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Any artist would have felt mesmerised by the soul-thrilling image of a jet-black and shining starship orbiting a flaming red and orange planet with water clear crystal rings surrounding it.
Any carbon-based entity would have felt moved by its breathtaking beauty and impressed by its immense range of swirling colours that performed an enigmatic dance of hide and seek.
Any space farer would have felt his or her veins being filled with pure, undiluted love and heart jolting joy at the awe-inspiring sight of spatial art in its glory.
Commander Chakotay was no different. He recognised the elegant, black and silverish ship as belonging to the enigmatic Shreptar, an alien race from Dakkaru, fifth planet from Ceti 3, and when they were nearby, it meant information exchange - and trouble.
The planet he didn't know and that too made him a trifle apprehensive.
Yet, no anxiety could spoil the particular moment of beauty for him as the Chief docked between the long phosphorescent poles that were constructed to catch and temporarily hold visiting spaceships.
"Smooth operation, gentlemen and women." Captain Dayton beamed as her old battered ship sailed through the docking procedure as easy and gracefully as a brand new, finely tuned galaxy class spacecraft.
Eclatar, the Andorian pilot, allowed his antennas to quiver a little in pride before he punched the 'hand brake' as his colourful captain so often liked to call the final locking procedure.
The docking at Chitara Duum was notoriously difficult to complete without a scratch. The fact that he had just done it without even touching the protruding poles spoke volumes about his pilot abilities. He knew that. The bridge crew knew it. The entire crew knew it. However, what mattered the most to him was that his captain had just acknowledged the incredibly showy performance in words; D-Day had a knack of letting people know when they had done something worth mentioning with such subtlety and elegance that most of her people would risk their lives to be subjected to her praise.
Eclatar's highly sensitive antennas felt how Mel Dayton now turned round to deliver final orders before she went planet side. Had he turned the antennas 26 º instead of a mere 22º, he would even have sensed whom she addressed. As it was, he waited to listen to her verbal communication to find out.
"Commander, you and I have an errand on that planet. Get ready to beam down."
Both Chakotay's eyebrows hit the ceiling with an almost audible 'bump'. Only the day before she had assured him that she only went on away-missions in a dire emergency. Yet, here she was, diving right into one already, even suggesting that he join her. Two key officers off the bridge simultaneously.
The commander matched her stride as they walked down the corridor that suddenly seemed a lot shorter than he wanted it to be. He needed her full attention before she disappeared into her private quarters, so he decided to plunge right into it.
"Mel, are you serious? Are we going on an away mission?"
She turned those disconcerting amber eyes towards him, but she didn't slow down.
"An away mission? Jesus, no. What gave you that idea?"
Chakotay blinked...
"I don't understand... didn't you just now suggest that we go planet side together?"
"Indeed, I did. However, that hardly qualifies for an away mission, Commander. We are going down to get some info - it's as simple as that. We are still in the initial preparation stage, and I'm going down to meet one of my informants."
"A Shreptar."
"Ah! You noticed the ship, did you? Yeah, a Shreptar. A cautious s.o.b., who insists always to speak to me personally. However, this time I'm hauling your sorry butt with me. In case of my disablement, you take over not only the steering wheel but also my informants."
"I see." He said, trying damn hard not to let out his breath of relief to the extent that she would hear it.
Of course, she heard it. Her acute ears were perfectly capable of catching the slight hissing sound that is so characteristic of a sigh of relief. She, on the other hand, was perfectly capable of hiding the smirk that threatened to turn the corners of her mouth upwards and thus give away how much his concern had amused her.
Fifteen minutes later they both stood in the midst of a busy and lively crowd of various aliens, very few of them indigenous to the planet. The place was hotter than hell due to a climate very much like the Vulcan, and both captain and commander had dressed accordingly in loose garments and sandals. Mel looked almost like a statue of sand and desert with her honey coloured complexion, her amber eyes and the khaki and golden/sandy clothes. Chakotay smiled. He probably looked like an ethnic Tuareg himself. A little more flow to the garments and his middle name could have been "Lawrence". Their pips were gone too and their rank and function momentarily forgotten.
"Destination?" he asked Mel as soon as she had solidified enough to use her vocal organs.
"There's a bar right over here where we might find him." She said, indicating a big dirty-white building that looked more like a tent than an actual solid building.
Mel led the way through the boiling cauldron pushing and puffing people of all sorts that opted Chakotay to clasp his combadge a tad maniacally through the fabric of his thin clothes to minimise the all too real risk of theft.
The captain appeared to have no such fears. She shoved away the aliens as if she had been doing this all her life, and nobody seemed to take offence or even shove back. There was something amusing in seeing the slim woman plough her way through the crowd of big bulky beings, who could easily have thrown her over their left shoulder. Yet, the captain obviously radiated authority wherever she went, regardless of what species she was confronted with. Of course, she had to in order to be a captain or any kind of leader, Chakotay admitted to himself.
It just goes to say that size or gender has no saying when the tough gets going.
Mel headed directly for the 'tent', entered without hesitation or tentative steps of any kind and went straight to the planet's equivalent of a bartender, who stood leaning on the counter, looking as if he had just been waiting for her in particular.
They exchanged a few whispering words and Mel soon rejoined her first officer. No luck. They would have to try another bar.
After three bars, the fish was on the hook.
And a particularly elegant fish it was too. Shreptars usually earned their living by selling information, that was a fact. However, any prejudice one might have about sleazy, disgusting, nauseating creepy snitches, who would sell their sick mother for a lousy penny without a second thought or even a first, was dropped right on the floor at the sight of a Shreptar. These were graceful beings, with long elegant limbs - five of them, to be precise - delicate fairy hair and translucent skin that reflected the surroundings. Their fragile facial lines and skeletal structure bore an unmistakable resemblance to the very elves of Terran mythology that humans had been so bewitched by from ancient time. In addition, they wore no clothes. No one would take them for sleazebags, and exactly this was their great and vital advantage in the risky game they played.
Mel Dayton approached the being with extreme caution, taking care not to stumble into its fragile limbs that were spread in front of it in careless comfort.
"I'i'e'l'i'ee." She pronounced with astounding accuracy.
"Me'el." The creature acknowledged, and then in somewhat more suspicious tone, "Who's wi'th y'ou?"
"No one you need to be concerned about, I'i'e'l'i'ee, this is my new second in command, Chaks."
Chakotay didn't even start at his 'name'. He knew that full names were preferably and wisely avoided in dealings like these.
"C'hak's." I'i'e'l'i'ee whistled, high pitched.
"Ilee." Chakotay tried clumsily and bowed slightly. The being laughed. Such an interesting sound which perhaps dogs or whales could hear. As they were humans, they just saw the Shreptar grin and shake its delicate body, but they didn't hear a thing.
"P'le'ase. Do no't do t'hat ag'a'in. P'erh'aps y'ou co'u'ld l'i'm'it y'ours'elf to cal'l me L'ee."
Chakotay nodded his consent, feeling goofy like a young ensign on his first FC mission, and they sat down at the table, Mel shouting for booze.
"I k'now' why y'ou a're h'e're." The graceful alien announced with something that looked like a smirk.
"I expected no less from you, friend." Mel smirked back, "So what have you got?"
"Ala's', prec'i'ous l'i'ttl'e." The being continued, attaining a regretful expression "No one li'ke's the s'itu'ati'on, not 'e'ven the Fer'e'ng'i who prov'i'ded the'm w'i'th w'e'a'pons."
This got Mel's attention.
"The Ferengi are apprehensive? How come?"
"S'itu'ati'on mo'st l'i'kely to collaps'e - le'av'i'ng no surv'i'vors."
"And no one to buy more weapons from the Ferengi." Mel concluded with a wry smile. Chakotay grinned. Some things just never changed, some factors in the universe were always constant, and the absurd fact was that Ferengi being Ferengi was actually a good thing. No surprises there.
"I take it you have a list of the weapons the Ferengi were kind and gracious enough to sell the needy extremists?" the captain said, her eyes never leaving the fairy in front of her.
"I might." I'i'e'l'i'ee chirped melodiously.
Something appeared in Mel's slim hand as by magic and disappeared just as magically into the Shreptar's body, as if it simply devoured it by osmosis.
"It is a long list." The thin limbed alien indicated, suggestively.
More was absorbed by the pearly and waterish skin.
"I might even..."
"Spill it, I'i'e'l'i'ee." Mel said firmly in no uncertain terms. She knew when to put pressure on this informant, and the informant knew when the limit had been reached.
I'i'e'l'i'ee spilt the list faster than warp speed. Chakotay blinked. It was over before he even had had a chance to remember the four first weapon types. He looked at his captain, who seemed to take it all in without any effort at all. I'i'e'l'i'ee stopped as suddenly as it had started.
"Names, I'i'e'l'i'ee." Mel now demanded, letting the creature have a little extra for absorption.
"Only three, Me'el." The Shreptar assured.
"Give." Dayton said, her edge becoming a tad harder.
I'i'e'l'i'ee gave. Three names. One of them disturbingly familiar.
"That can't be true." Chakotay mumbled as he left the bar with his captain.
"On the ship, Chaks," Mel Dayton hissed intently, "We discuss it on the ship."
Her first officer nodded. One never knew who was listening in a crowd like this.
*
"Cap, you can't be serious?"
The incredulous voice belonged to the massive chief security officer whose big brown eyes were widened so much that Mel Dayton feared they could roll out of their sockets any minute.
She didn't blame him his disbelief. In fact, she didn't blame any of her officers their disbelief.
"As to what we heard - yes, I am serious. As to whether it's true: hell, your guess is as good as mine." She rose from her comfortable and favourite position: legs on the table, and started to pace the room slowly, her frown revealing deep contemplation.
"There is no way we can have this confirmed or disconfirmed - we simply have to go into this under the supposition that I'i'e'l'i'ee's information is valid. We can't afford not to. We all know the guy's rep, right?"
"Not 'right', Cap," Betak said, "My knowledge about the said person is not overwhelming. Starfleet was always rather impressively good when it came to withholding information in the cybernetics field."
"Of course." Mel murmured, remembering where her astrometrics expert was from, and gestured at her science officer. Mallennie immediately plunged herself into a detailed account, her religious earrings chiming efficiently.
"You no doubt know about the famed android, Lieutenant Commander Data, who still is functional aboard Starfleet's flagship, the Enterprise?".
Gul Betak nodded, his eyes begging his old friend to continue.
"Well, what most non-federation aliens do not know is that there existed a prototype android before Data was constructed - his creator, Dr Noonian Soong, named him Lore."
Betak leaned forward, recognising the name from I'i'e'l'i'ee's list.
"... and you have probably figured out from our primary reaction to his name that Lore was not a nice boy." Mallennie continued in a rather dry tone of voice.
"In fact," Mel took over, "Lore was such a disturbed and fucked-up psycho-android that his own brother, Data, deactivated him after his last effort to obliterate the entire human race."
"His bits and pieces were shipped off to the Daystroms Institute." Mallennie went on, "And the last that was heard of him was that Commander Maddox had his head buried in the positronic perpetrator's guts."
"Maddox." Chakotay mused aloud, "Wasn't he the guy who wanted to take Data apart?"
Lt. Mallennie nodded.
"Indeed. He once got permission to decommission Data in order to dismantle him, figure out what made him tick and then manufacture more androids to match the prototype."
"Yet, old Picard really didn't like the smell of that - and neither did the android," Mel said, "So instead of getting his toy, Maddox got a ruling thrown in his face that said he couldn't take apart sentient beings without their consent."
"But it was okay with Lore?" Betak said, asking a very relevant question.
"No. The idea was to disassemble him and thus deactivate him permanently, not..." Mallennie stopped, realising the implication of the discussion.
As did everybody. The room was perfectly silent for at least 20 seconds. In fact, the proverbial pin could have been dropped and it would have made the red alert klaxon go off completely by itself.
Then Mel sat down and flung her legs onto the table again.
She sighed.
Chakotay thought he had never heard such a gentle and profound sigh. It contained all his captain's hope for a swift, easy solution going down the drain, and it contained all the sympathy for whomever would be injured or possibly die during the process of this increasingly difficult operation soon to come.
"Well, there's the rub, gentlemen- and women." She said, illustrating her words accordingly by rubbing her own forehead.
"We now face the distinct possibility that Maddox has gone a little beyond his authorisation and started experimenting with a potentially dangerous and alarmingly sociopathic android, who suffers from a case of bad potty training and consequently several loose screws. Starfleet might not know this. Maddox could be holding his tongue or his breath eternally, probably, if Lore had anything to say about that. Or Starfleet knows and is unwilling to share the somewhat embarrassing news with anyone - can't say I really blame them, come to that."
She leaned forward and rested her arms on the table's surface, clasping her hands.
"If that is the case, we need to come up with some weapons that can neutralise a cybernetic entity like Lore. Mallennie - conjure up the schematics of Lore if we have them, or Data's if we don't - coordinate it with Masomo. Myth, work your magic touch with the research computer and dig out what you can on Commander Maddox. T'Rees, find out about Lore's medical and mental history - all sleazy details, if you please."
Everybody got to work immediately and the captain turned to her new first officer.
"Commander - we better adjust the operations plans accordingly."
He nodded, "An all nighter?"
"Could be - fill up your herbal tea jug."
*
Ten hours, ten cups of coffee and three jugs of herbal tea later the final OPS plan was complete with only few additions and alterations.
As it had turned out the original plan was basically sound, android or no android; what they needed to do was adjusting the details, such as weapons and number of men in the groups, which were now down to six men per group since guile, not brute force, was the only factor that could bring Lore down should weaponry be insufficient. Aliens with special brain waves were selected according to their capability to withstand theta emissions, gamma radiation and what else one might expect from a fully functional silicon being with the ability to turn himself into a living bomb. Computer programming experts were added to the groups in the hope that they may be able to somehow diffuse the rampant robot before he could do any harm to carbon-based beings. Dr Soong's voice was found in Starfleet archives and re-recorded with several fitting commands in case that might have any influence on his prodigal off-spring.
Both the captain and the first officer of the Chief Cochise tried to think of any eventuality that might arise in dealing with such an unstable and unpredictable factor as Lore, the infamous 'evil twin' of Lt. Comdr. Data, of whom the only certain thing which could be said was that he was a royal troublemaker with an ego and mentality of Attila the Hun.
Mel snarled, "I'll never, for the death of me, understand why they didn't destroy the sucker after the situation with the Hugh Borg and his indecisive fellow Borgs. Haven't we learned from fucking history?"
"History?" Chakotay was tired and didn't quite follow his energetic superior officer or even start at her use of extreme and ancient profanity.
"Yeah, history. A dictator that takes advantage of a people in crisis. God, how often have we seen that?"
The Native American rubbed his aching eyes. "Yes, you're right. But it seems that it is the indisputable and sad destiny of man that there are some things that he never learns."
"Well, that's certainly one of them." Mel mumbled, agitated. Chakotay had already noticed this about her; that she mumbled when she was really pissed and upset. He smiled and wondered how many of her crewmembers had seen that.
"You're smiling." Mel remarked, "God, you must be tired if you're smiling at something like that."
"That wasn't what I was smiling at, but yes, you're right: I am tired. And so are you, I suspect. Should we call it a day?"
Mel looked askance at the time indicator.
"A night, more likely. No, I'm not tired, but you are excused - frankly you look as if you could do with some beauty sleep."
Chakotay opened his mouth in surprise but clamped it shut again at the sight of her face.
"Don't even go there." She warned him with a scary smile.
He grinned and rose from her comfy chair where he had been sitting for the past three hours. She had had no qualms about letting him into her den. In fact, she never had any scruples about letting anyone into her private quarters. So unlike Kathryn.
I have got to stop comparing her to Kathryn, he decided as he took his leave from her.
Mel remained standing in her quarters, gazing out of the window, ostensibly lost in the romantic moment of the fleeting stars passing by her ship with such devastatingly beautiful speed and grace. Her arms were crossed just beneath her bosom in a relaxed position, and only people who knew her intimately would have guessed that her mind was still reeling on the operational problem at hand.
It all came down to... their adversary. Know your opponent.
How does one crawl into the sick and depraved circuits of a malfunctioning android and identify what makes him tick and why?
Mel Dayton squinted her narrow, intense eyes and let them shower the stars with her amber dust.
... and he squinted his amber eyes and studied the prey sitting on the ground in front of him.
The woman had stopped screaming, but she was still shivering, panic obviously taking hold of every pore in her body as the need to be able to see started to grate her already shredded nerves.
Her lavender blotched skin had attained a more purple shine, which was a clear indication that she was dancing perilously close to the edge of shock.
He also knew, of course, that Sigmarian hearing was more acute than that of both Vulcans and canines, and that every sound he made must seem like an indefinable thunderstorm to her. In addition, Sigmarians' ocular brain centre was closely connected to the three-lobed audio centres, which meant that simultaneous sensory input from both organs was vital for the Sigmarian mind to stay sane.
The amber-eyed person didn't believe that this Sigmarian would manage to stay sane for very long still.
An eerie grin began to spread over his facial structure slowly, very slowly, like a dance macabre feeding on itself, and almost ended up at his ears. Yet it never made it to his eyes. Those disconcerting, light amber eyes. The smile parted his lips and revealed a row of white, unnaturally wholesome teeth that flashed pearly and mockingly at the alien woman, who couldn't see who was doing this to her or what was being done to her. But she could hear the smile. She heard the smile without knowing what it was, without being able to make the connection between sensory impression and facts.
The Sigmarian senator's shivers increased.
Lore sniggered.
Weapons specialist, Lieutenant Commander Arg, crossed his trunky arms, tilted his head and studied the odd couple who were currently entering the ship's armoury. He knew both of them, of course; he had been introduced to the new first officer, Commander Chakotay of whom the rumour said that he had survived and returned from the Delta Quadrant, and he knew and did his best to avoid T'Rees, the ship's doctor. He didn't much care for Vulcans. They were cold and passionless and they regarded an exhilarating fight and a good death as "illogical" events. He growled. Though he acknowledged T'Rees as a Kahless damn brilliant physician, he didn't care much for being in her presence. Doctors mended the weak. A weak Klingon was dishonourable.
Arg's reaction to their entrance, therefore, was less than courteous or welcoming.
"Whadda ye' want?" he roared.
Chakotay, being used to B'Elanna's behaviour, didn't move a muscle and T'Rees remained equally unfazed, presenting the fierce Klingon with a PADD.
"Three groups of six men and one platoon leader need weapons that can pacify a being of the following specifications." She stated, being as Vulcan as he was Klingon.
He snarled and read the proffered information. Then he snarled louder.
"You dare ask me for weapons that can take out an ANDROID??"
Chakotay saw his break, feeling quite at home in front of a roaring alien with a heavy brow.
"Of course, if you think it's above your level of efficiency..."
"WHAT!!!!!"
The roar was worthy of Rosie. Furious, the Klingon hauled the PADD away and started selecting and modifying weapons in a blinding speed.
Both T'Rees and the commander stepped aside to seek shelter from the flying and sometimes unidentified objects.
"If I may," the doctor muttered discreetly, "it is gratifying to realise that you have obviously handled Klingons before."
Chakotay grinned and nodded and was then handed an odd object by the CMO.
"There is a distinct possibility that you have not encountered this device before." T'Rees concluded.
"Your surmise is correct." He smiled and turned the small, flesh coloured apparatus of fibre plastic in his palm.
"In dealings like these, our combat groups are usually equipped with a communication device other than Starfleet's usual combadge. These were manufactured several centuries ago on Earth and function as an interpreter of sound waves through the jaw."
"??? Come again?"
"When we speak, sound waves leave our mouth, but they also go through our facial bone structure. By using these ear pieces, you block out any white interference noise from your surroundings. Another positive side-effect is that your surroundings will not be able to receive signals emitted from the device either. In short, it is an ideal communicator for covert operations."
Chakotay smirked and put the ear piece in his right ear.
"But there is nothing covert about any of this." He quoted the bulletins about FMOPS.
T'Rees' face was stone. Nothing surprising in that. Instead she presented him for another piece of - to him - unknown equipment while the agitated Klingon behind them was still throwing around phasers, gamma cannons, Klingon disruptors, Romulan displacers etc.
Time was running short. Preparations coming to an end. Loose ends being picked up. Mel was on her hasty way to the dreaded mess hall when her busy path was intercepted by Myth and Mallennie, who both caught her with a surgeon's precision of trained army personnel who knew their speedy captain to the letter.
"Talk to me." She demanded as she strode through the mess hall door without slowing down even one nano second.
"I have downloaded Lore's schematics. He has one weak point that I suggest we access and study ASAP. T'Rees has put Arg on the job of figuring out a weapon that can penetrate his thoracic chest plate and duranium skull."
"Good. Myth."
"Your hunch about Maddox was correct. He has been missing for the past three months, the circumstances of his disappearance has been covered up by Starfleet."
Mel swore soundly. She hated it when her own employer worked against its employees. Politics. The dirtiest word in her vocabulary. She sensed that Myth had stopped and bid him continue with a side glance.
"I have been in contact with one of our 'consultants' on Sigma 5. He has succeeded in digging up a complete plan over the old sewer tunnel system underneath the Parliament building."
Mel took the PADD out of his hand and fastforwarded the file. Then something obviously caught her attention; she rewound it and stopped to scrutinise the excerpt. Mallennie and Myth stood next to her, holding their breath and then saw their captain widen her golden eyes.
The captain handed back the PADD, smiled, grabbed Myth's approximation of a head in both her hands and kissed him soundly.
This was nothing new to Myth. She did this every time a crewman had done something outstanding at a time when she was at a rope's end. She did it every time somebody saved the day. He should be used to it by now for Myth had saved the day more than once. And still his imaginary chest swelled with pride, his non-existent cheeks blushed becomingly and his copy of a human mouth quivered in delight.
Because he loved it every time she did it.
They all did.
A big bulk was shading the threesome, and both Mallennie and Myth couldn't deny that they felt rather chilly all of a sudden.
"Somebody was clever?" Rosie boomed. Mel looked at her with complete lack of fear, but with sound respect.
"You betcha." She winked, ordered a synthehol margarita for herself and happiness for Myth and the rest of her crew.
Rosie sighed; even a sigh from her was an awesome sight and somewhat intimidating. Her enormous body bounced, her fat shivered worse than the Ape's engines when he crawled on them and her eyes looked comically expressive. Yet, no one would ever dare to laugh at the sight. Mel's crew were survivors.
"The margarita I can provide - as for happiness.... have you cleaned your hands?" she suddenly added suspiciously. Rosie respected her captain highly, but she didn't treat her any differently from the others.
Mel held her hands out for inspection as did the Bajoran and shapeshifter faster than warp 9.
The big mama grunted with satisfaction and retreated to carry out the captain's orders. Clean customers were serviced. Unclean were dead.
Commander Chakotay had witnessed it all from a table he shared with Masomo. The Tanzanian was crouching over the small table taking up so much space above the table surface that there was no room left for Chakotay's plate. Instead the commander had placed the dish in his lap, hoping to god that he would managed to balance it well enough to keep it there.
Apparently the enormous security officer had not noticed the scene between his captain and Rosie. He was busy eating a ton of food that he simply kept shovelling into his mouth with a speed of 35 Mb per second. Not that he was fat. Masomo Rwani was well over two meters tall and somewhat broad, however, one would never describe him as 'fat' or even 'overweight'. Lt. Rwani was simply a larger version of a well-trained security officer whose massive body stood in stark contrast to his kind and gentle demeanour. He didn't seem the slightest intimidating with his big, warm brown eyes, his soft round cheeks and his soft smile, and Chakotay couldn't deny that he felt a trifle sceptical as to the man's ability to impress prospective opponents. Even as he ate - despite the impressive rate of eating speed and amount - he looked just as cuddly and loveable as a cute teddy bear. Hugable and personable.
Chakotay inwardly shook his head in wonder. How could this man ever scare off anybody?
"Did you see that?" he asked his table mate, "the captain isn't the least afraid of Rosie."
"Of course not," Rwani said through kilos of half chewed food, "Nothing fazes the cap. She's tougher than anybody I know."
The first officer blinked. His respect for Mel Dayton was already high on the scale, but he wouldn't say that she was the toughest person he had ever met. Clearly Masomo knew something he didn't - or had a different range of acquaintances.
"What would you say is the worst situation you and the cap have been involved in?"
But the CSO shook his head energetically, miraculously keeping half a shuffle full of food in his mouth in the process.
"It doesn't work like that. Every operation is its own. Nothing ever goes according to plan, and she damn well knows that. We all do. No OP is easy, no OP is smooth. There's always the unexpected factor that you can't predict no matter how bloody hard you try. But that's her skill. That's the cap's strong point. She is able to take a hopeless situation, find some unbelievable solution and turn total disaster into complete victory. She saves our butts every god damn time, man."
Chakotay almost smiled. That description was so close to Kathryn's CV that he allowed himself to complete the thought despite his inward promise to himself that he would stop comparing the two female captains to each other.
He rose and excused himself. The OP was getting awfully close and he wanted to be prepared - in spite of the grim facts about FMOPS capers that Masomo Rwani had just laid out for him.
At least he would then be able to say to himself afterwards: I did what I could. I tried to foresee any eventuality.
Wasn't that what everyone did after all?
Why, then, did he have an unpleasant and ominous feeling that it was not the right thing to focus on?
*
Sigma 5 was probably the whitest and ghostliest planet Chakotay had ever seen. To a layman it appeared to be covered in snow and/or ice, but to a planetary expert it was clear that the planet was surrounded by a milky white nebula, and if one looked hard, it was actually possible to spot the nebula move in close orbit round the planet very, very slowly.
The sight of the planet increasing in size mesmerised the Native American to the point that he almost forgot to activate the ship's cloaking device.
He smiled as he punched the controls. You could have knocked him over with a feather when the cap told him about the ship's Klingon characteristics. Arg had seen to the addition and instalment of this particular piece of technology and the Ape was keeping a keen eye on it, making damn sure it didn't overload the system.
"Cloaking device enabled." Mallennie's voice droned.
"Acknowledged." Mel said quietly, as if being so close to their goal required silence on the bridge. The captain rose, studied the sight in front of her for a little while before she turned and nodded at her first officer.
Chakotay nodded back and disappeared without a word. Everything that needed saying had been said. The proverbial dice was rolling. The OPS had begun.
Two minutes after the commander had left the bridge, Myth silently entered the place, discreet as a shadow as was his way.
Mel didn't even turn. She knew this man so well that she could sense the emanations of his special, silicone molecular compound and thus conclude his presence.
"Keep me posted constantly." She said. She felt him nod. He knew exactly what she expected of him. Continuous surveillance of all three away teams.
"Keep me posted constantly." The voice hissed.
The voice that Senator Illara Ki Hal L'Lanna had come to fear, hate and long for. She feared it because every sound meant darkness and mayhem to her as her vision was temporarily impaired; she hated it because it provoked horrifying images inside her mind; she longed for it because sound had been her only connection to her surrounding world since her captor had removed her ability to see.
Sigmarians had neither tactile nor olfactory sense. Instead they were completely dependent on the collaboration between their eyes and ears to make up for the tactile and olfactory impressions many other species enjoyed. Illara Ki had never thought about that difference - until now. Until some heartless being had taken her by force and blindfolded her she had never given her species' limitations another thought. It was just different, and that was all.
Now, however, she couldn't help beating herself with the same contemplation again and again and again: how much easier would it have been had she been a Vulcan, a Romulan, Klingon, Deltan, Saurian or Human?
She heard his voice again.
"You understand that negligence to my orders will result in extreme repercussion?"
If at all possible, her shivers increased. And she understood.
It hadn't mattered what species she had been instead of Sigmarian; this cruel creature would have impaired her in any way possible regardless of her nature and senses. He would have found a way to make her exactly as terrified as she was at this point, had she been a specimen of one of the most superior species in the universe.
Senator Illara Ki Hal L'Lanna, Master of Piin's order and second peer of the Parliament, managed to find some comfort in that, and she realised that she would probably stay sane for a little while yet.
Stay sane some while yet.
Stay sane until somebody came and got her.
Stay sane until she was res...
Stay sane...
Stay sa...
Stay...
S...
*
Commander Chakotay took a deep breath and looked around him. He didn't understand why he felt apprehensive. He had used the last four hours to familiarise himself with his group, in fact, with the entire platoon; the ensigns, their squad leaders, their skills, special training, particular abilities, personalities and background. He came well-prepared; there was no reason to feel even the slightest bit of anxiety.
Yet he did.
Just like the old times, eh, old man?
If he closed his eyes he could almost hear B'Elanna's firm and melodious voice utter those familiar words.
And it was like the old times. Like the hundreds of times he had headed numerous risky capers, hopeless assignments and complicated Ops as an angry warrior Maquis against the raging tides of Cardassian suppression. Anxiety was part of that, as he bloody well knew.
The inevitable risk, the dangerous liaisons, the eternal fear, the boundless sorrow, the hard surface crackling with fragile vulnerability. Why, then, did he feel that there was this little extra twist to it this time?
First night opening jitters. He concluded.
The shuttle that he and his alpha team were aboard performed a graceful eclipse and started to shimmer delicately as it slowed down to complete the trip with a discreet landing. Chakotay smirked in stark self-irony. The captain had read his shuttle-CV and had consequently insisted that Eclatar pre-programme the shuttle to pilot automatically without her first officer as much as stepping near the controls. And she must have squealed too, he decided. Every time he had approached the control panel, a big awe-inspiring biceps had gently, but firmly blocked his way, its owner wearing a polite, yet unmistakable facial expression. It translated something in the lieu of sorry, Sir. But we would like to stay alive at least until we reach our destination.
Chakotay's smirk was now a grin. Yes, he felt sure that she must have "leaked".
The shuttlecrafts of the Chief were much smaller and much sleeker than the regular Starfleet shuttles. Their hull glistened with a peculiar sheen that made them almost blend in with their background: space. In other words, it was the second best thing to a cloaking device. Of course, their only function was to transport crewmembers to and fro their landing location, which was why the interior of the shuttles was as sparse as a Scotsman's home. Panels with only the absolutely necessary controls for transports of short distances were designed in stylistically clean lines to accommodate any cargo that might be included in the transport. Seats of indefinable colours were built into the massive bulkhead and were equipped with solid black belts of titanium, designed to keep the passengers fixed and safe during a rough ride.
Two other shuttles were out there, carrying team Bravo and Charlie under codenames of "Underdog" and "Maggot".
Chakotay's own team had been christened "Chief Bully". Spirits knew who had come up with those designations.
The shuttle swayed gently as it adjusted its angle for landing, and the big Native American, somewhat strung and tuned in on his men's emotional state, keenly felt how the atmosphere in the craft tensed slightly.
So they felt it too.
*
She put down her tea mug on the table, faintly wondering why the designers of her ship hadn't managed to match the blue colours of the kitchenware. The blue plate next to her mug was definitely at odd with the colour of the mug. Of course, somehow the principle matched the rest of the ship where nothing matched anything, the Chief being a DIY project jumble as it was.
Mel Dayton pouted her lips, reflecting on the fact that she always noticed small inconsequential details like these right after she had sent her men on their way. From now on, all she could do was trying to think one or more steps ahead of their and the opponents. She was their final back-up. It was her responsibility to send them to Hell and haul their arses back again into the bosom of Rosie, their mother.
She chuckled. She wasn't sure if some of them didn't prefer Hell.
"What are you sniggering at?"
Mel raised her amber eyes and locked them with Myth's hazel ones.
"You don't want to know."
Myth smiled his gentle smile without taking his hands off the sensory input controls that enabled him to feel every move, heartbeat and breath of every member of the three teams.
Mel straightened and drained her mug despite the fact that her tea had turned very, very cold. It was always a tad uncanny seeing Myth, her good friend, wrapped up in that odd device that they had once obtained by bargaining with the Ferengi. The deal had ended up with Mel and her crew being one of the very few people - if not the only people who had managed to con a Ferengi business man: they got the sensory monitor and the Ferengi got a tribble.
She chuckled again. The havoc those tribbles had caused...
"Now what?" Myth wanted to know.
"Tribbles." The captain giggled.
Myth rewarded her with a seldom shown big grin... and then he suddenly stiffened and turned focused as in a trance. Mel saw his hands tremble slightly and knew what it meant.
"Contact. They have landed."
On to to Part 4
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