Star Trek Grissom - Chapter 10 - Per Ardua Ad Astris

Star Trek: Grissom – Chapter 10 – „Per Ardua, Ad Astra“ (Through Adversity to the Stars)

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Chapter 10:

“Per @rdu^, @d @str^Per @rdu^, @d @str^Per @rdu^, @d @str^Per @rdu^, @d @str^” (Through Adversity to the Stars)

by Bodo Hartwig

Edited by Rick Pike

Cover artwork by Sam Wich

Star Trek: Grissom created by Seán Paul Teeling & Melissa D. Wilson © 2012 Black Wall Productions


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And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me

And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be

For you will bend and tell me that you love me

And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me

- Frederic Weatherly, 1910

Prologue – Earth – Great Britain.

t was the most beautiful morning, a day too bright for pain and grievous

thoughts. Brian Childers looked through the window and watched the

landscapes rushing by, as the 9:00 a.m. TransRapid made its usual seven minutes

from Cambridge Hills Road to Liverpool Street, London. Squinting into the sunny

day put a smile on Brian’s face, as if something was telling him that everything was

going to be alright.

Even though it was nothing but a delusion.

Holding a fiery bunch of late summer roses, young Daniel Childers sat beside

him with the grumpiest look on his face. For a ten year old he was able put his

forehead in deep wrinkles like an old man, which looked somehow creepy and

disturbing. He bit his lips while he stared with glassy eyes into the nowhere.

“Cheer up, young man,” said Brian, “your Mum doesn’t want to see you like

this.”

Danny avoided looking up. “I don’t like that hospital,” he responded, and a

certain anger in his voice made Brian take a deep breath.

“It’ll be over soon, you’ll see. Just a couple of weeks and a little bit of patience,

and we’ll all be together again for the Holidays.”

“Bullshit,” the boy hissed. “I heard the doctors talking. Mum’s going to die

and you know it.”

“Language!” Brian commanded strictly. “I don’t want to hear that again.”

A “pfft!” escaped Danny’s lips while he shook his head in cynicism. Then he

turned around to finally look at his father.

“I hate you,” he said coldly.

A definite emotion. And it was Brian now who looked down into the nowhere.

The rest of their ride was silence.

Reality check.

Fifteen minutes later, when the doors to her quiet single room opened, Rosie

Childers smiled and opened her arms to let her son fall into them. She wasn’t able

to sit upright in her sickbed, so Danny just leaned over and buried his head on her

chest for a while, revealing how much he had missed her. Brian put the roses he

had brought into a nearby vase, then took his wife’s hand for a short but intense

grip.

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“Hey, my love.”

“Hey,” she responded with a fading voice. “Have you two been behaving

yourselves?”

“Of course not,” Brian answered with a twinkle. “I ate all the candies and he

drank up all my beer. Such a mess, I tell you.”

She tried to laugh, while Danny let go and sat down in a chair. His glance was

fixed on his mother’s pale skin. Her tired eyes looked swollen and red,

accompanied by random tics in both corners of her mouth. She had a drip attached

to her arm, while a small monitor next to the bed showed a pinging graph of her

brain activity, fed by electrodes placed on her forehead. Brian endeavoured to

ignore all of this and kissed her lips softly.

“So how are the nerves doing today?”

“The doctors keep telling me the dysphagia is much better, although I can’t feel

anything. I still can’t feel them,” she said and pointed towards her legs.

“You will, honey. You just have to believe in it,” Brian assured her. “By the

way, Mum sends her best wishes. She’s over in Dublin this week to promote her

new paintings.”

“I’ve seen some of them,“ Rosie said. “She mailed some pictures the other day.

They are gorgeous.”

“As soon as she can find someone to look after the house permanently, she’ll be

with us in Cambridge to help out.”

There was an awkward moment of silence, but Rosie wouldn’t have it. She

sighed and turned her head to look at her son. “And when’s your big event,

sweetheart?”

“The day after tomorrow,” the boy answered, and for the first time Danny

smiled with a hint of pride. “I’ve got the high bar in the morning and the

horizontal after lunch.”

“You’re going to beat them all.”

“Sure – I hope.” But as if a shadow was returning, the smile faded as soon as it

emerged, and he gravely added: “Dad’s not gonna come see it.”

Brian looked at the boy and spoke like an old repeating record. “Danny… I

already told you I’m sorry. I just can’t make it.”

“Your exams?” asked Rosie.

“Yeah,” Brian nodded. “Hobbles says he’s gonna sack me if I don’t sit down

and practise.”

“And you can’t even spare a couple of hours for the accomplishments of our

son?”

“Don’t try it, Mum,” the boy ranted. “He won’t listen.”

“Hold on!” shouted Brian. “This is my career we’re talking about. Can’t you

see that?”

“I see it alright!” responded Danny, highlighting every syllable of it.

Without noticing two short and irregular ‘pings’ on the monitor beside him,

Brian turned around. “Why do you talk to me like that? I’m working my butt off for

us, and I always support you!”

“Then come and watch me compete!”

“I can’t!”


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“Yes, you can! You just don’t want to! All you can think about is sit in your

bloody architect’s office, but the truth is you can’t even draw a cube without a

computer!”

“Shut it, will you!”

Another series of ‘pings’ sounded which Brian did not notice. Instead, he left

the bed and walked toward the boy, who sprang to his feet, ready to fight.

“You’ll never be a real designer!” shouted Danny.

“And what would you know about that?” asked Brian in return.

“You can’t even hold a pen!”

“Dammit, boy! What I have done to deserve this?”

“Come to the sports festival and watch me!”

“No!”

“Then get lost, mad man!” And with this, Danny turned around, pulled open

the door and let it bang behind him like a gunshot.

There was a second of silence.

All of a sudden, Brian noticed the chaos on the monitor screen: the ‘pings’ were

going crazy! With a shock going down his spine, he saw that Rosie’s entire body

was beginning to tremble, her eyes were rolling and showing the whites. Spit ran

from her mouth. It seemed her nervous system was overloading and about to

collapse.

“Rosie! Don’t do this! Fight it!” he screamed and jumped to the doors.

“Doctor… We need a doctor!” he shouted into the hallway.

Emergency! We need help here! Quick!

Doctor! …

Doctooor…!!

And with this, he finally woke up.

Breathing heavily, Brian Childers found himself sitting straight in his bed. His

heart was throbbing wildly. Confused and irritated, he looked around and ensured

he was not in the hospital anymore, but alone in his quarters, in the real world, at

present time, aboard the U.S.S. Grissom.

It was one of those bad dreams of the past he’d gone through… again.

The second night in a row.

It took him a moment to notice the comm panel at the door, which was

constantly blinking and buzzing. It somehow reminded him of the hospital device.

Still pushed by adrenaline, he got up and walked over, taking a deep breath as he

pressed the button.

“Childers here,” he said and realized that the panel also indicated the Grissom

was on Yellow Alert.

“Sorry to wake you up, Lieutenant,” replied the familiar voice of Security

Officer Lars Thorsen through the speaker. “Please report to Sickbay immediately.”

“Acknowledged. But it’s four in the morning, Thor – What’s going on?”

“Captain’s orders, Lieutenant, your presence is required ASAP. It’s about

Nurse Murphy.”

And to Brian’s horror, Thorsen’s voice could not have been more grave as he

added: “He’s dead.”


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U.S.S. Grissom – Sickbay.

lthough it had seen troubled times recently (to put it mildly), the Sickbay

compartment aboard the U.S.S. Grissom was never as crowded as it was

right now. Not only were the doors guarded by security officers from outside, but

inside most of the senior staff had had already come together.

Captain Jonathan T. Esteban was breathing loudly as he approached Dr.

S’Raazh’s little office to take a look at Seán Murphy’s body. Lieutenant Thorsen

was there, too, as was Lieutenant Casas and Commander Ottair. They all appeared

to be in shock.

Vindi S’Raazh was leaning over the body as Esteban gently put his hand on her

shoulders. He knew she had been through hell lately, especially after the

Alcyonians decided to execute all of their kinsmen who were infected by the

Tarellian Plague, which Dr. S’Raazh had been unable to nullify. Esteban had given

her some freedom to recover, and everyone noticed how badly she needed it. As a

result, Nurse Seán Murphy had done a great job of taking care of the crew’s

physicals over the last days, while she mainly isolated herself from the crew and

only came out to examine her stasis chambers, to continue her investigation of the

four dead Tholians Grissom was still carrying.

Now she put her hand above Esteban’s, and looked into his eyes. “You don’t

need to be a scientist to figure out Murphy was killed the same way those Tholians

were.”

“Can you be sure?” he asked.

“Look at the wounds on his torso and legs. Their bodies have been

dismembered in the same way.”

Lieutenant Casas, the Grissom’s Chief of Security, dared to come closer and

stared bewildered.

“Indeed,” he said, “this is exactly like those bodies on Deck 4.”

“Meaning?” wondered Commander Ottair from the corner, as she folded her

arms. “Are you implying we have a murderer on board who is responsible for more

than just this?”

“Yes,” replied Lars Thorsen from the opposite corner of the office. “And to tell

you what, I’d very much like to see the body of that Romulan, ‘Ash’, too, or

whatever his real name was. Murphy found his body in the computer core after our

encounter with Cyrano Jones.”

Casas turned around, and for a moment his subtle hate for Thorsen broke

through again. He never got on well with Thorsen, and this kind of insider

information reminded him once more of how much different their thinking, and

acting, was.

“Is that the reason you had nothing better to do than to put Murphy in the brig

for a full day of interrogations?” he asked.

“Those events are indeed related, Mr. Casas,” replied Esteban quickly. “But

Thorsen did that on my orders.”

Vindi sighed. “Well, I still haven’t investigated the Romulan yet. But

something’s telling me there is indeed a connection between them all. To be

honest, after Murphy came out with his story about that mysterious Cadet, who

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turned up out of nowhere and literally pointed him to the Romulan’s body, I did not

believe a word, either.”

“Neither did I,” replied Thorsen. And after a moment of embarrassing silence,

he added what everyone in the room was thinking: “Not even after Lieutenant

Tamkivi broke out with that virus did I think about possible links between

everything that has been going on lately. It’s only too clear now that we have a

murderer on board for quite some time, and Seán had to die for it.”

They stood silently for a moment until Lieutenant Childers, a bit short-breathed

but steady as always, entered the room with the usual “Sorry, sir” towards Esteban,

who rubbed his chin and did not look up.

“At ease, Lieutenant. Thank you for coming,” the Captain said. “I want you to

work together with Doctor S’Raazh and take a look into Nurse Murphy’s entire log

entries and medical reports from the last few days.”

“Aye, sir,” nodded Childers, but his face got pale as he became aware of the

dead body on the floor. Seán Murphy looked like he had been skinned alive; a

devastating picture which burnt itself into Childers’s mind.

“Don’t step in the blood,” warned S’Raazh, causing him to shiver in disgust. He

quickly backed off, barely daring to breathe.

Captain Esteban raised his voice to cut the silence, because from his point of

view, it was now time for a proper discussion and clear orders.

“Alright,” he said, “since the whole mess isn’t just about Murphy, or all those

other murders, I want this mysterious Cadet to be found as soon as possible. We

have to assume there is someone on board who does not belong to the crew, and is

travelling with us as a stowaway. We MUST get him. We also have to assume this

same person is involved in the infection and death of Specialist Tamkivi. Right

now I’m just puzzled by the fact that the rest of us are still alive. He’s clearly

leaving us a message that he’s able to kill off any one of us, at any time.”

“My thoughts exactly,” added Thorsen and caused Lieutenant Casas to roll his

eyes again. “If what Seán told me is true, then this cadet is more dangerous than

anything we have encountered since we left Starbase 67 on our mission.”

“Our ill-fated mission,” added S’Raazh and sat down tiredly.

“Hold on a moment,” said Casas, suddenly thinking of a recent encounter he’d

had. “Do I take it that Murphy spoke of someone dressed in a Starfleet cadet’s

uniform? A tall, fit guy in his twenties, brown hair and trained like an athlete? Soft

voice, calming attitude and a certain twinkle in his eyes? Who disappeared just as

mysteriously as he turned up?”

“Mr. Casas?” asked Esteban and turned around. “Is there something you would

like to add?”

Everyone was looking at Casas now, who slowly nodded. “Well… it’s possible

I might have seen him, too. He turned up on Deck 4 after the Tholian attack and

told us exactly where to find the dead bodies.”

“Wasn’t Mr. Jata with you in that corridor, Casas?” asked Commander Ottair,

who remembered the incident with the Tholians too well, as she was in charge of

the Bridge during the attack and had spoken to Casas and Petty Officer Jata via

hand-held communicators.

“Jata didn’t see him,” answered Casas resigned. “Only I did.”


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Thorsen hissed angrily. “And you are telling us this NOW? I don’t believe this!

Why, Casas, you’re such a piece of work! This is such a bad attitude, performing

your duty while you’re keeping your own little secrets all along.”

“Ah, I thought YOU were the master of bad attitude and little secrets yourself,

Mister Thorsen. Can’t you just speak calmly?”

“Casas is right, Thor,” said Ottair from afar. “You need to take it down.”

“And actually,” Casas continued, “in case you’ve forgotten about it – like

everything else you prefer to ignore – tell me again, who’s the lead security officer

on this ship?”

That was too much for Thorsen. “How dare you talk to me like that!” he

shouted and jumped forward, almost striking the Spanish Lieutenant in the face. It

was Esteban himself who grabbed his arm harshly and stopped him.

“Thorsen! Gentlemen! Will you two just calm down! I need you to work

together, not against one another! Each of us could have had some encounter with

that stranger and not given it a second thought. As far as I am concerned, there is

nothing to blame Lieutenant Casas for.”

Thorsen backed off but did not say a word.

“Did I make myself clear, Thorsen?” Esteban asked again.

“Yes… sir,” answered the blond Swede and looked at Stephanie Ottair, who

was still standing in the corner, visibly shaking her head in worry.

Esteban let him go. “Let’s make no mistake then,” he said. “And no hard

feelings, Lieutenants, but I need your full cooperation now. If both Murphy and

Casas are right, then this Cadet is only seen by us when he wishes us to. We have to

keep that in mind.”

“CCTV,” responded Casas. “Do we have cameras we can install in all main

areas?”

“No,” answered Lieutenant Childers, breaking his own silence. “I’m afraid we

aren’t equipped for that.”

“Then I would find a way to tackle that,” said the Captain. “I’ll talk to Starfleet

Command and ask Admiral Morrow for help.”

“I would also suggest that Casas creates a composite sketch of that Cadet,”

added Childers, “so that the crew can take a look at it as well.”

“Very good,” confirmed Esteban. “In fact, Mr. Thorsen, I want you and Casas

to question every single crew member about their whereabouts at the time of the

murder, and about every possible thing they might have seen, or heard, between

2200 and 0200 hours. There will be no exceptions! By the way… where is Mr.

Chattman again?”

“Probably to bed,” responded Dr. S’Raazh, “since he’s no longer a member of

the senior staff.”

“Right, I forgot,” Esteban nodded. “But I want Chattman to modify some

tricorders for us, so that interviews can be recorded and stored. Lieutenant Casas,

you’re in charge.”

“With pleasure, sir,” said Casas.

“If you need help, Commander Ottair will assist you.”

“Naturally,” said Ottair.


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“And Doctor S’Raazh… Vindi… while Childers is going through Murphy’s

logs, I want a full autopsy of the body. Compare it also to that Romulan character

Ash.”

“Yes, Jonathan,” said Vindi, and everyone could see the horror in her eyes

about having to do this.

Esteban took another deep breath. “I want you to know, everyone in this room,

that I understand precisely what you’re feeling. Some of you knew Mr. Murphy for

a long time and were his friends – I respect that. But even more important is that

personal issues and constant arguments never were, and never will be an option on

this ship. Not while I am in command.”

“Aye, sir.” Casas and Thorsen said at the same time.

“Good”, replied the Captain. “To make myself clear: I really don’t need your

attitudes… I have my own to deal with.”

With this he left the place, and the guarded doors closed behind him. They all

sighed.

But for several moments, no one dared to say a word.

U.S.S. Grissom – Deck 2 – Aabin’s and Chattman’s quarters.

he sleep of a Deltan was usually deep and very long. In fact, Deltans

usually spent half of their lives in bed, and for humans it was hard to

imagine how much energy it actually cost them to be fully ‘present’ over a certain

amount of hours. Deltans had both mental and emotional abilities which, for

outsiders, appeared to be a miracle, almost bordering upon magic and wizardry. In

exchange for those physiological and hormonal capabilities, however, their bodies

needed much compensation and rest to recover.

Christopher Chattman had gotten used to that lifestyle quite easily. After

Captain Esteban demoted him and pulled back all his assignments, making him

seem a completely redundant person in front of the others, Chattman enjoyed

nothing more than ignoring all this mess, and was happy to spend as much quality

time as possible with his Deltan boyfriend, Aabin. Like a storm, taking over his life

entirely, this young, bald guy with the deep, humble voice had become all, and

everything, for him.

To be fair, Christopher Chattman was not at all “gay” in the standard way of

human thinking. In fact, he did not like guys at all – he just liked this guy.

According to Doctor S’Raazh, his feelings for Aabin were neither triggered by his

mental powers, nor by subtle pheromone transfers, which, admittedly, occurred

easily through the simplest proximity to a Deltan.

To the enjoyment of Chattman’s closest friend (and critic) on board, Helm

Officer Rebecca Sato, he was finally coming to terms with himself. At least a little

bit. He gave himself and others a hard time before being able to admit that he had

completely fallen for Aabin. But now, as long as they were together, it was all that

mattered to him.

The Deltan boy did not wake up when Christopher got the call to report to the

Captain’s Ready Room. He dressed quietly and managed to drink a quick coffee to

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bring some life to his brain cells. Only when he put on his shoes and closed the

zippers did Aabin turn around in bed, reaching out his arm towards him.

“What’s happening?” he asked tired and sleepy. “It is four in the morning.”

“Shhh,” Christopher said calmly, leaning over to kiss him. “The Old Man wants

to see me. We’ve dropped out of warp as well. I have no idea what’s happened.”

“I can hear people in the corridors,” Aabin said. “This is strange.”

“I know,” replied Christopher and put his hand on Aabin’s bald head. “But I

promise I’ll be back soon.”

“Please,” said Aabin and smiled. “Because I might have become addicted to

your presence, sir.”

“As I am addicted to you,” replied Christopher and kissed him again. “Night

night, sleep tight. And don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

“Bed bugs?”

“Never mind,” laughed Christopher. “Just keep the bed warm.” And with a

twinkle he stood up and was already at the door.

“Bye,” he said, and left.

Aabin yawned and stared at the wall, where a blinking light next to the door

signalled that Grissom was on Yellow Alert. He tried to listen to what the staff

outside was talking about, but was unable to catch any words.

He got up and put on some pants, which were Christopher’s actually, and

walked to the replicator for some cold water. He stretched his arms and chest and

touched his shoulders, where he could still feel the spot where the Tholian

disruptor had hit him. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but only ten days had passed

since.

Then, out of the nowhere, he heard it again.

That strange, distant voice in his head, softly calling his name.

Aabin…

Aaaabin…

Terlis! The Deltan leader of Cinera Base who he saw being shot and killed

during Grissom’s very first encounter.

But could it be?

Aabin stumbled and held on the desk next to him, trying to avoid a panic attack.

“Get out!” he begged. “Get out of my mind!”

The voice inside him laughed coldly and made him shiver all over. He could not

stand this evil terror anymore, which had been growing stronger and stronger each

night, placing cruel thoughts into his mind, crawling through his brain like a spiky

Tellarite wormsnake.

Tablets! he thought. Where are the pills Murphy gave me? He opened the

desk’s drawer, wildly skimming through it, but the little glass container he found

inside was empty.

“Murphy,” he mumbled without breath, stumbled towards the door and hit the

computer’s comm button with his whole fist. “Aabin to Murphy!”

No reply. He hit the button again.

“Aabin to Murphy. Nurse Murphy, please respond!”

Nothing.


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“Computer,” he said. “Locate Nurse Murphy.”

With its usual beep, at last the computer voice responded.

“Nurse Murphy is currently in Sickbay.”

He pressed the button again.

“Aabin to Sickbay. Nurse Murphy, can you hear me?”

After a moment, the comm signal finally came up. But it wasn’t Seán Murphy’s

voice he heard on the speakers, but that of Grissom’s Chief Security Officer.

“Casas here – What’s wrong, Aabin?”

“I…err… I would like to speak to Mr. Murphy, if I may.”

“This isn’t possible, young man.”

“Is he not in Sickbay then? Can I come over there, perhaps?”

“Please stay where you are,” Casas said with a certain hesitation.

“But sir, I –“

“Just remain in your quarters. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“No… I have to see Mr. Murphy. Please tell him –“

“Aabin, we’re busy right now!”

“But I need him! It’s an emergency! I need my medication!” he begged, barely

able to stand on his feet anymore. And like a relief, unexpectedly, he heard the

voice of Doctor S’Raazh, even though she sounded strangely serious and

concerned.

“Aabin, please hold on for a while. I’m afraid Murphy can’t help you. And

you’re not on medication anymore. What’s wrong?”

He began to cry. “Please, Doctor… All I’m asking is to put me through to Mr.

Murphy, nothing more. I can’t… explain… this… now… Please.”

Someone else on the other side raised his voice – Lieutenant Thorsen. “For

Heaven’s sake, Specialist, please stay calm and I’ll be with you in five minutes.”

“You can’t do that,” Aabin heard Casas respond.

“If this is an emergency, I will personally accompany him and escort him here.”

“No, Thorsen, and this is an order. No one enters Sickbay without my

permission.”

“It’s alright, Lieutenants,” S’Raazh said. “Thorsen, you’re hereby assigned to

get to specialist Aabin and bring him. I’m the doctor on this ship, Casas, and

whether you like it or not, it is I who decide who enters my Sickbay.”

Aabin sobbed. He had no idea what they were arguing about.

“This is outrageous!” shouted Casas. “We can’t have him here now!”

“No, you’re outrageous!” shouted Thorsen back.

“And if he sees…?” Casas hissed.

“Gentlemen, please!! I’ve decided,” claimed S’Raazh, then continued gently

into the comm microphone. “I’m sorry, Aabin. Lieutenant Thorsen will be with you

shortly. Are you still there?”

Aabin took a deep breath and wiped some tears away. “Yes…”

“Good – I guess you have to be strong now, you understand? Can you do

that?”

He closed his eyes, more tears were running down his cheeks. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay”, said S’Raazh almost voiceless. “Just five minutes, young man. Sickbay

out.”


11

Aabin sank to the ground. There must have been a reason why they held him

back from talking to Murphy, and he began to realize how much he just

embarrassed himself, and them. But why were all those officers in Sickbay at the

same time?

Something terrible must have happened.

All of a sudden he felt sorry that he had disturbed them because he was freaking

out and panicking about nothing. Sorry for the argument he had just caused

between them. Sorry for being the cause for trouble again. As if getting shot,

hiding a Tribble, or being put into quarantine for a damn, stupid virus hadn’t been

enough already.

He buried his head between his knees. Maybe it would have been better if he

had left Grissom as Commander Ottair had once suggested, if he had beamed over

to the U.S.S. Enterprise or U.S.S. Tempest, and taken whatever ride back to his

home world on Delta IV, even if that had meant leaving Christopher…

But there it was again, that strange, distant laughter inside him, Terlis’s voice in

his mind, bathing in sheer satisfaction.

Aww…! You see? I told you it would happen sooner or later. You’re beginning

to lose it.

And with the enjoyment of triumph, he whispered into his ear: You will lose

EVERYTHING!

U.S.S. Grissom – Deck 1 – Ready Room.

eanwhile, in his Ready Room, Captain Esteban tapped his finger ner-

vously on his desk, while he had yet another of those secret conversations

with Starfleet Headquarters.

Starfleet Commander Morrow was one of those admirals you always saw

looking worried and in doubt, and permanently under pressure. Two secretaries had

to manage all of his appointments and were the only people in the quadrant who

always knew where to find him, and to put urgent calls through if necessary. For

not only was he amongst the highest ranks of the Starfleet brass, he also had three

permanent offices in which to perform his daily business: one at the Headquarters

in San Francisco, one in Paris, only two floors below the Federation President’s

lounges, and the third one being on the newly built Starbase Alpha, which was

referred to by most officials simply as ‘Earth Spacedock’.

Not many in Starfleet were granted such a luxury. There was Morrow’s

colleague Admiral Androvar Drake from Starfleet Security who had a comparably

stressing life dealing with all the military sections and preparing for a possible

Klingon threat. There was also Rear Admiral Lance Cartwright from the Secret

Service, who (when he was not openly trying to undermine Morrow’s position)

was always busy staying on top of things about the current Klingon fleet

movements. And, of course, there was Grand Admiral Stephen Turner, who was

Second CEO at Starfleet Headquarters and spent most of his time in Paris in

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meeting rooms with foreign ambassadors and politicians from all corners of the

Federation, and to whom people like Morrow, Drake and Cartwright had to report

on a daily basis.

Most of the time, Morrow was in charge of all the science and exploratory

vessels, with the majority of them being on one-year or five-year missions like the

Federation’s soon-to-be-decommissioned Flagship, the U.S.S. Enterprise, but also

for the smaller ships on various special assignments, like the U.S.S. Grissom.

Right now, J.T. Esteban sat in front of the monitor and knew that he looked just

as concerned as Morrow on the other side of the channel. He noticed how the

Admiral’s big moustache went up and down under his nose as he was leaning back

in his chair, waiting for Morrow to tell him to turn away, to leave the dirty

playground behind and fly back to Starbase 67 for a long, well deserved break. But

he knew that was not going to happen.

“You know, Jonathan,” the Admiral began, “as much as I’d like to cancel your

assignment with no regrets, I can’t. Exploring the Genesis planet is your mission,

and you’re on silent running, not even supposed to be anywhere near the region

you are. Grand Admiral Turner insists that you’re to proceed by all means.”

“You mean, at all costs,” replied Esteban, and the bitterness in his voice was all

too obvious. “Murphy’s the fifth dead crew member in sixteen days. We’ve also

been diverted, attacked, and put into quarantine. Apart from that, I have four dead

Tholians and two Romulans in my stasis chambers, and we have a murderer aboard

who appears to have travelled unnoticed with us all this time. So what am I to do in

this situation?”

Morrow took a deep breath. “I know what you’re going through, Jonathan.”

“You don’t,” said Esteban. “Do you have any idea how low the morale onboard

has become? Everyone’s afraid, upset. It’s burning this crew out, even my senior

officers are beginning to fight amongst themselves. Whoever this killer is, he’s

struck three times now, and it could happen again any time.”

“Personally, I feel guilty for it,” responded Morrow, “because I sent you there.”

“Wrong – Grand Admiral Turner sent us out here.”

“But it was I who assigned you, Jonathan. I wish I could do something about

your situation… I just don’t see how.”

Esteban nodded. “I’m not holding you responsible for this, Admiral. But as I am

responsible for my crew, it’s a goddamn burden to be slapped in the face again and

again, and to be told just to take care of it on my own.”

“Jonathan, you must understand this. Starfleet Headquarters has their own

problems right now. Our outposts report that Klingons are crossing the Neutral

Zone every single day, and the news channels have nothing good to tell the people.

Ambassador Sarek returned from Vulcan yesterday to meet Admiral Kirk. With the

Enterprise due back at Spacedock soon, everyone is spreading rumours and is

anxious for information about Captain Spock’s death, and especially: on what

business the Enterprise was during that incident. Do you know how hard it is to

keep the Genesis Project out of the public view?”

“I can imagine – just like the problem I have with my crew, who are not even

allowed to make calls or send messages to their families.”

“I know,” said Morrow. “But there’s more. Starfleet Headquarters might have

its own little saboteur.”


13

Esteban leaned forward, because that was now something he had already heard

before, but not from Harry Morrow himself.

“It’s puzzling,” the Admiral continued, “Admiral Alexander McKnight and

Captain Pierce from the Hathaway approached me some days ago and presented

some data. Tracked signals of secure subspace calls which McKnight was able to

catch via Starbase 67, and which Pierce identified to have been transmitted directly

to Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco… from Cinera Base.”

“Terlis?” said Esteban.

“Obviously,” replied Morrow. “But they’re proof that over a long period of

time, this Deltan maniac must have been in contact with someone from Starfleet

directly, and may have worked under orders.”

“Under orders!? From whom?” asked Esteban, but Morrow laughed grimly.

“If we knew that, we wouldn’t be talking about it right now. McKnight dared to

come to me right after Cinera Base’s destruction was reported.”

“But wasn’t Cinera destroyed by a Romulan Warbird?”

“Exactly,” said Esteban. “And this, Jonathan, is the rub. We are neither at peace

nor war with the Romulans, but we know their government, and even the T’al

Shiar, wouldn’t engage in the current conflicts between the Federation and the

Klingons. They decided to stand back completely.”

“Which means?”

“Which means, regardless of the question whether it was an official or outlawed

Romulan move, the destruction of Cinera Base after your men eliminated Terlis

must have been executed on someone’s orders from right here, which leads me to

the conclusion that there must be not only a link between Starfleet and Terlis, but

also a link to the Romulan Empire.”

“Unbelievable!” said Esteban and shook his head. “What does Grand Admiral

Turner have to say about all this?”

Morrow hesitated. “I haven’t told him yet. Frankly, Jonathan, I first wanted to

hear your opinion first.”

Esteban laughed. “To be honest, I don’t have one.”

“But you do have two dead Romulans on board.”

Silence.

Esteban did not know what to think. “At least one of them was clearly after the

Genesis data,” he finally said. “But we never found any device he could have

downloaded it to.”

“Aha,” replied Morrow. “And who did you say was the one to find that

particular Romulan dead in your computer core?”

“Nurse Murphy”, Esteban answered.

“—who has now suddenly been killed!” concluded Morrow. “What a

coincidence… isn’t it?”

Esteban took a deep breath. “I don’t understand. Murphy was an honest man, no

traitor. He’s been on board for almost two years, how can he be a spy or saboteur?”

“He probably wasn’t,” said Morrow. “But didn’t you report that he was actually

led to that Romulan body by a mysterious unidentified Cadet? So if the Cadet was

really the murderer you’re looking for, why would he have approached Murphy in

the first place? Only to kill him off later?”


14

Esteban now sat straight in his chair. He suddenly knew where Morrow was

going, but he still couldn’t believe it. “Are you implying, Admiral, that this Cadet

and our saboteur, or killer, are two different people?”

Morrow did not answer him. Instead he nodded, and his face seemed to get

longer. His moustache looked like it was slowly sinking down on his lips.

“I won’t say forget this Cadet, but you have to find the real traitor, Jonathan.

Do whatever is necessary, and assume that whoever he is, he might still be after

data regarding the Genesis Project.”

“Acknowledged.”

“And Jonathan, never forget that this killer is not a stowaway, but one of your

crew!”

“I will keep that in mind,” Esteban said in horror.

“Look before you leap, Captain. Don’t trust anyone. And most of all: watch

your back.”

“Admiral, I –“

“Take all actions you can think of,” Morrow interrupted, as he leaned over to

reach out for the button on his monitor to finish the call. “Needless to say, this

whole conversation never took place. -- Morrow out.”

And the screen went blank.

Esteban did not move for a while. ‘One of my crew,’ he thought. ‘This killer,

saboteur and data thief is in fact not that mysterious Cadet, but… one of us.’

Then he took a breath and pressed the intercom button. There was no time to

lose.

“Esteban to Bridge, has Lieutenant Chattman arrived?”

“Aye, sir”, responded the voice of Petty Officer Jata from the Main Bridge.

“He’s waiting.”

Esteban rolled his eyes in a reflex, and adjusted his uniform.

“Fine!” he said drily. “Send him in.”

U.S.S. Grissom – Sickbay.

he lights in Sickbay were dimmed to support the fact that it was still five o’

clock in the morning. The door to Doctor S’Raazh’s small office was closed

now, but Aabin could still see Lieutenant Childers through a little window,

working at the desktop computer. All was quiet. The senior officers had left to

meet up with Commander Ottair, and Lars Thorsen in particular, who had been

kind enough to pick Aabin up at his quarters, had accompanied the young Deltan in

the most consoling and calming way, only to leave him with a strange “Be strong”,

which was still echoing in the young Deltan’s mind.

Aabin sat on a chair next to the wall and looked around. How well he had

gotten to know every corner of this compartment; all the frequent beeps of the

medical devices, the smell of disinfectants, the air conditioning’s eternal humming,

the black leather on the bio-beds – since he was assigned to the U.S.S. Grissom at

Starbase 67, he had spent more than half of his time onboard right here. Sickbay

had become more familiar to him than any other part of the ship. The long process

T


15

of recovering from the Tholian disruptor had left its traces just like the time he was

put in quarantine after his encounter with the virus-infected Lieutenant Tamkivi,

who had later fallen into a coma under his nose, and passed away.

He watched Dr. S’Raazh as she set up another hypo spray for him. The previous

dose had already calmed him down, but she obviously wanted to be thorough.

“Don’t worry, Aabin,” she said. “This is just a vitamin mix to stabilize your

chemical imbalances.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” he responded. “It is much appreciated.”

“May I ask if you have suffered similar panic attacks in the past? I couldn’t

recall having seen you like this before.”

Aabin looked into the doctor’s tired eyes. “Because I haven’t,” he said.

“Then tell me about the medication you mentioned earlier. From my readings,

you’re fit as a fiddle, so I’m not sure what you were referring to.”

Aabin handed her the empty tablets container which he still carried with him.

‘Sertraline Hydrochloride 200mg’ was written on it in Seán Murphy’s handwriting.

S’Raazh took a breath and was suddenly concerned.

“This is powerful stuff,” she said. “I didn’t know Murphy had put you on anti-

depressants.”

“They are good,” responded Aabin.

“Really!? Well, I take it there’s at least more to your medical file than I’m

aware of. I’ll have to look it up and find a way for you to overcome this poison,

which I personally think is not good for you at all.”

“No, doctor. In fact I want more of it.”

“What?”

“Permanently, if you can.”

S’Raazh looked into his grey eyes, and for a moment the young Deltan almost

frightened her. For apparently, he seemed to know quite well what he just asked of

her.

“Aabin,” she wondered, “what in the world is wrong with you?”

No answer. Instead he looked down, as if he was searching the floor for what to

say. He closed his eyes for a moment, because he always knew the time would

come where he had to come out to her with the truth. So with calm determined

action, he lunged for her arm… and grabbed it with his flat hand.

“Aabin!!” S’Raazh said and tried to pull her arm away, but the Deltan’s grip

was firm. In fact, he didn’t let go but looked her in the eyes.

“Do you know what I mean, doctor? Do you see what my problem is?”

S’Raazh hesitated. She knew well that her Andorian nature did not make her

immune against Deltan pheromone powers. Of course she expected an impact, and

although she had often imagined what it might actually be like, it was the first time

that any Deltan had ever done something like this to her. In fact, the scientific

researcher part of her embraced this moment a lot.

But something was missing.

“Do you feel me, doctor?” asked Aabin. “Do you feel anything at all?”

S’Raazh still hesitated.

“No,” she answered, admitting to herself that she was actually disappointed.

“I’m afraid I don’t feel anything.”


16

“I know,” Aabin said. “It’s because there is nothing to feel anymore. It’s about

my Deltan powers, doctor… they are gone!”

He let go and stood up abruptly. S’Raazh was startled. It was a surprise she

would never have expected. How little she knew about him and his medical file.

Only two weeks ago, when she examined the influence of his immense pheromone

transfer to Lieutenant Chattman, the readings had almost gone off the scale. But

now there was… nothing?

Aabin took a breath. “Can I see him now?” he asked and looked towards the

infirmary section where the sick-beds were located.

“Whom? Murphy?”

“Yes,” he said. “I believe he is dead… is he not?”

Knowing not to underestimate a Deltan’s emotional or cognitive intelligence,

S’Raazh just nodded.

“I knew it from the moment I saw those security guards at the door. How did he

die?” he asked and was already on the way.

“We don’t know,” she answered and followed him.

Aabin approached sick-bed number two, where Seán Murphy’s body was laid

out but entirely covered with a huge, blue cloth. Next to him, S’Raazh halted and

was unsure whether she should really grant the boy the look he obviously wanted

to take.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked.

“Yes. Show me.”

“You must be strong.”

“I just want to say goodbye to him,” he said.

S’Raazh removed the upper part of the cover. Aabin was immediately wracked

with sobs. As much as he wanted what he asked for, this view was almost more

than he could bare.

Then they both turned around as someone knocked at the wall behind them.

It was Lieutenant Childers.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said slowly. “I just wanted to tell you, I made backups

of Murphy’s files so I can look through them from my quarters. Right now I just

need a nap or I’ll fall off that chair. Regardless of the medical things I don’t

understand, I’ll try to see if I can spot something – anything – unusual, or a pattern,

whatever. I’ll also go through his logs and will update you continuously.”

“Yes, Childers, do what you think is right. We could all use some sleep.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

With a nod in Aabin’s direction, and relieved he did not have to ask twice for

some rest, Childers exited. S’Raazh turned to the Deltan again and put the cover

back over Seán Murphy’s head.

Aabin now was a wreck, and in the infirmary’s light Vindi could now fully see

how pale his face looked. His skin was as white as a sheet of paper. It was hard for

her to see him like this, and as a lump was building up in her own throat, she could

not help herself but to give him a hug.

He cried his heart out, and even Vindi’s eyes got wet. At the same time it was

strange and bewildering to be in such direct bodily contact with this Deltan. Now

that nothing of the overwhelmingly powerful pheromone effect was left, he

appeared more human-like and vulnerable than ever.


17

“I trusted him,” he winced. “He was my friend! I have spent so much time in

here, he was the only one who knew! He promised he would find the cause for my

loss and reverse it. Who for f***’s sake did this to him?”

“We’re all trying to find out,” she answered.

They remained still for a while until Aabin managed to retain his countenance,

to breathe calmly and wipe his eyes. He could not believe he had just used one of

those human swear words, although this one seemed like the only appropriate word

for this horrible situation.

“I am sorry I let myself go… and I am sorry for the strong word I used.”

S’Raazh tried to smile. “I’m sure the great bird of the galaxy will forgive you.”

He managed a smile, too. Then he let go and became serious again.

“The murderer is still around, isn’t he?”

“We’re afraid so.”

“I’m realizing how much this loss must mean to you as well, doctor.”

“Let’s not talk about this now,” she replied. “We all have to get through this

together. I will give you the Sertraline pills you’re asking for. And I promise,

Aabin, that whenever I can spare a minute or two, I’ll work to find out what

affected you, and I’ll go through all of Murphy’s research.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, and suddenly his glassy eyes were again begging

as he looked at her. “But don’t tell Christopher.”

U.S.S. Grissom – Bunkroom, Corridors and Bridge.

o one else was around in the ensigns’ bunkroom on Deck 3 at this time, so

that Na’nnerd, the U.S.S. Grissom’s very own saboteur, killer, thief, traitor

and impersonator extraordinaire, was able to enjoy being on his own for a while.

He could not have been more satisfied right now. The Klingons knew precisely

why they referred to their Cameloid shape-shifting agent as ‘The Hand of God’.

For Na’nnerd’s greatest talent was to strike soundlessly, incalculably, and most of

all: unnoticed.

He gave himself a look in the bathroom mirror and smiled broadly, although it

was not his own appearance he saw there, but that of the female ensign, Rachel

Wood. He laughed to himself. ‘The man who walked around in the guise of a

woman,’ he thought, and grabbed Wood’s lipstick to redden his false lips. Well, it

could have been worse. It was better to impersonate her than any of those other

apes.

For indeed they were foolish. Killing off Murphy for example was not only a

pleasure but a must. Ensign Rachel Wood turned out to be the only crewmember

aboard who had still not been to any physical examination, and sooner or later that

nurse guy would have become suspicious. It was a logical move to get rid of him.

But there was, of course, even more to Na’nnerd’s visit in Sickbay; it was his only

opportunity to erase all evidence of his recent work sessions. For as busy as

Murphy and that Andorian witch S’Raazh had been after that silly Lieutenant

Tamkivi – may she rest in pieces – was found infected by a certain, completely

artificial virus, they never really put two and two together that this particular virus

N


18

was manufactured right there in their own Sickbay, by Na’nnerd himself, using

their own bio agents, chemicals and devices.

Although his plan did not fully work out as intended, he was still fond of his

efforts in molecular biology. All the precious time he had waited for that Deltan

homo wimp Aabin to recover from the Tholian attack and to be released from the

infirmary, so that Sickbay was deserted at night, had been well worth the waiting.

And now they were all running around like a bunch of chickens with their heads

cut off, searching for Murphy’s killer. ‘Let them search until they rot,’ he thought.

‘Stupid humans.’ He had more important things to think about. If he could only

find a way to decode and transmit the Genesis data he stole from the Romulan

called Ash… Of course, Lady M’Pursong must already be awaiting it eagerly.

“We must be patient,” he said aloud. “Opportunity will knock soon enough.”

A bark from outside the quarters announced Wood’s roommate Kara

McLaughlin and Muggle, the dog. Na’nnerd’s smile faded immediately. Of course

the witch doctor would now let her favourite country girl look after that pestilence

of a pooch even more often. Having Muggle around was absolutely nothing for him

to look forward to.

The doors opened and the dog stormed in, barking wildly at Rachel Wood.

“Muggle!” shouted McLaughlin. “What’s wrong with you again? Calm down!”

But he wouldn’t listen. He jumped back and forth and bared his teeth

menacingly.

“It’s okay, Kara. I don’t know why he doesn’t like me, but I’ll probably take a

walk and be gone for a while.”

“I’m sorry, Rachel,” said Kara. “Doctor S’Raazh called me at Engineering and

asked if I could take care of him until further notice. He will stay with us now all

the time. And you should have seen S’Raazh, she’s in such a terrible condition.”

“All the time, you said? Well…”, replied Na’nnerd/Wood. “I can imagine how

difficult it must be for her right now.”

“So you have heard the news then?”

“Heard… what exactly?”

“About Murphy. He was killed last night.”

“Oh, THAT. Well, err… yes, err… I met Casas earlier and he told me

everything,” said Na’nnerd quickly, and Kara seemed to buy it. To his relief at that

moment the comm signal buzzed.

“Bridge to Ensign Wood,” came the voice of Petty Officer Jata through the

speakers.

Wood walked over to respond.

“Wood here. What’s up, Bacardi?”

“The Captain wants to see you,” he said. “And please, Rachel – my name is

still Bacari.”

“Oh, is it? As in ‘bakery’?” she laughed and looked at Kara, who just shook her

head, because whatever Wood was up to, it was clearly not funny.

“Rachel…” she said disturbed, and Muggle barked to his unease as well.

“Yeah, whatever. I’m sorry, Java, I’ll be there in a minute,” Na’nnerd said,

letting the comm button go, and looked in disgust at the barking dog.

“JUST! SHUT! UP!”

And to his own and Kara’s surprise, Muggle went silent and sat down irritated.


19

“See? You just have to shout back at this mutt.”

Kara was perplexed. “You know, Rachel, I really thought I’d come to know

you, but sometimes you just manage to scare me off.”

“Do I?” asked Na’nnerd and smiled. “Well, I take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t meant as one.”

“Sorry then… Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to report to the Captain.”

“Sure you have,” said Kara and watched the other one leave.

As the doors closed, she bent down and ran her hand over Muggle’s fur.

“Why don’t you like her?” she asked, but the dog just looked up like a begging

child, still a bit frightened.

“Well, never mind. I don’t like her either… At least I’m not sure anymore.”

Na’nnerd walked through the deck’s corridor towards the turbolift. Or better: he

pranced. Who would have guessed that killing Murphy would cause such a

delightful, refreshing mood? Not even that dog Muggle was able to destroy this

great feeling right now. ‘I might have to kill off the pooch as well,’ he thought and

pressed the lift’s call button.

Only seconds later the doors opened, and out stepped no one else but Lieutenant

Juan Casas. Of all the crew, why did it have to be him right now? In Na’nnerd’s

opinion, that Spanish gorilla belonged in a zoo. Or maybe in a circus?

“Rachel!” he said, and smiled. “Good to see you.”

“Hey, handsome,” Na’nnerd replied and smiled back. “What are you up to?”

“I’m on a mission actually. Thorsen and I are about to do interrogations. I’ve

done twelve so far and it’s really unpleasant.”

Na’nnerd nodded. “I’ve heard what happened to Murphy. Right now I’m on my

way to the Captain.”

Casas’s eyes widened. “Seriously? So did you see anything last night?”

“Err.. no. The Captain just asked for my presence, and Kara is petting the dog

again in our quarters, so I thought I’d better be gone if you know what I mean.”

“Sure,” Casas replied. “Well, since you’re not available right now, I think

Thorsen will want to ask you some questions about last night, too, when you

arrive.”

Na’nnerd smiled again, not afraid of another lie. “He already has.”

“Really?” wondered Casas. “I thought he was doing the lower decks first,

beginning with Engineering.”

“Oh.. he.. I was actually one of the first he asked. How else would I have

known about that ugly murder in Sickbay?”

“Ah, I see. Well, that’s good, very good indeed! Then I can scratch you from

my list.”

“Oh yes!” Na’nnerd confirmed. “You better do that.”

He got his tricorder out, went through some names, and with a short beep,

Rachel Wood’s name was simply marked off. “What do you make of it anyway? I

mean the possibility that there’s someone on board who doesn’t belong here?”

Na’nnerd gave him a brief lascivious kiss. “All I can see right now is someone

with a huge… responsibility, and who does belong here. You and me have to catch

up soon, don’t you think?”

Casas grinned broadly. “Absolutely.”


20

“Fine,” Na’nnerd said and let go. “I’ll give you a call. For now I’m off, or

Esteban will be mad with me.”

“It’s still Captain Esteban, my love.”

“Captain Esteban,” Na’nnerd corrected himself. “See ya.”

And with a cute wink, he escaped into the turbolift, the doors closing. ‘Pah,’ he

thought, ‘how could I ever kiss that primate!’ But after all, they are not as stupid as

he thought. ‘Someone on board who doesn’t belong here’ – that wasn’t bad at all.

So it was even more important that he played his role of the young ensign girl

carefully, and even more to perfection.

He had not even fully entered the Bridge when Lars Thorsen approached him

from one of the side consoles. At the same time, Bacari Jata turned around from his

station, giving him a look which revealed he was still not amused about their recent

comm chat. ‘Am I bothered, coffee boy?’ thought Na’nnerd but remained silent.

“Ensign Wood!” said Thorsen at that moment and stood already in front of him.

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” Na’nnerd responded and continued to walk directly to the

Ready Room. “Captain Esteban called for me.”

“I know,” nodded Thorsen. “But I thought I could ask you some quick

questions first?”

Na’nnerd stopped, turned to him and smiled. “Well, Lieutenant, I just met with

Mr. Casas. He already interviewed me. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can help you

guys with.”

“Oh, err… well, then I can mark you off my list. Thank you, Ensign.”

“You’re welcome, Lieutenant. Any time.”

Na’nnerd continued to the Captain’s Ready Room, and behind him he could

hear the same tricorder beep he heard when Casas had scratched his name from his

own list. This bunch of mutants was indeed still as dumb as he had hoped.

‘Monkeys,’ he thought again, as he pressed the door’s call button with pleasure,

and got an “Enter” from within.

This day was just getting better and better.

U.S.S. Grissom – Captain’s Ready Room.

hank you for coming, Ensign.” said Esteban as Na’nnerd – or Rachel Wood

in the eyes of the attendants – entered the Ready Room. Commander Ottair

and Lieutenant Chattman were there as well, and their faces, for once, looked just

as wrinkled and concerned as the Captain’s. “Please take a seat.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Esteban nodded. “I’m ordering you not to mention, imply or even remotely

discuss anything which is said in this meeting.”

“Understood.”

“Because we’re here to find a way to ensure that whoever attempts to kill or do

any harm to a member of my crew again, will be localised, identified, and caught.”

“I see.”

T


21

“And to enable us to catch the person who appears to have killed not only

Murphy, but no less than four Tholians and a Romulan here on board, we’ve just

been discussing options.”

Christopher Chattman looked at Wood and noticed that her eyes narrowed for a

moment at the mention of the other deaths, but he could have been wrong. As the

Captain raised his hand towards him, he knew it was his turn now to say

something, so he cleared his throat.

“Well, first and foremost,” he began, “I know the inventory of this ship inside

out. I mean, I used to be the Communications Officer for quite a while, until—“

“Get to the point, Lieutenant…” advised Commander Ottair.

“Okay. We don’t have much stuff we can use. The only thing we can do is to

take a look at all quarters equipped with more than one computer console, and take

out what we need from them.”

“Do you know how many consoles and multifunctional workstations we have in

total?” asked Esteban.

“Two hundred ninety-four consoles with multi-media devices and seventy-eight

comm panels with optional video access, sir.”

“That makes roughly three consoles per crew member,” said Ottair. “We can

easily take out stuff from more than a hundred of them.”

Wood shifted in her chair. “Sorry, ma’am. Chattman? What exactly are we

talking about?”

“Cameras,” said Esteban.

“CCTV installation,” specified Chattman. “I had the same idea as Commander

Ottair, but the problem with the console cams is that they don’t produce a high def

resolution, so the picture gets kinda blurry with anything further away than seven

meters. Also, this ship has almost a kilometer of corridors, and more than 40

compartments to deal with.”

Esteban looked sternly at him. “I need options, Lieutenant, not concerns.”

All of them – including Wood – looked at him. Ottair encouraged him with a

smile, and Chattman continued nervously. “I’d say we just have to try. However,

for those difficult corners and wide-angle shots needed, there might be another

way.”

“Which is?” asked Ottair.

Chattman looked warily at Wood, then at the Captain.

“Just speak your mind, Chattman,” said Esteban.

“Okay… I’m thinking about the cameras from the Genesis probes.”

Ottair gasped. Esteban took a deep breath and leaned back.

Rachel Wood turned to Chattman, then to Esteban. “Genesis?” she asked

innocently. “What is that?”

“Our final destination,” Ottair answered quickly. “You might have noticed that

we have several scientists aboard for some reason?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Chattman wondered – there it was again, this quick action of Rachel Wood

narrowing her eyes, almost smiling from within. Of course, had he been kept out of

the loop himself for such a long journey, he would be absorbing every single bit of

information of such a gigantic, extraordinary mission like the Genesis Project. He


22

could be wrong again, but Wood did not look as if she was surprised in any way,

but rather curious.

Esteban broached the subject. “To make it short, Ensign, we’re en route to

explore a newly formed planet called Genesis, located in the Mutara sector and

currently still some 35 light-years away. We hope to get there by the end of this

week. You might have heard of it?”

“Actually not, sir.” answered Wood and was lucky none of them noticed that

her face was clearly telling a completely different story this time.

“Well then,” said Esteban, “this is pretty much all you need to know for now.

Proceed, Mr. Chattman.”

Chattman nodded. “After the recent launch of Probe One, we still have 11

probes on board equipped with long and short range sensors, gyroscopes,

accelerometers, hi-amp audio receivers as well as multiple-camera systems,

containing a narrow angle camera for general capture, red and blue wide angle

pictures for context, as well as 3-axis inertial measurement units, which are sets of

two high resolution stereo cameras each, also called HRSC, which would be the

ones I’d say could serve our purpose.”

Ottair raised an eyebrow. “But isn’t HRSC meant for pictures taken from

orbit?”

“Yes, and if we place one right in this room, it would detect a single hair in the

far edge over there. If we can separate the cameras from the stereo sets, we should

still be able to get smashing 2-D results. That would make 22 cameras in total, if

we can use them.”

“Phew,” said Ottair. “But as I see it, Dr. Saunders and Liebmann will never

approve.”

“I agree,” added Esteban. “We can’t just take all their toys away. The planet

may consist of various different environmental and climatic zones that we’re not

supposed to discover blind-folded. Also, Admiral Morrow would never let us

compromise our prime mission as such.”

“But if we can have at least eight of those camera sets…” pleaded Chattman.

“Make it four,” Ottair said, engaging in bargaining.

“Six then?”

Silence.

All looked at Esteban, who got up from his seat and walked over to the only

window port in the room, staring into the nowhere as the stars passed by in

streams, like snow flakes on a lonely night drive.

“Alright,” he finally said. “Six sets it is, which makes twelve single cameras.

But I don’t want to see them wasted in unreasonable places.”

“Or anyone’s bathrooms,” added Ottair.

“Spare me your fantasies, Stephanie,” replied Esteban, as he headed back for

the desk, “and let’s set this in stone. Lieutenant Chattman, I would like to know if

you are still up to leading a mission, and that Commander Ottair and I can trust you

with a critical responsibility like this.”

A lump formed in Chattman’s throat, but he nodded immediately. “I promise

I’ll not disappoint you… again.”

“Alright, Lieutenant. The mission is yours. What’s your plan?”


23

“We need a third person, Childers maybe. Ensign Wood and I can’t do the

installation completely on our own.”

“No problem.”

“Thank you. The operation itself should be performed during the ship’s night

cycle. While the crew will notice we’re out taking most of their console cameras,

it’s still not their business to know where they’re being installed. I believe we’ll

need at least two nights to process about one hundred of them.”

“I can also volunteer,” said Ottair.

“Much appreciated. Childers will have to check functionalities and angles, and

route the cams through secure channels to a dedicated monitoring station, maybe

somewhere on Deck 3 in one of the bays, with a main console and independent

hardware for storage of at least 72 hours per camera. A capable computer core has

to be taken from one of the shuttles… the Chaffee maybe.”

“We cannot cannibalize one of the shuttles, too!” replied Esteban.

“You’re right, we can’t spare it,” responded Chattman. “But we have to.”

Esteban hesitated. “Ensign Wood? Any suggestions?”

Wood shifted in her chair again. “Well, none that I can think of. But aren’t all

those efforts a bit exaggerated for localising just one person?”

“No, they aren’t,” answered Esteban, “because we think it’s not just one, but

two people we’re looking for.”

Now it was Chattman’s turn to smile unexpectedly. For this time the look on

Rachel Wood’s face was completely puzzled and clearly surprised.

“You believe we have two killers on board?” she asked.

“Well, one of them is a killer for sure. The other one maybe not. I believe Mr.

Thorsen or Mr. Casas have interviewed you regarding last night’s events?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then you’ve seen the composite sketch of the tall, male Cadet we’re searching

for?”

Wood cleared her throat. “Yes, naturally… that Cadet.”

Chattman thought that Wood looked as if she had no idea what the Captain was

talking about, nor seen any such composite sketch. But again, he could be wrong.

“The person you saw in that picture is someone who does not belong to the

crew,” Esteban continued, “yet he has been seen on board on several occasions. It

almost seems that while the killer did his – or her – work on their own, it was that

Cadet who led our officers to the victims, and talked to them in riddles. He seems

able to appear and disappear in an instant, which makes our overall search even

more difficult.”

“Wow.”

“I’m sorry, Ensign. I can see on your face how uncomfortable you feel. But the

same goes for us all. I’m assigning you to Chattman until further notice, and the

two of you better get started immediately to go through crew quarters and collect as

many video cameras as you can.”

“Yes, sir,” said Chattman, and they all rose from their seats.

“This meeting is adjourned.”

As they headed towards the door, Chattman stopped and turned around for a last

time.


24

“There is only one question,” he said and walked back a few steps. “Who’s

gonna talk to the scientists about stripping the six HRSC camera sets from the

Genesis probes?”

“I believe you can do that,” answered Esteban.

“But Captain, I think their response won’t be—“

“Alright, Chattman, I get it… I’ll take care of it.” Esteban took a deep breath

and joined them at the door, where he gave Commander Ottair a worried look.

“Dirty business time, again.”

They all looked concerned and deep in thought as they re-entered the Bridge

and walked to the turbolift.

But not all were equally worried. No one saw, but when the turbolift’s doors

closed in front of Rachel Wood’s nose, there was a certain sparkle in her eyes.

Na’nnerd/Wood was certainly still puzzled about a second stranger being on

board. But now, getting one step closer to information about Genesis and the

scientists, and having both of Grissom’s comm officers, Chattman and Childers, at

hand while he dealt with that encrypted Romulan memory pad, well, it was more

than an encouraging thought.

Na’nnerd also had no doubt he would soon be able to get to see that damn

composite sketch he almost stumbled over in front of the Captain, and would find

that mysterious Cadet by himself – to silence him.

Oh yes, ‘The Hand of God’ would soon strike again.

U.S.S. Grissom – Science Lab.

his is outrageous!” shouted Dr. Liebmann and let the padd in his hand crash

loudly on the table. “Of all the annoying things so far, this is the worst! I’m

wondering who is behind this idiocy – Lieutenant Chattman, I presume?”

“Mind your words, doctor,” responded Captain Esteban. “This was my

decision. We still have 11 probes on board, and as far as I’m concerned, you don’t

need all of them to be equipped with HRSC systems.”

They all stood in a circle around a huge, flat console which looked strikingly

similar to a billiard table with touch screens and monitors – Liebmann, Saunders,

David Marcus, Saavik, Esteban, Wood and Chattman, the latter shifting nervously

from one foot to the other.

“For once I believe Liebmann is right, Captain,” said Clive Saunders and

looked around worried, and uncharacteristically unsure. “We need those cameras

ourselves. What do you think, David?”

They all looked at David Marcus. He was the tallest of them all, and absently

ran his fingers through his curly blond hair. His mouth opened as if he wanted to

say something, but he didn’t.

Saavik spoke instead. “I don’t believe much in photographic recordings. No

camera can replace a full range sensor scan, not even data from a single tricorder.

While pictures can trick the eye, all the other readings combined would not.”

“So much for accurate historic documentation,” replied Liebmann, snappily and

with disgust. “Here we are on the verge of showing the entire Federation something

T


25

incredibly unique and extraordinary, and all we’re going to bring back is some

sensor data.”

Saunders nodded. “If we find Genesis to be a success, people will want to see

some pretty visuals, or the whole idea and its possibilities will not fully sink in and

resonate with them.”

“I concur,” said Saavik. “Although I cannot see photographs showing more

than trees, plants, hills, ice, or deserts. Nothing the average citizen hasn’t already

seen before, elsewhere.”

“But that’s exactly why all photographic imagery of the Genesis miracle is so

important,” responded Liebmann. “I believe the idea will be sensational for dying

and suffering worlds who want to transform a nearby moon. Or settlers from Earth

who’re already waiting to spread across the sector with even more colonies. Or

even for habitable environments around some Starfleet outposts. If the Genesis

planet is really what our young David Marcus is promising, then we have to take as

many pictures as we can in order to promote the idea of ‘life from lifelessness’ to

the entire Federation.”

David Marcus sighed. “How many cameras did you say?”

“Six stereo sets,” answered Chattman. “It would still leave you the other five to

launch with the rest of the probes and let them do their jobs in orbit, as planned.”

Rachel Wood jumped in. “Also, if we can find Murphy’s murderer before we

reach the planet, we’d have no further use for them and could easily install them

back on the probes.”

All looked at the ensign.

“That,” replied Saavik in her typical stoic way, “would assume the killer on

board will visibly strike again before we reach our destination, but that cannot be

assumed.”

Esteban took a breath. “You’re right, Lieutenant Saavik. There’s a possibility

that the more crew members – including our ‘killer’ – know about CCTV

installation, the less likely it is that anything happens anytime soon, or at all.”

David gave Saavik an encouraging look and almost grinned. “We could just

beam down there and take pictures with modified tricorders by ourselves. I mean,

if the Federation wants pretty visuals, we should take them directly from the

surface.”

“I object,” said Esteban. “No one knows if the climate on the planet will

support a landing party. And even with plants and oxygen down there, pollen,

spores and God knows what else could be floating through the air. As far as I’m

concerned, none of you scientists will beam anywhere. I don’t want anything to go

wrong.”

“But Captain—“ began David Marcus, only to be interrupted by Esteban again.

“Not until we know exactly what we’re talking about. This is not the time to

discuss that stage of exploration, anyway.”

“Well,” mused Liebmann sarcastically, “I always said if my assumption is

correct and Genesis is created from nothing but an ill mixture of proto-matter, it’s

possible gravitational anomalies could wait for you down there, and you could get

sucked into some kind of hyper-dimensional bubble… and be lost.”

“Not that you would mind, would you?” replied Saunders, noticing a nervous

glance in David’s eyes at the mention of proto-matter. “And besides, hyper-


26

dimensional physics are just the work of some fraud from the 20th century. A tale

from hoax-land. If any of those wild theories were real, we wouldn’t worry about a

terraforming project but rather we’d be inventing some sort of slip stream

technology and go flying to Andromeda soon.”

“Are you sure of that?” asked Saavik and raised an eyebrow.

Esteban pouted, losing patience. “Gentlemen, please – this leads to nowhere.

Dr. Marcus, I take it you approve of our decision about the cameras?”

“Well… yeah… sure. Take them. It’s your equipment, anyway.”

Liebmann groaned. “I don’t believe this!”

“Shut up, Libby!” responded Saunders.

“Very well,” said Esteban, “I thank you and appreciate your support. I’ve got

just one question since we’re at it: Why the hell are you still working in the

laboratory at this time of the night?”

Marcus and Saunders looked at each other and smiled tiredly.

“Well, what time is it, anyway?” David asked.

“It’s 0600 in the morning,” consternated Saavik drily.

Saunders just spared a twinkle. “We went through all of Admiral Kirk’s

extensive Genesis data tonight, which David and the Lieutenant brought with them

from the U.S.S. Enterprise. We’ve had a hard time explaining some real science to

Mr. Liebmann here.”

Na’nnerd/Rachel Wood’s eyes widened in awe at what he just heard. Extensive

Genesis data from the Enterprise? From Admiral Kirk? And right here in the

Science Lab? That was more than he could have hoped for! He had to find out

more about it.

Much more.

Meanwhile, Esteban shook his head giving Wood and Chattman a nod to come

with him. They exited quickly and disappeared in direction of the next turbolift,

and the look on the Captain’s face made it all too clear that he had never

understood, nor would he ever understand certain academic attitudes and

behaviours. But while he was happy to have the case settled and make it out of the

lab, the argument between the scientists went on inside, as Liebmann leaned

threateningly forward to Saunders, showing how much he disapproved what had

just been said.

“It is Doctor Liebmann to you,” he said. “I’m neither a Mister nor a Libby – not

for you and not for anyone else. Is that clear?”

Saunders leaned in, too, until both men ended up facing each other, nose-to-

nose. “You can have it,” he answered and his eyes narrowed. “But if one thing’s

for certain, it’s the fact that you, Libby, are no doctor at all.”

“I beg your pardon?” responded Liebmann.

“No doctor at all!” Saunders repeated and laughed coldly. “To me you’re

nothing but the patient here. You’re just unable to comprehend.”

Earth – Bar in San Francisco. // U.S.S. Grissom – Childers’s Quarters.

he music was far too loud for anyone to hear their own voice. Whoever

suggested the Galaxy Bar as a place to socialize and have a good T


27

conversation, must have been either some cheeky bastard or completely out of their

mind. Brian Childers could not even recall the guy who recommended the place to

him. Now he was here, and after compensating for the lack of knowing anyone with

some alcohol, especially in the form of some dark Irish beer, it was less than an

hour until he was quite drunk.

Things got worse when he decided to hit the dance floor with the rest of the

crowd. He wasn’t able to stand straight anymore, and as he tried to move and spin

his body to the funky rhythms of the music, he almost lost balance.

It was at that awkward moment that he stumbled over his own feet and would

have fallen flat on the ground, if it hadn’t been for the shoulder, and arm, of some

stranger who stood next to him, wearing – like most people in the bar – a Starfleet

uniform.

“Ho-ho, Private, watch your steps,” the stranger said sharply but not

unfriendly, and Childers looked into the face of a blond, short-haired officer, who

seemed a bit worried about being pulled to the ground by his clumsy grip.

“I’m no private,” Childers responded boozily, while he tried to look as serious

as possible. “I’m a civilian!”

“Excuse me,” replied the stranger and grabbed Childers under his arms to hold

him upright. “But as you can see, most of the people who come here are Starfleet.

No offense intended.”

“None taken,” Childers slurred and saw that the officer was holding hands

with… another man, someone in uniform, too. He shrugged his shoulders, but

chuckled. “I bet you guys must really get lonely up there.”

He pointed to the ceiling, indicating ‘space’, which caused a smile to appear on

both officers’ faces.

“Well, it can indeed be a lonely time if you’re Starfleet,” the blond one said,

“but we don’t get drunk about it as easily as some ‘civilians’ might.”

Oh, that was a hint.

“How did you know?” Childers asked. “I’m basically incognito and can do

what I want because nobody knows me. I could be anyone, everyone, or no one.”

He held up his hand to show the couple his wedding ring which he was still

wearing.

“Well, but don’t fool yourself. Your wife would be disappointed to see you like

this,” the guy next to the blond one said, causing Childers to narrow his eyes and

disagree.

“No, she won’t,” he stated.

“Because she will never know?”

“Not exactly. She’s dead.”

The officers looked at each other. What a turn-off. The blond one let Childers

go, who tried his best to stand straight on both feet and keep himself together.

“To tell the truth,” he continued, “Not only am I a widower, I also lost my job

as well as my house, and not even my son gives a shit about me. The whole world is

against me. I just tried to join your club today, but not even Starfleet seems to want

me.”

“Sorry to hear that,” the blond officer said.

“Yeah, don’t be. Whatever. So I’ll remain a civilian, nothing more, nothing

less. By the way, my name is Childers.”


28

“Paul Hewson,” said the blond one, and they shook hands. ”And this is Mark

Atkins, my partner.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Childers,” nodded Atkins and offered his hand, too.

Childers took it with hesitation. “Call me Brian,” he said. “And I’m sorry for

bothering you birds. I mean, I guess I’m pretty—“

“—drunk?” finished Hewson.

“You could say that.”

“Where exactly at Starfleet did you apply? Were you here for a qualifying

examination?”

“I don’t know, I mean, the Registration Office sent me an appointment, but I

couldn’t make it in time to my actual interview. That’s where the fun began. So

while I was in the area, I came here to arrange another appointment, but the guy at

the Office said I’d have to wait until I’m actually called back, which could take up

to three months.”

“Standard procedure,” Atkins said. “That’s Starfleet for you.”

“Go figure. But I think I shouldn’t have come at all. I mean, there were other

guys running around there, some of them barely sixteen. I felt much too old,”

Childers resigned and took a deep breath. “I need another drink.”

They walked to the bar, and despite Hewson shaking his head, Atkins leaned

over to the waiter to get them all some more beers.

“You’re never too old to join Starfleet,” Atkins said as they toasted one another

and drank. “I was twenty-six when I joined, and I thought I was the oldest cadet in

history. But in fact, there are people much older joining, and I know at least two of

them have become darn good officers.”

“Now I feel even older,” responded Childers and noticed the beer he was

drinking might be just too much for tonight. Another sip and there was a chance of

him passing out right there. “I’m thirty-three, and I think it was just a bad idea.”

“It depends on what you really want,” said Hewson. “If you’re seriously up for

it, I can try and arrange another interview for you.”

“You can? But I’m leaving San Francisco tomorrow.”

“It’s up to you.”

“Well, I mean, that would be… amazing. I mean, my son’s gonna kill me

anyway, since I already came here. He’s gonna freak out when he finds out.”

“How old is he?” asked Atkins.

“Thirteen.”

A third guy showed up behind them. He was just as blond as Hewson, but even

though the bar’s lights were pretty dim, one could see his skin was almost paper-

white. He was more than a head taller than the others, and his face looked

somehow familiar to Childers.

“Thor!” said Hewson and smiled as he turned around. “Well that’s odd, I was

just thinking of you. Did everything go well?”

The tall guy wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “Her name is Stephanie,” he said in

an odd Scandinavian accent. “But I shouldn’t have approached her. I think I’m out

of her league, and she seems to be like a man in a woman’s body – a full-blooded

engineer.”

“Aww,” replied Hewson. “No chances then?”

“Not in a million years.”


29

“Anyway, we were just talking Starfleet life with our new friend here,” said

Mark Atkins amusedly pointing towards their civilian company. “Brian Childers,

meet Mr. Dolph Lundgren.”

“Lars Thorsen!” corrected the giant, and groaned.

“Dolph Lundgren!” shouted Childers. “I knew it! I’ve seen you before, you’re

that guy who fought—who was it? Rocky Balboa?”

“He’s had quite a few drinks,” explained Mark Atkins with a twinkle.

“I don’t know any ‘Rocky’, but thank you, I was the Swedish Olympian

champion at the 100 meter sprint and the 100 meter hurdles.”

Childers felt the need to hold himself at the bar and suspected that he wouldn’t

be able to keep himself together much longer.

“Anyway,” said Thorsen, “I think I’m calling it a night. Sorry, Paul.”

“Actually,” responded Hewson, “I was wondering if you can give our friend a

lift to his hotel.”

“Sure. Where are you staying?”

“The Gate Inn,” answered Childers and looked at Atkins, then Hewson.

“Regarding that interview… were you serious about it?”

“Yes, I am. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Okay… You can reach me at my hotel at least till noon.”

“No problem,” said Hewson. “I’ll give you a call as soon as I have arranged

something for you.”

“Cheers,” nodded Childers. “That’s really appreciated. I guess I have to get

sober then. I’m already seeing everything double.”

“Time to go then,” said Atkins. “Can you walk on your own?”

Childers let go of the bar and felt as if everything was spinning around him. “I

don’t know… guess not,” he said awkwardly.

“Okay then, Childers. Grab my arm,” Lars Thorsen offered.

Childers did so and laughed. “Wow, see that? I’m going to marry Dolph

Lundgren!”

“Thorsen!” corrected Thor again.

“I can even see two of you,” Childers said. “Are you twins?”

Thorsen looked at his fellow officers and shook his head. “This way, please,”

he said and led Childers to the nearest exit.

“Aye, sir Lundgren,” replied Childers and stumbled beside him.

“Thorsen!” corrected Thor, again.

“Thor Lundgren,” said Childers. “And you really don’t know Rocky Balboa?”

“No.”

“That’s a shame, because you guys rocked the ring! Danny boy loved it.”

“Who’s Danny boy?”

“My son. He’ll hate me even more when I tell him that I’ve met you.”

“I am not Dolph Lundgren.”

“Yeah, maybe not… Are you sure? … What was your name again?”

Childers woke up.

There he was again, in his quarters on the U.S.S. Grissom. All was quiet as he

sat up and rubbed his face. What the hell was this all about? Why did he dream all


30

these embarrassing things? And didn’t he just hear the door buzzer? He felt his dry

mouth and the need to get some water.

Buzz—buzz.

So it was indeed the doors. He looked at the clock at his bed, it was exactly

0800 hours. “Enter,” he said and wiped through his hair.

The doors opened and in walked… Thorsen! Now that seemed like more than a

mere coincidence.

“Thor! What are you doing here? I guess I overslept?”

“Yes,” said Thorsen, “but that’s not why I’m here. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Childers answered. “I just had the strangest dream, and don’t

freak out, but you were in it, too.”

Thorsen chuckled. “For good or for bad?”

“Neither nor. It wasn’t really a dream, anyway. We were actually in that bar

again where we first met.”

“The ‘Galaxy’ in San Francisco? Now that is unusual.”

“As I said,” Childers responded. “Water?”

“Please,” said Thorsen and sat down on the quarters’ sofa.

Childers grabbed two glasses and filled them in the bathroom, causing a strange

look from Thorsen as he handed one of them to him. Then he sat down in an

armchair next to the sofa, not bothering that he was still late for duty and facing

Thorsen only in T-shirt and shorts.

“Man, I was so drunk that night but I remember it as if it were yesterday.”

“It was the day before you joined Starfleet, right?”

“Yeah… I dreamed it all again.”

Thorsen drank up his water. “You look tired.”

“What do you expect after two hours of sleep? And I still have to go through

loads and loads of Murphy’s logs. It’s a nightmare.”

“It’s no fun for any of us,” responded Thor.

“Yeah... Sometimes I wonder, when did this whole journey become so bloody

messed up? You know, Hewson was also in that dream. At least, if it was a dream

at all.”

“I think a lot about him, too… and of Mark.”

“Yeah, Mark Atkins. He was there as well. And I had that same uncomfortable

feeling again in my stomach, deciding whether or not I should take my application

for Starfleet seriously, and how Danny would react when told him.”

“How did he react?”

Childers didn’t answer directly. He looked down at his feet and the carpet, and

took a deep breath. In his mind, he could hear his son so clearly that it almost hurt

his ears again, as it did all those thousands of times he had to think about these

three words he would never be able to forget:

“I hate you!”

He finally looked at Thorsen. “Maybe I should see a Counsellor once we’re

back in Federation space and on leave. I don’t know how to say it. You know, it

might sound completely bonkers, but actually… it’s not the first time I’ve had


31

dreams like this. I feel like something’s haunting me down for some reason, but I

don’t know what it is.”

Thorsen sat up straight. “Is it the same dream over and over?”

“Not really. More as if my life was rolling before my eyes like a film. It all

began two days ago, and it hasn’t let up since.”

They sat silent for a moment. Thorsen had never been really close to Childers,

but they knew and accepted each other for what they were, regardless of some

edges or shady spots they had always been aware of. From Thorsen’s point of

view, he had never seen Childers really happy or relaxed. Truth be told, Thorsen

knew that he saw a lot of things in Childers’s eyes that reminded him of himself.

Such as their ability to build a fortress of walls around themselves in order to block

out personal feelings. Or their tendency to make a joke when it was the least

appropriate moment for anyone to laugh.

They also shared a dry sense of humour, and they were always trying hard to be

witty and clever. And yet, they often behaved as if something was holding them

back from all the private, personal stuff lurking within. They were Starfleet officers

and had been on subspace missions for several years now – always on duty, always

in uniform. It meant a lot, and there was an obvious price that came with leading a

life such as this. It was just a little thing, but Thorsen noticed only now seeing

Brian Childers sitting over there in shorts, unshaved and with bed-prints on his

face. It was a first. And so was his openness in confiding in him about his

‘dreams’.

Lars Thorsen raised an eyebrow – he couldn’t even recall the last time he had

dreamt himself.

“How old is Danny now?” he asked.

“Almost nineteen. The last thing I heard was that he had qualified for the

Olympics. It’s such a shame that we’re on silent running. I so wish I could see him

right now, regardless if he wins a medal or not.”

“I know what you mean,” nodded Thorsen. “I’m too much of a fitness addict

myself.”

Childers sighed. “I hope this Genesis mission will be over soon.”

Thorsen stared at him surprised. “How do you know about it?”

“I’m the Comm Officer, or did you forget? And I’m no fool, at least I try not to

be one,” Childers added and stood up, stretching his arms and chest. “Anyway,

time for me to hit the shower.”

“Of course,” said Thorsen, switching on the tricorder he had held in his hand

the whole time he was sitting there. “And I won’t keep you for long, but you can

probably guess why I came to visit you in the first place?”

“Debriefing?”

“Bingo. I’ll make it short and reduce it to the core questions.”

Childers sat down in the armchair again, looking at Thorsen. “Well, go on. But

you know, I don’t have an alibi for last night,” he said.

Thorsen nodded. “I expected to hear that. To be honest, not many of the crew

have, except for Bridge and Engineering staff. It’s all quite frustrating.”

“I see… But well, I was here in my quarters, sleeping.”


32

Thorsen pressed some buttons, and the beeps sounded to Childers like he was

doing a multiple choice test where you click one or two out of several possible

answers.

“Did you hear anything outside your quarters?” Thorsen continued. “Sounds,

noises? Did you wake up at any time?”

“Not until you called me to report to Sickbay,” Childers answered, and another

couple of beeps came from the tricorder as Thorsen worked it.

“Okay,” Thorsen said and leaned forward, now turning the tricorder in

Childers’s direction so that he could see the display. “There is one other thing I

have to ask: Have you seen this person before, or someone who looks similar to

him?”

Childers took a look. A typical composite sketch appeared on the screen,

showing the face of a young man between age twenty and twenty-five years old,

who was obviously fit and, even to Childers, one of the most handsome men he had

ever seen in his life. His hair was cut short and light brown, he had slim lips but a

fair nose, and his big green eyes were framed by even eyebrows above and gentle

cheekbones below. Tiny ears and a small round chin with a dimple in the center

completed an appearance which made him memorable. He looked like Prince

Charming, posing in the typical orange uniform of a Starfleet Cadet.

“Is that the killer you’re looking for?” Childers asked in disbelief.

“We don’t know,” answered Thorsen. “At least, we hope not.”

“Where did you get that picture?”

“Casas made it with Ottair’s help. Do you know this guy?”

Childers looked at Thorsen. “Well, I don’t exactly know him, but I can say for

sure that I do have seen his face before.”

“Really!?” Thorsen asked in awe. “All we know is that he revealed himself to

several crewmembers aboard, including Murphy.”

“Strange, if he’s been seen here on the Grissom,” responded Childers. “Because

I know exactly where I have seen him… and it wasn’t on this ship!”

“What!?”

“And that’s not all – if my memory doesn’t trick me, Captain Esteban must

have seen him, too.”

“That’s unbelievable!”

“And you, Thor. As far as I can recall, you were standing almost next to him, at

one point.”

Thorsen’s eyes widened as his heart made a sudden skip. Childers stood up

hastily, grabbed his trousers, shoes and uniform top.

“Tell me!” shouted Thorsen and raised a hand. “Where was it? We must

know!”

While almost magically dressing in about ten seconds time, Childers smiled at

him, and for a brief moment he enjoyed this puzzled expression on Thorsen’s face.

“Join me on the Bridge, we should have it all filed and stored. You’ll be

surprised, but I think it’s all right there!”

“Then I better call the Captain as well,” said Thorsen and walked over to the

comm unit.

“Oh, not just the Captain, Thor… call the Senior Staff, too. All of them!”


33

U.S.S. Grissom – Bridge.

he S.S. Arcadia!?” Captain Esteban asked in disbelief. The turbolift’s doors

opened and closed every minute, bringing the senior staff to the Bridge.

Soon they were all there: Ottair, Sato, Casas, Thorsen, Childers, Chattman, even

Doctor S’Raazh and Lieutenant Saavik attended.

“The Arcadia indeed,” said Childers and skimmed through a video of the S.S.

Arcadia’s dining hall, a recording made by one of Lars Thorsen’s team members

when they’d freed the ship’s captain Ri’tarxx from the Ch’ramaki. “There,”

Childers added, “I think I have it.”

All watched the onscreen recording of Lieutenant Thorsen as he approached

Ch’ai, the young leader of the Ch’ramaki, as he attempted the takeover of the S.S.

Arcadia in order to force the Federation to take them back to their home planet,

even if it would drive the Federation into a war.

“Stop!” Ch’ai shouted through the dining hall as Thorsen walked toward him.

“You may have stunned my colleagues, but not me. Stay where you are! Stay or…

or I will shoot Captain Ri’tarxx!”

“We are not your enemy,” they heard Thorsen respond. “Before you shoot, my

team will have felled you.”

“But not before the Captain dies.” Ch’ai replied.

“Hold!” shouted Casas. “See that guy in the middle, right next to Ri’tarxx?

That’s him!”

Childers froze the picture on the main viewscreen. Lars Thorsen looked as if he

could not believe his eyes. Esteban took a few steps forward, then turned around to

Childers.

“Can you magnify this section?” he pointed to the right third of the screen.

“I think so,” answered Childers and did it momentarily. “But the picture could

get a bit blurry.”

It did not. In fact, even when Childers captured the face of the young man

standing next to Ri’tarxx in the best possible close-up position, the quality was still

quite crisp, and the face they now stared at was a revelation, especially for

Lieutenant Thorsen and Captain Esteban.

“I did not notice this guy before,” Thorsen admitted. “These were all civilians

on a cruise ship, we did our jobs hardly speaking to them, except for some

apologies for the inconveniences they had to go through. No one was harmed,

luckily.”

“That’s right, we left it to Ri’tarxx to deal with his passengers and left as soon

as we could.” Esteban walked to his chair and pressed the Comm button. “Bridge

to Engineering. Cadet McLaughlin, please.”

“McLaughlin here,” came the voice of the young Irish cadet through the

speakers.

“Cadet, I want you to go and check all our transporter logs between Stardates

8150 and 8178, especially the ones of crew members beaming back from the S.S.

Arcadia. I want a full report on who left and entered the ship during and after the

incident.”

“Aye, sir.”

T


34

Esteban turned to Ottair. “This is worrying me. To tell the truth, I did notice that

passenger as he didn’t leave Ri’tarxx’s side, but then again, he was irrelevant at

that time, and I forgot about him.”

“I will assist McLaughlin, if I may,” Ottair replied and exited with a nod from

the Captain.

The other officers stood there and no one said a word. For a moment, one could

hear a pin drop, and it was again Esteban who spoke again. “Does anyone

remember seeing this guy on our ship? Think! I cannot believe he got here

unnoticed. He must have come over with your team, Thorsen.”

Lars Thorsen shook his head. “I had four men with me, and they all came back

with me. I would have noticed.”

“Let’s hope the transporter logs indicate the same,” Esteban said snidely. “If

not, then I suggest you have a problem, Thor.”

All officers looked shocked and exchanged glances.

“I beg your pardon?” asked Thorsen as the Captain stepped forward until their

chests almost touched. Something in Esteban’s eyes had changed, and everyone

could spot a wild obsession inside him, as if he was suddenly not himself anymore.

“I’ve had enough of your arrogant self-confidence,” he said with a rising voice.

“I have enough of listening to your far-fetched assumptions, acting as if you are the

chief everywhere, even when you’re not. You’ve changed a lot since Hewson died,

but not to the better.”

“Captain!” said Lieutenant Saavik and looked as disgusted as a Vulcan can look

without changing any facial expression. “I don’t think that this is warranted.”

But Esteban was unstoppable. “I’ve trusted you more than Lieutenant Casas,

who was new to the ship, and I thought I might grant him some time to warm to his

new assignment and get to know us a bit. But I see now that I was terribly wrong.”

“Captain, please!” chimed in Doctor S’Raazh.

“You let this intruder on our ship, and although he might still not be the

murderer we’re looking for, he’s a damn stowaway and he slipped through your

net. If there ever was one! I think you’re just a reckless, careless…“

“Jonathan!!” S’Raazh shouted. “That’s enough!!”

“To hell with you… and all those banters with Casas about which of you two is

the better one… You know, if you think you’re a superior man, then I assure you I

can change that! I can demote you, just as I demoted Mr. Chattman!!”

He raised his arm, pointing his finger towards the young fellow who once used

to be a Lieutenant Commander, the ship’s Communications Officer, and someone

with a Bridge assignment.

Silence.

They all watched in disbelief, as they had never seen their Captain completely

lose his temper like this. Esteban’s eyes still glowed and he breathed heavily, just

as the comm buzzer’s long beep interrupted the excruciatingly awkward moment.

“Ottair to Bridge,” they heard the commander’s voice. “Captain, we checked all

transporter logs for the relevant time-frames, but the only people beaming back

aboard from the S.S. Arcadia after the incident were you, Lieutenant Thorsen, and

the four team members Coffman, Slagenweit, Pike, and Mr. Wich.”


35

Esteban still looked at Thorsen, but stepped backwards and nodded. Thorsen

spotted S’Raazh shaking her head in amazement at Esteban’s outburst. Then the

Captain went back to his command chair and pressed the comm button.

“Thank you, Stephanie,” he said, and quickly moved to the side-door to his

Ready Room. He looked at all his officers, then toward Rebecca Sato who sat at

the helm. “I’ll be in my room… you’re all dismissed. Lieutenant Sato, you have the

Bridge.”

The doors closed behind him.

S’Raazh sighed. “Well, I’d better get back down to Sickbay,” she said.

“And I need to get back to Deck 4. Ensign Wood is already waiting for me

there,” Christopher Chattman added.

“I’ll join you, Lieutenant,” said Casas, and within seconds they all disappeared

in the turbolift.

All was quiet again on the Bridge. Lieutenant Thorsen stood alone in the

middle, still looking frozen, stunned and shocked at his encounter. He slowly

turned around and caught the eye of Childers, who sat awkwardly at his Comm

Station, unsure of what to say.

Thor addressed him quietly. “If my presence is required anywhere, which I

doubt, you can find me in my quarters,” he said, and was at the turbolift.

“I’m sorry, Thor,” Childers eventually got out of his mouth as the turbolift

opened, but Thorsen did not look back again, and exited the Bridge.

Only the frequent beeps from the Helm and Ops stations were heard. Childers

decided to transfer Nurse Murphy’s logs to his station, and began to read them.

“Esteban to Bridge,” came the Captain’s voice through the speakers, much

calmer now than before.

Childers pressed the button. “Bridge here.”

“Establish contact with the S.S. Arcadia, Mr. Childers, and get me Captain

Ri’tarxx on a secure channel.”

U.S.S. Grissom – Ready Room.

he reptilian Captain Ri’tarxx made a huge nod on the monitor, and as

always he had to look at J.T. Esteban slightly from the side, his reptilian

eyes unable to see directly forward, and unable to blink.

“Captain Esteban,” he spoke with his reptilian voice. “What a pleasure to hear

from you again. I did not expect to talk to you so soon.”

“Greetings, Ri’tarxx. Some circumstances over here required me to get in

contact with you again.”

“I hope it does not have to do with the Ch’ramaki?”

“No, Ri’tarxx, it doesn’t. I want to show you something instead, and I would

like to know if you could tell us what exactly we’re talking about – or who.”

He pressed a button, and the close-up of the mysterious stranger, which

Childers took from the video footage earlier, appeared on the monitor.

T


36

“This person was captured on video by one of my men in the Arcadia’s dining

hall. Do you know this man?”

Ri’tarxx’s mouth opened. His face came closer, then he seemed to take a step

back again.

“Now this is an unexpected coincidence. Maybe it’s not a coincidence at all. I

know this man, or I should better say: I don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Esteban asked.

“He sat at my dining table that night. I did not know who he was, nor had I ever

seen him before. But that is not unusual since we are a cruise ship and I cannot

know the names and faces of all our passengers.”

“He sat at your table?”

“Indeed. And the strange thing about him was that he talked as if he were

someone from another time period. Even in the way he dressed and spoke.”

“From another time period? I’m not sure I follow you.”

“Captain Esteban, he talked about the U.S.S. Grissom as if you were something

from history: an event from the past. And that something about you was ‘most

unfortunate’.”

“He was being cryptic, you mean?”

“You could say that, Captain.”

“Do you know what happened to this mysterious fellow after the Ch’ramaki

incident?”

“I never did see him again, but since we have been docked at Starbase 67 for

almost a week now, he must have disembarked here.”

“I’m afraid not, Ri’tarxx. I’m afraid your ‘passenger’ is now on board the

Grissom. He’s been seen on several occasions.”

“But that’s not possible. No one from the Arcadia beamed over to your ship,

neither before nor after the Ch’ramaki incident.”

“We've established that as well, as we didn’t find anything in our transporter

logs. And yet, he is here.”

Ri’tarxx shook his head. “This is a riddle I cannot solve.”

“Perhaps not,” Esteban replied, “but maybe you can still be of help. Do you

have any additional footage of the dining hall from that night? Was anything that

happened recorded with your own equipment?”

Ri’tarxx nodded. “Actually, I did watch parts of it over and over. We had the

whole incident, even the time before it, recorded from two different angles. Do you

want to take a look into those files?”

“That would be very helpful. Can you transfer them to us?”

“I have them here on my desktop.”

“Good. I thank you for that,” Esteban said. “But as you may be aware, my ship

is on silent running, so I need to make this short. I'm gonna hand you over to my

Comm Officer, Mr. Childers. He will assist you with a special channel for the

video transfer.”

“I am glad I could be of some help, Captain.”

“And I hope that the next time we meet, it will be under some happier

circumstances. Thank you again, Captain Ri’tarxx -- Esteban out.”


37

U.S.S. Grissom – Deck 4.

ou’re not very talkative, Lieutenant,” Ensign Rachel Wood stated as she

and Chattman stood on a ladder and worked on loosening a panel on the

ceiling in one of the corridors of Deck 4.

It was still early in the day shift, but apart from the occasional passing-by of a

crewman, the corridor and the whole ship seemed deserted. Maybe it had to do

with the mood, the morale, and all the devastating events of the recent days. It

seemed as if none of the crew had any reason to want to leave their quarters. In

addition, the debriefings, as they were on-going with Casas and Ottair, now

literally going from door to door, seemed to indicate that almost everyone on board

was a potential suspect.

Wood was glad she had already cheated her way through all this.

“Can you give me the hydro-spanner, please?” Chattman asked. Wood climbed

down and handed it over. “Thanks,” Chattman said.

Wood took a look at the bag on the floor, where about a dozen cameras they

had already gathered were stored. She had to find a way to get her hands on the

Genesis data from the Science Lab, and then to transfer it to her superior, the

Caitian Lady M’Pursong. Not the easiest task as the ship was still on silent running,

and the last time someone dared to do an unauthorized subspace call, it caused the

access code to be elevated on the security level scale. Lieutenant Childers had

made sure none of the crew would be able do anything but a personal log recording

for now.

Childers… Rachel Wood mused. Hold on, maybe he alone was the key to

getting the transmission done! He and his communications monitoring station.

“Do you know where Childers is going to install the monitoring station for the

CCTV?” she asked, trying to sound as random and bored as possible.

“Subspace Transceiver Bay,” Chattman answered, equally bored, while pulling

out some isolinear cables through the ceiling. “Childers will take care of it

tomorrow.”

“Great,” Wood replied. “Are we installing some cams in there, too?”

“Nah,” said Chattman, “that’d be a waste. We’ll go for the corridors and main

compartments. Important thing is to get hold of whoever is walking around, where

they’re coming from, and where they’re going, and the main compartments will

receive installation of the HRSC cameras from the probes.”

Still, it had grabbed Wood’s interest. She had to get at least one video camera

into the Subspace Transceiver Bay, somewhere behind the console if at all

possible, so that she would be able to record Childers’s console transactions.

‘This is it!’ she thought. She knew the layout of the compartment, and it already

had an amazing secondary comm station. It wouldn’t be the first time that signals

were transmitted from there in the past. All she needed was a quiet moment alone,

and she would use one of her own cameras, possibly Wood’s private digicam,

which would even deliver a hi-res picture. She would connect it to her desktop in

the bunkroom and just wait until Childers came into the Subspace Transceiver Bay

to enter in his security clearance code.

What a pleasant thought.

Y


38

“Ok, that’s done,” said Chattman and climbed down the ladder he was standing

on. “Deck 4, from all angles, what do you think?”

Wood looked at the roof where the previously removed panel was now back in

place. She nodded. “You can’t see a thing.”

“It’s perfect, isn’t it? But that’s it for now.”

“Sir?”

“Yes, Wood, I’m ordering you to your quarters to get some sleep. We’ll

proceed tonight after 2200 hours. I’m gonna need some rest as well, and some time

with… Aabin.”

Mentioning his Deltan boyfriend still seemed to embarrass him. He smiled

sheepishly at Wood, who returned the smile, but slightly rolled her eyes. “It’s cool

with me, Chattman,” she replied. “Lieutenant Chattman, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said.

“How is Aabin doing anyway?”

“Good,” Chattman answered. “Although he still isn’t quite back to his former

self – I mean, he’s recovering well, actually, and I couldn’t be more happy.”

They packed up their things, and Wood grabbed the ladder.

“Honestly, Chattman, I think you’re one lucky guy, and you don’t even realize

it.”

Chattman looked down. “I know, Rachel. I’m… glad I met him. It was kinda

revealing, to say the least. Like the best thing that ever happened to me.”

They walked to a small storage room and put the stuff inside. Then they headed

for the turbolift.

“Would you be up for tea, or some snacks? With me and Aabin?”

“What, right now?” Wood asked.

“Only if you like,” Chattman said, and the humbleness in his voice almost

startled Wood.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” she replied. “It’s flattering, but I think I’ll go and get

some sleep, really. But thanks for the offer, let’s do this some other time.”

They entered the turbolift.

“Yeah… I’d be happy to,” said Chattman and meant it. “Deck Two.”

They split up in the corridor, Chattman heading for his quarters and Wood for

hers. She was still in a thinking mode. To re-adjust the real Ensign Wood’s

digicam would require some work. And somehow she had to find her way to the

Science Lab to get her hands on the bloody Genesis data. Maybe, just maybe,

Lieutenant Childers’s access codes would be of help for that, as well.

Yes, why not? she asked herself and entered the bunkroom. Relaxing, she took

a deep breath and looked into the side-mirror next to the door. Her face was slowly

changing, the red lips of the ensign disappeared and the shoulder-long hair

shortened. Her head now took the shape of a more masculine form. Lastly, his eyes

changed and revealed their real colour. Na’nnerd smiled at his own image in the

mirror, and looked into the deep purple sparkles of his true eyes. He was finally

himself again.

Then he took a sniff and turned around… the whole damn room smelled of dog!

Of course, it was Muggle, sleeping somewhere in a corner.


39

Na’nnerd walked towards Kara McLaughlin’s bunk to find the canine resting

there on the blanket. ‘Disgusting,’ he thought and leaned over.

Just then, Muggle woke up. He raised his head and growled menacingly at him.

In a moment he would be barking again.

“Not this time!” Na’nnerd said aloud. “I think I’ve really had enough of you.”

Faster than he could blink, Na’nnerd had his arms around Muggle and showed

the struggling dog how firm his grip could be. Soon there was a small ‘crack’ that

did the job, and there was no bark anymore as the rest of Na’nnerd’s body wrapped

around the dog.

With the nasty sound of a long slimy blob, Muggle – or what was left of him –

sagged and Na’nnerd let him drop on the floor, motionless and silent. While he

took on the shape of Rachel Wood once again, a broad grin appeared on her face as

she looked at the dog’s body.

“Adios, canino!” she said and decided to leave this scenery before things would

turn awkward. She stormed out to the corridor and screamed for her life.

“Help! Help!” she yelled, while still mimicking Rachel Wood’s voice. “Oh my

God!!”

A door opened not far away, and out rushed Chattman and Aabin, who only had

a towel around his hips, which almost slipped down.

“For goodness sake!” the young Deltan shouted. “What happened?”

And with tears in her eyes, and her face speaking the language of horror and

shock, she looked at him and Chattman, and was almost unable to speak.

“It’s the dog, it’s Muggle… Someone’s killed Muggle!”

– End –

The Story will continue in Prose Chapter 11: “I Have Sinned”


40

The author would especially like to thank:

SeSeSeSeán Pûl Teeling ^nd Mn Pûl Teeling ^nd Mn Pûl Teeling ^nd Mn Pûl Teeling ^nd M^rtin McN^m^r^^rtin McN^m^r^^rtin McN^m^r^^rtin McN^m^r^

Rob C^ves ^nd Hidden Frontier ProductionsRob C^ves ^nd Hidden Frontier ProductionsRob C^ves ^nd Hidden Frontier ProductionsRob C^ves ^nd Hidden Frontier Productions

Rick PikeRick PikeRick PikeRick Pike

Bri^n Bri^n Bri^n Bri^n “@rk^dy@rk^dy@rk^dy@rk^dy” Childers Childers Childers Childers

Michêl HudsonMichêl HudsonMichêl HudsonMichêl Hudson

@dri^n Jones@dri^n Jones@dri^n Jones@dri^n Jones

for creating my favourite Deltan character “Aabin”

and Benj^min C^vesd^leBenj^min C^vesd^leBenj^min C^vesd^leBenj^min C^vesd^le

for giving him your unique and humble touch.

I’m in love with your voice, man!

as well as

TTTThe C^st ^nd Crew of he C^st ^nd Crew of he C^st ^nd Crew of he C^st ^nd Crew of SSSST@R TREKT@R TREKT@R TREKT@R TREK: : : : GRISSOM GRISSOM GRISSOM GRISSOM @udio Progr^ms@udio Progr^ms@udio Progr^ms@udio Progr^ms

and

my lovely fiancé

D^vidD^vidD^vidD^vid You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and the love of my life!

For more information on our written prose chapters and

audio presentations, please visit us on our website at:

http://www.startrekgrissom.net

© December 2nd

, 2012 Black Wall Productions

Star Trek Grissom - Chapter 10 - Per Ardua Ad Astris

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