Worlds in Collusion
ASC Story Header: (2006)
Title: Worlds in Collusion
Author: Stephen Ratliff
Series: OCC, Marrissa Stories #8 (replaces A Royal Mess)
Rating: [PG]
Part: NEW 14/14
Summary: After an asteroid crashes into the capital of the planet of Essex, the Enterprise is ordered in to assist in the relief effort.
Forward
Has it really been more than ten years? This story originally started as "A Royal Mess," part of the three works that I wrote over the summer of '95, and posted during the next school year. This story, however, I think you'll agree, has only the barest remains of that story, which canon placed in my revision queue a couple years later. Hence, the NEW tag you see on this. There isn't a single line left over, and most of the guest characters have been transformed or replaced.
It's been almost fourteen years now since I started writing my Marrissa Stories, and revision of the early ones to improve them and improve the over all story line has been something I've been doing since I discovered their MiSTing some years later. Let no one say that I don't like MiSTing of my stories, in fact I get quite a bit of laughter out of them, but I have to acknowledge my debt to them as well. I also have to let those MiSTers know that I probably wouldn't still be writing if it weren't for them. Feedback is important, feedback that is often insightful and crouched in cushioning humor is priceless.
By the time I got to this story, Marrissa's career in Star Fleet was already well formed, and I have to admit that giving her that little H.R.H. prefix was a bit of Mary Sueism. There were problems, problems which over the years I have tried to fix as best as possible, given the large number of stories written before I discovered them. One of those has always been that Marrissa gets things to easily. This time, it's not quite as easy, nor is the method of her acquiring her role quite so cheesy. (I'm sure someone is going to get me for that one.)
It's time for our young Lieutenant to discover that she's more than just a Star Fleet Officer, that there are other things outside of the fleet. It's time for the world from which her father sprang from to meet up with the world she lives in. So, I give you, Worlds in Collusion.
Stephen Ratliff
January 30, 2006
Roanoke, VA.
Prologue
Prime Minister William Lancaster II found Princess Victoria on the balcony. His nineteen-year-old Girlfriend was still dressed in the almost translucent pearl colored short under dress that was part of Essex Dinner dress for women. This year's under dresses seemed to be a bit shorter than last year, revealing a couple inches of Victoria's panties. Her over dress, an opulent green suede and silk combo, was still draped back on the chair as was the custom. He expected that she'd gotten bored when Alistair Haughtington-Redglave , the Finance Minister, had gotten into the virtues of a graduated income tax verses a flat one. To be perfectly honest, he'd been bored by it as well.
The sun had long set on the City of Bath, and the lights of the city from it's famous baths to it's harbor cast a glow that was just enough to see by there was a reflecting pool below the balcony that caused a gentle flowing light to wash across the pale skin of his girlfriend. She held a glass of wine that was nearly empty. A gust of wind off the ocean caught her long blond hair, and reshaped it into a haphazard but alluring mess. Her under dress briefly slid upwards, but Lancaster pulled it down as he slid his arm around her.
"We bored you again," Lancaster said, refilling Victoria's glass with the wine bottle he'd brought, before placing it down on the wide marble railing in front of them. It was statement of fact, to which he expected no response. "I'm sorry, but sometimes the Cabinet can't separate business from pleasure."
"I hope that isn't a problem you have," Victoria said, taking a sip of the wine before placing it down on the railing. He kissed her lightly as she put her glass down. "I can see it's not."
Victoria shivered against him as another gust of wind came off the ocean. "You really should have put your over dress on," Lancaster said, as he pulled her closer.
"It would have been impolite for me to interrupt you," Victoria said. By tradition, a lady did not put back on her own overdress after dining, instead requiring the companion that had seated her to place it back on her shoulders.
William enjoyed holding his girlfriend against him as they stood under the stars. As they peered into the distance, a bright trail of light started above the horizon. He'd never seen such a fiery trail before.
"A meteor, a big one, that's not supposed to happen," Victoria said suddenly. Her Grandfather, the King was a noted Stellar Scientist and Astronomer. The fiery trail ended as it passed below the horizon. Moments later there was a flash of impact, followed by a low rumble from the distance. "It hit."
William pulled his personal assistant pad from beneath his suit and immediately called his office in Essex's Capital of Londondairy. There was no answer, so he rang up the Palace. No Answer. No Carrier. Recipient System Off-line. He couldn't get through to any place near Londondairy. He called up the weather satellite imagery. "Victoria, we have a problem."
She took one look at the image of the fresh asteroid impact on her home city and buried her head in William's chest as she began to sob. Her body shook, as her sobs deepened. There was no way her family could have survived that. "No," she sobbed.
"I'm sorry Victoria," William said, as he stroked the back of her head, running his hands through her hair. He tried to provide comfort in his embrace, holding her thinly clad shuddering body close to him, but his own tears were just beginning. Not only was George IV his King, but he'd grown-up knowing 'Grandfather Essex' personally. The King had always seemed unbreakable and everlasting. He'd never known another King. He'd been so proud when he'd been chosen to form a government by the King. Never had it crossed his mind that it would be his duty as Prime Minister to announce succession. The traditional words came out hoarsely, tentatively, and filled with palatable sorrow. "The King is dead, long live the Queen."
Chapter One
Captain Jean-Luc Picard stood in front of his chair, surveying his bridge. This new Starship Enterprise was beginning to live up to expectations, thirty-three days into her shakedown. The Sovereign Class had a different rhythm to it than the Galaxy Class did. His first Enterprise had been the Federation's galactic showcase, with every last luxury available. He was finding that the new Enterprise, while it wouldn't be short on luxuries, was a lot leaner, and practically oozed power. At the moment, she was cruising easily, testing and re-calibrating after a series of high power maneuvers.
"Captain, incoming priority transmission from Star Fleet Operations, Admiral Namora," the Master Chief at Tactical announced. His daughter wouldn't take up that station for another five minutes, given the stagger she ran with posts in her department.
"On screen," her father said, Admiral Namora appeared, behind his usual desk. The Asian man had an unusually somber look. "Admiral Namora. What brings you to call upon the Enterprise?"
"Captain Picard, I have very bad news," Admiral Namora said. "The member world of Essex has just been hit by an asteroid, apparently directly on its capital. Prime Minister Lancaster has requested all possible assistance. You're the closest ship able to render assistance, so I'm ordering your immediate departure for that planet at maximum speed."
"CONN, set a course for Essex, maximum warp, engage," Captain Picard ordered. The order was obeyed very quickly, he noticed. All the pilots on the Enterprise were rather young, chosen because he'd expected his daughter to lead that department, but they all did their duty with quiet confidence, he noted.
"I'm sending all the details as I get them," Admiral Namora said. "You'll be the senior officer on the scene, Picard. I'm sending in a couple hospital ships, but they're in Alpha Quadrant, so it may be some time before they get there. You may have to rely on civilian assistance, what little there is of it. I'll try to get as much of it your way as well."
"Understood. We'll do our best, Admiral " Captain Picard said. His mouth formed a thin line as he considered the task ahead of him. Every department on the ship was going to be heavily tasked during the next few days.
"Good. Star Fleet out." The image of Admiral Namora disappeared replaced first by the Star Fleet Logo, and then by the on rushing stars.
Nozomi was the thirteen-year-old great granddaughter of Clarrissa, the Duchess of Norsex, the King's sister. This put her forty-sixth in line to the throne, and since she lived with her Great-Grandmother, had enabled her to meet King George IV several times. She had a holo of him from the time he'd actually stopped in at the Launchpad, the rambling house some thirty kilometers outside of Leicester. He'd come for Nozomi's thirteenth birthday as a surprise. Her grandmother hadn't even been home when he'd arrived.
The holo had been his idea. Nozomi liked to paint, and wanted to be a portrait artist someday. As the King had said, if you want to be a famous painter someday, there wasn't a much better spot to start than a commissioned portrait of the King. So for the last five months she'd been working on her first real portrait, trying to capture the image of Essex's second longest reigning monarch.
He'd posed for the holo not in his royal regalia, but in a formal suit. It was deep blue, with a thin black lapel. His white shirt was well pressed with its horizontal creases. His salt and pepper beard was well trimmed, and Nozomi could almost imagine the twinkle in his eyes above his wide smile.
Nozomi had tried her best to convey that in her painting. She figured it would be done in just a couple more weeks, plenty of time to present it on the King's birthday at the end of next month. She paused to look closely at her work on the star background. She'd placed the King leaning against the edge of a high window of the Royal Palace. There was a twinkle in his eyes as his left hand was on the shaft of a refracting telescope. There was just a bit more to complete on the billowing crimson and gold drape behind his left shoulder, but she was out of her homemade crimson paint.
As she moved in to put in a couple more stars, the musical program that she had playing in the background was interrupted. There was a loud beep for attention, and then a deep voice said. "This is a Special Report from Sussex News Service." There was a pause as the network chimes rang, then the voice continued. Nozomi pulled away from the painting.
"This is a special report from Sussex News Service. We have just received word that at seven fifteen P.M. Londondairy Mean Time, the Capital of Essex was destroyed as the result of an asteroid impact. At this time officials are unable to reach the center of the impact zone. Satellite imagery indicates that the impact was centered roughly between the House of Parliament and the Royal Palace. Prime Minister and his Cabinet were fortunately on a weekend retreat in Bath. Princess Victoria was with him. Mister Lancaster has implemented continuity of government plans at this time, and released the following statement shortly before departing for Saint Leire Castle."
The voice paused, and there was the sound of paper being fumbled and a couple barely heard requests for attention before the strong baritone voice of Essex's Prime Minister rang out, slightly louder than expected.
"First of all, we ask that everyone remain calm. We are mobilizing emergency services, and Starfleet is dispatching vessels to assist us in rescue and recovery operations. However, given the nature of the emergency, we are likely to need additional help. Minister Dovik will serve to organize additional volunteer services. In additional it has become clear that at the center of the impact survival was impossible. As we have been able to confirm the presence of the King and almost all of the King's family at that location, I regret to inform you that as of ten minutes ago the Cabinet has reluctantly accepted that the King is dead. Princess Victoria Alicia Misako, has ascended the throne as Queen Victoria the First. Given that at this time we have only been able to confirm the survival of twenty members of Parliament, the Queen, on my advice, has declared a planet wide state of emergency. Once again we ask that everyone remain calm. We are doing our best to handle the results of this tragedy."
There was more paper fumbling for a moment, then the deep voice came back on.
"That was Prime Minister William Lancaster II, just moments ago in Bath on the Prometheus Isthmus. Please stay tune to this station for further news and information."
The lively music that had been playing before didn't return. Instead the haunting strings of Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings began to fill the room. Nozomi had frozen when the announcement had come, and as the mournful tune spilled out, she dropped her pallet and brush. Her eyes filled with tears as the violins drew their plaintive notes out from the depths of shared sorrow.
She stared at the unfinished portrait. King George's amused face stared back out at her. He was complete. The world he was in wasn't. It could never be again, not without Grandfather Essex. Nozomi blinked away the tears, looking at the unfinished drape, sketched lightly as it blew away from the open window. He was dead, and she couldn't complete this now. It wasn't right. She reached down the floor and picked up her brush and palette. It had fallen face up, to her relief. She cleaned her brush out and selected a deep blue paint. Loading her brush she signed her single name and dated it. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she stepped back to take one more look at her first commissioned work. Nozomi was still standing there, tears streaking down her face when Duchess Clarrissa came home from work.
Marrissa Amber Picard stepped on the Bridge three minutes before her shift. Her two gold pips caught the light as she stepped up to tactical. She hadn't expected that her transfer to Security. The job of Chief of Security was not a job that she felt ready for, nor was it a job that she had been assigned to it by her Captain. An old Academy rival of her father's, Vice-Admiral Gretchen Decker, had made the unsolicited confirmation of her post.
Decker's reasoning was that Marrissa was the only Lieutenant, senior grade on the Enterprise during this, her proving period, who had the bare minium of Security qualifications for the job. That was only due to thethe holodeck disaster and the resulting resignations. She only had the bare minium herself only because she'd taken the Academy Officer Refresher and Extension courses without consulting her father, who had been off on a mission at the time. The disapproving tone that Captain Jean-Luc Picard had used when he found out ... Marrissa still didn't like to think back to that day. She had been very grateful for Commander Riker's support then.
Still the anger that Captain Picard had carefully controlled behind his stern visage that day was no where in the league with what he'd shown the day that Admiral Decker's 'confirmation' came in. The worst part of it wasn't his comments about her not being ready for this yet. She had to admit that she wasn't, but still it wasn't very pleasant to hear just how she wasn't ready with that restrained tone that she'd seen her father flay officers before. No, the worse part was the sword match she had with him after he was done. Normally it took more than four minutes for him to score five points on her.
That had only been the beginning of what Marrissa was quickly beginning to label as the toughest command she had ever had, and most likely ever would. Admiral Decker had refused to assign any additional commissioned officers, so she was still the lone commissioned officer in her department. She had three good Master Chief Petty Officers, which seemed to at least be trying to make sure the department ran well, as her chief deputies. They seemed to be the only ones giving her at least the public appearance that the almost fourteen-year-old knew what she was doing. She had to admit that she relied on the Master Chiefs, especially Nelson, to guide her, but that was only sensible. As Dad had told her, only a stupid officer didn't listen to a senior enlisted officer, especially one like Nelson with forty-two years experience. Marrissa like to think that she was not stupid.
She'd arrived just as Admiral Namora had delivered the news about Essex, and waited for the communication to end before taking Tactical from Chief Nelson. "Anything I need to know Chief Nelson? Besides our new assignment, of course."
"Not about Delta Shift events," the Chief replied. "It's been a quiet night. We still need to talk about Crewman Simmons and persistent challenges of everyone's swordsmanship." Her swordsmanship was one of the few things that most of Security actually respected, or at least after they lost to her. A lot of them had recognized that. Simons was perhaps her biggest challenge, but she still won against him with the sabers.
"Can you make lunch at 1230?" Marrissa asked. Simmons was getting rather annoying. Simmons didn't like losing and he had been persisting in challenging her lately. He'd also been thrashing all comers otherwise, and even a few crewmen who didn't want to go against him. "Captain's quarters. I should have a good start on deployment numbers and pairings by then, which we'll need to discuss."
"Aye, aye, sir," Chief Nelson said, smartly saluting and marching off the bridge with an exaggerated swagger. Marrissa almost groaned at the saluting and swagger. Fortunately she suppressed it this time. Commander Riker had been most disapproving when she hadn't.
Marrissa quickly took in the tactical readings. There was nothing of note. The ship's current patrol of the Romeo Sector of the Federation side of Romulan Neutral Zone had been very quiet. There had been some activity on the other side of the zone on long range sensors, but it was just the same Romulan vessel that had been the Enterprise's counterpart throughout the assignment.
This new task, Marrissa could tell, was going to be a mission that strained the ship's personnel to their maximum ability and beyond. It may have been her first disaster relief mission, but during her few Academy courses between Enterprises she'd been told enough about them to expect that most of the Enterprise's crew wasn't going to get much sleep over the next few days. It certainly was going to be an all-hands-on-deck mission. It was not a mission she was confident that her department could handle.
Captain Picard sat in the center seat of the Enterprise's Bridge. His third starship command was still in shake down, and this was the first real test of his new crew. Most of his senior staff was carried over from the Enterprise-D. He wished Worf was still his Chief of Security. The Klingon had been replaced by his own adopted daughter. He spared a glace over to tactical, where Marrissa was half way through the deployment of away teams. That pony tail of hers made her look younger than her thirteen years.
A lot of the crew seemed so young to him. Most of his crew hadn't been in school yet when he'd lost his first command, seventeen years ago. Putting Marrissa in charge of Security, the second youngest officer on the ship, had just made that more evident. He hadn't really wanted to place Marrissa in that post. In his opinion her former post of Chief CONN Officer was ideal for her. He hadn't counted on a petty Admiral to stoop so low as to confirm a post against his will.
"Captain, the Papal Vessel Trinity has entered orbit and the Pope is hailing us," one of those young officers said from Ops. The polished silver colored Miranda Class starship was decelerating into position beside the Enterprise in orbit. The golden crosses decorating her warp nacelles glinted in the reflected light of Iota Leonis A. He could just pick out her registry, P.V. Trinity, GOD-1. Only a vigorous devoutly religions man like the Pope could ask for those three initials for his ships and get them without pause. He could just imagine what the Federation Registry Board's officials had looked like when the Pope asked, and Jean-Luc had no doubt that he'd asked personally.
"On screen," Captain Picard ordered. It had been quite some time since he'd seen the Bishop of Rome. He smiled as Pope Gregory XX appeared on the main screen. This man was known as one of the holiest men in the Federation, among those who believed in deities, and had earned the position that the College of Cardinals had elected him to three years before.
"Lord be with you, Jean-Luc Picard," the Pope greeted. He was seated in the center seat of the Bridge. He wore only a simple gold Latin Cross from a gray chain around his neck over the white papal cassock. It probably was the same one he'd worn every since Jean-Luc had met him. It really wasn't that far off from when Jean-Luc had met the Jesuit Priest during his Academy days, save that the Jesuit's cassock had been black then.
"And with your spirt, your holiness," Jean-Luc Picard. He'd been Father Gallegher during those days, Star Fleet Academy Catholic Chaplin and pastor of Saint Ignatius in San Francisco. He'd actually first met him outside the Academy Tactical Simulators.
"Admiral Namora contacted me asking if I knew of anyone who could be of assistance to Essex in this emergency," the Pope said, his hands resting easily on the command chair's arm rests. "I set course for Essex immediately. I understand that the hundred medically trained members of the Sisters of Mercy that I have aboard would be of assistance to your medical staff on the Enterprise. We lack the space to put them fully to use on the Trinity."
Jean-Luc quickly brought up the notes that had been forwarded to him from his wife. "Yes, Beverly would like about sixty of them to increase staffing of the emergency wards that we've been setting up," he said. "My Chief of Security has asked that you forgo transporter to transporter beaming, and beam to coordinates in our Main Shuttlebay, so the transporter chiefs can handle incoming wounded."
The Pope brought his hands together, folding them on his lap. "I believe that we can handle that, Jean-Luc," the Holy Father said. Behind him a cardinal walked to the Trinity's turbolift and exited the Bridge. "How bad is it?"
"Very bad," Jean-Luc admitted. "We're looking at upwards of ten million dead, and that's the conservative estimate. The city of Londondairy is simply gone. Wounded are beginning to come in. We've got a forest fire that is spreading down the Prometheus Range, and there have already been a couple earthquakes associated with the impact."
The Pope bowed his head, and his lips moved in silent prayer for a moment. Then he did the sign of the cross and looked up. "Cardinal Castaneda has already sent the Sisters on their way over. If there is anything else that the Church can do to assist you, ask and we shall do our best. The prayers, are of course, already a given."
"Of course, your holiness," Jean-Luc said, with a smile. "I would expect no less."
"I shall leave you to your work then, Jean-Luc," the Pope said. "May the almighty Lord bless you, Father, Son, and Holy Spirt." The Pope did the sign of the Cross before him, with the channel closing just as he completed it.
"Amen." The word escaped from Jean-Luc as well as Marrissa, almost without thought. The Captain smiled as the view screen returned to an image of the orbiting planet and the silver Papal Vessel.
Ely Dessalines strode through the park toward his ex-wife's bed-and-breakfast. He still effected the formal wear of his time as Prime Minister, and his strong strides continued to inform all that this was a man who knew where he was going. Of course here on the edge of the mountain town no one was there to notice.
Three months after his defeat no one seemed to notice or care about him. His three years of Progressive Party Progress had been wiped out in the first month of the Consistency-Constitutionalist Coalition. His time as the Progressive Prime Minister had been marked by steady progress. Then the election had happened. He knew what wasn't part of his defeat, and his party's loss of plurality. It hadn't been the tax cut, nor the Family Education Act. There had been no real government scandal. In fact his government had been fairly popular.
A former Prime Minister should have some respect. He did not and until recently he had not known why. A career of over thirty years in Parliament looked like it was coming to an end, and it was all because of his ex-wife and her family. Well, with the help of his new allies she was going to pay, as her family had already started to.
The two helmeted soldiers that his allies had sent were already waiting by the door of the small bed-and-breakfast when he rounded the corner. Their helmets were polo protective gear, and they'd dressed to fit in with that, even though the polo field was on this side of town. Ely took off his hat, revealing his short curly black hair and dark complexion. He collapsed the hat before nodding at the soldiers. They put their shoulders to the door, and it collapsed inward to their charge. He counted to forty before following them into the Tudor style building, hearing some firing and struggling within.
The entry hall was dimly lit, but not so bad that he couldn't tell its furnishings. He took in a deep breath, smelling the freshly polished wood work. His ex-wife stood behind the dark wood counter, the pigeon holes behind her filled with the keys and a few paper letters. Her long black hair was pushed back so the soldier on the left could put the cold muzzle of his disruptor against her cheek, as she was held back against the pigeon holes. Over by the stairs there were three maids, collapsed on the floor, obviously dead.
"Mary, Mary, quite contrary," Ely began, firmly pointing his walking stick into the floor, as he came to a stop in front of the desk. "How does your garden grow?"
"Ely," she spat, trying to get away from the soldiers holding her. "I have a court order against you."
"The court order ... did you really think I'd be bound by a piece of paper?," Ely said, his hands folded over the end of his walking stick, from which his hat hung. Paper meant little when the other side didn't feel bound by it. Her family hadn't. "When you're dealing with mass execution, it has little value."
"You're behind it?" Mary spat, nearly hitting Ely with her spit. "And you have the gull to come here and boast of it. What makes you so sure that I won't reveal your plans, Ely?"
Ely placed his hat on the counter. "Little maid, you frankly have been a disappointment from day one. You obviously never used the exulted Essex Royal intelligence or drive to succeed. You were supposed to be the crown jewel at my side. Instead you coddled our only son, and went into of all things, running a bed-and-breakfast ... pathetic. You barely make ends meet. So much for being a Princess."
He twisted his walking stick, causing a sharp spike to extend from the bottom. "You are simply wasted space." He raised the walking stick and plunged it between her breasts. The finely crafted spike sunk right into her chest, and Mary gasped involuntarily as blood started to spurt out as he jerked it back out of her. The soldiers let her go and she fell forward, her head impacting the counter, knocking over and ringing the bell on the counter.
As she slid down behind the counter, her life draining quickly with her blood, Ely adjusted his black gloves. He reached over with them and straightened up the bell. "With silver bells and cockleshells and pretty maids lined up all in a row." He popped open his hat, and turned towards the door. "Come along, gentlemen. We must pick up my little Martin from school and tell him the dreadful news. Oh, and take care of this." He tossed his walking stick up in the air, and one of his soldiers vaporized it with his disrupters. Ely started whistling 'Londonderry Air' as he left his ex-wife and her bed-and-breakfast behind him.
