Chapter One

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Over the past several months, Kendall Johnson had had plenty of time to reflect upon his life thus far.  Confined to his quarters and on suicide watch, he had been subjected to countless sessions with Rachael Meyer, where he recounted his every failure with great detail.  Suffice it to say, for Kendall, the list was extensive.

 

He had been rejected by the love of his life, surrendered the starship to save himself, allowed his best friend to be shot by the Elorg, and on two occasions, altered the timeline.  In addition, Kendall could not recount a single moment in the past two years that had a positive spin on it… The Jem’Hadar had captured him; he had been declared a coward and subsequently earned the scorn of Talyere Rosat; he had allowed the ship to be attacked by the Mersah Tolidas…

 

Throughout his numerous meetings with Rachael Meyer in the aftermath of his suicide attempt, Kendall had been absolutely certain that his mindset was immutable—he was going to kill himself one way or another.  But now, several months down the road, Johnson finally realized that perhaps suicide was not the answer he was seeking.  It would certainly resolve any problems he might have… but it would resolve everything else right along with it.

 

Besides, if there was one thing that became apparent during his isolation, it was the fact that there had been a time in his life when he had been happy.  On the Prometheus, his assignment prior to the Starlight, Johnson had been content; he had enjoyed his days at Starfleet Academy… at home back on Earth…  It seemed to Kendall Johnson that the major problem in his life was the Starlight.  Naturally, the solution came to Johnson easily—leave the ship.

 

Johnson stood nervously just outside Captain Christopher’s ready room.  He had made his way to the bridge with little fanfare, receiving little more than a curious gaze from Commander Harrison as he slinked over to the ready room doors.

 

Johnson paused for a brief moment to compose himself, then slowly reached out and touched the chime.  “Come in,” Christopher crisply said a moment later.

 

With some trepidation in his step, Johnson stepped through the parting doors and into the ready room, where the curious gaze of Alan Christopher quickly greeted him; his bright turquoise eyes, filled with curiosity, drilled into Johnson.  “Kendall,” he said softly.  “This is certainly a surprise.”

 

Nodding nervously, approaching the desk.  “There… was something I wanted to talk to you about,” he said, resting his hands on the back of the nearest chair.

 

Again, Christopher’s eyes widened.  “Oh really?”

 

Johnson nodded.  “Really.”

 

Folding his arms on his chest, Christopher pushed himself away from the desk and gave his full attention to Johnson.  “I’m all ears,” he said.

 

Sweat began to bead on Johnson’s forehead, and a knot started to manifest itself in his stomach.  It felt as if he were on stage for some huge performance, and the spotlight was directly overhead; in all his life experiences, Johnson believed that such instances ranked among his least favorite.  But he reminded himself that he was performing before an audience of one—and not on stage.  It wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been.

 

But it certainly felt like it.

 

Carefully, he maneuvered himself into the chair directly before Christopher, and summarily forced himself to peer into the Captain’s inquisitive turquoise eyes.  “I have given my actions on this ship a lot of consideration in recent months,” he started.  Already, his mouth was parched like a desert, but he continued in spite of the fact.  “I’ve come to the conclusion that my service record on the Starlight has been nothing more than a series of failures—both professionally and personally.  Consequently, I’ve decided that it is time to move on.”

 

 “Move on to what?”  On the surface, Christopher’s words seemed relatively natural; he was obviously surprised by the news, and his tone conveyed the emotion effectively… but underneath, Johnson could detect more serious overtones… doubt being the most obvious.

 

Johnson remained silent as he considered the question.  Knowing it would be in his best interest to address the unspoken words first, he attempted to fabricate some sort of plan, but to his chagrin, the words that fell from Johnson’s mouth were far less tactful than Christopher’s.  “I don’t know,” he said bluntly.

 

A slight smile cracked Christopher’s otherwise stoic face.  Clearly, he had suspected as much.  “Then are you absolutely certain that you’ve thought this through?” he prompted.

 

“Yes,” said Johnson.  He had had more than enough time to think it through, in fact.  “If there is one thing that I’m certain if, it’s that.”

 

Christopher’s head bobbed indecisively.  “I’m not so sure,” he said thoughtfully.  “I think that you’re still looking for a way out.  In your myriad ponderings, you might have convinced yourself that you’re fine… but what if things don’t get better when you leave?  Then what?  We won’t be there to take care of you.”

 

Johnson could feel his blood beginning to boil.  “I’m not a little boy, Captain.  I can take care of myself!”

 

Christopher’s eyes widened.  “The truth must fall on fertile soil, Kendall.”

 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” asked Johnson with a furrowed brow.

 

“Over the past few months, you’ve spent a lot of time reflecting upon your actions.  In doing so, I am certain you came upon the truth—and the answer—to your problems.  But you’re not paying any attention to it.  You’re just going to run… like you always have.”

 

Johnson blinked.  If there was any meaning to those words, it sailed straight over his head.  Maybe he was denying himself the truth—maybe he wasn’t.  Either way, Kendall was positive that leaving was the answer; unfortunately, it was apparent that the Captain’s answer was a firm “no.”

 

During the brief moments of silence following the revelation, Johnson attempted to form some sort of rebuttal.  At first, nothing came to mind, and when the thoughts finally did start to flow, the chirp of Christopher’s communicator abruptly brought them to a stop.

 

“Harrison to Christopher.”

 

The Captain touched his badge.  “Yes, Matthew?”

 

“Report to the bridge at once.”

 

He shook his head.  “I’m on my way.”

 

Alan Christopher quickly bolted from his chair, straightened his uniform and headed for the bridge, Kendall Johnson following a fair distance behind.  As he made his way across the command facility to his chair, the Captain summarily turned his curious gaze upon Commander Harrison.  “What is it?”

 

The look on Harrison’s face was not a pleasant one.  At first, Christopher suspected to hear news of some horrific atrocity, but as he read into Harrison’s face, and those of the other bridge officers, it became apparent that the news was only slightly dire.  “We have been recalled to Starbase 241,” said Harrison softly.

 

Immediately, Christopher knew the reason for Harrison’s dread: “Admiral O’Connor,” he whispered with disgust.  “What does she want?”

 

“Unknown,” said Harrison with a shrug.  “However, she said it was urgent.”

 

“Out of doughnuts probably,” quipped Christopher as he seated himself in the command chair.  “Neelar, set a course—warp… six.  I’m in no hurry to get there, and we can use the extra time to decide on glazed or chocolate.”

 

 

 

Rachael Meyer was a prisoner of war, and despite years of Starfleet training and conditioning for such a situation, she found herself utterly petrified.  Throughout the years, she had seen quite a bit—Borg attacks, Romulan invasions, telepathic communication with Species 8472…  it had all been frightening, but none of it compared to this.

 

Following the attack, the Elorg had been swift in dispatching a destroyer to intercept the crippled Merrimac.  When they arrived, the Elorg boarded the ship, rounded up the survivors, and beamed them into interrogation chambers before destroying the ship; apparently, they were unconcerned about harnessing Federation technology.

 

After the transport, Meyer found herself locked in a small, room with one light—an incredibly intense spotlight—shining down upon the sleek metallic chair in the center.  In the room with her were four other people: Doctor Hartman, Captain Landsberg, Lieutenant Korin, and a Vulcan whose name she did not catch—not that it mattered.  The Vulcan died several hours later; the Elorg came in, removed the body, and left.

 

And then there were four.

 

Of the remaining four, Doctor Hartman was the weakest.  She had sustained a broken arm during the attack, which the Elorg refused to treat.  As a result, she complained a lot more than usual before finally falling asleep, leaving Rachael alone to her thoughts for several hours—until finally, footsteps fell behind the counselor.

 

“Rachael,” came Ryan Landsberg’s soft voice.

 

Her heart nearly skipped a beat.  Rachael turned around to see Landsberg hovering almost overhead.  “Captain,” she said softly, rising to her feet.

 

“Ryan,” he corrected with a smile.

 

Rachael quickly matched his smile.  “Ryan it is,” she said.  “Did you want something?”

 

He nodded indecisively, and started to speak, when the large doors at the front of the room suddenly parted.  A beam of harsh light from the corridor flooded inside the interrogation chamber, followed closely by three shadowy figures.  There was little doubt in Meyer’s mind that they were Elorg.

 

Of the three Elorg, two of them were of considerable size.  The third Elorg, standing in the center, was slightly shorter, but far more petite.  “Captain Ryan Landsberg,” came her icy voice, filled with conviction.  Slowly, she began to approach her prisoners.  “I am Administrator Fel’duin, and I would like to be the first to congratulate you for your inanity.  Crossing into Elorg territory was a grave error on your behalf.”

 

Landsberg cleared his throat, and turned to face Fel’duin.  “Had you not provoked us into an attack, we wouldn’t have crossed the border to begin with!” he protested.

 

Fel’duin scoffed.  “Our fighters were simply practicing tactical maneuvers.  That hardly constitutes provocation.”

 

The Administrator now stood within a meter of Landsberg, her malevolent orange eyes glistening in the poor lighting of the interrogation chamber.  Slowly, she closed the remaining distance between herself and Landsberg, bringing her lips to his ears.  “You knowingly violated our territory,” she whispered.  “And now you will pay.”

 

As she retracted her head, Landsberg could see the coy smile adorning her face.  Quickly, she snapped her head back, and began to circle Landsberg, much like a hawk and its prey.  For a brief moment, when Fel’duin’s back was to him, Landsberg thought about attacking her… but his eyes summarily drifted to the two large guards at the doors—on second thought, it was not such a good idea.

 

After making a few rounds, Fel’duin again came to a stop, literally centimeters from Landsberg’s face.  He could feel her icy breaths dancing over his face.  “I will ask this once, and only once,” she said bitterly.  “Should you fail to comply, I will still get the data I require, but I assure you, Captain Landsberg, my methods will not be as generous.”

 

He gulped, staring down into the fire that burned in Fel’duin’s eyes.  There was little doubt in his mind that the Administrator meant business…  When she saw this realization in Landsberg’s face, Fel’duin slowly backed away, and smiled a bit more pleasantly.  “So tell me, Captain Landsberg… what do you know about the Ka’Tula System and its orbital defense perimeter?”

 

 

 

“…furthermore, I have enclosed the latest chapters of my text.  I believe you will find the addendum enlightening both spiritually and mentally.  It is on that note that I shall bid you farewell.  I look forward to your reply.

 

“En taro adun.”

 

Pleased with the results of his latest communiqué to Nafar and the Elorg Resistance, Talyere reached for the controls and ended the recording.  This particular message was not the most earth-shattering; it contained little in the way of actual resistance activity, but contained several suggestions to ensure that Xi’Yor’s descent continued, along with several proposed reformations to The Tome of Na’zar. 

 

After reviewing the communiqué for any errors or misinformation, Talyere encrypted it, and transmitted it to the Toraxis on an even more heavily encrypted subspace channel; security was of the utmost importance when it came to such things.

 

Moments later, the computer terminal before Talyere indicated the transmission had successfully reached its destination.  Pleased, he cleared the screen and deactivated the terminal before heading to the replicator to find himself lunch.  However, he got no further than a few meters before the door chimed.  “Enter,” he said evenly.

 

The doors parted, admitting Alan Christopher a moment later.  “I have some incredible news for you,” he said, however the lack of enthusiasm in his voice seemed to indicate otherwise.

 

Talyere smiled faintly.  “What is this incredible news?” he asked.

 

Any hint of enthusiasm now faded from Christopher’s face.  “Our beloved Admiral O’Connor has summoned us to meet her.”

 

Talyere nodded his understanding.  O’Connor was the most incompetent person in Starfleet, often addressing Talyere as Xi’Yor while devouring a doughnut.  She was arrogant and conniving—in fact, if she weren’t so lazy, she would make an excellent Elorg.

 

But there was little point in avoiding her.  When she had something to say, she wanted to be certain everyone heard it, whether it was important or not.  Wearily, Talyere rolled his vivid orange eyes, and headed in tandem with Christopher for the doors.

 

 

 

After transporting to Starbase 241, Christopher and Talyere wasted little time getting to the meeting.  They quickly abandoned the transporter room and were negotiating a long, curved corridor in search of a turbolift when they happened upon Captain Jeremy Talbot emerging from an adjacent corridor.

 

“Captain Christopher,” he greeted warmly as he came up alongside.

 

Christopher summarily slowed his pace, allowing Talbot to completely catch up before producing a faint smile.  “Captain Talbot,” he said, almost cringing at the formality.  “I take it good old Admiral O’Connor has summoned you to her meeting?”

 

Talbot nodded.  “It sounded somewhat urgent,” he said, “but with her you can never tell.  I literally have no idea what it’s about.”

 

“Neither do I,” said Christopher uneasily.  “We postulated a doughnut shortage, but I fear that is not the case.”

 

“Perhaps,” Talyere interjected, “she has discovered an Elorg named Talyere residing on the Starlight.  The last time we congregated, she insisted that my name was Xi’Yor.”

 

“Whatever the case,” said Talbot as they came upon the doors to the conference lounge, “we’re about to find out.”

 

 

 

A large platter of glazed and chocolate doughnuts sat prominently near the head of the sleek black conference table.  Surrounding it, a trail of crumbs that lead directly to the seat at the head of the table where the portly Admiral Alexis O’Connor sat licking her chubby fingers clean of the remains of her most recent feast.

 

Her shock of short gray hair was a mangled mess; her uniform was wrinkled and stained in the places she had used it as a napkin, and her lips still glistened with the glaze of her doughnut, as did most of her hairy upper lip, and chin.

 

Christopher cringed as he walked past O’Connor, and sought out the seats furthest away from her as possible—but to his chagrin, the only seats remaining were the three directly beside the Admiral—not even Admiral Grayson chose to sit near her.

 

“Good of you to join us, Captain Christopher,” said O’Connor, sending him an icy glare as she spoke in her strident voice.  She allowed her gaze to linger for a moment before turning to Talyere.  “Xi’Yor,” she said,  “I apologize for Captain Christopher delaying your arrival; I know how much this meeting about your people means to you, and it’s not right for him to squander your time dealing with this situation.”

 

Gritting his teeth, Talyere forced a smile to his face.  “Thank you,” he said icily. 

 

“I’ll be contacting Command about this incident,” she assured Talyere as she grabbed another doughnut.  After breaking off a portion and placing it in her mouth, O’Connor continued.  “We have a situation developing,” she said as she chewed, her mouth wide open.  She started to continue, but to Christopher’s relief, Admiral Grayson quickly interjected.

 

“The U.S.S. Merrimac has been captured by the Elorg,” he said, his gaze purposely focusing on Christopher.

 

“Sarah and Rachael are on that ship,” Christopher realized.  “Are they okay?”

 

The look on Grayson’s face grew even more concerned.  “I wish I knew,” he said somberly.  “The ship was destroyed, and prisoners were taken; they are blaming the attack entirely on the Federation.  According to the Elorg, the survivors are currently being… interviewed.”

 

“Tortured,” Talyere abruptly clarified.  “My people do not waste time with pretext.  If the Merrimac crew did not prove cooperative when asked questions directly, more cruel forms of interrogation are undoubtedly being exacted even as we speak.”

 

Stroking his white beard, Grayson considered Talyere’s words for several moments.  “Have you any idea what data the Elorg are seeking?”

 

Talyere shook his head.  “I am sorry, Admiral.”

 

“Could you postulate?” he prompted.

 

Taking all things into consideration, Talyere could very easily guess what they wanted.  “Tactical information,” he replied.  “Unfortunately, I am uncertain as to the extent…

 

Captain Talbot let out a long sigh.  “Whatever it is,” he said, “it can’t be good.”

 

 

 

 

Proceed to Chapter Two