EP 4 PROLOGUE
USS HUDSON, STARFLEET RUNABOUT (DIPLOMATIC), ON THE BORDER OF THOLIAN TERRITORY
The Starfleet runabout Hudson came to an abrupt stop amid a vast, slowly moving asteroid field.
"Runabout log, Tix Lirik recording. It's almost New Year. My pilot, Rebbik, and I have been travelling along the narrow corridor of space between the Tholian border and the huge Qovakian asteroid range for several days now and our luck has just about run out. An unknown, massive force has pushed the asteroid field across our path and deep into Tholian territory in all directions. With our course ahead blocked, I'm now faced with two options: either try and navigate a course through the field, or go around it by way of Tholian space."
Rebbik's hacking cough stopped Lirik's train of thought as the mercenary entered the cockpit area wearing only his shorts, which had seen better days. In the pilot's seat, Lirik craned his neck to see the scrawny, barefoot, yawning, mad-haired near-naked half-Ferengi shifting from one foot to another on the cool deck, his arms folded closely about his torso in an attempt to keep the bed-warmth with him. Lirik raised an eyebrow, but the other wasinshock.
"What the-!" was all Rebbik could manage as he stared at the view through the forward ports.
Lirik smiled, nodding at the other man's lower half. "Nice kaks, Reb." (with names so similar, his associate had asked Lirik to use the abbreviation)
"Eh?!" Reb turned in aggressive disgust toward the Diplomatic aide.
"It's colloquial British for shorts, or underpants," Lirik explained. He was intrigued to see that the Human half of Reb's parentage had blessed him with dark, downy body hair. Looking at his wiry body, he guessed the mercenary pilot either ate very little or had a natural, skinnifying metabolism. Feeling a pang of jealousy, instinctively the Englishman glanced down at his own, 30something stomach, and then out through the windows as Reb flopped into the co-pilot's seat.
"Where the hell are we?" Reb said, looking at the dense asteroid field all around them before checking the tactical display.
Lirik called up the night's flight path (they'd been taking turns in piloting the ship since leaving the magnetic planet) to show that the current position had been unavoidable. "Something weird must have happened," Lirik noticed Reb frown at his choice of words. "The asteroid field is only supposed to be active on the Qovakian side, not the Tholian side, yet this portion has recently shifted many thousands of kilometres. I'm afraid I was forced to take us in - it was either that or encroach on Tholian territory and risk running into a confrontation."
Reb scanned the surrounding asteroid field - it would take an inconceivably long number of hours of concentration to navigate through, and then they might not make it. Slumping back into the cool seat, then slightly sitting forward to see the face of the other man, Reb smacked his lips. "What's our next move then, boss?"
Lirik smiled inwardly. Although the two of them weren't best buddies by a long chalk, barriers had nevertheless been broken down over the last few days and Reb had come to accept Lirik as leader. Still, Lirik tried to include Reb in all the decisions as a gesture of camaraderie - it also had to be said that Reb's piloting flair had certainly helped them out on more than one occasion where eddies of asteroid field unpredictably collided.
In less busy times, the Yeoman had also tried to get Reb to open up, but instead of talking about himself, he only told a variety of well-rehearsed and unlikely sounding escapades, portraying himself as a dashing, rogue pilot for hire. Lirik didn't hold it against the man - he himself had opted to talk only about work, recounting past assignments rather than more personal details. Perhaps they would bridge that gap another time. Lirik hoped so. Despite their vast differences, they were both products of mixed heritage, and probably had more in common than either of them would freely admit.
The only topic of conversation the two men seemed to return repeatedly to was the K'Tani, the attack, and idle gossip about the people aboard the Fantasy they'd briefly met. Lirik was curious to hear more about Captain Christian - while said officer had displayed his obvious dislike of Lirik's Medusan traits upon arrival at the Orlega One facility, Christian's saving of the Yeoman's skin and his assigning him to taking the runabout out into space for a recon were clearly not born of prejudice. Nevertheless, both Reb and Lirik wondered what kind of reception they would get from Christian and the others if they ever managed to return safely to the ship.
"We're faced with a difficult choice. If we continue on course through the spilled field it could take us days to pass through to open space - maybe longer." Lirik punched up an alternative course. "Or, we could go hard to port through the more active, but also much narrower, part of the field and crossinto Qovakian space in much less time," Reb whirled his head around at this, but Lirik continued, "wecouldmakeitthroughtotheotherside by tonight."
Reb called up charts of the active field again and watched the seemingly infinite number of asteroids coursing past each other, tumbling, impacting and ricocheting at great speed. It stretched for many, many screens in all directions and at the back of his mind, Reb wondered what immense destruction must have created such a vast asteroid field. Increasingly, the nearby open space of Tholian territory seemed far more appealing. Reb shook his head. "I've never piloted anything as dense as that before." He turned to face the Yeoman, aware his body was responding to the cool air and trying to fold himself over to cover up the wrinkles (a Ferengi sort of goosebump). "I'm not confident it's even possible."
Lirik pursed his lips and blew long and slow while stretching his hands high above his head, his berth and a long sleep beckoning. He shook his head, beginning to feel like they were in a no-win scenario. As he wondered about turning around and heading back to their original co-ordinates, he saw Reb shift the display to Tholian space and knew what the man was about to say.
"Lirik, we haven't scanned any Tholian ships for the last two days. They might not even be concerned with the likes of a little runabout. Going that way, we could be clear of the field in a matter of hours and then able to continue on time in Tholian space at full impulse," Reb crossed his legs, then scratched himself in several consecutive places.
Lirik subconsciously itched his own pubic region in primeval response, unaware what he was doing until he was doing it. Securing the helm, he stood and walked back into the aft section, taking the narrow port side corridor instead of going straight through the middle. He passed the musty smelling berth Reb had just emerged from and walked into the luxurious office/lounge space specially designed for diplomatic affairs to the rear. Reb followed him on tiptoe, slipping into his leather boots and wrapping his old, heavy leather jacket around his shoulders en route.
Lirik ordered a black Trakasian coffee from the replicator and flopped into one of the velveteen couches. Drinking long of the minty-tasting, warm, clear fluid, he felt the slight heady rush that would hopefully aide in keeping him focussed for a while longer. (Normally such harmless, organic substances weren't available to Starfleet vessels because of their narcotic effect, but the Diplomatic Corps had access to most kinds of delicacies potential allies might succumb to). As Lirik's sight became sharper, the colours clearer and sounds took on more depth, he watched Reb walk in from the corridor and order a bowl of simulated crustypops and milk from the replicator. The Yeoman sniggered, tittered then laughed loudly.
"What?" Reb said, walking over to the small conference table and straddling one of the seats, munching loudly and spitting a few pops onto the floor, the milk dribbling down his chin.
"I was just thinking, all you need is a rancher's hat and you'd look like a Midnight Cowboy!" his laughter continued, but Reb wasn't sure he got the joke. Hedidn'tfeeltheslightestbitawkwardbyhisappearanceandwonderedwhy the Yeoman would laugh. Reb's pondering was cut short as the computer tribbled.
"Alert! Subspace Message of unconfirmed origin detected," the maternal voice informed them calmly.
Lirik sat bolt upright. "On speakers!"
Through a haze of static, the message was unclear. It was also very short. Lirik rose and stood next to Reb, silencing his associate's munching with a sharp gesture, and instructed the computer to clear up the signal and repeat it. Just two words, and Lirik had to ask for a third repetition to catch them.
Reb said; "It sounded like 'we're here'."
"That's what I thought. The words were English, too, it sounded like a girl, didn't it?" Lirik fingered the tabletop lcars padd. "Computer, diagnose signal and extrapolate a theory on the sender's origin and identity."
Reb was a little surprised - such covert technology was usually restricted to intelligence operatives, as he understood. Clearly there was more to the Diplomatic Corps than he had first thought.
"Message received on standard Starfleet subspace channel. Origin, 1.563 light years, bearing 280 mark 243. Language English, dialect unknown. Sender is female, between the approximate ages of 15 and 20. Race unknown. Accuracy 85%."
Lirik sat down, a little surprised. "Race unknown?" He didn't understand that.
"That's some smart equipment you've got there," Reb mused, missing the point entirely.
Lirik was tempted to respond with a humorous observation at Reb's attire, but understood it was only the coffee having an effect. "We haven't scanned any vessels within several light years - I think that came from the Fantasy. And she's damned nearby."
Reb mentally charted a course from the co-ordinates. "And we can't get to her."
"Not necessarily," Lirik said, raising his eyebrows at the pilot in proposition.
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ACT 1