EP 3 ACT 3
"Did you say life signs?" Rebbik hadn't thought of running into any aliens, for some strange reason.
"Approximately two thousand, going about their business in and around the power emitter station," Lirik slumped back into his seat. "I hadn't detected them before because of the magnetic interference."
Having found a further network of larger conduits deep beneath the surface of the planet, the Hudson had covered a great distance in good time, homing in on the nearest source of magnetic emissions. The Hudson's course took them up the inside of a large mountain range through the twisting network of lava pipes to come to rest in the darkness on a number of horizontal struts where they had spent the best part of an hour seeing what would happen.
Positioned some one hundred metres inside and thirty metres below the mouth of an opening in the mountain's side, the exit itself was perched at the edge of a vast ravine that dropped down the side of the mountain to sea level and beyond, deep into the planet's surface.
On the other side of the crevasse was the castle-like structure containing one of the planet's energy emitters and presumably housed the alien life forms. The span was about twenty five metres wide from the edge of the cave mouth to the bottom of the structure's sheer escarpment on the opposite side. The only means of getting across was by way of a 'bridge' composed of a lattice of lava struts, no more than a foot space wide in places.
Inside the warmth and relative safety of the runabout, Rebbik could only think of one course of action. "The K'Tani must have given us up for dead, we should just lie low in here then fly out under the cover of darkness."
Lirik stood and stretched, then found himself a pad and began making a few notes with an old fashioned scribing pen. "Nice sentiment, but I've detected the K'Tani ships twice in the last hour. They're still up there, and scanning the surface for us, it seems."
Rebbik stood for the first time since they'd left the Fantasy, his leg muscles shuddering in surprise. He felt an urge for the bathroom. "I gotta go take a leak. I hope you've got a plan worked out."
"I have," Lirik said, almost smugly. "Don't press the reclaim handle when you're done in there, okay?" Reclamation of waste was a field priority for Starfleet personnel, but given their circumstances, so was conservation of energy.
* * *
Hedrik almost pulled too hard on Christian's sleeve as he approached the command platform of the bridge. "You've got to see this," she said. Christian noticed Hedrik had unbuttoned her blouse slightly and had released her hair in waves about her head.
"She's been asking to see you for some time," Jackson half smiled, much to Souveson's ire.
Taking him by the shoulders, Hedrik stood Christian facing the Bridge turbolift doors to the left of the command seats. "I've been working with a few mining technicians on the system's mechanics, and we think we've got the turbolift system licked," she said excitedly.
Christian remained impassive. "Not a priority, Miss Hedrik, but they would be very useful," he said. His legs were behaving as jelly following his last climb from Engineering, it was true.
Hedrik flipped the turbolift interface panel and inserted a couple of old isolinear chips she had found after a lot of searching. "Now it's not a fully functional system, it will be just one car for the moment. One more second and I'll have it open." Hedrik replaced the panel and stood with her back to the door, facing Christian and the others. "Ta Da!" She cooed as the doors slid apart behind her.
The immediate reaction of the people in front of her was not what she expected. Instead of smiles, they recoiled gasping and wide eyed. Two volunteers even screamed in the split second that Hedrik began to realise there was something horrific in the opening behind her.
Before she could turn, the ragged corpses teetered and fell forward on top of her. She barely screamed herself, collapsing under their decaying weight, and smelling the vile air that had been trapped in their lungs as they exhaled on impact.
Face and neck covered in slimy stench and still gibbering and kicking helplessly, Christian and Souveson pulled Hedrik free of the knotted limbs and let her fall sobbing into the still shocked Jackson's arms. Christian winced at the smell, but Souveson ignored it to study the bodies up close. It seemed she was suddenly in her element.
She rolled one corpse over and first studied the grizzly face hard, then the clothes as she searched their empty pockets. "They're in uniform," she said. "Anyone recognise it?"
Ambassador Narli, who had witnessed the spectacle unmoving, stepped forward. "I think they are the uniforms of the Qovakian senate guard," he observed. "I wonder what they were doing in there?"
Souveson scanned the inside of the turbolift and turned back to the gruesome heap. "No apparent wounds. Judging from their decay, they've been in there for some time."
Someone at the back of the bridge finally got the view of the little scene they wanted and promptly barfed.
"Get those civilians away," Christian ordered Jackson who palely nodded and began to usher everyone into the rear of Deck 1, corralling Hedrik along with them.
Christian hit the command chair armrest panel. "Lieutenant O'Hara, please report to the bridge." He swallowed several times to free his mouth of saliva, feeling slightly in awe of the Ensign's control.
* * *
Lirik tried the command sequence a second time, but the computer denied. He ran a diagnostic, then turned to face Rebbik. "We can't transport in, there's too much interference from the concentration of energy."
Rebbik slouched. Transporting was preferable to walking at the best of times, but given the thin piece of rock lace they would have to traverse in the cold, high winds between each precipice made Rebbik feel even weaker in the fingers and legs. He would rather have stayed in the runabout, but Lirik was insisting he accompany him into the emitter structure. He didn't understand why, as the diplomatic aide seemed to be covered in all the tools and sensor devices he could possibly need. Conversely, Rebbik carried nothing and felt under-equipped.
Almost telepathically, Lirik opened the supply locker next to the transporter grid and reached for a commbadge. Pinning it as like a medal to Rebbik he told him "Wear this in case we get separated."
Rebbik wondered if he meant 'if you plunge into the ravine'. "Okay." He looked down at Lirik's holstered weapon. "Can't I have one of those?" Rebbik was sure he was going to be refused.
Instead, the Yeoman responded instantly. "Sure," Lirik handed him both a phaser and a tricorder; "we're in this together, after all. Just don't fire it unless I say so."
Rebbik frowned. "How do we know these people aren't K'Tani soldiers?"
"There's been no communication between ground and air, and scans show the people aren't living within the structures over there, but rather around them in more primitive dwellings," Lirik was giving the runabout's onboard log sensor a verbal report, serving as much to reassure himself as to inform Rebbik. "Apart from the emitters, there are no other signs of civilisation on the planet. Not least of which, there is no other technology in use within or around the structure apart from the emitter itself."
"They could be K'Tani sympathisers, though," Rebbik suggested.
"You're being negative again, Mister Rebbik," Lirik observed and, phaser in one hand, tricorder in the other, opened the runabout's hatch.
* * *
"Nice," O'Hara commented on the four corpses. "They're definitely Qovakian. I'd say they have been there for about four to five years, although not always in a vacuum, otherwise they would have been almost perfectly preserved."
Souveson nodded. "That would concur with the estimated time of arrival of the vessel to Helub and also corroborates the Helan story of when they came aboard."
"So who killed them?" Christian asked.
"If you're asking how did they die, I'd have to carry out a full autopsy. But I don't relish the thought given the lack of a proper lab," O'Hara said. "If you ask my opinion, you'd start with why would the corpses have been put into the turbolift in the first place?"
Souveson frowned. "If someone was trying to cover up their murder?"
"Then why not vaporise them, or eject them into space?" O'Hara questioned.
"Maybe it was just a convenient place to dispose of them at the time," Christian mused. "Nurse, I know it will be hard, but I would appreciate your greatest effort in determining the cause of death."
"Of course," O'Hara said more out of duty than curiosity.
"For now, we've more important things to attend to," Christian turned to Souveson. "Find some unsqueemish people to carry the bodies to - where?"
"Better be somewhere out of the way, it could be rather messy," O'Hara said.
"Ask Ganhedra's people, they should know somewhere," Christian said.
"I think I know just the Klingons for the job, Captain," Souveson spun on her heel and headed for the Jeffreys tube.
"You should be able to use the turbolift now. It'll be a lot quicker," Christian offered.
Souveson nodded and disappeared inside. Ignoring the stain on the floor, and the heavy smell that lingered, she saw that it was an ornate elevator car with wood and silver panels and fine glass light fittings in the ceiling. "Deck 8," she ordered, inhaling the death smell after she spoke, and the car gave an unusual light gong sound in acknowledgement, closing the doors on the bridge.
* * *
Before Lirik and Rebbik had reached the lip of the cave at the edge of the now deeper looking crevasse, a group of humanoid people had deftly crossed the narrow beams from the castle beyond and waited for them. They were dressed in similar coloured clothing - a mixture of purples and yellowy oranges - and carried what looked like three metre long thin metal rods.
"What now?" Rebbik asked, caressing his phaser.
"We just talk," Lirik hoped. "Greetings. I am Lirik, this is Rebbik. We are travellers from far away and wish to rest for a while."
"Shappa! Shappa hini maela a nin," the tallest of the posse shouted in urgency. The sounds were more rasping than identifiable speech.
"I'm sorry, we don't understand. We would like to go across there," Lirik pointed to the castle structure, and sounding like a pompous tourist, much to Rebbik's embarrassment.
"Imshali! Na shappa hini elanon forbidden," the man replied.
"The universal translator's kicking in," Lirik commented to Rebbik. "Did you build this place?"
The posse looked over their shoulder at the castle, then back to the two men indifferently.
"Aw, this is stupid," Rebbik balked, "by the time we start communicating the K'Tani might be right on us."
"K'Tani!!" the man repeated, a lot louder and with great gusto. He turned to his friends, babbling in their alien tongue. Lirik almost pushed his left breast forward for the translator to hear better as the others joined in.
Rebbik huffed and stepped forward toward the lattice struts that perched across the abyss, but several of the aliens barred his way, holding their metal spears aloft.
"Rebbik, don't be foolish!" Lirik ordered, though it wasn't something he could help, he assumed. "Please, we have travelled all day and we need somewhere to rest. Can you give us food?" He hoped a plea for help would aid in their journey.
"Your cross, the way, the feeling long ago," a younger man spoke and stepped out of the posse toward them. "You understand?"
"Not quite," Lirik smiled. "Ever thought you'd be in a first contact situation, Mister Rebbik?"
The half-Ferengi merely snorted and folded his arms.
"Our people have lived here for a long time," the man said suddenly in clear English. "It provides shelter and warmth and some light in the darkness of the heavy shadow."
"May we go across?" Lirik asked again, aware he was sounding desperate.
"It is forbidden. Only those of our people may cross, but we can bring you food and water if you'll wait," the man and his people were clearly kind-hearted and hopefully with no violent intentions.
Lirik put his hands on his hips, wondering if they would have to just find another emitter for their plan to work - he decided there wasn't time. "Is there no way I can come across and see inside?"
The tall, aggressive man from behind shouted over-enthusiastically, "Eshaleka, the shadow dance!" And the others in the team cheered and roared, waving their spears in the air.
"Eshaleka?" Lirik asked.
The young man appeared less happy than his friends did, it seemed. "Eshaleka is the test of manhood among our people. It was also the ancient challenge to messengers from other warring tribes before they could enter our home and speak their piece."
"Oh really?" Lirik brightened, smiling across to Rebbik and back to his new friend. "I like a good challenge."
* * *
Christian strained his head forward into the dark tunnel and shone a light down the way. About twenty metres distant, a large black object blocked the passage.
"It's the same here as everywhere," he retracted and turned to face Leonard, "the bulkheads between the passenger section and this part of the ship are firmly sealed. There's no way through there it seems."
"Should we keep looking for a way through, Captain?" Leonard asked.
Before Christian could reply, Jackson appeared. He had a sinking feeling.
"Less than two hours to go, Captain," Jackson informed him.
Christian, as much in defiance as anything else, began to update her on their progress. "We've got over fifty volunteers all helping us now, which is making things happen a lot quicker. We've been unable to get through to the passenger section, all bulkheads are firmly sealed."
"Can't we cut through?" Jackson asked, feeling the chill caused by the rerouting of power from life support.
Leonard cleared his throat. "Being a passenger ship, the bulkheads have features which err on the side of safety, blocking our path. We could disable them and eventually cut through the plating, but without Federation supplies I doubt we would be able to repair them to their full capacity - which would mean we couldn't separate the ship if we needed to later."
Christian nodded. "There is clearly a way they can be opened by computer. Once we have repaired the power systems and found a way to access the main computers, it will simply be a programming challenge."
Jackson rolled her tongue around her teeth. "But this will all take time."
"Of course," Christian almost laughed. "Commodore, this isn't a Starfleet ship. Hell, it's not even a regular ship of any design. It's old, it has integrated technologies from various sources and much of its guts are missing. We can't pull any rabbits out of hats here."
"Captain," Jackson straightened, "don't give me sarcastic analogies. I'll say this only one more time to you. The lives of the people on board this ship come before any heroic Starfleet activity you may have in mind. You're in command of this ship, but I give you your orders, clear?"
"Oh, yesSir!" Christian snapped, though his body language said something else.
Jackson ignored his machismo. "We're in no position to protect ourselves, and are only lucky to have got this far alive. Is that all?"
Leonard shook involuntarily from the dressing down, hoping for Christian to answer, but he was either too angry or lost for words to respond. The German flicked his hair back and responded. "Er, we have a team cleaning out as much of the impulse drive plant as we can get to without rad suits. We could really do with an eva to service the vent plates, but there don't appear to be any space suits. It's a shame we do not have the runabout."
"Cut to the chase, Engineer, are we in shape to get moving?" Jackson seemed to be growing sterner by the minute.
"Not right away, Commodore, no," Christian squared off to her. "In fact, we've run into a difficult problem, which is why we're down here trying to get through the bulkheads. As you know, the ship can break into three segments. Each of those segments has an engine room that can both work as an independent unit, or operate in conjunction with or without the others to support the rest of the ship. Now that the power system has blown and we've rerouted power from life support, we've unbalanced the power flow, not to mention the structural integrity field that secures the whole ship."
Jackson didn't look as if she understood completely, so Leonard translated. "It's like the passenger section has just become a dead weight around our necks."
Jackson frowned, and rubbed her reddened eyes. "Then it's clear, you ditch the passenger section."
Christian shook his head. "That's just it, we can't."
"There's no emergency override?" Jackson flushed.
Leonard stepped forward. "No, Commodore. Would you believe, the explosive packs have been removed and the fifty or so bulkheads between the two parts of the ship are acting like pins, making us inseparable."
Jackson clenched her fists. "Then you have to find another way. Go back to the original power system to get us moving again."
"It's not that simple-" Leonard began, but Christian butted in.
"Commodore, you just have to accept our limited options in the circumstances," he paused and motioned Leonard to leave them alone. When he had gone, Christian led Jackson by the arm further down the corridor to the large, heavy bulkhead that crossed it. "Do you really think I want anyone on board to be harmed?"
Jackson deflated slightly. "No, of course I don't. But I am responsible for those people up there, and I can see that drifting in space is scaring the hell out of them. It scares the hell out of me, I can tell you. The quicker we get moving, the quicker we can get away from the K'Tani."
Christian grasped her shoulders. "You may be my superior in rank, but we are both Starfleet officers trained in the same way. I know my limitations so surely, you must too? You have got to let me do my job, and that includes deciding when this ship can move and when it can't. I would trust Leonard to make that call as an engineer, and you must accept that of me as a captain." Jackson was still shaking her head. "Right now, we aren't going anywhere."
* * *
Rebbik sat on a large boulder with a handful of pebbles tossing them over the precipice as Lirik wriggled out of the harness carrying most of his equipment.
"I knew you were a bit off the wall when I met you," Rebbik said without looking at him, "but I wouldn't have betted that you were suicidal as well."
Lirik laughed to himself. "There you go again, Mister Rebbik, with your negativity."
Rebbik swivelled on the rock and watched Lirik use part of the harness as a belt to which he firmly secured a tricorder. "Look, you may wish to throw yourself at every challenge and take risks with your own life, but what about me?"
Lirik approached him, looking up into the young man's nostrils. "What about you? I'm still going ahead with the mission-"
"What mission? There is no 'mission'!" Rebbik raised his voice, causing the nearby natives to look over. "You just went ahead and put us in one impossible position after another."
Lirik clenched his teeth. He wasn't used to being made to feel like a fool at every opportunity. "We're here alive, aren't we? All I need to do is get across there, and I can deal with the K'Tani ships looking for us. Simple. And seeing as you won't accept the challenge with me, it will be your job to collect data on what we CAN see, and that means taking some rock and soil samples." Lirik gestured at the survey pack he'd been carrying.
Rebbik shook his head. "I'm a pilot for hire, not a scientist."
"You don't have to be, just scoop the ground cover into that pack and leave the rest to the computer," Lirik said turning away.
Rebbik leant back. "Well I've learned one thing all by myself."
Lirik couldn't help his curiosity. "Oh? And that is�?"
Rebbik jumped to his feet, swaying slightly at the better view of the dramatic drop just a short distance away. Regardless, he pointed to a part of the structure opposite. "See those silos over there?"
Lirik followed the young man's finger, noticing that part of the building across the way seemed unkempt, more municipal than the aesthetically proportioned building surrounding it. He followed Rebbik's lead as the half Ferengi pointed out several other bits of similar looking machinery embedded into the rock face opposite, almost camouflaged by their colour. "A mining operation?" he guessed. His train of thought caused him to turn and look back inside the cave mouth.
Rebbik nodded. "That's right, that labyrinth in there didn't occur naturally. It was mined."
Lirik grinned. "And we know how the K'Tani loved to exploit resources. Well done, Sir."
Rebbik did feel pleased with himself, but still begrudged it when Lirik gently tapped the survey kit with his foot twice before approaching the group of aliens. Rebbik slid down the boulder to watch the spectacle. Lirik knelt in front of the alien man.
"Do you understand the rules?" the young alien asked, gesturing him to stand.
Lirik did so, then rubbed his hands. "I think so. All I have to do is cross the bridge without letting a cloud shadow pass over me."
"And without falling off," Rebbik chipped in.
"Obviously," Lirik smirked. "And if a shadow does cross me, then you throw your spears at me."
"And you die," Rebbik concluded. He sidled up to Lirik and whispered, "Can't you just switch off your shield, let the Medusan monster come out?"
Lirik gritted his teeth, furrowing his eyebrows together. "These are innocent people, I won't harm them."
Rebbik shrugged. There was nothing he could do. If Lirik plunged to his death or got speared through the heart, he would just return to the runabout and go with his own plan. Already, as Lirik stood on the edge of the widest lava pipe he could see, Rebbik was running through a list of everything that he would need to do.
* * *
Christian looked down at the pink powder covering the carpet in the turbolift as it ferried him through the decks - Jackson had no doubt been successful in locating a cleaning substance to help dispel the stench of death. The odd smelling fragrance was almost worthy of a citation.
As the turbolift's movements quietened, its doors swished open, (sticking part way - another repair to follow), to reveal a large sign on the corridor wall opposite: 'Deck 18, Thoroughfare 4'. Taking a right as instructed, he walked some distance along the corridor before it forked into three. He took the right-most corridor that sloped down and curved slightly. From what he had seen of the ship so far, each deck was as different as the last, both in d�cor, purpose and layout. Only the Jeffreys tubes and turbolift shafts were positioned consistently - and even they had odd twists and turns.
Christian also had come to realise that the Command Section, which he had assumed was a section of the ship devoted entirely to crew, in fact housed a good deal of passenger facilities and services. Looking closely at the architectural joins and mix and match designs in the areas he'd seen so far, Christian guessed the ship had undergone a number of successive refits concurrent with a greater emphasis on the passenger. The crew must have found it hard to live and work within increasingly smaller confines as 'all welcome' areas encroached their own restricted areas.
Proceeding along the curved corridor, Christian felt as if he were heading inward, toward the central part of the ship. As the corridor straightened, he crossed darkened thoroughfares 23 and 24, the walls suddenly giving way to a more uniform, brilliant white 'conduit' - angular design blended into a generous 'pipe', the floor melted into the walls and ceiling. Through a large set of smoked glass doors, (only one of which retreated into the wall), Christian stepped into a large, circular foyer, about four times the diameter of the conduit.
Inside, with full lighting on, it was almost blindingly white - white floor, white walls, white ceiling and white furniture - what was left of it; again the Captain saw evidence that the ship had been stripped of equipment. Still intact were the ornately etched smoked glass partitions and doors leaking off the foyer into what must have been a Beauty Treatment Facility. (Even here, Christian noticed, there was holo-emitter functionality). The corridor continued opposite, but then stopped short at a bulkhead door.
Within each area, Christian could see many survivors from Helub gathered in miserable silence. He peered into the nearest room, looking for Lieutenant O'Hara and saw a small reception desk (complete with unsightly gaping hole where its console had been removed). Beyond was a smaller inner foyer constructed of russet coloured wood, mood-lit and housing a row of numbered doorways. These doors were either fully open or ajar and Christian could see in the spacious treatment rooms beyond groups of survivors (presumably families by the way they interacted) huddled together. Children were playing on the floor - some having been lucky enough to have a Christmas present with them when the attack occurred, or having been given a 'make-do' present by the parents and assorted adults above them. The faint sound of a Carol made Christian's neck heckles ruffle.
Christian didn't linger. The next area contained a deeper, wider reception, no furniture, and the panelling was a lighter, knotted wood. The musty smell of cedar, pine and sandalwood led Christian to deduce this was a sauna. Something - perhaps the smell - drove him forward. Beyond the reception, two wide recesses contained wooden steps up and down. A young Bajoran girl came bounding down one of the flights of stairs, but stopped, gasping, in her tracks as she saw the red-eyed, tired looking Captain.
"Is Nurse O'Hara in here?" he asked in his friendliest voice.
The girl turned around, as if looking through the deck, to the upstairs space, then back at him. "No. Try over there." She pointed across the foyer to a set of double glass doors.
"Thank you," Christian turned and walked quickly in the corrected direction, hoping the girl would not follow. She didn't - instead, she hung back, chin on chest, sucking on two fingers. Christian glanced over his shoulder and noticed the girl still staring at him.
Through a set of the doors, Christian was almost shocked to see much of this area was in tatters. Support struts were naked, life support and maintenance ducts exposed, wiring hung loose, light fittings dangled precariously, partition walls had been removed and he could see through what must have been several rooms across a good deal of the command section's deck. He could even see a turbolift shaft from the outside, its thick circumference cutting through the floor and ceiling.
Christian remembered once visiting Utopia Planetia and seeing a similar view inside a Sovereign Class prototype without any of its internal structure in place, aside from the decking and support struts. With gravity so vital to every Starfleet vessel, the deck plating project was labour intensive, giving a window of opportunity for a variety of tours, and he and his visiting command school group had stood on one side of the saucer section and could almost see clear through to the other.
Yet another reception desk, this one of transparent aluminium, had been moved to the side, a strip of metal signage lay upon it that read "Solaris Lounge". With most of the partitions missing, the area opened out into a wide expanse of flat, marbled levels. Scattered in groups were a large assortment of beds and floor bedding - Nurse O'Hara had clearly turned the 'spa' into a makeshift triage centre. Christian was alarmed to see so many wounded.
At the opposite end of the spa area, the captain saw a screen made of patchwork plastic and textiles that had been erected, maybe to isolate the worst cases. Vague figures could be seen moving on the other side of the opaque materials. As Christian approached, he made a mental note of some of the patients; Human woman with head bandage, Risan male (unconscious) with bloody eye patch, teenage Human boy with leg in splint - there were many more sleeping or sitting around, quiet, depressed or nursing an irritation. Other groups huddled round beds in soft chatter.
Passing through the plastic curtain, Christian flinched as he saw around twenty beds occupied by semi-naked people with a variety of nasty injuries, although some weren't immediately apparent. O'Hara, sleeves rolled up was leaning over the head end of a male - New Fabrinian by his garb. A muscular Jetraleker clasped his head firmly as O'Hara inserted what looked like a piece of plastic tubing into the man's throat, using a sharp metal rod to ease its entry. An abrupt thin squirt of blood and mucus shot forth, patterning the nurse's sleeve and the floor, the end of the trail splatting at Christian's feet.
An odd group of volunteers were flitting between the other patients. Two handsome young men, one clearly a New Parisian by his hair and facial adornments, the other in formal business clothes, an ageing Catholic nun (a very unusual sight) and a hard-faced alien woman with gill-like slits on her cheeks tended to each in turn, checking pulses, temperatures and dressings. Christian froze as he realised three of the patients' faces were covered.
As a rasping, gurgling sound emanated from the New Fabrinian's neck tube, O'Hara and the Jetraleker relaxed, the latter looking over at Christian. The Nurse followed the eunuch's glance and saw the dishevelled, baggy eyed young Captain waiting awkwardly for her. Wiping her hands, she murmured something to her compatriot and joined him. "Come with me," she said.
Christian followed the Nurse along a narrow path that cut through high stacks of empty crates, fallen debris and panelling and before long they were out of sight and sound of the triage area, and seemingly beyond the spa as well. Shortly, passing into a dark aisle of some kind, the two reached a doorway. Using adhesive wedges, O'Hara parted the doors, and Christian followed her into what looked like a mechanical workshop. The interior surfaces were mostly metallic, tool housings on the wall empty, and weird, chain like gadgets hung from the concave ceiling.
"Where are we?" Christian looked around, eyes adjusting to the emergency lighting, and saw the circular bay had two entrances from perpendicular corridors and several doors leading to workshops beyond.
As O'Hara pushed one of the workshop doors ajar, the smell hit Christian before her words. "The temporary autopsy room," she said. Only one corpse occupied the central bench, the others lay intact on the sides. One overhead lamp covered in wire mesh shone into the figure, covered with a sheet, in the middle. Christian knew O'Hara was going to expose what was beneath and hoped it wouldn't be too gruesome a sight.
"Have you figured out what killed them?" Christian blinked and swallowed hard.
The Lieutenant, eyes fixed on the Captain, flung the sheet back - to reveal the man, still wearing his clothes. Christian frowned, but then the Nurse lifted his shirt to reveal his torso. Five, deep, black indentations were positioned just right of the torso's mid point, each surrounded by extensive purple and brown discoloration.
"What caused that?" Christian asked.
O'Hara, eyes still fixed on the young American, simply placed her left hand into the wound, each digit fitting exactly into the black spots. "It's the same for each one, five deep punctures into the chest cavity and heart muscle."
Christian shook his head. "And you think a Human hand did this?"
"Not Human, sir, but the angle and spacing would indicate it was a hand, yes." O'Hara pulled the shirt down and led the way back to triage. "I found no other traces of injury, or of much of a struggle for that matter. But the person who's able to do that, well I guess there wouldn't have been much arguing with them."
Christian had a lot to think about now, which kind of pleased him, in an odd way. Although risk was part of every captain's business, problems and mystery solving were the fun part - even if that did mean a murder investigation.
Before they passed through the piles of guff, O'Hara could hear the Jetraleker and other voices shouting her name. Running out into the open space, the nurse and Christian saw the New Parisian coming towards them. "It's the Risan, he's gone into arrest."
O'Hara was then gone, and although Christian followed her he was surplus to requirements. He left the small group taking turns at CPR and counting, and headed back to engineering. He almost didn't notice Commodore Jackson amid a group of women and children in the farthest corner of the triage space. He beckoned her over.
"Are you okay?" he asked, though she seemed fine if one ignored the puffiness around her eyes and the redness within.
"Most things are a blur now, Captain. I'm afraid my usefulness is wearing thin," she seemed dejected.
Christian cradled her in an almost fatherly way. "Are you needed down here?"
"After your little lecture I came down here hoping to lift moral, I'm not much use elsewhere. I was just talking to some men and women whose partners were left behind on Helub. They seem convinced we're going to be captured or destroyed - they don't see any hope aboard this ship. And they show little faith in you, I'm afraid," she was being honest, but it hurt Christian nonetheless.
"I think we've got the power flow problem licked," Christian tried to lift her spirits, but his facial expression remained sad, "but only for a few of the decks. All these people will need to be moved, I'm afraid. The Nurse won't be happy about that."
Jackson grinned. "Do yourself a favour, Captain. I don't think O'Hara likes to be called 'Nurse'. She's more than half way through her MD training, and she's got more field experience than you could ever have hoped for in a regular Starfleet Medic - qualified doctor or not. We're lucky she's with us."
Christian looked toward the frenzy of shadowy activity behind the plastic curtain. "So what should I call her, 'your holiness'?"
The Commodore winced at the immature comment. "Lieutenant would do, I'm sure. Best keep her as happy as you can. After all, she's the next best thing to a CMO that you've got." Jackson walked Christian toward the exit - he shuddered at the thought of having O'Hara swing her weight as a CMO. "I'll take care of the move. To which decks?"
Christian looked nowhere in particular. "Not counting Deck 1, we're clear on decks three through five, plus main engineering. Anywhere else there's the possibility of total life support failure or dangerous power surges. We can manage almost full impulse, but warp's out of the question until we get the core warmed and we work out how to deploy the nacelles," Christian said.
"Very well," Jackson rubbed her hands and turned away. She paused, then turned back. "Captain, about earlier. I know you know your job. I may not be as space-savvy as you, but as a senior Starfleet officer these people, they're depending on me. On us, and I for one don't want to let them down. So I apologise for my nagging."
"I understand," Christian said and squeezed the Commodore's tired shoulder. "In fact, if I'm going to command this ship and what crew there is, I'll need to have someone around all the time to give me alternatives or force me to look at the bigger picture if I become too focussed in one area."
"You mean an executive officer," Jackson said, then following his train of thought. She laughed, cautiously. "Wait a minute, you're asking your senior officer to suddenly become your junior officer?"
Christian twisted his mouth, eking out the right sentence. "Where ship-related matters are concerned, why not? Clearly as Commodore you'll be my superior in all other matters."
"You mean the mission?" the Commodore stepped into the large foyer and saw Christian flush.
"Well, not exactly - I mean, we need to consider all the factors, which necessitates working as a team," the Captain tried to steer the conversation around.
"Yes, our next steps are crucial," Jackson thought for a moment. "Someone with more experience in military matters would be useful," Jackson looked away, "like Fleet Admiral Street."
"We don't have such a person," Christian said, "Speaking freely, sir, I wouldn't expect you to take sole responsibility for the fate of the survivors on this ship and everyone we left back on Helub any more than you would expect me to. We don't have all the game rules yet in this situation, Commodore. But working together we will. And I think if we put everything else in place that we can - like getting this ship and crew in order - then we will be better equipped to make a more considered and wiser decision about what we ARE going to do." Christian rarely laid it on so thick, but he knew that to go forward meant strong leadership, and in this case that meant the Commodore and himself. Once the two of them were set, the rest should follow suit. Jackson hadn't responded, yet he was sure she had heard him. "Don't you agree that this is best handled the Starfleet way?"
The Commodore nodded. "Absolutely, Captain. You're right, of course. Okay, I agree," Jackson said. She noticed the captain was smiling, clearly proud of his successful negotiation. "But it won't be easy, I assure you."
Christian grinned, exposing his teeth. "We'll just have to wait and see, won't we, sir? I'll be in engineering completing preparations. Meet me there when you're done. Number One."
"Don't push it."
***
ACT 4