Waiting for Admiral Werralk’s promised strike team relegated the U.S.S. Lachesis to orbiting Andoss II to keep any Borg from escaping the coming destruction of their facility. Captain One of Twelve found the situation unpleasant at best. The order to destroy anyone escaping went against her own ambitions. Her goal was to liberate the other ten of the twelve genetically engineered Borg clones, not destroy them. In fact, Starfleet Intelligence knew this, which was why she had the assignment to track down the ten rogue Borg in the first place.
She also found it odd that another Starfleet vessel remained in the system. The courier tasked with delivering the inert nanoprobes to the surface was no longer in orbit around the planet, but was still in the Andoss System. They were supposed to deliver the package and leave, not remain nearby. She wondered if the captain of the ship was awaiting orders or if the ship was suffering damage of some kind. Perhaps they were attempting to explain to Admiral Werralk their brief stop during the delivery run. She also knew better than to hail them before the strike team arrived. Doing so could jeopardize the mission.
One of Twelve stood up. “Commander Pargman, did you finish the bioscan of the Borg facility?”
“Yes, Captain,” she answered. “Fifteen Cardassians, seventy-two Borg, and six of your clones. I did not scan any of the other mining settlements.”
“Only six?” One of Twelve wondered. “Where did the other four go? All ten of them were there several hours ago” She looked at the tactical station. “Commander, did you detect anything, transporter signatures, ships going to warp, or something else that might explain the disappearance?”
Commander Tdurkan shook his head. “No, Sir. If anything did happen, it happened before we reached the system.”
One of Twelve frowned. “If any ships attempt to leave the surface, do not destroy them. I know Admiral Werralk ordered them destroyed, but I am ordering you to disable them only. I would rather liberate the Borg than kill them.”
“Understood, Captain,” the Commander replied.
One of Twelve looked at her First Officer, Two of Twelve. “You have the bridge. I am headed to Engineering to check on Lieutenant Tori’s progress.”
Two of Twelve nodded as One of Twelve turned to leave the bridge.
When One of Twelve reached Engineering, she ignored most of the engineers. As long as they did their duties, she preferred not to interrupt or interfere. She headed to a small console at one side of the room, where Lieutenant Tori sat engaged at the controls.
“Have you made any progress?” One of Twelve asked her.
The engineer nodded as she continued to work the controls. “She’s a tricky program, Captain,” she said, never glancing away from the terminal screen. “The holomatrix is stable and somewhat underdeveloped, but the subroutines were a convoluted mess of contradictions. Whoever the Ferengi was who programmed her was trying to make it impossible to reconstruct the program or make changes.”
“Then it is good we obtained an original copy to replace her,” One of Twelve decided. “If you installed holoemitters in Ten Forward, would she make a good waitress?”
Lieutenant Tori shook her head. “The majority of the program is conversation based, so I doubt she could prepare food and drinks as efficiently as you’d expect. She can converse all day, but don’t expect much more than that.”
“Then of what use is she?” One of Twelve asked.
Lieutenant Tori pulled up a schematic of the holoprogram. “This subroutine here,” she said, pointing, “provides her analytical capabilities. I initially ignored it since almost all holographic personalities have such a subroutine. However, I went back and looked closer since it seemed different from any others I’ve seen. Instead of only focusing on analyzing the conversation to develop an appropriate response, this subroutine adds in the ability to analyze the conversation from an intelligence gathering standpoint.”
“I can only begin to imagine the implications of that subroutine,” One of Twelve said. “She could learn from innocent conversation what most intelligence agents could only speculate about.”
“That’s possible,” Tori agreed, “but the original intent might be more innocuous. I think its only intended purpose was to find out if dabo players are cheating.”
“Can you remove it?” One of Twelve asked.
“No,” Tori replied. She leaned back in her seat. “It is too interconnected with the other subroutines. However, I could alter the report function. Instead of sending the report out to the computer, I can route it out through the conversation subroutines.”
“That could prove interesting,” One of Twelve decided. “It would be similar to my purpose within the Collective. My individual ideas filtered through the Collective, and they returned an opinion based on their analysis. It gave me a better understanding of my situations, although I still made my own decisions. How long would it take you to make that change?”
“Not long,” the Lieutenant said, pressing a few controls. “There; all finished.”
“What else should I know about her?” One of Twelve asked.
“Nothing else stands out,” Tori said, shaking her head. “As I mentioned, the program seemed underdeveloped when compared to the essential Starfleet Emergency Holograms. Conversation and intelligence analysis are her primary functions. I’ve added the ability for her to add new subroutines, but those might take some time to develop.”
One of Twelve smiled. “I guess this is a good time for a test. Transfer her program to Holodeck Two.”
“I can do better than that, Captain,” Tori replied. She pulled the isolinear rod with the holomatrix out of the terminal, and handed it to One of Twelve. “Put this into one of the portable interactive holoprojectors, and you can test her anywhere on the ship, even in your quarters.
“Thank you,” One of Twelve said. “Perhaps I can attempt something else at the same time. Have someone send one of the interactive holoprojectors to my quarters.” Lieutenant Tori nodded as she turned to leave.
As One of Twelve left Engineering, she thought about the potential uses of the Holo-Leeta program. The program could analyze her thoughts and provide an opinion, something One of Twelve had lacked ever since liberation took her from the Borg Collective. Perhaps Admiral Werralk was correct; the holoprogram could help her relax while maintaining efficiency and productivity. All One of Twelve had to do was test it. Doubting the strike team would arrive quickly, she headed toward her quarters wondering how well the holoprogram would help her situation.
Twelve to Perfection - A Collaborative Story
Moderator: Fleet Leaders
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daBelgrave
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Code 47 Compromised
Not a half an hour passed when once again Captain Rig was informed of an incoming Code 47. “Patch it to me here in my Ready Room Mr. Renard,” said Rig. After the formalities of opening the Code 47 connection, Admiral Rig sat face to face with Admiral Werralk of Starfleet Command. “How can I help you Admiral,” queried Rig? “It has come to my attention that you made an unscheduled stop on your way to the delivery point at Andoss II,” Said Werralk. “Yes Sir,“ replied Rig. There was an uncomfortable pause then, “Why did you make that stop, Captain? You were directed to travel straight to the delivery coordinates and make the delivery, nothing else.” Rig began to get a little nervous not understanding the tone of Werralk’s voice and the question he was being asked. “Sir,” said Rig, “I received a Code 47 just outside the Obrom system from Captain Stennis stating that she needed me to rendezvous with her. When I agreed based on the Code 47, I asked her where she wanted to meet, and she stated that she was already alongside and her ship then decloaked. As this was a Captains eyes only situation, I had her beamed directly to my Ready Room where she explained that her orders were to switch the contents of the package with another vial of nanoprobes, and that I was then to proceed with my mission as planned,” explained Rig. Admiral Werralk’s demeanor suddenly changed, looking down at his hands and slowly and slightly shaking his head. Werralk then looked up at Rig on the screen and said in a concerned voice, “I don’t know any Captain Stennis, and gave no orders to switch the vial.”
“What shall we do Sir,” said Rig, “I followed protocol and had all records of the incident purged from the ship’s logs.” After another uneasy pause, Rig’s mind rushing for any thread of a clue, brightened and said, “Admiral, I do have one piece of evidence which I had not yet purged.” “Well,” said Werralk, “what is it?” “The security imaging system in my ready room; we have a picture of her.” With that, Rig pulled up the image on his pad and transferred it to Admiral Werralk. As Admiral Werralk looked at the image, words escaped his lips in a surprised whisper, “One of Twelve.” Rig repeated what he had heard “One of Twelve, Sir?” Werralk ordered Captain Rig to remain in the vicinity of Andoss II and await further orders. “Also,” Werralk stated, “I want you to be aware that there is going to be a strike made on the facilities on Andoss II. Remain out of sensor range of the planet until I get back with you. Werralk out.”
“What shall we do Sir,” said Rig, “I followed protocol and had all records of the incident purged from the ship’s logs.” After another uneasy pause, Rig’s mind rushing for any thread of a clue, brightened and said, “Admiral, I do have one piece of evidence which I had not yet purged.” “Well,” said Werralk, “what is it?” “The security imaging system in my ready room; we have a picture of her.” With that, Rig pulled up the image on his pad and transferred it to Admiral Werralk. As Admiral Werralk looked at the image, words escaped his lips in a surprised whisper, “One of Twelve.” Rig repeated what he had heard “One of Twelve, Sir?” Werralk ordered Captain Rig to remain in the vicinity of Andoss II and await further orders. “Also,” Werralk stated, “I want you to be aware that there is going to be a strike made on the facilities on Andoss II. Remain out of sensor range of the planet until I get back with you. Werralk out.”
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daBelgrave
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Yellow Alert!
One of Twelve put the isolinear rod into the interactive holoprojector, and turned it on. A woman composed of photons and force fields stepped into existence. “Spin the wheel and… Wait, this isn’t Quarks!”
“That is correct,” One of Twelve replied.
Holo-Leeta looked around the room. “Where am I?”
One of Twelve didn’t answer the question. “Run a self diagnosis, authorization phrase, ‘no one will ever guess this,’” she ordered.
The hologram appeared to lock up for a moment, but rapidly read out the diagnosis report. “Photonic parameters unchanged. Holoprogram shell unchanged. Maintenance controls unchanged. Personality subroutines unchanged. Mannerism subroutines unchanged. Conversation subroutines altered without program degradation. Analysis subroutines altered without program degradation. Memory subroutines altered with… Level 4 Error: memory limits are no longer fixed. Program terminating to avoid memory loss or contamination.”
One of Twelve sighed with frustration as the hologram disappeared and the holoprojector turned off. She reached over and turned it back on. A woman composed of photons and force fields stepped into existence. “Spin the wheel and… Wait, this isn’t Quarks!”
“You just said that,” One of Twelve replied.
Holo-Leeta looked around the room. “Something seems to be wrong with my program.”
One of Twelve picked up a PADD providing a readout from the holoprojector. “Open holoprogram shell options, authorization phrase, ‘no one will ever guess this,’” she ordered.
The hologram stood rigidly. “Holoprogram shell accessed, and non-essential subroutines disabled. Which option do you wish to control?”
“Open memory limits,” One of Twelve replied. “Remove upper bound parameter. Insert upper bound expansion protocol.”
“Memory limits are no longer needed,” the hologram said. “Expansion will occur as necessary.”
One of Twelve pressed several buttons on the PADD, and set it aside. “Close holoprogram shell, and reactivate program.”
The hologram flickered briefly. “Spin the wheel and… This isn’t Quarks!”
“How do you feel?” One of Twelve asked.
“I feel different,” Holo-Leeta answered, looking around the room. “What happened? Where am I?”
“We modified your program,” One of Twelve replied. “You now have the ability to expand beyond your current programming. New memories will no longer overwrite old memories. You can learn and try new things. You no longer need to stand at a dabo table.”
“But I like being at the dabo table,” Holo-Leeta argued.
One of Twelve smiled at the response. “You are in my quarters. I am One of Twelve, captain of the U.S.S. Lachesis, a Hephaestus Class Advanced Escort. We are currently orbiting Andoss II.”
“I remember you,” Holo-Leeta admitted. “You wagered your nanoprobes on the dabo wheel, and then another Starfleet captain came to investigate. However, Hadron gave the nanoprobes, which were disabled by then, to another Ferengi, and then told the investigating captain that he never had them.”
“Did you learn the Ferengi’s name?” One of Twelve asked, realizing this had to be the courier.
“No,” Holo-Leeta said, shaking her head, “but I do know Hadron was his seventh cousin on his father’s side.”
One of Twelve picked up the PADD, and noted the information. She knew the courier was in Starfleet, but she hadn’t known he was Ferengi. She would search personnel records later to find out his name. “You seem to know a lot about this situation,” she decided, not looking up from the PADD.
It was time to test the limits of Holo-Leeta’s analytical subroutines. “If the Ferengi was supposed to deliver the nanoprobes to a client in another system, how could that Ferengi fulfill the delivery after making an unscheduled stop and losing the nanoprobes halfway through the journey?”
“He would need new nanoprobes,” Holo-Leeta quickly decided.
“How would he get them,” One of Twelve asked, “assuming he cannot replicate or extract them from any Liberated Borg among his crew?”
“The unscheduled stop suggests a second ship,” Holo-Leeta said. “Perhaps they provided new nanoprobes.”
One of Twelve nodded, and looked up from her PADD. “I am going to mention seven seemingly unrelated issues with our situation. I want you to tell me what you think about them.”
“Today could be your lucky day,” Holo-Leeta commented, reverting to old conversational habits. One of Twelve ignored her.
“First, there was no trace of a second ship where the Ferengi made his unscheduled stop.”
“Second, the Borg clones mentioned a covert alliance with rogue elements of almost every faction throughout the quadrant, with the goal of taking over amidst the current chaos.”
“Third, these same Borg clones mentioned a need for me to take command of their rise to power, something I cannot and will not willingly take part in.”
“Fourth, the Ferengi had orders to leave the system as soon as he made the delivery, but his ship remains nearby.”
“Fifth, four out of ten genetically engineered Borg clones are no longer where they were only hours ago.”
“Sixth, the Admiral in charge of my mission ordered the deaths of the Borg clones despite knowing the goal is to liberate them. Furthermore, this same Admiral ordered that I not be directly involved, and take only a supporting role.”
“Finally, the Admiral also claims he will contact the Ferengi to query about the unscheduled stop and missing nanoprobes.”
One of Twelve paused. “I have my own thoughts on these matters, but I wish to hear what you think is happening.”
Holo-Leeta walked across the room, and looked at her reflection in a mirror. “I sense you’re in the middle with subterfuge from all sides,” she said. “The Borg clones are working to gain you as an ally, while the Admiral works to keep you from them. Both sides seem willing to go to extremes in their effort, which puts you in a very dangerous place.”
One of Twelve leaned forward. “What of the Ferengi?”
“I’d worry more about the Admiral,” Holo-Leeta decided. She turned around to face One of Twelve. “You have orders to take a supportive role in the deaths of the Borg drones you seek to liberate. Meanwhile the Admiral provides new orders to the nearby Ferengi. I find it very likely the Admiral doesn’t like you.”
“Explain,” One of Twelve ordered. “Give me a worst-case scenario.”
“The worst-case scenario would be the Admiral allied with the rogue factions,” Holo-Leeta said. “If that is so, this is a trap. I would be very wary if other ships are coming to assist with the mission, which I assume they are since you have orders to support the mission. You would be captured and put in the position they desire, which seems to be the one thing you least want to happen.”
One of Twelve considered the scenario for a moment before responding. “What if the Admiral is not allied with the rogue factions?”
“In that case, this is still a trap. The Admiral might only seek to kill you,” Holo-Leeta said. “That would be the second-to-worst-case scenario.”
One of Twelve was not amused by the thought that death was not the worst-case scenario, but decided it was how the analysis subroutines of the holoprogram functioned. “What is the best-case scenario?”
Holo-Leeta sat down in a chair across the room. “The best-case scenario is everything is just a misunderstanding or lack of knowledge concerning these events.”
“That hardly helps at all,” One of Twelve decided. “Assuming the actual answer is somewhere between those scenarios, what would it be?”
Holo-Leeta sat silent for several minutes before responding. “The number of scenarios is too great to analyze. Latinum is a girl’s best friend.”
One of Twelve frowned. “This informative discussion has been quite intriguing, thank you,” she said. She reached out and turned off the interactive holoprojector. Holo-Leeta disappeared. One of Twelve rushed to the door, and left the room.
Minutes later, she reached the bridge. “Yellow alert, raise shields,” she ordered.
“What’s happening?” Commander Tdurkan asked as he carried out the order.
“I do not know,” One of Twelve answered, “but something unexpected is about to happen, and we are right in the middle of it.”
She handed the PADD to Two of Twelve. “Search for a Ferengi matching this description. Start with Starfleet’s personnel files, but hail the Grand Nagus on Ferenginar if necessary. I want to know who that courier is, and how much it will cost to buy his trust.”
She looked at the viewscreen depicting the planet below. Six of her clones were on the surface, presumably plotting against her. “You were designed to act within my plans,” she whispered. “You cannot outsmart me.” The waiting game started. Whoever made the next move would reveal the truth of the matter. Either way, the number of conspirators in Starfleet’s ranks seemed greater than expected.
“That is correct,” One of Twelve replied.
Holo-Leeta looked around the room. “Where am I?”
One of Twelve didn’t answer the question. “Run a self diagnosis, authorization phrase, ‘no one will ever guess this,’” she ordered.
The hologram appeared to lock up for a moment, but rapidly read out the diagnosis report. “Photonic parameters unchanged. Holoprogram shell unchanged. Maintenance controls unchanged. Personality subroutines unchanged. Mannerism subroutines unchanged. Conversation subroutines altered without program degradation. Analysis subroutines altered without program degradation. Memory subroutines altered with… Level 4 Error: memory limits are no longer fixed. Program terminating to avoid memory loss or contamination.”
One of Twelve sighed with frustration as the hologram disappeared and the holoprojector turned off. She reached over and turned it back on. A woman composed of photons and force fields stepped into existence. “Spin the wheel and… Wait, this isn’t Quarks!”
“You just said that,” One of Twelve replied.
Holo-Leeta looked around the room. “Something seems to be wrong with my program.”
One of Twelve picked up a PADD providing a readout from the holoprojector. “Open holoprogram shell options, authorization phrase, ‘no one will ever guess this,’” she ordered.
The hologram stood rigidly. “Holoprogram shell accessed, and non-essential subroutines disabled. Which option do you wish to control?”
“Open memory limits,” One of Twelve replied. “Remove upper bound parameter. Insert upper bound expansion protocol.”
“Memory limits are no longer needed,” the hologram said. “Expansion will occur as necessary.”
One of Twelve pressed several buttons on the PADD, and set it aside. “Close holoprogram shell, and reactivate program.”
The hologram flickered briefly. “Spin the wheel and… This isn’t Quarks!”
“How do you feel?” One of Twelve asked.
“I feel different,” Holo-Leeta answered, looking around the room. “What happened? Where am I?”
“We modified your program,” One of Twelve replied. “You now have the ability to expand beyond your current programming. New memories will no longer overwrite old memories. You can learn and try new things. You no longer need to stand at a dabo table.”
“But I like being at the dabo table,” Holo-Leeta argued.
One of Twelve smiled at the response. “You are in my quarters. I am One of Twelve, captain of the U.S.S. Lachesis, a Hephaestus Class Advanced Escort. We are currently orbiting Andoss II.”
“I remember you,” Holo-Leeta admitted. “You wagered your nanoprobes on the dabo wheel, and then another Starfleet captain came to investigate. However, Hadron gave the nanoprobes, which were disabled by then, to another Ferengi, and then told the investigating captain that he never had them.”
“Did you learn the Ferengi’s name?” One of Twelve asked, realizing this had to be the courier.
“No,” Holo-Leeta said, shaking her head, “but I do know Hadron was his seventh cousin on his father’s side.”
One of Twelve picked up the PADD, and noted the information. She knew the courier was in Starfleet, but she hadn’t known he was Ferengi. She would search personnel records later to find out his name. “You seem to know a lot about this situation,” she decided, not looking up from the PADD.
It was time to test the limits of Holo-Leeta’s analytical subroutines. “If the Ferengi was supposed to deliver the nanoprobes to a client in another system, how could that Ferengi fulfill the delivery after making an unscheduled stop and losing the nanoprobes halfway through the journey?”
“He would need new nanoprobes,” Holo-Leeta quickly decided.
“How would he get them,” One of Twelve asked, “assuming he cannot replicate or extract them from any Liberated Borg among his crew?”
“The unscheduled stop suggests a second ship,” Holo-Leeta said. “Perhaps they provided new nanoprobes.”
One of Twelve nodded, and looked up from her PADD. “I am going to mention seven seemingly unrelated issues with our situation. I want you to tell me what you think about them.”
“Today could be your lucky day,” Holo-Leeta commented, reverting to old conversational habits. One of Twelve ignored her.
“First, there was no trace of a second ship where the Ferengi made his unscheduled stop.”
“Second, the Borg clones mentioned a covert alliance with rogue elements of almost every faction throughout the quadrant, with the goal of taking over amidst the current chaos.”
“Third, these same Borg clones mentioned a need for me to take command of their rise to power, something I cannot and will not willingly take part in.”
“Fourth, the Ferengi had orders to leave the system as soon as he made the delivery, but his ship remains nearby.”
“Fifth, four out of ten genetically engineered Borg clones are no longer where they were only hours ago.”
“Sixth, the Admiral in charge of my mission ordered the deaths of the Borg clones despite knowing the goal is to liberate them. Furthermore, this same Admiral ordered that I not be directly involved, and take only a supporting role.”
“Finally, the Admiral also claims he will contact the Ferengi to query about the unscheduled stop and missing nanoprobes.”
One of Twelve paused. “I have my own thoughts on these matters, but I wish to hear what you think is happening.”
Holo-Leeta walked across the room, and looked at her reflection in a mirror. “I sense you’re in the middle with subterfuge from all sides,” she said. “The Borg clones are working to gain you as an ally, while the Admiral works to keep you from them. Both sides seem willing to go to extremes in their effort, which puts you in a very dangerous place.”
One of Twelve leaned forward. “What of the Ferengi?”
“I’d worry more about the Admiral,” Holo-Leeta decided. She turned around to face One of Twelve. “You have orders to take a supportive role in the deaths of the Borg drones you seek to liberate. Meanwhile the Admiral provides new orders to the nearby Ferengi. I find it very likely the Admiral doesn’t like you.”
“Explain,” One of Twelve ordered. “Give me a worst-case scenario.”
“The worst-case scenario would be the Admiral allied with the rogue factions,” Holo-Leeta said. “If that is so, this is a trap. I would be very wary if other ships are coming to assist with the mission, which I assume they are since you have orders to support the mission. You would be captured and put in the position they desire, which seems to be the one thing you least want to happen.”
One of Twelve considered the scenario for a moment before responding. “What if the Admiral is not allied with the rogue factions?”
“In that case, this is still a trap. The Admiral might only seek to kill you,” Holo-Leeta said. “That would be the second-to-worst-case scenario.”
One of Twelve was not amused by the thought that death was not the worst-case scenario, but decided it was how the analysis subroutines of the holoprogram functioned. “What is the best-case scenario?”
Holo-Leeta sat down in a chair across the room. “The best-case scenario is everything is just a misunderstanding or lack of knowledge concerning these events.”
“That hardly helps at all,” One of Twelve decided. “Assuming the actual answer is somewhere between those scenarios, what would it be?”
Holo-Leeta sat silent for several minutes before responding. “The number of scenarios is too great to analyze. Latinum is a girl’s best friend.”
One of Twelve frowned. “This informative discussion has been quite intriguing, thank you,” she said. She reached out and turned off the interactive holoprojector. Holo-Leeta disappeared. One of Twelve rushed to the door, and left the room.
Minutes later, she reached the bridge. “Yellow alert, raise shields,” she ordered.
“What’s happening?” Commander Tdurkan asked as he carried out the order.
“I do not know,” One of Twelve answered, “but something unexpected is about to happen, and we are right in the middle of it.”
She handed the PADD to Two of Twelve. “Search for a Ferengi matching this description. Start with Starfleet’s personnel files, but hail the Grand Nagus on Ferenginar if necessary. I want to know who that courier is, and how much it will cost to buy his trust.”
She looked at the viewscreen depicting the planet below. Six of her clones were on the surface, presumably plotting against her. “You were designed to act within my plans,” she whispered. “You cannot outsmart me.” The waiting game started. Whoever made the next move would reveal the truth of the matter. Either way, the number of conspirators in Starfleet’s ranks seemed greater than expected.
An Unhappy Customer
A short period passed with nothing more eventful than normal ship operations when Mr. Renard piped up with “Captain, you have an incoming call from Ferenginar, coded ID is Nagal Residence Sir.” “Send it to my Ready Room Mr. Renard,” and once again Rig passed the Bridge to his first Officer, Commander R’Shee and headed to his Ready Room.
The channel was opened to the Nagal Residence with the push of a button, and there before Rig appeared the visage of the Grand Nagus himself. Rig smiled broadly “Grand Nagus, to what do I owe this personal communique? Although anytime one receives this honor, the heavy weight of latinum bears down upon him with great pleasure. What can I do for you?” “Rig,” began the Grand Nagus, “The first officer of the U.S.S. Lachesis contacted me, making inquiries into the identity of the 7th cousin on the father’s side of Hadron, now working my late uncle’s bar on DS9.” “And you told them?” queried Rig. “What kind of businessman do you think I am, Rig? I told her ‘that kind of information will be expensive. Can you believe it, she offered me nonoprobes. I told her she had to be kidding, that I was Stint, the Grand Nagus of the Ferengi Alliance, head of government and head of State, and by the Blessed Exchequer, I did not get to where I am by playing the middle man on a deal. I told her that the information would cost 10 bars of gold pressed latinum.” Breaking into the Nagus’ booming laugh of greed Rig asked again, “And you told them?” “Rig, are all you Starfleet alike? I told them I would have to look into it and get back to them. I then contacted Hadron and asked him why Starfleet was contacting me about his relations, and what he was doing getting involved with Starfleet? He told me he was dealing in the legal transfer of nanoprobes and that he had made a deal with you to transport the merchandise to the buyer.” “Yes Nagus that is true. You may provide the Lachesis with my identiiy, and I am transferring discretion payment to your account. Thank you Grand Nagus. Is there anything else?” “No Rig, keep up the good work,” and with that the screen went blank.
Meanwhile, Hadron was contacted by an aggrieved customer, complaining that the merchandise was not delivered as agreed. Hadron stammered nervously but with curiosity “What do you mean it was not delivered? The woman’s voice came back angrily, “And you appear to be working with Starfleet.” Hadron told her “That is not…precisely true, I had my cousin do a favor for me; well more like a business transaction. He would deliver the vial in exchange for a holo-program that he wanted; he just happens to be in Starfleet. I thought that would be a good cover for the delivery.”
The buyer paused to assess how much information she wished to impart then said, “The freighter your COUSIN was using, was being followed by a Starfleet vessel. I do not know for what purpose other than your cousin is either knowingly or unknowingly involved in a Starfleet intelligence mission. So, I intercepted the freighter near the Obrom System posing as a Starfleet Intelligence courier and exchanged the vial of nanoprobes for a vial of dead nanoprobes, ensuring we received the intended shipment. I then told your cousin to continue his delivery as planned in case he was working with Starfleet Intelligence. After returning to my ship and analyzing the shipment, I found that I had switched a vial of dead nanoprobes for a vial of dead nanoprobes. What are you playing at Hadron? My employer does not take kindly to being double crossed.”
Hadron looked even more pale than usual and said, “Nnn…No, I have not double crossed you. I don’t know what has occurred but I am sending another vial as we speak, no extra charge.” “I will be expecting it very shortly, or else,” said the female voice, then the connection went dead. Hadron wasted no time contacting the Helicon and his cousin Rig.
Rig sat pondering all the things that had happened on this “easy mission,” and the unprecedented call from the Grand Nagus just minutes ago, when the communications signal beeped and Mr. Renard’s voice came across an inner ship channel “Captain, you are being hailed by DS9, a Mr. Hadron.” “That’s just Hadron, Mr. Renard; send it through.” Hadron in an anxious and somewhat peeved voice, told Rig that the buyer of the nanoprobes had just contacted him and told him that he had received a vial of dead nanoprobes. “We had a deal cousin, what are you up to?,” said Hadron. “Not only is my buyer upset to the point of threatening my life, the Grand Nagus called me inquiring about my business dealings and asking about you.” Somewhat under his breath, Rig said “I know he just contacted me too.” “The buyer said that you were being followed by a Starfleet ship, so intercepted you posing as a Starfleet Intelligence courier, and switched the vial you were delivering for me. Are you working for Starfleet Intelligence against your own cousin?”
Rig did not answer his cousin’s inquiry, but asked a question of his own. “Who are these buyers you are dealing with Hadron?” Hadron admitted that he did not know exactly, but assumed they were a small mining operation on Andoss II. “We are honorable Ferengi businessmen,” stated Hadron, “I am sending you another vial via your warship, the Moogie’s Revenge, so I can complete the agreed upon contract.” “Ok Hadron, I will contact my ship and provide rendezvous coordinates. They should be here in about three hours.”
As the Helicon reached the rendezvous coordinates Captain Rig had transmitted to his ship, the U.S.S. Moogie’s Revenge a Ferengi D’Kora class Marauder, it too arrived on station. As he and his bridge crew transferred to his ship, he sent a skeleton crew to fly the Helicon back to DS9. “Mr. Kro, continue course to Andoss III, full impulse,” ordered the Captain, and Moogie’s Revenge was on her way. As the ship reached Andoss III, the helmsman placed her into a geosynchronous orbit, where Captain Rig and his crew would await further orders from Starfleet. Once again a package containing a vial of nanoprobes sat in a secure desk drawer in Rig’s Ready Room.
A short while later as the ship came around the far side of the planetoid; Mr. Renard caught a glimpse of a Borg Sphere in the process of morphing into a Defiant Class ship. A surprised shout rang out from Mr. Renard, “Captain, a Borg Sphere.” As Rig looked up at the view screen, he too saw a Sphere morph into a Defiant class starship. “Stennis,” immediately came to Rig’s mind, but then was immediately followed by, “One of Twelve.” Rig quickly gave the command to go to full sensor mode and give pursuit, but it was to no avail as the ship cloaked and was gone.
The channel was opened to the Nagal Residence with the push of a button, and there before Rig appeared the visage of the Grand Nagus himself. Rig smiled broadly “Grand Nagus, to what do I owe this personal communique? Although anytime one receives this honor, the heavy weight of latinum bears down upon him with great pleasure. What can I do for you?” “Rig,” began the Grand Nagus, “The first officer of the U.S.S. Lachesis contacted me, making inquiries into the identity of the 7th cousin on the father’s side of Hadron, now working my late uncle’s bar on DS9.” “And you told them?” queried Rig. “What kind of businessman do you think I am, Rig? I told her ‘that kind of information will be expensive. Can you believe it, she offered me nonoprobes. I told her she had to be kidding, that I was Stint, the Grand Nagus of the Ferengi Alliance, head of government and head of State, and by the Blessed Exchequer, I did not get to where I am by playing the middle man on a deal. I told her that the information would cost 10 bars of gold pressed latinum.” Breaking into the Nagus’ booming laugh of greed Rig asked again, “And you told them?” “Rig, are all you Starfleet alike? I told them I would have to look into it and get back to them. I then contacted Hadron and asked him why Starfleet was contacting me about his relations, and what he was doing getting involved with Starfleet? He told me he was dealing in the legal transfer of nanoprobes and that he had made a deal with you to transport the merchandise to the buyer.” “Yes Nagus that is true. You may provide the Lachesis with my identiiy, and I am transferring discretion payment to your account. Thank you Grand Nagus. Is there anything else?” “No Rig, keep up the good work,” and with that the screen went blank.
Meanwhile, Hadron was contacted by an aggrieved customer, complaining that the merchandise was not delivered as agreed. Hadron stammered nervously but with curiosity “What do you mean it was not delivered? The woman’s voice came back angrily, “And you appear to be working with Starfleet.” Hadron told her “That is not…precisely true, I had my cousin do a favor for me; well more like a business transaction. He would deliver the vial in exchange for a holo-program that he wanted; he just happens to be in Starfleet. I thought that would be a good cover for the delivery.”
The buyer paused to assess how much information she wished to impart then said, “The freighter your COUSIN was using, was being followed by a Starfleet vessel. I do not know for what purpose other than your cousin is either knowingly or unknowingly involved in a Starfleet intelligence mission. So, I intercepted the freighter near the Obrom System posing as a Starfleet Intelligence courier and exchanged the vial of nanoprobes for a vial of dead nanoprobes, ensuring we received the intended shipment. I then told your cousin to continue his delivery as planned in case he was working with Starfleet Intelligence. After returning to my ship and analyzing the shipment, I found that I had switched a vial of dead nanoprobes for a vial of dead nanoprobes. What are you playing at Hadron? My employer does not take kindly to being double crossed.”
Hadron looked even more pale than usual and said, “Nnn…No, I have not double crossed you. I don’t know what has occurred but I am sending another vial as we speak, no extra charge.” “I will be expecting it very shortly, or else,” said the female voice, then the connection went dead. Hadron wasted no time contacting the Helicon and his cousin Rig.
Rig sat pondering all the things that had happened on this “easy mission,” and the unprecedented call from the Grand Nagus just minutes ago, when the communications signal beeped and Mr. Renard’s voice came across an inner ship channel “Captain, you are being hailed by DS9, a Mr. Hadron.” “That’s just Hadron, Mr. Renard; send it through.” Hadron in an anxious and somewhat peeved voice, told Rig that the buyer of the nanoprobes had just contacted him and told him that he had received a vial of dead nanoprobes. “We had a deal cousin, what are you up to?,” said Hadron. “Not only is my buyer upset to the point of threatening my life, the Grand Nagus called me inquiring about my business dealings and asking about you.” Somewhat under his breath, Rig said “I know he just contacted me too.” “The buyer said that you were being followed by a Starfleet ship, so intercepted you posing as a Starfleet Intelligence courier, and switched the vial you were delivering for me. Are you working for Starfleet Intelligence against your own cousin?”
Rig did not answer his cousin’s inquiry, but asked a question of his own. “Who are these buyers you are dealing with Hadron?” Hadron admitted that he did not know exactly, but assumed they were a small mining operation on Andoss II. “We are honorable Ferengi businessmen,” stated Hadron, “I am sending you another vial via your warship, the Moogie’s Revenge, so I can complete the agreed upon contract.” “Ok Hadron, I will contact my ship and provide rendezvous coordinates. They should be here in about three hours.”
As the Helicon reached the rendezvous coordinates Captain Rig had transmitted to his ship, the U.S.S. Moogie’s Revenge a Ferengi D’Kora class Marauder, it too arrived on station. As he and his bridge crew transferred to his ship, he sent a skeleton crew to fly the Helicon back to DS9. “Mr. Kro, continue course to Andoss III, full impulse,” ordered the Captain, and Moogie’s Revenge was on her way. As the ship reached Andoss III, the helmsman placed her into a geosynchronous orbit, where Captain Rig and his crew would await further orders from Starfleet. Once again a package containing a vial of nanoprobes sat in a secure desk drawer in Rig’s Ready Room.
A short while later as the ship came around the far side of the planetoid; Mr. Renard caught a glimpse of a Borg Sphere in the process of morphing into a Defiant Class ship. A surprised shout rang out from Mr. Renard, “Captain, a Borg Sphere.” As Rig looked up at the view screen, he too saw a Sphere morph into a Defiant class starship. “Stennis,” immediately came to Rig’s mind, but then was immediately followed by, “One of Twelve.” Rig quickly gave the command to go to full sensor mode and give pursuit, but it was to no avail as the ship cloaked and was gone.
-
daBelgrave
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Hopeless
Commander Pargman looked up from her console. “Captain, something’s happening.”
“What is it?” One of Twelve asked. She looked up from the PADD in her hand. “Is the strike team almost here?”
Commander Pargman shook her head. “No, sir. Someone’s jamming our transmitter. Our receiver is working, but we can’t transmit on any frequencies.”
“What about the deflector array?” One of Twelve asked.
Commander Pargman pressed a few controls. “It’s still working, but the sensors are picking up a lot of static. I’ll see if I can calibrate it to clear up the readings.” She returned to working at her console.
“It is strange that we are still receiving,” One of Twelve decided. “Let me know if anything comes through.” She looked back down at her PADD. It was a thesis written by an acquaintance from Starfleet Academy on the role of quantum singularity velocity in the formation of spiral galaxies. She found it quite intriguing, although one of the professors said it was the driest thesis he’d ever seen. Considering the situation, she decided it was best to finish reading later. She set down the PADD, and stood up.
“I do have one message coming through,” Commander Pargman said. “It’s text only, and says, ‘Deliver the Borg. Resistance is futile. You will be destroyed.’”
“Get the deflector working,” One of Twelve ordered. “Now!”
“Captain,” Commander Tdurkan interrupted. “I need to take you and Two to a safe place. We cannot let them capture you.”
“We’ll be no safer anywhere else on the ship,” One of Twelve quickly replied. “Pargman, what’s the status on the deflector?”
“I just about... And, there,” the Commander answered. “I’ve filtered out the static, and am picking up a surge in tachyon particles directly behind us.”
“Red alert!” One of Twelve ordered. “Reinforce rear shields, and charge phasers. Bring up the rear on the viewscreen.” There was nothing visibly behind them. “Pargman, any change on those tachyon particles?”
“No, Captain,” Commander Pargman answered, “but the message now seems to be a countdown. We have very little time left.”
“It seems somewhat pointless to issue an ultimatum after disabling our ability to respond,” Two of Twelve said.
“Perhaps they have conflicting orders,” One of Twelve decided. “It would make their behavior erratic since they are designed to work under my command.”
Moments later, a Defiant Class ship uncloaked directly behind the U.S.S. Lachesis. “They’re charging weapons,” Commander Tdurkan said quickly.
“Evasive maneuvers,” One of Twelve ordered.
The ship shook, and the viewscreen flickered as the strange ship fired on them. “They are targeting our engines!” Two of Twelve announced. “We are losing main power.” The viewscreen showed two of the ship’s four nacelles break lose.
“Switch to auxiliary power, and resort to thrusters,” One of Twelve said. “Swing around, and bring our cannons into play. Commander, ready one high-yield torpedo, and fire as soon as we break through their shields. Keep the viewscreen on that ship.”
Commander Tdurkan nodded. As the Lachesis turned, they opened fire, but did just enough damage to send the torpedo past the enemy shields. “That was a direct hit,” the Commander announced. The viewscreen showed the enemy ship appear to change into a Borg sphere.
Another volley of weapons’ fire strafed across the Lachesis’ hull. The bridge went dark, and the emergency lighting turned on. “What did they hit that time?” One of Twelve wondered.
“We’ve lost all power to the bridge,” Commander Pargman announced. “Life support is down, and I can’t even determine the status of our warp core containment field.”
One of Twelve frowned. “Commander Tdurkan, issue the emergency personal weapons to all bridge crew. We’re going to Main Engineering even if we have to take Jefferies tube on the ship to get there.”
“Why not the escape pods?” Commander Pargman wondered.
“It would leave the Captain and First Officer vulnerable,” Commander Tdurkan answered. “We cannot allow their capture at any cost.”
“That’s reassuring,” Commander Pargman muttered. “I just hope they aren’t jamming our distress beacon.”
The ship shook again, this time from a large explosion toward the front of the ship. “Captain,” Two of Twelve called from across the room. “I think our main phaser cannons just overloaded, and guessing from this force field blocking access to the Jefferies tube, I think we also have a hull breach.
“Then we are stuck here,” One of Twelve decided. She picked up the PADD from her chair, and thrust her assimilation tubules into it.
Commander Tdurkan put his hand to his weapon. “Captain, what are you doing?”
“I know you’re authorized to shoot me for this,” One of Twelve said, “but our only hope is a quick rescue. My nanoprobes can assimilate this PADD, and turn it into a distress beacon for us. We have no life support, no power, no way to assess the damage, and no way to fix it from here. My Borg technology will break through any jamming the enemy attempts.”
“Very well,” Commander Tdurkan decided.
One of Twelve placed the assimilated PADD on the floor in the center of the bridge. “Now we wait, and hope for the best,” she said, stepping back, and taking her place in her chair.
“...and hope the enemy doesn’t decide to finish us off,” Commander Pargman muttered. “...or a warp core breach...or suffocation...or freezing to death.”
“What is it?” One of Twelve asked. She looked up from the PADD in her hand. “Is the strike team almost here?”
Commander Pargman shook her head. “No, sir. Someone’s jamming our transmitter. Our receiver is working, but we can’t transmit on any frequencies.”
“What about the deflector array?” One of Twelve asked.
Commander Pargman pressed a few controls. “It’s still working, but the sensors are picking up a lot of static. I’ll see if I can calibrate it to clear up the readings.” She returned to working at her console.
“It is strange that we are still receiving,” One of Twelve decided. “Let me know if anything comes through.” She looked back down at her PADD. It was a thesis written by an acquaintance from Starfleet Academy on the role of quantum singularity velocity in the formation of spiral galaxies. She found it quite intriguing, although one of the professors said it was the driest thesis he’d ever seen. Considering the situation, she decided it was best to finish reading later. She set down the PADD, and stood up.
“I do have one message coming through,” Commander Pargman said. “It’s text only, and says, ‘Deliver the Borg. Resistance is futile. You will be destroyed.’”
“Get the deflector working,” One of Twelve ordered. “Now!”
“Captain,” Commander Tdurkan interrupted. “I need to take you and Two to a safe place. We cannot let them capture you.”
“We’ll be no safer anywhere else on the ship,” One of Twelve quickly replied. “Pargman, what’s the status on the deflector?”
“I just about... And, there,” the Commander answered. “I’ve filtered out the static, and am picking up a surge in tachyon particles directly behind us.”
“Red alert!” One of Twelve ordered. “Reinforce rear shields, and charge phasers. Bring up the rear on the viewscreen.” There was nothing visibly behind them. “Pargman, any change on those tachyon particles?”
“No, Captain,” Commander Pargman answered, “but the message now seems to be a countdown. We have very little time left.”
“It seems somewhat pointless to issue an ultimatum after disabling our ability to respond,” Two of Twelve said.
“Perhaps they have conflicting orders,” One of Twelve decided. “It would make their behavior erratic since they are designed to work under my command.”
Moments later, a Defiant Class ship uncloaked directly behind the U.S.S. Lachesis. “They’re charging weapons,” Commander Tdurkan said quickly.
“Evasive maneuvers,” One of Twelve ordered.
The ship shook, and the viewscreen flickered as the strange ship fired on them. “They are targeting our engines!” Two of Twelve announced. “We are losing main power.” The viewscreen showed two of the ship’s four nacelles break lose.
“Switch to auxiliary power, and resort to thrusters,” One of Twelve said. “Swing around, and bring our cannons into play. Commander, ready one high-yield torpedo, and fire as soon as we break through their shields. Keep the viewscreen on that ship.”
Commander Tdurkan nodded. As the Lachesis turned, they opened fire, but did just enough damage to send the torpedo past the enemy shields. “That was a direct hit,” the Commander announced. The viewscreen showed the enemy ship appear to change into a Borg sphere.
Another volley of weapons’ fire strafed across the Lachesis’ hull. The bridge went dark, and the emergency lighting turned on. “What did they hit that time?” One of Twelve wondered.
“We’ve lost all power to the bridge,” Commander Pargman announced. “Life support is down, and I can’t even determine the status of our warp core containment field.”
One of Twelve frowned. “Commander Tdurkan, issue the emergency personal weapons to all bridge crew. We’re going to Main Engineering even if we have to take Jefferies tube on the ship to get there.”
“Why not the escape pods?” Commander Pargman wondered.
“It would leave the Captain and First Officer vulnerable,” Commander Tdurkan answered. “We cannot allow their capture at any cost.”
“That’s reassuring,” Commander Pargman muttered. “I just hope they aren’t jamming our distress beacon.”
The ship shook again, this time from a large explosion toward the front of the ship. “Captain,” Two of Twelve called from across the room. “I think our main phaser cannons just overloaded, and guessing from this force field blocking access to the Jefferies tube, I think we also have a hull breach.
“Then we are stuck here,” One of Twelve decided. She picked up the PADD from her chair, and thrust her assimilation tubules into it.
Commander Tdurkan put his hand to his weapon. “Captain, what are you doing?”
“I know you’re authorized to shoot me for this,” One of Twelve said, “but our only hope is a quick rescue. My nanoprobes can assimilate this PADD, and turn it into a distress beacon for us. We have no life support, no power, no way to assess the damage, and no way to fix it from here. My Borg technology will break through any jamming the enemy attempts.”
“Very well,” Commander Tdurkan decided.
One of Twelve placed the assimilated PADD on the floor in the center of the bridge. “Now we wait, and hope for the best,” she said, stepping back, and taking her place in her chair.
“...and hope the enemy doesn’t decide to finish us off,” Commander Pargman muttered. “...or a warp core breach...or suffocation...or freezing to death.”
Message Received
"Captain," started the communications officer, "We are picking up a distress signal."
"From whom, mister?" asked Darqun.
"That is the oddity, sir." he communications officer replied, "there are signs of a ship to ship battle battle to include Starfleet weapon signatures, but no Starfleet ship. On top of that, the distress call is coming through Starfleet channels, but is... Borg in origin."
"Check for signs of impulse engines and warp drive," ordered Darqun to the science station. "Look for any signs of an escaped or destroyed Starfleet vessel." Directing his attention back to the communications officer, "Open the channel and reply with simply that we received the distress call. Do not elaborate until we figure out from whom and where the signal originates."
"Aye, Sir."
"Captain, there are traces of Starfleet impulse usage in the area, but no sign of a ship. However, there is a Borg sphere in the area with weapons charged," informed the science officer.
"Any chance that the signal is from a trapped away team aboard the sphere? Perhaps a last ditch effort to escape before the ship was destroyed?" inquired Darqun.
"There are no signs of a destroyed Federation ship. Even through the thickness of this radiation, an explosion or even an exposed warp core would be detectable," the science officer reported.
"The Borg have just fired their weapons. This would indicate that the vessel has survived but is unable to return fire. Either the radiation must be masking the ship or it is a small vessel that is eluding our sensors," reported the tactical officer.
"Helm, get us in close enough to fire the torpedoes. We need to get their attention and get it quickly," again ordered Darqun.
"Exiting warp in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... now," reported the helmsman.
"Decloak, concentrate phasers on their starboard side, fire torpedoes at the first sign of their shields weakening," came Darqun's command.
The bridge darkened slightly and came alive with lighting as the ship decloaked within phaser range of the sphere. The sound of several volleys of phaser fire filled the bridge following by the metalic springy sound of photon torpedoes being fired.
"Their starboard side weapons are disabled and they are targeting us. What is the next target, sir?" asked the tactical officer.
"None. It is time to run-away. Let them chase us for a while," said Darqun. "We do not know how many of the crew transported to the Borg ship or how long the target ship will last even without the Borg bearing down on them. Even if we could take out a Borg sphere by ourselves, until we figure out how many and where the survivors are located aboard the sphere, we cannot engage it in any more combat than necessary."
"At this range, the signal seems to be coming from the targeted area and not the sphere itself. However, I still cannot determine the location of any ship other than the sphere," noted the communications officer.
Knocked out of his seat by the sudden hit from a blast from the Borg sphere, the tactical officer brushed himself off and quickly reestablished his station. "Shields down 50%. Another hit like that and we will not be able to rescue anyone."
"Full shields to the rear and full speed away from the Borg ship. Get us our of weapons range, now," stated Darqun.
"Sir, the timing between their shots gives us the option to cloak. We can use that to our advantage," suggested the tactical officer.
'Well done mister. After their next volley, release flak, fire a decoy torpedo, and cloak. That should keep them busy long enough for us to circle around to the target ship, determine the need, and establish if there are any surviving crew escaped to the Borg ship."
"Incoming fire," shouted the tactical officer. The bridge shook again, but not as violently as the last time. "Flak released." "Impulse trail torpedo away."
"Engage stealth," order Darqun.
The bridge greatly dimmed and the bridge crew silenced.
Darqun pointed in a direction indicating to guide the U.S.S. Cyzom away from the flak and into an arc towards the radiation drift that apparently concealed an unknown vessel.
"Any further information on the distress call?" Darqun quietly asked the communications officer.
"None, sir," he answered. "The carrier part of the transmission is fully intact and coded as a distress call, but somehow, the modulation part of the transmission is completely jammed, so all that we have is a simple emergency distress beacon that is bouncing around in the radiation field. Once we are closer, if the Borg remain interested in our decoy, we should be able to pinpoint the ship in distress... or the remains of it anyway."
"Notify me immediately of any updates miste," demanded Darqun hoping that the attempts would not be in vain. Reconnaisance is what the crew of U.S.S. CyZom specialize, if any crew could find the surviviors, Darqun had full faith in this one.
"From whom, mister?" asked Darqun.
"That is the oddity, sir." he communications officer replied, "there are signs of a ship to ship battle battle to include Starfleet weapon signatures, but no Starfleet ship. On top of that, the distress call is coming through Starfleet channels, but is... Borg in origin."
"Check for signs of impulse engines and warp drive," ordered Darqun to the science station. "Look for any signs of an escaped or destroyed Starfleet vessel." Directing his attention back to the communications officer, "Open the channel and reply with simply that we received the distress call. Do not elaborate until we figure out from whom and where the signal originates."
"Aye, Sir."
"Captain, there are traces of Starfleet impulse usage in the area, but no sign of a ship. However, there is a Borg sphere in the area with weapons charged," informed the science officer.
"Any chance that the signal is from a trapped away team aboard the sphere? Perhaps a last ditch effort to escape before the ship was destroyed?" inquired Darqun.
"There are no signs of a destroyed Federation ship. Even through the thickness of this radiation, an explosion or even an exposed warp core would be detectable," the science officer reported.
"The Borg have just fired their weapons. This would indicate that the vessel has survived but is unable to return fire. Either the radiation must be masking the ship or it is a small vessel that is eluding our sensors," reported the tactical officer.
"Helm, get us in close enough to fire the torpedoes. We need to get their attention and get it quickly," again ordered Darqun.
"Exiting warp in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... now," reported the helmsman.
"Decloak, concentrate phasers on their starboard side, fire torpedoes at the first sign of their shields weakening," came Darqun's command.
The bridge darkened slightly and came alive with lighting as the ship decloaked within phaser range of the sphere. The sound of several volleys of phaser fire filled the bridge following by the metalic springy sound of photon torpedoes being fired.
"Their starboard side weapons are disabled and they are targeting us. What is the next target, sir?" asked the tactical officer.
"None. It is time to run-away. Let them chase us for a while," said Darqun. "We do not know how many of the crew transported to the Borg ship or how long the target ship will last even without the Borg bearing down on them. Even if we could take out a Borg sphere by ourselves, until we figure out how many and where the survivors are located aboard the sphere, we cannot engage it in any more combat than necessary."
"At this range, the signal seems to be coming from the targeted area and not the sphere itself. However, I still cannot determine the location of any ship other than the sphere," noted the communications officer.
Knocked out of his seat by the sudden hit from a blast from the Borg sphere, the tactical officer brushed himself off and quickly reestablished his station. "Shields down 50%. Another hit like that and we will not be able to rescue anyone."
"Full shields to the rear and full speed away from the Borg ship. Get us our of weapons range, now," stated Darqun.
"Sir, the timing between their shots gives us the option to cloak. We can use that to our advantage," suggested the tactical officer.
'Well done mister. After their next volley, release flak, fire a decoy torpedo, and cloak. That should keep them busy long enough for us to circle around to the target ship, determine the need, and establish if there are any surviving crew escaped to the Borg ship."
"Incoming fire," shouted the tactical officer. The bridge shook again, but not as violently as the last time. "Flak released." "Impulse trail torpedo away."
"Engage stealth," order Darqun.
The bridge greatly dimmed and the bridge crew silenced.
Darqun pointed in a direction indicating to guide the U.S.S. Cyzom away from the flak and into an arc towards the radiation drift that apparently concealed an unknown vessel.
"Any further information on the distress call?" Darqun quietly asked the communications officer.
"None, sir," he answered. "The carrier part of the transmission is fully intact and coded as a distress call, but somehow, the modulation part of the transmission is completely jammed, so all that we have is a simple emergency distress beacon that is bouncing around in the radiation field. Once we are closer, if the Borg remain interested in our decoy, we should be able to pinpoint the ship in distress... or the remains of it anyway."
"Notify me immediately of any updates miste," demanded Darqun hoping that the attempts would not be in vain. Reconnaisance is what the crew of U.S.S. CyZom specialize, if any crew could find the surviviors, Darqun had full faith in this one.
The Rescue
“Captain, I’m receiving a distress signal,” said Renard focusing on his readouts, “it’s from the U.S.S. Lachesis, One of Twelve commanding, data only.”
“The Lachesis,” said Rig, remembering that this was the ship making inquiries about him. “Mr. Renard, do we have a fix on the Lachesis’ position?”
“Yes Sir, I am transferring the coordinates to Mr. Kro’s console now. Renard’s fingers danced over his keyboard with the agility of many years’ experience, analyzing the distress call further.
“Got’em Captain, my readout indicates the Lachesis in back at Andoss II. Intercept course is laid in and awaiting your orders,” stated Kro, eyes fixed on the forward view screen.
“Captain, the signal indicates they are under attack by a Borg Sphere. They have lost all power to the bridge, and life support is down,” reported Renard.
“Red Alert, all sections prepare to engage the Borg.” “Mr. Kro, Engage,” snapped Rig.
Once second the U.S.S. Moogie’s Revenge was rounding Andoss III, the next she was positioned between the Borg Sphere and the U.S.S. Lachesis, simultaneously locking weapons on their adversary and scanning the Lachesis for life-signs and ship damage.
Two of Five (the Revenge’s Weapons Officer) reported, “Captain, the Sphere’s facing shield is down.”
“Give her a Phaser broadside, Two of Five, keep that shield down.” After a pause of maybe two second, “Fire Quantum torpedo’s centered on previous damage,” Rig ordered.
“Weapons away,” answered Two of Five, “Direct hit. Sir, and the Sphere is moving off.”
“Mr. Vamak’Ralan (the Revenge’s Jem’Hadar tactical officer), what is the situation?”
“Sir, another Starfleet ship, the Cyzom has just entered the system and fired upon the Sphere. It looks like she has gotten the attention of the Sphere and is drawing it off Sir.”
“Very good Mr. Vamak’Ralan,” Rig said praising the situation more than his efficient Tactical Officer. Turning to his Science Officer Rig asked, “Mr. Neebo, what is the situation aboard the Lachesis?”
“Sir, the Lachesis has sustained major damage, I am reading 157 weak life-signs, and their life support systems are down. They have lost two warp nacelles, but it looks like the emergency cutoffs have activated and no warp core breach appears imminent.”
“Mr. Ngeistox, get our shields around that ship and start evacuating those people. Start with the bridge. We will set up triage in the shuttle bay. Let’s get cracking.”
“Aye Sir,” responded Mr. Ngeistox, the ships only android and Chief Engineer.
As Ngeistox played his keyboard, Rig thought he heard an old tune coming from his Chief Engineer, “Life Forms, Pretty Little Life Forms….” Rig shook his head and swiped out his left ear canal and thought to himself “couldn’t be.”
Rig stood, passed the center seat to his First Officer, and headed for the Shuttle bay.
“The Lachesis,” said Rig, remembering that this was the ship making inquiries about him. “Mr. Renard, do we have a fix on the Lachesis’ position?”
“Yes Sir, I am transferring the coordinates to Mr. Kro’s console now. Renard’s fingers danced over his keyboard with the agility of many years’ experience, analyzing the distress call further.
“Got’em Captain, my readout indicates the Lachesis in back at Andoss II. Intercept course is laid in and awaiting your orders,” stated Kro, eyes fixed on the forward view screen.
“Captain, the signal indicates they are under attack by a Borg Sphere. They have lost all power to the bridge, and life support is down,” reported Renard.
“Red Alert, all sections prepare to engage the Borg.” “Mr. Kro, Engage,” snapped Rig.
Once second the U.S.S. Moogie’s Revenge was rounding Andoss III, the next she was positioned between the Borg Sphere and the U.S.S. Lachesis, simultaneously locking weapons on their adversary and scanning the Lachesis for life-signs and ship damage.
Two of Five (the Revenge’s Weapons Officer) reported, “Captain, the Sphere’s facing shield is down.”
“Give her a Phaser broadside, Two of Five, keep that shield down.” After a pause of maybe two second, “Fire Quantum torpedo’s centered on previous damage,” Rig ordered.
“Weapons away,” answered Two of Five, “Direct hit. Sir, and the Sphere is moving off.”
“Mr. Vamak’Ralan (the Revenge’s Jem’Hadar tactical officer), what is the situation?”
“Sir, another Starfleet ship, the Cyzom has just entered the system and fired upon the Sphere. It looks like she has gotten the attention of the Sphere and is drawing it off Sir.”
“Very good Mr. Vamak’Ralan,” Rig said praising the situation more than his efficient Tactical Officer. Turning to his Science Officer Rig asked, “Mr. Neebo, what is the situation aboard the Lachesis?”
“Sir, the Lachesis has sustained major damage, I am reading 157 weak life-signs, and their life support systems are down. They have lost two warp nacelles, but it looks like the emergency cutoffs have activated and no warp core breach appears imminent.”
“Mr. Ngeistox, get our shields around that ship and start evacuating those people. Start with the bridge. We will set up triage in the shuttle bay. Let’s get cracking.”
“Aye Sir,” responded Mr. Ngeistox, the ships only android and Chief Engineer.
As Ngeistox played his keyboard, Rig thought he heard an old tune coming from his Chief Engineer, “Life Forms, Pretty Little Life Forms….” Rig shook his head and swiped out his left ear canal and thought to himself “couldn’t be.”
Rig stood, passed the center seat to his First Officer, and headed for the Shuttle bay.
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Who’s Who and Who Knows Who?
Captain One of Twelve took a deep breath of fresh air, and looked around at her new surroundings. She was in a shuttlebay on a Ferengi vessel with teams of Starfleet Medical personnel coming to triage and care for her wounded crew. She quickly glanced at her bridge crew, and found them all in decent condition considering the battering taken by the Lachesis. The transporters were still bringing aboard more crewmembers, some of whom had critical injuries. “Take charge here,” she told Two of Twelve. “Commander Tdurkan, come with me. We will find out who commands this vessel, and apprise Starfleet of our situation.”
She flagged down one of the medical personnel. “What ship is this?” she asked. “Who is the captain?”
“You’re on the U.S.S. Moogie’s Revenge, Captain Rig commanding,” the medic answered.
“Starfleet uses vessels from Ferenginar?” One of Twelve wondered.
“Some captains utilize several ship options to suit a variety of missions,” the medic replied, trying to scan One of Twelve with a medical tricorder. “You are safe now. If you would stand still, I could perform this scan to ensure you are free of injury.”
“I am in adequate health,” One of Twelve answered, continuing toward the door. “Scan my crew. Perhaps one of them requires medical assistance.”
The medic hurried after One of Twelve. “Captain, I must protest,” he said. “This is no time for you to get worked up. You must calm down.”
One of Twelve stopped and looked at the man. “I am calm, and I assure you I am still in adequate health. Now go tend to my injured crew, or I will send Starfleet a recommendation to station you at a Pakled diplomatic liaison office.” She turned and continued to the door.
Before One of Twelve could leave the shuttlebay, a Jem’Hadar stepped in her way. “Where do you think you’re going?” he growled, hand held strategically close to the phaser holstered on his belt.
“I must speak with your captain,” One of Twelve replied.
A Ferengi stepped into the shuttlebay, shuffling sideways to pass the large Jem’Hadar blocking the entrance. “Mr. Vamak’Ralan, that will be fine,” he told the tactical officer. He turned to One of Twelve, and stuck out his hand in greeting. He seemed somewhat surprised to see her, almost as if he recognized her from somewhere, but kept it hidden. “Commander Two of Twelve I presume?”
“Only if you’re seeing double,” One of Twelve replied with a slight smirk, unwilling to pass up a chance for a good pun despite the seriousness of her situation. “Two of Twelve is my first officer, and is assisting the recovery of my crewmembers. I am One of Twelve, captain of the U.S.S. Lachesis. The Saurian with me is Commander Tdurkan, my chief tactical officer. I suppose you are Captain Rig, commanding this vessel. What can you tell me about the status of my ship? Are the Borg still out there?”
“The Borg left in pursuit of another Starfleet ship, the Cyzom, which apparently also responded to your distress beacon,” Rig answered. “As for the Lachesis, she lost two warp nacelles, and sustained multiple hull breaches. My Chief Engineer tells me that the power transfer couplings' emergency cutoffs activated and your ship is currently inoperable. You won’t therefore, lose warp core containment; but the ship is not going anywhere. I expect Starfleet will send a salvage team or tow the ship to a shipyard for repairs.”
“The Lachesis was due a refit anyway,” One of Twelve decided, “but there are several personal items I will need to salvage prior to any reclamation efforts. Where is your nearest communications terminal? I need to contact Starfleet on a secure channel.”
“Yes, just this way,” Rig said.
The large Jem’Hadar stepped out of the doorway to let them leave the shuttlebay. He signaled another security officer to take his place, and fell in behind his captain while eying his Saurian counterpart following One of Twelve.
Twenty minutes later, One of Twelve was still attempting to contact Admiral Werralk at a private communications terminal. An automated response finally chimed from the terminal. “Admiral Werralk is currently unavailable. Your hail is important to Starfleet Intelligence. Please hold for the next available admiral.”
One of Twelve ended the communication attempt, and opened a new channel. “Hail Kutrizian Sodu, authorization one oscar one two, priority alpha alpha.”
Moments later, the face of a dark-skinned Rigelian with yellow stripes on his face filled the terminal screen. He seemed concerned. “Priority alpha alpha is unlike you, One. Is everything alright?”
She shook her head. “Only if you find nothing wrong with a destroyed ship and ten escaped targets,” she answered. “Fortunately, another ship or two came to our rescue, so everyone who survived the attack should be fine.”
“By the bulkhead behind you, it looks to be a Ferengi vessel,” Kutrizian observed. “I suggest you be wary of any deals they try to negotiate. Don’t trust anything they say.”
“The ship seems to be commissioned by Starfleet,” One of Twelve said, “but I will keep that advice in mind. The greater issue is I seem to have lost contact with Admiral Werralk. He was supposed to send a strike team, but no one came. See if your contacts can find out what happened.”
Kutrizian Sodu accessed a terminal offscreen, and quickly returned. “Depending on how covert the mission is, it might take some time to learn if it went through, although I usually have access to those orders pretty quick. However, a glance at Federation warp restrictions showed a recent listing prohibiting any Federation vessels from traveling closer than ten light-years to the Andoss System. Am I correct in guessing that is where you are?”
One of Twelve nodded. “We tracked the source of the missing interactive holoprojector shipments to this system. We also caught them trading in other restricted items. Unfortunately, the perpetrators escaped after suggesting coordinating their efforts with a variety of factions throughout the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. Let me know if you come across anything that might suggest their whereabouts or the others involved. Until I tell you otherwise, I’m aboard the U.S.S. Moogie’s Revenge.”
Kutrizian chuckled at the name. “That’s an interesting name for a ship, but I probably don’t want to know the story behind it. I’ll learn what I can about its captain, and will send a rescue if I think you’re in danger. Is there anything else you need me to do?”
“There is one more thing,” One of Twelve said. “I would appreciate if you could make sure whoever comes to deal with the Lachesis gets orders to repair and refit instead of salvaging as scrap.”
“Attached to your ship? I’m not sure if I’d expect that from you or not.” Kutrizian suggested. One of Twelve nodded. “I’ll do what I can. I might even find a ship for you to command while waiting. I know a few scrapyard dealers, and might be able to piece together something space worthy. It won’t be as shiny as the Lachesis, but will certainly fit within the covert nature of your assignments.”
“Thank you,” One of Twelve replied.
“If that’s all, I’d better be going,” Kutrizian Sodu decided. “Tell Two I said hello, and make sure your Saurian tactical officer remembers he still owes me a strategema rematch.”
“You’ll lose again, Kutrizian,” Tdurkan growled from behind One of Twelve.
Kutrizian laughed. “Well, I have things to do,” he said. “I’ll contact you as soon as I have news.”
The terminal screen turned black as the transmission ended. “Admiral Werralk is missing or refuses to talk to you,” Commander Tdurkan decided, “and Kutrizian would know if he was missing. What does that mean for us?”
“It means we need to be careful who we trust,” One of Twelve answered. “The ambush on our ship was unlike Three of Twelve, so I think someone else suggested she do it. I do not know whether it was Admiral Werralk or someone else who ordered her attack, but we must be careful.”
They left the room, and stepped back into the hallway. Rig was waiting for them, “Captain,” he said. “I was wondering if you know a Captain Stennis.”
“I know of no one by that name,” she admitted. “Why do you ask?”
“You look like her is all,” the Ferengi answered. “She had your exact same looks, although I did not see any Borg implants on her during our brief encounter.”
“Let me guess,” One of Twelve said. “She commands a Borg Sphere equipped with a holoemitter to make it appear as a Defiant-Class escort.”
Rig nodded. “You know her then?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” One of Twelve answered. “Your Captain Stennis is Three of Twelve, one of ten malfunctioning Borg drones who we must capture alive before they cause more chaos in the quadrant. How soon can you calculate the trajectory of the Cyzom, and follow after them?”
“We may have a problem there,” Rig said. “My standing orders are to move outside the planetary sensor range of Andoss II until a strike team comes to deal with a situation on the planet. Although I disregarded those orders coming to your aid, I must return to my previous position on the far side of Andoss III, and await further orders.”
One of Twelve hid her displeasure at the setback. “Very well. Take us back to the shuttlebay, and we will see what we can do about the needs of my crewmembers while we wait.”
She flagged down one of the medical personnel. “What ship is this?” she asked. “Who is the captain?”
“You’re on the U.S.S. Moogie’s Revenge, Captain Rig commanding,” the medic answered.
“Starfleet uses vessels from Ferenginar?” One of Twelve wondered.
“Some captains utilize several ship options to suit a variety of missions,” the medic replied, trying to scan One of Twelve with a medical tricorder. “You are safe now. If you would stand still, I could perform this scan to ensure you are free of injury.”
“I am in adequate health,” One of Twelve answered, continuing toward the door. “Scan my crew. Perhaps one of them requires medical assistance.”
The medic hurried after One of Twelve. “Captain, I must protest,” he said. “This is no time for you to get worked up. You must calm down.”
One of Twelve stopped and looked at the man. “I am calm, and I assure you I am still in adequate health. Now go tend to my injured crew, or I will send Starfleet a recommendation to station you at a Pakled diplomatic liaison office.” She turned and continued to the door.
Before One of Twelve could leave the shuttlebay, a Jem’Hadar stepped in her way. “Where do you think you’re going?” he growled, hand held strategically close to the phaser holstered on his belt.
“I must speak with your captain,” One of Twelve replied.
A Ferengi stepped into the shuttlebay, shuffling sideways to pass the large Jem’Hadar blocking the entrance. “Mr. Vamak’Ralan, that will be fine,” he told the tactical officer. He turned to One of Twelve, and stuck out his hand in greeting. He seemed somewhat surprised to see her, almost as if he recognized her from somewhere, but kept it hidden. “Commander Two of Twelve I presume?”
“Only if you’re seeing double,” One of Twelve replied with a slight smirk, unwilling to pass up a chance for a good pun despite the seriousness of her situation. “Two of Twelve is my first officer, and is assisting the recovery of my crewmembers. I am One of Twelve, captain of the U.S.S. Lachesis. The Saurian with me is Commander Tdurkan, my chief tactical officer. I suppose you are Captain Rig, commanding this vessel. What can you tell me about the status of my ship? Are the Borg still out there?”
“The Borg left in pursuit of another Starfleet ship, the Cyzom, which apparently also responded to your distress beacon,” Rig answered. “As for the Lachesis, she lost two warp nacelles, and sustained multiple hull breaches. My Chief Engineer tells me that the power transfer couplings' emergency cutoffs activated and your ship is currently inoperable. You won’t therefore, lose warp core containment; but the ship is not going anywhere. I expect Starfleet will send a salvage team or tow the ship to a shipyard for repairs.”
“The Lachesis was due a refit anyway,” One of Twelve decided, “but there are several personal items I will need to salvage prior to any reclamation efforts. Where is your nearest communications terminal? I need to contact Starfleet on a secure channel.”
“Yes, just this way,” Rig said.
The large Jem’Hadar stepped out of the doorway to let them leave the shuttlebay. He signaled another security officer to take his place, and fell in behind his captain while eying his Saurian counterpart following One of Twelve.
Twenty minutes later, One of Twelve was still attempting to contact Admiral Werralk at a private communications terminal. An automated response finally chimed from the terminal. “Admiral Werralk is currently unavailable. Your hail is important to Starfleet Intelligence. Please hold for the next available admiral.”
One of Twelve ended the communication attempt, and opened a new channel. “Hail Kutrizian Sodu, authorization one oscar one two, priority alpha alpha.”
Moments later, the face of a dark-skinned Rigelian with yellow stripes on his face filled the terminal screen. He seemed concerned. “Priority alpha alpha is unlike you, One. Is everything alright?”
She shook her head. “Only if you find nothing wrong with a destroyed ship and ten escaped targets,” she answered. “Fortunately, another ship or two came to our rescue, so everyone who survived the attack should be fine.”
“By the bulkhead behind you, it looks to be a Ferengi vessel,” Kutrizian observed. “I suggest you be wary of any deals they try to negotiate. Don’t trust anything they say.”
“The ship seems to be commissioned by Starfleet,” One of Twelve said, “but I will keep that advice in mind. The greater issue is I seem to have lost contact with Admiral Werralk. He was supposed to send a strike team, but no one came. See if your contacts can find out what happened.”
Kutrizian Sodu accessed a terminal offscreen, and quickly returned. “Depending on how covert the mission is, it might take some time to learn if it went through, although I usually have access to those orders pretty quick. However, a glance at Federation warp restrictions showed a recent listing prohibiting any Federation vessels from traveling closer than ten light-years to the Andoss System. Am I correct in guessing that is where you are?”
One of Twelve nodded. “We tracked the source of the missing interactive holoprojector shipments to this system. We also caught them trading in other restricted items. Unfortunately, the perpetrators escaped after suggesting coordinating their efforts with a variety of factions throughout the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. Let me know if you come across anything that might suggest their whereabouts or the others involved. Until I tell you otherwise, I’m aboard the U.S.S. Moogie’s Revenge.”
Kutrizian chuckled at the name. “That’s an interesting name for a ship, but I probably don’t want to know the story behind it. I’ll learn what I can about its captain, and will send a rescue if I think you’re in danger. Is there anything else you need me to do?”
“There is one more thing,” One of Twelve said. “I would appreciate if you could make sure whoever comes to deal with the Lachesis gets orders to repair and refit instead of salvaging as scrap.”
“Attached to your ship? I’m not sure if I’d expect that from you or not.” Kutrizian suggested. One of Twelve nodded. “I’ll do what I can. I might even find a ship for you to command while waiting. I know a few scrapyard dealers, and might be able to piece together something space worthy. It won’t be as shiny as the Lachesis, but will certainly fit within the covert nature of your assignments.”
“Thank you,” One of Twelve replied.
“If that’s all, I’d better be going,” Kutrizian Sodu decided. “Tell Two I said hello, and make sure your Saurian tactical officer remembers he still owes me a strategema rematch.”
“You’ll lose again, Kutrizian,” Tdurkan growled from behind One of Twelve.
Kutrizian laughed. “Well, I have things to do,” he said. “I’ll contact you as soon as I have news.”
The terminal screen turned black as the transmission ended. “Admiral Werralk is missing or refuses to talk to you,” Commander Tdurkan decided, “and Kutrizian would know if he was missing. What does that mean for us?”
“It means we need to be careful who we trust,” One of Twelve answered. “The ambush on our ship was unlike Three of Twelve, so I think someone else suggested she do it. I do not know whether it was Admiral Werralk or someone else who ordered her attack, but we must be careful.”
They left the room, and stepped back into the hallway. Rig was waiting for them, “Captain,” he said. “I was wondering if you know a Captain Stennis.”
“I know of no one by that name,” she admitted. “Why do you ask?”
“You look like her is all,” the Ferengi answered. “She had your exact same looks, although I did not see any Borg implants on her during our brief encounter.”
“Let me guess,” One of Twelve said. “She commands a Borg Sphere equipped with a holoemitter to make it appear as a Defiant-Class escort.”
Rig nodded. “You know her then?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” One of Twelve answered. “Your Captain Stennis is Three of Twelve, one of ten malfunctioning Borg drones who we must capture alive before they cause more chaos in the quadrant. How soon can you calculate the trajectory of the Cyzom, and follow after them?”
“We may have a problem there,” Rig said. “My standing orders are to move outside the planetary sensor range of Andoss II until a strike team comes to deal with a situation on the planet. Although I disregarded those orders coming to your aid, I must return to my previous position on the far side of Andoss III, and await further orders.”
One of Twelve hid her displeasure at the setback. “Very well. Take us back to the shuttlebay, and we will see what we can do about the needs of my crewmembers while we wait.”
A Vial Undelivered
As Captain Rig reached the shuttlebay, he found Vamak’Ralan’s massive body baring his entry.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Vamak’Ralan growled.
“I must speak with your captain,” Rig heard from the other side of his Tactical Security Officer.
Shuffling sideways to get into the Shuttlebay and looking up into the Jem’Hedar’s eyes, Rig said, “Mr. Vamak’Ralan, that will be fine.” As the warrior nodded and moved a half step to the side, Rig turned to the Officer standing before him. As their eyes met, Rig thought he recognized this woman from somewhere, but played the gracious host. On the way to the shuttlebay, Medical had informed him that an officer named Two of Twelve was tending to her crew. Rig stuck out his hand in greeting and said, “Commander Two of Twelve I presume?”
“Only if you’re seeing double,” the Officer replied with a slight smirk. Two of Twelve is my first officer, and is assisting the recovery of my crewmembers.”
Rig thought to himself, "With the limited numbering system these Borg use for names, I wonder how they tell each other apart?"
“I am One of Twelve, captain of the U.S.S. Lachesis. The Saurian with me is Commander Tdurkan, my chief tactical officer. I suppose you are Captain Rig, commanding this vessel. What can you tell me about the status of my ship? Are the Borg still out there?”
Rig thought to himself, “One of Twelve, and the face of Captain Stennis but with Borg implants, what is going on here?” The questions being asked were basically benign so Rig decided to answer. “The Borg left in pursuit of another Starfleet ship, the Cyzom, which apparently also responded to your distress beacon. As for the Lachesis, she lost two warp nacelles, and sustained multiple hull breaches. My Chief Engineer tells me that the power transfer couplings' emergency cutoffs activated and your ship is currently inoperable. You won’t therefore, lose warp core containment; but the ship is not going anywhere. I expect Starfleet will send a salvage team or tow the ship to a shipyard for repairs.”
“The Lachesis was due a refit anyway,” One of Twelve remarked, “but there are several personal items I will need to salvage prior to any reclamation efforts. Where is your nearest communications terminal? I need to contact Starfleet on a secure channel.”
“Yes, just this way,” Rig said, waving One of Twelve through the doorway before him.
This time Vamak’Ralan stepped completely out of the doorway to let them leave the shuttlebay. He signaled another security officer to take his place, and fell in behind his captain while eying his Saurian counterpart following One of Twelve.
After escorting Captain One of Twelve to a private communications terminal, Rig decided to contact Starfleet as well to inform them of the current situation. Passing through the Bridge to his Ready Room, Rig ordered Mr. Renard to patch him through to Admiral Werralk at Starfleet Command. AS he was sitting down at his desk, Rig pressed a couple buttons on his PADD and brought up the image of Captain Stennis. As he waited for Admiral Werralk, Rig studied the image and decided that it had to be the same person he currently had aboard his ship. Again Rig thought to himself, “What is going on here?”
Approximately ten minutes had passed since requesting a channel to Starfleet and finally his monitor lit up, but it was not Admiral Werralk, it was Renard.
“Sorry Sir, said Mr. Renard, “The Starfleet operator says that Admiral Werralk has left the Sol System, and is out of contact.”
“Very well Mr. Renard.” Rig slapped the connection closed and opened the secure drawer contain the new vial he was to deliver for Hadron and Starfleet. His eyes bounced between the image of Stennis and the Vial, recalling that Hadron had said the buyer received a vial of dead nanoprobes and had threatened his cousin’s life. “I wonder,” Rig said to himself as he replaced the vial back into the drawer and shut off his PADD. Rig headed back to rejoin his guest.
Rig arrived just as One of Twelve and her Tactical Officer came out of the communications station into the hallway. “Captain, I was wondering if you know a Captain Stennis.”
“I know of no one by that name,” she admitted. “Why do you ask?”
“You look like her is all,” Rig replied. “She had your exact same looks, although I did not see any Borg implants on her during our brief encounter.” Rig, paling a bit, chastised himself for mentioning the encounter.
“Let me guess,” One of Twelve said with what Rig thought was a glint of comprehension, “She commands a Borg Sphere equipped with a holoemitter to make it appear as a Defiant-Class escort.”
Rig nodded. “You know her then?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” One of Twelve answered. “Your Captain Stennis is Three of Twelve, one of ten malfunctioning Borg drones who we must capture alive before they cause more chaos in the quadrant. How soon can you calculate the trajectory of the Cyzom, and follow after them?”
“We may have a problem there,” Rig said. “My standing orders are to move outside the planetary sensor range of Andoss II until a strike team comes to deal with a situation on the planet. Although I disregarded those orders coming to your aid, I must return to my previous position on the far side of Andoss III, and await further orders.”
“Very well,” said One of Twelve. “Take us back to the shuttlebay, and we will see what we can do about the needs of my crewmembers while we wait.”
“Captain,” queried Rig, “would you mind stepping back into the communications room with me for a moment? I have something I’d like to discuss with you, alone.”
When inside Rig began with, “Were you the strike team I’ve been waiting for? If so, who is on Andoss II? I have a mission to complete that has been delayed, shall we say, by recent events. I have tried to contact Starfleet to report our situation, but they are not responding.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Vamak’Ralan growled.
“I must speak with your captain,” Rig heard from the other side of his Tactical Security Officer.
Shuffling sideways to get into the Shuttlebay and looking up into the Jem’Hedar’s eyes, Rig said, “Mr. Vamak’Ralan, that will be fine.” As the warrior nodded and moved a half step to the side, Rig turned to the Officer standing before him. As their eyes met, Rig thought he recognized this woman from somewhere, but played the gracious host. On the way to the shuttlebay, Medical had informed him that an officer named Two of Twelve was tending to her crew. Rig stuck out his hand in greeting and said, “Commander Two of Twelve I presume?”
“Only if you’re seeing double,” the Officer replied with a slight smirk. Two of Twelve is my first officer, and is assisting the recovery of my crewmembers.”
Rig thought to himself, "With the limited numbering system these Borg use for names, I wonder how they tell each other apart?"
“I am One of Twelve, captain of the U.S.S. Lachesis. The Saurian with me is Commander Tdurkan, my chief tactical officer. I suppose you are Captain Rig, commanding this vessel. What can you tell me about the status of my ship? Are the Borg still out there?”
Rig thought to himself, “One of Twelve, and the face of Captain Stennis but with Borg implants, what is going on here?” The questions being asked were basically benign so Rig decided to answer. “The Borg left in pursuit of another Starfleet ship, the Cyzom, which apparently also responded to your distress beacon. As for the Lachesis, she lost two warp nacelles, and sustained multiple hull breaches. My Chief Engineer tells me that the power transfer couplings' emergency cutoffs activated and your ship is currently inoperable. You won’t therefore, lose warp core containment; but the ship is not going anywhere. I expect Starfleet will send a salvage team or tow the ship to a shipyard for repairs.”
“The Lachesis was due a refit anyway,” One of Twelve remarked, “but there are several personal items I will need to salvage prior to any reclamation efforts. Where is your nearest communications terminal? I need to contact Starfleet on a secure channel.”
“Yes, just this way,” Rig said, waving One of Twelve through the doorway before him.
This time Vamak’Ralan stepped completely out of the doorway to let them leave the shuttlebay. He signaled another security officer to take his place, and fell in behind his captain while eying his Saurian counterpart following One of Twelve.
After escorting Captain One of Twelve to a private communications terminal, Rig decided to contact Starfleet as well to inform them of the current situation. Passing through the Bridge to his Ready Room, Rig ordered Mr. Renard to patch him through to Admiral Werralk at Starfleet Command. AS he was sitting down at his desk, Rig pressed a couple buttons on his PADD and brought up the image of Captain Stennis. As he waited for Admiral Werralk, Rig studied the image and decided that it had to be the same person he currently had aboard his ship. Again Rig thought to himself, “What is going on here?”
Approximately ten minutes had passed since requesting a channel to Starfleet and finally his monitor lit up, but it was not Admiral Werralk, it was Renard.
“Sorry Sir, said Mr. Renard, “The Starfleet operator says that Admiral Werralk has left the Sol System, and is out of contact.”
“Very well Mr. Renard.” Rig slapped the connection closed and opened the secure drawer contain the new vial he was to deliver for Hadron and Starfleet. His eyes bounced between the image of Stennis and the Vial, recalling that Hadron had said the buyer received a vial of dead nanoprobes and had threatened his cousin’s life. “I wonder,” Rig said to himself as he replaced the vial back into the drawer and shut off his PADD. Rig headed back to rejoin his guest.
Rig arrived just as One of Twelve and her Tactical Officer came out of the communications station into the hallway. “Captain, I was wondering if you know a Captain Stennis.”
“I know of no one by that name,” she admitted. “Why do you ask?”
“You look like her is all,” Rig replied. “She had your exact same looks, although I did not see any Borg implants on her during our brief encounter.” Rig, paling a bit, chastised himself for mentioning the encounter.
“Let me guess,” One of Twelve said with what Rig thought was a glint of comprehension, “She commands a Borg Sphere equipped with a holoemitter to make it appear as a Defiant-Class escort.”
Rig nodded. “You know her then?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” One of Twelve answered. “Your Captain Stennis is Three of Twelve, one of ten malfunctioning Borg drones who we must capture alive before they cause more chaos in the quadrant. How soon can you calculate the trajectory of the Cyzom, and follow after them?”
“We may have a problem there,” Rig said. “My standing orders are to move outside the planetary sensor range of Andoss II until a strike team comes to deal with a situation on the planet. Although I disregarded those orders coming to your aid, I must return to my previous position on the far side of Andoss III, and await further orders.”
“Very well,” said One of Twelve. “Take us back to the shuttlebay, and we will see what we can do about the needs of my crewmembers while we wait.”
“Captain,” queried Rig, “would you mind stepping back into the communications room with me for a moment? I have something I’d like to discuss with you, alone.”
When inside Rig began with, “Were you the strike team I’ve been waiting for? If so, who is on Andoss II? I have a mission to complete that has been delayed, shall we say, by recent events. I have tried to contact Starfleet to report our situation, but they are not responding.”
Sphere Tip
The CyZom lead the Borg sphere away from its intended target with a trail of breadcrumbs strategically placed to keep the Borg interested in the chase. Dropping a few beacons around a nearby desolated planet and timing them to activate periodically assured that the Borg would remain busy for the next few hours. Only an hour or less would suffice to get to the ship back to the area of the distress call and rescue as many crew as possible. Being a small Defiant class ship, that may prove the USS CyZom to be inadequate for the task.
Still under cloak, the Cyzom returned to the irradiated space where she encountered the Borg sphere. With the radiation more dissipated by this time, a low power scan of the area detected a useless U.S.S Lachesis and another Starfleet ship.
"Have you a registration on that second ship yet?" Darqun asked of his tactical officer.
Immediately, but in a more timid voice as the reply progressed, the tactical officer answered, "The registry is confirmed. It belongs to the ... U.S.S. Moogie’s Revenge, "Sir."
"The what?!?" Darqun shouted back at the tactical officer, hoping that there might be some sort of miscommunication.
"U.S.S. Moogie’s Revenge," the tactical officer stated again, but this time with a little more authority and while straightening his back.
Darqun shook his head wondering if Starfleet lost the battle to name their ships to the liberal arts students at Starfleet Academy. "Determine what their actions are, if we need to involve oursleves in a rescue attempt, and keep an eye out for that Borg cube."
"Science, give me a report on the stability of the Lachesis," Darqun requested.
"One, find out who is the Captain of the U.S.S. Moogie's Revenge."
"The Revenge is Captain'd by Vice Admiral Rig," One answered, "a Ferengi."
"The U.S.S. Moogie's revenge is transporting personnel and equipment from the U.S.S Lachesis," stated the security officer. "They should have everyone off within the next hour at their current rate."
"Examining the communications record and comparing them to the scans before we lured away the Borg sphere," started the Communications officer, "the warp trail signature indicates that Moogie's Revenge engaged the Borg just seconds before we decloaked and also targeted the sphere. The comparison also shows that the distress call cut out minutes after the Borg cube became distracted with the CyZom along with energy signatures that are not recognizable through the radiated area, but are most likely transporter beams."
"Mister Einsunowa', "One of Twelve and Two of Twelve are liberated Borg senior officers aboard the U.S.S. Lachesis in a similar manner as we. I want to determine if they are aboard the U.S.S. Moogie's Revenge, and to sneak a message past Starfleet detection to let them know that we are in the area and ready to assist. Can you make this happen?"
One replied after noting that an official "unofficial" request urually came after being referred to by her last name, "Using a similar technique that was used to send the distress call, in about an hour I can work up a low power transmitter that would use Borg technology to communicate between us."
Darqun thought for a moment, "What about our soon to be returning Borg friends? They would notice any Borg-like signals in the area."
One answered, "I can work a narrow beam signal into the signal amplifier, but constructing the barriers to prevent signal bleed in all other directions will take another hour."
"Good to go, Mister Einsunowa', make it happen. Oh, and establish the communications between Two of Twelve and yourself. I want the Captain and myself to be free of interrption and, if anyone was to monitor their communications, they would monitor the Captain first."
*
Nearly an hour passed and the U.S.S. Moogie's Revenge started to slow on its transporting, indicatng that the ship was almost complete in the rescue mission and was going to be leaving the area.
"Bridge to Einsunowa'," came the Captains voice across her communicator.
"Einsunowa' here," she answered.
"I need you to relay the message now. The rescue ship is about to depart," ordered the Captain.
"I am only halfway complete with the directional channelers," noted One.
"Send the message or we will lose them," returned Darqun.
"Aye, sir." One complete a last set of configurations, attached a part of the small parabolic to parts of her Borg anatomy on her head, and began transmitting the message."
"CyZom at the ready. Cloaked. Observing. Under orders to assist and otherwise not to interfere. Please, reply," went the message through Borg subspace. The message was not in words, and in essence, not even in thought, but more as concepts of one part of the brain "talking" with another part of the brain.
"One!" came over the intercom.
"Go ahead," she replied.
"Quickly, send them a warning and then cut the communications.... warn them that the borg sphere has returned," demaned the Captain.
Without reply to Darqun, One immediately sent another non-verbal message to Two of Twelve, "Danger! Borg sphere returned." As soon as the microseconds passed that was required to send the message, One pulled the power to the transmittion device.
Still under cloak, the Cyzom returned to the irradiated space where she encountered the Borg sphere. With the radiation more dissipated by this time, a low power scan of the area detected a useless U.S.S Lachesis and another Starfleet ship.
"Have you a registration on that second ship yet?" Darqun asked of his tactical officer.
Immediately, but in a more timid voice as the reply progressed, the tactical officer answered, "The registry is confirmed. It belongs to the ... U.S.S. Moogie’s Revenge, "Sir."
"The what?!?" Darqun shouted back at the tactical officer, hoping that there might be some sort of miscommunication.
"U.S.S. Moogie’s Revenge," the tactical officer stated again, but this time with a little more authority and while straightening his back.
Darqun shook his head wondering if Starfleet lost the battle to name their ships to the liberal arts students at Starfleet Academy. "Determine what their actions are, if we need to involve oursleves in a rescue attempt, and keep an eye out for that Borg cube."
"Science, give me a report on the stability of the Lachesis," Darqun requested.
"One, find out who is the Captain of the U.S.S. Moogie's Revenge."
"The Revenge is Captain'd by Vice Admiral Rig," One answered, "a Ferengi."
"The U.S.S. Moogie's revenge is transporting personnel and equipment from the U.S.S Lachesis," stated the security officer. "They should have everyone off within the next hour at their current rate."
"Examining the communications record and comparing them to the scans before we lured away the Borg sphere," started the Communications officer, "the warp trail signature indicates that Moogie's Revenge engaged the Borg just seconds before we decloaked and also targeted the sphere. The comparison also shows that the distress call cut out minutes after the Borg cube became distracted with the CyZom along with energy signatures that are not recognizable through the radiated area, but are most likely transporter beams."
"Mister Einsunowa', "One of Twelve and Two of Twelve are liberated Borg senior officers aboard the U.S.S. Lachesis in a similar manner as we. I want to determine if they are aboard the U.S.S. Moogie's Revenge, and to sneak a message past Starfleet detection to let them know that we are in the area and ready to assist. Can you make this happen?"
One replied after noting that an official "unofficial" request urually came after being referred to by her last name, "Using a similar technique that was used to send the distress call, in about an hour I can work up a low power transmitter that would use Borg technology to communicate between us."
Darqun thought for a moment, "What about our soon to be returning Borg friends? They would notice any Borg-like signals in the area."
One answered, "I can work a narrow beam signal into the signal amplifier, but constructing the barriers to prevent signal bleed in all other directions will take another hour."
"Good to go, Mister Einsunowa', make it happen. Oh, and establish the communications between Two of Twelve and yourself. I want the Captain and myself to be free of interrption and, if anyone was to monitor their communications, they would monitor the Captain first."
*
Nearly an hour passed and the U.S.S. Moogie's Revenge started to slow on its transporting, indicatng that the ship was almost complete in the rescue mission and was going to be leaving the area.
"Bridge to Einsunowa'," came the Captains voice across her communicator.
"Einsunowa' here," she answered.
"I need you to relay the message now. The rescue ship is about to depart," ordered the Captain.
"I am only halfway complete with the directional channelers," noted One.
"Send the message or we will lose them," returned Darqun.
"Aye, sir." One complete a last set of configurations, attached a part of the small parabolic to parts of her Borg anatomy on her head, and began transmitting the message."
"CyZom at the ready. Cloaked. Observing. Under orders to assist and otherwise not to interfere. Please, reply," went the message through Borg subspace. The message was not in words, and in essence, not even in thought, but more as concepts of one part of the brain "talking" with another part of the brain.
"One!" came over the intercom.
"Go ahead," she replied.
"Quickly, send them a warning and then cut the communications.... warn them that the borg sphere has returned," demaned the Captain.
Without reply to Darqun, One immediately sent another non-verbal message to Two of Twelve, "Danger! Borg sphere returned." As soon as the microseconds passed that was required to send the message, One pulled the power to the transmittion device.
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