EP 6 "ASSASSIN" - ACT 1



COMMAND SECTION, MAIN SHUTTLE BAY

Standing alone in the corridor outside the shuttle bay, Christian felt exceptionally nervous.  Unlike his parents had once been, he didn't feel comfortable speaking in front of very large groups of people, so he was keen to get his address over with as quickly as possible.  Yet what was beginning to disturb him more than the duration of his speech was making eye contact with all those poor souls gathered in the adjacent area.

He and the other Starfleet officers had accepted the risks of danger and death when joining the service, but these innocent civilians had not made any such commitment.  If anything, most had been hoping to escape the ravages of the war with the Cardassians and the Dominion by coming to the Outer Zone.

Many had expressed extreme bitterness at the facts of their ensuing situation.  Rather than finding peace and the opportunity for a new start here, they had instead been plunged into the middle of a widespread, violent political coup.   Now they were cut off from help by the Tholians and on the run from the K'Tani, the hostile militaristic alien race who had assumed control by destroying the newly discovered wormhole to Federation space and any potential threat.

Understandably, they carried a lot of hate and were blaming all and sundry at their predicament.  They blamed their individual governments for not warning them of the potential dangers awaiting them in the Outer Zone.   They blamed the Federation for being so slow to identify a precarious situation and they particularly blamed the hallowed Starfleet for not protecting them.  Not that Starfleet had been the only guardians of peace in the Outer Zone.   Many other races had sent a visible military presence there, (even their enemies from the other side of the wormhole), and Christian knew with hindsight that they had all been kept in the dark by their new-found Qovakian friends.

Having studied the facts, the Captain understood how everyone was easily duped by the Qovakians, and how they managed to keep things quiet about their chequered past.  But, he thought, try explaining that to someone who has lost their nearest and dearest and suffered as the civilian survivors of the coup had.

In the rush to escape the devastation of Helub, the majority of the survivors had been forced to abandon colleagues and loved ones.   Being a seasoned officer, for Christian the loss of colleagues and friends had become a sad but inevitable cross to bear during his career.  Christian tried to convince himself that the loss of his parents, coupled with the loss of so many friends during the war, had hardened him somewhat.   But there was no doubt that the sheer devastation he saw across Helub as they left orbit meant that casualties were very high indeed, and he couldn't begin to imagine the massed pain of the people he was about to speak to.

Their only professional medic, Lieutenant O'Hara, had hinted at the level of shock and overall psychological condition of the witnesses to such horror, but Christian hadn't spared any thought on that subject, concentrating instead on the rush to get the ship moving and away from the K'Tani.  He only hoped the survivors had been more resilient than the Lieutenant feared.

Christian thought back to the particular padds Lirik had left earlier that morning that contained details of many of the survivors' backgrounds.  Some of their stories were truly moving: children alone, having been separated from parents and siblings; partners who had lost their spouses; and parents who had lost their offspring during the K'Tani attack.  The detailed accounts had left Christian feeling slightly sick: if multiplied by several million, then he would begin to have a feel for what damage the coup had truly done.

Despite his earlier altercation with the diplomat, Christian had swiftly settled into scanning through the rest of the data.   Lirik had certainly done a most proficient job of organising the Captain's time, and in the process saved both him and the Commodore hours of additional painstaking work.   He hadn't had an opportunity yet, but reminded himself to thank the Yeoman on a professional level, no matter how uncomfortable the man made him feel and how unorthodox his manner.  (He decided that he would nonetheless enable a locking device on the door to his office to keep further unwanted intruders out.)

Christian glanced down at his tattered uniform and felt his belly rumble from hunger: they were all on strict rations, and so far hadn't had any creature comforts save for a short sonic shower, despite what the kindly Helan people offered to share.  Because of the swiftness of the attack, not only had the survivors' families been split apart, but most people had also lost everything they possessed except for the very clothes on their backs.   Now they were facing much hardship, possibly even more loss - or worse, capture and potential suffering at the hands of a powerful and ruthless enemy.  Christian's task as leader was to now face these people and give them the encouragement and support they needed to be able to move forward.  As the ship's commanding officer, it was also his duty to insist that they all accept the difficulties of the situation they faced and, most importantly of all, request that they each help in the task of making their home, the SS Fantasy, more habitable and better protected.

The double doors hissed open, breaking the Captain's reverie.  Jackson's face peeped into the corridor.  "We're ready for you, Captain."

Christian glanced quickly at the padd containing the main points of his address, then straightened and walked quickly through the doors and directly up the pile of crates to the makeshift platform that had been erected by Lirik and his team of Vulcan and Helan helpers a short time before.  As he rapidly ascended to the stage, he noticed that Jackson had managed to convince the previously appointed acting department heads and team leaders to stand in a neat semicircle in an 'at ease' stance.  As he stepped onto the stage, Jackson nodded to the group and they stood to attention as one - well, almost.

It made the Captain smile inwardly, and he felt warmed when Jackson threw a private encouraging wink at him.   Christian was impressed - in just 30 minutes she had got the assembled team of disparate volunteer officers to set an example to the gathered crowds who he now turned toward.  Already he could pick out familiar faces amid the throng - the Klingons, the medical staff and Judge Madison, who, it seemed, was also standing to attention.

Christian was surprised at the sheer number of people gathered here.  The several hundred survivors near filled the entire shuttle bay.  The action of the command crew's drilled performance caused the crowd's murmuring to die down and now all the faces - of all ages and races - turned their eyes and receptors toward the stage.  Christian cleared his throat again, then remembered to turn and nod to Jackson - who in turn got the team to stand at ease with a single hand movement.

"For those of you who don't know me, I am Captain Christian of Starfleet," Christian's voice was loud and clear, his projection skills having been developed by a mother keen for her son to follow in his parents' footsteps, despite his innate stage fright.

"Following our escape from the K'Tani I have assumed command of this ship and therefore I am now responsible for everything in it - including all of you.  You have all endured a great deal over these past two weeks, and you should be proud of that fact alone: getting this far wasn't easy.  We may have lost a few people along the way, but rest assured that I as your Captain, along with the senior officers gathered here," Christian gestured behind, "will do everything in our power to honour their memory by keeping the rest of you safe.  We will also endeavour to work out a way of helping all of those we left behind in Vekarian space.  We have been compiling a list of our people who are either missing or presumed killed.   It is important for us to know everything about the time leading up to the attack - where missing people may have been, what ships were in the region and where they were deployed - if we are ever going to have a hope of finding them all again.   We need to build as big a picture of the situation as possible, and we need your help in gathering this information."

Christian shifted slightly and rubbed his nose.   "You will have noticed by now that this ship is far from conventional.  Be aware that there is a great deal to be done to bring it up to spec and provide a safer, more habitable environment.  It is still a dangerous, unknown place.  For these reasons I ask that for the present, you all stay within the designated safe areas and do not venture beyond unless accompanied by a recognised member of crew.  Although the ship's black coating may render us invisible to most sensors, we cannot rely on that alone to protect us.  However, we currently have no defensive capability and no weapons.   I have therefore decided that we are to continue on our course away from Qovakian space, along the Tholian border and, with luck, out of harm's way.  We may meet other ships who fled there from the initial K'Tani attack, and distancing ourselves from the militarised area provides us with more chances to make repairs and take on supplies."

Without warning he faltered.   Christian couldn't remember his next line and his face flushed.  He brought the padd up and refreshed his memory, listening to the awkward coughs and shifting limbs, tentacles and hooves of the crowd during the pregnant pause.

"As I mentioned, this ship is not yet up to spec.   What you took for granted before coming aboard may no longer apply.  For one thing, replicators are non existent, so our food preparation, water supplies and waste processing needs to be strictly managed.   Medical supplies and facilities are also limited.   For the present time, rationing of all supplies will continue.  Aside from having no shields, no weapons and no transporters on line, the central computer core is also far from fully operational.  We have discovered only finite deuterium reserves.   Navigation, sensors, communications and life support are currently under repair, but at the rate we are going, it could take months to fix…"

The crowd was murmuring disbelief and shock, their faces worried.  Christian motioned for them to hear him out and waited until the noise had dulled.

"I am disclosing to you all of the facts because you need to make an important decision.  You see we few here - along with those volunteers among you who have helped us so far - simply cannot do all of the necessary repair and maintenance work alone.   A ship of this size in this condition simply cannot be kept in good working order with such a small crew.   We therefore need each and every one of you to participate, to do your bit.  That will mean learning new skills or going beyond your normal capabilities.   It will certainly mean you will all have to learn safety procedures and damage, fire and evacuation protocols: from the youngest to the oldest of you.  Undoubtedly, everyone in this room will have to make sacrifices, me included.  Understand that I intend running this ship the Starfleet way - which in itself will be hard for many of you to adapt to.  Sometimes you may disagree with decisions that myself and the other officers will make.   But be warned, whether you agree to contribute or not, the chain of command will be strictly adhered to.   Simply put, if you are given an order, you will obey - whether you are crew or civilian."

Several short bursts of retaliation erupted in the crowds and Christian exchanged a worried look with Jackson.   She remained impassive, not wishing to step in and upset the chain of command that Christian had now established.   This was his duty, Jackson decided, and as such he needed to take full responsibility, particularly if he was to be credible in the eyes of these people.

"What about the children?" a young human woman holding a baby shouted up at the stage, causing another murmur of support.

Christian nodded.  "Like I said, each of us will need to do our bit.   There is of course a need for people to work as engineers, security officers, repair crew et cetera, but we as a group clearly have more specific requirements.  With no replicators we need cooks, cleaners and waste processors.   With so many children we need carers and tutors.  We will very soon need to take on supplies, and that in itself will be a major challenge - we may not be able to find supplies free and readily available, so that might mean trade or an exchange of knowledge or services.  Frankly, there's a wide range of functions we need filled - and each of the senior staff here will be recruiting and training for different positions.  Each of us will also be giving you the health and safety training essential to survival on a starship."

"What's the master plan, then, Captain?" the Tiburonian male who had been hostile to him all that time ago back on Helub stood with his arms folded at the front of the crowd, apparently just as objectionable.  "Are we heading back to Federation space?"

The crowd murmured louder than before and many heads bobbed up and down, turning to face each other in agreement.

Christian had prepared for this question.   He turned his back on the audience and held his padd aloft, projecting from its small but powerful lens a large image of a computer simulation onto the high, plain wall of the shuttle deck.   Commodore Jackson took the padd from him so that he could turn back to face the survivors.

"This is a proportionate representation of the Galaxy."  The image zoomed in.   "The yellow flashing area is the Federation.  The green area next to it is Tholian occupied and this blue wedge, this is Qovakia."   The image tumbled end over end, showing the full width and depth of all three areas.  "As you can see, Tholian space is huge, despite having retracted its borders.  Even at maximum warp, traversing those borders would take several years, and we have no idea what we could encounter on the way."

"What about a subspace message?" an unidentified baritone voice cried.

"Even if it could be heard, it would still take a very long time to reach Federation ears," Christian stepped forward, almost to the edge of the stage.  Whilst he hadn't wanted a full-on question and answer session, they seemed pretty well behaved, and he didn't want to be too hard with them just yet.

"Unfortunately, the Tholians not only prevent people from crossing their territory, they also prevent communications from passing through.  All subspace transmissions from outsiders are analysed and jammed as a matter of course.   Nevertheless, once safely out of reach of the K'Tani, we will endeavour to negotiate with the Tholian Assembly - try and get them to make a special exception and carry a signal for us.   I won't lie to you," Christian paused, "I won't hold out much hope of them helping."

"On the other hand, won't the Federation be trying to get a message through to us?" Judge Madison bellowed.

"Very likely," Christian said.   "A lot of important people were on Vekaria when the attack occurred and I doubt that any of the governments will let the disappearance of so many of their people slip quietly into the background.  But don't forget there is a war on in our own part of space.  And even if some manpower can be spared from the military campaign, there is little room for negotiation with the Tholians.  Aside from artificially creating a wormhole that spans Tholian space, or developing a stable slipstream drive, I don't see there is much Starfleet, the Federation or anyone else can do for us."

"Do you think they know what happened to us back home?" a teenage Betazoid boy shouted bravely from amongst a group of younger kids.

"I'd like to think so, son.   It is possible some ships escaped before the wormhole collapsed.  But if the Federation doesn't know what happened in Qovakia by now, it's unlikely they will for some time.  I'm sure other races will be equally keen to break through to Qovakia - either by force or by signal.   But my considered view is that it would be unwise to rely on the hope of any cavalry coming to our rescue, not as long as the war continues and there are Tholians in our way," Christian could feel the wave of despair from the crowd.  He told himself the next item on the list would either get their adrenaline going or push them over the edge completely.

Christian nodded to Jackson to change the image to a series of several he had been able to randomly capture from the runabout Hudson, and their tricorders. 

"You have all met the K'Tani face to face.   These are just some of the images of their uniforms and their ships we've gathered so far.   In order to stay alive, we will need to know as much as we can about them.  The Helan here," Christian nodded to the delegation of Helan people gathered to the left of the stage, "along with the Vekarians and other Qovakians in our group will be vital to this process.  They will be able to provide us with local knowledge, and hopefully put us in touch with potential allies in this part of space.  If anyone has anything to add to our investigations about the K'Tani or this part of space, please talk to any one of the senior officers."

Jackson changed the image back to one of Qovakian space.  Little fizzling blobs filled a large part of the central region.

"One other thing; when the K'Tani destroyed the wormhole, they managed to create many smaller conduits throughout this region.  That means the K'Tani are in a position to take total control of Qovakia, if they haven't already - and it's another reason why we're heading away from there.   That said, if the K'Tani possess the technology to manipulate wormholes, then we may be able to acquire that same technology and utilise it for ourselves.  We know the K'Tani were in league with other races before the coup, and we must assume that they will be again.  That means that our intelligence efforts are vitally important if we are going to survive, let alone have any hope of rescuing our people."

The room fell silent as Christian indicated for Jackson to change the image to a holographic image of a young Bajoran girl.   Christian's expression became serious.

"This young girl was in our midst when we came aboard, but no-one seems to know who she was with.  She went missing several days ago and it is vitally important we find her.  However, we believe she may be a K'Tani agent, so do not approach if you see her-"

Several small cries rang out, cutting him off.   One mother of a perturbed child spoke up.  "My daughter played with her several times - she's just an ordinary child."

"Yes," this time an elderly gentleman spoke out.  "I looked after her and some other kids, she couldn't possibly be dangerous."

Christian raised his hands, glancing at Lirik who looked more than a little worried.  "Please, believe me, she is not what she appears to be.   If you do see her, do not approach her.   Just make her whereabouts known to a member of the crew."

Christian took the padd from Jackson and fumbled in his pockets for something.  "Until we sort out our clothing issue, each officer will be wearing a bandanna just like this," Christian held a white rag aloft, tied it into a knot and pushed it up his arm.  Lirik picked up a container from behind the officers and began to hand out one to each person on stage.

"I'm sure you have many, many questions and requests," Christian stepped to one side.  "All of these can be dealt with by our senior staff.   My First Officer will introduce each person and their responsibilities.  If you have particular skills to offer, please proceed into the adjacent shuttle bay at the end of this session and make yourself known to the relevant department head.   Commodore."

As Jackson stepped forward, the Captain noticed that despite her starship inexperience, her very rank and seasoning as a desk-based command officer exuded from her as an air of confidence and maturity.   Coupled with her braided uniform, her rotund shape, senior years and rectangular glasses enhanced her commanding appearance.

"It may be wholly unconventional, but I have agreed to be the Captain's Executive or First Officer.  I will second for the Captain in any given situation and take command in his absence.  I will also be responsible for the conduct of all senior staff and for carrying out the Captain's orders.  Our department heads, from left to right, are as follows: Lieutenant Commander Leonard, our Chief Engineer.  Ensign Souveson, Head of Security.  Lieutenant O'Hara, Chief Medical Officer.  Commander Struckchev, Head of Bridge Operations.  This is Reb, our principal Helmsman.  Ambassador Narli has agreed to be our Head of Supplies.  Professor Karnak is our Bridge Science Officer and Miss Hedrik is the person working on our computer and transporter problems under Mister Leonard," the Commodore stopped as she heard Hedrik giggle - a sharp look quietened the young green skinned vamp, but caused a flutter of amusement from the crowd.  Leonard flushed a deep crimson in response and he didn't know where to look.  Christian, O'Hara and Lirik had to supress smiles of amusement at the German's obvious embarrassment.

"Finally, this is Yeoman Lirik," Jackson walked over and stood beside the portly man who merely glowered at the crowd.   "He will be heading the teams exploring the ship, and will be organising all routine services as well as non-operational staff and activities.  He will also be assisting the Captain and myself in our executive functions.  If you do not volunteer for duty, it is Mister Lirik you need to speak to about any concerns you may have.  To reiterate the Captain's earlier instruction, anyone not volunteering will, without exception, be obligated to follow instructions given by any member of the crew."

Jackson noticed that Lirik didn't look comfortable.   He had seemed happy in his function assisting the Captain and herself in command duties, but not, as he put it, with 'babysitting a bunch of whining civilians who couldn't be bothered getting of their arses to help'.  Lirik remained preoccupied with the disappearance of Bajoran girl and had insisted Christian take the opportunity of his public address to try and find her.   He also seemed mightily miffed at Struckchev being given what appeared to be a senior role for some reason not yet known to her.   The Commodore wound things up.

"Important information will be posted to general areas or passed on by word of mouth," Jackson continued.   "Please listen for important announcements over the intraship comm system - you may be instructed at any time to evacuate to a certain location or to adhere to a certain procedure.  You'll be addressed in smaller groups later, but for now, that is all.   Anyone willing to volunteer for duty please make your way now into the standby shuttle bay area to your right.   Thank you."

Jackson swept her hand to her left and smiled that authoritarian smile which bordered on an intolerant grimace of encouragement.  To both the Captain's and Jackson's surprise, only a small number of the people began to shuffle toward the smaller adjacent shuttlebay area.  Souveson had to jump down from the stage and corral several children back as they enthusiastically stepped forward to volunteer; Jackson had made it clear that no one under cadet age would be accepted as a member of the crew.

The Captain gave a worried look at Jackson, who nodded an indication that he should speak again.  He stepped forward once more.

"Please, if you have any skills to contribute, anything at all, step forward and speak to our staff, we can't do this without you."   Christian worried that he may have sounded a little too desperate, but continued regardless, indicating for the senior staff to alight into the standby bay.  Lirik remained where he was.

Seeing that only a further handful of people were joining the small group of other courageous volunteers, Lirik stepped forward and whispered something to Jackson - inaudible to the Captain.   Christian saw the Commodore reluctantly nod in agreement.  She looked up at the Captain and gestured to stand back.  Lirik stood in a wide stance, hands on hips.

"RIGHT!" he shouted, causing a few to jump and then giggle.  His stern expression at their reaction caused silence to fall once more.   "That leaves just us, then," he said, nodding for the Captain to join the others in the neighbouring hangar.   Christian felt Lirik bristle with invisible but sickening Medusan energy and quickly left the stage, herding the senior staff and volunteers well into the standby bay.   He was appalled at the blatant use of dangerous energy and shocked that Jackson approved.  The move also reminded him of his recurring nightmare.

Feeling the ambient Medusan energy leaking out through Lirik's shield, another ten or so people toward the front of the crowd pushed their way to join the others.  Lirik could see that well over three hundred people (more than two thirds of their entire number) still remained.  Some people who had already been helping out had now, it seemed, changed their minds.   Apart from those who were truly bone-idle or ignorant of the extent of work that needed to be done, Lirik could only assume that the rest were either too frightened, or truly thought that they had nothing worthwhile to contribute.

Lirik glanced to his left.  On the bulkhead's threshold Jackson appeared to be having a whispered argument with Christian over allowing Judge Madison to join the group.   Madison, awkwardly fumbling behind them, had been among the first of the volunteers to step keenly forward, but Jackson didn't want anything of it.  The Yeoman caught Jackson's eye and she lowered the dividing bulkhead, separating the 'crew' from the rest of the survivors.  The final 'shunt' of the door gave a sense of doom and the room hushed.  Lirik had no idea what their reactions would amount to in the hours ahead.

Two Vulcan males joined Lirik on stage carrying armfuls of padds and, amazingly, still wore their skimpy red and gold uniforms.   A wolf-whistle came from the back of the crowd and a rush of laughter swept forward.

"That's enough of that," Lirik commanded, not certain who among the smiling faces was the perpetrator.   Inwardly he was laughing himself - he could quite see why the muscle-bound Vulcans prompted such a reaction.

The men's black boots seemed the only conventional item of clothing on them.  Little red panty-type briefs hugged their muscular hips and these were partly covered with a pleated belt-come-skirt of gold and a translucent material, cut slightly longer at the back as like a shirttail.  Two long bands of gathered red and gold chiffon crossed their chest from their waist (held in place by a ceremonial IDIC broach) and fell over each opposite shoulder.  On the back, the bands were then intricately criss-crossed and fixed to the belt with a metallic pin.   Lirik noticed that these men were not wearing the matching traditional head dress (a multi-spiked velveteen white and red tiara affair) or the black cuff bands denoting their status.

Lirik recognised the men as Vavoth and Sulin, both of whom were unmoved by the reaction they were receiving.   The Yeoman considered that only Vulcan males could wear such feminine attire without feeling embarrassed.  These 'disciples of logic' were a strange breed.   To those who understood the intricacies of Vulcan culture, they were regarded as the brawnier, less intelligent of the species, having spent a greater amount of time in physical training and meditation than on developing their intellect.  Their bodybuilding was as much to appear daunting to off-worlders (who were used to equating size with power) as to build on their inherent Vulcan physical prowess.

The Me'Ltran'Di Precinct, as their order was known, were the well-established supportive body to most field-based Vulcan ambassadors and statesmen.  Though adequate pilots and spacefarers, they spent most of their time assisting their ward in whatever endeavour they pursued - in the case of these men, as science lab assistants and analysts to Professor Karnak.  In their role as protectors, the Me'Ltran'Di were trained extensively in fighting arts and survival techniques, but they were also renowned for their excellent valeting skills.  Lirik shook his head.  Their uniforms couldn't be more inappropriate to their position, but like a lot of things Vulcan, they were traditional and ritualistic rather than practical.

Lirik dropped his hands from his hips, his gaze wandering over each part of the restless crowd before him.

"First of all, people, I must say that this is really poor show," Lirik wasn't about to mince his words.   He truly felt that if he were to get respect from such a diverse mix of people, he needed to come across as forthright, honest and open.  They needed to know exactly where they stood from the outset.  The crowd didn't sound too happy about his insulting remark.

"There is no way that few number," Lirik stabbed a finger towards the bulkhead door, "will be able to repair and maintain this ship.  I strongly urge the rest of you to reconsider your decision.  I am in no doubt that each and every one of you has a role to perform, whatever you might think.  You might not like the part you have to play, but at least you would be making your own and everyone else's lives that much more comfortable and safe by contributing."

The murmuring had risen to a low babble, but thankfully not one of them challenged Lirik directly.  He was glad when O'Hara entered and took her place on the stage next to him.

"How's it going?" she softly asked.

Lirik watched one of the large tanned Vulcans bend over to pick up a padd he had carelessly dropped.  "Oh, just peachy," he replied with a smirk.   O'Hara offered a brief smile, wondering about Lirik's personal preferences, then decided it was none of her business.  Lirik clapped his hands to get everyone's attention.

"Okay, now I want all children under cadet age to accompany O'Hara for health and safety training," the Yeoman watched as the older orphaned kids filtered the information to the younger ones and gradually a group of about 60 youngsters gathered to the left of the stage.  "People with young infants, you go along as well," he nodded to the dozen or so people carrying babies.  Those young families who were still lucky enough to be intact kissed the briefest of partings to one another and separated.

Some children clung on to their only remaining parent or to the kindly people who had since taken them under their wing, not wishing to move.  O'Hara moved in swiftly, and gently reassured the children and guardians, eventually guiding them all out of the shuttle bay in one straggling herd.  

As the doors hissed closed behind them, the core group of potential crew now remained, carrying on copious whispered conversations and observations.  Lirik wanted to burst their bubble, (and frankly pop one or two on the nose for their insolence and obvious misplaced boredom), but Christian and Jackson had been quite clear not to rile any of the survivors if it could be helped.

"OKAY!!" Lirik bellowed.   "Now listen up!  I want you to form into groups of six."  There was a pause as no one moved.  "Come on!" He snapped sarcastically, clapping his hands and causing his shield to ripple.  "Double quick!  We haven't got all day!!"

People scrabbled: some quickly, still giggling, some of the more stubborn types hardly turned their heads, or cruelly smirked from superior embarrassment as they were knocked to and fro by the others.   After a minute or so, people finally began to make up the many small groups.  Lirik finger pointed one group at the front to form a line of six people side by side.  Immediately next to them, he directed two other groups to line up on either side, forming one long line of 18.

"Okay, sticking with your groups," that were now bartering exchanges, switching and swapping over, he noticed, "fall into ranks behind these three here." Lirik enjoyed this kind of commanding pep drill.

From his vantage point the Yeoman was pleased to see almost neat rows of people forming, even if they did have slack posture and attitude.  He nodded to the Vulcans who descended to the shuttle bay floor and gave three padds to the person at the end of each row.

"Each of these padds contains recorded demonstrations of Starfleet emergency procedures and safety protocols, take one per group of 6.  Each group will shortly break away and review these details together, after which you will select one leader and one second, then record personnel details for every person in the group using the forms provided within the padd.  To make you all easy to identify, I'll be giving each group a unique designation - please remember this as you may need it later.  Understood?"  There were a few nods and the odd murmured response.

Lirik broke a smile.  "You don't have to say "sir, yes sir!" to me, but some form of group acknowledgement would be appreciated.   Like: 'aye sir'.  Understood!?"

"Aye, sir," came the half-hearted reply, though Lirik could tell a lot of people had merely said 'yes' or 'yeah' or merely tutted at the bossy Yeoman.

"Okay, fall out into your groups.   If anyone has a question, please raise your hand and be patient while you wait," Lirik found he was standing, legs apart, with his hands clasped behind his back.  The Vulcans returned to the stage and stood together behind him, silent as ever. 

Lirik watched the small groups huddling together more closely as the noise level slowly began to rise.   Most groups began to talk to each other or bicker over who was going to be in charge.  Some more orderly groups viewed the safety demos first, as instructed, and many faces turned to look at him at least once during the session.   Other groups decided instead to gossip and make suppositions amongst themselves.  Lirik decided that, after his altercation with Christian this morning, it was turning into a very long day - and it wasn't even ten hundred hours.

* * *

COMMAND SECTION, STAND-BY SHUTTLE BAY

In the adjacent hangar space, the mood was less haphazard and almost upbeat.  People formed lines having quiet conversations with their neighbours as the senior staff gave everyone brief interviews.  Christian caught the eye of nearly all the senior officers, except Reb, who seemed uncomfortable.

Hedrik milled around behind Leonard, letting the still blushing man do all the talking.  Reb hung impassively behind Struckchev, the veteran determined to conduct the interviews by himself.  Jackson was interviewing the 'don't knows' and helping Professor Karnak to identify necessary science roles that would be useful: not surprisingly, a large number of mineral prospectors had ventured into the Outer Zone, some looking for new resources, others for the opportunity to work on mining or processing plants.  The sour-faced Professor was having a hard time relating to the swarthy prospecting types, and didn't immediately see their potential in a ship-bound role.

Both Souveson and Cadet Yip were moving down each over-burdoned line taking advance details, and Narli, the Captain saw, instead moved from Qovakian to Qovakian, establishing contact with any possible traders, merchants or those with supply-related knowledge of the local area.

Wheezy was taking details of possible medics on behalf of O'Hara, the others in her team either returning to the beauty spa-cum-sick bay or milling around the volunteers taking medical history details.   The ever-competent Helan had returned to the bridge and engineering on his instruction in order to keep things going, leaving the officers to sort things out down here.

Christian sidled up to Jackson.   "I'm going back to the bridge, I'll leave you in charge here."

She nodded while entering details of a volunteer Bolian onto a padd but did not speak or look up.  Christian caught a snapped conversation to his right - it was Commander Struckchev having a private 'word' with Reb, by the look of things.   The Captain considered Struckchev to be the best candidate for Second Officer, despite his remote attitude, but until things settled down, he had decided not to hone down a strict chain of command.

Christian exited the standby shuttle bay and turned toward the turbolift, then changing his mind, deciding he would first pop his head into one of the corridor's briefing rooms to see O'Hara and her group of children and lend his fatherly/Captainly support.   As he lifted his head, he saw a small figure at the end of the corridor.  The light around it was dim, and he couldn't make out its features, but as it raised its arm toward him, Christian's sixth sense kicked in, throwing him to one side.

The energy blast licked past his left arm, slightly scorching the material of his increasingly damaged jacket and he thudded into the corridor wall.  Another blast successively passed his ear, but only close enough to feel hot.

At the sound of the phaser fire, almost in unison Lirik, Struckchev, Jackson and O'Hara had appeared, tentatively peeking out of their respective doorways.  Christian could see the figure had already headed off out of site down an access corridor.

"The Bajoran girl," Christian was puffing with excitement and physical exertion nodding toward her last location.

Lirik immediately gave chase, but Christian caught his leg.  "Not you, Yeoman," the Captain hauled himself to his feet and pointed toward the shuttle bay.   "You have your own responsibilities now."  Lirik scowled, but held his tongue.  Without further argument, he stormed back into the shuttle bay.

Struckchev and a belated Souveson had instead taken up the pursuit.  Shortly they returned, the bitter looking Ensign closing her tricorder.  "We lost her, Captain, sorry."

"She obviously sees you as some kind of threat," Jackson commented to Christian.

"Perhaps," the Captain said.   "Or maybe I just happened to be the unlucky one who crossed her path."  He could hear children playing loudly out of sight behind O'Hara's opened doorway.

Jackson frowned and rubbed her eyes under her spectacles.  "Surely sabotaging the ship would benefit her more."

Leonard had appeared in the doorway, behind him the large crowd of volunteers pushing their way forward to see what all the commotion was about.  Ambassador Narli chinned his face above someone's shoulder: "Perhaps that is still her intention?"

The Captain nodded.  "We're most vulnerable in engineering and command areas," Christian examined the burnt sleeve - his arm smarted around the blast area.  "Ensign, the Command Section's main engineering is your main priority.   From there I want you to organise guards to all relevant areas.  We don’t yet have internal sensors, so you'll also need to form search parties.   Check with other department heads if you need extra people, but use any of the non-assigned volunteers you want, I want to flush this little bitch out once and for all."

Commander Jackson flinched at his cursory remark, but underneath her maternal instinct, she was just as concerned about the agent's true intentions.

Christian winced slightly from the pain in his arm.   "I want each guard posting to arm themselves and stay sharp.  Lieutenant O'Hara, finish instructing the kids in basic survival procedure, then place them with the other survivors in the shuttle bay under the care of Mister Lirik.  Everyone else, please return to immediate duty."

"Okay, you people who don't have assignments, come with me," Souveson shouted to the majority of helpers.

"I'll get my medkit," the Lieutenant said to Christian, hopping back into her room. Jackson didn't move as everyone else criss-crossed their way through the corridor, most making their way to the turbolift, or ascending through the jeffreys tube.  The Commodore stood in front of Crhsitian.  "Lirik may be able to help with the search," she advised him.

He moved his head close to hers, so as not to be overheard by the few remaining in the corridor.  "Pardon me, Commodore," the Captain snapped in a hushed but annoyed tone, "but what the hell is this?  The bloody Medusan fan club?"  He saw Jackson's expression harden.  "I don't give a damn what special skills that poor excuse of a man may have, we already agreed Lirik's duties, and in this case his responsibility is the welfare of the survivors.  Understood?"

"Loud and clear, Captain Sir," Jackson said sarcastically and joined the departing group in the turbolift bound for the bridge.

Christian glanced around to see if anyone had overheard the exchange and found O'Hara standing in the doorway with her bag, staring at him hard.

"Something to say, Lieutenant?" Christian barked.  O'Hara didn't flinch, but merely raised her eyebrows and walked towards him in silence.   O'Hara gently eased aside the ripped jacket and undershirt material and activated the skin regenerator.   Normally she would have used it with a pain inhibitor, but there was none spare, so she knew there would be brief discomfort. 

The Captain didn't want to show her how much it hurt.   A few moments later, Christian relaxed, comfortable with her hand gripping his arm firmly.   It was nice for someone else to be looking after him for a change, rather than the other way around.  In his experience, relationships between a CMO and his/her Captain were always close because of this physical intimacy that regularly came about.   Often they would be closer to a commanding officer than an Exec.  O'Hara finished her brief treatment and returned to the room of noisy kids without a single word of argument or protest.  Christian was impressed at her restraint.

All at once he was left in the corridor alone again and feeling a little exasperated.  He took a couple of seconds to shut his eyes and regain some sense of poise.   His conscience nagged at him, asking if indeed he was being unfair to Lirik because of what had happened to his parents.  He wrestled with the idea, walking quickly to the turbolift door. 

Everything about Lirik was beginning to annoy him.   His plumpness and his receding hair.   His unrefined English accent, that bloody whiter than white turtleneck of the diplomatic corps and his ever-neat appearance.  And the over-accentuated efficiency.  Even the man's title grated on him: Yeoman.  It was a word that up until recently he had associated with a submissive junior NCO, and yet had now been transformed by Lirik into someone of status and power, just outside of his jurisdiction.  Before their contact with the Ere, he had even received a verbal affirmation from the Yeoman himself that his orders would be followed in future, but how could the half-Medusan guarantee it?  He was a diplomat and used to working alone.

"Bridge," Christian said, then remembered the voice interface of the turbolift car was still faulty.   He pressed the correct key and the system gave an acknowledging 'bong'.  The Captain reminded himself that in many ways, Yeoman Lirik had been one of the key people to be of assistance so far.  Christian ran a hypothetical scenario of the events since the K'Tani attack without Lirik's presence.  He realised that without him, they may not have even escaped from Helub, let alone Vekarian territory.

The turbolift car juddered and stopped.   Christian glanced around at the flickering lights on the car's wall and ceiling and his mind's eye visualised his position high up a vertical shaft within the ship.  He stabbed at the lcars panel, but it wouldn't respond.   Abruptly the car began to descend - albeit not out of control.  Violently, it halted and proceeded quickly along a horizontal course before slowing to a stop.  The doors slid apart to reveal blackness.

Christian looked at the car's blank indicator screen - he had no idea where he could be, but it seemed there was heat, pressure and atmosphere in the dark corridor.  The dimmed light of the car spilled out into the immediate space, but there was nothing to indicate location or function, just the standard grey-tan thin carpet of the command yacht section.  All he knew was he was below Deck 1 somewhere, probably within the Command Yacht.

Without warning, the car began to vibrate.   Fearful that it would shake itself free of the runners and plummet to the bottom of the shaft the Captain jumped out into the corridor, only to find the vibrations were reflected there as well.   It appeared the whole ship was encountering some kind of turbulent imbalance.  He slapped his commbadge, hoping the network would pick up his signal on this deck, despite the apparent lack of local power.   "Captain to Bridge!"

There was no response.  Without warning, the turbolift car doors slid shut and Christian was plunged into total darkness.  He hit the car call button, but nothing happened.  The ship's vibrations jumped to a new level, throwing Christian violently to the floor.

* * *

COMMAND SECTION, MAIN SHUTTLE BAY

Lirik was trying to calm the stumbling, tumbling groups of survivors.  They were screaming, crying out, especially the children whom O'Hara had deposited not several minutes earlier.

"Stay calm!" the Yeoman tried in vain to reassure the crowd above the noises of grating metal and thunderous internal engine sounds.

Emergency lighting had kicked in, and the red strips of alert status winked on and off all around.  Steadied by his scantly clad muscular Vulcan assistants, Lirik made his way to a wall mounted console to try and contact the bridge, before a final lurch sent everyone flailing across the deck.  The ship, it seemed, was now making a violent roll to the right.

* * *

COMMAND SECTION, MAIN ENGINEERING

"What's happening?!" Souveson shouted above the noise to Leonard, who was managing to keep an awkward standing position against the main engine room's diagnostic table, stabbing at the controls whenever he could afford to let go with one hand.  People were rolling and falling to Starboard, one came flying down from an overhead walkway and slammed into the deck, and two were propelled out of site over the guide rail around the warp core and into the warp shaft itself with chilling screams as they disappeared below.   The Ensign herself was holding onto a support column, embracing it with all her strength.

"I don't know!" the German shouted back.   "None of the controls are responding."  Several explosions ripped through the machinery around engineering, and he covered his face from the molten sparks.

* * *

COMMAND YACHT, MAIN BRIDGE

Everyone on the bridge was flat on the floor.   Jackson could hardly turn her head, such was the feeling of g-force winning over the gravity stabilisers and SIF.   Suddenly her head felt light again, the feeling of force gone.  Bright lights came on, and the sounds and noises of the bridge seemed louder than ever before.  It was suddenly over.

"What the hell is this?" Reb shouted as much in alarm as to be heard by the others.  Jackson was helped to her feet by Ganhedra, the Helan leader, and saw that the bridge was fully operational.  Where workstations had previously remained blank, now they were full of data and information.

The Romulan Murak, who was on engineering bridge duty, sat to attention at the engineer's station to her right.   "All bridge stations are now active.   Many systems appear to be coming on line - impulse and warp power, shields, weapons, sensors … voice interface and computer functions read normal…" his words were spoken with disbelief.

"That's impossible!" Jackson came up behind him, but evidently the amount of console activity buzzing around them could not be ignored.

"Commodore!" Hedrik called from the opposite side of the bridge.  She was crouching over an unconscious Commander Struckchev, his temple bruised and bloody.

"Bridge to O'Hara," the Commodore called.

There was no response.  "Bridge to Captain!"  Still nothing, so she grasped Murak's bony shoulder.   "Are you sure communications are functioning?"

Murak nodded his head.  "According to the diagnostic they are fully operational."

"Bridge to engineering," Jackson watched Hedrik trying to make Struckchev more comfortable.  There was still no response.  She turned to Ganhedra who was intently staring at the viewscreen.   "Find a medic, I don't care who."

Murak was busy trying to discover the cause of their apparent return to full power.  He blurted out some cursory sounding words that were impossible for the Commodore's commbadge to translate.

"What is it?" Jackson demanded.

"I will show you," the Romulan changed the viewscreen's main image to reveal a distant shot of a chunky vessel, the top half black, the bottom half gleaming white.  The legend on the rear portion was clear for all to see: SS Fantasy.

"Zoom out," Jackson ordered.   One press of the Romulan's slender index finger changed the image view.  Beneath the small vessel, the long, easily recognisable image of the SS Fantasy appeared, but with a hole gouged out of the top rear portion.   The smaller vessel above it was pulling away.

"It appears that the Command Yacht has been separated from the rest of the ship," Murak looked up at the Commodore, who was looking in disbelief at the viewscreen.

Murak changed the image back to standard viewer ahead.   It was clear from the stars tumbling off to the right that the ship was making a hard turn to port.

"We're turning back on our previous heading," Reb said from the Helm.  "But I'm not doing it."

Jackson looked around the bridge, seeing Ganhedra gently guide the woman called Veana over to aid Struckchev.   "Turn us about.  Take us back to the main ship," she said.

Reb's hands flashed across the helm station, but he shook his head.  "I'm locked out.   No navigational controls are available."

Murak analysed the ship's systems.   "Main power is now being generated from Command Yacht engineering on deck 9 - we're being piloted from there," he said.   After a few attempts, he said: "I can't override it."  He paused.   "We're on a direct heading back to Vekaria."

ACT 2