ftp.ee.pdx.edu/2014.02.ftp.ee.pdx.edu.tar/ftp.ee.pdx.edu/pub/frp/stories/startrek/adv2/turn35

Text File | 1994-09-10 | 35KB | 820 lines

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                           Star Trek: Play by E-Mail
                              The Forbidden Years
                               Campaign Write-up
===============================================================================
                                 Adventure #2
                              A Matter of Policy
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                   Turn #35
                                Chaos in Space
===============================================================================
              Copyright 1994 Jim Vassilakos / All Rights Reserved
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  Cast & Crew
  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------
  ST-PBeM GameMaster       Jim Vassilakos      [e-mail]
  Lt. T'lar                Ronnie Simonds      [e-mail]
  Lt. Morchainte           Brian Chrisman      [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. Duran          Tony Hayes          [e-mail]
  Lt. St. James            John Brengman       [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. de la Sangre   Carlos Jensen       [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. Hawkins        Tony Hayes          [e-mail]
  2nd Lt. Xelha            Dave Shue           [e-mail]
  Dr. Bannister            Jason Stripinis     [e-mail]
  Lt. K'tar                Steve Mays          [e-mail]


Stardate 6003.28 at 1310 Hours: USS Phobos, Sickbay
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Bannister can't quite manage to suppress a yawn as he enters sickbay. He
hasn't even got a minute's sleep since arriving on the Phobos, and he's missed
the morning's meeting (which he himself called) by a full five hours so far. He
looks around, finally focusing his eyes on the medical receptionist, one
Crewman Timothy Brown, at least according to his file.

The young man stands up when he notices Jake. "Good afternoon, sir. Crewman
Brown."

"I know. Call me Doc... that's what everyone else does. About this morning's
meeting," Jake smiles an apology, "I've been pretty busy with another sort of
patient recently."

Tim nods, "Commander Hawkins called in and informed us that you'd be a bit
overdue."

"Well, if I'd known it would be five hours..." he sighs. "Anyway, I'm just
stopping by for a moment. I need to hit my quarters and catch a shower, but if
the staff is still up for it, I'd like to get to that meeting. We have a lot of
work to do, and we need to get organized. Can you get everyone over here in
say... thirty minutes?"

"No problem."

Jake grins, "Good. I'll be on time this time, barring any major catastrophes
that is." He sighs again and heads toward his quarters, only to discover that
he still hasn't unpacked. His copious quantities of baggage rest on the floor
where he left them yesterday evening. He sighs and unzips one, rummaging out a
clean if crumpled uniform and some toiletries, and steps into the shower a
minute later. He leans against the stall's wall as the water washes down his
neck and back, tempting him to fall asleep right where he's standing. "Can't be
late twice in one day." He sits down in the tub, the warm water collecting
around the cheeks of his rump, as he closes his eyes for a moment, just to
savor the sensation. A moment later the sirens are howling, and his eyes are
wide open with stark, screaming terror.

'Red Alert?! Oh my God!'


Stardate 6003.28 at 1320 Hours: USS Phobos, Shuttle Hanger B
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hawkins personally supervises the task of getting the Phobos' one standard
shuttle up to spec, but just watching his tired engineers go about their
business is an exercise of some delicacy. Many of them haven't seen a minute of
shut-eye in over 24 hours, and from the looks of things, the field replicators
just aren't gonna be enough given the amount of time they have to work with.
The main problem right now is one of conflicting goals. While Blacksmith is
working on trying to get a non-fluctuating overload that mimics the Phobos, the
other techs are working on increasing the engine-life. First he makes a fix,
and then they make a fix effectively undoing his fix, and then he does another
fix which basically undoes their fix, and so forth and so on, confusing the
heck out of everyone as each new diagnostic of the system shows that they're
basically paddling in separate directions. To compound it, everyone is
irritable, tired, and above all else, confused as to the basic reason for this
entire ordeal.

Hawkins sighs, rubs his face, and then blinks the lights a few times. "Okay,
ever-body gather 'round. I was hopin' to extend the duration of the shuttle's
trip, but this is takin' too long, so we're gonna concentrate on just gittin'
it ready, and then we can worry about tweaking things to enhance the duration.
Now everyone's dead tired. I know, I'm sorry. So, Sloan, Ross, Peters, and
Gunn, you all are off-duty for six hours. Git outta here, git some rest an'
I'll see y'all back here later." Hawk waits until they file out. "Okay,
Blacksmith, Woods, and Chung, I kept y'all since you know the most about
engines. As I said, ta hell with duration, at least for the time being. Let's
just git this damn thing rigged for the overdrive as best we can. In six hours,
when the others come back, y'all are off for eight. Okay, let's git back at
it."

Everyone returns to work on modifying the engines for overdrive. Hawkins,
meanwhile, goes to the computer and loads up a music chip from his Cousin
Emily, a mix of various country and rock artists. He then gets everyone coffee
and some food, and they all eat with one hand and work with the other while the
high tempo music keeps them from passing out.

That is until the red lights start flashing, and the speakers switch from
modern country to something considerably less annoying (i.e., red alert
sirens).

"What the..." Hawkins bolts for a comm-port. "Bridge... what's going on up
there?!"


Stardate 6003.28 at 1325 Hours: USS Phobos, Bridge
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Zero failures on the diagnostic," T'lar intones.

"This can't be right. Run it again."

"I already ran it twice. Are you sure you're not seeing things?"

"Look for yourself," Pacal slides over, making some room as T'lar consults his
readings. "Well?"

"To quote a phrase... most fascinating."

Pacal sighs, hitting the comm-button on his console.

"Lt. Pacal to Captain de la Sangre."

"Yes?" Vince's voice buzzes over the intercom.

"Sir, I've been getting some anomalous energy readings off the port sensor
arrays."

"You're getting a what where?!?"

"Anomalous energy readings," Pacal repeats, as though it's most intuitive thing
in the world.

The Captain's voice sputters in confusion. "Any idea what could be causing it?"

"Captain, as I said before, the localized subspace variation is uncharted along
this course. At first I though it was just some sort of sensor ghost, but I ran
a level one diagnostic..."

Vince gulps, "What did you say?!"

"Uh... a level one dia..."

"No before that. You say it looked like a sensor 'ghost'?"

"Well, sir, I really don't think that it's anything important since this area
is not heavily travelled. Just wanted to keep you abreast of all information."

Vince grits his teeth, "I fear it is far more important than you think. We are
being followed by a cloaked ship, have been ever since we left Albuquerque, if
my guess is right. Try to give me a distance and heading, and keep a lock on
it."

"Uh... a lock isn't really possible, sir. But the readings are on the port aft
approximately 280 mark 17, with a distance of a little over ten thousand
c-secs."

"I think we have just spotted our pursuers. Mierda, they are closer than I
feared! Get everyone else to their battlestations, shields up, NOW PEOPLE, NOW!
This is not a drill!"

He looks over his shoulder at K'tar as the red alert siren begins wailing,
"Would we be able to bring a Romulan Warbird to a halt if we hit her with all
we had?"

K'tar gives him a worried look as he follows Vince to the bridge. "Supposing
that her cloak was up and, consequentially, her shields down, that would not be
a problem. But Sir, I would strenuously advise that we do _not_ raise shields.
If this is a Romulan vessel, then it would not be a good idea to let them know
that we are aware of their presence."

"You are absolutely right." He looks toward the chief navigator. "Do not raise
the shields, Lt. Xelha."

"Uh... sorry sir. Too late."

Vince curses.

"Sir, pardon my asking, but is there any reason that a Romulan ship would be
tailing us? If they detect our A/M containment problem, they would do well to
stay clear for..."

"Weeeell, we don't actually have that much of an A/M problem." He sits down.
"I'll explain later, Pacal, but just for your personal information, A/M
containment is fine."

Pacal looks up at him, wondering if the captain has gone completely mad. Then
he realizes that the scanner blip is on the verge of disappearing again.

"Sir, I can only keep a general lock on the echoes. From the sensor's point of
view, it's just a stray energy reading. The Romulans must be doing something
strange to even appear on our scanners. Maybe they are using intense energy
scans on us. That would also explain their close distance."

"In other words," K'tar grunts, "once they drop their scans, we will lose sight
of them. We must attack now, sir!"

Pacal looks up, "Sir, we could try changing our speed to see if the echo
matches our bearing."

"No. That might tip them off. Hold present course until we are ready." Vince
sits in his command chair, mulling over the situation in his mind. 'Okay,
we have spotted the enemy, and they are close, but if I make one false move, we
could end up getting blasted to bits. There's no way this old junket can
withstand a head-to-head with a start-of-the-art Romulan warship. God, why did
I sign on for this mission?'

"They are still approximately at the same heading," Pacal reports, "although
their distance from us appears to be varying between ten and twelve thousand
C-secs. It's odd sure. Like their vector is more of a jagged line than a
straight course."

"Those are evasive maneuvers," K'tar explains. "The newer cloaking devices are
capable of sustaining their function during course changes."

"Amazing." Vince gulps, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Madre de Dios,
these guys will kick our ass."

Pacal, meanwhile, rolls his eyes, wondering what he's started. "May I point
out, sir, that we still don't know for sure if it really is another ship!"

"Good point. Can any of you think of anything that would cause such an effect
if it were not a ship following us?"

The bridge crew exchanges worried glances, but nobody offers up another
explanation.

"I didn't think so," Vince concludes, feeling the overwhelming urge to drain
his bladder. Suddenly he feels a hard slap on the shoulder, and nearly cries
out from surprise. Axel's there, grinning from ear to ear. "Y'all hit the red
alert button on accident... didn't ya."

"Afraid not, AJ. We've got a tailgater on our hands. A cloaked one. See if you
and Tsandzia can work some magic on the scanners. Try to pinpoint their
location more exactly, so we can get a phaser lock. Triangulate or something,
what do I know... just make yourselves useful!"

A moment later, Hawkins comes striding in. "What in God's name is going on?"

"See for yourself," Vince points to the scanner readings now displayed on the
main viewer.

"What the..."

"I've talked it over with your assistant here," Vince motions toward K'tar,
"and he thinks we'll be able to knock the wind out of them if we take them with
their shields down, and give it all we have at once. The only problem is in
getting a weapons lock."

"I may be able to solve that," the Klingon states. "A modulated lepton-neutrino
stream can pin-point the vessel's precise locations, given that we have a
general idea of their direction."

Vince looks toward Hawkins, "Is this true, chief?"

Hawkins casts a long glance at the Klingon. "Well, there has been some research
on the subject, but it's all still in the theoretical stages."

"Theoretical for you, human. Not for the Klingon Empire. I will have to modify
your primitive sensor equipment, but that will not be a problem."

"How long?"

"Uncertain. Given the state of this ship, it may a require a miracle... er...
some time."

Vince rolls his eyes, "How much time?"

"I shall investigate." K'tar turns and exits, leaving a gust of testosterone-
laden fumes in his wake.

Vince looks to Hawkins. "Frankly speaking, if we have even the slightest
possibility of shutting it down, I would like to give it a shot. My only fear
is that if we miss, we may not get a second shot."

Hawkins, somewhat edgy due to fatigue, fingers the wax out of his ear. "Way I
figger it, raisin' the shields an' all kinda gave 'em a clue we might suspect
they're there."

"Yes, a slip of the tongue... ehh... I mean, steps are being taken and all
that." Vince sinks into his chair.

"However, it's not uncommon for ships ta practice battle drills. If ya launched
a few probes an' had K'tar or somebody take a few pot-shots, then dropped the
shields, they might... jus' might... think it was jus' a drill."

"Yes, splendid idea. Transmit a message to Albuquerque, standard frequency,
unencrypted. Tell them that we are about to commence the battle drill as
scheduled. Cross your fingers everyone..."

Trozena starts hitting several buttons on his console, "Transmitting the
message, sir."

Hawkins, meanwhile, seems a bit pleased with himself. "If we sent one probe in
their direction, we could even miss and send a few shots their way ta see how
the anomaly responds."

"No, we are already in enough hot water. If they feel threatened, you can bet
they will open fire."

"Assuming they still can," Hawkins grins. "Then again, if ya miss, ya might
jus' piss 'em off."

"I know, I know..." Turning to the pair working on the scanners. "AJ, how are
those scans going?"

Axel frowns slightly, "Passive scans ain't gonna tell much. We can go to
active, but they'll know it. And if ya want some really decent scans, we'll
have to drop shields as well."

"That's exactly what they're waiting for," Vince mutters.

Tsandzia, meanwhile, chews a lip. "If they are scanning us, they're not being
overt about it. I'm not picking up any trackable signals."

"Oh great," Pacal remarks. "They vanished. Wait, no, a very subtle distortion
wave, roughly the same location."

"They might be following us, taking very brief scans over a long duration,"
Tsandzia comments. "Sir, I can program the shields to emit a random flux that
should essentially block their scans. But it'll substantially reduce shield
strength."

Vince fidgets in his seat, feeling virtually engulfed by the dizzying array of
options and the utter lack of hard data. "C'mon people. Can't you give me
anything more with passive scanners? Axel? Tsandzia? Pacal?"

Pacal looks up, slightly startled by the mention of his name. "Sir, all I've
got is some random anomalous readings from the port arrays. It may well be
sensor drivel. The energy reading is constantly changing as well as the
duration of the pulse. Perhaps if I run a sample through an FFT conversion..."
His eyes suddenly widen, "Awesome. It matches an FFT transform of the normal
energy readings of our own warp emissions. They are really trying to make it
look like an echo!"

Tsandzia smirks, "Either that, or it really is an echo. Maybe you can go for
higher resolution."

"Not with shields up," Axel comments.

Tsandzia turns to Vince, "Sir, my program is ready. I think I can generate
subspace noise using the shields to stop their scans. Right now, they're
probably trying to determine our 'passenger' compliment."

Vince almost jumps out of his chair. "Okay, damnit. Run the program. Trozena,
as soon as the program is activated, inform the Albuquerque our prototype
shields have been activated and are being tested. I only hope they buy this
lump of bull. T'lar, drop us out of warp. Kris, launch sensor probes as soon as
you're ready."

"Shield-flux enabled," Tsandzia informs. "If we can keep them from finding
anything, I think they'd leave rather than risk a useless attack."

"No, they won't leave. Not after coming this far."

"Well, they certainly wouldn't attack us without being certain that Sarin is
aboard."

Various crewmembers look toward Tsandzia, all somewhat startled.

"Oops. Forget I said that."

A light-bulb clicks on somewhere over Pacal's head. "You mean... aww man!"

Vince sighs, "Someday, Tsandzia, we're just gonna tape that mouth of yours shut
for good." He glances toward Hawkins. "How's K'tar doing down there? How long a
time, approximately, is he going to take? We can't keep pretending to have an
exercise all day you know."

Hawkins opens a line down to the sensor arrays, only to hear a fit of Klingon
curses amidst some rather loud banging.

"Hmm... I'd say it'll be a while yet." Hawkins turns to the comm unit,
"Remember, this is an *antique*!" then quickly closes the connection before the
Klingon can affirm his statement.

"Any activity from our 'friends' yet?" Vince looks around his bridge, now
sweat-soaked and twitching with the anticipation of battle. "If they so much as
vibrate, I want to know."

"They've dropped out of warp also. They're maintaining their distance. Just
outside of tactical weapons range."

"Correction, we *might* be able to hit them with phasers," Kris mentions.
"Still unable to get a weapons lock, however. I'd have to eyeball it."

Vince nods, "Hawkins, maybe this is an opportunity for one of those warp-jumps.
Hawkins?" He looks around, but the chief engineer is gone. "Oh... perfect. Just
perfect. Okay, Trozena, branch the PA through exo-comm, and direct to
Albuquerque. I want *everyone's* attention." Vince hits the PA switch on his
command chair.

"The testing of the new weaponry, face 1, will commence on the count of ten. I
repeat, we will begin the tests at minimum power on the count of ten."
Switching off the PA, he lets out a nervous breath and wipes the sweat of his
forehead. "Pacal give us a countdown. On ten I want full power to all weapons
systems."

"Uh, aye sir." Pacal steps up to the engineering console, wondering how he's
going to figure out how the execute the order inside of ten seconds, while
counting backwards, no less. "Ten... nine... eight..."

"Still unable to get a phaser lock with this shield flux," Kris intones, "and
our p-torps don't have a chance in hell of reaching them. Sir, even if we do
hit, at this range, we're not going to do very much damage."

"...seven... six... five..."

"Then get us closer, and Tsandzia, cut that damn static!"

"...four... three..."

"Aye sir," T'lar hits the gas. "Aye sir," Tsandzia kills the shield-flux.

"...two... one..."

"Got a lock!"

"Fire!!!"

The torpedoes emerge from the Phobos' bowels eager for their prey, phasers
blazing with gleaming crimson fury. All is silent on the bridge until the spray
of intense light streaks across every crevice of every startled face. Then
there's the sudden gasp of victory.

"Direct hit! Sir, they're bolting."

"What do those sensors say?!"

"Uh..." Tsandzia gulps, "Oh my."

"What!?"

"It doesn't look like a romulan ship. More like some sort of trader. I'm
not even picking up any weapons on it. They're up to warp four and increasing."

"Shit! Follow them! Don't lose them out of your sight. This is the exact trick
they used to get aboard the Albuquerque. I want a lock on them."

"Aye sir," T'lar's fingers scramble across her console, stepping the Phobos
up to warp six."

Vince turns to AJ. "Go through the logs, they might have transported someone
on board. Sound an intruder alert just in case."

"Security alert initiated," Kris responds, getting a weird gleam in her eyes
as she lines the unknown vessel up in her sights.

Axel, meanwhile, shakes his head. "The only chance they would've had was when
we dropped out of warp earlier this morning, but sensors should've shouted at
us if we were being boarded."

"Logs don't show a speck of carrier waves," Tsandzia concurs.

"Well, then cancel the alert... and open hailing frequencies."

"They are not acknowledging, Captain."

"They don't have to acknowledge. All they have to do is listen. This is Captain
Vincent de la Sangre, Commanding Officer of the United Federation Starship
Phobos. Identify yourselves at once."

Trozena shakes his head, "No response."

"You are in violation of trespassing upon Federation space. Respond now or
else..." Vince takes a deep breath, searching for the most diplomatic way of
threatening them, "...or else you won't like what will happen to you." He drags
a finger across his neck, tacitly commanding Trozena to cut the transmission.

"They are increasing speed to warp 7," T'lar informs.

"Stay with them."

Kris looks over from her tactical station. "I say we board the ship and try to
bring her out of warp."

"Not at warp 7," Vince looks angry. "I've seen what that can do to people first
hand, and it's not pretty."

"Has anyone considered transporting *them* here?" T'lar suggests. "It'll
involve no risk to the crew... well... to OUR crew."

"Can we get a lock on any lifeforms?"

"Uhh..." Tsandzia watches her sensor display, "I'm counting eleven of them. I
think we can get a transporter lock if we manage to match speeds, but the
minute shifts in power output at this velocity might..." Tsandzia pauses as she
notes a peculiar energy build-up in the warp nacelles of the fleeing vessel.
She yelps, "Uh-oh. They're running so fast, they're overdriving their engines.
At this rate they'll blow inside five minutes!"

"Whatever we do, we have to do it now," Kris states, looking toward Vince for
some form of guidance. At that precise moment, however, the turbolift doors
hiss open, revealing her new assistant chief.

"I thought you were supposed to be watching Duran," she hisses as quietly as
she can, yet still be heard over the tangible hum of the warp engines.

"I thought he was on the bridge."

"Well who's guarding Sarin?"

He gulps, "You mean you didn't send anyone?"


Stardate 6003.28 at 1330 Hours: USS Phobos, Turbolift #1
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Duran leans against the turbolift wall, wondering exactly how he's going to get
past Ekstrom. Kris, no doubt, gave him stern orders not to let anybody see the
good Ambassador, especially not any blue guys with or without towels wrapped
around their waists. As the turbolift comes to a halt, however, and he makes
his way toward T'lar's quarters, he can't help but notice that neither Ekstrom
nor any other security guards are anywhere is sight. 'Hah! I quit, and next
thing you know, security is in shambles." He keys open the lock and walks
inside, expecting to see Sarin waiting patiently for his return. Sarin isn't
there, however. Nobody is. Duran stares from corner to corner as the red alert
siren begins to blare its awful music.

"Damn... Khemsa to Bridge."

He can barely hear the automatic recording over the sirens. "The Phobos is at
red alert. Please report to your station and await instructions."

Obviously, the communications lanes are clogged, everyone and the mother
probably calling the bridge to find out what's going on. Khemsa grits his
teeth, pulling out his security tricorder and running scans for traces of
vaporized vulcan or the residue of transporter carrier waves. When he finally
decides that there are none, Kris comes running in, out of breath and looking
more than a bit peeved.

"Where the heck is Sarin?!"

"You tell me. There were no guards when I arrived. I took a full scan of the
area," he hands her the tricorder.

"Duran, if you did anything to him, I promise you..."

"Save it, Kris. I'm as mystified about this as you."

She pulls out her communicator, using her personnel code as the security chief
to cut past the recorded message and obtain direct access to the command chair.
"Sir, we have a little problem here."

"What is it, I'm a little busy right now."

"Sarin's missing?"

"What!?!"

"I'd like to run a sensor sweep of the ship, key on lifeforms... vulcans in
specific."

"For Christ's sake, St. James! Where were your people?!"

Kris winces, unable to tell him that she sent Ekstrom out to tail the Andorian
secret agent. "Sir, there will be time for reprimands later. But right now, I
need that scan."

Vince groans, knowing that internal sensors aboard the Phobos are nothing
compared to what they had aboard the Typhoon, Kris' old ship. "We'll do what we
can. But meanwhile, you'd better run your own security sweep."

"Aye sir."

Duran heads for the door, "I'm going to the brig to check on our other
passenger. In the meantime, you might want to do as the Captain says."


Stardate 6003.28 at 1340 Hours: USS Phobos, Brig
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sarin enters the brig, finding all much as he had envisioned: the chameleon
curled up in the corner, a huge grey blanket entwined about her body, and
most important of all, no guards. For the first several seconds, she is
entirely oblivious to his presence, only semi-conscious and dreaming of
revenge. He shuts down the forcefield, the sudden static pop loud enough that
she turns about, squinting as he switches on the light.

"You recognize me, Histlin? I am Sarin. The one you have come to slay."

"How do you know my name?" She grips her blanket like a shield.

"I know many things about you."

"Then you know that I serve the Romulans no longer."

Sarin grimaces, "I don't have time for idle debate. Know only that if you serve
me in my need, I will grant you pardon for your crimes. I have prepared for
this moment for many days, and our time is short. Just relax and be still. I
will not harm you."

She cringes as he approaches, trying to flatten herself into the corner of the
cell even as he places his fingers upon her forehead.

"What are you doing?!"

"Only that which I must."

"No. Please! No!!"

Her screams echo down the corridor, until they reach Duran as he exits the
turbolift and breaks into a sudden sprint. The forcefield at the brig's
entrance is engaged, however, slowing him down until he can key in the override
sequence. A moment later, he's inside, gaping as he sees the vulcan ambassador
clenching Histlin's head in both of his hands like some deranged maniac.

"Sarin! Back away from her, now!"

The Vulcan ignores him, however, intertwined with Histlin in some mutual
trance. Oblivious to the possible hazards of broken mind melds, Duran rushes in
and pulls Sarin away from Histlin, throwing him onto a nearby cot. "What the
hell do you think you are doing?!" Keeping one eye on Sarin, he gets Histlin to
the other cot and lays her down. "Are you okay? Histlin? Can you hear me?"

She doesn't respond, however, barely breathing, cognizant of nothing save the
images flashing before her eyes.

"If you've hurt her, Sarin, our deal is off, and I will personally tear your
fuckin' heart out with my bare hands." Duran's voice is cold and even, making
it clear that this is not an angry threat but an oath of vengeance, but even as
he makes it, he becomes vaguely aware that Sarin's mind is not in the present,
but somewhere else, perhaps very far away.

Duran shakes Histlin, "C'mon, snap out of it!"  He stops and moves instead to
Sarin, "You're in control of this. Now... let....go!" He backhands the vulcan
to no avail. Then again. "Sarin!!!"

Suddenly the ambassador blinks his eyes, shaking off the cacophony of voices in
his mind. He stares up at Duran for a long moment, slowly realizing what must
have happened. "You tore us apart? You fool, let me see her." Sarin struggles
to get up.

"Security to transporter room #2. Security to transporter room #2," the PA
blares. Duran looks up at it for a moment, then over to Histlin. Unlike Sarin,
she didn't snap out of it.

"Help her, then back off." Duran sits on the other cot, phaser in hand,
watching Sarin for any signs of further "foul play", not quite sure what that
would look like, but watching for it all the same.

Sarin takes the chameleon in his hands, just as before, closing his eyes and
concentrating. A minute later she's sobbing, pushing him away, then flinging
herself at Duran more out of fear of the vulcan than any need for protection.

"No!! Those bastards! Noooo!"

Duran holds her for a long moment, until her tears slowly subside. It is then
that he remembers that black and gold poster outside the recruitment office on
Andor. "Join Star Fleet", it said, "Tour the galaxy. Meet interesting aliens.
And sleep with them!"

Sarin, meanwhile, seems to be reading his mind. "All in a day's work, eh
Duran?"

"I'll deal with you in a minute." He looks at Histlin, "Are you okay?" She
doesn't answer, however, except to stare off into empty space.

"Histlin, I'm sorry this happened, but you've got to answer me."

"I saw them dying."

Duran's eyes narrow. "Who?"

"My people. Hundreds. Thousands of them. They were in agony."

"It was only a dream," Duran croaks out, hoping he's right. "Look, I need to
put you in the cell over here for now." He walks her to a different cell and
raises the forcefield, "I'll get you your blanket and other things in a little
bit. Right now I need to talk with Sarin and let everyone know where he is."

"Don't leave," she pleads.

"I told you I would protect you. I will not let anything happen to you." He
takes a deep breath and steps out, walking back over to the other cell with a
stiff jaw and a tightening fist.

"Wanna tell me what the hell you were doing?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No!"

Sarin rubs his temples, then sits down on the cot. If he has anything to say in
his own defense, however, he seems to find the words unnecessary.

"What was it, Ambassador. Some kind of mind meld? I thought you were going to
let me help you." Duran is barely able to contain his anger.

"You know," Sarin begins, "your present mood reminds me of Kristin. You
certainly seem to be taking pointers from her."

Duran grits his teeth, "I've been meaning to thank you about that. Me and
Kris... don't seem to get along."

Sarin nods, "You seem to illicit that response from people."

"SFIC seems to scare people. If there is no guilt, why fear SFIC?"

"Indeed, your sense of duty is dwarfed only by your innocence." He regards the
andorian with a keen eye. "Tell me... what Histlin said she saw... do you
believe it to be a notion I planted in her mind?"

"What else?"

Sarin shrugs, "Perhaps in the weeks to come you shall think differently."

"You trying to tell me that she saw into the future?"

"What if I am?" Sarin stands back up. "What if it were possible to see the
future... and to change it?"

Duran takes a deep breath, "I didn't come here for a philosophical discussion.
Even if it were possible, she has no psionic abilities."

"No, she doesn't, but I do, and those of my mentor are greater still." Sarin
reaches out, touching Duran's cheek.

<*> One of us is gonna have to kill him. There isn't no other way anymore. <*>

The voice is scratchy and somewhat murky, as though slithering forth from the
aft-end of a dream.

Duran reels back, reflexively smacking Sarin's arm to the side. Then there's
a cold silence as they stare back at one another.

"My final breath is close, you know," Sarin states rather bluntly. "You're
going to have to make a choice."

"What choice? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the ends and the means. The path of law versus that of
foresight. Nothing less than the destiny of this Federation."

Duran sighs, trying to calm down. "Look, I need you to be a little less
cryptic. I want to help you. I really do. But I need to understand what's going
on! I need the gaps to be filled in. If there is some decision that needs to be
made, I have to have all the facts in order to make it intelligently. That is
logical, isn't it!?"

"More or less," Sarin sits down again.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The crux of our conflict is that we are unwilling to trust each other."

"Sarin, if you can't trust the secret service, then who can you... oh, forget
it." Duran rubs his face, slowly coming to the realization that _nobody_ trusts
the SFIC, not even an ambassador of his own government.

Sarin leans forward, "There is only one solution to such a conflict. One of us
must trust the other."

"I've already come half way. More than half way."

"Not by my perceptions. You have done nothing more than interrogate me."

"You mean ask you questions? Ambassador, to be perfectly honest, I have very
little information overall. It would be most helpful if you could tell me what
_exactly_ is going on."

"What _exactly_ do you know?"

Duran sighs, "What I have been told is that you are giving classified
technology to the Klingons, and that you have external agents assisting you."

"I see. And what more do you need to know?"

"I need details. I need to know what you have offered, who is working with you,
and most importantly why you are doing this."

Sarin nods slowly, then looks directly at the andorian without so much as a
blink of his eye. "The Klingon Empire, as you may already know, has been
fighting a variety of wars for the past several decades. It's resources are all
but exhausted, and according to current forecasts, there is a strong likelihood
that it will fragment and finally collapse upon itself sometime over the next
several years. In fact, the process has already begun."

"What does that have to do with you?"

"If the Empire folds, the Federation will face an even greater menace along its
borders. Imagine, if you will, thousands of fleeing Klingon vessels. In back of
them, thousands of Kinshaya destroyers... imagine the Romulans, ever-greedy for
the conquest of stars, suddenly seizing the initiative... and imagine the glee
of the Cardassians when they notice our fleets abandoning the spinward border
in order to take part in a war on the opposite side of Federation Space."

Duran shakes his head, "Just theories."

"No. Not theories. Reality. Our future reality. All this has been foreseen, and
all of it can be prevented. If the Klingons fall, it will not be because they
were outgunned. It will be because they were starved into submission. My
mission..." he stops, biting his lip.

Duran stares back, "Go ahead. Finish."

"Your friends... they draw near."


                      _   /|        Jim Vassilakos
                      \`o_O'        [e-mail]
                        ( )         [e-mail]
                         U          Riverside, California

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