Star Trek: Shadow Worlds
Part 2: Intrusions

"Report," Holt barked, leaning forward in the center seat.

"Shields raised, Captain," Garrett replied, standing behind the ensign at weapons. The Australian-born man looked ready to pounce on anything that chose that moment to materialize unannounced on the bridge.

"One intruder," chirped Deebzug Traab from communications, cocking his insectoid head upward, a curious gesture that the rest of the crew had come to recognize as meaning respect proffered to a comrade or superior.

"Where th' 'ell did it come from?" Garrett wondered aloud, his accent thick with stress.

Tio'chuk had already left for engineering, where he would meet his security teams with orders to secure the intruder. Holt's first impulse had been to go to engineering himself; once a security officer, always a security officer, he reflected. But as captain, he knew quite well that his place was on the bridge of his ship - at least for the moment. No running around dodging phaser blasts for the captain of a starship, even if it did do wonders for the reflexes, and even if the ship was named Valiant. Blood-red alert lights flashed around the muted gray bridge, like a heart-beat keeping time to the tense silence.

"Unknown, sir; he must have beamed in, but we can't locate any source. Initiating containment field around the intruder," Williamson announced from the bridge science station.

"How incalculable," Traab's voice almost whistled with surprise. "What?" Garrett demanded.

"Scanning multiple broad band subspace communications waves."

"Verified," Williamson concurred, hands manipulating the science console with deft agility. "Transmissions appear to be hierarchical in nature."

"Originating from the intruder?" Holt asked, rubbing one graying temple with an index finger.

"Only a small fraction of the wave signatures, Captain," the science officer replied.

Garrett left the railing where he had been standing on the upper deck behind Holt, and went to the science station. He studied a readout that showed the active curves and spikes of what must have been nearly a thousand individual subspace communications waves. An inopportune image came to mind -- of his daughter Rachel using his private hololink, signed on to a party line with her friends, hundreds of them, for hours on end. It probably wouldn't look much different than what he was looking at now. Then Garrett imagined a Romulan operative monitoring the communication to and from his house, and how embarrassed the operative would be upon returning to Romulus and deciphering the scrambled channel only to learn who's dating whom in the on-going life of one ten-year-old Rachel Garrett. Christopher would have laughed if not for the tenseness of the current situation he found himself in.

"I've re-configured my sensors to subspace communications bands." Demora Sulu turned from the helm, her dark eyes as sobering as ever. "We have big company, sir."

"I have a tactical reading," Williamson said, an undertone of wonder tainting his professional voice. Del manipulated some controls, fine-tuning the computer's visual enhancers. The Christian science officer sent a silent prayer to his Maker when he saw what sensors revealed.

"On main viewer," Holt ordered.

A magnification of nearby space filled the forward view screen. Something black lay barely visible from the abysmal shadows of deep space. Computer enhancement filled in the blank spaces, revealing an object of almost scorpion shape.

Holt didn't recognize the form, but he couldn't imagine whatever it was -- organic or mechanical -- being designed with any other purpose in mind except for that of intimidation. "What is that?"

"Trouble if I ever seen it," Garrett mumbled, stepping toward the main viewer for a closer look.

"Unknown, Captain," Del said with regained composure. He continued manipulating ship's sensors, focusing them on his new-found subject. "It doesn't match any known ship configuration in the Federation archives."

"Is it a life form?" Holt asked, recalling the conversation earlier in the briefing room: here there be dragons. If it was some sort of space dragon - existing in the night of space in spite of clear daytime rational, it didn't look like it was in a very good mood.

"Unknown. Readings are mixed."

"'Unknown' isn't good enough, Mr. Williamson," Holt snapped. "I want answers."

"Yes, sir." Del redoubled his efforts, trying to make sense of the garbled readings his sensors were giving him, and wondering what information his captain was privy to concerning this mission. Holt rarely indulged in snits; when he did, it was a bad omen - Williamson had learned to interpret it as such. No time for any speculation, Del told himself, stick to the facts. Aha - here's a pretty solid one. "We're being scanned."

"Intensify foaward shields," Garrett ordered instantly.

Demora Sulu's deep eyes widened, twin pools of concern "It's closing on us."

******

Sidney Argos positioned her wheelchair in the entrance to her office in engineering. She could see the faint shimmer of a containment field flowering into existence around the intruder standing in the center of the engine room.

Swallowing a lump of fear that tried to lodge itself in her throat, the Valiant's prodigy engineer managed her most demanding tone of voice -- the one reserved for those special occasions where she chose to exercise her skills as a cast-iron, high-riding bitch. "Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing in my engine room?"

The alien intruder seemed to consider her with those white, pupil-less eyes for a moment, its reptile-like face unreadable. The flashing red alert lights gave the intruder a surreal quality that Argos didn't like; it lent itself well to the impression that the alien was some sort of voodoo demigod of Death. The intruder adjusted a control on its cyborg forearm -- a gesture that appeared casual, almost afterthought.

Sidney Argos spied Tio'chuk from the corner of her eye, appearing with a security team in the far entrance to engineering. Sid was about to give another show of verbal force, but found the alien's next action left her shocked and breathless.

It stepped through the containment field toward her, the whites of its eyes never wavering. Penetrating her. She suddenly became aware of her mortality, her thoughts racing for a strategy. Back up! her mind screamed at her, but her body refused to obey. Then a sudden rush of anger overwhelmed her at this potential threat to her shipmates. And my engines! she fumed. Her voice returned to her as suddenly as it had left, but before she could get any coherent words out, she realized someone else was already yelling.

"Freeze - or I'll shoot!" Tio'chuk's authoritarian roar echoed through engineering.

The alien turned.

Sid resumed breathing, wondering when she had stopped. She was grateful to have those probing eyes turned elsewhere - anyplace except on her; they were so cold and appraising, they made her feel like she was back in elementary school and had just flunked a math test all over again. No, this was worse. At least Tio'chuk had intervened before she had a chance to shoot of her mouth. Your outspokenness is going to get you killed yet! she chastised herself.

The alien considered the towering, lion-like security chief with no sign of fear. It walked steadily toward Tio'chuk.

The Valiant's security chief fired his phaser once at the intruder, to no consequence. He raised the intensity setting, and fired a second shot -- again with no effect. A third shot at full intensity proved no more useful.

It stopped five feet short of him, its presence as intimidating as the Chief's own. Its voice was a deep, surprisingly soulful enunciation of Standard language.

"I come by my people's behest. Do not enter the Void or you will surely perish. Heed the warning of the Cartha, we implore you."

With that, the alien vanished in a flash of light and lingering puff of foggy, black smoke.

Sid watched the smoke disperse through narrow eyes. "Showoff."

*****

"A warning? Or was it a threat?" Holt asked his security chief.

"I'm uncertain," Tio'chuk replied, bothered. An intruder had managed to slip aboard his ship right under his muzzle -- that wasn't good, to say the least. If the Cartha had the technology and stealth to beam unannounced aboard a ship that had its shields up, how could the security chief possibly do his job effectively? The captain, the warp reactor -- the whole ship amounted to nothing more than a sitting duck without an effective way of stopping further intrusions. "I've increased ship's security, but I recommend modifying the shields' harmonics to include subspace communications dampening. That may block whatever they're using as a teleportation carrier."

"Good idea," Holt told him. "How long will it take?"

"I already spoke to Commander Argos, and we can have modifications completed within the hour."

Garrett glanced at the now-empty star field on the main viewer. "If'n they was a threat, why wait 'til now? 'Less they're respons'ble foa our missin' ships, too..."

Williamson joined the trio at weapons. "Everything we know about the Cartha indicates they're a non-aggressive species. I don't think they were threatening us."

"Starfleet records also indicate the Cartha don't have the technologies we've witnessed here," Holt pointed out.

"True, our facts on the Cartha are sketchy," the science officer agreed. "I have three theories. One, this wasn't one of the Cartha and someone or someones were posing as them in an effort to more effectively dissuade us from entering the Void."

"A possibility I have thought of as well," Tio'chuk agreed. With all the life forms in the galaxy, it wouldn't be hard for a shape-shifting species or technologically advanced species to try pulling the fur over someone's eyes.

"Two," Del went on, "this was a Cartha sent to warn us away. They've been warning us about this section of space since we first met them, so it would fit."

"Whut about the technowl'gy discrepancies?" Garrett asked, eyeing an indexed tactical readout of the Cartha vessel on one security console.

"Their technological level may equal or surpass our own while remaining different enough to be misleading," Del explained patiently. "The facts we do have on the Cartha lead me to believe their society is based on some sort of caste system."

"Perhaps only certain castes have access to certain technologies," Tio'chuk speculated. "It would likely be as unthinkable to them to give any civilian who comes along access to an armed starship as it would be to us."

"Exactly," Del shook his head. "And in some cultures, divisions between classes of peoples are to the point of isolating each group. We wouldn't have necessarily come into contact with a Cartha military when our relation has been a peaceful one -- primarily trade."

"Whut's yer third theory, Del?" the first officer asked.

Williamson's expression darkened. "The Cartha could be misleading us. They may know what's going on and be using superstitions as a cover; they could have made the mistake of thinking we would react to folklore the same way their own people would."

Holt exchanged a silent look of worry with his first officer. "So according to this scenario, either they're being coerced by a third party, or they're hiding something in the Void themselves."

"Something to them worth killing for," Del added.

Holt let out a heavy sigh. "It appears we have more questions, gentlemen. Our goal, however, remains the same - threats or no threats." Holt retook the center seat, his eyes falling on the ensign at the helm. "Take us in."

The Void engulfed them.

*****

Demora Sulu entered her cabin, tired after a long day. She had just finished her routine workout, and wanted to wind down with a shower and a good book. She had initially taken up the martial arts at her father Hikaru's prompting, but over time had learned to appreciate them as a sort of physical spirituality; it acted on her as a focusing meditation, disciplining her mind and body while rejuvenating it.

She didn't bother turning on the lights -- she didn't want to disturb Sid, and went straight to the shower. She entered the bathroom and undressed in the dark while mentally reviewing the day's events. In moments, lukewarm water pounded her athletic body, kneading the cares of the universe from her muscles and slicking back her raven's hair. The tension had been building since the Valiant's contact with the Cartha intruder this morning. Since then, the Valiant had been systematically traversing the Void in search for clues to the disappearances. Nothing had turned up -- not so much as a single blip, but tensions had run high all afternoon nonetheless.

The water stopped. A blast of warm air gusted down from overhead, drying her body. She recalled her early career days, when all she had to look forward to at the end of a hard day was a sonic shower; running water showers were one of the amenities of rank. She slipped into a robe and stepped into the bedroom. A light burned low on the far wall, painting a picture of coziness and class that only a skilled decorator could achieve with a sterile starship's quarters.

"I was beginning to think I'd have to fish you out of the drain."

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" Demora asked, brushing back her hair with one hand and holding her robe closed with her other.

"No. Can't sleep."

"TOBY keeping you awake again?" Demora joked, passing Sid's mechanical prosthetic sidekick curled up in one corner of the bedroom like a metallic cat. Demora slid into bed next to Sidney, disquiet replacing her humor; Argos sat sullenly on her half of the bunk. Well at least she hasn't retreated to engineering, Demora thought. All too often that had happened in the past; fine-tuning the warp drive had a therapeutic effect on the engineer, but left the helmswoman feeling alone and absurd. Absurd for being jealous of the ship's engines. Valiant, the other woman, the other great love of Sidney Argos. Less a woman and more like a greedy child, Demora thought, then almost smiled when she realized how silly she sounded to herself. She brushed the notion aside, focusing her attention on the woman in bed next to her. "Want to talk about it?"

Sidney hurrumphed. Through the soft light she saw the compassion in Demora's eyes - and hated it. She hated compassion aimed at her as much as she hated anything else in the universe, because it was too close to pity - something she had seen in so many people's eyes over the years when they looked at her and saw her in the wheelchair. How often she felt like yelling at them 'Don't look at me that way! I'm no different than you - except my Achilles heal shows! Save your pity for yourselves, I don't need it - I don't want it!' So she had had the misfortune of contracting Dubois' Syndrome as a young child, which made her biology too fragile to risk the usual sorts of muscle treatments or bionic implants; she also had a genius the match of which could be found in only two other Federation citizens. When compared on the basis of intellectual prowess, most other people came out looking the moron. "There's nothing to talk about. I just had a moment of anxiety, that's all."

"Understandable," Demora reasoned.

"De, I don't need you to take care of me now. I'm fine. Really." "Really?" Demora raised a skeptical eyebrow. She marveled -- not for the first time -- at how a person could be as brilliant as Sidney Argos was, yet still be oblivious to such things as how to deal with emotions. But then, Hikaru Sulu had often told his daughter that genius came in many forms and with many blind spots, and everyone had a unique gift of self to offer the Universe.

"Look, just because I can't walk doesn't mean I need you to hold my hand every time I come out of a stresser," Sid shot back, sounding a little harsher than she had intended. She laughed in frustration, as much at herself as anything else. "It was no big deal; some alien beams into engineering, delivers a telegram, and beams back out. We should consider ourselves lucky it wasn't a singing telegram."

Demora brushed a strawberry lock from Sidney's face. "Maybe I'm the one who needs her hand held right now."

Sidney was about to protest, then the other woman's words penetrated. All Sid could do was look at Demora wordlessly.

"I was really scared I might lose you, Sid. You know it isn't every day some alien beams into engineering."

Sidney's expression softened, her face acquiring an angelic quality. "Hey, I'm sorry." She leaned over, planting her warm, pink lips passionately on Demora's, partly to comfort De, partly to comfort herself, but also because she couldn't bear the notion of this woman feeling pain over the compromise of Sid's own welfare. Sidney didn't want Demora to worry about her -- it drove Sid nuts and made her feel a little guilty -- though she didn't know why; at the same time, it gave her a sense of comfort -- a mixture of deep gratitude and love -- to know how much this woman that she loved returned that caring. They sank against the cabin wall in a snug embrace. Sid leaned back, looking fondly into Demora's soft doe eyes. "Guess I get so caught up trying to be an emotional superwoman, I sometimes forget to lower my shields in friendly territories."

Demora shook her head with a crinkle-eyed grin. "Something like that." "Come here, you," Sidney whispered.

Demora rested her head on Sidney's breast, and Sid began stroking her soft, ebony hair. Sulu sighed. "I know it doesn't do any good - especially considering we face life and death situations just about every day. Still, I can't help worrying about you sometimes, Sid."

Sidney dawned a wide, conspiratorial grin, biting some strands of De's rich, dewy hair playfully. "I think I know how to chase your worries away."

*****

"If something happens not soon, I will go bug eyed!"

"Patience, Mr. Traab."

"Patience? Easy for you to say, who longer lives than twelve years!"

Christopher Garrett stopped pacing. It was times like this that Traab's hyperactiveness started bugging the first officer. Still, he couldn't blame the lieutenant or his species for being overactive. "I see your point." His eyes lit with inspiration. "How-about focusing all the communications arrays at random coordinates to boost subspace band scans?"

"You humanoids are so creative," Traab chirped happily, already going to work with his four uppermost limbs.

"An' you insectoids, Mr. Traab, are so efficient."

"Scans completed. No communications detected." Traab turned, watching the Valiant's first officer expectantly.

"An' quick," Garrett added with an irritated sigh. If there were such a thing as 'over efficient', the Tij was it. On the other hand, the insectoid had improved scanning and communications time many-fold. "Try running it every minute -- and see if you can't get a reading on the local solar winds while you're at it," Garret ordered, grasping for straws. The first officer turned, relieved to see Fortgang exit the turbolift onto the bridge.

"Good evening, sir," Fortgang greeted, hands on the back railing and leaning over the captain's chair.

"Ev'nin', Lieutenant," Garrett returned gratefully. "The bridge is yours. If anything turns up --"

"Commander," Traab's excited falsetto came.

"Traab, matey, this'ad better be good," Garrett grumbled, trying to keep his temper in check.

"I've found something, sir."

*****

"-- And I blame this world for making a good man evil,
It's this world that can drive a good man bad,
And it's this world that turns a killer into a hero,
Well, I blame this world for making a good man bad..."

Bryan Holt sat quietly in his quarters, trying to seek momentary refuge from the stresses of the day in music. He had popped in an old rock classic from his very eclectic collection, a twentieth century tune called "Santa Fe" that was recorded for all posterity by its writer, Jon Bon Jovi. He didn't know a lot of starship captains that listened to twentieth century rock, but then he considered that to be their loss; there was something to be said about the simple and soulful poignancy of bluegrass-roots music. Every music hath its charm, or so his father had told him. George Holt had introduced his son to nearly every venue of music available over the span of Bryan's childhood - everything from "Klingon Opera" to "Horta Rattle and Burn". The communications expert felt it was important for his son to be exposed to the diverse cultural richness of music, and Bryan couldn't count all the times that his father had told him, "You can tell a lot about a people by their music; the attentive ear needs no translator for discovery."

Bryan took a sip of ice water, his attention wandering -- guided by the music -- to memories of a different place, a younger time. The lake in Maine on a sunny summer afternoon that seemed so close he could almost touch the wetness of the water and smell the scent of rich green grass, yet so distant by the changes time had made. It was nearly thirty-eight years ago, his ninth birthday. The last birthday he would share with both of his parents; his mother would die three months later, and things would be forever changed between Bryan and his father. He recalled how different the same piece playing now in his quarters on the Valiant had been to him back then in the bright green August day, with his father teaching him patiently the right way to cast a fly-rod, and his mother and sister nearby painting earthy oil renderings of the scenic beauty. The music had seemed so daring and swashbuckling in that memory, playing on the antique CD player that his father had brought along. Now the mood of it sounded more careworn and yoke-ridden. But it wasn't the music that had changed.

It had all started when his mother died. Now Bryan found himself wishing things had gone differently, that he could see his father one more time to tell him all those years of silence had been a mistake; but you can't tell someone that if they're missing . Maybe he would find the Discovery yet. Maybe he would find the Pike along with it. If he did his job, if he didn't overlook any details, miss any clues. And maybe all the people missing could be rescued and brought safely home. Unless they were already...

The cabin door chimed, sparing Holt the rest of his thought. He sat up a little straighter in his chair and turned the music down, setting his ice-water on a nearby stand. "Come."

The ship's C.M.O. stuck her head in the doorway. "Am I interrupting you, Captain?"

"Not at all, Ivalia." Bryan stood. "Come in, have a seat."

Ivalia Targrazella did just that, sitting where she often did when she came to have chats with the captain - right next to a wall of framed vinyl disks that Holt called "records". The Orien woman found the idea of storing sound on flat discs of vinyl amusing. She couldn't quite understand what Holt saw in keeping the old dust-catches around. After all, it wasn't as if they were useful; they held very little information - and that information was available in modern formats that recreated the stored sound in far superior quality. She chalked it up to nostalgic attachment, something she wasn't familiar with first-hand.

"I couldn't sleep," the doctor told him. She pointed a finger. "And I knew you wouldn't be able to, so I thought we might pass the time in a friendly game of 'Battleship'?"

Holt flashed her a boyish grin. He had introduced her to the holographic, 3-D version of his childhood game only a few weeks ago, and she came back for rematches whenever their schedules allowed. "I told you you'd be back for more punishment," he said, getting up to grab the game from his closet.

"You'll be singing a different tune after I mop the deck up with your battered hide." Ivalia gave him an exaggerated sneer, but couldn't keep the merriment from her eyes. She reminded Holt of his kid sister when her eyes smiled like that. Tammie, always trying to compete with Bryan, be one of the guys, but never taking the rivalry seriously enough to go all out and become a real tomboy. Holt couldn't help a friendly laugh. "Sometimes I think you got into the wrong profession, Doctor."

Ivalia batted her lashes innocently. "My mother taught me to clean up my messes after I was through making them."

"Ah, well I guess that explains it then," Holt said, trying to feign solemn understanding in spite of his persistent grin, and only half succeeding. No sooner had he set the game down on a table between them than the ship's comm sputtered to life, Garrett's voice echoing throughout the Valiant.

"All hands to your stations! Captain to the bridge!"

"Sorry, duty calls," Holt apologized, already at the door.

"You won't get out of it this easily next time," Targrazella warned, following suit.

*****

"Incoming at warp nine point nine!" Tio'chuk announced, his golden eyes concentrating on the blip on his security monitors.

Holt entered the bridge from the turbolift, Targrazella and Sulu at his heels. "Report."

Garrett relinquished the center seat to his captain. "Sens'rs show an energy surge on direct intercept. It matches our course changes beat per beat."

"Impact in forty seconds," Tio'chuk reported coolly.

"Mr. Tio'chuk, assessment - is it a missile?"

"There is a pronounced chance of that, Captain."

Garrett grasped the back railing with one hand, picking up on the captain's train of thought. "Evasive pattern delta."

"Launch countermeasures on my mark..." Holt watched the closing blip on his personal display, his eyes intense with concentration. "Fire!"

Two fiery orange torpedoes flashed from the Valiant's forward photon tubes as the starship banked hard to starboard. The ensuing explosion rocked the bridge, nearly knocking Garrett off his feet. Holt's eyes fell on Tio'chuk, the captain held his breath.

"Torpedoes had no effect," the security chief breathed, the fur on the back of his mane beginning to stand on end. "Impact in ten seconds."

"Argos, transfer all available power to the shields -- now!" Holt called urgently over his comm to engineering."

Tio'chuk's pupils sharpened with razor-edged nerves. "Impact in four, three, two --"

A flash of hungry, volatile energy filled the viewer, washing the bridge in its blinding green light.

"- One -"

Holt's senses were suddenly overloaded. The last thing he was aware of before complete whiteout - and then utter blackout - was the sensation of his body in mid-air, sailing head-over-heals across the bridge.

Nothingness.

END OF INSTALLMENT TWO
Posted 8/13/95
Part 3 Coming in September!

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