EP 10 "RESIGNATIONS" - ACT 4
“Captain’s Log, Stardate 51375.2. It’s been two days since we made the decision not to get rid of the Passenger Section. The hull is near completion, and in several hours we will be taking the ship outside for its first integrity test. We’ll also be running through the separation sequences. There is still over several weeks’ worth of internal repairs. Captain Bel has agreed to help us for one of those weeks, the rest will be up to us. Medical exams are almost at an end, though I’m glad to say the crew evaluations have been completed in record time and we are about to assign people ranks and positions. I have also decided on the uniform we are going to adopt. Personal note: quite how I’ve been goaded into this uniform change, I don’t know. Replicators will be back on line in a matter of days, and we could all revert to the current Starfleet design. But the crew are excited about it and Commodore Jackson has convinced me it’s the right thing to do for morale.”
Jackson sat forlornly in her almost unfurnished Exec’s Office waiting for Christian. When the doors slid open, she thought for a moment he had a look of helplessness on his face.
“Well, I’m here. If it’s about your office being so dour, there are plenty others to choose from,“ he began sheepishly, attempting humour to break the ice.
“It’s not about the damned office, man!” she snapped, appalled that he could think of her as so petty at a time like this. Then again, she thought, maybe he had a point. Compared to his own resplendent office and quarters on the deck below, the Exec’s suite fell far short of her expectations. She could deal with that matter later, perhaps.
Christian flopped into the single, comfy seat opposite, trying to guess what her requested audience could be about. He glanced at the padd she gripped tightly in her hand. “Ah…” he surmised, “these would be… the results of the crew’s Starfleet Aptitude Tests.”
“You wanted to see them as soon as they had been correlated,” she spoke with the skill of an accomplished officer, making every word count, every point more than clear. That was good to know, he thought, he needed his exec to be thorough and reliable.
“Of course,” he smiled, “if this is a ship to be run the Starfleet way we can’t have people in positions of authority who don’t know what they are doing, can we?”
“Why did you want me to see them first?” she asked.
Christian smiled harmlessly. “Partly because you are my superior officer. But also, if I may be so bold, because you have decades more experience in personnel matters.”
Jackson almost blushed, and she licked her lips. The Captain cottoned on right away and felt stupid from his bumbling choice of words, blushing himself in embarrassment. He reached over and took the padd gently from her grasp.
For about a minute he studied the results, not able to repress a revealing swallow. “Well,” he said, “that’s not so bad. You’ve not served aboard a Starship for a great many years and your position has never required extensive tactical, engineering or science knowledge. So I wouldn’t have expected-“
“Captain,” Jackson laughed, bitterly. “Don’t try to make excuses. You were right, we can’t have people running the ship who don’t know a..a..an electron particle emitter from a patented domestic dust blaster!”
Christian couldn’t help but crack a smile at her unfortunate choice for comparison. “They do look very similar in shape, actually, Sir.”
The older officer frowned instead of smiled – she felt he hadn’t grasped the impact of the results at all. “I’m not up to the role of First Officer and you know it. I’m not even in the top 10 scorers – ahead of me are a thief, an unscrupulous pilot for hire, and a reformed alcoholic traitor.”
The Captain realised Jackson had thought herself into a hole and he wasn’t about to let his right hand person in all that had happened so far talk her way out of continuing to help him.
He had an idea and pressed a few keys on the padd. “As I thought. According to the Starfleet Examinations Interactive Assessment Protocol you were top scorer in the field of Command, with a forecast projection of Captain or above.”
“Being your First Officer requires more than knowing how to lead people,” she said. “What if you were incapacitated and I had to take command? What if I had to make a crucial decision based on a matter of engineering – or tactical analysis? I could make a fatal mistake. No, Captain, I’m not the best person for the job.”
“And you think I am?” he asked her. She looked puzzled. “According to these assessments, Struckchev’s more qualified to be Captain than me-“
“You tested yourself?” she asked, surprised.
“Of course,” Christian smiled. It had only been an afterthought to do it, though he decided he had the right to keep his score a secret until now. “But in the real world, the difference is that I just got promoted first.” He sighed, but the Kosovan had reminded him of something important. “You know, before passing out of Starship Command School we’re all told that we are nothing more than the sum of who we are. We’re not infallible, and we’re not omnipotent. Any Captain or Commander who thinks that way is doomed from the start.”
“Forget the exams, then. I still lack the knowledge I need,” she almost pleaded.
“You can be taught all that stuff,” he comforted her. “What can’t be taught easily is how to make good judgements and how to keep an open mind, both of which you have in abundance.”
“You reckon?” she balked. “You see who scored highest?” Jackson tapped the desk, not wanting to succumb to modesty. “What if this gets out? We’ll be a laughing stock.”
“These results are just between you and me, as far as I’m concerned,” he smiled.
“Even so,” she resolved, “they’re bound to guess I’m not up to it.” Christian had already decided to ignore her.
In truth, he was slightly concerned about her lack of experience. But until the ship was fully functioning and they were in a position to continue with what they had agreed would be their mission, there would be no chance of him leaving the ship and so less likelihood that the Commodore would have to take command of her. In the meantime, he could teach her everything he knew about ship’s systems and engineering troubleshooting with no problem. The rest was just a matter of rigorous study and learning by experience. And, he reminded himself, having a crew who were sufficiently up to the job of supporting her.
“Ambassador Narli scored fourth,” Christian shook his head, still not quite believing it. “That’s a heck of an achievement for an Ambassador for Trade who’s never served in Starfleet.”
Jackson looked at him strangely. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” she commented.
“What?” he said, boyishly pouting.
“You are sitting there looking at a padd that confirms Yeoman Lirik is the highest scorer of us all, but instead you choose to talk about Struckchev or the Andorian Ambassador.”
Christian shrugged, unfettered. “So he’s multi-tasked across a wide range of disciplines in his roles as a Captain’s Personal Yeoman and as an aide to top Starfleet Brass. He was raised in a Starfleet lab on Earth, you know. He’s bound to have all-round knowledge more than any specialist, and I don’t doubt a few pointers on how to pass Starfleet tests to boot.”
“He scored higher than Struckchev, even,” she leaned closer to him.
“Two points don’t mean much,” Christian scoffed. “The Commander has lost his entire crew recently.
“As Lirik has lost all his associates,” Jackson poked a long nailed finger towards the padd. “If you’re going to take these tests seriously, then what you’ve got there confirms that Lirik should be in command. You should be his first officer, Struckchev second officer and Narli third. And I shouldn’t even make it on to the bridge.”
Christian smiled and tossed the padd aside. “These tests are more telling about the type of crew we – that’s you AND me - are putting together than what field ranks to award them. But all in all it looks like in terms of ability we’ve made the right selection for section leaders. What do you think?”
Jackson yielded to Christian’s talking off point and paused for a moment in thought. “Most need some discipline, basic training and we could all do with refreshers – Struckchev and Lirik included. But I agree, yes. I think they should all do just fine.”
Christian rose and stretched his arms above his head, almost touching the low ceiling.
“So when do we tell them?” she asked.
The captain puffed and collapsed back in the chair. “As soon as is convenient. But I’d like to reserve judgement on the appointment of a Second Officer for now.”
“Really?? Why is that?” the Commodore was intrigued as to why the Captain hadn’t automatically decided on Struckchev for the job. Perhaps he was just toying with her on this subject, but she couldn’t help but hope he’d consider Lirik for the post.
“At this moment in time, it’s best we should keep the peace,” he said. “Come on, we might as well get started.”
* * *
TEN HOURS LATER
The USS Fantasy rested alongside Bel’s ship, its belly open to receive it back, just in case. The launch was a success, the Commodore reported to the passengers and crew. Hull integrity was holding, if patchy in places. Tests on the shields and work on the defence systems and further internal work would get underway immediately. She had also been calling people who’d been told their rank and position to the bowels of the Command Section to collect their uniforms.
Reb stood in line with another thirty volunteers. Slowly the file crept closely forward, but he couldn’t see what was going on just around the corner. People were turning there, but then disappearing.
As he turned the corner himself, a previously unseen (and menacing) Kluless barred his way. Several paces down the corridor behind him three old ladies were busy measuring up the young Eldorian woman who had been in front of Reb during his entire wait – he’d tried to spark up conversation, but there was no reciprocation on her part. There was a short discussion as the old ladies compared tricorder readings and spoke to Narli, who referred to a padd of his own, and then the big blue man disappeared inside a room. Shortly, he returned with a pile of clothing, neatly folded and topped with a pair of black boots.
Narli gestured for the woman to go to the room opposite to change and then beckoned Reb over. As he approached the three hags, he couldn’t help but glance through the doors as they opened across the way. Inside, there were many females in various states of undress, all wearing uniforms of varying colours.
“Front and centre, Lieutenant,” Narli snapped.
The title caused Reb to giggle and smirk. Ten minutes earlier, the Captain had pulled him to one side and congratulated him personally on making the grade. He gave a short speech about how he hoped Reb would not let him down and realise his potential, that things wouldn’t be easy, blah blah, and then despatched him immediately to this remote corridor to collect his uniform. “So what rank are you, Ambassador?”
“Lieutenant Commander,” he said matter of factly, the old women scanning Reb all over. “As in your superior.”
Reb thought better of a retort and waited patiently as they women consulted Narli, and the big blue man went to retrieve his uniform. In truth, Reb wasn’t sure if he’d be assigned to Command – it would be easier to keep him in his place as a member of the Engineering service on detachment to the bridge as a helmsman, so he expected tan. Instead, the Ambassador handed him a uniform with a pale blue department colour. It was the same design Souveson had been wearing recently.
“What’s this? I’m no scientist!” Reb spluttered, slightly uneasy that they were screwing up already.
Ambassador Narli handed him a thin sheet of white plastic. Turning it over, the half-Ferengi saw a colour chart explaining each department. “Flight department?” he identified. “What’s that?”
“Pilots and helm boys, Lieutenant. Because of the layout of the ship, this crew’s diverse range of skilled workers, and our mission encompassing more than the average Starship’s responsibilities, the Captain decided we should adopt this uniform as it represented a greater number of disciplines and services,” Narli stated almost pat. “It will mean more department colours to learn, but in the long run should reduce unnecessary confusion about who does what and for who. Change in there.” Narli thumbed to another door adjacent to the supply room.
As Reb entered, he was confronted by a multitude of semi-naked and clothed men. Madison, nearest to him, was wearing the rank of Lieutenant (Junior Grade) and the colour of ... he consulted his notes … Command. Well, at least that colour was the same. In fact, it seemed that Command, Science, Diplomat and Engineering colours remained the same – maroon, turquoise, white and tan respectively. Medical had reverted to its military olive green of bygone years, Security was lilac and along with the light blue of Flight there was also Grey for Ship’s Services. The Purser’s Office, whatever they were, wore black, the definition between upper and lower sections of colour on this denoted by a thin white piping. Also present were Yellow for maintenance and damage control specialists, Orange for Transporters, Bright Green for Holographic Services, and Candy Pink for School and Tutoring Services, to name not quite all.
Reb espied Lirik on the other side of the room and made his way over. He was surprised to see the man wearing maroon, not black. “You’re in Command?” he said, a little sarcastically.
Lirik straightened and pointed at his commbadge, located, as was all of the officers’, at the end of a shoulder strap that extended from his back over his left shoulder to his left breast. The commbadge retained the red slash of diplomatic corps (Lirik’s own choice). Reb’s mouth dropped slightly as he saw three pips above the commbadge. “Pretty appropriate for a Commander, wouldn’t you say, Lieutenant?”
Reb beamed, suddenly happy for this peculiar man for some strange reason. “Well congratulations, Second Officer Lirik.”
“Ah, actually,” Lirik shifted slightly and lowered his voice. “There is no 2nd Officer. At least not yet, according to the Captain. I may be wearing the pips of a Commander and report directly to Jackson and Christian, but I’m still stuck in this role of Chief Purser. But hey, well done to you…fly boy.”
“Don’t you start,” Reb chuckled.
*
And so it continued. It seemed that no-one among the uniformed volunteers could look at a person’s face before he’d checked out their department colour and rank pips. To O’Hara it felt like the day when all the finals results were published in the main plaza of the Medical School, everyone jubilant with a great sense of kinship mixed with feelings of extreme competitiveness and the knowledge that soon they would all go their separate ways.
“Well I’ll be,” O’Hara, promoted now to a full Lieutenant, checked out Karnak’s garb as she entered the room. Lirik, leaning on a wall of the conference lounge beside her, smiled. The human Vulcan now looked almost totally human, save for her haircut. It seemed that without all the Vulcan garb she usually traipsed around in, she was just like them. And she looked totally uncomfortable in the process.
“Good body,” Lirik commented on her well-proportioned figure. He strained to see her rank pips. “Nice boobs.”
“She’s a bloody Lieutenant,” O’Hara whispered, shocked. “How the hell is that justified when poor old Hedrik’s only been made a Lieutenant Junior Grade?”
“She’s happy enough,” he glanced at the Orion, mesmerised by her reflection in the window. “Rank isn’t only about leadership,” Lirik noted fairly. “Look, here comes the Commodore…that’s if she still is.”
Sure enough, the Commodore retained her rank, it seemed. A shaky looking Souveson closely followed her, though she was trying her best to look composed. She had been promoted to Lieutenant Junior Grade, the reward for being a Department Head, no doubt. Leonard was also still a Lieutenant Commander, and Struckchev still a Commander wearing the command colours.
Narli strode in, resplendent in his uniform, and thankful that he had been allowed to wear the grey of Services as opposed to the Cargo Workers who all wore a fleshy brown – it would have clashed with his electric blue skin tone, he had joked to Lirik.
Warnerburg had been invited to the meeting, as had Murak. While the old veteran was visibly moved at wearing a Starfleet uniform once again, and being given – in her eyes at least – the unprecedented promotion to the rank of Lieutenant, Murak looked decidedly awkward and embarrassed. He had been awarded the rank of Ensign, and what a site he was. The first Romulan in history to wear a Starfleet uniform and not be surgically altered for the event. Jackson gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, the two cohorts noticed.
Unrepressed laughter heralded the arrival of newfound friends Yip and Vostaline. All eyes turned to them as they entered the room, and quietened with much biting of lips and happy eyes. The young cadet walked side by side with the Ore female, both wearing the Fantasy version uniforms of Starfleet Cadets.
Crewman Able it seemed had been given the rank of Chief Petty Officer – her choice, as Lirik explained to O’Hara. She didn’t want to take on any more responsibility than she knew she could handle, and she believed – in a quiet aside to Lirik earlier – that some of these promotions were dangerously over-assumed. The Yeoman inwardly felt the same, but also realised that a strong presence of experienced crew would result, hopefully, in better morale throughout the vessel.
Christian called everyone to attention and gave a pep talk to all the Heads of Department and senior officers gathered there. It hadn’t been the modicum of decorum, not by a long chalk, and the Captain and Commodore repeatedly had to call order, eventually resorting to some stern words. Truly, they all had their work cut out for them. But he made some things clear. For one, they would be parting company with Bel’s ship in under a week. Although he couldn’t disclose more details at this time, he assured them all that they were about to embark on one of the most important missions of their lives, blah blah.
Commander Struckchev gravitated over to Lirik and O’Hara after they’d been dismissed. “So,” the Kosovan nudged O’Hara, “are you still free to adjudicate for a couple of hours tonight?”
“Really, Commander,” the Nurse said, “I can think of better things to do than watch you both playing around with an impulse engine. Besides, just how many of these little contests are you going to have?”
Struckchev looked at Lirik, who looked at O’Hara blankly. “Well, right now we reckon about another forty or so.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the Lieutenant said. Obviously they weren’t. “You can have me for an hour,” the red head caved in, adding, “and only if I can bring a friend. Or two.”
Struckchev didn’t seem keen, which was probably why Lirik had said: “Deal.”
* * *
Commodore Jackson walked into the lecture theatre on Deck 8 of the Command Yacht – just along the corridor from the small medical treatment bay. Seated keenly at the front were Yip and Vostaline, her first two cadets.
“Good afternoon,” Jackson said as she headed for the lectern just a metre or two in front of them.
Yip sprang to her feet, Vostaline rushing to catch up, mimicking her movements. “Good afternoon, Sir!”
“-Sir!” Vostaline managed.
Jackson peered over her glasses at them, amused but restrained. “Be seated,” she said. Then leaning toward them on the lectern added. “And from now on, seeing as it’s just us three here, we can dispense with the excessive zealousness. Just remember to do it now and again when the other officers are around.”
“Yes, Sir,” Yip responded, smiling, and turning encouragingly to Vostaline, who didn’t really follow anyway. “Thank you Sir.”
“Okay,” Jackson called up the first display – page one of chapter one of the Starfleet induction teacher’s aid. “I realise you may already be familiar, Yip, but for Vostaline’s benefit consider this a refresher.” She activated the main view screen. “Behold, the Starfleet Charter. Why don’t we start with you reading it out to us, Cadet Vostaline.”
As the young Helan woman complied, Jackson checked the data index files to be sure her eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on her. Indeed, there were over five hundred of these manuals to go through before the Cadets would pass out through year one.
* * *
PASSENGER SECTION
Christian bounded up the stairs of the Purser’s Office to its uppermost inner sanctum. He was surprised to not have seen anyone here assisting him – not even the doting Fraxon chap, although the Captain recalled he had been assigned to engineering.
“Mr Lirik,” the Captain had entered again without knocking (or the equivalent). Lirik was just glad he’d not been up to any mischief.
“Captain,” he said, grateful for the interruption and the excuse possibly for another alcoholic beverage. “An unexpected pleasure.” Oops – too over the top, Lirik knew as much by the Captain’s facial expression.
“Two coffees, I think,” Christian nodded at the replicator.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” Lirik asked, and then just ordered them anyway. Smelled okay. Tasted – okay, thankfully. In fact, better than any coffee he’d tasted before, presumably as he’d gone without for so long. “Ah, that’s much, much better.”
The Captain sipped his own. “It’s all well and good for you to be up here in your ivory tower, Commander” Christian circled the office, looking again with a little envy at the smart décor. “But you really should find some people to help you on a more permanent basis.”
The Yeoman felt himself blush – Commander, he still couldn’t quite believe it. “Already taken care of, Captain,” Lirik raised a finger and walked over to the painting of the Clevidian Morass on Deneb 3. “I have in fact enlisted a number of civilian helpers. They’re all out on duty. Observe.” As he touched the corner of the garish painting, the canvass shimmered and became a bank of monitors and controls – more clever use of holographic technology.
On the display screens were a variety of events taking place around the ship. “This is Niko Stellisard,” Lirik pointed at the screen nearest to him. Lirik sipped the coffee and paused, looking over at Christian with a mixture of surprise and pleasure. There a man stood amid a mass of overgrown foliage. Lirik explained. “He’s a botanist and tree specialist. A bit…unorthodox, but an expert if ever there was one. Despite appearances, this is the arboretum. We’ve already established there are experienced farmers, cultivators and horticulturalists as well as botanical and life science specialists on board.”
“Mr Stellisard assures me that having talked to the others and to the Helan, he feels sure it would be more than adequate for growing staple crops.”
Christian stepped closer, enthralled. Half of him was thinking this a terrible waste of valuable labour – but then, if the ship had an arboretum, then it might be worthwhile restoring. Perhaps for more than just growing food. On that note, he glanced at another feed and saw a group of women seated in rows around long, uniformly arranged tables, all facing one woman addressing them with great hand gestures. “Who’s that?”
“Er…” Lirik referred to his padd. “Yes, that’s Mrs Verakov. She was once a nutrition advisor to the Federation’s famine relief programme. She’s a chemist, a dietician and nutrition expert, and also an entrepreneur – a self taught chef and caterer of some standing. She’s advised some of the best caterers and kitchens across the Federation as well as written volumes on the subject. So, I’ve got her organising our kitchens and working with Ambassador Narli and the Helan to make the best use of our supplies. She’s also been discussing with Mr Leonard, the Commodore and myself about provision of a number of canteen areas providing meals as and when necessary across the ship. Of course, once the Commander and Miss Hedrik have finished overhauling the replicators and we have our matter stores in order, we’ll be able to review the extent of our fresh food catering needs.”
Christian nodded, suppressing a giggle at the Yeoman’s turn of phrase. “Good work,” he said. “How goes the billeting of crew and passengers? I’ve heard one or two complaints at still having to bed down in the makeshift quarters on the Command Section.”
“All in hand, Sir,” Lirik pointed to a panel showing a short figure weaving in and out of engineers and general helpers on a mission of her own, it seemed. “Thanks to this magnificent person here.”
As the figure turned, there was no mistaking her lineage. “A Ferengi?” Christian raised an eyebrow. He’d not noticed another Ferengi on board.
“A Ferengi female, to be precise,” Lirik said proudly.
“Wearing clothes?” Christian was surprised.
“She’s a strong personality,” Lirik explained. “Quite the organiser, and a brilliant administrator – not to mention outstanding negotiating skills.”
“What’s her name?” Christian saw the woman smile – she seemed to be enjoying the chaos of whatever was going on, and seemed to be commanding a respect in return. He had never imagined a Ferengi female to look so…liberated, and at ease with it.
“Ushar,” Lirik said without referring to his padd. She’d been one of the first to volunteer her services to the Yeoman unprompted. “That’s Deck 20,” Lirik said identifying the location of Ushar and her men. “Deluxe Family Suites. There’s 85 of them, all capable of accommodating families of up to 7. Then above them,” Lirik switched camera to an empty corridor lined with golden carpet and crimson and yellow decoration. “Those are the Nova Class accommodations, sleeping groups of four in a similar unit. And then on Deck 22 we have the dormitories for group parties. With the exception of the last few Deluxe suites, they’re all ready to accommodate every last one of our passengers as of now,” Lirik said.
Christian nodded. It would be a huge relief to the impracticalities of living in the Command and Yacht sections, and could even give them some peace and sense of normality. At the very least, it would provide something to occupy the Passengers for a while, something for them to focus on and feel responsible for. But that was just the passengers. “What about the crew?”
“I’ve already worked out the probable allocation with the Commodore,” Lirik explained. “But until all the crew assessments are over and you’ve assigned the remaining crew to their respective posts, I won’t know in which part of the ship to billet them and in what kind of accommodation. But rest assured, Captain, on a luxury ship of this size no one will have to slum it. Or share, if necessary.”
Christian smiled, then frowned, remembering. “What about the young ones?”
Again, Lirik pointed at another monitor. This time to a panel showing what appeared to be a reception come lounge area. “This is the crèche and nursery centre, adjacent to the ship’s school – yes, this amazing vessel even has its very own small school, only big enough for the infants and juniors probably. There are a number of study and training facilities plus a great many meeting rooms, so the older kids will be well provided for.” Two figures walked into frame carrying boxes, bags and piles of material, a Human and a Helan. “That’s Emma Wilkshire, another great organiser. She used to run her own PR and Events company – she, er, lost her husband and child in the attack, presumed dead. Despite her loss, she’s helping Ardobar, one of the Helan elders, to set up a school. You’ll be pleased to know that the various families, couples and even some single volunteers who’ve found themselves together have taken in all the orphans. No child will be alone, Captain. And rest assured, Lieutenant O’Hara’s staff and my team leaders are keeping an eye out for them.”
“That is reassuring,” Christian felt warm hearing something good about the behaviour of the Passengers, for a change.
“I’m also liasing with all of the parents and guardians on board – and some of the older children – to help organise the tuition,” Lirik indicated several training rooms and lecture theatres on the monitors. “We’ve plenty of library material, and with the holo interactivity, I doubt there’s a course in the known Federation that we couldn’t teach here. As you know, Commodore Jackson is utilising the Starfleet Academy curriculum files in training our two budding cadets.”
“Outstanding…” Christian said honestly. “I know you’ve already organised the safety and standard protocol training sessions with everyone on board. So the only other major thing left I think is the entertainments division.”
Lirik smiled and walked over to one of the passageways. Half way along, he activated a doorway. Curiously, it opened onto a turbolift – he had his own, to his very office. “Let me show you.”
In fact, this turbolift car seemed a lot different to the others – smaller. The journey was brief, down a couple of decks and then in a straight line heading aft, horizontally along the dorsal plane. The single door parted to reveal another office. It was lit only from a dim shaft of light from the corridor beyond. Lirik led the way out of the shabby, empty office into the corridor that ended in what looked like a huge, airy space.
“Welcome to the Starlight Bar,” Lirik gestured to the venue. It was aptly named, as the entire room was covered and surrounded in an intricate domed lattice of glass. The space was sharply elliptical in shape – they’d emerged from one of the narrow points to its aft. The floor before them stepped down in wide tiers surrounding a huge dance floor. It was stripped of all fittings bar the handrails and stairs. All the walls in the sunken section of the bar and floors were painted black, adding to the nightclub feel of the place. In the centre of the dance floor, a bar encircled a stepped area, which graduated sharply up above the tiers and into the glass roof at the apex of the dome. Here, it penetrated it with an antennae array of some sort outside.
Lirik led the Captain down the steps and across the expanse of floor space. He notice there were openings in the walls that led to low ceilinged areas and corridors. He couldn’t help but glance up at the vast canopy of stars above through the vague film of the same mysterious coating that covered the rest of the ship – here, as with other windows, the substance appeared more like slight tinting. Lirik led him round the other side of the central bar area and found a number of people organising glasses and bottles.
“With the Captain’s permission,” Lirik began, causing his ‘crew’ to look up from what they were doing. “I would like to open this space to the crew and passengers. There are seating areas, relaxation booths, gaming areas, holosuites, and cosy little bar areas called snugs. I think that children and adults, crew and passengers, Helan and Human alike will all appreciate having a space they can relax and commune in. Mrs Verakov is organising rations for here, albeit to a limited extent.”
“I’m not the world’s expert on social venues,” Christian stated, watching Lirik’s eyebrow raise at his words. “But it’s not exactly got a lot of … ambience yet.”
Lirik raised a finger and walked over to the bar. First, he activated moody lighting around the areas, and lit up the shadowy alcoves. Then he gestured toward the far end of the bar where there was a large stage. Lirik entered a sequence of instructions into the inset console, and Christian saw a small jazz band materialise onto the stage. They instantly struck up a light, friendly number.
Christian chuckled and nodded. “When are you open for business?” he asked the group of volunteers.
“Lirik says by the end of the week,” an exotic woman beamed over-bosomy to the Captain.
Christian turned to Lirik who said: “Ah, yes, well, with the Captain’s permission, of course.”
“Abso bloody lutely, Yeoman,” Christian smiled and slapped him on the back, forgetting his Medusan energy until he made contact with the shield that permanently surrounded the portly Englishman. “Carry on.”
He led Lirik back to the turbolift. “Who was she?” Christian still had the image of her ample chest in his mind.
The Yeoman smiled – it seemed the Captain had a penchant for attractive women. “Her name is Benet Kuwrah, she used to run one of the large nightclubs on Helub.”
“Hm,” Christian logged the name and accompanied Lirik back to his office. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Christian said, blocking his path and looking directly into his eyes. “What did you find when you downloaded the data from the communications array?”
Lirik nodded and pushed past to his desk. He tapped the controls of the interface and gestured for the Captain to look. “The majority as you see were visual based signals, based on some kind of pattern of energy and light. But several were as you see them here, a glyph based language, based on Vekarian if I’m not mistaken. I’ve yet to make any headway in their translation,” Lirik said. “Even with the information Bel provided, I’ve been stuck – though one thing is clear. This glyph language is the same language as on the transparency I retrieved from Vekarian Minister Re Lorken’s attaché case.”
“You mean the Minister was carrying a K’Tani communiqué?” Christian realised.
“Indubitably,” Lirik joked, though the humour went unacknowledged.
* * *
On the morning of the inaugural ‘party’, Christian watched sombrely as a number of small vessels all varying in design approached Bel’s ship in succession. Something was afoot, the Captain wasn’t sure what. He avoided calling Bel, allowing her the time to come to him if necessary. He trusted her. He only hoped it was good news.
Everyone had grown increasingly enthusiastic about the evening’s event. At the very least, it was the chance to let their hair down for the first time since the bloody invasion. The children were especially thrilled, he was told. The rawness of their situation still smarted, but only a few were resolute in not attending the festivities.
In the meantime, Lirik had requested a very difficult task of the Captain. In fact, it was only the thought of joining the party afterwards that made him feel that he could get through the ordeal.
The door chime sounded. It was Captain Bel herself.
“Something’s up,” she said gravely, snapping him away from any self-important thoughts. “In a big way.”
Christian gestured to the seat opposite and sat back in his own leather upholstered rounded wooden Captain’s chair.
“The situation is a lot worse than I’d ever thought possible. The resistance, such that it was, no longer exists,” Bel said – the Captain thought for a moment she was going to cry. “What’s more, reports have been reaching us that the K’Tani are closing in on this area. It’s time to move on, Captain, for you and for me. Only…we won’t be going together.”
Christian’s heart began to beat a little faster. Recently the reality of their peril had receded, so caught up were they in ship’s business. He also realised how much they had come to rely on the safety and security that Bel’s crew imparted. The thought of travelling on without them seemed almost unimaginable.
“Where will you go?” he asked before he pleaded for her to stay, and then laughed ironically. “For that matter, where will we go?”
Bel passed Christian a small padd, hand sized almost. “This is information on a race we know called the Astrelians. They are a peaceful yet powerful race who rule a small empire a long, LONG way from here. A delegation came to Qovakia just after the K’Tani had been overthrown. At first they were seen by the Qovakian people as a gift from the Gods. News of the K’Tani outrages had been relayed to them over the decades of K’Tani rule. As the atrocities seemed to escalate, and their eagerness to spread their control even further became more apparent, the Astrelians began to get more and more concerned. Finally they could stand by no more and sent a small delegation to Qovakia to help in the resistance.
“They arrived too late, of course. The Government needless to say welcomed them with open arms but, like with you Visitors from the other side of the wormhole, they kept their dark secret of the Ore betrayal from their newfound friends. The Astrelians were too clever, however, and they found them out. When they realised the truth, they turned their backs and headed home offering only pity for such a deceitful race..” Bel licked her lips, then laughed a little – sadly, and not with a hint of humour really. “The thing is, I believe they would help us again, if someone went to speak to them in person – although they are an advanced race, they consider face to face contact over subspace. The fact is, they only decided to come to Qovakia’s aid once the K’Tani posed a significant enough threat. That threat has returned, and so there’s every chance the Astrelians will step forward and be counted again.”
“Hm,” Christian nodded and felt nervous about the next question. “So when you say they’re a long, Long way from here..?”
“About fourteen months,” Bel said, “at maximum warp, so given possible delays for refuelling, unexpected events etc – maybe up to two of your Earth years.”
Christian frowned, considering the situation for a moment. “You’re asking me to take the Fantasy-?”
“Think about it,” Bel said enthusiastically. “Your people will be safe, well away from K’Tani forces – I doubt they’d pursue you once you were well on your way. You’d not have to worry about-“
“I’m sorry, Captain,” Christian interrupted firmly, placing a hand on her wrist. “We’re not leaving our friends and families for that long. We couldn’t.”
“But you can’t stay here,” Bel said. “And someone’s got to go – you are the perfect choice.”
Christian smirked. “Why don’t you go?”
“It’s too bloody far!” Bel said outraged. “What about everything you and Jackson have said? About rebuilding a resistance?”
“I’m not meaning to sound rude or harsh, but your resistance is long gone,” Christian said. “You’ve said as much yourself. Please, I’m not meaning to offend the good name of all the work you and your people did during the last occupation, but you’ve had your time. It’s too dangerous for the old network to continue – and you know it. That’s why you shut it down. But new people will step forward to take your place, I’m sure of that. And you’re too valuable a resource to risk losing – not to mention that the information you all carry in your ship’s databanks as well as your heads, it’s too valuable to fall into enemy hands.”
“It … it seems too cowardly,” Bel said, though she was clearly considering the option.
“Our ship is also far from battle ready,” Christian said, pumping up his argument. “Our people a long way from becoming a reliable crew. What if our ship … broke down on the way? Or we ran into any trouble? I’ve seen your ship. It’s built to last, and is well defended. And those engines must push warp 10 practically.”
“It has been known,” Bel smiled, cheekily.
“If anyone is guaranteed to make it to the Astrelians in good time and in one piece, it’s you,” Christian reiterated.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Bel seemed deflated, then looked at him – hard and penetrating. “Captain, since I first came into contact with Reb on Erowoon I’ve had the feeling, I mean, I’m not gifted in that way or anything. But I just have this incredible feeling that you’re meant to be here, involved in this somehow. It’s as if, I don’t know, you just seem to be a ray of hope,” Bel giggled, gesturing around her. “Despite your crappy ship and disparate crew!”
“Er,” Christian licked his lips, smiling again. “Thank you, I think.”
“You realise, it means I’ll be gone for four years, possibly longer,” Bel said, then stood up rigid. “What the hell am I saying?! I can’t go away for that long - a lot can change. Hell, there may be no one to save by the time I returned. No, I’m sorry, Christian, I can’t go.”
“Yes you can,” Christian said firmly, taking her by the hands and pulling her closer to face him. “We WON’T go, so unless you can find someone else..?”
Bel hung her head. “Those other ships, they were what was left of my network. They all decided it was too dangerous to remain where they were and agreed to close shop and ship out. They’ve all got their own plans, scattered throughout the Outer Zone. Some will try to set up new resistance cells while others will go to ground. But it’s a moot point anyway as none of their ships could cover the distance.” Bel pulled away and strode over to the window. “Oh Christian, what a mess this is.”
“Then you’ll go?” Christian asked cagily.
Bel nodded. “I suppose. But there’s an upside for you,” she said. “A few of my crew would probably want to stay behind. Who knows, if I ask them nicely they might even be willing to join your crew.”
“They’d have to learn the Starfleet way,” Christian quipped.
“You implying my boys couldn’t hack it?” Bel squared off to him playfully.
He chuckled. “Actually,” he offered, “we could do a trade..?”
“A ‘trade’?” Bel asked, confused. “Of what?”
“We have a number of people aboard who don’t want to be here,” he explained, watching her back go up as he did. “If they went with you they’d be safe, away from harm and whatever the K’Tani are chasing us for.”
Bel was emphatically shaking her head. “I have one rule for my ship – no freeloaders,” she said in explanation. “No way, no how. It’s your problem – you deal with it.” She walked toward the exit. “No offence.”
Christian shrugged. “None taken, I guess. When will you leave?”
“First opportunity,” Bel said. “I suggest you do the same. Oh, the padd also contains a few suggestions as to your next port of call. And… a little gift, just from me to you – as in, your eyes only.”
“Thank you,” Christian said, intrigued, and watched as the pert woman shuffled out.
* * *
LECTURE THEATRE FOUR, PASSENGER SECTION
The theatre was tiered with seats on three sides – plush seats, and the centre was a holo capable demonstration area. Christian stood in the centre of the empty floor alone. He heard the many footsteps approaching and turned to his left, watching Yeoman Lirik – Commander Lirik – lead the way in. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and gestured for the many people following him to ascend the audience levels and take a seat.
Christian couldn’t help himself, he was counting them all in. Several dozen later, however, he was focussing instead on each individual and lost count. They were a total cross section, but their faces were resolutely… well, pissed off. It was clear that some were traumatised still from the K’Tani invasion, but as they turned and locked eyes with him there was a message of defiance and not a little hostility.
Finally they were all seated – and there were a lot of them. Some were whispering nastiness among themselves, others were muttering things at him, a few obscenities even.
“Thank you all for coming,” Christian said loudly and authoritatively. He paused and looked among them, a little over-egged. “You want off this ship, that’s fine by me,” he said, more in keeping with a drill sergeant than a captain. He decided a while back that this method of addressing ‘grizzlers’ as his mother called them was the best for a positive reaction. “But it’s on my terms. You people have three choices: you can opt to help us, join in as a part of this crew. Or, you can learn ship’s protocols and remain on board until an opportunity arises for you to debark at a safe location. If you refuse both of these options and continue to be obstructive and unhelpful, you will be placed in a secure location also until such a time for you to debark arises. I simply cannot afford for-“
“Captain, if I may,” the tall Tiburonian man stood and addressed him in a loud voice. Before the Captain could respond, he continued: “we’ve been talking among ourselves at great length. While we do not want to be a part of this crew or your activities, we are willing to be accommodating. Isn't that right?”
General murmuring was pricked by the odd shaking of a head, stubborn to the last. Christian and Lirik exchanged a look of surprise.
“Thank you, Mr Tyraide,” Lirik spoke up first. “I had not realised that you had changed your minds about the situation.”
“There’s a lot you people clearly don’t know,” Tyraide said, difficult in the face of humility. “Anyway, if that will be all?”
Christian didn’t want it to end like this – it was as if Tyraide had the upper hand in the minds of ‘his people’. “Please,” he spoke as they began to stand and shuffle out. “If any of you would consider assisting in ship’s duties, even if it is just for a short amount of time it would be of help.”
No one answered as they moaned their way out, most shaking their heads at the absurdity of being dragged all the way here just for a one minute exchange that could have been avoided in the first place.
“I’m so sorry, Captain,” Lirik remained behind as the final people passed out of the lecture theatre. “If I’d had any idea they had decided to cooperate-“
“It’s okay, Commander,” Christian smiled in comfortable defeat. “At least they’ve agreed to that. Mind you, that’s a lot of people to be carrying as cargo.”
It was Lirik’s turn to smile. “Oh, I don’t know, Captain,” he said. “We have ways. In time, some might very well change their minds.”
“One thing I didn’t have a chance to make clear,” Christian snapped his fingers, annoyed at being distracted. “I want all individuals of school age among that sorry shower to be tutored along with all the other kids. I’m sure they wouldn’t disagree with that at least.”
“I’m not so sure,” Lirik retorted. “But I’ll … ask them.”
* * *
STARLIGHT BAR
The party swung beyond even Lirik’s inflated expectations. The availability of synthahol went down a bomb, and the music and entertainments Hedrik had managed to conjure up via the holo emitters were outstanding, especially the children’s entertainment.
“What did you say this was again?” Bel was transfixed on the frenetic activity within the small square opening high up in the narrow candy striped tent, and quite unable to understand the strangely threatening voice coming from within.
“Punch and Judy,” Christian said, gazing down at the small children scattered about on the floor. Most were shouting frantically at the long nosed, rosy cheeked character with the pointy hat with the bell end as he kept ‘missing’ the crocodile every time he looked round for it.
“Fascinating,” Bel hooped an arm through his and guided him over to a robot offering a tray of drinks. She took two, offering Christian one. “Well, this is goodbye,” she said, holding her drink up. “I believe it’s your tradition to toast a farewell.”
“Amongst other things,” Christian smiled and clinked glasses with her.
“To the future,” Bel whispered.
“To peace,” Christian spoke just as softly. “Whatever it takes.”
Bel frowned, but drank with him.
She placed her glass back on the tray. “Take good care of my men. I might be better off with three less salaries to pay, but they’ll be sorely missed nonetheless.”
“I will,” they held hands, then she kissed him firmly on the cheek. “God’s speed,” he said as she walked away, nodding to Peach and a few others. Her men nodded and waved to him and some of the other crew as they departed.
The band struck up a lively number and a large contingent of passengers and crew swept onto the large dance floor. In an instant, Christian thought, it was as if Bel and her people had never been there.
He walked up the several tiers of lounge and dining seating areas and reached the base of the glass dome structure on the ship’s starboard side. He looked out at Bel’s ship close by. He watched for many minutes as the band played on behind him. Her long dry-dock section began to fold in on itself as the long struts retracted, the two parts of Bel’s ship coming together in a matter of a few minutes.
Once re-configured for long-range travel, the vessel turned slowly and fired its impulse engines, slowly pulling up and away. Christian turned to his right and saw that all the people in the Starlight Bar were also up at the windows, watching as the ship departed, the band still playing on.
* * *
** EPISODE 11: THE B'DET