Topic: Story #6: Halvor Prime

[Governor Ronjar]

It is that time again. I have come to regail or bore you with more unsequential lettering and bad grammar.

This story departs (after a time) from the grind of the last 5. It throws back to 'back-in-the-day' of my old hand written stuff. Hope y'all enjoy it.

Warning: This story does depict subject matter of a graphic nature. Those who are easilly offended may want to speak to someone else who has read this to see if they WANT to read it.
 And now that that is said...

Star Trek
Halvor Prime
CH. 1





“Just doesn’t look the same…”

Commodore Chevis Ford looked up from the refueling report in his hand to eye his acting XO, Lieutenant Commander Davenport. Ronald was standing behind the helm, facing aft as he looked down at the now empty space of diamond plate deck beside the conn. Ford followed his gaze and eyeballed where the executive officer’s station had once been.

“Wasn’t room for it any more, Ron.” The commodore said, himself regretting the necessity of removing the unique station. “With the weapons console so close now, we couldn’t get around it. Besides, Surrak was the one who wanted it installed. He has his own ship now.”

“I know, but… It was a part of the bridge.”

There was an over stated sense of theatrics in the commander’s voice that made Chevis smile.

“Maybe the next class of ship will have a dedicated XO seat, where the guy can just sit there and repeat the captain’s orders. For now, though, you’ll just have to buddy up with Lieutenant Surall at the science station.”

“Incoming update from Starbase 23, Commodore.” Reported Lieutenant Noah Smith from his communications station. The young officer had his command mic plugged into his ear and was listening to whatever musical garble accompanied a subspace transmission. Ford watched, waiting patiently as the kid transferred the signal to a waiting data PADD. Finished, Smith swiveled his seat to his junior comm officer to take the PADD to the conn.

Ford looked the communiqué over once the petty officer handed it to him. It said just about what he had expected it to, save for one piece of information. He nodded his thanks to the noncom and looked back to Smith. “Address intercraft.”

Noah tapped a small blue key. The whistle of the ship’s address sounded.

“Intercraft open.”

“Attention all hands, this is the CO.” Ford began. “Since repairs to our warp drive are complete, our departure time has been altered and we are setting out on our next mission in two hours. Ready all departments for departure and submit readiness reports to ops within the hour.

“Our mission is to reinforce and patrol the area outside the Tempest plasma region. Any Ya’wenn vessels entering our space will be turned back, and if fired upon, we’ll respond in kind. Any shipping traffic under attack or harassment will of course be rescued. Department briefings will take place starting at 1600 hours this evening. Carry on.”

Chevis looked back to Commander Davenport as he signaled for the intercom to be cut off.

“Well, Ron, Shiloah bailed you out of being my XO.”

“Oh?” For a split second, Ronald looked hopeful, as though Mister Thomas might have been released from the brig. This was too much to ask for, however, and the elation was short lived.

“The commodore has assigned us a Commander Tyron Banks. He’s beaming over now.”

With that said, Ford stood. He did not like Shiloah for good reason. And any man hand picked by the sector commander to serve as Endeavour’s XO was bound to be a problem. But Chevy also remembered the slight in respect paid him a few weeks ago by that same commodore, who did not send anyone to greet the former captain when he’d beamed over. Only pressing duties excused a commander from not paying his subordinates such respect. And Ford had nothing very pressing on his agenda at the moment. He would be the bigger man and not take his anxt out on his new exec.

“I’m headed to Transporter Room Two. You have the conn.”







The new commander was already forming amid a blue energy field as Ford entered the transporter room. He was a tall and chiseled man, skin of a dark brown and his hair in short military style. His face bore the lines that spoke of field experience. He wore the uniform like a statue. Chevy came to rest before the steps to the platform as Banks resolved fully into solid form. He liked the cut of this man, and tried to put beneath him the dark suspicions he felt about the man’s posting here. Perhaps he was here to spy on Ford and ‘keep him in line’, or perhaps he was merely a good Starfleet officer caught up in Shiloah’s private battle with Ford. The next few days would probably tell.

Banks looked about as the transport field dispersed and settled his eyes on the ship’s commander. Then, with an immediate smile full of dentist perfect white teeth, he stepped off the alcove and held a hand out to Ford. “Commodore, permission to come aboard!”

Ford grasped the hand. His grip was strong and the hand covered in smooth callus. He was used to work and did not likely begrudge getting his hands dirty. Ford felt a smile tugging at his lips.

“Granted, Commander. Welcome aboard.”

“I hear I get to learn from the Chevy Ford school of starship command.”

Chevis couldn’t help but like the man’s good-natured approach. If he was the Shiloah’s tool, he hid it well. “You might say that. How long have you served with the commodore on 23?”

“Too damn long, sir! I’m not ashamed to say I couldn’t wait to get away from that man.”

Ford finally had to grin.

“I think we’ll get along nicely, Commander.”

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 2





Captain’s Log, Stardate: 9706.1

Endeavour has left Starbase 23 and set course for the far region of the Ya’wenn border. The USS Comanche awaits our arrival to relieve her of her patrol. Attacks on allied shipping continue, and our patrol ships have tangled with the Ya’wenn four times in the last week. Casualties have been light and the enemy seems unwilling to lose ships in battles they know they can’t win. I wonder why they are trying so hard. Surely it isn’t just a grudge against Starfleet for what I did to Jarn…



“How are you feeling, Commodore?”

There was a hint of humor in Doctor Andrea Keller’s voice as she sat down on the other side of Ford’s black desk. The commodore glanced up at her with a smirk. She’d been full of mirth ever since leaving him alone with Admiral Sharp over a week ago. She had ‘left him a Captain, and came back to find a Commodore in his place’. She had vowed never to leave him alone after surgery again, lest he become an admiral.

“Spry…” The CO replied, his tone sporting. “You?”

“Well enough.” The doctor sneaked a look at the area of Ford’s chest where she had made the incision to open him up. She was an able CMO, but his was actually the first cardiological surgery case she’d had. Everything she had employed had been a cutting edge technique, unused only a year before. At least so far as humans were concerned.

Ford placed the PADD he’d been perusing upon his desk and gave his doctor a kind look.

“Thank you for taking care of me. I wouldn’t be back at this desk without your skill.”

Keller’s expression became less frivolous. But the smile remained.

“You’re perfectly welcome, Commodore.” She said, her English accent soft and low.

Ford stood, going to the synthesizer unit in the bow bulkhead. He never took his eyes off her.

“Can I get you something?”

“Earl Grey, hot. Medium sweet.”

Ford input the commands and also got an iced tea for himself. He returned to the desk, handing a cup and saucer to the doctor. Both sipped in silence for a bit. Chevis glanced up with sudden interest.

“What part of England does your accent come from?”

Keller gave a tiny shrug.

“I’m from London originally. So I suppose it’s from there. But my father and I traveled extensively after my mother left. So it’s probably been blunted from years living on Vulcan, Tellar and Betazed.”

“You’ve been to Betazed?”

“Yes, even before her admission into the Federation. My father handled claims with Britannic Shippers. As soon as Earth began trading with the Betazoids, my father was sent there to ensure property and deliveries. I quite enjoyed hopping about the galaxy.”

“Sounds cool.” Ford replied, using an old euphanism. “How did that lead to a life of medicine?”

“Must have been my mother’s genes, there. She was chief medical officer aboard Trafalgar, Both my Starfleet career and my interest in medicine seems to have come directly from her. My father found that most humorous.”

“I imagine. Probably expected you to do something like he was doing.”

“Actually,” Andrea tossed her red hair aside and looked aloft, “He always preached against what he did. It meant a lot of travel, but it was also dreadful boring, he said. He fully supported my application to the Academy. What of you? Your accent is Southern, yes?”

“Arkansan to be exact. Southern by the grace of God, as my mom would say. My dad was in Starfleet, then he retired to buy a ship and he hauled freight till he passed on. Mom took over the ship for a while, then sold her. She passed a year or so back. I joined the Fleet before dad retired.”

“I’ve heard you’re a mustang officer.”

“Yeah, I joined the Fleet as enlisted, like my dad. Captain Morgan of the Daniels got me into officer work. He wouldn’t let me skate by, as he said, wasting so much talent.”

“And what sort of talent were you wasting?”

“The talent to get into trouble and not get killed. I was piloting a shuttle for the chief engineer just after the Romulans developed their plasma torpedo. I managed to evade a warbird and get tactical information on their weapons on that trip.”

“How did you manage that?”

Ford’s eyes twinkled as he thought back on the harrowing scrape. A wide, jubilant grin erupted on his face as he sipped his tea. “Damnedest thing! I punched the shuttle up to warp speed just before the torpedo hit, and it latched itself onto my warp field. It was going to hit, but it was delayed by the inertial torrent. So I directed all sensors to record the torp at close range as it closed.”

“I imagine that the engineer you were carrying thought you were crazy.”

“He was already unconscious from the first disruptor burst. I thought we were both dead, but decided the computer matrix might survive and be analyzed by the Daniels when she came lookin’. Turns out that the warp field delayed the weapon long enough for it to nearly dissipate into nothing. It barely smacked the shuttle. ‘Course, after that, the warbird decloaks again and shoots us down with disruptors over this little planetoid. Hellova crash…”

Keller smiled with the telling of his story. She nursed her warm tea and gazed past him out the aft porthole. Stars were passing by with unreal speed over the newly repaired starboard nacelle. She could see the gentle slope of the upper saucer from this vantage. Andrea decided that she quite enjoyed sitting here with her CO. With her legs crossed and her slim back reclined into the comfortable blue visitor’s chair, she could almost forget that this man was her senior officer. He became just another human being, sharing a drink and old memories. Ford was probably among the most personable captains she’d dealt with.

Andrea thought back on a couple weeks previous, when Admiral Sharp had asked if she liked Captain Chevis Ford. She’d answered ‘yes’. She hoped her tour aboard this ship would last a good long while.

“So, Skipper…are we going to see combat upon reaching the border?” She wasn’t sure why, but her mind suddenly turned to business. Every doctor hated to see battle. So many people were shattered by combat related injuries. Some never recovered. Still more died, unsavable.

“Not if we can help it.” Chevy replied, finishing his tea with a single gulp. Ice cubes clinked as he set the empty vessel on the desk. “Depends on how ornery the Ya’wenn are when they see us gliding in.”

The commodore stood with a grunt and rounded the desk. He looked down at the CMO, an understanding look in his eye. “I’m headed to the senior officer’s briefing. You can attend if you like.”

“No, sir. I believe I’ll go ready my sickbay…just in case the Ya’wenn prove ornery.”

Ford lingered in the ready room, leaning on his desk as the shapely doctor made her escape. The two of them had been having a nice conversation about lighthearted matters. But work had unexpectedly reared its ugly head. He hoped he could avoid engaging the Ya’wenn, and that he could manage a peaceful end to the hostilities. Thus far, no official contact had been made with the ruling government of the Ya'wenn. Chevy severely hoped Warden Jarn did not exemplify what their government was like. He was a greedy, undisciplined tyrant of a criminal. Could the recent string of spaceborne attacks be completely of his doing? Had he compelled someone in authority of its necessity? Did he possess that much political power among his species?

Chevy hoped not…





Commander Davenport activated the holographic unit in the center of the flat, silver briefing table. A glowing image of a craggy, pitted moon topped by a brilliant star snapped into focus at eye level for the ship’s officers to study. Ronald inclined his head to the symbol.

“This marking has been on the forward hull of every ship involved with an attack on our shipping. The same marking…” At the tap of another key on the control panel before the ops chief the visual recording of a Ya’wenn escort ship appeared on the far viewer on the port bulkhead. The ship was in the midst of firing off a pale blue energy beam from one of its many weapons ports. A small section of the forward nose cone highlighted and magnified over the bulk of the image. There stood the same symbol. “…Appears on the ships that assaulted us at Kovarn and in the unlabeled system where we made repairs on our nacelles.”

Commodore Ford, sitting a few spaces down from the lieutenant commander, nodded his agreement. “So all the ships involved are under Jarn’s command?”

Ron activated another program. The far screen now showed another ship of like design captured far behind the attacking ships over the prison world. This new ship was painted a lighter silver than the attackers, and possessed the image of a great fish on its prow.

“This vessel was also present at Kovarn. She did not assist in the attack on us, and once the battle began, she altered course to get out of the danger zone.” Davenport explained.

“You’re sure she wasn’t avoiding combat due to a lack of armament?” Inquired Commander Banks. At the new XO’s question, Ford looked back to Ronald. The operations officer shook his head. The mild irritation that the ‘new guy’ was questioning him was apparent. Banks didn’t seem to catch it, and if he had, it didn’t show.

“She was armed with the same particle weaponry as Jarn’s warships. In fact, her magnetron cannon were superior. She could have put a hurtin’ on us.”

“So the Warden’s the only one stirring up the sh*t out here.” Came from Bronstien, sitting in his usual seat near the far end of the table. He drew a sharp eye from the exec.

“Secure the profanity, Mister Bronstien.” Banks admonished. That was all he said, and he pushed no further. The helmsman gave the commodore a curious look and got a shrug in response.

“If he’s relying on his own resources to carry out his action against us, it won’t be long before he gets tired of throwing his money away on ships and ordnance.” Ford pointed out to the collected officers. “He’s not gaining anything by carrying out these attacks. And losing every engagement now that the shipping lanes have been reinforced isn’t going to make him feel any better if he’s just taking out his anger on us. He took out a frigate and two trade ships, but he’s lost four escorts to us and had two more hobbled before they limped back home.”

“Unless he’s trying to lure you back out here.” Davenport hypothesized. “You did hand him two good whippings. Maybe he wants another shot at Endeavour and thinks he can get us out here by attacking civvies.”

“Could be.” Ford was willing to believe that idea. “In which case we can expect him to bushwhack us. Any chance of one or more of their ships slipping in on us undetected?”

The last the CO directed at the ship’s weapons officer, Lieutenant Daniel Nechayev. The blonde headed Russian straightened from his full slump and considered the prospect.

“Doubtful, Keptin. Even vithin the interference zone of the plasma field, ve still detected one of their smallest ships. Add to this the fact that they likely believe our sensors to be less accurate than they are…” This last fact was due to the trickery employed during their last engagements. Ford’s gamble had paid off in spades that day. “I wery much doubt they vill be able to slip in on us.”

“Good to know.” The commodore took the time to give each of his officers a look in turn where they sat around the rounded table. Ronald killed the holo generator in the table’s center and waited for something further. Ford went on. “We’re going to try to bring about a peaceful end to this situation. But if the Ya’wenn insist on fighting, then we’ll send them packing with their tails tucked. Thus far, we haven’t picked any hostile vessels up on long-range scan, but we have more than a day of travel before we meet up with the task force. Ops and Tactical will go to Condition Two immediately and begin standing combat watches. Four on, six off. Every one is to see to their departments and get everything squared away. If Commander Tolin will remain behind for a minute, I’ll dismiss you to get to it.”

The maroon clad officers stood and took their silent leave. The blue skinned engineer made her way past the leaving throng to stand before the skipper. Ford stood with her.

“How are my engines, Commander?”

Tolin bobbled her antennae and made an exasperated face.

“The yard birds knew their stuff, sir, but the hurried nature of our schedule left many details untouched. The plasma flow dampners are out of adjustment and the main injectors are not tuned correctly. We’re a fuel hog.”

“Not to mention noisy…” Ford wasn’t speaking in the literal sense. With those dampners out of whack, their ship would be sending aberrant subspace currents in every direction. Everyone in ten light years would know where to look for them.

“Otherwise, Commodore, there are no problems with the warp drive. We can have full speed within the next twelve hours if needed.”

“Thanks, Chief. By the way, how have you and Davenport been coming along with your handle?”

For a tiny moment, Xia Tolin thought the captain was prying into other affairs. She’d been seeing Commander Davenport on a social level for a couple of weeks now. She smiled, wondering if Ford even knew it. “No prospects, yet. The crew hasn’t seen fit to label me with a ‘nick-name’ so far.”

“Too bad. Starfleet tradition. Very well, then, Engineer. Carry on.”

Ford stood still as the Andorian officer left, smiling subtly over the shocked look that had flashed across her face when he’d mentioned Ron. He’d suspected the two were seeing each other. They were always in Whisker’s together when their off time matched up. He’d have to make sure Commander Banks set the duty schedule for them to have a bit more time together. Ronald was a good guy. In all the years they’d served together, Ford had never seen the ops chief on a date. He’d mentioned women from the past, but never spoke of anyone in the present tense. Now it seemed that a shipboard romance might be in the works.

Starfleet frowned on officers taking fraternization to that level, but it happened. Besides, it was up to him what was tolerated and what wasn’t. Chevis was content to let such things go on so long as it didn’t generate friction down the road. Thus far in his career, he hadn’t seen it happen.

The CO’s thoughts drifted to Doctor Keller. He found himself thinking of her more and more, especially since the surgery. He liked Andrea. He didn’t know how much was returned on that end though. Nor did he really know the reason he was so fond of her suddenly. Was it a result of her care for him when he’d had his attack? Or was it something more?

Ford decided he’d think more on it later. For now, he had a ship to run. Other, darker things had been taking up his thoughts lately, anyway… Especially since leaving Starbase…

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 3





“Comanche arriving!”

The traditional salutation sounded off through the ship’s corridors as Endeavour accepted another ship’s CO on board. Commodore Ford and his new exec stood up straight as Captain Hiruul Ramses finished the beam-in cycle and solidified on the round transporter pad. Hiruul smiled that toothy smile he was famous for, cocking an eyebrow at the sight of Ford standing before him.

“Well, Commodore… I’m glad to see you.”

“Don’t you mean surprised?” Asked Chevy as he stepped forward to offer his hand to the visitor. Ramses was pretty familiar with the trick Robert Shiloah had tried to pull to take over Endeavour for himself. With any other admiral than Sharp, he might have even got away with it.

“That…might work too.” Ramses accepted the handshake and stood at mock attention. That irresistible smile remained. “Permission to come aboard?”

“Granted, Captain. Welcome aboard Endeavour.”

“Nice big ship you got here, Commodore. Three times as big as my Miranda-Class.”

“Got a few more amenities as well. What ever happened to your old Tecumseh?”

The young looking Egyptian shrugged, coming down the transporter steps to follow the commodore out the main doors. “I handed her over to my former exec. He’d worked hard for his first commission. So I left him with a ship and crew he was accustomed to.”

Ford led them to the closest turbo elevator. Tyron took up the slack in the conversation once they arrived. “Meanwhile you went on to command a new ship with a new crew.”

“Bridge.” The commodore told the lift computer. Its magnetic coils hummed to life.

“Well, that’s something I’m used to. I’ve gone from one new assignment to another my entire career. I get restless if I get too familiar with the people around me.” Ramses joked while the elevator car wound its way through the interior of the ship. They came to a halt after a few seconds, and the doors opened at the bridge level.
Ramses exited the lift and appraised the bridge compartment with a whistle.

“Whoo, Commodore! You know how to live it up on this ship. This command deck has to be twice the size of mine!”

Ford stifled a guffaw and motioned for Commander Banks to lead the captain in a tour of the bridge. Banks nodded his understanding and began to round the circumference of the room, pointing out station layouts and various highlights of the Excelsior design. While he did so, Chevis went over to the new Strategic Command console immediately aft of the conn. Commander Davenport was already there, his customary morning coffee mug in hand as he went over tactical updates with the senior yeoman. Ford gave them ample time to finish up their updates, remaining silent. He also studied his new XO. Banks had an easy and familiar way with everyone he met. He and Ramses were talking as though they’d known each other for years as the commander led the way around the bridge. It made him feel guilty that he liked the man, given that his former exec was suffering the indignity of a brig cell on Starbase 23. It was his own fault, but Ford would have him out of there if possible.
More than just simple disappointment over Thomas’s predicament gnawed at the flag officer. He continued to look back on his departure from starbase with apprehension. He hadn’t even gone to visit his friend before departure. He’d just left the man there to deal with issues on his own. Ben wouldn’t have done that to him…

The commodore squashed the thought and turned his attention to Davenport.

“What’s the story, Ops?”

“Clear skies, Skipper. Nothing but allied ships inside scanning range.”

“Yeah,” came an agreement from Ramses, now headed their way. “Starting yesterday, the Ya’wenn started pulling up anchor and heading back into that zone you call the Tempest. It’s like someone rang the dinner bell.”

Ford grunted. Davenport took a disk offered by Ramses and slid it into the console’s drive. The StratCom’s tactical map began to show various positions of ships within the sector at hour to hour intervals. The stardate showed the previous day’s time index. With each progression, more and more ships within the Comanche’s scanning range turned and headed for the plasma storm region.

“Maybe someone got some sense and called off the offensive.” Ford commented.

Davenport had a different idea. “Or maybe they caught wind we were coming.”

The flag officer gave Ronald a thoughtful look. He hadn’t thought of that angle. It was far fetched, but then, so had the idea that Klingons, Romulans and Starfleet admirals might work together to start a war… Chevis didn’t like to think of the implications. They had no evidence to really support the notion, either. He decided to let it rest before it gained any kind of momentum.

“We’ll maintain a constant patrol and also watch for them to come out of the Tempest at a different point. Maybe they’ve just shifted tactics… Either way,” Chevy looked meaningfully at Hiruul. “I believe Sharp owes you a week of leave on some nice…planet.”

Ramses grinned even greater than before.

“Oh, you better believe it, Commodore. Just as soon as I file my official report to you, the Comanche is out of here!”



The two command officers left the bridge to Mister Banks and went to discuss the patrol effort in the ready room. Davenport remained at the StratCom table, going over the recorded movements of the Ya’wenn fleet. Banks went and, after a noticeable moment of indecision, settled into the command chair. Ron smiled at the sight of that. It was as though he thought the big chair would bite him.

“XO,” sounded a voice from the science station. There, Lieutenant Surall turned from the extended scope that protruded from her console face. “I have an unusual gravimetric reading from 075 mark 320 degrees starboard.”

“Range and source?” Was the logical question from Banks.

“Range approximately three point one-two lightyears, Commander. Source is indeterminate.”

Banks popped up out of the conn almost as though he was glad to have an excuse to be out of it. He went to stand right where the commodore always would when dealing with the science officer: right at the curved railing between the command chair and the science station. He looked intently at the Vulcan lieutenant. “Indeterminate? What’s out there?”

Surall turned and touched a number of controls to get a display of the area of space in question. Upon the screen was a solitary, useless little hunk of rock orbiting a single star. Davenport took a sudden interest in the discussion, and left the StratCom to stand nearer to them.

“The system, if it warrants the classification, is composed of a single Class F star and its sole satellite, a Class C Geoinactive planetoid.” With a touch of another control, she set the screen to display a blue colored illustration of the gravity field she had found. The waves seemed to emanate from the far side of the white star. “There must be a sizeable planetary body on the opposite side of this star.”

Banks nodded. He seemed intrigued by cosmic riddles. They might have found a planet that had evaded being charted for over a hundred years. Davenport was hooked as well.

“What do the record banks have on that system?” Asked the XO.

“System was scanned at long range by the pre-Federation starship Columbia. Columbia was unable to divert from her course at that time to further investigate the system, and her captain noted that it seemed of little value.” Surall did not so much as glance at the record showing on her monitors. She’d probably referenced all this before ever advising Banks of the contact.

The exec crossed his arms and leaned back speculatively.

“That doesn’t sound very explorer-like of them. I thought those Warp Five ships were supposed to be captained by the most stalwart adventurers space ever saw.”
Ronald pointed out the old Earth date posted on the record.

“The date is 2163. Right about the time of the Romulan War. They probably had other things on their mind. But this area is traveled all the time by civilian freight haulers. No one ever noticed this reading before?”

Surall touched another key and the image of the system shrank till it occupied only a couple centimeters of the monitor board. A long, curving line marked the closest trade route used by Starfleet and allied merchant ships. “This system is more than seven light years from the Caladan Route. It is unlikely that civilian sensors would even note the discrepancy.”

“Can we get you a better reading on the anomaly?” Asked Davenport. With the object to starboard of them, the long-range array would not have the best resolution on that area of space.

“Were we to come to starboard to bring the long-range sensors to bear.” The dark skinned woman replied as expected. This seemed to convince Commander Banks. The XO turned away from the railing and faced the helm.

“Comm Officer, signal the Comanche that we are making a starboard turn. Helmsman, come right to 075 mark 320 relative. Maintain one-quarter impulse.”

Lieutenant Bronstien responded and began to lay in the commands. The stationary looking stars on the forward viewer wheeled left as the 467-meter long ship leisurely came about. As soon as the primary cone of coverage from the long-range array fell upon the tiny star system Surall sat down in her chair to begin her work. Both she and the junior lieutenant in the support post beside her began pummeling that area of space with every advanced energy scan Starfleet could muster.

Davenport stayed aloft, watching over the goings on while Commander Banks headed toward the helm. Ronald was impressed with the smooth efficiency with which the science officer gleaned information out of her quarry. She and the junior science officer she worked with communicated necessary information between themselves almost without words. Soon, their screens were filling with long lines of information.

“The grav telemetry data indicates the possibility of a planetary mass coinciding with a diameter of 15,000 kilometers.”

“Could be Class M, O or P.” Added Davenport.

Tyron turned from where he was reviewing navigational data with the helmsman.

“Understood. I’ll inform the commodore.”

Ron glanced at the noncom that was currently manning the StratCom station. He pointed to the console and indicated the ‘cut-throat’ gesture. The crewman nodded back in response and reset the map board to display the current data of surrounding space. Ron himself returned to ops, relieving the ensign sitting there.
With the Ya’wenn bugging out, it had seemed that this was going to be a very boring patrol. Now that they had a possible planet to discover, perhaps it wouldn’t be so mind numbing. Davenport hoped Chevy would order a course change to get a close look at that new found body. They were, after all, supposed to be explorers first, soldiers second…

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 4





Commodore Chevis Ford leaned in close over the StratCom table and perused the map being displayed on its screen. The little starsystem wasn’t too far away, and could be reached with little travel time. In fact, heading to this oddity would only take them closer to the Ya’wenn border zone, thereby decreasing response times should trouble be reported.

At least this was the spin Commander Tyron Banks and Lieutenant Commander Davenport were trying to put on the idea as they spoke with him. Ford hid his smile in the manner that he always did, knowing that neither man was likely to detect it. Only a few would see it, and none of those people currently resided on this ship.

“Alright, Commanders, you’ve convinced me. Have the helm set us a course for that system at standard speed. Also, Ops and Tactical can stand down from Condition Two and go back to standard operations at the beginning of the next shift cycle.” Ford looked up to meet his officers questioning eyes. “Captain Ramses and I are convinced that this area is relatively safe for the next day or two. I’m gonna send three of our frigates to the Galactic North side of the Tempest to give us better coverage on all exit points that might allow the Ya’wenn to strike our shipping.”

“Skipper,” Called the big, blonde headed communications officer, “Comanche signals that they are under way. Her captain sends his compliments.”

The three officers glanced to the main viewer. There, the flat-saucered Miranda-Class cruiser peeled away from the course of her larger cousin and got underway. Comanche was a more simple design than was standard among modern starship designs. She had the saucer design so well known among the Constitution-era ships, and the warp engines hanging beneath her fantail were also the same. What was so different was the lack of a secondary engineering hull underneath and behind the saucer, and the presence of the tall ‘roll-bar’ straddling the upper aft casing. The ship was an easily mass-produced craft built to be multi-purposed and flexible. She also turned out to be among the most maneuverable and combat proficient vessels in the Fleet.

“Those are some nice ships,” Banks commented. He received nods of agreement from the other two as they got back to the study of their tactical map.

“Get us under way, XO.” Ford said before he abandoned the StratCom station for the helm. Banks smiled his ascent and went to stand between the helm and ops consoles.

“Helm, plot a course for the center of the gravity field reading, warp factor six.”

“Aye, aye, Commander.”

Johnathan laid in the commands. Beneath them all, the tenor of the deck’s vibrations kicked up noticeably as the ship accelerated. The viewer flashed with the abrupt penetration of the subspace barrier as Endeavour once again began to travel faster than light. The sounds of the engines grew till they reached a solid level and stabilized. They were on their way.
***




The next day’s first duty shift found Endeavour passing over the small white star that dominated the little system. Lieutenant Bronstien sat in the conn as the Excelsior-Class starship closed in on the center of the ghostly readings. He watched in quiet awe as the star dropped out of sight on the forward main viewer. Space travel still entertained the hell out of him. He wondered, as he sat there in the commodore’s chair, if he would ever serve so long in the Fleet that the simple things like watching a star glide out of sight would ever grow dull. If it got to that point, he figured he’d resign. But for the time being, he was totally enamoured with the thrill of it all.
“Now detecting planetary mass.” A noncom the lieutenant didn’t know called from ops. “Distance one point seven A.U.’s from the star.”

“On visual.” Bronstien ordered.

The screen flicked to a close in image of a beautiful, blue and white sphere. They had definitely found a living world. Johnathan wondered how far along it had developed. Were there people there? Just animals? There was definitely plant-life. The green was evident even from this distance.

The lieutenant pressed the intercom controls. The boson’s whistle sounded throughout the bowels of the ship before he spoke. “Now closing on the planetary body. Science officer to the bridge.”

“Already here, Lieutenant.” Said Surall as she stepped out of the forward turbolift.

Johnathan smirked and nodded to himself. “Figures you’d set your alarm clock for the time you knew we’d be closing on the target.”

“Target, Lieutenant?” Surall seemed entertained by the helmsman’s choice of words. She sat down at her customary station and extended the main scope. “Do we intend to go to war against this planet?”

“You never know, Science Officer. They might start slinging bullets at us any time.”

“I believe that to be an ineffective method of harming this ship. Or were you intending they fire extremely large caliber rounds at us?”

“Bigger the better.”

The chief science officer leaned up to her black scope and peered in, her almond eyes becoming cast in blue imagery. “Planetary sensors on line, beginning pre-approach scan.”

Bronstien looked up to the chronometer ticking off above the main viewer. It was early in the ‘morning’ aboard ship; 0547 hours. The commodore and XO would be coming on shift in a few minutes. It would take more time than that for the ship to reach their destination at their current velocity of point 12 of the speed of light. He’d allow them to get to the bridge on their own time. The comm officer on duty would have already made a notation on their personal computers. He decided to relax and enjoy a few more minutes of command.

‘I could get used to this’, the helmsman thought.

“Detecting a very uniform Van Allen belt within the planet’s orbit. Very unusual…”

Johnathan knew only the most basic info on such stellar phenomena such as the Van Allen radiation belts. He knew they protected Class M worlds from solar energy and were needed for most life to develop. He did not know what its being ‘uniform’ entailed.

“Very little solar debris within short-range scan.” Surall went on. “Absolutely no large bodies other than the planet itself.”

That was weird. Generally any solar system was filled with swirling fields of astrological junk. Comets, asteroids, gas clouds…all of these were typically present. But not here. How could that be?

Another set of lift doors opened behind the conn. The XO stepped out onto the deck looking crisp and squared away for such an early hour. He headed directly for the conn but did not face it. “Good morning, Lieutenant. Have a good evening?”

Bronstien stood as per normal decorum, ready for Banks to relieve him of the conn. “Relatively smooth, XO. All systems nominal, proceeding at half impulse power toward a Class M planet. Science officer has made some odd notes about this system that may interest you. No Ya’wenn contacts within sensor range. The USS Eldridge reports one Ya’wenn escort type vessel skimming the Northern edge of the Tempest. That contact is headed for an opening in the plasma field, apparently heading for home. Eldridge CO Lieutenant Commander Ferguson is maintaining sensor contact on them. All other patrol ships reporting no contacts, Ya’wenn or otherwise.”

Banks stared off at the blue world that was still growing on the main screen. “Anything else?”

“That’s a negative, sir.”

“I relieve you.”

“I stand relieved, sir. You have the conn.”

“Commodore says he’s gonna be late for the duty shift while he has a check up.” Banks took the center seat as Bronstien stepped away and made for the helm. “So we’ll slug along without him. Hopefully we’ll save all the really interesting discoveries for when he gets here.”





Doctor Andrea Keller studied the blinking mass of medical indicators above Commodore Ford’s biobed. She smiled at what the machines were telling her. The CO, for his part, lay quietly and stared blankly up at the ceiling.

“All indicators in the green, Skipper.” She told him. “Though I notice that your stress indicators are peeked. Have you been feeling any adverse symptoms?”

“Nope.” The flag officer sat up on the narrow bed and slid his white duty tunic over his hairy torso. “No pain, no pressure. Nothin’.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Just thinking about Ben a lot.”

Keller blinked.

“Commander Thomas?”

“Yeah…” Ford admitted a lot with the long sigh he emitted. The doctor suddenly understood.

“You’re blaming yourself? You feel somehow responsible for his being incarcerated?”

Chevis took his time answering. He slid on his red duty jacket and snapped it all together. Finished, he sat there looking at the beautiful doctor. She couldn’t have been more than thirty-four, thirty-five… Hell, she was nearly half his age…

At last he answered further.

“Mostly I feel like sh*t for just hopping on board my ship and leaving him there. He wouldn’t have done that to me. He’d have stayed there and found a way to get me out…to the extent of organizing a jail-break.”

“Perhaps that is the difference between the two of you. You are more duty minded, where as he follows his instincts and doesn’t consider the consequences of all his actions.”

“He knew what the consequences would be, have no illusions about that, Doc.” Ford stretched the morning soreness out of his back. His freshly shaven head glistened in the sickbay’s lighting.  A small goatee and eyebrows were the only hair on the man’s head.

“No…He knew he’d be locked up for what he did. He went ahead and did it anyway. Because he was mad at the commodore.”

“And you feel guilty for not helping such a man? If he fully realized the extent of his actions, that means he is a violent and unscrupulous person. Is he really worth your help? And does he really belong in the Starfleet uniform?”

Ford glared at her, and she instantly regretted the way she’d put things. But his expression softened after a second or two. “Maybe he doesn’t belong in the uniform. But he’ll always deserve my help. I just gotta figure out a way to help him. If I can’t get him back to Starfleet duty, then maybe I can at least get him out of doing time on a labor planet.”

Keller gave him an empathic gaze. His loyalty to his friend was profound, and it was eating him alive that he left for this mission rather than staying on base to help Thomas fight it out. Ford’s eyes were a bit empty as he avoided looking directly at her. Andrea smiled softly and moved so the commodore could slide off the exam bed.

“Can Admiral Sharp help him?”

“Sharp’s still on base, watching over Shiloah and making sure Ben gets a fair shake. But he’s made it plain he can’t lever Ben out of the hole he’s dug himself.”

“You make it sound as though the admiral might use some kind of…blackmail or subversive pressure…” Ford held up a hand to cut her off. He smiled for the first time that morning.

“Hold off there, Doc. I’m not insinuating Sharp does anything underhanded.”

Andrea gave him a wry look.

“I’m sure, Commodore…” Sarcasm lined her response. “Nothing dirty or underhanded ever goes on in the righteous and upright Federation Starfleet.”

Ford returned her look.

“Indeed.” Silence hung between the two for a moment. Finally, Ford began to move toward the door. “Well, if my ticker is still ticking, I’ll head for the bridge. They’ve probably mapped the whole damn planet by now.”

“Commodore…”

Chevy glanced back over his shoulder. The doctor still stood by the biobed, her hands pensively laced before her. “Yeah, Doc?”

“I was wondering…if you’d like to join me for dinner sometime…”

Chevy wasn’t sure which surprised him more: the nervousness she displayed or the question she’d asked. He almost choked at the invitation. “Uh… Yes… Andrea…I’d like that.”

The CMO smiled softly, still obviously embarrassed at her own forwardness. Ford hesitated there at the open doorway, still looking back in amazement. He’d certainly be leaving sickbay happier than he’d been upon entry. He wanted to say something more. The instance seemed to call for him to say something… But he was at a loss. After a long awkward moment of staring back in shared silence, he stuck a dumb-feeling hand up to wave and said “Tonight after Beta Shift? At Whisker’s?”
Andrea nodded at that. The commodore took his opportunity to leave, feeling at once elated and utterly stupid. What the hell was he doing?

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 5





“What we got, folks?”

The XO and science officer turned from the main sensor console to face the Commodore as he strode purposefully from the lift to meet them. Something certainly seemed to have elevated the CO’s mood. Perhaps he’d gotten a very good bill of health while down in sickbay…

Commander Banks was the first to answer him.

“Sir, we have ourselves a very peculiar little planet.”

“Oh?”

“Class M, advanced state of growth. We’ve been able to make detailed scans of the approach to the planet, and that alone is enough to warrant our interest.”

Commodore Ford halted beside the exec and nodded. He looked fresh and ready to jump into this investigation. Banks looked him over measuringly. Given the flag officer’s build and his general mannerisms, he wouldn’t have figured Ford had that much gusto for standard missions such as this one. Perhaps he was mistaken, and the CO wasn’t as lazy as he pretended…

“Now entering standard orbit,” Reported the helm. Banks moved toward the blue railing to clearer project his voice that direction.

“Secure engines and assume orbital attitude.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Bronstien was another whose attitude surprised him. He seemed to buck authority, but at the same time he did exactly what he was told. Banks could tell the black haired boy did not like him. That’d been obvious since he’d corrected the helmsman’s language in the briefing room days earlier. So long as Bronstien did not actively flaunt his disrespect, the XO decided he’d let it slide. The Commodore was very lax when it came to on-ship decorum and over looked more than any Starfleet commander Tyron had ever worked with. He’d follow Ford’s lead in this matter. After all, this was his ship.

“Your report, science?” Ford was asking of Lieutenant Surall.

The Vulcan officer turned smoothly away from her console and stood with chest out and hands clasped behind the small of her back. Banks found that he enjoyed watching the science officer. Her skin tone was alluring, as was her devotion to her work. “Sir, all readings of this system’s Van Allen belt show it to be highly uniform in construction. This is highly odd in itself, but added to this, it is also dissipating.”

“Dissipating?” Ford repeated, brows bobbing. “I thought a radiation belt was self-replenishing so long as there was solar energy to fuel it.”

“Typically,” Surall answered steadily, “yes, it is. However, this system does not possess the factors that breed a stable Van Allen belt. The belt is also uniform to the point that it exactly follows the planet’s orbit and is exactly the same dimensions through out with very little difference in field strength. This belt could be artificial in nature.”

Ford nodded, impressed with the idea.

“Part of some kind of grand terraforming operation. I see.”

“Added to this speculation is the near total lack of dangerous solar debris. Nothing larger than one hundred metric tons is found within this solar system.”

“Like it’d all been cleared out.”

“Definitely, Commodore. And there is electromagnetic evidence to prove this idea, though my department is still analyzing the scans I’ve made.”

Banks watched the junior flag officer take this all in and think it over. The commander did not know how scientifically inclined the CO was, but he didn’t seem to have much trouble following what Surall was telling him. He looked at the revolving sphere pictured on the main screen and his expression turned wistful.

“Begin primary survey.” He told the science officer.

“Aye,” Surall replied, and she sat again, hands immediately shooting about her panel in Vulcan speed. “Planetary sensors enabled, recording systems on, scanning sector one…” Graphics began to flash by at speeds a human would have trouble deciphering. Surall remained still and read them all at a frightening pace. “Scans indicate forest terrain. Heavy flora, negative animal or microbial life present.”

“What!” Tyron found himself blurting. How could that be? Any planet with that much vegetation had some kind of animal or germ life on it. He and Ford shared a confused glance, as did the majority of the bridge staff.

“That’s damn weird!” Ford intoned.

Surall went on.

“Scanning sector two…More forest terrain marked with sporadic geothermal activity. Definite road system in place…paved with advanced material.”

“Someone lives there.” Banks commented.

“Sector three indicates hilly terrain with less heavy vegetation. More roads. I’m detecting a dwelling.”

“On screen.”

The long-range planetary shot disappeared and was replaced by a close in, clouded image of a small house with three out buildings. A fence was plainly evident around a roughly square perimeter, and a ground vehicle sat out in the front. An odd, dark crease marred the flow of the slanted rooftop and both the commodore and XO squinted at it.

“Looks like the roof is caved in…” Ford murmured.

A scaled up, wire-frame graphic popped up beside the house, projected by the science officer’s computer. It confirmed that the roof was indeed collapsed. Surall added to the disappointment.

“No life signs evident in the structure or in the surrounding sector. Scanning sector four.”

The two command officers waited as the main viewer reverted to a less desolate picture of the planet. They were coming up on another continent, a winding spindly mass of peninsulas criss-crossed with mountain ranges and forest. Surall began to issue more information.

“Sector four contains a wide, sprawling cityscape. The city appears to have fallen into disrepair. Still, no lifeforms are evident.”

“Did they just pack up and leave?” Ford questioned.

“There is evidence of weapons fire, Commodore.” Surall included. “Advanced energy weaponry and parabolic devices used at long range.”

“A final war?” Suggested Banks. He could believe that the inhabitants of this world killed each other off, or perhaps beat their own populations down to abysmal numbers.

“Inconclusive, but the evidence may support that hypothesis. I am reading inert biomass on the surface now that I am scanning the city. There are many dead, and they have been there for some time.”

Ford turned to face the starboard weapons console. Lieutenant Nechayev looked back at him from his post. “Tactical, launch a Class One probe to the planet surface. Set it to report hazardous atmospheric conditions from ground level.”

“Aye, Keptin.” The Russian replied. Among the bridge crew, Daniel Nechayev was the most enigmatic. He did not seem to trust Banks and eyed him warily. But, then, he did the same to everyone…

“Probe avay, Keptin.”

Banks watched as the small silver module raced away from the Endeavour and scorched a fiery trail through the atmosphere. It didn’t take long for new information to begin filtering into the science station from the subspace link. Meanwhile, Surall continued along with her own readings.

“Just outside the city I am detecting what I believe to be an extensive matter/antimatter power generation complex. I am detecting an interlinked EPS grid stretching out from the complex to most of the surrounding areas. The entire system is powered down. Antimatter decay rates indicate the plant has been off-line for approximately twenty years.”

The CO glanced back to tactical.

“Any atmo readings yet, Weps?”

“Yes, Keptin. Readings show elevated radiation vhich one may expect vhen varp cores have been shut down for long periods vithout maintenance. No dangerous organisms detected. Standard nitrogen-oxygen air content vith few trace gasses.”

“Now detecting a power signature…” Surall moved the scan coverage of her displays to another area of the first continent. There she found another, larger city in worse disrepair. A brilliant beacon shone amid the buildings depicted there. “Sir…I believe the signature to be quantum in nature.”

There was true astonishment in her voice as she sat back from the console before her. Ford’s brows bobbed and Banks smiled broadly. Now this was an important find!

“Quantum…” The commodore echoed. “A static signature?”

“Negative, Commodore. It is being generated on the planet surface. A totally stable, replenishing quantum reaction. It is within an underground complex, heavily insulated from the outside. I don’t believe our transporters would penetrate the barrier.”

“A test site.” Tyron thought aloud. “Maybe the spark that touched off their war.”

“I do not believe it was a true war, Commander.” Surall interjected. “With the weaponry these people would obviously have at their disposal, there should be much more destruction.”

“Then how do you account for the damage that is there and the lack of people?”

Surall merely looked blandly at the executive officer. It was as good as a shrug.

“I have insufficient data to pose a reliable hypothesis.”

Ford slapped his meaty hands together.

“Alrighty then. I’m gonna throw together a landing party to investigate.”

“How many should I take with me, Skipper?” Banks posed, already beginning to turn for the aft lift. Ford’s staunch grin halted him.

“You have the conn, XO. Commodore’s prerogative.”

“Sir?”

Ford kept the smile on his face but remained steadfast. He was going to lead the survey team.

“I don’t get to do much of this stuff any more, and I’m likely to do less and less with this Commodore pin on my uniform. But I’m goin’ down there today.”

“Aye, sir.”

Ford began to stalk toward the turbolift.

“Lieutenant Surall, Mister Bronstien, you’re with me. Weps, have two gorillas meet me down in transporter room two. Type two equipment. Make sure one of the grunts is Goodwin.”

“Yes, Keptin.”

Banks watched the bald headed officer lead his team away into the depths of the ship. Yes, Ford had surprised him today. Rather than leading from the comfort and safety of the bridge, he wanted to lead his men not unknown territory. He was akin to the explorers of days gone by…or like a Klingon commander…

Tyron took the conn and laughed at the prospect of Ford trying to be a Klingon warrior.

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 6





The commodore’s landing party materialized upon the surface amid a long paved city street littered with abandoned, wheeled vehicles and wind-blown garbage. The principal color to everything in sight was a dreary grey monotone. The asphalt, the concrete buildings, metal framework of crumbling structures and the wind-stripped hulls of the cars. Everything was some tone of grey or rust. Even the overcast of the sky above showed a dark, almost black color.

Ford stood at the lead of his small party of hazard suited explorers, his phaser pistol in hand and ready on stun. Beside him was Surall, her own weapon holstered on a slim hip and a tricorder up and scanning. She was first to step out of the circular beam-down formation and begin sizing up their surroundings.

Even the untrained eye could see the signs of violence that marked the city street. Old, faded blast patterns shot holes in the faces of several buildings. The carbon score of an old fire still marred the twisted front of a wrecked street vehicle. A body lay in obvious sight, spread-eagle before the alien group. Ford took cautious steps toward the corpse, his phaser lowering as he realized the futility of wielding the weapon. Whatever had killed this bullet-riddled humanoid had done so decades ago. Only the lack of microbial life in the atmosphere would have allowed the body to remain so intact after all this time…

The cadaver lay with its jaw wrenched open, a face of either pain or shock. The torso was torn and ripped as solid projectiles had nearly torn it in two. The remnants of its clothing were but tattered rags of indefinite color wrapped about its crusty stretches of skin and bleached bone. Wisps of straw hair blew in the ongoing wind.

“Whatever happened, it happened a long time ago.”

“Approximately thirty years by my estimates, though they are far from final.” Responded Surall.

Behind them, Petty Officer Goodwin stepped out of the circle, his rifle held across his chest as he directed his partner to set a close perimeter. Bronstien was the last member of the team to set into motion. He carried the field gear on his back: a small generator, an emergency comm, a med kit, sample containers and various other items that might be needed on this expedition. He had a hand on his phaser but refrained from drawing it.

“The weather pattern I scanned from orbit suggests a likely chance of heavy rains within the next two hours, Commodore.” Informed the science officer, “We should at least be under cover when it reaches us.”

“Understood.” Ford holstered his weapon on waved his team in the direction they’d been given for the underground bunker. They crunched along on dried leaves and ages old paper jetsam as they negotiated their way down the street. Some of the paper retained the images printed upon them. Surall bent to retrieve what could have been a piece of newspaper, holding it out for her tricorder to record. The text was long and swirling in appearance, much like Vulcan.

“Skipper,” Bronstien called out. He stood at the entrance to an alleyway, waving them close and pointing inside. The party made their way over to him and looked upon what had drawn his interest.

A rusted hulk of a hover car had slammed headlong into a stationary trash bin, much the size of an Earth dumpster. The pilot of the unfortunate ride lay in tattered disarray within, minus its skull. The skull was still imbedded within the shattered mass of the fore windscreen. Ancient blood, dried into a flaky black crust, accented the once gory scene.

“Female.” Said Surall of the readings on her scanner. “Killed on impact.”

“Ya’ think?” Bronstien remarked, looking up within the wide, transparent confines of his hazard hood.

Ford jabbed a finger the young man’s way. The helmsman shook his smiling head and stepped back for his CO to get a closer look. Ford’s eye immediately drew toward something at the front of the wrecked car. “Over there!”

The party stepped up to look at the shattered corpse that was caught between the vehicle and the dented bin. More dried blood stained the uneven asphalt beneath it. The cadaver had been torn the rest of the way in twain when the hover car’s battery had inevitably given out and allowed it to sink to the ground.

“Male. The necklaces worn by each victim have matching symbols.” Surall said. “Perhaps they were married or of the same family line.”

“Caught him cheatin’ and put him down.” Came from Johnathan. Ford laughed a short chortle.

PO Goodwin had his own observation. He looked the terrain over, pointing out the severe corner coming from the street to the alley. “She must have hit him doing a good hundred and fifty km/h, sir. With that corner, she would’ve had to work like hell to keep control. Sure wasn’t no accident.”

The commodore grunted noncommittally and stepped back out onto the street. Had the whole damn planet gone crazy? Surely this accident/murder hadn’t occurred much before the death of this city. No one left a wreck uncleaned for any length of time unless there were bigger things to worry about.

The Starfleet team moved on.

At last they came to the heavily armored complex that sat above the anomalous quantum signature. A tall, reinforced fence ringed the perimeter and was supplemented by some kind of force field generator. The field was unpowered and the fence sagged in several locations.

A wave from Ford set Bronstien to slicing down a section of the fence before the explorers with his phaser pistol. The glowing wire ends of the fence fell in a stiff heap before them and they cautiously stepped across the threshold. Goodwin and his security partner watched the upper case of the buildings before them for signs of automated response to their trespass. Only the wind moved.

“The armored main structure should grant us admittance.” Surall pointed out the heavy double doors which stood silent as stone across the tarmac. Goodwin took the lead, raising his rifle as they moved in. His subordinate took a place near to the commodore while Bronstien brought up the rear. Surall kept near the lead. She paid no heed to the militaristic caution patterned by her human cohorts, confident that this world was quite dead.

The doors held no transparency what so ever. It, like the bulk of the building, was obviously constructed of layers upon layers of coated alloy. Any forced entry was going to prove a challenge. Surall passed the head of her sensors over the doors.

“This entry is heavily reinforced, Commodore.”

“Will our phasers make a dent in it?”

“At maximum power, the rifle unit may cause enough particle disruption to penetrate the armor.”

Ford motioned the bulk of his men out of the way and behind cover. While his companions hunkered down behind assorted vehicles and equipment left behind decades ago, Goodwin took a steady shooting position twenty meters away from the closed doors.

“Set.” Called out the veteran soldier.

“Fire.”

Goodwin squeezed the trigger, unleashing a long gleaming lance of brilliant phased plasma. The brilliant glare from the shot and the deafening onslaught of noise set the other officers to covering their assailed senses. The center of the right hand door panel took the impact of the agitated particle stream without so much as beginning to glow. Dawayne went on firing, heedless of the waves of heat that were doubtless washing off the phaser’s barrel assembly.

It was a full thirty seconds before the alloy of the door began to show strain. It took on a low, ruddy hue that grew in waves. Dawayne ground his teeth together into an obstinate grimace. He continued to pour energy into the door. The polymer fabric of his hazard suit began to sag about the hands and fore arms. The rifle sputtered and died as its power cell depleted.

Dawayne instantly popped the dead clip free of his rifle and slapped a second cell into the receiver. After cocking the rifle and resetting his stance, he resumed fire. The glow of the damage previously done had only begun to fade when the second burst hit. Goodwin kept up the heat, his eyes pinched into a painful squint. The metal of the door finally took up a hot, red glow. The intensity of the radiation grew and grew under the assault.

Ford watched as his senior noncom worked his way through the entrance. It was not long before hunks of near molten metal were propelling away from the flat surface of the door. It sagged in on itself, revealing a shadowy image of the chamber inside. The commodore severely hoped they did not encounter another hatchway such as this one. If they did, it was going to take forever to gain entry.

Dawayne stepped back from his position as a burning chunk of alloy burst free of the door and hurtled his way. Another power cell sputtered and he changed it out with the same speed and proficiency as before. After another few seconds of fire, the remainder of the barrier folded down and sagged to the blackened ground.

“Is there enough room to get around the mess?” Chevis asked the bleary eyed petty officer. He and the rest stood up and abandoned their cover.

“I can’t tell, Skipper.” Dawayne replied, reaching beneath the clear facemask of his hood to rub his watery eyes. “I’m flash blinded.”

“Need to beam up?”

“Negative. Just need a few seconds, sir.”

Surall walked cautiously closer to the penetrated closure, eyeing the huge wad of malleable metal that now molded to the inner deck. “I believe if we are careful, we can avoid the heated metal, Commodore.”

Chevy stood beside the science officer and looked in.

“Good thing we didn’t bring Lieutenant Smith.”

This gathered a nod from Surall as she thought of the clumsy junior officer.

“That would indeed be unfortunate. I’ve heard that third degree burns are quite painful.”

Ford dug his communicator out from his pocket and flipped open the antennae grid.

“XO, Ford. We’re making entry.”

“Copy that.”

“Ford out.”






“Do the elevators work?”

The echo of Lieutenant Bronstien’s voice rebounded again and again in the wide, stainless steel maintenance chamber the landing party had made their way to. This sublevel existed seventy meters below the point that they’d entered. Thus far, clearly evident stairs had provided a way from level to level. Now, though, only a double set of elevators seemed to provide the final leg of the journey to the quantum energy source.

“If they did, would you trust ‘em enough to go down ‘em?” Asked Ford. He gripped within the holes of the expanded metal partition keeping them out of the shaft. He pulled it back, scraping metal on metal till it retracted into the housing behind him.

“If it means not climbing down that splintered metal cable…yeah.”

Ford glanced to PO Goodwin. The noncom and Surall bent low near to an electrical panel meant for the elevator motors. “How ‘bout it, y’all? Can we save our helmsman’s precious mittens?”

Surall looked up from the flashlight-illuminated corner.

“Not likely. The panel is capatable with our emergency generator, but I do not believe the aged fuses will hold the voltage.”

Chevy looked back to the lieutenant with a grin.

“Wanna go back for rocket-boots?”

“I f*ckin’ hate rocket-boots.”

“Descent gear then?”

Johnathan bent to take his pack off and set it down on the dusty floor. The long lengths of woven cable and slim tackle came forth and the helmsman began to set out one belt and then another. There were only two sets, but it would not take long for them to trade off. Chevy straightened and faced his men.

“Goodwin and Bronstien will make the first drop. If they don’t get eaten or killed, Surall and I will follow. “You…” Ford pointed to the security man he didn’t know. The crewman offered the name ‘Coffman’, allowing the commodore to continue. “Yeah, Mister Coffman… You remain here guarding our six… Keep all the cadavers at bay and shout if some lurching critter comes down the stair mumbling something about brains.”

Coffman chuckled and nodded his understanding.

“Aye, Skipper.”

“Alright, folks. Let’s go…”

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 7





Lieutenant Surall slowed the rate of her descent with her hand brake and absorbed the shock of her landing with the bend of her knees. The Vulcan officer squinted as her eyes strained to adjust to the dim light provided by the rifle lamp held by PO Goodwin. Ford, beside her, snapped on his own palm light and fanned it around the chamber they’d dropped into.

Bronstien and Goodwin stood side by side amid a wide security corridor. Johnathan had his pistol drawn, his own palm light held beneath it as he covered the pitch-dark room. Goodwin had his rifle to his shoulder, eye poised behind his illuminated scope. Ford took a tentative step out into the new room, unhooked of his climbing gear. Surall followed, unsnapping her tricorder and beginning to scan. Her ‘corder showed that another, larger room lay beyond this small hallway. Two security doors faced the dead elevator shaft behind them, and long, wide windows reflected light back at the humanoids as they gained their bearings in this subterranean lair.

“The readings emanate from a laboratory beyond these doors.” She told them.

“Door composition?”

“As above, but thinner.”

The science officer saw the commodore’s protective hood shift as he cocked his head.

“What about the wall?”

Surall scanned the material before them. Were she human, she would have smiled.

“Concrete.”

“PHHTTT!” Ford nudged the security man beside him. “Blow it up.”

Surall closed both sets of her eyelids, trying to protect the tiny measure of night vision she’d cultivated thus far as Goodwin shattered the wall with a tiny burst of phaser energy. Concrete dust flooded the small confines of the security corridor, further fouling their vision. The security noncom stepped through the rubble first, leading the rest of them into the alien lab.

Surall moved among the shadow-enshrouded hunks of equipment and device-laden tables, her tricorder powered and whining as it cycled through its routines. Behind her, Ford halted at a closed electrical routing box.

“Dawayne, you and Johnathan try and get us some lights in here.”

“Aye, Skip.” They replied to him. Ford moved on into the room.

“Found our subject yet, Surall?”

The Vulcan officer trod along carefully, led almost as much by some unnatural desire as by simple curiosity. She did not pause to question it, nor did she answer the commodore. She moved ahead, one slow step after another. Finally, her tricorder led her into the least well-lit corner of the chamber. The scanner screen showed the source of the phantom reading to be directly in front of her. Try as she might, she could not squint enough to bring the thing into view.

Light flooded her vision as Ford pushed in close and shone his palm light down on the table before her. “Got something?”

The blinding light reflected back, shining off an orb made of totally transparent material. They may as well have been looking into a crystal ball, so alien and nondescript the thing was. Could this tiny, simple shape of material be the device they sought?

More lights snapped on, bank upon bank of fluorescent beams. Goodwin smiled at Ford and gave a ‘thumbs-up’. The flag officer returned the gesture and returned his gaze to the artifact in front of them.

“Is this it?”

Surall blinked, her ocular senses momentarily overloaded. The pain in her retina helped her focus; to shake off a malaise she hadn’t realized had been there. She stepped back from the tool-covered tabletop and studied the indented orb sitting in its steel frame. She rechecked the reading on her tricorder.

“Yes, Commodore. This is the source of the quantum energy reading.”

“Brilliant.” Ford said boisterously. This outing from the ship seemed to have given him a certain fire. He leaned in closer to the cantaloupe-sized thing. It bore no features save a small, smooth indentation around a button-like protrusion in the top center. The thing was so transparent that one could see an undistorted image of everything on the other side of the sphere.

“Not much to it, is there?”

Surall felt a pang of irritation at the commodore’s continued statements of irrelevancy. She cast a small look at him, which caused him to at least back up. She again raised her sensors to the sphere. “The device is currently maintaining a quantum generation equal to five hundred teracochranes.”

“Where’s all that power goin’?”

Another wave of irritation swept over her.

“Likely the reaction is self regulated and the power output is required to maintain the reaction’s internal integrity.” Surall walked around the circumference of the table and continued to scan the tiny generator. Goodwin and Bronstien joined them at that side of the table.

“This it, Skipper?” They asked him.

Ford crossed his arms. He had now taken to obtusely studying Surall.

“Yeah. Looks like it.”

The two subordinates did not reply, taking queue from their commander and remaining, greatfully, blessedly silent. Surall continued her studies of the machine before her. Frustration niggled at her. Her tricorder’s emissions were insufficient to penetrate the outer shell of the device. She needed a better array to really dive into her study. She looked up and scoured the room for any kind of sensor device she could recognize. Nothing made by the backward peoples of this world seemed any better than what she had in her hands. She would need the ship’s onboard scanners to get any further.

“Surall?”

Damn the commodore, couldn’t he remain silent for more than half a minute?

“Surall?”

The urge to snap out and break the flag officer’s neck jolted through the science officer and left her motionless. She turned her senses internal and examined what she had just felt. ‘I am angry’, she realized. ‘I am angry at my commanding officer…without provocation…’

“Surall!”

Ford’s hollered call snapped her out of her reverie. She stood rail-straight and looked him in the eye so suddenly that he stepped back. Ford blinked, mouth opening in wonder, then he recovered. “You alright, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Commodore. I am quite alright.”

A flash of a smirk passed over his lips. “Good. For a second there, I thought you were gonna rip my head off.”

‘For a moment,’ the Vulcan thought, ‘I might have’.

“I believe the ship’s sensors will be required to divulge further findings from this device.”

That seemed to be what the commodore was waiting on. He nodded to the others and motioned back to the security hallway. “Alrighty, folks. Let’s get back up our tunnel. Leave the generator for the next survey team. I want this laboratory studied at length.”

Surall divested the sphere of the locks that held it down and lifted it from the cradle the aliens had built for it. The device weighed a considerable amount, but in no way did it seem like a generator capable of powering an entire planet. With a significant breakthrough in quantum generation, enormous amounts of power was possible with little or no fuel. So much could be achieved if this device could be adequately studied and its lessons applied to Federation technology.

Another unwanted flash of aggravation passed over Surall. She wanted to get this thing to the ship now. But the commodore was even now having himself and the helmsman hooked up to the climbing gear. It would take them far too much time to make the ascension. She bottled up her growing anxiety. She was Vulcan. She could not allow these emotions to affect her so. She watched in forced serenity as Bronstien and the skipper began to clumsily make their way back up the dead elevator shaft. Soon, she would have her prize aboard Endeavour.





Petty Officer Dawayne Goodwin halted before the final threshold between him and the outside world of this forsaken planet. The thick, layered door he’d phasered down an hour earlier still lay steaming on the concrete floor of the abandoned installation his team had been investigating. He considered stepping on the hot alloy, mentally judging how much damage the heat would do to his boots as he walked upon it.

A sound, another in a series of light, scraping sounds that had been flittering in and out of his perception, drew his attention. The noncom halted before the fallen partition and looked warily behind. His rifle raised half way as he mentally prepared for a target to present itself. It never occurred to the security officer that his weapon was still set to maximum power.

Nothing but darkened corners and shadowed recesses showed before him.

“Something, Petty Officer?”

Dawayne looked slowly back to the commodore. His voice had been a bit off. Why or how he couldn’t place. The yellow suited officer stood out in the spattering rain that was beginning to sweep over this dead city.

“No, cap’n,” he replied, still not used to any other moniker for his CO. “Just hearing bogeymen.”

“A dead planet’ll do it to ya.” The commodore replied, no longer scrutinizing the enlisted man.

Goodwin tromped over the burnt piece of ruined metal, no longer caring what it did to his boots and joined the rest of the waiting landing party. He continued to glare into the darkness of the compound, even as they beamed back to the ship.

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 8





Commander Tyron Banks smiled lightly as he acknowledged the transporter room’s report that the Commodore and his team having returned to the ship. He had been given the go-ahead on the next phase of the operation and so pressed a waiting tab on the conn’s armrest.

“Survey teams one and two, gather for briefing with science officer in Briefing Room Three. Transporter Rooms, stand by to beam survey teams to planet surface, areas to be detailed by Ops.” Banks paused before ending the announcement. He felt as though someone on the bridge was looking at him intently. He slowly spun the command chair about toward the aft section. Finding no one there with eyes for him, he looked about the compartment.

The entire bridge staff busily went about their duties in near silence.

Odd, he thought, I was sure someone was looking at me. There was no real sensory organ in the humanoid body made specifically for telling when one was being watched. But the feeling was still there, regardless. Banks mentally shrugged the feeling off and turned the conn back to forward. Maybe it’s just this new assignment, he thought to himself.

The forward turbolift doors hissed open, depositing the CO and Mister Bronstien on the bridge. The helmsman relieved his subordinate at the controls while Ford sauntered lazily toward the center seat.

“Any problems, Skipper?” Tyron inquired, emulating the rest of the crew by using the affectionate nickname. The commodore seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, but looked up at Banks without missing a beat.

“None, XO. Pretty easy hop. I need to brush up on my climbing skills again, though. Took me forever to get up that damn rope.” He joked.

Banks shrugged with a wide smile.

“You could always take a set of rocket-boots.”

“No one likes those damn things.”

The exec chuckled back and stepped down out of the command seat, surrendering it to the skipper. As Ford eased into it, the commander made his way back to his post at the science station. He chose to take Lieutenant Surall’s unoccupied chair, sitting in front of the main sensor scope. Once there, he began to busy himself by looking over the landing zones selected by the operations department.

There were sixteen zones highlighted thus far for the survey teams to investigate, all within the limits of the city that Ford’s team had visited. The areas chosen would go a long way toward telling them what city-life was like on this world, and who the former inhabitants of the place were. But it also left out what rural and country life might have been like. He made a notation for the chief of ops to look into sighting other areas for the teams to look into, further from the city.

Banks turned his chair away from science, again feeling as though someone were looking at him. No, more like…watching him. Incessantly. The feeling was strong. He looked from one member of the bridge crew to the next. Everyone was at their posts, eyes to their keyboards and monitors. They weren’t interested in him. Then who was?

Tyron turned reluctantly back to his console, trying to convince himself that the feeling was incorrect. His peripheral vision caught sight of a screen he knew should have been inactive on his board. He jerked his eyes that direction, but as he laid his eyes fully onto the viewer, it blinked off.

‘Now I wasn’t imagining that!’ he growled within his mind. There had been a glimpse of an image of someone in officer’s uniform sitting at a console. He’d bet all his money that he’d been looking at a security image of himself! He sneaked a glance at the monitor camera that might have been able to catch an image at that angle of him…

It was hard to tell. The security device did not have a single lense to point at him. It could be focussed on any given area of the bridge. He decided to access it himself. He tapped in the command and activated a feed to the sensor.

The image that greeted him was one of the back of the command chair. The camera was pointed in its standard view, overlooking the majority of the command deck. But how long had it been that way? There was no way to tell.

‘You’re paranoid, Mister Banks’, he told himself. ‘No one’s interested in you.’

But what had that been on his monitor?






Lieutenant Commander Xia Tolin sat reclined slightly in her chair before the desk of her small office. The engine room was running smoothly outside, her team operating efficiently because of their superb training. She was considering a series of drills to sharpen their performance. It wasn’t necessary. They were already combat tested and true. But drills kept a crew on their toes.

She looked out the observation window overlooking her engine room, taking note of the rhythmic pulse of the blue constriction coils that traveled down the length of the warp core. Radiation-suited crew stood about the tall, matter/antimatter annihilator and took notes on the thing’s operation and managed its power production. She wondered how they’d react if she just activated the radiation alarms or a fire alarm.

Temptation to do just that waned as she saw the main doors part. Lieutenant Surall and a trio of her science department subordinates marched in, toting gear and wheeling a diagnostic module behind them. Upon the scanner gurney was the device recovered from the planet below.

Tolin stood, thoughts of torturing her engineers forgotten as anxt began to steam within her insides. She exited the office, her twin antennae hooked at a combative angle. “Just what are you doing with all this equipment?” She demanded of them.

Surall was immersed in the data PADD she bore in her hand while her people headed for an EPS tap near to the warp core. The brown skinned Vulcan barely looked up at the chief engineer in response.

“I require a direct EPS feed to power the molecular imaging array.”

She said it so matter of fact-ly it was obvious she believed Tolin should have no objection. The blue skinned officer flushed nearly red in anger and closed in menacingly. Surall looked back at her in slight surprise. Xia jabbed her finger into the science officer’s face. “You can’t just barge in here and take over my engine room! Testing any device or piece of equipment in main engineering requires authorization from command and operations and must be scheduled. Further, the chief engineer must be informed—“

“You object to learning from this artifact?”

“I object, Lieutenant, to the disregard for procedure! You’re a Vulcan! I’ve never heard of a Vulcan throwing procedure and rules to the winds!”

Surall doffed her apparent confusion and set her face in what could only be anger. She stepped close in answer to the engineer’s posturing and glared into Tolin’s icy soul. “I will not have you belaying my progress toward—“

“Problem, ladies?”

Both officers turned at the sound of the commodore’s voice. He stood in the open main entry, a PADD in his hand and amused confusion on his round, lined face. He approached them quietly, his booted feet making nearly no sound. He lowered the PADD as he examined them.

“I only caught a piece of that, but it almost sounded like there were chords of disharmony onboard my ship.”

Both women straightened before him and clasped their hands at the small of their backs. They averted their gaze as he looked the two of them over as though they were lab specimens. “No, sir.” They finally returned in fractured tones.

“I thought not. Now…what’s the problem?”

“A slight scheduling problem, Skipper.” Was the engineer’s reply.

“I was remiss in informing engineering of my experimentation, sir.” Surall seconded.

Ford nodded, still eyeing them with a mixture of controlled menace and concern.

“Alright. Engineer Tolin. Allocate some space for science’s experiment and assist where possible. Lieutenant Surall, take all due consideration in dealing with the engineering staff and try not to disrupt operations. And in the future, at least warn Commander Tolin when you’re going to be bringing your work down here.”

“Aye, sir.” They both responded.

Chevis looked them over for a moment longer, then took a step away.

“Carry on, ladies.”

He took his leave, leaving both women there to glare in hard silence at each other.





Lieutenant Commander Ron Davenport leaned in close as his CO retold the tale from engineering. His expression was alight with amusement as the commodore finished the story. “That’s and odd tale, there, Skip.” He said in his drawling tone.

The two were sharing a picture of iced tea in the captain’s ready room after their main shift. The day had been unusually long despite all the excitement among the crew about the new planet they were getting to explore. Chevis shook his head and took a long drink.

“Yeah…and earlier on the planet surface, I thought Surall was gonna take my head off.”

“What was she doing?”

“She was scanning that reactor thing. Got all absorbed in it and blocked us out like we weren’t even there. Then she shoots me this evil glare when I holler her name.”

“She’s all over that quantum generator. She’s turned her entire department over to the study of that thing. She’s had ops reroute fifty-eight percent of our internal sensor resources over to her labs.”

Chevy smirked. “She goes whole-hog, don’t she?”

Ron leaned back in the visitor’s chair and wiped the sweat off his tea glass onto his black pant leg. “Maybe she wants her name in one of those big journals…or wants the Z-Magnese prize.”

Ford seemed to think that an odd thought.

“Think she’s a glory hound?”

“Maybe.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Ronald had heard of it. Vulcans weren’t known for being entirely narcissistic, but plenty of them had become completely focused on attaining success that they forsook everything else around them. Ron had only served with a hand full of Vulcan officers and did not know them so well as the skipper.

“Surrak never acted that way while you served with him?”

Ford shook his head without even taking a moment to consider the idea.

“No. He’d get over zealous on a project, but he never lost his emotional control. Not even to the point of pointless argument… Surall wasn’t the only one acting weird out of the two. Tolin was more angry than the situation deserved as well.”

Davenport offered the most obvious idea.

“Andorian and Vulcan relations haven’t always been the most…social. They have a lot of bad blood between them. I’ve never just watched Xia when she was around the lieutenant, but she might not like Vulcans.”

Ford pursed his lips and took on a look of consternation. He evidently didn’t buy the idea. Ron was getting to know the chief engineer much more closely in the last couple of weeks. But Xia’s political view on her people’s closest neighbor wasn’t something they’d ever discussed. He figured he’d bring it up if he could the next time they had dinner.

After several moments of contemplation on the subject, the commodore decided to put the idea down with a shrug. Ron grinned in understanding and sat forward in the little blue chair. “Thanks for the tea, Chevy. But I have got to get some data work done before next shift and get some sleep.”

Ron stood. His friend’s eyes watched him as he headed for the door.

“Sleep well, Ron. See ya tomorrow.”

There was a mournful note in the commodore’s voice, making Davenport wonder if there was something further bothering him. He glanced back questioningly but received a slow head shake in response. Ronald nodded and continued on his way.





Commodore Ford watched his friend go, wishing Ron’s duties weren’t so pressing and would allow him a bit more time to visit. There were times when the skipper didn’t want to be alone, and today his own plaguing thoughts were making him seek out company. He wanted to divert his attention to keep his mind off the problem that remained unsolved.

The longer he thought on the matter, the worse he felt about leaving Ben Thomas behind to resolve his own issues. Ben had been there for him so many times in the past; saved his life… He’d made a mistake, a horrid one, by assaulting the starbase commander. There was no defense for it. But did this give Ford the leave to abandon his friend? He hadn’t even gone to visit Thomas before Endeavour left. He’d been so let down that he hadn’t bothered…

“What mistake did I make, Captain?”

Ford looked up from the cold, sweat wettened glass in his hand to look at the source of the gravely but all too familiar voice that’d spoken. His face went slack as he laid eyes on the huge hulk that sat hunched close to him where Ron had just been.

Commander Ben Thomas sat there, right across from Ford, dressed in Starfleet uniform with all the markings and pins he would normally have possessed. He looked like he normally would have on any other given day. Save that his uniform was black instead of maroon.

Hate and anger twisted the commander’s face into a black mask full of lines and stressed veins. He glared bloody holes through his CO, and seemed barely contained as he leaned there. His huge fists gripped the edge of the polished desk. It was like he wanted to relive the beating on the commodore, save this time he’d play the scenario out on Chevy’s head…

“What f*ckin’ mistake did I make, Cap’n!” His heated boom repeated. Ford gaped.

“What the hell are you doing here… That uniform…?”

“This is the only uniform you left me, you piece of sh*t! You left me on 23! You didn’t even try to defend my ass! After all the times I bailed your ass outta the fire, you leave me swingin’ in the wind!”

“You assaulted Shiloah—“

“A piece of sh*t that gave you a f*ckin’ heart attack, Chevy! He put you on the sickbay cuttin’ board and I went to set things right with him! And you let him f*ck me!”
“Wasn’t nothin’ I could do—“

“Nothing you could do! I remember a Cap’n Ford who used to throw the law out the window when his friends were in trouble. I spilt blood for you! I’ve killed for you! I turned the Hawking back around for you when your good buddy Surrak thought you were toast! This is the way you repay me?”

Ford’s vision shrank, becoming a tunnel leading only to Thomas’s glaring, hate filled eyes. He had left his friend at the mercy of a vengeful commodore, with no friends to help or fight for him. Ben wouldn’t have left him. He’d have stayed, forsaking his duty and his life aboard ship to remain with Chevis to fight out the inevitable. But Ford had left that man behind.

What had he done…?

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 9





Petty Officer First Class Dawayne Goodwin charged around the last corner to his security section at a full run. He stomped to a halt amid his teammates as they stood up from their places of leisure. Each of them was wondering what he was doing and what was wrong. He stalked past them all without a word and flung open the portside arms locker. From within he grabbed up a Type Three phaser rifle and a bandoleer of power packs.

“Hey, PO!” Called out Martins, the rifle spec to his left. “What’s the drill?”

“No drill, Mart! We’ve got a hostile on board!”

“We haven’t heard about it…” Responded Gillian. She was a dumb-ass. Goodwin glared over at her and dismissed her out of hand. He pulled free a skirmish vest and began to don it over his enlisted jumpsuit.

“You wouldn’t have, Gill. Bridge isn’t aware of the problem.”

“Then how—“

“The thing evidently has some kind of mind control capacity. The damn bridge crew is just sitting up there like everything’s okay. They haven’t even noticed the Commodore’s gone missing!”

Gillian stepped over to the long black computer access terminal that lined the room to prove Goodwin wrong. Still looking at him in disbelief, she tapped the panel to life. “Computer, where is Commodore Ford?”

The computer took a moment to scan with internal sensors then answered in a melodious feminine tone. “Commodore Ford is not on board the Endeavour.”

That got a surprised blink from the security officer.

“Computer, where did the Commodore go?”

“Unknown.”

Gillian turned and called up the current alert status on the security mainframe. The system told her there was no security alert currently issued by the bridge and that they were at Condition Green. She pressed for the intercom. “Bridge, security section.”

The XO’s response came back over the little speaker. Goodwin continued to suit up. Martins had joined him. “Security section, this is the bridge. Go ahead.”

“Bridge, are you aware that the Commodore is no longer on board the ship?”

“Sure he is, security. I saw Commodore Ford just a moment ago. Sensors show him in his ready room.”

Dawayne shot the young noncom a grimly satisfied retort.

“That’s the same crap I got when I called. And he acts like he doesn’t even remember that!”

Gillian, suddenly convinced, killed the comlink. She joined the rest of the team in pulling on body armor and readying their weaponry. They had a bug to hunt.





Commander Tyron Banks switched off the intercom. Funny, that low pitched buzzing it had made twice now. He could have sworn each time had been a separate call to the bridge, but neither time had yielded any sort of voice. What was more strange was that none on the bridge had seemed to notice the discrepancy. They went on working as though the conn received malfunctioning comm signals every day.

“Lieutenant Smith, make a note to the maintenance teams that they should look into the intercom on the next duty cycle.”

No reply came from the communications officer. Tyron whirled the command chair round to face the wayward youth. The big kid sat with his back to the conn, as did the enlisted man in the support station beside him. Was it possible that neither of them had heard him?

The commander glanced nervously about the bridge. The officers and men gathered at their respective posts continued to drone on with their duties, oblivious to the goings on of the executive officer. Were they all ignoring him? Was this some kind of collusion bent on irritating the new XO?

The image on the main viewer had changed. His brown eyes found it as he was about to get up and take the comm officer to task. Instead of a peaceful view of the planet below them, a black screen with Terran lettering now shown back at him for all to read.

“I know what you’re doing here.” This was what it said. Banks stared at it in confusion. Again he looked over the bridge staff for clues to who’d put that on the viewer. None of them moved, save to manipulate the keyboards before them. Banks grimaced in silent fury. His fists balled.

He looked back to the viewer. It had changed again.

“Spy.” It now said.

The exec stood, fists balled in anger. He was about to shout out to demand who was doing this when he bounced off an engineer bearing a tool kit. The white shouldered crewer gaped in amazement at Banks’ sudden burst and jumped away to safety lest he be knocked down. Tyron stared in wide-eyed disbelief. He hadn’t seen the man there but a second before…

“What are you doing here!” He demanded.

The crewman blinked without response. It was Lieutenant Smith who answered, turning from comm to look back at the XO in confusion. “You asked me to detail a maintenance spec to the conn intercom at the beginning of the next duty cycle, sir.” He replied, then hesitated. “But this shift had just started, and I didn’t think it would do to run another six hours with a malfunctioning link, so I called him up now… Sorry he startled you, XO…”

Banks stared back in utter confusion. Smith had heard him… Had he replied…? The commander looked back at the view screen. It was back to showing the expected image of the revolving planet below. No messages. The bridge crew was now turned from their stations and staring in open confusion. Seeing him return their looks, they returned to what they were doing. Just like he might have if something weird had happened among senior officers… What the hell was going on here?

Commander Banks straightened, his jaw set with as much dignity as he could muster. He looked back to his subordinates. “Very well. Mister Smith, you have the conn. I’ll be in my quarters. Carry on specialist.”


Commander Banks spent the turbolift ride to his cabin in quiet confusion. What had just happened up there? Was somebody playing games with him, or was he imagining all this? Was he a victim of stress, or did someone aboard this ship know about his assignment?

Before his lift reached its destination, Banks drew his communicator and flipped it open.

“Gossport.”

The response came in just a few seconds.

“Yes?”

“Meet me in my cabin.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tyron had his communicator closed down before the doors popped open and was walking down the curving corridor with as much speed as he could muster without breaking into a run. He brushed past a crewman or two who were unable to clear the space in time for him. He ignored their apologies and continued on through the dimmed hallways. Finally, he reached his small quarters and retreated from view.

Senior Chief Petty Officer Devon Gossport, the captain’s personal yeoman, was quick to arrive on the exec’s heels. He stood at rigid attention in the half-light of Banks’s sparsely decorated room. He seemed more than a bit perturbed. Banks noticed and cocked his head to the side as he examined the man.

“You’ve been getting the same messages?”

“Yes, sir.” The yeoman replied. Both he and Banks shared the same skin tone and cut of hair. Both were fit physical specimens, muscled and toned. Save for height and facial features, they could have been brothers.

“How much do they know?” Banks wondered in open paranoia. Gossport’s face furled angrily as he looked in accusation at his senior officer.

“They definitely know Shiloah ordered us here.”

“They? How many is ‘they’?” Banks shot back.

“A small number.” Was Devon’s guess. “Or the commodore would be all over us. Have you done anything to rouse their suspicion?”

“Me!”

Gossport shook his head.

“I have been here for over a month and roused no suspicion. You’ve only been here a week and already they are sending us cryptic messages and watching us!”

Banks felt like backhanding his subordinate. But it would not do for Devon to have to explain a bruise on his face to those he worked with. They needed no more suspicion aimed at them. Instead, he pointed a thick finger into the noncom’s face. “Discover who knows our purpose here. Then let me know. I will take care of the rest.”

“Yes, sir.” The yeoman replied, taking that as his queue to depart.

Banks stared at his closed blue doors in frustration. He would not have his operation here disrupted. He’d never failed in his duties. And this would not be the first time!

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 9 (pt.2)

Doctor Andrea Keller sat at the commodore’s customary table in Whisker’s and looked out the wide, rounded forward bay windows. The small, blue world that Endeavour orbited spun along all alone. Keller could sympathize with the feeling that the sparkling planet projected. She’d come here to meet with Chevy, to share dinner and some quiet conversation. She’d been here for nearly an hour. The commodore had never shown.

Andrea had thought there was a spark of genuine interest shared between she and Ford. The feeling could have been nothing more than a psychological attachment brought on by their doctor/patient relationship. She’d reasoned the emotion out for some time, wondering whether to act on it or to play it safe. Then she’d noticed Chevis returning some of the small affection she’d shown him in the last few weeks. His manner with her had changed and he lingered more and more to talk with her. He made more frequent trips down to her department, where before he never stepped foot in the sickbay unless duty demanded it.

Being the head of a department set her apart from her peers with whom she served. She had acquaintances aboard ship, but no one to call a close friend. She had only been aboard this vessel for two months, after all. She hadn’t had time to really even meet anyone with all the work she had on her table. One might have thought her foolish, given this fact, that she was even considering dating the first man to pay her a little attention. But it had also been three years since she’d been with a man. She could count on one hand the number of ‘friends’ she bothered sending subspace messages to.

In a word, she was lonely.

The thought of a refreshing shipboard romance with the commanding officer had been titillating. And she’d thought the skipper had been just as interested. Why, then, was he not here with her? Why hadn’t he at least sent her a message? Was he that obtuse?

The ship’s chef, Petty Officer Riker, was on duty in Whisker’s tonight. He stepped up the two carpeted levels that led to the upper dining area and came to her small table. “You’ve been waiting here an awful long time, Doctor. Someone stand you up?”

Keller looked up at the roguish, tall and bearded man who spoke to her. She smiled faintly up at him in mild embarrassment. “Seems I’ve been put on the back burner tonight.”

Riker made an understanding face, but devilish amusement still shone in his eye. “Surely not. Who was the lucky man supposed to be?”

Andrea felt a little uneasy about admitting who she’d come to see, but then, if he’d actually shown, everyone would know anyway. “I was going to dine with the commodore, I’m afraid.”

“And HE didn’t show up?”

There was the certain inflection in the chef’s voice that told her that this did not happen without due cause. He looked down at her with more question in his gaze, all the humor inherent in the situation falling away. Now Keller began to feel concern. Surely the commodore would have called her to tell her he wasn’t coming or was going to be late…

Andrea stood and made for the aft intercom panel. She activated the long black strip with a touch and startled at the faint sound of static that was already coming through the open link. She glanced to Riker, who shrugged and came nearer.

“Doctor Keller to the bridge.” She called out, raising her voice slightly to beat the noise.

There came no response.

Now Chef Riker pushed close to the comm panel and began to access its maintenance logs and status board. “Nothing’s wrong with the equipment. This is active jamming.”

Keller took these to be foul signs and turned for the exit out. She almost ran headlong into the unresponsive doors. Stunned and completely confused now, she looked back to the ship’s chef. She grew even more alarmed at the sight that was closing in on the large petty officer.

“Chef, duck!”

Riker’s eyes bulged as he did just as he was bid. The large man tumbled to the plush deck and rolled past the doctor as a knife-wielding crewman glared up in surprised anger at Keller.

The good doctor did not have time to reason out what was happening. The crewman was on her in an instant. He rushed full force into her, leading with his stolen butcher’s knife. Keller blocked and diverted the killing stroke by crossing her wrists and shoving his hand skyward. The crewman was not to be stopped so easily. His knee slammed into her left ribs, blasting the breath from her. Keller toppled beneath his weight and the coverall wearing man straddled her burning chest. He turned the knife in his hand to drive it into her throat.

A great knuckled fist rocked the enlisted man off his knees and onto his back. Riker was back on his feet and commenced to kick the downed crewer in the gut now that he was down. The doctor rolled onto her side as the brawl continued, trying almost in vain to bring sweet, cool air back into her lungs. She watched with red tinged vision as the chef took out his anger on the flailing slasher. The prone man rolled away from Riker, and stubbornly the chef followed. This earned him a knife through his foot as the crewman came up to his own knees and stabbed the silver blade down with a vengeance.

Riker howled in pain, and tried to recoil to get his injured extremity away from further harm. But the knife was bound into the thick carpeting. He could barely drag it back till the now grinning, bloody-mouthed attacker yanked the weapon free with a savage twist. All at once, the crewman was back on his feet and throwing his all behind a new onslaught.

Keller surged to her feet, wishing she hadn’t worn heels to this date. Out of the three in Whisker’s, she was the only one out of uniform. Her eye caught a glimpse of a stray serving tray, laden with two half empty bottles of booze and some fluted glasses. One of the bottles she snatched as Riker limped away from the swinging knifeman. With a heavy swing, Andrea busted the bottle on the bar’s chromed rail and stepped into the mad crewer.

Her first attack was a distracting stab at his face, which opened him up just under the eye. The enlisted man screeched and backpedaled away from her. His hands wrapped around his gushing face as he staggered over a chair, nearly falling. Andrea could not help but feel the well of anger and aggression deluge into her senses. Her hand moved almost of its own volition and she found it pulling back and stabbing neatly into the crewman’s corotid artery. The man turned away in a desperate attempt to flee.

Andrea used his movements to the advantage and slashed side to side. A severed jugular was now spilling his life’s blood onto the majestic blue carpeting. The crewman staggered on for several more faltering steps. Keller no longer followed. This man was dead, he just hadn’t figured it out yet. There was nothing to do now but watch. Andrea struggled with the insurmountable rush of hate that had filled her, trying to find those feelings she normally felt when laying eyes on an injured man. She should be saving this man’s life, not watching him die. But she felt only an insane satisfaction in watching him totter there, trying to brace himself on that table and not quite reaching it. Was she smiling?

‘What the hell is wrong with you!’ she screamed at herself. She could find no answer. Nor could she compel herself to move to the crewman’s aid. He fell, and she stood watching. She dropped the broken bottle. It’s blood added to the trail that stretched back from the grasping corpse. She coughed out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob.

“Doc?”

Keller looked back at the chef in shock. No, she was not alone in watching this man die. The bearded, dark haired Riker watched her in almost as much shock as she herself felt. But his eyes did not show the revulsion she felt for what she was doing. Riker knelt there, three paces behind her, hands holding his punctured foot. Blood welled up out of his boot.

“I’m bleeding pretty good here, Andrea.” He said to her. This broke her from her frozen state. Tearing a long, white napkin from a serving tray, she rushed to kneel beside him and helped him in tearing his service boot off. Then she began to apply pressure to the wound and tie it off to staunch the flow of blood.

“We’ve got to get to sickbay, Chef.”

“The door has an emergency release—“ Riker looked back at the unresponsive doorway. He gaped, finding it locked open to the darkened corridor beyond.





“Where the hell is the XO?”

Lieutenant Smith looked back at Commander Davenport as the chief of operations came out of the portside elevator and stomped to the conn. The young man’s face blanched as he made apparent his lack of knowledge on the subject. “He left just after Gamma Shift started, sir. He was acting peculiar…”

“The whole damn ship’s acting coo-coo, Lieutenant! I’ve just had the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had with an ensign down in the science department, and on my way up here I witnessed three different arguments where the people involved just ignored my ass!”

Smith removed himself from the conn and stood nearby. Ron stepped up to it and jabbed a finger violently into the comm button. “Commodore Ford, please come to the bridge.”

He waited there in blistering impatience, counting off the seconds. There was no reply. He jabbed the tab again. “Commodore Ford, please respond!”

Still, there was nothing. Davenport stabbed another key.

“Computer, where is the commodore?”

“Commodore Ford is not on board the Endeavour.”

Davenport’s heart plummeted to his boots. He had come up here to confer with the higher officers over what he’d been observing since the end of his last shift. The entire crew compliment seemed on the verge of nervous agitation and many were in the midst of open arguments. He figured in some areas of the ship there had already been open fighting…or worse…

He had never once considered the idea that Ford could be missing on top of all this. Ronald turned from the conn and went to the security console. Smith followed and looked over his shoulders while Davenport accessed the ship’s internal cameras and security sensors. The commodore’s ready room was empty. Only Ford’s dog occupied his cabin, and he was pacing from wall to wall. The sensors showed the CO’s head to be empty as well. Ron began to flick through view after view of the ship’s interior. Everywhere there was pictured aggression. People argued. They pointed fingers and screamed. Some were alone and taking their anger out on themselves, yelling and tearing at themselves. There was more than one fistfight in progress.

What topped it all was the body lying facedown on the deck in Whisker’s Lounge. A crewman was lying there in a spreading pool of his own blood, a knife lying beside him. Davenport suppressed a curse. Murder had already been committed. The ship’s crew was out of control. But what the hell was the cause?

The last image Ronald clicked to was that of the engine room. There he could see nearly the entire engineering staff gathered around the equipment Surall had set up earlier in the day to study the sphere from the planet surface. The diagnostic module they were using was hooked directly by a glowing conduit to an Electroplasma power tap. The device itself, the supposed quantum power generator, was glowing an insanely bright blue hue. An electrical borealis effect was orbiting the thing as his people bent all their thought and action toward studying it…

…If they were really even studying it any more.

Ron focussed his anger onto the thing in the image, and his burning hate drove him to decide what the cause of all this was. That sphere was responsible for what was going on. It emanations…it power fields…or even its living will was causing degenerating mental changes among the crew. He could even feel the influence of it upon himself. But his anger had a focus. And it was the cause of this onrushing disaster.

He had to get rid of that thing.

“Mister Nechayev, report to the bridge!” Davenport shouted into the intercom. He got nothing but static from the other end. He didn’t even bother trying again. He’d sort everything out later. But that sphere had to go first! The commander headed for the aft bulkhead and opened the weapons locker recessed into the support frame there. He grabbed up a phaser pistol and an extra clip, then tossed two like items to Lieutenant Smith.

Smith snatched the weapon out of the air without expression, slapped the power pack home then activated the weapon with a pull of the slide. He then aimed the pistol at Ron and pulled the trigger.

Davenport saw the weapon drawing aim and was in motion at the same moment. When it fired, he was already at a run, headed for the security alcove leading to the ready room and conference room doors. Smith’s shot carved a black line of stun energy across a bulkhead and the starboard turbolift’s doors, missing the chief of ops by a mere hand span. Ron hit the proverbial brakes and skidded to a halt at the sight of the on-duty security man who manned the alcove. His black eyes were dancing with malice as he also brandished a phaser.

This man’s, however, was set to kill.

A blue lance of phased plasma shot past as Davenport ducked frantically. The shot struck an on coming junior officer from the bridge who rushed in. Ron did not have time to discern if the lad had been coming to his aid or to further hinder him. The blonde headed boy disintegrated in a glowing mist of crimson energy, fading gore and fear as his hollow scream called out. Smith ran straight through the dissipating cloud of ensign and fired again. The comm officer missed his intended target once more, but managed to succeed in hitting the rifle armed security officer. The man crumpled, his dark eyes lolling into the back of his head.

By now, Ronald had armed his own phaser. He swung round and dropped to a knee, squeezing the trigger as he turned and fanning the powerful beam over everything behind him. Smith staggered, still trying to draw a bead on his senior officer with bleary eyes. Ron shot him again, this time with a concentrated burst full in the chest. Stunned, the comm officer finally toppled and lay inert.

Davenport wasted no time. The bridge level was no longer safe for him. He bolted for the turbolift and leapt into it before any further harassers could intervene. “Engineering! Emergency!” He ordered the lift computer, and it set into a speedy plummet.

A much TOO speedy plummet.

The lift car was in a total free fall!

“Lift halt!” He shouted. But it was to no avail.

Thankfully, the drop from A deck to the next lateral level was a mere seven decks. With the inertial dampeners still in operation, the sudden slam into the duranium shaft bottom was a painful, but not fatal one. Ron spilled into the deck of the small elevator and fought to grapple a handhold on something in the smooth confines of the vehicle. But there was nothing to grab onto. The lift hurtled into motion once again, sparks flowing inside of it as its repulsors overheated and set fire. Ron gritted hurting teeth and began to tap blindly at the control pad on the top of his weapon.

Aiming for a likely spot on the turbolift’s interior, he fired his weapon and fanned the beam about, carving long, jagged black holes through the car’s alloy walls. He had to stop this ride. Many people feared what an uncontrolled free fall would do. As an engineer, he knew this was not the most likely way for a crewman to die aboard an elevator on this ship.

Being flushed out the port used to load the lift pods onto the ship was.

A final, long phaser burn sliced through enough of the pod’s electronics and gear to bring it to a shuddering halt. Ron stood, still hearing the thing's actuators trying to cycle and take him where it wanted him to go. He checked the indicators on the lift control board. He was on Deck Seven, still. This would have to be where he got off. It was going to be a long walk to engineering.

[Governor Ronjar]

Content Warning!

CH. 10





Commodore Ford could barely stand the torment. He was no longer with Mister Thomas. The man and his black uniform had faded into the nothingness of this visceral nightmare that Ford had descended into. Bloody light swirled about him and sharp, stabbing pains tore through him at unpredictable intervals. Nothing was within sight save his own private misery. Thomas’s words still flowed in to assail him.

“You left me!”

“You piece of sh*t!”

“After everything I gave up to stay near you while you captained that damn ship!”

“Why wouldn’t you help me!”

Ford had no voice. He could barely think of a response to any of these assaults. He only wondered if this was his own private hell, a personal torment saved just for him. Had he died? Would some kind of Satan come to claim just revenge for things he’d done in his life?

Did he deserve this?

“What is the guidance and navigational relay authorization code?”

The question came in a voice as sweet as honey and cool to his blistered flesh as the most calming salve. He would have given everything, every effort, to have that sweet voice call to him again.

“What?” He asked. He’d been so enraptured by the pause in the pain that he hadn’t grasped the meaning of the words.

“The guidance and navigational relay authorization code. The one needed to fly that ship you had. What was it?”

Ford felt so good when the voice spoke to him. It was as a full body climax in comparison to the hellish torture of the viscera that pervaded his senses. But what did this being want with stupid codes? His suspicion began to flare.

And at the same instant, so did every pain receptor in his corporeal body!

“What the hell is this!”

“Hell!” Came that voice, but this time it carried no relief in it.

And then…

“The code, please? I want to know…”

The pleasure had come back, but not so grand. And he could feel the being’s longing for that series of numbers… But if this was hell, and that the voice of Satan or some other entity, why did it not already possess the codes?

Again his senses leapt into a fresh fire as he was caterpulted into an all-new version of pain and agony. He tried so hard to cry out, but the only resonance his voice found was in his own chaotic mind. Would this ever end? Every millisecond dragged by like an eternity!

“Make this stop!” He pleaded.

“Tell me the code!”

“Why?”

“Tell me!”

This was not hell. It was an inhuman visage of such an idea, but it was not hell. He was very much alive in some state. Why would any noncorporeal creature of the afterlife care for such minor distractions as codes and starships? Surely godly matters were on a completely different level than this…

“f*ck you!”

“If that is your answer…then suffer!”






Doctor Keller gawked at the open wounds on the technician who was being dragged into sickbay by two of the few level headed men left aboard Endeavour. This man had been torn to bloody shreds by some kind of very dull implement, and the dark bruising and swelling of such injuries had already covered the majority of his naked body. The two noncoms slowly slid the bleeding mass onto the nearest biobed and staggered away, barely looking at the CMO as she drew near with medical implements in hand. What she saw on close inspection made her almost gag.

This man had been torn into with bare hands! And some one had pulled out his entrails…

The offal smell clinging to his bloodied hands told her that person had been himself.

“Doctor Bear!” She called to the only other physician who had made it to the sickbay. “Bring the field trauma kit!”

“Aye!” The huge Apache called back frantically, disappearing around a corner.

How much more of this could happen? Had Endeavour passed into a hell zone? Was the whole crew going to degenerate into a mob of murderous, self-mutilating savages? And how long till it happened to her again? She’d already killed one man. And could still feel the perverse pleasure of the act festering within her psyche…
“Andrea, how can I help out here?” Said the familiar voice of the chef. Riker limped up on his bandaged foot. His duty coverall was covered in sticky wet blood. He’d been pressed into service as an orderly and an impromptu nurse for over an hour now. Keller, herself, was still in the blood smeared blue dress she’d sported to Whisker’s.
“Get me the suture kit and put pressure here!” She told him, pointing to where she wanted his hands. She took the small suture kit when he tossed it to her and cracked it open. Sutures were a barbarous hold over from the early days of reparative surgery, but they were quick and effective. She was going to have to sew this person up from the insides out…

“What the hell’s causing this, Doc?” Riker breathed as she bent to her work. She did not glance at him nor at Bear when he returned.

“Hell indeed,” Was all she replied.





Petty Officer Goodwin halted, holding up the close-fist signal for his team to stop. He knelt by the blasted remnants of a turbolift hatch and looked the threshold over with an analytical eye. “Type Two, setting five.” He breathed out to them in a bare whisper. “Three minutes old.”

He began giving hand signals to disperse his crew farther down the corridor. The ship was in shambles, the crew gone insane. The creature had them all where it wanted them. And now it had access to a phaser weapon. They had to track down this incarnation of the beast and take it down.

Dawayne raised his rifle and came up to a half crouch position. He crossed in front of the burned open door, panning the business end of his weapon over the threshold as he turned by. His eye examined the interior of the empty lift tunnel. There was no evidence of life within the dark shaft. He knew there wouldn’t have been.

“Target’s heading to engineering.” He whispered into the command mike attached to his helmet. “Gillian, Herman, circle round this deck and meet with the rest of us at Junction 7-B16. Be alert.”

The two soldiers nodded their response and were off. Their quiet footfalls faded as they jogged out of sight. Dawayne led his remaining men around the subtle curve of this the most outer corridor of the widest deck aboard ship. This hall also led to the most direct Jeffries Tube over engineering. The creature was bound to try for that. It knew the ship well.

“Who will the thing be this time, boss?” Asked one of his men.

Goodwin thought about the matter as he led the way, rifle up and at the ready.

“Davenport. He’s the highest ranking of the remaining senior staff and the most trusted. It will take his form.” There was utterly no deviation or doubt in his mind as he considered the thought of gunning the chief of operations down without a warning. After all, it wasn’t really him…






Commander Davenport slowed to a near halt each time he encountered an Endeavour crewman as he trekked his way around the circumference of the deck to reach the hatchway he sought. This time was no exception.

The woman he approached sat nearly bent forward on her knees. He hands were in motion, held to her face as she wiped or scratched at something there. Ron looked on in morbid disgust, horrified at the thought at what he might see there, but also unable to look away.

Looking away might also prove disastrous to him, giving yet another crewer a chance to catch him off guard. He kept his eyes locked on her no matter what he might not wish to see.

The woman’s long, stringy dishwater blonde hair hung down in clumpy masses, matted in sweat and probably blood. She giggled and whimpered, and seemed to take absolutely no notice of the officer as he quietly crept past her in a half circular manner. As Ron neared her shoulder, the closest he would have to come to her, he could see spatters of blood staining the four-foot-wide strip of carpet that traced the corridor of this and every deck aboard. More blood fell free in glops and palms-full, and Ron thought he could hear the sounds of flesh being torn or jaggedly cut.

The later turned out to be true. She looked at him suddenly, her face streaked in red, eye blackened from an impact, and a long, jagged incision cut from each corner of her mouth to the bottoms of her small ears. It was the criminally insane dazzle in her eyes that halted the commander mid-step. She held his gaze for dreadful seconds. He felt his soul dipping into the trashy pools of hell as he locked onto those hazel eyes…

She grinned at him, her gory smile made all the more macabre by the cuts she’d made with her own torn thumbnail… “Don’t I have a beautiful smile, Commander?” She croaked in singsong.

Her hands leapt up, making Ron hop out of arm’s reach in comical fashion. But her groping hands were not meant for him. Instead they securely latched onto the upper lip of her once gorgeous mouth and began to pull with all her strength, up and back. Like peeling the hide from a deer, the young officer’s face tore free in short, rapid jerks as she screamed in her own self-imposed agony.

Ron’s eyes widened in shock and revulsion at the spectacle. His phaser immediately raised and he fired a long blue burst into the maniacal woman. She toppled onto her side, blood roiling freely from the ruins of her face onto bare metal near the bulkhead. She might bleed to death…she certainly would never look the same, but Davenport wouldn’t let her go on spoiling herself…not when he had the power to stop her.

The woman’s face hung in a stretched, featureless heap with eyeless holes looking up at him.

Trotting feet now drew the chief of operations’ attention. His stunning the young woman had drawn unwanted focus from those on this level. He turned to run, but caught sight of more men headed his way, closer still.

And these were fully armored security officers!

Ronald dropped, taking refuge in the doorway of a nearby compartment. His pistol was up the instant he saw rifles aiming his way. He recognized the squat muscular build of PO Goodwin among the trio…saw the hate in his eyes and the intent to kill. He aimed and fired.

His first shot caught the guard right in the center of the chest…a good place were it not for the full skirmish armor the man wore. A stun blast to that ablative garb was no better than a waterhose against a tank. But it did have the fortuitous effect of knocking the man back on his heels and diverting his first shot. With the scope on his rifle, Davenport was not likely to have survived Dawayne’s pull of the trigger.

The two backing Goodwin up dropped prone and opened up with their own weapons. Ron pushed back behind the framework covering him, triggering the automatic door release into the room behind him. Two hard shots rattled the metal frame, then another splashed across the deck beside him. The carpet there caught fire for a second, quickly burning out. Davenport leaned out for a swift shot in return.

The owners of the other set of boot steps rounded their final bend and instantly opened fire on Ronald. Ron aimed back at them, having to twist quite a way to get at them with his left hand. He dropped one of the two, a woman he recognized as officer Gillian. She folded up like a rag doll and went to sleep. Her partner took queue and dove for the refuge offered by a similar frame post opposite and further down from the commander.

‘I’m trapped and totally pinned down here!’, Ronald realized in chagrin. How the hell was he going to get out of this one? Another blast from Goodwin drove him further into the recess he hid within, again triggering that door behind him.

Arms from within the jet black room snagged the commander from behind and dragged him home, a cackle of raw glee escaping as Ron tried in vain to kick his way free. The door closed and shut with the beep of its lock…




Ron’s eyes adjusted to the gloom within the compartment. The only illumination was that reflected from the planet shining through the room’s sole porthole. A weight settled atop the commander and he prepared himself to look upon another horror. Where had his phaser gone?

The moving form on top of his gut was a woman. Her form became more apparent as his eyes got used to the lighting. It also became obvious that she wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. She gyrated her hips and moaned in seeming ecstasy, pleasuring herself on the hardness of his belt buckle. She looked at him devilishly from beneath tangled masses of shoulder-length black hair.

“I’m so glad I found you, Commander. I was getting tired of doing this by myself…”

“Glad to be of service, ma’am.” He replied. His gratitude wasn’t quite untrue. She’d probably saved him from immediate death. It wouldn’t take those men out there long to get through that door, though…

“I’ll bet…” she replied with a throaty tone and bent to lash the insides of his mouth with her tongue. Were this any other time… Her hand groped down, passing between her legs to find that spot between his.

“Ah…there we are!” She fiddled with the buttons on his pants. Ron lay there, looking aside for his phaser. He didn’t need another fistfight, and he was more than half tempted to just go along with the amorous crewman. She was alluring in the faint light, her toned body pale in contrast to her hair. He could just imagine fondling those small, supple breasts… Her erect nipples… and then—

Ron found his weapon. It was with quite a bit of regret that he clasped his hand about the grip and planted it in the woman’s belly. He just gave her a tickle with it, not wanting to rupture organs at point-blank range. She fell off of him like a puppet suddenly deprived of its strings.

The chief of operations paused for the unnecessary second it took to rebutton his pants. It nearly cost him his life. The door popped open and a dark shape tossed in a phaser grenade. In his shock he could only hope it wasn’t set to go off on impact. The round weapon thudded off the deck and landed right on his chest. In a frightened last-ditch attempt, he grabbed at it and flung it away.

Shouts of fright called back outside the door as the security officer’s grenade bounced back out at them. Ron clenched his eyes at the sudden, white flash that filled the corridor. The rectangular image of the open doorway ingrained itself upon Davenport’s retina even as he fumbled to get up from under the lithe woman he’d stunned.
He did not know how much time he would have before those men out there would recover, if they’d been affected at all. He frantically considered his options. Could he make it past them in a mad dash? If so, would he make it off this deck while flash blinded? His hand came up to rub at his irritated eyes.

A footfall sounded clumsily at the door and Ron fired at it. Friend or foe, he’d defend himself now and sort the rest out later. There was a groan as his beam slashed over the target and then a thud.

Davenport sagged to the deck, kneeling. He could barely maintain his balance. His hand reached out to stabilize himself and found, instead of a hard carpeted deck, a soft mound of flesh. He blinked, his vision clearing suddenly and looked upon what he was groping. There came the unbidden urge to climb atop the unconscious woman and enjoy himself.

She’d wanted it.

‘NO!’ Ron lurched to his feet and bobbled for the door. His decision was made for him. If he stayed here, he’d do things he’d regret and would likely get him killed. He was at a dead run when he reached the hall, and ran half turned and aiming his pistol to cover his retreat. He had to get to engineering!

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 11





Commander Davenport halted just before the heavy blast door leading to the main engine room. He’d made it this far; a trip normally taking two and a half minutes had taken over an hour. Now he was before his objective. How was he going to handle this?

Ron checked the power level on his pistol. Using large amounts of heavy stun force and cutting through three security portals and a turbolift door had drained it to barely a tenth of its full capacity. He popped the clip from the handle of his blue-black weapon and let it fall. He slapped the spare home and re-primed the gun. He was as ready as he could really be. He’d have brought grenades save for the proximity to the warp core. Even a stun grenade could disrupt the intermix chamber if it hit the right set of components.

Setting his feet securely in preparation to charge in, he steeled his nerves and drew in a preparatory breath. Who knew how many people were in the engine room? He wished he could use the transporters to simply beam the thing out of there…

Ronald tapped in the security code on the locked door panel and paused, hand hovering over the enter key. This was it. He slapped the key and bolted into engineering as the hatch droned open.

There came no phaser fire, no wailing attack…absolutely no open resistance.

Surall looked up at him like he was an unwanted pest, disturbing her train of thought. The techs littering the room went on monitoring systems and checking on the condition of equipment. Tolin was no where in sight. As the heavy dark blue door reeled shut behind him, Ron found his aim drifting downward. Maybe there wasn’t going to be a fight here…

“Commander Davenport,” Surall finally acknowledged him, almost with a hint of cordiality. “Can we assist you?”

The Vulcan didn’t seem too perturbed about the phaser in his hand, he noted. She merely looked at him as though he was intruding upon her work and she would rather he leave. Ron approached cautiously, phaser held low but ready. “Yeah,” he replied, “We’ve got to get rid of that thing.”

“My work with the sphere is incomplete.”

“It’s having a detrimental effect on the crew, Lieutenant.”

Reason. Reason would be the way to get through to the scientist in her. She could control her feelings better than any other humanoid on board this ship. If anyone could keep it together and help him resolve this, it had to be Surall. She looked back at him with complete understanding in her eyes.

“Yes it is.” Was her answer. “But the breakthroughs possible in completely understanding this technology out weigh the importance of the crew of one starship.”

Her reasoning was cold, simple logic. The technology before her would answer so many questions, solve problems. The eight hundred men and women aboard Endeavour could be forfeit for such advancement. His mind whirled in a torrent and slogged through a mire as he tried to think of arguments. It was as though something was fighting him, even in his own mind…

“What if these effects are inherent with the technology? What if all your work and our sacrifice is made irrelevant when we find we can’t use any of the advancements?”

“I find that eventuality…unlikely.”

Ron was close to her now. He could feel the heat emanating off the round orb. He could sense malevolence. There was an intellect at work inside that thing. He wanted to kill it…kill Surall. But he knew it was just the thing talking. How much of his own mind could he trust? How much of this was real, and what was perception? His countenance wavered.

He saw Surall tense.

Ron immediately raised his pistol and squeezed off a long burst. Surall spasmed and slammed into the guardrail surrounding the warp drive core. Her limp body sagged to the deck. The entirety of the engineering staff whirled on him as one, eyes blazing his direction. Lieutenant Commander Tolin emerged from her office. Her face was a solid piece of stone. Her antennae stood stiffly and unnaturally erect as she stared back at him. That wasn’t the woman he’d come to enjoy seeing.

Davenport saw she was unarmed, and so far away from him, she posed no immediate threat. His phaser turned on the remainder of the engine gang. They halted, their fear of the weapon overriding their aggression. Maybe the sphere’s influence was not strong enough to compel that many of them to suicide…

“Clear the room!” He barked at them all.

They just stared back at him darkly. He considered a wide-angle stun. He could get about half of them, but it would take four seconds to drop them without a concentrated blast. The others would rush him…

As one, they looked to Tolin. She returned their look and waved them out. The engine gang relaxed and began to file out of the starboard hatch. Once they had departed, Ron followed and set the lock on the door. He glanced back to the chief engineer.

“I’m taking the sphere.” He told her.

Xia did not respond. She approached, glaring at him from beneath lowered brows. Her hands were held like claws, animalistic. She looked ready to pounce on him. Ronald pointed his trusty phaser at her, hesitant to fire on this woman. The two of them shared so much in common. He did not want to shoot her. How would it affect their future if he did? An overwhelming feeling of fear flooded his mind.

The thing was manipulating him again.

Davenport wanted to crank his phaser’s setting up and blow the thing to the next world. But who knew what a quantum detonation would do to the ship. Within the confines of the engine room, it would certainly wreck or destroy Endeavour. He kept his concentration on Tolin as she edged nearer.

“Don’t come any closer Xia, I don’t want to shoot you.” He warned.

Xia hesitated, nearly stumbling in her next step. She blinked for the first time since he’d seen her come out of that room. She straightened from her hunched demeanor and looked around. “Ron?” She mumbled.

Ron kept his phaser trained.

“It’s gonna be fine, Xia. I’m going to beam that thing out of here…disperse it to space.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s controlling us like marionettes!”

Xia stood blinking, as though she’d just awakened. She looked down at the folded form of Surall as though noticing her for the first time. She looked at the sphere on the diagnostic scanner. It glowed and hummed, lights revolving within its depths. Shadows danced over them both.

“It…spoke to me…” She mumbled, confused.

Ron holstered his weapon and moved for the hateful little ball. He picked it out of its cradle, about to tuck it beneath his arm. He looked back at Tolin just as the main door began to drone open once again.

“Come with—“

Ron coughed out a yell as two phaser beams bisected his form. He tumbled to the floor with a thud, the sphere rolling away from him as his hands lost grip on it. Tolin screamed in surprise as three security armored men rushed in and took covering position over the inert commander’s body.

“Target down, Boss!” One of them crowed.

“That’s him.” Petty Officer Goodwin replied, the last to enter the chamber. Tolin stared at them in shock, barely shaking off the dreamlike malaise that corrupted her mind. Was this happening? She gazed down on the motionless Davenport.

“Is he dead?”

Goodwin looked at her like she was crazy.

“Hell no, sir. Just stunned. Live subjects make better specimens.”

“Live…specimens…?”

Dawayne looked up from the commander as his men went about the task of shackling his wrists and feet. “A creature has boarded the Endeavour. It’s abducted the commodore and the XO, and impersonated Commander Davenport. I don’t know what’s happened to the real chief of operations, but this isn’t him. We’ll secure it in the brig till we get the rest of the ship back under control.”

Tolin’s mind spun with the thoughts crashing through it. Goodwin’s theory was nearly convincing, but did not explain why Ron had wanted to get rid of the sphere. Nor did it explain the voice she’d heard since bringing the device down here. That silky…undeniable voice…

Her dark eyes flickered suddenly to the abandoned sphere lying where it had fallen on the deck. It had rolled to the portside bulkhead, right beside the port power interface… A long coil of opti-cable had uncoiled from within the interface and was slowly moving toward the sphere. Tolin’s eyes went wide. Dawayne noticed and looked to his right. He didn’t notice what she had. He looked back to her in question.

“Something over there, sir?”

“That device,” Tolin replied quickly, inventing on the fly as quickly as she could with the murky clouds in her mind. “The…creature…it was after the sphere.”

Goodwin looked back at the glowing machine.

“Any idea why, sir?”

“I think it was compelled to come for the sphere.” She explained, trying to sound completely assured. She headed for the ball shaped reactor, cautious of what other tricks it might have built in. “I think if we beam the sphere off the ship, the creature will be compelled to follow.”

Dawayne didn’t look convinced. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. But when Tolin grabbed up the device, jerking it free of the opti-cable it had attached itself to, and looked at him expectantly, he suddenly nodded.

“Alright. Herman, you’re with me and the commander. You other two, secure this creature in the brig. Ready if you are, engineer.”

Tolin took a deep breath and motioned for them to begin. Goodwin positioned the slim man he called Herman in the lead, who scanned the way ahead of them with his rifle’s lamp. Tolin followed and Dawayne brought up the rear.

It was obvious to the engineer that the Petty Officer did not trust her completely. His eyes were also glazed from the affect that this thing was having on him. She vainly tried to remember the last few hours since this device had been brought to the engine room. But the only thing she could recall was hearing the voice and speaking to Ron. What else had she done during all that time?

The corridor was clear of all but crewmen left unconscious by Goodwin’s security team. The lighting was set to Gamma Shift’s low levels, which left plenty of shadow in the irregular engineering spaces they passed through. Xia could hear voices from far off. Not all of them were completely sane.

Tolin led them to the after cargo transporter rooms. It was much shorter, and her advanced hearing told her much safer, than traversing the decks above to find the main transporter rooms. They came to the wide corridors leading to the two rooms and their adjacent cargo bays. There, Herman drew up short and turned to cast a wary glance at his team leader.




“Hey, Boss. How come we’re taking Tolin for her word?”

“What do ya mean?” Goodwin shot back with irritation. A paranoid glint took his eye. He saw Tolin take a deep breath and prepare herself for the worst.

“I mean: You said this thing can take anyone’s form. We watched it become the XO and we got him. You figured out it took over Davenport’s form, and now we’ve got him. What if it isn’t taking over forms so much as taking over bodies?”

Goodwin nodded. “Okay…and?”

“Who’s to say it hasn’t took over the engineer, and now it’s trying to get us to destroy the generator? I mean, we got the XO and it was still out there, right?”

Goodwin tried to follow. All of this was so confusing and hard to keep up with. The back of his mind was telling him one thing while the rest of him struggled to figure it all out. Maybe he had it all wrong…

“Okay… You think the engineer is the creature now?”

“Why wouldn’t she be?”

Goodwin looked back to the Andorian woman with sudden loathing. It would explain a lot. Davenport had been trying desperately to get to engineering. Now that Tolin had the thing the ops chief was likely after, she wanted to destroy it. The creature was after the quantum generator!



Tolin expelled the breath of air she’d been holding in and whirled on one foot at the sight of Goodwin’s rifle raising. Her right foot caught the PO1 with a viscous kick to the jaw and sent him reeling. She came down with a hop on her attacking foot and propelled her left sideways into Herman’s sternum. She then gave him a two-handed uppercut with the spheroid generator. The device connected with a glass-like cling and knocked the human out cold.

A foot swept Tolin off her feet and sprawled her out on the deck next to Goodwin. Dawayne mounted her with all his weight and lifted a meaty fist to slug her in the mouth. Xia straightened two fingers of her left hand and drove them full-force into the PO’s exposed armpit. Dawayne coughed in pain and was forced to clench the arm to his side. Tolin’s fist found his jaw, striking the same place she’d hit before. Goodwin fell back, clutching his mouth. The engineer continued to capitolize. She rolled forward with her opponent, slugging the enlisted man between the eyes as he sought to gain distance.

Goodwin propelled himself back from the Andorian, skidding on his buttocks and rolling onto his broad feet. He came up with his hands in full defensive position. His fists coiled into great, knuckly balls and stood out before him like towers before a citadel. His eyes bored through her with the darkest content one could fathom. Tolin could feel the sphere’s grasp on the human as he stepped in on her.

Dawayne led with a massive thrust of his left aimed for her face. Tolin bobbled on the balls of her feet and allowed the strike to come short. The other followed his missed left with a right hook that would have landed on the ear. Xia ducked beneath that huge arm and delivered a lightning jab into the armpit she had hit before. Dawayne howled and backed off, again holding that arm close.

Xia swept her foot up into a heel kick as the human backed into the bulkhead. Her heel cracked into the leading edge of his polished helmet. She’d barely shaken him. Dawayne propelled himself off the wall behind him and drove into Tolin’s defensive circle. Xia was incapable of blocking the first strike, it came so fast. He slammed a fist directly into her stomach, driving wind and strength from her in one motion. His next was a left aimed for her temple. She managed to roll her head aside to divert the blow, but it still caught her on the forehead. Tolin fell back and took another hit to the jaw. Her mouth snapped shut hard, her teeth grinding together painfully.

Dawayne’s big hand caught her up by the throat and clenched. He drew her in for a powerful right hand hit to the face, with the intent to knock her unconscious. Tolin grabbed the PO1 by the shoulder straps of his armor and drove her knee into his gut. The armor there protected him from the brunt of the force, but it served to loosen his grip on her throat. She dragged air into her lungs as she pushed off of him.

Goodwin added force to her momentum with a short shove, tossing her backward. She landed on her rump, jarring the base of her spine and antennae when she hit. She looked up, bleary eyed at her opponent and saw there the intent to kill.

Xia struck out with a heel to Goodwin’s knee. The taller man shouted a curse and fell like a log. Xia’s hands found the round circumference of the sphere and raised it up high. She brought its heavy weight down on his helmet, hearing a crack. Face down, the security man could scarcely defend himself now. He was out with the first hit.
But that didn’t stop the engineer. Again and again she brought the device down on his protected skull, hoping to hear bone splinter and snap. She bared teeth as she exerted all his force on this effort.

Her back muscles began to ache with her final draw, and she knelt on her sore knees with the device held high above her. How many times had she hit the petty officer? Had she killed him? Gods in the heavens, had she killed him? He was a Starfleet noncom!

Xia looked down on his prone form, terrified at what she might discover she’d done. Blood puddled at the human’s nose and spread on the uncarpeted deck. Her dark eyes spanned wide. She thought to turn him, to see how badly he was injured. Any movement to his neck might further harm, even kill… She’d done enough to him.
Tolin lowered the sphere to eye level and looked upon the devilish thing. Its swirling colors were vibrant with the zephyr of her exertions. She’d fueled it, given it strength with her desire to kill her fellow crewmate.

It had compelled her emotions to slay another person. It had compelled the security men to turn on her to protect itself. It had played the entire crew… ‘I have to destroy this thing!’

Tolin gathered her feet beneath her and clambered to tired feet. She slogged ahead, feeling as though she trod through a marsh with a heavy rock strapped to her back. The journey to the reinforced hatch was like a trek up a high precipice. The device in her hands felt like a leaden weight. It suddenly began to burn a hellish fire in her grasp and she had to drop it. She could hear the clamor of rushing boots on the deck above. It was calling in reinforcements. Tolin straightened, quickly doffing her duty jacket to wrap it around the blazing orb. She tucked it under her arm and pressed through the transporter doors.

Once though, Xia locked out the controls to the entrances and hurled the object onto the main platform. The thing hit like a ton of bricks and rolled free of her maroon garment. Its light had changed to a nightmarish crimson and blood. Black blotches formed in various areas and circled. Tolin shook away her gaze and staggered toward the protected control booth.

Xia plied her hands about the main controls. Her brain was barely functional. How much of it was fatigue, and how much was the machine’s influence over her? Voices gnawed at her insides, hurling threats and invoking images of fear. She saw death, mutilation, damnation. That thing would see her in hell.

Finally the transport matrix came up and she slid the initiator disks forward. The familiar blue hue of subspace disintegration overcame the dreadful sphere and brightened, taking the thing with it. She halted the transport cycle halfway through completion. With the thing held in the subspace buffer, she began to adjust the bandwidths that would spread the thing to the winds of space.

Then she beheld it.

There was another, separate signature in the buffer with the sphere!

Frightened of the implications she looked closer. A quick tweak of the resolution scanner revealed more of the reading’s attributes. She recognized the patterns of an organic lifeform. It was the bio-pattern of a humanoid. She scanned the pattern to identify the species of the individual. Human.

She was taking a risk, and she did not have very much time to dwell on the matter. Any longer in the buffer, and the lifeform signature would begin to degrade. She separated the bio-form from the machine components and reversed the cycle. Then she started the flush that would wash the sphere’s particles out the subspace transmitters mounted on the outer hull. The thing was gone, nothing but disassociated particles floating freely in the void of space.

A form began to take shape on the transporter platform. The garish aurora of light parted around a uniformed figure, then faded completely with the loud noise of the transporter. Tolin stared in surprise at the man on the platform.

Commodore Ford sagged to his knees and lurched forward, falling flat on his face.

Her sluggish miasma gone, Tolin bolted out of the control room and ran to the commodore’s side. She skidded to a halt on her knees beside the flag officer and turned him over. Ford’s eyes rolled and sweat gushed from his every pour. But he blinked twice and centered his gaze on his chief engineer.

“Good work, Engines.” He rasped, then faded into unconsciousness.

[Governor Ronjar]

Epilogue





Doctor Keller sagged in the visitor’s seat of Ford’s ready room so tiredly that she seemed to conform to its every crevice. Her beleaguered eyes gazed at the CO sadly and he looked back with scarcely different sentiment. They’d quite literally been through hell.

“Most of the crew was over taken by rabid paranoia and acted accordingly. They took refuge in their quarters, armed themselves. Some even attempted distress calls. Others were not quite so fortunate. Some actively sought out people to attack. There were seventeen deaths from…various methods. There were eleven rapes…”

Chevy dropped his head, halting the British voice from further divulging details he’d have to deal with soon enough. It was all in the data work anyway. He looked hard into the woman’s brown eyes.

“I can imagine what that thing did, Doc.”

“What was that thing, Chevy?”

There was a pleading nature within her question. Ford’s heart rent open at the sound of it. He’d likely been through worse than most aboard, but she had not been spared in the least.

“It was the devil himself, Andrea. And it gave us a lil’ glimpse of its home.”

Keller stared at him for a time, uncertain of what Ford had gone through. Endeavour was a ship full of people in serious need of psychiatric help. Even she, the ship’s Chief Medical Officer, was deeply traumatized by what had happened. A man had died by her hand. She’d been overwhelmed by a desire to kill. What had the sphere done to her captain during his time inside of it?

“Whatever the thing’s purpose,” Ford went on, getting past his own sardonic theatrics, “ It’s gone now. Engines vaped it into space.”

“’Engines’?” She asked.

“Tolin. That nickname was the handle of the engineer from the last starship Endeavour. It was the first thing that came to mind when I saw her on the transporter pad.”

“She and Davenport saved our lives.”

“I don’t think the thing aimed to kill us all, Doc.” Ford picked up on of the two PADDs the doctor had brought in with her. He keyed through the text to the summation and read over it. He nodded once in agreement. “We’ll give the most afflicted members of the crew the option to disembark. I’ll organize shuttles from Starbase 23 when I give the full report to Sharp. They’ll have to remain on duty for now, but I’m authorizing shorter shifts for those who need it. I’m also ordering the Eldridge into an escort position with us when she passes on her closest approach.”

Andrea looked deep into the CO’s eyes, disbelieving.

“You’re trying to act as though this were just another unfortunate incident in the space service, Chevy. This was far from the ordinary occurrence. You should take this ship in. Yourself included, we need help.”

“Doc, I’ve got a commodore looking for my commission and a friend in the deepest trouble with authority one can get into without committing murder. There is an alien Warden out there with a blood grudge on his mind and a resume of destroying any Federation ship he can take. If I take Endeavour off station, then most of these problems will only get worse. There is no better ship in the sector to deal with this, and it’s my job to see that it gets done. But I’ll see to it that my crew gets taken care of too.”

Keller nodded back. She would have to accept that answer. But she knew Ford was greatly bothered. Now was not the time to get him to reveal his demons, though. He needed time to assimilate and settle his thoughts. Then he could heal.

Andrea stood, not bothering to smooth her jacket as she usually might. It was hanging open at the front anyway. She gave Chevis a small smile. He couldn’t return it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Chevy.”

“In the mornin’, Andrea.”




Keller left, and Ford sat back in his seat, alone.

All that he’d been through while a prisoner within that thing, none of it compared to the bleating of his conscience now. The thing had used his own inner voice against him. He’d been knocking himself out privately about how he’d dealt with Thomas. It had just magnified what he’d already been feeling. Once he’d allowed it that leeway, it had taken control of him. Then it had revealed its true intentions for him.

‘It wanted to go somewhere else… To take another world like it did the one below.’ He thought to himself. He looked at the half-finished survey report his fatigued teams had cobbled together. Thankfully, many of the members had been on the planet during the ordeal and had avoided the hell inflicted on the rest of them. The others had been here to detail their findings.

Ford picked up the PADD and tapped the ‘on’ tab. The team had managed to decipher most of the written language in the city they’d beamed to. So nearly as they could discern, the planet had indeed been a colony world of a much larger nation. They had called their colony Halvor Prime. Now that colony was a graveyard. What of their original nation?

Ford put the PADD away, uninterested in those people. He worried over the idea that more of those things might be waiting out there for others to find. He’d certainly file a warning to any ship investigating a quantum reaction on any ship or planet in the future.

Chevy found himself leaning forward in his groaning chair and activating the computer interface. He keyed the thing on and opened up its recorder system. He figured he’d begin his report. When he began, it poured out of him like a torrential rain.

He included as much as he could, avoiding unnecessary detail about his own ordeal. When he finished, he insisted that this was just a preliminary report until more facts could be ascertained. He insisted that there was no further danger to the ship or crew, and that casualties were light. He paused, uncertain what else he wished to say.

Then it came to him.

“One a personal note, Admiral,” he said haltingly, then became more sure. “I’m exercising my right as Ben Thomas’s former commanding officer to represent him at his Court Martial as co-counsel. Please inform me of the Stardate it will be held and make it possible for me to be there. I will leave my XO in temporary command during the trial as I believe him to be duly qualified.”

Ford killed the recorder and saved the file. With this done, he tapped the intercom control.

“Mister Smith?”

“Aye, sir.” Came the boy’s tired reply.

“The preliminary report to Admiral Sharp is ready for transmission to Starbase. Please send it with my complements to the Admiral.”

“Yes, sir.”

The commodore leaned back in his chair and was asleep before it finished reclining. His dreams were not pleasant, but were but a pale shadow to the hell he’d already visited. Even in his unconscious reverie, he wondered if any of them would ever be the same again.




***

Later and elsewhere…

Captain Goroth hopped out of the transporter control booth with jubilant expectation to examine what he’d just beamed on board. His ship had been out near the plasma region for weeks, prospecting asteroids and planetoids for possible mining locations. He’d never have dreamed to come across a find like this.

As his cloven, Tellarite hoof came down on the shining platform of the transporter alcove, Goroth imagined what riches the Tellarite mining consortium would heap upon him for such a find as this that lay at his feet. To think, floating in space, a quantum reactor core! He looked down on the thing with a well of avarice shining in his whiteless eyes.

‘So small a thing…’ he thought to himself. He bent down to retrieve the shining, clear globe from the deck. The future was his! Heaven was held in his chubby, gloved hands…


END.

[KOTH-KieranXC, Ret.]

I enjoyed this, although I can't say I'm confident about Thomas' chances. Not sure if even Ford could pull this particular rabbit out of his hat.

I also like your endings. You always seem to find a way to end with an interesting cliffhanger, that makes the reader look forward to the next story...

Waiting for #7!

[Governor Ronjar]

I am glad you enjoyed, Kieran. And thank you for the compliment on my endings. Endings always bother me. But I had this one planned well in advance of finishing the story.

You are correct in that 'getting Thomas off the hook' is one even our hero (cough) will have trouble pulling off. But he has a plan. The primary reason for his wishing to return to base for the trial, however, is as support for Thomas, his friend.

Anyway, was there anything else you enjoyed in particular other than the ending? Any snippets of critique?

Anybody?

THX
--thu guv!

[Governor Ronjar]

One response...
Even La'ra fails me...
Does it suck or is it too long?

Hoping y'all are just busy...

--thu guv!

[Commander La'ra]

La'ra has been reading it slowly, but was interuppted, and will be getting to it soon.

Geez you're needy!

[Governor Ronjar]

OH! You bitch!

[Scottish Andy]

Sorry Guv, I must have missed this. I'm working my way though it now, and have reached Chapter 4. I like the new patrol profile, the new XO seems like a good guy, and I really like the relationship beginning between the doctor and the captain.

I also like the Britannic Shipping company.

I'll keep reading later. Got a meeting now.

[Governor Ronjar]

Brittanic Shippers was a tip of the hat to our friends across the pond.