Dream Theater
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Arcadia # 4756 | |
| — Id-Entities — | |
| |
| year | 344 CE (2407) |
| posted | June 7 2007 |
| author(s) | Sasoriza |
| previous | What About Vor'ana |
| next | Assisted Living Center & Two Sisters |
(Continued from "Afterimage, Aftershock"; takes place during the Skinoki mission, right after "Skinoki" and "Let's Try Out Another Theory")
Celina Corgan was getting concerned. As usual, things were happening – too fast, all at once, both on the ship and on the surface. Each wasn't enough in itself to cause undue worry, but put together, she started to feel the pressure... that responsibility called 'command'.
Times like these, she realized: She would never make a great captain. A good captain, maybe; an adequate captain. But she didn't want it. Someone else could have it. She didn't want to be a captain. She was just here to provide support.
On the surface, the away team had been making interesting discoveries – in a scientific aspect, interesting to those who took interest in scientific aspects. Nothing to cause undue worry... until two members suddenly shifted positions, eighteen-point-five kilometers southwest of the structure they'd been sent to explore.
At the same time, almost thirty animal lifesigns converged on the structure. Ship's sensors picked them out as easily as the team's. Predatory creatures, large and built for attack.
With Berkowitz leading the team, and Captain April off duty for the moment, Celina Corgan was in charge.
She saw the sensor alerts.
She called the captain.
He didn't respond.
Experience taught her to act first, ask questions later. An internal sensor check revealed his location: Right next door, in the briefing room, with a crewmember whose biosigns registered as Vulcan. The instant she made contact through internal systems, she saw the computer had flagged a signal: Captain April's own biosigns were emitting strange fluctuations. Whatever was happening to him was intense, enough to alert medical biosensors.
Analysis defined the signal as typically associated with Vulcan mind melds.
Corgan activated her complant: ~Doctor Ross.~
~I see it. I'm on my way.~
Sickbay had been alerted. Corgan turned towards the back of the bridge. "Vallien–"
He had seen it too. "Acting." He was already heading for the door close by.
± I can help you ±, the Vulcan said. ± Allow me. ±
April paced his quarters. The away team was out of contact. What was going on down there? Subspace interference inundated the Memiklon system; it was possible they simply couldn't communicate, but were fine. On the other hand, something could have gone dreadfully wrong.
Memories. Memories.
The loss of communication doubly worried him: Tracking the mission's progress through his link to Rampart took his mind off of his own condition. He still wasn't sure – far from it – what was happening with him, and it helped to not have to think about it. He worried that he would get stuck in that rut of self-obsession again, the last thing he wanted.
She was sifting through his memories.
But more than that, his sense of duty compelled him to seek the best possible outcome of a diplomatic contact, at all times. This was a new culture, the Memiklons, with a very different technology; they could be an asset to the Federation. It was also just better to have new friends in the galaxy. On top of that, their future, their very existence, might hinge on Federation assistance. To render that assistance, the Federation needed all the data it could gather. Last but certainly not least, the away team might be injured... or worse. The allotted time for intervention was not up yet. Berkowitz promised to keep him informed; they had another hour to wait before arrangements with the Memiklon government permitted Arcadia to contact them.
Some thought it absurd – a regulation that specified a length of time before action could be taken on behalf of missing personnel, if indeed they were missing. If they were injured, or dying, that three hours or whatever could mean the difference between life and death. April understood the emotional concern. He shared it. But rules structured society and governed life, and they could not throw them out the window whenever it was convenient. Relations with the Memiklons could impact many more lives – the Memiklons', especially – than the five-member away team. Adhering to the pre-established agreement meant much more in the long run. It painted the Federation as a power to be trusted, to stick to its word. Starfleet officers understood they might be required to sacrifice their lives to honor that obligation. It was in the oath they took as graduates of Starfleet Academy. It went with the uniform.
Why are you doing this?
But some managed to forget that. The signal rang at April's door: Alex Crimson, wanting to see him. Earlier, she had confronted him on the handling of Chromus, unhappy with April's decision after the Romulan attacked her. Now that was selfless, he thought. Crimson had always been selfless, but that went above and beyond. Chromus put her in sickbay with her injuries – and she was defending his rights. Crimson treaded closely, as close as possible, to crossing the line of proper conduct towards a superior officer, without actually crossing it. The L-21 procedure was unethical, she said. She had lodged a formal protest with Command and the Federation Office of Civil Rights. So did Tabatha Brisk.
± My mind to your mind.... ±
April respected her right to disagree, but didn't explain himself or his reasons for doing what he did. That would have sounded like he was trying to make excuses, and it was unnecessary. The Federation Council and the Romulan Senate granted him responsibility to do with Chromus as he saw fit. Maybe it wasn't the best decision, but it was the only one he could think of, to neutralize the threat Chromus posed – to this vessel, this vessel's crew, and others – and perhaps make him a more productive, less belligerent member of society. It was an imperfect solution to an imperfect situation.
Now Crimson insisted on doing something to assess the away team's condition. April considered it, tempted. But these Memiklons wanted things done precisely. They weren't sure about the Federation's intentions. It was important to maintain an atmosphere of trust. He backed Berkowitz's call; she had followed procedure.
Less than mollified, Crimson left, and left April wondering if he should monitor her progress too. Trust could be such a... finicky affair. If he trusted her not to make a foolish choice, and she didn't, then, good. But if he trusted her, and she did... the outcome was obvious. She was his diplomatic adjutant. She was supposed to be diplomatic. Would she jeopardize that? Would she see the bigger picture, with regards to the Memiklon situation, and stay on the sensible side?
Just like April had to trust in the rules, and hope that the away team was okay, he had to trust in Crimson as well, and hope for the best.
What are you looking for?
A little over an hour later, the deadline came, and went. April called the bridge. Still no word from the away team. By now, they should have been on their way back to the launcher, to take their leave of Memiklon's surface.
Now permitted, April ordered the bridge to open a channel to Memiklon.
± My thoughts to your thoughts.... ±
In the timeless world of memory, thoughts played and replayed, like scenes on a holostage.
He needed something else to take his mind off of this. A distraction. He glanced about, half-expecting to see the wolf, but the 'animal guide' remained vacant. He was starting to get an idea of how this worked, and it didn't work like that.
~Brenda?~ he sent through his complant. ~Where you at hun?~
± We... are one. ±
He found Brenda walking through an orange grove with X'el. Brilliant sunshine splashed off the Xelatian's bronze-like facial mask, causing April to squint. Orange citrus trees lined a gravel road leading towards a distant mountain; dark storm-clouds loomed over the peaks. It could have been Italy perhaps. Brenda was all smiles, chatting with the Arcadia crew-member. She had a Xelatian on her own crew. Apparently she got on well with them.
April watched her from the road; she hadn't seen him enter the holodeck. She reached up, plucked an orange, eyeing her companion over her shoulder. They were talking.
A distortion rippled through the air. Brenda, the Xelatian, the trees, all of it, seemed to... fluctuate. A strange tingling ran through April's skull; he felt it, behind his eyes, and in every nerve. His stomach cramped. An invisible hand clutched his bladder; he nearly urinated on himself. Dizziness and vertigo spun his senses out of control; he couldn't tell what he was looking at.
Somewhere inside of him, his instinct for command sprang forth, struggling for control. The sensation passed. Like a dream, or an after-image, he suddenly remembered seeing, just then... photons and pattern modulations from the holodeck emitters. Not a holodeck malfunction: He saw it.
The air felt different. Cool, on his eyes. He blinked a few times. That was not unusual, for one wearing comtact lenses. But it still felt different. Cool air brushed his eyes with a slight tickle. Looking straight ahead at Brenda, he lifted his eyes, up, then to the right, wondering if the occurrence would repeat itself.
Something different happened... yes. But not the same as before.
The briefing room was dim.
~Lights,~ Vallien complanted.
Two bodies sprang into being: A man. A woman. Captain April and another Vulcan, on the far side of the table, standing intimately close. She was touching his face. There was no mistaking what was happening. Her ID checked faster than light, and Vallien knew her rank & name: Lieutenant Strat.
There was more, of concern to Medical. Sickbay had been alerted.
It would not have been enough to alarm Vallien, in itself. Mind melds were not hostile acts, and he knew not the circumstances. More than likely, April would have agreed to it. He had allowed Vallien to meld with him, in the past.
But a psi-touch, from one Vulcan to another – Vallien, to this new crewmember – revealed otherwise. The look of blank shock on April reinforced it. He had not asked for it. She took him by surprise... forced it on him. To a Vulcan, it was the equivalent of rape – mind rape. And he was reacting, adversely.
Then...
It happened fast, before Vallien could act or react.
Bodies filled the room: Humanoids in suits, uniforms unlike any he knew, holding phasers apparently, of strange design, aligned on the couple.
"Back off!" one yelled at the woman, closest to her. They aimed for her head. "Release him now!"
A second went by – a moment of non-reaction, as if the woman failed to hear, or was unaware of their presence. In the same instant, Vallien's phaser materialized, as he lifted to take aim, simultaneously alerting security. The yeller's grip tightened on his weapon. The woman fell to the floor, broken from the captain. There was no visible discharge.
April stumbled as if dizzy. One of the suits caught him, the weapon in that person's hand vanishing, guiding him to the nearest chair.
Vallien's phaser was ready. He wasn't sure who to aim at, or whether to fire. Keeping them targeted, he called out to April in his peripheral view: "Captain. Are you well?"
Vallien shot a quick look. April slumped in the chair, head down, eyes closed. Slowly, his hand reached up to his forehead.
Vallien glanced over the group. "State your business."
"You can put that away." The nearest mystery guest, a red-haired J'naii, activated a holoscreen, showing identification: Some agency Vallien never heard of, with full Starfleet security clearance. "We appreciate your response, but we'll take it from here."
"Not so quickly," Vallien started.
"We'll let you know if your captain's well." At that moment, the door opened at the other end of the room, admitting two medical personnel – one Amanda Maraquin-Brock, the other a dark-skinned human female... Native American, in Terran ethnic distinctions. Noting their collars and medical equipment, the J'naii said, "We have our own doctors. We'll return him to you shortly."
The doctor, Lily Ross, looked back and forth, baffled. "What?"
Nyerko on Skinoki left Mariko Ingersoll in her place. Ingersoll materialized with a full troop. Security counter-systems and maximum strength forcefields had engaged.
Vallien sent a thought to Ingersoll: ~You took too long.~
~Sorry, Lieutenant.~
She acted on his order: The group vanished, off to the brig, all but for one.
"I don't know who you are," Vallien told the J'naii, "but this is a Starfleet vessel. We'll determine your authority here. Now provide an explanation."
The J'naii favored Vallien with a suspicious air. "Have you been tested, Lieutenant Vallien?"
Vallien frowned. Tested. With that one word, he knew their purpose... what this was about.
April was coming around. "No." He raised his head, fixed on the J'naii. "You aren't taking them."
The J'naii's mouth opened, then shut, resisting argument.
The new doctor, Ross, was examining the unconscious woman. Medical technology had advanced over the last thirty years. There was little need for instrumentation these days – computers and internal sensors did most of the work: biodiagnostics, physicals and the like. Organics monitored the readouts, and when special skill was required, performed it, using routine tools or holo-extensions. Through her complant, she absorbed the results of the virtual tricorder sweep. Lieutenant Strat's synaptic functions had fallen to a suppressed level – stable, yet cause for concern. She had never seen such readings. She looked up to the J'naii.
"It would help if you tell me what you've done."
"She isn't harmed. We've simply neutralized a dangerous criminal." The J'naii looked to April. "Wouldn't you agree, Captain April?"
April stared at the woman on the floor... drained, dazed, lost for words.
"That is, if you are capable of agreeing." The J'naii looked to Ross. "Dr. Lily Ross. Lieutenant Strat will be cared for. I recommend that you examine Captain April. He may be unfit for duty."
April scowled, finding his voice. "Ingersoll... put this person in the brig."
The J'naii vanished, joining the others.
Ross hovered over Strat. "Doctor Ross..." April nodded to the unconscious Vulcan. "Help her." It was not a request, but an order.
April got up, and slowly made his way to the door. He was... trembling.
▷ continued ◁
