rebbik said without looking at him, "but I wouldn't have betted that you were suicidal as well." Lirik laughed to himself. "There you go again, Mister Rebbik, with your negativity." Rebbik swivelled on the rock and watched Lirik use part of the harness as a belt to which he firmly secured a tricorder. "Look, you may wish to throw yourself at every challenge and take risks with your own life, but what about me?" Lirik approached him, looking up into the young man's nostrils. "What about you? I'm still going ahead with the mission-" "What mission? There is no 'mission'!" Rebbik raised his voice, causing the nearby natives to look over. "You just went ahead and put us in one impossible position after another." Lirik clenched his teeth. He wasn't used to being made to feel like a fool at every opportunity. "We're here alive, aren't we? All I need to do is get across there, and I can deal with the K'Tani ships looking for us. Simple. And seeing as you won't accept the challenge with me, it will be your job to collect data on what we CAN see, and that means taking some rock and soil samples." Lirik gestured at the survey pack he'd been carrying. Rebbik shook his head. "I'm a pilot for hire, not a scientist." "You don't have to be, just scoop the ground cover into that pack and leave the rest to the computer," Lirik said turning away. Rebbik leant back. "Well I've learned one thing all by myself." Lirik couldn't help his curiosity. "Oh? And that is??" Rebbik jumped to his feet, swaying slightly at the better view of the dramatic drop just a short distance away. Regardless, he pointed to a part of the structure opposite. "See those silos over there?" Lirik followed the young man's finger, noticing that part of the building across the way seemed unkempt, more municipal than the aesthetically proportioned building surrounding it. He followed Rebbik's lead as the half Ferengi pointed out several other bits of similar looking machinery embedded into the rock face opposite, almost camouflaged by their colour. "A mining operation?" he guessed. His train of thought caused him to turn and look back inside the cave mouth. Rebbik nodded. "That's right, that labyrinth in there didn't occur naturally. It was mined." Lirik grinned. "And we know how the K'Tani loved to exploit resources. Well done, Sir." Rebbik did feel pleased with himself, but still begrudged it when Lirik gently tapped the survey kit with his foot twice before approaching the group of aliens. Rebbik slid down the boulder to watch the spectacle. Lirik knelt in front of the alien man. "Do you understand the rules?" the young alien asked, gesturing him to stand. Lirik did so, then rubbed his hands. "I think so. All I have to do is cross the bridge without letting a cloud shadow pass over me." "And without falling off," Rebbik chipped in. "Obviously," Lirik smirked. "And if a shadow does cross me, then you throw your spears at me." "And you die," Rebbik concluded. He sidled up to Lirik and whispered, "Can't you just switch off your shield, let the Medusan monster come out?" Lirik gritted his teeth, furrowing his eyebrows together. "These are innocent people, I won't harm them." Rebbik shrugged. There was nothing he could do. If Lirik plunged to his death or got speared through the heart, he would just return to the runabout and go with his own plan. Already, as Lirik stood on the edge of the widest lava pipe he could see, Rebbik was running through a list of everything that he would need to do. * * * Christian looked down at the pink powder covering the carpet in the turbolift as it ferried him through the decks - Jackson had no doubt been successful in locating a cleaning substance to help dispel the stench of death. The odd smelling fragrance was almost worthy of a citation. As the turbolift's movements quietened, its doors swished open, (sticking part way - another repair to follow), to reveal a large sign on the corridor wall opposite: 'Deck 18, Thoroughfare 4'. Taking a right as instructed, he walked some distance along the corridor before it forked into three. He took the right-most corridor that sloped down and curved slightly. From what he had seen of the ship so far, each deck was as different as the last, both in décor, purpose and layout. Only the Jeffreys tubes and turbolift shafts were positioned consistently - and even they had odd twists and turns. Christian also had come to realise that the Command Section, which he had assumed was a section of the ship devoted entirely to crew, in fact housed a good deal of passenger facilities and services. Looking closely at the architectural joins and mix and match designs in the areas he'd seen so far, Christian guessed the ship had undergone a number of successive refits concurrent with a greater emphasis on the passenger. The crew must have found it hard to live and work within increasingly smaller confines as 'all welcome' areas encroached their own restricted areas. Proceeding along the curved corridor, Christian felt as if he were heading inward, toward the central part of the ship. As the corridor straightened, he crossed darkened thoroughfares 23 and 24, the walls suddenly giving way to a more uniform, brilliant white 'conduit' - angular design blended into a generous 'pipe', the floor melted into the walls and ceiling. Through a large set of smoked glass doors, (only one of which retreated into the wall), Christian stepped into a large, circular foyer, about four times the diameter of the conduit. Inside, with full lighting on, it was almost blindingly white - white floor, white walls, white ceiling and white furniture - what was left of it; again the Captain saw evidence that the ship had been stripped of equipment. Still intact were the ornately etched smoked glass partitions and doors leaking off the foyer into what must have been a Beauty Treatment Facility. (Even here, Christian noticed, there was holo-emitter functionality). The corridor continued opposite, but then stopped short at a bulkhead door. Within each area, Christian could see many survivors from Helub gathered in miserable silence. He peered into the nearest room, looking for Lieutenant O'Hara and saw a small reception desk (complete with unsightly gaping hole where its console had been removed). Beyond was a smaller inner foyer constructed of russet coloured wood, mood-lit and housing a row of numbered doorways. These doors were either fully open or ajar and Christian could see in the spacious treatment rooms beyond groups of survivors (presumably families by the way they interacted) huddled together. Children were playing on the floor - some having been lucky enough to have a Christmas present with them when the attack occurred, or having been given a 'make-do' present by the parents and assorted adults above them. The faint sound of a Carol made Christian's neck heckles ruffle. Christian didn't linger. The next area contained a deeper, wider reception, no furniture, and the panelling was a lighter, knotted wood. The musty smell of cedar, pine and sandalwood led Christian to deduce this was a sauna. Something - perhaps the smell - drove him forward. Beyond the reception, two wide recesses contained wooden steps up and down. A young Bajoran girl came bounding down one of the flights of stairs, but stopped, gasping, in her tracks as she saw the red-eyed, tired looking Captain. "Is Nurse O'Hara in here?" he asked in his friendliest voice. The girl turned around, as if looking through the deck, to the upstairs space, then back at him. "No. Try over there." She pointed across the foyer to a set of double glass doors. "Thank you," Christian turned and walked quickly in the corrected direction, hoping the girl would not follow. She didn't - instead, she hung back, chin on chest, sucking on two fingers. Christian glanced over his shoulder and noticed the girl still staring at him. Through a set of the doors, Christian was almost shocked to see much of this area was in tatters. Support struts were naked, life support and maintenance ducts exposed, wiring hung loose, light fittings dangled precariously, partition walls had been removed and he could see through what must have been several rooms across a good deal of the command section's deck. He could even see a turbolift shaft from the outside, its thick circumference cutting through the floor and ceiling. Christian remembered once visiting Utopia Planetia and seeing a similar view inside a Sovereign Class prototype without any of its internal structure in place, aside from the decking and support struts. With gravity so vital to every Starfleet vessel, the deck plating project was labour intensive, giving a window of opportunity for a variety of tours, and he and his visiting command school group had stood on one side of the saucer section and could almost see clear through to the other. Yet another reception desk, this one of transparent aluminium, had been moved to the side, a strip of metal signage lay upon it that read "Solaris Lounge". With most of the partitions missing, the area opened out into a wide expanse of flat, marbled levels. Scattered in groups were a large assortment of beds and floor bedding - Nurse O'Hara had clearly turned the 'spa' into a makeshift triage centre. Christian was alarmed to see so many wounded. At the opposite end of the spa area, the captain saw a screen made of patchwork plastic and textiles that had been erected, maybe to isolate the worst cases. Vague figures could be seen moving on the other side of the opaque materials. As Christian approached, he made a mental note of some of the patients; Human woman with head bandage, Risan male (unconscious) with bloody eye patch, teenage Human boy with leg in splint - there were many more sleeping or sitting around, quiet, depressed or nursing an irritation. Other groups huddled round beds in soft chatter. Passing through the plastic curtain, Christian flinched as he saw around twenty beds occupied by semi-naked people with a variety of nasty injuries, although some weren't immediately apparent. O'Hara, sleeves rolled up was leaning over the head end of a male - New Fabrinian by his garb. A muscular Jetraleker clasped his head firmly as O'Hara inserted what looked like a piece of plastic tubing into the man's throat, using a sharp metal rod to ease its entry. An abrupt thin squirt of blood and mucus shot forth, patterning the nurse's sleeve and the floor, the end of the trail splatting at Christian's feet. An odd group of volunteers were flitting between the other patients. Two handsome young men, one clearly a New Parisian by his hair and facial adornments, the other in formal business clothes, an ageing Catholic nun (a very unusual sight) and a hard-faced alien woman with gill-like slits on her cheeks tended to each in turn, checking pulses, temperatures and dressings. Christian froze as he realised three of the patients' faces were covered. As a rasping, gurgling sound emanated from the New Fabrinian's neck tube, O'Hara and the Jetraleker relaxed, the latter looking over at Christian. The Nurse followed the eunuch's glance and saw the dishevelled, baggy eyed young Captain waiting awkwardly for her. Wiping her hands, she murmured something to her compatriot and joined him. "Come with me," she said. Christian followed the Nurse along a narrow path that cut through high stacks of empty crates, fallen debris and panelling and before long they were out of sight and sound of the triage area, and seemingly beyond the spa as well. Shortly, passing into a dark aisle of some kind, the two reached a doorway. Using adhesive wedges, O'Hara parted the doors, and Christian followed her into what looked like a mechanical workshop. The interior surfaces were mostly metallic, tool housings on the wall empty, and weird, chain like gadgets hung from the concave ceiling. "Where are we?" Christian looked around, eyes adjusting to the emergency lighting, and saw the circular bay had two entrances from perpendicular corridors and several doors leading to workshops beyond. As O'Hara pushed one of the workshop doors ajar, the smell hit Christian before her words. "The temporary autopsy room," she said. Only one corpse occupied the central bench, the others lay intact on the sides. One overhead lamp covered in wire mesh shone into the figure, covered with a sheet, in the middle. Christian knew O'Hara was going to expose what was beneath and hoped it wouldn't be too gruesome a sight. "Have you figured out what killed them?" Christian blinked and swallowed hard. The Lieutenant, eyes fixed on the Captain, flung the sheet back - to reveal the man, still wearing his clothes. Christian frowned, but then the Nurse lifted his shirt to reveal his torso. Five, deep, black indentations were positioned just right of the torso's mid point, each surrounded by extensive purple and brown discoloration. "What caused that?" Christian asked. O'Hara, eyes still fixed on the young American, simply placed her left hand into the wound, each digit fitting exactly into the black spots. "It's the same for each one, five deep punctures into the chest cavity and heart muscle." Christian shook his head. "And you think a Human hand did this?" "Not Human, sir, but the angle and spacing would indicate it was a hand, yes." O'Hara pulled the shirt down and led the way back to triage. "I found no other traces of injury, or of much of a struggle for that matter. But the person who's able to do that, well I guess there wouldn't have been much arguing with them." Christian had a lot to think about now, which kind of pleased him, in an odd way. Although risk was part of every captain's business, problems and mystery solving were the fun part - even if that did mean a murder investigation. Before they passed through the piles of guff, O'Hara could hear the Jetraleker and other voices shouting her name. Running out into the open space, the nurse and Christian saw the New Parisian coming towards them. "It's the Risan, he's gone into arrest." O'Hara was then gone, and although Christian followed her he was surplus to requirements. He left the small group taking turns at CPR and counting, and headed back to engineering. He almost didn't notice Commodore Jackson amid a group of women and children in the farthest corner of the triage space. He beckoned her over. "Are you okay?" he asked, though she seemed fine if one ignored the puffiness around her eyes and the redness within. "Most things are a blur now, Captain. I'm afraid my usefulness is wearing thin," she seemed dejected. Christian cradled her in an almost fatherly way. "Are you needed down here?" "After your little lecture I came down here hoping to lift moral, I'm not much use elsewhere. I was just talking to some men and women whose partners were left behind on Helub. They seem convinced we're going to be captured or destroyed - they don't see any hope aboard this ship. And they show little faith in you, I'm afraid," she was being honest, but it hurt Christian nonetheless. "I think we've got the power flow problem licked," Christian tried to lift her spirits, but his facial expression remained sad, "but only for a few of the decks. All these people will need to be moved, I'm afraid. The Nurse won't be happy about that." Jackson grinned. "Do yourself a favour, Captain. I don't think O'Hara likes to be called 'Nurse'. She's more than half way through her MD training, and she's got more field experience than you could ever have hoped for in a regular Starfleet Medic - qualified doctor or not. We're lucky she's with us." Christian looked toward the frenzy of shadowy activity behind the plastic curtain. "So what should I call her, 'your holiness'?" The Commodore winced at the immature comment. "Lieutenant would do, I'm sure. Best keep her as happy as you can. After all, she's the next best thing to a CMO that you've got." Jackson walked Christian toward the exit - he shuddered at the thought of having O'Hara swing her weight as a CMO. "I'll take care of the move. To which decks?" Christian looked nowhere in particular. "Not counting Deck 1, we're clear on decks three through five, plus main engineering. Anywhere else there's the possibility of total life support failure or dangerous power surges. We can manage almost full impulse, but warp's out of the question until we get the core warmed and we work out how to deploy the nacelles," Christian said. "Very well," Jackson rubbed her hands and turned away. She paused, then turned back. "Captain, about earlier. I know you know your job. I may not be as space-savvy as you, but as a senior Starfleet officer these people, they're depending on me. On us, and I for one don't want to let them down. So I apologise for my nagging." "I understand," Christian said and squeezed the Commodore's tired shoulder. "In fact, if I'm going to command this ship and what crew there is, I'll need to have someone around all the time to give me alternatives or force me to look at the bigger picture if I become too focussed in one area." "You mean an executive officer," Jackson said, then following his train of thought. She laughed, cautiously. "Wait a minute, you're asking your senior officer to suddenly become your junior officer?" Christian twisted his mouth, eking out the right sentence. "Where ship- related matters are concerned, why not? Clearly as Commodore you'll be my superior in all other matters." "You mean the mission?" the Commodore stepped into the large foyer and saw Christian flush. "Well, not exactly - I mean, we need to consider all the factors, which necessitates working as a team," the Captain tried to steer the conversation around. "Yes, our next steps are crucial," Jackson thought for a moment. "Someone with more experience in military matters would be useful," Jackson looked away, "like Fleet Admiral Street." "We don't have such a person," Christian said, "Speaking freely, sir, I wouldn't expect you to take sole responsibility for the fate of the survivors on this ship and everyone we left back on Helub any more than you would expect me to. We don't have all the game rules yet in this situation, Commodore. But working together we will. And I think if we put everything else in place that we can - like getting this ship and crew in order - then we will be better equipped to make a more considered and wiser decision about what we ARE going to do." Christian rarely laid it on so thick, but he knew that to go forward meant strong leadership, and in this case that meant the Commodore and himself. Once the two of them were set, the rest should follow suit. Jackson hadn't responded, yet he was sure she had heard him. "Don't you agree that this is best handled the Starfleet way?" The Commodore nodded. "Absolutely, Captain. You're right, of course. Okay, I agree," Jackson said. She noticed the captain was smiling, clearly proud of his successful negotiation. "But it won't be easy, I assure you." Christian grinned, exposing his teeth. "We'll just have to wait and see, won't we, sir? I'll be in engineering completing preparations. Meet me there when you're done. Number One." "Don't push it." * * *