EP1 ACT 1



SECTOR KAPPA NINE NINE SIX OF FREE TERRITORY, FORMERLY THOLIAN SPACE IN THE ALPHA QUADRANT
EARTH DATE: DECEMBER 22, 16:00 hours

A larger than average Ferengi Pod, bronze-burnished and dripping with tacky add-ons, pumped a steady warp two through the new Free Territory bordering Tholian space.

In its tiny lower deck, amid an oil and orange hued excuse of a cabin, a handsome thirty something Starfleet officer slept obliviously as a slender, bony hand reached through the open hatch and extracted his personal holdall. The name badge stamped onto the holdall read 'Christian, S.L.I., Commander', though there were heavy scratch marks over the last word. In the low bunk, the officer shifted slightly, pulling the threadbare rug across his back, his stupor restless but deep.

Inside Christian's mind, he dreamt of the fateful celebration that had taken place only a month ago. He hadn't been there in person, though had intended to be - an incident with the Cardassians saw to that. Because of this, he had missed his parents' celebratory 8000th performance, suitably acted out upon the infamous stage of the Theatre Imperial in Jeuneaux, capitol of the New Paris Colony of Napoleon, where the two had first met.

On the grand and cavernous mock-Broadway style stage, the post-performance party was swinging, with pulsing party lights and music, but Christian was puzzled as to why he was here. He reminded himself this was only a dream, and felt sick at the thought of what was to come. He wanted to leave, to wake up, but he couldn't. As he thought of escape, Counsellor Skorran appeared beside him. The Deltan's very appearance was soothing, but his words were firm:

"Don't resist your dreams, Commander, they are your unconscious path to peace."

He'd said as much to Christian back aboard the USS Venture. But the words didn't help him then or now. He was perspiring, heart racing, his parents were nowhere to be seen and he felt the urgent need to find them. There were Starfleet top brass mingling about the stage area, along with several Federation dignitaries visiting the colony, actors, dancers and crew, some of whom Christian had known since he was a boy accompanying his parents' troupe on their tours. As he pushed through the crowd he overheard snippets of conversation complementing his parents' performance:

"Their choice to perform The Taming of The Shrew on their Anniversary was quite aptly an 'omage to their wildly turbulent courtship."

"With two such elderly actors playing the leading roles, it gave the play a whole new edge, don't you think?"

"Have you seen the Christians' Anthony and Cleopatra? It's truly primal."

"Do you remember that time they did 'The Shrew on Vulcan? Talk about over their heads." Much laughter at this.

Pushing through a clump of alien musicians, chattering and clucking to each other between sets, Christian finally found his parents, holding hands as usual and politely holding court. They were delighted to see him:

"Son, you made it. We thought you were stuck on your ship, light years away."

"How's my favourite Executive Officer? Not got himself a Woman or a Ship of his own yet, I see."

Christian laughed, his parents were very fond of him, and he missed them when he was away for too long. Ordinarily he would have thought of a witty response, but again reminded himself that this was only a dream, and he was merely an observer.

Suddenly, behind his parents, a blue-white flash of electrical discharge was accompanied by a single scream and much scuffling. The crowd parted quickly, and Christian saw a steel blue Medusan casket laying broken on the charred wooden boards of the stage, energy crackling about its main systems and a very obvious gash in its casing. His parents stood motionless, staring at the now twinkling casket as the crowds, shielding their eyes, fled into the wings in blind panic.

Silently, a figure dressed in black from head to toe came out of the stage floor in front of Christian, blocking his view. Before he could respond, or move the strange character out of the way, the faceless figure seized him by the shoulders and dragged him off the stage and into the auditorium. His parents began to scream, but didn't move. Christian couldn't stop his legs from moving back, and his mouth was an open vacuum of empty sound as he got further away from his parents standing alone on the stage. The Medusan entity began to seep from its casket, bright, sparkling with such intensity that the colour and light filled the entire house.

Christian's parents were now silent, rooted to the spot, unable to resist looking at the hideous energy creature. He tried to call out to them, but could only shed a single tear. His mother fell convulsing to the floor, and it was only her action that caused his father to wrench himself away, covering his eyes and swaying over his wife - driven mad by the Medusan effect.

Christian struggled against the shrouded figure, but the grip was unbreakable. He turned away from his father and looked into his assailant's black visage. As he stared into the figure's infinite face, still trying to wrestle free, tiny sparkles of Medusan energy appeared from within, crackling where its eyes should have been. Christian found the energy eyes irresistible, almost beautiful. But they did not affect him, as they should have. It seemed with this character the Medusan energy had no effect on him, as if the figure did not wish him harmed. Realising that his own mind wouldn't be taken, that he would not be joining his parents in their fate, Christian could only flop into the faceless figure's chest and sob at his loss.

Christian slowly came into consciousness, his clothes sodden from sweat and tears rolling down his cheeks. It had been another vicious nightmare. Counsellor Skorran had said they would continue to flourish until he had truly put the whole experience behind him, but that would take time. Counsellors were always so smugly accurate in their diagnosis, but living it, Christian felt, was another matter entirely.

Christian had tried hard to come to terms with the reality of what had happened to his parents, but he freely admitted to Skorran that he held much anger toward the Medusan delegation for their part in the 'accident'. He felt his loss could not be more unjustified. A badly maintained power regulator had caused a malfunction in the anti-grav of the casket. Coupled with the particular angle in which the casket fell, the faulty component had caused the power overload and the resulting explosion which ruptured the casket releasing the unwitting alien.

His parents hadn't realised what had occurred until it was too late and they were mesmerised by the energy form of the Medusan. Christian's mother had died almost immediately. Metaphorically stated by the New Paris pathologist in his clearly apathetic coroner's log, her brain had been "fried to a crisp." That was yet more pain to add to his already gut-wrenching bereavement. Seeing security logs from the overhead sensors in the ceiling of the theatre's auditorium had helped Christian to acknowledge their deaths, but somehow, with them being on the stage like that, it had just seemed like another performance to him. The realisation that it had been real, the pain, the horror of it all, had come to him later, one night, when he had wandered the corridors of the Venture naked, asleep, and crying out for his parents. Embarrassment to add to his suffering. The thoughts continued to upset him when alone in bed at night.

Immediately after the incident, Christian's father had been transferred to the orbiting USS Intrepid where the Vulcan team of medics, said to be the best in the field of mental illness among Starfleet's medical personnel, spent three long days making their diagnosis. The Medusan entity, Korlan, had been safely retrieved from the theatre by automatons, and was reported devastated by the incident. Messages of condolence from Korlan via Medusan representatives on the Federation Council to Christian had later been returned unviewed. He had also filed an official complaint against the Medusan delegation and the technicians on the New Paris Colony responsible for maintaining their equipment. In truth, they were unsatisfying attempts at retribution on Christian's part. All he got in return were official reports as to what happened, and apologies from the parties involved with an indictment that such an incident would not happen again. Empty promises for his grief.

Although Christian, still aboard the Venture, had been informed of the incident and reviewed all the reports, the Cardassians continued to delay his flight to his father's aid. In his absence, the crew of the Intrepid continued to try and reach some part of his father's mind, even travelling to the permanent facility orbiting Medusa, where a seemingly ancient blind human telepath gave a more detailed assessment of his father's condition. The verdict: he was beyond disjointed - aware, but not able to communicate. There was nothing she in her infinite experience or anyone else could do.

By the time Christian finally made a rendezvous with the Intrepid on its return to the New Paris Colony, his father was comfortable, but held in restraints. Doctor K'Pa, CMO aboard the Intrepid, described his father's condition as being like standing on one side of a vast lake, only vaguely aware of what was on the other side, but unable to see it clearly, much less get there. In between were many veils of consciousness, each with their own imagery, causing his perceptions to be distorted. Physically speaking, his father was fully functional, could even perform certain reflex tasks to seeming perfection, but mentally he just wasn't all together.

On K'Pa's recommendation, a short leave of absence (for his own state of mind as much as anything) took Christian and his father to the planet Elba II. Christian was at first reluctant to put his father among criminally insane life forms from around the galaxy, but when he realised the secure facility holding the criminals was on the other side of the planet, he felt happier. Nine thousand kilometres away from the underground fortress, on the sheer face of a spectacular mountain with magnificent views, a huge care facility and research establishment had been constructed as a home for the mentally ill. It was somewhere for treatment and, in some cases, even cure. The nurses and doctors were excellent, many from the Starfleet Medical Corps, and having spent nearly two weeks on extended leave there, Christian felt comfortable leaving his father in their hands, and ready to return to active duty. His father's nurses promised to keep Christian informed on a weekly basis wherever possible and Christian found that reassuring.

During the last afternoon he spent on Elba II with his father, Christian received shocking new orders. Instead of returning to the USS Venture as Executive Officer, a post he had been in for only six months, he was to be transferred via Starbase 27 and the USS Enterprise to a command position aboard the Firefly, a science vessel currently assigned to the newly discovered Outer Zone. Out of the blue, he had made Captain. He cried as he told his father the good news, but all the old man could do was drool and manage a half smile. Before he left, Christian promised his father he would do his parents proud, and that he would return to visit him at the earliest opportunity.

The journey to Starbase 27 on the Runabout Solent had felt long and uneventful, giving Christian time to read up on the data gathered so far on Qovakia. As he waited on Starbase 27 for onward passage, Christian made several communiqués to his friends and to his father.

Aboard the USS Enterprise, Christian had only the briefest of meetings with Captain Picard, who congratulated him with a warm handshake and immediately proceeded to talk about Christian's unusual childhood and his own love of Shakespeare. Clearly Picard had fleetingly read Christian's resume and picked a subject to ease the flow of the meeting he was obliged to have with another of equal rank. Christian wished he had chosen another subject.

The conversation for some reason, perhaps because of the unusual setting, had brought Christian embarrassingly close to tears, reminding him of his parents, and he suspected Picard had realised a faux pas as he cut the meeting short. Counsellor Troi had dropped by his quarters repeatedly after that day to drag him away to a variety of events. Spending time with her was okay, but he preferred his women a little less ... emotional.

But Christian did have some quality time with La Forge one evening. Geordi had been his junior at the Engineering school by three years and was an equal in the field of warp theory. Christian had made the transfer from engineering to command just four years ago, and found himself missing his old engine rooms when hearing about La Forge's adventures.

Back in the humming, and spicy smelling cabin of the Pod, Christian rubbed his face and carefully rose to a crouch. Stepping through the small hatch into the closet-sized access corridor, he almost hit his head on the multifarious amounts of curious and mostly tasteless memorabilia strung up on the ceiling. Trophies and souvenirs of the owner's travels, no doubt. Something didn't feel right; he turned and looked through the hatch, noticing his holdall was missing. 'That damned Ferengi...' he thought.

Christian inwardly cursed for the umpteenth time in 48 hours. Not more than a day ago there he had been, reclining in the comfort of his resplendent temporary quarters aboard the Enterprise, reading up the specs on the small, but amazing Firefly science vessel and downloading the personnel files of his interesting new crew to his personal padd when an urgent priority reassignment of the Enterprise left Christian dumped onto the Starfleet Communications Relay at Epsilon XIV, transported there hurriedly and unceremoniously at near-warp.

The Relay now served a dual purpose, its original secondary function being as a border outpost. Now its subsidiary function was as regional base for Starfleet and local patrol vessels in and around the new inclusion zone. The base was light years from anywhere and weird looking. The communications array formed the largest part in the form of two hexagonal 'wings' attached to a central column tapered at either end. At one apex was a large, donut shaped module containing storage silos and secure holding cells and at the other, a clump of cube shaped modules containing administration and operations centres, accommodation and support services sections and, slung underneath, a refuelling and external repairs turret.

It was basic to say the least, and its personnel the isolationist, rugged types you tended to find opting for this remote kind of posting. Relay Commander Troppa didn't like Christian and didn't hide her feelings about it. She seemed against him from the moment he fell off the transporter, posting him the smallest and oldest of quarters next to the constantly whirring and 'plopping' reprocessing plant and being uncooperative concerning his onward passage to the Outer Zone. Perhaps it grated her that he had been granted a command at a relatively young age. Or maybe she didn't like humans, or Americans ... or men. Christian didn't much care, so pestered her office repeatedly for news concerning his transport.

Three long, head-splitting days later, in the middle of the night, Troppa had awoken him from a fitful sleep, saying she had managed to arrange his onward passage and would he meet her in the shuttle bay for immediate departure. Christian didn't stop to wash or put on underclothes, he pulled his uniform and boots on roughly and grabbed his holdall - he had refused the temptation to unpack, and took pleasure in hitting the shuttle deck less than two minutes after the Commander's message.

His suddenly woeful expression must have been amusing to Troppa. Looking at his onward carriage, he couldn't believe his eyes. An oversized Ferengi Pod, clearly double decked and clad in burnished bronze sat pointing towards space. The shuttle bay doors were housed, revealing the nebula beyond, a passive forcefield holding the bay atmosphere in place. The Commander was almost smiling as a security officer exited the turbolift and led a rough looking character with mad hair, handcuffed, and still half asleep towards them.

Christian saw that the offender had Ferengi parentage, though he looked more Human than he did Ferengi; a tall, thin man, with long, fine hair covering what head bumps might be there, and small lobes that swept into the man's temples without forming heavy ridges. His nose had faint markings where there would have normally been scaling, and he had almost piercing green eyes. Then the smell hit Christian, a heady aroma of stale alcohol, which matched this man's unkempt hair, unshaven face (this half Ferengi even had the makings of a beard - and was that chest hair Christian couuld see?) and well stained leather apparel. 'A man could not look more renegade if he tried', Christian thought.

As the security officer unbound the yawning, unfocussed man, the Commander had made a short speech:

"This is Rebbik, a ... 'trader' ... and pilot for hire in these parts. We brought him in on minor smuggling charges yesterday. You are in a hurry to reach the Outer Zone and I really can't be bothered with the paperwork for this felon, so I've decided to waiver his penalties on the condition that he ferry you through the Tholian wormhole to Qovakia." She turned on her heel to leave.

"In this?! But it could take days..." Christian almost pleaded.

The Commander paused only to smile slightly wider, "Three days, I reckon. But don't worry, you'll be quite safe. Bored, but quite safe ... Commander."

With that she had bounded out accompanied by her stooges. Christian flushed red. He had forgotten to put his extra pip on his uniform, leaving himself wide open to a departing jibe from Troppa. He turned to the strange man who grinned stupidly and offered his slightly shaking hand. Christian rolled his eyes, ignoring the offer of acquaintance and walked toward the pod's entrance, noticing the customisation Rebbik had made to his ... ship.

Rebbik was obviously very proud of his vessel, Christian thought, as for two hours after departure he constantly hammered on about all the close scrapes he had been in. Christian admitted to himself the man did seem to be a competent pilot, and certainly used his skill as a technician and engineer to customise what would have been a standard issue vessel into something far superior. Yet his constant bragging, most of which was probably vastly exaggerated, and the scratching, belching and farting forced Christian below; this was going to be a very long journey.

As Christian climbed the short ladder rungs toward the upper deck, he could hear Rebbik sniggering and coughing as he watched and listened to Christian's log entries from his personal padd relating to his recent weeks of trauma.

"Do you Mind?" Lunging into the cockpit area, Christian snatched the padd off the startled young man and kicked his legs off the vacant co-pilot seat. He noticed Rebbik had got most of the way through a bottle of Saurian brandy and was now frowning in inebriated annoyance.

"Hey, what you kick me for?" Rebbik was drunk all right, Christian thought.

"You," Christian fought for the words, knowing the man would only understand something basic in his state, "are ... in BIG trouble."

Rebbik paused, then his face contorted into almost painful hysterics, ones that wouldn't stop for a minute or two.

"Oh, jeez.." Christian murmured to himself and cast his eyes upward in defeat. But there was no relief there as pictures of naked couples in a variety of explicit poses filled his vision. He closed his eyes in controlled disgust, seemingly making Rebbik ha and haw even more.

Rebbik continued to splutter and choke for breath, before shaking his head and quietening down, "Man, you make me laugh. Oh, dear..."

As Rebbik wiped a tear, Christian frowned at the readings he had begun analysing on the pod's flight control panel. He hit a few buttons for confirmation, causing Rebbik to become agitated.

"You idiot!" Christian couldn't believe it; "We're light years off course and ... oh my God, we're in Tholian territory!"

"No, no no," Rebbik smiled again, shaking his head, "you mean we're in free territory that USED to be Tholian space."

"No, I mean you're the worst pilot I've ever had the misfortune of meeting."

Rebbik needed no further prompting as his eyes checked the readouts. Spurting out a particularly descriptive curse in Ferengi he was a crazed man over the flight controls, flipping the pod on its side as he turned it around in a sharp arc and headed back toward free space at maximum warp.

A warning chirp worried Christian. "Don't tell me..."

"Ah," Rebbik's hands were lightening fast with the familiarity of his ship's systems, but still the man found the courage to play down the situation, "just a couple of Tholian patrol vessels. Nothing to worry about."

"Oh, great," Christian slumped back in his seat, folding his arms. He waited a couple of heartbeats, a seeming eternity as Rebbik floored the accelerator and kept the ship steady on course. The warning signal chirped again. And again. And again. Christian couldn't take it any longer; "Time to free space?"

"Ah... just two minutes," Rebbik tapped a couple of buttons, "and before you ask, they'll be within firing range in about one and a half." Although his voice seemed clear and controlled, Christian could see the man had begun to perspire. Christian had been in a similar situation twice before, once aboard the Shuttlecraft Panama in battle simulations around Saturn's rings, and once aboard a Lethean scoutship in the Neutral Zone. In both cases the ships were in dire situations and in both cases his actions to either take control or assist the pilots in their work had done nothing more than interrupt their concentration and cause more problems and tension. Christian had vowed not to interfere a third time.

Christian sat on his hands as his tension rose, and couldn't help make a suggestion. "Open a channel to them," he said.

Rebbik scoffed; "You know they won't listen."

"Just do it!" Christian was tensing up and took a deep breath to relax. "We should at least try, stall for time."

Rebbik hit the autotransmit but it wasn't acknowledged. "Think about it, we're running away from them well inside their borders! I don't think stalling for time is an option." Though that gave Rebbik an idea.

Christian had sat forward now, hands gripping the console but resisting the temptation to operate controls, mulling over their limited options. A panel flashed red in front of him.

"They're trying to lock weapons," Christian reported.

Rebbik was still calm, but busy, which seemed more than a little strange to Christian; "I'm going to try something."

As the half-Ferengi brought several redundant systems on-line, Christian watched, trying to follow his actions to work out what he intended to do. It seemed Rebbik was setting the structural integrity field for a big overload, and the engines to reinitialise at emergency speed after stalling.

"Er... is that such a good idea?" Christian knew that when performing such a dangerous manoeuvre in anything less than a Starfleet ship it was touch and go whether the inertial dampners would come on-line before the vessel jumped to warp.

Rebbik ignored his question and activated the rear viewer on the panel below Christian; "Tell me when they fire their torpedoes."

Christian looked at the man beside him in disbelief, then at the viewer in front of him as the images of the arrow head shaped ships closed in. He was conscious of swallowing hard. Suddenly there was a flash from each vessel. "Torpedoes away!" Christian shouted.

"Hang on!" Rebbik throttled back and spun the Pod into a tight reverse corkscrew, cutting engines. The ship gave a deafening groan and systems popped and sparked all around them. Both missiles overshot their target and exploded into two balls of energy webbing a few hundred metres in front of them. The Pod's systems flickered back on line. The Tholians had to swerve to avoid collision with the Pod, giving Rebbik just enough time to jump to warp. In less than a minute, and in one piece, they were finally out of range and in free space.

When they were safely over the border and sure of no pursuers, Rebbik slowed the pod to a halt. "Don't tell me, I know. That was really stupid."

"Actually," Christian was still aware of the man's inebriation, even if he was more alert now and pumped with adrenalyn, "that was an act of war. We're damned lucky we weren't blown into space dust."

"I suppose you are going to report me for this?" Rebbik seemed pathetic to Christian in this state.

Christian laughed at the man's incredulity. "What do you think?" Christian held back his anger, despite the urge to pop him one. But he knew damn well that he couldn't report Rebbik for the incursion without facing a reprimand of his own. As far as Starfleet regulations went, simply by being on board he would be considered an accessory to the incident. Then again, he thought, he didn't have to let Rebbik know that. Finally he felt it was time to take charge.

"I'm laying in a revised course for the wormhole. Taking in our minor detour, we should be there in ..." Christian slumped, "... about sixteen hours."

Christian reached across in front of the tense man as he entered instructions into the pilot's console and realised for the first time that Rebbik was probably only a few years younger than himself. "Why don't you go below and sober up," he suggested.

Rebbik didn't answer, but nodded. He stood and ducked back through the hatch toward the galley and head in the rear. He stopped on the other side of the hatch to say, "For what it's worth, I'm... ah... I'm sorry, Captain."

Christian suddenly realised he still hadn't put his extra pip onto his uniform. Rebbik must have discovered he had been promoted through reading his padd and he thought it odd that this character would be apologising - much less give recognition to his official rank. 'Must be the Human in him,' thought Christian, 'that or the Saurian brandy, of course.'

***

STORAGE FACILITY ORLEGA ONE, HELUB, 16:30 hours

"Re Lorken, did you hear me? I said who are the Ore?" Leonard wasn't sure who Re Lorken was most afraid of, the K'Tani or these Ore people. The Minister just shook her head, staring into the air.

"We should leave," she said suddenly and picked up her headband, turning toward the runabout.

Leonard tried to prise the spear out of the floor to take it and the flag back with him for further analysis, but it was wedged tight. He heard Re Lorken gasp aloud and turned to see what the problem was now. She had stopped dead in her tracks only a few paces away. Beyond the spot where she stood, the hangar floor was empty as far as he could see. The runabout had gone.

***

ACT 2