Crusade ch7
Commander James Malcolm watched from his office window as the most ungainly looking starship he had ever seen warped into standard orbit around Starbase Seven. If he wasn't already so angry with Starfleet for his unannounced reassignment to some rust-bucket ship charged to do some simple humanitarian work, he might have laughed at the ships design. What was it with Starfleet to go out of their way to shove him away from duties that he had grown accustomed to, and, for lack of a better term, liked? Malcolm shook those thoughts out of his head and watched a large Bajoran cargo ship brake from its docking moorings on one of the station's docking arms and slowly slip out from under the line of other ships waiting their turn.
The sudden beep of his communicator pin broke him out of his reverie.
Lightly tapping his pin, he said, "Commander Malcolm here."
The ludicrously perky voice of Lieutenant Tebren, the stations communication's manager came through, "Captain Martin Snyder of the Ulysses is hailing your desk monitor, and he says it's urgent."
Malcolm sighed. One of those pompous "Captains" of one of those cargo ships was probably just going to yell at him about the slowness of the docking procedures at his base again. He'd already had to calm the nerves of a dozen hotheaded captains of small transports today. And a dozen times he repeated the very same speech: "This sector was one of the hardest hit during the war, and recovery is still going slow. Please bear with us as we accommodate your needs." And he always ended it with a large, albeit fake smile. Boy was he getting tired of it.
But this time, an actual surprise awaited him. Before Malcolm could sit down at his desk to transmit the same message to this new commander, an actual Starfleet Captain was already staring back at him from his side of the transmission.
"Hello, Commander," the Captain began, unsuccessfully trying to hide a PADD with the already recorded message he was speaking, "As you know, your tenure as Commander of Starbase Seven is officially ended, and your tour of duty aboard the USS Ulysses has now begun. Please prepare yourself for transfer as soon as possible. You will be expected to hail us as early as possible to voice any concerns or conflicts you may have. Captain Martin Snyder out." And then the image of the Captain blinked away, replaced by the familiar Starfleet emblem.
Hail them and voice concerns? Of course he could hail them and spew all kinds of gripes and whines about how unfair it was for Starfleet to come here, throwing their weight around and reassigning people without their consent. But then, he reminded himself, this is a military organization, for Pete's sake, and they can do whatever they wanted to the people who were a part of that organization, including sudden reassignments. After all, it was his choice and his choice alone that made him join Starfleet, and that meant they had total dominion over where he was to spend the next year or two.
Shrugging his shoulders, Malcolm once again tapped his comm. badge.
"Commander Malcolm to the crew of Starbase Seven, my time as commander of this little supply depot in the middle of nowhere has ended. I've been reassigned to the USS Ulysses , as you know, and they're finally here to pick me up."
Tebren's voice came out over all of the other notes of concern, sadness, or just condolences. "I'm sorry to see you go, sir. I hope you enjoy yourself on the ship."
"Thanks, everyone, that means a lot to me." Malcolm said, a slight quiver in his voice. It had taken him at least three months since he was assigned to the station to become accustomed to the crew and them to him. Malcolm always had that annoying habit of straying away from people he didn't know, unless it was absolutely necessary, and it always had hindered his advancement through the years.
**********
"We've docked, Captain." Gonzales said from her post. Snyder almost jumped at the statement, as he was nearly asleep when she had said it. It took four hours just to get clearances to dock at the damned station, and another six hours to find a place to dock. And sitting in the same chair for nearly ten hours straight always made someone a little tired.
"Alright, Lieutenant. Secure all moorings and open the cargo bays. And inform the crew that unofficial shore leave is open to them during their off-duty hours, but I dont want any more than twenty crewmen off at a time."
"Aye, sir." Came the response.
"Open a hailing frequency to the station commander," Snyder ordered some barely-recognized ensign at the ops console, "Let's see our new XO."
"Hailing frequency open, sir." The ensign responded.
The viewscreen shimmered for a bit before coalescing into a picture of a pristine station manager's office. The only things out of place were an odd stack of shipping crates piled near the office's transporter pads. The only occupant of the room was hidden in the shadows behind the huge stack of crates, probably trying to push some item into another bag.
"Whatever it is, Captain, its going to have to wait." Said the room's occupant.
"Now see here, son, that's not a way you normally speak to a Starfleet Captain on a Starfleet station."
The figure practically leapt from the shadows, revealing itself to be a relatively young man in a commander's uniform, looking very tired and haggard. The commander's eyes widened when he saw Snyder on his side. He tried to make himself look as presentable as possible by hastily running his fingers through his mess of hair atop his head, but that only seemed to make him look even worse.
"Sorry, sir. I'm afraid you've caught me at a pretty bad time, what with packing up to board your ship and all." The commander tried to flash a disarming smile, but it fell on uninterested eyes.
"Commander," Snyder began, "You received the notification of your reassignment three weeks ago. Surely you should have packed at least some essentials for your trip here."
"Yes, well, sir. You've caught us at a very bad time here, what with reconstruction going on and everything. I just haven't had the time to pack a single thing is all. I was actually hoping you would come a little later."
"That's too bad for you, Commander. We came here to pick up supplies and yourself, and if I dont see you reporting to me in one hour, well, consider yourself lucky if I dont bust you back down to the rank of crewman junior grade on my ship."
"Yes, sir." Came the nervous response from the Commander.
"Ouch." Whispered Gonzales.
**********
Norman had been lying atop his bed in his quarters ever since they arrived at the station. He hadn't set foot on the bridge since his incident with Solvek, mostly because of the doctor's insistence that he should take it easy for the time being. Being in shock sure wasn't what he expected it to be.
Norman was also considering his involvement with Section 31. The letter clearly said to lay that small box right on top of his bed if he wanted in when they arrived at this station, which meant one thing: there was an agent on board. Norman wanted more than anything to just talk with them about the implications about joining the organization.
His reaction to seeing just a little bit of blood and violence in Solvek was enough to make Norman nearly lose it himself, so what could seeing much more of it when he joined Section 31? That was the biggest thing running through his head. Could he take seeing things in this galaxy that might make him lose his own grip on sanity, as Solveks predicament had shown?
There was only one way to find out. With a large heave, Norman nearly catapulted himself off his bed and onto the box sitting at its foot. Taking a slight breath, he picked up the small thing and carefully set it in the exact center of the bed, making sure to put the PADD with the letter on it inside. Making sure everything was perfect, Norman made a satisfied grunt and walked out of his quarters.
He remembered the Captains orders of shore leave for anyone off duty, so he made his way to the transporter room, only to find it already occupied by at least a dozen crewmembers, all waiting in line to use the already packed transporter pad. He huffed and took his place in line.
It was a short twenty minutes before Norman set foot on the transporter pads, and felt the familiar tingle of the beam disassembling his molecules and sending them over to the station.
When he arrived, he saw an almost as long line of crewmembers waiting to leave the station as there were waiting to enter it. Norman followed a line of some others as they headed out of the cramped room and into the spacious interior. Unfortunately, just before he set foot on the threshold of the door, a particularly strong hand grabbed his arm and pulled him to his right. He turned to see a short, but very toned looking man in a Starfleet uniform. He had a suspicious look about him and a manner that would suggest he was being followed.
"Walk slowly and calmly as you head for the first bar you see on your right," the short man whispered, "There you will see someone who wants to meet you. Tell them that you enjoy the green whiskey, and everything will be fine."
Norman dumbly nodded as the man let go, and literally shoved him out the door. He walked hunched and as fast as his instructions would allow before he saw the bar the short man had mentioned, the "Mugato's Delight".
Norman walked into the bar and started to look for his "contact", but only saw a rabble of various aliens and humans in various garbs, all absorbed in their own business, all except for a single woman sitting at the end of the bar, who was staring directly at him. Norman walked at a slow, deliberate pace to meet the woman. If these weren't such odd times, he might have actually walked like this to make sure she saw him before he attempted a smooth pickup. But, that was not going to happen.
When he was within earshot, he heard the woman's voice ask: "What kind of drink do you enjoy on your time off?" A kind of question that would have normally been just small talk, but Norman could pick up on the serious undertones of the comment.
"Oh, nothing special," he said as he sat himself down next to the woman, "Just the average green whiskey every now and then."
That brought a smile to the woman's lips, as she slid a small glass full of green whiskey over to Norman.
"Take a sip and no more." She ordered, "Make it look like we're having a good time."
Norman obeyed the order, and let a small bit of the strong alcohol slide past his tongue. This was only his second experience with real alcohol, and his suddenly alarmed face showed it.
"What is this?" he asked between gasps.
"It's green," the woman responded, "That was just a cover to see if you were really interested in joining us."
"Oh yeah," Norman said, "I guess you saw the box on the bed?"
"Oh that?" she asked, "That was just to see if you could follow orders without question. You see, son, being in section 31 is all about tests of loyalty. You can't be too careful these days."
Norman nodded, remembering those disturbing news reports about those creepy changelings and their ability to make themselves into whoever or whatever they wanted to. Come to think about it, he was still a little freaked out about the ease of the changeling's invasion.
"Now, newbie, as a new prospective member, you get to ask me one question concerning this organization before your first assignment."
His head spun with all the questions he could ask: Assignment, now? Who are you? How long have you been watching me? But only one question came through his lips:
"Why me?"
"Mister Norman, we have been watching you ever since you signed up to join Starfleet four years ago. We saw your little incident at the officer's ball, as well as your heroics during the war. Your kind is the perfect type for new agents in this group. That's all I'm permitted to say about you, Ensign Norman. Now, about your first assignment."
"Hey, wait. An assignment now? But my ship is leaving in just a few hours, and I have to be there."
"Don't worry, Ensign, you will be taken care of, no matter what. You've shown your desire to join this organization, and there is no going back now. You will take this assignment, or you will not leave this station."
Norman didn't take long to realize she had left out the word alive from her statement.
"Alright," Norman sighed, "What do I have to do?"
"That's the spirit, recruit. Your first assignment as a Section 31 operative is to inspect a single ship docked here. She's resting at dock nine, and is refusing formal scans or inspections. Your job is to get in there and find out why they are refusing such simple procedures. Consider this a field exam."
"Okay." Was all Norman could say during a long gulp. The woman agent tapped Norman on the back before making a hasty retreat toward the door of the bar.
**********
It took Norman quite some time to locate dock nine. It turned out to be a private sector of the station, run not by the Starfleet crew, but a corporation whose name Norman wouldn't dare to try and pronounce. When he arrived at the dock, an unfriendly sight awaited him: Naussicans. Lots of Naussicans.
"This just took a turn for the difficult." Norman whispered to himself.
Norman waited outside the docking tube for nearly an hour before he saw the Naussicans beginning to stir and move around in a regular pattern. It looked like a daily meditation or religious cycle. Eventually, the entire group of aliens actually moved into a line and began to recite some holy text in their native tongue. The only thing Norman noticed, though, was that every single Naussican eye was closed tight in prayer.
Not particularly believing his luck, he slowly crept past the praying Naussicans and headed toward their ship. His only moment of concern was when he thought he saw one of their eyes open and looking directly toward him, but dismissed it as a trick of his nervous mind...at least he hoped it was.
Accessing the Naussican ship was another matter. The door wasnt sealed by a complex lock or seal, but a simple rotating handle that, however easy it was for a Naussican to turn and open, it was nearly impossible for the young human to try. Norman tried all he could to force the door, but was met with failure every time. Even running to the door as fast as he could only resulted in a sore shoulder. Checking a wall chronometer, Norman nearly gasped when he saw that he only had one hour before Ulysses was scheduled to depart the station.
Norman had to do something fast, so, using all of his strength behind one heave, he pushed the handle. It opened with a satisfying thud.
Unfortunately, Norman's moment of triumph was turned to near defeat when he saw the Naussicans beginning to sit up and move after their prayer. He practically ran into the ship and slammed the door hopefully before they saw him.
The Naussican ship stank of rotting meat and... old socks? But no matter the smell, Norman had a job to do. Fortunately, this was a Naussican cargo ship, so nearly the entire ship was some kind of cargo hold, locating any contraband wouldnt be difficult.
Norman checked through one of the four cargo holds before his unbelievably good fortune ran out. A passing patrol spotted him as he popped out of a large cargo hold full of old stem-bolts. The guards began to shout to others about his presence before Norman could do anything. Within moments, the Naussicans were shooting bolt after bolt of lethal disruptor beams at his cargo pod of cover. Calming his nerves, Norman reached for his belt. Fortunately, his position as security chief allowed him to carry a phaser on any kind of away missions, even shore leave.
Taking out the weapon, Norman set it to mild stun only, and began his own return fire, popping in and out of the cargo container to take a quick shot and retreat again.
This was exactly not what he expected a first assignment to be like, and Norman made sure to remember to file a complaint to whatever Section 31 superiors he would get if he survived this encounter.
After a few minutes more of shooting, Norman felt a little heat coming from the direction of the Naussican guns. He looked down in his cargo container to see that the side facing the aliens was actually becoming red hot because of the constant fire. He knew that he had to get out of there before the heat literally cooked him alive.
Steeling himself, Norman increased the output of his phaser and juped out of the cargo container, just as a Naussican threw a small frag grenade his way. The explosion fortunately propelled him farther away from the alien's guns, but still burning his back a little. But there was no time to recoil in pain.
Ending his short flight in a tuck and roll, Norman stopped behind a conspicuous looking cargo box stashed behind yet another stem-bolt container. Norman spared a moment to follow his old mission parameters and opened the box, and shut it almost as fast.
The box was full of old-style Venus drug, a highly illegal substance, especially if it was laced with... what was it...? Oh yes, Arrakkean spice. Those two drugs together made a substance that, when ingested, could actually heighten the senses, but also made the user susceptible to any number of diseases, as well as a huge addiction problem that was extremely difficult to break.
Just as Norman was about to get up and start shooting again, the sounds of more phaser fire coming from the ship's hatch assaulted Normans ears. It wasn't long before the phaser fire reached Norman's little section of the ship.
Naussican guards began to retreat toward Normans position. Acting on instinct, he began to fire at the backs of the retreating guards, taking at least four of the retreating dozen before they noticed him. But before any harm came to Norman, the whole group of Naussicans were surrounded by a squad of Starfleet security personnel, led by the same Section 31 contact he had met earlier.
"Stand down!" the agent said in a quiet, although commanding voice, "Even you, Ensign."
Norman was a little surprised by the order, but complied nonetheless, setting his phaser on the deck like the Naussicans.
"Naussican crew, you are all under arrest for firing on a Starfleet member, as well as smuggling illegal substances."
The leader of the alien group suddenly shouted: "But we were only defending our ship from that intruder! And we would never smuggle any illegal drugs! Believe me, please!" The disparity in the Naussican commander's voice made Norman almost feel as if he were telling the truth, but the Starfleet crew would have none of it, and soon the entire alien crew was in shackles and being led to the station's brig.
When the other aliens and Starfleet security left, Norman was left alone with the Section 31 operative.
"Sloppy work, kid. You almost got yourself killed before you even found the contraband."
"You were watching me?" Norman asked, dumbfounded.
"Did you really think that pat on the back I gave you was for luck? It was a small tracer. Just one of the gadgets you'll be receiving when you get back to your ship. Welcome to Section 31."
Norman smiled a bit before realizing that he had better get back to his ship. Saying a hasty goodbye to the now fellow agent, he ran out of the Naussican ship as fast as he could, sparing only a second to look at the wall chronometer. He only had two minutes before he was expected to be on the ship.
Racing past milling people and aliens, Norman didn't care whether he ran into others on his mad dash to the ship, forsaking going to the transporter in favor of running directly to the docking port, which was just a few hundred meters away.
Unfortunately, before he could get to the docking doors, they slammed shut, and began to pull away from the ship. Norman looked out the huge viewport to see Ulysses slowly pulling away from the station, beginning its maneuvers to leave the sector.
Norman stood in mute horror. He had failed. He was going to be in a heap of Tiberian bat guano when Captain Snyder saw that he wasn't aboard. Fortunately, his fears alleviated just a bit when he felt the familiar pull of the transporter. Norman smiled as he actually rematerialized in his quarters, back where he had started.
Norman looked toward his bed where he saw that the small box had been replaced by a larger case, which Norman didnt hesitate to open. Like a kid in a candy store, he tore into the case's contents, which, to his surprise, looked pretty ordinary: just a couple of tricorders, a phaser, and a pair of boots. And underneath it all, another letter.
Ensign Norman:
Welcome to Section 31. Im sure you have some questions, but be assured that they will be answered in due time. In this crate you will find some basic mission "gadgets", like a pair of boots specially modified for soundless walking, no matter the terrain, a few tricorders modified to scan low communication bands, and a phaser set on a special EM frequency, to take out any pesky electronics that may get in your way. Welcome to the fold, Norman.
Oh yes, you can thank Agent Tebren for the assistance in transporting you back to your ship. Remember, you owe her.
Section 31 operative 3482
Norman looked over the case again and closed it, smiling to himself about joining a great new organization. Maybe now this ship would get the security it so desperately needed.
Commander James Malcolm watched from his office window as the most ungainly looking starship he had ever seen warped into standard orbit around Starbase Seven. If he wasn't already so angry with Starfleet for his unannounced reassignment to some rust-bucket ship charged to do some simple humanitarian work, he might have laughed at the ships design. What was it with Starfleet to go out of their way to shove him away from duties that he had grown accustomed to, and, for lack of a better term, liked? Malcolm shook those thoughts out of his head and watched a large Bajoran cargo ship brake from its docking moorings on one of the station's docking arms and slowly slip out from under the line of other ships waiting their turn.
The sudden beep of his communicator pin broke him out of his reverie.
Lightly tapping his pin, he said, "Commander Malcolm here."
The ludicrously perky voice of Lieutenant Tebren, the stations communication's manager came through, "Captain Martin Snyder of the Ulysses is hailing your desk monitor, and he says it's urgent."
Malcolm sighed. One of those pompous "Captains" of one of those cargo ships was probably just going to yell at him about the slowness of the docking procedures at his base again. He'd already had to calm the nerves of a dozen hotheaded captains of small transports today. And a dozen times he repeated the very same speech: "This sector was one of the hardest hit during the war, and recovery is still going slow. Please bear with us as we accommodate your needs." And he always ended it with a large, albeit fake smile. Boy was he getting tired of it.
But this time, an actual surprise awaited him. Before Malcolm could sit down at his desk to transmit the same message to this new commander, an actual Starfleet Captain was already staring back at him from his side of the transmission.
"Hello, Commander," the Captain began, unsuccessfully trying to hide a PADD with the already recorded message he was speaking, "As you know, your tenure as Commander of Starbase Seven is officially ended, and your tour of duty aboard the USS Ulysses has now begun. Please prepare yourself for transfer as soon as possible. You will be expected to hail us as early as possible to voice any concerns or conflicts you may have. Captain Martin Snyder out." And then the image of the Captain blinked away, replaced by the familiar Starfleet emblem.
Hail them and voice concerns? Of course he could hail them and spew all kinds of gripes and whines about how unfair it was for Starfleet to come here, throwing their weight around and reassigning people without their consent. But then, he reminded himself, this is a military organization, for Pete's sake, and they can do whatever they wanted to the people who were a part of that organization, including sudden reassignments. After all, it was his choice and his choice alone that made him join Starfleet, and that meant they had total dominion over where he was to spend the next year or two.
Shrugging his shoulders, Malcolm once again tapped his comm. badge.
"Commander Malcolm to the crew of Starbase Seven, my time as commander of this little supply depot in the middle of nowhere has ended. I've been reassigned to the USS Ulysses , as you know, and they're finally here to pick me up."
Tebren's voice came out over all of the other notes of concern, sadness, or just condolences. "I'm sorry to see you go, sir. I hope you enjoy yourself on the ship."
"Thanks, everyone, that means a lot to me." Malcolm said, a slight quiver in his voice. It had taken him at least three months since he was assigned to the station to become accustomed to the crew and them to him. Malcolm always had that annoying habit of straying away from people he didn't know, unless it was absolutely necessary, and it always had hindered his advancement through the years.
**********
"We've docked, Captain." Gonzales said from her post. Snyder almost jumped at the statement, as he was nearly asleep when she had said it. It took four hours just to get clearances to dock at the damned station, and another six hours to find a place to dock. And sitting in the same chair for nearly ten hours straight always made someone a little tired.
"Alright, Lieutenant. Secure all moorings and open the cargo bays. And inform the crew that unofficial shore leave is open to them during their off-duty hours, but I dont want any more than twenty crewmen off at a time."
"Aye, sir." Came the response.
"Open a hailing frequency to the station commander," Snyder ordered some barely-recognized ensign at the ops console, "Let's see our new XO."
"Hailing frequency open, sir." The ensign responded.
The viewscreen shimmered for a bit before coalescing into a picture of a pristine station manager's office. The only things out of place were an odd stack of shipping crates piled near the office's transporter pads. The only occupant of the room was hidden in the shadows behind the huge stack of crates, probably trying to push some item into another bag.
"Whatever it is, Captain, its going to have to wait." Said the room's occupant.
"Now see here, son, that's not a way you normally speak to a Starfleet Captain on a Starfleet station."
The figure practically leapt from the shadows, revealing itself to be a relatively young man in a commander's uniform, looking very tired and haggard. The commander's eyes widened when he saw Snyder on his side. He tried to make himself look as presentable as possible by hastily running his fingers through his mess of hair atop his head, but that only seemed to make him look even worse.
"Sorry, sir. I'm afraid you've caught me at a pretty bad time, what with packing up to board your ship and all." The commander tried to flash a disarming smile, but it fell on uninterested eyes.
"Commander," Snyder began, "You received the notification of your reassignment three weeks ago. Surely you should have packed at least some essentials for your trip here."
"Yes, well, sir. You've caught us at a very bad time here, what with reconstruction going on and everything. I just haven't had the time to pack a single thing is all. I was actually hoping you would come a little later."
"That's too bad for you, Commander. We came here to pick up supplies and yourself, and if I dont see you reporting to me in one hour, well, consider yourself lucky if I dont bust you back down to the rank of crewman junior grade on my ship."
"Yes, sir." Came the nervous response from the Commander.
"Ouch." Whispered Gonzales.
**********
Norman had been lying atop his bed in his quarters ever since they arrived at the station. He hadn't set foot on the bridge since his incident with Solvek, mostly because of the doctor's insistence that he should take it easy for the time being. Being in shock sure wasn't what he expected it to be.
Norman was also considering his involvement with Section 31. The letter clearly said to lay that small box right on top of his bed if he wanted in when they arrived at this station, which meant one thing: there was an agent on board. Norman wanted more than anything to just talk with them about the implications about joining the organization.
His reaction to seeing just a little bit of blood and violence in Solvek was enough to make Norman nearly lose it himself, so what could seeing much more of it when he joined Section 31? That was the biggest thing running through his head. Could he take seeing things in this galaxy that might make him lose his own grip on sanity, as Solveks predicament had shown?
There was only one way to find out. With a large heave, Norman nearly catapulted himself off his bed and onto the box sitting at its foot. Taking a slight breath, he picked up the small thing and carefully set it in the exact center of the bed, making sure to put the PADD with the letter on it inside. Making sure everything was perfect, Norman made a satisfied grunt and walked out of his quarters.
He remembered the Captains orders of shore leave for anyone off duty, so he made his way to the transporter room, only to find it already occupied by at least a dozen crewmembers, all waiting in line to use the already packed transporter pad. He huffed and took his place in line.
It was a short twenty minutes before Norman set foot on the transporter pads, and felt the familiar tingle of the beam disassembling his molecules and sending them over to the station.
When he arrived, he saw an almost as long line of crewmembers waiting to leave the station as there were waiting to enter it. Norman followed a line of some others as they headed out of the cramped room and into the spacious interior. Unfortunately, just before he set foot on the threshold of the door, a particularly strong hand grabbed his arm and pulled him to his right. He turned to see a short, but very toned looking man in a Starfleet uniform. He had a suspicious look about him and a manner that would suggest he was being followed.
"Walk slowly and calmly as you head for the first bar you see on your right," the short man whispered, "There you will see someone who wants to meet you. Tell them that you enjoy the green whiskey, and everything will be fine."
Norman dumbly nodded as the man let go, and literally shoved him out the door. He walked hunched and as fast as his instructions would allow before he saw the bar the short man had mentioned, the "Mugato's Delight".
Norman walked into the bar and started to look for his "contact", but only saw a rabble of various aliens and humans in various garbs, all absorbed in their own business, all except for a single woman sitting at the end of the bar, who was staring directly at him. Norman walked at a slow, deliberate pace to meet the woman. If these weren't such odd times, he might have actually walked like this to make sure she saw him before he attempted a smooth pickup. But, that was not going to happen.
When he was within earshot, he heard the woman's voice ask: "What kind of drink do you enjoy on your time off?" A kind of question that would have normally been just small talk, but Norman could pick up on the serious undertones of the comment.
"Oh, nothing special," he said as he sat himself down next to the woman, "Just the average green whiskey every now and then."
That brought a smile to the woman's lips, as she slid a small glass full of green whiskey over to Norman.
"Take a sip and no more." She ordered, "Make it look like we're having a good time."
Norman obeyed the order, and let a small bit of the strong alcohol slide past his tongue. This was only his second experience with real alcohol, and his suddenly alarmed face showed it.
"What is this?" he asked between gasps.
"It's green," the woman responded, "That was just a cover to see if you were really interested in joining us."
"Oh yeah," Norman said, "I guess you saw the box on the bed?"
"Oh that?" she asked, "That was just to see if you could follow orders without question. You see, son, being in section 31 is all about tests of loyalty. You can't be too careful these days."
Norman nodded, remembering those disturbing news reports about those creepy changelings and their ability to make themselves into whoever or whatever they wanted to. Come to think about it, he was still a little freaked out about the ease of the changeling's invasion.
"Now, newbie, as a new prospective member, you get to ask me one question concerning this organization before your first assignment."
His head spun with all the questions he could ask: Assignment, now? Who are you? How long have you been watching me? But only one question came through his lips:
"Why me?"
"Mister Norman, we have been watching you ever since you signed up to join Starfleet four years ago. We saw your little incident at the officer's ball, as well as your heroics during the war. Your kind is the perfect type for new agents in this group. That's all I'm permitted to say about you, Ensign Norman. Now, about your first assignment."
"Hey, wait. An assignment now? But my ship is leaving in just a few hours, and I have to be there."
"Don't worry, Ensign, you will be taken care of, no matter what. You've shown your desire to join this organization, and there is no going back now. You will take this assignment, or you will not leave this station."
Norman didn't take long to realize she had left out the word alive from her statement.
"Alright," Norman sighed, "What do I have to do?"
"That's the spirit, recruit. Your first assignment as a Section 31 operative is to inspect a single ship docked here. She's resting at dock nine, and is refusing formal scans or inspections. Your job is to get in there and find out why they are refusing such simple procedures. Consider this a field exam."
"Okay." Was all Norman could say during a long gulp. The woman agent tapped Norman on the back before making a hasty retreat toward the door of the bar.
**********
It took Norman quite some time to locate dock nine. It turned out to be a private sector of the station, run not by the Starfleet crew, but a corporation whose name Norman wouldn't dare to try and pronounce. When he arrived at the dock, an unfriendly sight awaited him: Naussicans. Lots of Naussicans.
"This just took a turn for the difficult." Norman whispered to himself.
Norman waited outside the docking tube for nearly an hour before he saw the Naussicans beginning to stir and move around in a regular pattern. It looked like a daily meditation or religious cycle. Eventually, the entire group of aliens actually moved into a line and began to recite some holy text in their native tongue. The only thing Norman noticed, though, was that every single Naussican eye was closed tight in prayer.
Not particularly believing his luck, he slowly crept past the praying Naussicans and headed toward their ship. His only moment of concern was when he thought he saw one of their eyes open and looking directly toward him, but dismissed it as a trick of his nervous mind...at least he hoped it was.
Accessing the Naussican ship was another matter. The door wasnt sealed by a complex lock or seal, but a simple rotating handle that, however easy it was for a Naussican to turn and open, it was nearly impossible for the young human to try. Norman tried all he could to force the door, but was met with failure every time. Even running to the door as fast as he could only resulted in a sore shoulder. Checking a wall chronometer, Norman nearly gasped when he saw that he only had one hour before Ulysses was scheduled to depart the station.
Norman had to do something fast, so, using all of his strength behind one heave, he pushed the handle. It opened with a satisfying thud.
Unfortunately, Norman's moment of triumph was turned to near defeat when he saw the Naussicans beginning to sit up and move after their prayer. He practically ran into the ship and slammed the door hopefully before they saw him.
The Naussican ship stank of rotting meat and... old socks? But no matter the smell, Norman had a job to do. Fortunately, this was a Naussican cargo ship, so nearly the entire ship was some kind of cargo hold, locating any contraband wouldnt be difficult.
Norman checked through one of the four cargo holds before his unbelievably good fortune ran out. A passing patrol spotted him as he popped out of a large cargo hold full of old stem-bolts. The guards began to shout to others about his presence before Norman could do anything. Within moments, the Naussicans were shooting bolt after bolt of lethal disruptor beams at his cargo pod of cover. Calming his nerves, Norman reached for his belt. Fortunately, his position as security chief allowed him to carry a phaser on any kind of away missions, even shore leave.
Taking out the weapon, Norman set it to mild stun only, and began his own return fire, popping in and out of the cargo container to take a quick shot and retreat again.
This was exactly not what he expected a first assignment to be like, and Norman made sure to remember to file a complaint to whatever Section 31 superiors he would get if he survived this encounter.
After a few minutes more of shooting, Norman felt a little heat coming from the direction of the Naussican guns. He looked down in his cargo container to see that the side facing the aliens was actually becoming red hot because of the constant fire. He knew that he had to get out of there before the heat literally cooked him alive.
Steeling himself, Norman increased the output of his phaser and juped out of the cargo container, just as a Naussican threw a small frag grenade his way. The explosion fortunately propelled him farther away from the alien's guns, but still burning his back a little. But there was no time to recoil in pain.
Ending his short flight in a tuck and roll, Norman stopped behind a conspicuous looking cargo box stashed behind yet another stem-bolt container. Norman spared a moment to follow his old mission parameters and opened the box, and shut it almost as fast.
The box was full of old-style Venus drug, a highly illegal substance, especially if it was laced with... what was it...? Oh yes, Arrakkean spice. Those two drugs together made a substance that, when ingested, could actually heighten the senses, but also made the user susceptible to any number of diseases, as well as a huge addiction problem that was extremely difficult to break.
Just as Norman was about to get up and start shooting again, the sounds of more phaser fire coming from the ship's hatch assaulted Normans ears. It wasn't long before the phaser fire reached Norman's little section of the ship.
Naussican guards began to retreat toward Normans position. Acting on instinct, he began to fire at the backs of the retreating guards, taking at least four of the retreating dozen before they noticed him. But before any harm came to Norman, the whole group of Naussicans were surrounded by a squad of Starfleet security personnel, led by the same Section 31 contact he had met earlier.
"Stand down!" the agent said in a quiet, although commanding voice, "Even you, Ensign."
Norman was a little surprised by the order, but complied nonetheless, setting his phaser on the deck like the Naussicans.
"Naussican crew, you are all under arrest for firing on a Starfleet member, as well as smuggling illegal substances."
The leader of the alien group suddenly shouted: "But we were only defending our ship from that intruder! And we would never smuggle any illegal drugs! Believe me, please!" The disparity in the Naussican commander's voice made Norman almost feel as if he were telling the truth, but the Starfleet crew would have none of it, and soon the entire alien crew was in shackles and being led to the station's brig.
When the other aliens and Starfleet security left, Norman was left alone with the Section 31 operative.
"Sloppy work, kid. You almost got yourself killed before you even found the contraband."
"You were watching me?" Norman asked, dumbfounded.
"Did you really think that pat on the back I gave you was for luck? It was a small tracer. Just one of the gadgets you'll be receiving when you get back to your ship. Welcome to Section 31."
Norman smiled a bit before realizing that he had better get back to his ship. Saying a hasty goodbye to the now fellow agent, he ran out of the Naussican ship as fast as he could, sparing only a second to look at the wall chronometer. He only had two minutes before he was expected to be on the ship.
Racing past milling people and aliens, Norman didn't care whether he ran into others on his mad dash to the ship, forsaking going to the transporter in favor of running directly to the docking port, which was just a few hundred meters away.
Unfortunately, before he could get to the docking doors, they slammed shut, and began to pull away from the ship. Norman looked out the huge viewport to see Ulysses slowly pulling away from the station, beginning its maneuvers to leave the sector.
Norman stood in mute horror. He had failed. He was going to be in a heap of Tiberian bat guano when Captain Snyder saw that he wasn't aboard. Fortunately, his fears alleviated just a bit when he felt the familiar pull of the transporter. Norman smiled as he actually rematerialized in his quarters, back where he had started.
Norman looked toward his bed where he saw that the small box had been replaced by a larger case, which Norman didnt hesitate to open. Like a kid in a candy store, he tore into the case's contents, which, to his surprise, looked pretty ordinary: just a couple of tricorders, a phaser, and a pair of boots. And underneath it all, another letter.
Ensign Norman:
Welcome to Section 31. Im sure you have some questions, but be assured that they will be answered in due time. In this crate you will find some basic mission "gadgets", like a pair of boots specially modified for soundless walking, no matter the terrain, a few tricorders modified to scan low communication bands, and a phaser set on a special EM frequency, to take out any pesky electronics that may get in your way. Welcome to the fold, Norman.
Oh yes, you can thank Agent Tebren for the assistance in transporting you back to your ship. Remember, you owe her.
Section 31 operative 3482
Norman looked over the case again and closed it, smiling to himself about joining a great new organization. Maybe now this ship would get the security it so desperately needed.