Identifiable Suspicions

The man called Dominic Gray sat in Arcadia's conference lounge, his favorite place on board, a clean, sleek room with a long, glossy black table between three brown walls.  The fourth wall, a row of large vertical windows evenly spaced, revealed a startling outer environment: Blue slipstream, screaming silently by in long, mad streaks.  The ship had spent weeks traveling from one spiral arm of the galaxy to the next, in and out of slipstream, on course for their destination: A region of double nebulae, five-hundred light years apart, known as Heart and Soul.

Normally he took in the rapture of the view alone.  Not today, however... for he was not alone.

Lieutenant Oberon, the stiff, quiet security chief assigned just before Arcadia's relaunch, had cornered and confronted the ship's commanding officer.

The recent civil war proved to be one of the great catalysts for revelation, bringing out buried, forgotten truths and unknown secrets.  Long held to be hypocrisies, stretches of the truth or outright lies, they came into the open, finding the light of exposure for the first time in Federation history, turning views of the world upside down.

Central to all: The revelation of the Coricians, ancient human star-travelers.  Certain planets figured prominently in records regarding the ancient Coricians: Gantalon, Gammatron, Tamajun, Churgurax... and of course, the first planet to be called Coricia, in ancient times... now known as Earth.  They colonized other planets, later called Vulcan, Bajor, Cardassia, Kronos, Romulus.  Before those planets' respective races, before all others, there were Coricians.

This was the most important truth.  Through exploration, colonization and genetic engineering, they created many of the humanoid races.  Coricians were humans.  Humans came first.  Aliens... creations of the humans or their descendants... came later.

The man called Christopher Dominic Gray took exceptional pride in this fact; a private pride, knowledge shared with few – certainly no one aboard the starship he now commanded, this UFS Arcadia....

...Until this moment.

"I know who you are," Oberon said.  "You're a wanted man... Captain Gray."

Trying to stay relaxed, the CO gripped the padd Oberon had presented, meeting the other man's gaze.  Text on the padd's display revealed the nature of Oberon's assignment – and below that, data he had collated in his short time here.  The captain's behavior, recorded and noted in logs by various officers since the ship's return from Andromeda, had drawn attention at Starfleet Command.  His recent promotion from first officer drew attention, before that.

"You were sent to smoke me out," Gray said.  With a long, soft sigh, he sat down in his chair at one end of the table, placing the padd before him.  "Who knows?"

"Suspicions abound, certainly.  With the war still fresh in people's minds, there are many wanted men... war criminals, and the like."

"I'm not a war criminal."

"That's for a trial to decide."

"So I'm under arrest," Gray said.

"Not yet."  Oberon sat down next to him, in the chair reserved for the first officer.  "If you're willing to hear me out, I'm willing to make a deal... for a fellow Corician."

Gray's eyes narrowed.  "You're Corician?"

"It's possible.  Ceiy, Coricia's sun... When I look at it, I get... glimpses... feelings.  I've examined records, and... well."  Oberon ran a hand through his hair.  "Suspicions and identity are problems for us both.  You know who you are.  I know who you are.  But who I am... where I came from... Suspicions are all I have.  I think I've been reprogrammed."

"Are you sure?"

Oberon shrugged.  "How can I know?  That's the problem.  You, Sir... No one needs to know your true identity.  The results of my investigation can be... inconclusive.  Coricia has technology Starfleet doesn't.  They have ways to find out these things.  If you'll help me recover my past...."

Gray didn't take long to consider.  He picked up the padd and held it out.  "After you."

Oberon took it, tapped in a series of digits.  Seconds later, the display blanked.  He set it back down between them, its data erased.

"All right," Gray said.  "Computer, lock the doors.  Deactivate internal communications and recording equipment.  No interruptions.  Directive Alpha One Epsilon."

"Captain Gray."  Dante Winters used an open intercom, speaking aloud so he could be heard by others on the bridge, as protocol dictated.  "We're nearing the rendezvous coordinates."

"Drop to impulse and send the signal," Gray replied.  "I'll be right out."

"Aye, sir."

Soon, Gray emerged.  Accompanying him, the security chief, Lieutenant Oberon, walked to his console, taking over as the backup man slipped away.

"All stop," Fairchild said from the helm.  The holosphere had activated, showing the ship's position relative to a new vessel of an unknown type, entering the sector.  Even at slipstream's wildly accelerated warp velocities, it had taken weeks to reach this arm of the galaxy.

During that time, Gray had stayed mostly out of sight, keeping to himself, only showing up for twice-daily duty shifts, or occasionally visiting the ship's social spots, such as the mess hall or observation deck... a secretive man, despite his outwardly jovial, jesting manner.

"We've just received acknowledgment of our signal," said Winters.

"Good, good."  Gray plopped into the command chair.  "Maintain position and status."  He opened a com-channel: "Ria Stavros.  Nina Black.  Please report to the bridge."

Minutes went by, with normal issuance of standard orders and other operational directives as the foreign vessel approached.  Gray studied the holosphere and data on his own chair-side monitor, watching as the alien ship closed.  Since this was a scheduled contact with a non-belligerent species, there was no need to set an alert condition.

Stavros and Black entered from the turbolift.  Gray turned in his chair.  "We're about to receive ambassadors from a species that communicates holographically.  They'll escort us the rest of the way into their territory."  He eyed Nina Black.  "Miss Black, you're listed as a holographic specialist.  You might be of assistance."

"Holographic ambassadors?" Stavros said.

Patton, the on-duty tactical officer, spoke up:

"Captain, we're getting an interface request from the alien ship.  They want to use our holographic emitters."

Gray nodded.  "Send acknowledgment and grant the request.  Clearance level four."

"Aye, sir.  Sending now."

Gray motioned to Winters.  "XO, take Miss Stavros and Miss Black here, and greet them."

They barely took a step together when Patton added, "Captain, the ship's in visual range.  This is strange.  It... appears to be... Constitution-class."

Guests had arrived.  They walked a corridor, six men and one woman, sporting Starfleet uniforms of an archaic style, in white, beige or pastel blue.  Ria Stavros and Nina Black accompanied the group, who conversed amongst themselves.

The woman, who was black, said, "Captain, I'm... scared."

The males in the group rolled their eyes.  An Asian man walking next to her said, "What doesn't scare you, Uhura?"

She shot him a disdainful glare.  "It was part of my matrix when I formed, Mr. Sulu.  I can't help it."  She looked around, at various faces and stares they were getting from crewmembers, passing in the corridor.  "This isn't like the Enterprise.  It's so... different."

"Yes, well, the Enterprise isn't really the Enterprise."  The brown-haired man at the front of the group wore a white, short-sleeved shirt.  He turned his head, smiling at a female ensign strolling by.  "And we aren't really the people we appear to be."

"An important distinction," said one who appeared to be Vulcan.

"But do they know that?" 'Uhura' said.  "I can feel their stares.  They look at us like we're... celebrities."

"Aye," said a mustached man with salt-and-pepper hair.  "A while ago, one of the engineers asked for my autograph, then offered me a bottle of thirty-year-old Scotch."  His head constantly turned, studying every inch of equipment they passed in the corridor.  "I dinna how they ha' this level o' tech and dinna what we are.  I'm tempted to make mysel' a gorilla with Ferengi ears just to show 'em."

"That would be illogical, Mr. Scott."

"Blast your Vulcan logic, Spock.  Better than having pointed ears... or ice water in your veins."

The 'Vulcan' raised an eyebrow.  "May I remind you, Dr. McCoy, we don't have veins."

"Gentlemen... gentlemen."  The man in the middle jumped in, stifling an impending dispute.  "Don't forget, we're guests on their ship.  So, let's act like it.  Besides, it's just a little hero worship... the same thing we did when we met the crew of the real Enterprise.  Try to enjoy it.  We have a while before we reach the observatory.  Treat it as... vacation."

"Well said, Keptin," a young man responded, with a Russian accent.

"Thank you, Mr. Chekov."

They arrived at a door.  "Jim, what are we doing here?"  The curmudgeonly 'McCoy' regarded the interior with apprehension.  Through the window, personnel could be seen milling about, or sitting at various tables, enjoying drinks and food.  "You know we can't eat."