Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!sol.ctr.columbia.edu!hamblin.math.byu.edu!news.byu.edu!cwis.isu.edu!u.cc.utah.edu!not-for-mail From: dw4557@u.cc.utah.edu (Dylan Winslow) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: NEW STORY: Fools in Hell: part 1 Date: 24 Jan 1994 02:17:53 -0700 Organization: University of Utah Computer Center, Salt Lake City, Ut. Lines: 261 Message-ID: <2i03o1$j4a@u.cc.utah.edu> NNTP-Posting-Host: u.cc.utah.edu This is the first part of a new ST-oriented story. It concerns the captain of another ship, although the Enterprise crew makes an appearance in part 2. This story contains some profanity, if that bothers anyone. Fools in Hell, part 1: Emergence. ------------------------------------------------ 1 Captain's Log- Stardate 452..um.. oh hell, computer just auto-insert the date when I'm done. We are nearly finished with our survey of illegal Cardassian military bases and the crew is looking forward to spending time on shore leave at Starbase 347. I think we deserve it after not setting foot on a Federation planet for two years and not even being in Federation space for over a year and a half. Overall, it's been a successful mission. Lt. Cdr. Prak is in the process of writing his report which he will personally present to Admiral Carstairs when we reach Starbase 347. I think that I share his opinion that when faced with the scale of Cardassian military buildup, the chief of Cardassian Sector Intelligence will blow a blood vessel. Probably in his cerebellum. Commander Prak is beside himself with excitement. On another note, I have just learned from our latest Covert Communications Package that for the dozen or so crewmen on board the USS Sigmund Rosenblum that have not been paid in the last seven months (of which I am one), we will need to submit new SF-502317 forms for each. If I have the chance to meet with the Finance Branch officer in charge of pay for this vessel, I will very probably hand him his spleen on a plate. *** "We're finished." Commander Stanton, Captain of the Uss Sigmund Rosenblum, looked up to see Lt. Cdr. Prak standing over him with a self- satisfied smile on his face. "Wonderful," said Stanton. He turned toward the navigator, Janess Gomez. "Plot a course for Starbase 347. Warp four. Any faster and the Cardassians would probably think that we were in a hurry to get somewhere. Make sure that the sensor dampening field is on full." "Aye, sir," •Commander Prak, you have the con. I'm going to bed." He tried to stand up and banged his knee on a railing. Like everywhere else on the ship, the bridge was wretchedly small and impractical. He had a bruise on his forehead from banging his head on the doorway every time he entered the bridge. *** The communicator buzzer woke him with a start. He looked at the clock and worked out that he had only been asleep for about half an hour. "Stanton here," he said sleepily. "Sorry to wake you," said Commander Prak over the communicator, "It's just that we've got a Cardassian ship following us." "Just what we need. I'll be on the bridge in a second. Sound the red alert." He heard the klaxon go off as he put on his robe. Heading out the door, he was almost run over by Lieutenant Gomez on her way out of sickbay, still in the process of pulling on a shirt. After climbing the stairs that led to the bridge, he banged his head on the doorway. "Ok, what's the situation?" "Well, it's a Bulldog-class patrol ship. Give me about five more minuets and I'll tell you which one. I think he just got lucky enough to be looking our way while we went by," said Prak. "Has he tried to contact us?" "No. In fact, he hasn't sent out any kind of communication at all." "That's odd. You'd think he'd want to report the contact." "He hasn't tried to engage us either. He's just hanging back there at three hundred megametres, following our every move." It worried him. He was glad that the Cardassian hadn't told anyone about them, since they were violating about a dozen UFP- Cardassian agreements by entering Cardassian space. But it really bothered him that this particular Cardassian wasn't being as predictable as he should be. "Prak, there aren't a lot of ships in this area, are there?" "No. That's why we chose this route in the first place. A lot of smugglers use this route too. He might think that we're just another smuggler." "That's true. We could outrun him, couldn't we? But a smuggler pulling away from him at warp 9 would probably seem a bit unusual to him and he'd probably put two and two together and, if he's very lucky, come up with four and realize that this is a Federation vessel and then we have what is known in the diplomatic trade as an incident. "We can't let him report back at all. Which is difficult because, if I'm not mistaken, a Bulldog-class ship outguns us by a considerable margin, doesn't it? Have you got the specifics on this particular ship yet, Prak?" "From his engine emission signature, I believe it to be the Gradon, assigned to the Cardassian 34th Patrol and Pursuit Squadron." Prak laughed. "It's known to the people at MilIntCom as the Triple-P: patrol, pursuit and profits. One of the most corrupt collection of starship captains in the galaxy." Stanton thought about this. An expression of sudden realization crept onto his face. "Of course! He's following us just outside what he thinks is our sensor range and waiting until we come to the most remote section of this virtually unpatrolled area and then he's planning on closing, boarding us, stealing our cargo and then vaporizing the ship." "That would explain why he hasn't reported us," Lieutenant Gomez interjected. Stanton nodded and stared at the schematic of the Cardassian ship on the main viewer. *** "What do you think he's carrying?" the Cardassian captain asked his first officer. "Drugs, probably. This particular route is favored by drug smugglers. We can probably get a good profit selling it on one of the border worlds." "Good. Good." He turned to the operations officer. "Can we scan the interior of the ship yet?" "Negative, sir," said the Ops officer. "The interference is probably caused by a defective shield system. These smugglers are always using inferior equipment. I suspect that it's nothing to worry about." *** "We can't risk having to actually fight him. We'll have to kill him with the first shot. Prak, on our present course, when will we pass through the most unpatrolled, remote area in this section of space?" Prak examined a chart for a second. "In about an hour." "Good. Mr. Yakevicz, bring the SDF down to eighty-percent in the area of the warp coil." The tactical officer looked at Stanton with a quizzical expression. "Excuse me, sir." "Trust me." "Yes, sir," the warrant-officer said as he made the adjustment. "And bring it down to twenty-five percent over the next 45 minuets. Helm, drop speed to warp one starting in about 15 minuets. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom. I'll be back in a moment. Call me if anything weird happens." With that, Stanton stood up and left the bridge. *** "Sir, I believe I am detecting the smuggler's warp coil." "Indeed?" said the captain. "How?" "I think that he is over-driving his warp drive. If he continues at this rate, he will have to completely shut down his warp drive very soon." The captain smiled. "And then we'll have him." *** "All right, helm, start decelerating now." Stanton watched as the speed indicator slowly went from four down to one. "Good. Has he started closing yet?" Stanton asked Prak. "Yes. He should be on top of us in about ten minuets." Stanton marveled at the predictability of the Cardassian commander. He tapped his communicator. "Torpedo room, prepare to fire a three-round burst on my order." *** "We could probably just transport through that shield of his, couldn't we?" "Probably, but it would be safer to knock the shield out with a minimal weapons charge. The electromagnetic interference might cause trouble with the transporter." "That's true," said the Cardassian captain. "Very well, as soon as he goes to impulse, close to transporting range and fire." *** "OK, go to full impulse. Shields up." "Cardassian ship at 500 kilometers and closing," said Prak. "He hasn't even bothered to raise his shields." "Ready torpedoes." "150 Kilometers." You poor avaricious fool, Stanton thought. "Fire." *** The Cardassian captain grinned. "Fire main..." The operations officer interrupted him. "Sir! Torpedoes!" "What?" Smugglers never carry torpedoes, he thought. The floor exploded underneath him. *** "Damage report on the Cardassian ship," said Stanton. "The bridge is destroyed. Most of the ship's atmosphere seems to be leaking out into space. One of the torpedoes seems to have hit a warp engine. Their containment field seems to be failing. In about an hour you won't be able to tell that there was a starship here. I wouldn't recommend hanging about," said Prak. "I agree. Helm, original course, warp four," said Stanton. "I'm going back to bed." This is a repost of part 2 of Fools in Hell. Some people apparrently had trouble w/ the formatting on the last posting. This story contains profanity. Send comments/questions/flames to dw4557@u.cc.utah.edu or dylan@mu.law.utah.edu. --------------------------------------------------- 2 Lieutenant Vass looked up, startled, from the screen listing the contents of the CCP that they had received overnight. "Sir, there's an eyes-only communique here for you," she said. Stanton raised an eyebrow. "That's strange. From MilIntCom?" "No. From FleetCom." "That really is strange. I wonder what I've done to get their attention. Let me see it." She handed him a PADD and he signed for the receipt of the communique. He read the contents page. UFP-STARFLEET FLEETCOM COMMUNIQUE TO: ROBERT G. STANTON, CDR., 517-23-2355 FOR YOUR EYES ONLY CONTENTS: 1. MEMORANDUM TO: CDR, USS SIGMUND ROSENBLUM NCC- 38375 FROM: CDR, FLEET COMMAND 2. ORDERS 334987-3406 3. ORDERS 334987-3407 Stanton always hated reading memos from Star Fleet Command. He thought that their habit of typing in all capitals gave one the impression of being shouted at. He hit "1" on the selection window and read the memo. UFP-STARFLEET FLEETCOM SAN FRANCISCO, EARTH STARDATE 45302 MEMORANDUM TO: CDR, USS SIGMUND ROSENBLUM NCC- 38375 FROM: CDR, FLEET COMMAND SUBJECT: OPERATION FALCON'S NEST 1. THIS IS TO NOTIFY YOU THAT YOU ARE BEING ASSIGNED AS A SUPPORT VESSEL FOR THE USS ENTERPRISE NCC-1701-D, TO PARTICIPATE IN OPERATION FALCON'S NEST. ORDERS ENCLOSED. 2. YOU WILL RENDEZVOUS WITH THE USS ENTERPRISE IN THE REVLOX IV SYSTEM NO LATER THAN STARDATE 45305. 3. YOUR CLEARANCE FOR STARBASE 347 IS CANCELLED. ORDERS ENCLOSED. 4. THIS INFORMATION IS TO BE DISTRIBUTED TO PERSONNEL WITH A SECURITY CLEARANCE OF 3 OR HIGHER ON A NEED TO KNOW BASIS ONLY. FOR THE COMMANDER: J. KEITH HAWS CPT, GS ADJUTANT 2 ENCLS. CF: CDR, GALACTIC EXPLORATION COMMAND CDR, MILITARY INTELLIGENCE COMMAND CDR, USS ENTERPRISE NCC-1701-D Stanton flipped to the other two pages. They were exactly what the memo said they were: Orders assigning them to Enterprise and cancelling their leave at Starbase 347. "Lieutenant Gomez," he said to the Navigator, "plot a course for Revlox IV." She was visibly stunned. "What? Aren't we going to Starbase 347?" "Doesn't look like it, does it?" he said quickly. "Vass, call up Prak and have him meet me in my quarters." Stanton stood up to leave. Walking off the bridge, he banged his head on the doorway. *** Stanton watched Prak read the memorandum from FleetCom. As he finished, Prak's expression turned dark and he let out an exasperated sigh. "A couple questions," said Stanton. "First and foremost, what is it? Second, how do we tell the crew that their shore leave has been cancelled without getting lynched?" Prak raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean 'we'?" "Very funny." "Sorry. As far as your first question goes, I really can't think of anything helpful. The Enterprise, as far as I know, has an exploratory mission. If 'Operation Falcon's Nest' is a scientific mission, I think that they're going to find us woefully ill-equipped, ill-manned and, let's face it, ill-tempered to participate. On the other hand, the security classification suggests that it's something along the lines of a covert intelligence mission, and having the Enterprise doing something like that would have to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Good luck trying to convince somebody that a Galaxy-class ship is just a freighter that's gone off course." "Good point. And from the wording, it does seem that Enterprise is going to be doing most of the work on this one. We're supporting them." "Overall, I'd say I have no idea." "OK. So how do I tell the crew and still keep my life?" "Can't help you there, either, I'm afraid." "Great." *** "Estimated time of arrival at Revlox IV, Lieutenant Gomez?" asked Stanton. "2.3 days, sir." Her voice was cold. He'd noticed that the crew in general had adopted a somewhat surly demeanor since he'd announced the news of the ship's diversion of course earlier in the morning. Announcing it to the crew would probably be considered a breach of regulations and probably specific orders, but they would have to find out eventually, and he suspected that the security classification was just Starfleet being over-dramatic, anyway. "Prak, can you detect the Enterprise at Revlox IV?" Prak studied the long-distance scanner display for a moment. "Yes. There's a ship there and it's definitely the Enterprise. She's got an engine-emission signature so high you could read by it." "Thanks. Oh, by the way, could I see MilIntCom's file on the Enterprise?" Stanton didn't personally know much about the Enterprise, except that its captain was probably SFC's favorite person in the known universe. It was said that Captain Picard's buttocks had more high-ranking lipstick marks than any other starship commander in Starfleet. "The standard service file?" asked Prak. "No, the 'smut and innuendo' file, I think." "It'll take me a few minuets to dig it up." "Thanks." *** "Welcome to the Enterprise, Admiral," said Captain Picard as he extended his hand to Admiral Carstairs. He, Commander Riker and Lieutenant Worf displayed only a minimal amount of anxiety as the Admiral stepped out of the shuttle. They had received notice of their new assignment only a few hours previously. "Thank you, Jean-Luc," the Admiral said as he descended the steps from his shuttle. "It's good to be back." "I think that you have met my first officer, Will Riker?" "Yes," said the Admiral. "I believe we met at a dining-in on Betazed, if I'm not mistaken." "I and my crew are most anxious to find out about this new assignment, Admiral. When would be a good time to brief my staff?" said Picard. The Admiral watched as three enlisted men carried his luggage from the shuttle bay. He turned to follow them and the other three officers walked along with him. "Some time early tomorrow, I should think. I'll have my aide schedule a meeting. I think that you'll like this mission, Jean- Luc. It'll probably get you another Star Fleet Medal for Valor," said Admiral Carstairs. "None of us are in this for the decorations, Admiral," said Picard. "Of course," said Admiral Carstairs as they arrived at his quarters. *** Stanford closed the file on the command crew of the Enterprise. He couldn't believe how boring these people's lives were. They didn't seem to have a sin between them. The intercom buzzed. "Sir, this is Prak. We're two hours away from the rendezvous." "Thanks. I'll be right up." He left his quarters and immediately collided with Doctor Kennedy. She eyed his forehead. "Didn't I take care of that bruise already this week?" "Yes, Doctor, you did. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to be on the bridge." He didn't get along well with Dr. Kennedy and didn't care to discuss his habitual clumsiness with her. As he walked onto the bridge he noticed a large schematic of a Galaxy-class starship filling the right half of the main viewer and a visual of what was presumably the Enterprise filling the left. "I thought you'd want a look," said Prak. Stanton nodded. "Look at that monstrosity. Do you realize that they have over a hundred square feet per person on that ship? A hundred square feet! And that's just the living quarters! I'll bet that Captain Picard doesn't have a coolant duct running through the middle of his quarters." The coolant duct in question had bothered him ever since he had first taken residence on board the Rosenblum, and he constantly woke from nightmares of being flooded by hundreds of litres of the toxic drive coolant fluid. "And have you seen the size of their bridge?" he continued. "It's huge. You could play a polo match on that thing." "I understand that Admiral Carstairs is very fond of Polo," added Prak. "That's what I hear," said Stanton. "All right. Send out a hail to the Enterprise. Let them know we're here." Lieutenant Vass sent out a standard greeting from her control panel. She appeared to listen for a moment, then looked up. "They say that we should stand by for a few minuets. Admiral Carstairs wants to speak to us." They waited. In a moment, the main viewer displayed the bridge of the Enterprise. Standing at the center of the screen was Admiral Carstairs, with Captain Picard on his left. Both were wearing riding outfits and Captain Picard was holding a helmet and mallet. Prak raised an eyebrow. Lieutenant Gomez put her head down on her control panel to conceal her giggling. Stanton had to pinch himself hard on the wrist to keep from laughing. The Admiral spoke. "Good afternoon, Captain Stanton. I apologize for my appearance, but Captain Picard and I were on the holodeck when you contacted us. I expect that you'll be wanting to know what your mission is." "Yes, as a matter of fact," said Stanton, "we were." "Good," said the Admiral. "We'll be having a complete briefing tonight after the change-of-command ceremony and the banquet." "Change-of-command?" said Stanton, shocked. "Just a formality. Putting the Rosenblum under the indirect command of the Captain of the Enterprise." "I see," said Stanton, slightly insulted. "I will have my yeoman transmit all the details to you. I'll see you at nineteen-hundred hours. Good day." The screen went blank. The bridge was silent for a moment. "What the hell time is it?" Stanton said. Over the past months, time had come to mean increasingly little to him. He looked in vain at the bridge clock. The clock had been broken for about three months and it simply flashed "12:00:00" constantly. Nobody seemed to be able to fix it, least of all, the ship's engineer who, when asked to repair any piece of equipment, argued that, whatever it was, it was somebody else's problem and had nothing to do with his job at all. *** Section Leader Pyrris started as she heard the communicator chime. She hit a switch and a man's face appeared on the viewer. "Section Leader," he greeted her. "This is Trosus, in command of Surveillance Team 12." "Yes?" she said, impassively. "We are conducting a routine surveillance of a Ministry of Communication clerk named Drin Misek this week." "I am aware of that, Team Leader." "Yes, of course," said Trosus, betraying a hint of nervous- ness. "We had just completed the background check and were going to clear him after the Daily Movements check was complete, but..." He paused. "Yes?" said Pyrris, wondering what could be so important that it required her attention. "He attempted to evade us." "Indeed!" she said, her interest suddenly aroused. "Yes. He was not actually out of sight for a moment, though, and I do not believe that he knew that he was being followed. Or rather, I do not believe that he detected our surveillance team. He may have reason to think that he is being followed." "Have you begun a full-scale investigation yet?" "As soon as I learned of it. And full time surveillance. I would like your approval for interrogation when we find something." "You shall have it. Let me know when it happens. I should like to be present. The Federation manages to sway so few of our people, it would be a unique experience to interrogate a Federation spy." *** The change of command ceremony had gone badly. Most of the people from the Rosenblum, mainly Commander Stanton, resented it and were angry that they were still being kept in the dark. The officers of the Enterprise didn't seem to be bothered by it at all, which made Stanton even more angry. In addition to this, Lieutenant Miles, the commander of the Rosenblum's small Marine contingent, had taken the Admiral at his word when, in his instructions, he had ordered "full dress uniform" for the attendees. Accordingly, he and Sergeant First Class Kosigan had dressed in their antiquated dress-black uniforms, similar to the ones that Starfleet had abandoned twenty years earlier. The uniform included, in the case of Sergeant Kosigan, several dozen medals, ribbons and badges worn on his left breast, a custom that Starfleet had long ago abandoned. This had caused quite a stir as the arrived on the Enterprise. The crew's reactions ranged from badly disguised distaste on the part of the Captain and his counselor to a young crew member who, in apparent ignorance, asked Lieutenant Miles what planetary government he was from. Thank God I got them to leave the sabers back on the ship, thought Stanton. Now, the banquet was beginning to look like an equal disaster. The conversation was hellishly uncomfortable. Commander Riker was flirting endlessly with Lieutenant Gomez, even in the face of what was an extremely cold reception on her part. Doctor Kennedy looked like she wanted to poison him. Lt. Cdr. Troi droned on for about ten minuets on the benefits of having a ship's counselor. There was an uncomfortable lull in the conversation. Admiral Carstairs looked around to see if anyone was about to fill the void. Seeing no likely candidates, he decided to fill it himself. "You know, Captain Stanton performed an excellent bit of maneuvering against a Cardassian patrol ship on his way here. Actually beat them in combat." Stanton let out an exasperated sigh and began to rub his eyes as if they had dust in them. Prak leaned over to him. "Why the fuck don't we go right the hell ahead and broadcast it on the Trans-Federation News?" he whispered, smiling. Stanton wished to God that they hadn't given Carstairs their report immediately upon arrival. "Indeed?" said Picard. "Those ships outgun yours substantively, don't they?" "Well, yes," said Stanton. The SDF was still, more or less top secret and he didn't want to be up on charges when somebody at MilIntCom inevitably listened to a recording of this conversation. "So how did you do it?" asked Riker. Asshole, thought Stanton. "You just have to know how the average Cardassian captain thinks." "How does the average Cardassian captain think?" said the android, Data. "He doesn't," said Stanton with all the finality he could put into the statement. Nobody seemed to want to pursue the matter. *** Dinner ended and Admiral Carstairs asked Stanton to stay for the briefing. Picard and Riker stayed as well. Now we™re getting somewhere, thought Stanton. •I expect that you™ll be rather anxious to find out about the mission,¢ said the Admiral. •That™s what we™d had in mind,¢ said Stanton calmly. The Admiral seemed to pause for dramatic effect. He hit a button and a star chart appeared on the screen behind him. •This, as you no doubt know, is the Romulan Empire.¢ Yes, thought Stanton impatiently, get on with it. •The Romulan flag-ship... • the Admiral began. He paused and consulted his notes. •The Romulan flag-ship Bright Talon.¢ He paused again and made a face at his notes as if there was a mistake with the name. •Carrying the Imperial Star Navy Chief of Staff Admiral Voran,¢ he continued, •left the starbase at Quintillas V for the Egrexis system on stardate 45112. Their schedule had it as a five-day journey. However the Bright Talon arrived at Egrexis III seven days later. The ship was a full two days late!¢ Stanton wondered if this was some kind of elaborate practical joke. Surely they had better things to be doing than watching the punctuality of the Romulan Imperial High Command. •Upon its arrival,¢continued the Admiral •Admiral Voran placed a seal on the ships log for that period, making it impossible for our source in the Empire to get access to it. Even though we do not know what is in the log, it does suggest that something very important happened along the way. •Our source did have access to information that the ship had been by several checkpoints along the way, so we have narrowed down the critical area of space.¢ Stanton thought that this was beginning to sound ominous. •It is almost certain that the ship spent those two days at this system here,¢ said the Admiral, indicating a point on the chart. •Ryzh Nomen.¢ •Where?¢ said Prak. *** The room was silent for a long time. •So you can see, since we haven™t any agents in the field who can check it out for us, and since it is potentially such an important target, we really have no choice but to send a ship to investigate.¢ Stanton couldn™t believe what he was hearing. •My ship?¢ •Yes,¢ said the Admiral. •Doesn™t this all seem a little dubious to anyone else?¢ Said Stanton. •I mean, I™ve never heard of this place. Has anyone?¢ •We have an old Romulan survey report of the system from about thirty years ago that indicates that the system is of no value,¢ the Admiral said. •Of course, we believe it to be disinformation.¢ Stanton realized that it was futile to try to dissuade the Admiral. The decision had probably been made weeks ago. •Okay,¢ he said, exasperated. •So what is the Enterprise going to be doing in all of this.¢ Admiral Carstairs looked over at Captain Picard and Commander Riker uncomfortably. •Cover,¢ he said. •Cover?¢ said Prak, obviously dumbfounded. •Yes,¢ said Admiral Carstairs. •We have reclassified the Rosenblum as NCS-3: a logistical support vessel under the command of the Enterprise. It is suspected that the Romulans have been gaining access to our ship registry on a fairly consistent basis. We need for them to not know your true mission.¢ •This is the stupidest thing I™ve ever heard,¢ Prak hissed into Stanton™s ear. *** After the briefing, Stanton wandered down to the ship™s lounge. He needed a drink. Badly. As he sat at the bar, he saw Yakevicz come up to him. •Hello, sir.¢ •Hello,¢ said Stanton mirthlessly. •Have you been to the holodeck they have on this ship?¢ said Yakevicz. •No, I haven™t¢ •You™ve got to try it, sir,¢ said Yakevicz, grinning. •It™s almost like the real thing.¢ •I don™t have to.¢ said Stanton. •I™ve just had the real thing.¢ •No shit, sir?¢ said Yakevicz, visibly impressed. •Yes. In fact, you, me and everybody else on the Rosenblum have been screwed by Admiral Carstairs.¢ This is the 3rd part of the aforementioned story. This story contains some profanity, if anyone cares. Send comments/questions/flames to: dylan@mu.law.utah.edu dw4557@u.cc.utah.edu Fools in Hell, part 3: Departure --------------------------------- 3 Stanton put his feet up on the wood-veneer desk, secretly hoping that his boots would visibly damage the surface. The temporary office that he had been given on board the Enterprise was big and comfortable enough, but over the past two weeks the excessively clean and orderly environment on the ship had gone well past the point of getting on his nerves. The doorbell chimed. •Come in,¢ he said. Yeoman Graves poked his head in. •Sir, the Counselor for the Enterprise is here to see you. Also, I have some things for you to sign.¢ •Show her in, Yeoman. I™ll get to the paperwork in a minute.¢ Counselor Troi walked in and sat in the chair nearest his desk. He put his feet back on the floor. •Captain Picard and Admiral Carstairs are somewhat concerned about the psychological status of your crew,¢ she said. Stanton snorted. •No doubt.¢ •Yes,¢ she continued. •And I think that the fight yesterday between two of your marines and our security people-¢ •And how is your Lieutenant Worf doing?¢ Stanton interrupted, trying to conceal a smirk. •He™s much better, thank you. I think that the fight yesterday between two of your marines and our security people shows that we need to address the emotional health of your crew.¢ Stanton smiled. •I don™t think that there™s anything wrong that three months of extended shore-leave couldn™t fix.¢ •Yes, well,¢ she said, •I™m afraid that™s not an option at the moment. But I was thinking that in the next week, before you leave, I could meet with some of your crew.¢ Stanton shrugged. •Of course, whoever of my people wishes to see you can go ahead. You™ll forgive me if I remain skeptical about the utility of trying to talk people into liking the fact that they™ve been screwed.¢ Troi sighed. •That™s something else that I need to talk about with you. Captain Picard feels that you™re feeling angry about the mission. I have to say that I agree with him. I think you need to talk about this.¢ Stanton stared at her for a moment, then smiled. •Angry? Me?¢ He was interrupted by the door chime. •Yes?¢ said Stanton. Yeoman Graves stepped in. •Sir,¢ he said, •the Admiral just called and said he wants these things an hour ago.¢ Stanton sighed heavily. •Counselor,¢ he said to Troi, •this will only take a minute. All right Mr. Graves, lets have it.¢ Graves gave him the first form. •This is the list of officers eligible for promotion.¢ Stanton looked it over cursorily and signed it. •Okay. Next.¢ •This is the work order for the new reactor power couplings.¢ •What?¢ said Stanton. •Didn™t the Admiral get the engineer™s note on that? Tell the Admiral that the emissions index is too high in the upper wavelengths. While we™re in the Neutral Zone we might as well be firing off a flare every three minutes. I™m not authorizing it.¢ The Yeoman spoke. •Um, sir?¢ he said uncomfortably. •I, ah, also have a memorandum here from the Captain Picard...¢ He paused for a moment. •Telling you not to cancel any more work orders,¢ he finished quickly. Stanton™s teeth clenched. He tightened his fist around his pen so hard that it made an audible crack. He gave the Yeoman a cold, hard stare and then shot a malicious glance at Troi. •All right, damn it,¢ he said through clenched teeth as he furiously signed his name to the document. •Next!¢ he said, nearly shouting. The Yeoman handed him the next one. •This is for some modifications to the computer due to the ship™s official change in status. Automatic safety stuff, I guess.¢ Stanton glanced at it a moment and signed. •Anything else?¢ •Nothing to sign, sir,¢ he said. •Doctor Kennedy and Lieutenant Gomez wanted to know if you could perform a short wedding service for them, since they won™t have the opportunity to have it done at Starbase 347.¢ Stanton leaned back in his chair and seemed to relax for a moment. He glanced a Troi for a second and smiled. •Owing to his greater rank, position and experience,¢ he said, •why doesn™t Captain Picard do the fucking wedding?¢ *** Pyrris walked into the room where the prisoner was being held. She looked at him. The past week had not been kind to Drin Misek. He sat limply on the chair in the center of the room. He had a tired, despairing expression as he stared in no particular direction. Ah well, she thought. It™ll all be over for him shortly. •Misek,¢ she said to him. •We have concluded your case. I am about to make my report. I wanted to find out if there was anything you would like to add to your statement before I enter it into the official record.¢ Drin Misek shook his head, still staring at an indeterminate point on the floor. •Very well,¢ Pyrris said and began to leave. She paused for a moment and turned back to the prisoner. •Is there anything you would like, within reason?¢ she asked. •No,¢ he mumbled. He was quiet for a moment, then he said: •When?¢ She was confused for a moment. •When what? Oh, I see. Your execution.¢ He nodded. •It has been tentatively scheduled for the eighteenth, in ten days,¢ she said. He seemed to be slightly relieved at this news. •How will it be?¢ he asked. •Oh, accidental, I expect.¢ *** Commander Fennka™s door opened and Pyrris walked into his office. A starship commander before entering the Security Services, he was still an intimidating sight. He was missing his left eye and the tip of his left ear. Also missing were the small and ring fingers of his right hand, which he would explain, when inclined to do so, had been bitten off by a Klingon during a fight. As Pyrris stopped about a meter from his desk, he said: •Report.¢ She handed him the Drin Misek file, glanced at her notes, and began to speak. •Three months ago Drin Misek was obliged to obtain medical care for one of his children, due to a potentially fatal illness. Consequently, Misek™s financial situation rapidly deteriorated and he was faced with certain insurmountable debts. A month later, he was approached by a man calling himself Palrymth. Misek™s description of the man matches that of Palrymth a-Tigar Ten-ly-Ref, also known as Palrymth Shakan, also known as Ob Uang, also known as Ped Xing Wey, a very minor criminal whom we believe to be employed by various Federation intelligence services. Palrymth offered to pay Misek™s debts in exchange for information to which Misek had access in the Imperial Communications office. A month and a half later, Misek provided Palrymth with the information. Misek was still awaiting his money when we caught him during a routine check.¢ •Has Palrymth been apprehended?¢ Fennka asked. •No. He is being followed in order to lead us to his Federation contact.¢ •What information did Misek supply to Palrymth?¢ •Dates and origins of certain scheduled transmissions. About a hundred in all. None classified higher than “official use only™ and most without any official classification at all.¢ •To what possible use could the Federation put this information?¢ asked Fennka. •We do not know. We have passed this information on to the office of Strategic Reconnaissance to see what they can find.¢ •Has a date been set for Misek™s death?¢ •The eighteenth. I have recommended it be staged as an accident in order to not overly alarm Palrymth.¢ •Good,¢ said Fennka. •I shall be glad to see this affair over and done with. I daresay Misek will too.¢ *** Stanton groaned as he settled into his chair. The bridge clock still flashed •12:00.¢ He hit the intercom switch on the chair. •Engineering. Commander Gritch,¢ said a voice from the intercom. •Gritch,¢ said Stanton impatiently, •we™ve had three entire weeks of repair and resupply. Why the hell isn™t the damn bridge clock working?¢ •Hey,¢ said Gritch, •I never got a work order for it.¢ •I sent one to you.¢ •Well, I never got it.¢ Pointless, thought Stanton. He sighed. •Okay. Fine.¢ He switched off the intercom. •Somebody tell me when it™s 1400, okay?¢ he announced. Gomez nodded to him and he settled back in his chair and watched one of the secondary monitors, which for some reason was showing a late-21st century detective movie. *** •It™s 1400, sir,¢ Lieutenant Gomez said. Stanton tore himself away from the film and looked at the communications officer. •Okay, call up Enterprise and tell them that we™re ready.¢ She nodded and Admiral Carstairs and Captain Picard appeared on the main viewer. He was dreading this part. Captain Picard had reminded him earlier that it was traditional for captains to say something historical and profound upon leaving on a new mission. The Admiral would be expecting it. Picard had suggested just stating his ship™s motto. As far as Stanton knew, it didn™t have one. It was now time to leave and he still hadn™t thought of anything. •Admiral,¢ Stanton said. •We are ready to depart.¢ •Commander,¢ said the Admiral, •this is a very important and dangerous mission upon which you are about to embark. The Federation will be eternally grateful to you.¢ Bullshit, thought Stanton, A week from now you™ll be in front of a committee swearing blind that you™ve never even heard of us. Picard and Carstairs were looking at him expectantly. He drew a long breath. •Um, thank you, Admiral.¢ He adopted what he thought might pass for a noble demeanor. •We, uh, do this for the safety and, um, peace of mind...¢ God, he thought, this sounds terrible. •Of the United Federation of Planets,¢ he continued. Admiral Carstairs and Captain Picard were still looking at him as if he should say something else, so he searched his mind for something that would sound good and said, finally, •Morde manubrium meum.¢ They both looked satisfied at this and the Admiral smiled and said: •Good luck.¢ The screen went blank. Stanton sighed. •Helm,¢ he said, •ahead warp eight.¢ *** •Two minutes to Neutral Zone,¢ said Prak. Stanton gripped the armrest of the chair. He had been hoping that there would be a last minute call from Carstairs saying, •It™s all been a terrible mistake. Return immediately.¢ But the comm board was annoyingly silent. •Sixty seconds.¢ •For God™s sake, make sure Gritch has those power couplings locked down,¢ said Stanton. He had images of being vaporized by a Romulan plasma weapon seconds after entering the zone. •Thirty seconds.¢ This is insane, thought Stanton. Don™t do it. Just turn around. Resign your commission. You™ll be up on charges but at least you™ll be alive. •Ten seconds. Five...four...three...two...one. We™re-¢ Prak was interrupted by a loud, abrasive screeching noise followed by the voice of the ship™s computer. •This is to advise you that this ship has passed into the area known as the Federation-Romulan Neutral Zone,¢ said the computer. •Entry into this area is prohibited under the terms of the Federation-Romulan Treaty of 2261, Article 2 of the Federation Code, Starfleet Regulation 10-1 and Article 4 of the Starfleet Justice Code. You are hereby ordered to reverse course and return to Federation space.¢ •Prak,¢ said Stanton, •what the hell was that?¢ •I™m checking.¢ A moment later Prak spoke. •It™s a warning from a piece of hardware that all NCS-3 ships - which includes us, now - have to have. From what I can tell, it seems to be a safety device meant to keep lower-eschelon commanders from violating too many regs.¢ Stanton frowned. •Is it going to be bothering us much more on this trip?¢ •I can™t tell. The computer keeps the contents and workings of the device secret by Starfleet directive. Probably to prevent tampering.¢ •I™m insulted,¢ said Stanton. •Well, just keep an eye on it. And keep an eye on those power couplings. I have a bad feeling about those. Let me see the map.¢ Prak hit a switch and a star-map of the Romulan Empire. Since the Federation had so little first-hand information about the interior of the Empire, particularly in the field of military installations, the MilIntCom had given what information it had to a collection of historians, strategists and exopsychologists. They had come up with this map. •But is it any good?¢ Stanton had asked Prak when they first saw it. Prak had simply shrugged. *** •Five minutes to Romulan space.¢ Stanton was somewhat more relaxed now. If they were going to be spotted by the Romulan monitors, they would have been already. As they crossed into Romulan space, there was a palpable sigh of relief from everyone on the bridge. •Okay, Prak,¢ said Stanton. •Start your passive scanning. Let™s see if we can start confirming that ma-¢ Stanton was interrupted by the abrasive screeching noise from hours before. •This is to advise you,¢ said the computer, •that you have entered an area of space claimed by the Romulan Star Empire. This is a violation of Federation-Romulan Treaty of 2261, Article 12-2 of the Federation Code, Starfleet Regulation 2-2 and Article 12 of the Starfleet Justice Code and may be considered a provocative act by the Romulan Imperial Government.¢ •Oh, God,¢ said Stanton. •Not this again.¢ •In order to prevent official entanglement with the Romulan Empire, this ship™s position will be broadcast, together with a disavowal of any responsibility, if this ship does not depart Romulan space within fifteen minutes.¢ •Broadcast?¢ said Stanton. •What the hell does it mean, broadcast?¢ He looked at Lieutenant Vass. Lieutenant Vass was panic-stricken as she examined the comm board. •I think...Sir, I think it™s gone and taken control of the communications array. I think it™s going to broadcast it from our ship.¢ •Oh fuck,¢ said Stanton. •Prak, any chance you can stop it.¢ Prak shook his head. •The instruction is hard-wired in. We™d need hours to remove the module properly.¢ •How about improperly?¢ •We™d cause damage that would be irreparable and probably fatal. It™s in the same area of the computer that runs the life support system.¢ Stanton nodded and turned to the navigator. •Any chance we can actually get out in time?¢ Gomez shook her head. •To decelerate, reverse course and get out would take twenty minutes.¢ •Fourteen minutes,¢ the computer announced. •Damn,¢ said Stanton. •Okay, Prak. Get one of your computer intrusion people up here.¢ *** As CW1 Brisque walked onto the bridge she looked at Prak then at Stanton, apparrently for instructions. •Eleven minutes,¢ announced the computer. Stanton indicated the overhead speaker from which the countdown was coming. •Stop that.¢ She nodded and Prak directed her to his bridge station. Within five minutes the countdown stopped. In another five minutes the main viewer went blank for a moment, then filled with a screen of scrolling text. Stanton examined the text for a moment, then blushed slightly. •What the hell is this?¢ he said. •I couldn™t stop the computer from executing the transmission,¢ Brisque explained, •so I just changed the transmitter access address. It thinks it™s transmitting right now.¢ •But what is this?¢ Stanton persisted. Prak looked at his monitor. •It says “File 32168436-a4: Kurq™s Encyclopedia of Exoerotica.™¢ •Well, see if you can move it to one of the other monitors,¢ Stanton said as he settled in his chair. •This is going to be one long fuck of a trip. I can tell already.¢