EP 7 "EROWOON: PART I" - ACT 1
Christian led Jackson into the Captain’s office below and
behind the bridge and secured the doors after them.
The Commodore raised an eyebrow, intrigued at such caution.
Stepping over to the large map table he
spread his hands wide, much like he had done less than an hour before, and hung
his head, taking a deep breath and an opportunity to relax.
“Do you believe that there’s a pot of gold
at the end of every rainbow?”
Jackson stood across the table from him, studying his mousy
brown, matted head of hair while waiting expectantly. Closing his eyes,
Christian reminded himself of what he was - a Starfleet Captain, and new to the
full-time position, despite his experience as a command officer while serving
as XO on a very demanding ship. Now,
because of the situation they’d been thrown into, everyone on board the various
parts of the Fantasy was depending upon him, and he had to keep a clear head
above all others. Even Jackson.
The Commodore felt slightly irritated that he was keeping
her in suspense for so long. “Well?”
she prompted, a little too brusquely.
Opening his eyes, Christian caught his reflection in the
glass surface of the table. Bearded,
bedraggled, with dark lines under his eyes and all facial shadows cast deeper
by the single light from the desk lamp, Christian pointed into the shadows
beneath the glass top. Jackson leant
over, her new glasses affording her a highly detailed view of a mechanism of
some kind underneath.
“What is it?” she couldn’t identify any familiar parts.
“It’s strange, but I hadn’t paid much attention to this,
about the biggest piece of furniture in the office,” the Captain crouched low
and studied the decorative carved side panels of the table.
Jackson followed suit, her knees clicking in the
process. The table, about one and a
half metres square, was encased in solid dark wood, each intricate panel a
stylised image of sea legend: mermaids, monsters, fishes, sea ferns and myriad
shells and pebbles.
“You’d expect a map table such as this to have either
drawers with maps stored flat inside, or to provide some kind of interactive
holographic program,” the Captain explained.
“I’m sure there is some kind of technology for creating star charts here,
but when I was studying the table earlier all I could see were these carved
scenes. However, further investigation
found that when touched in a certain way,” he touched a mermaid’s tail and that
side of the table split open, causing Jackson to gasp.
He continued: “the decorative panels around
the table popped open to reveal small, concealed lockers of varying shapes and
depths.”
Christian reached inside and pulled out a number of items,
placing them on the table. “Though most
were empty, one narrow, deep locker contained old rolled up 2-D maps of unknown
localities of space and miscellaneous antique naval charts.
Another revealed a woman's earring of the
gaudy, dangly variety - perhaps mislaid during an errant encounter with a
previous ship's Captain,” Christian grinned mischievously, holding up the
object. Its diamond encrusted silver
strands hung from a large single ruby heart, the facets twinkling shades of
rose pink and deep red in the light.
“Really,” the Commodore was secretly intrigued by his
romantic suggestion, but didn’t want to admit it. “Is it worth much, then?”
He ignored the crack.
“So at first there seemed no indication of the mechanism itself,”
Christian walked around the table.
“However, on the third side of the table, there was only this one large,
glorious panel depicting an old triple rigged ship braving a rough sea.
By caressing the rigging and waves and
running my hand along the surface just so, this panel also split in two to
reveal…”
Christian ‘flicked’ the relevant switch, causing the side of
the table to pop open and the Commodore to flinch with expectation.
She peered inside.
The dark interior glowed with several coloured lights that
brightened to full intensity as an octagonal console cranked its way
forward. There was seemingly no logic
to the elaborate, outdated console's design, but she was sure this was the
holo-technology that Christian had made inference to.
“It’s a technology I hadn’t seen before.
So I was about to withdraw, leave my
investigations till later, until I noticed a single switch housed discretely in
the lid of the cubby-hole,” Christian pointed to the small barely noticeable
key. “It’s positioned as if it could be
activated in secret from a standing position by reaching underneath the opened
unit, so …I did.”
Christian stood and reached under just so, Jackson following
suit. He felt along the underside of
the open unit until his finger contacted the soft clicking button.
As it did, across the room in front of them
a small section of the wall adjacent to the office's angled entrance shunted
inward with an inviting hiss. The crack
of darkness gave way to flickering lights, and increased to brighten what
looked like a hidden passageway beyond.
"My, my," Jackson was pleasantly surprised,
beginning to guess what was coming next.
"So, yet another hiding place,” Jackson walked up to the thin
entrance and felt the warmth of the bright lights beyond.
"'Another' hiding place?
What do you mean by that?" Christian paused.
"Over the past couple of days since leaving Ere space
the search parties investigating the Command Section have found similar hidden
closets and secret cubby holes on several decks of the Command Section,"
Jackson said. "What with that and
your ‘hidden deck’ it seems the culture of this passenger liner was at one time
a web of intrigue and deception – something the refitters clearly wanted to
retain." She watched Christian
pull a surprised ‘is that so’ kind of face.
"It's all in Yeoman Lirik’s reports, Sir," Jackson
nodded over to the desk indicating the padds that Christian hadn’t yet
read. "So far only empty spaces
and a few non-valuable oddments have been found."
"So anyway, at first I couldn’t think where this
lead," Christian said, returning her abruptly to his own story, and then
heaved the wall further inward.
It was almost a squeeze for the Captain to side-step into
the bright interior of the narrow corridor beyond.
The deck, walls and ceiling were all sprayed a brilliant white
glossy finish, though there seemed little air conditioning within.
Jackson had a much harder job squeezing her
way in, but once huddled together inside they slowly made their short but cosy
journey a few steps forward, then a few sharp right.
The passage then ended abruptly with a conventional doorway on
the left.
Christian cast a short look over his shoulder at his senior
and, pleased at seeing her anticipation, grasped the handle, twisted it and
pushed. Opening inward, more lights
flickered into life in the space beyond, but this time an amazing,
multi-coloured panacea was revealed.
Christian muttered to himself as they stepped carefully
inside the larger but cluttered interior.
Jackson whistled in awe.
The entire room was crammed full of treasure.
All around the walls and stacked on the
floor were paintings, elegant statues, masks, and ornate boxes overflowing with
gilded, gem encrusted precious items.
Guns, ceremonial swords, head dresses, elaborate phaser devices and orbs
of infinite colours were on display behind glass or in open, silk-lined
chests. Small velvet lined cases and
tiny highly decorated nik-nak boxes cosseted swathes of jewellery comprised of
rare metals and thousands of many faceted stones – rings, bracelets, belts,
necklaces, earrings and keepsakes.
Yards and yards of bright silks smothered piles of fur and tight,
well-bound leather goods.
“I felt like searching for an overflowing treasure chest of
gold deblumes, perhaps with a cutlass sticking out, but there wasn’t one,” he
beamed.
“There could well be one buried in here somewhere, it would
look right at home,” the Commodore smiled back.
She pottered about noting several objects – an art nuveau style
blue enamelled trinket box lined with platinum, a seven tiered ocracite
necklace decorated with hundreds of filaments of swirling liquid gold and a
pair of Zebo fur trimmed irlikay-silk gloves embroidered with silver thread and
tiny baguettes of moon crystal.
"See those cases over there?” Christian nodded toward
ten or so square shaped cases of Ferengi origin stacked in a far corner.
Jackson, wide-eyed, read the alien writing
with ease and knew immediately what they were.
“…Latinum Cases?” she gawped.
“Full to the brim,” he said.
“That’s .. my God, that’s got to be about a million bars of
gold-pressed latinum in total,” Jackson was flabbergasted, but also relieved
that latinum and other precious metals and stones were just as acceptable as
tender in the Outer Zone as they were back in the Federation.
“What a stash, eh?" Christian commented again in a
sense of self-satisfaction, lifting several alien works of abstract art and
turning them over. "It must be the
Captain's trophy room - civilian Captains have been renowned as collectors of
great treasures for centuries."
The Commodore suddenly stood bolt upright.
“Hang on.
You’ve checked this isn’t a hologram, I take it?”
Christian took a tricorder out of his pocket and tossed it
to her. She picked up the nearest item
of jewellery she could find – a single opal surrounded by diamonds strung on
lace fretwork necklace of gold.
“I’m impressed,” she smiled at the composite readings.
“With any luck, we’ll have more than enough to see us
through any supplies and repairs we need for quite some time,” the Captain
said, picking over a pile of neat tapestries.
"Not a bad wine cellar here either, Captain,"
Jackson peered longingly at the dusty labels of vintage varieties, interested
in making more finds.
"I'm amazed someone would have left it all here like
this, aren’t you?" Christian commented, handling a pistol of ancient alien
origin.
"Maybe they didn't get the chance to take it with
them," the Commodore slapped her hands free of dust and began making a
full audit with the tricorder.
* * *
RUNABOUT HUDSON APPROACHING BETA SECTION: 1239 HOURS
The runabout Hudson glided smoothly into the main shuttlebay
of the Command Section, its landing so soft that Captain Christian barely awoke
from his seated slumber before Commander Struckchev boarded and came aft.
The Captain had been feeling exhausted ever
since their encounter with the K’Tani employed android Pim and their narrow
escape from K’Tani clutches, but he had refused to take any rest until they
were reunited with the others – this short trip had been his first chance to
get some shut eye.
“Sir,” said the huge Kosovan in his best English.
“Lieutenant Commander Leonard has asked to
see you right away.”
Christian cracked a tired smile, holding on to the same padd
he had grabbed before leaving the Yacht, not that he had read a word of
it. “And in which engineering section
would he be, Commander?” he quipped.
“There seem to be so many aboard this crazy ship.”
“Actually, Sir, he’s in triage,” Struckchev displayed no
emotion, hardened military type that he was.
“He’s not hurt himself, but it sounded like bad news.”
“Great,” Christian sighed, deflated. Currently, the awkward
German engineer should have been in the Passenger Section, armpit deep checking
over the warp drive systems as a matter of urgency.
Having decided to take the Yacht to Erowoon, the Alpha and
Beta sections of the Fantasy had limped further away from the asteroid fields
and the EM rich environment that had hindered their progress so badly in order
to find a safe hiding place. A short
jump at warp took them into a rough, little travelled patch of space, pitted
with nasty lumps of dark matter and several ferocious strands of ancient,
dissipating nebulae. The Passenger’s
warp drive had then started to play up – apparently the engine ‘liked’ to run
on a fuller tank, so the German engineer had explained flippantly.
Finally, they had found what they’d been looking for - a
relatively small, dense, dalmation nebula in which to hide the Beta Section and
take stock. As with other dalmation
nebulae, the problem was that instead of a large expanse of gas, there were instead
many clumps of gasses packed closely together, thus leaving narrow corridors of
open space between them.
It took a while to find one large enough to contain the Beta
Section, and sadly Professor Karnak’s initial assessment of the gasses
concluded they were mildly corrosive with unpredictable em activity – that
would put them on a time limit and risk further damage to the ship.
But it was the closest anomaly to
sufficiently hide them.
Christian had then signalled the Yeoman to bring the Hudson
over to collect Jackson, Struckchev, Narli and most of the Helen, asking his
Exec to assess the situation ahead of him and have each Section Leader prepare
a succinct report for his reading en route to Erowoon.
The Captain meanwhile wanted some time to catch up on
Lirik’s previous reports and ‘freshen up’.
He requested Lirik to come back to the Yacht in one hour to bring him
over for an inspection and a short briefing before the Yacht departed for the
space station. However, in an
unprecedented act of arrogance and belying all common Starfleet practices,
Lirik had ignored the Captain’s order and instead sent Yip in his place.
A cadet, no less!
Christian shook his head, returning to the present.
Yip, Christian and Struckchev exited the
otherwise empty shuttle bay, bathed in the yellowy cream light from the gasses
beyond the containment field, and walked with heavy echoes across the short
corridor and toward the turbolift opposite.
The lights were on power-save, a dim, orange glow that faded
further once a section became unoccupied.
Bulkheads were sealed across main corridors to restrict life support to
essential areas – at the same time protecting against any errant
arachnids. Energy was being preserved
in every way possible to supplement the ship’s defence fields currently
protecting them from their dangerous hiding place.
As they travelled in the turbolift, Christian noticed Yip
occasionally glancing at the Commander, a strange look of concern, anger and
disappointment on her face. The Kosovan kept his chin up, his eyes forward,
ignoring her. In the Captain’s opinion,
despite having been cooped up in the gaggle of otherwise empty escape pods for
several days, the Cadet and the Commander didn’t seem particularly close.
If anything, they seemed estranged – almost
as if something fateful had happened.
Normally such a dire situation would bring people closer together, but
the demise of the USS Pappillon had instead seemed to drive a wedge between
them.
“Has the Professor given you her full assessment of the
nebula cloud?” the Kosovan asked, disturbing Christian’s train of thought.
The Captain looked up into the big-jawed swarthy face – hair
erupting over much of his cheeks, jaw and neck, giving him the look of an
ancient Earth pirate. “Not yet.
But I’m betting no K’Tani worth his salt
would think of entering such a corrosive maze of a gas cloud unless they were
absolutely sure we were here,” he said.
“How long have we got before the nebula gasses start to
affect us, Sir?” Yip asked – despite her own loss, she was still a regular
little cadet, keen to learn, eager to please and always trying to join in
whenever possible.
“The nature of the nebula’s make up means some people are
naturally affected from the outset. But
the ship’s hull and systems should be protected for as long as our defensive fields
can hold out,” Struckchev replied. It
sounded as if the Commander was just going through the motions of making
conversation, Christian could tell from his tone of voice – either that, or he
truly was divorced from his feelings right now, and just playing the part of an
attentive staff officer.
Christian admitted to himself that that could be a pitifully
short amount of time in which his group would have to accomplish their mission
on the station.
The turbolift doors parted and the Captain made his journey
once again through the winding corridors to the former luxury beauty spa.
Unlike the last time, however, it was pitch
black along several corridor sections where only thin strips of fibre-optic red
lights in the carpet guided the way.
His heartbeat increased as he thought of the spider - or spiders - on
the loose, and only calmed when he remembered the huge Commander was several
paces behind.
Upon arrival he saw that the multi-levelled area was once
again full of the survivors. They
looked less miserable than the last time he’d seen them, and some groups even
nodded or smiled an acknowledgement as he walked past, genuinely pleased to see
him. One or two patted him on the back, for some strange reason.
Christian shook his head – this was no way
for anyone to live, especially the children.
Once the arachnids were dealt with, he decided, the survivors should be
allocated quarters to at least give them back some shred of decency; this ship
was one big floating hotel complex after all.
The Captain noticed that some people laying down on
make-shift guerneys were clearly suffering from a host of minor injuries caused
by the violent separation, and others sensitive to the mild radiation in the
nebula were being treated for general sickness.
Behind the familiar, ominous plastic curtains ahead,
Christian could see shapes slowly moving around.
Who was it this time?
Heart beating slightly faster, the Captain stepped through the curtain –
he had no idea what to expect. There
was Leonard, O’Hara and her medical team, all surrounding a groaning teenage
girl, writhing on a treatment bed, her clothes ripped in slashes across her
bloody mess of a stomach.
“What happened?” Christian asked slightly aghast.
“Would you believe, scratched by a spider?” O’Hara said quietly,
damping the wounds and using what looked like a needle and thread to tie the
ripped flesh together as Wheezy held her firmly down.
“And we’re talking a big mother here, by all accounts.”
The Captain’s face went ashen.
“Where there’s one, there’s more...” he murmured.
“What?” Leonard briefly glanced at him, otherwise transfixed
by the blood and gore.
“Something Souveson said,” he explained.
“Will she be okay?”
O’Hara cocked her head as like a twitch, her eyes intent
upon her work. “Ordinarily I would say
yes,” she paused while she held the twine taught as Sister Matthew tied off and
quarterised the end - one down, six to go.
“But with such a lack of medical equipment and medicine, I can’t be
certain. What I wouldn’t give for a
dermal regenerator right now. But more
than that I’m worried about infection – this ship is far from a sterile
environment.”
For once, the Captain heard a softer, more vulnerable
approach from O’Hara.
“How did it happen?
Where..?” Christian asked.
Leonard answered.
“Some kind of Planatology Study Lab, by all accounts.
Perhaps a Stellar Cartography facility, or
this ship’s equivalent. Some of the
children managed to sneak away from their guardians and go exploring in the
upper decks of the Passenger Section.”
Christian scowled and looked around, eager to find someone
to blame – the thought came in a flash.
“Damn that diplomat! I told him
to keep everyone away from unexplored areas!”
Christian had personally put Lirik in charge of the civilians in the
last few minutes before their fateful ship separation.
“I won’t say I told you so, because I didn’t.
But it was bound to happen, sooner or
later,” O’Hara muttered. “Kids will be
kids, after all, Captain, and we can’t put everyone under lock and key just to
keep them safe.”
The Captain shook his head.
“I’m not having this. We’ve got
too many other things to deal with.”
“What..??” O’Hara scowled, misunderstanding.
“Are you suggesting a bug hunt, Captain?” Leonard asked,
thinking once again of his old friend Winston Winston’s passion for old
‘sci-fi’ movies. “I’ve already brought
everyone out of the Passenger Section, sealed it off, and re-routed engineering
control to the Command Section’s emergency bridge.
Ensign Souveson’s got several ideas for a way to track the
creature down.”
“If only it were that simple,” Christian retorted.
“When the Yacht was separated from the rest
of the ship I was trapped on a deck with another such spider.”
“Jesus, there are more?!” O’Hara looked the Captain in the
eyes, wondering briefly how he’d managed to survive said encounter.
Struckchev chipped in for the first time, his comment
ominous. “They could be anywhere on the
ship – we’re still blind to most of it with internal sensors off-line.”
“It’s an infestation, all right,” Yeoman Lirik appeared
through the curtain, closely followed by Souveson.
“Mister Lirik, I told you to look after the civilians!
Not get them killed!” Christian angrily
gestured to the prone, now unconscious girl.
“Explain yerself.”
Lirik straightened, sensing the same animosity the Captain
had shown to him on previous occasions, and a sinking feeling gripped his
belly. This was all so unfair, but he
would be damned if he’d let the Captain treat him this way again in front of
others. Yet he hesitated – this was
hardly the right time or place for a showdown.
Before he could decide either way, Souveson stepped between them.
“We’ve spoken to the girl’s friends.
They were told several times not to go
beyond the safety of the beauty spa – once by Yeoman Lirik himself,” the
Canadian nodded to the prone girl, “but this one was determined, it seems.
She must be something of a thief or would-be
engineer as well, Sir, easily bypassing security locks to make it onto the
Passenger Section undetected.”
Christian shook his head, more trying to think of another
way to pin the blame on the Yeoman.
“But, why..?”
“You may as well ask her yourself, when she’s better,”
O’Hara clipped. “But not now,
okay? Now could we have some space
here, this is a triage not a debriefing room.”
The extraneous officers quickly made their way beyond the
curtain, where three young teenage girls were anxiously waiting.
“Will she be okay, Captain?” the smallest one, a Kelvanite,
asked tearfully.
“We hope so,” Christian smiled.
“Just let this be a lesson to listen to the crew when they tell
you to do – or not do – something in future.”
“Yes, Sir,” a well-spoken English girl, the eldest of the
group, responded politely. “It won’t
happen again.”
They turned to leave, but Lirik stopped them.
“Sir,” he pushed the last girl who had
spoken forward and stepped back, allowing her the space to speak for
herself. “Go on,” he prompted kindly.
“Tell him what you told me.”
“We saw lots of small planets,” she explained.
“Thousands.
They covered the floor and went up in piles around the walls.”
Christian and Struckchev didn’t understand – the girls had
probably seen globes, artistic, scale representations of many planets, probably
also bound for the Federation Archive, no doubt.
“And were these planets all different?” Lirik teased the
information further.
“No, they were all the same – a kind of veiny, bluey black
metallic colour,” she said.
Lirik nodded to the Captain. “Eggs,” he whispered.
“Thousands.”
ACT 2