EP 5 PROLOGUE
***
NEW YEAR'S DAY, EARLY MORNING
In the dim light of the makeshift sickbay, the stout, youthful Starfleet Security Ensign Fabrice Souveson weaved her way through the sleeping survivors toward the single resident medical officer onboard: Lieutenant O'Hara. All around the area, the same small core of civilian helpers were busy reading pulses, changing dressings, taking temperatures and stealing hushed conversations in pairs.
The young Ensign remained surprised by the amount of casualties on board; she hadn't remembered this many injured making their way onto the vessel during their narrow escape from Vekaria a week ago. But seemingly the injuries of these poor souls had either not been apparent at the time of boarding or had become compounded by the journey and subsequent difficulties they faced while heading out of Vekarian space. A Starfleet sick bay was usually only temporarily occupied and never filled unless there was a sudden critical situation. Simply put, Souveson wasn't used to seeing this many sick people in one place.
Quietly, the Ensign cleared her throat. "Excuse me, Lieutenant, have you seen Yeoman Lirik?"
The firey red head stood at least a foot taller than the rookie, causing the Ensign to level her eye-line against the older woman's ample bosom. Instead of simply replying, O'Hara cracked a smirk. "Maybe he's done the sensible thing and jumped ship?"
"Just answer the question, please, Ma'am," Souveson didn't become angry or rude, but instead gave her best impassive expression.
Earlier in the morning the Captain had called Souveson to his office - a large room to the rear of deck 2, located a short distance below and behind the Bridge. Stepping off the gentle ramp leading down from the back of upper bridge level, Souveson had passed first an empty reception alcove that opened out to her left, above which was a sign that said "Deck 2 - Where It All Happens". Most peculiar. There were three doorways behind the main reception desk, each fitted with a semi-opaque oval window at head height. The corridor continued on straight ahead, flanked with three unidentified doorways on the left and a bank of head-heigh portholes on the right, and ended in an angled doorway, some ten metres further along. The Captain's office.
The door had been ajar. The Ensign knocked, the Captain's slightly hoarse voice beckoned her in. Souveson hadn't been in the room before now. Though the dark wooden panelled walls and ceiling were in much disrepair, it was impressive nonetheless. The dark veneer hugged the walls and support struts as if it were the most natural starship interior cladding, and gave the room a closed-in feeling, cosey - but chilling in an outdated way. Centre stage to the rear of the room was an ample 19th Century writing desk complete with shiny green lamp and strewn with padds and bits and pieces of debris. Behind it, a large, studded leather traditional naval Captain's chair, slightly frayed. Both pieces of furniture were placed in front of a low box-seat area around a recessed window area, the rear-most point of this deck.
In front and to the right of the desk there was a large, over-dramatically wood-carved map table, and over on the left side of the room, an ancient looking, light green velveteen couch (which the Captain appeared to have been using as a bed) and two accompanying wingbacked chairs covered with a similar cloth. A richly carved hearth embraced an inert fireplace set into the inner wall opposite the Captain's desk, to her immediate left, its grate filled with broken circuits and other trash. The whole place was badly lit and very dusty, but none of this detracted from the drama of the wide, sloping, multi-panelled windows at the back of the room, much like those she had seen on pirate ships in ancient Earth history, but a good deal higher. In all her time in space, she realised she had never seen the stars through such a multi-panelled window. Also, most peculiar of all, in this 24th Century version of a Captain's room, the recessed windows were flanked by what looked like two balconies open to space on either side.
As he perched on the chunky desk, the Captain surprised Souveson by granting her the position of Acting Security Chief for as long as they were on board the Fantasy. Her first thoughts were that she didn't know the full scope of what a Security Chief did, having only graduated a short time ago - but some of her older friends who were rushed through the Academy to help in the Dominion war had equally earned fast-track promotion and increased duties. If they could learn on the job, so could she, she thought.
Hence, Souveson wasn't about to lose her cool in front of a Lieutenant in the Medical Corps over a simple search for a missing person in her first day on the job.
The nurse pursed her lips, then seemed to think better of any further banter. "I saw him last night - about five or six hours ago, I guess. He came here looking for a young Bajoran girl, but couldn't find her so spent some time talking to a few patients, then he left."
"Did you speak to him yourself?" Souveson pressed.
"Hang on a moment," the Nurse had been distracted by one of her helpers and had a quiet, whispered conversation about one of the patients.
Souveson considered the other events leading up to now. After the Captain had in effect given her a field promotion, he had used the newly on-line intra-ship communicator to summon Lirik. There had been no response, so he had ordered Souveson to go find him. Her first clue had been when Christian told her that he had left Lirik at the conn at approximately 1900hours the night before.
Making her way back to the Bridge, she first spoke to Commodore Jackson. The veteran, restless and unable to sleep, had relieved Lirik at about 0100hours. The tired-eyed woman smiled as she recounted her arrival on the Bridge, finding him hunched over the Operations station, drooling onto the lcars panel in a stupor. Apparently he had been searching through the fragmented data files and trying to download his tricorder data into the Bridge mainfraim. Jackson had relieved him, ordering him to bed saying that he had well earned a rest of his own having been on duty "since last year".
Leaning on the armrest of a spare command chair beside the veteran, Souveson listened to the Commodore's account of the Yeoman's incident with the Bajoran girl the day before as they had been about to make their escape.
"As a matter of fact," O'Hara continued yanking Souveson out of her reverie, "he offered his services to me. I told him Medusans didn't tend to make good medics, so he left. Anything else?" O'Hara placed her large hands on her hips.
Souveson didn't have any sisters, only brothers. She was definitely a man's woman, and found it o hard to relate to 'girly' or feminine women. She was surprised that the ex-marine corps nurse felt equally unapproachable. "Yes. The Captain requests you attend a briefing at 1300hours on Deck One."
The Lieutenant dropped her head toward the Canadian and lowered her voice. "Do I look like I have a pocket watch?"
"I'll announce the call over the intraship, Sir," Ensign spun on her heel and strode out, suppressing an outward comment. O'Hara turned and smiled as she watched the full-of-it rookie quickly stride out into the bright corridor.
Now armed with O'Hara's latest evidence, the Ensign wanted to establish Lirik's last known intent. She decided if she could find the girl, presumably she would find Lirik also. For a brief moment, she worried for the safety of the Bajoran girl; if Lirik thought she was the cause of the transmission revealing their location, and had tried to sabotage their escape, then clearly he considered her a threat to their safety. Souveson tried to keep an open mind. No-one else seemed to harbour such theories, but as Head of Security she couldn't dismiss them off-hand either.
* * *
Main Engineering was a frenzy for the senses. Lights flickered and here and there small wisps of smoke whipped up into the vaulted ceiling caught by the aircon system. Burly, mechanical types stood hunched over available spaces making crude repairs, hand soldering broken units and cobbling together replacement parts from non-essential machinery they'd been able to strip out. Oddly, a few people were sleeping on the deck in empty or disused corners, several huddled together for warmth and comfort, despite the activity around them.
Leonard was clearly unorthodox for a starship engineer, but nevertheless the progress he had made with the limited facilities and volunteer crew available was remarkable in such a short space of time. The warp core with its ornate gold lattice was glowing a strange pale green and pink colour. Someone, clearly with less sense than willing, had polished the light golden metal making it sparkle.
Souveson spotted Leonard's shock of blonde hair briefly bob up from beneath the deck in the distant warp drive pit. Onlookers leaned on the railings around the pit above him. As she approached, Souveson thought they were merely intrigued crowd, but then she heard the strong German accent, and realised they were, in fact, being instructed by the engineer as he worked.
The Ensign pushed through to the front. "Excuse me, Commander. I am trying to find Yeoman Lirik."
"Haven't seen him," the German didn't even raise his head, his blonde hair flopping in front of his eyes as the strong man crouched low, attacking a stubborn face plate on the shaft's wall. His shirt lifted slightly up his back and Souveson could see small blonde hairs glinting at the base of his muscular spine. She turned away, looking around, hoping to perhaps spot the girl or Lirik himself, when she heard another voice pipe up from the pit.
"I saw him," the alien-lilted English accent resonated from her commbadge, and echoed strangely from the originator's mouth in its true alien tongue. Souveson turned back and leaned over the rail to see the Romulan, Murak, staring back at her.
"What time was this? Did he say anything?" Souveson ducked under the rail, crouching low to hear his reply, almost level with the Romulan's face. As she looked into his stoney black eyes, she realised the man was about the same age as her. Or at least appeared to be.
"It was approximately six hours ago. He woke me as I slept over there," the commbadge voice pitched itself to the same deep but fresh tone of the Romulan's natural voice. "He was looking for a young girl - a Bajoran."
Souveson felt she was getting nowhere fast. "Thank you. Commander, the Captain requests you attend a meeting on Deck One at 1300 hours. We'll make an announcement."
On his haunches, Leonard wiped his brow, looking in her direction. "Thank you Ensign," he winked and almost lost his balance, causing him to smile quite naturally. Murak steadied him and the two returned to the issue of the malfunctioning constrictors.
Souveson walked out of engineering. On exit, she was halted by the unexpected sight of a young couple passionately kissing. It was odd given their situation, and the Ensign felt a little embarrassed by their over-enthusiastic embrace. Her stare caused them to stop and share a snigger.
"May I suggest you find somewhere more - private?" almost as soon as the Ensign finished her sentence she realised where Lirik was most likely to be.
* * *
Souveson entered the main shuttlebay. Looking around its quiet, metallic interior, her eyes fell on the runabout Hudson resting alone and apparently undisturbed in the middle of the large bay - right where the half-Ferengi Reb had parked it the day previously.
Approaching the vessel slowly, her thigh tingled from the wound where the wire had impaled her over a week ago. As the pain killers were wearing off, she was also increasingly aware of the heavy bruising she had sustained in yesterday's fight against the holographic K'Tani. She instinctively glanced to her left through the large open doors into the adjacent standby bay. There, in the distance, she saw the damaged control booth where she had begun her fight. Her knuckles, legs and facial muscles twitched as she remembered the pain of the fisticuffs that had brought her so close to serious personal damage. Perhaps if the holoprogram had not been deleted when it had, she thought, she might have been brain damaged or possibly even killed as a result.
Souveson shook her head, reminding herself that there was no point in dwelling in the past, or on what might have been. "Yeoman Lirik!" she called out, her French Canadian accent echoing off the high walls. "Where the hell is he?" she muttered in frustration. She had been searching for him for nearly an hour now since the Captain's initial hail had gone unheeded. With internal sensors off-line, her only course of action had been to search for him the old-fashioned way.
The Ensign noticed that the runabout's airlock was secure (normal Starfleet procedure required the vessel should stand at the ready with its airlock open - though she wasn't sure if that rule applied to their current predicament). Standing on the starboard nacelle, her short frame could just about grant her a view through the lounge windows to the rear. Indeed, there was the Yeoman inside, sprawled out on the port-side couch, mouth wide open, fast asleep with a phaser grasped in his hand. It was a curious sight.
At the runabout's airlock, Souveson carefully entered the standard override code into the control panel, but it didn't work. She tried another combination; still nothing. She was about to go hail the captain when the Hudson's door ominously slid open behind her - almost like a delayed reaction.
Stepping carefully onto the threshold, the Ensign was totally unprepared for the attack as Lirik grabbed her by the shoulder, jerked her inside, spinning her around, simultaneously closing the door and jamming a phaser set on heavy stun into her neck beneath her jaw.
"Ensign…?" Lirik seemed surprised and released his grip slightly.
"What the hell was that for?" Souveson caught her breath, slapping his phaser sporting hand roughly away.
"I was expecting… someone else," Lirik seemed confused. The bags under his eyes were puffy and dark - like a man possessed.
"Clearly," Souveson urgently wanted to put some space between herself and the part-Medusan; she felt so sick every time she stood too close. Squeezing past the Yeoman she walked into the rear of the vessel where a number of pads, transparent sheets and even bits of old style paper lay scattered around the floor. "The Captain has been calling for you, he wants to see you immediately. Come on," She turned on her heel, expecting the Yeoman to follow, but instead he grabbed her arm. She managed to body swerve and avoid his alien grip, though not aggressively. "What? What is it?"
Lirik looked around agitatedly. "Tell the Captain I need to see him down here right away. And the Commodore. There's something I urgently need to discuss with them both," Lirik flopped into a seat, running his fingers through his receding hair.
Souveson recognised the tone of authority. Ordinarily she would have complied to a Diplomatic order straight away, but as she now had full jurisdiction for internal security she felt she needed more than just Lirik's say so to bring the Captain all the way to the shuttlebay.
"You can talk to them on the bridge," Souveson watched Lirik shake his head emphatically. "Well what exactly do you need to show them down here?"
The Yeoman blinked hard and stared right into her eyes. "Just bring them," he said, rising to his feet with underlying anger. "And don't use the intercom. Ask them in person. It's imperative this is kept between just the four of us for now."
Lirik's choice of words had given Souveson the carrot she craved - acceptance as someone trustworthy. The look in his eyes showed how serious he was, but she still didn't see what could be so important - though it clearly had something to do with the research materials he had been working on.
* * *
Christian and Jackson followed Souveson into the runabout, sealing the doors behind them, and stepped through into a now tidied rear section. Lirik, upright, clean and in a newly replicated uniform, sat at the main desk with two neat piles in front of him - the transparencies and scribbled paper in one, the padds in another.
A third object - a small ornate box design of some sort - was also placed before him, but Souveson couldn't guess what it contained.
"I have something for you, Commodore," Lirik said standing and handing the slim box to Jackson. She opened it and retrieved a delicate glass and metal object. "We have no supply of Retinox 6 and cannot replicate the drug, so Lieutenant O'Hara gave me the specifications to fashion these for you instead."
Jackson put the thin, pliable hooks around her ears and stared out through the rectangular framed spectacles, feeling slightly dizzy from the sudden clarity of vision before her. Though the glasses were old-fashioned in appearance, the technology employed in the frames allowed microscopic sensors to scan her eye movements and her surroundings and thus modify the lens field to adjust to the distance she was looking across. She smiled, broadly. "Thank you Yeoman, that was very thoughtful."
"I hope this isn't why you brought us down here," Christian rapidly folded his arms. He was decidedly pissed that both he and the Commodore were still wearing their tattered, dirty uniforms - even though the obvious damage had been repaired by a kindly survivor (who also happened to be a retired tailor). Christian was even more irked that Lirik was apparently living it up in the relative luxury of the runabout. "To flaunt your skill at using the runabout's replicator systems?"
Lirik looked down at his smart uniform then at Christian with a frown. "Absolutely not, Captain. What I want to show you is far more important." Following his gesture, Jackson and a begrudging Christian sat opposite the Yeoman. The Ensign stood awkwardly to one side as Lirik handed each a padd. "I believe I have proof that we have a K'Tani agent on board."
In unison Jackson and Christian looked up from the padds and at each other, then across at Lirik.
* * *
ACT 1