His Plate Overrunneth

April walked the halls of his ship.  They were deserted.  He glanced at doors as he passed, searching for one in particular.  Daring to try a few, he opened them, to behold various odd scenes.

In one room, he saw himself, sitting at a desk in his room back on Earth, assembling a tiny model starship.  A replica of the original starship Enterprise, NX-01.  Ocean surf crashed against the New England shore through the window behind him.

In another, he was holding hands with Cadet Lacy Lomupo, an old flame from the Academy.  They sat on a hilltop at night, watching stars, talking about all the ones they were going to visit.

In another, hot desert air blasted over barren sands.  Someone rode a motorcycle in the distance, a long red scarf whipping in the wind.  In another, he and Eve Ordalani had sex on a couch in his office, in a reality that had never happened.  And in another was the transporter room – he stood there, meeting his daughter for the first time.  There, he lingered, until he remembered he was searching, and closed the door.

As he moved, corridors changed direction randomly, doors disappearing then appearing where they had not been.  The Arcadia had become a labyrinth, a maze from which he might never escape.  But escape was not on his mind.  He was meant to be here.  Searching for one door he had to find.

As he started to open it, that stranger appeared – the one he saw on the station.  White hair, pale skin, a truncated forehead and baleful stare, in vermilion robes patterned with glyphs.  April stopped and faced him, sensing his connection to what he sought.

"Who are you?" he asked the humanoid.

"Do I have a name...?"  The alien shook his head.  "No name.  Names are for the living.  You may call me Mediary."

They were suddenly in Stellar Cartography, as deserted as the rest of the ship.  'Mediary' walked the rim of consoles lining the large area – on top of them.

"I saw you on the station."

"I am here for you," he said.  "I am here because of you."

"This has to do with the Beehive, doesn't it," April said.

Mediary shifted, appearing directly before April, inches above the floor.  His robes spilled down into the deck, through the thin carpet.  The pale lips quirked in a brief grin; his head lifted, gaze panning over Stellar Cartography's huge astrometric display.  "Not an inaccurate analogy.  I see why you call it that.  The mind is a beehive."

The words cued something in April.  The mind is a beehive.  He knew it had significance – did not know how he suddenly knew.  He struggled to put his thoughts into cohesion, find the right questions to ask.  The most obvious leaped to the forefront: "What happened to me, out there?"

"You experienced that for which you were not, and are not, ready.  That which you were not yet meant to experience."

"And that is what?"

The alien looked straight at him.  "You know."

April thought about it.  "I didn't die."

"Nothing ever dies.  Your soul was... severed, from ties to this plane.  Your mind, separated from your physical body, if you wish to think of it that way – the first time any such occurrence took place.  Your body lived here – your soul, your spirit, elsewhere."

"In the Beehive?"

"In a manner of speaking.  Consider: If the mind is a beehive... then the Beehive is a mind.  Yet not just a mind.  It is mind – no more, no less.  A buffer, of sorts – a gateway to what you think of as the afterlife.  A storage center for souls – a soul bank."

"All souls," April breathed, half-remembering.

"Yes.  The soul of every living being, throughout creation... throughout time.  You have asked yourself many questions of a spiritual nature, Stephen April.  You have wondered if there is truly a Creator.  If there is an afterlife.  The answers lie before you... within you, where they have always been.  You have opened the door... now you have only to see."

"So what are you supposed to be – some kind of angel?"

The mediary gave a short, amused laugh.  "Nothing so grandiose.  I have been with you, since you left the sector you know as Occlua.  I am only in your mind... a message, if you will, in personified form.  You needed me, and I arose.  This will be my final appearance.  After this, I will be gone from your mind... and so will your memories of what transpired."

"Why?"

"No one can know what the Beehive truly is, until they have passed over.  They are not ready for it, just as you were not ready."

"Who gives you the right to make that decision?"

"Where does the sense of right come from?  How do you know right from wrong?  Again, it is within you.  It is within all souls.  A key to Understanding.  You know this is the right way – the only way.  That is why my people, before they died, created the protectors – the ones you call bees.  Don't act so surprised, Stephen April.  You already knew it must be this way."

April contemplated, and nodded.  "We have to wait until we die.  Then... if that's the case... why did your people create the Beehive?"

"My people were foolish.  They obsessed with the questions you have been asking yourself – questions of spirit, of purpose, of God.  They sought to find the answers through technology.  It destroyed them.  An entire race, sending themselves to the afterlife in the course of pursuing it.  Oh yes, they found their answer.  But in so doing, it opened a door not meant to be opened.  The 'bees' were created to protect it – for the sake of those whose time had not yet come."

"Was that what caused the instability in the Occlua sector?"

"Yes.  We destroyed our entire star system in a mad quest for the ultimate knowledge."  Mediary looked him closely in the eye.  "Do not be like my people, Stephen.  Give up this obsession with death and dying, before it destroys you.  Accept what you once knew how to believe.  You did it once.  Do it again."

He nodded to April's next question before April even asked it.  "Yes... you did see your daughter, while you were there.  Your souls touched.  Thus, the gift I now bring you, Stephen April – to soothe your soul, and help you on your way: The knowledge that she is not dead.  Nothing living truly dies.  It just transforms.  It may be hard for you to understand, because you are no longer in that realm... but one day, when you rejoin us... then you will.  Until then, you must be patient... and have faith."

"I'll... I'll try," April stammered.

"Go, and be at ease, Stephen April."

The mediary vanished from Stellar Cartography, just as the doors opened, and Vallien came walking in.  The blond Vulcan cast a curious eye about, as if expecting to see someone.  "Were we successful, Captain?"

April barely had time to nod, and he was sitting in Vallien's quarters, the Vulcan's fingers parting from his face.

"I hope you found the answers you sought," Vallien said.

April blinked several times, trying to remember what just happened.  The sense lingered that he had been speaking to... to who?... someone... but fading fast, like a dream.

"Answers," he repeated.  "I... I don't know."  But it didn't consume him, like before.  He felt relaxed, for the first time since learning of the deaths.  Strangely calm.  Placid.  Gathering himself, he said "Thank you, Mr. Vallien."

"Certainly, Captain."

It wasn't easy, being captain.  Some days were worse than others.

Today... was the worst yet.  The ship... the ship he had always called home... felt like a prison cell.  He felt like he was being punished... and not just with the death of his only child.

Life and duty didn't stop for the dead.  People died every day.  Those left behind, in the realm of the living, couldn't stop living – they had to go on.  And so did he.  To say it wasn't easy, was an extreme understatement.  It was hard.

The ship bustled with the usual prep activity, getting ready to set sail once again – crew going about their tasks, in and out of rooms, through the corridors, carrying equipment, PADDs, tools and other accoutrements typically visible at times like these.  He didn't have long to finish his personal inspection.  Not with who he knew was coming, due to arrive in less than an hour.

The corridors smelled sterile.  Air filters, driven by computer bio-recognition programs, cleansed the ship internally of every germ or harmful bacteria which might pose a threat or discomfort.  But today that sterility bore a scent of cold... of emptiness.  April tugged on his uniform jacket, pulling it in to isolate a warmth he only imagined, and could not feel.

Isolating himself was exactly what he was doing.  He knew it; he could see it happening.  But he didn't know how to stop it.  Did he even want to stop it?  He didn't know what he wanted, anymore.  The scent of death seemed to follow after him, clinging to him like an invisible cloud.  It only echoed his internal lackluster.  He felt dead inside.

He overheard a female voice, chewing someone out in Section 25B, and walked that way.

In front of an open panel in the corridor wall, a red-haired woman was wagging a tool at some young man with a boyish face – probably just transferred via Sorset.  She was a senior chief petty officer; he was an ensign.  Technically he outranked her.  But that didn't mean squat to her at the moment.  April slowed his gait as he approached.

"You listen to me, Ensign.  Nothing is as easy on this ship as you think it is.  Our entire operational setup is based on standard grids... but based, only.  Take a look at these buttons.  Do you know what any of these labels mean?  You think all anyone has to do is punch buttons and the computer just automatically knows what you want and does the rest?  Think again.  It takes skill, and years of training.  You have to know how to do it all.  You think you know what you're doing?  Go ahead then."  She shoved the tool into his hands.  "Show me."

The ensign swallowed, doubly nervous when he saw none other than the captain coming behind her.  "What do you want me to do?"

"Put in an ODN recalibration start sequence."

"Uh..."  He bit his lip.  "What was the entry sequence again?"

Therese Redman sighed, about to launch into a second tirade on the poor kid, when she noticed April.  "Captain."

"Chief Redman.  How we doing."

She hesitated.  An attractive woman in her forties, she was normally one of the most fun and pleasant crew members to have about.  But the 'news' had gotten out, as April knew it would, creasing her face sullen.  "I... heard, sir.  I'm sorry to hear about—"

"It's all right," he said, cutting her off – not too harshly, yet not too softly either.  "When will repairs in this section be complete?"

Redman glared at the newbie.  "As soon as Mr. 'I-know-it-all' here gets with the program."

April looked him over.  Under Redman's expert direction – she had been doing this for as long as he had been captain – he knew it would not be long.  He deferred to her wisdom in such cases.  "Carry on, then," he said, and continued past them.

April sat in his quarters, soft music playing, watching ships coming and going outside, through the holo-view on the wall.  He lifted a brownie from the plate and passed it under his nose, drawing in the scent.  The message on the card read, 'I hope you like pecans, they've always managed to make me feel better.'  It was unsigned, but the courier, Crewman Dess, informed him that the gift came courtesy of Counselor Bauval.  He smiled slightly, and replaced the brownie on the plate.  She must not have known that he was allergic to pecans – most nuts, for that matter... but it was the thought that counted.

It was a bit mystifying as to what prompted it.  Did she know what happened?... what happened to Neria?  How could she know?

Regardless of the how, he feared the fallout: April avoided consulting counselors on his own problems, as a rule.  Talking about problems made them seem worse to him.  The way he dealt with his problems was when he, himself, dealt with them.  He had been hoping, and managing, to keep personal effects of his daughter's death from seeping into professional affairs.  To that end, he discussed it with no one among the crew, nor let out the news.  Arcadia's rampant 'rumor mill', once a thriving force on this ship, was largely dead thanks to him... but perhaps not as dead as his daughter.  Either someone broke that rule, disobeyed a standing order to refrain from gossip and blabbed, or... someone else informed the new counselor.  From outside – unless someone among the crew had eavesdropped or was snooping into records of April's communications with Khalindar, and trying to get into hot water for it, which he doubted.  Someone on Khalindar?  He didn't know if Winter knew any Khalindarians.  As hard as it had been for him to get through to Khalindar, after their secession, he doubted it, even if she did.  Someone in Starfleet record-keeping, however, was bound to notice... and probably already did.  A former cadet, and a captain's daughter at that, had died.  Starfleet would be concerned over its impact on the father.  They would recommend counseling... perhaps a psychiatric review.  To that end, they would call on a counselor.  His ship's counselor.  Maybe the brownies were an overture to a planned visit.  Or maybe just an unusual counseling technique.

It would all come to a head soon.  It was inevitable.  He knew it was inevitable, as soon as Ankena suggested having the funeral aboard Arcadia.  By Khalindarian custom, every living relative was supposed to be present.  Neria was half-Khalindarian.  The human half of her heritage – April's half – meant every one of his relation, related to her through blood or marriage, arriving.  He would be hard-pressed to hide it from the crew, once they did... so he wasn't even going to try.  He had to inform others, to set it up.

He started with Alex Crimson.  The diplomatic attaché had experience with these matters, and was comfortable coordinating various details and personnel.  She wanted to be a first officer someday – it would be good training for her.  The lieutenant had the duty of overseeing arrangements, making sure all was prepared, to take place upon their arrival – and doing so, quickly: It was less than an hour after Ankena's transmission, until his ship docked.  The Khalindarian was apparently wasting no time, to pick up and come all the way from Khalindar with Neria's remains in such a short period.  Crimson followed suit, rushing in headlong, bound and determined to impress the captain... or at least make this as quick and painless as possible.

Ankena's would not be the only ship.  Other members of April's extended family served in Starfleet, a couple of them captains, like him – including his father.  Coordinating with Starfleet, April located the starships Resolution and Horizon – as fate had it, both in approximate vicinity: One near Nazzipir, beyond the Federation's 'southern' edge, not far from Sorset.  The other, Horizon, was medical, on assignment to deliver supplies to a remote outpost in former Cardassian space.  They had just dealt with a plague outbreak and were returning home.  April sent automated transmissions, informing them of the gathering, immediate reply requested.  Moments later, they confirmed acceptance.  Crimson contacted Sorset Station's commander to clear their arrival.  They were picking up others along the way.  A runabout ferried one more, his brother Kevin, an artist, from the Atlantis colony.

In the midst of the fracas, April still had to tend shipboard matters.  Engineers were reconfiguring plasma relays on deck 10, an important access junction between the forward and drive sections.  Passing by, he stopped to lend a hand – crewmen transferred from Sorset, new to the Arc and the power demands of a slipstream drive vessel, were struggling to understand the geometry of the torus-shaped hookups.  April himself got a refresher in tridimensional geometry.  He turned one of the toroids over and over in his hands, trying to remember the exact digital coordinates for insertion flow points.  There were no clear interlocks – they ran on pure discharge.  Master Chief Marcum happened along, and though he reeked of the stench of beer – which April resisted an urge to inquire about; Marcum was off-duty – he let the man take over, and withdrew, hiding his embarrassment.  Served him right, for not keeping up with tech journals in three years.

Other new crew-members had also been assigned; one, interestingly, a Gorn.  There were few Gorn in Starfleet, as far as April knew.  It behooved him, in interests of ship and crew, to meet this individual, size him up... or her, as it happened to be.  When a team was only as strong as each team member, it warranted such interest.  One thing he could still do, felt he had to do as captain, was know who they could count on, and to what extent.  Gorn were notoriously slow under the artificial gravity used by most humanoids.  With a Gorn assigned to Security – a department to which speed was crucial – he had to be concerned.  And then there were other, societal & cultural factors to consider.  The Gorn were a territorial, predatory race, with customs different from many in the Federation.  Those customs might cause clashes with others in the crew.

But, more immediately, another matter came to April's attention, from...

=/\= "Brisk to Captain April." =/\=

He touched the communicator pinned to his chest.  "Go ahead, Tab."

=/\= "Stephen... I know how you're probably going to react to this, but I've got some news for you.  I don't know how it happened, but... Doctor Cao has been infused with nanites." =/\=

The announcement made April's jaw hit the floor.  One more item on the plate near overflowing.  Nanotechnology?  How did he suddenly get infused with nanites?  How was that possible?  April wasn't clear how nanites coexisted with a human body – despite subcellular scale, they could interfere with subcellular functions.  But that wasn't the most of his worry: Internal sensors would have – or should have – detected illicit nanites on board.  From whom did he receive the nanites?  For what purpose?  Somehow the CMO just kept fomenting controversy – from his actions in the Occlua sector, to... this.

April tapped his com-badge and ordered Kiara Pagliacci to find out, immediately, who infused Cao with nanites, and how, and for what purpose.  Whoever was 'peddling nanites' was breaking several laws, and would be facing lawful charges – and it was April's duty to see to it.  He hoped to God it wasn't one of his own crew... yet who else could it be?  Unless Cao violated his own self-quarantine, until he could be cleared for duty, and went onto the station (where even then it was unlikely someone could pawn off nanites without being discovered – scientific measures of detection existed there, as well)... he didn't know who else it could have been.  Bypassing detection by internal sensors – that was a Security issue.  It was Kiara's job to find the culprit, and find out how they did it.  Unauthorized nanites were illegal.  Federation lawmakers frowned on that almost as much as genetic engineering – any science that altered or illegally enhanced the natural form... especially when it risked creating 'super-humanoids'.  He imagined Cao using nanotech to achieve feats which somehow defied the laws of science... which would send ripples of alarm through Starfleet, from crewmates to Starfleet Command, all the way up the chain.  Nanites were serious business.  This was going to have to be dealt with, and dealt with quickly.

Tabatha went on to inform him that Winter had informed her, that she wanted to set up a meeting between the four of them to discuss the situation.  April acknowledged, commed Winter and told her he would do it, in the next few hours.  He hesitated, gave the brownies a passing thought then said: