Star Trek: A New Mission

"Mistaken Identity" Part 5

2006-05-28T09:33:00.000-05:00

When last we saw our brave heroes, Captain Blanchard was unconscious in Sickbay, disabled by a weapon meant for another man, and the McAuliffe's doctor unable to reverse its effects. Not only that, but it appeared she was also about to come under attack from one of her own crew. In the meantime, Commander Rocky Jordan had taken the alien behind the energy weapon into custody, but has so far failed to get him to reveal any information on reversing its effects. Read on to see how our stalwart crew fares this week.

T’Ku’lhan’s shape changed once more, and she resumed her usual Vulcan appearance. “My mother was an El-Aurian. And, as you know, El-Aurians are a very long-lived race. About two hundred years ago, a very charming gentleman completely swept her off her feet. After they were married, he informed her that he was a member of a race called the Q Continuum. Have you heard of it?”

The captain retorted, “All starship captains have been fully briefed on the being known as Q and all of his ilk.”

“Then you know that those from the Continuum possess incredible powers. My father passed some of them on to me.” T’Ku’lhan smiled enigmatically.

“So, are you toying with me now?” A feeling of dread crept up on Blanchard. She had heard stories of how the being called Q had amused himself with other starships in the fleet, most notably the Enterprise.

The other woman chuckled softly. “Let’s just call it an experiment. You see, I’ve always been afraid to use my powers very much. The Continuum sought out my father and killed him when they found out about his marriage to my mother, an inferior life form. I’ve always been a bit cautious about them finding out about my existence and doing the same to me. So far, luckily, I’ve managed to keep them from discovering my existence.”

=/\=

Dr. Castle suddenly swore under her breath. “She’s slipping farther away. Whatever that Vulcan’s doing, she’d better hurry it up.” The readings on the computer terminal next to the captain’s bed were becoming more and more erratic.

=/\=

Suddenly the captain gasped and clutched her chest, reacting to a sharp and intense pain. Her heart felt as if a hand had grasped it and squeezed it very hard. Blue-green eyes blazed angrily in T’Ku’lhan’s direction. “What are you doing to me?”

“That’s not my doing, unfortunately. The energy blast that knocked you unconscious is slowly eating away at your bodily functions. You could say we’re running out of time.” The woman gave an eerie laugh, accompanied by a wink of the eye.

“If that’s the case, then what are you waiting for? If you are so sure you can get me out of here, then let’s go.” Blanchard sounded far from amused.

“Now, wait just one minute. I haven’t decided whether I want to help you or not. This may be sheer serendipity. I may have been given the opportunity to dispose of a nasty little problem.” T’Ku’lhan rubbed her hands together gleefully.

“What do you mean?” the captain asked. All of a sudden she felt like she was looking in a mirror. T’Ku’lhan had formed herself into an exact likeness of her, from head to toe. Then the surroundings changed, and the two women found themselves standing outside the McAuliffe, perched on top of the starboard warp nacelle.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be in command,” T’Ku’lhan said thoughtfully, her head cocked slightly. “This little . . . situation . . . will give me the perfect chance to do just that. All I would have to do is to wave my hand and send you floating off into the great unknown.”

Blanchard’s eyes widened. She didn’t know whether to be terrified or furious.

Suddenly, the two women were standing in the empty corridor once more. T’Ku’lhan spoke, as if without interruption, “Of course, the supreme irony would be to make you remain on the ship. In a completely different capacity, of course, and nowhere near the top of the food chain.” Blanchard looked down at herself as her uniform changed color, from command red to the teal of the sciences department. It took only the briefest of moments to place a hand to her collar and feel the solitary pip there.

“I think this has gone quite far enough,” the captain growled as she took a step toward the other woman.

“Yes, I think you’re right. How delightful it would be to watch you go through life as a lowly ensign, forced to run mindless repetitive tests for the rest of your days, without the slightest chance of getting anywhere close to the bridge again.” This was followed by diabolical laughter.

“I demand that you stop this foolishness,” Blanchard ordered, her stance firm. “I refuse to bargain with you . . .”

“Oh, I don’t think you’re in any position to bargain, my dear Adele,” T’Ku’lhan smirked. “I, on the other hand, am in an excellent position to be very magnanimous, if I choose to do so.”

“Yes, I can see that you are indeed your father’s daughter,” the captain spat. But before she could continue, her legs buckled under her and she sat down hard on the deck. “What . . . what are you doing to me?”

“I said before that I wasn’t responsible for getting you into this predicament. An energy weapon from some race we have yet to identify hit you. However, if you are a good little girl, I may be able to get you out of this mess before any more of your bodily functions quit on you. As it is, the doctor has had to administer medicine to keep your heart beating, and it looks as if you just lost motor control.”

“Alright, what do you want?” Blanchard sighed.

“First of all, you must never reveal to anyone what I have just told you. If the Continuum were made aware of my existence, they would most certainly hunt me down and destroy me. And they might not be too careful about who or what they eliminate along the way.” T’Ku’lhan winked knowingly at the woman below her.

“Agreed,” the captain grimaced reluctantly. “But I have a feeling that’s not all.”

“I want you to get me off the bridge,” the other woman said evenly. “If I’m not so visible, then I’ll stand a better chance of not catching the eye of anyone from the Continuum who might come snooping around.”

Blanchard told herself that she didn’t want this woman anywhere close to the bridge, but she wasn’t about to reveal that openly. So she decided to play along for the time being. “I can see that.”

“So you’ll do as I say in this?”

“I think you can count on me to do what I can.” The captain’s eyes narrowed slightly as she looked away from T’Ku’lhan briefly.

The other woman held out her hand, a challenging look in her eyes. Blanchard took that hand and clasped it tightly, her own expression just as bold. It was at that moment that things started to go dark.

As if out of a fog, the captain saw moments from her past flash in front of her eyes, as if she was watching from afar. She saw herself sitting at the helm of a Galax-class starship traveling at warp speed, thinking that nothing she had ever experienced at the Academy had prepared her for this. She saw herself in the arms of the first man she had ever loved. And, as a deep sadness suddenly washed over her, she saw herself standing at her father’s grave.

And then these, and many more, images vanished as Blanchard became aware of a bright light all around her. She struggled to open her eyes.

=/\=

Jordan was the first to see the captain’s eyelids start to flicker. “Doctor!” she called out as she took a step forward.

Castle looked away from the computer and quickly pulled out her scanner, running it over the prone body on the bed. “All of her vital signs are returning to normal. That Vulcan must have done something after all.”

Just then, that very Vulcan staggered back from Blanchard’s bed, her hands still out in front of her, a pained expression on her face. Keeping her attention focused on the captain, Castle motioned to one of her nurses to help T’Ku’lhan.

As she did this, the first officer kept her eyes carefully fastened on the captain. Just as she was the first to notice the signs of her awakening, she was the first to see Blanchard’s mouth move ever so slightly. Jordan leaned closer, her ear a fraction of an inch from the captain’s face, and even then barely managed to make out her words. “Ship . . . safe?”

Jordan nodded, smiling as she patted the other woman’s arm. “Yes, Captain. The ship is out of danger. Now, just lay back here and let the good doctor do her work.”

Standing up straight and looking toward T’Ku’lhan, the first officer forced her voice to sound respectful. “The ship owes you a debt of gratitude, Commander. I don’t know what you did, but you’ve saved the captain’s life.” Inwardly, she felt her stomach wrench with the knowledge that she herself had not been able to protect her captain, as she should have been able to do.

Jordan’s eyes widened in surprise, however, at the feel of a hand grasping her wrist so sharply that it threatened to break bone. She looked down to see Blanchard staring at her, blue-green eyes large and blazing. She bent down once more to hear the other woman’s still-weak whisper. At first she thought that the captain must be in shock or dazed, because she asked, “Captain, are you sure?” But when the first officer saw Blanchard begin to become agitated, she nodded. “Yes, sir. Right away.”

Jordan stood up and stared at T’Ku’lhan as she slapped her comm. badge. “Security to Sick-bay, immediately.”

It was only seconds before Ghegau and two of her guards came jogging into Sickbay. The security chief spied Jordan and moved quickly in her direction. “The captain?”

“Safe and recovering,” the first officer nodded. “I called you down here to take Commander T’Ku’lhan into custody.”

That woman hardly had time to react with surprise before Ghegau had motioned to her two guards, who came to stand on either side of her. “What is the meaning of this?” T’Ku’lhan demanded.

“Captain’s orders,” Jordan responded calmly. “Take her to the brig for now.”

“Is this how I am repaid?” The other woman raised her voice, uncharacteristically. “I believe that I am responsible for returning her to consciousness. How can you have me arrested?”

Jordan crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sure that when Captain Blanchard recovers more fully, she will give us all the answers we need.” With that, she turned and walked briskly out of Sickbayb. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the security detail holding T’Ku’lhan firmly by both arms. The woman accompanied them without a struggle, although her head was held high in defiance.

So, we find Captain Blanchard finally free of the effects of the energy weapon. But how will she deal with both T'Ku'lhan and Lord Waryn of the Zingaro? Are her troubles over, or is there more to come? Return next week to find out.

Mistaken Identity, Part 4

2006-05-21T09:20:00.000-05:00

Last week, we found out who was behind the attack on Captain Blanchard and her ship. We also found out that the assault was actually intended for the McAuliffe's previous commander, Capt. Stewart Livingston. However, far from being remorseful, the being who planned and carried out this attack seems to be even more gleeful to learn that his weapon has disabled the wrong person -- and is stubbornly silent as to how to cure the captain.

This week, while Dr. Castle struggles to find a way to help Blanchard, we spend some time with the captain in the strange place the energy ray has sent her. We also discover a great secret about one of our crew. Will this secret be able to help the captain, or will our villain finally reveal the answer? Read on, and find out the answers to these questions and more.

Upon entering Sickbay, Jordan walked straight toward the captain’s bed, noting that the patient looked much as she had before. When Dr. Castle approached, she queried, “Has there been any change?”

Castle shook her head. “If anything, she’s gotten worse. Her brain waves are starting to become erratic. And I’ve had to administer medication to keep her heartbeat regular.” The woman took a deep breath before commenting, “She keeps slipping farther and farther away from us, Commander.”

The XO sighed as she leaned against a nearby bed. “We’ve discovered that the captain’s condition is the result of some kind of energy weapon that was stolen by the Zingaro – from whom, we have no idea. But apparently this was meant as a personal attack on Captain Livingston.”

The doctor’s face showed her amazement. “Captain Livingston?”

“I’ll explain later,” Jordan replied, waving her head wearily. “T’Ku’lhan is trying to find out who created this thing, in the hopes that will help us figure out how to counteract its effects.”

“We may not have time for that.” Castle shook her head sadly. “If we don’t do something very soon, we’re going to lose her.”

Jordan’s head snapped up at that, and she felt a sense of fear that was completely foreign to her nature. No longer engaging in a sparring match with the doctor, she queried, “And you don’t have any idea how to bring her out of this?”

The doctor paused for a moment before answering, just a bit sharply. “I did have one idea, as you might recall, Commander. You vetoed it at the time, but I don’t think we have any other options at the moment.”

The XO knew very well what Castle was referring to, and she shook her head defiantly. “No telepathy, Doctor. I’m afraid I’m going to have to be very firm on that.”

The doctor’s expression became challenging. “Commander, may I remind you that Captain Blanchard’s life is at stake here. How can you even consider ruling out anything that might be of help to her?” She paused before adding, “And, to be honest, I can do it with or without your permission, as Chief Medical Officer of this ship.”

Jordan paced around the ward, pondering her next move. Her own telepathic powers were a secret that had been known only to herself and to Captain Blanchard for years, as a result of an unspoken agreement. They had both benefited from those powers, on the command deck and on away missions as well. One of the XO’s greatest fears was to have Starfleet discover her gift. But was it worth the captain’s life to keep that secret? Surely she could take the doctor into her confidence, couldn’t she?

Dr. Castle watched the other woman curiously, sensing that she was going through some sort of inner turmoil. She also sensed that this was not the time for levity, and so waited respectfully for the XO to inwardly settle whatever it was that was disturbing her.

Finally, Jordan turned back to the doctor and approached the captain’s bed once more. “The reason I refused to allow a telepath to read the captain is because I had already done so, when I was down here earlier.”

The doctor cocked one eye inquisitively, but remained quiet as she sensed more was to come.

“Doctor, my grandmother was a Betazoid.” Jordan flushed as she said this, not sure how Castle would respond.

Castle nodded slightly as she considered this. “Yes, that would be part of your personnel file. But that only accounts for one-quarter of your genetic make-up. None of your physical exams have shown any indication of telepathic abilities.”

Jordan nodded. “I have spent a long time developing shields, Doctor.”

“If your shields are strong enough to block the kind of scanning you would have been subjected to before entering the Academy, then your powers must be strong indeed,” Castle commented thoughtfully. “I would love the chance to study them some time.”

The XO’s expression darkened considerably as she was tempted to loudly protest this, but then realized that this wasn’t the time. For now, Captain Blanchard’s safety should be their primary concern. So she replied only, “Perhaps, Doctor.”

The two women fell silent for a moment, then, as both considered what to do next. It was Jordan who spoke first. “Doctor, I do have an idea, if you will promise to keep what I have told you in the strictest confidence.”

“Of course, I will,” Castle responded, sounding slightly offended. “I am your doctor, after all.”

The XO looked as if she was about to debate the truth of that, but then decided against it. Instead, she put both hands in her pockets and leaned against the empty bed once more. “I think I can suggest a compromise, Doctor. We may have tried Betazoid telepathy, but the process works entirely differently with Vulcans. What do you think?”

The doctor looked skeptical for the slightest of moments, but then nodded her head thoughtfully. “It just might work. We don’t have any other options, after all.”

With that, Jordan stood up and slapped her comm. badge. “T’Ku’lhan to Sickbay, immediately.”

The briefest of intervals elapsed before the Vulcan woman entered and looked around her. Spying the doctor and XO, she made her way in their direction, looking down at the captain with an expression that looked like she was studying a new species of protozoa. “Yes, Commander?”

Jordan quickly summarized the situation, and the plan she and the doctor had agreed upon. T’Ku’lhan nodded as she listened, and appeared to ponder what she heard. “Might I be permitted to ask what you think I might be able to do here? I am no doctor.”

“No,” the doctor said, “that is very true. But, you are a strong telepath, like the rest of your people.” She took a step closer to the other woman. “We are asking you to try a mind-meld with the captain, to see if you can determine a solution to this problem.”

T’Ku’lhan nodded her understanding. “I’m afraid I cannot comply with your request,” she said evenly as she looked down at Blanchard.

Jordan’s face telegraphed her displeasure. “May I ask why not?”

The Vulcan nodded. “A long time ago, I took a vow to never meld with anyone without their consent.”

The doctor looked dumbfounded. “But the captain cannot give or deny consent in her present condition.”

“Nevertheless,” T’Ku’lhan countered, “I cannot go against my vows.”

“I’ve never heard such malarkey,” Jordan snorted. “Alright, I order you to mind-meld with the captain.”

“We do have Betazoids on the ship’s crew,” the Vulcan offered. “Perhaps one of them could be persuaded to attempt this task. The powers of those from Betazed are known to be very strong.”

The XO cast a warning look at Castle. The doctor nodded slightly and responded, “That has already been attempted.”

“Then it would be highly illogical for me to attempt something that has already been tried unsuccessfully,” T’Ku’lhan said calmly, arms crossed over her chest.

Jordan looked as if her temper was about to erupt. “I never heard such insubordination!”

The Vulcan turned serenely toward the XO. “I merely offer that my time would be better spent continuing my search for the race who created the energy ray that disabled Captain Blanchard.”

Now it was Dr. Castle’s turn to express her irritation. “Confound it, Commander! We’re running out of ideas here. As much as you and I may disagree with the captain’s policies, I refuse to stand by and allow any patient of mine to die for lack of trying. For one moment, can’t you throw your damnable logic out the window and try a little humanity?”

T’Ku’lhan cocked her eyebrow at the doctor, “I do not see why you should insult me, Doctor.”

“Hold on there!” Jordan exclaimed, her patience long gone. She strode forward and grasped the taller woman by her arms, forcing her to turn and look in her direction. “Commander, I don’t care what your personal feelings toward the captain – or toward me, for that matter – are. I’m asking you, as a personal favor, to do whatever you can do here.”

The two women stood eye to eye. One was tall and willowy, with an aloof air in her dark almond-shaped eyes. The other was shorter and more compact, and appeared to be barely suppressing an intense rage. T’Ku’lhan spoke with maddening calm, “Being a Vulcan, sir, my personal feelings, as you call them, are not a consideration.”

Jordan spun around, then, and marched off as if in search of something to hit. Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she walked back to the other woman and spoke with a lowered voice, “Alright, then, I’m giving you a direct order to try a mind-meld with the captain. Your vows, whatever they may be, mean less to me than the well-being of that woman over there.” She nodded toward the bed where Blanchard lay, still. “Now, do I have to get Ghegau down here with her guards and arrest you for disobeying a direct order?”

T’Ku’lhan nodded once, and then walked over to stand before the unconscious woman on the bed. She pressed her palms together and closed her eyes for a moment, before opening them and placing her fingertips on the captain’s face. She closed her eyes again, in concentration.

=/\=

After sprinting down the corridor for several seconds, Blanchard slowed to a stop. This was pointless, she thought. Someone had apparently brought her into this place with the intention of holding her as a prisoner. She was not going to find a way out by running down endless corridors. There had to be another solution.

Just then, she became aware of a movement behind her. Turning around quickly, she was surprised to see Lieutenant Commander T’Ku’lhan leaning against the bulkhead, arms crossed over her chest. “Hello, Captain,” the Vulcan woman said amicably.

“Are you behind this nonsense?” the captain demanded.

“No, not at all,” answered the Vulcan. “But I may be able to get you out of here.”

“That’s fine with me,” Blanchard replied. “Let’s go, then.”

“Not so fast,” T’Ku’lhan remarked, a slight smile playing across her face. “First I wanted to take this opportunity to have a little chat with you. Girl talk, you might say.” She sat down on the deck and patted the floor beside her, as if in invitation.

The other woman stayed right where she was, however, and stared down at the Vulcan. “I think you’d better tell me exactly what is going on here,” she ordered sternly. “I heard the Red Alert. If you’ve put the ship in danger. . . “ Blanchard took a step toward T’Ku’lhan, her fists balled up and her threat unfinished.

T’Ku’lhan spoke with a slight sarcastic edge to her voice, most uncharacteristic for a Vulcan. “We’re in your mind, my dear Captain,” she laughed, her behavior departing even further from the cool, unemotional demeanor she usually displayed. “Wandering through the endless maze of your empty human mind, as inferior as it may be. My, what a frightening thought. And, as for the ship, I claim no responsibility for the actions of that loose cannon you call a first officer. If she wants to get the McAuliffe blown out of the galaxy, that’s entirely her problem.”

Blanchard stared at the other woman, amazed at the change in the usually cool, aloof Vulcan. But then, she had only been in command of the ship a short time; perhaps this was merely a side to T’Ku’lhan that she had not encountered before. Carefully, she took a seat on the opposite side of the corridor, her back against the bulkhead. “Watch your tongue, Mister,” she warned. “I can’t believe Captain Livingston allowed you to speak to him like that.”

“He was far more deserving of my respect than you, I can assure you,” the Vulcan smirked. “However, let’s get back to the business at hand. As you have probably surmised by now, I am not whom I appear to be.” T’Ku’lhan’s form suddenly began to shimmer and to change shape. There, sitting across from the captain, was a statuesque Klingon woman in full battle armor. But, before Blanchard had time to react, the image of a Cardassian, and then a Romulan replaced it.

Blanchard jumped to her feet and took a few steps backward, her eyes wide with amazement. “Just what are you?” She was growing more alarmed with every passing moment.

What is this? Captain Blanchard, paralyzed by the effects of a strange alien weapon, suddenly finds herself under attack from one of her own crew as well. What is behind this new assault? Will she find a way to defeat this attacker, while her crew madly searches for a way to deal with the weapon that laid her low in the first place? Return here next week to find out.

"Mistaken Identity" Part 3

2006-05-14T10:37:00.000-05:00

Last week, we saw First Officer Rocky Jordan forced to assume command of the McAuliffe, while Captain Blanchard lay unconscious in Sickbay, the victim of a mysterious alien probe. If some of the McAuliffe's crew were doubtful about Blanchard's ability to command, they were even less trusting of her chosen XO's suitability for that task. And, to lead her into possible battle at that. For, with a group of unidentified vessels rushing toward the ship, that may well be what lies in store for our stalwart crew! Read on to find out what happens next.

Captain Blanchard sat on the deck in the corridor, deep in thought. She had begun to suspect that she was not on the McAuliffe after all, but had been transported to some mysterious location that had been designed to look like her ship. The seemingly endless corridor had doors placed at appropriate intervals, but she could get none of them to open. And all of her attempts to contact other ship’s personnel had so far been unsuccessful.

The last thing she remembered before finding herself here was encountering a strange vessel during what should have been a routine mission to the Albrecht system. But how she got from the bridge of her ship to this place was puzzlement in the extreme. If she was no longer on the McAuliffe, how had she been transported from the ship? There had to be some answers here somewhere, if only she kept looking . . . and if she could get her thoughts organized. But she was having a great deal of difficulty concentrating on the task at hand without giving in to a rising sense of panic. And that was not like her at all.

Suddenly the captain’s thoughts were interrupted. Alarms sounded throughout the corridor, accompanied by red flashing lights. Red alert! The ship was in danger! She had to somehow get to the bridge and deal with this emergency, whatever it was. Jumping to her feet, she took off down the corridor at a dead run.

=/\=

Jordan ordered Ghegau, “Open a hailing frequency.” She then stood up and directed her voice toward the intercom; “This is Commander Rocky Jordan, aboard the Federation starship U.S.S. McAuliffe. Please identify yourself.”

However, there was no answer. As the XO paced across the bridge, the silence grew oppressive. “Repeat, this is the Federation starship U.S.S. McAuliffe. Identify yourself or prepare to be fired upon.”

The security officer spoke up, “Sir, we are receiving a signal from one of the ships.”

“On screen.”

A strange image then filled the main viewscreen, that of a large humanoid with bright blue hair and beard. He was dressed in a loose-fitting emerald-colored shirt made out of some kind of satiny material, fastened with large gold buttons. “I am Lord Waryn of the Gathering. Why have you intruded into Zingaro territory?” His arms were crossed over his massive chest, and his golden eyes blazed defiantly.

Jordan walked toward the screen, making a conscious effort to keep her voice civil. “Our ship was attacked by a vessel which we traced to this sector. Do you know anything about. . . “

The Zingaro chieftain interrupted the woman, “As you can plainly see, we have no ship in our clan that is capable of attacking a ship the size of yours. However, if you continue to remain in this area, we will be forced to take whatever defensive actions we might be capable of. One little ship might not cause you any harm, but ten of them together might well prove worthy of the task.”

At a gesture from Jordan, Ghegau broke the connection. In answer to her wordless inquiry, she shook her head, “None of the Zingaro ships are any match for us, sir, singly or together.”

Jordan was tempted to order the ship to fire on the chieftain’s craft, thereby effectively silencing his braggadocio. However, she knew that such unprovoked hostility went against what Captain Blanchard would do in this situation, and was quite possibly a violation of the Prime Directive as well. She sighed audibly.

At that moment, the group of Zingaro vessels began to quickly dart around the larger ship, at times approaching as close as they dared before dashing off to what they perceived as a safe distance once more. Jordan was more annoyed than angry, “I’ve had just about enough of this. Commander T’Ku’lhan, can you get a transporter lock on the Zingaro leader?”

“Affirmative, sir,” came the response as the Vulcan’s fingers flew across her console.

“Beam him directly to the bridge.”

Suddenly, Waryn materialized in the center of the bridge, looking mystified and angry at the same time. Following Jordan’s lead, Ghegau pulled her phaser and pointed it at the big humanoid. Finding his voice, he blustered, “What is the meaning of this? I demand to be sent back to my own ship!”

“Not until I get some answers,” demanded the XO. She motioned to Ghegau, “Open a channel to all the Zingaro ships.” Upon a nod from the security chief, Jordan spoke up loudly, “Attention all ships. Lord Waryn is presently a guest on board the McAuliffe. I suggest that you break off your attack immediately, unless you wish to place his life in danger.” Soon all of the smaller craft had assumed standing positions, forming a perimeter around the starship.

Jordan turned on the chief. “Now, suppose you tell me what’s going on here?”

The big man took a belligerent stance. “My business is with Captain Livingston. I’ll speak to no one else.”

Jordan debated inwardly the wisdom of telling Waryn that Livingston was no longer in command of the McAuliffe, and quickly decided against it. “Captain Livingston is unavailable at the moment.”

“I’ll wait,” came the response. Waryn crossed his arms over his chest and looked around him with interest, smiling wickedly.

The XO gestured to Ghegau. “You’ll wait in the brig, then.” The security chief moved down and took hold of the chief’s arm.

Waryn attempted to break away from the woman’s surprisingly firm grip, blustering, “You have no right to treat me this way! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Consider it a well-earned vacation,” Jordan retorted, turning her back on him and moved toward the science officer, feigning interest in the readings on her console as she pointedly ignored Waryn.

As the security chief began to escort him from the bridge, the Zingaro chief grew louder in his protests. “I demand to see Captain Livingston right now!”

Seeming to make casual conversation with Lt. Twi Son, the Chief of Sciences, Jordan remarked, “I guess we could always cram the big oaf into a torpedo tube and fire him in the direction of Livingston’s last known location.” Jordan’s sense of humor, which many might label bizarre, was often expressed in the form of sarcastic commentary such as this. She enjoyed keeping those around her wondering about what she was up to.

Ensign Proto spoke up then from the conn. “Wouldn’t that be extremely hazardous to Lord Waryn’s safety, sir?” More than one person on the bridge forced back a smile at the PHC’s question. Humor, not to mention sarcasm, was often difficult for him to comprehend. The reaction of the Zingaro chief was impossible to gauge, as the turbolift closed at that very moment, carrying him down to the ship’s brig.

=/\=

Commander Jordan left Lord Waryn to stew in the brig for a couple of hours. During this time, the Zingaro ships maintained their position around the McAuliffe, waiting for their chieftain. Their patience seemed to be inexhaustible, as judged from their continued silence. The same could not be said for the XO, however, who alternately looked over the shoulders of the bridge crew and pored over computer records as she sat in the command chair.

Finally, Jordan could stand it no longer. She ordered Ghegau to bring Waryn back to the bridge. While waiting, the XO bent over T’Ku’lhan and whispered something into the pointed ear. The Vulcan responded with the slightest nod of her head in the affirmative.

As soon as the Zingaro chieftain stepped onto the bridge, he exploded. “I demand to see Captain Livingston immediately. This is outrageous!”

“Yes, I have to agree with you,” Jordan responded evenly. “However, I must inform you that Captain Livingston is no longer in command of this ship. I’m afraid you’re going to have to deal with me, after all.”

“You should have told me from the very first that you were Captain of this blasted ship!” Waryn protested loudly.

“Oh, I’m not the captain, either,” Jordan said, smiling crookedly.

The chieftain stamped his feet in irritation. “Then who is the captain of this horrid ship?”

“That would be Captain Adele Blanchard,” the XO promptly replied.

“Then I demand to see her!” Waryn shouted, his face growing purple with rage.

“I’m afraid she is unavailable at the moment,” Jordan answered, almost breaking into laughter, thinking that the chieftain looked at if he was about to explode.

“Then I insist that you return me to my ship and allow my clan to return to their homes!”

“Of course I will,” Jordan nodded. “As soon as we settle this little matter of why you sent that probe to attack us.”

Waryn turned his back on the XO. “I refuse to deal with underlings.” His nose lifted into the air contemptuously.

Jordan’s face darkened for just a moment, before she turned to T’Ku’lhan. “In that case, destroy one of the Zingaro ships. I don’t care which one.” She waved her hand in dismissal.

A stunned Waryn watched the viewscreen, speechless, as a phaser beam darted out from the ship toward one of the waiting craft, reducing it to a cloud of debris. He sputtered and shouted, “How dare you? Those people meant you no harm!”

The XO had somehow forgotten to inform Waryn that, before destroying the Zingaro craft, T’Ku’lhan had transported everyone aboard into one of the McAuliffe’s cargo bays, along with most of their belongings. Here select members of the starship’s security department were closely guarding them. In the meantime, the remaining Zingaro were fleeing toward the safety of the nebula at what was probably maximum velocity.

“Commander, snare the closest of those vessels with tractor beams.” Jordan walked smoothly over to stand directly in front of Waryn, looking him straight in the eye while still speaking to the Vulcan. “Then target forward phasers and wait for my signal to fire.”

Waryn looked as if he was about to soil his trousers. His mouth opened and closed several times as if he was trying to speak, but nothing came out.

The XO continued, speaking directly to the Zingaro this time. “Now, I strongly suggest that you start talking, and do it NOW!” She leaned forward, her eyes blazing.

Then it was Jordan’s turn to back up, a look of surprise on her face as Waryn’s expression changed from fear to apparent triumph. He cackled madly and rubbed his hands together as he chuckled, “My plan worked, it seems!”

Jordan quickly recovered her composure and moved toward the Zingaro once more. Grasping his collar with both hands, she pulled him close so that only he could hear what she said in a threatening tone, “What plan?”

The chieftain assumed an equally threatening tone as he whispered, “Take your hands off me or I won’t say another word.”

A look of disgust on her face, the XO forcefully released her hold on Waryn’s collar and took two steps back, leaning on the console with arms crossed over her chest. “Alright, I’m listening.”

“What I’ve done,” the Zingaro said, gloating, “is to get my revenge on that monster who killed my Jiara.” He looked around the bridge, eyes twinkling mischievously. “That little energy weapon – which we stole, by the way – is slowly shutting down all of the good captain’s cognitive processes. When it is finished with that chore, it will begin to attack the more primitive parts of the brain as well, effectively extinguishing her life one step at a time.” At this, he broke into an evil-sounding laugh.

Jordan took the man by the collar again, this time backing him up until he was against the bulkhead. “What are you babbling about?”

Far from terrified, Waryn spat out his words. “Let Livingston find out that his scheming has taken the life of another innocent victim. Then let him live with that guilt for the rest of his days!” He grinned viciously as he continued, “Oh, and there is no cure for the effects of the ray.”

Jordan removed one hand from the Zingaro’s collar and balled it into a fist, bringing it back level with her head, preparing to launch it full-force at her enemy’s jaw, but Science Officer Twi Son grabbed that fist and prevented her. The Bajoran protested, “No! If you harm him, we’ll never find out how to help the captain!”

Releasing the chieftain with a cry of disgust, Jordan backed a few steps away, her eyes remaining fixed on her adversary. Waryn calmly stepped away from the bulkhead and straightened his clothes with an expression of indignation. The XO spun on her heels and marched back to the command deck. “Take this THING out of my sight, and let him enjoy the hospitality of our brig for a bit longer until I decide what to do with him.” She took three deep breaths, trying to calm down.

After Ghegau and one of her guards had escorted Waryn from the brig, T’Ku’lhan spoke up. “Commander, when Waryn was speaking, I was reminded of an encounter that this ship had with the Zingaro almost five years ago. The McAuliffe was giving chase to a raiding party when one of the Zingaro’s vessels experienced an engine overload. Captain Livingston ordered the transport of all on board to this ship, but it exploded before transport could be completed.”

Taking a seat, Jordan listened rapty to the Vulcan’s words. “Yes, I think I see where you’re going with this.”

“It may well be that this Jiara whom Waryn was referring to was on board that vessel, and that he blames the former captain of this ship for her death.” T’Ku’lhan shook her head slightly. “How very illogical to hold such a grudge for so long, but then Waryn appears to be a highly illogical being.”

The XO nodded thoughtfully. “No, it sounds like a highly logical explanation, at least it does to me.” She closed her eyes for a second, pondering this latest development. Could it indeed be true that Captain Blanchard was merely an innocent victim of some crazed being’s quest for revenge?

“Even so,” Twi spoke up from her station, “we still have no idea how to help the captain.” She rubbed her nose ridges absent-mindedly. “If we knew who the Zingaro got the ray from, that might help us out.”

T’Ku’lhan nodded in agreement. “I’ll begin to scan Starfleet’s weaponry database for any reference to a similar device.”

“Good,” Jordan said as she rose from her seat and headed for the turbo-lift. “In the meantime, I’ll be in Sickbay.”

So, we may know who is behind the attack on the McAuliffe and her captain, and why. But our heroes are no closer to finding a solution to their problem, are they? Will this situation change? Will Rocky Jordan find a way to make Lord Waryn talk? Return here next week to find out.

"Mistaken Identity" Part 2

2006-05-07T18:51:00.000-05:00

Attacked on the bridge of her own ship by a weapon of unknown origin, Captain Adele Blanchard lies unconscious in Sickbay. Meanwhile, XO Rocky Jordan finds herself in command of the McAuliffe, searching for who or what is behind the attack on her captain. And yet, Jordan finds time to leave the bridge at this time of crisis to be with her captain. What secret is about to be revealed? Read on and find out.

Jordan took this opportunity to move closer to Blanchard. Putting her hand on the captain’s arm, almost nonchalantly, she stared intently at the other woman’s face.

The captain and her first officer shared a secret that they kept closely guarded from anyone else. The two women had been linked telepathically since their Academy days, when both had barely survived a tragic accident. This helped them work together as a team, and Jordan was able to anticipate Blanchard’s orders almost before they were given. Of course, there was a bad side to this as well. Neither woman could hide her emotions from the other for very long.

Jordan peered intently at the other woman and concentrated. She probed the captain’s mind, looking for some kind of contact with her psyche. However, all she encountered was a great nothingness. Puzzled, she closed her eyes so that she could focus better, and tried again. This time she felt a sensation strangely akin to running into a brick wall. Opening her eyes, she shook her head and readied herself for another attempt. However, she saw Dr. Castle hurrying back from the other patient. Muttering a curse to herself, she backed away from Blanchard. “I’ll be on the bridge if there is any change in the captain’s condition.”

=/\=

Adele Blanchard found herself walking through the corridors of the ship. Looking around, she realized that she was alone, and tapped her comm. badge. “Blanchard to Jordan.” When there was no reply, she tried again. “Blanchard to Jordan. Respond, please.” Again, no answer was forthcoming.

The captain continued walking, and headed in the direction of the turbolift. However, when she got to where she knew the lift doors should have been, the corridor continued on as before. She attempted to open one of the doors on her right, but found it locked. “Computer, unlock this door. Security clearance Blanchard Delta one-six-three.” Pressing the control panel beside the door, she expected it to open. Instead, it remained locked.

Blanchard tried the door on the other side of the corridor, with the same result. Beginning to become concerned the captain spoke, “Blanchard to anyone on board, please respond.” Her call was met by silence, and she tried a different tactic. “Computer, what is my present location?” But again there was no answer. Feeling frustrated, and fighting the first twinges of fear, she turned and went back the way she had come.

Suddenly, the captain heard a loud voice calling, as if from a long way off. “Adele!” It sounded like Rocky Jordan.

Breaking into a trot, Blanchard made her way down the corridor. “Number One, what is your present location?” But there was no answer.

After what seemed like several minutes, the voice could be heard again. “Alright, Princess, move your tail feathers. I’m getting tired of waiting for you.” At first the captain smiled inwardly at her XO’s manner of address, knowing that no disrespect was intended. However, Blanchard also knew that she wouldn’t speak so unless they were alone, and certainly never over an open intercom. Something was very wrong here.

Blanchard’s voice betrayed her irritation. “Commander Jordan, report please.” What in blazes was going on?

=/\=

Rocky Jordan returned to the bridge and sat down in the center seat. She sensed, rather than saw, more than one pair of eyes following her. “Ensign Proto, what is our current heading?”

The PHC replied without looking back. “We are currently on course to the Marshall Nebula. At our current speed of Warp 3.4, we should arrive there in six hours, twenty-seven minutes, and twelve point seventeen seconds.”

T’Ku’lhan spoke up. “Commander, I have traced the probe’s ion trail to a small planetoid within the nebula. I took the initiative of ordering a course change, as you were occupied elsewhere.”

Jordan nodded. “Well done, Commander. Increase speed to Warp 4.” She stood up and retreated to the captain’s ready room. She needed to decide what to do next, and she preferred not to do it under the scrutiny of the bridge crew.

When the first officer entered the ready room, however, she faced a moment of indecision. She walked slowly into the room and stood before the desk for several seconds, as if pondering her next move. Then, almost reluctantly, she moved behind the desk and lowered herself into the seat, taking a deep breath as she placed her hands on top of it.

Soon, the door chime sounded. Upon being given permission to enter, T’Ku’lhan came in and stood before the desk. “What can I do for you, Commander?” Jordan asked, trying not to sound too brusque.

The Vulcan woman came right to the point, as usual. “The Zingaro have recently been reported raiding transport ships in the area of the Marshall Nebula. I would suggest caution in our approach.”

“Yes, Commander,” Jordan replied with a nod. “I have read Starfleet’s reports on the Zingaro. Do you think they are behind the probe’s attack?” She leaned forward slightly and studied the other woman.

“The Zingaro do not have the scientific capabilities of constructing such a device. However, they have been known to acquire sophisticated technology from other races, either through trade or theft.” T’Ku’lhan continued to stand erect before the desk, hands behind her back.

“But why would the Zingaro send such a long-range device to attack a Federation starship?”

The Vulcan woman speculated with a slight cock of her head, “One might wonder if the weapon was intended specifically for the captain, since she was the only one affected.”

Jordan mentally chastised herself for not considering that possibility. “If that was the case, what reason would they have for targeting Captain Blanchard?”

“I do not know, sir,” came the reply. “You are much more familiar with the captain’s service history than I am. And, indeed, I may be mistaken in my assumption. However, I recommend that we consider it as one possibility.” The woman gave the slightest of smirks, suggesting that she wasn’t accustomed to acknowledging mistakes.

“Thank you, I will,” the XO responded. She paused for a moment as if lost in thought. Then she looked up and nodded at the Vulcan. “Dismissed, Commander.” She started to turn in her chair but was interrupted by the Vulcan.

“If I may inquire, sir, what is the captain’s condition?”

“She is being cared for by our able Dr. Castle,” Jordan answered carefully, unwilling to admit to the truth for more reasons than one. “The captain was knocked temporarily unconscious, but she should be well and able to return to duty shortly.”

T’Ku’lhan raised an eyebrow slightly at this, but refrained from commenting. “That is very good news, sir..” With that, she turned and left the bridge.

The first officer turned to the computer viewscreen and called up information on the Zingaro. If they had once had a planetary home, this fact was now lost to history. According to the Starfleet data bank, they were a nomadic people, with groups of extended family members traveling in a cluster of small vessels. They lived by trading with other races, and were not averse to stealing what they needed . . . or wanted.

The Zingaro usually avoided contact with the major powers – the Federation, Klingons, and Cardassians. (Their activities in Romulan space were largely unknown, but it was presumed that the same held true with them.) One of the few planets they shared friendly relations with was Ferenginar, not surprisingly.

But, for the most part, the Zingaro were not an aggressive people, preferring to strike quickly and run. If they were behind the attack on the McAuliffe, it would be very uncharacteristic of them. Was the ship a victim of a random act of mischief, or had she been targeted for a specific reason? And if the attack was aimed directly at the captain, as T’Ku’lhan had suggested, then why? To the best of her knowledge, Blanchard had not run afoul of the Zingaro during her career. Jordan leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers over her chest, pondering the matter.

The first officer’s ruminations were interrupted by the arrival of the good Dr. Castle. Jordan instantly sat erect, her face showing her concern, and asked, “What is the captain’s condition?”

The doctor took a seat across from the desk and crossed her arms. “She is much the same as when you saw her last. Her vital signs have stabilized, and by my calculations she should have regained consciousness by now. But she steadfastly remains unresponsive to all external stimuli. I must admit that I’m currently at a loss as to how to explain her condition, let alone treat it.”

Normally Jordan would have taken this opportunity to direct a few jibes at the doctor, but her concern for Blanchard drove that thought from her mind for the moment. “How do you intend to proceed?” The XO got up from behind the desk and began to pace from one end of the room to the other.

“There is one course of action that I hadn’t tried yet. Frankly, I was reluctant to do so until I had ruled out every other avenue,” Castle related. “Ensign Lorenc in Xenobotany is a Betazoid. I would like for him to try using telepathy to reach the captain’s subconscious mind.”

Jordan stopped dead in her tracks at this, momentarily thankful that she was outside of the doctor’s line of sight. Her face clouded over for the briefest interval, before she managed to harden her expression once more. “No, Doctor, I don’t think that’s a very good idea, to be honest.”

Castle turned around to face the XO, surprise showing openly on her face. “No? Why in the great galaxy would you resist such a thing?”

The other woman moved to the desk and sat down once more. “Well, Doctor, I know Captain Blanchard a little better than you do. Remember, I’ve served with her for a number of years. I have reason to believe that what you’re talking about just won’t work.” She crossed her arms before her, almost defiantly.

Shaking her head as if in disbelief, the doctor remarked, “I can’t believe that you wouldn’t want to try something that might possibly have a chance of helping the captain.”

Jordan leaned forward slightly, looking at the other woman directly. “I can’t explain further at the moment, but I want to make it clear that I don’t want Ensign Lorenc or anyone else to invade the captain’s mind.”

Now it was Castle’s turn to pace around the ready room. “Well, I’m willing to go along with your wishes for now. But there may come a time, very soon, when I’ll be left with no other choice. And when that time comes, quite frankly, your opinions won’t have a chance of swaying my decision.”

The XO nodded to indicate her understanding, but remained silent.

The doctor looked as if she was about to say something more, but thought better of it. She turned to leave, but when she got to the door turned to face Jordan once again. “Are you sure you’re capable of handling this mission, Commander?” The expression on her face showed that she, herself, wasn’t sure at all of Jordan’s ability to command in a crisis like this.

Jordan rose from the desk, her face a mask, and moved to stand directly in front of the doctor. “I can’t think of anyone on this ship more capable, Doctor. You certainly have your hands full trying to save the captain’s life. And, besides, Captain Blanchard herself seemed to think that I was the right person for this job.” If Dr. Castle wanted a fight, she would be happy to oblige.

But the doctor refused to back down. “I was going to suggest that you wait for help from Starfleet. After all, it was only three months ago that you took your Bridge Officer’s Exam.”

The first officer suddenly didn’t care about concealing her anger. “Doctor, I assure you that I am quite capable of performing the duties of command in the absence of Captain Blanchard. And, as long as we’re speaking candidly, the captain may have appointed me to this position, but Starfleet Headquarters confirmed my position. So, unless you plan to declare me unfit for duty on medical grounds, I suggest that you get back to doing your job and let me do mine.” Jordan took a deep breath, forcing herself to move back a step. “Dismissed.” She spun around on her heel and marched back to the desk, sitting there as if defying anyone to remove her.

When the doctor had left, Jordan took several deep breaths in order to regain control of her emotions. When she was sure that her face would show none of the stress that she was feeling, she returned to t he bridge. “What is our ETA, Ensign?” she queried Proto.

“The ship should arrive at the Marshall Nebula in forty minutes and twelve seconds, sir,” the PHC responded promptly.

Jordan sat down in the center seat and waited impatiently for the ship to reach its destination.

=/\=

When the Marshall Nebula became visible on the main viewscreen, Proto brought the ship out of warp, to one-quarter impulse, per the first officer’s instructions. “Commander T’Ku’lhan,” Jordan asked, “do ship’s sensors show any sign of Zingaro activity in the area?”

The Vulcan woman’s fingers flew across her console for a moment before she answered, “Sensors are having difficulty penetrating the nebula, sir. There are some indefinite readings, however I am unable to ascertain whether they are coming from ships or not. I am attempting to reconfigure the sensors to break through the interference.”

“Do so,” ordered the XO. “Signal yellow alert, Commander Ghegau. We don’t know what we’re up against here.”

“Aye, sir,” came the quick reply from the ship’s security chief.

As the ship drew closer to the nebula, Jordan commanded, “Full stop engines.” After a moment she spoke to no one in particular, “Now, let’s sit here and wait for a bit, and see if anyone comes out to meet us.” Privately, she thought that if there was going to be a fight, she would just as soon do it outside the margins of the nebula, where visibility was better.

At that very moment, a group of ten vessels came rushing out of the nebula toward the McAuliffe. They were a mixed-up hodge-podge of small craft from various worlds, all relatively small and most likely capable of low warp speeds at best. They formed a ring around the larger ship and held that position.

Jordan barked an order, “Red alert!” As klaxons sounded all over the ship she muttered, “It looks like the welcoming committee has arrived.”

It finally appears as if we are about to discover who is behind the attack on Captain Blanchard, and why. Or are we? Return here next week to find out the answer to this question and more.

"Mistaken Identity" Part 1

2006-04-30T09:34:00.000-05:00

This week, Captain Adele Blanchard is faced with opposition on two fronts. This opposition takes the form of an attack by a mysterious new race of aliens, and (if that was not enough) continued resentment of her own crew to her command of the McAuliffe. And, as if that wasn't enough excitement, Commander Rocky Jordan is faced with having to assume command of the ship, for the first time in her career. How will our stalwart crew handle these obstacles? Read on and find out.

=/\=

Captain Adele Blanchard looked out the window in her ready room. Lost in thought, she hardly saw the stars as they sped by. The door chime sounded and she spoke. “Come,” she said, taking a seat behind her desk and facing the door.

A Vulcan woman entered the room and said, “Captain, you sent for me?” She stood at attention just inside the door.

The captain gestured toward the chair opposite from hers, and waited as the other woman moved swiftly to obey. She came right to the point. “Commander T’Ku’lhan, are you happy with your assignment on the McAuliffe?” Her tone of voice implied that she was not making polite conversation.

“Yes, sir,” T’Ku’lhan answered. Her stoic demeanor, so typical for a Vulcan, made it difficult to gauge how she took the question.

“I’m glad,” the captain stated. “From your job performance during the last couple of months, I thought perhaps you were reconsidering a transfer to another ship.” She leaned back in her chair and leveled her gaze at the other woman.

That drew a visible response. T’Ku’lhan appeared to be somewhat offended (if, indeed, a Vulcan can show such an emotion) and asked, “May I ask what aspects of my performance the captain has been dissatisfied with, sir?” She sat up even straighter in her chair, if that was possible.

Blanchard responded bluntly, “Ever since I assumed command, you have continually questioned the logic of my orders. At other times, I’ve found out that you’ve disregarded my commands entirely. Only yesterday, I told you to use the forward sensor array to scan Fisher VII. However, upon reading the report I see that the lateral arrays were used.”

T’Ku’lhan spoke evenly. “I determined that the lateral sensors could be the most effective means of conducting the planetary survey, sir.”

The captain stood up, trying to mask her increasing displeasure. “That very well may have been the case, Commander. And, if you had made your recommendation in an appropriate manner, instead of taking it upon yourself to act contrary to orders, I might have agreed. However,” and here she moved forward to stand directly in front of the Vulcan, looking down upon her with cold blue-grey eyes, “I will remind you that I am in command of this ship, and not you.”

“I will try to remember that in the future, Captain.” T’Ku’lhan did not sound the least bit remorseful, but Blanchard reminded herself that this was a Vulcan before her.

“On your feet,” the captain barked, and the Vulcan sprang quickly to her feet, eyes riveted forward. “In the future, Lieutenant Commander T’Ku’lhan, you are required to consult with me before making any changes to my orders. And if you question the reasoning behind them, you may do so in private, and with respect.” Blanchard paused slightly before continuing, “The next words I expect to hear from you are Yes, sir.” The captain’s voice became ominously quieter as she moved to look directly into the other’s eyes.

T’Ku’lhan waited momentarily before responding, “Yes, sir.” The tone of her voice was nearly emotionless, as usual, but the slight turning of her head had an almost sarcastic tenor to it.

“Dismissed,” the captain said decisively, turning to look out the window without another glance at the Vulcan.

Rising to return to her post, T’Ku’lhan returned to her post. In spite of the door swishing almost soundlessly behind her, a painting on the wall of the ready room crashed to the deck almost at the same moment. Startled, Blanchard spun around quickly only to find the room empty except for herself.

=/\=

When the captain returned to the bridge, Commander Rocky Jordan stood and crisply moved to the right-hand chair. As she relinquished the center seat she glanced momentarily at Blanchard, studying the other woman’s face momentarily.

“Report, Number One,” Blanchard ordered as she sat down smoothly. While her eyes were focused forward, her senses were keenly attuned to everything going on throughout the bridge.

“We are proceeding to the Albrecht system at Warp 1,” came the XO’s reply.

“Carry on,” Blanchard nodded. She calmly studied the two officers seated before her for a long moment, and then studied the readings displayed on the arm of her own chair. In the three months since she had taken command of the McAuliffe, she had learned a lot about her new crew. Some had handled the transition well, but several of them had been openly resentful about the change in command.

Captain Stewart Livingston, the ship’s previous commanding officer, was a seasoned Starfleet veteran, revered by many on the ship. He could have had his pick of choice assignments, including moving up to the Admiralty or teaching at the Academy, but instead had chosen a life of retirement. He had purchased a small plot of land in Montana, where he could finally spend some quality time with his long-suffering wife while enjoying his favorite off-duty pastime, fly-fishing. After he departed the McAuliffe, there was a genuine feeling of loss felt by many on board.

In sharp contrast to her predecessor, Adele Blanchard was considered by many to be too young and inexperienced in the ways of command. While most of the crew seemed to accept the change without difficulty, others were almost openly contemptuous. Foremost among these were Lt. Commander T’Ku’lhan at Ops and Chief Medical Officer Linda Castle.

During this period of transition, Blanchard was intensely grateful for the support and loyalty of her first officer. She had attended Starfleet Academy with Rocky Jordan, where they had become close friends. Later, the two women had served together on the U.S.S. Exeter, and their respect for each other had intensified. When Blanchard was given the opportunity to choose her own XO aboard the McAuliffe, it was an easy decision for her to make.

Lt. Ghegau, the ship’s security chief, interrupted the captain’s thoughts. “Captain, sensors are picking up an object of some sort ahead.”

“Are we in range for visual?” Blanchard asked, leaning forward slightly in her chair. The main viewscreen came to life and showed a nearly unremarkable starfield. An object of some sort was barely perceptible in the distance. Eyes narrowing a bit in curiosity, the captain ordered, “Maximum magnification.”

The image on the screen shimmered and seemed to come closer, so that those on the ship could now make out its configuration. Two long cylinders appeared to be unbroken by windows or openings of any kind, and were connected at either end by short narrow rods. Standing, Blanchard walked over to stand behind T’Ku’lhan at Ops. “What do you make of it, Commander?”

The Vulcan woman’s slender fingers darted over her console. “The configuration doesn’t appear to match anything in the Starfleet data banks.” She paused for a moment before continuing, “Sensors indicate the two main cylinders are 100.3 meters in length, and approximately . . . “

At that moment, a beam of bright light, which was suddenly emitted by the object and directed toward the ship, interrupted T’Ku’lhan’s words. Jordan bounded out of her seat as Cherokee called out, “Shields have been penetrated!”

But the security chief hadn’t even finished speaking before the bridge was bathed in a blinding light and a concussion that knocked everyone to the deck. Jordan was the first to spring to her feet, trained eyes darting around the bridge for any signs of damage. She didn’t have to look far before shouting, “Medical emergency on the bridge!”

T’Ku’lhan at Ops was quickly picking herself up and straightening her uniform, her normal Vulcan aplomb sharply out of place after what had just happened. Ensign Proto still sat at his post, his program seemingly unaffected. Groans of pain could be heard from the aft portion of the bridge, as various crewmembers recovered their feet. But Jordan’s eyes were focused on Captain Blanchard, crumpled in a heap on the command deck.

As concerned as she was for her captain and friend, Jordan’s first thought was for the ship. She turned to fire a question at Cherokee, “Shield status?”

Her uniform ripped at the sleeve, the security chief looked down for a moment, “Holding for now, Sir, at 75 percent.”

As she knelt down beside the stricken Blanchard, the XO commanded, “Target forward phasers on that thing, in case it attacks again!” Silently, she thought to herself, Oh Adele, don’t do this to me. I’m not ready yet.

Without being asked, T’Ku’lhan called out, “Propulsion and weapons systems back on line.”

At that moment, Dr. Castle came rushing onto the bridge, followed by two nurses. Quickly assessing the situation at large, she knelt down next to Jordan and pulled out her tricorder. As she scanned the captain’s prone body, she directed a biting inquiry toward Jordan, “What happened here?” For a fleeting moment, the XO was reminded of her primary school teacher back on the starbase, after she had gotten into yet another fight.

Rocking back on her heels to give the doctor space to do her work, Jordan replied, “The ship was attacked, and the captain was hit by a beam of some kind.” She had a strange feeling that she was merely stating the painfully obvious.

Castle nodded and directed her full attention to her patient. Continuing to scan Blanchard’s body, she spoke to her team, “Cortical activity is shutting down. We need to get her to Sickbay fast.” She slapped her comm. Badge. “Emergency transport, four to Sickbay, NOW!” The doctor, two nurses, and patient promptly disappeared, leaving Rocky Jordan alone in command of a Galaxy-class starship.

The first officer stood and pondered her options for a split second before taking action. “What do the sensors tell us about that ship?”

T’Ku’lhan responded almost as if nothing had happened, sounding almost bored. “There is some kind of shielding around the vessel that is preventing us from picking up any internal readings. I’m attempting to reconfigure the sensors even now.”

Jordan nodded and then looked aft. “Ghegau?”

The security chief had fully recovered by now and was at the alert, “Phasers armed and targeted on the vessel, Commander.” From the look in her eyes, she was just itching for a chance to fire.

All eyes were instantly directed to the viewscreen as the strange vessel suddenly exploded, sending debris flying in all directions. However, due to the distance between the two ships, along with the McAuliffe’s shields, no real damage was done to the starship’s hull. However, the force of the explosion rocked the larger ship and threw many of its crew to the deck once more.

Jordan had just resumed her seat when Castle’s voice was heard over the intercom, “Would you mind taking it easy up there? I’m trying to save the captain’s life!”

The XO bit back a sarcastic rejoinder. Instead she issued a query of her own, “Are there any other casualties?”

“Several minor injuries have been reported at various locations,” the doctor responded, her voice all business once more. “They are being seen to.”

Jordan nodded and broke the connection. She questioned T’Ku’lhan, “Were you able to get any more information from that thing before it exploded?” Her body language loudly telegraphed the tension she was feeling, her fists curled up as she strode around the bridge furiously. It was at times like these that she admired Blanchard’s cool outward demeanor during a crisis.

“Sensors were unable to pick up any information from the vessel,” the Vulcan answered a she turned to face the XO. “But I may be able to use its ion trail to trace it to its point of origin.”

“Do it,” came the order. “I’m going to Sickbay to check on the captain. You have the bridge, T’Ku’lhan.”

“Aye, sir,” the Vulcan answered as she watched Jordan leave the ship. If some on the McAuliffe’s crew had reacted badly to Blanchard’s presence on the ship, these and more had little respect for her first officer. Oh, it was true that Jordan was very efficient, and knowledgeable in the workings of a starship. But her personality could be more than a little bit abrasive, and she had little patience for the mistakes of others. She wasn’t afraid to express her opinions openly, even if those opinions were uncomplimentary.

=/\=

As the first officer entered Sickbay, she saw Dr. Castle and a nurse hovering over a bed in the center of the room. They looked as if they were running tests of some sort, reaching occasionally for instruments from a nearby table. Jordan walked hesitantly over to the bed, afraid of what she might see. There lay the captain, perfectly still. She showed no visible signs of injury, and one would have thought her to be sleeping, had it not been for the cortical stimulator attached to her forehead.

Without looking up from her patient, the doctor addressed Jordan crossly, “What are you trying to do, Commander, kill us all? If that last jolt had been any stronger, the captain would have ended up on the floor again. I barely was able to keep her from sliding off the bed as it was.” She stepped over to check some readings from the computer terminal on the wall.

For once, the first officer refused to be baited into an argument. Jordan moved closer to Blanchard and asked, “What’s wrong with her?”

“I haven’t been able to determine that. Every system in her body is functioning flawlessly. There is only one thing peculiar that I can find, and let me tell you, it’s damned peculiar.”

“What’s that?” Jordan demanded, arms crossed over her chest.

“Initially, the captain’s cortical processes showed signs of shutting down,” Castle replied, looking perturbed. “But, lately, there has been a rapid increase in brain functions, in a very unexpected manner. Chemical and electrical activity in her brain would almost suggest that she is in the middle of some form of strenuous physical activity. Her cortical centers are processing sensory information at an almost alarming rate.”

Jordan listened to Castle’s recitation with growing impatience. She couldn’t resist getting in one jab. “Just because your great-grandfather was a famous doctor, that doesn’t mean you need to go having delusions of grandeur. Would you mind putting that in terms that we common folk can understand?”

The doctor got a disgusted look on her face. After taking a deep breath she said, “To put it plainly, Commander, the lights are on but no one’s home.”

The XO was just about to issue a sarcastic retort of her own. However, from the other side of the room a nurse called, “Doctor, could you come over here, please?” Castle laid down the instrument she was using and stepped over to look at the other patient.

=/\=

How will our stalwart crew deal with this latest menace? Will Captain Blanchard survive this personal attack, and will Commander Jordan be able to successfully lead the crew to victory over their attackers? And just who is attacking the ship, anyway? Come back next week to find out.

"Simplicity" Part 3

2006-04-23T17:12:00.000-05:00

In the first two parts of our story, the McAuliffe was struck with a seemingly incurable plague on the eve of important battle exercises. Will Captain Blanchard be able to solve this first major test of her new command? Read on and find out.

Dr. Castle sat in the lab and studied the apparatus in front of her. She had taken blood and tissue samples from all of the patients that had come down with the mysterious illness. Then, she had prepared a series of growth cultures, in an effort to isolate the causal organism. This was a job that could easily have been delegated to one of her staff, but in cases as important and delicate as this one the doctor preferred to do the work herself.

The doctor compared each of the samples, and found that there was indeed an organism common to all of them. Upon checking Starfleet Medical’s database, she was not surprised to learn that this particular germ had not previously been identified. In the course of exploring the galaxy, scientists were continually discovering new life forms, from the simplest microorganisms to the most complex sentient beings. The life form currently in question appeared to be some sort of a bacterium. Upon visual inspection, it closely resembled many of the bacteria commonly found on Earth. However, rather than producing an annoying and sometimes mildly debilitating upper respiratory infection, this one led to far more deadly results.

In the last 500 years or so, medical science had discovered a multitude of antibiotic and antiviral medications. The technology currently available made it relatively easy to find out which ones were most effective, depending on the organism involved. Of course, there remained a few persistent microbes that refused to be killed, so caution was still the rule when dealing with the unknown.

Dr. Castle paused in her work and rubbed her eyes. She had put in a long day today, and it was likely that she would be working through the night as well. Just then, Head Nurse Carrie Maxwell poked her head through the door. “Doctor, we need you out here.”

Carrie was seldom rattled by even the most severe injuries, so the doctor became immediately concerned at the tone of the nurse’s voice. She followed the nurse to the isolation ward, to young Patty Courtney’s bed. The usually pretty little thing was drenched in sweat, fighting off a raging fever. Ensign Sandy Courtney, the girl’s mother, stood by helplessly. She had steadfastly refused to leave Sickbay, despite warnings that she herself might become ill. The young mother looked up hopefully at the doctor’s approach.

Castle looked at the monitor above the bed and saw that Patty’s temperature had reached a critical level. All efforts at lowering it had failed, much to everyone’s dismay. The doctor studied the monitor, as if the answer might suddenly appear before her eyes. Just then, Ensign Courtney gave a gasp of horror. Looking down, Castle saw that the girl was having a seizure, most likely induced by the high fever. Nurse Maxwell promptly moved in, gently shouldering the distraught mother aside as she performed the tasks necessary to prevent Patty from injuring herself during her seizure.

Thankfully, the episode lasted only seconds. As soon as it was over, the girl drifted off into an exhausted sleep. Upon checking Patty over, Castle was alarmed to note that her heart had weakened considerably. She asked for inaprovaline and administered the cardio-stimulant via hypospray, noting with relief that the girl’s pulse strengthened a little. However, the doctor knew that this was only a temporary measure at best. She couldn’t keep dosing out drugs indefinitely. Sooner or later, Patty’s frail body would have to start fighting the infection roaring through it. If not, she probably wouldn’t make it through the night.

Castle pulled Nurse Maxwell aside, and gave her some instructions regarding Patty’s care. She then began to circulate among the other patients, noting that there were more of them than there had been when she made her last rounds just a couple of hours ago. In fact, the ward was nearing capacity. The doctor decided that she had better see about converting one of the shuttlebays into a stand-by treatment area. She left Sickbay and headed for the bridge, a determined look on her face.

=/\=

Linda Castle had come from a long line of hard-working, dedicated practitioners of the healing arts. The family tradition had begun with her great, great-grandfather, who had been a family doctor in a small town in Kentucky, on Earth. His son, Jerome Castle, had made a name for himself by making some major improvements to the hypospray and other medical instruments became the first human to be admitted to the Vulcan Science Academy, and who later served as Surgeon General of Starfleet.

From the time Linda had been a small child, she had heard of the exploits of her great-grandfather. It was generally assumed that she would follow in the footsteps of all of the Castles who had gone before, and take the Hippocratic Oath. But she soon learned to hate the path that had been chosen for her. She failed to understand why, just because of her name, people should assume what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.

Always something of a rebellious adolescent, Linda ran away from home upon completing secondary school. She signed up with a colony ship traveling to Alpha Media IV, under a fictitious name. The chief engineer and his wife were a kindly middle-aged couple who had no children of their own, and they readily “adopted” the young woman, treating her just like she was their own daughter. She repaid their kindness by learning everything she could about her foster father’s work, following him around and helping him with his duties. Harris Crawford was proud of his young protégé, and soon entrusted Linda with doing the simpler jobs without his supervision.

When the colonists arrived at their destination, they settled in and began to build a home that they could take pride in. Linda had made friends among the other young people in the group, and felt a strong sense of belonging that had sometimes been absent with her own family. She started to spend time with a certain Derek Judson, whose father was the leader of the colony. He was a tall, good-looking young man who showed promise of becoming a leader himself one day.

After several months, the colonists had firmly established themselves in their new home. Crops had been planted and a good harvest was expected. More and more permanent shelters were being erected, and simple roads had been laid out. Linda thought that things couldn’t get any better than this. That was when tragedy struck.

One day, shortly after the morning meal, the sky darkened unexpectedly. A strong wind began to blow, so strong that the people began to look toward the sky, expecting to see a storm front moving in. To their great surprise, they saw on the horizon a mysterious object, resembling more than anything else a large white crystal of some sort. The object emitted a deafening noise, and sent out rays of some sort of energy, which destroyed whatever they touched.

The colonists panicked, some of them retreating inside their homes, others milling around outside. Captain Judson, however, shouted out words of encouragement. He called to everyone and told them to retreat to some caves in the nearby hills. Perhaps there the people would be safe from whatever was attacking the planet. The leader projected an image of strength and assurance, keeping everyone moving as quickly as they could to shelter. He was the last one to take cover, first making sure that everyone else was safe.

Linda huddled in fear along with the other frightened settlers. She could hear the sounds of the Crystalline Entity, as it would later come to be known, as it wreaked havoc on the surface. Her foster father, along with Captain Judson, moved among the people and offered words of comfort as best they could. After the sounds from above died out, the people waited for several hours before venturing out to survey the damage. To their great dismay, they found that the lush green countryside had been reduced to a wasteland, completely devoid of any kind of life.

When the monster had first become visible on the horizon, someone had thought to activate the distress beacon, sending out a signal to anyone within range. Now the colonists fervently hoped that someone might have received the signal before it had been destroyed. All they could do was sit and wait for help to arrive.

The people remained in the caves, fearful that the creature might return to finish them off. They waited all of that day, and most of the next. The adults tried to remain calm for the sake of the children, but they found it increasingly difficult to be optimistic about their chances for survival.

Then, on the evening of the second day, a rescue party showed up. The starship Constellation had heard the frantic distress call, and hurried to render assistance. Once the nature of the emergency was determined, a medical team beamed down to the planet to assess the colonists’ injuries. Linda followed the example of Engineer Crawford and the other leaders of the colony, accompanying the doctors as they made their rounds.

The young woman found that she had been teamed up with a young intern, an attractive woman not much older than herself. The fledgling doctor exuded a sense of confidence and self-assurance that Linda couldn’t help but admire. She circulated among the younger members of the colony, offering kind words and comfort along with any medical assistance that might be needed. Thankfully, no one had severe injuries, but many people were demonstrating a delayed reaction to the terror-stricken flight to the caves, and also suffering the effects of hunger and exposure to the elements.

After seeing to the safety of the colonists, the medical team began beaming the most severely injured up to the ship. Linda and her new friend took the opportunity to find a quiet place and rest for a few moments. For a short time, the two young women worked hard to forget the devastation around them and talk about themselves.

In listening to the young doctor, Linda found herself thinking back to her own upbringing. The intern described her fascination with her chosen vocation, and the young colonist found it easy to converse about medical matters, having been surrounded by doctors all of her life. Somehow, when the intern talked about herself, Linda began to see that maybe she had been wrong in rejecting this life so rashly.

When the time came for Linda to be transported to the waiting starship, she reluctantly parted with her new friend. She had rediscovered a sense of purpose in her life, and vowed to return to her family. Hopefully, they would forgive her for running away, and help her to pursue a life of helping others.

Upon returning home, the young woman pursued her chosen career with a vengeance. She surprised herself with her single-mindedness, diligently studying everything she could find that would help her to return to space. Instead of being ashamed of the Castle name, she became proud of the part that her family had taken in exploring the galaxy. Linda made a secret vow to herself that she would no longer be known just as Admiral Castle’s great granddaughter. Instead, she would be CMO of a starship in her own right.

=/\=

Despite the late hour, Captain Blanchard was still in her ready room, making last-minute plans for the morning’s battle exercises. She went over reports of the crew’s recent phaser drills, noting with pleasure the high level of skill demonstrated. While a certain amount of thanks were due to Commander Jordan’s recent practice sessions, a large portion of the credit had to go to the security chief, as well as to the previous captain of this ship. Such a skilled crew was the result, not only of hard training, but also of selecting only the best and brightest to serve on the ship. Having been in command of the McAuliffe just a few months, she continually marveled at being given charge of such a ship.

Blanchard looked up in surprise upon hearing the door chime. The hour was late, which meant that whoever wanted to see her must be there on urgent business. “Come,” she ordered, unconsciously straightening her uniform tunic.

Dr. Castle entered and came right to the point. “Captain, I’d like your permission to convert Shuttlebay 3 into a secondary patient care ward. I’m afraid we’re running out of room in Sickbay.”

Before Blanchard could answer, a voice could be heard through the intercom, “Sickbay to Dr. Castle.”

The doctor pressed her comm. badge and answered, “Castle here.”

Carrie Maxwell’s voice responded. “Doctor, after you left, Patty Courtney had another seizure. I’m afraid she’s dead, Ma’am.”

Not waiting to ask permission, Castle sank down in the chair across from the captain’s desk. Her shoulders slumped, showing her fatigue and concern. Every time a patient died under her care, she took it as a personal defeat. It was especially heartbreaking when the patient was so young and innocent as this one. After a moment she spoke, “Thank you, Carrie. Tell Ensign Courtney I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Sensing the gravity of the situation, Blanchard waited for the doctor to speak. Finally, Castle said, “I’m afraid that isn’t going to be the only person we lose to whatever this thing is.” She looked up, angry, as much as with a situation beyond her control as with a captain whom she saw as being uncooperative.

Contrary to the doctor’s opinion, Blanchard keenly felt the loss of the young girl. She honestly couldn’t recall if she had ever met Patty Courtney, but she recalled meeting the girl’s mother just recently when making a routine tour of the Engineering department. The captain saw herself as responsible for the safety and well being of everyone on the McAuliffe, and could not get used to the helpless feeling that came to her when one of them came to harm. However, she had long ago learned to push such emotions aside until she could deal with them privately.

“Just how many people have you been treating for this illness?” Blanchard questioned the doctor. She stood up and walked over to the window behind her desk, clasping her hands behind her back.

Castle spoke somewhat curtly, “The last time I checked, there were at least a couple dozen patients. Some of them are in pretty bad shape. At this rate, a third of the ship will be out of commission by morning.”

The captain returned to her desk and sat down. “How close are you to figuring out just what is behind all of this?”

“Well, I have isolated an organism which is most likely responsible for the infection,” the doctor responded, trying not too sound too defensive. “But I still have to figure out if there’s a cure, and what that might be.”

Blanchard couldn’t help but pick up the uncertainty in the doctor’s words. But she preferred not to think about a worst-case scenario just yet, and took an optimistic tone. “I have every faith that you’ll get to the bottom of this, Doctor.” She smiled encouragingly, to give emphasis to her words.

“Thank you, Captain,” came the tired response. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”

The captain moved around her desk to walk Castle to the door. Placing a hand on the other woman’s shoulder, she said, “Perhaps you should get some rest.”

But the doctor stopped and turned to face her superior. “I’ll have time to rest when I’m dead, Captain,” she remarked with a crooked smile. With a nod of her head that conveyed her gratitude, she was out the door. Blanchard walked somberly back to her desk and sat down, deep in thought.

=/\=

The captain spent a sleepless night, as well, alternately pacing the floor of her ready room and trying to occupy her mind by reading or listening to music. Finally she gave up and made her way to Sickbay, where she found a flurry of activity. She was a little surprised to see Sandy Courtney still there, doing what she could to help the medical staff offer reassurances to the patients and make them comfortable.

“Ensign,” Blanchard said as she approached the bereaved mother. “Please accept my condolences.” This was one thing she had always found difficult; she told herself that she would have made a terrible counselor.

The other woman turned and faced her superior, smiling slightly as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “Thank you, Captain. My mother tried to tell me it was wrong to take Patty with me into space, but . . .”

“Now, Sandy,” came a softly scolding voice, “you know that you’re not responsible for what happened to Patty.” Dr. Castle approached and laid a gentle hand on the other woman’s arm. “You gave her opportunities many children on Earth don’t have.”

Courtney looked at the doctor and smiled ruefully. “Yes, you’re right.”

“What are you still doing here? You’re liable to get sick yourself,” Castle chided gently.

“I don’t want to be alone just yet,” the mother responded, trying to smile encouragingly.

“Alright, but only for a little while. You need your rest. Doctor’s orders.”

“Yes, sir,” Courtney said with a smile as she turned back to the patient she had been tending.

“So, Captain,” Castle said as she turned to face Blanchard, “what brings you to Sickbay?”

“Just checking on your progress,” Blanchard said, looking around the room.

“Well,” the doctor replied after tiredly brushing a strand of hair away from her face, “sick crewmembers keep coming in, and I’m nowhere near finding a cure.” Then she took a step backward and looked Blanchard squarely in the eyes, “Now, it’s my turn to ask. When was the last time you slept?”

The captain shook her head, “I can’t sleep when my ship is in danger.”

“I understand, Captain,” Castle warned. “But the ship needs a captain who is well-rested and on top of things.” After a moment’s consideration, she added, “Go and get your first officer out of isolation so she can relieve you for a bit. So many people are sick on this boat that there’s no way to protect the healthy ones.”

Blanchard nodded. “But she’s not going to be very happy when I tell her I’m canceling the war games.”

“Can I suggest wearing some armor?” Castle said, only half-jokingly.

Chuckling softly, the captain nodded. “That may actually be a good idea.” With that, she turned and left the Sickbay.

=/\=

When Blanchard entered her first officer’s quarters, she found Rocky Jordan pacing the floor like a caged animal. She had a look of quiet desperation in her eyes when she saw her friend and superior officer, and demanded, “So, how much longer am I going to have to stay cooped up in this prison?”

“Only as long as it takes for you to get into uniform and get to the bridge,” came the captain’s response.

“Good,” Jordan declared, not waiting to be excused before hurrying to the shower. “I have just enough time to get the games started.”

However, she stopped short and spun around with a disbelieving glare when Blanchard stated, “I’m afraid there aren’t going to be any games.”

“What?” the first officer almost shouted as she spun around to face the other woman. She opened her mouth to protest further, but the captain raised a hand to stop her.

“I’m afraid that we have other things to worry about than war games,” Blanchard said, her expression growing somber.

“Is it that bad, then?” the other woman asked. She was very attuned to her friend’s emotions, both telepathically and from long years serving together.

“I was just on my way from Sickbay,” the captain answered. “At last report, upwards of twenty percent of the crew was incapacitated. And there have been three deaths.” She walked to the window and looked out, in an attempt to hide her expression of dismay.

However, Blanchard had forgotten how sensitive Jordan was to her moods. Standing at attention, she spoke up, the image of the dutiful first officer. “So, what are your orders for the morning, Sir?”

The captain took heart from the support of her friend and XO. She turned around and straightened her uniform, shaking off a momentary feeling of dread. “I’d like you to go to the bridge, Number One, while I go to take a shower and change uniforms. Then I’m going to need to contact the Threllians and Yrini, and inform them of our situation.”

The two women walked out into the corridor together. Pausing momentarily, Jordan responded with a hearty, “Aye, Sir.” Blanchard touched the commander on the shoulder in a gesture of thanks, and turned toward her quarters.

=/\=

A short time later, Captain Blanchard stepped out of the turbolift and onto the bridge. Commander Jordan smoothly got up and surrendered the center seat to the other woman, taking her own place on the right. One would hardly guess from the calmly methodical way everyone performed their duties that a crisis situation was brewing below decks. For at least the third time in as many days, Blanchard felt a wash of pride in this crew that she had so recently come to command.

Instead of sitting down, however, Blanchard walked over to the Ops console and asked Lt. Commander T’Ku’lhan for a report. The Vulcan replied without looking up, “Maintaining geosynchronous orbit, sir.” Blanchard laid her hand on the other woman’s shoulder briefly, in acknowledgement, before resuming her inspection. The captain slowly made the circle around the rest of the bridge, stopping to look over the shoulder of the crewman at the Sciences station. She directed her attention to the sensors, confirming that the Threllians and Yrini were still in position.

Blanchard turned her attention toward Lt. Cherokee at the Tactical station. The small but powerfully built Native American woman was the picture of efficiency, as always. She returned her captain’s gaze, awaiting her orders. “Lieutenant, hail the Yrini and Threllian captains, and put them through to my ready room.”

“Aye, Sir,” came the response, as the captain left the bridge.

Blanchard had just enough time to get a cup of coffee from the replicator before Cherokee’s voice could be heard over the intercom, informing her that the Yrini captain was awaiting her message. M’huo’t smiled broadly from his bridge and greeted his counterpart, “Good morning, Captain. Are you ready for battle?”

Blanchard shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Actually, I’m afraid something has come up that I need to talk to you about.”

M’huo’t winced. “Let me guess. You’ve come down with a sudden case of what you humans call cold feet.” One or two of the Yrini bridge crew could be seen to smother a laugh at their captain’s remark.

“Actually, it’s a little more serious than that. If we could speak privately. . . “ Blanchard balked at discussing the problem in front of an audience.

Surprised, the big Yrini responded, “Why, yes, Captain. Of course.” He stood up and addressed someone off-screen. “Transfer Captain Blanchard to my quarters.” The screen went blank for an instant, and then came back to life, showing just M’huo’t’s image this time. “What’s the trouble, then?”

At that moment, the image on the screen split. Ni, the Threllian captain, could be seen on one side, with M’huo’t on the other. The insectoid spoke, sounding more than a little cocky, “Adele, and how are you this fine morning?”

The man’s uninvited familiarity was particularly distasteful right now, Blanchard thought. She was always mindful of protocol, and bristled at the cultural differences that Ni had taken advantage of. “Thank you for answering my hail, Captain Ni,” she responded.

If Ni didn’t take the hint, M’huo’t certainly did. Blanchard could see the barest trace of a smile play upon his face at her subtle rebuke. The woman came to the point. “It seems that we have a slight problem, Gentlemen. Apparently, one of our officers picked up some sort of virus on the planet surface, and has infected a good portion of my crew. Under the circumstances, I’m afraid that the McAuliffe won’t be able to participate in the battle exercises this morning.”

The Threllian skipper laughed rudely, a high-pitched whistling sound. “Now, wait a minute, Human. Just because a few of your people are feeling . . . what is the word, indisposed, that isn’t cause for you to go backing out now. I think that you’re just nervous about facing too such experienced commanders, when you’re so new to command yourself.”

If she had been merely irritated a moment ago, now Blanchard became angry. She wasn’t sure if the other’s behavior was merely characteristic of his culture, but she considered Ni nothing more than a big oaf, who lost no opportunity to try to belittle others into thinking that he was more important than they. In her book, that was no way to earn respect. However, she would not allow herself to give in to his goading. She outwardly remained calm, although those who knew her well would have noted that her eyes burned a little brighter. “Contrary to your insinuations, Captain Ni, I have absolutely no doubts that my crew could take yours on any given day. That is, if they were fit and up to their full potential. However, I have no intention of putting them in any more danger than they are already in. And, besides,” she added, “I would hope that you might have second thoughts about exposing your own crew to a possibly hostile environment.” She saw, with some satisfaction, that her words had hit home. Her antagonist became red in what she presumed was his face, but did not say anything.

Captain M’huo’t sounded concerned. “How many of your crew has been affected?”

“At last count, almost 350 people are ill. That amounts to over 30% of those on board, counting crew and civilians. And there have been three deaths so far.”

Both men reacted immediately to Blanchard’s estimate. She was rewarded by looks of concern from the two. However, in Ni’s case the concern was mixed with a large part of fear and loathing. M’huo’t spoke first, “Can we offer you any assistance?”

“Thank you, Captain,” Blanchard answered, grateful for the support. “But my CMO has been working around the clock, and assures me that a solution will be soon. . .”

Ni interrupted. “Not working hard enough, apparently. I thought only the best people were posted to a Galaxy-class ship.”

It was getting harder and harder for Blanchard to keep from losing her temper. “Dr. Castle is one of the most capable that Starfleet has to offer. The organism responsible for this illness has never been reported before, and it appears to have a strong resistance to the known treatments. However, I have every confidence that she will come up with an answer before very long.”

M’huo’t sounded like he was trying his best to be helpful. “If I may, Captain, my own physician has had extensive experience in microbiology. If he can offer any assistance, I will gladly make him available.”

Blanchard’s face showed her gratitude, as well as her admiration for the Yrini. “Thank you very much, Captain. I will have Dr. Castle contact him as soon as possible. In the meantime, until we can find out where this virus came from, I would recommend that you refrain from sending any of your crew down to the planet surface.”

“You can be sure of that, Lady,” Ni said. If anything, he was ruder than before. “In fact, I think that I will order my ship to leave this sector altogether. I don’t want to be anywhere near a plague ship like yours.” With that, he broke off communications.

M’huo’t made an effort to sound encouraging. “Don’t worry about that lout, Captain. His bark is worse than his bite, as you Humans like to say. You just take care of your people, and if there is anything else that I can do, please let me know.”

“I will, Captain,” came the reply. “Blanchard out.” As the screen went blank, the woman sat back and looked at her cup of coffee, now growing cold. She could see why M’huo’t had a reputation as a capable leader. At the same time, she wondered how someone like Ni had risen so far in the ranks as he had. If his behavior was characteristic of all Threllians, she wasn’t sure she wanted to have anything further to do with them.

Blanchard rose and returned to the bridge. Commander Jordan stood and relinquished the center seat, throwing a look of concern at the other woman. The other two starships could be seen on the main viewscreen and, as she watched, the Threllians turned slowly and headed out of the star system. As soon as it was at a safe distance, the ship went into warp and winked out of sight. “Now, just where are they off to in such a hurry?” Jordan queried.

The captain did not respond, for at that moment Dr. Castle stepped off the turbolift. She then stepped down and sat on the Captain’s left.

“Report, Doctor?” Blanchard asked, not taking her eyes off the viewscreen.

“I wanted to let you know that Commander Gaynor has taken a turn for the worse. I’ve moved him to the intensive care ward.” The doctor’s fatigue was evident to all as she rubbed her eyes and sank back into her chair for a moment.

This was unwelcome news, indeed. At times such as these, a starship urgently needed its counselor. Henry Gaynor was a man with many years’ experience in deep space. In her short tenure on board the McAuliffe, Blanchard had come to rely heavily on the counselor. “I am sorry to hear that, Doctor. Please give him my best wishes the next time you see him. And keep me informed as to his condition.”

“I’ll do that,” the doctor replied. “I’ve had a terrible time keeping him still. He insists that she has to keep doing her job. I finally had to pull rank on him.”

After the doctor had returned to Sickbay, the captain sat and considered what had transpired in the last 24 hours. She couldn’t help but be proud of the medical staff on board the McAuliffe. They were deep in the middle of a crisis, but everyone was working hard to find a solution in the best way they knew how. And, Blanchard believed, if there were an answer, Dr. Castle would find it.

During Blanchard’s short tenure in charge of the ship, the doctor had seemed to go out of her way to be difficult. She had maintained an aloof bearing, seeming to declare herself better than her superior officers. More than once, she had actually questioned the new captain’s orders in front of other personnel. By her very demeanor, she seemed to suggest that Blanchard was unworthy to be in command, and had even implied that she had won her position through influence rather than by demonstrating her ability to command.

However, as was so often the case, people in a crisis showed a tendency to be drawn closer together. And so seemed to be the case here. Blanchard had found a new respect for her CMO, and she hoped she was not mistaken when she thought that Castle’s impressions of her were changing as well.

The captain’s reverie was interrupted by the intercom, “Castle to Captain Blanchard.”

“Blanchard here,” she answered.

“Captain, you asked to be informed as to the counselor’s condition. He has continued to grow worse. I’m afraid there’s not much more I can do for him, except try to keep him comfortable.” Castle’s voice seemed very matter of fact.

“Thank you, Doctor. I’m on my way.” Blanchard stood up and headed for the turbolift. “You have the bridge, Number One.”

Castle met the captain at the door to the intensive care ward. “I would be lax in my duties if I didn’t warn you against going in there, Captain. We still aren’t’ sure how this organism is spread, and you shouldn’t be exposing yourself to it.”

Blanchard returned the doctor’s stare. I understand, Doctor. However, I don’t intend to stand coldly by and watch one of my senior staff die alone. The chances are strong that I’ve been exposed anyway, so you might as well let me go in there.”

The doctor looked at her captain with a newfound respect. “Very well, Captain,” she answered, and led the way into the room.

Henry Gaynor lay on the bed closest to the door. His short-cropped brown hair was plastered to his head with sweat, and her normally olive complexion was pale and waxy. His breath came in shallow gasps. However, when he saw Blanchard enter, he tried to sit up and greet his captain properly.

The captain put out a restraining hand. “Stand down, Commander.” The captain looked down at the sick man, trying to project an air of confidence.

“I’m sorry to be away from my post, Sir,” Gaynor said weakly. “I promise to more than make up for my absence.”

“I’m counting on it,” Blanchard said, hoping that her voice sounded more positive than she felt. “Besides, you owe me a rematch.” When the captain first came on board, she had discovered that she and Counselor Gaynor shared a love for racquetball. In fact, the counselor had come out on top, just barely, on the one occasion they had played.

“Aye, Sir,” came the response. Doctor Castle stepped closer and checked some readings on the biobed.

Worn out from the brief conversation, the counselor slipped into a feverish sleep. Not willing to leave, the captain remained beside the bed for several more minutes. The patient’s breathing became more and more labored, and finally stopped altogether. Blanchard looked questioningly at the doctor, who shook her head sadly.

The captain swore under her breath. Turning, she left the room and stepped outside. When Castle followed her out a few moments later, the two women walked silently into the doctor’s office. They both sat down tiredly.

Blanchard spoke first. “In times like these, I long for earlier days when I was just an ordinary pilot.”

Castle answered, “From what I know of your record, your career was never ordinary.” The doctor had done a discreet background check on the captain this morning, during a break in her research. What she had found surprised her.

When Blanchard was in her last year at the Academy, she had been an extremely skilled pilot, winning many races as well as mastering tricky aerobatic maneuvers. After graduating, her first posting had entailed flight-testing on the warp engines of the Galaxy-class project, then in its infancy. A transfer to starship duty had followed, with a rapid rise through the chain of command. If Adele Blanchard was an admiral’s pet, it was because she deserved to be.

The captain smiled modestly, surprised at the compliment. “Just what do you know of my record?” she queried. She sat up straighter, curious to hear the doctor’s response.

“Well, I found out that you test flew the Enterprise.”

“You have been doing some digging,” grinned the other woman. “Well, that was a long time ago. And yet, I sometimes wish that my life were that uncomplicated to this day. Get up in the morning, follow orders, and go to bed and night knowing that I did the best job I could. I know that command is where I belong, but there’s still something to be said for simplicity.” Not in the habit of talking about herself, Blanchard quickly changed the subject. “How is your research progressing?”

“Not well, I’m afraid,” Castle sighed. “I spoke with M’ran, the Yrini physician, and shared my findings with him. He has promised to put his staff to work on the problem as well.” The woman smiled encouragingly. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’m not beaten yet.”

Blanchard stood up, ready to return to the bridge. “I know that, Doctor.” When she reached the door, she turned around. “I’ll contact Lt. Commander Gaynor’s family at the earliest opportunity.” With that, she was gone.

After the captain left, Dr. Castle sat for a few minutes, thinking. Something Blanchard said had rung a bell. “Simplicity,” she mused to herself. “Hm-m-m.” With a renewed sense of purpose, she activated her desk terminal.

“Computer, tie into Starfleet Medical’s historical records -- specifically, those pertaining to early twentieth-century Earth. Display all antibiotic and antiviral agents commonly in use at that time.” As the list scrolled down the screen, she examined it closely. When she found what she was looking for, she smiled to herself with satisfaction. Standing up, she went to the lab.

=/\=

When Blanchard stepped off the turbolift, she marched straight to her ready room with hardly a glance around the bridge. She needed to come to terms with her own emotions before facing her crew. As she so often did in times of stress, she stood and stared out the window. It somehow was calming to watch the stars and consider their magnitude, knowing her own problems were minute in comparison.

Shortly, the captain heard the door chime. Her first impulse was to tell whomever it was to go away, and then her mind felt a familiar touch. “Come,” she answered, moving to sit at her desk.

Commander Jordan walked through the door, a look of concern on her face. “What’s up?” she asked, staying just inside the door. She sounded outwardly cheerful, but Blanchard could sense support radiating from her.

The captain sighed, waiting a moment before responding. “I’ve just come from Sickbay. Counselor Gaynor is dead.”

The first officer for once carefully considered her reply. “And, as always, you’re blaming yourself.” She moved over to sit in the chair opposite the desk.

“A captain is responsible for the safety of her crew.” Blanchard’s voice gave away her deep emotions, which she normally worked so hard to keep private.

“Generally, yes,” her friend agreed. “However, this was something that you had no control over.”

“And I hate that.” The captain swore sharply and struck the top of her desk with a fist. She and the other woman had been close friends for many years, and Jordan was the one person that she allowed to see her inner feelings in this way.

“There you go again, being Little Miss Perfect.” The commander used one of the many nicknames that she had given Blanchard at the Academy, before they had become friends. “You’ve told me yourself, many times, that part of the job description entails occasionally losing people under your command.”

”Yes, you’re right, Rocky,” Blanchard reluctantly agreed. She knew that she had to get past this and go on, but she also had to allow herself a few moments to grieve. She shook herself mentally and stood up, preparing to return to work. “What do you have to report?”

“Lt. Commander Hudson has been taking the time to conduct a level one diagnostic on the cargo transporters. He reports that they should be fully functional within the hour.” The McAuliffe’s Chief Engineer would be leaving the ship at its next stop, preparatory to retirement. He seemed driven to ensure that every one of the ship’s systems was working to its full potential before he disembarked.

“Very well.” Blanchard stood up, stopping to pick up a tiny model of a ship, the U.S.S. Stargazer. The former captain of that ship, an old family friend, had given it to her when she was a child. The woman wondered briefly how her mentor would handle the present situation. After a moment, she turned and left the ready room with her XO.

=/\=

A tired, but smiling, Dr. Castle left her lab and went to the isolation ward. However, instead of immediately circulating among the patients, she stood for a moment just inside the doorway. Nurse Maxwell looked up and walked over. “Well,” Carrie commented, “you certainly look cheerful for a change.”

“Yes, Carrie,” the doctor said. “I think I’ve found the solution to our problem. There’s an old, seldom-used antibiotic, called penicillin, that appears to be effective in combating the infection.”

“Wonderful!” exclaimed the other woman. “When do you think we can start giving it to the patients?”

“Not just yet, I’m afraid,” Castle replied. “I haven’t had the chance to test it out yet.” She squeezed the nurse’s arm encouragingly, and then began her rounds.

One of the first patients she came to was Aaron Davies, the young security guard who had first come down with the mysterious ailment. The doctor was frankly surprised that the young man was still alive. He must be as stubborn as I am, she laughed to herself. As she studied the monitor above his bed, Aaron spoke hoarsely, “Doctor, I heard you talking to the nurse. Is it true that you’ve found a cure?”

Castle looked down at the young man. The doctor could be irritable, and easily lost patience with others, but she had an excellent bedside manner when necessary. She took Aaron’s hand and answered him honestly, “I may have, but I can’t give it to anyone until I can test it. I want to make sure that it works before anyone gets their hopes up.”

“Then, I want you to test it on me.” Aaron looked up and pleaded with his eyes. “It’s my fault that all of these people are sick. Please, I want to do something to help.” Exhausted, he fell back on his bed.

Castle’s first impulse was to refuse the man’s offer. Then, she told herself that there wasn’t time for controlled testing. The longer she waited, the more people became sick and even died. It was time to make a decision, and she hoped it was the right one.

“All right, Aaron,” the doctor responded. “If you’re absolutely sure. I have no way of knowing for certain that this will work. It may even make you worse.” She reached into the pocket of her lab coat for a vial of the antibiotic and handed it to the nurse.

Nurse Maxwell had, in the meantime, prepared a hypospray with the antibiotic. She handed it to Dr. Castle, who looked at it for a moment. There was no way of telling exactly what dosage to administer. Placing the hypo next to the young man’s neck, she took what she hoped was an educated guess. She thought to herself, all we can do now is wait.

Carrie Maxwell followed the doctor back to her office. “Doctor,” the other woman said, rather sternly. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone. Why don’t you get some rest?”

Castle looked at the nurse with a surprised expression. “When all this is over, I’ll sleep for a week. But right now, I need to wait and see if Ensign Davies shows any improvement.” She sat down at her desk and leaned back in her chair.

Carrie sat down in the other chair and protested. “But it will surely be some time before he starts to show any measurable improvement.” She looked at Castle, scolding. “When was the last time you took a few moments for yourself?”

Physician, heal thyself, thought the doctor to herself. She decided that it wouldn’t hurt to go back to her quarters for a few minutes. It would be nice to sit down for a bit and have something to eat. She’d skipped more than one meal during this crisis. After giving strict instructions that she was to be notified of any change in Davis’s condition, she turned and walked out the door.

=/\=

Dr. Castle felt more relaxed almost from the moment she entered her quarters. They were decorated in cool, restful blues and greens, with plenty of soft cushions on the furniture. A large plant occupied the center of the table.

Smiling, the woman walked over to a sizable cage that hung in the corner opposite the sleeping area. She heard a welcoming squawk as the cage’s occupant greeted her. “Hello to you, too, my friend,” she chuckled.

One of Linda Castle’s most prized possessions was a red-and-blue macaw named Lloyd. It had been one of the many birds that belonged to her mother, who had given it to her when she first received her commission. The doctor had taken the bird with her as she served, from ship to ship, a constant friend and reminder of home.

The bird had already been taught to say a few words when Castle had gotten it, and over the years she had trained it to say more. Unfortunately, like most of its kind, the silly thing had also picked up some phrases that she had not intended for it to learn. She told herself that this was the price for talking to herself – sometimes what she said came back to haunt her. A good example of this was how Lloyd returned her greeting. “Worthless Captain!” the bird squawked proudly.

The doctor laughed to herself, remembering the many times she had returned from her duty shift saying those very words, or worse. Well, she just hoped that no one else ever overheard Lloyd, or she might be brought up on charges of insubordination. Shaking her head, she opened the cage and let the bird fly loose.

Lloyd flew rapidly around the room for a minute or two, stretching his brightly colored wings. Finally, he came to rest on a perch next to the couch. Castle sat down next to the bird and stroked his breast. “You’re a silly bird,” she told him affectionately.

“Silly bird,” Lloyd echoed.

Just then, the door chime sounded. Immediately Castle’s thoughts went back to the many patients waiting for her in Sickbay and in the shuttlebay. With a worried expression, she called out, “Come in.”

When the door opened, Ensign Proto came into the room, followed by Simon Johanssen, much to the doctor’s surprise. She had had little contact with the PHC. As human-like as he might appear, she had a hard time thinking of Proto as anything more than a very complicated plaything. “Yes, Ensign, what is it?” she asked, sounding more than a little annoyed.

“The captain asked me to find you and ask if I could be of any assistance in solving the current situation.” The PHC cocked his head slightly, as if studying his surroundings.

“This is a medical problem,” Castle responded. “How could you be of help? Isn’t navigation more your area of expertise?”

“You are correct, inasmuch as my current position is that of flight control officer, which requires me to be knowledgeable in all aspects of navigation and the flying of starships. However, I also have access to a large data base concerning medical and historical matters, which was provided by Dr. Johanssen when he programmed me.” Proto looked at the doctor with what seemed to be his perpetual expression of mild curiosity.

“Well, will wonders never cease,” the doctor replied sarcastically. “I guess that the next time I’m stumped by a particularly intractable patient, I will know who to turn to. But, anyway, you’re too late. I’ve found a probable remedy for this illness, and right now I’m just waiting for it to take effect.” She stood up and approached the PHC. “I’m sorry you’ve wasted a trip down here, but now you can return to your duty station, mister.”

Thoroughly unruffled, Proto remarked, “That is most welcome news, Doctor. I will eagerly await the results of your experiment.” He turned as if to go and then stopped. “By the way, Doctor,” the PHC continued. “I notice that a large bird is presently at large in your quarters. Is this animal what is commonly known among humanoids as a pet?”

“I guess you could say that,” Castle answered, wondering where this line of conversation was leading.

Just t hen, Lloyd decided to speak up as well. “Get away,” he squawked loudly.

“Most curious,” the ensign commented, moving closer to the bird as if to study it. “I was not aware that birds of this type possessed the intelligence for verbal communication.”

The doctor laughed, in spite of her mounting irritation. “Parrots and macaws, and other similar birds, do not have the capacity for language, per se. They simply repeat back snatches of things they have heard from beings around them.”

“Oh, I see,” the PHC mused. “Fascinating. Tell me, please, what are the advantages of having a bird like this in your quarters? Does it act to ward off intruders?”

“Well, I suppose it could. But, the real reason I have him is for companionship. Some people keep a cat or a dog, or even a tribble, but I’ve always enjoyed birds. It also serves as a reminder of Earth, in a way.”

Just then, the doctor was saved from further explanation by the intercom. “Doctor Castle, report to Sickbay, please.”

“I’ll be there shortly,” she replied. To her guest she remarked, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my presence is required elsewhere.”

“Yes, of course.” With that, Proto turned around and left the doctor’s quarters. After taking a moment to put Lloyd back in his cage, the doctor followed him out the door.

=/\=

A short time later, Captain Blanchard was on the bridge when she received a summons from Dr. Castle. “Captain, I think I’ve come up with a solution to our problem.”

“On my way,” Blanchard responded. She almost bolted from her chair and walked briskly to the turbolift. “You have the bridge, Number One.” More than one pair of eyes followed her as she left.

Upon reaching the doctor’s office, the captain spoke, “Report, Doctor.”

“Our talk here a little while ago got me to thinking,” Castle answered. “I decided that maybe I was making things too hard, and that I should look for a more simple answer.”

“Yes?” Blanchard said, somewhat impatiently.

“Well, I’ll try to put it in a nutshell. Over the last few hundred years, doctors have continually had to come up with new antibiotics. The old ones become less effective as disease organisms develop resistance to them. Over time, there have been so many new generations of drugs that some of the other, more simple, ones have fallen into disuse.”

The captain thought she followed what the doctor was saying. “So, do you mean that one of these older drugs works in our case?”

“That’s exactly right,” Castle answered cheerfully. “One of the first antibiotics discovered – penicillin. I studied it in medical school, but it’s hardly ever used anymore. Anyway, I administered the drug to Ensign Davies, and he seems to be responding favorably.”

“So when can you start treating the rest of the crew?”

“Almost immediately, I should think.”

“This is excellent news, Doctor,” the captain remarked. She walked to the door and turned around. Pride and relief showed in her face. “Keep up the good work, and let me know what happens.”

=/\=

Things went quickly after that. The doctor was pleased to report, after just two hours, that all of the affected crew had been treated. And she recommended that everyone else on board be given a small dose of the drug, just in case they had been infected and were still asymptomatic.

Captain Blanchard reported to Starfleet Headquarters, and was given orders to go to the Cardassian border. A particularly treacherous cell of the Maquis was harassing colonies inside the Demilitarized Zone, and the McAuliffe was to find the cell and break it up if possible. On the way, they were to stop at Station Deep Space 9. While there, they would pick up a new Chief Engineer, and try to get more information on their quarry.

Before leaving the sector, the captain contacted the Yrini, and expressed her thanks for their support and assistance. M’huo’t replied modestly, “No trouble. Captain. I’m glad we could be of help.”

As it was going to take several hours to get to their destination, Dr. Castle ordered the captain to get some rest. Blanchard looked forward to enjoying her favorite holodeck program, but she had something she had to do first.

=/\=

Rocky Jordan protested, “ But Adele, you know I despise the holodeck.” The two women were seated in the captain’s quarters, where she had called her friend to discuss a proposition.

“Yes, I know,” came the quick reply. “But are you turning down an opportunity to commune with nature and spend some time with a good friend?”

“I fail to see how you can enjoy sitting on a make-believe horse doing something as worthless as jumping over fences. What would you do if that horse, all of a sudden, disappeared and you landed squarely on your dignity?”

Blanchard laughed. “Mr. Hudson assures me that all of the holodeck imaging systems are working perfectly. And besides, I think that I can program a suitably docile steed for you.”

The commander responded to her friend’s teasing. “Don’t be concerned about me. I can handle myself. It’s the horse you should be worried about.” She smiled crookedly. “If that beast gives me the least bit of trouble, it will be make-believe dog food by the time I’m done with it.”

Blanchard stood up and picked up her saddle. “I’m glad to see that you’ve come to your senses, Number One.”

As the two women walked through the corridor, Jordan turned to the captain. “I have just one request, Sir.”

“Name it,” came the answer.

“Just keep that blasted holo-crewman out of the holodeck.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Blanchard responded, giving her friend a comradely slap on the back.

Completed 10/24/96

Revised 4/16/06

Copyright J. Dustman & N. Biancarelli

"Simplicity" Part 2

2006-04-16T20:19:00.000-05:00

In Part 1 of our story, we saw Captain Adele Blanchard, newly in command of the McAuliffe, preparing for battle exercises, while also dealing with the doubts of some of her crew in her ability to command. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, some of her crew have come down with a mysterious illness that so far seems to be stumping the best efforts of the CMO. How will this situation resolve itself? Read Part 2 of “Simplicity,” and find out.

The captains of the Yrini and the Threllian ships beamed over to the McAuliffe for a conference prior to the commencement of “hostilities.” Commander Jordan escorted them to Blanchard’s ready room. The McAuliffe’s captain stood up and said, by way of greeting, “Gentlemen.” She stepped around her desk and extended her hand.

The Yrini captain, M’huo’t, smiled broadly. “Captain Blanchard, it is indeed a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He was a tall, sparely-built humanoid with curly red hair over a deeply ridged and mottled brow, with ear lobes pulled to an exaggerated length by heavy metal rings, who spoke in a deeply guttural voice which the Universal Translator interpreted as sounding faintly Klingon and yet also strangely musical. Blanchard guessed him to be about her age or a little older. The woman had done some research on her would-be opponents, and had discovered that M’huo’t had been skipper of the T’t’han’h, the Yrini vessel, for the last seven years, and was widely considered to be a brave and capable leader. On meeting him, however, the woman was reminded of the pirates who once roamed Earth’s seas.

The Threllians’s captain, an odd little being called Ni, chimed in here. “Such a lovely lady to be in command of a warship.” The captain gave his host a wink, or at least that was how Blanchard interpreted the insectoid’s sudden movement, and the newcomers sat down on the ready room’s couch. In contrast to M’huo’t, Ni was rather short and stocky, and reminded Blanchard of nothing more than a larger version of the ticks she used to pull off her dog. A friend at Starfleet Headquarters had warned Blanchard confidentially that Ni was not to be trusted, however. He often said one thing, and then did another, and could be a ruthless opponent on the battlefield.

Blanchard sat on the edge of her desk and looked at her two male counterparts. She came right to the point. “Some of my officers have conducted a reconnaissance of the planet surface. With your approval, I have selected what seems to be an ideal site for the exercise. There is plenty of vegetation, and there are some interesting geological formations that will make things quite exciting.” Far from being intimidated by the other captains, she readily assumed a role of leadership that she felt was only her right as captain of a Galaxy-class starship.

Ni spoke up. “You have us at somewhat of a disadvantage. We encountered problems with our phase adjustment coil, and a number of our crew have been engaged in making repairs. Your crew, on the other hand, is fresh and ready for battle.” Blanchard privately began to characterize the insectoid as something of a whiner.

M’huo’t had no sympathy for the other captain. “That’s no excuse, Captain. You know very well that we don’t have the luxury of picking when we’re going to go into a real battle. We all have to do the best we can with what we have at the moment.” Blanchard decided that she liked the big Yrini.

“In all fairness, I will allow both of you time to send a team down to scout out the terrain.” Blanchard stood up and walked over to the window. Turning around to face the other two captains, she continued, “Since it is growing late, I propose that we commence with hostilities first thing in the morning, at 0800 hours.”

Ni and M’huo’t gave their approval (the former somewhat grudgingly), and stood up to leave. Blanchard walked with them as far as the transporter room. As the three captains passed through the bridge, she gave her tactical officer instructions to relay the coordinates of the target site to the other ships.

<“center”>=/\=

After leaving the transporter room, Blanchard went to Sick-Bay to check on the ailing crewmembers. She was surprised, upon entering, to see all available beds occupied, with nurses and other medical personnel hovering over the occupants performing various duties. Walking over to Dr. Castle, the captain asked, “What’s going on here?”

The doctor turned away from the patient she was examining, a look of grave concern on her face. Handing the medical scanner to an assistant, she led Blanchard into her office. “Captain,” she said solemnly, “I think we have the makings of an epidemic on board.”

The other woman said, in surprise, “What makes you say that?”

The doctor punched up some figures on her desk terminal and swiveled it around for the captain to see. “Since Ensign Davies first came in, there have been close to a couple dozen new cases. And not only that, but the initial patients’ conditions have worsened. I’m afraid that we’re going to lose the little Courtney girl.” At the last remark, Castle’s face showed her sadness, as well as helplessness she didn’t like to admit.

“Have you determined what’s responsible for these illnesses, Doctor?” Blanchard questioned. She felt increasingly uncomfortable. She hated not being in mastery of any situation, and she rapidly felt that things were spiraling beyond possibility of control.

“Well,” the doctor mused, “Davies did finally admit that, while he was on the planet surface, he was bitten by an animal of some kind. It appears likely that some infectious organism was transmitted at that time. The exobiology lab is presently trying to isolate a causal factor from a sample of his blood, as well as samples from other patients.”

“Have you any idea as to how to treat those already infected?” Blanchard found herself wishing that she had paid more attention to her science studies at the Academy. She hated to admit it, but she was often at a loss when it came to medical matters.

“I can’t do that until we can isolate the infectious organism. In the meantime, we have to deal with the probability that other cases will develop on board. There appears to be a very short incubation period involved, and it’s almost impossible to determine who will be infected next.”

The captain leaned against the bulkhead, thinking. “Can you guess how far this thing will go?”

Castle considered for a moment before answering. “At this point, I’m afraid to make any predictions. I’ve examined everyone who was on the original away team. With the exception of Ensign Davies, no one else is showing any signs of coming down with whatever thing this is.”

“So you think that Davies was the only one on the team that was infected?”

“So far, that seems to be the case. However, at present there’s no way to determine just how long this thing could remain dormant. I think, for their own protection as well as that of the crew, the rest of the away team should be isolated, or at least confined to quarters.” The doctor was well aware that she was the only person on board the McAuliffe who had the ability to over-ride the captain when it came to the welfare of the crew. She hoped she wouldn’t have to exert that authority. However, considering the difficulty she had had dealing with Blanchard, she wouldn’t be surprised if she had to.

The other woman paced around the small office. “Doctor, you’re asking me to relieve my executive officer and security chief for an indefinite period of time, just because you think they may have been exposed to what you think may be an infectious disease?” She came perilously close to losing her temper. “Do you realize that this ship is going into a battle simulation in the morning? Jordan and Ghegau are vital to our success.”

“With the way things are going, Captain,” Castle argued, “there may not be enough crewmembers left to fight in any kind of battle, simulation or no. And besides, I’m not sure we should be sending our people down to such a potentially dangerous environment. Now, are you going to handle this, or do I have to?” The doctor took a step toward Blanchard, ready for a fight.

The captain took Castle’s not-too-subtle threat for exactly what it was. She was having an increasingly difficult time controlling her emotions. “Doctor, I will speak to the two officers in question about remaining in their quarters until morning. By then, I want some answers about what we’re dealing with. As far as postponing the exercises, I’m not ready to make that decision yet.” Her next remark was delivered in the way of a broad hint. “It sounds like you have your work cut out for you. Be sure to resort to me as soon as you know something definite.”

With that, Blanchard turned around quickly and left the office before the doctor could say anything more. As she walked, she spoke. “Computer, what is the location of Commander Jordan?”

“Commander Jordan is in the arboretum,” came the reply, seemingly from out of nowhere.

The captain decided that she might as well get it over with. She entered the turbolift and headed off to tell her most trusted officer that she was relieved of duty. And Blanchard wasn’t looking forward to the prospect.

<“center”>=/\=

Rocky Jordan was taking some rare, but well deserved, leisure time after a long and stressful day. The commander was seldom happier than when she was coordinating strategy and supervising battle drills. However, she was new enough to the McAuliffe that she had had to spend an inordinate amount of time convincing people of her leadership ability. Her nature was to simply give an order and expect it to be obeyed. But here, she felt as if people expected her to explain her orders, and to justify why she wanted something done a particular way. Well, just because the ship’s previous command staff had molly-coddled the crew, that didn’t mean she had to do the same thing.

Jordan had always been a loner, and while she was at Starfleet Academy she had discovered a unique way of finding some time to herself when she needed to. She simply went outside, picked the tallest and sturdiest tree around, and climbed to the top. There, she could look down on the world below her, and clear her mind of everything but the problem at hand. Three was also the satisfaction that came along with climbing, carefully choosing the best and strongest branches, and the exhilaration that came along with knowing that, at any moment, she could fall and seriously injure herself or worse.

The commander had grown up on a starbase, and had never actually seen a real tree until she went to the Academy at eighteen years of age. She had been fascinated with the image of strength and beauty that radiated from the majestic specimens located in the ancient forests of Earth. While those found on the Academy grounds were not nearly so spectacular, there were still a few that made for good climbing. Many were the times when the Academy groundskeepers accused her of trying to damage their prized specimens. After graduating and moving on to starship duty, Jordan still took the opportunity to climb trees whenever she could, either in the ship’s arboretum, or on planets that the ship visited.

At the moment, she was perched in the upper branches of a large oak tree, curled into the most comfortable position possible. Her reverie was suddenly interrupted, however, by a call from below. “Excuse me, Commander.”

The XO took a moment to wonder who knew where she was, and then to question why that person had the nerve to disturb her. Looking down, she saw Ensign Proto peering up at her from beneath the tree. Jordan breathed a sigh of disgust. She had difficulty trusting the PHC, partly because she was not able to “read” him telepathically as she did the rest of the crew. “What is it?” she asked irritably.

“Commander, I am currently researching the concept of leisure time, particularly as it relates to the crew of a starship on a long mission. Would you mind telling me why you are currently seated in the uppermost branches of a specimen of Quercus alba?”

Jordan shifted positions uncomfortably, fighting to control her temper. “Would you mind speaking in Federation standard?”

Failing to take the hint, Proto responded equably, “I was simply inquiring as to why you have climbed this rather large oak tree.” He looked expectantly at his superior officer and waited for her answer.

The commander had had just about enough. She had little patience with the PHC on the best of days, and this had not been one of those. “Mister, I don’t have to explain myself to anyone on this ship but the captain. I suggest you make an about-face and leave, before I come down there and throw you to the next star system.”

Thoroughly unruffled, Proto remarked, “That might be difficult, Commander, as I am a hologram.”

“Then perhaps I’d give the same treatment to your shadow,” came the angry response. Jordan’s sharp eyes looked around and found Johanssen standing on the other side of the room, and she glared at him pointedly. “Now, if you’re still standing there when I get down, I’ll see to it that your program is permanently erased.” As if to prove her point, Jordan started to make her way down the tree.

Far from being frightened, the hologram merely looked back at Jordan curiously. However, he wisely did as commanded. Upon seeing him leave, Jordan took a deep breath and tried to regain control of her emotions. Well, she thought to herself, I might as well get down from here and return to my quarters.

At that moment, the first officer felt a familiar sensation. She could sense, telepathically, that she was about to receive another visitor. However, this one was far more welcome than the last. Smiling, she resumed her climb down from the tree.

When completing her descent, she turned around in time to see Captain Blanchard approaching. She quickly dusted herself off, and tried to make herself as presentable as possible. The greeting she gave her commanding officer was outwardly respectful but, as usual, the slight twist of her mouth showed a subtle trace of sarcasm.

The captain smiled broadly. She was well aware of her XO’s peculiarities, and displayed the kind of tolerance shown only by a true friend. “Number One, I’m beginning to think that you’re part monkey.”

Jordan laughed in spite of herself. “Well, Princess, when I grow a tail, then you can start to worry.” The two women walked toward the corridor, matching stride for stride.

Blanchard shook her head in fond amusement. “If you insist on climbing trees, Rocky, I wish you would do it in the holodeck. Then, if you fall, the safeties will prevent you from being injured.”

“Now, Adele,” the other woman argued, “you know that I can’t stand the holodeck. And besides, monkeys don’t fall out of trees.” Jordan smiled slightly at her attempt at a joke.

The captain understood her XO’s reluctance to use the holodeck. For a brief moment, her mind went back to an instance, during the time that both were in the Academy, when Jordan had been seriously injured because someone had tampered with the holodeck safeties. “I realize why you feel the way you do,” she stated. “However, I don’t like having my first officer place herself in jeopardy.” This was an old argument, and one that would not be resolved today. She decided to drop it for the time being.

Blanchard changed the subject, once again the consummate professional officer. “Actually, Rocky, I came looking for you on ship’s business. If you don’t mind, I’ll walk you to your quarters.”

The commander looked at her, puzzled. She could sense that the captain was about to give her some bad news, and she knew the other woman well enough to know that she wanted to give it privately. Nodding her assent, she fell into step with the captain as she headed toward the turbolift.

Upon reaching her quarters, Jordan turned to face Blanchard. “Okay, Captain, what is it? I don’t have to read your mind to tell that something’s wrong.”

Blanchard sat down. “Are you aware that a number of the crew have come down with a mysterious illness?”

“Well, I did notice that the good doctor has been staying out of my hair for the last several hours.” Jordan went to the replicator and ordered a glass of cold water.

“Apparently, one of the members of the away team picked up some sort of infection while he was down on the planet earlier. It seems to have spread to several others.”

“So,” Jordan asked, “what does this do to our mission?” She sat down on the chair opposite her captain, fully attentive to her.

“The doctor seems to feel that, if the infection continues to spread at its current rate, a significant number of crew members will not be able to participate in the war exercises tomorrow.” The captain crossed her arms and waited for the inevitable explosion.

Sure enough, Jordan stood up and began pacing. “Not be able to participate! Who does she think she is? We’re going to need every hand available if we’re going to give a good showing against the Yrini and the Threllians.”

Blanchard was nothing if not practical. “Dr. Castle’s the CMO aboard this ship. Whether we like it or not, she does have the power to call off this mission if she feels that it will endanger the safety of the crew. She will not make that call if I have anything to say about it, but I have agreed to her request to isolate the remainder of the away team.” She looked at her friend with an expression of sincere regret.

“What! Are you confining me to quarters?” The commander stopped in her tracks and turned to confront the other woman.

“Yes, I’m afraid that I have to do just that, but only until tomorrow morning.” The captain spoke somewhat firmly, as a means of reminding Jordan that she was, despite their close friendship, still in command. “By that time, Castle will surely have come up with a solution to this problem, and we can proceed with the mission.”

The commander’s emotional state quickly shifted from anger to frustration. She had learned, through long experience, just how far to push Blanchard, and when to back away. “The minute I came aboard this ship, I knew that Castle was going to be trouble,” she sighed, speaking to no one in particular.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Blanchard glanced around Jordan’s quarters. The walls were covered with weapons of all kinds, from a Klingon bat’telh and d’k’tahg, to a Vulcan lirpa. She shook her head in amazement. “Number One, why do I get the feeling that I’m walking into an armory when I come to your quarters?”

Responding with pride, the commander commented, “I have to be prepared for all possibilities. You never know when I’m going to have to defend my captain.”

“Yes, Rocky, I must say that you buckle swashes with the best of them.” The captain picked up a Bajoran phaser that was lying on the table, and turned it over in her hands. She found herself thinking, once again, that for all of the other woman’s odd ways, she had been the perfect choice for XO.

Signaling that the interview was at an end, Blanchard stood up and walked toward the door. Turning, she spoke once more. “Consider this a chance to relax and get yourself ready for tomorrow. I’m going to need you in the morning, Number One.” With that, she left and returned to the bridge.

Will the McAuliffe be able to participate in the battle exercises? Return next week to read the third and final part of "Simplicity."

"Simplicity" Part 1

2006-04-09T19:34:00.000-05:00

As Captain Blanchard takes over command of her ship, she is faced with more than a little resistance, as well as a few problems she hadn't anticipated. How does she handle her problems? Continue reading, and meet the rest of her crew as you discover the answer.

Doctor Linda Castle sat in her office and read the report in front of her for the third time. She was exhausted, having had a long and trying day. There had been a greater number of injuries than usual aboard the McAuliffe, as a result of hand-to-hand battle drills that were being conducted by the first officer of the ship. Oh, none of them had been severe, but the doctor had lost count of the people who had come into Sickbay, limping or protecting some body part.

“You sent for me, Doc?” Commander Rocky Jordan, the McAuliffe’s executive officer, was standing in the doorway. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest in an attitude of defiance.

“Yes,” Castle answered, irritation showing in her voice. “Tell me, do you plan to send everyone on the ship through Sickbay today, or just the ones who don’t live up to your expectations on the target range?”

The first officer countered, “The captain gave me orders to get the crew ready for the battle exercises on Rivella IV, and I intend to do just that. I can’t help it if this ship’s previous CO let people get a little soft.”

The doctor bridled at the none-too-subtle criticism of the McAuliffe’s former captain, Stewart Livingston. A wise man with years of Starfleet experience, Livingston had preferred to seek a diplomatic solution to problems, resorting to more violent means only when absolutely necessary. However, when the need arose, he was an extremely skillful leader in battle. A few months ago, he had retired and a new captain and executive officer had come aboard.

While a good many of the crew were adjusting well to the change in command, others were having somewhat more difficulty. Captain Adele Blanchard had served for four years as first officer on the Exeter, an Ambassador-class vessel. However, some felt that she was too young and inexperienced to be in charge of the larger, Galaxy-class McAuliffe. In Castle’s opinion, she was far too eager to make a good showing of herself, to prove that she was worthy of the task given her.

And then there was Rocky Jordan. She was extremely loyal to her captain, almost to a fault. Having served for a number of years as a security guard, she had a rather aggressive nature. She was not afraid to voice her opinions, even if they differed from everyone else. Castle thought, it was almost as bad as having a Klingon on board. In fact, Jordan had been heard to curse in fluent Klingon, and her language was often peppered with idioms from that language.

“Don’t even try to find fault with the way Captain Livingston ran this ship,” the doctor said, making little effort to curb her temper. “In the five years that he was skipper of the McAuliffe, I don’t think he lost more than a handful of crewmembers. And in almost fifty years of service, he earned more citations for valor than you’ll ever see in your career. She stood up and came around her desk to stand in front of Jordan.

The commander smiled, relishing the thought of baiting Castle into an argument. She was interrupted, however, by the intercom. “Commander Jordan, report to the bridge,” came the captain’s voice.

“Aye, sir,” she replied. Before leaving, however, the first officer stepped even closer to Castle. Her voice became ominously quiet, as she uttered one of her Klingon aphorisms, “If you are afraid to die, you have already died.” With that, she spun around.

In her haste to leave the doctor’s office, the first officer almost knocked down Lt. Henry Gaynor. The ship’s counselor had unfortunately chosen just that moment to visit his friend and colleague in Sickbay. Gaynor stepped away from the bulkhead, where he had quickly moved in order to avoid being trampled. Putting his hand up in mock surrender, and then straightening his uniform, he exclaimed, “Whew! What just happened here?”

Castle moved around her desk and sat down, frowning. “Oh, I told our erstwhile second-in-command that I thought she was pushing the crew too hard. That’s when the tornado struck. I swear, Henry, that woman is going to hurt someone one of these days, and guess who will have to pick up the pieces?”

Gaynor shook his head sympathetically and took the seat opposite the doctor. “I think we just need to give Commander Jordan a little time. After all, she’s as unfamiliar with us as we are with her.”

The doctor retorted, “She can take all the time she wants, just so she does it as far away from me as possible.” With that, she changed the subject to one more pleasant.

=/\=

In the interest of fostering relations with other worlds, the McAuliffe had been ordered to conduct battle drills with ships from two planets that were both relatively new to the Federation. This would be the first time that Captain Blanchard had led her crew into a pitched battle. Even if it was just a training exercise, she was anxious to make a good showing. However, there was also an unspoken understanding that this was to be as much a test of Blanchard’s diplomatic talents as how well her crew could stand up under simulated combat, inasmuch in that her “opponents” could become very real enemies if not treated properly.

When the McAuliffe arrived at the site selected for the mock battle, she called Commander Jordan and Chief of Security Ghegau (“Cherokee” to her closest friends) to her ready room. “The Threllians and Yrini will be arriving within a few hours. Is everything ready?”

Jordan considered her answer carefully. “As much as possible, given what I have to work with. Sir, with your permission, we would like to take a reconnaissance team down to the surface. It would be a definite tactical advantage to be more familiar with the lay of the land.”

“Good idea, Number One,” Blanchard agreed. “However, do it quickly. Our adversaries will be here shortly. We don’t want them to catch us unawares.”

=/\=

Jordan and Cherokee transported to the planet surface, along with three security guards. The team found themselves in a large meadow, surrounded on three sides by areas of virgin timber. On the fourth side was a swiftly flowing river, full of rocks and rapids. No sign of sentient life forms – animal, vegetable, or mineral – were visible.

The first officer and security chief conferred for a moment. Then Cherokee indicated that the team members should go off in different directions and survey the area. One of the guards, Ensign Aaron Davies, approached the wooded area to the north.

As the ensign entered the woods, a brightly colored bird, similar to a Terran parrot, squawked angrily and flew away. As he watched the bird on its flight, he could see a small mammal of some sort climb up a tree. Davies smiled to himself, thinking that it would be fun to explore this planet in depth later. For now, though, there was no time for pleasure.

The guard carefully made his way through the underbrush, taking care not to trample the delicate plants. He had gone some distance into the forest when he stopped suddenly. There, partway up a tree, perched an animal like the one he had seen earlier. Its appearance was similar to that of the squirrels that lived near his boyhood home on Earth. However, this animal had no tail and sported long, brownish-yellow fur.

The animal did not seem overly alarmed by the sudden appearance of the human. Its ears swiveled forward, and it uttered a series of short, sharp squeaks.

Davies said, “Well, hello there, little fellow.” Ignoring everything he had been taught at the Academy, let alone common sense, the man extended a finger toward the creature.

Suddenly, the guard pulled back his finger and swore loudly. Looking at his finger, he saw a small puncture wound where the animal had bitten him. The creature in question ran quickly down the tree and off into the forest as Davies sucked his finger and blamed himself for his incaution.

After exploring the area for several more minutes, Ensign Davies returned to the beam-in site to join the rest of the team. He reported that, apart from a few small animals, he had seen nothing remarkable. The guard was careful to conceal his wound from the superior officers, certain that he would be reprimanded if found out.

=/\=

Upon returning to the ship, the first officer reported to Captain Blanchard on the bridge. The captain spoke first, “We have received a message that the Threllians’ ship will be delayed for at least ten hours. Their impulse engines are malfunctioning.”

Commander Jordan said, “Good. That will give the crew more time for phaser drill.”

The captain smiled. “While you were down on the planet’s surface, I had a little talk with Dr. Castle about your drills. She seems to feel that you’ve been pushing the crew too hard.”

“If I’ve been pushing the crew, it’s only because I want the McAuliffe to look good when she goes up against those other ships.” Jordan spoke somewhat defensively.

“I know you do,” Blanchard agreed. “However, I’m sure that everyone is as ready as you can make them. Why not enjoy yourself for a while. I personally plan to spend some time in the holodeck while I wait for our opponents to arrive.”

The first officer looked unhappy, but did not disagree with her captain. Instead, she gave a thorough report of everything that had been observed on the planet surface. Then followed an in-depth discussion of “battle” strategy, relished equally by both women.

=/\=

Captain Adele Blanchard was enjoying herself immensely. The affairs of running a large and busy starship had kept her out of the holodeck for some time. Now she was indulging in one of her favorite programs. She was mounted on a tall, rangy stallion, almost pure white. Together, horse and rider were cantering through the countryside in Blanchard’s native New England. As they came to various fences, logs, and other obstacles, the big animal soared gracefully over them, landing gently on the other side before continuing on as before.

The countryside was filled with a myriad of sights, sounds, and even smells. There was an abundance of wildlife, birds, insects, and the occasional rabbit or fox. Adele could even hear the sound of cattle in the distance. As she sped along, the woman was aware of a rainbow of colors from wildflowers along the path. There was a peculiar smell in the air, as if there had recently been a spring shower.

The captain had been introduced to horseback riding by an old friend soon after graduating from the Academy. She relished the excitement of working in concert with such a large and unpredictable animal. The concentration required for such an exercise forced her to forget for a time the demands and pressures of being a starship captain. There was also a wonderful feeling of the breeze on her face and in her hair that was a pleasant contrast to the artificial and seemingly stale environment of a starship.

Horse and rider cantered up a gentle rise leading to a low rail fence. Suddenly, the animal skidded to a stop and reared up on its hind legs in surprise. There, standing just under its sharp and potentially dangerous front hooves, stood Ensign Proto. Thinking quickly, Blanchard pulled the frightened animal to a standstill and tried to calm it with her hands and voice.

“Mister Proto, what are you doing?” the captain asked, sounding more than a little perturbed.

Proto looked at the excited horse with interest, as if studying a laboratory specimen. “Captain, an inquiry – why are you going to the trouble of making that horse jump over a fence, when you can so easily walk up and open the gate?”

The ensign, still very new to Starfleet, had been on the McAuliffe only slightly longer than Blanchard had. His name, Proto, was short for Prototypical Holographic Crew-member, and he was the result of a recent experiment to design a temporary substitute for various crew-beings around the ship as needed. He was the brainchild of one Lt. Simon Johanssen, who stubbornly persisted in his assertion that his work had merit. This was in spite of the many glitches that cropped up from time to time in Proto’s programming.

One of these many glitches was that Proto seemed to have a dreadful lack of understanding of the beings he was being designed to serve with, and to replace when needed. Blanchard privately thought that this might be at least partially due to the fact that Lt. Johanssen was as socially inept as anyone she had ever met. There was a time when he would have been given the epithet of “Nerd.” Now, most of the McAuliffe’s crew merely avoided him when off-duty.

The captain unconsciously looked around her, in an effort to locate the erstwhile Lt. Johanssen. Since Proto was a hologram, he could not exist without an emitter in the immediate vicinity. Therefore, his creator could usually be seen hovering in the background when he was around, PADD in hand. Then she laughed shortly as she realized that Johanssen’s presence would be unnecessary in the holodeck. It did mean, however, that someone had tampered with the program to allow for Proto’s insertion into it. And that knowledge made Blanchard more than a little unhappy.

The woman gave an exasperated sigh, trying hard to conceal her irritation. “Ensign, I am participating in a sporting activity. The enjoyment comes, not in getting from one place to another, but from getting this truly magnificent animal to do what I want him to do.”

“Ah,” came the response, “so your purpose is one of coercing an inferior species to meet your demands?” The PHC acted as if he was conducting an academic discussion.

“No, not at all,” the captain argued. She really didn’t want to go into this, but didn’t see any easy way around it, short of ordering Proto off the holodeck. “The horse lacks the intelligence to communicate in the way that you and I do. Therefore, I must use a combination of my hands, my legs, and my voice to convey my wishes. There is also an element of trust involved, for it is wholly unnatural for an animal such as this to carry someone on its back. And, I must confess, I have an aesthetic appreciation of such a fine animal.”

Proto cocked his head curiously. “Then, the pleasure comes from accomplishing a task which you are not sure you will be able to complete. I have noticed that this is a common principle with many leisure activities pursued by humanoid species.”

Blanchard suppressed a laugh. She dismounted from the horse and held its bridle. “It goes a little deeper than that. However, I really don’t have the time to get into an intellectual discussion right now. If you will excuse me, I must return to the bridge.”

Appearing to speak to no one in particular, the captain said, “Exit.” Suddenly, a door opened in the middle of the woods. She stepped out into the corridor, returning to the real world. “Discontinue program and store in memory,” she ordered the computer, giving a sigh of relief upon noting that the PHC did not follow. She took a moment to glare at Simon Johanssen, standing to one side of the door, and was gratified to see the man look down and quickly turn to walk the other way.

=/\=

A few hours later, Dr. Castle was in SickBay when Aaron Davies came in. His face was definitely flushed, and he was sweating profusely. The doctor led him to a bed, and as he sat down said, “You look like something the cat dragged in.” She took out her tricorder, and ran it over the lieutenant’s body.

“I don’t feel so good,” agreed Davies, smiling sheepishly.

Castle frowned as she examined the scanner’s readings. “Hmmm. Body temperature is 39.4 and rising. Leukocyte count is highly elevated as well.”

Laying down the scanner, the doctor began to use an instrument she put somewhat more faith in – her own eyes. She gave the man a good going-over, looking for any signs that might lead to a diagnosis. Before long, she came to a small puncture wound on her patient’s right index finger. “What’s this?” she asked.

“Oh, I nicked myself in my quarters earlier,” Davies lied. “I didn’t think it was serious enough to bother with.”

“Well, as long as you’re here, I might as well take care of it,” Castle smiled, reaching for the autosuture. She then resumed her examination. “I think we’d better put you in the isolation unit until I can determine what’s going on.”

“Do you have to?” the lieutenant asked, somewhat peevishly. “I was looking forward to participating in the battle exercises on the planet.”

“Well, with any luck, you’ll still be able to go and shoot up the bad guys. In the meantime, I’ll let Lieutenant Ghegau know where you are.” The doctor smiled and returned to her office, stopping to give some instructions to one of the nurses.

=/\=

Some time later, Captain Blanchard was on the bridge, looking over the shoulder of the ensign seated at the science station. She looked up when Dr. Castle’s voice came over the intercom, “Captain, may I see you down here for a moment?”

“On my way,” the captain responded, and left the bridge.

Blanchard breezed into the doctor’s office, obviously in a hurry. “I hope this is important, Doctor. The Yrini ship just arrived a few moments ago, and the Threllians are due within the hour.

Castle looked up from the computer monitor on her desk, trying to conceal her annoyance. “I’m sorry to pull you away from your preparations, Captain. But I thought you ought to know about this.”

The doctor stood up and led the way out into the primary care area. There, several of the beds were occupied by crewmembers, either seated or in a prone position. “In the last couple of hours, there have been five cases of unexplained high fever, accompanied by severe muscular pain.”

“So it seems we have a few cases of the flu on board,” Blanchard commented, with some irritation. “Why can’t you just treat those affected and let them resume their duties?”

“The symptoms don’t match anything I’ve ever seen before,” Castle continued. “I’m searching Starfleet Medical’s data base for more information. However, until I know exactly what we’re dealing with, all of the affected crewmembers are going to be placed in the isolation ward.”

“Just how many are we talking about here?” the captain asked.

“Davies and Bristow from Security, Abel and Jacobs from Engineering, and Lieutenant Courtney’s daughter Patty,” Castle replied. “Davies was the first case.”

“Very well, Doctor,” Blanchard stated. “I hope this won’t interfere with our exercises on the planet surface.”

The doctor finally gave in to her exasperation. “There are over a thousand people on this ship for you to use in your little games. Captain, I don’t think five less will hurt your fun any.”

The captain thought about responding in kind, but decided not to bother. “Then I place the matter in your capable hands. Keep me informed.” With that, she turned on her heels and left the Sickbay.

So, how will the McAuliffe fare in her battle exercises? And what will become of Ensign Davies? Come back next week to read Part 2 of "Simplicity."

Full Circle, Part 2

2006-04-03T06:23:00.000-05:00

Last week we met Captain Adele Blanchard and were a witness to her discovery that her own father had attended Starfleet Academy. We learned that Pierre Blanchard and his childhood friend, Jean-Luc Picard, planned to sabotage a banquet at the Academy in order to exact revenge on an upper classman. Now, read the conclusion of “Full Circle” and learn whether our two conspirators were successful in their plot.

=/\=

The evening of the banquet, Pierre met Jean-Luc outside his room. “I hope this scheme of yours is worth it,” he grumbled. “I could have had a date with Lise Elliott tonight.”

“I think your love life can stand a break,” his friend chuckled. “Besides, you might be able to find some girl in the fourth-year class who thinks you look handsome in your dress uniform.”

“Is everything ready?” Pierre asked.

“Yes, I was able to sneak into the hall and hide the wine in a place no one will ever find it.”

“Well, I certainly hope so. Our heads are going to roll if we’re caught.”

“Oh, come now, Pierre,” Jean-Luc teased. “It isn’t like you to get cold feet at the last minute.”

“Yes, but I’ve never had the nerve to pull off something as dangerous as this,” Pierre replied nervously.

“But when it works, think of how terrible McKenzie will look.” The two friends laughed, and headed off to the banquet.

=/\=

The evening wore on with the expected boredom. First, the Academy’s deputy commandant spoke, for what seemed like an eternity, on how proud he was of the senior class. It seemed like he was listing the accomplishments of each cadet. Then the president of the class spoke about how grateful the cadets were to have gotten the opportunity to become officers in Starfleet. Then some more people got up, so many that Pierre gave up trying to keep track of them all.

Whenever Pierre or Jean-Luc passed the table where McKenzie was sitting, they were very careful to fill up everyone’s glasses. The older student did not pass up the opportunity to rib the two younger ones about having to serve his meal. “I always thought that all you Frenchies made the best waiters,” he said, tripping Pierre as he walked past. Pierre fought the urge to level a swift punch at his antagonist, reminding himself that he would get his revenge later.

By the time the class president finished speaking, McKenzie’s face was decidedly flushed, and he was talking louder and louder. Pierre and Jean-Luc exchanged a knowing glance, assured that their plan was working. Before long, a security guard came to the table and asked McKenzie to keep his voice down. At first, the student in question complied, but eventually he got bolder. On the third request, he told the security guard what he could do with his phaser.

“I think you’d better leave, Midshipman McKenzie,” the guard said firmly. He started to take the student’s arm, but McKenzie had other ideas.

“I’ll thank you to take your hands off of me, you Glob-fly,” he retorted loudly. People at the neighboring tables looked up curiously. “What are you looking at?” McKenzie snapped.

With that, three teachers came to assist the guard in removing McKenzie from the hall. In response, the student started swinging, causing the table to crash to the ground. Another cadet at the same table, who had also had the benefit of the fine vintage, decided to help his comrade. Before long, half of the guests were involved in a fight of furious proportions. By the time the security guards arrived to clean up the mess, more than one cadet had been sent to the infirmary with varying degrees of injuries. The banquet hall was a shambles.

In the commotion, Jean-Luc and Pierre managed to slip back to their rooms unnoticed. Each cadet stuffed two empty bottles under his dress tunic, promising the other to get rid of the evidence as soon as possible.

=/\=

The next day, the deputy commandant announced that he was going to launch an official investigation of the “disgraceful incident.” The situation became grim when the security guards conducted a secret inspection of the residence hull. Under Pierre’s bed was found the incriminating evidence, a bottle that had formerly contained a fine French wine.

Pierre was sitting in his Life Support Systems class when a security guard came to his door. Immediately, the students started whispering to one another, wondering what was going on. “Midshipman Pierre Blanchard, you are ordered to come with me,” the guard barked. Nervously, Pierre got up and accompanied him to the commandant’s office. The young man could tell from the guard’s demeanor that he was in serious trouble. He also knew that, when he came face to face with the commandant, he would be unable to keep his secret. The commandant, being empathic as all Betazoids were, would undoubtedly uncover the whole story immediately.

When the door to the office opened, Pierre saw that the commandant was not in his office. With relief, he remembered hearing that the commandant had returned to Betazed to take care of some family business. Then, the young man’s heart sank when he saw what the deputy commandant held. “Mister Blanchard,” the man roared, “will you please explain how this came to be under your bed?” He held the empty bottle just inches from Pierre’s nose.

“I, uh, I put it there, sir,” Pierre said quietly. He felt like a cold hand had grabbed his heart and squeezed it.

“What was that, Cadet? I didn’t hear you,” the deputy commandant bellowed.

“I said I put it there, sir,” Pierre repeated, as he saw his dreams collapse around him.

=/\=

By the time that the deputy commandant was finished with Pierre, the young man was in deep trouble, and he knew it. He returned to his quarters and began packing. A concerned Jean-Luc came to his door and asked, “What’s going on?”

“I don’t think you want to be around me right now,” his friend said solemnly. Pierre stared at the far wall, afraid to look the other cadet in the eyes.

“What do you mean?” Jean-Luc queried, sitting on the bed.

“Well, the other night I was getting rid of the empty bottles, and one rolled under the bed. I missed it, and the security guards found it when they searched my room this morning. I’ve been dismissed from the academy.” Pierre looked like he wanted to cry.

“Dismissed!” Jean-Luc protested. “They can’t do that! If anyone is to be blamed, it’s me. It was my idea, and it was my family vintage that was used.” He stood up and paced around the room, infuriated.

“I told them I put you up to it, that it was all my fault,” Pierre said. “I couldn’t see them giving both of us the boot. You belong here more than I do, anyway.”

“We’ll just see about that,” his friend exclaimed, leaving the room in a hurry.

=/\=

After leaving his friend’s room, Jean-Luc roamed around the academy grounds, trying to come up with a solution. He always felt at ease in the peaceful surroundings of the lawns and gardens around the academy buildings. However, he was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice that he was walking directly through a flowerbed.

“Hey, what are you doing?” came a gruff reprimand. “I’ve got my work cut out for me as it is, cleaning up the damage those fourth-year students caused after their banquet.” A man in a gardener’s coveralls looked up from his planting. Old Man Boothby was something of a fixture around the academy. While he tended his precious plants, he kept a sharp eye on the goings-on around him. Beneath a bad-tempered exterior was a man who was wise in the ways of the world, and he tried to offer advice occasionally to those cadets who took the time and had the patience to listen.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Boothby,” Jean-Luc replied. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” He looked in the direction of the gardener without really seeing him.

“I should say so,” the gardener retorted.

Jean-Luc took a seat on a nearby bench. “You see, I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible mistake, and someone I care about is in trouble because of it.”

“Does this have anything to do with the ruckus the other night?” Boothby paused in his work and looked hard at the young man.

Jean-Luc soon found himself telling the whole story, thankful for the opportunity to get it off his chest. “And I just don’t know what to do now. I can’t let Pierre take responsibility for my mistake.”

“I can’t tell you what to do, young man. And besides, I think you already know the answer to that question, if you really think about it. That is, if you have the courage.” Boothby stood up, and brushed the dirt from his hands. “Now, I have to get back to work.” With that, he picked up his tools and walked away.

Jean-Luc sat for a moment, and then took a deep breath. In the space of a few minutes, the young man took a giant leap toward adulthood and the responsibility that came with it. He stood up, and walked purposefully toward the commandant’s office.

=/\=

Jean-Luc soon stood at attention in the commandant’s office. “So you see, sir, that’s what really happened,” he said grimly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, son,” the deputy commandant replied. “The Midshipman Picard that I know would never stoop to such a foolish and dangerous stunt. You have much too much integrity and pride in yourself to allow that. I appreciate your wanting to help your friend, but I can’t allow you to jeopardize a promising career. I never could understand why you wanted to befriend such an immature, irresponsible lout who had no business in Starfleet in the first place. Dismissed.”

Jean-Luc dejectedly left the commandant’s office. He walked the grounds for hours, trying to come up with some idea that would help his friend. When he finally got back to the residence hull, Pierre was gone.

=/\=

Pierre was the talk of the academy for several weeks after the near-riot. Those fellow cadets who had thought well of Pierre were for the most part silent, hesitant to bring ill will upon themselves. Jean-Luc always changed the subject when talk turned to Pierre. A feeling of guilt washed over him at these moments, along with a suspicion that he had let his friend down.

Jean-Luc tried for months to find out where Pierre had gone. He later discovered that his friend had roamed across the North American continent for a while, and then enrolled at Harvard University. For some time, Jean-Luc had been afraid to contact his friend, afraid of being rebuked, and at the same time afraid of not being rebuked. Finally, Pierre broke the ice, sending a note through a sympathetic instructor.

The two men remained life-long friends. Six years after graduation, Jean-Luc became captain of his own starship (one of the youngest men ever to do so), and Pierre received his doctorate in seismology. Each man went on to an illustrious career, one in Starfleet, and the other in scientific research. They saw each other as often as their busy careers allowed, and Jean-Luc watched with pride as Pierre’s daughter grew up and attended Starfleet Academy.

Then came the day when Pierre was killed while on a scientific mission. To Picard fell the sad duty of informing Ensign Adele Blanchard that she was without a father. After that, the young woman seemed driven to prove her family name, working harder than ever to make her father proud of her. Vindication came on the day, 44 years after her father lost his dream, when she was named captain of the U.S.S. McAuliffe and found it again.

=/\=

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Captain Picard got up and walked out the door onto the bridge. Commander Will Riker, his executive officer, looked up but did not say anything as the captain entered the turbolift.

Captain Blanchard was waiting when he got to the guest quarters. Together they walked down the corridor to the transporter room. Neither one spoke, afraid to spoil the moment. Upon entering the transporter room, Picard addressed himself to the technician on duty. “Dismissed, Ensign.” Without a word, the young man left the room. Picard walked over to the console, preparing to work the controls himself.

The younger captain stepped onto the transporter platform and stood for a minute. Then, as if changing her mind, she walked down and went over to Picard. How could she tell this man everything that was in her own heart, the gratitude for years of inspiration and friendship? She stepped close to him and kissed him first on one cheek, and then on the other, in the European fashion. Then, Blanchard again stepped onto the platform, her eyes speaking volumes. Standing at attention, she spoke with just a trace of emotion in her voice, “Ready for transport, Captain.”

“Commencing transport,” came the reply. Ever reserved, Picard allowed all of his pride and affection to show through his smile. After transport was complete, he straightened his uniform and returned to the bridge.

=/\=

After he returned to his ready room, Jean-Luc Picard wondered what would have happened if the commandant of Starfleet Academy had believed the young man who had stood up in defense of his friend. What kind of a career would he have had, if any at al, with a tarnished record? What about Pierre? If he had gone on to get his commission, what kind of officer would he have become?

One could argue that Fate had a hand in what happened long ago. Another man certainly would not have commanded the Stargazer and the Enterprise so illustriously. Or would he? And it could also be argued that, if Pierre Blanchard had gone on to a career in Starfleet, he would not have become a brilliant scientist, and might not have fathered a daughter who would grow up to become the captain that he could never be.

A person can never tell.

Join us next week as Adele Blanchard takes over command of her new ship, and finds that some members of the crew are not exactly thrilled to have her there.

Full Circle, Part 1

2006-03-27T06:54:00.000-06:00

Historian’s note: This story takes place during the seventh year of Captain Jean-Luc Picard’s command of the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701D.

Captain’s log, Stardate 47356.4: The Enterprise is en route to the Federation colony on Gantris IV, to deliver medical supplies. However, we will be making a brief detour to Starbase 234 in order to drop off a passenger. Captain Adele Blanchard is scheduled to assume command of the U.S.S. McAuliffe, currently undergoing routine maintenance. I must confess that this duty will be personally gratifying for me, as I have been well acquainted with Captain Blanchard’s family for some time.

“Captain, we have arrived at Starbase 234,” Lieutenant Worf’s voice said over the intercom.
Captain Picard looked up from his desk terminal. “Very well, Lieutenant. Will you ask Captain Blanchard to come to my ready room?”

Jean-Luc Picard moved to study the model of the U.S.S. Stargazer, tugging at his uniform tunic as he did so. How well he remembered his first command. He recalled the feeling of awe, and at the same time the huge responsibility, of having such a massive vessel under his control. He envied Captain Blanchard, knowing full well the fondness that a starship captain can feel for a ship and the people that make up its crew. At the same time, there was almost a feeling of dread, a wondering if one was up to the task of commanding so many people. He thought with remorse of the times that he had ordered members of his crew into certain death. The knowledge of their supreme sacrifice did not lessen the understanding that countless others would be spared suffering. What was it that Ambassador Spock had said? “The needs of the many...”

The captain walked to the food replicator and ordered a pot of Earl Grey tea, hot. As he carried the tea service to the table, a chime sounded. “Come,” he said, without looking up.
The door opened to reveal a woman wearing a captain’s uniform. She stood at attention in the doorway, waiting for Picard to acknowledge her presence.

“Captain,” the older officer said in greeting. The twinkle in his eye was in sharp contrast to his stern bearing. He walked toward the woman, his hand outstretched.
Blanchard responded by clasping Picard’s hand firmly. “Captain,” she echoed, a small smile on her face. The door closed as she entered.

Picard walked to the window, gesturing for Blanchard to accompany him. “Well, Adele, there she is. What do you think of her?” Through the window, the two captains could see a Galaxy-class starship in space-dock, work crews clustered around her.

The younger captain took a deep breath, lost for words as she saw the McAuliffe for the first time. She swallowed hard. “She’s everything I could have hoped for,” came the answer finally.

The two captains sat down to enjoy a friendly cup of tea and conversation. Picard said, “I remember so well when your father wrote to me, and told me that you’d been born. I was on the Stargazer at the time.”

“He told me that his communication took six months to catch up with you,” came the response. “He said that he had never seen you speechless before.”

“Yes, I was certainly caught unprepared. I think that your name was what surprised me most. You know, my favorite aunt was named Adele.” The man sat back, returning the cup to its saucer.

“Father told me that she was a special lady,” Blanchard helped herself to another cup, and looked fondly at her old friend.

Picard agreed. “She had a remedy for every little ailment that my brother and I came down with as children. My mother always said that she trusted Aunt Adele more than the local doctor.”

The other captain smiled. “Father told me that when he was a boy he caught a particularly bad viral infection. The doctor had about given up hope, when Adele had his mother give him a mixture of herbs, and he got better within the week.”

After several minutes of pleasant conversation between two old friends, Blanchard stood up. “Well, I guess it’s about that time,” she said nervously. In an unconscious imitation of her mentor, she adjusted her uniform tunic as she rose.

Picard stood up as well. “You’ll want to get the rest of your things together. I’ll meet with you at your quarters in fifteen minutes.”

As Blanchard walked to the door, she turned around and said thoughtfully, “I wonder what Father would say right now?” She looked into the far-off distance of her mind.

“Ah, Pierre,” came the reply. “What, indeed?”

With that, the woman left the ready room. Picard took a seat behind his desk. All of a sudden, memories came flooding back...

=/\=

In his three years at the Academy, Pierre Blanchard had gotten quite a reputation as a practical joker. Everyone at Starfleet Academy played a certain amount of pranks; it was almost a requirement. But with Pierre it had become something of an obsession. Recently, he had re-programmed the food replicators in the officers’ mess to serve only gagh. Admiral Davis had later remarked that it would be a cold day in hell before he would stoop to eating live worms, especially Klingon worms.

Lately Pierre had been trying to come up with an idea for getting back at the certain fourth-year student. Only last week, Wade McKenzie had reported Pierre and his best friend, Jean-Luc Picard, to the security guards because they had been in the gymnasium after curfew. Well, if that was the only way McKenzie could beat them in the raquetball tournament next month, then so be it! But he would rue the day that he had decided to tangle with then.

Returning to the residence hull, Pierre went to his friend’s room. After first checking to make sure that no one was around, he carefully went to the closet. Then he put a Martian snake in the pocket of Jean-Luc’s spare uniform, and left. Laughing to himself, he went to his next class.

As Pierre walked along, he thought about his friend Jean-Luc. The two young cadets had been friends for as long as either of them could remember. They had grown up in a small town on Earth, in France. Pierre’s father was a carpenter, and had built barrels that Jean-Luc’s family used to store their Chateau Picard wine. From the time they were very young, the two boys had dreamed of going to space. They collected books about space, and spent many evenings studying the stars.

Jean-Luc had always been a serious boy. Ever ambitious, he had, at an early age, developed a plan detailing exactly what he needed to learn in order to accomplish his goal of becoming a starship captain. When he didn’t have his head buried in a book, he could usually be found running through the countryside around LaBarre. (The boys’ teacher always remarked that Jean-Luc had more stamina than any of the other students.)

Pierre, however, was more of a free spirit. He loved to spend his evenings gazing up at the stars, dreaming of far-away places and strange beings. He could find amusement in everything, and usually did. One of his favorite pastimes was sneaking up on their teacher, an aging priest, and startling him by making animal noises. He also loved playing pranks on Jean-Luc’s older brother Robert. The fact that Robert rarely found these pranks humorous only made them more fun for Pierre.

=/\=

It had been a trying day. Jacobsen, the physical science professor, had been especially long-winded. Pierre had found his mind wandering, when he heard a stern, “Mr. Blanchard.”

“Hm-m-m?” Pierre said, looking up.

“I asked you to tell the class what conclusions can be drawn from the results of this experiment!” Jacobsen was standing in front of Pierre, looking down at him with something close to fury in his eyes.

“Oh, ah,” Pierre mumbled, looking helplessly at his lab partner. Melisse Watson sighed and pointed to some notes on the PADD in front of Pierre. He picked up the PADD and stumbled through an answer. Luckily, it was the correct one.

After class, Melisse said in irritation, “That’s the last time I cover for you. Really, couldn’t you do a better job of paying attention? I thought he had you that time.”

The young man looked suitably chagrined. He put his arm around his current girlfriend, and gave her a companionable squeeze. “I know, darling. I’m incorrigible. How can I ever repay you?”

Unable to stay mad at Pierre for long, Melisse grinned back, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of a way.”

After parting with the young woman, Pierre returned to the residence hull. He was looking forward to being able to relax over a cup of tea. Upon opening the door to his room, however, he had quite a surprise. The gravity in his room had been reversed, and all of the furniture was firmly planted on the ceiling. Pierre raced through the door and out in to the corridor, yelling,

“Jean-Luc!” He made a mad dash for his friend’s room. “I’ll kill you!” he screamed. As he rounded the corner, he ran head-long into Matt Stoner, a security guard.

“What’s going on here?” the guard demanded. Pierre mumbled some excuse, thankful to see the guard shake his head in amazement and move on. At about that time, he looked down the corridor to see his friend laughing with wild abandon. Pierre chased Jean-Luc until he caught up with him, and the two friends fell to the floor in a mock fistfight.

=/\=

After dinner that evening, Jean-Luc joined Pierre in the latter cadet’s room to use the computer terminal for some much-needed research. “You know, Pierre, your practical jokes lack a certain subtlety,” Jean-Luc commented. “The problem with the snake-in-the- closet trick is that it has been done before.”

“With your brilliance and my guts, we make a beautiful pair,” Pierre admitted reluctantly. “You don’t play pranks very often, but when you do, they’re always perfectly planned, and no one ever guesses that old Picard would do something like that.”

“Speaking of which,” Jean-Luc grinned, “I have something in my room that you have got to see.” With that, the two cadets left Pierre’s room.

Jean-Luc put a finger along the side of his nose, and motioned to Pierre to follow him to his sleeping area. After making sure that his roommate was not around, he pulled a box out from under his bed. When Pierre opened the box, he saw four bottles of Chateau Picard inside, still dusty from the wine cellar. “How. . .?” Pierre began, but Jean-Luc hushed him and returned the wine to its hiding place.

“I snuck back home when I knew everyone would be out in the fields,” Jean-Luc whispered. “By the time Robert misses it, he’ll assume that one of the servants drank it.” He added, “I brought an extra bottle back to bribe the transporter technician and the security guard on duty.”

“What are you going to do with it? You know that having real alcohol in your room can get you dismissed.”

“Ah, but only if you’re caught, mon ami, only if you’re caught.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Pierre repeated.

Jean-Luc grinned conspiratorially. “You know how we’ve been wanting to get back at McKenzie?” Pierre nodded. “I managed to get us assigned to work at the banquet honoring the senior class. Captain Potter thinks he’s punishing us for staying out late. Oh, and I managed to look suitably distressed.”

“I should say so,” Pierre protested. “I don’t look forward to having to wear my dress uniform and bow and scrape to all of those fourth-year students all evening.”

“Oh, but you know how McKenzie can’t hold his liquor,” Picard commented. “All we need to do is get into a position to substitute some of this for that synthehol swill that they’ll be serving. Then, stand back and watch the fun.”

“Hm-m-m,” Pierre mused. “This might be worth it after all.”

=/\=

Will Jean-Luc and Pierre get caught when they try to sabotage the banquet? To find out, come back next week to read the conclusion of "Full Circle."