Summary: After several difficult missions, the crew of the USS Enterprise
is looking forward to a milk-run: ferrying supplies and personnel for a
brand new starbase. But what is the meaning behind the strange
transmissions coming from sector 31? The third Larssen story.
DISCLAIMER: I believe that Shimona belongs to Barbara Hambly, and the
Sulamids, Harb Tanzer and Moira the Games Computer to Diane Duane. I fully
acknowledge their ownership of these characters, and I hope they will take
my borrowing of these characters as a tribute, because they between them
wrote five of the six Trek novels I reread annually. I particularly hope
that Ms Duane will not be cross with me because she did pop up on this list
a couple of weeks ago, and I also particularly hope that Ms Hambly won't be
cross with me for nicking not only one of her characters but also the name
of another of her characters as my nom de screen.
The StarTrek universe, trademark, characters and so on are owned by
Paramount/Viacom, as we so often acknowledge. This is a not-for-profit
work, a labour of love, and no infringement is meant. And we all know that
where no offence it taken, none is given, right? Winning smile.
Larssen, of course, belongs to me.
NOTES: This is the third of a trilogy of stories I wrote 15 years ago, reposted here at a reader's request. I apologise for the formatting - like the others, this was originally posted to a newsgroup, and so is formatted to display correctly there, not here.
In addition, I'd note that much has changed in our own world in 15 years, and this story even more than the others reflects some of the concerns and behaviours of the time it was written.
These stories (this, The Difference
It Makes, and The Fruits of Diplomacy)
are set in a 'nowhere' time in the first mission. That
is, lots of familiar crew are aboard, and they have been
for quite a while (even late additions such as Chekov)
and some crew who were only in one season of TOS are
still here (like Janice Rand) It's well before the end
of the first five year mission and Kirk's promotion to
the admiralty, they're all young and gorgeous, and I've
probably given some of bridge crew inadvertent promotions.
If you want to let me know that I've given some one the
wrong rank, or that I've put Sickbay in completely the
wrong place, or something, feel free. I can't promise to change it, though.
I have totally screwed up the rank structure, and didn't find out until I
finished this story – and quite frankly, couldn't deal with changing it. So,
in the universe of *my* stories, the ranks go (from lowest to higher)
Ensign, Yeoman, Lieutenant j-g, Lieutenant, Lieutenant-Commander, Commander,
Captain. I don't think there are any crewmen on my Enterprise. Sorry,
everybody.
The other substantial difference is that in my StarTrek universe, promotions
are generally reliant on successfully passing examinations administered by
Starfleet, with the exception of a field promotion, which is rare – and
impressive. I think I made this up after reading The Entropy Effect, in
which Kirk says to Sulu that having a field promotion on his record would
make the desk-bound paper-pushers in Starfleet sit up and take notice. It's
been pointed out to me that having to go sit an examination for every
promotion would be a) impractical and b) not really measure the sort of
skills that Starfleet requires, but by the time this was drawn to my
attention I had already worked it so deeply into this plot that I couldn't
extract it.
I have used the system of stardates that holds there are about 1000
stardates to a Terran year (i.e. roughly 3 per 24 hour day)
I have assumed, for the purpose of this story, that Starbases are
named after the sector of space they're in (Starbase 3 in Sector 3
etc) and that sectors are numbered in order, so sector 5 is next to
sector 6, sector 21 is next to sectors 22 and 20 and so on. I know
this is not 3 dimensional and is probably wrong and illogical, but it
was the best I could do.
Both dates and places are important to this story.
This story takes place about two or three months after the end of The Fruits
of Diplomacy, which itself follows on from The Difference it Makes. I will warn any potential readers (if the sheer
size of this doesn't put you off) that there are things in here that refer
back to both The Difference It Makes and The Fruits of Diplomacy. Some
things may not make sense to you, if you haven't read it.
" " marks indicate speech (no kidding!)
~ ~ marks indicate thought or telepathy.
Imagine a door opening. Nothing unusual, nothing
special about the door. Just a door.
Opening.
Slowly.
And you know what's in the room.
And you can't run away.
No matter how hard you try, you can't run away.
You can only watch the door, opening.
"Itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout."
Down came the rain and washed poor Itsy out.
Up came the sun and dried up all the rain, and
Itsy bitsy spider went up the spout again."
Starbase 34, final transmission, Stardate 1634.3
"All crew, this is Lieutenant Commander Uhura. We are
now in final preparation to undock and leave orbit
around Vulcan on this lovely sunny day of Stardate
1584.1. Final board call will be at 1700 hours. Please
return to the ship at your earliest convenience. repeat,
final board call will be at 1700 hours. Undock will be at
1800 hours. All crew mixer will be at 1900 hours.
System exit at 2100 hours. Please return to the ship at
your earliest convenience."
Uhura closed the channel, and swung around in the
centre seat. "How's the boarding coming, Janice?" she asked.
"Nearly complete." Janice Rand answered from Uhura's
usual place at the communications console. "Four
hundred and eleven crew have checked in. Of the
twenty two remaining, three are Dr McCoy, Commander
Spock and the captain. Eleven crew have answered
page to inform us they will be beaming back within the
next half hour. The seven outstanding are yet to
respond."
"Keep me posted on those seven," Uhura said, although
they had three hours to go before the end of alpha shift
and the Enterprise's departure. It was axiomatic that
the Enterprise waited for no-one, but it was equally
axiomatic that they never left crew behind.
"Yes, ma'am." Rand said.
Uhura opened another channel. "Mr Singh, this is Uhura
in the chair. Status of provisioning?"
"Complete, ma'am." said Singh, and was silent, being a
man of few and telling words.
"Very good, thank you, Mr Singh." Uhura said, and
switched channels.
"Mr Scott, are we green for go?"
"Aye, lass, we're more a pale green than a bright
green, but without a few more weeks here it's as good
as she'll get."
Uhura translated that as: the engines are only running
at 110% of capacity, rather than 120%. She smiled.
'Thank you, Scotty. We're on schedule to clear orbit at
1800. Beta shift will take her out."
"Aye, ma'am. We'll be ready."
There was really very little else to do. Uhura checked
on the status of weapons and security, read over
McCoy's summary of crew health and fitness, and
confirmed what she could have guessed: the Enterprise,
and her crew, had been ready to leave for the past few
days. The refitting schedule, however, had not been
adjusted to show that little fact, because they were
doing their housekeeping in orbit around Vulcan, and
the captain had his various reasons for keeping them
there a little longer.
The main one, Uhura knew, was the punishing schedule
the Enterprise had kept for the past few months. Any
extra time that Kirk could wring from Starfleet, to let
his crew see a sky above their heads and feel the
ground beneath their feet - somewhere everything was
known, and quantified, and safe - well, the captain
would pull every trick he had to get them every extra
minute he could.
Vulcan itself was another part of the reason. For one
thing, because of Commander Spock, who never asked
for any personal leave. Who (and Uhura knew this for
a fact, via Sulu who knew it for a fact, who had heard
it from Kyle who had personally seen it or at least had
spoken to somebody who said they had personally seen
it) had rejected the suggestion he take a shuttle to
Vulcan the last time they had had leave this side of the
quadrant. Only Commander Spock would reject leave
because he didn't want to be away from overseeing the
restocking and refitting for that long, but that had
been (according not to Sulu but to Janice Rand) the
reason he had given the captain. Spock would have
family business to attend to, and Captain Kirk would
give him all the time he could for that. The captain
knew Spock, and would realise that it would be the last
time Spock would be here to deal with it for another few
years.
And Vulcan's Academy of Sciences was another reason
for those few more days' delay. Or, not the Academy
itself, but the fact that the new procedures developed
by the Academy had been the only ones with the
possibility of repairing the terrible damage done to
Lieutenant Corinna Larssen's face and hands in the
battle with the Vouche. Larssen had come here to
Vulcan several months ago, and she had been released
from the care of the healers only today. Had the
Enterprise departed as soon as had been possible,
Larssen would have had a long journey by shuttle and
scout and probably part-way by freighter transport to
catch up with her ship, and a distracted welcome when
she arrived in the middle of whatever crisis the
Enterprise was handling. The extra couple of days
here at Vulcan meant that Larssen would have time to
come aboard, would be there for the end of leave mixer
and would be properly welcomed back.
Following that thought, Uhura tapped the armrest
controls. "Computer, whereabouts of Lieutenant
Larssen?"
"Lieutenant Larssen has not returned to the ship." the
computer said.
Uhura turned to Rand. "Janice, is Larssen one of our
stragglers?"
"No, she checked in this morning, said she'd be up
before undock."
"Let me know when she comes aboard." Uhura said.
"Will do," Janice answered, and then her board blinked
and she paused to listen to her headset. "Ah, there's
Sulu and Athende back. Good. Nice to know we'll be
leaving orbit with someone who can steer on board."
Uhura snorted. "If you can call what Hikaru was doing
in that last run-in with the Romulans 'steering', you've
got a stronger stomach than I have." she said. "'Flying
by the seat of his pants' is more like it... I swear,
sometimes he just gets *bored*."
"Oh, and who was it took the entire communications
relay apart when we were in orbit around Ser Etta V? I
seem to remember a certain someone not entirely
dissimilar to you spending three weeks shaving 4
minutes per light century off the standard relay."
"You may laugh now, honey." Uhura said, "but when
those four minutes save your life..."
"There's Larssen," Rand said.
"Okay, take the conn. I'm going down to say hello."
"Say hello?"
"And make sure she's coming to the mixer tonight.
She's always pulled duty for the mixer before, and a
couple of times she's traded off other people's shifts.
And we can't
very well have the surprise if she's not there, can we?"
Rand grinned. "I see your point." she said.
By the time Uhura stepped into the turbolift and
queried the computer as to Larssen's whereabouts,
Larssen herself was walking into her quarters, slinging
her bag on the bed and asking the computer for her
duty roster. She set her cello case carefully beside the
bag before reading the roster the computer displayed
and keying a message to the Enterprise general message
board.
"Lieutenant Larssen of Science, currently Delta shift,
will trade duty with any Beta shift staff who have
compatible duties and wish to attend the mixer."
She looked around. It was surprisingly familiar feeling,
given that it was a standard Starfleet cutout and she'd
been away for several months. Still, there were the
wall clips for her cello. In the drawers were her
uniforms, when she'd been in civilian clothes since
arriving on Vulcan. And ... Larssen opened her bag
and pulled out the other necessary item. She set
Coochie back on the dresser, put her hands on her hips
and pretended to pose for him.
"So, Coochie, how do you like my disguise?"
"I must say it suits you." said a voice from the doorway
and Larssen tried to decide whether to be startled,
embarrassed, or annoyed with herself for forgetting the
lock. You didn't need to lock doors on Vulcan.
By the time she'd turned to see Lt Commander Uhura in
the doorway, it was a little bit late for any
instantaneous reaction and so Larssen settled for being
calm, instead.
"Ms Uhura," she said. "I didn't hear you there."
"I chimed." Uhura said, and Larssen remembered that
she'd ripped the chime out of its housing one
particularly bad day before her departure.
"It's - broken." she said. "Is there a problem, ma'am?"
"No, I just wanted to see how you were."
Larssen stepped under the light, and quite deliberately
turned her face up to it. Her long brown hair was
loose and parted in the middle, after the fashion of
many Vulcan women, and she raised her hands and
pulled it back to give Uhura a clearer view. In dimmer
lighting, or with a shadow, she knew that the faint
whorls and marbling that were the only traces of her
wounds were invisible.
"You are not a freak show," Uhura said sharply, "and
that was not what I meant."
Larssen sighed softly, and let her hair fall. "It was
strange here, towards the end." she said. "I suppose
it's odd, being back."
*Strange* and *odd* were not the words she really
needed. The broken door chime she had never reported
had happened the week she was discharged from
sickbay, when it seemed that everybody on the ship
wanted to see her and tell her how sure they were that
McCoy's treatment would give her back her sight.
Larssen had taken to the incessantly ringing chime with
a nail-file, but all that happened after that was people
knocked. And she had not been able to go anywhere,
not easily, not and know she would be able to find her
way back by herself. She had been like a woman who
finds she has stepped into quicksand only to be
surrounded by well-wishers trying to assure her that
she is actually standing on solid ground. No-one had
been able to say the big *if*: *if* the new treatment
doesn't work, for example. *If* you're blind for ever.
*If* your career is over.
That wasn't quite true. The captain had come to see
her, and he had said it. If McCoy's new therapy
doesn't work, Larssen, he'd said, it might be three or
four weeks before we can ship in the equipment you'll
need for lab work.
Thus reducing her to silence, a silence she only
recovered from when he moved away to the dresser and
she remembered that Coochie was sitting there, in plain
view, her old stuffed toy in full sight of the Captain of
the Enterprise - and she was shaking with sobs of relief
that found no expression in tears.
Kirk had put Coochie into her hands. "Mine was a
moose." he said softly, and rested his hand on her hair
for a moment, and went out.
And in case she thought it had been wishful thinking,
Christine Chapel had made an appointment to measure
her hands and arms so any necessary equipment could
be custom built - not that she'd needed it, in the end,
when McCoy and M'Benga between them managed to
stabilise and reverse the damage to her eyes, before
telling her they were sorry but there was nothing they
could do for her face.
"Hey, you got new clothes out of it." Uhura said,
interrupting her reverie, and Larssen smiled.
"I was just about to change."
"Change? Are you kidding? You have something *better*
to wear to the mixer?"
"I offered a duty swap," Larssen said, "and I usually
get plenty of takers."
"Oh no," Uhura said, shaking her head, "not tonight.
You've been off the ship three months, you get a
*proper* welcome in, girl. You'll be at the mixer."
"Thanks, ma'am, but I really don't mind." Larssen said.
"Well, that's an interesting response to an order,"
Uhura said dryly. "Three months off ship got your
reflexes scrambled?"
"I didn't realise it was an order, ma'am."
"It's a *strong* suggestion." Uhura said. "Larssen.
You've been off the ship for a while and people will be
wanting to welcome you back. See how you are."
"Yes'm."
"They'll ask you how you're doing, how it was, what
happened." Uhura said. "Just like I did. You might
think about how you'll answer them."
"I suppose - curiosity is natural."
"It's not curiosity, Larssen." Uhura said. "It's
concern. That's natural too. And I have to get back to
the bridge. See you at the mixer."
"Yes'm." Larssen said, and as the door hissed shut
behind Uhura she looked around and sighed. She had
been going to change back into uniform. On Vulcan,
her Starfleet uniform had been both uncomfortable and
conspicuous, and shortly after her arrival there she had
adopted typical off-worlder's dress, which she had to
admit fit much better than the work uniforms she was
accustomed to. Here on the Enterprise, though, the
tunic and pants in cream and brown, and the over-tunic
with its attached half-cape were hardly what she'd have
chosen to blend in. And that, at the moment, was all
she wanted to do. Blend back in. Erase the crew's
recollections of the last days of the Voucheron mission,
the few weeks after it, when she had gone about her
duties with a face that could give children nightmares.
Erase her own memories of the way that people had
studied the floor, the wall, the air just behind her
shoulder when they talked to her.
Of getting up the courage to walk into the fresher the
day she was released from sick-bay and seeing the
mirror. The sudden relief when she knew that it was
only a horrible picture someone had put up in a bizarre
practical joke: reaching out to tear it down and seeing
the thing's hand move in mirror of her own and
*knowing*...
And being amazed at how it was possible to get used to
anything, if you had to, and shock all over again when
Dr McCoy mentioned new treatments for the DNA damage
coolant caused, the Vulcan Academy of Sciences, right
when she had finally got to the point where she could
shower with her eyes open and no towel over the
mirror.
It seems like vanity, she had said to Commander Spock.
I don't want to lose my position on the ship for vanity.
And he, with that damned eyebrow - You will not lose
your posting over medical leave, Lieutenant. Bear in
mind there is more than one kind of vanity.
What he'd meant hadn't come clear until it woke her up
at four in the morning with a shock of humiliation, and
she had been glad to be bundled onto the transport the
next morning without another duty shift to stand.
No, an evening of how are you and don't you look well
and it's good to see you back was not what she wanted.
What she wanted was to turn up for duty tomorrow
morning as if nothing had happened and with any mercy
everybody would behave as if that was the truth of it.
What you want, Corrina, she thought to herself, and
what you get can be light years apart from each other.
She sat down on the bed in the wrong clothes and
looked around the room.
Good to be back.