USS GALILEO GALILEI had been on station just outside the Delta
Triangle for more than 12 hours. During this time both Science
Stations on the Bridge had been manned, accumulating data on the
strange cloud. Originally detected by a passing Third fleet tug,
investigation of this anomalous energy reading had been assigned to
the GALILEO. As CDR Edwards, GALILEO's Science Officer, had remarked
when notified of the mission, "This is right down our alley."
He wasn't so flippant now, standing in front of
Captain Clayton. "No, sir," he repeated. "Our sensors are giving us no data we
didn't already get from USS IBN BAUD (NCC-3806). It appears that the anomalous
energy is still there, but we just can't get any better answers than that." The
failure of his Science Department to come up with anything concrete made Terry
Edwards a bit defensive.
Captain Clayton frowned. He looked at the viewscreen.
It showed a nebulous cloud with filaments of pink, blue, and purple doing a
stately dance within the ill-defined boundaries of the mystery. It is beautiful,
Clayton thought to himself. But what in Hell is it? He turned back to the
discomforted officer in front of him.
"Well, Commander. What do you recommend?"
Edwards hesitated, not positive that he wanted to make
the recommendation he had formulated after several heated discussions with
members of his department. "Well, sir," uncharacteristically, he fidgeted. "My
only recommendation at this point is to move into the cloud and see what we can
discover when we're in actual contact. I'd also like to send out a shuttle to
get a sample. Maybe that will tell us something."
LT Judith Rick, Chief of Life Sciences, spoke up.
"Captain, I must register my objection to that course of action." CDR Edwards
fixed her with a penetrating gaze. She shrank from it, unaccustomed to
disagreeing so openly with her department head.
Clayton noticed Edwards' look. "Now, Commander," he
said in a placating voice. "I wouldn't actually call that mutiny. I'd like to
hear the lieutenant's objections." Edwards shot her one last look which had
"we'll talk later" written all over it, and nodded. "Continue, Lieutenant Rick."
I'm up to my, you-know-what in it now, LT Rick
thought. She tried not to let her nervousness show. "Well, Captain, Commander,
we know from past experience that the Delta Triangle doesn't seem to always
follow the same laws of physics that the rest of us do. It also seems to be a
favorite hangout for Orion Pirates. What if this is nothing more than fly
paper?"
The Chief Security Officer, LCDR Boulay, who had begun
to nod his head in agreement, started. "Fly paper?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. Fly paper. It was used hundreds of years
ago on Earth to trap a certain kind of scavenger insect on a sticky sheet of
paper impregnated with a sweet-smelling substance as bait."
Boulay was thoughtful for a moment. "I agree with the
lieutenant. We don't know enough about this energy cloud to rule out the fact it
might be a trap. I would not like to get 'fly papered'." Rick shot him a
grateful smile, glad to have someone on her side.
"Commander?" Captain Clayton looked back at Edwards.
"At this point, Captain, the energy cloud could be
anything from a trap to a simple anomaly. Until we have more data, there's no
way to tell. However, I would be surprised if it had anything to do with the
Orions."
Clayton turned to LCDR Renfrew, the Operations
Officer, who gave him a noncommittal shrug. "I should think that Orion Pirates
would be the least of our worries. We've got more firepower aboard this ship
than the law allows. I'd like to know more about this pretty cloud."
Captain Clayton turned over alternatives in his mind
for a moment, and then made his decision. "We'll do it your way, Commander.
But," he held up a warning hand, "I want someone's finger on the button at all
times, just in case discretion becomes the better part of valor. Have your
shuttle ready in 30 minutes-we'll move in then. Commander Elvenfriend, would you
stay behind for a moment?"
Disappointed her warnings were ignored, LT Judith Rick
followed the other officers out of the Briefing Room. She rubbed her chin. "I've
got a bad feeling about this," she announced to no one in particular.
"Lieutenant Rick, would you join me?" CDR Edwards'
voice did not promise a picnic for the two of them. She moved quickly to catch
up with her department head.
Clayton looked at his Chief Logistics Officer, then at
Kirtland Burke and induced his head. MCPO Burke smiled, went to a table just
behind the Captain, retrieved a box, and moved to stand just to Clayton's right.
CDR Minute Elvenfriend was confused, but it barely
showed through her usual effervescent demeanor. She stood and moved to a spot
just in front of Captain Clayton in response to his hand signal.
"There are two tasks a Commanding Officer is called
upon to complete which are joyous, and at least one that often is not. I have
the pleasure and the regret to have to do two of them today."
The smile on Min's face began to fade. This was a
strange and confusing preamble. Her blue eyes became apprehensive.
Clayton reached for the box Kirtland was holding.
"It is my great pleasure to give you my first set of
captain's insignia. They brought me luck, and I hope, Captain Elvenfriend, they
do the same for you."
The color drained from Minuet's face. She opened her
mouth several times, but nothing came out. As Clayton removed her commander's
insignia and replaced it with that of a captain's, her eyes got wider and wider.
She sputtered as Clayton handed her the pins he had
removed.
Clayton stepped back and gave her a precise salute,
something Min had not seen since her Academy days. Numbly, she returned the
gesture of respect. "Congratulations, Captain Elvenfriend."
Still dumbfounded, Minuet couldn't even react as
Kirtland hugged her. "Congratulations, Captain," Kirtland repeated.
"There must be some mistake!"
Kirtland's musical laughter broke the spell. "That's
the exact same thing Grahame said when he was promoted."
Clayton, too, hugged Minuet and handed her the
certificate. She stared at it in disbelief. It must be true! There's the
signature of the President of the United Federation of Planets and the
signature of Fleet Admiral Ken Brannon, She checked the name on the
certificate: "Minute Elvenfriend." That's me!
"There's one other thing," Clayton sat down, a small
cloud passing across his face. Still in shock, Min looked at Clayton.
"Your orders." The words were like a thunderclap.
Minuet began shaking her head.
Clayton sighed. "I don't want to lose you, Min, any
more than you want to leave. But don't you even want to know what your orders
are?" A small smile returned.
"I'll tell you one damned thing, Captain," Minuet had
finally found her voice. "They'd better be good. Otherwise you can have these
back," she motioned at the shoulder strap, "and I'll just go back to my office
and pretend this never happened."
"I don't think so, Min." He took the isochip Kirtland
handed him, inserted it into the computer terminal, and spun the screen around
for Minuet to see. As she read, her mouth dropped open.
"But-but -"
"You're to attend Command School and then report as
Commanding Officer of the United Nations-class support ship USS MOGADISHU
(NCC-8327) upon its acceptance by Starfleet following final testing. It's the
lead ship in a new class of combat replenishment ships, Min! It'll be all
yours!"
Minuet stood there, looking first at Clayton then
Kirtland. Finally she spoke. "IF you will excuse me, Captain, I have some
important decisions to make."
Clayton sighed. "Of course, Captain, I understand."
As Captain Minuet Elvenfriend left the Briefing Room,
Clayton sighed again. "She's the only person I know who would have to think
about a promotion and her own ship."
Kirtland put her hands on Clayton's shoulders, and
rested her cheek alongside his. "She really loves the GALILEO, you know. She
doesn't want to leave her friends or her Captain."
"I know, Kirtland, I know." His voice was soft. He
stared silently al the closed door.
The Main Lounge had a larger-than-average crowd today,
but it wasn't unusual. The number of people in the Lounge at any one time varied
from just one or two, all the way to the 70 or 80 who were crowded around the
tables and the bar at the moment.
A group of unusually noisy crewmembers were gathered
around a gaming table off to one side of the room. LCDR Mike Stevens, the Chief
Helmsman, and ENS Natasha Kuznetsova, Helmsman on Gamma Shift, were engaged in a
spirited game of "Starships at War." The two officers were intently maneuvering
their holographic ships in an attempt to get a phaser shot off at their
opponent. Shouts of encouragement, laughter, and ribald comments came from the
on-lookers.
Finally, Stevens pulled a complicated Rubrics Maneuver
and fired, sending Kuznetsova's ship into a flaming spiral. The act was greeted
with an equal number of expressions of joy and disappointment.
"But, you can't do that!" Natasha stammered, tom
between outrage at losing and fear of antagonizing her boss. "The G-forces would
have torn your ship apart!"
"Not so! I simply dropped all life-support systems off
line and channeled the extra power into the artificial gravity dampeners, which
held the ship together just long enough for me to line you up in my sights; and
then-Bingo!" Stevens emphasized his explanation with his right hand shaped like
a pistol pointed at Natasha's head. He pulled the "trigger' at the appropriate
moment.
"You can do that?" the ensign's face was a study in
disbelief.
"Whadd'ya say, Mac, can it be done, or not?" Mike
looked to LCDR MacDonald for validation.
"Aye, it can be done. But you'd better not do it with
my engines." MacDonald affixed Stevens with an icy stare.
His pronouncement was met with renewed laughter. Like
most engineers, especially Scots, LCDR MacDonald's feelings toward "his engines"
were legerdemain. Lance Corporal Wayne Slaughter was sitting a couple of tables
away watching the scene and carefully, intensely, staring at the tall,
magnificent figure of Kirtland Burke. A student of Earth mythology and legends,
Slaughter compared the imagined nude body of MCPO Burke to that of Venus. He had
just positively, absolutely, and without reservation, decided that there was no
contest whatsoever-Kirtland would win. In fact, he decided, Kirtland
would put a certain Deltan I know to shame. Yes, he concluded, and also that
Orion slave girl-what was her name? Oh, yes, Shamir-in that backwater bar
on Leviathan. He shook his head. What I wouldn’t give to take Captain
Clayton's place for just one night. Of course, he had no proof that
anything had ever happened between the Captain and his Chief Yeoman, but it was
something to contemplate. He took another sip of his drink, sat it down, and
looked back at Kirtland.
The color drained from his face. He shook his head,
closed his eyes for a second, and opened them again, hoping against hope. It was
true! As he watched, Kirtland's uniform began to dissolve. Not just part of it,
but every single stitch! His mouth hung open foolishly. She stood there,
apparently unconcerned, completely naked. For once, real life was far better
than his vivid imagination. His concentration was broken by a scream from the
bar, "My clothes!"
Realization began to run rampant through the Lounge.
Uniform after uniform had dissolved, leaving a majority of the crew without
clothing. Some of the women ran from the Lounge, trying with too few hands to
cover too many places.
A consummate voyeur, Slaughter was enjoying himself
immensely. It was funny, though. Those people who were wearing civilian clothing
were still fully covered. He reached for his drink and grasped air. He could see
a hairy forearm out of the corner of his eye. It dawned on him that he, too, was
wearing a uniform. The operative word here seemed to be "was." He turned beet
red and looked up to find Kirtland Burke standing in front of him, still
apparently totally unconcerned over her sudden lack of clothing.
"Well, Corporal, how does it feel to have your
greatest wish come true?" she had a wicked, almost evil, grin on her face.
He fed the room, running awkwardly, both hands held in
front of him.
Kirtland laughed at the look on his face. Well, she
said to herself. I don’t mind going swimming in the nude, most people on
the GALILEO don’t bother with swim suits in the pool,
but it's just not proper in the Lounge. She headed out the Lounge
door toward her quarters, her head held high and proud. At least I'm not alone!
On the Main Bridge, Captain Clayton was torn between
laughter and concern. Here, too, uniforms had disappeared. He suddenly put two
and two together. "Helmsman, get us out of here! Full impulse!"
"Sorry, sir. Impulse engines are down!" LT
Brewer-O'Brian was trying, unsuccessfully, to man her station using only one
hand.
"Warp One, then!" Everyone on the Bridge was
exercising a great deal of restraint, looking straight at their consoles, not at
each other.
The Helmsman shook her head, "No warp engines either,
Captain!"
Clayton resumed his seat in the center chair and
punched the Engineering comm. button. "Mac! What's going on down there? I need
power, and I need it now!"
"Excuse me, Captain," came the confused voice of ENS
Jocelyn MacKenzie. "Commander MacDonald isn't here right now."
"Then you tell me what's happening. Why are impulse
and warp engines both down?" Clayton's voice had a hard edge to it.
"I don't know, Captain," her voice had a hysterical
timber to it. "Everything that has been replicated has disappeared!" Her voice
wavered, "Including clothes!"
The humor of the situation finally struck Clayton. His
voice softened. "It would seem that engineers aren't the only ones who've been
caught with their pants down. Clayton out."
He looked around the Bridge. "Well, people. Who feels
the need to get civilian clothes on first?"
Kirsten Brewer-O'Brian timidly raised her hand.
"Go on, Lieutenant. I promise none of us will look.
Terry, take her place. We don't seem to need a child to tell us about the
Emperor's clothes."
MISSION UPDATE Captain Sir G. Dorsal Clayton, IV
"Commander, your first job is to collect every
emergency ration from every lifeboat and place them under armed
guard." Clayton, self-consciously dressed in a Sherwood green jump
suit which had been a present from Kirtland Burke on his last
birthday, was addressing LCDR Peter Boulay, the ship's Chief
Security Officer. Clayton felt uncomfortable sitting in the Command
Chair without a uniform, but there was no alternative. Well, there
was an alternative, but it's not one I would choose.
Boulay nodded. "Luckily, the majority of the phasers
in the Armory are operable. Only the one's we've repaired lately don't work.
I'll put my men on it immediately. I suggest we use Cargo Bay Two as a staging
area-there's only one way in or out, and it'll be easier to defend."
"I certainly hope it won't come to that, Peter, but,
of course, you're right.