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Hikaru Sulu sat back in the captain's chair aboard the bridge
of the Excelsior, armed with an electronic writing pad and a cup of tea, and began to read the
latest status report. The tea was a morning ritual now, and despite its marked lack of caffeine the flavor
stimulated the senses anyway. It had been his choice on the Enterprise, too, whenever he could get
it, and one sip from the cup could take him back across years. Pavel, Scotty, Uhura, Spock, Doc McCoy,
Captain Kirk... the list of old comrades went on, and for a moment Sulu felt a small tinge of nostalgia for the good old
days, edged with regret... but his place was here, on Excelsior. There would still be times when
everyone would be together again.
He had been lucky, however, for one of that illustrious crew had come
with him. Janice Rand, now a commander, sat at the communications console in the familiar spot, the aft starboard
station of the bridge. her ash-blond hair was combed freely down and secured by berettes as she went about her
duties with characteristic effiency. They had been out for two and a half years now, at last mostly finished with
Excelsior's primary mission of charting and studying gaseous anomalies in the Beta Quadrant. Of special
importance on this mission was Tristan Valtane, the science officer with his characteristic absent-mindedness,
sporting a fine black goatee and a somewhat aristocratic air. He was cool and quiet, reminding Sulu of an old
friend with similar, although far more practical-minded, qualities.
"Analysis complete of this last anomaly, captain," Valtane was saying,
"Made up of ionized hydrogen, roughly one hundred sixty-nine million by eighty million by one hundred twelve
million klicks across." His terse report finished, Valtane put his eyes back to the sensor scope.
"Excellent," Sulu said. "Helm, lay in a course for our next stop and engage
at warp four. Commander Rand, radio Starfleet with a mission update."
"Aye, sir", and Rand flashed a perfect smile before getting to work. Sulu
settled back in his chair and focused back on the status report, deciding that it would be an uneventful day.
At 1600 hours the first watch got off duty. Sulu handed over the conn to
the duty officer and headed to his quarters on deck five. He pulled off his uniform tunic and undershirt and was about
to change his pants when the wall comm panel chirped. Sulu stepped across the small room and thumbed the switch. "Sulu here."
"Captain," the voice of Commander Rand floated out of the grille, "I've got something
strange up here in the comm logs. Could you come to the bridge for a minute, please?"
"I'm on my way." Sulu pulled on a fresh shirt, got his feet back into socks
and boots, and walked out the door at a brisk pace. When he finally came to the bridge, Rand turned in her chair.
"Captain, I found something odd in our outgoing transmission today. You know
that the computer automatically assembles the transmission and sends it to Starfleet." Sulu nodded. "Well", she said,
"I found what looks like random subspace background noise in the transmission - but that portion of it wasn't headed
to Starfleet Command."
Sulu perked up. Now this was interesting. "So what is it?"
"I isolated that portion from the rest of the transmission and began to wonder
if it wasn't a coded message. There's a definite pattern, sir, disguised quite well to resemble random noise - maybe
a glitch in our transmitter. If I hadn't noticed its broadcast vector I would never have suspected anything."
"Any success in decoding it?"
"Not yet, sir. I know that there's some sort of algorithm to code a message
but I can't figure it out. Whoever made this code was very clever."
"What about the broadcast vector?"
"I've checked it. Turns out, it intercepts one object of note - a civillian
scrap yard in the Klingon Neutral Zone."
Sulu felt his blood run cold. Whoever had managed to work this coded message
into the morning transmission was sending it to a contact in the Klingon Neutral Zone - which suggested that something
very sinister was going on on his ship that most likely involved the Klingons. The fact that Excelsior was one
of the prize ships of Starfleet and had regular conact with the higher levels of security in the Federation wasn't
comforting, either, and Sulu had that gut feeling that all starship captains got when something was amiss.
"Alert Starfleet Command of the situation and volunteer us to investigate. And
remind them that we are very well protected."
"Aye, sir." Rand turned to her console.
Sulu turned and walked to the bridge turbolift. This had turned out to be an
interesting day after all.
Beryl Davis, M.D., forced a tounge depressor into the mouth of her unwilling
colleague. "Say 'ahhhh'", she commanded in an icy tone.
"Ahhhh", came the answer on the other end. Davis studied the red and inflammed
throat, smelled the characteristic odor, and wrinkled her nose. "Strep throat," she said, and readied a hypospray. A
slightly built woman in her mid-thirties with short brown hair, she still had an agressive personality that made up
for lack of size in the treatment of unwilling patients.
"Why, when compared to all the doctors in Starfleet, do you have the all-time
worst bedside manner," inquired the her patient in a fine British accent as the tounge depressor came out. Bernard
Lyton, the chief engineer, eyed the hypospray as Davis twirled it around her finger like an old revolver. She stopped
the instrument's spin, brought it to her hip, and swiftly injected the fast-acting antibiotic into her patient's arm
with a quick strike. Inside of a second the gleaming metal hypo was back at her hip.
"Because," Davis countered, "I have the most unwilling patients ever to get
through the Academy." Off to her right, a chime sounded. Davis swung over and pressed a button on a small tissue
regenerator and smiled warmly at the Tellarite who wore it on his arm. "How's your arm, Dev?"
The young security ensign scrunched up his pig-like nose as he shook out the
arm and flexed the fingers of his hand. "All right, sir, though I'll pass on that tingling feeling next time. Felt like
my arm was all out of sorts in that regenerator."
Davis sighed. "Dev, two hundred years ago healing that arm would have required a plaster cast
and months of healing time and discomfort. Now, we heal it in fifteen minutes."
"I'll remember that, sir, and I'll try not to fall down any more Jeffries Tube ladders."
The Tellarite rose from the chair in which he had been sitting. "Any of you up for the tri-d chess tournament tonight?"
"I'll try to pop by," said Lyton, "assuming that I get out of here alive."
"I will if I can," responded Davis. Then, turning to Lyton, she said, "And as for
you..."
"Now, my dear, I outrank you," Lyton said in a placating tone. He was full commander
while Davis was just a Lieutenant Commander.
"And I'm the ship's surgeon. Don't make me give you your next vaccination by hypodermic
needle." Davis stood back to gauge the reaction.
"Good God! You still have those bloody things?"
Davis pulled back a cabinet door to reveal a row of syringes and needles wrapped in plastic.
"Awaiting use," she said wickedly. "You should be right as rain by the tournament," she continued, suddenly warming.
"Care for dinner together afterward?" Lyton asked.
"Sure," she said, and Lyton rose from his seat and went out the door. "See you at 1900."
Sulu watched the viewscreen apprehensively as the streaks of stars collapsed into points.
Over the night, the Excelsior had gotten clearance from Starfleet to investigate the scrap yard. Although that they were technically
violating treaty now that they were in the Klingon Neutral Zone, such violations now weren't such a big deal. The Organan Peace
Treaty was now no longer being enforced by the race for which it was named, as they had mysteriously disappeared, and now
relations between the United Federation of Planets and the Klingon Empire were becoming rapidly strained. Patrol ships and
listening posts had caught a few Klingon warships in the zone, even up to the K't'inga-class battlecruisers, albeit
never in numbers larger than one. The Klingons weren't stupid.
"We should be out of the range of the yard's sensors, Captain," Valtane said. "The sixth
planet of this system is a gas giant, and we should be able to easily hide behind it."
"Excellent," Sulu said. "Helm, take us behind the sixth planet. Take care to mask us from
their sensors. We don't want someone with a loose tounge to get wind of the Excelsior. Miss Rand, I'd like you to monitor
all communications in the immediate area. Mister Valtane, can you give me an idea of the situation?"
"There appear to be a few Klingon, Federation, and independent freighters docked at the yard.
Apparently this place serves as a trade center as well. The yard itself is a space station, dug into a large asteroid in the belt
just inside the orbit of the second planet."
"Thanks, Valtane. You're coming with us to take a look around." Sulu keyed the intercom on the
armrest of his chair. "Miss Davis and one member of security, report to the main shuttlebay. Mister Lyton, you have the conn."
Ten minutes later, Sulu, Valtane, Davis, and Dev were together inside one of the new heavy
shuttles outfitted with small warp engines, in order to allay any suspicions of a nearby starship. They each wore a standard-issue
field jacket, red and lined with fleece for warmth. Space stations could be notoriously cold places. In addition, each carried a
communicator, a tricorder, and one of the new phasers. They had agreed to stay in contact with the ship but,if they did not specify
another time for them to return, for Excelsior to come and get them after four hours.
"Everyone ready?" Sulu asked as they all strapped in.
"Born ready," answered Davis.
"All right, then, here we go." The launch bay doors had opened and Sulu brought the small
shuttle expertly through the opening and out into open space. He banked away, did a "vertical" loop around the Excelsior's
hull, then proceeded at impulse toward their destination. En route, he gave out instructions: "We'll split up into pairs and
look around. Report anything suspicious: special subspace radio reciever gear, shady characters, and the like. If you can,
Valtane, try to get into the station computer. If whoever sent the message from Excelsior could get into our computers
to send it, imagine what could be done with civillian security. We'll go in pairs, but don't let youselves get split up. This
place is likely to be very dangerous, and as Starfleet officers we're liable to attract a lot of attention." He was answered by nods.
"Okay," he said. "Let's go."
Valtane wrinkled his nose as the airlock door whooshed open. The place stank of cheap liquor
(with a faint hint of Romulan Ale, highly illegal in the Federation), and narcotic spices. This place was as shady as the oak grove
on the Academy campus. It was also dimly lit, achieving a light level just low enough to strain the human eye. He already didn't like
the place.
"All right," Sulu began. He was speaking in low tones now, casting a furtive glance down the
corridor leading from the airlock. They had gotten clearance to dock easily enough, and if the dockmaster was surprised to find Starfleet
knocking on his front door, he hadn't shown it. The corridor adjoined other airlocks where various and sundry ships were docked, though the
traffic was light. The main attractions would be the bars and shops where almost everything concievably strange was sold - usually cheap and of bad
quality: food, drink, weapons, trinkets, and women. "I'll go with Dev; Valtane and Davis make the next pair. Like I said, don't split up - and
try to stay out of trouble." With that, Sulu motioned to Dev and the two headed off towards a bar, its alien name proclaimed garishly above the
entrance to the establishment in flickering neon lights.
Inside, Sulu and Dev headed to a table, still relatively unnoticed amid the low level of chatter pervading
the bar. They chose one of the invariable dark, remote, inconspicuous corner booths. A waiter came around and took drink orders; both decided to
play it safe and selected Romulan Ale - although its intoxicating power was legendary, both had had it before on Excelsior where certain laws
were a bit lax and some of the other spirits in evidence looked like they might be poisnous, harboring living tissue, or both - and settled into their
seats, both making small talk but all the while scanning the bar. There was the usual crowd of mixed enterprenuers and merchants, although since this
was the Neutral Zone the percentage of klingons was a bit higher. The more suspicious-looking characters had already been spotted by the two officers
and were automatically undergoing evaluation - who he was likely to be, what he might be doing, and, most importantly, how dangerous he might be.
After about fifteen minutes of pulling at the Ales, a form appeared over their table. Sulu looked up, recognizing
an andorian by the blue antennae and skin. He motioned for him to sit down. As the andorian began to make himself confortable, he began to speak: "You two
are Starfleet, no? Tell me, what brings you to this place? Especially since this is the Klingon Neutral Zone." He waggled a finger in reprimand. "You
shouldn't be here."
Sulu's universal translator handled the andorian's speech effortlessly and He composed a reply: "That is our own
business. We just came off our shuttle and are a bit low on information. Perhaps you could tell us about some of the characters around here?"
The andorian grinned. "I can, if I am... compensated suitably."
Sulu kept a straight face, but inwardly he was cursing. I've got to keep up our cover story! I've only got the
resources of a shuttlecraft to bargain with, which automatically cuts my options down to practically nil. I'm gonna have to be real good here. "Well, I
can push over ten kilos of antimatter."
The Andorian frowned. "Ten kilos, hmmm... far too little. I need fifty."
"I only have a shuttlecraft. There's a limit to what I can carry in the hold, and I only have twenty. All the rest I
need for fuel."
"Don't take me for a fool, my good man. Forty."
"Twenty-five. And I'll buy you a drink."
At the mention of a drink the andorian brightened. He called for a waiter. "One house saurian brandy," he said, "and this
gentleman's buying. If you don't mind, I'll also have a kilogram of your best spice." The waiter looked quizzically for a moment at the Andorian, wondering if he was
crazy to be ordering that much spice, then thought of the price and went to fill the order.
"See that klingon over there?" asked the andorian as he took a pull of the brandy. He was pointing to a heavy-browed, dark,
massively built klingon who was laughing uproariously amid a large crowd of both people and drinks. "That there's Ragh. He's a smart bugger for a klingon. Carries
a personal computer wherever he goes, always doing something with it. He does some arms dealing on the side, but his main trade is in information. Takes it to and
from the Empire, depending on who pays him. But you didn't learn that from me."
Sulu offered his hand. "Thank you. After you've finished your drink we'll go and unload the antimatter. You can come along."
Time to show someone that we only have a shuttlecraft. Hopefully it'll dupe everyone so they think that there is no starship.
After the three had finished to their drinks they proceeded to unload the antimatter from the shuttle, storing it carefully
in pods which held the antimatter in several electromagnetic fields. There were numerous redundant safety sytstems to keep the antimatter from ever contacting the
walls of the pods, because if it ever did, the station would be random radiation and subatomic particles in an instant. This task done, Sulu and Dev went to find Davis
and Valtane.
Janice Rand sighed and ran a hand through her hair. It had been two hours since the Captain and his party had left for the
station, and ever since her watch had started at 0800 she had been working on the coded message, for the computer was automatically monitoring communications. She was making some headway, though it was a long and painstaking
process. She had first worked to find some sort of pattern, comparing the coded section to regular sensor noise. She had at last found the minute discrepancies in
an analog version of the section, then converted those discrepancies to digital format. She had since been working to find the pattern, the magic function that would
resolve the unintelligible gibberish into some sort of message. So far, nothing had worked. It was a good thing that the "random" noise of subspace wasn't really
random, she mused, or else this would be impossible. Subspace noise actually followed certain patterns, which made the perfect code - a "one time" code that didn't
rely on a single algorithm and was perfectly random - unusable because then the differences between the code and the background noise would be a dead giveaway that
something was up. And the only way to break a one-time code was to have the numbers used to encode the message. Rand had gotten lucky.
Suddenly, the next algorithm flashed a set of binary numbers on the screen which, running through Rand's hastily-made program,
was converted into standard Federation. And there was a clear message. Rand leaned closer to see the message and block out prying eyes. The message itself read:
SHADOW DELIVERED BY ROM ETA EARLY TOM AM WILL ADVISE
Rand frowned, her brain at work. "Shadow" was undoubtedly a code word for somehthing, what she did not know. "Delivered by Rom" definetly meant a delivery by someone,
the deliverer a mystery. "ETA early tom AM" was straightforward: the reciever could expect it by the early morning of the next day the message was sent at whatever
destination; lastly, "will advise" meant that the sender would keep in touch.
She called Lyton over, who had been cleared last night to know about the matter by the Captain. Lyton scanned the message, deep in thought as Rand
told him about her conclusions. Then he ran his hand through his hair.
"There's a mole on this ship," he said wearily.
"We're going to have to find him," answered Rand.
"Have the computer go through the records of every system login by every user throughout the past two days. The computer automatically logs every file
transfer, and whoever did this would have to be a damn good hacker to cover everything up. Eventually, you'll find who put that into the transmission yesterday morning."
"What if they pre-wrote the message and had it waiting in the common mail pool?"
"Then do the past week and keep addinng weeks after that. I'll get security on this guy, too. I want him found." Lyton stared intently at the message for
a moment. "But get yourself some coffee and a break first. You must be worked to the bloody bone."
Rand smiled weakly. "Yes, sir."
Valtane grimaced as the passed a place with a particularly loud sign out front and a picture of an almost naked orion girl along with it.
He didn't want to know what went on in there. Instead, he searched for an out-of-the-way computer terminal, a place where he would be uninterrupted while he hacked into the system
and searched the incoming transmission logs. If he could find the transmission section from Excelsior and where it had gone to, he could get a big lead for the investigation.
Ducking down a side corridor, he and Davis went down a gangway and turned a corner, finding a wall-mounted workstation several meters past the bend. This section looked as if it
hadn't been used in decades: rust was everywhere, a musty smell of age pervaded the entire area, and some lights were either flickering or broken on the ceiling above. Although it
was highly unlikely that anyone would come here, Davis decided to play it safe and drew her phaser, stationing herself to keep a watch on the corridor they had come through.
Valtane went to work, slipping a small data disk with a comupter virus into the drive. He then powered up the workstation and as the login screen came on he typed
random letters for the username and pasword on the antiquated keyboard. While speech was the preferred form of input nowadays, keyboards were still used in some situations and Valtane's
typing skills were excellent. As he hit the login button he was cleared and the operating system screen flickered on. He began to search directories for the transmission from Excelsior.
He had found it and was about to track it to the directory it had been sent too when he felt a sharp edge of metal come lightly into contact with his throat.
"Don't move," a voice said, and Valtane obeyed.
"You, drop the phaser and slide it over here." Though Valtane's eyes were on the computer screen he heard the sound of Davis's phaser clattering to the deck and sliding
across the plates. Then, a hand reached down and pulled Valtane's own phaser from its holster.
"Excellent, most excellent." The voice was definitely klingon, Valtane decided, although it did speak English with a heavy guttural accent.
"You," the voice said, and Valtane felt a slight pressure as the klingon pushed the knife edge a little harder against his throat, "may now turn around, slowly." As
Valtane turned around he saw a tall, heavily built, swarthy klingon with huge brow ridges and yellow, grinning teeth, holding a klingon d'k tahg in one hand and a disruptor
in the other. He slowly bent and picked up Davis's phaser.
His face brightened. "Would you be so kind," he said amicably, "to join me?"
Sulu was worried. They had been searching for over an hour and still had not found Davis and Valtane. They were now in parts of the station that
had obviously not seen major use in years, and Sulu reflected that these parts would be perfect for illicit and dangerous activities. He and Dev had both drawn their phasers and set them
to maximum stun. Sulu led the way, pausing at a door. He nodded to Dev. Both stood aside from the door as Dev thumbed the panel. As the door slid open Sulu sprang into the room, phaser ready.
Dev dodged to the other side, his phaser covering Sulu. Sulu scanned the room - and stopped cold as he saw the form of a klingon just behind the room's only overhead light, a disruptor pistol
at his hip.
"Welcome!" The klingon said as he stepped into the light. Sulu could make out cells on the sides of the room, with rusty iron bars and old mechanical locks. This was the
station's old brig. Two cells were occupied, too - one by Davis, the other by Valtane. The klingon seemed to read his thoughts and seemed delighted; there was a grin as wide as christmas on his face.
"I'm so glad you could join us," he grinned evilly, "My name is Ragh."
To be continued...
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