USS
Galaxy:The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 50212.08 - 50212.15 |
Ella paused and tilted her head in the direction of the sound.
She didn't like stopping in the dark corridor but found it easier to listen when she wasn't hearing her own footsteps. She frowned slightly as she tried to focus her hearing, attempting to pin-point the source of the strange sound. So far, Ella hadn't been able to distinguish it, other than it was low, high pitched, and becomming clearer as she moved further away from Engineering and into the dark. Once again, she checked the flashlight attached to her arm to make sure it hadn't gone out.
The noise had begun shortly after she had left Engineering in search of Mike. The other two engineers had tried to hail him but without success. Likewise, when they had tried to alert the other members of the away team the only response had been static. In the end, Ella had decided to look for him herself while the other two finished the job.
Probably not the smartest choice on my part, Ella thought as she began walking again. But Mike was her responsibility and so she had gone to track him down, swearing to rip him a new one, although wondering how she would be able to do that via a computer PADD, if she found him doing anything other than being in severe distress. She was worried about her engineer but, more importantly, she really didn't like this hall. There weren't just pockets but great pools of shadows all around her and the strange, yet somehow familiar, sound seemed to ooze out of them. She flashed her light in and around them, knowing that nothing was hiding in them except her own paranoia but needing to check just in case. A cliché chill kept running up and down her spine, her mind associating this darkened hall with several other places and things she wanted to forget about.
Ella snorted in the dark. That was Dallas, and every other counselor she had ever known, talking. Why she had even been tempted to listen to that woman was beyond her. Therapists, she scoffed internally. Always thought they knew everything. It wasn't that she wanted to forget, it was more like she didn't need to remember. She didn't need to remember that when she was a child she had had terrible stage fright before every single performance. What good did that do her now? She didn't need to remember that she used to be terrified of the dark. And that was scared of the dark in the literal sense and not in some kind of stupid psychological metaphor. That especially didn't help her much now.
Just like she didn't need to remember about the men who had grabbed her or the pain of that first strike across her face or even her parents response to the whole mess when she had woken up in the hospital days later.
It was that damned noise, Ella decided angrily, her temper and stride picking up. That was the reason she was being so stupid. Nothing was going to come out of the shadows and grab her again. There were no monsters here, she told herself sternly. There was no one, in fact, just an old ship that was quickly losing it's appeal. And, as she had told herself many many times already, no one could hurt her anymore. She was just overly tired and the singing was playing upon her emotions.
Ella stopped in mid stride.
Singing?
She listened again and, sure enough, the muted sounds were coming together to form notes. The notes were becoming words she could almost hear. It IS someone singing, Ella thought astounded. But it was absurd. Who would be singing on the Defiant? No one she could think of except that little Widdlestein girl whose eyes had glowered at the late Commander Von Ernst every time she had seen her. The little rug rat was probably ecstatic but Ella doubted the girl had the ability that this woman had.
Ella considered. Yes, it was a woman's voice she heard now. A mezzo-soprano to be more correct.
She frowned. Even in the Federation, mezzo-soprano's weren't all that common and the fact that Ella used to be one and that this unknown singer was also one bothered her. It wasn't jealousy but suspicion she felt beginning to gather. Still, the puzzle had been mostly solved and she let out a sigh of relief...
...which died on her lips as the song began to intensify and the words came into being.
"...And I stayed by his side till that evening, yet he loved me the rest of my life..."
Ella stopped cold, her face draining of all it's color.
It had really been such a badly written opera but her agent had said that Ella could make anything sound good. Her mother had agreed, the pair of them once again side stepping any wishes she might have had. She supposed she could have appealed to her father but he usually sided with Mother in these affairs. So once again she had gone on stage, on the colony of Copernicus, and had sung her little heart out. The audience hadn't cared that the words were the equivalent of a five year old finding a box of magnetic poetry, for she had sung it like her heart would break if you ignored it. Most of the audience had been in tears by intermission and the final song, Evening on Copernicus, had brought the house down.
When she was seventeen.
But it was impossible, she tried to reason with herself, even as she felt her stomach twisting like it used to before a performance. The crew of the Defiant certainly predated the opera and surely no one from the Galaxy, at least on this away team, was educated enough to know of it. And it had to be said again that it really was a crappy song.
So how could 'Evening' be ringing throughout the hall, seemingly shaking the very walls.
Ella began to back away, slowly because she didn't trust her feet not to run back to Engineering. Still, when the first round of applause sounded, it shook her so bad that she missteped. She went down without a word, although several flew through her head as her butt made contact with the wood floor.
Polished wood.
She ran her hand along the floor in puzzlement. Surely, it had not been there before. Ella looked up and felt her heart stop.
The Defiant was gone.
The stage she sat upon gleamed in the lights, those lights mostly blinding her from being able to see the audience. But they were applauding her, as she continued to stare in horror at them, as if to prove they were still there. In fact, they were giving her a standing ovation. It hadn't been her first, of course, but it had been a nice treat after taking a wreck like the Opera of Seasons, a silly assed name Ella had thought, and cranking out what was sure to be a new record seller.
Ella scrambled to her feet. She was on Copernicus. SHE had been the one singing. She turned her head in disbelief and, sure enough, saw her mother standing in the wings, just as she had all those years ago, urging her to take a bow. But for once, while on stage, Ella found herself unable to respect her mother's wishes. She remained rooted to the spot, eyes wide and searching for any opportunity to escape.
But every way was blocked, except for stage left and Ella remembered too well what had happened the last time she had gone that way.
One of the higher-ups of the colony walked on stage then, with flowers and tears, thanking her for such a dazzling performance. Her eyes pleaded with him for help but he seemed to make no notice, only continued blubbering about how terrific she had been. Ella looked to the audience for help, wondering if she could spot Laura in the crowd. Her parent's had made their maid pay her own way in but she had come anyway for Ella. But, like before, her only true friend in the world couldn't be spotted beyond the brilliance of the lights.
Ella began to cry softly, not knowing if she would be able to go through this again. She knew that it was time for her to make her exit but thought that maybe if she didn't move the nightmare wouldn't continue. It had to be a nightmare, didn't it. She must have been dreaming somewhere onboard the Defiant. She had breathed in too much of the air when she hadn't worn her helmet.
Please let me wake up, she thought.
Please let this be a dream.
I can't go through this again.
Copernicus, it seemed, had other plans. She had barely blinked before she found herself alone backstage, her mother several feet away and the red curtains almost completely closed, the lights dimming. The audience still cheered but it sounded ominous now, like they were cheering on what was about to happen, and Ella felt her heart suddenly kick back to life and absolute terror pump through her veins.
"N.nnn" She began before the hand clamped over her mouth, pulling her into the dark.
tbc
off: my appologies for any incorrect use of any technical terms concerning singing and stagecraft etc. I was in both drama and chorus for a semester but that was a while ago and I don't think what I sang could even be labled as soprano, alto, etc. Had fun singing Whitney's 'Moments in Time though' ;)
Master Gunnery Sergant Goldstein gave the de-pressurized cargo bay one last scan, before she waved the 'All Clear' to Private East.
~~god, it'd suck to go like those two Fleetie Nerps~~ she mused, giving the gaping clamshell doors one last look. "Death by Depressurization" was a Marine phobia.
In the Flight Gallery, Major Log grunted at the nervous Engineers, who staffed the archaic control panals. The Yellow suited engineers didn't miss the fact that the Marines, in their Black EVA/BAttlearmour rigs kept a weapon nonchantly trained in their general direction at all times.
~~Trust no one but the Corps.~~ Betty wryly mused to herself, as she made her way back to the ships interior , bringing the pickets with her. Behind her, the hatches recycled atmosphere sealing the Bay from teh rest of the ship and the huge clamshell doors began to close .
"Why the hell do we gotta screw with this crap?" grunted Pvt. East to Rifleman Dahlquist.
"That's an original, Model Five Shuttlecraft! Do you know what it's worth?" Dahlquist babbled, in happy thought of all things technical.
"No, how many strippers can I buy with it?" East demanded.
Dahlquist scrunched up his eyes in thought.
"I dunno, I never been to those bars you guys go to..." he finally admitted.
"What? Joe's Ammo Locker Louge? you NEVER been?" demanded an unbelieving East.
"Nope. My Mom won't let me." admitted Dahlquist.
"I still don't see why we gotta secure them shuttles and screw around with this Bay. Blow it up and let that Runty Redhead rest in Pieces." Muttered East.
"Always secure your retreat. And never mess around with your plan." Betty cut in on their comlinks chatter.
"Ok Gunny." they chorused, grinning at each other. Betty may be a pain in the ass to work under, but she brought her people home alive.
"Hey Dahlquist... would ya?" demanded East in a whisper.
"Would I what?" asked Dahlquist, the Marine Who Should have Been an Engineer.
"you know....." and here East made a pumping motion and nodded at Betty's form leading their column down the abandoned corridor.
"Huh?" hissed Dahlquist.
"YOU KNOW! With the Gunny?" hissed East.
"No.. I don't know. OH! You mean..." Dahlquist trailed off, peering into the cargo bay they had just passed.
"Sarge..... got movement here" Dahlquist called out, before he snapped on the torch attached to his weapon and slipped into the blackened Hold.
"NO! Dammit...." Betty cursed, seeing her Rear Guard go in alone.
"Dahlquist. Get out here..
Silence.
"DAHLQUIST!" she snapped, her exasperation showing.
Silence.
She motioned to East, who activated his torch and stepped to the hatch, flooding the Cargo Hold with light.
Empty.
Four more marines joined East at the hold door.
Still empty. The huge room was bare from bulkhead to bulkhead.
"Dammit... the next one of you guys wanders off liek that, I'm gonna string up int he barracks and..." Betty began, turning to the rest of her fireteam.
They were gone.
BRAAAAAAAAPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The sound of an Assault Rifle cutting loose on Full Auto-Microflechette Mode behind her, sent Betty and all the remaining Marines plummeting to the decks.
Only, it wasn't a deck anymore. It was a blood soaked, sea of mud.
"WHAT THE FRAG? WHERE... WHAT? I SAW A BORG!" Screamed East, as he wheeled with his Assault Weapon spewing live ammo around him in an arc.
Betty took one look and knew where the hell she was.
Again.
The damn dustball the USS ODYSSEY had dumped her survivors on. The one where one Sgt. Elizabeth Goldstein had held off wave after wave after wave of Jem Hadar troopers, in a distaction manuever, allowing several dozen Fleet survivors to escape. The damn rock where her beloved Corps had given her the Medal of Honor for living through, and screwed up her whole life.
Betty flipped her sealed helmets faceplate open. Yep. Even smelled the same. Shithole.
She used a leg sweep to take East down. Three of her fireteam helped wrest the Assault weapon from his gauntleted hands.
"You, you and you, set up a perimiter on the rockpile to the left." she snapped at the confused Marines. Funny... she'd thought that was East shooting at boogity-boos on Defiant. It was Sgt Reuters, she held down in the tuape mud, streaked with runnels of scarlet human blood. SHe hadn't seen him since...
Since....
The last time she'd been on this dustball. When he'd died a silent death at Jem'Hadar hands.
"I'm ok Gunny...it's Dahlquist..." Reuters coughed, scarlet blood flowing out of his mouth in a torrent.
How the hell had she gotten here? Why was she here? What happened to East? How could Reuters know Dahlquist?
~~No time to think.. Jem'Hadar coming in a wave assault!~~ her mind screamed.
Reuters/East was dead. Again. Just like last time.
Betty scrabbeled up the face of the rockpile, cursing and swearing to herself.
Just like the last time, her pitiful Marine volunteers were shot to hell.
This was a suicide stand, they'd all known it. God, she loved every one of these bastards. Some of these guys, knowing they'd never survive without a Class One Medical Facility, had asked for ammo and this one chance.
They'd gotten that chance. The JEm'HAdar had attacked and attacked and attacked the handfull of Marines, allowing the Fleeties and their wounded to escape. Letting the Dominion forces think THESE were the sole survivors of USS Oddyssey, this 24th century version of Roarke's Drift.
Just like last time, the Marines went about their business, taking as many of the enemy with them, before their turn to die came up.
Just like last time, the Jem'HAdar came flitting down the mouth of the arryo, silent ghosts of death.
Just like last time, her Assault Weapon felt heavy in her hands, as she hefted it up and switched to Pulsed Phaser Mode. Settling the stock against her armoured shoulder, she eyed the nearest target.
Just like last time, her heart swelled as she considered the human wreckage that shared this slit trench with her, behind the hastily set up rock barricade.
Just like last time, she checked her power levels and went with single, aimed shots.
Just like last time, she sighted in on one slow and bold Jem HAdar and began to depress teh firing stud.
Just like last time, she screamed with a horse voice 'FIRE AT WILL!'
Unlike the last time, not a single Marine weapon fired, to throw back yet another Jem'Hadar charge of the beleagured position.
"Sarge?" came the scared and blood flecked cry from more than one set of lips, down the Marine firing line.
Betty tried her weapon's firing stud again. Nothing. With a curse, she depressed the stud that let the bayonet snicker out of its hiding place.
"Fix bayonets, prepare to repel a charge by hand!" she ordered.
Betty stared in horror at the useless lump of metal and ceramic-plastic in her hands. She looked up at more Jem HAdar troopers than she remembered. More than her handfull of Marines could handle.
"SARGE! DO SOMEHTING!!!" her dying men were screaming at her, the Jem'Hadar were brazen in their clustering. Knowing the Marines couldn;t shoot, ready to make their charge at their leisure.
"Awwwwwwwwwwwwww..... MAN do I hate this job! Fricking Dahlquist..." Betty grumped, giving up counting her enemies.
****
Victor watched the car containing O'Rourke and her team depart, and hit the button to summon another. ~ How many of the old cars are still working? They had four or five running at any given time if I recall the briefing correctly - it'd be too damn bad if we wanted to go someplace that had a jammed car in the shaft ahead of us and the sensors were out... ~ he glanced at So'ka and Cutter. ~ I think I'll keep that thought to myself; we've got enough weighing on people's minds. ~
A quick check showed So'ka covering the approached to the turbolift, and Cutter standing silently. ~ Is he always this quiet? ~ "Can you give me a quick run-down on what you've found out so far, Lieutenant?" he asked politely.
Cutter stood a moment recollecting his experiences aboard the Defiant before responding, "We first checked Deck 4, the captain's and executive officer's quarters," he began, "We found no crewmen, dead or otherwise. The air had too high a percentage of carbon dioxide, it was toxic.
"The captain's quarters showed signs of recent occupancy. There was a bagel with cheese and coffee on the table, which looked fresh. The coffee appeared to be steaming. The rest of the apartment was clean, except for the bedroom, which had an unmade bed and some dirty laundry on the floor. We found potters and soil, but none held plants," he described. Cutter became uncomfortable and paused a minute before continuing, "The lights were behaving oddly, as well. They energized very slowly, instead of switching on like normal.
"Upon exiting the captain's quarters, Ensign Manley noticed that the hall carpeting was wet. Marsh noted that the deck held fresh water storage tanks between the living areas and the outer hull, and hypothesized that they had sprung a leak. The tank should have drained within one hundred years, but the water was only about a centimeter deep." Again, the scientist paused, contemplating on how to explain the next event. He was very uncomfortable describing something which he did not understand and couldn't explain, "The leak apparently had opened into the executive officer's quarters," he said finally, "The exterior door was wet, and water was visibly seeping out from between the door and the frame. When the door was opened, the water didn't drain out, but rather it.... it stood there."
The arrival of the turbolift car interrupted Victor's response, and he waited until the three were in the car and it was starting to move before asking, "You mean longer than just the moment before gravity took over, right? The water just stood there for several minutes after the door opened like a force field was holding it in place?" He frowned. "It was still liquid, right?"
Cutter's mouth opened and closed several times, inaudibly voicing his thoughts before he replied, "Sem. Yes, it stayed in place, like a solid. It didn't flow, but it was clearly in a liquid state. Ripples were observable and I was able to insert my finger without resistance. That broke the equilibrium, however, and the water rushed out, knocking me against a wall, and carrying Marsh and Manley down the hall. Deck 4 is currently flooded to about waist level."
"Guess we won't be stopping there, then." Victor thought for a moment. "That's not going to get into the turbolift shafts through the door seals, is it?" ~ I guess we're going to talk about this sort of thing after all. ~ "I wouldn't like to have a car hit it and flash it over to steam - the pressure change would be pretty fierce, maybe enough to stop the car dead... and I'd like to put as little stress on the safety interlocks on these antiques as possible."
"Theoretically, the turbolift doors should be airtight," Cutter abated.
As he spoke, the car shifted direction and began to move horizontally with a barely perceptible lurch. "Looks like something's leaking through - enough to trip the sensors that are still working anyway," Victor noted. "I just wish there was a way to warn everyone else about it." He tried a transmission to O'Rourke's team, and another to Commander Reece's, but got no response.
The turbolift opened then, depositing the group onto Deck 3. Victor held out his tricorder, taking measurements of the atmosphere. "Looks normal." He adjusted the gain and took another set of reading. "Didn't you say the ozone had distributed out through the deck? I'm not getting good readings, on a lot of things, but that should still be okay."
"That's odd," Cutter said, his left eyebrow arched up. He turned the tricorder in Victor's hand and looked for himself. After his curiosity was satisfied, Cutter realized that he was holding Victor's arm. His hand lurched back, like he had touched a hot coal. "Oukwa, err, sorry," he said, without looking at Victor.
"No problem." ~ I don't know enough about Fruna'lin to know if they're all like this, if it's the interphasic radiation, or if it's me. ~ Victor glanced at Cutter. ~ Using Occam's razor to judge things by - it's me. ~ "So what happened on Deck Three here? Anything else?"
"You know most of what happened here. The air was breathable, like it is now, and so we took off our helmets. We found the physics lab and searched for life. Marsh was convinced he saw something, but there was nothing there," Cutter commented, waving off the event as unimportant and wondered why he bothered to mention it. "I began reading through the information about the experiment and some of the results when Manley ... when Manley was injured. You'll be able to confirm this when we reach the lab. My tricorder is still there, as is Marsh's weapon."
"Shadows?" Victor asked. "Most of us have seen shadows moving around in ways that didn't seem right since we got here. There's never anything there when we checked, so I wrote it off as some effect the interphasic radiation was having on the way we perceived light." He nodded towards So'ka. "So'ka here hasn't seen anything so far, so we were thinking that maybe the radiation only affected humans that way."
"I haven't seen any shadows," Cutter replied, his brow arched. "Um, the lab is that way," he pointed.
Victor moved off down the hall, and So'ka waited for Cutter before moving, so he could stay in the rear. The setup was routine for security officers, but it made Cutter feel locked in, trapped. And the urge to fly away was still with him, it didn't remain in the morgue like he expected it would. He began to step forward but something stopped him.
Thonk! Thonk! Ting!
The noise resonated from the wall paneling beside him. Cutter turned and examined the origin of the noise. There was nothing there, and the panel looked solid, it didn't hide a compartment. There would be wiring and power shunts and things of that nature in the wall, but whatever made that noise was loose. And big.
"Sir?" So'ka asked, looking from Cutter to the wall and back again.
He hadn't heard it. "Uh .... nothing," Cutter said, and quickly walked away down the corridor.
Victor glanced back at the delay, but seeing Cutter in motion, didn't say anything before turning back around.
"Here," Cutter called out to Victor as he stepped up to the lab. The Fruna'lin quickly caught up and tried stepping through the door, but he was knocked back. The door hadn't opened.
Victor caught Cutter, steadying him until he'd gotten his feet back under him after the back-heavy suit almost took him to the floor. "Hold on a minute and let me check that," he offered.
Turning, he checked the door's lockplate, which was still showing green lights, then waved his hand in front of the actuator, receiving the same results that Cutter's attempt at entry. ~ That's odd. Shorted out maybe? ~ He scanned the door, with the expected results - nothing. ~ Okay, the old fashioned way then. ~ Victor swapped the tricorder for a small multitool and removed the lockplate by the side of the door, the powered driver whining like an insect at it withdrew the screws. ~ And there's the issue... ~ "It's locked - but the indicator light is out."
"I ... we ... wha? We didn't lock it," Cutter said staring at the door. It was a statement, but the tone of voice Cutter used suggested it was a question.
"Doors don't lock themselves," Victor observed, holding up a pair of obviously cut wires. "And they don't cut wires either. Someone was here after you." He glanced at the door. "Why this, though?"
Cutter looked at So'ka, and the alien gave a slight shrug. "I don't know. I need to get in there though!" he said, looking at Victor momentarily before dropping his gaze to the floor.
"So we get you in." Victor made the statement and then turned to look at the exposed locking mechanism. ~ Reconnect the wires? ~ He looked closer. ~ That might work... ~ He reached in and carefully worked the two wires free, then started to reconnect them - and jumped back as there was a spark from a nearby circuit that cascaded across the locking mechanism like a thing alive, leaping from place to place and leaving fused and melted connections and circuits in its wake before throwing off a final, almost petulant, arc to Victor's hand and vanishing.
"Well, that wasn't a success," Victor observed mildly, shaking his tingling hand. He frowned and looked back at the mechanism. "I have no idea what I touched to start that, but whatever it was, it's a wash now." ~ The charge looked like it was alive the way it ran around in there... Okay, you need to get a grip - electricity is just ions moving in the same direction, nothing more. ~ He looked up at Cutter. "Looks like we'll have to do it the hard way."
"Break the door down? All right. I suppose if you can't get the square peg in the hole by hand, you use a mallet."
"I'm told the same principle holds true in Engineering, sir - if it won't work, then you try again with a bigger hammer." Victor turned to the third member of their group. "So'ka, we're going to have to cut the lock's restraining bar - these old-style doors have an actual metal brace that locks them in place." He shifted position and indicated a point on the wall right at the juncture where the door met it. "Should be right... here." He stepped back and looked up. "Keep the power low, dial it down to about 6, and narrow the beam focus down. At that power level it ought to take three or four seconds, and give you enough time to shut it down without overpenetrating and hitting the outer hull. Remember to keep the beam level - we don't know where Marsh's rifle wound up in there and you don't want to find the one spot on the floor it landed in when you burn through."
The ensign nodded, made the adjustments, and knelt down, aiming carefully before triggering the rifle and starting to cut into the metal of the door and wall.
Both Victor and Cutter stepped out of the way to allow Ensign So'ka access to the stubborn door. He slowly began slicing the door lock in two with the thin phaser beam, sparks and drips of molten metal alloy shooting out around the particle ray. Deja vu washed over Cutter as he realized he had done this before today, when Lt. Marsh opened the Executive Officer's quarters on Deck 4. If So'ka cut through the door, the ozone that was locked inside would ignite and explode, burning them in a sea of flames rather than a flood of water.
He reached over, without thinking and jerked So'ka away. The ensign's phaser beam cascaded across the hall and ceiling plates, leaving a blackened trail behind it, and lanced dangerously close to Lt. Krieghoff. But the saving act was too late, So'ka had already cut through. A jet of flame blasted out of the hole in the door shooting out straight and thin, like a ray of light, doing as much damage to the opposite wall paneling as the phaser had done to the door. A millisecond that lasted several minutes later, the door exploded out, ripped from its frame by the expanding air inside, bombarding and smashing through the scarred paneling into the next room. Fire poured out afterwards, rolling out across the floor and up the walls and flowing out through the air, gobbling up all the escaping ozone and the normal oxygen that existed out in the hall.
It was Victor's turn to act as he jerked on Cutter who still held tightly onto So'ka, and the three ran back to the turbolift.
~ Damn it, why didn't I think of that? No, don't think - run! ~ Victor dragged Cutter along by main force, the Fruna'lin's feet stumbling as he tried to keep his grip on So'ka, who's feet in turn were scrabbling for purchase as they ran. ~ Run! ~
Risking a glance over his shoulder, knowing that they couldn't beat the flames the short distance to the turbolift that stood invitingly open in front of them, Victor almost stumbled himself. ~ What the hell? That's a... face.... ~
Sculpted from the living, twisting flames at the leading edge of the wall of fire, the face of a man became a woman and then another man, roaring after them open-mouthed. The flames writhed and twisted into a succession of faces, one after another, sometimes too fast to see the shifts. ~ Who are those people, the Defiant's crew? What the hell is happening? ~
Cutter could hear the hiss, snaps and pops of the fire that was chasing them through the thick EVA suit. He turned and looked behind him, a quick glance giving all the information he needed to know. The flames seemed intelligent, darting after the group directly down the hall, avoiding the turnoffs, but it was moving slower than it should. It was giving the group time to run away, like that intelligence was toying with them. And it wasn't just hissing Cutter was hearing, the noise sounded coherent.
"Yhhoooooooo cannnn't haaaavvvvveeee iiit, heeeeheeeee, Cutttttterrrrrrr!" the voice hissed in his ear, an airy, whispering voice. Was that the fire? There was no time to confirm, though, because the group had reached the still open turbolift, its open doors like arms, welcoming them into safety. Cutter dashed in and So'ka followed unable to stop, banging Cutter against the wall. The doors shut before the fire reached inside, and Victor quickly made the lift move to a safer location.
"Did you see that?" Victor panted, hanging onto the actuator lever for support. He looked up at Cutter and So'ka. "In the flames? Did you see it? Those faces?"
Neither Cutter nor So'ka replied for several seconds, leaving the hum of the turbolift as the only sound but their breathing. "I... saw them," So'ka offered first, reluctantly. "Many faces, changing from one to the other in the flames. They were in pain, terrified." He considered the statement for a split-second, and then added, "I think they were the crewmen that died here."
"I didn't see any faces, but..." Cutter said, struggling to explain, "I... I thought I... heard something. A voice."
"A voice?" Victor looked up. "I didn't hear anything. What did it say?"
"It called my name. It said I couldn't have it."
~ It said he couldn't have it? Hell, why not? Explosions talk to me about as often as they have faces.... ~ "Couldn't have what, sir?" Victor asked, straightening up but never letting go of the actuator.
"The lab, I assume," Cutter said, sitting on the floor of the turbolift, trying to sort the events out in his head. Alerts were ringing in his head, fighting to be heard. Something was wrong, something more than a different dimensional structure taking its toll on the ship. First the water, and now the fire. But, Cutter pushed all those thoughts away. He could solve this, he could figure this out, if only he could get his hands on a decent tool. It was like the Defiant was trying to stop him from performing his job, trying to make him fail. First, Manley's death, then the complete destruction of the physics labs. Where could he go to study the properties of the new dimension now?
"Who didn't want you to have the lab," Victor frowned He paused, the tingling between his shoulder blades manifesting again. ~ Dammit, what is up with that? ~ He looked over his shoulder, but nothing was there except his reflection, distorted in the polished metal of the lift car's interior. ~ Someone's watching me. Oh get a grip, there's no one in the car but the three of us. I'll be shooting at shadows in a minute. ~ He looked back at Cutter. "And why? What was there that someone wouldn't want you to get?"
"Information! Ka! That lab was our best chance at figuring out what was going on. Who would want to prevent us from doing that?"
"Probably the same guy that booby-trapped that ozone and killed Manley - and the one that tried to kill us with that set-up back there. ~ And the guy that talked to him from the flames? The one that made those faces? ~ "I think we need to try the Recreation Decks," Victor offered. "If there's someone here, they'll be signs there." ~ And if there is someone here, after us, there's space to see them coming.... ~
Cutter gave no response, and no objection. So'ka, too, remained silent, leaning against the turbolift wall, like Victor. "Deck Eight," Victor ordered, changing the cars random wandering through the system to one with a purpose. He ignored the tingle at his back when it suddenly reappeared, concentrating on the men in front of him. ~ Shadows, it's just shadows.... ~
It was lonely in a room full of despairing, struggling people.
James could attest to that theory ever since the Second Borg Invasion. He recalled too well a situation similar to the one he was stuck in. It was after the Enterprise rallied the last of the Federation fleet, and the Thunderchild took orbit around Earth. James was beamed to Starfleet Medical. Being slightly injured, James sat in rapt terror as other officers were rushed through triage. Men and women screamed in agony as they were treated for hours on end. He remembered the difference between the wounded and the freshly assimilated. The screams were different. One was of pure pain, the other a technological violation of the mind and body.
The room was the same in James’ eyes. The poor lighting and the noise was all too real. The patients were in smaller numbers, but the sights and sounds were all too real.
“Guys… I think the thorogen is starting to wear off…” James said as he peeled off the rest of his ruined armor. The chest plate crumbled where he was struck by his own Conscience. The battle armor became redundant without the chestplate, so James stripped it off, and slipped the communication badge, the phaser pistol and the tricorder on his uniform.
“Is it… that time?” Lexa asked, very shaky.
“I’m afraid so, Lex.” Corgan tried to speak as casually as he could, checking over his assault rifle and trying his best to shut out the memory of Starfleet Medical. He felt like his chest was on fire from the hit, and no doubt his ribs ached at each breath.
“We are… in trouble… again…” She spoke forlornly.
“Yeah… trouble. Lots of trouble, I’m afraid.” James then broke down the situation, “Our mission has taken casualties. I just saw an unknown entity slaughter an entire Marine fireteam. The thorogen shots are wearing off and I’m hearing things. Worse yet, I don’t know how to get out of here without getting the whole lot of you killed in the process.”
Lexa interjected, “It can’t… be real… can it?”
”You saw what I saw, didn’t you? The dents on the door? The blood? The injuries? Lex, what makes you think otherwise? It looks pretty real to me!” James objected testily.
“The… interspacial… madness… we could all be… seeing the same thing.” She argued.
“Lex, we can’t be seeing the same thing. Brin couldn’t see what I saw. I couldn’t see what attacked T’lan, or what trapped you in the brig.” James pointed out, Lexa flinching at the mention of that recent event, “We’re being affected by something. But… what I don’t get is why everything is so unique? Each attack… different. Mine was… Death.”
Curiously, Lexa asked, “Death?”
James shrugged, sliding out the power pack on his rifle, then slamming the slim battery back into place, “Voice in my head. Tries to push me, drive me over the edge. Had him under control for the last couple of years, but with this going on… he’s come back with a vengeance, so to speak.”
Not unfamiliar with psychology, Lexa felt offended and surprised. “You had a major psychological affliction, and you never told me? Just like you to keep secrets from me. What else haven’t you told me?”
“I haven’t told you about the time I flew a shuttlecraft into the Dean’s office, didn’t I?”
Blankly, Lexa looked at James. Corgan cracked a mischievous smile that set Lexa’s mood to an even deeper shade of sour.
“James! That’s not funny!” She scolded, “That’s the problem with you. You either take things too seriously, and scare us all, or you don’t take them seriously enough, and… we worry… about your competence.”
“Oh come on Lex! Joking’s the only thing that’s stopping me from screaming my ass off! This mission’s gone critical! We gotta get out of here…” James looked forbodingly at the dented security entrance, “If we can get out of here.”
“We have to go… quickly…” Lexa urged, “I can’t… stay here…”
“I can’t either. The only thing restraining myself from ripping off the f**king deckplates is the whole goddamn emergency.” James gritted his teeth as a stab of pain lanced through his chest, “Lets face it, our mission failed. We retrieved the security logs… but we can’t secure security and the armory… not in the condition we’re in. Can’t reach Neal, O’Rourke… Darkstar… heaven forbid, the marines. Normally, we could hold out against the… thing attacking us, but we have wounded, and its getting worse.”
“Sir… I am undamaged. I will be fit… for duty, for another few hours.” T’lan struggled through strained teeth. Her face and arms were flush red over a pale peach skin. Her hair was wildly scattered, an affront to Vulcan fashion and order. Sweat soaked and partially delirious from the heat of her body, T’lan soldiered through the throes of the Blood Fever bravely, despite the violation of having her body forcefully pulled into the Blood Fever by some unknown entity.
Brin rummaged a bucket earlier and managed to run the primitive replicator with the power supply in Corgan’s ruined battle armor. Using a strip from his uniform shirt, he dipped the makeshift cloth in water, wrung it out, and pressed it on T’lan feverish forehead. She shivered and calmed down, but her chest rose and fell like a rabbit.
“Sir, please lay down. You are in no condition to perform your duties.” Brin Taro wiped the sweat off T’lan’s brow as she squirmed, “You are stubborn… like my father. Listens to nobody with a lower rank.”
“You have mentioned your father on numerous occasions during this mission, and yet during our group’s dinner conversations, you barely speak.” T’lan struggled with the words under the oppression of the Blood Fever, “It seems highly illogical that you would mention him at this time.”
Brin thoughtfully apologized, though his face was stone, “Sorry sir. He’s been on my mind lately. Seems like he’s waiting on this ship, waiting for me to fail so that he can punish me again. Sorry… thorogen is wearing off.”
“You know what Brin?” James cut in, sliding the Security Log off his hand, “I don’t think it’s the thorogen that’s to blame.”
The sudden revelation was liberating for James. It was an answer, an unfounded answer, but one he could work on. It was so surprising, and at the time, so intelligent that he thought it was ingenious.
Everyone else thought he was low on thorogen. It was Lexa who first gave the hint, asking cautiously, “What… are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about sentience.” James spoke with a glint of confidence in his sly, icy eyes, “I noticed that the first logs were recording incidents of madness. Just random stuff. People going crazy. Acts of violence. Totally random stuff caused by shifting into interspace. But… they had the thorogen shots. We had the thorogen shots.”
“And there are still… images… feeling… fear.” Lexa argued, “The thorogen isn’t working well.”
“Maybe… but I think there may be another answer.” James flipped open the security log. For one second, he felt leather, and paper. Actual, rare, hard to find paper! All from a security log built of replicated plastics and metals! But the PADD was just a PADD, not a dusty old book. But for that second, it seemed so real, until he activated its lit screen and accessed the next log.
*********************
Security Log: Stardate 2/0209
Lieutenant Commander Robert St.Mark, Chief of Security, USS Defiant
Security office was attacked at 09:00 hours. They’re all over the ship. Crewmembers everywhere, turned mad somehow. A mob of them retaliated after hearing of Ensign Voica’s incarceration. They came for us, dozens of them in each swarm. We set our phasers to heavy stun and stopped the crowd before they overran the offices. Security is a mess. They were unable to reach the armory. We have narrowly averted a crisis.
Meanwhile, sickbay is overrun with patients. The CMO may not hold out for much longer, either by the madness or by the mobs. I have posted additional guard to sickbay, just in case.
My own staffs, those that haven’t joined the mobs, are increasingly experiencing anxiety and delusions. We can’t hold out for long. Something must be done, and quickly.
**********************
“This is not proving your point.” Brin Taro observed.
“Hold on… we haven’t seen the rest of the logs.” James countered.
**********************
Security Log: Supplimental
Lieutenant Commander Robert St. Mark, Chief of Security, USS Defiant
The Chief Medical Officer found a solution! He discovered that thorogen can stop the effects of the interspacial radiation that affects our minds. We have begun the process of injecting thorogen into the security staff and the command staff. With any luck, we will be back to our old selves in no time. For now, our staff is working overtime. We are stunning those who do not co-operate so that the injections can be administered. The task should be completed by 08:00 hours tomorrow.
************************
Security Log: Stardate 2/0210
Lieutenant Commander Robert St.Mark, Chief of Security, USS Defiant
It was a long and exhausting night, but we managed, with the help of the medical department, to administer the thorogen to all members of the crew. It is noted that the interspacial madness has dissipated, and that the crew has returned to normal.
We are still stuck interspace, and until we have escaped, we will have to continue taking the thorogen treatments. But the damage has already been done. Fifty seven dead, one hundred twenty eight injured, including thirty five of my department staff. The blood in these halls is thick. For now, we can only await further instruction as the engineering department tries to find a way out.
************************
James flipped through the reports rapidly, seeing everything else as reports of arrests, suppressions, and repairs that were being caught up during the time of madness. It wasn’t until he found another log that it caught his interest.
************************
Security Log: Stardate 2/0211
Lieutenant Commander Robert St.Mark, Chief of Security, USS Defiant
A rash of violent events have occurred on board the ship today, with no explanation to its occurrence. Of the more disturbing, a murder was commited on deck 10, section 5B. It is a relatively quiet section of the ship, the murder sight being a small storage closet. Ensign Skree Ya’lish’s body was found. The cause of death was suffocation. Unexplainable, since the storage closet was ventilated, there were no markings of strangulation, no oxygen deprivation drugs, nothing to indicate the cause of suffocation. As soon as we shipped her to the morgue, another body was found on deck 6, section 8H. Lieutenant Hanson was torn up by a creature, but no residual DNA of the creature was found. For that matter, we were not transporting dangerous creatures, nor could one the indicated size of the creature that attacked Hanson could be smuggled on this ship.
After all that happened before, this had to occur. My work here is never done.
************************
Security Log: Supplimental
Lieutenant Commander Robert St.Mark, Chief of Security, USS Defiant
There have been reports of sightings during the last eight hours. Each story is different. Flitting shadows, people from other people’s pasts, frightening images from childhood, I heard them all in an eight hour period.
The doctor cannot explain what is going on. Thorogen treatments have not changed, therefore we should be immune to the madness. The doctor may have messed up our treatments, or they may no longer work, I don’t know. But this is different than before. No longer spontaneous madness like before. Whatever it is… it’s very specific. All I can do is keep the peace and find out what is going on.
I must admit, I have been on edge lately. I haven’t slept in days. I can’t sleep, not after all this. I’ve also seen things. Closets get me on edge. Ridiculous, isn’t it? I haven’t feared closets since I was a boy going through my bogeyman phase. But that doesn’t matter now. I have to keep the peace. Old childhood nightmares can wait.
************************
“You see!” James pointed out, “Right there! The USS Defiant found the thorogen cure, and then they started to level off, become normal… until suddenly, something else occurred.”
“What… is your point?” Lexa asked.
“My point is, even though we have had the thorogen injections, it’s not just the thorogen that affected the crew.” Lieutenant Commander Corgan argued passionately, “Interspacial madness was chaotic. People became irrational, paranoid, insane. But the thorogen cured all that. But to get what I’m trying to say… I need an example. Lexa, what happened when you went into the brig.”
Lexa recalled uncomfortably, “I was locked in. I was back in the darkness.”
“Exactly! And when I went to the brig, the door was closed. I had to open it to let you out. That’s not a hallucination. That’s a fact. And Brin…. when the marines were attacked, what did you see?”
Brin answered reluctantly, “I saw the entire fireteam get killed, sir. They were slashed up… don’t know what did it. Couldn’t see it.”
“Exactly! I saw it too, but I saw Death… I saw Death come after them. I saw an illusion, and I also saw the deaths of those marines. Brin saw it too. The illusion was Death. The reality was someone or something slaughtered those marines!”
“So… you are saying… we are not seeing illusions?” Lexa pondered.
“Hard to say, Lex. We’re seeing things that will affect us all separately. T’lan spoke of Vlad Tepes. I recall that mission. T’lan was brought into sickbay from a forced arousal. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the worse thing that happened to her. And Lexa… you were attacked too, but in a way that would harm you the most. And as for me, they attacked me using a problem that I had on my mind.”
Lexa interjected, and resembled her intellectual former self, “You are suggesting this phenomenom is sentient. For it to attack us in specific ways, it must know us and our fears, and for that, it need intelligence.”
“Right… what I was going to say.” James agreed, “I know it seems a bit south of sanity, but what we experienced wasn’t a random act of madness or a hallucination. Something’s out to get us. We have to leave now.”
“Sir…” T’lan rasped through a dry throat. Her boiling lips were quivering as the Blood Fever took hold, “I have three hours, twenty seven minutes, eighteen second before I succumb. I have to be treated on the ship. Respectfully, sir… your conclusion is logical, but the time for deduction is slowly running out. We need to weigh our options of escape.”
“Every door and Jeffries tube is sealed, except for our entrance. Sealed with phasers and plasma torches. We’re not getting out quickly unless its out the main door. And no matter what escape is used, we’ll be confronted… I’m sure of it.” Corgan grumbled, worried of the lack of safe passage. He looked at his team mates, thinking it could be the last time. He saw Lexa, still as pale as milk after her encounter in the darkness, at Brin, who’s agitation was growing slowly, and T’lan, who was wracked with Blood Fever and slowly dying. Their lives were in his hands, and it was a responsibility he did not want.
To decide how they were going to die. It was all the decision seemed to be. Die in an office, or die trying to fight their way out?
For James, it wasn’t a tough choice. He said confidently, “If I had my way, I’d get the f**k out of here by any means necessary. But then again, its not my choice. Lex… what do you think?”
Unsure, the Chief of Operations stuttered, “Me?”
“Yeah, you Lexa.” James reassured his ex-girlfriend, “You’re more than capable of making the right choice. Should we stay… or should we go? Either way, I know you’ll make the right choice.”
Lexa agonized over the choice, and was surprised to find how willing James was able to trust her. It was a hard responsibility that she didn’t take lightly. It scared her to be responsible. James was the leader. He was the one who knew what to do in an emergency. Why was she thrown in the leadership role and forced to come up with the decisions herself?
She replied hastily, looking over her shoulder at the brig, “I don’t want to go back there. I want to leave, now.” She then walked over to the security control center, and tapped a broken console showing the layout of the ship, “We have to go to the shuttlebay. Commander Von Ernst’s team has set up base there. We may be able to receive medical attention.”
“What about sickbay?” Brin Taro asked.
“Haven’t received word from O’Rourke’s team yet.” Lexa answered, “They may have gone to.… deck 7. They may be in sickbay, they may… be somewhere else. We do not know. We have no time to alert O’Rourke’s team, and no means. They won’t be any more safe without us here. If we do pass them by, I will order them to follow us to the shuttlebay. Sickbay… will be… our last resort. Besides, I can’t treat T’lan. Not without help.”
“Then is it final? Are we moving out?” James asked with the expectations of the entire team summed up in one sentence. T’lan, Brin, and James were looking at Reece for the answers. While T’lan and Brin watched for orders, James was waiting not to fill them out, but to support them. James was different with Lexa, always was. He encouraged her efforts, calmed her fears and belayed her instances of timidness. It could all happen with a smile or a kind word, anything to lift her spirits and cause Lexa to believe in herself.
James had such a way with her, and it scared her to admit she needed him, especially now. It took one sympathetic, exhausted smile to waylay her fears.
“We don't have much time... before T'lan's condition get worse..., or when the thorogen wears out. When that happens, we won't be able to... distinguish... the madness... from the real danger. So yes…” Lexa decided, and willed herself not to go back, “We’re moving out...”
TBC…
Nothing....nothing at all....an empty, endless void unfolding forever across the plain of existence...
This was all one could see looking into the eyes of Lt. Geluf, standing at the OPS station, not moving, scarcely even breathing. But although nothing was happening on the outside, on the INSIDE the Lieutenant was having 100 thoughts a minute. Things he knew, things he had never seen, and things he had always wanted to see. He wasn't aware of his fellow officers on the bridge, nor that they even existed. He could not remember why he was there, but that did not concern him. He felt...different.
Suddenly, an overpowering urge set upon him. He couldn't fight it, but then again, he didn't want to, nor did he care to try.
"I.....I....." came a few terse words from his mouth. Then, all at once, he became very animated. He jumped up on his console and let loose a barrage of vocal talent.
"IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIyyyyyyam the very model of a modern Major-General, I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral, I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical!"
Startled by the sudden outburst, several crew members turned to watch.
"I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical, I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical, About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news, With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse!"
At this, a few crewmembers, familiar with the tune, joined in for the chorus:
"With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse! With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse! With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse!"
Curtis began to jump around, forming his own primitive coreography as he continued.
"I'm very good at integral and differential calculus; I know the scientific names of beings animalculous: In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, I am the very model of a modern Major-General."
Again, as if on cue, the makeshift chorus chimed in:
"In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, He is the very model of a modern Major-General!"
At this point Curtis was bounding all over the bridge. Occasionally knocking over standing crewmen. But he didn't notice, and continued.
"In fact, when I know what is meant by "mamelon" and "ravelin", When I can tell at sight a Mauser rifle from a javelin, When such affairs as sorties and surprises I'm more wary at, And when I know precisely what is meant by "commissariat", When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern gunnery, When I know more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery--In short, when I've a smattering of elemental strategy, You'll say a better Major-General has never sat a gee."
By this time, the whole of the Junior bridge officers had joined up.
"You'll say a better Major-General has never sat a gee. You'll say a better Major-General has never sat a gee.
You'll say a better Major-General has never sat a gee."
And Curtis concluded, as he bounced back to his post:
"For my military knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury, Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century; But still, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, I am the very model of a modern Major-General."
And with that, he stopped, turned to face his console and continued starring into space....a model indeed.
"That's the last of your people." the engineer named Sousa told Log. Everyone in the Flight Control Gallery craned their necks to see through the gantry windows into the Shuttle bay.
Log just grunted.
"How come those three never do any work? My Mummy says that everyone should take their turn, unless Uncle Doctor Malgin keeps them in Sickbay. Your MArines worked securing the bay. The other Engineers worked on the shuttles, until that Mean lady broke something and got sucked out into space. But those three guys just stand there. And why'd they bring that box?" Samantha told the Universe at large, pointing at the three Engineers Sousa had brought with him.
Log just grunted again, and watched MGSM Goldstein eel her way through the Hanger doors, battening them down behind her. The tell-tale indicators glowed green, that the airlock there was working. That was it, the death-trap of the depressurized Shuttle bay was clear. His people were on their way back up here, the better to watch these Fleet geeks putter around.
"Yes, I could use a hand here, closing the doors and repressurizing the Hanger." Lt. Sousa told Corina, the new transfer, glaring at the man huddled with his 'team' in a corner of the Gallery.
The Engineer in question, glared coldly through his EVA suit's faceplate. "Those controls are too old. The doors opened once, they'll do it again. You'd be better to find out WHY they opened and...." he stated, in a manner that could be described as 'snotty' by anyone.
His Yellow EVA suit suddenly seemed to sprout an enormous Marine Black appendage, fastened right on his chest towing handle. It shut him right up, as he and his EVA suit were lifted right off the deckplates, onehandedly by Log.
"Make it work, so no one else dies like those two officers did." Log growled, his Battelarmour's helmet right up against the faceplate of Corina's suit.
Behind Corina, the strange box the other two burly engineers carried threw off strange and arcane waves of energy, that no one ever really commented on.
Corina looked through the Marine's faceplate and saw a scowling face he had been looking for a LONG time.
'YOU!' he breathed, almost in a sexual way.
Major Log was used to utilizing his size, reputation and bad attitude to get his way. He didn't recognize this obstinate Fleetie, who seemed to be short of trying to kiss him on the lips. Didn't really matter though.. he had a job to do, and he was going to do it. Even if it meant burying this goober under the job.
"Yeah. Me, twinkletoes. Get to work or get ready to be tied up and shoved in a closet. MAYBE we'll remember to pick you up when we leave." Log grated out, in a voice that sounded like seventy tons of gravel going down a rusty chute.
"You really don't remember me? Oh.... right..... Of course... hehehehe" giggled Corina.
~~I CANNOT SHIELD EVERYONE FOREVER IN THIS LOCATION. SOMETHING IS ODD. THERE ARE OTHERS, FAR AWAY WHO SHOUT. IT IS MOST DISTRACTING. SOMETHING ELSE CLOSER IS SHOUTING TOO...LIKE VOICES CRYING OUT....~~ screamed a voice into Corina/Wilson's mind.
~~You must protect us, and this one. I would kill Raven Darkstar slowly...the others mean nothing to me. You, I and this one...the others can die~~ thought Corina/Wilson slowly, unused to speakign with his former fellow prisoner, the insane Medusean in the box carried by the Naucissian mercinaries. The odd quartet had escaped from a prison asteroid penal colony, using Victor's diabolic willingness (and joy) to kill and the Medusan's psionic ability to control the minds of otehrs. The Naucissians were mere stooges, pawns in Victor and the MEdusan's plot to gain their freedom and revenge themselves on several people.
By a strange quirk, several of those people were on USS GALAXY, so Wilson killed and assumed the idenity of Rashid Ibn Corina, husband to Lt. Rose Corina. Unfortunatlly, the four had no sooner reported aboard, than they had been assigned to this away team.
Major Log, not knowing that he was about to pay a debt rightfully belonging to his brother Raven Darkstar, turned to his other non-working charge.
Only to discover Samantha Widdlestein(Aged 10) and along for some sort of 'extra credit' that no one really seemed able to explain to his satisfaction....
was gone.
"Goldstein, you see that kid?" Log demanded in his helmet, shielded from the universe by the Battlearmour.
Silence.
"Corgan." he demanded, on the Away Team channel.
Silence.
"Anyone. Report." Major Log insisted, into the cackling and hissing channel.
"Oh dear...everything seems to be all broken." nattered Corina, in a voice that made Log grind his teeth.
"We need to be somewhere else." Sousa declared, eyes on the exceedingly old computer in front of him.
"Where?" demanded Log, half-knowing the answer and hating it already.
"The Bridge." Sousa told him.
"Where ARE your people?" asked Corina.
Log checked his chronometer. GOldstein was overdue to be back here. It was ten meters to the turbolift, and up a deck to the Shuttle Bay Control Gallery. He looked out the empty corridor.
Nothing.
He looked back. The three lazy Engineers were still staring at him. Sousa and his assitant were gone now.
~~Wait.. who is Sousa?~~ he thought to himself... not even noticing that the thought wasn't like his usual thoughts.
"Are we going to the Main Bridge?" demanded Corina.
"Of course we are." Log growled. Inside, he was hoping someone was dumb enough to try and stop him.
"My Rose deserves her own starship. Let's give her this one." Corina said, as he and his stooges followed the enormous Indian Marine down the empty corridor to the Turbolift shaft.
Inside an empty EVA suit Locker, Sam Widdlesteain shuddered and clenched her Hirogen Stiletto in a hand that was clammy inside her White EVA suit.
"Mummy... Arel... Lysander? " she whined into the darkness...
At the Flight Control Stations, the bodies of Lt. Sammsy Sousa and his assistant stood, eyes wide but minds clinically dead already. The assistants' Faceplate was smeared with blood from the inside.
If Sam had come out of the closet, she'd have seen the bodies sink into the deckplates, like insubstansial wisps of smoke. Sousa tried to scream the entire time, but could only force out muted whimpers.
=/\=
“Brin!” Barked a voice from beside the pushing, grunting Andorian. The young man, stripping off his helmet and pushing the barrier that blocked the security entrance, twitched his antennae in annoyance.
The youngest member of the away team, barely old enough to graduate from the academy, prided himself for being the most prepared out of all his classmates. It was this kind of drive that brought him top honors in the martial arts tournaments he participated. His militaristic attitude always gave him the advantage in the security department. While others bettered themselves in engineering and science in an attempt to become well balanced, Brin concentrated on being a pure fighter. It was the well balanced that died, and the prepared that always won.
At least, that was what his father always said.
It baffled him that now, out of all those times, that Captain Taro of the 1st Andorian Rangers (considered one of the most elite fighting units outside the Starfleet Marines), decided that now was a great time to come in and disrupt the young ensign’s duties. Such was his father’s way. Pushy, loud, always ready with a snappy retort or a forceful order. Brin hated to admit it, but Captain Taro made him what he was.
“Brin, increase your effort. It is not good enough!” Captain Taro barked like a drill sergeant. That was what Brin hated the most. His father couldn’t settle down, lighten up, or even crack a smile. Every word coming out of his mouth was in the form of an order, demand, or ‘request’ (which turned out to be a demand in disguise).
Brin’s muscles strained and tightened as he pushed the barrier. James Corgan, his superior officer (Brin didn’t mind James, despite his angst), came by and helped, adding his muscle power to Brin’s. “Keep going, Brin. We’re just about there. You’re doing all right kid.” James spoke approvingly, trying his best to keep the young ensign’s spirits up, “You’re holding up better than the rest of us. That’s something to be proud of, kid.”
“That’s something to be proud of? Kid? Your superior officer is soft, Brin. I would have shot him out of the nearest photon torpedo tube when I had the chance. Now get to work!” Captain Taro yelled, standing over the straining ensign like a foreboding marine trainer, his tone of voice turning more harsh by the minute, “Come on, goddammit! You call that effort!?! One of these days, your lack of effort is going to get people killed! It will be your fault! YOUR FAULT!”
The barrier shifted like the grinding of a stone block on a stone floor. And as James and Brin pushed, Lexa swabbed T’lan’s feverish forehead with a damp cloth. Brin pushed and out of the corner of his eye he saw his squad mate suffering through blood fever. Captain Taro glanced uncaringly at T’lan, and refocused on Brin, “See that over there? That pathetic mess of a Vulcan? You knew it would be your fault if she was hurt. You let your friend get hurt, just like you let Ensign Brenton get killed by that Klingon murderer!”
But the last sentence sparked off Brin, the sentence that his father would use whenever he didn’t meet up to his father’s high standards.
“At this rate, my son, I wouldn’t trust you beside me on the battlefield.”
With a final scream of defiance and anger, Brin Taro shoved the makeshift barrier to the side. It tumbled over the floor like a stack of bricks, and the speed of the barrier’s movement caused James to stumble. Brin howled once more, his anger at how his father treated him too much for his shattered heart to handle.
“Son, what have I told you? Never show what you are feeling! I can’t believe you are so weak! Go grovel somewhere!” Captain Taro cruelly chastised, unforgiving.
“LEAVE ME ALONE FATHER!” Brin Taro grabbed the nearest object, a chair piled on the ruins of the barricade, and flung the office furniture at his father’s image. The image disappeared from his view in a whirl of smoke. His vision was clouded by anger, his thoughts thinking nothing but how he wanted to kill the old man. And he was going to do it, on the Defiant, the legendary Captain Taro was going to die.
Hands grabbed for him and pinned him down on the floor, in time for Brin to snap out of his anger. He found himself secured to the floor, with Lieutenant Commander James Corgan on top of him, pulling his arms behind his back, while Lieutenant Commander Electra Reece held firm his legs.
“Jesus Christ, kid… what the hell is going on with you? You nearly nailed Reece and T’lan with that chair!” Corgan spoke in his ear.
“Sir…” Taro grunted, feeling the muscles pull in Corgan’s arm lock, “It’s gone… I’m ok… let me go…”
“Alright. Lexa, on three.” James said, with Lexa nodding in acknowledgement. James counted down, 1… 2… 3… and simultaneously, both officers let go of Brin. Brin dusted himself off, as calm and placid as usual despite his emotional outburst. Finally, James ventured to ask, “What happened?”
Brin spoke very little, but said, “My father…”
“’Nuff said, huh kid?” James sympathized, remembering clearly Brin Taro’s opinion about his famous father during their trip to repair the PADD. “Relax, it’s cool. We’re all a bit on edge here. We’ll have to get out, and soon. Are you ok enough to handle a weapon?”
Brin nodded coldly, then picked up his phaser rifle. “Ready sir.”
“Everyone else ready?” James asked.
Lexa, though still pale and frozen like a china doll, shakily strapped her rifle to her back, and said, “Ready... to go.”
T’lan, wracked by waves of heat, pain, and delirium, managed to get to her feet. Her footing was shaky as she tried to get up, but through willpower and Vulcan stubbornness, she managed to rise. Her face, flushed with fever and coated with sweat, was determined. “Sir, I am ready.” She rasped, and then fell down to one knee, with both hands supporting her on the floor. She panted and caught her breath, as Lexa lifted her up and helped the beleaguered Vulcan walk.
“T’lan, Lexa, stay in the middle. Go only as fast as you can walk. Brin, you’ll act as rear guard. Watch our backs. I’ll take point, and we don’t stop until we reach the shuttlebay. Everyone prepared?”
“Ready.” Each officer said in their own time.
“Alright then…” James breathed one last breath in the office. He subconsciously looked down at the security log, the only object that made the trip to the security office worthwhile. The log was his charge, and it was going to return if he had a say in it, otherwise the mission was in itself a waste of time. But to return it safely, he had to contend with a mentally unsound away team and unknown dangers outside.
James was willing to take that chance. “Let’s move.”
The away team moved out of security, cautiously, and frightened like church mice. They moved in single file. Corgan was at the point, his rifle sweeping the halls, as if scanning for an enemy to come out and destroy. Though armor less, Corgan was a frightening sight. He removed his glasses and tucked them into his shirt, losing the last vestige of weakness. He was now as cold as Brin Taro, switching from a humanitarian to a soulless slayer as easily as a Jem’Hadar slipped in and out of shroud. The dim light showed his pinkish knife scar on his face in a menacing light, and the gleam of his slate gray eyes was wary and alert.
In contrast, white skinned Lexa Reece and the flush red T’lan were in the middle, the larger of the two women helping the other walk along. T’lan and Lexa each had their phaser pistols to free up the use of their other arm, and were walking slowly, struggling to catch up with the rest of the group. T’lan stumbled at every fourth step, her panting loud in everyone’s ears, her body heat cooking Lexa’s skin.
In the rear was Brin Taro, unnerved by his past, and twitching like a bug landed on his antennae. The young andorian felt dread as he watched the rear. His feelings of doubt and fear were stronger than ever, and even his father’s chiding wasn’t enough for him to deny what he was feeling.
Deck 5 was as deserted as the ship was supposed to be, before the nightmarish attacks started to occur. The halls were poorly lit. The lights that did activate flickered, each flicker setting Lexa on edge, giving her the fear of having the lights deactivate at any moment. James felt nothing. Brin felt more, and in a way, expressed less. They all kept to their route, watching warily, trusting little, fearing more.
The turbolift was reached safely, and it started without a flaw. The trip was going successfully, and that disappointed James. He expected something better (or worse) from the nightmares that attacked them before. At any time, they could have been dead. Lexa could have been killed. T’lan could have perish. Taro, dead like anyone else. What was it waiting for? They were out in the open, James reasoned, ready to destroy on a moment’s notice.
“Where are they?” Corgan growled uneasily.
The away team left the turbolift, and were now close to main deflector control. James knew that on the other side of the ship’s engineering section, the shuttlebay, and safety, would be there. The hallway they entered was neat and methodically clean, like nothing changed from the day the Defiant was taken over. It lacked the hellish overtones of Deck 5, which were now as clear to notice compared to the lower deck as if night was from day.
“We… have… a long way… to walk.” Lexa gasped.
“That we do, sir.” James spoke impassionately, “Another five minutes and we’ll be home free… if anyone is left.”
“It is a logical possibility… if the rest of the crew have been affected like us.” T’lan added feverishly.
“Then we’ll keep going! We can’t stop now!” Brin hollered, very agitated. His rifle shook, his antennae swung like vines, his brows knitted in determination.
“Whoa, Brin. Cool your heels. Let’s stay frosty until we… wait a second. Shhhhh…” James crouched down, waving his hand for everyone else to do the same. James heard a small, sliding noise, like a wet sack being dragged across the floor. “I’m going to investigate.” He whispered, inching closer to the noise. It was slight, sounded like it was close but quiet, and James cared more about what the source was then what it was doing. He hugged his back against the wall, his rifle close to his chest, and he inched closer to the noise. It was around a corner. Dangerously close. James smelled blood; it was so thick in the air it made him choke. He looked down as he tried to regain his breath, and he saw a sickening sight.
A trail of blood, thin and spread out, like a wound being dragged on the ground.
“Brin…” James pointed to the Andorian, then beckoned him to take position behind him. He indicated with his pointing finger that Corgan planned on rounding the corner, and catching the noise by surprise.
But then, the noise stopped. The wet, heavy slapping was gone. He heard another noise, rope and metal, something being strung up.
James put up three fingers. Three… one finger came down. Two… another finger came down. One… and he closed his hand into a fist.
Brin and James dashed out of the corner, their rifles on the ready, aimed at the corner of the noise source. In one second, James and Brin looked more than ready for the threat, their rifles trained to frag anything they found as a threat. But in the next moment, their eyes were agape in fear, and their rifles lowered.
“Jesus… bleeding Christ.” Corgan uttered.
The blood trail led to the hanging figure of a marine, his body strung up by cable cord, tying his tightly bound feet to a beam in the roof. He sported a spear sized puncture in his lower abdomen, and it dribbled small amounts of blood from the coagulated wound. The blood from the wound covered his legs, his feet, his chest and all over and inside his battle helmet, which was cracked partially open. The neck of the fallen marine was twisted in an unnatural fashion, and his eyes and mouth were as wide open as a fish. The marine’s blood stained face was frozen in terror, stained in blood
The marine was familiar, one of the fire team marines from Deck 5. James recognized the marine’s boyish face and look of fear when Death dispatched the marine during their first encounter. The face was a giveaway. The latin on his chest armor was also blatantly obvious, but now the words were changed into something else.
Acta est fibula
“All of you…” James backed away, his rifle aimed at the corpse, his voice filling with fear, “Go to the shuttlebay. Don’t turn back. Run as fast as you can. If you don’t, you will all die.”
Lexa was adamant, though fearful as she took a first look at the gruesome corpse. “We don’t separate. I am… in charge. We go together. My orders…”
“LEX! Don’t argue!” James urgently and aggressively pleaded, taking his stand and watching the halls like a paranoid, “You’re going to die if you stay! GET OUT!”
The halls filled with inky darkness, and it creeped closer. Though the lights were shutting off, it felt more as if shadowy tendrils of darkness were flooding in like water throughout the halls. On recognition, Lexa’s panicked, whimpering fearfully as the darkness came to overwhelm her position. She feared for her life, feared the darkness swallowing again. She feared her friends coming with her to this dangerous realm. T’lan reacted, but in a positive light. The Vulcan hungered for the darkness, felt relieved to he caught in its cool aura.
Brin Taro’s hand rested on Lexa’s shoulder, rousing her out of her trance. “Sir, he speaks the truth. He is the only one that can see it. I was there, I know. If he says we have to go, we have to go.”
“I don’t want to leave you, James. You’ll be trapped… like before.” Lexa sobbed, the memories of the darkness too fresh to ignore.
“Lexa…” He felt wind in his face, and the howling of a thousand voices of the damned filling his ears. He saw more than the corpse of the marine. More were materializing out of the walls, filling the halls with thousands of corpses of various races. Starfleet, friends and people he briefly met, were littering the halls with their bodies. Jem’Hadar and Borg corpses were among the ruined, pale faces contrasting with rotting flesh. All the corpses were hanging, laying, propped up, and piled wherever there was room. “Don’t worry about me. GO! I’ll hold him off!”
“Come on, ma’am! We have to go!” Brin yanked Lexa away. Hesitantly, she and Brin walked off, with T’lan supported on their shoulders. Through the miles of death, they ran off, oblivious to the carnage but sensitive to their own fears.
For Lexa, it was the Darkness.
For T’lan, it was the chill.
For Brin, it was pure chaos.
And for James, it was the accumulation of a thousand battlefield, signifying his failures and shortcomings.
He saw Lexa, Brin and T’lan disappear as the wailing grew louder and louder. Corpses melted away until the floors and walls, pillars and bulwarks became a macabre architecture of flesh and blood. Floors were muscle and flesh, coverings were skin tacked on like animal hides. Putrid blood thickened and oozed everywhere.
James was back in his nightmare of the dead, with the master of the domain standing tall above him. It was the creature in black, the dark angel of destruction. He was face to face with his own personal demon, a demon with a scythe in hand and an urge to kill.
Death.
“I knew you would come back.” His Conscience leered overhead, tasting James Corgan’s cold fear.
TBC….
Ella awoke, not surprised to find herself enclosed in total darkness. Again.
She shuddered but otherwise remained still. The concrete floor was cold and she moved from her back on to her side and into a half-fetal position to provide more warmth. Ella blew upon her hands, felt her icy lips and chattering jaw, and clamped her hands over her mouth to stop the scream she felt building. Both the cold and the pressure felt real, as did the feel of her teeth biting down lightly on her lower lip. She could almost smell and taste the chloroform.
Real, part of her mind shrieked at her. Real, real, real, real.... She wrapped her arms around herself, in an attempt to comfort and stop the hysterical fit already in progress, but it only seemed to remind her of how alone she was.
It was impossible to see in the dark. She knew that the only source of light came when the door opened from the first floor above. When she had awoken the first time, Ella had screamed in terror. She had been an imaginative kid and her mind had instantly dreamed up all manner of nasty things possibly waiting in the dark with her, from mountains of bugs crawling over dead bodies to her captors themselves waiting in corners with blood knives and sharp axes. Ella had begged with them, she had pleaded, even called out for help, but no one had answered. Finally, exhausted, she slumped to the floor defeated, her body curling up into a position much like the one she was in now. She had cried and cried.
Ella did not cry now. She knew that being locked in the basement had been the least of her problems, that at the end of all this there would just be another alley and this time she might not make it out alive. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on breathing, tried to ignore this place and everything about it. It had not worked before but she had nothing to lose by trying.
She had no doubt that she would crack. There was just no way that she could have prepared to find herself in this situation again. Just goes to show you that you can never cover all the bases, Ella cackled to herself. Just goes to show that you can't escape, or erase, your own personal hell.
When the door finally did open and the ghost of the man who had grabbed her years ago came trudging down the stairs, she knew she would do whatever they commanded. It sickened her but she knew it was what she would do. Not so strong afterall...
She only hoped no one else would be around to see it.
OOC Disclaimer : These do not reflect on the real Admiral J. P. Hanson, nor are they the real events of Wolf 359. They are merely what Donovan wants to believe, so the current effects are throwing him into his own dreams. (you'll not i didn;t spoil the plot there for Ian)
"Black to Galaxy." There was no response. Black swore under his breath. ~Not good.~ he thought to himself, turning back to Lieutenant JG Remur. He was about to issue orders, when he found himself on the bridge of a starship, an Ambassador-Class Starship. The bridge officers wore Starfleet’s previous uniform, a one piece jumpsuit. Lieutenant Remur stood at tactical, with warrants Metz and Applebaum at tactical backup and fleet direction terminals beside her. This was a flagship. Turning around to look past the empty command chair, he read the dedication plaque.
USS Liberator. Admiral J. P. Hanson’s Ambassador-Class Flagship. It had been his command ship up until... The Battle Of Wolf 359. He had died, and the Liberator had bourn him into battle that day. ~But why am I here,~ Donovan wondered.
When he stopped examining the dedication plaque, a figure that had not been there previously had appeared in the flag command chair, slightly off to the side of the captain’s chair.
Admiral J. P. Hanson stood and walked toward Donovan Black. “Somehow, I knew you’d come. Irene has told me about you. The young Scotsman, Black, isn’t it?” the old man asked. Donovan glanced down, examining his reflection in the shine of a random surface. He looked like he was in his twenties again, right after S’Tarleya’s death on the Icarus. “You can look me in the eye, Lieutenant.” Hanson said, with a smile, misinterpreting Donovan’s confused glance.
“Yes, sir? May I ask what you require from me, sir?” Black asked, trying to ascertain what was happening to him. One minute on the Defiant and the next on the bridge of a doomed ship.
“Help me defeat the Borg, of course. If you’re as good as Irene says you are, then you should work out just fine.” He smiled sincerely, and indicated the command chair to Black. “How does Acting Captain Black sound to you?”
“That should do just fine, sir.” Donovan said, and seated himself in the command chair, trying desperately to take in the events about to unfold around him. Wolf 359. An event he’d come to identify with the loss of much that he had come to respect and rely on in the fleet’s tactical command structure.
“Very well then, Captain, take us in, and may god have mercy on our souls.” Admiral Hanson said, adopting a grim, cold demeanor. Donovan nodded, and to his surprise, he began issuing orders.
It was grim, almost surreal, as he watched each attack wave move in. He did his best, using as much knowledge of tactics as he could, but it didn’t do any good. It was as the USS Melbourne detonated that the USS Liberator took its first hit. The beam pierced a compartment close to the bridge, sends shrapnel flying so fast that it cut Warrant Metz in half, the proceeded to cut off Warrant Applebaum at the knees. She cried out in Yiddish as she went down, clutching at the stumps where her knees had been.
Turning to Admiral Hanson for support, he found the Admiral on his feat. “Now do you understand, Donovan?” he asked? Donovan stood still as the ship hurtled toward the Borg cube. ~I’ve never faced the Borg before.~ Donovan thought, his mind racing for a solution. He couldn’t watch Liberator go down again.
Then, for a brief second, he was back on the Defiant. Metz and Applebaum lay in the exact positions that they had occupied on the Liberator, relative to him.
And they were dead, with the same wounds as they had experienced on Liberator. Remur stood in front of him, her hands flying over an invisible tactical arch. Adrian shuddered, it was as if a dream, or rather, a nightmare.
And then he was drawn back into it. “See what, sir?” he asked Admiral Hanson. Bodies now littered the bridge, and the Liberator was disengaging it’s escape pods. He found himself alone with Remur and Hanson. “Where are they?”
“The crew? Gone, hopefully. I want you to understand why I died. Back in 2366, I rammed the USS Liberator into the Borg cube, and it did nothing. I tried, I did everything that could have been asked of a man. And that makes Von Ernst wrong. Her Excelsior-bomb wouldn’t have touched the Borg. Now, go, and let the two of you live.” Hanson pointed to an empty escape pod.
And then it made sense to Donovan. His visions had always been this way. His screwed up head. This was probably all imagined. But the emotion of watching the proud old man’s final moments was too present, and he grabbed Remur and headed for the command escape pod.
As he floated away, he watched Liberator charge the Borg vessel, which swung to face it, and then an explosion filled the screen. And Hanson was gone. The Borg loomed imminently.
And then Donovan was back. Tactical planning was covering blood, and Remur lay on the ground, holding her head. “Something’s wrong here.” She said, “I just watched Admiral Hanson kamikaze against a Borg cube. And Metz..... And Applebaum!”
Donovan looked grim for a moment, looked over at her EVA-suited form. He closed her visor. “I experienced the same vision.” He said to her. “This is incomprehensible. It looks like a massive battle took place here.”
“I know. We need to get out of here.” Remur replied, trying to stand. It was then that she noticed that her left leg was broken, and Donovan remembered landing on it in the escape pod. Helping her to her feat, he grabbed his phaser rifle. She reached out and began throwing important documents into a case that Metz had carried up.
“We don’t have time, come on!” Black ordered. Throwing the last PADD into the case, she snapped it shut.
“I won’t let us come back empty handed. Not with two dead crewers.” She said, and he helped her toward the doorway.
"Nightmare? We doan need no steenkeeen Nightmares...Leo --Is-- A Nightmare"
Starring...
The Man, the Myth, the Legend, the Ladiesman, the Lovemonkey.... Special Chief Deputy Investigative Chief Deputy Investigator... that sonnva Q and the 'Big Hoss' himself.....
**************** Leo Streely! *************************
OOC: HEY! That Steaming-Pile-of-Monkey-Poop 'Toothpick' guy tried to keep ME! LEO! From YOU! my fans! My adoring horde of fans! Let's face it, this whole storyline is diddlypoop without ME! Can you believe the nerve of the Pickey guy? Sheeeeesh! Well, I'm BACK! Special! Here! For YOU! Even that Mark guy never tried to keep ME down! Sure he'd SAY he hated me more than ANY other NPC... and he'd threaten Joe with all kids of stuff if Joe dared to write me into his Raven stories... Mark even offered to neuter Liam when he cloned me, that goober! But you know... it was all for show! Me and Mark were like THIS! NO! not like THAT! I ain't like THAT, though I wonder about that Mark guy! Joe and Liam know better, now that I got them trained and all. Not like THAT! Get that stuff OUT of your head! It's not like they're my Gimps or anything,. I saw Pulp Fiction! But this 'ToothPick' guy? Banning LEO STREELY from his lil story? Someone hold me back, before I go upside his head. Really.. someone... hold me? someone? Helloooooo! This is ME! Leo! Awwwwwww...fuggitaboutit! Just read the post!
* * * * * * * *
USS Galaxy was a madhouse.
Crew ran thither and yon, indulging in whatever fancies grabbed their imagination at any given moment. Bbrode himself strolled off the Bridge in the middle of Red Alert. Musical numbers came over the loudspeakers with no warning. The ship itself was running on 'autopilot' as her crew succumbed to delusional paranoia.
Ensign Jikkalyre stripped off her uniform and joined George and Gracie, the ship's humbacked whales in their tank for a water ballet.
A Kellerian Marine was tapdancing in the sickbay with a smile on his face and pretty bows on his shoes.
Dr. Malgin actually SMILED. We don't know at what, or why... but he SMILED.
Lieutenant Hunter had an delightful discussion with his Replimat for over two hours, regarding the exact chemical composition of Cheezy Poofs.
Dr. Quick sat down and did his Federation tax returns, going back to 2365. In the process, he discovered he was a multi-millionaire and could actually STOP re-cycling his chewing gum. Before he could go get a haircut, he came back to his usual non-lucidity and he donated his new fortune to his landlady's cat, 'Mistah Woogums.' "That was like.. close dude! I almost voted!" he was heard to say.
And on deck Seventeen....
A nude and tubby figure sprints (okay waddles!) at naked breakneck speed around the nude curve of the naked corridor screaming "JII JII JII JII JII JII JII JII JIIIIIiiiiii!" at the top of his naked lungs.
Leo came to a naked halt and looked around. Three shocked looking Sciences Officers stared at him, in ALL his nude glory.
"What? I do that every day around this time! Why are you guys looking at me like I'm under the spell of some paranoid delusional thingey? I just like runing around naked yelling 'JII JII JII' sometimes. Is that a crime? Sue me!" Leo told them, angling so they could admire his better profile.
The male turned green and clamped a hand over his mouth... running for the nearest unisex public restroom. The two females with him eyed Leo with a look that he was hard pressed to identify. It was a look that Leo, despite his loud and oft-repeated claims, did not have a lot of familiarity with, coming from women.
Then, he placed it.
Desire.
Raw Sexual Desire.
"Hey hey HEY! This is ME! Leo!" he shrieked. "Don't squeeze the Charmin! Take a NUMBER! There's enough Lovemonkey Leo to go around!" as the women advanced on him.
"Leo! We love you!" the women chorused, hands reaching out to grab, to embrace, to carress...
"Yeah well.. who doesn't? It's not like you're some gay, repressed silly Texan or anything! It's not like your'e on some meglomaniacal power trip and out to repress the studliest stud in the cosmos! Down with the MAN! Off the Picks! " Leo countered with his usual logic, waving a fist in a 'Solidarity' salute as he slipped their clutches.
"We want you Leo!"
"What? Want me to do what? Shut up? Leave? Cover up my "THE KING LIVES!" tattoo? Stop stealing your panties? Stop peeping in the Pool Locker room? Stop peeing in the pool? I'm running out of stuff I did this morning, here, tootsies..."
"We LOVE you Leo..."
"You said that.... why do you keep saying that? Am I on camera? Comeon, where is it?"
"We want you to work your mojo on us!"
"No seriously.... come on... did Raven put you two up to this? That big Lug! He's hiding and going to pop out any minute, isn't he?...where IS he?"
"Leo..."
"Stop saying my name! Hey! Do I get a gun? Errr..." Leo eyed the women, who were beginning to disrobe.
Leo turns to the readers. "Now THIS is my kinda alternate-reality post! Badda BING." he states, eyebrow waggling.
OOC: LEO! STICK TO THE SCRIPT!
" Every one is a critic! err.. where was I.. oh yeah...HOLY SMAMOLEY! Everyone is nutts! It must be some kinda alternate Dimensional Rift thing making everyone act all weird and affecting our minds! Or my Cologne!" screamed Leo, turning and running for the one place he felt safe to hang around naked in.
Ten Forward.
(Yes, it is sad, but true. When Leo was but a lowly bartender on Price's Galaxy.. he was prone to wearing his 'Leo's Love Lounge' Staff Polo shirt, his bar apron, and a smile. Under that apron.. Leo was nekkid most of the time. Pantless. Free and easy. Dangling in the breeze. Think about THAT as you look back and re-read all the Ten Forward posts you slobs wrote!)
(ten minutes later)
A nude Leo rounded the Ten Forwards doors, pausing only to leer at the nude nymphs' carved bottoms, on the wood panels covering the doors. The two half-naked women pursuing him had swelled (not like THAT!) into dozens.
"IF I HAD A GUN, YOU WOULDN'T BE READING THIS!" shreiked Leo coming to a skidding halt in the middle of the lounge.
"Leeeeoooooooo..." came the cry of the pack behind him.
"Why am I the only person acting normal, running around naked screaming 'JII JII JII' today?" Leo asked the empty room.
Oddly enough, the Lounge was empty. Except for the rhinestone covered white Piano hovering in mid air, being played by the guy in the white rhinestone jumpsuit.
Leo looked back, the horde of almost-nude women were frozen in the doorway. Leo eyes one luscious blonde, clad in her bikini.
"Boy, YOU have lousy timing.. they were right up my butt!" Leo squeaks in indignant rage, hands on his hips. He studies the piano-playing stranger for a second, then his eyes grow large.
"You! I know you...I think....is it really YOU?" he breathes out...
*IT IS ME. HELLO SON* Q replies, doing the tinkly bit of Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 2
"Son? Whasswit that son stuff? You saying something about my Mother? You ain't the King, He'd never talk bad about Mommas! He loved his Momma! What did you say about my momma?" Leo demands, pudgy fists coming up.
*DRAT YOU PESKY HUMANS AND YOUR LINEAR TIMELINES! DID I ALREADY APPEAR TO YOU IN THE HIROGEN EPISODE, OR IS THAT AFTER THIS ONE?* Q demands, moving the the second part of the Mozart piece.
"Knock off playing 'Tiny Bubbles' there... and why are you dressed like the King in his Vegas Glory Days?" Leo retorted.
*LEO, WE KEEP SAYING THIS..ELVIS IS...* Q starts to reply.
"What Elvis? Liberace is 'The King!' and you better have a good reason why you're dressed up like him and calling me 'son' there, tootsie!" Leo snorted.
* I SEE THE HIROGEN INCIDENT IS BEHIND YOU, YOU DON'T EVEN REMEMBER ME STOPPING YOUR POWERS ON LANJEP, DO YOU?*
"I remember someone dressed like you, telling me Liberace was... you know...and THAT was a lie!" Leo replied.
With a 'snap' of his fingers, Q made the piano and jumpsuit disappear. Now Q was as naked as Leo. Crossing his leg modestly, Q invotes Leo to sit in the other of the pair of easy chairs he had replaced the piano with. Leo, of course, sits legs apart, tightly gripping the arms of the leather chair. A rumbling, wet noise sounds from his chair the moment his bottom touches it.
"That was the leather! Not me! The leather!" Leo screeches.
*LEO, WE NEED TO HAVE "THE TALK" *
"Look, you're about fifty years too late. I already got the Talk about Binars and Betazed Bees. One Time, at Band camp...? when I was ten? Me and Suzy Sniggleblurp..."
*LEO, I AM Q. I KNOW ALL, I SEE ALL.*
"Getouddahere. You're shitting me."
*LEO, I AM Q, I ASSURE YOU, I DO NOT SHIT.*
"How do you... you know....?"
*LEO...YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE TO KNOW ABOUT HOW WE... YOU KNOW... IN THE CONTINIUM. YOU CHOSE TO BE HUMAN, LIKE YOUR MOTHER.*
"Why don't I remember any of this?"
*BECAUSE I ALTERED YOUR MEMORIES. ANY Q CAN DO THAT. YOU TRADED YOUR POWERS FOR THE LIFE OF A FRIEND. IT IS ONE OF THE EASIEST THIGNS FOR US Q, TO ALTER YOUR MINDS, THE SAME AS I PROTECT YOU FROM THE EFFECTS OF THIS DIMENSIONAL RIFT, THAT AFFECTS YOUR FELLOW CREW*
Leo shoots a look over his shoulder, at the horde of half-naked and naked women who'd been in pursuit of him.
"Soooo... they're NOT really chasing me, because I'm me, but rather they're seeing something or someone else?" Leo asks, in a small voice.
*EXACTLY. I AM GLAD YOU HAVE MATURED ENOUGH TO SEE THE DIFFERENCE. WE IN THE CONTINIUM HAD HOPES YOU WOULD MATURE AND WANT TO OFFER YOU A SECOND CHANCE TO CLAIM YOU POWERS AND YOUR PLACE WITH US. I THINK YOUR MATURITY WOULD...*
"Works for me! I still get nookie, AND they can't point a finger or baby at me afterwards? Sign me up!" Leo chortled.
*LEO, WHAT ABOUT THE REST OF YOUR CREW AND FRIENDS?*
"Screw them, let them get their own Fan Club. Can you, you know, fix that lil problem I had on Fritan Three? I'd hate for that blonde to go home disappointed..."
*LEO, I TOLD YOU, WE SEE ALL, WE KNOW ALL. I KNOW WHAT HAPPENED ON FRITAN THREE. WHAT -REALLY- HAPPENED*
"WHAT? How can you know? I never told ANYONE!" Leo screeched.
*LEO, YOU WERE YOUNG AND CAREFREE, EVERYONE WAS EXPERIMENTING THEN...*
"Bad bad bad! This is bad...those guys said they'd never tell anyone..." Leo moaned, head in hands
*THIS BORES ME. YOU DISAPPOINT ME, SON. I AM GOING, AND I'M TAKING MORE OF YOUR MEMORIES WITH ME.*
With a "snap" Q was gone, with his chairs. Leo was left alone, nude in the middle of Ten Forward.
"Omnipotent, my sweet patootie! I remember everything! HAHA! Get ready to make sweet, sweet love, ladies...." Leo shouted, before turning to the women...
. . . who were gone.
In their place, a dozen replicas of Raven Darkstar, Heather Sanchez and Laughing Horse Log were frozen in mid-pursuit, glittering obsidian knives and tomahawks were in great profusion, with the oiled and rippling muscles.
A phaser II dropps out of thin air, into Leo's hands.
*YOU MIGHT NEED THIS* the voice echoes in Leo's head.
"ARRGH! Where are my clothes? Ohhhh... nooo... Where are YOUR Guys Clothes? Geeeezzzeeeeee.... HEEEEEllllllllp! Raven! Put some pants on Buddy!" Leo screamed, running for the safety of the supply closet, pausing only to shoot over his shoulder at the horde.
He almost made it.
TBC...
“No,” she whispered, “. . . . . . .its impossible. . . .it cant be. . . . .”
“. . . Me.” The Admiral smiled, “Yes my dear Rebecca I assure you it most certainly is!”
==--==
Things were certainly going from weird to weirder for the confused young XO of the USS Galaxy. What had started out as a mildly interesting mission involving the exploration of a long lost Starfleet vessel had quick transformed into a journey through the surreal.
First, without warning, Rebecca von Ernst had found herself blown out of the Main Shuttlebay by explosive decompression when the Hangar doors had opened seemingly of their own volition.
Saved form an icy death by a stroke of sheer luck, the space-sick girl had crawled along the Defiant’s outer hull until she chanced upon an airlock.
Regaining entry proved easy enough, but instead of finding herself in the drab corridors of a long-dead Starship, the confused officer had stepped out into what could only be described as a post-apocalyptic version of her girl-hood home in rural Minnesota.
Her standard EVA suit was gone, only to be replaced by a flimsy set of shorts and t-shirt, which did little to protect her from the frigid winter air.
The horrifying tableau before Rebecca however was far more chilling than any mere drop in temperature. The quaint farmhouse that had once been home had been transformed into a shattered ruin, and the blue skies above were an eerie yellow haze.
Unfortunately before poor Rebecca could sort out all these confusing details, she was promptly accosted by two men in rather unusual looking Starfleet Uniforms, who promptly stunned her and transported her up to . . . . . .well ‘here’. . .wherever that was.
Ever since she stepped through a door and into a snowy field, “Here” was a decidedly ambiguous term at best.
It was like something out of a nightmare. . . .
Rebecca found herself propped up into a small swivel chair at one end of a Starship Bridge. It was not like any bridge she had ever seen before. It seemed like everything she looked at was like through a haze. Objects blurred in and out at the edges of her vision, and the bridge, despite being formed from pearly white bulkheads seemed dark somehow, as if an invisible shadow hung over everything.
The seat she sat in while sturdy and plush at first glance, seemed to slowly age and rot before her eyes The metal frame taking on pits of rust and flaking paint, while the cusion sagged and split, emitting noxious odor of mildew.
With a yelp Rebecca jumped to her feet casting a suspicious glance at the vacated chair. . .which now seemed 100% normal again.
The crewmembers around her were worse. All clad in that strange futuristic Starfleet uniform, Rebecca got the eerie feeling that no matter how hard she stared at them , she as never quite able to focus in on their faces. . . instead their features swam about in a hazy, dreamlike blur, like distorted afterimages.
They crew took no notice of her instead running through ship routines in a strange trance-like manner. Their voices muffled and indistinct, despite the fact that Rebecca stood only a few yards away.
They seemed at once both young, and old. . .their skin seeming to grow wrinkled and mottled with age right before her eyes. . the foul odor of rotting flesh assaulted her nostrils. Out of the corner of her eyes she could barely sense the feeling of invisible hands reaching out to grab her, but when she turned her head there were only the half-blurred crewmen going about their zombie-like tasks.
The starship. . .whatever it was, was in the midst of combat. Muffled tactical commands echoed from all around her followed by equally obscure acknowledgements, but for the life of her Rebecca could not determine the location of the speakers.