The Joy Machine 06 - Disturbing News
Title: The Joy Machine
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the secondary index page
Author’s notes:
As before, descriptions of the refitted Enterprise follow the blueprints of The Star Fleet Technical Manual by Franz Joseph. The Insallah colony is my invention. The crewmembers Brent and Lemli were human characters in the Original Series - I made them Andorians, just to have a more mixed crew. The female Andorian officer, Lt. Lamia, appears in several Star Trek novels.
CHAPTER 6 - DISTURBING NEWS
Lieutenant Rick Washburn, diagnostic engineer of the science section’s computer department, finished his routine check on B-deck, which was the security area of the ship, basically. He still found the time for a visit in the office of the Chief of Security before the end of the Beta shift. Chekov, together with the other department chiefs, was on Alpha shift so he wasn’t in his office However, aside from him, quite a few security people were crammed into the small room. In the science department, the change of the duty shift took a lot more checking than anywhere else aboard. Even if all security cells were empty, like at the moment.
“I’m done here, Steve,” Washburn said. “The data about the computer diagnostic are saved to your control unit. How long till you can hand over duty to your relief?”
“Twelve minutes, twenty-three second to go,” the lanky, brown-haired, boyish-faced Garrovick said accurately. “The chief would skin me alive if I finished here a second early or so.”
“He’s changed a lot since his promotion,” Washburn remarked. “As a greenhorn, he used to be the best buddy you can imagine. This self-important mannerism doesn’t suit him all too well.”
“He’s still a greenhorn,” Lieutenant Josephs, Garrovick’s relief, said in a slightly patronizing manner. “Responsibility makes him all tightened up. He’s gonna get used to it and become his own charming self again. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Actually,” Lt. Carlisle, once Chief of Security aboard the Enterprise under Captain Pike, said with an unpleasant scowl, “I don’t understand why the captain made him our boss to begin with. He’s just finished the Security Academy in Annapolis, und has only recently been promoted to junior-lieutenant.”
“Just like myself,” Garrovick shrugged, smiling. “And I got promoted to assistant chief of security as well.”
Carlisle shook his head. “That’s not the same. You served five years as an ensign in our section, after all. All you needed was to attend to some special courses. You know Security inside and out, and you’ve proved your tactical talent several times.”
“Besides, you are the son of Captain Garrovick,” Angela Martine-Teller, who - after her second divorce - now wore the name of her first husband together with her own again, added with a pleasant smile. “Such things always come handy when promotions are considered.
Garrovick became beet red with anger and embarrassment.
“I never tried to make gain any advantage because of my father,” he told them through clenched teeth. “When I got assigned to the Enterprise, Captain Kirk wasn't even aware of the connection. I wanted to deserve my position like everyone else.
“We know that, Steve,” Martine patted her superior officer encouragingly on the shoulder. “But you must admit that the captain tends to put the sons of his old friends into good positions. If I only think of our new XO…”
Everyone pulled a face, even Garrovick, who began to gain his natural colour back.
“I’m not Will Decker, Angela.”
“I never assumed that,” the pretty, frivolous face of Martine clouded over; “besides, we all like you, Steve. It’s just so that here are a lot of people onboard who’d worked damn well and hard for years and would have more than deserved a promotion. But they got inexperienced greenhorns set before their noses instead. That’s not good for morale.”
“That’s true,” Washburn agreed. “When we heard that Lt. Boma returned to active duty, we all hoped he’d finally be made head of the science section. I mean, the man has two doctorates and the Astrophysics Chair in Princeton. Beyond that he taught stellar mathematics as a guest lecturer at various universities, including the Makropyrios. Starfleet Sciences should have called themselves fortunate that he’d be willing to work for us at all! And whom did we get instead? A pointy-eared boy, unknown even to most other pointy-eared guys.”
“Lieutenant Xon is Admiral Nogura’s protégée,” Ensign Sdan told them matter-of-factly; like their Vulcan cousins, Rigelians had excellent information networks and never hesitated to use them. “Captain Kirk asked for Commander Sonak, actually, but the commander didn’t want to leave the Intrepid and suggested Xon instead. And if Vulcans suggest something... “
“... even the Old Man gives in,” Washburn finished with a sour face. “Personal contributions of the fast don’t play any role.”
“Does it mean that you’d prefer Lieutenant Boma as the new science officer?” Sdan inquired.
“I’m not the only one; all department heads feel the same way,” Washburn replied. “They all served aboard the Enterprise during the previous five-year-mission, and they all exceeded in their work. Every singles one of them would have deserved that position; Boma more than anyone else.”
“Yeah, but wasn’t he court-martialled for insubordination?” asked the surprisingly gentle voice of Mohammed Jahma, a six-foot-two, heavily built son of ancient Nigeria, whose handsome face had a new, somewhat grim look due to the recently grown, thick moustache.
Sdan, who was new aboard the Enterprise, raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Rigelians were every inch as curious as Vulcans - and less restricted about it.
“Really?” he asked. “What has he done?”
Lieutenant Josephs shrugged. “He had a... disagreement with Spock. It was an unexpectedly complicated mission. They crushed with the Galileo onto Taurus II; three people died. There are those who say it was Spock’s fault. I don’t know, I wasn’t there. In any case, Lieutenant Boma had apparently lost his nerves and very nearly bit the Vulcan’s head off. Mr. Scott reported the incident, and you know that such reports always lead to an interrogation.”
“What was the outcome?” Sdan asked.
“Dr. McCoy testified in favour or Lieutenant Boma,” Lt. Josephs counted down on his fingers. “Mr. Scott was the main witness of prosecution. Spock wasn’t allowed to make a testimony, as he was directly involved, and Yeoman Mears expressed herself neutrally. In the end, Lieutenant Boma was degraded to junior-lieutenant for unseeming behaviour towards a superior officer and quit Starfleet. It was a rather ugly thing.”
“But he made a stellar career as a civilian scientist and only agree to be reactivated at the personal request of Admiral Nhauris, the head of Starfleet Sciences, it’s said,” Washburn added. ”I doubt he’d have done that, had he known he was going to play second fiddle to a Vulcan again - and a completely inexperienced one, at that. The man doesn’t need to accept such things.”
“Hardly,” Lieutenant Carlisle agreed. “What I still don’t understand, though, is why Lieutenant Chekov went to Annapolis in the first place. We all thought he’d be very content on the bridge and had his eye on a command career.”
“He had,” Ensign Tamura spoke for the first time, “but he got rejected from command school for the reason of being too young. He didn’t want to stagnate for another five years, so he decided for a second training… until he can try it again.”
“And he told you all this because the two of you are such good buddies?” Angela Martine-Teller asked in suspicion.
The Japanese ensign shook her deceivingly delicate head.
“Of course not,” she laughed. “But occasionally, I have the honour to drink tea with Mr. Sulu.”
“That explains a lot,” Mohammed Jahma nodded thoughtfully. Everyone knew that the chief helmsman was the biggest gossip aboard.
Lt. Carlisle, though, looked at the Nigerian in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“It’s simple,” Mohammed Jahma shrugged heavy shoulders. “The captain wanted to help him to gain some command experience. After both Lieutenant Commander Giotto and Kelowitz had left the Enterprise to become security chiefs of their reflective Starbases, our section was left in a somewhat… problematic shape.”
“What do you mean, Moh?” Martine wondered.
“There are half a dozen full lieutenants, all of whom have served aboard this ship for at least one full five-year-mission,” Mohammed Jahma explained. “Every single one of them could have become the new boss: Lieutenant Josephs, Lieutenant Carlisle, Lieutenant Dickerson, Lieutenant Osborne, and so on. Mr. Carlisle as our senior, more than anyone else. There could have been a lot of bad blood and bitter fights inside the security department. I hate to say it, but bringing in someone from the outside was perhaps the best solution.
There was a long silence after his statement. Everyone tried to look at the problem from this brand new angle - especially as Mohammed Jahma’s judgement was usually very reliable in such things. Coming from a family that had given the Islam Community a khadi in every generation made a person very perceptive for the truth.
“Well… perhaps,” Lieutenant Carlisle admitted reluctantly.
Before anyone else could have reacted, the impersonal voice of the ever-present board computed made an announcement.
"Attention! The time is 20.00 hours. Beta Shift has ended. Gamma Shift begins."
“It’s about time,” Garrovick grumbled and rose from behind his console. “Computer; this is the duty officer of Beta Shift, security section, Lieutenant J.G. Stephen Garrovick. Authorisation...” and he rattled down his security code.
"Identity confirmed," the computer answered.
“I hereby transfer responsibility for Deck B to the duty officer of Gamma Shift, Lieutenant James Xavier Josephs,” Garrovick continued.
"Ready for identification," the computer told them dutifully.
The slender, elegant Josephs stepped up to Garrovick (whom he barely reached to the shoulder) and rattled down the official litany.
“Computer; this is the duty officer of Gamma Shift, security section, Lieutenant James Xavier Josephs. Authorisation... “
"Identity confirmed," the computer, replied agreeably.
Josephs snapped to attention and faced Garrovick. “You are relieved, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you,” Garrovick replied and stepped down from his duty station. At the other duty stations, the change of shift had also been performed according to military tradition. Security was a bit old-fashioned in this area, with rituals and saluting and all that, unlike the other sections. Thus Mohammed Jahma, Angela Martine-Teller and Keiko Tamura went off-duty, while Lieutenant Carlisle, Ensign Sdan the quiet, middle-aged Andorian, Yeoman Lemli, began theirs.
“Care to come with us to the rec deck?” Washburn asked Garrovick. “We could play a game of backgammon; besides, I’m famished.”
“To be honest, I’ve got a dinner date with Lieutenant Palmer,” Garrovick admitted a bit shyly.
Washburn grinned. “Congratulations! It seems that your new and improved position has finally made you acceptable in her eyes. Can we hope in a fusion of two of the oldest Starfleet-families any time soon?”
Garrovick became beet red with embarrassment, which made his boyish face even look even younger. His long-time attraction to Liv Palmer wasn’t exactly a secret, but - as it had remained more or less unrequited, or, at the very least, hadn’t gained the kind of reaction he was hoping for - he didn’t like to speak about it.
“Oh, shut up, Rick,” he said. “It’s not like that.”
“Yeah, but you’d like it to take exactly that turn, wouldn’t you?” Washburn grinned. “Just don’t give up. And what about you, ladies? Anyone interested in a bit of food?”
Tamura shook her head. “I’ve promised Lamia to accompany her for the evening?” she explained. “Andorians don’t deal well with loneliness, and as you know, her own people have been shunning her ever since her family cast her out.”
“And that only because she wanted to join Starfleet?” Washburn shook his head in bewilderment.
“Se is a fertile female,” Tamura replied gravely. “The mothers expect her to return home, enter a clan marriage and bear children. Lots of them.”
“Despite the overpopulation Andor has fought for a century or so?” Washburn asked in surprise.
“Religion,” Tamura said seriously, “has seldom anything to do with logic. Unless you are a Vulcan, of course. Or perhaps not even then.”
“Well, you may invite me to dinner, Rick,” Angela Martine-Teller took the engineer’s arm in a slightly proprietary manner, “but you’ll have to play phaser-duel with me afterwards.”
Washburn raised both hands, laughing. “I’m declaring defeat in advance,” he said.
Martine-Teller gave him a lovely smile, but her eyes lingered on Mohammed Jahma, who was known to have two wives and (so far) five children back home in Niamey, but that didn’t make him any less attractive in the ladies’ eyes. And anyway, as the scion of a well-respected Hausa family, he could afford to take two more wives, if he wanted.
“Moh, you coming with us?” she asked invitingly
“Sorry, I must turn you both down,” the Nigerian replied apologetically. The Ramadan begins today. Preparations have to be made.”
“You’re probably the only person in the entire Fleet who still follows the Islamic rules,” Martine-Teller remarked snidely, while they left Chekov’s office and entered the turbolift cabin. She didn’t like being rejected, and she made it very clear.
“You’re mistaken, Ensign,” Mohammed Jahma replied calmly, going at distance by using her rank instead of her name. “Even aboard the Enterprise, we have the privilege to begin the Holy Fasting in company. To fast and to read the Koran in a community, no matter how small it is, is a very... spiritual experience.”
“How many of you are aboard?” Keiko Tamura inquired. She had the good luck to serve on the same ship as her uncle, so she knew how important such things could be.
The Nigerian smiled. “Oh, I’m in good company. Yeoman Zara Jamal hails from the rather old-fashioned Islamic colony Insallah and is very well-versed in tradition. It’s a pity that Lieutenant Boma isn’t on board yet; he’s just found his way back to the Islam a short time ago and would most likely love to join us. Deck F, Level 6,” he instructed the turbolift, and the cabin moved on smoothly, noiselessly.
“Deck G, Level 7,” Washburn added; then he turned back to the Nigerian. “You could have booked the chapel, you know.”
“We have,” Mohammed Jahma replied, “but I need to wash myself and put on other clothes first. One doesn’t go to a ritual gathering in duty uniform.”
With that, he exited the turbolift, as the cabin has just reached Level Six. Another level further the others left the cabin, too, entering directly the Enterprise’s recreation centre, which was said to be the largest, best-equipped one in the entire Fleet.
The rec deck, as it was generally called, was fairly busy as always right after a change of shifts. Lieutenant Garrovick excused himself and hurried directly to one of the starboard snack bars where Lieutenant Liv Palmer, Uhura’s pleasant-mannered, blonde second-in-command was already waiting for him at one of the tables.
Martine and Washburn discreetly headed into another direction, not wanting to ruin Garrovick’s chances. The young man was shy enough when it came to women anyway. They found several free tables and chose the one next to a reading room, the door of which was left open. Within, Lieutenant Xon was sitting by himself, doing what Vulcans considered recreational activity: reading the newest issue of some quantum physics periodicals.
Rick Washburn asked Martine about her dinner choice, and then hurried to the food professor to order it. Cassiopeia, functioning as the rec deck hostess tonight, came down from one of the balconies, where she’d been watching a card game played by off-duty lab technicians, to greet them.
“Thank God it was an uneventful shift,” Martine replied to the socialator’s question. “I mean, I don’t like being useless, but if I’m needed, that always means big trouble.”
Cassiopeia nodded in understanding.
“I know what you mean,” she said. “I used to work on the life station of a battlestar for yahrens. Well, I wish you well and hope you’re going to have many more such ‘useless’ duty shifts - that would be the best for us all.”
She smiled and took her leave, as new guests were arriving; among them one whom she needed to welcome personally.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
His excellence H’R’Krsna, Special Emissary of Deneb II, had settled in during the weeks since his arrival as if he’d never lived anywhere else but aboard a spaceship. The humans had stopped trying to learn how to pronounce his name (they’d have failed anyway) and since he’d asked them not to use any honorary titles, they began to call him simply Krishna, after the blue Hindu god, stating that there were definite similarities. Krsna not only accepted this, he even found the comparison flattering.
He seemed to like socializing, and he did that a lot, often bringing his flute with him to the rec deck and giving the off-duty personnel impromptu concerts - a fact that made him very popular. Even though he kept saying that he’d only had to chose diplomacy because - by the measure of his won people - he was too untalented a musician. In his smoky grey civilian tunic, held together by a thin leather belts, and the wide, comfortable trousers he wore to it, he barely stood out of the usual clientele of the rec deck anymore, considering the fact that the new regulations allowed the crew to wear civilian garb when off-duty, and most of them enthusiastically did so.
“Hare!” the Denebian greeted Cassiopeia with folded hands and a deep, graceful bow; then he nodded towards his escort, smiling. “Nancy and I wanted to pick up a drink… and some news, assuming there are any.”
“You mean gossip, don’t you?” Cassiopeia riposted, and Nancy Wong, looking like a delicate china doll in the traditional silk robe of her people, shook her head in fond exasperation.
“His excellence has managed to find out when my duty shit ends - in theory, at least - and considered it his duty to keep me occupied, even in my so-called free time?” she said, but it didn’t seem as if she’d really mind.
Any other man would have found the light-hearted remark insulting. Krsna, however, shared the general Denebian good-naturedness and just laughed about it. Besides, Cassiopeia’s trained eye had already realized the subtle signs of a relationship between Wong and the ambassador that went beyond professional.
“Well,” she said in a friendly manner, “I for my part haven’t heard any news yet. But we still have four full days until we reach Thimsel.”
“That’s not entirely correct,” Xon, whose keen Vulcan ears could follow the conversation even from that distance, injected; he now rose and approached them unhurriedly. It was unusual from a Vulcan to join a conversation he hadn’t been part of from the beginning, but Cassiopeia had noticed Xon trying to accommodate to the social interaction of the mostly human crew for some time.
“Oh?” the socialator said, trying to nudge the Vulcan a little with her apparent curiosity. Xon tilted his fine-boned, elegant, faun-like head to the side in the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug, signalling that the wordless message had reached him.
“Captain Kirk has ordered to increase speed to maximum warp at the beginning of Alpha Shift,” he explained. “We are estimated to arrive in the Iacta Tau System in 3,5.6.8 standard hours.
“Interesting,” Cassiopeia remarked languidly. “Has he also offered a reason for speeding up?”
Xon’s head moved slightly to the side again.
“He mentioned a… hunch,” he replied dryly; Cassiopeia couldn’t quite tell whether his tone was derogatory or admiring. Not for sure. Xon sometimes reacted differently than the Vulcans she’d met during the last two and half yahrens. On the other hand, she couldn’t say that she’d known and Vulcans really well, of course.
“Captain Kirk’s intuition is legendary,” Decker, coming directly for his duty shift, as it was his wont, joined the conversation. “It’s a known fact. We might not always understand the reason behind his actions, but they’ve proven him right most of the time.”
Cassiopeia suppressed a sigh. She tried to stay free of prejudices, but despite the fact that she’d gained a little more insight into Decker’s motivations, the over-eagerness of the young executive officer was sometimes a bit hard to bear. And not for her alone, it seemed. Even the eminently patient Nancy Wong closed her eyes for a moment, and Xon - without doing anything as vulgar as giving any outer sign of his displeasure - immediately returned to his reading. All his Vulcan stoicism seemed to fail when it came to Decker… of course, he wasn’t entirely blameless in their working relationship having had a bad start.
Cassiopeia knew that it wasn't generally her job to put the first officer to his place, but it seemed that nobody else would. The others were his subordinates and couldn’t do it, or his fellow senior officers who didn’t want to undermine morale. Still, it had to be done, for the good of the entire ship. Otherwise, the young XO could lose not only the respect of the senior staff but also the trust of the crew - with unfortunate consequences.
“I don’t think that Captain Kirk would need you to defend his decisions, Lieutenant Commander,” the socialator said in a kind but warning tone; “especially not against a Vulcan senior officer. Vulcan loyalty is legendary as well, I’m told - and forgive me the remark, Mr. Decker, but you are more than a bit over-eager.”
“I’m only doing my job,” Decker stiffened in indignation like an insulted fourteen-yahren-old. Cassiopeia had noticed that sort of reaction earlier.
“No, unfortunately, you’re not,” she replied, keeping her tone friendly but firm. “You’re interfering everywhere, all the time, even if it’s not necessary. And you’re making yourself increasingly unpopular.
Decker’s pale face was twisted into a rather… unpleasant grimace.
“I wasn’t aware that the crew came to you with their complaints,” he sneered, just a little bit maliciously.
“There are many things you’re not aware of,” Cassiopeia replied with unwavering friendliness. “One of those things is that people tell their bartender things they wouldn’t tell their best friends… or their therapist. Besides, I’m not trying to take over Dr. Noël’s job. I don’t need to do anything to get the picture; I’m simply here, almost the whole day. Sooner or later everyone comes here... or to the Officers’ Lounge. They have a drink, or something to eat - and they talk. I just listen. That’s all.”
As Krsna and Wong had discretely withdrawn already, Cassiopeia decided to give the young man a much-needed piece of her mind. She took Decker’s arm and dragged him into one of the empty niches. The various games and conversations going on on the different levels of the rec deck provided enough background noise so that no one could hear them - even if there were eavesdroppers among the crew of the Enterprise.
“Listen to me, Lieutenant Commander, because I won’t repeat what I’m going to say now,” she said quietly but sternly. “We have been only on our way for a couple of weeks, but you1ve already managed to alienate your fellow senior officers and to get on the nerves of the entire crew. If you continue like this, they’ll only obey your reluctantly - and I don’t need to emphasize what that would mean in a crisis, do I?”
“No, you don’t,” Decker paled, the bracket-like lines deepening around his mouth. “I haven’t asked for this position, Ms Cassiopeia. I was Second Officer of the new Constellation, under Captain Walsh’ command, and I was good. So good that my captain has personally requested my promotion, and by Mike Walsh, that means a lot. I applied for the position of the First Officer aboard the destroyer El Mahdi, which would have been the right position for me: a small ship, with only 220 people aboard, most who I outranked most other officers. But Captain Kirk has asked for me, and I don’t intend to disappoint him.
Cassiopeia shook her head in concern.
“Look, I can understand that you’re trying to prove yourself to your idol, Kirk. But that doesn’t mean that you'd need to copy his superior attitude - which, to be frank, isn’t as justified as he seems to believe. Besides, you haven’t built up enough reputation yet that would justify such manners. Not to mention,” she added dryly, “that it doesn’t suit you.”
Decker replied with a bitter, mirthless laugh.
“This is not about copying anyone’s behaviour, Ms Cassiopeia. The senior officers on this ship had rejected me before I could have opened my mouth. They’re positive that someone else would be better in this position. And you know what? Perhaps they’re right. Captain Kirk has only brought me aboard because of my father, not because he’d have been impressed by my previous work. But honestly, I don’t care. I won’t ruin my career, just because he hasn’t thought about the whole thing carefully enough in advance. And if the other senior officers don’t like me? Well, they don’t have to… as long as they carry out my orders, their likes and dislikes don’t bother me.”
“Hmmm,” Cassiopeia murmured thoughtfully. “If that’s how you see it. But that’s not the best start for a smooth working relationship.”
Decker shrugged. “I wasn’t the one who started it. But I won’t let this chance taken from me for the sake of a few hostile officers.”
Cassiopeia could have come up with a few other arguments, but all of a sudden she had the feeling that something changed around them. She just didn’t know what.”
“Something is… different,” she said uncertainly. “But what is it?”
Decker went to the nearest viewscreen and switched to external view. His instinct had been right: instead of the elongated, multicoloured streak, there were immobile little dots of light scattered across the eternal darkness of deep space.
“We have fallen out of warp,” he said.
“And that would mean… what exactly?” Cassiopeia asked.
Decker shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m sure we’ll be informed when it concerns us in any way. Perhaps I should return to the bridge, though.”
As if answering his words, the intercom went on.
“This is the captain. All senior officers to the conference room on Deck D immediately.”
At the same time, Cassiopeia’s wrist communicator - disguised as a gold and iridium bracelet adorned with white gems - started to beep. The socialator touched one of the gems, activating the comm unit.
“This is Cassiopeia.”
“Tigh,” the colonel’s voice was tiny, coming through the golden grid, but very clear. “There will be an unscheduled meeting in the conference room on Deck D, in ten minutes. Your presence is needed. And bring the Denebian ambassador, please.”
“Understood,” Cassiopeia broke the connection and hurried up to the gallery, from where she thought to have heard Krsna’s laughter. The ambassador was trying to explain the rules of a bizarre Denebian board game to a couple of lab techs.
Cassiopeia waited until the Denebian paused for a moment to breathe, then she cut into the discussion, firmly and with a raised voice.
“I’m sorry, your excellence, but you have to delay this game. We’re both needed in the conference room.
The ambassador became very serious in the blink of an eye. For the first time since his arrival, Cassiopeia saw genuine concern on his face.
“We couldn’t have reached the Iacta Tau System already, could we?” he asked.
“I wasn’t given any details, your excellence,” Cassiopeia answered. “I was only told to go to the conference room with you, immediately.”
“Very well,” Krsna said after a lengthy pause full of concern, “let’s go!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The V.I.P. conference room- situated, logically, next to the guest quarters on Deck D, on the ship’s fourth level - wasn’t very different from the briefing room. Which was understandable, considering that they basically served the same purpose. The only difference was the lack of any special seats around the long, dark-polished conference table; most likely to avoid any diplomatic conflicts about such trivial matters as sitting order. Diplomats were complicated creatures; one had to handle them with care.
When Cassiopeia and her blue charge arrived, the senior staff had already gathered in the conference room. Some of them looked as if they’d been just pulled out of bed - unsurprisingly, as they all belonged to Alpha Shift and usually slept during the situated board night. Not even Kirk himself seemed fully awake. Only the two Vulcans, Xon and T’Pel, looked as fresh and focused as always. But again, Vulcans needed less sleep than most people.
“Please, have a seat, Ambassador... Ms Cassiopeia...” Kirk tried to suppress a yawn, with little success. “Sorry for waking you all in the middle of the night, before we even reached Thimsel, but communications has discovered something… strange, right after crossing the border of the Iacta Tau System. Commander Uhura...”
“We’ve been looking for communications from Thimsel on all subspace frequencies since we’d come within reach of the long range sensors,” Uhura took over; she, too, looked tired - not like someone who’d been woken suddenly but like someone who hadn’t even gone to bed yet. “So far, we’ve been unable to find any subspace communications. However, after entering the system itself, we detected this.”
She pushed a button on her comm panel, and some high-pitched, rhythmically throbbing noise filled the conference room. It was very quiet and distant, right at the upper edge of human hearing capacity, and the throbbing almost hypnotic. Cassiopeia didn’t doubt that - if subjected to it long enough - it would lull every human (and perhaps other intelligent beings, too) into some sort of catatonic, trance-like state.
“This… noise seems to be integrated into every kind of planetary communication,” Uhura switched off the unnerving throb. “Originally, it’s broadcasted at a much higher frequency, one that’s for human hearing capacity not even audible. I’ve modified it a little, to make the effect more comprehensible.”
“But what’s the meaning of this?” Sulu gave voice to the question that was being formulated in all their minds.
“And who is sending this stuff anyway?” Decker added. “Does it come from the outside or is the source somewhere on the planet itself?”
“The broadcasting comes doubtlessly from the planet itself,” Uhura replied without hesitation. “However, we haven’t been able to localize the exact source yet. The scattering field they are using is very carefully constructed; whoever is responsible for this… this thing, they clearly don’t want to get caught. But we’re working on it. I’ve assigned the problem to Ensign Freeman - Scotty was generous enough to let me borrow him. If anyone, he’ll be able to find the source. He has the instincts of a sleuth… and he’s not afraid of using unorthodox methods, if he has to.”
“Is that generally rated as something positive?” Xon inquired. Despite his neutral tone, it was clear that he disagreed.
“These signals have been constructed in a way that their source can’t be detected by conventional methods, Lieutenant,” Uhura replied, trying very hard not to take on a lecturing tone. “Would I not be working on my lectureship, I hadn’t been watching those unusual frequencies at all. Somebody down on Thimsel is very sly. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”
“Why not?” T’Pel asked, providing living proof of the general Vulcan lack of intuition.
“If someone goes such great lengths to slip some sort of secret broadcasting into the planetary communication, while every other contact with the roast of the Federation has been broken, that means something is very wrong on that planet,” Uhura explained with forced patience. Despite her years-long experience with Spock, sometimes she really found it tiring to spoon-feed the members of a race of such superior intelligence the most trivial things a six-year-old human child would get instinctively. But there was no real help - despite said superior intelligence, Vulcans happened to lack exactly that kind of instinct.
“That brings up two further questions,” Kirk interrupted impatiently. “Firstly: what’s going on on that planet? And secondly: who’s behind it. Any ideas?”
Xon apparently felt obliged to answer - reluctantly, it seemed, as he didn’t have sufficient data to base any useful theory on it. Such trivialities, however, could never get between a Vulcan and his duty, of course.
“At the moment, we barely have enough date to build a proper theory,” he admitted. “I studied all routine reports from the last two standard years but I could not find any discrepancies. I am sorry, Captain, but I need at least a long-range scan of the entire planet surface before I can come up with anything.”
“And? Have you already ordered it done?” Kirk demanded.
One of Xon’s eyelids fluttered visibly for a moment, which was a fairly unusual reaction from a Vulcan. Even from a very young and inexperienced Vulcan.
“Naturally, Captain. The astrophysics and geology labs have begun with the work as soon as we fell back to impulse power.”
“Any results yet?”
“Mr. Fisher should report in in a few minutes, Captain.”
He barely finished speaking when the doors slid open and a slender, reddish-blonde female ensign in sciences blue hurried in. She respectfully nodded towards Kirk, then she went directly to Xon and handed him a few data chips. For security reasons, the computers of the conference room worked independently from the board systems.
“The results of the long-range scans, sir,” she said with an unmistakable British accent. “Mr. Fisher is quite worried and suggests further investigations, as soon as we come in short-range scanning distance. He also had Lieutenant Gates called in, for the chemical analysis of the atmospheric readings.”
Xon nodded. “Tell Mr. Fisher to continue, Ensign Haines. I shall go to the astrophysics lab as soon as this meeting is over and recheck the readings.”
“Aye, sir,” Ensign Jana Haines inclined her head towards the senior officers and left without a further word. As one who’d got her degree in astrophysics just before coming aboard, she didn’t need any further instructions. Due to her excellent results (not to mention Lieutenant Boma’s positive evaluation reports) Xon didn’t hesitate to entrust her with the responsibility of the astrophysics lab during Gamma Shift.
The Vulcan slid the data clips into the computer and switched to visual display. The picture of Thimsel appeared in the middle of the large viewscreen; from the distance, it looked barely larger than a hazelnut.
“Magnify,” Kirk ordered.
“We are at maximum magnification, sir,” Xon replied. “The distance is still too large.”
“Analysis?” Kirk asked.
“The data are inconclusive,” Xon said. “Readings show almost exactly what could be expected... save from a discrepancy in the temperatures.”
Kirk frowned. “In what way?”
“According to our computer data, the average surface temperature should be 12 degrees Celsius,” the Vulcan explained. “If these scans are correct, the temperature has risen two point five degrees in the recent years.”
McCoy’s head snapped up in alarm.
“What?” he said, clearly shocked. “That’s a lot! Such an abrupt warming indicates either a global natural disaster or galloping pollution of an extent that hadn’t been reported from any Federation colony so far.”
“That is correct, doctor,” Xon nodded. “And if the latter is the case, those people have managed to destroy their entire planet in merely sixty standard years. That would be an unusual achievement, even for humans.”
“Which means, we might have to interfere,” Kirk said glumly.
“But what about the Prime Directive?” Krsna asked with a frown.
“Thimsel is not an independent world yet, Ambassador,” Lieutenant M’Botabwe spoke for the first time, “just a joint Terran-Centaurian colony. The Statutes of the Federation clearly state that Starfleet has the right to interfere, if the inhabitants of such a colony can be accused of environmental crimes on a global scale. In fact, it’s part of our duties. In extreme cases we even have the right to dissolve the entire colony and to remove the colonists from Thimsel.”
“If they’re aware of that, then it’s small wonder they’ve been out of touch with the rest of the Federation,” Decker said. “Who’d like to abandon their decades-long work?”
“Actually, that was a rather foolish move,” Tigh objected. “They should have known that breaking contact would result in a thorough investigation from Starfleet’s side.”
“Colonel Tigh is right,” McCoy nodded. “I’m afraid we’ll have to deal with something more… sinister down there.”
“Worse than a global environmental disaster?” Ilia asked doubtfully. “That must be a truly critical situation.”
“Well, we’ll know more in the near future,” Kirk said. “Go to Yellow Alert, Number One, just to be on the safe side. That would have Security prepared for all eventualities.”
“Aye, Captain,” Decker jumped to his feet and left for the main bridge to give the necessary orders.
“Science Officer,” Kirk turned to the Vulcan, “I want readings and analyses around the clock. We need to estimate the extent of this environmental disaster.”
“As you wish, Captain,” unlike the first officer, Xon rose and left for the astrophysics lab unhurriedly.
“Uhura, I want all planetary communication analyzed,” Kirk continued. “Don’t look for this peculiar broadcasting alone; I want the purpose of the messages analyzed as well.”
“Lieutenant Brent is already at it, sir,” Uhura replied calmly. “You’ll have the overall picture within the hour. Andorians are as reliable as antigravs.”
“I could help with the analysis,” T’Pel offered. “Besides, planetary communications could provide valuable insights into the colony’s basic social structure.”
“You’re welcome to join in,” Uhura nodded. “Lieutenant Brent is in comm lab #2; it’s on Deck G, Level 7, Section 25 Alpha. I must check on what Ensign Freeman might have found in the meantime, but I’ll join you two afterwards.”
“Well, that seems to be all, for the time being,” Kirk summarized. “The next meeting is scheduled in two standard hours, in the briefing room on Deck G; we’re closer to the labs there and have direct access to the board systems. I hope it’s all right with you, gentlemen,” he looked at Krsna and Tigh, who were, after all, the alien dignitaries here. Both men nodded, and the meeting was adjourned.
Chapter 07 - Aeropolis - One
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the secondary index page
Author’s notes:
As before, descriptions of the refitted Enterprise follow the blueprints of The Star Fleet Technical Manual by Franz Joseph. The Insallah colony is my invention. The crewmembers Brent and Lemli were human characters in the Original Series - I made them Andorians, just to have a more mixed crew. The female Andorian officer, Lt. Lamia, appears in several Star Trek novels.
CHAPTER 6 - DISTURBING NEWS
Lieutenant Rick Washburn, diagnostic engineer of the science section’s computer department, finished his routine check on B-deck, which was the security area of the ship, basically. He still found the time for a visit in the office of the Chief of Security before the end of the Beta shift. Chekov, together with the other department chiefs, was on Alpha shift so he wasn’t in his office However, aside from him, quite a few security people were crammed into the small room. In the science department, the change of the duty shift took a lot more checking than anywhere else aboard. Even if all security cells were empty, like at the moment.
“I’m done here, Steve,” Washburn said. “The data about the computer diagnostic are saved to your control unit. How long till you can hand over duty to your relief?”
“Twelve minutes, twenty-three second to go,” the lanky, brown-haired, boyish-faced Garrovick said accurately. “The chief would skin me alive if I finished here a second early or so.”
“He’s changed a lot since his promotion,” Washburn remarked. “As a greenhorn, he used to be the best buddy you can imagine. This self-important mannerism doesn’t suit him all too well.”
“He’s still a greenhorn,” Lieutenant Josephs, Garrovick’s relief, said in a slightly patronizing manner. “Responsibility makes him all tightened up. He’s gonna get used to it and become his own charming self again. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Actually,” Lt. Carlisle, once Chief of Security aboard the Enterprise under Captain Pike, said with an unpleasant scowl, “I don’t understand why the captain made him our boss to begin with. He’s just finished the Security Academy in Annapolis, und has only recently been promoted to junior-lieutenant.”
“Just like myself,” Garrovick shrugged, smiling. “And I got promoted to assistant chief of security as well.”
Carlisle shook his head. “That’s not the same. You served five years as an ensign in our section, after all. All you needed was to attend to some special courses. You know Security inside and out, and you’ve proved your tactical talent several times.”
“Besides, you are the son of Captain Garrovick,” Angela Martine-Teller, who - after her second divorce - now wore the name of her first husband together with her own again, added with a pleasant smile. “Such things always come handy when promotions are considered.
Garrovick became beet red with anger and embarrassment.
“I never tried to make gain any advantage because of my father,” he told them through clenched teeth. “When I got assigned to the Enterprise, Captain Kirk wasn't even aware of the connection. I wanted to deserve my position like everyone else.
“We know that, Steve,” Martine patted her superior officer encouragingly on the shoulder. “But you must admit that the captain tends to put the sons of his old friends into good positions. If I only think of our new XO…”
Everyone pulled a face, even Garrovick, who began to gain his natural colour back.
“I’m not Will Decker, Angela.”
“I never assumed that,” the pretty, frivolous face of Martine clouded over; “besides, we all like you, Steve. It’s just so that here are a lot of people onboard who’d worked damn well and hard for years and would have more than deserved a promotion. But they got inexperienced greenhorns set before their noses instead. That’s not good for morale.”
“That’s true,” Washburn agreed. “When we heard that Lt. Boma returned to active duty, we all hoped he’d finally be made head of the science section. I mean, the man has two doctorates and the Astrophysics Chair in Princeton. Beyond that he taught stellar mathematics as a guest lecturer at various universities, including the Makropyrios. Starfleet Sciences should have called themselves fortunate that he’d be willing to work for us at all! And whom did we get instead? A pointy-eared boy, unknown even to most other pointy-eared guys.”
“Lieutenant Xon is Admiral Nogura’s protégée,” Ensign Sdan told them matter-of-factly; like their Vulcan cousins, Rigelians had excellent information networks and never hesitated to use them. “Captain Kirk asked for Commander Sonak, actually, but the commander didn’t want to leave the Intrepid and suggested Xon instead. And if Vulcans suggest something... “
“... even the Old Man gives in,” Washburn finished with a sour face. “Personal contributions of the fast don’t play any role.”
“Does it mean that you’d prefer Lieutenant Boma as the new science officer?” Sdan inquired.
“I’m not the only one; all department heads feel the same way,” Washburn replied. “They all served aboard the Enterprise during the previous five-year-mission, and they all exceeded in their work. Every singles one of them would have deserved that position; Boma more than anyone else.”
“Yeah, but wasn’t he court-martialled for insubordination?” asked the surprisingly gentle voice of Mohammed Jahma, a six-foot-two, heavily built son of ancient Nigeria, whose handsome face had a new, somewhat grim look due to the recently grown, thick moustache.
Sdan, who was new aboard the Enterprise, raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Rigelians were every inch as curious as Vulcans - and less restricted about it.
“Really?” he asked. “What has he done?”
Lieutenant Josephs shrugged. “He had a... disagreement with Spock. It was an unexpectedly complicated mission. They crushed with the Galileo onto Taurus II; three people died. There are those who say it was Spock’s fault. I don’t know, I wasn’t there. In any case, Lieutenant Boma had apparently lost his nerves and very nearly bit the Vulcan’s head off. Mr. Scott reported the incident, and you know that such reports always lead to an interrogation.”
“What was the outcome?” Sdan asked.
“Dr. McCoy testified in favour or Lieutenant Boma,” Lt. Josephs counted down on his fingers. “Mr. Scott was the main witness of prosecution. Spock wasn’t allowed to make a testimony, as he was directly involved, and Yeoman Mears expressed herself neutrally. In the end, Lieutenant Boma was degraded to junior-lieutenant for unseeming behaviour towards a superior officer and quit Starfleet. It was a rather ugly thing.”
“But he made a stellar career as a civilian scientist and only agree to be reactivated at the personal request of Admiral Nhauris, the head of Starfleet Sciences, it’s said,” Washburn added. ”I doubt he’d have done that, had he known he was going to play second fiddle to a Vulcan again - and a completely inexperienced one, at that. The man doesn’t need to accept such things.”
“Hardly,” Lieutenant Carlisle agreed. “What I still don’t understand, though, is why Lieutenant Chekov went to Annapolis in the first place. We all thought he’d be very content on the bridge and had his eye on a command career.”
“He had,” Ensign Tamura spoke for the first time, “but he got rejected from command school for the reason of being too young. He didn’t want to stagnate for another five years, so he decided for a second training… until he can try it again.”
“And he told you all this because the two of you are such good buddies?” Angela Martine-Teller asked in suspicion.
The Japanese ensign shook her deceivingly delicate head.
“Of course not,” she laughed. “But occasionally, I have the honour to drink tea with Mr. Sulu.”
“That explains a lot,” Mohammed Jahma nodded thoughtfully. Everyone knew that the chief helmsman was the biggest gossip aboard.
Lt. Carlisle, though, looked at the Nigerian in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“It’s simple,” Mohammed Jahma shrugged heavy shoulders. “The captain wanted to help him to gain some command experience. After both Lieutenant Commander Giotto and Kelowitz had left the Enterprise to become security chiefs of their reflective Starbases, our section was left in a somewhat… problematic shape.”
“What do you mean, Moh?” Martine wondered.
“There are half a dozen full lieutenants, all of whom have served aboard this ship for at least one full five-year-mission,” Mohammed Jahma explained. “Every single one of them could have become the new boss: Lieutenant Josephs, Lieutenant Carlisle, Lieutenant Dickerson, Lieutenant Osborne, and so on. Mr. Carlisle as our senior, more than anyone else. There could have been a lot of bad blood and bitter fights inside the security department. I hate to say it, but bringing in someone from the outside was perhaps the best solution.
There was a long silence after his statement. Everyone tried to look at the problem from this brand new angle - especially as Mohammed Jahma’s judgement was usually very reliable in such things. Coming from a family that had given the Islam Community a khadi in every generation made a person very perceptive for the truth.
“Well… perhaps,” Lieutenant Carlisle admitted reluctantly.
Before anyone else could have reacted, the impersonal voice of the ever-present board computed made an announcement.
"Attention! The time is 20.00 hours. Beta Shift has ended. Gamma Shift begins."
“It’s about time,” Garrovick grumbled and rose from behind his console. “Computer; this is the duty officer of Beta Shift, security section, Lieutenant J.G. Stephen Garrovick. Authorisation...” and he rattled down his security code.
"Identity confirmed," the computer answered.
“I hereby transfer responsibility for Deck B to the duty officer of Gamma Shift, Lieutenant James Xavier Josephs,” Garrovick continued.
"Ready for identification," the computer told them dutifully.
The slender, elegant Josephs stepped up to Garrovick (whom he barely reached to the shoulder) and rattled down the official litany.
“Computer; this is the duty officer of Gamma Shift, security section, Lieutenant James Xavier Josephs. Authorisation... “
"Identity confirmed," the computer, replied agreeably.
Josephs snapped to attention and faced Garrovick. “You are relieved, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you,” Garrovick replied and stepped down from his duty station. At the other duty stations, the change of shift had also been performed according to military tradition. Security was a bit old-fashioned in this area, with rituals and saluting and all that, unlike the other sections. Thus Mohammed Jahma, Angela Martine-Teller and Keiko Tamura went off-duty, while Lieutenant Carlisle, Ensign Sdan the quiet, middle-aged Andorian, Yeoman Lemli, began theirs.
“Care to come with us to the rec deck?” Washburn asked Garrovick. “We could play a game of backgammon; besides, I’m famished.”
“To be honest, I’ve got a dinner date with Lieutenant Palmer,” Garrovick admitted a bit shyly.
Washburn grinned. “Congratulations! It seems that your new and improved position has finally made you acceptable in her eyes. Can we hope in a fusion of two of the oldest Starfleet-families any time soon?”
Garrovick became beet red with embarrassment, which made his boyish face even look even younger. His long-time attraction to Liv Palmer wasn’t exactly a secret, but - as it had remained more or less unrequited, or, at the very least, hadn’t gained the kind of reaction he was hoping for - he didn’t like to speak about it.
“Oh, shut up, Rick,” he said. “It’s not like that.”
“Yeah, but you’d like it to take exactly that turn, wouldn’t you?” Washburn grinned. “Just don’t give up. And what about you, ladies? Anyone interested in a bit of food?”
Tamura shook her head. “I’ve promised Lamia to accompany her for the evening?” she explained. “Andorians don’t deal well with loneliness, and as you know, her own people have been shunning her ever since her family cast her out.”
“And that only because she wanted to join Starfleet?” Washburn shook his head in bewilderment.
“Se is a fertile female,” Tamura replied gravely. “The mothers expect her to return home, enter a clan marriage and bear children. Lots of them.”
“Despite the overpopulation Andor has fought for a century or so?” Washburn asked in surprise.
“Religion,” Tamura said seriously, “has seldom anything to do with logic. Unless you are a Vulcan, of course. Or perhaps not even then.”
“Well, you may invite me to dinner, Rick,” Angela Martine-Teller took the engineer’s arm in a slightly proprietary manner, “but you’ll have to play phaser-duel with me afterwards.”
Washburn raised both hands, laughing. “I’m declaring defeat in advance,” he said.
Martine-Teller gave him a lovely smile, but her eyes lingered on Mohammed Jahma, who was known to have two wives and (so far) five children back home in Niamey, but that didn’t make him any less attractive in the ladies’ eyes. And anyway, as the scion of a well-respected Hausa family, he could afford to take two more wives, if he wanted.
“Moh, you coming with us?” she asked invitingly
“Sorry, I must turn you both down,” the Nigerian replied apologetically. The Ramadan begins today. Preparations have to be made.”
“You’re probably the only person in the entire Fleet who still follows the Islamic rules,” Martine-Teller remarked snidely, while they left Chekov’s office and entered the turbolift cabin. She didn’t like being rejected, and she made it very clear.
“You’re mistaken, Ensign,” Mohammed Jahma replied calmly, going at distance by using her rank instead of her name. “Even aboard the Enterprise, we have the privilege to begin the Holy Fasting in company. To fast and to read the Koran in a community, no matter how small it is, is a very... spiritual experience.”
“How many of you are aboard?” Keiko Tamura inquired. She had the good luck to serve on the same ship as her uncle, so she knew how important such things could be.
The Nigerian smiled. “Oh, I’m in good company. Yeoman Zara Jamal hails from the rather old-fashioned Islamic colony Insallah and is very well-versed in tradition. It’s a pity that Lieutenant Boma isn’t on board yet; he’s just found his way back to the Islam a short time ago and would most likely love to join us. Deck F, Level 6,” he instructed the turbolift, and the cabin moved on smoothly, noiselessly.
“Deck G, Level 7,” Washburn added; then he turned back to the Nigerian. “You could have booked the chapel, you know.”
“We have,” Mohammed Jahma replied, “but I need to wash myself and put on other clothes first. One doesn’t go to a ritual gathering in duty uniform.”
With that, he exited the turbolift, as the cabin has just reached Level Six. Another level further the others left the cabin, too, entering directly the Enterprise’s recreation centre, which was said to be the largest, best-equipped one in the entire Fleet.
The rec deck, as it was generally called, was fairly busy as always right after a change of shifts. Lieutenant Garrovick excused himself and hurried directly to one of the starboard snack bars where Lieutenant Liv Palmer, Uhura’s pleasant-mannered, blonde second-in-command was already waiting for him at one of the tables.
Martine and Washburn discreetly headed into another direction, not wanting to ruin Garrovick’s chances. The young man was shy enough when it came to women anyway. They found several free tables and chose the one next to a reading room, the door of which was left open. Within, Lieutenant Xon was sitting by himself, doing what Vulcans considered recreational activity: reading the newest issue of some quantum physics periodicals.
Rick Washburn asked Martine about her dinner choice, and then hurried to the food professor to order it. Cassiopeia, functioning as the rec deck hostess tonight, came down from one of the balconies, where she’d been watching a card game played by off-duty lab technicians, to greet them.
“Thank God it was an uneventful shift,” Martine replied to the socialator’s question. “I mean, I don’t like being useless, but if I’m needed, that always means big trouble.”
Cassiopeia nodded in understanding.
“I know what you mean,” she said. “I used to work on the life station of a battlestar for yahrens. Well, I wish you well and hope you’re going to have many more such ‘useless’ duty shifts - that would be the best for us all.”
She smiled and took her leave, as new guests were arriving; among them one whom she needed to welcome personally.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
His excellence H’R’Krsna, Special Emissary of Deneb II, had settled in during the weeks since his arrival as if he’d never lived anywhere else but aboard a spaceship. The humans had stopped trying to learn how to pronounce his name (they’d have failed anyway) and since he’d asked them not to use any honorary titles, they began to call him simply Krishna, after the blue Hindu god, stating that there were definite similarities. Krsna not only accepted this, he even found the comparison flattering.
He seemed to like socializing, and he did that a lot, often bringing his flute with him to the rec deck and giving the off-duty personnel impromptu concerts - a fact that made him very popular. Even though he kept saying that he’d only had to chose diplomacy because - by the measure of his won people - he was too untalented a musician. In his smoky grey civilian tunic, held together by a thin leather belts, and the wide, comfortable trousers he wore to it, he barely stood out of the usual clientele of the rec deck anymore, considering the fact that the new regulations allowed the crew to wear civilian garb when off-duty, and most of them enthusiastically did so.
“Hare!” the Denebian greeted Cassiopeia with folded hands and a deep, graceful bow; then he nodded towards his escort, smiling. “Nancy and I wanted to pick up a drink… and some news, assuming there are any.”
“You mean gossip, don’t you?” Cassiopeia riposted, and Nancy Wong, looking like a delicate china doll in the traditional silk robe of her people, shook her head in fond exasperation.
“His excellence has managed to find out when my duty shit ends - in theory, at least - and considered it his duty to keep me occupied, even in my so-called free time?” she said, but it didn’t seem as if she’d really mind.
Any other man would have found the light-hearted remark insulting. Krsna, however, shared the general Denebian good-naturedness and just laughed about it. Besides, Cassiopeia’s trained eye had already realized the subtle signs of a relationship between Wong and the ambassador that went beyond professional.
“Well,” she said in a friendly manner, “I for my part haven’t heard any news yet. But we still have four full days until we reach Thimsel.”
“That’s not entirely correct,” Xon, whose keen Vulcan ears could follow the conversation even from that distance, injected; he now rose and approached them unhurriedly. It was unusual from a Vulcan to join a conversation he hadn’t been part of from the beginning, but Cassiopeia had noticed Xon trying to accommodate to the social interaction of the mostly human crew for some time.
“Oh?” the socialator said, trying to nudge the Vulcan a little with her apparent curiosity. Xon tilted his fine-boned, elegant, faun-like head to the side in the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug, signalling that the wordless message had reached him.
“Captain Kirk has ordered to increase speed to maximum warp at the beginning of Alpha Shift,” he explained. “We are estimated to arrive in the Iacta Tau System in 3,5.6.8 standard hours.
“Interesting,” Cassiopeia remarked languidly. “Has he also offered a reason for speeding up?”
Xon’s head moved slightly to the side again.
“He mentioned a… hunch,” he replied dryly; Cassiopeia couldn’t quite tell whether his tone was derogatory or admiring. Not for sure. Xon sometimes reacted differently than the Vulcans she’d met during the last two and half yahrens. On the other hand, she couldn’t say that she’d known and Vulcans really well, of course.
“Captain Kirk’s intuition is legendary,” Decker, coming directly for his duty shift, as it was his wont, joined the conversation. “It’s a known fact. We might not always understand the reason behind his actions, but they’ve proven him right most of the time.”
Cassiopeia suppressed a sigh. She tried to stay free of prejudices, but despite the fact that she’d gained a little more insight into Decker’s motivations, the over-eagerness of the young executive officer was sometimes a bit hard to bear. And not for her alone, it seemed. Even the eminently patient Nancy Wong closed her eyes for a moment, and Xon - without doing anything as vulgar as giving any outer sign of his displeasure - immediately returned to his reading. All his Vulcan stoicism seemed to fail when it came to Decker… of course, he wasn’t entirely blameless in their working relationship having had a bad start.
Cassiopeia knew that it wasn't generally her job to put the first officer to his place, but it seemed that nobody else would. The others were his subordinates and couldn’t do it, or his fellow senior officers who didn’t want to undermine morale. Still, it had to be done, for the good of the entire ship. Otherwise, the young XO could lose not only the respect of the senior staff but also the trust of the crew - with unfortunate consequences.
“I don’t think that Captain Kirk would need you to defend his decisions, Lieutenant Commander,” the socialator said in a kind but warning tone; “especially not against a Vulcan senior officer. Vulcan loyalty is legendary as well, I’m told - and forgive me the remark, Mr. Decker, but you are more than a bit over-eager.”
“I’m only doing my job,” Decker stiffened in indignation like an insulted fourteen-yahren-old. Cassiopeia had noticed that sort of reaction earlier.
“No, unfortunately, you’re not,” she replied, keeping her tone friendly but firm. “You’re interfering everywhere, all the time, even if it’s not necessary. And you’re making yourself increasingly unpopular.
Decker’s pale face was twisted into a rather… unpleasant grimace.
“I wasn’t aware that the crew came to you with their complaints,” he sneered, just a little bit maliciously.
“There are many things you’re not aware of,” Cassiopeia replied with unwavering friendliness. “One of those things is that people tell their bartender things they wouldn’t tell their best friends… or their therapist. Besides, I’m not trying to take over Dr. Noël’s job. I don’t need to do anything to get the picture; I’m simply here, almost the whole day. Sooner or later everyone comes here... or to the Officers’ Lounge. They have a drink, or something to eat - and they talk. I just listen. That’s all.”
As Krsna and Wong had discretely withdrawn already, Cassiopeia decided to give the young man a much-needed piece of her mind. She took Decker’s arm and dragged him into one of the empty niches. The various games and conversations going on on the different levels of the rec deck provided enough background noise so that no one could hear them - even if there were eavesdroppers among the crew of the Enterprise.
“Listen to me, Lieutenant Commander, because I won’t repeat what I’m going to say now,” she said quietly but sternly. “We have been only on our way for a couple of weeks, but you1ve already managed to alienate your fellow senior officers and to get on the nerves of the entire crew. If you continue like this, they’ll only obey your reluctantly - and I don’t need to emphasize what that would mean in a crisis, do I?”
“No, you don’t,” Decker paled, the bracket-like lines deepening around his mouth. “I haven’t asked for this position, Ms Cassiopeia. I was Second Officer of the new Constellation, under Captain Walsh’ command, and I was good. So good that my captain has personally requested my promotion, and by Mike Walsh, that means a lot. I applied for the position of the First Officer aboard the destroyer El Mahdi, which would have been the right position for me: a small ship, with only 220 people aboard, most who I outranked most other officers. But Captain Kirk has asked for me, and I don’t intend to disappoint him.
Cassiopeia shook her head in concern.
“Look, I can understand that you’re trying to prove yourself to your idol, Kirk. But that doesn’t mean that you'd need to copy his superior attitude - which, to be frank, isn’t as justified as he seems to believe. Besides, you haven’t built up enough reputation yet that would justify such manners. Not to mention,” she added dryly, “that it doesn’t suit you.”
Decker replied with a bitter, mirthless laugh.
“This is not about copying anyone’s behaviour, Ms Cassiopeia. The senior officers on this ship had rejected me before I could have opened my mouth. They’re positive that someone else would be better in this position. And you know what? Perhaps they’re right. Captain Kirk has only brought me aboard because of my father, not because he’d have been impressed by my previous work. But honestly, I don’t care. I won’t ruin my career, just because he hasn’t thought about the whole thing carefully enough in advance. And if the other senior officers don’t like me? Well, they don’t have to… as long as they carry out my orders, their likes and dislikes don’t bother me.”
“Hmmm,” Cassiopeia murmured thoughtfully. “If that’s how you see it. But that’s not the best start for a smooth working relationship.”
Decker shrugged. “I wasn’t the one who started it. But I won’t let this chance taken from me for the sake of a few hostile officers.”
Cassiopeia could have come up with a few other arguments, but all of a sudden she had the feeling that something changed around them. She just didn’t know what.”
“Something is… different,” she said uncertainly. “But what is it?”
Decker went to the nearest viewscreen and switched to external view. His instinct had been right: instead of the elongated, multicoloured streak, there were immobile little dots of light scattered across the eternal darkness of deep space.
“We have fallen out of warp,” he said.
“And that would mean… what exactly?” Cassiopeia asked.
Decker shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m sure we’ll be informed when it concerns us in any way. Perhaps I should return to the bridge, though.”
As if answering his words, the intercom went on.
“This is the captain. All senior officers to the conference room on Deck D immediately.”
At the same time, Cassiopeia’s wrist communicator - disguised as a gold and iridium bracelet adorned with white gems - started to beep. The socialator touched one of the gems, activating the comm unit.
“This is Cassiopeia.”
“Tigh,” the colonel’s voice was tiny, coming through the golden grid, but very clear. “There will be an unscheduled meeting in the conference room on Deck D, in ten minutes. Your presence is needed. And bring the Denebian ambassador, please.”
“Understood,” Cassiopeia broke the connection and hurried up to the gallery, from where she thought to have heard Krsna’s laughter. The ambassador was trying to explain the rules of a bizarre Denebian board game to a couple of lab techs.
Cassiopeia waited until the Denebian paused for a moment to breathe, then she cut into the discussion, firmly and with a raised voice.
“I’m sorry, your excellence, but you have to delay this game. We’re both needed in the conference room.
The ambassador became very serious in the blink of an eye. For the first time since his arrival, Cassiopeia saw genuine concern on his face.
“We couldn’t have reached the Iacta Tau System already, could we?” he asked.
“I wasn’t given any details, your excellence,” Cassiopeia answered. “I was only told to go to the conference room with you, immediately.”
“Very well,” Krsna said after a lengthy pause full of concern, “let’s go!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The V.I.P. conference room- situated, logically, next to the guest quarters on Deck D, on the ship’s fourth level - wasn’t very different from the briefing room. Which was understandable, considering that they basically served the same purpose. The only difference was the lack of any special seats around the long, dark-polished conference table; most likely to avoid any diplomatic conflicts about such trivial matters as sitting order. Diplomats were complicated creatures; one had to handle them with care.
When Cassiopeia and her blue charge arrived, the senior staff had already gathered in the conference room. Some of them looked as if they’d been just pulled out of bed - unsurprisingly, as they all belonged to Alpha Shift and usually slept during the situated board night. Not even Kirk himself seemed fully awake. Only the two Vulcans, Xon and T’Pel, looked as fresh and focused as always. But again, Vulcans needed less sleep than most people.
“Please, have a seat, Ambassador... Ms Cassiopeia...” Kirk tried to suppress a yawn, with little success. “Sorry for waking you all in the middle of the night, before we even reached Thimsel, but communications has discovered something… strange, right after crossing the border of the Iacta Tau System. Commander Uhura...”
“We’ve been looking for communications from Thimsel on all subspace frequencies since we’d come within reach of the long range sensors,” Uhura took over; she, too, looked tired - not like someone who’d been woken suddenly but like someone who hadn’t even gone to bed yet. “So far, we’ve been unable to find any subspace communications. However, after entering the system itself, we detected this.”
She pushed a button on her comm panel, and some high-pitched, rhythmically throbbing noise filled the conference room. It was very quiet and distant, right at the upper edge of human hearing capacity, and the throbbing almost hypnotic. Cassiopeia didn’t doubt that - if subjected to it long enough - it would lull every human (and perhaps other intelligent beings, too) into some sort of catatonic, trance-like state.
“This… noise seems to be integrated into every kind of planetary communication,” Uhura switched off the unnerving throb. “Originally, it’s broadcasted at a much higher frequency, one that’s for human hearing capacity not even audible. I’ve modified it a little, to make the effect more comprehensible.”
“But what’s the meaning of this?” Sulu gave voice to the question that was being formulated in all their minds.
“And who is sending this stuff anyway?” Decker added. “Does it come from the outside or is the source somewhere on the planet itself?”
“The broadcasting comes doubtlessly from the planet itself,” Uhura replied without hesitation. “However, we haven’t been able to localize the exact source yet. The scattering field they are using is very carefully constructed; whoever is responsible for this… this thing, they clearly don’t want to get caught. But we’re working on it. I’ve assigned the problem to Ensign Freeman - Scotty was generous enough to let me borrow him. If anyone, he’ll be able to find the source. He has the instincts of a sleuth… and he’s not afraid of using unorthodox methods, if he has to.”
“Is that generally rated as something positive?” Xon inquired. Despite his neutral tone, it was clear that he disagreed.
“These signals have been constructed in a way that their source can’t be detected by conventional methods, Lieutenant,” Uhura replied, trying very hard not to take on a lecturing tone. “Would I not be working on my lectureship, I hadn’t been watching those unusual frequencies at all. Somebody down on Thimsel is very sly. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”
“Why not?” T’Pel asked, providing living proof of the general Vulcan lack of intuition.
“If someone goes such great lengths to slip some sort of secret broadcasting into the planetary communication, while every other contact with the roast of the Federation has been broken, that means something is very wrong on that planet,” Uhura explained with forced patience. Despite her years-long experience with Spock, sometimes she really found it tiring to spoon-feed the members of a race of such superior intelligence the most trivial things a six-year-old human child would get instinctively. But there was no real help - despite said superior intelligence, Vulcans happened to lack exactly that kind of instinct.
“That brings up two further questions,” Kirk interrupted impatiently. “Firstly: what’s going on on that planet? And secondly: who’s behind it. Any ideas?”
Xon apparently felt obliged to answer - reluctantly, it seemed, as he didn’t have sufficient data to base any useful theory on it. Such trivialities, however, could never get between a Vulcan and his duty, of course.
“At the moment, we barely have enough date to build a proper theory,” he admitted. “I studied all routine reports from the last two standard years but I could not find any discrepancies. I am sorry, Captain, but I need at least a long-range scan of the entire planet surface before I can come up with anything.”
“And? Have you already ordered it done?” Kirk demanded.
One of Xon’s eyelids fluttered visibly for a moment, which was a fairly unusual reaction from a Vulcan. Even from a very young and inexperienced Vulcan.
“Naturally, Captain. The astrophysics and geology labs have begun with the work as soon as we fell back to impulse power.”
“Any results yet?”
“Mr. Fisher should report in in a few minutes, Captain.”
He barely finished speaking when the doors slid open and a slender, reddish-blonde female ensign in sciences blue hurried in. She respectfully nodded towards Kirk, then she went directly to Xon and handed him a few data chips. For security reasons, the computers of the conference room worked independently from the board systems.
“The results of the long-range scans, sir,” she said with an unmistakable British accent. “Mr. Fisher is quite worried and suggests further investigations, as soon as we come in short-range scanning distance. He also had Lieutenant Gates called in, for the chemical analysis of the atmospheric readings.”
Xon nodded. “Tell Mr. Fisher to continue, Ensign Haines. I shall go to the astrophysics lab as soon as this meeting is over and recheck the readings.”
“Aye, sir,” Ensign Jana Haines inclined her head towards the senior officers and left without a further word. As one who’d got her degree in astrophysics just before coming aboard, she didn’t need any further instructions. Due to her excellent results (not to mention Lieutenant Boma’s positive evaluation reports) Xon didn’t hesitate to entrust her with the responsibility of the astrophysics lab during Gamma Shift.
The Vulcan slid the data clips into the computer and switched to visual display. The picture of Thimsel appeared in the middle of the large viewscreen; from the distance, it looked barely larger than a hazelnut.
“Magnify,” Kirk ordered.
“We are at maximum magnification, sir,” Xon replied. “The distance is still too large.”
“Analysis?” Kirk asked.
“The data are inconclusive,” Xon said. “Readings show almost exactly what could be expected... save from a discrepancy in the temperatures.”
Kirk frowned. “In what way?”
“According to our computer data, the average surface temperature should be 12 degrees Celsius,” the Vulcan explained. “If these scans are correct, the temperature has risen two point five degrees in the recent years.”
McCoy’s head snapped up in alarm.
“What?” he said, clearly shocked. “That’s a lot! Such an abrupt warming indicates either a global natural disaster or galloping pollution of an extent that hadn’t been reported from any Federation colony so far.”
“That is correct, doctor,” Xon nodded. “And if the latter is the case, those people have managed to destroy their entire planet in merely sixty standard years. That would be an unusual achievement, even for humans.”
“Which means, we might have to interfere,” Kirk said glumly.
“But what about the Prime Directive?” Krsna asked with a frown.
“Thimsel is not an independent world yet, Ambassador,” Lieutenant M’Botabwe spoke for the first time, “just a joint Terran-Centaurian colony. The Statutes of the Federation clearly state that Starfleet has the right to interfere, if the inhabitants of such a colony can be accused of environmental crimes on a global scale. In fact, it’s part of our duties. In extreme cases we even have the right to dissolve the entire colony and to remove the colonists from Thimsel.”
“If they’re aware of that, then it’s small wonder they’ve been out of touch with the rest of the Federation,” Decker said. “Who’d like to abandon their decades-long work?”
“Actually, that was a rather foolish move,” Tigh objected. “They should have known that breaking contact would result in a thorough investigation from Starfleet’s side.”
“Colonel Tigh is right,” McCoy nodded. “I’m afraid we’ll have to deal with something more… sinister down there.”
“Worse than a global environmental disaster?” Ilia asked doubtfully. “That must be a truly critical situation.”
“Well, we’ll know more in the near future,” Kirk said. “Go to Yellow Alert, Number One, just to be on the safe side. That would have Security prepared for all eventualities.”
“Aye, Captain,” Decker jumped to his feet and left for the main bridge to give the necessary orders.
“Science Officer,” Kirk turned to the Vulcan, “I want readings and analyses around the clock. We need to estimate the extent of this environmental disaster.”
“As you wish, Captain,” unlike the first officer, Xon rose and left for the astrophysics lab unhurriedly.
“Uhura, I want all planetary communication analyzed,” Kirk continued. “Don’t look for this peculiar broadcasting alone; I want the purpose of the messages analyzed as well.”
“Lieutenant Brent is already at it, sir,” Uhura replied calmly. “You’ll have the overall picture within the hour. Andorians are as reliable as antigravs.”
“I could help with the analysis,” T’Pel offered. “Besides, planetary communications could provide valuable insights into the colony’s basic social structure.”
“You’re welcome to join in,” Uhura nodded. “Lieutenant Brent is in comm lab #2; it’s on Deck G, Level 7, Section 25 Alpha. I must check on what Ensign Freeman might have found in the meantime, but I’ll join you two afterwards.”
“Well, that seems to be all, for the time being,” Kirk summarized. “The next meeting is scheduled in two standard hours, in the briefing room on Deck G; we’re closer to the labs there and have direct access to the board systems. I hope it’s all right with you, gentlemen,” he looked at Krsna and Tigh, who were, after all, the alien dignitaries here. Both men nodded, and the meeting was adjourned.
Chapter 07 - Aeropolis - One