Outerzone by Peter Wildash Episode 5: Mood Indigo [ Act 1 ] [ Act 2 ] [ Act 3 ] [ Act 4 ] TEASER NEW YEAR'S DAY, EARLY MORNING In the dim light of the makeshift sickbay aboard the SS Fantasy (former luxury liner and now salvation for a group of Federation refugees of a distant, bloody, alien coup), the stout, youthful Starfleet Security Ensign Fabrice Souveson wound her way toward the single resident medical officer on board: Lieutenant O'Hara. All around the tall nurse, the same small core of civilian helpers were as ever by her side, reading pulses, changing dressings, taking temperatures and stealing hushed conversations in pairs. The young Ensign remained surprised by the amount of casualties on board; she hadn't remembered this many injured making their way to the vessel during their narrow escape from the Vekarian spaceport a week ago. But seemingly the injuries of these poor souls had either not been apparent at the time of boarding or had become compounded by the journey and subsequent difficulties they faced while heading out of Vekarian space. She wondered how her graduate classmates were faring - were they captured, killed or, as she hoped, holding out in some deep recess of the Helub space port. Quietly, the Ensign cleared her throat. "Excuse me, Lieutenant, have you seen Yeoman Lirik?" Souveson stood at least 30cm shorter than the fiery redhead, levelling her eye-line against the older woman's ample bosom. Instead of simply replying, O'Hara cracked a cheeky grin. "I heard the Captain's calls for him. Maybe he's done the sensible thing and jumped ship?" "Just answer the question, please, Ma'am," Souveson didn't become angry or rude, but instead gave her best impassive expression. Earlier that morning the Captain had called her to his office - a large space to the rear of deck 2. Heading down the ramp at the back of the main bridge, she continued as instructed along a narrowing corridor, looking out of the windows to her right and entered through the doors at the end. Though the wooden panelled walls and ceiling were in much disrepair the room contained an ample 19th century writing desk and chair, an old map table and an ancient looking couch which the Captain appeared to have used as a bed. A richly carved hearth embraced an inert fireplace set into the inner wall beside the couch, its grate filled with broken circuits and other trash. The whole place was badly lit and very dusty, but none of this detracted from the drama of the wide, sloping, multi-panelled window at the back of the deck, much like those she had seen on pirate ships in ancient Earth history. Only in this 24th century version the window was flanked by what looked like two oval-shaped balconies open to space on either side. As he perched on the chunky desk, the Captain surprised Souveson by granting her the position of Acting Security Chief for as long as they were on board the Fantasy. Her first thoughts were that she didn't know the full scope of what a Security Chief did, having only graduated a short time ago - but some of her older friends who were rushed through the Academy to help in the Dominion war had equally earned fast-track promotion and increased duties. If they could do it, so could she. So she wasn't about to lose her cool in front of a hotheaded Lieutenant from the Medical Corps over a simple search for a missing person in her first day on the job. The nurse pursed her lips, then seemed to think better of any further banter. "I saw him last night - about five or six hours ago, I guess. He came looking for a young Bajoran girl, but couldn't find her so spent some time talking to a few patients, then he left." "Did you speak to him yourself?" Souveson pressed. When the Captain hadn't been able to raise Lirik, he ordered Souveson to go look for him. He told her that he had left Lirik at the conn at approximately 1900 hours the night before. At about 0100 hours a sleepless Commodore Jackson had relieved him, saying that he had earned a rest of his own by then, having been on duty "since last year". Sitting in a spare command chair beside the veteran, the Commodore had recounted to Souveson across the Captain's armrest the Yeoman's incident with the Bajoran girl the night before, prior to being left in charge. So now with O'Hara's latest evidence, the Ensign wanted to establish Lirik's last known intent - maybe if she could find the girl, presumably she would find Lirik also. "As a matter of fact, he offered his services. I told him Medusans didn't tend to make good medics, so he left. Anything else?" O'Hara placed her large hands on her hips. Souveson didn't have any sisters, only brothers. She was definitely a man's woman, and found it o hard to relate to 'girlie' or feminine women. She was surprised that the ex-marine corps nurse felt equally unapproachable. "Yes. The Captain requests you attend a briefing at 1300 hours on Deck One." The Lieutenant dropped her head toward the Canadian and lowered her voice. "Do I look like I have a pocket watch?" "I'll announce the call over the intraship, Sir," Ensign spun on her heel and strode out, suppressing an outward comment. O'Hara smiled as she watched the full-of-it rookie quickly stride out into the bright foyer of the beauty spa. * * * Main Engineering was a frenzy for the senses. Lights flickered and here and there small wisps of smoke picked their acrid way into the air space beneath the vaulted ceiling as repairs were hand soldered and replacement parts manufactured. Oddly, small groups of people were sleeping on the deck in empty or disused corners, huddled together for warmth and comfort. Leonard was clearly unorthodox for a starship engineer, but nevertheless the progress he had made with the limited facilities and volunteer crew available was remarkable in such a short space of time. The warp shaft, encased in an ornate gold lattice glowed with a strange pale green and pink colour. Souveson spotted Leonard's shock of blonde hair briefly bob up from beneath the deck in the warp drive pit. Onlookers leaned on the railings around the pit above him. As she approached, Souveson thought they were merely intrigued crowd, but then she heard the strong German accent, and realised they were, in fact, being coached by the engineer as he worked. The Ensign pushed through to the front. "Excuse me, Commander. I am trying to find Yeoman Lirik." "Haven't seen him," the German didn't even raise his head, his blonde hair flopping as the strong man crouched low, attacking a stubborn face plate on the shaft's wall. His shirt lifted slightly up his back and Souveson could see small blonde hairs glinting at the base of his spine. She turned away, looking around, hoping to perhaps spot the girl or Lirik himself, when she heard another voice pipe up from the pit. "I saw him," the alien-lilted accent resonated from her commbadge, and echoed strangely from the originator's mouth in its true tongue. Souveson leaned over the rail to see the Romulan, Murak, staring back up at her. "What time was this? Did he say anything?" Souveson ducked under the rail, crouching low to hear his reply, almost level with the Romulan's face. As she looked into his stony black eyes, she realised the man was about the same age as her. Or at least appeared to be. "It was approximately six hours ago. He woke me as I slept over there," the commbadge voice pitched itself to the same deep but fresh tone of the Romulan's natural voice. "He was looking for a young girl - a Bajoran." Souveson was beginning to feel she was getting nowhere fast. "Thank you. Commander, the Captain requests you attend a meeting on Deck One at 1300 hours. We'll make an announcement." On his haunches, Leonard wiped his brow, looking in her direction. "Thank you Ensign," he winked and almost lost his balance, causing him to smile quite naturally. Murak steadied him and the two returned to the issue of the malfunctioning constrictors. Souveson walked out of engineering. Turning a corner she was halted by the unexpected view of a young couple passionately kissing. It was an odd sight given their situation, and the Ensign felt a little embarrassed by their over-enthusiastic embrace. Her stare caused them to stop and share a snigger. "May I suggest you find somewhere more - private?" almost as soon as the Ensign finished her sentence she realised where Lirik was most likely to be. * * * Souveson entered the main shuttlebay. Looking around its quiet, mostly empty interior, her eyes fell on the runabout Hudson resting alone and apparently undisturbed in the middle of the large bay - right where the half-Ferengi Reb had left it the day previously. Approaching the vessel slowly, her thigh slightly tingling from the wire that had impaled her over a week ago and increasingly aware of the heavy bruises she had sustained in yesterday's fight, she glanced to her left through the large open doors into the adjacent standby bay. There, in the distance, she saw the damaged control booth where she had begun her fight with the K'Tani hologram the day before. Her knuckles, legs and facial muscles twitched as she remembered the pain of the fisticuffs that had brought her so close to serious personal damage. Perhaps if the K'Tani holoprogram had not been deleted when it had, she thought, she might have been brain damaged or possibly even killed. Souveson shook her head, reminding herself that there was no point in dwelling in the past, or on what might have been. "Yeoman Lirik!" she called out, her French Canadian accent echoing off the high walls. "Where the hell is he?" she muttered in frustration. She had been searching for him for nearly an hour now since the Captain's initial hails had gone unheeded. With internal sensors off-line, her only course of action had been to search for him the old-fashioned way. The Ensign noticed that the runabout's airlock was secure (normal Starfleet procedure required the vessel should stand at the ready with its airlock open - though she wasn't sure if that rule applied to their current predicament). Standing on the starboard nacelle, her short frame could just about grant her a view through the lounge windows to the rear. Indeed, there was the Yeoman inside, sprawled out on the portside couch, mouth wide open, and fast asleep with a phaser grasped in his hand. It was a curious sight. Carefully, Souveson entered the standard override code to open the runabout's door control panel, but it didn't work. She tried another combination; still nothing. She was about to go hail the captain when the Hudson's door ominously slid open behind her - almost like a delayed reaction. Stepping carefully inside, the Ensign was totally unprepared for the attack as Lirik grabbed her by the shoulder, hauled her inside, spinning her around, simultaneously closing the door and pointing a phaser set on heavy stun toward her face. "Ensign?" Lirik seemed surprised. "What the hell was that for?" Souveson caught her breath, slapping his phaser sporting hand roughly away. "I was expecting … someone else," Lirik seemed confused. The bags under his eyes were more than puffy and dark - as if he hadn't slept for days. "Clearly," Souveson urgently wanted to put some space between her and the part-Medusan; she was sure she felt sick every time she stood too close. Squeezing past the Yeoman she walked into the rear of the vessel where a number of pads, transparent sheets and even bits of old style paper lay scattered around the floor. "The Captain has been calling for you, wants to see you immediately. He also apologises for not getting around to you and Rebbik last night." She turned on her heel, expecting the Yeoman to follow, but instead he grabbed her arm. She managed to body swerve and avoid his alien grip, though not aggressively. "What? What is it?" Lirik looked around agitatedly. "Tell the Captain I need to see him down here right away. And bring the Commodore. There's something I urgently need to discuss with them both," Lirik flopped into a seat, running his fingers through his receding hair. Souveson recognised the tone of authority. Ordinarily, she would have complied to such a diplomatic order straight away, but as she now had full jurisdiction for internal security she felt she needed more than just a diplomat's say so to bring the Captain all the way to the shuttlebay. "You can talk to them on the bridge," Souveson watched Lirik shake his head emphatically. "Well what exactly do you need to show them down here?" The Yeoman blinked hard and stared right into her eyes. "Just bring them," he said, rising to his feet with underlying anger. "And don't use the intercom. Ask them in person. It's imperative this is kept between just the four of us for now." Lirik's choice of words had given Souveson the carrot she craved - acceptance as someone trustworthy. The look in his eyes showed how serious he was, but she still didn't see what could be so important - though it clearly had something to do with the research materials he had been working on. * * * Christian and Jackson followed Souveson into the runabout, sealing the doors behind them, and stepped through into a now tidied rear section. Lirik, upright, clean and in a newly replicated uniform, sat at the main desk with two neat piles in front of him - the transparencies and scribbled paper in one, the padds in another. A third object - a small ornate box design of some sort - was also placed before him, but Souveson couldn't guess what it contained. "I have something for you, Commodore," Lirik said standing and handing the slim box to Jackson. She opened it and retrieved a delicate glass and metal object. "We have no supply of Retinox 6 and cannot replicate the drug, so Lieutenant O'Hara gave me the specifications to fashion these for you instead." Jackson put the thin, pliable hooks around her ears and stared out through the rectangular framed spectacles, feeling slightly dizzy from the sudden clarity of vision before her. Though the glasses were old-fashioned in appearance, the technology employed in the frames allowed microscopic sensors to scan her eye movements and her surroundings and thus modify the lens field to adjust to the distance she was looking across. She smiled, broadly. "Thank you Yeoman, that was very thoughtful." "I hope this isn't why you brought us down here," Christian rapidly folded his arms. He was decidedly pissed that both he and the Commodore were still wearing their tattered, dirty uniforms - even though a kindly survivor (who also happened to be a retired tailor) had repaired the obvious damage. Christian was even more irked that Lirik was apparently living it up in the relative luxury of the runabout. "To flaunt your skill at using the runabout's replicator systems?" Lirik looked down at his smart uniform then at Christian with a frown. "Absolutely not, Captain. What I want to show you is far more important." Following his gesture, Jackson and a begrudging Christian sat opposite the Yeoman. The Ensign stood awkwardly to one side as Lirik handed each a padd. "I believe I have proof that we have a K'Tani agent on board." In unison Jackson and Christian looked up from the padds and at each other, then across at Lirik. * * * ACT I Leonard climbed the long ladder toward the computer core's control room, inspecting the almost-repaired central column of glass and plastic as he went. The Romulan, Murak, had cleared most of the debris caused by the Captain's actions the day before to make way for the reinstallation of isolinear chips. Looking down past his feet to the lowest two levels of the core's thick shaft, Leonard could see that the civilian volunteers were still busy sorting the dumpster loads of information chips into categories for re-insertion. The command chips, mostly red, crimson, black or white in colour, had been easy to pick out and brought the automated systems of the command section that weren't damaged mostly back on line. A link to the main navigational deflector on the ship's prow remained the only working system on the as yet unexplored forward passenger section. All that was left now was to reinstall at the local level on each deck, and make the several hundred or so repairs to local computer network infrastructures. It was a nightmare load of work to come, but would at least give Leonard the satisfaction of familiarising himself with the ship's unorthodox design. Hedrik, meanwhile, had holed up in the core's control room following an unexpected all clear from O'Hara - something about the Orion genetic make-up giving her a highly accelerated healing process. In the core's highest room, the fateful place where Hedrik and Leonard had accidentally activated the rogue K'Tani holographic defence programme, she was set the task of accessing the fixed network of computer monoliths and local caches and bring some semblance of order from chaos. At her personal request amid the unorganised hubbub of civilian helpers, Leonard had politely informed everyone to stay out of the Orion woman's way while she worked. But as the morning's hours had passed with no word from her, the German engineer had grown uneasy about Hedrik's true intentions. She was, according to Ensign Souveson, a felon, "nothing more, nothing less". Although the Lieutenant Commander usually kept an open mind about such things (wanting to make his own mind up about people by their deeds), he finally decided he wasn't sure about the full extent of her abilities, and became fearful that she might even make unintentional mistakes. Leonard stepped onto the narrow metal gangway leading around the narrowing, concave ceiling toward the control room on the opposite side, his boots echoing loudly as he walked. "Who is it?!" demanded a muffled Hedrik urgently from across the way. "Lieutenant Commander Leonard," he replied, quickening his pace slightly. "Just a minute," came the excited response. As he reached the control room door, pushed almost shut, Leonard became suspicious about the dimly lit interior. Gently he eased the door back. "Miss Hedrik?" he said softly. Pushing the door aside revealed an empty corner, then an empty chair beside the main control console (in standby mode). He expected to see the young Orion woman standing beside the observation window, but instead, the deep green skinned woman lay seductively on her back, completely naked amid the thick, soft fur carpet. "Oh!" Leonard retracted immediately, pulling the door hastily to behind him and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, I didn't know." His pale complexion flushed patches of red, mostly around his neck and jaw, the heat of embarrassment itching at his collar. "No, wait! It's okay, Ottmar!" Hedrik called, thinking the man was running away. "You can come in, I don't mind." Leonard froze outside the door, his hand still gripping the metal handle. "But you're naked." Inside, Hedrik propped herself up on her elbows, realising she had made a mistake with this man. 'Oh, you noticed,' she muttered ironically to herself. For several seconds, she teetered on the edge of a decision. Having grabbed for her clothes, she suddenly changed her mind, leaping to her feet and gracefully crossing to the door. Holding the handle firmly, she yanked the metal door aside, pulling the opposite handle swiftly out of Leonard's own grasp and causing him to stumble forward in the process. "That was the general idea," Hedrik said, leaning teasingly against the doorframe. The German's face was inches from her soft undulating chest. Her full on, green nudity was quite breath taking for Leonard, but such a man would never have seen this situation as an opportunity. He had been raised far too politely. Behind the lenses, his bright blue eyes flitted from her fallen, wild hair, delicately framing her enticing expression, down her firm shoulders, her breasts and then quickly back up to her eyes. He made certain he would not look at her most intimate place (that he acknowledged was not more than a few inches away from his own at present). Leonard conceded to himself that he found the woman intensely beautiful, (that much he was certain about), but approaching him in such an up-front manner like this she had made herself unreachable at the same time. Despite his own outstanding physical attributes, the German had never been lucky, or indeed intentionally headstrong, with women during adulthood - and it now showed painfully. His inexperience was blatant when it came to romantic behaviour, in fact, but working hard as he did, he never felt cheated by it or that he was missing out. If Winston Winston, Leonard's old roomy from the Academy, had gone without female company for more than a week, the native New Yorker became melancholy, yearning for love and reacting to every female in sight (or even out of sight). Whereas Leonard had never found physically being on his own as odd, it was just the way it had always been. Without another word, Leonard turned and walked quickly away, leaving Hedrik to rock her head back and close her eyes in frustration. Returning to the main console, she flicked a switch, and her morning's hard work returned to the multiple screens. Slipping into the soft leather chair, feeling its coldness sticking to her skin, she wondered if Leonard suspected that she had not been working at all, choosing instead to follow her passion and lie in wait for him. But then she decided that such a man so fragile emotionally would probably be more concerned with his own reaction than her moral principles or level of efficiency. * * * Two eagerly consumed replicated coffees later, the Captain (standard double sweet decaf) and the Commodore (Colombian extra strength black filter, no sugar) had read through Lirik's reports. Christian raised his brows several times perusing through the analysis of K'Tani weaponry and technology, and shook his head through the detailed report about Lirik and Reb's visit to the magnetic planet and the K'Tani planetary shield generator there. By the time he reached the padd detailing the rescue of the two surviving crewmen and retrieval of key supplies from the USS Papillon followed by the journey to the Fantasy, he had joined Jackson's more relaxed posture. Finally the two command officers both sat back, Jackson puffing her cheeks. "You and Reb have certainly been busy since leaving us," she said, glancing at Christian who was scrolling back through the reports and frowning hard. Christian cut to the chase. "What about this transmission you picked up? Can we hear it?" Lirik smiled and held up a finger, as if saying "exactly, Captain" and depressed the table's inset padd. The words were played over the audio speakers once, then twice. Both Jackson and Christian looked at the computer analysis Lirik displayed on the small table monitor. "There's no doubt about it. That signal definitely originated from the Fantasy," Christian said. "Yeoman," he said the word almost as a put-down, reading from another of Lirik's padds, "are you suggesting that this girl who you assaulted on the bridge was the same person who sent the message?" Jackson intervened, interpreting Christian's unwarranted intent. "If what the Yeoman supposes is true, Captain, then the girl wasn't just having any old temper tantrum. Rather she was deliberately trying to stop the ship from going to warp and escaping those K'Tani pursuers." "Right," Lirik nodded hard, in shock that the Captain should think him capable of casually assaulting a child, despite his knowledge of the other man's current blind hatred toward his Medusan heritage. "I looked all over the known parts of the ship for the girl early this morning, but it came as no real surprise when I couldn't find her. That's why I came down here. I assumed that if she is some kind of agent for the K'Tani, then she might try to destroy the runabout, or damage any intelligence we may have gathered." "Or use the runabout to get away," Jackson added, "I mean, the Fantasy would hardly be in a position to stop her." "Whoah, whoah, whoah!" Christian raised his hand. "As far as the Bajoran girl is concerned, this," he smacked the screen of the padd and tossed it on the table, "is all pure speculation." "Mind control," Souveson chipped in. "Excuse me?" Christian said dumbfounded. "Sorry, Ensign?" Jackson asked. "I was just thinking how they could have influenced the girl so quickly - what with the Bajorans and others races having been in the Outer Zone for only eight weeks, Commodore," Souveson explained weakly. "Maybe she isn't Bajoran at all, but her appearance has been surgically altered," Lirik suggested. "We don't know much about these K'Tani, so currently we shouldn't rule out anything." "Then we could have a much bigger problem," Souveson was engaged, her mind racing. "For all we know the K'Tani could be allies with the Dominion. My God, maybe the girl is a Changeling?" "I wouldn't have thought that likely, Ensign," Jackson said, peering over her new spectacles. "Though unfortunately, Captain, any of these theories would concur with the communication diagnostic not being able to verify her race." "From experience," Christian folded his arms; "we Starfleet officers can rely too much on these sophisticated diagnostic systems. Sometimes they are wrong - that's why they give a percentage of accuracy rather than a definitive answer." Lirik smacked his thighs with the flats of his hands, trying to bring the discussion back on track. "Logically speaking, I think it more likely the girl originates from the Outer Zone, though at this stage her racial origin is irrelevant. Captain, one thing is for sure - the girl's age," Lirik said. "If you think back to the K'Tani who attacked us in the Hangar on Helub - they were also child-like in appearance." "They were small, I grant you that," Christian complied, "but they were also completely covered from head to foot, so there's no way to be sure. Anyway, they certainly didn't behave like children." "Sirs," Souveson interrupted, now confident in her participation. "The K'Tani who took over the ship yesterday - the ones in the holo-program - they were very much adult." "Well whoever the hell the girl is she sure had me fooled," Jackson said. "She chatted just like a normal little girl would about lots of things all the way to the medical area, then ran off to play with some other kids as soon as we got there. So if she is the agent then the K'Tani must know a lot about our cultures to be so convincing." "Sir," the Ensign spoke up again, looking off into mid-distance, then pinning her eyes on the Captain. She suddenly realised how attracted she was to his boyish looks, even when his mood was grouchy. "There's something else that doesn't fit. Yesterday, when you and I were pinned down on the secondary bridge and looking at the internal scans of the ship, we saw only the two main groups of people in the shuttlebay and in the beauty spa. The couple approaching our position we now know to have been Lieutenant Commander Leonard and that Orion woman, but aside from these two, there were no other life signs on board." The Ensign frowned. "This girl said that she was hiding in the observation lounge during the incident, so why didn't the internal systems recognise her?" "Perhaps she's another holographic program?" Jackson suggested. "I really don't like the sound of that at all." Christian shook his head, "Anyway, we halted that part of the computer core's functions and she still remained among us. So she would either be some kind of self-generating, self-sustaining hologram we haven't come across before, or she is indeed a real person able to fool the ship's sensors, such that they are." Christian drew his index finger along his lips. "We should first find the girl and try to verify who she is. I'd like more evidence before I go pointing fingers at children, Mister Lirik - like a voicematch. O'Hara could examine her as well, try and establish whether or not she really is Bajoran." Lirik nodded. "We'll have to find her first, but very well. There is one other thing," he stood and walked over to the wall monitor, calling up a still image of the hostages in the shuttlebay as recorded by the runabout. "Lieutenant O'Hara told me about the bodies of the Vekarian senate guard you discovered in the turbolift." He turned back to his superiors. "Ah yes," Christian tossed the padd he was holding casually onto the table, "our other mystery." "What did O'Hara say about their cause of death?" Jackson asked the Captain - realising she hadn't been appraised of the autopsy. "Their hearts were…crushed," Christian couldn't think of a better word to describe it. "By a humanoid hand." "Oh my-!" Jackson was shocked. "What?" Christian saw the genuine shock in her expression, and then saw the same on Lirik's face. "What? Am I missing out on something here?" Lirik glanced over at Christian. "It is said that the Ore - the wandering people who helped defeat the K'Tani - did so with their bare hands, such was their physical prowess." Christian thought for a moment. "Lieutenant Commander Leonard told me that he found an Ore object - a staff or spear, I think - in the K'Tani hanger the day before the invasion. His tricorder indicated it had been driven into the metal deck by a humanoid hand. The unusual thing was that it had been placed there recently." "But that's not possible," Souveson said, walking over to the table. "I heard that the entire Ore people were wiped out in the final weeks of the war." "Clearly one or more of them survived," Jackson said. Lirik saw Christian staring off into null space and tried to follow the Captain's thought processes. "You suspect the Helan may be involved somehow," Lirik stated. Christian frowned. "The Qovakians I have spoken to don't seem to know a lot about them, saying they have had contact only since peace returned several years ago." "From what I've seen they are hardly a military race. Their connection is surely circumstantial?" Souveson said, unexpectedly animated. "Not necessarily," Jackson leant forward. "I think Mister Lirik can back me up on this; since my arrival to the Outer Zone, I've heard little talk of the Ore, or their massacre. I have seen much evidence of the K'Tani occupation and the rebellion and ensuing war, but I don't think I've even seen one image of the Ore people - not even a dedication plaque. Kind of strange for a people who saved the whole of Qovakia, don't you think?" Lirik had his own information and thoughts on the subject, but opted to continue the brainstorm rather than divulge all he knew. He tapped on the display screen showing the image of the survivors lined up in the shuttle bay. "There's another thing. This holographic program that brought you to your knees," Lirik grinned inside as Christian flashed his eyes toward him, "was clearly some kind of security measure installed by the K'Tani when they possessed the Fantasy. Their program appears to have been to round everyone up and keep them under armed guard until otherwise instructed. But why then did they separate the Helan from the rest of the survivors?" "Not just the Helan," Souveson looked a little shocked. "Ambassador Narli was also segregated along with them. And they were all under heavy guard, as if they were some kind of particular threat." "What has Ambassador Narli got in common with the Helan?" Jackson asked to no one in particular. Lirik wondered briefly about that. He knew Narli of old, as did Jackson, but neither of them could think of a possible connection with the K'Tani at this stage. He held up the Vekarian minister Re Lorken's transparency. "Perhaps this is the key. It's a communiqué between Qovakian officials which makes specific mention to the Andorians - as well as the Romulans and the K'Tani. I've been trying to transcribe it, but it's in a written form of language unique to the inner cadre of Qovakian members - a secret code, if you like." "Bridge to the Captain," the voice over the runabout's intercom broke the intense atmosphere. Christian stabbed the table padd. "Christian here, go ahead Reb," he had recognised the young man's voice immediately. "The Helan leader Ganhedra is up here, saying we need to change course. But Ambassador Narli reports a faint distress signal in our direct path. A standard form of SOS." "I'm on my way," Christian stood and turned to the two women. "This can wait until our staff meeting later. If you don't mind, I'd like a moment alone with the Yeoman." Jackson grasped Lirik's arm as she passed, feeling the shield tickle her skin, then let go. "You did good work, Yeoman," she smiled, glancing back at Christian briefly. Lirik smiled a gentle response and watched the Commodore and Souveson go. He became totally aware of the Captain waiting tensely behind him. Slowly he turned and faced the sour American, attempting a look of meekness and apology. "I've already let Reb off the hook concerning your disobeying orders, I assume you will take full responsibility for what happened?" Christian spoke with distaste so clearly in his voice. "Of course, Captain," Lirik replied quietly. "I personally don't condone your actions taking the runabout away like that, but the Commodore has convinced me of your reasoning behind it. Your subsequent actions on the magnetic planet and in the asteroid field were commendable and the information you have gathered will be most useful, as will the two crewmen and all the supplies retrieved from the USS Papillon. But let me make one thing plainly clear," Christian stepped closer to Lirik, "as long as I'm in command on this ship you'll get no special treatment. Diplomat or no diplomat, if you disobey my orders again I'll personally throw you off the ship at the nearest available location. Got it?" Lirik was on thin ice and he knew it, despite having the weight of Starfleet law behind him. He nodded his silent acceptance and felt the Captain brush past him hard as he quickly exited. He was about to sit down and return to his research when the Captain called to him: "I require your presence on the bridge also, Mister Lirik. Secure the runabout." * * * Ganhedra fiddled with his sleeves nervously, waiting beside the centre chair for Christian to appear. As soon as the turbolift doors parted, he was babbling wildly. "Please, just give me a few moments," the Captain raised a flat hand toward the old but very excited humanoid. "Ambassador, have you made any sense of the signal?" Narli sat in his chair not awkwardly, but as if the chair had placed itself under him, such was his gate and general commanding demeanour. "I have," he informed them proudly. "It is transmitting on a short range normal space frequency. Although my syntax may be a bit off, it's along the lines of: emergency, help, rescue immediate, death soon… and then follows the co-ordinates. It repeats every few seconds." Reb called over from the helm station - Christian noticed the part-Ferengi had removed his trademark leather jacket (now thrown casually over the back of the seat) and had his sleeves rolled up revealing sinewy and downy olive forearms. "The signal is coming from that nebula directly ahead, from a narrow strand of asteroids." Christian raised both hands, palms extended and turned to Ganhedra. "And you don't want us to go there, right?" he gestured. "My people are wise to this nebula, Captain," the old man calmed slightly, relieved to be having his say at last. "It is a dangerous region of space - separate from the Qovakian union, with no protection for Qovakian citizens. There are a number of independent nations within, all of whom are aggressively territorial, some even fanatical isolationists, much like the Tholians. I would recommend we turn here before we encounter any of their patrols." "During the last occupation, were any of the races here aligned to the K'Tani?" Lirik asked, pushing forward. Ganhedra paused, thinking about the answer. Lirik exchanged a quick surprised look with Christian. "No," the old man finally said, "they were not. But some of them are every bit as hostile." Jackson dropped ungracefully into the seat to the right of the Captain's chair. "We are Starfleet officers, Ganhedra, we have a duty to respond to a distress call whether hostile or not." Lirik raised his eyebrows at Jackson's gung-ho comment, but it was surprisingly Ensign Souveson who spoke. "Captain, as your Tactical Officer I should point out that we are far from battle-ready should we enter into a conflict." Jackson turned her head, raising an eyebrow at having her word questioned by the junior, but Souveson pretended not to notice. "With no sustained warp drive, no weapons, shields or transporters, we have no means of defence and very limited rescue capability." "Only a bad workman blames his tools, Ensign," Christian said, slipping into the Captain's chair in support of his fellow command officer. "The Commodore is correct, we are obligated to respond." Christian stabbed the small arm of his chair, pleased to be performing a more 'normal' command duty. "Engineering!" "Leonard here, Captain," the German accent was controlled, if a little quiet. "Standby to take us to full impulse." "Confirmed." In the engine room, Leonard crossed his fingers and preyed. Christian turned to the Commodore. "Our best method of rescue is the runabout. Prepare an away team and report to the shuttle bay immediately." Jackson nodded - she couldn't quite bring herself to say 'aye sir' just yet. Her personnel and command experience was all she needed to make the correct selection. "Commander Struckchev, Ensign, Miss Warnerburg," she said to the surprised looking older woman. Smacking her commbadge: "Lieutenant O'Hara, please report to the shuttle bay for an away mission." "What?!" came the mid-Atlantic voice. "Commodore, you can't be-" "Save the dramatics, Nurse," Jackson snapped, "and just do it." Tapping the commbadge again cut off O'Hara's continuing protests. The Commodore nodded to Christian, smiling, as if to say 'I can handle her, don't worry'. While the Kosovan, French Canadian and Alaskan followed the Commodore into the turbolift, the Captain turned to Lirik. "Man the tactical station, Yeoman. Keep an eye on navigational sensors for any ships. Ambassador, you may hear them before we see them." Narli and Lirik waited for the Captain to return his gaze to the viewscreen before they exchanged a mutual look of begrudging discontent - not for doing the tasks they had been asked, but for having to take orders from what they regarded independently as a Starfleet Command hot-shot. Both held their tongues, but any onlooker could see their contemptuous thoughts clearly in their expressions. As the ship rapidly approached the string of asteroids, the purple-green colour of the nebula filled the entire screen, part-bathing the bridge crew in its light. "Runabout Hudson standing by, Captain," Jackson said across the newly installed commlink to the runabout. "Helm, hold position here," Christian waited for Reb to slow the ship to a low enough halting speed. "Proceed runabout." * * * The Hudson lifted gracefully off the hangar deck and turned swiftly toward the open bay doors. Christian was impressed by the piloting of the vessel as it swept up and over the length of the Fantasy and away from them - he presumed it was Struckchev at the helm. In a sense, Christian thought, the Commander, having been the first officer of the downed USS Papillon, was every bit his equal. The only differences were that Christian was slightly younger, and also the one Starfleet had granted a command. "Hudson, anything?" Christian asked after nearly a minute's silence. A pause later, Jackson spoke. "We've found her, a small vessel - we suspect it's a science vessel, crashed into an asteroid. There are two humanoids aboard, both weak life signs." "The ship's badly damaged - sensors indicate they were attacked and the ship's tactical capability destroyed," Souveson added. "I detect no other vessels nearby." "They breathe the same air as we do. I recommend we beam them directly aboard," O'Hara's voice cut across the signal. "For safety's sake, we should treat them on board their own ship if possible," Struckchev retorted. "I don't think you have that option," Warnerburg said, "their engine has just started a cascade failure." "Beam them out!" Jackson almost yelled in the heat of the moment. Warnerburg had already instinctively made a pattern lock on the survivors, despite the Commander's misgivings. In seconds, the two unconscious humanoids had been beamed into the temporary triage in the rear of the vessel. The Commander raised shields, moving the Hudson away as the damaged ship briefly convulsed in a white ball of light and was gone, along with most surrounding rock. "They both have extensive internal injuries," O'Hara reported to the Commodore as the older woman entered the aft section. She raised an eyebrow noticing the Nurse had now also removed her shirt (along with her jacket it was also too blood-stained to be worn), leaving only the Starfleet standard issue vest, somewhat straining to capacity. "They appear to be in a form of neural shock, their level of brain activity is extremely low. I'd say it was some kind of natural response to injury." "Can you treat them?" Jackson asked. "I can treat anyone," O'Hara said sarcastically, "but whether I can make them better I don't know yet. I don't exactly have a proper sickbay to determine their physiology, let alone the proper equipment or medicines for administration." Jackson stepped away and hit her commbadge. "Jackson to Fantasy, both survivors are aboard and we are returning to the ship." "Lieutenant O'Hara's helpers are standing by in the shuttle bay, Commodore. I then want just you and the Commander to take the shuttle back out and standby for further orders," the Captain advised, his voice echoing through her insignia badge. "Understood," she said and turned back to O'Hara. "Can I assist you?" "Elevate that arm and press hard beneath the wound," O'Hara manhandled one of the alien patient's wounded arms toward the Commodore, brown blood trickling out of the broken skin. Jackson stepped forward and complied, standing very close now to the younger Lieutenant. After a minute or so, Jackson took the plunge. "Your attitude has got you into a lot of trouble in the past, hasn't it, Lieutenant?" O'Hara appeared not to hear, cleaning and dressing numerous surface wounds while taking intermittent scans of brain activity with her medical tricorder. "Is that a statement or a question, Commodore?" Jackson ignored her diversion. The truth in fact was that when Jackson had heard her son expressing strong feelings for this nurse less than a fortnight ago, she couldn't help but browse through O'Hara's personnel file, to find out what she was like. The detail within her file described the woman's hotheaded nature very well. "Shooting your mouth off won't win you any respect from Command officers, believe me." O'Hara stopped what she was doing, placing her hands on her hips. "Look, Commodore, when it comes to the treatment of patients, I'll speak my mind and I won't mince my words, whether senior officers like it or not." "That's not what I'm saying," Jackson felt frustrated by O'Hara's persistent knee-jerk reactions. She tried a different approach. "I didn't have the luxury of a commission like you, Lieutenant. I joined Starfleet as a regular crewman - a very long time ago, I might add, when you were but a lustful glint in your father's eye. I worked my way up from the bottom - scraping my way up in some ways. But I persevered, year by year, listening and observing all the time, knowing what chains to pull, who or what to avoid, where my weaknesses and strengths lay, even who to suck up to when the occasion required." "That may have been fine for you, Sir. But I'm not the grovelling kind," O'Hara smirked. "Besides, I heard this all before at the medical school and I know my psyche profile very well. So I admit, I have a bit of a temper. But that didn't stop me getting good grades, and doesn't make me a bad officer or, more importantly, a bad medical officer." "Maybe not among a Starfleet crew. But this situation is totally different. We need to bring order where there is none. We need to discipline people for their own safety. A firecracker like you could easily compound an already difficult scenario," Jackson ignored her open-mouthed protests. "Take the advice of this older woman, Lieutenant. If you want the Captain to listen to you, then you're going to have to do it the hard way. You may be the most experienced medic amongst us, but to the Captain you're just a nurse doing the best she can. If you can learn to work as part of a team, follow the protocols you were urged to adopt at the white boot camp, you will earn his respect - and mine for that matter. What's the worst that could happen: that you'll have to learn when to keep that," she pointed at the nurses mouth, "well and truly buttoned?" O'Hara almost smiled, so she was surprised to feel a couple of tears rolled down her cheek. She had an almost head-rush feeling, like a wave of euphoria, and when she focused again she saw the Commodore welling up also. Her thoughts had suddenly turned away from her patients to the last time she had seen Lieutenant Jackson, the Commodore's son and her on-off beau. On the morning of the attack he had quietly written her a note, thinking she was asleep, and placed it on the pillow next to her head with a large replicated Cardassian Primula. She had smiled watching his fit body ease tightly into his security uniform, dark skin pronounced against the tan collar, muscles pressing firmly against every seam. Lying there in a cocoon of warmth she had suddenly thought it odd to be so very far away from home - in an alien territory, sleeping in a strange bed, alone in her lover's apartment. It was even more odd that his mother the HQ commander had been in the next room for most of the night. With a couple of hours snooze time before reporting for duty, O'Hara had gazed up through the overhead skylights at the increasing traffic departing the Helub spaceport. Slowly she had watched the formation of the electromagnetic storm with its purple and orange clouds and telltale flashes of green and yellow, not knowing that its beauty belied its true intent that would eventually lead to the downfall of the Qovakian Government and the exodus of survivors. "Lieutenant!" Jackson physically shook the nurse's arm and the woman suddenly snapped out of her reverie. "Are you okay?" "I'm - I'm fine," O'Hara replied in her best voice, though her face suddenly cracked into an unpleasant sobbing. The feeling of such misery hadn't been with her since childhood, and she felt embarrassed that this emotional outburst was taking place in front of her lover's disapproving mother. Instinctively, Jackson walked around the runabout's table and embraced the Lieutenant, wondering why at the same time she herself had begun to feel very unhappy and shed a few tears herself. Neither women had mentioned her son - but both were thinking of him in their own way, sharing their mutual (and hopefully temporary) loss in the sisterly embrace. * * * ACT II "Runabout to Captain," Struckchev's voice interrupted Christian's thoughts as he scanned through the reports Lirik had prepared earlier. "Christian here, go ahead," the Captain slipped the padd between his right thigh and the side panel of the still dusty command chair, concentrating on the starfield in the viewer as he imagined the Kosovan at the helm of the runabout. "Sir, I scanned what is left of a faint warp signature, I think it may have been the path taken by the alien ship." "Very well, once the patients are aboard you and the Commodore take the runabout and pursue the trail. We will follow your lead," Christian nodded over to Reb. Pausing, he then said, "Put the Commodore on a moment, will you Commander?" "Er…" the Kosovan waited before replying. Turning his head he could see on the monitor that Jackson and O'Hara were sobbing their hearts out. He understood well the feeling of overwhelming grief. "The Commodore is tied up right now, sir. I'll have her contact you as soon as she's free." Christian thought the response odd in the circumstances, but not beyond the bounds of reason. "Very well, Fantasy out." Feeling a slight tingle in his left cheek, he sensed Narli's penetrating gaze upon him. He turned to face the communications station where he found the Andorian watching him with a twisted grin. Christian didn't respond, turning instead back to the reports Lirik had filed. * * * Struckchev calculated he could afford two minutes to check on the Commodore and the Lieutenant before starting approach manoeuvres. "Ensign, keep an eye on things here for a minute, please." "Aye, sir," Souveson shifted in her chair - concerned that she had not been with the Nurse when the patients were beamed aboard, and wondered why the Commander had not reprimanded her for such a security oversight. Instead, she remained quietly at the co-pilot's position, constantly checking sensors for any other ship. The Kosovan stepped into the rear of the vessel. Although the Commodore had stopped weeping, she was still looking very upset, propping herself on the table. "Commodore Jackson, are you all right? What's wrong?" Jackson barely looked up before her face contorted into another wave of tears, her only ability to communicate being a bitten lower lip, a swift shake of the head, and a hand raised palm up toward him. O'Hara was steadily crying and sniffing, but managing to continue to treat the messy wounds of her patients. Struckchev placed a hand on the nurse's almost bare freckled shoulder. "Hey, what's all this about? We did something good here," he said. O'Hara could hardly speak, only managing. "But what's the point? What about all of our people? It's so unfair, all those unnecessary deaths." Her thoughts turned to the two dead children who had been in her care, and to her friend the cheery Crewman Able who she had been forced to abandon to the K'Tani. She snapped the tricorder shut with one hand and covered her eyes with the other as her mouth twisted uncontrollably and a deep belly cry came forth. As Struckchev tried to comfort the women, his train of thought began to imagine untold varieties of death aboard his own ship, the Papillon. In his mind's eye he saw the Captain and bridge crew incinerated, the engineers vaporised, the weapons officers sucked out into space, the medical crew steamed alive - it was almost too much to bear. Instinctively, not wishing to show his lack of control, the Commander whirled round and left before he too broke down. His head was spinning, but by the time he threw himself into the pilot's chair, he had regained some control. Looking out of the starboard window, the Commander bit his tongue hard and focused on the flight path back to the Fantasy in an attempt not to cry. * * * Behind the Captain's chair, Lirik was using the tactical station as an interface to the computer, trying to get an idea of what state the ship was in. During his previous night's visit to main engineering, he'd discovered that Christian had assigned the Orion woman, Hedrik (apparently some kind of expert in computer programming and hologram and transporter technology) to work with engineer Leonard. Along with the Romulan junior officer the trio were to supervise the re-insertion of the hundreds of thousands of memory chips into the ship's huge computer core. So far, they had completed a mere 10%, and with the additional damage to the central core it was unlikely ship-wide computer systems would be operational for some days to come - perhaps longer. Hedrik had re-initialised the isolated bridge computer core, and with that came rudimentary computer interfaces for all bridge stations. Leonard had completed similar routines in engineering and life support to keep things rolling. Local, automatic subsystems linked to shared network automatically took care of the rest. Lirik scrolled through the long (but not extensive) list of command programs now available. He noticed that, presumably as a result of the cascade during the first few hours on the ship, several key programs such as the emergency command hologram, the auto-destruct sequence and the command code interface protocols had been totally erased. Anyhow, Lirik thought to himself, with little equipment on the other end of the bridge controls actually working, the computer programs that were available were largely redundant. So only the helm, engineering and communication stations had anything to actually interface with - and then only in a limited capacity. Despite these numerous problems, Lirik still regarded their situation to be extremely lucky. For one thing, had they not been aboard a passenger liner, they would not have had the luxury of the expensive and cumbersome emergency warp system. The unit was discovered while he and Reb had been abroad. Approximately the size of six shuttlecraft and wrapped in duranium, the interfacing unit remained sealed behind a protective shield to the rear of main engineering. Its use was as a once-only escape device which when employed would automatically deploy the nacelles, create a stable warp field (spacial phenomena permitting) and allow several seconds of warp speed. Lirik was getting no joy from the console. Suppressing an outburst he drew a long breath and looked up through the skylights above his head. For a second, he thought he felt something, a distant calling not unlike that he had felt approaching the planet Medusa for the first time. It was gone as quickly as he had become aware of it - during years in space, he had become used to such 'echoes' of his brethren around the galaxy, often the long dead whispers of pronounced electromagnetic activity around the time of creation. Lirik's gaze fell onto the top of Christian's head. 'Still reading my reports', he thought, looking over the man's shoulder and feeling a warm glow of ego. Lirik glanced around the bridge, Narli was busy plotting it seemed - he recognised that telltale faraway look, and logged it for later analysis. Then he had an idea. He turned to the Science station behind him where the quiet Professor Karnak was engrossed in a complex calculation scrawled onto an old fashioned padd. "Excuse me," he said quietly. The woman didn't react; her graceful expression focussed on some ethereal theory. Lirik approached and placed his hand on the back of her chair. "Professor?" The woman gasped audibly and jolted away from him. Several heads turned briefly, but not the Captain's. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Lirik said, straightening, a polite withdrawal of his clearly unwelcome Medusan presence. "I was hoping that you could help me with analysing this communication." He held out the rolled up transparency he had carried with him to the bridge. The woman was clearly frightened, but managed to retain a certain amount of outward Vulcan composure. "Central computer diagnostics are not yet available," she said quietly. "Yes, I know," Lirik rubbed his nose and spoke casually. "But I figured your Vulcan trained scientific mind might be able to decipher the language." The Professor looked at the transparency, then at Lirik. He thought she looked as if she was trying to come up with an excuse, but could think of none. Not even replying, she rudely snatched the transparency and turned away from him, sitting down in the high-backed chair once more. "Thanks," Lirik said, wondering if maybe this Vulcan-disciplined mind was tearing itself apart on the inside. Although he had noticed the Captain spent his quiet moments attempting to start a conversation with the Professor, on the whole she had remained very quiet, and resigned to go along with the general consensus. It was almost as if she was over-compensating in her Vulcan training, hiding her petrified emotions behind a controlled exterior and not wishing to play an active role. Any real Vulcan would have applied their logic to all their situations and spoken out, but not her. * * * On exiting the runabout, Souveson felt suddenly very queasy and weak. She instinctively thought Lirik must be nearby, but a visual check showed her that wasn't the case. She was even more surprised when her knees gave way beneath her and she fell hard onto her hands. The strange eunuch creature O'Hara referred to as Wheezy scampered to her aid, but when asked what was wrong, the Ensign could only open her mouth and whimper. Her throat felt a little closed and her eyes began to weep, both of which made her panic into thinking something was very wrong - perhaps a seizure caused by yesterday's fight. The loss of co-ordination and coherent control of her physical body caused her to feel frightened and then real tears of disbelief and frustration followed. Wheezy could see that along across the way, behind the stretchered aliens, Lieutenant O'Hara and the Commodore were also being eased gently off the runabout. "What happened?" she called to the New Parisian. "I don't know, they're all like this," he called in reply, his facial jewellery tinkling with the movement of his jaw. "Tell the Captain!" Wheezy shouted, thinking fast, "No, wait! First seal the deck. It could be some kind of virus." The fresh-faced young man nodded and ran over to the door and closed it, initiating the bioenvironmental seal that hissed slightly upon activation, and lit the doorframe with the vibrant green of the quarantine field. Running quickly back, he leapt onto the runabout, barely missing the hunched frame of the woman he saw arrive injured from Engineering the day after their escape - Cally Warnerburg. Not stopping to help her, he brushed past and stepped onto the Hudson's bridge, stopping immediately in his tracks. In front of him, beside the communication panel the Commander was swaying, wide-eyed and sweating profusely, phaser in hand. The young man glimpsed a red bar across the top of the weapon - it was set to kill. As Struckchev raised it toward the young man, he gulped and raised both hands. "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "My name is Hensil Arrorot." * * * Back on the hangar deck, to Wheezy's surprise, the elderly nun from Earth who was part of O'Hara's small team swept the black, deep sleeves of her robes back into the crooks of her elbow joints and displayed considerable strength. She stepped onto the ledge of the door and practically lifted the rotund form of Cally Warnerburg onto the deck a few feet below. "Careful, Sister," the young, well-dressed man Wheezy had come to know as Unadi Kaswak came to the Puerto Rican nun's aid, "we don't want to add to the casualties." Wheezy scoffed at the youngster's attitude - on her world, a woman as fit for her years as Sister Matthew would have been given the highest respect; his patronising attitude would have been swiftly dealt with. In her arms, Souveson had become less stressed; her eyes glazed over, but all other vital signs just about normal. The people from the planet Jetralex possessed a heightened sense of touch, so much that they were able to describe a smooth pane of glass as feeling like corrugated cardboard. Without warning, Wheezy juddered - as if someone had walked over her death tomb. A feeling of panic washed over her, every sense felt as if it had been set afire. Wheezy yelped slightly, then dropped her patient and rolled heavily onto her back. Sister Matthew swiftly left Warnerburg in the recovery position and came to Wheezy's aid, kneeling beside her with a tricorder. "She's the same as the rest," she called to Unadi, "some kind of overwhelming psychosomatic reaction." "I can sense confusion in them, and it's growing worse," Unadi said. "We will surely be next." Sister Matthew saw the young man's face go pale. He was clearly very afraid. She thought back to how he had come to be a part of the medical team. O'Hara had met the young man when helping to move the casualties to the makeshift sickbay area from the observation lounge shortly after leaving Vekarian space. It was Sister Matthew who had spotted him using his empathic abilities to calm a distressed patient - turned out the man was part Human, part Rumaronian, a race of powerful empaths. Unadi, she discovered, only possessed the ability to influence others emotionally (his blessing and his curse), his abilities were diluted by his Human side. The nun had managed to talk heart to heart to the man during several night shifts - mostly an attempt to stay awake. Though he had as a youngster quickly ended up on the wrong side of the tracks, (he wouldn't give the full details) he still appeared to be a good person at heart. So it was no surprise that she found him eager to help the sick, as if to make up for all the bad that had been in his life for the last few years. * * * In the cockpit of the runabout, Hensil could feel himself swooning. The Commander now looked as if he had drifted into some kind of waking sleep on his feet, and the New Parisian knew that if he didn't act now, it might be too late to contact the bridge. Stepping to one side, out of the line of fire, Hensil leapt forward, and grabbed the phaser, knocking Struckchev onto the deck. The man was thankfully already unconscious. Hensil felt lightheaded. Adjusting the phaser to the lowest setting and putting it on standby mode, he looked at the dazzling array of lights on the contact padds around the cockpit. He realised he had no idea which was the communications panel. His head turned from side to side, reading the small words on each panel. "Got it!" he had found the right panel, but none of the buttons were labelled. Some had digits, but there seemed no logical order to them. He suddenly wished he had paid more attention at school, but here he was feeling desperately inadequate. As he began to blame his ignorance on the effects he now seemed to be feeling, he suddenly remembered the computer's voice-interface. "Computer, connect me to the bridge," he ordered. The computer bleeped, but there was nothing but a faint hiss. Hensil waited, then heard a distant bleep or two, like a console being used almost out of earshot. "Hello?" he called. "Hello?" came the nearby stern reply. "Who is this? Identify yourself." He couldn't be sure, but Hensil thought it was Captain Christian. "You've got to help us, there's something wrong," his tongue suddenly felt as if it had swollen to the size of a Ruplunsa Pear. "Everyone ish shick." He had bitten his tongue, and hard. He could taste the iron of blood in his mouth. Hensil's eyesight began to blur. As he toppled over, he lost bladder control and lay wet and precarious over the pilot's chair. His throat finally developed a lump, and tears of embarrassment and helplessness began to run down his face as he slipped into unconsciousness. * * * On the bridge of the Fantasy, everyone's attention was on the Captain. He glanced to his left and right, as if looking for someone. Finally he stood and turned to Lirik. "Get down to the shuttle bay and find out what's going on. You have a medic rating, don't you?" Lirik hesitated, wondering how the Captain had found that out. "Yes," his voice was almost soft. "You better take some muscle along. I believe Andorians are known for their physical prowess, Ambassador?" he saw the blue skinned man flinch with surprise. Christian smiled at that. Narli did not reply, instead nodding politely. "If it's an attack by those aliens," Lirik said joining the taller white-haired man beside the open tubolift doors, "it might take more than just the two of us." "I'll send you some help, get going," Christian urged, his face hard and voice snappy, though with an aura of comfortable control about his person. * * * As the turbolift descended the many decks, Lirik and Narli stood at opposite sides, each sizing the other up. Lirik broke the silence, as usual. "Tell me, Ambassador, why has the Andorian government been engaged in secret negotiations with the Qovakians?" Lirik wasn't actually sure of his facts, but couldn't get the puzzle of the official communiqué out of his head. It was a gamble, but with even odds of extracting information, it couldn't get much better. Narli smiled broadly. "I am but a humble trade minister, Yeoman. I would not know of such things." Lirik bit his bottom lip as the turbolift slowed, then proceeded along a horizontal course. "Look, we've known each other for a long time," Lirik dropped his body language to a casual, familiar stance. "Given the predicament we're in, we should pool our resources. Let's make a pact - what I know in return for what you know." Narli's smile faded, he hated it when Lirik was sincere. It was so … un-spy-like. The halting turbolift and parting doors stymied the Yeoman's attempt to make progress with his investigation. Setting the environment field on its highest setting, Lirik waved the Andorian back and proceeded cautiously into the corridor. The turbolift exit was a 'butt' end, with the doors being at the end of the turbolift shaft, so either side of the doors the corridor stretched away left and right, before angling sharply back. Several metres away on the opposite side, one of the airlocks leading to the shuttlebay glowed with a deep green border. "Looks like they sealed the doors from inside," Lirik said, feeling more comfortable about dropping his guard. "This is an old ship - isn't green for quarantine?" Narli shrugged and joined Lirik in the still air of the corridor as the turbolift doors swished closed behind them. Narli pressed an antenna against the hangar door, using an ancient and painfully difficult Andorian technique of cupping the end receptor in a vacuum against a surface to perceive the space beyond. "Anything?" Lirik asked, but Narli merely popped his antenna off the cold metal and shook his head. "Let me try." Narli knew to stand well back when the Yeoman employed his Medusan abilities for real. With three taps on his wrist-mounted control panel, Lirik dropped the energy shield surrounding him and placed both hands flat on the metal. Concentrating, he extended his Medusan energy forward - not in physical form, but more in the realms of perception. Gradually he began to feel the energy in the door - in the lights, and in the multitude of circuitry embedded in the walls, floor and ceiling around him. Narli's presence was clearly felt. Steadily he pushed the envelope away from the Ambassador and forward, feeling the energies abruptly stop as he hit a large nullity of empty space, presumably the open area of the hangar deck beyond the bulkhead. In his typically awkward Human way, Lirik steadily increased his perception, focusing down toward the deck (presumably anyone inside was either standing, sitting or lying on the floor). Without warning, his perception leapt forward by a rate of several metres - it was an uncontrolled move that left Lirik's Human understanding momentarily confused. The fuzz of blur suddenly cleared in his mind's eye, and he perceived the strong presence of the runabout Hudson's warp engines. Filtering the interference out, he finally found what he was looking for. "Found them," he stated calmly, unaware that he and Narli had now been joined by ten or so burly looking characters, including some quiet Helans, Vulcan attendants and the three Klingons. "I count.." it was at least a whole minute before Lirik continued his sentence, the Medusan energy was beginning to drown out his Human perception, causing him to lose track of linear time. "I count eleven people." He quickly withdrew his hands. Like a dimming light he shrank the Medusan field rapidly towards his centre point and promptly lost his balance and fell backwards, thumping unceremoniously into the deck. The largest of the Klingons nearly pulled Lirik's arm out of his socket as his gloved hand hoisted him roughly to his feet. The Klingon then suddenly let go, flexing his hand and looking at it curiously, turning his palm over as if he'd just handled something very unpleasant. "Well?" "I just said: I count eleven - oh, yes," Lirik realised the man had merely expressed concern for his health, "Yes, I'm fine." He quickly initiated the environmental shield once more. "What is their condition?" Narli asked loudly. Lirik held his forehead then wiped the beads of sweat from around his mouth. "I think they were unconscious, close to the floor - perhaps laying down. I couldn't sense any movement, anyway." "We should find a window to look in and verify," the Klingon Kro'Ner commanded. "Good idea," Lirik smiled weakly, walking down the long corridor toward the door leading to the smaller adjacent standby bay. Without speaking, two hefty Helan males stepped in front of Lirik and lifted off the large wall panel beside the door control. As he looked inside, up and down locating the small control unit, Lirik wondered how the men had known exactly what he intended to do (and, indeed, how to do it). "Ah, buggerations," Lirik muttered to himself. Turning to the group he noticed Fraxon, the young Helan brother to Vostaline. The young alien smiled broadly and winked as soon as they made eye contact. "Fraxon, go and bring Lieutenant Commander Leonard. Tell him we urgently need to reinitialise the command networks around the hangar deck." Fraxon nodded and scooted off into the turbolift. The other men struck various waiting poses and Lirik took the opportunity to study them. They were a mixed group - different races, different faces and expressions, clothes and mannerisms. Even their individual smells were distinct, although the combined smell and feel of a group of men always seemed similar to Lirik. Ambassador Narli broke his train of thought as he sidled up beside him and turned his back to the others, speaking in a lowered voice. "So, Yeoman, you were saying we should pool our resources?" "Oh no," Lirik wagged a finger, "you first, Ambassador." Narli humphed - Lirik was one of the pushiest Humans he tolerated, and then he only excused him because the boy was part Medusan. He quickly checked over his shoulder to make sure they would not be heard. "The painful truth about this whole situation, my friend, is that it was avoidable. The Qovakian Government knew very well that the K'Tani were massing forces for invasion and they purposefully kept the facts from us." Lirik didn't flinch, but rather spoke in a slow whisper. "My dear old Andorian friend," Lirik was patronising Narli in his most condescending voice, "Tell me something I haven't worked out for myself already." Narli beamed. "I didn't think you would take your finger off the pulse. So much for your retirement from Starfleet Intelligence, eh? " "Don't read too much into it. For a man in my liaison position I merely like to keep myself abreast of the gossip - official and unofficial." Lirik retorted. "You never know when a little knowledge like that can come in handy." The Ambassador wiped the front of his top teeth with his tongue. "The night before the K'Tani invasion would have been a good time." Lirik raised his eyebrows. "Well I don't appear to be the only one to have been duped by the Qovakians. You and every other representative from our part of the Galaxy were foolish enough to trust that history would not repeat itself, believing that the K'Tani were no longer a threat because they were simply no longer around. We were all well fooled." "Maybe not all," Narli said. "While you were languishing in that salubrious underground den of iniquity you deem to call a 'night-club', I was talking to a reliable informant on Helub who told me a party of Romulans were already in partnership negotiation with the K'Tani." Lirik looked shocked. "How the hell did you know my whereabouts that night?" He wasn't missing the point about the Romulans, but instinctively felt angrier about the intrusion of privacy. "Mister Lirik," Narli folded his arms, suppressing a smile, "as the Federation Council's official conduit to the chief representatives, don't you think people are guarded against you? Everyone is aware that knowing your whereabouts at all times is paramount if one wants to conduct secret liaisons." Lirik flushed - for Narli to be going behind his back was one thing, but for the others, he had not given it a second thought. No, he decided it was just Narli's way of getting to him. "Care to do a little historical assessment?" Narli nodded. "This situation is indeed rooted a long time in the past." Lirik began by shaping both his hands as if presenting a large, thick, invisible sandwich to his cohort. "First of all we've got Qovakia, a lot like the Federation, only smaller and spread thinly around the outskirts of this part of the Galaxy. The Qovakians don't have a Starfleet like us, because the massive impenetrable borders of Tholian space has led them to believe there would be little point in far-flung exploration. However, they do search their own, densely populated and highly active area of space, leaving pre-warp worlds alone as we do and making contacts and alliances with other warp-capable races - mostly for trade. I read that in the early days of exploration, they often ventured forth into the blackness of intergalactic space as well." "Correct," Narli used his hands to indicate many finger shaped ships approaching Lirik's sandwich. "Skip a hundred years or so of the Qovakian union being formed. Then arrives the K'Tani, a powerful military species with many resources. As their Empire spreads, so their influence and numbers grow until they finally penetrate Qovakia. In time, they manage to conquer each and every member world, while at the same time plundering those worlds that had been left alone by the Qovakians." Lirik picked up the thread. "So the K'Tani armies continued until their campaign was halted at the impenetrable borders of Tholian space. Time passes, blah blah blah," Lirik gestured as if to ignore the decades of hardship and torment. "A small Vekarian-led rebellion is repeatedly quashed, though not entirely snuffed out. They are then helped by the Ore, together finally overthrowing the K'Tani. Then Starfleet arrived-" "No, Yeoman," Narli waved both hands in front of Lirik's face. "You are missing a crucial period in Qovakia's history. The Ore, you see, were a mostly peaceful, spiritual people who had many traditions and strange rituals. One was their entire number making a pilgrimage through Qovakian space - or rather what had by then become K'Tani space. The K'Tani, of course, attacked them." "How do you know so much about the Ore?" Lirik was surprised at this amount of detail, and a little bitter that his constant work for the Federation representatives prevented him from finding out more during the first few weeks in the Outer Zone. Even that last night on Vekaria before the invasion he had opted to drink and enjoy the music rather than talk to the locals and build on the picture of knowledge he already had. He felt foolish. Narli twisted his mouth into a kind of smile. "Does it matter?" "Fine," Lirik crossed his arms. "But I thought we were sharing." Narli ignored the snub. "So the K'Tani attacked and decimated the Ore, fragmenting their Armada and scattering them into the hands of the rebellion," Narli paused and swallowed before he continued. "The Ore were dramatically changed by the experience, it is said. They became ugly, super-strong, almost invincible creatures of immense will and determination. Twisted by the instant near-genocide of their people and horrors of what the K'Tani had done to those families who were captured. In fact, the Ore were so extremely dangerous the rebel leaders kept them apart from other rebel soldiers and far away from Qovakian citizens because they were considered such a liability." "You mean, very few people actually saw them?" Lirik interjected. "Yes. I must say, Yeoman, that I have no hard evidence to support any of this," Narli admitted. "But it is the consistent picture our people built over the past few weeks. As soon as we became suspicious of a missing link in the Qovakian story everyone in the Andorian delegation was ordered by our Central Intelligence to gather as much information as possible. It was a difficult task dealing only with personal accounts, rumours and what little information we could glean from official records." Lirik nodded. "The Federation also heard similar rumours as soon as we arrived on Helub," he checked his timepiece - Leonard was taking his time. "The Qovakian secret police certainly did a brilliant job of diversion. Like your party, the only information Starfleet Intelligence had gathered came from personal accounts. Tell me more about these Ore people. What did they look like?" "I have not seen an image, but their spiny, black bodies are spoken of as being the colour of death itself," Narli raised his eyebrows at the fabled description yet Lirik was thinking logically and laterally. "The Ore took the rebellion into a new and bloody era. Though their missions were daring and often suicidal, the ferocity and consistency of attacks changed the rebel's cause quickly in their favour." "Legendary space-faring warriors - and heroes," Lirik said to himself. "It was the Ore who overthrew the K'Tani, not the Qovakians." Narli nodded. "Precisely. Though few in number - a mere thousand or so - they went ahead of the rebels into every battle and led many suicidal - but critical - missions over the few years of their existence, steadily increasing the rebel strength and numbers. The K'Tani had underestimated the rebellion and realised that defeat could be imminent. Finally they massed forces for a last ditch confrontation." Narli cocked an antenna and looked up - Fraxon had returned alone. Lirik looked over Narli's shoulder to the young flushed man. "He's on his way, Sir," Fraxon called cheerily. Lirik waved a thumb in acknowledgement and turned back to the Ambassador. "On the eve of battle, the Qovakians secretly decided that this was a battle they could not afford to lose. They were paranoid that the Ore had become a little too hungry for victory, despite the Ore's assurances that they would be victorious if united. The Ore engaged the enemy, too late realising that the majority of their Qovakian friends would not be coming. The betrayal gave them an added fury, and they all but single-handedly decimated the K'Tani fleet. Of course, they all died in the process, but by the time they did the Qovakians had arrived to pick off the last remaining K'Tani ships." Lirik nodded solemnly, wondering if the Ambassador had finished. He looked up and locked eyes with the older man. Licking the soft white hairs caressing his top lip, Narli concluded. "Freedom was once more resumed. Those surviving K'Tani who were not killed for war crimes were sterilised and incarcerated." "But not all of them?" Lirik scratched his ear, noticing that Fraxon kept looking in his direction with a nervous - or was it wicked - glint in his eye. "There's no evidence to suggest that the Qovakians pursued the surviving K'Tani beyond Qovakian borders. Indeed the K'Tani were known to have a homeworld and other fleets in more distant regions of the Galaxy, but again there was no mention of any truce or treaty with the K'Tani government or an outside military leader," Narli said. "The Qovakians must have known that another invasion could follow at some point in the future," Lirik nodded. "It was just a matter of time." The Ambassador dropped his arms and played with his nails. "The Qovakian Government is mostly made up of former rebel leaders. When our first contact was made in the Outer Zone they must have seen us as an unexpected but immediate opportunity for an alliance." "Absolutely," Lirik straightened his posture. "They would have realised that without the Ore people to protect them they would need outside help in holding off a future K'Tani invasion. So when Starfleet's powerful ships arrived we must have been seen as a gift from the Gods. The Qovakians must have decided it would be a neat idea to have more of that kind of company along." Narli grasped his hands together, checking over his shoulder, finally realising himself that it was taking Leonard a long time to arrive. "So they then invited every other race in the Alpha Quadrant to come along to the party - the Romulans, the Cardassians, they didn't care whom: it was just a case of the more military capability the better." "I think they were in the process of drawing up military treaties with several nations," Lirik said referring to the transparency he couldn't translate. "We trusted the Qovakians and they betrayed us," Narli said. "It's much worse than that, Ambassador," Lirik leaned into the bulkhead. "They may have been driven to silence because of the shame they felt for their betrayal of the Ore. Had we known that it may have been enough for us to withdraw - or at least be cautious." Lirik's head was spinning a little from their brainstorm. A sick feeling ground at his belly. "If your intelligence provided all this, then Starfleet's presumably must have done the same." He looked up at Narli. "The truth would have come out eventually, so why didn't anyone on our side blow the whistle and stop any more civilians from coming through the wormhole? For that matter, why didn't they order an immediate retreat of everyone that had arrived so far?" He hung his head. "Damn it, the Fleet wasn't even on alert!" "There could be any number of reasons," the Ambassador gently slapped Lirik's arm. "As you well know, Lirik." Lirik swallowed, then puffed his cheeks. He hated the ridiculous aspects of intelligence policy and had long since learned never to try and work out why things happened as they did, but rather to just do the best job possible and move on. "So it's the same old story, Ambassador. The ones in power knew about the possibility of conflict, but not the certainty of it, so to keep up appearances or maybe through blind arrogance chose instead not to act? "Ours is not to reason why," Narli grinned. It was the first line of the unofficial spy credo. Lirik grinned back. "Ours is just to do or die." Narli nodded and slipped his hands into his low pockets. "For what it's worth we ourselves found no hard evidence that any K'Tani were still at large, there was no reason to make such a quick reaction." "But we people had no choice in the matter," Lirik chewed his cheek. "It's incredible bravado, isn't it," he said, "the Qovakians must have known that at some point we would find out the truth. Maybe they assumed the military conflict would happen before that took place." "Why else would the Qovakian Government get themselves and my fellow delegates to safety before things got ugly?" Narli said. Lirik looked up with sudden horror. "Jesus, I wonder what has happened to them? Why didn't the bloody Qovakians at least warn us of the attack?" "Perhaps they didn't know themselves until it was too late," Narli suggested. Lirik felt a hot wash of anger at Narli's platitudes. "Not by my fucking timing it wasn't. Starfleet were destroyed because they were caught by surprise. And not just us - the Klingons, the Cardassians; perhaps not the Romulans, but that remains to be seen." "I myself only pieced the puzzle together once we were aboard the Fantasy," the Andorian admitted, in a way trying to make Lirik feel better. "Given our situation and our new policy of sharing information, I suppose we should take all of this to the Captain?" "Not me," Lirik said surprisingly. "He doesn't have time for me as it is, and I don't want to end up cleaning waste reclamation systems on this old tub while he fumbles his way through this situation. It would be much better coming from you. Though he'll want to know why you've been quiet for so long." "Simple," Narli said, "it wouldn't have made any difference." Finally Leonard stepped out of the turbolift along with Murak, the Romulan. "Yeoman, what is it exactly you want to do?" he asked proficiently, clutching onto a yellow canvas bag full of tools. Leonard looked a little odd because he had removed his mustard undershirt, wearing only his grey tunic that was unzipped to just below his muscular chest. White blonde hairs licked around the zipper, probably catching occasionally and hurting like buggery, Lirik thought. "The quarantine seal is active, but I'd like to take a look at what's going on in there," Lirik responded. He walked up beside the broad German, hearing the nostril song of his breathing process. "I thought we could manually seal off the standby bay, irradiate it from potential biohazards and enter that way - at least we could get a good look at what's inside the main shuttle deck." "You don't have time for all that," a woman's voice called from behind the group of men. The figure pushed forward - a youngish woman with pronounced gills and other facial markings. From the blood stained sleeves and tunic, Lirik guessed she was another helper from the sick bay. "They must have used the quarantine seal for a reason - what if they're dying in there?" A gentle hand cupped Lirik's shoulder - it was Fraxon. "Excuse me, but we have a number of radiation suits." Lirik locked eyes with the woman, but rather than arguing his strategy, he instead thought about the alternative. "What about a rad suit? Would that provide enough protection?" The woman was unsure - Lirik wasn't sure either. "Commander?" Leonard cupped his beard and opened his mouth in thought revealing his wide pink tongue and bright white teeth. The engineer shrugged. "Well, okay," Lirik said, "we'll just have to chance it. We'll limit the number going in to minimize risk. Myself, Miss…?" "Hebash, Veana K'Rana Hebash," she said a little more nervous than before. "Okay Veana, also the Ambassador," Lirik turned to face the men. "Kro'Nar?" he addressed the youngest Klingon. The young man stiffened, his eyes widened slightly. "It is Kro'NER," he growled. "Kro'Ner, sorry. Would your please inform the Captain of our intentions?" Lirik asked. "I am a Warrior, not some messenger," the young, wild looking Klingon spat with venom. "I will go," one of the Vulcan attendants, still wearing his red and gold skimpy uniform that barely covered his muscular frame, stepped forward. "Thank you. Fraxon," Lirik turned to the beaming blonde boy, "bring enough rad suits for everyone if you can." The Yeoman felt the gentle brush of the man's hand along his shoulder blades through his shield as he departed. A curious thing to do, and Lirik couldn't be sure of what the young Helan was up to making such moves on him. He turned to the Ambassador. "Let's just keep this between you and me for now?" Narli nodded and as Lirik turned away he smiled broadly. * * * ACT III Three figures emerged from the airlock into the eerie silence of the main shuttle bay area. Across the glossy metal deck, people and equipment lay quite still, strewn around the runabout's open doorway, presumably right where they had fallen. Lirik took the point, mostly because he had terminated his environment shield so as not to interfere with the suit's delicate circuitry packed so close to his body. Keeping a healthy distance from the other two he hoped his ambient Medusan energy would not cause them any distress. Lirik picked up a discarded tricorder and tossed it to Veana, though he didn't need to use it himself to know the victims were still alive - their faint electromagnetic brain activity he sensed told him that much. With his shield deactivated, he was reminded of how sensitive his perceptions could be. Veana appeared to have a hard time changing the settings of the tricorder, but with a final expletive she swept it through the air and across the fallen figures of their comrades. "They're alive, but appear to be incapacitated," Narli said stating the obvious while examining the prone form of Commodore Jackson. He looked across to the old Human woman dressed from head to toe in black robes, save for the big shiny silver cross and chain draped across her chest and the simple, dark rope around her waistband. He noticed that the clothes of both women were slightly wet around the lower torso. "These two seem to have lost bladder control." Lirik cautiously approached the larger alien humanoids. They were equally unmoving on the two stretchers, but with much fainter life signs than the others. "These are the ones we should examine first," Lirik spoke into his helmet microphone. Veana hesitatingly joined him beside the grey-turquoise skinned aliens, a giddy feeling in her head as she crouched. "Aside from their injuries I'm reading nothing unusual here." She seemed to have trouble using the logic interface, so Lirik gently took the device from her. He was surprised to find he had no better luck. "We might need a more accurate sensor reading. We could use the runabout." Both stood and walked over to the runabout hatch, but as they did, Veana stumbled slightly. "Are you okay?" Lirik asked, immediately wondering if they too were now being affected, or whether in fact it was his Medusan energy affecting her. "I'm not sure," Veana turned and sat on the step of the airlock, her legs trembling slightly. "My legs are numb and I think I'm going to be -" the woman gagged once, then twice, trying to put her hand over her mouth, but panicking because the helmet visor prevented her. Lirik could see the woman was about to hurl - a potentially lethal hazard - so without another thought he near-ripped her helmet out of its clamps. With only a second to spare Veana spewed over the steps and onto the deck. "I'm sorry," she eventually sobbed, trying to wipe her mouth with the back of her gloved hand, but was too uncoordinated to manage it. "I'm so, so, sooo." Lirik wiped the pinky yellow barf droppings from her chin. "It's okay, don't worry," he said, feeling her body go limp. She was unconscious. "That was quick," Narli quipped stepping over the puddle into the runabout. "Did you zap her with your Medusan energy?" "Don't be absurd," Lirik snapped, feeling a tingling sensation in his fingers. It wasn't a usual kind of tingling, either. "How do you feel?" The Andorian shrugged. "I still feel okay." "I'm not so sure about myself," Lirik said, wondering what the strange sinking feeling was forming in his belly. "I think I'm being affected." "Can you re-activate your shield?" Narli asked. "That may offer a better protection." "Not while I'm wearing this suit," Lirik said, resigning himself to apparent defeat. "I'll keep going for as long as I can." Placing Veana's body gently against the doorframe, Lirik followed Narli into the cockpit. "Lirik to bridge," the Yeoman said, barely stepping over Struckchev as his sight became blurred. "Go ahead," Christian fair shouted. "Everyone on the hangar deck appears to be incapacitated. Symptoms are weakness, lack of co-ordination, numbness, loss of vision, nausea, unconsciousness and, er," Lirik wasn't sure how else to phrase it, "lack of toilet control. Sir, the woman who came with us is already down and I am now also being affected, despite our radiation suits. I don't know how long I can last though the Ambassador remains well. We're going to use the runabout sensors to try and lolly loo lo-" Lirik turned to Narli. Opening his mouth, he realised nothing was coming out but nonsense. "Wah lollololl lo-lo-" He bit his swollen tongue. "Say again, Yeoman?" Christian said. Narli was worried. "The Yeoman has lost his power of speech. Computer: scan the incapacitated lifeforms outside of the runabout. Can you identify the cause of their unconsciousness?" "Working," the motherly voice replied. Presently: "Negative. Nothing unusual detected." "Great," the Ambassador looked at the information scrolling down the screen as verification and shook his head. Turning to Lirik, he saw the man had slumped into the co-pilot seat and his head was flopping to and fro, though he was clearly fighting to keep his eyes open. He appeared to be trying to focus on Narli through his visor. The Andorian wondered if one by one each of the survivors would all be pitched into unconsciousness and eventually the ship would be left to drift helpless in space until its occupants either wilted away or were caught by the K'Tani. Something touched his arm - it was Lirik. The Yeoman was flailing with both arms, one holding the tricorder which he tossed unceremoniously into the air, then with both hands pointed up and then at the general area of the floor where the tricorder had landed. He made a long groaning sound, then slipped into unconsciousness. Narli looked at the plump Englishman, then at the tricorder and finally back to the data screens. He realised that despite the potency of whatever had got the others, he was still feeling okay in himself. "Tricorder," he muttered to himself. "Tricorder and 'up' - that's what you were saying, weren't you?" He studied the face of his old adversary-cum-friend. Of course, the Yeoman didn't respond, so the Ambassador was left to take an educated guess. "Captain, I would like to send the sensor and tricorder information to the bridge. Perhaps the lovely professor may determine what's happening?" * * * On the main bridge, Christian fair leapt to the science station. He was surprised to find the high-backed chair empty - the Professor gone. "I haven't seen her for an hour or so," a middle-aged Human male hanging around the environment and life support stations had seen the Captain's frustration. Something about the man appeared familiar, but Christian couldn't put his finger on it. The Captain smacked the intraship glyph on the science station comm panel. "Bridge to Professor Karnak!" There was no response. Turning to the lower bridge area he saw a group of men and women milling around, mostly watching the unchanging viewscreen. Clapping his hands, they turned and he gestured for them to come closer. "The professor. It's imperative we find her - and quickly," Christian barked. The group nodded and split apart in several directions. Once again, the Captain found himself boiling up inside, frustrated by the lack of systems on line. Leonard had done a great job with the power grid and the main engines, but internal systems, sensors and communications were still mostly down. Sliding under the science console he removed several access panels until he found the appropriate mechanism. In several minutes he had patched the entire station to a junction that linked into the active comm system. "Ambassador, are you still with us?" "Yes. I'm still not effected," the voice came over the speaker. "Perhaps you have a higher tolerance or immunity to whatever it is," the Captain said. "If you seal the runabout and initiate bio-hazard protocols you may buy yourself some time." "Confirmed," the Andorian said, moving to the main airlock and pulling Veana on board. "I have tried several sensor sweeps, but haven't been able to identify anything unusual." Narli sealed the runabout hatch and walked back to the cockpit. "Switch the runabout's comm system to frequency Delta 33," Christian reached up to the science console and made sure the comms were fully functioning, then made a quick check on the bridge computer core to make sure it was stable. From now on, he was determined to try and make all this machinery actually work in their favour for a change. "Done," Narli said, looking for the internal biohazard controls. "Good," Christian replied. "Now in addition to the voice signal, sensor information is being carried on the same frequency directly to the bridge." Christian sat in the high-backed chair and pulled himself in toward the displays. "That's good," Christian said, watching the data stream down the displays. "Bear with me, Ambassador." Christian's knowledge of chemistry was extensive, and biology not to weak either. Leaning his elbows on the edge of the wide console, Christian did his best, but after a minute of just looking at the data, he gave up. This problem required a specialist. He rose and turned toward the viewscreen. "Ganhedra, please follow a course bearing 15 degrees mark 5. That should take us back along the course the alien ship followed, we might run into more of their people who may be able to help us," he saw the white haired man nod and place his hands over the console. Christian turned to face the empty communications station. Despite his reservations, Narli appeared to be working well in their favour. He just wished he had a visual to confirm what he was being told. Stepping up to tactical, he checked the navigational display to make sure once again that there were no vessels approaching then glanced to his right at the middle aged man who addressed him a short while ago. "Sir, I need you to sit at communications and listen for anything unusual on the broad band frequency." The odd man nodded and sat, turning his head slightly away from the Captain - a move that made Christian curious to know more about him. "What is your name, Sir?" The man turned and looked him directly in the eye. Christian had to step back to lessen the penetrating gaze and study the man's features. The man with tightly curled receding ginger hair smiled apprehensively, showing faint crow's feet beside his temples and laughter lines around his thin-lipped mouth. The man's general appearance caused Christian to think of the older members of his parents' former acting troupe who often applied heavy make-up when playing roles a lot younger than they were. This man's slightly gnarled hands and almost visible wrinkled lower neckline gave hints of his true age, but it could not be said that the man was not attractive, or appeared unfit. Indeed, his garb was positively youthful. He clearly wanted to avoid the perils of old age for the maximum amount of time possible, but Christian thought it curious that he had not had cosmetic surgery - which would have been far more effective. "Madison," the man replied after a long pause, speaking in a mid-American baritone voice. "Judge Madison." The name was so familiar, Christian almost felt the urge to throw his arms about the man and welcome him as a long lost friend. He sensed the man was famous - or infamous - but there was an underlying feeling of something sinister that went along with it. Christian wished he could place the name and face in context, but he couldn't. Madison clearly saw this common response to his introduction written upon the Captain's face. "Madison…" the Captain pressed. "Have we served together?" "No, Captain," the man said in an authoritative voice. "But you are not mistaken, you do know me. I was the presiding law lord on Arianus 2 during the trial of the Ishnar separatists." The words Arianus 2 prompted a flashback in Christian's mind to the days as a junior engineer's mate aboard the USS Tokyo. They had visited there along with three other starships providing a peaceful incentive while terrorists fighting on behalf of the staunchly traditional Ishnar people were brought to trial. The Ishnar separatists had vehemently protested against its world government joining the Federation. Ignored and overlooked during the preliminary negotiations, a small group of its people turned to violence to make their voice heard. The police over-reacted, the rest of the world turned against them, and so the situation escalated. By the time of the USS Tokyo's arrival, the conflict had resulted in nearly five thousand deaths. Normally such a situation would cause the Federation to pull back until conflict was resolved locally, but a determined Federation representative, Judge Madison, managed to intervene and cut a deal. The Ishnar were offered relocation to a neighbouring system's small moon in order to allow them to maintain their traditions of isolation - in return, of course, for a cessation to the violence, and a handing over of the terrorists. As Arianus 2 successfully completed its requirements for joining the Federation, the trial against the terrorists began - and Madison was honourably requested to play the role of presiding judge, given his recent success. Everyone assumed that the trial of the six Ishnar terrorist leaders was a mere formality - and that they would be found guilty and sentenced according. The vote was in fact split 50/50, a political decision by the Arianus judges to make themselves appear to be unbiased. So it was that Judge Madison held the deciding vote. Although his conscience had been pricked by accounts of the families and colleagues to the deceased, Madison's desire for peace was too great, and he let the terrorists go free. Rather than bringing peace, however, the decision created a new group of counter terrorists, and so the situation escalated to such a point where the Federation suspended Arianus 2's membership until the internal situation was resolved. Blamed for the ensuing situation, and a conflict that had gone beyond the Arianus system and into interstellar space, Judge Madison was publicly branded a fool and thrown off the Federation Council's independent law lord's bar. Reeling from such a massive change in his own life, Madison lashed back, giving candid interviews and speaking publicly on all manner of subjects, becoming a minor celebrity and someone who everyone loved to ridicule. His behaviour was increasingly unorthodox, as he became friend to minor celebrities, and something of an anarchistic role model to younger people. His notoriety as having young female groupies around him brought more mockery. Gradually his popularity decreased and less was heard about him. Christian hadn't heard any news reports of the man for nearly 6 years and wondered what he had been doing during that time - and indeed what had brought him to the Outer Zone. "Hit the alpha key, Mister Madison, and let me know if you hear or see anything suspicious." Madison was clearly surprised by Christian's neutral reaction - but was also grateful for it. He smiled and nodded acknowledgement. Christian turned away and raised his eyebrows in total amazement that such a man was serving as a member of his crew. * * * Inside the runabout, Narli was beginning to feel uncomfortable in the claustrophobic tightness of his radiation suit. His right antenna had a particularly gnawing itch as it rasped against the synthetic lining of the helmet - clearly designed with non-Andorians in mind. He had initiated the biohazard controls at the suggestion of the Captain, but, according to the computer, sensors could detect nothing unusual present in the air outside. He still felt no noticeable symptoms, and wondered why that should be the case when everyone else had fallen prey. As he sat waiting for the bridge to contact him, the Andorian glanced out of the cockpit window and near fell off his seat. The slender, voluptuous figure of the Orion woman Hedrik appeared to be walking toward the runabout, one of the access doors wide open in the distance behind her. She glanced to her left and right at the bodies then noticed Narli through the runabout's forward viewport. Narli threw himself forward, frantically waving for the young woman to retreat. Hedrik either didn't understand or didn't want to listen, shouting something inaudible and pointing back toward the corridor behind her. Narli hit the external speakers. "Get out of here now, girl, you may be exposed!" "Exposed to what?!" Hedrik stopped, legs apart and thrust her hands on her hips. "You've got a corridor full of unconscious men laying in what was their breakfast out there. What the hell is going on?" Narli sat looking at the woman, dumbfounded. "Runabout to bridge!" There was silence followed by a slow rasping sound, like that of a whispering vole of the northern Andorian veldt. "Bridge, respond. Captain Christian, is that you?" Static replaced the strange sound, and Narli jumped as Hedrik rapped hard on the runabout's closed airlock. Narli released the airlock and waited for the woman to enter. "Well?" Hedrik stepped over the prostrate forms of Struckchev, Lirik and an elegant New Parisian, all line up on the deck presumably by Narli, a smear-trail leading from where they had fallen. The smell was quite overwhelming The Ambassador was astounded. "Don't you know what we've been doing for the past few hours?" Narli watched the younger woman step back to avoid a spreading puddle. "I've been hard at it in the Computer Core, I came looking for the Commander. We, ah, have unfinished business," Hedrik smiled coyly. Narli's return stare brought a frown back to her face. "So want to explain what's been going on?" * * * Narli took a few minutes to bring Hedrik up to speed. "I think I feel okay as well," Hedrik said, clutching at her chest. "And thankfully, too. These symptoms are revolting." "I'm sure it's being caused by the aliens, but the runabout sensors are saying there's nothing unusual out there," Narli reached up to scratch his antenna, feeling the smooth surface of the helmet above it instead. "Have you tried the transporter as a diagnostic?" Hedrik stepped over to the transporter controls and confidently pressed the padd several times. "As I thought, the pattern log has stored those of both Lirik and Struckchev." "Of course they are," Narli nodded in stupefied realisation. Hedrik flicked her fingers over the controls. "I'd rather not transport a Medusan, dormant or not." In response to her commands Struckchev dematerialised then reappeared on the deck outside. Hedrik continued to tap. "Computer, compare these two transporter patterns and identify any variations." The computer tribbled and trilled a couple of times, then spoke in its usual maternally superior tone. "There is an unknown chemical substance present in the brain of the second transporter pattern." "Chemical- in the brain?" Narli turned and walked over to join the Orion. She had succeeded where he had failed. "Display a visual of the unknown chemical," she spoke calmly. In the small rectangular display a highly magnified microscopic view of Struckchev's brain appeared strange alien-looking spider-like globules attached to strange globular spheres rolling around in the brain fluid and bumping off cell walls. "What are THEY?" The Ambassador shook his head. "Computer, can you make a best guess as to the nature of the alien chemical?" Hedrik glanced down at Lirik, imagining billions of those spider-like atoms careering around in his head. Another trill was followed by: "The chemical is similar in composition to 37 known pheromones-" "Pheromones?!" Hedrik was shocked. "I hadn't expected that." "It explains why the sensors didn't identify them as unusual - pheromones are a natural bi-product of many humanoids," Narli stated. "Wait a minute," Hedrik spun Narli around and snapped open the back panel of his suit. "Don't do that!" Narli protested, but he could feel that she had already exposed the suit's internal mechanisms. "As I suspected," Hedrik held up a set of wired processors that looked like a handful of dangling metal grapes and sausages. "The filters have been removed - they fetch quite a price on the black market, you know." Narli was dumbfounded, but slowly unclipped the helmet and breathed air deeply. At least this way he could deal with the nagging itch. A sound distracted Narli, and he turned toward the door. A young Bolian male poked his head around the corner. "Ah, excuse me-?" Narli looked at Hedrik who stared back at him, then turned to the young, nervous looking man. * * * On the hangar deck Narli stood on the runabout's nacelle in front of a crowd of assorted blue, green, red and orange individuals. It seemed plainly clear that it was their individual pigments giving them a natural defence against the alien pheromones. Despite having removed his helmet, he still wore the rest of the protective suit. In all there were only thirty-three of them unaffected by the pheromones that had swept throughout the ship, several dozen more were not as dramatically affected. "The Captain intended us to use the runabout to trace other aliens, I say we should continue with that course of action. If we find them, they may be able to help the others," he said. Hedrik, standing below and in front, raised a hand. "We don't know how long that will take, they could be many light years from here." Narli didn't respond, but instead nodded at a young orange-hued male at the back of the small crowd. "Garl Cro Id, Ewnes Distribution Network," the man introduced himself as they had been instructed. "Can't we use the runabout to produce an antidote?" Hedrik turned and replied before Narli had thought of his reply. "We can learn as much as we like about the pheromones and chemicals they become, and of the effect they have on the victim's brain, but we don’t have any means of producing a serum." "Marinet, Twelfth Lord of Vokka," a red-skinned, two-foot high man bellowed, his voice belying his stature. "Can we not send a communication rather than taking the runabout? It seems to be our only means of escape if anything goes wrong with this bucket of junk, and I for one don't want to be stranded here for those K'Tani monsters to find." Narli raised his hand as a murmur of agreement drowned out his attempts to reply. "Obviously we cannot send a transmission or the K'Tani might hear it and come looking for us. Besides, the Helan leader, Ganhedra, said this area of space contains races hostile to outsiders." "All the more reason to take the runabout and leave," Marinet retorted loudly. This time Hedrik replied, joining Narli on the nacelle. "And go where? In case you hadn't noticed, sir, those Starfleet people helped us back on Helub, and helped us again when the holographic K'Tani attacked us. We owe them, don't you think?" A muffled reply indicated a begrudging agreement. "That settles it," Narli decided to cut the public meeting short. "Those of you who have any kind of piloting or technical skills please see this young lady, the rest of you please - try and make our shipmates comfortable." A look of outrage and horror spread across several faces, urging others to step eagerly forward as technical volunteers. "There are hundreds of them, and only a few of us!" shouted a slinky, bald orange woman. "It will take days to help them all." Hedrik smiled. "All the more reason for us to get going." She turned to Narli. "So who takes the runabout out there?" Narli scratched his goatee. "You're a pilot?" The younger woman shrugged an 'almost' response. "I'll take the runabout, you better get to the bridge with our new crew," the Ambassador stepped inside the runabout, but was halted by Hedrik's firm grip on his shoulder. "Does this make me acting Captain?" she sounded almost excited by the prospect. "If that's what you want to call yourself, then yes," he walked inside, then immediately reappeared. "I thought I asked for everyone to be removed from here?" he asked the milling group, who looked sheepish. Hedrik leaned in toward him. "None of them wanted to touch the Medusan, and I don't blame them," she said. "Great," Narli said and stepped inside, closing the airlock behind him. * * * ACT IV Almost as soon as the runabout had departed, Hedrik realised that there was very little for her to do on the Bridge. She had been sitting in the Captain's chair staring at the viewscreen, occasionally checking the navigation panel for any other ships, but even then there were two other non-affected volunteers doing just that. Narli had sped off at warp speed, informing her he would return in less than twenty minutes. Following his departure, Hedrik had felt a flutter of excitement in her belly and instructed the eager young Bolian man they'd encountered earlier to take over - much to his delight. Passing behind tactical, she glanced over at the long line of unconscious humanoids stretching back into the starboard corridor - and at Christian, in particular. Hedrik fair skipped down the ramp in the port side corridor and onto the Captain's deck below. Passing by the mangled mess of metal that was the administrative area and presumably a meeting room she trotted to the rear of the deck and entered via the still-propped-open doors leading to the rear-most room on this deck: the Captain's office. Making a quick visual scan of the room, its curved walls and multi-panelled glass window behind the Captain's desk, she found nothing of interest, save its quirky design and layout. On the starboard side of the room, to the right of the fireplace, she noticed a panel had been removed from beside a narrow doorway and guessed the Captain had been attempting to open it to gain access to the starboard and forward areas of this deck. Reaching under her garments and into her sporty knickers, she retrieved a small, dark brown, suede pouch and unwrapped it to reveal several dainty plastic and metal instruments. Within a minute, she had skilfully bypassed the doorway's ample security lock. A moment of panic befell her. Without a tricorder, Hedrik couldn't be sure if the area beyond the door was actually pressurised. Closing her eyes, she let instinct decide and punched the release, opening them again in time to see the single, but double-thick door panel shunt to the left, revealing a long, meandering corridor stretching down and away in front of her. With a fleeting chuckle, and an almost-guilty glance in the upward direction, Hedrik entered the dimly lit space. Here, as with most places they had seen on the ship, objects of value had been removed from walls, presumably saleable technology ripped out to leave ugly, gaping holes. Emergency power in this area only provided a thin atmosphere, tolerable gravity and low lighting. The temperature was also a bit on the cool side for the Orion's liking. Continuing her casual stroll along the corridor, she thought the selection of objects removed seemed haphazard, with some pieces of valuable equipment left intact. The bulkhead to her left was undamaged, but there was no way of knowing what was behind it in the thick wedge of space between this and the port corridor. Sixteen or so metres later, passing an escape pod on her right, the corridor narrowed dramatically and dropped in a short, steep gradient. Walking down the smooth slope, the corridor widened again - more escape pods to her right and a much-buckled door to her left, presumable a part of the wrecked area on the port side. There was no signage to say where the door led, but Hedrik presumed it was around the same level as the ramp from behind the bridge. The corridor then curved in toward the centre of the ship, and finally she got her first view of the forward-most point of the deck some way ahead. Passing several lounge chairs and a turbolift entrance on her right and a wall of piping and conduits on her left, she entered the beginnings of the Captain's quarters. Looking back, Hedrik guessed the corridor wound round what must have been the underneath of the bridge and sub-bridge area, and now she stood below what must have been Deck One's forward observation lounge. As with the above area, this deck was also an equally wide, open space of oversized proportions. "Wow," she exclaimed, taking in the stylised mock-Aztec pillars placed around a lounge area in the centre of the quarters where there were plush chairs and storage units, mostly antique, but from a variety of alien cultures, all left apparently untouched. The internal arrangement was dwarfed though by the floor to ceiling windows that stretched around the perimeter of the apartment space from her 8 o'clock to her 4 o'clock - perhaps an extension of the angled windows of the observation lounge above. The vista of the nebula filled the deck and bathed her in its rich colour. The entire space would have to have been at least fifty square metres in all - maybe more. Turning around, she noticed that these quarters contained a small, private holodeck integrated into the apartment walls and strategically placed behind the wall of pipes that plunged, angling into the deck just behind her. To her left and right, hugging the walls of glass panels, were two large raised areas. To the left, amazingly enough, was a small swimming pool - empty of water, she noticed. To the right was the bedroom area containing a large, inviting bed, and behind it a state of the art bathroom. Realising she had been gone from the bridge for almost 10 minutes, she ran into the bathroom and checked the sonic shower - her intended destination. Prying open panels and looking at all the internal gubbins, she seemed satisfied she could get it working. Being among all that body fluid and smell this afternoon had taken its toll, and a sonic shower beckoned her like a passionate lust. A matter of minutes later, Hedrik had the unit working on a low, but adequate setting. Stripping off she stood inside; clutching her clothes in her hands and shaking them around to get them equally clean in the shower of sonic vibrations. The faint burning smell was delicious where once it had seemed unnatural to her - before leaving her Orion birthplace, she had only experienced bathing with liquids and the jelly creatures preferred by her coastal dwelling people. She sneezed wildly as the grime was buffeted away from her nostril and ear hairs. Satisfied that she was clean, she remained in the shower for a few moments longer, and making sure her clothing was getting a thorough seeing-to. Stepping out into the softly carpeted bed area, she saw from her raised position the front-most point of the deck had a small, oval, sunken seating area with thick fur carpet - thicker than in the computer core, even. She walked steadily toward it. Her body responded to the cool air, but it was overcome by the luxurious feeling of the softness of the fur beneath her feet. The feeling as she put her freshened clothes back on was sensational. The view she had as she turned to look out of the forward glass panels, however, was not. Positioned about a kilometre or so away was the distinct shape of the runabout, pointing directly at her. * * * Hedrik bolted onto bridge behind the Bolian, who looked at her nervously as she buttoned her clean blouse top. "What is it?" she demanded, assuming his expression was that of someone conveying bad news. "Feeling any better?" Narli interjected over the comm system. He didn't wait for a response. "You should learn how to opaque the ship's glass when you strip off in full view of the Galaxy or less discriminate people than me might want to take advantage of the view." Hedrik thought frantically, but her mouth was already doing the talking. "Did you make contact with the aliens?" "Kind of," Narli replied almost jovially. Behind Hedrik, the Bolian man gasped once again and rapped hard on the tactical display to get her attention. "Miss, there are ships, several of them, they're-" "It's okay, I see them," Hedrik watched the main viewscreen with a sinking feeling as seven large alien ships appeared from the nebula and came to a halt behind the now tiny-looking runabout. * * * Hedrik stepped onto the hangar deck, wincing at the faint smell of old urine both in the corridor and on the deck itself. The volunteers had clearly done a reluctantly rapid job of clearing up the mess and making all the victims comfortable. The Hudson gently passed through the forcefield and came to a vertical landing lengthways across the deck. Its airlock hissed and opened, and out stepped three brightly-hued individuals. At first, Hedrik froze with shock, thinking them K'Tani. But then noticed that the multicoloured surface was skin, not clothing, and deeply textured - almost translucent in places, showing vague shapes of internal organs. The overall shape and facial structure was the same as the greyish aliens still resting on their stretchers - the gaudy colour apparently only present when in full health. The three aliens fussed around their fallen people with a variety of odd shaped instruments that emitted strangely musical noises and they chatted as they worked in an almost girlish way. Narli stepped off the runabout, supporting a groaning Lirik, wrapped only in a large blanket. Lirik dropped onto the step of the doorway, exhausted and still feeling sick, revealing to Hedrik his long, thick legs and thighs. "They are here to help us, aren't they?" Hedrik asked. "Uugh," Lirik muttered deeply. "Still no power of speech?" Hedrik stepped closer, but making sure she didn't touch the pallid part Medusan. "No, young lady," Lirik said with much saliva, "I just feel like shit." One of the aliens turned from her two comrades and smiled. "You may well feel low or depressed for the next few days - at least until the pheromones work their way out of your system," s/he said. "Doctor M," Narli introduced the alien, "this is Hedrik. She's our resident computer whiz and Orion lovely." Hedrik cocked her head but ignored his comment. "The Doctor here has supplied us with several canisters of gas to neutralise the pheromones - that should bring everyone back to consciousness. The gas will enable each immune system to do the rest of the work." Lirik hauled himself to his feet, awkwardly but determined, revealing to Hedrik more than a little of his rotund torso - much to his annoyance. He hastily swathed himself with the blanket. "I don't care what the Captain says, this time I'm taking a sonic shower and bedding down in the runabout for definite." Hedrik felt the Ambassador's amused expression on her body, but ignored it. "Doctor, will your own people be okay?" The Doctor nodded. "They will need rest and a period of regeneration, but they will make a full recovery. We have you people to thank for that - these are two of our best geology specialists, and it would have been a great blow for our people to lose them." Narli stepped over to make the three-way conversation more intimate. "The Doctor has studied the runabout's sensor logs and determined that the residual energy from the attack on the scientists' spacecraft could only have come from a K'Tani ship." Hedrik felt her face tingle with fear. "So they are in this sector?" The Doctor placed his/her hand lightly on her shoulder. "My dear, these days the K'Tani are just about everywhere. But they would not fare long in our nebula. They only make these occasional border incursions to let us know they haven't gone away." "I'm - I'm sorry, I'm confused, you make it sound like this happens regularly," Hedrik said, looking to Narli. "The K'Tani never left Qovakian space as its Government had us believe," the Andorian's antenna twitched slightly. "They laid low, bided their time and mobilised their forces before taking action. From what I have established, there have even been pockets of territory under K'Tani control right through the so-called peace time." "How many?" Hedrik asked. "How many what?" the Doctor cautiously replied. "The K'Tani, how many of them would you say there are?" the Orion, although having never been caught up in any interstellar incident save that on Ventax III, knew well of the bumblings of many a Government - be it Cardassian, Romulan or Federation. For the invasion to have occurred here in the Outer Zone as it did, there would have to be a pretty gargantuan bumbling behind it. She turned to Narli. "It's time we knew the truth, isn't it? Knew exactly what kind of a fleet we're standing up against?" The Doctor laughed politely. "Forgive me, I do not mean to appear rude. It's just the thought of you few people, in this almost blind and defenceless ship, standing up against the might of the K'Tani forces." The Doctor trailed off, seeing Hedrik's expression harden. "I could not guess the number of their vessels, female, but to give you a guide - it's probably in proportion to the number of stars you see out there." Hedrik turned to gaze out of the hangar's open door, pointed as it was away from the nebula and in towards the rest of the Milky Way Galaxy. Was it millions or billions of stars she could see? Maybe the alien had meant only the hundreds of thousands she would be able to count if so inclined. Even then, the number was too large to visualise as a single Armada. The Doctor returned to her/his charges. "You hear that?" Hedrik finally said to Narli, gazing into space in disbelief. "I hear perfectly well," the Ambassador said calmly. * * * Less than a day later, most people had fully recovered. Hedrik had kept her venture into the Captain's quarters a secret for now, hoping that Narli would do so as well, given his unforthcoming nature. But she had assisted in the repair of shared sonic shower facilities in what looked like troop quarters on Deck 8. Only a few small children were reluctant to make use of the cleansing devices, but O'Hara got them in there using her particular charm. Despite their three major traumas in less weeks, the survivors were in surprisingly good spirit. O'Hara had willingly accepted medical assistance from the Ere, the aliens with whom they had made First Contact, and as a result there was no one on the danger list any longer. Unfortunately, the people with whom they had made contact were part of their race's Science League and had little influence on their home world. When Captain Christian requested help in repairing the ship, taking on supplies and the possibility of the Ere harbouring some survivors who wished to debark, he was told that the xenophobic attitude of the Ere ruling body would simply not allow it. Indeed, even as it was they could face penalties for such extensive contact with outsiders. The Ere had instead given them the shortest and safest route map that would lead them through the nebula and into un-charted space beyond - far away from Qovakia and anything the Vekarians and Helan on board knew about. As the Fantasy flew hastily out of the nebula and into open space beyond, the Captain called to order the ship's first staff meeting in the Officers' Mess. Christian sat at the head of the table. Seated on his left were Commander Struckchev, Lieutenant Commander Leonard, Ensign Souveson, Lieutenant O'Hara and Yeoman Lirik. On the right were Commodore Jackson, Rebbik, Ambassador Narli, Ganhedra, and Professor Karnak. Hedrik sat at the opposite end. "As of this Stardate, I hereby take official command of this vessel. This is now the USS Fantasy, a Starfleet vessel operating under Starfleet rules. In fact, this vessel began its life as the secondary hull of a Starfleet ship and its registry is still on file, so I can even make it an official requisition under the circumstances. I'm not one for big speeches," Christian sat forward and spread his hands on the table. "I'm sure you all realise how precarious our situation is. We've been damned lucky so far, but we can't risk relying on instinct and fortune to see us through any more. We need to get this vessel ship-shape. That means exploring it. Repairing it. Adapting it to suit our needs. We'll also need supplies - food, fuel, water, weapons-" "Medicine," O'Hara interrupted rudely. "Thank you lieutenant, I think we're all well aware of how inadequate our medical support is right now. We can't do it all on our own either, that's for sure - we need help. We can start getting that right now from among our own people. I know a lot of survivors want to help - but they're going to need training. That's where some of you come in. Once they're up to it, then - and only then - will we even start to be ready to help our families, friends and colleagues who we abandoned in Vekarian space," the Captain watched the various reactions around the table. "For now, I'm assigning each of you emergency staff positions. Bear in mind this has less to do with chain of command than it has with the urgent jobs you need to get done. We can formalise arrangements later." Christian gestured to his right. "Our Executive Officer will announce the assignments." Jackson rose from her seat and read from a padd with her new glasses. Her tone was resolutely dry and free of emotion, presumably not to convey her own personal opinions about the assignments - good or bad. "Chief of Bridge Operations, Commander Struckchev - take the Communications station as your position, mister." Struckchev nodded once. "Chief Engineer, Mister Leonard; Chief of Security, Ensign Souveson; Chief Medical Officer, Lieutenant O'Hara." O'Hara was almost pleasantly surprised until she decided that it could not have been anyone else. "Professor, we'd like you to be the bridge Science Officer; Mister Rebbik, you are to be our primary Helmsman." "Cool," Reb replied, grinning widely. Karnak didn't respond at all. "Hedrik, we'd like you to continue working with Commander Leonard on the Computer Core - he tells me you're a proficient transporter operator as well," Jackson looked at the green woman who looked nervously at the large, handsome German. He in turn, the Commodore noticed, avoided the Orion's glance completely. "That's right, ma'am," Hedrik said in her politest voice. A faint 'tut' sound came from the Ensign's direction. "Our remaining assignments are rather unusual. Ganhedra, we would like to continue to use you as our primary advisor in this sector. We would like you to help Ambassador Narli to establish possible trade deals, and organise the ship's supplies - if you don't mind, that is," the Commodore gestured graciously. "Of course, whatever I can do to help," the Andorian said in his sickly sweet tone. "Likewise," Ganhedra butted in. "And finally, Mister Lirik," Jackson glanced to Christian who seemed a little resigned. That look comforted the Yeoman a little. "You will head the team exploring the ship. You may use whatever resources you need - engineering, medical, science or security. You'll also be helping myself and the Captain to organised the structure of the ship, and you'll act as liaison with the non-volunteering survivors. My own job is initially to interview everyone on board, try and build a picture of who is dead, who is missing. I'll also be working with the Captain to gather intelligence on the K'Tani and the general situation." Christian finished the rest of the briefing himself. "Each and every one of you have the right to appoint those who seem capable under your command. As mentioned, we'll make it all official later. You'll all be called upon to help in training the civilians, and in carrying out other duties as we see fit. Remember, these K'Tani have been defeated once before. We may not have the Ore to help us this time around, but I'm sure there are others who will help us. Any questions?" There was a pleasant silence in the room. "Good. You are dismissed." All rose and dribbled out of the large room, with the exception of Ganhedra. He seemed to want to remain to speak with the Captain alone, but before Christian could speak, the old man was leaving. "Ganhedra, is something the matter?" "Nothing that cannot wait, son," the alien said, running his hands through his hair and long swept back antennae. Alone in the officers' mess, Christian wondered what kind of crew they would turn into. He wasn't enamoured to all his 'staff', but he was left with little other choice. Looking out at the stars and the disappearing nebula, Christian heaved an enormous sigh and left the mess, the lights automatically extinguishing themselves as he did. From the shadows of the room, a small figure emerged. With shoulder length hair, it walked into the starlight, casting a faint shadow of its profile along the mess table, most notable of which was the distinct ridged nose bar of a Bajoran girl. fin