Topic: Aftermath

[Commander La'ra]

Erm...I guess we all know where your mind is, then. I wasn't thinking quite that...graphically. Just something along the lines of an unspoken attraction that was driving a wedge between them because neither one would admit it. However, I now seriously doubt this to be the case.

Joking, Josh, joking.

Say it with me now: Seeeense of hummmmor.

[Scottish Andy]

So, are certain people happy again now that our petty squabbling duo are about to get their just deserts? *grin*

Actually Josh, you are right. There was exactly that undercurrent of tension, but because they blew up at each other it's been mainly submerged but deep. However, Andrew still being a bloke, he can still fancy her and hate her guts at the same time. *heh*

And: Bad Larry! Very Bad Larry! I have some kind of cheesy 70s' porn music in my head now when I re-read certain lines...

More next week.

[Grim Reaper]

And: Bad Larry! Very Bad Larry! I have some kind of cheesy 70s' porn music in my head now when I re-read certain lines...

Either you looked at porn in the 70ties which makes you ancient or you looked at 70ties porn when better was available. So no bad Larry, bad Scotty!

The mission continues.

I read this and that ^ at your starbase already. That's why it was so familiar.

[kadh2000]

I always felt there was a mutual attraction that only helped to make the blowup worse.  Glad to see I didn't misread it.  It doesn't excuse either one of them and boyoboy the crew is not going to have any fun with the captain starfleet sends to fix this mess.

[Scottish Andy]

Hi all. Sorry for the huge delay in posting the continuation, but I've had other things on my mind, and kinda limited computer time recently as well.
Anyhoo, here's the next bit. Read on (if there are any of you still out there) and let me know what you think. All comments and critiques are welcome, as always.

P.S. - What do you think of my other Sigs? They won't stay up for long, but since I was messing about with my pics anyway, I thought I'd let you see them.

Chapter Three, Pt II

I head directly for my quarters, feeling almost jubilant. I finally stuck it to her, exactly the way I wanted to! I exult.

Okay, I know that it is childish and petty--a phrase I just cannot seem to get away from recently, entirely due to its accuracy--but it’s the latest in a long line of childish and petty incidents and I finally came out on top, giving better than I took. I feel lighter, because the weight of the worlds that I was carrying has just been reduced.

I finally got to speak my mind completely and make my feelings known directly to her, and not only got her to back off from a threat she made but also got her to sign a cease-fire agreement! Now back in my quarters I throw myself onto my bed, feeling giddy and light-headed. I actually won that one! I held all the cards, and I finally beat her at her own game.

The happy glow does not last long, though, as other concerns rear their ugly heads. I may have won my first battle, but is it a Phyrric Victory? Have I lost the war now that Starfleet is involved? I wonder. I truly believe I’m justified in most if my actions--leaving out all this petty crap we’ve been slinging at each other--but will Command see it that way? Sulafi made it clear that both of us are at fault, but how far does that go? Equally to blame? 70/30? What?

McCafferty is no doubt considering her options and marshalling her resources for the coming inquisition. I should probably do the same.

Sod it.

The thought comes to me and makes me smile again.

Let the chips fall where they may. I’ve tried to be a good Starfleet officer, but if Command decides that my conduct is not what’s expected I can’t exactly deny it or prove otherwise. I’m not going to fight it or try to weasel out of it. If I’ve just ended my Starfleet career, so be it. I just hope I’ve only shot myself in the foot, and not in the head.

A wry grin contorts my features, and I decide I need some company.

I wonder where Urrih is?

*****

I didn’t find him in his quarters, but decided to continue searching. I found him in the Rec. Room, surrounded by laughing crewmates both officer and enlisted. I hadn’t realised just how well liked my Centauran friend actually is, but seeing him there at the centre of all that fun just looked right.

I walked straight in this time and got a seat as close to him as I could manage. Several of the enlisted crew offered me their places, but I smiled and waved them back down as I took my own seat.

That was several hours ago, and in that time Urrih has regaled us with anecdotes, observations, and finally ended with a ghost story. Some of the non-human crew don’t seem to get the point, but the humans and similar cultures lap it up.

The Alpha shift are heading off to bed now and the rest of the crowd is drifting off into smaller groups, so Urrih approaches me, his friendly face adopting a look of concern.

"Andrew, how did it go with Personnel? Are you all right? Can you talk about it?"

It’s nice to know he’s interested, that he cares enough to ask, but I’m not going to let today’s previous events sour the first truly relaxed evening I’ve had in almost a month.

"It’s okay, Urrih, it’s nothing. It’ll all shake out in the recyclers tomorrow, so we’ll see then."

He looks doubtful, but then shrugs and brightens again. "So, this is your first visit to my little cabaret show. What do you think?"

Surprised by the Earth reference, I ask, " ‘Cabaret show’? I know Centauran culture is very similar to Earth’s, but you even have the same terms?"

Urrih smiles. "No, that was Chief Price’s contribution. She told me about the phrase over a week ago. So, what do you think?"

"I think I’m an idiot for hiding in my room for so long," I grin. "When do you start your show? I don’t hide in my room all the time, and I usually hang out here until about 2030 or 2100 hours."

"Andrew, my friend, you must’ve had absolutely no fun as a teenager. Don’t you know that the  ‘scene’ only starts ‘happening’ after dark? I know, I know," he quickly adds, waving his hands in front of him to fend off my attack of literalism. " ‘It’s space, it’s always dark’. I mean usually after 2130 hours, to give everyone enough time to themselves after their shift. People have to have their personal space, and plenty of it, if they’re to remain sane after being crowded together the rest of the time."

"Okay, okay!" I laugh at his verbal rush. "You’ll be applying for ship’s pshrink next, displaying all that understanding. Or maybe ship’s recreation officer," I joke.

"Yeah, well..."

"Yeah, well I think I’m going to be staying ‘out’ later from now on. I really enjoyed tonight. You’re quite the entertainer, Urrih. I can’t say that I was overly fond of ghost stories before, but now I’m almost eager to hear your next one."

Urrih grins. "Oh, you’ll love it! It’s set in a creepy old castle full of rattling chains..."

He is interrupted by a muted announcement over the ship-wide master intercom circuit.

"Bridge to Captain."

She must have answered, probably still in her quarters, as the master circuit goes silent.

"The only reason they’d call her at this time is if we’ve picked up more lifeboats," I muse.

Urrih nods and asks, "How will we bring survivors aboard? Will we just beam them out of the lifeboats or are we going to tractor them into the shuttlebay?"

"I was wondering about that too," I answer. "I mean, we’re a small ship with very little in the way of extra space, and there is at most 50 lifeboats from the Torjal since half of them weren’t launched. I’d say we beam them out of there, but we can’t just leave Starfleet equipment out here for pirates and scavengers to plunder and profit from."

Urrih remains silent while I give it some more thought. "I’d say we halt the pods and fix their position in space, then send for a transport ship to come and collect them. This mission is as much survey as it is rescue, after all. We’re taking note of all the hulks we encounter so that Starfleet can reclaim them, so why not the pods as well?"

My friend nods. "I suppose it depends on how many pods we find, yes? I mean, we can fit six lifeboats into the space of one standard shuttlecraft berth, but if we find more than a couple of hundred during the course of this mission, we won’t have the room to house the people we rescue if we’re collecting the pods as well."

"Yes, my thinking exactly. Well, I’ve already submitted my housing arrangements to the captain for when we do find survivors, and since it’s not my shift and not an emergency situation, I don’t want to step on the Beta shift’s chance to shine. I’ll call the bridge and find out what’s going on, and go and greet the new arrivals--wherever they’re arriving at."

"You’re nosy, Andrew, you know that?" Urrih tells me with a grin. "You can’t stand to be left out of something happening."

"Hey!" I object. "I could decide to go straight to the bridge and ‘supervise’ the Beta shift, pursuant to their evaluation reports, you know, but I’m not!"

"Yeah, because everyone knows that’s not true, and the evaluations themselves aren’t due for another six months after their physicals!"

I offer a half-hearted grin. "Yeah, you got me there. Anyway, I’m not likely to sleep any time soon, so I might as well do something useful."

"Okay then. Good night Andrew, I’m going to bed."

"’Night, Urrih. See you tomorrow, bright and early!" I tease.

"Shouldn’t I be saying that to you, night walker?" he retorts as he leaves the room.

Smiling, I walk over to the intercom by the door and hit the button. "Bridge, First Officer."

"Bridge here, Ensign Al-Mahaid, sir."

"Ensign, ask the second officer to give me a report. What’s happening?"

"Aye, sir," he replies. "Transferring you to him now, sir."

"Thank you, Ensign."

"Lieutenant Ta`gok here, sir. Shouldn’t you be in bed, sir? It is still my watch, after all."

The Izarian’s voice has a bit of an edge to it, but since I am technically stepping on his toes despite what I said to Urrih, I’m not going to take issue with him.

"Just checking in, Lieutenant. Report, please."

His point made, Ta`gok fills me in. "Sir, sensors detected a large cluster of escape pods ahead, so we’ve dropped out of warp next to them. Initial scans show 33 pods containing 63 survivors. We are in communication with them and are preparing to bring them aboard."

"Captain’s orders?" I ask.

"The captain ordered that we beam the survivors aboard, and that they halt their pods so we can come back for them later. Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes, Lieutenant, thank you. Good night."

"Bridge out."

I head forwards to the transporter rooms to await their arrival. 63 survivors, that’s fantastic! I didn’t expect us to find so many. The sobering thought that it’s only 63 survivors out of a crew of 200 occurs, though. They’ll most certainly remember it, so I had better as well.

I find the captain in Transporter Room One, where she too is awaiting the survivors. We agree that she should meet with their senior officer, who is arriving with the first group here, and that I’d greet whatever crew came in through our other transporter. The cold between us during that discussion would have made the Siberian winter pack it’s bags and head for the Caribbean.

Once there, I didn’t have to wait long. With all the pods travelling in small groups for mutual support, we could actually beam three pods’ worth of people aboard at once instead of a piecemeal, two-at-a-time rate.

The first group to materialise in Transporter Room Two were a healthy-enough looking bunch, but singed and soot-stained uniforms framing clean faces wearing looks of relief and bewilderment was still a jarring experience. Admittedly, though, nothing compared to what these people had been through. Their exclamations and conversations still when I step forwards to introduce myself.

"Ladies and gentlebeings, welcome aboard. This is the frigate Kusanagi, and I am her first officer, Lieutenant Brown. I’m sure you’re all eager to have your needs seen to, so if you’ll follow Private Zorkal, he’ll take you to Sickbay for a check-up after which you’ll be shown to your quarters."

A female Andorian steps forwards from the group of enlisted crew and addresses me. "Ensign M`Get, sir. On behalf of my crew here, I thank you for rescuing us. It’s been a while since we set out in those pods and we were beginning to think..." She hesitates there, flicking her white hair out of her bottle-green eyes. "We’re just grateful that you found us, sir."

I’m a bit taken aback by her assumption that they’d been abandoned, so I reassure her sincerely. "Of course we are looking, Ensign. There are other ships all along the border searching for survivors even now, just as we are. Starfleet takes care of its own."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir," she sighs, relaxing a bit before asking, "We won, then, sir?"

Although it shouldn’t have, the question takes me by surprise. Of course they wouldn’t know what’s happened. It’ll be the same for any other survivors we rescue as well. I give her a warm smile and say, "It’s complicated, Ensign, and you’ll be given the full explanation later, but yes. The war is over, and the Klingons are back behind their lines were they should be. Now, please go with Mr. Zorkal here. We have to bring aboard your companions."

"Aye sir," she replies, looking slightly puzzled, but leads her group after the security guard nonetheless.

The five remaining guards exchange a look, which I ignore as I order the transporter operator, "Bring in the next group, Chief."

"Aye sir," is his short reply. The machinery hums again and another group of six stands before us. I reiterate my welcome speech and this time a human lieutenant steps forward to clasp my hand.

"Lieutenant Dave Morales, sir," he introduces himself. "Damned glad to see you, Lieutenant. Damned glad."

His expression hardens then, and he demands, "Why the hell did it take you two weeks to find us? My people..."

I cut him off gently. "Lieutenant, I cannot answer that right now, I don’t know. The Kusanagi has been searching along this border for a week already and that’s why we took so long to get here. Please, take your crew and see to them--and yourself--and I’ll find out what I can. Right now though, we need to bring the rest of the survivors aboard."

Morales nods wearily. "Yes, of course. Sorry, sir."

I give him an understanding nod, and gesture at another security guard. "Private Johnson, take the lieutenant and his people to Sickbay."

"Aye sir," the young woman answers. "Lieutenant Morales, sir, if you’ll follow me?"

The second group of Torjal crew leaves and we continue with our rescue operation. We repeat this procedure another three times before the lifeboats are emptied, with slight variations on my speech for the different groups.

All throughout, I kept pondering Morales’ question. Why did it take Starfleet more than two weeks to pick these people up?

I know why we are late and told the lieutenant as much, but I don’t understand why the ships of the Torjal’s own squadron hadn’t come back for them. Even as I had the thought I realised that it had already been nagging away at the back of my mind for the length of the mission, pushed back and held there by my more immediate and personal matters.

I don’t know any more than the immediate battle details, but I resolve to look into it. Morales deserves his answer.

[Scottish Andy]

"...and the beat goes on, da-dum-dat da-dum-dada."

Chapter Four

First Officer’s Log, Stardate 3282.0

Our mission to rescue battle survivors has finally borne fruit. At 2330 hours last night we found and took on board 63 members of the crew of the USS Torjal, the wreck of which we encountered that morning. Senior among them is the ship’s Andorian first officer Lieutenant Commander Shesra, Captain Julienne Laroux having been killed in action. He is survived by another eight of his junior officers and 54 crewmembers.

After slowing the now empty lifeboats to relative rest and silencing their rescue beacons we proceeded to the next battle site, in orbit of Alora II, the only habitable planet in the system. We continue on course for the Alora system at warp 3.25. Having fine-tuned our sensors to pick up the lifeboats’ signatures we can now move faster, but are still taking our time in case other ships of the squadron launched pods. Our ETA at the planet is 1100 hours this morning.

As to Lieutenant Morales’ inquiry, I found out why this crew had been left here for so long. After the Organian intervention, all Starfleet and Klingon navy ships were allowed to return to base, then their engines were neutralised again pending the actual signing of a formal treaty. That took a full week, during which we all had involuntary shore leave. Once the treaty had been signed Starfleet immediately set all the small ships out on rescue/recovery missions along the border, but the larger fleet units were urgently needed elsewhere and were headed to those assignments at max warp speed.

I understand Morales’ frustration. He was probably expecting to be picked up a couple of hours later by his squadron mates, but ends up waiting a couple of weeks for rescue. If the Organians hadn’t interfered, the Hood would have returned, but as it was...

I remember our own circumstances after the cease-fire. All systems that could be used offensively were untouchable. Life support, shields, propulsion, and sensors were about the only things allowed to operate until we got back to base, and we stayed docked there for a week until a formal treaty with the Klingons had been signed and put in place.

I also remember being completely outraged that we couldn’t rescue more survivors from the Androcus. We couldn’t tractor the ship, beam on or off of her, or even launch shuttlecraft or travel pods to dock with her. The Organians knew that we could use these systems offensively and so didn’t allow their use at all, lest we take this slight opportunity to resume hostilities.

Although ordered straight back to starbase, the Kublai and Kusanagi stayed in the area and EVA’d across with every spare spacesuit both our ships had, and began a ferry operation until we had all the survivors rescued. It took hours, but we managed to save another 183 crew on top of the 70 we’d already beamed off.

That we only saved 253 out of a crew of 428 left a bad taste in all our mouths, but we were also grateful it wasn’t less.

So it seems that while the Organians are very powerful, they aren’t all powerful and despite their pacifistic ideals, their lack of omnipotence cost us many lives. It’s another reason the Organians aren’t that popular in the Federation, even though they stopped a war we didn’t want.


First Officer’s Personal Log, Stardate 3282.0

Since my victorious confrontation with McCafferty, I feel... different. I am still angry with her, but it’s as if my anger has been put on hold awaiting the decision from on high. Now that my fate is in the hands of others I feel... lighter somehow.

It probably means that I’m not ready for command just yet. Or maybe it means that I’m no longer feeling alone out here, subject to the whims of an antagonistic CO. Whatever the outcome, it surely cannot be worse than the last few weeks have been. I know all about the admonition never to say that, but it’s either going to be that I’m right and McCafferty is told to behave, I’m wrong and removed from my position, or we’re both at fault and have to go our separate ways.

I’m obviously rooting for the first option.


Date: 7th November 2267
Time: 0945 hours.

I finish making my log entry then leave my quarters for the bridge. I had just taken care of a few administrative tasks relating to the housing of our new guests and had stopped in at my quarters to make the log entry that I didn’t have time for this morning before my shift. I didn’t make it to the turbolift before they started looking for me.

"Bridge to First Officer Brown."

Striding to the nearest intercom, I push the button and state, "First Officer here."

"Sir, incoming transmission from Starfleet Command at Starbase 22. It’s marked personal, private, and urgent."

I sigh, knowing exactly what it is. "Let me get back to my quarters and I’ll take it there, Lathena."

"Aye sir."

I head back down the corridor into my quarters and settle into my desk chair after locking the door. Flipping on the intercom, I say, "Lathena, this may take some time so please call the captain to the bridge to relieve Mr. Maknal. Then," I say with obvious reluctance, "patch Starbase 22 through to my quarters."

"Aye sir. Captain McCafferty is already on the bridge, sir. Transferring now. Bridge out."

It seems like Lathena is swinging in the opposite direction now, with brief, bitten-off sentences instead of data-heavy briefings. Still trying to find her balance I suppose. Or maybe someone else mentioned it to her.

My musings are cut short as my terminal screen lights up with the Federation Seal and sender details, before being replaced by a Deltan male in a red staff uniform and commodore’s braids.

"I’m sorry for the delay, sir," I say. "You caught me on the way to the bridge."

The man nods brusquely before introducing himself. "Lieutenant Brown, I am Commodore Tandara, the new commander of Starbase 22 and this sector. It has been brought to my attention that a serious situation exists on your ship with regards to its command structure. I have already reviewed your testimony to Commander Sulafi and talked to your commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander McCafferty. I now want to hear from you directly and I want you to tell me everything." The man leaned closer as he said, "I know you weren’t completely forthcoming with the commander, Mr. Brown."

I’m a bit unprepared for him telling me that he’d spoken to McCafferty, but it was probably to make sure that I didn’t try to change my story, or to see if I would slant it to favour my side of things.

I’m also not thrilled about having to reveal the root cause of it all, and cursed that he was perceptive enough to know that I’d held something back. I cursed again as the thought struck that maybe McCafferty had revealed her side of the catalyst, and that’s how he knew I’d held back.

"Understood, sir," I answer. "Where do you want me to begin?"

*****

Ninety minutes later the commodore is done with me. Despite the famous Deltan empathy, Tandara doesn’t look like he is sharing my pain. From this, I can only conclude that both McCafferty and I are in deep trouble.

"Lieutenant, despite all you have told me I still do not understand why this situation has not already been resolved. Starfleet officers do not need to like each other to be able to work together. Any rational being can separate their on-duty and off-duty feelings if they want to, and Starfleet’s code of conduct demands such professional behaviour from all it’s members." The commodore looks genuinely puzzled as he continues. "I want Commander McCafferty present also. Please get her for me."

"Yes sir." I hit my intercom and call the bridge. "Captain McCafferty, this is Lieutenant Brown."

"Yes, Mr. Brown?"

"Sir, Commodore Tandara requests your presence in my quarters."

A pause. "Very well, Mr. Brown, I shall be there momentarily. Captain out."

She arrives inside a minute to find me waiting in a very uncomfortable silence with the commodore gazing levelly at me, apparently not feeling the need to speak during our wait.

I felt like I was being dissected both physically and mentally. I’m probably not far off.

I swing my screen around so Tandara can see the captain without her sitting in my lap. Despite the current situation, the image that though evokes almost stays my hand. She may be a cast-rodinium bitch right now, but she’s still a damn good-looking woman.

"Hello again, sir," McCafferty greets him, oblivious to my less-than-professional thoughts.

"Ah, Commander. Now, I will get straight to the point. As I have already said to both of you, your inability to leave your personal feelings in your quarters does affect ship’s routine regardless of what you may think. It undermines your positions by both losing the respect of the crew you serve with and by setting a bad example for them.

"This ends now," he states with a finality that sends a shiver up and down my spine. Now that is a command voice, I silently note. I’m fully expecting us both to be relieved of duty with the next words out of his mouth. "You both have until the end of this mission to prove to me that you can leave your personal feelings for each other in your quarters and act like Starfleet officers, or both of you will be dishonourably discharged from Starfleet for conduct unbecoming. Do I make myself clear?" he demands firmly.

"Yes sir!" I all but yelp.

"Of course, sir," McCafferty says more calmly. I envy her poker face, as surely she must be as nervous as I am.

"Believe it or not, you have earned this last chance as your records up to this point have shown both of you to be officers of great promise. This should be obvious to you because of your current positions as captain and first officer of a Class One starship, despite your junior ranks. Starfleet believes you have potential, and I am loath to waste resources. So stop behaving like children and start acting like officers!" Tandara suddenly yells.

Both of us flinch at the stinging rebuke, all the more so because of his previously even tone.

"You used to be friends but now that is broken. Either fix it and be the better for it, or dissolve it and be as strangers. Whatever the outcome, be warned. You are on probation, and we are watching you."

"Aye sir," I respond stiffly.

"Understood, Commodore."

Tandara nods in acknowledgement and signs off. The screen darkens and I’m too busy sagging in my chair to notice if McCafferty is doing likewise. The parents have told us to play nice or they’ll take away our toys, my mind supplies, continuing the prevalent analogy.

I finally turn to face my captain, feeling relieved that I still have a career and a means to keep it. I catch the same look on her face but it’s almost instantly transformed into anger even as I look up at her. She turns her head to glare down at me, the disgust evident in her eyes and in her voice when she speaks.

"Looks like you got what you wanted," she snarls at me, then turns on her heel and storms out of my quarters.

My own anger, put on hold for the duration of the ‘parental intervention’, returns full force now. I sit there stewing and puzzle it out until I come to a conclusion that must be right.

She was relieved that she still had a career, but then realised that nothing had changed for her. I’m still on her ship and she still wants me gone, so her will has been thwarted again, I realise. Not only that, but it’s actually worse for her now as she can’t abuse me anymore, except when we’re off-duty, maybe.

That thought causes my lip to curl in disgust, the idea that she might actually do it. Gods’-damn that woman! She’s absolutely dead-set on getting her own way! It’s obvious to me now that my presence is not only necessary but it’s imperative that I put a stop to her egocentric methods.

With that thought in mind, I remember that it’s still my shift. I’d better get back to the bridge. Suiting actions to thoughts, I depart my quarters.

*****

[Commander La'ra]

Ah yes, the middle part of the story, where our dysfunctional pair are forced to get along with that whole Starfleet thing.

Nice, but you know I like it so....keep posting...come on man, you're slower than cold molasses.

[Scottish Andy]

Thanks, Larry. Nice to know someone's still reading this. More next week.

C'mon, the rest of you sluggards! Chip in with your own 2 cents!

[CaptJosh]

Very interesting. Regardless of that dressing down from the commodore, they're both still acting like spoiled brats. I wonder when they're finally going to grow up some.

[kadh2000]

Having lost my patience, I went and read the whole story on starbase23.net.  When you catch up here, I'll comment for the story. 

OTOH, your triple sig makes it a lot longer to get to the bottom of the thread.

[Scottish Andy]

Wow, didn't realise you were still reading this, Kadh2000. Glad I finally got you interested enough to go reaed the rest of it. Heh. *wink*
Anyway, I just came on to up the pace because of Larry's comment. I'll be doing two posts per week from now on, until the story is done. Here we go.

Chapter Four, Pt II

"Captain, Alora system dead ahead. ETA at Oort cloud boundary is five minutes."

"Very good Mr. Maknal. Ensign Salok, plot an orbital approach course through the system for the second planet. Mr. Maknal, implement at full impulse when we drop from warp at the system boundary."

"Aye sir."

"Acknowledged, Captain." A pause. "Course plotted and laid in, sir."

"ETA to Alora II, Mr. Maknal?"

"Planetary orbit in... sixteen minutes, sir."

"Very good. Mr. Enax, commence high-power scans for debris, escape craft, and life-signs when we leave warp."

"Aye sir."

"Data on system, Mr. Enax," I order.

"Sir, the Alora system has six planets, four are terrestrial, two are gas giants. The gas giants have over thirty moons between them but all are too small to sustain a biosphere. Of the four rocky planets, Alora I is Class B, a cinder too close to the star; Alora IV is Class C, frozen solid and too far outside the habitable zone to sustain life; and Alora III is Class K, a cold planet outgassing it’s already thin atmosphere. It can sustain no life without pressure domes.

"Alora II is a Class M planet, temperate with minimal axial tilt making the seasons quite uniform. It is uninhabited, with only higher level primates and a large assortment of predators, flora, and fauna. A prime planet for colonisation but for the danger from the nearby Klingon border. There are a good deal of similar planets to be had much farther from the border so the system has been left untouched."

"Thank you, Science Officer," I acknowledge.

"System boundary, Captain," Salok reports.

"Drop to sublight, engage impulse drive."

"Aye, Captain."

During the ten-minute approach to the planet Enax stays silent, indicating to us that the sensors have detected nothing of note.

"Polar orbit, Mr. Maknal. Science, begin scanning the planet for life-signs, escape craft, and debris."

"Polar orbit, Aye."

"Beginning scans now, Captain. It will take roughly four hours to conclusively search the entire planet for life-form readings."

"Understood."

"Lieutenant Lathena, any response to our hails or any rescue beacons detected?" I ask.

"I’m sorry sir, but no. No response to hails on any frequency and no broadcasts on any channel, including distress frequencies."

"Very well, keep monitoring."

"Aye sir."

After that we settle down to an alert watchfulness, ready to respond instantly to the discovery of survivors. We don’t have to wait long, as fifteen minutes after assuming orbit our comm. officer calls out.

"Captain! Picking up low-powered comm. traffic, highly localised. It wasn’t there when we first arrived. Co-ordinates are..." We waited while she worked her direction finding controls, zeroing in on the signal’s location. "Co-ordinates are 37°41"57’ North, 57°12"23’ West."

"Mr. Enax?" the captain asks.

After a few seconds to locate the co-ordinates on the planet, Enax reports, "Sir, that location is on the primary continent in the Northern Hemisphere. Sensors show it’s within three kilometres of the eastern coastline, in a wide valley. Our current orbital track will have us pass over it in eighty minutes."

"Mr. Brown, prepare a landing party, emphasis on medical personnel. Lathena, try hailing them directly on the frequency you detected them using. Try and find out why they haven’t responded to us. Mr. Maknal, adjust orbit to geosynchronous above that valley. Mr. Enax, sensor readings. Can you tell how many of our people are down there?"

As the acknowledgements echo back and I run through our medical staff to select a landing party, Lathena gives an update that stops everything cold.

"Captain, the comm. traffic is encoded and not on any Starfleet standard or emergency frequencies. I can’t decipher the encoding without a lot more time and effort, Captain, because it’s Klingon."

The K-word drops like a photon grenade into the activity of the bridge, silencing everything instantly. For several seconds the only noises are the pings and chirps of the bridge systems, until McCafferty exhales explosively.

"Klingons?" she asks.

"The communications protocols they are using are of Klingon origin, yes Captain," Lathena confirms. She adds, "I cannot say who is using it, though."

All eyes swing to Enax for the next question, which McCafferty duly asks. "Well, Mr. Enax, what of it? What do your sensors show?"

"Sir, the limb of the planet is blocking scans. I’m waiting on orbital realignment, just a few more seconds..."

We all wait on tenterhooks for his report. It seems to be taking forever and as the minutes tick by and the tension increases exponentially, I’m about to demand something from him when he straightens and turns to face the bridge at large.

"Confirmed, Captain," he starts. "Reading 167 Klingon life-forms in the valley along with various pieces of equipment including a space-worthy shuttlecraft, temporary shelters, and the carcasses of 106 escape pods."

I don’t know about anybody else, but my heart sinks at that. By the looks on the faces of the bridge crew, they don’t look too ecstatic either.

"Thank you, Mr. Enax," McCafferty says softly. "Continue scanning."

"Aye, Captain."

What the hell are we going to do with nearly two hundred Klingon prisoners? I wonder. That was more Klingons than the Kusanagi had crew!

I step down to the command deck to speak to the captain, but Enax calls out again.

"Sensor contact! Picking up Starfleet-origin materials!"

"Details, Science Officer! Full power deep scan of that area," she orders.

"Aye sir. Data coming in now."

Again, we wait. This time, the news is far worse.

"Captain, the Starfleet camp has been destroyed. I’m reading the remains of forty Starfleet lifeboats, all blasted apart. Numerous temporary shelters, all showing signs of damage or having been burned out, and defensive positions that have been blasted apart." The Edoan pauses there and I think he’s finished as his shoulders slump, but again the worst is still to come. He turns to face us again. "No life-signs, sir, and... Captain, I’m reading unburied bodies all over the camp. Several large animals are stationary throughout the area, in close proximity to the bodies."

Teresa Price, the bridge engineering liaison, raises her hand to her mouth, cutting off a gasp. I feel nauseated. All of the bridge crew looks horrified.

"Captain, with your permission I’ll take a landing party down and-- " I cut myself off, unsure of what to say next that wouldn’t sound just as uncaring and horrific. I finally settle for a neutral phrase. "--And assess the situation."

McCafferty’s reply is not entirely what I expect.

"Granted, Mr. Brown, but I’m coming too."

I’m surprised she’s letting me come along.

"Captain, you-- "

"No arguments, Lieutenant. We’ll each take a landing party, full security detail. If we need medics we’ll beam them down afterwards."

"Aye-aye sir," I reply quietly.

"Lieutenant Lathena, order Security to send a squad to each transporter room. Have Sickbay fully prepped and on standby, and have them send a full trauma team to Transporter Room One ready to beam down at a moment’s notice, and two antigrav stretcher teams to Transporter Room Two."

"Yes, Captain," the Andorian responds.

"Mr. Brown, you’re with me, Mr. Maknal, go to Yellow Alert and keep a close eye on the Klingons. Let us know instantly if they make a move towards us or launch their shuttlecraft."

"Aye-aye, Captain."

"Very good. You have the conn, Mr. Maknal."

At that, we step into the turbolift. As it descends to Deck 5 and traverses the saucer to our destination, nothing is said between us. What can be said? We both know exactly what we will find down there, and that the medical teams will stand idle, unneeded. What to do with the Klingons just doesn’t enter into our thoughts--except for what we want to do to them. Our feud keeps trying to gain attention in my mind, but is subdued with almost no thought at all.

Despite the ‘security blanket’ offered and enforced by the Organians, security is a real risk. We don’t know the particulars of how they’ll prevent harm coming to opponents, and although we have seen what they can do, we are by no means convinced they were able to follow through. However, the ship would alert us in plenty of time if the Klingons tried anything.

What we do know is that we are going down there as a burial detail and as crime scene investigators, to gather our fallen comrades and evidence to prove how it happened. What had happened was obvious. That it had happened at all told us when it had happened. And because of present circumstances, the Klingons would get away with it. The war over, the treaty signed, the Klingons allowed to go home to their empire. It had been a war, though. In war, battles are fought, people are killed, one side wins, one side looses. It was that simple.

The Klingons would get off scot-free. Our dead would go unavenged.

Klingon bastards.

Not one live Starfleeter. The scans had shown that. The Klingons had come, joined battle, and won. And wiped out every living Federation citizen.

No prisoners. Not even captured or held for information.

All dead.

The thoughts wouldn’t leave me alone, and were made all the more potent by my own memories of up-close-and-personal battle with Klingons.

The turbolift deposits us in Transporter Room One. With unspoken consent, I leave for my own team in Transporter Room Two. I am so angry I can barely think straight, but I screw on my game head and begin to think of our mission.

"People," I say to the occupants of the room at large. "We are going down to scout for any survivors of a Starfleet camp that has been attacked by a superior force of Klingons. The ship’s sensors show no signs of life beyond large predators, but sensors can be fooled. When we get down there, spread out and catalogue every body you find and set tricorders to search for very faint life-signs. Set phasers for heavy stun now."

As they do so, I address the stretcher-bearers. "If we find anyone alive, we’re either beaming down a trauma team or beaming them up to be taken care of on board. Stand ready for our signal."

The four Ships Services’ crewmen nod solemnly.

"Okay people, get ready. We’re beaming down after the captain and her team." I step up onto the transporter disk, followed by Ensign Demeter and her four security guards, and we wait.

Seconds later, Transporter Chief Talbain nods. "The captain’s party has arrived safely. Energising."

The worried faces on the ship fade, to be replaced by a beautiful sandy beach, blue-green sea, azure skies, and a lush green forest in the middle distance.

The clean, sterilised smell of the ship is replaced by the stench of death.

A young guard gags. It’s Private Johnson, and her dark skin seems to have greyed slightly. I feel the same way but hope that I’m not showing it.

"Phasers out, tricorders on," I order. "Spread out and record each person you find. We have the south side of the beach while the captain takes the north. Go."

My team spreads out and I turn north to see the captain’s team do likewise. I complete a visual scan of the immediate area, taking in the shattered lifeboats, the wrecked shelters, and at least twenty corpses in Starfleet uniform lying in the white sand.

My teeth grind together and my heart fills with grief and anger. From what I can see there are no Klingon bodies, but we are at the centre of the camp. Maybe at the edge facing the forest...

My team has already moved out of sight, so I set about my own task of finding the senior officers’ locations. We’re looking to find log entries or records of any sort that will tell us who these people were and what exactly happened here. For example, why in all this vast, uninhabited planet our people and the Klingons ended up only three kilometres apart. I had an idea, but I wasn’t sure if it was right--or even workable.

I search through the wrecked shelters, scanning them for life-signs and any kind of recording equipment. I even pick through the charred contents for a plain old writing pad and stylus.

Nothing. I have my suspicions about that too, which are confirmed as I search through the cube-shaped lifeboats. Every piece of portable equipment--and even some non-portable stuff that has obviously been hacked out--is gone. All these pods have been salvaged--or looted. Since none of this equipment has yet been found in the camp, the latter seems more likely. And since each lifeboat is a comfortable, self-sustained living environment that has power for two months, our Starfleet people wouldn’t have hacked them apart for salvage or parts after only two weeks.

I continue my search.

*****

Half an hour later we have all gathered together at the beam-down point. Onsite inspection has confirmed what the sensors had told us, that everyone is dead. McCafferty’s findings corroborate our own that all equipment had been taken or destroyed, so we are no closer to confirming what happened here.

"Should we begin to assign burial details?" I ask the captain.

"No," she answers shortly, voice thick with rage. "I’m not burying these people on an uninhabited planet light-years from anything they knew. I’m taking them home."

I nod approvingly, not trusting myself to speak.

Pulling out her communicator, she hails the ship. "McCafferty to Kusanagi."

"Kusanagi here," Maknal’s voice issues from the speaker, sounding tinny.

"Lieutenant, cancel Medical Alert, but have them stand by. There’s nobody alive down here."

"Understood, Captain," the helmsman responds quietly.

"Have pathology prepare 76 body bags and have all Medical and Security personnel beam down with them. Set up Cargo Bay One as a morgue. Clear the floor space, secure all the cargo against the walls, and prepare it for exposure to vacuum."

"Aye-aye, sir."

"McCafferty out." Flipping her communicator shut, she turns to me. "Mr. Brown, I want you to supervise this operation. Have each medic team up with a security guard and start... retrieving... these people. We’ll have to beam them up with the cargo transporter and I’m not happy about that, so I want these people treated with respect," she emphasises.

"Yes, Captain, I agree completely."

She looks at me for a second before nodding. "Good. Make it clear to our crew that the bodies of our comrades are to be handled delicately and with feeling. If I hear any report of someone just flinging these bags around at either end, I’ll have their hide--and yours."

"Of course, sir. I’ll see to it," I say, not holding her harsh words against her. I don’t think it’ll be necessary to impress this upon our crew, but I’m not about to take that chance. I know that if I see anything of the sort I’ll be hard-pressed not to beat the offenders to a pulp myself. "I’ll get our antigravs down here for the stretchers."

"Agreed."

I’m turning to attend my duties when my eye catches something I hadn’t noticed before, or had dismissed. "Captain, look!" I exclaim, pointing at a streak of dried blood on the side of a cubical life pod. It seems to jump out at me now as it is far too straight, almost like an arrow. It points straight down, but there had been no body at this location.

We both start towards it, tricorders running. They reveal nothing, same as last time, but I think I know what this message means. I drop to my knees under the arrow and began digging with my hands.

It takes a full five minutes of careful digging and sifting in an enlarging circle, but I find it.

A single computer wafer.

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Five

Staring at the sand-encrusted item held aloft in my somewhat raw hands, I state decisively, "That’ll be it! The final logs must be on this wafer." I pull out the universal interface from my tricorder utility kit and plug the wafer into it.

"It could be, Lieutenant," the captain agrees, "but it could also be whatever else was deemed of paramount importance by whoever buried it."

Splitting hairs, Captain, but I suppose you’re right, I don’t say out loud. I say instead, "We need to find out what’s on this, but the tricorder can’t read it."

"What? Why not?" she demands.

"It seems to be Command encrypted, Captain, which would require a tie-in to the ship’s databanks." Running a further scan, I add, "It also seems to be either physically damaged or the data slightly corrupted. The ship’s computer should be able to reconstruct it."

"Very well. I’ll return to the ship and get the ball rolling on discovering what data this chip holds." McCafferty states. "You have your orders, Mr. Brown. Carry on."

"Aye sir," I reply. I am curious as hell to find out what is on the wafer, but it could take from mere minutes to several hours to find out what that is.

The captain signals the ship and is beamed aboard in a sparkle of golden light that beautifully compliments the sand of the beach, taking her to her new task.

I for once don’t mind being left out of it. To my mind, I have a far more important duty to perform, and anyway, I’ll soon know what it contains. Right now, I have a job to do.

I ensure that our Medical and Security people handle our fallen comrades with the reverence and respect they deserve with a properly stirring speech.

"You will handle these body bags as if they contained antimatter without its magnetic bottle! You will be gentle, respectful, and somber, or the captain will skin you alive and nail said skin to her cabin wall! Then I’ll have words with you."

Admittedly, that’s like preparing them for a tropical storm by first weathering a tactical nuclear strike, but we all have our illusions. Also, it might not be the right approach to take as it was quite likely most of them shared my feelings on this matter, but I wanted my feelings made crystal clear. I prowl the site, making myself visible but not yelling at or crowding them, merely observing them unobtrusively while occupied with my own thoughts.

I gaze up at the sky, taking tricorder readings and reviewing what I know of this latter half of the Battle of Alora II. It isn’t called that, but that’s how I’m thinking of it.

After the first part of the battle just outside the system, in which the USS Torjal and two Klingon frigates were destroyed, the other two Klingon ships managed to disengage and break for Alora, hotly pursued by the other three Starfleet ships. About to be brought back to battle by the superior speed of the USS Hood, the Klingon commander decided to fight against a planet, hoping to pin the Starfleet ships where their lack of manoeuvrability could be decisively used against them.

So, the heavy cruiser Hood, the heavy frigate Emden, and the destroyer Hashishiyun rejoined battle with the D7 Decimator and the D6 Despoiler.

Superior Klingon manoeuvrability allowed them to rake all three Starfleet vessels and eventually destroy the Hashishiyun, but superior Federation tactics and firepower blasted apart the Despoiler before the D7 made another break for Federation space. Such a powerful unit could not be allowed to disappear and roam free in the Federation rear to play havoc with civilian shipping, so again the Hood and her consort had given chase.

The destroyed vessels of this round had managed to evacuate a fair portion of their crews before being completely atomised by antimatter release. Since both ships were very close together and very close to the planet, it is my contention that the subspace shock waves from two warp reactor explosions pushed the escape pods into the planet’s atmosphere. As a result they were unable to alter their trajectories by much and ended up landing fairly close together.

That’s just supposition and we’ll need the records of the Hashishiyun’s crew to reveal the truth, but even that isn’t too important.

We want to know why there are no survivors, even in captivity. When the situation became hopeless, these people would have tried to surrender and affect escape later. "Where there is life, there is hope," the old saying goes. It is quite obvious that the Klingons had come and crushed all hope here. There are bat’leth wounds here as well as disruptor holes, so they’d closed to knife-fighting range as they so love to do.

I don’t envy the medics and guards bagging those bodies.

It takes nearly two hours but finally all the bodies are bagged, collected, and laid out in four rows at the beam-down point. I assign Privates Zorkal and Johnson as honour guards to stand watch over them while the rest of us beam up to the ship. I dismiss the medical staff and have the two security details follow me to the cargo transporter, situated on Deck 5 forwards, on the centreline between our two small cargo bays.

An inspection of Cargo Bay One reveals that Urrih has outdone himself. Not only is the bay now cleared as the captain instructed, he has also assigned an engineering team to construct a restraint forcefield to hold our honoured dead in place, lest violent manoeuvres later have them all piled on top of one another against a bulkhead.

I’m going to put a commendation in that man’s file, unless I also find out the captain specifically ordered this, the thought occurs as I look on at the technicians methodically completing their work. I return to the transporter through the adjoining doors and have Transporter Chief James Taylor begin beaming up the bodies, along with the antigravs. Thus begins the fairly short task of taking the crew of the Hashishiyun aboard. Half an hour later it is all done and the honour guard beams aboard to take up their new duty stations in front of the doors to the cargo bay.

Both sets of doors are then computer-locked, and I call the bridge. "First Officer to Captain."

"Captain here. Progress report, Mr. Brown," she orders.

"Sir, the crew of the Hashishiyun are aboard and secured in their new... quarters." I hesitate, slightly thrown off by my own choice of words. "An honour guard has been posted and will be maintained until we reach Starbase 22, both sets of doors are codelocked and Security sealed, and the bay is ready to be opened to space."

"Very well, Mr. Brown. Good work," the captain says brusquely.

I almost fall over in shock at those words, and can’t disguise the surprise in my face from Chief Taylor. "Uh, aye sir," I reply unsteadily. "Thank you, sir," I add in a more controlled tone.

McCafferty chooses to ignore it. I don’t believe for a minute that she didn’t notice it. "Senior Chief Mev, depressurise Cargo Bay One," I hear through the intercom.

"Aye-aye, sir," the gruff voice of the Tellarite bridge engineer filters through. "Done, Captain."

"Very good. Mr. Brown," she says, addressing me now. "If you are done there, go to Briefing Room One. Senior officer’s meeting in five minutes."

"Aye sir, on my way. First Officer, out." I dismiss Chief Taylor then head for the briefing room.

*****

I arrive to find the Alpha shift department heads already seated. I had rushed to my quarters to freshen up as I desperately needed it, but the captain looks irritated by my late arrival.

"Glad you could join us, Mr. Brown," she comments pointedly.

"I had to make a quick detour to my quarters, sir," I state coolly.

Another of her infamous looks and the meeting is brought to order.

"Ladies and gentlemen the purpose of this meeting is to decide what to do with the Klingons on the planet below us," she begins. The seriousness of the topic and the intensity of emotions this issue brings fourth ensures that everyone is listening intently. "However, before we do, I believe Lieutenant Lathena has a report for us."

"Yes sir," the Andorian responds. "The communications department has managed to completely reconstruct the data on the Hashishiyun’s wafer chip."

This news is met with anticipation from all present, most of whom lean in closer.

"Due to the wafer being physically damaged we were unable to read the chip at all, but with Ensign Al-Mahaid’s help we were able to perform a molecular scan of the data impression on the wafer and reconstruct this data on an undamaged wafer. The log recordings are now ready to be viewed."

"Well done, Lieutenant," the captain praises, which I echo. She then instructs, "Play the recordings now, if you please."

"Aye sir."

The three-sided screen flickers to life with the image of a human-looking lieutenant commander in red, who identifies himself in an English accent as Gerald Trent. We listen through half-an-hour of log entries that detail the end of the space battle, their subsequent emergency landing on the planet, setting up the camp, and organising themselves to await rescue, which Trent believed would come within a week.

Then came the sighting of the Klingon shuttlecraft we detected, and their preparation for the inevitable attack. Trent’s plan for defence was implemented and defensive fortifications hurriedly built. It didn’t seem very effective to me even as the now-dead officer detailed it for posterity, but the man was an engineer and the security staff that survived were too inexperienced to offer better suggestions.

Even a better plan wouldn’t have mattered much as it seemed the Klingons used their shuttlecraft to great effect. At first spotting for the Klingon ground assault, when battle was finally joined it used its phaser to rake the Starfleet camp, inflicting heavy casualties before massed phaser-fire from their Type-II pistol phasers finally managed to drive it off. It was last seen trailing smoke or fuel, heading back to the Klingon camp in the west.

We now had our confirmation on how everything happened, except for the most pressing matter of all--why no one was left alive. We hoped that would be explained in the last two log entries, and I was almost praying that it wasn’t what I was expecting.

"Commanding Officer’s Log, supplemental," the haggard face on the screen states, wincing reflexively at the sound of disruptor bolts impacting nearby. "It has been ten minutes since the Klingons started their attack, and although we’ve finally driven off that damned shuttle, tricorder readings indicated that there were 186 Klingons waiting in the woods for us. We’ve whittled them down some, but it’s not nearly enough. Almost all of my crew have been wounded by disruptor fire, many quite badly, and now the Klingons are overrunning our forward defensive positions."

Trent winces in pain as he shifts his position, then continues.

"I’m down to forty active personnel and though we have plenty of firepower, there are just too many of them. They outnumbered us two-to-one even before the shuttle attack. In the interests of saving as many of my crew as possible, I’ve signalled our surrender in the clear on their frequency, and tied in the universal translator. So far, no response and the fighting continues. If this doesn’t work, I’ll signal a cease-fire and go out there myself with a white flag.

"All my crew have comported themselves admirably through all stages of the battles we’ve fought today, and deserve the highest honours the Federation can bestow. Lieutenant Commander Gerald Trent, Chief Engineering Officer, Federation destroyer Hashishiyun."

The next log entry is the last, and I can tell that most present are now dreading what it contains. Lathena plays it anyway.

"Security Officer’s Log, Ensign Ilya Pushkin recording," came the enraged voice from the human now on screen. "They killed him! Those filthy, murdering Klingon bastards blew his head off as he carried the white flag out to them!"

I lower my head into my hands, trying to ward off the image the ensign put in my head with those words, but he isn’t quite finished.

Tears streaming down grime-streaked cheeks, the Russian continues. "I heard them laughing as the rest of his body just fell to the ground, still holding on to the flag of our surrender. They’re not taking us alive, whether we want them to or not!" he told us, voice hysterical. "Even if we are taken prisoner, they’ll just torture us for fun and kill us when they’re done. We’re down to about 25 crew left, but we’re going to take as many of them with us as we can! Starfleet, when you find this record, track them down and kill them all!

"They’ve left us no alternative. We’re going to fight them to the last man. Ensign Pushkin, Security Officer, Federation destroyer Hashishiyun."

The screen goes dark and I lean back in my chair, feeling shell-shocked. Wondering how my crewmates are feeling, I take a look around to gauge their reactions. Two points of deep blue burn in Lieutenant Shex’s cheekbones, clearly visible on his powder blue skin and indicating that the Andorian security chief is intensely furious. Lathena’s antennae droop, showing her deep sadness at the fate of our people. Tatiana Nebukov just cradles her head in her hands in disbelief. Urrih’s eyes look haunted as he stares off at something only he can see. Engineer Trey`gar’s teeth are audibly grinding together and his eyes are screwed tightly shut, as if he’s trying to block out what he’s just heard.

My poll of the crew complete, I turn my attention to the captain. Her clear complexion and pale skin show only too well her intense anger. Red points to match Shex’s blue ones burn brightly in her face and her eyes are aflame with her fury.

I had thought that she’d wait for us to absorb the details of our comrades’ fate on the planet below, but McCafferty has other ideas. She must want our gut-level, instinctual reactions to her question, because in a calm voice that belies her obvious feelings on the matter, she asks anyway.

"What should we do with the Klingons?"

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Five, Pt II

No one answers immediately, probably not trusting his or her reactions to the ship’s official record. Since my immediate reaction is along the lines of an orbital bombardment of the Klingon camp and I’m meant to be the ‘liberal’ one, this probably a good thing. Possibly unhappy with the silence, McCafferty asks again.

"The agenda for this meeting is now at hand. I brought us here to discuss what options we have in regards to the disposition of these Klingons," the captain states. "I have given this matter some thought over the past few hours and here’s what I see we can do.

"Option one: We take these Klingons on board in a secured area and immediately head back to base to have Starfleet take custody of them for trial."

I notice that practically every head around the table nods in approval of this plan, some with grim satisfaction, others with reluctance. Personally, I’m not too keen on it but since we are Starfleet we’re supposed to revere all life, not just that life which suits us. These Klingons are survivors, after all, and we’re out here to rescue survivors.

"Option two: We signal Starbase 22 to send a transport ship to pick them up, and leave to continue with our mission to rescue Federation survivors."

This option has more extreme reactions, with most readily approving and only our CMO looking unhappy about it. My enthusiastic reaction to this is more gut-level than I would like, eagerly wanting to forget the Klingons and their actions and move on to rescue people who deserve to be rescued.

"Option three: We leave them here to continue with our mission, and return to pick them up after our sweep of our other mission waypoints, if we still have the space onboard to safely confine them."

This idea is universally shot down, judging from the reactions of those present. Only Shex seriously considers it before even he reluctantly puts it aside, and I’ve already made my choice.

"I want to hear your opinions, people, and if you have other acceptable options I want to hear them too." With that, she opens up the table to debate.

Shex immediately says, "Captain, I would be very uncomfortable with nearly 200 Klingons on board. Even if the Organians can prevent physical violence, if they escape the amount of trouble they could cause for ship’s personnel and to ship’s equipment would be considerable."

"I agree, Captain," Urrih states. "Right now, the Klingons outnumber the crew of the Kusanagi. I know that we can physically take them aboard and still not reach our maximum evacuation capacity, but it wasn’t envisioned that we’d have to keep nearly half of them under guard. I seriously doubt our crew will be willing to share their beds with the enemy."

"Captain," our CMO offers, "aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves here? The war is over. The  Klingons can’t hurt us, the Organians will see to that. Why must they be prisoners?"

The captain, Shex, and Maknal all stare at her in amazement--it takes a few seconds, but I realise that I’m doing it too--which quickly turns to anger.

"Are you insane!?" Maknal demands, shooting to his feet and leaning over the table at her. "Were you even listening to Ensign Pushkin or Mr. Shex? Even disregarding what Shex said about ship’s security, these animals refused to accept a cease-fire, shot a man under truce, and wiped out all the survivors from the Hashishiyun! They are our prisoners even if the war is over, because they should be arrested as criminals! Not only that, but war criminals and murderers!"

Urrih is red-faced and breathing heavily, furious at the doctor for such a foolish or naïve question. Tatiana, for her part, is staring up at him slack-jawed and having paled visibly, obviously unprepared for the firestorm her words had ignited.

"That’s enough, Mr. Maknal," the captain says quietly. "Your points are well taken, though. Please sit down. I trust that’s answered your question, Doctor?"

Nebukov, still staring at Urrih who is now re-seating himself, jerks round to face McCafferty on hearing herself addressed. "Uh, y-yes Captain," she stammers.

A thought occurs to me and I voice it. "Not only that, ladies and gentlemen, but it may be that the Klingons think we’re still at war."

Some eyebrows around the table go up at that, but the captain merely nods. I notice that the surprised ones haven’t met the survivors from the Torjal yet.

"If the Klingons have been out of contact with their superiors all this time--and since they’re still here that’s a fair assumption to make--then they will be in the dark," I continue. "Also, the Organian Treaty prevents violence between Federation and Klingon nationals only. I’ve read the text of it and it says nothing about stopping the violence between the citizens of one power."

"That means in all likelihood that these Klingons can’t know about Organian intervention!" Maknal exclaims. "They won’t know that they can’t hurt us, so they’ll try anyway."

"That’s my read of it, Lieutenant," I confirm. "That ties in directly with what really worries me. Can we actually rely on the Organians to protect us from harm?"

Shex looks at me askance. "We all experienced the effects of Organian interference, sir. We know that they can carry out their wishes."

"I have my doubts as well, people," the captain puts in. "Go on, Mr. Brown. I want to hear your theory."

I match her brusque, businesslike tone and put forth my concerns. "Well, it’s like this: we’ve seen them prevent us from using systems and tools offensively with our own eyes, and we know they can do so for a hundred light-years in each direction along the border. However, when they did this they were directly aware of impending hostilities because of an incident on their homeworld.

"What happens if they are not aware? Can the Organians track a group of individual Klingons more than twenty light-years from Organia and stop them firing a first disruptor blast? Can they stop a Klingon from throwing a punch? Can they stop a thrown punch from landing?" I ask stridently.

Intrigued by the mechanics of the situation our hitherto silent chief engineer speaks up.

"Are you saying that the Organians have to be monitoring the actions of every single Federation and Klingon citizen along two hundred light-years of border every second of every day for them to be able to make good on their pledge?" Trey`gar asks incredulously.

"That’s not quite what I meant, but yes," I confirm. "What I’m saying is that if they’re not then we might still take casualties if we attempt a face-to-face meeting with the Klingons."

The faces around the table now express surprise and doubt at my words. The captain, however, merely nods again. "A good point, Mr. Brown, and your thoughts tally with mine."

Trey`gar decides to offer his opinions. "I am definitely in favour of option two, Captain. From an engineering standpoint it wouldn’t be too much trouble confining the Klingons. We would have to use either the cargo bays or the shuttle deck, but I wouldn’t want them on the shuttle deck myself. Too many panels to seal and escape routes to monitor, to say nothing of what happens if we need to launch a shuttle on this rescue mission of ours.

"However, from a personal standpoint, I don’t want that many hostile aliens aboard the ship for any reason, more now than ever in light of the first officer’s concerns. To do so would be foolhardy, as there is no end of trouble they could cause just in the disruption to ship’s routine that would undoubtedly result from even mundane things like using the toilet."

I find myself nodding in agreement. The Chief is exactly right and brings up a salient point. I hadn’t even considered the whole ‘bathroom breaks’ aspect of taking them on board, focusing mainly on the trouble they could cause if they got loose.

"Thank you, Engineer," the captain says. "Doctor, what are your thoughts?"

Nebukov, now paying rapt attention to the proceedings, has an immediate answer.

"Captain, regardless of the current situation, our mission out here is to locate survivors and take them home. We’ve found some from both sides, but the war is no longer an issue. While Lieutenant Brown’s concerns do contain some facts, I feel them to be groundless. Lieutenants Shex and Maknal’s concerns are noted, but we have over sixty Starfleet survivors that can be assigned to guard duty, and I know for a fact that most of them would welcome the chance to do something useful aboard ship. With Lieutenant Trey`gar’s acknowledgement that confining them would be no trouble, I think that we should bring them aboard."

This is not a popular opinion at all, but discipline holds and no one badgers her for it.

McCafferty, almost managing a neutral tone, thanks her and moves on to Urrih. The helmsman makes his feelings plain.

"Fellow officers, while the doctor raises a good point about the Starfleet survivors we have aboard, I really don’t think that putting them in charge of the Klingons who murdered their squadron mates is a very good idea," Maknal states forcefully as he looks around the table. "If we bring the Klingons aboard they will disrupt ship operations. This is an indisputable fact, whether it be extreme tension or anger among the crew or security concerns of denying them access to critical ship’s systems--or both--I agree with our chief engineer and opt to send for a transport ship."

"Thank you Mr. Maknal," the captain says.

My thoughts are less charitable. He’s stolen my thunder. I hate it when that happens.

"Lieutenant Lathena?" McCafferty asks next.

"I concur with my fellow officers, Captain. I think that we should send for the transport as well. Lieutenants Trey`gar and Maknal have already voiced my concerns," she says confidently.

"I see. Nothing to add on your own, though?" McCafferty prods.

"Ah..." Our comm. officer hesitates before deciding to go through with it. "Only that we should talk to the Klingons and inform them of our plans, and of their new status as our prisoners. If the transport crew arrives and the Klingons still think we’re at war, they’ll try to attack them--and we’ll have let them. I don’t want that situation to happen to a behind-the-lines crew, sir."

"I concur, Captain," I chime in. "If my concerns are not groundless then that crew might take casualties. With respect, sir, that’s not their job. It’s ours."

I can see that she isn’t happy with that, but only because I know her so well. Probably Urrih can see it too. She still makes an attempt to avoid it, though.

"We could ask Starfleet to send an escort with the transport. We probably should anyway, as there are still pirates to worry about," she offers.

The other officers look at each other at that, obviously picking up on McCafferty’s reluctance to deal with the Klingons. I sigh inwardly. It’s my place to remind the captain of hers.

"Captain, that’s irrelevant. As the first on the scene, we have to investigate properly so that those who follow us don’t land up to their eyeballs in deep... trouble."

A searing look flashes out from her eyes at that, but she manages a calm tone. "Just so, Mr. Brown. Just so." While she’s looking at me, she asks, "I can assume that you agree with the majority so far then, First Officer? That is, unless your wish for contact with the Klingons is not just scientific curiosity about testing your theory?"

"I do agree with my colleagues, yes Captain," I say amiably, which just makes her face darken a shade further. I got what I wanted, Captain. If you want to rile me up you’re going to have to do better than that!

Presumably saving the best for last, she addresses our security chief. "Lieutenant Shex, your opinions on what option we should take?"

"Captain, I stand by my earlier comments," he states in his whisper-soft voice. "Contrary to Chief Engineer Trey`gar’s assertion, we do not have the space on board to accommodate more than the ship’s complement of prisoners, and I don’t have the staff to deal with them all. It’s that simple. I therefore chose option two."

McCafferty nods her thanks at him, then addresses the room at large. "Thank you all for your input, ladies and gentlemen. I think it’s fairly safe to say that everybody knew I favoured option two from the start, so that is what we will do." Levelling a look at me, she adds, "As per our first officer’s insistence, we shall attempt to contact the Klingons and let them in on their new future.

"People, ready the ship to leave orbit. Urrih, have Ensign Salok plot a course out of the system and then to our next mission waypoint. Doctor Nebukov, prepare Medical to receive possible casualties if we have to beam down to met the Klingons. Lieutenant Shex, outfit a landing party of five, full security detail with body armour and tricorders, but no weapons. Lathena, do what you can to try and raise the Klingons. If you have no success after twenty minutes, I’m beaming down. Engineer, I want full power available to the warp and impulse engines. Mr. Brown, you will have the conn while I am on the planet’s surface.

"That’s all people. Snap to it."

The acknowledgements echo back and everybody files out of the room. I hold back and ask, "A moment of your time, Captain?"

A nod and we wait for the last of our officers leave the room. "What is it, Mr. Brown?"

"Sir, I must object to your presence on the landing party. As ship’s captain you are not expendable personnel and shouldn’t subject yourself to unnecessary risks."

Folding her arms and wearing a cold smirk, she replies, "Really? I’d have thought you’d be delighted at the chance of getting rid of me. Or do you have a death wish too?"

Said as friends that would have been funny. As we are now, though, I know she’s serious. My eyebrows shoot up into my hairline and my jaw falls open a little, as I’m unable to conceal my surprise.

"What’s wrong, Lieutenant? Cat got your tongue? Or do you have a guilty conscience?"

I regain my voice with a vengeance. "That is enough, Captain Sir!" I grate out. "I’m just doing my job and you know it. You’re not supposed to go around endangering yourself--"

Having her victory over me, the captain dismisses my concerns with a wave of her hand. "Spare me the precise regulation, please, Mr. Brown," she sneers contemptuously. "How can I be on top of everything if I don’t witness it unfolding? How can I lead this crew and ask them to do things if they know that I’m not willing to do them myself?"

"Captain--" I start again with an edge to my voice, but she cuts me off again.

"First Officer, your objections are... noted and logged. My decision stands. Now, are you coming to the bridge?"

Fuming at the shellacking I just took--fortunately in private this time--I struggle to maintain a civil tone. "Yes Captain. After you," I growl.

Her eyes coldly amused, she turns from me and leads the way to the bridge.

*****

Thirty-five minutes later and I’m on the bridge alone, in the command chair. Lathena had been unsuccessful in raising the Klingons, so down to the surface the captain had gone. She had already radioed in her party’s safe arrival, and I was following her progress though Enax’s science scanners.

Enax had discovered his readings of the Klingon camp were no longer clear minutes after Lathena had tried to hail them, so it seemed like they were now aware of our presence and had erected a sensor jammer or dampening field. It extended to a diameter of three kilometres, well outside the outer perimeter of their camp, so I was nervous about losing contact with the captain’s party.

"They’re entering the dampening field now, Lieutenant," Enax reports. "I have no readings on them anymore."

"Understood. Lathena, try to raise the captain," I order.

"Yes sir." The Andorian works her board for a few minutes and comes away empty-handed. "No success, Lieutenant. There is no answer, and I cannot be sure they’re even receiving me."

"Very well." All I can do now is wait, then.

*****

Fortunately it is a short one. Thirty minutes later and the captain’s party emerges from the field and signals us.

"Are you all right, Captain? Any injuries?" I ask, concerned for Shex and his team if not the captain herself.

"We’re all okay down here, Lieutenant. Your fears are completely groundless as the doctor suspected, but it was touch and go for a few seconds there."

"Understood. Is everything taken care of then?"

"Yes. The Klingons were told that they are under arrest for war crimes and that another ship will be arriving in a few days to pick them up. Mission accomplished," she finishes laconically. "Now, beam us up and get us moving, Lieutenant."

"Aye-aye, Captain. Transferring your co-ordinates to the transporter room. Stand by for beam-up."

"Acknowledged. Captain, out."

"Lathena, give the captain’s co-ordinates to Transporter Room One and have the Chief signal the bridge when they’re aboard."

"Aye sir," she replies and works her console. A few minutes later she informs me, "Transporter room reports the captain’s party is aboard and unharmed, and Captain McCafferty will be on the bridge momentarily."

"Thank you, Lathena. Mr. Maknal, break orbit, full impulse ahead. When we reach the system edge, engage warp at maximum cruising velocity."

"Breaking orbit now, full impulse, aye sir. We’re on our way."

This time, I don’t ask for the departure angle on the viewer. The sooner we forget this place the better.

[Jaeih t`Radaik]

Hey Andy, and my apologies for the lack of moral support recently. Been off in my own world again. You know how it is.

Heh, even though La'ra and the other Klinks may have already read this, I'm surprised none commented on your characterisation of the Klinks here.

There are all sorts as we know, and I'm sure that while we have altruistic Klingons like La'ra, devious Klingons like Ron'jar, stolid/stoic Klingons like Kadh, there are also nasty Klingons like JOLLYROGERs Dath'mar. The evil (by Fed standards) Klingons here are yet another facet of them.

Any Klink proponents care to forward a theory/rationale for their behaviour here?

[Commander La'ra]

Any Klink proponents care to forward a theory/rationale for their behaviour here?

There's thousands of possible motivations for their behavior...everything from it's 'dishonorable' to allow them to surrender to sheer bloodlust.  To know which one it is, we'd likely have to know the 'flavor' of the Klingon crew.  Who commanded them?  What was he like?  Did he imprint his own way of doing things on his men, as La'ra often does, or was he a weak officer who couldn't control a crew eager for blood and revenge?

Klingons are many things.  Predictable....is not one of them, despite what some authors might say.

[KOTH-KieranXC, Ret.]

You know, now that Jaeih mentioned it, I had been wondering about the motivation of the Klingons myself. Again, though, I have to agree with La'ra. There's just as much variation in the individual Klingon psyche as there is in the human psyche. There have been plenty of instances in history where atrocities are committed out of an angry desire for revenge. With the Klingons being a much more martially oriented culture than ours, it's perfectly believable that either an angry Klingon captain or an angry crew with a weak captain might do what Andy describes.

Just my two cents American. Take 'em or leave 'em as you will.

[Commander La'ra]

There's just as much variation in the individual Klingon psyche as there is in the human psyche.

And Humans are often just as violent (or more so) as the Klingons were portrayed in this story.  Star Trek tends to downplay that, though.

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Six

First Officer’s Personal Log, Stardate 3288.35

Although she’s obviously still not happy about it, McCafferty does seem to be heeding Commodore Tandara’s words. For the most part she maintains a professional demeanour towards me, in public at least. Unless something I’m doing is specifically going against her, like our meeting on what to do with the Klingons from Alora. Since, in her words, "I got what I wanted" from the commodore, I’m trying not to rub it in her face and let her come around on her own, but unless the personal digs stop soon I’m going to have to say something to her about them.

I’ve noticed that our own crew seems to be slightly depressed as a result of the mission to Alora II, probably because I feel the same, but I’ve been worried for a specific reason for some time now.

As part of my own weekly routine starting from when the war ended, I had Lathena get the updated casualty reports from Starfleet so that I might search for people I know. At first I used to peruse these lists every day, but scrolling though all those names so frequently was seriously affecting my morale. Reading them less regularly is no less harrowing but it does allow me some time to get over my mood, and only has me dreading and having to recover from ten minutes of each week instead of each day.

Twelve of my classmates and friends from the Academy and former postings are already known to have been killed in the war, but nine more had been listed as "missing in action". I’ve been counting on ships like ours to find them, but in the weeks since our mission began only one of my friends has been rescued.

Four more have been confirmed as dead.

Typically--and with a worry that gets more and more acute with the passing days--the people I’m most concerned for remain missing. I have no idea why the universe works this way, but people you barely consider acquaintances live long and healthy lives while the people that matter most to you end up dropping like flies. It’s contributing to my own dark cloud, but the fact that I’m still able to worry about others helps prove to me that I’m not such the shallow person I’m convinced that I’m turning in to.

However, to combat my feelings of helplessness and utter frustration over not knowing the fates of my missing friends, I’ve stopped even thinking about them between these updates. It smacks of cowardice to me every time I remember, but I’ve started to convince myself that they are going to be rescued to fend off the feeling of doom for another day, and each week that I don’t see them on the Deceased list helps bolster that emotional crutch.

It’s going to hurt like hell if that crutch is ultimately pulled away from me, so I’ve decided to stop asking for them until our mission is over. Until then, I’m just going to cross my fingers and hope for the best, keeping them safe within my own mind. Gods’ willing, my four missing friends will all still be alive, surviving on crippled ships or safely within their lifeboats, waiting patiently to be rescued, just like we did for the crew of the Torjal.

*****

The ship’s crew settled into their usual routine once again, although it was noted that the survivors from the Torjal were pretty much keeping to themselves. To combat the malaise that had come over the survivors, the captain had a meeting with the Torjal’s Andorian XO, Lieutenant Commander Shesra, to find out the reason. She discovered that it was exactly as we had feared, and that most of the survivors were feeling useless and depressed.

There are few things worse than giving brooding and guilt-ridden people unlimited time to think. The captain ordered me to keep them occupied, even authorising them to start duty shifts as part of our regular crew.

This met with general approval ship-wide, as our own crew was having problems with the events on Alora II. Too many people were dwelling on the horrible events there--and the other places we’d been--so the morale of the crew was low, an atmosphere of gloom, anger, and sadness pervading the ship.

With these "extra hands" starting to appear outside of their temporary quarters, our own crew was reminded that we had saved almost seventy people. Admittedly, at the start all I had for them to do was make-work or no-work--what I call tending a machine just in case it goes wrong--but the Torjal crew willingly and gladly pitched in, for the most part.

Out of the 63 survivors, we have two Command division, seven Ship’s Services, sixteen Sciences, twenty-three Engineering, five Communications, and ten Ship Operations personnel. I’ve tried to assign them tasks appropriate to their divisions and ranks, but some have to just grin and bear it, holding the tools--as it were--of the people they’re supporting.

I have the sciences people working with ours to find the best way to improve our sensors and discrimination algorithms for detecting powerless lifeboats while we are at higher warp speeds.

I have the communications staff working with ours to try and break the codes we’d found the Klingons using on Alora II.

I confer with Lieutenant Commander Shesra on switching around crewmembers whose abilities are better suited to different tasks, as well as monitoring the dozen or so who have been diagnosed as suffering from clinical depression and survivor’s guilt, not to mention many who were suffering post-traumatic stress syndrome.

Puzzling over what I could get the support services personnel to do beyond doubling up the engineering watches, I suddenly remembered that we actually had tons of work for them to do. The captain and I had agreed to deep-six the suggestion that our off-shift personnel be assigned to minor but extensive maintenance work for the duration of this mission because of the stress levels of our current duties.

With all this extra staff basically begging for work to do I set out to change all that. I now have the ship’s services, ship operations, and engineering staff assigned to clearing the backlog of maintenance problems, time-in-place and end-of-life service checks, and general repair duties that are nominally within their own field of responsibility or expertise. The Kusanagi is an old ship, first commissioned in 2228, so minor things are always going wrong in one area or another. Systems dropping offline, fabricators going on the fritz, power sources running rough, console buttons sticking or too loose, chairs squeaking... the list goes on. Plus, the ship had been badly damaged herself almost a month ago, and new systems were talking to older systems with a bit of an accent.

There is nothing wrong that threatens the safety of the ship as those problems are instantly dealt with whenever they arise. This is just a long list of quite minor, but sometimes intensely aggravating, problems that we haven’t been able to find the time to sort out.

By the time this mission is over, I want everything running smoothly and even the dent in my cabin wall fixed and painted. I’m also going to make damn sure that the crew of the Torjal know that we all appreciate it.

*****

It takes us three days at warp five to get to the site of a rather one-sided battle between two D6 heavy cruisers and a lone, Twenties-vintage Mann-class cruiser, the USS Danai. During this time, Starfleet confirmed that they’d sent a transport ship to follow in our footsteps to Alora and to salvage all small equipment in the area. We supplied them with co-ordinates so that they could pick up all the lifeboats encountered so far as well.

We slow to warp three to begin our search pattern, spiralling outwards from the last known co-ordinates of the Danai and overlapping our sensor coverage by 10%.

It should be explained that we are now searching for ships officially listed as "missing", having already investigated three sites where Starfleet Command had been informed of survivors at time of last contact. Now that the most likely sites for survivors have been searched, we’ve moved on to the last reported positions of ships that Starfleet hasn’t heard from since their first report of enemy contact, or that hadn’t reported in at all.

The Danai had managed to send an initial contact report before being jammed--we assume--but she had been taken by surprise. Had they detected the Klingon ships, I’m quite sure that Commander Zorash of Izar wouldn’t have been suicidal enough to engage them alone.

Since we are searching for an entire ship--we hope--we are able to proceed much more quickly than normal, especially with the initial improvements made to our sensors which are now adapted to our specific needs of searching for powerless hulks.

Even so it takes us three hours, and we almost miss it.

*****

"Captain, sensors are picking something up," Enax reports.

McCafferty swings her chair round to face his station. "Can you identify the contact?" she asks.

"I’ll need some more time, but it’s on a bearing of 282 mark 300. Scanner readings are indeterminate, but we’ve detected something different from the usual readings of empty space," the Edoan replies.

"Alter course to that bearing, Mr. Maknal," the captain orders. "It’s the only thing we’ve found so far, we might as well investigate it."

"Aye-aye sir. Coming to new course, bearing 282 mark 300."

After a few minutes, our science officer updates us. "Readings are clearing now, Captain. We have apparently detected the boundary of an expanding gas cloud. The farther sensors penetrate the cloud the more dense the readings get."

"Cloud composition, Mr. Enax?" I ask.

"Analysing now, sir," he answers. "It seems to be... air, sir."

"Air?"

"Yes sir. Standard oxygen/nitrogen mix, with trace gasses and water in ice-crystal form."

"We know what that means then," I say quietly to the captain.

"Yes," she agrees grimly. "That a ship exploded at the centre of this cloud. Damn."

"Any further data, Mr. Enax?"

"The exact ratio of components seems to favour Tellarite physiology. There is a high percentage of evenly distributed ice crystals, indicating high humidity levels in this atmosphere. Also, that at standard atmospheric pressure the volume of air is approximately the same as that of a Mann-class cruiser."

"Thank you, Mr. Enax," the captain acknowledges. "Focus sensors on that cloud and guide us in to where the particle density is thickest. Co-ordinate with Helm."

"Aye, Captain."

"Mr. Maknal, slow to warp one."

"Warp one, aye sir."

After a few more minutes, Enax calls out again. "Now detecting very small pieces of metallic debris, Captain. No piece is larger than half-a-meter in any dimension."

"Acknowledged. Slow to one-quarter impulse, Mr. Maknal."

"Aye sir."

"Mr. Enax, how close are we to the centre of the atmosphere cloud?"

"Sensors indicate it is... 500,000 kilometres directly ahead."

"Can you analyse the debris to determine its origin?" I ask.

"Yes sir, but we’d have to beam it aboard and analyse it in the labs."

"Very well then," the captain decides, "please do so. I want a definite answer in thirty minutes."

"Yes sir. We’ll have it for you by then."

"Good. Keep scanning, Mr. Enax, I want to know if there is anything else out there that could help us. Can you determine how long ago this happened by tracking the expansion of the cloud?" McCafferty inquires.

Enax, who had been ready to secure his station and head below, looks over in surprise. "Ah, yes sir. I can have someone relieve me to carry on the scan--"

"I’m sure your department can handle a simple analysis, Science Officer," she states pointedly. "I want you on the bridge."

"Ah, yes sir," Enax replies in a neutral tone then busies himself with his orders, but it’s clear he feels he’s missing out.

The problem with being a junior officer is that--in my experience, anyway--you feel you have to attend every task and carry out every order personally. Enax still doesn’t have the knack for delegating duties yet, but as Department Head of Sciences the Edoan has nearly twenty staff to do his legwork for him, and he has to learn to use them.

The bridge becomes quiet once again as we await further reports from our scientists. Unfortunately, nothing more is found but Enax is able to determine that this ship exploded approximately twenty days ago--the first day if the war.

Twenty minutes after that, the labs report back that these are indeed pieces of the hull of a Federation starship constructed in the Twenties. We have no information in our databanks regarding the exact composition of the Danai’s hull, so this is, unfortunately, as solid an answer as we can expect.

Unwilling to give up quite yet, I ask Enax, "Any nearby systems that escape pods may have travelled to or are still heading towards?"

"No sir," he replies crisply. "The nearest system is the one we just came from, Alora, at just over a light-year away. At full impulse it would take them four years, one month to get there."

"Mr. Salok," the captain announces, "plot a course to where any possible escape pods would have reached, at full impulse for twenty days and heading for the Alora system."

"Aye Captain," the Vulcan replies. After a few moments he adds, "Plotted and transferred to Helm, sir."

"Mr. Maknal, ETA at warp three?"

"Four hours, twenty-six minutes, Captain."

"Good. Engage at warp three then, Mr. Maknal."

"Aye sir. Warp speed."

The star-bow effect decorates the main viewscreen as we flash into warp. McCafferty turns to me and says, "You have the conn, Mr. Brown. I’m going for some lunch and then to unwind. Inform me at once if we find any pods, occupied or not. Understood?"

Her prickly tone irritates me, but I merely nod and acknowledge her orders. "Aye-aye, Captain."

She gets up and as she strides to the turbolift I settle into her vacated chair. I try to ignore the warmth that greets me, reminding me of her presence even as the doors close on Lieutenant Commander Karen McCafferty.

*****

Four and a half hours later and we still haven’t picked up any lifeboats. I have Lathena page the captain, who hasn’t returned to the bridge.

"Captain here. Report," she orders.

"Sir, no lifeboats, debris, or rescue beacons located within one-tenth light-year. It doesn’t look like anybody made it off the Danai, Captain."

Over the intercom McCafferty sighs, sounding very human. "I feared as much. Very well. Set course for the next search area and engage at warp five. Give me an ETA when we’re on our way. Captain, out."

"Aye sir. Bridge out." Addressing our navigator, I order, "Mr. Salok, plot a course to the last reported position of the USS Crosis. Urrih, engage on that course at warp five and calculate an ETA for the captain."

"Acknowledged."

"Aye sir." After a few moments, Urrih adds, "Warp speed, sir. Steady at warp five and estimating nine days, seventeen hours, and thirty-five minutes to arrival."

"Thank you, Mr. Maknal. Lathena, inform the captain of our ETA as requested."

"Aye sir," Lathena replies. I pause for a moment to watch her work. I often think that communications officers are one of the most ignored aspects of life aboard ship, despite how much we all rely on them. I listen to her whisper-soft voice murmuring down the intercom as she flicks her long, slightly wavy white hair away from her celery-green eyes. I can’t help but think that even though she does look good in red, her powder-blue skin would look better in the blue of sciences.

Or even better, something white and silky--

My eyebrows shoot up and I immediately swing the command chair back round to face forwards, feeling my cheeks warm slightly.

Now where the hell did that come from? I ask myself. All I get in reply is the impression of a knowing smirk in the back of my head, which makes me blush deeper. I try to banish the thought, but without much success.

She’s only a grade below you in rank, the voice in my head volunteers. She’s what... three years younger than you? You can see that she’s not exactly cracking any mirrors, and it’s not like you’re going to get the captain in the sack any time soon! it goads me.

Shut up! I tell it.

C’mon, you know you want to, it teases me.

Fine! Yes, we’d make a lovely couple. Yes, she’s very beautiful. And yes, damnit, now that you mention it, I do want her! I silently argue with myself. But Shex is interested in her from what I’ve noticed, and I’m not going to try to steal his girlfriend!

Who says he’d mind? Andorian marriages require four people, or so we’re told, my very own personal demon taunts me. I know you’re not scientifically minded, but go on! Experiment!

Shut up! You know I’m not built that way! I demand of the voice.

"You"? You do realise, don’t you, that this is all in your own head and that you’re arguing with yourself? it taunts me further. Not only that, but if I’m thinking about experimenting, then obviously you’re thinking about it too!

I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and try to focus on my initial train of thought to silence "myself". To my relief, I find it working this time and the voice fades.

Yes, communications. Even now, newer ships like the Constitution-class starships and the Jugurtha I used to serve on don’t need to route every intercom call through comm. officer to talk to one another, the computer can automatically route the call ship-wide or direct to the other person. I can see a point in the near future where several bridge stations--or rather, responsibilities--can be combined with the advent of better-still computers.

However, for the moment, the communications department still holds sway over all the comm. systems, cryptography, maintenance and updating of the ship’s computer systems, and likewise for the ship’s logs. When you think about it, it’s a lot to handle for a small department.

Hey, why not just ask Shex if he’s dating her, or if they’re just friends?

I screw my eyes tight shut again. Once this shift is over, I’m going for a cold shower.

*****

[Commander Maxillius]

Very nice!  Enjoying it so far, especially where the Captain got an equal dressing down from the Commodore at Starbase 22 (or was it 21?)  Anyway, I'm under the impression that the CO and XO are ex-lovers.  The signs are all there, right down to nitpicking each other's every detail.

If you're trying to keep the Springer Factor going, having the XO banging the hot Andorian comm officer would do that   With a ship's complement of 200 or so it wouldn't take any time at all for word to reach the captain's ears and THAT is the icing I'd love to see you implement.  If that's the direction you're going.

From a character standpoint, I'm not sure if it would be Andrew's best idea to go after his friend's girl while the Captain still has it out for him.  I would think he'd want to make things simpler, but apparently the red guy on his shoulder has other plans

Somehow I think you have Jerry Springer doing a cameo on the Kusanagi in your mind

[CaptJosh]

I don't think they're ex-lovers but rather both would like to be lovers and neither will admit it to eachother.