The Lost Warrior 07 - The Forced Hand
Title: The Lost Warrior
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the secondary index page
Author’s notes:
Captain Mandala Flynn and the USS Magellan have been created by Vonda McIntyre and featured in several Star Trek novels. I’ve changed their final fate for the sake of this story, though.
Kreon is the computer technician named Komma (Jeff Mackay) from “The Gun on Ice Planet Zero”. I changed his name because I thought it was silly. Tauran troikas - three-way-marriages - can contain a husband and two wives or a wife and two husbands, depending on the group’s decision.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 07 - THE FORCED HAND
“And what makes Jolly think that I’d know what to do in such a blasted situation?” Omega kept his voice low, as Aggie was already sleeping in the next room.
Athena raised a perfect eyebrow. “The fact that you are his commanding officer perhaps? Or that you usually do know what to do, regardless of the situation?”
“Well, I’m fresh out of ideas,” Omega growled. “So much for leaving Starbuck in his current, safe situation. Not that safe, after all, it seems.”
“He’s certainly forced our hand with that incident yesterday,” Athena agreed. “But we can’t let Station Security put him in prison. After what’s just happened, he’d go completely mad in a cell.”
“I’ll break him out by force, if I have to,” Omega said with determination, “but that wouldn’t be very safe for him, either.”
“No,” Athena admitted. “The less attention he draws, the better for him. We could try to persuade the Tellarite worker not to press charges - that would be the best.”
“Of course it would be the best,” Omega said, frustrated. “But how are you planning to achieve that?”
“Well, we can’t make it public that he’s one of us,” Athena was thinking loudly. “That would bring his torturers right back on his track. I might have to employ some other diplomat to help us.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to let Commodore Hunter handle the situation?” Omega asked doubtfully. He didn’t like the idea of any strangers getting involved.
Athena shook her head. “No, she’d have no other choice but making Starbuck the trial - and that would be devastating right now, in more than one way. What we need is a Federation diplomat who not only is willing to declare Starbuck - I mean, Lieutenant Doe or whatever new name and identity we may create for him - as a citizen of his or her homeworld, but also capable of coming up with a convincing story about that reaction today.”
“Do you have anyone on your mind?” Omega asked, still not really buying it. Athena gave him a rueful smile.
“To be honest, the only one I can think of would be Carolyn Palamas,” she answered. “The recent upheaval on Alpha III might even provide us with a believable backstory. Carolyn is used to deal with critical situations; let’s hope she can think of something.”
“Yes, but is she going to help us?” Omega wondered. “And if she is, how much are you going to tell her?”
“Just the bare bones of the whole thing,” Athena said simply.
Omega sighed. “I don’t know… it’s an awful risk we’ll be taking with that step.”
“True, but if we don’t do anything, Starbuck will end up in prison, and he wouldn’t survive that,” Athena pointed out. “Besides, Lieutenant Palamas will leave for the Enterprise shortly, so that people won’t get the chance to ask any further questions.”
“Let’s assume she’s willing to help, then,” Omega said. “What are you planning to offer that Tellarite in exchange for dropping his charges?”
Athena shrugged. “Financial compensation. Works every time. People are generally greedy.”
“Poor Starbuck,” Omega smiled involuntarily. “He finally wins a small fortune, and then he’ll have to give it up, just to save his hide. That’s going to make him furious, whether he’s himself or not.”
“I’m not planning to give the winnings to that boray,” Athena said icily. “He had no right to demand them in the first place, and I don’t intend to strengthen his misconception that he had. What he did was just as unlawful as Starbuck’s throttling him half-dead. No, he’ll get the compensation according to Federation law and not a fracking cubit more.”
“Which still could be more than what Starbuck has, with or without his winnings,” Omega reminded her.
“I know,” Athena nodded soberly. “But he won’t have to pay it. He’s always been part of our family, and we can afford to buy him free, even though he won’t know where the money really came from. He’s going to need his credits for living anyway, because I don’t believe he’d be back in a fighter any time soon.”
“That will be hard on him,” Omega said. “He lives for flying, he always has.”
“Let’s hope he’ll be again, one day, and in a Viper, where he truly belongs,” Athena replied. “But first we have to hide and to protect him. He’s got a great deal of healing to do, and that can only be done in peace and safety.”
“Which would be - where exactly?” Omega asked, his eyes dark with concern.
“I don’t know,” Athena sighed. “I haven’t thought so far yet. Let’s deal with the current crisis first. We can make long-term plans when I’ve talked to Father.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hunter, understandably, was not happy when she learned about the incident. But she wasn’t ready to sacrifice her best combat pilot any more than Athena or Omega. She’d been the commander of a fighting squadron for a decade or longer; she knew that the strongest man could break under too much pressure. The question was now, how to deal with the aftermath, and she was glad to have help with that.
“I’ve studied the security cam records,” she said to Omega. “The Tellarite was wrong, indeed, and he had cornered the lieutenant. If we have to, I’ll threaten him that Lieutenant Doe will press charges as well.”
Omega shook his head. “We can’t allow the case to come to any sort of court. Lieutenant Doe won’t be able to hold through a trial.”
“Yeah, but Mr. Gar doesn’t know that,” Hunter replied with a wolfish grin.
“Still,” Omega insisted, “we can’t take the risk.”
“I agree,” Carolyn Palamas intervened. “We can’t calculate how stable the lieutenant is at the moment. A complete mental breakdown can’t be ruled out. He must not be investigated.”
“You won’t hear any argument from us,” Athena said, “but can you suggest a way out of it? One that might even work?”
“I believe I can,” Palamas answered. “I had the night to think about it, and I hope I’ve found a solution. But firs you must answer a few questions.”
“What questions?” Omega asked warily.
Palamas gave him one of her bedazzling smiles.
“Nothing about his true identity, obviously, since that’s the very thing you want to keep confidential,” she replied. “But can you vouch for his character? That he won’t discredit me or my government in any way? I’m taking some risks myself here, by intervening, you know.”
“We can,” Athena said firmly. “He’s a gambler and a womanizer, that’s true, but he’s loyal and honest in anything that counts, and he’s ‘as reliable as antigravs’, as you Starfleet folks like to say.”
“Very well,” Palamas nodded. “In that case, I do have the solution. We’ll create him a new identity, complete with citizenship from Alpha III and an elaborate background.”
“You can do that?” Hunter asked doubtfully.
“Of course,” Palamas said with a broad smile. “Remember the USS Magellan?”
“It was a small research ship under the command of Captain Mandala Flynn that got lost on a deep space mission beyond Sector G-132, wasn’t it?” Hunter asked back. Palamas nodded.
“Not exactly lost,” she said. “The Magellan got caught in a violent ion storm, crashed onto an uninhibited Class L planet and his entire crew died, with the exception of Captain Flynn and two ensigns from Stellar Cartography. They couldn’t even launch the lifepods.”
“That’s tragic, but how is that going to help us?” omega asked.
“The Magellan’s chief helmsman was a pilot from Alpha III, by the name of Gregory Demos,” Palamas explained. “He was a loner without family or friends, not even from Alpha III itself but from one of the asteroid colonies that are known to be a bit… lash at keeping their records. Now, did you say the only thing your Lieutenant Doe remembers is his given name, and that would be Gabriel?”
Hunter nodded. “That is correct.”
“Good,” Palamas said. “We’ll simply declare that the records were incorrect, and that Lieutenant Demos’ name was in fact not Gregory but Gabriel. It’s such an easy mistake to make, isn’t it? And not one of any significance. Now, how old is this pilot of yours?”
“We don’t know for sure,” Athena said, “he’s an orphan of unknown origins. But thirty, thirty-two would be the best estimate, the doctors say.”
“That could work,” Palamas nodded. “Lieutenant Demos would be thirty-eight right now. And he was green-eyed, with dark blond hair. Or light brown, depending on your point of view.”
“Our man is a blue-eyed blond,” Athena said. “That’s not such a big difference. But how are you going to resurrect Lieutenant Demos after… how long?”
“Almost four years,” Palamas replied. “That won’t be a problem. We’ll tell everyone that the original rescue team has overlooked the one lifepod that had been ejected, and that Lieutenant Demos survived with a memory loss. Which part would even be true.”
“That would be a bit much of a coincidence,” Omega remarked. “Not only a mistake about his given name, but also a mistaken identification of his body…”
“Not really,” Palamas shrugged. “Mistakes like that do happen, especially during hurried rescue missions, Starfleet doesn’t like to admit it, but that’s the truth, nevertheless.”
“What about Captain Flynn and the other survivors of the Magellan?” Omega asked. “If nobody else, they will know the truth.”
“Mandala Flynn has been promoted and is now the commander of a Starbase on the other side of the Federation, near the Romulan border,” Palamas replied. “The two ensigns reconsidered their career choice and returned to Vulcan. So, as long as you don’t try to sell your man as a genuine Starfleet officer, there’s no way anyone could reveal him as a pretender. Even less so if you let him believe that he is, in fact, Lieutenant Demos.”
“Wouldn’t that lead to other identity problems?” Hunter asked.
“As long as he doesn’t remember his real past… no, it wouldn’t,” Palamas said. “And even if he starts to remember, I can arrange genuine Alpha III citizenship for him. Demos is a very frequent name on my homeworld, we can integrate him without the need to keep up his false identity. That’s just a temporary solution to explain his presence on this Base.”
Athena and Omega exchanged a look. Genuine Federation citizenship would mean long-term protection for Starbuck. He could remain on the Starbase with a firmly established new identity, even if his memory returned. He’d have the support of the huge, well-oiled Federation apparatus - and yet remain within reach.
“As you said: it could work,” Athena said carefully. “We’re extremely grateful for your help.”
Palamas smiled. “You’re welcome. I’ll go now and have a chat with the Tellarite ambassador, and then we can work out the details together.”
“Do you need help to bully the Tellarites into cooperation?” Hunter inquired sweetly.
“Oh, no,” Palamas laughed. “I’ll take Lieutenant M’Botabwe with me - there’s nothing scarier than a Starfleet lawyer. And Ming-Khai is worse than the average. She can quote precedents of interstellar law by heart, back to two hundred years, and she’s never wrong. Frankly, she sometimes even scares me.”
* * * * * * * * * * ** * * * *
Gabriel Doe had spent the night in the Colonial pilot’s rented quarters, fighting nightmares when he slept and panic attacks when he was awake. The pilot - Sergeant Jolly, what a strange name, he thought absently - had endured his hysterics in a friendly, supportive manner, forced him to eat some sticky sweats he called mushies ‘to soothe your nerves’, and played pyramid with him to distract him. With very little success, truth be told.
In the entire morning, he’d been waiting for Station Security to arrest him, but they never came. Around noon, Sergeant Jolly finally got a call from his colonel, who told him to get something to eat for his ‘guest’ and then appear with him on the consulate of Alpha III, at 15.00 station time.
That was something of a surprise. Gabriel couldn’t remember having ever had anything to do with anyone from Alpha III, and Jolly, who hadn’t studied the worlds of the Federation, knew even less.
“At least it’s not the brig,” Gabriel shrugged philosophically. “Let’s have lunch and then see what they want from us.”
He wasn’t really hungry, in fact, he doubted that he’d be able to force down anything but a drink, but he had the feeling that his friendly host needed to be fed on a regular basis to keep going. He didn’t know why; he’d only met the guy the previous night. Yet it felt as if they’d known each other for decades.
Thus they had lunch in the mess hall of the border patrol, and then they caught the station shuttle to get to the Centaurian Embassy Pier, where the consulate of Alpha III was situated. The two worlds had been friends and allies since the beginnings of the Federation, and so they often shared diplomatic facilities - like here.
A secretary led them to a small office that had the clear lines of a Greek temple, with large windows and the marble busts of ancient philosophers and warlords in each corner. A stunningly beautiful blonde woman, wearing a gravity-defying, shimmering turquoise gown that made their knees weak, rose from a low couch to greet them.
“Gentleman, I greet you on the behalf of the government of Alpha III,” she said. “I’, special Emissary Carolyn Palamas, and this,” she gestured towards the equally attractive Asian-American woman in black uniform who was sitting behind the computerized desk, “is Lieutenant Ming-Khai M’Botabwe, from Starfleet’s Justice Division.”
The pretty lawyer gave them a wordless nod but didn’t move. Gabriel felt his stomach clench with anxiety. Lawyers could never mean any good. Perhaps he would be sent to prison, after all…
He felt Jolly’s soothing hand on his back and somehow managed to pull himself together.
“My pleasure, ma’am,” he got out with some effort.
“Before we come to the actual reason for your presence here,” Palamas continued, “I want to put your mind at ease concerning yesterday’s… incident. I’ve spoken to the Tellarite ambassador on your behalf, and he agreed not to press charges - in exchange for financial compensation.”
“Which means no prison, but I’ll probably be broke for the rest of my life,” Gabriel shrugged, giddy with relief. “I can live with that. But, forgive my asking, what have you to do with my case? Not that I’m not grateful,” he added hastily, “I just don’t understand.”
“Well, the interrogation has led to one positive result, after all,” Palamas replied. “A genetic search through Starfleet databases has shown that you are, in fact, Lieutenant Gabriel Demos, from the Helot asteroid colony of Alpha III.”
“I am?” none of the names mentioned meant a thing for him.
Palamas nodded. “Apparently. There was a mistake concerning your given name in the database: it was recorded as Gregory, which is part of the reason why we haven’t found you earlier.”
“I see,” he still couldn’t quite get it. “And how did I end up here with no memory at all?”
“We’re not really sure,” Palamas admitted. “The last known fact is that you were the chief pilot of the USS Magellan, a deep-space exploration vessel that was destroyed in an ion storm some four years ago. The survivors - all three of them - were found months later. You were believed dead, although not all the bodies could be identified. Some of them were simply annihilated when the warp core of the ship explored. We don’t know what you’ve done in the time between the Magellan’s destruction and your appearance here - it must have been bad. But at least we know now who you are.”
“I see,” was the only thing he could say again. Not that he’d mistrust her, but the whole thing was too much, too sudden, too… convenient. He needed to dig deeper. “Do I have any family?”
Palamas shook her head. “According to our records you’re not married, and your parents died when you were a small child - three or four years old, I think.”
“Thought so,” he said a bit wistfully. “Does this mean I’m a Federation citizen then?”
“Well, that’s a bit complicated,” Palamas admitted. “You’ve been officially declared dead, which means your citizenship has been deleted from the records. But you can reapply any time, and I’ll approve, of course, within the usual processing time of thirty days. In fact, I’ll approve it right away, as I’ll have to leave the station in four days.”
“Please read these application forms carefully,” the lawyer spoke for the first time, “and sign them if you find everything in the right order.”
One of the documents was in Greek, the other the Standard translation of it verified by a notary and signed by Hunter as the ranking Federation official of the Starbase. It contained his date of birth, which, again, didn’t ring a bell, his name (at least the given name was familiar), and his current address, which was, of course, the Starbase. Other than that, it was a simple request to reinstate his citizenship on Alpha III.
It seemed harmless enough, so he signed both documents, although it bothered him that he couldn’t either read or understand the Greek one. He’d have to refresh his knowledge about the official language of Alpha III. Hell, as much as he knew, it could have even been his mother tongue - although, for some reason, he doubted it.
“Very well,” Palamas glanced at his signature and signed the documents herself. “you’ll receive your copies - and those of my approval - in a day or two. I have to run it through the Central Record Archive of Alpha III, but there shouldn’t be any complications. I’ve got sufficient authority to reinstate you as our citizen.”
He nodded, accepting his good luck for the time being. He would think about the hows and whys later. But the emissary had mentioned something else that had almost escaped his attention.
“Erm… have you said I’m a Starfleet officer?” he asked. It seemed a bit unlikely to him, not that he could have named the reason.
“You used to be one,” the lawyer said. “When you were declared dead, your officer’s patent has been revoked.”
“Can I apply for it again?” he asked. The two women exchanged compassionate looks.
“You can try,” Palamas answered, “but it would do you no good. Let’s face it, Lieutenant, in your current state you won’t be fit for duty. Not even close. A combat pilot from the border patrol of a Starbase out in nowhere might get away with a stunt like the one you’ve performed yesterday - a Starfleet officer would be released from duty, effective immediately.”
He nodded in understanding. A fighter pilot couldn’t cause much damage when he lost it - well, he might shoot someone accidentally, but that wasn’t such a big risk. The chief helmsman of a starship, on the other hand, could kill dozens, even hundreds, with a single mistake. At the moment, he was an unacceptable risk everywhere but in the cockpit of a Tennet-5.
Well, as long as they let him climb into the cockpit of a Tennet-5, he could live with that, too.
“I’ve got one more question,” he said. “How am I supposed to pay that financial compensation? At the moment, I’ve nothing but the credits I won yesterday, and I doubt they would let me keep them. Or did I have savings back on Alpha III?”
“Some,” Palamas replied, “and I’ll try to extract them from the State, including four years’ worth of interests.”
“But that will take some time,” he said, concerned.
“True,” she agreed, “but the consulate will give you a loan until then. We take care of our people, Lieutenant. I regret that it took us so long to find you - consider it as a compensation from our side.”
“Will I be allowed to return to the border patrol?” he asked. At the moment, that was the most urgent question he could think of.
“Not right away, I’m afraid,” Palamas answered seriously. “Your reaction was extreme yesterday. Commodore Hunter wants to be sure - well, as sure as one can be - that you’re not a risk for yourself and for your comrades.”
“Oh, great,” he sighed, “just what I needed. More tests. More shrinks. More poking around in my head - as if it wasn’t messed up already.”
“I know it’s not always pleasant,” Palamas said. “But can you state with good conscience that it’s not necessary?”
“No,” he admitted, a little uncomfortably. “I just don’t think it would be of any use. It never has.”
“Well, you can’t be certain,” Palamas said. “And besides, you can’t avoid it. So make the best of it. Let them ask their questions and make their tests, so that you can get back in your fighter as soon as they declare you stable enough.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dr. Salik had been searching the database ever since returning from Starbase 7. Nominally, he was doing this to help with Dr. Sekhet’s research, which was as good a guise as they could come up with, and the Vulcan geneticist had even accompanied him aboard the Galactica to make it seem more convincing. But the database was huge, containing an incredible amount of data collected over several yahrens, and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that they were running out of time.
On the fourth day, he reluctantly gave in and drafted Technician Kreon, the lead computer specialist of the Galactica to help them, hoping and praying that it hadn’t been a mistake. Kreon was a simple and friendly guy from some Taurean agrostation and wouldn’t swat a crawlon, but he also liked to boast about the importance of his work and his person - and his two wives were the biggest gossips on the entire ship.
Granted, they weren’t aboard the ship anymore, thank the Lords of Kobol (not that Salik would believe in those, having been a die-hard agnostic from his youngest yahren on). They were managing their own little agrostation down on New Taura and raising their children. But Kreon was an incurable gossip himself who chatted with his wives every evening - one couldn’t trust him with anything that hadn’t been announced on all twelve Colonies on the previous day.
So, Salik had reason to hesitate before calling for his help, but in the end, necessity forced him to do so. Kreon came to the Life Center in his usual, annoyingly cheerful mood, happy to be of assistance (updating the ship’s databases with Federation data was useful but not terribly interesting). His round, brown eyes, already the size of dinner plates, grew impossibly wide seeing the search parameters - actually, very complicated DNA sequences - running on every available viewscreen.
Due to the capacity of his superior Vulcan brain, Dr. Sekhet was capable of monitoring half a dozen of those screens alone, but Salik was not so fortunate, which was the reason why he needed help. By employing Kreon’s, he could at least hope that his handlanger wouldn’t understand what they were searching for.
That didn’t keep the young man from asking stupid questions, of course.
“Holy frack!” he exclaimed in open-mouthed bewilderment. “What are you doing here, looking for the Lost Prince of Aquaria?”
Salik snorted. The royal house of Aquaria had died out more than a hundred and sixty yahrens ago, but the Aquarians still stubbornly insisted that they were a monarchy. Legends about bastard sons of the last king - who’d died of old age and supposedly childless - had resurfaced in irregular intervals, just to turn out as pretence after the proper medical checks.
The funny truth was that President Darius actually was related to the now extinct royal house, but kingship couldn’t be inherited through the female line, so there was no chance whatsoever to find anyone with a legitimate claim for the throne. The whole thing was fairly ridiculous anyway, but people loved such legends, and they didn’t harm anyone, so Salik simply ignored them.
Dr. Sekhet, on the other hand, hadn’t recognized Kreon’s question as a rhetoric one - or pretended not to recognize it. Salik had learned long ago that it was hard to read whether Vulcans were honestly flabbergasted or just making fun of humans… while fun seemed to have a completely different meaning in their vocabulary. In any case, the geneticist decided to answer the young man’s question in the typical, earnest - and extremely detailed - manner of his kind.
“Chasing after legends without any scientific foundation would be a waste of time, Mr. Kreon, and therefore highly illogical,” he declared with a blank face. “What we are doing here is a general search for specific genetic patterns with the ultimate goal of digitally modelling hidden similarities between the overall genetic make-up of the respective Colonial tribes. Based on my previous research, I have established the scientific theorem that intermarriage between two tribes can result in very specific genetic modifications among the entirety of the population, and the current research serves to verify my theory - or to prove it wrong.“
It took Kreon several centons to manage to speak again, after having opened and closed his mouth a few times, without getting out a sound.
“You mean you’re not even sure you’re right?” he asked, picking up the last sentence, which was about the only one he’s understood.
“That is correct,” the Vulcan replied with dignity, and Salik needed all his willpower to remain serious. He knew the Vulcan had been spewing nonsense, in order to confuse the young man - for a race supposedly incapable of outright lies, Vulcans were surprisingly good at obfuscating indeed.
“But… but you’ve been working on this for four days!” Kreon exclaimed. “And all that work could be for nothing if your theory turns out wrong?”
“That is also correct,” the Vulcan agreed calmly. “It would be unfortunate, of course, but this is the only known way to gather hard scientific evidence. Your help will be most appreciated,” he added, and Kreon backed off rapidly before he’d have been subjected to another ‘scientific’ explanation.
“Ummm… Dr. Salik, I think it would be better if you showed me what to do,” he muttered.
Never before had anyone managed to make the verbose computer chief shut up so quickly. Maybe it has its advantages to be a Vulcan, Salik thought, leading the young man to another set of viewscreen and showing him what he was supposed to watch for.
Chapter 08 - Conspiracies
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the secondary index page
Author’s notes:
Captain Mandala Flynn and the USS Magellan have been created by Vonda McIntyre and featured in several Star Trek novels. I’ve changed their final fate for the sake of this story, though.
Kreon is the computer technician named Komma (Jeff Mackay) from “The Gun on Ice Planet Zero”. I changed his name because I thought it was silly. Tauran troikas - three-way-marriages - can contain a husband and two wives or a wife and two husbands, depending on the group’s decision.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 07 - THE FORCED HAND
“And what makes Jolly think that I’d know what to do in such a blasted situation?” Omega kept his voice low, as Aggie was already sleeping in the next room.
Athena raised a perfect eyebrow. “The fact that you are his commanding officer perhaps? Or that you usually do know what to do, regardless of the situation?”
“Well, I’m fresh out of ideas,” Omega growled. “So much for leaving Starbuck in his current, safe situation. Not that safe, after all, it seems.”
“He’s certainly forced our hand with that incident yesterday,” Athena agreed. “But we can’t let Station Security put him in prison. After what’s just happened, he’d go completely mad in a cell.”
“I’ll break him out by force, if I have to,” Omega said with determination, “but that wouldn’t be very safe for him, either.”
“No,” Athena admitted. “The less attention he draws, the better for him. We could try to persuade the Tellarite worker not to press charges - that would be the best.”
“Of course it would be the best,” Omega said, frustrated. “But how are you planning to achieve that?”
“Well, we can’t make it public that he’s one of us,” Athena was thinking loudly. “That would bring his torturers right back on his track. I might have to employ some other diplomat to help us.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to let Commodore Hunter handle the situation?” Omega asked doubtfully. He didn’t like the idea of any strangers getting involved.
Athena shook her head. “No, she’d have no other choice but making Starbuck the trial - and that would be devastating right now, in more than one way. What we need is a Federation diplomat who not only is willing to declare Starbuck - I mean, Lieutenant Doe or whatever new name and identity we may create for him - as a citizen of his or her homeworld, but also capable of coming up with a convincing story about that reaction today.”
“Do you have anyone on your mind?” Omega asked, still not really buying it. Athena gave him a rueful smile.
“To be honest, the only one I can think of would be Carolyn Palamas,” she answered. “The recent upheaval on Alpha III might even provide us with a believable backstory. Carolyn is used to deal with critical situations; let’s hope she can think of something.”
“Yes, but is she going to help us?” Omega wondered. “And if she is, how much are you going to tell her?”
“Just the bare bones of the whole thing,” Athena said simply.
Omega sighed. “I don’t know… it’s an awful risk we’ll be taking with that step.”
“True, but if we don’t do anything, Starbuck will end up in prison, and he wouldn’t survive that,” Athena pointed out. “Besides, Lieutenant Palamas will leave for the Enterprise shortly, so that people won’t get the chance to ask any further questions.”
“Let’s assume she’s willing to help, then,” Omega said. “What are you planning to offer that Tellarite in exchange for dropping his charges?”
Athena shrugged. “Financial compensation. Works every time. People are generally greedy.”
“Poor Starbuck,” Omega smiled involuntarily. “He finally wins a small fortune, and then he’ll have to give it up, just to save his hide. That’s going to make him furious, whether he’s himself or not.”
“I’m not planning to give the winnings to that boray,” Athena said icily. “He had no right to demand them in the first place, and I don’t intend to strengthen his misconception that he had. What he did was just as unlawful as Starbuck’s throttling him half-dead. No, he’ll get the compensation according to Federation law and not a fracking cubit more.”
“Which still could be more than what Starbuck has, with or without his winnings,” Omega reminded her.
“I know,” Athena nodded soberly. “But he won’t have to pay it. He’s always been part of our family, and we can afford to buy him free, even though he won’t know where the money really came from. He’s going to need his credits for living anyway, because I don’t believe he’d be back in a fighter any time soon.”
“That will be hard on him,” Omega said. “He lives for flying, he always has.”
“Let’s hope he’ll be again, one day, and in a Viper, where he truly belongs,” Athena replied. “But first we have to hide and to protect him. He’s got a great deal of healing to do, and that can only be done in peace and safety.”
“Which would be - where exactly?” Omega asked, his eyes dark with concern.
“I don’t know,” Athena sighed. “I haven’t thought so far yet. Let’s deal with the current crisis first. We can make long-term plans when I’ve talked to Father.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hunter, understandably, was not happy when she learned about the incident. But she wasn’t ready to sacrifice her best combat pilot any more than Athena or Omega. She’d been the commander of a fighting squadron for a decade or longer; she knew that the strongest man could break under too much pressure. The question was now, how to deal with the aftermath, and she was glad to have help with that.
“I’ve studied the security cam records,” she said to Omega. “The Tellarite was wrong, indeed, and he had cornered the lieutenant. If we have to, I’ll threaten him that Lieutenant Doe will press charges as well.”
Omega shook his head. “We can’t allow the case to come to any sort of court. Lieutenant Doe won’t be able to hold through a trial.”
“Yeah, but Mr. Gar doesn’t know that,” Hunter replied with a wolfish grin.
“Still,” Omega insisted, “we can’t take the risk.”
“I agree,” Carolyn Palamas intervened. “We can’t calculate how stable the lieutenant is at the moment. A complete mental breakdown can’t be ruled out. He must not be investigated.”
“You won’t hear any argument from us,” Athena said, “but can you suggest a way out of it? One that might even work?”
“I believe I can,” Palamas answered. “I had the night to think about it, and I hope I’ve found a solution. But firs you must answer a few questions.”
“What questions?” Omega asked warily.
Palamas gave him one of her bedazzling smiles.
“Nothing about his true identity, obviously, since that’s the very thing you want to keep confidential,” she replied. “But can you vouch for his character? That he won’t discredit me or my government in any way? I’m taking some risks myself here, by intervening, you know.”
“We can,” Athena said firmly. “He’s a gambler and a womanizer, that’s true, but he’s loyal and honest in anything that counts, and he’s ‘as reliable as antigravs’, as you Starfleet folks like to say.”
“Very well,” Palamas nodded. “In that case, I do have the solution. We’ll create him a new identity, complete with citizenship from Alpha III and an elaborate background.”
“You can do that?” Hunter asked doubtfully.
“Of course,” Palamas said with a broad smile. “Remember the USS Magellan?”
“It was a small research ship under the command of Captain Mandala Flynn that got lost on a deep space mission beyond Sector G-132, wasn’t it?” Hunter asked back. Palamas nodded.
“Not exactly lost,” she said. “The Magellan got caught in a violent ion storm, crashed onto an uninhibited Class L planet and his entire crew died, with the exception of Captain Flynn and two ensigns from Stellar Cartography. They couldn’t even launch the lifepods.”
“That’s tragic, but how is that going to help us?” omega asked.
“The Magellan’s chief helmsman was a pilot from Alpha III, by the name of Gregory Demos,” Palamas explained. “He was a loner without family or friends, not even from Alpha III itself but from one of the asteroid colonies that are known to be a bit… lash at keeping their records. Now, did you say the only thing your Lieutenant Doe remembers is his given name, and that would be Gabriel?”
Hunter nodded. “That is correct.”
“Good,” Palamas said. “We’ll simply declare that the records were incorrect, and that Lieutenant Demos’ name was in fact not Gregory but Gabriel. It’s such an easy mistake to make, isn’t it? And not one of any significance. Now, how old is this pilot of yours?”
“We don’t know for sure,” Athena said, “he’s an orphan of unknown origins. But thirty, thirty-two would be the best estimate, the doctors say.”
“That could work,” Palamas nodded. “Lieutenant Demos would be thirty-eight right now. And he was green-eyed, with dark blond hair. Or light brown, depending on your point of view.”
“Our man is a blue-eyed blond,” Athena said. “That’s not such a big difference. But how are you going to resurrect Lieutenant Demos after… how long?”
“Almost four years,” Palamas replied. “That won’t be a problem. We’ll tell everyone that the original rescue team has overlooked the one lifepod that had been ejected, and that Lieutenant Demos survived with a memory loss. Which part would even be true.”
“That would be a bit much of a coincidence,” Omega remarked. “Not only a mistake about his given name, but also a mistaken identification of his body…”
“Not really,” Palamas shrugged. “Mistakes like that do happen, especially during hurried rescue missions, Starfleet doesn’t like to admit it, but that’s the truth, nevertheless.”
“What about Captain Flynn and the other survivors of the Magellan?” Omega asked. “If nobody else, they will know the truth.”
“Mandala Flynn has been promoted and is now the commander of a Starbase on the other side of the Federation, near the Romulan border,” Palamas replied. “The two ensigns reconsidered their career choice and returned to Vulcan. So, as long as you don’t try to sell your man as a genuine Starfleet officer, there’s no way anyone could reveal him as a pretender. Even less so if you let him believe that he is, in fact, Lieutenant Demos.”
“Wouldn’t that lead to other identity problems?” Hunter asked.
“As long as he doesn’t remember his real past… no, it wouldn’t,” Palamas said. “And even if he starts to remember, I can arrange genuine Alpha III citizenship for him. Demos is a very frequent name on my homeworld, we can integrate him without the need to keep up his false identity. That’s just a temporary solution to explain his presence on this Base.”
Athena and Omega exchanged a look. Genuine Federation citizenship would mean long-term protection for Starbuck. He could remain on the Starbase with a firmly established new identity, even if his memory returned. He’d have the support of the huge, well-oiled Federation apparatus - and yet remain within reach.
“As you said: it could work,” Athena said carefully. “We’re extremely grateful for your help.”
Palamas smiled. “You’re welcome. I’ll go now and have a chat with the Tellarite ambassador, and then we can work out the details together.”
“Do you need help to bully the Tellarites into cooperation?” Hunter inquired sweetly.
“Oh, no,” Palamas laughed. “I’ll take Lieutenant M’Botabwe with me - there’s nothing scarier than a Starfleet lawyer. And Ming-Khai is worse than the average. She can quote precedents of interstellar law by heart, back to two hundred years, and she’s never wrong. Frankly, she sometimes even scares me.”
* * * * * * * * * * ** * * * *
Gabriel Doe had spent the night in the Colonial pilot’s rented quarters, fighting nightmares when he slept and panic attacks when he was awake. The pilot - Sergeant Jolly, what a strange name, he thought absently - had endured his hysterics in a friendly, supportive manner, forced him to eat some sticky sweats he called mushies ‘to soothe your nerves’, and played pyramid with him to distract him. With very little success, truth be told.
In the entire morning, he’d been waiting for Station Security to arrest him, but they never came. Around noon, Sergeant Jolly finally got a call from his colonel, who told him to get something to eat for his ‘guest’ and then appear with him on the consulate of Alpha III, at 15.00 station time.
That was something of a surprise. Gabriel couldn’t remember having ever had anything to do with anyone from Alpha III, and Jolly, who hadn’t studied the worlds of the Federation, knew even less.
“At least it’s not the brig,” Gabriel shrugged philosophically. “Let’s have lunch and then see what they want from us.”
He wasn’t really hungry, in fact, he doubted that he’d be able to force down anything but a drink, but he had the feeling that his friendly host needed to be fed on a regular basis to keep going. He didn’t know why; he’d only met the guy the previous night. Yet it felt as if they’d known each other for decades.
Thus they had lunch in the mess hall of the border patrol, and then they caught the station shuttle to get to the Centaurian Embassy Pier, where the consulate of Alpha III was situated. The two worlds had been friends and allies since the beginnings of the Federation, and so they often shared diplomatic facilities - like here.
A secretary led them to a small office that had the clear lines of a Greek temple, with large windows and the marble busts of ancient philosophers and warlords in each corner. A stunningly beautiful blonde woman, wearing a gravity-defying, shimmering turquoise gown that made their knees weak, rose from a low couch to greet them.
“Gentleman, I greet you on the behalf of the government of Alpha III,” she said. “I’, special Emissary Carolyn Palamas, and this,” she gestured towards the equally attractive Asian-American woman in black uniform who was sitting behind the computerized desk, “is Lieutenant Ming-Khai M’Botabwe, from Starfleet’s Justice Division.”
The pretty lawyer gave them a wordless nod but didn’t move. Gabriel felt his stomach clench with anxiety. Lawyers could never mean any good. Perhaps he would be sent to prison, after all…
He felt Jolly’s soothing hand on his back and somehow managed to pull himself together.
“My pleasure, ma’am,” he got out with some effort.
“Before we come to the actual reason for your presence here,” Palamas continued, “I want to put your mind at ease concerning yesterday’s… incident. I’ve spoken to the Tellarite ambassador on your behalf, and he agreed not to press charges - in exchange for financial compensation.”
“Which means no prison, but I’ll probably be broke for the rest of my life,” Gabriel shrugged, giddy with relief. “I can live with that. But, forgive my asking, what have you to do with my case? Not that I’m not grateful,” he added hastily, “I just don’t understand.”
“Well, the interrogation has led to one positive result, after all,” Palamas replied. “A genetic search through Starfleet databases has shown that you are, in fact, Lieutenant Gabriel Demos, from the Helot asteroid colony of Alpha III.”
“I am?” none of the names mentioned meant a thing for him.
Palamas nodded. “Apparently. There was a mistake concerning your given name in the database: it was recorded as Gregory, which is part of the reason why we haven’t found you earlier.”
“I see,” he still couldn’t quite get it. “And how did I end up here with no memory at all?”
“We’re not really sure,” Palamas admitted. “The last known fact is that you were the chief pilot of the USS Magellan, a deep-space exploration vessel that was destroyed in an ion storm some four years ago. The survivors - all three of them - were found months later. You were believed dead, although not all the bodies could be identified. Some of them were simply annihilated when the warp core of the ship explored. We don’t know what you’ve done in the time between the Magellan’s destruction and your appearance here - it must have been bad. But at least we know now who you are.”
“I see,” was the only thing he could say again. Not that he’d mistrust her, but the whole thing was too much, too sudden, too… convenient. He needed to dig deeper. “Do I have any family?”
Palamas shook her head. “According to our records you’re not married, and your parents died when you were a small child - three or four years old, I think.”
“Thought so,” he said a bit wistfully. “Does this mean I’m a Federation citizen then?”
“Well, that’s a bit complicated,” Palamas admitted. “You’ve been officially declared dead, which means your citizenship has been deleted from the records. But you can reapply any time, and I’ll approve, of course, within the usual processing time of thirty days. In fact, I’ll approve it right away, as I’ll have to leave the station in four days.”
“Please read these application forms carefully,” the lawyer spoke for the first time, “and sign them if you find everything in the right order.”
One of the documents was in Greek, the other the Standard translation of it verified by a notary and signed by Hunter as the ranking Federation official of the Starbase. It contained his date of birth, which, again, didn’t ring a bell, his name (at least the given name was familiar), and his current address, which was, of course, the Starbase. Other than that, it was a simple request to reinstate his citizenship on Alpha III.
It seemed harmless enough, so he signed both documents, although it bothered him that he couldn’t either read or understand the Greek one. He’d have to refresh his knowledge about the official language of Alpha III. Hell, as much as he knew, it could have even been his mother tongue - although, for some reason, he doubted it.
“Very well,” Palamas glanced at his signature and signed the documents herself. “you’ll receive your copies - and those of my approval - in a day or two. I have to run it through the Central Record Archive of Alpha III, but there shouldn’t be any complications. I’ve got sufficient authority to reinstate you as our citizen.”
He nodded, accepting his good luck for the time being. He would think about the hows and whys later. But the emissary had mentioned something else that had almost escaped his attention.
“Erm… have you said I’m a Starfleet officer?” he asked. It seemed a bit unlikely to him, not that he could have named the reason.
“You used to be one,” the lawyer said. “When you were declared dead, your officer’s patent has been revoked.”
“Can I apply for it again?” he asked. The two women exchanged compassionate looks.
“You can try,” Palamas answered, “but it would do you no good. Let’s face it, Lieutenant, in your current state you won’t be fit for duty. Not even close. A combat pilot from the border patrol of a Starbase out in nowhere might get away with a stunt like the one you’ve performed yesterday - a Starfleet officer would be released from duty, effective immediately.”
He nodded in understanding. A fighter pilot couldn’t cause much damage when he lost it - well, he might shoot someone accidentally, but that wasn’t such a big risk. The chief helmsman of a starship, on the other hand, could kill dozens, even hundreds, with a single mistake. At the moment, he was an unacceptable risk everywhere but in the cockpit of a Tennet-5.
Well, as long as they let him climb into the cockpit of a Tennet-5, he could live with that, too.
“I’ve got one more question,” he said. “How am I supposed to pay that financial compensation? At the moment, I’ve nothing but the credits I won yesterday, and I doubt they would let me keep them. Or did I have savings back on Alpha III?”
“Some,” Palamas replied, “and I’ll try to extract them from the State, including four years’ worth of interests.”
“But that will take some time,” he said, concerned.
“True,” she agreed, “but the consulate will give you a loan until then. We take care of our people, Lieutenant. I regret that it took us so long to find you - consider it as a compensation from our side.”
“Will I be allowed to return to the border patrol?” he asked. At the moment, that was the most urgent question he could think of.
“Not right away, I’m afraid,” Palamas answered seriously. “Your reaction was extreme yesterday. Commodore Hunter wants to be sure - well, as sure as one can be - that you’re not a risk for yourself and for your comrades.”
“Oh, great,” he sighed, “just what I needed. More tests. More shrinks. More poking around in my head - as if it wasn’t messed up already.”
“I know it’s not always pleasant,” Palamas said. “But can you state with good conscience that it’s not necessary?”
“No,” he admitted, a little uncomfortably. “I just don’t think it would be of any use. It never has.”
“Well, you can’t be certain,” Palamas said. “And besides, you can’t avoid it. So make the best of it. Let them ask their questions and make their tests, so that you can get back in your fighter as soon as they declare you stable enough.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dr. Salik had been searching the database ever since returning from Starbase 7. Nominally, he was doing this to help with Dr. Sekhet’s research, which was as good a guise as they could come up with, and the Vulcan geneticist had even accompanied him aboard the Galactica to make it seem more convincing. But the database was huge, containing an incredible amount of data collected over several yahrens, and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that they were running out of time.
On the fourth day, he reluctantly gave in and drafted Technician Kreon, the lead computer specialist of the Galactica to help them, hoping and praying that it hadn’t been a mistake. Kreon was a simple and friendly guy from some Taurean agrostation and wouldn’t swat a crawlon, but he also liked to boast about the importance of his work and his person - and his two wives were the biggest gossips on the entire ship.
Granted, they weren’t aboard the ship anymore, thank the Lords of Kobol (not that Salik would believe in those, having been a die-hard agnostic from his youngest yahren on). They were managing their own little agrostation down on New Taura and raising their children. But Kreon was an incurable gossip himself who chatted with his wives every evening - one couldn’t trust him with anything that hadn’t been announced on all twelve Colonies on the previous day.
So, Salik had reason to hesitate before calling for his help, but in the end, necessity forced him to do so. Kreon came to the Life Center in his usual, annoyingly cheerful mood, happy to be of assistance (updating the ship’s databases with Federation data was useful but not terribly interesting). His round, brown eyes, already the size of dinner plates, grew impossibly wide seeing the search parameters - actually, very complicated DNA sequences - running on every available viewscreen.
Due to the capacity of his superior Vulcan brain, Dr. Sekhet was capable of monitoring half a dozen of those screens alone, but Salik was not so fortunate, which was the reason why he needed help. By employing Kreon’s, he could at least hope that his handlanger wouldn’t understand what they were searching for.
That didn’t keep the young man from asking stupid questions, of course.
“Holy frack!” he exclaimed in open-mouthed bewilderment. “What are you doing here, looking for the Lost Prince of Aquaria?”
Salik snorted. The royal house of Aquaria had died out more than a hundred and sixty yahrens ago, but the Aquarians still stubbornly insisted that they were a monarchy. Legends about bastard sons of the last king - who’d died of old age and supposedly childless - had resurfaced in irregular intervals, just to turn out as pretence after the proper medical checks.
The funny truth was that President Darius actually was related to the now extinct royal house, but kingship couldn’t be inherited through the female line, so there was no chance whatsoever to find anyone with a legitimate claim for the throne. The whole thing was fairly ridiculous anyway, but people loved such legends, and they didn’t harm anyone, so Salik simply ignored them.
Dr. Sekhet, on the other hand, hadn’t recognized Kreon’s question as a rhetoric one - or pretended not to recognize it. Salik had learned long ago that it was hard to read whether Vulcans were honestly flabbergasted or just making fun of humans… while fun seemed to have a completely different meaning in their vocabulary. In any case, the geneticist decided to answer the young man’s question in the typical, earnest - and extremely detailed - manner of his kind.
“Chasing after legends without any scientific foundation would be a waste of time, Mr. Kreon, and therefore highly illogical,” he declared with a blank face. “What we are doing here is a general search for specific genetic patterns with the ultimate goal of digitally modelling hidden similarities between the overall genetic make-up of the respective Colonial tribes. Based on my previous research, I have established the scientific theorem that intermarriage between two tribes can result in very specific genetic modifications among the entirety of the population, and the current research serves to verify my theory - or to prove it wrong.“
It took Kreon several centons to manage to speak again, after having opened and closed his mouth a few times, without getting out a sound.
“You mean you’re not even sure you’re right?” he asked, picking up the last sentence, which was about the only one he’s understood.
“That is correct,” the Vulcan replied with dignity, and Salik needed all his willpower to remain serious. He knew the Vulcan had been spewing nonsense, in order to confuse the young man - for a race supposedly incapable of outright lies, Vulcans were surprisingly good at obfuscating indeed.
“But… but you’ve been working on this for four days!” Kreon exclaimed. “And all that work could be for nothing if your theory turns out wrong?”
“That is also correct,” the Vulcan agreed calmly. “It would be unfortunate, of course, but this is the only known way to gather hard scientific evidence. Your help will be most appreciated,” he added, and Kreon backed off rapidly before he’d have been subjected to another ‘scientific’ explanation.
“Ummm… Dr. Salik, I think it would be better if you showed me what to do,” he muttered.
Never before had anyone managed to make the verbose computer chief shut up so quickly. Maybe it has its advantages to be a Vulcan, Salik thought, leading the young man to another set of viewscreen and showing him what he was supposed to watch for.
Chapter 08 - Conspiracies