EP 10 "RESIGNATIONS" - ACT 2
PASSENGER SECTION: 1325 HOURS
“Captain’s Log, Stardate 51374.2. Repairs have continued apace. Professor Karnak has reported that minute amounts of the cloaking substance have been successfully removed from the damaged hull on the Marina Deck’s maintenance level for examination in laboratory conditions. The next step should be to repair that section of the ship and early tests show that flattening the damaged hull plating between two high intensity localised forcefields does not affect the cloaking substance. Commander Leonard has confirmed that it will be possible to cannibalise sections of redundant storm shutters to plug any gaps, cutting and fusing them into place from the inside, so that we maximise coverage of the cloaking effect.
However, for the moment all work is on hold while we convene an urgent staff meeting on the Passenger Section Bridge. I have severe concerns about our ability to survive aboard this huge ship with so few crew. I had intended the USS Fantasy to be a worthy Starfleet-commandeered vessel, but at present we are merely a large, floating refuge. We may have the technology, we may one day even be a worthy adversary, but we do not currently have enough staff to operate and maintain the systems. I’m finding this has been somewhat exacerbated by the decision of my Helmsman, Rebbik, announcing that he wants to join the several dozen others who want to leave the ship at the earliest opportunity. In truth I’d not expected people to still want to leave once we had taken on fresh supplies and the repairs were underway. Already our quality of life has improved greatly, yet they remain resolute.”
Christian walked through the reception area of the Passenger Section’s Medical Centre. O’Hara was nowhere to be seen, but a number of volunteers were arm deep into the walls meticulously following complicated instructions to repair a series of diagnostic monitors. Indeed, there seemed to be more engineering volunteers here than he expected. They barely acknowledged him as he wandered past and into the corridors of the Centre, noting all the facilities, some fully equipped, some stripped bare. The sound of amassed low talking wafted down an open Jeffreys tube, drawing the Captain up to the next deck, the Outpatient’s Clinic, where he found many people seated waiting in rows of mismatched chairs that lined the corridor and snaked into the distance. Occasionally, they were all moving along one.
Christian followed the trail of people to a series of curtained treatment areas. Each of the Nurse’s staff occupied the booths, equipped with padds and medical tricorders, plus a number of other recording devices and examination tools to study each person. The medicals were finally taking place. Despite the apparent unrest among a small proportion of the survivors, none of them seemed to be here. In fact, all the civilians present, and some volunteer crew, were proudly wearing varying prototype uniform designs, and appeared happy to be here, discussing events and possibilities with great zeal, most saying an enthusiastic hello as he walked past. He nodded at the three Klingons present, each still defiantly wearing their Klingon garb, though all willing and able to act as volunteer security officers, even under the supervision of a young Human female Ensign.
Finally he spied O’Hara closely examining a woman nearing the later stages of pregnancy. What irony. When the Lieutenant saw the Captain, she immediately called for relief and joined him.
“Something wrong?” Christian quickened his pace to catch up with the striding red head.
When they were safely beyond earshot of the others, O’Hara pushed the Captain into an obstetrics treatment room and over to the main examination table. They stood either side of the three stirrups, still elevated to chest height from the last apparently non-Human examination, and faced each other. “It’s the Helan,” O’Hara said. “They refuse to be examined.”
“On what grounds?” Christian asked.
“Just on principle, I was told,” O’Hara said. “I’ve tried to speak to Ganhedra, but he was rudely dismissive, said it’s his people’s free choice whether they wish to be examined or not.”
Christian nodded. Still these Helan people were giving him cause for concern, yet they’d been so helpful, so generous and kind. He decided on caution, and for now the benefit of the doubt. “I’ll speak to him. But I’m not overly concerned, they’ve bent over backwards to accommodate us, and have good skills which they offer freely and without question. They’ve even agreed to abide by our rules and regulations.”
“Do you truly believe that?” O’Hara balked. “I thought the general consensus was they’re proving to be more mysterious rather than more transparent.”
The Captain sighed. “I know, and I’m chief among them,” he agreed. “But I’ve given this a great deal of thought lately, and discussed the situation at length with the Commodore. I’m sure they do have something to hide, but I don’t think it’s to our detriment. And until they show us real cause for concern I feel we should trust them. Come on, we might as well travel together to the Bridge. Er… the other Bridge.”
O’Hara half-smiled and followed him out into the corridor, then when he wavered, she led the way, leading him around several corners and landed them square in front of a turbolift. “It is a bit of a maze down here. Like other parts of the ship, so I’ve heard.”
Christian regarded her as they waited for an available car to arrive. “How’s it going with the Commodore?”
The Lieutenant considered her reply. She surprised herself by the candidness of her response. “She needs to listen to what I have to say. This isn’t easy for me, Captain, but I won’t be forced into anything I don’t want to do.”
They stepped into the lift, Christian voiced the destination and the car responded with a hollow gong. “Of course,” Christian agreed with his CMO. “If there’s anything I can do, Lieutenant, please just ask.”
O’Hara looked into his boyish face, almost too youthful and innocent to be considered a Starfleet captain. “Thank you, Sir.”
* * *
PASSENGER SECTION. BRIDGE. 1330 HOURS
The Passenger Section Bridge was located near to the prow of the vessel – the highest of three rotund levels that stood proud of the main dorsal hull. As they’d seen on the viewscreen when Souveson had travelled there with the infestation team, it had been dutifully restored as a latter 23rd Century design – grey/blue walls, and black and red consoles positioned octagonally around most of the deck on an upper gallery. In the centre of the deck was the Captain’s low-backed, box-like chair on a raised dais, and in front and below, the Helm and Navigation positions.
The Captain first of all explained that Bel’s men had identified a contained, stable computer core in the Passenger Section’s executive area on the deck below that held historical information, many archived documents from the ship’s previous incarnations, as well as the vessel’s schematics, including comprehensive deck plan data. Additionally, where the elaborate, main core in the Command Section was an extensive system, programme and archive storage facility, this one apparently had concurrent files, including the most recent logs of the vessel during its refit, but as yet there was no information on its apparently interrupted flight to the Archive Planet, or how it wound up in the Outer Zone.
For now, though, the research had to wait – there was a more overriding issue to address. Everyone gathered around the Science Station, Christian sitting in the oddly blunted teardrop leather backed swivel chair.
“Okay, let’s take a good look at what the Passenger Section can offer us,” Christian mentally recited his technology interface classes at Starfleet Academy, where he and his peers had been pitted against countless old fashioned, antiquated and occasionally alien systems in the holo-simulators. Every command officer was expected to exercise an adaptive response to unfamiliar surroundings, and that included technology – new and old, familiar and unexpected.
As most modern ship systems were based on the same principles as their predecessors, interpreting an old-style Starfleet interface was a cinch. By pressing or flicking the brightly illuminated coloured plastic buttons or switches, he accessed the Passenger Section’s mainframe and convincingly brought up animated 3D deck plans onto one of the displays on the angled wall above him.
“There’s the Arboretum,” O’Hara jumped in first off, identifying the obvious multi-levelled complex in the rear mid-Passenger Section as the skeletal representation slowly rotated and flipped highlighting random sections.
“What’s that huge rectangle?” Reb asked awkwardly. Although he’d resigned, he’d finally caved in to Jackson’s demands that he at least do them all the courtesy of joining them for meetings for the rest of his tenure. He knew she was trying to get him to join in as an attempt to win him over, but he also knew his mind was set.
“That’s the Holo Park,” Hedrik leaned in smiling with glee. “It’s massive, isn’t it?” Unbeknown to the others, in the short time after they first arrived on Bel’s ship and before their recent away mission in the Yacht, Hedrik had made several unauthorised jaunts into the Passenger Section. There, she’d uncovered a wealth of holographic and transporter technology – enough to keep her amused for months, if not years. This park was just one such feature. When she’d learned about the spiders, she felt sick at the danger she’d put herself in.
“There’s the Water Park,” Jackson could read the tiny text streaming alongside the images perfectly with her spectacles as they attuned to the hi-res screen. “And the Grand Lawn.”
“That’s the Mall, the Retail Complex I went to,” Souveson said. “There are similar, smaller arcades in several other locations on the ship.”
“We all know of the Leisure and Entertainment facilities, Bars, Sports Centres, Restaurants and Casinos-“ Struckchev was interrupted.
“That structure looks interesting,” the Captain pointed to a shallow glass-domed area on the dorsal plain of the Passenger Section.
“The Starlight Bar,” Jackson read its name from the screen. “But why is it sectioned off like that? Most odd.”
“And just look how many Holodecks there are,” Hedrik said almost proudly to the others. “Hundreds of them!”
Lirik stirred from the adjacent Communications Station, sitting behind the main group, his own shield-fizzing hands vaguely caressing the black shiny surface of the continuous console. He had called up the audio specification file for the Passenger Section and was listening to the details through an old fashioned earpiece lodged in his right ear. The monotonous female voice was quaint but irritating. In fact, the old fashioned technology didn’t like his modern shield, hissing static on every ‘s’ and ‘z’ sound the computer made.
“Those aren’t all holodecks, Miss Hedrik, the majority are passenger cabins. It seems that during its last refit, each cabin was fitted with full holodeck capability – so that a passenger could either have the choice of living out a full holographic experience in their room, or just create any of an infinite number of living environments by voice command. Or guests. From the refit records, I’d guess there are living accommodations of various types and sizes for up to two thousand individuals in that section alone,” he relayed.
“But what we’re seeing here is the tip of the iceberg,” Leonard was still referring to his personal padd. “I think there are a lot more hidden depths than we’re seeing here. For example, from the old sales literature, the Passenger Section was reputed to have a continuous outside walkway on Deck 9, the Promenade Deck. There are also external travel cars, something called a Snoop Garden and a number of ‘Love Snugs’ – private egg shaped rooms that could be shifted just outside the vessel for total privacy amid the stars.”
Lirik and Struckchev were both aware of similar pods for twosomes in the top rear of the Command Section.
“This is all very well,” Christian turned away, stepping down beside the box shaped Captain’s chair. “But we need a ship with teeth, not some oversized, luxurious space hotel.”
“One moment, Captain,” Souveson called as she activated the Weapons station on the opposite side of the Bridge. “According to the available data, there were once a number of pulsar cannons, phaser turrets and photon torpedo launchers scattered around the ship. They might still be there.”
“Hardly a match for the K’Tani,” Christian said, cynically.
“Well, what is..?” Lirik said under his breath.
“Perhaps Bel’s people could extend their schedule for the refitting of such systems,” Professor Karnak suggested.
“I doubt even she could pull off that big a job,” Christian said, though in part agreed that if they had the opportunity they should upgrade. “I wanted you to see all of what the Passenger Section has to offer as I’m having serious doubts about the wisdom of keeping this ship as one whole.”
The group were mixed in their reactions to this.
Christian explained. “Before Bel and her men go to all the trouble of working on the Passenger Section, maybe we should think about whether we actually want to keep it.”
The big Kosovan Commander shouldered his way forward to speak. “Actually, I took the liberty of making my own estimations on this matter for the Captain. I believe we could comfortably fit everyone on board the Command Section and the Command Yacht. Excess passenger space could be converted to functional areas. It may not be luxurious, but I believe we could manage.”
Lirik shook his head, but wasn’t quick enough to respond. Narli beat him to it.
“Captain,” the Ambassador leant forward on one of the red handrails, clashing shockingly against his skin tone. “As Bel has already inferred, it’s a necessity to ensure the safety of the entire vessel. If any part of it fell into the hands of the K’Tani they might work out how the cloaking substance works, and then where would the resistance be? As it is they’ll no doubt uncover the secrets of Romulan and possibly Jemm Hadar cloaking technology, and that will be more than enough to contend with let alone a cloak that needs no power.”
“Couldn’t we blow it up, then?” Reb asked, trying to be radical.
‘We,’ thought Christian, ‘he said ‘we’, not ‘you’’. “Even if we blasted it with all the ammo we have, there could still be particles left for examination. And,” Christian reluctantly agreed, “we don’t exactly have the time and resources to hang around and dispose of it efficiently.”
O’Hara thought back to their earlier conversation with Madison. “We could drop it into a nearby Sun, that would do a quick and efficient job.”
There was a pause as instinctively they all turned to the newly pregnant colleague. “It should work,” Christian concluded rejuvenated.
He walked up to the Science Station and looked at all the data again. He wasn’t sure it was the right decision, but it really was impractical for such a small crew to look after such a vast and mostly unnecessary ship when they could do a much better job with a smaller one.
“Commander Leonard,” Christian stood fully erect. “Work with Professor Karnak, we’ll need to go through with the manoeuvre as swiftly as possible, so I want to be sure of all the probabilities.”
The German engineer looked personally hurt. “Sir, are you sure this is absolutely necessary?”
“Not yet,” Christian admitted. “But we have to be realistic, and I’m beginning to think there’s no other way.”
Jackson felt a sudden pang. She pulled Christian to one side as the others debated and conferred in a huddled babble on such an operation.
The Captain could sense her trepidation immediately and was surprised and a little amused by it. “Commodore, you’re surely not going to question if this is the right thing to do, after all your protestations about keeping onto the wretched Passenger Section these past few weeks?”
“You’re right to chastise me,” Jackson smiled. “I used to think we should ditch the Passenger Section, that’s true. But a lot has happened since then. You’ve shown me what resources this ship has to offer. Goodness only knows what else lies dormant.”
“I doubt we’ll find any weapons to match the K’Tani,” Christian replied. “Or a suitable defensive capability. And those are the things we need most of all. You’ve read Struckchev’s report, and you know it yourself - we just don’t have a crew big enough to do the job of taking care of the entire vessel. Within a few weeks of departure, we’d need Bel’s dry dock again, or someone like her. And even if we could keep her maintained, do you really want to continue working 20 hour shifts?”
“Excuse me,” Hedrik had been eavesdropping intently and stepped up to form a private three way clique. “But I’ve been thinking about the staffing problem. Wouldn’t it be possible to run the ship with holographic crew? I’m sure once I got the central processing core in order, we could use them for any number of jobs.”
“Holograms can go off-line,” Christian replied – he’d already considered the possibility but it went against all his practical training. “What if one was in the middle of changing a phase coil that hadn’t fully depolarised when it dematerialised? It could blow a hole in the ship.”
“But I could use the anti grav remote holo-character projectors for such delicate work, they’d act as a failsafe – if the holo controls or ship’s power were compromised, the projectors could continue to work until the situation was safe again, independent of the main system,” she said. “Besides, we’ve already found a significant number of humanoid and smaller robotic units – if there are more aboard the Passenger Section, you could be up to a full crew compliment.”
Jackson smiled, outwardly unconvinced but inwardly approving her creativity and enthusiasm. For an ex-con, according to the data she’d read, this woman was showing herself to be a potentially dynamic and talented member of the command team.
“Sorry, Hedrik,” Christian cheerily patted her on the arm. “I’ve no doubt you could work miracles with the systems, but I have to rely on real crew, who’ve been properly trained.”
“Well…all the more reason to keep the Passenger Section, then,” Hedrik argued with renewed enthusiasm. The others across the way had begun to overhear the slightly raised exchange and all turned towards the Captain to listen to the debate. “With the amount of holodecks and Starfleet computer simulation programmes available, we could train a crew in a matter of months.”
“We don’t have the luxury of that amount of time,” Christian said. “And besides, with all the will in the world, most of the volunteers we do have just aren’t cut out for Starfleet life.” He noticed the others looking on and raised his voice to address them all.
“Bugger Starfleet!” Hedrik blurted, causing Lirik and O’Hara to suppress a smile. “Once those idiots realise they have only themselves to rely on in order to stay alive, I’m sure they’ll pitch in. They might not appreciate jumping through petty Starfleet hoops, but they’ll no doubt do their bit if it came to it.”
Christian’s mouth was echoing the word ‘petty’ and he looked at Hedrik, a little taken aback. He wondered how long her sense of duty would remain. Jackson came to his rescue.
“I’m afraid that might not be realistic,” she said maternally.
“Then don’t give them a choice!” Hedrik pleaded.
“Look,” Christian addressed everyone in an attempt to diffuse the Orion’s temper. “I know there’s a difference of opinion among you about this decision, but I have to make a choice that best suits us with the facts I have available. Until I hear a good enough reason otherwise, we will continue with the plan to dispose of the Passenger Section. Carry on.” Christian turned to Jackson. “I’ll inform Captain Bel of the change of plan.”
Publicly defeated, Hedrik spun on her heel and charged for the turbolift.
“Hedrik,” Christian called after her, impatient at her childish reaction. She glowered at him dramatically from inside the turbolift car as the doors closed. “Lieutenant!”
“Let her go,” Jackson squeezed his arm with a light smile. “She has to learn the chain of command, including going along with decisions she disagrees with. She’ll soon find out that sulking won’t work.”
Christian wasn’t convinced – this was an Orion woman they were talking about, and one that had been used to taking care of herself on the street. He hardly thought she would be willing to learn the chain of command, even if she was able.
As the Captain followed Jackson to join the others, Souveson made her decision and crept silently into the turbolift behind them and entered.
* * *
PASSENGER SECTION. DECK 9 SECTION 17. 1400 HOURS.
Ensign Souveson eventually found Hedrik on Deck 9, walking along restricted side corridor.
“Hedrik?” Souveson called.
The taller, more full figured green woman was surprised to hear the Ensign’s voice behind her and paused for the younger Human to catch up with her. “What do you want?” she said, a bit too harshly than she’d intended.
Souveson let the emotion go over her head. “I just wanted to see if you’re all right,” she said honestly. “You seemed upset by the Captain rejecting your suggestions.”
Hedrik continued to walk, not giving a reply. Souveson sighed, but jogged to catch her as the corner arced left. The corridor continued to curve gently, allowing a view ahead of only about ten metres. As soon as the bend reached its apex, it began to meander back in the opposite direction. Many corridors were of this wave design on the Fantasy, with thick emergency bulkheads retracted at every other turn.
“Look, he’s only doing what he thinks is best for us all,” the Ensign pleaded. “You have to admit, with so few people helping out, it’ll make things a lot easier for us without the Passenger Section.”
“I know that,” Hedrik snapped, annoyed – more at herself in a way. “It’s just…oh, never mind. It’s stupid.”
Hedrik speeded up her pace.
“What..?” Souveson asked, and jogged to catch up again. Hedrik remained tight lipped.
Eventually they reached an unmarked door that Hedrik opened with familiarity. It led onto a thin, covered gangway with glass panels on both sides and several small portholes lining the middle of the floor and ceiling. The line was broken by an upper and lower access hatch positioned mid-way along the passage.
The narrow corridor was about twelve metres in length. As they walked down it, the double doors swished closed behind. Souveson stopped and looked through the glass over the side. There were what appeared to be eight or nine ‘vats’ below, each segment shape fanning out from a central hub ahead of them. It was the same above, each of the sealed containers having a small access hatch level with the two on the walkway. From the tracks running around the circumference between the upper and lower vats, it appeared the walkway could rotate around the central hub, providing access to any of the vats.
“What is this place?” Souveson asked, unfamiliar with such an arrangement.
“It’s a matter store,” Hedrik responded. “Each of these compartments can store the rarer base elements used to make a holographic simulation more real.”
“’More’ real?” the Ensign was confused, continuing to follow Hedrik toward the central hub room. “I don’t understand. Holographic simulations are merely energised photons and light. They’re real enough for our limited Humanoid senses.”
“Yes,” Hedrik said, opening the door to the central hub room and climbing through. “And if you sat on a holographic simulation of a Karbalian Rug Chair on, say, a standard Starfleet vessel, you would believe that was what you were on. You could feel the material, perhaps even smell it. But on this ship, you’d be sitting on the closest thing to an actual Karbalian Rug Chair.”
“So it’s more of a sophisticated network replicator,” Souveson tried again, joining the bosomy green woman at the main console in the small circular room.
“Sort of,” Hedrik hedged, not wanting to sound patronising. “But on the base element scale it would be almost an identical clone of an object than a simulation or processed copy.”
“I see,” the Ensign looked around at the individual displays for each compartment. Most were further sub-compartmentalised, but surrounding each and every storage chamber was a sophisticated transporter system capable of keeping matter in a continuous phased cycle, somewhere between solid and phased matter if necessary. Souveson was no expert but it appeared the cycle could maintain the integrity of the phased matter with no pattern degradation. Amazing. Something else caught her eye and she wandered to the opposite side of the room. A number of displays here were black and empty, save for three.
“Hedrik,” she said, looking at the data. “These look like Medical Displays,” she read through the complicated sensor readings. “Is … is the material stored in this chamber… organic?”
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Hedrik called over. “Not life forms as such, but some kind of organic material – algae or bacteria. From what I’ve seen, these storage compartments were part of a recent refit, though detail in the database is quite sketchy. Anyway, it’s a moot point if the Captain’s going to destroy it.”
Souveson was intrigued – there was no image, just streams of data about component parts and elements present. She tried to imagine what it would be used to synthesise – plant materials? Some kind of holo-organic hybrid perhaps? It was beyond her scientific understanding.
“You should still tell him,” the Ensign almost ordered, before she realised what the response would be. “It could be a significant find.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. He’ll only say it’s of little use given our situation,” Hedrik turned her back on whatever it is she’d been doing. “And the awful truth is, he’s probably right.”
* * *
USS FANTASY TIME: 1537 HOURS.
Christian’s tour of Bel’s ship began in the massive drive section. This also housed the majority of the repair plant, workshops, cargo bays and a massive quantum drive. From one of several small shuttle bays they took a small worker pod the full length of the interior of the dry dock, making an inspection of the outside of the USS Fantasy as they went. Bel pointed out to him the so-called Snoop Garden, a ten-metre diameter low roofed free-moving plexiglass dome that resided currently on the dorsal plane in the deep shadow of a Passenger Bridge outcrop.
They couldn’t see much through the darkened tinted glass, so Christian called up a data link on his personal padd and found reference to the unit. It used to provide a private tropical garden respite, roaming over the surface of the vessel on pre-designated tracks and intersecting with airlocks every thirty minutes or so. The Garden would naturally move itself to the best location according to whether it needed darkness or light, and even had a secure holding bay further back along the dorsal plane toward the central block of decks that rose above the main level of the hull should the environment of space turn nasty.
Christian wanted to see more of his ship, but Bel was on a schedule, it seemed, and insisted he was the one wanting to see her ship, not the other way round.
The forward part of Bel’s vessel also had plant and transport bays, but the vast majority was geared toward living space and additional passenger births. Bel had limited entertainment facilities aboard, even a pool, though it wasn’t at all glamorous. The fully functional if not aesthetically polished high tec environment caused the Captain not a little envy.
The ship was well defended too, and had supplies and fuel to last it many years. Eventually they took an elevator to the top deck. As the doors parted, Christian looked up into a cavernous room with many skylights open to the stars.
“Welcome to my bridge,” Bel shuffled aside so Christian could step over the bulkhead into her vessel’s nerve centre.
“Wow,” he said respectfully. It wasn’t what he was expecting at all. He had thought the bridge would be in keeping with the rest of the vessel – stark, bright and functional. Instead, it was a sumptuous black and purple suite. Carpets of flecked charcoal and midnight purple graduated into curved walls of shiny black panels, each containing strips of a black onyx material, all interspersed with a kind of marble effect lattice of support struts. In keeping with the dark, intimate atmosphere, the workstations were reclined black leather seats and gravity defying sleek consoles, lit from above by small, accurate spotlights.
What immediately struck Christian was that there were people here he hadn’t seen before. There were quite a few of them, and they were… unusual. To date, Bel’s crew had comprised mostly big, burly men, men with attitude and muscle, brawny, uncouth and worldly wise types. Here, sitting at the controls, there were also men, but they seemed trimmer, more angular and gangly, more studious of face, all intent on their work and not at all interested in Christian’s – or Bel’s – arrival.
“What is all this?” Christian noted the myriad workstations, all for different and complex functions. Aside from the functionaries there were also some groups of men gathered around in groups and couples talking quietly and intensely. “Who are all these people?”
“Come with me,” Bel walked anti clockwise around the ample perimeter of the bridge past the busy men and stepped through an open bulkhead front and right of the main bridge area. Walking forward, the corridor graduated down and arced around in front of the bridge to a small office ahead and below the ship’s nerve centre. Presumably Christian thought this was Bel’s office. The décor was not dissimilar to that of his own – an antiquated feel crammed full with many keepsakes. If he dared be sexist, he felt there was more of a feminine touch to the room – more pastels, draped fabrics, nik-naks and artwork of various types. A long, deep sunken window seat area swept around the forward wall in front of her desk and Christian imagined for a moment this woman sitting and staring out at the stars for hours on end.
“Those men,” Christian watched Bel move to a service hatch of some kind and pour into two glasses a clear golden liquid substance. “They didn’t look like the rest of your crew.”
“Ah,” Bel offered him a glass and held up her own in a toast. “To new friendships.”
Christian tapped her glass with his own and sipped the liquid – a warming, bitter oaky flavour, not unlike whisky. “New friendships,” he muttered as an afterthought.
“So,” Bel said, gesturing him to sit beside her on a seating shelf beneath the slanting window. “Now you’re beginning to see more clearly.”
Christian took another sip. “Actually, I’m not sure that I do. You said you were part of the resistance – part of an information network set up in this sector of the Outer Zone. It seems awfully busy out there. More like a headquarters or operations centre of some sort.”
Bel sipped her own drink again. “I, er… didn’t quite tell you and your crew everything. I would rather tell only a trusted few the entire truth. Whatever I discuss with you here cannot be repeated.”
“Go on,” he waited while she composed herself.
“I was more than just an information peddler,” Bel said. “I and my partner joined the freedom army as soon as we were able. We quickly became officers. After he was killed, I became increasingly active in the border skirmishes. Some of the men who work for me now worked with me back then. I gained something of a reputation and quickly worked my way up the ranks. After much success, and not a little bravado on my part, I was finally appointed General, heading up all resistance activity in this part of space, just prior to the Ore’s destruction. Our information network was strong – and large, it extended beyond Qovakia, right rough to the Perlicos Nebula and beyond the Vorifaria Expanse. And as soon as the ‘war’ was over I closed it down. Not completely, just apparently. While everyone thought the resistance had disbanded, many key operatives remained working for me in total secrecy. This ship is where all the main disseminating gets done.”
“So,” Christian watched as she downed the rest of her drink, stood and marched over to the hatch to collect the bottle. Sitting down beside Christian again, she poured herself another full glass and topped up his own to the brim. “You’re in more of a position to help us than I’d thought.”
“I wish I was,” Bel said. The alien rubbed her big nose and then looked through the window out into the depths of space. “Since the K’Tani invaded, one by one our agents have been going silent. For some it’s a defence mechanism, I’m sure. But there’s every chance they could have been located by spies, Rogues or infiltrators. I know there’s little chance of being traced, but it’s not beyond the realms of possibility. But that’s not what really concerns me – rather, I’m nothing without my network of agents.”
“So what will you do?” Christian asked, trying to speak to her in her capacity as ‘General’ – something he found pretty hard to do.
“What can we do?” she shrugged and downed the glass, pouring herself another. She tapped Christian’s glass with the bottle, prompting him to follow suit. The stuff was strong, this would be his last, he decided. Bel’s face was painfully determined. “In fact, I think I may have to take a drastic measure.”
“Oh?” Christian asked, intrigued. “What’s that?”
Bel grinned widely again, revealing those huge, pearly teeth. “I’ll not say, not yet at least. There might still be an alternative, we’ll have to wait and see. Anyway,” she nudged him. “I hear you have problems of your own. I heard on the grapevine that Reb is wanting to leave.”
Christian sighed and instinctively sipped the drink hard. “Ah, yes. Reb. I wish I could get him to stay.”
“I’d have him,” she beamed. “He may not be the brightest light in the sky, but he’s a fair pilot from what I’ve seen. And he is kind of cute. Some of my men really like the look of him.”
Christian’s face fell, a little shocked. “Really. Well, Commodore Jackson’s going to give it a shot, see if she can bring him round.”
“That old goat?” Bel guffawed. “Better to go pack his bags for him.”
Christian gave Bel his sternest, paternal stare.
“Souveson to Captain Christian,” the youngster’s vaguely French lilted voice chirped over his comm badge.
He tapped it, feeling a little light headed and irresponsible. “Christian here, what is it, Ensign?”
“An urgent request, Sir,” she said cryptically.
Christian shrugged, downed his drink and handed the glass to Bel. “On my way.” He held out his hand. “I’m glad we had this talk. You have my word that I won’t discuss your true identity with anyone. Thank you for trusting me.”
* * *
PASSENGER SECTION. LEISURE ARCADE 3. 1620 HOURS.
“Ready?” Struckchev said.
“Ready,” Lirik replied.
“Computer, activate Holo Target Practice Programme, level 8,” the Commander stood legs wide apart, waiting for the targets to appear in the space around them.
For a while only the occasional target appeared. Struckchev was getting them all. But as play increased, and more targets became available, Lirik crept right back. It was a race to the finish, and the gap kept on closing until the scores were extremely tight…3, 2, 1 – the final time period was up.
“Congratulations,” the computer voice said. “You have drawn equal in Level 8 of Starfleet Random Target Practice Master Edition.”
“Well that doesn’t say much, does it?” Lirik said angrily.
“Don’t worry, Yeoman,” O’Hara smiled wickedly. “You have plenty more tests that’ll sort you both out.”
“Captain Christian to Department Heads,” Christian’s voice piped across the ships intracom. “Report to the Officers Mess on Deck One immediately.”
* * *
COMMAND YACHT. OFFICERS’ MESS. 1630 HOURS.
“I’ve called this meeting,” Christian sat next to Bel at the head of the conference table. “Because we need to define a clear strategy for the future. Normally, a Starfleet Captain would make decisions unilaterally, based on his orders from Starfleet Command balanced against regulations and protocols as laid down by Federation law and by his own morality.”
The mood in the room wasn’t hostile, or even troubled. Most were keen to impart their own opinions on the now open debate. The majority were split into two clear camps – those for ditching the Passenger Section, and those in favour of keeping it. The former believed the meeting to be a gesture by Christian to make things easier on the others, and the latter thought it a genuine opportunity to change his mind. Only two among the group were undecided.
“However,” Christian continued. “We are in exceptional circumstances. And I realise now that I cannot make this decision without your counsel. Hedrik,” he turned to the green skinned woman. “You have Ensign Souveson to thank for this. She came to me, and near demanded that this decision was properly thought through, and with good reason. So, I apologise now for being dismissive, and call upon you all to join in this discussion before I make my final decision.”
Nodding of heads and murmurings of approval followed. Hedrik felt tearful, but looked across at the slightly smug Ensign and mouthed a thank you.
“I’ve asked Bel to join us in her capacity as a member-“ he was cut short by her loud chirp.
“Ex-member, Captain,” she said tersely.
“Currently retired…member of the resistance movement,” he suggested, and Bel conceded the label as acceptable with a short nod, even if it wasn’t entirely the truth. “Bel, if you could please give us the low down.”
The alien Captain, this afternoon wearing something like a business suit in grey and white, sidled over to the main display at the head of the room.
“So here are the stats,” Bel called up blueprints of the Fantasy and many other sets of data besides. “According to Commander Struckchev’s report, currently you require a minimum 400 staff to maintain all the necessary parts of the entire vessel. You produce an excess amount of energy to feed an energy hungry 924,063 independent systems. Despite the raw power, your defensive capability is significantly minimal against the K’Tani. On the positive side, you have multiple redundant and failsafe systems, and the ship is as solid as they come. You could lose shields and still survive a pounding, I reckon. Life support and the safety of all passengers apparently became paramount to the owners of this vessel several refits ago, and they’ve been enhanced since then. Coupled with the cloaking substance covering the hull, ironically this vessel could indeed be the safest place to be in the Outer Zone right now.”
People looked at each other as Bel returned to her seat – were opinions changing?
“Perhaps at this stage, a show of hands,” Christian suggested. Commodore Jackson shot him a look of outrage – his method in this decision process was not only unorthodox, but also possibly damaging to his leadership. Everyone already knew he had been about to take his first command, so Jackson presumed there was also a sense of unease about his ability to command them. “Those in favour of ditching the PS, those against and those undecided.”
Struckchev yes
O’Hara yes
Jackson no
Christian yes
Narli yes
Souveson yes
Hedrik (disappointed at her new-found friend) no
Leonard no
Lirik no
Reb undecided – if not apathetic
Karnak undecided
Bel neutral – it was nothing to do with her, she felt
Ganhedra no
Christian turned to Reb. “Why undecided?”
“Well,” he stammered, “I can see both points of view.”
“As,” Karnak sadi calmly, “can I.”
“But we can’t do both,” Jackson said, keen to push her argument forward before anyone else. “As I see it, our first duty is to the safety of the people on board. Given Leonard’s recommendations, I believe that can only be achieved by keeping the ship as a whole.”
“But-“ Struckchev began, but was cut short by a flick of Jackson’s hand.
“I know we need solutions to the crewing issues,” Jackson continued, “but I for one would like to believe that’s achievable.”
Lirik leaned forward. “I take it you’re not talking about the survivors? That you’re assuming we will employ people or make allies who would be willing to join us on board as part of our crew?”
“That too,” the Commodore said cheekily. “But why don’t you tell us all, wearing your Diplomatic hat, why are you in favour of keeping the Passenger Section?”
Lirik smiled. “My Diplomatic hat,” he cocked his head, as if showing it off. “As a member of the Corps, I would have to wholeheartedly agree about separating the ship.”
A few surprised looks followed this, aside from a chuckling Narli.
“But I thought I was sitting here as a member of the command team, not the Diplomatic Corps,” the Yeoman shot a look at Christian, testing the water. Although Heads of Department had been appointed, and crew assigned to particular work details, no one had as yet been given a field rank or fixed position in the hierarchy. “You put me in charge of the non-contributing survivors, and as their guardian I would be totally opposed to the separation of the ship.” He angled his head toward Struckchev. “I’ve seen your report, Commander. Life for my charges would become not only uncomfortable, but also pretty mundane. Better to shoot them now before they die of boredom under your regime-“
“Er, that’s enough of that, Yeoman!” Christian raised his voice above the outbreak of sniggers.
“Moreover, I’ve also read Commander Leonard’s latest engineering report,” Lirik continued, unphased by his public display of antagonism toward the Kosovan. “And I believe that the ship as a whole is nothing with one of the parts missing. To further contradict myself, if we get rid of the Passenger Section now, we can’t rue its demise when we might require it in the future.”
“Here, here,” Hedrik joined in, nodding furiously. “If I may speak, Captain,” the young Captain nodded his head, suppressing a smile at the Orion’s show of politeness. “Yourself and the Commodore have agreed that running back to Federation space with our tail between our legs is not only cowardly, but also impractical. Our place is here, in the Outer Zone. I know I’m only supposed to be a self-centred, cheap crook. I didn’t lose anyone in the K’Tani attack, so I’ve no grudge against them particularly. But I would rather be a part of this crew than a slave again, no matter how couched in kindness the K’Tani professed it to be. You’ve shown such faith in me, Captain. And I feel proud to be helping everyone on board.”
Jackson and Christian exchanged a look of pleasure – it wasn’t fondant speak the young woman was saying, but something akin to a well loved child talking openly to her parents about her gratitude. The Captain shot a look at Reb, who seemed to be drinking in Hedrik’s words. They weren’t dissimilar, yet while Hedrik was a willing volunteer, Reb made out to be apathetic at best.
“If we’re to be successful in this venture,” Hedrik finished. “Then I believe we will need room for those friends, family and colleagues when we reunite with them again.”
There was a moment’s pause as people around the table displayed their personal feeling on the subject.
“Just to interject,” Bel said quietly, “and I’m not trying to dampen your enthusiasm, Miss. But even with a re-formed alliance of resistance helping you, the likelihood for total success against the K’Tani is remote. It took us nearly 50 years last time, and then only because of the interjection of the Ore, and they’re long gone. If you do choose to stay, your future may be bleak.”
“Even if we can only save a hundred, or even just ten souls,” Jackson chastised the alien Captain. “It would be far better than turning our backs on all of them.”
“Lieutenant O’Hara,” Christian called over to the nurse – she blushed visibly, surprising a few around the table. “I’m interested to hear your thoughts. You’ve been pushing me for weeks to get the Medical Centre on the Passenger Section up and running, and now you’re voting to ditch it.”
“My first duty is to the well-being of those in my care,” O’Hara fixed a defiant stare on the Captain. “As your acting CMO, that applies to everyone on board this ship. There are reasons, from a medical point of view, for doing either of the things you suggest. But as far as I see it, the problem is more straightforward. In order to keep the Passenger Section, we need a fully trained crew, and we don’t have even half the people to do the task. End of.”
“And only a small portion of those are currently up to the task,” Struckchev added, nodding down to his padd as if further endorsing his report.
“Professor,” Christian locked eyes with the captivating woman. A feeling surged in his belly as she parted her lips in trepidation. “If the issue is as straightforward and logical as O’Hara suggests, why are you undecided on the matter?”
Karnak knitted her fingers together, resting before her on the shiny table. “It is not my decision to take, Captain. I merely point out that there are positives and negatives to both choices.”
“And you wouldn’t even hedge your bet on one?” Rebbik asked slyly.
“I,” Karnak said sternly, “do not bet.”
“If it were your decision, then,” Narli barked down the table. “Hypothetically…”
“Hypothetically,” Karnak said uneasily. “I would chose to be rid of the Passenger Section now. If we don’t, we will surely find ourselves in need of another refit in a short space of time, and our ability to work efficiently would be dramatically reduced.”
“Look,” Hedrik cut in, sounding hurt more than angry; with Lirik and Karnak apparently going along with the others now, she felt the scales tipping heavily one way. “It keeps coming back to the issue of having enough crew. Yeoman,” she turned to Lirik, who smiled at her sweetly – he liked her sassy, uncut approach. “How many non-contributing survivors do we have?”
“We still haven’t finished interviewing everyone,” Lirik said, and then turned to the Captain, “and some have even changed their minds and offered to help in the process, but I suppose around 450.”
“And we only have about 80 crew?” Hedrik asked.
“The only real crew are the people sitting around this table,” Struckchev said boldly, and a little too arrogantly for the Captain. “And even then we might be scraping the barrel..” he shot a look at Reb.
Reb flared. “Now look here you-!”
O’Hara’s firm grip on his forearm returned him to his seat.
“Commander, there’s no need for insults,” Jackson said tersely.
Christian merely glowered at the Operations Chief.
“So potentially,” Hedrik carried on, trying to ignore Struckchev’s attempt to demean her. “Potentially how many crew do we have?”
“Well, I guess that’s the total number less those incapable such as the children and the infirm,” Lirik said. “Say around 350?”
“More than enough to crew the ship,” Hedrik finished.
“Yes, but the point is they’re not willing,” Christian said as graciously as possible. “Let alone able.”
“Then don’t give them a choice!” Hedrik almost shouted, frustrated that neither Jackson, Leonard nor indeed Lirik were helping much to push the point across. “You’ve discounted the aide of robots and holograms, so use the damn people we do have!”
Christian laughed a little, trying to disarm her anger, but only stoting her up even more. “Miss Hedrik, your opinion is admirable, but impractical.”
“Well, not necessarily,” Lirik mused, leaning back folding his arms. “In days of old, when dire circumstances arose, Earth’s sea Captains had the right to enforce labour amongst passengers or throw them overboard.”
“That isn’t going to work here,” O’Hara retorted. “Bully boy tactics are hardly appropriate to grieving, depressed and frightened individuals.”
“Something more subtle, then,” Jackson added – not quite believing she had spoken such words. “I mean, at Starfleet HQ on Helub, my staff comprised Starfleet and civilian workers. Most of the general admin of Starfleet would grind to a halt if it weren’t for civilian support staff.”
“But we need trained crew!” Struckchev shouted, banging the table. “How many times-“
“Commander!” Christian bellowed. “I’ll not tolerate any more of this attitude toward fellow officers-“
“Let alone superiors, mister,” Jackson chimed in, reminding everyone that she was the senior officer present. Struckchev didn’t seem apologetic for his outburst.
“It’s a dilemma indeed,” Bel said, standing. She walked around the table to stand beside Ganhedra. “What about you, old man? You represent the Helan, almost all of whom are invaluable in the running of this ship as I understand it.” It was true; Ganhedra’s people were adept, experienced ship’s hands. They had been at the core of the ship’s survival, and everyone was indebted to them. “You voted to keep the ship as one. Why is that?”
Ganhedra didn’t reply, seeming to grind his teeth, his jaw slightly moving his beard and moustache.
“I mean,” Bel continued – with not a little hostility. “If the Passenger Section were to be junked, you’d have a lot less work to do. Is that what drives you to keep it?”
“We only wish to be of help,” Ganhedra replied calmly. “You know that we would go along with your consensus, I thought the vote was merely a show of personal opinion.”
“An opinion we still wish to hear,” Narli said accusingly.
“Well,” Ganhedra seemed to be searching for a reason. “I agree with the Commodore,” he said – perhaps a little too safely. “The ship will be of more value as a whole in the future. You can’t get it back once it’s gone, and you may need a large enough place to accommodate the injured, or the homeless, and allies as the conflict escalates.”
Faces around the table began to get serious again. Despite their predicament, talk of war – deaths and ongoing, escalated conflict, seemed a million miles away in the womb of Bel’s ship. But as they were sticking around the Outer Zone, it was sure to happen – possibly with them right in the centre of it all.
“Sir,” Leonard suggested. “Perhaps we could…procure a crew, with the money that we have. Maybe Bel knows where we could get-“
“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” Bel said. “I’m guessing your money is finite – well, once the money runs out, so will your crew.”
A muffled sound grew in intensity, coming from the port side door; it was followed swiftly by the door entry call. An auto view of the other side of the door popped up on the main display and Souveson crept closer for a clearer picture. “Sir, it looks like a Bajoran official, with about half a dozen Bajorans and a whole host of Helan.”
Christian turned to Lirik, who was as surprised as everyone else. He identified the lead woman immediately, mainly by her dishevelled red robes. “That’s Vedek Ularalis. But I don’t know what this could be about though, Captain. She’s been very helpful in maintaining a sense of calm and control among some of the more aggressive survivors.”
The Captain nodded and the Canadian Ensign opened the door.
The dark skinned woman was captivating – a warm, open, friendly face, and chocolate eyes. Young for a Vedek, too, he thought. Her robes and cap had seen better days, though her face was fresh and smiling. She stepped slightly forward, the other Bajorans and Helan bringing up the rear.
Ganhedra rose quickly and angrily – and unexpectedly – to his feet, honing in on his daughter among the crowd behind her. “Vostaline! What is the meaning of this?! I have told you that I will make our case to the Captain alone.”
The Captain was surprised, Ganhedra had not as yet made a case on behalf of his fellow Helan, particularly, he’d rather just agreed with other people on their reasoning. Just what reason did the old man and his people truly have for keeping hold of the Passenger Section?
Despite the mass of people crammed into the small space of the corridor and disappearing around the bend, Christian didn’t feel this was a hostile crowd, just one that demanded immediate attention.
“Please forgive us,” the Vedek spoke in a grating, deeply sultry voice. “But we have wonderful news, Captain. And urgent news, because it concerns your discussion, about the validity of keeping the Passenger Section.”
Everyone around the table exchanged looks varying from extreme surprise and intrigue to humoured resignation (mainly on the part of Captain Bel, who couldn’t believe how eventful these people’s lives were while in dry dock and how many times they seemed to change their direction).
Christian rose and walked over to the Vedek, reminding himself that as a fleet Captain he was representing the good name of Starfleet and the very values of the Federation. The Vedek was clearly an important, influential person on her homeworld, and deserved to be treated as such by him in his official capacity as commanding officer of the ship she was on.
“Vedek, won’t you please join us,” he shook her by the hand and led her inside, then turned and stopped the others following with a wave of his hand. “I’m sorry, this room isn’t big enough for everyone, I’m sure the Vedek can speak for you.”
Souveson stepped in, and Struckchev backed her up, shooing the people back from the door. Ganhedra swept up and grabbed his daughter, having rapid, whispered words.
“Ganhedra,” Christian called as the Vedek squeezed in between a perky looking Hedrik and Mr Leonard.
The old Helan finished with a nod and waved his daughter away, making his way back inside, the doors closing behind him.
“Vedek?” Christian prompted softly.
The Bajoran looked across at Captain Bel – she seemed to be staring at her in a most hostile manner, if not with a little contempt thrown in for good measure.
“Ever since I came aboard the Fantasy back on Helub I’ve felt a presence,” the Vedek captivated everyone immediately with her personal account (few around the table had had the available time to talk to the crew and passengers at length about their experiences during the K’Tani invasion and subsequent feelings about being onboard). “In fact, it’s more a state of being – a curiosity, a sense of adventure and mystery. At first, I thought my mind was trying to compensate for the loss and grief at having left my small party of religious representatives behind on Helub. But the longer we remained on board, the more I felt this…strange excitement. And I assure you, while I can be a passionate person, Captain, it is not in my nature – or my training – to think such thoughts at such a time of crisis and despair such as this.”
No one looked particularly surprised by her words, but the fact a Vedek was saying it and not one of the others, some began to wonder if she’d perhaps suffered some kind of breakdown.
“I know this may sound peculiar, Captain,” the Vedek looked deep into his eyes. “But I began to realise that these feelings I was experiencing were not my own. They were coming from someone else… something else, something deeper, and resonating in my soul – and it wasn’t random or fluctuating. It was a constant presence, something that touched… well, something that touched my faith.”
“You mean, like a message..?” Jackson asked, trying to follow the spiritual leader.
“In a way, yes,” the Vedek agreed enthusiastically. “It felt like the same feelings I’d had at moments of great spiritual connection. I’ve only really felt that several times before. Once, was when I had an audience with one of the Prophets, and another few times, when I travelled through the Bajoran wormhole to the Delta Quadrant. I felt it more and more – like I was caught in the zephyr of a sunrise. And that sunrise, the source of these feelings I realized were eminating from the Passenger Section. Of course, it’s been off limits for so long; but when I heard the Medical Centre was open for business, I … I made an excuse to go to there. This morning, in fact. I do apologise for the deception, but I must tell you, when I was there I felt the … presence. Yes, I felt the presence the strongest. It was much closer, but not quite in that very place.”
Christian wanted to be understanding, even if only it would be moral support. “So you feel a … spiritual connection with the ship, and you’re worried about us losing a part of it..? Is that right?”
The Vedek shook her head. “More than that. Captain, I have reason to believe there is an actual spiritual presence aboard, specifically somewhere in the Passenger Section.”
“She talks of the Sulek Inra,” Ganhedra explained, without explaining a thing. “It is an energy device. It is a place – like a sideshow, and it somehow reads your thoughts and projects images in response. Like an emotional soothsayer.”
“A Prophet…!” the Vedek whispered loudly in awe. “Could it be possible? It would explain my feelings, but I know of no such errant Prophet. Captain, I must go to it.”
Christian sucked his tongue and turned, as controlled as he could, to the Helan. “There’s another form of life aboard, and you didn’t share that with us?”
“Life?!” Ganhedra balked. “No, it’s just a room. Well, a series of rooms – it’s just for entertainment. Well, at least, I thought it was.” The old man seemed pensive, confused. “Actually, it is located in the contemplative area of the ship…”
The Vedek bristled with excitement.
Christian scowled at him. “Why didn’t you tell us about this before?”
Ganhedra shook his head, his voice stuttering. “I had no reason to – it’s just one of many unusual facilities on board.”
“You know,” Christian ran his thumb and forefinger across the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes tightly shut, then staring right into Ganhedra’s as he opened them. “Something tells me you’re not telling us everything.” The accusation was uncorroborated, the Captain deciding quickly not to push too far, too fast. This group meeting wasn’t appropriate for a full on interrogation. Better to eek it out in bits. “Your people – including your own daughter - seemed pretty keen to show us that they want to keep the Passenger Section, why is that?”
Ganhedra smiled and shook his head, licking his lips. A deception? Stalling for time while he composed himself? “As I said before, I concur with Commodore Jackson’s views and some of the other reasons I’ve heard. In addition, my people have expressed a desire for more space. We’ve been cooped up in the Command Section for some time, and the rest of the ship offers plenty of space to grow more of our plants and perhaps even breed some of our livestock.”
Christian stared him out, thinking to himself ‘Why don’t I believe you?’ Then thinking to himself ‘I wonder if they can breed more palatable livestock other than Krep?’. Instead, he jumped on a contradiction. “Tell me then, how is it that if you’ve spent so much time on the Command Section that you know about this, fortune telling device…or whatever it is?”
Ganhedra sighed, as if about to own up. “To be honest, Captain, my people have been making excursions into the Passenger Section since we got through the bulkheads the other week.”
“Even when they were off limits?” Jackson interrupted.
“What exactly were you looking for?” Christian asked, wondering if the K’Tani were indeed after a ‘thing’ and that the Helan knew what – and where – it was. Could it be this alleged Prophet, if it existed?
The old man looked a little hurt. “The same as you, as everyone else. For food, technology, anything that could help us.”
“Just on your own,” Souveson said. “Without telling us?”
Ganhedra, perhaps sensing he was being cornered, seemed to play another tac. “Captain, have we not been of assistance since you came aboard?”
Christian resigned himself to a stand off, but had to tread carefully to try and extract the whole truth. “You know you have. And your hospitality and generosity seems to know no bounds. But you have to admit, there are things which currently do not add up, and in any new relationship, trust is something that doesn’t come automatically.”
“Perhaps I should explain, then,” Ganhedra sat upright, composing himself it seemed for a long speech.
“Damned right,” Struckchev muttered.
“You are right, Captain. We have been on other parts of the ship without your knowledge. I swear to you, we didn’t know about those spider creatures before you, though,” Ganhedra sounded sincere enough. But, Christian wondered, why would he put his people at risk by continuing to send them through to the Passenger Section once they did find out about them? What if they had encountered one of the adults? Or worse, they'd triggered the release of the hatchlings?
“When you first encountered us on board the Fantasy,” the old Helan looked into the distance, recalling events, “to be honest, our first reaction was that you might want to throw us off the ship. We’d boarded illegally, we’d even stolen your runabout,” he glanced at Leonard, but was distracted by Lirik’s possessive scowl. “We were trying to get the Command Yacht ready to take us away from the planet once we realised the K’Tani were unstoppable, but then all of you showed up. We are not a merciless people, Captain. And we knew that we were stealing something that … wasn’t ours. So we decided to help you in order to help ourselves.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you’ve been going behind our backs,” Christian held up his hand at O’Hara who was bursting to butt in – he’d hold that one back, he thought.
The old Helan man seemed grey, suddenly. Weak, feeble, unable to lead or to even communicate effectively. “Truthfully, we needed you as much as you needed us. We realised that even more once we’d left the Vekarian system. We had believed this the safest place to be, respectively. And then the holo programme for some reason singled us out. We suspected it could have been the work of someone on board, and then when that android came along-“
“You mean the Rogue,” Lirik interrupted, curious why an Outer Zone inhabitant, and one that was apparently well travelled, wouldn’t use the common name for them.
“Yes, when she started sabotaging the ship, trying to get us back to Helub, we thought perhaps … she wasn’t working alone,” Ganhedra said. “My people increasingly felt we’d been wrong to trust you all. But as we needed you, we decided that we would do our own investigations, keep ourselves ready to protect and run if need be.”
Lirik was deep in thought. In all the time he’d shared with Fraxon and the other Helan, he’d never once sensed they feared or distrusted him – or anyone else on board. The Captain was right, things weren’t adding up.
Christian considered the explanation. It was convenient, but also highly plausible. As a leader, the Captain could relate to Ganhedra’s course of action.
“Then why do you refuse the medical?” Christian asked point blank.
Ganhedra visibly stiffened. “It is a moral objection,” he said. “Our people do not believe in medicine – for ourselves, that is. We have a peculiar metabolism, one that enables us to resist nearly all infection and illness. Certainly we have limited powers of regeneration to recover from most physical injuries without the need of treatment. Our philosophy is that we merely live, grow, get old and die.”
“You weren’t immune to the Ere,” O’Hara pitched in a trump card.
“And yet, we are also unharmed after the event,” Ganhedra said. “I realise it’s against all your principles to have a crew unwilling to be treated medically, Captain, but it is simply our way.”
‘Very convenient indeed’, Christian reiterated in his head. “Okay,” Christian said in a lighter tone. “I’ll buy it. Let’s move on. But Sir,” he pointed a stiff finger at the old Helan. “Don’t go behind our backs any more. If we’re going to trust each other, we have to trust each other totally. Agreed?”
“Captain?!” O’Hara protested.
“Not now, Lieutenant,” Christian snapped. “Later. Agreed?” he prompted Ganhedra. The old man nodded, half graciously, half cautiously.
“Okay,” the Captain turned to the Vedek. “It’s worth a look, anyway. Mister Lirik, Ganhedra, Lieutenant,” he nodded at O’Hara. “Mr Leonard, you too. Captain Bel, do you have an estimated time when we may be able to leave your drydock?”
Bel looked a little taken aback, but knew that there was little left for them to do externally. “I’d say around fifteen hours if we work around the clock, but at least ten of those would be on the Passenger Section.”
“Okay,” Christian said. “I’ll contact you in five when I will have made my final decision. Dismissed.”
* * *
* * *
ACT 3